The Rain King

By Terri Botta

Summary: Sequel to The Queen of Unintended Consequences. Six years after Damon leaves Elena with Klaus, he's called back to handle a delicate situation. An AU Season 3 fic.

A/N: Many thanks to my awesome betas Glamoured-by-Eric, Kate C, and Layla Reyne

Chapter Ten

When it finally happened, it took him by complete surprise. In hindsight, he realized it shouldn't have been such a shock; it had been building for the better part of two weeks, and the fact that he'd held out for so long was a testament to his ironclad control. But really, sex had been the last thing on his mind when she'd tackled him in the kitchen yesterday. She'd caught him in a moment of weakness, however, and that was the end of it. Frankly, he couldn't be certain that she hadn't planned it all along. Both she and her alter ego were sneaky that way.

It had been a day just like any other day. After spending the last thirteen days sleeping with her, eating with her, and spending pretty much every waking hour together, he'd gotten used to being in a constant state of semi-arousal. He'd perfected the art of jerking off in the shower in under four minutes, because that was about all the time he had to himself in any given twenty-four hour period if she wasn't asleep. She also had the uncanny ability to interrupt him the moment he'd reach to touch himself, as if she had some sort of sixth sense for it.

He hadn't minded it too much, since the rewards of his restraint far outweighed the drawbacks. He had Elena all to himself, in both her incarnations, and they were proving to be a damn good team. They worked together, cooked together, shopped together, made big decisions together, and he was even accompanying her to the visits with Dr. Fell and watching birthing videos with her. Frankly, no amount of bloody torture could have prepared him for the reality of human birth. He had no idea how women did it, let alone the ones who did it multiple times. He thanked God that the doctor wasn't stupid enough to suggest birthing classes because, while he might be just fine with his pregnant female, putting him in a room full of them and their own overprotective mates was a very, very bad idea.

But the point was that they'd been steadily building a life together. They'd gone to Richmond where they'd bought her an Audi crossover SUV hybrid in "moonlight" blue. He secretly loved the vehicle, but felt obligated to give Elena a hard time about it just on principle. If she'd noticed that they usually took her car when they went out instead of his Camaro, she'd never mentioned it. The car seat had yet to be acquired as she was doing extensive research on the best one, but that was just a matter of time.

She'd chosen to convert "her" bedroom – the one right next to his – into the nursery. It was a large enough room to accommodate a bedroom suite for her plus all the furniture required for the safe housing and rearing of an infant. When he'd taken her down into the Boarding House's basement storage rooms and offered her his and Stefan's baby furniture, she'd almost started to cry. There was the rocking chair that had come all the way from Philadelphia, and the rosewood crib that the slaves had made when his mother was pregnant with him.

Yes, they'd owned slaves. Just about every rich landowner in the South had owned slaves in the 1800's. Saying that his family was good to their slaves was a piss poor apology for "owning" another human being, but the truth was that the Salvatore slaves were better housed and treated than other slaves in Mystic Falls, and Senora Salvatore was well loved. The way he remembered his nurse telling it, there had been much rejoicing among the slaves when his mother had announced her pregnancy, and their happiness was evidenced in the sturdy, masterful woodwork on the crib.

The prize find was the rocking cradle which had been hand carved by his maternal grandfather himself and sent all the way from Italy. It was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship with the Salvatore crest painted on one end and his mother's family crest on the other. Pineapples and other symbols of abundance and prosperity were carved into the sides, and the whole thing was topped with an attachment for a netting canopy to keep direct sunlight and insects off the baby. Elena had taken one look at it and fallen in love.

He'd just finished carefully cleaning and restoring each piece of furniture for the nursery within the last two days. He'd conditioned and preserved the wood, and purchased new bedding for the crib and cradle. Elena had chosen a diaper-changing table with storage drawers that complimented the antiques, and the whole room was coming together nicely. The next thing on his list to-do was to convert the room's bay window into a reading/nursing nook where Elena could read or hold the baby while looking out over the cultivated gardens in the backyard.

Yesterday – the day everything changed – they'd come home from a visit with Dr. Fell where they'd received an ultrasound of the littlest Gilbert-to-Be. It had been Elena's first ultrasound (and his, too) and they'd been amazed at how well-formed the baby was even if she was only five inches long and weighed less than six ounces. They could easily see her head, feet, the curve of her spine, and even the beating of her tiny heart as it whoosh-whoosh-whooshed across the screen and out of the machine's speakers. He'd heard her heartbeat pretty much from day one, of course, but it was the first time Elena had also heard it. She'd reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly as tears welled in her eyes.

"There she is," Dr. Fell had said, and he'd wanted to scowl and make a snarky comment about her being Captain of the Fucking Obvious.

According to the good doctor, or not so good doctor if she was willing to make deals with vampires in trade for blood donations, Elena's baby was about eighteen weeks along and on track for her scheduled December 8th debut. Dr. Fell, or Meredith as she wanted them to call her, had announced that she didn't see any abnormalities or issues of concern with the baby or Elena's womb, and she'd sent them both off with a prescription for acid reflux pills in case Elena started getting heartburn and a remarkably detailed print out of the ultrasound where they could clearly see the baby's face. They were due to come back in two weeks for another check-up.

Damon had thanked the doctor and offered his arm to fulfill his end of their deal. His relationship with Dr. Fell was cordial, but strained. She knew far too much about vampires for his comfort, and he did not like having to give her his blood every time he and Elena came in for a visit. It was just two vials, which was hardly much at all, but she was using it to heal patients, and that meant random people were walking around with his blood in their systems. If they died, they'd come back, and newbie vamp plus pregnant lady plus over-protective vampire guardian equaled a potential blood bath. Dr. Fell assured him that anyone she dosed with vampire blood was kept at the hospital the requisite twenty-four hours to allow it to dissipate from the person's system, but he still wasn't completely comfortable with it.

She also had the nasty habit of asking him all sorts of questions while Elena was getting changed; questions about his vampirism, questions about Elena and her "situation," questions about Klaus and the Originals, any of which had the potential to get them all very dead if the wrong ears happened to overhear. He deflected her inquiries as best he could, and he wished he could compel her to make her forget, but she was on vervain. He was worried that he would one day have to kill her, and he really didn't want to do that. She was Liz's friend, and if he killed her, he'd have to find a new doctor for Elena, and that'd be an inconvenience he didn't want to deal with, but he was growing increasingly concerned with her questions.

When he and Elena had returned from home the visit with Dr. Fell, he'd needed some time with his Elena, so he lit the coltsfoot and brewed the tea. She drank at least two cups of the mental clarity blend every day, and it was really having an effect. Combined with the coltsfoot, and other mind clearing scents, they were getting it down to a science, and Elena was stretching her boundaries, able to extend her time "out" more and more each day. It looked like, as long as nothing she did was in direct conflict with the compulsion, she was able to navigate. Still, they had developed a special code to make sure each knew who was talking. If it was her, she would call him David, in honor of his friend, David Skinner who had been killed in the Civil War, and he would call her Teresa, because sometimes him saying her name would trigger Stepford Elena to resurface. Teresa was Barbie's perky, brunette friend in the doll series. Elena had asked him how he knew that, and he'd told her that he was a veritable plethora of useless trivia. He didn't want to admit that he'd been secretly stockpiling Barbie shit ever since he'd found out she was having a girl- including a special edition, custom-made Vampire Hunter Barbie that came complete with crossbow and stake-laden garter. God, there were days when he loved being rich.

His Elena was still having issues looking at him, so he did his best to keep his back to her as much as possible, which might have been a contributing factor in him being so blind-sided. He'd made a lemon poundcake, one of his favorites because the scent of lemon always reminded him of summer in Italy, and he'd been discussing the pros and cons of using a limoncello glaze versus buttercream icing when she'd suddenly grabbed him. One moment, he'd been explaining how the limoncello really brought out the citrus flavors in the cake, and the next she'd been shoving her tongue down his throat.

He'd gasped and tried to shove her away because he was certain that something had triggered the return of her alter-ego, but then she'd looked him in the eye and said, "It's okay, David."

David. She'd called him David.

That was all he'd needed to give himself the green light. Somehow, he'd managed to avoid knocking the lemon pound cake off the granite counter, but at least two spoons, a spatula and a bowl clattered to the floor as she tackled him. Her arms gripped his shoulders as she'd attempted to climb him like a tree, her legs wrapping around his waist and her weight bending him back against the edge of the counter. He'd reached around and slid his hands underneath her, supporting her as he'd tried to clear enough of his mind to think about what the fuck was happening. It was hard when his body was doing a victory dance, and the heavens were trumpeting the 1812 Overture complete with cannons.

The one thing he'd been absolutely certain of, however, was his commitment that their first time – their very first time – would be in his bed. For all that he'd have her in every room in the house, in both cars, in the garden, hell he'd even take her on the roof if that's what she wanted, he'd insisted that their initial lovemaking happen on his sheets and pillows, and he'd refused to concede the argument, no matter how insistent Elena seemed to be.

He'd managed to get them up the stairs, despite Elena's efforts to strip him en route. She'd already ripped the back of his shirt to shreds, and he'd nearly lost his balance on the landing of the staircase when she'd reached for his belt, but miracle of miracles, he'd gotten them both into his bedroom in vamp speed time. He'd tossed her on the bed, grinning as she'd bounced a bit, then got her hands under her to push herself further up the mattress, her eyes sparkling and her lips pulled up into a sexy grin. He'd grinned back and pulled off what was left of his shirt, dropping it to the floor.

Then he'd just stopped. He was standing there frozen at the foot of his bed, with her there in it, and he'd frozen. It was too much, too surreal, and he hadn't been sure who he was about to get into bed with. He was there, on the edge of agony, praying it was real, but ready to put the kibosh on the whole thing if he had any hint that his Elena wasn't as into it as he was. He was panting, wide-eyed and breathless, waiting for a sign, when she'd reached out a hand to him.

"Damon…" she'd breathed.

Damon, not David, and he'd wanted to sob and fall to his knees because it wasn't her.

"Damon," she'd called again, and this time he'd heard his Elena in the voice.

He'd stared into her eyes, straining to see her, and she'd nodded slightly. She was there, looking back at him, even if Stepford Elena was there, too, and he'd realized that it was unrealistic to expect her to be able to maintain complete control under such emotional circumstances. It was enough that she'd started it, that she'd wanted it, and that she was there with him. She and her alter ego had to be in complete accord for her to be so close to the surface, and he had to be okay with that.

"Elena," he'd whispered, allowing himself to move forward to put one knee on the bed.

Her hand had grabbed his arm as her lips claimed his, and he'd been drawn down into the softness and sweetness that was her body.

He'd been certain that she'd been expecting him to rip off her clothes and have her eight ways before teatime, and part of him thought that was what she'd wanted, but it was their first time, and he was going to savor it. So he'd slowed down, intent on making each touch count, and committing himself to memorizing each sigh, each shudder, and each intake of breath as he'd learned her body.

He'd undressed her slowly, reverently, as if he was unwrapping the most precious gift he'd ever received. His first sight of her breasts nearly brought him to tears, and he'd bent his head to each nipple to say hello with the tip of his tongue. He'd slid off her jeans, socks and panties (plain cotton ones she'd worn for her doctor's visit) and had her naked on the bed where he could drink his fill of her with his eyes. He'd left his jeans on since he didn't know if he could hold back once he'd started touching her, and he hadn't wanted to come all over the sheets if he lost it.

He'd given her his best smoldering look as he'd kissed his way down her body, from the base of her throat, through the valley between her breasts, and across the taut skin of her belly just beginning to show the new life growing within her. He'd kept going, placing tiny kisses below her navel, headed lower until he was between her thighs. He'd flicked his gaze up to see what she was doing, and he'd caught her staring at him with a wide-eyed, longing look. That was when he'd realized that no one had ever done this for her. Certainly not the quarterback, who'd more than likely been a virgin for her first time, and there was no way his brother would have been able to handle being that close to her femoral artery. He had no idea if any of the men she'd been with when she wasn't being "saintly" had tried it with her, but he didn't think so; not judging by the expression on her face. He could tell she'd wanted it. She'd wanted it desperately, and who was he to deny her?

The first pass of his tongue had been tentative. He understood that the sensations could be so overwhelming at first that they could border pain, so he'd gently eased her into it. She'd tasted incredible, but he'd held himself in check, even as he reveled in the knowledge that he was the first man to savor her. Little Damon was screaming, but he'd refused to be rushed. This time was for her, and there'd be opportunities afterwards to address his needs. He'd run his tongue along her flushed skin, deliberately avoiding the sensitive tip of her clitoris, waiting until he'd thought she was ready for that first touch. He'd used his fingers as his attentions had made her wet, sliding two into her and probing for that spot he knew he would find that would make her arch her back and gasp in pleasure. Every woman had one; on some it was harder to find than others, but he'd known immediately when he'd found hers, because she'd shuddered like someone had just plugged her into a power socket.

He'd rubbed the spot with his fingers and gone back to work on her with his tongue, this time touching her clitoris directly and holding on as she'd bucked upwards and climaxed. She'd cried out and gasped his name, fisting a hand into his hair and spreading her legs to pull him closer. He'd growled against her wet flesh and resumed licking, bringing her to a second orgasm as she'd panted and writhed beneath his unrelenting mouth. He could already tell that his tongue and her clit were going to be BFFs, and he was planning play-dates that would last all afternoon.

On the edge of her third climax, he'd felt her yanking on his hair, and nearly ripping it out by the roots. He'd raised his head to see what she wanted, and she'd grabbed him by the back of his neck, urging him to come up her body. He'd allowed it, letting her draw him forward until she could kiss him and taste herself on his lips as her hands had reached down to undo his belt.

Mama Salvatore's eldest was no fool, nor had he'd needed to be told twice. He'd stripped off his jeans and boxers, and let her see him in all his vulnerable glory. Then it had been her turn to be timid and uncertain as she'd touched him carefully. He'd smiled at her and laid down beside her, letting her explore his body and take her time. Her fingers had brushed over him with the shyness of the virgin he'd known she wasn't, but her tentative caresses were heaven. There was no part of him that he denied her, and he'd let her touch him everywhere, shifting to accommodate her explorations when necessary.

In truth, he'd been terrified. He'd wanted her so much, loved her so much, and had dreamed about having her for so long that when it finally happened, he'd been nearly paralyzed. It had been the point of no return, and he'd needed Elena to drag him across it.

"Elena, are you sure?" he'd asked multiple times, and each time she'd answered yes with her mouth and her body until he couldn't resist any longer.

When she'd wrapped her hand around his length and tugged gently, encouraging him to climb atop her, he'd let her lead him. He'd rolled and lifted up until he'd been hovering over her, his hips coming to rest between her thighs. She'd parted her legs and lifted her pelvis in just the right way to make it easier for him to enter. He'd held eye contact the entire time as she'd positioned him, and then she'd grabbed his ass to pull him forward and bring him home.

The moment of their union had been electric. Seriously, he'd felt as if his entire body had just been lit up like the lights in Vegas, and his crotch was the Bellagio. There'd been short circuits going off in his head, and somewhere in there he'd heard Elena calling his name, and urging him to move. In a rush of emotion, he'd come back on-line and did as she requested. He'd thrust deep, claiming her, and she'd wrapped her arms around him and dug her nails into his back. The sexy, amazing, little minx had known exactly how much pressure to apply to make the scratches pleasure-pain, and he'd smelled his own blood. It had driven him crazy, and he'd thrown off the last of his restraints and just went for it.

They'd strained together, her feet balanced on the backs of his thighs until he'd hooked his elbows under her knees, drawing her legs up, and he'd raised his torso so he could look at her. She'd stared at him, her face open and wanton as he'd ridden her, and he'd stared back, watching her face for clues as to what pleased her. She'd been glorious in her pleasure, showing him exactly what she liked and how she liked it, until they were both shuddering and moaning. Her orgasm triggered his own, and he'd come with the force of six years of want and longing. He'd almost blacked out.

Afterwards, he'd whispered her name over and over, kissing her, stroking her, and declaring his love. She'd held him and soothed him, and wiped the sweaty hair from his brow. Once he'd felt he could stand, he'd gotten out of bed and sped down to the kitchen. He'd tossed the fallen utensils and bowl into the sink, and grabbed a fork and the lemon pound cake. He'd brought it back up to her where she was still waiting in his bed, rumpled, flushed, and looking like a fallen angel. He'd fed her bits of the cake, not caring about the crumbs because the sheets were getting sealed into a protective bag where he could open it and smell the scent of their first sex whenever he wanted to relive the dream.

They'd fed each other (lemon pound cake would forever be branded in his brain as being synonymous with that day, and he'd never look at it the same way again) and made love two more times before Elena had to sleep. He'd watched over her, guarding her rest and cataloging all the ways he was completely screwed. He'd never let her go now. No, if someone wanted to take her from him, it'd be over his dead body. And she'd staked her claim just as surely as he'd staked his, drawing him in and keeping him there long after they'd reached completion.

When she woke up later in the evening, he'd prepared a "lover's" meal of finger foods meant to be eaten by hand or fed to a partner, and they'd enjoyed their dinner in bed. They'd made love again after and fell asleep snuggled together. In the morning, he'd drawn a bath and bathed with her, giving her the Damon Salvatore bubble bath experience complete with full body salt scrub and scalp massage, and then they'd showered together where he'd introduced her to morning shower sex.

After breakfast, there were errands to run and shopping to do since they were running low on coltsfoot and some of the other herbs for her teas, but the afternoon found them in bed again, reveling in the afterglow of another round of lovemaking, and he was very glad for his vampire stamina otherwise he would not have been able to keep up with her. He wondered how long this "sex kitten" stage of her pregnancy would last. Not long probably, because she'd be getting heavier, and the baby would be putting more pressure on her spine. All too soon she'd go from "take me now, you hunk of a vampire you!" to "don't touch me!" so he intended to enjoy the ride for as long as he could.

Now they were in that languid, post-coital state of contented relaxation with the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the French doors of his room, when he got up to light a bit of coltsfoot and sage in the incense bowl, and simmer some rosemary oil in the oil burner. He'd discovered that his Elena would come out in the lazy, half-drowsy moments after Stepford Elena had been sufficiently fucked into oblivion. She was watching him as he returned to the bed, her gaze appreciative, and it made him stand a little taller and strut a bit.

"Like what you see?" he asked, smirking, his eyes turning predatory.

"Mmmm hmm," she purred, stretching. "I think I see my Skinner."

He cracked a grin and hurried to get back into bed so he could kiss her. "And I think I see Barbie's bestie," he said, laying down beside her and stroking her arm. "Where is she?"

Both of them knew which she he was talking about, and Elena's gaze looked far away for a moment before she came back.

"She's sated and happy. She'll be dormant for a while."

He smiled and relaxed next to her, his head cradled by his pillows, and his hand lightly caressed her abdomen, slowing down as he stroked his fingers over her womb.

"Dr. Fell says I'll start feeling her soon," she said, placing her hand next to his on her belly.

"Mmm hmmm."

"It was really cool to hear her heartbeat yesterday."

"Yeah, it was," he agreed.

"You can hear it all the time, can't you?"

He nodded and tapped his ear. "Vampire hearing. I've heard her since the day you were given back to me."

"What does she sound like now?"

"Like she did at the doc's office. Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh like a galloping horse," he answered, a wistful smile on his lips.

"I'll bet you were an excellent rider," she commented.

"I was a Southern Gentleman. Mother bought me my first pony when I was three."

"I would have loved to meet your mother. She must have been an amazing woman."

"She was. She would've liked you," he agreed fondly.

"Do you think so? Wouldn't she have hated me for how awful I was to you."

"Yes, but she would've forgiven you just like I did."

"Do you look like her?" she asked with the innocence of someone who had no idea the wounds she was uncovering.

"Yeah. Stefan took after my father, but I was my mother's son," he admitted.

"That must've been hard on you; looking like her after she'd died and your father hating you for no reason."

"Oh, I gave him plenty of reasons to hate me."

"After he'd driven you to them. I wonder what you would've been like if she'd lived."

"Dead before 1900 because there's no way my mother would've let Katherine anywhere near our house. She would've seen her for the manipulative bitch she was and given her the boot," he said, trying not to growl at the memory of his first doomed love.

"You loved your mother very much."

"Yeah," he replied, and he wanted to add that she'd been the only one who'd ever loved him unconditionally, but he didn't dare to say it out loud. "What's all this talk about my mom? I mean, it's not a typical subject of conversation after someone's just rocked your world."

She chuckled and twined her fingers with his. "I was just wondering what kind of mom I'm going to be. It really sunk in yesterday when I heard her heartbeat and saw her picture on the ultrasound."

"A great one," he assured her.

"Am I?"

She looked at him, her eyes wide and searching his for comfort.

"Yes," he replied with conviction. "Anyone with a big enough heart to forgive a screw-up like me, is going to be an incredible mom."

She shook her head. "No, you're the one with the big heart. We betrayed you and hurt you so many times, and you still wouldn't abandon us. You've even forgiven me for the horrible way I treated you."

She was starting to tear up, and that was never good.

"Hey, hey. None of that. It's all in the past now. No use in dwelling on it. We learn from our mistakes and move on."

She sniffled and nodded, cupping his face with one hand. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm me."

She laughed, but then turned serious again. "I'm gonna have a baby, Damon."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm gonna have a baby, and we'll live with you, and you'll take care of us."

"Yes, I will," he vowed, and added silently, 'Forever, for always, or I'll die trying.'

"So that means we're going to have a baby and be a family."

He had to admit that he hadn't really seen it that way, because he'd never be a father, but he supposed staying with her and helping her raise her daughter counted as filling a fatherly role. The idea filled him with all sorts of emotions and dreams that he hadn't thought would ever be possible.

"I guess we are," he agreed, smiling at her and moving closer.

"I love you, Damon. I love you so much," she said in an impassioned rush.

The words speared him right through the heart, and he gasped. They were everything he had ever wanted and never dared to wish or hope for.

"Elena…"

"I do. I know you don't believe me, but I do. I love you. I love you."

Tears were leaking from her eyes, and he felt his own beginning to fall. She saw them and drew a sharp, surprised breath before reaching up to wipe them away with her thumb. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. All he could do was press her closer to his trembling body and bury his face in her hair. She might have said something to him, soothing words or coos of comfort, and she might have stroked his head. He couldn't be sure because the dam had broken, and the rush of emotion was white noise roaring in his ears. He clutched her to him, trying not to sob as she wrapped her arms around him and held him together as he fell apart.