Out of Reach
Title: Out of Reach
Author: coquilleon
Pairing: Elena/Damon
Rating: MA
Genre: Romance
Based on: TV series
Spoilers: Season 2
Disclaimers: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.
Summary: Elation soars through his body as he takes in the picture; long dark hair cascading down a slender back that smooths out into a sensuous curve of hips. And him, standing in front of her open to him.
He walks into his bedroom to see her sitting atop his dresser, flipping idly through one of the books that had been lying there.
She's dressed in plain dark jeans, a deep red shirt, and old converses. The ends of her long hair touch the pages of the book she holds in her hands, of which she's paused in her skimming but is now looking engrossed in whatever is written on the paper.
Damon wonders what it is that has her so interested. It's better than acknowledging the odd swoop he felt in his stomach when he'd seen her lounging here, in his space. Like she belongs here. It's better than giving much thought to the voice that echos, not so faintly, in his mind that she does belong here.
Instead he walks forward, fixes a wry smile on his handsome face, and asks in his own polite way, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Her head doesn't snap up from the book, startled at his sudden appearance, like he thought it would, but instead Elena keeps on reading for a moment, and when she does look up there is a smile in her eyes. "The Art of War, Damon? Really?"
He shrugs. "Well, we do have a sudden influx in werewolves in Mystic Falls if you hadn't noticed."
Elena rolls her eyes. "It's just the one. And Mason Lockwood doesn't want to hurt you."
"Maybe." He begins to unfasten one of the buttons of his sleeve. "But that was before I stabbed him in the chest with Jenna's sliver serving knife. Who knows what he wants to do to me now."
Elena's jaw drops. "You did what?"
"Knife. Chest," he makes a little jabbing motion. She still looks displeased, and he scoffs. "What? I told you I was going to get a little silver into him."
"Yeah, well, I didn't expect you to actually try and put silver into him."
"Well Elena," his voice is falsely stern, "that was a misstep on your part then, wasn't it."
"You're going to get yourself killed, Damon." This is the second time he's heard that, and for a wild moment, Damon thinks he's speaking to Katherine again. But he already knows he isn't. Now that she's back, Damon doesn't know how he could have mistaken her for Elena. Where Elena gives off so much warmth it envelopes him, Katherine is cold. Not physically, but in the way she carries herself.
Damon shakes himself mentally and he gives Elena one of his smirks, which she matches with a sarcastic smile. "But, you didn't answer my question; To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She shrugs, and surprises him when she sets the book aside, only to reach forward and take his arm. She begins to unfasten the rest of the cuff buttons, and it's done so casually Damon can feel his breath stutter. But he doesn't let on that her actions have shocked him, and instead he says in a low voice, testing, "Stefan isn't here, so if you came to play make-up-"
"I didn't, and I know he's not," she says somewhat loftily. The buttons are undone, but Damon doesn't want her to take her hands off of him, so he takes a hold of the bottom of his shirt and holds it out, eyebrow raised. Elena rolls her eyes, but takes the indication and starts unbuttoning from the bottom up, taking her time. "I came to see you" she continues to say.
"Which prompts my next question; why?"
Elena shrugs. "What, I can't come and visit my friend?"
"Ah, but we aren't friends, remember. You told me that yourself after you tricked me."
Elena just smiles up at him.
Something feels wrong here. Something that Damon can't put his finger on. He takes a half step back, but Elena keeps ahold of his shirt, and tugs him back gently, saying in a soft voice, "Maybe... maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I decided I still wanted you to be my friend."
"And you call me selfish." Damon allows himself to be pulled back, and although his eyes are narrowed, he places his hands on either side of Elena's hips, and stands between her legs.
Elena doesn't respond, but says instead, "You need to lay off Mason Lockwood; put aside the Sun Tzu and start keeping a journal."
Damon snorts, and even as he answers he inches his hands closer to her hips, the tips of his thumbs grazing the denim. "What, like you and Stefan? Rule number two in the land of Damon; never write down your innermost thoughts and leave them lying around. Besides," he shifts his shoulders a bit as Elena's knuckles graze across the skin of his stomach as she continues idly unbuttoning, "that's for you sensitive types."
Elena stops her hands, but keeps them on his shirt. She doesn't look indignant as he expected her to, but instead her eyes are soft. "You're sensitive, Damon."
"Yeah. Right." The way that she's looking at him makes him feel odd. That swooping in his stomach has become erratic butterflies, and his skin feels hot and tight, prickling.
She gives him a small smile. "You are. You were in love with a woman for over 145 years. That screams sensitivity." She doesn't say this unkindly. Actually, she says it in a way that makes Damon think she's in a mild form of awe. He wants to say something, anything to prove that he's not some simpering fool, but her eyes freeze him, like they always do. "You know I know you Damon. You don't need to pretend anymore."
He manages to take his eyes off of hers and he looks at himself in the mirror behind her. Elation soars through his body as he takes in the picture; long dark hair cascading down a slender back that smooths out into a sensuous curve of hips. And him, standing in front of her open to him. But the elation slips away as quickly as it came when he looks into his reflection's light eyes. There is hope there, a hope that he's seen too many times, a hope that he told himself to give up on already, because Elena was never going to be his. She'd made that much clear. And even though he'd planned to try and push his way in during this rough patch she and Stefan were going through right now, he never expected to succeed. And even if he did, Stefan would swoop in again eventually, and snatch Elena away.
He looks away from his own gaze, and instead looks at her shoulder. His eyes stray to her collarbone, and the need to run his lips over it, to graze his teeth against the smooth skin of her throat, is overwhelming.
"You want to know what your problem is?" Her voice startles him from his thoughts and his eyes dart back to hers. She speaks softly and Damon is mesmerized. "No one gives you a chance." She continues to unbutton his shirt. "You've never been anyone's favorite. Not anyone who mattered to you, anyway. It's always Stefan."
Damon wonders how Elena knows this, how she is saying this, saying the very thoughts he'd been simultaneously having and repressing for all this time. "Stefan is always everyone's favorite, even when he takes everything away from you." She finishes the last button, and her fingertips glide down his stomach, sending stronger shivers through his body.
His eyes drift shut, and he allows himself to get lost in her voice. "Stefan is handsome, and sweet, and nice." He hands rest on his belt. "But so are you. And nobody gives you a chance," she pulls him forward gently, and Damon feels like he has no control over his own movements. "No one gives you a chance to prove it. You play such a good bad guy because you're no one's favorite." The truth burns and makes his chest ache. But even so, he wants so badly to tell her that she's wrong. That he isn't some poor neglected vampire who's fallen victim to the world. That he's not some fucking sob story, and that he's evil because he wants to be, and that he enjoys it. But his mouth wont work.
"But I've been doing some thinking and I've changed my mind." Elena leans forward and skims her lips against his throat. His hands move to her hips fully and grips them automatically. Elena is speaking softly, and Damon is tempted to believe that this is just a dream. That he's fallen asleep on the couch, or his bed, and any minute now he'll wake up hard, and frustrated, and more than a little annoyed. "I pick you; I've decided that you're my favorite Damon." Her teeth take ahold of his earlobe and bites down gently.
He sucks in a breath and holds her tighter against him. Her legs wrap slowly around his waist and she sucks on his skin, before she moves her lips to graze along his jaw.
Damon's hands are trembling, but he can't find it in himself to hate himself for it. Elena is right, he doesn't need to hide his weaknesses from her, because even if he does she''ll know.
She kisses his chin and he opens his eyes when she places a soft hand to his cheek, cupping it slightly. "I'm sorry. For what I said that night. I was still angry, and hurt and..." She trails off and bites her bottom lip, distressed. Before he realizes he's doing it, his hand as lifted up to cradle her face too, and he slowly pulls the abused lip from between her teeth. She closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she looks straight into his. "I didn't mean it. You haven't lost me forever."
Damon's eyes are darting all over her face. He needs to know this isn't a trick, another ploy to get more information from him. He needs to know that this is for real. His eyes finally fix back on hers, and what he sees there answers his question; she's serious. She's really serious, and Damon doesn't know if this is all happening because of the argument with Stefan, but in all honesty he doesn't care.
He slips his hand to the back of her neck, and he pulls her, already so close, to him slowly. When her lips touch his something ignites inside of him.
He feels... he feels like he did that night with Katherine. But so much better because this is real. This is actually Elena he is tasting and touching. This is actually Elena who's warm body is pressed against his, and who's hands are running up and down the bare length of his back. This is Elena's mouth pliant under his, letting his tongue slip inside and draw her own out.
Elena Elena Elena Elena
Her name fills his head. Her scent is all around him; the smell of her skin under her light perfume, clean and wonderful. The smell of her hair is sweet and radiant, just like her. Elena radiates from the inside out, where Katherine only gave the impression of radiance.
His thumbs press into her flesh, and Elena's head falls back to expose her neck. He immediately moves his attentions down to the skin there. He's always wanted to do this. It would haunt his dreams, images of her throat exposed to him, her voice floating all around him, softly begging for him to sink his fangs in. Her smooth curtain of hair skims the side of his face, and he moves his hands up to her ribs. She's so slight. He could break her so easily. But he never would. He's threatened it before, but he could never follow through with it.
His mind flashes back to that night in the woods, where he'd held her to his chest, threatening Stefan; he would do it, he swears he will kill her if he doesn't hand over the Grimoire. That night, even being so close to Katherine and fighting to free her, he couldn't deny the way Elena felt against him. He'd had a mad urge to tell Stefan to keep the damn book, just let him keep Elena. When the exchange was finally made, he should have felt victorious, but instead, when he smoothed her hair down as he let her go he felt oddly empty. He felt as if that had been his time to choose, and he hadn't chosen wisely.
But now he has what he wanted. He has Elena and he is so happy he's still having a hard time processing everything.
He gives her throat one last kiss, and moves back up to her mouth. Her eyes open slowly. They are hooded and sparkling and lustful. He takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly, briefly. He takes her in again, her features so perfect that everything on the edges is blurry and unimportant. Her cheeks flush under his eyes this time, and Damon finds himself charmed.
He leans his forehead against hers, and she closes her eyes. Damon tilts her head up slightly and rests his lips lightly against hers. He needs to do this, he needs to say it. He needs to hear her say it.
"Elena, I love you." He says against her mouth, and hears the heaviness of his own voice, but it doesn't matter next to the sound of her hitched breath. He caresses her cheeks with his thumbs. "I love you."
Elena's breaths are slightly faster now, and she opens her eyes. She raises her hands to rest on the sides of his throat, and she smiles. She opens her mouth. "I-"
BANG!
Damon's eyes fly open and he sucks in a deep breath. He's confused for a moment as he takes in his surroundings. He's in the boarding house, but he's not in his bedroom, and it's not dusk. He's lying on the couch, with the sun streaming in through the windows.
He looks around and moves to sit up. There's a crick in his neck, but he knows it'll be fine in a second. His foot brushes against something, and he looks down to see the book he was reading before he fell asleep. The Art Of War.
He picks it up and throws it to the side of the couch.
It's the middle of the day, so he knows Stefan is off playing student, and the house is empty. This is the only reason he allows his face to show how miserable he really is. He plants his elbows on his knees and puts his face in his hands.
Stupid. So fucking stupid. He needs to stop doing this to himself. He needs to stop dreaming about Elena. He needs to stop hoping.
I've changed my mind... you're my favorite Damon... I've picked you. I've picked you.
He shakes his head, and scrubs at his face. He won't be able to get her out of his head for days now. She'll be there even more-so than before and that's saying something.
He stares into the unlit fireplace for a minute or two before rising swiftly to his feet.
He needs to get out of this house, he needs to hunt, to feed; the front door slams shut behind him.
The house is still for a few moments, and when she is sure he is gone, Katherine smirks to herself as she steps out of the shadows of an alcove. She walks over to the couch, and picks up the book. She marks his spot by folding down the page, and goes over to the wall to place it back on the shelf.
Once that is done she steps out into the sunlight, shakes back her hair, and smiles.
Too easy. But what could one expect; she hadn't been around to teach them properly, had she?
Author: coquilleon
Pairing: Elena/Damon
Rating: MA
Genre: Romance
Based on: TV series
Spoilers: Season 2
Disclaimers: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.
Summary: Elation soars through his body as he takes in the picture; long dark hair cascading down a slender back that smooths out into a sensuous curve of hips. And him, standing in front of her open to him.
He walks into his bedroom to see her sitting atop his dresser, flipping idly through one of the books that had been lying there.
She's dressed in plain dark jeans, a deep red shirt, and old converses. The ends of her long hair touch the pages of the book she holds in her hands, of which she's paused in her skimming but is now looking engrossed in whatever is written on the paper.
Damon wonders what it is that has her so interested. It's better than acknowledging the odd swoop he felt in his stomach when he'd seen her lounging here, in his space. Like she belongs here. It's better than giving much thought to the voice that echos, not so faintly, in his mind that she does belong here.
Instead he walks forward, fixes a wry smile on his handsome face, and asks in his own polite way, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Her head doesn't snap up from the book, startled at his sudden appearance, like he thought it would, but instead Elena keeps on reading for a moment, and when she does look up there is a smile in her eyes. "The Art of War, Damon? Really?"
He shrugs. "Well, we do have a sudden influx in werewolves in Mystic Falls if you hadn't noticed."
Elena rolls her eyes. "It's just the one. And Mason Lockwood doesn't want to hurt you."
"Maybe." He begins to unfasten one of the buttons of his sleeve. "But that was before I stabbed him in the chest with Jenna's sliver serving knife. Who knows what he wants to do to me now."
Elena's jaw drops. "You did what?"
"Knife. Chest," he makes a little jabbing motion. She still looks displeased, and he scoffs. "What? I told you I was going to get a little silver into him."
"Yeah, well, I didn't expect you to actually try and put silver into him."
"Well Elena," his voice is falsely stern, "that was a misstep on your part then, wasn't it."
"You're going to get yourself killed, Damon." This is the second time he's heard that, and for a wild moment, Damon thinks he's speaking to Katherine again. But he already knows he isn't. Now that she's back, Damon doesn't know how he could have mistaken her for Elena. Where Elena gives off so much warmth it envelopes him, Katherine is cold. Not physically, but in the way she carries herself.
Damon shakes himself mentally and he gives Elena one of his smirks, which she matches with a sarcastic smile. "But, you didn't answer my question; To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She shrugs, and surprises him when she sets the book aside, only to reach forward and take his arm. She begins to unfasten the rest of the cuff buttons, and it's done so casually Damon can feel his breath stutter. But he doesn't let on that her actions have shocked him, and instead he says in a low voice, testing, "Stefan isn't here, so if you came to play make-up-"
"I didn't, and I know he's not," she says somewhat loftily. The buttons are undone, but Damon doesn't want her to take her hands off of him, so he takes a hold of the bottom of his shirt and holds it out, eyebrow raised. Elena rolls her eyes, but takes the indication and starts unbuttoning from the bottom up, taking her time. "I came to see you" she continues to say.
"Which prompts my next question; why?"
Elena shrugs. "What, I can't come and visit my friend?"
"Ah, but we aren't friends, remember. You told me that yourself after you tricked me."
Elena just smiles up at him.
Something feels wrong here. Something that Damon can't put his finger on. He takes a half step back, but Elena keeps ahold of his shirt, and tugs him back gently, saying in a soft voice, "Maybe... maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I decided I still wanted you to be my friend."
"And you call me selfish." Damon allows himself to be pulled back, and although his eyes are narrowed, he places his hands on either side of Elena's hips, and stands between her legs.
Elena doesn't respond, but says instead, "You need to lay off Mason Lockwood; put aside the Sun Tzu and start keeping a journal."
Damon snorts, and even as he answers he inches his hands closer to her hips, the tips of his thumbs grazing the denim. "What, like you and Stefan? Rule number two in the land of Damon; never write down your innermost thoughts and leave them lying around. Besides," he shifts his shoulders a bit as Elena's knuckles graze across the skin of his stomach as she continues idly unbuttoning, "that's for you sensitive types."
Elena stops her hands, but keeps them on his shirt. She doesn't look indignant as he expected her to, but instead her eyes are soft. "You're sensitive, Damon."
"Yeah. Right." The way that she's looking at him makes him feel odd. That swooping in his stomach has become erratic butterflies, and his skin feels hot and tight, prickling.
She gives him a small smile. "You are. You were in love with a woman for over 145 years. That screams sensitivity." She doesn't say this unkindly. Actually, she says it in a way that makes Damon think she's in a mild form of awe. He wants to say something, anything to prove that he's not some simpering fool, but her eyes freeze him, like they always do. "You know I know you Damon. You don't need to pretend anymore."
He manages to take his eyes off of hers and he looks at himself in the mirror behind her. Elation soars through his body as he takes in the picture; long dark hair cascading down a slender back that smooths out into a sensuous curve of hips. And him, standing in front of her open to him. But the elation slips away as quickly as it came when he looks into his reflection's light eyes. There is hope there, a hope that he's seen too many times, a hope that he told himself to give up on already, because Elena was never going to be his. She'd made that much clear. And even though he'd planned to try and push his way in during this rough patch she and Stefan were going through right now, he never expected to succeed. And even if he did, Stefan would swoop in again eventually, and snatch Elena away.
He looks away from his own gaze, and instead looks at her shoulder. His eyes stray to her collarbone, and the need to run his lips over it, to graze his teeth against the smooth skin of her throat, is overwhelming.
"You want to know what your problem is?" Her voice startles him from his thoughts and his eyes dart back to hers. She speaks softly and Damon is mesmerized. "No one gives you a chance." She continues to unbutton his shirt. "You've never been anyone's favorite. Not anyone who mattered to you, anyway. It's always Stefan."
Damon wonders how Elena knows this, how she is saying this, saying the very thoughts he'd been simultaneously having and repressing for all this time. "Stefan is always everyone's favorite, even when he takes everything away from you." She finishes the last button, and her fingertips glide down his stomach, sending stronger shivers through his body.
His eyes drift shut, and he allows himself to get lost in her voice. "Stefan is handsome, and sweet, and nice." He hands rest on his belt. "But so are you. And nobody gives you a chance," she pulls him forward gently, and Damon feels like he has no control over his own movements. "No one gives you a chance to prove it. You play such a good bad guy because you're no one's favorite." The truth burns and makes his chest ache. But even so, he wants so badly to tell her that she's wrong. That he isn't some poor neglected vampire who's fallen victim to the world. That he's not some fucking sob story, and that he's evil because he wants to be, and that he enjoys it. But his mouth wont work.
"But I've been doing some thinking and I've changed my mind." Elena leans forward and skims her lips against his throat. His hands move to her hips fully and grips them automatically. Elena is speaking softly, and Damon is tempted to believe that this is just a dream. That he's fallen asleep on the couch, or his bed, and any minute now he'll wake up hard, and frustrated, and more than a little annoyed. "I pick you; I've decided that you're my favorite Damon." Her teeth take ahold of his earlobe and bites down gently.
He sucks in a breath and holds her tighter against him. Her legs wrap slowly around his waist and she sucks on his skin, before she moves her lips to graze along his jaw.
Damon's hands are trembling, but he can't find it in himself to hate himself for it. Elena is right, he doesn't need to hide his weaknesses from her, because even if he does she''ll know.
She kisses his chin and he opens his eyes when she places a soft hand to his cheek, cupping it slightly. "I'm sorry. For what I said that night. I was still angry, and hurt and..." She trails off and bites her bottom lip, distressed. Before he realizes he's doing it, his hand as lifted up to cradle her face too, and he slowly pulls the abused lip from between her teeth. She closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she looks straight into his. "I didn't mean it. You haven't lost me forever."
Damon's eyes are darting all over her face. He needs to know this isn't a trick, another ploy to get more information from him. He needs to know that this is for real. His eyes finally fix back on hers, and what he sees there answers his question; she's serious. She's really serious, and Damon doesn't know if this is all happening because of the argument with Stefan, but in all honesty he doesn't care.
He slips his hand to the back of her neck, and he pulls her, already so close, to him slowly. When her lips touch his something ignites inside of him.
He feels... he feels like he did that night with Katherine. But so much better because this is real. This is actually Elena he is tasting and touching. This is actually Elena who's warm body is pressed against his, and who's hands are running up and down the bare length of his back. This is Elena's mouth pliant under his, letting his tongue slip inside and draw her own out.
Elena Elena Elena Elena
Her name fills his head. Her scent is all around him; the smell of her skin under her light perfume, clean and wonderful. The smell of her hair is sweet and radiant, just like her. Elena radiates from the inside out, where Katherine only gave the impression of radiance.
His thumbs press into her flesh, and Elena's head falls back to expose her neck. He immediately moves his attentions down to the skin there. He's always wanted to do this. It would haunt his dreams, images of her throat exposed to him, her voice floating all around him, softly begging for him to sink his fangs in. Her smooth curtain of hair skims the side of his face, and he moves his hands up to her ribs. She's so slight. He could break her so easily. But he never would. He's threatened it before, but he could never follow through with it.
His mind flashes back to that night in the woods, where he'd held her to his chest, threatening Stefan; he would do it, he swears he will kill her if he doesn't hand over the Grimoire. That night, even being so close to Katherine and fighting to free her, he couldn't deny the way Elena felt against him. He'd had a mad urge to tell Stefan to keep the damn book, just let him keep Elena. When the exchange was finally made, he should have felt victorious, but instead, when he smoothed her hair down as he let her go he felt oddly empty. He felt as if that had been his time to choose, and he hadn't chosen wisely.
But now he has what he wanted. He has Elena and he is so happy he's still having a hard time processing everything.
He gives her throat one last kiss, and moves back up to her mouth. Her eyes open slowly. They are hooded and sparkling and lustful. He takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly, briefly. He takes her in again, her features so perfect that everything on the edges is blurry and unimportant. Her cheeks flush under his eyes this time, and Damon finds himself charmed.
He leans his forehead against hers, and she closes her eyes. Damon tilts her head up slightly and rests his lips lightly against hers. He needs to do this, he needs to say it. He needs to hear her say it.
"Elena, I love you." He says against her mouth, and hears the heaviness of his own voice, but it doesn't matter next to the sound of her hitched breath. He caresses her cheeks with his thumbs. "I love you."
Elena's breaths are slightly faster now, and she opens her eyes. She raises her hands to rest on the sides of his throat, and she smiles. She opens her mouth. "I-"
BANG!
Damon's eyes fly open and he sucks in a deep breath. He's confused for a moment as he takes in his surroundings. He's in the boarding house, but he's not in his bedroom, and it's not dusk. He's lying on the couch, with the sun streaming in through the windows.
He looks around and moves to sit up. There's a crick in his neck, but he knows it'll be fine in a second. His foot brushes against something, and he looks down to see the book he was reading before he fell asleep. The Art Of War.
He picks it up and throws it to the side of the couch.
It's the middle of the day, so he knows Stefan is off playing student, and the house is empty. This is the only reason he allows his face to show how miserable he really is. He plants his elbows on his knees and puts his face in his hands.
Stupid. So fucking stupid. He needs to stop doing this to himself. He needs to stop dreaming about Elena. He needs to stop hoping.
I've changed my mind... you're my favorite Damon... I've picked you. I've picked you.
He shakes his head, and scrubs at his face. He won't be able to get her out of his head for days now. She'll be there even more-so than before and that's saying something.
He stares into the unlit fireplace for a minute or two before rising swiftly to his feet.
He needs to get out of this house, he needs to hunt, to feed; the front door slams shut behind him.
The house is still for a few moments, and when she is sure he is gone, Katherine smirks to herself as she steps out of the shadows of an alcove. She walks over to the couch, and picks up the book. She marks his spot by folding down the page, and goes over to the wall to place it back on the shelf.
Once that is done she steps out into the sunlight, shakes back her hair, and smiles.
Too easy. But what could one expect; she hadn't been around to teach them properly, had she?