Summary: Caroline kisses him just to shut him up.
Author's Notes: 1,742 words. Written for the prompts blood, substitute, and broken over at Porn Battle XI. This is the last one, I swear! HUGE THANK YOU to leobrat for the beta and encouragement. No real time line, but could very well be set post 2x12. General series spoilers. Hints of Damon/Elena, Caroline/Tyler, Caroline/Matt. Con-crit is both welcome and appreciated. All mistakes are mine. These characters, however, are not.
She should say no. Pull away. Smack him hard against the mouth because she’s stronger now than she was then. Not innocent, not naive, not the little girl who let him use her and abuse her and leave scars and bruises in his wake that she still remembers, can still trace from her painstakingly perfect memory.
That is what Caroline is thinking about when he kisses her, when he has her hands hard and bruising on her face, tangled in her hair, fingers digging in. She remembers things she wishes she couldn’t – the way his mouth would feel between her legs. The way his fingers felt inside her, curling like the edges of his mouth as he watched. The way he felt inside her. The memories come back to her on their own accord and when they do, when the remembering is a nice thing and makes Caroline somewhat happy and something burn gloriously between her thighs, she opens herself willingly to him. Slips her tongue against the roof of his mouth and digs her nails into the base of his spine because she knows he likes it, but mostly because alcohol helps with the cravings and the urges she wishes she didn’t have, but this works better.
Funny how Stefan forgot to mention that in the beginning.
It’s probably why Caroline kisses him back and thinks about how scotch always tastes a million times better when it’s in somebody else’s mouth. It’s definitely why she lets him shove a knee between her legs and push her harder against the wall, corner digging into her spine.
When his lips leave hers though, and his mouth skims the smooth column of her throat, teeth sliding along skin, the old Caroline starts to fight her way to the surface. The remembering turns to anger in her veins, the lust tasting bitter against her tongue and she pushes him away, palms flat against his chest as she shoves him backwards across the room so hard that he stumbles.
“No,” is all she says as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
Damon laughs something low, something borderline threatening, and she remembers that too as something runs up her spine. He sets himself upright and is before her in a millisecond, face angling towards hers with precision.
“No,” she repeats again, jaw squared and proud, and she’s about to shove him again but he catches her wrists, his fingers biting as they tighten around the soft skin when she starts to struggle.
Leaning in further he unashamedly nips at the curve of her jaw, her ear, that spot between collarbone and skin she didn’t even know existed until Matt. Something in her throat hitches, hands stilling their struggle against him.
“Always did like it when you fought back,” Damon says softly, voice low and she can feel his smug grin imprinting itself into her skin and she wants so badly to smack him until it goes away, starts to struggle again, but he’s got years and experience and is always going to be stronger. “And you know what?” he asks, pulling back to look at her, eyes dark and borderline cruel and this is the only part of him that scares her now. “I think you liked it too.”
Caroline kisses him just to shut him up. Kisses him so hard their teeth clink together, kisses him until his grip loosens on her wrists enough for her to pull them free. Her palms find the smooth flatness of his chest again and push him backwards until he falls into the wooden chair behind him gracelessly, mumbling a string of expletives as he does.
“You suck,” she breathes, shedding her jacket and kicking off her shoes in one fluid motion. Damon’s face hovers between surprise and appreciation, that characteristic grin spreading at the very end of it all, wide as he watches her.
Within a second she’s on top of him, thighs on either side of his, mouth harsh and needy as it works against his own. She’s pushing and pushing, taking all that she can grab a hold of as she works herself against him, toes used as leverage as they push against the wooden floor beneath. Matt would have jerked at the friction, Tyler would have moved into it, but Damon just sits still, hands reaching behind her to palm the gentle swell of her ass, the outline of that grin still present, branding itself into her skin.
If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do it her way – the way she wants, the way she needs. Their entire fucked up relationship has always been about Damon, about what he wanted or what he needed, always about how he was going to use her in the process of getting it.
Now that she’s in the position to even the playing field she is definitely going to take advantage of the opportunity.
Damon had taught her that, that universal truth that she had never been strong enough to understand, to do anything about before: take what you can get, whenever you can get it.
She’d laugh at the irony if she weren’t too busy with her mouth.
They are no pleasantries, no sweetness to be concerned with. Caroline pushes and Damon pulls, her mouth leaving his to sink into his neck, his collarbone, nails digging into his sides as they trace dips and contours she recounts by memory. His hands reach under the fabric of her dress, between her thighs, fingering the thin cotton between her legs. Caroline hates herself, just a little bit, for already dripping with wetness for him.
There is a comment, she thinks, cutting through the haze and silence about convenience and easy access, but she ignores him, shoves him back into the chair, smiles proudly at the soft humph of discomfort that passes through his lips as she does, as the chair’s legs wobble beneath them. In retaliation he grips her hips so tight she would bruise if she were still human, using his leverage to push her down onto him just the right way, causing just the right amount of friction that it makes her move into him for more. That has her seams starting to come undone, the stitches coming apart pieces by piece. He does it again and her gasp is involuntary against his neck. It takes everything inside of her not to let her teeth sink into his skin.
Her I hate you drops between them, bleeding with its honesty and resignation, showing just how tightly she’s strung, just how much she’s aching for this.
Damon laughs as her hands start to work against the buckle of his belt, the button of his jeans. “You in a hurry?” he asks and the amusement within his tone has her rolling her eyes.
“Shut up,” she bites out, using her hands as leverage to push herself off of him. Her knees are weak when she stands, feet somewhat unsteady against the flatness of the floor. “And take off your pants.”
Damon raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Take off your underwear first.”
“No,” she starts to argue, ready to fight, but she’s so keyed up that she can feel the wetness between her thighs and she wants a release so badly she can taste it, so she mumbles a quiet fuck it and does what he says. Slides her panties down her legs and tosses them to the side carelessly. With a laugh he follows suit, only looking up in time to catch her start to pull her cotton dress over her head.
“Leave it on,” he commands, voice like gravel and there is something different in the way he says it, something that has him choking on the end of his words that unnerves her.
With skill and ease she didn’t know she had she slides herself over his legs again and grips him in her tiny hands, knees holding her weight as she poises herself right above him. There is a smile that escapes the corner of her lips as Damon’s mouth falls open just slightly at the application and release of pressure.
Caroline does it again just to watch him squirm.
“If you tell anybody about this,” she starts, tightening and releasing her fingers around him. “I swear –“
He cuts her off by grabbing her hips again and rising his own upwards, skin meeting skin, mouth harsh on hers as Damon mumbles a biting don’t worry, I won’t as he slowly rocks into her, his words digging in just as deeply as his touch.
There is a brief adjustment period, a mere fleeting moment where they allow themselves to get reacquainted with each other, where Caroline closes her eyes and lets the pressure press down on her shoulders and settle at the base of her spine. When she’s ready, when her chest stops heaving long enough for her to see straight, she angles her hips just the right way and starts to move, pace firm and fast, building until they both become frantic. Damon matches every move she makes, hips twitching upwards as she presses hers down, hands curling against the back of her head, fingers tightening and twisting in her hair so harshly it would hurt anyone else.
When her eyes slide open she is not at all surprised to find his blissfully closed.
Here’s the thing that she remembers with absolute clarity – this is the most impersonal thing Damon does.
Caroline would admit to nobody but herself that fucking might just be the thing Damon Salvatore is most good at. Personal knowledge, however, has taught her that he will crawl between your legs, make you forget who you are almost completely as he fucks you until he comes with a name that is most definitely not yours stuck in the back of his throat. That he will kiss you until your bottom lip bleeds into his mouth, trace bone and skin and muscle with ease and just enough pressure as he closes his eyes and imagines softer edges and darker hair. That he will kiss you deep and whole, lapping up the blood trickling out of your broken lip and imagines it’s sweeter and somebody else’s entirely.
Which is okay. Really.
When Caroline closes her eyes, and finally gives herself over to the moment fully, she finds herself thinking of somebody else too.