Chapter 9: Blue Balls

DAMON

I sling myself onto my normal stool at the bar and Kyle nods my way, finishing up with a customer down the bar while I glower at the wall of bottles.

When he comes my way I gesture to the Scotch with a brilliantly blue hand.

"Did it hurt?" He takes down the bottle and two glasses.

"What?" I ask curtly.

"When those Smurfs mugged you." The corner of his mouth twitches. He puts aside one of the glasses that has a water spot on it and picks up another that's flawlessly clear.

"Shut the fuck up," I growl, turning my attention back to the internet search on my phone for exploding wedding cakes.

Kyle pours me three fingers, Ric two, and slides the glasses of Scotch across the bar. "Somebody's grouchy today. Not getting along with the other members of the band?"

"Band?" I ask absently. All of these advertise safe explosions. I don't want safe. I want something that's going to turn that thousand-dollar cake into a fine mist.

"Blue Man group? I hear you can do some pretty impressive things with a trashcan lid."

My head snaps back around, eyes cauterizing him.

He's moved back by the wall of bottles, safely out of my reach.

"Sorry, sorry," he gasps with laughter and takes a deep breath, his mouth wobbling as he tries for a straight face.

I finish my drink and eye Ric's.

"No, stick around," Kyle says. "I got you a present. But I'm serious, I'm really going to hurt myself here if you don't satisfy my curiosity and tell me…" he says and bats his eyelashes, "why you're looking so blue!"

I look away, disgusted, while he cracks up at his own bad joke. "It was personal. A personal…accident."

Kyle bites his hip, his eyes still watering as he nods sagely. "Those edible body paints are a bitch. You've got to tell her to lick more vigorously next time."

He ducks my punch easily and raises an eyebrow, his eyes dancing.

"I got cock blocked," I mutter. "By Vampire Barbie."

"Probably been a while since that happened, eh?" He sounds moderately sympathetic, which saves him some facial reconstructive surgery.

"It's been a while since I got the block from somebody I wasn't related to," I correct him. "My brother is the king of me not getting laid. Apparently a trait he has now passed on to his better half."

"I've got to admit, I've never seen a cock-block that left such an erm…" Kyle clears his throat. "Visible mark."

"Well, take a tip from me. The former Miss Mystic Falls is not someone you want on your bad side." I nudge my empty glass toward him. "You're off your game today, New York. Getting too used to the small-town pace."

"I was just waiting for you to finish your appetizer." He reaches under the bar and pulls out a bottle, displaying the label with a flourish.

I whistle through my teeth. "Careful flashing that around in here, Kyle. That's an eighty-dollar bottle of bourbon. You're going to ruin the Grill's long and venerable tradition of bottom-shelf liquor."

"Sweetie, our stuff isn't bottom shelf. You've got to get down on your knees and crawl to even find this garbage. It's humiliating."

I break the seal on the bottle. "Is this a belated apology for one of the times you tried to get my girlfriend killed?"

"How about for the time I kicked your ass?" He leans his muscular forearms on the bar.

I snort. "Hey, somebody ended up with a hole in their chest and it wasn't me, pal." I pour myself a finger and a half of bourbon, because if I'm going to have a secret stash at the Grill, I better make it last.

"Drink up. There's plenty more where that came from." Kyle smiles. "Got management to add it to the inventory. I promised them I could sell every drop they brought in."

"I could kiss you right now," I say after the first sip, the aged vanilla spice of the bourbon going a long way toward improving my mood.

"Ah, now don't go getting my hopes up, Salvatore."

"I'd just ruin you for other men. You're better off this way."

"I'm better off because that sweet little girlfriend of yours would kick my ever-loving ass if I took a taste." He laughs. "Why don't you give her a call? I'll get her drunk for you. She never lasts more than a couple drinks before she takes you home."

"I don't know about that." I stare moodily into my drink as I remember how I spent the first part of my afternoon.

Kyle chuckles. "Shit, man, I've even seen it work with iced tea." He tops off my drink. "Come on, I want the whole story. Tell me how that hot blonde number got the best of you this time."

"She stole Elena's phone so she could text to lure me in. But she bagged a bonus and didn't even realize it."

# # #

One hour ago

# # #

I take the steps two at a time. Sheriff Forbes probably thinks somebody died, I left so fast when that text came in. I can already hear the subtle swish of water from the direction of my bedroom. My plans for this afternoon just got a fuck of a lot more interesting.

I jump past the last few stairs and sure enough, I can see Elena's messy bun peeking out of a bathtub mounded high with frothing bubbles. She peeks over her shoulder at me and smiles.

"I was starting to wonder if you were coming."

"With you, baby?" I quip. "It's always a sure thing."

She sticks her tongue out at me, but ruins the effect by wrinkling her nose, which is fucking adorable.

"Sorry, I was across town with Liz," I explain. "We've got a bit of a situation."

"Don't even say the double-a words when I am in the bathtub," she warns.

"No animal attacks here. It was Asheville. Took out a whole NOLS trekking group this time." I pull off my shirt and toss it on the counter so it won't get wet if we end up splashing a little too much. Because we usually do. "Probably wasn't the kind of wilderness therapy they had in mind." I sit down on the edge of the tub to pull my boots off.

She cuddles her cheek against the small of my back, soapy fingers stroking my hipbone. "I hate you going out looking for trouble, you know that." She sighs. "And then you say things like that and I really can't argue. Tell me you're not taking Jeremy."

"Okay, Jeremy's taking me."

She doesn't respond. How does she manage to make silence sound disapproving? It must be a maternal thing.

I stuff my socks into my boots. "Come on, he's in high school. If we don't give him something meaningful to do with himself he'll just get all apathetic and cranky the way other teenagers do."

"I wish you'd talk to him about moving in with us. He's got his hunter instincts well under control these days and I know he'd listen to you."

I linger for a moment on the edge of the tub because I like the way her cheek feels against my spine. Was her skin this soft when she was human? "Nah. He and Donovan love their little bromancy bachelor pad. And Bridezilla and her boy toy are about two roommates too many as it is."

She presses a kiss to the back of my hip. "You gonna join me before the water gets cold?"

"With you in there? I'll be lucky if I don't blister." I turn around before I unbutton my jeans, because she likes to watch.

And I like to watch her watching.

My zipper goes down nice and slow and she swallows audibly, then narrows her eyes at my crooked smile. "You do that on purpose."

"Hey, it's not my fault you're a pervert." I toss my jeans toward the sink. "I don't know why I let you objectify me the way you do."

"Because you love me," she replies saucily, watching me through her eyelashes as she makes room for me in the tub.

"Nope." I grin and she splashes me, outraged.

"Take that back!" she demands as I settle in across from her.

I shake my head, trying to look serious. "Can't. I don't really like you that much."

"What?" She glares at me and dives across the tub to tickle my sides. I quickly nab both of her hands in one of mine and squeeze hard while she struggles.

I take a loose strand of her hair and tuck it back into her bun. "You're kind of ugly." I kiss the tip of her nose. "And vindictive."

"I am not!"

"You just tried to tickle me. Viciously, in retaliation. I'd say that qualifies."

"You want to see vindictive?" she threatens, giving up on getting her hands free.

"Uh-huh."

Her fangs lengthen dangerously, a lacy network of delicate black lines tracing outward from her eyes even as she pounces.

For all her show of ferocity, her bite is surprisingly gentle and I don't fight it. Instead, I release her hands and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer into my lap.

I let out a long breath and relax against the reclined back of the tub, stroking the graceful line of her spine as her tongue teases the sensitive double puncture wound in my neck.

I'm floating mentally as well as physically before she pulls away, licking the last drops of blood from her lips. She gives me one of her sweet little cheerleader smiles, and the combination of that and the touch of my blood on her fangs is the hottest fucking thing that this century has seen.

I kiss her before the points of her canines have blunted because I want to cut my tongue on them and soothe the pain in her mouth. Her moan has the rhythm of a heartbeat flooding down into my lungs and when I pull away, my head is spinning so hard that I wonder if she took too much and maybe I need to feed.

Elena slips around behind me while I'm still trying to drag my cerebral functions back onto the playing field and when she whispers in my ear, it doesn't do a goddamn thing to clear my head.

"Do you take it back?"

I turn my head and catch her lips, tracing her cheek with one finger as I kiss her.

"I love you." The words rumble straight out of the core of me, dark and gravitational and a whole different language from the shit that gets stuck on greeting cards with glitter.

Elena wraps her arms around my shoulders from behind and nibbles the base of my neck. "I love you, too," she whispers. I clear my throat and rub at a water spot on the faucet, because it's embarrassing as all hell that I still get all schoolgirly every time she says that.

My girlfriend places her hands on my shoulders and squeezes, firmly massaging the muscles there.

"Hey, if you were at Liz's, how did you run the water for the bath?" she asks me after a minute, digging her thumbs into that magic spot on the insides of my shoulder blades that unwinds me like an old cassette tape.

I groan and completely forget the topic. "What?"

"I mean, how did you even know I was going to be in our room just now, much less get the timing right so the water was still hot? Actually, never mind," she says, a smile in her voice. "I know you don't like to give away your sneaky little secrets. It was very smooth, that's all."

Her hands feel so good that it takes me a second to realize that there's something not right about this.

"Elena, you sent me a text." I pull away in growing alarm. "Saying to meet you in the tub."

Except of course she didn't send it, or she wouldn't have asked. And if she just happened to see the bath waiting when she came into our room, this is a trap meant for me, not her. My mind starts scrolling through a long list of people who might want to kill me creatively while I sniff at the water, a cold feeling creeping up inside my chest. "Do you feel okay? Tingling, numbness, burning?"

"Are we playing doctor again?" Her smile fades as she registers my alarm. "Are you okay, Damon? I didn't send you a text."

"Not good." I yank her out of the tub, stripping bubbles off her skin with my hands. And that's when I see it. Her skin doesn't look right.

"Elena?" My voice catches hard in my throat behind memories of her on a table screaming while I pulled poisoned nails out of her skin. Her eyes, delirious from the poison.

"What?" She frowns at my chest. "Damon?" She gingerly touches my pectoral muscle. "You're… Wait, what the heck?"

I turn on the shower, shoving her under the spray with more urgency than gentleness.

"Do you feel anything?" I demand, squirting body wash directly onto her skin and scrubbing with near-vampire speed. "Quick, help me. Get the soap everywhere, right fucking now. Dizziness? Nausea?" I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. Her pupils are normal. "Can you see me? Is your vision blurry? Do you see anything that shouldn't be here?"

"Damon, stop it, you're scaring me. I feel fine, but your skin looks weird," she says, bewildered.

I grab the puffy ball thing she likes to shower with and glop soap onto it, turning her around and scouring her back.

"Damon, I'm fine! Wait." She turns around and looks me over, amusement starting to creep into her eyes. "It's getting brighter." She glances down at the splotchy streaks of blue appearing on her skin and she smiles reluctantly, shaking her head. "Damon, I think she got you this time."

"What do you mean?" I fight the urge to wrestle her to the ground and scrub the holy hell out of her until I get this weirdness off her precious skin.

"Caroline." She holds her arm under the stream of the shower and watching as the color holds fast. She shakes her head and laughs. "I think we just got dyed-to-match."

# # #

One hour later

# # #

"And then of course we couldn't have sex, because she didn't want to risk getting that weird dye in–" I clear my throat. "So yeah. And now I'm cut off until I can figure out how to get this crap off me. God knows how Caroline managed to find a dye that would leave the water clear and us…like this. But she swears she got it off the internet, not from a witch, which saved her a really epic vervaining."

"A loofah and some nice sea salt exfoliant would probably do the trick," Kyle says.

"You think I'm going to sea salt exfoliant my what now?" My eyebrows snap down.

"Oh come on. The big tough vampire can't take a little scrub a dub dub?" the bartender teases. "Your johnson'll heal." At my expression, he relents. "Hey, seriously though, I used to date a massage therapist who taught me some stuff about skin care. If you want, I can make you up a homemade batch with sugar and grapefruit juice. The citrus is good at breaking down oils."

I mumble something and reach for the bottle. He slaps my hand away. "Don't mess with a professional's business. And I didn't quite catch that. What did you say?"

"I said thanks," I growl. "And actually, never mind the drink. I've got to get going." I grab Ric's glass and tip it toward his silent barstool before I shoot it. And as usual, it doesn't even take the edge off of that empty seat.

"I'll drop the exfoliant by the house later." Kyle gives me a knowing smile. "You're welcome."

I tap my hand twice on the bar and push out of my seat. "Tell Van Helsing to take Saturday off, by the way. He and I have an appointment to keep."

"Should I take Saturday off, too?" Kyle asks, the humor dropping out of his voice.

I shrug. "We've got it. You can tag along if you're bored though. Last animal attack follow-up netted us a ten-top, so there might be a few of them. Could be nice to have an extra hand on the shovel at the end of the day."

Kyle nods once, his hazel eyes sharp. "I'll pick you guys up at dawn on Saturday. We can take my truck."

I give him a little two finger wave over my shoulder and stroll out of the Grill.

The first thing I see when I hit the street outside is a familiar blue car. Probably came to gloat. She's still in the driver's seat and her blonde head is bent forward, like she's busy with something. If I'm careful, I might be able to nail her rear passenger tire before she catches me.

I cross the street further down and circle back under the cover of parked cars. I reach into my jacket for the stake I always carry and hope it's strong enough to make it through a tire sidewall. When I get to the last car before Caroline's, though, I focus in and realize she's not on the phone. She's crying.

I run to the driver's side door and wrench it open, regretting it as soon as I notice there are no bloodstains on her clothes.

She jumps in surprise and looks up at me, her eyes miserably swollen. Fuck. This is the wrong kind of emergency entirely.

"What? Couldn't get the right color neckties for all the doves?" I snark.

We all knew Caroline was going to make Bridezilla look like somebody's pet gecko, but she's been hitting new heights of wedding hysteria for the past week. I am going to absolutely lose my shit if I just came riding to the rescue because she was crying over the calligrapher not putting the right swirl on the tail of the g's.

"N-n-nooo!" she wails, burying her face in a tissue. I flinch at her vehemence. This looks a little more serious than her normal type-A hissy fit.

"Did Stefan forget your 92-day anniversary or something, or do I need to actually kick somebody's ass?"

"No," she says into the tissue. "It's the wedding."

I groan and roll my eyes so hard it hurts.

"Not like that!" She takes a blind swipe at me that I easily dodge. "I know you think I'm a total psycho bride or whatever, but it's important to me."

I should definitely excuse myself before her drama bomb goes off, but something about her tone has my feet nailed to the asphalt. Caroline moved in a couple months after the engagement, so I've had more practice than I ever wanted at decoding her moods. This one reads about an 8 out of 10 on her existential crisis scale. The last wedding-related crying jag (something about tablecloths, candy and inconsistent color wheels) only weighed in at a three, by my count.

Shit.

"It's just that…" she bites her trembling lip. "Stefan's it for me, you know? So this is going to be the only wedding I get."

"Uh-huh," I say, glancing across the street. I wouldn't have come within a mile of this car if I thought she was going to cry on my shoulder about how much she loves Stefan. For fuck's sake, everybody in the county knew how much she loved Stefan until I soundproofed the house. Which, come to think of it, is probably the closest I've ever come to doing a public service.

Her shoulders start to shake again.

The problem with being a vampire is that no one buys it when you fake a heart attack. Maybe I could pull off a seizure, if I could get my hands on some hunter-marked props. I make a mental note to hit Kyle up for some so I can be prepared for these kinds of situations in the future.

"Now that…now that I'm a va-va-vampire," she sobs, "I only get one one wedding, and that's it!" She blows her nose and waves her hands. "I know you think I'm stupid, but in twenty years, we probably won't even have computers that can read the digital pictures from our wedding."

"They still have photo albums, you know. This isn't the fucking Jetsons."

"Yeah, and our clothes will go further and further out of style until we look like wedding pictures of Gram and Gramps." She looks surprisingly hopeless at this possibility, and I kind of wish I still thought she was only worried about fashion.

I roll my eyes. "I'm going to kick myself for saying this later, but you know you can have more than one wedding, right?"

She sniffs and peeks up at me, her wet eyelashes clumping together and making her look like a mournful, blue-eyed cartoon kitten.

"Stef's the most pussy-whipped son of a bitch on the eastern seaboard. You can have a wedding every decade if you want."

"It's not–" she sniffles. "Not the same." The next wave of sobs catches in her throat, making her voice even more painfully shrill than usual. "I mean, I've already graduated high school and I'm getting married. I can't have babies or grow old, so after college, then what? That's pretty much all the major life stuff. I'll just be…done." She stares at the soggy tissue in her lap.

I look longingly at the Grill as she starts to cry again. I could text Kyle to come out and take over for me, but the dinner rush is well underway, judging by the cars in the parking lot.

"You could make the weddings different colors?" I offer with a hint of desperation. "Remember, it took you a month to decide between blue and yellow or black and white? You wouldn't have to decide, you could do both."

There's a short pause in the wet, whiny sounds inside the car, which I take as a good sign. "You could do them in different places," I suggest, wracking my brain for all the different wedding option discussions I've unfortunately overheard in the last few months. "You could do one on top of a building in the city at night, so you could see the stars. Or in that garden in Savannah with all the viney things you liked in that picture that you kept leaving around for Stefan to find. You could have a beach one. You like the beach," I remind her hopefully.

She throws her arms around my waist, crying even harder.

Shit.

Maybe I should just try to piss her off? God, I suck at this comforting crap. My normal M.O. is just to hold Elena until she stops crying and I can get her to a bed and focus all my energy into making her forget her own name.

That thought makes me aware that Caroline is hugging me uncomfortably close to my crotch, and I squat down next to the car so she can reach me better.

She squirms her head in under my chin in that spot that all girls seem genetically programmed to prefer and I have a weird déjà vu flash of the exuberant, suffocating hugs she would greet me with back when we were "dating." She always talked like she was three Frappucinos into a cocaine bender in those days. Thank fuck Stefan didn't want to marry that version.

"Why are you being so sweet?" she sniffles. "I dyed you–" she hiccups. "Dyed you blue."

"I know." I give up and put my arms around her. "I'm really fucking blue."

She giggles, in a stuffy, nasally kind of way.

"I'm going to be rampantly pissed at you for it later."

"I know," she whispers and her arms tighten around my back in a way that almost makes me reconsider my diabolical scheme for revenge. She feels tiny. She's so damn bossy, her personality barely leaves space for the rest of us in a room. I forgot how little she was.

"Did you really say that your life was over because you'd already graduated high school?" My voice drips incredulity. "Because if you say those were your glory days, you know I have to smack you, right?"

She huffs out a reluctant laugh. "Not like that. I just…I don't know."

"Listen, Beauty Queen." I step back and check to see if she left any snot on my shirt. "Quit with the whiny human shit. You get to live as many lives as you want, be as many different people as you want. If you're dumb enough to marry my brother once, hell, you're probably dumb enough to marry him ten more times. Nothing's over, okay? That's supposed to be the good news. Nothing's over ever again." I shrug. "Except puberty, thank God."

She pulls another Kleenex out of the tiny pack on her lap. Leave it to Caroline to have her own box of tissues on hand, just in case. "I wish vampires didn't cry."

I snort. "If you didn't, you'd wish you did."

"You know, you didn't fool me." She looks up at me with her damp, cartoon-kitten eyes.

I raise a skeptical eyebrow.

"Leaving that new Saint Laurent jacket in my closet so I'd think it was Stefan who got it for me. I know it was you."

"Maybe you don't give baby bro enough credit."

"He would have wrapped it."

I ignore that. "You good now?"

She nods, glancing up at me self-consciously. "Thanks."

"Oh don't worry." I tap the roof of the car with one electric blue hand before I take off. "I'm going to give you something to cry about soon enough."