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The Mikaelson manion was as vast as it was majesty, with wide, sweeping hallways and superfluously grand columns that held up glorious archways… Eric had seen beautiful architecture in his 1200 years, but it seemed as though the Mikaelsons had truly outdone themselves this time. Eric understood wholly—it was difficult not to get caught up in the luxury of living eternally.
It had been centuries too long…
Eric’s eyes scanned over the large, ornate door, watching as the moonlight bounced off of it in charming ways before reaching his hand up to knock.
Elijah had been a dear friend… had.
To say that Elijah bad been anything less than a true friend would be insulting to both men, however… Eric had tarnished that friendship just as easily as he’d cultivated it. Elijah had his trust first, had known him first, and he threw that away to help some selfish woman escape a timely, death. It was time that Eric make things right, that he mend the friendship and love than he never meant to tarnish in the first place.
It was a rare afternoon by himself that Elijah was enjoying, not caught in between any plot that searched for the breaking of a curse or the cure for vampirism. Instead the Original was enjoying sitting by the lit fireplace, the source of warmth unnecessary to him but the illusion of it welcomed as much as the feather like weight of the book he held. War and Peace by Leon Tolstoy, the tome an 1869 relic figured in his vast collection of prized possessions and the words knew by heart at that point were merely another comfortable mockery of comfort.
Around the page 409 it occurred to him that he could no longer enjoy such moments in their fullest when it seemed more like he was an actor, playing the part of a human, than a man himself. Perhaps it was time he got himself some new readings, a change of setting certainly would make this routine feel last rehearsed. Elijah was at last pulled away from his thoughts by the knock on the front door, an unexpected sound sound as anything other that the crackling of firewood would have been at the time. Not having any servants at the manor, another requirement of his search for serenity, he was left to the task of welcoming whoever it was that came to them himself.
His eyes squinted into measuring slits the moment he was faced with his visitor, a man he knew well and hadn’t seen in over 4 centuries. Eric Northman had once been a close ally of Elijah’s, someone he would dare call a friend, dared consider a brother… But much like Travis Eric had betrayed Elijah’s trust in order to help Katerina Petrova escape, with the aggravating factor of the trust between them being much more than that of a lord/servant arrangement. Or at least Elijah had thought it to be more, until the moment Eric made use of that trust to keep Katerina away from him and he was forced to watch his brother’s trust of him deteriorate all the while losing the one he had considered his best friend.
Different from Travis’ case as well it wasn’t as if Elijah could hunt Eric Northman and take the head off of his shoulders for his betrayal. Or well he could, but to tell the truth Elijah didn’t want to, so he told himself it was an imprudent pursuit, that Eric was as strong as him and that there were risks in such an even match. He lied to himself in a show of weakness to keep a traitor alive and the result of that was that he hadn’t seen Eric Northman in nearly five hundred years. So it was a bit of a surprise to say the least finding the viking vampire standing at his doorway.
For a second Elijah had the impulse of pushing the door closed as fast as he had opened, but such a childish act was beneath him and it bothered him to have even considered such actions. Taking the high road instead he straightened his back, measuring the other vampire from head to tone before his voice even came out, cold and devoid of any emotion.
“You are quite daring, coming here after all this time.”
It was daring indeed, but not the kind that Elijah came to appreciate over the years and he had hold back from spinning out any threats at all at the mere sight of Eric.
It was almost ridiculous, the way that simply being around Elijah could so easily reduce him to the smiling, teasing antics Damon would have once associated only with teenaged girls and lovesick adolescents. But he couldn’t find it in himself to mourn over the loss, reaching out to curl his fingers at the back of Elijah’s neck, extending upwards to thread through his hair. “I don’t really see the point,” Damon murmured with a playful lilt, blinking at Elijah and the proximity between them. His eyes fell, unbidden, to the lips hovering just over his own, lips, Damon knew, that had been crafted as if to fit his own. “You already are everything I love.” Closing the infinitesimal distance between them, if only so he wouldn’t have to suffer the achingly affectionate sentimentality of his words, Damon kissed those lips so temptingly offered before him.
Short, and unbearably sweet, enveloped in the familiarity of knowing just how to kiss and touch, Damon left the lingering taste of himself ghosting across Elijah’s mouth before pulling away with a roguish smirk. “I think you just want payback for all the times I’ve stolen your ties and dress shirts.” It wasn’t exactly as if Damon was innocent in the act of borrowing certain clothes that didn’t actually belong to him. His lack of formalwear meant that he was quite happy to venture into Elijah’s designer closets whenever the occasion called for it. Though for the length of time Damon had known him (and dated him and lived with him and done his laundry), he had never known Elijah to be all that fond of wearing anything that belonged to him. Something about Damon’s lesser tastes and complete disregard for professional tailoring.
Rolling his eyes, dispelling his amusement to turn and lean back against Elijah’s chest, Damon tipped his head back to press his lips against the corner of his jaw, his nose grazing along the skin of his throat. “Shame.” The dismissive hum brushed along Elijah’s pulse as Damon all but nuzzled into his neck, ignoring the thrill of warmth that threatened to drown out his taunting smile. “Yes, in spite of your wardrobe thievery…” Letting his hand trail down to spread across the area just below Elijah’s collarbones, Damon traced the edge of a fingertip down the center of his chest, over the ridges of musculature, deceptively concealed beneath the navy fabric of his shirt. His shirt. Damon’s.“Not to mention your general snobbery about wearing anything that hasn’t been handmade and customised in Italy.”
For a moment Elijah allowed himself to get lost in the headiness of Damon’s kiss and in his words. You already are everything I love. He knew that, as a fact, not out of snobbery but because Damon happened to be the same for him. Of course there were their families, his brothers and sister and Stefan, but it was different, so very different, to think of losing Kol or Rebekah, it was heartbreaking, but thinking of losing Damon was not something Elijah could even imagine doing, an exercise in projection his mind simply refused to make. And so he kissed his lover, chasing any wild thoughts away with the soft press of lips, smile to smile, Damon being the only one that could actually drag such an open gesture out of him.
“It is not payback… Your thievery mostly derives from your unfortunate lack of proper formalwear. And complete disregard for professional tailoring.” If only Damon could see how good he looked in a fitted suit, Elijah thought to himself as his own hand traveled slightly beneath Damon’s cotton t-shirt, fingertips grazing warm sun-kissed skin as a reward for their daring moves. It was true he had a bit of a thing for his Italian suits, the bedroom closet the one place he was carefully meticulous about even beyond Damon’s usual cleaning sprees, but even more than dressing himself in the finest clothes, what really got to him was dressing his lover, seeing his lover in Armani was really as good as seeing him naked, at least to Elijah. He wasn’t ready to admit however that his little kink for clothing was what had him dressing Damon’s shirt in the first place.
It had been a hard day, what with the making of decisions regarding his professional life Elijah never thought he would be making at this point in his life and coming home he had needed some comfort, comfort he couldn’t have without Damon there. So he had taken one of Damon’s favorite shirts, the navy blue one he loved seeing his boyfriend in almost as much as a suit, and it was easier to relax when surrounded by the familiar scent and feel of worn cotton. It was even easier to relax now, with his hands hooked over sharp hips and the comfort of Damon’s touch to his skin, even if he was just nuzzling his neck or tracing his chest over the stolen shirt. “It’s not snobbery. I simply prefer formal wear on occasion.” He replied with an almost indignant tinge, marred by the softness of his fingers that now drew small circles over Damon’s skin. “I suppose I might be getting used to it since I’ll be spending more time at home now. A lot of time, in fact.”
Choveshki's Absolutely Random Promotion:I love my followers and love featuring them. So … yeah. You guys know how this all works. You have to be a classy dame (or gentleman) and keep following me, have to swear to never send anon hate (I’m serious), and have to be the coolest of the cool (which you already are.) I’ll pick like … 5-6 winners at the end of this and give out awesome prizes. Probably graphics, or maybe a drabble, or maybe my firstborn child. You never know. Anyways. This will end on June 16. /end transmission.
