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Thank God for small miracles—the house was empty. Ric was probably bellied up to the bar at the Grill, just like he'd done nearly every night since Jenna's death. He was trying to be strong for them, but Elena knew how hard he struggled every day just to get out of bed. And Jeremy...well, he was probably out with friends, and Elena was glad for that. Any stolen moment the boy got to spend acting like a real kid and not an empty husk of grief was to be celebrated. But for right now, she was mostly glad that she was alone.

You're going to go home and finish the job, he'd said, so unbelievably smug at the idea of what he was forcing her to do. Well, she'd show him. So she wasn't strong enough yet to overthrow the compulsion, she could still find other ways to rebel. He hadn't set a time frame for his little order, now had he? Just that it was sometime before tomorrow. Elena walked to the living room. She had this. Everything was under control. She'd sit here, do some homework, get something to eat, and then wander upstairs on her own terms.

But she really should head upstairs for her Biology book. Couldn't do her homework without that. And wouldn't it be better to change clothes first, anyway? She smelled like Damon, smelled like leather and bourbon and woodsmoke and self-satisfaction. That arrogant jackass.

She climbed the stairs (purely because she wanted to, of course, not anything to do with Damon and his stupid compulsion), determined to stay as far away from the bed as she could. She dug through her bureau, determined to find the most unsexy outfit she owned. She came up with a pair of giant sweatpants and her old gym shirt from freshman PE. If anything could take her mind off what Damon had ordered her to do, it was memories of being an awkward fourteen-year-old in gym class. She lay the clothes on the edge of her bed and perched next to them so she could remove her shoes.

She tugged the boots off, tossing them carelessly aside. She looked longingly back at the bed. If only she could rest for just a little while. The thought of tackling all this homework—both the kind from school and the kind from her quasi-psychopathic vampire teacher—was exhausting. She lay back against the mound of pillows. She'd rest her eyes, then she'd get up and go about her evening.

Elena closed her eyes. Yes, this was just what she needed. Just a minute to stop and think. Think about how mad she was at Damon. She'd trusted him, and he'd shown that he was nothing more than a horny little teenager. She was pretty sure whatever Klaus was going to compel her to do, it wouldn't have anything to do with sex. This was just another way for Damon to get off at her expense.

But she couldn't help but think about what it had felt like when his hand began inching up her thigh, the skin rough and calloused against her own delicate flesh. How for once, he hadn't looked at her like she was some romantic dream, some untouchable Guinevere, but like she was a real woman who he wanted. How his fingers had been so sure but so gentle when they'd rubbed against her.

She let out a long, shuddering breath, one finger pulling aside her damp underwear to stroke the outside of her folds, her body melting into the bed with the slow, agonizing motion of her hand. Damon never rushed, not when it came to this, and nor would she...

Her eyes sprang open, only to find the round, shocked black eyes of her teddy bear staring back at her. "Dammit!" With her free hand, Elena grabbed the stuffed animal and shoved it under her pillow. There. It was on the bed; that would satisfy the fucking compulsion. But she wasn't going to let her childhood plaything watch this.

Fine. If this was how it was going to be, she'd just get it over with. She let her thumb brush against her clit, the little bundle sending lightning racing up her spine (and pretty much everywhere else, for that matter). She rubbed faster, letting her other hand move lower, a finger dipping deep inside her. She gritted her teeth against a gasp. She had to do this; she didn't have to enjoy it.

But her pace slowed, her fingers easing off that hooded bunch of nerves. All the while, you'll be imagining it was me, Damon had said. And as much as she wanted this to be over, to lie back and think of England, that wasn't what Damon would do.

No, Damon would take his time, letting his electric eyes roam over her body while that tiny smirk played on his lips. He'd let his hands wander, his fingers tracing the line of her body, the swell of her breast, dipping his head to nip with blunted teeth at one peaked nipple. He'd let his hands run over her belly. He'd never be in a rush to get to the main event, but would instead press butterfly kisses against her navel, lower, eyes lifting to capture hers, full of certainty and lust and something deeper, something she couldn't name.

Then and only then would Damon push one finger into her wet, aching folds, another drawing lazy circles on that button. Slowly, torturously slowly, he'd move in and out, never letting her find a rhythm, never letting her expect his next move. She'd buck her hips against him, mewling, and he'd smile up at her. "Relax. I'll get you there," he'd say, his voice low, his eyes dark with desire. Then another finger would press inside of her and she'd arch towards those fingers, every inch of her body craving more as he moved faster and faster within her until finally her entire world narrowed to that spot between her legs, to the sensation of him inside her and on her until she couldn't bear it a moment longer. Every muscle in her body tightened, then released in one long exhalation, aftershocks of feeling ricocheting through her.

She had just enough presence of mind to bury her face in the pillow as she cried his name.


"Hello, Elena," Damon lilted as she entered the boarding house the next day. He was trying so hard to look cool and casual, lounging in one of the chairs in front of his customary fire with his customary glass and his customary smirk. But he'd been waiting for her, giddy as a school boy, and Elena knew it. "Sleep well?"

She'd spent the entire drive over debating what she'd do at this very moment. Would she lower her eyes demurely, cheeks burning red as he questioned her about her night? Or would she march over to him and smack him right in his leering mouth? In the end, she took the middle road. She didn't duck her head, didn't flinch away. She folded her arms across her chest, looked him straight in the eye, and spoke her deliberately chosen words. "I did what you compelled me to do." Just like that, she felt the force of his compulsion dissipate into the air. It had worked! She'd fulfilled the letter of the compulsion while thwarting its intent. She'd come here at the appointed time and told him all about it. That was all he'd told her to do. She couldn't keep a triumphant grin off her face.

If she'd expected Damon to be angry with her, she'd been mistaken. He blinked at her in surprise. "Nothing else you want to tell me?"

"Oh," she murmured, letting her eyes grow wide as if she were still in the compulsion trance. "Oh, there is. Go to hell, Damon."

He laughed, surprising her a second time. His laughter was full and hearty and almost...proud? "Well played, Gilbert. Smarts like that deserve a drink," he said, still chuckling as he strolled to the bar.

Now the flush rose to her cheeks. "You don't just get to stand there and laugh at me, you pervert."

He turned his head to the side, considering the insult as he splashed bourbon into two glasses. He shrugged. "I've been called worse." He added water to one glass, offering it to her. "I'm just saying, a job well done merits a drink."

Elena looked at the glass suspiciously. "Is this a trap?"

Damon rolled his eyes extravagantly and took a swallow from the proffered glass. "Paranoid much?" he asked, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face. She accepted the glass, and he clinked his highball against hers. He led the way to the seating area and settled back into his chair, leaving her to claim a seat on the couch. "Now that we've got the compulsion out of the way, tell me what happened."

"I'm not giving you a play-by-play, Damon," she protested.

"Elena. I assure you, my interest is purely scientific," he said, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Bull," Elena said flatly.

"All right. Maybe not purely scientific. But what I said yesterday holds true—I gotta know what's going on inside that head of yours. I could compel it out of you, but I'd rather you just told me the truth right now," he said. "And you can tell me as much or as little of the gory details as you want." His lips tugged into a smile. "I'd prefer 'as much,' but your call."

"Pretty proud of your little stunt, huh? Think you're so tough, two-hundred-year-old vampire pushing around a teenager?" she asked. How could he treat this like it was all one big joke? This was her life, not some game. What he'd done, what he'd made her do and feel, meant something.

"You had your chance to go to Caroline," Damon said, the humor draining from his face. "You chose me. So you either play by my rules or find another vampire who'll worry more about your feelings than keeping you alive. Now tell me what happened." His voice was firm and more than a little annoyed, but he wasn't compelling her. She still had a choice.

And as pissed as she was with him, he was right. She'd walked into this house because she knew that he would get the job done, that he'd produce the urgency she needed to overcome compulsion once and for all. If escaping Damon's dirty little mind was the impetus she needed, then she could deal with it. For a while.

Elena took a bracing gulp from her glass, tasting his lips on the rim, tasting copper. She pushed the glass away. "I went home. I was determined that if I could stay away from the bed, I could...avoid doing the rest of it. Or at least put it off for a while. But then I was going upstairs anyway, like it was my idea."

Damon nodded, but didn't offer any commentary.

"So I went upstairs, thinking I'd grab my books, do some homework, change my clothes. I even had the clothes all laid out, and then I made the mistake of sitting on the bed. Again, like it was all my idea." Her hands clenched at her side. "I wasn't in control enough to even know what I was doing. I didn't even realize I was...doing the other part of the compulsion until I made a noise. And then I saw Mr. Snuggles staring at me-"

"Wait. Wait, Mr. Snuggles?" Damon coughed, choking on a mouthful of bourbon.

"Yes, Mr. Snuggles. My bear. I named him when I was three, give me a break," Elena said. "So I stuffed him under the pillow and...finished it." She met his gaze evenly, refusing to look away. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Even if he hadn't compelled her, there was nothing shameful about what she'd done. The only thing to be embarrassed about was who exactly she'd pictured throughout the entire process.

"Mr. Snuggles," Damon chortled. It took him a moment, but he regained his composure. "You finished all of it?"

"Yeah. Thank God no one was home; I would have died if anyone had heard me. At least the pillow made it so the neighbors didn't hear," Elena said.

"The pillow? You...screamed into a pillow?" Damon asked, one eyebrow raising quizzically.

"I couldn't have anyone hearing," Elena said.

Damon watched her in silence for a long moment. "So let me get this straight: You held off long enough to pick out clothes and take your shoes off, you hid the bear I specifically told you to have on the bed, and you muffled your scream with a pillow?"

"Um. Yeah?" Elena blinked at him in confusion. Really, out of this whole bizarre experience, those were the details that interested him?

"Huh." He swirled his glass, the amber liquid glinting weirdly in the firelight.

"What? What does that mean?"

"Well, either you're a lot smarter than I gave you credit for, or you have incredibly shitty orgasms. Maybe both," he said. Elena grabbed a couch cushion and tossed it at his head, but it whizzed harmlessly by. "C'mon, you had enough rational thought in your head to bite the pillow when imaginary-me was rocking your world? Maybe it was your imagination that was the problem—if it'd been the real thing, you never would have." Another pillow narrowly missed his head, but he just grinned.

"Are you done?" she asked.

"If you insist. But in all seriousness, you figured that out faster than I would have thought. Depending on how the compulsion is used and worded, you can sometimes squirm your way out on technicalities. Like you did with telling me about what happened, or making sure the bear was on your bed but not visible. Nice to know there's a brain under all that shiny hair."

Elena looked around. Out of couch cushions. Damn. "You couldn't have just told me that yesterday?" she said, exasperated.

"That wouldn't have been any fun. Plus, you needed to learn it for yourself. Now that you know, you'll be able to rules-lawyer your way out of other compulsions. Gold star," he said, draining his glass and reaching for her abandoned one. He leaned back in his chair, and suddenly she was suspended in his gaze again. It was uncanny—he didn't move a muscle, didn't even blink. But one moment he was Damon, teasing her and laughing and all (mostly) harmless fun, and the next he was some terrifying creature straight out of a nightmare, his eyes pinning her down like a fly. "Tell me the truth, Elena. Was that the first time you've touched yourself while you thought about me?"

Okay. Think. She could think her way out of this, just like she had before. There had to be a way to turn it around. What was the compulsion? What did she want to do more than anything? Tell the truth. Okay. She just had to not lie. She could do that. "Damon, this isn't funny. Please stop," Elena said.

"Wrong answer. Try again," he said, and Elena felt her chest constrict, like a hand was squeezing her heart. And she knew that if she just told the truth, just answered his question, it would all stop and Damon would go back to being her laughing friend, not this tormenting monster. "No," she said simply, and the pressure vanished.

But the laughter didn't return to Damon's eyes. There was something almost sad in the way he held her gaze, his mouth quirking into a humorless half-smile. "Yeah. Thought so."

"What, because no woman can resist the Damon Salvatore charm? Or do you just compel your way into every woman's pants?" Elena asked bitterly.

He leaned forward. "No. Because you don't think I heard you all those nights after my brother rolled over? You don't think I couldn't tell that that breathy little cry you let out when he'd shot his wad was a fake? You don't think I didn't listen when you let your hands do the walking night after night?" For once, there was no leer in his voice. He was reciting cold, hard facts. And he was right.

Stefan had tried, really he had. He thought he was doing the right thing, but after a few nights together with his too-gentle touch and his too-quick endings, she'd wound up taking care of herself. And if on a few occasions one Salvatore brother had swapped for the other in her mind's eye, well, after Stefan left her cold and aching one too many times, maybe that was only to be expected.

"Yeah. Maybe I did. And how many times was it me you saw when it was just you and your hand, Damon? Not Katherine—but me?" she asked. The words were out of her mouth before she could really understand why she'd asked it.

Damon just smiled and shook his head. "That's enough for today, Elena."

"What, so you just get to say 'no' like a coward but I have no choice but to answer you?" Elena said.

"Do you really want me to answer your question?" he asked. Her silence was her answer. "Come back tomorrow."

"You didn't compel me. How do you know I'll come back?"

"Neither one of us can stay away. No matter how we hurt each other, we always come back, don't we?" He reached for her hand, but thought better of it. "Goodnight, Elena."

She left. And the next day, she returned, like clockwork.