"One for a curse, two for a joy"
by Pithia
Black on blond on black. Three pale, lovely stretches of bare pale flesh atop the sheets, covered only in summer sweat and each other. An arm pillowing a head. A leg between two knees. Strong fingers a prison for a hip. It was heaven, and she was the angel--the angel who had to fall.
When she had been out of the equation, their relationship was recovering; as soon as she was added back into the mix, a rift tore between them and she was in the middle of it, like a sadistic child tearing wings off butterflies. They were the wings: she couldn't soar without them, couldn't feel, could barely function. But she was their body: through her, they were connected. Parallel. Now she realised just how cruel a fate that was. They were together, heading the same direction, always within eyeshot but never within reach. They touched only through her, because they didn't think she'd abide it otherwise. She knew how their eyes locked when they were both inside her and in those moments, she was superfluous--a plug-in for power, a bridge, a means to an end.
Carefully, with the sheets clinging to her skin like insistent hands, she slid out from between them. In the absence of her all-too-human warmth, Damon slumped onto his back. Stefan, clutching reflexively for Elena, rested his head on his brother's chest and caged in his hip with his fingers, just as he'd done earlier with hers. The differences in temperature and anatomy were irrelevant, always were when the night was thick with darkness and desire.
She dressed as quietly as she could, though she knew their ears were sensitive enough to hear her easily if they wanted to. Don't look back. She knew better. She knew what happened to the fools who hesitated, but she did it anyway. She went to Damon first, biting his lower lip with affectionate aggression: she was rougher with him than she could ever be with Stefan, because while he was concerned with her safety if he lost control, Damon knew that's exactly what she wanted. He tensed under her teeth and hands, his body arching in a serpentine writhe, but didn't wake. Stefan reacted to his brother's sudden movement and slid his hand from Damon's hip to his ribs, stroking his side comfortingly.
As Damon calmed under his brother's touch, Elena tiptoed around the bed to Stefan's side. His eyelashes fluttered, flashing glimpses of emerald in time with his unsteady breaths. Shaking with restraint, she didn't bite his lip or lick him; her kiss was tender, and she wondered if he could taste Damon on her, because his lips curved in a way they never had for her. He nuzzled closer to Damon, who curled his arm around his younger brother's shoulders. Elena's breath froze in her lungs. Surely they'd wake now. Damon would feel the too-wide shoulders, miss the soft press of her breasts; Stefan would be alarmed at the loss of her heartbeat echoing through his chest. But no. Like children huddling together in the rain, they sought solace in each other.
Her plan was working perfectly--and now she hated it. She wanted to mean something to them. She wanted the loss of her to shake them to their very souls. She had left a void but, like water, they ebbed and flowed to fit their environment. They did that when they agreed to share her--she had been their container, forcing them to conform to her limits--and now that they were two powerful waves that no longer had to beat against an obstructing rock, they blended seamlessly.
The urge to crawl back between them, to become a part of that sinful sacredness, was overwhelming, so Elena ran down the stairs, not caring how much noise she made. As an afterthought, she dug a crumpled note out of her jacket pocket and slapped it down on the hall table before she ran out into the soft rain. The symbolism wasn't lost on her: Damon had ensnared her with cryptic quotes, and that was how she would set him free.
)*(
As always, Damon woke first. The absence of Elena in his arms puzzled him at first, but Stefan was curled into him so he couldn't be too bothered. His chances to revel in his brother were few and far between, so he took advantage: he kissed Stefan full on the mouth, and skimmed his body across his brother's as he got out of bed. Stefan smiled, but did not otherwise stir.
It was only after he showered and went downstairs for an extra towel that Damon saw the note. "So," he said softly, "it seems we aren't the only things she picked up from the renaissance." He smirked at her editing, and left it on the table for Stefan to find.
Shall a peevish sound,/ A customary form, from man to man,/
Of brother and [brother], be a bar/ 'Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?/
Say that we had one father, say one womb/ (Curse to my joys) gave us both
life and birth;/ Are we not therefore each to the other bound/ So much the more by nature, by the links/ of blood, of reason--nay, if you will have't,/ Even of religion--to be ever one,/ One soul, one flesh, one love, one heart, one all?
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