Upstairs by Elektra Pendragon It was late at night--or early in the morning, depending on one's perspective--before Stefan came back to the boarding house after his shift of watching Vickie was over. A downstairs light illuminated one of the windows; Mrs. Flowers was still awake. When he unlocked one of the double doors, she called out to him. "Boy!" She never used his name. "Is that you, boy?" Stepping shyly into her parlor, Stefan had the odd feeling of deja vu. It hit him, then, seeing her smiling face looking up at him, keen eyes taking in his tired face and disheveled hair with abstract interest. He was back. Back in Fell's Church. The one place on Earth Stefan had thought he'd never see again. "Yes signora, it's me. I'm sorry if I disturbed you." The words came easy to his mouth, as though he'd spoken them a thousand times before. "Takes more than a squeaky floorboard, boy..." her voice trailed off a little, ending with a half-unconscious shrug. The silence dragged out for a moment, then Stefan stepped forward, his hand dipping into his pocket. "I would like to pay you for the rooms. I can't speak for my--for Damon, but...here." He held out a fistful of crinkled bills, not even caring if they were American dollars or old lire notes he hadn't yet converted. She waved her small hand. "No need, boy. Just keep the place tidy. Won't put me out none." Stefan pressed the bills into Mrs. Flowers' hand, but she politely refused, her old eyes twinkling with something akin to amusement. She dropped the cash the moment his hand moved away, her face still somewhat dreamy. Giving up, Stefan left the money on the floor. "Good night, Mrs. Flowers," he said, turning to leave. "Good night, boy." 'Boy...little brother...doesn't anyone know my name anymore?' Stefan thought to himself as he walked back out into the darkened hallway and started for the stairs. Walking up the long stairway to the second floor felt so familiar to him, as though he'd done it all his life rather than little more than half a year. The light oak banister glowed softly in the twilight-gloom of the hall, polished to a high-gloss shine that was dazzling in the day. The scent of lavender rose up from the wood, so deeply ingrained in the oak that a hundred years from now it would still smell as sweet. So strange, but the boarding house felt like home. It made Stefan feel just a little less lonely--but only a little. Too much of it reminded him of what he'd lost. The door to the hidden stairwell was slightly ajar when Stefan entered the second-floor bedroom, but he didn't pay much attention to it. Mrs. Flowers probably had left it open the last time she was up there to clean. She had said it was just as he had left it; Stefan hoped that some of his clothes might still be in the dresser. He hadn't brought any with him, but he was feeling...dirty. The spot of blood on his shirt was starting to annoy him. He hadn't noticed it until Damon had pointed it out, but now the smell of it clung to his senses, making him feel both hungry and nauseated. Damon probably hadn't bothered with rabbit. He'd probably had a half-dozen young women lined up, just begging to be his prey. Feeling his irritation at his brother overcome his malaise, Stefan hurried up the narrow staircase with heavy, quick steps, probably sounding like a herd of elephants to Mrs. Flowers downstairs. He beat his irritation into the wood beneath his feet, abstractly imagining Damon being beneath his boots. The large, one-room attic was lit by the nearly full moon just beginning to set behind the trees of the forest. There was more than enough light for Stefan to see the details of the room: the massive furniture painted in light and shadow, the old trunks lining the walls between the tall windows. The black leather jacket thrown carelessly across the top of the dresser. Black boots kicked half-under the nightstand. Damon on the bed, stretched out and lounging as though he owned the bed, the room, the boarding house, and even Stefan. "What are you doing here?" Stefan asked, not even bothering to hide the anger in his voice. He hadn't expected Damon to show up until the last minute, after causing as much chaos as he could in the town. Or maybe not even then, after the fight they'd had. Not even bothering to look at Stefan, Damon relaxed further into the soft mattress. practically melting into it as he flexed and eased his muscles. "I rather like it here, little brother," Damon all but purred, rubbing his hands over the bed covers. "You wouldn't mind, would you? After all, I prefer being on top." 'Little brother,' Stefan repeated to himself in his mind. He wasn't angry so much about Damon being there--it was better he were here than in the bedroom of some unsuspecting innocent--but that he acted as though Stefan would simply roll over and let him take the room. Just because Damon always had to have the top floors. Even in their place on Via Tornabuoni Damon had to have the entire third floor to himself. Stefan had let his older brother have his way then, in the hopes to keep the peace between them, but not this time. "Not this time, Damon. This is MY room." Stefan stood beside the bed, his arms across his chest, trying to loom dangerously over his lounging brother. Damon stretched his back, arching up off the mattress for a moment. His head lazily flopped to the side to look over at his brother with half-closed eyes. His hair was mildly messed from the pillow, making him look like he just woke up. "We can share," he said, one eyebrow arching elegantly. "Plenty of room." Damon stretched again, his mouth opening slightly as he delicately yawned. He rolled onto his side, turning his back to Stefan, snuggling to the far edge to demonstrate just how much room was still available on the little bed. 'I swear to God I'll--did he just wiggle?' Distracted for a moment by the artful movements of Damon's hips, Stefan forgot what he was going to say. It didn't matter, though. Actions speak louder than words. Taking up two big fistfulls of the top blanket, Stefan secured his feet, then lifted. Damon, who was scrunched to the very edge of the bed, lost his balance as the blanket jerked up beneath him, and he was barely able to twist himself to fall on his butt rather than his face. His hands helped to lessen the impact, but he still hit the floor with a satisfying THUMP and a yelp. Fluffing the blanket in the air, Stefan shook it out and laid it down on the bed, smoothing away any dent Damon might have made in the thick mattress. Laying himself down on top and kicking off his shoes, Stefan smiled up at the ceiling, his hands flat against the mattress. "My room, Damon. My bed." "Whatever you say," Damon's voice floated up from the floor. Suddenly, a shimmer of motion caught Stefan's eye, and a second later a warm weight was on his chest. Damon's dark eyes floated above Stefan, his straight hair making a black halo around his face. "Like I said, little brother. I get to be on top." Stefan tried to sit up, but Damon tightened his thighs around his ribcage, keeping him flat against the bed. "Let me up." Stefan brought up his hands, resting them on Damon's hips as he tried to push his brother off his chest. Hands, smaller but stronger than his own, came down on his wrists, pulling his hands away and pinning them down on either side of his face. "Ah, ah ah, little brother," Damon chided, his tongue clicking as he shook his head. "I told you, those humans may obey you, but I won't." Thighs parting enough to allow some movement, Damon bowed his back and began to slide down the taller vampire's chest, supporting most of his weight on his hands as he rubbed his groin against the warm body beneath. It was an almost lazy motion, a slow, lingering stretching that was both indolent and seductive. The smaller man didn't quite match up to length of Stefan's body; Damon was older but smaller than his brother. He stopped when their groins were lined up, and his face was mere inches from Stefan's nose. Stefan swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of the pressure his brother was putting on his genitals. It wasn't painful at all. It was...wrong. "Damon--" Stefan cut off the name in a low groan as the smaller man squirmed on top of him, applying just enough pressure against his fly to make him want to arch up for more. "Damon," he tried again, refusing to look away from those night-dark eyes. Inhumanly beautiful eyes. "What are you doing?" He worked hard to keep his voice calm and steady, to not let Damon know just how much the squirming was getting to him. Perhaps if he ignored it, Damon would stop. Damon flashed one of his quick, beautiful smiles, then leaned close. So close, Stefan could smell the faint cologne clinging to his neck. So close, the raven-black hair fell like a curtain across his cheek, soft and cool. Damon ran his nose up along the fine line of the younger man's jaw, nuzzling into his cheek like a cat. Stefan's breath hitched, catching like a strangled scream in his throat as Damon located a particularly sensitive area just below his ear. Almost in a response to the tiny sound, the older vampire undulated his spine, rubbing against every available inch of his brother's body. "I'm getting a haircut," he finally answered sarcastically, murmuring directly into Stefan's ear. "What does it look like I'm doing?" "It looks like you're trying to seduce your own brother," Stefan answered bluntly, emphasizing the word 'brother' in the hopes to break Damon out of whatever mood he was in. A light laughter rumbled where their chests were pressed flat together. A smile crinkled against his skin. "Very good." Damon moved his head, and then Stefan felt warm, wet lips press against his jaw. They opened a little, and a cat-sharp tongue snuck out to leave a long, shivery trail of fire down Stefan's jaw. The lips stopped at his chin, sucking lightly on the skin there. "What am I doing now?" Damon asked against Stefan's skin, his words faintly mocking. "It feels like you're kissing--" Stefan couldn't continue, because the lips had found their way to his mouth, latching on and not letting go for anything. Vaguely, dreamily, Stefan thought that he should be fighting harder. That he should be turning his head away instead of following Damon's lips, opening to his tongue, responding with his own. Damon was the one to finally pull away, sitting up enough that his brother couldn't follow him. Their lips parted with slight sucking noise. Stefan fell back onto the pillow as he looked up at beautiful face hovering above him. He sucked in a shuddering, hitching breath, his thoughts scattered to the four winds. "That was...that was..." That killer smile again. "Everything you've dreamed about?" "Ye--No." Stefan's back stiffened against the mattress. "That was wrong. Damon, let me up." He couldn't quite control his muscles anymore; they shook and tensed, and more often than not they pressed upwards, inevitablely drawn towards the delicious friction of Damon's body. He tried twisting his wrists to break the vise-like hold, but he was held immobile. Damon swiveled his hips, grinding down on Stefan's growing erection. "I think you are already up, brother." "God damn it, Damon, this isn't a joke!" Stefan shouted in his face, a strange kind of anger that wasn't anger coming to fore. He couldn't give a name to the emotion that was creeping up his spine, so instead he denied it, like he denied the waves of pleasure that were slowly wearing away his control. Damon let out a long sigh, his body falling back down on Stefan's as he drew it out. Rubbing against the longer body like a great big cat, Damon shifted his weight until he found a comfortable position. "I know that. I didn't think it was." The humour was gone from his voice; now there was just a vague tiredness underlining the undeniable hunger. His eyes reflected the strange mix of longing and weariness, making his strong-lined face seem softer and younger. He rested his forehead against Stefan's temple, pressing their faces close together. In spite of himself, Stefan didn't turn his face to the side to avoid the forced intimacy of their position. He kept his neck straight, staring at the ceiling, not quite trusting himself to try to move. Damon's grip on his wrists was loose, just resting rather than holding him down, and yet--and yet Stefan didn't move away. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, his brother's dark hair lining his vision. Warm breath, quick and deep, brushed against his cheek. "If this isn't a joke, what is it then?" Stefan asked, half afraid of the answer. A part of him--a big part--wanted it to be a joke, some cruel capricious act Damon cooked up to make his brother distrust him. "It's sex, little brother." Damon drew out the sentence, each syllable carried on its own breath, cradled and amplified even though Damon just whispered it, his lips barely moving. And then he did move, his incredible mouth returning to Stefan's lips--not pressing, not demanding, but just touching. Like a rabbit caught by a snake, Stefan couldn't move. His eyes crossed trying to look into the space-black gaze too close to his own. Straight, black hair fell around his face, curtaining them away from the rest of the world. All that existed in his vision was Damon. His brother. Who was kissing him ever so lightly, tiny tugging touches that barely lasted a second, barely touched a centimeter of skin, but were all the more devastating for their gentleness. 'We can't,' Stefan thought. 'I--we--brothers!' He whimpered aloud, finally identifying that strange feeling growing inside him. Fear. He was so afraid. "Shhhh," Damon soothed against Stefan's lips, the sound falling like a cool wind against his skin. "Shhh...it's okay." "It's wrong," Stefan whispered, a louder voice unnecessary with their closeness. But his protest was weak, sounding hollow and false as it resonated with the deep need building up in his lower belly. He was afraid, so very afraid because in spite of everything, in spite of who Damon was, who he was--Stefan wanted this. 'Oh, God, I didn't know...I didn't think...' "Don't think," Damon answered him, as if he knew exactly what Stefan was thinking. Perhaps he did. "Just lay back, Stefan." 'He used my name!' Stefan thought idly, the sound of his name causing an odd ringing in his heart. Not so much that it was his name, but how Damon said it. He never spoke like this, not to Stefan. It was always 'little brother,' pronounced scornfully and with emphasis on the 'little.' Somehow, more than the building pressure rubbing against his body, hearing his name spoken like a lover's made it very real to him. "Why?" The question was more moaned than spoken, as Damon's hips started a more demanding rhythm, rocking up against his. Nothing more than that--just plain and simple 'why.' Damon blew out a deep breath, the cool air sending a shiver down Stefan's spine. "Because we can," he answered, his head tipping to the side as he began to nuzzle the soft cheek again. "Because I want to. Because I know you need this." He paused to lick the little bump at the base of his ear. "I can feel the aching loneliness in you. She's gone, Stefan. She's not going to miraculously come back, no matter what the witch says. But I'm here." He shifted, altering the pressure to make his brother gasp. "I know what you are, and I don't care. I know what you need--and you aren't going to get that from those humans." The hands on his wrists suddenly became tight, biting into his flesh as they pressed his hands into the mattress. "You can pretend tomorrow that I forced you, or just forget it all together, but for right now, just let me--" he cut off his words, kissing Stefan again, hard and hungry against his lips. When he finally broke off, they were both breathless again. "Just let me..." Night dark eyes dilated and warm. And hungry. And focused on Stefan. Swallowing hard, Stefan looked right into those dark orbs, and nodded. The grip on his wrists let up as Damon slowly slid his hands down the unmoving arms, rubbing the muscles that tensed beneath the smooth, soft skin. Stefan didn't know what to do, so he simply lay there, letting his older brother have his way. The strong hands came to rest on his chest, and with a small bit of pressure Damon pushed himself up off Stefan's body, sitting back on his thighs. The room suddenly felt cold for the loss of the weight on his chest. Stefan moved, writhed upwards, not wanting to think too much about it now that he'd resigned himself to his fate. Damon chuckled lightly, and he moved his thumbs to circle the little, peaking nipples through the tight fabric of his black T-shirt, short nails flicking against the swelling nubs. He only played a moment before moving down, sneaking fingers under Stefan's disarrayed shirt to find bare skin. "Oooh," Stefan breathed out, unable to come up with a word to describe it. Feather-like touches. A strong hand pressed flat against his belly. The ghosting of a fingernail. The feeling of bare-skin against his stomach was incredible as Damon rubbed small circles, easing his tensed muscles. He could only imagine what Damon's lips would feel-- And then his shirt was being pushed up, and Stefan didn't have to imagine anymore. Damon licked his lips before pressing them to the skin directly above his beltline, nibbling the soft flesh over hard muscle with lip-covered teeth. The nibbling kisses chased the T-shirt as it moved up over Stefan's chest, stopping to suck hard at his right nipple, letting a flash of teeth torture the sensitive nub. The shirt continued its way up, wet lips mouthing Stefan's throat. The collar caught beneath his chin, and the shirt turned inside-out, covering his face. The scent of the woods clung to the fabric, filling his nose with a wild fragrance as he panted through the material. A tugging, and then the collar was pressed against his forehead, Damon's eyes slightly amused as he looked down at him. Stefan lifted his arms and his head so that Damon could completely remove the garment, but his brother shook his head. Damon pushed the T-shirt up until only his wrists were caught up in the fabric; then he tucked the material behind Stefan's head and pushed him back flat on the mattress. Stefan moved his elbows around a bit, feeling how the tight shirt trapped his wrists as effectively as the stronger vampire's hands had. With a slight effort he could rip the shirt and be free--it would be so easy. Instead, Stefan settled onto the bed, letting his body and his shirt act as restraints. He understood, though, what his brother was doing in this. He was giving the younger man a way out, an option so that later he could pretend that he was forced, though the bonds were merely...symbolic. Damon watched the thoughts play across Stefan's features, waiting until his attention returned. When Stefan stopped playing with the bonds, he leaned back down for a questioning kiss. It was hesitant, testing, checking to make sure that Stefan was still okay with this--that he wasn't going to push him away in the next second. The hesitation he felt on his lips cut straight to Stefan's heart. Damon was--no, not scared, not like Stefan was scared. But he was caring. 'Because I know you need this,' he had said. In spite of it all, Damon did care. And in spite of himself, Stefan did want this. Need this. Stefan tilted his head, moving his chin around to better lick at Damon's lips, encouraging his brother to kiss him harder, showing with his lips and tongue that he wanted this as much as Damon wanted it. That is was okay, at least for now. Stefan ignored the part of his mind that cried out against this tenderness and threw himself into the business of convincing his brother that he desired him. It didn't take long for Damon to understand, to return the fervent kisses, stoking them into something hotter. They kissed until Stefan's lips felt bruised and aching, his jeans too tight and too rough for his skin. Only then did Damon break away, peppering lingering kisses down his brother's jaw, to his neck. Stefan arched at the bite of teeth, startled. But there were no fangs, not yet. Damon used the flat of his front teeth to nip at the skin, tracing the fine veins and pulselines. Teasing... Leaving much too soon for Stefan's liking. At that point he wanted to feel the fangs in his neck, the closeness that could only be found in the sharing of blood. He wanted to feel the tearing of teeth through flesh. Damon had taken him once by force, but now Stefan wanted to give him his blood. His understanding. Damon denied him this, moving down to lap at the sweat in the hollow of his throat. Stefan moaned in protest, or in pleasure; he wasn't sure which. His collarbone was traced with just the tip of a wet, soft tongue, moving up and down one, then the other, following the curve of the bone down to Stefan's chest. Teeth scraped over the thin skin covering his breastbone, and Stefan suddenly stiffened, tensing up. Here he was most sensitive. The skin was unblemished, unmarked, but it was here that Damon's sword had pierced his flesh all those centuries ago. The skin tingled under Damon's touch, and Stefan squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable at the reminder of that mortal wound. Damon paused, his lips pressed to the faded wound. Stefan's heart beat rapidly against his mouth. A breath. Two. Then Damon turned his head, resting his cheek against the invisible scar. He turned his head up, tilting it to look at Stefan, who lifted his head to look down at him in surprise. So young. It was hard to believe that Damon could ever look young, even when he was mortal, but his dark eyes, wide and dilated, gave him the appearance of innocence long lost. "I'm sorry." His voice was harsh, husky, but honest. It said a lot more than just the two words murmured on an earnest breath. "I know." Stefan licked his lips, jerking his chin up in an invitation. Damon gratefully took up the offer, again moving up to capture Stefan's lips with his own. A few hot, shivery kisses, enough to convince them both that it was okay before Damon slid back down Stefan chest. He skipped the area around the best-forgotten wound, burying his face instead into Stefan's flat stomach. The cool, soft strands of hair tickled as they brushed across his skin, softer than cat fur. Damon didn't use his teeth here; he rubbed his cheek against the smooth flesh, alternating long licks of his tongue with bruisingly hard sucking kisses. It would leave marks, but they would be covered by his shirt. Anyways, they would probably heal long before they would have to leave the boarding house. Deft fingers made quick work of his belt; only the metallic clink of the buckle heralded its opening. The top button of his jeans popped open, giving Stefan just a little bit more breathing room, but not nearly enough. He fisted his hands beside his head, arching his back up, begging without words that Damon remove this final barrier. A nose pressed into his belly. A flash of tongue over the newly revealed flesh. And then slowly--oh, so very slowly--the talon was pulled down, the zipper coming open with the hardly audible click of tiny metal teeth giving up their grip. Stefan opened his eyes, not sure when they had closed, and looked down. 'Oh, God, he's using his teeth.' Stefan fell back hard on the pillow, clenching his eyes shut and groaning as a wave of arousal swam up through his spine. The eroticism of that simple act was enough to kill any last doubts Stefan might have had. He wanted his brother. He needed his brother. Right now. Stefan lifted his hips, tilting them up towards Damon's face. The steady opening of his zipper didn't change its speed, but continued on its careful journey southwards, riding the shallow thrusting. Close to crying out, Stefan turned his head and pressed his knuckles to his lips to keep himself from begging Damon to hurry up. When the talon finally stopped, reaching the end of its journey, Damon breathed hard on bulging denim, his warm breath teasing Stefan's senses. A cool hand rubbed the ridges of his stomach, soothing for a moment, then it dipped down into the open V of the fly. At the first confident touch on his penis, Stefan cried out, sobbing a noise of choked pleasure as aching need exploded in his stomach, tearing through his body like a lightening bolt of yearning. Strong fingers wrapped around his erection as a second hand tore open his jeans, pulling them down on his hips. He only knew he was free of the constraining fabric when soft lips captured the swollen head of his erection, sucking lightly. This time, no sound would come to Stefan's throat as he struggled for breath, for some sort of solid ground as the world began to spin around him. It was...it was...it was almost too much! He tried to shout out a warning, but he didn't need to. Damon pulled away. The sudden absence of touch and the coolness of the room rushing in brought Stefan back from the edge. The world settled once more. Stefan opened his eyes, turning his head to find his brother. Damon was sitting up, straddling his legs, looking down at Stefan with such-- Tenderness. And hunger. Unquestionable hunger darkened his features, making his midnight-black eyes shimmer animal-like in the shadows of the room. Damon's hair was tussled, loose and ragged around his face, clinging to his sweat-moistened cheeks. His lips were bruised, making them fuller and more sensual than normal. His shirt was in disarray, but he was still fully dressed. Stefan's erection rested close to--but not touching--an answering bulge in Damon's jeans, outlined in blackness and shadows. "More," Stefan panted out, unable to be more articulate about his needs. He wasn't even sure what he was asking; all he knew was that he needed it. "Now," he demanded. Damon smiled then, but it wasn't his usual dangerous, beautiful smile. It was a slow one that stretched across his face, crinkling his eyes in the corners, showing just the slightest hint of teeth. "Let me, little brother," Damon growled, his voice low and velvety, as entrancing as a lover's caress. Damon crossed his arms, his fingers scrabbling under the belt at his waist. He gripped his shirt and lifted it over his head in one long, graceful movement, arching and twisting his back as he did so to give Stefan a good look at his smooth, muscular body. Damon flung the shirt over his head, letting it disappear behind him into the darkness of the room. Stretching again, he ran his fingers down over his own chest. Stefan's hands twitched, straining lightly against his bonds as he imagined being able to touch his brother so. Damon didn't tease himself when it came to his jeans. The buckle clinked merrily as he pulled the leather out through the loop. The smile twisting a little, Damon flicked open the first button. Paused. Flicked open the second. He stopped, looking down at Stefan through his lashes. "Damon...now," Stefan ground out, his eyes flicking between Damon's face and his hands. "Please," he finally whimpered when Damon made no move to continue. Growling like a jungle cat, Damon gripped either side of the fly and ripped open the last three buttons in a single movement. He slipped his right hand inside, making a show of stroking himself beneath the fabric. With measured thrusts Damon moved up Stefan's thighs, until his hips were lined up just right. Only then did he free his erection from his jeans, lining it up against Stefan's. Stefan couldn't help but look, to compare the two organs. He'd seen it before--plenty of times, as Damon more often than not stalked the house completely naked--but he'd never seen it like this before. Thickened and straining, reacting with instinctual pleasure at the vision of his brother laid out beneath him. So similar; blood-engorged flesh against same flesh, twitching with the same need, moving to the same heart beat. Stefan looked up at his brother's face. Damon chin was to his chest as he studied their bodies like Stefan had. Then he too lifted his eyes, black eyes meeting green. Something passed between them, an understanding without words or coherent thought. Twisting his shoulders, Damon reached down and squeezed the two erections together, his face grimacing with bliss. Stefan's vision tilted. He closed his eyes, groaning at the pleasure of friction, of feeling hot, hard flesh pressing against him and cool fingers stroking him. It was so good, this steady stroking, but he needed more. Damon's free hand moved out to rub circles against his stomach, to pinch his nipples, and still it wasn't enough. He needed...he wanted... "Damon!" Stefan cried out, his hips thrusting helplessly up towards that tight grip, the movement hampered by the strong thighs trapping him on the bed. "I know, Stefan," Damon answered him, his velvety voice causing little sparks of pleasure to dance across his skin. "Lay back. Just let me..." The squeezing hand was gone, making Stefan whimper again in bereavement, but it was replaced quickly by the heavy weight of his brother's body settling back down over his chest. His erection was pressed into his stomach, Damon's penis sliding in sweat beside it as he eased his hips into alignment. A little wiggle of adjustment, and then Damon thrust forward, grinding down as he did so. "Oh, God," Stefan ground out, grunting incoherently as Damon did it again. The sensation was different, more satisfying than the stroking. The tines of the zipper bit into Stefan's skin, pressing painfully into his pelvic bone, but he didn't care. The next thrust, he lifted his hips to meet it, feeling hot breath rush out of Damon's lungs and across his cheek as they found the perfect angle. Damon's hands were back on Stefan's arms, not holding him down but holding him, clutching onto something solid as the universe twisted around them. Stefan pushed up against his grasp, pushed up with his entire body, trying to get impossibly closer to the other man. His eyes opened, sweat stinging and blurring his vision briefly. He blinked, shaking away the tears as he fought to find his brother's face in the swimming darkness. Dark eyes appeared in a flushed face. So beautiful. So inhumanly beautiful. He needed... he needed...Oh, God, he needed... Damon's mouth twisted, his lip curling back to reveal long, elegantly tapered fangs. Stefan felt his own body responding, instinct taking control, lengthening his canines until they bit into his lip. "Yes," he hissed out, arching his chin back to reveal more of his neck. Damon growled around his teeth, ducking his head to bury his face into Stefan's throat. The smooth arch of Damon's back glowed in the growing light, bunching and twisting as he thrust again and again, faster and harder with each twitch of his hips. Stefan felt lips against his neck and harsh, panting breaths. So close... He turned his face, choking off a sob as he inhaled the wild scent of his brother's hair, licked the sweat from his skin. So close... He heard a whining noise, felt a jet of warmth on his stomach and the quick, piercing pain of two little needles slipping into his skin. Stefan muffled his own cry in the hot rush of blood as he buried his fangs into Damon's neck. The rest of the world fell away, burnt to oblivion by the fireball of pleasure that exploded behind Stefan's eyes. Images, snatches of thought scrambled into meaningless noise flickered through Stefan's brain as his mind touched Damon's mind. A mere brushing of thought, mingled Power flashing against each other like sparking steel. Stefan's grasp of consciousness slipped before he could delve further into his brother's thoughts, sleep robbing him of his only chance to know Damon better. **** Things came back to him in pieces--the coldness of the room, the twinge of discomfort in his arms, the itchiness of his belly. Covering it all was the feeling of satisfaction, a sense of total relaxation he hadn't felt since-- For too long a time. Stefan stretched, his feet planted against the mattress as he eased out a kink in his back. He tried to move his hand down to scratch at his stomach, but was unable to move anything above his elbows. He tugged and twisted his wrists, and felt the bite of fabric rub against his skin. They were trapped in something...something that was stuck under his head. Lifting his head off the pillow, he swung his arms down into his line of sight. His T-shirt was bunched up around his wrists. The weight of his head had kept them trapped in the fabric. He shook his wrists out of the fabric, but his hands stopped in their movements when he looked down at himself. He was cold because he wasn't wearing his shirt, and his jeans were open, pushed half-way down his thighs, his penis uncovered. His stomach was itchy because dried semen flaked on his skin, irritating his flesh. The previous night came back to him, sensations and memories rushing back to his conscious mind in a tidal wave. "Oh, shit." He had slept with his brother. Stefan's head whipped around, expecting to see Damon step out of a dark corner, his lips twisted in a mocking smile, cruel laughter echoing around him. The attic room was empty, however. The trapdoor in the ceiling was open, a breeze whisping across the clean floorboards. The boots were missing, the jacket no longer laying on the dresser. Damon was gone. Stefan covered his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes. Last night he knew Damon was going to go off and do something to prove he was unreliable--but that? Stefan could have never predicted anything like that, not if he lived another 500 years. It was...he was...there couldn't... Damon had been so gentle, so tender... In spite of his protests to the contrary, had it all been a cruel joke? What did his brother hope to accomplish in the seduction? Why didn't Stefan stop him? Stefan moaned low in his chest. It was too much right now. He couldn't take thinking about it. It was just...too much. 'You can pretend tomorrow that I forced you, or just forget it all together,' Damon's words floated back to him, as though whispered on the cool breeze. For a moment Stefan looked down at his hands, feeling once more the sure grip holding him down. There was still a stiffness in his shoulder from his arms being held immobile by the T-shirt. It was tempting to blame Damon for it all, to convince himself that he was forced. But the memory of his own cries stuck in his mind, the way he gave into the sensations as wantonly as a well-paid whore. No, he wasn't forced. Seduced, yes, but he could have stopped it any time. He could have torn his way out of the T-shirt. Stefan knew, without a single doubt, that Damon would have stopped if he had told him, if for no other reason than the injury it would do to his pride. What happened was--it was wrong and it was beyond strange but they were both willing participants. It shouldn't have ever happened. '...or just forget it all together.' Good advice. It shouldn't have happened. It didn't happen. It was just one weird, vivid dream. Nothing more. "Never happened," Stefan whispered. He licked his lips, tasting the ghost of Damon's powerful blood, the sting of it in his veins. The new Power made his thoughts clearer, and at the same time all the more confused. He didn't want to think about it, but the very blood in his veins served as a reminder of all that he had done. "Never happened. Just a dream. Think of something else." Stefan laid back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Forcing his thoughts away from his brother, back to where they should be. The Psychic Killer. Sue's corpse. The mark on her chest. Absently, Stefan's hand crept up his chest, rubbing at the tender spot over his heart. In his mind flashed the image of Damon resting there, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, apologizing for so much. Those dark eyes changing, becoming hot with passion. Burning, hungry eyes, like a starving wolf on the prowl. No! Stefan shook his head, trying to banish the image of his brother. Replacing it with the wounds on Sue's body, Vickie's story, broken glass. Dark eyes broken in pain. A black wolf stalking the night. A wound over his heart. Only vampires made a mark like that--to give a human blood. To take it for themselves, they used their teeth. Damon's teeth sliding into his skin. A whining howl like a wounded wolf. A wolf--but not a wolf. A human without fangs. A wolf... Suddenly, everything made sense. All he needed was some information about the town history, a way to test his suspicions. Stefan stared at the ceiling, letting his thoughts occupy themselves with explaining this new mystery, to muddle over the random clues he'd been able to gather. It was good to concentrate on something...else. To forget...things. In a few hours, Matt, Bonnie and Meredith would be meeting him at Vickie's house, and they could put a plan into action. The mystery was close to being solved. Unconsciously, Stefan's hand slid downward, rubbing in small circles on his belly, ostentatiously to scratch away the itchy flakes. But to another's eyes, the movement was in imitation of a remembered touch, a touch best left forgotten. THE END.