Hey, everyone! I've missed you.
It's been a little while since I've written canon DE, and when a good friend asked for a certain summer one-shot as a birthday present, I couldn't refuse.
So… Happy Birthday, Channing! I hope it lives up to your expectations. :)
Thank you to my super life coach, jaybunzy0, for pre-reading this for me. If you haven't already checked out her fics, do so! Her latest chapter just killed me with feelings.
For over a century and a half, he's never known true happiness. Unrequited love is his forte, almost and maybe, his most familiar terms. He's the bad brother, the lesser brother, the unworthy brother. The labels given that led to the inhumane monster she found on a dark and almost deserted street.
From the second he saw her, past the doppelgänger surface to the warm authenticity emanating beneath, she reached him. A caress of the soul he'd abandoned. A whisper to the man he once was. A purpose to be more than the monster.
But fate is cruel, and almosts and maybes can never be shed. No matter how much light he finds from within, he remains a pocket of darkness. Disregarded. Feared. Never enough. Never desired.
True happiness (and the elements that lead to it) is for those that deserve it. And after all that he's done, he's not sure he ever will.
He'll never deserve her.
It all shifts with one declaration.
Mistakes are pinpointed, bullshit is uncovered, hearts are laid bare. And as Elena Gilbert unashamedly refuses to apologize for falling in love with him in return, Damon Salvatore thinks that maybe, just maybe, true happiness isn't only an unobtainable illusion.
He's sitting across from her, trying his damndest not to be awkward as hell, which is precisely what they've been since they sat down in the restaurant.
It shouldn't be awkward. After everything life has thrown their way, a simple date shouldn't have them both this uneasy.
It should be cake.
But when you're constantly rocked between doppelgänger threats, hybrid creations, sire bonds, and scrambled mindsets, normalcy becomes unchartered territory. Ease gets lost in the havoc. Fun gets trampled by peril.
Now, they finally have a chance to appreciate the simpler things in life. And he's adamant about making that happen.
Her chocolate eyes are currently wide, her mouth parted in a subtle O. He can see the tires backtracking in her mind, the uncertainty spitting up the gravel. All because he'd questioned her choice of eggplant.
That's right.
Eggplant.
She's freaking out about a dish. And it's fucking adorable.
"I love it," he assures before she has an aneurysm, bringing a relieved smile to her face. "Just taking notes. Mental notes."
She's back. The fire in her eyes. The energy of her soul. Both have vanquished her anxiety.
"For what? Our second date?" she teases.
"Nah. I was thinking five-year anniversary." He rolls his eyes to be safe, tossing on the nonchalance, when in reality his pulse pounds the truth behind his words.
His statement hits its mark on her heart. He watches the features of her face light up; hears the gentle sigh she releases. In typical fashion, she pretends to be ignorant to the fact that he notices everything she is, every shift she makes.
With the cock of her head, she taunts, "Five years, huh? That's a pretty bold assumption."
He smirks. "Not when you're this confident."
She bites her lip and lowers her eyes to her menu. A few heartbeats pass as she pretends to be interested in the selections other than eggplant parmesan before she asks, "So… you really think we'll be together in five years?"
Dropping his menu, he extends his hand across the table. He maneuvers her menu out of the way so he can link his fingers through hers. It draws her focus.
"Elena, from the moment I saw you, I knew you were either going to break me or save me. Now that I know it's the second, I'm never letting you go."
Gratitude unfurls in her eyes and devotion curls her lips. "You could have just said yes."
"Then you would have escaped my sappy declaration. I didn't want you missing out on that gem."
She laughs, something soft that creeps under his skin, setting it on fire. "Well then, I guess you get a thank you." Lifting their hands, she presses a kiss to the back of his. "I like your answer by the way."
"I thought you might."
She releases his hand to push chocolate strands behind her ear. Never once does she break eye contact.
"I feel it too; you know? What you're feeling." She smiles and clarifies, "You and me. We're different than the relationships I've had before."
"I'm foreseeing a sappy declaration to match mine." And he couldn't be more fucking thrilled. There isn't much he loves more than her body pinned against his, but her devoted words are on that short list.
"I wish I had one." She sighs and chews on her lower lip. "It's just different. I can't find the words to explain it yet."
He narrows his eyes and feigns offense. "If we weren't just talking about our five-year anniversary, I might feel jilted right now."
"Don't. It's better than the others," she assures, sweeping her hand to reclaim his. "And whenever I find the words to describe that, I promise you'll be the first one I tell. Until then, let's pretend we're normal and share eggplant parmesan."
He pauses for a second, letting her stew a bit before he surrenders.
"Fine. But only if you let me throw popcorn at hipsters during the movie later."
"If you're lucky, I might even join you."
He releases a soft laugh. "It's official. I've corrupted the hell out of you."
This is effortless.
She pulls on her hair, twisting the satin ribbons through her tiny fingers. Sunlight streaks across her face and she looks like an angel. Pure. The little smirk on her lips is the only contradiction.
It's her giveaway. The hint to the wild, rebellious soul he fell in love with many instances before.
"Are you ready?" Her brows perk as she asks the question, the smirk unwavering.
He licks his lips, nipping at the thumbnail he brings to his mouth. It keeps him from reaching out and nipping at what he really wants. Her.
But he's playing along, participating in this childish game of hide and seek. Simply because he can't fucking wait to see her smile when he finds her hidden behind a row of coats in one of the boarding house's twenty closets. The sexy prize she's offered up for afterwards doesn't hurt either.
"You're pretty cocky for someone who gave up finding me after fifteen minutes," he taunts.
Her cheeks flush with indignation and her hands plaster to her hips. "That's because you cheated."
He chuckles at her truth, remembering that same frustration he'd caught on her face every time he flashed to another room she'd already checked. It's not his fault she'd willingly entered into a game with someone who's never followed rules a day in his life.
"And you won't," he counters. He knows this because of her other side, the one that doesn't gust through life like a hurricane of emotion. It's the side he loves just as much as the first, balancing them both with strings of morality and compassion.
It'll keep her locked in whatever hiding place she settles in first, meaning…
"Finding you will be a breeze, baby."
Which is how he prefers it. The sooner he finds her, the sooner he gets to remove the tiny sundress covering her skin.
Her smirk reappears, signifying she has a trick up her sleeve. Either that or she's just as eager for him to win as he is. Both are possible. "I guess we'll see."
"Three seconds." He throws up the same amount of fingers. "Go."
She's off the front lawn and through the front door before he can mutter, "One." And after two more seconds, he heads in, taking the stairs with remarkable haste—even for a member of the undead.
"You smell delicious," he teases as he darts from Stefan's room to a guest bedroom. The first is left a disaster. Thrown pillows, rustled sheets, and discarded clothes litter the floor. He'll get to it later. The promise of finding her overrules his domestic tendencies at the moment.
The second room doesn't fare much better. Neither does the third, fourth, and fifth. By the time he ransacks the entire top floor and repeats the process with the first, he's becoming impatient.
"Is someone else cheating?" he asks to the empty living room. He keeps his voice level, knowing full well she can hear him from every room in the house.
No response. Not like he expected one.
"Cheating gets you an extra hour of foreplay." He heads up the stairs again, slowly. "Remember how much you begged me last time to let you finish?" Turning left, he travels back down the hallway, passing open doorways that reveal his destruction. "That's nothing compared to how twisted up you'll be today."
He enters his room, which now smells of her. Of the jasmine that emanates from her skin. Of the sugar that coats her essence. It seeps from every inch of what once belonged solely to him. She owns it now. Just like she owns him.
"You'll pant my name. Twenty times, at least." He smirks at the bed, making his way to its side. "Then you'll cry it out. A beg. A plea." Sinking down, he checks under the bed. "My name will be your prayer."
He stands and narrows his eyes, unsure where to journey next.
"I can't wait to answer it."
He takes a step back, ready to head to the open bathroom, when he bumps into the soft swell of her chest.
She giggles.
"Is that so?" she whispers against the shell of his ear. It's hot and inviting, temptation at its sweetest.
Twisting around, he finds her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. The corners of her mouth curve as she blinks innocently.
He uses his index finger to tug her lip free and traces the shape of it. "So you have been cheating."
Her smile widens at the threat in his voice. "Technically no. I didn't switch hiding spots. I've been one step behind you since we started."
Her lips wrap around his finger, pulling it into the warmth of her mouth. He can feel the velvet of her tongue gliding against his calloused skin.
His dick jumps to life.
"I guess it's a good thing you've finally caught up then," he muses.
Inching forward, he removes his finger and replaces it with his mouth.
This is balance.
Her lips are on his neck, tasting, teasing. He sucks in deep gulps of air as she rides his cock in slow, sensual motions.
"So much for the Falls," she pants between open-mouthed kisses to his collarbone.
They're in the back of his car in broad daylight, parked on the side of one of Mystic Falls' dirt roads. It wasn't the initial plan. Seeing the Falls was. But their incessant libidos had the car screeching to a halt and clothes shredding on the seats.
"We'll get there eventually," he says as she winds her hips in a decadent circle, allowing him to feel every magnificent inch of her.
"It's okay. This is better." She releases a shuddering sigh against his skin. "So much better."
Her tongue resumes its worship on his neck and with each stroke, he feels the delicate scrape of her fangs. It's only a matter of time before he makes her lose control and she sinks them in, getting a taste of what pulses through him.
It'll taste a lot like herself.
But for now, he fists his fingers in the strands of hair at the base of her neck and yanks her back. He's learned when she wants it rough, when lust crackles through her sentimentality. Right now she's an electrical storm.
Feeding off her energy, he crashes his mouth against hers, pushing his tongue between her lips. She opens willingly and devours his offering. Sucking. Needing. Meanwhile, his free hand cups her ass, aiding her rise and fall in his lap. When he slams her down and thrusts himself into her core, she fills the car with a satisfied moan.
"Yes. Do it again."
It's a plea and it leaves her mouth in separate breathes as he grants her wish. Her hips crack against his, once, twice, again and again. She grips his cock, tugging, dragging. They've gone at it like rabbits for over a month now and it still amazes him how tight she is every time he enters her. She's the perfect fit, the firmest grip. If he doesn't watch it, he'll be coming in twenty seconds.
"Please," she begs. Her breath trails through the millimeter separating their mouth and dances along his lips.
He's in tune to her body, to her needs, to her. And right now she wants it faster.
Dropping his hand, it joins the other on her ass and he demands, "Hold on to me."
When her tiny arms wrap around his shoulders and he feels the puncture of her nails in his flesh, instinct takes over. He pounds into her. Her thighs grip his, tightening and releasing with each upward thrust.
Her moans turn to cries. Her nails bite into his back. Her sex pulses around him, hungry and desperate. It's pleasure to the highest degree.
"That's it, baby," he encourages. "We're almost there."
A few more thrusts and they'll both be tumbling that edge.
When her mouth finds his again, he savors her taste one last time before he rips back and cranes his neck to the side, offering himself. He's completely vulnerable and she's the only one allowed to see it.
Because she's the only one who will never abuse it.
"Do it," he demands.
Desire sparks in her eyes the second before her fangs protrude. Then she latches on, taking a strong pull from his vein. Her sex clenches around him the moment he coats her throat, filling her in every way. He slams into her twice more, accentuating each pull she takes.
Her fangs retract as soon as the first shudder ripples through her body. She pulses around him in euphoric heartbeats and throws her head back, tilting it to the side, offering herself in return.
Neither receives without giving anymore.
"Do it," she demands.
He doesn't hesitate. He slips through her skin, delicate and with purpose.
All it takes is that initial splash of her on the back of his tongue to have him reaching his peak. And as she rides him through it, he clings to her body, gripping onto his sole purpose for existence.
He notices she grips him just the same.
This is passion.
Stars punch throughout the dark canopy. Moonlight illuminates the waves crashing against her back.
The coastline is an exquisite sight, for sure. But it fails in comparison to her silhouette.
"Are you coming?" she asks.
The roaring sea should drown her out, but she's always had a direct line to his senses, and from his position at the car, he declines her offer with a playful shake of his head.
She returns his playfulness with a huff. "You're telling me we drove two hours to see this and you're going to spend it on the hood of your car? Where's your sense of fun?"
He points over his shoulder. "It's taking a nap, which is what I wish I was doing." Considering it's three in the fucking morning, he doesn't think that's an unreasonable argument.
"Stop being a buzzkill."
What world have they warped to where Elena Gilbert is the one calling him a buzzkill?
"I'm offended."
She smirks, and shimmies her hips back and forth. "Then do something about it."
"I'm also too smart to fall for your trap of luring me out there."
"The perfect boyfriend would already be dipping his feet in the water with me," she counters.
"Too bad I'm not perfect."
"And I love you for that," she affirms, blowing him a kiss. "I also love you because you're reckless and impulsive and devoted."
With a wink, she lifts her shirt above her head, exposing her bare chest before it's tossed to the sandy beach. Next come her tiny shorts and thin panties. She's on full display for him, completely confident in her own skin. Like this, she's a world wonder.
"All three should have you out here," she says.
She twists around and barrels into the water. Even from his distance, he notices the arch of her body as the ocean hits her with a jolt. It's not the chill of the cold water either that has her squealing, it's the surge of life. It's on full blast as she twists around and shouts, "Come on. Live a little. It's not the same without you."
Does he want to get in the freezing cold water at three in the morning? Hell no. But dammit if he doesn't take a deep breath, undress, and flash to her side… because he'll follow her anywhere.
And fuck. It's colder than he anticipated.
She laughs as he loops his arm around her back and pulls her flush against his chest.
"You win. I'm out here. Now what do I get in return?"
"Me," she whispers in his ear. "You always get me."
"I already have you."
She pulls back and considers that, confirming it with a nod. "Well then. What else do you want?"
He's standing in an open sea with the only woman who's ever seen him for who he really is. The one who pushes and pulls in correlation with him, just like the moon and the tide against his legs.
He realizes he doesn't care about the water. He doesn't care about his lack of sleep. All he cares about is being here, carefree, with her.
He dips his head, pressing their foreheads together. "Nothing."
She wraps her legs around his waist and touches her lips to his.
"Me neither."
This is adventure.
Their legs are tangled together on the bed. She's reading Wuthering Heights and since she opted for his favorite, he settled with Frankenstein. It's just as relatable.
Silence fills their room, same as it has for the past hour and a half. He finds it oddly comforting, lying next to her, nothing but two books and an unplanned day in their future.
It's easy to feel invigorated when sex and activities keep you occupied. But this, the relaxing moments they come to enjoy between the adventures, is when he feels their connection the most.
It beats in the quiet. It hums in the occasional touch of their fingertips when one reaches for the other. It flows through every thought they don't need to share. And it's exposed with every momentary meeting of their eyes.
He's never felt this ease with anyone else. Never uncovered that sometimes words aren't necessary to express what you both know is there. Never realized that two steady heartbeats is all that's needed to fill the time when you're comfortable enough to let the world slow down.
He does with her.
This is realization.
They're in the middle of nowhere, standing on wooden planks. The sky has just cracked open and rain plummets from the onyx sheet above. It'd been another adventure, just the two of them enjoying what the world has to offer.
This time it was meteors. They streaked across the sky. Fast and fleeting. A spectacle of mesmerizing light. He still finds them failing in comparison to the girl by his side.
She twines her hands behind his neck and kisses him in the cascading rain. And when she pulls away, she's smiling. It's a pristine reflection of the one he's currently sporting.
With hopeful eyes, she asks, "Promise me this is forever."
It catches him off guard and splits his chest in half. Because she's right in front of him, everything he's wanted from life, and in this moment, she's confirming he represents the same for her.
And she's offering him her future.
Her vulnerability is peaking now that she's taking that step with him, assuring him that regardless of what obstacles stand in their way, she's confident in what they share, during times of both havoc and peace.
He doesn't falter. His future always belonged to her. He's just dangled on patience as he waited on her to ask for it.
"I promise."
He can't hold off. His lips push against hers, sealing their fate, stitching every moment of the rest of their lives together with an intricate promise. No matter what happens, they'll face it.
Together.
This is trust.
She's panting, gasping for air, every drop of energy purged from her body. But he's not finished yet. Not until he has one last taste.
Yanking her tight little body to the base of their bed, he spreads her thighs, displaying her wet and still eager heat. It's his favorite visual, second to her face, of course. But both are nothing compared to her taste.
God.
He wants, needs, that sweet nectar once more before he's finished. Because somehow their perfect summer has slipped by and she leaves for college tomorrow. She'd reminded him of that fact this morning when she'd rolled over and thanked him for the best summer of her life. He can't bear to waste a second of the precious time they have left.
Spreading her with his fingers, he slips his tongue from top to bottom, slowly, wanting to hear her intoxicating moan. Its melody swirls through the air, making him smirk.
He dips into her, savoring her flavor, wishing there was an increment of time longer than eternity he can spend between her thighs.
She gasps as he moves to her clit, pulling it between his lips, nipping with his teeth.
When he sinks a finger into her sex, she writhes and bucks, working against his hand. Craving everything he has to offer.
She already has it.
It takes no longer than a minute. Sixty sweet, blissful seconds to have her clenching around his finger. Little pulses that whisper I love you to accentuate his name repeating on her lips.
And when she's finished and sated, drifting to inevitable rest from the four hours they spent cherishing each other on every piece of furniture throughout the boarding house, she adheres herself to his side.
He tips her chin up and whispers, "Forever."
Sleepy pools of chocolate gaze back at him.
"Forever," she promises.
This is love.
The hum of the Camaro's engine rumbles as they charge down the interstate. Twenty miles separate them from Whitmore College and, ultimately, their separation.
She's in the passenger's seat, glancing out the window at the scenery rolling by. They haven't uttered a single word in over fifteen minutes and the silence that normally comforts him when she's around pulls on his chest. It mimics the pull to cling to her during these last few minutes. He satisfies that by threading their fingers on the center console.
Glancing down at their hands, she smiles and gives his fingers a tight squeeze.
"Absolute," she says.
His brows dip. "Come again?"
The world speeds by their windows, but she maintains eye contact. Neither misses anything when what's most important is front and center.
"That's my word to describe us," she says. "Absolute."
A rush of emotions hurtle through his veins and pound against his chest. Somehow they lodge in the back of his throat and he spares a glance out the windshield. He's peaking at life and there's no way in hell he's letting an accident cut this moment short. He wants to remember the perfect details (the glimmer in her eyes, the gentle sweep of her hair in the wind, the spark of her touch, the certainty of her words) when he replays it every day, not the possible crunch of metal he now loves second to the passenger beside him.
But she squeezes his hand again, demanding his attention. When she has it, he notices the moisture in her eyes. It looks a lot like love.
"After this summer, I'm certain," she declares. "Five years. A hundred. Obstacles or none. Together or apart. We're always going to be absolute."
In this moment, he knows fate isn't cruel, and almosts and maybes can actually be shed. With her light, he doesn't remain a pocket of darkness. Thanks to her, previous words have been replaced. Now, it's coveted. Cherished. Enough. Desired.
True happiness (and the elements that lead to it) is for those that deserve it. And after all that he's done, he thinks that maybe he does.
Because somehow he found a way to deserve her.
He smiles. It's genuine, lacking cracks of uncertainty and the sorrow that once encompassed his life.
"I like your answer."
This is true happiness.
Please Read and Review. :)
I'm on twitter: morvamp. You know, in case you're interested in my tweets about my favorite ships and other super crucial shit.