Series: The Vampire Diaries (television series verse)
Word Count: 1,377
Characters, Pairings: Katherine/Elena, with mentions of Stefan/Katherine, Stefan/Elena, Damon/Katherine, and Damon/Elena.
Summary: She focuses on the differences (or, at least, she wishes that she could).
Warnings: smut, and that’s pretty much it. Spoilers if you haven’t seen up to 3x09.
Notes: This was a prompt requested by eenaangel at the TVD comment ficathon here. Prompt was: Katherine/Elena: I may be no better, but at least I am different.
She can’t believe that she’s doing this—that she agreed to this, with eyes half-lidded and lips far more willing to part thanks to the alcohol running through her system.
It’s easy to blame it on the vodka and the heartache and the shock of everything that’s happened in such a short period of time. It’s easy to blame it on the loss of Stefan and the absence of Damon (because even when he promised to stay, she knew he’d make a liar of himself sooner or later and she knows she can’t really blame him but she does). It’s easy to blame it on the miles of white cotton (and nothing else) that she greets when her head hits the pillow these nights.
It’s harder to blame it on her own curiosity and the fact that somewhere, deep down, she knows that she wants this (and so she tries her best to ignore these little truths).
The similarities, even here, even in a moment like this, are striking and hard to dismiss. For instance, Katherine’s hair shines with its own natural highlights when the light hits it just right, and it’s as soft as Elena’s own when she feels brave enough to card her fingers through it. Katherine’s nose crinkles the same way her own does when she smiles widely. Her body feels just as warm pressed against Elena’s own (and Elena believes that she’s fed very recently), and her hips curve in the same way Elena’s does. Elena’s fingers find the dip of Katherine’s spine, and even the way Katherine shivers at it is the same.
She doesn’t focus on the similarities, though, because she sees quite enough of Katherine when she looks in the mirror these days. And so, she focuses on the differences instead. For instance, Katherine keeps her hair in curls for the most part, where Elena prefers her own to be straight. Katherine’s smile flashes fangs—fangs that she uses to tease and to threaten. And Elena knows that the only reason why their bodies fit so perfectly together is because they are both broken pieces from the same puzzle.
Maybe she’s feeling a little lonely when she leans into a touch that she shouldn’t—when she is offered an invitation that she can’t accept, but she does anyway. Maybe she feels just a little defeated when Katherine’s lips curve just so, and maybe she feels just a little angry when she crushes her own mouth against the vampire’s, (mostly) to stop her smile and to quiet her would-be chuckle.
What follows is a blur of purposeful movements: doors opening and closing, an exchange of words that mean very little, elevator music… and eventually, the soft click of a door locking and Katherine’s almost-predatory gaze. It should frighten her perhaps, but it only makes the heat spread, only makes the want sharpen.
She is the one who pushes Katherine down onto the hotel bed (they’ve come here because Katherine currently has no home to speak of, and because taking Katherine back to her bed – where Stefan has been, where Damon has been – would seem more than just a little wrong). She is the one who kisses Katherine with a fierce mixture of ten-thousand different emotions (envy and pride and hatred and desire and sorrow and pity and lo--) and she is the one who explores bare skin first, her mouth against Katherine’s neck and her fingers brushing hesitantly over the vampire’s nipples.
Each sound that Katherine makes is like a small victory for her, and she relishes every single one, just as she relishes the way Katherine’s hips buck against her fingers and against her mouth. She is soaking wet—Elena tastes Katherine’s arousal on her tongue, feels it slick on her fingers and damp on the sheets. She would consider this a small victory too, if she weren’t a pot calling the kettle black in this situation.
It’s almost strange how passive Katherine is being, and how aggressive she herself is being (she thinks of not looking at the mirror but through it, around it), but Katherine does not let her have the upper hand for long—immediately following her orgasm (and Elena could feel it in the way Katherine shook, in the way she clenched around her fingers, in the way she tugged painfully at her hair), she is the one literally tearing at Elena’s clothes, hands and mouth and fangs exploring newly-bared skin.
She feels helpless against the sudden onslaught, fingers catching and twisting the sheets, nails digging sharply into the curve of Katherine’s back. She can understand why Damon and Stefan fell for her charms, for her smile, for her kiss. She can understand why they found her touch to be so much more intoxicating than any alcohol known to man. She can understand, and she both hates and revels in this newfound knowledge.
It’s surprising how much she doesn’t mind the way Katherine’s fingers dig into her wrists. Equally surprising is how much she doesn’t mind when Katherine’s fangs sink into her neck, her left breast, her right thigh.
(It’s the alcohol talking; it has to be.)
She comes embarrassingly quickly (again and again) at the mercy of the vampire between her thighs, and in the brief moments when her eyes are open, she catches glimpses of them in the large mirror above the dresser directly across from them, and the mirror-image is what makes her come a fourth time. Moans spill unrepentantly from her throat and she doesn’t see Katherine’s smile, but she feels it against her own overly-heated, overly-sensitized flesh.
She doesn’t beg her to keep going and she doesn’t beg her to stop, because she isn’t about to make a bigger fool of herself, but eventually, the motions of Katherine’s tongue and her fingers slow and then still. When she lifts her head, she doesn’t wipe her mouth, but traces the line of her lips with her tongue. She smiles then, all smug satisfaction and deadly fangs. She dips down again to sample Elena’s mouth, and Elena tastes herself when their tongues slide wetly together.
There is no explanation, and there is no cuddling in the afterglow.
Moments later, when Elena finds herself staring at her naked body in the bathroom mirror, it isn’t a surprise when Katherine appears behind her, hands moving to frame her hips and to slide along her belly and to cup her breasts. The press of Katherine’s lips against her neck still makes her lashes flutter of their own accord and still makes her breath hitch, much to her own displeasure.
“I could kill you so easily, little girl with my face,” Katherine whispers, and it should sound dangerous and threatening—and it does, but it also doesn’t. Elena should feel frightened and intimidated—and she does, but she also feels that heat again, like this is some kind of twisted foreplay.
She finds the strength to answer, and answer she does, defiance and want coloring her voice in equal measure. “You wouldn’t. You won’t.”
One slender eyebrow quirks, and an index finger swirls around Elena’s right nipple. “Oh?”
She replies strongly, firmly, with chin raised and gaze as steady as she can make it. “No.”
Katherine’s next question is almost a purr: “And why is that?”
“Because you love them, too.” It’s more a statement of fact than leverage, but it is a convenience, and it gives Katherine pause.
“Clever girl,” she remarks like it is some small praise (even though Elena knows it really isn’t). Her tongue follows the line of one of the large tendons in Elena’s neck, and then she whispers, “You’re a little more like me than either of us is willing to give you credit for.”
She is gone just like that, between one eyeblink and the next. Elena knows that she’ll be back, though, because while Katherine is the type to run away, she isn’t the type to let go.
She’d like to say that’s a major difference between them (briefly, she thinks of Stefan), but she knows better than to lie to herself in the aftermath of this, and so she doesn’t. Instead, she remembers Katherine’s smirk, and when she mirrors it, for once it doesn’t bother her at all.
WHAT IS THIS? I DON’T EVEN. OH WELL. MAYBE IT DOESN’T COMPLETELY SUCK.