For Sylvia.
By TangledAria.
1.
She finds her place in the curve of his neck, drinking her fill. He finds his place in the curve between her thighs.
She straddles his hips, her hands in his hair.
He is far too rough, leaving bruises that fade almost as soon as they appear on her skin. He bites and tears, and leaves a trail of blood.
He is trying to break her, but she will not be broken.
She shudders in release and leans forward, laughing in his ear.
2.
He didn't move fast enough, it seems. In the clearing in the woods, when he had fought with Stefan and Elena had appeared, he didn't think she would kill him. Stefan had been more than capable of killing her, of surviving, even if Damon had to pull her off of him.
But when he had pulled her off, there had been something in Stefan's eyes, something terrible. He had only seen it once before: the day he had driven his sword through his brother's heart.
He had dragged Elena away, left his brother behind because that was what Stefan had wanted. It was the only time he had ever listened to anything his younger brother had to say.
With Elena under one arm, he had cast a look back. The last thing he had seen was Stefan lying in the middle of the clearing, one knee bent, tears and blood both shining silver-black in the moonlight.
3.
She is sitting on the edge of the fountain, swinging her legs idly, looking for all the world like a tourist. But he follows her gaze to the children playing in the plaza, notes the way she licks her lips when one of them scrapes their hand on the pavement.
"Elena," he says softly, commanding.
She turns her too-bright eyes on him. At first, the brightness in her eyes had been encouraging; anything was better than that dull emptiness she had shown in that clearing in the woods. But the brightness signaled something ominous, he was sure, something permanent about the madness that had settled in her brain.
"No children," he says. "You remember our little rule, right?"
"You're no fun," she answers, affecting a pout. "'Only grown adults, Elena'," she says, affecting a mimicry of his voice. "'Only people who will survive, only people who will be able to replace what we take'."
She turns her back on him, and begins to watch the people filtering out of the Pantheon. Eventually, she starts to swing her legs again.
4.
He had left Elena to sleep in Stefan's apartment, and returned to the clearing in the woods.
It had seemed strange, pushing leafy tree limbs out of the way, like he was meddling in something he shouldn't have been meddling in.
Stefan had been just how he left him, only the tears on his cheeks had frozen, become frost kissed in the cold night. But the blood on his throat had still shone silver-black in the moonlight.
He had not known what to expect, but it wasn't this: the sight of Stefan's dead, empty eyes staring up unseeing at the distant moon.
He had put a hand on his brother's pale throat, smearing the blood there, trying to find a pulse. Nothing.
He had reached down, slipping the ring of lapis-lazuli from his brother's cold hand. The sun would rise, and without the ring's protective powers, his brother would be burnt up in the sunlight. He owed him that much, at least.
5.
He wakes in the middle of the night in the expensive hotel room he shares with Elena, only to find she is not there.
He casts out with his Power, searching for her presence. She is not far away, a street or two at the most.
He gets dressed and slips the key to the room into his pocket.
6.
He had walked back to Stefan's apartment, trying to decide on how her would kill her. He had settled on a stake as he had walked down the street to the house. He had changed his mind to decaptiation as he had climbed the stairs to the upper level. He had delighted in the thought of letting her burn in the sun as he'd opened the door to the room.
She had been sleeping on her side, so he had grabbed her shoulder roughly and pushed her flat onto the mattress of Stefan's bed, hefting a broken chair leg in one hand.
Her eyes had fluttered open, fever-bright. "Stefan?" she had asked.
He hadn't had the heart, after that. How weak he was.
7.
He finds her in an alleyway behind a bakery, lithe form bend over a small body.
A child, he knows. He can't let this go on any longer.
"Elena," he says softly; she responds better when she thinks it isn't a command. She turns, lips bright-red with blood.
The child is already dead, and Elena smiles when she meets his eyes. He ignores the body in her lap and stretches out a hand towards her.
She puts her hand in his and rises to her feet, letting the body fall unceremoniously to the ground.
He threads his fingers through hers and lifts her hand to his lips. "My lady," he says, exactly what she wants to hear, his eyes never leaving hers.
She smiles, and pulls him close. He kisses her on the cheek, then moves to her bloody lips. She laughs beneath his kiss, and it almost sounds like her, but the child she killed is staring up at him from the ground, green eyes glassy and empty in death.
And when he pulls his hand away, she doesn't even notice when he slips the ring of lapis-lazuli off her finger.
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