A/N: SURPRISE! Early update, because of overload of feels from the episode and from beta'ing awesome chapters of In Time We Trust and because I adore all of you so much that I can't resist updating early. Hope you enjoy!

*buys plane ticket* ... *runs through airport* ... *twiddles thumbs while on the airplane*... *shanks cab driver for taking too long to get to the destination*... *knocks of hut door* ... *tackles the holy hell out of Trogdor19 in the biggest hug imaginable that is still considered heterosexual because her husband will murder me otherwise*... *kneels down and presents her with book of the world's best pie recipes*... *has bestfriendship ceremony on the beach the next day*... *everyone rolls their eyes while we cry and say our vows because I can't live without you*

**Quick note, In this story Elena is 27 and Damon is 24 :)

Chapter 13: For the Love of Pie

"Rules," I tell her seriously outside my front door, and she arches an eyebrow at me, hugging the long leather sleeves tighter around herself.

She put my jacket on when she got out of the car, and it's crazy fucking adorable that it looks like it's the only thing she's wearing because it's longer than her "dress."

"No giving out my address, and keep the insults to a minimum," I tell her and she rolls her eyes.

"If it bothers you so much, then move," she taunts and I point at her playfully.

"It doesn't bother me because no one comes here. So be nice," I tell her and the corners of her mouth soften.

I open the door and let her in, and she crosses the threshold hesitantly like she's scared. She stops short and I roll my eyes and nudge her further inside so I can shut the door, walking around her so I can throw my keys and phone down on the kitchen counter.

"It's…compact," she says diplomatically and I snort.

Economy sized apartments are basically adult dorm rooms. Instead of a couch being the center of my living room, it's my bed. At least it's made because I thankfully cleaned the whole place this morning before I started working on my car, but the black comforter is a little rumpled since I was lounging on it when Mason called. My single night stand equals my coffee table, and on the opposite wall is a flatscreen and nothing else since I don't waste time or money on art. Less holes for me to patch when I move.

Both sets of golf clubs are propped up against the corner next to my closet, and then it's a tiny bathroom and on the other side of the apartment, an even smaller kitchen which is basically a sink, a refrigerator, and a microwave. There's an oven that I hardly use because I don't actually have a dishwasher, so I decided to forgo buying dishes altogether. I don't like shit being dirty so the less I have to clean, the better, and if I feel like cooking something I can do that at Ric's or my mom's.

"It's pretty much just a place to crash, which is all I need," I tell Elena and head towards the closet.

"You don't have any pictures…" she says quietly as I flip through my hangers, pulling off a black Metallica t-shirt and then grabbing my most comfortable hoodie because there's no way she's wearing a bra under that black shimmery top.

"Actually, I have a poster-sized shot of me and Ric that I hang over my bed, but I'm having it reframed."

"Really?" she asks, and I pivot to face her. "Right…"

I chuckle and grab some drawstring pajama pants off the shelf before I close the closet, Elena looking around and kinda nodding to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" she trails off and smiles. "Unequivocal 'bachelor pad.'"

"Bachelor," I say and point at myself, then hold out the clothes for her. Her brow furrows and I sigh. "It's not a corset and garter belt, Elena. It's a t-shirt and hoodie and some pants. Unless you want to keep wearing that."

She takes the clothes with a blush and I nod towards the bathroom. "Thank you," she says quietly and I wink at her.

She heads off to change and after I shuck my boots and kick them over by the door, I grab the Styrofoam plate of cold pizza off my nightstand and carry it into the kitchen to throw it away. What a waste. I head back over to my bed and grab the TV remote, turning down the movie that's still playing because I didn't shut anything off before I left.

The sink starts to run in the bathroom when I crouch down in front of my shelf full of movies, and I tilt my head, trying to remember whether I have a hand towel out or if they're all in the cabinet. Damn. I guess she's gonna have to dig through my stuff which isn't that incriminating, it's just the standard shaving cream and razor and deodorant and cologne, but still, it's mine and it's just weird that someone else is here seeing that stuff. Ric doesn't even come over here. Actually, I don't think he's been here since I moved in. Huh.

I go back to checking over my list of available options, and I scrub a hand over my face. Unless she's a Quentin Tarantino junkie or a secret fan of action movies, she's shit out of luck. Maybe I could get her to watch Monty Python and not traumatize her. It's not dirty, there's no cursing and the "violence" is tamer than most cartoons, so that may be an option.

The bathroom door opens, and when I look at her I forget to stand up because I am so royally screwed. She washed her face and all that makeup is gone, clean skin and naturally dusty-pink lips and big brown eyes and she's never looked better. She's swimming in my clothes and it's the cutest, hottest thing I could ever imagine her wearing because the hoodie is floating around her delicate little neck, the hem kissing the middle of her thighs. Her legs are loosely covered in soft black pajama pants and they're a little twisted like she must have rolled them down because they should be too long for her, but the bottom edges are just lightly flirting over the top of her feet so I can see that her toenails are painted a deep vixen red.

"What?" she asks and I clear my throat, trying to rein in my smile but it's not really working. I stand and cross my arms, and when I shrug, she blushes. "I don't get you at all," she laughs softly.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," she teases a little more confidently. "I was practically nude five minutes ago and you barely looked at me. Now I'm covered head to toe in some of the unsexiest stuff ever, and you're basically foaming at the mouth."

I snort. "Let me clue you in on a little secret," I stage-whisper and she stuffs her hands in the pocket of the hoodie, jutting her hip out in a playful attitude and this is torture. "The more clothes you wear, the sexier you are."

She laughs and shakes her head. "You are such a liar, but thanks. I think."

"Not lying, and I can prove it." I take a step forward and her eyes dart to my waist and then back up before she holds up a warning finger.

"No," she tells me and I roll my eyes, stopping in front of her. "Damon…" she says a little breathlessly when I take her hand, extending two fingers and resting them against the pulse point in my neck.

"What you were wearing tonight, it's fine," I tell her and my pulse stays steady because honestly, I hated it. "But," I tell her and it kicks up, "you know those cardigans you wear to work?"

"Yeah," she breathes, her eyes widening when she feels how hard my heart just started beating and I scoot a little closer.

"If I'm lucky and it's warm in the building, you push your sleeves up and flash me a little wrist," I grin and she flushes. "And you always button them all the way up. But if I'm a very good boy and say all my prayers, you undo the top button. Just, there..."

I lightly touch the place where her collarbones meet and I can't see it because of the clothes she's wearing, but I can feel the hollow and there's been more than one fantasy about how soft that skin would feel under my tongue.

"The night you came to the gym…" I say and my voice drops a little without my permission, my eyes closing as I shake my head.

"But that other girl," she whispers and my eyes open. "She was wearing like, underwear."

"I don't care," I tell her and graze my fingertips over the edge of her shoulders. "Because right here, just maybe half an inch of your skin was showing and I swear, I thought I was gonna lose it."

"Your heart is pounding," she tells me quietly, and I nod.

"Don't even get me started on your skirts," I admit and my hands fall to her hips, pulling her closer against me. "Especially the black one, that for some reason starts way up here…" I whisper and slide my palm up her side to where I'm covering her ribs.

"The high-waisted one," she confirms and I groan, dropping my forehead to hers.

"It's ruining my life," I tell her throatily and she slides her other hand up the middle of my chest.

"Damon," she breathes and my hand on her hip slips around to her back, my other faintly massaging the skin over her ribs and she shifts a little, tucking her face into my neck.

My thumb nudges her breast and she sucks in a breath, her chest brushing against mine with each exaggerated inhale and exhale, but her grip on my neck tightens and slowly, I let myself feel her. How soft and perfect she is, the bump of her hardened nipple under the cotton fabric and how she delicately moans and arches when I graze my fingertips over her.

I duck my chin so my cheek rubs against hers, my fingertips slowly trailing a line down her chest until I feel the rolled waistband of the pants, low on her hips. My fingers explore, stretching out across her stomach and when I bump her nose with mine she tilts back, her mouth slightly parted.

I hover my lips over hers, my hand on her back moving up between her shoulder blades while my other slides, my fingertips daring to tease their way down until I risk a single finger finding the forbidden space between her legs. My tongue slips across her mouth, flirting with her bottom lip as I press her clit through the cotton fabric, and without warning she moans loudly and her knees bend and I barely catch her before she buckles.

I straighten her and she's clinging to my shoulders, breathing heavily and slightly shaking as she hides her face in my shirt. I circle my arms around her, resting my cheek to her hair as I calmingly smooth my hand up her spine.

"Did you just-"

"Yeah," she breathes, and I bite my cheeks against a smile. "Oh God, this can't happen…" she squeaks and then she's pulling away, pacing back and forth and running her hands through her hair.

That's just great. I blow out a breath and try to subtly rearrange myself in my pants because my cock is rock hard and her freaking out is not an encouraging sign that there is any hope of relieving that situation.

"Elena…" I start, but I don't get much farther before she rounds on me.

"You said you weren't going to try anything!"

"It's not like I planned that," I admit, then shrug with a smirk. "You got me all riled up."

"You got yourself riled up," she admonishes and I roll my eyes.

"It's not like I was the only one. You're the one that-"

"Don't say it," she growls and shakes her head.

"What is the big deal?"

"The big deal, Damon, is that this wasn't supposed to happen!"

I cross my arms. "Well, it did. And it looks like it needs to happen a few more times because damn girl, do you need to relax."

"Don't tell me to relax," she snaps at me.

"Fine, I take it back," I say and hold my hands up in surrender. "You're calm and collected and the definition of tranquil."

"You just…" she starts and swallows, shooing me away even though there's a good four feet between us. Like always. "You just need to stay…over there."

I snort and she glares at me. "Just for argument's sake," I say and tilt my head, "why is this a problem? I mean, wasn't…that your whole goal tonight? At least you know me."

"No, for your information, that wasn't my goal. And me knowing you just makes this infinitely more complicated because yes, there are a host of reasons why this," she says and gestures between us, "is a problem."

I shrug. "Such as?"

She blinks at me, stunned. "You really want to get into this?"

"I think we're going to have to, yeah," I chuckle. "Because I know what I want and you are quickly becoming the queen of mixed signals."

She blows out a breath and squares her shoulders. "Caroline."

"What about her?"

"You're sleeping with her," Elena hisses at me and I sigh.

"No, I'm not," I tell her calmly.

"Since when?"

"Since you and I started spending time together." Elena's mouth gapes and I flare my eyes at her sarcastically. "Don't get me wrong, she's nice, but that's done. And since you brought it up," I tell her plainly, "I haven't been with another woman in weeks and I know that sounds stupid when you say it out loud, but let me assure you, it's a change."

Her brow furrows, confusion all over her face. "Why?"

"Why aren't I sleeping with anyone?" I ask and she nods. "You're smart enough to figure that out. Next problem."

She waits a long time before quietly saying, "I'm not like them." I slowly shake my head, crazy irritated that she feels it's necessary to explain something like that to me. I may not know everything about her, but I know what she's not. "I can't do what they do."

"I'm not treating you like a one-night stand, and I don't expect you to act like that," I tell her seriously. "Which is why you're standing in my apartment, wearing my clothes. Not exactly my run of the mill shit, Elena."

She closes her eyes and turns around, running a hand through her hair.

"What is the real issue here? Is it the degree thing? Is it money? What?"

She whips around, shocked. "You think I care about that stuff?"

"I don't know what you care about," I mutter, then try to cover it with a humorless chuckle. "I don't have a fucking clue."

"You're…" she starts and stops, and I brace myself. "You're too young for me," she says and I feel my mouth open.

I blink a few times and then just end up throwing my hands up in the air, utterly exasperated. I'm a whopping three years younger than her, not some pimply preteen hitting on his junior high Science teacher.

"Damon…" she mutters and yeah, calm, rational behavior has left the building

I step towards her until I'm drowning in her perfume and I can see every trace of the gold in her eyes, feeling the graze of her nipples against my chest when she sucks in a breath.

"I may be younger than you, but I am still a man, dammit," I snap harshly, and then I'm kissing her.

And I don't even know what happened, because one second I'm furious and the next my hand is cradling her face and her mouth is pressed against mine, and her lips are so soft.

I sweep my thumb over her cheek and her hands that are fisted into the front of my shirt gently unwind, sliding up my chest to wrap around my neck and I circle my arms around her waist, pulling her closer into me. And even with my pounding heart and the adrenaline surging through my body, it's slow and careful when her mouth opens and I slip my tongue against hers for the very first time.

She moans and I hold her tighter, finding my place in a home I never knew existed that is only about her taste, her rhythm, the way she can't seem to decide if she wants to hug her arms around my neck or run her hands through my hair, to cup my jaw or cling to my shoulders, and I want it all.

And something extraordinary happens when you realize the woman you're kissing was made for your hands, because she fits in them perfectly and she just seems to know them. Because when I touch her neck she tilts so I can kiss her deeper, and when I massage them into her hair, everything slows to a languid caress that reminds me of long hot summers, the ones spent wading through lazy waves at a lake that is always, always calm.

Some things just are.

When I finally, carefully, separate my mouth from hers we are completely tangled and far past breathless, and I still can't help lifting another kiss from her lips. I lean my forehead to hers, finding her hands resting against my neck and one of my arms wound around her shoulders, my other hand tucking her hair behind her ear and when she opens her mouth to say something, I lock myself in place.

"I need a drink," she whispers in a daze and I nod, stealing one more kiss while I can before she no doubt storms out of my apartment for kissing her like that without her permission.

I clear my throat, leaning back slightly and running my palms down her arms. "What do you want?"

"Options?"

"Water," I say and think, "beer, possibly orange juice…"

"Vodka?" she asks and I shake my head. "Bachelor pad," she sighs at me and I crack half a grin.

"Want me to run to the— Wait," I say and hold up a finger.

"What are you doing?" she says with a laugh when I strut into the kitchen and open a cabinet, stretching up to the reach the very back of the top shelf and…there it is. I get the bottle of Pappy Van Winkle and waggle it at her proudly, and she tilts her head. "Why was it up there?"

"Because," I tell her and open it. "This I was saving because it was a bitch to get it."

"We don't have to— Damon!" she bursts out when I take a drink from the bottle, and I almost choke.

"What?"

"You're supposed to drive me home," she reminds me and I wince.

"Whoops."

She pouts her bottom lip out. "I really don't want to drink alone…"

"Then let's get wasted and I'll drive you home tomorrow."

"You sure that's a good idea?" she asks, hesitantly walking towards me and taking the bottle.

"Are we having sex tonight?" I ask while she takes a drink, and she sputters. "Exactly," I grin. "So, drinking? Very good idea."

"That makes no sense."

"That's because you had your orgasm," I tell her and her eyes pop before she shoves my shoulder. I chuckle and steal the bottle from her, taking a long pull while I watch her head toward the refrigerator.

"Starving," she mumbles and opens the fridge. "You seriously only have pie in here?"

"I told you that before we left the parking lot."

"Better be some good pie," she says and pulls out the plate of my own personal sugary-crack, otherwise known as my mom's Caramel Apple Cranberry pie, then kicks the refrigerator closed with her foot. It's the ultimate comfort food since it's this crazy mixture of flavors that simultaneously reminds me of Spring Carnivals and Thanksgiving, and Elena's going to go insane over it. I grin and take another drink, and she sets down the pie plate on the counter and holds her hand out for the bottle. I pass it back to her and she commands me with, "Plates and forks."

"Try the diner down the street," I smirk. "On second thought," I tell her and grab the front of her hoodie, yanking her closer until she's pressed up against me. She smiles with an arched eyebrow and I reach into the drawer she was just standing in front of.

"Smooth," she tells me and I wink at her, holding up a plastic disposable fork. "No," she says with giggly determination. "You have silverware somewhere," she insists and pulls away, and I lean against the counter and cross my arms as she starts her search.

Best of luck to her.

"Seriously?" she asks when she's almost done going through every cabinet and drawer. "One bowl, Styrofoam plates and one cup, and five shot glasses? Five?"

"I'm not big on dinner parties." I take a bite of the pie, ignoring the disapproving look I'm getting for eating out of the dish.

I spear another bite and hold it out to Elena in a dare, and she rolls her eyes before wrapping her lips around the fork and damn.

"Holy moly," she mumbles and I snicker.

"Told ya."

"You know," she says and reaches for the bourbon, "there's this place called Sweet Sarah's on Walnut and 7th that has pies that are almost as good as this."

I smile and take the bottle from her. "Sarah…" I say and take a drink, "is my aunt."

"Really?"

"Yep," I nod, taking another bite and giving one to a very appreciative Elena. "Mom makes all her pies, but the ones she makes for me are always better," I grin and bat my eyelashes.

"I see that," she says and tilts her head at me, looking far too smug for my taste. "Do you bake too?" she teases and I narrow my eyes at her.

"Not if I can help it, and don't start," I grumble, pointing the fork at her. She snatches it away and takes another bite, and I smile. "You go to the bakery a lot?"

"Every Sunday morning," she says happily, something pinging in my brain as I watch her picking at a stray cranberry. "I'm good friends with…" she trails off and her eyes widen. "Short, blond hair, really big on hugs?"

"You're friends with my mom?" I burst out and Elena cracks up laughing.

"Oh my God! I knew her voice sounded familiar…"

I groan.

"She talks about you, like, all the time," Elena grins. "'You should really meet my son someday. Such an attractive and smart young man, but he needs a woman.'"

"Jesus Christ!" I gasp. "That's it, I'm putting her in a home for the fucking deranged."

"Don't talk about your mother like that," Elena scolds. "I like her more than I like you."

I smile and watch as she continues picking at the crust. "You talk to her a lot?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling warmly at me. "We have a standing date."

I nod once. And when I clear my throat, Elena tilts her head at me and I roll my eyes. "She's old and just this side of bat shit crazy. She needs friends."

"God, you're so mean!" she laughs.

"No, what I am is hungry and stop eating all my damn food!" I yell playfully and snatch the dish away from her, Elena giggling like crazy when I boost her up on the counter.

I tug her closer, and she gasps when I press my hips between her thighs. But instead of kissing her, I wink and pick up the bottle of bourbon, and she narrows her eyes at me while I take a drink. I set the bottle down next to her, and when she picks it up and takes a long swig, I swallow thickly.

"We're not having sex," she tells me and I arch an eyebrow. "First base, if you give me the recipe for that pie."

"First base, sold!" I exclaim and fist pump, and she snickers before setting the bottle down.

A/N: FINALLY, we got some smoochin' going on. *fist pump* Thanks for your patience while we got them there, and excuse me while I go jump up and down because I love this chapter so much and the next one too and then the next one and...DAMMIT I LOVE THEM ALL. Do me a solid, home diggities, because Trogdor19 aka MY BRAIN AND HEART AND SOUL is posting an absolutely incredible chapter tomorrow that I can do nothing but gush over constantly it is so much fun and so cute and makes me do things like scream about tunafish sandwiches and the power of rainbows, so if you're not caught up or following her story, In Time We Trust, go check it out because it's to die for. And I know, because I've swooned all over it since before it was ever written and just an idea passed in text messages. My poor data plan :D Love you all *blows kisses*

-Goldnox