Tainted For Moreta. By Baloo. He found him huddled in the alley behind the club, with the still, silent figure crumpled at his feet, her tainted blood driving a mad course through his veins. He paused at the unmoving body first, and stooped down to check for a pulse. Finding it relatively strong and steady, not unsurprisingly so, he then moved on to the hunched, shuddering form of his brother. It had been another reckless night in a long string of such nights-but this time it came in the company of consequences. "Damon," he said in a careful voice. He stopped just far enough away that he might have time to protect himself against any sudden movements. It is never an easy thing to hear "I told you so." Five hundred years of experience makes little difference in that. Being Damon Salvatore, even less so. And Stefan was just gracious enough to refrain from making such a comment-though in all likelihood, this would make his brother angrier than simply hearing the words. It came as no real surprise that the girl was high. Had she not been, she would have proven a rare exception among the club's patrons. What she had taken-or, more likely, what combination of things-was more the mystery, though not necessarily one anyone was inclined to unravel. Watching his brother convulse with the effects of the chemical-laden blood he'd taken just minutes earlier, Stefan wondered tiredly when "reckless" had become synonymous with "stupid." Damon wanted to live dangerously, and Stefan lived with the after-effects. Because in grief, and devotion, and love, he had made Elena a promise... Take care of each other, she'd said. And Stefan had been trying his damnedest to fulfill his end of things. It was only Damon who insisted on getting in his way. Damon wanted to live dangerously. So Stefan watched. As Damon feasted himself on obliging victims-young, pale-haired beauties that were wan imitations of the one he truly sought. Drowning himself in blood-uncontrolled, uncontrollable-like a glutton at a buffet... Stefan would watch, and follow, and make sure he was never caught. And sometimes he wondered why he was the one playing guard, when he himself had lost as much, if not more. Stefan told him to be careful. "You know what they call it when the girls being attacked seem to fit the same general description? A profile. It makes it easier for them to catch you." Damon would flash that arrogant smile, no sign of any pain or misery visible in the gleam of pearly white teeth. "Except none of them think they've been 'attacked', little brother. They all come to me of their own choice." It was a half-truth. Because they all went willingly... but ended up giving more than they'd anticipated, or later even realized. But then, Stefan knew now, his brother was a master of half-truths. Not a liar, as he'd accused him of being in the past. Damon merely viewed reality through a slightly skewed perception than to which most were accustomed. But even he couldn't lead a charmed life forever. Sooner or later, it all had to catch up with him. Obsidian eyes glanced up at Stefan through a short fall of dark hair. They held a glassy sheen-part drugged, part pained. His skin, drawn tight over his cheekbones, was still slightly pink from his feast. "I think I ate something that didn't agree with me." He even had the audacity to grin after that, though it was a pale imitation of his usual wolfish expression. The shaky edge to his voice was enough to distinguish any anger Stefan might have held at the moment. There was only one option available, he knew-besides leaving Damon to ride out the poison, and hoping it didn't inspire him to do anything too crazy in the meantime. Of course, the alternative wasn't entirely pleasant either, but he'd made Elena a promise he fully intended to keep. He knelt down on the cold hard pavement close to his brother, causing the other man to jerk back slightly in surprise when he placed one hand on his shoulder. "What?" Damon began hoarsely. But Stefan used his free hand to grab the older vampire's chin in an insistent hold, and tilted his head away, answering with his actions. He raised himself above the pale, flawless expanse of the exposed neck, holding himself still long enough to give Damon the option of pushing him away, if he so chose. But the other vampire didn't resist, remaining immobile in his grip-and with great care, Stefan sank his elongated teeth into the soft flesh at his mercy, trying to minimize the pain associated with the action. He knew some measure of success when the muscles beneath his palms relaxed unconsciously, and only then did Stefan let himself go. It was like no other experience he had ever known. The sweet, coppery tang of human blood was somewhat familiar, and the slightly bitter aftertaste brought on by the drugs identifiable beneath it. But intertwined with that was something else-something... so much more potent. In five hundred years, Stefan hadn't tasted another vampire's blood since Katherine. And then he had been human, when all blood was alike, and the power of the liquid at his lips was lost on him. But this was... amazing. Powerful. Exciting. The fluid surging through his own veins seemed to come to life as he drank, bringing every nerve in his body to a new level of awareness. He felt one of Damon's hands clench tightly in his hair, the other gripped his shoulder, both of them pulling him further into their embrace. He lost all concept of time. He drank, and drank, and drank-trying to sate a thirst of which he wasn't even aware until he began to fill it. The suctioning motion of his mouth became more insistent, harsher and more desperate. Vaguely, he felt hands pushing at him. He ignored them and continued to drink. But they became more persistent, more strength gathering behind the movements... until to his disappointment, he fell back, teeth drawing free of their purchase. He landed flat on his backside against the rough pavement, saving his head from an abrupt introduction to the ground by catching himself on his elbows. Body thrumming with some sort of unreleased pressure, senses hyperaware, Stefan's vision slowly focused on the figure before him. A slightly paler but steadier Damon gazed back at his brother, and raised the fingers of one hand to the two indentations at the side of his neck, before drawing them down to look at the identical drops of scarlet pooled on his fingertips. Swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Stefan sat up straighter and fought to reclaim his usual composure. He swallowed hard when his brother raised his eyes once more in his direction, and tried to push back this aching new awareness to whatever abyss from which it had come. And then Damon did something truly unexpected. He laughed. It was an almost joyous burst of sound that left Stefan watching dazedly from his ungraceful heap on the ground-silently admiring the darkly beautiful planes of his face. When the laughter died down, Damon stood gracefully and reached a hand down in offering. A wickedly beautiful smile still curved his lips. Stefan stared for a long moment at the proffered hand. Then slowly, ever so slowly... he smiled back. Back to the main page. Disclaimer: the characters, fictional settings, and universes created by L. J. Smith are copyright © Lisa J. Smith, Daniel Weiss Associates, Inc. and their affiliates. This fan-created site, along with the stories it houses, means no infringement upon any trademark, copyright, or other legal binding. This archive claims no rights to any of the stories collected here.