DANCE


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Once more, thank each and every single one of you who are reviewing. You're an amazing bunch and it's really awesome to hear what you have to say. I'll kick this update off by admitting that this is not an 'official' theme, but rather one I dreamed up, myself. This particular short takes place at… Well, somewhere. It could be a party, it could be a school dance, what have you. That specific detail doesn't really come into play. The important part is that our three key players—Elena, Damon, & Matt—are somewhere that dancing is occurring, and Caroline/Matt don't seem to be an item in my universe. Enjoy!

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"Did you save a dance for me?"

The voice was unmistakable, familiar to Elena even when her attention was turned entirely elsewhere. It was almost enough to leave her disgusted, the way her heartbeat jumped and lurched unevenly at the dark velveteen sound as he spoke next to her ear. Chills rose up her spine, and she turned from her current conversation to confirm that Damon would truly be standing there when she turned around, not just some figment of a twisted, overactive imagination.

But he was no figment, whatsoever; he was truly real, and happened to be staring at her with impenetrable black eyes, a toothless and mirthless grin on his lips. Perfect and achingly beautiful, as he always was, though here it seemed only to make things — like breathing, and like refusing to smile back — all the more difficult to accomplish.

"Actually," Elena cut him off breezily, willing herself back to the present, "I didn't."

"I don't think… Matt, is it? Matt, will have any problem here, right?" he asked, smooth voice condescending and obviously intimidating where poor, primarily defenseless Matt was concerned. Though she felt sorry for Matt's involvement, she had to be slightly glad that he let some of the macho, male ego crap fall away; he wasn't up against the wit or strength of a mortal man, after all, and Damon was one vampire more eager than hesitant to make a scene.

"Of course not. Thanks, guy. You're a real winner," he supplied in lieu of Matt's own answer, which had been a stuttered 'no'. Encouraged by the silence of both human counterparts, Damon took Elena by the hand, leading her towards the heart of the crowd.

She could have fought his grip, could have attempted to worm her way away from him, but they both knew that in the end, it would do very little good. He wanted her to go with him, and as Stefan had once said, Damon usually got what he wanted. In this case, she'd be leaving the lives of countless humans up in the air simply to avoid dancing with him, and it simply didn't seem worth the risk of him causing a scene or slaughtering fifty of her closest friends in retribution, that evening.

"Black is," he began, dark eyes trailing appreciatively down her body, which was currently encased in a form fitting black sheath dress, "definitely your color."

"You would think so," she accused, putting up no fight as he drew her closer to him in the center of the dance floor, one hand lifting her own in a strangely classic slow dance pose. It didn't fit the tempo of the music, but as usual, Damon looked largely unconcerned with the thoughts or opinions of those around them. She allowed him to begin moving the two of them in sync to some undercurrent in the music, to time that he seemed to be keeping on his own.

She had just begun to get lost in his fathomless black eyes again when she remembered what she had wanted to ask, in the first place — "What do you want, Damon?"

He looked at her in feigned puzzlement. "To dance."

She wished that were true, in some way. She wished that anything in her life, including Damon's wants and ever occurring demands, were so simple. But nothing was, and nothing with him ever seemed likely to be; there was always something alternate going on behind even the simplest of requests, the smallest of statements from him.

"Fine. We're dancing," she pointed out, impatiently. "What else?"

"Would you relax?" he scolded her edgily, rolling his dark eyes. He spun Elena in a small circle, dipping her low and speaking to her at that same angle. "That's all I'm after, tonight. You relax, we dance. No deep, dark mystery, just a little fun, for hell's sake."

She eyed him, warily.

So very rarely did 'just a little fun' really mean just what it sounded like with Damon, and honestly, she had no reason to trust that it was all he had in mind, this particular time. It seemed innocent enough, dancing, but picking wildflowers could turn torrid where Damon was involved. Still, they were drawing more attention to themselves by standing there paused than they would have had they simply danced and gone about their evening.

"I'm warning you, Damon," she began angrily, narrowing her eyes at him, "If you—"

"You warning me? Simply adorable," he complimented her sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he spun her again, moving her along with the tempo he had set for them, clearly a beat within his head rather than from the music blasting just then. "Now shut up, and dance."

Begrudgingly, Elena had to admit that it was not at all difficult to get lost within the confines of whatever it was that Damon was spinning around them. His movements were lithe and graceful, though they seemed to take as little effort or thought for him as breathing or blinking.

She melted into him in a way she was anything but comfortable with, her head finding solace on his shoulder, her eyes falling shut. She wouldn't have lied if he'd asked, she was initially using the experience to remember similar situations that included Stefan in his place, bodies pressed together and bobbing weightlessly to the music. After some time, however, there was too much evidence to the contrary to pretend that it was in fact Stefan's arms she was in; the scent of the body next to hers was that of Damon's signature cologne, the pliable fabric under her hands a soft leather, and the hands that held her close doing so much more forcefully and roughly than ever Stefan would have consented to touching her.

Much to her surprise, and partially to her disgust, she found herself drunk with happiness and calm, losing herself in the realness of the moment. It wasn't until she realized her feelings in the moment that her heart stopped her short, reminding her where she was; in the teeth of the wolf, in the jaws of the lion. She was within the grasp of someone who could and would easily crush her, and all the while, she was lying there, as helpless and as unassuming as a newborn lamb, as calm and trusting as a wide eyed two year old.

What was she doing?

She shook the warmth from herself, reassuming her icy position as before, as she felt her sanity entering her bones once more. Standing up slightly straighter, she judged his expression—blank and unsmiling, though his dark eyes did the bulk of that, just then. They were alight with knowing and shine, and Elena could only assume he knew how she was feeling, just moments before.

She cleared her throat, and took a step back, finding herself spun away from him at arm's length.

"Are you having fun, yet?" she asked him the mundane question very timidly, glad for a momentary reprieve from the closeness they'd shared, though she fully anticipated it being a short lived ordeal. It was preferable to the closed quarters intoxication of being pulled tightly against him the way she had been and for that she was grateful.

"Some would call it that, yes," he whispered vaguely as he spun her back into his arms, a whiplash grin on his lips. It disappeared, and he tilted his head, slightly. "And you?"

She turned her head, unable to formulate a coherent response when he was staring at her in that fashion. He knew, and she knew that he did. The blush that crept into her cheeks at the idea of this shared knowledge burned, forcing her gaze further to the edge of her ability, anywhere that wasn't Damon becoming safe ground. She could have sworn she heard his soft, shadowy laughter mocking her, and her eyes snapped up accusingly.

When she looked, however, he'd chosen to make the dramatic exit he so enjoyed making, blending seamlessly into the crowd around them, for all practical purposes, disappearing completely. Her face still burned, and it did so more with a fire of anger as she looked around fruitlessly for her disappearing dance partner, though she gave up doing so as she heard another familiar voice.

"Where'd your boyfriend go?" Matt. Matt, who she'd been dancing with before attaching herself to Damon for… God only knew how long they'd been dancing. She mentally face palmed in embarrassment for having left him that way, and also, in inability to form a response to Matt's question.

"He isn't my… He's... Damon. And he left," she clarified for him icily, knowing Damon was likely still where he could hear her. No need to give him the satisfaction of being incorrectly referred to as her anything, she supposed, more so than he had been already.

Using Damon's presence to forget Stefan was one thing, but using Matt's to get Damon off her mind was entirely wrong. Entirely wrong, and yet, not too poor an idea, just then.

Grabbing Matt's hand, she attempted to smile confidently. "But forget it. Let's dance."