For M'lyn.
By Cathyrn.
The little tombstone sat alone by itself on a lovely stretch of land that was lush with green grass. The turning of time had taken its toll on the gray marble and the inscription was weathered down by the years of wind and rain, but the words beloved wife still remained. Yet, there was no sign of the loving husband as the tombstone was terribly unkempt and overgrown by weeds, making it obvious that the grieving husband had not come to pay his late wife a visit in a very long time.
"Such is the way of the heart." He sighed pulling the collar of the dark coat closer to his pale skin. "Every love dies when a new one comes along." She had died young, only recently married and the husband had been a widower within a year.
Diligent hands dug down into the soil and pulled the stray errant leaves and weeds from the earth. They were easy to pull; the rain that had fallen today made it so. When he was finished and the grave was tended to he placed a single red rose at its base.
"I always wondered if you would come back here." An old voice spoke that was as familiar to him as the air he didn't really need to breathe. He did not need to turn around to know who it was. "She was always quite taken with you, and one might have said that you felt the same about her."
"One might say a lot of things about me." There was a flash of steel as he spoke but in the next sentence his tone softened and it was as if the anger had never been there at all. "The little psychic," Damon's smile was gentle and his expression became distant as he envisioned red curly hair and the impish, almost quirky nature that belied the fiery and fiercely strong soul inside.
He started to say something but then thought the better of it and shook his head, a melancholy expression replacing everything else. "There was an aura about her that warned me away. That was a much better repellant than pestering little boys with big blue eyes who liked to play hero." That faraway look returned again as Damon scoffed at the memory. "It was as if death had walked with her, stride for stride, a constant companion who was always there by her side. She did not have long to live. I'm sure you too must have sensed it on some level." Damon shifted and turned his head so one eye could look over his shoulder at the man standing behind him.
A sharp cold wind, one that could put a chill into even a vampire's bones blew past ruffling dark hair and rustling old leather. There was a sound, maybe a whimper and Stefan fell heavily to his knees sinking his designer jeans deep into the damp mud.
"I want to go see her," he whispered from behind the hands that covered his face. "But I'm not ready yet."
"Take your time." Damon said generously knowing to whom he was referring to. "I don't think Bonnie would begrudge us the company. When you're ready, we'll go see her together."
When Stefan was finally able to stand, they walked along the path, over the hill and across the bridge to the newer side of the cemetery. It had been a slow procession as they neared their destination and Stefan's steps had become progressively slower as if he had stumbled into a tar pit like some poor deceased prehistoric creature. Every step became an effort and eventually he froze in his tracks. Before him stood a great monument that towered to the sky, the marble behemoth, a stark contrast to Bonnies' tiny little heart shaped stone.
"Hello Elena." Stefan choked out. "I came to see you, I've been here all day. I was just." He fell silent unable to speak and then suddenly seemed to remember all about his brother and looked to him for support. "Damon, he's here and he came to see you too."
"Bon Giorno, Elena!" Damon greeted, the words rolling off his tongue with every letter and syllable enunciated by his ever-present charm as he bowed gracefully. Stefan looked on obviously moved by emotion and trembled violently, his body nothing more than a little leaf lost and brutally battered by the violence of the storm raging inside of him.
Damon knew that it hurt his little brother to be here, and for a moment it seemed he grew antsy and looked as if he would just turn and bolt the scene but then a firm resolve seemed to take hold as Stefan displayed that iron will of his. The one that was so strong that it would allow him to die alone on a battlefield just as long as he knew his friends were taken care of.
"She never would." Stefan's voice trailed off but then he swallowed and made it strong once again. "She never would take the blood from me. Not back then or ever after. We had to move around a lot because of that, that she would age and I would not. People started calling us mother and son, then grandmother and grandchild. She would always smile as if every little thing she saw was wonderful no matter how plain or common it might have been. Her life was her own, she didn't want to change or extend it, only to live it with every moment bringing more joy into her heart. Then in the end, I finally brought her back here, to her home and family. Right before.before she.she wouldn't drink my blood. She said to me; 'There's no point in all that. You wouldn't want me tagging around with you, I'm just an old grandma anyway.' But that would never have mattered to me, because to me she was just Elena, my Elena." Then tears began to cascade from his eyes and splashed down onto the ground.
"So many flowers," Stefan quickly whispered, rubbing roughly at his eyes, desperate to change the subject. "Do you see them all Damon?"
Only one day in her grave and the litter of flower arraignments from her funeral still remained. Stefan was right, there were so many of them, she had been a well-loved member of this community and many others for the past eighty-seven years of her life. She had had such a passionate love for life that it seemed to have left a lasting impression upon all the people who had met her and to those people it seemed almost impossible to ever forget her. There was even a card signed by a Mrs. Flowers, given the going ons in this town Damon wondered if the sender was a little bit more familiar than a family name.
"Yes, I do." Damon nodded his head. "Stefan." He was unsure of what to do to help. Unsure of anything at all really, Damon did not like feeling this way and wanted to have some measure of control so he placed a hand firmly on Stefan's shoulder. He somewhat vaguely remembered his father doing the very same for him after his mother had died, so very long ago. Miraculously it seemed to work because his little brother stopped crying.
Stefan looked to Damon with eyes that were as wide and deep as the thickest jungles of Africa. This small gesture of understanding and compassion seemed to move Stefan beyond all measure. Blinded by his tears Stefan flung his arms out and buried his face into his brother's chest and just sobbed.
He sounded terrible; his sobs were making his scream for Elena on that day a pale comparison to his anguish now. It seemed that every time Elena left him it only hurt him all the more. Yet, unlike that day when Elena broke all the rules and made everything okay again she would not be able to return to this world and probably would never be able to again.
"Come along now Stefan." Damon gently coaxed after a time. "We can't stay here, it's getting dark and looking to rain again."
Stefan almost immediately extricated himself from his brother's chest as if embarrassed and ran a hand through his dark and unkempt hair disheveling it even more. He didn't seem to have any concept of time, the funeral had been at 8am this morning, and Damon knew that Stefan had been here at this cemetery the whole entire time.
"All right." He agreed and rose up to follow Damon back to his car.
Stefan did not speak at all on ride back to the little home that he and Elena had shared for the last year of her life. He just sat quietly and watched all that passed him through the window without notice or comment. Damon was unperturbed by this silence because his brother had always been a quiet boy. He remembered little Stefan staring at the same painting for hours never stirring.
Even as a child when Stefan was drawn into the quiet his face became emotionless and impossible to read. It was only when his sense of righteousness or morals were infringed upon that he became talkative and impossibly stubborn. That was the image of his brother that he held in his mind and even after hundreds of years it still remained there unchanging.
"We're here." Stefan nodded to the small house that had a country cottage quality to it and Damon pulled his sleek little black Ferrari into the driveway.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Stefan asked looking over his shoulder, as he turned the key in the lock of his front door.
"Yes, that would be most appreciated." Always charming whenever he spoke, arrogant, even when he wasn't consciously trying to be.
While Stefan went off to retrieve some refreshments Damon was left to his own devices amongst the possessions of his brother and his late wife. There was something indefinably creepy about entering the home of someone who was recently deceased. The graveyard was were the dead slept but when they grew restless it was to their homes that they returned to and it was there that they walked. Damon looked around with a cautious eye but no transparent wraith Elena seemed to be lurking about with gleaming eyes and billowing robes. Although, if he were to see her, it probably would not be a bad thing, unless of course she had some chore for him to do. Knowing Elena that would probably be the only time that she would ever visit him, when she wanted something.
Something sharp inside Damon twisted and he felt the uncontrollable urge to leave this house, this town and even this country altogether. Thankfully, Stefan did not keep him waiting any longer and when he emerged from the kitchen it was with a glass filled with a clear liquid.
"What is that?" Damon questioned in a disgusted voice already knowing that it was not blood.
"Dasani." Stefan shrugged and looked down at the poor unassuming glass of water and wondered what it ever did to Damon. "It's bottled water, not from the tap." He offered.
"Whatever," Damon muttered and snatched up the glass, took a sip and lazily sprawled across the sofa, kicking off his shoes. "You're muddy and disgusting, why don't you go take a shower?" Damon offered.
"So you can go skip out the back?" Stefan smiled knowingly and shook his head. "No, not just yet."
"I'm sure I do not know what you mean." Damon replied placing his glass on the coffee table and put on his most innocent expression while smiling like a rattlesnake.
"Why did you come back here today Damon?" Stefan questioned suddenly drawing in close. So close in fact that when he sat by his brother's side his left knee was pressing firmly into Damon's right.
"What?" Damon hissed looking suddenly very alarmed.
"You saved my life, back then and probably many others times in the past as well. Haven't you?" Surprised by the intimacy and the question Damon tried to pull back and away but Stefan moved with him, green eyes entrancing him with their wide gentle clarity. "Did you come here today to try and save me again?"
Damon gave a lethal glare as his reply and made no sound, bristling at his brother's disrespectful proximity.
"She said that you would come." Stefan shook his head still staring at him, never blinking pushing in even closer and rested his head upon his brother's shoulder. "I didn't believe it, but here you are."
Damon tilted his head, and looked down at the dark curly mass of hair that was so intrusively lying against the black leather of his jacket and scowled. Well, maybe it was a scowl; oddly enough he couldn't tell the difference between that and a smile.
"What are you up to?" he murmured, angry now that he couldn't see those emerald eyes. "Are you trying to-" And Stefan kissed him, tongue flickering tentatively at his lips. For one moment Damon was positively shocked to his core and then in the next his shock was replaced by an enigmatic joy.
Stefan was taller and larger in build but he was older and stronger so it was very easy for Damon to overpower him and reverse the roles of who was the aggressor here. The flesh under those clothes looked so tantalizingly delicious and Damon set his nimble fingers to deftly pulling open the buttons of his brother's shirt so he could have a taste.
"Damon!" Stefan gasped trying to worm his way out from under Damon's weight as if the mouth that was trailing across his flesh was burning through him, and hotter than fire.
"You started this," Damon snapped forcefully yanking up Stefan's knees and knelt between them glowering down at his little brother. "Now you want me to stop. Typical."
"No, no!" Stefan shook his head and slipped trembling hands under Damon's shirt and gently stroked the pale flesh of his back and sides. "It doesn't.it doesn't have to be mean, or rough, or hurtful."
"Little brother," Damon grumbled in an exasperated tone. "We are vampires, for us rough means ruptured internal organs or bone fractures, either way they would both heal just as quickly."
"But it doesn't have to be that way!" Stefan protested lightly brushing fingers down over the crotch of Damon's black tailored pants. Onyx eyes crushed shut trying to block the sensation and the memory of those same little fingers, sticky from eating oranges, touching his favorite violin as a child.
Aghast Damon ripped his eyes open and there was his little brother again, all grown up now staring at him from behind the chaotic mess that was whirling in his forest green eyes. "Please?" Stefan pleaded and then Damon understood, what his brother wanted, who he wanted him to be and eased back.
Resuming his gentle touch, Stefan slowly eased down Damon's zipper and slipped a hand inside to intimately massage the rapidly hardening flesh, trailing his fingertips in an odd almost circular motion and languidly pushed back the delicate foreskin with his thumb and fawned over the extremely sensative exposed flesh, causing little shocks like pinpricks to run up Damon's spine.
Surprised by the power of the pleasure created by his brother's ministrations Damon closed his eyes, struggled to bite back on a gasp. Seeming to hear him Stefan clutched the flesh of the shaft in his warm palm firmly and stroked a little more vigorously, until Damon could no longer repress a loud moan. Cracking open an eyelid he saw his little brother grinning broadly up at him.
"Is this." Damon panted while the hand continued to work his flesh. ".something that they taught you in school? Trivium, quadrivium and. Owww! Damn you!"
"Damon do not talk." Stefan muttered looking angry and Damon fell silent deciding not to antagonize his little brother while he had his manhood in a vice grip. Without anymore thought he relinquished all control and left himself free to Stefan's manipulation.
Looking satisfied that Damon would be obedient to his wishes Stefan slid his body down along the rock hard muscles pulling open Damon's shirt as he did so that he could press flesh to flesh. Dark eyes sparkled enflamed by the brief stimulation to his nipples as Stefan inched down lower and lower, hooking his fingers into belt loops and pulled the pants down with him until his was kneeling between his brother's parted thighs staring up at him.
Stefan gave his brother a jittery smile before he started in on the juncture of the thigh first trailing his tongue along the blue routes of the veins while his hands played with the heavy weight of his testicles, rolling the flesh between his fingertips, his touch gentle, as if he were stroking a woman instead of a man. When the veins reached the shaft of the penis Stefan let his mouth join his tongue and lubricating his brother from base to head with his saliva. Then he pulled back and looked up infuriating Damon by doing nothing more than studying his face as if looking for some kind of conformation or permission.
"Well?" Damon rasped and Stefan smiled faintly. He gave no reply, instead just pushed down on his brother, drawing him in with deep watery mouthfuls.
The pleasure was immense and that mouth that so slowly enveloped him was such an exquisite sensation with a sharp hint of pain underneath it all. That was the thing about being a vampire, there was no way to completely cover the teeth, and there was always a hint of fangs scratching at the skin just below the surface of the lips. Yet, to Damon this pain was welcome and even seemed to heighten the sensation of pleasure and his little brother worked him dedicatedly with both lips and tongue while his free hand roamed between his thighs to alternately cup his testicles and buttocks.
Unable to prevent himself, Damon slipped two of his own curled fingers into his mouth and bit down on them feeling the grit of dirt between his teeth and tasted the bitter tanginess of his own blood.
'The dirt,' he thought with a pang of something akin to regret. 'From Bonnies' grave.'
Then Stefan sped up his motions significantly and Damon forgot all about everything but the taste of grave earth in his mouth and his brother's mouth. Not much later he came slamming brutally into Stefan's mouth no longer caring about the plea for gentle. A few more less violent jerking motions followed and then he was spent and left staring weakly up at the same ceiling fan that Elena once sat under, watching it lazily circle around and around.
"Stefan," Damon started when with slow methodical motions his brother eased back up onto the sofa trailing his hand up relaxed muscles. "Do you want me to."
"No," Stefan smiled and replaced his head back on Damon's shoulder. "I'm happy just to sit here with you like this...for now."
"Little brother..." Damon began.
"What, did you ever do this with your tutor?" Stefan taunted.
Damon glared at him as if death beams could shoot from his eyes. "Do you know what we just did?"
"Yes." Stefan nodded his head.
"Then why?" Damon demanded.
"Because a long time ago she asked me if I would and I said no. Then she asked it of me again in the kitchen when you and I came back here." Stefan laughed. "And I didn't believe I would do it but I did it anyway."
"So, Elena showed up here and asked for a favor." Damon shook his head in exasperation. "Typical."
Stefan merely shrugged looking unfazed.
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