[fic] I'm Crazy (But You Like It) [1/3]
Title: I'm Crazy (But You Like It) [1/3]
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Elena POV; Damon/Elena, with guest spots by Caroline, Bonnie, and Stefan
Word Count: ~3000
Rating/Warnings: R / references to violence
Spoilers: Everything through 4x20, and some minor speculation for the rest of season.
Summary: Edging the curtain aside, she looks out and sees that it's not raining. Damon is in her driveway, standing next to her car, a soapy bucket on the ground at his feet.
Author's notes: We've all had enough "gloom, doom, and personal growth" for a while now; this is an attempt at some light-heartedness; bear with me, it takes a bit to get there. Switch-back-on future!fic sponsored by Shakira's song "Loca." In case any of you don't know what a power washer is, Click ME. In case any of you doubt me, this was supposed to be a simple fluff piece, but it got...complicated.
Additional A/N: For upupa_epops, as usual.
Elena wakes to rain. There is a steady thrum of it outside the window and it strikes her as a little odd. It's not unheard of for there to be light rain, but it doesn't usually come down the way it is right now in Virginia in the summer.
Throwing the covers back, she climbs from the bed. Standing in front of the mirror Caroline bought when she redecorated half of Bonnie's room to 'look like Elena,' she jams her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. The one good thing that came from her switch-flipped days? Her new haircut. She really likes it, even if it's sort of a crude reminder of a lot of terrible things.
Don't dwell on things you can't change. Caroline's advisory mantra, written in her enormous scrawl, sits in the corner of the mirror, and Elena's eyes focus on it hard, just like every morning. It's actually really, really hard not to do that, and she's still recovering. One day at a time. That's Bonnie's mantra.
Damon says none of it's her fault, so if she wants to blame him, she should. "I can compartmentalize guilt like a boss," he said, his eyes twinkling.
A smile tugged at her lips, but she hadn't let it actually manifest itself.
"All you can do is be better from here," Stefan said. His hand and rubbed against her shoulder and she had flinched away from him, not because she didn't want his comfort, but because she did. She remembers how she rigged him up, bear trap style, thanks to Rebekah's suggestion, and repaid him for the torture he put her through. She peeled his skin back and made him scream and rejoiced in it.
Part of her still does, truthfully. That's why she can't accept his words. Without her emotions (or at least the good ones), it had been all too easy to punish Stefan for so many things. All the lies, all the hurt, Wickery Bridge. In that shut-off place, there had been no forgiveness, and she realized how much she was holding on to, without even acknowledging it.
When she finally let the soft feelings in again, the first thing that had penetrated was tenderness for Damon. Not love, not passion, not even lust, though like always those things were there, simmering, tapping at the door of her heart. But it had been this gentle, almost-pity for him that first caused a quiver within her. He tried so hard to be made of steel, but he was not; especially when it came to her.
(He'd been the first to break; it had surprised only him.)
The sound of the rain gets louder suddenly, so Elena turns and walks to the window. Edging the curtain aside, she looks out and sees that it's not raining. Damon is in the driveway, standing next to her car, a soapy bucket on the ground at his feet. In his hand is a hose, and attached to it a power washer that he is currently aiming right at the bedroom window.
She would flip him off, but he probably can't see her, due to the amount of water obscuring the glass. Turning away, she heads for her closet and finds a hoodie to pull on over her camisole. Even in the morning, it's too warm outside for something like this, but she's just going to go shoo him away. She has no idea what he's doing here anyway.
She walks out into the hall, passing Bonnie on the way. "Um, not to be your mom or anything," her best friend says. "But if you're going outside to deal with him? Maybe some pants?"
Elena looks down at her pajama shorts, and then looks back up at her self-appointed roommate. ("Hey, the least I can do is offer you a place to stay, you know, after trying to kill you all those times," Bonnie had joked with a Damon Salvatore air that showed Elena just how much things had changed while she was 'away' more than anything else.)
"Yeah, you're probably right," she replies, carting around to go back in the bedroom. She finds some jean shorts and slips them on over her sleep clothes. She looks at herself in the mirror again. This is better; nothing inviting about this outfit. Nothing to signal Damon that anything's changed. She's not ready for his brand of 'let's move on from all the bad shit.'
(She's not ready to be loved so wholly, so thoroughly, not when she still has a hard time meeting her own gaze in the mirror.)
By the time she goes outside, the hose is lying idly on the pavement and Damon is rubbing a soapy sponge across the hood of her SUV. The whole car is white with suds and he pretends not to notice her at first.
Elena doesn't even attempt niceties. "What are you doing?" she demands instead and only his eyes move towards her as she stands by the right side tire.
"Building a kite," he drawls, his lazy affectation causing a bloom of heat low in her belly.
It annoys her that he can be a smart ass, and that's somehow a turn-on for her now. (Maybe it always was? It's hard to tell what was ever real before with what assaults her every day. Reality is always waiting to smack her face, every moment, every second. And the vampire-heightened reality is never going to be easy.)
She puts her hands on her hips. "Damon," she says scoldingly.
"Elena," he tosses right back at her, smirking.
"I told you, I don't want to be with you."
His eyes glint dangerously, but she sees him rein it back in, quite literally. "I am washing your car, not asking for a lifetime commitment."
An inelegant snort erupts from her.
(Maybe that's the problem. It is the problem, it will always be the problem. Damon will be her problem for eternity, one way or another. Because that's exactly what he's doing. What he's always done. What he'll always do.)
The thought actually squeezes some happiness into her veins, but she's very good about not letting that feeling ever get too strong. I'll always choose you and I'll never leave you again had segued into I'll never give up on you. And never is a long time when you're immortal.
He's washing her car, because she won't let him do anything else. She won't let him kiss her, or cuddle her, or make her laugh. She won't let him touch her, or taste her, or love her, because once she does, all the rest has to come with it. She has to open herself up entirely; she has to forgive Stefan. She has to forgive herself.
Caroline's piece of advice, don't dwell on what you can't change, had come after she sent Damon away, effectively breaking up with him for real; her switch was on, so she meant what she said; nobody could argue, not even Damon, for once. Caroline had nodded her head as he drove away. He loves you, she said, but there's nothing you can do about it. Don't dwell on what you can't change.
So, Elena hasn't dwelt on Damon's love for her; instead she's obsessed over her love for him, and the fact that it is real. The sire bond was obviously old news, considering how she kept breaking his heart left and right, and the most real thing she'd ever known was still there, still wanting to be known, and felt, and cultivated. It sat like a little sapling in her heart, just waiting.
(Just like Damon.)
He returns his attention to the task at hand, circling the sponge across the front end of the car. As he spends a few long, furious moments scrubbing dead bugs off the headlights, she just stands there, feeling stupid, knowing he's not going to leave. He's not going to come inside the house and demand anything of her, but he's also not going to stop washing her car.
He's Damon, her car is dirty, and she won't talk to him. These are three things that drive him crazy. And he can only control one of them.
So, she does the only thing she can think of. She leans down and picks up the hose; if she helps him, it won't be so much what he's doing for her as it will be a group effort. Much easier to rationalize that away, if she's also participating.
She plans to start rinsing the places he's already washed, but she's unprepared for just how powerful the washer is. Even with her vampire strength, when she squeezes the lever, it weaves in her grip and slips upward, the force of the water catching Damon full in the face. He yelps a garbled swear word, she cries, "Ohmigod! I'm so sorry!" and before she can get control of it, he's flashed around the end of the car, surrounding her within his arms. His hands cover hers on the trigger, and he forces her to relax her grip so the spray stops as quickly as it started.
"Thanks, Elena," he sputters and though she can't see him, she can feel how wet he is because he's dripping all over her.
"I'm so sorry," she says again, but something bubbles up in her throat, and she chokes. At first she can't even tell what's happening, but then laughter just starts rolling out of her mouth, and she can't stop it. "The...look...on...your...face..." she gasps, and the giggles get harder, and there's no way she can hold them back.
She's not sure how long it goes on, but what causes her mirth to fade is the fact that she's laughing alone. He pulls the hose from her hand, letting it drop back to the ground, but keeps an arm around her waist, holding her against him; she leans her head back on his shoulder. "C'mon," she says cajolingly. "It was a little funny, wasn't it?"
"It was hysterical," he says in agreement, his tone a low rumble in her ear and against her back, not as jovial as it is somber. "But I just wanted to listen to you."
Tears prick her eyes, and just that fast, Elena pushes out of his arms. Embarrassment floods her, and she tries looking everywhere but at him. "I didn't mean to do it," she says. "It was an accident."
He looks at her until she lifts her eyes to his, then he tilts his head, his blue, blue gaze examining her like a laser and says, "I know."
There is a moment when Elena doesn't know what they're talking about, but she's sure it's not about the power hose.
(Or maybe it is.)
"Look, Damon--"
"No," he says, waving a hand in her general direction. "I'm just washing your car, Elena. Deal with it. I'm tired of tiptoeing around this. You know I love you, you know I'm going to be here forever, and I'm not asking for anything except this. So...just fucking let me do it. Okay?"
He doesn't wait for her to answer, instead he leans down and swipes the hose back into his hand. Then he turns the spray on and starts blowing the bubbles off her car. Elena jumps back to avoid the excess spray, just watching him.
In fact, maybe it's the first time she's even let herself look at him since she flipped it all back on.
And he's ridiculous. He's washing her car in his standard issue black button down and dark jeans, the cuffs shoved unceremoniously into his boots. Not that she can imagine Damon in shorts and a tank top, but it's July, and it's got to be ninety degrees.
He could at least pretend to be human to do such a humanly thing.
Her heart squeezes, and all she can think, feel, know is how much she loves him, in all his bad brother glory as Caroline once called it. Because that's the part that's an act. This is the real Damon, the guy who washes her car to make himself feel better.
She moves toward him, and because he's determinedly not looking at her, he doesn't see what she's doing until she's slid herself between the hose and his chest. She wraps her hand around his on the trigger, the way he had hers just moments before. She grabs his other wrist and brings his arm around her again so she's engulfed in Damon, so that they are both controlling the tool that's whisking all the soap off the car into a stream flowing down the center of her driveway.
To his credit, he acts as if this is perfectly normal, resting his chin against the side of her head, next to her ear. They move around the car in tandem, rinsing every last bubble away.
When it's done, Elena takes her hand off the trigger, and Damon slowly releases it so the water stops. His arms squeeze around her in a slightly awkward hug, and just as she's about to turn in his arms to face him, he uses his vampire speed to undo the power washer; his thumb covers the head of the hose and he turns it inward so it shoots right in her face.
And that's when Elena lets go. She elbows him hard in the stomach, he grunts, and the hose goes flying as she spins around. She pounces and they both go down, landing in the grass on the other side of the driveway. Damon laughs in triumph, even though he's the one on his back beneath her. Water drips down her face, and her sweatshirt is soaked, but Damon's expression of glee makes her unaware of it. All she wants suddenly is to taste his smile, to capture it in a place inside her where it's okay to be happy again.
"I'm gonna kiss you," she announces, not really sure why she feels the need to warn him.
"Thank God," is his retort, and he does actually look relieved.
Elena leans down and brushes her mouth over his. Soft, gentle, not deep enough for tongues to touch. It's just their lips, it's just the curve of hers against the curve of his. "It's okay, Elena," he whispers, but it feels loud, like a shout. Like a primal bellow of victory, like something inside her finally springs free.
Damon just lies beneath her, still and unmoving, his hands resting on the grass on either side of his head. She pulls back just a little, to look into his eyes, to share things he won't make her say, that she would never have to vocalize because Damon doesn't care about all that. He only cares about her.
She slides her palm along his jaw and then drops her mouth back to his again. Soft still, but slow and open-mouthed this time, and his lips part, but he doesn't get aggressive. He just mirrors her actions, one of his hands cupping her cheek, and tilting her head so that if she wanted to move her tongue forward, it could glide in easily.
Instead, she sucks his bottom lip between hers, and he returns the sentiment by giving her top lip the same treatment. Kissing Damon has never been a chore, but it suddenly becomes more erotic, more personal, just more than she ever anticipated. She squeezes her knees against his hips since they're resting on either side of him and rolls herself over him just a little. He groans, something that sounds like her name eeking its way out even as he manages to keep kissing her.
She touches her tongue to his finally, and she feels the jolt of it through his body. He surges beneath her, and she can feel how necessary she is to him. He needs her as much as she needs him; it's just that he's not afraid of it.
(She is afraid of it, but not the way she used to be.)
She lifts her head, panting softly. His eyes search hers, and both his hands frame her face. "Inside?" he asks hopefully, but still without presumption.
She shakes her head. "Bonnie," she says, jerking her head just slightly to point towards the house. "Car?" she suggests.
Damon smirks. "It's broad daylight, babe. I'd rather take my chances with the witch."
"The windows are tinted," Elena reminds him.
"You'll have to be quiet," he says, completely smug, and Elena can't stop the grin that floods her face.
"So will you," she murmurs, leaning down to drag her tongue over his chin and down his throat. When she gets to his madly beating pulse, she lets her fangs come out to play. She hasn't bitten anything since she flipped back, and it feels just as freeing as the laughter that had erupted from her throat.
He whimpers, but she can tell he's doing his best to keep it low. She takes a few deep pulls, and then licks her tongue over the quickly healing puncture points. His hands tug slightly to pull her eyes back to his. "I want you somewhere with plenty of room," he says, and she can see he's starting to lose his submissiveness, just a bit.
(Maybe they'll both get back to where they once were.)
She pushes herself up off of him, standing, but reaching her hand down to bring him with her. "I know a place," she says. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly. "I'll drive."
He stares at her for a long moment, and then nods his head. "Whatever you want," he says, gesturing towards her shiny, clean car.
(Maybe that's why she loves him so much, because she already knows that.)
...part two...
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Elena POV; Damon/Elena, with guest spots by Caroline, Bonnie, and Stefan
Word Count: ~3000
Rating/Warnings: R / references to violence
Spoilers: Everything through 4x20, and some minor speculation for the rest of season.
Summary: Edging the curtain aside, she looks out and sees that it's not raining. Damon is in her driveway, standing next to her car, a soapy bucket on the ground at his feet.
Author's notes: We've all had enough "gloom, doom, and personal growth" for a while now; this is an attempt at some light-heartedness; bear with me, it takes a bit to get there. Switch-back-on future!fic sponsored by Shakira's song "Loca." In case any of you don't know what a power washer is, Click ME. In case any of you doubt me, this was supposed to be a simple fluff piece, but it got...complicated.
Additional A/N: For upupa_epops, as usual.
Elena wakes to rain. There is a steady thrum of it outside the window and it strikes her as a little odd. It's not unheard of for there to be light rain, but it doesn't usually come down the way it is right now in Virginia in the summer.
Throwing the covers back, she climbs from the bed. Standing in front of the mirror Caroline bought when she redecorated half of Bonnie's room to 'look like Elena,' she jams her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. The one good thing that came from her switch-flipped days? Her new haircut. She really likes it, even if it's sort of a crude reminder of a lot of terrible things.
Don't dwell on things you can't change. Caroline's advisory mantra, written in her enormous scrawl, sits in the corner of the mirror, and Elena's eyes focus on it hard, just like every morning. It's actually really, really hard not to do that, and she's still recovering. One day at a time. That's Bonnie's mantra.
Damon says none of it's her fault, so if she wants to blame him, she should. "I can compartmentalize guilt like a boss," he said, his eyes twinkling.
A smile tugged at her lips, but she hadn't let it actually manifest itself.
"All you can do is be better from here," Stefan said. His hand and rubbed against her shoulder and she had flinched away from him, not because she didn't want his comfort, but because she did. She remembers how she rigged him up, bear trap style, thanks to Rebekah's suggestion, and repaid him for the torture he put her through. She peeled his skin back and made him scream and rejoiced in it.
Part of her still does, truthfully. That's why she can't accept his words. Without her emotions (or at least the good ones), it had been all too easy to punish Stefan for so many things. All the lies, all the hurt, Wickery Bridge. In that shut-off place, there had been no forgiveness, and she realized how much she was holding on to, without even acknowledging it.
When she finally let the soft feelings in again, the first thing that had penetrated was tenderness for Damon. Not love, not passion, not even lust, though like always those things were there, simmering, tapping at the door of her heart. But it had been this gentle, almost-pity for him that first caused a quiver within her. He tried so hard to be made of steel, but he was not; especially when it came to her.
(He'd been the first to break; it had surprised only him.)
The sound of the rain gets louder suddenly, so Elena turns and walks to the window. Edging the curtain aside, she looks out and sees that it's not raining. Damon is in the driveway, standing next to her car, a soapy bucket on the ground at his feet. In his hand is a hose, and attached to it a power washer that he is currently aiming right at the bedroom window.
She would flip him off, but he probably can't see her, due to the amount of water obscuring the glass. Turning away, she heads for her closet and finds a hoodie to pull on over her camisole. Even in the morning, it's too warm outside for something like this, but she's just going to go shoo him away. She has no idea what he's doing here anyway.
She walks out into the hall, passing Bonnie on the way. "Um, not to be your mom or anything," her best friend says. "But if you're going outside to deal with him? Maybe some pants?"
Elena looks down at her pajama shorts, and then looks back up at her self-appointed roommate. ("Hey, the least I can do is offer you a place to stay, you know, after trying to kill you all those times," Bonnie had joked with a Damon Salvatore air that showed Elena just how much things had changed while she was 'away' more than anything else.)
"Yeah, you're probably right," she replies, carting around to go back in the bedroom. She finds some jean shorts and slips them on over her sleep clothes. She looks at herself in the mirror again. This is better; nothing inviting about this outfit. Nothing to signal Damon that anything's changed. She's not ready for his brand of 'let's move on from all the bad shit.'
(She's not ready to be loved so wholly, so thoroughly, not when she still has a hard time meeting her own gaze in the mirror.)
By the time she goes outside, the hose is lying idly on the pavement and Damon is rubbing a soapy sponge across the hood of her SUV. The whole car is white with suds and he pretends not to notice her at first.
Elena doesn't even attempt niceties. "What are you doing?" she demands instead and only his eyes move towards her as she stands by the right side tire.
"Building a kite," he drawls, his lazy affectation causing a bloom of heat low in her belly.
It annoys her that he can be a smart ass, and that's somehow a turn-on for her now. (Maybe it always was? It's hard to tell what was ever real before with what assaults her every day. Reality is always waiting to smack her face, every moment, every second. And the vampire-heightened reality is never going to be easy.)
She puts her hands on her hips. "Damon," she says scoldingly.
"Elena," he tosses right back at her, smirking.
"I told you, I don't want to be with you."
His eyes glint dangerously, but she sees him rein it back in, quite literally. "I am washing your car, not asking for a lifetime commitment."
An inelegant snort erupts from her.
(Maybe that's the problem. It is the problem, it will always be the problem. Damon will be her problem for eternity, one way or another. Because that's exactly what he's doing. What he's always done. What he'll always do.)
The thought actually squeezes some happiness into her veins, but she's very good about not letting that feeling ever get too strong. I'll always choose you and I'll never leave you again had segued into I'll never give up on you. And never is a long time when you're immortal.
He's washing her car, because she won't let him do anything else. She won't let him kiss her, or cuddle her, or make her laugh. She won't let him touch her, or taste her, or love her, because once she does, all the rest has to come with it. She has to open herself up entirely; she has to forgive Stefan. She has to forgive herself.
Caroline's piece of advice, don't dwell on what you can't change, had come after she sent Damon away, effectively breaking up with him for real; her switch was on, so she meant what she said; nobody could argue, not even Damon, for once. Caroline had nodded her head as he drove away. He loves you, she said, but there's nothing you can do about it. Don't dwell on what you can't change.
So, Elena hasn't dwelt on Damon's love for her; instead she's obsessed over her love for him, and the fact that it is real. The sire bond was obviously old news, considering how she kept breaking his heart left and right, and the most real thing she'd ever known was still there, still wanting to be known, and felt, and cultivated. It sat like a little sapling in her heart, just waiting.
(Just like Damon.)
He returns his attention to the task at hand, circling the sponge across the front end of the car. As he spends a few long, furious moments scrubbing dead bugs off the headlights, she just stands there, feeling stupid, knowing he's not going to leave. He's not going to come inside the house and demand anything of her, but he's also not going to stop washing her car.
He's Damon, her car is dirty, and she won't talk to him. These are three things that drive him crazy. And he can only control one of them.
So, she does the only thing she can think of. She leans down and picks up the hose; if she helps him, it won't be so much what he's doing for her as it will be a group effort. Much easier to rationalize that away, if she's also participating.
She plans to start rinsing the places he's already washed, but she's unprepared for just how powerful the washer is. Even with her vampire strength, when she squeezes the lever, it weaves in her grip and slips upward, the force of the water catching Damon full in the face. He yelps a garbled swear word, she cries, "Ohmigod! I'm so sorry!" and before she can get control of it, he's flashed around the end of the car, surrounding her within his arms. His hands cover hers on the trigger, and he forces her to relax her grip so the spray stops as quickly as it started.
"Thanks, Elena," he sputters and though she can't see him, she can feel how wet he is because he's dripping all over her.
"I'm so sorry," she says again, but something bubbles up in her throat, and she chokes. At first she can't even tell what's happening, but then laughter just starts rolling out of her mouth, and she can't stop it. "The...look...on...your...face..." she gasps, and the giggles get harder, and there's no way she can hold them back.
She's not sure how long it goes on, but what causes her mirth to fade is the fact that she's laughing alone. He pulls the hose from her hand, letting it drop back to the ground, but keeps an arm around her waist, holding her against him; she leans her head back on his shoulder. "C'mon," she says cajolingly. "It was a little funny, wasn't it?"
"It was hysterical," he says in agreement, his tone a low rumble in her ear and against her back, not as jovial as it is somber. "But I just wanted to listen to you."
Tears prick her eyes, and just that fast, Elena pushes out of his arms. Embarrassment floods her, and she tries looking everywhere but at him. "I didn't mean to do it," she says. "It was an accident."
He looks at her until she lifts her eyes to his, then he tilts his head, his blue, blue gaze examining her like a laser and says, "I know."
There is a moment when Elena doesn't know what they're talking about, but she's sure it's not about the power hose.
(Or maybe it is.)
"Look, Damon--"
"No," he says, waving a hand in her general direction. "I'm just washing your car, Elena. Deal with it. I'm tired of tiptoeing around this. You know I love you, you know I'm going to be here forever, and I'm not asking for anything except this. So...just fucking let me do it. Okay?"
He doesn't wait for her to answer, instead he leans down and swipes the hose back into his hand. Then he turns the spray on and starts blowing the bubbles off her car. Elena jumps back to avoid the excess spray, just watching him.
In fact, maybe it's the first time she's even let herself look at him since she flipped it all back on.
And he's ridiculous. He's washing her car in his standard issue black button down and dark jeans, the cuffs shoved unceremoniously into his boots. Not that she can imagine Damon in shorts and a tank top, but it's July, and it's got to be ninety degrees.
He could at least pretend to be human to do such a humanly thing.
Her heart squeezes, and all she can think, feel, know is how much she loves him, in all his bad brother glory as Caroline once called it. Because that's the part that's an act. This is the real Damon, the guy who washes her car to make himself feel better.
She moves toward him, and because he's determinedly not looking at her, he doesn't see what she's doing until she's slid herself between the hose and his chest. She wraps her hand around his on the trigger, the way he had hers just moments before. She grabs his other wrist and brings his arm around her again so she's engulfed in Damon, so that they are both controlling the tool that's whisking all the soap off the car into a stream flowing down the center of her driveway.
To his credit, he acts as if this is perfectly normal, resting his chin against the side of her head, next to her ear. They move around the car in tandem, rinsing every last bubble away.
When it's done, Elena takes her hand off the trigger, and Damon slowly releases it so the water stops. His arms squeeze around her in a slightly awkward hug, and just as she's about to turn in his arms to face him, he uses his vampire speed to undo the power washer; his thumb covers the head of the hose and he turns it inward so it shoots right in her face.
And that's when Elena lets go. She elbows him hard in the stomach, he grunts, and the hose goes flying as she spins around. She pounces and they both go down, landing in the grass on the other side of the driveway. Damon laughs in triumph, even though he's the one on his back beneath her. Water drips down her face, and her sweatshirt is soaked, but Damon's expression of glee makes her unaware of it. All she wants suddenly is to taste his smile, to capture it in a place inside her where it's okay to be happy again.
"I'm gonna kiss you," she announces, not really sure why she feels the need to warn him.
"Thank God," is his retort, and he does actually look relieved.
Elena leans down and brushes her mouth over his. Soft, gentle, not deep enough for tongues to touch. It's just their lips, it's just the curve of hers against the curve of his. "It's okay, Elena," he whispers, but it feels loud, like a shout. Like a primal bellow of victory, like something inside her finally springs free.
Damon just lies beneath her, still and unmoving, his hands resting on the grass on either side of his head. She pulls back just a little, to look into his eyes, to share things he won't make her say, that she would never have to vocalize because Damon doesn't care about all that. He only cares about her.
She slides her palm along his jaw and then drops her mouth back to his again. Soft still, but slow and open-mouthed this time, and his lips part, but he doesn't get aggressive. He just mirrors her actions, one of his hands cupping her cheek, and tilting her head so that if she wanted to move her tongue forward, it could glide in easily.
Instead, she sucks his bottom lip between hers, and he returns the sentiment by giving her top lip the same treatment. Kissing Damon has never been a chore, but it suddenly becomes more erotic, more personal, just more than she ever anticipated. She squeezes her knees against his hips since they're resting on either side of him and rolls herself over him just a little. He groans, something that sounds like her name eeking its way out even as he manages to keep kissing her.
She touches her tongue to his finally, and she feels the jolt of it through his body. He surges beneath her, and she can feel how necessary she is to him. He needs her as much as she needs him; it's just that he's not afraid of it.
(She is afraid of it, but not the way she used to be.)
She lifts her head, panting softly. His eyes search hers, and both his hands frame her face. "Inside?" he asks hopefully, but still without presumption.
She shakes her head. "Bonnie," she says, jerking her head just slightly to point towards the house. "Car?" she suggests.
Damon smirks. "It's broad daylight, babe. I'd rather take my chances with the witch."
"The windows are tinted," Elena reminds him.
"You'll have to be quiet," he says, completely smug, and Elena can't stop the grin that floods her face.
"So will you," she murmurs, leaning down to drag her tongue over his chin and down his throat. When she gets to his madly beating pulse, she lets her fangs come out to play. She hasn't bitten anything since she flipped back, and it feels just as freeing as the laughter that had erupted from her throat.
He whimpers, but she can tell he's doing his best to keep it low. She takes a few deep pulls, and then licks her tongue over the quickly healing puncture points. His hands tug slightly to pull her eyes back to his. "I want you somewhere with plenty of room," he says, and she can see he's starting to lose his submissiveness, just a bit.
(Maybe they'll both get back to where they once were.)
She pushes herself up off of him, standing, but reaching her hand down to bring him with her. "I know a place," she says. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly. "I'll drive."
He stares at her for a long moment, and then nods his head. "Whatever you want," he says, gesturing towards her shiny, clean car.
(Maybe that's why she loves him so much, because she already knows that.)
...part two...