By Pith, for Kivire.
Every year since Elena had returned, she and Damon and Stefan coordinated their Halloween costumes. It had started out as a coincidence--Elena and Stefan had already rented their Phoenix and Cyclops costumes when Damon arrived on their doorstep as Wolverine--and, as the three gradually grew into a cohesive unit, it had become a tradition. Their Star Wars year had been difficult, since Damon steadfastly refused to be anyone but Han Solo, and their Interview with the Vampire year had been awkward to say the least, but this year--hair problems aside--should have been a perfect fit.
"I can't believe I'm dressing up as a waitress," Elena complained, adjusting her tiny apron as she examined herself in the bedroom mirror.
"Barmaid," Damon corrected, nudging her to the side so he could realign his wig.
"Whatever! Halloween is supposed to be about being something you're not--something you're afraid of or wish you could be. I've never wanted to be a waitress." Elena tugged her tight-fitting shirt down; it fit so close that she hadn't needed a bra.
Damon arched an eyebrow. "Whereas I have been afflicted with a burning desire to be a Viking? I think not." His wig was paler than Elena's hair, and felt like an oily mop on his head.
"At least you don't need sideburns!" Stefan countered, his irritated voice somewhat muffled by the bathroom door. Elena had insisted on subscribing to HBO and somewhere during the first season of True Blood, one of them had thought it would be a good idea to dress up like the main love triangle. It was too late to get new costumes now, so Elena was stuck with her skimpy barmaid uniform, Damon with his Viking-blond wig, and Stefan with itchy stick-on sideburns.
"You forgot something," Damon purred, wrapping his arms around Elena from behind as she continued to grumble about her ensemble. He slid a hand down over her hip and hiked up the leg of her barely-there shorts. "Sookie had fang marks on her thigh. And her neck and a breast, if you want to go for full authenticity."
"I don't plan on letting any strangers get that cl--ooooh." Elena's protest was curtailed by Damon dropping to his knees in front of her and sinking his fangs into her upper thigh. As he lapped up the blood, he quickly eased the shorts down Elena's legs and pushed her down onto the bed.
While Damon kissed his way up her thigh, Elena ran her hands up her ribcage, teasing her nipples with her fake nails. Her legs wrapped around Damon's shoulders as he started to lick her and even though she loved to dig her fingers into his hair and urge him closer, she concentrated on her breasts instead, knowing Damon needed no help. He gripped her hips hard as she writhed beneath him, watching her pale skin redden under his hands. "That's the thigh taken care of," he whispered against her clit.
Elena dimly heard his belt buckle clinking loose as he slid up her body, his mouth trailing kisses up her abdomen before biting down on her left breast. When he thrust inside her, she twined both legs and arms around him, digging in with her nails and her heels. Stefan wasn't like this with her; even after all these years, he still treated her like a delicate filigree ornament that might bend or break under too much pressure. Damon had no such qualms and would push her to the limits of her desires; every time they hit a boundary she thought she couldn't or wouldn't cross, he guided her through it, trial by fire, until she felt like a fool for ever thinking or wanting differently. He'd taken her against mirrors, on tables, anywhere and everywhere, clothed or not, constantly testing her limits until she wasn't sure she had any left.
The zipper of his pants scratched her thighs; the slap of his belt buckle against her skin was almost like a warning bell, letting Elena know how hard he was pushing, how far he'd withdrawn. Sex with Damon was like a dance--or rather what dancing used to be: a way to draw down power, the oldest ritual still alive.
Damon reared up as he came, plunging his fangs into her neck to complete the trifecta of bite marks, and Elena ran her nails down his bare arms, eternally grateful that the Viking vampire he was dressed up as seemed to favour sleeveless shirts. When the door to the bedroom opened and Stefan entered, she came with one short, sharp scream, her body arching off the bed to press into Damon's. His wig askew, Damon smiled over at his brother as he slowly pulled out of Elena. "Just helping with the finishing touches to her costume," he said with a grin, trailing a hand down Elena's bitten thigh.
Stefan waited until Damon brushed past him and went into the bathroom to sit beside Elena, lightly running his fingertips along her ribs. "We could skip the party," she breathed, pulling her shirt over her head and pressing close to Stefan, biting down lightly on his neck.
"The neighbours already think we're strange. We should at least drop in, just to keep up appearances." That didn't stop Stefan's eyes from drifting shut with pleasure, especially when he felt Damon standing behind him, his brother's erection a shadow of a touch against the base of his skull. Between Elena and Damon, they had his pants off before he could open his mouth to speak.
Stefan quickly found himself at the eye of a hurricane of clothes, limbs, and tongues, dizzying him with desire. Before Elena had straddled him, Damon had slid his hand between her legs, using their combined wetness as lube before easing into Stefan from behind. Elena slid down on him slowly, her hips moving in delicious tiny circles as she kissed him; Damon's hands slid around Stefan's chest and down, one toying with his balls while the other teased Elena.
As always, once Stefan had surrendered himself to the others, they found their pitch-perfect rhythm, hands stroking and hips thrusting with slick synchronicity. They gradually moved to the center of the bed, with Elena on her back; with each thrust Damon drove into his brother, Stefan pushed harder into her, their combined movements creating a cycle of gasps and moans that culminated in the vampires coming in tandem and Elena soon after.
Panting, Elena looked around the room. Clothes were everywhere; Damon's shirt had somehow managed to get caught on the ceiling fan, and created a swath of shadow across the room with each slow revolution. The sheets were sticky beneath her and she had to sprawl across Damon to check the time, his cock sliding neatly between her breasts. "I think we're late for the party," she giggled, relishing how Damon reacted to the vibration of her laugh.
As Elena teased Damon with her tongue, Stefan moved between her legs to lick her clean; tasting the three of them together had always been his favourite part of their couplings. "We probably won't even be living here next year anyway," he murmured, nicking Elena with his fangs to make her squirm.
Damon watched his two lovers' heads bobbing and stretched languorously. "If I have to be blond for next Halloween," he said, words nearly lost in a moan as he clutched Elena's head closer, "I think we should at least do a Buffy theme."
Stefan raised his head for just a moment, much to Elena's dismay; he had to steady her hips with both hands. "Only if Elena wears the cheerleader outfit." As he went back down on Elena, he thought, It's a good thing we bought our costumes this year. I don't think we'd be able to return them.
Fin.
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