A/N - Thanks for the reviews last chapter guys. Nice to see that quite a few of you are following this. It's kind of my first time writing a little smut, and there isn't loads, but hopefully you won't hate it ;) Anyways, hope you enjoy - and drop a little review in that box at the end :) x
Drunk
Damon smirks at his reflection as he completes the final button on his shirt. Usually, he finds there's nothing wrong with simple all black everything, but tonight he's opted for a light blue button down that he knows she loves. It brings out your eyes, she always tells him before leaning in and nuzzling him just...there.
Damon knows what she's up to. She's cute when she's scheming and Elena has been scheming for days. If she's going to look ridiculously hot and make him desperate to have her, then he'll do the same. He refuses this to be solo torture. It's not like he doesn't want to touch her because God, he wants to more than anything and he thinks that if he were still a vampire, he'd have either drained the entire town or simply combusted what with all the sexual tension. But everytime he thinks of her in that way, he's reminded of her face twisted in agony, the grip of her hand and the screams of pain in that delivery room and he can't witness that again. Also (and by no means secondary to the aforementioned) he refuses to faint again. He somehow has his perfect wife and his perfect daughter and he's not sure the universe will allow him any more. He figures he doesn't have the right to ask anyway.
Elena has spent the afternoon cooking. Or, more accurately, burning the hell out of some lasagne. The smoke alarm going off no less than four times is a reminder for them both as to why he cooks and she doesn't. Damon is also pretty sure that a perfectly good family lasagne dish has been ruined with welded-on cheese. She can't cook but at least she's gorgeous.
Nobody is babysitting tonight. He put Ariella down twenty minutes ago and she's out for the count; sleeps like her mom. Damon grins. Here he is, buttoning a shirt for a date with his wife who just happens to be Elena Gilbert - no - Salvatore - and the mother of his daughter. And he's the one who gets to put their little girl to bed because somewhere, some saint has given him this perfect fucking life that he really doesn't deserve.
"Damon," Elena calls him. He smirks. She's using her purring voice. "I'm ready."
He makes his way downstairs, not before checking on Ariella. She's sound asleep and oblivious to her parents' games.
Fuck. She wasn't kidding. Now it's Elena wearing the smirk as she watches his jaw slacken.
"You're drooling." Her voice is seductive as hell and damn right he's drooling because she's acting out the fucking kitchen maid fantasy he told her about once when they were laying in bed the first night after their honeymoon. She's wearing heels that seem to make her legs even longer and she's paired them with stockings - stockings!
She's grinning now as Damon's eyes roam appreciatively upwards, lingering on the little black apron tied in a bow around her waist. There's nothing on her but black silk and red lace under that naughty little excuse for a cook's outfit and his dick is already hard. Elena cocks a brow at him. God she's good.
"Could you get us some wine?" She asks and it's so innocent that he's not sure if he just imagined the silk and lace. She bends over at the oven. He didn't.
Damon has to clear his throat first. "What would you like?"
"Don't mind. You choose."
She just wants him drunk. It's Damon's turn to grin. He may no longer have his vampire tolerance for booze but it's still better than hers'.
"Valpolicella okay?"
Elena simply shrugs. "Sounds good."
X
It's a good thing they have the wine. And a salad. The lasagne was not good.
Elena is giggling. Damon's cheeks feel too hot. She's drunk. So is he.
"Ooooh! I made tiramisu!" She exclaims, nearly knocking the bottle of wine over - they've almost finished the second bottle and he knows a third is waiting in the wings. Damon figures they should probably stop drinking but he needs it to quell the hunger pangs. He highly doubts the tiramisu will succeed where the lasagne failed. Still, he's a supportive husband (even thinking that makes him grin like a cheshire cat) and when she sets a large plate of the dessert his nonna used to make to perfection in front of him, he sticks a large forkful into his mouth. The taste is not pleasant.
"I think I made it wrong." She frowns. She looks fucking adorable and he just wants to kiss that frown away. And then rip off her apron and burn it on the fire while they have sex in front of it. That's not going to happen though.
"I'm not sure how we've had this much wine yet we can still taste the burnt."
"I can't cook."
"I still love you."
"Will you teach me?" She's back to downing the wine.
Damon considers as he swallows a large mouthful himself. If he teaches her to cook, it's likely that he might walk in one day to a nice, home-cooked meal and her in that little apron. It's also likely that she'll be handling knives and her track record with clumsiness isn't great. 55/45. He'd rather not have a burnt lasagne again.
"Of course."
"Chicken cacciatore?"
"Let's start small." he smiles, draining the last of the wine bottle into their glasses. "Maybe carne pizzaiola."
Elena smiles and places a hand on his when he starts to get up to fetch the third bottle of wine. "I'll get it." She's scheming again.
X
Damon isn't thinking of the scheming when she parks herself in his lap under the pretence of being cold. It's June. The humidity is getting greater with each day and even though she's only wearing lingerie - and that apron of course - the kitchen is about a hundred degrees and they're suffering under a cloud of smoke generated by burnt food. There's no fucking way she's cold. Still, none of that enters his teeny-tiny little brain because it's full of the feeling of her bare ass against his jeans.
Her arms are wrapped around his - which are wrapped around her - and his ankles are crossed over hers. She's the right kind of heavy and warm - drunk heavy and warm - and she feels so perfect sitting there in his lap that he just wants to keep sitting under that thin cloud of smoke wrapped around her, drinking red wine and laughing over terrible tiramisu.
"Come on." Elena releases his arms and stands, tugging him with her. They stumble a little and she giggles and grabs him. He's bathed in her scent: sugar and wine, musky perfume and a little smoke too. She's intoxicating. She's winning.
Elena knows she's winning too, when he hands move under the front of his shirt and he doesn't stop them. Her eyes fall to his lips and when she looks back at his own eyes, expecting to see pools of icy blue, she finds them shut, waiting. It's a frenzy then, of kisses and fumbling and soft moans - none of which are the PG-13 stuff they've become accustomed too. Elena grins. Damon catches her but his judgement is so hidden by the wine-haze and the Elena-haze that he's pretty much powerless to do anything about it all.
They back up toward the couch and then fall so that he's lying down and she's atop of him, her fingers deftly released his shirt buttons from their holes. Not once do they stop kissing. When they run out of air, Damon moves to kiss her neck and hears that Elena is gasping from breath but in the best way. Her eyes are only half-open slits of pure lust when he looks up at them - a view he gets for all of two seconds before her lips go to his jawline and she runs her teeth along it. That seems to send some sort of electric shock signal to his dick because although it was hard before, it's now like a rod of steel.
He shifts so that the strain doesn't tear a hole in his jeans and she smirks, feeling her effect on her inner thighs. Somehow, between the smirking and the kissing, he's managed to untie her apron so that it's dangling from her neck and she's managed to rid him of the shirt which is lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Damon pulls away from her lips for the shortest of seconds, distantly hearing her whimper at the break in contact, to lift the apron over her head. It joins his shirt. Elena pulls back to locate his belt but he places a hand on hers to still her. She looks at him questioningly - but then arches her back and moans when he pulls the black and red panties to the slide to run a finger between her legs. She's soaking.
"Damon…" She breathes, trying to claw at something desperately. Her hands are on his chest, but finding nothing to grab, she settles on his shoulders.
He smirks at her response and chuckles low in his throat when her eyes close and she rocks her core against his hand. God he's missed this but he must keep control. He must.
Slowly, he teases a finger around her clit and she shudders with a moan. She uses her knees to lift up enough that he can slide a finger exactly where she wants it. He stretches up to press a kiss to the top of her breasts that are pushed up by heavenly satin but she's impatient.
"More."
He pulls his finger out of her to circle her clit a little faster and she frowns - actually frowns!
"Inside."
Damon switches the finger for his thumb, tracing circles lazily as he slips not one, but two fingers inside of her, and she's surprised but thrilled, and she leans back, arching herself toward him.
"Yes."
He quickens his pace with everything and she's sweating either from the fire's heat or the pent up frustration that he's finally releasing but whatever the reason, he doesn't care. She's quite clearly lost in a world that holds only him and her and the feeling she's getting from his hand.
When he feels her start to spasm periodically, he draws his fingers towards her front wall and then she's screaming his name, clamping her legs tightly against his hands as she claws her response into his shoulders. Her breasts are heaving in their satin and lace chamber, her hair tumbling around her shoulders is slick with sweat and she can barely speak. The satisfied smile on her face says it all as she collapses onto his chest, stroking his skin where she'd pierced moments ago.
"That was…" She trails off to kiss his lips. "worth the wait."
"Glad I could be of service."
His voice is thick as he drawls. He needs to keep himself in check.
Moments later, her hands make their way to his belt and his resolve is tested to the absolute limit, but he stays strong.
"Damon!" She whines. "Please?"
"No, I'm good."
She eyes the bulge in his jeans, clearly knowing the opposite.
"Maybe if you just…" her hand moves to cup his dick, but before it reaches its destination, he whips her off him with what feels like vampire strength yet they both know it isn't.
"No Elena." His voice is a warning. She pouts.
As if sensing her father's predicament, Ariella's monitor crackles into life with her whimpering and Elena rolls her eyes with a smile.
"Daddy's girl."
"Damn right," he grins, taking off up the stairs as Elena grabs his shirt and her apron from the floor.
So the plan had gone pretty well, all things considering, though she hadn't really banked on needing a follow-up. Still, a few days worth of scheming has gotten her pretty far tonight, and she figures it won't take too much more to break his resolve fully.
Let part two of winning the sex embargo commence.
