Starts after Ep. 6, Emily/Damon
Emily took a deep breath as she prepared to walk into The Pizza Shack. Damon would be there, and this would be the first time they met since he had indicated his feelings so blatantly on her doorstep. Yet again, she tugged on the skirt she was wearing and cursed her mother for pushing it on her, going on about femininity and legs…
The first few moments were awkward, but soon business caught up with them and she was able to keep busy. Unfortunately, she could avoid him, but she could do nothing to escape his stare, unreadable in its intensity. But nothing came of it until closing, when they were the last two in the Shack wiping tables. As she turned away from the one she was wiping, she practically ran into him. Starting, she backed up a step and averted her eyes.
"I thought you were going to leave me alone," she said.
Damon approached her slowly, just dangerous enough to be sexy. "Now, what would have given you that idea?"
"Um, bros over hoes?"
He laughed softly, "You said that, Emily, not me. I just said that I couldn't be your friend. You know me well enough to know that that means the exact opposite. You're kidding yourself. Razor… well… I'll deal with him when the time comes."
"Damon, I really just need to focus…" she was cut off by his kiss.
This should have been her first kiss. She could feel the difference, feel how much he meant it. She could even feel the insecurity he hid so well, the desperation that she not reject him. It was that innocence that broke her. She brought her hands to his head and responded to him ardently.
When he was sure she would not break away, Damon dropped his hands to her waist. Gently he picked her up so she was sitting on the table. She was surprised at his strength; with all her muscle she wasn't exactly light. He broke away from her mouth and immediately began kissing her cheek and jaw, over to the soft skin below her earlobe. When he began to suck on her earlobe, she gasped and arched toward him. He used her distraction as an opportunity to move his hands to her bare knees and gently pull her legs apart to get closer to her.
Emily was thoroughly enjoying the make-out session, but she was still shocked when she felt a lump pressed between her legs. Unfortunately (Or maybe fortunately, she couldn't tell), Damon was making it difficult for her to think straight long enough to listen to the voice in her head screaming Bad idea, bad idea!
Damon was a little shocked at Emily. At the fact that she hadn't pushed him away yet. This was way to easy…
"Come on, Emily," he growled. He suckled on her neck gently. "You aren't going to let me do this, are you? You're not a typical Rock girl, remember?" He bit down, not quite hard enough to leave a lasting mark, and she moaned. His hands dropped to the outside of her thighs, and he began slowly pushing her skirt up her legs.
Emily knew she should stop him, but she was too dizzy with pleasure to find the words, or even to want to.
"Tell me to stop, Emily," he whispered, even as he licked the spot he had just bitten. His hands continued their journey upward even as they rolled over to the inside of her legs. "I won't stop until you ask me to," he said, back to her ear. "Tell me to stop."
Stop, yes. Emily's brain finally locked onto that word like a life raft in the sea of unmentionables. "Stop," she finally gasped. Taking a deep breath, she said, "We have to stop."
In an instant, he was off of her. Her body received a shock at the sudden loss of contact, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. She felt a hand on her chin, and she opened her eyes in time to see Damon kiss her forehead gently. He turned and left the building, but not before calling over his shoulder, "You should wear skirts more often."
~*~
That night, after Emily had managed to fend off her mother's questions with claims of being tired, she went to bed. She actually wasn't tired at all: every nerve in her body was a live wire. That whole day she had avoided thoughts of what had happened, and even more of what might have happened afterward. But now, lying in bed alone, she allowed herself to consider it. Everything always seemed so much less real when she was in bed in the dark, and this was the only time she could relax without feeling guilty. So she let herself imagine what could have happened between them as her hand drifted down between her legs.
~*~
Emily stood in her room the next afternoon, facing her closet. She had on her Pizza Shack shirt and was currently trying to decide between her usual black pants and a grey knee-length skirt. She couldn't believe that suddenly one piece of clothing could have so much riding on it. Did she want to send Damon the message that she was fine with what had happened, or that it was a mistake? That she wanted him in her life, or all she needed was gymnastics? After another moment's consideration she grabbed the skirt and put it on before she had time to reconsider.
~*~
When she got to work they were already to swamped for socialization, but she did catch Damon's eye long enough for him to give her a once-over and a wink, indicating silently that he understood and appreciated her choice of apparel. When things calmed down, she walked over and stood by him as he made pizzas.
"So, I probably shouldn't, but I have to ask. What was that last night?"
"That?" he said, exactly the same way he had when he kissed her the first time, infuriatingly casual. He shrugged, and said, "Just helping you out with those late-night fantasies."
Emily was shocked into silence. Whatever she was expecting, that was not it. It took her a moment to gain enough composure to stop looking incredibly guilty and turn to him. He wasn't even looking at her. For a second she was angry enough at his conceit to forget how embarrassed she was.
"What the hell do you know, huh? What on Earth makes you think I-"
"Oh please," Damon cut her off, finally turning toward her. "You can't possibly live through all that pressure without someone taking care of you. Since I know it's not a guy, you must be doing it yourself. Unless the Rock team is closer than I thought…"
Now Emily's anger had subsided again into sheer mortification. She turned back to the counter. "You don't know what you're talking about," she said. He followed her.
"No, I think I do," he said softly. He ran the back of one finger over her cheek. "See, there," he said, indicating the redness on her cheeks. "You're a terrible liar. I bet you were fantasizing about me even before I kissed you." She remained silent, but her intensified blush was not lost on him. Sensing that she wasn't going to respond, he just kept talking.
"It's not the same with Razor, is it? No, no, he's too sweet. Too gentle. He wouldn't ever give it to you like you need it. You already equate pleasure and pain, why else would you want to be an Olympic gymnast? You need it rough." He stepped closer, once again stifling her with pheromones. "And believe me, Emily, one day I intend to give it to you."
Then he stepped away and she could breathe again. "So why didn't you?" she called after him. He stopped, surprised. "Last night," she went on. "Why did you tell me to tell you to stop?"
He paused briefly to be amused at the syntax, then turned to her. "Because you didn't really want it. With Nationals coming up, I would just have hurt you. Just because I plan to make you scream my name someday doesn't mean I don't care about you. Just the opposite, in fact. You would have regretted it, which would have defeated the entire purpose." Again, he turned to walk away.
"Thanks," she said quietly. He stopped but didn't turn around. In that word, he heard everything. Thanks for understanding. Thanks for caring. Thanks for giving me something to look forward to when my gymnastics career is over. And one more thing that really made him smile. Thanks for the help.