A/N: M. Very. Here there be pie. You have been warned. If you don't like that, suffice it to say, "RARR," and click to the next chapter (in which there may or may not be more pie).
I.
About the time she heard the door slam to the room next door, Elena became aware of what had actually occurred. Her body was still aching with need, still sensitized from the touches and kisses of not a dream lover, but a lover who had been in her bed for real.
And who ran away? Damon Salvatore?
She sat up and pulled her pajama top back on.
She pulled her knees up against her chest and she thought about what had happened. She knew she'd been dreaming. Apparently, Damon had stayed with her as she'd slept. Well, that wasn't a first, so no big surprise there. She'd apparently begun to turn her dream into a reality…. And he'd turned her down?
She heard the sound of breaking glass coming through the wall, and she shook her head.
She frowned, began to worry the vervain charm on its chain around her neck back and forth. This wasn't new, was it? She'd been dreaming about him for awhile now, ever since he'd told her he loved her. Maybe even before then, if she were going to be truly honest.
But then there had been that kiss in the car.
But we swept that under the rug.
And then Stefan….Stefan….
Then Stefan threw you away….
She suddenly dropped the silver charm. No. It was time for everybody to stop lying, wasn't it? For everybody to come clean. She'd start by being honest with herself for a change about what and who she wanted, perhaps. Everybody else did exactly what they wanted to, didn't they? Let the pieces fall where they will?
Another sound of something being broken next door, something larger, heavier, maybe furniture.
And that's not the way he needs to be exorcising that particular demon, is it?
She stood and took the spare keycard to the room next door, quietly opened her door, and with two short steps covered the distance to her heart's desire.
II.
The door swung open to reveal a mostly naked Damon sprawled on the bed, half-empty bottle of scotch next to him, TV on. His shirt was hanging off the back of a chair, his shoes were gone. His pants were off, and only his underwear remained on. He looked up at her and sneered.
"And you can just get right back over to Happiness House again. Enough, I think, can safely said to be fucking enough." He took a huge swallow of the amber liquid from the hotel room glass he had in his hand.
She stepped in and allowed the door to close behind her but said nothing.
"I know you heard me, little girl," he growled, and his tone was feral.
She still didn't move, didn't speak. He glanced up at her, back down to the glass, drank off the rest of the beverage there in one huge motion, threw it across the room to shatter in the corner with others that had already gone the same route, and he was standing in front of her instantly, crowding her.
"What's the matter? Had another bad dream you want me to take care of for you?" His tone twisted the word, made it lurid, obscene. She noticed that he was very carefully not touching her.
She looked directly into his eyes, leaned forward. "And if I said yes?"
His expression changed instantly, and she saw confusion, suspicion, hope, raw burning lust, all in equal measures race behind those azure eyes before he dropped the mask of the cynic over them, finding safety in his persona.
He circled her, walking so closely to her that his bare shoulder and chest brushed her exposed shoulder, the skin-to-skin contact making her shiver. He paused behind her, and before she could react, he had pulled her against him, one arm around her waist, one hand snaking up to wrap gently around her throat, holding her to him. She could feel his arousal pressed against her from behind, and her eyes fluttered closed.
"I'd have to say I'm in no mood for whatever new game this is you have going and tell you that this is the last time I'll tell you to get out, Elena. Do you understand me?" He nuzzled her ear, and she felt him gently bite the lobe.
She tried to turn in his arms, but he tightened his grip, refusing to allow her to move. She reached down and took the hand at her waist, linked her fingers through his, and tugged. For a moment, he was totally immobile. It was like pulling at a flexible statue. Then he relented, and allowed her to slowly, slowly pull his hand with hers. She skimmed their joined hands under her tank top, and she heard his breathing quicken. She used her own fingers to place his over the breast that was still peaked for his touch, and she felt more than heard the low sound of desire that he made. His hips shifted against her.
She turned her head to look him directly in the eye. "No. Do you understand me?"
The hand around her throat tightened ever-so-slightly. His head tilted slightly, his eyes focused on her mouth. The hand on her breast rolled the sensitive peak hard. "I'm not Stefan. I won't walk away this time. I'll bend you over every surface in this room. Twice."
She shuddered. "Promises, promises," she managed, and she closed the gap between them.
III.
The touch of her lips on his was a signal of some kind, set free some sort of restraint in him, and he was suddenly wild. His hands stripped her, ripped away the last of his own clothing, and he pushed her back against the door of the hotel room, lifted her up a little, brought her down to impale her on his ready erection. She was wet and aching for him. Both of them cried out as their bodies finally joined. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched back as her body adjusted to the sheer size of him. Oh no…oh NO…he's definitely not Stefan…. He bent to suckle her beautiful breasts, and he gripped her hips firmly. Then he was moving.
Oh God…the pleasure….
Her nails clawed at his back and he laughed as she dug little bloody furrows with each thrust. They were already healing by the time he drove her to do it again.
Wicked little cat. Go ahead. I can take it.
He kissed her, teasing strokes of his tongue against her own, sucking her tongue into the heat of his own mouth, and drinking in every sound of pleasure he could wring from her. He slipped one clever, wicked hand between them and began to rub the slick bundle of nerves between her legs between his thumb and forefinger. Elena came instantly, knocked out of herself.
He moved her to the bed, laid her down, bent one leg over his arm, continued to thrust hard, deep, reached down to resume his caresses. As if she'd been hit with a bolt of lightning, she was flung over the edge, her body tightening around the massive length still thrusting in and out of her, still pleasuring her with no signs of slowing.
He…he…hasn't…hasn't…come. Not once. He hasn't….
He was rolling them over so she was astride him, thrusting upward into her with long strokes. His hands were playing with her breasts, and he was watching her body rise and fall, encasing his gleaming erection. Damon's eyes were a blue so hot they burned. She ran her hands over his chest, playing with his nipples and those eyes flickered closed, reopened as if he could not stand to miss a minute of what he was seeing.
Waited so long…so long for this…going to make it last…going to make it good…
He put his hands on her hips, and groaned, "Ride me hard, Elena." At first she did not understand, but he rocked her hips with his hands to show her the motion that he needed, and she braced her hands on his chest. His fingers snaked up and hooked the ponytail holder, releasing her hair to fall around them both. He groaned at the visual and the sensation of the dark silk falling everywhere, and then he was lost in the feeling of her hips, her body rocking him. He cupped her breasts, teased them to watch her face, to feel it in the tremors of her body. He slipped his finger between her thighs, ground it against her as she rode him, determined to make her come again before she undid him.
He sat up as he felt the end of his own endurance coming. Her hips were rocking hard and he counterthrust against her, deliberately shattering her rhythm to make it last just a little longer. She cried out with every savage thrust he gave, with every stroke and twitch of his fingers between her thighs. He held her to him, kissing his way down her neck.
What I want and what I need…
He felt the fangs descend, trailed them lightly over her neck, nipped, licked to take away the sting….
To drink from her when we come together, that would be ecstasy beyond all others…just a tiny sip…just a taste…
He licked her neck again, kissed her open-mouthed there where the pulse flowed so enticingly, and she moaned for him, cried out for him as her hips jerked in the beginnings of her throes.
He felt his own orgasm rising, and he turned his head with a cry, laid his head on her shoulder.
No. Not…not going to do that to her. Not ever without her consent. No….
And any other thought he might have had was blanked out by ecstasy.
IV.
He was as good as his word. He had her on top of the dresser. He pushed her over the little dining table, spread her legs, and he took her fast, hand fisting and twisting in her hair, pulling her head back, arching her body upwards as he came. He sat down in one of the big wing chairs, she draped her legs over the arms, and they fucked for hours like that, rocking until one or the other came (usually her), and then playing, touching, and talking until they were ready to go again.
He pulled her over to the bed, to the edge, pushed her down flat, knelt at her feet. She moaned when she felt him kiss her knee, her thigh.
"Damon…what are you? I can't…I don't have anything left in me…"
He traced the tip of his tongue over the seam of her swollen lips below, laughed as her hips bucked.
"I am sure you'll rise to the occasion, love…"
He pushed her legs wider apart, flicked his tongue against her lightly, testingly, listened to her gasp for air. He ran his fingers through her slick tissues slowly, slid first one, then another deep inside her.
"Ah, God, what are you doing to me?"
"Not God, not even by a long shot," he teased, his voice wicked, and he caught her eye as he lowered his head, "but you can feel free to call me that if you want in the next little while as the mood moves you. I'm guessing it will be probably quite a lot."
V.
They were in the shower, and he was gentle with her now because although he could have continued to love her, he knew her body had limits. The soap has washed away the lingering scent of her and him together…more's the pity…would that she smelled like us fucking all the time… and they are holding each other, quiet with each other, in that place where words are no longer needed.
"Damon," she murmurs, turning to face him under the hot spray. He hears a question in her voice and he widens his eyes at her and grin, kisses her.
"Yes, princess?" Because usually the questions after are not good.
She looks at him a moment, and then she shakes her head. She wraps her arms around him. He is puzzled. There was something, something she was going to say, but she had put it away. He simply holds her again, and they finish their shower and go to bed.