![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
i like to keep some things to myself
CHARACTERS: Damon Salvatore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blooded), Elena Gilbert (otrazhenie)
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Tents
WHEN: DAY :014 & END OF DAY :016
SUMMARY: Damon teaches Elena to pay attention to vital signs. & Damon has a nightmare. Elena asks some questions.
WARNINGS: Feeding, torture, despair, melodrama. Will add more if anything comes up!
❰ in a tent full of ten other people is not where damon would choose to have a nightmare, if he could avoid it. of course, he'd choose not to have any nightmares at all if that was an option, but if he has to have them, having them in at least a semblance of privacy would be ideal.
no such luck now. he's had a run of good luck since they got to hyrypia, no nightmares or reminders of augustine at all, but the night of his hunt... something must have set his subconscious off, but what, he has no idea.
it's not the worst nightmare he's ever had, at least. no one's hands in his guts, he still has both eyes. his whole body aches, but that was normal in those years, just something he got used to until he finally fully healed once he was free. it's not the ache that scares him, though, not the pervasive and constant pain that makes his stomach drop and his fingers twitch against his cot in his sleep.
enzo is screaming. he's been screaming for hours, and damon is stuck in his cell, unable to escape, or fight, or do anything at all but listen. he's sure enzo will scream himself hoarse and lose his voice at some point, whitmore will have to leave, something will have to make it stop, but it just keeps going, guttural and animal. there's nothing to do in the face of pain like that but scream. you can't escape it, can't fight back, can't do anything but take it, and that kind of thing... it makes you forget everything but the pain.
damon's never felt half so inhuman as he did when he was under whitmore's knife, guts stapled open, screaming himself hoarse while stomach acid burned through tissue that healed only to burn again in a vicious, agonising cycle.
the screaming suddenly stops, and for a moment, for just a second, damon is relieved. selfishly, terribly relieved, shoulders slumping and breath leaving him in one long sigh. but the screams don't start again, and whitmore doesn't bring enzo back to the cells, an hour passes and a terrible weight settles in damon's stomach as he realizes that enzo must be dead. he's left alone with whitmore now, the sole focus of all his terrible experiments, and maybe it's better that enzo is free of this but damon hates him for it, wishes he was dead too, why can't he die —
he wakes with a start, shaking violently as awareness trickles in slowly. he's on hyrypia, with the nest, with elena. enzo died in a fire in 1958, and damon had to turn off his humanity to let it happen. the shields that lapsed when damon fell asleep he builds back up slowly, hiding his thoughts in fog and under rivers of blood as he sits up and reaches gently for sam's mind, the path to his breathing excercise well-worn.
in to seven, out to eleven. ❱
blooded), Elena Gilbert (otrazhenie)WHERE: Hyrypia - The Tents
WHEN: DAY :014 & END OF DAY :016
SUMMARY: Damon teaches Elena to pay attention to vital signs. & Damon has a nightmare. Elena asks some questions.
WARNINGS: Feeding, torture, despair, melodrama. Will add more if anything comes up!
❰ in a tent full of ten other people is not where damon would choose to have a nightmare, if he could avoid it. of course, he'd choose not to have any nightmares at all if that was an option, but if he has to have them, having them in at least a semblance of privacy would be ideal.
no such luck now. he's had a run of good luck since they got to hyrypia, no nightmares or reminders of augustine at all, but the night of his hunt... something must have set his subconscious off, but what, he has no idea.
it's not the worst nightmare he's ever had, at least. no one's hands in his guts, he still has both eyes. his whole body aches, but that was normal in those years, just something he got used to until he finally fully healed once he was free. it's not the ache that scares him, though, not the pervasive and constant pain that makes his stomach drop and his fingers twitch against his cot in his sleep.
enzo is screaming. he's been screaming for hours, and damon is stuck in his cell, unable to escape, or fight, or do anything at all but listen. he's sure enzo will scream himself hoarse and lose his voice at some point, whitmore will have to leave, something will have to make it stop, but it just keeps going, guttural and animal. there's nothing to do in the face of pain like that but scream. you can't escape it, can't fight back, can't do anything but take it, and that kind of thing... it makes you forget everything but the pain.
damon's never felt half so inhuman as he did when he was under whitmore's knife, guts stapled open, screaming himself hoarse while stomach acid burned through tissue that healed only to burn again in a vicious, agonising cycle.
the screaming suddenly stops, and for a moment, for just a second, damon is relieved. selfishly, terribly relieved, shoulders slumping and breath leaving him in one long sigh. but the screams don't start again, and whitmore doesn't bring enzo back to the cells, an hour passes and a terrible weight settles in damon's stomach as he realizes that enzo must be dead. he's left alone with whitmore now, the sole focus of all his terrible experiments, and maybe it's better that enzo is free of this but damon hates him for it, wishes he was dead too, why can't he die —
he wakes with a start, shaking violently as awareness trickles in slowly. he's on hyrypia, with the nest, with elena. enzo died in a fire in 1958, and damon had to turn off his humanity to let it happen. the shields that lapsed when damon fell asleep he builds back up slowly, hiding his thoughts in fog and under rivers of blood as he sits up and reaches gently for sam's mind, the path to his breathing excercise well-worn.
in to seven, out to eleven. ❱
no subject
Are you?
❰ it's a deflection, sure, but one he's comfortable with — he wouldn't offer this to elena if... well, no, he would, no matter how he'd feel about it, but wanting her isn't anything new. he's wanted her since before he even loved her, and it's only gotten worse the longer he's known her. he's managed to keep himself in control for this long, bloodsharing won't test him beyond his ability to restrain himself.
elena, on the other hand... it was the other version, the one who'd been human and known nothing, but still her, and she had nearly gone to pieces from the mere idea of him feeding on her from her thigh. whether or not feeding was a sexual thing for her and stefan — damon would guess not, given his brother's Issues — there certainly seems to be an element of it for the two of them. ❱
no subject
Will she be okay, though? That's the real question, and one she doesn't have an answer to. She knows almost nothing about the version of her who had been here before, other than she was from so long ago in comparison to herself, but she does wonder sometimes about what this other her might have shared with Damon while they were together. And it does make her sad sometimes than she's not human still, for the sole purpose of being able to provide Damon with another reliable source of blood. ]
I guess we'll find out.
[ There's a determination both in her voice and her mind -- she's not backing down from this now that she's settled on going through with it, so let's just get on with things. ]
no subject
Stand behind me, ❰ he says, pulling the neck of his top to the side to open up his neck. ❱ Keep one hand on my wrist, you'll want to feel my pulse. Until you've got enough control to keep one ear on your food's heartbeat, that'll be the best way to tell if you've gone too far.
❰ there's an element of a challenge to everything damon's saying, an unspoken are you sure about this? elena always wants to show off how much she can take, how strong she is, but she doesn't have to be strong with him. if this is too much for her, he won't blame her. ❱
no subject
Reaching down to wrap a hand around his wrist, she wonders why he didn't just have her feed from there instead, but in a way it makes sense: she's just as likely to feed from the neck, maybe even more so in some instances. Her free hand rests on his opposite shoulder as she steadies herself, licking her lips and feeling the hunger rising from where it eternally slumbers within her. She starts to question herself again, can she actually do this, is this the best idea-- And then she tosses all of that to the side and dives into the deep end headfirst, not waiting for further instruction or another question of whether she wants to go through with this. Her appearance changes, eyes darkening and sharpened teeth emerging, and it still feels strange but not quite as much as it did in the beginning. Her focus is on the scent of him though, the sound of his heartbeat, that stretch of skin, and she gives one last firm press to squash her hesitation before presses her mouth to the curve of his neck and sinks her teeth in, blood rushing up from the small wounds as soon as the skin is pierced.
He tastes so good. It's a thought that she can't suppress, one that he's bound to pick up on, but she doesn't care. All that matters is the warm blood in her mouth, the way it courses down her throat as smooth as silk, the way it makes her feel alive. There's a power in standing over him like this, a strength in holding on to him, and she wraps an arm around his chest to pull him closer, her fingers gripping at the fabric still covering him before she slides her hand upward again, to his shoulder, the other side of his neck, into his hair. She can't stop touching him, holding on to him, and it's a struggle to keep her other hand firmly on his wrist, even more so to actually pay attention to the feeling of his pulse there. ]
no subject
it's easier to think about things like trust than... what she's doing, what he's feeling. it's not for nothing human fiction has always spun a vampire's bite as a metaphor for sex — they're similarly pleasurable, done the right way, with the right person. the last time damon had bloodshared with anyone had been enzo in 1958, and his mind shies away from the memory, unwilling to taint this moment with that one. he'd forgotten how intensely good it feels, like every nerve in his body is tuned into elena's touch, her teeth, the suction of her lips against his skin, the rush of his own blood inside her.
his free hand spasms on the cot, gripping the fabric tightly as he tries to focus. he's supposed to be teaching her.
Elena, focus. We're here for a reason.
stop thinking about how good he tastes, because then he'll think about how good you taste and that'll just — no. this isn't about sex, this is about learning.
even so, damon can't help leaning back against her, pressing his back to her chest and his head into her hand. his breath is laboured, but he's trying to hold it together. one of them has to. ❱
no subject
His words reverberate through her mind and she tries to focus, she really does, but it's so hard to pull her thoughts back to where they need to be. Try as she might to keep them straight and on the feeling of his pulse, she spirals in how good it feels, how right, how sensual, and suddenly she's recalling that night at the hotel, the connection they'd shared, how she'd wanted to drink him in then and taste every part of him.
A quiet moan rises up from the back of her throat, a sound of need and passion, and in the second she realizes what she's hearing-- she freezes, her lips still on his skin, her lungs filled with the scent of him. It's the impetus she needs to send her focus careening back on track, like a bucket of cold water poured over her just before she might have taken things too far. After a few seconds of pause, she continues drinking, but the passion is gone and it's just blood, and a handful of moments pass before she feels his pulse change in a marked way and finally pulls back, his blood staining her mouth. ]
no subject
she'd wanted to eat him alive. damon can't help the noise he makes in the face of those memories, a strained groan through his teeth as he tries to keep himself focused. it's almost impossible, though, and damon is ready to say fuck it and just give up — his eyes fell shut at some point and he can't bring himself to open them again, his hips roll in aborted circles, his free hand reaches up to grip elena neck, keep her mouth pressed against his jugular —
elena freezes, and he can think again. it's enough of a reprieve that he can come back to himself, shifting on the cot and swallowing harshly — the motion of his throat drags the wounds open again, and the mix of pain and pleasure is almost enough to drag him down again. but this is important, so much more so than sex ever could be. elena keeps drinking, damon keeps a goddamn lid on himself, and like fucking clockwork, elena stops as soon as she notices his pulse slow.
all in all, it could have gone worse.
probably. ❱
You stopped at the right time, good job.
❰ this is normal. totally. everything about this is 100% normal. ❱
no subject
Thanks.
[ Her voice is calm, if perhaps a little hollow, and she steps back from him, her hands lifting away from his body with a careful reluctance that she tries so very hard not to show. They can't do this. She can't do this. A few steps bring her around to the front of the cot and she lifts a hand to wipe at her mouth, his blood transferring to her fingers, and it takes every inch of willpower she has not to lick it off them. Her hunger might be sated for now, but he'd tasted so good-- ]
You okay?
[ It's easier to ask him than contemplate her own answer to that very question. ]
no subject
damon reaches for elena's hand, shaking his sleeve out to wipe his blood off her fingers, studiously not looking at her face as he does. ❱
You're not bad at this, you know. Not a lot of newbie vamps would be able to control themselves like you do.
❰ caroline comes to mind, but damon dismisses the thought as soon as he's had it — no offense to caroline, but she was a control freak even before she was a vampire. her ability to wrestle her nature to the ground and conquer it comes from her heightened personality, not hard work and careful thought. essentially, she was turned into a vampire with a distinct advantage over anyone else around her. sure, she stumbled pretty hard her first couple days, but as soon as she had someone holding her hand, she was fine. elena has no such advantage. that she can keep herself under control this well is nothing short of amazing. ❱
no subject
Maybe it's because I'm terrified of hurting anyone.
[ That might not be all there is to it, but it's certainly a large part of her motivation for trying. She can't walk out into the sun, so her only option left is to beat this, conquer these terrible instincts and learn how to live again. ]
no subject
Not everything, though. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're no Blondie — ❰ damon drops elena's hand but continues speaking, wiping at the wound on his neck to mop up whatever blood elena missed — ❱ and who ever would have seen that coming, shit. Caroline Forbes, good at vampirism. Who knew?
❰ he's getting off topic. damon sighs and drops his hand, raising his eyes to meet elena's again. ❱
You're good because you care, not because you're afraid. There's a difference. Let me put it this way: Do you think you were going to hurt me, if you hadn't stopped when you did?
no subject
Which she is also not thinking about. Because ]
No. I could never hurt you, Damon.
[ She would rather throw herself onto Lakshmi's knife than hurt him. ]
no subject
Right. So you didn't stop because you were afraid. You stopped because you care.
❰ about him, about stefan, about what it would mean if she hadn't stopped. that's its own kind of fear, sure, but it's separate from her fear of existing, of taking up space at the expense of others. they can work on that later, if they have to. being okay with being alive comes first. ❱
no subject
[ She's starting to think so. The more everything hurts, the more she wishes she could turn it off, stop caring about anything. She can, of course, that's one of the 'benefits' of being a vampire, but she also knows that would be a very bad idea. Not caring about the lives of the others in the Nest would get them all killed, and then she'd have another mountain of guilt on her shoulders. ]
no subject
I think the people you care about put a lot of pressure on you, and you don't want to let them down. I think you're put in a lot of shitty situations and you're trying to control your life as much as you can, and when you can't, it's fucks you up. I think you've been hurt too much to want to hurt anyone else, ever.
❰ so... yes, but it's not your fault? ❱
no subject
How did you do it? How did you survive this? It all hurts so much.
no subject
If I hadn't survived, no one would have saved Katherine. Stefan would have been alone, except for Lexi, and I never trusted her as far as I could throw her.
❰ there's more he would say, if he felt he could — he had no purpose to his existence except for katherine and stefan, for 145 years he put one foot in front of the other and kept going because he had to, because there was nothing else to do other than die and abandon the people he was responsible for. those responsibilities mattered less and less as the years went on, but they were still his, and he couldn't just give up.
but elena doesn't need to hear about living because she has to. she's doing that now, surviving for his benefit, and damon doesn't want that kind of life for her. she wants a reason to stay alive, and he doesn't know how much of one he can really offer. ❱
You adapt, Elena. It's only been two weeks. You're putting too much pressure on yourself.
no subject
But it hurts. Everything hurts so much, her emotions swinging wildly from one extreme to the next before settling forever on the grief and pain that clings to her like a seaside mist. That ache settles into her now and she clenches her hands around the fabric of her costume, holding on so tightly it might seem like she'll break into pieces if she lets go. ]
But I have to. I have to be strong, I can't--
[ She can't risk everyone's lives just because she's having a hard time. It's a thought that has her hiding face in her knees, because she isn't strong and she can't let anyone see it. ]
no subject
❰ before elena can fall too deeply into her own despair, damon reaches out, hooking his finger under her chin and nudging her to look up at him. his expression is gentle but firm, his lips pressed into a line. ❱
Why do you have to be strong, Elena?
no subject
I can't let anyone else die because of me.
[ It's quiet, so very quiet, but the words scrape her throat like jagged rocks and she hates herself for giving voice to them. She hates herself for not being what everyone expects her to be. ]
no subject
❰ that is a somewhat unfair question, damon knows — he hasn't done enough to disabuse elena of the notion that she has to keep herself tightly controlled in order to keep everyone safe — but that's something they can acknowledge later. right now he needs to drag elena back up. ❱
What do you think will happen if you stop caring so much? You think I'd let you kill someone? Or Sam? Hell, or Lakshmi?
❰ if there is one thing that can be guaranteed here, it's that elena has no shortage of people who will keep an eye on her and keep her from making mistakes. ❱
You're not alone. Stop acting like you are.
no subject
And it makes her feel guilty that he has to point that out to her. ]
...I'm sorry.
no subject
❰ damon waits until elena focuses on him, until she looks in his eyes of her own volition, and his hand migrates from her chin to cup her cheek. ❱
You don't have anything to be sorry for, and if you say it again, I'm gonna dump sand in all your clothes and make you walk around all itchy for the rest of this stupid pilgrimage. Alright?
❰ he has no more patience for any of this — he has patience aplenty for elena, when she's not being a martyr, but none for this, this very specific mindset she's fallen into, where she can't do anything right and she's sorry for merely existing. her so-called friends back in mystic falls did this to her, but she's wallowing in it now, and he's given her time to be sad and self-pitying, because she deserves it, god knows she does.
but enough is enough, and he's not going to play into her pity party anymore. ❱
Shit's hard. You can be selfish for a while, you can be sad, you can hate all this — but you will get through it. This is your life, Elena. Live it.
no subject
Elena's quiet for a moment, watching Damon carefully with something not quite disbelief in her expression, and then she closes her eyes and leans her cheek into that hand. The waves within her calm, the door settling at the bottom, and she favors it for just a moment before looking at him again. ]
If you put sand in my clothes, it'll be war. Just so you know.
[ Ah, there's that spark of mischief from the old Elena. ]
no subject
A prank war with Elena Gilbert? Don't tempt me.
❰ elena's stronger than she thinks, even when she's lamenting the fact that she has to be strong at all. she can get through anything, if she pushes herself hard enough, but unrelenting and suffocating pressure isn't the way to do it. one day after another, living life until it isn't so hard anymore, that's how elena makes it through. damon will be here to give her a kick in the pants until she remembers that as many times as he has to.
he reaches out to help pull her to standing, but when she's halfway up, he lets go, allowing her to drop onto her butt while he grins down, mischievous.
come on, gilbert, have some fun. ❱
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)