Doing the right thing sucked. Two weeks, give or take a few days, and he was miserable. He'd just have to console himself with all the money he won off these poor idiots.
He currently sat at a table playing poker in a mega-casino/hotel in Las Vegas. Flashy, loud, plenty of booze, cigar smoke everywhere, and lots of half-naked ladies strutting about the place. Perfect for distraction.
The best part was it kept him from dwelling on Elena.
Well, most of the time.
Some of the time.
Ok, fine, he couldn't prevent himself from thinking about her constantly, but this was better than locking himself in a dark room, blasting Alice in Chains, and weeping into his bourbon.
"Drink," he called for. The girl sitting on his lap handed over his glass of bourbon, and he winked at her and traded his cigar for the liquor.
As he took a sip, a hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Really? Poker in Las Vegas? Could you be any more predictable?"
Of course, it was Stefan.
Damon's jaw flexed. "I am getting really sick of people telling me that." Setting his cards down, he said irritably, "Excuse me, gentlemen, I'll be right back." He quickly compelled his four partners to wait passively for his return.
He stood and walked with his brother over to a bar. "What are you doing here, Stefan?"
"Looking for you, brother."
He studied his brother intently, but Stefan's energy read as earnest and sincere. "Does it seem like I'm lost?"
Stefan gestured around him. "This is what you've been doing with your time: hanging out with lowlifes, getting drunk, gambling, and fraternizing with hookers?"
"You say that like it's a bad thing." He grinned and watched his brother's face settle into familiar lines of disapproval. Of course he wasn't sleeping with hookers; they were just a fun, convenient source of blood – the other charges leveled against him were true enough though – but he didn't bother trying to correct his brother. Stefan was just going to believe the worst no matter what – no point in trying to avoid the inevitable.
His younger brother looked down at his feet and sighed. "Elena's in trouble."
"Of course she is. Isn't it Tuesday?" he asked flippantly.
"Real trouble, Damon."
"How? Klaus can't kill her or he'll never have any more hybrids. If he wants the cure, he can come ask me real nicely for it."
"There might be a way to rid ourselves of Klaus for good."
"Then why are you wasting your time here?"
"We need your help."
"No can do, brother. I have a poker game to win." He gave his brother a snarky smile and returned to the table, resuming his seat. "Sorry, boys, where were we?"
His sensitive ears registered the sound of chair legs scraping across the ground. He looked over his shoulder and saw Stefan pulling up a chair. His brother settled in it backwards, resting his arms on the backrest. "Room for one more?" Stefan inquired.
"No, we're in the middle of a game."
"Ok, I'll wait."
Of course he would. Stefan never could leave well-enough alone. Damon decided to interpret his brother's insistence on sticking around as a challenge.
"I tell you what, Stef, you stay here and have one night of actual fun with me, and I'll consider going home with you in the morning." He saw the indecision on his brother's face and pressed, "What's the matter? Afraid you can't hang?"
Stefan shook his head. "Oh, I can hang. You've never seen me at a Bon Jovi concert."
"Thank god."
Neither one of them brought up Elena the entire night. He personally didn't want to know what was going on between her and his brother. There was nothing he desired more than for Elena to be happy, and if being with Stefan made her happy, then fine. But that didn't mean he wanted to torture himself by hearing about it.
He'd never admit it out loud, but it was good to see Stefan's face. To know that he'd come after him. Even if it would be a cold day in hell before he actually returned to Mystic Falls with him.
As it turned out, Stefan wasn't the worst poker player in the world. He actually gave Damon a run for his money. Damon still won, obviously, but it was an intense game.
Half way through their second bottle of liquor, Stefan threw his cards down on the green felt table at the end of the game and gave his brother a defiant look. "What's next, Oh Fun One?"
Damon leaned over and put his arm around the guy sitting next to him, a weasely looking character decked out in an Italian wool suit and a fancy watch. "My buddy Dan here happens to be a very avid, very wealthy collector of cars, aren't you, Dan?"
The aforementioned Dan smiled nervously.
They spent the next few hours racing expensive, mind-boggling fast cars through the strip. Damon drove a bright fire engine red Ferrari F430 Spider, and Stefan couldn't get anywhere near him in his black Bentley Continental GT convertible. They compelled their way out of several tickets, and he even caught Stefan laughing.
Come on, who wouldn't enjoy the opportunity to burn rubber in these cars. He was sorely tempted to compel Dan to give them the cars for keeps, but he knew he'd never drive the Ferrari again. He had all the car he needed in his Camaro.
By the end of the night, they were back in Damon's hotel room.
Damon gave his brother an arrogant smirk and gestured towards the forest of liquor bottles crowding the top of a mini-fridge. "You know what I love about this town? It's so easy to get good bourbon."
Stefan grabbed a bottle and opened the top. "We're just gonna sit in here getting drunk?"
Before he finished speaking, there came a knock on the door. Stefan gave his brother a questioning look to which Damon just smiled insolently. When the dark haired Salvatore opened the door, three scantily-clad, beautiful women filed in. They immediately began fawning over Damon, clearly having met him before.
"Stefan, let me introduce you to my friends." He gestured to the red-headed one. "Candy." He motioned toward the blonde one. "Mercedes." Finally, he put his arm around the last, a brunette with dark eyes. "And my personal favorite, Chastity." He sank his teeth into her neck, and she sighed and ran her palm across his cheek.
Stefan commented dryly, "Ah, I should have guessed: more hookers."
"Don't be rude, brother," Damon admonished, lifting his eyebrows in a teasing manner. "They prefer the term escort."
The one named Candy wandered over to Stefan and proceeded to sit on his lap, smiling up at him playfully.
"Um, no thank you," he was quick to tell her.
"You don't want to play?" she asked.
Damon leaned over. "Don't take it personally," he consoled the girl, jerked a thumb in Stefan's direction. "Eunuch."
"Thank you for that," Stefan replied sarcastically.
By morning, the ladies were gone, and Damon sat numbly on the floor of his suite, early morning sunlight streaming through the window of the balcony. An empty bottle of bourbon lay between his legs, and he gazed at it despondently. Why did it have to be empty?
He heard Stefan come up behind him. "Alright, brother, I upheld my end of the bargain. Your turn."
He refused to turn and look at him. "I don't want to see her."
"Yeah, that's not gonna happen."
He slanted a disgruntled look at him.
"You know I can't make a promise like that. Bonnie and Caroline had to practically sit on top of her in order to prevent her from coming with me."
Damon sighed and looked down at the ground.
Stefan proffered his hand. "Come on. Elena needs you."
He stared at Stefan's hand with its familiar lapis lazuli ring bearing the Salvatore crest, then rolled his eyes. Oh, who was he kidding? He grabbed Stefan's hand and stood.
He was about to open his door and go into his room, but he hesitated and glanced across the hallway at the room Elena had claimed as her own. The door was closed. He assumed she was probably sleeping.
He flashed back to the group meeting they'd held this afternoon.
Stefan had filled him in on the drive back. When they walked through the door, the whole Mystic Falls gang was there to greet them: Elena, Matt, Caroline, and Bonnie.
Sigh. So much for avoiding Elena. "Well isn't this quite the home coming. Even the witch showed up to welcome me back."
Bonnie got a smart-ass look on her face. "We're here to help Elena."
Damon looked askance at his brother who just shrugged and said, "I told you it was urgent."
They spent the next few hours constructing a plan that they thought had the most reasonable chance of succeeding. If all went accordingly, after tomorrow, Klaus would never be a threat to Elena again. Or anyone, for that matter.
Predictably, Elena had been against the whole thing from the get-go. She said it was too dangerous, and she didn't want anyone risking their lives for her.
Caroline kept demanding that no one hurt Klaus, occasionally impaling Damon with her narrow blue eyed gaze as if he was the only person in the room with an axe to grind against the hybrid.
For the most part, Damon's attention was focused on Stefan and Elena, trying to figure out what was going on between them, like someone who just can't resist sticking their tongue into a painful abscessed tooth. Stefan paced incessantly before the fireplace, brow furrowed, reassuring Caroline and Elena that his idea was a good one. Elena sat on a couch between Caroline and Bonnie, and when she wasn't vehemently protesting Stefan's ideas, she sent Damon looks he couldn't decipher.
At one point, Stefan stopped and looked straight at him. "I haven't heard anything out of you lately, brother. What do you think?"
Damon set his glass down on the antique wooden table and spun it around, fingers on the rim. "What I think is that I deserve one day where I don't have to think about Klaus or hear his name."
Anyone else would have stormed out, but he just picked up his glass again and sauntered out of the parlor. He went into the kitchen.
Stefan followed him. "I take it that dramatic exit means you don't like my plan?"
"No, Stefan, I don't like your plan. I don't like this cure business in general. I don't like Original vampires. And I don't like being home."
"But you will help?"
He took a bitter swallow of liquor. "I'll do whatever Elena needs me to do. You know that."
Stefan just clapped him on the shoulder with one hand and returned to Elena and her friends.
He heard when the brain-storming session broke up. Matt drove Caroline and Bonnie home and Stefan retreated upstairs. Elena saw her friends off and came back to the main sitting room but as soon as he realized that she had every intention of confronting him, he'd absconded out back with his favorite bottle of bourbon.
Nope. No way was he ready to face her. He had no interest in hearing how even though she was with Stefan, she still wanted to be friends, and then he'd have to stand there like an idiot and nod, acting like his insides weren't slowly being sucked into the black hole where his heart used to be.
But he hadn't witnessed any interactions between her and Stefan that led him to suspect they were romantically involved again, so maybe…
He forced himself to squash the tiny bubble of hope rising in his chest. Too fucking painful. He'd been false hope's bitch for too long. Knowing Elena, she was just being respectful and didn't want to flaunt it in his face.
So, their plan was all decided and tomorrow it was on, but now here he was, a bottle of bourbon later and so close to her. She was just across the hall.
He had only the long, lonely hours of the night stretched out in front of him and he was so weak. He just needed to see her…fuck that, he needed to kiss her, touch her. If this was going to possibly be his last night on earth, there was nowhere he'd rather be than with her.
He found himself in front of her door though he couldn't remember moving his feet. He listened for a moment, detecting the soft beat of her heart and the occasional swish of paper. She was reading.
She wasn't asleep. And she was alone.
He knocked. Almost immediately he regretted it. What the hell was he doing?
The door opened and he saw an angel. A sleepy angel wearing…his clothes? Elena had on one of his black cotton T's which clung in all the right places and a pair of his silk black boxers. His brain, which was already struggling to function on all cylinders, stuttered to an abrupt halt as all the blood rushed somewhere lower. Jesus Christ, this girl undid him and made him want.
"Hey," she smiled shyly at him. "I was hoping it was you."
God, he longed to take her in his arms, hold her, beg her to forgive his worthless ass. Instead, he asked stupidly, "Yeah?" because it was the only thing he could think of to say, and smiled crookedly.
"Yeah." She tilted her head and regarded him for a moment, dark hair hanging long down her back. "I'm glad you're not avoiding me anymore."
"I'm not avoiding you," he denied much too quickly. Bullshit.
Apparently, she detected it, too. "Riiiight," she murmured, pressing her lips into a thin line. He watched as her gaze dipped down to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here now." Her face brightened. "I wanted to tell you-"
He took a single step forward with a hesitant look on his face, cutting her off. "Can we just skip the whole talking thing?"
She gave him a funny look and opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted her again. "I know we need to," he cleared his throat, "talk and stuff, clear the air if you will, but it's late, and tomorrow we might die, and I'm kinda drunk, and I just…all I can think about is kissing you."
She laughed softly. "I like how you said all that as if I'd say no to kissing you."
He gazed at her with equal parts desperation and hope and disbelief before surging forward, seizing and pulling her into him, lips and teeth crashing together.
Her taste blasted through his foggy bourbon haze, and her subtle, lavender scent soothed him. She was real. This was really happening, and she was in his arms.
He groaned, deepening the kiss, tongues tangling as his hands swept down her back and cupped the pleasing curvature of her ass.
Mouth roaming across the soft line of her jaw and then lower down her neck, he reveled in the taste of her skin. One fang scraped lightly along her collarbone, and he quickly flicked his tongue out to swallow the drops of blood that beaded like red jewels before the wound he'd inflicted healed almost instantly. Nothing compared to the taste of Elena Gilbert. Nothing.
With sure hands, Elena yanked his fly open so hard the button popped and went soaring, and then she was holding him hot and heavy in her palm. She began to stroke, finding a rhythm that was slow and devastating.
When she gripped him with both hands, he doubted he'd last much longer.
With a saucy smile, she eased to the floor to kneel before him. She captured him in an unflinching stare, and he watched amazed as his world was reduced to nothing more than heat and wetness.
It felt so good, her tongue sweeping along his length. His hips bucked in time to that hot little mouth, and he had to grit his teeth so he wouldn't grab the back of her head and rush her.
Instead, he cupped her face with shaking hands, smoothing his thumbs across her cheek bones, in awe of this beautiful creature who apparently didn't hate him after all.
Suddenly, it felt too fucking good, and he jerked away, almost stumbling on unsteady legs. He wasn't ready for this to be over so quickly.
He needed to bury himself in her, be with her at least one more time.
She rose, moving with him, and shoved him backwards, violently disrobing him. He returned the favor, shredding his clothes she was wearing as her pajamas.
By the time they collapsed on top of the mattress, they didn't have a stitch on, her long legs wrapped around him as he loomed over her.
Only with an unusual display of restraint – which even on his best day was a limited resource – was he able to break away from kissing her and raise his head. He didn't want to stop, but he also didn't want to push her or make her uncomfortable. True, she'd just finished going down on him, but technically, she'd only agreed to kissing. It might possibly kill him if she told him to get out, but he had to make sure.
Resting his forehead on hers, he violated his own request to not talk, asking roughly, "Elena, is this - do you - ?"
She pulled back so she could look him in the eye and wrinkled her nose at him, lips deliciously wet from their kisses. "Are you seriously asking if I want to sleep with you when we're already naked in bed?"
He shifted to the right and pretended to glance under his arm at their intertwined bodies, though he merely used it as an opportunity to admire her perfect breasts. "Huh, I hadn't even noticed."
Smiling, she lightly smacked his shoulder. "Yes." Her arms snaked around his neck. She grabbed the back of his head, tugging him close again, fingers weaving through his dark hair. "Yes," she breathed into his mouth.