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Part II: Light the Match…
He loses count of how many times he kisses her after that. Sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth…they all spread out during the course of six months. Sometimes they're the sweet, loving little kisses that they can't help but share as they catch themselves in a weak moment, and sometimes they're the bitter, angry kisses shared during one of their many battles of wills—and it's in those moments when he wants to throttle her for being so incredibly difficult that he kisses her instead.
The first time it happens, he means it to be a small peck on the cheek; a thank you for taking care of him when he was sick. But as he comes out of the shower, dressed in a pair of low-riding pants (for her sake, as he normally prefers to sleep naked), she's sitting on his bed; dressed in those cute blue PJs of hers (the same ones she wore when he told her he loved her the first time), waiting for him to return.
"I called Ric," she says. "I told him you're okay, and he's staying with Jeremy tonight at the house, so I think I might just crash here."
Damon furrows his brow in confusion, because he really isn't sure what to say at the moment. He would have assumed that she would have left by now, since clearly he's going to live and she no longer has to play nursemaid (he immediately pushes back the Sexy Nurse Elena fantasy, because now is really not the time for him to be thinking about sex—and definitely not the time to be thinking about sex with her).
"Suit yourself," he shrugs, making his way toward his bed. Despite the fact that he's technically feeling better, getting bitten by a werewolf and almost dying has taken a lot out of him; he's exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and right now all he wants to do is sleep.
As he pulls back the covers and climbs into bed, he notices Elena worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. He looks at her with a questioning arch of his brow, because he thought she was going to bed.
"Do you need me to tuck you in?" he teases, only half joking.
Color stains her cheeks, but she doesn't look away from him; in fact, her eyes momentarily linger on his bare chest and he can swear that her heart is pounding a little faster— and the blood is pumping to places he just shouldn't be thinking about right now. He's certain his mind is playing tricks on him; because there's no way that she's having the same thoughts he is.
"N-No," she replies, her voice quivering with nervous excitement. Her eyes keep darting from his chest, to his face, then to the crisp white sheets on his bed, and it's confusing the hell out of him. She said she was going to bed; which he assumed meant Stefan's bed, so she could cry herself to sleep, while breathing in his scent, and pining away for him. But she's not moving, and she keeps looking at him with an expression he just doesn't want to read too much into, for the sake of his own sanity.
And then she does the last thing he'd ever expect from her (she's just full of surprises tonight). She pulls back the covers, and climbs into bed with him.
Damon tries to remain calm, and not let his body betray how much he wants her, but that's easier said than done when the one girl who drives him out of his fucking mind is currently wiggling around in his bed, half-naked. As if she's decided it's not enough torture, she moves to snuggle up to him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. He tries to pull away from her—human strength, of course, since he doesn't want to hurt her—but she wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes him to indicate she does not want to let him go.
"Just let me get the light," he says, biting back a low growl of frustration because he can't find the strength to make her leave, and he really doesn't want her to.
She rolls away from him, and he is thankful for the short reprieve of having her pressed against his side (things were getting uncomfortable for him). It's short-lived, however, because the second he turns off the lamp, she's back at his side, practically nuzzling his chest. The position she's in makes it nearly impossible for him to not put his arm around her, and it's that one simple gesture that causes her to sigh with contentment before whispering a sleepy "Goodnight, Damon."
He follows her into a deep sleep after that, but finds himself stirring awake again sometime past midnight. Elena is still curled up against him, her head nestled quite comfortably in the crook of his shoulder and her arm draped across his stomach. He can't help but notice that her hand moved in her sleep, and her little fingertips are brushing dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. He knows that she's not doing it on purpose, but being this close to her is more than he can handle; especially when he keeps remembering the soft touch of her lips.
Realizing that he has no choice but to move, he carefully tries to untangle himself from her. She whimpers softly in her sleep, as if sensing he's about to leave her, and she suddenly throws one leg over his to keep him from going anywhere. Damon sighs in defeat, thoroughly frustrated because he knows it's going to be several hours of this before she wakes up and realizes the compromising position they're in. He tries to take his mind off of the situation, because thinking about her pressed against him is just making things harder for him (pun fully-intended).
He decides to focus on the situation with his brother, and wonders just what the hell Katherine meant when she said Stefan gave himself over to Klaus. He's not sure he wants to know. But as soon as he's well-rested and has all his strength back, he'll be going after the bastard to rescue Stefan from whatever stupid half-cocked deal he made in exchange for saving his own life.
He spends the next several hours devising several different scenarios, all of which involve him somehow finding new and creative methods of killing Klaus. It's as he's thinking up another one, this time an elaborate decapitation followed by the satisfying removal of Klaus' heart through the gaping hole in his neck, that Elena finally stirs beside him. A quick glance at the window indicates that it's not quite dawn.
She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, and a soft blush colors her cheeks as she notices she's been lying half on top of him for the past four hours. Surprisingly, she doesn't move away in embarrassment.
"Hey," she whispers softly, her voice still somewhat sleepy.
He's convinced she's still half dreaming, because she closes her eyes again, and nuzzles against him in an obvious display of affection that he's certain is only happening because she thinks he's Stefan. Never mind that he looks nothing like his brother—He's dark, Stefan's light; he's a man, Stefan's a boy; he's here and Stefan is off who knows where.
So it's just unfathomable that Elena would be cuddling with him right now when her boyfriend is missing. Ergo, she must be hallucinating; probably because he took too much of her blood last night.
He carefully untangles their limbs and rolls away from her just enough to gain the space he needs to compose himself.
"It's still early," he rasps. "Go back to sleep, Elena."
Her lashes flutter open and she gives him another soft, sweet little smile.
"Thank you," she whispers, "for letting me stay with you. I...I didn't wanna be alone tonight." He barely hears her; also, he thinks he's imagining the whole thing. There is no way that Elena would really be thanking him for letting her sleep in his bed (with him), and there is no way that she would be wiggling her body closer at this moment to put her arms around him again. He wonders if maybe he's the one who's dreaming.
She takes advantage of his momentary distraction to use his shoulder as her pillow, and before he can stop himself from doing something incredibly stupid, he presses a soft kiss to her cheek. Or he tries to, anyway; because the moment that he closes his eyes, she turns in his arms and tilts her head so that his lips land somewhere else. He'd pull away if he wasn't completely stunned by her boldness. What should have been a chaste kiss is anything but, and surprisingly he's not the one turning up the heat. As soon as their lips touch, she becomes a woman possessed. Elena's tongue flicks out to run over his bottom lip and her hand slides up to stroke the side of his neck. When he tries to pull away she moves with him, keeping their mouths in constant contact as she slowly wears down his defenses and convictions that this is not actually happening. It can't happen.
He tries to resist her, he really does, but he's not made of stone; when her fingers tangle into his hair, he ends up rolling her onto her back and hovering over her.
He tells himself that he's only going to kiss her, that's it; he will not touch her, or taste her skin, or press his hips into hers, or feel the heat between her thighs. He will not make love to her the way he's wanted to since he first realized he was in love with her.
He ends up doing all of the above, with the exception of that last one.
Her legs are wrapped tightly around his hips and she's rocking against him, getting him harder than he ever thought possible. Every soft little whimper coming from her throat spurs him on, until he's tempted to just tear off every scrap of fabric keeping them apart and sink into her body over and over until they're both too exhausted to move anymore.
The only problem is that he really, really shouldn't be doing this; at least not right now, when emotions are still so raw, and neither one of them is thinking clearly. It takes a lot of effort on his part, but he finally manages to break their kiss.
"Elena," he pants, "We have to…" She bites his lower lip to shut him up, and her hands press into the back of his neck and shoulders as she pulls him closer, cutting off any protest he may have had. If he were capable of it at the moment, he would be rolling his eyes in annoyance because she's not making this easy on him. Just once, he would love to not have to be in control all the god damn time.
"Elena," he says, more forceful this time, tearing himself away from her lips. "Stop."
She stares at him in shock, looking like he just slapped her. She's hurt; he can see it in her eyes as she stubbornly fights back tears, and he feels like an ass. And then in an instant the look is gone, and she's hiding behind a myriad of excuses. She apologizes profusely, agreeing that now is not the time for this, and that she was just upset because he almost died last night; and then she's stumbling out bed, her cheeks stained crimson, and mutters "I should go…" before bolting out the door like she can't get away fast enough.
Fast forward to a few weeks later and Damon's back with Andie; he knows it's incredibly cruel to use the poor woman like he has been, but it's the only way he can think of to keep some distance between him and Elena. It's the only way he can keep her from starting the conversation he just can't have with her; right now, his only priority should be looking for his brother, and dragging his ass home where he belongs. She of all people should understand that; if there's one thing they will always agree on it's that family comes first, always. So, because he's not able to give her what she keeps asking for right now, he figures the only solution is to make it impossible for her to be around him. Enter the "girlfriend".
He knows it bothers her every time he brings Andie to the Grill and flaunts her around like the arm candy she is. Whenever he pecks her on the lips at their table, he can feel Elena glaring daggers at him, or rather, at his date. He knows she's jealous, and a part of him does get a little thrill out of the whole thing. After all, just a few months ago she'd been doing the same thing to him. Every time he'd watched her with Stefan, it had been like a stake being shoved right into his gut. So yeah, in a way she deserves this; she deserves to know what it feels like to want someone so badly and not be able to have them. And yeah, he also hates that he's hurting her, but what other choice does he have? Besides, she's only eighteen and has her whole life ahead of her; she'll eventually get over it.
That's what he tells himself the night of Carol Lockwood's Halloween party, anyway. He deliberately brings Andie as his date, because truthfully going to these functions alone at his age is all kinds of pathetic. Sure, he could probably have amused himself by flirting with Carol, but that might give Tyler a reason to bite him again. So instead he parades around the room with Andie on his arm, and she's dressed in the flowing white gown he imagines Aphrodite might have worn (although in his head he always pictured the Goddess of Love as a brunette, regardless of what the books and paintings would have to say about it). He's well aware of the stares of the other men in the room as they openly ogle his date, but he barely gives them a thought. He's too busy scanning the room for Elena, even though he swore to himself that he wouldn't.
"I still think we should have coordinated," Andie says, turning his attention away from the rest of the party guests.
"You just wanna see me draped in nothing but a sheet," he teases her. "Besides, I look good in a suit; why mess with perfection?" And then, having spotted a certain pair of brown eyes staring at them just a few feet from where they're currently standing on the lawn, he gives her his most flirtatious grin and playfully pinches her ass. Andie is quick to admonish him for it, reminding him that they're in public (but grinning nonetheless) and his heightened senses immediately register Elena's sharp intake of breath, as if he's physically wounded her by showing off like he has been. It makes him ache, not being able to simply go to her and take her into his arms, and it doesn't help at all that she's incredibly beautiful in her Renaissance gown; like a princess in royal blue velvet. He has to remind himself that he is not her prince, and that this is not a fairy tale. So he forces himself to look away from her, and dips his head to playfully nuzzle his date's neck; when he looks up again, Elena's gone.
After he drops Andie off at her apartment a few hours later, he returns home; intending to finish off whatever's still left of his liquor supply. He immediately has a sense of déjà vu, because a certain dark haired beauty is waiting for him on the plush sofa; well, lounging is probably the more appropriate word here. He isn't sure how long she's been here, but it's clear that she's been waiting for him; maybe even since she disappeared from the party.
"Where's your date?" she asks, not bothering to hide her jealousy.
Damon shrugs, ignoring her in favor of pouring himself a glass full of amber liquid. "I took her home," he replies. "I wore her out these last few nights, and she needed her rest."
It's a lie; one of the many he's been telling her lately. The truth is he's barely touched Andie out of the public eye (and by "public", he means Elena). He hasn't even been the slightest bit tempted to feed on her, either.
"It's not working, just so you know," Elena informs him, tilting her chin up in defiance.
"What's not working?" he asks, casually sipping his drink and trying to appear completely indifferent to her presence (uninvited, he might add) in his home.
Elena narrows her eyes as if she's trying to see right through him. "This pathetic attempt to convince me you've moved on, when we both know it's all an act."
He smirks at her. "How would you know?" he asks her pointedly.
Elena stands up, staring directly into his eyes. "I know you keep trying to push me away; to hurt me in some way so that I give up on you and move on," she says, stepping closer to him. It's an odd thing, seeing her dressed like a demure maiden from the 15th century, and yet there's that fire in her eyes and a stubbornness that no 15th century maiden could ever have hoped to achieve.
"It's not going to work," she whispers softly. "No matter how much we try to fight it…"
"Elena…" He practically growls her name in warning, clenching the glass until it threatens to shatter in his hand. "You're playing a very dangerous game."
"Who says I'm playing?"
He's frozen in place as she moves toward him like a cat stalking its prey, her eyes burning into his with such intensity that he's certain the entire room is going to burst into flames.
"We did things your way," she says, licking her lips in determination. "Now we're going to try mine."
He knows what she intends to do, and honestly it scares the hell out of him; because if he lets her this time, he won't be able to blame it on the fact that he'd almost died, or that she'd been too upset to know what she was doing. If they do this, there's no going back.
He's not sure who makes the first move; whether it's her wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him closer, or him cupping her face in his hands, he really doesn't know, nor does he care. He's waited for this for too long, and denied himself the sheer pleasure of having her clinging to him as if her very life depends on how close she can get to him. He tumbles onto the couch with her lying on top of him, straddling his hips. Her full skirt fans over their legs, and he can feel her heat through his pants. When she grinds down on him and takes control of the kiss, he grips the arm of the sofa and nearly tears it in two in his attempts to not flip her onto her back and take her right there.
She leans close to his ear, letting out a breathy little moan. "Touch me," she says, her voice filled with raw need.
He recognizes the scent of Tequila on her breath, and is quick to study her cautiously.
"How much have you had to drink?" he asks.
She shrugs. "Enough to give me the courage to do this, but not enough that I'll regret it in the morning."
Okay, so he knows that's not really an answer, but before his brain can remind him that this is a very bad idea, his hands are already palming her breasts. She moans louder this time and pushes herself forward on his hands to increase the pressure. Her nipples pebble into hard little buds beneath the thin velvet of her bodice, and it takes a moment for his desire-fogged mind to register that she's not wearing a bra. His thumbs easily locate the sensitive little peaks, circling and pinching them until she cries his name with an edge of desperation to her voice.
Her nails are clawing his shirt, tearing at the buttons because she's too far gone to even try to undo them with her shaking fingers; and he's too busy trying to figure out how to get her out of her dress to do it himself. At last he finds the little ties at the base of her spine, and quickly unlaces them. The warm velvet material, now damp from her heated skin, falls from her shoulders and she's suddenly bare from the waist up. Likewise, she's made quick work of destroying his shirt, but he is too focused on the feeling of having her skin against his to care. He sits up, hugging her body close to his so that her knees are pressed to either side of his hips, and captures her lips in another hungry kiss.
She threads her fingers through his hair, and it sends shivers through him; starting at the back of his neck and shooting straight to his cock. He needs her so badly that he's nearly going out of his mind, but he forces himself to slow down, restricting his touch to just above the waist (but still not ruling out the grinding of their hips).
He glides his tongue over her neck, dipping into the soft crevice of her collarbone before slowly tracing a path to the soft rises of her breasts. He can feel the crazy pulse beneath her skin; can practically taste it. The bloodlust hits him full-force, and before he can get control of it his fangs accidentally prick her skin. She jumps in his arms and he pulls his head back in alarm, because he honestly hadn't meant to bite her. It shocks him that he has, because Damon Salvatore has always prided himself on being perfectly controlled when with a woman. The only way this could possibly be more humiliating for him would be if he also came in his pants just from her rocking on top of him (and embarrassingly, he's close to doing that, too).
It's the sharp, sweet scent of her blood that sets fire to his senses; his inner demon screams at him to take her, and suddenly he's picturing another night and another costume. Elena, standing before him in a white nurse's dress, stained red with her blood. He'd been fighting for control even then, before he had realized the depths of his feelings for her; now it's even worse because unlike before, she's not pulling away from him. Her breath is still shallow, and her heavily lidded eyes remain locked on his, watching and waiting for him to taste her.
It's too much for him, and he immediately turns his head away from her.
"You should probably go," he says.
"Damon…" she whispers pleadingly, reaching out to touch his cheek. He flinches against her soft touch, his eyes burning into hers as he tells her (without words) that now is not the time to be touching him.
"Go," he tells her again, and this time the tone in his voice leaves no room for arguments.
There's a rustling of fabric as Elena slips back into the sleeves of her dress and pulls the bodice up to cover her breasts. As soon as she's decent she carefully moves to stand, turning her back to him.
"Umm," she clears her throat and glances over her shoulder at him, biting her lip nervously, "Can you…"
He nods his head, and quickly and laces her dress back up for her faster than he'd ever thought possible.
"Done," he says.
She turns around to face him, and he recognizes her frown as one of disappointment; as if she'd hoped he would have changed his mind about making her leave.
"What? No goodbye kiss?" she asks. Her tone is teasingly flirtatious, but her eyes give her away; he can see the hope there, and it nearly unravels the last thread of his resolve not to give in to her.
"You and I both know that's not a good idea right now," he tells her seriously.
She opens her mouth to protest, but he cuts her off. "Goodnight, Elena," he sing-songs.
She sighs, defeated, and makes her way to the door.
"This isn't over," she says softly.
He pretends not to hear her, even though they both know he does; and when the door finally shuts behind her, he lets out the breath he's been holding. It's no good; her scent still lingers in the room. He paces the floor like a caged beast; occasionally cursing at the empty room as he tries to figure out a new plan of action. It's clear that Elena is determined to tear down every last wall he's ever built up, and with Stefan oh-so-conveniently out of the picture there's nothing at all to distract her from her goal. The only problem is that with Stefan gone, Elena can't make a clear choice; and Damon doesn't feel like being part of a "love the one you're with" scenario, because what happens when Stefan comes back?
So he grabs his phone and sends a quick text to Ric, asking him to pack his best weapons, and heads upstairs to change out of his party clothes and into something more Badass Vampire-Hunter-y. It's time to go find his brother.
Truthfully, he's hoping that Elena will choose him regardless of whether Stefan's in the picture or not, but there's that small, insecure part of him that fears she won't. And he'd rather know for sure, before things go any further between them, which Salvatore has her heart.
Surprisingly it doesn't take more than a few weeks to find Stefan; mostly because the trail of dead bodies makes him very easy to follow. And with a little help from Ric, Damon has his brother securely locked in his cell, complete with enough chains and vervain to keep him immobile for at least a few days; or until he's no longer insane, whatever comes first. So far, keeping Stefan barely conscious seems to be the only thing stopping him from trying to pull the chains out of the wall. It's unsettling to say the least. Damon's heard stories over the years about what Stefan was like when he wasn't striking fear into the hearts of the forest animals, and he had even seen a little of what Stefan was capable of back in 1864, but this? He never would have thought Stefan could ever be so feral. When Damon had finally found him, it was just too horrible to describe; Stefan had been tearing into a body that was barely recognizable as that of a human girl, due to all the blood and torn or broken limbs. Regrettably, the poor girl had still been alive (although just barely), and her anguished cries had only spurred Stefan on to even greater violence; he seemed to enjoy it.
After pumping Stefan with enough vervain darts to take down ten vampires, Ric dragged him out of the warehouse and into the back of the large van he "borrowed" for this purpose, and Damon mercifully snapped the necks of any victims still unlucky enough to be alive (of which there were three; including another girl who couldn't have been older than fifteen). It's in those moments that he's very glad that he decided against telling Elena where he was going; she would have tried to talk him into taking her with him, and he really hadn't wanted her to see this. Hell, he doesn't want her to know about it; he doesn't even want to know about it. No one with any shred of humanity would want to know about it.
Regardless, she still comes storming into the house, calling his name; or rather, demanding that he show himself immediately. (Obviously, Vampire Barbie has a big mouth, and swearing her to secrecy when he asked for her help in "calming" the crazed vampire in the cellar hadn't made it clear enough for her that Elena was the one who needed to stay out of the loop.)
"Where is he?" she says, getting right to the reason she came over here with guns blazing.
"And hello to you, too, Elena," he drawls.
She glares at him.
"I'm serious, Damon," she snaps irritably. "Where's Stefan?"
"He's at the rehab center for the criminally insane," Damon replies sarcastically.
Elena presses her lips together in that determined (stubborn) way of hers, and moves three steps past him before he's blocking her path.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demands.
She crosses her arms and glares defiantly.
"Where do you think?"
Her eyes immediately focus on the door leading to the cellar.
He shakes his head. "Not happening."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because he's too unstable for a tearful reunion right now!" Damon snaps at her. "And I don't feel like burying your corpse after Stefan drains you dry."
She seems to consider his warning, and for that Damon breathes a huge sigh of relief. He had been worried that she'd be all Elena on him and insist that the homicidal vampire downstairs would never hurt her.
"How long has he been down there?" she asks; the concern for his brother quite evident in her tone and expression.
He shrugs. "A few days."
Elena narrows her eyes at him. "A few days, and you didn't think it was important enough to tell me?"
"I didn't want you to know," he informs her.
She practically explodes with fury at his admission to deliberately keeping this from her. "It's Stefan, Damon! How could you not tell me?"
"Because I know you," he says pointedly, "and I knew that you'd come rushing over here to see him."
"So this is all about you being jealous?"
"No," he sighs in exasperation. "This is about me protecting you."
"I don't need to be protected," she says, predictable in her response to that declaration, as always.
"Well it's not your call to make," he informs her.
"The hell it isn't! It's MY life, Damon. Not yours!"
He doesn't know what it is, but something about the way she says those words causes his jaw to clench tightly, and he grips her shoulders hard, forcing her head back to look at him.
"You are my life!" he growls, his lips claiming hers and shutting her up before she can even form a response.
It's raw, passionate, and so powerful that it's as if the flames are consuming him whole. She claws at him like a wild cat, hungrily devouring him until there is nothing left and all that he is belongs to her.
He has one thought in his head (other than the obvious) and it's that he must have completely lost his mind to be doing this now, when his brother is just one floor below them. But in spite of that, he still presses her against the wall, and her legs immediately wrap around his waist, grinding her pelvis against his.
He growls low in his throat, swallowing her cries of pleasure as he uses one hand to brace her against the wall; the other one slips down the front of her jeans.
He really has no idea how they got to this point; he's beginning to suspect that fighting for them has always just been some kind of warped foreplay. It would certainly explain why she's already slick and incredibly hot between her thighs.
He explores her folds, encouraged by her sharp gasps and whimpers; she bucks her hips into his hand, trying to get him right where she needs him, and he gives it to her, pressing his thumb against that bundle of nerves while slipping his index and middle fingers inside her velvet heat.
She bites his lip a little harder than she probably realizes; the tremors wracking through her almost that of someone having an epileptic fit. He knows he's hitting the magic spot when tears start springing to her eyes and she has to pull away from his lips in order to take in shuddering gasps of air.
She's always been beautiful, but in the throes of her passion she's exquisite; he'd always known she would be, but his dreams and fantasies in no way compare to the real thing. If it wasn't for the fact that he's aching to be inside her, he would happily make her come all day until she finally passed out from exhaustion.
It takes less than a minute for him to race her up to his room and strip them both of their jeans, and then he's sinking deep inside her. He can feel her nails digging into his backside, demanding for him to go harder; faster; deeper. He's "not close enough", she whimpers; she needs to feel every inch of his skin on hers. She doesn't even notice when he tears off her shirt and bra (or maybe they've denied themselves for so long that she doesn't care), and then she lets out a primal growl and tears open his black button-down without breaking their kiss. By his count, this is now the second shirt of his she's ruined; he makes a mental note to buy a few more (or just stop wearing clothes around her, whichever sounds better).
Her breasts are pressing up against his chest as she hugs him as tightly to her as she possibly can. He alters the angle of his hips and thrusts up, hitting her sweet spot repeatedly with each stroke. As he suckles the side of her neck her can feel her nipples puckering up in reaction, and she shivers violently. He loves the response in her so much that he does it again, and within a few more glorious seconds she's writhing beneath him and whispering his name like a prayer to the gods.
And then he feels that coil inside him tighten, reminding him once again of his own need; he moves faster, determined to bring her with him. She claws at him again, crying out, "Don't stop. Don't you DARE stop!"
He can't help inwardly smirking at that, because it's even more proof that she was made for him; no woman has ever been able to keep up to his level of power or stamina, yet Elena matches him perfectly with every thrust of his hips, and still she urges him to keep going (he'll be amazed if she's able to walk after this).
She screams his name, praises God, and shouts out every filthy, dirty, naughty thing she's ever dreamed of doing with him (and he's pleasantly surprised by how many of those fantasies she's had that perfectly echo his own). She digs her nails into his skin, bites down on his shoulder; and then her inner muscles clamp down around him, coaxing his own orgasm from his loins as she spirals into hers. More than a year of sexual tension, longing, and repressed feelings finally come to fruition in one explosive moment, and it's several glorious minutes before either of them return to their senses. Damon, naturally, is the first to regain use of his limbs and a semi-functioning brain, and when he realizes the enormity of what they've just done (despite the inevitability) he tries to roll off her. Elena hugs him close, squeezing around his semi-hard length.
"Don't," she whispers into his hair. "Just stay with me."
And because he's never been able to argue with her, he allows her to hold him for a good ten minutes until her breathing evens out and she falls into a post-orgasmic coma. He slips out of her carefully, determined not to wake her.
When she finally wakes again, it's several hours later, and Damon's had entirely too much time to think; he tells her it was a mistake, and she slaps him so hard he's sure he has an imprint of her hand on his cheek.
"Okay, I deserve that," he grimaces.
"You're damn right you do!" she spits at him. "You're lucky I care about you because if I didn't you would be on fire right now for the shit you've just pulled!"
Then she smacks him again, this time hitting his chest, and nearly shoving him off the bed (she would have, if not for his superior strength).
"You. Arrogant. Selfish. Stupid. Jerk!" she says, punching his chest with each syllable. "I finally give in to everything I've ever felt for you in over a YEAR, and you act like it means nothing? Fuck you!"
She hits him one more time, and then she's scrambling off the bed and searching frantically for her clothes and muttering under her breath that she needs to get out of here. He can see the tears in her eyes that threaten to fall, and he knows he's fucked this up again; just as he knew he always would.
The truth is he doesn't actually regret making love to her, he just regrets the way it happened; there was supposed to be a heartfelt confession of her undying love for him, and him alone, and there was supposed to be romance and slow explorations. It was not supposed to be frantic, and it certainly was not supposed to happen with his brother (her boyfriend, for all intents and purposes, since they didn't actually break up) downstairs in detox. He bitterly wonders if this makes him "the other man"; or just a stand-in until Stefan's back to his old, brooding self again. Either way, this isn't what he wanted his relationship with Elena to become, and it fucking sucks!
But regardless of how he feels about the circumstances that led to this moment, he knows that if he doesn't fix this now, he'll lose her completely; and he's just not willing to do that. So he rushes over to her and blocks the door so she can't leave his room; at least not until after they talk about this most recent development between them.
She huffs in irritation that he's not moving, and wearily pleads with him to just let her go.
"Get out of the way, Damon," she sighs.
"I'm sorry," he tells her with all the sincerity and remorse he's capable of (without sounding like a pathetic child desperate to escape punishment, anyway). "I'm sorry for making you think that this," he gestures between them, and then looks over at the bed, "didn't mean anything to me; because you should know by now that it means everything to me. You mean everything to me."
His words have the desired effect, and while she's still glaring at him, her shoulders relax and her expression softens just a tiny bit. She keeps her arms crossed over her still-bare chest, and there's vulnerability in her tear-filled eyes.
"Then why would you say it was a mistake?" she asks him, her voice cracking on the last word.
"Because you're still with Stefan," he replies, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in his tone. "I didn't want to start something with you, only for you to decide that it's still going to always be Stefan; and now…" he sighs, defeated, "…I'm not sure I'll be strong enough to let you go; I could have convinced myself before that every fantasy I've ever had was just that, a fantasy. But now I've held you in my arms, breathed in your scent, and tasted your skin; I heard you call out my name while I was inside you, and I'm never going to be able to forget it."
"I can't forget it either," she admits softly, bringing one hand up to rest on his shoulder, "and I don't want to."
And just like that, his resolve to stay away from her crumbles to dust as she burns his skin with her touch, and sets his lips on fire with hers. He has this insane need to apologize again (despite the fact he's not that good at expressing his emotions) but as her mouth is currently fused to his, he settles for showing her by slowly making love to her instead.
The rest of the afternoon is spent on his bed, in his shower, and any surface in his room where he can comfortably taste every inch of her.
When they finally come up for air, it's after six and remembering that Elena needs to eat, he suggests she stay for dinner; after all, they still haven't had that conversation regarding their (uncertain) future. Sure, it's pretty clear that she's chosen him (a fact that still has his mind reeling, because he had been convinced the universe hated him up to this point), but there's still that messy business of breaking the news (gently) to his brother. He thinks it might be better if they wait until Stefan's more himself; yeah, he hates sneaking around behind his back (although it would be poetic justice 146 years in coming) but there is just no way in hell he'll be able to keep his hands off Elena until then.
Trying to keep his hands (and lips; and tongue) off her proves to be an exercise in futility; because even when he tries to keep things PG and ignores the throbbing of his groin, Elena decides they need to make up for lost time. If he was keeping score (and he can't help it because of how crazy he is about her) he would count that she's snuck into his bed six times in the dead of night, and she's surprised him in the shower eight times; six of those being after the previously mentioned Surprise Sleepovers. Then there was that one time at The Mystic Grill, when she texted him from across the room upon arriving after school; she'd told him exactly (and very explicitly, he might add) what she wanted him to do to her, and where. Then she'd headed for the ladies' room, and gave him a saucy little smirk, daring him to follow her; and of course he did.
He'd almost been caught with his head up her skirt in the school parking lot on one particular occasion, but at the last minute he'd heard footsteps, and had pulled away (leaving Elena with this adorably frustrated look on her face).
As guilty as he should feel about doing this while Stefan's still incapacitated, he just can't; sneaking around with Elena is just too hot. Also, he's quickly learning that her sex drive is almost as high as his, and the mood is likely to strike at any time (and anywhere), making her incredibly unpredictable. If he was capable of getting her pregnant, she would most definitely need to be on the pill; because carrying a twelve-pack of condoms everywhere is just not realistic.
His point is that being with Elena, even in secret, has turned them both into nymphomaniacs. Not that he's complaining; he's just worried about what that's going to do to them once his baby brother is ready to rejoin society, and they have to cool off for a while.
That's going to be a challenge in itself, because sex with Elena has become so much a part of his everyday activities that he doesn't even remember what he did before (he suspects there was a lot of drinking involved, as he hasn't needed to have so much as a drop of alcohol-aside from the occasional glass of wine, but that always includes Elena; normally naked, and soapy with bubbles.)
But, after several blissful weeks, Stefan finally starts to show signs of improvement (that is to say he's brooding and miserable) and fun time is officially over; at least until Elena breaks up with him and they can finally stop this charade and be together as much as they like.
It's as he's handing Stefan a blood bag (straight from the butcher and 100 percent Stefan-diet-approved) that he gets the standard booty-text. Of course he lies, says it's Ric, and Stefan is luckily too hungry to question it.
When he gets to the house, she's already waiting in a sexy red bra and matching lace panties that he is pretty sure she just bought today during her shopping spree with Bonnie and Caroline (the first assuming that it's for when Stefan's better, the second having some idea but thankfully has enough sense to keep her mouth shut…for once).
"You like?" Elena asks, batting her eyes and swaying her hips provocatively as she models her new "outfit" for him.
Now would be a good time to practice that previously mentioned control, he tells himself, as Elena wraps her arms around him and pulls him into a heated kiss.
He keeps his lips firmly shut, and tenses his shoulders in an effort to not give in.
"What's wrong?" she asks, frowning when she realizes he's not kissing her back. "Normally you'd have me naked by now."
"We need to talk," he tells her, uttering the most dreaded words in the history of relationships.
"Okay…" she says, giving him a questioning look. He can see the fear in her eyes, and knows that this is not going to be an easy conversation to have with her; it's also going to be increasingly difficult to have it while she's in her sexy underwear.
"You should probably get dressed first," he says, giving her a very pointed look.
She nods in understanding and heads toward her bedroom. Out of habit, he follows a few steps behind her (and can't help staring at her ass on the way up the stairs, because hey, he's male), and as soon as they're in her room with her door shut, and Elena ties the sash of her robe around her waist, she spins around to face him with fire blazing in her eyes.
"Okay, get it over with."
"Get what over with?" he asks, furrowing his brow in confusion.
"You're obviously here to end what we have," she presses, "and I'd prefer if you just do it quickly and save us both anymore heartache!"
He can tell by her snappish tone that she's already hurting, and knows he needs to fix this misunderstanding between them; preferably before she starts cussing him out and throwing things at him.
"I'm not breaking up with you," he tells her, rolling his eyes as if the very notion that he ever would is ridiculous (which it is; he didn't wait this long for her only to give her up when she was finally his).
She immediately relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank god," she says, then adds with a teasing smile, "I wasn't sure if I could go back to hating your guts."
"Please," he says, that trademark smirk tipping his lips, "you couldn't hate me if you wanted to."
She laughs at that, but he knows that she knows it to be true; no matter how many times in their past that he's done something to seriously piss her off, she's always forgiven him. (And now that forgiveness even comes with a few heated kisses.)
"Seriously though," he says, "we do need to discuss something."
She sits down on her bed, patting the spot next to her, and he shakes his head, turning down the invitation to join her. "We won't be doing any talking if I'm that close, and you know it," he points out, causing her to reply with a wicked little grin that (almost) makes him second-guess why it's so damn important to discuss this now.
"Stop that; I'm trying to be serious," he admonishes. When he's certain he has her undivided attention, and she's stopped trying to mentally undress him, he drops the bombshell. "Stefan's back."
"I know he is," she smirks. "Or did you forget that we were fighting about him the day you finally gave in and let me have my way with you?"
He rolls his eyes, because he's trying to be serious right now and she still has sex on the brain (oh how the roles reversed so quickly). "No," he clarifies, "he's back. The squirrel and bunny population won't be safe for much longer."
"But, that's good, isn't it? I mean, he's back. He's Stefan again!"
Damon nods. "Yeah, he is," he confirms. "He's still pretty fragile; worse than the last time he went through detox, but he's not a psychopath anymore." He sighs, because he knows she's not going to like what he has to say next. "Which means…I should probably keep my distance from you for a while."
She looks at him like he just slapped her. "I thought you said we weren't breaking up!"
"We're not," he replies. "We're just going to have to hit the pause button for a bit; at least until he's strong enough that telling him isn't going to make him feel like sunbathing without his ring."
"You really think he'd try to kill himself if he found out about us?" she asks worriedly.
"Maybe not," he shrugs, "but then again Stefan has a habit of going all emo when we least expect it; and as much as I would love to flaunt it in front of the whole town that I finally got the girl..."
"He's still your brother," Elena finishes for him. He doesn't say anything, but then he doesn't really need to; Elena has always understood him far better than anyone else ever has. "So how long before..."
"Probably a week or two."
"A WEEK?" she repeats, looking horrified at the idea.
He smirks at her. "You'll survive; you've waited a whole lot longer than that in the past."
"Yeah," she points out, "but it's a small town, Damon, and we're still going to run into each other; and it's already hard enough just keeping our relationship a secret, now you want me to keep my distance completely?"
"Would you prefer Stefan find out about us because I happen to have your scent all over me?" he asks, arching his brow.
"No," she sighs, defeated. "You're right."
"I know," he replies. "So I think I should go now, before Stefan starts wondering where I am."
"You're leaving already?" she asks, pouting adorably. "I don't even get a goodbye kiss?"
He knows what she really wants, but that still isn't enough to stop him from giving in and sweeping her into his arms like a romantic hero in a trashy novel and what's supposed to be a goodbye kiss quickly escalates into something more; because goodbye has never been simple between them.
She pulls his shirt over his head, breathes heavily against his neck, traces every inch of newly bared skin with her mouth; and he lets her, because he might as well take full advantage of the time he has left with her.
His fingers tangle into her hair as she dips her head and takes him between her soft lips, as if savoring the taste and feel of him. He watches her eyes flutter shut, and a small tear falls past her lashes and trickles down her cheek, and he brushes it away with his free hand before bringing her back up to kiss her lips and lift her bridal style into his arms.
He lays her back on her bed, hovering over her and brushing his lips over her quivering stomach before reaching the liquid heaven between her legs. She moans softly at the first flick of his tongue, and Damon tries to make her ecstasy last as long as he possibly can before finally sinking into her body and giving in to his own need to be as close to her as two people can possibly get, committing every sound, every taste, and every touch to memory; because it may very well be the last time he gets to hold her like this.
He may have promised he wouldn't break up with her, but once Stefan's hero armor is all shiny and perfect again, he knows she'll likely make that decision herself.
So as she falls asleep curled around him, he gently untangles their limbs and gives her one last kiss before slipping quietly out her bedroom window.
A few days later he kisses her out of anger; and a little bit of possessiveness and jealousy are part of it too. It's just after Stefan leaves his self-imposed jail cell for a more comfortable one upstairs in his room. Ironically enough, his wanting to see Elena again had nothing to do with it; it was Vampire Barbie who talked him into it.
"If you're gonna keep sulking, you could at the very least move the pity party to your bedroom; I mean, even inmates have access to a shower," he overhears her telling Stefan in that bossy no-nonsense tone of hers that he usually finds irritating, but in the case of his brother's moodiness he's grateful for it. Especially since it seems to snap Stefan out of his depression long enough to actually crack a smile and laugh with her.
Once Stefan no longer smells like road kill baking on the highway, Damon calls Elena to tell her the "good news".
Biggest fuck-up ever.
She gets to the boarding house in record time, speeds up the stairs, and throws her arms around his brother's neck. Then they're talking about how worried she was, and how much she missed him; and his name isn't even mentioned once. Well, okay, the "Damon's been worried about you too, even if he's too stubborn to admit it," speech was one time his name came up, but it's not the topic he was waiting for.
He could write it off as her not wanting to upset the eternally brooding teenager, except that when it's time for her to leave, Stefan grasps her hand, and there's a "moment" between them. And, being that Damon has been listening quite intently through the door for the past hour, he recognizes the sudden silence and the gentle press of lips on lips; and then the old sparks of jealous rage flare up and he's seeing red.
He catches her on her way to her car, and presses her back against one of the more secluded trees a few feet from the house (and of course away from earshot of Stefan's room).
"What the hell, Damon?" she hisses at him after getting over her momentary shock.
He meets her furious glare with an even fiercer one.
"So is this how you're going to play it?" he spits venomously at her. "I thought you didn't want to be like HER."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she sputters. "What's gotten into you?"
He doesn't answer her, and instead dips his head to capture her mouth and silence her lies. The kiss is bruising, punishing, and she tries to pull away from it, but he holds her firmly to him. Her soft moans are stifled by his lips as she slowly opens to his assault, and he plunges his tongue inside, swirling it around to taste her fully before deliberately recoiling back in disgust.
"I can taste him on your lips," he growls.
Her eyes widen in understanding, and she looks away guiltily.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
He laughs sardonically. "Sorry you kissed him, or sorry that I caught you?"
"Damon, it's not..."
"Not what?" he cuts her off. "And don't tell me that it's not what it fucking looked like, because I have ways of knowing if you're lying to me!"
One of her hands comes up automatically to clutch her necklace. "You wouldn't," she says, more as a way to reassure herself that he won't compel her.
"I will if I have to," he warns her; and at the seriousness in his tone, she is immediately compliant.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she sighs. "He caught me by surprise, and..."
"Like how I caught you by surprise, right?" he snaps at her, "such a convenient excuse to misbehave!"
"Are you going to let me explain, or just assume the worst and attack me before I can defend myself?"
He cocks his head to the side to indicate he's listening, and she sighs in exasperation.
"I didn't kiss him, Damon," she says. "He kissed me."
He rolls his eyes, because that right there is the oldest (and lamest) excuse, and he tells her so.
"Oh my god, are you twelve?" she says, getting annoyed now.
"One of us is," he replies, echoing the same words she said to him when she'd effectively locked him out of his own house until he agreed with her (stupid) plan to sacrifice herself. "Although I doubt even a twelve year old would think the 'he kissed me' excuse is valid."
"Ugh," she growls. "Why are you being such an ass?"
"I think I have every right to be an ass right now, considering you've been lying through your teeth!"
"I'm not lying!" she cries in frustration. "What was I supposed to do?"
"You could have NOT kissed him!"
"He's still my boyfriend!" she shouts at him; and as soon as she says it, she gasps and is instantly apologetic. "I didn't mean...that came out wrong..." she stammers. But it's too late, and he pulls away from her; both physically and mentally.
"No," he says bitterly. "You're right; he's your boyfriend, and I'm just the guy you've been fucking behind his back." The words are harsh, cruel, and exactly how he feels about this fucked up situation they've gotten themselves into.
"Tell me something; why would you even start something with me if you were just going to run back to him?"
"I'm not...Damon, I..." She stumbles over every syllable, and there are tears of frustration in her eyes.
"When you can actually finish that sentence," he tells her softly, "you know where to find me."
And then he swallows the lump in his throat and leaves her, still sobbing, and heads back inside to consume his weight in expensive liquor and try to forget that she's just broken his heart.
