3:18 (Damon/Elena) [The Vampire Diaries]
Title: 3:18
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No profit is being made off this.
Rating: 18+
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Warnings: sex, PWP, language
Notes: My first het smut in a long, long while. It started out as a one-shot and somehow turned into a trilogy-maybe-series.
The light from her alarm clock hurt the moment Elena’s eyes cracked open. Groaning, she dimmed her vision by yanking the blanket over her head. Her temples throbbed and her stomach shuddered in revulsion the moment she thought of it.
Great, she thought miserably. A hangover. Perhaps she deserved it for believing she could actually take Stefan on.
The failure of being able to achieve something as simple as locking him up (she’d done it before, hadn’t she?) hurt worse than her splitting headache. Alaric was right: she was merely human, and not particularly strong. The years of cheerleading seemed more a waste than ever. Elena should have taken up martial arts, or pole-jumping, or gymnastics, anything to make her strong more than flexible.
Even worse was the knowledge that staking Stefan had brought her little joy. Fierce satisfaction, yes. Elena was not sorry she surprised him twice, nor did she intend to apologize for playing dirty. And yet . . .
When a firm hand eased the blankets away from her face, Elena was, for once, not astonished to find Damon hovering over her. His expression was difficult to read, but the glass of water he offered was not. She propped herself up on one elbow, grabbed hold of the gift, and drained the liquid within four breathless gulps. Damon did not let go of the glass.
Wordlessly, soundlessly, he slipped into her bathroom. Elena buried her face in the pillow. Jumbled thoughts of guilt, Stefan, and failure swarmed her mind until Damon returned. This time she paced herself when she drank.
Looking at her clock still pained Elena, but she forced herself to comprehend the time.
“It’s still early,” Damon said with careful tones.
Nodding would have hurt. Elena merely closed her eyes and murmured an agreement. Drinking as much as she had proved to become a mistake. She had to be up in three hours to train. Alaric would be waiting for her, bleary-eyed and gazing yearningly at the coffeemaker on their way out.
Unsure she wanted an answer, Elena mumbled, “Why are you here?”
The ensuing silence was so long she thought Damon had slipped out. Then, just before she peaked to be sure, he said, “Because you’re a lightweight.”
“All right, take it easy. We both know you’re kind of a lightweight.”
A pang of mixed resentment and sorrow struck between her ribs. Elena felt tears swarming behind her closed lids, hot and threatening to spill in spite of her efforts. Had she felt less horrid, she may have railed at Damon for repeating Stefan’s words.
But then, a small voice whispered, he probably didn’t know. As far as she knew, Damon hadn’t been anywhere nearby when Elena and Stefan had their brief battle of wits at the keg.
A distant part of her noted that she had been far more sober last Damon had seen her the night before. So how could he have known she’d sneaked a few more shots at home once her shaking had calmed enough to pour a drink?
She must have opened her mouth to ask, because Damon’s fingers were covering her lips all of a sudden. Warm and gentle, yet firm. A small, unexpected shudder made tingles swarm across her skin.
In his deadly quiet voice, Damon said, “Go back to sleep. No point in waking Ric. Or Jeremy,” he added as an afterthought.
Before she nodded off into a dreamless sleep, Elena heard him add in annoyed tones, “And for God’s sake, next time pick top shelf to shoot.”
When Elena dredged herself from the alluring yet elusive grasp of unconsciousness yet again, not even a full hour had passed. She felt significantly better. The headache was a dull pain now. Her stomach was still retying itself in nonsensical knots, however. Debating breakfast to settle her nausea was immediately turned down.
Exhausted, she shoved the blanket off her legs and half-stumbled to the bathroom. Damon was nowhere to be seen, but the still-dewy glass was mercifully by the sink. Elena gratefully downed another glass, paused to relieve herself, and slunk back toward the bed rubbing her eyes.
Another once-over of the moonlit bedroom only confirmed Damon’s absence. A unique knotting occurred in her belly again, closer to her heart. Irrationally, she thought, He promised he wouldn’t leave again. The instant Elena thought it she was berating herself. Idiot. You’re not in danger.
“You don’t need Damon around all the time,” she scolded herself aloud.
“That my cue to take my leave?”
Elena’s knotted heart leapt to her throat at the sound of his voice. She staggered and spun to find him in the doorway, his dark hair tousled as though he’d just woken up.
“I thought you left,” she said stupidly.
Damon shut the door behind him, casting a wary glance into the hallway as he did. “I did. Getting shish kebabed makes me a tad bit hungrier than usual.”
The first thing Elena wanted to ask was who he’d hurt this time. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she realized she was in no mood to get into an argument with him right now. Besides, he’d been mostly reasonably well-behaved. Kind of. A little.
Practically reading her mind, Damon flashed a sardonic smile. “I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t a bunny and it wasn’t a person.”
Her hands in the air, Elena stated, “I wasn’t going to ask.”
Rolling his eyes, Damon returned, “Yes, you were. You just changed your mind.”
Elena rubbed her forehead as her headache began to sharpen. “What do you want, Damon?”
“Why do I always have to want something?” he griped, folding his arms over his chest. Elena shot him an exasperated look and he sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “I just figured if you were going to self-medicate on crappy booze the least I could do was bring you some water and sneak you something a little less vile for the next time Stefan decides to be a dick.” Again his hands moved, this time to present her with an opaque, long-necked bottle. Blinking, Elena took it before observing it skeptically. The language on the label wasn’t any she recognized immediately.
This must be his private stash, she thought. The idea of more alcohol made her gut churn.
When she did nothing but stare, Damon lost his patience. He took the bottle from her, strode to her dresser, yanked a drawer open, and slid it beneath some clothing. “Now,” he said distractedly, “Daddy Ric can’t accuse you of taking his stash.”
Her hangover haze must have been clouding her wits. It took Elena too long to realize that Damon hadn’t shut the drawer and had a queer smile playing on his lips.
Flushing, she darted forward and slammed the drawer shut. “Stop going through my underw-”
Damon quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, his eyes flashing in something that managed to contain both irritation and mirth. “I’d rather Ric not give me another lecture right now,” he whispered intently. “If you’re going to wake him up, at least let me get out first.”
Elena glared up at him. When his hold didn’t loosen, she relented with utmost reluctance.
Slowly Damon let her go. His head was cocked slightly to the side, listening for any signs of stirrings elsewhere in the house. Then, with a small nod, he gestured at her bed.
The hangover outweighed Elena’s grumpiness at his man-handling her. She crawled back beneath the covers, staring sullenly at the ceiling.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Damon’s head move. “Good night, Elena,” he said in the same voice he’d used so many times. There was something both intense and sorrowful about it, as though each time he acknowledged that this could be his final goodbye.
Maybe it was how awful she already felt, physically. Maybe it was how miserable she was, emotionally. Maybe she was just keyed up after the day’s events. Whatever it was made Elena sit up with panic sending her thoughts in a frantic cat-chasing-firefly frenzy. “Wait.”
Damon paused. He didn’t look her way.
Already Elena felt parched. Three glasses of water had not been enough. It was never enough. “Stay. A little longer,” she whispered.
Already on the doorknob, Damon’s hand twitched. Firmer than before, he said, “Good night, Elena.”
“Please.” Her voice cracked. She felt like a small, scared little girl after glimpsing shifting shadows under her bed. Worse, Elena couldn’t put her finger on why she saw herself that way . . . that or she was refusing to.
For a long few terrible moments, she thought he was going to leave anyway. Then Damon turned to give her a strained smile. “Sure.” He walked past her, choosing to perch on the window sill.
Awkwardly, the two sat in silence. Elena stared at her hands, asking herself why she just put herself in this situation.
Stefan is not here.
Were her Stefan with her now, he would wrap her in his arms and wordlessly assure her she was safe. Usually, he was right.
Stefan isn’t coming back.
Not the way he had before, at least. Compulsion or not, he was gone. Lost to her, either forever or until she could comprehend some way to bring him back. Yet the longer she pursued that goal, the further it seemed out of her reach. She was disheartened.
She hadn’t lied to Stefan. Elena did have hope that his humanity lurked somewhere deep within, Klaus’s compulsion be damned.
Still, lying to herself would be pretending that she could actually be with Stefan once she managed to help him. She’d fooled herself enough this past summer. Stefan could, perhaps, be saved. But he had been right before. Nothing would be the same between them again.
Damon is not Stefan.
On the other side of the room, Damon watched her unabashedly. His blue eyes were sharp and intense; always intense. Sometimes Elena could read him; others she could not hope to. Tonight she caught flickers of amusement (He’s STILL thinking about my underwear!) and affection and concern.
Damon was nothing like Stefan. While Stefan used to make her feel warm and safe, Damon had an odder touch. Cruel yet kind; sarcastic yet direct; flippant yet deadly serious.
And when he had held her firmly against his body, pressing beneath her ribs as he murmured instructions on how to find a vampire’s heart, Elena had felt something Stefan had never lit within her. Dizzying, explosive giddiness that seemed to make her nights glimmer with stars brighter than the sun. Fireflies dancing sweet, gentle sways in the murky darkness. Her breath had stolen from her, whisked away by Damon’s insistent touch.
Quietly, Damon asked, “Aren’t you going to lie down?”
Her insides squirmed. Elena herself felt strangely still, and when she spoke her voice barely sounded her own. “You should get some rest.”
Irritation crept back into Damon’s voice. “I can either stay or go, Elena, but I can’t do both.”
Her ears felt hot. Why did her ears feel hot? “Stay. With me.”
“Done already, Elena.”
Apparently she had to spell it out for him. Annoyance grazed her tongue as she replied, “I miss being held, Damon.”
Silence impregnated the room. Elena finally made herself meet Damon’s eyes directly. He observed her with that icy intensity. Carefully, patiently, he said, “I’m not Stefan.”
“You’re Damon Salvatore,” Elena agreed, gaining more edge in her tone. “I held you when you needed it.”
He went from suspiciously skeptical to suspiciously complacent. “Fair enough,” he said. Damon paused only to remove his shoes before sitting atop the covers. He held an arm out toward her, one eyebrow raised, his free hand pointing deliberately to his side. Cuddle here, the gesture said.
Elena curled into his side. It wasn’t the same as snuggling with Stefan. Stefan was broader in the chest and smelled of sandalwood and light aftershave.
Damon’s arms were just as secure. He had a pleasant scent, too, of cloves and earth with a touch of sweat. He had been hunting earlier. Elena quashed that train of thought and closed her eyes.
But sleep wasn’t coming. Instead of Damon’s arm around her shoulder, she was remembering the same arm around her waist; his grip on her wrist. The almost-painful yet sweet pressure beneath her ribcage as his breath tickled her ear. How solid he felt behind her; a trembling foundation she was fearful to build upon. He was not Stefan.
Right now, she was barely thinking of Stefan. Her skin, her nose, her mind were all overwhelmed with the presence of Damon and his tousled dark hair and intense watchful eyes and the sweetly painful words he’d told her many a time, in many a manner, to remind her how deeply his love for her resonated within.
Elena was hardly aware of her trembling until she felt a cool touch on her forehead. A finger traced her eyelids, searching for tears and finding none.
“Elena?” Damon inquired uncertainly.
Shifting so she could sit up to look at him, Elena had to leave his embrace for a few fleeting moments. Naked concern etched Damon’s face, but there was something darker troubling him.
Elena had focused on his mouth before, often incredulous of the words coming out of it. Once had been when he lay dying, cold with sweat and clammy with the promise of an end that didn’t come. He was warm and dry now. And alive.
And in love with her.
And I’m . . .
Damon grasped her arms carefully. He ensured she was eyeing him before saying softly, “I’m not Stefan.”
“I’m not Katherine,” she replied.
Surprise and wry amusement took him just long enough for her to lean forward. Elena only meant for their lips to touch, just to see if that spark would ignite. It did, and Damon was the quickest to react. He kissed her, his hands tense on her biceps. Elena dug her nails into the covers and lost herself in the warmth of his mouth.
Damon pulled away and pushed her back in the same moment. Inwardly he warred with his conscience (or so Elena assumed, if he had as much of one as she liked to think). In a thick, strangely hoarse whisper, he said, “Are you still drunk?”
Elena stared for a couple beats in disbelief. “No,” she said.
Sighing, Damon loosened his grip and patted her gently on the arm. He urged her to lie down with him. “Get some rest before Ric wakes up.”
They had a couple hours, but he was right. Elena tried to get comfortable. From Damon’s uneven breathing, she suspected he was just as bad off.
Elena wasn’t certain who reached first the second time, but they were kissing again. Quiet, slow kisses that turned to Damon nudging her chin up so he could trail his lips down her throat. She couldn’t stand his mouth away from hers for long, though, and had to urge him back up. Damon appeared to have no problem complying. He brushed his tongue over her lip. Elena opened her mouth to him, tangling her fingers in his dark hair as she pulled him down to her.
Damon broke the contact again, briefly. “What about Jeremy?”
“Heavy sleeper,” Elena gasped. She wriggled with Damon as he pushed the offending blanket out of the way. “I’m more worried about Ric.”
“Problematic,” Damon agreed, silencing her with more heavy kissing. He slid a hand beneath her pajama top, running his fingers over her ribs and stomach.
Butterflies seemed to fly within her at his touch. Normally Elena believed she would have been more level-headed confronted with this situation, but she found herself swept into the moment and Damon’s arms. The half-dazed look in his eyes spoke the same of his predicament.
Fingertips grazed the underside of Elena’s breast. Damon paused and drew back before Elena noted he thought her lack of vocalization a rejection. She took hold of his hand and guided it back to her breast, holding his gaze the entire time. In that instant they both gave pause. Elena’s chest heaved as she tried to calm her wildly pulsating heart. Now Damon’s thoughts were utterly readable; wonder and disbelief and a unique light of joy shimmering from a place that had probably long since been buried. Heat spread across Elena’s cheeks to recognize all that was merely from touching her.
Damon shifted so she was completely beneath him, finally looking lower than her face. Her pajama top rode up above the curve of her chest, and now each of his hands were on her breasts. With just the slightest tremor, he exhaled before dipping down to take one of her hardened nipples into his mouth.
Trying not to squirm from either pleasure or the ticklish sensation, Elena did her best to turn a whimper into a soft sigh. As much as she wanted to ignore everything else, the nagging reminder that others were sleeping nearby was in the forefront of her thoughts just as much as Damon.
Even as she tried to keep quiet, Damon was pulling her pajama bottoms down. His hand slid between her legs, hot against her thighs. Elena bit down on a squeal when his finger touched her clit.
“D-Damon. Wait,” she gasped.
For once, he did precisely as he was told. His eyes were no longer icy, more like a great blue wave pounding in a fierce spray against a white beach.
“Just say the word, Elena,” he assured her. “I’ll stop.”
Pushing hair from her eyes, Elena shook her head. “Not that,” she whispered.
One dark eyebrow raised and a slow grin lit Damon’s face.
Hastily, Elena said, “I just need you to keep me quiet.”
“Hmm . . . nope.” When Elena tried to protest, she ended up biting her tongue as Damon rubbed her clit again. Wetness soaked her pajamas and the sheets and, from the sound of it, Damon’s hand. All of it simply after kissing and light petting. Stripping her legs bare, he added, “Think of it as a lesson in self-control. You’ll need that, too.”
That brief reminder was the last time Elena thought of Stefan. All memories were swept away when Damon moved down, unnervingly fast, and began kissing her thighs, her hips, her stomach, everywhere but the one area she craved. Passion went from smoldering to flaming as Elena fell back to the pillows, arching into it with frustration. Still Damon merely teased; nibbled; kissed. Even worse, he was still fully clothed.
Sensing her impatience, Damon moved back up to kiss her again. This time he was rough, threatening to bruise her mouth in the heat of the moment. It was all Elena could do to keep up. Her hands clutched his T-shirt, trying to pull it off.
Damon resisted and broke the kiss. Earnestly, he breathed, “You can still say no, Elena.”
“I don’t want to,” she insisted. She just wanted his damn shirt off, for starters.
Softening, he kissed her again, briefly, and moved back down. Now he wasted no time, pushing her legs up toward her chest before he licked the wetness from her. Damon took his sweet time. Muffled appreciations reached Elena’s ears. Finally he pressed his tongue inside her, lapping up the still-trickling evidence of her arousal. Elena had to clamp her lips shut to stifle her whimpers. More, she thought, but she would not give Damon the satisfaction of begging.
She didn’t have to. Immediately Damon was back to her swollen clit, his tongue hot and wet and steadily tempting her to cry out. Elena couldn’t help squirming now, but Damon had no trouble holding her legs stationary and continuing.
Then he began sucking gently on her most sensitive nub, and Elena realized she was going to moan. Biting down hard on her forearm was the only way she could keep silent, and even then she knew she was dangerously close to losing control anyway.
Damon’s abrupt halt nearly broke her. His mouth and chin wet, he said, “If you can’t keep quiet, I have to stop.”
Frantically, Elena looked for something she could use to cover her mouth. The pillow wouldn’t do; it could be easily thrown aside. All she could do was wrestle one of his hands free and bite down on the fleshy part of his palm.
A different sort of hunger colored Damon’s gaze, then. For a flash of a second Elena thought his eyes were going to darken and vein. Instead he licked her in earnest again. He held her gaze until Elena’s neck hurt. She let go of his hand and arched bodily, pressing her head hard into the mattress as she came.
Damon showed no signs of slowing down. He found one of her hands and clasped it tight, pleasuring her until Elena was torn between pushing him away and grabbing his hair to pull him closer. The next release came easier. She was trying too hard to gasp quietly to stop him from bringing one after the other. Words were failing Elena, her mind too mushy and muddled as she shook from the repeated orgasms.
When Damon did choose to stop, Elena was in little position to do anything about it. Her heart slammed against her ribs again and again. Her legs felt jelly-like and useless.
Damon waited until she could breathe easier before pressing his mouth to hers, much gentler than before. Elena could taste herself through his kisses. It was a first for her, and only made her want him more.
Instead, Damon settled himself beside her, drawing her close and nuzzling the top of her head. Confused, Elena whispered, “Why are we stopping?”
His lips still to her head, Damon replied, “Because if you really do want this, it should wait.”
Stinging rejection from him was something Elena never thought she would feel. Trying to sort her scattered thoughts, she managed, “I know I do.”
Scoffing, Damon said, “No. You know you’re horny. There’s a big difference.” As Elena tried to protest, he hugged her tighter. “There’s nothing more I want,” he assured her. Shifting, Elena felt jean-covered hardness against her back that confirmed his confession. “But,” Damon added, “I want you to be sure this wasn’t a mistake.”
It wasn’t a mistake. Yes, she had been caught up in the moment, but it was not the first time Damon had sparked her sexual interest. It means you're human, Caroline had told her.
Elena loved Stefan, but she also loved . . .
“Besides, I think I hear Alaric getting up.”
Startled, Elena twisted to look at the clock. Three minutes until her alarm was due to go off. We did all that in two hours? She turned to say something to Damon.
It was too late. He had vanished, as vampires were wont to.
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No profit is being made off this.
Rating: 18+
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Warnings: sex, PWP, language
Notes: My first het smut in a long, long while. It started out as a one-shot and somehow turned into a trilogy-maybe-series.
The light from her alarm clock hurt the moment Elena’s eyes cracked open. Groaning, she dimmed her vision by yanking the blanket over her head. Her temples throbbed and her stomach shuddered in revulsion the moment she thought of it.
Great, she thought miserably. A hangover. Perhaps she deserved it for believing she could actually take Stefan on.
The failure of being able to achieve something as simple as locking him up (she’d done it before, hadn’t she?) hurt worse than her splitting headache. Alaric was right: she was merely human, and not particularly strong. The years of cheerleading seemed more a waste than ever. Elena should have taken up martial arts, or pole-jumping, or gymnastics, anything to make her strong more than flexible.
Even worse was the knowledge that staking Stefan had brought her little joy. Fierce satisfaction, yes. Elena was not sorry she surprised him twice, nor did she intend to apologize for playing dirty. And yet . . .
When a firm hand eased the blankets away from her face, Elena was, for once, not astonished to find Damon hovering over her. His expression was difficult to read, but the glass of water he offered was not. She propped herself up on one elbow, grabbed hold of the gift, and drained the liquid within four breathless gulps. Damon did not let go of the glass.
Wordlessly, soundlessly, he slipped into her bathroom. Elena buried her face in the pillow. Jumbled thoughts of guilt, Stefan, and failure swarmed her mind until Damon returned. This time she paced herself when she drank.
Looking at her clock still pained Elena, but she forced herself to comprehend the time.
“It’s still early,” Damon said with careful tones.
Nodding would have hurt. Elena merely closed her eyes and murmured an agreement. Drinking as much as she had proved to become a mistake. She had to be up in three hours to train. Alaric would be waiting for her, bleary-eyed and gazing yearningly at the coffeemaker on their way out.
Unsure she wanted an answer, Elena mumbled, “Why are you here?”
The ensuing silence was so long she thought Damon had slipped out. Then, just before she peaked to be sure, he said, “Because you’re a lightweight.”
“All right, take it easy. We both know you’re kind of a lightweight.”
A pang of mixed resentment and sorrow struck between her ribs. Elena felt tears swarming behind her closed lids, hot and threatening to spill in spite of her efforts. Had she felt less horrid, she may have railed at Damon for repeating Stefan’s words.
But then, a small voice whispered, he probably didn’t know. As far as she knew, Damon hadn’t been anywhere nearby when Elena and Stefan had their brief battle of wits at the keg.
A distant part of her noted that she had been far more sober last Damon had seen her the night before. So how could he have known she’d sneaked a few more shots at home once her shaking had calmed enough to pour a drink?
She must have opened her mouth to ask, because Damon’s fingers were covering her lips all of a sudden. Warm and gentle, yet firm. A small, unexpected shudder made tingles swarm across her skin.
In his deadly quiet voice, Damon said, “Go back to sleep. No point in waking Ric. Or Jeremy,” he added as an afterthought.
Before she nodded off into a dreamless sleep, Elena heard him add in annoyed tones, “And for God’s sake, next time pick top shelf to shoot.”
When Elena dredged herself from the alluring yet elusive grasp of unconsciousness yet again, not even a full hour had passed. She felt significantly better. The headache was a dull pain now. Her stomach was still retying itself in nonsensical knots, however. Debating breakfast to settle her nausea was immediately turned down.
Exhausted, she shoved the blanket off her legs and half-stumbled to the bathroom. Damon was nowhere to be seen, but the still-dewy glass was mercifully by the sink. Elena gratefully downed another glass, paused to relieve herself, and slunk back toward the bed rubbing her eyes.
Another once-over of the moonlit bedroom only confirmed Damon’s absence. A unique knotting occurred in her belly again, closer to her heart. Irrationally, she thought, He promised he wouldn’t leave again. The instant Elena thought it she was berating herself. Idiot. You’re not in danger.
“You don’t need Damon around all the time,” she scolded herself aloud.
“That my cue to take my leave?”
Elena’s knotted heart leapt to her throat at the sound of his voice. She staggered and spun to find him in the doorway, his dark hair tousled as though he’d just woken up.
“I thought you left,” she said stupidly.
Damon shut the door behind him, casting a wary glance into the hallway as he did. “I did. Getting shish kebabed makes me a tad bit hungrier than usual.”
The first thing Elena wanted to ask was who he’d hurt this time. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she realized she was in no mood to get into an argument with him right now. Besides, he’d been mostly reasonably well-behaved. Kind of. A little.
Practically reading her mind, Damon flashed a sardonic smile. “I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t a bunny and it wasn’t a person.”
Her hands in the air, Elena stated, “I wasn’t going to ask.”
Rolling his eyes, Damon returned, “Yes, you were. You just changed your mind.”
Elena rubbed her forehead as her headache began to sharpen. “What do you want, Damon?”
“Why do I always have to want something?” he griped, folding his arms over his chest. Elena shot him an exasperated look and he sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “I just figured if you were going to self-medicate on crappy booze the least I could do was bring you some water and sneak you something a little less vile for the next time Stefan decides to be a dick.” Again his hands moved, this time to present her with an opaque, long-necked bottle. Blinking, Elena took it before observing it skeptically. The language on the label wasn’t any she recognized immediately.
This must be his private stash, she thought. The idea of more alcohol made her gut churn.
When she did nothing but stare, Damon lost his patience. He took the bottle from her, strode to her dresser, yanked a drawer open, and slid it beneath some clothing. “Now,” he said distractedly, “Daddy Ric can’t accuse you of taking his stash.”
Her hangover haze must have been clouding her wits. It took Elena too long to realize that Damon hadn’t shut the drawer and had a queer smile playing on his lips.
Flushing, she darted forward and slammed the drawer shut. “Stop going through my underw-”
Damon quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, his eyes flashing in something that managed to contain both irritation and mirth. “I’d rather Ric not give me another lecture right now,” he whispered intently. “If you’re going to wake him up, at least let me get out first.”
Elena glared up at him. When his hold didn’t loosen, she relented with utmost reluctance.
Slowly Damon let her go. His head was cocked slightly to the side, listening for any signs of stirrings elsewhere in the house. Then, with a small nod, he gestured at her bed.
The hangover outweighed Elena’s grumpiness at his man-handling her. She crawled back beneath the covers, staring sullenly at the ceiling.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Damon’s head move. “Good night, Elena,” he said in the same voice he’d used so many times. There was something both intense and sorrowful about it, as though each time he acknowledged that this could be his final goodbye.
Maybe it was how awful she already felt, physically. Maybe it was how miserable she was, emotionally. Maybe she was just keyed up after the day’s events. Whatever it was made Elena sit up with panic sending her thoughts in a frantic cat-chasing-firefly frenzy. “Wait.”
Damon paused. He didn’t look her way.
Already Elena felt parched. Three glasses of water had not been enough. It was never enough. “Stay. A little longer,” she whispered.
Already on the doorknob, Damon’s hand twitched. Firmer than before, he said, “Good night, Elena.”
“Please.” Her voice cracked. She felt like a small, scared little girl after glimpsing shifting shadows under her bed. Worse, Elena couldn’t put her finger on why she saw herself that way . . . that or she was refusing to.
For a long few terrible moments, she thought he was going to leave anyway. Then Damon turned to give her a strained smile. “Sure.” He walked past her, choosing to perch on the window sill.
Awkwardly, the two sat in silence. Elena stared at her hands, asking herself why she just put herself in this situation.
Stefan is not here.
Were her Stefan with her now, he would wrap her in his arms and wordlessly assure her she was safe. Usually, he was right.
Stefan isn’t coming back.
Not the way he had before, at least. Compulsion or not, he was gone. Lost to her, either forever or until she could comprehend some way to bring him back. Yet the longer she pursued that goal, the further it seemed out of her reach. She was disheartened.
She hadn’t lied to Stefan. Elena did have hope that his humanity lurked somewhere deep within, Klaus’s compulsion be damned.
Still, lying to herself would be pretending that she could actually be with Stefan once she managed to help him. She’d fooled herself enough this past summer. Stefan could, perhaps, be saved. But he had been right before. Nothing would be the same between them again.
Damon is not Stefan.
On the other side of the room, Damon watched her unabashedly. His blue eyes were sharp and intense; always intense. Sometimes Elena could read him; others she could not hope to. Tonight she caught flickers of amusement (He’s STILL thinking about my underwear!) and affection and concern.
Damon was nothing like Stefan. While Stefan used to make her feel warm and safe, Damon had an odder touch. Cruel yet kind; sarcastic yet direct; flippant yet deadly serious.
And when he had held her firmly against his body, pressing beneath her ribs as he murmured instructions on how to find a vampire’s heart, Elena had felt something Stefan had never lit within her. Dizzying, explosive giddiness that seemed to make her nights glimmer with stars brighter than the sun. Fireflies dancing sweet, gentle sways in the murky darkness. Her breath had stolen from her, whisked away by Damon’s insistent touch.
Quietly, Damon asked, “Aren’t you going to lie down?”
Her insides squirmed. Elena herself felt strangely still, and when she spoke her voice barely sounded her own. “You should get some rest.”
Irritation crept back into Damon’s voice. “I can either stay or go, Elena, but I can’t do both.”
Her ears felt hot. Why did her ears feel hot? “Stay. With me.”
“Done already, Elena.”
Apparently she had to spell it out for him. Annoyance grazed her tongue as she replied, “I miss being held, Damon.”
Silence impregnated the room. Elena finally made herself meet Damon’s eyes directly. He observed her with that icy intensity. Carefully, patiently, he said, “I’m not Stefan.”
“You’re Damon Salvatore,” Elena agreed, gaining more edge in her tone. “I held you when you needed it.”
He went from suspiciously skeptical to suspiciously complacent. “Fair enough,” he said. Damon paused only to remove his shoes before sitting atop the covers. He held an arm out toward her, one eyebrow raised, his free hand pointing deliberately to his side. Cuddle here, the gesture said.
Elena curled into his side. It wasn’t the same as snuggling with Stefan. Stefan was broader in the chest and smelled of sandalwood and light aftershave.
Damon’s arms were just as secure. He had a pleasant scent, too, of cloves and earth with a touch of sweat. He had been hunting earlier. Elena quashed that train of thought and closed her eyes.
But sleep wasn’t coming. Instead of Damon’s arm around her shoulder, she was remembering the same arm around her waist; his grip on her wrist. The almost-painful yet sweet pressure beneath her ribcage as his breath tickled her ear. How solid he felt behind her; a trembling foundation she was fearful to build upon. He was not Stefan.
Right now, she was barely thinking of Stefan. Her skin, her nose, her mind were all overwhelmed with the presence of Damon and his tousled dark hair and intense watchful eyes and the sweetly painful words he’d told her many a time, in many a manner, to remind her how deeply his love for her resonated within.
Elena was hardly aware of her trembling until she felt a cool touch on her forehead. A finger traced her eyelids, searching for tears and finding none.
“Elena?” Damon inquired uncertainly.
Shifting so she could sit up to look at him, Elena had to leave his embrace for a few fleeting moments. Naked concern etched Damon’s face, but there was something darker troubling him.
Elena had focused on his mouth before, often incredulous of the words coming out of it. Once had been when he lay dying, cold with sweat and clammy with the promise of an end that didn’t come. He was warm and dry now. And alive.
And in love with her.
And I’m . . .
Damon grasped her arms carefully. He ensured she was eyeing him before saying softly, “I’m not Stefan.”
“I’m not Katherine,” she replied.
Surprise and wry amusement took him just long enough for her to lean forward. Elena only meant for their lips to touch, just to see if that spark would ignite. It did, and Damon was the quickest to react. He kissed her, his hands tense on her biceps. Elena dug her nails into the covers and lost herself in the warmth of his mouth.
Damon pulled away and pushed her back in the same moment. Inwardly he warred with his conscience (or so Elena assumed, if he had as much of one as she liked to think). In a thick, strangely hoarse whisper, he said, “Are you still drunk?”
Elena stared for a couple beats in disbelief. “No,” she said.
Sighing, Damon loosened his grip and patted her gently on the arm. He urged her to lie down with him. “Get some rest before Ric wakes up.”
They had a couple hours, but he was right. Elena tried to get comfortable. From Damon’s uneven breathing, she suspected he was just as bad off.
Elena wasn’t certain who reached first the second time, but they were kissing again. Quiet, slow kisses that turned to Damon nudging her chin up so he could trail his lips down her throat. She couldn’t stand his mouth away from hers for long, though, and had to urge him back up. Damon appeared to have no problem complying. He brushed his tongue over her lip. Elena opened her mouth to him, tangling her fingers in his dark hair as she pulled him down to her.
Damon broke the contact again, briefly. “What about Jeremy?”
“Heavy sleeper,” Elena gasped. She wriggled with Damon as he pushed the offending blanket out of the way. “I’m more worried about Ric.”
“Problematic,” Damon agreed, silencing her with more heavy kissing. He slid a hand beneath her pajama top, running his fingers over her ribs and stomach.
Butterflies seemed to fly within her at his touch. Normally Elena believed she would have been more level-headed confronted with this situation, but she found herself swept into the moment and Damon’s arms. The half-dazed look in his eyes spoke the same of his predicament.
Fingertips grazed the underside of Elena’s breast. Damon paused and drew back before Elena noted he thought her lack of vocalization a rejection. She took hold of his hand and guided it back to her breast, holding his gaze the entire time. In that instant they both gave pause. Elena’s chest heaved as she tried to calm her wildly pulsating heart. Now Damon’s thoughts were utterly readable; wonder and disbelief and a unique light of joy shimmering from a place that had probably long since been buried. Heat spread across Elena’s cheeks to recognize all that was merely from touching her.
Damon shifted so she was completely beneath him, finally looking lower than her face. Her pajama top rode up above the curve of her chest, and now each of his hands were on her breasts. With just the slightest tremor, he exhaled before dipping down to take one of her hardened nipples into his mouth.
Trying not to squirm from either pleasure or the ticklish sensation, Elena did her best to turn a whimper into a soft sigh. As much as she wanted to ignore everything else, the nagging reminder that others were sleeping nearby was in the forefront of her thoughts just as much as Damon.
Even as she tried to keep quiet, Damon was pulling her pajama bottoms down. His hand slid between her legs, hot against her thighs. Elena bit down on a squeal when his finger touched her clit.
“D-Damon. Wait,” she gasped.
For once, he did precisely as he was told. His eyes were no longer icy, more like a great blue wave pounding in a fierce spray against a white beach.
“Just say the word, Elena,” he assured her. “I’ll stop.”
Pushing hair from her eyes, Elena shook her head. “Not that,” she whispered.
One dark eyebrow raised and a slow grin lit Damon’s face.
Hastily, Elena said, “I just need you to keep me quiet.”
“Hmm . . . nope.” When Elena tried to protest, she ended up biting her tongue as Damon rubbed her clit again. Wetness soaked her pajamas and the sheets and, from the sound of it, Damon’s hand. All of it simply after kissing and light petting. Stripping her legs bare, he added, “Think of it as a lesson in self-control. You’ll need that, too.”
That brief reminder was the last time Elena thought of Stefan. All memories were swept away when Damon moved down, unnervingly fast, and began kissing her thighs, her hips, her stomach, everywhere but the one area she craved. Passion went from smoldering to flaming as Elena fell back to the pillows, arching into it with frustration. Still Damon merely teased; nibbled; kissed. Even worse, he was still fully clothed.
Sensing her impatience, Damon moved back up to kiss her again. This time he was rough, threatening to bruise her mouth in the heat of the moment. It was all Elena could do to keep up. Her hands clutched his T-shirt, trying to pull it off.
Damon resisted and broke the kiss. Earnestly, he breathed, “You can still say no, Elena.”
“I don’t want to,” she insisted. She just wanted his damn shirt off, for starters.
Softening, he kissed her again, briefly, and moved back down. Now he wasted no time, pushing her legs up toward her chest before he licked the wetness from her. Damon took his sweet time. Muffled appreciations reached Elena’s ears. Finally he pressed his tongue inside her, lapping up the still-trickling evidence of her arousal. Elena had to clamp her lips shut to stifle her whimpers. More, she thought, but she would not give Damon the satisfaction of begging.
She didn’t have to. Immediately Damon was back to her swollen clit, his tongue hot and wet and steadily tempting her to cry out. Elena couldn’t help squirming now, but Damon had no trouble holding her legs stationary and continuing.
Then he began sucking gently on her most sensitive nub, and Elena realized she was going to moan. Biting down hard on her forearm was the only way she could keep silent, and even then she knew she was dangerously close to losing control anyway.
Damon’s abrupt halt nearly broke her. His mouth and chin wet, he said, “If you can’t keep quiet, I have to stop.”
Frantically, Elena looked for something she could use to cover her mouth. The pillow wouldn’t do; it could be easily thrown aside. All she could do was wrestle one of his hands free and bite down on the fleshy part of his palm.
A different sort of hunger colored Damon’s gaze, then. For a flash of a second Elena thought his eyes were going to darken and vein. Instead he licked her in earnest again. He held her gaze until Elena’s neck hurt. She let go of his hand and arched bodily, pressing her head hard into the mattress as she came.
Damon showed no signs of slowing down. He found one of her hands and clasped it tight, pleasuring her until Elena was torn between pushing him away and grabbing his hair to pull him closer. The next release came easier. She was trying too hard to gasp quietly to stop him from bringing one after the other. Words were failing Elena, her mind too mushy and muddled as she shook from the repeated orgasms.
When Damon did choose to stop, Elena was in little position to do anything about it. Her heart slammed against her ribs again and again. Her legs felt jelly-like and useless.
Damon waited until she could breathe easier before pressing his mouth to hers, much gentler than before. Elena could taste herself through his kisses. It was a first for her, and only made her want him more.
Instead, Damon settled himself beside her, drawing her close and nuzzling the top of her head. Confused, Elena whispered, “Why are we stopping?”
His lips still to her head, Damon replied, “Because if you really do want this, it should wait.”
Stinging rejection from him was something Elena never thought she would feel. Trying to sort her scattered thoughts, she managed, “I know I do.”
Scoffing, Damon said, “No. You know you’re horny. There’s a big difference.” As Elena tried to protest, he hugged her tighter. “There’s nothing more I want,” he assured her. Shifting, Elena felt jean-covered hardness against her back that confirmed his confession. “But,” Damon added, “I want you to be sure this wasn’t a mistake.”
It wasn’t a mistake. Yes, she had been caught up in the moment, but it was not the first time Damon had sparked her sexual interest. It means you're human, Caroline had told her.
Elena loved Stefan, but she also loved . . .
“Besides, I think I hear Alaric getting up.”
Startled, Elena twisted to look at the clock. Three minutes until her alarm was due to go off. We did all that in two hours? She turned to say something to Damon.
It was too late. He had vanished, as vampires were wont to.