2:30 (Damon/Elena) [The Vampire Diaries]
Title: 2:30
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No profit is being made off this.
Rating: 16+
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Warnings: language, violence
Notes: Sequel to 3:18, 5:53, and 11:27
Starlight glimmered through the threads of dark curtains, visible only to the inhuman eye. There didn’t appear to be any moon tonight, which suited him just fine considering. The air was heavy with sweat and sex, he was drenched in the fluids of the most amazing woman he’d ever met, and that woman was snuggling close to him, peacefully asleep in the crook of his arm.
Damon Salvatore had never even dared to imagine a moment like this before; it had all seemed too far from reach. Yet here he was, and he was too disturbed to sleep.
It was his own fault, he supposed. That quip about Stefan hearing them have sex had been a petty thing to say.
But Damon was always petty. Elena, the pretty sleeping girl beside him, was not. That was why her agreeing she hoped Stefan had heard unsettled him.
I have a knack for screwing up, he thought sullenly.
In fact, he was so good at it that Damon had practically donned his kiddy gloves when dealing with Elena the past few weeks. Because having her in his life had turned into an incredible blessing. He loved being a vampire. He loved the thrill of murder, of being higher up on the food chain, of doing what he wanted and, for the most part, getting away with it.
He also missed being human more than all that. Loving Elena was the closest he’d gotten in over a century.
The moment Damon had figured that out was the same instant he realized he didn’t deserve her. Unrequited love was a bitch, but Elena was not. She could empathize with nearly anyone, and that was one small trait that made her so precious. Whether it was him or Elijah or Tyler Lockwood or Witch Bonnie, Elena could understand them regardless of fear, love, or loathing.
That didn’t mean Damon could be completely selfless, no matter what he’d told her earlier. He wanted to be there for Elena, but he also wanted to be with her in every sense imaginable. Damon could be the better man for only so long.
Now that he’d finally caved, pleasured her, taken her in the most carnal relation possible, Damon feared he’d made a grave mistake.
It infuriated him. Right now, even with Elena next to him breathing softly into his side while she dreamt, Damon wanted to stand up and tear the sheets out from under her before ripping them to shreds. He wanted to wreck his massive bed to a pile of splinters. He craved to smash glass and put holes in the wall and set the entire room on fire. His blood raged for destruction and desolation.
Worse, with Elena’s heartbeat throbbing steadily in his ears, he wanted to sink his fangs deep into her slender neck and drink his fill.
It took all he had for Damon to lie still and stare at the ceiling.
Elena stirred and mumbled in her sleep. He turned his head to watch her, conflicted by his consuming love for her and fury at her two simple words.
“Let’s hope.”
Yes, let’s hope Stefan heard, he thought heatedly. Let’s hope he knows we fucked so he’ll get jealous, miraculously find his humanity, and take you back. Let’s hope for that, Elena.
He was too agitated to sleep. Briefly Damon considered just rolling Elena over and getting up. But as angry as he was, he didn’t want to wake her. She’d had just as long a day as he.
Damon wasn’t known for his patience, even after nearly two centuries of living. He didn’t roll her, but he did manage to work his arm free until she turned on her own. Once Elena’s back was to him, Damon got out of bed. He started to cover her with the blanket and found he was admiring the back of her. The curve where her leg met her butt was so appealing he wanted to caress her again. There was so much of her body he’d left untouched.
Disgusted with himself, Damon let the blanket fall. He found a pair of jeans, something he should have done in the first place. A part of him said it wouldn’t have made a difference.
He almost considered wearing the shirt he’d allowed Elena to borrow. Instead he found one still intact in his closet and yanked it over his head. With a last glance to ensure Elena was still unconscious, Damon left.
He’d promised he wouldn’t. That promise was obliterated in the wake of his anger. The reasonable part reminding him that he could regret it later was quashed by a much more primal voice: the one demanding blood. Damon was starving. He’d spent a lot of energy taking care of Elena, sleeping with her, and stewing in resentment. None of that was as important as the relief he needed in the form of a victim. Screams had to ricochet in his mind as he bit down on terrified, unwilling prey. Women were usually his choice, but even he wasn’t so enraged as to further sully the night.
Damon did not encounter anyone on his way out. Likely Stefan was lurking about, but he was designated to protect Elena per Klaus’s orders. Stefan was always the choice to protect Elena.
Well, fine. For a couple hours he could damn well have the responsibility.
No destination was in mind as Damon walked. The night air was crisp with fall, the smell of wilting leaves filling his nostrils. He chose to avoid street lamps, keeping under the cloak of trees and dark yards. The moonless sky was suiting him beautifully, matching his dark and pathless mood.
After a time, he finally caught wind of something he wanted; a person walking down the street, youthful and fresh. Narrowing his eyes, Damon began stalking his prey.
Soon he caught sight of the person. It was a young man, no older than Elena’s brother Jeremy, clothed in little more than a t-shirt and jean shorts. The attire seemed an odd choice given the night chill. From the back Damon could see his mussed blond hair, the slight shoulders with little muscle beneath them. The boy’s legs seemed stronger, like a track runner. Odds were he went to Elena’s school.
Damon didn’t care.
Hunting down males required very different tactics. Guys were far more resistant to Damon’s charms, and compulsion made their slack-jawed stares flood his mouth with bile. Often he avoided other males simply because he usually had to be quick and violent. There was little joy to be had in a man’s terror.
Fortunately for Damon, he was in a different mood tonight. He just needed that wicked taste of self-destruction. His bloodlust fueled him to vanish into the woods, utilizing his inhuman speed to get ahead of his prey. He paused nearly half a mile ahead to compose himself before realizing he had no intention of appearing normal. He wanted this boy suspicious. He wanted this boy to fear him just by gazing into his eyes.
So Damon began to walk.
As he drew closer to his prey, Damon reached for power he hadn’t used in months. Painfully sweet aches pounded his muscles as he reached out mentally, grasping the coolness of the air and shifting it to suit his purposes. It was child’s play, but humans were so incredibly easy to manipulate. Bring in the fog and suddenly their instincts kicked into overdrive.
And you made fun of Stefan for reenacting bad horror movies? A self-deprecating smile tugged Damon’s lips.
He smelled the boy’s fear well before he drew within his prey’s vision. Damon knew he must have been quite the sight: a dark form emerging from unpredictable fog, his gaze cast downward with his ink black hair obscuring his face. When he raised his eyes to meet the boy’s, Damon also knew he had just gone from strange to downright sinister. His natural dark looks benefit him best for moments like this, casting shadows over his brilliant blue eyes and giving his smirk an entirely different expression.
This boy had more good sense than most. Where another might have continued walking, pretending not to be scared, he did a sharp 180-degree turn and started back the way he came.
Damon was faster. Within a second he was directly in front of the boy, smiling brilliantly into his prey’s brown eyes. “Hi,” he greeted.
This time when the boy turned, he attempted to run. Damon gave him a few seconds, noting with satisfaction he was right. The kid had to be on the track team, probably a sprinter.
When he appeared in his prey’s path again, the kid finally stopped. Panting with both exertion and terror, the prey said hoarsely, “What the shit?”
For a moment, Damon almost felt sorry for the kid. His life was just beginning; he was still in school, probably trying to get a date or play the field. Hell, for all Damon knew, his prey was still a virgin. Here he was, trying to enjoy a midnight walk, and this creepy bastard was instilling the fear of shadows and monsters in him all over again.
“Let’s hope.”
Elena’s soft murmur in his memory shattered that fleeting pity. The fury crashed into Damon all over again. He felt his eyes vein and darken, his jaw aching as his fangs extended and sharpened to fine predatory points. His voice slightly distorted by the fangs, Damon said, “Bad luck, kiddo.”
Then he was on the boy, shoving his head to the side as Damon bit down harder than necessary. He ravaged the teenager like an animal, savaging at his neck as he practically inhaled the blood. His prey gave a piercing shriek, its struggling futile against Damon’s strength. Each twist and jerk only helped Damon’s fangs tear deeper into its neck. Sweet, life-giving blood poured down his welcoming throat. The power he had expended bringing in the fog rapidly returned to Damon. He could feel his body swelling with it, expanding like helium filling a balloon.
The prey died shortly before Damon finished draining it. He threw the body to the street, gasping from the sudden rush the fresh blood had given him. Licking his lips, Damon tilted his head back to the heavens, relishing the moment. Killing made him feel alive; connected with the familiar chaos within. That chaos had been his most loyal companion decade after decade. It was no wonder he found solace in losing control.
Once he’d caught his breath, Damon looked at his deceased prey. The body had flopped to the concrete, the neck at an odd angle. He must have broken it while in his feeding frenzy.
Just because it was a guy doesn’t mean Elena would hate you any less.
The thought struck at Damon’s chaotic core. He staggered a couple steps backward, breathless again for a whole new reason.
If Elena found out what he’d done, if he’d been wrong about why she’d agreed with him, if Damon had done all this over nothing more than a misunderstanding, she might never forgive him. Even if she remained human and took that anger to the grave, Damon would continue to live. Her fury would haunt him each moment he lived without her.
It wasn’t fair. Being a vampire and acting upon his base instincts was the only thing that brought him comfort. Even now, it seemed Elena’s heart belonged to Stefan. Damon shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being what he was. He should have been able to do what he wanted since he couldn’t have who he wanted.
At the core of it all, he still desired Elena’s love and approval. Being himself as a vampire and being in love with her were two warring desires, and it seemed he couldn’t have both.
Damon swore. He looked around warily, running a hand through his hair as he assessed his predicament.
As always, he quickly came to a conclusion. Whether it was right or wrong didn’t matter, it was at least something. Determined, Damon bent down, hoisted the rag doll of a body over his shoulder, and set off for a trek deep in the woods.
The night was getting old by the time Damon returned, but it was still dark outside. He stopped by Elena’s car and glimpsed inside. In the back seat sat her purse, potentially untouched. When Damon found the driver’s side unlocked, he snatched it up.
A greater man than him would have simply brought it inside and put it in an easy place for its owner to discover. But this was Damon.
He found Elena’s phone after fumbling through lip gloss and gum. Unlocking it, he noticed several missed calls and text messages from Alaric, Jeremy, Caroline, and Bonnie. A grim smile touched his face as he scrolled through the texts, wondering what any of them would think-or more importantly, do to Damon-if they knew what had kept Elena so preoccupied.
Since Ric was the only caller Damon was on good terms with and knew he could trust, Damon chose to reply to him. The rest was Ric’s problem. Damon shot off a quick message saying, “Elena’s safe. Had some trouble. She’s sleeping it off. Will have her back ASAP.”
Even at one in the morning, Ric replied with astounding speed. Damon wasn’t too surprised. “Who is this?” the text read.
Damon scoffed. “Figure it out,” he muttered to the empty air. Without bothering to reply, he returned both the phone and purse to the car. Almost as an afterthought, Damon ensured the doors were locked before heading back into the house.
Now that he’d had his fun, all Damon wanted to do was go back to bed. With Elena, even if he was sore with her. He was still seething, but even vampires needed sleep. In the morning he’d deal with it all from Elena’s words to Alaric’s eventual “wrath.” Very last, he’d take care of Stefan.
His brother had other plans.
When Damon turned to climb the stairs, he found Stefan sitting on them, hands folded and waiting expectantly in the lack of light. Great, thought Damon irritably. Of course Stefan would bother him the very minute he was unwanted. Stefan’s eyes were more green than hazel in that moment as he stood to greet Damon with all the manners in the world.
Damon cut him off. “Just so you know, you are at the very bottom of my priority list right now.”
Nodding as though he understood, Stefan nevertheless continued to block the stairs. The younger Salvatore folded his arms over his chest, flashing his brother an insincere smile. “Unfortunately, you’re at the top of mine, knowing our little blood bag is safe enough.”
Bristling, Damon said in a clipped voice, “Make it quick or get lost.”
Stefan’s eyes widened. “No, brother. You misunderstand my intentions,” he said innocently. He clapped a hand to Damon’s shoulder and leaned in close, his smile unnervingly kind. “I just wanted to say . . .” Stefan backed up atop the stair behind him, spreading his arms and smile wider. “Congratulations.”
Damon’s blood went from scalding to ice.
Still with that brilliant smile, Stefan turned and started up the steps. He paused on the next flight, suddenly leaning over to catch Damon’s eye. A bizarre sense of déjà vu filled the elder of the brothers.
“Between you and me,” Stefan said in a low voice, “this makes my job much easier. This whole Save Stefan campaign gets tiring.” Suddenly he lit up, his eyes dancing with mirth. “In fact, do me a favor, for old time’s sake.”
If he could break Stefan in two, Damon would have. But he’d tried earlier, and had come back to Elena bruised and quietly defeated.
“What?” Damon ground out.
Stefan straightened, gesturing up and down with one finger before zeroing in on his brother’s face. “Be her next project. I’m sure she hates that you’re still mostly a monster.” His smile turned saccharine. “Maybe you won’t find the taste of rabbit so bad. Better than sulky teenage boys, at least.”
Damon didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until Stefan vanished upstairs. Red blurred the edges of his vision as he thought of the multiple ways he wanted to corner his brother and splinter his bones.
Instead, Damon stalked back to the living room. His night was screwed and he needed a drink to match his mood. The liquor cabinet had something for every occasion, from sparkling wine to bottom shelf rum. Tequila seemed like the perfect drink for a night full of mistakes.
It was there he remained until morning, sour of manner and nursing his fourth glass. By the time Elena stumbled down, showered and dressed in yesterday’s freshly laundered clothes, Damon knew what needed to be asked. He caught her gaze from across the room. She stopped in her tracks, likely because in Elena’s perspective, Damon had gone from embracing her after passionate sex to glaring at her from the same couch she’d been forced to ensure Stefan’s psychological torment.
“Damon?” she whispered uncertainly.
He narrowed his eyes and stood, finishing his tequila in one swallow. Damon allowed the glass to drop to the floor, heedless of Elena’s startled jump. Slowly he approached her, keeping her gaze until Elena nervously dropped it to the floor. He stopped within inches of her, waiting. When she finally looked up again, Damon ensured each word he spoke was enunciated too clearly for her to misunderstand.
“Do you love me or not, Elena?”
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No profit is being made off this.
Rating: 16+
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Warnings: language, violence
Notes: Sequel to 3:18, 5:53, and 11:27
Starlight glimmered through the threads of dark curtains, visible only to the inhuman eye. There didn’t appear to be any moon tonight, which suited him just fine considering. The air was heavy with sweat and sex, he was drenched in the fluids of the most amazing woman he’d ever met, and that woman was snuggling close to him, peacefully asleep in the crook of his arm.
Damon Salvatore had never even dared to imagine a moment like this before; it had all seemed too far from reach. Yet here he was, and he was too disturbed to sleep.
It was his own fault, he supposed. That quip about Stefan hearing them have sex had been a petty thing to say.
But Damon was always petty. Elena, the pretty sleeping girl beside him, was not. That was why her agreeing she hoped Stefan had heard unsettled him.
I have a knack for screwing up, he thought sullenly.
In fact, he was so good at it that Damon had practically donned his kiddy gloves when dealing with Elena the past few weeks. Because having her in his life had turned into an incredible blessing. He loved being a vampire. He loved the thrill of murder, of being higher up on the food chain, of doing what he wanted and, for the most part, getting away with it.
He also missed being human more than all that. Loving Elena was the closest he’d gotten in over a century.
The moment Damon had figured that out was the same instant he realized he didn’t deserve her. Unrequited love was a bitch, but Elena was not. She could empathize with nearly anyone, and that was one small trait that made her so precious. Whether it was him or Elijah or Tyler Lockwood or Witch Bonnie, Elena could understand them regardless of fear, love, or loathing.
That didn’t mean Damon could be completely selfless, no matter what he’d told her earlier. He wanted to be there for Elena, but he also wanted to be with her in every sense imaginable. Damon could be the better man for only so long.
Now that he’d finally caved, pleasured her, taken her in the most carnal relation possible, Damon feared he’d made a grave mistake.
It infuriated him. Right now, even with Elena next to him breathing softly into his side while she dreamt, Damon wanted to stand up and tear the sheets out from under her before ripping them to shreds. He wanted to wreck his massive bed to a pile of splinters. He craved to smash glass and put holes in the wall and set the entire room on fire. His blood raged for destruction and desolation.
Worse, with Elena’s heartbeat throbbing steadily in his ears, he wanted to sink his fangs deep into her slender neck and drink his fill.
It took all he had for Damon to lie still and stare at the ceiling.
Elena stirred and mumbled in her sleep. He turned his head to watch her, conflicted by his consuming love for her and fury at her two simple words.
“Let’s hope.”
Yes, let’s hope Stefan heard, he thought heatedly. Let’s hope he knows we fucked so he’ll get jealous, miraculously find his humanity, and take you back. Let’s hope for that, Elena.
He was too agitated to sleep. Briefly Damon considered just rolling Elena over and getting up. But as angry as he was, he didn’t want to wake her. She’d had just as long a day as he.
Damon wasn’t known for his patience, even after nearly two centuries of living. He didn’t roll her, but he did manage to work his arm free until she turned on her own. Once Elena’s back was to him, Damon got out of bed. He started to cover her with the blanket and found he was admiring the back of her. The curve where her leg met her butt was so appealing he wanted to caress her again. There was so much of her body he’d left untouched.
Disgusted with himself, Damon let the blanket fall. He found a pair of jeans, something he should have done in the first place. A part of him said it wouldn’t have made a difference.
He almost considered wearing the shirt he’d allowed Elena to borrow. Instead he found one still intact in his closet and yanked it over his head. With a last glance to ensure Elena was still unconscious, Damon left.
He’d promised he wouldn’t. That promise was obliterated in the wake of his anger. The reasonable part reminding him that he could regret it later was quashed by a much more primal voice: the one demanding blood. Damon was starving. He’d spent a lot of energy taking care of Elena, sleeping with her, and stewing in resentment. None of that was as important as the relief he needed in the form of a victim. Screams had to ricochet in his mind as he bit down on terrified, unwilling prey. Women were usually his choice, but even he wasn’t so enraged as to further sully the night.
Damon did not encounter anyone on his way out. Likely Stefan was lurking about, but he was designated to protect Elena per Klaus’s orders. Stefan was always the choice to protect Elena.
Well, fine. For a couple hours he could damn well have the responsibility.
No destination was in mind as Damon walked. The night air was crisp with fall, the smell of wilting leaves filling his nostrils. He chose to avoid street lamps, keeping under the cloak of trees and dark yards. The moonless sky was suiting him beautifully, matching his dark and pathless mood.
After a time, he finally caught wind of something he wanted; a person walking down the street, youthful and fresh. Narrowing his eyes, Damon began stalking his prey.
Soon he caught sight of the person. It was a young man, no older than Elena’s brother Jeremy, clothed in little more than a t-shirt and jean shorts. The attire seemed an odd choice given the night chill. From the back Damon could see his mussed blond hair, the slight shoulders with little muscle beneath them. The boy’s legs seemed stronger, like a track runner. Odds were he went to Elena’s school.
Damon didn’t care.
Hunting down males required very different tactics. Guys were far more resistant to Damon’s charms, and compulsion made their slack-jawed stares flood his mouth with bile. Often he avoided other males simply because he usually had to be quick and violent. There was little joy to be had in a man’s terror.
Fortunately for Damon, he was in a different mood tonight. He just needed that wicked taste of self-destruction. His bloodlust fueled him to vanish into the woods, utilizing his inhuman speed to get ahead of his prey. He paused nearly half a mile ahead to compose himself before realizing he had no intention of appearing normal. He wanted this boy suspicious. He wanted this boy to fear him just by gazing into his eyes.
So Damon began to walk.
As he drew closer to his prey, Damon reached for power he hadn’t used in months. Painfully sweet aches pounded his muscles as he reached out mentally, grasping the coolness of the air and shifting it to suit his purposes. It was child’s play, but humans were so incredibly easy to manipulate. Bring in the fog and suddenly their instincts kicked into overdrive.
And you made fun of Stefan for reenacting bad horror movies? A self-deprecating smile tugged Damon’s lips.
He smelled the boy’s fear well before he drew within his prey’s vision. Damon knew he must have been quite the sight: a dark form emerging from unpredictable fog, his gaze cast downward with his ink black hair obscuring his face. When he raised his eyes to meet the boy’s, Damon also knew he had just gone from strange to downright sinister. His natural dark looks benefit him best for moments like this, casting shadows over his brilliant blue eyes and giving his smirk an entirely different expression.
This boy had more good sense than most. Where another might have continued walking, pretending not to be scared, he did a sharp 180-degree turn and started back the way he came.
Damon was faster. Within a second he was directly in front of the boy, smiling brilliantly into his prey’s brown eyes. “Hi,” he greeted.
This time when the boy turned, he attempted to run. Damon gave him a few seconds, noting with satisfaction he was right. The kid had to be on the track team, probably a sprinter.
When he appeared in his prey’s path again, the kid finally stopped. Panting with both exertion and terror, the prey said hoarsely, “What the shit?”
For a moment, Damon almost felt sorry for the kid. His life was just beginning; he was still in school, probably trying to get a date or play the field. Hell, for all Damon knew, his prey was still a virgin. Here he was, trying to enjoy a midnight walk, and this creepy bastard was instilling the fear of shadows and monsters in him all over again.
“Let’s hope.”
Elena’s soft murmur in his memory shattered that fleeting pity. The fury crashed into Damon all over again. He felt his eyes vein and darken, his jaw aching as his fangs extended and sharpened to fine predatory points. His voice slightly distorted by the fangs, Damon said, “Bad luck, kiddo.”
Then he was on the boy, shoving his head to the side as Damon bit down harder than necessary. He ravaged the teenager like an animal, savaging at his neck as he practically inhaled the blood. His prey gave a piercing shriek, its struggling futile against Damon’s strength. Each twist and jerk only helped Damon’s fangs tear deeper into its neck. Sweet, life-giving blood poured down his welcoming throat. The power he had expended bringing in the fog rapidly returned to Damon. He could feel his body swelling with it, expanding like helium filling a balloon.
The prey died shortly before Damon finished draining it. He threw the body to the street, gasping from the sudden rush the fresh blood had given him. Licking his lips, Damon tilted his head back to the heavens, relishing the moment. Killing made him feel alive; connected with the familiar chaos within. That chaos had been his most loyal companion decade after decade. It was no wonder he found solace in losing control.
Once he’d caught his breath, Damon looked at his deceased prey. The body had flopped to the concrete, the neck at an odd angle. He must have broken it while in his feeding frenzy.
Just because it was a guy doesn’t mean Elena would hate you any less.
The thought struck at Damon’s chaotic core. He staggered a couple steps backward, breathless again for a whole new reason.
If Elena found out what he’d done, if he’d been wrong about why she’d agreed with him, if Damon had done all this over nothing more than a misunderstanding, she might never forgive him. Even if she remained human and took that anger to the grave, Damon would continue to live. Her fury would haunt him each moment he lived without her.
It wasn’t fair. Being a vampire and acting upon his base instincts was the only thing that brought him comfort. Even now, it seemed Elena’s heart belonged to Stefan. Damon shouldn’t have to feel guilty for being what he was. He should have been able to do what he wanted since he couldn’t have who he wanted.
At the core of it all, he still desired Elena’s love and approval. Being himself as a vampire and being in love with her were two warring desires, and it seemed he couldn’t have both.
Damon swore. He looked around warily, running a hand through his hair as he assessed his predicament.
As always, he quickly came to a conclusion. Whether it was right or wrong didn’t matter, it was at least something. Determined, Damon bent down, hoisted the rag doll of a body over his shoulder, and set off for a trek deep in the woods.
The night was getting old by the time Damon returned, but it was still dark outside. He stopped by Elena’s car and glimpsed inside. In the back seat sat her purse, potentially untouched. When Damon found the driver’s side unlocked, he snatched it up.
A greater man than him would have simply brought it inside and put it in an easy place for its owner to discover. But this was Damon.
He found Elena’s phone after fumbling through lip gloss and gum. Unlocking it, he noticed several missed calls and text messages from Alaric, Jeremy, Caroline, and Bonnie. A grim smile touched his face as he scrolled through the texts, wondering what any of them would think-or more importantly, do to Damon-if they knew what had kept Elena so preoccupied.
Since Ric was the only caller Damon was on good terms with and knew he could trust, Damon chose to reply to him. The rest was Ric’s problem. Damon shot off a quick message saying, “Elena’s safe. Had some trouble. She’s sleeping it off. Will have her back ASAP.”
Even at one in the morning, Ric replied with astounding speed. Damon wasn’t too surprised. “Who is this?” the text read.
Damon scoffed. “Figure it out,” he muttered to the empty air. Without bothering to reply, he returned both the phone and purse to the car. Almost as an afterthought, Damon ensured the doors were locked before heading back into the house.
Now that he’d had his fun, all Damon wanted to do was go back to bed. With Elena, even if he was sore with her. He was still seething, but even vampires needed sleep. In the morning he’d deal with it all from Elena’s words to Alaric’s eventual “wrath.” Very last, he’d take care of Stefan.
His brother had other plans.
When Damon turned to climb the stairs, he found Stefan sitting on them, hands folded and waiting expectantly in the lack of light. Great, thought Damon irritably. Of course Stefan would bother him the very minute he was unwanted. Stefan’s eyes were more green than hazel in that moment as he stood to greet Damon with all the manners in the world.
Damon cut him off. “Just so you know, you are at the very bottom of my priority list right now.”
Nodding as though he understood, Stefan nevertheless continued to block the stairs. The younger Salvatore folded his arms over his chest, flashing his brother an insincere smile. “Unfortunately, you’re at the top of mine, knowing our little blood bag is safe enough.”
Bristling, Damon said in a clipped voice, “Make it quick or get lost.”
Stefan’s eyes widened. “No, brother. You misunderstand my intentions,” he said innocently. He clapped a hand to Damon’s shoulder and leaned in close, his smile unnervingly kind. “I just wanted to say . . .” Stefan backed up atop the stair behind him, spreading his arms and smile wider. “Congratulations.”
Damon’s blood went from scalding to ice.
Still with that brilliant smile, Stefan turned and started up the steps. He paused on the next flight, suddenly leaning over to catch Damon’s eye. A bizarre sense of déjà vu filled the elder of the brothers.
“Between you and me,” Stefan said in a low voice, “this makes my job much easier. This whole Save Stefan campaign gets tiring.” Suddenly he lit up, his eyes dancing with mirth. “In fact, do me a favor, for old time’s sake.”
If he could break Stefan in two, Damon would have. But he’d tried earlier, and had come back to Elena bruised and quietly defeated.
“What?” Damon ground out.
Stefan straightened, gesturing up and down with one finger before zeroing in on his brother’s face. “Be her next project. I’m sure she hates that you’re still mostly a monster.” His smile turned saccharine. “Maybe you won’t find the taste of rabbit so bad. Better than sulky teenage boys, at least.”
Damon didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until Stefan vanished upstairs. Red blurred the edges of his vision as he thought of the multiple ways he wanted to corner his brother and splinter his bones.
Instead, Damon stalked back to the living room. His night was screwed and he needed a drink to match his mood. The liquor cabinet had something for every occasion, from sparkling wine to bottom shelf rum. Tequila seemed like the perfect drink for a night full of mistakes.
It was there he remained until morning, sour of manner and nursing his fourth glass. By the time Elena stumbled down, showered and dressed in yesterday’s freshly laundered clothes, Damon knew what needed to be asked. He caught her gaze from across the room. She stopped in her tracks, likely because in Elena’s perspective, Damon had gone from embracing her after passionate sex to glaring at her from the same couch she’d been forced to ensure Stefan’s psychological torment.
“Damon?” she whispered uncertainly.
He narrowed his eyes and stood, finishing his tequila in one swallow. Damon allowed the glass to drop to the floor, heedless of Elena’s startled jump. Slowly he approached her, keeping her gaze until Elena nervously dropped it to the floor. He stopped within inches of her, waiting. When she finally looked up again, Damon ensured each word he spoke was enunciated too clearly for her to misunderstand.
“Do you love me or not, Elena?”