AN:

Plot: Damon and Elena have a complicated history. They've loved each other for God-knows-how-long but due to a combination of terrible timing and tremendous luck, they've never known how the other felt. For five years, Damon has been off-the-grid but now – Damon's back from war and his comrade is dating (of course) Elena fucking Gilbert. It's yet another slow simmer summer in Mystic Falls and it's sure to get even hotter. AU. Delena endgame.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but this plot.

This is the first Fanfiction I've ever written so please go easy!

The organization of this first chapter is intended to be a compilation of different scenes in Damon and Elena's history together so it jumps back and forth from different points in time. The Bold parts are intended to give you a heads-up so make sure to read those! I hope it's not too confusing.

This story was inspired by the film Love, Rosie which I am endlessly in love with.


Summer before senior year

She soaked up the salt slowly – excruciatingly slowly – swirling her tongue in lazy circular motions. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her – the girl who he'd loved for God knows how long – his gaze trailing the arc of her neck and the careless shake of her hair as she downed shot after shot. He stared, fixated, at her parted mouth as she bit into the lime wedge – he watched how she thrust her head back and closed her eyes in ecstasy, arching her back, pebbles beading over her delicate olive skin. A Calvin Harris song was playing in the background and he couldn't help but be affected by all of it – the sensual, pulsating beat, the smokiness of the bar, and the gorgeous girl before him, bent over his girlfriend's bellybutton. Rebekah was squirming underneath her ministrations, eyes rolled to the back of her head.

He had no idea what had gotten into her – what had possessed her to get rip-roaring drunk and do a body shot on his girlfriend of all people. He knew Elena Gilbert better than anyone and Elena Gilbert was not this girl wearing sky-high heels, throwing back tequila like it was orange juice.

Elena wiped the last of the salt from her lips with her arm. She smoothed out the hemline of her dress, clambering up from the bar counter, and met his gaze evenly. As her eyes found his, he felt himself burn up. She was so beautiful, with her hair in a state of complete disarray and one of the straps of her red cotton sundress falling off the curve of her shoulder. He was coming undone – there was no question about it. It was yet another slow simmer summer in Mystic Falls and he knew, by God, that the heat was just going to get more unbearable.

"Enjoy the show, Salvatore?" she asked, sauntering over to where he sat with a lazy smile hanging from her lips.

"You'll be the death of me, Gilbert," he replied.

"Good. That's why I'm here. Want another round?"

"Tempting, but I really do think I have the responsibility to cut you off for the night. Contrary to popular belief, holding back your hair while you hurl into the toilet isn't exactly how I planned this night going."

"Always with the wisecracks," she remarked, swinging herself onto the tabletop beside him. "Don't be such a killjoy, Salvatore. Unlike you, I happen to be more than capable of handling my alcohol. If you don't want to join me, I'm sure I won't have any difficulty in securing another drinking partner."

He laughed. "You're a piece of work."

"Does that mean you've changed your mind?" she quipped, but she knew she'd already won.

"You're paying," he declared, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and following Elena's lead towards the bar. Yet another night was to be spent drinking themselves to oblivion, denying the feelings they had towards each other because they feared, more than anything, what-might-happen if they gave in to what they actually wanted.


Sexy Suds Car Wash, senior year

There was no way in hell he was going to miss this one. He'd be lying if he said he'd brought his beloved Camaro for the car wash itself. He took better care of his car than he did of his own life – everyone knew that. It was so clean you could see your reflection in it. No, he'd come because he was whipped. Rebekah had demanded he play the part of supportive boyfriend and drop at least twenty bucks at this event or she'd withhold sex for a week. His fear of blue balls was the main incentive for why he was wasting his Sunday afternoon at school but, he had to admit, seeing his girlfriend in an itty bitty bikini wouldn't be the worst way to spend the day.

Caroline Forbes, as per usual, was standing on a table with a megaphone, barking commands. He wasn't the biggest fan of Blondie – too much jibber jabber, too little substance – but he was one to give credit where it was due. Blondie, after all, had been the one to come up with the genius idea of having the cheerleaders wash cars for charity in various states of undress.

As he drove by, he gave her a little wave. She flushed red immediately and smiled a little too widely. She's had a thing for him ever since a particularly risqué game of Strip Poker back in sophomore year – of course, now that he was taken, he couldn't capitalize on that little crush, but it didn't hurt to be reminded every now and then that he's still got it.

As he pulled in to the parking lot, he waited to be served. There were some real hotties working the hoses, and while he'd come for Rebekah, it would be against the spirit of the cause if he didn't let April Young (whose newfound curviness didn't escape his notice) handle his car...right?

Too late, she's spotted him. He rolled down his car window, enjoying the sight of his girlfriend walking over towards him in her two-sizes-too-small swimwear.

"Told you I'll make it worth your while," she said coyly.

He looked her up and down and felt himself instantly harden. "Mm, I'm a lucky man indeed."

"Do you like my bikini?" she asked, noticing how he'd clenched his jaw. She hooked her fingers in the edges of her bikini bottom and tugged it down slightly. He was transfixed.

"I love it," he drawled, eyes roaming her body shamelessly. He leaned towards her, voice dangerously low, "I love how it clings to your skin and how your perky tits fill it out to the max..." She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes incrementally darker. "but I'd love your little two-piece so much more when it's on the floor."

"My house. Tonight," she managed to say through gritted teeth.

"I thought your folks were back?"

"They are. But you're worth that risk."

"Looking forward to it. Say – you're the one who's hosing my car down, right? Because I'll sure like to see you even wetter."

"Yeah, me and Lena."

He stared at her blankly, afraid to believe his ears.

"You and Lena?"

"Yes, Lena. It's either her or April Young and we all know April's going to put on a show."

"What's wrong with a show?"

"Keep talking and you can forget about tonight."

"I'm just kidding, baby. You know you're the only one for me."

He pulled her in for a kiss – which got steamy very quickly – until he heard someone clear her throat.

"Get a room, wouldja?"

He flinched. It was her.

"Sorry, Lena," Rebekah said, looking mortified.

"Well well well. Look at you, Salvatore. Who knew you'd ever show up to a charity event?"

He lifted his head tentatively and there she was, eyebrow raised in that sarcastic way she'd mastered, the edge of her lip quirked – the physical manifestation of what's in every teenage boy's wet dream.

She looked so good she could be edible – exactly what he'd feared. She was in a striped bikini that was modest in comparison to Rebekah's but it was downright sinful molded against her curves. It was small enough for him to get a proper eyeful of her cleavage and it showcased her long, long legs, tan from her summer in the Bahamas. It was one of those flimsy pieces that tied in the front and he couldn't help but notice how easy it would be for him to untie it, how easy it would be for one of the straps to slip, how the entire top could just come apart

Get your head out of the fucking gutter, Damon. She's your best friend, for God's sake.

"Thanks for cockblocking me, Gilbert," he replied drily, trying to muster some illusion of nonchalance.

He'd worked so hard all of this summer to get her out of his head. He'd crushed on her for way too long – every time he worked up the nerve to ask her out, he'd find out she was dating a new member of the football team. So he'd decided that perhaps the terrible timing was for the best – Elena Gilbert was his best friend, the only constant variable in his fucked-up life, and he could not live without her. So he'd entered senior year with the resolution of shaking off his schoolboy crush and moving on with his life. And it had worked – until he laid eyes on her in this outfit.

God knows how he'd feel once she turns on that hose.


A week later

She was sitting shotgun, her hair fanned out behind her, staring at the windshield with a distant look in her eyes.

It was almost dawn and the city was in a strange, wonderful mood that day. The sky was bathed in shades of pink and orange and the streets were deserted. They'd arrived at her place over an hour ago and yet she still hadn't gotten out of the car. So he parked it and there they sat in the middle of the parking lot, lost in thought.

"Let's get out of here," she said all of a sudden.

"Where do you wanna go?"

"Away from this fucking town."

He laughed. "We're gonna get away soon enough."

"Whitmore isn't far enough for me. California isn't far enough for me. I want to get away. Like Tokyo or Moscow or...or London!"

"We can't up and leave, Lena. Our families are here. Our entire lives!"

"This place is a hellhole. We've known this forever. I want to start anew and I want you to go away with me. Let's apply to college in London. What do you say?"

It was that earnestness in her eyes, that genuine excitement and wonder, that propelled him to say yes before he even knew what he was saying. But of course he said yes. She was Elena Gilbert and he was head over heels.


The night before prom, senior year

"I'll go with you if you have no one else to go with," he found himself saying.

"Thanks but no thanks, Salvatore. I'm not some charity case," she scoffed.

She'd broken up with Charlie Turner, school tool (in his humble opinion), after she caught him making out with Vicki Donovan in the library – which would not have been much of a tragedy if not for the fact that Elena was now without a prom date. He'd found out about the break-up through Rebekah and had run over to her house the moment he'd found out. Like he'd suspected, she was eating her weight in chocolate – she wasn't the type to cry or rant, she liked to keep her feelings bottled up inside – but he could still tell how affected she was by the discovery.

"I want to take you," he said instinctively.

Looking into his eyes, she could tell his request was sincere. She wasn't quite sure how to respond. "What about Rebekah?" she asked quietly. "I know she's spent the past few months coordinating your matching corsages. It's not fair to her if you ditch her last-minute."

"I know," he said, running his hand through his hair. "but it's our senior prom! Our last hurrah. It should be the happiest day of our lives and I wouldn't be able to have a good time if you don't."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be more than fine." She smiled, but he could tell it was contrived. "There shouldn't be a stigma to being date-less anyway! I'll go stag and kick ass at it."

He still wasn't convinced but he'd learned from experience that it was better, when it came to Elena, not to press the matter any further. "So," he said brightly, "show me your dress."

"Oh yes, the dress," she said grimly, tugging a dress from its hanger. "It cost me four months of tutoring money and now I won't even have a date."

When Elena exited the bathroom, arms folded insecurely across her chest, her eyes avoiding his, his breath hitched and he knew it was worth the money. It was red, floor-length and cinched at the waist. The satin fabric clung to her curves in all the right places and pooled at her feet. There was a slit on the side of her thigh that, whenever she moved, revealed glorious expanses of her olive skin. As her eyes met his, however, he realized that – while the dress was beautiful – it couldn't compare to the girl in it. He was screwed. He was really so fucking screwed.

"What do you think?" She asked, nibbling on her bottom lip nervously.

He took a while trying to find the right words. He wanted to say what he really felt, to articulate what she was doing to him inside, but he didn't. He couldn't. "I'd say you look halfway decent, Gilbert. You clean up pretty well."


Prom night (Damon's POV)

Mason Lockwood had saved the day.

Fuck.

Apparently, NYU let out a week earlier than Mystic Falls High School did and so of course he'd found out that Elena was going stag and swooped in on his white horse to save her like the hero he was.

Mason Lockwood, aka Elena's ex. Aka the guy Elena had still loved when they decided to break up. They only broke up in the first place because the statistics said long distance relationships never worked – which means there was no fight, no long gradual drawn-out descent into apathy, no hostility whatsoever. Which means he probably still loves her and she probably still loves him too.

Fuck.

There he was, Prince Charming himself, with His girl. There he was, with his hand on the small of her back as they headed to the dance floor. He's whispering something into her ear. She's laughing in response. His hands are on her waist. Her arms are around his neck. They're gazing into each other's eyes. They look happy. Like they're meant to be together.

"Damon!" Rebekah's shrill voice jolted him back to reality. "Can we please dance? I really want to show off my dress."

If Mason Lockwood's having fun, why shouldn't he? He grabbed Rebekah by the elbow and charged into the center of the dance floor just a few feet away from where Ele-

Never mind. This was his night too and he wasn't going to let Mr. Hotshot ruin it for him.

The tone of the night quickly shifted focus as the DJ put on an EDM song. Rebekah's eyes were locked on his as she slowly swayed her hips to the beat. He placed one leg in between hers, eye-fucking her in the process, and it was on.

With his hands, he guided her body till her back was facing him and she knew just what to do. She bent over and ground her glorious ass against him. His throat dried and his eyes rolled upward – this was more like it.


Prom night (Elena's POV)

The next song required a complete change in pace. Mason withdrew his arms from where they rested on her hips and placed a palm firmly on her backside.

She was surprised but she didn't let on. She noticed his eyes had darkened a few shades. It felt right, doing this with Mason, but she'd never really dirty-danced before and did sh–

Her eyes fell on the two figures in the center of the dance floor. They were grinding. One of them was rotating her ass and the other one was... Damon. Of course.

She bit her bottom lip so hard it bled. Then she noticed Mason was staring at her lips and she – in a moment of weakness and inspiration – dropped her hand to his crotch.

He was rock hard.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asked seductively, but she already knew his answer.

Mason's teeth were gritted and she could swear the veins on his forehead were about to pop out when he moaned "God, yes."

Damon's eyes found them as they made their way out of the ballroom. He watched the girl he'd loved forever leave to lose her virginity – to a guy that wasn't him.

As Mason unhooked her bra, as he positioned himself at her entrance, as he filled her and came with a yell and a shudder and fell apart beside her murmuring "that was great, baby," Elena wished it was him instead. She stared up at the ceiling with her underwear abandoned in the corners of the room and wished it was his hand on her thigh and his breath against her neck and God, she wished it was him inside of her.


Five years later – Present-day

She was wearing a new dress, a backless one she'd bought especially for the occasion. It was yellow, his favorite color. She wore nothing underneath. It had been too long.

He said he was going to be home at five but he still hadn't arrived. She knew he was going to be ravenous after his thirteen-hour flight so she'd prepared a casserole. It was going cold on the kitchen table. She tried to occupy herself by switching on the TV but her eyes kept flitting towards the front door.

She hadn't realized exactly how much she'd missed him until today. She couldn't bring herself to miss him. She'd thrown herself into her work, afraid of what thoughts she'd have in the quiet moments, the idle moments. Now that she knew he was finally coming home, she let herself feel the excitement. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to expect his arrival, to think about him walking through the doorframe and remember how good it felt to be in his arms because his contract had finally expired. Today was the day that he was finally coming back to her and he was never going to leave again.

The doorbell rang and she immediately sprang up from where she sat on the couch. Her heart began to race – this was it, this was the moment – as her fingers curled around the doorknob. As the door eased open and her eyes lifted to his, she leaped into his arms, curling her legs around his waist and kissing him hard.

It was everything she'd anticipated and more. With her hands coiled in his hair and his lips against hers, trying to memorize every curve of his biceps, she was completely lost in him – in his body heat, the way he tasted – until a wolf-whistle cut through the air.

She pulled away from him, startled and confused. Then she noticed the men in army gear standing on her doorstep, laughing amongst themselves.

"Sorry, babe," he said, clearly apologetic. "A few of the guys needed a place to bunk."

"God, this is so embarrassing!" she said, flushing to the roots of her hair. She turned to the guys waiting outside. "Sorry you guys had to see that. Come on in!"

"Please don't stop on our account!" A man with long flaxen hair quipped, stepping through the door.

"Please do," a familiar voice grumbled.

"Jer!" she exclaimed delightedly, wrapping her arms around her big brother. "I didn't know I'd see you tonight!"

In spite of himself, he smiled, leaning into her embrace. "I missed you so much, Lena...even though I wasn't expecting that sort of a welcome."

"Sorry, man," he chipped in, approaching to stand beside her and putting his arm on her shoulder.

"You better take care of my baby sister, Kol. She's too good for you."

"I don't know what I've done to possibly deserve her," he said, kissing the top of her head.

She didn't feel it. She was too busy staring at the man still hovering by the doorframe.

He was staring right back.

"Elena Gilbert?" he finally spoke, his eyebrows furrowed in recognition.

"Damon," she said in reply. It came out more brusquely than she'd expected.

His raven black hair had been closely cropped to his scalp. He seemed taller, broader. His body was more chiseled and he had stubble lining his chin. But his blue eyes and the way they made her feel as she stared into them was unmistakable.

He regarded her too, jaw clenched, his eyes roaming her body. She shifted uncomfortably, gaze dropping to her feet, as he took her in. He decided that time had treated Elena Gilbert well and he realized, with surprise, that despite the time and distance that separated him from his days back in high school, he still felt the same protectiveness and attachment towards Elena Gilbert. Despite his time in the army and the little contact they had over the past few years, he still remembered, clear as day, what it was like to love and be loved by Elena Gilbert. But most of all, he was surprised to realize that the heartbreak he'd experienced so many years ago still ate away at him.

"You guys know each other?" Kol spoke up, intruding upon the privacy of that moment.

Elena willed herself to regain her composure and meet his eyes. "We went to high school together," she said plainly.

"Wait a second, you were the Damon Elena kept talking about back in school? Her kid best friend?" Jeremy exclaimed.

"That's me," he said. There was a bitterness to his tone.

"What a small world!" Kol laughed.

"I'm sure you guys are starving," Elena said all of a sudden. "I prepared some food. I'll go get it."

"What a small world indeed," Damon remarked, his eyes bearing into her as she turned away.


Elena was scooping chunks of casserole onto paper plates when she felt his presence behind her. She knew he was watching her but she decided she wasn't going to be the one to speak first.

"Elena," he started.

She didn't respond.

"Are you still mad at me for what I did half a decade ago?"

No response. She dug into the casserole with a newfound vigor.

"Elena, look at me."

"There's nothing to say, Damon," she finally responded. "What you did five years ago is in the past."

"If you aren't angry, then why aren't you looking at me?"

She turned around slowly, wiping her hands on her apron, and met his eyes head-on. She looked exasperated. Tired. "Because I don't want to pretend that I know anything about you anymore."

"What do you mean, Lena? We were best friends–"

"Before. We were best friends a long time ago. You went off the grid after graduation. Didn't reply to my texts, emails, anything. You didn't even show up to my mother's funeral when you were in town." Her tone remained level, calm. Collected. But there was a slight quiver in her voice that gave it all away. "I'm fine with all that but what you've got to see, Damon, is that we're not best friends. That was Kid Damon and Kid Elena. Grown-up you I haven't seen in five years. Grown-up you I don't even know. We're strangers, Damon, and I'm okay with it as long as you're okay with it."

He stared at her wordlessly. Then he knew what he wanted to say.

"I'm okay with it, Elena. But can I ask you a question? For resolution's sake?"

"Sure," she said, her expression indecipherable.

"Do you still think what we did was a mistake?"

He didn't need to elaborate for her to know what incident he was referring to.

"Yes. It was a mistake, all of it," she said and in that moment, his heart found new ways to shatter all over again.


Five years ago. A month after senior prom

It was mid-July. Mason had left again for New York. They'd gotten ahold of a bottle of red wine from Jenna's poorly-hidden liquor cabinet. They were hanging out on his lawn on the tail end of a school-wide pool party he'd decided to throw on a whim. Summer in Mystic Falls was always swelteringly hot and that day had been no exception. But they had gotten to the best part of the night, when the party was winding down and dusk was sinking in and the soundtrack got more mellow. She was stretched out on the grass in her firetruck red bikini that left little to imagination while he uprooted blades of grass, trying not to think about the girl lying down beside him.

"Wine drunk is the best kind of drunk," she mused, slowly peeling off strips of the wine label.

"God, aren't you pensive tonight," he laughed.

"I'm being serious! It gets you tipsy enough to care less about shit but your brain doesn't get all loopy."

"Elena Gilbert, modern-day philosopher," he declared.

"Damon Salvatore, modern-day douchebag," she retorted.

He was in a playful kind of mood that night – maybe it was the wine combined with the unspoken implications that came with the end of summer that made him so sentimental. Either way, he decided to hoist her up onto his shoulder despite her protests and charged straight towards the pool.

"I'm going to kill you, Salvatore!" she yelled as he launched her into the chlorine.

She emerged with a splutter, her head bobbing to the surface, gasping for air and her eyes murderous.

"Give me a hand, willya?" she asked, extending her arm.

Please. It was the oldest trick in the book and he was slightly insulted that she would think he would fall for it. Normally, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction but what the hell, it was the end of summer, they were here together, young and beautiful without a care in the world. He took her hand.

Like he'd expected, once her hand slipped into his she tugged him down into the water with him. He feigned surprise as best as possible, splashing water at her face in retribution and chasing her around the pool.

They decided to finally get out of the pool once they realized they were the only ones still in it. He grabbed a towel from a beach chair and draped it around her shoulders as they headed into the house.

"Look! My fingers are so wrinkly!" Elena had laughed, lifting her hands to show him when she noticed how serious his expression was.

His gaze had fallen to her lips. And maybe it was the wine in her system combined with the summer heat or maybe neither, but she decided then and there to crash her lips against his.

Her legs found their way around his hips as the kiss got more feverish and her hands clung to his shoulders, seeking more friction. There they were, entangled, pressed flush against a wall, as he dove into her mouth as if he could find salvation in her lips. Her breath still lingered with the aftertaste of the wine she'd drunk and he was hooked on how it tasted on his tongue. Then she did this little throaty moan as her head thrust back and he was a goner. He slowly guided them up the stairs, maneuvering their way into his bedroom. He set her gently onto his duvet and began work on the skin of her neck. She grew restless as he sucked on the skin, making a mark that would surely be there in the morning. They were still damp from the pool so he licked the chlorine off her olive skin, swirling his tongue around her clavicle then down the flat terrain of her stomach and down, down, onto her inner thigh. Her hands began to work frenetically on the strings of her bikini and he'd looked up, distracted from his initial plans, his eyes trailing her movements as the straps fell from her shoulders and everything and more was on display, waiting for him.

In that moment, he realized the magnitude of what he was doing and promptly got up from where his head was positioned in between her legs.

There was an expression of frustration on Elena's face as she felt the immediate loss of him. He was straining to catch his breath and as his eyes took her in – all of her, naked – he hated himself all the more for what he knew he needed to do. "We've gotta stop, Elena," he said. "You're drunk. And I love you too much to ever take advantage of you."

"I'm not drunk," Elena insisted.

"That's what drunk people say! And I know this isn't me. I never think before I act but with you," he said, searching her eyes, "with you, I've got to be responsible. I've got to do right by you. With you, I can't be selfis–"

The rest of his thought got caught off abruptly as Elena kissed him hard. With one showstopper of a kiss, his resolve weakened incrementally and he forgot what he was about to say. It felt too right, too good, and he'd been wanting it – this – for so long that now that he finally had her at his disposal he simply could not turn away.

"Please shut up," Elena whispered breathlessly into his ear. "and get back to work."

Didn't need to tell him twice.

He plunged a finger into her warmth, and he clenched his jaw as her back arched in response. "Damonnn!" she yelled.

He added another and another until she was reduced to a bundle of nerves and moans. He hadn't set his mouth in between her legs for long when her fingers flew to the zipper of his pants.

"Got a condom?" she asked.

"Of course," he responded.

"Slut," she'd laughed until he silenced her by brushing It against her clit. She stared at him, eyes wide, feeling Its size.

When he finally plunged into her heat, they came almost simultaneously. They fell apart on his bed and she quickly drifted into a blissful sleep.

He stayed awake for quite a bit longer, absent-mindedly tracing his finger in circular motions over the flat of her stomach. He watched her as she fell asleep, scarcely able to comprehend that what-had-just-happened wasn't jut a figment in a fantasy. At some point in the night, their legs entangled and he kissed her forehead before closing his eyes, sated.

He woke up the next morning with a start and realized that the other side of the bed was empty. He would have thought, in his morning daze, that the events of the previous night were simply part of a heated dream if not for the smell of her in his sheets and the dull ache in between his legs.

He found a note when he clambered out of bed, looking for her, and the five words scribbled in her handwriting sent him crashing down from the high he'd been on.

Last night was a mistake.

He texted her afterwards, telling her that she was right and that they should just forget about it. They would never talk about it again.


I wrote this as a one-shot because I'm a student and I know I won't be very great with updating. If you guys want more chapters, please READ AND REVIEW so I know there's demonstrated interest. Thanks for reading!