With the morning comes a clear head, strong black coffee, and a feeling of supreme satisfaction. Damon lounges across the king sized bed that he and Elena had shared the night before, sipping slowly from the thin paper Starbucks cup and balancing Elena's cell phone on his flat stomach. Lazily, he weighs the options in his head - to call or not to call? Stefan's number is already dialed in. All he has to do is press send.
Groaning over the idea of thinking hard enough to make an actual decision, he rolls over, sending the cell phone to the mattress, lifting his head up in the direction of the bathroom.
"Elena, should I call Stefan?"
"Sure," she says, her unconcerned voice filtering through the bathroom door. "Tell him I'm not dead."
"Right-o," Damon chuckles, letting the call through and lifting the phone to his ear. Stefan answers before the first ring is over. Pathetic. Does he honestly have nothing better do than wait by the phone?
"Helloooo, brother," Damon drawls, his smile widening, enthusiastic about the game that is about to commence - Stefan-teasing. It happens to be his favorite pastime. "How may I be of service?"
"Bring Elena home," Stefan growls, obviously not in the same blissfully untroubled mood as Damon. At this, Damon smirks. Again.
"You know, I think I might just keep her. Maybe forever. I haven't decided yet. She's actually quite amusing, for a human. I'm starting to get why you like her so much." Elena takes this perfectly timed opportunity to walk out of the bathroom, brushing out her hair. Smiling at Damon, she wanders over to the desk, taking a sip the coffee he bought her.
"Damon, I will find you," Stefan says on the other end of the phone. Damon rolls his eyes.
"Stefan, we both know that isn't true. Besides, Elena is perfectly fine. She has all her limbs intact and isn't missing one ounce of her precious blood, so don't get your panties in a bunch."
"Let me talk to -"
Damon hardly cares enough to listen to the rest of his brother's words, holding the phone out silently to Elena. Her hand brushes his more than necessary as she takes her phone from him, and she throws a wink back over her shoulder as she wanders back into the bathroom with the phone pressed to her ear, shutting the door behind her.
Flopping back onto the bed and taking another gulp of his coffee, Damon appreciates the warmth in his stomach (a product of both Elena's affection and his piping hot drink), and tries hard not to think about the reasons for Elena's taking her conversation with Stefan behind closed doors. Really, it isn't his business what they talk about, anyways.
Two minutes, three and a half seconds later - not that he's counting or anything - Elena emerges from the bathroom, phone in her pocket, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, and a smile that is as lazy as his lifting the corners of her mouth. "Thanks for the coffee," she smiles, grabbing her cup and coming to sit beside him where he leans against the headboard, fitting herself comfortably into the hollow space made between his outstretched arm and his side.
"No problem," he smiles, squeezing her shoulders. And then, because he can't help himself - "How'd it go with Stefan?"
"He's…worried, understandably," Elena starts, hesitant, picking at a stray thread in the comforter. "But I told him I'm fine, not to look for me." She says this quietly, still not looking at him.
"Elena…"
"Yes?"
When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide, vulnerable as a fawn's. She is soft and warm against him, her legs tangled with his and the sheets, her body insinuated so closely next to his that he's not quite sure where unbreakable vampire skin meets fragile human flesh and blood. This real, here-and-now.
He meant to speak, to lay out an ultimatum, but he finds that he can't. Not with her so close and distracting, turning his insides into some unrecognizable sort of goo. She takes warm and fuzzy to the extreme - he feels like his heart has practically melted straight through his chest.
Instead of talking, of ruining the moment with words, Damon bends his neck, bringing his head level with hers, the fingers of one hand reaching gently out to trace the edge where her jaw meets her throat. She kisses him this time, closing the distance between their mouths in one searing-hot movement, capturing his lower lip between hers, nipping gently. Trembling helplessly against her, weak like a newborn colt, he lets her take the lead. As her fingers push his chest back, down against the headboard, he marvels at the power she has over him.
Human and feeble as she is, she has him completely under her control, bent to her will as surely as a tree broken by a hurricane. He is powerless against her, vulnerable, shaking-weak as her hand creeps under his shirt. Elena is like nothing he has ever known, a force of nature, her mind as bright as standing the sun without his Lapis Lazuli ring, but minus the pain. Elena, he thinks, her name is Greek for light. How very appropriate.
Eventually, the girl in question detaches her lips from him and curls up against his side, leaving him a weightless tangle of fiery nerve-endings and overheated skin, lying dazed on the bed with his shirt unbuttoned - when did that happen? - and a faint pleasure-pain pulsing just over his carotid artery. Confused, Damon lifts his hand to his neck, sluggishly applying pressure to the odd-feeling area. The skin is hot and slightly swollen under his fingertips.
Elena frowns, batting his hand away and sitting up, inspecting his neck clinically, as though she had not just finished introducing his body to the definition of the word ravish.
"Damn, I'm sorry!" She says suddenly, leaping from the bed and dashing over to the ice bucket on the desk before he has time to answer. Carefully, she presses an ice cube to the hot spot on his neck, rubbing back and forth like she expects something to happen. "I thought your skin was unmark-able," she adds under her breath, seeming a bit disconcerted.
"Not unmark-able," Damon corrects, trying to sit up, glaring at her when she pushes him back down, "unbreakable. We can get bruises and rug burn and - wait a second, what exactly is wrong with my neck?"
Elena blushes a deep scarlet, looking down and away, still holding the half-melted ice to his neck, though he is so numb from the cold that he can hardly feel her fingers anymore. "I -" she breaks off, embarrassed. Damon is instantly intrigued. Not many things embarrass cool-and-confident Elena.
"Tell me."
There is shifting and debating, stalling as she wanders over to the bathroom to dump the rest of the ice cube in the sink. Damon waits on the bed, knowing it is only a matter of time before she succumbs - his eyes have been boring holes into her back since she avoided his question. Finally, she turns back to him, reaching unexpectedly for his iPod on the bedside table. Silently, she scrolls through his applications, then taps out a few letters. Hand shaking, she passes the device to him.
And then she turns on her heel, running for the bathroom. Not even glancing at his iPod screen, he gets up to follow, but for once, she is faster, and the door is locked behind her before he is halfway across the room.
Confusion drawing his eyebrows together, Damon picks up his iPod, wondering what could possibly freak Elena out. Elena is always calm and diplomatic, the pretty, in-control Princess who is rarely ever flustered.
His mobile dictionary application lights up underneath the glass display, showing a single word and its definition:
Hickey - a temporary red mark or bruise on a person's skin resulting from kissing or sucking by their lover.
Damon touches his neck, then the iPod screen, making sure he is reading right. Then he touches his neck again, fingers resting longer this time, feeling the slightly raised area where Elena's mouth had been just minutes before -
And bursts into laughter. This is absolutely ridiculous. Elena, worried over hurting him, concerned over this apparently embarrassing 'hickey' thing. Elena, whose boyfriend is a vampire. She can share blood, can bear to see Stefan cut himself for her, but this bothers her?
"It's not funny," Elena's muffled, strained voice protests from the bathroom.
Rolling his eyes, but somehow managing to contain his laughter, Damon walks over to the bathroom door, leaning against the frame, tapping gently on the wood with his knuckles. "Come on, Elena, I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."
The door squeaks open a crack, and one of Elena's jewel-bright eyes peer out at him hopefully. "Are you sure?" The sniffle in her voice is pathetically adorable and endearing, tightening something in Damon's chest, stimulating that part of his brain that makes him want to hug her.
"I'm sure," he laughs gently. "Now let me in."
Elena pauses, and he can see her hand on the doorknob through the minuscule crack she has open to allow them to talk. He knows that she knows that they both know that he could force her to open the door, easy as pie, but he wants everything between them to be on her terms, so he holds back. "Really, baby, I'm fine. I don't know what you're so worked up about."
The door opens, and Elena stands in front of him, face red and tear streaked, holding a tissue to her chest for dear life. "You called me baby," she murmurs. Damon raises one eyebrow in an of-course-I-did expression.
And then she is falling into his arms, a blubbering, red-faced, cute little mess.
"I'm sorry I freaked out but I've never ever done that to anyone before, not even - not even S-Stefan, and with Stefan I tried to, but it never worked, and he told me that it was probably because he's a vampire, but I didn't even have to try with you, Damon, and maybe that means that I like kissing you more than I like kissing him, and if I kiss you harder just because you're Damon then what does that mean about me?"
She says this all very low and very fast, face pressed into the cotton of his shirt. The only way he understands is by straining his vampire ears and paying attention to the vibration of her voice through his chest. Rubbing her back, Damon remains silent for a moment, letting her calm down while he collects his thoughts.
After a pause, he walks her backward into the bathroom, hoisting her up by the waist and settling her on the bathroom counter, standing in between her spread knees like he actually has a right to be there.
"Look, Elena," he starts in his trademarked soothing voice, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Relax. Its not a big deal. So you got carried away -"
"I never got carried away with Stefan -"
" - it's not a crime," he finishes his sentence as though she didn't interrupt. "Now stop worrying about how you act around me versus how you act around my brother. We're different people, so of course you behave differently around each of us. Relax. Don't think about it as Stefan or Damon, think about which version of Elena you like better. Okay?"
Elena nods into his chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tight. "When did you get smart?"
"I'm not smart," Damon grins, "just old."
They both laugh, and Elena pulls back to look at him, ironing her thumb across his smooth, wrinkle-free forehead. "You don't look old," she jokes lamely, giggling at herself. Rolling his eyes, Damon steps away, pulling the door open wider.
"Thanks, sweetheart. Now you take a shower and get cleaned up. I'm going out."
"Out where?"
"To buy clothes and breakfast. Or would you rather be alone with a naked and hungry me?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Elena laughs, springing off the counter and taking a step towards him.
"I don't know," she says, mocking thoughtfulness. Then her smile turns wicked. She reaches for the hem of her shirt, and before he knows what is happening, her t-shirt is up and over her head. "Same question, but applied to me," she says, grinning, her shoulders exposed in the tiny pink camisole that clings to her like a second skin.
Damon is nearly salivating, so he backs out of the bathroom like anthrax has been released, hands raised in surrender. "Touché," he manages, once his back is turned on her. "Next time I'll think before making a wiseass comment."
"Yes, you will," Elena says, and when he turns back to look, she is leaning in the bathroom doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest, a smug smile on her face. "See ya in a bit."
"One more thing, Elena," Damon says, stopping her in the process of closing the bathroom door behind her. "You said you 'kiss me harder' than Stefan…" He waits until she nods gently. "It's because I seem less breakable to you. Invulnerable. Like you can push me harder. And you're right, so don't sweat it." Flashing his pearly white smile at her stunned expression, Damon saunters out the door, down the hall, taking the stairs three at a time down all thirty flights of stairs.
In the lobby, he does his own personal happy dance - hands thrown over his head, spinning a circle, not caring who sees or if he looks like an idiot. He is going out to buy clothes for Elena. Elena, who is currently taking a shower - naked, by the way - in his hotel room upstairs. Elena, who gave him this magical 'hickey' thing that Stefan never got.
Head in the clouds - or more accurately, thirty floors above him, with Elena - Damon saunters out onto the street, hailing a taxi with one smooth, practiced motion. And he can't help thinking - things are looking up for me, after all.
A/N: Hope you guys have enjoyed the recent long chapters and quick updates! Please, please, please, continue to review. It makes my day. Seriously. I plan to have another chapter up tomorrow (squee), and I don't want to give out any spoilers, but the Dark Damon that some of you are fond of will be making a reappearance soon!
Cheers, Sammy