[fic] i was made to keep your body warm
Title: i was made to keep your body warm
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Elena POV; Damon/Elena
Word Count: ~1500
Rating/Warnings: R
Spoilers: Everything through 4x07
Summary: This is sort of the morning after (the middle-of-the-night after?)...you know.
Author's notes: An attempt. For Marta. Not really sexy, sorry. This is more of an attempt to show that Elena's emotions can be interpreted as sire-induced, but IMHO only someone who has never been in love would really think that. There is an aspect to love that is about pleasing and being pleased, and it has nothing to do with mind manipulation. Someone, somewhere, mentioned they'd like Tyler to say, "Guys, Elena isn't acting sired," and I'd like him to add, or possibly Matt could point out, "She's acting like she's in love." /soap box. [Title lifted from Ed Sheeran's "Kiss Me." Of course.]
Elena figures there's somewhere around forty black button-down shirts hanging in Damon's closet, but she goes to find the one she ripped open herself. It came off somewhere between the great room and his bedroom, but she's not exactly sure where it is, just that she'll be able to find it if she follows the trail of clothing.
Her underwear (right beside the bed), his boxers (closer to the door), her skirt (just outside the door in the hallway), his jeans (under her skirt), her shirt (on the runner rug at the top of the stairs), ah, there it is. His shirt hangs, rather decoratively, from the bannister. She tugs it from the polished mahogany and draws it up her arms, closing it over her breasts.
She can't button it, because the buttons are downstairs somewhere, all over the room, no doubt. She grins to herself and turns around to head back to where he's sleeping. She might even skip a little as she returns to his bedroom.
She slides back into the bed, and it's quite a slide to meet him in the middle, where he's sprawled out. The bed is huge, and she knew that, but scooting across it makes her much more aware of it. She had fallen to sleep as well, but woke from the chill around her shoulders. Caroline would call it a phantom chill because vampires don't feel temperature fluxes the way humans do, but Elena thinks the heat between her and Damon could have burned down the Boarding House. So, she thinks for tonight anyway, that's not true at all. He said she never looked more alive, and she certainly has never felt more so now, lying beside him in his bed.
And besides, she loves men's shirts. She especially loves Damon's shirt as the scent of him surrounds her. It's like he's still holding her, and she's sure he will again shortly, but she wanted this until she decides to wake him up.
Because she wants to watch him sleep.
He lies on his back, his arms spread wide. His head is turned towards her, his eyelashes just inky smudges on his cheeks. His chest gleams in the overhead light and she stifles a laugh behind her fist when she has a sudden image of sparkling vampires; it's hilarious that she ever read Twilight in her 14-year-old innocence.
The sheet lies almost artfully below his hips, and she knows she could uncover him altogether and examine him all she wants; there's something titillating about the way the white fabric lays over him, shielding him from her stare. Her eyes linger on his hipbones anyway, distracting her from any other area. She had kissed him there, and he had shuddered beneath her mouth, panting, nearly whimpering with relief when she followed the line inward to the obvious target.
It had been...amazing. Elena had had little doubt that having sex with Damon would be anything less than satisfying, but the magnification of her feelings had also translated to something more profound than sex. Her connection with him has always been strong, but this? This had been more than she could have ever imagined. She had never been that connected to anyone, ever.
She had never made love like that.
And now she was calling it what it was, at least in her own head. Because Damon had given her nothing but love. All of it, everything he had, completely willingly. She would have to be blind and deaf and dumb not to know, not to recognize it for what it is.
Or to ignore the answering emotion inside her for him.
He is beautiful like this. (He is beautiful, anyway, but this is different.) Unguarded, relaxed, content, perhaps? She had made him happy. So happy. And he had made her happy, for the first time...in a long time. She had felt pure joy, from the words he said to the kisses he gave her to the way his hands traveled her body with reverence and urgency.
Even now, she wants to do it again, but at the same time, she wants to enjoy the perfection that it was. Vampires can recall with pretty much dead-on clarity, and so she can lie next to him and feel it all over again. Her body quickens, and she feels the throbbing between her legs again, the dead heartbeat that seems more vibrant than anything she'd experienced when she was human.
She lies back against the pillow and turns her eyes back to his face. Finally, she reaches out and traces one of his brows, following the dramatic sweep of it with her thumb, and then letting her hand glide softly down his cheek.
He smiles before his eyes even open, but then they do open, and she feels her breath catch. If she thought his gaze was potent before...now? Now, he's looking at her like she is even more to him than she was before.
(She's pretty sure she was everything before, so she has no idea what ridiculous devotion he will have for her now.
All she knows is she will return it just as strongly, because she finally fits.)
"Hi," she whispers, and his smile widens into a grin.
"Hi," he replies. Combat butterflies take flight in the vicinity of her stomach. How he can make her feel like it's all new, like they haven't been doing this for a year, she has no idea. But it is new, because she never let it be like this before. Not really. And he had played along.
"You're wearing my shirt," he says, his gaze dropping down to take it in.
"I was cold," she murmurs.
His eyes come back to hers, and a little smirk appears. "Vampires don't get cold," he says.
She just shrugs.
"If you come a little closer, I'll warm you up," he offers, and she's already moving so that she's on top of him.
His hands pull the lapels of the shirt apart so that their naked bodies can align perfectly, but he doesn't take it off of her.
(He must like her in it as much as she likes wearing it.)
"You're so beautiful," he says, his fingers dusting her breasts with small caresses as his hands skim up her chest and throat to her face. He brings her mouth to his and they kiss softly, and Elena's fluttering stomach invades her whole body. She trembles for him, because of him, at the idea of him.
(She loves him so much, it's terrifying.)
The kiss abruptly changes as his tongue invades her mouth, and the hunger she feels for him is suddenly greater than it had been before. It hadn't resolved anything, sleeping together. It had just made the need deeper, more lasting, impossible to ever really satisfy.
He mutters her name, but she's already moving so that she can take him into her body, and they both let out sounds that imply a need has been met, not a want.
She needs him. Needs him. Has always needed him, somehow, and he has always provided, in the end. This is no different, except that she's finally giving him what he needs, too.
There is something more than satisfaction that flows through her at this realization. She hates to even allow a thought of Stefan in as Damon is gently rocking her over him, and as they are panting towards a finish that will be less spectacular than the previous one, but no less necessary. But it comes too quickly for her to push the thought out--every time she'd tried to make things easier for Stefan, she'd made them harder for herself.
And maybe sex and love are blinding her in this moment, but it certainly feels like it's never been that way with Damon. Whoever she is, whatever she is, he accepts her.
And, she finds, she can do no less for him.
She starts moving over him faster, kissing him harder, biting at his bottom lip, because she's learned that makes him crazy, and his hands grip her hips more tightly as he tenses beneath her.
His lips slide down her throat to her chest, his tongue finding one of her nipples, and he breathes out, "Baby," against her heated flesh; then she's done, rushing over the edge when she was trying to get him there first, but he groans, deep in his chest and he thrusts up against her hard, one last time. She feels him come with her, his hands spasmodically gripping the small of her back as he lets go.
She lies against him, ready for sleep in a way she doesn't think she's ever been before, and all she hears before she's out is the whisper of her name from his lips as one of his hands comes to rest in her hair.
For the first time, Elena dreams of living forever.
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Elena POV; Damon/Elena
Word Count: ~1500
Rating/Warnings: R
Spoilers: Everything through 4x07
Summary: This is sort of the morning after (the middle-of-the-night after?)...you know.
Author's notes: An attempt. For Marta. Not really sexy, sorry. This is more of an attempt to show that Elena's emotions can be interpreted as sire-induced, but IMHO only someone who has never been in love would really think that. There is an aspect to love that is about pleasing and being pleased, and it has nothing to do with mind manipulation. Someone, somewhere, mentioned they'd like Tyler to say, "Guys, Elena isn't acting sired," and I'd like him to add, or possibly Matt could point out, "She's acting like she's in love." /soap box. [Title lifted from Ed Sheeran's "Kiss Me." Of course.]
Elena figures there's somewhere around forty black button-down shirts hanging in Damon's closet, but she goes to find the one she ripped open herself. It came off somewhere between the great room and his bedroom, but she's not exactly sure where it is, just that she'll be able to find it if she follows the trail of clothing.
Her underwear (right beside the bed), his boxers (closer to the door), her skirt (just outside the door in the hallway), his jeans (under her skirt), her shirt (on the runner rug at the top of the stairs), ah, there it is. His shirt hangs, rather decoratively, from the bannister. She tugs it from the polished mahogany and draws it up her arms, closing it over her breasts.
She can't button it, because the buttons are downstairs somewhere, all over the room, no doubt. She grins to herself and turns around to head back to where he's sleeping. She might even skip a little as she returns to his bedroom.
She slides back into the bed, and it's quite a slide to meet him in the middle, where he's sprawled out. The bed is huge, and she knew that, but scooting across it makes her much more aware of it. She had fallen to sleep as well, but woke from the chill around her shoulders. Caroline would call it a phantom chill because vampires don't feel temperature fluxes the way humans do, but Elena thinks the heat between her and Damon could have burned down the Boarding House. So, she thinks for tonight anyway, that's not true at all. He said she never looked more alive, and she certainly has never felt more so now, lying beside him in his bed.
And besides, she loves men's shirts. She especially loves Damon's shirt as the scent of him surrounds her. It's like he's still holding her, and she's sure he will again shortly, but she wanted this until she decides to wake him up.
Because she wants to watch him sleep.
He lies on his back, his arms spread wide. His head is turned towards her, his eyelashes just inky smudges on his cheeks. His chest gleams in the overhead light and she stifles a laugh behind her fist when she has a sudden image of sparkling vampires; it's hilarious that she ever read Twilight in her 14-year-old innocence.
The sheet lies almost artfully below his hips, and she knows she could uncover him altogether and examine him all she wants; there's something titillating about the way the white fabric lays over him, shielding him from her stare. Her eyes linger on his hipbones anyway, distracting her from any other area. She had kissed him there, and he had shuddered beneath her mouth, panting, nearly whimpering with relief when she followed the line inward to the obvious target.
It had been...amazing. Elena had had little doubt that having sex with Damon would be anything less than satisfying, but the magnification of her feelings had also translated to something more profound than sex. Her connection with him has always been strong, but this? This had been more than she could have ever imagined. She had never been that connected to anyone, ever.
She had never made love like that.
And now she was calling it what it was, at least in her own head. Because Damon had given her nothing but love. All of it, everything he had, completely willingly. She would have to be blind and deaf and dumb not to know, not to recognize it for what it is.
Or to ignore the answering emotion inside her for him.
He is beautiful like this. (He is beautiful, anyway, but this is different.) Unguarded, relaxed, content, perhaps? She had made him happy. So happy. And he had made her happy, for the first time...in a long time. She had felt pure joy, from the words he said to the kisses he gave her to the way his hands traveled her body with reverence and urgency.
Even now, she wants to do it again, but at the same time, she wants to enjoy the perfection that it was. Vampires can recall with pretty much dead-on clarity, and so she can lie next to him and feel it all over again. Her body quickens, and she feels the throbbing between her legs again, the dead heartbeat that seems more vibrant than anything she'd experienced when she was human.
She lies back against the pillow and turns her eyes back to his face. Finally, she reaches out and traces one of his brows, following the dramatic sweep of it with her thumb, and then letting her hand glide softly down his cheek.
He smiles before his eyes even open, but then they do open, and she feels her breath catch. If she thought his gaze was potent before...now? Now, he's looking at her like she is even more to him than she was before.
(She's pretty sure she was everything before, so she has no idea what ridiculous devotion he will have for her now.
All she knows is she will return it just as strongly, because she finally fits.)
"Hi," she whispers, and his smile widens into a grin.
"Hi," he replies. Combat butterflies take flight in the vicinity of her stomach. How he can make her feel like it's all new, like they haven't been doing this for a year, she has no idea. But it is new, because she never let it be like this before. Not really. And he had played along.
"You're wearing my shirt," he says, his gaze dropping down to take it in.
"I was cold," she murmurs.
His eyes come back to hers, and a little smirk appears. "Vampires don't get cold," he says.
She just shrugs.
"If you come a little closer, I'll warm you up," he offers, and she's already moving so that she's on top of him.
His hands pull the lapels of the shirt apart so that their naked bodies can align perfectly, but he doesn't take it off of her.
(He must like her in it as much as she likes wearing it.)
"You're so beautiful," he says, his fingers dusting her breasts with small caresses as his hands skim up her chest and throat to her face. He brings her mouth to his and they kiss softly, and Elena's fluttering stomach invades her whole body. She trembles for him, because of him, at the idea of him.
(She loves him so much, it's terrifying.)
The kiss abruptly changes as his tongue invades her mouth, and the hunger she feels for him is suddenly greater than it had been before. It hadn't resolved anything, sleeping together. It had just made the need deeper, more lasting, impossible to ever really satisfy.
He mutters her name, but she's already moving so that she can take him into her body, and they both let out sounds that imply a need has been met, not a want.
She needs him. Needs him. Has always needed him, somehow, and he has always provided, in the end. This is no different, except that she's finally giving him what he needs, too.
There is something more than satisfaction that flows through her at this realization. She hates to even allow a thought of Stefan in as Damon is gently rocking her over him, and as they are panting towards a finish that will be less spectacular than the previous one, but no less necessary. But it comes too quickly for her to push the thought out--every time she'd tried to make things easier for Stefan, she'd made them harder for herself.
And maybe sex and love are blinding her in this moment, but it certainly feels like it's never been that way with Damon. Whoever she is, whatever she is, he accepts her.
And, she finds, she can do no less for him.
She starts moving over him faster, kissing him harder, biting at his bottom lip, because she's learned that makes him crazy, and his hands grip her hips more tightly as he tenses beneath her.
His lips slide down her throat to her chest, his tongue finding one of her nipples, and he breathes out, "Baby," against her heated flesh; then she's done, rushing over the edge when she was trying to get him there first, but he groans, deep in his chest and he thrusts up against her hard, one last time. She feels him come with her, his hands spasmodically gripping the small of her back as he lets go.
She lies against him, ready for sleep in a way she doesn't think she's ever been before, and all she hears before she's out is the whisper of her name from his lips as one of his hands comes to rest in her hair.
For the first time, Elena dreams of living forever.