This piece is a thank you to all of the incredible readers and reviewers of my story "Consumed." If you haven't read that, this won't make a great deal of sense. It doesn't quite fit with the rhythm or flow of its parent story, which is why it's a separate fic. This fits in between Stripped (Chapter 11) and Doubted (Chapter 12). Forgive me for any taxonomical mistakes—it's been a while since I took biology. ;) Please enjoy, and thank you for your support.
The Sharpie squeaked against the index card as Elena wrote "mammalia" in neat block letters. She scooped up the scattered cards from the coffee table, collecting them into a neat pile and offering them to Damon. "Ready. Show me the side with the classification, I give you an example of a plant or animal."
Damon marked his place in his book and set it aside, taking the proffered stack of cards. He flipped through them. "Man, my Latin is rusty. This could be rough."
Elena snorted. "Like I'd know the difference. Why do you speak Latin, anyway? It's a dead language."
"I'll let you insert your own joke there. But it's all part of a well-rounded gentleman's education, Elena. A little dull, but it was worth it to read Ovid in the original." She stared at him blankly and he shook his head. "Never mind. First up is a softie: canis."
"Dogs," Elena said. "Wolves, too."
"Right," Damon said. He started to move onto another card, but Elena stopped him.
"Wait a minute. I got it right. You owe me an article of clothing," she said, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Did you forget the rules already?"
Surprise lit Damon's face, but faded to a sly smile. "Didn't forget, just didn't think you'd really have the guts to play," he taunted. He rested one foot on the edge of the coffee table and tugged his boot off, setting it neatly on the floor beside the couch. "All right. I'm gonna have to find some harder questions."
"No, no cheating, Damon. This is important; I have to do well on the makeup test," Elena said. And it was true: studying for this test was a high priority. But she was secretly sizing up their wardrobes. They were fairly equal in terms of clothing: jackets, shirts, pants, shoes.
"Right. I'd hate to see you condemned to a life of minimum wage. But I think you'd look pretty cute in one of those little triangle hats," Damon said. He flipped to a new flash card. "Pinales."
Elena scowled at the card, her brow furrowed. "Pineapples?"
"Pine trees. I also would have accepted yew or spruce. Pay up, Elena." Damon leaned back against the couch with a satisfied smirk. Elena rolled her eyes and reached for one of her earrings, beginning to tug it free. "Nuh uh. Jewelry doesn't count; everyone knows that," he protested.
"Why? Shoes do," she countered.
"Yeah, those are clothes. Jewelry's an accessory. If you want to play the game, you have to follow the rules," he said.
She hesitated. If she did this, there wasn't any going back. Damon's intense sexuality was one of the most exciting things about him—and the most frightening. So different from Matt's youthful fumblings or Stefan's quiet, restrained advances, Damon was sex. And though she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loved him, some part of her was reluctant to take that final step. Could she live up to his expectations? Would he hurt her in the heat of the moment? They'd only been really dating a few days, after all, and sometimes it all seemed to be happening so fast. They'd zoomed right past the infancy stages of their relationship and directly into something deep and a little scary. Was this a smart thing to be doing?
Smart or not, her left shoe joined his next to the couch.
In due course, they ran through a large swath of animalia and plantae. Elena successfully identified cats and rats and eagles, but stumbled with oak trees, round worms, and snails. Both were barefoot, their jackets laid over the back of the couch. Somewhere in their tutoring, they'd moved closer together, knees touching.
Damon revealed another flash card. "Hydrozoa."
Elena couldn't keep a triumphant grin off her face. "Coral. Mr. Robinson couldn't stop talking about how coral is formed and those little polyp-y things. I believe you owe me your shirt, Mr. Salvatore," she said, holding her hand out expectantly.
"Maybe I wanted to take off my pants, instead," he complained. But, never one to miss an opportunity for high drama, Damon rose to give her a better view as he leisurely began to unbutton his black dress shirt. Inch by inch, the pale, muscled expanse of his chest was revealed. His eyes never left hers as he languidly let the fabric fall from his shoulders, pulling first one arm, then the other free. He smoothed the shirt, placing it in her outstretched hand.
"Um," Elena said eloquently. It wasn't that she hadn't seen him in a state of undress before. She had a strong suspicion that he did everything in his power to make certain he wore as little as possible whenever she dropped by the boarding house. But this was the first time she'd ever been in a position to do anything about it, to act on her impulse to fold herself against his bare skin, to sink her fingernails into his back, or to kiss a trail all the way down to-
"Focus, Elena. We have a mission here." He sank back onto the couch, letting one bare arm rest on the back of the couch just behind her. "Unless you want to call a little time-out, that is," he offered with a smirk.
Elena gave herself a little shake. "No way. Game's not over yet. Hit me." She gestured to the pile of flash cards.
"Have it your way." Damon retrieved the flash cards. He glanced down at the topmost card and smiled. "Oh, I like this one: Corvidae."
Elena gnawed on her lower lip for a moment, debating. It sounded familiar, but she just couldn't place it. "Ostrich?"
"Right class, wrong order. Ravens. Crows," he said. He sat back with a satisfied smile, ready to collect his prize.
"I think you cheated," she said with mock crossness. But rules were rules. She stood, starting to pull her red lacy camisole up over her head, but she stopped, suddenly self-conscious. After his ridiculous little strip-tease, nothing she did could compare. Well, nothing she did on her own, anyway. She looked at Damon, suddenly shy. "Do you...do you want to help me?
"Thought you'd never ask, Elena." In a flash he was standing next to her, hands sliding beneath the hem of the flimsy shirt. Gaze locked on her, he began to push his hands upwards, tracing the lines of her hips and waist as the shirt rode ever higher. His hands were cool against her skin, his palms carrying an edge of roughness, a trace of he reached her breasts, he lingered, caressing the silky fabric of her bra before sliding around to cup the fullness of her breasts. Elena's breath caught, but before she could react, his hands were back on her sides, gently raising her arms so he could pull the shirt off over her head.
Elena felt the flush rise to her cheeks as the full weight of his gaze fell upon her. She had to resist the urge to hide, to cover herself with her arms and shrink away from him. She'd spurned Damon's advances for so long, it felt surreal to give in, to accept his attentions and even return them.
When she finally found the courage to met his eyes, she was astonished at what she saw. This wasn't smirky, self-satisfied Damon, and there was no eye-thinging in sight. His gaze raised goosebumps on her skin, and made something deep inside tense, like an animal coiled to strike.
"Beautiful," he said simply.
All pretense of the game was forgotten as they reached for one another, joining in a ferocious, deep kiss. One of Damon's hands tangled in her long, thick hair while the other found her breast, now massaging, now brushing the very tips of his fingers against the faint indentation of her nipple through the fabric. She gasped against him and his kisses migrated to her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He lingered at her pulse, tongue flicking against the beat in time with her heart.
She seized his neck with both hands, drawing him down on top of her as she lay on the coffee table, sending flash cards scattering. His lips moved down her neck, between her breasts, across the plains of her stomach, tongue dipping into her navel. His hands began to pluck at the button her pants.
Her hands caught his, dragging them away. A low growl sounded in his throat. "You're killing me, Elena. I'm not made of stone."
"I know. I know." She cupped his face in her hands, gazing up at him. "Just trust me, okay? Soon."
She kissed him again, tasting desire and the coppery tang of blood on his lips. A chill ran up her spine, but it was soon forgotten, swept away in a sea of sensation: fingers, lips, tongue everywhere at once.
When their frantic passion eased, the two lay curled on the rug, drowsing in the firelight. Damon shifted, tugging a note card out from under him. He held it up between two fingers, a wicked smile curving his lips. "One more?"