entitled: Cereal and Co.
fandom: The Vampire Diaries
pairing: DamonElena
notes: 061010. Set after Damon's kidnapping of Elena and their road trip to Georgia and before Founder's Day (episode 22/end of season one).

rating: T
genre: Friendship/Romance
summary: When he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he wants to see is her. Every morning. For the rest of her eternity.

Standard disclaimer applies.

There was light knocking on the mansion door.

The nerve of these foolish mortals—yeah. He went there.

Did they not realize that it's freak'in Saturday morning? Did they not have a counterpart to sleep with? No early-morning cartoons to drown themselves in because obviously their love lives sucked?

Tch. Lowlifes.

Stefan wasn't around to answer the door—off on some lurve mission to get Elena a "romantic" and truly gag-worthy gift. Damon only hoped he wasn't a throw-up-inducing, love-doped boy towards Katherine.

The knocking carried on—damn persistent human—and he wanted to suck the imbecile behind the mansion entrance completely dry.

It turned out to be Elena.

(Shit. Nevermind then.)

She stood, the picture of dark luscious locks falling to her waist, of fearless eyes and undeniably beauty. She was the picture of Katherine—and he would probably be slapped if he told her so. So he opted for a better greeting.

"You look…" he pondered thoughtfully, trying to form words in order to charm her. But, for heaven's sakes! It was Saturday morning, so he simply settled on, "Awake. You look very awake, Elena."

(Whyyy?)

Fine. He wasn't so smooth in the morning. Whatever.

Elena nodded politely, humored by the way Damon was so, for a lack of better words, tongue-tied. For once in his life. She was glad he was capable of being normal—not constantly radiating his sex appeal to the deprived and desperate female population of Mystic Falls.

"Is Stefan here?" she inquired, peering inside.

"No," Damon leaned on the door frame all model-like and whatnot—did she not see that he was shirtless? Why was she not fazed but his shirtless-ness? She didn't have to faint, really. Swooning would suffice—"but if you promise to play nice," he winked, "I'll let you come inside and wait for your stupid Lover Boy."

Yeah. He is such an understanding and kind person. And sexy.

Elena lifted a brow, obviously offend by the suggestion to "play nice" and the snide remark on her boyfriend. But, nevertheless, presented Damon with an appreciative smile—she believed he would flirt with a rock if he could—and slinked skillfully between him and the door frame, into the entry hallway. "How long do you think he'll be gone?" she probed.

Damon would be in denial—ew—if he said he wasn't irked by all this indifference.

He was hot—the population of the entire world knew it.

Yet, here stood sassy Miss Elena Gilbert. In his hallway. With him, might I mention, vulnerable and shirtless. And she didn't want to jump on him?

There was something seriously wrong with this world.

"I'll make breakfast," he offered, wondering if she had eaten before she came to invade his morning. He headed towards the kitchen, often left unused, with Elena trailing close behind.

"So what do you want to eat?" he inquired, tossing a hideous apron—Zach would wear something like that—to the side and opened up the fridge. Investigating its contents.

Like there was actually food in there. Like Damon or Stefan, or maybe perhaps deceased Zach, made routine visits to the grocery store or something.

Which certainly did not happen.

"Anything's fine," Elena replied, amused.

She, of all people, knew that vampires didn't participate in three daily meals—not ordinary and legal meals anyway.

Damon could hear her sit on the stool beside the kitchen counter. He could feel the smile sneaking onto her pretty little face—obviously mocking him and his empty fridge. The stool squeaked and he knew she was trying to peer into the Salvatore's refrigerator.

Tch. No privacy nowadays.

Damon closed the refrigerator with unnecessary authority, and ordered, "I'll be right back. Don't move," before pulling a vanishing act.

Elena laughed quietly, spinning around on the stool, keeping herself entertained.

Damon reappeared a few minutes later, carrying a carton of milk and a box of cereal.

Setting the items down, he ducked under the counter, into the various cabinets, to dig up bowls and spoons that haven't been touched for months—he was really sorry he killed Zach, by the way. But in his defense, he was pretty pissed at the whole inject-Damon-with-vervain-because-he's-the-bad-guy thing.

Elena grabbed the box of cereal, admiring how it was opened and somehow incredibly similar to the cereal she had at home.

"This is mine," she stated confidently, though not particularly upset. "You invaded my kitchen," she accused, narrowing her eyes playfully.

Damon surfaced with two pale-green bowls and a handful of silver spoons. If Elena was going to show up unexpectedly, and if they were going to have to feed the girl for goodness sake's, then he may as well take out the necessary appliances in order to prepare for her next invasion. Spoons were crucial. Seriously.

"I did not," he lied plainly, a cunning smile settled on his lips as his smoldering eyes dared her to strike up an argument she'll certainly lose. Elena didn't fall into his trap however. She knew better than to argue with a century-old man. Who also happened to be an arrogant asshole.

Her lips formed a teasing grin. "Whatever, thief," she uttered quite deliberately in his general direction. "Be sure to put Captain Crunch back though. It seems like he's the only man who'll stick with Jenna these days."

Damon slid a bowl—clean—of cereal and milk toward Elena. "I got it," he said, cleaning spoons, and eventually handing one to her.

They ate in comfortable silence, Damon sneaking in a snide comment about Stefan every now and then, only to suffer through Elena's confident theory that he was simply jealous—another ew—of his younger sibling, for having such an awesome, cereal-providing girlfriend.

(Except, not. Well… maybe. Whatever.)

Once, when Damon was stumped by the way Elena compelled him into silence—oh. She's good—he resorted to stealing a spoonful of cereal and milk from her bowl. She feigned a horrified expression as he ate her cereal and licked his lips victoriously.

She stole his entire bowl as "equivalent" compensation.

All the fun ended when Stefan returned—surprise, surprise. He's always been such a party-pooper—to whisk Elena away.

But now and again, there would be mornings like these, where Stefan wasn't around for whatever reason—oh those poor squirrels!—Elena would arrive on the Salvatore doorstep unannounced and emptied-stomach, and Damon would be there to suggest to her—sexily—to come inside for breakfast.

Damon waited for mornings like those. Their cupboard was stocked with Captain Crunch for reasons that Damon wouldn't tell—seeing Stefan suffer under suspicion was a very large part of Damon's life after all—and the fridge held a carton of milk.

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, Elena wouldn't come for Stefan.

She would come to have breakfast with Damon—no boyfriend-related motive involved.

And those were the best mornings of all.

.

.

.

fin.

notes: Feel free to tell me what you think.