When Damon gets home that night, Stefan is already there, waiting, but he doesn't say a word. He can't, Damon thinks somewhat irritably, more than a little triumphantly, not when this is his entire fault. Not when Damon has been hearing what he and Katherine have been up to for the past few weeks.
No, Damon thinks, Stefan can't do a damn thing, not when he foolishly let Elena slip away, or more accurately, shoved her away when she was holding on so tightly. But that doesn't matter anymore – Damon has her now, and he's never letting go, has no intention of sharing. Not this time.
He smiles genially at his baby brother, who is perched on the couch in front of the fireplace, and takes his time walking across the room. Elena's scent lingers on his clothes as he considers his favorite decanter – does he really feel like replacing the taste of Elena's lips with that if his favorite bourbon? Not really, but he remembers, with a delicious jolt, that he can, like with his favorite liquor, taste her all he likes and his eyes close briefly at the realization.
The air around him shifts, and he wipes the vulnerable look off of his features before looking up. Stefan stands in front of him, on the other side of the bar, body tight and jaw working.
Damon keeps his movements light and carefree as he pours himself a drink, and gives another truly satisfied smile, basking in his brother's hostility.
He really can't say a thing.
Damon drinks.
=..=..=
Elena leans into him now. Allows her body to relax against his when he stands behind her, and gives a pleased little sigh only he can hear when he rests his hands on her stomach and burries his face in her hair.
God, he loves her so much.
=..=..=
He gives Bonnie little nods, smiles that aren't quite, and it feels as if she's set him on fire again, it pains him so much to do it. But, even though she hasn't asked it of him, Damon tries to play nice with Elena's friends.
Bonnie rolls her eyes, and gives him the finger, and Damon considers once again, paying acute attention to the twitch in his right eye, if ripping her throat out would constitute as 'being mean.'
=..=..=
He comes home to find Katherine lounging on his couch. He wishes it were an unfamiliar sight. They do what they do; spar verbally, rebuff, round two, bodily threats, yada yada. It's all becmone so tedious that Damon barely has to think about what he says as he walks over to the desk where be put the ink refills for Elena's pen.
It's what she says when he's leaving, heading for the door again, that gives him pause.
"Oh, and thanks for getting Elena out of the way," she drawls. "I really was this close to just sucking her dry and throwing her in the woods."
If Damon didn't know better, that's about as close to a heartfelt 'thank you' anyone will ever get from Katherine. He could think about what this means, that she may actually really be in love with his brother, and that she and Stefan are probably a match made in vampire heaven, but really Damon doesn't give a fuck, and puts it all out of his mind.
=..=..=
Caroline really has become quite the pest. When she was nattering at him when she was alive and kicking was bad enough, but now that she's Turned and can match him in strength somewhat, she's taken a shine to the habit of rushing him, and slamming him against things. Lockers, floors, and now, a tree in the woods.
She puts her hand to his throat, and he tries to toss her off, but she must have been training (and drinking human blood here and there despite Stefan's absurd diet) because she breaks contact, pushes him to the ground, and twists his arm behind his back, making sure to have her knee dig uncomfortably into his spine.
"What?" he wheezes and rolls his eyes, instead of fighting back. Anything to have this over with as soon as possible.
"I don't know what Elena sees in you, but don't mess with her." She twists his wrist and he grimaces. "Don't hurt her like you hurt me. Don't do to her what you did to me. Don't do it and try to make her forget." She yanks his arm out of the socket, fucking bitch, and he gives a shout of pain. "Because I'll remember." And then she's gone, and Damon is sitting up and pushing his arm back where it needs to be, and he can't find it in himself to be too angry. Not when she has a point.
=..=..=
These dinners were a lot less awkward, back when Damon was just Damon, and Stefan was the boyfriend, and he and Alaric hung out more, and Damon hadn't snapped Jeremy's neck…
He groans inwardly as he passes the salad.
He hates doing damage control.
=..=..=
Hopefully she won't think that he's trying to buy her affections, despite the fact that he's already gotten her a new bracelet and Ipod. Not to mention the huge teddy bear and diary… and his credit card. But she's his girl, and this is how he knows to show her that he cares. And he's getting sick and tired of seeing that vervain necklace Stefan gave to her way back when hanging next to the chained key.
Besides, the sapphire will go great with her dark hair and eyes, and the compartment on the back will hold more vervain than that stupid locket. He tells the man to wrap it in a black box – he'll tie the ribbon around it himself later.
=..=..=
Hopefully Elena won't ask what he did with the locket once he's slipped it off her neck and replaced it with his own. He has no intention of picking the melted pieces out of the fireplace.
=..=..=
She doesn't move like Katherine. There are a few moments, one or two at the most, where they roll and she pins him down by his shoulders, and arches her back, and the room around him melts, and fades, and reappears as his old bedroom one hundred and fifty years ago. But then she smiles, and the illusion is shattered as he cups her face and pulls her down gently.
Her mouth tastes fresh, and sweet, and there is no lingering trace of bitterness and blood, fresh or otherwise. Her skin is soft, so soft, underneath his fingertips. But what really takes his breath away, after the sensation of finally pushing, sliding slowly, into her, is how utterly fragile she is. How weak she becomes under his lips, and hands, and body. That despite moving his hips that certain way that makes her breath catch in her throat, when her grip tightens on his forearms or her nails dig into his back, she barely leaves a mark.
She can't mark him, but, he licks and sucks at that sensitive spot on her throat and she lets out a small cry accompanied by a full body shudder, he could leave a mark on her. His mark.
And he does, but not with his teeth on her throat, but with his fingers on her hips, an answer to her pleas for 'harder' and 'faster' and 'all of it, please, Damon, please.'
He leaves marks on her inner thighs where he held her legs open as he licked at her again, and again, and again, giving her no time to recover, before she rose higher and higher, falling for a third time, sobbing out his name. His name.
He shudders violently when she pants into his mouth and sucks at his bottom lip, lapping at the mingled taste of the two of them, and he holds her, crushes her, to his body.
God, he is never letting go.