|Auld Lang Syne my ass
Author: duchessofdisaster PM
Damon/Elena/Stefan OT3. Slashy so published under Defan. Very naughty. Choosing is boring. Damon's never been a fan. He's entirely keen to make sure Elena knows she doesn't have to choose either.Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - Damon S. & Stefan S. - Words: 2,984 - Reviews: 8 - Favs: 28 - Follows: 8 - Published: 01-02-13 - Status: Complete - id: 8868880
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
WARNINGS: Slash, incest, extreme naughtiness.
Written for the Author2Author exchange at tvdmixing, a LiveJournal community.
Original prompt by kick_galvanic:
This is OT3 - I prefer brothercest...but am open to all combinations of the triangle. The Salvatore Brothers and Elena are throwing a New Year's Eve has been working on her resolutions. Somehow the brothers come into possession of the list...the list can by YOUR interpretation and make it hot as you like,but one of her resolutions must be about her desire to be honest to friends and family about the OT3 relationship she is in with Damon and Stefan...
I hope it didn't veer too far from what you wanted, dear! Happy 2013.
How it started, that was the kicker.
Damon pushed Stefan against the wall, hands working urgently to get his brother's pants open, pressing ferocious kisses against Stefan's mouth, aching to bite and suck and taste.
Stefan resisted, as he sometimes did, but not for long, never for long, not with Damon's able hands upon him, with Damon's lips at his throat. Pulled under, he was, always, by love and duty and brotherhood and a bone-deep ache for home until he was pulling Damon closer, kissing Damon's laughing mouth.
"It has to stop," he muttered, with his hands tangled in Damon's hair, coming in hot jets in his brother's mouth. They were the worst of bad habits, and incurable of each other, and Stefan knew then what he always knew, that in a few moment he'd be on hands and knees on the bed, begging Damon to just fuck harder.
And so he did. "Harder, Damon," he said, and Damon went harder, their bodies sweat-slick and just a touch past exertion's limit, Damon uttering the filth Stefan so loved to hear, reminding him of the days when they were human and terrified of Giuseppe's lash – though not enough to make them stop touching, in Damon's room, late at night, with the household asleep, or down by the edge of the creek on the back acre, in the sunshine in summer, urgent and wanting and needing, tasting and touching.
(Damon often wondered if that was what had drawn Katherine in; the scent of brothers who could not stop touching.)
So it was, on Damon's big bed, just a few days before Christmas, Stefan with his hands bunched in the sheets, fucking back hard against Damon's hips, and trying, trying to say "we have to stop. It has to stop. Elena. Can smell… oh fuck Damon just a little harder," and Damon, lovely obliging brother that he was went just that bit harder, balls slapping over Stefan's perineum until without the need for any other touch Stefan came all over the bedspread, timed to Damon's final thrusts.
When they collapsed, Damon lay over his brother's back, his teeth deep in the meat of Stefan's shoulder, drinking lazily, unwilling to move. Inhaling Stefan's scent.
"It has to stop," Stefan said again, but with no real force to it.
"Maybe she'll be into it," Damon purred.
"Don't be a dick."
"You love my dick," Damon said, rolling away at last, fingering gently over Stefan's leaking hole.
Stefan sighed. "You know we're fucked up, right," he said. Not a question.
Damon answered by kissing him, long and hard and sweet, until Stefan shut up. On any other afternoon they might have napped like that for a while, had Elena not shown up, opened Stefan's bedroom door, and burst into tears.
So, yeah. That was how it started.
Stefan was so horrified, so ashamed, that he hid in the basement. Damon suspected that he might actually be flogging himself, in a literal sense; Giuseppe's Jesuit roots had left a greater impression on Stefan than they ever had on Damon.
Damon, more pragmatic, more practical, and with a ridiculous streak of optimism, had climbed into the Camaro, top down, and followed the scent of body spray, brake fluid and self-righteous rage out onto the highway until he found Elena's car parked out by the falls.
He slipped behind her, wrapping arms from behind, pulling her tight. She remained wooden in his arms, even when he pressed a kiss to her throat and purred.
Damon slipped his lips further down, over her shoulder. "You went to tell Stefan you'd made a huge mistake and you want him back, blah blah blah. Am I warm?" Damon thumbed over Elena's nipple, making her moan, making her relax, press back against him.
"I… don't know. Damon…" he slipped a hand up into her shirt.
"Oh, I know. I get it, really, I do, hard to choose, when I have the brooding bad boy thing going, and eyes that make your panties flee, and Stefan looks like just exactly who you'd bring home to mom, if you. You know." He rubbed a sure palm over the crotch of Elena's jeans and grinned when she twisted. "Choosing sucks. Choosing is boring."
Elena turned in his arms. "But it's the right thing to do."
"The right thing to do. We're vampires, 'Lena, the right thing to do is take off our rings and burn to a crisp at dawn. Take your jeans off."
She looked like she wasn't sure why she was doing it – but she did it, as Damon pulled his cock from his jeans (underwear? Too time-consuming, why bother with it) and stroked himself hard. Elena straddled his waist, lowering herself onto him, and gave a squeak when Damon took over the pace from there, bouncing her on his balls, his thumb on her clit, until tears stained her eyes and she came with an exuberant shout.
She lay over Damon's body, bare-assed and heart warmed, while he carded through her hair.
"We're vampires," Damon said again.
"And that makes… this okay."
"No," Damon said, pulling her even tighter. "What makes it okay is that I love him. And he loves me. Maybe we've got a screw loose, or two. I don't know, I don't care, all I know is that it's who we are, it's what we do, and since we're in love with you, too, things are coming up Salvatore for the first time in a hundred and forty six years. So tell me again, Elena, why is choosing a thing you have to do?"
And she'd dressed, and they had gone back to the boarding house.
Down in the basement, where Stefan's face was broken and tear-stained and a dead rabbit lay at his feet, they talked, and Elena curled into Stefan's lap and promised she could do this, or try at least, and Damon thought again that he had never seen her so alive.
Elena loved her body.
It was something they'd learned separately, Damon supposed, but together, with twice the hands on her, they learned it fresh, as she whimpered their names and begged them for just a little more sugar in her bowl, and touched herself when they needed a moment to relearn each other over again, Stefan's face buried in Damon's crotch while Damon kissed Elena, sweet and messy.
If only they'd lived in a little cabin a million miles away, in the forest, in deepest Africa or a creepy one room shack on a tiny island in the bayou, maybe it could have stayed their business. But one day Caroline stormed around to the boarding house to yell, and the smell of Elena made her yelp, instead, and cover her mouth.
"It's okay, Care," Elena said, trying to hush her.
"It's deeply fucked up, is what it is," Caroline answered. "Elena. This is just. No."
And Damon curled his lip and pulled the door wider and ushered Caroline inside. "Reserve judgment, Caroline."
"This is… no. I will not reserve judgment, because…" And Stefan emerged from the corridor looking ten years younger, his face serene, and he never looked like that, not ever. Caroline sighed, and studied her toes.
Elena drew herself to full height. "Damon has a point, you know… we can't keep judging ourselves on human moral codes. We're not… we live for hundreds of years, Care, I think we have to do what feels right, instead of what… we think… other people think is right." And Stefan slung his hand over Elena's shoulder, and kissed her hair, and Damon, because he was Damon, and wanted to push, always push, kissed Stefan' throat, and Caroline had to bite her lip.
Damon smirked. "Let your freak flag fly, Caroline. Your life could be a lot more interesting if you stopped pretending to fight with Tyler. You and Hayley… I do love a sassy blonde and a bitchy brunette together. Mm-hmm."
Caroline's mouth dropped open. "I have to go," she said, and Elena grabbed her arm.
"Will you still come to the party?"
Caroline looked up, caught the look passed between Stefan and Damon and felt herself soften, a little. "I'll come. And I won't say a word. But Elena…"
"I'm sure," Elena said. "I don't know what to tell you."
Damon knew Elena wasn't writing in a diary any more, so when twice between Christmas and New Year's Damon spotted her writing in a cloth-bound book, his curiosity got the better of him. And so it was that while she was out getting something waxed or plucked or polished he settled himself by the picture window with the tiny book and began to flip through. Stefan found him (of course he found him) and did a considerable amount of shouting, about privacy and other dull things.
"Would you shut up?"
"Diaries are private," Stefan said.
"Yes. They are where you put your most private thoughts. So wouldn't you kind of like to know what we're doing to drive her nuts? Personally I'm a massive fan of not driving her off."
"We're not driving her nuts."
"Sit down, Stefan. Anyway, it's not a diary, it's a notebook, apparently. Will you sit down? Listen to this. I'll give you a blow job in the shower if you just chill out for five fucking minutes," so Stefan sat by the picture window too.
"I don't want to know what it says."
"It's her new year's resolutions. Get 2400 on the SATs, lose five pounds…"
"She doesn't need to -"
"I was joking. She wants Manolo Blahniks. Is that a real resolution?"
Stefan frowned, pulling Damon's feet into his lap. "Is that a poet?"
"Shoes, dumbass. Well, we can manage that. She wants to go overseas…"
"Soon as she finishes school, we'll take her to Europe. You remember the…"
"Hotel in Paris where we made the bedhead punch through the plaster? How could I forget, brother?" And Stefan crawled into Damon's lap, biting and licking his way into Damon's mouth.
"Yeah. Your going to love this." He groaned, as Stefan took his already straining cock from his pants and began to lick lightly over the tip. "She wants to be 'open and honest with her closest friends' about her relationship with us. Shocking, I know, but don't you dare stop sucking."
Stefan didn't stop.
So a party, then, only small, only the nearest and dearest. But small or no, why not have the most lavish party, the most ridiculous cocktails? Why not fly a Spanish chef and his three handsome assistants from New York to cater? Damon was feeling expansive. Never in his life had he had such luck, sharing a bed with Stefan every night, Elena cradled between them. Damon was sort of too pleased with himself to even bother disliking anyone, these days. Promised himself he wouldn't make a single joke about bestiality to Tyler.
He'd even arranged to have Elena's stupid shoes delivered in time for her to wear them to the party.
"I want to tell them." Morning of the 31st of December, and Elena woke first, as she always did. She was tugging gently on the inky curls at the nape of Damon's neck.
"Fine by me," Damon said, yawning, pinching lightly at a perfect pink nipple.
"I think you should wait," Stefan said. "Not everyone's Caroline."
"I don't like lying."
Damon shrugged. "Like I said. Fine by me."
Stefan groaned. "You're not exactly practical, Damon," he argued, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"I'm telling them," Elena insisted, one last time.
"And if they try to burn the boarding house down?"
Elena yawned, and rolled over, straddling Stefan's hips, rubbing herself against him until his sleepy cock woke up and stood at attention, lowering herself onto him. "Then we'll leave Mystic Falls and we'll never come back," she whispered, biting at Stefan's lip until she had drawn blood. "Won't we, Damon."
Damon raised himself onto on elbow to watch. "Like I said," he said. "Fine by me."
As Elena decorated the house, Damon and Stefan arranged her shoes and the thick pile of travel catalogues on the dining table, and called out to her. She screamed, first at the 'utterly perfect perfection' of the pointy red shoes, and the luscious paper of the travel brochures, and then at the invasion of privacy. Damon kissed her silent. "Can't blame us for wanting you to have it all, Elena. Eternity is a long time to keep a girl interested."
"I'm telling them. Tonight. So if you want to make sure the extinguishers are full…?"
Damon only kissed her, slapped her ass and said he was on it, and off he wandered to find something expensive to drink, instead.
At half past eleven, that was when it was.
Damon was feeling remarkably chilled out about the whole thing, really, figured either they would all cope with it or he'd get to relocate to a city with more than one bar. Either was just fine by Damon, as long as he got to keep them both. Truth be told, his only concern was that Elena was about to get her little heart broken. Multiple orgasms often helped with such things. They'd be okay.
Her hands were shaking, when she held her glass of champagne and said "I've chosen, and in the end, I chose… not to choose. And you can hate me, and you can judge me, but this is what I want." Stefan with his shoulders rolled in a little way put a hand on Elena's waist, and Damon sprawled in an armchair nearby.
And gosh, there was a lot of blinking.
And Bonnie, in the end, shrugged and said "well, whatever." And Jeremy shot her an appalled look and Bonnie shook her head and said "What? It's not like they're going to give birth to little mutant baby vampires, you know. I just don't even think this is the weirdest thing I've heard today, let alone all year."
And Jeremy said "Over my dead body," and Damon shrugged and declared that as Jeremy's dead body would solve rather a lot of their problems, so Jeremy went quiet, and hugged his sister, and said as long as she was happy.
And Matt said he'd rather not think about it, and poured more champagne.
And Tyler said nothing, just opened his eyes a little wider, and blinked some more. His mouth was open and Damon hoped and hoped that a blowfly would go in there, but it didn't, and Tyler picked at lint on his jeans.
So it was that when midnight came around and the ball had dropped (making Damon, who was, after all, Damon laugh like a twelve year old and wonder aloud when the same thing might happen to Tyler – "get it, Tyler? It was a swipe at your masculinity") and the grandfather clock in the hall had chimed twelve, the whole thing was near-forgotten, by those who preferred not to think too much about it.
In a darkish corner of the library, Damon took Stefan's jaw in his hand and kissed him, just lightly. "Love you, brother," he said, and on tiptoes, Elena kissed Stefan as well, a little more hungrily. Damon gripped her around the waist then and pulled her closer, kissed her, too, making her whimper and declare quietly that she wanted them all to leave, so her men could strip her clothes away and make love to her in front of the fireplace. And because he was allowed to, Damon pulled their heads all close together for an improbable, awkward threeway kiss, which did not go unnoticed.
"Well that's my cue," Caroline said. "Bonnie, do you still want…"
"Yes, lift home. Good, yes," but Bonnie looked rather like she would have preferred to stay, watch, take notes. Still she got uneasily to her feet, and at the door she gave Elena a tight hug, and didn't let Caroline comment further, and for that Elena was grateful, and even Damon was impressed.
Later, when they were sated, and the sun had come up, and the snow had begun to fall, Damon smiled over the bodies of his brother and his best girl. He tucked a strand of Elena's hair behind her ear and traced Stefan's eye socket with his finger.
"Happy new year," he murmured, and Elena smiled, and opened her eyes.
"Here's to a couple of hundred more," Stefan replied, and let his eyes close again.