Three years ago:
Elena spent the night before her 21st birthday in a tangle of male limbs (and not the fun kind of tangle). Invicta Fighting Championships, the women's mixed martial arts organization, was holding tryouts in Fairfax in a month. Elena needed this. She could think of nothing else.
By 10 pm, Ric, Tyler, and Matt had had enough. Elena had been training for hours and showed no signs of slowing down. They promised to return early in the morning.
Elena begged Damon for another five minutes, 10 max. He agreed, as always. She squeezed another five minutes, and another five, and another five ...
Damon's bathroom break was taking way too long. Elena looked up at the wall clock. Midnight. She was officially 21. Fancy that. Damon waved in front of her eyes. He was armed with a fatal arsenal: a bottle of good whiskey from her birth year (Macallan 1988 / Bottled in 2011 / Fine & Rare), a lemon, and a fresh homemade mixture of egg whites and pineapple juice. He eyed her with drama and mischief. She glared in return. She was not going down without a fight. "Happy Birthday! Oh, come on, Elena. You don't wanna go back to it right now. Do you? What's the rush? Time-out. Trust me. Your problems are still going to be there later. Look. Step away from your life for 5 minutes. 5 minutes!" He always knew what to say to her. And how to compel her with his impossibly blue eyes. Such pretty eyes.
Elena's smile was light, but it was there. Damon acknowledged her with a light smile of his own and started on her whiskey sour. On good days, he was meticulous. On bad days, he was downright OCD. Patience was not one of Elena's virtues, once she wanted something. And watching Damon's slow, exact fingers made her want alcohol, really badly. She stole the almost full whiskey bottle from the floor and the lemon slice out of his hand, just as he was about to use it to decorate her tumbler. The bottle was done in a few liberal swigs. Giggle. Burp. He stared at her in amazement. How could all that alcohol fit into such a small body?
Damon shoved his palm under Elena's nose. He had cut that lemon slice to perfection, and all he needed to do was wedge it onto the lip of her tumbler to finish her drink. She giggled again, burped again, and shook her head no. He rolled his eyes. Drunk!Elena was so immature. He reached out to grab the lemon slice, but she piled it into her mouth before he could. Come and get it, her eyes challenged.
Ever the Southern gentleman, Damon decided that the birthday girl should be allowed to swallow lemons if she so pleased. He cracked his knuckles in preparation. He definitely had another perfect slice in him. Elena pouted like a petulant child when she lost his attention. She launched herself into his arms and covered his face with kisses. Try to ignore me now.
Just when did the silly games turn into pure need, want, and lust? Neither Damon nor Elena knew for sure. All they knew was this was a long time coming. They had been in love before they even knew what it was. Lips on lips, teeth on lips, tongues on lips, tongues on tongues. No oral combination was left unexplored.
If Elena had had her way, they would have made hot love on the dirty gym floor. She was a firecracker waiting to detonate and did not care where she detonated. Damon, however, wanted their first time to be more comfortable (and clean). They made their way back to the Salvatore boarding house and settled on the wall next to the fireplace.
Elena arched back, her left hand gripping at the intricate wood patterns on the wall for support. Her fingers fell onto a rough patch, and her lips ghosted into a conflicted smile. Damon pulled back to look into her doe eyes, then at where her left hand met the wall. The name "Elena" was carved in a child's unsure handwriting. At age 6, just after he had learned to print the alphabet, Damon carved Elena's name into the wall. He proudly showed his father, and his father proudly showed him a studded belt. Elena snuck her fingers under Damon's shirt and stroked over his scar. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and he thumbed them away. "If you're gonna feel guilty about something, you're gonna feel guilty about this," he whispered as he shocked her body with a drugging kiss.
This time, Damon snuck his fingers under Elena's spandex top to remove it. She was wearing an uncupped sports bra underneath, which hardly hid her puckered nipples. He danced his fingertips across the outer sides of her covered breasts, all while gauging her. She flung her head back in ecstasy, a rosy blush tinting her chest. She used her hands to guide his where she wanted them – on her breasts. He grazed her nipples with his thumbs, hardening them more. He increased the pressure, eventually rolling them slowly between his thumbs and pointers. Other parts of their bodies began to harden in response.
"Damon, hurry," Elena moaned in desperation.
Damon should have hurried. One moment, he was touching the woman he loved in the most intimate of ways. The next, he was being thrown a foot in the air.