Chapter 2: Damon/Elena, 3X06
It's just after he calls her Buffy and then digs his fingers in just under the back of her ribcage. That's when it happens. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, but the thing they don't tell you in science class is when exactly the shift occurs. When action becomes reaction.
But for Elena, it's then. When he digs his fingers in, pushing past black stretchy Lycra and skin and muscle and bone until he's touching her somewhere deep. Touching her somewhere real.
He takes his fingers away too fast, withdraws them after only a moment of lingering. And that's odd, for Damon. Damon always lingers too long. Damon always keeps his hand out until you slap it away, whether it's a hand of friendship or animosity, acceptance or defeat.
But this time, he pulls it away, and maybe it's stupid but it's there, trying to fill a role that doesn't quite fit her, that Elena realizes she wants it back.
She wants Damon's hand on her back and his breath on her neck and his arms around her waist holding her in. Because without Damon, Elena knows, she'd collapse or explode or implode or all three. She may not always like him and it might be way too easy for him to hurt her, but Elena can't pretend it isn't true that she needs him.
She needs him, because without him, she doesn't think she'd remember that she's here. With Stefan gone, everything tilts and spins and defies the laws of motion, and Elena needs Damon to hold her down to the ground and remind her to keep her feet planted shoulder width apart when she strikes.
But it's more than the need, Elena knows as soon as he takes his hand away. There's an ache in the place just below her ribcage that has nothing to do with need and everything to do with want. With the way he raises his eyebrows underneath his bangs and twists his mouth and always holds her close. With the way he loves her and she's known that for too long without saying it. With the way she kissed him and the reason why she did, and she's known that for too long without saying it too.
"I'll let you get back to your work," Damon says, sauntering toward the door, but Elena spins on her heel and puts a hand out to touch his elbow.
"Wait," she says, and then stands there with her arm outstretched as he turns around and knocks right into it.
"Well, you need to work on your reflexes, that's for sure," he says, and when she still doesn't move her hand, he takes it in his and gently pushes it back to her side.
Elena doesn't let go. There's a sharp intake of breath from Damon, but it's the kind that anticipates hurt, not the kind that anticipates what Elena knows there's no turning back from now. So she clutches even tighter and steps closer and puts her hand around his neck and leans up.
The kiss, when it happens, is quiet and soft and tentative. Lips dry on dry lips until another intake of breath from Damon that suctions her lips to his. Damon's hand comes up around her waist, holding her so tight, always so tight. They are pressed together, her and Damon, and Elena's sneakers squeak as she tries to get even closer. And inside her, in that space just below her ribcage, Elena can feel something, warm and blossoming and full.