"Black suits you," Damon said, and Elena almost jumped up at the sound of his voice, quickly turning away from the bookshelf she was examining. Damon was sitting up on the bed, his usual smirk of self-confidence very present on his lips. While Elena was wearing his black shirt from last night, he was still completely naked, and the English Classics collection she was inspecting a few second ago suddenly seemed a lot less amusing.
"Borrowed it," she answered, coming closer to the bed. Damon reached out and encircled one of her thighs with his arm, bringing her to him.
"While I don't mind," he started, sliding his hand a little higher up her leg, "I should tell you, you did a poor job buttoning it up."
Elena didn't have to look down to know that the shirt was hanging unashamedly open. "Right," she said, climbing onto the bed. "The buttons seem to be missing."
"Mmm," agreed Damon, tugging on the shirt so that it slightly slid down one of her arms. "I think they're still lying somewhere downstairs. Like a booby trap, just waiting for someone to step on them and fall down."
"I think you're confusing buttons with marbles," Elena murmured, finding herself confusing everything with everything as Damon pressed a soft kiss to her shoulderblade.
"Well, you can still slip on a button."
"You sure?"
"Mhmm."
"Then maybe we should go down and pick them up."
"Maybe not."
"Maybe not."
As good as the black shirt looked on Elena, it actually looked much better on the floor, crumpled and instantly forgotten.