Chapter 1: Take a Deep Breath... and Don't Scream
Chapter Text
Chapter One: Take a Deep Breath... and Don't Scream
Elena Gilbert
Ping!
Another notification.
It had been two days since the release of her new romance novel and Elena Gilbert's phone was blowing up with social media comments. There was the usual praise: Liam is so dreamy! and Why can't men be like this irl? There was also occasional mild criticism: The dirty talk was a bit cheesy, ngl and For a doctor, Liam wasn't that bright. She didn't care; everyone was entitled to their opinion on the story. Most of the time, the comments were posted publicly, but this time there was a private message – and it was the type that infuriated Elena – the type where they had decided they had the author all figured out from behind a screen.
Elena saw the username before she read the message: User41131514. Probably a bot.
User41131514: You're delusional.
Elena sat upright on her bed, groaning as she read it. Not a bot, but a troll. A very lazy troll that couldn't be bothered to change their username from the one allocated when they signed up. Probably got banned frequently for being an asshole.
She knew she shouldn't reply to trolls. She did this for a living, promoting books as a Social Media Manager at a publishing company, and she would never give trolls a response if she were monitoring online comments and messages for her clients – she would delete them and move on. But this was her own account, not the company's account, and she was self-published (after all, why not? She had the background knowledge needed to promote her books) so she had the freedom to do what she wanted.
Unfortunately, what she wanted was to give this troll a piece of her mind.
No, keep calm and don't take the bait, she told herself. Be the bigger person.
Still, she couldn't resist giving them a dry reply. Her fingers tapped at the keypad of her phone.
ElenaGAuthor: Thanks for buying the book!
Regardless of whether or not they enjoyed it, a sale was a sale.
A reply came through instantaneously. Were they sitting there waiting for her response? Elena clicked on the username, expanding the profile picture – it was a photo of an extremely defined and attractive bare torso, cut from the frame from the neck up. Probably an image stolen from somewhere online, she decided, but it was definitely a male troll. She returned to the reply.
User41131514: It's in the fireplace, keeping my house warm.
ElenaGAuthor: Well, I can't judge you for not being able to afford both books and firewood.
User41131514: I'd rather keep my integrity than have a second income from lying to myself and others.
A second income? How did he...? Elena then suddenly slapped her palm on her forehead, realizing there was both a photo and a short description of herself and her career in the back of her books. What the hell did he mean, she was lying to herself and others? He was acting as though her latest book was called How to Cheat Death, not Take a Deep Breath. No, she would not ask. She would not, she would not, she would not!
ElenaGAuthor: How am I lying to myself and others?
Ergh, why was she even curious to know?!
User41131514: You're writing about things women don't really want. Nothing screams 'Single with a cat' quite like believing that you'd fall head over heels for a guy who deliberately sabotages an elevator so he can get trapped in there with the protagonist for hours trying to win her over.
Elena winced. The guy had touched a nerve. The single part was right, but she did not own a cat. She was, however, looking after an exotic pet that belonged to the mother of her best friend and work colleague, Caroline. Liz was currently backpacking around South America and would be back in a few weeks. Then she'd be single and coming home to an empty apartment again. She had been considering getting a cat afterward, but now this jerk and his preconceived notions of her had put her off the idea.
ElenaGAuthor: A parrot, actually. Called Polly.
User41131514: Polly parrot? Could you be less creative?
ElenaGAuthor: User41131514? Could you be less creative? You hide behind a throwaway account and even have a fake profile picture.
User41131514: You've been checking me out?
ElenaGAuthor: Ha! You wish you had that body!
User41131514: I don't have a fake profile picture or a fake username. My username is my real name.
ElenaGAuthor: Your real name is 'User'? I highly doubt it. Is it a nickname? Does it represent how you use women? Because it sure sounds like you do. Is that why you're upset? Because I'm showing women how a real man should behave, and they're raising their standards?
User41131514: That's a lot of questions. No, that's not my name or my nickname. I don't use women, and I'm not upset. I'm just telling you that you're fooling yourself. No woman wants the kind of things you write about. You're manipulating women into having unrealistic and false expectations of men.
ElenaGAuthor: What you mean is, you can't live up to those expectations. My heart bleeds for you.
User41131514: If that's what women wanted, I could easily match that. But it's not. No woman really wants the tropes you use. Enemies to lovers? Puh-leeze! In real life, a woman wouldn't even give an antagonist a second glance.
ElenaGAuthor: Mansplaining at its finest! Let me guess: you have daddy issues?
User41131514: Writing men in a way that only a woman would write... let me guess: you have an absent daddy?
ElenaGAuthor: Jerk! My parents died! I'm an orphan. I guess there's some things about me that you can't discover in the back of my novels.
User41131514: Shit, I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. I didn't know. I can't imagine how painful that must have been. I really hope it wasn't too traumatic for you. I'm deeply sorry for your loss and please forgive me for what I said.
Elena's eyebrows lowered suspiciously. Is he being for real? All he's done so far is insult her, and now he's sorry?
ElenaGAuthor: Maybe I don't forgive you.
User41131514: Okay, well, I guess I can cross that one off then.
ElenaGAuthor: Cross what off?
User41131514: The Hurt/Comfort trope. By your logic, after comforting you, you should be putty in my hands by now. I told you your tropes are unrealistic, and I'm going to prove it to you, then maybe you'll believe me.
Elena's mouth hung open. This guy was off his rocker. He had no idea how to be the sort of man she wrote about. A few kind – and likely insincere – words and he expected her to swoon? Everything he said was just to prove a point. He clearly knew nothing about women, and his audacity was really starting to wind her up.
ElenaGAuthor: You're not going to prove anything to me. You haven't a clue what you're talking about, and you've been nothing but a complete dick to me. I'm going to block you.
User41131514: So... I can cross off the Enemies to Lovers trope too, then?
Elena exited the conversation and hit the block button.
Asshole!
Chapter 2: Popping Muscles and Damn Selfies
Chapter Text
Chapter Two: Popping Muscles and Damn Selfies
Damon Salvatore
User ElenaGAuthor not found.
Whoa, this girl doesn't mess around!
At least he'd proven the Enemies to Lovers trope had no appeal in real life.
Damon placed his laptop on the couch, deciding to go to the kitchen to pour himself a bourbon. He felt bad about upsetting her. It was the "absent daddy" comment, he knew it – he'd gone too far. He was genuinely sorry about that, not that he had the chance to apologize again now that she'd blocked him.
Checking around the kitchen for an empty glass, he realized he'd forgotten to switch on the dishwasher. Damn, had he really spent all his free time focusing on Elena that he'd forgotten to do simple domestic tasks? What next? He'd be forgetting to eat? He took a tumbler from the dishwasher, rinsed it under the faucet, and poured the drink.
To hell with it – he could order takeout and hire a cleaner if that happened.
There was something about Elena that had him hooked, but one thing was for sure – it wasn't her novels. He had binge-read them all, and if the content was any reflection of her personality, she was a mildly kinky idealistic Disney princess. Only the kinky part interested him. But the way she held her own just now, there was nothing Damsel in Distress about her. Which was a shame as that was one of the tropes she used. How the hell was he going to pull that one off?
Elena's novels were not in the fireplace – in fact, Damon's new penthouse apartment did not possess the fireplace he'd claimed it had. Her latest book was sitting on the kitchen counter, not burnt to heat his home, and, yes, he'd earmarked the smutty pages and read them multiple times. So sue him. The only thing he loved about her books was that they were clearly an author self-insert. It helped him imagine her in the smutty scenes, writhing on the bedsheets and begging for more. He wondered what her voice sounded like. Was she a moaner or a squealer? He imagined both in different scenarios.
Elena herself was four floors down in her own apartment. He'd first spotted her when he'd moved in a month ago. That damn five-foot-six brunette goddess could have had him fooled into believing instalove was real. Spotting her had turned into seeking her, and seeking had turned into research, and research had turned into... shit, he wasn't a stalker already, was he? Stalkers never got the girl in real life. Of course, he was hoping to prove that to her, so maybe he should crank it up a notch. It was going to be a risky trope to pull off. He could end up in prison, getting high-fives from men who discovered he was only in there because of the lengths he took to win an argument against a woman.
Still, he had to prove to her that stalker romances were immoral and unrealistic. He was not that man – and if that was the type of man she wanted, he was screwed. Don't lust after guys who should be behind bars – it's that simple! It's not romantic – it's creepy and weird! He should know, considering he'd devoured all her novels and social media posts like he was trying to dive into her mind and soul, and he felt hella creepy and weird about it. But he was on a mission – a mission to save her from the kind of chest-thumping "Me Man, You Woman" cavemen she wrote about.
Hey, maybe she was a Damsel in Distress after all, he mused. Mental note to check that one off.
After he'd put her off ever writing – or reading – another stalker romance again, he could move on to other silly tropes.
The fact that they were neighbors took care of the Love Thy Neighbor trope. Or would it be the Grumpy Neighbor trope? He was pretty sure when she found out he was her neighbor, she'd be grumpy about it. Except, according to his brother, Stefan, he was the grumpy one.
Okay, Damon might have got a little grumpy finding out that Stefan knew Elena and never introduced her to him. Stefan owned a few of the properties in this apartment block and he rented one of them to Elena: his tenant, his colleague, his friend, and – he initially suspected – his crush. But luckily, Elena was not Stefan's crush – that honor went to her best friend, Caroline. It was hush-hush, very top secret information that Stefan only admitted to Damon after he had refused to leave Stefan's home and sang I Know a Song That Will Get on Your Nerves until 1am.
Good. He didn't need a love triangle, especially not against his own brother. A Bad Boy didn't have a hope in hell of stealing a girl from a Golden Retriever. Oh crap – he was even beginning to think of themselves in tropes. This was not good. This was what Elena's books were doing to him... this is what Elena was doing to him.
Wait a minute, wait a minute. Back the hell up!
Damon tossed the drink down his throat and plunked the glass down on the counter. Something had just occurred to him:
He'd had an effect on her too.
What was it she'd said? You wish you had that body! That body is delicious! That's the kind of body I could run my tongue up and down like a six-foot popsicle!
Okay, that wasn't exactly what she'd said, but it was pretty close.
Time to get out the big guns. Literally.
The last time he'd taken the photo of his abs, it was just a quick snap. Stefan had made some snide comment about him looking bloated after they'd had lunch at Taco Bell, so Damon hauled ass to the gym, worked out for an hour, and sent him a picture as evidence, saying, "Does that look bloated to you?" Stefan had replied, "We were splitting the bill, I just wanted you to stop ordering food." Jackass.
This time, he had to get his arms in the frame. He switched his phone camera to selfie mode and balanced it against the coffee machine. He took off his shirt and observed himself for a while, lining up his body so his head was cropped out of the picture. The lighting in the kitchen was flattering, casting shadows where he needed them, and making his muscles pop. Oh, yeah!
After mastering the flex he needed, he leaned across the counter and hit the camera timer, quickly dashing back into a pose worthy of a Michelangelo sculpture.
He must have poked the phone too hard while reaching for the button because it slipped down the counter and took a snap of the ceiling instead.
Two more times it did this. Two more times before he wedged it between two more kitchen appliances and ordered his phone not to move, or else he'd buy a new one. He jabbed a finger in its direction and scowled to show it he was serious. He couldn't believe people took selfies for fun.
Finally, he got the shot he wanted. So much better than the last one she saw. Hubba hubba!
Damon went back to the couch, sat down, and opened up the laptop again. He needed to create a new profile in order to contact her. Despite what Elena thought, his last profile was not a throwaway, and it did contain his name. The numbers represented the position of letters in the alphabet.
4 - D
1 - A
13 - M
15 - O
14 - N
This was a method he used for profiles so they could be both personalized and anonymous at the same time.
After registering for a new account, he went into the settings and added the photo and updated the username.
User192011211518.
19 - S
20 - T
1 - A
12 - L
11 - K
5 - E
18 - R
Game on.
Chapter 3: Picking Up Good Vibrations
Chapter Text
Chapter Three: Picking Up Good Vibrations
Elena Gilbert
User192011211518: Guess whoooooo?
Oh, for crying out loud!
Elena pitched her elbows on her desk and dropped her head in her hands. She knew instantly that the asshole from last night had set up a different profile. She'd had a hectic Monday back at work – five clients were releasing books this upcoming weekend – and she did not need a continuation of last night's argument.
Elena removed her head from her hands, straightened her back, and sighed, looking up at the clock. One hour until she finished work. Nobody else in the office was hitting their targets as efficiently as she was, and they were already winding up for the day.
Caroline, who sat opposite her, was using her computer for online shopping, in clear view of their boss, Klaus, who was in the executive office behind her, with its floor-to-ceiling windows. Klaus was, no doubt, sending her flirty messages, given the way Caroline kept picking up her phone, rolling her eyes, and placing it flat on the desk again. And Bonnie was on the far side of the office, with the design team, chatting on the phone to her boyfriend, Enzo. Physically, they were all here, but mentally they had clocked out already.
But just because nobody else was busy, it didn't mean Elena needed extra non-work-related stress this afternoon. She took hold of her phone, fully prepared to block the new profile, but then noticed another message.
User192011211518: Please don't block me again. I'm sorry for what I said last night... and I need to confess something to you.
She was ashamed to admit that intrigued her. Curiosity killed the cat, she warned herself – except she was not the single, cat-owning spinster he thought she was, so in this scenario, no cat was at risk. Or maybe she was just using a literal interpretation of the proverb as an excuse to probe further.
ElenaGAuthor: I'm at work. Be quick.
User192011211518: Okay, I'm stalking you.
Elena drew her chin back in shock, blinking at the words on the screen. She wasn't so much horrified as confused. It was pretty evident this weirdo was roaming around in stalker territory, given that he'd set up a new profile to contact her again, but the guy was clearly lost in this strange new land he'd entered.
ElenaGAuthor: You don't tell someone you're stalking them, idiot!
User192011211518: No? Whoops, my bad.
ElenaGAuthor: No, you don't – because now I could take this message to the police, and you've just admitted your crime and they can arrest you.
User192011211518: Damn, I wouldn't want that. I wouldn't get to stalk you anymore, and I'm too pretty to go to prison. Speaking of which... check out my new profile picture.
Elena sighed. Why was she doing this? She minimized the chat and clicked on the thumbnail image.
Oh, that was so NSFW!
She immediately closed the image. Her eyes had been drawn immediately to the V-line muscles that led down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. Yes, gray sweatpants! Both visuals combined were kryptonite to women, creating sensations she didn't want in places she didn't want them to be. She thought he had no idea about women, but this guy had certainly done his homework at the last minute. Not to mention he had his thumbs tucked into the waistband, looking like he was ready and willing to take them off any second... and his forearm muscles were extremely biteable.
Why did women get that urge to bite men who were tasty? She'd skipped lunch, so maybe she was just hungry. It had to be that.
Swallowing down that sudden hunger, Elena fired an aloof message back at her stalker.
ElenaGAuthor: There's no way that's you.
It had looked like the same body she'd seen last night though.
User192011211518: That was quick. I expected you to linger on that photo for at least a minute. Did you check out the biceps?
ElenaGAuthor: Actually, I prefer forearms.
Why was she telling him this?
User192011211518: Ah, so that's what got you going, eh? Was it too hot to handle? Saving it for later? A little private time with my photo and the Rose Toy?
Rose Toy? Wait, what?!
ElenaGAuthor: How do you know I own a Rose Toy?
User192011211518: Because I'm in your apartment, dropping off some flowers to apologize. Roses, actually – isn't that a funny coincidence? Do you own a vase, or should I just put them on the coffee table next to your Rose Toy? Strange place to keep it – don't you have a secret drawer for that kind of thing?
What?! There was no way she had read that right.
He was in her apartment? In her apartment?!
Elena stood up sharply from her chair, staring at the message, her phone gripped tightly in her hand. After reading it several times and realizing the words weren't going to change, her other hand slapped against the desk to keep her upright while she slumped forward, struggling to breathe through the panic.
Caroline looked up at her from her desk, her eyebrows lowered in concern. "Elena, are you okay? What happened?"
She didn't have time to explain. Running over to the executive office behind Caroline, Elena burst through the door. "Klaus, I need to leave an hour early – someone has broken into my apartment!"
Her boss, Klaus, didn't react to the news, except to pretend to stare at his computer instead of the phone where he was anticipating a response to his flirtations with Caroline any year now. He spoke calmly. "And last week your parrot needed to be collected from the vet because the diarrhea you thought it had turned out to be guacamole you dropped on the floor of your living room."
"Klaus, please, this is serious!"
"Serious is what the police are for, Elena."
Of course! Why didn't she think of that?! She leaned back against the doorframe, typing out a message to the crazy stalker, paying no attention to Caroline, who came over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Elena didn't care whether this lunatic got arrested or not, she just wanted him out of there – she felt violated at the thought of him invading her home.
ElenaGAuthor: I'm calling the police!
User192011211518: Please don't do that. I got you takeout. I'm just dropping it off and then I'll leave.
He what?!
He... what?!
Elena's panic was turning into confusion. He broke into her home to drop off flowers and a takeout?! Who the hell does that? It was like something out of her damn books! No, no, no, this was nothing like that – this was out of order! It was disgusting, it was despicable, it was...
Her stomach started growling in a little "hip hip hooray" at the news as she remembered she hadn't eaten since early that morning. No, this didn't make it any better – her body was just being a traitor. So why was she feeling a little less violated all of a sudden?
ElenaGAuthor: What do you mean, you got me takeout? You think picking me up some Wendy's is going to make up for the fact that you broke into my home?! You're sick in the head!
User192011211518: Your favorite food is seafood – I know because you took part in the Five Favorites online interview with other authors for World Book Day – so I thought you might like the platter from Siren Shelley's restaurant. I got two – and some wine – so come back with some friends if it makes you feel safer. I'll be gone by the time you get here. But if you call the police, I'll have to tell them to take it all away as evidence.
Was he for real? What kind of pathetic attempt at blackmail was this?
Her stomach grumbled again.
Shut up and stop taking his side, she mentally told it.
This was insane – he was insane! Siren Shelley's? She'd only been there once before and had to order the cheapest item on the menu. That platter cost over $300, and he'd bought two? What the hell was happening? Who the hell was this guy, and how did he know where she lived?
Caroline had now grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing Elena to look at her. "Elena, what's going on? Tell me!"
Elena couldn't speak – she didn't know what to say – so instead she passed Caroline her phone, showing her the message thread.
Another message had already popped up.
User192011211518: Do you want me to put the wine in the fridge?
Caroline scrolled back through the stalker's messages and then, with resolute firmness, pressed down on the voice message button and held the phone up to her mouth. "Listen, you twisted, despicable freak, get the hell out of my friend's apartment right now and never contact her again, else your ass is going straight to jail! And, just so we're clear, white wine goes in her fridge. Red wine shouldn't be paired with seafood, so if that's what you've got her then you're an idiot as well as a freak!" She released the button, shooting the message over to the stalker, and handed the phone back to Elena, confident that she had taken care of the situation.
Klaus raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Well, since Caroline has, no doubt, struck fear into the heart of the intruder, you can both –"
"We're leaving," Caroline interrupted. "Bonnie too. We have wine to drink, expensive seafood to eat, and a very serious problem to deal with."
"I didn't say you could leave," Klaus informed her.
Caroline ushered Elena from the office doorway, telling her to get Bonnie. Then she stepped inside, closed the door, and squared up to Klaus, crossing her arms. "I didn't say that you could send me dirty messages all afternoon, but I'm sure Stefan would be very interested to read them."
Klaus leaned back in his chair, interlocked his fingers, and looked up at her from under his brows. Stefan was his boss and – given that it took one to know one – seemed to have a secret crush on Caroline. Klaus suspected Caroline felt the same way about Stefan. It was tragic really, all that yearning and neither of them wanting to disclose their feelings or ruin their friendship.
So, it was no surprise that someone as fiery as Caroline had to release all those pent-up emotions at some point – on someone. Klaus smirked, ready to call her bluff. "Well, perhaps Stefan would be very interested to learn that we slept together." He let out a dramatic sigh. "I would probably have to write a long report for him to read with all the sordid details... particularly how you enjoy a finger in the –"
"Dont!" Caroline snapped, thrusting her hands out in a stopping motion and scrunching her face in disgust. No, she didn't want Stefan to know that, and Klaus knew it. She let out an exasperated groan before opening up his door and repeating, "We're leaving."
Klaus didn't argue further. Truth be told, he didn't really care. He just needed to match Caroline's attitude before she truly believed she was the boss of him. He only liked her that way in the bedroom. "Don't get too drunk this evening, Caroline," he warned her playfully. "You might be tempted to message me back."
Caroline narrowed her eyes at him as she left. "Don't count on it."
Chapter 4: Bombs Away
Chapter Text
Chapter Four: Bombs Away
Damon Salvatore
Damon didn't have long to get out of Elena's apartment.
He'd let himself in using the spare key her landlord, Stefan, kept. He'd stolen that key using the spare key to Stefan's home. The one Stefan had entrusted him to use for emergencies only. Damon Salvatore: very bad brother. Yes, he was aware. In his defense, when Stefan gave him that key, he ordered Damon not to touch his food or his hair products – he'd said nothing about his drop-dead gorgeous tenant's key. Would that hold up in court? Probably not. Anyway... not only did he need to leave Elena's apartment before she got home, but he also had to return her key as quickly as possible before Stefan discovered it was missing.
There was just one thing stopping him: her damn couch.
Women's homes were like a spiderweb of soft furnishings that you sunk into and couldn't escape. Couches were not chosen because the leather looked cool even though it stuck to your ass in the summer and froze to your ass in the winter. Women's couches were sooooooft! All the cushions were plumped into the right shape, and there were throw pillows so fluffy they would put chinchilla fur to shame.
So, here he was: his ass on a couch that felt like a cloud, and the side of his face stroking up and down the coziest pillow in history. Not even the shouting he got from Elena's friend managed to erase the look of bliss from his face. A bear trap would have had a harder time keeping him here when he should be leaving.
"I love you."
Oh, crap – his soppy display was totally giving the wrong impression to her parrot.
Wiping away his contented kitten look, and forcing his facial features into a tough, ruthless expression, he stood from the couch and made his way to the bird cage on the other side of the room. The cage was over six feet tall, and Polly was perched right at the top, meaning he could look her square in the eyes as he spoke.
"No, you do not love me," he told it sternly. "Do not fall for that romanticized bullshit. I am a stalker who is violating your owner's privacy and getting up to all kinds of criminal mischief – do not condone this kind of behavior!"
A plop hit the floor of the birdcage.
"That's right," he approved. "Crap yourself. That's exactly how you should be reacting when someone breaks into your home." Then he had a moment of guilt – was he actually traumatizing this parrot now? He sighed, feeling a weird urge to explain himself. "Look, I'm just showing her the reality of what she writes about – I'm proving to her that it's not romantic. I'm not doing anything unforgivable. I'm not snooping around her home, setting up secret cameras, or stealing her panties." He paused... thought about his last point... then decided, no, he was definitely not doing that. As tempting as her panties were. "I have a plan, okay? Trust me. When I've put her off the kind of guys she thinks she likes, playing this anonymous asshole, that's when the real me will swoop in and win her over. I'll be Prince Charming and set up the Meet Cute, and give her a Happily Ever After, okay?"
The parrot told Damon what she thought about that plan with another plop. She opened her beak and fluffed her gray feathers, looking pretty pleased with herself.
Damon narrowed his eyes at Polly. "I saw you squeeze that one out," he hissed accusingly.
Apologetically, the parrot repeated, "I love you."
"Shut up," Damon mumbled, fed up with the mixed messages he was getting from a bird.
Damon walked back towards the couch to pick up the two bags on the coffee table, containing the wine and seafood. All he needed to do was stop being distracted and put them in the kitchen. All her apartment needed to do was stop distracting him. His eyes drifted down toward the Rose Toy. Major distraction.
When he first saw it, he had no idea what it was, but a quick photo and image search revealed it to be something he least suspected: a vibrator that simulated oral sex. He wasn't going to touch it... he didn't need to know how it worked... and, more specifically, he didn't need to know what competition he was up against.
But, naturally, second glances led to second thoughts.
Curiously, he picked up and rotated the little bulb-shaped device around in his hands until he located a button. He must have found it more intimidating than he thought he would, because the moment he pressed that button, he squinted with anticipation like he'd just pulled the pin out of a grenade.
Nothing happened.
He pressed and held.
Nothing.
Then it occurred to him: the battery was dead.
He fist-pumped the air. "Yes! In your face, you weakling! At least my tongue doesn't run out of battery." He had won the marathon. Whether he would win in a sprint against this thing, well, he tried not to focus on that. But this was all Elena had for the moment, so this baby needed to get powered back up now that she had seen his new photo. Checking all the power points in the room, he located the charger and plugged it in.
See! Flowers... takeout... a fully charged vibrator... he could be a nice stalker.
Getting back on task, Damon returned back to the coffee table where he left the flowers but picked up the takeout bags and took them into the kitchen. He put the seafood on the island table and the wine in the fridge.
The white wine. The one that was essential for pairing with seafood, according to Elena's friend.
Just ignore the red wine that still remained in the bag that he would be taking away with him. It didn't exist. He was glad that Elena was appalled by his stalking behavior, but he really didn't want her to think he was an idiot too. He would go now, leaving the impression of an unscrupulous, low-life, villainous, detestable stalker... with impeccable taste in wine.
Eventually, he would win her over in person... just as soon as he got her hating every other type of guy in existence. Particularly the types in her books.
Chapter 5: All Emojis Lead To Innuendos
Chapter Text
Chapter Five: All Emojis Lead To Innuendos
Elena Gilbert
Bonnie's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she dipped the crab claw into the mustard sauce and bit into it. "Oh my god, the guy may be insane, but his choice of takeout is incredible."
Caroline raised her glass. "So's his choice of wine," she confirmed with an approving flick of her eyebrows.
Elena flattened her lips and rolled her eyes. They were all seated on throw pillows around the coffee table, tucking into the seafood, while Enzo changed the lock on Elena's apartment door. She couldn't understand how her stalker had got in – did he pick the lock? Did he have a copy of her key? All she knew was that there was no damage to the door.
She would have to give Stefan a copy of her new key tomorrow, and something about that bothered her. She couldn't completely rule Stefan out as being her stalker, even though it made no sense: she had known him for two years, and not once had he hinted at having any obsession with her. In fact, she kind of sensed he had a thing for Caroline, but since he'd never mentioned it, she never questioned it.
"All done," Enzo declared, patting the edge of the door and twisting the handle a few times, the way guys did when they'd finished a job and wanted to show off their handiwork. Getting the applause he craved from the women in the room, he beamed proudly and brought the new keys over to Elena, dropping them into her hand. "Do I get to join in with girls' night now?"
Bonnie patted the pillow next to her, inviting him to sit down. "Of course you can," she smiled. But, as soon as he sat down, she slid her plate away from him. "Just don't touch my crab claws."
"You've taken all of them," he protested.
"And it will stay that way," she declared. She picked up the bottle of wine, tilting it in a consolatory offering to her boyfriend.
"None for me, love," he replied. "I'm the designated driver... and after Caroline's finished her fourth glass of the evening, I'm sure I'll be the designated carrier to her apartment too."
Caroline shot him a dry smile, finished her glass, and then topped it up, determined to prove to him that she could handle her drink.
Unlike Caroline, Elena was sipping on her wine slowly, feeling a little tipsy but having no intention of getting drunk. She needed to keep a clear head. "Did you find any signs of the lock being picked?" she asked Enzo.
"No dents, no scratches, nothing loose in the mechanisms," he informed her, popping a king prawn into his mouth. "My guess is that he used a copy of the key."
Elena's shoulders sagged. "I was afraid of that."
Caroline shuffled closer and put an arm around her comfortingly. "Hey, that's a good thing," she soothed. "It means he hasn't got a copy now, and he can't pick the lock to get in again."
"I guess," Elena agreed, still feeling unsettled. "But it also means my stalker has to be someone I've been in contact with – or someone Stefan has invited into his home. I've never lost my keys, so somebody must have taken them to copy while I've been distracted. That could have happened at work, or at the gym, or at the hair salon..."
"Or at the spa?" Bonnie questioned, picking up a rectangular piece of paper from the table and fluttering it back and forth in her hand. "As in the same spa on this voucher your stalker left attached to the flowers?"
Elena took the voucher and studied it again. It was for a free sixty-minute VIP massage at Rose & Savior Spa in the town square. She had never been there before, not even when it was called Rose-Marie's Spa. It was close to closing down at one point, but had since undergone a significant renovation, reinventing itself into a place so successful it was near impossible to get an appointment. However, the fact that her stalker had left her a VIP voucher meant that he must have pulled some strings with the owners since it was a fast-track ticket for an appointment – and extremely limited. Elena shook her head. "No, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to go there and ask some questions."
Placing the voucher back down on the table despondently, Elena didn't hold too much hope in getting answers from Rose & Savior. She had already called Siren Shelley's, only to be told that the order had been placed over the phone and a third-party college student had collected the food, showing them ID before they handed over the alcohol. The name didn't match the name on the card details, but the restaurant was warned by the caller that this would happen beforehand. They made a point of telling Elena that they didn't appreciate the appearance of the "skater dude" who had been selected for the pick-up – it was a fancy place, and all that – so she felt inclined to apologize for this, even though she didn't ask for the damn takeout in the first place.
After a long conversation, the restaurant still wouldn't reveal the name of the cardholder to Elena, so she gave up. The stalker was too good at covering his tracks.
Whether she would go to the police about this, she still wasn't sure. Would they even take it seriously? What would she even say? Some guy with a key came into her apartment, left flowers, a takeout, and a voucher for a spa? They would give her the side-eye and tell her to change the locks and ignore his messages. She had already done the former... but the latter?
Elena picked up her phone and glanced at the latest messages again.
User192011211518: How's the food? Am I tantalizing your taste buds?
User192011211518: No reply? It must be good.
User192011211518: Yummy yummy yummy – just like my profile picture.
ElenaGAuthor: Go away.
User192011211518: There she is! How about a smiley emoji for me? Better still, a winky face!
She'd sent him the fuming emoji.
User192011211518: Ooo, nice! *wink emoji*
ElenaGAuthor: What the hell do you mean, "nice"?! I sent you an emoji showing how fuming mad I am! Don't you see the white steam coming from out of its nose?
User192011211518: Oh, is that steam? I saw the white around the mouth and I thought it meant... I thought you were going to... I thought I was going to get... never mind.
She'd sent him a string of angry expletive emojis with grawlixes in front of its mouth.
User192011211518: Squinty eyes... red in the face... repeatedly cursing. You like it rough?
She'd then sent him the middle finger emoji. There was no misinterpreting that.
User192011211518: Where do you want that finger? I'm open to all suggestions.
Argh! The guy was so frustrating!
ElenaGAuthor: Up your ass!
User192011211518: Kinky. Be gentle with me.
Elena planted her phone back down on the table. She hadn't replied – she wasn't going to reply. But her fingers were twitching with the temptation, and she was deliberately preventing the edges of her lips from curling upwards. He was not funny – he was infuriating! The only reason she wanted to smile at his responses was because she'd had too much wine – that was all. Her inhibitions were lowered. She'd see sense in the morning and block him.
But she had to know who this guy was. The urge to find out was itching away inside of her.
Suddenly, she had an idea. She picked up her phone again.
"Who are you messaging?" Bonnie asked.
Elena's eyes flicked up briefly from her phone screen. "Elijah. I think he can help me find out who my stalker is."
"Actually," Bonnie corrected, "I meant Caroline."
Caroline's face shot up, eyes wide with a look of guilt, and her face flushed from drinking too much wine. She tucked her phone underneath her crossed arms, and with an overly innocent tone, admitted, "Klaus...?"
Bonnie flattened her lips disapprovingly, and reached across the table, palm upwards.
With a sulking huff, Caroline surrendered her phone to Bonnie and then finished the rest of her wine.
Chapter 6: Nobody Eats a Necromancer
Chapter Text
Chapter Six: Nobody Eats a Necromancer
Damon Salvatore
ElenaGAuthor: Wer you in her?
Damon peered at the words on the phone, lowering his eyebrows like he was trying to decipher hieroglyphics. Wer you in her? What the hell did that mean? In who? Was she asking if he'd slept with someone? The only person he was interested in sleeping with was Elena, and even that he was having trouble deciphering.
User192011211518: Whatever you pay your editor, double it.
ElenaGAuthor: Lol
What the hell? She was laughing at his jokes now? Okay, that was even more confusing. Why would she be...?
Oh – the wine!
In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have picked her up four bottles. But, drunk Elena? This could be fun... if he could find a way to understand the messages she was sending him.
User192011211518: Turn on your autocorrect.
ElenaGAuthor: I'm asking if you ate my necromancer.
User192011211518: Turn off your autocorrect.
Well, that didn't work.
ElenaGAuthor: WERE
ElenaGAuthor: YOU
ElenaGAuthor: IN
ElenaGAuthor: HERE?
Damon groaned and dragged his hand down his face. All caps... multiple lines... excessive punctuation... all that effort and still no damn clearer. She already knew he'd been in her apartment. What was she asking?
User192011211518: Was
User192011211518: I
User192011211518: In
User192011211518: Where?
He didn't resort to using all capitals. There was something louder and more aggressive about men using all capitals compared to women. Which was weird because they could be damn loud and aggressive when they wanted to be. And he was pretty sure he was going to have an example of that soon if he didn't start understanding her gibberish.
ElenaGAuthor: My bed roam.
Ah-ha! He was beginning to understand her language! It gave him a sense of accomplishment, like he was an outsider integrating into a world that only her boyfriend would have the privilege of entering. He didn't count her friends who were already in that world – for some reason, when drunk women got together, they could understand each other perfectly. He'd worked at enough bars in the past to discover that. One girl would slur something like, "OMG, my shoes feel upside down!" and a friend would go, "OMG, mine too!" like this was a common shared experience between women. Is that why they all removed their shoes by the end of the night? Luckily, Elena didn't seem to be at that level of drunkenness yet.
User192011211518: No, I wasn't in your bedroom.
ElenaGAuthor: Would you lick to me in my bed roam?
Damon's eyes shot open to the size of saucers. Was she asking if he would like to be in her bedroom, or if he would like to lick her in her bedroom? Both were extremely appealing. But there was no way she was asking that, was she?
ElenaGAuthor: Cum over.
Okay... she was asking that. Clear as day. With a – hopefully deliberate – misspelling.
Erm... but now he was lost for words, unsure how to proceed. On the one hand, he was eager. Forgive me, Father, for I have said HELL YES! On the other hand, she was drunk and propositioning her stalker. He paused for a moment while his libido and scruples were in a state of battle.
User192011211518: I shouldn't.
Who the hell handed his libido a white flag?!
Feeling betrayed by his own body, he waited for her to reply.
And he waited. And he waited.
Shit, he hoped he hadn't upset her. What the hell was she thinking anyway, inviting her stalker over? She would never do this if she weren't drunk. She's not supposed to entice a stalker – it defeats the point! It takes the "stalk" out of the word "stalker" and just leaves them with "er". And "er" was exactly how he was feeling... as in, "Er, what am I supposed to do now?"
He waited some more. This was so confusing. Had she fallen asleep?
User192011211518: Are you still there?
ElenaGAuthor: Shush. Fone. Talking chatting two Elijah.
Elijah? Who the hell was Elijah? And why was she "talking chatting" to two of them?
Okay, back to stalking it was then.
Damon minimized the chat and started scrolling through Elena's social media posts, scanning the likes and comments for any similar usernames. Elijah... Elijah – ah-ha, got him! He was the first one to comment on every single post. Username Elijah696969 – ugh, ending a username with 69 was the ultimate sign of a douchebag – and how many 69's did this loser need? What was he proposing with that username? An orgy?
Don't jump to conclusions, Damon told himself. It could just be a relative. There were a lot of love heart emojis for a relative, but whatever.
Elijah didn't have a profile picture of himself – just a photo of a Rolex. Yeah, yeah, you're rich, we get it. Damon rolled his eyes. The guy just kept getting worse and worse.
The next post that Damon clicked on was a photo of Elena holding up one of her books. She was wearing a knee-length floral sundress – the kind of outfit that was the undoing of all straight, sexually active men. Elijah696969's comment was, "You look absolutely mouthwatering, my dear."
Certified douchebag non-relative with a Rolex and a lack of control over his own saliva. That was all Damon needed to know. Fears confirmed.
User192011211518: Tell Escojah to take a hike. I'm coming over.
Except he couldn't – at least not right away. He had to give it at least ten minutes so it didn't seem like he lived in the same building. Pacing his apartment wasn't an option: at his anxiety level, he'd erode holes through multiple floors and enter her living room through the ceiling.
Why was he feeling like this? This had gone way past her being attractive to him now – he was bordering on possessive behavior. At this rate, he was going to fly through most of his intended tropes by the end of the day, and it wouldn't even be an act.
He had to disguise himself if he was going to see her. Luckily, he'd already planned for the day he would need one.
Earlier, he'd managed to return Elena's key to Stefan's key safe minutes before his brother came home. Of course, Damon had received a suspicious glare instead of a warm welcome, with Stefan wondering why he'd appeared in his home unexpectedly. He had to make up an excuse on the spot and told his brother he'd gorged on his sliced Iberian ham. Boy, he was maaaad! It was a lucky guess that Stefan had some of that expensive foreign crap in his fridge, so Damon snuck into his kitchen and hid it under his jacket as he left, and then ate it when he got home. It was not crap – it was pretty damn nice actually. He might need to steal it again.
But that wasn't all he took with him. He'd also taken Stefan's motorcycle helmet.
His spare one, to be specific. He wasn't trying to kill his brother – he was just stealing his ham and stalking his tenant. Normal brotherly stuff.
He grabbed the helmet, rolled it on over his head, the way he'd seen Stefan do so many times before, and went into his bedroom to change his shirt. Yes, that was a stupid order to do it in, but he'd manage. As an additional challenge, he flipped down his tinted visor, checking in the mirror that he wasn't identifiable.
He wasn't... but he didn't know if it was gratifying or troubling that he looked so sexy with his face obscured. He could see why women were into bikers. Maybe he should get one.
A motorcycle. Not a biker.
Unless Elena was a biker. That would be hot.
He changed his black shirt for a white one, rolling the sleeves up so Elena could get a tasty eyeful of his forearms. According to her books, women loved rolled-up shirt sleeves on men. He wasn't going to psychoanalyze that one – he'd just assume that women got turned on by men rolling up their sleeves and doing the dishes. It seemed accurate enough.
Bike helmet on and shirt changed, he stood around for seven more minutes, looking like a DoorDash courier waiting impatiently to collect an order from Kitchen Salvatore. Seven minutes had never dragged on so long. Finally, Damon was out the door, not bothering to wait for the elevator, but instead running four floors down to knock on Elena's door.
He bounced on his toes excitedly. Nothing would happen between them – he wouldn't take advantage of her like that – but this still felt like a date. A date that might involve him holding her hair back while she vomited into the toilet, and yet he was so down for that. It could be a Meet Puke instead of a Meet Cute. Damn, he was nervous. Why was he so nervous?
Then the door opened, and a smile spread across his face, now that he was finally up close and face-to-face with the most beautiful woman he'd ever –
Oh shit! She was armed.
Damon was too busy dodging out of the way to get a good look at what weapon Elena was swinging in his direction, but the tip hit his helmet and suddenly he was less concerned for his life, and more concerned about how pissed Stefan was going to be if his helmet was returned scratched up. After a second swing missed him, he lurched forward, grabbed the metal rod, pulled it out of her hands, briefly inspected it, then threw it down the corridor.
Holy shit, this woman played dirty! What a hell of a painful way to say, "I was wrong and you were right – I don't think stalking's attractive. I'm so sorry... can I sleep with you to make up for it?" That's all she had to say!
Despite now being unarmed, Elena didn't back down. She rained fists down upon his chest angrily.
It was fine, it didn't hurt that much, and it kept her occupied. Mid-beating, Damon took out his phone and single-handedly typed out a message. Every so often, she jogged him, so he gently pushed her back at arm's length and held a finger up, urging her to be patient. But she was not a patient person, it seemed, so she immediately continued hitting him again.
Finally, her phone beeped, and she stopped, blew her hair out of her face, and checked the message.
User192011211518: You tricked me. You're not drunk.
She scowled up at him. "Perceptive."
User192011211518: Elijah?
"Very real." Just to add salt to the wounds, Elena added, "Very handsome."
Crap.
User192011211518: Why do you have a fire poker? You don't have a fireplace.
"Well, you would know." Elena's eyes fell to the phone in his hand. "Why aren't you speaking?"
User192011211518: I'm incognito.
"You mean, you're insufferable." Her eyes then moved even lower, seeing her stalker's heels suddenly drop to the floor. "Were you standing on tiptoe?"
User192011211518: The men in your books are always at least six-five. I felt like trying out the six-five masked man look. Another trope to tick off.
It was handy that the helmet already added a little extra height.
"You're insane," Elena hissed. "I want you out of my life."
User192011211518: We're not scheduled for the third-act breakup yet.
Elena stamped her foot. "Stop talking about tropes! There's no third-act breakup because we're not even together!"
User192011211518: And whose fault is that? According to your books, I'm your ideal man... except the six-five part. Admit you were wrong.
Elena tilted her chin up towards him, her jaw set in determination. "Show me your face," she demanded, ignoring his own. "I only wanted you here so I could see who you are, so take off the helmet."
User192011211518: Can we strike a "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" kind of deal?
Elena's lips pinched together furiously. She wasn't going to get what she wanted, and she knew it. "The only thing I'm showing you is this." She shot him the middle finger.
User192011211518: I remember what you wanted to do with that finger. Can we establish a safe word first? Your nails are pretty long.
Giving up on getting him to reveal his identity, she went back inside, yelling, "Crawl up your own ass and die!" while slamming the door in his face.
Damon stood outside for a moment, blinking slowly, processing the encounter and her final parting words. Then he sighed deeply, and typed out – what he suspected would be – the final message of the night.
User192011211518: That's a very long safe word. Considering the amount of things you want to put up my ass, I was thinking more along the lines of "bubbles".
Chapter 7: Ticking All The Boxes
Chapter Text
Chapter Seven: Ticking All The Boxes
Elena Gilbert
Stefan: Caroline told me what happened. Take a couple of days off. Don't give me the new key until we figure out where this creep got it from.
Elena had slung her satchel bag over her shoulder and was about to leave to go to work when she received Stefan's message. She sighed, tilting her head as she stared disapprovingly at the screen. Caroline Forbes: gossip extraordinaire. The news had probably spread like wildfire among every employee in the company before they'd even entered the building this morning.
Elena didn't need two days off work, but she would take them anyway, just to avoid the low whispers and sympathetic looks she would now get in the office. She was relieved she hadn't yet told Caroline she'd invited her stalker over last night, or else her friends would now be setting up an intervention – disguised as a group chat – called "Elena has lost her mind".
Maybe she had lost her mind, but she was determined to find out who her stalker was. These two days would give her time to do exactly that. She couldn't believe he'd foiled her plan and turned up with his face hidden behind a motorcycle helmet last night! As a novelist, it had pained her to deliberately send all those typos pretending she was drunk – and it was all for nothing! She still had no clue who he was.
He did have a nice body though – that she unfortunately did notice. After her fists fell down onto the solid muscle of his chest, it took all her willpower not to flatten her hands and turn those quick thumps into slow strokes. But, as luck would have it, that unexpected temptation just infuriated her more. How dare he turn up looking like something out of a romance novel... all mysterious, with rolled-up sleeves, biteable forearms, and muscles that radiated so much heat she wanted to curl up on them like a kitten! The nerve of him!
As she was about to put her phone away, it vibrated again.
Elijah: Meet me in our coffee shop after work. *Love heart emoji*
Elena grimaced at the emoji... and why did he have to say "our" coffee shop? The fact that she kept bumping into him there did not make it "theirs", like they had some kind of romantic history with the place. Elijah was charming and handsome, sure, but she wasn't interested in him romantically. There was something "off" about him that she couldn't put her finger on. Maybe she was reading too much into it – he was a good friend, and he'd never asked to be more than that. He was just... over-friendly. It was a little odd, but nothing too concerning. It wasn't like he was stalking her... unlike this other creep who couldn't keep out of her inbox.
User192011211518: You were rough with me last night. I think I'm developing bruises all over my chest. Do you want to see?
ElenaGAuthor: Good! And no!
User192011211518: You know you waaaant to!
User192011211518: I could do with that Hurt/Comfort trope right about now. Hair strokes and baby talk would be nice.
Ergh, why hadn't she blocked him yet? Why?! Was she abiding by the phrase "Keep your enemies close", or did she have masochistic tendencies?
Or was it the weird thrill that ziplined its way through her body whenever she saw a message from him appear?
Elena resented that feeling. The asshole was an enigma, that was all. A mystery to be solved. Once she had solved it, he'd be out of her head forever... and certainly not hammering away in her chest like the symptom of a fever she was trying to shake.
She just needed to unwind. That need had been heightened since her encounter with him last night. After slamming the door in his face, she'd found her entire body ignited from wine and fury and immediately gone on the hunt for her Rose Toy. That's when she'd discovered the asshole had put it on to charge. She had no idea what he looked like, but she could imagine the stupid grin on his face when he did that.
So, she'd gone to bed (sans Rose Toy) and tried to sleep... but couldn't. The phantom sensation of his chest was still on her hands and, after an hour, she'd found herself opening up her phone to look at her stalker's profile picture, needing to put an image to that sensation. He'd never know... and, hey, why couldn't she stalk him back and give him a taste of his own medicine?
Except the dick had clearly been feeling extra dickish that evening.
ElenaGAuthor: Where's your profile picture?
User192011211518: I was wondering how long it would take you to notice. Only good girls get nice things, and you've been a very naughty girl tonight.
ElenaGAuthor: Are you threatening me, or talking dirty?
User192011211518: Talking dirty. Am I not pulling it off? It's a line from one of your books. The character says it in a "low growl". Okay, let me try that again.
Voice message received from User192011211518.
Elena had responded at lightning speed, hitting the play button before he had a chance to change his mind and delete it. There was no damn way he had sent her...
"You've been a... very... naughty... girl... tonight... Elena," her stalker scolded in a low, gruff, drawn-out whisper.
Uh-oh! Elena didn't bite down on her bottom lip fast enough to prevent a yielding whimper from escaping her throat. Her eyes widened and her fingers clutched the bedsheets. He'd definitely pulled it off. Heaven help her! Why did he have to add her name? Would it be cheeky of her to ask him to record audiobooks of her stories while he was in prison for stalking her?
She must have taken too long to respond.
User192011211518: Stop laughing. I tried my best.
Is that what he thought of his performance? Where was that ego of his now that he deserved it? Elena had certainly never laughed at the recording. She had, however, played it no less than five times before his next message came through.
User192011211518: I'll be generous – I'll change my picture back. There could only be one reason why you're looking at it at 1am anyway.
Luckily, Elena had been quick with an excuse.
ElenaGAuthor: I was checking for tattoos to try to identify you.
User192011211518: Sure you were. To save you time, I don't have any. Okay, the picture's changed.
ElenaGAuthor: That's a picture of Scooby Doo.
User192011211518: You really are waiting eagerly for it, aren't you? I won't tease you any longer. It's back up now. Enjoy! *Smirk emoji*
So, that was how the night had ended: with the sound of his low, reprimanding voice playing on repeat for a further hour, while she smiled into her pillow like a schoolgirl, fooling herself with the excuse that she was only listening to it so she could figure out what his regular voice sounded like.
But that was yesterday, and today the wine was out of her system, her head was clear, and her resolve was strong. The asshole may have been able to put on the kind of voice that sent excited shivers throughout her body, but he was still an asshole.
Elena stood at her doorway, wondering if the best way to unwind would be to return to bed and go back to sleep, or go outside for a walk.
Or...
She glanced over at her coffee table, where the voucher sat.
There was another option. She could see if she could get an appointment for a free massage.
As Elena drove into town, she decided to give herself credit for being able to rule out Stefan as her stalker. Stefan had a very distinctive shoulder tattoo, and she had downloaded, scrolled, and zoomed in on her stalker's photo plenty of times last night to establish that he had been telling the truth – he had no tattoos.
It was research. Shut up, she scolded the still-tittering schoolgirl part of herself.
She pulled up in front of Rose & Savior and exited the car holding the voucher. It was a small but classy white building with a stately appearance, beige trim, and columns in the doorway. Pushing through the arched fully-glazed doors and into the waiting area, she approached the reception desk, where a woman in her mid-twenties, with short, layered, brown hair and a warm smile was ending a call on an antique-style telephone.
Elena handed her the voucher as she greeted her, and said, "I know this is a long shot, but I've had a hell of a week, and I wondered if there had been any cancellations today where you could squeeze me in?"
The woman, who introduced herself as the owner, Rose, raised her eyebrows at the voucher. "VIP? Full body massage?" she observed. "We don't hand out many of these, but I'm going to do my best to see what I can offer you." She opened up a large, glossy diary, and ran the back of her pen down the appointment listings, her smile slowly turning apologetic. "No cancellations, and we're fully booked today." Her pen then tapped against the pages as she considered an alternative option. She closed the diary and leaned closer, whispering, "We do, however, have the co-owner in today. While he doesn't officially offer massages, I can vouch for him. He's wonderful – he's invested a lot in this business, and I trained him myself – I consider him one of the best on the team."
A male masseuse? It wasn't exactly what Elena was expecting, but if he was that good, she could give him a shot. "Sounds great," she declared.
"Wonderful," Rose replied. "Take a seat and fill out this form while I speak to him. I promise you, it will be heaven."
Elena smiled curiously as she took the clipboard and pen and sat down on one of the ornate, high-back chairs by the window while Rose stepped into an office beside the counter. She crossed her legs and perched the clipboard on her knee, scanning the document. It was a list of the areas of her body she wanted massaged.
Feet? Check. Legs? Check. Buttocks...?
Elena frowned. She wasn't sure about...
"Oh, come on, you can do it this once." Rose's determined voice entered back into the room, as she pulled a suited man out of the office by his elbow.
Elena's eyes glanced upwards and lingered on the man. For a moment, her jaw hung open and she forgot how to breathe. This had to be the most gorgeous man in existence. Piercing blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, dark tousled hair, and the kind of chiseled body that could bring bruises to her knees, and no amount of layers could hide.
Her fingers tightened around the pen, which now dug into the paper.
Buttocks? Check.
In fact, she didn't even read the rest of the form. Check, check, check, check, check.
Maybe it was unprofessional, but if this man's touch was as magical as Rose claimed it to be, it was exactly what Elena needed right now.
In a whispered discussion with Rose, his head turned, glancing towards Elena briefly. He quickly looked again – and this time his eyes bulged wide open. Every part of him froze. He stood there for a moment, looking like a deer caught in headlights, before suddenly gripping Rose's arm and yanking her back into the office, slamming the door behind them.
Elena's eyebrows lowered. That was odd.
Undeterred, she stood and strolled over to the desk, placing the clipboard on top of Rose's diary, ready and waiting for their return.
The office door opened again, and Rose was pulling on the man's arm more forcefully this time. "No, my client will be here any second and they asked for me personally. I know you just came in to check the accounts, Damon, but this is a VIP customer – you can make an exception." Rose picked up the form and handed it to him.
It took a while for Damon to break the eye contact he had resumed with Elena, his expression intense and unreadable. Finally, he looked down at the form, and he inhaled sharply. "She's ticked everything!"
Elena glanced between the both of them, confused. "Was that too many?"
"No," Rose reassured her. "Your voucher entitles you to all the areas on that list, if that's what you want."
Damon pulled Rose close, speaking slowly as he hissed through his teeth into her ear, repeating, "She's ticked ev-ery-thing."
Rose shuffled from his grip and turned to him, crossing her arms. "Is there a problem, Damon?" she enquired sternly.
His sigh sounded more like a pained groan. Then he straightened his back, shook his head, and cleared his throat. "Nope," he declared in defeat. "No problem."
"Good," Rose smiled, tugging the newly-scrunched form from his tight hands, and placing it on the desk. She made her way around the counter to gently guide Elena to her room.
As Elena was led away, she looked back over her shoulder to see Damon close his eyes and press his forehead into the wall. "Is he okay?" she asked Rose.
"He's fine," Rose reassured her, bringing Elena's attention forward again. "Come on, I'll show you where to get undressed."
As Elena was led up the curved staircase, she could have sworn she heard a guttural yelp of anguish at the word "undressed" being quickly stifled by the man behind her.
Chapter 8: The Good, the Bad, and the Horny
Chapter Text
Chapter Eight: The Good, the Bad, and the Horny
Damon Salvatore
Slipping out of his suit and into a white tunic, Damon was in the staff changeroom giving his dick the complete opposite of a pep talk.
"Listen, you've been a champ, heads and shoulders above the competition out there, and I'm real proud of you – but you're benched for the next sixty minutes. I mean it. No action whatsoever. I don't care how often my brain waves you in, you damn well stay put, got it?"
No response. He hoped it stayed that way.
Damon exited the room and made his way to the one he was dreading: the Serenity Suite. Sixty minutes of oils, candles, aromatherapy... and a full-on naked version of the hottest woman he'd ever laid eyes on. But, on top of the non-pep-talk he gave his dick, he'd given himself an award-winning pep talk. He was determined he could do this. He was a professional.
He looked up at the bulb above the white door. It was green. Rose would have told Elena to switch it from red to green when she was ready.
Damon took a deep breath. You're a professional, he reminded himself, before opening the door and poking his head inside.
In the darkened room, lit by a dozen glowing candles, Elena was sitting sideways on the edge of the massage table, sipping on the glass of free champagne, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders, her legs slowly swinging back and forth, covered by nothing but a white sheet held up to her chest, which draped down between her legs, barely touching the floor. Her back was bare, and she was not wearing any panties.
Damon shot back outside and quietly closed the door. He leaned back against the wall and puffed quickly through rounded lips; panic mode activated, like he was dodging the cops instead of a hot naked lady. You're a professional, you're a pervessional, you're a pervertional... you're a pervert, you're a pervert, you're a pervert...
He gritted his teeth: he was not off to a good start. She wasn't ready – not according to him anyway! Ready to him would have meant her being wrapped up in dozens of white towels looking like an Egyptian mummy, not sitting seductively with a thin bedsheet covering her front like they were on their damn honeymoon!
Damon closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to erase the mental image from his brain. He'd seen her ass, he'd seen her ass, he'd seen her ass...
His cock twitched. (Ass?)
Don't you even dare!
No way – he was not going down without a fight! He bounced on the spot, rotating his shoulders, clenching his fists, and stretching his neck to the side like he was hyping himself up for a boxing match. Get yourself together, man, you're not even through the door yet!
Finally ready, Damon knocked on the door before opening it a crack. Even though nothing but his chin and lips breached the doorway, he kept his eyes closed. "Make sure towels... there's towels... for your... grab some towels..." Stop saying towels! He cleared his throat. "When you're covered – decent – I'll come in."
"How many towels?" came Elena's voice from inside.
All of them. "As many as you like," Damon replied. "I'll work around them."
Seconds later, Elena called out, "I'm ready."
Damon stepped inside. Elena was lying prone on the massage table, her chin resting on her crossed forearms, her fingers pinching the stem of her now-empty glass, her naked skin looking like tanned silk... and draped across her hips was a small white towel.
One. One damn towel between him and that perfect ass.
He felt movement below. (Ass?)
I'm warning you! There's a champagne ice bucket in the room and I'm fully prepared to dump it on you!
As Damon made his way further inside, taking the glass from her hand and placing it on a nearby shelf, Elena offered him an ice-breaker smile and said, "You seem really tense... maybe I should be the one giving you a massage."
Oh, don't go there.
He gave her a tight smile. "I'm a little out of practice." It wasn't exactly untrue.
Stop looking at her! You don't have to look – you just need to touch all over her body without your dick finding out about it.
Damon turned and faced the wall, switched the outside bulb from green to red, and focused on the items on the shelves. The assortment of oil scents was hitting his nostrils, not helping with the sudden feeling of intoxication. He set the timer. His thoughts were all over the place. "Would you prefer bottom or top?"
There was a smirk in Elena's voice. "Bottom or top?"
Oh shit, was that what he'd said? Elaborate, now! He spun around to see her looking over her bare shoulder at him, pinching back a smile. He gestured up and down her body with a sweep of his finger. "I-I meant, like, w-where to start," he sputtered. "I personally prefer head."
OH. HELL. NO!
Damon threw his forearms over his head, burying his face in his biceps, groaning in exasperation as he listened to Elena's stifled laughter in the background. This was not happening! What the hell was wrong with him?!
"This really isn't going down well for you, is it?" Elena contributed teasingly.
Oh, great, now she was adding to the innuendos – he may as well hand her back that fire poker and let her finish the job the easy way. Damon allowed his arms to fall to his side, sighing. "Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind."
"A girl?" Elena asked gently.
There was no pulling the wool over the eyes of female intuition. "Something like that," Damon admitted, turning to look at her as she tugged the sheet over her chest and propped herself sideways on one elbow.
Elena dropped her eyes nervously. "A girlfriend?"
Was this her way of asking if he was single? Holy shit, it was, wasn't it? He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, no girlfriend."
"But you're worried about massaging me because of another girl?"
Taking a deep breath, Damon knew there was only one way he was going to get out of this: honesty. "No, I'm worried about massaging you because you are the girl."
Elena's eyes paused on his, creases appearing between her eyebrows. "What?" she gently asked, like she wasn't sure if she'd understood him correctly.
Running his hands down his face with a groan, Damon stepped forward and crouched beside the massage table, eye-to-eye with Elena. He needed to tell her. Not tell her everything, of course – he didn't have a death wish, and there was a lot of hot candle wax and tiny flames in the room. "I'm... attracted to you," he confessed.
Elena's eyes widened slightly, her lips rounding. "Oh."
He gave her an apologetic smile. "Yeah, so as much as I'd like to go ahead with this, it wouldn't be fair to you." Sure, draw the line now, and not at stalking her, you weirdo. Damon was pretty sure that criticism just came from the part of his brain that controlled his genitals, so he let that one slide. They were obviously teaming up against him. "I can return your voucher, and book you in for another time, but not with me... because while I can control what goes on here..." He flared his fingers, wiggling the tips. "... I can't control what goes on in here..." He tapped against his head. "... at least, not with you. You deserve to know what a man is thinking before he puts his hands on you."
Elena let out a heavy breath. "Wow, well, thank you for being honest with me, Damon, I really appreciate that."
He watched her big brown eyes drift up and down him curiously, her head tilting to the side as she studied him, no doubt wondering what animalistic thoughts had already passed through his mind about her. He was extremely lucky she was so understanding. She'd made the whole process much easier than he –
"Continue."
His eyebrows shot up. Erm... say what now?
He couldn't have heard that right.
But Elena was scooping her hair away from her bare shoulders, turning her head away, and flattening herself down on the massage table.
Damon blinked slowly. "Continue?"
"Continue," she confirmed, shimmying herself into a comfortable position.
"I just told you I'm attracted to you."
"And I appreciate you telling me," Elena answered. "Continue. You can start anywhere."
Damon's jaw bobbed up and down, trying to generate a response while still trying to compute exactly what she was saying. It was no use; his system had officially crashed. He had to accept that the impossible had happened: he was free to fantasize about her all he wanted. She'd greenlit that production, and now the real Damon didn't know what to do with himself because the imaginary version was running around his head setting up the stage, testing the sound quality, and positioning the camera angles.
But he had to move at some point – he couldn't just stand still, looking like he'd malfunctioned.
Backup mode activated while waiting to reboot, he puffed air through his lips, turned around to where the oils were, robotically picked two off the shelf, and reset the timer. He set it for thirty minutes so he could evenly split his time between her upper and lower body. "Continue," he muttered to himself, still in disbelief. "She wants me to continue." He pocketed the oils and headed back to the massage table.
After his slip of the tongue, he decided he was not going to start with head. Hands or feet seemed innocent enough. He stepped closer to her hands. Smooth, feminine, slender... perfect for wrapping around his –
Feet. Feet, it was.
He headed to the opposite end of the table and grabbed the controls for the hydraulic lift. "You might feel a little vibration," he warned.
"I didn't realize that was part of the package," she teased.
He smirked, pressing on the controls, slowly raising the table. "St-op it," he teased back in a long, lingering warning. Releasing the button at the right height, he returned the device to its hook. "But since you brought it up – it actually does have a vibrate function... and a heat function... and so many multifunctional sections and attachments I could construct a treehouse out of this thing."
"You sound very proud of that," Elena observed. "Let me guess: you were the one who purchased it?"
"Better than that," Damon said, taking one of the bottles out of his pocket and dabbing the oil on his hands. "I was the one who designed it. Attempting to convince Rose to buy one was how I discovered she was having financial trouble, and we went into business together."
"So, you were the savior to her Rose & Savior?"
"So to speak," he confirmed. "It's my surname." That was the closest hint she was going to get – it wouldn't take a genius to link his real surname back to Stefan.
Damon gazed at Elena's feet, and he slid a hand under one of her ankles. His eyes rolled up into his sockets – yep, foot fetish unlocked. Slowly bending her leg at the knee, he pressed a lever with his foot to drop the calf support attachment. He stood in place of the attachment, propping her ankle high on his chest, her toes at a concerningly suckable distance from his mouth.
Touch but don't look, he reminded himself, and definitely don't suck anything!
That was a weird take on the phrase.
He felt more comfortable knowing that Elena was aware of how he felt, but just because there was an entire cavalry of blood waiting for further commands at the base of his dick, it didn't mean he wanted a sixty-minute hard-on. He had to prove to himself – and certainly to her – that he had full control over all of his appendages – and that included his dick. It could be done, especially now the fear of the taboo was no longer hanging over his head.
She was fine with it. She was fine with the way his palms were now slowly gliding up her calf, his thumbs rounding over her ankle and pressing with firm strokes into the sole of her foot. She was fine with one hand continuing to work against her foot while his other hand slid back down her soft skin towards her thigh, and –
"Mmmmm," Elena moaned pleasurably.
Oh shit! She was more than fine.
(Calvary! Advance!)
Oh, no you don't!
Getting on his toes to raise his groin to the level of the massage table, he slammed his cock painfully against the edge, pressing deep, cutting off the circulation and bringing tears to his eyes. Some of the cavalry had made it through and misconstrued the sudden pressure as the presence of a cock ring, leaving him with a semi, but if he sustained the pain for long enough, he could end this battle victorious.
He hoped. Unless he developed a BDSM kink along with his new foot fetish.
Elena lifted her head over her shoulder. "Are you okay? I felt the table move."
"Perfect," Damon strained through his teeth, trying to urge some blood back to his brain so he could form an excuse. "Just hit my knee on the table, I'm fine."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a design flaw."
"Yep," he agreed, no less strenuously. "I'll work on that." He continued warming streaks up and down her leg, which had her practically purring like a kitten, and he realized this was going to be the longest sixty minutes of literal dick-slamming torture. If he didn't find a way to cover the unintentionally arousing sounds she was making, he'd be waddling like a penguin for the rest of the week. "Would you like some white noise on? Rain? Ocean waves?" Pneumatic drill? Low-flying helicopter?
"No," Elena hummed blissfully.
"Music?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes –
"Nuh-uh," she responded, "but I wouldn't mind talking a little."
Yes! Talking! A perfect distraction! "What would you like to talk about?"
"Do you know anything about the man who purchased my voucher?"
Uh-oh!
Fortunately, nothing had saved Damon's dick from repeated bruising quite like coming up with excuse after excuse to Elena's questions. She didn't give up easily but, in the end, he'd managed to make it sound like Rose & Savior had an Area 51 level of secrecy over its clientele. There was still the occasional satisfied sigh of pleasure in her words as he continued to massage her, but his mission to keep his alter ego a secret helped divert his focus away from the heavenly feel of her silky-smooth bodily parts.
Except her buttocks – which he remembered she had ticked so fiercely the pen nib had pierced a hole in the form. There was no escaping it; she would not allow it. So, when the time came, Damon had a plan to fold back half the towel – without looking – and keep his attention on the wall the entire time.
Now the time was upon him. His eyes were on the wall... his breathing was calm... the towel was folded back... his hands were sliding against her ass...
And the little egg-seekers in his balls suddenly turned into the Village of the Damned, all alerted in suspicion of why the person they trusted was suddenly straining to keep focused on a brick wall instead of the tempting ass beneath his hands.
Damon gritted his teeth, wondering if the little white-headed children in that movie were a metaphor for the mind-controlling shits gathering against him in his testicles right now. So, this was how Gordon Zellaby felt in the end: grappling with the weight of his decision, desperate not to crack under pressure, committed to concentrating on nothing but a damn wall. If Elena turned her head, she'd probably see something similar too: a desperate man with sweat gathering on his forehead, close to breaking point.
By the time he'd rounded the table and started working on her other side, that wall in his head was already crumbling. Tingles were coursing throughout his body, his eyes kept drifting downwards, her heavy breathing was ringing in his ears, and he'd long given up trying to keep his rock-hard dick under control.
Spoiler alert: that movie ended in an explosion... and if that thirty-minute timer didn't go off soon – the halfway notification signaling him to proceed to her upper body – then he would also end in an explosion.
"Damon...?" Elena's honeyed voice hummed.
Oh, sweet lord, this was not a time for her to start saying his name like that!
Blissfully unaware of his agony, she sighed softly and continued. "Would this be a totally inappropriate time to ask you out?"
He officially malfunctioned.
The words hit him. His hands slipped. His fingertips accidentally swiped through her ass crack, ringing up the last of his decency through a metaphorical cash register, his dignity now fully spent. Elena jumped up onto her elbows with a surprised yelp at the unexpected sensation. And Damon turned away, leaning against the wall with his hands, dropping his head in shame. If there was one saving grace, at least the humiliation had killed his hard-on.
"I'm so sorry," he groaned. "That really surprised me."
"Not as much as it surprised me," Elena responded.
Damon slowly shook his head. "That was so inappropriate."
Elena gathered the sheets from beneath her, covering her front, as she sat upright on the massage table, facing his back. "Me asking you out?" she asked cautiously. "Or you swiping my ass?"
Damon straightened and turned around, facing the gorgeous, honeymoon-style, bedsheet-wrapped Elena again. She tilted her head, her long hair flowing to the side, looking like she was waiting nervously for the answer to a genuine question. "Swiping your ass, obviously," Damon declared. "My hand slipped... there was the oil... and the question... I just..." He sighed. "I'm sorry."
Elena looked down, smiling coyly, kicking the long, dangling sheet with her feet. "So, I can ask you again?"
Damon took a step towards her, his eyebrows drawn together. "You still want to ask me?"
Elena bit her lip, beckoning him closer with her finger. "Maybe I'll whisper it to you this time," she said, "so I don't startle you."
Damn, this woman was a temptress. But he found himself taking another step, and another, and then Elena reached out and made him take the final step by pulling him in with his tunic. They were almost eye-to-eye. She reached to the side of her legs and pressed a button on the controls.
The table's height quickly deflated, leaving her face-to-face with his groin.
Damon smirked, his eyebrows raised, tilting his head at her while she leaned forward scrambling to identify the buttons in the darkness. "I take it you were aiming for the button that brings you up?"
"I honestly was," Elena insisted, a hint of urgency in her tone.
Damon reached down and brushed her hand aside as he pressed the correct button for her.
Comeon, comeon, comeon, comeon! he thought impatiently as she slowly started to rise.
He let go of the button the moment their faces were level. With one hand still grasping her sheet, the other pulling at his tunic, she leaned close to his ear.
This really shouldn't be happening in his place of business, he realized. It could ruin its reputation.
"I'll try not to startle you again," she whispered, her voice husky, "otherwise, you might accidentally kiss my lips."
His eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. To hell with his business – he could build a new business!
She drew her head back, her brown eyes gazing seductively into his. She took a breath and began her question, "Damon S –"
Driiiiing!
That blasted thirty-minute timer!
Damon had a sudden urge to draw a pistol at lightning speed, like in a Spaghetti Western movie, and shoot the damn thing off the shelf for ruining the moment. Instead, he had to listen to his new nemesis ring out.
Elena lowered her head and chuckled. Finally, the ringing stopped, and her head shot up. With a deep, sobering breath, she said, "Would you like to spend the last thirty minutes getting a coffee?"
"I'd love to," he replied. Then, smirking, he added, "So, you're done torturing me?"
Elena raised an eyebrow teasingly at him. "For the moment."
Chapter 9: Angels and Damons
Chapter Text
Chapter Nine: Angels and Damons
Elena Gilbert
Sitting down on the upholstered corner bench, inside her favorite coffee shop where she liked to write, Elena had her laptop open, introducing Damon to the spicy contents of a word document. The surprising sexual tension that had arisen during her massage needed an outlet – and what better outlet than the new romance novel she was currently working on? Unfortunately, with Damon's new input, she found herself deleting more than she was adding.
"No, you've got to take that part out," Damon insisted, placing down his coffee cup and pointing to a paragraph on Elena's screen. "No man is planning a Valentine's Day date in his head while he's taking off his love interest's clothes."
Elena groaned and started to wonder if this was a bad idea. She was hoping to deep dive into a real-life male point of view, and already she wanted to come up for air. "Fine, I'll re-word it, but I'm not taking it out completely. It's romantic."
Damon rasped through his lips. "I'm telling you, you're giving men way too much credit for their pre-fornication cognitive capabilities. You only took your clothes off for a massage and you had me forgetting words."
Elena tapped away on the keyboard, reluctantly rewriting the section. "I don't know..." she offered in mock sympathy, "... you remembered the word 'towel' pretty frequently."
He smirked dryly. "Very funny."
She side-eyed him, reciprocating with her own brittle smirk as she typed. Maybe Damon wasn't as romantic as she initially thought. Had she read too much into the small gestures he'd made on their way to the coffee shop? Carrying her bag? Holding the door open for her? Picking up the bill? It certainly didn't seem like a performance to win her over. She knew when chivalry was fake – the date would usually end each gesture studying her reaction, trying to determine if he'd done good, like he deserved a treat and a pat on the head for being a gentleman. Damon didn't seek this reassurance – there wasn't an end goal – it was fluid and natural. So why did it seem like he was now trying to drain all the romance out of her latest novel?
Finally done, and leaning back on her seat, Elena was determined to probe further into Damon's psyche. Beyond that sassy, pragmatic exterior, there had to be something deeper he was hiding. He couldn't just be sitting here, cool as a cucumber, when only a couple of hours ago he was bumbling nervously with attraction to her. This is what Elena did best in her books: released the soft side of the cut-throat CEO... broke the bodyguard's boundaries with his princess... turned the romance cynic into a believer. She needed into that head of his!
She shifted her body in his direction. "You told me that I deserve to know what a man is thinking before he puts his hands on me. So, what were you thinking during that time?"
Looking like he had just wandered into his own trap, Damon avoided her scrutinizing gaze, his eye twitching nervously. Then he let out a skittish chuckle. "You don't need to know what I was thinking – or how any man thinks. It would corrupt that sweet, innocent mind of yours."
Elena raised her eyebrows in amusement. "Sweet? Innocent?" She leaned over and scrolled to the next page on her document, tapping the screen, urging Damon to read the next scene.
He leaned forward, mouthing the words as he read them. After a moment, the mouthing stopped. He slowly began to nod, his lips flattening into a crooked, upside-down smirk. He finally leaned back in his seat, blowing air through his lips. "Well, that's... you've definitely captured... it's certainly not what I..."
"Are you forgetting words again?" Elena teased.
Damon ran his hands down his face. "I kind of am, yeah." Then he matched Elena's pose, turning to the side to face her. "Okay, if you really want to know what was going through my head, I'll tell you. Bear in mind, that this is no different to any other fantasy a man would have – so don't judge me for it because I'm not proud of it – this is just how the male mind works." He took a deep breath and then proceeded to blurt out his dark secret. "I was thinking about you tying me to the massage table, kneeling naked over my face, and threatening to give the spa a one-star review unless I gave you the best orgasm of your life."
As the words came out, an elderly man who was making his way to the exit with a coffee-to-go in hand, froze on the spot as he overheard. Then, with small, shuffled steps, he turned in their direction, his eyes round and unblinking, his thin lips buried under a thick, gray mustache.
Elena gestured at the man with a wide arm. "Well, clearly that's not how all men think, as you've just horrified this lovely gentleman!"
The man continued to stare at Damon in surprise. Then his jaw finally moved. "That spa you mentioned... is it local?"
Damon offered him a wide but apologetic smile. "Sorry, my man, it doesn't exist."
"Oh," the man uttered sadly. "That's a pity." Then he turned, opened the door, and left.
Damon swung his head smugly in Elena's direction. "See."
Elena rolled her eyes. "Well, excuse me if I like to write about sex a little more romantically than that. Women want the type of love that makes them feel alive. It's about sparks, tension, attraction, and connection – not having power over someone."
Flabbergasted, Damon jutted his finger in the direction of Elena's laptop. "Your current story is about a man who kidnaps a woman he likes!"
"To save her from another group of men plotting to kidnap her first," she pointed out defensively. "He was protecting her."
"Except she doesn't find that out until after she falls for him," he countered. Then he groaned, the conversation clearly going off track. He shuffled forward, putting a hand over hers, and looking into her eyes with concern. "Just be careful, okay? Not all men have good intentions. Some just want to steal the best thing women have to offer."
"And what's the best thing we have to offer?" she asked skeptically.
Damon's smile turned solemn, lowering his eyes. "Your love, Elena." His focus was on his hand, stroking lightly over hers, but his gaze remained distant. When he finally spoke, it was like a reluctant confession. "The way women love, it's like a fire – it brings light and warmth to men, and they'll want as much of it as they can get. But fire needs fuel to stay alive... so make sure you choose a man who has a lot of it. Some men are fully prepared to let that fire burn itself out and then wonder why the hell they're sitting in the cold and dark, like it's anyone's fault but their own."
Looking down at Damon's hand still resting over hers, Elena sunk into the silence between them. She wondered if he was speaking from experience. Had he let someone's fire go out? Or had he watched it happen to someone else?
She couldn't help but think about Stefan's mother. Stefan didn't talk about his family much, except for what he'd told Caroline – his parents had remained in a loveless marriage up until his mother's early death. That's all Elena knew. Perhaps he had confided in Caroline because her own parents were divorced – because she also guarded herself when it came to love, and maybe he respected that.
Elena was a romance writer – a fantasist – who had come from a happy home and believed that love would find a way and eventually conquer all. It was likely that Stefan and Caroline didn't want to destroy that belief for her. But here was a man now warning her about the dark side of love to save her from future heartache. A man that – up until now – had been behaving like he had a one-track mind. It was a refreshing revelation – he obviously had a deeper soul than he let on. It was very sweet. Very... romantic...
Shit, it really was romantic.
Elena placed her other palm over his, her fingers lightly tapping against the back of Damon's hand. Her eyes kept drifting over to her laptop, and she bit her lip anxiously. She didn't want to seem insensitive, but –
"You're dying to write that down, aren't you?" Damon's lips twitched lightly into a smile.
"Can I?" Elena burst desperately.
Damon chuckled and withdrew his hand from between hers. "Go ahead."
"Thank you!" she squealed. Elena spun back to her laptop, tapping swiftly at the keys. "It was so beautiful and poetic. What else have you got? Hit me!"
Damon sighed. "Okay, you want something beautiful and poetic?" He leaned his elbow against the cushioned backrest, rubbing his chin, while Elena waited, fingers poised over the keyboard, waiting for his next words of wisdom. Finally, he clicked his fingers with an idea. "When men make love to a woman, it's like they're a musical instrument... and we're trying to figure out how to hit the high notes."
Elena frowned, leaning back in her seat with a groan. Ergh, he was back to his one-track mind again. "That's not beautiful or poetic! We don't want to be compared to a banjo... or an oboe...or a –"
"What if I compared you to a harp?" Damon suggested, leaning closer, his fingertips gliding through her hair, slipping a loose strand behind her ear. His eyes roamed over her face with a passionate commitment to detail. "Stunning... elegant... tranquil... delicate – the instrument of the heavenly angels..."
With a reluctant smile, Elena considered this. It was slowly winning her over. "Mmm, that doesn't sound so bad. I guess it can be considered kind of romantic."
Damon rotated back on his seat, facing the table again. "Exactly!" he agreed, taking the final sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. As he placed the mug back down, he added playfully, "Plus, I'd get to pluck you."
Elena whacked him on the shoulder, her top teeth clamping down on her smile. "You're supposed to be helping me write a romance scene, not a locker room joke."
"I didn't see you helping me when you made me continue massaging you, despite knowing how I felt about you."
"I didn't see you refusing," Elena pointed out.
"Oh, you had me at your mercy, and you loved it," Damon accused teasingly, his eyes lingering on her.
A moment of tension passed between them, and Elena was starting to feel pleasantly nervous at the way his eyes seemed to be devouring her. She broke eye contact first, biting her lip, before mumbling, "You keep looking at me."
It didn't deter him. "I do, don't I?" he admitted playfully, tilting his head with a look of contentment. Then he leaned in, whispering in her ear, "Do you know who else keeps looking at you? The barista. I think it's time for another order before we get ushered out of here for the rush hour lunch period."
Elena fought back a chuckle as she looked over to see the barista was, indeed, eyeing them. She was in a prime spot by the window, but she was determined to keep it. "I've already had two coffees," she said, reaching into her bag and taking out her card, "so this time I'll have a hot cocoa. I don't want to get jittery." She handed her card to Damon.
Damon looked down at the card with barely concealed amusement, like she was a child who had just handed him Monopoly money that he clearly wasn't going to use. He took it from her and stood up from his seat. "Maybe the jitters aren't from the coffee," he said with a wink, placing her card down on the table beside her laptop before walking up to the counter.
Elena rolled her eyes, reluctantly dragged the card towards her, and put it back in her purse. This guy was making her heart pound in all the right ways.
Suddenly her phone vibrated. She wouldn't normally check messages while on a date, but since her date was on the opposite end of the room, putting in their drink order, it couldn't harm to fire back a quick message.
Groaning, she slumped back in her seat.
User192011211518: I received a notification that the spa voucher was used. You're not at work today then?
ElenaGAuthor: No, I'm not, Sherlock, I have the day off. But thank you for the voucher because I'm now on a date with my hot male masseuse.
User192011211518: Lucky guy.
That was an unexpected response. When she'd pretended to be drunk and he'd refused to take advantage of her, she'd successfully made him jealous at the mention of Elijah. Had her stalker lost interest? Elena's back straightened. Well, good... she guessed. She could now focus all her attention on Damon.
ElenaGAuthor: He might get even luckier.
User192011211518: How so?
ElenaGAuthor: Maybe I'll go around to his place afterward and enjoy another massage... except this time we'll both be naked.
Suddenly a teaspoon flew from the counter in front of Damon, bounced off a nearby wall, and clattered to the floor, decorating the floor with a small spray of cappuccino foam. As the barista came out to attend to the floor foam, Damon grabbed a napkin and started wiping down the counter.
"Are you okay?" Elena asked, beginning to rise from her seat.
Damon turned briefly to her, noticed her standing, and held his hand out in a stopping gesture. "Yep! I was shaking the sweetener packet... the spoon was in the mug... I hit it... don't worry, I got this." He held up the soggy napkin as proof.
"Ok-ay," Elena uttered hesitantly, returning to her seat.
Another message came through.
Elijah696969: Can we meet now, for lunch? I have another engagement after work.
ElenaGAuthor: Oh, now's not the best time. I'm having coffee with someone, it's kind of a date.
Elijah696969: Great, so you're already there? I'll see you in a few minutes.
Placing her phone face down on the table, Elena leaned back and groaned loudly into her hands, just as Damon was bringing over her hot cocoa.
"That doesn't sound good," Damon observed, sliding his cappuccino next to her mug. "Let me guess... your best friend's cousin is in the hospital with a broken leg and you're down as her next of kin and need to leave immediately...?"
"No, nothing like that," Elena said, much to Damon's visible relief. "A friend is stopping by at the coffee shop to speak to me."
Sitting down next to her, Damon picked up his mug, bringing it to his mouth. "That doesn't sound so bad."
"Yeah, I suppose so," Elena mused. "He promised to help me with a situation I have with an online stalker – actually, not so much online anymore, since he broke into my apartment. Anyway, my friend works in IT, so he set up a couple of cameras to try to catch him."
The mug paused at Damon's mouth after taking a sip, leaving him with a thin frothy mustache along his top lip. "You have a stalker?" he asked cautiously. "And you set up some cameras to catch him?" He drew his upper lip into his mouth, sucking away the foam, then slowly placed the mug back on the table. "That's very smart. Where did you put them?"
"Not smart enough, unfortunately," Elena sighed. "The guy was wearing a biker helmet when he came round. I don't think the cameras outside caught anything." Her phone vibrated against the table, and she picked it up, glancing at the screen. "Elijah's pulling up now. I promise it won't take long."
She stood from her seat as Elijah entered, and she walked over to him. She didn't want to chance him sitting down and gate-crashing her date. Besides, she was sure he had nothing to inform her. Elijah had placed two cameras by the front door to her apartment – one in front and one behind – and she highly doubted the stalker loitered at her doorway, putting on his helmet before knocking.
Elijah pulled her in for an unexpected hug and, as she drew back, she noticed he was staring intensely at Damon over her shoulder. Damon strode over and held his hand out for Elijah to shake, allowing Elena to step aside.
"You must be the date," Elijah observed, his tone neutral, shaking Damon's hand. "You're a lucky man."
"That I am." Damon looked down at Elijah's tightened grip and finally pulled his hand away. "Name's Damon S-sss – you know what? Just Damon will do. You're not likely to forget it. Kind of like Cher."
Elena looked awkwardly between the two of them. They were staring at each other like they were lifelong rivals. She immediately knew this was a bad idea. She didn't know if Elijah was giving off Jealous Suitor vibes or Protective Big Brother vibes, but either way, it was putting Damon in a difficult position. She had to get this over with quickly. She didn't want to seem ungrateful for Elijah's help, but this wasn't the agreed time. She could catch up with him properly over the phone later.
Slapping her hands at her sides, and taking a deep breath, Elena asked, "Any updates on my stalker situation then?" The sooner she had an answer, the sooner he could leave.
Glancing down at her, Elijah replied, "We might have captured a fleeting moment where your stalker wasn't wearing his helmet, Elena, but I'm having someone fine-tune the image at the moment." He looked up at Damon with the same acute stare he'd given him previously. "The details are a little blurry. Who knows if we'll be able to... identify him." Elijah cocked his head at Damon with a barely perceptible smirk.
Damon remained unfazed, his mouth flattening into a wide smile. "Sounds like intricate work."
"Are you aware that Elena is a famous author, Damon?" Elijah asked out of the blue.
Disapprovingly, Elena softly shook her head. "Elijah, you don't have to grill my da –"
"I do know that, yeah," Damon replied.
"Do you follow her on social media at all?"
Damon chuckled at Elijah's question. "I've only just met her."
"I understand," Elijah replied with a pseudo-respectful nod of his head. "Well, just to be clear, Damon..." – he spat out the name – "... I follow Elena, and if you follow her too, it might cause a bit of a problem between us. Do you understand what I mean?"
Damon's jaw tensed. "You follow Elena?"
"Actively."
"I see."
Elena groaned. She was fed up with this primitive display of macho behavior already. If she left it any longer, they'd be throwing their feces at each other. "Elijah, what are you doing?"
Elijah looked at her. "I'm just recommending that nobody else is added to your follower list at the moment, Elena, dear. Not until we find out who your stalker is." His focus returned to Damon. "They could be attempting to get to know you under all kinds of multiple identities."
Rasping through her lips was the biggest apology Damon was going to get for the moment. "Pay no attention to Elijah," she told Damon. "You can add me on social media if you want. He's just all worked up over my stalker situation. He likes to think he's the FBI as well as my Number One fan."
Not removing his eyes from Elijah, Damon smiled, "Number One fan, eh? Sounds like you caught your stalker."
"No." Elena shook her head, laughing low and nervously. "I've seen the stalker's body in a photo, and Elijah has some pretty distinctive tattoos."
"He could be using a fake photo," Damon quickly added.
Considering this briefly, Elena soon dismissed the possibility. "I don't think so. The stalker seems really egotistical about his body."
Elijah's stare intensified, his eyebrows flicking upwards. He hissed at Damon, emphasizing each syllable, snarling as he spoke. "Egotistical maniac."
Sighing, Elena wiped her hands across her eyes. How long was this going to continue? She needed a break. "Yeah, well, I'm popping to the restroom." She shot a final request at the both of them with a stern point of her finger: "Try to relax that weird stare you've got going on with each other in the meantime. I expect you both to be friends by the time I get back."
"No problem," Damon and Elijah said simultaneously, still looking like they might duel at any second.
Throwing her hands halfway in the air in defeat, Elena headed to the restroom.
Chapter 10: Bada Bing, Bada Bam
Chapter Text
Chapter Ten: Bada Bing, Bada Bam
Damon Salvatore
Well... this was certainly a category-ten shitstorm.
Elena had a secret predatory stalker:
The designer-suited Douchebag696969.
The moment Elena was out of sight, Elijah straightened his jacket, and said, "Okay, we're going to make this quick," before turning his back to Damon, rapping his knuckles obnoxiously on the counter to get the barista's attention, and ordering a macchiato.
Damon had no choice but to step closer to listen to what this clown had to say. Given his hints, it seemed that Elijah had worked out that Damon was the stalker Elena had requested him to track down. But how? At the time cameras were installed outside Elena's apartment, Damon had worn that biker helmet from the moment he'd left his bedroom, to the moment he'd returned to his bedroom, stuck on Born to Be Wild, and danced around in the helmet for a little bit, feeling like a badass but probably not looking like one. What the hell did he have on him?
"There can only be one man in Elena's life," Elijah warned him, "and that man is me."
"That's funny, seeing as she doesn't want you," Damon replied.
Elijah's tongue rolled against the inside of his cheek; likely a calming method to control his temper, but really he just looked like he was trying to dislodge a sesame seed from between his teeth.
"If you don't want Elena to find out that you're stalking her, you'll leave and never contact her again," Elijah carried on calmly.
Damon leaned sideways against the counter, chuckling at the threat. He probably had scare tactics for every guy Elena tried to date. He has no evidence, don't fall for it. "Do you actually listen to yourself when you speak? I'd recommend loosening that tie a little – let some oxygen to your brain."
Elijah took his phone from his pocket, tapped into an app, rotated it to the side, and held it out for Damon to view the video footage of himself...
... carrying roses... and takeout...
... inside... Elena's... apartment.
Not outside.
Inside.
Losing his cool, Damon grabbed hold of Elijah by the lapels of his suit, growling, "Tell me Elena knows about that camera!"
Elijah simply smirked and looked slowly down at Damon's hands, pleased to have finally rattled him.
"Want me to call the cops?" the young barista asked flatly behind the counter, indifferent to the response, like a sudden brawl in the Cozy Cuddles Café would be the highlight of his week.
"No, boy," Elijah said patronizingly, raising his hands and pulling Damon's off him in a tight, twisting grip. "The suit is wrinkle-free, I'll be fine. Why don't you focus on bringing me my coffee sometime today?"
The last of the barista's customer service demeanor dropped, and he gave a slight head tilt to Damon, like Go ahead and punch him – I'll be looking the other way, making this dickhead's macchiato.
"So, you see," Elijah continued slowly, addressing Damon, "I have all the evidence I need."
If that was supposed to be some kind of bluff, it was a poor one. "Go ahead," Damon insisted. "Show her. Once we're both done beating the crap out of you, I'll let her beat the crap out of me. It'll be worth it."
Elijah's coffee finally arrived. He took a long, indulgent sip of it, taking his time, savoring every second of Damon's unease. Setting the mug back down, he smoothly declared, "I don't have to show her. I have a feeling you're the kind of man who won't be able to hold this in. As soon as you spill the beans about the hidden cameras –" he let the word hang for a moment before adding with a flash of malice, "that's right, cameras, plural – I'll feign ignorance. Then she'll discover the cameras, believe you put them there – after all, you were the only one who knew about them – and you'll get locked up when you could have just simply..." Elijah wiggled his index and middle finger in the air, as though they were tiny legs toddling toward the exit. "... walked away."
Hearing footsteps behind him, Elijah quickly put his phone away and took hold of his coffee again. "Let's test how high your morals are," he whispered to Damon.
Elena stopped next to Elijah, only for Damon to take her by the arm, and pull her gently in next to him. She looked between the both of them. "Are you friends yet?" she asked hopefully.
"Oh... the best," Elijah smirked into his cup, finishing the drink.
Taking hold of Elena's waist, Damon turned her in his direction. He had to find those cameras and get them out of her apartment. He could deal with Elijerk later. Relaxing his voice into a charming tone, he smiled sweetly at her and suggested, "What would you say to us heading back to your apartment, watching a movie of your choice, and I'll pick us up takeout for lunch?"
Elijah stepped to the side, hovering behind Elena's shoulder, and said knowingly, "She likes seafood."
Damon's eyes went to him, trying not to snarl at Elijah's hint-filled taunt.
Her eyes flicked up and down Damon coyly, and Elena beamed from ear to ear, considering his proposal. "I think that sounds like a wonderful afternoon," she eventually agreed. "But what about the video footage? Shouldn't we wait for the image showing the stalker's identity?"
"Oh, Elijah knows his way around a computer, I'm sure he could email it to you himself." Damon stressed the last word with a satisfied jab. "He's good with technology – like installing secret cameras. I bet he could install some so small you wouldn't even notice them – after all, he's probably used to handling tiny hardware." Damon shot the phallic joke smugly over her shoulder at Elijah, who appeared unimpressed. Still addressing Elena, he then added, "You said he works in IT, right?"
While Elena confirmed that he did, Elijah kept his piercing gaze locked on Damon, his head moving in a smooth, calculated shake of denial, his lips quirking into a sinister smirk. Then he boastfully mouthed three syllables, steadily and meticulously, so there could be no misinterpretation: Ma-fi-a.
Seriously?!
Come on, that asshole did not just claim to be in the mafia! Did he think he was the main character of one of Elena's books, or was he just failing at being intimidating? Err, okay, Elijah696969, sure, you're in the mafia... along with Don696969 and Tony696969. There's probably a mafia group chat too, called the Bada Bing Bozos. What. An. Absolute. Prick!
While Elena continued to speak to Damon, going into detail about Elijah's line of work, Elijah took out his phone, scrolled around for a second, then held the screen up behind Elena's head, just within Damon's vision.
Damon's eyes widened in fury, and his top lip curled.
On the screen was a zoomed-in shot of Elena, taken with Elijah's hidden camera. She was in her living room, bending over to pick something off the floor, wearing nothing but a white camisole and pink panties.
Breathing heavily, Damon's fists clenched. He couldn't let Elijah goad him into his trap. He could get those cameras out of her apartment today and link them back to the real perpetrator who put them there. Elena would never believe him if he blurted it out now – accusing her so-called friend – without the evidence in his hand.
But, to anger Damon further, Elijah kissed the edge of his phone, like that was his prize-winning shot... and he'd had a lot of fun with it.
Then. Damon. Lost. It.
Elijah barely had time to register Damon's sudden movement, instinctively backing up against the coffee counter, while fumbling to shove his phone into his pocket. Sweeping around Elena, Damon drew his fist back and delivered a solid blow to Elijah's face. The impact snapped Elijah's head to the side, the momentum first carrying him along the edge of the counter, then downwards, his back sliding against the polished wood as he crumpled to the floor. The phone he had been desperate to hide clattered to the ground beside him.
Elena's hands flew to her face in horror. "Damon!"
The barista grinned.
After the initial shock subsided, Elijah remained splayed out with his shoulder tilted uncomfortably against the bottom of the counter, his eyes suddenly glinting with mischief. With an exaggerated howl of pain, Elijah pressed the back of his hand to his bleeding nose, rubbing excessively to cover his hand in blood, which he then presented up to Elena with a hammy performance, like he was starring in some damn Shakespearean tragedy.
"Elena, my dear!" began his theatrical monologue. "I don't understand! I've done nothing to deserve this! I thought we were getting along, but he's obviously nothing but a jealous sociopath –"
Damon's eyes formed a dramatic arc. Oh, enough of this shit! Kneeling down over Elijah, he snarled. "C-minus, you overactopus! Now get up!"
Suddenly, hands grabbed the back of Damon's jacket.
"Get off of him!" Elena shouted, pulling him to his feet, and forcing him to spin around to face her. She waved her arms widely, shrieking, "What the hell was that?!"
Before Damon could answer, Elijah chimed in, his voice now at an obnoxiously high pitch that grated on Damon's nerves. He couldn't wait to reveal this phony bastard for what he really was. But now, with his temper having slipped out of control, how was he supposed to pull it off? Please, Elena, let me into your apartment – I only punch people for apparently no reason.
"Elena," Elijah whined, attempting to stand by sliding up the edge of the counter, only to bump his head on the worktop lip, and slide back down to the floor again. "Who is this man? Why is he with you? He's insane – look what he's done to me! I think I should go to the hospital. My nose might be broken... my tooth might be broken..."
Damon spun his head, hissing down at him. "I'll break your jaw too if you don't shut up!" This was a nightmare! He needed to damn well think, and he couldn't do that with Buster Keaton flailing around in the background.
Rushing between Damon and Elijah, Elena shouted, "Stop, Damon! You need to leave!"
Damon grasped at his temples with his hand, rubbing firmly. He had completely screwed this up. "Elena, please, I can explain –"
"There's nothing to explain. Elijah's right: he did nothing to deserve that. Now leave!" Elena's voice trembled with a mix of anger and disbelief as she stormed toward Damon, her palms outstretched. With a forceful shove, she pushed against his chest, urging him to go.
Damon stumbled slightly, his breath hitching in a sharp inhale before it turned into a low groan. "Elena –" he started.
Elena froze. "What was that?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.
"What was what?"
Elena's brows knit together, and she shoved him again, this time harder. As much as he tried to hide it, the impact forced him to visibly flinch with evident pain.
A cloud of realization suddenly descended on Elena, and, with wide eyes, she grabbed at Damon's shirt, pulling forcefully at the buttons, tugging them open one by one.
"You couldn't wait until we were out of here?" he joked. But he knew it wouldn't lighten the mood. He'd already figured out what she was searching for: the bruises he'd stupidly mentioned earlier.
She stood back, her lips tight, her expression a mixture of anger and betrayal, as she observed the lightly-purpled handiwork she'd dotted over his chest the night before.
After a moment of her standing there, staring at his chest, looking like the calm before a storm, a pot silently ready to boil over, Damon's mouth opened, his voice quiet and low. "Elen –"
Snapping back into the present, Elena charged past him without giving him a second glance, though Damon still caught the tears forming in her eyes. She headed back to their table, grabbed her laptop, shoved it fiercely into her bag, and stomped out the door.
Getting to his feet, Elijah leaned back against the counter and grabbed a napkin to place against his bloody nose. The fold of white tissue draped over his chin didn't conceal his wide grin. "Well," he declared in satisfaction, "that went better than planned."
With a final glare at Elijah, Damon followed Elena out of the exit. Beating the crap out of Elijah again wasn't going to achieve anything. Elena was his priority now and, if he drove fast enough, he could catch up with her before she reached her apartment. She could call the police... she could beat the shit out of him... but he was still finding those damn cameras and ripping them out of there – even if Elena refused to believe he wasn't the one who put them there in the first place.
Making his way to his car, he saw Elena had already left. Maybe she wouldn't read another message from him... or maybe she would. He opened up his phone and went to her profile.
He sighed. She'd blocked him already.
He got into his car and started the engine. He'd have to set up a new username. One that accurately reflected the new position he was in now.
User2154257211184.
Bodyguard.
That was where they were at – whether she liked it or not.
Of course, she might be okay with it... if she was willing to listen to him...
And if she happened to know the passcode to Elijah's phone that Damon had stolen from the floor in the scuffle.
But – he swore on all things holy – if it had the number 69 in it, that's how many times Damon's fists were going to pound down on him the next time they met.
Chapter 11: All Roads Lead to a Beating
Chapter Text
Chapter Eleven: All Roads Lead to a Beating
Elena Gilbert
Elena's steering wheel was feeling the full force of her anger as she drove home. "Stupid..." Slap. "Stupid..." Slap. "Stupid..." Slap. The moment she spotted her apartment block, she immediately pulled over and turned off her engine. She was not in the right frame of mind to carry on to her parking spot and attempt to squeeze in between the two neighboring cars which always encroached on her space. She would be tempted to take off a wing mirror or two.
He was her stalker. Damon was her stalker. He must have set the whole thing up. Giving her that spa voucher, knowing she would go there and meet him, fooling her into believing he was a nice, normal guy. There was nothing normal about him. He was a low, detestable snake.
A snake with hands that had been all over her body – and she'd enjoyed it.
The thought enraged her more. Grabbing hold of her steering wheel and shaking it ferociously, Elena screamed loud enough to startle two elderly pedestrians walking on the sidewalk beside her car. They hurried past, the man grabbing his wife's hand as he stared back in disgust at Elena through her windshield, no doubt wondering when the neighborhood went downhill.
Her freak-out over, Elena breathed steadily as she glared back, her eyes heavy and her hair disheveled like she'd just crawled out of a mosh pit. Her features must have twisted into a snarl as the man tightened his hand, picked up his pace, and led his wife quickly away. What's the matter? Never witnessed the fallout of modern dating before? she thought spitefully.
As soon as they left, Elena dropped her eyes. It wasn't like her to take her anger out on others, but she needed to stay angry because the moment she stopped being angry she knew she would begin to cry. She was not shedding tears over that asshole. Yes, she'd liked him, but she'd known him a day; she would get over it.
She took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. Her chest continued to rise and fall, each exhale becoming more and more therapeutic. She could feel herself getting over him already.
Her phone, lying on the passenger seat, vibrated. She'd already blocked Damon, so it had to be Elijah.
Elijah! She'd just left him in the coffee shop after getting punched by her psycho stalker! What kind of friend was she?!
A wave of guilt hit her, and she picked up her phone to respond.
User2154257211184: We need to talk.
Elena's snarl returned.
ElenaGAuthor: Die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die, die!
User2154257211184: Okay, first we need to talk about all those commas.
Why the hell couldn't he just leave her alone?! She came out of the conversation, ready to block him again, but wondering if it was even worth it when he would just set up another profile and continue to hound her?
Suddenly her passenger door opened, and a male figure stepped into her car, planting his entitled butt down on the passenger seat and closing the door behind him. She should have known to lock her door – nobody parked up outside this building unless they were an Uber driver.
Elena sighed as she turned to deal with the idiot beside her.
Then every neuron in her body fired up.
When it came to fight or flight, flight would have been a good idea right now. Her crazy stalker had just sat in her car – adding fuel to the fire by rambling about her obsessive use of punctuation – and she should have opened her car door and ran.
But running is what she had done earlier when she'd left the coffee shop in a state of shock and shame. Those emotions were long gone. Now she was in fight mode.
Except she had nothing to fight with. She scanned quickly around the car. The only things that were weapon-worthy were her phone and laptop – and she wasn't about to risk breaking either of those. There had to be something else.
Damon turned in his seat, concerned by her fidgeting and inattention. "What are you looking for?"
"Something to hit you with!" she snapped.
"Oh," he uttered without much surprise. "Okay... I'll help you look." He opened up the glove compartment and pulled out a thick folded map of the United States and an emergency hammer.
Elena's eyes fixated on the heavy glass breaker like it was cake and her diet had just ended. "Give me the hammer," she demanded, holding out her hand.
"Erm, no, that doesn't sound like fun for me," Damon replied, quickly slamming the hammer back inside the glove compartment and handing her the map instead.
Hammer forgotten and pleased to now have any object in her hand, Elena was quick to get to her knees on her seat and attack like she'd had map-wielding fencing lessons all her life, whacking Damon from all angles as he held his forearms crossed in front of him in a futile attempt to protect himself. "Psycho!" Whack. "Freak!" Whack. "Maniac!" Whack. "Lunatic!" Whack. "Pervert!"
Damon finally grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Hey," he scolded, "I'm not a pervert. I didn't know you were using that massage voucher today – I thought you were at work. I offered to discontinue, and you refused."
Despite restraining her arms, the map to Damon's face was still a wrist flick away, which was Elena's last move – thwacking his cheek firmly with the pages and surprising him into releasing her – before she slumped back onto her seat. "Get out of my car," she demanded. "I never want to see you – or hear from you – again."
Damon groaned into his hand. "That might be difficult."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Removing his hand from his face, Damon pointed through the windshield, up towards the top of the red-brick building. "I live in the penthouse."
Elena's lips disappeared inside her mouth, her teeth pressing down on them as she held back from exploding. Finally, with a tight voice, she said, "Tell me you're joking."
Damon shook his head. "You'll know when I'm joking because my jokes are funny."
For Elena, the pieces were suddenly starting to slot together. He wasn't some stranger – this wasn't all a big coincidence – it was planned. Her jaw bobbed up and down, her mixed emotions bubbling up in her voice, as she stuttered, "S-so you've s-seen me here... before you ever contacted me?" At Damon's confirmation nod, she continued, her voice becoming steadier, "And you couldn't just come up to me and introduce yourself like a normal human being? You had to stalk me?"
Damon suddenly got defensive. "Well, you seemed to be under the impression you liked that kind of thing," he grumbled. "Considering the love interests in your novels are all toxic men, I assumed you were attracted to that."
"Clearly I am!" Elena declared, her eyes gesturing up and down him.
She meant it to be an insult. Damon did not take it that way.
His lips tugged upwards. "You're attracted to me?"
"That wasn't a compliment!" she screeched.
His smirk flipped upside down, his head tipping in contemplation. "You're hot, so it kind of was." Seeing her body jerk in annoyance, Damon quickly grabbed the map from her lap, holding it in front of him as a literal paper-thin shield, only lowering it when her posture relaxed again.
"You hit Elijah – you are toxic," Elena decided. "He did nothing to you –"
"It wasn't what he did to me, Elena, it's what he did to you!" Damon blurted. "He's obsessed with you. He's been stalking you. He has secret cameras set up inside your apartment –"
"What?!"
"– aaaaand he's outside your window." Damon rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head as Elijah tapped on the glass.
Elena turned her head to see that Elijah was, indeed, outside the car, leaning down to look inside. His expression darkened seeing Damon sitting in the passenger seat. This was getting too much! First Damon followed her to her car... now Elijah was here! She felt like the Pied Piper, only – given what Damon had just told her – she didn't know if the men on either side of her were both big children or nasty rats.
It took a moment for Elena to decide to wind down her window. Damon had proven himself to be a liar. Cameras inside her apartment? He couldn't possibly be telling the truth. He had a problem with Elijah and now he was spinning stories to keep her away from him.
Elijah leaned on the window frame, strands of his normally combed-back brown hair falling over his temples. He flicked a finger inside the car, gesturing inside, as though Elena had any chance of forgetting about the asshole sitting beside her. "What's he doing here?" he asked.
"Saying goodbye," Elena reassured him, side-eyeing Damon.
Elijah continued to remain tense but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes. His cheek was still red; the bridge of his nose tinging slightly purple. It was possible it hurt to move his face – it was difficult to tell – he wasn't exactly highly expressive facially at any other time.
"You here to remove those cameras before Elena finds them?" Damon snarked.
Elijah blinked slowly in irritation. "I have no idea what he's talking about." He fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, avoiding Elena's eyes boring into him. "But before he leaves, he can give me back my phone."
Elena swung her head towards Damon in shock. "You stole his phone?!" Perhaps she should stop being shocked at this point. He obviously had no limit to how low he was willing to sink.
Damon took the phone from his pocket begrudgingly. "I'm not keeping it," he insisted. "I took it to prove to you that he's obsessed with you – to prove that he has video footage of you inside your apartment – and that was the reason I hit him."
Elena's head swung back to Elijah, her mouth hung open, waiting for answers.
Chuckling dryly, Elijah proclaimed, "Don't listen to his nonsense! He's crazy, Elena, dear! Haven't we already proven that?"
"Then give me your pin code," Damon insisted, "and we'll see which of us is crazy."
Letting out a long, frustrated groan, Elena demanded they both shut up. She needed time to think, but she was too tired to deal with this now. She'd stupidly stayed up half the night trying to stalk her stalker, only for him to appear in person the next day. She'd had a barrage of new information hit her like a freight train within the past hour. She had experienced every emotion under the sun... and was now starting to feel like a child being pulled between warring parents. The one thing she could do was walk away from them both. She didn't need this kind of stress. But Elijah did need back his phone. He'd had it stolen because of her.
Unfortunately, Damon was looking down at the screen with a kind of smug discomfort. Had he already figured out the code to unlock it? Before she could get curious, she decided – forget it – it was none of her business. "Damon, give Elijah back his phone," she ordered him.
Damon's response was delayed. Finally, his head shot up. "What? Oh, yeah, sure, no problem." He tapped the phone a couple of times, seemingly to wake it up since the edge of the screen brightened again. "Why don't you pass it to him," he suggested, "and... take your time."
As Elena took the phone, Damon tilted the screen in her direction so she could see Elijah's lock screen. At first, she didn't react – it was just a collection of random photos in the style of a collage – but then she looked a little closer, and her breath froze in her throat.
All the photos were of her.
Some from her social media posts. Some candid photos were taken from outside the coffee shop, looking in at her while she worked alone on her laptop. But one photo in particular caught her eye: the center one. It was a photo of her and Elijah together, his arm around her, smiling down at her.
This photo didn't exist. Elijah had edited it – putting himself in one of her social media photos, making them look like a couple.
Elena could barely process what she was seeing when Elijah's hand reached into the car, snatching the phone from her.
Was Damon telling the truth?
Unable to look at Elijah, Elena kept her eyes lowered as she spoke. "Why do you have photos of me on your lock screen?"
Chuckling nervously, Elijah slid the phone into his jacket, placing it safely in the inside pocket. He continued to lean against the window frame as he clasped his hands together, looking sheepish. "What can I say, Elena? I'm your Number One fan, just like you said." He bobbed his head by way of apology. "It was inappropriate, and I'll delete it right away, but try to remember that I'm not the real threat here."
Elena was starting to feel anxious. Why was she suddenly feeling this way? Damon had stalked her, and she'd charged at him – no hesitation, no fear – like a bull to a matador. She'd never felt this kind of unease with Damon. Not like she did now, with Elijah dismissing her concerns like she was the crazy one. She needed to tread carefully. "There are photos of me that aren't on my social media accounts, Elijah," she pointed out as calmly as she could. "Did you take those?"
This time, Elijah's laughter was stronger. "Elena, you're really focusing on the wrong thing here. I mean, look at you! You're sitting in your car with your stalker – the stalker you begged me to catch for you. He broke into your home, left you roses and takeout, and then posed as a masseuse to get a date with you. He's the danger to you, not me."
Elena was decoding Elijah's words like a machine. She nodded to appease him but swallowed the lump in her throat before she spoke. "That's true," she muttered. Until now, she had avoided looking at him, but now she turned her head and met his eyes with a cold stare. Unbeknownst to him, he had slipped up. "Except I never told you the type of flowers Damon left me." She watched Elijah's smirk drop. "And I certainly never told you he was my masseuse."
As she waited for an explanation, Damon had already figured it out. "He's bugged your phone." His voice was layered with panic, struggling to remain calm. "Elena, you need to drive."
She had already switched the engine on. Her mouth tightened. Her fury had returned.
Elijah crouched down briefly, appearing like he was picking something off the floor. Then he suddenly stood, reaching for the door handle just as Damon leaned across Elena and hit the central locking then proceeded to wind up the window. A second too late, and unsuccessful at opening the door, the handle clunked back down. "My dear, get out of the car so we can clear this mess up. It's just a silly misunderstanding."
"Elena, drive – NOW!" Damon repeated urgently.
Her foot was already on the gas, the car pulling onto the road, leaving Elijah far behind them.
Chapter 12: Cars Have Windows Too
Chapter Text
Chapter Twelve: Cars Have Windows Too
Damon Salvatore
"I'm just saying, it breaks the flow to type 'Die', then comma, 'Die', then comma, 'Die', then comma... it doesn't give the impression that you really mean it."
"Oh, really?" Elena snarled. "How about 'Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up'...?!" She shrieked the final two words, digging her fingertips into the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
Damon shrunk into his seat at her tone; not to mention the corners of her eyelids were beginning to twitch. "That sounds a little more like you mean it."
"Just because you were telling the truth about Elijah doesn't mean I've forgiven you," Elena stated angrily. "I've run out of words to describe the type of person you are."
"Pulchritudinous?"
"I know what that means!" she screeched, unamused.
"Oh." He'd hoped she didn't. It meant 'physically beautiful' – he'd learned it from Word of the Day toilet paper he'd given his brother as a gag gift. Stefan had certainly paid attention to the gift since Damon had received a message from him containing the word defenestration that same week.
Elena had barely looked at Damon throughout the twenty minutes she'd been driving. He had no idea where she was going, but the further away from Elijah, the better. If Elijah had bugged her phone, it was probably best not to ask her to disclose her destination in case he was picking up everything they said. Truth be told, Damon was surprised she hadn't kicked him out of the car yet, especially when he stupidly decided to add under his breath, "Can't help but notice you didn't deny it though."
Her intake of breath was sharp. "Any second now, I'm going to throw you out of the window."
"That's called defenestration."
"What?!"
"To kill someone by throwing them out of a window – that's called defenestration."
"Then I... am going... to defenestrate... you!" she threatened through her teeth.
"Believe it or not, that's not the first time someone's said that to me."
Elena almost laughed. "Oh, I believe it!"
Her driving became more erratic, the car swaying slightly. Now was a good time to quit bothering her.
Turning his head and looking out of the window, Damon recognized the tree-lined road they were on. His parents had driven this route many times when he and Stefan were kids. Just over a mile away was a five-acre lake, surrounded by woodland, and dotted around the lake were several vacation homes. At least, Damon had thought they were vacation homes when he was younger and everything seemed bigger and grander, but in reality, they were nothing more than large fishing lodges. It explained why every other family was also there fishing. Many of the other kids were joined by their fathers, but in the case of the Salvatore children, fishing was something they had learned from their mother, having learned it from her father, who had left her the lodge as part of her inheritance. Their father didn't offer much engagement, aside from renovating the lodge so it was more to his comfort, and spending most of his time working while they were playing.
Now the lodge belonged to Stefan. Giving up his share after the death of their mother was the least Damon could do considering the amount of times he had terrified his younger brother into believing there were bears in the woods that were going to eat him. Now that Damon was facing the prospect of being dumped on the side of the road, he was wondering if that was true.
"Do you think there are bears around here?" he thought out loud.
Elena still wasn't out of her mood. "Do you want to find out?"
He should have expected that answer. "Not really."
As the car began to tremble, Damon noticed that Elena was struggling with resistance in the steering. Of course, she was trying hard to carry on and not let her sudden helplessness show, but he knew something was wrong.
"I should check the car," he told her. "Pull over."
Surprisingly, Elena did what he said without complaint, rotating the wheel and coming to a halt on the edge of the road. She also suspected something wasn't right.
As Damon opened his passenger door, he stopped and turned to Elena. "Don't drive off without me. I know you don't think much of me at the moment, but I do want to make sure you get somewhere safe until Elijah's off your back. Right now, I'm here to protect you." He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car.
"Protect me from bears?" Elena quipped sarcastically, arching an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk.
Damon returned her smirk dryly before closing the door. At least she was joking now – that was a step in the right direction.
After checking his side of the car and finding nothing out of the ordinary, he made his way around the front. No sooner had he stepped in front of the car than a sudden loud rev of the engine startled him. He jumped back instantly, fearing that Elena was planning to flatten him under the wheels. The disapproving scowl he threw at her through the windshield soon relaxed when he saw that she was laughing uncontrollably at his reaction. He launched his eyebrows upwards in a questioning gesture. Really? That's how you're going to play it? But secretly, he was holding back a smile.
Fine, let her have her fun. As long as she was laughing, he was living.
Seeing her laugh, he wasn't sure if he meant that literally or figuratively. She had the kind of smile that could keep any man alive. It was addictive to watch.
He had to act fast while she was in a good mood though, and his pace in front of the bonnet was admittedly a little quicker on the second attempt, just in case she changed her mind and decided a hit-and-run on an empty road was the perfect murder method.
As soon as he reached the opposite side of the car, he saw what the problem was, and he hurried back to the other side to tell her.
He opened the passenger door. "You're losing air in your front tire fast. You've got a mile max until it's completely flat. You got a spare?" A mile wasn't going to get her to wherever she was aiming to be. She had the option to stay at Stefan's lodge, of course. He didn't think she would take him up on that offer though – and that was probably for the best since he didn't know how he would explain all the Salvatore family photos without infuriating her again. She still wasn't aware he was Stefan's brother. He'd find the right time to tell her... like when they were in different countries or something.
Elena winced awkwardly at his question. "My spare's flat."
Damon blinked slowly at her in disbelief. It looked like she'd be finding out today then, considering they were running out of options. Who knows, maybe he'd get lucky and get eaten by a bear before Elena had the chance to drown him in the lake.
"Don't give me that look," Elena said. "I meant to replace it, but it only happened last week."
"You've had two flat tires in two weeks?" That sounded too suspicious. "How did the first one happen?"
"I don't know," Elena insisted. "But Elijah was driving by and spotted me. He changed the tire and called himself my –" Elena rolled her eyes, the pattern beginning to dawn on her. "– my knight in shining armor."
Damon got back in the car and closed the door. "That's too coincidental." He remembered Elijah leaning down beside Elena's car before they took off. "I think he's sabotaging your car and then tracking you to the location where you're stranded."
Elena didn't look convinced. "That's way too extreme... and he can't possibly be monitoring my entire life, Damon."
"He can if your entire life is on your phone. Has he installed anything on it?"
She started shaking her head but then stopped. Pressing her lips together, she sighed through her nose, considering the dreaded possibility that Damon might be right. "He... gave me an international SIM card. He said it would help me reach a wider audience online."
Groaning, Damon slumped his head back on his headrest. "Nobody ever warned you not to accept gifts from strange men?"
"No..." Elena replied dryly. "But I was warned not to get into cars with strange men."
Damon rolled his tongue against his front teeth. She had a point. "Okay, here's what's going to happen," he sighed. "You're going to drive this car as far as it will go before your 'knight in shining scrap metal' shows up. I'm going to take out your SIM and toss it out the window. Preferably into some nettles or quicksand."
Pulling her phone off its cradle on the dashboard, Elena clutched it to her chest. "You can't! This is my livelihood!"
"You won't have a life to have a livelihood if Elijah finds you."
Looking down at her phone mournfully, like Damon had just suggested taking it off of life support, Elena finally relented and began to hand it over. Then, as soon as Damon reached out for it, she withdrew her offer. "I want your phone first."
"Why?"
"Because if I'm going to be stuck in a car with a weirdo like you, I want a working phone."
Again, she had a point. At least she was learning to prioritize her safety. Plus, she'd downgraded her insults towards him from 'psycho' to 'weirdo', which was oddly flattering. "Fine." Damon dug into his pocket and handed over his phone, swapping it with Elena's. "The password's sexypants."
Testing out the password to check that it worked, she responded dryly, "Of course it is."
"I was thinking of you when I set that password." At Elena's surprised expression, Damon added, "Don't worry, I'll be changing it to crazypants later."
Elena shot him a cold glare. His password worked and – unlike Elijah – Damon did not have photos of her on either his lock screen or home screen. Both wallpapers were of himself striking sexy poses. She flashed him his own photos to prompt him for an explanation.
"It guarantees I'll never lose my phone. Whoever finds it will always hand it back."
Elena sighed heavily, like she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Why exactly?"
He arched an eyebrow playfully. "Well, wouldn't you want to meet the guy in that picture?"
She groaned. "Unfortunately, I already did." Then she took Damon's advice and pulled back onto the road while he worked on removing her SIM card.
Chapter 13: Not a Mills & Boon for Miles
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirteen: Not a Mills & Boon for Miles
Elena Gilbert
Driving with a deflating tire felt like pushing a shopping cart across a gravel driveway. Luckily, Elena didn't have far to go. As part of her rent, Stefan had provided her with a spare key to his lakeside lodge in case she ever wanted a quiet place to write. She'd almost used it last summer, but the short trek through the woods at dusk had her ambushed by gnats, and she'd quickly turned back. Scratching at bites all evening hadn't sounded particularly relaxing. Now the lodge was her only option. She needed a quiet place to think so she could come up with a plan about what to do about Elijah.
Next to her, Damon was straightening a small metal coil from one of his keychains so he could push it into the SIM slot in order to release the international microchip card that Elijah had given her. He looked like he was more desperate to get the thing out than she was. He was grumbling to himself like Muttley as he struggled to aim the tip of the wire while experiencing flat tire turbulence that probably made him feel like he was on Wacky Races.
Elena shot him a crooked smile, faking a sympathetic tone. "Aw, is your tiny rod having trouble entering the hole?"
Damon paused what he was doing. "Don't worry, Miss Smirkyface, it may be playing hard to get, but I've never been denied entry before... as you'll soon find out." He grinned as Elena rolled her eyes back towards the road, defeated. Then he held up the wire between his fingertips, declaring proudly, "And my rod isn't tiny. It's perfectly proportionate for the job."
Elena pinched her lips together to avoid smiling at his comebacks. He's an asshole, she reminded herself. Don't fall for it.
Despite her initial protests, Elena was now relieved to be getting rid of the SIM card that was linking her to Elijah. Even if he wasn't using it to track her, she wanted no reminders of him. Sure, it was going to be strange being off-grid for the next few hours, but she still had her old SIM card at home that she could reactivate once she was back, and at least she had Damon's phone in the meantime. She might need it to get someone to check in on Polly. She'd given a spare key to Caroline, but she wasn't too fond of her mother's parrot, so maybe Stefan could collect it from her. She could email him – that's if she decided to stay overnight.
It felt as though the tire was completely flat now, so Elena began to lower her speed, ready to pull over. Fatigue was hitting her hard after the day she'd had. If she could get hold of Stefan, she decided that she would spend the night in the lodge. She was too tired to deal with hidden cameras and the possibility of Elijah turning up at her home. All she wanted to do was sleep and deal with it all in the morning.
Elena glanced over at Damon, continuing to prod away at her phone. She wasn't sure what she was going to do about him, but he was certainly not sharing the lodge with her. Perhaps he could use that slippery charm of his to convince someone in a neighboring lodge to give him a lift back to town.
With a whoop of success, Damon finally released the SIM card, just as Elena pulled up beside a giant sequoia tree. Then he noticed they were static. "Why are you stopping now?" he complained.
"Oh, I don't know," Elena snarked. "Maybe because I don't want to see fireworks start beneath my car." She turned off the engine. "Besides, it's only a short walk to where I'm heading. I'm going to stay in a lodge nearby."
Damon froze while he was in the middle of unbuckling his seatbelt. "You have a lodge... by the lake?"
His slow question unnerved her. "Yeah... what's wrong with that?"
He took a breath, held it for a second, then released it. "Nothing," he replied, opening his door and quickly exiting. He seemed to be contemplating telling her something; a mixture of amusement and trepidation flickering in his expression. The moment passed and he made his way to the rear of the car, stepped halfway into the road to fling the SIM card across to the opposite side, then he returned and opened her door for her. As she grabbed her bag and stepped out, his amusement returned. "Oh, FYI... so do I." He closed the door behind her.
"What do you mean?" She didn't read enough into it at first. She assumed he was making a joke she wasn't getting.
"I mean, I also have a lodge by the lake," he clarified. "I guess we'll be neighbors for the night."
Elena stomped her foot. "Are you kidding me?!" Was there any place she could stay where this guy wasn't her neighbor? It was like he was haunting her! She threw her hands over her face, groaning in exasperation. Then she decided that she would retain the little sanity she had left. It didn't really matter. It was a large area and they'd likely be nowhere near each other. It also took care of where he was going to stay for the night. She let her hands fall to her sides. "Whatever," she sighed. "Just... stay at your place, and I'll stay at mine, and let's not face each other again until morning."
She walked to the trunk of the car and put her bag inside. Now that she had Damon's phone, there was nothing inside it she needed, and she didn't fancy carrying it all the way to the lake. She especially didn't fancy asking Damon to carry it for her.
But it turned out, she didn't need to – Damon took it out of the trunk before Elena could close it, and he threw it over his shoulder, gesturing with an arm out for her to begin their walk.
They had barely taken a few steps before they heard the sound of a car coming up quickly behind them, and Damon took Elena by the arm and pulled her into the nearby woods. She struggled against his grip as he swung her behind a tree, out of sight from the road.
Was this guy serious? He was totally paranoid! She peeked her head out from behind the tree. There was no way the driver of that car was –
The car stopped behind hers.
She recognized it. A white Mercedes SUV. It was Elijah's.
Damn it, she was so sick of Damon being right.
They watched cautiously as Elijah got out of his car and circled hers a couple of times, checking and re-checking his phone screen, likely wondering why the tracking signal had stopped and yet Elena was nowhere in sight.
"Change of plans," Damon whispered to her. "We're taking a shortcut through the woods."
Elena scoffed, "I'm not wandering alone through the woods with you. I'd rather take my chances with Elijah. I'm not scared of him."
"Tell that to the inside of his trunk when he throws you in there," Damon growled in a low tone. He watched Elijah head into the trees opposite, where he had tossed the SIM card. "This is your chance. I'll be right behind you." He pointed deeper into the woods. "Run."
Elena crossed her arms. "No."
Damon glared at her impatiently, gritting his teeth. "Fine. If you won't run from him, then run from me."
She dropped her arms, confused. "Excuse me?"
"Here's another one of your tropes – I catch you, I kiss you."
"That's not the trope," she hissed. "It's supposed to be, 'I catch you, I...'" She pressed her lips together, leaving the mystery word hanging in the air between them.
Damon raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to finish. "Well...?"
Elena cleared her throat and paraphrased. "'... ravish you.'"
The corner of his lip tweaked upwards. "'Ravish'? Since when did you write for Mills and Boon?"
"Shut up, I'm just correcting you."
He stepped closer, his eyes burning into her. "Do you want an upgrade? Because I'm down for that if you are."
"I don't even want the kiss!"
His eyes widened. "Then... run."
He wasn't serious, was he? Damon hadn't exactly demonstrated having the most reliable moral compass, but was he so desperate to keep Elijah away from her that he would actually do this? All she knew was that Damon had moved even closer – too close – his chest rising and falling in anticipation, and he was staring hungrily at her lips.
And for a moment, Elena was rooted to the spot, not wanting to run anywhere. Until his head lowered ever so slightly down to hers, close enough to smell her hair, breathing her in. He was playing a predatory role from one of her books, trying to goad her into running. It wasn't real... was it? "You wouldn't dare," she uttered without an ounce of confidence.
Damon's head turned rapidly, catching movement in his peripheral vision. Elijah had emerged from the opposite woods and arrived back on the road. He was studying the other side curiously, scanning for movement among the trees. Then he returned his attention to her car, cupping his hands as he stared through her windows in a last-ditch attempt to locate her phone. This would be the final time Elijah would be distracted. Their last opportunity.
Damon swung his sight back to Elena, his voice growing desperate. "Wouldn't I?"
Elena suddenly realized from his tone that he would. Maybe Damon was only protecting her, but he was also prepared to do whatever it took to force her to run from him, so long as it meant her running from Elijah too.
She took a step backward. Then another.
Then she finally did what Damon wanted, turned on her heels, and took off into the woods.
Chapter 14: Too Old For Kiss Chase
Chapter Text
Chapter Fourteen: Too Old For Kiss Chase
Damon Salvatore
If Damon had a million guesses where he'd be at this point in his life, running through the woods playing an arrestable version of kiss chase would not make the list. He felt ridiculous. Was this crazy predator/prey trope really supposed to be exciting for romance readers? Honestly, how attractive would it be to see your pursuer stumbling through mud and dense underbrush, hands flapping at flying insects, scratching at nettle rashes, getting all sweaty and out of breath, then pausing to shake a stone from his shoe?
No, that was not hypothetical. Damon really did have a stone in his shoe, and yes, he was going to mentally bitch about it. But he would also put on a front and tough it out like a man until he got to the lodge. Elena may hate his guts, but he wasn't about to risk giving her the ick by leaning against a tree, leg raised like a flamingo, while he took off his shoe and tilted, rotated, and shook it like a damn ball-in-a-maze puzzle. If she happened to witness that, he was sure any attempt at kissing her would result in her dry retching.
Not that he was going to kiss Elena if he caught her... not unless she wanted him to. Which she didn't. Of course she didn't. He could kill that pathetic hope right away. He'd just needed Elena out of harm's way, and suggesting this ridiculous trope was the only way he could get her stubborn ass to move – which she did. She moved very fast, proving that she did not want that kiss. In fact, he was pretty sure that if she was given the choice of either kissing him or throwing herself into a bush of poison ivy, she'd choose the latter.
But he did need to catch her... because she had his phone.
And she needed to be caught... because he had her bag.
But she didn't want to be caught. Not by him. That he could guarantee.
He had no idea where he was going – somewhere towards the direction of the lodges since that's where she would be heading. He didn't feel much like a predator – more like a hostage of the supposedly great outdoors. There was no path, and the ground kept alternating between being soft enough to stick to his shoe, and hard enough to send shock waves up his shin. Elena was nowhere in sight, so she had to be navigating this mess of a forest better than he was.
Pausing to regain his bearings, a surprising thump landed unexpectedly on Damon's shoulder, and he spun around to see a stone fall to the floor by his heels. Then Elena dashed out from behind a tree five yards away, overtaking him with a level of grace and sprightliness that Damon didn't possess – like she was a damn fawn frolicking through the woods for fun.
And he'd caught that smirk on her face, so he knew she was having fun – at his expense. Who the hell was supposed to be the prey here? Him or her?
Suddenly, Damon wasn't so sure Elena didn't want to be caught.
Suddenly, this just became a pretty good game.
With Elena still in his line of sight, he ran after her at full speed, ignoring the fact that moments ago he felt like he was wandering through nature's booby trap. While he was trying his best to keep to a straight line, Elena was zigzagging unnecessarily between trees, making it easier for him to catch up to her.
What the hell was she playing at? She had to be taunting him. She was a trained runner – he'd seen online photos of the marathons she'd taken part in – but if this was her thing, he'd have to make a mental note to incorporate more cardio into his weight training.
Swerving to the right, Elena sprinted towards the rear of a lodge, which Damon hoped didn't belong to her. He'd nearly caught up, and maybe it was his competitive streak kicking in, but he was actually starting to enjoy himself.
Elena stopped against the outside wall of the lodge, panting heavily as Damon caged her in with his arms. As she rotated to face him, she was smiling. So was he.
Her smile took on a lopsided stubbornness. "Finally caught up then, slowpoke?"
Damon scoffed. "Don't give me that – you wanted to get caught. I wouldn't have even known where you were if you hadn't thrown that rock at my back."
"That was a mistake," Elena confessed. She paused, smirking. "I was aiming for your head."
"You've got a thing for torturing me, haven't you?" he grinned. "I guess there's only one way to fix that."
He could see Elena swallow her next snarky comeback when he suddenly cupped her under her chin and tilted her face up to his. She was no longer caged in – she was free to run, but she didn't. But she did look nervous. Her eyes darted all over his face. Her bottom lip drew in slightly, then popped back out and parted. Her quick breaths were no longer from exertion. But what was it? Excitement? Apprehension? Fear? Shit, he wished he could read her better.
He wanted to give her the best damn kiss of her life – one that left her craving more and wondering what the hell it was she hated about him – but without knowing if she really wanted it too, he couldn't go ahead with it. She was the queen of mixed signals. Or was he the king of being awful at reading signals?
There was only one way of finding out.
Closing his eyes and lowering his head slowly, his lips rounded to plant an innocent kiss against her forehead.
His lips remained there for a beat as he inhaled the scent of her hair, finding it impossible to let go. Would it be creepy to say he wanted to melt into her and live there happily for all eternity? It sure seemed like a pretty creepy thing to think about at that moment. Certainly not the kind of inner dialogue that made it into romance novels. Horror novels, maybe.
Feeling his creep-o-meter max out, Damon managed to finally move away. Opening his eyes and releasing her chin, the first thing he noticed was that Elena's eyes had been closed too.
Why were her eyes closed? Had she been expecting...?
Uh-oh... had he screwed up?
Elena's eyes suddenly shot open; her pupils half submerged under her eyelids as she glared up at him with a look that could kill. Her upper lip curled.
Oh, shit. Yep, he'd completely screwed up.
Her arms shot out, shoving him against the same bruised chest that was now likely to receive round two of an Elena beating.
"What the hell was that?!" she seethed, shoving him again.
He needed to explain himself before she started breathing fire. "I was being..." A moron. A coward. An idiot. "... a gentleman."
She went rigid with anger. He knew he should have gone with "idiot". But, in his defense, playing this unhinged predator/prey game wasn't exactly the way he'd imagined having his first kiss with Elena. It was the kind of story that would result in extremely awkward silence during their future wedding toasts.
"You... are... terrible at this trope!" she hissed venomously.
"Oh, I'm terrible at hunting down women in the woods and forcing myself on them?" Damon shot back sarcastically. "That's not exactly a skill I wanted on my dating resume, so thank you for the compliment."
"Stop taking everything I say as a compliment!"
"Can I help it if you only have good things to say about me?"
Elena flung her arms to her side, emitting a frustrated bellow into the air. Then she stopped to look around, scanning the floor. This time, she did not need Damon's help finding something to hit him with. The ground was a smorgasbord of potential weapons. She picked up a long, thin branch, raised it above her head, and stalked towards him.
Damon backed up from the caning he was about to receive. "Hey now," he cautioned, "your kinks have gotten just a bit too wild for me."
But Elena swung without hesitation, the branch whistling through the air. Damon barely dodged the first strike, and he watched her eyes burn with determination as she pivoted, adjusting her stance for a second attempt.
Studying her next movement eagle-eyed, Damon grabbed the branch mid-swing, feeling the sting of it hit his palm and reverberate up his wrist as it sliced through the air like a damn katana. Damon gritted his teeth through the pain. This little wannabe samurai was starting to piss him off. He yanked the branch towards him, bringing her forward. "Is this seriously because I didn't kiss you?"
Elena tugged the other end, forcing Damon's arms to straighten. "No," she snapped unconvincingly.
Damon tugged back, whipping Elena's arms forward as she clung on. His eyes widened knowingly. "Bullshit."
A tug-of-war erupted between them: Damon single-handedly pulled on the branch at one end while Elena gripped the other end with both hands, leaning back to use her body weight as leverage. Her heels dug into the dirt, muscles straining as she fought to wrest the branch from his grasp. Damon suppressed a smirk, knowing how easy it would be to let go and have her tumble backward. But the reality of her getting hurt had him tightening his fingers around the branch instead. Her strenuous efforts were kind of cute... like grappling with a Chihuahua.
Suddenly a voice shouted from the front of the lodge. A man in his sixties, holding a fishing rod, had heard the commotion on his way back from the lake. "Is everything okay?" he asked, scratching his short gray beard, unsure what to make of the situation in front of him.
Damon smiled at the man, waving his free hand. "Just a lovers' spat," he reassured him.
Elena jutted her head angrily at Damon, her hair flying in front of her face like she was possessed. "I am not your lover," she growled. "I hate you!"
Damon laughed nervously in the direction of the man. "Women say the craziest things."
The man chuckled back. "My wife acts the same way sometimes." He half-turned, proceeding towards the entrance to his lodge. "It's nothing that can't be rectified with a loving kiss."
"Oh, I'm starting to realize that," Damon said with slow regret, his eyes turning back to the woman who could now nail an audition for a remake of The Exorcist.
As soon as the man disappeared into his lodge, Damon pulled on the branch with both hands, determined to release it from her grasp. But Elena let go too late, stumbling into him and almost losing her footing.
Damon dropped the branch and caught her in his arms, steadying her. "You're okay, I've got you."
Elena felt all her pride diminish. "You don't have me," she grumbled, loosening herself from his embrace but not fully pulling away.
Sensing Elena's anger fading, the exorcism seemingly successful, Damon flattened down her hair tenderly. "I screwed up. I didn't mean to disappoint you."
Surprisingly, Elena looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. "You could still change that if you wanted to."
Wait, what? Was she for real? This girl blew hot and cold like a faulty air conditioner. But her eyes were already closed, waiting for him to make amends, and Damon wasn't going to screw this up a second time. He lowered his mouth, pausing for a moment, expecting her to back out. When he was certain this was what she wanted, his lips gently touched hers. Her hands came up, cupping his jaw. Her mouth parted...
...and, with a flat tongue, she licked halfway up his face.
She released him, stepped back, and grinned. "Now who's disappointed?" Pleased with her revenge, she turned on her heels and ran off once more into the woods.
Wiping his sleeve across his face, Damon called out, "I'm not going to lie, I kind of enjoyed that." Then he sped in her direction before he lost sight of her.
They passed three more lodges before Damon realized he was reaching the one Stefan owned. A memory returned of him chasing his younger brother in this same location. Stefan had dumped a bucket of fish bait over Damon's head for the preteen crime of choosing to sleep instead of taking him fishing at the absurd time of six in the morning. With a handful of dead worms and insects, Damon had then chased him outside and around the building, only to have the last laugh when Stefan tripped over a tree root protruding from the ground. Naturally, he'd comforted him, but the moment the tears stopped, Damon shoved the bait down the back of Stefan's pants and left him squealing while he returned to bed.
Lost in the memory for a second, Damon discovered that he'd also lost sight of Elena.
Then he heard her scream.
He shouted her name as he ran towards her cries of pain. He followed the sound around the corner of Stefan's lodge and saw her on the ground, her face pinched in anguish, clutching at her ankle.
He quickly crouched next to her, panic setting in. "Who hurt you?"
Elena's growl was a crescendo, and at the peak, she grabbed a handful of dirt and dead foliage from the floor and threw it in his face. "You did!" she spat. "You hurt me!"
As she rolled onto her front, attempting to push herself to her feet, Damon noticed the same protruding tree root that had taken down his brother all those years ago. He kicked it in retaliation but only succeeded in stubbing his toe.
Leaning against the outside wall, Elena tried to put weight on her foot, but instantly lifted it with a yelp.
Damon ran over to her, tucking himself under her arm to support her. "Do you want me to carry you?"
"No, I don't want you to carry me," she grumbled. "Just help me inside."
As she hopped towards the front of the lodge, her arm squeezing against the side of Damon's neck with each movement, he asked, "How did you know this was mine?"
"How did I know what was yours?" she grunted.
"The fishing lodge," he answered.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not in the mood for jokes."
Damon wasn't sure what she meant by that, but he didn't probe further. Rounding the corner of the wooden building, he sat her down on the front steps, her back against the banister, while he took his keys from his pocket and walked up to the door. He put the key in the lock, turned, and pushed it open.
Elena stared at the door, wide-eyed. "How did you do that?"
Damon dangled the keys in his hand. "You need me to explain how keys work?" he asked, confused. "Did you hit your head?"
"This lodge doesn't belong to you," she said with conviction.
"Well, technically it belongs to my brother," he replied dismissively. For obvious reasons, he didn't want to get into that. He walked back to Elena, taking her hand to help her onto her feet, while she scanned behind him in alarm, scrutinizing the building. "I'm just getting you inside," he reassured her slowly. "I only want to check you're okay, then I can help you to your lodge later."
"This is my lodge," she insisted sharply. "I'm renting it from a friend, Stefan..."
Uh-oh!
Her voice trailed off, and her expression flickered as she lingered wordlessly on the surname. Damon watched her, frozen. There was no way out of this – she'd just seen him open the door – heard him confess that the lodge belonged to his brother.
The same brother who had also given her a key.
The cogs were turning, and then Elena slowly narrowed her eyes at him. She'd figured it out. The hint about his surname being "Savior"... where he'd managed to get a copy of her key to break into her apartment... the whole nine yards.
Damon shook his head, letting his disastrous luck sink in. "Come inside and I'll..." He sighed heavily. "...find you something to hit me with."
Chapter 15: Morse Code For Dummies
Chapter Text
Chapter Fifteen: Morse Code for Dummies
Elena Gilbert
"Aw, come on," Damon urged playfully. "Don't you want to hit me a little?"
Elena didn't respond. She continued to lie motionless on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her fingers interlocked on her stomach, and her newly bandaged ankle resting on an ice pack.
"Just one little hit?" Damon continued pleadingly. He was propped up on one elbow beside her, booping her gently on the nose with a wooden spatula he'd taken from the kitchen, trying to tempt her into snatching it from his hand and quitting the silent treatment. Out of all her moods, he seemed the most uncomfortable with this one.
She ignored his efforts to provoke her. She was feeling betrayed by a lot of things right now – things she needed to process in the silence he wasn't giving her. The fact that Damon hid that he was Stefan's brother wasn't even top of that betrayal. Damon had proven himself to be an asshole countless times to remain surprised by that revelation. She was more worried that Stefan might have known about this all along – or at least suspected it – and never told her. Did some Bro Code take priority over their friendship? If so, that betrayal would hurt a lot. But not as much as the one she'd experienced by her own body in the woods. Because Damon was right – she had wanted him to kiss her. And, once again, she was so sick of him being right.
Luckily, she was no longer feeling that way. It had been a momentary impulse fueled by the chase. The threat of him kissing her had pounded through her blood with every step she ran, and it had sent a thrill coursing through her body. Not that she'd intended to let his lips anywhere near hers. Not until he'd caught up with her – a mess of disheveled sexiness, looking exhilarated and thrumming with desire to devour the prey he'd captured. That's when she'd unexpectedly found herself willing to let that happen.
She should be thanking the asshole for being a so-called gentleman and not kissing her – because it was now the last thing she wanted.
She hoped.
She couldn't look at him right now, just in case those feelings hadn't gone away.
Maybe she should take him up on the offer and hit him instead.
Urgh, she didn't have the energy.
The silent treatment continued.
Damon hadn't taken his eyes off her, and now he was stroking the spatula tenderly against her cheek – a move he probably preferred to do with his fingers, except he wasn't prepared to cross that boundary, not with the mood she was in. Strangely, it was harder to ignore him when he was attempting to be comforting than when he was being annoying.
The lodge was a sufficient place to spend the night. Little more than a huge studio room, the bed was against the far wall, with doors to the kitchen and bathroom on either side. As Damon had prepared the bandages and ice pack, he'd explained how Stefan had converted it, while she'd pretended not to listen. The main room had once been a combined kitchen and living area, while the now-separate kitchen used to be two small bedrooms. Apparently, the older, smaller kitchen wasn't workable for the amount of fish Stefan caught.
Or was it really fish he caught?
Maybe the Serial Salvatores were in it together: stalking and hunting women to take to their lodge where they could keep women captive before dismembering them in a kitchen large enough to accommodate a body, before tossing them into the lake.
No, that didn't make sense. Dumping bodies into a lake where people fished wouldn't be ideal, and Damon couldn't even bring himself to kiss a woman without a signed agreement, let alone murder one.
So what was their deal? Stefan seemed more than willing to give Damon spare keys to everything he owned, but did he know how his brother was using them?
Eventually, Damon sighed and got up from the bed, his mood deflated, like he'd given up trying to tempt a grumpy cat to play with him. But, as soon as he was on his feet, he turned happily at the sound of Elena's voice.
"I need painkillers," she said flatly.
Damon clapped his hands together, like a man finally given a highly anticipated mission. "Painkillers! I'm on it!" Then he dashed into the kitchen.
Elena sat up, listening to him bang away at kitchen cabinets, determined to find her what she needed. She groaned as she cupped her ankle. It was still sore but no longer throbbing as it was earlier. A mild sprain that would improve by morning. She experienced them occasionally during her regular jogging routine and knew they healed quickly.
Returning with a glass of water and a regretful expression, Damon said, "There aren't any painkillers." He scratched the back of his head. "I could check to see if anyone nearby has –"
"There's some in my bag," Elena interrupted, taking the glass of water from him.
He dashed towards Elena's bag like a dog chasing an invisible stick. He lifted the satchel from the small dining table near the front door and rummaged inside until he found a plastic bottle. Just as quickly, he returned and handed it to her.
Thanking him as she took the bottle, that barely audible mumble of gratitude seemed to light up Damon's face. Elena instantly regretted it. He'd been the bane of her week – she certainly wasn't grateful for it. She knocked back a couple of the tablets, followed by a gulp of water, and then handed the glass and bottle back to Damon.
Damon walked back over to the table, placed the items down on it, and sat on one of the wooden chairs.
He watched Elena.
She stared coldly back at him.
He waited for her to say something.
She didn't.
So, Damon did what he was best at – and returned to his original plan of winding her up. He continued to look at her as his hand reached for her satchel, his fingers curling over the open flap, slowly drawing it towards him, like a child reaching for the dessert when he hadn't finished his dinner.
Elena's eyes narrowed slightly as he reached in and slowly pulled out the pink diary he had spotted while getting her the painkillers.
She didn't utter a word as she watched him open it up and skim through it, his eyes alternating between her and the pages. He wanted a reaction from her. Any level of fury was better than the silent treatment he was receiving. But she wouldn't cave. It was just her work diary, so all he would find were a few deadlines and task lists. It contained very little personal information.
Finally, he stopped on a page that seemed to interest him, raising his eyebrows in intrigue.
Elena was itching to snap at him. What had he found?
"That explains a lot," he confirmed with a nod.
Elena huffed. Fine, she would bite. "What explains a lot?" she hissed.
Damon smirked at her. "Your last period was two weeks ago."
"So what?" she snarled.
"It just explains why a woman who claims to hate me so desperately wanted me to kiss her," he said casually. "You're in ovulation nation. Got a bit of Barry White playing in your pants right now, don't you?"
Elena's eyelids tightened, her glare piercing him with annoyance.
"Which is ironic, since your eyes are giving off Nine Inch Nails vibes." Lifting his feet and crossing them on the seat of the adjacent dining chair, Damon pulled off the pen attached to her diary, flicked over a page, and began scribbling away, vocalizing each word he wrote. "I... met... Damon... today. I... love... him. He... is... so... sexy. I... can't... wait... to... pull... down... his... pants... and..."
"Give me that!" Elena snapped.
Grinning, Damon closed the cover, reattached the pen, and sauntered over to her with the diary. As soon as it was in reach, she snatched it from him.
"The next word was going to be 'suck' by the way," he smirked, "but feel free to get creative."
Elena yanked off the pen, flung open the diary, and hid it from view as she angrily scrawled across the page. Done, she handed the diary back to him.
Damon read her additions and amendments out loud. "I met Damon today. I hate him. He is so punchable. I can't wait to pull down his pants and strangle him with them." He paused; his finger pressed to his lips as he dissected the words on the page. Then he held up the finger like he'd had an epiphany. "So... you do still want to pull down my pants then?"
The moment she snatched the diary from his hands, he was already backing away, chuckling. Pitching it from her shoulder, she threw it at him, but the pages unfortunately spread open like a parachute, slowing the speed of her throw, and the diary landed at his feet.
Elena groaned, suddenly realizing that she needed that diary, and she didn't want to stand up to get it. She held her hand out to Damon. "Can you bring me that? I need to make a call."
Damon picked up the diary and took a couple of steps closer, but hesitated to hand it over.
Rolling her eyes, Elena flapped her open hand at him impatiently. "I'm not going to throw it again. I really do need to make a call. Someone needs to check on Polly, and I'm certainly not going to get Stefan to do it like I'd originally planned."
Finally permitting her the diary, Damon asked, "What's wrong with Stefan doing it?" He still backed away, just in case she changed her mind about throwing it.
Skimming through the pages for Caroline's number, Elena's eyes remained down as she replied, "Because I can't trust him anymore – not knowing he gave you my key."
Damon sat down on the dining chair with a scoffed chuckle. "Oh, don't worry, he knows nothing about that. I took the key while he was at work. He would be super pissed with me if he found out."
Elena's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" She could trust Stefan? This changed everything. Nothing had upset her more than the thought of one of her closest friends betraying her – someone she had known for years. But that wasn't the case. In fact, if Damon was to be believed, Stefan would be extremely pissed to discover what his brother had done. Of course, Stefan would find out eventually... but... there was no time like the present.
With the edges of her lips forming a sly smile, Elena closed the diary and slid Damon's phone from her pocket. The device now at her side, she stealthily inputted the password to unlock it and started scrolling through his contacts.
"Is that what you were so upset about?" Damon continued, sighing as he rubbed a hand down his face in relief. He was too distracted to pay close attention to what Elena was doing. "Shit, no, Stefan would never do anything like that. I mean, I guess I'll have to tell him at some point, but I'm going to have to be careful how I word it if I want to avoid a beating. Maybe I'll tell him over the phone then disappear for a week or two." His eyes then narrowed in on Elena lifting his phone to her ear. The diary was closed, discarded at her side, unused. "Who are you calling?" he asked suspiciously.
Elena tilted her head and smirked. "Stefan." She flipped him the middle finger.
"Shit!"
Damon charged towards the bed, scrabbling over Elena as she whacked at him with one hand and continued to hold the phone to her ear with the other. He took the repeated slaps like a champ while he wrestled her for the phone, putting all his weight on her to pin her to the bed. As soon as the phone was out of her grasp, he put it to his ear and cupped a hand over her mouth. Stefan had already picked up.
"Hey, little brother," Damon chimed casually into the phone. With one hand over Elena's mouth, he could do nothing about her continuing to slap him with her left hand. Her right arm he managed to pin to the bed with his triceps, though her vigorous resistance had his flexed elbow bouncing up and down, making it difficult to keep the phone steady.
"What do you mean, what do I want?" he grumbled to his brother. "You think I only call when I want something?"
Elena began screaming through her nose. One way or another, she was going to get Stefan's attention.
"Oh, that? I'm just watching a horror movie," came Damon's quick excuse. There was a pause. "No, I can't turn it down... because the volume's broken." He glared down at Elena, who responded by screaming louder. "Anyway, now that you mentioned it, I do have a favor to ask. I bumped into a tenant of yours – Elena Gilbert – and she wanted to know if you'd check on her parrot this evening. She said she's going out of town for the night."
Exhausted from screaming, Elena then attempted to bite Damon's fingers, but they were too far from her teeth. She brought her chin forward, extending her jaw as far as it would go until she finally got a sharp nip at his skin. She did it again. And again.
"How am I supposed to know where she's going? Do you think I follow her around or something?" Damon swung the phone away from his ear and hissed at her beneath his breath, "Stop biting me!" He then returned to the phone with his regular tone. "Nothing. The neighbor's cat snuck in earlier. It's not very friendly. Can you do it or not?"
Elena groaned. This wasn't going to work. She couldn't get her teeth around him properly. She continued to slap the side of his head, but even that was getting tiresome. It was like he was immune to her beatings now.
"Elena's changed her locks...?" He looked down at Elena for answers. Not that she could answer with her mouth covered. "Ask her friends... maybe one of them has a key?"
Elena stopped hitting him for long enough to give him a thumbs-up gesture. Regardless of how badly she wanted to reveal Damon's antics to Stefan, she still needed someone to check on Polly. As soon as Damon gave her a nod of acknowledgment, she thanked him by slapping him around the head again.
Then an idea came to her. She stuck out her tongue, pushing it between Damon's fingers. The moment she withdrew her tongue, she gathered more saliva and did it again. And again.
Damon's eyebrows creased in confusion. He snapped his head towards her, his voice low and slow. "Why are you licking me?" Then he returned to the phone, responding to Stefan. "What? Oh, it's just the neighbor's cat again. It can't make up its mind whether it likes me or not. Can you message her friends and check which one has a key?"
With his fingers now sufficiently moist, Elena blew between them, creating a loud rasping sound.
Damon closed his eyes and sighed, appearing like his brain would explode if he even attempted to figure out what Elena was doing. "Yes, Stefan... I farted."
Elena wetted Damon's fingers and blew again, louder this time.
"Look, I ate a dodgy takeout earlier, get off my case," he told his brother. He looked down at Elena, his eyebrows shooting up questioningly, but, of course, she couldn't answer.
This time, Elena pushed as much saliva as she could between Damon's fingers. She needed it for the next part of her plan.
"Have any of her friends replied yet?"
Pffft, pffft, pffft... thhhrrrrppp... thhhrrrrppp... thhhrrrrppp... pffft, pffft, pffft.
Pffft, pffft, pffft... thhhrrrrppp... thhhrrrrppp... thhhrrrrppp... pffft, pffft, pffft.
Damon shook his head in exhaustion, like he was struggling to keep a naughty toddler under control. Then Stefan said something that made his heart rate rocket and his eyes bulge. "SOS?" His eyes shot to Elena, burning down on her, his lips curling onto his teeth with aggravation. She grinned back at him beneath his fingers. "No, nothing's wrong, Stefan. Seriously, nothing's wrong. Do you really think if I was in trouble, I would fart a Morse code distress signal to tell you? I don't even know Morse code!"
Pffft, pffft, pffft...
Damon quickly shoved his fingers into Elena's mouth, choking her rasps, as he mouthed Don't you dare! at her. She bit his fingers, and he allowed her to munch away like a baby zombie.
"Caroline's replied? You can do it?" Damon gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the pain Elena was inflicting on his fingers. "Great, got to go, bye bro!" Hanging up, Damon pulled his fingers out from Elena's mouth. "The SOS signal? Really?!" he growled at her. Then, looking at his wet fingers soaked in saliva, he dried them by wiping them down Elena's face.
"Urgh, get off of me!" she snapped, pushing him aside as soon as both her arms were free.
Damon rolled onto the other side of the mattress. They both stared at the ceiling for a while, equally worn out and wound up. Finally, he turned his head towards her. "Do you want me to make you something to eat, or did my fingers fill you up?"
Elena closed her eyes and let out a heavy breath. There was no getting rid of this guy... at least not today. She just needed the day to go quicker so she could be back on her feet and out of here. "I just want to sleep," she said, fatigue hitting her hard. Stefan would take care of Polly. She had no reason to stay awake and tolerate more of Damon's annoyances.
Damon got off the bed. "Okay," he replied. "Let me know if you change your mind and I'll whip up a nice finger casserole."
Elena reached down the bed, grabbed her diary, and threw it at him.
This time it hit the target.
Then she turned away and closed her eyes.
Chapter 16: Mr Happy Finds a Friend
Chapter Text
Chapter Sixteen: Mr Happy Finds a Friend
Damon Salvatore
It was unfortunate that Damon was a heavy sleeper. It was worse when he was a child, and his little brother used to wake him up by jumping on him while reciting a rhyme he'd personally adapted from Green Eggs and Ham: "You could go sleep in the rain..." Body slam. "... You could go sleep on a train..." Body slam. "... You could go sleep here or there..." Body slam. "... You could go sleep anywhhhhhhaaaa..." At one point or another, Damon always threw him off the bed.
Feeling the first sharp compressive pain around his wrist, Damon nearly did just that. But, with heavy eyelids, he saw Elena hovering on top of him as he remained on his back on the bed.
He was inches away from her cleavage. He had to be dreaming. It was a great dream.
Another tight yank formed around his second wrist.
Okay, not a dream.
Suddenly he was wide awake... and Elena had a huge smile on her face.
Of course she did – she was on top of him. What woman wouldn't be smiling?
But he couldn't move his wrists. Why couldn't he move his wrists?
Damon rotated his head to each side, seeing his arms bound to the brass headboard behind him. As fiercely as he pulled, they were knotted tight with... were those bandages? The ones he'd wrapped around Elena's injured ankle with tender loving care? This was the thanks he got for helping her yesterday? Or... was it yesterday? It was dark outside. What the hell was going on?
Elena checked her handiwork thoroughly. "This is what you get for thinking you can share a bed with me."
"So far, the punishment isn't looking too bad." Damn it. He was hoping he would wake up before she did. Where did she expect him to sleep? On the floor? He'd slept in his clothes and kept to his side of the bed – it wasn't like he'd cuddled up to her – and wasn't she supposed to like that One Bed trope anyway? He gave his wrists another tug. They weren't moving. "You know, you've got a lot to learn about consent, Elena."
She sat back on his groin.
"Okay, I consent," Damon quickly conceded.
"What are you consenting to?"
"All of it, everything, whatever you want," he effused.
Elena leaned forward and pinched his cheek with her hand. "It's such a shame it's still a little too early to do what I want to do to you."
"Oh, it's never too early," Damon opposed eagerly. "I'm a round-the-clock kind of guy. Anytime, anywhere. What do you have in mind?"
Bringing her knees over him and sliding them between his legs, she gradually made her way down his body. She spoke slowly and teasingly "Well, it's almost 5AM, and I know someone's an early riser..."
"I'm always ready to rise, baby."
She inched backward until her chest was over his groin, her hands propping herself on either side of him. "I meant Stefan." At Damon's confused expression, she grinned. "I'm going to call your brother. Good luck stopping me, asshole."
Shit!
"No, you don't!" Before she could escape, Damon swung his legs over her – one over her back, the other over that cute but sneaky butt of hers – and brought her crashing down onto him while he wrapped around her like an anaconda. She could have had another kind of anaconda, but hey, it was her loss. What a scheming minx!
"Let me go!" she snapped, struggling against the pressure of his legs.
"Not a chance in hell," he replied. Leg day at the gym was finally paying off. "Let me go!" He pulled against his restraints again.
"Eat my ass!"
"That's exactly what I was prepared to do until you decided to rat me out to my brother instead," he pointed out. "I was expecting a good time, not this Fifty Shades of Treachery roleplay."
Elena wasn't paying attention to him – she was too focused on trying to get away. Scratching, pinching, pulling... nothing worked. She was body to body with him, locked in tight. All she could do was shift her weight up and down until he tired out and loosened his hold on her. So that's exactly what she did.
Damon registered what she was doing from down below. It was not a smart move. "Elena..." he warned.
She continued to ignore him. Each time she pushed back and forth, his clutch on her was slowly slipping. She was gradually sliding her way up to his chest, flat against his body like a snake – if the snake was bouncing around like it had hiccups.
"Elena!"
She finally paused to shriek, "What?!"
Damon shot her a deterring look, his eyes stern. "You're going to want to stop grinding on me like that."
For a brief second, the innocent kitten who wrote smut for a living was actually confused.
Too late. She should have listened earlier.
Elena's eyes widened in realization. She looked underneath to where her stomach was pressed against his groin, and what was rising between them. His legs were still pinning her in place so she couldn't move – not without making things worse. When she looked up again, there was almost a flicker of curiosity in her expression... before it segued immediately into her now-default mode of anger.
Her eyes pierced down at Damon, her lip curling. Her tone was a slow and authoritative growl. "Get Mr Happy to back off!"
Damon spoke just as slowly, though trying to be more authoritative than a woman who had him tied to a bed was a bit of a stretch. "Untie me!"
"No!" she snapped.
Damon's head came forward. "Then it's not my fault if Mr Happy's found a friend."
Unimpressed with his snarky response, she demanded, "Let me go!" But she didn't move. She didn't dare.
"So you can call Stefan and he can come here and beat my ass for stealing your key?" Damon chuckled dryly. "Hell no."
"Then think of something to make it go away!"
"I can't."
"Why not?!"
Damon hissed through his teeth, "Because there's an incredibly gorgeous woman still on top of me – that's why not!"
Elena seemed temporarily stunned by the compliment, but it soon passed. Her tone was lower now; less angry and more sulky. "And whose fault is that?"
Damon scoffed at the ridiculousness of the question. "Yours! I was sleeping peacefully when you decided to climb on board and wrap your legs around me like a fanny pack I never asked for."
Groaning long, loudly, and dramatically, Elena flopped down onto Damon's chest, defeated. She rested her head sideways, trying to relax. "You can't keep your legs wrapped around me forever, you know," she muttered softly. "At some point, you'll have to let go of me."
"By then, I'll have figured out how to loosen these bandages," Damon asserted. "Then you can call Stefan as many times as you like. I'll be long gone before he gets here."
"No, you won't," Elena insisted sleepily. She yawned.
"Are you going back to sleep?" Damon asked, surprised.
"Mm-hmm," she confirmed, sliding her hands over his chest and tucking them under her head. "There's nothing better to do."
"You could untie me." Of course, he didn't expect her to agree. She didn't even answer. She was in it for the long game, and – unlike him – all she had to do was wait. Wait with her head on his chest, her stomach still pressed against his awkward boner that wasn't leaving anytime soon, his legs wrapped around her body, and his wrists bound to the headboard.
Just before she fell asleep on him, he tilted his head and looked down at her – her features finally relaxed and peaceful. It was a rare sight. In other circumstances, he'd be sleeping along with her. It was a shame that he was on the clock to escape this. "Elena?" he started gently.
Her eyes remained closed. "Mmm?"
"I guess you can agree with me that the One Bed trope sucks, right?"
Her hands slid apart, and her head was back on his chest again, discreetly nuzzling into him. "It's not so bad," she responded drowsily.
Chapter 17: On Your Marx, Get Wet, Go
Chapter Text
Chapter Seventeen: On Your Marx, Get Wet, Go
Elena Gilbert
"I need to pee."
Having showered and redonned yesterday's clothes, Elena emerged from the bathroom rolling her eyes at the sound of Damon's voice. "Oh, great, you're awake," she observed dryly. He was still tied to the bed, looking unreasonably relaxed after a night of captivity. She swapped a small bundle of cotton into her opposite hand, out of Damon's line of sight, as she strolled over to the dining table. "I've called Stefan and he'll be here soon. You can hold it until then." She opened her bag and quickly stuffed the small bundle inside.
"Are those your panties?"
Elena closed her bag with a speed that she hoped would erase what he saw. Did the guy have superhuman eyesight, as well as a superhuman ability to not shut up? "That's none of your business," she responded calmly, mentally clutching at the serenity the warm shower had provided her – and Damon was destroying every time he spoke.
"At least the crotch of your pants is getting better treatment than I am," he grumbled begrudgingly. His eyes scanned the room for a moment, like he was searching for the next topic to annoy her with. It wasn't necessary. He already had one. "How'd you enjoy sleeping on top of me?"
"It was a tedious means of escape," Elena sighed wearily, checking around to ensure all her belongings were packed in her bag. "I couldn't wait for it to be over."
"Really? Because I recall briefly waking up earlier this morning to a completely different experience." His tone was becoming increasingly boastful. His expression annoyingly so. "I'd stupidly fallen asleep and you were slowly shuffling up my body. Just as I was about to swing my legs over to trap you again, you wrapped your arms around me and nuzzled into my neck. Got all nice and cosy."
"I... did... not!" Elena seethed at the accusation. An accusation she vaguely – and horrifyingly – recalled having a lot of truth to it.
"Oh, you nuzzled goooood," he confirmed tauntingly.
Crossing her arms sulkily, she tried not to let the sudden recollection show. Holy hell, she had nuzzled him! She remembered how he'd felt incredibly warm, and his smell had been so raw and manly, and... urgh, she felt betrayed by her own semi-unconsciousness. She cleared her throat. "Well, obviously I wasn't fully awake. Maybe I was just trying to get comfortable. It's not easy sleeping on a rock hard..." Finding no way to turn that ending into the insult he deserved, her lips clamped shut.
After a few seconds of waiting patiently, Damon smirked, "You going to finish that sentence?"
"No."
"Don't be shy," he teased. "What was it? Chest? Stomach? Or a little further south?"
Elena narrowed her eyes, scowling at him. "You're an ass."
The front door opened and Stefan stepped into the room, closely followed by Caroline. "I assume you're talking about my brother," he remarked. Pulled out from work at Elena's news, he was dressed in tailored pants and a dark shirt. He swept his hands together... partly to rid them of the dirt he'd accumulated from checking out Elena's flat tire on the way over... and partly to charge himself up for the exasperating brotherly business ahead. Elena turned to him in relief, but his sight quickly rested on Damon, eyebrows lowered questioningly. "My brother... who is... tied to the bed...?"
"It's a long story, little bro." Damon's wide smile hid his nerves. He tugged on his wrist restraints. "You mind cutting me loose so I can fill you in?"
Stefan didn't return the smile. "Elena's already told me enough, Damon."
Caroline tilted her head curiously at Damon. "This is your seafood stalker?" Her tone was pleasantly surprised. She flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "I mean, he's pretty cute." After Stefan shot her a judgmental look, she gushed defensively, "For Elena, not me. After all, she's the one who writes about falling for these toxic weirdos with no respect for boundaries."
"Thank you!" Damon yelled appreciatively from across the room. "That's exactly the point I was trying to make!" He yanked on his restraints, as though the unexpected validation would somehow free him. "Since I've proven my point and changed Elena's opinion of toxic men, can't you all consider it to be a good deed?"
"A good deed?" Stefan turned back to Damon, his voice slowly rising in volume. "You think stealing Elena's spare key from my apartment and breaking into hers was 'a good deed'?"
"Maybe it wasn't the best deed," he admitted sheepishly. When Stefan's expression remained serious, Damon looked down at his brother's tightened fists and added nervously, "Are you going to hit me?"
Noticing the direction of Damon's eyes, Stefan purposely relaxed his hands. "No, Damon, I'm not," he replied, strolling to the foot of the bed, "because you're stupid, not dangerous, and even though what you did was unforgivable, you exposed a bigger threat to Elena than you could ever be." He swung his head back towards Elena. "Which reminds me, Bonnie and Enzo are currently heading to your apartment now to dismantle the hidden cameras."
Letting out a breath, Damon asked hopefully, "So you're going to untie me?"
Stefan's sight locked back on his brother. "Not yet." He leaned over the bed, clamping his hands around each of Damon's ankles, keeping them secure. "What's that saying, Damon? 'No good deed goes unpunished'?" He called back over his shoulder, "Caroline?"
Beaming from ear to ear now that her part of the plan was in motion, Caroline pulled out a couple of black marker pens from her purse, handing one to Elena. "You remember these?"
Elena rotated the thick pen around in her hand, studying it. She recalled Caroline using one to scrawl the letters F and U on Klaus's hand after an afternoon of his relentless pestering. She'd meant to write more before he pulled away, but phonetically, "Eff You" had gotten the message across just fine. Elena's eyebrows raised. "Are these the permanent markers from work that don't wash off for, like, two or three days?"
Caroline's grin widened. "Yep," she confirmed with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
Elena returned the smile before they wordlessly moved into position, each taking a place on opposite sides of the bed, looming over Damon, who now had both his arms and legs immobilized. He released a nervous chuckle, trying – and failing – to mask his unease. Imploring them to reveal their diabolical scheme, his head swiveled back and forth between the both of them, hoping for an answer.
Elena ignored his pleas. "Hmm, where should we start?" she mused, tapping the lid of the pen against her chin.
With the kind of promptness that suggested Caroline had already mentally planned each step of this punishment on the ride over, she began to unfasten Damon's shirt. "I think he needs a clear message written on a large canvas," she offered. "Something he can read whenever he looks in the mirror... which, from the look of him, he does a lot."
Damon's lips quirked, flattered. "Thanks."
"That wasn't a compliment!" the two women screeched in unison.
Watching Caroline's fingers pluck open each of the buttons, Damon quavered, "You know, I'm starting to get severely anxious whenever a woman takes off my shirt."
Stretching out his neck, inspecting the marks on Damon's chest, Stefan turned towards Elena. "Are those bruises?" His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did you do that to my brother?"
Elena's face scrunched in an awkward facial shrug. "Yeah..."
Stefan then nodded in approval. "Nice."
Caroline bit the marker cap off with her teeth and let it fall from her mouth. Leaning over Damon's chest, she began to write, narrating each word. "I... am... a... huge... dick." She then straightened her back, observing her work proudly.
Elena smiled and joined in, pulling off the lid and adding a line beneath Caroline's. "With... a... tiny... dick."
Damon wasn't as amused as they were about the ordeal, but he seemed to find Elena's choice of words interesting. Sweeping his eyes in a dramatic arch towards Elena, he tutted, "Oh, come on, Elena... we both know that's not true."
Stefan's eyes widened. He blinked slowly. "What exactly does he mean by that?"
Glaring down at Damon's grinning expression, Elena replied tightly, "Nothing." She mentioned nothing of her late-night introduction to Mr Happy – an introduction that Damon was now smugly aware was still on the forefront of her mind. Grabbing him roughly by the chin, she aimed the marker at his head.
"Not the face! Not the face!" he yelped, attempting to shake himself free. His struggles only motivated Caroline into holding him still, clutching either side of his skull as Elena pressed the inky tip against his forehead.
"You want to act like a devil?" Elena retaliated. "Then you can damn well look like one." She finished one curved triangle, and then the other, placing the cap back on the pen as she straightened to admire her artwork.
Damon finally shook free of Caroline's loosened grip. "You drew horns on my head?" he groused.
Elena beamed in satisfaction. "Yep."
He looked disappointed as well as irritated. "Well, that's not going to go down well at the classy restaurant I had in mind for our next date."
"A date? Seriously?" Caroline burst, blinking in shock at Damon's words. "Is this guy delusional?"
Stefan sighed apologetically, dropping his head. "All his life."
"I'm thinking we should add a thick mustache," Elena pondered, "to cover up that annoying smirk of his."
"Listen, you've had your fun, enough is enough," Damon protested. He looked between his two tormentors, but their eyes were lost in their imaginations.
"Maybe some spectacles too," Caroline suggested, "since he clearly can't see that you're not interested in him."
Realizing the two women were going to continue to ignore him, Damon's head swung forward, his eyes landing on his brother. "Stefan, you need to end this." It should have been a plea, considering the position he was in, but it sounded more like a very desperate demand. He fumed through his teeth, enunciating each word. "I was an idiot, okay? I admit that. And I'm going to make it up to Elena by making sure her real stalker doesn't hurt her, but I'm not going to look very intimidating to anyone if I'm doodled up to look like Groucho frigging Marx!"
Stefan paused briefly to consider Damon's point. Then he reluctantly released his ankles.
"We're not finished," Caroline protested.
Stefan sighed, running a hand through his light brown hair. "Yeah, you are," he decided. He walked around towards the head of the bed to untie his brother. "Like it or not, if Damon's committed to finding out more about this Elijah guy and getting him off of Elena's back, then we need all the help we can get." He dug his fingers into the knots, jerking at the bandages to gradually loosen them. "Look, my brother's an idiot..." – tug – "...highly reckless..." – tug – "...possibly insane..." – tug – "...definitely a huge jackass..." – tug – "...but he's not a threat to Elena."
Damon looked warmly up at his brother. "You say the nicest things."
"That's not a compliment, Damon," Stefan grunted, finally releasing the bandages and unwrapping them from around his brother's wrists, "you don't get a gold star for not being a total liability."
The moment Damon was free, he jumped out of bed, shook his limbs to loosen them up, nudged past Stefan and Caroline, and rushed quickly into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It wasn't the reaction either of them was expecting. Continuing his complaints or rants should have been more his style.
"He's been needing to pee for a while," Elena sighed in explanation.
"Ok-ay, well, here's what's going to happen next," Stefan segued, "I've got a replacement tire for your car... I'm going to change it... you're going to go home and find your old SIM card... and Caroline and I will do some more digging on Elijah." He pointed a finger firmly at Elena. "Don't give Damon a lift home, the asshole can walk back."
Damon, eavesdropping, called out from behind the bathroom door. "What was that?!"
Stefan stormed over to the bathroom, standing outside. "I said you can walk back!" he snapped.
"Whatever," came Damon's muffled grunt. "Damn it, this ink isn't coming off!"
Stefan closed his eyes and shook his head, wishing the walk back was longer. Preferably a day or two.
"Just leave my phone – I'll order a cab!" Damon yelled.
"Oh, you'll order a cab?" Stefan echoed, amusement lacing his voice. Well, that wasn't happening. He glanced over at Elena, whispering. "Where's his phone?"
Elena went to the dining table, where Damon's phone sat beside her keys. She picked it up and walked over to Stefan, placing it in his waiting hand.
"Okay, Damon," Stefan shouted through the door, "you can order a cab... as soon as you've fished your phone out from the lake." Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and marched purposefully out of the lodge.
The bathroom door swung open forcefully. Damon stepped out of the bathroom, his piercing blue eyes meeting with Elena's, scanning her face for any sign that his brother was bluffing. "He's not serious?"
"Oh, I think he is," she replied, biting her lip to suppress a smirk.
With a growl of frustration, Damon stormed past them. Behind him, they ran to the doorway, watching in entertainment as he charged down the fishing pier, where his brother now stood at the end, framed by the glittering lake. His footsteps thudded against the worn wooden planks. "Stefan, you are not putting my phone in the lake!"
Stefan turned at the sound of his approach, his expression calm as he held out his hand, offering back his phone. "You're right, Damon, I'm not putting it in the lake," he agreed smoothly, his green eyes awash with trickery as Damon took back the device. "I'm putting you in the lake." Then, extending his arms, he shoved his brother forcefully in the chest.
Damon tumbled off the pier and into the water with a loud splash, sending ripples across the surface. Though it was barely five feet deep, his feet slipped against the slick rocks below, and he fell backward with a second splash, disappearing entirely beneath the cloudy water.
Glancing over the pier's edge, Stefan waited for his brother to resurface, sputtering and cursing, his dark wet hair plastered to his forehead. "Good luck convincing any cab to accept you in that state."
From the doorway, laughter rang out from where Elena and Caroline stood, watching Damon's glare follow his younger brother as he turned to walk away.
Smirking, Stefan casually shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled back toward the fishing lodge. "Ready to go?"
Chapter 18: The Amoeba Redemption
Chapter Text
Chapter Eighteen: The Amoeba Redemption
Damon Salvatore
After a few calls on a thankfully water-resistant phone, it turned out Stefan was right: cab companies really don't like the idea of picking up waterlogged clients. Grabbing a towel from the lodge before leaving, Damon realized he probably should have lied about that – after all, he might have dried off in time for them not to notice. Though they certainly would have picked up on the smell of fish water.
So Damon resigned himself to a humiliating traipse back through the woods towards the road, his horned head and soggy attire earning him odd looks from the occasional rambler and dog walker. Releasing a forced smile in their direction appeared to do nothing to reassure them that there wasn't a swamp monster on the loose, but oh well – their opinion didn't matter.
The only opinion that mattered to him was Elena's, and he still – for the life of him – couldn't understand why. Between scraping off dead leaves from the soles of his wet shoes and batting away flies that were attracted to his new Eau de Compost scent, Damon tried to figure it out.
Something had happened to him earlier that morning – and he knew it was serious because he had lied to Elena about it. He had never fallen asleep and woken up to her nuzzling him. He'd been wide awake, still attempting to break free... and gotten pretty close to it too. He'd managed to slide one wrist around a curve in the metal bed frame, bringing it to a sharp point – some stupid leaf design befitting for a bed in the wilderness. After a good few minutes of straining to dig that point between the bandages, he'd finally succeeded – and that's when Elena had stirred.
He tried to kid himself that he gave up on his escape attempt in case she woke up and caught him. In reality, the moment he felt her nose and lips press against his neck like she was trying to bury herself into him, he was a goner. He lost all motivation to leave that spot ever, and so he slept along with her, allowing all the damn cuddle chemicals flooding his body to pull him into unconsciousness.
Why he'd lied about it though – pretending to her that he'd woken up – well, he couldn't figure that part out. Yes, he'd cracked enough jokes about dating and possibly even marrying this girl, but there was something about how perfect that moment had felt – something new and extremely confusing.
Something that wasn't a joke anymore.
Something that maybe she didn't need to know about just yet.
And then she went and drew horns on his head, and he'd felt it even harder... so, yeah, he was clearly a masochist at this point. Elena was seriously under his skin, and there didn't seem to be a limit to how much pain, discomfort, or humiliation he was willing to tolerate in order to keep her there.
Boy... he was totally screwed.
Finally spotting the road in the distance, he was surprised to see that Elena was still there. She was sitting in her car, behind the wheel, her tire freshly changed, with Stefan and Caroline appearing to be long gone. That was odd. Enough time had passed that she should have left by now. But he wasn't going to dwell on it too long and miss this opportunity, so he threw the towel around the back of his neck, picked up his pace, and sprinted toward her car.
Grabbing onto the door handle, he yanked it.
Of course she'd locked it.
She slowly turned her head toward him, like she'd been expecting his arrival. Then she pressed a button, winding down the passenger side window a few inches.
Elena leaned closer. "Do you really think I haven't learned my lesson by now, Mr Passenger Seat Poacher?"
So, she had been expecting him? But wait a minute... that meant...
Damon's mouth hung open and the corners of his lips raised. "You were waiting for me!"
Discomposed, Elena sat upright, looked away, and hit the button to wind up the window.
"No, no, no, wait!" Damon grabbed onto the edge of the window, clinging desperately until his fingers got trapped in the narrowing gap. "Ow, ow, ow! Unwind, unwind!"
Elena begrudgingly hit the button again, bringing the window down an inch. "Move your hand."
"Not until you listen to me."
Elena grunted, "Fine", and hit the button again, mercilessly trapping his fingers once more. Ignoring his yelps of discomfort, she got out of the car, rounded the bonnet, and stood in front of him. "Talk."
"My fingers are still stuck."
She crossed her arms. "You can't get in the car if your hand is trapped."
Damon blinked. "Damn. Smart." He sighed, unsure of what to say. He hadn't even expected her to still be here when he reached the road. In the end, he settled on a question to which he was almost sure he already knew the answer. "Why are you still mad at me? Wasn't the doodling and impromptu lake baptism enough of a punishment?"
"Because you didn't apologize."
Damon's eyebrows shot up. He was expecting a long list of his transgressions, not something quite so simple as that. "That's it?!" Fine, apology speedrun, here we go. Difficulty level: toddler. He flared out his free hand, lowering his fingers as he counted off each of his apologies. "I'm sorry for stalking you. I'm sorry for breaking into your apartment. I'm sorry for lying to you. I'm sorry for getting into bed with you –" He paused, promptly reinstating that finger. "Actually, I'm not so sorry about that one, it was kind of on my bucket list."
Elena whacked him on the shoulder, forcing him to lower his fourth finger again. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't exactly seem angry about his remark either.
Damon held up the final digit remaining on his free hand. "What other apology would you like?"
"I'd like you to apologize to Stefan."
Dropping his hand, Damon blurted, aghast, "For giving me a fish bath?!"
Elena stomped her foot, frustrated. "For stealing my key from him," she badgered. "Damon, he's my landlord – that's part of his income – and if I'd been anyone but a friend to him, he could have lost that. He could have ended up in court. You could have damaged his reputation. You just didn't think –"
The sudden seriousness cut deep. Damon closed his eyes, retorting sharply, "That's because I don't think, Elena – not when it comes to you. I wanted your attention, and I got it. And maybe the reason I'm struggling to apologize for that is because... I... don't... regret it."
Damon's words caught Elena off-guard, and her breath held in her throat. She couldn't look away from his piercing blue eyes as he waited tensely for her reaction – for her to hit him, shout at him, storm back into the car – any reaction but the one she gave him. It took far too long to come, but eventually her eyes dropped to the ground, and she swallowed before she calmly spoke. "Apologize to Stefan and we can start again with a clean slate."
Damon's expression became hopeful. "A clean slate?"
"A semi-clean slate," she amended. "You still irritate the hell out of me."
The corners of Damon's lips lifted. "I can work with that." He reached into his pocket, took out his phone, and single-handedly typed a message to Stefan. He held the screen out to Elena, showing her the words I'm sorry as evidence. The moment he pulled back the phone, a reply came through.
"What did he say?" Elena asked, both hopeful and nervous.
Damon read from the screen. "Call an ambulance, the water obviously contained a brain-eating amoeba." He rolled his eyes at his brother's reply and tucked his phone away, looking back at Elena. "Are we good now?"
Elena scoffed a dry chuckle and started walking back around the car. "I wouldn't go that far, but it's a start." She then paused by her door, her eyes lowered, deep in thought. "Damon?" Glancing up to see him staring at her expectantly, she let out a deep sigh and shrugged. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "Why me?"
It was a question Damon thought he would struggle to answer, but surprisingly he didn't. It was like he'd spent the past couple of days walking into an exam, his mind blank, having no idea what he was doing... but then he'd turned the first page, the adrenaline had surged, and suddenly it was all clear to him. "At first I thought it was because you were the complete opposite of me – optimistic, romantic, idealistic – basically everything I'm not. But then I realized that wasn't it." He exhaled sharply, the confession scraping out of him. "You've got a big heart, Elena – a big heart that's wrapped in a whole bunch of crazy, and somehow I relate to that. I guess I just see myself in you."
Elena tilted her head, her features softening. Subtle fidgets revealed she was uncomfortable, unused to seeing Damon like this – stripped of his usual bravado, his defenses down, speaking with raw and fragile honesty. Studying Damon's face, her eyes flickered as she replayed his words in her mind, absorbing them over and over again.
She absorbed them too thoroughly.
Her eyelids slowly tightened. "You see yourself in me?"
"Oh, you picked up on that innuendo, huh?" Damon smirked sheepishly. He couldn't help but notice the more tense she was, the more at ease she seemed to be. He realized it was going to take a lot of work to break through that "whole bunch of crazy" she had going on.
Elena rolled her eyes and opened the door, leaning in to hit the button that lowered the window to release his fingers. "Lay the towel down before you get in the car, Damon."
Chapter 19: If Only Manifestation Worked This Well
Chapter Text
Chapter Nineteen: If Only Manifestation Worked This Well
Elena Gilbert
"So, why did you wait for me?"
There it was. The dreaded question.
Elena looked over at Damon in the passenger seat, who was deliberately avoiding her gaze. Having made her stop off at a gas station, he was now munching on snacks that were unsuitable for a late morning breakfast and trying to connect his phone to the Bluetooth receiver on her stereo because apparently Build Me Up Buttercup just couldn't wait until he got home.
Her eyes returned to the road, shifting her grip on the wheel as she replied flatly, "I'm asking myself the same question."
In her peripheral vision, she caught him glancing at her, waiting to see if she would amend her answer. She didn't – she couldn't – because she didn't actually have an answer. The moment her tire was changed and she got into her car, she'd started the engine, fully prepared to leave. Then she'd looked over at the passenger seat, and... the car had suddenly felt incredibly empty.
It was an unwelcome and absurdly suffocating feeling. It wasn't like she missed him... or, at least, she didn't think so. It was more like she'd lived in a haunted house with a mischievous poltergeist – one that she had begrudgingly gotten used to – then a long-overdue exorcism had left the place feeling barren and uncomfortably quiet.
So – being a glutton for punishment – she'd reconjured the poltergeist, and now he was getting crumbs in her car to compliment the dampness he'd brought in with him.
Fabulous.
The scenery outside began to change, scattered houses indicating they were now on the outskirts of town. She flicked on her turn signal and used the maneuver as an excuse to steal a few more glances in Damon's direction, trying to make sense of what she felt. Having him there should have been annoying – it was annoying – so why the hell did it feel better than not having him there at all? Did she really have such a big void in her life that the universe somehow thought he would be the appropriate person to fill it?
Her knuckles tightened on the wheel, the weight of her thoughts manifesting into tension as a punchy beat started playing through her speakers.
Oh great, he's connected his phone.
"Whhhaaaa do you build me up..."
Oh great, he's singing.
She switched off her stereo.
Damon rolled up the now-empty wrapper and shifted in his seat, lifting his hips as he shoved it into his pocket to bin later. He tutted, "You're a killjoy, Elena. You need to learn to have a little fun."
She almost chuckled at the irony. Oh, Damon was good at having fun, that was for sure – but it was usually at her expense, taunting and pestering her at every opportunity. Which of their interactions did he expect her to find fun? Sending her flirty anonymous messages? Chasing her through the woods? Wrestling him for the phone? Pinning her to the bed?
She smiled to herself.
Damn it... okay, maybe in retrospect it had been fun... but it certainly didn't feel that way at the time. Of course, getting her revenge on him had always been amusing. She turned her head, raised an eyebrow at Damon, and smirked. "Drawing on your face was pretty fun."
He swung his slackened head towards her. "You know what I think...?"
Internally groaning, she took the next turning onto a narrow street. Only a few minutes until she was back at her apartment. "I'm guessing I'm about to find out."
Damon's lips spread into a wide, knowing smile. "I think you're deliberately avoiding having a good time around me because you're worried that – deep down – you might actually like me."
Ouch!
He hit a nerve, and she didn't even know why. That couldn't possibly be true, could it? She refused to believe it. He was a complete clown... and maybe clowns were likable in the right circumstances, like a circus or a kid's birthday party. But stick a clown in a wedding ceremony, or funeral, or operating theatre, and suddenly they become wildly inappropriate. "Maybe you're just difficult to like because all I ever get to see is an egotistical buffoon," she countered lightly. "But, by all means, prove me wrong and show me that Damon Salvatore has a deeper, more serious side."
Damon smirked and gave a half-shrug. His voice was tinged with challenge. "Fine, I can be serious. Come up to the penthouse, spend the afternoon with me, and we'll talk about, I don't know... politics or climate change or something else equally unfun."
"See, joking again." Elena huffed a dry laugh. "And do you always have to refer to your home as your 'penthouse'? It sounds so cold and pretentious."
Damon's smirk faltered. For a second, something raw flickered behind his eyes. He exhaled slowly, dropping his head, and when he finally spoke, his voice dropped too. "Okay, you want serious, Elena? I'll tell you why I use that word – because I bought it with the money I inherited from my mother." He turned his head, catching Elena's surprised gaze. "Sure, I also invested in Rose & Savior, and I'm proud of that – I made a friend in Rose, and we rebuilt that place into something warm, welcoming, and full of life. That's exactly how my mother was. But the penthouse?" He paused, emitting a humorless chuckle as he shook his head. "It's just empty, Elena. I felt more warmth and comfort in the few minutes I was in your apartment than I've ever felt in my own."
Elena hesitated to speak. Just minutes ago, she was contemplating the void she had in her life, picking at the edges of how empty it felt. Now Damon was telling her that he had slotted himself into her small, imperfect world and found comfort there? The sadness of that revelation lodged deep in her chest, and when she finally found her voice, it came out soft, laced with concern. "So why do you have it? You could buy something else...?"
"It's not the apartment, Elena – it's you." Damon's jaw flexed. His voice was almost pleading. "When they say a home needs a woman's touch, it's not just the furnishings, it's the entire atmosphere. I stay where I am because every time I walk into that apartment, it reminds me that there's not a damn thing I wouldn't give up to have that same comfort I had as a kid – to have a family of my own one day." He placed his hands on his knees like he was trying to anchor himself. "And I need that reminder because every time I'm outside the apartment, I convince myself it's never going to happen."
Elena's throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "Why do you think that?" she asked quietly.
Damon gave her a rueful smile. "Maybe because whenever I actually like someone, I ruin it by acting like an egotistical buffoon." The smile morphed into a facial shrug, but his eyes stayed locked on hers, searching for that much-needed understanding – even acceptance – of his flaws.
For a beat, Elena said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was teasing, but the warmth in her eyes gave her away. "Mmmm... well, maybe that side of you isn't so bad after all..." A smile tugged at her lips as she added, "...in moderation."
Damon smiled back at her. After a moment of silence between them, he asked, "So, was I deep enough for you?"
Elena's lips flattened, and she closed her eyes for far longer than she should have for someone who was driving. She groaned, "Was that another innuendo, Damon?"
"You have a dirty mind, Elena," he accused teasingly, "but, yes, it was, actually."
Seeing Bonnie and Enzo coming out from her apartment block in the distance, Elena slowed the vehicle, her gaze momentarily lingering on the pair as they strolled onto the street and spotted her car. Deciding to park out front, she signaled and carefully eased the car toward the curb, bringing it to a smooth stop. "I'll let it slide this time."
Elena switched off the engine, grabbed her bag, opened her door, and stepped out into the fresh air. Bonnie's bright smile widened as she approached. "Thanks for being here, Bonnie. Did you have any problems locating the cameras, Enzo?"
Holding out both his palms, Enzo presented the cube-shaped devices, which were larger than Elena expected them to be. "One hidden in a ceramic oil burner in your living room, one on a kitchen cabinet beside a fondue set, and there was another one hidden behind Polly's cage but it seems she didn't appreciate the invasion of privacy, so she destroyed the lens."
Elena swallowed. "Any in the bedroom or bathroom?" It didn't seem likely, recalling where Elijah had been in her apartment, but she needed to be sure.
Bonnie placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "No, nothing in either of those rooms."
Relief washed over Elena, and her shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, both of you."
Enzo cut in with a more serious expression. "There's just one thing, though," he said. "Somebody came by while we were there, asking if you were home."
Elena frowned. "Who was it?"
"Don't know," Bonnie replied, exchanging a glance with Enzo. "Some guy, but we didn't recognize him. He didn't leave his name."
At that moment, Damon emerged from the car, shutting the door with a deliberately firm click and strolling toward the group. "What did he look like?" he asked urgently.
Glancing at the unfamiliar passenger, Enzo's eyes stopped on Elena as he jutted his thumb in Damon's direction. "Is this Stefan's brother? The doolally stalker? You gave him a ride?" Looking back at Damon, Enzo lowered his eyebrows, staring intensely at the markings on his forehead. "Are those horns?"
"The halo didn't work out too well for me," Damon replied sarcastically. Then he clapped his hands to regain Enzo's attention. "Description. Chop chop, and don't leave out any details. We need a full report of this guy from head to toe."
Bonnie tilted her head towards Damon. "He was wearing a suit..."
Placing a hand on her shoulder, Damon stopped her. "Enough said." He turned towards Elena. "You can't go home, Elena. He's going to turn up at your apartment again, I can feel it in my doolallies."
Enzo crossed his arms and shook his head. "You're not using that word correctly, mate."
Elena rolled her eyes at Damon. "The cameras are gone," she reminded him sternly. "He's not keeping me out of my apartment, Damon." She glanced back at Bonnie and Enzo, determination flickering in her eyes. "Thanks for letting me know. And for taking care of the cameras."
"Anytime," Bonnie said with a reassuring smile. "Call me if anything else happens. Or if you need to spend the night at mine."
"Oh, she'll call you," Damon assured her.
Ignoring him, Elena nodded at Bonnie, her lips curving into a grateful smile, and gave her a warm parting hug. Turning toward the apartment block, she was already reaching for her keys when she realized Damon was following close behind her.
"Elena, spend the night at Bonnie's," he implored. "Call Caroline over. Have a girls' night. I'll order you seafood."
She stopped suddenly, turning to face him with an irritated expression.
"Okay, no seafood," he conceded, as Elena walked away again.
Pushing through the door and into the lobby, Elena headed towards the elevator. She felt Damon's silent presence behind her, like he was her self-assigned bodyguard – one that was overly protective and invasive. Damon stopped beside her as she pressed the elevator button, the doors sliding open instantly. They stepped inside the small space and he leaned casually against the wall, watching her as she pressed the button for her floor. She attempted to hit the button to the penthouse, but it refused to light up.
"You need a key card for that floor," he explained, the doors closing.
"Okay," Elena sighed, stepping back and sweeping her hands in the direction of the control panel, "so use it."
"I'm walking you to your apartment."
The soft hum of the ascending elevator coincided with Elena's groan, the air between them thick with tension. She didn't bother to argue with him. Did she even want to argue with him? Or was there a small part of her that liked the idea of him escorting her to her apartment like a gentleman?
Elena almost chortled out loud at the thought. Damon was certainly no gentleman. For starters, he appeared like a drowned rat in his mucky, damp clothes. A drowned rat who looked like the wilderness and smelled like the earth. A drowned rat who desperately needed to get out of those clothes and into a shower.
Oh great, now she was imagining him naked. Elena quickly shook that thought from her head and got back on point. There were a lot of points to be made. He was also rude, stubborn, and intrusive. Aside from invading her inbox, her apartment, her car, and her getaway cabin, he was also invading every thought in her head – including what he would look like out of those clothes again.
Elena sighed in relief as the doors finally slid open, revealing the hallway to her apartment. Damon stepped aside to let her exit, and she walked down the hall, her brisk footsteps in time with her heartbeat, until she reached her door. She slid the key into the lock, casting a quick glance back at Damon before pushing it open and stepping inside.
As soon as she turned to say goodbye, Damon waltzed right in behind her.
"Erm, I didn't invite you in," she pointed out.
Damon, who was complacently surveying his surroundings like it was home, replied, "Calm down. I just want to make sure you get your phone up and running and then I will run along out of here." He turned to Elena and cocked his head with a pout. "Safety first. Put my mind at rest."
Elena's eyes narrowed. "My safety isn't your responsibility."
Damon smirked. "It's become my hobby, so humor me."
Throwing her hands in the air in defeat, Elena closed the door. "Fine. But the second my phone's working, you're leaving. Got it?"
"Got it," he replied, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.
Placing her bag on the ground, she informed him, "First, I'm going to get changed out of yesterday's clothes before I start smelling as bad as you do."
Ignoring her insult, Damon raised an eyebrow, his grin devilish. "Need a hand with that?"
Elena froze, her jaw tightening, and she shot him a withering glare. "Absolutely not."
He chuckled, low and amused as she disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.
Elena leaned against the door for a moment, taking a deep breath. Damon had now invaded her inbox, her apartment, her car, her getaway cabin, every thought in her head, and was now back to invading her apartment again. So why wasn't she more mad about it? Was it that she'd promised him that they'd start on a clean slate? Or had she just given up expecting him to behave any differently? Or maybe, just maybe, she was starting to accept that this was Damon's version of caring – and, as frustrating as it was, maybe she didn't entirely hate it.
That was a lot of maybes.
Shaking her head, Elena moved toward her closet and quickly changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a clean Henley top. She'd barely pulled the top over her head when she heard Damon's voice through the door.
"Hey, can I use your bathroom?"
"Yeah, go ahead," she called back, distracted as she folded her discarded clothes.
Moments later, the sound of running water drifted through the apartment. Frowning, Elena paused mid-fold.
Was that...?
She froze, listening intently. Yep, it was definitely the shower.
Elena stormed out of her room, her eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. Did she manifest this, or was she just psychic? Or was it just typical Damon and his never-ending audacity? She headed straight for the bathroom door, throwing it open without hesitation, and charging inside.
"Damon, what the –"
Her words died in her throat as she took in the scene. Damon stood just outside the shower, hot running water gradually misting the air around him. He was completely naked, his back to her, every detail of his lean, sculpted frame on full display. Broad shoulders tapered into a strong, defined back, down to the sharp angle of his waist, and finally the firm, muscular lines of his butt.
And Elena's brain completely short-circuited.
Chapter 20: Fifty Shades of Fluffy Pink
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty: Fifty Shades of Fluffy Pink
Damon Salvatore
For the first few seconds that Elena stood frozen in silence, her eyes locked on his naked body, Damon wondered if getting his ass out regularly would be a successful method of keeping her quiet in the future. But after the next few seconds of her not blinking or breathing, he was starting to get worried.
He began to turn in her direction. "Elena?"
Suddenly, with a sharp inhale of breath, she shot to life, closing her eyes and spinning back towards the door. She reacted with all the panic of a trapped and blinded animal as she felt around, trying to locate the door handle, knocking a bathrobe and towel from a hook onto the floor. Finally, her fingers gripped the metal, and she twisted and pulled.
Her panic heightened as the door opened only a couple of inches before meeting resistance below. Flustered grunts escaped her mouth, becoming more strained and urgent, as she yanked over and over, trying to get the door to open.
Finally, Damon came up close behind her and she instantly stilled. His breath was at her ear, his tone soft and soothing. "Relax, Elena, just breathe."
At first, she struggled with this – her delicate shoulders tensing at his proximity and her fingers gripping the handle like it was her lifeline. Her heart rate was escalating her breathing, and any attempt at slowing it was getting caught in her throat, air fluttering brokenly across her tongue, frustrated at her inability to compose herself. It wasn't until Damon reached up, brushing her arm lightly, his hand cupping her shoulder and circling his thumb caressingly, that something within her melted. Her fingers went limp atop the door handle, no longer trying to escape.
"I can't get out," she uttered quietly, her eyes still closed, seemingly accepting her fate.
Damon tilted his head, studying her side view, her bottom lip being gently pulled inwards beneath her top teeth. This wasn't like her. Elena could generate a whole bunch of tones – normally angry ones – that made Damon nervous. But this new one made him nervous most of all. It was timid, yielding, and vulnerable – and not the Elena he knew. Honestly, with her barging in and almost catching him in the shower, he'd expected something high voltage to be plugged in and thrown in his direction. So what was it about this situation that now had her shuddering softly beneath his fingers?
Shit, he hoped she wasn't scared of him. Was that it? She was in a vulnerable position, so of course she'd feel vulnerable. He removed his hand from her shoulder, but it didn't seem to make a difference to how she was feeling.
"You knocked down a towel and robe," he said reassuringly into her ear. "They're jammed against the vanity table, blocking the door."
"I'll pick them up," she mumbled, her voice thin and strained, her head still turned away from him.
"Don't," he said as she began to lower herself.
"Why not?"
There was a snappy edge to her voice that made Damon smile – it was an adorably familiar one that said she wasn't about to let him boss her about. Maybe she wasn't scared of him after all. He was certainly affecting her though, just not in the way he originally thought. He decided to test something. He leaned in a fraction closer, his mouth nearly brushing her ear, letting his words ring sinfully between them. "Unless you have a strong desire to be bent over in front of me while I'm naked," he drawled, "maybe I should do it."
Elena quickly swallowed a small whimper, her jaw flexing as she hissed, "I have no desire to be anywhere near your naked body."
Damon smiled. There she was – the woman whose words were either open-handed, back-handed, or a full-fisted punch. And, for reasons he couldn't comprehend, he couldn't get enough of it.
"Of course you don't," he agreed mockingly.
He crouched down leisurely beside her, feeling the heat radiating off her as he bent to retrieve the towel and robe. His fingers brushed against her ankle briefly as he gathered the fabric, and the simple, accidental contact sent a quiver through both of them.
He stood up slowly, tossing the towel and robe aside onto the vanity unit, but he didn't step back. He didn't want to.
Given that Elena's pathway was clear and yet the door remained closed, neither did she.
For a long, tight moment, they just stood there, Elena still facing the door, Damon a breath behind her, the steam from the shower curling around them.
"You can go now," he said, his voice lower, rougher than before.
She didn't move. She didn't speak.
What was going on in that head of hers? Moments ago, she was practically scratching at the door to escape, now he was watching her war with herself when he was so used to watching her war with him. So what had changed?
To be fair, it wasn't unusual for her to have a quiet moment while she plotted his homicide. She could be figuring out how to knee him somewhere really unfortunate while keeping her closed eyes off his pride and glory. It wouldn't exactly be out of character. But there was no tension in her limbs, no fight brewing, nothing ready to be launched at him.
No, this tension was different.
There was a tremor in her breathing, a subtle shift in the way her back rose and fell. A hesitation in her fingers still curled loosely around the door handle. Like if she let go, she might not make the right choice. Like she was scared – but not of him.
And it clicked, so fast and sharp that it made Damon's heart pound harder against his ribs. Maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something else entirely.
Time to test the waters.
Urgh, bad bathroom pun.
"Or," he added slowly and teasingly, "you can join me in the shower."
Suddenly stiffening in annoyance, Elena elbowed him in the stomach, forcing him a couple of steps back. Then, without a word or a backward glance, she yanked on the handle, and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Damon opened the door a crack. "I'll leave it ajar in case you change your mind," he called out to her down the hallway. "Or, you know, you want to take a peek, check out the quality, or have a try-before-you-buy kind of thing."
She didn't respond. That was disappointing. He'd expected at least one expletive.
After Damon had showered, he donned Elena's pink, fluffy robe, threw the white hand towel over his shoulder, and strolled out into the living room. Like everything he experienced in Elena's apartment, the shower had been heaven. Did it have a digital shower system with timers and audio? No. Did it have mood-enhancing LED lighting? No. Did every single soap, gel, and shampoo smell of her? Yes. Was it creepy that he got immense satisfaction from knowing he'd used all of those products and now her scent was following him around like an inescapable souvenir? Absolutely. Will he lose sleep over it? Not a chance. Long live the deliciously-scented creep.
He spotted Elena in the kitchen, her elbows perched over the center island, digging a pin into her phone's SIM card holder. As he came into her peripheral view, her eyes darted sideways, scanned up and down her robe, and narrowed. Her mouth opened as if about to demand something, but she quickly closed it and went back to her task.
She was probably going to tell him to take her robe off. He would have happily obliged.
A squawk came from the direction of the birdcage, diverting Damon's attention. He watched Polly use her feet and beak to scale down from the top of her cage and land on its open door. She faced him, her feathers rising on her head, which she bobbed up and down animatedly.
At least someone was excited to see him.
Damon pulled the towel off his shoulder, spreading it between his hands as he went over to her and offered her the makeshift hammock. She entered it eagerly, and he wrapped it around her like a loose swaddle blanket, cradling her like a baby.
As much as parrots could smile, Polly was indeed smiling at the attention.
Strolling over to the couch, Damon sat down with the bundle still in his arms, cooing playfully and stroking the top of Polly's head.
Elena looked over at him from the kitchen and lightly groaned. "What are you doing?"
Damon smiled up at her. "I think this could be our Surprise Baby trope," he declared. He looked back down at Polly. "Can you say 'Dada'?"
Elena suppressed a smile as she rolled her eyes. Slotting her old SIM card into her phone, she informed him, "She's not going to say 'Dada'. She belongs to Caroline's mother, Liz. I'm birdwatching her while she's away. She doesn't say anything Liz hasn't already taught her."
Deciding she wasn't as close to Damon as she'd like to be, Polly crawled out of her swaddle and dug her claws into the pink robe as she climbed up to his shoulder. Once there, she began grooming his wet hair with her beak.
"I'll get her to say it," he told Elena. Damon turned his face towards Polly, undeterred. She released his hair with the movement and stared back at him. "Call me 'Daddy'," he said in a soft baby tone.
Polly's eyes turned proudly in Elena's direction as she repeated, "Call me Daddy."
Elena's hand flopped down with a slap on the surface of the kitchen island, her eyebrows raised at Damon in annoyance. "Really, Damon? 'Call me Daddy'? How the hell am I going to explain to Liz how she learned that?"
Damon rasped through his lips. "Relax," he scoffed, "it can be easily explained. It's not like I taught her to say 'Spank me'."
Polly squawked, then declared with all the volume her little voice could muster, "Spank me... Daddy."
Elena put down her phone and threw her head into her hands. "Thank you for that, Damon," she grumbled dryly. Hearing her phone vibrate on the counter, she picked it up to check her messages.
Damon scooped Polly up and sat her on the back of the couch. As he stood, he turned and wagged his finger at her. "You take after your mother," he scolded the bird. As he turned back to Elena, he saw her sliding on her shoes and grabbing her jacket in a rush. "What's going on?" he asked her.
Elena rummaged through her bag for her keys. "Elijah messaged me. He wants to meet me at the coffee shop."
After she located her keys and started heading towards the front door, Damon blocked Elena's path. Raising his eyebrows, he said through pinched lips. "Obviously you told him to go lie under a running lawnmower, right?"
Elena sighed. "I need answers, Damon," she blurted. "I'd rather go to him now than sit around wondering when he's going to come to me. I've got thirty minutes until he leaves. He's not going to do anything to me in a public location." She pushed past him and opened the door.
Damon darted to the coffee table to grab his own keys. With no time to change, he followed Elena outside, down the corridor. "Right, because public shootings never happen," he jeered. "In fact, let's get philosophical: if a gun goes off, but there are people around to witness it, can it even hurt anyone? Not according to Elena!"
Elena pressed the button for the elevator. "Go home, Damon. I'm doing this alone."
"Over my dead body," he growled. He stepped into the elevator after her. "Which might very well happen, considering you're not listening to me."
Elena pushed the button for the ground floor. "You look like a damn marshmallow," she said, gesturing to the pink robe. The elevator shuddered and began to descend.
Damon ran his card key over the control panel, hoping to change its direction to the penthouse. "Great," he snapped. "I like to look as crazy as I feel." The elevator slowed, stopped, and shuddered again.
Elena pressed the ground floor button again.
Damon swiped his card key again.
The elevator shuddered, sputtered... and stalled. The lights flickered.
Frantically pressing the ground floor button repeatedly, only for them to remain static, Elena yelled, "Did you just break the elevator, Damon?!"
Damon leaned back against the wall, shoved his hands into the fluffy pink pockets of the robe, and grinned. "Welcome to the Stuck In An Elevator trope, Elena Gilbert."
Chapter 21: When Ten Minutes Is Better Than Thirty
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-One: When Ten Minutes Is Better Than Thirty
Elena Gilbert
Elena flung herself towards the emergency call button, jabbing it forcefully, as though it could also activate a trap door that would immediately evict Damon from the elevator. Wishful thinking. "You did this on purpose," she growled at him.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Damon's mouth. "I'm flattered you credit me for every good thing that happens in your life, Elena." He watched her pound on the button again with the side of her fist, getting impatient. "I thought you were a fan of this trope anyway. You've used it twice in your novels." He took his hand out of his pocket, tapping his chin, his eyes on the ceiling, while he pondered smugly, "Elena not being a fan of her own tropes in real life...? I guess that makes me right yet again."
"Shut up," she grunted.
A brief crackle came through the speaker, followed by a drawling male voice. "Yo, Damon, you stuck again?"
Again? Elena blinked, whipping her head toward Damon, whose face was painted with his usual smirk. This wasn't just a sabotage attempt – he'd had prior experience! Why wasn't she surprised? "I knew it!" she hissed. "I'm going to –"
The voice interrupted, "Whoa, you got a chick in there with you? Hang on, lemme check the camera." Some shuffling came from beyond the speaker. "Ohhh, I see her now. She's hot." A pause. "Dude, why you got horns on your head and wearing a pink bathrobe? That's not how you pick up women, man."
"He's not picking me up!" Elena barked into the speaker. "Can you please get the elevator moving?"
"Yeah, yeah, it'll take a minute," the voice said, sounding way too casual about the entire situation. "Hey, he hasn't got any eggs on him this time, has he?"
Elena's eyebrows lowered. What kind of random question was that? "Eggs?"
The mellow guy, who sounded like he could lose a debate with a lamppost, elaborated, "Yeah, he got stuck once taking down some eggs for Mrs Flowers a few floors down. Panicked when he spotted a wasp in there with him and thought swiping to go back up would get him out faster. Instead, he got himself trapped and tried throwing the eggs at the wasp – man, it was crazy." The voice then turned somber. "Mrs Flowers never got her eggs. That wasn't cool. Old ladies need their eggs, dude."
"I bought her some more damn eggs," Damon grumbled defensively. "Thanks for the story time, Tyler."
"No problem, man," Tyler chirped. "Anyway, hang tight for like ten minutes. I can reset the system and get you moving."
Elena pulled out her phone, checking the onscreen clock. It would be tight, but she could still make it in time to meet Elijah.
Following her every movement closely, Damon quickly blurted, "Think you could make it thirty minutes?"
In the middle of tucking her phone away, Elena's head whipped up. "Damon!"
There was a beat of silence on the line. Then Tyler piped up again, sounding skeptical. "You want more time? That's weird. I don't think this chick's gonna change her mind about you, dude. Know when to give up. Put on a suit next time and wash your face."
Damon's lips tightened. "It's permanent marker! Can you give us thirty minutes or not?"
"No, he can't!" Elena screeched.
Another pause. Then a resigned, "Yeah, yeah, fine. I'll reset it in thirty. Good luck, man, but I'm keeping my eye on you, so behave yourself." There was a crackle as the line cut out, but not before Tyler muttered, "Dude's reeking of desperation."
Elena folded her arms, glaring at Damon, who simply winked at her. Their clean slate was starting to get very dirty. Why did Damon always have to interfere? He treated every aspect of her life like it was a game, determined to insert himself into it and meddle his way through her decisions. She couldn't let him get his way yet again. But what choice did she have?
She ran a few options through her head. She could pick up her phone and tell Elijah what had happened. But, knowing him, he'd make his way over to her and never leave. There would ultimately be another face-off between Elijah and Damon. If Elijah won, that would be bad. But if Damon won, would it be any better? He'd probably get overprotective and stand guard at her door all night.
Her front door? Or her bedroom door?
Urgh, probably the latter.
No, she couldn't call Elijah. But she did need to get out of here fast.
There was another way. What did Tyler say? He wanted Damon to behave himself? Well, that was a rule she could certainly get Damon to break.
Damon remained against the wall with a contented posture and a gloating smile taking up most of his face. Clearly he wanted to break the silence as he took a deep breath and said randomly, "Want to play I Spy?"
Elena glared up at him through lowered eyelids. "I spy an asshole."
"That's not how you play."
"I spy a massive dick."
"That's impossible," he scoffed, "I'm sufficiently covered." He looked down just to make sure, tugged the bathrobe tighter around his waist, then gave a tiny, approving nod, as if congratulating himself on his own modesty. "But I guess there's not much else within these four walls to choose from..." He sighed heavily. "So you've just given me an idea. Let's play I Spied instead. As in, what exactly did you spy when you walked in on me in the bathroom?" He raised an eyebrow at her curiously.
The moment Damon said the words, the feelings came tumbling back. The attraction. The temptation. His nakedness. His warmth. His proximity. His lips far too close to her skin.
It took a while for her to realize it, but Elena's mask dropped, the anger falling from her features. No, this wasn't right – she was supposed to stay angry! But her mind was transported back to that bathroom, along with all the feelings she'd had in there. The kind of feelings that had her body trying to figure out when she'd last been with a man.
The short answer? A long time.
The more complicated answer? She'd never been with a man who made her want to run her fingers lustfully through his hair with one hand while simultaneously ripping it out with the other.
That was entirely Damon Salvatore.
Before she could think of an answer – before she could even generate an answer – Damon unexpectedly let her off the hook.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, lowering his head regretfully. "Forget I asked. I don't like seeing you with that expression."
Elena was confused. "What expression?"
"You look troubled," he explained.
She didn't even confirm or deny it. She just flattened her lips and flicked her eyebrows upwards as her evasive answer. She knew there was something inside her that she was suppressing – something she found difficult to admit even to herself. So it was festering inside her as annoyance and irritation – all of which she was releasing onto him.
But maybe it was time for her to utilize a different outlet.
One that she could use to her advantage.
Damon continued to fill the silence. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I experienced that same awkwardness seeing you naked back in the spa," he admitted. Then his face and shoulders shrugged simultaneously. "Of course, that's because I wanted to sleep with you –"
"So do I." Elena's voice was soft, her eyes on the ground.
Damon's head spun quickly in her direction then froze, his eyes bulging, appearing uncannily like a surprised owl. He waited, the cogs turning in his head, for Elena to elaborate – to repeat herself – as she raised her eyes to him, looking all coy and doe-like. But she didn't speak. Damon was having a hard time doing that himself. Finally, his mouth dropped open. "I don't think... I heard you... correctly...?" Not a statement. Definitely a question.
Elena's response was swift. Her eyes unblinking. "You heard me."
First, he couldn't open his mouth; now, he couldn't close it. But the edges were twitching up and down like he was either experiencing a roulette of emotions or a moderate electric shock. "You... want to sleep with me?" he questioned, almost suspiciously. "Present tense?"
Elena leaned back against the wall, arms loose at her sides, and tilted her head lazily toward Damon. "You're surprised by that?"
"No," Damon rasped with a nervous chuckle, turning his body in her direction. "But I'm surprised you're admitting it now. What's the catch?"
She smiled as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, letting it pop teasingly back out with a blush of deeper red, drawing his eyes to her mouth. "Maybe I've just realized that you're the catch, Damon."
His eyes narrowed but his lips smiled. He was studying her sudden change in demeanor cautiously. "Very cute... but I'm still not buying it."
Turning her head to the side, Elena sighed in disappointment. This was going to be harder than she thought. "Fine, let's play another game," she decided. Her shoulders pressed back into the metal behind her, her hips popping forward as she slowly unfastened the top button of her jeans. "Never have I ever... had sex in an elevator." She raised an eyebrow at him suggestively.
Damon's hand flattened against the elevator wall for some sudden, much-needed support. His wide eyes were quickly darting all over her body like he was a cat and she had control of the laser pointer. But he wasn't ready to pounce just yet. He closed his eyes, cutting himself off from the temptation. "This isn't happening," he chuckled softly in disbelief.
Elena waited for his eyes to open again, then ran a finger slowly along her waistband. She tilted her head and pouted. "It's not happening because you're not over here taking my clothes off," she teased. "We've still got little under twenty-five minutes left. Are you going to take care of me... or do I have to do it myself?" She started to slide her hand slowly beneath her jeans.
Damon's breath hitched audibly, chest rising sharply like he'd just been sucker-punched into surrendering. Then a mix of rationality and adrenaline kicked in, and Damon rushed forward, covering her body with his, and pulling her hand from her waistband. He gripped her wrist protectively. "I don't want Tyler watching you do something like that." His eyes burned into her like a warning. After a few beats and aching breaths, Damon softened, his hand moving from her wrist and interlocking with her fingers. "And I'm going to want a hell of a lot longer than twenty-five minutes with you."
After a moment of staring at his lips, her thoughts wandering through all the possibilities that "longer than twenty-five minutes" might bring, she found herself leaning into him instinctively, craving something he wasn't even offering her yet... until she reeled herself back to sanity with a sharp mental slap. She huffed, uncurled her fingers out from his, and slipped sideways from the barrier he'd created around her, pouting as she sauntered to the opposite wall.
Damon turned, his eyes following her. His fingertips were digging into his palm as he struggled to maintain control of himself in the vicinity of this new elevator siren.
She arched her back against the wall again, like it was the world's firmest vertical bed. "Don't you want me, Damon?" she purred.
Stepping closer, Damon blurted, "Of course I want you, but this..." He gestured her with a sweeping hand. "...isn't an Elena I'm familiar with, so I'm starting to wonder if this is real, or if there's a gas leak that's making you high, or something."
"Maybe you should kiss me and find out," she suggested playfully.
He stood in the center of the elevator for a moment, rubbing his face and casting his eyes back and forth from her. With every glance, it looked like he was assessing if she was a poisoned apple or a witch's gingerbread house, and – more importantly – whether he cared because, right now, he was that damn hungry.
Finally, he caved and sped towards her. But, before his lips could meet hers, she stepped to the side, evading him and flattening herself against the next adjacent wall.
"Too late," she trilled. "You've got to act quicker than that if you're serious about me, Damon. Maybe you should try again."
Damon's mouth twisted into a predatory smile and this time he didn't hesitate. He strode towards her with determination and longing pulsing through his veins. But before he could capture her in his arms, Elena laughed tauntingly and spun out of reach once more, tossing a wicked look over her shoulder.
"Still too slow," she tutted. "Show me that you really want me, Salvatore."
Damon quickened his pace and made a grab for her, and this time Elena didn't dodge fast enough. He swung her, her back hitting the closed doors with a soft thud, and his hands cupped her face.
For a moment, she almost forgot what she was doing. She was exhilarated and ready to let him kiss her. His forehead was against hers, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them. His blue eyes locked on hers – so intense it made her ache – and his thumbs stroked tenderly over her cheeks. He was waiting for her, patient and steady, checking that she truly wanted this... giving her every opportunity to rebuild her all too familiar walls... or let them crumble.
And for a dangerous, shattering second, Elena wanted nothing more than to close the distance and surrender herself. Her mind had turned to primal mush, and she'd forgotten everything she'd planned.
She'd forgotten the plan!
And then, with a lurch, the elevator jolted back to life.
Oh right... that was the plan.
Both of them stumbled a little but maintained their balance. Damon raised his head, confused – and, quite frankly, a little pissed at the interruption – before charging over to the control panel and slamming his thumb against the emergency call button.
"Hey! That wasn't thirty minutes!" he barked into the speaker.
Tyler's voice crackled through, maddeningly unbothered. "Yeah, well, you weren't behaving yourself, man. I saw you stalking her around the elevator, not taking no for an answer."
Damon was aghast. "What are you talking about? She was trying to seduce me!" Pointing in Elena's direction, he watched a smug smile spread across her face, her eyes glittering with mischief, and he realized she'd set him up. He looked personally offended, like she'd just stolen his favorite bottle of bourbon and replaced it with water. His voice was strangled with disbelief, and yet, at the same time, he'd suspected something like this all along. "Oh, you wanted him to restart the elevator early, didn't you?"
"Yep." Elena beamed with pure sunshine and no regret.
Damon gritted his teeth and swung back to the control panel. He needed to salvage his dignity, and he was not backing down. "Tyler, she's a scheming minx! Look at her! She's got a massive grin on her face!"
There was a beat of silence, then came Tyler's slow, unimpressed reply. "Women smile when they're nervous, dude. It's basic psychology. Helps them defuse menaces like you."
"What are you, a psych grad?" Damon scoffed. "I am not a menace!"
The elevator dinged, finally sliding open to reveal Elena's floor, and she darted out like a prisoner making a break for it. She didn't get far, however, as Damon chased after her, grabbed her by the waist, flung her over his shoulder like a sack of really angry potatoes, and carried her back into the elevator.
Damon swiped his card key on the control panel, and declared to Tyler, "Okay, now I'm a menace!"
The elevator resumed its climb toward the penthouse as Elena shrieked, "Put me down!" Her palms slapped hard against his buttocks, the robe only a mild buffer to her ferocity.
"Keep doing that," Damon urged her, staggering ever so slightly forward from the force. "I'm weirdly enjoying it."
"Oh, shit!" Tyler exclaimed from the speaker. "Want me to call for help?"
"No," Elena shouted back, "I know how to get down." She lifted up the hem of Damon's robe until his butt cheeks were exposed.
Damon drew his chin back and his eyebrows inwards, feeling the cold air hit his backside. Then he craned his neck over his shoulder, trying to see what she was up to. "You just taking a second look, or aiming for a fresher sting? Because I can take everything you're about to give me, Elena," he challenged.
"Err, Damon," Tyler started nervously, "now might be a good time to clench. Elena's just coated two of her fingers in saliva."
"Oh, hell NO!" Damon bellowed, panic flaring through him like fire through gasoline. Launching Elena off his shoulder, he flung her back down onto her feet just as the elevator doors slid open onto his floor. Before she could retaliate, he lunged again, wrapping both arms around her waist and lifting her from the floor, while she flailed ferociously like a cat resisting a bath.
"Should I call the cops?" Tyler shouted through the speaker, half-panicked, half-excited by the drama.
"No, don't call the cops!" Elena yelled back, still struggling against Damon's unrelenting grip. "He's not going to hurt me, and I don't want anyone preventing me from beating the hell out of him!"
"Yeah!" Tyler whooped enthusiastically. "Kick his ass, Elena!"
As Damon carried her out of the elevator like a pirate hauling off stolen treasure, she screamed, "Where are you taking me?!"
Smirking through the blows she rained on him, Damon replied, "You remember your story you mentioned in the coffee shop? The one with the kidnapping trope? He kidnaps her to protect her from someone else? That was really romantic, right?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Elena knew where this was going. She dug her fingers into his skin, wishing they were claws. "Damon, you are not kidnapping me!"
Damon paused at his apartment door, gripping her tightly with one arm as he opened it. "Oh, I think I am."
Chapter 22: Cue The Bat-terflies
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Two: Cue The Bat-terflies
Damon Salvatore
"Honey, I'm home!"
Damon rehearsed that line the entire elevator ride up, and he knew the greeting he'd receive would not be a warm one. But what else was he supposed to do after his pain-in-the-ass captive, Elena, started ranting about the stuff she needed from her apartment? Let her rant? There weren't earplugs powerful enough for that.
So, he changed into a suit (admittedly, just to prove to Tyler he owned one) and went down to her apartment to pick up her bag, laptop, and his phone – forgotten mid-commotion during her crazy mission to meet Elijah. Then he popped to a nearby store to buy some peace offerings while she no doubt destroyed his apartment like a new puppy being left alone for the first time.
Hearing him open the front door, Elena stormed towards him with her usual scowl that only a heavy dose of Botox could now relax. He quickly closed the door and leaned against it like he already anticipated it to be his stretcher after she fly-kicked him through it.
"You locked me in," she fumed, stopping in front of him with her chin raised.
"Well, aren't you Little Miss Stating-The-Obvious?" he grinned. He glanced over her. Hands unclenched. Nostrils unflared. Eyelids not twitching. All things considered, she was pretty calm. It was nice.
Damon clutched the grocery bag to his chest and rotated to the side, attempting to playfully kiss her on the forehead. She swung her head out of the way, dodging his affections, and he smirked. "Oh, not feeling it the way you was in the elevator, huh?"
"Give me my phone back," she snapped, "there's no landline in here."
She avoided the question. Interesting...
"That's because it's not 1995," he quipped dryly.
Sweeping past her and heading towards the kitchen, Damon placed the grocery bag down on the dark granite of the kitchen island as Elena caught up with him. The deadline for meeting Elijah had passed, so in theory, there should have been no problem with handing her back her phone. Except getting stood up hadn't deterred the douchebag one bit – he was still messaging her. So, in the middle of grabbing his guilt offerings, Damon had contacted Stefan to see how far he'd gotten on the dirt-digging, and heard that Caroline was still scouring through Elijah's socials like she majored in snoopology.
Elena would just have to wait a little longer.
He swung Elena's satchel from his shoulder, handing it to her. "Here's your bag and keys – I'm keeping the phone – and I've fed Polly, cleaned her cage, and..." He scanned the apartment. Nothing seemed out of place. "I'm surprised you've kept the place in order. I was expecting to come home to a wasteland."
Elena avoided his gaze as she sat on a stool and pulled her laptop from her bag, placing it on the counter. "I've kept myself busy."
He spent a few seconds assessing her, wondering what she meant by that, but in the end, he shrugged it off. She hadn't destroyed the place – that was progress. Reaching into the grocery bag, he revealed some smaller paper bags. "You're going to love me. I got you pastries, muffins, bagels... and a coffee." He took out a dual cupholder and plucked off one of the disposable coffee cups. Hesitant to hand it over, he held it just out of reach and warned, "Don't throw it at me, it's hot."
She focused on her laptop screen, waiting for it to load. "Is that supposed to deter me?" she challenged, holding out her hand to receive the coffee.
Damon gave it to her with a sigh. "Listen, sweetheart –"
"Don't call me that."
"Okay, buttercup." Finally, she looked at him – actually, not so much a look, but a side eye, but it was still eye contact. He crossed his arms over the counter, leaning in. "Listen, I don't think you're as angry as you're pretending to be. You've been in my apartment for almost an hour, and you haven't tried to escape yet."
Elena removed the cup from her lips after taking a long sip. "Who says I haven't?"
He dropped his head, smiling. She was just too damn adorable. Why couldn't she admit she was perfectly in her comfort zone? Lots of space, minimalist décor, a hot guy bringing her coffee – it was the perfect place to get on her laptop and write. Minus the hot guy being a bit of a distraction, he supposed. His eyes came up. "Because you wanted your stuff brought here and you waited," he explained. "You never left."
"I didn't have much of a choice."
"You think I would have locked you in a building when there could have been a fire or any number of catastrophes while I was gone?" he asked. "I unlocked the door remotely from my phone before I left the building – though I would have gotten a notification if you'd opened it."
Elena blinked at him. Once. Twice. A third time. Her expression remained neutral throughout, despite being busted. She turned her head back to her computer. "While you're out of the building, assume the building is safe from catastrophes," she snarked.
Damon's smile broadened. She always had an answer, even when she didn't have an answer. "Well... since you're still here – and you clearly want to be –" That earned him another side eye. "– I bought this product to finally get rid of the permanent ink on my head. I think it'll do the trick." He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out a small glass bottle. He rotated it in his hand, studying the label, then slid it across the counter to her. "It claims to get rid of dark stains and patches, but it says '70% something-unpronounceable acid' on the label, which is kind of scary. Do I need to dilute it or something?"
Elena briefly checked the bottle before handing it back to him. "No."
Damon's face lit up. "Great, be right back," he said excitedly, and dashed off to the bathroom. He closed the door, leaving Elena to open up her latest novel to continue working on it. With no access to the Wi-Fi password, it was all she could do to keep herself occupied.
After a moment of applying the product to his forehead in front of the bathroom mirror, Damon opened the door again, shouting out to her. "It's not working! How long am I supposed to –" He paused; the tingling against his skin becoming slightly too vicious for his liking. "Why is it stinging like this?"
"Stinging like what?" Elena shouted back, smirking. "A wasp in an elevator?"
"Shit! Shit! Shit!" was his next response, followed by excessive splashing.
When Damon finally emerged from the bathroom, the horns on his head now a glowing red, he grumbled, "Why the hell do women put products on their skin that melt off half their face?" He stood next to her, holding the bottle, checking the label. "Yadda, yadda, yadda – ah-ha, 'Dilute it if you have sensitive skin'!"
"Congratulations, you can read."
"How am I supposed to know if my skin is sensitive?"
"You do bruise easily," Elena smirked.
"Funny." He slammed the bottle down on the counter and slid it towards her like it was a cursed relic. "It also says it gets rid of frown lines, so... here, you might need it one day."
She frowned at him as he rounded the counter and dug through the grocery bag again. He spotted her expression and stuck a finger in her direction, circling her forehead. "Case in point."
She slapped his finger away and he resumed taking out the rest of the groceries: a bottle of wine, a spare toothbrush, two scented candles, and...
Elena's eyes narrowed on the final item. "Why did you buy condoms?"
Damon sighed, shooting her an endearing look, like the answer was obvious. "Elena, that little act you put on in the elevator? I don't think it was an act. You and me, we had a moment, and I'm thinking that – with the right mood – we could get that heat back again."
Elena stared at him. She was becoming quite the professional at not blinking.
Then, dragging the box towards her, she opened it, ripped off a condom from its strip, and peeled it open.
Damon's eyebrows shot up. "You want to do this... now?"
After taking out the condom, she plucked the lid off Damon's coffee cup and dropped the condom into his coffee.
"So we're still in sub-zero temperatures then, it seems." Fishing out the rubber floater with his fingertips, he walked over to the opposite counter, tossed it in the trash, and poured the coffee down the sink. "I guess I'll just have to make some home brew... if I've got any milk. " Remembering he had something to show her, he headed over to the stainless steel, double door fridge, his excitement elevating to childlike levels. "Hey, Elena, watch this, it's so cool. This fridge keeps track of the expiry dates of everything that's in it, and I've programmed it to call me the most adorable names." He opened one of the doors. "Hey, Freida... has the milk expired?"
"Yes, it has expired, shit-for-brains," the robotic female voice answered. "It expired a week ago, you stupid jackass."
Damon swung the fridge shut. "You reprogrammed my fridge?"
"As I said," Elena deadpanned, "I've kept myself busy."
"You know what? I'm fine with that," he said, strolling back to her. "Now I have a fridge that sounds like I'm married to you."
She gave him a long, slow glare.
Grinning, he grabbed a pastry, tore off a chunk, popped it in his mouth, and winked at her.
"Seriously," she said with a sudden, clipped exhale, "why do you keep doing that?"
He paused mid-chew. "Eating?" he asked, genuinely confused. "I do it to stay alive."
"No," she responded. "I meant the flirting. No matter how many times I insult you, or shout at you, or – hell – even attack you, you don't give up. Why?"
Damon stared down at the rest of the pastry in his hand, suddenly unsure what to do with it. Then he swallowed the piece he was chewing and slowly placed the rest down. He could have done with that coffee – his throat suddenly feeling very dry. "Elena, tell me about a time your mom got annoyed with your dad." Then he quickly added, "If you're okay talking about it."
"Okay..." She thought for a moment, her brows creasing – unsure where this was leading. Her gaze drifted with the quiet concentration of someone handling something delicate. Then finally her expression lightened. "Well, funnily enough, there was a time my dad left the milk out to expire, so I guess you both have that in common. My mom found it and started telling him off, but then..." A wide smile broke out on Elena's face. "...he put on this ridiculous detective inspector voice and said, 'Ahhh, Mrs Gilbert, the case of the missing milk has been solved, and since you are in possession of the deceased, I'm afraid you're now the prime suspect and I'm going to have to arrest you immediately!'" Elena's smile turned into a laugh. "He chased her around the house, and by the time he caught her, she wasn't angry with him anymore."
Damon chuckled with her. "The guy sounds like a legend."
"He was," Elena nodded. "I always hoped to have a marriage like theirs one day." She swallowed, her face turning solemn. "But, after the car accident, the thought of having a love like that scared me. She survived a little longer than he did, but as I was at her bedside, hoping she would pull through, all I could think was how she would never recover knowing he didn't." Her voice dropped to a whisper, mourning not just what she'd lost, but what she'd stopped believing in. "Even the most unbreakable type of love can still result in heartbreak."
Damon reached across the counter and took hold of Elena's hand. She didn't pull away.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed back the tears that were forming, determined not to let the conversation turn into a therapy session. "But not in my novels," she declared resolutely. "That love is forever – untouchable. Besides, I don't know what this has to do with you flirting with me."
Now it was Damon's turn to take a deep breath. She'd bared her soul, and now it was his turn. "When my dad got annoyed with my mom – which, I swear, was all the damn time – she didn't argue back, didn't defend herself, didn't insult him, didn't hit him – even though he deserved all of that and more. She just hid away and cried." Elena's hand rotated, clutching around Damon's palm. "She took medications to mask how unhappy she was, and we had no idea how many until the end. It was considered 'accidental abuse of prescribed medications' but I just consider it the deliberate abuse of a shitty husband."
Elena's other hand cupped his. "I'm so sorry, Damon."
He sniffed dismissively, even though it had felt good to finally say the words out loud to someone. He was sure Stefan felt the same way, but since their father never took accountability for his actions, there was always an unspoken rule to keep the peace – no matter how deep the family cracks ran. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm just trying to say that I like that you don't take my crap. Maybe nothing will ever happen between us, but it's not going to stop me from being attracted to the fact that you don't mask how you really feel."
Elena softly cleared her throat and slid her hands out from his. Her eyes lowered. "I'm not so sure about that."
Damon tilted his head at her curiously. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," she deflected, with a light shake of her head. She paused for a moment, then turned to him with a slowly emerging smirk. "I promise to never stop kicking your ass."
Leaning back from the counter, Damon laughed, appreciating the change in mood. "Back in the elevator, you wanted to do something to my ass that was way more invasive than kicking it."
Elena straightened her back proudly. "I fight dirty, Mr Salvatore."
"Oh, I'm fully aware of that, Future Mrs Salvatore." His smile then dropped as he saw Elena freeze, every muscle tightening – all except for the conflicted expression that flickered across her face – and he quickly added, "That was a joke. Feel free to kick my ass for it."
Stroking her hair behind her ears, Elena attempted to compose herself. "No need," she said, her tone flustered. "It was a cute joke. Perfect for my story actually, do you want to read it?"
Damon hesitated for a second, studying her, trying to figure out if this was an example of the mask she claimed she wasn't immune to wearing. But she wasn't upset by his remark, that was clear enough. Maybe a marriage joke just wasn't the best idea after having a conversation about two marriages that ended in grief and loss. Stupid move, Damon. Following her cue, he made his way behind her to read over her shoulder, peering at the screen. "I see you didn't take my advice about changing the guy's name from Donatello."
"What's wrong with Donatello?" Elena exclaimed. "It's a classical name!"
"It's a Ninja Turtle's name," Damon grunted. "And it's way too many syllables to scream in bed. Is he at least Italian?"
"Of course," Elena confirmed.
"Well, that's a start." He skimmed a section of Donatello's dialogue. "Well, this is clearly a self-insert, so let's just change the female character's name to 'Elena'." He reached over her towards the keyboard, but Elena grabbed his hands firmly.
"Touch my keyboard and I'll break your fingers." It was said a little less seriously than her usual threats, but there was still intent lurking behind it.
He pulled from her grasp and rested his hands on her shoulders instead. "I wouldn't want that," he confessed huskily into her ear, "I've got plans to win you over using these fingers."
By way of demonstration, Damon lightly ran the back of them down the side of Elena's neck, turning his movements into a relaxing massage at the base. Surprisingly, she didn't protest, melting beneath his hands as perfectly as she did at the spa. He continued the massage while he read Donatello's lines from the screen in a shamelessly seductive Italian accent that was more dramatic than it was convincing. "You drive me crazy, you know that, Elena?" Damon broke character to comment, "Oh, yeah, I relate to this guy already," then picked up the accent again and resumed. "Stop pretending that there's nothing between us. You think that you're guarding your heart when all you're doing is denying it. You invaded my head and got under my damn skin, and I don't know how to get you out. I don't want to get you out. Because..." Damon leaned down, whispering the final words in her ear. Unknowingly – and extremely unfortunately – he dropped the fake accent. "I love you... Elena."
There it was: heavy, frozen silence.
Where. The. Crap. Did. That. Stupid. Accent. Go?
Elena quickly slammed down her laptop screen.
He released a breath, dipping his head in approval. It was the right move... because how the hell those words got from the screen, through his mouth, then sucked back into his chest – fluttering around like bats – was starting to disturb him. And, yes, he realized it was supposed to feel like butterflies. That was the saying, wasn't it? But, no, these were dangerous, blood-sucking, rabid bats – because unrequited love was not going to be on the damn trope agenda. Unrequited attraction, he could accept. Unrequited infatuation? Meh, he wasn't going to rule out that possibility. But love? No way... he didn't have what it took. To him, romantic intimacy peaked at sarcastic banter – and she deserved better than that. He just had to shake it off.
Removing his hands from her shoulders and backing away like he was close to triggering a bomb, Damon nervously joked, "Nobody likes a self-insert anyway. Let's stick with the name April and continue with that Ninja Turtle theme."
"Her name's Avril," Elena reminded him, her voice distant and reflective.
"Right," Damon agreed. Damn, his head was all over the place. What the hell kind of magic was that? No wonder women around the world fell for fictional characters. He'd been lost in the moment, that was all.
She stood up from the stool with fast, abrupt movements, the legs scraping against the tile in a way that ironically only amplified the silence. Spinning around to face him, her eyes locked on his like she was trying to spot the exact second he lost control. "You said my name."
Oh shit, they were back on this again.
"I was switching the names as a joke," Damon reminded her light-heartedly.
"Her name wasn't after that line."
Wasn't it? Double shit! He'd read the first three words and then leaned into Elena, turned and looked at her, lost the accent, lost his mind, and forgot the damn laptop existed completely. Would it be stupid to admit that? Should he really risk adding to his long list of stupidity?
Before he could answer, Elena took a step closer, taking a different tone: not confrontational, not judgmental, just... curious. "Was it really a joke?"
Shit... damned if he knew anymore.
It had to be.
So when the hell was it going to start feeling like it?
A sudden vibration buzzed against his chest, making him jump half a step back.
Then he realized, with relief, that it was just Elena's phone going off from his inside jacket pocket.
At least it wasn't those damn bat-terflies again.
Elena lurched forward and grabbed at Damon's jacket, yanking it open and snatching her phone. Before she could answer it, his hands immediately clamped around hers.
"It's my phone," she argued.
"Well... it's my pocket," he countered weakly, like he had any kind of leg to stand on.
Her death glare shut his protests down immediately, so, in the spirit of what he would generously call compromise, he did the only thing he could think of: he released one hand and hit the speakerphone button.
The device hovered between them, both of them clutching on, fingers touching. Neither of them greeted the caller. Neither of them took their eyes off each other. Neither of them forgot her unanswered question.
Then Stefan's voice cut through the speaker. "Elena? Can you and Damon get to the office now? I think we have some information on Elijah."
Chapter 23: How to Train Your Klucifer
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Three: How to Train Your Klucifer
Elena Gilbert
"Seriously, are you and Damon in some kind of staring contest?"
Elena's eyes flicked from Damon to Caroline, who was sitting at the desk opposite her, her hand suspended in Damon's grocery bag, fishing for salmon – or, rather, a salmon and cream cheese bagel. He had packed up the food and brought it along to Elena's office, hoping to make peace with her friends and co-workers. It was a valiant effort. Generally, nothing built office alliances faster than a food bribe.
However, allowing Damon to sit next to her was as close to "making friends" as Damon was going to get with Caroline – at least with what he was offering. He had been sitting next to Elena, shuffling closer and closer on an office chair, until she finally extended her leg and shoved his wheels away, sending him rolling to the opposite corner of the desk where he now fidgeted with the stationery and watched her with the quiet guilt of someone who was emotionally constipated.
Not that Elena considered herself any better. She was punishing him for failing to answer a question that was probably best left unanswered. She had to let it go eventually.
Returning to her laptop, Elena left Caroline to sigh and turn her head towards Klaus's office, where Stefan was still in a deep discussion with him. He had been in there since their arrival, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, it was clear things weren't going smoothly. Stefan appeared to be one eye twitch away from flipping the desk, while Klaus looked like he was trying to decide whether to give him some straight answers or simply order lunch.
Caroline had filled them in on what she had found so far, but it had taken her a while to get to the point. She'd spent so long congratulating herself on her detective skills that they'd half-expected a slideshow on the topic. Ironically, the award speeches took her longer than the actual discovery – which all started with an emoji.
After diving deep into Elena's social media posts, the first thing Caroline had noticed was that someone had added an eyeroll to one of Elijah's comments.
The username? StillTheOG.
That hadn't rung any bells, so Caroline was forced to dig a little deeper, and eventually discovered that account had been tagged in a "Save The Date" wedding invitation several weeks ago by someone called KaiFidence. The nuptials were kicking off this weekend, and the groom's recently updated profile picture was a moving image of him in a crisp white shirt and tailored grey pants, as drunk as a frat bro, spanking his own ass. Seemingly, the early bachelor party went well. KaiFidence was then tagged by someone called XORebekah – no doubt the bride – in a comment that said, "YOU INVITED MY BROTHER?!". All caps and too many exclamation marks to count, which rightfully matched her blonde princess aesthetic.
After a long search through XORebekah's many, many followers, Caroline finally stumbled upon a familiar name attached to an inactive profile:
KlausTheOG.
Bingo. KlausTheOG and StillTheOG? Same guy, different usernames.
Now all that remained was to interrogate Klaus on how he knew Elijah.
Caroline had offered. Stefan had said he wanted him kept alive.
So while Stefan looked about five seconds away from throwing that plan out the window, Caroline was powering herself up with her protein-and-carb-infused bagel and had the infamous permanent marker ready and waiting on her desk, poised for use at the first opportunity she got. Whether she was going to doodle with it or shove it somewhere painful was anyone's guess.
Suddenly, Elena's phone buzzed. She picked up the phone from the desk and checked the message.
User2154257211184: Are you okay?
Another male who liked to use multiple usernames. What was it with men and having different aliases? Did they think of themselves as Bruce Wayne or Peter Parker? They wished.
ElenaGAuthor: I'll be fine.
User2154257211184: So you're not fine now? Do you want me to leave?
Elena was surprised by that question – and even more surprised by her response. No, she didn't want him to leave. But of course, she wasn't going to word it like that.
ElenaGAuthor: It's fine.
User2154257211184: Elena, I'm not an expert on women, but I know when they use the word "fine" that often, nothing is fine.
ElenaGAuthor: Whatever.
User2154257211184: Okay, that's even worse. Tell me what I can do to make you feel better.
Elena placed her phone down on her desk and returned to her keyboard, her typing now much more forceful. He wanted her to tell him what to do? Couldn't he figure that out for himself? He was the one who said the words that made her heart skip a beat and then put it into cardiac arrest. She was too busy trying to figure out where that initial jolt of excitement and happiness had come from.
Maybe Damon already knew that, joke or not, it made sense not to tell her. She wasn't prepared for either answer. Disappointment was already churning in her gut at the thought it might just be a joke – a feeling she needed to immediately eliminate with antacids, or even surgery if necessary. Then there was the possibility it was true – that he was developing feelings for her – and beneath all the fear and panic it caused her, the thought of it made her heart swell slightly.
Clearly a lot of emergency surgery was in order.
But one thing was certain: if there was any truth to what he said, he should know her well enough to figure out exactly what would make her smile again.
On the other side of the desk, Damon stretched his neck to release tension and returned his phone to his pocket. He became restless and even more fidgety, spending the next few minutes absently pushing down the heavy-duty stapler halfway and letting it bounce back up again.
Elena ignored the repeated clunking it generated.
Then the sound stopped, and her laptop screen jolted forward from a thunk against the back.
Elena lowered the screen, both curious and irritated, and found the stapler immediately behind it.
Damon's eyes flicked to hers with an inviting smirk as she noticed his hand placed snugly between the stapler's handle and base – perfectly positioned for her to throw all her weight on it and reward him with a new steel piercing.
Damn, it was tempting.
So tempting, she couldn't prevent the smile from spreading across her face.
She pinched her lips together, battling to contain her amusement, as her eyes met Damon's. He looked so smug with his offering that she lost the war against her smile and started chuckling.
The asshole had made her smile. He had figured it out.
Finishing an email and the last of her bagel, Caroline noticed the position of Damon's hand and made an eager appeal to Elena. "If you're not going to take him up on his offer, can I?"
Damon swiftly withdrew his hand. "Sorry, the guest list is limited."
Caroline tilted her head and smirked with mock sweetness. "And who made you the host of the party?" she clapped back. "You don't even work here."
"That's a good point, actually," Damon responded. "Do you think Stefan would let me work here?" He looked over at Elena and raised his eyebrows hopefully. "It could tick off the Office Rivals trope."
"Stop with the tropes, Damon," Elena grumbled.
With her eyelids pinched and a slight shake of her head, Caroline tried to process Damon's odd request. "I'm sorry, 'tropes'? What's going on?"
With his eyes still on Elena, Damon leaned closer to Caroline, like a schoolgirl about to divulge gossip. "I'm making a point to Elena that tropes aren't as romantic as she thinks they are. I'm deliberately failing to win her over by reenacting them."
Caroline's eyebrows arched, her face the picture of fake astonishment, before she gave a slow, patronizing nod. "Well, consider your mission a success – she clearly thinks you're as romantic as a root canal."
Damon groaned with petulant disappointment. "Yeah, I'm not as happy about that as I thought I would be." Damon slid closer to Caroline, his eyes wide and hopeful, like she was suddenly the oracle who was going to turn his life around. "Elena's clearly taking this secret to the grave, so maybe you could fill me in... what exactly is the turning point for going from enemies to lovers?"
Straightening proudly, like she was made for answering these types of questions, Caroline started firing off her wisdom. "Well, you've got to lay down your armor and show a vulnerable side."
"Already done," Damon declared enthusiastically.
"You've got to protect her."
"Done," Damon announced with even more zeal.
"Close proximity helps."
Damon grinned. "Done... and currently doing. What else?"
"You've got to completely understand her."
Wincing, Damon gritted his teeth and sucked air through them. "Oooo... understand her?" His eyes flicked back and forth between Elena and Caroline for a bit, like he hoped one of them would declare it to be a joke. When that didn't happen, he leaned into Caroline with a mock whisper, "You don't happen to have a translation guide, do you?"
Caroline's phone buzzed against the desk, a message popping up while she was in the middle of saying, "See, this is exactly where men always fail – always looking for the easy way, never putting the effort in – they think they can just –"
"What 'guy'?" Damon interrupted, staring down at the desk.
Caroline paused her rant, confused. She caught Damon looking at the preview notification on her phone, and she quickly snatched the device away. Reading the message herself, she let out a small huff, then placed the phone back on the desk, face down and far from Damon's prying eyes. "That's none of your business."
Reciting the message back to her, Damon entered into detective mode, his head spinning in all directions, scouring the office for an answer. "'What do you see in this guy?' What guy? What guy is Caroline into? And who is this mysterious 'Klucifer' person saved in her phone, asking her this question?" He couldn't immediately spot anyone in the office with their phone out... not until his eyes fell on Klaus... who was smirking in Caroline's direction, phone in hand, sitting behind his desk, while standing next to him was...
"You like Stefan!" Damon spat in a so-called whisper that redefined the concept's volume level entirely. He waved his hand at her beckoningly, urging her to spill the beans in a tone that resembled a drama-starved reality show diva. "Girl, you need to tell me how, when, why – definitely why, because I'll never understand how my brother won over such a hottie. Give me all the gossip, girl-frand!"
Groaning, every muscle in Caroline's body slouched, but her lips still reluctantly twitched upwards at the word "hottie", and her side-eye wasn't as scathing as she wanted it to be. "Don't make it a big deal," she told him. "It's just a little crush, that's all." Then she spun in her seat, jabbing a finger into Damon's face. "You're not going to say anything to him – promise me!"
Damon's mouth opened and closed like a fish for a while, and Elena watched him with suspicion. He was bouncing in his seat with pent-up jitters, a giddy expression on his face, looking like he was bursting to tell Stefan immediately.
"Damon," Elena warned, getting his attention, "don't... say... anything."
Slumping back into his chair with a petulant whine, he grumbled, "Fine. I won't say anything." He sat quietly in a childlike sulk for a moment, and then his lips pursed into a slow, scheming pout, eyes tilted upward like he was plotting something. "But, you know, it's kind of difficult to control myself when there's horns on my head, inspiring me to get up to all kinds of devilish behavior..."
"Okay, I get it!" Caroline snapped. Growling her way into her bottom drawer, she caved to his blackmail and produced a small tub and an unlabeled bottle, dumping both into his hands. "Use the coconut oil first, leave it on for a minute, wash it off, and then use what's in this bottle to wipe the ink away. It's my secret formula, and no, I'm not telling you what it is, you'll just have to trust me – just like I can trust you not to tell Stefan, right?"
"My lips are sealed," Damon promised, rushing off towards the office restrooms in triumphant glee.
With Damon gone, Caroline pushed her drawer closed and grumbled to Elena, "To quote Klaus, I don't know what you see in that guy, Elena."
With an awkward smile, Elena's eyebrows drew inwards, and she scoffed, "I don't see anything in him."
Caroline tilted her head at her friend, unimpressed and unconvinced. "Yeah, right."
The door to Klaus's office opened, and Stefan came storming out. He stopped at Caroline's desk. "Okay, Caroline, you win. Time for Plan B."
"What's Plan B?" Elena asked.
Caroline spun to face Klaus's office but threw a tight grin over her shoulder at Elena. "Me," she proclaimed happily. Then she cracked her knuckles.
Chapter 24: Avada Kedavra Pending
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Four: Avada Kedavra Pending
Damon Salvatore
Damon stood in front of the office restroom mirror, his shirt unbuttoned, dragging a paper towel across his chest. The marker ink was finally gone from his forehead – and without the molten acid effect of that devil's piss he'd slapped on his face earlier. Whatever Caroline had concocted in her shady little bottle had worked like magic, leaving his skin smooth and clear, and with a new enlightenment about why women spent so much time in Sephora.
He worked in circles, selectively erasing the insults with even strokes, until the final words remaining on his chest read "huge dick". It was tempting to leave it there – maybe even add a downward arrow – before deciding it was the kind of desperate branding you'd see on an incel dating profile photo, captioned "alpha mindset, tens only, mom says I deserve the best."
With a sigh, he wiped it off. He was a grown man – dick jokes shouldn't hold that much power anymore. That kind of energy belonged to horny teenage boys who couldn't tell the difference between lust and love, which was exactly how Damon had ended up here: spiraling over a woman who had somehow turned both into the same damn thing.
Damon dried himself off and buttoned up his shirt. His feelings for Elena were still freaking him out – he had to get to the root of it. The L-word was out there, and he couldn't brush it off as a joke – not when it had launched from his lips so easily and naturally... like a scream tearing from the throat of a man plummeting to his death. Not a bad comparison actually.
But he'd only known her for a few days and he wasn't going to buy into that instalove crap. So what was it about her? She was certainly a challenge, that was for sure. He liked challenges. Caroline had also made him realize that he was struggling to understand her, so maybe that was it. When he had her figured out, would he be over his infatuation? Was he just obsessing because Elena hadn't given him the win he needed yet?
He slumped his head, groaning into the sink. Nope, that wasn't it either. Allowing his ego to take a hit, he had to admit that he liked it when she got one over on him. He was totally ready to surrender to her, and that wasn't exactly the move of a victorious alpha.
So maybe the answer was to stop challenging her. Let her take control. Have her dominate him. Give in to her demands. Kiss her feet while she commands his total submission like a good boy.
Okay, his cock liked the sound of that. He needed to rewind before it required tranquilizing.
The question remained: could he submit to her? He wasn't sure he had it in him. He'd have to tap into something more primal to achieve that – something that overrode every software update he'd had as a man. That meant regressing a few evolutionary milestones and figuring out how submission is done in the animal kingdom.
But not regressing too far back. He still needed his phone and opposable thumbs to Google it.
He typed in the question and studied the results. Present his tummy to her? Sure, he could get behind that – who didn't love a good belly rub? What next? Bare his anus to her? Absolutely not! She'd already proved she couldn't be trusted anywhere near that territory. Her fascination with his ass was like a scientist's curiosity with the unknown. Some specimens were meant to stay untouched and off-limits.
Damn it. Whatever the answer was, it wasn't a mystery to be solved in a men's restroom.
He was wound up – but at least his skin was radiant – when he made his way back into the shared office space. Elena and Caroline weren't at their desks, but he could already hear the commotion behind him as he placed the two containers back in Caroline's drawer.
He turned to see Elena and Stefan standing in the doorway of Klaus's office. Caroline was inside, waving her permanent marker around like she was about to Avada Kedavra his ass into oblivion. Klaus hadn't moved from his seat, unclasped his hands, or wiped the smug look off his face.
Damon headed over and stood beside Elena, where the shouting became louder.
"I swear I'll doodle all over your precious self-portrait, Klaus, if you don't tell us how you know Elijah!" Caroline threatened, hovering the marker over the painting on his wall.
Leaning closer to Elena, Damon whispered, "Is Caroline's weapon of choice always that pen?"
"Usually, yeah," she replied.
Damon straightened again. "Okay, good to know." If he was going to continue sticking around Elena like gum on her shoe, he might have to return to Caroline's drawer at some point and swipe that mystery cleanser.
Klaus sighed. "Caroline, love, I learned my lesson when I brought in my painting of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and you decided to 'improve' it with a stick figure of me falling from the top to my death." He raised his eyebrows at her. "Yes, I know it was you. But I'm not one to discourage your artistic efforts, so doodle away. I've had an art conservator place a thin film over the painting that can be easily removed if the moustache you have planned doesn't suit me."
Pinching her lips together, Caroline kicked up her leg, swiped off her shoe, and drew back the heel, ready to strike the portrait. "Let's see if an art conservator can repair the holes I'm about to put through your eyes."
At that, Klaus sprang from his seat and grabbed Caroline by the wrist, stopping her.
Stefan immediately stepped in. "Take your hand off her, Klaus."
Klaus slowly turned his head, meeting Stefan's eyes like he was indulging a jealous child. "Oh, I don't think she minds my hand on her." He returned his focus on Caroline, smirking with intimate familiarity. "Do you, love?"
Caroline peeled Klaus's fingers from around her wrist, slipped back into her shoe, and retreated with a sharp glare. Haunted by their secret one-night mistake, she changed her approach. "Fine. Let's make this simple – what do you want in exchange for what we want? You always have a price, Klaus, so what is it?"
Klaus grinned and returned to his seat. He paused for a moment, looking Caroline up and down, a flexed finger pressed contemplatively against his lips. Then he dropped his hand and declared, "I need a date for my sister's wedding this weekend. I would like you to be that date, Caroline."
Scoffing, Caroline scrunched up her eyes at the ridiculousness of his request. "Don't you have some other victim you can take?"
"She's not interested, Klaus," Stefan spoke up. "Name something else."
Putting on a more celebratory tone, Klaus encouraged, "Oh, come now – Caroline would enjoy a luxurious wedding! Free champagne, free food... and my father, being woefully archaic, doesn't allow unwed family members to share hotel rooms with their dates, so I can assure you there will be no hanky-panky." His eyes shifted to Caroline, his lip quirking with a lack of sincerity in his promise. "Not even if she begs me."
Groaning, Caroline reluctantly caved. She did enjoy weddings. It was her Achilles' heel. "Fine, I'll do it." She crossed her arms. "But you're paying for a new dress."
Klaus smirked. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Caroline."
Stefan rubbed a hand over his jaw, visibly begrudging the deal, but biting back every reason he had to object. It wasn't his place to override Caroline's decision. With a heavy sigh, he said, "So tell us everything, starting with how you know Elijah and why he's stalking Elena."
"Oh, the first part's easy – he's my brother," Klaus replied casually.
Elena stepped from the doorway into the room, with Damon following behind her. "Your brother?"
Klaus tilted his head reflectively. "Semi-estranged brother. We had a bit of a falling out. Truth be told, I fell out with the entire family. I haven't spoken to many of them for months."
"Touching. Write it in your journal," Damon cut in. "What has this got to do with him being in love with Elena?"
Klaus's brows dipped in sudden bemusement, studying Damon like he was trying to decide if this was a joke. When Damon's expression didn't budge, a low chuckle escaped Klaus – staggered and sputtering, like an old engine refusing to turn over. He pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to smother the laugh, but it only grew louder, shaking through his chest. Finally, the dam broke. His fist flattened into a palm and smacked against the desk as he doubled over, howling with laughter.
Damon charged over to Klaus's desk, slamming his own palms down on it. "What's so funny?"
Klaus raised his head lazily to face him, delight etched across his face, like a man watching a play no one else realized they were starring in. His laughter finally tapered off into a low hum of amusement. Then he leaned back in his chair, and with a long, satisfied sigh, he declared, "Ladies and gentlemen... I know something you don't know."
Chapter 25: Always and Forever Blocked
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Five: Always and Forever Blocked
Elena Gilbert
All eyes were on Klaus as Stefan said, "So are you going to tell us?"
Klaus's reply: "I'll think about it."
That did not go down well.
If the atmosphere within Klaus's office was simmering before, it now reached boiling point. At Klaus's evasive response, Damon launched across the desk, grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled him to his feet. Not that he had any stability to fight back. With his knees bent and his back arching away from Damon's grip, Klaus looked like he was performing a ballroom dip halfway through a bar fight. What made matters worse was that Klaus remained blissfully unfazed by it all.
Klaus, with his collar hitched up to his chin and half-choking on his own necktie like it were an everyday event, beckoned Stefan towards Damon. "Be a sweetheart and get this Danny Zuko in a cheap suit off of me, will you? He clearly has the hots for brunette Sandy over there, but this T-Birds macho attitude isn't doing him any favors."
In no particular rush to save Klaus, Stefan reluctantly ambled over to them, all the while silently resenting that he was the more responsible Salvatore. Placing a hand on Damon's shoulder, he gave it a squeeze. "Damon, he's toying with us. Let him go."
Damon unclenched his fists, dropping Klaus back onto his chair. "Fine," he snapped, backing away. "And this isn't a cheap suit. It's Hugo Boss."
Klaus resettled himself, tucking his shirt back into place. "It's Hugo Budget, mate."
Damon gritted his teeth. He might've balled his fists again too, if Elena hadn't stepped to his side and slid her hand into his, gently anchoring him. He looked down at her in surprise, his silence loaded with unspoken emotion. His fingers twitched for a moment – nervously, cautiously – before gently closing around hers, the tension in his body easing, like her touch had flipped a switch inside him.
Elena tried to avoid looking back at him. This wasn't out of the ordinary, was it? She'd held his hand before when he needed comforting. It shouldn't have been any different.
Except it was. This time, he wasn't just comforted by her touch – he was surrendering to it, letting go of his anger... for her.
She tried not to dwell on the meaning of it. It was just instinct. That's what she told herself, anyway. She just didn't understand why her instincts kept pulling her toward him. Weren't instincts supposed to keep you safe? This was a man who was one reckless move away from giving her an aneurysm, for crying out loud. He hit every nerve, activated every cell in her body, and made her feel everything.
And maybe that was the problem... but it was also, inconveniently, the attraction.
Clearing her throat, Elena put it out of her mind and resumed questioning Klaus – because now was not the right time to have some teenage crisis over the meaning of handholding.
She thought back to Klaus's reaction – how quickly he'd laughed off the idea of Elijah being in love with her, like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. As confusing as that was, this was all a game to him. He was enjoying stringing them along, and if she stuck to that line of questioning, he would only avoid answering again. Whether Elijah was in love with her or not didn't make any difference. So instead she asked, "Why is Elijah stalking me?"
Pointing his finger at her proudly, Klaus replied, "Now that is a much better question." Klaus's expression shifted – less amused, and now more focused. He leaned forward, hands folding neatly on the desk like a man who'd just decided it was finally worth playing his next card. "I suspect it's all to do with my sister, Rebekah."
"Rebekah?" Elena wasn't even sure she knew anyone by that name.
"Yes." Klaus spoke with the breezy, indulgent tone of someone dispensing schoolyard gossip. "She went to your high school for a while – before she decided it was too unsophisticated for her and transferred to a school with more prestigious connections. But, in the time she was there, she met a young man: Marcel Gerard. He would park outside the school premises, waiting for a certain young lady."
Lowering her eyes, Elena muttered, "Me." She was already beginning to suspect where this was going. Marcel – fresh out of law school and proudly flaunting his brand-new black BMW – had caught the attention of more than a few girls in her senior year.
"Your grossly overhyped boyfriend," Klaus confirmed judgmentally. "Oh, I had to listen to it all: the whining and the crying over a man Rebekah considered to be her soulmate. My sister certainly had her knickers in a twist about your relationship. Especially after hearing that you'd lost your virginity to him. You see, that was something she knew she could never give him... considering she'd been around the block more times than an ice cream van on a summer's day."
Elena released Damon's hand in order to cover her face with her own. She could feel her cheeks flush in embarrassment. What did any of this have to do with Elijah? She just needed him to get to the damn point.
"Get to the damn point," Damon spat, as though he'd read her thoughts.
Uncovering her face, Elena glanced up at him, giving him a grateful nod.
Klaus rolled his eyes, not appreciating the urgency. "She'd heard through the grapevine – and by that, I mean the dozens of social media accounts she has – that you broke up with him after graduation. Rebekah successfully pursued him, doing what she does best and helping him rise the ranks socially and professionally. They dated for over a year, and she was so sure he was close to proposing. Then, out of the blue, he broke up with her, telling her that he still wasn't over you."
No. No way. Marcel wasn't in love with her. Shaking her head furiously, Elena blurted, "No, that can't be true. Marcel knew the breakup was coming. He was almost relieved – he was stressed out and exhausted from starting a new career. I can't be the reason for –"
"Oh, you weren't the reason, Elena," Klaus confirmed. "My father was the reason. Like I said, my father has some archaic views. One of them is that he didn't want his daughter marrying a black man, regardless of how well he treated her. I may not have been overly fond of Marcel, but even I can admit he acted like the sun shone out of my sister's ass." He rolled his eyes at the delusion. "When Marcel asked my father for her hand in marriage, threats were made, and Marcel took them very seriously. You see, my father is very powerful – powerful enough that when we used to joke as children that we were part of a mafia family, other children didn't doubt it. Of course, it's not technically true. It's just a running family joke."
"Hilarious," Damon commented dryly.
Klaus ignored his remark. "Anyway, Marcel broke up with Rebekah in the kindest way possible to protect her. Unfortunately, you were the reason he chose, and since then, you have always been a bit of a sore spot for my dear sister – and Elijah knows that. So whatever ulterior motive my brother has for stalking you, Elena, I can assure you, it's not because he fancies you." With a long-suffering sigh, Klaus then reached for his phone as though he were a weary martyr doing them a great personal favor, and started typing out a message. "But let's confirm that, shall we? Unless, of course, my pillock of a brother has blocked me."
They waited as he sent the message. While they anticipated a response, Klaus stared at the screen with inevitable boredom, like he already expected the conversation to be one-sided.
Finally, Klaus held the phone out as proof and confirmed, "Yes, he's blocked me – you see that one tick, right there – it's like a dagger to the heart. Elena, my dear, would you please send Elijah a message, telling him to meet you here. I believe he has something he needs to confess to you."
Elena took out her phone and did as Klaus asked. This had become way more complicated than she ever expected. Elijah was only interested in her to get back at his sister somehow? That's how it sounded. But why? Elena had barely known Rebekah beyond being the target of her evil glances in the school corridors. At least now she knew why she'd been subjected to such unprovoked animosity back then... but had she really carried that resentment for so long?
Message sent, Elena put her phone back in her pocket. It vibrated a reply, but she didn't bother reading it. He would be on his way. "So what has Elijah got against his sister?" she asked Klaus. She needed all the facts before Elijah arrived.
"Absolutely nothing," Klaus declared, his face a picture of virtue. "They adore each other. His objection is with the upcoming marriage."
"So he doesn't like his future brother-in-law, big deal," Damon scoffed. "He should take it up with him, and leave Elena out of it."
Klaus struggled not to chuckle again. "Oh, he adores him too – charismatic lunatic that he is."
"This is not making any sense," Caroline snapped from the corner of the room. "Everyone loves everyone –" She paused, clearly unable to resist a side dig as she gestured toward Klaus. "– with the exception of Klaus, which, sorry, is totally understandable –" She shot him an unapologetic smirk before returning to her point. "– so they're one big happy family! What's the issue?"
"If you'd have some patience, Caroline, love, you'll find out soon enough when my brother arrives," Klaus replied flatly.
Elena slumped her shoulders, feeling relieved that this would all be over soon. Whatever Elijah was going through with his sister, he could work through it. She would even help him work through it, so long as it got him off her case and out of her life. If his family was as powerful as Klaus said, she didn't need any further involvement. It was too dangerous.
The plan was to discuss, defuse, depart. Clean and simple.
Maybe Elijah could even make amends with Klaus. With family around to distract him, he might stop fixating on Caroline. And perhaps then – finally – everything could go back to normal.
Whatever that meant anymore.
She glanced at Klaus, noting the ease with which he lounged behind his desk, like a man who had never once taken responsibility for his actions. He looked too composed for someone supposedly estranged from his entire family – too justified in his convictions. Urgh, perhaps inviting Elijah to be in the same room as him wasn't the smartest idea. Families don't cut ties without a reason. He must have done something terrible.
Curiosity got the better of her. "Why did you and Elijah fall out?" Elena asked him, keeping her voice even.
Klaus looked almost bored with the question. "Oh, I caught him doing something he shouldn't be doing," he said vaguely, fingers drumming lazily on the desk, "or, rather, someone he shouldn't be doing."
Damon's face scrunched up. "That couldn't have been pretty."
Klaus appreciated the commiseration. "No, it wasn't the highlight of my life, that's for sure."
The conversation was then cut short by the sound of a nearby door opening. All heads turned toward the office entrance as Elijah stepped into the building, his eyes scanning the space with a sharp urgency. The moment his gaze landed on Elena through the glass walls of Klaus's office, he started toward them with measured and cautious steps.
The sight of Elijah made Elena's stomach tighten. Not out of fear, or even nerves – just a creeping dread that she was about to get dragged into something even messier than before.
Grinning widely, Klaus stood up from his seat, like an actor taking center stage. "Ah, there he is!" he announced happily, as Elijah crossed the doorway into his office, looking confused at the confrontation.
"What's going on?" Elijah asked cautiously, like he was bracing for impact.
Klaus ignored his brother's question and instead swept his gaze around the room, acknowledging his audience. "Everyone, I'm sure you are well aware of the many shenanigans of my big brother... but the shenanigan that he has yet to tell you..." The circuit of his gaze ended abruptly on Elijah. "...is that he is in love with our sister's fiancé."
Chapter 26: Not Another Trope In Hell
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Six: Not Another Trope In Hell
Damon Salvatore
Rendering Damon speechless wasn't exactly easy, yet somehow this revelation had done it. He was replaying everything back through his head, trying to figure out if there was something he had missed.
Finally, his mouth dropped open. It couldn't generate words just yet, but it was okay, it would come. He'd said his first word at just a year old, he was an expert on this.
"Wha –" That's it, Salvatore, easy start. "Ho –" Just pick a word, any word, and keep going from there. "The fiancé...?" Two words, you're on a roll now. "... Kai...?" You remembered the name, good, your brain is still functioning. "... he's definitely a dude, right?" And there it is, champ! The daftest question you'll ever ask.
Klaus nodded, happy to clarify. "Oh, he is indeed a fully-fledged dude."
Damon knew it had been a stupid idea to say "dude". He raised his finger, froze briefly for the next question, and spun on his heel towards Elijah. The finger dropped on him. "But you're not gay."
It had meant to be a question, but he'd failed yet again.
Klaus answered for his brother. "Oh, Elijah is indeed a fully-fledged gay. I had the honor of witnessing that myself."
Elijah shot his brother a daggered glare. "Stop it, Klaus."
Raising his palms skywards, Klaus replied, "Why should I? People are finally listening to me – unlike our family." His hands dropped to his side and his expression turned serious. "I was doing you a favor by telling Rebekah about your little liaison with Kai – in the pantry, no less. It's a place of food, Elijah! I would have thrown it all away, but I wouldn't have wanted to come across as homophobic... so the cats and dogs got some rather luxurious meals for a while. Frodo's rather addicted to caviar now, thank you very much."
"You had no right telling my sister anything!" Elijah snapped.
Klaus stepped closer to his brother, his jaw tense. "Kai had no intention of leaving Rebekah and ruining their chance of inheriting everything, Elijah. You know the rule set by our father – the first to marry gets it all. One of the many ridiculous rules of our family, along with my sister not being able to be with the man she loves because he's black, and none of us being allowed to be gay!" Klaus's rant gently subsided, and he took a step back. "Not that it affects me in any way." His head turned over his shoulder to where Stefan was standing. "Stefan, I realize I blew you a few kisses through my office window when you were passing sometimes, but it was purely antagonistic, don't read too much into it."
"I lost Kai because of you," Elijah hissed at his brother.
Klaus's head spun back around. "You never had Kai," he snapped. "But if Rebekah had ended it with Kai, you would have stood a better chance at being with him. She knew I was telling the truth, and that's why, instead of confronting you and Kai in private, she did it in front of our father, forcing you both to deny it, and making me look like the lying villain." Klaus pointed a finger firmly in Elijah's face. "I am sick of being made to be the villain. I just want to see everyone happy, with their black boyfriends and their gay boyfriends, while I sit on the family patio with my strawberry daiquiris, and my watercolors, and paint a beautiful rainbow after a storm, okay?"
Stefan cleared his throat. "Klaus, I don't want you blowing me kisses anymore."
All the family drama was beginning to make Damon's head hurt. "Wait a minute, what has any of this got to do with Elena?" Suddenly remembering all the hell Elijah had put her through, he started to get angry. He squared up to Elijah. "If none of what you did – none of the stalking, the spying, the following, the flirting – was because you were attracted to Elena, then what exactly was your intention with her?" The answer needed to be a good one.
"I intended to date her," Elijah replied, calmly and smoothly.
Damon gripped his head. Who knew confusion could hurt this much? "I don't know how to break this to you, Elijah, but gay men don't date women."
"They do when they're trying to get their sister to confess her feelings for an ex-boyfriend in front of her new fiancé," Elijah stated plainly. "I figured, at some point before the ceremony, Elena's presence would unsettle Rebekah enough to get her to confess how she really felt. If my father had even a suspicion that the wedding was a ruse to claim the inheritance, he would cancel it. It doesn't take much to rattle my sister – she's delightfully unhinged." Elijah dropped his eyes in regret. "I realize I took some drastic steps to try to gain Elena's affections, but with the wedding date quickly approaching, time was running out."
Elena spoke up, "But if you wanted to get your sister to confess her feelings for Marcel, why not just bring back Marcel?"
"I tried," Elijah explained. "He won't be allowed near my family again unless they have absolute confidence he won't try to win Rebekah back. Believe me, he was an asset to my family's law firm. They would welcome him back in a second if they could be certain his heart – and any potential diamond jewelry – were firmly pledged... else... where."
There was something that Damon didn't like about the way Elijah drew out that last word, or how his eyebrows lowered in intense concentration, like he was trying to figure out whether he was brewing a fart or a dump. And there was nothing crude about that comparison either – whatever was going to come out of Elijah next was going to stink.
Elijah's demeanor suddenly shifted into one more hopeful. "Elena, my dear," he started. "I realize that I have ruined my chances of you attending this wedding with me –"
"You bet your ass you have," Damon spat protectively. Just as he predicted, it was stinking already.
Ignoring him, Elijah continued. "Would you please consider attending the wedding with Marcel as his pretend fiancée?"
"Absolutely no chance in hell," Damon answered for her.
Tilting his head at Damon in annoyance, Elijah asked sarcastically, "I'm sorry, are you Elena?"
"Stick me in heels and a skirt, and I could be," Damon snarked back.
Elijah blinked at the unwanted visualization. Then that fart-or-dump look overtook his features once more, and he sniffed, as if even he could smell how bad his next idea was. "Wonderful," he said coldly. "In that case, you can be my date."
Damon wasn't exactly sure how his facial features twisted into the position they did after that suggestion. One lip fish-hooked upwards into a snarl, the other side dropped downwards like a stroke. One eye squinted and twitched, the other was as round as a saucer. His nostrils flared so wide, they could catch butterflies. One eyebrow was off somewhere, orbiting the planet, the other was trying to retreat into his eye socket like a frightened caterpillar. It was probably the type of expression that made Quasimodo look pretty.
The moment Damon discovered sensation in his face again, he spoke very clearly and firmly. "I... am... not... fake... dating... you... Elijah."
Suddenly, Caroline squealed and clapped her hands together excitedly. "Ooo, it can be one of your tropes, Damon! Come on! We can all go to the wedding together!"
All Damon could do was repeat himself. "I... am... not... fake... dating... Elijah."
Unfortunately, Elijah was already progressing with the idea in his head and tapping his finger against his chin as though to solidify it. "Actually, this could work out quite well. My siblings already know that I'm gay, as I had to cover up my secret tryst with Kai by pretending Klaus actually caught me with the gardener – very cliché, I know. Damon would never allow Elena to attend the wedding without him present. So Elena could go with Marcel... and what better way for Elena to get an invitation than by pretending she is the sister of my date... Damon."
It was becoming robotic now. "I... am... not... fake... dating... you... Elijah."
"I do have a brother," Elena piped up helpfully. "He's at college at the moment, but I don't think Rebekah knows his name, and he's not on social media."
Elijah snapped his fingers excitedly. "Excellent."
Damon slowly turned and glared at Elena, his face twitching with the intensity of a high-powered TENS machine on a misplaced muscle.
Elena reluctantly bobbed her head at him – a silent agreement to get him out of it, even if her slight smirk said she'd already mentally bought popcorn for the occasion. She crossed her arms at Elijah, giving him a remorseful shrug. "There's nothing in this for us though, Elijah. We have no reason to help you, I'm sorry. You're going to have to figure this out on your own."
With a sad, but undeniably mocking huff, Elijah turned his head towards his brother. "Klaus, who is one of the largest shareholders of this company?"
"Our father," Klaus answered.
"And who is going to inherit this company when our sister gets married?"
"Our sister."
"And who does our sister hate?"
"Besides me?"
"Obviously."
"Elena."
Elijah turned back to Elena, fixing her with a smug stare. "Precisely."
Suddenly, the twitching in Damon's face stopped, and instead his features turned to stone. If they didn't do this, there was a chance Elena could lose her job. If her friends defended her, they could also lose their jobs. The wheels were turning in his head, but he could see no way out of this. Elijah was right – there was no chance in hell he was letting Elena attend the wedding of some wannabe mafia family without him. He had no choice.
He was going to have to fake date Elijah.
And suddenly, he really – really – hated tropes.
Chapter 27: Enemies to... Err, Nevermind
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Enemies to... Err, Nevermind
Elena Gilbert
Ping!
It was the sound Elena had been waiting for. The reason her phone wasn't on vibrate for once.
User721256112121969181920: There's something missing from my apartment.
Elena smiled. Did the guy ever run out of character space for these usernames? Apparently not.
She shuffled down into her bed, her face brightened by both the screen and his message. Despite Damon being by her side almost the entire time she was at work, she strangely missed him now that she was home.
That afternoon, the meeting had ended with a plan to go shopping the next day. Elena and Caroline needed dresses for the wedding and, although Klaus wasn't extended an invite to the outing, he handed over his credit card to Caroline – then swiftly lowered the credit limit to the higher end of four figures. He could be generous, but he wasn't stupid.
Afterwards, the office settled back into a surprisingly normal rhythm. Stefan, Elijah, and Klaus were in the background, discussing the impact Rebekah's takeover might have on the company if their plan failed. Caroline headed over to Bonnie to update her, while Elena buried herself in a backlog of tasks.
Damon brought her a coffee and sat next to her while she worked. He tried his best to keep himself occupied. First, he Googled "How to be gay", read a whole bunch of answers, and decided it was going to be as difficult as passing a driving test in a bumper car. He then switched to the much easier task of writing out a list of tropes he could still potentially fulfil.
Love triangle? Did dating Elijah now count?
Bully romance? He gave Elena's hair a tug. Done.
Millionaire romance? He checked his bank account, winced, scratched that one off the list, and made a mental note to save more.
Royalty romance? No, calling her "Princess" didn't count. No, making her a paper crown and decorating it with paper fasteners didn't count either.
Guy Falls First?
He paused.
Then went quiet for an unusually long time.
Long enough that Elena glanced over to see him staring at the paper with his eyebrows lowered, like it was the invoice for an extremely expensive product he didn't remember buying. There were no quips, no one-liners, no punchlines – just heavy silence. Then he quickly crumpled the paper, stood up, and muttered something about checking on Rose and Savior before disappearing through the office doors, towards the exit.
It was very strange.
But it shouldn't have been strange. Elijah wasn't a threat anymore. There was no need for Damon to hover protectively or act like her sarcastic shadow. There was no need for him to put his life on hold for her. There was no need for her to tolerate his chaotic interference or his allergy to silence. But she was surprised at how easily he had been able to disappear out the door, back to his normal routine, like he hadn't just spent the past few days clinging to her like a limpet. She was even more surprised to discover that the rest of the day didn't feel quite right without him.
Confused and a little disappointed, Elena had then finished work and returned home to work on her novel. Usually time flew while she was writing, but not that evening. Two hours doubled into four – and so did the number of times she checked her phone, waiting to hear from Damon. Multiple messages had been typed out and deleted, stifling the urge to turn into the clingy one. Eventually, she gave up, showered, and went to bed.
Not that she could sleep. Her thoughts kept circling back to Damon.
Damon... who had finally messaged her.
Damon... who had her smiling as she typed out a reply.
ElenaGAuthor: Whatever it is you're missing, I'm holding it hostage for the pink robe you stole.
User721256112121969181920: If I bring you the robe, can I have it back?
ElenaGAuthor: Maybe. What is it you want?
User721256112121969181920: You.
One word. One word that had her toes dancing. Stupid traitorous toes.
ElenaGAuthor: Is Frieda not enough for you?
User721256112121969181920: She's kind of cold... and a bit of bitch since you changed her settings.
ElenaGAuthor: I wouldn't be much of an improvement. You disappeared on me today.
User721256112121969181920: Sorry, I had a lot to think about.
A lot to think about? What the hell was bothering him all of a sudden? If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was dreading the fake dating plan. But, after a little research – and discovering he loved every gay icon on the planet – he'd quickly adapted to the idea and even updated his playlist for the cause. Obviously whatever was churning in his mind, he wasn't ready to tell her yet, so she kept her prying light.
ElenaGAuthor: Like how to max out your username? Why do you keep changing it?
User721256112121969181920: It's the alphabet in numeric form. A secret code for secret words.
Elena sat upright. A code? She was so on this! Whatever was on his mind had to be hidden in this new username. She studied the numbers, counting off the possibilities in her head. The first letter had to be a G. The second had to be a U, since FB wouldn't make sense – unless it was an acronym. But was the third letter a B or a Y?
User721256112121969181920: Can I come over?
She instantly stopped decoding. Elena's brain couldn't compute any longer. Damon wanted to come over? It was almost midnight... and she was suddenly very aware she was wearing pajamas printed with dancing cats that were also wearing pajamas.
ElenaGAuthor: Why?
Urgh, why did she say that? Now it seemed like she had no interest in seeing him, when that couldn't be further from the truth. But, if it was rude or dismissive, he didn't seem to notice.
User721256112121969181920: I can't sleep here.
He wants to sleep over?! In addition to her raving kitty cat pajamas, she was now very aware that her comforter was a patchwork of farmyard animals she'd had since she was a kid. Great, she was going to have sex on the two-dimensional livestock she'd named Hani Hen, Clara Cow, and Poppy Pig.
No, no, no... she didn't need to be worrying about these things. She wasn't going to sleep with him... was she?
User721256112121969181920: Can I sleep on your couch?
She guessed not.
That's all he wanted? So this wasn't some kind of late-night seduction strategy. Why did she feel a pang of disappointment by that?
ElenaGAuthor: Damon, you're very confusing.
User721256112121969181920: That's because I'm very confused.
ElenaGAuthor: About what?
User721256112121969181920: About why the hell the sight of your robe just made me open a twenty-year-old bottle of bourbon.
Oh no.
ElenaGAuthor: Are you drunk?
User721256112121969181920: No, I've had two drinks.
ElenaGAuthor: Two?
User721256112121969181920: Three.
ElenaGAuthor: Four?
User721256112121969181920: No, I know when to stop.
ElenaGAuthor: At two drinks?
User721256112121969181920: Yup. That would have been the right time.
Elena sighed, already knowing her answer as she tried to convince herself it was a good idea. He clearly needed a friend right now.
ElenaGAuthor: Come over, Damon. You can sleep on the couch.
She threw back her blanket and made her way to the storage cabinet where she kept a spare one, then she barefooted to the living room, switching on a lamp before laying out a makeshift bed on the couch.
A knock came at the door, and Elena ignored her racing pulse as she opened it.
Damon stood there in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, hair tousled like he'd run his hands through it multiple times that evening. He was holding her pink robe in one hand, dangling it between two fingers, adhering to their trade agreement.
"Payment," he said simply, with a soft smile.
She smiled back and took it from him without a word, stepping aside to let him in.
Damon entered and closed the door behind him. He turned and looked at Elena, her back against the wall, her eyes slightly lowered. He gestured lightly to the robe. "I'm sorry, I didn't wash it," he confessed awkwardly. "I liked the, erm... there was something comforting about its..." His words trailed off, and he ran his hands through his hair, raising the roots further and confirming it was for the umpteenth time he'd done that.
Elena swallowed. "It's fine, don't worry."
"Thanks," he murmured, "for letting me crash here."
Elena nodded, trying to act like her chest wasn't doing anything tight or fluttery. "That's what friends do." She noticed his eyelids pinch slightly, like she'd just flicked those words into his eyes. It lasted barely a second. "The couch is made up for you. You need to get some sleep. It's a long day of shopping tomorrow."
"I want to buy your wedding dress for you." Correcting himself, Damon sucked in a breath so hard, it sounded like he was trying to punish his vocal cords. "I mean... your dress for the wedding."
"It's okay, Elijah said he would –"
"I want to buy it," Damon quickly repeated, offering no explanation. Then, as though he was already trying to imagine what she would look like in something silky and backless, his gaze moved downwards, landed on her pajamas, and he cocked his head at the unexpected invasion of psychedelic dancing cats that looked like they'd wandered too far into the wrong kind of mushroom garden. His expression ran through a series of bemused emotions before his lip quirked. "You look cute."
She folded her arms, suddenly self-conscious. "They're weird, I know."
"A little crazy, but adorable," he said, and reached forward to lightly stroke along her pajama collar. His knuckle grazed her collarbone, slow and deliberate. "Just like you."
Her eyes lifted and froze on his. The moment stretched, his fingers still resting near her skin, his eyes locked on hers. There was a troubled longing in his eyes, and she couldn't understand why. He'd made more passes at her than a college quarterback to a cheerleader, and now he was hesitating?
Then his lips parted and her heart flipped. Was this it? Was he –
"Goodnight, Elena."
Erm... what?
There was both restraint and regret in his tight smile as he dropped his hand and walked over to the couch, leaving her to stand there, her mouth hanging open, waiting for the Damon she knew to reappear. The one who would return, crack a line, tweak her nose, say something he shouldn't, and, most certainly, at least try to kiss her after doing all he could to annoy her.
But he didn't. He pulled the blanket up, turned his back, and the silence that followed sent her quietly retreating to her bedroom, bewildered and alone.
Before going to sleep, she continued decoding his username.
GUY FKUU I FIRST
Either he really hated line jumpers, or he'd secretly had that fourth drink.
Chapter 28: Zip Me Up Before You Go-Go
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Zip Me Up Before You Go-Go
Damon Salvatore
GUY FKUU I FIRST?
That's what Elena had told him this morning. But he'd double-checked, and no, he hadn't messed up the username after three glasses of bourbon last night. She'd just decoded it wrong. The username was exactly what he'd meant it to be: GuyFallsFirst. It had been stupid of him to reveal his secret method of creating usernames anyway, but it was the closest thing to a confession he was willing to make right now.
Looking back, maybe those three and a quarter glasses of bourbon hadn't been the best idea – but at least sleeping at Elena's apartment had been. Her scent clung to every crevice of her couch, so it was just what Damon had needed to wake up feeling refreshed and back to his normal self. As for the spiral he'd experienced last night? That was entirely the fault of three and a half glasses of bourbon. But it was a new day. And those three and three-quarter glasses of bourbon were out of his system now.
It was a good thing he'd never ended up finishing that fourth drink, else he might have actually kissed Elena last night. It had taken all his willpower not to pin her to the wall, hoist her legs around his waist, and kiss everywhere his lips could reach – and he'd wanted to reach a lot of places, so maybe a yoga class or two couldn't hurt.
But that wasn't on the agenda right now... because, yes, he could tick off those Instalove and Guy Falls First tropes that had been plaguing him. He was damn well in love with Elena, and he was done with denying it.
So... absolutely no kissing.
At least, not until he was sure she felt the same way.
Getting into Elena's pants might have carried no risks a few days ago, but now it carried the devastating risk of her deciding that his bullshit wasn't worth the orgasms (unlikely, but still a possibility) and him crying into tubs of ice cream for the next few months. That was not happening. If he was going to get her, he was going to keep her.
That meant her falling for him – and all his bullshit – without so much as a kiss to sway the odds in his favor. If he could resist her flushed cheeks and yearning eyes last night, then he could resist anything. He was as strong as a mountain in a storm.
It was in the middle of the shopping boutique that Damon mentally drafted and signed this noble contract of his. But, naturally, the universe decided to test his resolve by having Elena bend over in front of him – adjusting the back strap of the kitten heels she was trying on – and poke her cute ass in his direction.
Damon cocked his head, checking out her little butt wiggle as she struggled with the strap.
He was as strong as shit. Watery, diarrhea shit.
"Quick reminder," Elijah interrupted, stepping next to Damon and breaking him out of his fantasy trip to Nakedville, "from Friday to Sunday this week, you are Elena's brother, so when it comes to admiring your sister's backside, I'll expect you to be more discreet than you are now."
"Not getting jealous now, are you, honey bun?" Damon shot back, not taking his eyes off Elena as she straightened and made her way to a full-length mirror.
Horrified, Elijah blinked rapidly. "I'm sorry, are you under some kind of delusion that I'm attracted to you?"
Damon shrugged half-heartedly. "You were quick to suggest dating me."
Elijah dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to make this as clear as I possibly can, Damon," he sighed deeply. "I am as gay as a man can be. Yet, if there was a world where only you and Elena existed and I had to date one of you... I'd choose Elena."
Damon scrunched up his face in disbelief. "There's no way you'd choose her over me." Then he paused, pouted, reconsidered, and muttered, "Though she does have a pretty masculine temper."
"With this in mind," Elijah continued coolly, ignoring his indignation, "any and all displays of affection between us are to be strictly reserved for the vicinity of Rebekah and Kai. Until I have a confession of love from Kai, my father cannot find out about our sexualities. I will not create a rift between my family for nothing."
"I'll try to keep my hands to myself," Damon drolled.
"However, I do expect an excellent performance in front of Kai. Physical affection may be required for the role, and I trust you'll rise to the occasion."
"Oh-ho-no," Damon chortled mockingly, "there will be nothing rising."
"It's a figure of speech," Elijah snapped.
"You certain it wasn't wishful thinking?"
"Damon, I am not attracted to you!"
"Sure you're not," Damon retorted dryly. He took a breath and turned toward Elijah. "Besides, none of this matters if you can't get Elena an invite – if she's not going, then I'm not going – and why would Rebekah invite someone she hates just because she's your date's sister?"
"Elena's identity will remain a secret until she arrives," Elijah responded. "And I've already secured her an invite since her role will not only be as your sister, but also your carer."
Damon's eyebrows hit the roof. "My what now?"
"Yes, I'd hoped not to play that card, but there were limited rooms remaining." Elijah was suddenly more interested in the alignment of his shirt cuffs against his suit jacket than in Damon's questions. He quickly summed up. "You have care needs... after your surgery."
"What type of care needs?" Damon's eyes narrowed.
"The type that only someone who really loves you is willing to perform." He patted Damon on the shoulder placatingly before heading across the boutique. "Oh look, Caroline, poor girl, can't choose between three dresses, I must go and help her."
"Oh, you'll help her but not me?" Damon yelled after him, his hand outstretched imploringly. "What do you mean, you don't love me?" As Elena approached him, his hand dropped to his side and he muttered, "My first gay relationship and the guy doesn't even love me."
Rolling her eyes, Elena held out the pile of dresses she had draped across her arms. "I need help," she said. "The changing rooms are small, so could you stand outside and pass each one to me as I try them on?"
"Sure thing," Damon replied absently, shooting Elijah a resentful glare as he followed Elena to the changing rooms.
Turning around a corner to a low-lit area of the store, Elena slipped behind the wooden swing door with the first dress, while Damon waited outside.
"Is dating men really this hard?" he whined softly.
"Damon, you're not actually dating him," Elena reminded him, her voice slightly distorted from behind the door. "Besides, surely you haven't loved every woman you've dated?"
"Fair point," Damon replied. He hadn't been in love with anyone until now. That's why it had come as such a surprise. Why couldn't that feeling in his gut be indigestion instead of love? Or an ulcer? Or whatever required that surgery he'd supposedly had? He leaned against the adjacent wall and asked, "Elena, have you ever been in love?" The moment he said it, he wondered whether he was fishing for clues, or trying to get his heart ripped open.
"Sure, I have," she replied happily, the sound of fabric rustling around her.
Heart ripped open it was. Great, more surgery Elijah wasn't going to help him recover from. "Really?"
"Yep," she repeated, "with all the men in my novels."
Maybe he wouldn't need that surgery after all. "Oh, those toxic assholes," he scoffed. "How many of them are there? I might need to do a book burning."
"Very funny," Elena replied.
Behind the door, Damon heard the soft swish of fabric sliding off her skin, followed by the subtle clink of a hanger sliding along a metal bar. He tried very hard not to picture exactly how much clothing she wasn't wearing when she stepped out of her dress, but considering he'd already had a preview at the spa, he was failing miserably. Then suddenly the door creaked open, and Elena's hand appeared holding the dress out for him to take. He passed her the next three dresses in quick succession, until she was trying on the final one.
"Damon, do you think you could come in here?"
In there? The place where her clothes came off? Very bad idea. "Erm, w-why?" he stuttered.
"I need help with a zipper."
"H-how d-dressed are y-you?" Stop stuttering, Porky Pig!
"I'm dressed."
"Oh, okay." Damon hooked the rest of the dresses on the back of the wooden door, swung it open, and slid inside.
Elena stood facing him in a spaghetti-strap jacquard cocktail dress, her hair already scooped over her shoulder, ready for his assistance. With the exception of her social media photos, it was the first time Damon had seen her in a dress, and unfortunately the half a dozen mini-sun spotlights weren't helping with his sudden increase in body temperature. Elena looked like temptation in heels, and Damon suddenly understood every dumbass who ever rear-ended another car because he couldn't stop staring at a beautiful woman on the sidewalk.
He swallowed. Loudly.
Elena turned, revealing her bare back. "I thought you might like to participate in the Zip Me Up trope."
Damon blinked. His eyes darted from her back to the zipper. "Since when," he said slowly, stepping closer, "have you been interested in contributing to my trope agenda?"
Elena glanced over her shoulder. "I want to prove that not all tropes are toxic."
Damon raised an eyebrow. "That all depends on what's going through a man's mind."
She tilted her head, her smile deepening. "Then what's going through your mind?"
What was going through his mind? That she wasn't wearing a bra. That her white lacy one was currently hanging from a hook in the corner of the changing room, and he was half tempted to grab it and wave it at his libido like a flag of surrender. That she was standing there, trusting his hands to obey his conflicted brain, and he needed to do his duty then walk out of there with his self-control intact, else he'd be eating ice cream for dinner for the next six months.
He cleared his throat, letting his gaze settle semi-professionally on the zipper. "Just trying to fight my instincts. Unzipping's more my specialty."
He tugged the zipper slowly upward, the sound loud in the small space. Her skin warmed beneath his fingers. His pulse pounded in his ears. And when the zip clicked into place at the nape of her neck, he let out a breath of relief. Mission accomplished.
Elena admired the dress in the full-length mirror in front of her. "Great... because I'll need you to unzip me in a moment."
Damon flinched. He could already feel his willpower writing up its notice period. "Did I say 'specialty'? I meant 'incapability'. I'm fully incapable of unzipping. In fact, sometimes I even struggle to unzip my own pants."
Elena's eyes met Damon's through the mirror. Her lips turned into a teasing smile, and she said lingeringly, "If you want, I could... give you a demonstration?"
The words shocked him, and he froze. Completely. Maybe if he didn't move, she wouldn't see him – like he was being hunted and her vision was based on movement. Was that... flirting? Was she flirting with him? The woman who swung at him with a fire poker, drew horns on his head, and dropped a condom into his coffee?
But she was also the woman who snuggled into his neck, waited to give him a lift, and made bedroom eyes at him last night.
Not to sound too much like a lovestruck teenage girl, but what did this mean?
"Hook up?"
Elena's voice broke him out of his thoughts. Did he miss part of the sentence, or did she just ask to hook up? He focused on reading her body language for context. She was pointing to her neck. Well, that was certainly a good place to start – he'd been wondering for a fair few minutes where on her neck she'd enjoy being kissed the most. But then he noticed the clasp at the back of the dress – and the hook he'd failed to attach.
He quickly fastened them together. "Done," he said, his voice strained. Maybe now he could make his escape.
But Elena wasn't finished with him. She spun around, her features tight, and jabbed a pointed finger at his chest. "Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped. "I just threw you two perfectly suggestive come-ons, and all you have to say is 'Done'? Where's the Damon who is always ready with a comeback? The one who always has something to say?"
Damon couldn't have been more surprised if she'd just hit him with a frying pan. What the hell had he done wrong now?! Damon stared at her, his eyes darting between hers, desperate for clues – trying to locate the moment this conversation had exploded in his face. "Let me get this straight," he finally exclaimed, "first I'm too talkative, and now you're complaining that I'm not?"
Elena crossed her arms. "You haven't been the same since last night. I want the old Damon back."
"The one that annoyed you?"
She hesitated for a moment, like she was mentally drafting a pros and cons list. She landed on an answer, even if she did appear uncertain about it. "Yes."
"Why?"
Her mouth opened like she was fully prepared with an answer, but it hung there, unable to generate the words. Her eyes scanned his face, her breathing heavy, like there were fireworks going off in her body but a warning siren going off in her head. He could almost see the battle behind her eyes. There was a conflicted look on her face. One that said she hated that she wanted him and still didn't know how deeply her feelings ran.
So, whatever answer she had, it wasn't ready to come out yet. And, it was fine, he could wait.
At least he knew what she liked now.
"I'll tell you why, Elena." He leaned down to her ear. "Because you love the fact that I live to push your buttons... and undo your zips. Now turn around."
Pouting indignantly, Elena stepped back. The relief of not having to answer his question was hidden behind a scowl, exactly as he'd planned. Maybe she hadn't figured out her feelings yet, but she sure as hell knew how to assert control. And right now, she was doing exactly that. Little did she know, she already had it. She already owned him, body and soul. But he'd happily let her believe that he was trying to be the boss of her, if that was the type of challenge she liked.
If that was the type of Damon she liked.
Elena had already unclasped the hook at the nape of her neck. "I can undo my own damn zip."
"I knew it," he rasped, his eyes pinched at her conspiratorially.
Then, with the flexibility of a contortionist, Elena used both hands in tandem to draw down her zip, and yanked the fabric downwards, the neckline sliding dangerously down her breasts.
"Oh, shit," Damon declared, dashing outside. His back hit the wall alongside the changing room just as Elena's dress was flung over the top of the door. His heart felt like it was trying to break out of his ribcage. That was a close call.
Still looking somewhat like a scared, cornered animal, Caroline approached him with two dresses draped across her arm. "Ready to go?" she asked, her eyebrows twitching downwards at Damon's strange behavior. "Elijah wants to go to the jewelers to get Elena measured for a ring."
"A ring?" Damon asked.
"Yeah, she's supposed to be engaged to Marcel, after all," Caroline explained. "Has Elena chosen a dress?"
Overhearing, Elena shouted, "I haven't decided yet. I like all of them."
"Great," Damon declared, yanking all four dresses off the door and piling them into Caroline's arms. He reached into his pocket, took out his credit card, and slotted it between her teeth. "Buy all of them, she can decide later. Pin code is 8008. Easy to remember: it spells BOOB."
"Whah abou shooz?" Caroline enunciated around her teeth, flummoxed by Damon's urgency but having no intention to refuse his generosity towards her best friend.
"Right." Damon dropped to the floor and waved his arm in swiping motions under the door, like he was a cat trying to reclaim his favorite toy from under the couch.
Elena shrieked in surprise as Damon's hand brushed her bare feet. "Damon, what the hell are you –"
"Got them," he declared, his fingers finally looping around the shoe straps. He pulled them underneath the door and added them to the pile in Caroline's arms.
Caroline paused for a moment, blinking, trying to assess if he was serious. Then she shrugged and bounded away merrily towards the cash register, carrying their purchases.
Elena finally emerged from the changing room in her original tight jeans and V-neck t-shirt. "Damon, we're staying for two days, I don't need four dresses."
"I like you having options," he shrugged, "and I like surprises."
Elijah appeared from around the corner, sighing in relief like he'd just found his missing child, then took Elena by the elbow and started leading her away. "Come now, Elena, Marcel will be meeting up with us shortly, and we still have to find you a suitable engagement ring to make my sister jealous."
"Don't I get an engagement ring to make Kai jealous?" Damon complained, following them. He caught up to Elijah at the cash register, repeating the question, but Elijah simply picked up Elena's shopping bags, handed them over to Damon, and whisked Elena off towards the exit. Trudging along behind them, he griped, "We need to have a serious discussion about where this relationship is going, Elijah. I'm a damn catch and you know it!"
A few buildings down was the jewelry store, which they entered to rows of glass display cases stretched across the room in neat, parallel lines. Directly in front of them, the cases were filled with velvet-lined trays of engagement rings, twinkling under the spotlights. At the far end of the store, to the right, was an assortment of other types of jewelry and accessories.
The moment they approached the counter, the assistants behind it immediately flocked to the vicinity of Elijah, like they were pigeons and he'd just strolled in holding a loaf of bread. These were people who were obviously trained to smell money. Elena had her ring finger measured and then paused at the first display, her eyes sweeping over the neatly arranged rows of rings. Caroline lingered beside her, studying the cases with equal interest. While Damon remained a step behind them, his gaze tracking Elena's movements as she moved from one display to the next.
"This one's gorgeous," Elena commented, looking down through the glass at a cushion-cut solitaire on platinum.
Caroline looked to where Elena was pointing. "Oh my god, Elena, that is so you."
Elijah drew near and peered over Elena's shoulder. "Not Rebekah's style," he observed. "Remember, we are buying according to my sister's taste, not yours." He strolled back to the display he'd been examining, while Damon slotted in by Elena's side, eyes fixed on the ring she'd pointed out. Elijah continued to describe what he had in mind. "Platinum is perfect, but we're looking for emerald-cut halo rings. Diamond, obviously. Expensive, but not too expensive. Something moderate."
"Why not too expensive?" Damon questioned suspiciously, looking up at him. "If Elena's doing all this for you, the least you could do is buy her the most expensive ring in here."
Elijah's lips quirked, amused by this. "Yes, I guess you're right, Damon," he agreed dryly. "I could certainly afford it, and it's only right that Elena's ring be so incredibly expensive that the one her future husband gives her looks like a grain of sand in comparison." He shot Damon a knowing smile.
Damon glared at his smug expression. Rich bastard. "Moderate's good," he conceded.
"Yes, I think so too," Elijah agreed. This time genuinely. He pointed to a ring that he knew his sister would like and beckoned an assistant over to purchase it.
With their opinion clearly out of the equation, Caroline took Elena's hand and pulled her to the other end of the store where the earrings and necklaces were. "Come help me max out Klaus's credit card," she giggled excitedly.
Once Elena had crossed the room, Damon looked down again at the ring she'd pointed out. He tapped his fingers against the glass. What was he doing? He couldn't possibly be considering buying an engagement ring for a woman he wasn't even dating.
He waved one of the assistants over urgently.
Well, look at that... he was.
"The cushion-cut solitaire," he indicated. "Quickly, wrap it up for me."
The assistant showed less urgency than Damon wanted, slowly pulling back the tray and plucking the ring from its display case. "Certainly, sir, would you like it wrapped like a burrito or a deli sandwich?"
"Cut me a break," Damon said. "Do I look like I do this every day?"
Suddenly, Elijah was by his side, speaking to the assistant on Damon's behalf. "He'll take the handmade box in black Italian leather with a black flock-lined interior and cushion insert."
The assistant's eyes went from Elijah back to Damon.
"Yeah, what he said," Damon confirmed sourly. "And be discreet about it." As the assistant did as he asked, Damon turned to Elijah. "Thanks," he muttered.
Elijah placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll keep Elena distracted," he said. The hold turned into a pat. "I would say she's a lucky girl, but... well, I'd be lying."
"Yeah, thanks for that too," Damon grumbled dryly as Elijah headed in Elena's direction.
While Damon waited, he crossed his arms over the glass cabinet. This was crazy. This is exactly what love did to people – it made them do crazy things. But he couldn't miss this opportunity. That was the ring Elena liked, so that was the ring he was going to get. He didn't need to do anything rash like proposing to her after the first kiss – if he ever got to kiss her. The ring could just sit in a drawer until the Italian leather gradually became Americanized and applied for a Green Card.
He glanced over at Elena, who was standing behind Caroline, holding a pair of earrings against her friend's earlobes while she admired them in the mirror. Elena had realized something had changed about him since yesterday... but something had changed about her too. She was slowly starting to admit she liked him. It was a start, but he certainly wasn't out of friendship territory yet.
Except for her flirting. That was going to be difficult to resist if it continued. Just because she was attracted to him didn't mean she was in it for the long haul.
No, he reminded himself. Until she felt the same way about him as he did about her, there would be absolutely no sleeping with Elena.
Chapter 29: All's Unfair in Love and War
Chapter Text
Chapter Twenty-Nine: All's Unfair in Love and War
Elena Gilbert
As the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Yesterday, Damon had been absent from Elena's life for only a few hours, and she'd spent most of that time wondering when she would next see him. It felt like a craving that wouldn't go away, and it had her analyzing what it meant to be 'fond' of Damon Salvatore.
Was she fond of him? She had a fondness for cake, but that didn't mean she wanted it for every meal. She also knew that if she craved cake, just staring at one wasn't going to do anything to eliminate those cravings – if anything, it would make them worse. But if she had some cake, she wouldn't crave any for a while.
So, maybe that was the solution. Damon was simply an indulgence... and she wasn't indulging in him enough to satisfy her.
It was time for Elena to indulge. She was determined to get Damon to sleep with her.
Although her current mood didn't exactly reflect that.
"Damon, get out of there!"
They were back at the office, waiting for Marcel to arrive so they could discuss their tactical operations for the weekend. Caroline was across the room, showing Bonnie her purchases. Klaus was in his office, trying to figure out how Caroline had expertly managed to hit his spending limit so precisely, without going a penny over or under. Stefan was making coffee, and Elijah was ordering coffee after seeing that the office coffee was instant coffee.
Damon was sitting on the swivel chair next to Elena. Bent forward, he continued to rummage through Elena's desk, one hand holding the drawer open, defeating her attempts to push it closed. "Men are natural explorers, Elena," came his excuse.
"Then go explore Antarctica," she snapped, "and get your hand out of my drawers."
Damon paused and looked up at her. "You're the one who wanted me back to the way I used to be," he smirked. "And this me would very much like his hand in your drawers, Elena."
Urgh, back to the innuendos, it seemed. Except this time, they had her smiling. He was right though – she had wanted this. Cute and fluffy just wasn't her thing. So, she'd fed the mogwai after midnight, and now he was a gremlin up to mischief.
But the fact that he was in her hair all the time didn't deter her from wanting to sleep with him. She just wanted him out of her hair and into... well, other places. Like his meaning of the word drawers.
"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed, removing his hands, holding up a clenched fist triumphantly. He kicked off Elena's desk, spinning his swivel chair back to the adjacent desk and switching on its computer.
Elena pinched her eyes at him suspiciously. "What did you find?"
Not responding to her question, Damon stretched his neck over the computer screen, trying to gain the attention of his brother, who had just walked back into the room with a mug of coffee. "Hey, Stef, what's your password?"
"GoHomeDamon," he replied.
"Rude," Damon grumbled.
"I mean, that's my password," Stefan clarified. "I changed it since you started hanging around the office. Why do you need it anyway?"
Damon inputted the password onto the computer. "Oh, just thinking of creating some motivational posters for the office. 'If you can't reach for the stars, aim for the height of Stefan's hair'. 'Reach for greatness the way Stefan reaches for mousse'. 'Work as hard as Stefan's hairspray in the wind.' Things like that."
Stefan stroked down his quiff, which only bounced right back up again. "My password has just become a plea."
Damon plugged in the flash drive he'd swiped from Elena's desk. A few clicks later, and he opened up what he was looking for. He turned the screen towards Elena. "Well... don't you look adorably messy?"
It was a photo of tiny Elena, at around six years old, standing on a kitchen chair, her hands held out in front of her – fingers splayed, palms up, caked in lumpy batter. Her cheeks were flushed with pride, her hair was escaping from two crooked pigtails, and the bowl beneath her looked like it had survived a flour explosion. She was grinning with unfiltered joy, like she'd just discovered her life's calling.
Elena lurched forward from her chair and pulled the flash drive from the computer. The picture remained on the screen.
"Already downloaded it," Damon explained, clicking to the next photo.
"How did you find out about this?!"
"Bonnie told me," he responded casually. "She said you, her, and Caroline all went to elementary school together, and a couple of weeks ago she copied you a flash drive of all your old photos, which you kept in your desk." He skimmed through a few more photos of Elena and Bonnie together at a playground. "I like her. I could see us being best buds one day – especially with all this cute info she has on you."
Elena crossed her arms. "How would you like it if I snooped through your old photos?"
Not taking his eyes off the screen, Damon reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, tapped away for a minute, then held it out for her to take. "They're on the cloud. I've opened it up for you. Go nuts."
Elena snatched the phone and immediately went on the hunt for something extremely embarrassing. Her eyebrows lowered. "Why do you have an empty folder called 'My dick pics'?"
Damon grinned. "So you clicked on that one, eh? I thought you might. I created it about ten seconds ago."
Annoyed with herself as much as him, Elena whacked him on the shoulder and went back to searching through his photos.
Pointing to the computer screen, Damon said, "This one's cute – the three of you – what's the story behind it? You're all dressed up."
Raising her head, Elena smiled at the image. It was her, Caroline, and Bonnie, all in bridesmaid dresses, when they were seven years old. "We were obsessed with weddings at that age, but we'd never been to one. So, my parents recreated their wedding ceremony in our backyard."
"Cute," he repeated. Damon stared at the photo quietly for a moment, his thumb tapping the side of the mouse. "What do you imagine your wedding to be like?"
Elena tilted her head. He wasn't asking her what she imagined her wedding to be like at seven years old – back when she was obsessed with weddings – he was asking her what she wanted her wedding to be like now. The question had her surprised and stumped. "I... haven't given it much thought," she said honestly. She stroked along his bicep as she tried to steer the conversation towards some light-hearted flirting. "I'd like the honeymoon to be in Italy, though. Tuscany, to be specific. Vineyards, red wine..." She leaned into his ear. "...and lots of lovemaking."
She heard the faint crack of plastic as Damon's grip tightened on the mouse.
Then Elijah came up beside them, holding his freshly-ordered coffee. "Hopefully you'll get a taste of that this weekend, Elena, dear," he said. "My sister's wedding is taking place on a Virginian vineyard, on the Mulberry Grove Spa Estate – a hotel that belongs to my father. Plenty of opportunities for wine tasting..."
"I can buy Elena wine," Damon pointed out stiffly.
"... spa treatments..."
"I own a spa."
"... and lovemaking." Elijah waited for Damon's response. Waited a little longer before cocking his head. "Can you provide Elena with lovemaking, Damon?"
This was an answer Elena needed to witness with her own eyes. She spun and leaned back against the desk, watching Damon's expression hopefully.
Damon turned his head up at Elijah, wearing a look that said drop it. "Can you?" he bit back.
"Not even if I were drunk," he affirmed. "But there will be plenty of young men at the wedding who could... if they act fast enough."
Disappointed in Damon's dodging of the question, Elena resumed scrolling through his photos. She stopped on a Halloween one just as Caroline returned to her desk with her shopping bags. Waving her over, Elena gushed, "Caroline, you have to see this photo of Damon and Stefan when they were little."
Caroline dropped her bags and dashed over – with Stefan following behind her – and squealed excitedly when she saw the photo. The boys were wearing black suits and polyester capes, plastic vampire teeth, and pale make-up. Damon looked like he was born to lurk in the shadows – cape flared and fangs bared – while the younger Stefan looked like he'd been tricked into this under extreme duress.
"Aw, was ickle Stefan about to cry?" Caroline asked, hands over her mouth, stifling a silent laugh.
"Yep," Stefan replied. "Mom made us a tomato juice smoothie and Damon told me it was real blood, and I'd now have to stay away from sunlight and sleep in a coffin."
Damon shrugged unapologetically. "I was setting the tone."
Looping her arm around Stefan's protectively, Caroline scolded Damon, "You were traumatizing a preschooler."
"And yet, here he is. Better for it," Damon argued dismissively.
Elena flipped to the next picture – Stefan mid-tantrum with a discarded cape on the floor, and Damon chasing after him, trying to bite him. "How exactly is he better for it?"
"Well, for starters, he's gaining a lot of sympathy from you women," Damon noted.
Stefan looked down at Caroline's arm, tight around his, then turned back to his brother. "That's a good point actually," he agreed. "Can I get a copy of those pictures?"
"The ones of me tormenting you?" Damon checked.
"They're all of you tormenting me," Stefan reminded him, deadpan.
"Gotcha," Damon conceded, without a hint of shame. Elena passed him back his phone and, as he sent Stefan a link to the folder, heads raised to the person entering the office doors.
The man looked like he'd walked into the wrong building. Elena didn't know why she'd expected Marcel to be dressed like he was in full attorney mode, but he was far from it. Wearing jeans and a black biker jacket over a faded gray hoodie, Marcel shuffled into the room looking like he'd taken a wrong turn on his way to a motorcycle garage. His posture was all nerves – shoulders hunched, sneakers squeaking slightly on the floor, dragging his feet as he surveyed his surroundings. But despite the awkward energy, there was something quietly magnetic about him, like a guy who didn't say much unless he absolutely had to, and when he did, people listened.
Marcel stopped on the opposite side of the desk from where they were standing. He raised his head at them confidently. "So, this wasn't a trick?" he checked. "You're serious about helping me get Rebekah back?"
Elijah strolled around the row of desks to approach him. "We all have our reasons for being here," he clarified. "We both want to break up this marriage." He swept his hand over to Elena. "And Elena's in this because of a lie you told Rebekah – one that could risk her position in this company if my sister gains control."
Marcel's eyes fixed on Elena, finally taking her in after not seeing her for so many years. He bowed his head at her slightly. "It's good seeing you again, Elena," he said softly. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess."
Elena curled her lips inwards awkwardly and nodded back at him. It was strange seeing him again – the man she once dated; the hard-working college student who had presented her with flowers from the gas station on their first date. He seemed like a stranger wearing a familiar face. At eighteen, she'd still been figuring out what love was supposed to feel like, and she knew now that all she'd really had was a crush and a few lackluster butterflies. He was still handsome, but she surprisingly discovered she had no attraction to him anymore – just a faint, warm nostalgia.
"You dragged her into this mess," Damon reminded Marcel, pulling Elena out of her thoughts. "You want to explain to her why you used her as an excuse to break up with Rebekah?"
As Marcel opened his mouth to explain, Elijah beckoned them all to follow him to Klaus's office, where there was more privacy. He pushed open the glass door, and stood aside for them all to enter.
Klaus slapped his hands on the desk. "Oh, bloody hell," he snapped from behind it. "What's the point in having my own office if you're going to bring the entire bloody company in here?" As everyone squeezed in, Caroline took a seated position by bouncing up onto Klaus's desk. Unbeknownst to her, her skirt tugged tightly around her ass immediately in Klaus's line of sight. "On second thoughts," Klaus swallowed, his voice much calmer. "You're all very welcome."
"Continue," Elijah told Marcel invitingly.
Marcel leaned back against the office wall and took a deep breath. "Rebekah's father, Mikael, was trying to get her to break up with me for ages. I just didn't see it. The first time was just before her birthday. Rebekah had an expensive necklace that belonged to her late mother, which she kept in a safe. Mikael suggested that I secretly get a jeweler to make a replica of it as her birthday gift – something she could wear, rather than keep locked away. So, I took it to one that Mikael recommended. A few days later, he called me and Rebekah into his office, claiming that I'd sold it to the jeweler. Of course, I told them the truth, and Mikael said he believed me, accused the jeweler of lying, and handed the necklace back to Rebekah."
"Mikael set you up?" Elena asked.
"Exactly that," Marcel confirmed. "Though I didn't know it at the time. It was still early in our relationship. I was still a trainee at his law firm and had nowhere near the amount of money they did, and he was planting seeds of doubt in Rebekah's mind. He kept doing it over and over again, and I was oblivious to it. Until after I asked him for Rebekah's hand in marriage, and it all became clear."
"Rebekah's kidnapping?" Elijah speculated, deep in thought.
Marcel sighed. "Rebekah's kidnapping," he confirmed. "The night before I intended to propose, Rebekah was kidnapped. It was traumatizing. She was taken from her home, blindfolded, driven to a wooded area, buried in a wooden box with her phone, and told to transfer $100,000 to an unknown account. There was no point in her calling anyone – she had no idea where she was. So she made the transfer, and they released her. $100,000 was peanuts to her anyway."
"But there was no way my father could have pinned that on you?" Elijah questioned. "She saw the face of one of the kidnappers. It was nobody you knew, surely."
"Not at the time, but later I did," Marcel confessed. "There was so much going on, and all I cared about was helping Rebekah through this. I didn't even pay attention to the fact that $100,000 of my student debt got mysteriously wiped around the same time. So, when Mikael said he got a tip-off that someone was going to break in and kidnap Rebekah again, I signed up to stop it, along with some guy he'd hired to help."
"The same kidnapper as before?" Elijah checked.
"Right," Marcel nodded. "In the middle of the night, while Rebekah was asleep, a girl broke in – same age, size, and hair color as Rebekah. She was carrying weapons, and we had no reason to believe she wasn't the tip-off. We bundled her into a van, drove her to the next state, and dropped her off in the middle of nowhere. I told her that if she ever came back and hurt Rebekah, she'd be a dead woman. Now she quite literally is."
Marcel reached into an inside jacket pocket and presented a printout of a news article. He handed it to Elijah, who passed it around. "She was an unknown actress – and Mikael hired and killed her." He shook his head, chuckling sadly at the memory of his own stupidity, and the woman's unfortunate end because of him. "Mikael showed me the security footage that made me realize I needed to leave. He could spin it whatever way he wanted. Either he could show Rebekah the evidence that I was bundling a five-foot-eight blonde – who looked exactly like her – into a van, along with the same kidnapper she saw. Or, if she didn't believe I was part of that, he could pin that actress's murder on me. Either way, I was screwed."
Damon, after having a look at the printout, handed it back to Marcel. "So, if you're screwed either way, why are you here? Say everything goes to plan and we break up the marriage, he could still ruin your life if you win Rebekah back." He looked around the room at the rest of the faces, which were just as confused as his own. He shrugged and his palms rose skywards dramatically. "Am I missing something here?"
Marcel lowered his eyes. "I wasn't going to do this," he admitted quietly. "But then I found out from Elijah who else was involved, and I realized this was my only shot."
Damon pinched the bridge of his nose, still unclear. "Your only shot at what?"
"At getting the footage that will clear my name," Marcel replied. "Not just the parts that make me look guilty, but the parts that will prove my innocence. And that's where you come in, Damon."
Elena's eyes shot to Damon, her eyebrows lowered, even more confused than before. She could see he felt the same way. She blinked at Marcel, then back at Damon, trying to make the connection. Damon ran a luxury spa. He dealt with massages, mud wraps, and overpriced aromatherapy candles. As far as she knew, he wasn't exactly an expert on video surveillance or digital forensics.
But then Marcel dropped the bombshell that snapped everything into focus: "Your father, Giuseppe Salvatore, owns the surveillance company that Mikael uses, and out there..." He pointed towards the glass office walls. "... is the girlfriend of a man who works for him." His hand dropped, but the tension within it didn't release as he took a step closer to Damon. "I don't care how it's done, or which one of you does it, but I need that footage, Damon. All of it."
Chapter 30: Invasion of the Tech-Snatchers
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty: Invasion of the Tech-Snatchers
Damon Salvatore
Bonnie stepped nervously into Klaus's office, followed closely by her boyfriend, Enzo, who held her firmly by both shoulders. The positioning caught Damon's eye. Bonnie wore the same tight, ready-to-brawl expression Elena had perfected. She looked like she could take on every man in the room and win, which made Enzo's grip seem more like a tether of restraint than a show of affection.
Bonnie had been fed just enough vague information to understand why she needed to call Enzo into the office. He worked for Wickery Tech Solutions, and Damon's father was the owner of Wickery Tech Solutions. Apparently, the group needed the kind of insider knowledge that only a humble field technician could provide. Bonnie didn't know why, and she clearly didn't like not knowing.
Enzo, who appeared more at ease with being kept in the dark, casually scanned every person in the room. "You wanted me here?"
"Yes, why not?" Klaus bellowed sarcastically, leaning forward in his chair and waving his arm pseudo-invitingly. "It's like bloody Mardi Gras in here anyway – come, join the fun!"
Caroline, still sitting on his desk, swiveled her upper body and pointed a sharp fingernail in his face. "Zip it, Klaus!"
Elijah ignored the petty background bickering and faced the couple. "I'm going to get straight to the point." He indicated Marcel with a tilt of his head. "Marcel needs security footage from the Mikaelson household, and we are all here to discuss how that is going to happen." He looked directly at Enzo. "I understand you've worked at this location before? What can you tell us about the security system he has?"
Enzo's eyes moved slowly between Elijah and Marcel, as though questioning why this couldn't have been resolved with a simple phone call. But, faced with nothing but expectant silence, he sighed and began. "Mikael Mikaelson's security system is strictly offline. No Wi-Fi. No cloud backup. A hardwired DVR system – pretty old-fashioned, but it suits him. There's a multi-channel powerbox on each floor, keeping the cameras running. And it has an industrial-grade RAID tower, configured to store multiple years' worth of surveillance footage."
"How many years?" Marcel cut in.
Enzo shrugged. "I didn't count. However long he's had it. Fifteen to twenty years at least."
As Marcel let out a breath, clearly relieved the required timeframe was covered and not archived elsewhere, Bonnie inquired tightly, "Are we done now?"
Elijah pressed a finger to his lips. "Not quite." He fell silent for a moment, then resumed, his voice quieter, almost as if thinking aloud. "If the system is completely offline, there's no way for Damon to get the video footage from his father. Which means that someone is going to have to enter the house to copy the files directly from the system."
Damon felt like a weight had been lifted from him. His father treated his business with more care than he did his family – the chance of him handing over any back-up security footage was zero to zilch.
"How much footage do you need?" Elijah continued, speaking to Marcel.
"Everything from the lead-up to Rebekah's kidnapping all the way through to the actress's disappearance," Marcel replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mikael isn't the type to leave a paper trail through texts and emails. So I'll need a couple of weeks of sound and video. There's bound to be a call, conversation, or meeting in that window that implicates him."
Enzo chuckled. "That won't be easy." A faint grin tugged at his mouth, not cocky but quietly self-assured, like he was suddenly the most essential person in the room. "Transferring two weeks' worth of activity could take three or four hours. In that time, the system could flag any number of peculiarities – unusual read speeds, extended access, temperature spikes, and so on. Especially if someone didn't know what they were doing. While the footage isn't online, any suspicious activity like that sends an alert to the company. In the case of the Mikaelson family, the alert would be sent to the head of the company."
Elijah turned to Damon, the understanding visible behind his eyes. "Giuseppe Salvatore."
Oh... shit.
Damon groaned as his head dropped. He knew the universe wouldn't let him off the hook this one time. "If you even think," he muttered resentfully, "that my father would ignore an alert notification like that, you can think again. So don't even bother asking."
"Speak to your father, Damon," Elijah insisted. "Persuade him."
Damon's head shot up with an incredulous expression. "I just said not to ask, didn't I?"
"I wasn't asking," Elijah pointed out. He then returned his sight to Enzo. "You said an alert would be sent if the person didn't know what they were doing. But if the person did know what they were doing, it's possible to avoid it?"
Enzo shrugged. "It's possible. If they know what the triggers are, they could monitor it more carefully, but it's not guaranteed."
"And you know what the triggers are," Elijah said. It wasn't a question.
Suddenly, Bonnie sprang forward, her finger jutting angrily in the direction of Elijah, Marcel, and – for reasons he couldn't understand since he also thought this was a stupid idea – Damon too. "No, no, no!" she snapped with each point. "You are not getting Enzo involved in this."
"He'll be financially compensated," Elijah added.
"No!" Bonnie repeated.
"How much?" Enzo inquired, intrigued and going instantly off-script.
Bonnie snapped her head toward Enzo like he'd just offered to sell them a kidney. "No!" she squealed, betrayal written all over her face.
Enzo just held her shoulders even more firmly while he waited for the answer. It seemed there were some triggers he just couldn't avoid – like setting off the female temper. When men got curious, women got furious. Damon could relate to that. He'd gone poking around Elena's privacy one too many times and barely lived to tell the tale.
"I have in mind six figures," Elijah said breezily, like it was pocket money.
Enzo tilted his head, tempted by the offer. "After Bonnie's figure, that's my favorite kind of figure," he admitted. "What have I got to do?"
Bonnie finally broke out of his grip, turned, and glared at him, like he'd just sided with the enemy. "Enzo, no!"
Elijah immediately answered him. "Stefan has already informed me that he intends to set up a meeting with my father to discuss the future of the company. He conducts all meetings in his home, which isn't too far from the wedding venue. At the same time as the meeting, I will arrive to discuss allowing Klaus back into the family fold. One of the power boxes to the cameras is within the guest coat closet. Once shut off, I can call Enzo as the field technician to 'fix' the system. Between Stefan and I, one of us can distract my father while the other shuts off the cameras – it will not be unnatural for either of us to enter the closet to hang up or retrieve our coats –"
"It's eighty degrees outside, Elijah," Stefan pointed out, shaking his head.
"Then learn to tolerate sweating," Elijah retorted bristly, "you're wearing a coat, or else entering the closet would look suspicious."
Klaus then cut in. "As much as I appreciate you appealing to our father for my return, brother," he said flatly, "I suspect the conversation won't leave you with much time, since his refusal will be short, sharp, and not so sweet."
"Actually, it won't," Elijah replied. "I intend to inform our father that the reason you must return to the family is because I suspect your date, Caroline, to be pregnant with your child."
Caroline jumped down from the desk, outraged. "I'm WHAT?!"
Klaus stared at Caroline, grinned, and crossed his arms over the desk. "No champagne for you, love." He flinched, recoiling backward, when Caroline raised her hand like she was about to strike him. He looked back at his brother and declared, "I'm on board with that idea, Elijah. It's about time Father realized that at least one of his children isn't still a virgin. I'll relish the disappointment he'll have in me for something that is actually true this time."
Caroline flung a pointed finger in Klaus's direction while addressing Elijah firmly. "I will not tolerate a wedding with him and no alcohol."
"You can drink when our father's not around," Elijah assured her.
Klaus leaned forward again, asking Caroline provokingly, "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"
Caroline turned, slammed her hands down on the desk, and glared at Klaus "Your child would be the antichrist. The apocalypse. A hellspawn of destruction. A devil with a tiny pitchfork. A tantrum-throwing tyrant with a god complex!"
Klaus smiled proudly. "What a legacy."
Rolling his eyes at what he was letting himself in for, Enzo responded to Elijah's proposal. "Fine. As long as Mikael thinks I'm just the guy with the toolbox, I guess there's no risk."
Bonnie's jaw dropped open. "No risk?! Enzo, this family is dangerous! If Mikael finds out what you've done, he'll hunt you down."
He smiled at Bonnie's protective instinct and wrapped his arms around her. "Then he can hunt me down on a beach in the south of France." But when her stiff posture made it clear the joke hadn't landed, he adjusted course. "Nothing bad is going to happen," he insisted, "because I'm not risking anything unless I'm sure Mikael won't get an alert. That's the only way he'll ever know what I've done. And Damon can make sure it doesn't come to that."
Bonnie looked mildly comforted, but Damon just grimaced, knowing it wasn't that simple. Wickery Tech was more of a child to Giuseppe Salvatore than his own two children. It was his empire, his golden child that never once disappointed him. Trying to get his father to agree to this would be like trying to convince gravity to take a day off. He felt suffocated in the crowded room just thinking about it. So, without a word, he stepped out to get some space and air.
Damon drifted out of the room and veered toward Elena's desk – the one place in the godforsaken building that made him feel remotely sane – and he dropped into her chair with a heavy sigh. The moment his body hit the seat, he scrubbed both hands down his face, like he could physically erase the situation if he just tried hard enough.
Getting his father to go against his own company's policies wasn't just unlikely, it was laughable. He practically kept them framed in place of family photos. The man worked around the clock, lived for protocol, and carved rules into titanium. He would wake up from a coma to respond to a system breach alert. One blip on the system and Enzo would be toast. The whole idea was, frankly, insane.
Damon leaned back, letting his head tip against the chair, and stared up at the ceiling, already mentally drafting a dozen manipulative strategies – and immediately discarding them all. His father wasn't the type of person to budge for sentiment, justice, or logic. So what the hell was left?
He felt a shadow fall over him before the person even came into his line of sight. He sat upright when he noticed it was Elena.
She leaned against the desk beside him, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "You don't look confident that we can pull this off," she observed softly.
Damon's eyes closed briefly in frustration. "If it weren't for my father's involvement, we probably could."
Elena nodded gently and then shifted closer until her leg was brushing against his. She took his hand in hers, stroking her fingers rhythmically against his palm. Her voice was calm, but firm. "Then don't involve him. We'll do this without Marcel, like Elijah originally planned."
He didn't look at her right away, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance, considering this, weighing up all the outcomes. Then he shook his head. "Elijah's original plan was meant to play out over weeks," he said, his voice low. "We only have this weekend, then it's game over. We're going to need every advantage we can get."
Elena exhaled through her nose, a soft, stubborn sound. "In that case, you won't know until you try. Bite the bullet and make the call. There's no harm in asking for your father's help," she said, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug. "The worst that can happen is he refuses."
Damon's expression darkened. He hated that his father held any kind of power over her, even indirectly. "No, the worst that can happen is you lose your job," Damon corrected. He tightened his grip on her hand, grounding himself with it, and met her eyes fully. "I'm only doing this for you, Elena, nobody else."
A small, appreciative smile tugged at her lips, but it faded fast. He saw her swallow, tight and quiet, like she was holding back something deeper. The job meant a lot to her, he could tell. She had her novels, so it wasn't a fear of losing her income. It was more than that. And he needed to hear it. "Tell me why you like working here," he requested softly.
Elena brushed a strand of hair behind her ears, looking down at the floor, like she was embarrassed by the answer. "When I come to work, I feel like I'm around family," she uttered quietly. Then she looked up at Damon, and whatever she saw gave her the courage to go on. "This place… it fills a gap. My parents aren't here... my brother is studying across the country... and I can't imagine spending my day anywhere else, around strangers, only to come home to an empty apartment."
Her words hit him in the chest, feeling a little too close to his own loneliness – or at least, the loneliness he knew he'd feel if Elena wasn't in his life.
Taking a deep breath and offering her a teasing smile to lighten the mood, Damon said, "Well, it might not be so empty, since you'd probably find me on your couch pretty often."
Elena dropped her head, letting out the kind of short chuckle that sounded more like a spontaneous release of defeat than actual laughter. It wasn't the reaction Damon was hoping for, and he quickly shuffled forward, like he might somehow catch that defeat and pitch it across the room, away from her. There was no way he was going to watch her mentally re-write her future and not do a damn thing to stop it.
He then pulled out his phone, waved it up at her like an already-triumphant flag, and made a promise. "I'll talk my pain-in-the-ass father into it. I just need somewhere quiet first – it won't exactly be a light conversation."
As he stood, about to slip his hand from hers, she held tighter.
"You really don't have to do this," she offered quietly.
They both knew he already was, but he wasn't about to let her feel bad about it. So, he did what he did best: tilted her chin up, gave her a mischievous smile, and tweaked her nose. It took two tweaks to generate a smile he was happy with. Satisfied, he then crossed the room and began the dreaded call to his father.
Damon was lingering by the water cooler when his father picked up on the first ring. Of course he did. The asshole was always next to his phone.
"What do you want?" came his cold greeting. "I'm busy."
Of course he was. He was always busy. The last time he wasn't too busy to spend time with his kids, Damon must've been almost hitting puberty. For a while, his father actually collected his kids after school and took them to a playground. He even socialized with other parents there. But unfortunately, it wasn't the turning point Damon had hoped it to be, and the outings stopped after a few weeks.
Damon cleared his throat and got to the point. "I need a favor."
"I thought I'd brought you up to be more self-sufficient than that."
Damon bit back a response that was on the tip of his tongue. His father hadn't brought him up at all. Still, if his reputation as a father was something he cared about, maybe Damon could use that to his advantage. "I've got into some trouble with the Mikaelson family. I need to access some of their security footage."
"I don't have access to their footage."
That answer surprised Damon. It wasn't deprecating or condescending, it was just... informative. His hopes lifted. Maybe there was a chance he would do this after all.
"Let me guess," Giuseppe drawled before Damon had a chance to respond. "This trouble you're in... it's because of a girl, isn't it?"
And, just like that, Damon's hopes were flushed down the toilet. He might have twisted the narrative a little, but technically his father wasn't wrong, and it threw him off guard. "What?"
"Oh, come on," Giuseppe urged. "Men only ever find themselves in trouble for one of two reasons: women or money. And you've never been ambitious enough for it to be money."
Damon's jaw clenched. His father's familiar bitterness crept in – the one where he mistook his son's disinterest in cutthroat ambition for weakness. It was so well-practiced it barely even stung Damon anymore. Why on earth would he ever admire his father's attitude to work when he couldn't admire his attitude to everything else in life?
But Damon didn't rise to the bait. Not this time. He ignored the jab and proceeded with his request. "I'm going to access the footage onsite. The only thing I need you to do is ignore any alerts you might get."
Giuseppe chuckled. "So, this is for a girl." The chuckle turned into a disappointed sigh. "As well as throwing away your ambition, you've thrown away your sanity for love."
Damon's annoyance grew. "Have you ever known me to be in love?"
"It only takes one woman."
"Then that's one more woman than you've ever loved."
Damon pinched his eyes closed the moment he said it. Not only had he just admitted to his father that he was in love, but now he'd brought his mother into this, opening up old wounds.
There was a brief pause, and then his father replied, "You'd be surprised, son. Don't make the same mistakes I did."
"Believe me," Damon gritted through his teeth, "I am actively avoiding all the mistakes you made. And there are plenty of them."
"Excellent," was Giuseppe's flat reply. "Then I'm going to help you."
The words were like an unexpected ceasefire. His father was going to help him? Did that mean he was going to ignore the alerts? Damon could barely contain his anticipation as he waited for his father to elaborate. And, as he waited, he could see Elijah coming out of Klaus's office, striding towards him. He held up a finger in Elijah's direction, indicating that he wasn't done with the call.
Finally, Giuseppe spoke. "Women cause nothing but pain, son. So, if I hear of even a peep from the Mikaelson residence that you are meddling with their security footage, I will notify Mikael before you've even had time to regret it."
With that, Giuseppe hung up.
Damon closed his eyes, deflated. He wasn't surprised – not really. Disappointed, sure. But surprise required some shred of hope, and deep down, Damon had known better than to expect anything else from Giuseppe Salvatore. He was a father who'd rather sabotage his own son than lift a finger to help. Still, it had hit him harder than he'd anticipated, landing like a punch to the ribs.
But the pain wasn't really his own – Damon had built up too many calluses over the years for his father to hurt him like that anymore. At least, not directly. The pain he felt was the guilt of swearing to Elena that he'd take care of it. And if there was one thing he hated more than asking his father for anything, it was the sick twist in his gut that came from letting her down. Now he had to go back to her with nothing but bad news and a broken promise.
His hand, which had been lifted to stall Elijah, dropped loosely to his side, heavy with defeat. Elijah took that as his cue and resumed his approach. Damon didn't look up as he stopped in front of him.
Not until Elijah shoved Stefan's phone in his face.
"Your brother was showing some childhood photos to Caroline while we were waiting. I'm sure you must have heard all her squeals while she fondled him like a cute puppy. You don't have to tell me that he's into her, since that was awkwardly obvious from the grin on his face," Elijah sniffed. He shook the phone to regain Damon's attention, which he was quickly losing. "Tell me what you see in this particular photo."
Damon rolled his eyes. "I'm not in the mood to go down memory lane, Elijah."
"Tell me what you see in this photo," Elijah repeated firmly.
Sighing, Damon fixed his sight on the photo. It was nothing interesting – a picture his father took of Damon and Stefan at a playground. One of their few, rare trips together. He studied the angle of the photo. Damn, his father couldn't even take a proper picture of his kids. Damon was half cut out of the frame, and Stefan was in the background, nearly suffering the same fate. There were a few other children and parents in the shot. "It's me and Stefan in a playground when we were children," he answered wearily.
"Wrong," Elijah stated. He pointed at four children on the screen. "This is you, Stefan, me, and Klaus in a playground when we were children."
Blinking at the screen, Damon studied the other two children carefully. The images were slightly out of focus, but he could see a resemblance. He didn't see why this was important enough to point out now though. "Great," Damon murmured dryly. "We met each other as kids once. Very cute. We'll talk about it later."
As Damon attempted to step to the side to move away, Elijah blocked him. "The camera isn't focused on you though," Elijah pointed out. "Who is it focused on?"
Damon looked once more at the image. Elijah was right, but again, Damon couldn't see the relevance of it. He stared at the unfamiliar figure for a moment and then admitted, "I don't know."
Elijah began to swipe through several pictures, with the same figure in the center of each photo. "You may not know who this is, Damon, but I do." Pressing a button, the screen turned black. "And I know the reason your father focused on them." He lowered the phone to his side, and he studied Damon closely. "I can tell by your expression that the conversation with your father didn't go too well."
"Your observation skills are as sharp as ever," Damon deadpanned.
Elijah ignored his remark and straightened his suit, apparently satisfied by whatever decision he was about to execute. "I suggest you tell Elena that it went well."
Damon's brows drew together. "Why would I do that? I'm not going to lie to her."
"It won't be a lie," Elijah replied, keeping his volume barely above a mumble. "It's simply delaying the truth."
Before he could follow up with another question, Damon felt a familiar presence at his side, and he then understood why Elijah had lowered his voice. Elena had approached quietly and cautiously, already sensing Damon's low mood.
"Well?" she asked gently. "How did it go? You don't look so good."
Damon looked in Elijah's direction for a final confirmation, only to discover that he had already turned and walked away without further explanation – because of course he had. Was it really too much for him to stick around as backup?
Biting back a sigh, Damon said to her, "I'm just in shock." That, at least, wasn't a lie. The real lie was still trapped in his throat, having a hard time crawling out of him. Damon hesitated for a second, focusing on Elena. She'd had more hope than he'd ever had. Maybe, for once, it was worth leaning into that. Maybe Elijah – for all his cryptic theatrics and vanishing acts – actually knew something Damon didn't. Maybe hope wasn't so stupid after all.
Elena was still watching him with those wide, searching eyes, her anticipation balanced delicately between them. Damon felt the weight of it – how badly she wanted this to work. And how badly he didn't want to be the one to let her down.
Damon finally released the words that tasted of bile. "My father agreed to ignore the alerts."
Elena's shoulders relaxed with relief, a smile breaking out across her face. And, for just a moment, Damon felt like maybe the lie wasn't such a bad one.
Not if Elijah was right.
Not if the lie was about to become the truth.
Chapter 31: Something Borrowed, Something Bullsh*t
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-One: Something Borrowed, Something Bullsh*t
Elena Gilbert
"I should have driven my own car to the wedding," Caroline grumbled from the backseat, behind Damon. "I didn't know I was going to be sitting near this smelly thing." She glared at Polly beside her, perched in a large travel cage, enjoying the breeze from the open window, beak open, wings half-spread, like she was performing a fully-feathered Earth Song tribute.
Elena turned her head and chuckled. "Hey... that's no way to talk about Damon." She glanced at Damon, waiting for his comeback. But his eyelids were drooping, and she shoved him awake angrily. "You're falling asleep again!"
Damon suddenly snapped his eyes wide open in defiance. "Never been more awake."
"Pull over now," Elena demanded. "I'm driving." As he pulled to the edge of the road, she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned in her seat, ready to scold him. "My parents died because my father fell asleep at the wheel, Damon."
He removed his own seatbelt, but remained in place, his head dropping back onto the headrest with fatigue. "Sorry, it's been a long night."
Elena narrowed her eyes at him. "Where were you all night?"
"That's the kind of question a girlfriend would ask." He rolled his head at her, smiling drowsily. "Are you my girlfriend?"
"No..." Remembering their upcoming roles, Elena shot him a sharp smirk and countered, "But I am your sister this weekend."
Damon grimaced, opened his door, and got out of the car. "Don't remind me. I'm still clinging to a reality where my relatives don't double as my turn-ons."
As they switched seats, Elena realized it should have been a statement that made her smile – except it didn't. Because words like that should have meant Damon was easy for her to seduce – except he wasn't. It irritated her, and she wasn't quite sure where she was going wrong.
An hour before she'd finished work yesterday, Damon left to check on Rose & Savior and later knocked on her apartment door, holding a grocery bag of raw ingredients to cook her a frustratingly long recipe. Not that she minded him cooking for her. She just never thought she'd be jealous of a wooden spoon when she saw him licking white wine sauce from it.
Then, after serving her a homemade seafood dish that Siren Shelley's would have killed to have on their menu, he went straight to cleaning up the kitchen. And he cleaned a lot. It was very peculiar. He should have been happy that his father agreed to help him. But, instead, he looked like he was distracting himself from something.
So, after Elena had eaten, she went to slip into something more comfortable in the form of a thigh-length checkered shirt and very little underneath, telling herself that if he needed a distraction, she'd give him one. But the moment she stepped out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, he was already picking up a call on his phone.
To her credit, her entrance still worked, since he answered the call with a "Hey-aaaaaaaay" which gradually filtered off the further his gaze swept up her legs.
The way he couldn't take his eyes off her throughout the call was pretty flattering.
The step back he took, like she was a panther about to pounce on him? Not so much.
Then, all too abruptly, he hung up, muttered something about meeting Elijah, and said he'd be out late. So, Elena took a spare key to her apartment from a small terracotta pot and handed it to him, telling him to come back and let himself in.
He stared at the key. Really stared at it. With a growing smile that took over his face. Then he quickly kissed her on the forehead and pranced away like Charlie Bucket on his way to a chocolate factory.
That damn forehead again. Maybe if she drew a pair of lips there, he might aim for somewhere else next time.
So, that was yesterday. She was indeed asleep before he returned, and this morning she'd found him passed out on her couch – fully dressed, jacket still on, dark shadows under his eyes, and his phone slipping from his fingers. Whatever he'd been doing all night, it hadn't given him much rest, and waking him so early only confirmed that.
But she wasn't going to lose hope yet. She still had a weekend of wine, cocktail dresses, vineyard views, and luxury manor bedrooms on the horizon. And, if all went well, they'd have a reason to celebrate.
Elena got into the driver's side and began to pull away, while Damon reclined his seat back until the headrest gently collided with Polly's cage. He closed his eyes with a sigh of relief. Then cracked one open again, sensing Caroline's stare burning through the gap between the seats.
"You could have switched seats with me," she pointed out judgmentally, leaning forward.
"You could have accepted a lift from Klaus," Damon retorted, closing his eyes again to block her out.
Caroline grunted dismissively and slumped back; at the same time, Polly rhythmically rapped her beak against the cage in her direction. "That would just be exchanging one annoying creature for another," she grumbled. "I don't see why you had to bring Polly anyway."
"Because there's nobody else to look after her," Elena reminded her. "We're attending the wedding, Stefan is coming up early tomorrow for the meeting with Mikael, and Enzo and Bonnie are already at another hotel nearby so they can get to the Mikaelson house quickly."
Caroline huffed. "Then make sure you don't let her out of the room. I swear that feathered thing has deliberately mimicked everything my mother has ever said to me since I was ten years old."
Polly, as if on cue, squawked out a butchered, "Naughty Coraline!"
"See! She can't even pronounce my name correctly!" Caroline's jaw tightened, and she swerved toward her mother's pet, looking it in the face. "My name's not Coraline. Coraline is a girl who meets crazy people with buttons for eyes. Which is exactly how you'll end up if I catch you flying around the venue."
"She'll stay in the room," Elena reassured her calmly.
"Good," Caroline replied curtly. "She's embarrassing."
Elena rolled her eyes, then stole a quick glance at Damon – eyes closed, still reclined, and still annoyingly handsome even when half-conscious – and tried with great difficulty to focus on the road. It was ridiculous, really, how he could be infuriating one second and quietly beautiful the next. It sent her hormones into overdrive, and not the safely superficial lustful ones either. This soft and silent Damon made her want things she had no business wanting, like snuggling on top of him and re-enacting that neck nuzzling moment in the lodge.
The turning off the highway led them closer to wine country. Rows of lush grapevines began flanking both sides of the road like they were trying to outdo each other in aesthetics. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in waves across the hills, and a fresh scent drifted through the open rear window, earthy and organic. It was incredibly charming and peaceful. The sweet chirping of birds was the only real sound, which was interrupted very occasionally by Polly squawking and babbling nonsense.
It was another fifteen minutes of driving before they reached the gates to the vineyard estate, a dangling wooden sign scorched with the name Mulberry Grove greeting them. Elena slowed the car as they rolled through a winding path toward a stately stone manor that was partially veiled in climbing ivy. There were a few cars already parked out front, and an anxious-looking wedding coordinator with a clipboard who was directing bellhops.
Elena parked in a spot close to the entrance, opposite a large, rock-lined duck pond. She stopped with a sudden jolt that made Damon finally sit up, stretching and cracking his neck like he'd just awoken from a coma. Taking out her phone, Elena started typing a message to Elijah to find out where he was, when a hand gently knocked at her window.
Elijah, Marcel, and Klaus were already outside, waiting for them.
As they got out of the car and grabbed their bags, a bellhop emerged from the front steps, offering to help with their luggage with all the urgency and eagerness expected from someone who knew of Mikael Mikaelson's reputation. He froze mid-smile as Elena pulled Polly's cage from the rear seat.
"Erm, this is unusual," he admitted, being handed the cage. "I know the venue doesn't allow dogs."
"Oh, that's fine," Caroline piped up chirpily. "Just release her into the wild and we'll continue like nothing happened."
Elena gave the man a sheepish smile and pointed out, "She's not a dog."
Caroline crouched down until she was eye-level with Polly, "Bark like a dog," she demanded forcefully.
Behind her, ducks landed on the pond and started quacking. Polly imitated them.
"Yep... she's a duck," Damon smirked, then waved his hand backward, gesturing to the pond. "Apparently, your venue permits ducks."
Visibly out of his depth and too underpaid to argue, the bellhop shuffled off with the cage and bags, quietly retreating back inside the building.
Elijah stepped next to Elena, handing her the engagement ring she was supposed to wear for the weekend. She slipped it on as he spoke. "The wedding coordinator has informed us that Rebekah and Kai will be down soon to greet us. Marcel has a backstory for the both of you, so if they ask any questions about your relationship, let him fill them in. But, in short, you and Marcel have been together for six months and engaged for three."
"That's a fast engagement," Damon pointed out skeptically.
"My aim is to fluster my sister and provoke her jealousy," Elijah explained. "A quick engagement will do that."
"So, what's our backstory?" Damon asked, rocking on his heels, looking either a little too anxious or a little too eager.
Elijah turned to him, staring him up and down like he was regretting this already. "Just follow my lead," he replied with a sniff. "And, whatever you do, do not elaborate."
Before Damon could ask another question, Klaus tilted his chin toward the manor steps. "Here's our sister now."
Out of Mulberry Grove's grand double doors stepped Rebekah Mikaelson wearing a soft yellow halter-neck dress down to her knees. Her blonde hair was curled in polished waves, and she descended the half-dozen steps with a regal grace. Beside her walked her fiancé, Kai Parker, wearing an all-black suit that made him look more prepared for a funeral than a wedding. He grinned when he spotted Elijah, took Rebekah's hand, and increased their pace. Rebekah shot him a look of unappreciation for making her stumble slightly when she hit the gravel after the final step.
Taking their positions, Caroline looped her arm through Klaus's with a resigned huff. Damon slid closer to Elijah, arms crossed and jaw set. Finally, Elena moved beside Marcel, who startled her by immediately lacing his fingers through her right hand. For a moment, she struggled to react, her fingers remaining straight and rigid. But she soon remembered her duty and clasped her hand around his. When Marcel's thumb brushed gently over Elena's knuckles, Damon's head turned. He leaned forward a little, gaze locked on their joined hands like they were committing a crime in broad daylight. Elena felt the heat of it without even looking. Damon was certainly paying attention.
Rebekah had been mid-smile as she approached, but the second she got a good look at the group waiting for her – at Elena and Marcel specifically – her expression crumbled instantly. Her eyes dropped down to their linked hands, and her features then morphed from flat to tense. She came to a sudden halt a few feet away and clutched Kai's arm, stopping him in his tracks with enough force to cause whiplash.
She breathed heavily for a moment, her eyes snapping between both of her brothers with a look of betrayal. "What are they doing here?!" she shouted distressfully.
"Apologies for not informing you sooner," Elijah said casually. He held out an open palm, sweeping it towards Elena. "This is my date's sister, Elena Gilbert, who I informed you was coming –"
"You didn't tell me it was her," Rebekah spat venomously.
Elijah's tone remained light and breezy as he rotated his head between Elena and Rebekah. "Oh, you already know each other? That's convenient. But I understand your concern, sister, as I have only just discovered myself," he lied, "that Marcel Gerard is her date... as well as her fiancé."
With a deliberate movement, Elena brought her left hand from her side, letting it rest at the top of her thigh. The ring that was sparkling on Elena's finger immediately caught Rebekah's eye, and her chest jerked, appearing like she might throw up.
"I do hope there won't be any reservations about them staying here for the weekend," Elijah smiled. "After all, I do enjoy a reunion. Don't you?"
Chapter 32: Gay on the Streets, Straight in the Sheets
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Two: Gay on the Streets, Straight in the Sheets
Damon Salvatore
Damon had never had to juggle so many thoughts at the same time. Multitasking was definitely not his forte. So he was quite envious of the approach that Rebekah took to being overwhelmed – which was to break away from the group, go traipsing around the manor grounds, ranting to herself, and screaming at ducks when they wandered across her path.
At the back of his mind was the information he'd found out about his father. He could put that on hold for now. He and Elijah had decided that there was a good chance Enzo could pull off the footage transfer without triggering any alerts. If Enzo did pull an oops-a-daisy, well, then Damon had an ace up his sleeve. Trouble was, if his father still refused to ignore the alert, Damon's leverage could end up putting himself at risk. It wasn't ideal.
But that was tomorrow's problem. Today's problem came in the form of a hot brunette that he was madly in love with – and was getting a little too relaxed around him in the clothing department. As in, where were her pants yesterday when she came strolling into the kitchen after dinner looking like she was searching for dessert? Perhaps he was being delusional, but was she... into him now?
And what did it mean when she gave him her spare key? Not that he was complaining, since it made him ecstatic, but surely only boyfriends got spare keys? Oh, and her landlord. Mmm, maybe her friends, too. Shit, was he still stuck in the friend zone? Friends generally wore pants around each other though, right?
He'd have to speak to her about it after the weekend was over. Put it all out in the open: he wanted a future with her. A future that, admittedly, remained absent of pants for both parties involved, but also contained lots of mushy declarations of love and the type of snuggles where they rotated in the night so they each had the chance to be the little spoon.
He could have remained on this topic – planning his future with Elena in his head – if it weren't for the condescending and extremely distracting smirk the little tit-weasel, Kai, was giving him. He had short, side-swept brown hair and a baby face that didn't blink, appearing like the mixed product of a choir boy and a serial killer. Damon should have been rooting for him and Elijah to get together, but the way Kai was assessing him with that fake smile – like he wanted to push Damon down a deep well and pass it off as a pat on the back – irked him.
Don't take it personally, Damon reminded himself, it just means the plan is working.
Elijah seemed to notice something calculating in Kai's eyes, so drew the attention onto him. He wiggled a finger in the direction of Rebekah, who just kicked over a gardener's watering can. "Don't you want to... see to your bride-to-be?"
Kai briefly looked over his shoulder, sucked air sharply through his teeth, and then chuckled at the suggestion. "No, no, no, no," he tutted. "She's... erm..." He clicked his fingers until he came up with the politest word he could generate. "...a diva – and I love her for it – but she just needs to work it off."
"I'll go and speak to her," Marcel offered, releasing Elena's hand and walking towards Rebekah.
Kai turned as Marcel passed him, calling out, "Brave man! Be careful: she bites, scratches, and tends to grab hai –" Noticing Marcel's close-cropped fade, he laughed and batted his hand through the air. "Ah, you've got no hair – you're good! Carry on!" He exhaled contentedly as he faced the group again, tossed Damon a brief flicker of disdain, then his sight landed sweetly on Elijah. "You're looking divine as always, Elijah. And I see you've brought a little friend."
"My name's Damon," Damon said tightly, jamming himself into the conversation. Was this what it felt like for women when their boyfriend was getting hit on in front of them?
Kai clapped quickly and condescendingly. "You know your name! Well done! What other tricks have you got?"
Damon's lip curled into a snarl. "Oh, I've got a few."
Elijah grabbed hold of Damon's hand before it could ball into a fist. After flinching from surprise, Damon accepted it begrudgingly. It was nowhere near as soothing as Elena's, but his hand was still surprisingly soft. Having a rich, pampered boyfriend wasn't actually so bad.
"Please, don't antagonize my date, Kai," Elijah said, more a demand than a plea.
"I wouldn't even dream of it," Kai tittered, crossing his arms in front of him. "I must say though, Rebekah and I were surprised you were bringing a man as your date. A tad risky in front of your father and, quite frankly, you seemed so content in the closet that we assumed you'd pluck a lady friend from out of Narnia." He chuckled loudly.
"You mean, you were hoping I would," Elijah returned with a measured tone. "The illusion my father has of me is more for your sake than mine. But I'm not living a fake life and sacrificing what I want just to keep up appearances. That's your game, not mine."
Kai gasped dramatically, five fingertips splayed across his chest. "Elijah, what are you suggesting? I'll have you know, Rebekah and I can't keep our hands off each other."
All heads turned, hearing the loud crack of Rebekah slapping Marcel across the face in the distance.
"Not being able to keep your hands off men is something you and my sister have in common, then," Elijah said, returning his sight to Kai.
Sighing, Kai replied, "I wish I could say the same. I could fire a cannon between you two." His eyes lasered in on the gap between Elijah and Damon, their joined hands the only indicator that they were romantic partners rather than business partners. He tutted, wagging his finger. "You can't fool me, Elijah. Admit you scraped a last-minute fling from a dating app. He's not your type."
"It's our one-month anniversary – still in the honeymoon stage, lots of sex. And a cute behind is exactly my type." And with that, Elijah released Damon's hand, reached down, and gave his ass a confident, full-palm squeeze.
Damon's lips instantly vanished into his mouth. He forgot how to breathe or blink, and every muscle went rigid with restraint. His soul, however, had leapt out of his body; the incorporeal entity now air-boxing Elijah's jaw in a way that Damon wished he could do in real life. He knew this was part of the deal, but damn it, why did men always have to go straight for groping? He suddenly had a surge of sympathy for all women suffering this type of shit, and he officially retracted his earlier appreciation for having a soft-handed boyfriend now that his soft hand was not-so-softly on his ass.
Finally managing to flatten his mouth into a tight smile, Damon's eyes flicked to Kai, who arched a single eyebrow.
"He looks... uncomfortable."
Damon forcibly untensed his jaw. "Just not used to public displays of affection."
Elijah removed his hand from Damon's ass and stroked him tenderly across his cheeks instead. Mercifully, it was his facial cheeks this time. "I'm sorry, my love," Elijah crooned dotingly. "Very insensitive of me... especially in front of your sister."
"Oh, I don't mind," Elena piped up. She leaned forward slightly, catching Damon's slow head turn and eyes that bulged daggers at her. She stifled a smirk, then disappeared back in line alongside Elijah.
"Still, accept my apology," Elijah said, continuing to trail his fingers along Damon's face. After a moment, the contact stopped, but was followed by something worse. "Kissy."
Klaus, behind them, disguised a sudden burst of laughter as a cough. Caroline firmly elbowed him in the ribs as punishment.
Kissy?! No way... the man did not have the damn audacity to ask for a kissy!
But Damon didn't even need to turn to sense Elijah's lips puckering up beside him. It was the ultimate FML moment of all time. Shit, shit, shit!
Taking a deep breath, Damon knew he couldn't hesitate for long without arousing suspicion. He closed his eyes and remembered he was doing this for Elena.
You can't see him with your eyes closed, so just pretend he's Elena, Damon told himself, taking a deep breath. Keep it light, keep it dry, and if he dares try to slip you the tongue, just fake a heart attack, and then beat the shit out of him later.
Damon turned his head in Elijah's direction, puckered his lips, and waited for the inevitable.
Elijah leaned in, their lips connecting in the shortest, driest, most contractual kiss in romantic history. And it was damn well lucky Elijah had kept it that brief, because for that split second, Damon forgot the plan, the lie, and the audience, and the moment their lips made contact, he jerked back instinctively, like he'd had a static shock straight to the mouth.
There was stubble! Bleurgh, there was stubble! The man was clean-shaven, so why the hell did he feel so prickly already?! And how was this appealing to women in any way, shape, or form?
Damon fought an urge to wipe his mouth like a toddler who'd been kissed by an old auntie wearing too much lipstick. And there'd be more of this five o'clock shadow bullshit if Kai didn't start demonstrating some possessiveness soon.
"That's better," Elijah said soothingly, stroking Damon's chest in large round circles. "Shall I order us room service later, darling?"
"Oh, you'd better order me room service later, babe. Lots of it," Damon trilled through a gritted smile, hoping Elijah could sense the threat. The asshole owed him a banquet for this.
With a final pat to the chest, Elijah added playfully, "Greedy chops. You work up quite an appetite during sex, don't you?"
"Oh, I'll be shoving all sorts of things where you least expect them, sweet cheeks," Damon replied tightly.
Kai was shaking his head at them, his smirk forced. "Well, aren't you the world's most nauseating couple? I'll give the relationship another week, tops."
For crying out loud, what was it going to take to convince this guy? The sooner Kai broke and demanded Elijah back, the sooner this stupid charade could stop. Damon looked Kai dead in the eyes. Time to get real. "Are you jealous, or something?"
"Why would I be jealous?" Kai asked smugly. "I'm getting married this weekend, and – since it will be delightfully cringe-free – you two won't be sharing a room."
Damon tried not to look visibly relieved. Being coerced into making sex noises every time Kai walked past their room didn't appeal to him.
"Why not?" Elijah asked, feigning outrage. "My father doesn't know we're a couple."
"No, but I do," Kai grinned. "Got to keep up with tradition." The crunch of heels on gravel signaled to Kai that his fiancée had now calmed down enough to rejoin the group. He didn't even turn his head as she stopped beside him. "Better now, my little rage muffin?"
"Much," she exhaled, composing herself with a swish of her blonde hair. She ignored Marcel as he skimmed past her and returned to his position beside Elena. "What were we talking about?"
"I was just about to explain to Elijah the room allocations," Kai said, then addressed the group. "I'm sure you can all appreciate, with your last-minute invitations, that room availability was limited. Therefore, Elijah will now be sharing with Klaus and 317."
"Who's 317?" Damon asked.
"We don't invite our guests by name," Rebekah explained. "Our family's friends have enemies too. It protects them to stay anonymous. 317 is Marcel. We'll set him up with a cot bed."
Marcel smirked at her, even though she refused to look at him. "As in the type of bed that you bitched about when I dragged you camping with me once? Are you trying to get your revenge on me for that?"
"Yes," she said flatly, with no further elaboration on the matter. But then her head dipped, a muscle in her cheek twitching, like the memory almost made her smile by accident. A moment later, her head rose again, the mask returned. "365 is Klaus's date, and she'll be sharing with me."
"Me?!" Caroline squeaked in shock.
"Yes," Rebekah replied authoritatively. "My brother has a habit of plotting against me, so it's best to keep you close. Also, you look too good for him, so maybe I can help you find someone better."
Caroline grinned at Klaus. He rolled his eyes.
"Finally, there's a room for 187 and 143," Rebekah continued. "The siblings."
With the only real siblings in front of them being Elijah and Klaus, it took a second for that unfamiliar title to register. Then Damon glimpsed at Elena, only to see her head turned, already looking at him, and his stomach did a low, traitorous swoop. Of course fate would lock him in a room with the one person he was desperately trying not to ravish.
"Damon and I are sharing a room together?" Elena's question – directed at Rebekah – was deliberately neutral, but her eyes remained fixed on Damon, an eyebrow raised and her lip quirking like it wasn't exactly the worst idea.
Damn it, he wasn't strong enough for this. His willpower was already swaying like a Jenga tower in an earthquake, and now Princess Mood Swings had just handed Elena a wrecking ball.
Rebekah glanced at Elena reluctantly. "I would have thought it to be more convenient for you, given his... special care requirements." Then she tilted her head sympathetically at Damon, her bottom lip jutting out like he was a child with a boo-boo.
He chuckled nervously. "And what exactly did Elijah tell you about my requirements?"
"Nothing too embarrassing," she replied. "But there is a European-style bidet in the bathroom, so hopefully that will be useful to you."
What... the... hell? Elijah seriously needed to elaborate on this damn surgery he'd supposedly had... and why it benefited from hydro-powered butt maintenance.
Rebekah stepped forward slightly, her eyes sweeping over Damon's face suspiciously. "I thought Elena had a younger brother. You look older."
Cool, so now he was in need of Botox as well as a bidet. Damon shot her an unappreciative smile. "I've had a hard life."
She accepted this answer easily enough. "Elena does have a habit of making lives difficult." Stepping back again and taking her fiancé by the hand, she sniffed dismissively, like her interactions with them had grown tiresome. "Well, see yourselves in. I have other guests to greet and no burning desire to spend more time on any of you."
Kai tittered beside her. "Baby, you are all claws, and I love it."
From behind, Klaus drawled, "We'll see you at the wedding ceremony then, dear sister. I imagine it will be beautiful. What's the color scheme?"
Rebekah proudly tilted up her chin, still slightly wary of the compliment. "Lavender."
"A lavender wedding," Klaus mused. "How appropriate."
Jaw tense and nose flaring, Rebekah narrowed her eyes into slits, then turned so abruptly she nearly dislocated Kai's shoulder. "Come, darling," she snapped, tugging his arm. "We're wasting daylight."
Kai looked back at the group, shrugging as he was pulled away, like a child being yanked from a picnic he'd just gate-crashed. "Ugh, she's so bossy – I'm obsessed."
The moment their backs were turned, and they were out of earshot, Damon said very slowly and sternly to Elijah, "Just so you know, if you ask for one more 'kissy' from me this weekend, I will slap you."
Elijah pondered this. "That might not be a bad idea to rouse Kai's protectiveness."
"Consider it a guarantee then," Damon replied. He then turned to Elijah, his face scrunched up in confusion. "What do you see in him anyway? The guy's all bite and no leash."
"It's a mystery, isn't it?" Elijah remarked airily. "Who knows why we fall for people with such feisty temperaments. Are those bruises Elena gave you healing, by the way?"
Damon rolled his eyes. The man had a point.
Elijah turned to face Klaus and Caroline, the group now standing in a circle. "There will be drinks in the hotel lounge in an hour. Now that Rebekah and Kai have had their emotional equilibrium disrupted, it's time for them to have the opportunity to connect with Marcel and me alone. I've arranged for Caroline and Elena to visit the spa for a few hours. Damon, you're welcome to join them, or make yourself scarce by other means."
"I need an early night, so that's fine by me," Damon responded wearily. With Elena out of the room getting spa treatments, hopefully he would be asleep when she got back, so he didn't have to witness her in whatever leg-baring temptation she called sleepwear.
"So, what part do I play in this?" Klaus asked. "I assume I'm not getting a mani-pedi or my aura cleansed?"
Elijah replied evenly, "Klaus, your role is to ensure that Rebekah and Kai remain separated throughout the evening in order for Marcel and I to make our moves. This will conveniently leave all present and former lovers without their buffers."
"I think I'd prefer the mani-pedi."
"Tough," Elijah snipped. "Is everyone clear on how they're spending the evening?"
With nods all round, the group then proceeded towards the hotel entrance. Damon had barely stepped into the marble-floored lobby before being hit with the scent of wealth, wood, and lilies. It was like a period drama backdrop – oak panels, glowing chandeliers, and oil paintings – the kind of place where even the ghosts had cufflinks. He felt like he'd just strolled onto the set of Downton Abbey.
Eventually, each of them gathered their room keys and vanished one-by-one down various corridors, their bellhops leading the way with their bags.
The bellhop who guided Elena and Damon to their room had their duffel bag straps flung over each shoulder and held Polly's cage out in front of him like it was an oil lamp guiding the way. Polly clung onto the side of the cage that was closest to Damon, her eyes fixed on him like even she knew he was doomed.
They were led up one flight of stairs and through a series of winding hallways, past large paintings of aristocratic ancestors, hung high enough for them to look down their noses at visitors and judge them for being peasants. Damon remained silent as he walked beside Elena, trying not to notice the way her arm occasionally brushed his as they moved. She spoke casually about everything that was taking place tomorrow: the early morning meeting Stefan was due to have with Mikael, the updates she had been texting Bonnie and Enzo, the dress she was planning on wearing – in fact, everything but the assigned room they were about to share.
Damon felt like he was fighting for his sanity. Could he wait until after the weekend to tell her how he felt? He could do it the moment they were alone. But what if she didn't feel the same way, and he ended up stuck sharing a room with a woman who played hacky sack with his heart?
This was ridiculous. He had to focus. Focus on the plan. Focus on being gay for the weekend. Focus on Elena being his sister for the weekend. Focus on using a bidet to relieve some mysterious affliction for the weekend. Focus on anything but how much he wanted her. But, no, his brain wasn't having it. It remained filled with one devastatingly beautiful brunette, and a single, desperate hope that the room contained twin beds with an ocean separating them.
They reached their room, and the bellhop opened the door for them with a courteous smile, stepping aside for Damon and Elena to enter. As the man in the trim navy blazer placed the cage and luggage down on the floor, Damon dug into his pocket for a note and slipped the tip into the guy's hand.
Damon closed the door behind him, turning around just as Elena stopped in the middle of the room.
She was looking at something.
The room itself was luxuriously nice, with two double-lancet arch windows, velvet curtains, plush carpet, and wall art that probably cost more than his car.
But Elena wasn't paying attention to that.
She was staring at the bed.
A bed, that when Damon stepped closer, turned out to be a sprawling, pristine, king-sized, mahogany monster with an upholstered button-back headboard that no doubt saved countless women from the type of concussions that occurred from being railed like the man was possessed. And, right now, Damon worried that possessed man was going to be him. There was no couch. No chaise lounge. Not even an armchair he could throw himself onto for the night. Just the One Bed. The quintessential romantic novel chokehold.
Damon said nothing. The room had betrayed him. His luck had betrayed him. His libido, however, was getting ideas and gave a traitorous little fist-pump.
Elena crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. "I think the universe is trying to tell us something, Damon."
Yep. That he had three choices: come clean, combust, or come like she'd just signed a lease on his dick.
He sighed.
He needed to tell her how he felt. Tonight.
Chapter 33: The Battle of Side Boob
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Battle of Side Boob
Elena Gilbert
"Damn... dam-dam-dam-dam-dam..."
Elena opened her eyes to the early morning sun lighting up the room, and to the sight of Polly's cage, parked three feet from her side of the bed, and three times the size it had been yesterday. Inside, the bird was softly chanting the mild swear words she'd picked up from Damon the night before.
Polly's feathers suddenly puffed up like she was about to sneeze out the next words. "Craaaaaap... shit."
It seemed she'd picked up a few stronger words too.
Elena let out a silent laugh through her nose, but remained quiet and still, wondering when she should wake Damon, who was lying on his side behind her, one arm beneath her head, the other slung over her waist, trapping her in the surprisingly willing hostage position she'd been in all night.
Before joining Caroline at the spa yesterday, Damon had told her he wanted to speak to her when she got back. Except when she got back, he was already asleep in the bed. He must have been shattered. Which is why she was surprised that he'd made it a priority to clip together all the extra attachments to Polly's cage, turning it from a two-foot carrier to a six-foot wheelable bird palace. Even for someone with engineering skills, it wasn't easy to put together, so it must have taken him ages. Polly was one lucky bird.
"Dumbass."
And now she was also a foul-mouthed one.
Elena had tried to wake Damon last night. After changing into a cotton camisole and shorts set, she'd crawled onto the bed and lightly shook Damon's chest, asking him if he still wanted to talk. He was a deep sleeper. It took a few attempts to rouse him, and then, on her last try, she finally got a reaction.
His arms quickly snapped around her like a Venus flytrap, pulling her down and clamping her to his chest.
The guy had arms like a lumberjack, and with her face muffled against his undershirt, no amount of pushing loosened his hold on her. So, with a lot of huffing and puffing, she rotated beneath his grip, gasped a lungful of air, and was ready to shout at him to wake up, when they rolled onto their sides... and she suddenly found herself... extremely cozy.
She supposed this was karma. After spending a night together where he was restrained to the bed, it was only fair that it was now her turn. At least, that was the excuse she told herself as she wiggled against the curve of his body, falling asleep in a warm spooning position. Apart from loosening his hold on her a little during the night, he remained in exactly the same spot, and Elena still had little desire to move.
But they were due at breakfast that morning, so they both needed to wake up soon.
She took a moment to enjoy the last few seconds in his arms. His chest was a muscle-heated wall behind her, his arm a weighted bicep blanket, and his fingers twitched slightly against her stomach, like they were aware she was awake and prepared to tighten at the first sign of escape. She inched her head back slightly, letting his nose graze the side of her neck. Her feet slid against his, only for him to nudge back in a lazy little game of sleep-footsie.
With a subtle shift, she molded her body more snugly against his, and he responded to her movement by holding her tighter. The closer she was to him, the more ignited her body felt. It melted against him like it had no morals. Which, to be fair, was now accurate for everything south of her brain. It was probably unethical to be this turned on by a sleeping man. Then again, he had started it. Technically.
She went for the kill and pressed her backside into his hips, and the contact was met with firm confirmation that Damon was certainly not dreaming about pancakes.
She felt a throbbing between her legs that made her tighten her thighs together. This was definitely inappropriate. She should move.
But she didn't. Of course she didn't. Half-asleep and half-aroused, she was a junkie to her hormones and had the self-control of a raccoon stuck in a vending machine.
So, there was only one solution. She had to wake Damon up and let him deal with the situation however he felt fit. She just had to hope he dealt with it by taking her clothes off.
"Damon," she whispered. No response. She said it again, louder.
"Hmmm?" came his reply.
She turned her head as far as it would go. His eyes remained closed. "We're spooning," she whispered, matter-of-factly.
"Hmmm," was his unconcerned, repetitive response.
"Your dick's digging into my butt," she said, still in a whispered tone, but slightly louder.
"It's an early riser," he mumbled, still not opening his eyes. His arm tightened slightly, like he was tucking her in. "So are you, apparently. Shhh. Go back to sleep."
Elena glanced at the bedside clock. "We need to be at the breakfast buffet in an hour."
"Fifty-nine minutes of more sleep then," he muttered into her neck.
"I think we should do something else," she began.
"Hmmm?" came his favorite utterance of the morning.
"I think we should sleep together."
"We are sleeping together," Damon murmured hazily. "Well, I am. You're not doing a good job of it."
Elena rolled her eyes. It was like trying to wake him from the dead. Elena rotated within his grip, causing him to groan in protest, until she stopped, fully facing him. "Damon, I'm talking about sex."
One eye sprang open and scanned her face, assessing if she was serious. He must have decided that she was, since he swiftly stuck a wrench in that idea by saying, "Not now. Sleep first. Sex talk later," and closing his eye again.
This man was infuriating. All that flirting and what? Now that they were in the friend zone, it was too late? Well, their spooning position certainly didn't scream platonic, and neither did his morning wood. Maybe this was some kind of reverse psychology, and if he was trying to drive her insane from lust, it was working. Mission very much accomplished.
Or maybe it wasn't about teasing or timing. What if the chase had been more exciting than the catch? She looked over the bed at the position they were in. They were cozy. They were comfortable. Neither of those were sexy. She couldn't deny that they were close now, but was there such a thing as too close? Her mind kept circling back to confusion. Either he didn't want her anymore, or he wanted her too much to risk it – and she needed to know which it was.
Elena leaned back slightly. "Are you not attracted to me?"
This time, both of Damon's eyes shot open. He looked annoyed at the question. "Of course I am."
Elena smiled and eased into him again. If the risk-taker didn't know how to take a risk with her, she would just have to take the lead. "Then... how about sex first, sleep later?" She slowly trailed her fingers down Damon's chest and towards the one part of him that was alert and ready for action.
But before her hand could reach the point of no return, Damon quickly grabbed her wrist and swung her onto her back, pinning her arm to the pillow. Since his other arm was already trapped beneath her head, he ended up rolling on top of her.
"Elena, I can't," he growled in frustration.
"Why not?" she snapped, equally frustrated. "Don't you want me?"
"Does this feel like I don't want you?"
Elena gasped as Damon pushed his groin between her legs, the hardness rubbing against the crotch of her flimsy pajama shorts, leaving nothing to the imagination. She swallowed and tried to regain her breath. "Then tell me what's stopping you," she pleaded.
The annoyance that had overtaken Damon's face gently melted away. His hand slipped from her wrist as he leaned on his elbows, hovering above her. Eyes locked on hers, his features wavered, like there was a war behind them.
"I've..." His voice suddenly faltered. His lips clamped shut, and for a second, it looked like he was forcing himself to bleed for her. His fingers now trailed slowly up and down Elena's cheek, and he let the silence stretch until the weight of it became unbearable.
The words finally released from him, slow and gentle. "I'm... falling for you, Elena."
Elena's breath held.
For a second, she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. But something had certainly registered, since her pulse was surging like her body was celebrating with an adrenaline rush.
The air finally left her lungs in a slow, stunned exhale. She'd braced herself for excuses, maybe even rejection – but not that. Not something that sounded so dangerously real. Her stomach flipped, heart stumbling into panic, because she wasn't sure what scared her more: that he'd said it… or that she wasn't entirely sure she didn't feel the same way.
"Elena, you need to say something," Damon begged.
Say something? He'd just dropped a romantic nuke on her. She needed time to recover. She needed time to think. On the one hand, he was the type of man she'd always wanted – the type that set her whole body on fire. On the other hand, this was Damon Salvatore: stalker, key thief, apartment invader, kiss-chaser, passenger seat poacher, elevator saboteur, kidnapper, shower crasher, and almost a reckless road napper. He was a romantic liability. As in, he was so chaotic that he might literally set her whole body on fire one day.
Elena was torn. Deep down, she was a romantic, and Damon was exactly the type of man she wrote about. She loved the men she wrote about – they were passionate, spontaneous, protective, and loyal. But they were also hot-headed, boundary-blind, unpredictable, and high-risk.
So, had Damon been right all along? Did she really want that type of man? Her father wasn't as much of a risk-taker as Damon, yet he was still too proud, too stubborn, too convinced that he was invincible. His belief that endurance was proof of devotion caused him to drive while exhausted, and his death could have left her mother heartbroken if she'd lived long enough to know his fate.
Elena's heart was racing.
Did she want a man who made her heart race... or one who let it rest?
"Say anything," Damon begged again.
Tell him you feel the same way. "I think I feel pre-cum on my shorts."
"Not that."
Elena took a deep breath. "Damon, I..." Love you. "... need to take this slow."
Damon looked more confused than disappointed. "We're in bed together, you made a grab for my dick, and my pre-cum's on your shorts. I think we're beyond taking it slow."
Elena tried to shape her features into a flirty smile. She toyed with the neckline of his undershirt. "Can't we just... have some fun... and see where this goes?"
"Can't you just tell me how you feel about me?"
Elena scrunched up her nose. "It's... complicated."
With an exasperated groan, Damon rolled off her and onto his back beside her. Not an erection in sight, Elena noticed. The phrase "It's complicated" definitely killed the mood.
But, honestly, what could she say? I think I feel the same, Damon, but I'm worried about being with a man who would probably consider it a fun idea to take our one-year-old child tandem skydiving for its birthday? She needed time to see what their future could really look like together. At the moment, she just couldn't picture it.
She rolled onto her side to face him. "What's wrong with making love before being in love?" she asked. "Plenty of people do it."
"I'm in too deep for that," Damon murmured, running his hands over his face. "I need to know that I have a future with you."
Didn't she just say out loud, albeit in her head, that she couldn't picture that yet? Urgh, it really was complicated. This wasn't a novel where she could just write herself a happy ending. This was messy, unscripted, imperfect real life. So, why couldn't they enjoy the chemistry they had in the meantime? She could figure the rest out later.
Were they going to just be "on hold" until then? She'd die of sexual frustration, and then it would be yet another thing she'd blame on Damon.
Elena sat upright, her eyebrows lowering. The more she thought about this, the more aggravated she became. She wanted him, and he wanted her. Why the hell was he making this so damn difficult?
She suddenly swung her legs over him, placing herself firmly on his groin as she demanded, "Kiss me."
Damon's face battled through a series of emotions: amused, confused, and a little annoyed at her determination. "What? No!"
She widened her legs, deepening the push against him, grinding gently, as she said, "That's your final answer then?"
As Damon clamped his teeth together in restraint, Mr Happy began to make an appearance again, determined to get a say on the matter. "Jesus Christ, Elena! Not until I know how you feel about me!"
Elena rolled her tongue against her cheek, cocked her head, and said tartly, "Fine." She climbed off him and stumbled off the bed.
Damon quickly shuffled to the edge of the bed and sat upright. "Elena, don't be angry."
"I'm not angry, Damon," she said with an eerie calmness. "You may not want me until I have an answer, but that –" She pointed down at the erection poking up between his legs. "– certainly does. Let's see who breaks first, shall we?"
Damon's eyes twitched suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said," Elena replied with forced sweetness. "I need a shower. Feel free to join me if you change your mind." And, with that, she turned her back to him, grabbed the hem of her camisole and pulled it off over her head, making sure she was angled in just the right way to give Damon a flash of bare side boob.
She started walking towards the shower as she dropped the camisole onto the floor. "Game on, Salvatore."
She sauntered away, hearing Polly repeat her chant of "Damn-dam-dam-dam-dam-dam..." like she was taunting Damon with the words. And just before closing the bathroom door, Elena also heard Damon release a muffled, tortured roar of defeat into a pillow, like a man realizing he'd be pants-down and pride-gone by lunchtime.
She smirked. Game on? For him, it was already game over.
Chapter 34: Killing Me Softly With Birdsong
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Four: Killing Me Softly With Birdsong
Damon Salvatore
"Pssst!"
Stefan stopped in the middle of the walkway, first glancing back over his shoulder toward the hotel foyer, then poking his head out the nearby patio doors, which were framed by tall, gridded windows that overlooked the gardens. When he couldn't see anyone, he continued in the direction of the dining room, taking just two steps before he heard it again.
"Pssst! Stefan!"
"Damon?" Stefan spun his head in all directions, still unclear where his brother's voice was coming from.
Then, from beneath a table draped in petals, a guest book, and decorative block letters spelling Kai & Rebekah, Damon lifted the long tablecloth and revealed himself hiding underneath it. He gripped the hem of the fabric on either side as it draped over his head like a white wig. "Where is she?" he whispered urgently.
Stefan's brows collided. "Who?"
"Elena," Damon gritted out, trying not to speak her name too loudly in case he conjured her from the depths of his X-rated imagination.
"I thought she was at breakfast with you."
"I ran out of there," he spat rapidly. Was he sweating? It felt like he was sweating. "She was eating a fruit kebab. She slid off three chunks of fruit with her lips and swallowed them whole, like a bird. The woman has no gag reflex."
"And that scares you?"
"Damn right it scares me." Damon suddenly clamped his mouth shut, flinching at a sound in the distance. Footsteps coming out of the dining area. Too heavy to be hers. He felt like a soldier in extremely luxurious enemy territory. He resumed again when the coast was clear. "She's doing this on purpose."
"Eating fruit?"
"She wants me!" Damon hissed, like it was a matter of life or death.
Stefan blinked. Slowly. "I'm sorry... what?"
"She wants my body!"
Crossing his arms, Stefan raised his eyebrows and responded with yet another blink. This one somehow slower. "Again... what?"
"She's trying to sleep with me."
"And you don't want that?"
"No, I want that. I really want that!"
Stefan stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out how this became a crisis worthy of cowering under a table. "Ok-ay... well, I could be wrong, but I don't think Hide and Seek is in the Karma Sutra, Damon."
"I can't sleep with her," Damon griped sharply. "I'm in love with her."
"You're in love with her?"
"Yes."
"So you can't sleep with her?"
"Exactly."
Stefan gave him a long look, then inhaled like he was trying to oxygenate enough brain cells to process all this. Crouching down to Damon's level, his voice shifted into a gentle tone appropriate for toddlers – as well as romantically inept men who thought love and panic were the same thing. He exhaled before he began. "Damon, let me explain something... when a man loves a woman very much..."
Irritated, Damon whipped the tablecloth over his head, slid himself from beneath the table, and sat stiffly alongside it, back against the wall and knees drawn in. "Spare me the birds and bees talk, Stefan. She doesn't know how she feels about me yet."
"So you're playing hard to get?"
"I'm not playing it, Stefan – I'm suffering it!"
"Right," Stefan drawled dryly, "the woman you love wants to sleep with you. You have my utmost sympathy."
Damon gave him a tense, unappreciative glare. "What are you doing here anyway?"
Stefan pushed off his knees and stood up. "The meeting's over and Mikael invited me here for a commiseration drink, since he can't tell me what Rebekah has planned for the company."
"It's eight o'clock in the morning."
"I guess he thinks there's a lot to commiserate," Stefan replied, shrugging.
"There you are!" Elena's voice suddenly echoed down the corridor.
"Oh shit!" Damon tensed, flattening himself against the wall and pinching his eyes closed like she was about to devour him.
Elena's footsteps stopped next to Stefan. "What's wrong with him?"
"How long have you got?" Stefan deadpanned.
Damon opened his eyes. Barely. Just enough to glare at her. "You know exactly what's wrong with me," he accused. "Temptress!"
Elena stepped close and leaned over in front of him, her cleavage in his eyeline, amplifying it by tugging down the bodice of her dress. Damon lightly pinched the top of her neckline – careful not to touch any skin – and attempted to yank it back up as she spoke. His eyes darted up and down between her face and her breasts. "You're just grumpy because you were too busy looking at me to focus on your breakfast," she taunted.
"You were distracting me with the little moaning noises you were making," Damon complained. "You did it deliberately. Nobody moans like that while they eat."
Elena stood up straight, towering over him, and nudging a little closer so the tip of her shoe touched his crotch. "That depends what's on the menu." She then suddenly spun around to face Stefan, and threw the back of her shin-length skirt over Damon's head, draping him in fabric. "So how did the meeting go?" she asked Stefan casually.
Damon flapped his arms, batting at her skirt like he was being attacked by bees.
Thong! Thong! Thong!
He closed his eyes, but the damage was done – the image of her ass was still there, burned into his brain with high-definition clarity.
Elena was clenching her skirt down at the sides, making his escape difficult, and turning his panic into a full-blown performance.
Stefan bit back a chuckle at his brother's predicament. "Really smoothly," he replied, keeping his tone light and on topic. "It all went to plan. Enzo and Bonnie are over there now. Mikael's back at the hotel. In three or four hours, it'll all be over."
After repeated slaps at the fabric, Damon was finally free, his hair disheveled, and his lips curled into a snarl. "Vixen!" he hissed at her.
Elena slowly turned her head over her shoulder and smirked down at him. "That's a long time to wait," she noted, ignoring his tortured scowl. "What are we going to do for three to four hours, Damon?"
He stared at her from under his lashes, his poker face betrayed by the twitch of an eyelid. He tried to do the math. Three or four hours of Elena attempting to seduce him? He was already radiating enough heat to set off the smoke detector. He needed to throw water on this fire. He had to go wholesome immediately. "Learn sign language?" he suggested.
Elena spun her whole body back to him, giving him a stare so flat it could've ironed his shirt. "Fortunately, I already know all the gestures I need to know." With her hands held close to her pelvis, blocked from Stefan's view, she formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, then repeatedly jabbed her other index finger through it – offering a mimed interpretation of what she'd rather be doing.
Damon's eyelid had now gone into full-blown spasm mode, possibly trying to signal that SOS code that his brother seemed to know so well. He tilted his head slowly toward Stefan, who stood behind her, his voice coming out tight and clipped, like he was one bourbon short of a breakdown. "I think I might join you for that early morning drink, brother."
"You really think lowering your inhibitions is a good idea?" Stefan warned.
Damon didn't respond immediately. Mostly because his eyes had returned to Elena – that damn Medusa who could certainly turn one part of him into a vertical pillar of solid stone. Inhibitions? What inhibitions? They were already on their way to filing for bankruptcy. "No, but lowering my level of consciousness is," he finally replied.
Elena sighed and shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh well, if you don't want to have fun with me, then I guess I'll go back to our room..."
Huh? That was easy. Suspiciously easy. He wanted to spend time with her – of course he did – but it wasn't like Elena's idea of fun right now was playing a game of Battleship.
She then leaned down and continued seductively in his ear, "... and have fun with myself instead."
He was wrong. She just sunk his battleship.
He had all the hope – and none of the confidence – that Elena was now going upstairs to play Solitaire.
As Elena strutted off the way she came, Damon pushed through his knees and slid his back up the wall. He stared at the floor and exhaled slowly through rounded lips. Don't follow her. Don't follow her. Don't follow her.
Turning his head, watching one hell of a wicked temptation walk away, he expected to see her round the corner outside the dining hall and drift toward the stairs. Instead, she was interrupted by some heir-to-something pretty boy who was a year or two younger than her. The guy had the audacity to get her attention by brushing his palm lightly over her bare shoulder as he walked past, causing her to stop, spin around, and face him.
What the hell?! She hadn't even gotten out of visual range, and some creep was already trying to substitute him!
Damon was already on the move when he felt a hand on his own shoulder. A firm grip: nothing like the playful fondle Elena had received.
"Damon, they're just talking," Stefan noted gently.
"Elijah warned me of this," Damon rumbled, staring daggers at the guy. "Who the hell is that clown?"
"I think he's another one of Rebekah's brothers," Stefan informed him, releasing his shoulder. "I saw a family photo back at the Mikaelson house."
Damon's jaw flexed seeing Elena press her fingers to her lips, stifling a giggle at whatever Baby Trust Fund had just said. "He made her laugh," Damon seethed. "That's my territory." His chest rose and fell with annoyance for a couple of seconds before he lurched forward again. "I need to mark my territory."
Stefan sprang ahead and yanked his brother back by his elbow. "Damon, before you start peeing anywhere, remember you are not an animal."
"Yes, I am," he insisted gruffly. "She's turned me into one."
Twisting his elbow free, Damon spun his head back to Elena just in time to see her raise her ring finger up, flashing the guy her fake engagement ring. Kindergarten Casanova bobbed his head in acceptance of the rejection, offered her a few parting words, and took off with his tail between his legs.
Lowering her hand, Elena turned her head and caught Damon's eye. He smiled at her, the curve of his mouth tilting cocky and proud. She smiled back. Then she generated the crude sex gesture with her fingers again, blew him a kiss, and continued toward the stairs.
Damn it, he loved her.
Horny as she might be, she was still waiting for the one she wanted – fully prepared to send every guy packing except for him. It was the kind of devotion that existed beyond any labels of commitment. An unspoken vow. She was his, and she wasn't giving up on him.
Damon took a deep breath and made his decision. "Okay, I'm going to go sleep with Elena," he said breezily, taking the first step to follow her.
His brother pulled him back by his elbow again. That damn elbow. Damon would have been tempted to cut it off if he didn't need both hands for running over Elena's body.
"Damon, stand your ground," Stefan urged him. "Be strong."
Shaking his arm loose, Damon snapped, "I'm not strong. I'm weak! And this ground I'm standing on? It's quicksand. But that's okay because at the bottom of it is Elena, naked, and covered in whipped cream." He grabbed his brother by the lapels of his suit, pulled him close, and stared into his face intensely. "Now, tell me... where can I get some whipped cream?"
"I think I might need some of that too by the end of the weekend," came Elijah's voice, strolling up to them from the direction of the foyer. He stopped close, grinning widely, teeth bared – an expression he must not have done very often, considering the uncanny valley vibes it gave off. "Ask me how things went with Kai last night," he requested happily.
Damon released his brother and stared at Elijah. He couldn't care less how it went, in all honesty. But since his freakishly buoyant mood rendered him the scariest he'd ever looked, Damon raised his eyebrows with mock inquisitiveness. "How did it go with Kai last night?"
Elijah was close to tittering like a teenager. "We ended up in the coat closet... making out."
This time, Damon's eyebrows genuinely stayed up. "That was fast."
Rasping through his smiling lips, Elijah scoffed, "Please... men are so easily seduced. It's in our nature."
Looking back at Stefan, Damon conceded with sudden realization, "He's right. I'm denying my nature." Then he attempted to take off. "I gotta go!"
Stefan grabbed him by the back of his suit jacket and held on like it was a child's harness.
It was fine. Damon could lose the jacket.
As Damon attempted to slide his arms out of his sleeves, Stefan asked Elijah, "So does that mean the wedding's off?"
"Unfortunately not," Elijah sighed. "Kai's as devoted to my sister as he is to Judy Garland. Not to mention, he fears her, my father, and losing a vast inheritance. No, this will definitely have to be a breakup that my sister initiates."
"I'm freeeee!" Damon declared joyfully, breaking loose from the jacket and dashing forward.
Stefan dropped the jacket, ran after his brother, and tackled him to the ground. Damon hit the floor with a loud thud and a string of curses.
"Let me go!" Damon rasped, thrashing beneath the weight pinning him down.
"Damon, you made a promise to yourself, and maybe I don't know why you made it, but I'm going to make sure you honor it." Stefan then rolled off, hauled himself upright, and yanked him up by the scruff of his shirt like a wayward toddler.
"Honor's a luxury, Stefan. I have needs." Damon planted his feet on the floor unsteadily and started unbuttoning his last remaining shackle. It was fine. He could lose the shirt. Running around the hotel half-naked hadn't been on his agenda, but at least it saved time when he got to the room. "I need sex!"
"Ooo, someone's having a hard time coping with the separate bedrooms," Kai shrilled, overhearing as he strolled into the hallway. When Damon turned to him with the top of his shirt unbuttoned, he added bitchily, "Keep your clothes on, dear, none of our guests want to see that."
"What do you want, Kai?" Damon growled. He did not have the patience for this shit right now.
Kai wrapped his palms around each of his elbows, swaying from side to side in a little happy dance. "I seemed to have lost something I put in the coat closet," he said playfully. "Elijah, I wondered if you might help me find it." He beckoned Elijah with a sweep of his hand as he walked away and out of sight.
Elijah's unnaturally toothy grin came back. His eyes flicked to the two Salvatores. "Gentlemen, I'm going to the coat closet." He then backed out of the hallway excitedly, almost stumbling over his own feet as he turned and ran after Kai.
"Well, that's one couple almost reconciled," Stefan observed. "I wonder how Rebekah and Marcel got along."
"That's a great question," Damon declared. "Why don't you go and find out?" He tried to walk off, only to discover Stefan's hand still clinging to his back. Irritated, Damon spun, wrenching himself loose, and faced his brother. "Look, after everything I said, I appreciate you not letting me go down this rabbit hole." It wasn't exactly true, but flattery usually got him everywhere. "Here's the thing though: I'm Elmer Fudd, my shotgun's fully loaded, and I really want that rabbit."
"Please don't use sex metaphors that involve rabbits," Stefan objected wearily.
Damon sighed. He had to say something to keep Stefan off his back. Literally. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Look, if Caroline were upstairs now, naked, ready to have sex with you, would you be down here still talking to me?"
It didn't take long for Stefan to consider his answer. Groaning, his shoulders slouched in defeat. "No," he finally admitted. He swished his hand toward the direction of the stairs. "Fine. Go."
Damon was pretty sure he was grinning in the same overexaggerated way that Elijah did as he dashed off, his brother calling out to him that he'd forgotten his jacket. He yelled back, "Look after it!" as he took the stairs two at a time. Not a damn thing was getting in his way now.
By the time he reached the landing, his heart was pounding in his chest, hopefully more from exertion than anticipation. He didn't need any doubts sneaking in, not when he was this close.
He slowed as he reached the room, the rush of adrenaline giving way to a jarring skid of nerves. His hand hovered over the door handle. She was in there. Probably waiting. Possibly naked. Was he really going to charge in there, act on instinct, and deal with the emotional fallout later? Shit, these were exactly the kind of doubts he'd just told his body he didn't need!
He once thought it impossible that a man would be planning his future with a woman while taking off her clothes. That's what he'd told Elena. Well, he now knew that was bullshit. Every time he saw her smile, he was wondering when in their future he would see that smile again. If he crossed this bridge with her, he'd be immediately picturing her smile during all the major relationship milestones: their engagement, their wedding, their honeymoon, the pregnancy announcements, the birth of their children, school plays, graduation ceremonies... shit, the list was endless. And without Elena on the same page, it could all be for nothing. It could wreck him in ways he wouldn't even see coming.
He pressed his palm flat to the wood of the door, closed his eyes, and let his forehead drop forward. Given how they'd met, of course she was apprehensive. He was begging for something he didn't deserve. But maybe he didn't need everything spelled out. Not yet. Maybe all he needed tonight was a confirmation that this was the beginning of something small that Elena was open to making bigger.
He wouldn't word it quite like that though. That was definitely the set up for a dick innuendo.
He eventually opened the door, praying that something real was waiting on the other side.
Elena turned her head to him as he closed the door behind him. She was standing in front of the vanity table, removing her earrings in the mirror. She was still wearing the elegant navy dress with the square neckline and the side zip. Yes, he'd paid close attention to the necklines and zip locations. He was focused on them more than ever now.
"Tell me something," Elena started, opening a small drawer and tossing the earrings inside. From the same drawer, she lifted out a box. "If you had no intention of sleeping with me, why did you bring condoms?" She smirked at him, her eyebrow raised, as she placed the box on the table. Exhibit A.
Damon bowed his head sheepishly. Busted.
He sauntered over to the same drawer, inserted his hand, and picked out a smaller box, placing it alongside his own. Exhibit B. "So did you," he pointed out.
She gestured to the size difference. "Well, you have a huge one."
"Thank you for noticing."
She rolled her eyes, smiled, and whacked him on the shoulder teasingly.
After Damon's chuckle faded, he simply stared at Elena. Her lips. Her neck. Every exposed inch of her skin. Everything he wanted to kiss and touch.
Moments from now, everything was going to change. The second he gave in, the dynamic would change. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. The tension would dissolve, the curiosity would fade, and Elena could realize he didn't have the appeal she thought he once had. He risked the hope that she was going to remain here, like this, next to him, for the rest of his life. But what was the alternative? Sleep on her couch forever? He had to take the plunge eventually.
He swallowed to clear the dryness in his throat. It was now or never.
"I wasn't quite honest with you, Elena, when I said that I was falling for you." Damon focused on Elena's reaction and was surprised at how quickly her expression changed. He quickly rushed to the next sentence, seeing how crushed she looked. He didn't waste time analyzing what it meant. "I've fallen for you," he clarified. "It's happened, and it's not going to go away. I thought I was afraid of getting hurt, but now I've realized that I'm more afraid of not knowing whatever you're holding back. I'm in this completely. And I don't need you to tell me you love me just yet, but I do need to know that you're in this too."
Elena's breath hitched quietly, and she reached for him, her hands curled around his with a soft squeeze. She bowed her head slightly and, for a moment, she just breathed, slow and steady, as she traced idle circles against his skin. Finally, her fragile voice broke the silence. "I feel something, Damon, I just don't know how to explain it."
Damon's excitement levels elevated. This is exactly what he needed. Raw honesty and a hell of a lot of hope. "Neither did I, Elena, not at first. Neither of us have felt this way before. It's not easy saying the words for the first time."
Elena clasped her hands tight around his, her features scrunching into a grimace. "That's not it," she slowly confessed. "I have... kind of... said it before."
Damon pulled his hands out from between hers and stepped back, a look of shock overtaking his face. He wasn't sad or disappointed by this revelation – at their age, it wasn't realistic to expect either of them to have any first-time milestones remaining – but he was very confused. "You told me you've never been in love before."
"I haven't," Elena confirmed. "I did say it, but I didn't mean it."
"Who?" Don't make it sound like a tantrum, he told himself. You don't need to know who it was. No good could come from knowing. "Did you say it to Marcel?"
"Ye-ah..." she admitted with strained awkwardness.
Damon nodded his head for far too long for someone who was trying to act like the news didn't bother him. Here he was, feeling like the L-word was the most powerful word of all time, and apparently she could hand it out like candy under the right circumstances.
Fine. Whatever. If love needed the right circumstances, he'd do whatever it took to create them. "Elena," he offered desperately, "if you need more time, you know I'm prepared to wait –"
"But I don't need more time!" she burst. She quickly swiped her hands over her face, looking flustered. "Listen, back then, I was just a silly kid with a stupid crush. I could say it easily because it wasn't real." Elena held up her ring hand as an illustrated example. "It's like this engagement ring, right? I can wear it because it's not real, but if Marcel offered me a real one, I'd be on the next flight to Mexico. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Damon squinted, trying to get his head around that. "You want to... go to Mexico?"
"No, Damon!" Elena bellowed in exasperation. "I'm saying, I wasn't really in love with him. None of it was real. I didn't know what love was back then!"
"But you do now?"
"Yes!"
He nodded his head again. It was all he could do for movement. He needed to pace, and even attempted this for a moment, before discovering that the so-called luxurious room was too small, and he just looked like an idiot going around in circles.
Then he suddenly stopped and stared at Elena, a realization occurring. "So what changed for you?" he asked, pointing a finger at her, like a cop who just got the suspect to slip. "It had to be someone. Maybe not someone you've dated, but some perfect guy out there raised the standard for you, made you realize what love is, and now I don't stand a chance. So who is he, Elena, so I can punch this guy in the face?"
Elena's body visibly surrendered. Her face softened, her shoulders dropped, and her hands fell against her thighs. She exhaled slowly, letting go of a weight she'd been carrying too long. Then, she finally admitted, "You."
Damon froze at the word. That simple little word, which struck him right in the chest. It was quite possibly the best word he'd heard in his life so far. It echoed in his ears for a moment, while his jaw flickered between a gape and a grin.
His expression finally landed on neither when Polly decided to throw her two cents into the matter.
"Dumbass," she squawked.
Elena's eyes rolled, and she crossed her arms. "You taught her that word, not me."
Polly's verdict was a fair one, Damon decided. He should be feeling like a complete jackass for pressuring Elena to process something so new and daunting. But, instead, his brain was doing cartwheels about it. This had become as real as he could possibly want. Elena didn't just love him. He'd been her blueprint for falling in love.
He strolled over to her, beaming more than he should have, considering he'd just bulldozed his way into her heart. He picked up her hands again, stroking them apologetically, and let out a hushed chuckle as he spoke. "I know I said I would... but I kind of don't want to punch myself in the face."
Elena smirked. "I could... do it for you," she offered cheekily.
Damon dropped his head, smiling. He'd definitely let her have a shot at him. Later.
Elena gently gave him one last confession: "I can't tell you if I have a future with you, Damon. This is all too new to me. But I can tell you that I want to try to have a future with you."
He raised his head, stared deep into her eyes for a beat, feeling the sincerity emanating from them. He was done with expecting her to have all the answers. He just needed to know he wasn't alone in wanting them.
And now he did.
"Good enough," he burst decisively.
Suddenly his hands were around her face, and his lips came crashing down onto hers, devouring her like he had seconds to live and this was exactly how he wanted to spend it.
He'd never needed anything more in his life than he needed her right now, and he kissed her like a man with no more time, patience, or excuses. It wasn't slow. It wasn't soft. It was everything he'd been holding back coming out of him in one aching, hungry release. Maybe bulldozing his way into her heart hadn't been the smart thing to do, but the bulldozing wasn't over yet.
Elena's fingers threaded into his hair instantly, her tongue working expertly against his own, sending sparks throughout his body as he imagined what else that tongue could do to him. She was perfectly in sync with him, matching his pace, his eagerness, and – holy shit – he was already harder than he'd ever been in his life.
His thumbs swept along her cheekbones before his hands slid lower, gripping her waist as he backed her firmly against the vanity. With one swift lift, he hoisted her onto the table, kissing her again, her legs wrapping around his hips, grinding against him. He wanted to savor the moment and not rush anything, but it was verging on impossible. He was out of control, and he knew if they didn't get to the bed soon, then he was going to have to start doing long division in his head to avoid combusting in his pants.
He slowed the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to hers, catching his breath, brushing his nose along hers. He glanced at the condom packet and then continued to kiss her as he fumbled single-handedly inside the box for a frustratingly long moment, before finally pulling out a long strip of them.
Elena chuckled against his lips. "We don't need that many."
"Oh, you're in for a surprise," he breathed against her mouth.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, one condom-draped hand at the back of her neck, the other smoothing along her thigh, then curling behind her knee. Then he lifted her effortlessly off the table, her arms around his shoulders and her lips never straying far from his.
He pivoted smoothly toward the bed and lowered her gently onto the mattress, following her down without hesitation. He unzipped the side of her dress and slid his hand against the skin of her back as he worked his lips around every curve of her neck.
"Damon," she panted against him – now the greatest sound of his life, and he had a feeling there was going to be plenty more to come.
He worked kisses down her neck. "Oh, baby," he moaned while breathing in the familiar scent of her. His mouth now grazed her collarbone, heading lower and lower as he slid down the straps of her dress.
"Oh, baby."
Damon froze mid-kiss.
Oh no.
His ear tilted in the direction of the sound.
Because that sound was not Elena.
"Oh, baby," it repeated.
He pushed himself up and onto his hands, and slowly, in unison, he and Elena both turned their heads toward the birdcage beside the bed.
Polly was bouncing from side to side excitedly. "Oh, baby, baby."
Oh... hell... no.
Polly had now turned into damn Britney Spears.
Damon's jaw tensed. This was his spot, on top of Elena. He didn't want to leave his spot. He just had to ignore any distractions that were thrown at him.
"Oh, baby, baby."
Damon drew his lips back into his mouth and bit them. Hard. "That bird's trying to be on the damn menu tonight," he growled, reluctantly lifting himself from the warmth of Elena's body. He stumbled off the bed and grabbed hold of the side of Polly's cage.
"Damon, what are you doing with her?" Elena asked, concerned.
"Britney is going to practice her dance moves in the mirror," he replied tensely, wheeling the birdcage in the direction of the bathroom.
"Oh, baby, baby," Polly repeated, continuing her animated head bobs.
Damn it, Polly! That fricking song was going to be in his head all night now!
Finally reaching the bathroom door, which – given his urgency – felt it took as long as dragging Polly all the way to Miami, Damon pushed the cage inside and angled her facing the bathroom mirror. "Tire yourself out, Britney, you're going to be in there for quite a while."
"Oh, baby, ba –"
Damon slammed the door.
He ran his hand down his face. That bird had better not have ruined the mood.
Returning to the bed, he watched Elena slide her arms out from the straps of her dress, eager to take it off. "Are you always in the habit of unwrapping other people's presents?" he asked her, with mock-offense.
Elena smirked at him. "Are you always in the habit of disappearing with other birds while making out?"
"Had to be done," Damon smiled. "She was the world's worst wingwoman. Literally." Then he prowled back across the bed like an animal reclaiming its prey. "Now... where were we?" he breathed, right before his mouth found hers again.
Chapter 35: Four Thousand Words of Filth
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Five: Four Thousand Words of Filth
Elena Gilbert
Something had shifted in Damon's energy when he returned to bed. He didn't return as the same ravenous beast he'd been prior to casting the cock-blocking parrot into exile. His hunger was still there, but the reckless urgency had been replaced with something more controlled – his senses focused on the hitch in Elena's breath, the quickening of her heart, the flush of her skin, and the tone of her muscles. This was either a man carefully learning the steps to a worshiping ritual that he wanted to perform again and again, or an animal toying with its meal before devouring it.
With every inch of skin he exposed on her body, his eyes took in the view, pausing on the glorious new treat for a moment, and then capturing it with his mouth. But he was in no rush. Her dress now down to her waist, he ran a hand up her back to lift her into him while he unclasped her bra. Lowering her down again, his hand then slid around to her front, over her breast, and brushed the loose lace above her aching nipple, like he was planning on unraveling her slowly.
Elena wasn't sure she wanted it slowly. She loved the way he was generating goosebumps throughout her body, but her pelvic muscles were also grasping for a sensation that wasn't yet there. She was desperate for him to fill the space inside her that only he was capable of reaching.
Damon followed a deliberate path between her breasts, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses that made her toes curl and had her patience dwindling. One of her hands raked through his hair, while the other pulled down the lace of her bra, exposing herself to him, inviting his mouth to end the stiffened ache that was rising through her chest.
He paused. Watched her. Moved his head in the direction of the hard peak she wanted soothing.
But rather than the hard suck she was craving, his tongue gently glided around it teasingly.
"Argh, you're the most frustrating asshole in existence," she moaned through her teeth. He was driving her insane with need.
Damon chuckled against the soft mound of her breast. "For a romance writer, I'm not too impressed with your dirty talk. Try again, Elena."
"Please..." she emitted softly and achingly.
"No begging," he told her. "That's my job."
"I can't wait to make you beg," she vowed wickedly.
"You've been doing that since the moment I met you, baby." He then fully claimed her nipple, sucking gently, the flat of his tongue massaging against it.
Elena arched her back, welcoming the relief that sensation gave her, as his hand swept along the valley of her breasts, tugging down the lace on the opposite side. He then shifted his mouth to the other nipple, drawing it in with a low groan that vibrated straight through her. He gave it the same generous attention, tongue flicking, lips grazing, and when she gasped his name, he lifted his head, sky blue eyes meeting hers for just a second, before he pushed himself up her body, and his mouth swallowed the moan that was lingering on her lips.
She unbuttoned his shirt while he kissed her, stroking his bare chest as she wrapped her legs over his thighs, pulling him into her. Feeling his hardness, she grinded rapturously against him. "I can't wait any longer," she breathed. "I want more."
"Relax," he said soothingly. "I'm trying something new. I've never done this before."
"Had sex?" she questioned skeptically.
"Made love," he clarified. "There's not a single part of you I don't want to taste or touch before I'm in you. Now, where do you want me to start?"
A cheeky smile spread across Elena's face, remembering Damon's slip-up in the spa when he had a similar conundrum. "I personally prefer head."
Damon narrowed his eyes at her teasingly, acknowledging the reference. "I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass someday."
"Ass biting?" Elena mused, her smile broadening. "I don't remember ticking a box for that."
"Baby," Damon growled, kissing her deeply again, "you ticked all the damn boxes. Now turn over."
Getting to his knees between her legs, Damon took hold of the center strap of Elena's bra and pulled it off through her arms. He threw it off the bed and gazed at her for a moment, like he was questioning his decision to have her turn onto her front and hide the two things that had him practically salivating. Eventually, he stepped back onto the floor, removed his shirt, and tossed it in the same direction as the bra.
Elena's eyes swept up and down Damon's chest. It was solid and cut in all the right places, all warm muscle and smooth skin, and designed to mess with her self-control from the moment his tantalizing profile picture had made its way into her inbox. Now it was her turn to be practically salivating.
Biting her lower lip, Elena rolled onto her front, her hands cradled coyly on either side of her head, one fist curled up, covering her beaming smile. There was something extremely exciting about not knowing what Damon was going to do to her in this position.
"Brace yourself," Damon warned.
It wasn't much of a warning. Elena let out a yelp of surprise, feeling her dress being yanked down the bed... and her along with it. She tried to separate herself from the pull of the dress by grabbing hold of the bedsheets, but she reached out too late, and she suddenly found herself free of her dress, her thong-covered – or rather not-so-covered – ass hanging over the bottom of the bed, and her tiptoes balancing her on the floor. Her arms remained stretched out in front of her, her fingertips digging into the bedsheets, like she'd been unwillingly dragged into a devil's lair.
She slowly turned her head over her shoulder. Of course the devil was smirking.
"I was trying to go for the old tablecloth trick," Damon grinned, tilting his head to observe just how perfectly angled she was to his groin. "I did warn you."
"It wasn't much of a warning," Elena griped. Then she sighed, relaxed her upper body back down onto the bed, closed her eyes, and relented, "But you never were much of a warning."
Damon ran his fingertips along the back of her thighs and around her ass, feeling Elena tremble at his touch. He slipped a finger knuckle underneath the thong string, nudging between the crack and stroking her up and down. "I like this position though."
Elena buried her head against her arm, softly moaning in approval as he continued to lightly caress her. She felt so helplessly bare and vulnerable to him, and she loved every second of it.
"Your toes and I had a moment back at the spa," Damon continued, sliding Elena's thong down her legs. "I was going to give them the nibble they finally deserved." He leaned down and carefully slipped the sliver of fabric free from beneath her feet and added it to the growing pile of clothes. "But since they're keeping you in this appetizing position, I guess that can wait."
Shedding himself of all his remaining clothing, he leaned forward and slowly lowered himself down onto her. He propped himself on one arm to prevent his weight from crushing her and slid the other around her ribcage to scoop her breast into his palm. He kissed her shoulder blades, the top of her spine, the back of her neck, rocking against her slowly and letting the length of him glide up and down the dip between her cheeks.
"Damon..." she panted, feeling the head of his cock nudge against the tight ring of muscle. Elena didn't know what she wanted next. Despite her hesitation, she felt herself pushing back against it, the pressure and the trepidation making her insides pulse and the slickness travel down her thighs. From the way Damon held back, she knew he was testing her... testing her reactions, finding out what sensations she liked. And she liked this one more than she expected. She just wasn't ready for it yet. Not with her friends in the building, only one door knock away. Still, her body continued to press against him, unbothered by reason. "Damon..." she repeated in a soft whine.
Damon grazed her earlobe with his lips. "You're so curious..." he noted of her, like he'd confirmed an interesting theory, "...but shelving it for another time. Perfect, just the reaction I needed."
"Needed for what?" Elena mumbled, her thoughts jumbled in a haze of desire.
"For the next part of my plan." He worked his way down her body, dotting kisses along her back. When his mouth hit a spot at the edge of her waist below her ribcage, Elena let out a loud squeal and a giggle.
"I'm ticklish there!" she revealed, covering the area with her hand.
Damon grinned. "Then I'm definitely shelving that for another time... for totally different purposes."
"Don't you dare," Elena demanded. "Erase that from your memory."
"Oh, I think not." He slid from the bed and onto his knees on the floor, gliding his hands over her ass. He kneaded her cheeks gently, his thumbs parting her further, waiting for the gentle moan of consent that soon followed. Leaning in, he kissed every curve, his teeth grazing against the softness, like he was tempted to bite it. "If I do anything you don't like, remember our safe word."
Elena was almost too focused on the tingling overtaking her lower body to even remember her name. "Bubbles?" she checked, vaguely recalling his response to their first meeting, then smiling at the memory of her slamming the door in his face.
"Or, Crawl up your own ass and die... whatever works for you."
His tongue dragged a slow, deliberate line between her cheeks, the warmth and unfamiliarity of it making Elena gasp into the mattress. Her body jolted like it had been struck by lightning, every nerve ending igniting. At first, his motions were slow and tender – exploring her, testing her limits, wondering when, and if, she would stop him.
She wouldn't. She couldn't. She couldn't talk. She could only gasp for breath while she absorbed all the pleasure he lavished upon her.
When his tongue dug deep inside her backside, a raptured cry broke loose from her throat, and her fingers fisted the sheets. She'd written this type of scene a dozen times and not once experienced it herself. She hadn't known she'd enjoy this – could never have predicted it – but her body kept responding to him greedily, her throat whimpering for more, her thighs parting, her hips pressing further into him.
When his hands slid up the inside of her thighs, his fingers brushed against her slickness, and he groaned in appreciation. "Holy shit, Elena..."
He wiped the wetness coating his fingers around the rim of her ass and then devoured it like a meal. His resulting groans – a mixture of satisfaction and impatience – vibrated across her most sensitive regions and left her biting and clawing at the bed covers.
Finally, and reluctantly, his head rose, and he demanded, "Turn. Now."
This new side to Damon – this primal side – sent a shiver down Elena's spine as she did as he ordered, lying on her back, and spreading her legs for him.
He swayed like his heart had stopped. All he could do was stare at the sight in front of him and remind himself to breathe while he wetted his bottom lip, drawing in whatever taste of her remained from earlier. Gripping the edge of the mattress on either side of her legs, his arm muscles tensed, restraining himself from going straight for the kill. "Show me," he commanded.
He suddenly had the vocabulary range of a caveman, and it took Elena a second to realize that he wanted her to show him what she does to pleasure herself. He wanted to learn from her – to get it right the first time.
Her fingers slipped between her thighs, gliding over her clit in soft, slow circles, her rhythm naturally anticlockwise. She usually chased her release with an instinctive, autopilot precision, paying no attention to her movements. But she was hyperaware now that the moment was being shared with a man who was studying the motion like it was an art form. She was discovering herself through his eyes, and it sent her spiraling faster than usual.
Damon cut in with, "Right. Hands off. Mine now," the moment the first shuddered breath left her lips.
Elena groaned as she removed her hands, her eyes rolling for all the wrong reasons. "Since when did lovemaking become so bossy?"
"Don't complain," he grunted, "else I'll stick something in your mouth to keep you quiet."
"Promises, promises," Elena smiled wearily. "I've barely touched you yet."
Damon clenched his jaw at the frustrating reminder. "That's because if you touch me, I'm going to blow like a cola bottle shaken by a paint mixer."
"But I want to do something for you," Elena pleaded.
"You don't need to do a damn thing for me, except stay in this position."
"But, Damon –"
"Shut up."
"Don't you dare tell me..." Her burst of outrage was cut short by him diving between her legs and running a flat tongue up the length of her pussy. "...to shu-uuuh-mmm..."
He swallowed the arousal he'd gathered on his tongue. "Damn, I love making you speechless."
"Shut up," she mumbled weakly.
He licked her again and smiled. "Don't you mean 'Shu-uuuh-mmm'?"
Peeved at his smartass quips, Elena's hands shot down, curling behind Damon's neck, and pushed his mouth deeper into the apex of her thighs, where it could actually be useful. He took the hint willingly, his mouth returning to her, his tongue sliding over her clit, recreating the same motion she'd just shown him. Only this time, the sensation came with the added pleasure of his lips, his breath, his heat, the gentle suction of his mouth, all concentrated exactly where she needed it.
Her tension evaporated with each flick of his tongue. Her hands, clenched in his hair, slowly lost their grip as she slackened into the sensation overtaking her. Her body cycled through lulls of relaxation and peaks of heightened sensitivity, becoming a slave to his orchestrated movements. Damon reached up and brought her wrists gently to the bed on either side of her, lacing his fingers through hers and holding her down.
There was something indescribably romantic about having his mouth on the most vulnerable part of her while his hands stayed tangled with hers. She felt cherished, worshipped, and possessed by him. He used her grip to gauge her every reaction. When her fingers loosened, he changed course; when they tightened, he zeroed in. Sometimes he flicked his tongue in the same pattern she'd used; other times he changed it up to test how much surprise she could handle before the rhythm broke her. And when he slipped his tongue just slightly lower, dipping in and out of her hole in slow, teasing pulses, her fingers squeezed him tight in a raw, pleading response.
He did it again and again. Adjusting to her needs and learning all her signals.
"Damon..." she panted, her breath coming quicker now, thighs shaking as her core tightened, and the pleasure grew low in her abdomen. "Don't stop... don't you dare, or I'll slap the shit out of you, I mean it..."
The only change she felt in his movement was the slight flattening of his lips into a smirk, clearly considering her threat as the most complimentary threat he'd ever received. But his lips rounded again as she raised her legs and curled her toes around the bed frame, bucking her hips into him, seeking more pressure, shoving him deeper into her heat.
Jerking in his grip as she chased her high, his hands tightened around hers, grounding her to the moment as he felt her losing control. She was completely oblivious to everything except him. Nothing else existed or mattered. She craved her release, but she didn't want the moment to end.
Knowing it wouldn't end was what tipped her over the edge. Her imagination going into overdrive as she envisioned the way he was going to crawl on top of her after she was spent, push himself into her, and start the whole mind-blowing process again. She was consumed by thoughts of kissing him while he filled her, the weight of him imprisoning her in his arms, the sounds he would make as he came apart, just like she was so close to doing.
Then, with a sharp intake of breath, Elena suddenly detonated with a strangled moan, her head arching backwards, her body surging forward, fingernails digging into his. The sound that tore from her throat was half his name, half a cry of disbelief. Her entire body pulsated against him, surrendering to his mouth, her soul elevating to new realms, and her blood surging to her core. Her top teeth clamped over her bottom lip as she rode the tidal wave of pleasure through to the very end.
Damon didn't stop – not until she finished completely, not until her grip loosened, her legs fell open, and her body went limp against the mattress.
Not that he stopped entirely. With one final descent into temptation, Damon plowed his tongue deep into her, gathering her arousal into his mouth and swallowing with a moan of deep satisfaction. With a sated groan and a half-lidded smile, he finally pushed himself up from the bed, looking like he'd just taken the most potent hit of euphoria in his entire life.
Before Elena had even come back down to earth, Damon climbed on top of her and gave her the most intense kiss she'd ever received, like she was the one who had just done him the favor. He stopped briefly to scan over the bed above her head.
"Where the hell...?" he grunted, his eyes darting to every corner of the bedsheets.
He finally found what he was looking for – the strip of condoms poking out from beneath a pillow. Not being able to reach them from his position, he shifted further up the bed, his knees on either side of Elena's waist.
While Damon was occupied, something else kept Elena occupied: the increasingly irresistible and perfect cock standing firm inches from her mouth. She edged down the bed and swiped her tongue up the underside of it, just as Damon pulled the condoms from their hiding place.
"Elena..." he groaned. It tried to be a scold, but he failed miserably. He wasn't even trying to get away – remaining static on all fours above her while she surrounded the tip with her lips.
She was unfazed, lips curling into a wicked smirk as she circled the tip with her tongue, savoring the taste of him. Damon's head dropped for a moment, a low groan escaping his throat. "I swear, if you don't stop –"
She didn't. Her hand wrapped around the base of him, holding him steady as her mouth took him deeper. Inch by inch, she pushed forward, letting her lips close around his length, flattening her tongue against him, moving back and forth in a slow rhythm that had his spine arching in desperation. Damon's breath turned ragged, his core tensing with restraint.
"Jesus, Elena," he gritted out, looking down at her with a mix of torment and awe. "I want to be inside you when I come. Don't be a brat and take that away from me."
She hummed naughtily in response and flicked her brown eyes up at him with a look that was both teasing and challenging. She sucked harder this time, lips tightening around him as her tongue rotated in flicks and circles that made him groan deep in his chest. He rocked his hips forward just a fraction before stopping himself, gritting his teeth to avoid surrendering.
Then, with one hand still stroking him in perfect time with her mouth, she reached up with the other and plucked the condoms from his fingers. Damon froze as she ripped one open with her teeth and unrolled it over his cock, all while keeping her hand wrapped around him with no intention of letting go.
Damon's body shook as she sealed the condom in place with a deep suck that pushed right to the base, hitting the back of her throat. "You're going to be the death of me," he whispered, staring at her like she was already his undoing. Elena released him with one last swirl of her tongue and a filthy little pop, then slid up the bed with an impish smile dancing on her lips.
She curled her fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him deep and slow, her mouth still slick from him. Damon kissed her back like the rest of the world was fading into irrelevance and there was nothing left but her.
"You are incredibly lethal, Elena Gilbert," he breathed against her mouth while he reached down and adjusted himself to enter her.
She cupped him on either side of his face, staring into his eyes. The whole world paused for the words that followed. "I love you," she said softly.
He smiled back at her, a slight shimmering sheen coating his eyes, like he'd just won at life and didn't know how. But, before he could respond with whatever sentimentality was surging within him, she tugged him down by the back of his neck, their mouths crashing together, hungry and breathless. Three short nasally moans into her mouth were likely his attempt at saying he loved her too, but his tongue was captured by her, and she wasn't letting go.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him into her. Damon slid into her slowly, reverently, his breath catching as he sank into the wet, welcoming heat of her. She arched beneath him, her mouth parting in a gasp, hands gripping the back of his neck as she adjusted to the stretch of him filling her completely.
They stayed still for a moment, just feeling each other, skin to skin, their breath syncing in shaky exhales. Damon pressed his forehead against hers, his lips brushing the tip of her nose. "I love you," he whispered, kissing her again with desperate tenderness. The back of his hand slid down her face, along her neck, and landed lightly on her breast, stroking gently.
She held him tighter as he rolled his hips, and he studied her face this time. He wasn't chasing his release; he was building a connection, giving her a thousand reasons to never let him go. He focused on the way her body opened for him, the way her thighs trembled, the way her soft moans caught in her throat whenever his hips found just the right angle.
Every thrust pushed her closer, made her whimper softly, her breath hitting against his lips. "Don't stop," she pleaded as he repeatedly hit at a spot that made her eyes roll into the back of her head.
"Not a chance," Damon murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck, consuming it with his lips and tongue for a moment, before making his way slowly up toward her chin to watch her once more.
He released her breast, reached between them, and rolled his fingers over her clit. Elena cried out encouragingly, her whole body tensing in response. His free hand grabbed hold of hers and held it beside her head, their fingers intertwined. He dipped his fingers lower to gather more of her arousal to swirl lightly over her swollen clit, still sensitive from the last time she came. He adjusted the pressure until her head arched back and that now familiar bite of her bottom lip returned and smothered her rhythmic cries.
Elena had never come twice in a row before, but leading her into new, otherworldly territories seemed to be Damon's talent today. The build-up was different but just as intoxicating – the ebb and flow alternating between a yearning throb and a firework close to shooting out of her. There were no moments when she sank peacefully into a state of bliss before the intensity surged again. This was blissful torture – something that needed to burst from her and wouldn't allow her any merciful reprieve until she did.
"Elena," Damon gasped tightly, straining to hold back. "I'm so close to coming, baby."
Those words were exactly what Elena needed to hear.
With her insides clamping around Damon's girth, that aching burst finally erupted, faster and stronger than before. The orgasm ripped through her like a live wire, jerking her spine off the mattress and leaving her muscles trembling. Her thighs clamped tight around his hips, her mouth falling open in a soundless cry as the waves of pleasure ricocheted through every cell of her body over and over, filtering away until she was left gasping and completely undone.
Damon followed almost immediately with a strangled groan and a shudder, thrusting ferociously as though he wanted her to drain the life out of him. Her name fell from his lips naturally as he finally collapsed into her arms, scooping her close, and nuzzling into her neck.
For a long, breathless moment, neither of them moved, recovering from the ecstasy of one another.
Eventually, with heavy breaths hitting against her neck, Damon mumbled between pants, "I am not... leaving... this bed... all weekend." Then he raised his head, something occurring to him now that the blood was returning from his lower hemisphere. He turned to face Elena and cupped her chin tenderly. "Never let me tell you to shut up ever again. I was an animal."
Elena pecked him lightly on the lips. "I like animals."
"Well, I'm not the cute, fluffy kind."
Elena smiled at him. As she'd told herself before, cute and fluffy was never her thing.
A vibration coming from the floor shattered the moment between them.
"I think that's your phone," Elena told him.
"No," was Damon's short reply.
"I think it is," she insisted.
"I mean, no, I'm not answering it."
"It could be important," she pointed out.
Damon propped himself onto one elbow. "Elena, here's what's important to me right now." He raised his fingers, one at a time, as he counted them off. "A trip to the bathroom that will involve me briefly putting on pants because your parrot's a pervert. A five-minute cuddle minimum. Then another round of ass eating."
"My ass or yours?" she teased.
Damon's eyes widened, and he backed his ass away protectively until he slid off the bed and grabbed his pants from the floor. "You're a bigger pervert than your parrot, Elena." Removing the condom, he tied it in a knot and started putting on his pants. The phone, which had fallen from his pants' pocket, vibrated on the floor again. Damon picked it up and tossed it in the bedside drawer, hidden and forgotten.
Returning his sight to Elena, he smiled and pointed a finger at her with playful authority. "Actually, the cuddle can wait. Be on all fours by the time I get back. That's an order, Gilbert."
"Bossy," Elena tutted. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble."
"No, Elena," he smirked playfully. "This mouth of mine is going to get you in trouble."
Then Damon headed into the bathroom.
"Oh, baby, baby..."
"Damn it, Polly, are you still at it?" Damon growled out of sight.
Chapter 36: The Royal Court of Rear Entry
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Six: The Royal Court of Rear Entry
Damon Salvatore
Damon was going to give this hotel a scathing one-star review because, after he left the bathroom, he found a few things not how he left them... or wanted them. Elena was sitting against the headboard, her naked body now covered with a bedsheet. (So much for a room with a view.) Elena was not on all fours, greeting him with an early brunch. (So much for room service.) And his phone was out of the drawer, nestled in her soft, dainty hands, where, by all rights, his throbbing cock should've been. (So much for security.)
"Elijah won't stop calling," Elena informed him nervously, staring at the missed call notifications flooding the screen.
"Aw, honey..." Damon whined, trudging toward the bed, "I said I wanted to ignore it."
The phone started vibrating again.
Elena gave him a facial shrug and held the phone out to him. "Just get it over with."
Damon took the phone, swiped to answer it, and held it to his ear begrudgingly. "Someone had better be dead, otherwise you will be," he seethed through his teeth, pacing to the opposite end of the bed.
"Enzo's been in touch," Elijah spoke smoothly, not at all ruffled by Damon's threat. "Do you want the good news or bad news?"
"Good news," Damon implored. "Only good news."
"The good news is that the transfer is going faster than expected. The bad news –"
"I didn't say I wanted the bad news!" Damon growled in protest.
"– is that it's nearly triggered an alert three times already. So get to wherever Mikael is and keep an eye on him."
Damon almost chuckled at the audacity. "Here's the thing... erm... no."
Swiveling mid-pace, he caught Elena's concerned expression. Shit, he shouldn't have repeated that there was bad news. She was clutching the bedsheet to her chest, sitting upright, her back tall and straight, like a meerkat scoping out a threat. Damon made a mental note to avoid saying anything that might prompt her into getting dressed.
"You need to contact your father if he receives an alert," Elijah continued through the phone.
"So, you go and watch Mikael and call me if anything happens." Damon shot Elena a wide smile, like everything was hunky dory. Her posture didn't change, so he couldn't have looked that reassuring. He really needed to work on his resting murder face.
"Yeah," Elijah scoffed, "because you're so good at picking up the phone."
"I'll make an exception for you, baby cakes." Damon kept his tone light for Elena's sake. And, admittedly, for his libido's sake.
"I'm not going anywhere," Elijah informed him. "I'm having sex with Kai."
"Yeah, well so am I!" Damon burst, then paused, grimacing. "With Elena, I mean."
"Well done, I'm pleased for you," Elijah said. His delivery was as animated as ever, which meant it was flat and completely unreadable.
Damon chose to believe he was being sincere. "Aw, thanks, man," he simpered, like they were suddenly besties. "Same to you." He then lost the grin and gained a snarl, going from sitcom character to serial killer in under a second. His tone turned desperate and feral. "I'm not leaving this room, do you understand me?!"
"Rock, Paper, Scissors for who goes downstairs."
Damon's eyebrows furrowed. That was one weird-ass suggestion. "Over the phone?"
"In three, two..."
For crying out loud, they were really doing this?
"One."
Damon sputtered, "Roc –"
At the same time, Elijah answered, "Paper."
"– issors..." Damon could only pray the overlap masked his fatal misstep.
Elijah sighed. "Rockissors?"
Crap, he heard it. Damon floundered, scrambling for bullshit to bluff. "Yeah, you know, blades that cut rock... and paper."
"Straight men are so predictable. They always choose 'Rock'," Elijah snorted in amusement. "Now get your ass downstairs." He ended the call.
"Damn it!"
Damon mentally added "So much for privacy" to the hotel's one-star review as he leaned over the bed and swiped his shirt from the floor. Elijah forcing him to leave his hotel room on the best morning of his life had to be some kind of human rights violation, surely.
Reluctantly grumbling the inconvenient news to Elena, Damon hoped she would react with righteous fury and tie him to the bed like she'd done previously. Unfortunately, she didn't. So, he avoided watching her as she quickly got dressed, since he couldn't both mourn and ogle her body at the same time. Then, after throwing on his shirt, he had an idea. He messaged his brother. Perhaps Stefan could cover for him... if he didn't ask too many questions.
Damon: Are you with Mikael at the moment?
Buzzkill Bro: Yeah, why?
Damon rolled his eyes at the question. What the hell was this? The Spanish Inquisition?!
His brother's curiosity was already becoming a problem. As far as Stefan knew, their father had already agreed to ignore the alerts. If he admitted to Stefan that it wasn't the truth, the lecture would last longer than the remaining footage transfer. It wasn't worth it, he decided, so he quickly made an excuse for contacting him.
Damon: Where did you put my suit jacket?
Buzzkill Bro: In the coat closet.
Damon: The one Elijah and Kai make out in?
Buzzkill Bro: That's the one.
Of course he would put it in the one place that Elijah and Kai were probably having sex right now.
Damon: Thanks for the impending trauma.
Buzzkill Bro: Always a pleasure.
As soon as they were both fully dressed, Damon grabbed the remaining five condoms from the bed.
"Why are you taking those?" Elena asked, waiting by the door.
"Whenever I'm with you from now on, I'll assume there's a chance I'm going to need them," Damon replied, pocketing them.
Elena raised her eyebrows at him. "Five?"
When Damon inquired, "Do you think I should take more?", Elena blinked rapidly, shook her head, and opened the door. Weird. He didn't think the question was that absurd.
They left the room and descended downstairs, Damon dragging his heels like a prisoner being marched to his execution for the crime of wanting to stay naked. His fingers skimmed against hers, eager to take hold of her hand but knowing he couldn't because they had to keep up the ridiculous sibling pretense in public.
As they passed through the ground-floor walkway, Damon spotted Mikael through the patio doors, talking to Stefan outside. They were surrounded by other wedding guests, and both holding Bloody Marys. Mikael must have ordered the drinks, since Stefan kept staring down at his full glass like he either didn't want to drink so early in the morning, or he still had that childhood fear of tomato juice turning him into a vampire.
Damon decided to keep his distance. Proximity meant questions, questions meant lies, and somewhere in the middle would likely be Damon's bumbling bluffing technique. So, keeping his eye on them through the windows, they carried on toward the coat closet. If Damon's sex session was going to get interrupted, then so was Elijah's. The mutual cockblockery would be a minor win, but he'd take it anyway.
Still, he didn't want to have to bleach his eyes later. Bracing himself for accidental eye contact with Elijah mid-thrust, Damon knocked on the closet door as a warning signal before opening it.
No answer.
Damon opened the door slightly, allowing his voice to carry through the crack. "Zip up, honey bun... one pissed off boyfriend coming in."
He swung the door fully open.
No Elijah. No Kai. Damon didn't know if he was relieved or robbed of revenge.
The coat closet was longer than it was wide. A clothes rail stretched along the right wall, lined with evenly spaced wooden hangers. Aside from Damon's suit jacket, it was empty, which made sense, given the warm weather. Opposite, metal security boxes occupied half the left side, with an overhead tubular shelf running its full length. Between the boxes and a recessed luggage alcove stood an umbrella stand, stocked with half a dozen golf umbrellas for guests to borrow. Tucked inside the alcove was a small round window, its center warped like rippling glass, offering a semi-distorted glimpse of the patio beyond. And at the far end of the closet, facing them, was a stack of spare barstools.
They kept the light off as they entered, and as Damon retrieved his jacket and shrugged it on, Elena peeked outside the closet's window toward Mikael and Stefan.
"Do you want to explain why we've got to spy on Mikael?" she asked.
"Not really," Damon said simply, strolling up behind her and following her line of sight.
"I didn't think so," she sighed. She turned and faced Damon, her body flush against his. Her head tilted to one side. "But nothing's gone wrong, has it?"
"Not yet," Damon reassured her. That much was true. "And it's nothing I can't handle." His gaze traced every inch of her face, which was wide-eyed and a little worried. Too worried for his liking. When his sight landed on her lips, he caught his own between his teeth and held it there – the sight already getting too tempting for him. His bottom lip finally popped free. "Speaking of things I can handle..."
Turning to the barstools behind him, Damon grabbed one, hurried toward the closet door, closed it, and angled the backrest underneath the handle. Then he sped back to Elena, capturing her mouth with his before she even had time to speak.
Her lips were hesitant at first, but Damon kissed her through it. He felt her resistance melt with each second that passed, the tension in her jaw softening as her hands curled into his shirt. He felt it in the way her lips opened for him, in the way her shoulders gradually relaxed, and her hips tilted into him. He kissed her deeper, needing to be the reason she forgot all her worries.
When they finally stopped for breath, Damon said, "Part your legs for me, baby."
There must have been something intoxicating in that kiss, because Elena's eyes dilated with lust, and she immediately shifted her feet to his command without even a peep of protest.
He kissed her again, his hands running up her legs beneath her dress. For a moment, he just explored her skin, his palms sweeping over the curves of her thighs and ass, reacquainting himself with them like they'd been gone far too long. Then his hand came to her front, stroking her clit through her panties, just long enough to feel them become heavy and wet with need.
Elena's breathing became shallow, and when she emitted his name urgingly into his lips, he slid the fabric aside and dipped his finger into her. Once. Twice. Until they were nicely coated in her arousal. His hand then continued deeper between her legs, locating the tight ring of her ass, and pushing into her, up to the first finger joint.
Elena gasped, and her head swung backwards.
Right into the wall behind her.
That had to be the worst outcome to an ass fingering ever. Damon almost felt the thunk himself as he heard it. He instantly freed his hands to tend to her, but she already had her hand cupped around the back of her head.
"I'm okay," she grimaced, fluffing up her hair where she rubbed it.
"Damn, baby," Damon said with a sympathetic smile. "I wanted you to see stars, but not like that."
Elena gave him a pinched but genuine smile. "I'm fine," she said, a little more convincingly this time, and dropped her arm to her side.
Reassured, Damon sucked on the finger that had been inside her.
She flinched. "Did you just eat my ass residue?"
With a final lingering lap of his tongue, Damon's finger popped out of his mouth. "What?" he asked innocently. "It's not the first time." He shot her a smirk and a flick of his eyebrows. "Or the last."
Elena blinked, firm and judgmental. "You're gross."
He stared at her blankly. "I'm failing to see the insult."
While Elena silently chuckled at his lack of shame, Damon leaned over to the window, checking on a distorted Mikael, who remained in the same spot, his brother yapping away next to him. Much to his disbelief, Stefan's gift for small talk was finally coming in handy. He was a born networker. If it weren't for Rebekah taking over the company, Stefan would've probably secured himself more branches up and down the country by the end of the day. He just had to hope he kept Mikael occupied. Then maybe he wouldn't get the chance to notice any alert notifications, even if he did receive them.
"Clearly, I'm not built for surveillance when I'm fantasizing about what I want to do to you," Damon mumbled, mostly to himself, as he continued to stare outside.
Gripping the lapels of his jacket, Elena turned his attention back toward her. "I like what you do to me," she professed coyly, leaning into him again with a wide smile.
"Knocking you out?" It took Damon a few confused seconds to realize that the injury had not, in fact, derailed her inner minx.
"No," Elena chuckled sweetly, flattening her hands against his chest. "Everything else. I want more of it."
Damon raised his eyebrows triumphantly. "Everything?" No temporary revoking of his backstage pass then?
"Everything," Elena confirmed with a bite of her lip.
There had to be some kind of airborne aphrodisiac being piped into the closet, because Elena seemingly had, without warning, checked her inhibitions at the door. But, hell, he wasn't going to complain about it. Taking a step back, Damon clapped his palms together enthusiastically. "Great, because I have a plan."
"Ugh," Elena groused, her hands plummeting to her sides. "Is every sexual encounter with you going to involve a plan?"
"Now and then." Damon raised his arms above him, grabbed hold of the tubular shelving, pulled his body weight up a couple of inches, and then dropped back down. "Sturdy enough," he confirmed with a satisfied nod.
"What are you doing?" she groaned.
"Let a man work, Elena," Damon smiled. He headed over to the opposite side, removed his jacket, and draped it over a hanger. He then hooked that hanger onto another hanger, returned, and hooked it onto an overhead tube nearest the wall. He checked that the height was suitable and patted it to check the cushioning. Good enough. "That's so you don't hurt your head again."
"I'm so confused, Damon," Elena admitted, watching him stride back and forth inside the closet.
"You won't be soon enough." Damon inspected the large umbrellas, ran his thumb around the five-inch, cone-shaped tip to check it wasn't too sharp, then plucked out the newest-looking one. For the pièce de résistance, Damon clunked its handle down onto the tiled floor, clutching the closed canopy, and grinned at Elena smugly.
But his smugness soon evaporated when she didn't get the reference. His eyes flitted dramatically between her and the umbrella, waiting for her to catch on.
"Why are you looking at that umbrella like you know something I don't?"
"Oh, you should know it, Elena," he said, eyebrows raised. "You wrote it. Chapter twenty. Feral Thunder."
Elena's eyes ballooned open and remained that way, frozen wide and scandalized. "No."
Shucks. It seemed like fun. "Is that a firm 'No'?" he checked.
"No." Her expression didn't change.
Damon's eyebrows dropped. "Is that an answer, or are you just repeating yourself?"
"No." Zero facial movement. Nada.
His brows now tanked. "Okay, can I buy a vowel? Because I have no idea what you're saying."
It took a moment for Elena's voice to find its footing. "You're... joking... right?"
Damon's eyes turned into slits, unsure how to proceed. But the extra vowels sure came in handy. "N...ooooo...?"
"I mean... that's just pretend," she stammered nervously. "I don't write things that people actually do in real life."
"You succumbed to the tropes from your books," Damon pointed out, far too pleased with himself. "Maybe you'll enjoy the smut from your books too." He swayed the top of the umbrella from side to side, watching her eyes follow it. "Plus, you keep staring at it. A little tempted, aren't you?"
Elena's mouth dropped open with a hint of a smile. "You're crazy."
Damon studied her for a moment, focusing on her stunned but curious features. She really was tempted. Still, he wasn't about to push her into anything she wasn't a hundred percent comfortable with. "Fine. Fair enough," he conceded. "Besides, I don't think it would have worked anyway."
"Excuse me?" Elena drew her chin back, affronted by the suggestion that her smut wasn't feasible.
"I'm just saying, if we tried it in real life, it would slip. The angles are all wrong."
Elena gawked at him. "Are you saying you know the angles of my genitals now?"
"I paid attention." Damon shrugged a shoulder. "I'm an engineering graduate."
"I don't think that's what your degree was meant for, Damon!"
Damon smirked. "If it was, I would have asked for extra homework."
Elena stared at him in silence for a moment, shifting awkwardly, clearly wrestling with which kind of dignity she valued more: the one where she was right, or the one that didn't engage in shoving peculiar items where they didn't belong. Finally, holding her chin up high, she took a haughty stance and snipped resolutely, "It would work."
"How do you know it would work... have you tried it on yourself?" Damon wasn't doing a good job of hiding a shit-eating grin while he imagined that.
"How do you know it wouldn't work?" she threw back at him. "Have you tried it on yourself?"
"No," Damon scoffed, "so don't get any ideas, Little Miss Ambush My Tush."
She stepped forward and grabbed the umbrella in determination. "We're doing this."
"Elena, we don't have to –"
"You worried you might be wrong?"
Damon smiled at the challenge. She really wasn't bluffing. Her adorable lips were puffing out indignantly, but her eyes were feasting upon him like she might turn all kinds of pent-up crazy if he didn't agree to this. He was starting to suspect her motives were slightly more carnal than they were competitive. "Oh, it's on, Spice Queen."
Elena gave a single, solemn nod, like her word was law and he was merely a subject in her royal Spice Court. "Good," she declared. But her confidence dipped as she then glanced down at the umbrella in her hand. "Okay, so... how do we do this?"
"I don't know," Damon shrugged, "you're the Spice Queen."
"Well, you suggested it!"
"Okay, then I say we just roll with it."
"How?"
"Like this."
Damon seized her face and kissed her in the kind of way that his queen deserved. His tongue swept into her mouth with a desperate hunger; the taste of her being something he'd gladly kneel for. They could have been anywhere; he didn't care. No one knew where they were, and more importantly, no one would interrupt. Not Elijah, not Stefan, not even that goddamn parrot.
He devoured her with an unhurried, animalistic dominance that dared her to keep his self-control in check. But she pressed harder against him, matching his intensity, and he couldn't help the groan that rumbled in his throat as she caressed her tongue back against his, every last atom of their surroundings melting into irrelevance.
The sound of her first whimper was like a starter pistol, his hands finding the hem of her dress and flipping it up in one smooth, urgent motion, bunching the fabric around her hips. Her panties were the next casualty of the same rough treatment. He hooked his thumbs into the sides and dragged them down forcefully, baring her inch by inch. They slipped past her thighs and knees, dropped to her ankles, and she stepped out of them without breaking the kiss.
Gripping beneath her thighs, Damon hoisted her up with ease, and her arms slid around his shoulders, still clinging to the umbrella that was to be the coup de grâce to any self-restraint Elena had left. After wrapping her legs around his waist and locking them tight, Damon turned toward the wall of the alcove, pinning her against it. Her head thudded softly against the makeshift cushion of his folded suit jacket, still hanging from above. Perfect height. Perfect placement. Perfect goddamn idea.
Elena's head tipped back with a soft laugh. "Nice touch," she murmured, breathless and amused.
"Thanks," he smiled against her lips.
He tilted her chin up with his thumb, and his mouth found her neck, possessing every inch of her, from earlobe to collarbone. Gripping the round swell of her ass, Damon lifted her higher until her back was fully flat against the wall. His other hand swept below the neckline of her dress, finding her nipple stiff beneath it. His jaw gritted with the need to rip the dress from her body, and he briefly questioned whether he cared about the reception they would get if they strolled out of the closet with her dressed in his suit, and him wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a satisfied smile.
Elena gasped, stretching her head to the side as he tongued the nape of her neck. "I want you in me," she pleaded.
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. "Not yet," he murmured, his forehead pressed against hers. Then his hand slid from her breast, reached into his pocket, and brought a condom up to his teeth, tearing it open.
Elena's face briefly lit up, hoping he'd gone back on his word. But he just repeated the same words again.
Unwilling to forfeit his grip on her ass, Damon popped the condom between his lips, trying to ignore the fact that he now probably resembled a dog with a small rubber toy. This was the area where smut was guaranteed to be unrealistic. What he wouldn't give to be one of the male protagonists of a smutty novel right now, with enough phantom hands to lift up her ass, feel up her breasts, open a condom, grab the umbrella from off his back, and somehow still have enough limbs to shake up a cocktail for afterwards.
Of course, the male protagonist in her novel never decided to put a condom over the tip of a damn umbrella. Amateur. Like, have some damn hygiene, man, please.
It probably wasn't the time to express those thoughts to Elena though.
With a fluid motion, Damon reached over his shoulder and drew the umbrella across it like a sword. At last, he was starting to feel pretty badass for a man with a condom in his mouth.
Placing the handle flat on the ground, Damon finally plucked the condom from his lips and rolled it over the tip that flared out in thickness until it reached the canopy five inches later. He then tilted it slowly, nudging it between her spread legs and across her wetness for lubrication – and he smiled, feeling that there was a hell of enough lubrication to coat it entirely. Elena's body was already primed and trembling, knowing what was to come.
Damon settled the rounded tip against the sensitive ring of her ass, and his voice dropped to a dark and primal demand. "Sit."
"But, what about you?" she queried.
Always worrying about him. So cute.
"Sit," he repeated. There was time for him later. And if there wasn't? Well, to hell with it. He needed to watch this. He needed to see her completely unravel with what she didn't know she needed.
Elena's grip around his neck loosened slightly. At the same time, Damon relaxed the arm that was holding her up, matching her descent. She wouldn't fall if he let go, but she would certainly get more than she was ready to take, and he wasn't going to let that happen. She was more precious to him than anything in the world, and he was going to treat this moment delicately... at least, until she was through with him being gentle.
Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parted in quiet concentration, and inch by inch, she slowly began to sink. The rounded, condom-sheathed tip of the umbrella slipped into her with a slight initial resistance that made Elena's brows pinch together, and a stifled whimper escaped her lips as she continued to push through it.
When she stilled after an inch, her face relaxed, and her eyes opened to Damon watching her with awe. Her face was flushed, lips trembling with anticipation. She was waiting for a different feeling to hit her – a familiar one – one with more tingles and less tightness and pressure. But he wasn't going to give her that yet. In order to know what she liked, she had to experience it raw – unfiltered by other overwhelming sensations.
So, he kissed her... ever so softly and tenderly. No teeth, no tongue, just the brush of his lips on hers, then her cheekbone, then the warm slope of her neck. He peppered her skin with soothing kisses, murmuring in a voice barely above a whisper, "You can keep going, I know you can. Will you do that for me?"
Her breathing hitched, but she nodded, and she pushed down again, the second inch sliding through her much easier than the first.
"I knew you could do it, baby," he praised, his whispered voice entering her in waves of shivers, his nose tracing around her ear. "You're doing so good."
Then, before Damon even knew it was coming, she dropped again, her head tilting upwards toward the ceiling, her breathing deep and heavy. At first, he was worried that the drop wasn't intentional, but when her face came forward, he didn't see any flickers of surprise or trepidation. The little minx was going for it, no coaxing necessary.
He felt her thighs quake against his waist, her arms tightening around his shoulders, not from strain or weakness, but from the sheer sensory overload that had her seeking a way to ground herself. She didn't want to back out, so she was becoming more and more desperate to go all in.
"I want you inside me," she whispered.
Damon's lips curved against her temple, where he placed a soft kiss. "Another inch," he whispered teasingly, "and you get a finger. All the way... and you get all of me."
She sucked in a breath like she was summoning strength from that same insatiable inner minx. Then, with a bite of her lip, she shifted her weight down another inch. He knew it was getting thicker for her now, and the tension in her thighs told him how much effort it was costing her.
"Tell me how that feels," he said, scanning her face, checking she was okay.
She blinked at him through hooded eyes, her voice dry. "That... wasn't the deal, asshole."
Damon laughed under his breath. "Use sexier words, baby... not your fighting ones."
Elena concentrated. "Something's building... low down... heavy... it's reaching out, trying to break me. I'm scared, but I still want it, even though it's going to make me lose control."
Damon stroked her hair behind her ears. "You've lost control with me before, Elena."
Elena gently shook her head. "This is different. It's like it wants to turn me into something primal and hedonistic." Her head shake became more vigorous, her desires conflicted. "I won't recognize myself."
"I will, Elena." He cradled her chin with one hand, his voice low and certain. "Let yourself go. You're safe with me."
Her voice cracked into a helpless laugh. "I also don't want to end up a human kebab."
Damon chuckled softly. "You won't, I swear. I've got you, Elena." Then, keeping his promise, his hand slid between them, and he slipped a finger deep inside her soaked pussy, his touch gentle, curling upwards into the swell of soft tissue that had her breath stalling.
And with a slow, shaking exhale, she let her weight drop the rest of the way. Damon felt all of it as her body shuddered and opened up, taking the final stretch. Her head rolled forward and collapsed into the crook of his neck, her body trembling as if the very act of holding herself upright had been temporarily revoked by her nervous system.
"I'm so proud of you, baby," Damon murmured.
But Elena no longer had the patience for praise. A deal was a deal. "I want you in me."
He smirked. He wasn't going to make her wait any longer.
Except... now there was a problem. But it was fine. Damon was prepared for it.
"You're wrapped tight across my groin. Can you reach up, honey, and grab the railing so I can inch back a little?"
Placing both hands on her ass for stability, Damon watched Elena stretch her hand up over her head.
Oh, shit.
"I can't reach," she said, her fingertips barely brushing the metal shelf.
Yep, that was the shitty part.
"Okay, I'm going to have to lift you," Damon explained. "You might lose a little of your... erm... ass resident."
"No," Elena sulked. End of discussion.
Wow, she was... quite taken with her new friend. He hated to break the bad news. "Sorry, baby... but, to explain the geometry of it –"
Elena groaned heavily, with no patience to listen to this shit. Releasing Damon's neck and taking him by the shoulders instead, she pushed lower. Her eyes pinched closed, feeling the overwhelming stretch first, and then the eventual curling around the base. No shits given as to whether it might break off and potentially trap it there until a paramedic pulled it out of her.
But at least Damon had the foresight to put a condom over it, should a game of tug of war between him and her sphincter be on the cards.
He gaped at her. "Did you just take the whole...?"
"To hell with geometry." She puffed hair out of her face, exasperated. "I hate geometry. Now lift me."
Wasting no time, considering she clearly made an ass-stinging sacrifice for this, Damon hoisted her up until her fingers looped around the shelving rail above. Then he got to work, unzipping himself free and unwrapping a condom in record-breaking time.
For all the planning he'd done for this, it turned out he must have missed the engineering class on Anal Play For The Insane.
Elena had clearly attended that one though.
As soon as the condom was on, Damon steadied the umbrella so it would land back down on its handle. He didn't know if he was extremely turned on, or weirded out, by the fact that his girlfriend now had an umbrella tail dangling between her legs. This was the kind of shit that didn't happen in her books. Her male characters, with their ridiculous twelve-inch members, whipped their dicks out just fine in any crotch-trapping situations. They must have either had the flexibility of an overcooked spaghetti noodle or just weren't as rock hard as he was.
He liked to think it was the latter.
She eased down, her arms back around Damon's shoulders, his hands returning to her ass, until his cock was lined up perfectly with her entrance. Before anything else happened, he just looked at her for a moment, smiling at the absurdity of it all. "Who came up with this idea?" he teased.
Elena laughed in exhausted huffs. "Technically, both of us."
"And you said it would work." Damon didn't have the heart to tell her that he was predicting another mishap on the horizon.
"I did," she beamed proudly.
Then he slowly edged forward, pushing into her. She gasped instantly, her head sagging forward, arms tightening around his neck. Damon felt it too. Jesus. Her tightness clenched around him like a vice; hotter, wetter, and even more impossibly snug than usual. It was like her body was preparing to lock him in and never let him go.
He dropped his head, found her lips, and kissed her as he dipped his knees slightly, just enough to keep the umbrella grounded and steady beneath her. He wasn't about to risk losing their support structure now. Not when she'd taken it like a damn goddess.
Then her legs locked tighter around his hips, squeezing him in with a desperation that sent a hot ripple straight up his spine. She didn't need him to move just yet. She just needed him to stay right there, buried in her, fused together as one.
He let himself pause, his face stroking against hers, his lips and tongue exploring her inside and out, while giving her a beat to adjust. Her breaths were sharp and fast, but her body didn't shy away. It clung to him, trembled against him, and welcomed the stretch with that same wild need that had taken root in her eyes earlier.
Her eyelids fluttered in a euphoric daze before her head lolled back against the wall and her pupils rolled up into her head. She was gone – blissfully, unashamedly, lost in the moment.
"You feel absolutely incredible, Elena," he said, low and rough.
Then he began to move. Slowly at first. Pulling away just enough for her to feel the drag of him leaving her... then pushed back in with a deliberately long grind that filled her all over again.
And, holy hell, it was like her body didn't know which sensation to chase first. Every muscle around him rippled with overstimulated pleasure. He gritted his teeth and thrust again, just as slowly, just as deep. Her inner walls clamped around him erratically, and every inch of her pulsated in waves that were driving him goddamn insane.
Damon groaned deep in his chest, barely managing to hold back a curse. He wanted to last. He needed to. But she was so tight, so responsive, so completely his in this moment that it was taking everything he had not to lose it entirely.
"Faster," came her quiet, pleading moan.
And he did... even though he knew precisely what would happen.
As he slammed into her repeatedly, he almost forgot his premonition, completely captivated by her whimpering cries and the pleasure that was overtaking him.
Then he heard the sound of the umbrella handle shift across the tiles, steadily heading in his direction.
Damn it. It was a shitty time to be right.
Then, in a sudden, sweeping movement, it scraped quickly along the floor toward him... but not so quickly that Damon couldn't rotate the back of his foot inwards to block its path. For someone who was never good at soccer, that wasn't bad heel control.
Elena clamped her mouth closed, stifling a fierce scream that would have alerted the entire hotel to their whereabouts.
For a moment, Damon was worried that the abrupt angle change had hurt her. But...
"Do that again," she begged.
Okay... not so hurt. So... kind of sexy.
Unfortunately, he couldn't do that again because, as much as he wanted to take credit for it, that was the work of gravity. He could, however, thrust his heel and hips at the same time. Or, at least, he learned the skill pretty damn quickly considering how much she enjoyed being rammed in both ends.
Elena's whole body clamped around him with renewed force, and Damon gripped her ass tighter, driving her down to meet each thrust, chasing that perfect friction that made her toes curl and her breath catch repeatedly. Their bodies were slick with sweat, their movements desperate and messy, and neither of them gave a damn. It was so good that he was close to seeing stars.
Then her orgasm hit like an earthshattering detonation. Her back arched so hard her head thumped the cushioned jacket again, her mouth opening on a silent cry, every muscle locking tight as wave after wave of uncontrollable pleasure ripped through her. Her whole body convulsed around him, her nails clawing at his shoulders, and his strangled name falling from her lips like it was the only word left in her vocabulary.
He slammed into her one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go, his body jerking as he came so hard that his hearing may have distorted. The word that came out was supposed to be her name, but to him, it sounded garbled and half-drowned, like it had clawed its way up through heat and blood only for him to butcher the most beautiful syllables in existence. His hips bucked in small, involuntary pulses, riding every aftershock as he emptied into the condom, both of them clinging to each other like they'd just survived a hurricane.
Then they paused.
Breathed.
Remained in that position, sweating and trembling, as they eased down from their high.
And finally, they were laughing breathlessly, the absurdity of it all hitting them with sobering clarity.
But unfortunately, that wasn't the only sobering up they did.
Seconds later, the handle rattled.
Elena pulled herself flush against him in panic, reality suddenly kicking her in the backside. Or, rather, it would have done, if there weren't a damn umbrella still stuck up there.
She faced Damon like he had all the answers. He had diddly squat.
He just had to hope that the bar stool would hold up against the person's attempts to push the door op –
Oh, look... there it goes.
With a shitty angle for a long-legged stool, and an even shittier tiled surface for it to slip on, the whole makeshift lock came crashing down.
And the door pushed open.
Chapter 37: Screwed but in Italics
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.
Chapter 38: Ding Today, Gone Tomorrow
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Ding Today, Gone Tomorrow
Damon Salvatore
Damon marched out of the hotel and onto the gravel forecourt where Elijah's car was parked. It seemed like whenever someone was on this damn forecourt, they were in a foul mood. This time it was Damon's turn. Rebekah had kicked over a watering can and screamed at ducks waddling along her path. He saw no watering cans, and the ducks were in the center of the pond. Mildly startling some ducks that were thirty feet across water didn't sound as satisfying, so he clenched his fists instead and pressed on.
It wasn't even raining heavily enough to reflect his temperament. He needed lashings of rain and thunderclouds, not this light drizzle.
No, that wasn't what he really needed. What he needed was to make this right. He needed his father to convince Mikael that the alert was a mistake. Then he'd make it up to Elena. He had to. Because if he didn't fix things with her, then he'd have to convince himself that their sexy tryst in the coat closet had been a mistake – that he should have been watching Mikael instead. How the hell could he ever pretend to believe that watching some murderous, racist old guy was better than being in Elena's arms? He couldn't. Ergo, he had to fix this. Then all would be right in the world again.
Damon caught up to Elijah as he was approaching his car and snatched the keys from his hand. "I'm driving," Damon asserted, heading to the driver's side. "Europeans don't know how to floor a car."
Elijah stared at the empty space in his palm. "You don't know the way," he protested. "And, for your information, Europeans do know how to floor a car." He headed around to the passenger side, mumbling, "We just can't because there's traffic every fifty yards."
Damon started up the car as Elijah got in. "You can tell me the way," he said. "Is there any place where we can cut him off?"
"Yes," Elijah confirmed, buckling up his seatbelt and wishing there were more safety features to prepare him for this ride. "The house is north-east of here. My father always takes the northern route, so we'll take the southern. There's an intersection where we can cut him off, if you're fast enough..."
Damon revved the car.
"... which I'm suspecting you will be."
Speeding out of the forecourt, following Elijah's directions, Damon asked, "Has Enzo been in touch? Does he know about the alert?"
"No contact, and I don't believe he does," Elijah replied. "The basement where he's working is a dead zone for phone signals. He would have headed upstairs and contacted us if he knew, and I can't get hold of him. Have you called your father?"
"Not without the evidence," Damon resolved. He took out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to Elijah. "You kept it in your car, right? Start taking photos of it. He needs to know that I'm serious and have the proof to back it up."
Opening up the glove compartment, Elijah pulled out the letters and photos and took a quick snap of each of them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Damon caught sight of a familiar photo – the same one Elijah had shown him in Elena's office. This version had all the playground kids cropped out of it, leaving behind the sole focus of his father's attention: Esther Mikaelson.
Mikael Mikaelson's wife.
After the discovery, it had taken them most of the night to dig through her old belongings to find the rest of the evidence. If this wasn't enough to have his father shaking in his boots, then Damon was shit out of luck.
Blinking heavily as his eyes returned to the road, Damon's fingers dug into the steering wheel. He couldn't believe he'd begun his relationship with Elena in almost exactly the same way. What a complete prick he was. This shit wasn't a joke.
Elijah handed Damon back his phone, and he immediately dialed his father's number.
The phone rang and rang, and Damon's patience was wearing thinner and thinner. His father wasn't going to pick up, the coward. The asshole really wanted to believe he'd gotten away with it, but he could think again.
Damon waited on the line, preparing to leave a voicemail. The beep finally came. "Hey, Dad... if you can even call yourself that," he gritted. "You might want to listen up if you value either of our lives. I'm about to send you something I found in the Mikaelson household. It appears that you like to sign off anonymous love letters with your initials. Bet you were hoping that would keep them anonymous, eh? Well, you were wrong. You sent some photos to Mikael's wife too, just to prove you were watching her. I've matched some of them to the photos I have on my cloud storage. You really had a thing for stalking her, didn't you? So, what was it? Were you really in love with her, or did you just enjoy targeting the vulnerable women of powerful men? Actually, truth be told, I don't care. You're a piece of shit either way. So, I'm on my way to Mikael to hand over the evidence unless you get on the phone to him right now and call off the alert. I'm guessing he's the type of guy who likes to shoot the messenger, especially since the messenger is your son. But I'm sure once he's done blowing my head off, he'll come straight after you. Think about it, but not for too long. Over and out, jackass."
The moment he hung up, Damon immediately started spamming Giuseppe's phone with messages containing all the evidence.
Then he waited.
Blue ticks confirmed he'd read the messages.
But still no reply.
Damon had to hope that meant he was on the phone to Mikael.
Tidying up the evidence into a neat pile, Elijah mumbled, "We had to move homes, you know, because of the harassment my mother received from Giuseppe... not that she knew who her stalker was. She didn't even tell my father the reason. She knew that if she did, he would have hunted anyone with those initials within a hundred-mile radius. But I believe it was the final letter – the one in which he threatened to kidnap her – which triggered her into leaving."
Damon spread his hand across his forehead, rubbing his temples at the tension forming. That was another trope he'd used on Elena. He was now a super-duper double prick. "Whatever happens, I wouldn't blame you if you still went ahead and told Mikael," Damon sighed. "My father's owed whatever comes his way. If someone did that to my wife, I'd want the guy dead too."
Elijah slotted the letters and photos back into the glove compartment. "My mother's passed on, so I see no reason to expose Giuseppe if we can avoid it. It would benefit nobody – least of all you – and it's worth having something to hold over his head." He sniffed, casting his gaze out the side window. "My father's certainly no angel anyway. Turn left here."
With a skid, Damon took the turning onto another, thankfully, empty road. Then he increased his speed even more. They had to reach that intersection before Mikael did.
"So, what made you do it?" Damon bit out tightly. He had his entire life to kick himself for stalking Elena to get her attention, but Elijah deserved an ass kicking too. "If you knew what your mother went through, why would you do the same to Elena?"
Elijah's eyes remained fixed on the passing landscape beyond the glass. "I didn't know... not about the letters anyway," he replied, a trace of guilt still threading his voice. "I found the photos after we moved. The playground photo caught my interest, as she'd taken us there often. Even though we still lived in the same state, it stirred a little nostalgia in me. But the photo taken at night, through the window of our old house – that's the one that startled me the most. It made me realize that something wasn't quite right – that the person who took the photos wasn't quite right. But then my mother found me with the pictures, snatched them off me, and hid them away. I never thought of them again until I noticed the copy you had."
"So you got me to lie to Elena on a hunch?" Damon pushed.
"My hunches are often right," Elijah replied tartly. Then he slowly turned his head toward Damon, casting his eyes up and down him. "Except for you. When I met you, I thought you were a complete prick."
Damon gave a facial shrug, which merged into a grin. "I guess your hunches are pretty right. But, if it makes you feel any better, I thought you were a prick too."
Elijah returned the smile. "Well, not everyone can be as astute as I am." Refocusing on the road ahead, his body suddenly went rigid, spotting something moving in the distance. "That's my father's car."
Damon's eyes flicked to the left. Sure enough, the speck identified as Mikael's black Bentley was heading toward the intersection. Damon was much further away but going twice as fast. He pressed harder on the gas, the engine growling as the car shot forward. While the intersection loomed closer, so did Mikael's car.
"We're not going to get in front of him in time to stop him," Elijah said flatly. "Just tail him until we get to the house."
Damon's grip tightened on the wheel. He wasn't driving like a maniac just to slow down and tail some guy who apparently broke every law except speeding ones. He also wasn't risking Mikael reaching Enzo and Bonnie at the house. They were Elena's friends and, if anything happened to them, he could kiss goodbye to ever making up with her.
Damon's jaw ticked as he weighed up his options. He might not be able to reach the intersection in time to block Mikael's car, but he would still be able to stop it. So, he swung the wheel of the car into the left-hand lane.
"What are you doing?" Elijah's voice pitched higher, panic slicing through his usual calm composure.
"Prepare for a little ding," Damon said, eyes locked on the Bentley.
Elijah's head snapped toward him. "You're going to ram my father's car?!"
"Ding it," Damon repeated, like it was a perfectly reasonable alternative.
"What the hell does that mean?!" Elijah demanded. Then his gaze snapped back to the road, his pupils widening as the Bentley's rear corner filled his vision. He held onto the grab handle and pressed his eyes closed. "I was wrong, Damon – you are a prick."
With Mikael's car already turning at the intersection, Damon eased off the gas just enough to angle the wheel and soften the blow, catching the Bentley's tail light with a clear and satisfying crunch. The jolt threw both cars off balance – Mikael's swerving hard and Damon's spinning into the grassy shoulder. Tires screeched, dirt sprayed, and both vehicles shuddered to a stop.
The smell of burnt rubber and churned-up earth entered the car. Damon's hands were still clamped on the wheel, the engine chugging with exhaustion like it was begging for its owner back.
Beside him, Elijah was braced against the dash, blinking like he was recalibrating himself back into the ordeal they'd somehow survived. His voice was cool, but his breathing wasn't. "That wasn't just a ding."
"Tail light's barely hanging on. That's a ding." Damon shoved the gear into park, turned off the engine, and popped his seat belt. "Now, let's go have a chat with Daddy Mikaelson."
Up ahead, the Bentley had rolled to a crooked stop halfway off the road, one corner of its rear end crumpled. Mikael was already out of the driver's side, stalking toward them with the kind of stride that would make anyone in their right mind consider running.
When Damon and Elijah got out of the car and walked closer, Mikael paused in the middle of the road, recognizing them. His stance softened slightly. Very slightly. Somewhere between murderous and grievous bodily harm. His eyes first landed on Elijah, then the driver of the car, then back to Elijah. He swung a pointed finger at Damon and yelled, "He dinged my car!"
Damon glanced at Elijah, inappropriately smug. "Told you."
Elijah stepped forward, his attention fixed on Mikael. "You didn't look when you were turning, father."
Mikael's jaw tensed, and his lowered brows did nothing to disguise the pale blue fury in his eyes that could freeze a man mid-step. His hand entered the inside of his suit jacket pocket. "I think I'll shoot him in the leg."
Quickly stepping in front of Damon, Elijah held his palms up placatingly. "You're not shooting anyone in the leg."
Mikael released his hand from his pocket and stared at his son incredulously. "Why not? When you were children, you used to love it when I shot people in the legs. You thought it was funny." Then he gave a shoulder shrug as he reconsidered this. "Well, Klaus did anyway."
Elijah stepped to one side, gesturing Damon with an open palm. "We're both attending Rebekah's wedding. Damon is my... new business partner."
Mikael looked at Damon sourly, like he was something he'd stepped in. "If you're going into business with a Mikaelson, then you need to learn how to take a bullet. It's going to happen sooner or later, you know."
Elijah pressed a finger to his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase what he was about to say. "Why... are you out here, father? The wedding's in a few hours."
Grunting at the trivial question, Mikael replied, "I received an alert that something suspicious is happening at the house. It's that technician fellow, I know it is. Never trust a foreigner!"
Elijah blinked in disbelief. "He's the same nationality as you."
"He's still a foreigner in this country, isn't he?" Mikael spat. "And, yes, so am I... but that's exactly how I know never to trust one."
Elijah shook his head in disappointment. "Your bigotry really has no limits."
"Wait... where have I heard that before?" Mikael muttered to himself, looking skyward as if the answer might drop out of it. And maybe it did, because his gaze was back on his son a moment later. "Oh, yes, it was when you were lecturing me about Marcel. Was it your idea to invite him to the wedding?"
Nodding, Elijah expanded, "He's engaged, so you have nothing to worry about. Unless, of course, you have an issue with a black person being in the wedding photos."
Taking a step back, Mikael lowered his eyebrows. "You think I have a problem with Marcel because he's black?"
"Because he's black... and dated your daughter," Elijah specified.
Mikael paused, jaw slightly open, like he was glitching somewhere between outrage and confusion. "You really don't see why that was an issue, do you?" His shoulders untensed, and he sighed, getting ready to rattle off a long-winded justification. "I don't dislike black people. Marvellous people, really. Can't win an argument against them – they're fabulous at law. Why, if I had that talent, I wouldn't need to go around shooting people's legs. So, when Marcel is married, I'll gladly invite him back into my firm. But you need to understand, boy, that this is a race that stands up to their oppressors – and they're damn well good at it too." He chuckled to himself, hopefully more in admiration than in amusement at their struggles, though both were just as likely. The laughter eased off, and Mikael stepped closer to Elijah, scratching his chin as though this is where it got difficult. "Here's the problem, Elijah: I am an oppressor. I rule through fear. So, do you see the problem with an oppressor having someone in the family who is of a race that successfully rises against oppression?"
Elijah narrowed his eyes, almost lost for words. "You... really have... lost it, father."
Mikael rasped his lips and waved his arm up at his son dismissively. "I'm not getting into old arguments. The past is the past." His sight returned to Damon, and he slapped his lips together, like he was already catching the scent of fresh blood. "Now, young man, which leg would you prefer me to shoot?"
Then, suddenly, from behind them, a voice called Damon's name.
Damon turned to see Elena jogging up to him, her car parked two dozen yards away in the direction Mikael's car had come from.
Relief punched through him when he saw her. Then worry sucker-punched it right back. He couldn't believe it. She was here? Why?
He tried to read her expression as she made her way up to him, but it was impossible. Concern was written all over her face, but that could have meant a hundred different things. Maybe she was troubled because he'd lied to her. Or because Enzo and Bonnie were still at the house. Or because Elijah's car was facing her with a brand-new crater in the front bumper. Or because he was standing squarely in the firing line of a proven murderer.
That last one... yeah, that was the one that made him uneasy. She shouldn't be anywhere near this mess. Not near a man who was armed and itching to pull the trigger. But, if Mikael got lucky... well, maybe Elena would do more damage to him than he ever could.
What Damon wasn't expecting – what he really wasn't expecting – was for her to close the last few yards with a sprint and launch herself straight into his arms. She wrapped around his shoulders, tight enough to make him blink in surprise, and for a split second, he forgot how to breathe. He wasn't sure if this meant she'd forgiven him or not, but there was still the possibility that she was his. That sudden hope hit him harder than any car collision. He didn't dare move in case she came to her senses and stepped away.
"Rebekah told me where her house was," she said softly into his ear. "You've got some explaining to do. I hope you're ready for an argument the moment we're back."
Her tone was far too tender to be terminal, so Damon smiled. If there was still warmth in her voice, there was still a door open... and he was prepared to crawl through it on his knees if that's what she needed from him. He'd explain, he'd apologize, he'd grovel – whatever it took to get her trust back. He was all in.
"Excuse me," Mikael snapped loudly, causing them to break apart. "Sorry to interrupt such a sentimental embrace, but I'm waiting to shoot him."
"Shoot?" Elena gasped, horrified. She tried to push her way in front of Damon protectively, only to find herself being pushed back again. Damon gave her a stern look, warning her to keep out of it.
"I'm already wound up because some foreign technician might be playing a game of Operation on my CCTV wiring," Mikael explained, his tone stretched thin enough to snap. "Then this idiot goes and crashes into my car."
Elena's head whipped up at Damon, eyes wide, caught in a silent mix of disbelief and alarm at the idea he might have thrown himself into danger on purpose. She kept her tone low and hushed. "Not deliberately, Damon?"
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'll explain later. You can add it to our argument."
"So, if you don't mind..." Mikael continued, opening up his jacket again, "... let's get on with it."
The three of them moved in sync like they'd rehearsed it, shuffling back one step at a time, eyes locked on Mikael's hand, calculating the odds of making it out in one piece. Damon reached back and caught Elena's arm, keeping her behind him. His heartbeat was so loud in his ears, it was like an unneeded reminder to damn well stay alive.
Their persecutor tracked them without blinking, his fingers now skimming the edge of his inside pocket...
Then, suddenly, a phone rang.
Mikael's phone.
The sound froze everyone in place. Blinking was the only movement. Damon's eyes immediately found Elijah's, both men caught in the same silent, desperate hope about who was on the other end of that call.
Mikael didn't reach for the phone right away, groaning with inconvenience as his hand drifted begrudgingly toward his outside pocket, weighing whether the call was worth his time. Seconds dragged, then finally, Mikael fished his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and pressed it to his ear.
Every breath was held, waiting for what came next.
"Giuseppe..."
Every breath was released.
"What do you mean, 'There's been a mistake'?" he barked. "I left my daughter's wedding for this." There was a pause before Mikael's tone turned into a hiss. "Do you realize that I got into a car accident because of your cock up? Yes, damn right you'll foot the bill! There's a young man here too – you can bloody well pay for the damage to his car as well! This ordeal riled me up so much that I was about to shoot him, you know." Another pause. "What do you mean, 'Why?', because I was pissed off, that's why!" Final pause. "No, not with you. Well, I'm pissed off with you now, but at least I'm not in the mood to shoot anyone. Just stop blabbering and get it fixed, Giuseppe, you incompetent fool!" With that, he hung up.
Damon waited for a good half a century before speaking. He stared warily at Mikael. "So, are we... all okay?"
Mikael stared back at him with a vacant expression, his anger completely lifted. "Of course we're okay, young man," he stated pleasantly. "Let's go back for a drink, shall we? Elijah, dash up the road to the house and fetch us another car. It's only a couple of miles away, and I'm not going back to my daughter's wedding in some beaten-up piece of shit." He then shot a sheepish smirk at Damon and admitted, "I shouldn't be driving anyway, I'm as drunk as a skunk. No wonder I never saw you. Bloody Mary's are lethal. I blame that Stefan chap, you know. He just doesn't stop talking. If it went on any longer, I would have had to shoot him in the leg."
Plastering exaggerated smiles over their still-cautious body language, Damon and Elena backed up all the way to her car, eager to get the hell away.
Chapter 39: The Bleacher Blue Balls
Chapter Text
Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Bleacher Blue Balls
Elena Gilbert
The morning had been eventful, to say the least. Damon had filled Elena in on everything that went down with Mikael before her arrival, including how he finally convinced Giuseppe to change his mind about calling off the alert. They hadn't spoken about how she was feeling yet. Damon had started to apologize in the car, but she asked him to save it for when they were back in their hotel room. She needed a calm, distraction-free setting before entering into a discussion that deep.
So, instead, the conversation was mostly one-sided, yet somehow still plentiful. They were climbing the final steps to their floor and pacing toward their hotel room, while Damon was babbling away beside her, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence he was sure they would otherwise be experiencing.
"It was lucky Mikael didn't notice I was driving Elijah's car. Can you imagine if he'd figured out that I'd not only dented his car, but his son's as well?" He flicked her a sideways glance and a light chuckle before stopping in front of their door. "He'd probably have tried to shoot me in both legs – one for each vehicle."
That wasn't something Elena appreciated him joking about. She didn't know what was worse: that he'd almost been shot, or that he was already treating it like a party anecdote. She spun around to face him with crossed arms and a withering glare.
Flattening his lips and nodding, Damon acknowledged the wordless reprimand, realizing he was tap dancing on thin ice. "Let me guess. I have the right to remain silent? Anything I say can and will be used against me?"
Her gaze slanted up at him beneath lowered lids, head cocked, and lips pursed, ready to shoot back some sarcasm of her own. "Get read those rights a lot, do you?"
"No, I just have a feeling you'll add them to our future wedding vows." It was a joke, but his amusement soon faltered, like he half-expected her to follow through with that idea.
Rolling her eyes as she crossed the threshold into the room, Elena made a beeline for the minibar, crouched and tugged it open, a faint blast of cold air hitting her face. "I'm grabbing an orange juice; do you want anything?"
Damon trailed in behind her, shutting the door and leaning on it for a beat, his gaze skimming her like he was trying to read her temperature. "Good idea. Shouting at me will be thirsty work."
She side-eyed him as she retrieved her juice. He was trying to coax her into losing her temper. She knew shouting was something he could handle. It was raw, wild, and passionate – traits he was all too familiar with – so he could charm and wisecrack the pants off it. But they were in a sink-or-swim situation, in the deepest part of the ocean, and she wasn't about to let him paddle back to the beach party.
When she straightened, Damon was already at her side, plucking out a miniature bourbon and holding it up at her between two fingers. "Is it too early to drink this?"
Elena's mouth pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows lifting in a quick, sardonic arc. "Not according to Mikael." She then crossed to the bed and dropped onto it, juice bottle clasped loosely in her fingers.
"Great," he said, closing the fridge and immediately twisting off the bottle cap. "What's good enough for a psychopath is good enough for me." He took a swig and leaned against the vanity table, waiting for Elena to speak. She opened her drink, took one sip, then tightened the lid back on. When she continued to stare at her hands silently, he decided to drown his nerves, swallowing until the small bourbon bottle was empty. Then he set it down behind him and pocketed his hands. "I am sorry, you know."
Elena looked up at him and replied softly, "I know."
"I was worried you'd break it off with me."
Her mouth tugged at one corner, the faintest lift of her brow following it. "And give you a third-act breakup to add to your list of tropes? No way."
Damon chuckled, shaking a lowered head. "The list's gone. I'm done with tropes. After everything I found out about Esther, I couldn't believe I put you through the same thing. I was an insensitive jerk just trying to prove a point."
"I held my own," Elena insisted. Of all his questionable decisions, that wasn't one she'd change. Not when it had brought them together.
"That's because I wasn't a danger to you," Damon pointed out, "but, for all you knew, I could've been. You wrote it as fiction, and I should have kept it that way."
"The umbrella scene was fiction too, you know," Elena smirked, testing to see if he regretted that. Somehow, she doubted it.
Damon smiled and emitted a long, reluctant, "Ye-ah..." his head swaying from side to side, "but that scene was crying out for a real-life test run." His gaze then held on hers for a moment, brimming with quiet gratitude at the memory, until a thought crossed his mind and his smile slowly thinned. "Why did you follow me today?"
Elena blinked in surprise. What kind of question was that? Wasn't it obvious? "Because I love you, and Mikael is dangerous...?"
"And it's because I love you that I needed you out of harm's way."
Crossing her arms over her lap, Elena leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at him. Her previously soft tone was no longer so soft. She should have timed how long it took for Damon to wind her up – she might need to start setting herself performance targets for keeping her cool around him. "Are you criticizing me?"
"Noooo..." Damon drawled, the pitch dropping as if the syllable was trying to hide under the floorboards. "That would get me in trouble." Then there was a hint of a smirk, like it was exactly what he wanted.
She cocked her head at him knowingly, then huffed, "Well, now I'm mad at you. Happy now?"
"Yes, I deserve it," he stated. "I shouldn't have lied to you."
"That's not what I'm mad at you about. Not anymore."
His brows dropped. "Why not?"
Elena sighed. "I've thought about it, and we weren't in a relationship at the time, so whatever plans you had to deal with your own father were your business. It sucks, and you could have dealt with it better, but it's your father, so it's your rulebook. I just wish you'd been honest with me after things changed between us, that's all. Or, at least, told Giuseppe sooner."
Damon nodded in understanding. "I'd considered it," he muttered, "but there were a few reasons I didn't. Firstly, the alert might have never reached Mikael, so I didn't want to reveal my hand for nothing. Secondly, I didn't want to give my father time to figure a way out of it. And thirdly, I didn't want him to call my bluff. He would have known that telling Mikael would put me in the firing line too, so, when I did tell him, he had to hear that I was desperate. He had to know that Mikael was already gunning for me, and that I had nothing else to lose."
"And that's exactly what I'm mad about," Elena revealed pointedly. When Damon stared at her, trying to figure that part out, her voice pitched higher, and she dumped the juice bottle behind her on the bed, just in case her clenched fingers burst the plastic. "I told you that I had trouble seeing a future with you, Damon. You're unpredictable and reckless, but now I'm in too deep, too fast, which is precisely what I didn't want. I mean, we haven't even been in a relationship for twenty-four hours and you've already put yourself in danger three times."
Damon's focus drew back, trying to work out the calculations in his head.
Elena held up her fingers one at a time to demonstrate this to him. "One, you made a decision that was guaranteed to get you into a confrontation with Mikael, just because you didn't want to risk your father calling your bluff. Two, you were driving at twice the speed limit. And three, you deliberately crashed the car you were driving. Maybe even four, if you consider that Mikael obviously wasn't going to let you get away with damaging his Bentley."
Damon's mouth pulled taut into an awkward wince. "Let's keep it at three."
"My parents died in a car accident because my father was careless, Damon," she continued. "I don't want the same to happen to you."
Rushing to sit next to her on the bed, Damon's features melted sympathetically, and he placed a reassuring hand on her thigh. "It won't, I promise you," he said, scooting closer. "It's not like we're going to be sabotaging the weddings of dangerous families every weekend, Elena. It isn't exactly my idea of date night. But I knew what I was doing. I had it handled."
She turned to him, unconvinced. "Did you? Well, tell me something, Damon. If Mikael hadn't completely pulled out of that intersection – if he'd spotted you at the last second and slammed on the brakes before he turned – would you have had time to stop? Or would you have gone straight into the side of him?"
She could tell Damon was thinking, desperately searching for the answer she wanted. But when he realized he had nothing, he lowered his eyes and turned his face away.
"That's what I thought," Elena said with reluctant finality.
Damon propped his elbows onto his knees and ran his hands across his face. "Whatever you need from me to fix this, Elena, just tell me and I'll do it."
She reached out and took him by the hand, prompting him to look at her. "I love you, Damon – I can't change that now – but I really do need to see a future with you," she said earnestly. "And, until I do, I think we should... take things slower... go back a few steps. Maybe ease off on the physical intimacy, and work on our compatibility."
Damon's face went slack, eyeballs bulging out of his head. "I'm on a sex ban?"
Elena's eyes looped dramatically, pleading to the ceiling for strength. "It's not a sex ban..."
"No, no, no, no," he crooned quickly and gently, trying to urge her to reconsider. He slipped from the bed and onto the floor, shuffling on his knees until he was directly in front of her. "You want me to beg, baby? I'll beg. Please, you can't give this up. Look, see this: your legs are already parting for me."
Elena pinched her eyes into two unimpressed slits – they were parting because he was trying to inch his way into her personal space, and he knew it. She slammed her knees together, almost clamping Damon's clasped, pleading hands between them.
"Don't fight it, honey, it's a natural reflex from being around me. You know we can't go without it."
She leaned forward and cupped him by the chin, forcing him to focus on her eyes instead of between her legs, where it looked like he was mentally waving goodbye to his second greatest love. "Listen, it's not forever. We didn't exactly have the most traditional start, or take the scenic route to get here. I need a little time to see how we fit together when it's not all heat, sex, and rollercoaster drama."
Processing this for a few seconds, Damon wore the contorted, pained expression of someone heading to the gallows. Then, like he was laying down his life for the greater good, he released a heavy breath and relented, "Okay, fine, so what's our new starting base then? Third base, second base, first base?"
Elena smiled gratefully as she leaned in, pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, and then rose from the bed.
The subtext hit him like an anvil. "That's the bleachers, baby," Damon wailed frantically, getting to his feet. "You're sticking me on the damn bleachers."
She sighed. "Look, let's say, if you haven't done anything stupid, impulsive, reckless, or dangerous within a week, then we'll move it up a notch."
His face crumpled. "I'm going to be stuck on the bleachers for life, aren't I?" he whined. "Isn't there any way I can prove myself to you, so we can speed this up to how we were?"
"Yes," she nodded. "Figure out how to prove to me that we have a future together."
"How do I do that?"
"That's for you to figure out," she replied. She spun on her heel and headed for the bathroom. Halfway through the doorway, she spotted Polly's cage still sitting inside and hauled it out into the room.
"Ptshhhhhh," Polly emitted.
"What's that noise she's making?" Damon asked in concern, walking to where Elena positioned the birdcage against the wall alongside the bed.
"Ptshhhhhh," Polly repeated.
"I think she's mimicking the plumbing," Elena said. "From the bathroom, you can hear the sound of toilets flushing from all the nearby rooms."
"Aw, Polly," Damon groaned sympathetically, stroking the side of her cage. "I've messed you up too."
"Ptshhhhhh," Polly confirmed.
"I'm sure she won't hold it against you," Elena smiled. "Anyway, I need to prepare for this will-it-or-won't-it wedding. Why don't you go catch up with Marcel, so you can fill him in? I'm having a shower."
As Elena walked off, Damon called out, "Can I see you naked?"
"No."
Damon's mouth twisted in disappointment. "Well, am I at least going to get bedtime cuddles?"
She paused, head tilting in thought. Cuddles were affectionate. Low-risk and high-reward. "Fine," she compromised.
"You can't blame me for where my hands go when we're asleep, you know," he warned her. "They have a mind of their own at night – they're nocturnal boob seekers."
So much for low-risk.
"I'll wear a bra to bed," she decided, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Damon snarled. "Damn it."
Chapter 40: Sex Ban in the City
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty: Sex Ban in the City
Damon Salvatore
The moment Damon stepped out of the hotel room, he paused, head bowed, trying to get his bearings. Not so much to process what had just happened as to frantically come up with a solution that would let him turn right back around and join Elena in the shower.
After listing off all the stupid shit he'd done recently, he was surprised Elena hadn't dumped his ass. But, to make matters worse, when he looked back over that stupid shit, he couldn't figure out how he could have handled it any differently, which meant history was definitely going to repeat itself unless he made some changes.
But he needed to focus on the positive side. He'd been the one pressuring Elena into seeing a future with him, and he was the only one preventing it. The answer was in his hands. All the other ingredients were there for a perfect relationship, he just had to work out a way to paint a picture of their life together that didn't include her being perpetually pissed off at him, constantly visiting him in the hospital, or leaving their baby in the bathroom for so long that its first word ended up being, "Ptshhhhhh."
He could survive a chaste relationship until he had that all figured out. Sure, he'd already had sex twice today and still had the urges of a hormonal teenager on Viagra, but that's the price he paid for dating someone so hot. Time was on his side. His head was still in the game, not entirely in the gutter yet. So, ice packs down his pants wasn't a coping strategy he would need until at least tomorrow.
"Come now, love, I'm merely suggesting a brief detour. It's become a bit of a cultural landmark of the hotel, I hear."
Damon turned his head to see Klaus following Caroline down the hallway, heading toward him.
"In what universe is a coat closet a landmark, Klaus?" Caroline snapped back at him over her shoulder.
"One where... interesting things tend to happen in it."
"Define 'interesting'."
"That's best experienced first-hand."
"I know you," she accused. "You're scheming."
"And you're beautiful, but let's not waste time trading compliments when there's a coat closet waiting."
Cutting Klaus out of her line of sight, Caroline stopped in front of Damon and said gently, "Is Elena inside? Elijah updated Bonnie on everything that happened, and she called me to check on her. How's she doing?"
Clearing his throat, Damon shifted awkwardly, unsure how much Caroline knew. "She's okay, but, yeah, she could probably do with a bit of female solidarity right now, especially after what I put her through."
Caroline crossed her arms, delivering a glare that landed like a slap. "You caused this, Damon?! Argh, she finally gives you a chance, and you repay her by wrecking two cars, jeopardizing the relationship, and almost getting her shot."
Flinching at the look, Damon was suddenly less enthusiastic about taking the blame, and let out a short, incredulous huff. "Well, how was I supposed to know Mikael was carrying a gun?"
"It's Klaus's father," Caroline burst. "Of course he's carrying a gun."
"Hey, don't bring me into it, love," Klaus objected from behind her. "I don't carry a gun." He dipped his head closer, continuing in a low, husky tone, "But I do have a powerful weapon with quite a long barrel, if you fancy getting your hands on it."
"Oh, shut up, Klaus," she tossed back.
"Look, just go do your thing and have a little bitch about me, so she can have closure on the whole situation," Damon told her.
Caroline's face lit up. "I love bitching."
"I bet you do." A thin, humorless smile edged across Damon's face. "And by the way, Rebekah said she needs you to do her hairstyle for the wedding."
Caroline clapped her hands together delightedly. "I love hairstyling. Oh, oh! The three of us can have a pre-wedding man-roasting session!"
Damon quickly shut down her excitement by raising a finger toward her, each line lilting upward like a playful warning. "But don't tell Elena to break up with me. Everything's good between us right now. If she dumps me, I will come find you... and glue macaroni all over your car."
As Caroline's face morphed back into a glare again, Klaus asked, "Still clinging on by some miracle, then? How exactly did you pull off being such a pillock with no repercussions?"
Damon smirked dryly at the jab, barely lifting one corner of his mouth. "Easy. We're two devoted and rational adults who are committed to making this work. So... we've agreed to scale back the relationship and nurture the deeper parts of it. Spend more time on the emotional foundation, and less on the... thrills and fireworks."
"Oh..." Klaus's lips quirked in amusement, "... you're on a sex ban. Poor bugger."
Caroline covered her mouth to muffle a squeak of laughter.
Klaus side-eyed her, then refocused on Damon. "Pay no attention to her, mate. She'd put a guy on a sex ban for leaving the toilet seat up."
Frustrated, Damon pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not a sex ban. It's a way to synchronize our compatibility, our trust, our understanding, our emotional bond..." Then, running out of couples' counseling jargon, Damon sighed defeatedly, slapping his hand to his side. "... fine, whatever, it's a sex ban."
"Way to go, Elena," Caroline said proudly.
As Damon opened the door to let Caroline inside, he asked, "Think you can get me out of it?"
She flashed him a sassy smile as she stepped into the room. "Oh, I wouldn't dare cheat you out of the most torturous way you can prove your love for her."
After Caroline closed the door, Klaus placed a sympathetic hand on Damon's shoulder and started leading him toward the stairs. "There, there," he consoled. "Women always know how to keep us wagging our tails, don't they? Dangling treats until we're housetrained. But at least she didn't rehome you. So, all you've got to do is stay off the furniture and stop humping the sofa cushions."
"I damn well will be humping the sofa cushions at this rate," Damon grumbled.
Klaus laughed. "Careful, mate. She'll use the spray bottle on you."
"Worth it," Damon deadpanned, "provided she rubs me down with a towel afterwards."
They reached the foot of the stairs, and Marcel appeared, hands tucked in his pockets. "Found you, perfect. I've booked the business room at the far end of the hotel. Enzo and Bonnie will meet us there in thirty minutes with the footage."
They grabbed some drinks as they passed through the bar, the pre-wedding bustle of guests' voices fading with every step as Marcel guided them through to the quieter wing of the hotel. Along the way, he explained that they'd be letting Enzo and Bonnie in through the fire exit so they didn't risk Mikael spotting them in the hotel. They then pushed open the door to the business room: a plain, functional space, dominated by a round white table, cantilever chairs neatly arranged around it, and a projector on the far wall facing them.
As Damon sat down, placing his bourbon on the table, Marcel patted him on the shoulder and took a seat next to him. "I heard about the sex ban, sorry, man."
Damon jerked back against the chair, brows dropping as his face scrunched and twisted in disbelief. He threw his hands out toward the room in a dramatic plea for someone to explain how his sex life had apparently become public domain. "Where did you hear this?!"
Sitting down with his eyes fixed on his phone, Klaus raised his hand. "That was me. I messaged the group on the walk over. Your brother sends his condolences, look." He then turned the screen toward Damon.
Klaus: All heading to the business room to meet Enzo and Bonnie. Update to Marcel's earlier news about Elena and Damon's coat closet hookup: she's now put him on a sex ban for being a pillock.
Stefan: Lol.
Stefan: Sorry, can't attend. Caroline needs me for something.
"You guys have a group chat?" Damon burst. "Why aren't Elena and I part of that?"
"We were kind of taking bets on whether you two would get together," Marcel explained awkwardly.
"And then whether you would break up," Klaus added shamelessly. "I lost both."
Marcel linked his hands together and stared at the table ruefully. "So did I."
"So, were any of you actually rooting for us?" Damon asked, outraged.
"I was," Elijah said, opening the door to the business room and stepping inside.
"Finally," Damon declared, "someone on my side." He leaned back in his chair and held a fist out to Elijah as he passed behind him.
Elijah stopped and stared at the balled-up hand like it was a dead rat. "What do you expect me to do with that?"
"Bump it," Damon replied with a grin.
"I've never bumped fists in my life."
"Try it."
Curling his fingers into his palm, Elijah nudged them against Damon's, making him chuckle in triumph and then return to the table.
"Well, I'm glad that was satisfying for you," Elijah said flatly, grabbing his Sazerac from Marcel and continuing around to the opposite side of the table. "For me, it was very underwhelming."
"That's what she said," Klaus grinned, his eyes flicking to Damon, while Marcel sniggered on the other side of him.
"Dude, that is so outdated," Damon groaned, rolling his eyes.
"So is 'Dude'," Klaus quipped back.
Elijah's eyes drifted briefly to his drink like he suddenly wished he'd requested a double. "I'm sorry," he chided, sitting down to face them, "but do we men have to regress into children when the women aren't around?"
"Yes," the three of them replied monotonously, like it was inevitable.
Checking his watch, Elijah continued, "Well, we have twenty minutes until one gets here, so let's practice some maturity until then, shall we?" He took a sip of his drink, placed the glass back down, and then said to Damon, "So, tell me what happened with Elena."
Twenty minutes later, their drinks were finished, and the collective look on their faces said they all regretted Elijah asking about Elena. Damon didn't give a damn. He needed ideas, and this was the closest thing he had to a focus group. Not that any of their suggestions were worth much. Klaus rejected anything without a seduction subplot. Marcel claimed he needed to come up with a winning counter-argument. And Elijah surgically dismantled every viable option with cold, hard logic. But there was one thing they all agreed on.
"Is she expecting me to propose?" Damon asked.
"No!" they all yelled in unison.
"Use your nugget," Klaus scoffed. "She's not going to suddenly see a future with you just because you pop the question."
Elijah leaned in and advised, "Just respect the boundaries she's set and work on proving you're a reliable partner."
"Find a way to convince her that you won't keep repeating the same mistakes," Marcel added.
Damon slumped back in his chair, slapping his hands on the table. "Great. So, after all these wise recommendations, it turns out the answer is to be less of a screw-up. Why didn't I think of that?"
Then a knock echoed from the fire exit door. Damon pushed himself up with a sigh and went to open it. Enzo greeted him first, stepping through with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He strolled over to the projector, where he dropped the bag onto the floor and began unzipping it, taking out a laptop, hard drive, and cables.
Bonnie entered after him, stopping just inside the doorway as her gaze landed squarely on Damon. Her face was calm and unreadable, her stare steady and unflinching, as she said, "You stopped Mikael from reaching us."
Caught off guard, Damon blinked. "Uh... yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck like he wasn't sure what to do with the unexpected praise.
Then Bonnie stepped forward and whacked him on the shoulder. "Why weren't you watching him? You could have told Giuseppe sooner!"
"Ow!" Damon jerked back, arms flying out to either side. "Okay, I'm confused – did I do good or not? Because I'm kind of on the hunt for brownie points right now."
From his chair, Klaus leaned back with the smug satisfaction of someone about to spill the hottest tea in the room. "Elena's issued him a sex ban."
Still holding his arms out in disbelief, Damon turned toward Klaus. "Okay, are you going to rent out a billboard to advertise that on?"
Bonnie crossed her arms, lips curling into something just shy of a smirk. "Well... good for Elena." Then she brushed past him to stand beside Enzo, who was already plugging cables into the projector and loading up the footage.
Damon trudged back to his seat, muttering, "Why does everyone keep saying that?"
The projector screen brightened, flickering to life before settling on a pale ivory glow. A list of files appeared, neatly ordered by date, time, and room location.
Enzo held out the laptop toward Marcel. "All yours to find what you're looking for."
Marcel stood and grabbed the laptop, immediately clicking through each of the files like he hadn't a moment to waste. "Thanks," he said without looking back. "By the way, I got you and Bonnie a couple of bourbons on the way over here. Figured you'd need them."
Reaching over to the table, Enzo snagged the two glasses and, without hesitation, tipped one into the other. He handed the now-half-full glass to Bonnie, and she knocked it back in one go.
"She needs it more than me," Enzo explained with a tilt of his head, like the logic spoke for itself.
Marcel opened and closed a few clips, short bursts of footage flashing on the screen, until he found one he needed. "Here's the one where the actress broke in," he said, moving the file into a separate folder. He copied a few more files from the same night, taken at different times and different locations, flinching in regret as he came across the one of him bundling the actress into the van. He quickly exited the video and dove into the next search. "And now..." He navigated further up the list, "we just need the footage of Mikael hiring her. This might take a little longer, but I think I know which room it was in."
Crouching beside his duffel to pull out a black tablet, Enzo said, "Well, whatever files you need, we can transfer them over to this, then you can hand it to Rebekah." He set the tablet on the table until it was needed. "I'll buy a new one with the money I'm getting for this gig." Sliding closer to Bonnie, he then put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "After this, how about a trip to Europe, sweetheart?" he asked in an uplifting tone, trying to lighten her mood.
Bonnie gave a half-hearted shrug, eyes drifting down to the floor. She was still shaken from almost getting caught by Mikael, but clearly trying to mask it with moodiness.
Feeling a vibration in his pocket, Damon pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.
Added to the group chat: The Altar Ambush Gentlemen's Club.
Damon scoffed inwardly at the word "Gentlemen". Then he opened the message thread.
Klaus: $100 Bonnie dumps Enzo.
He rolled his eyes.
Damon: You're delusional. Bonnie's not bailing.
Klaus: Well, aren't you the hopeless romantic?
Elijah: I trust you had the foresight to remove Enzo from this group before making that wager?
Enzo was already tapping on his phone screen. "Oi, you lot, don't make shitty bets like that," he snapped, quickly glaring at everyone seated around the table.
"Found it!" Marcel announced, bringing their attention to the screen.
He played a file that was set in Mikael's home office. The camera angle was slightly elevated, but crystal clear, providing a broad, uninterrupted view of the stately room. Mikael stood directly in front of his large oak desk, with a man perched on the corner beside him. On a leather wingback chair, angled diagonally toward Mikael, sat a woman. Her posture was rigid, legs crossed, and only a hint of her blonde hair and facial features could be seen.
Marcel immediately pointed to the man sitting beside Mikael, jabbing at the projector screen. "That's the guy I worked with to snatch the actress and haul her out of state – the same one who kidnapped Rebekah. Proof he was working for Mikael the whole time."
The footage rolled on, showing Mikael reaching beside the desk and producing a brown leather tote, which he handed to the woman. She unzipped it and pulled out a pair of dark jeans and a black ruffle-neck top.
"And those are the clothes Rebekah was wearing when the kidnapping happened. He's setting her up to be his daughter's double." Marcel continued to squint at the woman, who remained half-hidden behind the wingback chair, and then asked the group, "It's clear that's not Rebekah, right?"
A murmur of uncertainty and a few shrugs rippled around the table.
After a moment, the woman in the footage finally rose, draping the bag over her shoulder before crossing to shake Mikael's hand. She offered the same to the man beside him, then pivoted toward the door.
Marcel hit pause, the frame freezing on her face. "There. Clear as day. Same actress who was murdered." He pointed at the screen enthusiastically. "Enzo, transfer all these files to the tablet. Rebekah's going to want to see this."
Enzo gave a short nod, grabbed the tablet, and plugged it in. As soon as it was done, he handed it over to Marcel.
"Who's coming with me to give this to Rebekah?" Marcel asked. "I need someone on the lookout for Mikael."
"Damon can go with you," Elijah said. "I need to transfer Enzo his payment..." He glanced at Bonnie's still sour expression as he opened an app on his phone. "... so he can hire a bodyguard."
Marcel gave Damon an eager tap on the shoulder, prompting him to spring from his seat and trail after him toward the far end of the hotel.
As soon as they reached the staircase, leading up to Rebekah's room, they halted mid-step, spotting Mikael walking down it.
"Ah, Marcel," Mikael said cheerily. "I haven't spoken to you since I told you to stay the hell away from my daughter. You're not going to see her now, I hope."
Marcel hid the tablet behind his back as he rushed past him with a tight smile. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mikael."
For a second, it looked like Mikael was going to turn and follow him. But then he spotted Damon and grabbed him by the arm. "My daughter took away my gun, you know," he grumbled bitterly, his face now close enough for Damon to smell the alcohol on his breath. "You didn't tell her I had a gun on me, did you?"
"Nope," Damon replied, breathing through his mouth. Though he was relieved at the news.
"She can't be trusted with a gun. She might hurt someone with it," he slurred. Then his eyes suddenly lit up with an idea, and he turned back in Marcel's direction, shouting to him as he headed along the landing. "Actually, Marcel, do pop by and see my daughter, won't you! Give her your congratulations!"
Damon slapped on a wary smirk as soon as Mikael faced him again.
"My daughter's first kill," Mikael exclaimed gleefully, baring a toothy grin. "How exciting!" He patted Damon repeatedly on the shoulder like they were partners in crime, then continued down the stairs. "Let me know if I need to call a cleanup crew!" he hollered behind him.
His features knotting as if the air had turned foul, Damon stood for a moment, processing the pure lunacy he'd just encountered. He kept an eye on Mikael to make sure he didn't follow them. Then, as soon as he was out of sight, Damon dashed up the stairs to Rebekah's room.
Marcel was already pounding on her door and calling for her. Given his growing volume, it seemed she was ignoring him.
Finally, just as Damon stopped alongside Marcel, the door opened.
The person who greeted them on the other side was Stefan... who, for some inexplicable reason, had shiny gems and tiny flowers layered into his hair.
He lowered his eyes at their startled expressions, jutting a thumb back toward the room. "Caroline's... practicing on me first."
"I need to speak to Rebekah," Marcel told him.
"I know," Stefan sighed. "She won't come to the door. She said she's going ahead with the wedding."
Marcel held out the tablet for Stefan to take. "There's a folder on the home screen labelled 'Evidence'. Get Rebekah to watch all the video clips and explain to her everything I told you. Tell her I was set up, and that's why I left. I'll be downstairs at the bar if she wants to talk about it."
Stefan took the tablet and nodded. "I'll make sure to show her."
"Thanks, man," Marcel replied, patting him on the shoulder gratefully.
After Marcel left, Damon stood staring at his brother for a moment with a bemused expression. This was definitely one for the family photo collection, but he'd probably have the door slammed in his face by the time he whipped out his phone to take a shot.
Since Stefan was clearly waiting for his brother to get his opinion off his chest, Damon happily obliged, "So, are you the bouquet or the flower girl?"
"Good one, Damon," Stefan replied flatly, easing the door closed.
"Is that a butterfly –?"
He banged the door shut.
Chapter 41: Wedding, Interrupted
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-One: Wedding, Interrupted
Elena Gilbert
Damon had messaged Elena to say they were all waiting at the bar. He was quick to clarify that he was not getting drunk, followed by a halo emoji, which made her smile. It was Marcel who insisted on staying at the bar, and apparently Damon was on a supervision rota with Elijah and Klaus to prevent Marcel from drinking away his nerves. They each took turns changing for the wedding one at a time... all except for Marcel who, even in the final thirty minutes before the wedding was due to begin, was still hoping Rebekah would show up.
Elena made her way downstairs and toward the bar with Caroline and Stefan. Elijah was pivoting Marcel toward him so he could button up the top of his shirt and force him into a tie, and Damon was handing Marcel's most recent drink order back to the bartender so he could pour it down the sink.
As soon as Damon spotted Elena, he froze in a way that made the noise and bustle of the bar fade into nothing. She was dressed in a sleek, fitted, halterneck cocktail dress in a deep purple satin, and had her hair scooped over one shoulder. He looked her up and down, his blue eyes remained transfixed on her, like she was the only thing worth focusing on, and his smile unfurled slowly until it was full and warm enough for her to feel it across the room.
She bit her bottom lip as she approached him. He'd warned her that Elijah had loaned him one of his dark gray, Savile Row suits, but she hadn't expected herself to be so disarmed by how handsome he looked. She draped her arms over his shoulders and planted a kiss on his lips.
His brows lifted and smile widened. "So, I've been upgraded from a kiss on the cheek to a kiss on the lips? How'd I manage that?"
"By looking extremely gorgeous," she simpered lovingly.
"Yeah?" he beamed. He glanced quickly at Elijah. "I'm going to need to buy a few of these suits, my man."
"Those suits cost twelve thousand dollars each," Elijah advised him.
Damon turned back to the way Elena was eyeing him and stroking along his biceps. "Well, maybe just the one then." As she pulled open his jacket and ran her nails teasingly down his chest, he watched her mouth purse into a sultry pout, pretending to be scandalously tempted to go back on their relationship agreement. He smiled in roguish delight, "It'll be one hell of an investment."
Elijah stopped fussing with Marcel's clothes just long enough to wiggle a finger in their direction. "Elena, dear, careful with your nails," he requested. "Damon, don't let her rip it."
Damon spun his head to Elijah with a smug smile. "I'm telling you right now, Elijah, that if she tears this suit from my body, the chances of me stopping her are precisely zero to none." He then wrapped his arms around her as she tucked herself underneath his jacket and snuggled into him.
Stepping around the couple, Klaus sauntered closer to Caroline, who was wearing a fitted blue lace dress and crystal chandelier earrings. "You look lovely, Caroline," he said smoothly. Then his eyes flicked to Stefan standing beside her, and his tone gained a sharper edge. "Of course, you'd look even lovelier without this bouffant accessory by your side."
Caroline scowled and slid her arm through Stefan's. "This 'accessory' happens to make me look fabulous."
Klaus's mouth twitched. "Come now," he taunted, "that's just the pregnancy hormones talking."
She scoffed, a short, incredulous sound, and Stefan's hand came up to rest protectively over the arm she had looped through his. "That lie ends the moment this weekend does, Klaus," he reminded him. "She's not doing this for your benefit."
Klaus's gaze dropped to Stefan's hand, then back up with a flash of mild irritation. "Do you mind handing over my date, Salvatore? I need to escort her to the ceremony."
Stefan's mouth curved faintly. "Tell me, do all your dates double as a test of a woman's endurance?"
Caroline patted Stefan's hand with firm finality, signaling her readiness to move on before the chest-thumping began. "It's fine. This is going to be over soon." She detached herself from him, stepping forward to take hold of Klaus's arm.
Elijah gave Marcel's tie one last sharp tug, straightening it before stepping back. Glancing repeatedly at the newcomers, Marcel barely waited for him to retreat before closing in on Stefan. "Rebekah saw all the video clips, right? You showed them to her?"
Stefan gave a short nod. "Just like I'd messaged you. She watched them, and I told her everything – including the extra details you added in your replies."
Marcel searched his face, restless energy visible in every shift of his stance. "How did she react?"
"She didn't really speak much after that," Stefan replied evenly, "but she looked kind of upset. I guess that's to be expected."
Marcel's brows drew together. "So... is she coming to talk to me?"
Stefan lowered his eyes. "I don't think so."
Marcel let out a breathy laugh. It was the thin, fragile chuckle of someone clinging to denial. "No way... she has to, right?" But when Stefan's expression flattened, so did Marcel's. He clenched his jaw, dropped his head for a moment, and then forced a shrug. "Fine. If she won't come to me, then I'll go to her –" He turned like he was about to stride off in search of her, but Stefan caught his arm.
"Last I saw, Mikael was heading to her room," he informed him. "If she's going to call off the wedding, he'll probably be the first person she'll tell. Let's just... see what happens."
The fight in Marcel's posture stilled, and he glanced around at everyone else. They all gave short, shallow nods, seemingly in agreement.
Stefan set a steadying hand on Marcel's shoulder, his tone calm but firm. "Come on. We should start heading to the ceremony."
Marcel didn't argue this time, letting Stefan steer him out of the bar and down the corridor. In contrast to the jubilant pre-wedding revelry surrounding them, their mood was pensive and their pace unhurried. They all knew that whatever direction the wedding took, one thing was for sure: no good could come from Marcel causing a scene. His fate was in Rebekah's hands now.
The passage eventually widened into a broad anteroom, and directly ahead, a set of tall double doors stood open to reveal the ceremony room beyond. From the threshold, they could see two dozen rows of pale wooden chairs dressed with lavender ribbons, positioned either side of a wide aisle lined with an ivory runner. Light spilled in through the tall windows, bouncing off a pair of crystal chandeliers that hung from the white coffered ceiling. And, at the far end, an ornate fireplace made of dark carved wood stood beneath a towering arrangement of lilacs and white roses. A few guests were already seated inside.
Stefan jutted a thumb behind him. "I should head back. I don't exactly have an invitation."
"Nonsense," Mikael's voice boomed, trudging down a nearby sweeping staircase. He paced toward the group with a glow in his expression – possibly from the buzz of the occasion, or possibly from too much alcohol. He stopped just beside the doorway, facing them. "There's plenty of space. There's been a few no-shows. Plus, one hospitalization... which may, or may not, have had something to do with me." He tapped his nose conspiratorially.
"I guess that's... lucky," Stefan managed, though without much conviction.
Mikael's attention shifted to Marcel. "Oh, you're still alive then," he declared with disappointment. "I've just got back from seeing my daughter – or what little I saw of her before she closed the door on me. She's having to get her wedding makeup done for the second time. It was all smeared down her face. Did you say anything to her to make her cry?"
Concern flashed across Marcel's features. "Why's she crying?"
"How should I know? That's why I was asking you," Mikael snapped. He raised his chin, studying Marcel with scrutinizing eyes. "Do you know something I don't?"
Marcel's jaw flexed. "Nope. But I guess we'll both know soon enough." Without waiting for a response, he brushed past Mikael into the ceremony room, with Stefan following behind him.
Before Caroline and Klaus could pass through, Mikael's arm shot out to stop them. "So, this is the woman who's carrying my son's child." His gaze swept over her slowly and evaluatively. "I assumed you were a whore, you know, but you don't look like one to me."
Caroline's eyes burst wide with fury. "How dare you!" She batted Klaus's hand away as he attempted to place it on her shoulder to pre-emptively hold her back from verbally skinning his father alive. "Try calling me that and I'll take a page out of your book, march upstairs, grab your confiscated gun, and shoot you in the leg."
Mikael let out a short, delighted laugh before spinning to Klaus. "Oh, I like her. I like her a lot. Fearless, willful, and already following in my footsteps. Perfect mother for my grandchild." He turned back to Caroline, taking her hand in both of his and cupping it warmly. "I apologize for offending you, my dear. Welcome to the family. The blame lies entirely with my tomcat of a son for the condition he's got you in. I'm sure you're as surprised as I am that a cock so small could fertilize anyone so easily."
Klaus's eyes closed briefly in exasperation. "Thank you for that, Father," he said tightly, guiding Caroline firmly into the ceremony room.
Damon and Elena approached next, his arm slung loosely over her shoulders, while Elijah followed behind them at a short distance.
Mikael stopped them with a surprised, almost jovial, "I heard you were brother and sister."
"Err... yeah," Damon said, blinking.
"That's nice," Mikael said, smiling broadly at their seemingly inseparable posture. "I wish my children were as close as you two."
A flat, cautionary smile stretched across Damon's face. "No, you don't," he quickly cemented, continuing inside.
One by one, they each slipped into a row near the center of the room, and Elijah attempted to scoot Marcel inward, intent on keeping him away from the aisle in case he decided that a last-minute desperate dive onto Rebekah's wedding dress train was the way to go. Marcel ignored the silent warning, dropping into the aisle seat, his expression locked in defiance. With a roll of his eyes, Elijah decided to let the choice stand, taking the next chair beside him, prepared to intercept any terrible decisions.
Elena eased into the chair beside Damon, smoothing her dress as she sat. She leaned closer, lowering her voice to keep their conversation just between them. "I think Rebekah and I might be on better terms now," she said with a tentative smile. "After she realized what Marcel had planned, she didn't seem to hold it against me. The company might be safe."
Damon's arm locked with hers as he settled back lazily. "Good," he smiled. "Then that's all the more reason we can't let him" – he tipped his head toward Marcel – "turn this ceremony into a circus, else she'll go back to blaming everyone who got involved."
Elena's lips pressed together, her earlier hope dimming as she glanced sideways at Marcel, whose nervous fidgeting displayed every ounce of his inner turmoil.
As more guests trickled in, it was starting to become very clear that this wasn't a wedding like any Elena had ever experienced, though she wasn't sure why she'd expected otherwise. Despite the chandeliers and the floral arrangements, the room buzzed with a ruckus energy that made the soft, tranquil background music sound like the opening theme to the world's politest mobster movie.
Marcel's voice still carried from the doorway, receiving guests with a mix of joyous welcomes and thinly veiled reminders about overdue debts. A female worker wearing cotton gloves walked the aisle with a small burlap sack, collecting handguns the way a teacher might confiscate cell phones before a final exam. The collection seemingly made no difference, since guests still leaned back in their seats with the languid, smug postures of people who also carried knives strapped to their calves. Somewhere near the front, two men in matching suits argued in low voices about territory lines, and others laughed in amusement at shared stories where the punchline involved a great deal of blood and broken bones.
Still, the show went on. Workers continued to dart in and out, making last-minute adjustments while chairs were claimed. The rows filled, chatter thickened, and by the time the last stragglers had slipped into place, the aisle stretched empty between a crowd of faces.
Then, from the back of the room, Kai appeared, walking with measured strides down the ivory runner. His suit was an immaculate midnight blue; the jacket tailored to the sharp line of his shoulders. A pale lilac tie knotted neatly at his throat matched the flowers at the altar, and a crisp white pocket square peeked from his breast pocket. He looked every inch the groom, giving cheery hand slaps and shoulder nudges to nearby male guests. But as he passed the row where Elijah sat, his eyes flicked sideways. It was a quick, sorrowful glance – one that lingered as he continued onwards.
Kai took his place at the front, and for the briefest instant, their eyes locked once more, Elijah's impassive calm meeting his restless unease. Kai shifted his shoulders as if the suit had grown uncomfortable, and his eyes dropped downwards, allowing him to force an expected smile back onto his face.
Then, remembering a joke he'd prepared, Kai removed his tie from the front of his waistcoat and waved it at the audience. It had the word "Help" written vertically in marker pen near the bottom, which prompted a wave of laughter from the married men in the room. Kai laughed back until he caught Elijah's eye again, and his smile faltered. He bounced the tie at him one last time, almost like a genuine plea, before tucking it away.
Elena leaned in, whispering to Elijah, "He doesn't want to go through with this, does he?"
Elijah lowered his head solemnly. "He's a grown man. He can make his own choices."
Then a sudden swell of noise came from outside, sharp enough to turn a few heads and send a ripple of murmurs through the crowd. Mikael's voice carried above it, exclaiming with concern, "What's going on, darling? Why aren't you dressed?"
Rebekah marched inside the ceremony room, barefaced but furious, her unadorned blonde hair bouncing wild and loose around her shoulders. Instead of satin or lace, she wore a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt smeared with streaks of foundation and mascara, like she'd tried to claw the makeup from her skin the moment she'd had enough of it.
Gasps broke out as she stormed down the aisle, every step thumping against the ivory runner. Kai stiffened at the sight of her, but before she reached him, Marcel rose from his seat, blocking her path. The tension snapped sharply in the air as she halted in front of him.
There wasn't even a pause in her movement as her arm lifted, swinging with the motion of an open slap. But, with a slight smirk, Marcel caught her wrist mid-strike, predicting her well enough – knowing her well enough – that he'd long since learned to block the slaps that he wasn't prepared to take.
But her other hand came up in a swift arc and landed across his opposite cheek instead.
Given the way Marcel flinched and dropped her wrist, that was a new move.
"You left me!" she screeched at him.
"You know why!"
"Not good enough!" She took a step back, taking in huge, shuddering breaths of air like she was trying to prevent herself from crying again. Her eyes never left Marcel and, for a short while, her head shook from side to side, either trying to tell herself it was too late, or trying to convince herself it wasn't. Then a croak of laughter burst from her throat. "I still love you."
A weight lifted from Marcel, his shoulders loosened, and he closed the distance between them, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Baby, I never stopped loving you."
Clinging onto him, Rebekah tucked her face into his neck and uttered half-jokingly, "It's lucky you do, because I'm still mad enough to stab you."
Overhearing this, Mikael strode into the room, stopping a short distance from them. "Rebekah, my girl, that's an excellent idea!" Then he appealed with open arms to the wedding guests. "Does anyone have a knife on them that my daughter could borrow?"
A few hesitant hands raised but swiftly descended as Rebekah dropped out of Marcel's arms and made her way to her father. She skewered him with a raw glare and hissed, "You set Marcel up so that he would leave me."
Mikael shot Marcel a weary look of disappointment. "So, you told her then? That's an awful shame because I told you what the consequences would be for that." He took out his phone. "I do hate to report you to the police for your involvement in that young woman's murder. Police are such snoopy bastards. One minute you're offering them a cup of tea, and the next they want to know whose blood stain that is, and why there's a noose hanging from the garage ceiling – it's such an unnecessary palaver. Expensive too, what with all the bribes."
"Put away the phone, Mikael," Marcel ordered. "I've got all the evidence I need that you were responsible for the woman's death."
At Mikael's surprised but still skeptical expression, Rebekah confirmed, "It's true, I've seen it."
His eyes went from one of them to the other, then back again. Finally acknowledging the sincerity in their faces, Mikael emitted a heavy sigh and put his phone back in his pocket. He stood, arms drawn down, one hand folded over the other, and his chin lowered. "I see," he muttered. "So, what exactly does this mean for you both? Are you planning to run off together like silly, lovestruck teenagers and leave poor Kai standing at the altar?" He raised an open palm out toward Kai, set awkwardly apart in the distance.
"He won't care," Rebekah asserted, her chin held high.
"Well, of course Kai would care," Mikael insisted. "He's your fiancé, why on earth wouldn't he care?"
"Because I'm homoflexible," Kai finally admitted, his sigh coming out sharp and loud.
Elena nudged against Elijah's shoulder with an excited smile. He smiled back at her and took her by the hand.
Mikael stared at Kai, his brows lowered and mouth open, like he'd just spoken a foreign language. "Homo... flex... what? What the bloody hell does that mean? Kindly explain that to someone born in the former century!"
"It means he's predominantly gay, but I was special," Rebekah explained, putting it as simply as she could for her father to understand. Her eyes then dropped, and her tone saddened. "Or, at least, I thought I was special. I liked that I was, and I'd hoped that was enough for us to work."
"You are special, sweetpea," Kai declared tenderly from behind her. "Nothing changes that."
Rebekah glanced back at him with a light smile. "Thanks, babe."
"Well, if she's so bloody special, why are you letting her go?!" Mikael snapped at Kai.
"Because..." Kai sighed, "I'm in love with someone else."
The room held its breath and Elijah's hand immediately shot to Elena's knee, his fingers curling tight like he needed an anchor. He half-lifted from his chair, wavering between wanting to run to Kai and holding back in case he wasn't ready for his lover to be exposed yet. His eyes were alight with excitement, chest rising fast, as if the words had uncorked something he'd been brewing beneath his uptight exterior for weeks.
"Who?" Mikael demanded, his voice like the crack of a whip.
Kai's eyes dropped, unable to withstand the weight of his gaze, and rotated to Elijah instead. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he tipped his chin into a slight nod, confirming to Elijah that he was the man he'd fallen for.
Elijah's entire body leaned forward, willing Kai to finish the confession for him, to hell with his father's judgment. Elijah gave a firm nod of permission and mouthed at him to say it.
But Kai shook his head. His jaw set, and when he spoke, his voice was steady. "Nobod –"
"Me," Elijah stated. He pushed himself to his feet, straightened his jacket with deliberate precision, then turned to face his father directly.
The declaration hit the room like a thunderclap. Mikael staggered back a step, gasping as though a physical weight was pressing on his chest. His arm shot out to stab an accusatory finger between the two men. "No," he rumbled. "You both denied it to me."
Elijah inclined his head into a short, grave bow. "We lied."
For a long, taut moment, Mikael said nothing, his glare scorching each of them in turn – Rebekah, Marcel, Kai, Elijah – while grappling with their collective betrayal. Finally, he flung his arms wide, palms up, his voice rising over the restless murmurs. "So this is your grand plan? To humiliate me in front of my associates? To play the victim when I tell you that every last one of you will be cut off?" He whipped around to face Rebekah, pointing a finger at her and hissing sourly, "You were supposed to inherit everything."
"We don't care about the inheritance," Rebekah shot back defiantly.
"Don't you?" Mikael sneered. "Then who will take over everything I've built? Who among you is fit to continue my legacy when I'm gone?"
Marcel let out a low scoff. "Gone where? To prison? After we put you away for murder?"
"You wouldn't dare," Mikael snarled, stepping closer. "My children would never allow it – not now. Not with the circumstances as they are."
Rebekah's eyes narrowed, suspicion filtering into dread. "What circumstances?"
Mikael let the silence stretch, savoring it, before delivering the final blow. His smile was thin and cruel.
"I'm dying."
Chapter 42: Heir Comes Trouble
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Two: Heir Comes Trouble
Damon Salvatore
Rebekah's voice warbled as she asked her father, "What do you mean, you're 'dying'?"
Damon slumped down in his seat with a muttered curse. He could tell Rebekah exactly what that meant. It meant that they'd all pissed off Daddy Mikaelson, and pretty soon he was going to be able to pew-pew as many of them as he wanted, knowing that not long afterward he would be a goner anyway. So, unless one of his children could step up as being responsible enough to take over his empire, they were going to spend weeks – possibly months – looking over their shoulders.
Talking of looking over his shoulder... Damon glanced back at the younger Mikaelson situated not far behind him. He peeked down the row and discovered flat-out why he was Elena's hard pass. The guy had earbuds in his ears and was on his phone, totally oblivious to everything going on around him. This Lord Layabout couldn't even conquer eye contact, let alone an empire. He had to be rock bottom on the contender list.
While Mikael was telling Rebekah about some tumor in his brain – which Damon figured would only make his behavior more unstable as time went on – he nudged Elena and whispered, "Switch seats with me."
"Why, what's wrong?" she whispered back.
"Mikael's pissed at his kids right now, and you're parked right next to one," Damon explained. "Switch with me. Sit by Caroline. He thinks she's incubating the golden grandchild, so she's basically off-limits if things turn ugly."
"You're asking me to move so you can play human shield?" Elena shot back under her breath. "No!"
"Honey, I appreciate the damsel-in-reverse thing, but you're too much of a lightweight to protect me anyway, so move or I'll pull you over my knee."
Elena's eyebrows raised. "You're going to spank me in the middle of the ceremony?"
Replaying his last words over in his head, Damon then rolled his eyes at how it sounded. Though the upward twitch of her mouth suggested she was already picturing it, and enjoying how the scene played out. "No," he whispered loudly, his voice laced with amusement. "I meant, I'll lift you up and force you onto my side."
"Fine," Elena grumbled, and shifted herself discreetly over his lap, deliberately brushing her ass against him.
"You did that on purpose," he mock-growled as he planted himself in his new seat, next to Elijah.
"I certainly did," she smiled teasingly. "Want me to move back again to repeat it?"
"I know your tricks," he smirked. "I'm staying right here."
Damon refocused on the events going on in the aisle. Mikael had now delivered the full details of his diagnosis, and the effect on everyone was immediate. The silence dissolved, voices rising in scattered whispers. For once, none of Mikael's children had a snide comment ready. Rebekah's lips trembled, and Elijah's throat worked as though he were swallowing broken glass. Damon turned his head to see Klaus clenching his jaw, looking like he was two seconds away from throwing a tantrum. Guests craned their necks to catch the reactions of others, and the murmurs of the crowd were getting louder. So loud, in fact, that it pissed Mikael off.
"Oh, shut up, all of you!" he snapped, circling to glare at them. He let the words hang for a beat, daring anyone to defy him. "Don't pretend you haven't been wishing for this for years, you bunch of sycophants. I'll be calling in everything you owe me before I go, make no mistake about that."
"How long have you got?" Elijah asked, his voice thick and uneven.
"Oh, twelve months if I'm lucky. Less, if all these arsewipes are lucky," Mikael said with a casual ease, sweeping his arms around the room, gesturing to everyone in it. His gaze then stopped on Rebekah, and he exhaled, as though pinning the last of his hopes on her shoulders. "That's why it was my greatest wish to see you married, my dear."
Marcel moved to Rebekah's side and slipped an arm around her shoulders, making it clear that any burden Mikael tried to pile on her belonged to him now too. "You could still see that," he told him, "if you'd put your prejudices aside and give us your blessing."
Rolling his eyes, Mikael returned to his old, cranky self, scoffing, "Oh, it's not about that, you silly boy. I hated you before because you wouldn't surrender to me, and now I hate you because you'd never surrender yourself to become the man I'd need you to be in my absence."
Marcel's brow creased, and he flicked a glance at Rebekah, searching her face for any clue of what her father meant.
Taking a few steps closer, Mikael sighed and produced a list from his suit pocket, opening the paper up in front of him. "Let me prove it to you. This is my kill list. The first person on the list is a Charles Leon – oh, crap, he's not here, is he?" Mikael swished his head from side to side, looking around at the crowd. "Charles, you piece of shit, are you here?!" he shouted. Waited. No answer. Mikael returned to his list. "No? Good. He shouldn't be; he didn't RSVP, the bastard."
"Mikael, I would never kill anyone," Marcel calmly insisted.
"Well, this is precisely my point, Marcel," Mikael continued. "But let me test this theory. Charles skimmed three million off the top of our casino partnership, like I wouldn't notice. But here's what makes this kill simple for you: he's also been cheating on his wife. So, just slip her the evidence, and she'll most certainly do it for you. You can be part of a brilliant legal team to get her out of it. It's completely ethical – everyone abhors adultery. Well, except half the men in this room, but that's what makes them so easy to kill."
Marcel looked him dead in the eyes. "Mikael... I said no."
Waving the paper in Marcel's face, like he'd just proven his point, Mikael stepped back again, glowering. "And that is exactly why I'll never approve of you. You'd run my empire into the ground with that stubborn, righteous attitude. Unlike Kai, you haven't got what it takes."
"Kai wouldn't kill anyone," Rebekah burst, gesturing wildly at her ex-fiancé's thunderstruck expression as proof.
"Oh, no?" Mikael queried, accepting the challenge. "I have a strong sense for those who have potential, you know." He paced forward toward Kai, his eyes repeatedly flicking over his shoulder to Rebekah, like he wanted her to catch every word. "He's bisexual, you say?"
"Homoflexible," she corrected him.
Mikael rasped through his lips. "My girl, do stick to terminology invented prior to the twenty-first century – you know I can't stand that nonsense. That just means he has a preference for cock... it doesn't mean he has to suck it. It's all about willpower." Halting at Kai's side, brandishing the list, his words pitched down the aisle to Rebekah. "These unconventional youngsters have a very strong sense of justice. Now, their idea of justice may not be the same as mine, but the beauty of dealing with criminals is that there's always some other filth in their history to pick from."
Kai shook his head in exasperation. "I'm not going to kill anyone either, Mikael. You've got me all wrong."
"Nonsense, lad," Mikael chuckled. "Don't sell yourself short. Now, look here – this chap is called Andrew Rowe. He's about your age. I gave him a job opportunity at one of my companies, and he stole half my clients and sold them to a rival company. Now I want him dead. Oh, wait there..." Mikael turned to face the crowd. "Andrew, you gobshite, are you here?!" he shouted. Waited. No answer. "No? Good."
"That doesn't mean he deserves to die," Kai maintained.
Mikael stared at Kai with a deliberate pause, his chin held high, like he was about to dare him to stand by his answer. "He called Rebekah fat."
Kai swiped the list from him. "Okay, he's dead. Who's next?"
Grinning over his shoulder at his daughter, Mikael bragged, "See, what did I tell you." He turned back and pointed to another name on the list. "This one stuffed Elijah's gym bag in the toilet."
"Oh, he's already in the ground," Kai agreed. "You're making this way too easy for me."
"Father, that was in high school," Elijah protested.
"Honey, let the big boys work," Kai told him sassily, now totally sold on the vendetta.
Point proven, it now took a few tugs for Mikael to prise the list back from Kai's hands. "Let go... let go..." he urged gently. Then, with a bit of persistence, he wriggled it free. He returned to where Rebekah and Marcel were standing. "You see, with the right person and the right motivation, anything is possible."
"And what was your motivation for killing that young actress?" Marcel asked. "She was innocent, and you only targeted her to set me up."
"Innocent, eh? Right, let's see if I can locate the man who dated her, and he can explain to you just how innocent she was." Mikael scanned the crowd again. "Robert Kent, are you here?!"
From the back row, a man in his seventies stood up nervously.
Mikael swiped his arm, gesturing for him to sit back down. "Sorry, I meant Robert Junior," he amended. Then, with a tut, added, "Christ, man, if you dated someone that young, I'd shoot you myself." He scanned the crowd once more, but when the face he wanted failed to appear, he turned back to Marcel. "Fine, I'll tell you the story. Robert was dating this particular young actress, and she was insistent on them moving to California – thought she was going to be a huge star, like they all do. He had the money, he had the connections, but the only thing stopping them was the shared custody he had with his ex-wife. Now, that child had a severe food allergy, which was suddenly flaring up with alarming frequency. Some near-fatal episodes. Guess who was responsible?"
"The actress," Marcel sighed, his eyes dropping in defeat.
"Correct," Mikael nodded. "Unfortunately, there wasn't sufficient proof for her arrest, and leaving her did not result in her leaving them alone, so he asked me to take care of her. The similarity to Rebekah was purely a coincidence that worked in my favor." Then suddenly, a reminder struck him, and he directed his attention back to Robert Senior, yelling over the rows of faces. "Oh, that reminds me, Robert – tell your son that he was a hundred dollars short on the payment! I already gave him a discount to five figures. Is he behind on the cable bill or something? The cheeky sod."
"So, you're telling me you only kill criminals?" Marcel scoffed skeptically.
"Well, I do make an exception for men who are unsuitable for my daughter."
Marcel squared up to him. "Is that a threat?"
"It's a promise that if one of my children doesn't find a suitable match for marriage within the next quarter, then I will simply have to... free up Rebekah," Mikael said. "She's young, she's beautiful, she's feisty – she'll have no problem finding a husband to my liking. The family legacy will continue, Marcel."
Klaus quickly stood. "It can continue with me, Father."
Mikael turned and blinked at his son like he'd just announced he wanted to join the priesthood. "My Klaus, the tomcat? My family would see me in a pink tutu before they'd ever see you settled down. Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm absolutely serious, Father." Klaus squared his shoulders, straightened his suit, then pivoted toward Caroline.
She frowned, instantly suspicious. "Serious about what?"
"Now, ordinarily," Klaus began, his voice pitched higher for maximum effect, "I would do this part kneeling. But since everyone here will want to witness history in the making, I'm afraid I'll have to do it standing."
Caroline leaned in, her voice a sharp hiss. "Kneeling? Klaus, what the hell are you talking about?"
Without missing a beat, Klaus slid a small velvet box from his suit pocket. He flicked it open to reveal a huge, glittering, princess-cut diamond.
Caroline's jaw dropped. Elena clapped both hands over her mouth.
Less fazed, Damon raised his eyebrows, his mouth forming a lopsided curve of approval. Well, knock him over with an engagement ring. He'd been bracing for a bloodbath, but hell, the lunatic had actually found a loophole. He hated to admit it, but the stunt was impressive.
Stefan was not so impressed. He shot up from his chair so fast he nearly knocked it over. He fumed quietly at Klaus's side, "Okay, you've gone too far. Drop the act."
"Oh, it's not an act," Klaus replied smoothly, his eyes glimmering smugly.
He leaned down and dipped his head closer to Caroline, lowering his voice so only she and her friends could hear. "But it was planned. Breaking up the wedding got me back in Father's good graces. Elijah and Rebekah have what they want, but they're cut off. The inheritance is now ours for the taking... if you agree." He looked down at the ring and sighed. "I had hoped it would be forever, but I suppose the recent news will make the decision easier for you. You only need to be married to me for twelve months, then, once my father's passed on, you can walk away with half of everything, if you so wish."
Caroline's eyes flew wide, her gaze snapping between Klaus and the ring like she couldn't decide if this was a joke, a nightmare, or foolishly tempting.
And then Klaus straightened, gave the audience a wolfish grin, and thrust the open ring box forward once more.
"Caroline Forbes," he announced, "will you be my wife?"
Chapter 43: Conveniently On Trope
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Three: Conveniently On Trope
Elena Gilbert
Since the sight of Klaus's engagement ring made Elena's stomach plummet to the ground, she could only imagine how Caroline was feeling. It was just like him to blindside her best friend without warning. If the proof of his plotting wasn't glinting back at them like a stolen crown jewel, she might have thought he'd just gotten drunk, stupid, and impulsive.
Elena couldn't help but wonder how long Klaus had been planning this. He'd not once indicated any interest in getting his hands on the inheritance. Yet the way Caroline's face drained of color told Elena this wasn't just about the money. Klaus had found a way to kill two birds with one diamond ring: lock down the fortune and lock down her. And with Elijah and Rebekah cut off, he suddenly came off looking like the dutiful son instead of the scheming opportunist he actually was.
Flicking her gaze to her friend, Elena braced for detonation. Caroline's jaw was hanging open, her eyes darting between the ring and Klaus as though she was silently begging for a fire alarm to go off and rescue her from answering.
Meanwhile, Stefan looked two seconds away from spontaneously combusting. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his posture stiffened, and his fists were curled so tight Elena half-expected to hear bones crack. But, by some miracle, he held back. Probably only because he was surrounded by the type of company that would happily pile in if things got physical.
The longer Caroline didn't answer, the less smug Klaus's smile became. Some of the guests nudged each other and whispered, and Elena could see the first thread of unease tugging at him. Then, dutifully pasting the charm back on, he bent at the knees and lowered himself down, velvet box still open in offering.
"Caroline..." he said quietly, dialing down the spiel, "will you marr –"
Before the final words could even leave his mouth, Caroline's hand shot up and fisted his tie. She yanked him forward with such force that Klaus nearly lost his balance.
"Klaus," she hissed, her voice low and venomous, "if you say that once more, that ring will be pulled out from your autopsy."
Shoving him back, Caroline then bolted upright, her chair screeching against the floor. One hand flew to her mouth as she spun, shuffled her way past Klaus and Stefan, and stormed off toward the door. A ripple of whispers moved across the room as the crowd twisted in their seats to watch her leave.
Stefan didn't hesitate. He was on her heels in a heartbeat, cutting through the side aisle without so much as a glance backwards, intent on catching up with her before she slipped away.
Snapping the ring box closed, Klaus slowly rose to his feet, his tie still hanging crooked around his neck. He straightened himself and addressed the room without actually meeting anyone's eyes. "Pregnancy nausea," he announced with brittle confidence. "Too much excitement. I'll get back to you on her answer, Father."
Nobody spoke until Mikael's dark amusement filled the gap.
"Nausea?" he echoed, his eyes tracking his son as he headed after Caroline. "Fitting. Your mother spent her whole pregnancy sick of you too." Then, as laughter broke out in low, uncomfortable spurts from the guests, Mikael waved both arms broadly, motioning them all to stand. "Up you get. Show's cancelled. Let's wait for Klaus to get back with the good news. As intolerable as he is, she'd be a fool to refuse that kind of offer. Go get yourselves a drink before I regret letting you stay."
Elena and Damon slipped out of their seats and rushed toward the door before the crush of bodies could clog the aisle. Back in the antechamber, the air was cooler and calmer, but Caroline and Stefan were nowhere in sight. Klaus, however, continued to stride ahead down the hallway like he was hot on their scent. Somehow he knew exactly where she'd headed.
They both trailed him to some patio doors where a broad stone path stretched down toward the garden, and steps led to a fountain set in the center of a circular courtyard. Klaus headed straight down the path as though pulled by instinct, his footsteps echoing against the stone.
From the top of the steps, Elena could see Caroline pacing in front of the fountain, gently easing away from Stefan whenever he tried to reach forward to comfort her. Racing ahead, Elena and Damon reached the fountain at almost the same time Klaus did.
"Back for your penny then, I hope," Klaus said, charging between Caroline and Stefan. "Well, allow me." Leaning forward, he plunged his hand straight into the fountain, water splashing up his arm. He fished out the coin Caroline had tossed in earlier and flicked it contemptuously onto the ground. "It's not the bloody Trevi Fountain, love, and even if it were, a single penny only guarantees you'll return – which you can, as often as you please, provided you marry me. My family does own this place, after all."
Elena moved to Caroline's side, while Damon stationed himself next to Stefan, ready to back him up.
"Klaus, you need to go," Elena ordered. "This isn't a proposal. You're cornering her."
Klaus flung his open palm at the fountain, as though the water itself was conspiring against him. "Cornering her in the same location where, hours ago, I found her wishing for a love that is far less than she deserves?"
Stefan stepped forward. "And you think she deserves this game you're playing?"
Bristling at the sudden circle of opposition, Klaus's jaw clenched despite a forced smirk. He scanned the floor, plucked back the penny from the stones, and rolled it between his fingers. "Another wish, then," he intoned, before pitching it into the water. The moment it rippled out, he sneered, "Here's wishing the lot of you would sod off."
"Klaus, leave her alone. She's clearly not interested..." Stefan began.
Covering her face with her hands as though even the fountain would judge her for what she was about to say, Caroline stammered, "I haven't... decided."
Stefan froze for a beat. Waited for her hands to drop so he could look her in the eyes. And when they did, he instantly recoiled, spinning around with his fist pressed against his mouth. She wasn't joking.
Damon caught his brother by the shoulder before he could walk off, his face twisting in disgust as he aimed his words at Caroline. "You can't honestly be considering marrying this fruitcake?"
"A soon-to-be very rich fruitcake," Klaus corrected boastfully.
"Well... it's only a year," Caroline blurted defensively, almost wincing at her own words. "And, afterward, I receive, what? A few million dollars?"
"Hundreds of millions," Klaus supplied breezily into the air. His voice lilted upward like he was half-singing the correction, acting like he was too modest to brag but too pleased not to.
Caroline flashed him a daggered look, making it clear the new price tag didn't tip the scale any faster. Then her gaze slid to Stefan, who had half-turned toward his brother, fingers digging into his temples as if trying to hold himself together. He still couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes again.
Elena's chest tightened as Caroline's head dropped, retreating into herself. Knowing her best friend's loyalties belonged to Stefan, watching her attempt to bury them was torture. She wanted to tell her to just say it, to finally let him see what was in her heart, even if it shattered her pride. But Elena only wrapped her arm around her tightly, her patience fraying by the second. It wasn't her secret to tell. Caroline had to find her own voice.
Elena looked at Damon, and his slight nod mirrored her own awareness. They'd both survived the same kind of ache Caroline was battling now.
But she didn't expect what came next.
Sighing, Damon declared, "You've got to tell her."
Elena quickly tilted her head at the words.
Surely she'd misheard that?
Her?
That didn't make sense. He must have made a mistake.
"Don't you damn... well... dare," Klaus growled, his eyes remaining fixed on Caroline while his hand lifted in a pointed warning at the two brothers.
Damon shrugged and repeated lightly, "Well, now you've got to tell her... even if only to piss off Klaus."
Elena's eyes shot wide open at Damon. He'd repeated himself clear as day, so it wasn't a mistake. What was he not telling her?
Flashing her a flat, sheepish smile, Damon used a finger to circle a pretend halo above his head and pressed his palms together in a theatrical plea for forgiveness.
Elena's eyes pinned him harder, a silent warning not to screw anything up.
Stefan's hand suddenly clasped onto his brother's arm like a man defeated. "Look at what he's offering her, Damon."
"Yes," Klaus agreed, "look at what I am offering her. Marriage, high-up connections, unimaginable wealth... not to mention a husband with strikingly good looks and more than adequate talents between the sheets." He paused, his smirk deepening as he angled his head at Stefan, like a man savoring a private joke at his expense. "Although she hardly needs me to remind her of that."
As realization sank in, every muscle in Stefan's face slackened in disbelief, his mouth parting as though the air had been punched from him. His voice came out breathless, almost breaking. "You slept with Caroline?"
Klaus raised his eyebrows, offering only a smug, noncommittal confirmation.
A breath later, Stefan's anger surged to the surface, shock twisting into fury. His features hardened as he launched forward, the words ripping louder from him. "You slept with Caroline?!"
Damon darted in front of his brother to block the attack, grabbing him by the arms. Even pinned in place, Stefan's eyes never left Klaus, rage blazing past his brother's shoulder as though he were barely there. "Don't make her feel any worse about it than she probably already does," Damon warned him, tightening his grip until he had Stefan's attention. "She's a single woman. She can sleep with whoever she wants, no matter how much of an insufferable prick he is. But if you want to change that, then you're going to have to tell her."
"But I can't –"
Gently pushing his brother back until he was at arm's length, Damon raised his brows at him. "Trust me," he urged. "You're going to want to tell her. Just keep it simple."
Stefan staggered back a step, his gaze flicking to Caroline, who had her arms wrapped around herself, biting her thumbnail with nerves and embarrassment. He looked away, and then back again. Drawing a sharp breath, he gave a shaky nod, scrubbed his hands over his face, and finally forced himself toward her in quick, nervous strides.
He halted in front of her. "I love you, Caroline. I've been in love with you for... I don't even know how long anymore. You're one of my closest friends, and everything you feel and every little thing you do just... matters to me. Our friendship means the world to me, and I didn't want to screw that up. And I know I should've been honest and said it earlier, but every time I worked up the courage, I chickened out. Like that time we went to the amusement park, and for a moment I thought – like, really thought – there was something between us. You were laughing so hard at a joke I'd made that you snorted soda through your nose – and I wanted to kiss you so badly. I was going to kiss you, but then you suddenly asked me to get you some cotton candy, and I thought, well, maybe she saw it coming... and if she's sending me away, then that's my cue to back off. So I did, because I didn't want to ruin what we had. But I never stopped feeling it. So yeah. I'm... in love with you."
As Stefan stood there, unable to read Caroline's expression with her hands clasped over her mouth, Damon said behind him, "Way to keep it simple, Bro."
Caroline's hands finally slipped down from her face, and the look she revealed was a radiant, giddy smile breaking wide across her cheeks. "I didn't send you away because I realized you were about to kiss me," she said, shaking her head with an excited twinkle in her eyes. "I sent you away because I literally had soda dripping out of my nose, and it was gross."
Stefan grinned. "Really?"
After a short giggle, Caroline gave a helpless shrug, like the universe had been playing a cruel joke on them both, and added with a huge smile, "I feel the same way about you."
"And that's how you keep it simple, Bro," Damon needlessly added.
Rolling her eyes, Elena put her finger to her lips, silently and playfully shushing him.
Damon just smirked and winked at her.
As Caroline put her arms around Stefan's shoulders, he asked her hesitantly, "So, I guess the question remains... am I worth more than millions?"
"Millions wouldn't make me laugh until I snorted soda... so, yeah," Caroline nodded, grinning.
Throwing in one last protest, Klaus spread his arm as though appealing to reason, and said, "Well, you've clearly never had the ability to rent out an entire amusement park to yourself, love."
Every pair of eyes turned on him in perfect unison and chorused, "Shut up, Klaus."
Returning his attention back to Caroline, Stefan simply stared at her for a moment, his hand rising to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek as if to reassure himself that this was real.
Caroline shot her eyebrows up at him impatiently. "Are you waiting to buy me cotton candy again?"
He laughed, shook his head, and then leaned down and kissed her with the full force of someone who'd been waiting far too long for this moment. Caroline responded by holding him tighter, sinking into the soft caress of his lips. They remained entwined together for long enough to let the world fall away. Then, when she eventually pulled back to breathe, his mouth lingered close, reluctant to let her go. They stared at each other for a moment, foreheads together, laughing lightly, before she threaded her hands through his hair and pulled him against her lips again.
Damon sauntered over to Elena with a soppy grin and slipped his hands around her waist.
"You knew," she said with a relieved smile, referring to how Stefan felt about Caroline.
"I did," he nodded. "And, as much as I hope my brother's tongue action doesn't get you in the mood for anything, when am I due an upgrade to that? Because I'm feeling kind of left out."
"Hmmm..." Elena considered, wrapping her arms around him. "Name me one stupid thing your brother has done this weekend, and I'll give you one proper kiss in return," she bargained with a smirk.
"He joined a group chat with Klaus," Damon offered. "And he let Caroline put flowers in his hair. That's two. Two kisses. Not one. Two."
Elena raised her eyebrows at the best he had to offer, then relented. "Okay, those are both pretty stupid," she agreed, and pulled him in for his first of two deep kisses.
Klaus looked away from the lovestruck couples with disgust, jaw stiffening, the smugness drained from his expression. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a motion on the garden steps. A young woman was descending in his direction, her movements flustered, though her expression remained composed. She had intelligent green eyes, a soft but striking face, and her delicate features carried a professionalism that looked like they were being tested by the second.
She skidded to a halt in front of him, tossing her shoulder-length blonde waves behind her. She glanced warily at the kissing couple, then back to Klaus, and asked hesitantly, "Is this... a bad time?"
"Yes," Klaus said dryly, "in that I've just lost everything I ever wanted. But no, in that I could use the distraction."
The woman's nervous smile twitched wider as she extended a hand. "I'm Camille, the wedding planner."
Klaus clasped her hand firmly, tipping his head with courtly politeness. "Klaus, the son who's about to disappoint his father yet again. And what, pray tell, can I do for you?"
Camille's breath came a little fast, and her words tumbled out in a rush. "I, um... well, I heard the wedding might be... off. But your father asked me to double-check, in case there's still a celebration planned?"
Klaus's eyes flicked resentfully to Stefan doting on Caroline behind him, then back to Camille. "No celebration," he gritted. "Not today."
All the air seemed to drain out of Camille as she sank slowly onto the steps. She pressed her palms to her knees as if the weight of the words had knocked the strength right out of her. "Oh my god, this can't be happening," she confessed, her words tumbling out thin and hollow. She shook her head before looking up at him with a broken laugh. "You know, this is the fifth wedding I've planned that's collapsed at the altar. Fifth, can you believe that? I swear I'm cursed."
Klaus lowered himself beside her with a self-pitying slump. "You're not cursed, love. My family is. Every one of us is destined to lose a vast inheritance by the time my father dies, which could be any time within the next twelve months. And instead of passing to us, it will likely fall into the hands of a pack of low-life shareholders... or, worse, a cat sanctuary." He gave her a sidelong look, as though inviting her to share in a private joke. "My father adores cats. All villains do. It's very cliché."
Camille gave a startled laugh despite herself, then quickly sobered. "Well, that's still better than my situation. My father is drowning in medical debts, my rent is in arrears, I have loans pulling every last penny out of my pocket from chasing failed dreams, and now my latest business is circling the drain. This wedding was supposed to be my final shot." She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't even know what to do anymore."
As Damon and Elena passed, with Stefan and Caroline close behind, Elena slowed at hearing her words. "Sorry, I just overheard what you said," she interrupted. "This might be a bit out of the blue, but... have you ever heard of a 'Marriage of Convenience'?"
Camille blinked up at her. "Like the romance novel trope? Yeah, why?"
Damon jerked his head toward Klaus, smirking. "Because he's looking for one."
They then all continued up the stairs, back toward the hotel, leaving Camille and Klaus staring at each other in dawning realization, eyebrows raising, and identical smiles tugging at their lips.
Stefan glanced uneasily back at them and muttered, "It's probably not a good idea for us to stick around now that I've stolen the mother of Klaus's child, right?"
"Nope," Damon agreed, clapping him on the back. "Let's pack our stuff and get out of here."
Chapter 44: Epiphany, Straight Up
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Four: Epiphany, Straight Up
Damon Salvatore
"... Because Camille is a woman who actually appreciates a good deal when she's presented with it. The trouble with you lot is that you don't plan for the future. You flitter about from day to day like a pack of unsupervised teenagers..."
Damon groaned into his hand. "How long is his voice message?"
The four of them were now sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at a bar back in town, drinks lined up in front of them. Stefan was dutifully holding his phone out on loudspeaker like a hostage forced to share a ransom note. Elena had her chin propped on her hand wondering the same thing as Damon, and Caroline rolled her eyes at Klaus's audio tantrum and calmly took a sip of her drink. Polly, parked in her travel cage on a stool between the two of them, was rapping her beak loudly against the bars like she was also desperate to hit the stop button on the recording.
"... But anyway, rant over..."
"Finally!" Damon declared, sagging against the bar counter in mock exhaustion. They hadn't packed up all their stuff in record time and hot-tailed it away from the hotel just for Klaus to air-drop his ego into the rest of their evening.
"... I need a good backstory for us both, so get your thinking caps on and get back to me."
Elena stretched her hand across the bar toward Stefan. "Here. Pass me the phone, I'll type him one."
Caroline raised her eyes to the ceiling dreamily and pitched a suggestion. "How about... Camille had been locked in his dungeon for the past year, and Stockholm Syndrome finally kicked in?"
Damon swept his hand in a dramatic arc in front of his head, unveiling a second idea. "Or... her last business was cleaning crime scenes, and their eyes locked across the splattered blood."
Elena side-eyed them both as she started typing. "I think I'll go for something a little more romantic than that."
Caroline's phone buzzed across the counter, and she swiped it up with one hand while still nursing her drink with the other. Her expression brightened at the screen. "Oh, Mom replied."
Stefan perked up, leaning toward her with a giddy smile. "Oh, did you tell her about us?"
Caroline's smile faltered. She frowned at her phone, her brows knitting together. "Yeah. She's happy for us. But now she's telling me about some guy she met in Costa Rica." She slapped the phone face down on the counter and let out a groan. "Urgh, I do not want to hear about some hot fling my mom's having abroad. Can't she just stick to normal mom activities, like... hiking?"
Damon's grin spread, slow and wicked. "Sounds like she is," he quipped. "She's hiking her skirt up."
After a twitch of revulsion, Caroline scowled at him with open disgust. "You're so gross," she sneered. "You know, I'm so glad I ended up with the better brother."
Damon swirled his glass lazily, grinning as he brought the bourbon to his lips. "Elena doesn't want the better brother. She wants the naughty brother." The bourbon slid down smoothly, smugness written all over his face. In his peripheral, he caught his beautiful brunette side-eyeing him with narrowed lids and a pinched smile.
God, that look. He absolutely lived for that half-stern, half-playful look on her face. If she ever stopped giving it to him, he'd probably combust. He angled his gaze just enough to send her a cheeky wink.
Caroline shot back without missing a beat. "Well, from the sound of it, Elena wants you to be a little less naughty. Like the type of man who won't take his future kids trick-or-treating around bars."
Damon blew a dismissive raspberry, lips buzzing against his glass rim. "I would never do that."
Right on cue, the bartender wandered over, towel slung across his shoulder. "Damon, I literally told Caroline that story while you were in the restroom. You did exactly that last October. You came in here dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow, holding a sack of miniatures gathered from all the local drinking establishments, and spouting quotes about rum."
Damon flashed him the kind of smile that carried zero appreciation. "Got any more stories like that about me, Ric? Because, if so, we might need to hop on over to another bar." Preferably one where the staff hadn't memorized his blooper reel.
As Ric grinned, picked up an empty beer crate, and headed out back, Caroline crossed her arms across the counter. "Well, at least the tables have turned. I was getting sick of Polly outing my embarrassing stories."
"Hell, no," Damon spouted. "I'm turning this table back to you." Damon leaned across Elena and crouched so his face was level with the birdcage. His voice dropped into an obnoxious baby coo. "Hey, Polly. Got any more stories about Caroline? Huh? You wanna tell us something else? Come on... Caroline, what? Caroline, what?"
Polly's wings spread, her feathers puffed, and she started bouncing with excitement at the attention. Then she let out a piercing squawk. "Coraline poop pants!"
Bullseye. Gotta love those snitches with wings.
Caroline nearly choked on her drink. "Oh my god–!"
Stefan broke into a chuckle, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Okay, you want to explain the 'poop pants' story, honey?"
"Yeah," Damon piled on immediately, smirking. "Didn't you say your mom got her when you were, like, ten? How many times did you poop your pants between then and adulthood?"
Caroline flailed her hands in exasperation. "It's not what you think! Polly pooped on a dining chair, and I sat in it, that's all!"
"Uh-huh." Damon gave a slow, patronizing nod, clearly unconvinced.
Caroline groaned and turned desperately to Elena. "Elena, can't you put this thing back in the car? I told you how embarrassing she is!"
Elena glanced at the clock, torn between sympathy and amusement. "Actually, I should probably take her back now anyway. I also have some work I need to catch up on." She slid from her seat, one hand curling around Polly's cage handle.
Damon pushed his stool back with a scrape, getting to his feet. "Want me to come with you?"
Stefan leaned back against the bar and casually cut in. "Oh, actually, that reminds me, Elena: a couple of your clients emailed me. They've been trying to get hold of you. Something about their preorder campaign falling behind schedule."
Elena glanced at Stefan with a nod, appreciating the reminder, then turned back to Damon. She reached out, stroking his arm as though to soften the brush off. "No, finish your drink. It's been a busy week, and I really need to catch up on a few things I'm behind on. I can pick you up in an hour if you like."
"Don't worry," Stefan offered quickly. "I can give him a ride back."
Damon followed Elena toward the door anyway, unwilling to let her leave without squeezing the most out of the moment. He leaned down, lowering his voice into something private. "Well, can I cash in my second kiss before you go?"
Her lips curved, coy and teasing. "You want both on the same night?"
He smirked. "What can I say? I'm not very good at saving."
With a growing smile, she threaded a hand through his hair, leaned in, and kissed him, deep and slow enough to almost make her forget her own overdue deadlines. Damon melted into it, one hand braced against the doorframe, trying to pin the moment in place for as long as possible. Damn, if he could bottle these moments up and drink them, he'd never be sober again a day in his life.
And then the door swung inward, bumping his elbow as two men shuffled in. Elena broke away in a fluster, and Damon turned just in time to see Kai spin on his heel, his eyes sweeping over them with a gleeful expression, like he'd just walked into some small-town Red-Light District.
"Ooo, Elijah," Kai crooned, eyes glittering, "this looks like my kind of place."
Damon's shoulders stiffened. "How the hell did you know we were here?"
Elijah stood behind Kai, his gaze cast downward, sheepish and apologetic. "Well... back in my stalking era, I may have placed a tracking device on Elena's car."
Both Damon and Elena froze mid-breath, jaws locking, eyes bulging in horrified sync.
"I'll take it off," Elijah tacked on quickly, as if those four words suddenly made him the patron saint of boundaries.
Kai, meanwhile, gave the couple an unabashed once-over. "You know," he said, cheerful as ever, "I'm not usually one to encourage siblings getting their genetic jollies, but wow – your abnormal babies would be stunning."
Sighing, Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nobody's told him yet. Don't worry, I'll fill him in." He headed for the bar without another glance.
Kai's grin turned positively wicked as he trailed after him. "Oh, he just loves filling me in."
Grimacing at the new company, Damon pleaded to Elena, "You don't fancy hitting me with your car on your way out, do you?"
She shook her head, lips curving at his ridiculous melodrama. Her hand found his cheek as he pulled the bar door open for her. "Let yourself in with the key I gave you. If you're late, I might be asleep."
He leaned against the doorframe as she stepped outside. "Wear something slinky to bed."
"Actually, I was going to wear a hazmat suit," she teased.
"Great, that does it for me too. Very apocalyptic. We'll need to repopulate the earth." He blew her a kiss, followed by a wave, as she rolled her eyes and walked over to her car.
The moment Elena had safely driven away, Damon returned back to his stool inside the bar. He raked a hand through his hair and tipped back his drink, trying to smother the grin tugging at his mouth. Being smitten was impossible to hide. She really had him hooked on her.
Funny thing was, he'd spent years thinking love wasn't on the cards – that he just didn't have it in him – but now? Now he already had an engagement ring ready and waiting for her in his apartment. And one day, he'd use it. That was a promise. But, until then, he had to get things back on track. Not just because his body was aching for her, but because there was no future without her. And he needed her to feel the same. He just didn't know how.
The evening went quickly, and after an hour, the bar had started to thin out, Damon's bourbon glass was empty, and his drink limit was ushering him straight into sappy, emotional territory. He balanced his cheek lazily against his palm. "I shouldn't have told her to wear something slinky to bed," he whined regretfully, his expression pained. "It's going to be silky, I know it is. Soft, short, loose... with a little hint of lace." Then he suddenly straightened with an idea. "Do you think I should handcuff my hands behind my back before I snuggle up to her tonight? That's the safest option, right?"
Stefan chuckled over his beer. "Damon, a few nights of no sex isn't going to kill you."
"Well, that's easy for you to say," Damon grumbled. "You're probably going to get laid tonight."
Stefan shifted awkwardly, glancing at Caroline. "Damon, I'm not going to assume anyth –"
"Yeah, you are," Caroline cut in briskly, taking an innocent sip of her drink like she hadn't just detonated a verbal grenade on the counter.
Stefan raised his eyebrows at her, a smile tugging. He cleared his throat, pretending the news hadn't catapulted him straight onto cloud nine. "Well... erm, I'm just going to finish off my drink and then drive Caroline back home. After that, my phone will be off for the rest of the night."
With a sulk, Damon picked up his glass, forgetting it was empty. Staring at the bottom, he groaned, then thudded it back down. "Damn it, I just need an idea. Something to make Elena see a future with me. Nothing big, just... a time machine. Something like a time machine would do."
Kai, already halfway through Elijah's wine like it was his own, perked up instantly. "Oh, I've got it. Pelvic tattoo. Nothing says 'lifelong commitment' like permanent ink three inches south of your belt buckle. Her name in giant cursive. Women love property claims."
Damon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, hard pass. I need something more serious than that."
Kai shrugged, undeterred. "Fine. More serious..." He snapped his fingers. "Buy matching burial plots. Till death do us part – and beyond. True love is picking out the dirt you'll rot in together for all eternity."
Damon dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah... a little less serious than that."
Elijah gave a long-suffering sigh and then slipped his glass out from between Kai's fingers, taking a sip. "I think if you're planning to go for some kind of grand gesture, Damon, you need to think of something that is meaningful to her." He let his eyes drift to his other half. "Kai, my darling, what's meaningful to you?"
Kai flattened his lips as he considered this. "Well, it was money. Lots of it," he confessed shamelessly. "But now I think there are more important things in life than that. Like love... and cock."
"Well, I'm already offering her both of those," Damon declared, like it belonged in neon lights above his head.
Stefan set his glass down and leaned forward, his tone steady but gentle. "If you can already imagine your future with her, then don't overcomplicate it. Just tell her your story. Every night, have a long talk with her about where you see this going. It might take some time to put that picture together, but –"
Damon shot upright, finger raised like Stefan had just solved the eternal mystery of the fairer sex. His grin stretched slowly as the pieces slotted together. "It won't take time," he cut in. He got from his chair and quickly muttered a plan under his breath, pacing on the spot like a man high on revelation. "It's quick. It's meaningful. It's perfect."
Then, in a sudden burst of gratitude, he lunged toward Stefan and hugged him tight. "Bro, you have just given me the answer, and I am never going to ask you for another thing for as long as I live."
He spun toward the exit, ready to bolt, but stopped short and shuffled back, looking sheepish. "Actually, her apartment's pretty far... I'm gonna need a lift."
Stefan stood up, his smile stretched with fraying patience. "Well, that was nice for the two seconds it lasted."
"But first..." Damon pivoted and pointed to Caroline like she was the final piece of the puzzle. "... I'm also going to need a few things from your place. Stationery. Pretty stuff. Girly stuff. You work in publishing; you must be hoarding all kinds of that crap."
Caroline stood, arching a brow as she slipped her jacket off the back of her stool. "Yeah, but I actually need them."
Damon leaned in, bargaining instantly. "I'll trade you for a few embarrassing Stefan stories to make up for the poopy pants one."
Her lips burst into a wide smile. "Deal."
Stefan groaned, rubbing at his temples. "Damon, are you seriously expecting me to drive all the way to Caroline's, drop her off, drive you to Elena's, and then double back again?"
Caroline slipped her arms around Stefan and gave him a sultry, bitten-lip look. "Actually, that's not a bad idea. It gives me time to slip into something... super hot and sexy."
That earned a quick flick of Stefan's brows and the kind of smile he couldn't smother if he tried. "Three trips it is, then."
"Good man," Damon declared, clapping his brother on the shoulder.
They drifted away from the bar, Caroline taking Stefan's arm and tugging him toward the door. Damon followed, buzzing with fresh purpose. They tossed their goodbyes to Elijah and Kai, who had started bickering about whose drink was whose, and headed out into the night.
Chapter 45: The Balls-Deep Ending
Chapter Text
Chapter Forty-Five: The Balls-Deep Ending
Elena Gilbert
When Elena's eyes fluttered open, the first thing she noticed was that Damon wasn't in bed with her. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep but, if he was still out, that had to mean it was still fairly early. She reached over to her nightstand and took hold of her phone, blinking as the light from the screen hit her face.
4:30AM.
Elena immediately shot upright, noticing a flood of missed message notifications on the screen. Shit! She'd put the phone on mute last night after Klaus wouldn't stop hounding her for more details on the stupid backstory she'd created for his ridiculous fake marriage. Just because it was in their best interests to keep Mikael happy and off their case, that didn't mean she was now his personal relationship advisor. She made a mental note to get Camille's number instead so she could block him. Then she checked all her missed messages.
She let out a held breath reading the last one Damon had sent. He was in the living room. That was good. It meant he was safely back home.
Lowering the phone for a moment, she smiled to herself.
Home? Is that what she thought of her apartment now? His home too? Maybe it was her sleepy bedtime brain coming up with that idea. In the cold light of day, having him under her feet all day might take its toll on her. She'd have to acclimatize herself to him gradually, like climbing a mountain. Which might actually be easier than living with Damon... only time would tell.
She checked the rest of his messages, starting from the top.
User912152255125141: Just doing a few things in my apartment. Be down in an hour.
She instantly spotted the 5125141 in the username. She'd already done her homework, memorizing the number-sequence for her own name on the off-chance Damon ever decided to sneak it into one of his codes. That made it easier to figure out the remaining letters.
I love Elena.
The guy was too adorable for words.
Then she carried on reading.
User912152255125141: Are you asleep?
User912152255125141: Are you dreaming about me?
User912152255125141: Right, I'm coming down to check on you.
User912152255125141: Aw, you look so cute while you're sleeping.
User912152255125141: Okay, I don't want to give off stalker vibes again, so I'm going to be keeping myself occupied in the living room.
His final message was sent at 11PM.
Switching on her bedside lamp, Elena stumbled out of the covers to go check on him. She raked a hand through her hair, trying to flatten the worst of the pillow-tangle as she headed out into the hallway, tugging her oversized nightshirt lower over her shorts.
She spotted Damon in the kitchen, still in yesterday's clothes and standing over the coffeemaker, which suggested he'd intentionally been up all night. The overhead light was off, the only glow spilling in from the living room lamp, softening the edges of his body. When he turned at the sound of her footsteps, she plodded up to him, slipped beneath his arm, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
"Hey sleepyhead," he cooed. "Did I wake you?"
"You didn't come to bed," she said, rubbing her eyes.
"Sorry, there was something I needed to do," he explained. He switched off the machine, deciding against having another hit of caffeine. "Actually, I'm all done now. Mostly. I was going to have another crack at something, but it can wait. Besides, my wrist is killing me." He flexed his right hand with a wince, rubbing at his wrist as though the motion might coax the ache away.
Elena's brows pinched as she watched his movements, curiosity flickering her features. What could he have possibly been doing all night to make his wrist –?
Then it clicked, and her eyes went wide. "Oh." She stared at his hand while Damon paused mid-motion, shooting her a look like he couldn't figure out what the hell she'd just realized. She wet her lips, fumbling for words. "I... I didn't think this was going to be so tough on you. You know, going without... intimacy."
Damon blinked at her, bemusement written all over his face. "What?" Then, as the implication landed, his expression morphed into a rush of fluster. "Oh – no, no, no, no. I wasn't doing that." He gave a little tut and rolled his eyes, eager to set the record straight. "Give me a little credit, Elena. No, I made something for you. Are you awake enough to see it?"
Her lips flickered into a smile. "You made something for me?"
"Yep," he replied, steering her gently into the living room.
Elena scanned the room, half-expecting the surprise to be in plain sight. Polly was tucked away beneath a cage cover, sleeping silently. She figured Damon must have been the one to drape it over her, and wondered fleetingly if the bird had contributed to his sleepless night before he'd forcefully put her to bed.
He eased her down onto the sofa, then leaned across to the end table. When he turned back, he had a thick notebook in hand, its cover decorated with a scatter of collage cut-outs – snapshots of the two of them. Some she instantly recognized from her own social media accounts.
"I printed them in my apartment before I came down," he explained as he settled beside her, his voice steady but a touch uncertain. "They're just temporary until we have photos taken of us together. Then I'll redo it, seal it, make it permanent. I had a few other gems and twinkly shit that Caroline gave me. I was going to stick them on, but you're here now, so I'll do that another time."
She turned the notebook over in her hands, heart catching in her throat, and smiled at him. "What is this?"
Damon's eyes warmed as he watched her. "It's our book," he said simply. "I wrote it for you."
"You wrote me a book?" she beamed. "In one night?"
He shrugged off the praise, downplaying it with a scoff, "Well, it's no award winner or anything. I just slapped down on paper exactly what was in my head."
"About what?"
Damon's expression softened, all traces of fluster falling away, and he said gently, "Our future together, Elena." His fingers tapped against the cover. "It's all in there – everything I imagined that you couldn't. I wrote it all out for you."
Her throat tightened, clutching the edges of the book like it had instantly become the most precious thing she owned. "You wrote out everything?"
"Well, not in great detail," he admitted, smirking faintly, "but, yeah. Right up to our deaths."
"Really?" she gaped in surprise. Their whole lives? She looked down at her fingers twitching against the cover, fighting the impulse for all of three seconds before caving spectacularly. Flipping it open, she immediately charged to the end. "Nope, I can't wait for that – I need to see how we die."
Damon gave a judgmental tut, hands skittering in mild protest. "You can't just jump right to the end of the book – you'll miss all the good stuff leading up to it."
Elena landed on the last page and quickly skimmed the final paragraph. Her eyebrows shot skyward. "Well.. I can certainly tell that you wrote this."
He smirked and nudged his shoulder against hers. "What do you think?"
Holding the book up, Elena cleared her throat, doing her best to keep a straight face while she read it aloud. "Elena and Damon died on his one hundredth birthday. It was the fifteenth time they'd had sex that day. Their hearts gave out simultaneously in the middle of their top-tier, earth-splitting orgasms, while he was literally railing her into heaven. Rigor mortis set in and, by the time their bodies were found, his cock was so bloated that nobody could part them. Seriously, it was some dead-ass cadaveric knotting to the highest standard. King Arthur wouldn't have been able to pull this beast out of her. No scientist could explain this strange new phenomenon, so they called it the Gilbert–Salvatore Effect. In the end, they were buried together, with him balls-deep in her for all eternity."
Elena was... totally lost for words.
Her jaw worked up and down soundlessly, as though the English language had temporarily abandoned her. "That's... um..." she stumbled, swallowing, "... quite a way to go."
"The perfect way to go," he corrected, his voice smooth and smug with certainty.
"Wouldn't you prefer something a little more romantic?" she suggested. "Like, maybe, holding hands while we died peacefully in our sleep?"
Damon shifted in his seat, his features sobering as he faced her more directly. "Okay," he sighed. "I'm going to be totally honest with you, Elena. You can change absolutely anything in that book. In fact, I'd appreciate your input, so I know we're on the same page." He paused, realized the pun, then rolled his eyes before getting back to his point. "But here's the thing. I really need that ending. Please... let me keep the balls-deep ending."
Sighing, Elena gave in. "Fine, you can keep the balls-deep ending. It's not like it's under our control anyway."
As he kissed the side of her head in appreciation, she flicked back to the beginning of the story, starting on the first page.
Damon instantly leaned across her, skipping to the next one. "Actually... jump ahead a little. That was just us having the conversation we're having right now. You can read it all properly later, I'll just show you the highlights."
Picking up a few X-rated words on the following page, Elena pointed out, "Uh, this is us having sex... with little doodles of the positions."
Flicking once more, Damon said, "Yeah, there's a lot of that. You can come back to those too."
Elena focused on the words in front of her and started reading them aloud. "To reassure Elena that he was never going to speed again, Damon got a speed awareness system installed on his car. The alert was of Elena's voice, saying, 'I swear to god, Damon, if you don't slow the hell down, I'm going to dump your ass.' Damon never went over the speed limit again."
A wide smile spread across her face as she lowered the book. "I like that part," she praised, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Really? I thought it was kind of boring," he smirked, then he pointed to the next section. "This one's better. I've already made a start on it."
Elena lowered her eyes and read, "Damon installed an app on his phone and trained it to give him advice on any stupid decisions he was considering making."
She looked up at him expectantly.
He dug into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped it awake. "Right, watch this," he said, totally stoked with his new gadget. "I've called it Frieda to match my fridge." He thumbed the screen, pressed a button on the app, and lifted the phone to his mouth. "Freida, should I order a second pizza?"
There was the short chime of the app processing his question, and then came the reply: "That's a dumbass question. You really think you're going to live to a hundred? Ha! Ha-ha! The mortician won't even be able to embalm you because you'll be oozing melted cheese, looking like a damn lasagna in a casket. Eat a vegetable for once in your life, you man-child."
Damon stared at his phone screen, suddenly looking a little less stoked. "Damn, she really is a bitch. Okay, let's try another one. Frieda, should I lighten my hair?"
The device chimed again. "Are you trying to look more like Stefan? Fine, go for it. Nobody would blame you. Give Elena something to finally drool over. The only thing you'd be lightening is the burden of her pretending you're hotter than your brother."
Scrunching his face in irritation, Damon jabbed his thumb at the screen before shoving the phone back in his pocket. "Well, that app clearly needs a lot more training," he grumbled. "I knew I shouldn't have uploaded those photos."
Elena laughed, then leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, softening the blow of Frieda being on Team Stefan. "You really thought all of this through," she whispered appreciatively, the book still balanced on her lap. "So... when do we move in together?" Admittedly, it was something she was already thinking about. She hoped it was coming up soon in their story.
"Someone's eager," he grinned triumphantly.
As her forehead dropped onto his shoulder, he pulled the book between them and flicked over a few pages. The move turned out to be gradual. Obviously, the toothbrush made its way into her apartment first, followed by a drawer of clothing, followed by a small section of her closet being claimed by his shirts and jackets. The bulk of his belongings seemed to remain in his apartment, which made sense since she hadn't the room for all of it. She wondered if they would move into his penthouse. But it didn't seem likely since he always preferred staying over at hers.
Then there was an entry about them flying out one weekend to go visit her brother, Jeremy, in college. In the story, Damon taught him the apparently much-needed life skills of performing trick shots at the pool table and charming co-eds with pickup lines. By the end of the visit, future Elena was laughing and jokingly threatening to disown them both.
That was a very sweet and idyllic depiction of how it was going to go. In reality, Elena suspected Damon would be confiscating Jeremy's fake ID, launching into a lecture on contraception, and then spending the flight home grumbling about the downfall of modern youth like the trip had aged him thirty years.
They turned another page, and this one was underlined, marking a huge milestone in their story. Damon had written about them house-hunting together, bickering over paint colors, and eventually settling into a place they could call their own.
Elena's hand stilled on the paper, flattening over it before she looked up at him. "Actually," she said softly, "I already have a house."
His brows rose, curiosity etched across his expression.
"It's my parents' place. The house I grew up in," she explained, her voice gentler now. "After they died, I wasn't really in the right frame of mind to keep living there. I probably am now, but since Jeremy went off to college, I let him rent it out to help cover his tuition fees. It was something we agreed on so he can have his share, since neither of us wants to sell it. But he's got undergrad and then postgrad lined up, so... it'll probably be a few years before we can move in. I hope you don't mind waiting that long."
"Of course not." Damon's eyes softened, though a flicker of thought passed behind them, like he was already turning something over in his head.
Wondering whether his expression was one of uncertainty, she rushed to add, "We can go check it out, if you need to see –"
"Honey," he reassured her, raising his chin like it was already settled. "I'm sure I'll love it."
She nodded slightly in response, letting herself believe he truly would.
Easing back into the comforting weight of Damon's arm around her shoulders, Elena sank deeper into the spell of their imagined future together while he flipped idly through the next few pages. They skipped entries about everyday things – grocery runs that turned into minor battles over junk food, vacations dotted with Damon's sarcastic travel commentary, and Christmas spent at Stefan's fishing lodge – complete with Damon tied to the bed all over again because apparently some traditions stuck.
Then there was a very emotional scene, two sides long, of Damon clutching to Polly's cage tearfully after Caroline's mom came back from her travels to collect her. He really framed it like some kind of tragic airport goodbye and was even getting a little choked up reading it.
"Actually, Damon," Elena began. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, since Caroline doesn't even know yet, but... Liz is actually considering staying in Costa Rica permanently. Her fling is more serious than she let on – she's already living with the guy. She contacted me first to see if I'd consider keeping Polly permanently."
"Yes!" Damon fist-pumped the air and immediately tore out the scene from the book, scrunched it up, and tossed it aside. Trying to downplay his excitement, he gave an indifferent shrug and said casually, "She's growing on me."
She gave him a playful nudge. "Growing on you? Please. You're practically doing laps around the living room."
They read on, and after a few more pages, they came to another milestone: their house was finally finished, the renovations wrapped up, and a housewarming party was in full swing. Friends and family filled the rooms as everyone gathered to celebrate the home they'd built together. Except – as she quickly noticed – it wasn't just a housewarming. It was a setup for a proposal.
Before the next line could be read, Elena pressed her palm lightly over the words and looked up at him with a half-wince, half-smile. "I'd really love the proposal to be just us two alone," she admitted. "I just find it so much more romantic and intimate. Sorry."
"Not a problem," Damon said, grinning like it suited him too. Without hesitation, he reached over to snag the pen from the side table, leaned over the page, and muttered the words aloud as he scribbled them in between the lines: "...and right before Damon proposed... he told everyone in the house... to beat it."
Elena burst out laughing, tipping her head back against his shoulder. "Well, maybe not so blunt," she said, her lip biting down her amusement, "but sure."
They flipped through a few more entries and finally stopped on a page that was almost bare. A bold title, The Wedding, was circled again and again, and ringed with scrawled love hearts. Underneath that, Damon had written:
This one's all yours, Elena. A man knows better than to touch it with a barge pole.
Her throat gave a soft laugh as she reached over Damon for the pen. Carefully, she leaned against the page and wrote beneath his words:
The Mulberry Grove Spa Estate.
Then, with a smirk, she added in smaller script:
Provided Mikael isn't around to crash it.
Damon brushed a quick kiss over her lips. "Perfect," he muttered, before flipping ahead to the next section.
The Honeymoon was the title that crowned the next page. Italy, just like she'd dreamed of. The entries carried them first through Florence, then winding roads into Tuscany for long afternoons of wine-tasting, before ending in Rome, where Damon had noted – smugly – that he fully intended to strut around the Colosseum as if he were a gladiator reborn.
"Oh, and..." his brows waggled, "... there are a lot of sex scenes in the honeymoon part. Like... a lot."
Elena's fingers brushed across the paper as she turned through dozens of pages, her eyes widening at the increasingly explicit scrawls that stretched on and on. He hadn't been exaggerating.
Damon was studying her now with quieter intent, the mischief dimming into something more serious. "I never got to ask you because you were asleep," he said, "but how many kids do you want?"
Elena looked up from the book and smiled warmly, the answer already on her tongue. "Three. And I want to have them young."
Without missing a beat, Damon ripped an entire page clean out of the notebook and flicked it aside.
Her mouth dropped open. "Did you just delete one of our children?"
"No," he scoffed, looking amused at her horror. "I wrote three too. But you said you wanted them young, and that page was just us doing a year of charity work abroad. Doesn't matter. I'll send Jeremy instead when he graduates."
Rolling her eyes, Elena tugged the book back into her lap and flipped to the next section. Across the top, in large block letters, it read: The Kids.
"Okay, first up is..." she scanned the page and groaned. "...Damon Junior."
"The responsible one," Damon cut in quickly, as if defending the choice. "Takes after you in that respect."
Her gaze slid down further, locating the name of the second-born. "Damonic." Shooting him a weary look, she asked, "As in 'Dominic,' but starts with 'Damon' and sounds more like 'demonic'?"
Damon's smirk deepened. "And that's exactly what he behaves like. Super energized kid. We'll have to stick him in the birdcage once in a while just to catch a break."
Elena let out an incredulous laugh, shook her head, and flicked the page with her finger. "And the last one is..." Her smile grew. "...a little girl called..." Her smile dropped. "...Damonella? Really?"
"Yup," he grinned proudly.
"I'm vetoing all these names by the way," she declared firmly.
Damon waved a dismissive hand, leaning back like it was no big deal. "Ah, they're just placeholders. But that little girl? She's the one most like me. Super talkative, follows you around everywhere. You'll be on the toilet, and she'll be right there giving a live sports commentary of your bowel movements – cheering you on every time you make a touchdown."
"Oh, so she's basically you but with pigtails," Elena teased.
Turning the page, she found another scene sketched out for her. It was simple, domestic, ordinary, and yet somehow powerful. Damon was up early one weekend morning, keeping the house alive while she slept. Damon Junior sat at the kitchen table with a math worksheet, while Damon watched over him. In his free arm, he held little Damonella, who was rattling on in endless toddler chatter. His other hand was clamped to the back of Damonic's overalls as he swung him a few inches from the floor, forward and back, with the young child not seeming to care that this roleplay of Superman apparently came with a reverse gear.
"Wake up Mommy," Damonella pestered, tugging on her dad's collar.
"I can't, sweetie," Damon muttered, not breaking the rhythm of Damonic's flight pattern.
"Why not?"
"Because," he said matter-of-factly, "Mommy has post-nookie narcolepsy."
"What's that?"
"It's something I really hope you never find out."
Elena's laugh slipped out helplessly before she could stop it. She shut the book gently, her fingers lingering on the cover like it was something holy. Then she twisted toward him, eyes heavy with a mix of mirth and emotion. Ever since meeting him, she'd filed Damon away under words like reckless and irresponsible. The kind of man you never trusted with anything fragile. And yet he'd done the impossible and scribbled out page after page of a life that looked suspiciously... steady. A life she could actually see. Sensible partner. Dependable husband. Capable father. Words that once felt unreal now hovered so close to believable that it made her chest ache.
"I'm sold," she told him, her voice breaking into a wide smile as she pressed into him with a kiss. "Everything you've written in here – this future you've imagined for us – I can actually picture it. And I love you for it." She looked into his eyes as she ran her hands through his hair. "I want it all, Damon. I want this life with you."
Her mouth then found his, the kiss long and searing, her body shifting, pushing him back into the couch cushions so she could straddle him. She was ready – ready to stop holding back, ready to un-pause and continue their progress instead of hitting the restart button.
But Damon, maddening as ever, slid his hands to her waist and gently eased her upright. "Not yet," he murmured, trying to keep his voice steady even while his eyes burned at her closeness. "There's one more thing you need to read first. But take it into the bedroom."
Elena chuckled, half exasperated. "Damon, I'm sure the sex scenes are hot, but there's way too many in this book for me to read them all right now."
"It's not that," he said, lips quirking but his tone soft with insistence. "Start at the beginning. You'll see what I mean. Some things you need to read by yourself before you make up your mind."
Confusion prickled at her as she rose, clutching the notebook against her chest. What could possibly matter more than this moment – than her finally telling him she saw a future with him? He'd already won. And yet the seriousness in his eyes told her he wasn't bluffing.
So, with a wary little shake of her head, she padded into the bedroom. Settling cross-legged on the bed, she flipped the book open and returned to the beginning. Her heart picked up as her eyes landed on the first scene he'd skipped over – his version of the moment he'd placed the book in her hands. The one he hadn't wanted her to read until now... because it came with a speech that Damon hadn't been able to give himself.
Elena, I know you need to see a future with me, and maybe this book will help. At least, I hope it does. But even if it sketches you the whole damn road map, I still don't think it's enough. Because here's the truth: you've probably already imagined every single way I could screw things up, drive you crazy, and make you furious. And I can't promise there's a version of our future where that doesn't happen. I'm going to mess up sometimes. That's unfortunately the Damon package deal.
But here's the thing – I don't think that's what you actually need. You don't need me flawless. You need me to show up, take the hit, and let you put me in my place when I deserve it. And I like that about you. Hell, maybe it's insane, but I like that you have that power over me. I wish my mother had found that same strength with my father. But she never did. And I think maybe that's why I find it so intoxicating in you.
So I can't just hand you this version of me – the one before you came along and changed my life – and expect you to settle for it. This guy still needs work. He's not enough yet. So, give me a list of demands and watch me stumble like an idiot trying to live up to them. Let me earn it. I need to make you happy, Elena. Because the only thing I truly worry about isn't you yelling at me, it's you crying because of me. My mom cried a lot. I hated it. I wished she'd gotten mad instead. I can take your fire. I can't stomach your heartbreak, not if I caused it.
Here's my deal. I can't say all this to your face, not when my whole body is wired to want you more than you could ever imagine, but I can write it down. And I need you to ask yourself: have I ever done something that's really upset you? If I have, then you should keep this line drawn between us until I can prove – absolutely prove – it won't happen again. That shit that Esther went through? It opened my eyes, and I don't want to take after my father, pursuing you into loving me. This is real life, not fiction, and I'll restart our story as many times as it takes. No tropes and no lies. If it takes months of slow work to prove myself to you, then that's exactly what I'll do.
Because that's the only future I don't want for us. I don't want a version where you're quietly hurting and masking it with anger. Be pissed at me as often as I deserve. God knows I'll earn it. But sad? No. I can't live with that. So, if I've ever made you feel that way, tell me. And I'll fix it. No matter how long it takes. That's my promise.
Elena's eyebrows dipped as she lingered on the last line. Slowly, she closed the book, the weight of it pressing down on her lap. For a moment, she just sat there, staring at the cover. She wasn't used to Damon this way. What he wrote was so raw and unpolished, full of the kind of emotion he usually hid behind sarcasm. She'd been so insistent on him proving they had a future that she hadn't considered how much his past would bleed into it.
Her chest tightened, caught between the sting of his doubt and the ache of what it all meant. To her, it was ridiculous. Why would Damon ever worry their relationship would turn out the way his parents' did? Why fear becoming his father? But then again, hadn't she once feared becoming her mother? She had carried the same dread until Damon had presented her with this amazing gift, showing her a man who would fight against it. His book had silenced her fear. And now it was up to her to silence his.
With a deep exhale, she slid the book aside, pushed herself off the bed, and padded back down the hall.
Damon was at the sink, rinsing out his coffee cup, trying to keep himself busy. She stopped in the kitchen doorway, crossed her arms, and leaned against the frame, watching him.
"So," she said at last, her voice threading between sharpness and something softer. "That's what you couldn't tell me? That you think I can't see a future with you because I've been masking my sadness with anger?"
Damon dried the cup carefully, slid it into the cabinet, and kept his eyes forward. "It would make sense."
Her head tilted, brows pinching. "Damon. Look at me."
He froze, then turned slowly at the counter, the defensive ease gone from his posture.
"You are not your father," she said firmly, her gaze holding his. "We're not either of our parents. I realize that now." She sighed. "And I'm not hiding anything. I never would. Yes, you've done some crazy things in the time we've known each other, but you didn't upset me, you didn't scare me, you just... pissed me off, that's all."
His lips tugged into a tentative smile. "Really?"
"Really," she confirmed with a steady nod, then let the corner of her mouth curve up. "But I can handle it." A small shrug followed. "And maybe you're right. Maybe I like handling it."
He let out a breath that sounded half-relieved, half-triumphant, and sauntered a few steps closer. "So, what does this mean for us now?"
Her smile deepened, playful and certain all at once. "It means we live out the rest of your book." She jerked her head toward the bedroom door, her smirk seductively saucy. "Come on, stud... let's get practicing on that balls-deep ending."
Damon's grin broke wide, boyish and reckless. "Hell yes!" He darted forward, swooped her into his arms, his lips crashing against hers, greedy and breathless. Their kiss slowly deepened into something timeless, his mouth promising her that he was hers for every tomorrow they'd just imagined together.
Then, proving to her once again that restraint was not a virtue that Damon Salvatore possessed, he lifted her under the thighs and hauled her off toward the bedroom with the kind of urgency that suggested foreplay was thoroughly optional.
Chapter 46: Epilogue: The Trope of a Lifetime
Chapter Text
Epilogue: The Trope of a Lifetime
One Year Later
Damon Salvatore
Damon tugged the white spa tunic over his head and caught his reflection in the staff changing room mirror. Full circle, back at Rose & Savior, with Elena waiting for her massage, which this time would come with a spicy twist, compliments of the horny owner. Somehow, an entire year had gone by since the day she entered his life and fell for his particular brand of annoying charm, and he still hadn't figured out how to wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.
In all that time, he'd not once spent a night in his own apartment. Not once. Sure, his bed was bigger, and Elena hogged the covers and warmed her cold feet up against him in winter, but nothing compared to waking up with the love of his life tangled half-naked against him every morning. Getting out of bed hadn't gotten easier, but if that was a drawback, he'd happily live with it.
They'd ticked some of the boxes he'd written into their book. Visiting Jeremy at college had gone as she'd expected: the kid thought Damon was a dick, Damon thought the kid was a dick, and somehow that translated into mutual respect. They'd even swapped numbers so the good-natured insults could continue long-distance. As far as healthy family bonding went, it wasn't half bad.
After a few weeks, Elena thought she had finally cracked the code on how to stop Damon pissing her off. She'd worked her obsession with his butt into a punishment: every time he irritated her, she got to shove a finger into him. This worked successfully as a deterrent until the first time she got to carry it out. Let's just say that her thrusting a finger in and out of him while she lapped her tongue around the head of his cock had to be some kind of voodoo that only made him do the exact opposite of what her punishment intended.
She damn well knew it too.
Which is why his impromptu visits to her office – something he said he would cut back on – only increased. But, since Klaus and Camille's marriage of convenience had taken on a suspicious glow of actual feelings, Damon felt compelled to turn up at his office regularly and talk it over with the guy, knowing what he was going through. It had nothing to do with the fact that Elena eyed Damon through the office windows with pinched lids, wetted her finger with her saliva, then gestured what she was going to do to him by shoving it slowly into her tightened fist. Absolutely nothing to do with that. But, no, he wasn't pinky swearing on it, and just ignore the totally addicted smile slapped on his face.
He couldn't blame her for her fascination with his ass when he had the exact same fascination with hers. She eased into anal sex so frequently that they didn't even concern themselves with contraception anymore. It was simply a case of starting in one hole, finishing in another. Though recently, they had been taking more risks. A few times, Elena had grabbed his ass and held it against her, too close to coming to let him switch to a safe zone. His no-real-shits-given warning that she might get pregnant only seemed to make her come faster and harder as he ejaculated fiercely and shamelessly against her cervix. It was the best feeling of his life, and if she was gradually developing a breeding kink ahead of schedule, then, hell, he was totally up for that. Sure, the house was supposed to come first, but who said their book couldn't throw in a surprise plot twist?
Talking of babies, Caroline recently had one. But, no, it wasn't hers. Klaus apparently bribed her with a million dollars just so she'd show up at Mikael's deathbed with a rented baby. Damon didn't dare ask where the hell Klaus acquired a rental infant, and he was determined to die without that knowledge. But apparently, Mikael was clinging on until he'd seen his grandchild, and the plan worked – he promptly croaked soon afterward, leaving Klaus and Camille everything.
Rebekah and Marcel immediately tied the knot, going the respectable route with a traditional wedding. Elijah, meanwhile, ran straight for Vegas, claiming Kai had nagged him into eloping against his will. Sure, buddy. Hard to sell that story after a video leaked of him drunk and grinning, shaking it with drag queens while Kai whooped and cheered behind the camera. The guy secretly enjoyed Kai unleashing his fun side and swapping his Rolex for a stack of neon glow bracelets. After that double dose of matrimony, Klaus decided to spread a little of his inherited fortune among his siblings. Rumor had it, Camille was turning him into a softie; an accusation he didn't appreciate, but also never denied.
Through all the events of the past year, he and Elena had been solid as a rock. And now, on their one-year anniversary, Elena wanted to roleplay their first meeting. As he loosely tied the belt on his tunic pants and prepared to step out into the spa where it had all started, Damon let himself smile. One year ago, he was begging his dick not to ruin his business. Now it was Elena's exclusive company perk.
As he stood outside the door to the Serenity Suite, he looked up at the bulb above the door. It hadn't just been switched to green to indicate that she was ready – she'd jammed it, so it was now flashing green, blinking on and off repeatedly. It seemed he had a very impatient customer.
He entered the darkened room that was scattered with lit candles. Elena was lying on her front on the massage table, bathed in candlelight like some goddess. The thin white robe floated lightly over her back while the open edges slipped down to hang on either side of the table. Her arms crossed under her chin as she tilted her head up to him with an inviting smirk. The roleplay was about to begin.
Damon cleared his throat and put on his best professional tone. "Miss Gilbert... it seems that the voucher you gave me has expired."
"Oh no!" She got up onto her elbows, her face etched with mock-horror, her breasts skimming the white sheet below. "How should I pay for this massage, Mr Salvatore?"
Damon smiled. She was so damn cute. It almost seemed a shame to ruin that cuteness by sticking his dick in her mouth. He started untying his belt. "I think we can come to some arrangement."
"Do you take cash?"
What? This wasn't part of the script! He narrowed his eyes at her. The damn minx was suppressing a laugh, trying to wind him up. He gritted through his teeth, "No, I do not take cash."
"Credit?" she continued with a teasing raise of her eyebrow.
Stepping to the head of the massage table, Damon took her chin in his hand, lifting her face to look up at him. He was wrong. It would not be a shame to ruin that smartass mouth of hers. "Your credit card's declined." Shooting her a wolfish grin, he then slid his hand to the side of the table, eyes never leaving hers, and pressed a button to lower her to crotch-level.
Comeon, comeon, comeon, comeon! he thought impatiently as she slowly started to descend.
The moment the table reached the right height, he released the button, and Elena wasted no time yanking down his waistband and sealing her mouth around his cock.
Holy shit. This was exactly what he'd needed all –
Except... she kept going.
Still latched on, she continued drifting lower. Damon cursed, jabbing the opposite control to send her back up.
It made no difference. Down she went.
He soon slipped free from her mouth with a wet pop, and Elena made the tiniest whine of protest – then did an honest-to-god hop, trying to snag him again, like a puppy lunging after a frisbee flying just out of reach overhead.
He ditched the buttons and tried the manual controls, slamming his foot repeatedly against the foot pump to activate the hydraulic lift. His erect dick bounced like a metronome with every pump, but who gave a shit? Elena had seen it all before. They were cock-bouncingly close.
The manual controls didn't work either, and Elena's prone form thudded to a stop a few inches from the floor. "Did we break it before we even started?" she asked in concern.
Damon winced and ran a hand through his hair. How to explain this to her? Funny story, Elena... yesterday I stress-tested it with a trial run – dry humping a pillow in various positions to check it wouldn't collapse beneath us mid-pounding, and now it seems to have died a voluntary death at the mere prospect of round two.
Mmm... maybe not. They weren't pillow-humpingly close. Especially not since yesterday included him mimicking Elena's voice: "Oh my, what a big cock you have." Which, for the record, just came out sounding like Little Red Riding Hood grew up, bailed on visiting grandma, and discovered getting eaten wasn't nearly as scary when it was the right kind of eating.
Slapping his hand to his side, Damon half-confessed, "I may have been doing some safety tests on it yesterday, and screwed it up a little."
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. May it rest in pieces.
Elena sighed. "Oh... well..." Then in one smooth, unbothered roll, she flipped onto her back, the robe spilling wide open like it had given up pretending it ever served a purpose. She stretched her arms above her head and curled her fingers into the waistband of his tunic pants, tugging him down toward her. "On your knees, Salvatore."
Christ. A year together and the sight of her naked still had the power to short-circuit his brain. Maybe the table was done with their antics, but Damon certainly wasn't. She knew exactly what this view was doing to him. And if she wanted him on his knees, then he was damn well ready to worship.
He climbed onto the table, bracing his legs on either side of her head, and stretched himself forward until his chest hovered over her stomach. Elena welcomed him with a ravenous hunger. Her fingers slipped inside his pants, yanked them over his ass, and before he could even catch his breath, her mouth was around him.
His head dropped for a second, watching her between their bodies, her lips sealing over the crown of his cock. Damn. He could live a thousand years and never get used to the sight of Elena's mouth worshipping him.
But worship went both ways.
He shifted down, burying his face between her thighs, inhaling the humid sweetness of her before his tongue found her clit. She spread instantly, thighs parting wider, and he gripped under them, tugging her closer until his mouth was flush against her. Sliding her hands up his ass, she squeezed just enough to urge him for more.
Damon rolled his tongue in slow circles over her clit, and that's when he felt it – her mouth faltering around him. She let out a moan, low and delicious, the vibration traveling straight through his cock, and for a split second, she forgot what she was doing.
Oh, he loved that.
He smiled against her, tongue pressing harder, savoring the way she stilled again. Her moan traveled through him, her body arching as if she couldn't decide which pleasure to chase. It became a game. How many times could he make her lose focus? How many times could he have Elena Gilbert – greediest woman alive when it came to his cock – so undone by his tongue that she actually forgot to suck?
He lost count when her hips started lifting off the table, following every flick of his tongue like she'd sell her soul for another dose of the paradise he had to offer. He sucked lightly, then harder, dragging her closer until he was drunk on her taste. She was addictive and intoxicating, and if he could live down here forever, he sure as hell would.
But then it happened. The point of no return that Damon knew so well. It was the moment her greedy little brain flipped from hunting down her highs to basking in the catch. He was hitting all the right spots over and over again, and her body was now too consumed by the sensation to ever turn back.
So she went full throttle. Her mouth sucked deeper, throat opening, and suddenly he was buried to the base, gag reflex be damned. He felt her throat muscles pulse as she attempted to swallow him further into her, and his vision damn near whitewashed.
"Jesus Christ," he groaned against her, words muffled into her slickness. She was practically killing him, and he couldn't even complain. Not when every inch of him was being licked, sucked, and squeezed while his own mouth was bathed in her arousal.
Except there was the minor issue of his girlfriend apparently having a death wish. Because Elena kept him there for as long as possible, short bobs of head movement blocking off her airway, with bursts of breath that were becoming too few and far between for Damon's liking. It wouldn't be a problem except erotic asphyxiation combined with her making him lose control was nerve-wracking. He needed to stay in control of this, but damn, she was making it difficult.
He tried to slow her down, easing off her clit, giving her body less to react to. Big mistake. Her leg swung up over the back of his head, locking him in place. Now his entire world was pussy and wetness and muffled gasps, and he could barely breathe.
Okay. Maybe he did get the appeal after all.
Still, someone had to keep them alive, and clearly that job had fallen to him. He slid one arm beneath her, pressing a finger inside her slick heat. With the other, he reached between their bodies and lightly squeezed her outer lips together, gently compressing every nerve against the flat of his tongue while he sucked hard. Then he curled the finger inside her upward, bringing her most tender spot to join the gang of heightened nerves that he'd gathered together for the meeting of How to get Elena breathing again.
The effect was instant. Elena tore her mouth back just far enough to gasp a breath, then cried out, her entire body arching. Damon didn't let up. He was consuming her, feeding on every shiver, knowing he had her strung tight and seconds from unraveling.
He continued the motion of lapping and sucking, hearing the much-needed pants of her drawing closer to release. But as soon as the surprise subsided and she fell into the rhythm of his movements, her mouth returned to his cock like a woman possessed, and the deep-throating continued.
He'd really hoped she would come before that happened – because not only did this minx appear to enjoy choking on his cock, she also had a thing for almost drowning on his cum too. But she was close and so was he, and it was always a gamble whether he could last long enough to let her finish before he did. He could pull back a little while he came alongside her, but damn it, that had to be one of the hardest challenges of his life.
Her body was trembling with how overwhelmingly close she was, and he did his best to prepare himself for the sound of her coming, and what that was going to unleash from him. Her orgasms always tore his own from his body, wrecking him in the best possible way.
Then suddenly, her fingers clenched against his ass, her body arched, and he had less than a second to pull back enough to free her airway before he was joining her. She broke, her scream ripped out, muffled by the frantic drag of his cock down her throat, her whole body trembling as she came, shuddering against his mouth. The sound of her release vibrated through him, tipping him over the edge before he had a chance to fight it.
His own release hit him like a freight train. He spilled into her, every pulse met by the desperate, needy suction of her mouth, her body still convulsing beneath him. It was insane and ridiculously perfect – the kind of climax that made his vision blot out and his head forget the entire goddamn world existed.
By the time he dragged his mouth from her, gasping against her thigh, his body was shaking, hers continuing to twitch beneath him. He collapsed onto his elbows and panted heavily, his cock still lodged between the lips that apparently had no intention of letting him go.
Damon turned his head against her thigh, still gasping for breath. "Swallowed yet?"
Elena pulled back, lips wet and swollen, and instead of words, she gave him a low, gurgled sound, vibrating the cum against her throat.
Cute. Of course she wouldn't swallow yet. Not after what he'd promised her.
He grinned, dove back between her legs, gathering the slick sweetness on his tongue before pulling up his pants and swiveling his body on the table. Hovering above her now, he pressed a thumb against her chin, coaxing her mouth open. When she obediently parted her lips, Damon stared inside at the cum coating every crevice of her mouth. Damn, that was hot.
As promised, he leaned down and kissed her deep, letting their mingled taste slide and swirl over both their tongues. Okay, fine – he could admit it now. He saw the appeal. If it had been five minutes later, with enough fuel in the tank, he'd already be hard again.
When they finally broke apart, Elena gave an eager swallow at his command, and he nuzzled into her neck, murmuring the kind of praise that made her melt. She wrapped her arms tight around him, and she whispered to him the words he'd never get tired of hearing. Then he told her he loved her too.
The problem was, neither of them were ready to unlock from their embrace, and he still had a couple of surprises left for her. So, Damon deployed his only weapon: the tickle zone. His fingers brushed the spot under her ribcage, and sure enough, Elena squealed with laughter and loosened her grip just enough for him to wriggle free. It had to be done, as he sure as hell didn't have the strength to pull away from her mid-cuddle.
He slid off the table, feet hitting the floor, and strode over to the shelves. Two items waited there – one he slipped into his pocket, the other he kept in his hand. Turning back, he caught Elena pulling her robe around herself, belt cinched loosely, hair wild from their heated tangle.
God, she was beautiful.
"The surprises aren't over yet, baby," he said, crouching beside her.
Her suspicious smile curved playfully. "What are you up to now?"
"I got you a present for our anniversary."
Elena gestured to the massage table beneath her, arching a brow. "This was supposed to be my present."
Damon smirked. "Well, I broke that one. So, here's another. Close your eyes."
Rolling her eyes but grinning, she obeyed, holding out her hand. Damon laid the cool metal against her palm.
"Okay, open."
She blinked down at the set of keys, confusion etching across her face. "What's this?"
"The keys to the house you grew up in."
Her head raised, brows knitting. "But... I already have a spare set. I don't understand."
"Well..." Damon rubbed the back of his neck, trying for casual even though his pulse was anything but calm. "We're going to need an extra set. Because it's our house now. We're moving in."
Her mouth dropped open. "But Jeremy –"
"Is already taken care of. I paid off all his tuition... and tossed in enough to cover his postgrad." With a mutter, he added, "So long as the little weasel doesn't spend it all first."
She shook her head, stunned. "But this must have cost you –"
"Almost all of my savings? Yep." He shrugged, then straightened, reaching for her hands and tugging her gently to her feet. "But I'll get that back from the sale of the penthouse. And I've still got just enough left over for a hopefully not-so-rainy day."
His hand dipped into his pocket.
And Elena's eyes went wide as she realized what was about to happen. Her hands flew up, covering the grin splitting her face, and Damon – cocky bastard or not – felt his chest kick with nerves as he sank down on one knee.
He looked up at her like he was seeing the rest of his life standing right in front of him. "Elena Gilbert, you've spent a year with me, waiting for me to do some dumbass things, and I'm really hoping you don't think this is one of them. Sure, I'm kneeling before you broke as hell, wearing cum-stained clothes, and not looking much like a premium package right now, but you are the whole reason my life has meaning. You're it for me, Elena. The one. The one who turned my life around and became everything I never thought I deserved. Before you, I didn't believe in fate, destiny, or any of that soulmate crap, and yet I knew from the very first week that I wanted to spend my life with you. And, if you need proof of that, well..." He opened the ring box. "...here it is."
Damon rose to his feet and leaned in, holding the ring steady so she could take a closer look. Elena's breath hitched audibly, her eyes going wide.
"It's the one I picked out a year ago," she breathed, eyes locked on the cushion-cut diamond. "You've had it all this time?"
His smirk curved slow and sure. "Ready, waiting, and practically burning a hole in my pocket."
She shook her head, smiling through the dazed disbelief. "I can't believe it."
He swallowed, the nerves pushing through. "Be my wife, Elena," he asked, steadier now, stripped of all the teasing edges. For a short while, at least. "And, if you refuse, well, I can't guarantee I won't wrestle you to stick this ring on your hand anyway. So please marry me before I keep talking too much and ruin this."
Elena laughed with happy tears close to shedding. "I kind of like you talking right now."
"Really? That's a new one." His grin lingered, her smile tugging at his chest, before mischief reclaimed the reins. "So, do I get an answer, or do I have to spank it out of you?"
She glanced skyward as if playfully contemplating this. "Hmm, now that does sound like a unique proposal."
"Not an appropriate story for the wedding toasts though, is it?"
"Um... not so much." Biting down on her smile, she locked eyes with him, her expression as warm and certain as the words that followed. "Yes, Damon, I'll marry you. Without question. Spanking optional, but preferred."
Damon's grin spread wide enough to ache, his whole damn face stretching like it was trying to pin itself to each side of the room. Dragging her into his arms, he pressed her close. "Good, because you deserve it for keeping me on edge this long," he muttered against her hair. Then gave her ass a playful spank.
Elena squealed in delight just as his hand cupped the back of her head, angling her closer until he could taste her laughter against his tongue. Her lips molded to his, passion and heat tangled together, and Damon lost the fight to keep it slow. His pulse thudded hard enough to make him dizzy, but to hell if he cared.
The epic swell of it was then promptly ruined by the massage table whirring back to life, groaning and creaking as it began to rise on its hydraulics. Damon broke away with a growl, gesturing an arm toward it like he was disciplining a misbehaving pet. "Well, you've missed all the fun now, buddy." He stomped over and smacked the controls until it wheezed to a stop.
When he turned back, Elena was already perched on the edge of the table, legs swinging, robe slipping just enough to tempt him all over again. He came back to her, slower now, and took the ring from its box. Sliding it onto her finger, he looked at her like the diamond had nothing on her.
She immediately felt the weight of it. "Wow, it's big."
"Well, I do have a reputation for delivering on size," he smirked, shamelessly turning her awe into innuendo.
Chuckling at his predictability, she looped her arms around his shoulders, smiling up at him. "I guess we'd better start planning the wedding. Should we make it trope-themed?"
"Urgh, no way." Damon wrinkled his nose. "But, you know, I never did act out all the tropes I had planned."
"Like what?"
"Office rivals, for one. I was going to annoy you at work."
"You already do," she pointed out.
"Great, I can tick that one off then."
Her brows lifted. "Did you ever plan on enacting a pregnancy trope?"
"As in stuffing a cushion under your top for five seconds before you beat me with it?" He chuckled. "No... besides, I read the pregnancy trope isn't very popular."
"In the epilogue it can be," she noted.
"Sometimes not even then," he shrugged. "So I've heard."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, her eyes shining with the mischief of knowing something he didn't. Sliding her hand down from his neck to his chest, she gave it a gentle pat and let out a breath, all of which teasingly translated to suit yourself. "That's a shame," she pouted. "Then I guess I'm just going to have to tell you later."
He stared at her for a beat, the penny dropping in slow motion. "Tell me... later?" His smile then widened until it nearly broke him in two. She had to be shitting him. Was he about to become the luckiest guy in the world twice in one day? "Elena, are you...?"
She pressed a finger to his lips, her own curving into a secretive smile. "Shhhh," she whispered, her top teeth biting down the anticipation of telling him. "Later." Then she captured his mouth with hers once more, because shutting Damon Salvatore up would never get old.
And she was about to get a lifetime of practice.
THE END
Thank you for reading, and thank you for all the wonderful comments!
Please also check out Reagan80's stories as she's a fantastic Delena writer and gave me the inspiration for this story.
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