Perfect Timing
Title: Perfect Timing
Author: coquilleon
Summary: Damon and Elena meet a little sooner, while her throat is still bare.
Characters/Pairing: Damon/Elena (?)
Genre: Romance
Rating: PG
Notes: What if, what if...
She meets him right after she meets his brother, and feels a little bad for changing her mind so quickly.
She's sitting in front of her parent's tomb stone, scribbling away in her diary - it's weird knowing i'm not going home to tell dad how my first day was, bonnie thinks she's a witch, caroline is still kind of a bitch, matt lingers, jeremy isn't doing well at all, i'm worried, there's this mysterious new boy name ste- when the sound of a trodden on branch snaps through the air and she's looking up quickly, heart jumping, into eyes so light they don't seem real.
She starts to stand, scrambles to grab her things, but this stranger, in a leather jacket that fits like a glove, looks into her eyes, tells her "no," and sits next to her. Sinks down smooth and graceful, casual like they'd agreed to meet up right here, in this very spot, earlier today. It should unsettle her - the mother and father she sits before at this moment warned her time after time about strangers, especially such handsome ones, but Elena can't find it in herself to move away. The wind blows, and she catches his scent in the midst of her own shampoo - he smells like the upcoming fall and something fresh, like running water, or ozone.
This man, he looks her in the eyes, tells her not to be afraid, and apologizes for startling her. But even as he says it, and no apprehension floods her limbs signaling the contrary, Elena isn't sure if he means it. His voice has an edge of wickedness, and his eyes glitter with mirth, as if he knows everything and she knows nothing at all. She is drawn in immediately, has this insane urge to just do whatever he wants and... and... she doesn't care. A distant voice that sounds like her own tells her that that isn't good. But she and he are talking now and it's easy to ignore that voice, push it away.
He mentions Stefan in passing, says his little brother just started at the high school - it's how she makes the connection, because they look nothing alike - but even when she realizes she can't find it in herself to feel flakey and frivolous. Damon, he introduces himself as Damon Salvatore, rolls the R's and smirks, he looks at her like Stefan does - the only true resemblance they share. His eyes drink her in like he knows her, has seen her before, but she's the one who can't remember when. And he's not telling.
He says something macabre about death and dying, but it's delivered in a witty and clever manner, and when Elena's done laughing the way he's gazing at her, awed and a little hungry, struck, makes her heart stutter in her chest. As if he can hear it, his eyes flit to where her heart beats in her chest, and then he's standing, quick and lithe like a cat. He, Damon Salvatore, the name rolls around in her mind, holds his hand out to her and she takes it, stands. He meets her eyes again, intent. "Come to dinner with me." And she says yes.
Of course she does.
Author: coquilleon
Summary: Damon and Elena meet a little sooner, while her throat is still bare.
Characters/Pairing: Damon/Elena (?)
Genre: Romance
Rating: PG
Notes: What if, what if...
She meets him right after she meets his brother, and feels a little bad for changing her mind so quickly.
She's sitting in front of her parent's tomb stone, scribbling away in her diary - it's weird knowing i'm not going home to tell dad how my first day was, bonnie thinks she's a witch, caroline is still kind of a bitch, matt lingers, jeremy isn't doing well at all, i'm worried, there's this mysterious new boy name ste- when the sound of a trodden on branch snaps through the air and she's looking up quickly, heart jumping, into eyes so light they don't seem real.
She starts to stand, scrambles to grab her things, but this stranger, in a leather jacket that fits like a glove, looks into her eyes, tells her "no," and sits next to her. Sinks down smooth and graceful, casual like they'd agreed to meet up right here, in this very spot, earlier today. It should unsettle her - the mother and father she sits before at this moment warned her time after time about strangers, especially such handsome ones, but Elena can't find it in herself to move away. The wind blows, and she catches his scent in the midst of her own shampoo - he smells like the upcoming fall and something fresh, like running water, or ozone.
This man, he looks her in the eyes, tells her not to be afraid, and apologizes for startling her. But even as he says it, and no apprehension floods her limbs signaling the contrary, Elena isn't sure if he means it. His voice has an edge of wickedness, and his eyes glitter with mirth, as if he knows everything and she knows nothing at all. She is drawn in immediately, has this insane urge to just do whatever he wants and... and... she doesn't care. A distant voice that sounds like her own tells her that that isn't good. But she and he are talking now and it's easy to ignore that voice, push it away.
He mentions Stefan in passing, says his little brother just started at the high school - it's how she makes the connection, because they look nothing alike - but even when she realizes she can't find it in herself to feel flakey and frivolous. Damon, he introduces himself as Damon Salvatore, rolls the R's and smirks, he looks at her like Stefan does - the only true resemblance they share. His eyes drink her in like he knows her, has seen her before, but she's the one who can't remember when. And he's not telling.
He says something macabre about death and dying, but it's delivered in a witty and clever manner, and when Elena's done laughing the way he's gazing at her, awed and a little hungry, struck, makes her heart stutter in her chest. As if he can hear it, his eyes flit to where her heart beats in her chest, and then he's standing, quick and lithe like a cat. He, Damon Salvatore, the name rolls around in her mind, holds his hand out to her and she takes it, stands. He meets her eyes again, intent. "Come to dinner with me." And she says yes.
Of course she does.