7:22 (Damon/Elena) [The Vampire Diaries]
Title: 7:22
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No profit is being made off this.
Rating: 16+
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Warnings: language, sexual situations
Notes: Sequel to 3:18, 5:53, 11:27, and 2:30.
When Elena woke to find herself alone in Damon’s bed, her stomach sank to her knees. She lay still for a few minutes, blinking herself awake and feeling a sense of abandonment. Coldness seeped into her in spite of the thick comforter tucked beneath her chin.
Slowly she sat up, wincing at the soreness between her thighs. It had been so long she’d almost forgotten how much of a workout sleeping with a vampire could be to a girl.
Elena sat in silence as she tried to talk herself out of her paranoia. Something must have come up, she told herself. Maybe Alaric had called Damon away, or he was downstairs trying to prevent another one of Stefan’s bloody parties, or cooking a breakfast he knew he wouldn’t eat, or . . .
She ran out of excuses quickly. Shivering, Elena climbed out of the bed and padded over to the bathroom. A quick peek inside confirmed that empty as well. “Damon?” she called to the air.
Nothing.
Uneasy, Elena entered the bathroom and started to wash her face. She stopped before wetting her face, noting that she could still smell evidence of her and Damon having sex just hours before. Her dark hair was a mess, tangled and knotted in the back, and there was still some of Damon’s semen on her stomach. Embarrassed, Elena quickly washed that off, but she knew it wasn’t enough. She needed a shower.
She hoped Damon wouldn’t mind. Normally the thought would never occur to her, but waking up to his empty room after what they had done still unsettled her so much she felt nauseas. Elena darted for the shower, quickly turning on the faucet. Icy water splashed her naked body and she jumped back, hugging herself as she waited for the water to warm.
There wasn’t much for her. Damon, like so many men, had the bare necessities: soap bars and shampoo. The only difference being that Damon had several of each, different colors and brands and scents. Elena shook her head ruefully, smiling in spite of herself.
Once she was washed (but painfully without conditioning her hair), Elena grabbed the nearest towel and dried herself. She exited the bathroom, wrapping the towel around her torso and looking around eagerly. Still no sign of Damon. Disappointed she stood, at a loss for what to do. She didn’t have any dry clothes, and the last thing she wanted to do was parade around the Salvatore home in only Damon’s now-torn shirt.
Perhaps she should just leave. Elena’s heart hurt to think it, but she couldn’t find a good reason to stay in the house without Damon. Chewing her lip, she made her way back to the bathroom for the clothes she’d removed last night.
They were gone.
Puzzled, Elena double checked to make sure she wasn’t losing it again. She even checked under the sink; no luck.
Maybe Damon’s washing them, she thought. The nauseatingly frightening feeling didn’t completely assuage, but it seemed a good reason for his absence. Elena quickly towel-dried her hair and combed out the mess as best she could with her fingers. Still naked, she kept herself as busy as possible in the bathroom, but there was very little to do. Damon was surprisingly, fastidiously clean and orderly for a guy.
The sound of the bedroom door closing caused her heart to jump to her throat. Eagerly, Elena rushed to greet Damon. Once again she was disappointed to find only empty air.
Then she noticed the difference. Someone had left her clothes neatly folded on the bed. Elena picked up her panties, her body warming at the memory of Damon pulling them aside so he could eat her out. She sniffed them delicately, feeling silly for doing so and for being a little disappointed that they were clean now.
Elena puffed her cheeks and blew out a sigh. Quickly she dressed, though she couldn’t find her shoes anywhere. Maybe they were still being cleaned as well. Maybe that was why he hadn’t said good morning. Maybe-
Maybe he was regretting that they’d slept together.
The very real possibility that this was why she hadn’t seen him made Elena feel even sicker. She paused to take a couple deep breaths and calm her jangled nerves. She didn’t know for sure. There was no reason to be upset. And even if it was true, who was she to blame him? Now that morning had come, Damon had all the right in the world to decide it had been a poor idea and to feel she had pressured him into it.
But he’d been so into it . . .
Torn, Elena bit the inside of her cheek. Feeling such heartbreak when she knew nothing would not help her. She had to find Damon and talk to him, reassure him that she didn’t regret it as he’d feared. The sex had been wonderful. When she closed her eyes, Elena could get a mimicry of how the orgasms had affected her.
More than that, Damon had been wonderful. Even as he was aggravatingly cocky and seemed to enjoy dancing on her nerves, he had also been surprisingly patient and careful in his treatment of her. He’d stayed through her breakdowns and bitterness, even found her attractive after vomiting on her shoes. Damon had not once handled her like glass; he’d given her his own brand of respect as a person and woman.
Elena had no idea what she would say to him, but she needed something to express her gratitude. Various scripts zipped through her head. None seemed perfect or even ideal. So when she found Damon glowering over liquor from the couch in the living room, all words fled her mind.
“Damon?” she said stupidly.
The way shadows struck his face when he met Elena’s eyes made her heart thump oddly. When he stood and walked toward her, Elena dropped her eyes to her shoes.
When she could see his feet, Elena forced herself to look at him again. Damon was in one of his unusually intense moods without a hint of even a self-mocking smile to be seen. That only made her more nervous. His eyes were duplicate dark blue storms crashing into her, his mouth a grim line of determination. She almost expected him to lash out with his tongue-verbally this time.
Instead he only said, “Do you love me or not, Elena?”
Staring blankly, she only had one thought. Do I?
As her surprise began to wear off, Elena managed to take in her situation. In a sense she did love him, in the same way she loved Jeremy and Bonnie and Caroline and Alaric. Damon was a steady force in her life now. When she had learned he was dying months before, Elena had been unable to imagine a future without Damon in it. He was a dear friend.
But she knew full well that was not the kind of love Damon wanted to talk about.
His eyes darkened when she failed to answer. Hastily, Elena fumbled for some damage control. She didn’t want to lie. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “In the way you mean . . . I’m not sure.”
Damon’s expression remained unchanged. She had no idea what he could be thinking now. Anxiety spiked when she finally caught the whiff of tequila off his breath.
Inhaling sharply, Elena said, “What we did. Did it feel right to you?”
For a moment his eyes softened. “More than anything else I’ve done in my life.”
“Then why are you being like this?”
That had been the wrong thing to say. Hotly, Damon replied, “Because I need to know if this is about us or if it’s still all about Stefan.”
“Still?” Her fear forgotten, Elena drew herself up indignantly. “When did us fooling around ever have anything to do with him?”
“The moment you admitted you hoped he heard us,” Damon shot back. “And because everything you do is always about him.”
“You asked me a question and I answered!”
“Then you should have thought of a better answer.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked in the first place!”
Anger shook Elena until her eyes began to sting. How had it come to this? Damon made one smart-ass quip and she was getting the flak for it. Why did it always seem to end with them arguing? Last night had ended so well, and she’d thought . . .
She’d thought there was something between them, that real, genuine spark that made her hormones flair and her stomach spring alive with a thousand butterflies. Damon made her feel good. He made her feel safe. With Damon, she felt confident, independent and strong.
Elena wanted to be with him.
The simplicity of it startled her. It wasn’t about dating, going steady, Stefan, or even the sex. All it boiled down to was that for the past few months being around Damon had a strong effect on her. He trained her even as he teased her for wanting to become the next Buffy; he made her realize she was still human with faults while not once hiding his own. The more Elena was with him, the more she came to understand that he was nothing if not honest about himself. When she thought she was at her weakest, Damon had given her confidence back. Even when all she’d done was focus on Stefan, he had been at her side and watching her back. He had driven at her again and again to open her eyes and take in what was truly going on, and by the time Elena had, she had also found herself growing a strong affection for him.
Damon frustrated and angered her. Right now was one of those prime moments. But a lot of Elena’s changes had been for the better.
He made her a better person at her core.
Now Elena was so conflicted between her anger and epiphany that she failed to notice Damon’s shift in moods again. He jolted her back to reality when he took her by the wrist, turning her palm up, and firmly set her car keys in her hand. Elena looked up.
Quiet, still furious, Damon said, “You need to go home.”
Elena pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to still her whirling thoughts. “Wait,” she started.
“Now, Elena,” he said sharply. At the stricken look on her face, he pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m tired. And I haven’t slept yet.” His eyes wandered, but eventually found their way back to her. When she stopped noticing his scowl, Elena could see the warring emotions behind his taut mask. When she didn’t move, he lowered his voice so she could barely here. “More than that, Stefan’s already being an insufferable dick. I don’t want him to congratulate me twice.”
Congratulate him? Elena shook her head furiously. Too much was happening at once. She needed to make this right; she had to make Damon see how wrong he was-
But, studying him, she could see the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slight slump in his posture that proved he wasn’t lying. He had to be positively exhausted. Since he’d found her compelled on his couch, Damon had soothed her to sleep, cleaned and buried bodies, fought with Stefan, had sex with her, and had apparently been up drinking the rest of the night over a stupid misunderstanding.
In short, this was the worst possible time to try to talk some sense into him.
“Fine,” Elena said softly. When he nodded and took a step back, she stopped him by grabbing his hand, gripping it between both of hers and her car keys. Unwavering, she said, “If you don’t stop by as soon as you’re rested, I’ll just keep coming back, Stefan or no.”
Bewilderment colored him, but all Damon did was nod. Doing her best not to give in to her desire to cry, Elena squeezed his hand tightly before letting go. She backed up slowly, but Damon didn’t look her way again.
Elena reached the front door before she remembered she didn’t have her shoes. Wincing, she turned and began to head back.
She nearly tripped. Dimly thankful the hallway hid her from Damon, Elena glanced down to find her shoes, freshly scrubbed and cleaner than when she’d come over.
This made one too many surprises for the morning. Weary, Elena slipped her feet into the shoes and bent to re-tie them. She almost expected Stefan to suddenly appear when she stood, but the coast was clear-including of Damon.
Sick and disheartened, Elena left the Salvatore home.
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. No profit is being made off this.
Rating: 16+
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Warnings: language, sexual situations
Notes: Sequel to 3:18, 5:53, 11:27, and 2:30.
When Elena woke to find herself alone in Damon’s bed, her stomach sank to her knees. She lay still for a few minutes, blinking herself awake and feeling a sense of abandonment. Coldness seeped into her in spite of the thick comforter tucked beneath her chin.
Slowly she sat up, wincing at the soreness between her thighs. It had been so long she’d almost forgotten how much of a workout sleeping with a vampire could be to a girl.
Elena sat in silence as she tried to talk herself out of her paranoia. Something must have come up, she told herself. Maybe Alaric had called Damon away, or he was downstairs trying to prevent another one of Stefan’s bloody parties, or cooking a breakfast he knew he wouldn’t eat, or . . .
She ran out of excuses quickly. Shivering, Elena climbed out of the bed and padded over to the bathroom. A quick peek inside confirmed that empty as well. “Damon?” she called to the air.
Nothing.
Uneasy, Elena entered the bathroom and started to wash her face. She stopped before wetting her face, noting that she could still smell evidence of her and Damon having sex just hours before. Her dark hair was a mess, tangled and knotted in the back, and there was still some of Damon’s semen on her stomach. Embarrassed, Elena quickly washed that off, but she knew it wasn’t enough. She needed a shower.
She hoped Damon wouldn’t mind. Normally the thought would never occur to her, but waking up to his empty room after what they had done still unsettled her so much she felt nauseas. Elena darted for the shower, quickly turning on the faucet. Icy water splashed her naked body and she jumped back, hugging herself as she waited for the water to warm.
There wasn’t much for her. Damon, like so many men, had the bare necessities: soap bars and shampoo. The only difference being that Damon had several of each, different colors and brands and scents. Elena shook her head ruefully, smiling in spite of herself.
Once she was washed (but painfully without conditioning her hair), Elena grabbed the nearest towel and dried herself. She exited the bathroom, wrapping the towel around her torso and looking around eagerly. Still no sign of Damon. Disappointed she stood, at a loss for what to do. She didn’t have any dry clothes, and the last thing she wanted to do was parade around the Salvatore home in only Damon’s now-torn shirt.
Perhaps she should just leave. Elena’s heart hurt to think it, but she couldn’t find a good reason to stay in the house without Damon. Chewing her lip, she made her way back to the bathroom for the clothes she’d removed last night.
They were gone.
Puzzled, Elena double checked to make sure she wasn’t losing it again. She even checked under the sink; no luck.
Maybe Damon’s washing them, she thought. The nauseatingly frightening feeling didn’t completely assuage, but it seemed a good reason for his absence. Elena quickly towel-dried her hair and combed out the mess as best she could with her fingers. Still naked, she kept herself as busy as possible in the bathroom, but there was very little to do. Damon was surprisingly, fastidiously clean and orderly for a guy.
The sound of the bedroom door closing caused her heart to jump to her throat. Eagerly, Elena rushed to greet Damon. Once again she was disappointed to find only empty air.
Then she noticed the difference. Someone had left her clothes neatly folded on the bed. Elena picked up her panties, her body warming at the memory of Damon pulling them aside so he could eat her out. She sniffed them delicately, feeling silly for doing so and for being a little disappointed that they were clean now.
Elena puffed her cheeks and blew out a sigh. Quickly she dressed, though she couldn’t find her shoes anywhere. Maybe they were still being cleaned as well. Maybe that was why he hadn’t said good morning. Maybe-
Maybe he was regretting that they’d slept together.
The very real possibility that this was why she hadn’t seen him made Elena feel even sicker. She paused to take a couple deep breaths and calm her jangled nerves. She didn’t know for sure. There was no reason to be upset. And even if it was true, who was she to blame him? Now that morning had come, Damon had all the right in the world to decide it had been a poor idea and to feel she had pressured him into it.
But he’d been so into it . . .
Torn, Elena bit the inside of her cheek. Feeling such heartbreak when she knew nothing would not help her. She had to find Damon and talk to him, reassure him that she didn’t regret it as he’d feared. The sex had been wonderful. When she closed her eyes, Elena could get a mimicry of how the orgasms had affected her.
More than that, Damon had been wonderful. Even as he was aggravatingly cocky and seemed to enjoy dancing on her nerves, he had also been surprisingly patient and careful in his treatment of her. He’d stayed through her breakdowns and bitterness, even found her attractive after vomiting on her shoes. Damon had not once handled her like glass; he’d given her his own brand of respect as a person and woman.
Elena had no idea what she would say to him, but she needed something to express her gratitude. Various scripts zipped through her head. None seemed perfect or even ideal. So when she found Damon glowering over liquor from the couch in the living room, all words fled her mind.
“Damon?” she said stupidly.
The way shadows struck his face when he met Elena’s eyes made her heart thump oddly. When he stood and walked toward her, Elena dropped her eyes to her shoes.
When she could see his feet, Elena forced herself to look at him again. Damon was in one of his unusually intense moods without a hint of even a self-mocking smile to be seen. That only made her more nervous. His eyes were duplicate dark blue storms crashing into her, his mouth a grim line of determination. She almost expected him to lash out with his tongue-verbally this time.
Instead he only said, “Do you love me or not, Elena?”
Staring blankly, she only had one thought. Do I?
As her surprise began to wear off, Elena managed to take in her situation. In a sense she did love him, in the same way she loved Jeremy and Bonnie and Caroline and Alaric. Damon was a steady force in her life now. When she had learned he was dying months before, Elena had been unable to imagine a future without Damon in it. He was a dear friend.
But she knew full well that was not the kind of love Damon wanted to talk about.
His eyes darkened when she failed to answer. Hastily, Elena fumbled for some damage control. She didn’t want to lie. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “In the way you mean . . . I’m not sure.”
Damon’s expression remained unchanged. She had no idea what he could be thinking now. Anxiety spiked when she finally caught the whiff of tequila off his breath.
Inhaling sharply, Elena said, “What we did. Did it feel right to you?”
For a moment his eyes softened. “More than anything else I’ve done in my life.”
“Then why are you being like this?”
That had been the wrong thing to say. Hotly, Damon replied, “Because I need to know if this is about us or if it’s still all about Stefan.”
“Still?” Her fear forgotten, Elena drew herself up indignantly. “When did us fooling around ever have anything to do with him?”
“The moment you admitted you hoped he heard us,” Damon shot back. “And because everything you do is always about him.”
“You asked me a question and I answered!”
“Then you should have thought of a better answer.”
“Then you shouldn’t have asked in the first place!”
Anger shook Elena until her eyes began to sting. How had it come to this? Damon made one smart-ass quip and she was getting the flak for it. Why did it always seem to end with them arguing? Last night had ended so well, and she’d thought . . .
She’d thought there was something between them, that real, genuine spark that made her hormones flair and her stomach spring alive with a thousand butterflies. Damon made her feel good. He made her feel safe. With Damon, she felt confident, independent and strong.
Elena wanted to be with him.
The simplicity of it startled her. It wasn’t about dating, going steady, Stefan, or even the sex. All it boiled down to was that for the past few months being around Damon had a strong effect on her. He trained her even as he teased her for wanting to become the next Buffy; he made her realize she was still human with faults while not once hiding his own. The more Elena was with him, the more she came to understand that he was nothing if not honest about himself. When she thought she was at her weakest, Damon had given her confidence back. Even when all she’d done was focus on Stefan, he had been at her side and watching her back. He had driven at her again and again to open her eyes and take in what was truly going on, and by the time Elena had, she had also found herself growing a strong affection for him.
Damon frustrated and angered her. Right now was one of those prime moments. But a lot of Elena’s changes had been for the better.
He made her a better person at her core.
Now Elena was so conflicted between her anger and epiphany that she failed to notice Damon’s shift in moods again. He jolted her back to reality when he took her by the wrist, turning her palm up, and firmly set her car keys in her hand. Elena looked up.
Quiet, still furious, Damon said, “You need to go home.”
Elena pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, trying to still her whirling thoughts. “Wait,” she started.
“Now, Elena,” he said sharply. At the stricken look on her face, he pressed his lips together and looked away. “I’m tired. And I haven’t slept yet.” His eyes wandered, but eventually found their way back to her. When she stopped noticing his scowl, Elena could see the warring emotions behind his taut mask. When she didn’t move, he lowered his voice so she could barely here. “More than that, Stefan’s already being an insufferable dick. I don’t want him to congratulate me twice.”
Congratulate him? Elena shook her head furiously. Too much was happening at once. She needed to make this right; she had to make Damon see how wrong he was-
But, studying him, she could see the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slight slump in his posture that proved he wasn’t lying. He had to be positively exhausted. Since he’d found her compelled on his couch, Damon had soothed her to sleep, cleaned and buried bodies, fought with Stefan, had sex with her, and had apparently been up drinking the rest of the night over a stupid misunderstanding.
In short, this was the worst possible time to try to talk some sense into him.
“Fine,” Elena said softly. When he nodded and took a step back, she stopped him by grabbing his hand, gripping it between both of hers and her car keys. Unwavering, she said, “If you don’t stop by as soon as you’re rested, I’ll just keep coming back, Stefan or no.”
Bewilderment colored him, but all Damon did was nod. Doing her best not to give in to her desire to cry, Elena squeezed his hand tightly before letting go. She backed up slowly, but Damon didn’t look her way again.
Elena reached the front door before she remembered she didn’t have her shoes. Wincing, she turned and began to head back.
She nearly tripped. Dimly thankful the hallway hid her from Damon, Elena glanced down to find her shoes, freshly scrubbed and cleaner than when she’d come over.
This made one too many surprises for the morning. Weary, Elena slipped her feet into the shoes and bent to re-tie them. She almost expected Stefan to suddenly appear when she stood, but the coast was clear-including of Damon.
Sick and disheartened, Elena left the Salvatore home.