When consciousness starts to tickle her senses, she inhales, ready to be filled with the animal musk that always lingers on Tyler's sheets on those lazy Sundays when she wakes up next to him in his bed. The unexpected softness of the sheets makes her feel like she's floating over the ocean's gentle waves. Her lips curve into a smile as she falls into the woody, mysterious, boozy, slightly sweet scent that titillates her senses before she can decipher the man it belongs to, like waking up to a body tender from arousal before you can remember the dream that lead to it.
It feels good to have that scent fill her lungs and melt a particular place between her parted legs. It feels good and she tries to roll on the bed looking for that friction that can make it all so much better, but she can't, and she moans out in frustration.
The breath breaks in Caroline's throat as her eyes open to the realization of what has happened, of where she is, stretched out on Stefan Salvatore's bed, shame dampening the wanton heat she felt just one moment ago, when his unmistakable manly scent awakened her sex before her brain could catch up to the state of things.
Caroline pulls at her arms and legs, feeling the constriction of ropes and trying to fight panic. She's still dressed and he's nowhere in sight, so she tries to calm herself down, ignores the small voice that sounds disappointed at his absence and captures her lower lips as she tries to work around the restrictions, before it becomes clear to her. He's used the fisherman's knot, and all she needs to do it pull on one end of the rope for it to come undone.
A part of her is wondering if that's his way of taunting her, because all he had to do was pull a little rope to have Elena dance for him. It has been so easy for him to play her. He broke her neck and she woke up aroused for him. And no matter how much she loves Tyler, or how supportive she is of Bonnie's happiness, Stefan is still the dream that appears in her brain when everything else is quiet.
She frees her wrists, pulls herself up and stretches down towards her feet like she used to do during cheerleading warms-up, freeing the ankles tied to the wooden bars of the four poster bed. And when she stands, trying to come up with a line of action as rapidly as she can, her eyes meet the surface of the standing mirror.
It's not the sight of her disheveled appearance that stops her in her tracks, not even the self-conscious look in her clear eyes, but the neat, flowery writing in her favorite Dior red lipstick.
"Tell me I'm the first one that could tie you up in bed"
The mocking words send her heart racing, and her knees weaken. It's cruel of him to mock her so, and it is primal. It speaks of his needs, of his essence, of the passionate, dominant man he is behind his gentlemanly manners and his stoic attitude. Even these words, so careless, so teasing and wicked, can seduce a woman. Even those words can seduce her.
The problem with you is
That I can't get you off my mind
And I think about you all the time
It's your fault that I don't feel right
She can't hear her steps going down the stairs, or her voice calling his name or Elena's, for her hearing is muffled, like she's being kept underwater. Stefan is suffocating her with worry and desire and shame, but the last two emotions are too counter-productive to dwell upon. In a couple of hours, she's going to forget the thought and sensations she woke up to, she's going to remember how perfectly happy she is with Tyler, what Stefan's friendship means to her, and all her priorities will be back to before.
"Lena," she calls, deciding that the best course of action is to find her friend, make sure she's alright and then get in contact with Damon to know that Bonnie is safe with him. What a twist of fate, when Damon is the safest place for Bonnie and Stefan is their common nightmare.
"Lena," she calls again.
Next to the sofa there's a half empty glass of whisky and an ashtray with gray ashes with a note that says 'Not Elena'. Is this supposed to be funny? She wants to ask angrily, instead she chuckles with a sort of desperation, spitting out, "Fuck you." And she can almost see his derisive smirk at her unconscious choice of words.
"Elena!" She screams again turning around and hoping to catch a sound, a trace of the brunette, uselessly. She walks towards the door that brings her down to the basement and she hears it, a faint glimpse of relief sparks inside her before everything gets confused again, not because of the vivid memory of what has happened between those thick walls, but rather because of that musical tone in Elena's voice when she says "Oh, Stefan!" like she's playfully reproaching a teasing lover.
Caroline's steps slow down, legs heavy like she's dragging the weight of the world after her and she cannot remember how humans are supposed to breathe, what the exact mechanic is that makes it all function properly. She doesn't want to take a glimpse inside the cell, doesn't want to see what type of touch is enticing that kind of sound from her friend, what it is making her laugh so lightly, but she needs to know Stefan is still there, and Bonnie is still safe, and what in hell he is planning now.
The problem with you is
That you're all I dream about
And you're not right here right now
The red walls give his gaze a more devilish light, and yet, he's always been like that. Sometimes in the throes of passion, when his façade slipped together with their clothes, she knew he could make her or break her, and both possibilities looked equally alluring.
Her eyes look up towards his face, the lights of the crystal chandelier make an inappropriate halo over his head, his smile appears upside down as he looks at her, head nested over his thigh. His fingertip traces the lower lip and she opens her mouth begging him with her eyes to slip inside the humid cavity. His fingertip plays with the plump flesh but pulls back when she thinks he's about to slip inside.
"Oh, Stefan!" she protests, aroused and happy now that his attention is on her and she can stare at his laughing, obscene mouth. "You're so unfair," she pouts, and her hand pulls at her top letting the fabric uncover her décolletage, hoping to make him falter and give in to their mutual desire.
His eyes flicker down at her breasts and then up again, before murmuring, "You've been a bad girl," as his hand slides over her neck, where he's hurt her, soothing the pain of the punishment as he comes up with the next one. One that hopefully they will both enjoy.
"I will be good," she says, her voice melting like honey as her pupils grow large, ass rolling over the pavement, anticipating their next encounter as her sex gets wet while her companions sit on the large cushions. "I promise."
Stefan seems to think it over, considering it ever so carefully, and when her patience slips, now at its limit, she looks down where her feet rest over Damon's thigh to say, "Tell him, Damon." She nudges him. "Tell him I'll be your good girl," she says as she lets her feet slide to his dick. But he stops her just before she can touch it.
She pulls a face, like a spoiled child that's been denied her favorite toy. Damon is almost as thick as Stefan, and longer, and she loves how easy it is for both of them to get hard, like robots with self-rechargeable batteries. They do not fit the top drawer of her nightstand the way her other toys do. She can't hide them under the lingerie, but that's part of the charm.
"I'm not sure I am convinced," Damon says, before looking up at his brother, exchanging a knowing smile. They seem to have found a sort of harmony now, both overlooked by the same woman in favor of the other, both irremediably attracted to her, both the only one capable of satisfying an ever-screaming hunger in her.
"Are you convinced, brother?" Damon asks Stefan as his hand distractedly teases the bit of flesh behind her knee.
Her eyes roll back in her head at his touch and the promise of their ruthless lovemaking.
"Oh."
"Elena…" Caroline's voice is faint as she appears on the open door, it trembles over the solid color of the walls, her large eyes fall on her form laying on the ground, wanton and ready to be finally taken mercilessly by the Salvatore brothers. "…w-what are you doing?" she asks, eyes flickering towards Stefan, then Damon, before falling on her friend's face again. She's paling by the second and Elena enjoys it.
Not everyone can be her, not everyone can have the things she has.
"Oh, Caroline," Elena rolls her eyes with arrogance, disgusted by her prig, conventional reaction. "Don't be a prude," she reprimands her, voice dripping boredom at the annihilated look in her eyes. "I thought you knew how the whole thing worked, but maybe you're way too innocent for this," she mocks, eyes shining as she contemplates her lovers with ill-conceited pride.
Elena stretches one arm up, fingers brushing over Stefan's face as his hand goes to tease her nipple over the veil of her violet bra.
"You better close your eyes, Caro," she breathes, moaning openly, unabashedly, "unless you want to learn how it's done." She giggles, feeling powerful and bewitching. Feeling finally like herself again.
Took a minute but I figured it out
The problem with me is you
Caroline's stomach curls into a fist as something pushes its way up into her throat, threatening to make her throw up. She feels suffocated, by the smell of dust on the coarse walls of the basement, by Elena's scent, by the frightful vision of her demented happiness as she rolls on the cold pavement of the cell, talking to the figments of her imagination.
"Elena…" her voice is faint, so much so she herself can't hear it as she observes the scene in front of her. She wants to shake her friend out of this dream, but the brunette ignores in favor of her beloved, and she wants to know what drove her to this, Damon's absence or Stefan's rejection?
Caroline saw Elena's human self trying to hold on to Stefan for dear life, with her fake worry and her alleged friendship, and she saw her vampire nature being enthralled by Damon's call, gripped by his ways and his promises. But Elena, human or vampire, could never give up either, Caroline had always known though she had chosen to ignore it, to pretend she could make a choice and stick to it, and now that she has lost both Caroline isn't sure she'll let herself be brought back to reason.
Elena doesn't want to be reasonable, or balanced, or sane. Elena wants to be worshipped.
For a moment Caroline thinks back at Stefan's joke, at the ashes in the ashtray and the note he left. Her eyes well up with tears. It breaks her heart to think that maybe, yes, maybe it would have been better if that pile of ashes were, in fact, Elena.
She locks the door of the cell, trying to convince herself that at least she will be safe alone in there with her ghosts.
#
Her brain feels like a clogged pipe, where nothing of sense can filter, too obstructed with the thought of Elena and her folly, of Stefan and his evil seductions, of Bonnie's safety being on the line. She desperately tries to come up with a plan, or simply with air as she leaves the basement with a heart as heavy as concrete.
She pats the pockets of her jeans, remembering her phone is in the handbag she left on the sofa. She sits down to scroll through her phone numbers, perched on the edge of the sofa holding the phone to her ear, counting the rings until it goes to voicemail.
"Damon, damn it," she mutters under her breath, trying to call again. As she stares at the ashtray on the coffee table in front of her, she knows where Stefan is heading right now, and she needs to warn him immediately.
She's about to scream out when he finally picks up.
"Hey blondie," he says casually, lowering the volume of his tv though he doesn't need to do it. "Am I growing on you? You already called this morning. I'll start thinking you miss the sound of my voice."
"Is Bonnie safe?" she asks, with no preamble. Stefan is gone, and Elena too, in a sense, and now all she's got is Bonnie, and though Stefan can't possibly have gotten to her in such short time there's a scared part of her that needs reassurance. She wants for someone to tell her everything is alright.
"She hasn't tried to kill herself, again, if that's what you're asking," he comments distractedly. She can hear him handling something, but she doesn't care to think about something so mundane when she's just been told Bonnie has tried to kill herself. Everything is a nightmare, maybe in a minute she's going to wake up in Tyler's bed, on a lazy Sunday morning, and his scent will be enveloping and comforting and she'll call Bonnie to meet her for coffee and a session of shopping.
"What?" her voice is choked as she presses the phone harder against her hear, like that would change anything.
"Didn't I mention that?" he piques. "Oh well, all the same. She's totally fine. I've sacrificed myself on the altar of her frustrations, so she's too busy taking it out on me to come up with another brilliant plan. I haven't been able to make her work on undoing the magic yet, but you know I'm resourceful. Is my little brother reflecting on his wrongdoings?" he asks, trying to move on from the previous topic of conversation.
In her mind, she can see Stefan tearing his mouth away from Elena's bruised one before breaking her neck with a sort of orgasmic pleasure.
She swallows the invisible knot in her throat, trying to come up with an answer.
"Blondie, are you doing your nails or what?" he asks, becoming suspicious by her sudden silence. She's not one to weigh words or even think before she speaks.
"What the hell happened over there?" he asks between his teeth, keeping his tone low to not let Bonnie hear.
"Where are you?" He doesn't like when people answer with a question, but she's not in the room so he can't clarify the point by pinning her to the wall.
"We arrived in St. Augustine this morning," he says, gravelly. "Now, will you tell me how you managed to fuck it up? It was a foolproof plan, but I didn't put you in the equation!" he mocks her angrily.
"He tricked Elena," she says, trying to keep it together as to not let him know the gravity of the situation in Mystic Falls. Should Damon start to suspect that something has happened to Elena he'd fall to pieces, and come back running, leaving Bonnie alone; or worse, he'd bring her back.
"Did you tell her we were in Florida?" he presses. "Do you know if she told him?"
"I thought you told her—" she begins, confused.
"I haven't picked up a single one her of calls since Bonnie and I left!" he interrupts her. "I thought she'd come crying to you about it."
Caroline ignores his insinuation, though she's now discovering her friend lied to her face more than once.
"If you had answered her calls maybe…" If he had behaved like the devoted boyfriend he had promised to be, if he had actually given Elena the illusion of being the whipped man he had always behaved as, maybe the situation would be different now. Somehow it makes her feel better to be able to tell herself that it's Damon's fault, as always.
"Maybe what?" he asks back. "She couldn't make up her mind who's dick she liked better, so I helped her. And spare me the lecture, blondie, because our love story was as deep as a tank for ground turtles."
"She's in love with you!" she protests, struggling to push the words out for lack of oxygen.
"Yes, I had that impression when she started jumping up and down from joy thinking Bonnie had used magic on Stefan to make him fall in love with her and he hadn't really moved on," he mocks, bitterly. "And since she loves me so much, I'm guessing the trick he used did not involve his tongue, at all."
"Damon…"
"I'd tell him he can keep her, but I don't think he'd be interested," Damon continues, discarding his idea of Elena entirely. Caroline thought she'd never see the day when Damon stopped caring about her, like a switch had been turned off and he had been freed of her influence, and she had become a girl like so many others, a creature with faults and imperfections. The pedestal had broken somewhere under her feet, and she had fallen. And he had no idea yet how low. "So, listen, if Elena had no idea where we are, and you didn't tell him, we're still off his radar, so Bonnie is safe. That's how I intend to keep her," he adds, sounding resolute, steely.
She's not sure if it's only the desire to deny Stefan something he wants, or if he genuinely cares about Bonnie. Caroline is always ready to ascribe any act of goodness on Damon's part to a fluke, but sometimes, when it comes to Bonnie, she can sense a change in him, a bizarre sense of tautness,of strain. For how unwilling, resistant, unwanted that it. Still, right now, she doesn't care. Stefan is dangerous, in so many ways. He's made all of the women in his life willing victims, and she herself could not swear she would be able to fight him if he appeared in front of her right now.
"Yes," she only nods. "Yes, please," she begs breathlessly, "keep her safe."
#
His cellphone is abandoned next to him on the bed as he sits with his back to the bathroom door, elbows pointed into his thighs as he stares ahead with hard eyes, one hand closed around the other almost breaking his own bones.
"Are you ignoring me?"
When we met
I was careless with all of my emotions
But the closer we'd get
I became more attentive, more protective, more aggressive
Her voice seems to break his thoughts like a soap bubble, and Damon turns around realizing she's been talking to him without getting a response. She seems a bit vexed with that, and he knows that's not happened for a while. Before, when she was only the resident witch, too afraid to ask for too much or be too egoist, or simply human, she was used to that, to not being invited to parties, not being consulted until after whatever it was had blown up in their faces already, but she's not used to that anymore.
Damon isn't sure if it's specifically his attentions she's gotten so used to—for he had always had an interest in her little affairs, but in the last weeks he's been keeping his eyes on her non-stop with little peace for his appetites—or if it's Stefan's attentions and fixation that has made her like this, aware and demanding of the attentions owed to her; but, whatever the reason is behind that spark in her eyes, that disapproving pout on her plump lips, there's a part of his anatomy that seems to be always thankful for it.
"Moi ignoring you?" he asks theatrically, placing a hand over his heart. "You are such a joy to be around. I could never," he mocks her with a grin, knowing that the only way for him to tell her the truth is to dress it as an insult. Well, not that she is actually a joy considering the amount of insults they exchange daily, though they are mostly from her side, but he likes her company. She makes him more self-aware, and a little nervous.
Damon offers her a mocking grin, turning around the moment his eyes slip on the bed he's getting used to sharing with her. Nothing ever happens. She sleeps, tossing and turning as she dreams of Stefan or just occasionally talking in her sleep during the more quiet nights; and he sits next to her, watching TV on mute, and yet it's been the closest he's been with a woman, in a way, which is sad.
Her eyes follow his from the bed, finding the box wrapped in simple brown paper, and she looks at him suspiciously, studying his back.
"You look strange," she says pensively.
"I look hot," he corrects her, turning towards her with one of the self-satisfied smiles of his repertoire, the way he does when he needs to sell the part and divert the attention elsewhere. She's learned to see the difference by now.
"Is it Stefan?" Bonnie asks, heart hammering away in her chest. "Has something happened to Stefan?" Would she feel it if it did? It would feel like being cheated if something as intense as the passion between them didn't let her be agonized on the doorstep of hell if something happened to Stefan.
The way Damon looks at her makes her feel guilty, maybe a bit ashamed, though she doesn't understand why.
"He's fine," he replies, the edge of irritation in his voice. It must be the truth, still she presses on, maybe for the morbid curiosity of detecting another crack in his façade.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am. He's fine. He's great." He has her, so if the bastard was slowly dying now somewhere in a ditch he'd still be the luckiest man alive, or undead.
Let's talk about last night, you went to sleep
Didn't even talk to me
You left me with questions, agonizing
You bring out the worst in me
Damon realizes he's been holding her green eyes for way too long, giving something away, as part of him waits and waits and waits for her to see him, so he swallows the knot in his throat, turning his eyes away as he confesses, "It's Elena. We're done."
He doesn't care about that, for all it hurts his pride for having fallen into the same trap twice, though that's something he can overcome easily, but he needs to offer her an excuse for this moment of vulnerability that has slipped his control.
When he meets her eyes again she looks a bit stunned. "I'm sorry," she says uncertainly, losing a beat.
Damon smiles derisively, because even now that she believes him heartbroken she can't let herself behave as the compassionate person she is. They have roles, and vulnerability has never been part of the agreement, though they probably broke that implicit rule quite a few times lately.
"Do you want to talk about it?" the words come out of her mouth with a bit of strain, like she needs to force her tongue and lips to form the syllables.
Damon chuckles bitterly. "Will you hold my hand, too?" But his voice comes out a little too hoarse, and he doesn't know why it seems so erotic now, the idea of letting his fingers slowly slide between hers, tentatively, feeling the light veil of perspiration from her skin easing his fingers in, until they fit tightly together.
The problem with you is
That I can't get you off my mind
And I think about you all the time
It's your fault that I don't feel right
Maybe the image flashes in her mind too, because she crosses her arms under her breasts like she's raising a wall.
"I really don't care, anyway," he adds, trying to overcome the strange moment of tension. He knows she felt it, too.
"Of course," Bonnie replies with a roll of her pretty eyes, ascribing the sudden change of his blind will to deny pain as usual like it makes him less of a man to admit that he cares, that he's suffering. Though sometimes, she can read it in his eyes, something longing and burning and agonizing. Each time she wonders if that's what's Stefan is feeling, too.
She has moments of quiet now, almost a clarity about her own body, the confines of it, the knowledge that it does not extend in Virginia and she's a creature that begins and ends. But most of the time she feels like her skin is perpetually longing to be touched, and her little body is achingly waiting to be filled, and it's tortuous. Sometimes she tells herself she'd be happy to sit at a table with Stefan and just talk to him while they're drinking a coffee, but all the while they saw each other there was always some sort of sexual undercurrent, it was never innocent, it could never be, and she knows she'd rather have him talk to her while he 's buried inside her flesh.
It's not romantic, it's not dreamy, it's primitive and feverish and consuming and she needs to fight to control herself the way a tamer needs to keep a lion at bay.
"What's that?" she asks, her tone irritated by the umpteenth moment of weakness she longs to abandon herself to.
Damon slips both his fists into his pockets, and somehow the gesture looks tender, like he's lowering his weapons as he answers her. "Nothing important." Something is wrong with the whole picture. It makes her feel a pang in her stomach.
He bends his neck to one side, using one hand to the base of the neck to massage it like it's stiff. "I thought…" he begins without looking at her. "I mean, it seemed like you were interested in it," he explains, as she takes the little box wrapped in simple brown paper. He had purposely asked for the plainest wrapping so she wouldn't read too much into it. "You know, witch stuff. Or maybe just a woman feeling a little self-indulgent. It couldn't hurt to buy it," he adds, trying not to sound too eager to give a reasonable explanation for his kindness, as she raises the antique hand mirror in copper filigree, staring at it like it would tell her something she'd rather not know.
"This is…" she can't find the right words, doesn't even know what to make of it. She only knows that the metal seems to pulse in her hand, recognizing her magic, and talking to it in images. Like it happened at the antiques market.
Her eyelashes tremble as her mind rushes to understand the images it had shown her previously, but she can't decipher that. What was she wondering about when she saw that? She cannot remember and she doesn't want to. It would only lead to more doubts and confusion.
"Thanks," she says stiffly.
"No problem." Damon shrugs it off.
"About Elena," she starts, trying to detect a trace of sadness in his eyes, but he turns his back on her, taking the remote control and turning the TV on. "Maybe you could talk to her. We could go back—"
"Nice try," he interrupts her, irritated at such a lame attempt. He lay back on the bed as he keeps his eyes on the screen where a movie is playing that's clearly from the eighties.
"Isn't that what love is? I don't mean passion. Love. Isn't it an act of faith, loving someone despite having to put up with things which are intolerable? Opening your heart...again and again." someone says on the screen as Bonnie looks down into the mirror in her hands.
The problem with you is
That you're all I dream about
And you're not right here right now
#
He's wearing a pair of new earphones as he waits in line with more patience than he possesses. The leather jacket keeps his skin warm despite the fact that he skipped dinner in favor of bugging Caroline's phone and leaving a few lovely notes to make her panic enough not to notice small details, like the fact that he's installed one of those apps made to keep tabs on cheaters, to find Bonnie without having to wander aimlessly through the country.
Yes, it's undoubtedly fascinating to think about the hunter sniffing up traces of his lovers on unaware strangers she met during her escape and leaving a trail of bodies in its wake, a classic he can appreciate. But he is in a bit of a rush now, so he's hoping Bonnie will excuse the lack of finesse.
He has a long list of depraved acts to check out, one by one.
Stefan smiles at the woman as she asks, "Where to, Sir?" Her voice suddenly lower than her, up to now, consumed professional tone. The redhead fixes a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to concentrate on the screen of her computer and stop stealing glances at him.
Stefan smiles captivatingly, taking the eyeglasses from his grey eyes.
"Florida," he answers, smoothly. "I've heard it's lovely this time of the year."
#
Note: The song I used in this chapter is "Problem with you"(acoustic) by Sabrina Claudio, with I've been listening often while thinking of this story because i though it fitted the stefonnie relationship, until it turns out it fits everyone in this story. Though for the Elena and Caroline scenes I've been tempted to use "Take one to the head" by the same singer. Give them both a try, you might like 'em. The movie quote comes from "Dream Lover" a thriller from the 80s. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I'll be waiting to read what your reviews. I know there's little stefonnie or even bamon, but I thought Elena and Caroline's psyche needed to be explored.
If you feel like buying me a coffee please feel free to do so, you can reach my ko-fi profile both from my ffdotnet profile than from my tumblr page at paintedwithwords.
