stenström.

     damon lets out a bark of humorless laughter, cold eyes fixing on margot without even a modicum of guilt to be found within their depths. there’s no part of him that feels bad for the way he used margot, nor for the way it’s apparently left her feeling bad about herself. all he cares about, really, is the fact that he’d been naive enough to involve such an unpredictable woman in his business dealings, no matter the size of the benefits at the time. he could have done it another way, used another resource, anything that would have allowed him to avoid this sort of liability. “you do realize that playing yourself off as an infatuated imbecile won’t get you off the hook,” he says silkily, though the cool facade is somewhat tainted by the tightness of his voice. “whether or not it’s an idiot breaking the law, the law was still broken. keep that in mind.” he’s quite aware that her dig about his likability is meant to put a dent in his ego, to hit him exactly where she believes he’s weakest, but the point is moot. he has no idea if she’d actually liked him when they’d been sleeping together, and he doesn’t much care. he’d gotten what he needed out of it. furthermore, he’s hardly blind to his reputation. breathing in deeply and letting it back out through his nose, damon hardens his jaw and leans an inch closer, as pleased by her defiance as he is frustrated by it. a dangerous game it might be, but there’s a certain amount of thrill that goes along with it. “listen to me,” he says in a hard voice, eyebrows lifting to create an expression that might have been used were he speaking to someone having trouble understanding something exceedingly simple. he pauses a beat, measures her face, and continues, “are you listening?” another beat. “you are so far out of your depth, margot, that you seem not even to realize exactly how deep you are. if i go down, you go down. and so does your family’s reputation. it’s as simple and as complicated as that. do not underestimate me. have i made that clear enough for you?”

     “what i enjoy is watching someone gag for it the way he does. i’ve found it’s a good look on most people.” ( @mvrlcy )

     “i wouldn’t know. i don’t think being successful and having strict standards for myself and for those with whom i surround myself equates to being soulless. i suppose it’s just that most people are exceedingly soft. i can understand your confusion.”

     “there are maybe two or three people i’d sleep with. preferably someone whose presence doesn’t irritate me to the point of being physically nauseous, if possible.”

     he doesn’t smile, doesn’t give any sort of acknowledgment that he’s pleased by marley’s easy submission to his request, but he knows it must be evident in his eyes. he is pleased. marley’s stopped the motions of his hand but damon’s already hard now, would have been anyway just looking at the tears clinging to marley’s lashes and the string of saliva connecting his full lower lip to damon’s fingers. more than that, the soft keening sound of his voice when he begs damon to fuck him. “better,” he allows, capturing marley’s hands where they’ve migrated to his chest and halting his attempt to get damon’s buttons undone. “but good boys don’t touch unless daddy says so.” without prompt, he spins marley around and presses him into the wall, hands finding his small waist and gripping either side none-too-gently. “why don’t you unbutton yourself and show me how hard you are for me,” he says into marley’s ear over his shoulder, looming nearly a foot above him.

     there’s something to be said about margot’s willingness to fight back--had it not been so infuriating, damon might have admired the way she doesn’t fail to wave at his board members as he ushers her out of sight. there will be questions later and fielding them will be a nightmare all its own. her intention, of course. and though damon knows deep down in his gut that she wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t sell him out because it would mean selling herself out too, there’s a horrible pit of anxiety she’s managed to put in his stomach at the thought of what would happen if her fairytale came true; if the fbi truly did believe she’d been taken advantage of there would be no hope for him at all. it would be crazy, yes, but maybe not absurd. she’s not wrong, after all. his disposition is not once that screams innocence, which had been proven by the fact that he’d once been thrown in jail for seventy-two hours just because his uncle had pointed a finger and accused him of murdering his own father. were it margot pointing the finger, it could be even worse. “the part you’ve forgotten,” he says icily once she’s finished, lifting a hand to the wall and trapping her where she stands, “is that you were ostensibly consorting with that seven-foot-tall man with the ever-present scowl. and we both know you were more than happy to have those pictures taken at the time, weren’t you?” he voice dips lower, to a threatening octave, “no decent detective would buy your sob story longer than it takes to realize you’re nothing more than an entitled brat who learned to cry on demand at age five. save your threats, vanderbilt. and your breath. you don’t scare me. so if you’ve truly been entertaining the idea of going down this path, i strongly suggest you think again because if i land in prison, i’m going to make sure i take you down with me.”

     the whole thing is stupid, and had damon not been weighed down with the threat of gossip girl exposing his less-than-legal business methods for keeping his company running, he would with a clear conscience have ghosted on the date altogether. he knows the name theo but isn’t entirely sure why--the information is locked away somewhere in his brain where he can’t connect it to anything relevant. not that it matters; he intends to get the information he needs as quickly as possible and get the hell out of there. there being a hotel bar not far from his company building, and it’s after work that he makes the trek to meet his date--if it can be called that--for the night. he’s about fifteen minutes late, partly because arriving in his own time is a power play damon technique damon uses all the time, partly because he’s hoping theo will ditch and the blame can fall on his shoulders. but he’s there, and it’s with a roll of his eyes that damon takes a seat beside him and curtly orders a drink from the bartender. “i’ve seen you before,” he says without bothering to go through the proper introductions and greetings. “can’t think of where. you’re too young for me to have gone to high school with you.”

     “yeah, absolutely. i kissed marley just the other day, in fact.” ( @mvrlcy )

     “not really a story. we went to school together, this was back in sweden. my ten-year-old self thought he was pretty and wanted to kiss him, so i kissed him. that’s the story. we were a bit young for anything more than that to happen.”

     “whenever i saw marley last. he’s got a little thing for picking fights with me.” ( @mvrlcy )

     “i could,” damon hums in answer to her facetious suggestion, “but there would be hardly any fun in that, would there? it’s so easy to get you worked up, how can i resist?” and how can he, really? maybe it wouldn’t fit the standard definition of healthy, but damon’s always found himself intrigued by the little ways in which he can get under a person’s skin, even making a game of how quickly he can do it once he becomes familiar with their quirks. with tara, it’s that he can tell she hates her attraction to him, and likely hates even more her apparent inability to just tell him to get lost. “highly unlikely doesn’t mean impossible,” he reminds her, grinning as she heads off toward the bar. he follows at his own pace, hands dipping into his pockets and leaning against the bar beside her once he catches up. “a double?” his eyebrow lifts as does the corner of his mouth, mocking her wordlessly. “we are tense tonight. any reason in particular?” he orders a drink from the bartender without removing his gaze from tara, too intent on reading every little detail about her body language on which he can pick up. he’s not quite sure yet if the bad mood is entirely to do with him or if there’s something else going on and he’s curious to figure out which it is. “don’t tell me you’ve got your sights set on somebody you’re hoping to draw with this auction. i can’t stomach that sort of hopeless romance.”

     “i only do events like these alone, actually,” damon counters with a wry grin. “i prefer not to have obligations to anyone but myself, if i can help it.” which is certainly true when he’s single--which he has been for a little more than a year now--but it isn’t as though he’s never taken a date to a function. it reflects more on his current state of mind than anything else. “you’ll forgive me my shock but it isn’t often you find someone around here who knows their limits or gives much thought to responsibility. i’m sure your brother appreciates the gesture. just as long as you’re not depriving yourself of a good time.” he pauses and rolls his eyes--not at her, but at the situation in and of itself. “so far as you can have a good time at a date-auction benefit, anyway.” it’s hard to picture giulia so wasted she needs to be carried home when everything about her otherwise radiates a sense of put-togetherness. he smiles when she finally acquiesces and, having found a good reason now to assert himself to the front of the line, does so without much hassle. there are a few people left grumbling behind him but damon’s never lost much sleep over the inconveniencing of nameless faces. “hope you like cabernet,” he says, offering out a glass half-filled with a dark red liquid and keeping the whiskey for himself. “you have my word i won’t let you near another glass until we get through the reveals.”

     “slow down,” he says after marley’s dragged him out of the main hall and into the much-less-crowded foyer, opulently-decorated corridors leading off in two opposite directions. “come this way,” he pulls marley by the hand away from the length of hallway where people are congregating around the coat room and restrooms, walking until they pass a natural alcove in the wall created by the architecture. it won’t do them any good if somebody decides to go exploring, but it’s no worse than the bathroom would have been, either. “so you’re having a bad night, is that what’s going on?” damon drawls out lazily, backing marley up against the wall and using a crooked finger to tip his chin up. his tone is one of light mocking, as if he’s speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. “and you want me to make it all better for you? i haven’t heard you say please once.”

     “i don’t care for the phrasing of this question, but my answer is pip. ours was by far the most amicable breakup i’ve endured and staying friends was easy. rest assured, i have my eye on anyone who has wronged or thought about wronging her.” ( @ofpip )

     “i’m not in the business of handing out ego boosts. if i’ve slept with them more than once, you can be sure they’re a good fuck.”

     “i don’t use people for my own gain. i’ve always been perfectly honest and perfectly clear about what it is i want from people. i don’t have patience for playing games. if they, on the other hand, decide to spin it into a situation in their minds where they feel taken advantage of, that’s out of my control. i can only suggest they learn to be less dramatic; i can’t force them.”