Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Screwed but in Italics
Elena Gilbert
There wasn't much either Elena or Damon could do to make the scene look even remotely innocent. Damon tried his best to cover her up by flattening down her skirt and pulling his jacket off the hanger to drape over her shoulders, but there was no disguising the fact that they were—quite literally—joined at the hips.
The door opened further, nudging the fallen barstool out of the way, and brightening the closet. Elena and Damon watched the incomer wide-eyed, like deer in headlights, but too entangled mid-mating to dodge the inevitable impact.
Judgmental eyes landed upon them.
"You have got to be kidding me."
Oh no, Elena groaned internally. It had to be the worst possible person to open that door.
To her credit, Rebekah wasn't horrified or even shocked at the sight in front of her. She remained in the open doorway, dressed head-to-toe in white bride-to-be loungewear with pink lettering, leaned against the doorframe, and rolled her eyes. It was like she'd just caught two toddlers finger-painting the family dog.
Rebekah surveyed the damage around her, swishing her hand at the array of evidence. "Knickers on the floor... what appears to be a brolly up her bum... and I'm guessing your willy's still in her." She sighed, then tutted once. "Well... I hope this has been a lesson to you both."
Damon's face scrunched in vague bafflement. "On the British vernacular?"
Rebekah's eyes shot to Elena. "Does Marcel know you're shagging your brother?"
Damon chuckled awkwardly. "We're not actually brother and sis—"
"You know what?" Rebekah threw her hands up in exasperation. "Elijah can deal with this, not me." She took her phone out and began typing a message. "I haven't got the time to even process this today. I'm getting married in six hours, and I only came in here to get something." She put her phone back in the pocket of her lounge pants and extended her hand toward Damon. "Pass me one of the umbrellas... and not the one that's up her bum."
Damon stretched an arm over to the umbrella stand, grabbed one by the handle, and held it out horizontally for Rebekah to take. As soon as she took it, she beckoned to someone outside—most likely a bellhop—and passed it to them.
"Take this to my father," she instructed them before turning her attention back to the couple in the closet.
"Do you think you could close the..." Damon began.
Rebekah slapped a palm against the doorframe, aggravated. "Can you believe it's started raining on my wedding day?"
"Oh, you're not done," Damon clipped tightly in annoyance.
"Not to mention, my hairstylist hasn't shown up because apparently, twenty years ago, my father shot her father in the leg," Rebekah complained. "This is the problem when you have a father who keeps shooting people in the legs like the damn Terminator—he doesn't think that one day their kids might grow up to be bloody good hairstylists!"
Rant over, they waited a beat for Rebekah to leave. She didn't. She seemed to be expecting something from them. Sympathy? A solution? A spare leg to shoot in revenge?
"Caroline knows how to do bridal styles." Elena's voice was a mere peep behind Damon's neck, her eyes watching Rebekah while curled up underneath his chin. "It's a side specialty of hers."
"Really?" Rebekah's tone softened. "Well, thanks for that. I haven't seen her since breakfast though. I think she's avoiding Klaus. But I guess she's around here somewhere."
Damon shot her a flat, impatient smile. "Don't let us keep you."
Getting comfortable against the doorframe again, Rebekah's eyes dropped back down to where the umbrella was visible beneath Elena's skirt. She jutted her chin out, gesturing to it. "Did that feel good for you, love? Having a brolly up your bum?"
Elena sucked in a short, sharp breath. Were they really having this conversation while she was still impaled? She let the air out in a tight, confirming, "Yep."
"Nice," Rebekah nodded approvingly. "Where'd you get the idea from anyway?"
"Feral Thunder. Chapter twenty."
"I haven't read it. Sounds like I should. I could do with some cheering up. In fact..." Rebekah stretched out her arm again, "... pass me one."
Reaching into the umbrella stand again, Damon stretched another one out for her to take. "Here. Go nuts."
Rebekah held the umbrella upright, inspecting the tip with curiosity. "Could be worth trying out," she said. "I mean, I've had enough fun in that department to last a lifetime, but Kai's partial to things being shoved up his arse."
"Shocking," Damon gasped mockingly.
Rebekah propped the umbrella against the wall and reached for her phone again. "Wait there, Elijah's calling."
"Oh, we're not going anywhere," Damon snarled resentfully.
Putting the phone to her ear, Rebekah said, "Elijah, I've just caught your boyfriend shagging his sister."
Damon and Elena groaned simultaneously, their heads dropping forward onto each other's shoulders.
Rebekah lowered the phone and turned to them. "He says you're not really brother and sister," she informed them matter-of-factly.
"Well, that's a relief!" Damon snarked, whipping his head up.
Returning to the phone, Rebekah barked, "Get down here right now and explain yourself, Elijah! No, it can't wait. Because Elena's got an umbrella up her bum at the moment and it can't be very comfortable for her."
Damon repeatedly swished the back of his hand toward the door. "We could rectify that if you'd just..."
Not paying attention to his gesture to leave, Rebekah continued her phone conversation. "Feral Thunder. Chapter twenty," she told Elijah. "You can put it in your basket later! No, I'm not bringing you an umbrella, you can bloody well get down here and get one yourself!" With a huff, she hung up.
Then a distant, chirpy voice sounded from along the hallway. "There she is!"
Oh no, not Marcel too, Elena groaned to herself, wishing the ground would swallow her up, taking Damon and the umbrella with her.
"Erm, back off, mister!" Rebekah snapped, extending her arm like a traffic barrier as Marcel came in line with the doorway. She shoved him in the chest, keeping him just out of view.
From outside, Marcel's confused voice said, "Why? What's the big deal?"
"I'll tell you what the big deal is," she scowled. "Elena's got an umbrella up her bum at the moment, and she doesn't need the whole bloody world seeing it!"
"She doesn't need the whole world hearing about it either," Damon gritted quietly through his teeth.
There was a moment of confused silence. Then Marcel, his voice laced with amusement, asked, "Why's she got an umbrella up her butt? Did you put it there?"
Rebekah reeled back, scandalized. "Do you think I'm the type to go shoving umbrellas in bumholes willy-nilly?"
"I remember you taking a broom handle up yours once," he replied with an unmistakable smirk in his voice.
Rebekah's jaw tensed. "When I said, 'Why don't you stick a broom up my arse so I can sweep the floor at the same time?' it was a phrase, Marcel, which meant I've already got enough on my plate. It wasn't a bloody invitation!"
"I got a little lost in translation," he feigned innocently. "You weren't complaining at the time. I do remember a lot of moaning though. It could have scared off the housekeeping... then you would have had to put that phrase into practice."
"Any chance you two could reminisce with the door closed?" Damon bellowed, his patience now officially on life support.
From the hallway, Marcel's brow furrowed. "Wait, Damon's in there too?" He attempted to step forward, but Rebekah blocked him, throwing an arm across his chest again, barring him like a nightclub bouncer.
"That wasn't a bloody invitation either!" she snapped. Then she raised her chin, leveling Marcel with a pointed glare. "Did you know they weren't siblings?"
Marcel groaned, low and resigned. "So you know about that, huh?"
"It got a little damn suspicious after catching them shagging in the coat closet," she retorted in irritation, waving her arms at the scene, like common sense had been shoved up their bums at the same time as the umbrella.
Sighing, Marcel raised his voice so that Damon could hear him clearly. "I hope it was worth it, Damon," he scolded.
"Yep, a hundred percent. Would do it again. Still doing it, technically," Damon called back, not even hesitating.
Rolling his eyes, not wanting to imagine what Damon meant by that, Marcel decided to put all his focus on Rebekah. He visibly braced himself as he gently reached for her hands. "Look," he said, quieter now, "the only way your family would let me get close to you was if I pretended I was engaged to someone else."
Rebekah yanked her hands away. "And you couldn't let me in on your plan?" she hissed, eyes wide with betrayal. Marcel opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "And why the hell did you even want to see me anyway, Marcel? You left me!"
His eyes softened, his lips tilting slightly upwards with cocky charm. "I think I showed you last night why I wanted to see you."
Rebekah narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you think a drunken kiss is going to make everything better?"
From inside the closet, Elena's head shot up off Damon's shoulder like someone had hit a big red stop button on the wedding. "You kissed?" she blurted, her eyes bulging, locked on Rebekah like this was somehow now a bigger scandal than Umbrellagate.
Rebekah turned toward her, unbothered and unapologetic, and scoffed. "Yes, we kissed. But you shagged your brother in a coat closet, so we all make mistakes."
"We are not siblings!" Damon roared, his head rolling up and around to them in sheer disbelief. "Now, for the love of dignity, can you close the goddamn door?!"
Resuming eye contact with Marcel, Rebekah grabbed the door handle, ordering him to "Start explaining, now!" as she slammed it shut with one swift pull.
Finally!
Damon immediately turned his full attention to Elena, one hand reaching up to gently cradle the side of her face. His brows were furrowed, his tone soft with concern. "Elena, baby, I'm so sorry," he said, scanning her eyes like he was checking for trauma. "Are you okay? Shit, that must've been awful for you."
Elena nodded with a faint, half-hearted smile, her face still burning bright with embarrassment. Rebekah's appearance had been bad enough. But, as it turned out, she wasn't the worst person who could have walked through that door. Marcel, appearing alongside her, had been catastrophic. No woman wanted her ex to almost walk in on her being fully occupied by her new boyfriend in a scene taken from one of her smutty books.
Still, it should have felt worse, but somehow, it didn't. As far as humiliating encounters went, it had been... very worth it. She couldn't exactly regret something that had felt that good. So, along with her mortification, Elena felt a strange sort of peace. At least their discovery meant they could drop the fake-sibling charade. Rebekah knew now. No more lies. And Marcel's charms on her seemed to be working. It felt like progress.
Damon gave her a reassuring half-smile, then shifted one arm to support her better while the other slid carefully down beneath her. His voice was soft and coaxing. "Let's get this thing out of you so you can get down." His fingers found the umbrella canopy and gave it a tentative tug.
"Ow!" she squeaked, jerking slightly as the rim caught within her, scratching along her inner walls. Her grip tightened around his shoulders like a distressed koala.
"I don't want to hurt you, so try to relax," he said. "Think of, I don't know... the sound of rain, bubble baths, post-sex cuddles with me, whatever works."
"I can't relax," Elena admitted in frustration. "We just had two people walk in on us having sex like we were the freaky wedding entertainment."
"Then you need to push, honey."
"I'm not going to push, Damon," Elena insisted. "I don't want to evacuate anything else. I'd die of embarrassment."
"Well, you'll have to face that fear someday." Damon cocked his head, focusing on his movements, trying to see if he could rotate the umbrella free. "If I'm lucky enough, I might be helping you wipe your ass when you're old."
Elena released one of her arms from around his neck to cup his chin and bring it to face her. She looked at him in surprise. "You'd wipe my ass when I'm old?" she asked tenderly.
"Well... if you needed it, yeah," Damon replied, as if it were obvious, "like if you're really frail, or sick, or your... arms fell off or something."
Elena's lips expanded into an amused but extremely soppy smile. "That's the cutest thing anyone has ever said to me."
Damon's brows lifted as he tried to process the compliment. "Damn, baby... we need to work on your expectations. You're handing me a low bar," he grinned in pleasant surprise. "You going to put that line in one of your books?"
"Absolutely not," she stated firmly. "It's cute, not sexy."
"But, just to be clear, I'm still both cute and sexy?"
One side of her face puckered in playful thought. "Mmm... and annoying."
He beamed. "I can live with that."
Her insides turning warm and fuzzy, Elena's hand found his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye, and she leaned in to press a deep, unhurried kiss to his lips.
Damon was already weaving his vision of their future into her head. Granted, it was a future where they were one foot in the grave, she was ancient and debilitated, and yet Damon—a man who was a few years older than her—was somehow still fit as a fiddle. It was wishful thinking on his part, considering he couldn't keep up with her while chasing her through the woods. But the idea of growing old with the cutest, sexiest, and most annoying man in existence was already planting roots in her head.
Damon must have felt her relaxing into the kiss as he continued to rotate the umbrella slowly out of her. She didn't expect it to feel so sexy, but the combination of the kiss and the pressured movements had her inside muscles clamping around his cock once more. She felt the twitch of him hardening again, the stiffness intensifying as she let out a pleasurable moan the moment the umbrella slid free.
"We can't do this again," he whispered unconvincingly onto her mouth.
"Two minutes," she negotiated, capturing his mouth again.
His lips broke away into a hushed chuckle. "Two minutes?" he uttered in mock offence. "Not possible. Don't insult me." He gently lowered her to the ground and back on her feet, while she whined in protest.
Removing the condoms, first from the umbrella and then himself, he wrapped the empty condom in a tissue from his pocket, and held the full one while he scanned the room. "I need to find a trash can... I can't go out there looking like I just won a bag of cum at a county fair."
"Give it to me," Elena said, taking it from him.
Using both hands to keep it taught and steady, Elena tilted her head back, squeezed the contents into her mouth, and swallowed.
Damon's eyebrows were officially nailed to his hairline. "That was... incredibly hot and efficient at the same time."
Patting her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Elena questioned the aftertaste. "Slightly rubbery."
He wrapped the now-empty condom in the tissue and then pointed a defensive finger at her. "Hey, that was the condom, not me."
Elena raised an eyebrow at him challengingly. "How do you know? Have you tasted you?"
Peeling his jacket from her shoulders, he shrugged it on, shoved the tissue inside his jacket pocket, and zipped up his fly. In seconds, he looked polished, freshly pressed, and scandal-free. His eyes fixed on her self-assuredly before suddenly yanking her into him by her waist, pressing his lips against hers, and plunging his tongue into her mouth.
With raptured surprise, Elena grasped him by the shoulders, allowing him to explore every corner of her mouth with possessive strokes, like he couldn't push himself deep enough into her.
Moments later, he broke the kiss, mulling the lingering taste within his mouth. "I have now," he smirked, winking at her. Stepping back, Damon pointed authoritatively at her panties on the floor, and—maybe he didn't consider the consequences of doing this—he decided to mimic Rebekah's accent while demanding, "Put your knickers back on, there's a good girl."
Elena's eyes pulsed wide open, her top teeth clamping down on an ecstatic, ear-to-ear smile.
And that was the moment Damon knew he'd screwed up. "Oh, no, baby, wait..."
Elena stalked toward him while he backed away, his palms held out defensively, like she was a wild animal advancing on him. "Did you just do a British accent?" she asked hungrily.
"Listen," Damon pleaded, hands still out, keeping her at a safe distance, "you've been around the accent plenty of times to resist it."
"Yeah, but this is you," Elena elaborated. She swept her eyes over him like he was the main course on a very filthy menu. "Call me a 'good girl' again."
"No!" he insisted. "Bad girl! Very bad girl!"
Elena wetted her lips. Even better.
"Oh, shit!" Damon exclaimed. He spun on his heel and made a break for it before Elena could pounce. If lust had an alarm bell, her pheromones would've triggered the sprinklers.
Reaching for the door handle as he skidded outside, he slammed the door behind him like he was sealing a vault. The click of the latch was the only thing standing between him and the destruction of his shirt and pants.
He held tightly onto the handle, panting heavily. "She just needs to calm down," Damon explained to his onlookers. "I did a British accent. She thought it was hot."
"Oh, yeah, you have to be careful with that," Rebekah advised him, "otherwise you might end up dating someone who sticks a broom up your arse."
Damon's eyes shot to Marcel, his voice high-pitched and panicked. "Am I going to get a broom up my ass?"
"Probably," he shrugged. "A foreign accent plus anal play is a dangerous combination." Marcel's expression turned scholarly, like he was a relationship veteran about to offer wise words of sexual guidance. "You need to understand that in the deep recesses of every woman's anal cavity is a switch that makes them super wild and crazy. Sometimes men hit that switch, sometimes they don't. In your case, I think you have. I certainly did with Rebekah."
Rebekah crossed her arms and quipped, "Yes, I was a serene butterfly before he came along."
"I wouldn't go that far," Marcel smirked.
"So I've made Elena extra crazy?" Damon gulped in alarm.
"I think so," Marcel replied.
"Oh... well... it was worth it," Damon accepted, with a smitten sigh of surrender. He cautiously opened the door a crack, peering through the narrow gap. Elena stood just on the other side. "Hey there, sweetheart..." he crooned, inching his hand through the crack to stroke the top of her head like she was a feral cat who might bite if petted wrong. "You feeling better?"
Elena swatted his hand away like it was a fly, then pulled the door open and stepped outside. She'd deal with him later, perhaps by having him edging for so long he'd be speaking in tongues in that smoldering British accent he mimicked.
Right on cue, Elijah appeared at the end of the corridor, smoothing down the front of his jacket. "Okay, Rebekah," he said calmly. "Let me have it, but let's remain civil."
Rebekah took a deep breath like she was about to breathe fire at her brother. Then she let it all out in one hell-raising scream that could've scored a heavy metal track. "You came here, attempting to bloody sabotage my wedding, got Marcel involved so he could fake-date someone you knew would boil my blood, dragged along her boyfriend as your fake date just so they could shag in a coat closet when I provided a bloody nice hotel room for them to bonk to their heart's content, and all because you wanted me to get back with Marcel? Why? So I wouldn't get the inheritance? Because our father didn't approve of Marcel enough for me to get the inheritance if I'd married him?" Rebekah pinched her eyes closed and shrieked ear-piercingly, "I don't care about the bloody inheritance, Elijah!"
Elijah dropped his chin in a solemn nod. "Thank you for remaining civil," he said genuinely. It was, after all, his sister, for whom "civil" just meant not throwing things or slapping anyone.
Rebekah sucked in a deep breath to replenish her oxygen levels and swept her blonde hair back from her face to compose herself.
Exhaling like a man who knew he deserved every decibel, Elijah tried to decipher what his sister now knew. Darting his eyes over everyone else, they finally landed on Marcel as the one who must have elaborated on their plan. Elijah mouthed the word "Kai?" to him, and he lightly shook his head in response, confirming he hadn't mentioned that part yet.
"Well, I can tell you now that it was all for nothing," Rebekah continued calmly. "Regardless of how I feel about Marcel, he still broke my heart, and I am not putting myself through that again. So, he can take all his regrets and shove them up his arse!"
(Ass shoving was certainly the reigning act of the morning.)
Marcel shook his head at her spectacularly wrong conclusion. "Your father disapproved of me, Rebekah," he muttered quietly, "but I didn't leave because he would refuse you the inheritance if you'd married me."
"Then why the bloody hell did you leave?!" she snapped.
("Bloody" was certainly the reigning word of the morning.)
"In a couple of hours, I can show you exactly why I left, but for now, you're going to have to trust me," Marcel insisted.
Rebekah scoffed, rolling her eyes at his request.
"I'm being serious," he continued. "We have people working on this. But, right now, all we're focused on is keeping your father distracted so that they can do their part and retrieve the proof from your house without raising any alarms."
Rebekah's expression faltered, her lips parting slightly as a flicker of unease replaced her earlier fire. "What kind of alarm?" she asked warily. "Because he's already been alerted to something going on at the house. That's why he rushed off."
Damon straightened like someone had just thrown ice water down his back. "What?!"
Elijah's entire posture snapped taut, his voice suddenly clipped and urgent. "How long ago did he leave?" he demanded.
Rebekah blinked, startled by the unexpected shift in tension. "I don't know. Ten minutes? Fifteen? He got a call and stormed out of here."
"We need to catch up to him," Elijah ordered, looking at Damon. "We'll take my car. Get your father on the phone now!"
Before Damon could leave to follow Elijah, Elena grabbed hold of his arm. Her heart tripped in her chest at the full weight of what was happening. How could this be happening? Her mind scrambled for logic, rifling through every conversation, every promise made. Giuseppe had given his word. The plan was supposed to be under control. Why was it all unraveling?
As soon as Damon turned and met her eyes, she knew he knew something she didn't. "Damon, what's going on? Did your father lie to us?"
Damon paused, and in that heartbeat of stillness, she saw the raw anguish behind his eyes. The look of a man who was holding a lit match that he didn't want to drop on her. A crack formed in her chest before he even spoke. Then finally, the words came.
"No, Elena," he said sadly. "I did."
Without further explanation, Damon took off after Elijah, leaving Elena with more questions than answers, clutching at the ghost of his brutal confession. Then he was out of sight, rushing to fix a disaster that she didn't believe was repairable, while she stood behind in the rubble of broken trust he'd left behind.