Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created by L.J. Smith, as portrayed in the TV series created by Kevin Williamson and Julie Plec. All rights to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Ok, so just a quick drabble one-shot which I was inspired to write. No big plot. No big deal. Hope you like it, though. AU.

LOSS OF INNOCENCE

"So this is where you wandered off to," Damon's velvety voice drawled from beside her.

Elena turned her head away from the painting she had gotten inexplicably lost in and smiled up at him. "You found me, though."

"I always do," he said softly and moved to stand behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Elena relaxed against him, her head resting comfortably against his firm chest. "I am. Thank you for bringing me here."

"You can't come to Paris and not see the Louvre," Damon said simply, then nibbled at her earlobe. "Although, I do have other activities planned," he whispered huskily, to which Elena responded by pushing his face away.

"Public museum," she reminded him.

"You want me to compel the guards – and the tourists? I can have them close this place if you like. Presto – complete privacy," he wiggled his eyebrows.

Elena looked up at him with a determined look on her face. "Can we just pretend to be normal people for once?"

"You , my love," he said and kissed her briefly, "will never be anything other than extraordinary."

"Cute. But no, you're not compelling anyone today," she said firmly and turned her attention back to the oval painting on the wall, La cruche cassée by Jean-Baptiste Greuze.

"Why do you like this painting?" Damon asked, his arms still enveloping her.

"I don't know exactly, but there's something so sentimental yet… sensual about it."

"Well, sure, it's an allegory of the loss of virginity," Damon shrugged.

"She's so young…" Elena shook her head.

"Probably wasn't consensual. She was forced to grow up at an early age. Back in those days…" Damon shook his head. "See how her dress is slightly torn, her cheeks flushed," he let go of her with one arm to gesture to the painting in front of them, "the way her hands are gripping the fabric which hold her flowers, directing the observer's eyes to her womb, the potential life that's blossoming inside…" Unconsciously, Damon's left hand was lazily caressing Elena's stomach.

"Yeah, well, I'll never have that," Elena shrugged, slipping away from him.

"Elena…"

"It's ok, Damon," she said softly, grasping his outstretched hand and squeezing it gently. "I just… there was a time when I wanted those things… a family… but that was before I knew you. I don't need children, it's just sometimes…"

"You wish things were different," he completed her sentence.

"No, that's not…"

"It's ok, Elena. I do too. Come on, let me show you something…" he said and led her away from the gallery.

"You know how there are no pictures or paintings of me or my brother throughout the ages?"

"Yes. You couldn't risk someone coming across them…"

"This one I let slide," he led her over to a painting picturing a young, dark-haired boy perched on a garden or terrace wall. "A young man visited our estate while father was away. He took a liking to our mother and produced many paintings during his stay. Until father came home and threw him out… This is me."

Elena looked at him in astonishment, eyes flitting between the painting and Damon. "Really?"

"Really. What, you don't recognize me?"

"Well…"

"It's the hat. It's lame. I really should have burnt this years ago…"

"No, I love it," Elena said, her hand on his chest. "It's just… you look so different."

"Innocent? Hard to believe, right?"

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Elena said earnestly.

"I wanted you to know we're not all that different. I had hopes and dreams once, too. Sometime life just throws you a curve ball and you have to roll with the punches," he shrugged.

Elena giggled. "I think you're mixing up your metaphors."

"Ok, Miss Smarty-Pants," Damon said and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

"Damon!" she squealed. "What are you doing?"

"You need a time-out," he said and before she knew it, she was seated on a bench underneath a small tree in a marble courtyard.

"Damon, what if someone saw you blur me here?" she said, looking around nervously.

"Oh, please, I'm faster than lightning, I don't stick on camera film."

"I think you're overestimating your abilities," Elena rolled her eyes.

"Never. But I'll give you a chance to properly evaluate my 'abilities' when we get back to our hotel," he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Ugh," she pushed at his chest. "So what's this called?"

"This is Cour Puget – 18th to 19th century French sculptures."

"You posed for any of these?" she teased him.

"Oh, yeah, you see that one over there…"

"Yeah, right," she rolled her eyes and got off the bench to walk around to study the sculptures.

Damon watched as Elena took her time admiring the artwork, thinking to himself how lucky he was to have such a work of art in his possession. No, not possession, he corrected himself. Elena was his equal in every way. This didn't stop him from admiring her delicate beauty, though.

"It's Vertumnus and Pomona," he walked up to her where she stood by a large stone rococo sculpture. "Do you know the story?"

"No."

"Pomona was a nymph who only loved her garden. Vertumnus, being Pomona's greatest admirer, couldn't go a day without seeing her. She grew more beautiful each time he saw her, until finally, looking wasn't enough. He disguised himself as an old woman and went to see her to sell her fruit. When he saw Pomona admiring the fruit, he said to her, "But you are far more beautiful." With that statement, he kissed her. He told her Vertumnus loved Pomona, and would never love anyone else, but that he would love her garden too. With this, Vertumnus revealed himself to Pomona. Pomona rushed into Vertumnus' arms, and since then, Pomona's orchard has had two gardeners."

"He felt the need to disguise himself because he didn't trust her enough to let her see his true self."

"Pomona was quick to turn away her suitors. She didn't know she needed a man in her life and so he was afraid to let her see him before the time was right."

"Maybe he was just plain afraid to open up to someone," Elena said softly, caressing his cheek. "Maybe she was waiting for him to shed the mask he hid behind before opening up her heart to him."

"But they found each other in the end," Damon breathed against her skin.

"Yes. They did."