Dumat: The Dragon of Silence (nearestvessel) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-02-02 21:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, damon salvatore, samandriel |
Who: Damon Salvatore & Samandriel
What: Dream comfort.
When: backdated to January 20
Where: Damon’s head, not Damon’s head
Rating: High. Trigger warning for mentions of torture
Status: Complete
Healing was harder than it looked when there was nothing obvious to be done for it. There was no blood, nothing that needed bandaging or stitching. It was painful, ripping himself apart emotionally just to heal the scars he had buried so deeply. If this whole experience taught him anything it was that he was allowed to hurt even for the things he was blaming himself for. He didn’t know if he’d managed to save the world when the wrong Lucifer was here, but he thought some part of that had made up for the damage the fake him had done.
He’d taken time off of work, though that wasn’t going to be forever. It was work or school, and frankly, putting beautiful music into the world wasn’t something he felt up to. Faking his way through AP Calc was way easier.
Going back to not sleeping was easier. It felt safer to be able to watch Lucifer while he slept to make certain that the other man stayed himself and wasn’t suddenly replaced again, awareness lightly tuned to angel radio to ensure Castiel was still there. Samandriel took what comfort he could find. Still, it was harder than he let on. Keeping track of time was harder than he remembered the last time he’d given up on the unnecessary luxury of sleep. The dim light hit the shadows of the room the wrong way and Samandriel could’ve sworn he saw a ghost of that other Lucifer or perhaps Crowley smirking at him. It wasn’t there, but it was enough to spook him, to send him fleeing the room.
What he hadn’t expected was to end up in Damon’s place, to find himself staring at his friend and once lover (perhaps more than once. The future wasn’t a thing Samandriel dealt with much other than imagining what might happen.) Alone. In bed alone had to be a rare thing for his vampire. It was strange, almost surreal. The angel was torn between waking him up and entering his dreams.
Dreams seemed a safer option. Damon could touch him freely there and not worry about consequences. Samandriel just wasn’t sure if it would give him the comfort he needed. Then again, what could it really hurt? A deep breath and he did exactly that. Damon could be mad at him later for it.
Damon had the bed to himself, thanks to Elena wanting to spend time with Jeremy. He didn’t have the most peaceful nights when he was alone, especially not lately. He wasn’t entirely sure why. There was nothing that was particularly wrong, other than his transformation. The rest - well, there was a minor issue of guilt, but it was something he dealt with. He didn’t regret what happened, as he had already accepted it as inevitable, but he was guilty as charged. Damon always managed to find a way to fuck up.
He did sleep, drifting from scene to scene in a dream for some time. He stood on the beach, several years younger, talking or rather, listening to a man in front of him. “Stefan could have gotten hurt, Damon. How could you be so careless? You are just lucky that he only got stung by a jellyfish instead of being swept away in the undertow. You should really be more responsible. You are supposed to set the example.”
The man who turned from the scene was his older self, walking away as his younger self was berated by his father, much the way he had taken it his entire life. His mind walked away, done with the conversation the minute it started. The elder walked to a sand dune, sitting heavily on it, unaware that he was being watched, unaware that it was a dream, one that repeated often, revealing a rare glimpse of the past.
It was strangely sad how similar Damon’s dreams were to Dean’s, only Damon had the good sense to walk away while Dean just stood there and took it. He had no idea how he was going to look to Damon in the dreams, what the man might see him as, but that didn’t stop Samandriel from settling lightly down next to him.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he should be saying if anything. Instead, he decided to exert what influence he had to bring about a particularly gorgeous sunset over the ocean. It wouldn’t be long before it was night in the dreamscape, and Samandriel hadn’t exactly considered what (if any) of Damon’s demons might be hiding there. “I thought you could use some beauty.” It seemed fair enough.
Damon seemed oblivious as the sunset came in, burnt oranges and yellows, setting into the sea. It was possibly his favorite vision. The rest of the scene shifted and vanished, leaving the two of them, the angel, and the pre-vampire. “Where have you been?” he said, turning his head slightly. Samandriel had been in dreams occasionally, very familiar to Damon even in this state. He wasn’t as guarded, as the dreams often held his true personality, minus the natural defensiveness.
“Nevermind what you just saw. The man is an asshole. Not worth it.” He was dismissive as always, but there were scars that were written heavily on the man, more visible now than they usually were.
“Am I expected in these parts?” the angel asked, tilting his head to look at Damon instead of the sky he was painting by sheer Will alone. “That almost makes me feel like I should show up here more often just so I’m not letting you down.” While Damon still slept and dreamed, that was. He wasn’t sure if vampires did. He supposed there was only one way to find out. They’d have to cross that bridge when they got to it.
“Doesn’t matter, I’m here now. That’s what counts.” Damon’s father would be whatever he was and Samandriel would be alright with that so long as he was not anywhere near them. He stretched out his legs in front of him, glad to see his feet were still bare. Some things needed to be consistent. It wouldn’t feel right if they weren’t. “Though I could go and smite him if it’d make you feel better.”
Damon looked confused for a minute, like he had been expecting another response. “You come from time to time,” he said. “My guardian angel, or devil on my shoulder.” It was a strange admission, but one that said that the angel had been in a few dreams. Damon couldn’t quite remember the dreams, but accepted the fact that it was true. The clouds vanished unnaturally overhead, giving way to a few stars, just piercing what was left of the daylight.
“Next time you can smite him, and the time after that, and the time after that. Next time he calls me worthless, and a disappointment, you can smite him twice.” The sarcasm was still there, but there was an honesty in his words and a hurt in his eyes, and still he knew that someone was there on his side. That was a nice change. “Are you here to rescue me?”
Samandriel supposed the initial logic was sound, at least for Damon’s dreams. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being the man’s unconscious guide when it wasn’t truly him, but what would the point of dreams be if there wasn’t some shred of truth to him. He stretched a wing out to nudge Damon closer, finding it far easier to manage here than he did in the waking world. Dream logic accepted him for what he was far more easily than the waking world tended to.
“I was hoping you could rescue me, actually,” he said, looking over at his vampire. It was possibly better for Damon’s too fragile sense of worth that he actually came here with some purpose in mind and avoided even acknowledging his father’s toxic faults.
Damon’s head was swimming, somewhere between dream and a knowledge that he couldn’t quite grasp. He let the wing wrap him, shielding him. He trusted it. Even his dream self didn’t find it shocking. “How am I supposed to save you?”
His brain seemed to shift, away from the scene with the ebb and flow of dreams, leaving that scene around them. His eyes had drifted shut and reopened, sharper than they were before. His fangs were present, and his voice was deeper, instead of sad and wistful. His subconscious was hiding the fragile ego, in favor of the stronger one. “Wait, what are you doing here again?” he asked with the new dream version in control.
Samandriel’s wings snapped back close to his body, watching his friend become a predator right before his eyes. “Not being hunted,” he said firmly. “I need time to heal before I can offer you that again.” Samandriel got up, angry and ready to lash out in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to be in the waking world. The scene around them might have stayed the same, but that didn’t mean that Samandriel wouldn’t walk along the sand like it was stone instead of something that might have the slightest thought of shifting under his weight.
Damon stood after he did as the sunset shifted to night. “Where are you going?” he asked. His brain was trying to tell him something in that space between sleep and waking. “Wait, wait, wait.” He was in front of him instantly. “Who is hunting you? Where?” Even as a vampire, he was a protector, at least of those he cared about, and a pretty rabid one at that.
The one who stood before him now, was the Damon from his own dreams, the fully transformed vampire infused with the human, the one who he would become sooner rather than later. Between the doses of dream life, and memories that he would rather forget, Damon dreamed of this. He was actually looking forward to it, even if he wasn’t completely aware at the moment.
“You are,” Samandriel said, unafraid of the vampire in front of him. “Or possibly are about to start hunting me. I’m telling you I can’t right now. If you want blood, you can have it, but I...I need to be treated like something fragile and human and not like what I am.” Even angels had their moments. It would do them all better to remember that.
“No, I’m telling you that I will gladly show whoever did this to you exactly what my fangs can do when I’m pissed,” he told him. His eyes were a sharper blue, angry, but not at the angel. In spite of Damon’s ego as both a human, and a vampire, he wasn’t willing to sacrifice any of his friends, or stand in the background and watch the fight, even if it came to a stronger vampire, or whatever the offending being was.
“Satan,” Samandriel said, looking up at Damon as stubbornly as he could. “And if you think the first of the fallen wouldn’t unmake you as soon as you even thought about lifting a finger against him, you’d be wrong.” He didn’t like standing still, so he started walking again. Damon could follow or he could just stand there and bluster about it.
Comfort was one thing that Damon never was very good at, except with Elena it seemed. With that, he seemed to get lucky and be more hit than miss. “Sam,” he said, “dammit Sam.” He was back in front, creating a nice brick wall to run into. He reached out and pulled the angel close to him, wrapping arms around him, keeping him secure right there. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know, it’s your dream and I don’t care to exert any more influence than I have already over it.” It was starting to feel confined here, eyes closed tight and muscles tense as Damon hugged him close. Those arms weren’t enough to hold him, not in a place where Imagination held so much power. He was too tired to fight, too worn thin to be anything close to what the vampire knew him to be.
He took a breath, beginning to wish that he hadn’t, because in breathing the tears came shuddering on the exhale. He could hold it together. He needed desperately to hold it together.
It was different for Damon. He didn’t care what Samandriel was supposed to be. He was hurting. He needed something, but Damon wasn’t sure what he wanted. A dream perhaps, a vision of what came from his subconscious of another time or place. The problem was that Damon’s dreams were largely centered on memories, words that had been beat into his head so many times that he felt them. Even here he was the disappointment.
“What do you need, Sam?” He tried to keep his tone even. What Damon wanted was to shred someone, even the Prince of Darkness or whateverthefuck he was.
“I don’t know,” Samandriel said, shoving his wings out of the visible plane so that he could be further enveloped by the vampire’s arms. He shook his head. “I need...I need you to wake up and kiss me. To touch and comfort and maybe actually convince me that everything’s going to be okay and that I can heal from all this fucked up shit that’s been done to me because I’m too Good for my own good and the only actual power I have to defend myself are words and...and I can’t talk myself out of my demons anymore.” He swallowed, fingers tight in Damon’s shirt. “Hell is coming to collect its due.”
Damon was squeezing him tightly, wrapping him in his arms, trying to calm the rage and the man who had done this, not that his dream self completely understood, but the emotions were definitely there. He twisted in bed, feeling himself ready to lash out in the dream. His heart rate had picked up. His teeth were definitely out. Somewhere in the dream he yelled, and his body twisted again, leaving him with eyes open. He sat up slowly, shirtless, trying to grab on to whatever that strange dream was about.
He looked at his phone. 2am. He shook his head, finally finding the angel in his line of sight. The dream came back like a memory, slowly at first. Someone had hurt him. He was in pain. “Sam,” he said, trying to put the pieces together. “Come here.”
Honestly, Samandriel hadn't entirely expected that to work. Wanting Damon to wake up wasn't the same as exerting his Will enough to wake him up. There was something to be said for the vampire's level of care for the angel that he could manage to force himself awake because Samandriel had merely asked it of him. Dreaming wasn't always so malleable.
He hadn't been crying in the waking world, but that didn't mean that he wasn't as obviously worn thin now. He padded barefoot and in loose pyjamas over to Damon and then under the covers with him. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding...everyone. I can't bring myself to answer questions about if I'm okay or not with a lie and to tell the truth would just invite more questions." But he had come to Damon anyway, had found himself in the other man's bed seeking the comfort and security of his arms. There was too much to be said for that. Damon and not Castiel or any of the mortals he considered family either. He was in so much far too deeply.
Damon was still trying to grab on to some reason in all of this, but he did as he was asked, whether it was in the dream or here, he really didn’t know. He wrapped the angel up against his chest. “I was worried about you.” His voice was gravelly from sleep, or possibly the dream, but the more he woke, the issues became clear. Someone had hurt his angel badly, and it was infuriating. The rage had woken him, brought him back into the present.
He stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. If he hadn’t shown up, Damon would have gone to find him. He had barely resisted doing it in the last week. They had their own lives, and their own relationships, and yet they were close. Most people never got that close to Damon Salvatore. He could count them on a hand and have fingers left. He couldn’t quite quantify the feelings that the angel seemed to set off in him, but he accepted them. “You might actually be too good for your own good. Want to tell me what happened?” he asked.
Samandriel closed his eyes, nestled close against Damon’s chest. He shook his head. No, he didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew that if he didn’t say something, Damon was just going to keep poking at him until he did. He’d resisted telling anyone save Lucifer what happened to him while his fiancé had been replaced. Nobody needed to know. It wasn’t their business no matter how many times he was offered a stronger leg to stand on.
Words weren’t going to happen, just like they hadn’t when he’d shared with his own angel. Instead of speaking, he reached up and pressed two fingers to Damon’s forehead. Showing was more effective than telling. What Damon was shown was two days of a very real hell for the angel. There was so much blood and pain, the sounds of Samandriel’s raw, broken screams, the young angel begging amidst the occasional flash of bright Grace when the Devil decided an angel blade produced more interesting results than any other weapon he had to hand. And when they weren’t fucking or fighting (consent was never, ever something that particular Devil cared about,) that Lucifer was screwing with his head in other ways.
Samandriel showed him all the way up to the end of it, the shower that ran red with steaming blood and just as abruptly stopped. He got Damon all the way to Samandriel getting out of the shower and seeing not the Devil sat on the bathroom counter, but Lucifer. He needed to finish it, to make abundantly clear that it wasn’t his lover who did this to him, and that they’d been reunited properly and though things would be difficult, they’d be okay. When he was finished sharing, he found himself in a sort of detached silence as his fingers came back down to Damon’s chest.
Damon didn’t know how long it took to infuse those memories into his head. It was probably a minute or two, but it felt like hours worth of an oscar caliber horror film, bloody, gruesome, and nightmarish. It was the kind that would stick with you for months, or years, and or it would never truly go. His hand stopped moving, and his grip tightened. He tried to keep that balance of horrified look, coupled with strength, but his heart rate accelerated, and he could feel the tug at his strings that hurt.
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, not sure how to even respond from that. “That answers the question of the very real presence of Satan. He’s like a bit of Charles Manson, Son of Sam, and a bit of Jeffrey Dahmer all rolled into one sadistic package.” How the hell was he supposed to tell him that was going to be okay? That wasn’t okay. Even in Damon’s worst nightmares, or in the dreams, there was a line. So it was a gray line, but there was a line.
“I’m sorry,” he said, merely a whisper. His hand started moving again. The questions were all there, but he wasn’t sure about asking any of them. If Samandriel needed to escape the situation for awhile, from the memories, then Damon would let him. That much was easy, but removing the memories would be impossible.
“I’ll be okay,” Samandriel said softly. He’d survived worse. They all had at their demons. Samandriel’s were just more obvious and bloody when he chose to let people see. He was healing. He would be at least something close to okay. Somehow. He could feel the tension in Damon, and found himself at a near loss for how to calm it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was doing that thing he always did- tending to everyone else before he even took a moment to consider his own needs.
He shifted out of where he’d had his head tucked in the crook of Damon’s neck to press their foreheads together instead. “Promise.” It’d be easier as time went on, and the whole thing had taught him a valuable lesson about how everyone else reacted to the imposter who’d run around ruining his own life. That wasn’t Samandriel the same way Satan wasn’t Lucifer. He held not a single thing against his partner. He couldn’t. “Promise,” he whispered.
It was a good thing that Damon wasn’t a vampire yet. He didn’t have the strength, or the abilities that could be used in the multiple methods of revenge that ran through his head. He was human, but Lucifer was also human. He would have smiled at the thought of his mild-mannered history teacher persona ripping the future Satan limb from limb, and draining him of bodily fluid. Samandriel was asking him to promise, and he wasn’t quite sure his answer was honest, but he would say what was needed. “I promise,” he mumbled. There wasn’t a lot he could do anyway, not as himself, not like this.
His lips twisted, running through the events one more time. The blood, all that blood. “Why did you stay?” Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that. Somewhere he already knew the answer. Satan would have tortured others, or found new ways, found Damon possibly, or Dean, Castiel, and maybe others. He wasn’t sure he liked that thought. Would it have been worse? He knew that his level of forgiveness would be slim to none, but Damon had never been one to forgive and forget.
“Because it was either stay and endure the pain for the sake of letting whatever that was think he existed only in my head, or tip him off that the rest of the world was out there and he could influence it.” He pulled back, not getting much distance but enough that he didn’t feel like he had to look Damon in the eye. “If letting him do all that to me meant that there wasn’t going to be a chance of him quite literally destroying the world, then I would gladly do my duty and protect Creation.” That Lucifer wouldn’t have killed him. Samandriel knew it. The implication had hung heavy in so many of their interactions. After all, how could a hallucination survive if the person hallucinating was dead?
“The monster’s gone, Damon,” he said softer, “sent back to the world it came from. There’s no revenge to be taken so please...please stop thinking about it. That’s not why I came over here.” He just wanted to be at peace for a little while, to be safe and secure and with the people that he thought he might never see again while Satan was playing with him.
“Fine,” he groaned, giving him a short roll of blue eyes. His hand smoothed over his cheek. “He better be real fucking apologetic over that whole thing.” Still, Damon knew that he wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. “Glad you helped save us from the Apocalypse.” He kissed his forehead softly. He wasn’t sure he believed in the second coming or such Apocalypse anyway. He did believe in the stupidity of man destroying the world all by themselves, but that was a topic for another time and place.
“Was I the first one you decided to come and see?” There was the trace of a smile in the question. He liked the attention. There was no way to deny it. In the end, he may get hurt by it, but he didn’t want to think that far ahead, of anything that could happen. He liked living in the moment, and for now, in spite of everything, he like this.
“Yes,” Samandriel answered softly. Dean and Castiel and Gale had all come to see him, but that was different. It was the middle of the night and even Samandriel knew it was probably a bad idea that his gut had led him here instead of any of the other members of the family he’d built for himself. Damon would protect him where everyone else had failed the same way that Samandriel had done his damnedest to protect the world.
He touched his vampire’s face, leaned in to kiss him gently and whispered, “don’t let it go to your head.” It was far too late for all of that, but Samandriel liked the idea of going back to something close to their usual banter instead of focusing on his pain.
Damon didn’t think the little intrusion into his bed, and into his dreams was a bad idea, although maybe he should have, but honestly, he would have been a little offended being on the last to know list. It made him feel wanted, and comforted all the same, even if it came out as a bit egotistical. “I would have come eventually - to check in, you know.” The fact that he hadn’t answered him, and hadn’t talked to him had bothered him, made him wonder what they were far too much. He took his comfort in a bottle of bourbon.
“Probably is way too late for that,” he admitted, with a light chuckle that seemed to rumble in his chest. “If I would have known about all that, I would have come, but that would have been an ugly scene. I’m only a human. I don’t know if I could measure up to Satan - at all.” He would have done it anyway, taken all the hits he could, because in spite of all the bravado, ego, and cool exterior, Damon was loyal to those that were close to him, the exact opposite of what he was so good at letting people believe.
“That was exactly why no one knew about it,” Samandriel said softly. “I had thought about telling Castiel,” because if anyone could at least stand a chance helping him subdue and confine an archangel, it was the only other angel with a hint of his Grace back and his hunter husband. “but as it turned out, Castiel wasn’t himself either and it seemed safest for the rest of the world for me to manage on my own.”
He pulled gently away from Damon to stretch out on his back instead. “Can...can we talk about anything other than what happened to me?” he asked, “I came here to get away from that pain, not relive it and dissect it more.
Damon turned on his side, head resting on one arm. His other hand strayed over to the angel’s chest. He didn’t know how to really banish that nightmare from his head yet, but he knew how to silence the thoughts well enough, mask them with more trivial things. “So - the weather has been really nice. Everywhere else it’s fucking cold.” There was a light smirk on his lips as he spoke. Even in the darkness, his eyes were clear, and spoke far more than he ever could. He wanted to tell the angel to just say ‘Fuck the world,’ but that was selfish, and Samandriel didn’t want to hear it anyway.
“We are trouble, aren’t we?” he asked instead. That had been on his mind since New Year’s Eve. It was a subject he hadn’t pursued with anyone, internalizing everything that happened as he always did. He leaned down and kissed him softly, quite the statement in itself.
Samandriel felt like the both of them were far more articulate together when words weren’t involved at all. He reached up to touch the other man’s face, fingers sliding into messy dark hair as he kissed him slowly. He should have known before he came over that things were going to turn into this, that they’d both be responsible for digging the hole they were already in so much deeper. His lips parted willingly beneath the other man’s, giving in to the kind of comfort of contact he wasn’t getting out of the dream he’d walked into.
Damon knew that was true. There were so many things that he had no idea how to say, but he could show so much better. He was returning soft kisses with his own, not trying to hold off in his own cool way. No, he needed the contact just as much. He knew the hole was just getting deeper, and soon it would be a swimming pool. He jumped in with both feet, not checking to make sure it was full. The attention and affection were too irresistible after all.
“You didn’t answer me,” he rumbled, running a hand down the angel’s side. “How much trouble?” There was the smile, not covered by anything else, the best part of his nature. It was simply happy. Oh, he knew the answer, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to hear it.
“I didn’t think I had to,” he replied, smiling softly at the look on Damon’s face. He was beautiful like this, all unguarded and happy. It was the kind of look that Samandriel didn’t have to expend any effort to read. He had been right in coming here, in hoping that Damon would show him the sort of love he needed to feel and not just the blood deep instinct for revenge. “We were fucked the moment you walked into Lux. We are in so much trouble and I regret not a moment of it.” Damon wasn’t Samandriel’s dirty little secret. Lucifer knew, but there was some thrill in being someone else’s dirty little secret. The truth coming out (whenever that happened) wouldn’t change how he felt about Damon, but he was glad to play just a little with taboo where he could.
“You should keep kissing me and make all this trouble worth it,” he teased, playing gently with Damon’s hair. If they could find peace with each other, then it was worth it. It was worth every risk and every moment.
“From that moment?” he teased, placing kisses down his chin to his neck. He would get to know that neck very well, but it was something he looked forward too. “Something like this?” He nipped enough to tease, and to tempt. Yes, they were a secret, his secret to tell, or maybe not. He didn’t regret it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the guilt. For now, he just wanted to be consumed by whatever this was, and it was good. The need was better than good.
For the moment, they could separate themselves from the rest of the world. They were experts at it. Both engaged to others in their regular lives, would this be an undoing of sorts? He had vaguely wondered if that permission to have others granted from Lucifer was intended for just pure exploration. Had he anticipated any depth out of it? Damon wasn’t sure that it was. Somewhere feelings had crept in. They were in trouble, but they were already down the rabbit hole.
Samandriel moaned low and happy as he stretched his neck for Damon. Was it wrong that even after all the violence done to him, he still wanted those fangs? He smiled, gently guiding Damon ever closer. “From that moment. You walked into that room like you’d decided I was yours already.” Just alone and together like this, he was Damon’s. Lucifer wasn’t going to enter into the equation unless it was necessary or there was a threesome to be had. Samandriel doubted that either situation was likely. He was pretty sure that Damon shared exactly as well as Castiel did.
He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it aside to feel the warm press of Damon’s skin against his own. “Keep kissing me,” he murmured. “It’s helping.”
“MMM, was that it?” He wasn’t entirely sure he had decided that, but maybe he had. He was certainly far more interested than he was in most of the people that ran through his life with the exception of a few. His lack of options had been a problem, but like this, he couldn’t really disagree. There was a part of him that was Samandriel’s alone. “It was the other way around as well. You wanted me from the first time you saw me. Did you see this coming?” There was something about them that helped them both.
Damon took what was offered, placing kisses and nips around his face, down to his neck and back up to his mouth. He moved slowly, taking more time than the last one which could only be described as pure want and need. He bit in to his neck, drawing some blood. It was far from painful as he sucked at the small holes that would heal just as quickly. He didn’t mind the taste of iron that would become all too familiar. “Better?” His hand trailed from chin to his stomach, stopping there, stretched across light skin, not really sure how much the angel was ready for.
“Please,” Samandriel said softly, almost smugly, stealing kisses while he could and letting touch make up for where his lips couldn’t reach. “I wanted you from our first net conversation. Your ability to think for yourself, to challenge all the ideas laid out for centuries before you… Your brain was gorgeous even in text. That you happen to also be gorgeous was just a happy surprise.”
The teeth made him gasp softly, body arching up towards Damon’s as the vampire bit lightly into him. “We were inevitable,” he murmured. Not fated, but a more ancient mix of hormones and mutual desire that wasn’t going to be denied. He pulled Damon down to kiss him again. “Don’t stop,” he whispered, and hoped it was clear that he meant more than what they were doing right now. Samandriel didn’t have to be an angel with Damon, and Damon didn’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations or keep his walls up or any of that. The angel thought it worked out well for both of them.
“Looking like this has benefits, but really, would you have wanted me if I was some sixty year old, wrinkled guy with a hundred extra pounds? Then again, it would make me quite the perv,” he laughed, letting his tongue wander through Samandriel’s mouth. Damon did have a brain, at least when he wasn’t thinking with the lower brain. He appreciated intelligent conversation and was quite capable of holding one. There were many who didn’t know he could do that, and often, he didn’t bother correcting them. He required people to dig a little deeper to get to know him.
In truth, he knew that they would have given in eventually. It was too strong, and the pull was irresistible. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when Elena found out, and she would, because there was far too much here for him to simply walk away. It wouldn’t happen. They had to take advantage of what they had now. His hand moved to the waist of his pyjama bottoms, untying the strings, pushing them down slowly, teasing as his hands worked over the newly exposed skin.
Samandriel moaned into his mouth, hips lifting to help get his sleeping pants off while he shifted his legs enough to really get rid of them. He shifted to his side, legs brushing against Damon’s while he showed off a bit. A touch of his hand to the other man’s hip relieving him of whatever it was he’d gone to bed in.
“I was already mostly an angel when you met me,” he murmured against those lips. “Already having a hard time seeing bodies and not just the souls housed in them. If you were sixty and overweight with a body hair problem, I still would have taken you.” What Damon looked like was irrelevant to Samandriel. He cared about who Damon was, and that Damon clearly cared about him. He feathered kisses along Damon’s shoulders, hands roaming lazily. “You’ve seen Lucifer,” he murmured, “he’s not what anyone would really call conventionally attractive. He’s got a bit of a gut and his eyebrows aren’t doing him any favors when it comes to drawing attention away from the shape of his head.” And his ears were huge and there was the mole and probably several other things that Samandriel clearly didn’t notice. “I look at him and he shines. I literally see a completely different person than the rest of the world does.” He pulled back to meet Damon’s gaze. “I look at you, and you shine too and it’s absolutely unique to anyone else I’ve ever met. When I say I love you, Damon, you stubborn Salvatore ass, I mean you and not just your body.” That alone had to be something Damon probably wasn’t used to.
Damon was always a physical beauty, and he knew it. He knew how to use it from head to toe. His Italian heritage gave him the dark hair, his mother gave him the shock blue eyes, and the body was courtesy of the gym. He had certain looks so carefully polished that they were as natural as the turn of a single side of his mouth in the smirk that often marked him. He literally could have whoever he wanted, and he had done so for years, but this was different. Those people rarely knew more about him than his name. He wasn’t used to someone who knew him from the inside out. Part of him was terrified by it, but part of him found it intoxicating, and very warm, and it drew feelings and those were so very dangerous. “Everyone is unique, I suppose,” he said, smirking as his boxer briefs slid off. “Here I thought you just had a thing for vampires. It’s the new flavor of the month.” Of course, he was joking. In his eyes, that was clear. He also needed to hear that, needed to feel it.
His hand traveled lower, taking his cock in hand, slowly stroking it, taking more time with every move. The last time had been rushed, and now he was going to take the time back and enjoy just being together. The kiss he placed on his lips was hotter, longer, and deeper, signaling the time to stop talking.
Talking was overrated when there were other, more interesting things he could be doing with his mouth. His responded to that kiss with a soft moan of desire, hips rocking forward ever so slightly into those skilled fingers. For now, he was avoiding reciprocating that action. Instead he let his hands roam purposefully over Damon’s body. He wasn’t so foolish as to think this was going to last forever. Eventually, Damon would have to make a very clear choice, and Samandriel knew he wasn’t going to be it. He couldn’t be it. The idea of shutting himself off from the people he’d allowed so very intimately close felt foreign and wrong to do for anyone but the one person who would never make him.
So he memorized Damon. His fingers traced over the curves of muscle, the alternating coarse-soft of hair and skin, letting this be the most sacred and holy of acts. If there was any question left in Damon as to whether or not Heaven thought such things were unclean or worthy of being called Sin, Samandriel hoped that his touch banished it completely and that Damon knew he was loved. Gently, he rolled Damon to his back, meaning to retrace those same paths with his mouth.
Whatever would happen between them was theirs and theirs alone. That was the way they were. There was nobody else in the room, nobody they had to answer to right now, and Damon liked that. His relationship with Elena was even outside of the room. He catered to her needs, made sure she studies, got to class on time, and helped her through the deaths of her parents. He never told her he needed a damn thing, even though he did. He did love her, and he did want her, but he also turned himself inside out, making a lot of changes that were suited to her needs. There was no time for his own, and not a need to address it, except here. He could forget expectations, and that plane of responsibility that he lived on now. Those things didn’t matter, and he wasn’t expected to be any better than he was. No, he wasn’t going to lose that. Letting go was not something Damon did easily.
He laughed when he flipped to his back, giving his angel an amused look. He stretched his arms out over his head, and his tongue ran over his lips. “Go to work, Angel,” he grinned, relaxing into the pillow.
“This isn’t work,” Samandriel said, nose brushing along the center of Damon’s chest. “This is pleasure.” It was the gentlest of scoldings. Nothing about being with Damon was work for Samandriel and his vampire would do well to remember that. Lips and tongue continued to ghost along his lover’s body, still very pointedly avoiding the one part of him that likely ached to distraction by now. Damon was just going to have to deal.
Samandriel’s fingertips learned the outsides of his legs, his calves, the tops of his feet and the jut of his ankle while those lips stayed on the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs. He traced a mirror path on the way back up, avoiding every part of Damon he’d touched on the way down and yet still his cock went ignored. He could tell Damon that he was worth more than sex until it was all the other man heard when he closed his eyes, but it was so much easier to show him how valued every inch of him was instead. He pressed lingering, loving, delicate kisses against his throat, his jaw, his forehead, the very tip of his nose and finally, finally those lips.
“Figure of speech. Do you want me to just pull a Britney and say Work, Bitch?” Anyone could tell how Damon was feeling from his eyes, or from that laugh. It could be rough and sarcastic in normal speech, but there was a different sound when he was happy and relaxed. Damon was definitely happy.
His body arched to those lips, to the hands. “What are you doing to me?” he asked. “You may have great hands, but you are missing parts.” With his hands over his chest, his abs and stomach muscles were tight, and defined. He thrust his hips at him indignantly, teasing in his own way. “Not that I don’t like the entire treatment, I must say.”
“Ignoring the part of you everyone else seems to care about and focus on,” Samandriel replied, straddling those slender hips as he sat up. He rolled down against Damon’s, smirking at him. “But if you’d rather…” The angel reached forward and ran his fingers down Damon’s cheek. He really did wish Damon could see him the way he did. It might help his self-worth some, though it wouldn’t do his ego much good.
“Besides, if I sucked your cock, that’s all I’d be getting out of you tonight and...and I think we both need more than that from each other.” Right now. Forever. Would it really matter? They both knew they were fucked here. Samandriel wondered how many times they might try to stop for someone else’s sake, whether it was Elena or the separate entity that was Damon’s guilt complex and how many times they might just end up right back with each other like this. He licked his lips, gaze dropping. He had no intention of telling Damon exactly where his mind had gone but that didn’t stop him from whispering, “Tell me you love me. Just once.” Just once before you leave.
Somehow this had gotten serious, and there was something in the room that needed addressing. Damon knew that, and as much as he wasn’t good expressing emotions, he knew the answer. He knew. Of course he had quantified it as just a need, as just a passing fancy, and he knew better. That was just easier to deal with, because that line had been crossed as well. They were both fucked. How were they even supposed to deal now once they stepped back out?
However, it needed to be addressed, didn’t it. If he was going to do it, it was going to be tonight. He reached up, bringing Samandriel’s head down to his, kissing him deeply as he rolled the both of them until he was back on top. “You win,” he said. “You have a piece of me that is yours, and - .” He stopped, perching himself on the edge that he so liked to walk. “What are you going to do when I end up in Purgatory? Are you gonna get me out, cause I know, sure as fuck that if you are hurt in any way, I’m coming to get you, and I only do that for people that I love.”
Samandriel groaned lowly into the kiss, gladly allowing Damon to take control again. That...that was more than Samandriel had asked for and yet not at all what he'd requested. It was something almost distressingly common when it came to the men in his life and words. He opened his eyes and looked up at Damon. "I would hunt down a reaper and make them open a gate into Purgatory for me just so I could jam your soul back in your body. And if you didn't have a body, I'd rebuild it." It wasn't as if Damon could argue that Samandriel didn't know every inch of him.
He pulled him down for another kiss, just as deep and slow as so much else seemed to be between them tonight. The angel pressed his forehead to Damon's. "I love you," he whispered again, practically trying to will Damon to understand the exact words Samandriel needed to hear. He didn't need declarations of war, didn't need promises of saving that everyone seemed so keen to give and not follow through on until it was almost too late. "Damon." An angel and a vampire had to be so very low on the list of things to be expected in the world. It was probably somewhere near an angel and a demon and an altruistic leviathan. Samandriel had his flock of angels, gorgeous, amazing men who had known him since the beginning of time itself, and he had his vampire who was just as important and flawed as his celestial brothers were.
Damon did know what he wanted, and that was something he would only give on his own terms. Luckily, they were on his own terms, unexpected as they were. He leaned down and kissed him. There was a reason that he had decided to roll them again. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it from the top, with that pride that he still had. “I do love you, my Sammy.” No matter what would come.
The kiss that came after seemed to take on it’s own definition, soft at first, then growing, but blended with everything that they were. There was another message in there, and the thoughts were louder. I want you to remember me, to think of me when you are out there saving the world, even if we haven’t seen each other in years.
Samandriel's fingers tightened in Damon's hair, pulling him close to kiss him deeply, something that only got more intense when the vampire started thinking about him. "You idiot," he murmured fondly, catching both the 'no matter what' and everything that came after it. Whatever was going to happen at some point in the likely very near future was going to end up putting them both in a lot of pain wasn't it? "There's no part of me that will forget you. Any bit of you. Not now. Not ever."
He wished he knew the layout of this place, particularly where Damon kept things. The idea of them remaining anything but one of them inside the other for much longer seemed unnecessarily cruel. Emotions running high like this only called for one thing. He needed Damon in him, needed to feel the push-pull of his cock and at some point right at the moment of his own release, the puncturing of fangs in his neck. "I will remember every piece of you that you've let me touch, that you've deemed me worthy of seeing. Never for a second think that I'd forget you."
For a moment Damon pulled back and smiled, taking comfort in the fact that Samandriel could read his thoughts. “How far away can you tell what I’m thinking?” he asked curiously. “I really need to learn that trick.” They could always have that, and it would work. He really needed to face the fact that they would stay in contact, because to break it would simply hurt too much.
As much as he wanted to explore the idea, they needed a few other things first, and then they could get back to that. He saw his eyes roll around to the night stand. There was nothing in there, and Damon knew it, but, “Wait a minute,” he grinned, pulling himself away to the bathroom. There was a tube of KY in the cabinet. He stood in the doorway, bathed in moonlight, holding up the tube. “This will do.”
Samandriel didn’t answer the question. For now, if Damon directed something at him specifically (or honestly, angels in general, but specificity was always helpful,) he could hear him no matter where he was provided it wasn’t warded against his kind. Eventually, that might not be the case. He didn’t know what might change when Damon’s heart stopped, if his transition to fully being a vampire might somehow render him silent to the angel.
The angel watched him walk away, propped himself up on his elbows when Damon returned just to better appreciate what the dim light was doing on his skin. “Then why are you just standing there?” he teased, stretching out one elegant arm to invite his vampire back to bed. Tonight, they had time. Who knew what the rest of their lives would bring.
Damon noticed the lack of answer, but offered something anyway. We could still talk, even if it’s a one sided conversation. Damon wished he could hear an answer back, but if he told Elena, that would be a way to stay connected. He shrugged, staying under the moon’s rays for another minute. It really was for show. He knew he looked incredible right in that spot.
Finally he walked over and literally jumped sideways on the bed. He looked happy, laughing like a young man who had no stress. Oh, outside the room, he would rebottle all of that energy that was somewhere in there, maintain the public image, but for now it was so unnecessary. Even Damon was not always so dark, but he rarely showed this side at all. His head bent down to kiss Samandriel’s stomach, tracing circles on it, drawing his hand up the angel’s leg. He looked up at his face with a delicious smirk.
When Damon silently spoke to him, Samandriel couldn’t help but close his eyes and look all too pained for a moment. Wasn’t that all religion really was? One sided conversations in the dark? “We’ll always have your dreams,” he promised. “I don’t have to be here in order to see you there.” Provided that vampires did dream, but Samandriel was finding it wouldn’t surprise him too much if they did.
He threaded his fingers through Damon’s hair, relaxing into a smile all over again. It was good to feel him playful, to see him completely happy like he’d somehow managed to cast his demons aside for a little bit. “You’re beautiful,” he said, clearly in love with the vampire no matter that it in no way diminished his love for his other partners. “I mean you’re gorgeous and handsome and chiseled every hour of every day otherwise, but right now...you are truly beautiful.” All smiles and something so close to freedom. Damon needed to know that someone else saw it. If Damon told Elena, at some point she’d make him choose, probably try to make him cut Samandriel out entirely. Either he’d deceive her, or he actually would cut him out. The angel was going to take as much joy from whatever they were for as long as he could have it.
Damon didn’t consider it prayer, of course, but it was good to know that someone was out there who just didn’t judge, and ironically happened to be an angel. “How very true? I might have to revert back to my teenage years just for you.”
He nipped at his skin. teasing it, aware that Samandriel was watching him. He offered the same smile, along with a wink of a shock blue eye. “So are you,” he said. There really wasn’t anyone that could draw out the best of him and make him not want to hide it. Responsibility sucked, quite frankly. He would have to be soon, and he would have to step back over that line, but it wouldn’t necessarily mean goodbye. Samandriel had his ‘others’, and Damon was too greedy for all of that. He was, perhaps, the second choice where the young angel was concerned, and for now, as he worked up his chest, sliding a nipple through his teeth, it was enough. Like the angel had with him before, Damon was going to explore that body before he fucked him.
The angel whined, fingers tightening where they were still sunk in dark hair. "Don't stop," he murmured, ever the responsive bed partner. There was never any question whether or not Samandriel liked something. His other hand ran over one of those well muscled shoulders to the strong plane of his back. He liked feeling like this, like his body was something to be treasured when that seemed to exist only between too frequent periods of intense pain that was never, ever the fault of the men he loved. These kinds of feelings were the things the young angel thrived under, the sacred act of two people who cared so very much about each other, the art they could make simply learning every inch of another person. "Please, Damon." It felt good. So very good. Like nothing in the world could hurt them while they were in this room together.
Damon did as he was asked, placing kisses over every inch of skin, nipping with the fangs. He wouldn’t be first, but he would leave a very lasting impression. They had dreams, and they would exist in some way. They had far too much between them to simply let go, and Damon didn’t want that. Instead, he took time to memorize, the same as the angel had done to him, returning to his lips some time later, taking his mouth until they were both breathless.
His cock was aching, needing that contact. He wanted more. He reached for the tube he had dropped on the bed while his mouth was busy. He grabbed Samandriel’s hand and wrapped it around him. “I need attention,” he said simply.
“Well, admitting a problem is the first step to finding a solution,” Samandriel teased, stroking him firmly. A ‘please’ would have gotten Damon so much further than simply grabbing and demanding. That kind of treatment was something even Lucifer didn’t get away with, not even the truly evil version of him would have dared. Samandriel’s fingers tightened in Damon’s hair, pulling him up so he could speak against his ear. “Getting all demandy like that is really making me want to fuck you instead.” The angel wasn’t a top. He wasn’t even really a switch, but pressed this close to Damon, he could easily send the vampire the image of the slender angel with his wings spread in full having his way with him. It was something gorgeous and powerful to behold and a very clear reminder that Damon was in bed with nothing at all human.
Damon nipped at the angel’s lips when his hand fisted his hair. He didn’t mind being a little demanding. He didn’t think much of it at all. There was a line there that shouldn’t be crossed, but it was not a power struggle. When they were like this, he managed to toss aside the fact that he was still only human, next to someone more powerful.
He hadn’t really expected those words, which made him laugh a little. “I guess it’s a good time to say I want to hold on to that v-card a little longer, but I also don’t think you want that.” His hips thrust into the angel’s, aching for the release of that tension. His hand roamed up and down his body, such a silky practiced touch. “Please?” he purred in his ear.
Samandriel groaned, shivering as his hand kept working. He groped for the lube, shifting his weight to roll them over again. “I’m riding you,” he said, partly because he’d decided that this time he was at least a little bit in charge, but also to assure Damon that he wasn’t actually turning the tables too much. He caught the bottle easily, coating his fingers as he reached back to prep himself.
He’d turned what was a slight inconvenience of anal sex into an art managed to make it almost pornographic. His wings spread out behind him while he rode his fingers, head tipped back while he used the moonlight on his own body the same way Damon had earlier. And while he was stroking Damon’s cock, he was reacting as if it were his own from the way his breathing grew heavy and shallow matching the soft, needy moans all the way to the cant of his hips forward and back like somehow by thrusting them he was gaining the same pleasure his partner was.
Damon loved seeing those wings spread out in any fashion. Even when they were used during sex, they had their own beauty. Whoever had thought an angel couldn’t be sexual was so very, very wrong. He was gorgeous, bathed in the moon, different from anyone that he had ever known. His hands settled on those hips, moving against him, creating enough friction to keep them both needy. “I might decide just to keep you right here like this.”
“Mmm, no I think you’d rather something else,” Samandriel said, easing his fingers out and squirting more lube in his hand to slick Damon up. He lined himself up and lowered down ever so slowly, taking his time. “Like this, maybe?” They hadn’t had the time to spend with each other before, and there was a chance they might not again. He didn’t know what Damon’s plans were, and for now it didn’t matter. In the close quarters of the room, they were each others’. They had all the time in the world left to learn each other and Samandriel wasn’t going to rush it. He rolled his hips slowly against the other man’s, getting used to the feel of him as his breath hitched once more.
“Just like that,” he breathed, feeling the warm, tight body sliding over him. He didn’t know how the rest of the week would go, let alone the next few months, but tonight was theirs - all night. He would keep himself awake, talk until the dawn broke if needed. The rest of the world stayed outside. His hands gripped those hips, thrusting from the bottom enjoying the ride. Small, pleasured noises came from his throat, and a smile spread that reached his eyes. This was what they both needed.
“Yeah,” Samandriel couldn’t help but agree, eyelids fluttering as he moved harder onto him, letting his wings provide leverage most people couldn’t manage. “Fuck, Damon.” His voice was a low moan while he took what he decided was his. It might not have been the traditional means of doing so, but it was the one Samandriel found the most pleasure in. He focused on the vampire beneath him, on the shadows on his skin and the sheets and the way everything was absolutely beautiful from this angle. “Keep talking,” he smirked, pitching his hips at a particularly delightful pace (for him at least, it was possibly just shy of perfect for Damon,) “and I might let you come tonight.”
How Damon loved to hear his name, especially when it came in a bedroom whisper. He moaned when the angel picked up the speed. It was perfect, making him hotter, and yet not enough to quite bring him off yet. No, he wanted as much as he could get. He watched Sammy’s body above him as he flexed, thrusting into him. He laughed, low in his throat. “I’m gonna come, even if I have to do it myself, although it’s a lot less fun.” More groans and growls replaced the words. “Why do you want me to talk? Bout the only thing is how good this feels.” His hand moved to Sammy’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts.