AN: This little one-shot isn't breaking any new ground. I know there have been quite a few No Humanity Elena/Damon sexy times fics and that's actually how we (my beta and I) got the idea for this one. We had a bunch of discussions over whether Damon would have sex with Elena while her humanity was turned off and if so, how would it all go down, what would his state of mind be and how would he react when it was all over.

This is what we came up with. I had a lot of fun writing this one. It's angry and angsty, but it's also cathartic and honest - for both Damon and Elena.

I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.

Not Coming Home

Carrying a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a crystal tumbler loosely in the other, Damon entered the library with a single thought in mind – escape. The past week – hell, the past two months – had been the longest of his life and he needed a minute to himself. Just sixty seconds of complete and utter selfish oblivion where he didn't have to think about his next move or where the next threat was going to come from. Collapsing onto the antique couch, he set the glass on the low coffee table, unscrewing the cap from the brand new bottle of bourbon before pouring himself a drink and downing it in a single swallow.

Here's to you, Jeremy, he thought, bracing his elbows on his knees and pressing the cool glass to his forehead. And the last chapter in your incredibly fucked up life.

The house was quiet, nearly silent, with Stefan gone. He'd moved out about a week after they'd returned from the island – six days after a humanity-free Elena's blunt honesty had proven too much – and was now spending most of his time with Caroline at the empty Lockwood estate. The two vampires were continuing their campaigns for canonization by trying to convince Klaus to assist them in their quest to find Shane or Silas or whatever the hell the idiot professor was answering to these days. Damon didn't particularly give a shit about any of that. He'd help if they needed him, but he had bigger fish to fry.

Messier ones.

A soft rustle from the second floor broke through the stillness, reminding him that while he was by himself for the moment, he certainly wasn't alone. His lips curved into a cynical smirk as he considered yet again how fucking typical it was that he'd been left to deal with Elena on his own. For all of his brother and Caroline's bullshit about wanting to help her, they'd cut and run faster than Damon had thought possible in the wake of Elena's painful truths.

Guess they can't handle knowing what fucking hypocrites they are.

Sighing, he reached for the bottle, pouring himself another drink before leaning back against the couch and relaxing into the cushions. He really didn't mind that Stefan had bailed – a part of him was actually grateful. Dealing with Elena was difficult enough and Damon didn't have any energy left over to play nice with his brother. Once the shock of Jeremy's death had worn off, Stefan had returned to form, fretting over the implications of Elena's lack of humanity and whining that this wasn't what he'd wanted. Damon still couldn't get over the fact that after weeks of harassment, judgment and accusations about the goddamn sire bond, Stefan had actually wanted him to use it to whitewash Elena's feelings.

To dilute her grief.

The idea of it…was fucking insulting.

With everything that Elena had lost – her parents, her guardians, her goddamn brother – she deserved her grief.

For someone who claimed to understand so much, you'd think he'd at least understand that.

Scowling, Damon brought the tumbler to his lips.

Fucking. Hypocrite.

"Are you hiding from me?"

Masking his surprise by taking a drink, Damon turned toward the doorway and nearly choked on his bourbon. Elena was leaning against the frame, clad in one of his shirts that she'd apparently been too lazy to button properly. With only three buttons holding it closed, acres of bare skin taunted him, contrasting beautifully with the black fabric. "I wouldn't be surprised," she admitted, crossing her arms so that the shirt parted further, exposing the swells of her breasts all the way down to her ribcage. There was no judgment in her tone, merely mild amusement. "Stefan can't even stand to be in the same house with me right now."

Forcing himself to swallow, Damon lifted a shoulder. "My brother's never been a big fan of the truth."

"Don't I know it," Elena smirked, pushing away from the doorframe and slinking toward him with feline grace. When she moved like that, she reminded him so much of Katherine that he wanted to scream. Without her humanity to define her, the Petrova fire that he'd always been drawn to like a moth to a goddamn flame, shone through in her physicality.

Elena was a fucking goddess and, without her humanity keeping that knowledge in check, she embraced it wholeheartedly.

Sinking to the couch beside him – close enough to be in his lap – she took his drink from his hand and took a sip. Marshalling every ounce of self control that he possessed, Damon resisted the urge to let his gaze wander to her mouth…or lower to catch a glimpse of a bare breast as the black shirt gaped and moved with her.

"You haven't answered my question," she said, her breath whispering over his lips as she leaned over him, reaching past him to put the tumbler on the coffee table. He felt the stiff peaks of her nipples graze his arm through the thin barrier of their clothes and his brain finally caught up to the scene that was unfolding.

Oh, Christ.

Elena was trying to seduce him.

Forget trying, he thought, his cock twitching as she shifted slightly and the scent of her obvious arousal hit him full force.

She was seducing him.

"Are you hiding from me?" she asked again, placing a hand on his leg, just above his knee, and studying his face like she was seeing it for the first time. There was no doubt or hesitation in her eyes, only confidence and desire.

A lot of desire.

"No," Damon replied, not trusting himself to say more as her hand crept higher and his stomach dropped to the floor. He'd been waiting for this, knowing that at some point Elena's uninhibited appetites and needs would shift from blood lust to a hunger of a different kind, but he hadn't let himself think about it. Not consciously, anyway. A vampire's heightened sex drive was without a doubt the biggest perk of the gig and now that her humanity had been banished to the deepest depths of her mind, Elena was operating at a very basic level.

He'd been preparing for this since Stefan had moved out.

Since he'd convinced her to flip the switch.

He had not prepared for this fucking reality.

The reality of her.

Like this.

She wanted sex and she intended to have it.

Fuck.

"I don't believe you," she said, touching his lips delicately with her free hand and tracing his mouth with such a feather-light caress that he nearly moaned. There was no malice in her words – unlike Katherine, Elena hadn't turned into a self-serving bitch when she flipped the switch – only honesty. Sliding her hand higher up his thigh, she raised a brow. "Do I make you nervous, Damon?"

"No," he repeated with a tiny shake of his head.

"Good," she said with a smile that failed to reach her eyes.

Her smiles never did anymore.

"So, what are we doing here?" he asked, stalling for time as he tried to figure out what the hell he was going to do. Elena might not make him nervous, but when it came to her and his willpower, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. On the one hand, he was flattered and relieved as hell that she'd come to him – although, he wasn't sure if it was out of desire or simple convenience because he was the only other one in the house.

On the other, he was pretty sure that he'd rather gouge his own eyes out than be nothing more than her scratching post.

"Don't tell me I need to spell it out for you," Elena replied in disbelief. Moving closer, she pressed against him, forcing him back into the cushions as she squeezed his semi-hard cock through his pants.

This time Damon did groan, closing his eyes to hide the way they rolled back into his head at the agonizing pleasure of being so close to her. The heady aroma of her arousal blended deliciously with the scent of her shampoo and the traces of his cologne lingering on his shirt. It sent him back to that perfect morning, the only time that she'd been completely his, and the pain of that memory nearly ripped him in two.

And did nothing to stop his rapidly growing erection.

Indifferent to his distress, Elena leaned closer, dragging her nose along the side of his neck before taking his earlobe between her teeth. Flicking her tongue over the skin, she bit down a little harder, eliciting a sharp gasp from him as the small amount of pain ratcheted the pleasure up to a whole other level. She eased a leg over his, bringing them close enough that he could feel the heat from her body bleeding through his jeans.

Fucking hell, he thought, curling his fingers into fists to keep from touching her. Why did the universe keep putting him in these goddamn impossible situations?

Keeping Elena at arm's length for the past several weeks had been brutal, rivaled only by his guilt over the few stolen moments of closeness that he'd allowed himself to enjoy. Damon hated being noble, but he'd done it for her – for both of them – knowing that the pain of that nobility and denial would be nothing compared to the anguish they'd have felt if she had taken the cure and had realized that she'd never loved him, never wanted him at all.

Now, with her humanity switch flipped, the sire bond was even more complicated. Elena still felt the pull, the desire to bend to his will, but with her emotions locked away she could say no without consequence.

Which meant that her current desire to screw his brains out on the library couch was completely and totally her.

This is not happening.

In a burst of speed and strength, Damon shoved her off of him, blurring across the room. Gripping the shelves that lined the walls, he heard the wood creak and splinter as he held on, trying to regain his sense of balance as conflicting desires waged within him.

He wanted her. Celibacy hadn't been his thing in over one hundred years and having the woman he loved practically naked in his lap, wet and ready for him, was more than any man should have to bear.

That body – the one that was wantonly splayed across his couch as Elena struggled to reclaim the upper hand after his abrupt change in demeanor – turned him on like nothing else in this world. He could feel the weight of her full breasts in his hands and taste her on his lips even though he hadn't kissed any part of her in weeks. He wanted to lick his way up her long, smooth legs and plunge his fingers into the tight warm depths of her pussy, teasing her until she was dripping and begging for him to fuck her until neither one of them could move.

But he wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Damon wanted Elena. His Elena. He wanted to see more in her eyes than mere satisfaction when the lust faded. He wanted to see the love and the trust that he'd taken for granted in the past few weeks.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Elena demanded as he looked over his shoulder. Rising from the couch, she proved that his shirt was the only thing that she had on as she whirled around. The expression on her face wasn't one of hurt, but of anger.

Humanity-free Elena didn't take rejection well.

"We are not doing this," he announced, struggling to reign in his disappointment as he released his death-grip on the bookshelf and turned around. Drawing on every ounce of his resolve and the memory of that one perfect morning, he set his jaw. "I'm not doing this."

"You seemed pretty ready to do this a minute ago," she pointed out, raising a skeptical brow.

"Yeah, well, I'm not a fucking saint," he retorted. "But I do have a little bit of pride and I'm not going to let you use me to scratch a goddamn itch."

"Seriously, Damon?" Elena scoffed, stalking toward him and invading his personal space. Once again he was surrounded by her – her scent, her warmth – and unable to look away. "I'd expect this from Stefan, but you? Since when did you become such a prude?"

Damon sneered, ignoring the insult and lobbing one back at her instead. "You're horny, Elena. I get it, but you can get yourself off like the rest of us when we get rejected."

"Is that what you did?" she asked, her tone changing to one of curiosity in an instant as she raised a brow.

Shit.

"What?" he asked apprehensively, his eyes narrowing into slits as the conversation took an unexpected detour.

"All those months that you spent pining for me," she continued, the blunt honesty of her words cutting him deeper than Katherine's deliberate cruelness. Elena's dark brown eyes sparkled with utter fascination as she studied his face. "How many times did you fall asleep at night with your hand around your dick, pretending that it was me?" Inching closer, she craned her neck to meet his gaze. "How many women did you fuck and see my face when you closed your eyes?"

Gritting his teeth, he held her gaze, refusing to flinch under the blistering assessment. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Don't lie," she murmured, her gaze dropping to his mouth as she licked her lips. The brief flash of her pink tongue made his stomach clench with desire. The threads of his control were slipping as his righteous indignation faded and the erection that had never relented throbbed against the confines of his jeans. "It's too bad that I wasn't like this before."

"Like what?" Damon asked, raising a brow, outwardly calm as he clenched his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her by the waist and pressing her against the bookshelves. "Switched off?"

"Mmmhmm," she replied, stretching out the sound as she reached between them and hooked a finger around the collar of his shirt. She was nearly impossible to piss off like this, and when her temper did flare, as it had earlier, it cooled as soon as she discovered a new path to her chosen goal.

Obviously, Elena thought she'd found another way to get to him.

"If it hadn't been for my…humanity, you could have had me the first night that you tried to kiss me," she admitted, gazing up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes. Shifting her weight, her thighs brushed against his as she placed her hand on his chest.

Damon wanted to recoil from her touch and sink into it at the same time.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his voice strained and tight.

"Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes as she slid her arms around his shoulders and wrapped them around his neck, bringing her chest flush against his. "Should I draw you a map?" she asked, leaning in so that her lips brushed against his temple as she spoke in a throaty whisper that sent what little blood was left in his veins rushing straight to his groin to join the rest. "Do you want to know what ran through my mind the very first time that I met you?"

No.

No, he most certainly did not.

Elena bent her knee, dragging her leg up his until her thigh nudged his hand. His fingers wrapped around the warm flesh of their own accord, pulling her more tightly against him as their bodies came into intimate contact. Despite the layer of fabric separating them, they fit together perfectly.

His cock called him a liar.

"I was only sixteen," she continued, letting her hands take a slow, meandering course down his chest as she spoke. "And I knew that you were older than me and more trouble than I knew how to deal with, but it didn't matter. I wanted to know what it would be like to kiss you – a stranger that I'd just met on a deserted road in the middle of the night."

Damon closed his eyes and swallowed as his other hand found its way to her waist, curling into a fist and bunching the shirt around her hips. Every second of that night had been seared onto his brain in vivid detail. Elena had taken his breath away for reasons that had nothing to do with her uncanny resemblance to Katherine.

"I couldn't remember it when we met again, right here in this house, but on some level, I felt it," Elena said, teasing the hard points of his nipples through his t-shirt with her finger. "I've always been drawn to you, Damon. Always wanted you."

"Don't," he ground out, reaching for the anger that had propelled him from the couch and grasping at nothing. Her hand traveled lower, her fingers dancing over the hard planes of his stomach, making them twitch at her will.

"'Don't'?" she repeated, her eyes wide as she mocked him in a way that, surprisingly, didn't feel cruel. "Don't what, Damon? Don't tell you about the dreams that I had? About the way I relived the night that you tried to kiss me and imagined what could have happened if you'd caught my hand instead of letting me hit you? It never stopped at just a kiss, I can promise you."

"Elena," Damon warned, his voice a pathetic groan as he tightened his grip on her thigh and she lifted the hem of his shirt, inch by inch.

"I always felt so guilty," she continued, ignoring his protests as she trailed a finger across the bare skin just below his navel. Her gaze never left his face and he was helpless to look away. "I loved Stefan, but there were times when I'd close my eyes and pretend that it was you that I was kissing – that I was fucking."

Jesus Christ, he thought, dropping his head to her shoulder as she finally popped the button on his fly and reached inside of his pants to wrap her fingers around his cock. The combination of her words and her touch was exquisite torture.

He needed her to stop.

He wanted her to go on forever.

With a possessive growl, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush against his body and trapping her hand between them. Through his jeans, he felt her wet heat against his thigh as she laughed with satisfaction, squeezing him and teasing his sensitive flesh with her fingernails.

"Some nights I couldn't fall asleep until I'd gotten myself off thinking about you," she continued smoothly, the only indication that she was similarly affected by the erotic confession was a distinct breathiness in her tone and the fact that he could hear the blood pumping through her veins. "I'd curl up on my side with my hand trapped between my legs as I came, hiding my face in the pillow so that no one would hear me scream your name."

Vivid images flashed through his mind of Elena writhing on her bed in ecstasy as she cried out his name. He knew what it sounded like now, had heard it fall from her lips at least a dozen times the one night that they'd spent together.

He wanted to hear it again.

He craved it.

"That's never changed, Damon," she continued, still pushing, still teasing, unaware of the fact that her plan of seduction had worked. He was putty in her hands, hers to do with as she willed. No power on Earth would have given him the strength to stop what he knew was about to happen. Not even the fact that sex with him was about as meaningful to her right now as a quickie in the men's room at the Grill with a total stranger. With her free hand – the one that wasn't currently milking his throbbing cock with just the right amount of pressure – she coaxed his head up so that she could catch his eye. "Human, vampire, sire-bond, humanity switch – they change nothing. I have always wanted you."

It was the truth.

Damon had suspected it – had hoped for it – and now he could see it in her eyes, even if he hadn't heard it in her words. Her heart may have belonged to someone else, but her body had wanted him from the start. A cold vindication surged through him, giving him the strength to balance the scales. Reaching between them, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it tight enough to hurt so that she'd stop touching him.

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded, staring into her wide eyes as she trembled in his arms. The hand on his cheek slid down and around the back of his neck to clutch at his hair and pull – hard.

"You've always known," she countered, their faces so close that her lips brushed his as she spoke. "I was so humiliated after I turned and realized how acute a vampire's sense of smell really was. All of those times that I thought that I was hiding it behind hurtful words and cutting looks, you knew exactly how I really felt. You could smell it." Pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth, she circled it with her own, speaking between kisses. "Just…like…now."

She kissed him fully on the last word, tightening her grip on his hair as he returned the gesture without hesitation and with bruising force.

Fuck good intentions, fuck pride, and fuck her.

Damon wanted her, had always wanted her – always would – and humanity switch or not, Elena wanted him just as badly. Already, she was rocking her hips against his, letting him feel the heat of her body against his thigh as she straddled his leg. Grabbing her wrists, he twisted them so that her back was pressed against the bookshelves before hauling her arms above her head and pinning them to the spines of the priceless first editions.

Damon kissed her with abandon, ravaging her mouth without qualm to make up for the weeks of kisses that he'd refused to return. Elena responded in kind, biting his lip in a demand for more access and delving her tongue inside the warm cavern of his mouth when he gave it. They got lost there for a moment, making out like a couple of horny teenagers driven by nothing but hormones and the need for more. Damon's hunger for her – the one he'd fought so hard to ignore in defiance of the sire bond – surged and she matched him in a way that should have given him pause – should have made him question the integrity of her humanity switch – if he could have thought beyond the sensation of her mouth on his.

Gasping, Elena tore her mouth away from his and tugged her hands free. With single-minded purpose, she fought with his shirt, wrestling it over his head and dropping it to the floor as he turned his attention to her neck and chest, tasting the soft skin with open-mouthed kisses as he ripped open her shirt. Unzipping his fly and pushing his pants down around his hips, her fingers were already wrapped around his aching cock as he slid his hands over the curve of her ass and drew her leg back up to his waist.

Damon pulled her roughly against him, earning an illicit moan from Elena for his trouble. The sound traveled down his spine, straight to his groin and suddenly the only thing he wanted was to be inside of her. Rocking against her, he slid his hard length against the warm, wet folds of her slit, watching her eyelids flutter in pleasure. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her skin flushed a delicious shade of pink all the way down to her tight, hard nipples.

She was fucking perfect.

Closing his eyes briefly, he let his forehead fall against hers and held her gaze as he eased inside of her. Elena bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, lifting her other leg to lock them both around his waist. Reaching behind her she gripped the bookshelves above her head and held on tightly as she began to move.

Damon didn't hold back and Elena met him thrust for thrust, a sheen of sweat breaking out on her skin and glistening in the soft glow of the antique lamps scattered about the room. He studied her as they moved harshly together, and despite himself, searched for something in her eyes beyond physical desire, some hint of the woman he loved.

She wasn't there.

Unable to bear looking at her, he closed his eyes as disappointment and anger sliced through him, claiming Elena's mouth in another bruising kiss. Shoving emotion aside, he focused on the pleasure of her tight, wet depths, on the satisfaction of the way they fit together and complimented each other so completely.

She came shortly before he did, crying out into his mouth and biting his tongue in a way that sent him over the edge as well. He heard the splintering sound of the bookshelves just before they collapsed under the pressure of her grip. Books rained down around them, hitting the floor in a thunderous cacophony as they rode out their mutual orgasms.

Then there was silence.

Opening his eyes, Damon found Elena staring at him as she gasped for breath and even though he knew that he wouldn't like what he found, he stared back. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with fading lust and satisfaction, but there was something else as well – something that took him a moment to place.

Triumph.

It was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on his head.

Elena had set out to seduce him and she'd succeeded – hell, he'd barely put up a fight. Self-loathing surged through him, chasing away the remnants of his orgasm as he withdrew from her. Disgusted with himself, Damon stepped back, letting her legs fall unceremoniously to the floor as he pulled up his pants and tucked his deflating cock inside. He wanted to feel used or tricked, but he knew that he had no one to blame but himself. He was a weak bastard and all Elena had done in her analytical, unemotional state was take advantage of that to get what she'd wanted.

Well, never again, he vowed as he stooped to retrieve his shirt. He'd do his best to keep her from killing anyone, but she'd have to find some other sap to scratch her goddamn itch.

"Damon," Elena said breathlessly, making no move to cover herself as she leaned against the broken bookshelf.

"Don't," he snapped, every ounce of his anger at himself – at her – bleeding into his tone. Holding her gaze, he waited, daring her to speak, to rationalize what had just happened, to apologize, tell him to grow the fuck up or – worse yet – to thank him. He had no idea what was going on behind her dark, unaffected eyes, but whatever it was, he didn't want to hear it.

He didn't want any part of it.

Any part of her.

An endless moment later, she clenched her jaw in annoyance and looked way.

Eking out a modicum of satisfaction from the victory, Damon pulled his shirt over his head and stalked out of the library, leaving her standing there, naked amidst the books.

Never. Fucking. Again.

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