Dang, guys. 20 chapters. We've come a long way from a stolen kiss on the front porch, huh? Special thanks to Miss Petrovska for correcting my French in the last chapter (who knew orgasms were feminine? Insert your own jokes), but thank you to all of you who've joined me for this ride. We're only just getting started.
Elena's panties dangled from one of the posters of Damon's massive bed. Her bra was on the nightstand, and his briefs had somehow become wrapped around her ankle. One of her legs was draped over his hip, his arm curled around her belly, their heads sharing the same pillow as they lay in a drowsy, boneless daze.
It was safe to say that there hadn't been any disappointment.
"God, Damon. That was-"
"Yep."
"It was never like that with-"
"Nope."
"Could you be any more smug right now?" Elena asked, smiling in spite of herself.
"Doubtful," he said as he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Though I wouldn't call it 'smug.' Can we call it 'justifiable pride' instead?"
"Right now, you can call it anything you want and I'll just smile and nod," Elena said.
"Well, you're no slouch yourself, Gilbert," Damon said. "I knew the lady protested too much."
She grinned. Once she'd decided to stop being afraid, to give into what she knew she wanted and needed, everything just fell into place. No more thinking, no more second guessing. It all became a matter of doing what felt good, doing what made Damon gasp and clutch her closer, moving together in perfect accord. Again. And again. And again.
Yes, it was utterly unlike anything she'd ever done before with either Matt or Stefan. Not just because of the physical sensation, though that certainly would have been more than enough. Damon was confident and forceful, walking a delicate line where every pleasure teetered on the edge of pain. But he knew exactly how far to push her, when to relent and when to redouble his efforts. It was nothing like Stefan's gentle touches and constant questions about her well-being, and a world away from Matt's slobbery kisses and rushed, erratic movements.
But even more than that, when they were together, she knew for the first time what it meant to be loved truly and completely. This wasn't an immature schoolyard fling, or a puppy love that only scratched the surface. This was a love that recognized the flaws in both of them—Damon's brutality and insecurity, Elena's martyrdom and stubbornness—and embraced them. They didn't love each other in spite of their failings, they loved each other because of them. And to express that in deed as well as in word? That made all the difference.
Damon gave her a lingering kiss and disentangled himself from her, sliding out of bed. "Where do you think you're going?" Elena asked, reaching for him. Who knew how long they'd be able to enjoy this moment?
"Relax, I thought I'd run us a bath," he said with a significant lift of his eyebrows. "Oh, I almost forgot. Here." He reached into the nightstand and tossed her a stiff piece of metal, a faded picture printed on one side. "Found this old tintype for you. Stefan had it squirreled away, the pack rat." He strolled off towards the bathroom, and Elena allowed herself to enjoy the view before turning her attention to the picture in her hand.
The tin was battered and scratched, but it was unmistakably Damon staring out at her. He was dressed in his gray Confederate uniform, wavy curls spilling out from under his slouched cap. He looked far too young to be a soldier, his eyes full of dreamy thoughtfulness. There was no smirk, no mocking laughter in his eyes, no confident swagger. He looked more like a moonstruck poet than a man ready to march off to kill blue coats. Was it the war that changed him? Or was it Katherine? Or losing her? Or turning? Or everything that came after? Most likely, it was all of it mixed together into a complicated mix that gave birth to the Damon Salvatore she knew and loved. The picture raised more questions than it answered.
Elena tucked the tintype back into the nightstand and rolled out of bed, shaking Damon's underwear off her foot. She nearly drug the sheet along with her until she realized just how silly that was. It wasn't that there was anything to hide—or anything he hadn't seen—but old habits died hard. And Damon was so comfortable with his own body, so utterly at home in his own skin, that it made her feel even more gawky and awkward. But he thought she was beautiful. She just had to remember that.
She made her way to the bathroom, where perfumed steam hung heavily in the air. "I have to agree with you—the hair was pretty bad," Elena said.
"Trust me, honey, you'll look back at your hair in a hundred and fifty years with just as much horror," Damon said, lighting candles. The man knew how to set a scene, that was for sure. "Hell, you'll probably look back at your hair in five years with horror."
"True. Can't say it gave me any great insight into who you were before. But I don't know that it matters," Elena said. After all, how could you compare the girl who'd blown off family game night for a party to the sadder, wiser woman who laid roses on four graves?
"This is way too introspective for pillow talk," Damon said, turning the water off and helping her into the huge tub. The water was almost too hot, enough to forcibly relax every muscle in her body, easing aches and pains she hadn't even realized she had. Damon climbed into the other side, burying himself up to his chin in the luxurious bubbles.
Elena giggled. "You're the only man I've ever seen who takes bubble baths," she said.
"Real men embrace their love of bubbles," he said solemnly, dropping a soapy pile of foam atop her head.
"Watch it!" she said, tossing a glob of fluff back towards him.
"Don't get water all over my nice, clean bathroom, Elena," he warned.
"What're you gonna do about it, neat freak?" she asked, lobbing another pile of bubbles towards him.
He leaned forward, grabbing her wrists and pinning them against the sides of the tub to stop her watery assault. He was leaning forward to kiss her when his eyes locked on something over her shoulder.
"Aren't you two just adorable?" a voice mocked from the door. No. Not now. Not her. Slowly, Elena turned to see Katherine smiling too broadly at them from the doorway. "Got room for one more?"