Who: Damon Salvatore + Samandriel What: Damon has news, Samandriel has need of a friendly face When: 12/26 Where: Lux, Samandriel’s Rating: Medium, frank talks about vampirism and said vampire and angel getting a little snarly at each other. Things are all fine though. Status: Complete
It was a phenomenal test of Samandriel’s not so infinite patience at Lux that night. There were eyes on him. That wasn’t particularly unusual when one was a live musician at an expensive bar and the cut of his suit was absolutely perfect (Lucifer had a very, very skilled tailor and Samandriel was finally adapting to living the kind of life his fiancé provided.) However, that night was the first Lux had reopened after the big engagement and so the stares were filled with far more scrutiny than they had been before. Scrutiny and very loud thoughts that even focusing on the music couldn’t completely filter out. He liked it better when he was an object of potential lust as opposed to a target for jealousy.
It was hardly his fault that none of them had seen this coming, had been aware of the inevitability of Lucifer and Samandriel together the way that the staff and their friends had known. There was genuine warmth and congratulations from them, but they had seen the ways in which the two angels complemented and completed each other. Now there were people who had never even introduced themselves to Lucifer upset that Samandriel had taken him off the market or people who hadn’t done the same to Samandriel upset that they never got up the courage to try to steal him. That was, of course, distilling it down to its very entity and omitting the explicit language being mentally hurled at him.
The whole night was exhausting, and even the pianist (a lovely brunet named Christopher,) was looking a bit concerned for Samandriel’s wellbeing. Barefoot, he finished his song and was about to start another when he more felt and less saw Damon in the crowd. Turning away from where he was going to speak to his current musical partner, he met those blue-grey eyes and smiled. No doubt, everyone else saw it, and it might cause some minor scandal, but Samandriel couldn’t bring himself to care. A friendly face was more than needed that night. A quick word to Christopher and Samandriel tucked his violin under his arm to go see to Damon. He wouldn’t be returning to the stage, as it were, that night. “Lovely for you to join us,” he said charmingly, a smile that read far more ‘get me out of here’ than anything else. “Lucifer’s just in his office. Shall I escort you?” It was a lie, but it was a lie that wouldn’t be caught by those in earshot and an excuse for him to get the both of them the hell out of there.
When Damon entered the Lux, he saw the eyes turn to him. He knew now to quiet the thoughts in his head. He banished the questions, and the events of the holidays, save for the family holiday at Stefan’s, which was not very descriptive in the grand scheme. Samandriel caught him as soon as he entered the Lux, dressed in jeans, a blue shirt, and a dinner jacket, much the style of the older Salvatore brother. He hadn’t expected the other eyes, wondering who the striking, dark haired nobody was. How he had captured the angel’s attention almost instantly had started tongues wagging, not that Damon really cared.
He listened as the man approached him, not really sure if Lucifer was there or not, but he played along. “Sure,” he said. “I was hoping to congratulate the both of you.” He was within earshot of the people next to him, who may pass that along, regardless of the truth to it.
He followed the angel to the office, and arched a brow, finding it unoccupied. “So much for a meeting of the three of us. Were you expecting me?”
With a hand on Damon’s shoulder, he brought them both out of the office and to his and Lucifer’s home instead. “Not at all, but I’m not going to complain one bit at seeing you.” He walked over to the liquor cabinet. “Can I get you something?” His violin went on the stand for it on top of Lucifer’s piano as he moved, the bow laid gently next to it. It had clearly been a very rough night for the young angel.
“So now you are seen leaving the club with a tall, dark, and handsome mystery man. I can see page 6 now.” He wandered over and sat on the sofa. “Bourbon straight,” he said, crossing one leg over the other.
Damon watched the angel pour his drink, taking it from him when it was ready. “So - how was your birthday?” Damon had been aware that the proposal was coming. “Tell me about it.”
“I was seen going to my fiancé’s office, presumably to speak with him, with tall dark and sexy. To be fair, nobody actually saw us leave. They saw us go into the office and not come out again.” Which reminded him. Samandriel pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Lucifer to let him know he was at home with Damon. He returned with the drink and flopped down on the sofa next to Damon, still invading his personal space and not caring one bit about it.
He smiled as he looked down at his rings, something that balanced out rather well with the meteorite one on his other hand. The sun and the moon and the stars to Lucifer indeed. Poetic beauty. There was a reason he was marrying this particular man and that was just one of them. “He got the Monterey Bay Aquarium to open for a few hours for us on Christmas Day, and we wandered around for a while. I’d honestly expected it to come later, perhaps more in public than it was, but there we were watching otters floating around being adorable and...and he took a knee and I said yes.” He looked up at Damon, still smiling. “And then we went out to dinner and dancing and...the dancing was possibly the best thing ever. I’d been waiting far, far too long for that to happen.”
Damon smiled in spite of himself. Samandriel was cute as he explained the proposal that he had completely expected. He found their ‘open’ relationship interesting in a way that he couldn’t really explain with any degree of clarity. He inspected the ring, certainly different from the traditional diamond, but fitting for an angel. He wasn’t sure it stood out and screamed engagement ring, but maybe there was a point in that as well. “I decided on a classic diamond for Elena,” he said casually, sipping the bourbon in his hand. There was a small smirk on his face. The angel had planned it, after all, and the setting was perfect. “It probably wasn’t as elegant of a proposal, but it wasn’t in bed either.”
Samandriel smirked. “Hey, one of the strongest relationships I’ve known had a proposal in bed, don’t knock it.” He reached over and ruffled Damon’s hair. “Congrats, man. Glad I could help with that. You know she and I are going to have to get together and compare rings and have dreamy sigh talks about our weddings and the handsome men in our lives, right?” It was probably the best distraction from his own sudden notoriety that Damon could offer. Love...love was definitely something Samandriel could get behind. Children might not be in the cards for Damon and Elena (or they might somehow, but he doubted she would want to put her education on any kind of backburner like that unless she literally ended up with the same kind of eternity Damon was looking at and Samandriel was really getting not okay with that line of thinking,) but he could definitely see about making sure their relationship was fertile in other ways. For all that was worth. Or if they even wanted it. Probably they’d just take the option of angel flight anywhere in the world for their honeymoon instead.
“How many poor teenage hearts are gonna be broken when you get back to work and they find out you’re engaged?” he teased. Way better than thinking about how much interrogation he was going to face when he got back to school engaged.
“I can see you two doing that,” he said, arching a brow at Samandriel. The angel had become friends with his fiance, a bit different than his relationship with Lucifer, which was cordial at least. He had more of a feeling that they were trying to get a better sense of each other, as it was with the alphas. “I have to admit, her ring is gorgeous, and I’m sure she would love to wave it around.” He loved the idea actually. He liked hearing her claim him.
Damon still had to consider the future, especially his as a vampire. There were things that might not be possible, but he had some ideas on how to make it happen. There were visits to little rooms with sterile cups in his future, not that he was going to admit it unless necessary, but having some frozen fluids stored wasn’t a bad idea if Elena didn’t change with him. “So, what do you think of this whole marriage thing?”
Samandriel wasn’t the type to not become friends with someone, particularly if there was a chance things might happen with that someone’s significant other. It seemed best for everyone involved if all communication lines were open and honest. The devil you know, right? “My marriage or yours?” he asked, arching a brow right back at Damon.
“Gotta say, mine’s been strangely inevitable since the beginning of time.” In its own way of course. He still didn’t believe that this Lucifer was the exact same as his own world’s, but that made almost no difference to him. He looked up at the enlarged photo in its floating frame over the mantle. It was gorgeous, no matter that however it happened showed them in their current vessels and not their true forms. “It’s everyone else deciding that my marriage is their business that I’m taking issue with.” His attention flicked back to Damon’s steel blue eyes. “How’re you feeling about the whole marriage thing?” Damon could actually be ready to put a ring on it and settle down or it could just be a last ditch effort to keep something of his mortality. Samandriel wasn’t sure, but there was no doubt at all that he loved Elena.
Damon had to admit that he thought that friendship was odd, all things considered, but that also kept things in perspective. Maybe it kept them honest, so the saying went. He just smiled, keeping that thought to himself, although he was aware that the other could hear it by now. “I’m not sure it was fated unless the two of you have known each other for much long, but you know, Lucifer has a bad rap. The good God fearing people don’t really understand that it is more of an immortal, political disagreement. All they see is Hellfire and Brimstone, or that age difference of the vessels, and explaining it might get you straight to a padded cell.”
“As for me,” he shrugged, but it wasn’t an uneasy one. “She is the only woman for me really. I know that. I want her in that future. I want her to be immortal with me, even if I shouldn’t really say that out loud. She is that one.” He smiled, the smile that wasn’t pure sex, or pure tease, but one that was actually sweet and considerate.
“I didn’t say that anyone else needed to know. Just that it’s the truth. Everyone else can get the stars in eyes dreamy sigh disney version or whatever.” Samandriel paused for a beat, considering. “Honestly I’m not sure what version of the story we’re giving to people other than right now avoiding comment entirely, which is fair. Stressful, but fair. It’s...admittedly difficult for me to not just go invisible or fly out of situations right now.” There were rules, and if Samandriel stuck to them properly, he got rewarded. The reward was totally worth it. Fuck, he loved those glasses. He really, really loved those glasses.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting an actual forever with the person you love,” he said, focusing back on his friend and...well his other friend. “Very few of us are fortunate enough to have that option.” But again, if that wasn’t an inevitability for Elena in this life, then it was her choice. For others, well...forever wasn’t really forever was it? It was all anyone got: a lifetime. “I have a question for you, actually.”
Damon shrugged, chuckling a little at the disney sigh. He was pretty sure he wasn’t getting that. “Honestly, I can’t tell anyone around school, at least not yet. The girl was in my class last year. She just graduated. I can’t go broadcasting this, but I won’t deny it either.” It was quite a precarious situation that actually could get him fired, and as much as he complained, he enjoyed his job. “I don’t know if flying out of a situation would help though. It would just lead to more questions.”
“I’m not sure how it would work otherwise. I could watch her as a human. She would get older, have kids, and eventually die, and along the way, I would have to keep her safe, take care of her, and it isn’t bad, but eventually she would be gone, and I would have years left alone.” There was more depth in that than he cared to admit. Just in that statement, it said a lot about the man that was sitting on the sofa.
“What was the question?” He was very willing to jump away from the topic of eternity right now.
Damon might have been willing to jump away from the topic of eternity about then, but Samandriel wasn’t. He looked down at the bourbon in his friend’s hand for lack of a drink in his own to busy himself with. “When you’re...when you’re fully changed and...and if it’s something that he wants…” Samandriel had to lick his lips while he thought on his words. This felt so much harder than he thought it might.
“Three angels and a human far more prone to dying than most and...I’m not sure how well resurrection is going to work for any of us. Even then, jamming someone’s soul back in their body isn’t going to stop them from getting old and-” The young angel shook his head, invisible wings stretching and fidgeting at his back. “Dean,” he said softly. “If it was something both he and Castiel wanted, something that is at least a version of forever far longer than what he might have now...would you be willing to turn him?” It was an awkward enough question to be asking, but Samandriel didn’t want to see what might happen to Castiel when the only thing that mattered to him was permanently gone. Humans did that. Winchesters seemed to do it better.
“Sorry,” he said, dropping down to a whisper now. “That’s...probably really uncomfortable for you to think about.”
That was a question that Damon wasn’t expecting. He was expecting something like, ‘Do you still want to use me for an angelic feed bag?’ Being asked to change someone, even before he was a vampire himself, should have actually been expected, but it was who was actually asking that was the surprise.
He finished his drink and stood up to refill it himself. Damon and alcohol went hand in hand literally. “When I was talking to him, he seemed to not like vampires or other nasty creatures very much. We are the monsters that he kills. That would be a twist of events, actually wanting to be a vampire.” Castiel was an angel, though. Damon was facing the same thing with Elena. He would be immortal and she wouldn’t, and eventually, he would lose her. Although he wanted her to live a human life, there was something further down that wanted to say ‘fuck humanity and live forever with me.’ “Would he even want this?”
Samandriel watched Damon move, tracking him casually across the room. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but it seemed better to ask you first, to have something of an answer before I even considered approaching him with it.” Only one thing was really clear to Samandriel and that was that losing Dean would utterly destroy Castiel. Whenever it happened. Dean had to know that too.
“You might be what he hunted in the dreams, but I’m… I’m pretty sure he’s using that as an attempt to feel like at least somewhere he has a life worth living. His dearest friends are all kinds of beings these days. And...and I can see him going out of his way to protect you just because you’re important to me no matter what you are.” That was what Dean was in this life, protector. Not hunter. Samandriel let out a heavy sigh and got up smoothly. “It’s not an option yet anyway, so there’s time.”
The young angel walked over to Damon, one hand resting with a casual sort of intimacy at his hip while he debated whether or not he wanted his own prop. “And for the record,” he said against Damon’s ear, “I was under the impression that if you’d changed your mind on using me for your daily recommended source of vitamins and minerals, you’d say something.” The look he gave Damon as he pulled away again spoke volumes about their mutual knowledge regarding Damon’s vampiric instinct, Samandriel’s blood, and exactly where the angel wanted those fangs.
Damon stayed right where he was, holding position at the bar, turned towards the angel slightly. His attention had definitely shifted, very aware of all implications, even under the heavy question. The corner of his mouth turned up, a smirk that was perfectly developed on his face. “It will mean that he dies, no turning back, cannot be reversed.” He had watched himself turn someone in his dreams. He knew how it worked. “There is also a chance that he would lose control. I would do it though, if that is what he really wants.” He had been fairly cold when he changed Vicky, wanting a toy more than a companion, but there was also Isobel, who had sought him out, and all but begged him to change her.
His eyes shifted subtly, resting on the angel, cool and clear blue pools. His lips parted just enough to reveal those fangs that stood out in his mouth, adding a dark quality to a smile that was designed for seduction. It looked natural on him, not nearly as shocking as that should have been. In quite a few ways, he had already accepted the eventual transformation to immortality, and life filled with bloodlust. “If you decide you don’t want me to have it, you will let me know too. I have this feeling you would rather keep the streets safe from monsters.” Or he wanted to feel those teeth sinking in, and the transference from one to another. It was no surprise that so much vampire lore involved the intimacy of blood sharing, unlike feeding for the purpose of nourishment. Although Samandriel wasn’t a vampire, he was an immortal, and that left the translation somewhat of an unknown.
Samandriel had considered all the options of course. Dean could lose control. Dean could literally become the monster his other self hunted. Or, the more likely scenario would happen. Dean would beat it. He would out-stubborn everything telling him to be a wild, blood thirsty thing. He’d done it before, in a way. He’d beaten his alcoholism, survived all the hell that war threw at him, and was beginning to believe that he was worth saving. Winchesters were stubborn, tenacious beasts. Samandriel looked at Damon, arching a brow. “Archangels are fierce. They’re absolute. They are heaven’s most terrifying weapon. Dean Winchester was built to contain the strongest of them all. The very first of the host of heaven.” Just as Sam had been built to hold the second, the first of the fallen.
“I’ve seen what even the oldest of vampires can do.” And Dean had gone up against that and lived. Survived so much. The young angel looked away. “One day, Dean is going to remember that his younger brother let him get bit, let him get turned and that in the haze of wild savagery and horror movie instinct, with barely any chance even for the eldest among them of keeping a shred of their humanity, that he won.” He smirked. “There is nothing he can’t do. If he chooses that life for himself and you give it to him, he will not lose control.” He licked his lips. “This...it isn’t just about making sure that they have the best shot at forever together. It’s most of it, of course, but...if Dean becomes something other than human? Michael can’t touch him.”
Samandriel was many, many things. Imagination wasn’t just for the arts. It was a weapon as sure and deadly as heaven could offer. He could see so many different paths unfolding all at once, could picture exactly where certain actions would take them. “The apocalypse. Permanently canceled.” There were ways around it, of course. But they’d be complicated and difficult even for angel kind to manage. This was the way Samandriel could be a hero. Possibly the only way, really. He looked down again, still lingering in Damon’s personal space even while he tried to make himself somewhat smaller in it. He wasn’t fond of tipping his hand like that, of showing that he was far more than an artist with wings and a true form that Damon was possibly still terrified and disgusted by the idea of.
“I’ll tell you if I change my mind, but I doubt I will. Lucifer will give me a great many things, but pain is not one of them.” Despite the fact that Samandriel was certain he needed it to heal, much like the people he helped himself needed the bandage ripped off so to speak. He cupped Damon’s cheek, critical blue eyes on him. The vampire would give him what he needed and the angel would give in return. “Pretty sure this is the part where you smirk and call me a devious little shit.” A lopsided, almost smug grin pulled at the corner of Samandriel’s mouth before he pursed his lips in a brief, playful air kiss.
“So Dean and Sam were made to be vessels.” He had heard that before, but he had only assumed from another angel. He wasn’t really sure for who, or why really. “If they are a vessel, are they in their human form still. I mean, they don’t contain an angel the way your Alfie does, and why does Michael want to touch him?” He couldn’t really say he understood the way it all worked, or why. He knew the basics.
He studied the angels face, very comfortable being around him, even if he was the size of a skyscraper when not in his own contained form. “So if Dean turns into a vampire, then the apocalypse is cancelled, which might suck since I’m a huge fan of The Walking Dead, and I was really looking forward to killing zombies.” He smiled, turning his cheek into the hand. His eyes stayed just as focused. “Is that because he can no longer be that vessel if he is a vampire? How about Sam? Am I turning him too?”
Oddly, he didn’t object to this, any of it. He hadn’t put all the pieces together, but he felt there were other things going on, aside from the whole ‘Save Castiel from losing a spouse’ idea. “You are a devious little shit, or maybe a big shit.” The smirk turned into a grin. The angel could be a very sweet, somewhat confused kid, or maybe that was the vessel, and then there were times like these. He was actually quite an astute schemer, and that was a quality that Damon could appreciate.
Samandriel’s thumb brushed affectionately against Damon’s cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw as he pulled his hand away. “Because Dean is Michael’s vessel.” Of course Dean never said yes to Michael as long as Samandriel had been alive in his world and Michael was still in the pit with the other Winchester brother, but those were technicalities. Adam wouldn’t be able to contain Michael just as Nick hadn’t been able to contain Lucifer.
“You’re not turning Sam,” he said simply. “There’s no need for it. Sam was meant to be Lucifer’s vessel. Was Lucifer’s vessel.” Sam said yes. “But my fiancé isn’t the same Lucifer that was so keen on ending everything. I don’t know what his dreams will be whenever he does start dreaming, but it’s doubtful that they’ll include Winchesters. Honestly, I think whenever that path starts to unfold for him that whatever he is will be far, far more powerful than any of the rest of us.” The things Samandriel sometimes saw in other people would probably destroy a lesser being mentally.
“But that doesn’t account for the fact that statistically, the general angel population is coming from the same dreaming source as myself and Castiel. With Michael unaccounted for…” Samandriel sighed. “Heaven allowed the apocalypse to happen the first time, allowed it all to be kickstarted and...then things happened. Terrible things. Lucifer wouldn’t start the fight, but on the slightest off chance that we end up with a Michael here in this world...Michael would start it and Lucifer would finish it.” War in heaven and on earth like that was not an experience Samandriel wanted to live through a third time. “Vessels are human. Michael could not enter Dean’s body if Dean’s body is no longer human...or otherwise occupied by something other than his own soul.” But possession was very much off the table, demonic or alternately angelic or anything otherwise.
He tapped Damon’s shoulder lightly, still kind of smug. “Admit it, me being less Ravenclaw and more Slytherin totally turns you on.” What? It was a reference they’d at least both get. He turned and walked back towards the couch, pausing to look at his violin. “I’m good at combat,” he said softly. “Michael trained me himself.” That had been more to do with keeping a close eye on where Samandriel’s loyalties lay, but Michael had still done it. “I don’t care for it. War at least. There’s too many options, too much chaos and I’m still an angel of creation, not destruction.” His thumb ran along a string, tracing the taut line slowly, looking for burrs in the steel somewhere. He’d have to restring it soon. “Single combat is different. It’s one of those things that reminds me that I don’t have to be the angel who follows the rules, who gets caught and taken and then begs for rescue only to be killed by the one saving him.” He looked over his shoulder at Damon. “What’s blood sharing?” Damon had thought it rather loudly and it wasn’t something that Samandriel understood, but with those feelings of intimacy attached to it well...he couldn’t help but ask.
He knew the name Michael as one of an angel, but he didn’t know enough about angel lore to know which angel was which. He had the feeling that he would need to change that, find out who he was dealing with. That was definitely the smarter approach. The angels made his little immortality issue seem rather small, although this was a pretty vital role, and one that was probably unexpected by the others.
“So, I was right. If I turn Dean, Michael can no longer use his body, and therefore has no vessel. If Dean is willing, I will turn him. I mean, there is always a chance that Michael could arrive before I change completely, but we will work that out. Dean might not go along with it right away, but it’s up to you and Castiel to convince him.” He laughed lightly. “You are still a Ravenclaw, don’t worry, but I would accept you into my house. We can’t have the Krakken on the loose.” So it was a mix of pop culture, but Damon understood well enough.
“Does this get me out of purgatory?” he asked, tipping his head to the side, giving him an innocent look that was never quite innocent.
He refilled the glass in his hand and followed Samandriel to the sofa. He watched him stroke the violin strings, much like a lover’s touch. “Blood sharing,” he said, taking a softer tone, one that was more of a seductive purr. “According to vampire lore, when vampires share blood, it’s very intimate. It on an even plane with sex really. It’s probably why my teeth appear when I am horny as well as when I am hungry.” He was lightening the words with a light joke, like usual, but there were a lot of other implications there. “I don’t know if it’s the same between all immortals. It might be. It definitely isn’t about feeding though.”
Dean would be safe. Samandriel was sure of it. None of them were going to let anything happen to the hunter no matter how much the guy bitched and moaned about not needing to be protected. “Darling, I’m far more Slytherin than any of you would ever give me credit for.” He looked pointedly at Damon’s crotch briefly. “Please tell me you don’t shout ‘release the kraken’ when you take your pants off.” He’d do it. He was just silly enough to manage it at least the once.
He turned away from his instrument and sat next to Damon on the sofa. Well, more laid with his head in the pre-vampire’s lap. Because he could. There were other implications there, ones that had been staring Samandriel in the face mere moments before. Those fangs. The pair of them together. It was dangerous and they were waiting. Right? Right. “And you think about that with me?” he asked, looking up at him. Of course Damon did, that was kind of obvious, but confirmation was better than possibly putting the pieces together wrong. “All in control there, giving a piece of yourself as you watch smugly with my mouth on your wrist?” It would be somewhere where Damon could watch. Samandriel was under the general impression that his vampire friend very much liked observing the conquests he was making. Damon laughed, allowing the head in his lap, turning his fingers around in the dark hair. “I think that when it comes down to it, your moral code wins. Slytherins, not that I am that familiar, are really only loyal to themselves, and possibly their family or partner. The side they take is their own.” He arched a brow thoughtfully, keeping the smile in place.
“I think that will come,” he admitted, not really sure of the whole process. “I think that when I turn, blood may be simply based on the need to feed. I will need some control first.” He wasn’t so arrogant to think that it wasn’t going to be difficult to resist shredding the human population because he could. He had to adjust to his powers and abilities, and the need that would certainly control him early on. He had watched Vicky, and then Caroline when they turned, and it certainly wasn’t pretty.
“However,” he continued, “after that control, yes. I don’t know if you want to drink from me, but we could try it. You may be the first angel to try that, but I would like to see it.” He paused for a moment, “And no, I don’t say that.”
Samandriel closed his eyes, definitely relaxing while Damon played with his hair. That was more than the best, honestly. For now. In a world where they really couldn’t be pushing each other too hard on the fang/cock teasing. “What part of making as certain as I can be that I don’t lose Lucifer again or that Castiel doesn’t destroy himself trying to bring Dean back isn’t me looking out for my own?” he asked, cracking an eye open. “Same goes for giving you as much of my blood as you need.” The other angels, Dean, even Damon and Elena were people that Samandriel had decided were his and he was going to do what he had to. It might not be pretty and it might not be ethical, but it would get done.
He closed his eyes again to return to enjoying those fingers. It was a better option. “I’ll just straddle the line between both houses. It’ll be fine.” Just don’t ever call him a Gryffindor. He tilted his head to just barely graze his teeth against the inside of Damon’s wrist. “Still pretty sure that one of these days I’m gonna stop being a temptation for you.”
“You do the right things for the right reasons,” he smiled. “You don’t care as much for duty to whatever God you serve, but you do defend those that are close to you. Me - do you want to know what my dream self did?” He shook his head, thinking of the best comparison that he could come up with. “My brother’s best friend was in town. I had been doing a bunch of shit, killing people randomly, making it look like Stefan did it, and suddenly the police were catching up.” His eyes shifted a little uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure if Elena or Lexi had this dream. “Anyway, I told the sheriff that Lexi was the vampire. I put a stake in her back and handed her to the police to cover myself.” He took a drink, “Welcome to Slytherin.”
“Nice to see that you want to try it.” His voice remained low, rumbling. “I don’t think that temptation will go away. I like it right where it is.”
The only answer to that was to keep right on invading Damon’s space. He shifted up smoothly, moving with a kind of grace he possibly had no right possessing for how much he hated his dance lessons as a child. Straddling Damon’s hips was easy, natural even. Attention grabbing in a way that just laying there being petted wasn’t going to manage. His fingers slid into dark hair so he could pull the vampire’s head back and hold his gaze. “You are not your dream self,” he said firmly. “You can and will learn from his mistakes because you are better than he is.” He closed his eyes and loosened his grip just enough to press foreheads together, to let noses brush and to share the air with him.
“Let the Ravenclaw be clever enough to see that for you, maybe trust his judgement just a bit.” Close. Samandriel really, really liked closeness. It was one of those carryovers from both his human life here and his dreams, both so starved for affection, ignored more often than not. The people he cared about now tended to get an overabundance of contact from him, and Samandriel thrived on it.
“The temptation will go away,” he whispered, so frustratingly close to those lips and fangs. “Either you’ll act on it and perhaps enjoy it or perhaps be disappointed or you never will and will eventually accept that. It will change though. No matter if either of us wants it to or not. Life does that.” Time did that. The bourbon he could taste even at this distance in the space between them was doing that.
The contact was something they had in common. Damon craved it the same way that Samandriel had. It had been true for as long as he could remember. He could be angry, flying off in a rage, and that contact would instantly quiet the storm. It had been the problem when Katherine came on to him. Even drunk, he couldn’t say no, mistaking that touch for something more genuine. He did have more control now, wasn’t so easily swayed by those impulses.
He stayed where he was for a minute, then turned them, putting Samandriel’s back against the cushions, hovering above with demanding blue eyes. “Don’t apologize to me for my dream version. As rough as he is, I get him. I’m not afraid to turn into him. I welcome it. I should be horrified, but I’m not. Maybe there is a thing or two that makes me want to punch myself, but I recognize me in there.” Lucifer might not be the same, but he thought there were definite similarities between Samandriel and his dream self. The differences were in the choices they make. “I’m not better, and I know I shouldn’t want it, but I do. Except for maybe the whole issue of my death, I want to get this transformation over with.”
The one who hovered there, braced against the cushions with strong arms was more vampire Damon than human Damon, a glimpse of where he was heading. His fangs stuck out prominently, and the wrinkles around his eyes had taken on a black quality, giving his face a more menacing look, one that was ready to rip into someone’s flesh, and then it was over. The wrinkles went away, and he straightened up. Both dream and human Damon had a lot of pride, and a very deep need for affection just as they were. He adjusted himself and sat, taking a drink of the amber liquid, looking irritated, not entirely sure of anything in his head at the moment.
Menacing, yes, but not something Samandriel was afraid of. He let his scolding sink in for a moment, seething while Damon took a sip of his drink. It wasn’t until the vampire set his glass down again (because it was Lucifer’s and Samandriel didn’t want to be responsible for it being broken,) that the angel let himself retaliate for that angry little lecture.
He grabbed the front of Damon’s shirt and, not giving a single fuck for the angles they were at, shifted to pull him roughly close. Angelic strength was not something to play around with, and Damon needed to understand that for all Samandriel craved surrender and didn’t care for combat, he wasn’t going to lie back and take anything. His eyes had gone white-blue, almost glowing as he dragged Damon into his space again, wings spread out angrily behind him.
“You are going to be better than he is, because you’re not going to be the dumbshit that gets caught and has to throw some other vampire under the bus for it,” he growled. “If you’re feeding off people who aren’t just me and Elena, you’re going to be scattered about it. No patterns. No hitting the same bars in succession. Fuck, if I have to fly you out of state on a regular basis just to keep hunters off your trail, I will. But you will be better than him.” He was livid, really, and just a hint of terrified as his eyes shifted back to normal. “I am not losing you. I’m not losing any of you. I’ve lost too damn much already. Do you get that? I don’t need you to be good. I’m the Good one here. I need you to be alive even if alive is technically dead.” He wasn’t letting go of Damon’s shirt, wasn’t really sure if he could.
Damon was a little shocked. Blue eyes widened, but he didn’t push back. By the time Samandriel was done, Damon was smiling again. “I thought you were insulting my dreamy vampire mojo.” His hands moved to the angel’s, whose were gripping his shirt. He covered them, but didn’t try loosening the grip. His teeth skirted over his lower lip. “You are pretty hot when you are pissed. Seriously though, I won’t go munching on the townsfolk who are just trying to go about their lives. Yes, I am a little more rational than my dream self.”
He could definitely see himself using both Samandriel and Elena as his sources, even though he would have to very light on his fiance. Samandriel could handle a lot more, and take no damage. He could actually picture leaning up, biting into his neck, into the artery that contained the fluid that would nourish him. He had no fascination with vampirism before the dreams began, but now those instincts were very prominent, or maybe it was because he was enjoying being manhandled quite a bit.
Samandriel’s gaze lingered on Damon’s mouth, on those fangs and his own probably inappropriate want. He didn’t know if the thoughts belonged to Damon or if they were his own, guard completely let down in his anger. But he could practically feel the vampire’s breath on his neck, the teasing drag of fangs against skin before a bite. Damon would tease. Samandriel had absolutely no doubt of that.
“Shut up,” he said, still running on anger and instinct and too many hormones. One hand sank roughly into Damon’s hair, the other still on his shirt as he kissed him hard. It wouldn’t last long. He was almost sure of that, but he wasn’t thinking of anything but the moment and not losing his friend to some fang-sure stupid bravado.
Damon knew that Samandriel had the vision. He had given it deliberately. It was a tease, but it could also be a reality, of which they were both very aware. Why he did it, he wasn’t sure, but he definitely got a reaction out of it, and it was the one he had nearly expected. He returned the kiss just as hard, nipping a bit with fangs, yet not enough to draw blood - yet. He pulled back with the same smile, blue eyes lit up.
“Do you feel better now?” he asked, because he did feel better. It defied explanation, but he did feel better than he had all evening. There were answers to unasked questions that he was keeping carefully masked by everything else.
When the kiss broke, Samandriel was breathing a bit heavier. “If you’re going to qualify massive amounts of vampire induced sexual frustration as better, then yeah.” That fucking mouth. Samandriel wasn’t often prone to swearing overmuch, but Damon could definitely push him to it. Honestly, he did kinda feel better. This was a huge improvement from the stares and anxiety that plagued him earlier.
He stole another brief kiss, gentler, but no less intense before he let his hand uncurl from Damon’s shirt and slip out of his hair. Wings disappeared again as he stopped using them to hold his sideways balance and flopped backwards on the couch. The effect Damon had on him was nothing less than obvious. “We are so fucked, aren’t we?” There wasn’t any other way to put that. Anything more polite simply wouldn’t have suited.
“I think I qualify that as better. I wouldn’t want you getting engaged and forgetting all about your fascination with the living dead.” Behind the joke was another underlying truth. Damon liked the connection, whatever it was. He didn’t like to lose people either, especially those he was close to. He didn’t really want that to change. At all.
He reached for his glass again, physical effects not lost on him. He swirled the liquid, then took the rest down. “We are pretty fucked, yeah. I’ve always been pretty fucked, so this is kind of normal for me.” Part truth, part lie - while he felt his life had been pretty sketchy at best, this was new. He supposed the effect was the same.
The young angel closed his eyes, trying to find something approaching focus. “Trust me,” he said, still flopped and eyes still closed. “Once I see you safely back to your car, there will very likely be some very intense solitary shower time in my future.” One fueled by the connection between them and whatever images he skimmed off Damon.
The irony of talking about jerking off on that couch wasn’t lost on him, of being nearly in this exact same position the first night Lucifer took him home, stripped bare and touching himself for his archangel’s pleasure while Lucifer sat exactly where Damon was now and watched him. Fully clothed and smirking. That very vivid memory helped absolutely nothing.
“I can find my own way to my car,” Damon said, standing up. It was time. They walked on a very fine line, and they weren’t staying on that line all that well, seeming to straddle either side. He was pretty sure that the last thing the angels had expected was the intrusion of a blue eyed vampire. It really was pretty funny on the surface. Angels and vampires were legends a few short months ago.
He took a few steps over to the angel with his eyes closed, reaching down to touch his face. His hand stayed, lingering, absorbing that attention even in this strange form. “Have a good shower.” The smirk was back in place, answers given.
Samandriel looked up at him from his back. He turned his head and kissed the inside of his wrist before he did the kind thing and brought him back across town to the office at Lux. The angel didn’t linger. The silence had been good night enough.