A/N: Wow. You all are so sweet and all those reviews were so nice - and because you're so great, I couldn't resist adding this on. It's shorter. But I'm working on a third part, too, mostly holiday stuff because I have a feeling we're not going to get any awesome Christmas/snow/Auld Lang Syne scenes out of TVD. At least not this year. -) Anyway, thanks again so much for the kind words - though it's shorter and not quite as deep, I hope you enjoy it. One more to go. Review if you can.
How in the hell did he become a babysitter?
A decade ago, he was an unrivaled nightmare, leaving a world-wide trail of victims that could fill a telephone book. He was ruthless. Wild. Unstoppable. Now he's Dudley Doright. With fangs.
He takes another drink of scotch and adjusts on the roof. Because this is how he's spending Friday night. Sitting on Elena's roof watching out for bad guys. Of course, she doesn't know he's here. She's too busy getting ready for Chritmas Prom or whatever the hell they're calling this town event.
He's going too, of course, but he knew Stefan would be getting ready, leaving Elena alone and unwatched for a couple of hours. Something she insists is perfectly fine. Because she's sure she can take care of herself.
She's really irritating that way. In a lot of ways, really, like the way she chews on the end of her pens, or the way she hen-pecks her brother, or the way she tears the crusts off her sandwich like she's still six years old.
Of course, true to his new pathetic self, he finds every one of those things adorable. Because he's in love. Stars in the eyes, butterflies in the stomach, the whole fucking nine yards.
There is not enough liquor in the world to dull this shame. He should stake himself and be done with it.
He shifts on the roof, tugging at the cuffs of his suit jacket. He can hear her moving around inside, fiddling with hair things and make-up. She'll look gorgeous, of course. And Stefan will pick her up, probably in a horse-drawn carriage. He'll probably give her roses and quote poetry and they'll be back together by the time they get to the corner of First and Main.
Jesus, he needs to get a life.
Inside, there's a rustle of fabric and then a sigh inside her bedroom. "Dammit."
Damon grins at the rare swear word. Elena, queen of goodness and light. What he wouldn't pay to hear her drop an f-bomb. Preferably while naked and underneath him.
"Shoot," she says again, and he can hear her struggling with something. "Jeremy!" she calls, and then she's padding through the house, searching. But Jeremy and Jenna left with Ric a few minutes earlier. They'd called up the stairs that they'd see her there, but at that point the shower had still been running.
She's back in her room now, and he can resist no longer. He hops lightly to the window sill, where he can see her struggling near the closet, her arms contorted behind her back.
Her dress just has to be red, of course.
He flashes back to that night at his house, her chest heaving in that red and black bra, her body trembling against the wall. Ruse or not, that's the kind of moment that sticks with a guy. Especially since they kissed that night. That kiss didn't have dick to do with protecting Stefan. That part was his, and he'll be damned if he's letting it go.
She turns sideways, her brow furrowed as she struggles with the zipper that runs the length of the back.
Damon slides open the window and steps inside.
"Need a hand?"
Elena shrieks like a banshee, spinning around with a murderous look in her eyes.
"Damon!"
She's clutching the front of her strapless dress to her breasts. She doesn't have her shoes on and there are still curlers in the sides of her hair and she's got to be the most breathtaking creature that's ever walked this earth. He deserves a vervain dart for this. He's a disgrace to the entire vampire race.
"Sorry," he says, smirking.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, flushing hotly.
"Calm down," he says, waving the air. "I've seen you in less."
"Damon." Her voice is a low warning, matched with flinty eyes.
"I was watching out for baddies until your Prince Charming gets here."
"I told you I'm fine."
"Yeah, I heard you saying something but you teenagers are like the parents in Charlie Brown. It's all 'mwah mwah mwah' to me."
"I'm running late," she says, dismissing him with a shake of her head.
As if everything is normal. As if she hasn't blushed everytime he's been within ten feet of her for the last three weeks.
"In that case, let me get that for you," he says,
She's going to protest. Her whole body tenses with it, but then he's behind her, one hand on the curve of her waist and one hand on the zipper. It takes everything he's got to resist lingering back there, trailing figners up the smooth skin of her back. But he does.
Once it's done, he turns her towards the full length mirror and smirks over her shoulder.
"My, my, you are a vision. You planning on leaving the curlers in?"
Her smile is tremulous in the mirror, and she pulls them out slowly, dropping them to an end table. Their eyes lock in the mirror and he actually gets a lump in his throat.
She doesn't move. His hands are still on her waist. There's something in her eyes right now, something that brings back the noises she made when he kissed her, the way her hands felt on her face.
He needs to get his ass out of this room. Right now. Because he's about two seconds from throwing this girl over his shoulder and making a run for it. He wants her that damn bad.
"You look…nice," she says.
"I'm never nice."
He steps in closer, until her back is just grazing his chest. She takes a fluttering, shaky breath. His fingers curl into the fabric at her waist. She looks like she wants to complain, but she doesn't. In the mirror, he watches her close her eyes. She tries to frown, but pulls her bottom lip between her teeth instead.
"Do you remember when we danced?" he asks, inching just a little closer so that she's firmly against him now.
Her breath hitches in her chest. Her heart races. She doesn't speak, but she nods, releasing her now glistening lip. He drops his face into her hair, breathing in the nape of her neck until she shivers.
"We're a perfect fit, Elena," he murmurs and she makes a strangled sound that sends a rush of heat to all the right places.
"Don't," she breathes, as he slides his hands down her hips, but then her hands are on top of his, her fingers clawing into his wrists.
Fucking hell.
"Don't," she says again, but she's holding him there, panting as he strokes his way back up to her ripbsfrom her thighs to her hips.
He has no idea what's going on here, but it shouldn't be affecting him like this. He can't breathe either, and he shouldn't even need to. He slides his mouth down to the curve of her shoulder, not quite kissing her, but getting damn close. She breathes his name like a prayer and he has to bite his own tongue to keep his fangs in check, he is that far gone.
"God, I wish I could dance with you tonight," he says.
"We're always dancing," she says, laughing softly. "In one way or another."
She pulls away as if nothing happened at all. He picks through her things and she resolutely ignores him, sliding on a pair of sparkly heels and a pair of earrings. He, in turn, stretches out on her bed to watch.
"I assume you know your way out," she says dismissively, and then she picks up her clutch and heads downstairs.
He watches her with a grin. Listens to her move down the stairs, turning off lights. Picking up her coat.
He stays there even when Stefan comes, eavesdropping on their mind-numbing pleasantries. He takes her to his car and Damon hears the doors shut and the engine roar to life. And then they're gone. For once, he doesn't give a shit. Stefan can have tonight. He has something better.
When he's rolled around in her delicious sheets long enough, he steals the red and black bra out of her underwear drawer and finds a tube of pink lipstick to leave a message on her mirror.
Someday.