#DESB: Chapter 14: Burn
Title: Burn
Author: hopelessalways (hopelessromantic549 on FF)
Word Count: 4454
Rating: M
Summary: Damon and Elena experience fire dancing.
Notes: AU/AH. Set in the Spring Break Universe. Part of a Round Robin challenge: Table of Contents.
Elena woke to the surprisingly sensual touch of Damon’s fingers (she would know those fingers blindfolded) tracing her calf muscles. She shivered but didn’t shrink away, instead slowly opening her eyes and drinking in the sight of the man who had turned her completely inside out in a matter of days. He was beautiful, as always, and she felt her heart clench.
If he felt her stirring, he made no mention of it; he simply sighed, as if in awe, bowing his head and pressing his lips to the inside of her knee. It was a quick, light, reverent touch, and she bit her lip.
She reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair, reveling in being so close to him. She often forgot that he could be this gentle, this…loving. His wet, soft, open-mouthed kisses on her heated skin should have made her purr with desire (and truth be told, moisture pooled between her legs), but she mostly just felt a tightening in her chest-that familiar ache that reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him.
That she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.
But she had-by now, she was sure of that-and she wasn’t so afraid of it anymore. The way he’d touched her on that boat…it gave her hope. Maybe they could both work on articulating their feelings.
Maybe this thing could work after all.
Damon raised his head after a moment, his eyes clear and bright. “Hi,” he whispered, almost shyly-although with his fingers tapping out a syncopated rhythm on her stomach and the dulcet tones of his voice sending a shock straight to her core, he definitely didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.
She blushed, resisting the urge to burrow into him and never let him go. “Hi,” she replied, her hands stilling in his soft hair.
He just looked at her, his gaze impossible to read. She would have felt self-conscious in her skimpy nightgown with anyone else, but this was Damon. Whether she wanted him to or not, he knew everything about her. And she knew, knew like she knew that one day that she wanted to be a writer, that he found her beautiful. That was enough.
That was everything.
After a silence that soaked Elena’s skin and made her slightly woozy with desire, Damon leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands on either side of her, and kissed her soundly.
And just like that, inexplicably, her vision went black. She could see nothing, hear nothing, taste nothing, feel nothing but Damon. Maybe it was the heady scent of his skin; maybe it was the joy emanating from every pore in his body. Either way, she didn’t know why she’d ever thought she could have casual sex with the man moving his lips against hers like she was the only one he ever wanted to kiss. She didn’t know how just a kiss from him, just the easy probe of his tongue, could make her sure he’d ruined her for any man, but there it was.
Most of all, though, she didn’t know how to cope with this convoluted, passionate, beautiful thing between them. It hurt her to think about letting go of moments like this, but it terrified her to even consider holding on. She knew giving into loving him would require a massive leap of faith, and she wasn’t sure she had the courage.
Thankfully, he didn’t give her time to ponder their uncertain future. After only a moment of kissing (a moment that liquefied Elena’s bones and made her head swim), he drew himself off her, uncurling with a satisfied groan that vibrated through her. She found herself reaching for him almost unconsciously, preoccupied by the dull pounding between her legs. He smirked down at her, obviously smug at the sight of her hooded eyes and her audibly racing pulse.
She opened her mouth to interject a hot-headed protest, but then she noticed (for the first time, somehow-she must have been distracted by his hands all over her skin) that he was wearing a suit.
She blinked. “Damon,” she said slowly, sitting up and pulling herself towards him. She began to loop his tie without really considering the fact that it was far too domestic an action for their relationship-that-wasn’t-a-relationship (or maybe she just didn’t care). “Why are you wearing a suit?”
He grinned, stroking her bare shoulders. “We’re going fire dancing, of course.”
She cocked her head, confused, both by the notion of fire dancing and the fact that he was dressed for nighttime. “But -” she paused, trying to remember when she’d gotten into bed (normally she’d ask him how he’d gotten into her room, too, but Caroline had probably given him a key). “But it’s morning, isn’t it? I went to bed around midnight and set my alarm for nine a.m.”
He didn’t say anything, his Cheshire grin growing wider, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh no,” she said with dread, bounding off the bed to pull open her curtains-revealing a breathtaking sunset. “I slept through the day, didn’t I?”
She flicked a questioning glance at Damon. “Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s six now.”
She sighed, wringing her hands fretfully. “Why did you let me sleep so long? It’s our third-to-last day here!”
He shrugged. “I came in around ten to see if you wanted to come get breakfast, but you kicked me in the chest when I tried to wake you,” he explained dutifully, looking far too delectable in his expertly tailored suit for Elena to retain any semblance of concentration.
“Besides,” he continued, wagging his eyebrows suggestively, “What with all our wild and crazy sex lately, I thought you could use some rest.”
She glared at him, choosing to ignore how even his simplest movement ignited a fire in her chest. Instead, she ran back to him and beat his chest ineffectually with her tiny fists. He let her, of course, chuckling as she worked off her admittedly unjustified anger. It was nice of him to give her some time off, she conceded reluctantly, even as she couldn’t help continuing to hit him mercilessly. He’d clearly been thinking about her wellbeing, and for that she should be thankful.
Finally, she ran out of energy, and she collapsed against him, breathing deeply. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to break the silence (afraid to mess things up), so she ventured tentatively, “You said we were going fire dancing?”
He wound his arms around her and kissed the top of her head; she bit back a contented sigh. “Yeah, it’s a Caribbean tradition,” he said. “And we have to be there at seven, so you better get ready fast.”
He stepped back, holding her at arms’ length. “But then again,” he murmured, his brow creasing, as if he were thinking very hard about something-oh, and then he stroked her cheek, and she felt herself dissolve completely, “I can’t imagine you won’t look beautiful.”
He released her then, turning to leave. “After all,” he said smoothly, opening her hotel room door, “You always do.”
She trembled and watched him go.
…
Elena had made a lot of men’s jaws drop in her lifetime. It was vain to acknowledge that, yes, but at least she was self-aware enough to recognize that she owed much of her “sex appeal” (Damon’s words, not hers) to her genes. She had a fast metabolism, her mother was gorgeous, and she had bountiful confidence from growing up in a family that taught her to, as the cliché went, love the skin she was in.
But as she walked down the stairs to the lobby of the resort later that night, she knew no man had ever looked at her the way Damon was looking at her right now.
There was such unmistakable desire (not to mention sweeping affection) in the flame of his gaze that she was impossibly cognizant of the cool fabric of her dress sliding over her skin, of her curled hair tickling the back of her neck, of the weight of her body as she took each step. She drew closer to this man she’d never wanted to feel this for (but who was she to deny fate?), and his eyes swept leisurely over her curves. The piercing cerulean threatened to delve into her core, but she held herself still-somehow.
Finally, she stood directly in front of him, and she wasn’t sure what to say. He seemed content to stare at her, which she could certainly understand; in his fitted suit, he looked like some sort of Greek god, and her eyes remained fixed on the breadth of his shoulders.
But after a while, she couldn’t help herself; she had to touch him. And so she did something as unexpected to her as it must have been to him: she took a tiny, almost imperceptible, step forward and reached up to lean her forehead against his. And then, she closed her eyes and breathed him in.
They stood there for a moment, basking in the silence, the intimacy of such proximity, the absence of the urge to run away. Elena mused that this touch that had seemed so unnatural in the past with every other man she’d dated, including the one she’d thought might be her soul mate, came as easily to her with Damon as breathing. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she didn’t dwell on it.
Instead, she stayed with Damon.
Instead, she let herself go.
…
Elena was surprised at her restraint on the way to the restaurant. The last time she’d been in a car with him, she’d practically mauled him, as desperate for him as a cat in heat. And this time around, she was no less attracted to him, no less eager to rip his clothes off and devour every inch of the skin she knew so well.
It didn’t help that he was idly caressing her skin as he drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her knee. He was wearing the sunglasses he knew drove her crazy (honestly, they made him look like a model), and what was worse, he was smiling.
Damon Salvatore didn’t smile; he smirked. On the rare occasion that his lips curved in a manner other than mocking, he was usually emerging from between her legs-and then, he was just happy he’d managed to make her moan.
Which he did. Frequently. Easily. (In fact, it was a natural talent of his.)
It was strange to see him grinning so…happily, she supposed. She must make him happy, she realized. Just being with her made him happy.
And as the minutes passed and the sun began to sank, Elena realized he made her happy, too.
…
When Damon and Elena arrived at the restaurant, they took a seat close to the stage. He’d explained fire dancing on the way there-basically, men and women played with fire while moving in elaborate choreography-and she found herself eager to experience something so exotic.
But the show started, and she couldn’t pay attention to the dancers at all. It probably had something to do with Damon’s hand making slow circles on her knee, or his eyes heavy on her, or the heat of the nearby fire snaking beneath her skin, blazing through her veins.
At one point, she turned to him to comment on the intricacy of the dancers’ steps, and he was openly leering at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His fingers gripped her knee possessively, and she gulped, unsure how to handle such blatant, potent lust.
(At least, unsure how to handle it in a public place.)
She did her best to focus on the swirling flames and pounding drums (they’d paid good money to come tonight, and this was an experience she’d probably never have again), but she could really only smell Damon’s cologne, spicy and masculine; she could really only hear the pounding of her heart. She felt at once hot and cold, at once near and far from what she wanted. Even her vision felt hazy, clouded by the desire racing through her like wildfire.
She wanted to glare at Damon for distracting her. She wanted to jump his bones for distracting her. She wanted to hit him for getting under her skin. She wanted to kiss him for getting under her skin. She wanted to hate him for making her want him like this.
She wanted to love him for making her want him like this.
It was all so confusing, so goddamn complicated, and she closed her eyes, reminding herself to breathe. This was just another obstacle she had to overcome. She could do this.
(She could do anything, if only he’d stay with her.)
So she covered his hand with hers and felt the warmth of his skin beneath hers, and she smiled at him. They’d have time enough to figure this all out later. For now, she’d watch the dancers and ignore the fact that he clearly wanted to be inside her now.
Well, she’d ignore him to the best of her ability.
…
When Damon and Elena arrived back at the hotel after an incredibly lust-filled car ride, Damon closed the door behind them, and Elena stiffened, intensely aware of his eyes on her body. Her back was turned to him, but she felt naked, exposed. Her gaze involuntarily fell on the stars outside the window, as if they could shield her from the torrent of emotion thundering in the room that suddenly seemed too small.
(But she didn’t think anything could.)
“You know,” Damon said, his voice a low growl that tore through every one of Elena’s defenses, “All night I kept thinking about this moment.”
He walked towards her, his steps slow and measured, and her breath hitched in anticipation. “I imagined kissing you the moment we walked through the door,” he whispered, coming to stand beside her, his thick length brushing her sensitive behind. “Or ripping your dress down the middle and sliding into you right away. Or, better yet, taking you just like this, like I have so many times before.”
He bowed his head and kissed her neck; she hissed, fisting the fabric of her dress so hard that she thought her knuckles might crack.
“I thought about how good it would feel to taste you,” he murmured, his hands floating up and down her waist, so sensually that her eyes rolled back into her head (she wished he would get on with it instead of tormenting her so), “About how no matter how many times I touch you, I always want more. All night, all I could think about was getting you alone.”
His tongue darted out to touch the pulse at the base of her neck, and she froze, her senses momentarily shutting down. God, what was he doing to her?
“Was I alone in that, Elena?” He asked, his hands suddenly palming her breasts, so firmly that she began to shake.
“No,” she breathed immediately (she needed him too badly to pretend she wasn’t desperate), grinding against him, relishing the groan he let out.
He spun her around, pulling her flush against his body, bringing her aching core so close to the relief she craved that she whimpered. They stared at each other for a long, hard moment, their emotions laid bare. It was terrifying, seeing everything she felt reflected in his eyes, but she didn’t look away. Some things were worth risking heartbreak for, and Elena had touched Damon enough this Spring Break to know that he was one of them.
After a silence that only reinforced the heat spreading like wildfire through Elena’s body, Damon touched her cheek. “Am I alone in this?” He asked, vulnerability soaking the words. Suddenly it was obvious that this wasn’t about sex anymore.
It would be easier to lie to him, of course. If she told him he was the only one who wanted more out of this than casual hookups, then she’d have the power again; she’d be in control. But she didn’t want to be in control. She wanted to be equal.
So she kissed him, short enough not to get too wrapped up in the moment, long enough to convince him that her next words were true.
“No,” she said softly, closing her eyes and twining her arms around his neck, “You’re not alone in this.”
He breathed an almost audible sigh of relief, and then he was walking them towards the bed, and she was falling back with him nestled on top of her, and his lips were moving against hers, and she didn’t know how she’d ever convinced herself that she didn’t need him. Then his hands were tugging at the straps of the dress she so adored, and her hands were tracing the divots in his spine as he kissed her stomach, and she understood finally that the more she saw of him, the more she wanted.
The more she needed.
It wasn’t enough to fuck him, she realized. It wasn’t enough to come so hard she screamed. It wasn’t even enough to hold him, to breathe him in, to be so intertwined with him that she couldn’t tell they were separate parts.
But this could be enough. It could be enough, if she let it.
So she held them still for a moment, kissing him languidly, slowly, trying to communicate without words that she wanted to make love this time. He seemed to understand; he paused in his act of disposing her of her clothes, devoting himself to her mouth. She felt, felt deep in her bones, that this would change everything.
(She wanted it to.)
After a long moment, she broke away for air and pulled his shirt over his head, smiling uncontrollably when he took the opportunity to reach between them and touch her through her sheer panties. She arched up to meet him, barely able to contain the current of pleasure that coursed through her; it was more powerful than anything she’d ever known. He’d always been able to bring her to her knees with just one flick of his tongue, but already this time was different.
Her hands skimmed the smooth expanse of his back; she gasped as he slid her dress down her body, exposing more and more of her skin to the feverish air. She wasn’t sure what was more heated, the stifling Caribbean atmosphere or the ever-growing fireball of passion burning between them, but either way, she lost her breath instantly.
In a few moments, she was lying beneath him in just a matching bra-and-panty set, her breasts straining against their constraints, her nipples pebbling at the mere whisper of his hands across her chest. His eyes were full of wonder as his fingers reached around her to unclasp her bra, and he whispered, his voice low, sweet, tender, “As usual, I honestly can’t believe my eyes.”
She choked out a laugh, her pulse accelerating astronomically as she locked her feet around his waist. He thrust his hips just once, and she cried out, lost in him from the beginning-lost in him even though there were still a few tangible barriers between them.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved his trousers down with her heels, groaning as his mouth found hers again. And then, her naked chest was pressed tightly against his, his arms snaking around her waist to pull her closer, and she held as still as she possibly could. There weren’t words for this kind of completion, she knew. There was only the slope of his collarbone as her fingers slipped into every curve she could find; there was only the tingling low in her belly as his tongue enveloped hers. There were only their legs intertwined above the covers, and their heartbeats falling into step, and their twin aches to get even closer to each other (always closer).
“You know,” she breathed, burying her face in his bare, glorious chest, “I didn’t really picture my Spring Break going like this.”
He paused in his intoxicating remonstrations on her body, sweeping her hair off her sweaty forehead. “No?” He asked, smirking devilishly. “You didn’t think you’d end up in bed with me night after night?”
She shook her head firmly, tears inexplicably springing to her eyes. “No,” she whispered, cupping his cheek softly, realizing suddenly that she may not be able to imagine a future with him, but she sure as hell couldn’t bear a future without him. “But I’m glad it turned out this way.”
He smiled, genuine, pure. “Me too.”
Their mouths met once more, this time with a mounting lust that left Elena reeling. She registered Damon bowing his head and taking her breast into his mouth as if in a trance; she only felt the heat of his tongue swirling around her nipple, the pull of his teeth as he lightly bit her with blunt canines. The combination of his hands and his mouth was almost too much for her, and she thrust his head away, hunger rising steadily in her chest.
He blinked at her in surprise. “What -”
But she was already kissing him again, a bruising, biting kiss that made her muscles ache. “Need you,” she panted, scrambling to pull his boxers down. “Need you now.”
He groaned into her mouth. “Sexiest thing ever,” he affirmed, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her panties and trying to shove them down. His hand got stuck between their bodies, though, and she found herself laughing, giggles racking her chest. It was always like this with them. One minute they were practically ripping each other’s clothes off, the next they were exchanging witty banter like they’d been doing it all their lives. It was what made being with him so special.
After all, her mother always told her to marry a man who made her laugh. And he made her laugh harder than anyone-anything-in her life.
Before she knew it, Damon was kneeling between her legs, quickly dragging her panties off her. Normally he’d take his time, teasing her with his tongue against her center, whispering naughty words designed to make her blush; normally he’d take her higher and higher until neither of them could take it anymore. But she could tell by the fierce determination and distinct affection in his eyes that he didn’t want to wait.
Honestly, it made her heart hurt.
When she was entirely bare before him, he settled himself between her legs, the hot press of his thighs so delightful that her eyes rolled back into her head.
“I could get used to this,” she sighed, resting her hands delicately on his shoulders. It wasn’t the sort of thing she said during sex; usually at this point she’d just pull him into her. But she wanted to linger with him as long as she could. She was starting to realize that nothing he gave her would ever be enough. She was always, always going to want more from him, and that didn’t scare her so much anymore.
Damon seemed perfectly obliging, at least. His eyes were suddenly filled with the sort of desire Elena couldn’t help but associate with love: it was deep, and wide, and seemingly endless. He cupped her cheek, his touch easy, sure.
Real.
“Me neither,” he promised softly, leaning in and kissing her. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. This was uncharted territory. They generally stayed away from passionate declarations about their future, and she knew she should probably be worried that he was only saying this in the heat of the moment. But she couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his voice, and more than that, she didn’t want to. She was done being skeptical and guarded.
She was ready to trust him.
So she smiled. “That sounds perfect to me.”
He grinned, and then, in one surreal moment, he was inside her, filling her to the hilt, and she knew that this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her days: with him.
It was an overwhelming realization, but she locked eyes with him and let herself go. It was time to take a chance. It was time to be brave with him.
He moved with her, over and over again, and she loved him so much that it seemed inconceivable that only a week ago she’d been determined to push him away. He was with her, always with her, and she couldn’t let him go now if she tried.
He brought her closer and closer to the brink, holding her gaze. His eyes were watering, and she didn’t have to ask to know he was overcome with emotion. This was the side of him no one but her ever saw; this was the side of him that was so beautiful to her. At his core, Damon Salvatore just wanted to find love.
And she wanted to give it to him, so she let her own eyes fill with the tears that’d been begging to fall almost the whole night. They were happy tears, joyful even, and she didn’t feel vulnerable at all. She felt strong, propped up by the support of the man currently worshipping her body like she was some kind of goddess. She’d never known that giving herself to someone could make her feel so…whole.
It was the first time she’d ever completely let her guard down with Damon.
It was the first time she’d ever been completely happy.
Right before the current of pleasure spiraling within her overwhelmed her, though, Damon stopped his motions completely.
She raised an eyebrow in confusion, ready to plead with him to keep going. But he shook his head, pressing a gentle finger to her lips. She fell silent, watching as he nervously bit his lip and avoided her eyes. It wasn’t like him to be gripped by anxiety like this. At least, not unless -
She swallowed, hard. Suddenly it was so obvious what he was about to say, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it, wasn’t sure she could take the words, wasn’t sure she could return them, wasn’t sure she even -
“I love you,” he whispered.
The world went still. The air fell silent. And all that remained was him, and her, and the hope stretching ever wider between them.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to find some courage. This was it.
She opened her eyes, looked deep into this man who’d somehow given her everything.
“I love you.”
---
I really, really apologize for the absurd length of this. It’s the first thing I’ve written in a few weeks, and my fingers were itching to just go with it. Also, sorry I didn’t get this beta’ed - I’ve been crazy busy and barely finished this in time, although that’s not really an excuse…thanks to Sar for hosting such a fabulous mixer. And, most importantly, thank you to everyone who’s reached out to me since I decided to temporarily leave the TVD community. You guys are beyond fantastic, and I send you all my love. That being said, hope you enjoy :) Also, Colorblind by The Counting Crows is the absolute perfect song for the final scene of this.
Author: hopelessalways (hopelessromantic549 on FF)
Word Count: 4454
Rating: M
Summary: Damon and Elena experience fire dancing.
Notes: AU/AH. Set in the Spring Break Universe. Part of a Round Robin challenge: Table of Contents.
Elena woke to the surprisingly sensual touch of Damon’s fingers (she would know those fingers blindfolded) tracing her calf muscles. She shivered but didn’t shrink away, instead slowly opening her eyes and drinking in the sight of the man who had turned her completely inside out in a matter of days. He was beautiful, as always, and she felt her heart clench.
If he felt her stirring, he made no mention of it; he simply sighed, as if in awe, bowing his head and pressing his lips to the inside of her knee. It was a quick, light, reverent touch, and she bit her lip.
She reached out and threaded her fingers through his hair, reveling in being so close to him. She often forgot that he could be this gentle, this…loving. His wet, soft, open-mouthed kisses on her heated skin should have made her purr with desire (and truth be told, moisture pooled between her legs), but she mostly just felt a tightening in her chest-that familiar ache that reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him.
That she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him.
But she had-by now, she was sure of that-and she wasn’t so afraid of it anymore. The way he’d touched her on that boat…it gave her hope. Maybe they could both work on articulating their feelings.
Maybe this thing could work after all.
Damon raised his head after a moment, his eyes clear and bright. “Hi,” he whispered, almost shyly-although with his fingers tapping out a syncopated rhythm on her stomach and the dulcet tones of his voice sending a shock straight to her core, he definitely didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about.
She blushed, resisting the urge to burrow into him and never let him go. “Hi,” she replied, her hands stilling in his soft hair.
He just looked at her, his gaze impossible to read. She would have felt self-conscious in her skimpy nightgown with anyone else, but this was Damon. Whether she wanted him to or not, he knew everything about her. And she knew, knew like she knew that one day that she wanted to be a writer, that he found her beautiful. That was enough.
That was everything.
After a silence that soaked Elena’s skin and made her slightly woozy with desire, Damon leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands on either side of her, and kissed her soundly.
And just like that, inexplicably, her vision went black. She could see nothing, hear nothing, taste nothing, feel nothing but Damon. Maybe it was the heady scent of his skin; maybe it was the joy emanating from every pore in his body. Either way, she didn’t know why she’d ever thought she could have casual sex with the man moving his lips against hers like she was the only one he ever wanted to kiss. She didn’t know how just a kiss from him, just the easy probe of his tongue, could make her sure he’d ruined her for any man, but there it was.
Most of all, though, she didn’t know how to cope with this convoluted, passionate, beautiful thing between them. It hurt her to think about letting go of moments like this, but it terrified her to even consider holding on. She knew giving into loving him would require a massive leap of faith, and she wasn’t sure she had the courage.
Thankfully, he didn’t give her time to ponder their uncertain future. After only a moment of kissing (a moment that liquefied Elena’s bones and made her head swim), he drew himself off her, uncurling with a satisfied groan that vibrated through her. She found herself reaching for him almost unconsciously, preoccupied by the dull pounding between her legs. He smirked down at her, obviously smug at the sight of her hooded eyes and her audibly racing pulse.
She opened her mouth to interject a hot-headed protest, but then she noticed (for the first time, somehow-she must have been distracted by his hands all over her skin) that he was wearing a suit.
She blinked. “Damon,” she said slowly, sitting up and pulling herself towards him. She began to loop his tie without really considering the fact that it was far too domestic an action for their relationship-that-wasn’t-a-relationship (or maybe she just didn’t care). “Why are you wearing a suit?”
He grinned, stroking her bare shoulders. “We’re going fire dancing, of course.”
She cocked her head, confused, both by the notion of fire dancing and the fact that he was dressed for nighttime. “But -” she paused, trying to remember when she’d gotten into bed (normally she’d ask him how he’d gotten into her room, too, but Caroline had probably given him a key). “But it’s morning, isn’t it? I went to bed around midnight and set my alarm for nine a.m.”
He didn’t say anything, his Cheshire grin growing wider, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh no,” she said with dread, bounding off the bed to pull open her curtains-revealing a breathtaking sunset. “I slept through the day, didn’t I?”
She flicked a questioning glance at Damon. “Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “It’s six now.”
She sighed, wringing her hands fretfully. “Why did you let me sleep so long? It’s our third-to-last day here!”
He shrugged. “I came in around ten to see if you wanted to come get breakfast, but you kicked me in the chest when I tried to wake you,” he explained dutifully, looking far too delectable in his expertly tailored suit for Elena to retain any semblance of concentration.
“Besides,” he continued, wagging his eyebrows suggestively, “What with all our wild and crazy sex lately, I thought you could use some rest.”
She glared at him, choosing to ignore how even his simplest movement ignited a fire in her chest. Instead, she ran back to him and beat his chest ineffectually with her tiny fists. He let her, of course, chuckling as she worked off her admittedly unjustified anger. It was nice of him to give her some time off, she conceded reluctantly, even as she couldn’t help continuing to hit him mercilessly. He’d clearly been thinking about her wellbeing, and for that she should be thankful.
Finally, she ran out of energy, and she collapsed against him, breathing deeply. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to break the silence (afraid to mess things up), so she ventured tentatively, “You said we were going fire dancing?”
He wound his arms around her and kissed the top of her head; she bit back a contented sigh. “Yeah, it’s a Caribbean tradition,” he said. “And we have to be there at seven, so you better get ready fast.”
He stepped back, holding her at arms’ length. “But then again,” he murmured, his brow creasing, as if he were thinking very hard about something-oh, and then he stroked her cheek, and she felt herself dissolve completely, “I can’t imagine you won’t look beautiful.”
He released her then, turning to leave. “After all,” he said smoothly, opening her hotel room door, “You always do.”
She trembled and watched him go.
…
Elena had made a lot of men’s jaws drop in her lifetime. It was vain to acknowledge that, yes, but at least she was self-aware enough to recognize that she owed much of her “sex appeal” (Damon’s words, not hers) to her genes. She had a fast metabolism, her mother was gorgeous, and she had bountiful confidence from growing up in a family that taught her to, as the cliché went, love the skin she was in.
But as she walked down the stairs to the lobby of the resort later that night, she knew no man had ever looked at her the way Damon was looking at her right now.
There was such unmistakable desire (not to mention sweeping affection) in the flame of his gaze that she was impossibly cognizant of the cool fabric of her dress sliding over her skin, of her curled hair tickling the back of her neck, of the weight of her body as she took each step. She drew closer to this man she’d never wanted to feel this for (but who was she to deny fate?), and his eyes swept leisurely over her curves. The piercing cerulean threatened to delve into her core, but she held herself still-somehow.
Finally, she stood directly in front of him, and she wasn’t sure what to say. He seemed content to stare at her, which she could certainly understand; in his fitted suit, he looked like some sort of Greek god, and her eyes remained fixed on the breadth of his shoulders.
But after a while, she couldn’t help herself; she had to touch him. And so she did something as unexpected to her as it must have been to him: she took a tiny, almost imperceptible, step forward and reached up to lean her forehead against his. And then, she closed her eyes and breathed him in.
They stood there for a moment, basking in the silence, the intimacy of such proximity, the absence of the urge to run away. Elena mused that this touch that had seemed so unnatural in the past with every other man she’d dated, including the one she’d thought might be her soul mate, came as easily to her with Damon as breathing. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she didn’t dwell on it.
Instead, she stayed with Damon.
Instead, she let herself go.
…
Elena was surprised at her restraint on the way to the restaurant. The last time she’d been in a car with him, she’d practically mauled him, as desperate for him as a cat in heat. And this time around, she was no less attracted to him, no less eager to rip his clothes off and devour every inch of the skin she knew so well.
It didn’t help that he was idly caressing her skin as he drove, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her knee. He was wearing the sunglasses he knew drove her crazy (honestly, they made him look like a model), and what was worse, he was smiling.
Damon Salvatore didn’t smile; he smirked. On the rare occasion that his lips curved in a manner other than mocking, he was usually emerging from between her legs-and then, he was just happy he’d managed to make her moan.
Which he did. Frequently. Easily. (In fact, it was a natural talent of his.)
It was strange to see him grinning so…happily, she supposed. She must make him happy, she realized. Just being with her made him happy.
And as the minutes passed and the sun began to sank, Elena realized he made her happy, too.
…
When Damon and Elena arrived at the restaurant, they took a seat close to the stage. He’d explained fire dancing on the way there-basically, men and women played with fire while moving in elaborate choreography-and she found herself eager to experience something so exotic.
But the show started, and she couldn’t pay attention to the dancers at all. It probably had something to do with Damon’s hand making slow circles on her knee, or his eyes heavy on her, or the heat of the nearby fire snaking beneath her skin, blazing through her veins.
At one point, she turned to him to comment on the intricacy of the dancers’ steps, and he was openly leering at her, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. His fingers gripped her knee possessively, and she gulped, unsure how to handle such blatant, potent lust.
(At least, unsure how to handle it in a public place.)
She did her best to focus on the swirling flames and pounding drums (they’d paid good money to come tonight, and this was an experience she’d probably never have again), but she could really only smell Damon’s cologne, spicy and masculine; she could really only hear the pounding of her heart. She felt at once hot and cold, at once near and far from what she wanted. Even her vision felt hazy, clouded by the desire racing through her like wildfire.
She wanted to glare at Damon for distracting her. She wanted to jump his bones for distracting her. She wanted to hit him for getting under her skin. She wanted to kiss him for getting under her skin. She wanted to hate him for making her want him like this.
She wanted to love him for making her want him like this.
It was all so confusing, so goddamn complicated, and she closed her eyes, reminding herself to breathe. This was just another obstacle she had to overcome. She could do this.
(She could do anything, if only he’d stay with her.)
So she covered his hand with hers and felt the warmth of his skin beneath hers, and she smiled at him. They’d have time enough to figure this all out later. For now, she’d watch the dancers and ignore the fact that he clearly wanted to be inside her now.
Well, she’d ignore him to the best of her ability.
…
When Damon and Elena arrived back at the hotel after an incredibly lust-filled car ride, Damon closed the door behind them, and Elena stiffened, intensely aware of his eyes on her body. Her back was turned to him, but she felt naked, exposed. Her gaze involuntarily fell on the stars outside the window, as if they could shield her from the torrent of emotion thundering in the room that suddenly seemed too small.
(But she didn’t think anything could.)
“You know,” Damon said, his voice a low growl that tore through every one of Elena’s defenses, “All night I kept thinking about this moment.”
He walked towards her, his steps slow and measured, and her breath hitched in anticipation. “I imagined kissing you the moment we walked through the door,” he whispered, coming to stand beside her, his thick length brushing her sensitive behind. “Or ripping your dress down the middle and sliding into you right away. Or, better yet, taking you just like this, like I have so many times before.”
He bowed his head and kissed her neck; she hissed, fisting the fabric of her dress so hard that she thought her knuckles might crack.
“I thought about how good it would feel to taste you,” he murmured, his hands floating up and down her waist, so sensually that her eyes rolled back into her head (she wished he would get on with it instead of tormenting her so), “About how no matter how many times I touch you, I always want more. All night, all I could think about was getting you alone.”
His tongue darted out to touch the pulse at the base of her neck, and she froze, her senses momentarily shutting down. God, what was he doing to her?
“Was I alone in that, Elena?” He asked, his hands suddenly palming her breasts, so firmly that she began to shake.
“No,” she breathed immediately (she needed him too badly to pretend she wasn’t desperate), grinding against him, relishing the groan he let out.
He spun her around, pulling her flush against his body, bringing her aching core so close to the relief she craved that she whimpered. They stared at each other for a long, hard moment, their emotions laid bare. It was terrifying, seeing everything she felt reflected in his eyes, but she didn’t look away. Some things were worth risking heartbreak for, and Elena had touched Damon enough this Spring Break to know that he was one of them.
After a silence that only reinforced the heat spreading like wildfire through Elena’s body, Damon touched her cheek. “Am I alone in this?” He asked, vulnerability soaking the words. Suddenly it was obvious that this wasn’t about sex anymore.
It would be easier to lie to him, of course. If she told him he was the only one who wanted more out of this than casual hookups, then she’d have the power again; she’d be in control. But she didn’t want to be in control. She wanted to be equal.
So she kissed him, short enough not to get too wrapped up in the moment, long enough to convince him that her next words were true.
“No,” she said softly, closing her eyes and twining her arms around his neck, “You’re not alone in this.”
He breathed an almost audible sigh of relief, and then he was walking them towards the bed, and she was falling back with him nestled on top of her, and his lips were moving against hers, and she didn’t know how she’d ever convinced herself that she didn’t need him. Then his hands were tugging at the straps of the dress she so adored, and her hands were tracing the divots in his spine as he kissed her stomach, and she understood finally that the more she saw of him, the more she wanted.
The more she needed.
It wasn’t enough to fuck him, she realized. It wasn’t enough to come so hard she screamed. It wasn’t even enough to hold him, to breathe him in, to be so intertwined with him that she couldn’t tell they were separate parts.
But this could be enough. It could be enough, if she let it.
So she held them still for a moment, kissing him languidly, slowly, trying to communicate without words that she wanted to make love this time. He seemed to understand; he paused in his act of disposing her of her clothes, devoting himself to her mouth. She felt, felt deep in her bones, that this would change everything.
(She wanted it to.)
After a long moment, she broke away for air and pulled his shirt over his head, smiling uncontrollably when he took the opportunity to reach between them and touch her through her sheer panties. She arched up to meet him, barely able to contain the current of pleasure that coursed through her; it was more powerful than anything she’d ever known. He’d always been able to bring her to her knees with just one flick of his tongue, but already this time was different.
Her hands skimmed the smooth expanse of his back; she gasped as he slid her dress down her body, exposing more and more of her skin to the feverish air. She wasn’t sure what was more heated, the stifling Caribbean atmosphere or the ever-growing fireball of passion burning between them, but either way, she lost her breath instantly.
In a few moments, she was lying beneath him in just a matching bra-and-panty set, her breasts straining against their constraints, her nipples pebbling at the mere whisper of his hands across her chest. His eyes were full of wonder as his fingers reached around her to unclasp her bra, and he whispered, his voice low, sweet, tender, “As usual, I honestly can’t believe my eyes.”
She choked out a laugh, her pulse accelerating astronomically as she locked her feet around his waist. He thrust his hips just once, and she cried out, lost in him from the beginning-lost in him even though there were still a few tangible barriers between them.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved his trousers down with her heels, groaning as his mouth found hers again. And then, her naked chest was pressed tightly against his, his arms snaking around her waist to pull her closer, and she held as still as she possibly could. There weren’t words for this kind of completion, she knew. There was only the slope of his collarbone as her fingers slipped into every curve she could find; there was only the tingling low in her belly as his tongue enveloped hers. There were only their legs intertwined above the covers, and their heartbeats falling into step, and their twin aches to get even closer to each other (always closer).
“You know,” she breathed, burying her face in his bare, glorious chest, “I didn’t really picture my Spring Break going like this.”
He paused in his intoxicating remonstrations on her body, sweeping her hair off her sweaty forehead. “No?” He asked, smirking devilishly. “You didn’t think you’d end up in bed with me night after night?”
She shook her head firmly, tears inexplicably springing to her eyes. “No,” she whispered, cupping his cheek softly, realizing suddenly that she may not be able to imagine a future with him, but she sure as hell couldn’t bear a future without him. “But I’m glad it turned out this way.”
He smiled, genuine, pure. “Me too.”
Their mouths met once more, this time with a mounting lust that left Elena reeling. She registered Damon bowing his head and taking her breast into his mouth as if in a trance; she only felt the heat of his tongue swirling around her nipple, the pull of his teeth as he lightly bit her with blunt canines. The combination of his hands and his mouth was almost too much for her, and she thrust his head away, hunger rising steadily in her chest.
He blinked at her in surprise. “What -”
But she was already kissing him again, a bruising, biting kiss that made her muscles ache. “Need you,” she panted, scrambling to pull his boxers down. “Need you now.”
He groaned into her mouth. “Sexiest thing ever,” he affirmed, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her panties and trying to shove them down. His hand got stuck between their bodies, though, and she found herself laughing, giggles racking her chest. It was always like this with them. One minute they were practically ripping each other’s clothes off, the next they were exchanging witty banter like they’d been doing it all their lives. It was what made being with him so special.
After all, her mother always told her to marry a man who made her laugh. And he made her laugh harder than anyone-anything-in her life.
Before she knew it, Damon was kneeling between her legs, quickly dragging her panties off her. Normally he’d take his time, teasing her with his tongue against her center, whispering naughty words designed to make her blush; normally he’d take her higher and higher until neither of them could take it anymore. But she could tell by the fierce determination and distinct affection in his eyes that he didn’t want to wait.
Honestly, it made her heart hurt.
When she was entirely bare before him, he settled himself between her legs, the hot press of his thighs so delightful that her eyes rolled back into her head.
“I could get used to this,” she sighed, resting her hands delicately on his shoulders. It wasn’t the sort of thing she said during sex; usually at this point she’d just pull him into her. But she wanted to linger with him as long as she could. She was starting to realize that nothing he gave her would ever be enough. She was always, always going to want more from him, and that didn’t scare her so much anymore.
Damon seemed perfectly obliging, at least. His eyes were suddenly filled with the sort of desire Elena couldn’t help but associate with love: it was deep, and wide, and seemingly endless. He cupped her cheek, his touch easy, sure.
Real.
“Me neither,” he promised softly, leaning in and kissing her. “I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. This was uncharted territory. They generally stayed away from passionate declarations about their future, and she knew she should probably be worried that he was only saying this in the heat of the moment. But she couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his voice, and more than that, she didn’t want to. She was done being skeptical and guarded.
She was ready to trust him.
So she smiled. “That sounds perfect to me.”
He grinned, and then, in one surreal moment, he was inside her, filling her to the hilt, and she knew that this was how she wanted to spend the rest of her days: with him.
It was an overwhelming realization, but she locked eyes with him and let herself go. It was time to take a chance. It was time to be brave with him.
He moved with her, over and over again, and she loved him so much that it seemed inconceivable that only a week ago she’d been determined to push him away. He was with her, always with her, and she couldn’t let him go now if she tried.
He brought her closer and closer to the brink, holding her gaze. His eyes were watering, and she didn’t have to ask to know he was overcome with emotion. This was the side of him no one but her ever saw; this was the side of him that was so beautiful to her. At his core, Damon Salvatore just wanted to find love.
And she wanted to give it to him, so she let her own eyes fill with the tears that’d been begging to fall almost the whole night. They were happy tears, joyful even, and she didn’t feel vulnerable at all. She felt strong, propped up by the support of the man currently worshipping her body like she was some kind of goddess. She’d never known that giving herself to someone could make her feel so…whole.
It was the first time she’d ever completely let her guard down with Damon.
It was the first time she’d ever been completely happy.
Right before the current of pleasure spiraling within her overwhelmed her, though, Damon stopped his motions completely.
She raised an eyebrow in confusion, ready to plead with him to keep going. But he shook his head, pressing a gentle finger to her lips. She fell silent, watching as he nervously bit his lip and avoided her eyes. It wasn’t like him to be gripped by anxiety like this. At least, not unless -
She swallowed, hard. Suddenly it was so obvious what he was about to say, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it, wasn’t sure she could take the words, wasn’t sure she could return them, wasn’t sure she even -
“I love you,” he whispered.
The world went still. The air fell silent. And all that remained was him, and her, and the hope stretching ever wider between them.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to find some courage. This was it.
She opened her eyes, looked deep into this man who’d somehow given her everything.
“I love you.”
---
I really, really apologize for the absurd length of this. It’s the first thing I’ve written in a few weeks, and my fingers were itching to just go with it. Also, sorry I didn’t get this beta’ed - I’ve been crazy busy and barely finished this in time, although that’s not really an excuse…thanks to Sar for hosting such a fabulous mixer. And, most importantly, thank you to everyone who’s reached out to me since I decided to temporarily leave the TVD community. You guys are beyond fantastic, and I send you all my love. That being said, hope you enjoy :) Also, Colorblind by The Counting Crows is the absolute perfect song for the final scene of this.