Fic: Drown in the Moment With Me
Title: Drown in the Moment With Me
Author: lit_chick08
Pairings: Damon/Elena, references Stefan/Elena
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through 3x08 “Ordinary People” and then goes AU
Word Count: 3,894
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Julie Plec
Summary: They really aren't that different at all. And the moment Elena realizes that is the moment she realizes not loving Damon Salvatore has never been a choice.
A/N: So badboy_fangirl wished someone would write a story inspired by Fade Into Me by David Cook. After more drafts than probably necessary, this is the result.
Elena did not remember the last time she slept undisturbed through the night; it had become ritual to come awake by the moonlight and struggle back to sleep. When it happens this time, her eyes immediately fall upon Damon, passed out cold on her pillow. It takes a moment for Elena to remember what happened earlier in the evening - Rebekah, Stefan, Mikael - and she feels like she should work up some indignation at Damon staying in her bed, but, when she reaches for it, it isn't there.
If she is honest, it hasn't been there in a very long time.
She tries to settle her body back against the mattress, squirming to find comfort; when Damon's eyes suddenly pop open, startlingly blue in the darkness, Elena freezes, unsure what happens next.
“Do you want me to go?” he asks, his voice sounding remarkably un-Damon-like.
“Do you want to go?” she counters in a whisper, already knowing the answer.
As Damon shakes his head, Elena rests her head against her pillow, holding his gaze steadily. “Then stay.”
She tells herself she closes her eyes so tightly because she is tired.
It has nothing to do with the gratitude and love which swells in those fathomless blue eyes, so sharp and overwhelming it threatens to consume her.
Damon is gone when she wakes up to her alarm, and Elena pretends it doesn't bother her.
* * *
Stefan flings the words at her one evening in front of all of their friends.
Elena had been in the middle of tea with Mayor Lockwood, hoping she would write her a letter of recommendation for college, when Caroline texted her to come to the boardinghouse. She doesn't change before going, showing up in her dress and dangerously high heels, her dark hair falling in a tumble of curls over her shoulders.
Stefan takes one look at her, his eyes taking her in with amusement, before declaring, “Katherine did this look better. Though, if we're being honest, Katherine did everything better.”
Elena's body stiffens but it is the only outward sign he has hurt her; she sees the horrified looks on her friends' faces, on Damon and Alaric's faces, but Elena walks across the room anyway, refusing to break. She sits in the grand room of the boardinghouse for hours without cracking, trying to convince herself it isn't humiliating to hear the man she has worked so hard to save announce to everyone in her life how deficient she is in bed.
The moment she closes her bedroom door, Elena finally allows hot tears of embarrassment to course down her cheeks; she kicks off her heels, pulls on the baggiest sweats she owns, and begins to tear a brush through her hair, desperate to eliminate any hint of body to her hair, any trace of a resemblance to Katherine Pierce.
“You're going to give yourself a bald spot,” Damon warns as he enters her room, coming to stand behind her. When she doesn't reply, Damon pries the brush from her first before carefully drawing it through her locks. It is the gentleness of the action, so contrary to the Damon she first met, which makes Elena start to cry in earnest.
She twists in his arms, burying her face against his shoulder as she sobs; there is only a moment's hesitation before Damon's arms squeeze her tightly, nonsense words of comfort passing from his lips. Elena twists her fingers into the back of his shirt, trying to get closer, and Damon jokes against the crown of her head, “If you want me to take it off, you can just say so.”
“Damon,” she groans with a smile, pulling away to wipe at her face.
“What? I'll have you know I am a very attractive man. For all I know, this could be a ploy to get me naked.”
“I wouldn't need a ploy,” Elena says before she can catch herself, and then she is blushing beneath the last of her tears.
Damon just smiles, flopping back onto her bed like it is his own, picking up her bear and making it dance. When she reaches her bedside, Damon pulls the comforter back, and Elena neatly slides into the pocket, trying not shiver as he flips it over her body.
“He didn't mean it.”
Elena scoffs. “He may be a ripper, Damon, but he's not a liar. We both know that. It's just...Truth hurts sometimes.”
“It's not the truth.”
“How would you know?” she snaps, punching her pillow angrily.
Anger flashes briefly over Damon's face before he grits out, “Because Stefan on human blood acts like Katherine, and Katherine will say anything to hurt someone, true or not. That's all this was. I'm sure you're...”
“I'm what?”
“Fine,” he lamely finished, tossing her bear away.
Elena sighs as she reaches for the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. As she twists between her blankets, she admits, “I just...I just wish I had something in my life that wasn't touched by Katherine.”
Damon chuckles mirthlessly as he settles on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “That's how I've always felt about Stefan.”
As she closes her eye, Elena asks, “Are you going to be here when I wake up?”
“Do you want me to be?”
It's a recent quirk of his, constantly asking her for permission; it is such a change from before when he would simply take, and Elena is surprised at how it bothers her. If she is constantly required to give permission, she has to take responsibility for the things he makes her feel, and Elena is still not sure she is ready for that.
“Doesn't matter,” she lies.
When her alarm goes off, it is Damon who makes it stop shrieking.
* * *
She learns more about Damon from his bedroom than she ever learned about Stefan from his.
Rebekah could make all the jokes she wanted about snooping, but snooping on Stefan was never required. Stefan was free with the things he loved and those he didn't; his preferences were always out in the open, free for the taking. Damon played his cards closer to the vest, so snooping was the only way to really get to know him.
At least, this is what Elena tells herself as she explores Damon's room.
There are no overstuffed shelves or knickknacks left over from nearly two centuries of living in Damon's room; there is only the television, his massive bed, and the pile of books whose height seems to change every time Elena is in the room. Today, as she studies the spines, she sees Gone With the Wind is still there, but it is accompanied by eight other novels of lost love and spirited heroines. Elena picks up his battered copy of the Margaret Mitchell novel, sliding onto his bed as she opens the cover; like every Southern girl, she has seen the film, but the story had never particularly appealed to her. Scarlett was beautiful and Scarlett was a survivor, but Scarlett played too carelessly with men's hearts and drove away the only man who truly loved her as she was.
As Elena flips the yellowed pages, she is surprised when a photo falls, a makeshift bookmark. She turns it over and finds her throat tightening as she gazes upon a snapshot of herself in the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, descending the stairs towards an escort that was not there, towards the brother who stood in to preserve her pride.
Elena knows this picture well; it went missing from her vanity mirror almost as quickly as it was put up, never to be seen again.
She doesn't know why she does it, why it suddenly becomes so important to her. It takes less than twenty minutes to get back to her house, find the clutch of photos Mrs. Lockwood gave her after the pageant, remove the one she wants, and return to the boardinghouse. She is in the middle of swapping the photographs when Damon clear his throat, jerking Elena's attention towards the entrance of the bathroom.
Damon leans against the door frame, a towel cinched around his narrow hips, beads of water trailing down his skin, an expectant look of amusement on his face.
“This should be good.”
Elena flushes, shrugging as she attempts to slide the stolen picture into her back pocket. “I was just looking for you.”
“And clearly I would be hiding in the pages of a book.”
“I don't know what you do with your free time.”
Damon grins, crossing the room to pluck the book from her hands. The moment he reads the title, Elena sees his smile falter, nervousness starting to creep in, and it makes her silently chuckle at how much like a regular boy Damon Salvatore can be when it comes to his feelings for her.
He snaps the book shut with one hand, a tight smile on his face. “Didn't know you have such an interest in the Civil War.”
“I don't. I just...” Realizing there is no way to excuse this, Elena defensively snaps, “I'm just looking at your books. You go through my underwear.”
“I'd let you do the same but...” Damon leans in, his face unsettlingly close, before finishing, “I don't wear any.”
Elena cannot help herself; her eyes immediately fall to the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the towel, her betraying brain supplying the image of a fully nude Damon on her birthday to remind her what lies beneath the fabric.
“I should go,” she murmurs, forcing her eyes back up to meet Damon's.
“Well...if that's what you want.” When she doesn't move, Damon challenges, “Is that what you want?”
Elena knows what her body wants; every nerve in her body is screaming to tug away the towel and let Damon prove to her just how well-deserved his womanizing reputation is. But, if she has learned anything in the past year, it is that her blind following of her instincts which leads her into trouble.
Though...if she's being honest...Elena wouldn't mind trouble of the multiple orgasm variety.
“I have to go.”
Damon pulls back, steps to the side, sweeping his arm towards the door. “Then go.”
She is almost through the doorway when Damon calls, “And, Elena?”
Elena stops, turns. “Yeah?”
Damon's eyes are dark, his face inscrutable as he orders, “When you're getting yourself off, don't think about Stefan.”
Elena wants to be furious, to fling curses at him as she stomps away, but she doesn't; she just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and heads home.
But when her madly working fingers make her entire body quake with release, it is Damon's name she moans into the pillow clutched between her teeth.
* * *
Elena comes home from Bonnie's house to find Damon fast asleep in her bed. She pauses the moment she crosses the threshold, taking in the picture he presents: his boots discarded near her window, his shirt on the floor, his face surprisingly peaceful. It takes her a moment to realize she likes the sight of Damon in her bed, and Elena wonders if this is how he feels when he finds her in his room.
She gently sets her bag by the door, toeing off her shoes and shedding her jacket; as she digs pajamas out of her dresser, she catches her reflection in the mirror which holds images of her past. The smiling, carefree girl captured in time died in the Willow Creek; Elena barely recognizes her now, an echo of a life she barely remembers living. The somber-eyed, lovesick girl draped around Stefan doesn't feel real anymore either; she bled to unconsciousness in the Mystic Falls High cafeteria and never woke up again.
Elena stares at this new girl and wonders who she is going to be, what mistakes she will make, what happiness awaits her. And, as she shakes out her hair from its tie, as the natural wave asserts itself, making it tumble down her back, Elena has to admit this girl feels more comfortable in her skin than the other two ever did.
“God, you're beautiful.”
Elena turns to see Damon rubbing at his eyes, an expression akin to awe on his face, as if he hasn't seen her almost every day for over a year, as if he hadn't been in love with a woman who was her perfect duplicate for 145 years. She still smiles though, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and gesturing to her pajamas shorts and tank top.
“It's a hard look to pull off.”
“I'd be happy to pull it off of you.”
She laughs as she climbs into bed, switching off the light. “So why are you half-naked in my bed?”
“The better question is: why am I not fully naked in your bed?” When Elena doesn't say anything, Damon reveals, “Klaus doesn't like me around when he and Stefan are having bro time.”
“That sounds delightfully homoerotic.”
Damon laughs, loud and free, and the unexpected sound makes Elena start to laugh too. When it tapers off, she turns on her side to face him, finding his eyes easily, her beacon in the darkness. She shivers when Damon's fingers begin to trace her own; it takes next to no effort to accept his hand clasping hers, their fingers entwining, and she thinks this should be harder, these steps towards the thing she promised Stefan would never happen.
“Thank you for the picture,” he says as his hand squeezes, a gentle pulse which matches the beating of her heart.
She shakes her head, scattering her hair across her face and pillow; it is easier to hide her nervousness behind the flimsy veil it provides. “You're welcome.”
It's hard to lie there holding only his hand; that has always been the problem with Damon. Elena has always been able to convince herself there is nothing between them when they are not touching; it is only when his skin against hers that the world starts to become kaleidoscopic, that what she knows and what she feels beginning to wage war against each other.
Damon lifts their joined hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, and Elena's heart misses a beat. Afraid of what she will do next, Elena turns, keeping her palm firmly against Damon's, pulling his arm over her body. Damon instantly molds his body to hers, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing the backs of her legs, and Elena literally bites her tongue to keep from suggesting he remove them.
“Next time you're big spoon,” Damon murmurs into her hair, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
“Deal.”
It is the first time they have ever acknowledged there will be a next time.
* * *
Elena wakes up in the middle of the night precariously teetering on the edge of her bed, Damon's hand in her face, their legs a hopeless tangle, and it makes her irrationally angry. Pushing Damon back to his side of the bed, waking him from sleep, she grunts, “This bed is too small!”
“What?” Damon asks, obviously confused and still trying to push his way back to consciousness.
“You're like a vampire starfish!” Elena rants, throwing the blankets off of her and nearly spilling herself to the ground. “The second you fall asleep, you spread out and I'm always hanging on to the mattress for dear life!”
Damon snickers, closing his eyes as he drawls, “Gee, if only one of us owned a bed large enough to fit four people in it...”
Elena pushes her hair back from her face, staring down at Damon from her position on her knees. Finally she asks, “Are you being serious?”
With a sigh, Damon opens his eyes, irritation flickering across his face; normally Elena finds Damon's crankiness at being woken amusing, but now it is unnerving. “I may be a vampire starfish but you kick like a fucking chorus girl.”
“Fine,” Elena declares, dropping back down to her back. “From now on, we'll sleep in your bed.”
It isn't until later Elena realizes sleeping apart has stopped being an option.
* * *
Elena is home alone one night when she decides to make cupcakes. She turns on the radio, cranking up the volume as she gathers ingredients, blending them together as she bops and sways to the beat; as she is cleaning up her mess, the smell of cupcakes wafting pleasantly from the oven, Elena begins to dance around the kitchen, remembering how she and Jenna used to do this when she was younger.
“Chocolate and dancing, Elena: an unbeatable combination,” Jenna would declare as she'd use one of the beaters as a microphone.
As the music starts to crescendo, Elena begins to swivel her hips as she sinks down to put away a bowl, singing tunelessly along with the radio when she catches Damon's reflection in the window. Squealing in surprise, Elena quickly got to her feet, blushing a florescent shade of red.
“Don't let me interrupt,” Damon insists. “It was just getting good.”
“I was just - “
“Acting like an 18-year-old girl who has the house to herself?” Turning down the volume on the radio, he declares, “It is depressing though that you'd rather dance in your socks instead of calling your good pal Damon to go actual dancing.”
Elena pulls the cupcakes out of the oven, looking at him suspiciously. “You'd really take me dancing?”
“I'd do anything to get out of this town for a night. Watching you drop it to the floor in something sexier than an old pair of sweatpants is just a bonus.”
Knowing the window of opportunity is tiny - Stefan will come sniffing around, Alaric and Jeremy will come back from wherever they are, Bonnie will call and guilt her about the amount of time she is spending with Damon - Elena swears, “I can be ready in 20 minutes.”
Thirty minutes later they are flying down the interstate towards Richmond, Elena wearing a top she is fairly certain she borrowed from Vicki Donovan years earlier, Damon tapping out the beat of a song on the steering wheel. She is too young for the club he takes her to; Damon is already moving to compel the doorman when Elena flips her hair, flirts shamelessly for a minute, and not only earns a stamp on her hand but also a drink voucher.
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Damon shouts over the thumping bass of the music as they push their way through the throngs of people.
Elena smirks. “You don't know everything about me, Damon.”
He keeps his hand low on her hip when they dance, and Elena can feel the tension in his body every time she presses back against him, which only makes her do it more. It never fails to confuse her how Damon will shamelessly flirt with her until the moments when she wants him to do it; then he becomes cautious, tentative, and it is not the careful part of him which makes Elena's blood burn hot.
“You know,” she pants in his ear as she slips her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body tightly against his, “if you don't want to dance with me, I can find someone else.”
Damon jerks her tightly against him, his hardness pressing insistently against her middle, leaving no question of what it is he wants. “Does it feel like I don't want to dance with you?”
“Then dance.”
Later, when Elena is in the passenger's seat of Damon's Camaro, she wonders what it would feel like to have Damon's body moving against hers without any barriers between them. Shivering as she remembers the way Damon's hands slid down her body with such authority, Elena is fairly certain when it actually happens she might explode.
Elena is a master at lying to herself, but she knows what is building between she and Damon is now a matter of “when,” not “if.”
“Thank you for tonight,” Elena murmurs as Damon pulls up in front of her house. “This was...I haven't had this much fun in a really long time.”
“No problem. Like I need an excuse to drink and dance.”
“No, Damon, it...” Elena inhales, trying to gather her thoughts. Finally she manages, “I used to have fun like this all the time and after...after my parents, I couldn't stop thinking about how my fun...When I'm with you, I get to forget for awhile and just get to be. And I can't...I don't know what I'd do without you.”
When he's quiet, barely moving, barely breathing, Elena is afraid she has said the wrong thing. And then, in a strangled voice Elena recognizes from the few glimpses she has had of Damon when he is vulnerable, he simply says, “I love you.” Before Elena can say anything, he rushes on, “And I know you love Stefan and, when Klaus's compulsion breaks, you're going to go back to him, but I love you. I know I've done a lot of terrible things to you and the people you love, but...All I want is to make you happy.”
“You do...make me happy,” she confesses, her eyes firmly fixed on her lap. “I mean, you piss me off too, but...I know how much you love me, Damon. And I love you too but - “
His mouth is on hers so quickly, Elena has no chance to prepare for it. Damon's mouth is slanting over hers, hot and demanding, and Elena knows the time for talking has passed.
* * *
Elena wakes up to the sunlight starting to trickle in through her curtains. Damon is sprawled in every direction on her bed, unabashedly nude after kicking away the covers, and, despite her precarious position on the edge of the mattress, Elena cannot help but smile.
She slips from the bed, grabbing Damon's discarded shirt from the night before, pulling it over her head as she stands at the window, watching as her neighbors go about their lives, the sun rising over the tops of their houses. Elena senses Damon behind her only a second before his arms are wrapping around her waist, his chin nestling into her shoulder.
“What are we looking at?”
Elena smiles at their reflection in the windowpane. “It's a new day.”
Author: lit_chick08
Pairings: Damon/Elena, references Stefan/Elena
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through 3x08 “Ordinary People” and then goes AU
Word Count: 3,894
Disclaimer: These characters belong to LJ Smith, Kevin Williamson, and Julie Plec
Summary: They really aren't that different at all. And the moment Elena realizes that is the moment she realizes not loving Damon Salvatore has never been a choice.
A/N: So badboy_fangirl wished someone would write a story inspired by Fade Into Me by David Cook. After more drafts than probably necessary, this is the result.
Elena did not remember the last time she slept undisturbed through the night; it had become ritual to come awake by the moonlight and struggle back to sleep. When it happens this time, her eyes immediately fall upon Damon, passed out cold on her pillow. It takes a moment for Elena to remember what happened earlier in the evening - Rebekah, Stefan, Mikael - and she feels like she should work up some indignation at Damon staying in her bed, but, when she reaches for it, it isn't there.
If she is honest, it hasn't been there in a very long time.
She tries to settle her body back against the mattress, squirming to find comfort; when Damon's eyes suddenly pop open, startlingly blue in the darkness, Elena freezes, unsure what happens next.
“Do you want me to go?” he asks, his voice sounding remarkably un-Damon-like.
“Do you want to go?” she counters in a whisper, already knowing the answer.
As Damon shakes his head, Elena rests her head against her pillow, holding his gaze steadily. “Then stay.”
She tells herself she closes her eyes so tightly because she is tired.
It has nothing to do with the gratitude and love which swells in those fathomless blue eyes, so sharp and overwhelming it threatens to consume her.
Damon is gone when she wakes up to her alarm, and Elena pretends it doesn't bother her.
* * *
Stefan flings the words at her one evening in front of all of their friends.
Elena had been in the middle of tea with Mayor Lockwood, hoping she would write her a letter of recommendation for college, when Caroline texted her to come to the boardinghouse. She doesn't change before going, showing up in her dress and dangerously high heels, her dark hair falling in a tumble of curls over her shoulders.
Stefan takes one look at her, his eyes taking her in with amusement, before declaring, “Katherine did this look better. Though, if we're being honest, Katherine did everything better.”
Elena's body stiffens but it is the only outward sign he has hurt her; she sees the horrified looks on her friends' faces, on Damon and Alaric's faces, but Elena walks across the room anyway, refusing to break. She sits in the grand room of the boardinghouse for hours without cracking, trying to convince herself it isn't humiliating to hear the man she has worked so hard to save announce to everyone in her life how deficient she is in bed.
The moment she closes her bedroom door, Elena finally allows hot tears of embarrassment to course down her cheeks; she kicks off her heels, pulls on the baggiest sweats she owns, and begins to tear a brush through her hair, desperate to eliminate any hint of body to her hair, any trace of a resemblance to Katherine Pierce.
“You're going to give yourself a bald spot,” Damon warns as he enters her room, coming to stand behind her. When she doesn't reply, Damon pries the brush from her first before carefully drawing it through her locks. It is the gentleness of the action, so contrary to the Damon she first met, which makes Elena start to cry in earnest.
She twists in his arms, burying her face against his shoulder as she sobs; there is only a moment's hesitation before Damon's arms squeeze her tightly, nonsense words of comfort passing from his lips. Elena twists her fingers into the back of his shirt, trying to get closer, and Damon jokes against the crown of her head, “If you want me to take it off, you can just say so.”
“Damon,” she groans with a smile, pulling away to wipe at her face.
“What? I'll have you know I am a very attractive man. For all I know, this could be a ploy to get me naked.”
“I wouldn't need a ploy,” Elena says before she can catch herself, and then she is blushing beneath the last of her tears.
Damon just smiles, flopping back onto her bed like it is his own, picking up her bear and making it dance. When she reaches her bedside, Damon pulls the comforter back, and Elena neatly slides into the pocket, trying not shiver as he flips it over her body.
“He didn't mean it.”
Elena scoffs. “He may be a ripper, Damon, but he's not a liar. We both know that. It's just...Truth hurts sometimes.”
“It's not the truth.”
“How would you know?” she snaps, punching her pillow angrily.
Anger flashes briefly over Damon's face before he grits out, “Because Stefan on human blood acts like Katherine, and Katherine will say anything to hurt someone, true or not. That's all this was. I'm sure you're...”
“I'm what?”
“Fine,” he lamely finished, tossing her bear away.
Elena sighs as she reaches for the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. As she twists between her blankets, she admits, “I just...I just wish I had something in my life that wasn't touched by Katherine.”
Damon chuckles mirthlessly as he settles on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “That's how I've always felt about Stefan.”
As she closes her eye, Elena asks, “Are you going to be here when I wake up?”
“Do you want me to be?”
It's a recent quirk of his, constantly asking her for permission; it is such a change from before when he would simply take, and Elena is surprised at how it bothers her. If she is constantly required to give permission, she has to take responsibility for the things he makes her feel, and Elena is still not sure she is ready for that.
“Doesn't matter,” she lies.
When her alarm goes off, it is Damon who makes it stop shrieking.
* * *
She learns more about Damon from his bedroom than she ever learned about Stefan from his.
Rebekah could make all the jokes she wanted about snooping, but snooping on Stefan was never required. Stefan was free with the things he loved and those he didn't; his preferences were always out in the open, free for the taking. Damon played his cards closer to the vest, so snooping was the only way to really get to know him.
At least, this is what Elena tells herself as she explores Damon's room.
There are no overstuffed shelves or knickknacks left over from nearly two centuries of living in Damon's room; there is only the television, his massive bed, and the pile of books whose height seems to change every time Elena is in the room. Today, as she studies the spines, she sees Gone With the Wind is still there, but it is accompanied by eight other novels of lost love and spirited heroines. Elena picks up his battered copy of the Margaret Mitchell novel, sliding onto his bed as she opens the cover; like every Southern girl, she has seen the film, but the story had never particularly appealed to her. Scarlett was beautiful and Scarlett was a survivor, but Scarlett played too carelessly with men's hearts and drove away the only man who truly loved her as she was.
As Elena flips the yellowed pages, she is surprised when a photo falls, a makeshift bookmark. She turns it over and finds her throat tightening as she gazes upon a snapshot of herself in the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, descending the stairs towards an escort that was not there, towards the brother who stood in to preserve her pride.
Elena knows this picture well; it went missing from her vanity mirror almost as quickly as it was put up, never to be seen again.
She doesn't know why she does it, why it suddenly becomes so important to her. It takes less than twenty minutes to get back to her house, find the clutch of photos Mrs. Lockwood gave her after the pageant, remove the one she wants, and return to the boardinghouse. She is in the middle of swapping the photographs when Damon clear his throat, jerking Elena's attention towards the entrance of the bathroom.
Damon leans against the door frame, a towel cinched around his narrow hips, beads of water trailing down his skin, an expectant look of amusement on his face.
“This should be good.”
Elena flushes, shrugging as she attempts to slide the stolen picture into her back pocket. “I was just looking for you.”
“And clearly I would be hiding in the pages of a book.”
“I don't know what you do with your free time.”
Damon grins, crossing the room to pluck the book from her hands. The moment he reads the title, Elena sees his smile falter, nervousness starting to creep in, and it makes her silently chuckle at how much like a regular boy Damon Salvatore can be when it comes to his feelings for her.
He snaps the book shut with one hand, a tight smile on his face. “Didn't know you have such an interest in the Civil War.”
“I don't. I just...” Realizing there is no way to excuse this, Elena defensively snaps, “I'm just looking at your books. You go through my underwear.”
“I'd let you do the same but...” Damon leans in, his face unsettlingly close, before finishing, “I don't wear any.”
Elena cannot help herself; her eyes immediately fall to the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the towel, her betraying brain supplying the image of a fully nude Damon on her birthday to remind her what lies beneath the fabric.
“I should go,” she murmurs, forcing her eyes back up to meet Damon's.
“Well...if that's what you want.” When she doesn't move, Damon challenges, “Is that what you want?”
Elena knows what her body wants; every nerve in her body is screaming to tug away the towel and let Damon prove to her just how well-deserved his womanizing reputation is. But, if she has learned anything in the past year, it is that her blind following of her instincts which leads her into trouble.
Though...if she's being honest...Elena wouldn't mind trouble of the multiple orgasm variety.
“I have to go.”
Damon pulls back, steps to the side, sweeping his arm towards the door. “Then go.”
She is almost through the doorway when Damon calls, “And, Elena?”
Elena stops, turns. “Yeah?”
Damon's eyes are dark, his face inscrutable as he orders, “When you're getting yourself off, don't think about Stefan.”
Elena wants to be furious, to fling curses at him as she stomps away, but she doesn't; she just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, and heads home.
But when her madly working fingers make her entire body quake with release, it is Damon's name she moans into the pillow clutched between her teeth.
* * *
Elena comes home from Bonnie's house to find Damon fast asleep in her bed. She pauses the moment she crosses the threshold, taking in the picture he presents: his boots discarded near her window, his shirt on the floor, his face surprisingly peaceful. It takes her a moment to realize she likes the sight of Damon in her bed, and Elena wonders if this is how he feels when he finds her in his room.
She gently sets her bag by the door, toeing off her shoes and shedding her jacket; as she digs pajamas out of her dresser, she catches her reflection in the mirror which holds images of her past. The smiling, carefree girl captured in time died in the Willow Creek; Elena barely recognizes her now, an echo of a life she barely remembers living. The somber-eyed, lovesick girl draped around Stefan doesn't feel real anymore either; she bled to unconsciousness in the Mystic Falls High cafeteria and never woke up again.
Elena stares at this new girl and wonders who she is going to be, what mistakes she will make, what happiness awaits her. And, as she shakes out her hair from its tie, as the natural wave asserts itself, making it tumble down her back, Elena has to admit this girl feels more comfortable in her skin than the other two ever did.
“God, you're beautiful.”
Elena turns to see Damon rubbing at his eyes, an expression akin to awe on his face, as if he hasn't seen her almost every day for over a year, as if he hadn't been in love with a woman who was her perfect duplicate for 145 years. She still smiles though, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and gesturing to her pajamas shorts and tank top.
“It's a hard look to pull off.”
“I'd be happy to pull it off of you.”
She laughs as she climbs into bed, switching off the light. “So why are you half-naked in my bed?”
“The better question is: why am I not fully naked in your bed?” When Elena doesn't say anything, Damon reveals, “Klaus doesn't like me around when he and Stefan are having bro time.”
“That sounds delightfully homoerotic.”
Damon laughs, loud and free, and the unexpected sound makes Elena start to laugh too. When it tapers off, she turns on her side to face him, finding his eyes easily, her beacon in the darkness. She shivers when Damon's fingers begin to trace her own; it takes next to no effort to accept his hand clasping hers, their fingers entwining, and she thinks this should be harder, these steps towards the thing she promised Stefan would never happen.
“Thank you for the picture,” he says as his hand squeezes, a gentle pulse which matches the beating of her heart.
She shakes her head, scattering her hair across her face and pillow; it is easier to hide her nervousness behind the flimsy veil it provides. “You're welcome.”
It's hard to lie there holding only his hand; that has always been the problem with Damon. Elena has always been able to convince herself there is nothing between them when they are not touching; it is only when his skin against hers that the world starts to become kaleidoscopic, that what she knows and what she feels beginning to wage war against each other.
Damon lifts their joined hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, and Elena's heart misses a beat. Afraid of what she will do next, Elena turns, keeping her palm firmly against Damon's, pulling his arm over her body. Damon instantly molds his body to hers, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing the backs of her legs, and Elena literally bites her tongue to keep from suggesting he remove them.
“Next time you're big spoon,” Damon murmurs into her hair, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.
“Deal.”
It is the first time they have ever acknowledged there will be a next time.
* * *
Elena wakes up in the middle of the night precariously teetering on the edge of her bed, Damon's hand in her face, their legs a hopeless tangle, and it makes her irrationally angry. Pushing Damon back to his side of the bed, waking him from sleep, she grunts, “This bed is too small!”
“What?” Damon asks, obviously confused and still trying to push his way back to consciousness.
“You're like a vampire starfish!” Elena rants, throwing the blankets off of her and nearly spilling herself to the ground. “The second you fall asleep, you spread out and I'm always hanging on to the mattress for dear life!”
Damon snickers, closing his eyes as he drawls, “Gee, if only one of us owned a bed large enough to fit four people in it...”
Elena pushes her hair back from her face, staring down at Damon from her position on her knees. Finally she asks, “Are you being serious?”
With a sigh, Damon opens his eyes, irritation flickering across his face; normally Elena finds Damon's crankiness at being woken amusing, but now it is unnerving. “I may be a vampire starfish but you kick like a fucking chorus girl.”
“Fine,” Elena declares, dropping back down to her back. “From now on, we'll sleep in your bed.”
It isn't until later Elena realizes sleeping apart has stopped being an option.
* * *
Elena is home alone one night when she decides to make cupcakes. She turns on the radio, cranking up the volume as she gathers ingredients, blending them together as she bops and sways to the beat; as she is cleaning up her mess, the smell of cupcakes wafting pleasantly from the oven, Elena begins to dance around the kitchen, remembering how she and Jenna used to do this when she was younger.
“Chocolate and dancing, Elena: an unbeatable combination,” Jenna would declare as she'd use one of the beaters as a microphone.
As the music starts to crescendo, Elena begins to swivel her hips as she sinks down to put away a bowl, singing tunelessly along with the radio when she catches Damon's reflection in the window. Squealing in surprise, Elena quickly got to her feet, blushing a florescent shade of red.
“Don't let me interrupt,” Damon insists. “It was just getting good.”
“I was just - “
“Acting like an 18-year-old girl who has the house to herself?” Turning down the volume on the radio, he declares, “It is depressing though that you'd rather dance in your socks instead of calling your good pal Damon to go actual dancing.”
Elena pulls the cupcakes out of the oven, looking at him suspiciously. “You'd really take me dancing?”
“I'd do anything to get out of this town for a night. Watching you drop it to the floor in something sexier than an old pair of sweatpants is just a bonus.”
Knowing the window of opportunity is tiny - Stefan will come sniffing around, Alaric and Jeremy will come back from wherever they are, Bonnie will call and guilt her about the amount of time she is spending with Damon - Elena swears, “I can be ready in 20 minutes.”
Thirty minutes later they are flying down the interstate towards Richmond, Elena wearing a top she is fairly certain she borrowed from Vicki Donovan years earlier, Damon tapping out the beat of a song on the steering wheel. She is too young for the club he takes her to; Damon is already moving to compel the doorman when Elena flips her hair, flirts shamelessly for a minute, and not only earns a stamp on her hand but also a drink voucher.
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Damon shouts over the thumping bass of the music as they push their way through the throngs of people.
Elena smirks. “You don't know everything about me, Damon.”
He keeps his hand low on her hip when they dance, and Elena can feel the tension in his body every time she presses back against him, which only makes her do it more. It never fails to confuse her how Damon will shamelessly flirt with her until the moments when she wants him to do it; then he becomes cautious, tentative, and it is not the careful part of him which makes Elena's blood burn hot.
“You know,” she pants in his ear as she slips her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body tightly against his, “if you don't want to dance with me, I can find someone else.”
Damon jerks her tightly against him, his hardness pressing insistently against her middle, leaving no question of what it is he wants. “Does it feel like I don't want to dance with you?”
“Then dance.”
Later, when Elena is in the passenger's seat of Damon's Camaro, she wonders what it would feel like to have Damon's body moving against hers without any barriers between them. Shivering as she remembers the way Damon's hands slid down her body with such authority, Elena is fairly certain when it actually happens she might explode.
Elena is a master at lying to herself, but she knows what is building between she and Damon is now a matter of “when,” not “if.”
“Thank you for tonight,” Elena murmurs as Damon pulls up in front of her house. “This was...I haven't had this much fun in a really long time.”
“No problem. Like I need an excuse to drink and dance.”
“No, Damon, it...” Elena inhales, trying to gather her thoughts. Finally she manages, “I used to have fun like this all the time and after...after my parents, I couldn't stop thinking about how my fun...When I'm with you, I get to forget for awhile and just get to be. And I can't...I don't know what I'd do without you.”
When he's quiet, barely moving, barely breathing, Elena is afraid she has said the wrong thing. And then, in a strangled voice Elena recognizes from the few glimpses she has had of Damon when he is vulnerable, he simply says, “I love you.” Before Elena can say anything, he rushes on, “And I know you love Stefan and, when Klaus's compulsion breaks, you're going to go back to him, but I love you. I know I've done a lot of terrible things to you and the people you love, but...All I want is to make you happy.”
“You do...make me happy,” she confesses, her eyes firmly fixed on her lap. “I mean, you piss me off too, but...I know how much you love me, Damon. And I love you too but - “
His mouth is on hers so quickly, Elena has no chance to prepare for it. Damon's mouth is slanting over hers, hot and demanding, and Elena knows the time for talking has passed.
* * *
Elena wakes up to the sunlight starting to trickle in through her curtains. Damon is sprawled in every direction on her bed, unabashedly nude after kicking away the covers, and, despite her precarious position on the edge of the mattress, Elena cannot help but smile.
She slips from the bed, grabbing Damon's discarded shirt from the night before, pulling it over her head as she stands at the window, watching as her neighbors go about their lives, the sun rising over the tops of their houses. Elena senses Damon behind her only a second before his arms are wrapping around her waist, his chin nestling into her shoulder.
“What are we looking at?”
Elena smiles at their reflection in the windowpane. “It's a new day.”