In The Eye of The Beholder (Damon/Elena)
Title: In The Eye of The Beholder
Rating: NC-17
For: badboy-fangirl; this is a rewriting of her story Size Matters (which everyone should read because flawlessness).
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Wordcount: 1100
Summary: Damon can feel Elena's eyes follow him around the room.
A/N: AU after 4x05.
In The Eye of The Beholder
Damon can feel Elena's eyes follow him around the room.
He's used to that, really, used to being watched and noticed. He's always been one of those people whose names everyone learns quickly, even when he was young, shy and boyish. He learned long ago that it had little to do with his looks, money or status. He's simply too restless to not attract attention.
Of course there are different kinds of attention, and there's only so long he can kid himself that the way Elena looks at him most of the time has much in common with how random council members look at him when he talks about security at the Grill.
Sometimes Damon thinks he only has himself to blame for Elena's complete and utter lack of boundaries. He started this, he reminds himself, started this when he hovered over her or flashed her, invaded her personal space just to make a point.
(He started this when she couldn't get her eyes off him in Denver, and he reveled in it.)
Well, joke's on him.
***
It's funny how his heart skips a beat every time Elena calls him or comes looking for him. It should be old news, really, they're friends and she needs him (she needs him for something, he has to remind himself before he loses his mind). Nothing to get excited about.
Apparently he never learns, because when he finds Elena in his room after he comes home to change his shirt ruined in an encounter with Connor's trap, for a second he's so happy he can't believe his own stupidity.
It turns out Elena wants the white oak stake. Of course she wants the white oak stake.
For some reason it's infuriating that even now she can stare at him shamelessly as if he belonged to her, so Damon unzips his pants out of pure spite and says something dumb about staying for the show. Impulse control, he doesn't have any.
Elena changed since she became a vampire, but it's still criminally easy for him to make her uncomfortable, and now, too, it works like a charm. She turns around, panicked, her eyes finally off his groin. He struts around the room a little bit just for good measure, but soon he can feel Elena's stare back on his ass when he's getting the stake from one of the top bookshelves. God, he hates being so aware of her.
After she leaves, he waits until he hears her start her engine, and then he jerks off sitting on the edge of the bed because he's too fucking hard to walk to the bathroom.
***
He should've known that any attempt to take his mind off Elena would never work.
He couldn't have known that this last attempt (Alaric's loft, reading maps, absolutely asexual) would end with her shoving her hand down his pants.
(Although he probably might've guessed. A girl can only stare for so long.)
He goes completely still under her touch, watches her watch him so intensely it almost hurts. Elena Gilbert has a way of looking at you that leaves nothing hidden, and Damon makes the last pathetic (and futile) attempt to close his eyes or at least focus on maps they've been working on mere seconds ago.
"Um, Elena?" he tries weakly.
"I thought so," she says with a calm smile, and Damon would probably admire the control she has over her own voice if he wasn't busy trying not to get rock hard immediately.
"You thought....w-what?" he manages when he remembers how to speak.
"No underwear."
The ridiculousness of Elena's statement somehow makes the whole situation real. Only now Damon realizes that this is actually happening, Elena Gilbert wants him enough to hold him firmly in her hand, and he doesn't even care why, except of course he does. He cares and it makes him furious, because she gives him a squeeze and he knows that he won't deny her, even if she decides to treat him as nothing more than a warm body for her to use.
"Have you gone around the bend again?" he asks, his eyes shut. Suddenly he can't handle the weight of her stare.
(He wouldn't be able to handle it if she stopped looking.)
“No,” states Elena matter-of-factly. "No, I'm perfectly sane at the moment."
"I really don't think so."
Elena takes a step forward, locking his cock between their bodies, and Damon's blood is pounding in his ears so loudly that he honestly doesn't hear what she says next.
She kisses him, and he knows he'll make her see him, really see him, even if it kills him.
***
He undresses under her gaze, button after button and mask after mask, determined to be as raw and honest as he can. He ends up being more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be, bare in more than one way, and he dives into it head first, reverently kisses Elena's stomach and whimpers when she reaches to touch his cock again.
Damon always fantasized about sweeping Elena off her feet, but now that he actually has her beneath him, his knees buckle under the weight of her stare.
He enters her slowly, inch by inch. She hasn't had sex for a while (he really doesn't want to know for how long), and she needs a minute to accommodate him, so he gives her all the attention he can, strokes her legs and whispers something silly in a voice he hopes sounds soothing. He wants to tell her he loves her just to hear her gasp, to feel her eyes burn holes in his face, but Elena looks up and Damon's voice catches in his throat.
She pushes her hips up and drives him all the way in. Damon's world shifts when she flips them over in a blink, straightens her back as she towers over him.
"I want to feel you, like this," she tells him as her fingers ghost over his cheek.
At this point Damon doesn't remember what exactly he meant to make her see. He doesn't even care that he'll probably go off like a schoolboy after no more than a few thrusts, because Elena smiles at him the way she always does when her eyes follow him around a crowded room. Damon feels like he just understood something about her, something profound and important he doesn't have words for, so he rests his hands on her hips and drowns in the rhythm she's set.
Her eyes are fixed on him when he comes.
Rating: NC-17
For: badboy-fangirl; this is a rewriting of her story Size Matters (which everyone should read because flawlessness).
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Elena
Wordcount: 1100
Summary: Damon can feel Elena's eyes follow him around the room.
A/N: AU after 4x05.
In The Eye of The Beholder
Damon can feel Elena's eyes follow him around the room.
He's used to that, really, used to being watched and noticed. He's always been one of those people whose names everyone learns quickly, even when he was young, shy and boyish. He learned long ago that it had little to do with his looks, money or status. He's simply too restless to not attract attention.
Of course there are different kinds of attention, and there's only so long he can kid himself that the way Elena looks at him most of the time has much in common with how random council members look at him when he talks about security at the Grill.
Sometimes Damon thinks he only has himself to blame for Elena's complete and utter lack of boundaries. He started this, he reminds himself, started this when he hovered over her or flashed her, invaded her personal space just to make a point.
(He started this when she couldn't get her eyes off him in Denver, and he reveled in it.)
Well, joke's on him.
***
It's funny how his heart skips a beat every time Elena calls him or comes looking for him. It should be old news, really, they're friends and she needs him (she needs him for something, he has to remind himself before he loses his mind). Nothing to get excited about.
Apparently he never learns, because when he finds Elena in his room after he comes home to change his shirt ruined in an encounter with Connor's trap, for a second he's so happy he can't believe his own stupidity.
It turns out Elena wants the white oak stake. Of course she wants the white oak stake.
For some reason it's infuriating that even now she can stare at him shamelessly as if he belonged to her, so Damon unzips his pants out of pure spite and says something dumb about staying for the show. Impulse control, he doesn't have any.
Elena changed since she became a vampire, but it's still criminally easy for him to make her uncomfortable, and now, too, it works like a charm. She turns around, panicked, her eyes finally off his groin. He struts around the room a little bit just for good measure, but soon he can feel Elena's stare back on his ass when he's getting the stake from one of the top bookshelves. God, he hates being so aware of her.
After she leaves, he waits until he hears her start her engine, and then he jerks off sitting on the edge of the bed because he's too fucking hard to walk to the bathroom.
***
He should've known that any attempt to take his mind off Elena would never work.
He couldn't have known that this last attempt (Alaric's loft, reading maps, absolutely asexual) would end with her shoving her hand down his pants.
(Although he probably might've guessed. A girl can only stare for so long.)
He goes completely still under her touch, watches her watch him so intensely it almost hurts. Elena Gilbert has a way of looking at you that leaves nothing hidden, and Damon makes the last pathetic (and futile) attempt to close his eyes or at least focus on maps they've been working on mere seconds ago.
"Um, Elena?" he tries weakly.
"I thought so," she says with a calm smile, and Damon would probably admire the control she has over her own voice if he wasn't busy trying not to get rock hard immediately.
"You thought....w-what?" he manages when he remembers how to speak.
"No underwear."
The ridiculousness of Elena's statement somehow makes the whole situation real. Only now Damon realizes that this is actually happening, Elena Gilbert wants him enough to hold him firmly in her hand, and he doesn't even care why, except of course he does. He cares and it makes him furious, because she gives him a squeeze and he knows that he won't deny her, even if she decides to treat him as nothing more than a warm body for her to use.
"Have you gone around the bend again?" he asks, his eyes shut. Suddenly he can't handle the weight of her stare.
(He wouldn't be able to handle it if she stopped looking.)
“No,” states Elena matter-of-factly. "No, I'm perfectly sane at the moment."
"I really don't think so."
Elena takes a step forward, locking his cock between their bodies, and Damon's blood is pounding in his ears so loudly that he honestly doesn't hear what she says next.
She kisses him, and he knows he'll make her see him, really see him, even if it kills him.
***
He undresses under her gaze, button after button and mask after mask, determined to be as raw and honest as he can. He ends up being more vulnerable than he ever wanted to be, bare in more than one way, and he dives into it head first, reverently kisses Elena's stomach and whimpers when she reaches to touch his cock again.
Damon always fantasized about sweeping Elena off her feet, but now that he actually has her beneath him, his knees buckle under the weight of her stare.
He enters her slowly, inch by inch. She hasn't had sex for a while (he really doesn't want to know for how long), and she needs a minute to accommodate him, so he gives her all the attention he can, strokes her legs and whispers something silly in a voice he hopes sounds soothing. He wants to tell her he loves her just to hear her gasp, to feel her eyes burn holes in his face, but Elena looks up and Damon's voice catches in his throat.
She pushes her hips up and drives him all the way in. Damon's world shifts when she flips them over in a blink, straightens her back as she towers over him.
"I want to feel you, like this," she tells him as her fingers ghost over his cheek.
At this point Damon doesn't remember what exactly he meant to make her see. He doesn't even care that he'll probably go off like a schoolboy after no more than a few thrusts, because Elena smiles at him the way she always does when her eyes follow him around a crowded room. Damon feels like he just understood something about her, something profound and important he doesn't have words for, so he rests his hands on her hips and drowns in the rhythm she's set.
Her eyes are fixed on him when he comes.