Chapter Ten: The Simple Intimacy of the Near Touch

Three of them. They materialized out of the dark and rain, shoulder to shoulder, menacing even in their highly saturated state.

Damon's gaze flicked between them, studying them intently, anticipation coiling in his gut. Driving Cap who'd flushed him and Elena from the apartment building stood firm in the middle. The vampire to his left looked like a nice young man, and had a neatly trimmed brown beard. The right-most vampire was a tall statuesque woman with gorgeous dark brown skin. Her hair disappeared down her back, braided into a long queue.

That's it? Damon thought.

To be sure, he was outnumbered, but this was hardly the ravening horde of blood-sucking fiends snapping at his heels that his imagination had conjured up during their flight through the sewer tunnels and out into the bayou.

He waited a few beats before quipping, "At least I gave most of you the slip."

Driving Cap smiled unpleasantly. "Still three to one."

Time to better those odds. Without warning, Damon lunged across the space separating him from his enemies, teeth bared, smooth and deadly as a striking panther. He drove his hand into the bearded vampire's chest.

Either Beard Vamp had been younger, or he'd been unprepared for Damon's attack. Either way, he was dead.

Damon's wrist twisted with almost no effort. He yanked his hand free. The body dropped to the ground with a wet thump, leaving behind a still beating heart that pulsed feebly in Damon's grasp.

Damon opened his gore-soaked fist and let the organ fall to the ground. He couldn't resist giving the other two vampires a taunting look as he did so.

"Two to one," he corrected.

"Michel!" the woman screamed, a shrieking blend of pain and fury.

Driving Cap put out an arm to stifle her forward charge. "Let me handle this one."

"I don't think so, Andre. I want him."

Andre, formerly known as Driving Cap, jerked his chin at the darkness beyond them. "There's also a girl."

"Human?" Eagerness lit her face at the prospect of a real hunt, the one thing more enticing to a vampire than revenge.

Andre nodded. "Find her. But, Cherie, don't kill her. Everyone gets a turn first."

The female vampire hissed like a snake and darted away. With a vicious snarl, Damon made an effort to intercept her, but Andre cut him off.

This vampire wouldn't be so easy to kill, but Damon didn't hesitate for one fucking second, plowing into his adversary at full force. The collision knocked them to the ground. They began to wrestle, two immensely powerful immortals vying for the upper hand. Grunts of pain erupted at regular intervals. Handholds were hard to come by, fingers clutching at slippery skin and sodden clothes. The underbrush all around them was soon flattened, and the muddy ground torn up, beneath the violence of their struggle.

At the onset of the fight, Damon's rage and desperation allowed him to hold his own, but it became obvious he was ultimately going to lose when his strength flagged and there was no corresponding decline in his elder opponent's. In fact, it wasn't long before he was getting his ass handed to him.

When he found himself lying on his back being pressed down quite forcefully into the mud, Damon summoned a final, wild burst of energy and threw Andre off of him. He leapt up, though Andre regained his footing just as quickly. Even though Damon didn't technically need to breathe, he was panting.

Andre's fist shot out. Damon barely registered the blur of movement, was just a titch too slow as he tried to twist away. Knuckles clipped his cheek, splitting the skin wide open. Before he was able to recover, his rival was on him, driving him back to the ground.

Looming over him, Andre punched him once, twice, three times. The warm wetness streaming down Damon's face was more than just mud and rain water.

Though dazed, he sensed Andre making a grab for his heart, fingertips pushing through skin, parting muscle, worming their way between rib bones – which, believe it or not, hurt like hell. Damon scrabbled to stave off the threat and caught Andre's wrist. Gritting his teeth, fighting the pain, he brought to bear all that was left of his remaining strength, one last ditch effort to not die.

But he had nothing left. The elder vampire's hand inched closer to Damon's heart.

A sudden dreadful, familiar sensation crawled over his skin, the prickly, hairy feet of invisible spiders. It was stirring. The Magic. It was happening. It was choosing now to strike, when Elena was alone and unprotected.

Oh, god, not now. No, no, no, no, no, no. He was living his worst fucking nightmare. She needed him and he wasn't there!

And then, because the universe wasn't done mocking him yet, Elena's terrified scream laser beamed itself straight into his ear drums, galvanizing him like nothing else could.

No. This wasn't how he and Elena were going to die. He wouldn't allow it.

Strength flaring up in him like a burst of flash fire, he bucked his hips, an unexpected move that unseated the vampire above him and sent him toppling forward. Damon promptly rose up and slammed his forehead into soft cartilage, which sent Andre rearing back up in shock and pain, clutching his nose and opening up the soft, vulnerable underside of his throat.

Faster than a striking cobra, Damon's fangs flashed, sinking deeply. He relished the taste of his enemy's blood. When he snapped his head back with a vicious jerk, his jaws tore through skin and muscle and windpipe. Blood sprayed like a macabre geyser.

Though the wound was hardly fatal to a vampire, Andre's hands abandoned his crunched nose and flew to the savage ruin of his throat, perhaps in a vain attempt to stem the blood spurting liberally forth.

Without waiting a beat, Damon plunged his hand up into Andre's chest and yanked the pulsing organ free. Another shower of hot blood rained down on him.

He didn't even wait for the corpse to turn gray before he shoved it aside and staggered to his feet, rocketing off in the direction from which he'd heard Elena scream.

He searched frantically, covering the area as quickly as he could, heedless of the cuts on his face from whipping tree branches. He kept his senses wide open, straining his night vision for all it was worth, but in the dark and rain, it would be so easy to miss her, and that's what he was most terrified of – that he'd pass right by her and never know she was there.

The second thing he was most terrified of was that the last vampire still combing the bayou would find Elena first.

"Elena?" he called out for the hundredth time. As each second ticked by, the likelihood that he'd find her in time was dwindling. And his desperation was increasing. Where was she? How far could she have gotten in a few minutes? What if she was already –

He couldn't think it.

His muscles bunched, preparing to once more blur through space. A faint sound caught his ear. He froze. "Elena? Elena!"

"Damon!"

Her voice, faint and far off to his left, was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. He trained every ounce of predatory instinct onto that sound and let the starving monster in him find its prey, a goal it achieved with brutal, deadly efficiency.

Within seconds, he discovered her on the ground, sitting in a couple inches of standing water. Her back was to a hollowed out tree, and she was clutching her ankle. Her hair hid her face from view, a wet silk curtain.

Taking in the sight of her like this, he knew at once what had happened. She hadn't run like he'd told her to. Instead, she'd tried to find somewhere to hide nearby. He couldn't even be angry that she'd defied him. He was too overjoyed to find her still alive.

He fell to his knees in front of her. His relief was soul deep and so acute he almost lacked the breath to gasp, "Elena?"

A jagged slash of lightning illuminated the bayou the moment she looked up, was reflected in the dark gleam of her eyes. She let out a startled yelp.

"What?" He glanced down. Saw his hand still stained with blood. In the darkness, it looked black. The rain hadn't washed off all, or even most, of the blood and gore. Who only knew what the rest of him looked like. Not good, he assumed.

"It's not mine," he assured her. At least, most of it wasn't. "C'mon." He scooped her up, ever wary of the third vampire showing up. That was the most immediate, pressing threat. But at least now there was only one vampire to deal with.

"Something bit me," she told him, drawing his attention down to her.

He tightened his hold on her and stood. "I'm going to take care of you, but first we have to find somewhere safe."

He sped off through the rainy night with her securely in his arms, slowing only when he spotted a light, almost painfully bright in the darkness, an enticing will'o'the'wisp. Would this lead them into an even worse situation? Possibly. With his luck, probably. Did they have any other option except to keep running blindly in the darkness hoping they didn't stumble over an alligator or the vampire who was still hunting them? Unfortunately, no.

He adjusted course and made for the beacon of life. There wasn't much to see - just a small hunter's cabin with a tin roof. Yellow light glowed through small, opaque windows.

Not much. But it was enough.

In lieu of any other options, he approached cautiously and knocked. When he didn't hear anything, he knocked more insistently. Through the front door, he heard a male voice grumble, "What the hell?" and then the racking of a shot gun.

"Please," Damon called loudly, "I need help. My girl's been injured."

A man peered through the porthole window at the top of the door, resembling a wary, near-sighted old guard dog. Damon hoped the darkness hid the blood stains.

"Bad night to be out and about," the man observed in a gruff voice.

"I literally could not agree with you more." Damon's eyes dilated, their persuasive powers penetrating through the window. "Do you live here?"

"Yes."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

"Fantastic. Put the gun down, open the door, and invite me in."

There was the deep booming growl of thunder overhead. The man's face disappeared from the window, and the door swung inwards. "Come in."

Damon brushed past the owner of the house and entered a room with two rocking chairs and a couch along one wall. He set Elena on the couch. Drops of water clung to her hair and skin and eyelashes like sparkling jewels.

As he started to turn, she grabbed his jacket sleeve. "Don't hurt him."

He rolled his eyes. "Relax. As long as his existence means that other vampires can't enter here without an express invitation, he's perfectly safe."

He pulled free of her and went over. A vein throbbed in the man's neck. Red briefly tinged the whites of Damon's eyes. Normally, this grizzled old hermit was not his type at all, but he'd lost a lot of blood, and his hunger was more insistent than usual. But he recalled the girl sitting behind him on the couch. He gritted his teeth and shoved the hunger away. His eyes returned to normal and he was able to lean in and compel the man. "Forget you saw us. Find somewhere else to stay. Oh, and if you run into anyone else out there, don't invite them in, okay? Okay. Bye bye."

Once the man left, Damon immediately scouted the rest of the cabin to confirm it was empty. The cabin was divided into three parts: the living room where he'd left Elena, a primitive kitchen area with a giant black potbelly stove, and a small bedroom with an even smaller bathroom attached.

Could be worse. At least the bathroom wasn't an outhouse.

The search took him less than a minute. He returned to Elena, who was not looking good. Her eyes were glassy bright, and there was an unhealthy flush to her cheeks, though the rest of her face was pale with shock.

"Where were you bit?" he asked.

"My ankle." She extended her left leg.

He squatted down and began untying her shoe. "Did you see it?"

"No, I just felt when - aaahh!"

Her cry of pain arose as he was trying to slip off her shoe. Her foot and lower leg were badly swollen.

"I know," he murmured soothingly, "I'm sorry, but we have to get it off."

She clutched his shoulder until her knuckles turned white, but she made no further sounds as he removed the shoe and sock as gently as he could.

The skin exposed was a truly horrifying sight – black and malignant. Three pairs of even darker black holes were visible above and around her ankle bone. They actually looked like tiny vampire bite marks. Except instead of sucking blood out of Elena, some snake had injected into her a potentially fatal dose of venom.

The memory of finding her crouched form in the hollow of a tree played in his mind's eye. Magic could've chosen from a thousand looming perils, but it had chosen this, inducing a snake to attack and bite her as she hid.

When Elena got a glimpse of her foot for the first time, she inhaled sharply. "It was poisonous, wasn't it?"

He didn't respond, just watched the blackness sluggishly spread up her leg like a cancer. Choosing the cleaner of his two hands, the one that hadn't ripped out two vampire hearts tonight, he drew up his jacket sleeve and bit into his wrist. Which he then offered to her.

She stared as his blood streamed out scarlet over pale skin. "Does vampire blood cure snake venom?"

"We're about to find out." It had to. He'd saved her from being flattened by a truck, from drowning in a pool, and from going up in the flames of an exploding bonfire. He'd save her from this, too. "Drink."

Obeying the authority in his voice, she lowered her head, positioning her mouth over the wound on his wrist. He tried his very best not to be aroused by the sensation of her lips brushing against his skin or her tongue flicking out to lap at his blood.

When she was done, she raised her head. He slid to the ground and cradled her foot as carefully as he would a porcelain egg, needing to see the snake bite heal with his own two eyes.

After what felt like an insanely long time but was really only a matter of seconds, the black stain on her skin retreated and the fang holes shrank rapidly and disappeared altogether, drawing her back from the precipice of a painful death.

His shoulders slumped with relief. If that hadn't worked, he didn't know what he would've done. He swiped his thumb over her ankle bone and the now perfectly smooth, golden brown skin, confirming for himself she was cured. Then he looked up at her. "We'll stay here until the storm blows over. Why don't you go take a shower? Being clean and dry is just what the doctor ordered."

She avoided his gaze. "I wish you'd just go ahead and say it."

Mystified, he frowned. "Say what?"

She avoided his gaze even harder. "I told you so."

He hopped up next to her on the couch. "No way. Even I have more tact than that."

"I deserve it."

He reached over and slid his fingers along the soft line of her jaw, tilting her head and forcing her to look at him. "All jokes aside, this is on me, not you, got it?"

Anger furrowed her brow. "How is this not my fault?"

"Because I said so. Because it was my decision to let you come, even thought I knew better. Because it was my job to protect you, and I failed."

Not just failed. Failed epically and spectacularly. He'd been completely out of his mind. What had he been trying to do? Had he really been trying to have sex with Elena in a dirty, abandoned apartment?

Yes, apparently, that's exactly what he'd been trying to do, and as a result, he'd been too distracted to maintain a necessary vigilance. This sweet, beautiful girl had almost paid the ultimate price because he was the worst kind of bastard.

Elena shook her head, dislodging his hand from her face. "Even if what you just said was true, and it's not, I'm pretty sure being willing to make a heroic last stand exonerates you." She looked away, but not before he saw that her eyes were still filled with anger and frustration, all directed inward. "Me, on the other hand. I've been so selfish. I should've just stayed at home."

He leaned over and nudged her with his shoulder. "Easy, Martyr Girl. First of all, I seriously doubt that there's a single selfish bone in your body. Second, you're safe. At the end of the day, that's all that matters." He gave her another nudge. "Go take a shower."

"You first."

"Elena, you're soaking wet."

"You're covered in blood," she countered.

He looked at his hands, dried blood embedded in the cuticles of his nails and creases of his pale skin. "Oh, right."

"You go first." When he hesitated, she said, "I'll stay right here."

He glanced at the windows. "You're on vervain?"

"Yep. My bracelet." She showed him a silver charm bracelet dangling on her wrist.

He took an extremely brief shower, rinsing his hair and skin of dried blood and dirt. He switched with Elena then, and while she was cleaning up, he re-attired himself in the most suitable clothes available, but only after a thorough sniff test and determining that yes, indeed, they were clean. He also stripped the single bed and made it back up with spare sheets he found in a drawer.

When Elena emerged from the bathroom after her shower, she looked like an angel, sweet-smelling and clean, her hair loose and wet, tumbling down her back in waves, a dark contrast to the white robe he'd found for her to wear. Far too big for her, the thick terry cloth still managed to hint at those graceful curves and supple limbs, which even in the abstract made him lose his ever-loving mind.

Elena, however, seemed more amused by what he'd found to wear than anything else. She actually laughed.

He looked down at the red and black checkered flannel shirt and grey sweat pants that were slightly too large from his lean frame. "What's so amusing?"

"That's just not something I ever pictured you in." She looked down at what she was wearing and grimaced. "Though I guess I don't have much room to talk." The robe was way too big for her small frame, gaping to the side and exposing her entire left shoulder.

"Our clothes should be dry by morning. And you look stunning, as always," he remarked off-handedly. Truthfully.

"Liar." She made a self-conscious attempt at pulling the robe up her shoulder. It only stayed up for a second before slipping down again. She smiled ruefully. "But thank you."

"Hungry?"

"Very."

He went into the kitchen to investigate the food situation.

Elena trailed behind, and as she passed the chair over which he'd tossed his jacket, she placed a hand on the leather stiff with dried blood and mud. Gingerly, she fingered the hole where a stake had pierced his shoulder.

"Your jacket's ruined." The anguish in her voice struck him like a physical blow. She sounded on the verge of tears.

"And easily replaced," he was quick to assure her. "Trust me, it's not the first time." He opened an overhead cabinet above the sink and peered in. There were a ton of sealed mason jars full of unlabeled preserves, but he wasn't too keen on offering Elena something of unknown provenance.

"It feels wrong to just go through this guy's stuff," she said behind him.
Damon scoffed and opened a new cabinet, searching for anything safe for her to eat. "We're already spending the night in his house and wearing his clothes. Who cares if we eat some of his food? Jackpot." He turned to her, triumphantly waving a bottle of clear liquid. "And drink some of his moonshine?"

Elena made a eeww face. "Is there coffee?"

While he checked, she flopped down into a different chair. "My phone isn't getting service out here. Is yours?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Guess we're in the middle of nowhere."

"The vampires following us are dead?"

"Ripped their hearts out myself. Well, two out of three. And I don't see any coffee." He rescanned the scant counter space. "I don't even see a coffee maker."

She sighed. "I hate that you were in danger. I hate that it's my fault, and I hate that we're stuck in this stupid place in the middle of a freaking swamp, and there isn't even any coffee!"

He gave her a gentle look. "We covered this, remember? Not your fault. And things could definitely be worse. I mean, if I had to choose someone to be trapped in the middle of a freaking swamp with, I'd choose you." He winked. "After all, you're not the worst company in the world."

She smiled, which was all he wanted. "Yeah, I guess it could be worse."

He located cups and poured out some moonshine for himself. Then, he held up a soup can he'd scrounge up, promising with its familiar red and white label. "Chicken noodle?"

When she nodded in approval, he turned to that task, imbibing more moonshine and heating up her soup on the old potbelly stove in whose belly a fire already smoldered.

When the soup was hot enough, he poured it into a bowl and placed it in front of her. He then took a seat opposite and continued making a formidable dent in the bottle of home brew. It was absolute rotgut, but fuck, it was fortifying - strong enough to singe a layer of skin off with every swallow. And right now, that was definitely a good thing.

When he offered some to Elena, she declined.

As she ate, he was conscious of her eyes, dark and mysterious, on him.

He raised one eyebrow. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" she said innocently in between spoonfuls of soup. Too innocently.

"You have that look."

"Look? What look? I have a look?"

"It's the look you get right before you say something you know I'm not going to like."

She blushed and set her spoon down. "I'm trying to think of the best way to ask you something so you won't say no."

He held up a finger. He took a shot. He eyed her warily and gestured for her to continue. "Go ahead. I'm sure I'm gonna love this."

Undaunted, she began, "That place we were at tonight … Klaus's compound." Each word sounded carefully placed, like she was doing her best to tiptoe through a minefield without setting anything off. "There were a lot of vampires there. More than I've ever seen in one place. And in order to save some werewolves, my friends are planning to go in there. Bonnie and Caroline. Jeremy. I don't want them to get hurt."

And just like that, he knew what she was about to ask him.

"I know they'll disagree, but my friends could really use your help." She stared at him with eyes that pulled and sucked at him like some inexorable tide, eroding the ground he was desperately trying to stand firm upon.

"You mean you want me to help your friends get themselves killed." He injected a mild degree of scorn into his tone. "Because you know that's what's going to happen, right?"

"Maybe not if you're with them. I'd feel a lot better about their chances if you were there and had their backs. Please, Damon, I'm asking you to do this for me. As my friend." She tucked hair behind her ear, completely oblivious to the fact she'd just cut him to the quick. "No matter what's happened, we're still friends, right?"

Friends. His mouth tightened. He gave her a long, measured look. "Why aren't you wearing Stefan's necklace?"

She blinked, startled. "Because I – I don't know. I didn't need it." She plucked at her vervain bracelet, then glared fiercely at him. "What does that matter? How is that even relevant? Will you help or not?"

Good. At least he'd struck a nerve. "Who'll be driving you home while I'm busy helping your friends?"

"I'll wait in the hotel room. You won't have to worry about me at all. I'll stay completely out of it, I promise."

"You do realize your credibility is seriously lacking at the moment."

"Please, Damon, there's - " She stopped.

"No one else?" he finished for her bitterly.

Her gaze fell.

With an internal sigh, he thought first of Jeremy, her little brother. Then of Caroline, her yappy best friend. And then Bonnie, her witchy best friend, and Tyler, whom she'd known since birth. Even Ric, her last surviving pseudo-guardian and possibly Damon's only friend. He thought of them all, and then he thought of the toll on Elena if she lost any of them.

His mouth tightened. She always got what she wanted, didn't she? "Okay."

"Thank you." She picked up her spoon, then set it down again. She stretched out her hand. "Can I see your phone?"

"Why?" he asked suspiciously, though he was already handing it over.

She took the slim black phone from him and laid it beside her phone. Then she glanced back and forth repeatedly between the screens, typing in his. After a few moments, she slid his phone back across the table to him.

"What did you do?"

"I put Elijah's number in your phone."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "How do you have Elijah's phone number?"

"He gave it to me."

Damon went completely still. He might've been carved from pure white marble. Only perfectly sculpted lips moved as he snarled, "You met with Elijah?"

"Only through the doorway. I didn't invite him in or tell him where you went or anything. He was not happy that you went after Klaus without him. Buuut, he said he's still willing to help if you'll just call him."

"Never gonna happen."

"You don't think an Original or two would come in handy in a fight?"

"Sure, they probably would. Still. Not. Happening. Are you done?" This last was directed at her soup.

"Yes."

He took her bowl and dumped what remained down the tiny sink. Before he was done rinsing it out, she sidled up to him.

"I'm not calling him," he snapped.

"Okay. That's not what I was going to say."

"Then what is it?"

"What about you?"

He set the bowl down to dry and turned to her. "What about me?"

"You were injured. You need blood."

His lids grew heavy, shading the pale ice of his blue eyes. "Are you offering?"

He intended for his question to unsettle her, but it backfired when she stepped closer and said, "Yes."

Now the one unsettled, he stared at her for a long moment. "And why would you do that?" he said at last.

"Because you need it. You're not at full strength." Her eyes darted briefly to the shoulder that had been staked. "And after what you were willing to do for me for tonight, I think I can spare a little blood."

"There's enough of that - " he motioned toward the moonshine still sitting on the table. " – to last until we get back to the city tomorrow. I'll be fine." Of course, if he hadn't been a bleeding heart in the first place and listened to Elena, he could've just fed off of the guy who lived here, and this wouldn't even be an issue.

"But you'll heal faster if you drink blood," she persisted, "and there's no need to wait."

"No." Yet his nostrils flared like a panther scenting unsuspecting prey.

"Why not? You can't tell me you're not having cravings."

"I'm a vampire. I always have cravings."

She removed the vervain bracelet and set it down on the counter. With a touch of defiance, she extended her arm. "Then take what you need."

He searched her gaze to try and decipher what was going on here. As always, he didn't have a clue.

"Please let me do this for you." Her eyes pleaded with him to accept.

Gently, he circled her wrist with thumb and forefinger, a light manacle, and drew her closer. She came without protest. The fingers of his other hand traced up the inside of her forearm where the skin was soft and fragile as fawn-skin. Goosebumps appeared in their wake.

"Where?" he inquired, looking at her with hooded eyes, gauging her response. "Here?"

She shivered. "Yes."

He smiled. Not even a beat of hesitation. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the center of her palm. He pressed more kisses over delicate wrist bones and an erratic pulse. His lips whispered down the inside of her forearm, nipping the skin, but not breaking it. She sucked in a ragged breath.

Some devilish part of him still desired to unnerve her, so adding a dash of vampire speed to the movement, he tugged her inside the span of his arms. Her back crashed into his chest. .

She tensed like a filly on the cusp of bolting.

Lightly, not wishing to spook her, he swept her hair aside and laid a kiss on the back of her neck. "Here?"

She melted back against him and answered quite breathlessly, "Yes."

He kissed her neck some more, nuzzling her ear every now and then. As he was doing so, his hands slid down her stomach to her thighs, dipping down between them.

"Here?" he whispered, caressing her inner thighs, coaxing them to open for him.

Her breath hitched and she glanced over at him like he was the devil himself - terrifying but oh so tempting, forcing her to face a desire she'd rather hide from.

One corner of his mouth tugged upwards. "Maybe next time."

His hands glided back up to her belly. He nibbled on the tendon between her neck and shoulder. She tilted her head, baring her throat for him. He pressed his lips against a pulse point, felt it escalate invitingly. Teeth sharpened, and the pangs of bloodlust deepened. Suddenly, he felt like he'd die without a taste.

Forcing himself to show some restraint, he raked her throat with the tip of a fang. One drop of blood beaded and oozed down sun-kissed skin, followed by another drop and another, a slow, precise trickle he caught on his tongue, eyes closing in ecstasy at the divine flavor. Three tiny red drops of exquisite rapture.

While he was busy savoring her blood, Elena moaned, rubbing herself back against him, back against the erection thrusting into her delectable backside. Both the man and the monster in him liked that very much.

With careful precision, he pierced her throat. The sweet rush of blood that flooded his mouth was hot and delicious and beyond addicting. It was fire and passion and pure life.

His grip on her intensified, but she never once resisted. Never once struggled. She remained willing in his arms as he nourished himself at her throat, and that only made it all the harder to stop, because a part of him liked her surrender, craved it as much as, if not more than, he craved her blood.

Hunger. Desire. Urgency. These were blending into one all-consuming sensation that was becoming increasingly difficult to deny. Restraint became a tenuous concept at best. He drank faster, gulping down her blood, desperate for more, even as he recognized that he needed to stop.

Calling on every bit of self-control he possessed and then some, he released her throat before he could take too much. After cutting his bottom lip on a razor sharp fang, he pressed a soft kiss over the teeth marks he'd left behind, mingling his blood with hers. Her neck healed, and one would never be able to tell by looking that he'd just been fang-deep inside her. The remaining blood, he licked away.

He took longer than necessary to see the job done, laving that flawless skin, kissing the curve of her neck some more, lips wandering until he found her ear. He sucked a sensitive earlobe between his teeth and nipped.

Her nails pricked into his forearm, through his flannel sleeve. He couldn't help but imagine those little claws raking over his back, drawing blood as he sank inside her to the hilt, filling her completely. As he made slow, sweet love to her, then fucked her into next week.

"Thank you," he murmured.

At the sound of his voice, rough with desire, her face turned towards him like a flower seeking the sun. Her gaze descended almost immediately to his lips. She leaned towards him the slightest bit, but he looked away. If she kissed him right now, he'd taste of blood.

Her hand darted out, and she caught him lightly on the chin with two fingers. She drew his face back to hers.

Slowly, as though she was the one afraid of scaring him off, she leaned in until they were as close as two people could be without actually kissing. Her tongue flicked out and over one of his bloody canines, from tip to base, testing, tasting, licking it clean. If he hadn't already had a hard-on, this would've guaranteed one.

She drew back with the taste of her own blood in her mouth and regarded him with an expression he found completely unfathomable. He waited for her to recoil from him or tell him he was disgusting. She did neither. She leaned in and kissed him again, this time full on the lips.

This kiss, he was happy to report, lasted quite awhile, with no hint of judgement in the softness of her lips or warm sweetness of her breath.

Dear god, this girl made him feel and want things he shouldn't. And she tasted so good. Sweeter than honey. More potent than wine. He'd never get used to it, nor would he ever get enough.

A hand slipped between the folds of her robe to cup her breast, squeezing and fondling the lush flesh. His touch was firm, sure, maybe even a little rough, but Elena only trembled like a captured dove and kissed him more fiercely. Her grip on his arm tightened. He felt her nails again.

The sash holding her robe closed had mostly come undone, causing the white garment to gape enticingly. He stroked down the center of her body with his other hand, trailing past her midriff and naval, pausing only when his fingertips encountered the softest patch of curls right at the apex of her thighs. Her hips lifted wantonly to meet him, and that simple, eager movement aroused him like nothing had before in his long life.

"You drive me fucking nuts, you know that?" His growled question vibrated against her lips.

"Feeling's mutual." He felt the curve of her impish smile.

Though it would probably kill him if she said yes, he asked anyway. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

"What do you want?"

"I-I want you to make me feel something good." She bit his bottom lip, a sharp, quick nip. "Please."

How could he resist her?

He continued massaging her breast, and the fingers resting over her pubic bone drifted lower, finding her sweet spot.

"Here?" he rumbled, drawing slow, languid circles, pressing right whenever pressure was needed.

On a sigh, her head fell back onto his shoulder, surrendering completely to him once more. "Yes, right there."

He trained all of his focus on her gorgeous face, observing every nuance and change in her expression, learning exactly how she liked to be touched, what made her eyes darken with pleasure and her breath catch with anticipation.

Eventually, she grew restless in his arms, bucking against his hand as he teased her wetness again and again with talented fingers, dipping into her, swirling and retreating.

"God, Elena, I love touching you," he crooned. "You feel like heaven."

"More. I want more." Her demand was whisper-soft, the warm puffs of her breath floating past his cheek.

He complied, sliding three fingers into her, stretching and caressing her deeply. Her hips rose and fell in time with his fingers until she was wet enough to coat his hand with her slickness – wet enough that if he bent her over and impaled her right now on his brutally hard length, her body would offer no resistance.

"Damon," she gasped, and it sounded like she was calling out to him, seeking him in her time of need.

"I'm here, baby girl. I'm right here with you."

He gave her just what she needed until she couldn't resist any longer, and then she was shivering in his arms over and over again, a cry of pleasure escaping her. Her inner muscles clenched, rippling around his fingers with sweet abandon.

He kept a tight hold on her, supporting her weight as she went limp in his arms.

Flushed and dazed, she smiled serenely. "Oh, that was … amazing."

Yes, yes, it was. He buried his nose into dark, lustrous hair, inhaling the tantalizing scent that was Elena - lavender and sunshine and desire. How was it possible for anyone to be so beautiful? So irresistible? And more importantly, how was he not supposed to be completely in love with her?

A single, primitive thought pounded its way through his brain and his blood and his bones: Mine.

He wanted to keep her more than anything. To make her his in all ways. He never wanted to let her go. But she was in love with his brother. Could never, would never be his. And he needed to let go of her before he made a horrible mistake – such as dragging her to the ground, pinning her beneath him, and claiming her in a frenzy that left them both utterly sated and unable to walk.

Sensing that her legs had recovered enough to hold her up unaided, he unwound his arms from her midsection and tried to slip away, but she surprised him, spinning and stopping him by hooking her fingers in the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants.

"Where do you think you're going?" she inquired archly.

He swallowed like a nervous schoolboy. "I need to go do … something … somewhere else."

She laughed. "Nice. Very eloquent."

"Well, excuse me if the blood that my brain requires to function properly has been temporarily diverted to another location."

"Mmm, I had noticed that."

He tensed when her hands brushed quite intentionally against the erection currently straining to burst free of its sweat pant confines. "Elena, you don't have to - "

"Hush." She covered his mouth with a finger. "I want to. It's my turn."

His mouth went completely dry. He said, "Really, you don't have to."

Or at least, that's what he meant to say, but by then, her hands were down his pants, and she'd taken him in her grasp, and that effectively concluded any chance of him being able to say anything coherent.

He tried – though, admittedly, not as much as he should have - to step back, but she didn't let go.

After that, he gave up. He wasn't a fucking saint, and if Elena Gilbert was determined to play with his dick …. Well, again, just to reiterate, he wasn't a fucking saint.

When she freed him from his pants, she looked down, then immediately back up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

He managed a weak smile. He didn't know if it was reassuring at all or not, but her lashes flitted back down. She started exploring the throbbing heat with maddeningly soft touches, fingertips sliding up and down the silky skin and over the swollen tip already leaking tiny pearls of fluid. He forced himself to stand motionless, lest he frighten her away. He did not, under any circumstances, want to frighten her away.

She asked uncertainly, "H-how do you …? How should I -?"

He gritted out, "What you're doing right now is so beyond perfect I can't stand it." And he meant it. Somehow he was both hard as steel and complete putty in her hands.

His words emboldened her. With a delightfully saucy expression, she released him, raised her hands, and licked both of her palms, tongue flashing pink. Then, she took him more firmly in her grip and stroked harder, a rousing touch that gave him no escape. She was relentless. Ruthless even.

No longer able to remain still, he began thrusting his hips, matching the rhythm of her hands, consumed by the delicious sensation. At some point, he placed his hands on her sides, fingers curving around her ribs. Pressure gathered and gathered, the sensation of a rapidly approaching orgasm tightening the muscles of his low abdomen.

Engulfed by dark tides of passion, he leaned in close. His warm breath touched her ear. "Fuck, angel, if you don't stop … I'm gonna … come …."

Her response was to stroke him harder, faster, slipping him between the folds of her robe and pressing him directly to her stomach. The moment the underside of his shaft made contact with her bare flesh, nothing remained of him except mindless, shuddering release.

Pressing his face into her neck and letting out a groan that rose from the innermost depths of his being, he exploded, pumping thick ropes of liquid heat out onto her belly.

She made a soft noise of reassurance and slipped an arm free so she could cup the back of his head, pulling him in tighter.

The pulsing waves receded slowly, and for a long moment, he was still, utterly spent, mind and body completely blissed out.

Then, rational thought returned to his lust-stupid brain, accompanied by a rush of emotions too large to be held inside, filling his throat to choking, burning his tongue, impelling him to confess aloud that she was all that was good and beautiful in his world and that what had just happened between them was the most precious, intimate gift anyone had ever given him. That he loved and needed her with all his heart and soul and he always would. That he would do anything for just the chance to worship at her altar, undeserving though he was. That whatever she wanted of him, she could have, no matter the cost to him.

But he didn't say any of that. He kept it to himself, knowing such professions of undying love would not be welcomed. Only once he was fairly certain he wouldn't make a fool of himself by spilling his guts like a moon-eyed ninny did he tentatively raise his head, seeking her gaze. He expected to see shame or guilt there. He saw only tender affection.

"Oops," she whispered playfully, smiling like a benevolent angel, "we made a mess."

Laughter rumbled out of him. He kissed the tip of her adorable little nose. "Your fault, beautiful girl."

She pressed her forehead to his. A strand of damp brown hair clung to her cheek, which he caressed back with feather-softness. Despite everything, she had this aura of purity and grace about her that he wanted to bask in forever.

"Why is this happening?" she asked him.

The anguish and confusion in her voice broke his heart. "I don't know. It just is."

"Everything used to be so simple."

"Don't blame me, I'm easy. You're the one who loves being difficult."

She ran her fingers through his hair. As she played with the silky black strands, she puffed out her cheeks and slowly released a deep breath. "I know that technically Stefan and I aren't together right now, but that doesn't mean …. This doesn't mean …." A shadow passed over her features. She cupped his cheek. "Nothing's changed. I can't give up on him. Do you understand?" Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

He nodded through the ache in his chest. "I do. I get it. Just another terrible mistake."

A sad smile touched her lips, and she shook her head. "Not even close to terrible."

He smiled back, then recalled the wetness that was even now sliding down her belly. "Let me go get you a towel."

"No, it's okay." Before he could object, she pulled away from him. Her eyes darkened as though a veil had been draped over them. "I'll be right back."

With her retreat to the bathroom, his arms instantly felt unbearably empty. When she reemerged several moments later, she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Everything okay?" he inquired, hoping he didn't sound as anxious as he felt.

"Yeah, I'm just tired. I'm gonna go to bed. If that's alright."

"Of course."

"Okay, then. Good night."

"Night." He reached up, thinking to touch her hair, to run his fingers through the shifting shades of rich brown, but she moved away before he could. Her face was distant, impenetrable. His hand dropped down to his side. Message received, loud and clear. Back to reality – the reality where he was never good enough and it would always be Stefan.

There was nothing else to do but leave her to the bedroom, so he made his way to the couch and lay down.

For half an hour, he stared at the ceiling, listening to Elena toss and turn on a squeaky mattress. The bed creaked a final time as she sat up, and there was the swishing sound of sheets being thrown aside. Soon the whispering tread of bare feet was audible.

He waited, motionless, trying to guess at her intentions.

When she was close, her footsteps slowed, then stopped. He turned just his head in her direction. The white robe made her easy to spot in the darkness. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head, long hair swinging side to side with the movement.

He scooted as far back on the narrow couch as he could, an invitation to join him if she wished.

She accepted, coming closer and lying on her side beside him. He pulled down a blanket folded over the back of the couch and let Elena wrap herself up in it. When she seemed mostly settled, he put an arm comfortably around her midsection, on the outside of the blanket, and nestled her close. She commandeered his bicep for her pillow. A gentle sigh escaped her, and all the tension drained from her body. She fell asleep almost immediately.

Surrounded by her sweet lavender scent and warmth, he figured sleep would prove elusive for him. After all, he still craved her. Even his recent release had done nothing to quell that, not by a long shot.

But the interior of the rustic cabin had become a dry, cozy sanctuary beyond the reach of the chaotic storm raging outside, and listening to Elena's easy breathing and the steady beat of her heart was a surprisingly effective soporific. Thus, it was no great length of time before he too drifted off, his tortured soul soothed and absolved at least until the morning.