He never comes to her bed on his own.

She has to invite him explicitly; summon him under some pretext, listen to his updates on everyday business, then say: "I want you to stay with me tonight." Damon obeys every time, Elena notices, the way her father's mistresses used to do once upon a time; quiet and discreet as if sharing the royal bed was the greatest possible pleasure.

(Sometimes Elena wonders if it really is.)

Damon follows her to bed without a question, always looking around carefully to make sure all her maids and ladies are gone before he undoes as much as one lace. Elena's reputation is something they never talk about, but they both think about it every time they close the bedroom door: Elena might need to marry one day, marry for power or marry for children, so now she has to be beyond any suspicion. They don't fool themselves that what they do is a secret to everyone around them, but the least they can do is try not to be arrogant, and give everyone a chance to turn their eyes.

So Damon locks the door quietly, and starts undressing without a word, puts away his noisy weapons, and gets rid of the heavy chain he wears around his neck. Only then he steps closer to Elena, and starts helping her undress.

He's like the best handmaid she's ever had, fishing pins and jewels out of her hair with unprecedented delicacy. He does women's work for her without blinking, and maybe this is what Elena loves him for: his ability to step into a maidservant's shoes the way Elena herself can step into an armor. She might be his lover, but he never forgets that she's his sovereign first and foremost.

She still pulls at his sleeve to make sure he remembers, and Damon is kneeling between her legs in a flash, his hands obediently reaching under her skirts. Sometimes she does this for him as well, takes him into her mouth or pulls her on top of her and lets him thrust until he screams. Not tonight though. Not tonight.

Elena slowly slides her bare foot up his body, her toes brushing absently over the bulge in Damon's breeches. She doesn't stop there though – she goes all the way up, and rests her foot on his shoulder. Power settles low in her belly and makes her moan as Damon bows his head, warm, so warm. She could get naked, of course, but all of a sudden she loves the way her heavy, embroided dress weights on her breasts and her hips, so she keeps it on. When Damon tries to pull up her skirts, she catches his hand.

"Leave it," she commands. "I want you to feel it."

So he dives under, and starts making his way through layers of fabric. Elena opens her legs wider in anticipation, and lets power wash over her as Damon's tongue reaches her clit. He's good at this, as good as at taking care of the pins in her hair, swift and efficient, just enough pressure.

When Elena bites her lip to muffle a sharp cry of release, she feels power settle back on her shoulders.