Damon kisses Elena's face, tasting the sweat trickling down from her forehead. They kiss passionately in the steamy, pounding darkness.
They crawl into Giovanni Salvatore's restored antique Renault Touring car. It looks like Cinderella's royal coach from the fairy tale, its brass trim and headlights nicely set off by its deep burgundy color.
Elena climbs into the plushly upholstered backseat. Damon slides into the driver's, running his fingers over the lush steering wheel and leather seats.
"So where should we go?" he winks at Elena through the rearview mirror.
"The Sydney Opera House..." she replies using her best Australian accent.
"Yes, mam," he pretends to start the car, making engine noises in his throat.
Suddenly her hands come out of the shadows to tug him into the backseat. He lands next to her and his breath is loud in the darkness. Damon looks at her, his heart leaps inside his chest to see her smiling.
He strokes her face, cherishing her. Elena kisses each of his fingertips then places his hand over her thundering heart. Damon kisses her fiercely and she slides down so he's on top...
She has on far too many layers of clothing for his taste but soon he has her breasts bared to his gaze. His eyes flick up to her face to find her watching him.
Damon groans and plunges one hand into her hair, pulling the scrunchie out, allowing her hair to tumble freely. He then opens his mouth over hers, her lips part and he slips his tongue inside to have a taste...
Having received five hundred dollars from Jeremy for turning Aimee over to the police, Elena pays a few bills and then decides to pick up some pizza and a 6 pack for herself and Damon. She manages to balance the box and the beer in one hand while opening the door with her other.
It's twilight and the apartment is rather dark other than a couple of candles that are flickering on the countertop. Not seeing him, she sets their food down and her purse down to find him.
He's stretched out on his side, dozing on the couch. Sheets of paper are laying haphazardly on the floor as if they slipped from his slackened hands when he drifted off to sleep.
Her mouth parts when he mumbles her name as his arms tighten around the throw pillow that he's clutching.
"Damon?" she gently nudges him.
"Hmmm?" his eyelids raise slightly.
"I brought supper."
"Ah ha, give me a minute..." he shifts, burying his face in the cushion.
His arm comes up; his palm slams against the glass, making a handprint in the veil of condensation. They're huddled under his jacket that lies like a blanket. Still intertwined, still mostly clothed, Damon reaches up to cradle her flushed face and push a damp strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes are still filled with little crimson flames when he drops his mouth to hers.
"What's all this?" Damon joins her at the table after quick trip to the bathroom to take care of himself.
"I got paid for turning Aimee Bradley in."
"She was really stupid enough to be at her house?" Damon bites into a big piece of deluxe taco pizza.
"Yep, she was."
"So you're an official bounty hunter now?" he twists the cap off a bottle of beer and takes a swallow.
"I'm going to be turning your ass in too as soon as we find Ric," she counters with absolute conviction in her voice.
Damon tries but can't stop the laugh from leaving his mouth.
"You think I'm kidding?" Elena crosses her arms on the table and leans forward.
"Yeah, I do," he clinks his beer bottle with hers, empties it then reaches for another.
"You know what? I'm going home," she throws her paper plate and empty bottle in the trash, grabs her bag in an attempt to leave.
Damon jumps out of his seat, pressing his hand against it when she tries to open the door. "What if I'm not here in the morning?" his eyes search hers.
"Then all bets are off, Damon," she holds his stare and after several tense moments, he steps back so she can open the door and without looking back, she trots down the stairs and disappears into the darkness.
Elena's sitting in her window seat, her back pressed against the wall and her legs drawn up to her chest as she stares outside. The darkness is illuminated only by lightning strikes and rolling thunder as the storm moves in. She loses track of time and then it starts to rain. The drops are big and lazy, falling in slow motion, spattering on the azalea bushes, leaving their imprint on the hard-packed ground, encouraging musty smells reminiscent of cobwebs and crawl spaces to rise up from the earth.
After a few minutes the tempo evens out, the drops grow small and consistent, and the wind picks up. Water pools on the black macadam, catching clots of reflective light, and the rain beads on her car below her.
It would be a wonderful night to be in bed with a book, listening to the tic, tic, tic of drops on the window and fire escape. Elena's a little too wired up to sleep, frustrated at how the night with Damon turned out.
Would anything have happened? She doesn't know but when he mocked her, it lit her fuse. And reminded her of all the times that Damon would just bury his head in the sand instead of hashing out whatever the issue was.
Sighing, she peels her clothes off, brushes her teeth then crawls into bed... the rhythm of the rain eventually lulls her to sleep.
Waking up the next morning, she picks up her phone to check the time. With a huge yawn, she throws her legs over the edge and pads into the bathroom. After grimacing at mess of hair, she adjusts the water, steps into the tub, pulls the shower curtain closed and lets the warm, hard spray beat down on her.
She lathers up and washes her body then her hair. Elena stands under the showerhead for some time, letting the hot water massage her skin and ease the tension from her body.
Suddenly she's distracted by a blur of color on the other side of the soap-slicked shower curtain. The blur moves and her heart practically stops dead in her chest when the someone whips the curtain open with such force several of the plastic loops pop off and scatter. The scream dies in Elena's throat when she sees who it is.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she shrieks, wrapping herself in the towel that Damon tosses at her. "How did you get in here?"
"I may have climbed up the trellis and in through the window."
She glares at him. Under the right circumstances, this could have been quite romantic but right now, her mind is racing with fury.
"Why are you here?" she quickly slips into her robe and towel dries her hair.
"Um Ric..." Damon deadpans.
"Where do you suggest we look? We don't have a clue as to where to start," she eyes him through the mirror, looking fine in his black tee shirt, jeans and his customary boots.
"Well, one of my sources owns a bar on the west side. It's one of Mason Lockwood's favorite haunts. I thought we could maybe we could have a chat with him."
"Of all the stupid..."
"What? You got a better idea?" his eyes rake over her long svelte legs and bright red toenails.
"I'm talking about you busting in here. You couldn't have just called me? And you, Damon," she pokes her finger into his chest, "are going to buy me a new shower curtain."
"I tried to call you but I kept getting voice mail."
"You can be so," she spews. "Can you go make some coffee while I get dressed?"
Mesmerized by a droplet of water that's sliding down her chest towards her cleavage, he leans forward and takes a long swipe with his tongue.
"Damon," she groans and he unties her robe and runs his palms over her erect nipples. Lowering his head, he takes one in his mouth, sucking and nipping then soothing the burn with his tongue.
"Do you know what you still do to me?" he captures her mouth while one hand snakes down to run his finger up and down her sensitive flesh. Without warning, he dips it inside of her. They both moan at the feeling as he begins to plunge in and out. Between his hand on her breast and his body pressing against her against the sink, Elena's unable to move.
She feels the coil tightening in her belly. Knowing she's close, she grips his shirt and holds her breath, as his fingers take her over the edge. She starts to flutter around his hand and he pushes himself against her even harder allowing Elena to feel his erection straining against his jeans.
"I've got you..."
His words are enough and her body gives in, and vibrates around him. Once it starts to wane, his fingers slow their exploits. She's breathing heavily and all too quickly, he removes them. Elena watches with bleary eyes as he sticks that finger in his mouth while his other hand pulls her robe back onto her shoulder.
"I'll just go make that coffee," his eyes sear into hers for a moment and then he walks out of the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him.
In a daze, she finds herself sex-faced and flushed when her eyes meet her reflection in the mirror.
"Here you go," Damon hands her a cup of coffee as she pads past him to the dining room table.
"How did you climb the trellis with a box of donuts?" she bites into a cookies and cream filled one.
"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents..." he sticks his tongue out to lick a dollop of custard filling from his.
"I'll say," she mutters under her breath as she squeezes her legs together beneath the table.
"What was that?" he teases, nudging her playfully with his elbow.
Elena feels her blood burn under his scrutiny. Not wanting him to see her blush, she stands and takes tosses her paper plate in the garbage. She opens her bag and pulls out her gun, letting the morning sun glimmer off the cool steel of the barrel.
"Okay, I get it. You can put it away," he finishes his coffee, wipes the rim of powdered sugar from his mouth then takes his cup to the sink, quickly rinsing the dishes off.
"You ready to go?"
"Yep," she slides the weapon back into her purse.
"Okay." After drying his hands, he opens the door and gestures for her to lead the way...
Thank you all so much.
Damon's dream was an attempt to recreate the Titanic scene with DE.
Chapter title: 'Slow Hand' by The Pointer Sisters.
Have a wonderful day.