So The Fast Dance Won't Last But Never Means Forever (Damon/Elena Fanfic) 1/1
Title: So The Fast Dance Won't Last But Never Means Forever
Author: laniaaa
Rating: MA+
Category: Drama/Romance/Mild Humor
Summary: "Elena," he murmurs, and his voice is husky, "if I'm going to fuck you against your dresser, I think you might want to take your pretty little pastel panties off."
Spoilers: Set straight after "Miss Mystic Falls."
Warnings: Explicit language/Sexual content
Show/Bookverse: Show
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.
++
Damon is somewhere between his third and fifth glass of scotch when he feels the soft humm of vibration in his pocket. It's late, who would be calling him? Elena went home an hour ago after her aunt called, worried. She hadn't said much to him before she left, hardly smiled. Ungrateful little... He contemplates ignoring the call, but then he finds the buzz more annoying than anything, so digs the phone out of his jeans and glares at it. He flips it around and sees the caller ID.
Elena.
He answers it immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, actually. Why?" She sounds only slightly amused. Damon is not.
"Well," he drawls, "you never call my mobile, for starters, unless there's something disasterously wrong." There's a pause on her end and Damon smiles meanly to himself. "Excuse me for thinking Stefan may have ripped out your jugular."
"If you're in one of your moods then fine. I won't bother you."
"Oh," Damon rolls his eyes, "I'm not in a mood. What do you want?"
"Of course you're not. I-- This may sound a little strange..."
"Elena," he says tiredly, "spit it out. I'm drinking myself into oblivion here, and if what you're on about isn't important, than please let me go back to it."
There's a silence on the other end and Damon knows he's pissed her off. "Fine. Whatever Damon." Then there's the beep of a disconnected line and Damon is listening to a dial tone. He drops his phone into his lap and leans his head back, taking comfort in staring at the ceiling. Okay, so that was uncalled for. Still, he wasn't in the mood. He tips the glass up to his lips and swallows the dregs in his glass. All he can think about is her. How pathetic is that? One dance, and he's sold. Fine. That's a lie. He was sold before that dance. Elena has him, all strings attached, for whatever way you want to look at it. He's mildly disgusted in himself, for actually caring, but that is fleeting. It's replaced by the pull on his undead heart-strings when she's in danger, when she's sad, when she's hurt. Just. All the fucking time.
Her face, today, when she had come down those stairs and couldn't see Stefan; that face had made Damon want to rip his brother's head off. She had panicked, he'd seen it, the way her eyes had widened and her grip on the railing had tightened until her knuckles had gone white. He would never have been able to stand there and watch her descend alone. No matter how much he might have wanted to. And, dare he say it, there had been relief he'd seen in her eyes when he'd slipped into the place his stupid, blood-crazed brother should have been standing. The way she felt on his arm, her body pressed to his more than it should have been, because she was nervous and scared; it was beautiful. She, was beautiful.
Damon stands up, sighing, and shrugs on his jacket.
Fuck it all, he can't just leave her angry after all that. He trots down to where Stefan's locked up, offers a jibe or two, but his brother is far too emmersed in his own little pity party there's no fun in it at all. The last, honest glance of concern Damon gives after his brother however, makes him frown.
++
There are lights on in the in the house, which means someone is up, but Damon isn't too sure whether Elena is up. He could go in through her window, that's open... He squints. There are no lights on in her room. He sucks his cheeks in and then in a few swift moves, he's shifting the curtains aside in her window and slipping through. She's not there. He huffs, because now he'll have to wait, damnit. He looks around, considers sitting patiently, and then decides to sift through her drawers some more.
He opens the one where her bras are kept, because well. A thorough investigation through a girl's panties is a long process, you know? Pastel... pastel... more pastel. Damon frowns. That's not fun. Then a snatch of color, darker, catches his eye. He moves away all (the fucking) pastel, and then almost groans in delight. Oh yes, he could see her this... He fingers the jade colored lace, and delicate boning on the side of the bra, before shivering with absolute pleasure. He shifts through, finds a rich shade of blue, and then, oh... Oh come to Daddy.
"Damon. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The light clicks on. Damon turns to face Elena's horrified expression and holds up the rich, blood red bra and panty set trimmed with black lace he's just come across. "Elena, why the hell haven't you worn these before?"
Her jaw drops. Her eyes widen. Nothing comes out of her mouth. Damon gives the underwear a shake. She snaps out of it. "Give me those." She storms over and snatches the handful of material from him, stuffing it back in the drawer and slamming it shut. "Get out." She turns to face him, furious, "get out. Now." When he doesn't move, she lowers her head and looks at him through meanly narrowed eyes. "Get the fuck out, Damon."
Damon is a little taken aback. Elena just swore. "My, what a big word." He raises a brow, "naughty girl."
Elena's expression tells Damon she isn't exactly in the joking mood. "Get. Out."
Damon turns around and, with a shit eating grin, jumps onto her bed and makes himself comfortable. "I like this bed." He tells her matter-of-factly.
She looks like she wants to hit him as hard as she can, but they both know where that will get them. No where. Still, she could only try. She doesn't though. "Is there anyway to uninvite you or something?" She asks instead, and Damon listens with a smile. "So that you can't come into my house but I don't have to kill you?" She raises her brows, "well?"
"Nope," he smiles brightly, "but I'm glad to hear you don't want to kill me."
"Don't be so sure," she mutters, but then deflates and crosses her arms over her chest in her I-mean-business stance. Damon knows it well. "Come on then, say what you came to say."
He frowns. "Me? You're the one who called me, Elena. Why don't you say what you wanted to say?"
Elena lifts her chin petulantly. "No. You don't deserve to hear what I was going to say." She doesn't give him time to reply before she starts. "You don't deserve to hear what I was going to say, because you're a jerk, Damon. You talk to me like I'm nothing to you, when we both know that isn't right." Damon's eyes widen just a little bit. Elena ignores it. "You were amazing, today, and I was trying to thank you and tell you that I appreciated what you did, but all you could do was treat me like a child, Damon. And I'm not." She meets his gaze defiantly. "I'm seventeen, but I'm not a baby. I've had to grow up pretty fast recently, and deal with some pretty big things. The least you could do is treat me with a little more respect. I think I deserve that, don't you?"
Damon doesn't say anything for fear she hasn't finished. Butting in on a woman's rant is never a smart move. He waits six seconds and then opens his mouth warily. "Is that it?"
"You're insufferable!" She shakes her head, "Damon, I know you're listening to what I'm saying. Don't sit there with that smile and pretend you're not. I don't care if that's what Stefan believes, that you don't listen to anything he says. I know you listen, to me at least. You've proven that before."
"I always listen." He says after a moment. He stands up, and moves around so he's facing her, "right now," he bends closer, "I can hear..." he grins, "your neighbours having hot, dirty sex."
Elena shoves him away, "this is what I mean." She gives him another shove, "you shrug my words off like they mean nothing, when you know they mean something. What you say means something to me Damon." She looks at him a little sadly, "even if you think it doesn't."
Damon watches the emotions flit across her face. He knows he'll regret this later. "I'm sorry, Elena." The words are heavy on his tongue.
"Are you, Damon?" She asks, and she looks at him so intensely Damon has to harden his eyes because it feels like she can see through him.
"Yes." He tilts his head down to look at her, sincerely.
"Why did you take Stefan's place today?" And before he can reply she cuts in, "and don't say it was to, 'protect your identity' or something, because we both know that was only half of it."
Damon eyes her for a moment. "You're a dangerous little minx, aren't you?" He taps her nose, "everyone thinks you should be treated like china, like you're about to break at the slightest touch. You won't. You're made of tougher things than that." He sighs, "of course I stepped in to take my idiotic brother's place, to save my own skin." He pauses, "and I also did it for you." He gives her a sharp look when she goes to butt in. "Hush, I'm talking now." She makes a face. He smiles. "Good girl. You looked... so, so lost coming down that stairwell, searching for him. You looked lost and embarassed and frightened and beautiful and I couldn't let you make it to the bottom and stand alone." He draws in a jagged breath, because he never meant to go that far. He was supposed to stop sentences ago. "It would have hurt me, more than I care to admit to have seen you descend and to see you standing there alone. I couldn't have that." Why the fuck is he still going?! "I care about you, Elena. That's why." Stop. Talking. Now. He makes a mental note to practice holding his tongue later.
He's a little too caught up with the mental image of himself trying to hold his own tongue, that he's mildly suprised when Elena steps towards him, enveloping him warmly. He stands still, unsure of whether he's supposed to reciprocate.
"This is the part," she mumbles, "where you hug me back."
He does so carefully. Then with more intent. He allows himself to bury his nose in her hair, breathe in deeply, have his hands on her body for that fleeting moment. Then she pulls back and it's gone. He composes his face quickly.
Elena tucks a stray hair behind her ear. Damon watches her carefully, and then, very, very slowly, leans down, to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. He pulls back, searching her face carefully, but she looks just as torn as he feels. She reaches up and rests a hand on his arm. She squeezes. "Damon-- I." She takes a shuddering breath, "I care about you, too, Damon."
Oh wow, he thinks, there's the reject line.
"A lot more, than I think you believe."
He snaps back to look at her. Her eyes are wide, nervous, but set. "I couldn't see Stefan, from the top of the stairs. I knew-- I knew he wasn't there, and I still went down those stairs." She looks like she's about to hyperventilate. "I went down those stairs, and, believe me-- believe me, I was having a heart attack. I knew I was doing something so stupid. But then you appeared." She looks up at him, eyes openly raw, "and I felt my whole-- being settle into place. I was worried that Stefan was there, but. Seeing you, waiting for me at the bottom of those stairs. I could've kissed you."
They both stop. He knows the expression has just slipped out, but there's a weight behind her words that hang in the air between them. He contemplates a witty remark to break the silence, but then Elena is kissing him and holy fuck this is not part of the plan. (Okay, so he had no plan, but, still!) He doesn't kiss her back, just in case this is a trick, because goddamnit, he wouldn't be surprised. But there's an urgency, an intensity behind her kiss that makes him realise this isn't just a thank you, or a trick. This. This is real.
Her hands clench at his arms, and she raises up on her toes to get better leverage. Damon groans against her lips. He circles his arms around her and kisses her back fervently. She hums, and presses up against him. That's all it takes. Her breasts pushed up against his chest and her hip nudging his, and he moves his hands to grip her bottom, lifting her up and walking her backwards so that she's propped up on her dresser. Little things clatter to the floor, but they're nothing in this moment. Damon feels fire run through him. He stands between her legs, and she wraps her own around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Damon-" She breathes against his lips, "Damon." He wonders if she wants him to stop, but then he realises her hands have left him and she's pulling off her shirt. He shucks his jacket, dropping it to the ground carelessly and nipping at her lower lip. He lets her take his shirt off, allows her time to run her hands across his chest, kiss the skin there with her warm, moist lips. Then he presses back in, running his hand up her stomach to cup her breast beneath the bra.
He glances down, "pastel, Elena?" His smile is soft, though, and she scoffs and flicks her fingers against his jeans.
"What am I going to find, tidy whities?" She raises a brow, and he licks his lips, smiling dangerously.
"Elena," he leans in to kiss her neck, moves up and licks the shell of her ear, "I'm more of a..." he nips, "free kind of man."
She groans and then he feels her fingers working at his zipper hurriedly. He pulls back before he can get all the way, and she pouts. Deftly, he undoes the button on her jeans, and then the zip. She shimmies, and together they divest her of her jeans. He takes his time to look at her, and she shifts under his gaze, but he's too busy taking in all the smooth skin on display.
"Damon." She says, a little indignantly, to remind him that she's still there. He wraps his arms around her, and swiftly removes her bra. She makes a small sound, but doesn't do anything too prudish that involves covering her chest, and Damon smiles a little proudly. He moves back between her legs, and while he rolls one nipple under his thumb, he allows her to undo his jeans and push them down his hips. Her delighted hum of approval makes him cocky and proud and he feels her hand wrap around his cock. Oh yeah. He groans, shifting her so that she can wrap her legs around him again. She lets him go and he starts grinding himself between her legs.
"Elena," he murmurs, and his voice is husky, "if I'm going to fuck you against your dresser, I think you might want to take your pretty little pastel panties off."
"Your use of alliteration doesn't fail to hide your crude use of the word fuck." She tells him and she goes for arrogant, but fails, because he grinds into her and she ends in a mewl. He shifts, bending, to slip his fingers beneath the lines of her panties and draw them down her legs. He contemplates going slowly, but no thanks he wants this now.
They're both naked, and Damon almost finds himself contemplating this, but then Elena hooks a leg over his hip and draws him in, and oh fuck, she's wet. "Damon," she says, and it's a little too sweet for his liking. He looks down at her as she rolls her hips up, sliding against him, "are you going to fuck me up against my dresser?"
He slips a finger inside her in response, and grins at her with a raised brow. He adds another, and imitates the rhythm of sex, feeling her writhe and gyrate against his hand desperately. Pleasure runs through him when she grips his cock and runs her hand up and down the length, teasingly.
"Now, Damon," she murmurs, and pulls his head down with her free hand to kiss him, "I want you, now." He groans and removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. His sharp, bright eyed grin makes her roll her eyes, but she smiles. "Tell me you want me," she demands, and Damon's a little taken back (sometimes she's more like Katherine than anyone gives her credit for), but then he grins.
"Tell me you want me." He counteracts, and grinds himself between her legs once more.
She breaks far easier than he thought, "I want you, Damon." She throws her head back when he presses his cock up against her, not going in, sliding over. "I've wanted you since I saw you standing at the bottom of the stairs, I've wanted you since you took my arm and led me out. I've wanted you all afternoon, all night." She comes back to meet his eyes, and Damon feels hismelf drowning, "I've wanted you before today, Damon. I've wanted you for a long time."
He cups her face between his hands, "I lo-- I want you, Elena. You know I do, you know I have."
She nods, "I know." She tilts her head and kisses his palm. "Now, Damon. I want you now," she repeats, and that's all it takes. He slides into her in one slick thrust, and Elena bites her tongue to stifle her groan.
"Fuck, Elena--"
"Damon," she groans, and pulls him down so she can breathe into his ear, "don't stop."
++
The next afternoon, Damon is wandering absently around the house when someone knocks on the door. He thinks about ignoring it, but then realises who it is and tries not to quicken his step. He pulls open the door to see Elena standing there, hair falling around her shoulders and a small smile on her face.
"Hey," she says, and Damon wonders if she knows that her voice sounds more like a purr.
"Hey yourself," he grins, tilts his head, "what do I owe this pleasure. Came to see how the boyfie was doing?"
She raises a brow, "did you just say boyfie?"
He smiles, "don't be a hater."
She drops the brow and licks her lips. "Actually, I had something important to discuss with you."
Damon makes a face, "business, right. Got it." He moves aside so she can come in, and shuts the door behind her.
She turns around, and as she does, she sweeps all her hair off of one shoulder, and in doing so, the thick strap of her top falls down. She doesn't make a move to righten it. "That important thing I had to discuss with you?" She raises a brow and smiles, a little too sweetly, and Damon knows that look, "maybe we could discuss it somewhere... private?"
Damon's eyes, and attention, however, are on the rich, blood red bra strap showing on her skin. He knows that bra strap. "Private?" He glances up at her face.
"Private," she repeats, "like maybe," she motions with her head, "your room?"
Damon's grin is ridiculously wide, and only a little dangerous. "Of course," he says smoothly, "please, let me show you the way." He goes to brush past her, shoulder shifting over her chest and making her inhale sharply. As he's passing, he leans in close and whispers, "what, no pastels?"
Her smile has him wanting to ravish her. "Not today Mr. Salvatore," she runs her fingers across the front of his pants, "not today..."
~Fin.
Author: laniaaa
Rating: MA+
Category: Drama/Romance/Mild Humor
Summary: "Elena," he murmurs, and his voice is husky, "if I'm going to fuck you against your dresser, I think you might want to take your pretty little pastel panties off."
Spoilers: Set straight after "Miss Mystic Falls."
Warnings: Explicit language/Sexual content
Show/Bookverse: Show
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.
++
Damon is somewhere between his third and fifth glass of scotch when he feels the soft humm of vibration in his pocket. It's late, who would be calling him? Elena went home an hour ago after her aunt called, worried. She hadn't said much to him before she left, hardly smiled. Ungrateful little... He contemplates ignoring the call, but then he finds the buzz more annoying than anything, so digs the phone out of his jeans and glares at it. He flips it around and sees the caller ID.
Elena.
He answers it immediately. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, actually. Why?" She sounds only slightly amused. Damon is not.
"Well," he drawls, "you never call my mobile, for starters, unless there's something disasterously wrong." There's a pause on her end and Damon smiles meanly to himself. "Excuse me for thinking Stefan may have ripped out your jugular."
"If you're in one of your moods then fine. I won't bother you."
"Oh," Damon rolls his eyes, "I'm not in a mood. What do you want?"
"Of course you're not. I-- This may sound a little strange..."
"Elena," he says tiredly, "spit it out. I'm drinking myself into oblivion here, and if what you're on about isn't important, than please let me go back to it."
There's a silence on the other end and Damon knows he's pissed her off. "Fine. Whatever Damon." Then there's the beep of a disconnected line and Damon is listening to a dial tone. He drops his phone into his lap and leans his head back, taking comfort in staring at the ceiling. Okay, so that was uncalled for. Still, he wasn't in the mood. He tips the glass up to his lips and swallows the dregs in his glass. All he can think about is her. How pathetic is that? One dance, and he's sold. Fine. That's a lie. He was sold before that dance. Elena has him, all strings attached, for whatever way you want to look at it. He's mildly disgusted in himself, for actually caring, but that is fleeting. It's replaced by the pull on his undead heart-strings when she's in danger, when she's sad, when she's hurt. Just. All the fucking time.
Her face, today, when she had come down those stairs and couldn't see Stefan; that face had made Damon want to rip his brother's head off. She had panicked, he'd seen it, the way her eyes had widened and her grip on the railing had tightened until her knuckles had gone white. He would never have been able to stand there and watch her descend alone. No matter how much he might have wanted to. And, dare he say it, there had been relief he'd seen in her eyes when he'd slipped into the place his stupid, blood-crazed brother should have been standing. The way she felt on his arm, her body pressed to his more than it should have been, because she was nervous and scared; it was beautiful. She, was beautiful.
Damon stands up, sighing, and shrugs on his jacket.
Fuck it all, he can't just leave her angry after all that. He trots down to where Stefan's locked up, offers a jibe or two, but his brother is far too emmersed in his own little pity party there's no fun in it at all. The last, honest glance of concern Damon gives after his brother however, makes him frown.
++
There are lights on in the in the house, which means someone is up, but Damon isn't too sure whether Elena is up. He could go in through her window, that's open... He squints. There are no lights on in her room. He sucks his cheeks in and then in a few swift moves, he's shifting the curtains aside in her window and slipping through. She's not there. He huffs, because now he'll have to wait, damnit. He looks around, considers sitting patiently, and then decides to sift through her drawers some more.
He opens the one where her bras are kept, because well. A thorough investigation through a girl's panties is a long process, you know? Pastel... pastel... more pastel. Damon frowns. That's not fun. Then a snatch of color, darker, catches his eye. He moves away all (the fucking) pastel, and then almost groans in delight. Oh yes, he could see her this... He fingers the jade colored lace, and delicate boning on the side of the bra, before shivering with absolute pleasure. He shifts through, finds a rich shade of blue, and then, oh... Oh come to Daddy.
"Damon. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The light clicks on. Damon turns to face Elena's horrified expression and holds up the rich, blood red bra and panty set trimmed with black lace he's just come across. "Elena, why the hell haven't you worn these before?"
Her jaw drops. Her eyes widen. Nothing comes out of her mouth. Damon gives the underwear a shake. She snaps out of it. "Give me those." She storms over and snatches the handful of material from him, stuffing it back in the drawer and slamming it shut. "Get out." She turns to face him, furious, "get out. Now." When he doesn't move, she lowers her head and looks at him through meanly narrowed eyes. "Get the fuck out, Damon."
Damon is a little taken aback. Elena just swore. "My, what a big word." He raises a brow, "naughty girl."
Elena's expression tells Damon she isn't exactly in the joking mood. "Get. Out."
Damon turns around and, with a shit eating grin, jumps onto her bed and makes himself comfortable. "I like this bed." He tells her matter-of-factly.
She looks like she wants to hit him as hard as she can, but they both know where that will get them. No where. Still, she could only try. She doesn't though. "Is there anyway to uninvite you or something?" She asks instead, and Damon listens with a smile. "So that you can't come into my house but I don't have to kill you?" She raises her brows, "well?"
"Nope," he smiles brightly, "but I'm glad to hear you don't want to kill me."
"Don't be so sure," she mutters, but then deflates and crosses her arms over her chest in her I-mean-business stance. Damon knows it well. "Come on then, say what you came to say."
He frowns. "Me? You're the one who called me, Elena. Why don't you say what you wanted to say?"
Elena lifts her chin petulantly. "No. You don't deserve to hear what I was going to say." She doesn't give him time to reply before she starts. "You don't deserve to hear what I was going to say, because you're a jerk, Damon. You talk to me like I'm nothing to you, when we both know that isn't right." Damon's eyes widen just a little bit. Elena ignores it. "You were amazing, today, and I was trying to thank you and tell you that I appreciated what you did, but all you could do was treat me like a child, Damon. And I'm not." She meets his gaze defiantly. "I'm seventeen, but I'm not a baby. I've had to grow up pretty fast recently, and deal with some pretty big things. The least you could do is treat me with a little more respect. I think I deserve that, don't you?"
Damon doesn't say anything for fear she hasn't finished. Butting in on a woman's rant is never a smart move. He waits six seconds and then opens his mouth warily. "Is that it?"
"You're insufferable!" She shakes her head, "Damon, I know you're listening to what I'm saying. Don't sit there with that smile and pretend you're not. I don't care if that's what Stefan believes, that you don't listen to anything he says. I know you listen, to me at least. You've proven that before."
"I always listen." He says after a moment. He stands up, and moves around so he's facing her, "right now," he bends closer, "I can hear..." he grins, "your neighbours having hot, dirty sex."
Elena shoves him away, "this is what I mean." She gives him another shove, "you shrug my words off like they mean nothing, when you know they mean something. What you say means something to me Damon." She looks at him a little sadly, "even if you think it doesn't."
Damon watches the emotions flit across her face. He knows he'll regret this later. "I'm sorry, Elena." The words are heavy on his tongue.
"Are you, Damon?" She asks, and she looks at him so intensely Damon has to harden his eyes because it feels like she can see through him.
"Yes." He tilts his head down to look at her, sincerely.
"Why did you take Stefan's place today?" And before he can reply she cuts in, "and don't say it was to, 'protect your identity' or something, because we both know that was only half of it."
Damon eyes her for a moment. "You're a dangerous little minx, aren't you?" He taps her nose, "everyone thinks you should be treated like china, like you're about to break at the slightest touch. You won't. You're made of tougher things than that." He sighs, "of course I stepped in to take my idiotic brother's place, to save my own skin." He pauses, "and I also did it for you." He gives her a sharp look when she goes to butt in. "Hush, I'm talking now." She makes a face. He smiles. "Good girl. You looked... so, so lost coming down that stairwell, searching for him. You looked lost and embarassed and frightened and beautiful and I couldn't let you make it to the bottom and stand alone." He draws in a jagged breath, because he never meant to go that far. He was supposed to stop sentences ago. "It would have hurt me, more than I care to admit to have seen you descend and to see you standing there alone. I couldn't have that." Why the fuck is he still going?! "I care about you, Elena. That's why." Stop. Talking. Now. He makes a mental note to practice holding his tongue later.
He's a little too caught up with the mental image of himself trying to hold his own tongue, that he's mildly suprised when Elena steps towards him, enveloping him warmly. He stands still, unsure of whether he's supposed to reciprocate.
"This is the part," she mumbles, "where you hug me back."
He does so carefully. Then with more intent. He allows himself to bury his nose in her hair, breathe in deeply, have his hands on her body for that fleeting moment. Then she pulls back and it's gone. He composes his face quickly.
Elena tucks a stray hair behind her ear. Damon watches her carefully, and then, very, very slowly, leans down, to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. He pulls back, searching her face carefully, but she looks just as torn as he feels. She reaches up and rests a hand on his arm. She squeezes. "Damon-- I." She takes a shuddering breath, "I care about you, too, Damon."
Oh wow, he thinks, there's the reject line.
"A lot more, than I think you believe."
He snaps back to look at her. Her eyes are wide, nervous, but set. "I couldn't see Stefan, from the top of the stairs. I knew-- I knew he wasn't there, and I still went down those stairs." She looks like she's about to hyperventilate. "I went down those stairs, and, believe me-- believe me, I was having a heart attack. I knew I was doing something so stupid. But then you appeared." She looks up at him, eyes openly raw, "and I felt my whole-- being settle into place. I was worried that Stefan was there, but. Seeing you, waiting for me at the bottom of those stairs. I could've kissed you."
They both stop. He knows the expression has just slipped out, but there's a weight behind her words that hang in the air between them. He contemplates a witty remark to break the silence, but then Elena is kissing him and holy fuck this is not part of the plan. (Okay, so he had no plan, but, still!) He doesn't kiss her back, just in case this is a trick, because goddamnit, he wouldn't be surprised. But there's an urgency, an intensity behind her kiss that makes him realise this isn't just a thank you, or a trick. This. This is real.
Her hands clench at his arms, and she raises up on her toes to get better leverage. Damon groans against her lips. He circles his arms around her and kisses her back fervently. She hums, and presses up against him. That's all it takes. Her breasts pushed up against his chest and her hip nudging his, and he moves his hands to grip her bottom, lifting her up and walking her backwards so that she's propped up on her dresser. Little things clatter to the floor, but they're nothing in this moment. Damon feels fire run through him. He stands between her legs, and she wraps her own around his waist, pulling him closer.
"Damon-" She breathes against his lips, "Damon." He wonders if she wants him to stop, but then he realises her hands have left him and she's pulling off her shirt. He shucks his jacket, dropping it to the ground carelessly and nipping at her lower lip. He lets her take his shirt off, allows her time to run her hands across his chest, kiss the skin there with her warm, moist lips. Then he presses back in, running his hand up her stomach to cup her breast beneath the bra.
He glances down, "pastel, Elena?" His smile is soft, though, and she scoffs and flicks her fingers against his jeans.
"What am I going to find, tidy whities?" She raises a brow, and he licks his lips, smiling dangerously.
"Elena," he leans in to kiss her neck, moves up and licks the shell of her ear, "I'm more of a..." he nips, "free kind of man."
She groans and then he feels her fingers working at his zipper hurriedly. He pulls back before he can get all the way, and she pouts. Deftly, he undoes the button on her jeans, and then the zip. She shimmies, and together they divest her of her jeans. He takes his time to look at her, and she shifts under his gaze, but he's too busy taking in all the smooth skin on display.
"Damon." She says, a little indignantly, to remind him that she's still there. He wraps his arms around her, and swiftly removes her bra. She makes a small sound, but doesn't do anything too prudish that involves covering her chest, and Damon smiles a little proudly. He moves back between her legs, and while he rolls one nipple under his thumb, he allows her to undo his jeans and push them down his hips. Her delighted hum of approval makes him cocky and proud and he feels her hand wrap around his cock. Oh yeah. He groans, shifting her so that she can wrap her legs around him again. She lets him go and he starts grinding himself between her legs.
"Elena," he murmurs, and his voice is husky, "if I'm going to fuck you against your dresser, I think you might want to take your pretty little pastel panties off."
"Your use of alliteration doesn't fail to hide your crude use of the word fuck." She tells him and she goes for arrogant, but fails, because he grinds into her and she ends in a mewl. He shifts, bending, to slip his fingers beneath the lines of her panties and draw them down her legs. He contemplates going slowly, but no thanks he wants this now.
They're both naked, and Damon almost finds himself contemplating this, but then Elena hooks a leg over his hip and draws him in, and oh fuck, she's wet. "Damon," she says, and it's a little too sweet for his liking. He looks down at her as she rolls her hips up, sliding against him, "are you going to fuck me up against my dresser?"
He slips a finger inside her in response, and grins at her with a raised brow. He adds another, and imitates the rhythm of sex, feeling her writhe and gyrate against his hand desperately. Pleasure runs through him when she grips his cock and runs her hand up and down the length, teasingly.
"Now, Damon," she murmurs, and pulls his head down with her free hand to kiss him, "I want you, now." He groans and removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. His sharp, bright eyed grin makes her roll her eyes, but she smiles. "Tell me you want me," she demands, and Damon's a little taken back (sometimes she's more like Katherine than anyone gives her credit for), but then he grins.
"Tell me you want me." He counteracts, and grinds himself between her legs once more.
She breaks far easier than he thought, "I want you, Damon." She throws her head back when he presses his cock up against her, not going in, sliding over. "I've wanted you since I saw you standing at the bottom of the stairs, I've wanted you since you took my arm and led me out. I've wanted you all afternoon, all night." She comes back to meet his eyes, and Damon feels hismelf drowning, "I've wanted you before today, Damon. I've wanted you for a long time."
He cups her face between his hands, "I lo-- I want you, Elena. You know I do, you know I have."
She nods, "I know." She tilts her head and kisses his palm. "Now, Damon. I want you now," she repeats, and that's all it takes. He slides into her in one slick thrust, and Elena bites her tongue to stifle her groan.
"Fuck, Elena--"
"Damon," she groans, and pulls him down so she can breathe into his ear, "don't stop."
++
The next afternoon, Damon is wandering absently around the house when someone knocks on the door. He thinks about ignoring it, but then realises who it is and tries not to quicken his step. He pulls open the door to see Elena standing there, hair falling around her shoulders and a small smile on her face.
"Hey," she says, and Damon wonders if she knows that her voice sounds more like a purr.
"Hey yourself," he grins, tilts his head, "what do I owe this pleasure. Came to see how the boyfie was doing?"
She raises a brow, "did you just say boyfie?"
He smiles, "don't be a hater."
She drops the brow and licks her lips. "Actually, I had something important to discuss with you."
Damon makes a face, "business, right. Got it." He moves aside so she can come in, and shuts the door behind her.
She turns around, and as she does, she sweeps all her hair off of one shoulder, and in doing so, the thick strap of her top falls down. She doesn't make a move to righten it. "That important thing I had to discuss with you?" She raises a brow and smiles, a little too sweetly, and Damon knows that look, "maybe we could discuss it somewhere... private?"
Damon's eyes, and attention, however, are on the rich, blood red bra strap showing on her skin. He knows that bra strap. "Private?" He glances up at her face.
"Private," she repeats, "like maybe," she motions with her head, "your room?"
Damon's grin is ridiculously wide, and only a little dangerous. "Of course," he says smoothly, "please, let me show you the way." He goes to brush past her, shoulder shifting over her chest and making her inhale sharply. As he's passing, he leans in close and whispers, "what, no pastels?"
Her smile has him wanting to ravish her. "Not today Mr. Salvatore," she runs her fingers across the front of his pants, "not today..."
~Fin.