Here you go, another chapter. By the way, I changed the title of the last chapter to 'The Dinner'.
Thanks so much to those who put my followed/favored my story and/or reviewed it. Hope you like this chapter. Please, leave a review if you want. I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far.
Chapter 6
The Morning After
Blair zipped her overnight bag closed with a satisfied smile. This time, she'd be prepared. She'd packed everything she needed for her morning routine—face wash, moisturizer, toner, makeup, hair products—and a fresh outfit for school tomorrow. She'd also carefully folded her running clothes and shoes at the bottom of the bag. Missing yesterday's run had been unacceptable; it would NOT happen again, regardless of where she spent the night. Her routine was sacred. No more rushing home in yesterday's clothes or skipping essential parts of her day.
The evening's dinner party had been deliciously awkward, with Stefan's obvious discomfort and Elena's attempts to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Blair had enjoyed every minute of it, especially how Damon had played along, his hands never straying far from her body.
A knock at her bedroom door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," Blair called, closing her dresser drawer.
Aunt Jo appeared in the doorway, still dressed in her hospital scrubs. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and dark circles shadowed her blue eyes after what had clearly been a long shift. Her gaze immediately fell on the overnight bag sitting on Blair's bed.
"Going somewhere?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Blair didn't bother lying. "Damon's place. The Boarding House."
Aunt Jo's eyebrows rose slightly. "Again? Is this going to become a habit?"
"Probably," Blair replied with a casual shrug, moving to her vanity to check her appearance. She applied another coat of red lipstick, then blotted it carefully with a tissue.
Jo sighed, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind her. "Blair, I know I'm not your mother, and I know you're eighteen, but... don't you think this is moving a little fast?"
Blair met her aunt's concerned gaze in the mirror. "Fast is kind of my specialty."
"I haven't even met this guy," she continued, sitting on the edge of the bed. "All I know is that he's Stefan's older brother, which means he's significantly older than you."
"Twenty-four," Blair lied smoothly. "Not exactly robbing the cradle."
"That's still six years, Blair."
"Dad was twelve years older than Mom," Blair countered.
Jo ran a hand through her hair, dislodging a few strands from her ponytail. "I'm not saying age gaps are always a problem. I'm just concerned about the intensity. You've known him, what? A few days?"
Blair turned to face her aunt directly. "I'm not marrying him, Jo. We're just having fun."
"I get that, but—"
"Look," Blair interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. "I know you're worried, but I'm being careful. I'm always careful. I'm not going to get pregnant—that's the only thing you should be concerned about."
The irony of that statement wasn't lost on Blair. Getting pregnant by a vampire was literally impossible—one of the perks of sleeping with the undead. Not that she could share that particular detail with her aunt.
Jo's expression softened. "It's not just pregnancy I worry about, Blair. It's... you. Your heart."
Blair almost laughed. "My heart is perfectly safe. I don't do love, remember?"
"Everyone does love eventually," Jo said quietly. "Even you."
"Not me." Blair zipped up her makeup bag with finality. "I'm immune."
Jo studied her for a long moment. "Your mother used to say the same thing, you know. Before she met your father."
Blair stilled, surprised. Her mother rarely came up in conversation these days—it was still too painful, the wound too fresh. "Mom did?"
Jo nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Oh yes. Miranda was quite the heartbreaker in her day. Always insisted she'd never settle down, never fall in love. Then Grayson Gilbert walked into the hospital where she was volunteering, and that was it." Her smile turned sad. "Some people just change us, Blair. Whether we want them to or not."
Blair turned back to the mirror, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. "Damon's not going to change me."
"Maybe not," Jo conceded. "But at least promise me you'll be careful—and I don't just mean physically."
"I promise," Blair said, more to end the conversation than because she meant it. She checked her watch. "I should get going. He's expecting me."
Jo stood, recognizing the dismissal. "Will you be home tomorrow after school?"
"Probably not. We have the first football game tomorrow night, so I'll be there cheering." At least that part wasn't a lie. "Then I might head back to the Boarding House afterward."
Jo nodded, moving toward the door. She paused with her hand on the knob. "Just... keep your phone on, okay? In case I need to reach you."
"Always do," Blair replied, grabbing her overnight bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
Jo's concern was touching, in its way, but Blair had no intention of changing her plans. As her aunt left the room, Blair checked her reflection one final time. Perfect, as always. She wasn't going to think about her mother, or her aunt's warning, or anything except the night ahead with Damon.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Damon:Getting impatient. Should I come get you instead?
Blair smiled, heat pooling low in her belly at the thought. She quickly typed back a response.
Blair:On my way. Keep the bourbon cold and the bed hot.
Blair pushed open the bedroom door with her hip and found Damon sprawled across his massive bed, one arm folded behind his head, wearing nothing but low-slung jeans that hung dangerously from his hips.
"So you came prepared this time," Damon said, his eyes tracking the bag in her hand.
Blair tossed the bag onto a nearby armchair. "I figured it would save us the trouble of another early morning drive back to my place." She approached the bed with calculated steps, hips swaying. "I can go straight to school from here. Much more efficient."
"Efficiency wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I invited you back," Damon replied, his voice dropping to that silky register that sent shivers along her spine.
"No?" Blair raised an eyebrow, her fingers moving to the buttons of her blouse. She released them one by one, her eyes never leaving his. "What did you have in mind, then?"
Damon's gaze darkened as he watched her undress. "I believe I promised to wear you out tonight."
"Many have tried," Blair countered, letting her blouse fall open to reveal a white lace bra underneath. "None have succeeded."
"Challenge accepted." Damon shifted, rising with fluid grace to stand before her. "Although I seem to recall coming close last time."
Blair smirked, shrugging the blouse from her shoulders. "You keep telling yourself that."
His fingers traced the edge of her bra, teasing along the swell of her breasts. "So stubborn."
"I prefer determined," Blair replied, her voice hitching as his fingers slipped beneath the lace.
"Determined to drive me crazy," Damon murmured, unclasping her bra with a practiced flick of his fingers. The garment fell away, and Damon's hands immediately cupped the weight of her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened to stiff peaks.
Blair's head fell back, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. "That's part of the fun."
Damon spun her around and pulled her back against his chest, one arm wrapping around her waist while the other continued to knead her breast. His lips found the junction of her neck and shoulder, teeth scraping against her pulse point—not quite biting, but a teasing promise.
"I thought about you all day," he whispered against her ear.
"Did you now?" Blair reached behind her, finding his hardness through his jeans. She stroked him, feeling him grow even harder beneath her palm. "Were they dirty thoughts?"
"The filthiest," Damon confirmed, his hand sliding down her stomach to the waistband of her skirt. "I couldn't concentrate on anything else."
"Poor Damon," Blair teased, turning in his arms to face him. She pushed him back toward the bed. "Let me help you with that."
He let himself fall onto the mattress, watching as she unzipped her skirt and let it pool at her feet. She stood before him in nothing but a scrap of white lace barely covering her sex.
"You're a vision," Damon said, his voice rougher than before.
Blair smiled, approaching the bed with the confidence of a predator. "I know."
She crawled over him, straddling his hips, her hair falling around them like a curtain. Damon reached up, threading his fingers through the dark strands, pulling her down for a kiss that started slow but quickly escalated into something hungry and demanding.
His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, every spot that made her breath catch. Blair moaned into his mouth when his fingers found her wetness through the thin fabric of her thong.
"Already so wet for me," he murmured against her lips.
"Don't flatter yourself," Blair gasped as his fingers slipped beneath the lace.
Damon flipped them over in one smooth motion, pinning her beneath him. Her thong was torn away with a simple tug of his hand, and before Blair could protest the destruction of her underwear, his mouth was on her, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate path through her folds.
Blair arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, alternately pulling him closer and pushing him away as the pleasure became almost too much to bear.
"Damon—" she panted, her thighs trembling.
He looked up, his blue eyes almost black with desire, his lips glistening with her arousal. "Yes, Blair?"
"Inside me. Now." Her demand was punctuated by her hips arching toward him.
Damon smirked, crawling up her body with deliberate slowness. "So demanding." He paused to press open-mouthed kisses against her stomach, between her breasts, along the column of her throat. "I like it."
Blair's hands moved to his jeans, unbuttoning them with impatient fingers. She pushed them down his hips, freeing his erection. Her hand wrapped around him, stroking him from base to tip.
"No more teasing," she said, her voice commanding as she suddenly pushed against his chest, flipping their positions.
Damon found himself on his back, looking up at Blair as she straddled him, her thighs bracketing his hips. She hovered above him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, eyes glittering.
"My turn to be in charge," she announced, slowly lowering herself onto his length.
Damon's hands moved to grasp her hips, but Blair caught his wrists, pinning them above his head. "No touching unless I say so," she ordered. "Tonight, you're mine to use as I please."
A flash of surprise crossed Damon's face before it was replaced with a heated grin. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, his voice rough with desire.
Blair began to move, setting a rhythm entirely her own—slow and deliberate at first, rising and falling with calculated precision, her inner muscles clenching around him with each downward motion. Her back arched, showcasing her perfect breasts, her head falling back as she found just the right angle.
"God, you feel amazing," Damon groaned, his hips instinctively bucking upward, seeking more.
Blair's pace quickened, her movements becoming more forceful, more demanding. She released his wrists to brace herself on his chest, her nails digging into his skin as she rode him with abandon. Damon's freed hands immediately moved to her hips, but she slapped them away.
"I said no touching," she reminded him. "Keep your hands on the headboard."
Damon complied, gripping the wooden headboard so tightly that the wood creaked in protest. Blair smiled in satisfaction, rotating her hips in a circular motion that had them both gasping.
"That's better," she purred, leaning down to bite his lower lip. "Now watch me come apart on your cock."
She straightened, increasing her pace, chasing her pleasure with single-minded determination. Her movements became erratic as she approached her peak, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Blair—" Damon started, clearly struggling to maintain control.
"Not yet," she commanded, her voice breaking slightly as her first orgasm began to build. "Not until I say so."
With a final downward thrust, Blair cried out, her inner walls pulsing around him as her climax washed over her. But she didn't stop moving, working herself through the waves of pleasure, already building toward another peak.
She looked down at Damon with a satisfied smirk, her eyes heavy-lidded but triumphant. "That's one for me. Let's see how long you can last before you break."
Damon's jaw tightened, his muscles straining with the effort of holding back. "I can hold out all night if that's what it takes."
Blair's laugh was breathless as she began to move again, changing the angle slightly to hit exactly where she needed. "We'll see about that."
She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest as she whispered in his ear, "I'm going to make you lose control, Damon Salvatore. And you're going to beg me to let you come."
Blair set a merciless pace, rising and falling on his length with deliberate precision. Her hands gripped his shoulders for leverage as she rode him, her body glistening with sweat, her movements growing more forceful. She watched his face intently, noting every twitch, every clenched muscle as he fought to maintain control.
When she felt herself approaching another climax, she slowed down, drawing out both their pleasure.
Damon's eyes were nearly black with desire, his breathing ragged despite not needing air. "Blair," he groaned, his voice strained. "Let me touch you."
She considered his request, tilting her head as if weighing his worthiness. "Just one hand," she finally conceded. "The other stays where it is."
The moment she granted permission, his right hand released the headboard and moved to where they were joined, his thumb finding her clit. Blair gasped at the contact, her rhythm faltering momentarily before she recovered.
"That's it," she encouraged, grinding down harder. "Make it good for me."
Her second orgasm hit her with unexpected force, causing her to cry out, her body arching backward as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Damon's fingers dug into her hip with his free hand, his jaw clenched tight as her inner walls clamped down around him.
"Two," she gasped when she could speak again, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "Still with me, Salvatore?"
His only response was a tight nod, his control visibly fraying at the edges.
Blair leaned down, dragging her tongue along his collarbone before nipping at his neck. "I want to taste you," she murmured against his skin.
Without waiting for permission, she bit down on his neck—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make him hiss in pleasure-pain. The action seemed to snap something in Damon; with a growl, he bucked beneath her, his hips driving upward with newfound urgency.
"Getting desperate?" she taunted, matching his movements.
"You have no idea," he managed through gritted teeth.
Blair smiled wickedly before shifting to change the angle, ensuring every downward movement hit exactly where she needed for maximum stimulation. She rode him faster, harder, the sounds of their bodies meeting filling the room along with their mingled gasps and moans.
Her third climax built more slowly, a gradual tightening deep within her core that spread outward until her entire body was taut with anticipation. When it finally broke, she threw her head back, a cry tearing from her throat as pleasure consumed her.
This time, Damon couldn't hold back. With a strangled groan, he finally surrendered, his own release pulsing inside her as his body went rigid beneath hers. His hands—both now free from the headboard—gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as he thrust upward one final time.
Blair collapsed against his chest, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat. For several minutes, neither moved, content to remain joined as they recovered from the intensity of their shared pleasure.
"Three," Blair finally murmured against his neck, satisfaction clear in her voice. "I win."
Damon chuckled breathlessly, his arms wrapping around her. "For now."
She raised her head to look at him, a challenge glinting in her eyes. "Ready for round two?"
Hours later, after going several more rounds, they lay on the bed, both slick with sweat and other bodily fluids. The sheets were torn in places, the headboard even more damaged than before, and various items had been knocked to the floor in their passion.
Blair was sprawled across Damon's chest, her breathing finally slowing, her body aching in the most pleasant ways. Her eyes were heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to her after two nights of minimal sleep.
"Admit it," Damon murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along her spine. "I wore you out."
Blair raised her head just enough to give him a defiant look, though the effect was somewhat diminished by her half-closed eyes. "I didn't sleep last night," she reminded him. "This doesn't count."
"Mmm-hmm," Damon hummed, his tone making it clear he didn't believe her. "Whatever helps you maintain your reputation, beautiful."
Blair pinched his side, but there was no real force behind it. "I'm just resting my eyes," she insisted, even as her body melted further into his.
"Of course you are," Damon agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Just for a minute or two, right?"
"Exactly," Blair mumbled, her voice already thick with approaching sleep. "Don't get...any ideas...about winning..."
Her voice trailed off as sleep finally claimed her, her body going completely lax against his. Damon continued to stroke her back, watching as her features softened in slumber, making her look younger, almost innocent—if such a word could ever be applied to Blair Gilbert.
"Sweet dreams, little witch," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
He stayed like that for a while, oddly content to simply hold her as she slept.
But, as pleasant as this was, he still had a plan to carry out.
Carefully, he disentangled himself from Blair's limbs, making sure not to wake her as he slipped from the bed. She mumbled something in her sleep, a small frown creasing her brow, but she didn't wake.
Damon stood beside the bed for a moment, taking in the sight of her, sleeping face down, the sheets lowered to her hips, leaving her back bare and exposed to his gaze. It was a tempting tableau, one that made him consider crawling back into bed with her.
He shook his head and moved to the window instead, staring out at the night sky. With a thought, he summoned one of his crows, the bird materializing from the darkness to perch on a nearby branch. Through the crow's eyes, he could see far beyond the confines of the boarding house. He could fly wherever he wished, see whatever—or whoever—he wanted.
Damon closed his eyes, his consciousness slipping from his body into the crow's. The bird took flight, soaring through the night air towards the Gilbert house. It was a path the crow had taken many times before, and it found Elena's window without difficulty.
The window was open, just a crack—enough for the crow to perch on the sill and peer inside. Elena lay in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, her breathing deep and even in sleep. Her face was peaceful, a face that served as a constant reminder of Stefan's greatest sin—falling for a woman who looked exactly like Katherine, as if Katherine could be replaced so easily, as if everything that had happened in 1864 didn't matter.
With another thought, Damon slipped from the crow into Elena's dreams.
Elena's bedroom shimmered into existence around him, details slightly blurred at the edges as dreams tended to be. Elena sat on her bed, her history textbook open on her lap, a small smile playing on her lips.
"Tonight wasn't so bad," she said, looking up at someone standing just out of Damon's view. "I had fun."
As Damon moved further into the dream, he saw that the other person was Stefan, leaning against Elena's dresser with his arms crossed.
"Hmm. That makes one of us," Stefan replied, his tone laced with the same disapproval he'd shown at dinner.
Elena closed her textbook, setting it aside. "Come on. Your brother isn't as bad as you make him out to be..."
Stefan moved toward her, placing a finger against her lips to silence her. His expression softened as he touched her cheek, then leaned in to kiss her. The textbook fell to the floor with a thud as Stefan pressed closer. Elena pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, watching with amusement as Stefan struggled to move a teddy bear out of the way.
Damon observed the scene with disgust. So this was what Elena dreamed about—his brooding brother and awkward teenage fumbling. How sickeningly sweet.
In the dream, Elena sat up, pulling her shirt over her head in one fluid motion. Dream-Stefan slid his hands up her body, his eyes darkening with desire. Elena reached for the hem of Stefan's shirt, tugging it upward, eager to expose the skin beneath.
That's when Damon made his move.
As Elena pulled the shirt away, it wasn't Stefan looking up at her anymore. It was Damon, his blue eyes gleaming with wicked intent, his lips curled into that signature smirk.
Elena's eyes widened in horror. She scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed in her haste to get away. A scream tore from her throat, echoing through the dream space.
The bedroom dissolved around them as Elena jolted awake, her scream cutting off abruptly as reality reasserted itself. Damon, still connected through the crow, watched as she sat up in bed, her eyes wild, her breathing ragged.
Her gaze moved to the window, where the crow sat watching. She stared at it for a long moment, a shiver visibly running through her. Then, with hands that trembled slightly, she closed the window firmly and drew the curtains.
Damon retreated from the crow, his consciousness settling back into his body at the boarding house. He opened his eyes, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He turned back toward the bed, his mission accomplished.
Blair was still asleep, her dark hair spilling across his pillow. She hadn't moved since he left, clearly exhausted despite her earlier protests.
Damon slipped back into bed beside her, carefully gathering her into his arms. She sighed in her sleep, instinctively curling into his embrace, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder as if it belonged there.
Blair's eyes snapped open at exactly 5:00 AM, her internal clock as precise as ever despite the minimal sleep. She carefully disentangled herself from Damon's arms, slipping out from under the sheets with practiced stealth.
She had just located her overnight bag and started pulling out her running clothes when Damon's voice broke the silence.
"Where are you going?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow, his hair attractively tousled from sleep and their activities.
"On a run," Blair replied, stepping into her compression shorts.
Damon reached for the clock on the bedside table, squinting at it with exaggerated disbelief. "It's 5 AM."
"That's when I usually run." She pulled a sports bra over her head, adjusting it with practiced efficiency.
"Wasn't our workout yesterday night enough for you?" Damon asked, watching as she laced up her running shoes.
Blair smirked, straightening to her full height. "Not even close."
Damon's expression was a mixture of exasperation and grudging admiration. He fell back against the pillows with a dramatic sigh. "You're not human. That's the only explanation."
"Says the vampire," Blair retorted, pulling her hair into a high ponytail. "I'll be back in an hour. Try not to miss me too much."
Damon rolled his eyes but couldn't quite hide his smile. "Go. Run. Be insane. I'll be here, behaving like a normal person and sleeping at 5 in the morning."
Blair blew him a kiss and disappeared through the bedroom door, her footsteps light as she made her way through the boarding house.
True to her word, she returned precisely one hour later, her skin glistening with sweat, her cheeks flushed from exertion. Damon was still in bed, though fully awake now and reading.
"Feel better?" he asked, not looking up.
"Much." Blair stripped off her sweaty clothes without ceremony, dropping them into a neat pile beside her bag. "I'm going to shower."
That got his attention. Damon's eyes lifted from his book, trailing over her naked form with obvious appreciation. "Need help washing your back?"
Blair paused in the bathroom doorway, glancing over her shoulder with a seductive smile. "I thought you'd never ask."
By the time Damon joined her, steam was already filling the bathroom, the hot water cascading over Blair's body as she tilted her head back to wet her hair. He took a moment to simply observe her—the water following the curves of her body, the way her muscles shifted beneath her skin as she moved, the complete unselfconsciousness with which she carried herself.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Blair asked without opening her eyes.
"Just appreciating the view," Damon replied, stepping into the shower behind her.
His hands found her waist, pulling her back against his chest. Blair leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder as his hands began to explore her body—cupping her breasts, tracing the lines of her abdomen, moving lower to the apex of her thighs.
"I thought you were supposed to be helping me get clean," she murmured, her voice already husky with desire.
"We'll get to that," Damon promised, his lips finding her neck. "Eventually."
Blair turned in his arms, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss. Her body pressed against his, skin slick from the water, curves fitting against his harder planes.
"Impatient," Damon accused against her lips.
"Efficient," Blair corrected, her hand wrapping around his length.
Damon growled low in his throat, backing her against the shower wall. The cool tile contrasted with the hot water and the heat of their bodies, creating a sensory overload that had Blair gasping.
He lifted her with ease, Blair's legs wrapping around his waist as he positioned himself at her entrance. With one smooth thrust, he was inside her, both of them moaning at the sensation.
Damon set a rhythm that had Blair's back sliding against the wet tile with each movement.
Blair clung to his shoulders, her head falling back against the wall as pleasure built within her. The water continued to cascade over them, adding another layer of sensation to their already heightened state.
"Bite me," she demanded, her voice a breathless command. "I want to feel your teeth."
Damon's eyes darkened, the veins beneath them becoming more pronounced as his fangs extended. Without breaking rhythm, he leaned forward, teeth grazing over her pulse point before sinking into the soft flesh of her neck.
Blair cried out, the initial sharp pain quickly giving way to intense pleasure as he drank from her. The sensation of having his cock as well as his teeth inside her pushed her over the edge, her body convulsing around him as waves of ecstasy washed through her.
Damon followed soon after, the taste of her blood—spiced with endorphins and adrenaline from her run and their current activities—sending him spiraling into his own release. He continued to drink, small, measured pulls that prolonged her orgasm while ensuring he didn't take too much.
When he finally withdrew his fangs, Blair was limp in his arms, her breathing shallow, her eyes half-closed in blissful exhaustion. Damon ran his tongue over the puncture wounds before biting into his own wrist.
"Drink," he instructed, pressing the bleeding wrist to her lips.
Blair complied without hesitation, her mouth closing over the wound, drawing his blood into her, the sensation creating an echo of their earlier pleasure.
When she pulled away, her lips stained red, Damon couldn't resist kissing her again, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood mingled with the sweetness that was uniquely Blair.
"Now," he said, reaching for the shampoo, "let's get you cleaned up for school."
After their shower, Blair wrapped herself in one of Damon's towels and retrieved her overnight bag, bringing it into the bathroom. Damon leaned against the doorframe, watching with curiosity as she began unpacking an impressive array of products and tools.
"Do you always travel with a small Sephora in your bag?" he asked, eyeing the collection of bottles, tubes, and containers she was arranging meticulously on the counter.
"A girl has to be prepared," Blair replied, not looking up as she plugged in a hairdryer. "This is actually just the essentials."
Damon settled onto the edge of the bathtub, intrigued despite himself. "By all means, don't let me interrupt your...process."
Blair gave him a quick smirk before turning to the mirror, beginning what was clearly a well-rehearsed routine. She applied a series of products to her damp hair, explaining each one's purpose as she worked—a heat protectant, a volumizing mousse, an anti-frizz serum.
"My hair tends to get frizzy with the slightest humidity," she explained, separating her dark locks into sections. "Hence all this."
Damon watched, unexpectedly captivated, as she methodically blow-dried her hair, using a round brush with practiced skill. There was something mesmerizing about the transformation—the way her slightly wavy, damp hair became sleek and voluminous under her ministrations.
When she was satisfied with the blow-out, she moved on to her skin care. Her movements were precise, almost ritualistic, as she applied cleanser, toner, and a series of serums to her face.
"You realize your skin is already perfect, right?" Damon commented, genuinely puzzled by the extensive regimen.
"It's perfect because I take care of it," Blair replied, dabbing an eye cream beneath her eyes. "Prevention is key."
"Prevention of what? You're eighteen."
"Exactly. And I plan to look this good when I'm forty-five." She moved on to makeup, her hands steady as she applied foundation, concealer, and powder with practiced efficiency.
Damon found himself fascinated by this glimpse into Blair's daily life—the discipline, the attention to detail, the unwavering focus. She approached her beauty routine with the same intensity she applied to everything else, whether it was cheerleading, academics, or sex.
"How long does this take you every morning?" he asked as she began working on her eyes, applying eyeshadow with surgical precision.
"About forty-five minutes, give or take," Blair answered, not breaking concentration. "Longer if I'm doing something special."
"And you do this every single day?"
"Of course." She looked at him through the mirror, mascara wand poised mid-application. "Excellence requires dedication, Damon."
He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Your discipline is...impressive."
"I know," she replied simply, returning to her task.
When she finally finished her makeup—complete with perfectly lined lips in her signature shade of red—she moved on to dressing, pulling carefully folded clothes from her bag.
"I don't suppose you'd consider returning to bed instead of going to school," Damon suggested half-heartedly, already knowing the answer.
Blair laughed as she slipped into a matching black lace bra and thong set. "Not a chance. I have a chem test second period and cheerleading practice after school."
"Of course you do," Damon muttered, though his eyes never left her as she dressed—a tight, high-waisted skirt, a lace v-neck blouse that exposed a tantalising view of her cleavage, and black pumps that made her legs look impossibly long.
The transformation was complete. The Blair standing before him now was the polished, perfect version that the world saw—every hair in place, makeup flawless, clothes immaculate. Yet having witnessed the process, Damon felt privy to something few others had seen—the work, the care, the deliberate construction of the image she presented to the world.
It was, in its own way, more intimate than their night together had been. Sex was one thing, but this—this quiet morning ritual—felt like a glimpse behind the curtain, a vulnerability that seemed almost more significant than physical nakedness.
"What?" Blair asked, catching his pensive gaze as she gathered her things.
"Nothing," Damon replied, standing to approach her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, careful not to disturb her work. "Just thinking that the polished version is impressive, but I might prefer the one with her hair wild and her makeup smeared across my pillowcase."
Blair rolled her eyes, but her smile was genuine. "You're just saying that because it's your doing."
"Maybe," he admitted, pressing a light kiss to her lips, mindful of her freshly applied lipstick. "Or maybe I just like knowing there are sides of Blair Gilbert that only I get to see."
For a brief moment, something unguarded flashed in her eyes—a moment of genuine connection that went beyond their physical chemistry. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual confident smirk.
"Don't get sentimental on me, Salvatore," she warned, though there was no real edge to her voice. "This is still just fun, remember?"
"Of course," Damon agreed, stepping back. "Just fun."
The scent of fresh coffee filled the Salvatore boarding house kitchen. Stefan stood by the counter, nursing a mug of black coffee he only needed because it helped with keeping his body temperature high enough to pass for a human. He wore a simple gray t-shirt and jeans, hair already neatly combed despite the early hour.
His head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps—too light to be Damon's, too confident to be Zach's.
Blair Gilbert appeared in the doorway, already fully dressed in one of her characteristically provocative outfits—a low-cut red blouse top paired with a high-waisted black mini skirt and black heels. Her makeup was flawlessly applied, hair perfectly styled in loose waves.
"Morning, Stefan," she said, her voice carrying its usual confident tone. She moved past him toward the refrigerator, the scent of her expensive perfume lingering in her wake. "Don't look so shocked. This isn't the first morning I've been here."
Stefan's jaw tightened. "I'm aware."
Blair poured herself a glass of orange juice, her movements graceful and deliberate. The tight skirt hugged her perfectly rounded ass, leaving nothing to the imagination despite technically covering her.
"Your brother is insatiable," she remarked conversationally, taking a sip of her juice. "But I'm guessing you don't want details."
"You're right. I don't," Stefan replied, his tone clipped.
Blair studied him over the rim of her glass, green eyes narrowed slightly. "Why so glum, Stefan? Unless..." A knowing smile curved her lips. "Are you jealous?"
"I'm concerned," Stefan corrected, setting his mug down with more force than necessary. "Damon is dangerous. You have no idea what he's capable of."
Blair's laugh was rich with genuine amusement. "Oh, I have some idea." She leaned against the counter, her expression one of wicked satisfaction. "And I like it."
Stefan's eyes darkened at her implication. "He's feeding on you."
"Among other things," Blair replied with a smirk. "And before you start lecturing about safety, he always heals me afterward. Stop being such a buzzkill, Stefan. I'm a consenting adult."
"You're eighteen," Stefan countered.
"And you're what—a hundred and sixty-something?" Blair shot back. "Yet you're dating my seventeen-year-old sister. Glass houses, Stefan."
Before Stefan could respond, Damon appeared in the doorway, bare-chested and wearing only a pair of low-hanging jeans. His hair was thoroughly disheveled, his eyes bright with satisfied hunger. He moved behind Blair, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him, careful not to disturb her drink.
"Good morning, brother," Damon greeted, his voice thick with smug triumph. "Sleep well? I certainly didn't." He brushed aside Blair's perfectly styled hair to nuzzle her neck, making a show of inhaling her scent.
Blair tilted her head to the side, giving him better access, her eyes never leaving Stefan's face. The possessive display was deliberate, calculated to provoke.
"I should go," Stefan said stiffly. "I need to check on Elena."
"Yes, you should," Damon agreed, his hands resting possessively on Blair's hips. "Run along to Elena. Poor thing probably needs reassuring that the big bad Damon won't hurt her."
Stefan's hand tightened around his mug, threatening to shatter it. "This isn't a game, Damon."
"Everything's a game, Stefan," Damon replied, his tone shifting to something darker. "You just don't know how to play."
Blair glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. "Much as I'd love to continue this testosterone-fueled standoff, I need to get going." She set down her glass and turned in Damon's arms. "Some of us have school."
Damon pouted dramatically. "Skip it. Stay in bed with me all day."
"Tempting, but unlike you, I have actual life goals." She pressed a kiss to his chest.
Damon walked her to the front door, his arm possessively around her waist. Stefan followed at a distance, unable to tear himself away despite his discomfort.
In the entrance hall, Blair checked her appearance in a mirror, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen out of place and reapplying her red lipstick.
"I'll see you tonight?" Damon asked, pressing her against the door.
"Maybe," Blair teased, her fingers tracing the contours of his abs. "If you're lucky."
Damon growled playfully and captured her mouth in a kiss that was nothing short of indecent. His hands moved from her face down her body, finally gripping her ass possessively through the tight skirt, squeezing and pulling her harder against him. Blair responded with equal passion, her body arching into his, one leg hooking around his calf.
Stefan looked away, feeling a complex mixture of disapproval, jealousy, and barely suppressed desire.
When they finally broke apart, Blair was breathless, her pupils dilated with renewed want. "Damn you," she whispered against Damon's lips. "Now I really don't want to leave."
"That was the idea," Damon smirked, pressing a final kiss to her swollen lips.
Blair laughed and finally turned to acknowledge Stefan again. "See you in History, Stefan."
With a final wink at Damon, she slipped out the door, the morning sunlight illuminating her figure for a moment before the door closed behind her.
Damon turned to face his brother, smugness radiating from every pore. Stefan didn't wait for him to speak, immediately stalking toward the library. Damon followed at a leisurely pace, knowing exactly what was coming.
Morning light streamed through the windows of the Salvatore boarding house library, casting long shadows across leather-bound volumes and antique furniture. Stefan stood by the fireplace, muscles tense, jaw set in a rigid line.
Damon sauntered to the crystal decanter on the side table, pouring himself a generous glass of bourbon despite the early hour. He moved to the leather couch and lounged on it, one arm draped casually over the back, the glass dangling from his fingertips.
"What's wrong, brother?" Damon asked, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "You look... tense."
Stefan remained silent for a long moment, staring into the empty fireplace. "What exactly are you doing with Blair?" he finally asked, his voice deceptively calm.
"I would think that was fairly obvious," Damon replied, taking a slow sip of bourbon. "Especially after that little display in the hallway."
"She's Elena's sister and you're using her," Stefan accused. "Just like you use everyone. She's just a pawn to you."
Damon laughed, the sound lacking its usual edge. "You really don't get it, do you? Blair Gilbert isn't anyone's pawn. She's not some damsel in need of your heroic intervention."
Stefan's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You're still manipulating her. She doesn't know what you're truly capable of."
"Blair knows exactly what she's doing, Stefan," Damon said, his tone surprisingly earnest. "She accepted this arrangement with her eyes wide open. She knows exactly who I am, what I am." He took another sip of bourbon. "I may have offered, but she made her choice freely, knowing full well what she was getting into."
Stefan shook his head, refusing to accept it. "You'll hurt her. Maybe not intentionally, but eventually. You can't control yourself. You never could."
Damon's eyes flashed with amusement. "That's rich coming from you, brother. We both know which one of us has the real control problem." His voice lowered dangerously. "Should I remind you of your Ripper days? The trail of dismembered bodies you left across the continent? At least I've never pretended to be something I'm not."
"This has to stop," Stefan insisted, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes. "Whatever game you're playing with her—"
"Oh, it's definitely a game, Stefan," Damon interrupted with a smirk. "The difference is, we're both playing it willingly. No lies between us, no pretenses." He sent him a smug smirk. "Can you say the same about you and Elena?"
Stefan's jaw tightened. "Leave Elena out of this."
"You know," Damon continued, ignoring Stefan's warning, "you should worry more about Elena than about Blair and me. This obsession with what Blair is doing and with whom... it's getting a little creepy, brother."
The accusation hung between them, charged and deliberate. Stefan lunged forward, grabbing Damon by the throat and pinning him against the back of the couch.
"I said leave Elena out of this," Stefan hissed.
Damon didn't struggle, his expression one of amused tolerance despite Stefan's hand crushing his windpipe. With a sudden burst of strength, he pushed Stefan away from him. Stefan flew in the air and slammed against the wall, cracking the plaster. He followed him with vampire speed and kneeled to look him in the eye.
"That's interesting," Damon said softly, his face inches from Stefan's. "So quick to defend Elena... but do you have any intention of actually telling her the truth? About what you are? What you've done? It wouldn't do for her to discover it on her own, brother. Or from someone else."
Stefan pushed away from the wall and rose to his feet, his expression darkening. "Stay away from Elena."
"Maybe you should be honest with her," Damon suggested, his tone deceptively casual. "Before someone else is. Blair knows everything about us now. Who's to say she won't share that knowledge with her sister?"
Stefan's eyes flashed with alarm. "Blair wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't she?" Damon challenged. "The Gilbert sisters talk. And unlike you, Blair doesn't believe in keeping secrets. Not the important ones, anyway."
Stefan's silence spoke volumes. Damon's smirk returned, victorious.
"I think we're done here," Damon said, returning to the couch and his abandoned bourbon.
He reclined against the leather, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Just some brotherly advice, Stefan. The truth has a way of coming out. Better it comes from you."
Stefan turned away, unable to form a response. As he reached the doorway, Damon called after him.
"Oh, and Stefan? The next time you lecture me about Blair, remember—at least we're honest with each other. Can you say the same about you and Elena?"
Blair strode through the hallways of Mystic Falls High, perfectly aware of the whispers and stares that followed in her wake. Ever since Damon had dropped her off at cheer practice—with that very public, very steamy goodbye kiss—word had spread quickly about the eldest Gilbert sister and her new "boyfriend." Their salacious display of affection hadn't exactly been subtle, and the entire student body had been witness to it.
She couldn't deny the satisfaction she felt at the envious glances thrown her way.
Blair paused at her locker, checking her reflection in the small mirror she'd hung inside. Her makeup was flawless as always, expertly concealing the slight shadows under her eyes. She'd had very little sleep these last two days. But it had been totally worth it.
Satisfied with her appearance, she grabbed her history textbook and headed to Mr. Tanner's classroom. She was early, as was her custom, but not as early as she typically would be.
The classroom was empty except for Tanner, who sat at his desk grading papers with more force than necessary, his red pen practically stabbing through the assignments. He looked up when she entered, his expression hardening.
"Miss Gilbert," he said, setting down his pen. "How nice of you to grace us with your presence today. Care to explain your absence yesterday?"
Blair approached his desk with her usual confidence, noting the unusual edge in his tone. Tanner had never spoken to her this way before.
"I wasn't feeling well," she replied smoothly, setting her textbook on her desk. "Just a minor thing. Nothing serious."
"Interesting," Tanner said, leaning back in his chair. "Because you seemed to have made a miraculous recovery in time for cheerleading practice."
Blair raised an eyebrow. So that's what this was about. "The wonders of modern medicine, Mr. Tanner. I felt better by the afternoon."
"Well enough to perform those...acrobatics I witnessed on the field?" His tone was decidedly inappropriate now, tinged with something that made Blair's skin crawl. "And who was that man dropping you off? Significantly older than your classmates, if I'm not mistaken."
Blair kept her expression neutral, though internally she was enjoying his obvious jealousy. "A friend. Damon Salvatore—Stefan's older brother. He was kind enough to give me a ride to practice."
"Damon Salvatore," Tanner repeated, his frown deepening. "And what exactly is your relationship with this man?"
"He's helping me with my history project, actually," Blair said, deciding to twist the knife a little. "He's promised to let me take a look at the Salvatore journals. Apparently, they're quite detailed about the Civil War period in Mystic Falls. I expect they'll be invaluable for my research."
Tanner's jaw tightened visibly. "I see. And you couldn't have accessed these journals without his...personal assistance?"
"Well, Mr. Tanner, you know I needed them for my research," Blair reminded him with wide, innocent eyes. "And Damon offered. I hope that's not a problem?"
Before Tanner could respond, students began filing into the classroom, chattering loudly as they found their seats. His expression darkened further, but he was forced to drop the conversation as the room filled up.
"We'll discuss this later, Miss Gilbert," he said quietly as he stood to begin class.
Blair just smiled sweetly as she took her seat, crossing her legs and opening her notebook with deliberate precision. Caroline slid into the desk beside her, immediately leaning over.
"Is Tanner giving you a hard time?" she whispered, noticing the tension between them. "He looks more constipated than usual."
Blair's eyes flicked to the front where Tanner was now writing on the blackboard with barely contained irritation. "He's not happy about Damon helping me with my history project instead of him."
"God, he's so obvious," Caroline rolled her eyes. "Speaking of Damon...I still can't believe last night. The way you two were all over each other in front of everyone. Elena looked like she was going to die of embarrassment."
Blair smirked. "That was kind of the point."
The door opened again, and Elena entered with Stefan close behind her. Their hands were intertwined, both wearing matching shy smiles that spoke of deepening affection. When Stefan's eyes inadvertently met Blair's, however, his expression shifted, hardening into something unreadable before he quickly looked away.
Blair felt a surge of triumph. Stefan's obvious discomfort around her only confirmed what she'd suspected—he was affected by her relationship with Damon, despite his protestations to the contrary.
As much as she didn't care about Stefan anymore, she was enjoying his obvious jealousy—the perfect revenge for his rejection.
Mr. Tanner's voice cut sharply through her thoughts. "Miss Gilbert, since you missed yesterday's lesson, perhaps you'd like to share with the class your thoughts on the economic factors that contributed to the South's defeat in the Civil War?"
Blair straightened in her seat. Tanner's intent was obvious—he wanted to catch her unprepared. Well, he was going to be disappointed.
"Of course, Mr. Tanner," she replied, launching into a detailed analysis that left no doubt about her command of the material, despite her absence.
As she spoke, she caught the flash of frustration in Tanner's eyes. Blair smirked to herself. She always came out on top, and that wasn't about to change anytime soon.