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Nov. 1st, 2010 03:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Nighttime
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)
Pairing: Damon/Stefan
Rating: A pretty soft R
Wordcount: 890
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Spoilers: Through 2-1, 'The Return' (no book stuff; I haven't read them)
Warnings: Incest, angst, little bit of fluff
Summary: Damon liked the nighttime best.
Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tvd_fic, tvd_slash, and salvatoreslash. Apologies to anyone who gets spammed.
A/N: So after mainlining the first season of TVD and catching up on season two the last couple months, I've been thinking about Damon and Stefan's relationship (from a slashy standpoint, of course) and reading a lot of fanfiction about them, some of which is marvelous. I've gotten the sense from both the show and fanfiction that, given S/D as a couple, Damon is the more obsessive one, despite his trying so hard to appear not to care. But that interpretation doesn't jive so well when you consider how hard Damon fell for Katherine, and that Stefan had to practically force him to become a vampire. This is my attempt to solve that quandary in a way that could fit into standing canon.
***
Damon liked the nighttime best.
There were a lot of reasons. Something inherent in his nature, to begin with. Vampires are predators of the dark. He had his ring, of course, but even after a century plus, he could never shake a background feeling of unease in the sunshine. And there was always the possibility that the ring would get lost, or snatched by someone who knew. That was another reason to prefer the night: it was safe. It was easier, too, to move in – through the shadows, calling fog (out of place in daytime, though he did it sometimes anyway), going as fast as he wanted to under the cover of darkness.
Damon also preferred the caliber of people one found out at night. The sad, the lonely, the desperate, the drunk. The people who wanted to die. The people no one would miss. The people stupid enough to be out alone, without any protection. Happy Meals with legs.
But mostly, Damon preferred the nighttime because that when Stefan belonged to him. Oh, not every night. Sometimes he stayed at Elena’s, or Elena stayed at the boarding house. Damon knew better than to be home alone when Elena stayed over; he had to go out or have company – better if it was both. Otherwise, he would spend the night pacing, listening, writhing in jealousy over both of them.
The feelings he might or might not have for Elena were not things Damon liked to think about. They simmered under the surface of his psyche. He knew that to disturb them was to invite trouble. The last time they’d spilled over, he’d killed Jeremy. Not that Damon would ever have admitted it, but he kind of liked Jeremy. He wasn’t particularly eager to invite such consequences again.
Damon’s feelings for Stefan, though, were well-established; almost comfortable in their cycles of love and loathing, lust and pain, and mutual betrayal. They had been doing this dance for a century and a half, after all.
It had begun in the nighttime. They shared a bed until Damon was old enough to be considered a man, and it started when their bodies had just begun to change: fumbling fingers and fumbling hands, eager flesh moving against each other and humid kisses all over their skin. Only Damon had the sense to realize it was wrong. He swore his little brother to secrecy and for awhile – until Stefan learned – he had to shy or shove him away when Stefan tried to touch him in public; casually, as they always had when they were younger.
“We’re too old for that now,” Damon said sternly, and Stefan seemed to understand that it was less their ages and more that their activities in the dark made innocent touch impossible. At least, it made it impossible for Damon. Stefan’s hand on his arm or back made him ache with shame and desire. Stefan, on the other hand, never seemed think that there was anything wrong with their rutting whenever they felt like it.
When Katherine came, Damon threw himself into his passion for her, seeing an escape from his need for Stefan, and a way to turn off the pain, when he finally became a vampire. Perfect Stefan was more tempered in his love, seeming to share it between Katherine and Damon and needing compulsion when he became aware of Katherine’s monstrous nature. (And of course, because Stefan wanted her less, needed her less, and because he stayed so pure, Katherine loved him, while she only played with Damon.) Stefan was quietly hurt when Damon turned him away, but Damon had found his escape, or so he believed. Now he touched his brother only when Katherine wanted to take them both together, and they kissed only when Katherine wanted to watch.
Katherine’s death was the end of the world. Damon couldn’t suppress what he felt for Stefan, and he wouldn’t live forever with the shame. But Stefan destroyed his chance at the final escape. And Damon vowed to make Stefan’s life as miserable as his.
Stefan had never seen anything in Damon to make him ashamed, but that quickly changed after they were vampires. While Stefan vowed almost immediately not to touch human blood, Damon let himself become more and more of a monster. Yet Stefan’s lust didn’t diminish. Damon knew it wouldn’t, any more than his. So Stefan started avoiding his brother; running eventually, ashamed of his need. Damon had won. And though he would let Stefan be for stretches of time, he always returned to remind Stefan. You did this to me. You made me what I am, and you still want me, and you will always want me.
Stefan could move with the living during the day. He could pretend; maybe he could even forget. But at night, he belonged to Damon again. They were mouths melded together, skin sliding, fangs and cocks buried deep. Stefan would protest sometimes, saying he couldn’t; he was with Elena. Damon would smile and stroke faster. Stefan would whisper “I love you, Damon,” sometimes, if Damon hadn’t been particularly vile lately. Damon would ignore him, or laugh, and thrust faster, and when he was done he would pretend to fall asleep quickly, and Stefan would curl in his arms, or hold him, till morning, when the lies began.
***
End note: I'm writing reviews for the current season of The Vampire Diaries over at Affairs Magazine. Because I started late, there are only two so far, for 2-6 Plan B and 2-7 Masquerade. I would be thrilled beyond measure if anyone wanted to check them out.
Author:
ellerkay (previously published under collectively)Pairing: Damon/Stefan
Rating: A pretty soft R
Wordcount: 890
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Spoilers: Through 2-1, 'The Return' (no book stuff; I haven't read them)
Warnings: Incest, angst, little bit of fluff
Summary: Damon liked the nighttime best.
Crossposted to
tvd_fic, tvd_slash, and salvatoreslash. Apologies to anyone who gets spammed.A/N: So after mainlining the first season of TVD and catching up on season two the last couple months, I've been thinking about Damon and Stefan's relationship (from a slashy standpoint, of course) and reading a lot of fanfiction about them, some of which is marvelous. I've gotten the sense from both the show and fanfiction that, given S/D as a couple, Damon is the more obsessive one, despite his trying so hard to appear not to care. But that interpretation doesn't jive so well when you consider how hard Damon fell for Katherine, and that Stefan had to practically force him to become a vampire. This is my attempt to solve that quandary in a way that could fit into standing canon.
***
Damon liked the nighttime best.
There were a lot of reasons. Something inherent in his nature, to begin with. Vampires are predators of the dark. He had his ring, of course, but even after a century plus, he could never shake a background feeling of unease in the sunshine. And there was always the possibility that the ring would get lost, or snatched by someone who knew. That was another reason to prefer the night: it was safe. It was easier, too, to move in – through the shadows, calling fog (out of place in daytime, though he did it sometimes anyway), going as fast as he wanted to under the cover of darkness.
Damon also preferred the caliber of people one found out at night. The sad, the lonely, the desperate, the drunk. The people who wanted to die. The people no one would miss. The people stupid enough to be out alone, without any protection. Happy Meals with legs.
But mostly, Damon preferred the nighttime because that when Stefan belonged to him. Oh, not every night. Sometimes he stayed at Elena’s, or Elena stayed at the boarding house. Damon knew better than to be home alone when Elena stayed over; he had to go out or have company – better if it was both. Otherwise, he would spend the night pacing, listening, writhing in jealousy over both of them.
The feelings he might or might not have for Elena were not things Damon liked to think about. They simmered under the surface of his psyche. He knew that to disturb them was to invite trouble. The last time they’d spilled over, he’d killed Jeremy. Not that Damon would ever have admitted it, but he kind of liked Jeremy. He wasn’t particularly eager to invite such consequences again.
Damon’s feelings for Stefan, though, were well-established; almost comfortable in their cycles of love and loathing, lust and pain, and mutual betrayal. They had been doing this dance for a century and a half, after all.
It had begun in the nighttime. They shared a bed until Damon was old enough to be considered a man, and it started when their bodies had just begun to change: fumbling fingers and fumbling hands, eager flesh moving against each other and humid kisses all over their skin. Only Damon had the sense to realize it was wrong. He swore his little brother to secrecy and for awhile – until Stefan learned – he had to shy or shove him away when Stefan tried to touch him in public; casually, as they always had when they were younger.
“We’re too old for that now,” Damon said sternly, and Stefan seemed to understand that it was less their ages and more that their activities in the dark made innocent touch impossible. At least, it made it impossible for Damon. Stefan’s hand on his arm or back made him ache with shame and desire. Stefan, on the other hand, never seemed think that there was anything wrong with their rutting whenever they felt like it.
When Katherine came, Damon threw himself into his passion for her, seeing an escape from his need for Stefan, and a way to turn off the pain, when he finally became a vampire. Perfect Stefan was more tempered in his love, seeming to share it between Katherine and Damon and needing compulsion when he became aware of Katherine’s monstrous nature. (And of course, because Stefan wanted her less, needed her less, and because he stayed so pure, Katherine loved him, while she only played with Damon.) Stefan was quietly hurt when Damon turned him away, but Damon had found his escape, or so he believed. Now he touched his brother only when Katherine wanted to take them both together, and they kissed only when Katherine wanted to watch.
Katherine’s death was the end of the world. Damon couldn’t suppress what he felt for Stefan, and he wouldn’t live forever with the shame. But Stefan destroyed his chance at the final escape. And Damon vowed to make Stefan’s life as miserable as his.
Stefan had never seen anything in Damon to make him ashamed, but that quickly changed after they were vampires. While Stefan vowed almost immediately not to touch human blood, Damon let himself become more and more of a monster. Yet Stefan’s lust didn’t diminish. Damon knew it wouldn’t, any more than his. So Stefan started avoiding his brother; running eventually, ashamed of his need. Damon had won. And though he would let Stefan be for stretches of time, he always returned to remind Stefan. You did this to me. You made me what I am, and you still want me, and you will always want me.
Stefan could move with the living during the day. He could pretend; maybe he could even forget. But at night, he belonged to Damon again. They were mouths melded together, skin sliding, fangs and cocks buried deep. Stefan would protest sometimes, saying he couldn’t; he was with Elena. Damon would smile and stroke faster. Stefan would whisper “I love you, Damon,” sometimes, if Damon hadn’t been particularly vile lately. Damon would ignore him, or laugh, and thrust faster, and when he was done he would pretend to fall asleep quickly, and Stefan would curl in his arms, or hold him, till morning, when the lies began.
***
End note: I'm writing reviews for the current season of The Vampire Diaries over at Affairs Magazine. Because I started late, there are only two so far, for 2-6 Plan B and 2-7 Masquerade. I would be thrilled beyond measure if anyone wanted to check them out.
