SM owns Twilight. CW and L J Smith owns Vampire Diaries. I play in their world(s) with no monetary gain.

BEFORE YOU READ: This story is AU with some canon. Due to the fact Damon enters this story, all events (in my logical way of thinking) are subject to change. All adventures will be altered to cater to Damon's involvement.

Sometimes beta'd by my husband. He's pretty awesome.

Warning: Lemons

French Dessert

1994

First stop: London. The nightlife in London wasn't quite the way he remembered. It had been three decades since he crossed the pond. His last trip here, he attended a Beatles concert before the group exploded onto the American scene.

With the musical, British invasion on American soil ensued a revolution of sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll. Damon remembered this era fondly. No more compelling sweet girls for sex and nourishment—the women in this new age were up for almost anything.

No, this was no longer the London he remembered, only a new, shinier after dark party. The drugs were different, yet still bore the same results. Human inhibitions lowered using the excuse of mind-altering substances. He didn't care, it wasn't as if he suffered any ill effects of their drug use.

Stupid humans. He'd stick with the classics: well-aged scotch, and bourbon.

England was fun for a minute, though he found nothing deeply interesting to keep him there any longer. Damon rented a glossy, smoky gray Porsche 911, and hit the open road. A shiver of excitement shot through him as he zipped through the English tunnel, working his way to France. Weaving in and out between other cars with his headlights off, and accelerating up to one hundred and twenty miles per hour gave him a minor amount of excitement. Particularly when the sluggish humans blew their horns or screamed obscenities out of their car windows.

Gay Paree, how I've missed you! It was time for a little French cuisine.

Paris never seemed to change much. More crowded, and new buildings blended in with the old, Damon easily found his way to an outdoor café that had been serving the finest spirits since the early nineteen hundreds.

Finding a small table under the awning, he sat and pulled out and unfolded a map. He perused over the different countries and decide he'd go to Italy next.

An adorable young woman came to his table and asked Damon for his order. She was petite, with long, golden blonde hair that curled naturally at the ends. He'd not considered her beautiful, per se, but she was cute in that sweetheart sort of way. She exuded innocence and naivety—the type of girl he'd enjoy spoiling with random acts of debauchery.

Looking deep into her eyes, Damon smirked when she lost her sense of balance once he had her hypnotized. "I'll have a whiskey, straight. After you fetch me my drink, you'll go back and get your things. I need a travel date," he compelled her, and then added. "Don't tell your boss, I'll arrange everything."

While the server was getting his drink, Damon tracked down the manager of the café. The host pointed over to an older man with gray-brown hair, wearing dark slacks, clean button down, silk shirt, and a hideous leather vest. "Hey Garçon," Damon called out.

The man had sweat glistening on his forehead and neck. Damon noticed the man's heartbeat was irregular. "My name is Larue, not Garçon," the man corrected Damon indignantly, and mumbled what Damon assumed by the tone, was a slur. It amused him.

Waving his hand in the man's face, annoyed. "Yeah, whatever, Garçon. See that pretty little thing over there pouring my drink?" Damon pointed. "You're going to give her a vacation, now. You're happy to give her all the time she needs, and you'll pay her for it too."

Damon turned away from the man, rolled his eyes, and turned back. Garçon looked up from his inventory sheets and Damon poked him softly in the chest. "Go see a doctor, lay off the stogies, and greasy foods. Your ticker sounds like shit." Satisfied, he walked away in search of his drink, and his French dessert.

After two long pulls, emptying his tumbler of whiskey, Damon led the server by the elbow and away from the café. When they came along side of the Porsche, he turned and looked deep into his new companion's eyes. "You will not prattle on, nor will you offer commentary while we travel. You are welcome to answer direct questions, but don't bore me with any nonsense, I'm not in the mood," he commanded. "And another thing, do you think we should get a convertible? France—summer, and all that?"

The girl simply nodded in agreement. "Good girl, I knew I liked you, at least for now. Get in," Damon ordered. The girl scrambled to the passenger side of the car, and swiftly situated herself in the seat.

Making his way to the car rental place near the airport, he traded in the Porsche for a 1994 Jaguar XJS, two seated Luxury convertible. Once they buckled up, Damon asked the little blonde-haired woman, "How do you feel about Italy?" She nodded and minutely shrugged her shoulders. "Well then, let's see what sort of trouble we can find, shall we?"

Now on the open road, Damon flipped through radio stations. After some frustration, he finally found one that didn't offend his ears. He looked over at his new companion, observing her sun-kissed, firm skin. She wore a mid-thigh denim skirt, a white t-shirt, and a matching denim jacket.

"Take off your panties and hand them to me," he said - his voice a dark caress. She hesitated briefly, but complied after her initial shock. "Nice," he complimented her. Fine white silk and lace, just how he had imagined. He brought the soft garment to his nose and Inhaled deeply. "You smell amazing, Mon petit."

Another hour passed by and Damon noticed the girl fidget in her seat. "What?" he asked sharply.

She lowered her head and looked down at her hands on her lap. "I—I need."

Damon smirked. "Hold it in, babe. It'll be another thirty minutes before we cruise through another village. Or," he drawled with amusement, "I can pull off road, and find a private spot for natures call."

"I will wait, Monsieur."

He chuckled darkly. She was shy and modest, which made it even more fun. Damon gracefully reached over and placed his cool hand on her leg, resting it just below the hem of her skirt. She squirmed under his touch. Slowly, teasingly, he reached for her inner thigh, and smoothed his hand up under the denim. A faint blush crept up her neck and cheeks. "Lovely," he murmured. Her blush deepened, and he could feel her body heat rise. The scent of her arousal spurred his own desire. Leaning over while still watching the road, he practically purred in her ear. "Do you want me to touch you, Mon petit?" She shook her head without conviction. "Are you sure?" he teased, his breath tickling her skin. She shook her head again, and he smirked knowingly.

Damon drew small circles inside her leg. With each stroke, gooseflesh raised over her sensitive skin. "Do you want more?" he asked roughly, giving her thigh a demanding squeeze. She took in a deep breath, but remained quiet. Abruptly, Damon withdrew his hand and laid it over the gearshift. The sweet little blonde squirmed and her eyes fixated on the absent hand. "What do you want, sweet-thing?"

Not feeling overly merciful, Damon wanted—no needed her to submit to him. The scent of her excitement was heady, and her breaths quickened. "Tell me what you want, sweetness," he said, offering a dark promise of release.

Rather than telling him, her knees parted and the skirt she wore hiked up just below the apex between her legs. Her scent elicited a low growl in Damon. With his eyes still fixed on the road, he released the gearshift, and grabbed her small hand in his, lacing their fingers together. Gently, he pulled her hand with his and cupped her sex. "Show me what you like, Mon petit." She stilled her hand in his, and Damon gave her a pointed glare. "Look at me," he demanded. His irises dilated and his gaze was unrelenting. "Show me, now."

Tentatively, her hand started to move. Damon let her guide their joined hands. She teased her soft folds before entering her core to gather the pooled moisture. He delighted in the fact that she was so easily responsive. She dipped a single finger into her core, and he added one of his own, bending at the knuckle, he applied pressure in just the right spot. He added a second finger, and started slowly thrusting into her slick heat. Her own fingers untangled from his, and she leisurely moved to the sweet bundle of nerves, rhythmically stroking small circles on the swollen flesh.

Between labored breaths and salacious moans, she begged for more. Damon removed his hand from between her legs, unfastened her seat-belt, and roughly turned her body to face him. "Open," he growled. She placed one foot on the side of the driver's seat, and the other on the dashboard. She was completely open to him, the glistening pink lips of her sex now exposed and vulnerable. "Continue."

Without pause, her slender fingertips reached between the swollen folds of her sex and resumed their ministrations. Damon swiftly, and without preamble plunged two fingers deep into her center. She gasped and whimpered. He added a third finger, and her flesh stretched around the intrusion. Crooking his middle finger, he massaged the sweet spot, and she screamed with pleasure. "Come for me," he said with a deep rumble, commanding her body to comply. The walls of her core contracted and spasmed, coating his fingers anew with her orgasm. He slowed his thrust while she rode out the waves of her climax.

Once she calmed, Damon reached down and opened up his button-fly jeans, releasing his painful erection. Twisting himself, he grabbed his leather jacket hanging on the back of the driver's seat and laid it over the emergency brake. "Your turn," he said while waggling his brow. She went to lower her skirt down, and Damon stopped her. "Na-huh. I want to see that pretty little ass while your head is in my lap." To make a point, once her hot mouth teased his tip, he reached over and pulled the skirt up over her rounded bottom, and gave it a little smack.

He hummed to a random song on the radio, with one hand on the wheel, and the other buried deep into silky blonde curls. Damon decided he was going to enjoy Italy.