Damon and Lydia, Saturday night
Mar. 23rd, 2013 11:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainIt's Lydia's birthday, and she gets to wrap--and unwrap--her own present. To be fair, she lets Damon wrap--and unwrap--her, too.
Text from Lydia 8:15pm: Busy?
Text from Damon 8:16pm: No, I'm not helping you with market analysis.
Lydia 8:16pm: Damn. In that case, how would you feel about getting laid?
Damon 8:17pm: I'd feel accomplished. Do I get a vote on lingerie?
Lydia 8:18pm: Yes, so long as you pick from the ones I bought today. And I get a vote on yours.
Damon 8:18pm: Are you planning to come root through my wardrobe? Because I'm absolutely in favor if I get to go root through yours too.
Lydia 8:20pm: Not a chance.
Lydia 8:20pm: [Picture]
Lydia 8:20pm: [Picture]
Lydia 8:21: What are my options?
Damon 8:21pm: Spoilsport. First one.
Damon 8:23pm: [Picture]
Damon 8:23pm: [Picture]
Lydia 8:25pm: Galliano, definitely. Downstairs?
Damon 8:25pm: Do we really have to settle for a coat closet? There's a place in town. We could get a room. C'mon. You know you want room service.
Lydia 8:26pm: You know, Damon, sometimes you really do have brilliant ideas. Meet you in the garage.
Damon 8:26pm: '69 Camaro. Be there in 10.
* * *
When Lydia looked at her self in the full wall mirror over the faux-granite countertop, she actually laughed. Silently, but genuinely. Honestly, she looked fucking good, so she took out her iPhone and snapped a quick picture in the mirror--shoulders up, considering the outfit wasn't really one she wanted plastered across the internet in case of a phone hack--or what the fuck ever.
Of course, Damon had picked the nightie that had inspired her to text him in the first place. After lunch with Scott, naturally she'd gone birthday shopping. The pink one had just been for sleeping, for herself, because she knew it'd make her feel good. She didn't know why she'd bought the see-through white baby-doll number...except that she thought she'd look good in it.
And she did, goddammit. And she was in the vaguely cheesy Salem Center Hilton with Damon Salvatore in some ridiculously hot Galliano boxer briefs on the other side of the door.
Not what she would've expected, a year ago.
Better? Worse? Who fucking knew. But she was willing to find out. She turned off her ringer and settled her phone on the counter, then opened the door.
Damon had taken his time once she'd disappeared into the bathroom. Girls - it took them forever to get ready, even for sex - so it wasn't exactly as if he was on a clock. He'd poured himself a drink, flicked a condom onto the nightstand, and had slowly gone about undressing as he nursed the bourbon and poked around the room. It wasn't exactly one of the four-star places he'd shacked up in during his NYC stay, but it was at least clean, had decent sheets, and didn't skimp on the little details like glasses instead of plastic cups.
Having picked up ice from down the hall, and having kept his jeans for the trip, they were still hanging low on his hipbones when she appeared. He turned away from the window when the door opened, his glass of whiskey in one hand, and paused to take a moment just to let his gaze rake over her in that gauzy white negligee. He had to agree with his body's initial response. She looked damn good.
At first, Lydia was too busy looking at him--seriously, Salvatore might've stepped off a pedestal in some Florentine museum, with all those hard lines and perfectly etched planes--to notice the way he was looking at her. Once she did, she smiled. It was a little bit evil, yes, but also as close to real as she was willing to get. She'd been a little bit soft all day--which was the only way to explain how she'd agreed to this scenario in the first place. Any other day... hell no.
But she was so not sorry, right then. She looked pointedly at his jeans, then raised her gaze to his silvery-sharp blue eyes again. Expectantly.
Damon smirked, setting the drink aside, his fingers moving to the button and zipper as he stepped closer, slowly unfastening them. "So. Are you going to tell me why today, of all days, you decide on a booty call?"
She watched, leaning against the wall casually with one arm, hip out, one hand on it. The position left much of the curve of her belly bare, but kept the scar off to the side mostly out of sight. "If you tire me out enough, who knows what could come out of my mouth. Maybe even the truth."
One corner of her mouth pulled up a little farther, though. Of course she would tell him, but they'd both be disappointed if there wasn't at least a little pretense of something being hard to get.
He couldn't take his eyes off of the tempting dark crease between her breasts, and he didn't even try. To hell with control. He had no shame, especially when it came to wanting beautiful girls. The zipper came down, careful around the bulge in his briefs, then his hands moved to his hips, shoving the jeans out and down, off of his hips to the floor. He didn't stop moving, reaching her two steps later, the tips of his fingers sliding along the outside of her thighs beneath the light, see-through fabric. "If that's a challenge, then I accept."
All of the responses she might've had to that flew through Lydia's mind. Flippant things like, You're so predictable, and, I knew you would, because it's just that easy. Things that Damon would give zero fucks about, not just in this situation, but in any situation, but that she might've said anyhow to keep him at arms length, figuratively speaking.
She had no interest in actually saying any of them, tonight. She reached up with one hand, letting it rest against the cords of muscle at his shoulder, fingertips just brushing the soft, dark hair at the back of his neck. With the other, she reached down, tucking a finger into the branded waistband of the boxer-briefs she'd chosen--and oh, it was an excellent choice. Almost as good as the one he'd made for her.
Her legs tingled, tightening up and wanting to go weak at the same time. Warmth began to spread out from her middle already. She smirked up at him. "Good. You're pretty when you're determined."
Damon scoffed softly, grinning as he leaned in, letting his lips drift close enough to hers that they could trade breath without actually touching. "I'm always pretty."
His mouth skated aside then, moving to the soft skin just below her ear, where he locked it onto her neck with a warm, wet caress of his tongue. Meanwhile, he used his leverage on her thighs to put her back to the wall, humming quietly at the feeling of her fingers tickling his nape.
Lydia smiled--really smiled at his words, then lost herself a little in sensation: his talented mouth against her skin, his hard body pressing in close, the pull of his waistband as she tugged at it as if to bring him nearer. Her thighs parted slightly as she shifted, aligning the fit of their bodies so that it would lock in perfectly, because oh, she knew it could and would.
This was what she'd come for, to be able to want someone, to know that she was wanted, and for nothing else to matter. Whatever else he was, Damon Salvatore was whole-hearted in his appreciation. And that... that was even more charming than his prettiness.
Her hand disengaged from his hair, and she raked her fingernails gently up his shoulder blade, over it, and into the cleft of his collarbone as his mouth worked against her. Not enough to leave a mark. Just enough to promise some. Soon.
The temptation to feed on her was there - palpably, and Damon had to catch his breath a couple of times to force himself not to bother. It wouldn't work, or at least, he didn't think it would work, and even if it did, making her tired before they even got to the good part wasn't going to help anyone. Lydia was the kind of lay that he had to work for, and he loved it; the dance of words, the teasing and the hunger building. He especially loved the fight for dominance between them. She could claw him up with the best of them.
He grinned against her throat when she started in with her nails, then let his hands coast up her sides, catching her firmly to press her bodily against the wall, and lifted his head to capture her mouth in a hungry kiss, all hot breath, challenge, and appreciation.
She allowed the pinning and lifting gladly, even rolled her hips into it--and there it was, the fit she liked, the soft cotton of his shorts over the hard muscles of his upper thighs, all that was separating everything, now. She tangled her hand in his hair again, tugging back little to rearrange the angle of the kiss before flicking her tongue over his; he'd started the kiss, she'd control it a little.
She shifted again, this time with different intent, pushing at the swelling heat between her legs. And tightened her grip on his hair. Happy birthday to me.
Damon groaned low as she pushed up against him, then slid his hands down to her thighs, firmly lifting her legs up and around his hips before he caught her and swung them both in the direction of the bed. He gave her lower lip another bite, smiling. "Tell me we're celebrating Easter. I think I could make this a tradition."
She locked her thighs around him and her feet behind--and she smiled, as in really into another kiss. "Close but no cigar." She shifted just a little--not much, trying to maintain her full body hold on him. Wrapped around Damon.
Maybe she hadn't forgiven him for their first meeting, probably she never would. She certainly didn't want to. But that didn't mean it wouldn't make a agood tradition. She bit back, very, very gently, and then breathed the words: "It's my birthday." And laughed. Silently, but again, really.
He placed a knee on the bed, then carried them both down with her weight, her head hitting the pillows, his gaze on that smile. That genuine smile. It was...actually kind of heart-warming, when you got right down to it.
"Hm," he answered with a small smile of his own. He looked over her thoughtfully as he settled most of his full weight against her, before his pale gaze returned to hers. "I guess a 'Happy Birthday' is in order, then."
Lydia went a bit smirky again, but not in the mean sense. She pushed his hair away from his forehead, just to get it between her fingers again. "Thanks. It might turn out to be."
Damon's lips quirked at that, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You wouldn't have texted me if you didn't think I'd be your best bet at making that wish come true."
With a slight roll of her hips--a hot, wet sensation building between her legs and shooting through her whole body with it--Lydia replied, "True--though birthday or not, I always hate to risk disappointment." And yes. That was why she'd texted him.
She laced her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck again and pulled him down, first biting at his bottom lip gently, then going for a kiss, immediately deep and searching. Like she would pull him into her every way imaginable, all at once.
A low groan rumbled appreciatively into that kiss, as he returned it fully and whole-heartedly. Meanwhile, Damon regretted the fact that she was still clothed, because every nerve in his body wanted her panties off that moment and life didn't actually work that way. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into the skinny band at each of her hips, his other fingers slipping under the flimsy material until they could skim over and tug at her ass, encouraging the amazing undulation she had going.
These were the only moments when she didn't hate it, that appreciate me, goddammit feeling that twisted up her guts, some days. A tiny part of her brain that maintained reason still knew, logically, that it was there, and that it was distasteful.
The rest of her was happy buried under Damon (until she decided to flip it over--and oh, she would), with his mouth and his hands all over her, and him rubbing up against her in exactly the right way to make her spine tingle. She tugged down his shorts in back--god, he had an ass like a gay Renaissance sculptor had carved it--and dug in her nails at the same exact moment she bit at his lip. Just a few more little promises--just another way to say, Bring it..
The mental yes, /ma'am/ briefly flitted through his thoughts, then he seized her throat in his mouth with devouring, breathtaking kisses, his hands abandoning her ass to surge up her back, one tangling in her soft curls, the other testing the back of the nightie for a handy clasp.
And that did it. As Lydia arched into him, a quick gasp fading into a quiet moan, nails digging in, she finally stopped thinking. Except for the occasional, Oh, fuck, yes. anyhow.
* * *
"What are the odds that these shows are all based on some mutant who's so bored they go around fucking with people and making them think places are haunted?" Lydia said after a swallow of the most sinful raspberry swirl cheesecake she had ever known. Seriously, huge diet after today, massive.
But then again, she'd worked plenty off already. Her legs were still weak, which was possibly why she had not bothered with pants. She sat on the hotel bed next to Damon, legs pulled up lotus style, in the barely-there underpants from her lingerie and an old BHHS Lacrosse shirt she'd found at the bottom of her bag, take out containers littering the coffee table and comforter in front of them.
Yeah, well, her hair was still perfect.
And this whole Ghost Hunter show phenomenon really needed to stop. How many were there, anyhow, and why did they keep reproducing?
"Did you hear that we have one of the kids going by the codename, 'Ghost'? Seriously. Who chooses that? They could have at least gone with something like, 'Specter' or 'Tommyknocker'..." Damon lamented. In actuality, he knew exactly who had chosen the name, and why, and still found it rather tragic, but he couldn't go giving his spy away either.
Stretched out in his boxer-briefs, one arm pillowing his head, he fed himself slow, delicious bites of the cheesecake, while licking the fork clean between each one. He'd paid, because, why not? He had the money. Besides, if it was his birthday, he'd want it to go pretty much the same way the night had gone, so expected someone to return the favor in the future.
Lydia scrunched up her nose. "Ghost," she said in a tone of voice that would say perfectly what she thought of that. She hadn't gone to the trouble of figuring them all out, yet, just the people on her practice squad--whatever the hell that was about. "Mmm, we do have some spooky kids around, don't we? What'd you go with?"
She took another bite, gaze flicking first over him, stretched out in a way that made her wonder if eating this cheesecake off his abs wasn't a pretty good idea, then back to the television.
"Well, I thought about 'Maverick', but it's been done," Damon drawled. As he caught her eyeing his abs, he smiled. "So I went with Incubus."
Lydia arched an eyebrow. She never had figured out just how that whole psychic vampire thing worked for him, after his little confession on New Years. "I was expecting something to do with a vampire, but I am somehow not surprised that you felt the need to tie the concept to sex."
"Mm," Damon smiled. "What I do may not seem sexual to you, but you should feel it from my end. Besides, the whole vampire thing is completely overdone. I'd rather not people think of Twilight every time they see me."
"You could go with Langella's Dracula," Lydia said, as if seriously considering it. She was, in fact, seriously considering him.
No--she would certainly never forgive him for that first meeting, that much was obvious--but somehow his powers didn't cause that visceral fear reaction in her that they once had. Not only because they couldn't affect her, even knowing that, it had bothered her once, thinking of someone like Damon Salvatore with the ability to control and sap people of their energy in any way, shape, or form. Thinking of it as sexual on his end should just magnify it.
She was either losing her mind, still orgasm-addled, or... something had changed. She filed it away to think about later. "But an updated version. Somehow I don't think the seventies look is for you."
In fact, I think you should be at least this naked all the time.
"Mm, so Lydia Martin watches classic horror movies..." Damon murmured thoughtfully, a smile on his lips. He gave a small shrug. "As much as I like being compared to a romanticized, seductive vampire, I'd like to think of myself more as a demon, myself."
"More like Lydia Martin learned the hard way not to allow herself to be subjected to classic horror movies. But that one isn't the worst." She returned the little smile, only the barest hint of its usual sharpness evident. "But yeah. I guessed, with the demon thing. Mainly because you're so good at getting everyone else to think of you that way."
Damon swallowed another bite of cheesecake, then pointed the fork at her, one eyebrow arching up. "Don't mistake the shiny exterior, Peaches. I'm perfectly happy being the bad guy. It's not all for show."
"Mmm, I like how you jumped straight to me assuming it was, though." That was a little smirkier, but she put aside the last of the cheesecake and pulled up her knees, wrapping her arms around them and resting her cheek against one, looking at him. "I'd rather you were evil, don't worry."
He narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "You? Who cried mind-rape the second we met?"
"You tried. You failed." She shrugged and looked back to the television, internally satisfied that he obviously hadn't forgiven her, either. Glad that he thought there was something that he needed to forgive. She wanted him to be evil because she didn't want to be his friend. But also, "Your evil is bound to be more fun for me than trouble in the long run."
Damon slowly sat up, leaning toward her back to scoop her hair away over one shoulder as he let his breath coast across the back of her neck. "My evil can be all kinds of fun."
"Mmm, see, exactly my point," Lydia agreed, tilting her head slightly away to reveal more neck.
It was funny, because Jackson used to do the same kinds of things. Say something he thought would hurt or fluster or confuse her. Sometimes, by sheer dumb luck--or because she let him have that power--it did. Sometimes, Lydia used to give him dirty looks, or scream, or leave.
All that was all right. It was the inevitable crying after that wasn't.
But as long as she expected it, she could use it. And if Damon was using it too? Fine. So long as it was even, and by the rules.
All the reasons it was better if Damon was evil. All the reasons he couldn't touch her.
Except like this. She smiled. "Good is notoriously not this much fun."
Text from Lydia 8:15pm: Busy?
Text from Damon 8:16pm: No, I'm not helping you with market analysis.
Lydia 8:16pm: Damn. In that case, how would you feel about getting laid?
Damon 8:17pm: I'd feel accomplished. Do I get a vote on lingerie?
Lydia 8:18pm: Yes, so long as you pick from the ones I bought today. And I get a vote on yours.
Damon 8:18pm: Are you planning to come root through my wardrobe? Because I'm absolutely in favor if I get to go root through yours too.
Lydia 8:20pm: Not a chance.
Lydia 8:20pm: [Picture]
Lydia 8:20pm: [Picture]
Lydia 8:21: What are my options?
Damon 8:21pm: Spoilsport. First one.
Damon 8:23pm: [Picture]
Damon 8:23pm: [Picture]
Lydia 8:25pm: Galliano, definitely. Downstairs?
Damon 8:25pm: Do we really have to settle for a coat closet? There's a place in town. We could get a room. C'mon. You know you want room service.
Lydia 8:26pm: You know, Damon, sometimes you really do have brilliant ideas. Meet you in the garage.
Damon 8:26pm: '69 Camaro. Be there in 10.
When Lydia looked at her self in the full wall mirror over the faux-granite countertop, she actually laughed. Silently, but genuinely. Honestly, she looked fucking good, so she took out her iPhone and snapped a quick picture in the mirror--shoulders up, considering the outfit wasn't really one she wanted plastered across the internet in case of a phone hack--or what the fuck ever.
Of course, Damon had picked the nightie that had inspired her to text him in the first place. After lunch with Scott, naturally she'd gone birthday shopping. The pink one had just been for sleeping, for herself, because she knew it'd make her feel good. She didn't know why she'd bought the see-through white baby-doll number...except that she thought she'd look good in it.
And she did, goddammit. And she was in the vaguely cheesy Salem Center Hilton with Damon Salvatore in some ridiculously hot Galliano boxer briefs on the other side of the door.
Not what she would've expected, a year ago.
Better? Worse? Who fucking knew. But she was willing to find out. She turned off her ringer and settled her phone on the counter, then opened the door.
Damon had taken his time once she'd disappeared into the bathroom. Girls - it took them forever to get ready, even for sex - so it wasn't exactly as if he was on a clock. He'd poured himself a drink, flicked a condom onto the nightstand, and had slowly gone about undressing as he nursed the bourbon and poked around the room. It wasn't exactly one of the four-star places he'd shacked up in during his NYC stay, but it was at least clean, had decent sheets, and didn't skimp on the little details like glasses instead of plastic cups.
Having picked up ice from down the hall, and having kept his jeans for the trip, they were still hanging low on his hipbones when she appeared. He turned away from the window when the door opened, his glass of whiskey in one hand, and paused to take a moment just to let his gaze rake over her in that gauzy white negligee. He had to agree with his body's initial response. She looked damn good.
At first, Lydia was too busy looking at him--seriously, Salvatore might've stepped off a pedestal in some Florentine museum, with all those hard lines and perfectly etched planes--to notice the way he was looking at her. Once she did, she smiled. It was a little bit evil, yes, but also as close to real as she was willing to get. She'd been a little bit soft all day--which was the only way to explain how she'd agreed to this scenario in the first place. Any other day... hell no.
But she was so not sorry, right then. She looked pointedly at his jeans, then raised her gaze to his silvery-sharp blue eyes again. Expectantly.
Damon smirked, setting the drink aside, his fingers moving to the button and zipper as he stepped closer, slowly unfastening them. "So. Are you going to tell me why today, of all days, you decide on a booty call?"
She watched, leaning against the wall casually with one arm, hip out, one hand on it. The position left much of the curve of her belly bare, but kept the scar off to the side mostly out of sight. "If you tire me out enough, who knows what could come out of my mouth. Maybe even the truth."
One corner of her mouth pulled up a little farther, though. Of course she would tell him, but they'd both be disappointed if there wasn't at least a little pretense of something being hard to get.
He couldn't take his eyes off of the tempting dark crease between her breasts, and he didn't even try. To hell with control. He had no shame, especially when it came to wanting beautiful girls. The zipper came down, careful around the bulge in his briefs, then his hands moved to his hips, shoving the jeans out and down, off of his hips to the floor. He didn't stop moving, reaching her two steps later, the tips of his fingers sliding along the outside of her thighs beneath the light, see-through fabric. "If that's a challenge, then I accept."
All of the responses she might've had to that flew through Lydia's mind. Flippant things like, You're so predictable, and, I knew you would, because it's just that easy. Things that Damon would give zero fucks about, not just in this situation, but in any situation, but that she might've said anyhow to keep him at arms length, figuratively speaking.
She had no interest in actually saying any of them, tonight. She reached up with one hand, letting it rest against the cords of muscle at his shoulder, fingertips just brushing the soft, dark hair at the back of his neck. With the other, she reached down, tucking a finger into the branded waistband of the boxer-briefs she'd chosen--and oh, it was an excellent choice. Almost as good as the one he'd made for her.
Her legs tingled, tightening up and wanting to go weak at the same time. Warmth began to spread out from her middle already. She smirked up at him. "Good. You're pretty when you're determined."
Damon scoffed softly, grinning as he leaned in, letting his lips drift close enough to hers that they could trade breath without actually touching. "I'm always pretty."
His mouth skated aside then, moving to the soft skin just below her ear, where he locked it onto her neck with a warm, wet caress of his tongue. Meanwhile, he used his leverage on her thighs to put her back to the wall, humming quietly at the feeling of her fingers tickling his nape.
Lydia smiled--really smiled at his words, then lost herself a little in sensation: his talented mouth against her skin, his hard body pressing in close, the pull of his waistband as she tugged at it as if to bring him nearer. Her thighs parted slightly as she shifted, aligning the fit of their bodies so that it would lock in perfectly, because oh, she knew it could and would.
This was what she'd come for, to be able to want someone, to know that she was wanted, and for nothing else to matter. Whatever else he was, Damon Salvatore was whole-hearted in his appreciation. And that... that was even more charming than his prettiness.
Her hand disengaged from his hair, and she raked her fingernails gently up his shoulder blade, over it, and into the cleft of his collarbone as his mouth worked against her. Not enough to leave a mark. Just enough to promise some. Soon.
The temptation to feed on her was there - palpably, and Damon had to catch his breath a couple of times to force himself not to bother. It wouldn't work, or at least, he didn't think it would work, and even if it did, making her tired before they even got to the good part wasn't going to help anyone. Lydia was the kind of lay that he had to work for, and he loved it; the dance of words, the teasing and the hunger building. He especially loved the fight for dominance between them. She could claw him up with the best of them.
He grinned against her throat when she started in with her nails, then let his hands coast up her sides, catching her firmly to press her bodily against the wall, and lifted his head to capture her mouth in a hungry kiss, all hot breath, challenge, and appreciation.
She allowed the pinning and lifting gladly, even rolled her hips into it--and there it was, the fit she liked, the soft cotton of his shorts over the hard muscles of his upper thighs, all that was separating everything, now. She tangled her hand in his hair again, tugging back little to rearrange the angle of the kiss before flicking her tongue over his; he'd started the kiss, she'd control it a little.
She shifted again, this time with different intent, pushing at the swelling heat between her legs. And tightened her grip on his hair. Happy birthday to me.
Damon groaned low as she pushed up against him, then slid his hands down to her thighs, firmly lifting her legs up and around his hips before he caught her and swung them both in the direction of the bed. He gave her lower lip another bite, smiling. "Tell me we're celebrating Easter. I think I could make this a tradition."
She locked her thighs around him and her feet behind--and she smiled, as in really into another kiss. "Close but no cigar." She shifted just a little--not much, trying to maintain her full body hold on him. Wrapped around Damon.
Maybe she hadn't forgiven him for their first meeting, probably she never would. She certainly didn't want to. But that didn't mean it wouldn't make a agood tradition. She bit back, very, very gently, and then breathed the words: "It's my birthday." And laughed. Silently, but again, really.
He placed a knee on the bed, then carried them both down with her weight, her head hitting the pillows, his gaze on that smile. That genuine smile. It was...actually kind of heart-warming, when you got right down to it.
"Hm," he answered with a small smile of his own. He looked over her thoughtfully as he settled most of his full weight against her, before his pale gaze returned to hers. "I guess a 'Happy Birthday' is in order, then."
Lydia went a bit smirky again, but not in the mean sense. She pushed his hair away from his forehead, just to get it between her fingers again. "Thanks. It might turn out to be."
Damon's lips quirked at that, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You wouldn't have texted me if you didn't think I'd be your best bet at making that wish come true."
With a slight roll of her hips--a hot, wet sensation building between her legs and shooting through her whole body with it--Lydia replied, "True--though birthday or not, I always hate to risk disappointment." And yes. That was why she'd texted him.
She laced her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck again and pulled him down, first biting at his bottom lip gently, then going for a kiss, immediately deep and searching. Like she would pull him into her every way imaginable, all at once.
A low groan rumbled appreciatively into that kiss, as he returned it fully and whole-heartedly. Meanwhile, Damon regretted the fact that she was still clothed, because every nerve in his body wanted her panties off that moment and life didn't actually work that way. Instead, he hooked his thumbs into the skinny band at each of her hips, his other fingers slipping under the flimsy material until they could skim over and tug at her ass, encouraging the amazing undulation she had going.
These were the only moments when she didn't hate it, that appreciate me, goddammit feeling that twisted up her guts, some days. A tiny part of her brain that maintained reason still knew, logically, that it was there, and that it was distasteful.
The rest of her was happy buried under Damon (until she decided to flip it over--and oh, she would), with his mouth and his hands all over her, and him rubbing up against her in exactly the right way to make her spine tingle. She tugged down his shorts in back--god, he had an ass like a gay Renaissance sculptor had carved it--and dug in her nails at the same exact moment she bit at his lip. Just a few more little promises--just another way to say, Bring it..
The mental yes, /ma'am/ briefly flitted through his thoughts, then he seized her throat in his mouth with devouring, breathtaking kisses, his hands abandoning her ass to surge up her back, one tangling in her soft curls, the other testing the back of the nightie for a handy clasp.
And that did it. As Lydia arched into him, a quick gasp fading into a quiet moan, nails digging in, she finally stopped thinking. Except for the occasional, Oh, fuck, yes. anyhow.
"What are the odds that these shows are all based on some mutant who's so bored they go around fucking with people and making them think places are haunted?" Lydia said after a swallow of the most sinful raspberry swirl cheesecake she had ever known. Seriously, huge diet after today, massive.
But then again, she'd worked plenty off already. Her legs were still weak, which was possibly why she had not bothered with pants. She sat on the hotel bed next to Damon, legs pulled up lotus style, in the barely-there underpants from her lingerie and an old BHHS Lacrosse shirt she'd found at the bottom of her bag, take out containers littering the coffee table and comforter in front of them.
Yeah, well, her hair was still perfect.
And this whole Ghost Hunter show phenomenon really needed to stop. How many were there, anyhow, and why did they keep reproducing?
"Did you hear that we have one of the kids going by the codename, 'Ghost'? Seriously. Who chooses that? They could have at least gone with something like, 'Specter' or 'Tommyknocker'..." Damon lamented. In actuality, he knew exactly who had chosen the name, and why, and still found it rather tragic, but he couldn't go giving his spy away either.
Stretched out in his boxer-briefs, one arm pillowing his head, he fed himself slow, delicious bites of the cheesecake, while licking the fork clean between each one. He'd paid, because, why not? He had the money. Besides, if it was his birthday, he'd want it to go pretty much the same way the night had gone, so expected someone to return the favor in the future.
Lydia scrunched up her nose. "Ghost," she said in a tone of voice that would say perfectly what she thought of that. She hadn't gone to the trouble of figuring them all out, yet, just the people on her practice squad--whatever the hell that was about. "Mmm, we do have some spooky kids around, don't we? What'd you go with?"
She took another bite, gaze flicking first over him, stretched out in a way that made her wonder if eating this cheesecake off his abs wasn't a pretty good idea, then back to the television.
"Well, I thought about 'Maverick', but it's been done," Damon drawled. As he caught her eyeing his abs, he smiled. "So I went with Incubus."
Lydia arched an eyebrow. She never had figured out just how that whole psychic vampire thing worked for him, after his little confession on New Years. "I was expecting something to do with a vampire, but I am somehow not surprised that you felt the need to tie the concept to sex."
"Mm," Damon smiled. "What I do may not seem sexual to you, but you should feel it from my end. Besides, the whole vampire thing is completely overdone. I'd rather not people think of Twilight every time they see me."
"You could go with Langella's Dracula," Lydia said, as if seriously considering it. She was, in fact, seriously considering him.
No--she would certainly never forgive him for that first meeting, that much was obvious--but somehow his powers didn't cause that visceral fear reaction in her that they once had. Not only because they couldn't affect her, even knowing that, it had bothered her once, thinking of someone like Damon Salvatore with the ability to control and sap people of their energy in any way, shape, or form. Thinking of it as sexual on his end should just magnify it.
She was either losing her mind, still orgasm-addled, or... something had changed. She filed it away to think about later. "But an updated version. Somehow I don't think the seventies look is for you."
In fact, I think you should be at least this naked all the time.
"Mm, so Lydia Martin watches classic horror movies..." Damon murmured thoughtfully, a smile on his lips. He gave a small shrug. "As much as I like being compared to a romanticized, seductive vampire, I'd like to think of myself more as a demon, myself."
"More like Lydia Martin learned the hard way not to allow herself to be subjected to classic horror movies. But that one isn't the worst." She returned the little smile, only the barest hint of its usual sharpness evident. "But yeah. I guessed, with the demon thing. Mainly because you're so good at getting everyone else to think of you that way."
Damon swallowed another bite of cheesecake, then pointed the fork at her, one eyebrow arching up. "Don't mistake the shiny exterior, Peaches. I'm perfectly happy being the bad guy. It's not all for show."
"Mmm, I like how you jumped straight to me assuming it was, though." That was a little smirkier, but she put aside the last of the cheesecake and pulled up her knees, wrapping her arms around them and resting her cheek against one, looking at him. "I'd rather you were evil, don't worry."
He narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "You? Who cried mind-rape the second we met?"
"You tried. You failed." She shrugged and looked back to the television, internally satisfied that he obviously hadn't forgiven her, either. Glad that he thought there was something that he needed to forgive. She wanted him to be evil because she didn't want to be his friend. But also, "Your evil is bound to be more fun for me than trouble in the long run."
Damon slowly sat up, leaning toward her back to scoop her hair away over one shoulder as he let his breath coast across the back of her neck. "My evil can be all kinds of fun."
"Mmm, see, exactly my point," Lydia agreed, tilting her head slightly away to reveal more neck.
It was funny, because Jackson used to do the same kinds of things. Say something he thought would hurt or fluster or confuse her. Sometimes, by sheer dumb luck--or because she let him have that power--it did. Sometimes, Lydia used to give him dirty looks, or scream, or leave.
All that was all right. It was the inevitable crying after that wasn't.
But as long as she expected it, she could use it. And if Damon was using it too? Fine. So long as it was even, and by the rules.
All the reasons it was better if Damon was evil. All the reasons he couldn't touch her.
Except like this. She smiled. "Good is notoriously not this much fun."
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Date: 2013-03-25 03:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-25 04:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-25 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-25 04:09 am (UTC)(Lydia wants wingsex details in return someday tho. Because. Wingsex.)
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Date: 2013-03-25 04:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-25 04:44 am (UTC)Okay this is officially ON THE LIST.
And Damon can never know how much thought was spent between them on him that night. Though he probably already imagines this happens. Nightly. So whatever!
no subject
Date: 2013-03-25 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-03-25 07:18 pm (UTC)... but you're kinda right.