A/N: Hey guys! Firstly, we'd both like to say thank you for your subscriptions and your reviews; they're awesome! And regarding queries as to changing POV's and whatnot, last chapter I originally slotted in a line of '***' but they didn't appear in the final chapter, which kinda' pissed me off, but hey! ;D But we shall make sure it's slightly clearer next time. (; Any who, this is our first two-parter chapter and we hope you enjoy it; and remember.. READSUBSCRIBE&REVIEW. :)

Chapter 9: Satin Sheets & Lustful Longings Part 1.

Elena's hand remained anchored into Damon's forearm as they continued the dreaded journey to the elder Salvatore's bedroom; upon arriving at what seemed to be the door to the forbidden fortress that no doubt countless other girls had sauntered and made their way through, Elena hesitated slightly, realising that Damon perhaps didn't need her hand in order to stabilise himself and allowed Damon to pass by her and into the now-revealed bedroom. Elena's hand palmed lightly upon the door as she motioned over the threshold, her eyes widening as she drank in her surroundings; Elena's fingers fumbled with the door behind her, slowly shutting it, never halting her eyes from their exploring around Damon's huge, spacious and undeniably magnificent bedroom. And despite her best attempts not to let her awe escape - Elena's voice spoke without her mind's consent.

"Whoa..." she breathed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips as she moved further into the space and added "I've never been in your room before."

A second or so later, the realisation of what she had just uttered struck her and Elena inwardly chided herself, knowing exactly how Damon would perceive her words. However, determined not to let him discover the beauty of his bedroom had distracted her, Elena walked towards a lingering Damon of who was now at the foot of his bed; she rolled her eyes and jabbed her finger towards the bed.

"You, bed," she almost ordered before continuing as her hand planted itself tenderly, but forcefully upon his chest "Sit, now" this time it was a direct instruction of which Damon had no choice but to obey.

Once Elena's arm had made itself known upon his torso, Elena's back arched a degree as she bent down and her hands gripped his shirt collar; in her mind she tried to deny how sexual the scene to an on-looker would be conceived, and also, the images it made her recall... Her nimble digits soon departed from his collar and began busying themselves down the centre line of his blood-stained shirt and released each button, one by one from their seal of his shirt; within no time her fingers were through with half of his shirt and she had unthinkingly forged her body closer to his own. Her slender jean-sheathed legs were now either side of his own as her finger-tips began occasionally brushing Damon's skin, of which was now rapidly being revealed. Biting hard onto her lower lip, feeling the gaze of Damon's smouldering blue orbs burn into her being Elena heard a sentence betray her lips.

"And no, you can stop that thought before it even registers," she rebuked in a firm tone, glancing from his chest and suddenly regretting it as the moment her eyes caught his own she felt the strongest, wildest urge to take him, and his perfectly pouted lips then and there...

But if Elena had learnt anything over the time period of dating Stefan Salvatore, and thus resulting in forcing herself to deny Damon's every advance - it was that of restraint. And despite letting her overwhelming desire for this immortal overwhelm her once, she wouldn't allow it to happen again. She couldn't allow it to.

Damon's bedroom was what most would've expected from him. The design matched his usual attire; black, relatively casual, but expensive, in a way. Certain areas of the large, spacious room were sleek, whereas other parts were studious and casual.

Near the centre of the room, atop a well-polished hardwood floor, was a king-size four-poster bed, draped in black sheets of fine satin. Aside from that was a large, heavily curtained window, beneath which was a window-ledge lined with various records that looked dusty and untouched. By the side of the bed in front of a matching bed-side table was a crooked pile of threadbare volumes, apparently vacating their proper positions upon a bookshelf on an opposing wall, alongside various medical remedies. There wasn't much else in the room, besides a large, plasma screen TV beside the walk-shower, upon which he often observed the news.

It was never really used for leisure of out of sheer boredom – Damon had much better, much more exciting things to do than to lounge around uselessly and watch television. He would snort at the idea. Conclusively, the room was quite handsome. It was simple, but contrasted excellently with Damon's sense of style. Anybody would be able to match him to the room, without even a moment's hesitation.

"Yes. That's a shame," stated Damon with a grin. It really was unfortunate that she had never been in his room before. After all, it was used for various doings Elena would've certainly enjoyed. "Many have reacted similarly when seeing my room. Like it, huh?" He gestured to the finely decorated space with a cock of his head.

But he didn't have long to contemplate her expression. As if realising she'd said something awful inappropriate, Elena's face fell, and she pushed him down forcefully onto the bed with one surprisingly strong hand.

This split second of feminine control was quite enticing, but Damon restrained himself from smirking. This proved nonsensically difficult. All thoughts of resting after such a tragically embarrassing and unfortunate night had fled his mind as Elena leant down to un-do the buttons on his shirt (a black shirt, ironically matching the bed sheets). His eyes did not once leave her face as she seemed to focus all concentrating on just getting off his shirt. It was an amusing sight; Damon could distinctly tell that she was struggling – but this just thrilled him even more.

He opened his mouth to voice an impish remark but, as if telepathically embracing his thoughts, Elena cut him off with a remark of her own.

"Wasn't gonna say anything," Damon smiled innocently, his ice-blue eyes dancing.

Though the pain in his stomach was still throbbing ominously, he seemed not to care. He was alone with Elena once again, and her motions were enough to get him going.

Numerous notions plagued his mind as Elena's fingers occasionally brushed the skin on his chest. Was that purposeful? He mused contemplatively. Bet it wasn't, was the answer his mind concocted. This time, his smirk was inevitable. And his eyes decided to venture away from her face and instead of pretty much every inch of the slender form that towered over him. As if possessing a mind of their own, his arms slowly reached up to trace fingers along her arms. His skin tingled where it touched her. For so long he'd wanted to feel that tingle again.

A feeling deep within the bit of her stomach began to accumulate as her eyes remained locked upon his scorching blue orbs; every features, every twitch of his body, his face was perfection - Elena often wondered how a person, how a being could be as utterly flawless in appearance as the creature that was Damon Salvatore. And every time she did so, the mortal received no real answer. However, the moment Damon's eyes flickered towards her other assets, she was finally able to tear her own away from his heart-breakingly beautiful complexion and focus upon the task at hand. Well, at least that was what Elena had assumed giving the new found freedom he'd casually offered the girl. Elena's fingers managed to finish the task at hand and every one of his buttons had now been undone - leaving his black shirt to billow with an undeniable provocative edge.

Shaking her head a notch and inwardly banishing all thoughts involving both Damon and anything relating even remotely to a sexual content - she opened her mouth to reply to his defensive response before freezing at the touch of his smooth finger-tips. She felt every nerve ending in her body electrify at the mere simplicity of his touch as he tentatively began trailing his fingers down her arm; her lips parted ever so slightly and she felt a shiver slither down her spine - for a moment, she couldn't move and Damon was in complete control of her every move, her every thought... Until, that is Elena rebuked herself harshly and flinched from his questionable contact as her eyes flashed red; Elena removed her hands from their location at the bottom of his shirt and Elena grasped his face with her right hand, leaving her thumb to linger at his lower lip as she spoke.

"I'm only helping you, because you're hurt," she said sternly as her eyes scolded him "That doesn't give you the right to touch me," Elena finished, releasing his face and swiftly making her way towards the shelves containing various medical substances of which her exploring eyes had noted earlier.

She leant upwards to the second highest shelf and retrieved a bottle of anti-septic as well as a white hand towel; adjusting herself to her traditional height, Elena returned to her position in front of Damon, but only now found herself kneeling on the ground. Elena coupled the items together in one hand as her other separated his legs - she shot him a warning glance before resting her aiding devices upon the satin sheets and stripping Damon fully, and easily of his shirt. But, even Elena Gilbert couldn't resist a quick gander of his toned torso; he had the bone structure of a god, even with the bloody blemishes.

She swallowed hard, as she attempted to set her mind back onto the straight and narrow and set at her work; she moulded herself in between his legs and poured a small pool of solution over the towel before reaching up and dabbing the material onto his largest cut. Her neglected hand had somehow found its way to Damon's thigh and was refusing to cease its hold.

Though he would never admit it, Elena's sudden withdraw slightly hurt Damon. He could tell that she had wanted to stay there, to relish in the sensation of his fingers on her skin, so why didn't she? Nothing had stopped her before. What was stopping her now? He said nothing as she advanced on him, much alike a provoked cat. He merely watched her in bemusement, blue on brown, and continued to do so when she pulled away from him to dig through the various remedies he kept on a shelf, just in case situations like this one occurred. A thousand varying questions seemed to clog up Damon's mind as he watched her rummage, though none of which he was up to contemplating and pondering on. Over the years he'd been immortal, he'd learnt that thinking things over way too much caused more pain than to begin with. That was where the hard-surfaced, robust, steel shield came in – it stopped things like this from getting too much for Damon; too complicating.

Damon persisted to remain silent until Elena returned with a bottle of antiseptic and a white hand towel and settled herself between his legs. Of course, he took notice of her frantic visual warning and absorbed it instantly. But it didn't last long. Like he cared about what she claimed to want. He knew what she wanted, even if it was deep, deep down. He would always know, because it would never change.

Damon relaxed his shoulders as Elena slid off the rest of his shirt with ease. He could tell she feared a reaction from him, but he granted to keep her fears at bay and reacted not even once. As if he were a casualty patient and she were a doctor, he relaxed his torso and closed his eyes against the now more potent spasms of pain as she settled herself more comfortably in front of him. Another spasm shot through him as her hand came to rest upon his denim-clad thigh, but this was not a painful jolt. It was quite the opposite.

Yet, with much difficulty but with respect, he kept his mouth shut, leaving it all to the imagination.

It was strange how the slightest touch, or the slightest brush of skin, brought back so many different memories of previous happenings between Damon and Elena. Just then, he remembered the tomb, remembered how she so willingly gave herself up to him. And then the kiss, outside before the rain, before he sprinted into all of this trouble …

Damon felt an ache in his heart, but remained still. He heard the rustle of sheets as Elena leant forwards to place the towel to his wounds, and then after a few seconds of nothing-

"Ouch!" he gasped. His eyes flew open as he flinched away from Elena, "What the hell is that stuff?" he demanded, grabbing the bottle from beside him and examining the label. He hadn't remembered antiseptic to sting so bloody much. But then again … He'd never really had to use it before. At least, not for 145 years.

Now Elena knew if Stefan, or anyone for that matter, especially Stefan were to witness the scene unfolding right now then appropriate would definitely not be a word selected in their vocabulary; it puzzled Elena to an unheard of degree why Stefan would ponder, and then actually execute his suggestion for Elena to firstly lead his elder brother up to his bedroom and further tend to his wounds; surely Stefan must've realised, or at least over-viewed the possible outcomes of this scenario? Could Stefan whole heartedly say to her he didn't think, not even for the smallest amount of a second that Elena would be experiencing any of the feelings she was currently undergoing? Surely he couldn't be all that oblivious to Damon and Elena's profound feelings for one another... And for once, Elena was relieved at Damon's distraction, but reacted in a completely contrasting way to how she had before.

Each side of her lips tugged skyward as a smile threatened to break across her lips; it wasn't that Elena was receiving some sort of sadistic pleasure from the harm of which she had admittedly inflicted upon the vampire - it was merely that he was acting like such a... Elena searched the realms of her mind in order to find a word of which would match - and finally, she did so. Human. Damon's response had been so mortal-like that, upon the realisation, Elena grinned before rolling her eyes in a sarcastic gesture before pouring a little more antiseptic onto the cloth and placing it softer this time onto his skin.

"Oh, get a grip would you," she replied in a low hush, attempting to tame her genuine smile.

As if instinctively, Elena found herself shuffling closer to him as one hand held down the towel and the other remained at his thigh; she shifted her torso, patting the material around his largest wound. It was at that precise second that Elena felt the muscles of her lower abdomen brush against the centre of Damon's trousers; she halted, mid-rub before finding herself caress the area once again before forcing her mind to concentrate upon the task at hand rather than how their lower regions were attracting. But it was hard... God, it was.

With a disapproving huff, Damon tossed the bottle back onto the bed again; bracing himself for more stings that he would not have felt had he been stronger. For a third time that morning, he silently cursed the vampire who got him into this mess, and once more vowed to hunt down the bastard and kill him in the most imaginative way possible. Damon used his uncannily wide imagination as a distraction from the nasty jolts he was receiving from continuous applications of damned antiseptic. Instead of focusing on the pain, he focused on creative ways of killing enemy vampires. It was a great distraction. Almost pleasurable. He could use a stake, but … that would just be dull. And way too quick. There was beheading, fire, direct sunlight (Damon noticed that vampire didn't have a ring alike his own), and a number of other things he could think of. Vervain included, he thought grimly. One thing better than getting revenge was getting even.

Damon smirked to himself at this truthful fact. Getting even may not be the best or kindest option, but it sure was the most enjoyable.

"Personally," began Damon in a highly matter-of-fact tone, amidst his gory daydreams. "I think you should get a grip too. But hey, I'm being polite and keeping my mouth zipped." He couldn't resist an impish smile towards Elena as she continued to press the towel to his bloody stab wounds and did a terrible job in concealing her own true smile.

Damon resisted yet another pain-generated flinch and instead buried himself – once again – into the depths of his magnificent creativity. He truly admired himself when it came to thinking up death fantasies. He liked to think that Shakespeare would be jealous. Elena's shuffling generated general discomfort for Damon, and he also found himself rearranging his position. But, much alike Elena, he stopped mid-movement, quite startled at the sudden interaction between their most sensitive areas.

"Ok, I wasn't expecting you to get a grip now …" commented Damon with a cynical chuckle.

He knew that this action was involuntary, but it was just the perfect opportunity to play on it. He knew he'd wind Elena up. But maybe he'd lure her in a bit more, too. After all, who could resist his cheeky little comments?

The almost constant gyrate of Elena's lower abdomen against Damon's sent numerous jolts of pleasure throughout her body, as urges to deny all logic and straddle herself around him became increasingly hard to ignore. At this instant, the brunette wanted nothing more than to allow Damon to satisfy her untameable needs, as well as her seemingly unquenchable desire for this man. Even as her hands worked their way all over his body, stroking over various cuts and grazes, Elena's mind never once drifted from the intoxicating concoction of mild irritation and severe lust; and naturally, Damon had realised this and doubtlessly used it to his advantage. Her dark orbs flashed skyward as she caught Damon's eye line as well as the satisfied smirk planted so dominantly across his faultless features.

Merely narrowing her eyes a degree at Damon's jibe regarding the provocative motion of her hips against his own, Elena chose the last part of his statement to comment upon and allowed a laugh of utter disbelief to pass her lips whilst nodding.

"Yes, you're right, Damon," she muttered, the air of sarcasm obvious within her tone as she agilely switched to his left side and added "But, seriously; when have you EVER been polite?" she said with a small snort, tending to the large slashes across his flawless physique; and although her gentle grinding had ceased, it was her pesky hand, of which using a mind of its own shifted further upwards, her palm tingling due to the light friction.

Right then and there Elena vowed to herself never to be left alone with a shirtless Damon again; but, although she made the promise - her heart longed for the opposite.

Damon experienced great satisfaction in his effect upon indomitable, resolute Elena. She seemed overly focused on not reacting to his remarks and swift comments, that she couldn't help but. She seemed relatively irritated with herself. Damon's smirk widened. He knew what was going through her mind, what was poisoning her innocence. It was blatant in the way she held herself and the expression that her complexion possessed. Yet he refrained from handing her this knowledge by remaining quiet about his own.

Damon simply watched her with mild amusement as she persisted to press the antiseptic soaked towel to numerous holes and slices in his skin. He used her as a distraction from the stinging the remedy generated upon the bloody wounds; her face, her hair, her eyes, the way her fingers tended with a delicate touch to his mutilated form with apparent flair. Maybe she'd done this before.

"Since when have you EVER not liked it?" scoffed Damon in a similar tone to Elena's, his eyes still exploring her face. "You look good when you're concentrating," he commented, smirking, "But I know where those hands would do a better job."

It was typically Damon; he played with his food before he ate it. At least, in most circumstances. He knew that this particular comment would get to Elena somehow, but just in case he misunderstood his own admittance into her thoughts, he reached out and traced his index finger oh-so-lightly over the hand that gripped his thigh.

"Why did you save me?" he questioned quietly, observing as his finger drew invisible, intricate patterns on the skin on the back of her stilled hand. He frowned. "After you said that … what we did and what we said meant nothing. That it couldn't mean anything. You must've realised that I was worth saving for a reason, other than because I'm Stefan's brother and-" he paused, suddenly experiencing an epiphany. He looked up at her quite abruptly, suspicion alive in his eyes. "How did you know where I was?"

Why was it so that Damon had the strongest and most persistent stare out of every being Elena had ever encountered? Every shift his blazing blue orbs made, no matter how insignificant Elena was able to recall where they'd relocated to. Perhaps it was more so the fact of how he made her feel not only completely different to how anyone else could, but how every little emotion, every mere brush of skin was magnified and intensified by one thousand. And although her hands were almost constantly busying themselves at Damon's torso, with no doubt occasionally putting a little more pressure than needed, when getting the impression a snarky comment were to escape his lips... She mentally cursed him, firstly for being so unnervingly attractive and then herself for being so drawn to him.

Elena allowed an amused, but tired, not the less huff slip from the slight part in between her two lips as her eyes raised from their fixture upon Damon's blemished torso. Each of her brown brows shot up, complimenting not on the prior sound she'd made but also her further comment.

"You can be such an arrogant dick sometimes," she paused, cocking her head to the side, mirroring the action of which Damon had done so many times before "Oh, wait - you are ALL the time," she muttered; and the moment Elena was about to return to her nursing duties, his next sentence caught her attention and she narrowed her eyes a degree further, scowling at him "Well..."

Her entire frame halted its casual movement at touch of his skin against her own and although her reflex reaction would've been to slap his hands away - she couldn't... Not as his forefinger began tracing so delicately, so tentatively across the skin there.

She sucked in a huge breath, and instead of locking eyes with the immortal, she looked at their hands. Her eyes widened a little and her expression mellowed, but it hadn't completely softened.

"I saved you... I saved you because you didn't deserve to die because you'd given your life for me; that's why," she replied, attempting to sound indifferent but not quite managing it; his words, his sorrow were like daggers to her heart and she knew how his features would've been fixed and she just couldn't face that; however, at his further question regarding Elena's excellent Damon-tracking, she snatched her hand away and her face hardened "How am I supposed to know? Vampires... Vampires are predictable!"

Of course, Damon knew that he was an arrogant dick and often took great pride in that. The trait got him places and frequently lured in various women who turned out to be quite delicious. After all, who didn't like a quirky male with a sufficient appetite? Most women would throw themselves at his first upon first glance, but Elena … She was different. She was a tougher nut to crack. It took more than just a simple tool to break the way through. But Damon was prepared to go to such lengths, and would not give up until he finally succeeded in cracking her shell.

"But that shack was in the middle of nowhere. And I've only ever been there as a human."

Damon didn't believe that that was the only reason Elena had rushed to his rescue. As much as he despised his experience of becoming a damsel in distress, he couldn't not be thankful for her help.

To prove that he really did appreciate what she'd done for him, he smiled at her – by now ignoring the significance of how she'd found him - but it was the smallest most indistinct of smiles as of yet. The way she slapped his hand away from hers threw him off guard a miniscule amount; once again, she was being coherent and Damon didn't like it. He knew she wanted to give in, to push down the barriers she had up, keeping him out, keeping her in, but she'd learnt well from his younger brother. She was resisting, and tremendously well.

"Elena," murmured Damon, discarding his thankful smile and replacing it with a sober gaze. For the second time, he extended his arm towards her, but instead of trailing his fingers across her stationary hand, he lifted it to her face and caught a strand of her hair between his fingers. Fluidly, gracefully and carefully, he tucked it back behind her ear, before dropping his hand to the base of her neck.

He stroked it lightly. "Don't tell me you don't feel anything when I touch you." His voice of confidence and arrogance had been replaced by one of an apprehensive whisper, so feeble that only Elena would be able to hear it. He watched her expectantly, assuming she would react in some way. She had to. What was he to do if she didn't?

Elena's eyes were scorching fires as they burned their way over his faultlessly sculptured face and ultimately captured his gaze - she held it firmly, without falter, as if encouraging Damon to once again provoke her; how could someone of whom one cared deeply for agitate them so much? It was as though if Damon and Elena weren't fighting with fists or battling with words then they were succumbing to their forbidden, nevertheless intense desire for one another. Without a doubt, it perplexed the human, and angered her - but the reality of the situation was not the reason she'd chosen to air her feelings through aggression, it was because she was scared. No, she was petrified; Damon brought forth a side of her, buried in the vast depths of her soul that had remained recessive for a reason, but around Damon it was unleashed.

Their love was intoxicating and it overwhelmed her, enveloped her until Elena could no longer decipher what was correct and proper, and in contrast what was the opposite. But Elena could never voice that; she could never attempt to make anyone understand, not Damon and especially not Stefan. Building upon this, she decided denying him was the only solution. It had to be. And in harsh irony, Elena was caught off guard completely by the soothing murmur of Damon's voice - it had lost its arrogance and adopted a new tone... That of sincerity? No, that couldn't possibly be right - Damon and sincerity were not things of which could be related to each other in any way. The thought just wasn't conceivable; but like many things regarding the elder Salvatore, he wasn't predictable by any means.

Her eyes opened to their usual capacity as she inhaled shaky breaths, her top teeth leaning themselves into the soft skin at her lower lip as she contemplated a reaction. His words sent shudders down her spine, and for a moment or two, Elena felt like giving in to the teasing temptation, but luckily; her self-control kicked in and she flinched away from him.

"When will you learn?" She said, angrily before tossing the bottle along with the towel to the ground and slapping his hand; she once again forced him against the satin sheets, only this time found herself on top of him, her legs astride of each of his hips as she added "To keep your damn hands to yourself?"

He couldn't take his eyes off her lips; the perfect shape of them, their flawless shade of dusky-rose, the way her teeth grazed them in perceptible preparation. All these factors programmed irrevocable covetousness to pulse through him. Genuine need was all he felt at the current time, and if he didn't vanquish that need with what he wanted most, he didn't know what he would do. He was out of heartfelt comments, so that could be scratched off the list. He could say something that would relate to Elena's abstinence, but he was certain she was well aware of it. So he kept his mouth shut. Besides, he could see it in her eyes … She wanted him. All sobrieties aside, she so wanted him.

"Elena-" he began in suppliant tones, but was cut off by a vigorous blow to the chest. Before he knew it, he found himself falling backwards onto the sensually-soft sheets of his black bedding.

Damon hadn't been expecting a reaction as fiery as this, but a complaint didn't spring to mind. Her potency and her badly-concealed ardency were enough to generate a zealous pounding rhythm in his chest, and he found himself wanting her more than he originally thought. Her domineering position and formidable hold over him shot a lust-drive scorching through his veins, heating his blood and tackling every muscle that shaped him.

It took several seconds for Damon to register that what had just happened had actually happened, until he finally responded with redoubtable enthusiasm, the infamous Salvatore smirk gracing his lips with its presence once more.

Her chest in-flated and de-flated as her hands anchored onto his shoulders holding him down; and like a switch fixed within the realms of her subconscious, Elena felt her inner wall slowly deteriorate as she, in one swift, fluid motion, caught Damon's lips in her own and began kissing him; profusely.

"My, my," Damon breathed, his heart racing at the feisty yet dulcet words that whirled from Elena's lips. "Say goodbye to your asceticism." It was all he could say, for Elena had advanced on him in evident defeat, pressing her lips hungrily against his, obstructing any more words from escaping his pout.

Steph+Jackie x3