Life After Death by LindaMarie "I would have been eighteen years old by now, if I hadn't died." It's one in the morning, going by the old clock on the wall. Elena's on top of the sheets, still in her silk robe. Stefan is curled in on himself, asleep, his back warm against her right flank. She's staring at the ceiling. Damon's arm is under her head, and he's looking at her, answering only with, "If I hadn't died, I'd be dust and bone by now." "Like Honoria Fell. Or Katherine." Elena's voice is raw and resonant to her ears. It seems to echo on and on in the quiet dark room. Damon shrugs his shoulder and it's like Elena can feel the movement with every inch of her body. He smells rich, dark, deep, like sesame oil or fertile earth. "Shit," he concludes eloquently, "happens." She starts laughing at that, because it's so sudden and surprising and oh, his voice is so much like Stefan's but she doesn't think he'd ever talk like that. When she regains control, Elena finally turns her head to look at him. "So you don't regret it, then? Dying, I mean." His black eyes are pools of night. "It was a long time ago." Damon's gaze resettles and she follows it to Stefan's huddled form. "I wouldn't have changed my fate." They shift on the bed, then, each on their side to face the other, and the room seems smaller, suddenly. "Damon," she confesses, as he reaches out to touch her cheek, "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know anything any more." His hand is cool and firm on her skin, his kiss insistant. She knows he can hear her heart pound. "You don't have to, Elena. You've got better things to do than make plans, or follow rules, or make sure you do everything the way you're supposed to. Now that you're dead, it's time to start living." He kisses her again and she can't put together any more of an answer than, "Yeah," running her hands over his arms and gasping with each still-new sensation. She feels hot all over, no blood to the brain, and oh God if he'd just move his hand down a little lower... Sometime in the last six hours, the part of her brain that processes logic seems to have shut down entirely. Or maybe there are more kinds of logic than she thought. There's a voice in Elena's head--maybe her inner Aunt Judith--who's telling her, You are a man in bed with two brothers. Elena can't wrap her mind around the first bit at all, but even if she could acknowledge the full text it wouldn't matter. She doesn't care: in another life (when she was alive) it might have seemed important to her to live and look and think and feel the right way, to choose one perfect love to have and to hold forevermore, but--Damon's right--the Elena Gilbert that had to do all these things died in a crypt half a year ago. Maybe even before then. She's got a headstone to prove it, even if the grave below is empty. Sitting in limbo for that long could change anyone, and when she woke up, she knew she'd never be the same. She's in a whole new world now, and the lines have blurred beyond all recognition. Yet somehow, everything seems much clearer. She's stroking Damon's sleek hair like a cat, kissing him deep and hot and wet. His palm is pressing gently on her sternum, pushing her on her back as the other hand works at the belt of her blue kimono. She licks the line of his jaw, wanting all of him, tasting salt and copper, moaning as he slides deft fingers up the length of her inner thigh. Elena wants to tell Damon all her secrets, as if they need to be purged from her in order for her to be free, but she can't do it now. Instead she pulls him over, on top of her, straining to have him as close to her as she can. He's not even wearing his robe any more, just skin and he's so cool against her; she feels like she's burning from the inside out. He draws it out slow, in contrast from earlier when he seemed almost out of control. Even Stefan, who never, ever let go, had been almost a stranger in the way he let his guard slip down. That moment in the kitchen, when their three mouths had met--it had been like an electric charge going through her body, none of that innocent pure summer lightning that had burst in her chest when she had first felt Stefan's kisses, nor any of the careless awkward-but-good pleasure she'd felt in the backseats of more than a few cars in her day. No, this had been something else, so similar yet entirely different. It was something dark and raw and primal and wanting, more like bloodlust or--or dying than anything else she'd known. Thinking on it, and what happened afterward, she isn't sure if she's scared, or excited, but thinks it must be somewhere in between. Back to the present as Damon's teeth graze her nipple and her--her dick brushes against his stomach. Whimpering somewhere in the back of her throat, she tries to thrust up to him again but he stops her with a hand to one hip. His other hand's rubbing her right nipple while he tongues the left, and he keeps his eyes on her face, quietly observing as she squirms under him. "God, Damon, please," she says and it's almost outright begging, and she wants him to do something but at the same time she wants to touch him, make him moan, hear the sound of it and know she made it happen. She wishes she could reach more of him, has to satisfy herself for the time being with just tracing the lines of his face with her thumb, covering the hand on her chest with one of her own. And, "God," she says again, because his hand's slipped out from under hers and it's rubbing at her lower belly, and she just--she doesn't know if she can take it. She tries to pull him up, to kiss him or do anything to him because her hands are tingling with the need for it, but instead he's moving lower, licking her navel and his hand's grasping her, tugging, firm and just right. Even in the heat of the moment she can't help but notice the utter strangeness of this night, what's happening and who she is. She has to make herself push it back. She's got one hand in his hair, trying to keep from yanking it out and she doesn't even bother not to moan now, even after years of conditioning herself to be quiet no matter how good it feels in case someone's near-by to hear. No, she can cry out if she wants to, because there's no Aunt Judith to barge in on her, no reputation to preserve. Damon's mouth leaves her skin and then she gasps and grabs a handful of sheets in her free hand because there's a mouth on her dick and somehow she manages to shove Stefan in the back pretty hard as she fumbles for something solid to hold. He jerks at her touch, and she has to wonder if he's been faking sleep all this time, because after all, it must be pretty hard to stay unconscious with something like this going on beside you. It worries her, thinking that, because she's still not sure if Stefan's okay with any of this. He'd be the least likely to be, after all, and if he's avoiding what they're doing now then maybe it--maybe it disgusts him but he can't bring himself to tell them. But then he turns, and the look on his face only confuses her further, because to have all that heat in his gaze he must be okay with it. She takes a fleeting moment to wonder why he had his back turned all this time before Damon suddenly has her shaft all the way in his mouth, and she shudders with the feel of it. Stefan takes her still-grasping hand in his, and finally she has an anchor to hold on to as she rides her heightening pleasure, caught between two watchful pairs of eyes. "Ooh," she says, and she tries to thrust up again, and this time Damon lets her, and she's so close, so close, nails digging into Stefan's palms. She looks up at his face again and she can see his fangs in the dark. It reminds her of Damon's sharp teeth, but instead of frightening her it only seems to heighten her pleasure to unbearable heights. She feels Damon swallow tightly around her, meets his eyes, and after all the noise she's been making, she goes quiet as she comes. It's a few seconds before she can bring herself back to Earth, and when she does, Damon's sitting up and he's grinning at her wickedly. All she can do is smile back, as he brings himself back up the bed and kisses her wetly. She can taste herself on his tongue and feel him hard against her waist. When he pulls back from her, he says to Stefan, "Why didn't you join us sooner, brother?" Such conflict on his face. "I..." "Don't ask him that now, Damon," Elena breaks in, because she knows they shouldn't be talking any more for tonight. "After all, better late than never." And she smiles again, Damon mirroring her, as they turn as one and move to Stefan's side. END.