Disclaimer: I am a dark, dark person, and I wish I had invented the Vampire Diaries. I didn't however, so I get nothing out of this. I quite like the plot though.
Overheard on MSN:
K: what could Damon Never Have
M: erm a consience? until he met Elena
K: ... he did have a conscience... and i am setting out to prove this with this fic
Uhhuh. You heard me.
2010
When Elena and Stefan decided to call it a night, and the pair of them were ready to part – though it should be noted that Stefan did not like leaving Elena at all – she began to search for her shoes.
There were probably three places they could have been – Stefan's room, the porch, or Damon's room, and she feared heading toward the latter, even though she distinctly remembered toeing off the striped pumps as she joined him, sitting down on his bed. They would be there, but she feared disturbing him again.
"I can go, if you want?" Stefan offered, still clinging on to the last vestiges of their contact, reluctant to let go of her hand. She shook her head and frowned slightly. "If you're sure."
"He won't hurt me." She said, with confidence, though the sound of her voice was far stronger than the conviction of her thoughts. And, with that, Stefan released her, and she took twenty-nine steps down the hall to stand outside Damon's bedroom.
She did not enter, because she did not need to. Her shoes were placed daintily outside of his closed door – a strangeness in itself, because Damon rarely shut the door to anyone – with a small sliver of paper resting upon them.
"Elena," She read his words aloud because they sounded ridiculous read in her head, "I apologise for my behaviour, and feel you deserve an explanation I cannot give, like PMS or an overwhelming lack of conscience. I would be wrong to lie to you, however. You deserve far more than that, and I wish to give it to you. I will explain, Elena, I promise, but not tonight. Please do not knock on my door. I will come to you. Damon."
She lifted her feet and placed them into her shoes, glancing up at the hardwood door once again, and pulling away in order to make her way home. As she took the first of those twenty-nine steps back to say goodbye to Stefan, she froze in place, and if anyone had asked her why, she would have sworn that she could hear Damon sobbing on the other side of his door.
Italy, 1992
In the darkness, she reached up a small hand to touch his face, tracing the deep-set veins that were protruding from his cheeks with her fingertips as he leaned over her, dark eyes matching with her grey ones.
"Beautiful," She murmured quietly, running her finger across the blood that ran around his lips, drawing it into her own mouth and tasting herself, tasting the metallic, addictive flavour that he craved every time they touched. "Bella, Damon." She raised her neck, arching her back as he slid his lips up against her collarbone, running his tongue across her bare skin, across the marks he had left there, tasting her blood and her sweat on his lips.
"No," He returned, "Not in a million years." She whimpered as he moved within her again, her hips lifting to his with a low groan. She drew her hand up his arm and raised her leg around his torso, pulling him just that little bit closer.
"Yes," She murmured, then, as he hit that spot right within her, louder and longer, "Yes, Damon..." She arched against him again, and his answering smile was more than she could ever have hoped for. He never smiled, not for anyone. Except for her.
"I love your touch," He murmured moments later, pulling back and rolling away from her. Her fingers trailed down his body and slowly ran her hand across his pubic bone, making him swallow loudly and glance across at her, "And I love your blood." And I love you. He would not admit his thoughts now. He doubted he would ever speak them aloud, he was far too afraid of another rejection.
"No more tonight," She sighed, "I am," She let out a laugh and found her hand resting against a very solid chest as Damon pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it, dropping it as his head flopped back onto the pillows. "... tired."
He grinned at her and brought his wrist to his lips, biting it to draw blood. Offering it to her, he pressed the pulse-point against her mouth, waiting for her tongue to snake out to touch him, taste him and feel the revitalisation it would bring.
"That feels..." He growled, the rumble growing from his chest and up through his lips, "You can't know how damn good that feels," He smirked as he felt her left hand grip his wrist, holding him to her mouth, her other hand sliding down his chest and straight to his waiting hardness.
"I think I can," She breathed, "Better than... anything."
"I won't disagree." A breath, a beat where she ran her tongue around the bite on his wrist and he groaned again. It was almost... unbearable.
"I want..." She squeezed him, and he laughed lightly.
"I thought you were tired?"
"Damon!"
"Francesca!" He mocked lightly, but found his hands at her waist, lifting her onto him, lifting her over him and feeling her tight around him. It was almost too good, and he could barely resist rolling over and taking her again.
Resistance had never been Damon's greatest trait.
He flipped their positions with a growl, and she smiled because that was all she had asked for, all she had wanted. Him. He licked the hollow at her throat again and pulled at the skin there with his teeth. He was careful, but he could not resist the pull of the bite marks again. She needed him, he wanted her. He craved her, and he took a deep breath as he realised that was what he felt as he rubbed his fingertips in circles at the apex of her legs and made her arch up underneath him.
She was barely able to breathe, her head spinning violently as he kissed her for longer than he ever had before.
"Damon!" She withdrew first, fearing a collapse and sure her dizziness was due to the blood he had consumed from her, "We-"
"Francesca!" There was a beat of silence, as Francesca's father's voice echoed in the corridor. She felt the sorrow that was Damon pulling away, his weight lifting from hers as he scrambled to disappear; only squeezing her hand as he vanished. "Ah, Francesca," He opened her bedroom door, flooding the room with unwelcome light at the same time as she finished winding a silver silk scarf around her neck. With Damon's blood seeping through her system, her wounds would vanish in a second, but she was used to doing this as a precaution. "I am sorry to wake you at this hour, darling," His fingers twisted into her scarf as he saw it glisten in the light, and he let out a curious laugh, "What are you doing wearing this? In this ridiculous heat?"
He waved a hand around, creating a rather welcome breeze in the stuffy room. Francesca herself had opened her window to allow Damon to enter, and the breeze from the river close to the house came in, cooling the area by the sills ever-so-slightly. It was still ridiculously hot, however, and Francesca fought a smile as she felt a strong gaze settle upon her.
"I..." She shrugged, feigning as she raised her eyes to the darkest corner of her bedroom, where Damon's reassuring smile almost glistened in the darkness. "I suppose I must have fallen asleep wearing it, papa." She shrugged again, and in one swift movement, she pulled on the end of the fabric, removing it with a colourful flourish. "Damon Salvatore gave it to me," She could not even resist the blush that flared as she mentioned his name; "I suppose I could not bear to take it off."
"Very sweet," Her father sighed happily as he considered the blossoming relationship that lay in the future of his daughter, "Your... your mother wants you." A silence, the beat which passed filled with an unspeakable weight and thoughts of what would soon to come to pass. Francesca knew that Damon knew, and she knew that she was naked beneath her covers. Both of those facts made her distinctly uneasy as she looked up at her father, who was watching her with worry upon his features.
"Of course." She nodded, "Would you give me a moment, I will be right there." She gestured at the doorway and her father nodded.
"Si." Her father left, and in her haste to dress, Francesca nearly fell from her bed. Damon caught the poor girl, holding her naked form upright as his hands slid down her sides, past her breasts and to her hips as he kissed her slowly, languidly, in order to calm her. He took deep breaths in and out, waiting for her breathing to even out before he pulled away, handing her a pair of slippers and a white nightdress, his small smile as she pulled it on making her breath hitch.
"Damon-" He caught her in a searing kiss before she could speak any further.
"I will be here when you return." His fingers traced the length of her cheek and he smiled again, "It will be alright." She nodded silently but did not allow herself to believe that as the truth. Slowly, and with a quick squeeze of Damon's hand, she padded into the corridor and looked both ways as though crossing the busiest and most dangerous road in the middle of Milan. Then, with a moment's glance back into the room, taking in the billowing curtains and the absence of her Damon in her bed, she sighed and took off down the short corridor, feeling the blood pounding in her ears, and the soft soles of her slippers beneath her feet. A juxtaposition she would wish never to feel again.
Not after tonight.
2010
Damon Salvatore did not enjoy murder. That should be noted by those who wished to truly understand the elder Salvatore brother. He did not see its necessity; when, in truth, a source could be obtained, drained, influenced and abandoned, no worse off than they had existed before. If, however, he were feeling particularly dangerous, wicked or vindictive, he would drink to kill, sometimes even maiming deliberately.
It was a horrible thing, however, and it played on his mind whenever he was forced to confront his past. His brother made him out to be a darker person than he really was, and that affected Damon greatly, because, truth be told, he loved Stefan, even though given half the chance, he would rip off his head.
He stood on her window ledge and let himself in with little difficulty, ducking around the corner and picking up a teddy bear. His hands settled upon it and he waited, in the semi-darkness, for Elena to appear. He knew Stefan would not be there, and he knew there would be no escape for her, not tonight.
In his head, he recounted everything he would be able to tell Elena tonight and some things that he wanted never to speak of again. His lips parted in a sigh as the light clicked on, and Elena's responsive shriek seemed to set the entire house on edge, even though both Jenna and Jeremy were asleep.
"Please, don't scream. I've had a headache since I was turned because of the screaming." He shook his head and Elena frowned slightly as she stepped closer to him.
"You're breaking Mr. Snuggles." She said simply, throwing herself down on her bed. Damon's answering laugh was enough to set her heart rate at ten times what it usually was. She was afraid of him, tonight, and he was fully aware of the fact.
"Sorry, Snuggles." He shrugged and threw the soft toy at Elena, hoping she would be able to fix it, but feeling guilty for the destruction anyway. "Listen... I don't want to talk about what happened before. I'm sorry for throwing you out of my room, and I'm sorry I snapped about the bracelet." He held out his wrist to show that yes, in fact, he was wearing it, "It just... means a lot to me."
"Okay." She nodded back at him, flicking her hair over her shoulders. "Well, go on, then, Damon. What did you want to say?"
A/n: Please Review. I quite like it when people love, or hate my work (and give me a reason why...)
