Coffee trickled through the machine, filling the pot drop by drop. It needed to hurry the hell up. "Glad to see you're making yourself at home," Damon said, strolling into the kitchen.

Elena continued to stare at the coffee pot, as if her rapt attention would deliver the life-giving caffeine faster. "Sorry, coffee's necessary unless you're going to compel me to fall asleep," she said. Training with Ric had started at five in the morning, followed by school all day, a math review session, a few stolen moments with Caroline and Bonnie, and now compulsion class. After, she'd still have to do homework before falling into bed and repeating the whole cycle again. And that was all assuming Klaus or Stefan or the ghosts of dead vampires didn't start raising hell. Just thinking about it made Elena want to sleep for a week.

The coffee pot was full enough; she poured a cup while more droplets of coffee hissed onto the hot plate. She was hunting for the nasty creamer powder Stefan had kept in the house for her when Damon plucked the cup from her fingers. "Damon. Give me the fucking coffee," Elena said.

Damon gasped in mock horror. "Did Elena Gilbert just say 'fuck'? How scandalous. I like it."

It wasn't like her to swear quite so vehemently. Think the words? Abso-fucking-lutely. But mostly, she left the profanity to professionals like Damon. She rubbed her eyes. "I'm tired. Just let me chug a couple cups of coffee and I'll be fine and we can get started.

"We could do that. Or we could do it the easy way," Damon said, taking a sip from the mug. He grimaced, reaching into a cabinet and producing a bottle of whiskey. He added a glug and took another swig, sighing in satisfaction this time.

"Great. Now I can't drink it or I will fall asleep." She reached for her purse. "Whatever, it's fine. I'll just come back tomorrow." She couldn't deal with this nonsense when she was running on empty.

"Don't throw a hissy fit. For once, compulsion can work to your advantage," Damon said, blowing on his steaming mug.

A beat passed. Then two. "Wanna tell me how, or is it a secret?" Elena asked.

"Easy. I can fool you into thinking you're not tired," Damon said. "I can make you think you just had the best night's sleep of your life, shotgunned a Red Bull, and are ready to run the Boston Marathon."

"That sounds like a really terrible idea." The coffee had finished brewing. There was at least enough for half a cup in there. Elena reached for a clean mug, but Damon seized her hand.

"Let's try it my way," Damon said. "If you don't feel one hundred percent better, the coffee'll still be there. I'll even tell you where we hide the sugar," he cajoled.

Elena wanted to argue, but the fact was, she was about to drop. It was either caffeine or compulsion, and since compulsion was going to be on the menu anyway...well, what was the worst that could happen? "This isn't some kind of trick? Because if you're going to do something horrible, I'd really rather you just did it instead of making it sound like it's for my benefit."

The look of hurt was fleeting, but unmistakable. "I'm not doing any of this to trick you."

"I know, I know. You're trying to help. That was a low blow," Elena said. "Sorry, I'm not myself today. I'm so busy being grouchy I forgot to ask—how are you feeling? You back to normal?" Every time she closed her eyes now, she saw Damon hunched over the knife lodged deep in his gut. The image made her want to crawl out of her own skin, but she was glad for it. It helped her focus on why she was doing this, why she was willing to risk everything to break compulsion. Because Damon was a fluffy bunny compared to what Klaus or Elijah or even Katherine could and would compel her to do if given half a chance.

"I'm a vampire, Elena; I was fine ten minutes after you left," he said, gently taking her elbow and steering her into the living room. Elena let herself be led, let him push her down onto the couch. "No tricks, I promise. This isn't part of the lesson—this is just for you. If you want it. I won't do it if you don't want me to." Strong fingers squeezed her shoulder. "I worry about you."

"I think a little lost sleep is the least of our worries, but I appreciate the concern," she said with a wane smile. "Do it. Otherwise I'm going to be useless. And I can't be useless. I have to learn this."

In an instant, she was swallowed into that pale, clear blue, like falling into the sea. Maybe he spoke, but she couldn't hear anything, only a faint rushing in her ears. Then she opened her eyes, a bit startled. "Did I fall asleep?" she asked.

"Nope. How do you feel?"

"Like...well, pretty much exactly like you said I would," she said with surprise. The weariness that had become her constant companion was gone, both the heaviness that dragged at her body and the cloudiness that invaded her mind. Elena couldn't remember the last time she'd felt quite like this, not when her days were filled with the mundane business of living, her nights were filled with monsters, and her snatched hours of sleep were filled with nightmares. She felt almost young again.

"Been working on my technique," he said smugly. "Glad to see it's paying off. But remember—it's not real. You feel peppy because I made you believe it was true."

"I don't actually know what that means," Elena admitted. She rose from the couch, pacing in front of the fire. She felt strong, she felt awake, she felt ready to go kick Klaus' ass. "But I kinda want you to come over and do this for me every morning."

"That would be a bad thing. It's like...when you drink, you feel warmer, right? But alcohol actually decreases your body temperature, it just tricks your brain into feeling all hot and tingly. Same deal here. Your mind believes you're well-rested, but your body knows it's a lie. Relying on compulsion for a caffeine hit too often means you'll just collapse in a little puddle when you least expect it, just like alcohol will help you freeze to death even though you feel toasty," Damon explained, tossing back the last dregs of his spiked coffee without a hint of irony.

"Really? Alcohol doesn't actually make you warmer?" Elena asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. It all felt so real. She understood that compulsion could make her a puppet, could manipulate her limbs and force words from her mouth, but how could it make her feel like this? Nothing could be so convincing.

Damon rolled his eyes. "Glad you're focusing on the big picture. Remind me to use fewer analogies in the future; they obviously confuse you." He clapped his hands together and stood. "But it does segue nicely into today's lesson, so we'll let it slide."

The giddiness and lightness she'd felt ebbed away as he stalked toward her. Unconsciously, she fell into that fighter's crouch Ric had been teaching her—knees bent, low, wary, and poised to strike. It wasn't a response to Damon; not really. It's just whenever he approached her with that sly, calculating look on his face, things usually ended uncomfortably for her. The training was necessary, but that didn't mean the fear of the unknown didn't make her heart race and her palms sweat.

Damon stopped, his head canted to one side as he watched her. "You're beautiful when you're afraid."

"That's a really messed up thing to say," Elena said, shuffling back a few steps.

"Maybe, but it's true. When you're afraid, your eyes widen and your pupils dilate, just like when you're aroused. Your lips part and your chest heaves as your lungs starve for air. And the blood rushes to the surface of your skin, making your whole body glow." He advanced, and Elena retreated, step by step, until he'd backed her into a corner. Ric would be so pissed at her right now for letting herself get trapped like this. Of course, she was pretty pissed at herself for it, too.

"You need to back off, Damon," she said, trying to make her voice steely and hard. It came out as little more than a frightened squeak.

He bared his teeth in a chilling grin, but all she could see were his eyes, black and blue bleeding together until she was drowning, gasping for air. And then he was stepping back, hands held up in surrender. "You tell me to back off, I'll back off. If that's what you want," he said, a sinister drawl to his words.

That son of a bitch. "What did you do? You did something, but I don't know what," she said, clutching at her temple as if her mind would reveal its secrets if only she tried hard enough. But when she fought to recall what he might have whispered to her, there was only a blank void.

"Yep. We vampires are sneaky like that. Sometimes we aren't nice enough to let you know what you're being compelled to do...or to feel," he said. "You're just gonna have to figure it out and find a way to stop it. Or not. Your call." The arrogance dripping from his every word was infuriating. She wanted to smack the smirk right off his full, sensuous lips.

"That's not fair," she whined.

"Because Klaus always fights fair. Because turning and killing Jenna to spite you—well, to spite me—was fair. Because re-introducing Stefan to the joys of human blood was fair. Talking about fairness wastes my time," he said with disgust. He turned his back on her, heading for the bar. Those dark jeans fit him like a glove, muscles rippling under the thick fabric as he walked away. But he was right; Klaus didn't play fair. At the same time, this was throwing her into the deep end. She couldn't even reliably fight compulsion yet, and here he was demanding that she not only break his orders, but that she first figure out just what she was supposed to be breaking. Great.

"How am I supposed to figure it out, Damon? It could've been anything," she pointed out.

"Sure could've been," he agreed, pawing through the bottles and decanters until he found an acceptable libation, pouring two stiff fingers into a glass. Elena couldn't help but admire the silhouette of his back, how those broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. While she'd seen Damon au naturel, it had only been for brief flashes before turning away, hands clamped firmly over her eyes. What would it be like to see him bare and beautiful, taking her time drinking him in—sculpted calves, chiseled thighs, those muscles darting down his sides that she didn't even have a name for. And there as a crowning center piece, his hard, jutting-

Wait. This was not normal. You'd have to be blind not to admire the man's body, but it wasn't exactly normal to ramble into long, intense fantasies about how he'd look in the buff while they were in the middle of a conversation. No. He hadn't. Goddammit, of course he had. "You asshole," she groaned, collapsing on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest.

"What'd I do now?"

"'I wanted it to be real,'" she mimicked. "Guess that was all a load of bull." She didn't know why she was surprised. Why was she surprised? Classic Damon was written all over this one. "You compelled me to want you, you dick."

He sauntered toward her, and she closed her eyes. She wasn't going to play this game, wasn't going to look at him. Calm. Breathe. Remove the external stimulus and focus on who she was and what she wanted. She knew what the compulsion was now, and she could break it.

"Close, but no cigar." This was all so fucking funny to him, his voice warm and mocking all at the same time. "Though that is an interesting development." The couch shifted as he sat on the far end. She could smell his cologne, something expensive and masculine.

"Sex or violence. Those are the only two gears you have, aren't they?" she gritted. She wasn't going to play this game, wasn't going to let her body turn traitor on her. If she could break a violent compulsion, she could break this one, no matter how much her hands trembled at his nearness or how her nipples strained against the fabric of her bra when he spoke.

"Nah, I've got a couple others, but those are definitely the most fun," he said cheerfully. "Talk me through it, Elena—what's going on?"

"Hell no," she said without hesitation, hugging her knees closer to her chest. Compulsion or no, she was stronger than her body and her base desires. Elena Gilbert was no slut. Sure, sex was fun, but she wasn't a slave to her hormones like so many teenagers were. And it seemed Damon hadn't compelled her to do anything specific—her hands weren't wandering as they had before. While her breasts ached, her skin tingled in the slightest draft, and her pulse pounded between her legs, she could fight it off. At least until she could get out of here.

"Fine. Have it your way. Why don't I tell you what I'm observing, and you tell me if it matches up with what you're feeling, hm?" He didn't wait for an answer before barreling on."Your heart's beating a little fast for you. I'd put it at about eighty beats per minute instead of your normal, sedate sixty-five. Blood's rushing, throbbing in a couple of key places. It's practically singing. And then there's just a whiff of something in the air-" he sniffed obscenely. "Yep, smells like sex."

"Oh, gross. You're disgusting," she said, lurching to her feet. All right, think. There had to be some blood still reaching her brain, though the way her body burned, she wouldn't bet on it. The compulsion wasn't to be attracted to Damon, but it was something in that family. And obviously it was something that had cranked her arousal up to eleven.

"It's a good thing I love watching you squirm—literally and figuratively—because repeating myself is getting boring. You're not going about this the right way. When Klaus comes and orders you to jam a piece of wood into Caroline's heart, are you going to spend time being outraged or are you going to focus on beating him?" Damon leaned forward. "Did you forget everything that worked for you last night? Breathing, focusing, shutting everything out?" His voice dropped, a low rumble that made Elena's stomach clench with desire. "Or is it that you really want to feel like this?"

"Just shut up; you're not helping." But that was a lie. Everything snapped into clear focus. What her body was feeling wasn't real. Just like the boost of energy had been a lie, so was this intense, aching wanting that devoured her body from head to toe. Her body had been told to feel a certain way, so it did. But her body was a dirty rotten liar. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Good. Heart rate's slowing. I think the trick to getting through to you is pissing you right the fuck off," Damon said. His voice was closer, but Elena didn't look at him. Focus. Focus on who you are and what you want.

"Then lucky me; I have the best possible teacher."

He chuckled, throaty and rich and right in her ear. She jumped, any zen she'd managed to garner dashed in an instant. "Whoops, heart rate's up again. Sorry about that," he said remorselessly. So close. He was so close to her, it would be so easy just to turn and fold herself into his arms, smash her lips against his and grind her hips close, pressing against his hard, unyielding body, tug his erection free and drive it home, anything to fill the aching need she felt. The thought of it made her moan, an animal sound originating deep within her, a sound she wasn't sure she'd ever heard before.

"What do you want, Elena?" Damon asked quietly.

"I don't know," she said, her hands fluttering to the fly of her own jeans before flitting away again. No. She wasn't this person.

"I know, Elena. I know what you need." The tips of his fingers ghosted across the nape of her neck, tender and light as a breeze. "Relief," he murmured. "Let me give it to you, and it'll all be over."

There was nothing in this world she wanted more. All she knew was need; all she wanted was release. But that was the easy road."I have to break it, Damon. I have to. That's why I'm here." Her voice was so breathy, kittenish and high, and she was losing the battle. Like a sleepwalker, she turned to him, molding her body against his. Felt him hard and straining against her and stood on tiptoe, leaning in to kiss him, to devour him whole.

Panic flashed across his face, warring with a deep, primal urge. His head bent, lips hovering a heartbeat away from hers. But then he seized her chin in his hand, his very touch sending fireworks exploding along her skin. "Not like this. God, I wish I could do this. But I can't. It has to be real." There was such brutalizing sadness in his eyes, such loathing and desire that it even penetrated Elena's lust-filled daze. Still holding her face in the palm of his hand, he wrapped the other arm firmly around her waist.

Pools of blue were lapping around her again, driving everything else away but the connection between them. "Come for me," he ordered.

And Christ, she did. If it hadn't been for his hand clenched around her waist, she would have been incoherent on the floor in a trembling pile. But he held her, supported her as her body thrashed with sudden, breathtaking release, her hands clutching great handfuls of his shirt as her legs collapsed under her. And then it was gone. All the wanting, all the needing, the ache and the desire all faded away in the aftershocks. Damon held her silently until she managed to get her feet under her again. They stared at each other in silence for timeless moments.

Then Elena turned and ran.