"I will always choose you." the finality in Damon's voice resonated clearly throughout the room.
I opened my mouth to say something; anything, really. Anything to fill the awkward silence that followed his passionate admission. Even something about Klaus would be better, at this point, because the nausea would sit better in my stomach than these damn butterflies. Anything to turn him back into the Damon I detested, to put out the fire that was currently smoldering in his eyes.
I leaned towards him a little. I couldn't help it. I had spent my entire teenage life hoping that someone would look at me in the exact way he was right now. I could just do it...right now, I negotiated with myself, and if I feel nothing, then that's it. I can stop staying up all night wondering what it would feel like to push my lips onto his, because I would've already done it. If I feel nothing at all, I could easily blame it on the grief of almost losing Bonnie. I subconsciously inched my face a little closer to his. At this point, he had noticed my movement, and his gaze dropped steadily down to my open lips.
No, I argued silently, I can't do that. Not to Stefan. Not ever. He means too much. He deserves everything. Everything.
But does Damon not even deserve a chance?
Nothing came out of my mouth. After a long, long silence, the part of my brain that wasn't currently obsessing over how good he smelled and how the need in his eyes seemed to momentarily overshadow the pain I usually saw made a decision and stuck to it: "Goodnight, Damon." It would be best for all of us.
I quickly surmised that I had better leave the room before I changed my mind. And so, with more conviction in my body than I felt in my heart, I strode purposefully out of his room.
I didn't make it very far.
About halfway down the hallway, I stopped moving. Literally. It was almost as if I were under compulsion, like some other force was keeping my feet rooted to this very spot. My mind screamed at my heart, Stop it! You almost made it! Why would you go screwing up a perfectly good thing?
But then I thought back to what he had said. I will always choose you.
Always. Always. Always.
My will began to crumble.
I screwed my eyes shut really tight, took a deep breath, and did a one-eighty. My brain, being ignored, checked out completely, and I stopped thinking. That's okay. What I'm about to do doesn't require thought.
"Elena," he sounded surprised. "What're you-"
"Damon, I need you to do something for me."
His instant response of "anything" assured me I had made the right decision.
"I want you to kiss me."
Damon shifted his gaze away from my eyes and back. "Pardon?"
"This whole time, both of you have been making most of the decisions: where I can go, what I can do, who I can talk to; and I was really, really pissed about that." I took a calculated step towards him, never breaching eye contact . "But I realized that the one decision that I was free to make, I wasn't choosing right." His eyes widened. "Damon, you say a lot of stupid things. You practically lie by default. But what you said tonight, it might be the most honest thing I've ever heard you say. You said, without hesitation, that you would always choose me...and I haven't even chosen you once."
He locked his jaw then, and it was almost as if he knew where I was headed. Because he could read me like a street sign: with just one glance.
"So this is me choosing you. I want you to kiss me now, but Damon..." I paused, finding my words, "I want you to prove to me that you are the right choice. Because if we do this, there's no going back. If we do this, I can't have any second thoughts."
"None." He vowed, an inferno in his eyes. He stalked towards me then, more life in his eyes than I can ever remember seeing in a dead person. He grabbed my chin with intent, with hunger, with primal need, and forced his lips upon my own.
Our mouths opened almost immediately, our tongues colliding in a heated, fast, dark, aggressive way. Elena grabbed fistfuls of Damon's hair, yanking harshly, and Damon groaned loudly into her mouth, his hands on her lower back pushing her even closer to him in response.
It had never been this way before with Stefan. This incessant hunger she felt connected her brain to some primal, some visceral part of her soul that had only just begun to surface. It was fast, loud, sloppy, and needy. Elena loved every fucking second of it.
"How'm I doing?" He mumbled into her neck, pressing deep, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin his lips passed.
"Hard to tell." Elena managed to choke out in between gasps. "I'd say you need a little more...more practice." She bit out.
She felt him laugh softly against her collarbone. "I'll show you practice."