Electricity crackled in the air between them. Elena stood slowly, never taking her eyes off his face as he took her hand and led her to the center of the room.
"Stay."
He left her standing alone. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, and her body felt heavy and hot. She was nervous, more nervous than she'd ever been around him. More so now that she knew what he was capable of doing to her body. What was he going to do to her tonight? Her skin tingled. Anticipation. She was excited, but she could tell something was bothering him; a dark cloud of melancholic unease hung in the air.
Damon was unpredictable. His mood swung between a hot, angry vampire who would kill without a second thought, to cold, unbearably aloof and cynical, to passionate, considerate lover. It was so difficult to know which Damon would stand before her at any given moment; the uncertainty kept her mind reeling. She died a thousand small deaths everyday; when he looked into her eyes, her human heart would skip a beat, and within that breathless, incomparable pulse, she became his all over again.
She loved him. She loved him more than anything she ever knew; her love for Stefan paled in comparison, it had become as a minor, summer crush that faded away and was quickly forgotten. She would do anything for Damon. Anything. She would follow him even into death. Her eyes tracked him around the room as her breathing became shallow with desire. She was dizzy, and she swore she heard her heartbeat pounding outside of her chest. It took her a moment to realize Damon had turned on the sound system; the steady thump-thump of a heartbeat filled the room, and she felt her hunger rise. It was pure bloodlust. But it wasn't blood she craved. It was him.
Damon walked to the bar, poured himself a drink and stood there, glass in hand, studying her thoughtfully. The music was filling the room with sensual, rhythmic techno beats; she was lost in it for a moment, and her skin prickled in response. Never taking his eyes off of her still form in the middle of the room, he grabbed the back of a chair and drug it directly in front of her, from a span of about ten feet. Very deliberately, he sat in the leather chair, casually leaning back and slowly sipping his drink. His eyes were mesmerizing. The music was hypnotizing. And when he spoke, she couldn't breathe.
"Dance for me, Elena." His voice was like warm chocolate. It was husky and soft, but belied no hint to the emotions brewing beneath the stoic, slightly sarcastic expression he wore.
She couldn't deny him. Allowing herself to get lost in the music, she closed her eyes and freed herself from his gaze. Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, she began to sway, her body in time with the steady thumping coming in through the walls. Her hands moved of their own volition; she caressed her face, and running her fingers along her mouth, she smeared lipstick slightly down her chin. It looked like a forgotten stain of dark blood. Her hands slowly lowered down her neck, fingertips hovering just above her clothing. She moved her hands slowly across her breasts and around her ribcage, teasing herself, never touching, her body undulating.
Damon. His name echoed through her head.
Love, love is a verb…
Love is a doing word…
Fearless on my… Breath.
Knowing Damon was watching her every move lent a new sensuality to her body she didn't realize she had. It was for him she was doing this. She wanted to be everything to him. For him. Watching him through half-closed eyes, her mouth parted and her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. She saw his eyes slant and she heard his breathing catch. His hand shook slightly, and ice clinked softly. A small trace of satisfaction ran down her spine. She knew she could arouse him with her body, and the thought filled her with feminine power; it was a primitive instinct, thousands of years in the making. She had her own form of control. And she wanted to give it all to him. I'm yours.
Longing for him began to build deep in her belly. His eyes burned into her, and she saw him swallow. She was doing this to him; his façade of control was slowly slipping, and it was her doing. He wanted her. Desire.
She was aroused, so aroused; her legs pressed together, as if the gentle friction and the sway of her hips would ease the ache. But she wouldn't touch herself. Not unless he told her to. The clothes she was wearing felt suffocating and unnaturally heavy. She wanted to be unrestrained, to tear off the cloak of civility she was forced to wear. She wanted to embrace her natural inclination, not suppress it. She wanted to be free. Primal. As if he could read her mind, he spoke again.
"Undress for me, Elena." As his voice caressed her, she obeyed. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, her eyes never leaving his. She could see the veiled craving boiling beneath the surface, and as she began to slide her shirt off her shoulders, he moved for the first time. Her heart jumped. He leaned over and placed his drink on the floor. His eyes darkened and narrowed, and he suddenly stood. Elena unzipped her skirt and allowed it to fall in a puddle at her feet. As she continued to dance, clad only in a pair of white, cotton underwear, she felt like a siren, luring an unsuspecting sailor to shoal.
Gentle impulsion…
Shakes me, makes me lighter…
Fearless on my...Breath…
Damon found his mouth was dry and he couldn't swallow. He could barely speak. She had turned the tables on him; he was glad of it. It proved there was still bit of his Elena in there. He was tired of chasing her, and now she was his. Mine. Conflicting emotions writhed in his gut. He wanted her to come to him of her own accord. Come to me, Elena. Please don't make me ask.
At his unspoken command, she took a step forward. Encouraged by what she saw in his eyes, she continued her slow approach, stalking him. Breathing heavily, she took unhurried, measured steps towards him, her eyes never leaving his. She stopped in front of him, and her gaze lowered to his mouth.
He kissed her then, and when his tongue found hers, the world spun and she wrapped her arms around his neck. When she pushed her nearly naked body against his, Damon groaned inwardly. It was slow torture. He ran his hands down her back, caressing her skin, and his fingertips dipped into the crevice of her spine. He memorized every curve of her back with his hands, committing to memory every quiver, every tiny erogenous zone betrayed by her response. Suddenly, he wanted to see more of her, to touch every inch of her body, to taste her. Love her. Pulling her arms from around his neck, he held her slightly away from him, ignoring the small sound of disappointment coming from her throat.
"Let me touch you, Elena." He heard her intake of breath. His hands framed her face, following the path hers had taken only a brief moment before. Looking at her face, he saw her eyes were shut, her mouth was open; every gasping breath she took was a tremble, every exhale, a sigh. Licking his lips, he bent his head to her neck. Placing small, gentle kisses down the side, her head tilted sideways. A small moan escaped her open mouth. His hands continued to follow the same journey hers did, over her breasts, down her rib cage, around her waist. His mouth trailed his hands, kissing, nibbling, his tongue darting out to taste her flesh. She was intoxicating. Maddening.
Teardrop on the fire…
Fearless on my… Breath…
As he touched her, he edged them closer to the chair he had just abandoned. When the back of his knees touched the seat, he sat, leaving Elena standing in front of him. His face was level with her navel and he leaned forward to place a kiss on her belly button. Her stomach jumped under his touch. He held her hips, and hooking her panties under his thumbs, he slowly began to slide them down her legs. Her body shook, and her hands buried in his hair, pulling, pushing. Begging. He continued his slow exploration of her body with his mouth, down her stomach and across her hips. He used his feet to push her legs apart, and with his fingertips, he traced the inside of her thighs. He could feel her muscles tensing with anticipation, and when he lightly pressed his tongue to her center, she threw her head back and moaned. His intention was to tease, to inflame only, but at her unbridled, honest response, he wanted to give her more of the same.
He dropped to his knees and pressed his face against her naked stomach. Submission. Pulling her hips to him, he began to pleasure her, licking, gently sucking. He could hear her quiet moans as they mixed in with the primordial heartbeat pulsing through the room.
Night, night of matter…
Black flowers blossom…
Fearless on my breath.
Elena couldn't take any more of the slow, sweet torture. Her fingers, which had been tangled in his hair, encouraging him in his assault, suddenly pulled his head up, hard enough to cause him pain and make him wince. She bent over, pressed her mouth to his, and kissed him deeply. He didn't resist. She slid to her knees in front of him, pushing her naked body flush against his. Damon lost himself in her, and he kissed her back with equal intensity. The static electricity in the room rose, he could almost hear it crackle until it drowned out everything but her.
She was insatiable. She shoved his shirt off his shoulders, and fumbled with the zipper on his jeans, her mouth still clinging to his. Damon stilled her hands and stood, pulling her up to him. Leaning down, he opened his arms, and she eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He strode forward, and pushed her up against the wall.
There was a small table with a vase on it, and a mirror hung above. Damon's hip bumped the table, and the priceless Ming vase toppled over and crashed to the ground. Maneuvering their bodies, Damon supported her weight on the table so he could free his hands. He had to touch her. Touch her. The back of her head rested against the mirror, and Damon couldn't bear to look at his reflection. He was afraid of what he might see; recriminations of his guilty conscience. Bastard.
Turning his head away so he didn't have to meet his own gaze, he bared his neck to her. She began to rain kisses down the side of his face, across his jaw and to the slightly irregular pulsing at the base of his neck. She writhed against him, wanting friction, craving more, and he could feel how damp she was for him, even through his jeans. Not yet. He wanted to pretend just a little longer. Just pretend that she loved him, and her desire for him wasn't the result of a supernatural, mutated strain of bondage.
Remorse washed over him. He was always going to be alone. Even wrapped in her full-body embrace, he felt alone. He wanted her so badly, wanted her to love him so much…but not like this.
Black flowers blossom…
Fearless on my breath.
Elena, impatient with his hesitance, sunk her fangs into his neck. She felt him stiffen, and go limp, allowing her to drink her fill. The taste exploded in her mouth and across her tongue, and as she drank, images, conflicting emotions, and a confusing jumble of elation and sadness, engulfed her.
His mind was open; there were no secrets, nothing she couldn't know if she so choose. His voice echoed in her head. Why? It was a forlorn entreaty. He was vulnerable, and she felt an underlying fear within him, an inexplicable darkness that she couldn't quite pinpoint. A faint memory stirred; his neck, snapping in Stefan's hands, at her request. Doubt. Close behind, were blurred images of her, face twisted in hate and anger as they clashed in a battle of wills. Strong. She felt that moment when his soul began to quicken, after decades of lonliness; she saw herself as he did. Beautiful.
She didn't understand. She felt cherished and savored, but she was filled with sorrow and yearning. At the summit of it all lie only one lucid thought; his undeniable love for her, complete and unconditional. You. Only you. It was soul-searing and painful, noble and plebian all at once.
A trickle of blood escaped her lips. She couldn't process the maelström of emotion, it was simultaneously discerning and wonderful, and her chest hitched as she drew in a shuddering sob. She pulled back and kissed him, the taste of his blood mingling with the salty taste in his mouth.
He pulled her to him, and when her soft, pliant body melted against him, he broke the kiss and buried his face into her neck. Hot tears burned behind his eyelids. It was gut-wrenching. It was bittersweet. It was fucking agonizing. He felt like a predator and she was his prey, when all he wanted to do was worship at her feet. Suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. A guttural groan escaped his throat. He felt her bury her fingers in his hair, trapping him close. He held her tightly, as if she would disappear at any moment.
"I wanted it to be real." He murmured into her neck. Not like this. His words came out strangled.
Teardrop on the fire…
Fearless on
my…
"Oh, Damon!" She let out a cry. Pulling his head away and framing his face in her hands, she could see the moisture brimming in his eyes.
"It is real." Her voice held a plaintive plea. Why can't he see that? "It is real." She repeated. "Please believe me. I want to belong to you. This sire bond, this extraordinary connection that we share, I want it, Damon." She kissed him softly, holding his face close. How could he doubt it? She tried to show him everyday what he meant to her. If he didn't know by now how much she loved him, then it was her failure as a woman, and she couldn't bear that. It was mutual torment. Desperation. They were trapped in a never-ending cycle of disquiet and regret. Only one could save the other.
"Make love to me, Damon." She begged him. She kissed him again, pulling him back to her, wanting him closer, wanting to show him in the only way she knew, how much he meant to her. He couldn't say no. She was the whole of him, and even if her feelings weren't genuine, the least he could do was give her everything she wanted. Everything.
A trembling Damon pulled away, and turned her around, so her back was to him and she was facing the mirror. Their eyes clung and held in the reflection. He held her flush against him, skin to skin, and his hips pinned her to the table. His hands ran down her body, and she watched in fascination as he explored her, touching her skin, teasing, tantalizing. Veneration. Everywhere his fingers brushed, they left tendrils of fire in their wake, and Elena felt as if she would combust and burn to ash at any moment.
He gathered her long hair in one hand, and pulling it aside, he curved her neck, baring her shoulder to his mouth. She heard the scratch of his zipper as he undid his jeans; she closed her eyes, leaned back against him, and rested her head on his chest when his lips touched the back of her neck. No, Elena.
Water is my eye…
Most faithful mirror…
Fearless on my…Breath.
"Open your eyes, Elena. See what you do to me." Her eyes opened, heavy and confused, and she met his stare with a half-lidded, glossy gaze. His eyes were blazing, stormy. She watched as his eyes darkened and veins appeared beneath them. His mouth opened in a slight snarl, and she could see the tip of his fangs beneath his lips. He pushed her forward so she was forced to drop to her elbows onto the table, pulled her hair back, and at the same time, he nudged her legs open with his knee. Her body was arched and receptive, and she willingly responded, shifting her body slightly to better accommodate him. Sycophant. His mind recoiled. He cursed the cruel twist of fate that caused her to be sired to him. Be careful what you wish for.
"I love you, Damon." She met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His fury surged. How dare she? His jaw clenched and his mouth curled into a sneer.
"Don't say that." He growled. At his husky, heated command, her face contorted as if she were in agony.
"Damon…" A plea.
"Don't close your eyes, Elena." The order was harsh, laced with anger. Anger at her for being so docile, so mindless, and at himself for wanting her regardless. Disgrace.
At that moment, he entered her, making no effort to be gentle; when her head reared back in pain, he ignored her small, startled whimper, and sank his fangs into her neck. He was careless; he ripped into her skin, not concerned if he hurt her. He wanted her to feel something substantial, something genuine. Something real. He wanted her to feel the kind of pain that pierced his heart. A thick stream of garnet blood ran down her chest and around her breast.
He was punishing her, and she knew it. It was unfair, but she understood on an intuitive level that he needed to come to terms with their situation, and she was more than willing to let him take it out on her body. She would heal, and if it helped him, even in a small way, she would gladly suffer this physical torment. She kept her eyes open, and fixed on the images in the mirror, even as she moaned softly and pushed her hips back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen. She was trapped beneath him, and she couldn't ignore his onslaught of her body. His muscles flexed and twisted, and the sight of him thrusting into her had her already heightened bloodlust roaring.
As the blood washed over his tongue, he, for just a moment, allowed himself to become lost in the bliss. Sucking deeply, he drew her blood into his mouth, and he felt her writhing beneath him as he withdrew and plundered, taking and giving. Her emotions were laid out for him to explore, and bastard that he was, he took advantage.
Teardrop on the fire…
Of a confession…
Fearless on my breath.
He searched her mind carefully, looking for something, anything to prove to him she meant what she said. Images slowly began to fill his mind. Their kiss on the balcony. Passion. It washed over him, nearly bringing him to his knees. A figment of a conversation, before her rebirth. He consumes me, Matt. He shivered. Images of his mouth, as she stared at it with blatant lust. Temptation. Flickers of what seemed a dream, buried deep within the recesses of her mind, of a kiss stolen in the moonlight. Forbidden.
He saw, through her eyes, him walking away into the dark as she stood alone on the porch, willing him to turn around. Longing. The two of them, joining over shared interests as friends. Confidants. He saw himself in her mind, as her unerring champion. Devotion. He could taste her desire to please him, her desperate need for his approval and admiration. She belonged to him. Yours. She wanted to be his reason to exist, to fill the dark emptiness she knew lurked deep within his soul. Tranquility.
But above it all, he could feel her love for him. It saturated him, and every nerve stood at attention, tingling with the pureness of it. Clarity. His head spun as the truth slammed into him. It surpassed her very existence, it was all-encompassing and complete. Transcendent. Love is the Law, and Love is the Bond. He was humbled. Shamed.
Most faithful mirror…
Fearless on my breath.
Painfully, he opened his eyes and met the questioning, glassy stare of her reflection. She had watched every emotion cross his face as he fed, even as his body instinctively made love to her. She could feel him holding back, keeping himself in check. From her. As the emotion flickered across his face, the intensity of his shifting, tumultuous expressions made her feel uneasy. The physical pain from her torn neck faded, and was replaced by a deep, visceral ache. When his hands gripped her tight and he opened his eyes, she saw pain there, and complete, utter surrender. Surrender.
Teardrop on the fire…
Fearless on my breath.
"Damon...Please…" It was a breathless sob, wrenched involuntarily from her throat.
Stepping back, he turned her gently around to face him, picked her up and sat her on the table. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a gentle thumb over her lips. He shook his head slightly. There were no need for words. He didn't trust himself to speak. He knew all he needed to know, and what he discovered was enough. The chains that bound his heart had shattered. Liberation.
I'm tumbling down…
I'm tumbling down.
As he searched her eyes; she saw contrition, acceptance, and a quiet, still serenity. Peace. As a single, cleansing tear ran down his face, her heart soared. Gone was the desolation and uncertainty of his soul. Deliverance.
Passion crested as he crushed his mouth to hers; pulling her to him, around him, he claimed her again and began to love her in earnest. She felt his restraint slip. Finally, he believed her. Finally, he was freed. She could sense it in his gentle persuasion, his eager abandon. Salvation. She held on tight, and as she came, she heard him breathe her name.
Elena.