I Want More (Damon/Elena) (original) (raw)

Title: I Want More
Recipient: plural_entity
Prompt: Damon/Elena: (480): so i'm sitting in his room drinking tequila from the bottle and watching harry potter. he's jacking off to some porn a couple feet away from me. at one point i look over and see that he's watching me instead of the porn. please help me figure out how warped it is that i found that romantic
Author: upupa_epops
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Word Count: 2300
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (this is pretty much all filth...)
Spoilers: AU after TVD 4x03, inspired by 4x04 promos
Summary: The first time she slams her body into his, she doesn't even look at him.
A/N: Written for tvdfic_exchange. I just had to try this prompt! Thank you for giving me something that was eating my brain for weeks ;). I hope this is more or less what you had in mind, because I might've gone a bit wild with it. I forever regret I didn't have time to write ALL YOUR PROMPTS, because, seriously, they were all glorious. In short: thank you for your awesome :D.

Yet again, I owe shipperjunkie a fruit basket for beta-reading :D.

I Want More

Like anyone would be I am flattered by your fascination with me.
Alanis Morissette, Uninvited

The first time she slams her body into his, she doesn't even look at him. It's quick, it's rough and unimaginably dirty, the way he pushes back against her and holds her hip in a firm grasp.

“God, you're here,” he whispers in her ear, and then says something even more nonsensical, she isn't really sure what; something that makes her feel unbelievably precious.

Elena pulls away from Damon's neck, her mouth still filled with his warm blood, and he kisses her before she can swallow, bites her lip, licks and gasps. He's erratic, desperate and alive, so gloriously, wonderfully alive, all breath, blood and tears. She can't get enough of how alive he is, how alive she is, clawed, and bitten, and hungry.

“I want more,” she says with her eyes closed, and Damon bares his neck again.

Elena can hear his heartbeat, can feel it in the neck she licks, in the hand that holds her and in the groin she grinds against. The show is over before it really starts, before Damon can even get his hand anywhere near her underwear. Elena's muscles start clenching without warning, and she rides it out on Damon's leg, too busy feeling alive to feel ashamed.

She's a mess, she knows it, she can feel blood drying on her cheeks. Damon's costume is ruined, his top hat nowhere to be seen, his pants unzipped and his shirt ripped open, her doing, probably. Elena reaches to wipe the blood off his chin, but catches her hand.

“Leave it,” he says with a wolfish smile. He tucks himself back into his pants, but leaves the shirt as it is, torn and bloodied. It takes Elena a few moments to remember this is Halloween, the only night of the year when no one asks questions about blood, gore or inappropriate sexual tension.

She isn't sure why she rips one more button off his shirt before she heads back towards the crowd in the frat house, but Damon laughs like a maniac before he follows her.

***

He's only like that when they're having sex.

When they don't, his still eyes follow her around the room (she knows that, because he recently got worse at hiding things from her), but Damon has all kinds of moods when he has his clothes on. He's annoyed or indifferent, tense or busy, wired or lazy, cranky, bossy, ironic, sad. But he's never quiet, not as quiet as he is when Elena steps in a bit too close and places her hand on his chest. It makes him stop, freeze mid-movement. He inhales sharply and stops pretending he hasn't been watching her all the time, maniacally focused and feverishly obsessive.

His attention is too much for her to take, so the second time they have sex (of sorts), Elena spins him around and puts her full weight on him, pressing him against a wall like in some strange parody of a cop movie. It's because last time I left him hanging, she tells herself as she reaches from behind to unzip his pants and take him in her hand. Tit for tat.

Damon is bracing himself against the wall and she's bracing herself against him, so that she can feel the slightest movement of his muscles. She can tell he's holding back, doing everything he can to last as long as possible, and she's glad, because she doesn't really want to let go. This feels good, so incredibly good, a warm, solid body shaking in her arms like it belonged there. Elena closes her eyes to block out the world, very conscious of her nipples pressing against Damon's back and of his shallow gasps. God, he's so shameless about how much he wants her.

Elena only lets herself look at Damon after he's done. She lets go of him and he turns around slowly, so very slowly, like he was savoring the moment. Even though he's spent and boneless, he has his eyes on her the second he starts turning his head. Mesmerized by his stare, Elena rests her forehead against his shoulder before she remembers she shouldn't.

***

She starts stealing glances.

Once upon a time, looking at Damon used to be a lot easier. Things were different when she was human, Elena remembers it all too well. Now that she thinks about it, it wasn't that much of a betrayal when she was watching Damon in Denver. Back then, it didn't really matter that she couldn't take her eyes off is chest and his hands, but now she has to be careful, because anything she does might define her. It's giving her quite a headache, because suddenly one look too much might mean she's becoming a different person, losing her humanity and dancing with the devil.

So every time they're in bed, Elena makes sure to wrap her arms around Damon's shoulders and hide her face in the crook of his neck. He starts out slowly, slowly and deliberately as if he was showing off his skill and control, but Elena knows better than to think that. It's not the first time and not the third, more like one hundred and eighty second, because now sex is what they do instead of talking, and crying, and shouting.

(It's what they do when they want to be close.)

Elena tries to keep her hips firmly in place, determined not to ruin the build-up, focused on Damon's skin moving against hers and on his whispers she's trying very hard to not understand. Sometimes she gets curious what his face looks like when he's inside her. She imagines he bites his lower lip every time he pushes forward; long, smooth swings she struggles not to respond to, not yet. Whatever he does, his eyes are wide open, Elena is sure of that. That's the only way for him to get properly naked.

When she can feel that Damon is close, Elena lets go of his shoulders, throws her head back and grabs the headboard. He comes the second she opens her eyes, but that's just coincidence, she tells herself every single time. It's because she pushed her hips up.

***

Damon gets impatient sometimes and does things that are not allowed, pulls her hair too hard or slams into her too soon, making her wince and whimper.

(He kisses her softly and cups her cheek until she forgets herself and looks back at him, and once he has her eyes, she's lost, forced to watch him as he kisses her fingers one after another, follows her wrists with his tongue and presses his lips to her open palms.)

He knows that he won, smug bastard, knows it every time Elena lets out a sharp gasp or pins him to the mattress. He revels in it, really, laughs when she bites him and opens his arm when Elena pulls on his belt so that she has to undress him all by herself. It's almost like he's trying to provoke her: he takes what he wants to make her take what she wants. Damon has an eye for detail, her hips swaying oh so slightly and breasts pushing into his hand. It's a double game they play, he wants her to want him and she wants him to want her, you lose when your knees start shivering first.

The winner gets the reward, and that's why Damon is never more smug than when he's kneeling in front of her, warming her up with his tongue.

Elena knows that this is not allowed, and she tried many things to make it easier for herself, but nothing ever worked, not ignoring it and not convincing herself to the contrary. Instead she learned how to find pleasure in transgression: she makes sure to only lose when they're in Damon's room. When that happens, she always sits on the armchair right in front of his huge dressing mirror, opens her eyes and legs for him to see as he approaches her.

Somehow, it's important that there's a mirror.

Elena watches herself greedily, legs spread wide open and hand pressing the nape of Damon's neck. Her face is different, wanton and shameless, but she's still Elena, despite fangs, tears and moans Elena, undoubtedly Elena. Soon she'll be screaming her own name when she comes, and Damon won't question it, he never questions it. Maybe he even waits for it, thinks about it when he's pushing his tongue into her and holding her thighs in place.

Now, that's a thought.

Someone will die because of this, she thinks as she lets her eyes follow Damon's lean frame and his gloriously naked shoulders, someone will die and she doesn't even care, she is too far gone to care. They will survive this, and it's all that matters.

***

Damon is loud when Elena goes down on him.

It's all breaths and moans and whimpers, things he can say without words (they rarely come to words in bed), and Elena loves it, loves that she can play him like she'd play an instrument, all by the ear, no need to open her eyes for even a second.

She slides down his body in swift, sure movements, she knows how he ticks and she knows what he likes, open-mouthed kisses and the weight of her naked body pressing him down to the bed. She does this often enough to have a routine, swings her tongue over his left nipple when her fingers start tracing the line of hair on his lower abdomen. She waits for a sharp intake of breath and moves on, licks her way down Damon's ribs and across his stomach, her palms sliding from his hipbones to his thighs in a way that makes his muscle tense with anticipation, she'll stay there for a second, two, three...

Then Damon gasps her name, and suddenly the world shifts.

Elena looks up and gets caught up in his eyes, first mesmerized, then terrified that he ruined everything with one little word. Once she starts, she can't stop looking, her eyes devouring his face and chest, getting locked on his fingers shaking by his sides. It's beautiful, beautiful and unimaginably dirty when he reaches to touch her face, and Elena freezes, holds her arms close to her body, because no matter what happens, she can't let herself ruin this picture.

Suddenly she doesn't want to touch Damon: touch seems so easy right now, something she's done so many times they both lost count. She doesn't even have to get out of her head to touch, just close her eyes, open her legs and breathe until she feels so alive it chokes her. But Elena wants more now, and she wants this to be real.

So she steps back.

Damon gives her a surprised look, but Elena ignores him. She takes her favorite armchair from its spot in front of the mirror and places it right next to the bed, close enough for her to rest her feet on the mattress when she sits. Damon automatically touches her knee, gestures her to spread her legs wider, ready to apologize, but Elena shakes her head with a wolfish smile.

“Don't mind me,” she tells him. “I'm just here to watch.”

This is against all the rules they have: the night has barely started, so it's at least an hour too early for her to open her eyes and start demanding vulnerabilities. But Damon complies without blinking, puts his hand on his thigh and picks up exactly where Elena stopped.

He follows her routine step by step, recreates the movements she didn't get to make this time. He slides his fingers over the spot in the hollow of his hip that she likes to kiss and that place on his inner thigh where she often sinks her teeth. Elena wonders if this is what he imagines when he's on his own, her tongue lazily teasing his length in long, slow strokes and her hand pressing at his hipbone to hold him in place. She never takes him into her mouth while he can still breathe evenly, and Damon sometimes tries to rush her, but now he takes his time, patient like she would be patient and thorough like she would be thorough.

Now that Elena wants to watch, it's very hard for her to focus. Her eyes are moving frantically, her gaze jumping from Damon's shoulders to his face and from his palm to his stomach, taking in everything, unruly hair and tiny beads of sweat. This should be hot, him getting himself off solely for her pleasure, but somehow it just makes her feel tender, like she was witnessing something unbelievably precious.

Elena licks her lips when Damon's movements get erratic, erratic and desperate. She stops blinking, because she feels seen, every desire she's ever had put on display, and she doesn't even need a mirror anymore, because all the thoughts she has are hers and hers entirely. For the first time in years she knows exactly who she is, mind, body and soul, gaze, will, and whim, all Elena, undeniably Elena, Elena who doesn't have to live up to anyone's expectations. She moves forward in a blink and kisses Damon on the lips, his frantically moving hand locked between their bodies, and he laughs like a maniac because he understands, or maybe because he doesn't, hard to tell. Elena locks her hand over his and pulls away from the kiss to look at his face, raw, and open, and alive, so gloriously, wonderfully alive.

Damon shakes under her gaze.