A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here it is, my contribution to this year's A2A X-Mas Fic exchange. Big, awesome, amazing thanks to my incredible friend NyEspi who always knows what I don't like about my stories better than I do and helps me work out the kinks. She has graciously contributed massive amounts of the very little spare time she has to be my beta on this so THANK YOU LUV!

This was the prompt by Sar:
It was the night before XMAS
There's a snowstorm
Someone is stranded on the road
Bonus Points:
Vampires
Horror
Sweaty, very sweaty car sex

I tried, girl. Hope you enjoy it :)

Maybe Less, Maybe a Little More

2002 – Compulsion: a strong, usually irresistible impulse to perform an act.

Stefan exhaled silently, his warm breath crystallizing before his eyes, mushrooming into a cloud and then dissipating into the freezing night air surrounding him. He felt tiny particles of ice frost his eye-lashes, making his lid heavy; felt cool, fluffy snowflakes fall onto the skin of his face and linger for a moment before transforming into tiny, glistening drops. He was held fast in the biting grasp of winter but didn't experience the cold, hadn't in too many years to be depressed about it anymore. The only thing gnawing away at him was his hunger. He had waited patiently, all day long, but he finally hadn't been able to wait any longer and had come out to hunt.

It was the day before Christmas. Stefan had been back in town for about a week, making a point of arriving at Zach's house before Damon and as always with time to spare. He had asked his brother to come, as he did every year, but he didn't trust him alone around their distant relative. Damon always came on the day before Christmas, delaying their eventual meeting as much as possible and so Stefan had been sitting at home waiting all day. But so far, Damon hadn't showed.

As much as he wanted to see his brother, he loathed these meetings as well. Damon was everything he couldn't and didn't want to be. The successful vampire, the one who could enjoy the status at the top of the food chain to the fullest, the one who reveled in his role as the eternal predator, the one who had no qualms about taking a life. Stefan envied him as much as he condemned him.

This was the reason why waiting for his brother was pure torture. He wanted, needed to see him, at least this one time in the year, needed to confirm that he still had a brother, that they were still bound to each other, even if their connection was weak and often strained. At the same time he feared their meetings; feared the derisive look on his big brother's face, the patronizing stabs at his lifestyle and the contemptuous smirk on his lips when he stumbled through the door after a hunt, covered in dirt and animal blood. This was the reason why the wait had finally worn him down and made him anxious. He hadn't been able to stay inside anymore. By the time the sun had started to set, his nerves had become so frayed and the need for blood had become so agonizing, Zach's heartbeat down the hall hadn't been merely distracting but had pounded through the walls and slammed into Stefan's head with punishing intensity. Finally, he hadn't been able to take it any longer and had left in order to feed, in order to calm his nerves the only way he knew how.

Right now, he was standing only a few feet away from a shivering doe. She trudged tiredly through the thick piles of snow on the other side of the road, too thin for her age and too oblivious to him for her kind. She was hurt. He couldn't see the wound, but he could smell the blood. Natural selection, Stefan mused. I'm just like the lion. He approached her slowly, all his senses focused on her now. His eyes trained on the muscles in her hind legs and every movement of her ears, registering even the slightest twitch, his hearing tuned into the steady beat of the deer's heart. As long as it kept its rhythm, his prey wasn't going to flee. His sense of smell had been the first sense to register the animal and it was now completely immersed in the coppery scent of blood that was slowly trickling from a gash somewhere on the beast. It enveloped him, calling to him, funneling all his senses and desires into this one ultimate goal: devour.

It was this intense focus that had engrossed his senses to the point where he registered the approaching car only after it had already rounded the bend of the road and its headlights hit him. He had approached the deer enough to be standing in the middle of the road, not having thought to be cautious because he hadn't imagined anyone would be out on this side road. Not on this night, not in this weather. As soon as he noticed the vehicle, he was gone, his enhanced speed transporting him off the street and into the woods in the blink of an eye. He was already cowering behind a tree a good distance away before the scene on the road, that he had triggered, eventually unfolded. He heard the screeching of the breaks, saw the car turn laboriously, skidding a few meters on the icy road, across the area that he had been standing on a second ago, and eventually saw the mass of steel and glass drop off into the ditch by the road, no longer at full speed but with enough force to send the sound of a shattering window and a bending fender into the quiet night air.

"Fuck!" He heard the curse travel on a gust of wind from where the car had hit the ground, the engine still running, the one surviving headlight illuminating a tiny speck of snow. A woman – and a young one at that. Something else was carried with the breeze as well. Blood. Human blood, to be specific. Not much, not enough to warrant concern for the girl but enough to slam into Stefan and make him take a few steps back. A small head wound probably or a scratch on the arm from some broken glass. The scent pulled at him with such force that he could feel his teeth lowering instantly, could feel his blood rise to the veins around his eyes, tingling and focusing his line of sight again on the tunnel that led from where he was standing to the wreck in the ditch. His fingers splintered the bark of the tree he was holding onto in a feeble attempt at keeping control.

Elena was driving down the dark road. Snow was falling heavily, hitting her windshield in a never ending assault of tiny white specks before a dark background. Her windshield-wipers were slaving away, yielding only momentary results. She was tired. She had already been exhausted from the turmoil that were the last few days and now the difficult weather conditions were set on making the last stretch to her home as hard as possible, her safe haven, her chance to finally break down and piece herself back together in the bosom of her family. Only a few more miles, she thought. Only another thirty or forty minutes before her aunt would hold her in a tight embrace, before the smell of apples and cinnamon and eggnog would wrap her in a blanket of comforting sensations, before her head could hit her childhood bed sheets and finally rest.

As she turned around a bend, her headlights fell upon something. A shape, there one second and gone the next. A man? Her tired and strained brain registered the figure only after it was already gone, the shock traveling through her body at a snail's pace, her foot stomping on the break, her hand turning the wheel frantically, when her eyes already saw only the empty road stretch out before her again. But it was too late to correct her mistake. Her car was already veering off the side of the road, dropping over the edge and crashing heavily into the frozen ground. She hit her head on the steering wheel, not hard enough to cause a concussion but enough to make her skull throb in the place where it had connected with the hard rubber.

"Fuck," she exclaimed tiredly, throwing her head back against the headrest of her seat. This was the worst. She pushed herself against her seat by pressing her knees against the dashboard to get into a stable position. Slowly she unfastened her seatbelt and opened the driver side door, the freezing wind biting into her flushed skin immediately. It was uncomfortable, but it did help to clear her head. She grabbed her purse from where it had landed in the space where the windshield connected with the dashboard and slowly tried to climb out of the vehicle. Heavy snow fell against her face immediately, disorienting her further. The car leaned against the embankment in an awkward angle and she dropped out of it clumsily. Pulling her phone from her purse, she tried to climb up towards the road in the hopes of capturing a signal when she saw the headlights of another car come around the bend.

Damon was driving down the empty road in silence. The music they played on the radio seemed to get worse every year, the much-anticipated new millennium had changed nothing about that, and the ever-returning Christmas songs that made humans so obnoxiously sentimental – wrapping them into the comfort of the familiar – were repetitive to him, only another reminder of the fact that no matter how much time passed, nothing ever changed, not really. Better to keep the damned thing turned off. The engine's grumble and the buzzing of the tires on the road were the only sounds reaching his ears. He had spent most of the day in a bar somewhere on the side of the road, drinking mostly and trying to make the time drag out as endlessly as possible before his trip home became absolutely inevitable.

He didn't know why his brother insisted on spending Christmas together, knew very well that Stefan dreaded these reunions as much as he did if not more. The fact that he could torment his brother almost to insanity only by being present was the only upside Damon could see to this entire endeavor. He didn't know why he felt compelled, year after year, to follow his brother's wishes and leave the sparkling lights of whichever city he happened to enjoy his days in at the time and drive all the way back to this ho-dunk neck of the woods that held nothing but bad memories for him. But he did, every single time.

It was dark now and he was making good time on the empty highway. The fact that it was the night before Christmas and that a – for this region uncharacteristically strong – storm was raging outside, were reason enough for most people to stay indoors. All the better, Damon thought tiredly. He figured that he'd be at home, in front of the fire, a merciful glass of Bourbon in his hands to help him stomach his brother's constant reproaches and indignation, within twenty minutes.

Another car became visible at the horizon and soon passed him, heading in the opposite direction. People, it was said, need three seconds to determine whether they find someone attractive or not. Damon needed less. His synapses fired at a faster speed than humans'. The quick glimpse he caught in the moment his headlights illuminated the inside of the other car and flashed across the driver's face had been enough to allow him to decide that she was definitely a beautiful young woman: In her late teenage-years, all smooth skinned and with a rosy complexion, her full lips permanently set in a delectable pout, the eyes dark and deep and endearing.

Typical, he thought, that beautiful girls are fleeing this town as fast as they can. Then her taillights disappeared in the night and with them the fleeting impression she had left upon Damon. Too many beautiful girls had crossed his path, their faces flickering repetitively across his retinas, for any of them to leave a deeper mark now. He had given up on the illusion that one of them was worth pursuing more than any of the others. He had learned by now that when one was gone, another was sure to appear soon enough.

When he rounded a bend, annoyance hit him forcefully. A tree had been uprooted by the storm and blocked the road. He could have removed it without breaking too much of a sweat but that would have meant getting his hands dirty and possibly sullying his leather jacket. Getting to the boarding house quickly definitely did not hold priority over preserving his outfit. He had seen an exit sign a couple of miles back. Turning around with a heavy sigh, he prepared for another forty minutes of creeping along back roads before reaching his destination.

As he sped along the dark, twisting expanse of asphalt, bordered by looming pine trees on either side, he suddenly heard a strange noise. A screeching and then the shattering of glass and the moaning of twisting metal reached him from a little further down the road, echoing through the quiet woods. Another two minutes later he rounded a bend and saw the source of the commotion. A car had veered off of the road and now lay hood first in the ditch.

How nice, a late-night snack, Damon mused appreciatively. And he didn't even have to work for it. When he approached the crash-site and slowed down, he spotted the form of someone climbing up the embankment towards the road. It was the girl he had passed on the highway. Apparently she had not been leaving after all but had been met with the same inconvenience he had and was looking for an alternative route into town as well. He came to a stop next to her as he rolled down his window and leaned over.

"You okay?" he asked, putting on his most winning smile.

"Yeah, thanks. I thought I saw something in the road. Probably a deer or something," the girl explained.

"Need any help?" he offered.

"Thanks but I'm okay. Someone will be here to pick me up in a minute," the girl replied while warily eyeing her cellphone.

"Oh yeah, have you managed to get reception out here?" he asked innocently. "It's virtually impossible." He could have simply compelled her to get in his damned car or jumped her and dragged her into the woods to drain her right then and there, but the actual feed was not what he enjoyed most about the hunt – hadn't been for a long time. It was the games, the luring of the prey into a false sense of security and the exhilarating feeling when finally he allowed them to know his real motive and he could follow every small emotion flicker across their face from shock to fear to utter terror. It was delicious.

She bit her lower lip nervously, enticingly, glancing at her phone again.

"Come on, I'll give you a ride into town," he said, popping the door open for her. She still hesitated. "I promise I'm not gonna bite'ya," he added with a wink.

A small smile flickered across her face, making her look even prettier. "Well I don't think that's what my parents were worried about when they warned me not to get into a stranger's car," she replied with a smirk that assured him that he had her.

So easy, he thought. They always were.

"Don't think my company is riskier than trying to weather this storm," he quipped. He loved to lie. It was so much fun. Like sharing an inside joke with yourself.

The girl smiled again and then, finally, pulled her purse against her body and let herself drop onto the passenger seat, shutting the door behind her. "Thanks," she offered, shedding her scarf and unzipping her coat.

Damon let his eyes travel over her body appreciatively. Maybe she would be a little more than a late-night snack.

"Where should I take you?" he asked.

"Just drop me off in town square. I'll call my aunt to come and get me from there," she explained.

"Tsk, nonsense. I'm taking you home. Couldn't leave you stranded somewhere. Who knows what kind of creep you might come across all by yourself. What street do you live on?"

"Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't want to impose," she waved him off.

"Don't be silly," he insisted. "No imposition at all. Just doing what my mom brought me up to do. I'll feel better if I know I got you home safe."

She hesitated but only for a second. "Hunter's Lane," she informed him. "Are you sure it won't take up too much of your time?" she asked, ever the courteous young lady she was.

"I have nothing but time," he reassured her.

"I'm Elena," she offered with a hesitant smile. "Gilbert."

His ears perked up at the name. A Gilbert. Now this made everything just so much more enjoyable. "Damon Salvatore," he replied with a warm smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Salvatore? As in Zach?" she asked, apparently instantly more at ease. Sweet, naïve little human.

"Yes," Damon confirmed chirpily. "He's my uncle."

"Why have I never seen you before?" the girl asked, now genuinely interested.

"I travel a lot," he answered noncommittally. "But I make a point of coming home for Christmas."

"That's nice," she replied.

"It just got a lot nicer," he commented, throwing her a lopsided smile. It had the desired effect, making a delicate blush creep up her cheeks. Not only did it make her look sweeter, the endorphins made the blood taste richer as well. Way to turn around a shitty day.

"Crazy weather, huh?" she stated embarrassedly, fixing her eyes on the heavy snowfall outside.

"Yeah, horrible storm," he agreed before turning towards her, making her turn in surprise and locking their eyes. "Maybe we should wait it out somewhere safe," he pushed at her through the power of his mind.

"Maybe we should wait it out somewhere safe," she suggested.

"Huh," Damon quirked up his brows. The Gilberts were slacking off these days, no vervain anywhere near this girl. "I think that's probably a good idea."

A little further down the road, he knew an old forest trail that led to a small fishing pond. That was one of the only good things about living in the middle of nowhere: Lots of secluded places to do dark deeds.

"So, Elena," he sparked up their conversation again as he turned off the road into the woods. "Why are you outside at this late hour of the night? It's the night before Christmas. Shouldn't you be getting drunk on eggnog and singing carols?"

"Well," she began but hesitated. "I was supposed to be somewhere else," she finally continued. "Didn't work out."

"That sounds intriguingly ominous. Tell me more."

"You really don't wanna know," she waved him off with a self-conscious smile.

Damon groaned internally. Humans and their boring qualms about propriety and privacy. "Tell me," he insisted, his eyes making his will hers.

She swallowed once, before delving into her story: "I was supposed to spend Christmas with my boyfriend's family for the first time. Because I was so excited, I was ready an hour early." Damon secretly rolled his eyes. She'd been right; he really didn't want to hear about this. That's what you get for being nosey about a human's life, he chided himself. "I figured I'd come over sooner and help him pack. When I got there, I found him in bed with a girl from his study group."

Thankfully she didn't cry. She did look angry, however. There he was, stuck in a car with a recently dumped teenager on Christmas Eve. Thank God for compulsion. What did you say in these types of situations? What was it that a young woman wanted to hear?

"Well, you know, he must have been under hypnosis or something," he started.

"What?" Elena laughed, looking at him with wide eyes. "What kind of a ridiculous excuse is that?"

"It's the only possible explanation," he replied undeterred, lowering his eyelids only a fraction, enough to be seductive but not enough to be obvious. "Why on earth would a man cheat on the most beautiful girl on campus?"

Elena let out a quick snort before looking at him with a knowing smirk from underneath thick lashes. "Very smooth, Mister," she said mockingly, lightly smacking his arm with the back of her hand.

"Made you smile, though," he replied. "That's all that counts."

Elena couldn't help but smile even wider. He was right, worry lines had been chiseled into her forehead these past two days and her jaw had been set in a headache-inducing clench. And this stranger had managed to make her smile. She felt herself relax a little. The openness with which he was blatantly flirting with her was actually comforting. No games, no hidden agenda. She wasn't under any illusions that he was looking for something serious, he wasn't the type. He was the take em then leave em type. She couldn't help feeling drawn to him, though.

They had reached the end of the small dirt road and were now parked in front of a tiny wooden cabin next to a small pond. It was part of the large Lockwood estate but, Damon suspected, not in use anymore.

"You're bad news," Elena said lightly but he could hear the tension in her voice.

"Oh you have no idea," he agreed, relishing the sound of her quickening heartbeat and the faint scent of her blood as it heated her cheeks. "Come here," he said, his pupils contracting and dilating effortlessly.

Slowly Elena moved from her seat, leaving her coat behind, and climbed over the middle console to where he was sitting. He grabbed her leg and pulled her on top of himself so that she was straddling him, her jeans rustling as they rubbed against his. Her legs were pressed to his sides now, her face only inches from his, her hair falling like a curtain around her. She rested her hands on his shoulders carefully. "What now?" she asked, her eyes wide with anticipation, her breathing uneven. He could feel it brush lightly across his face, could smell her strawberry chap stick.

"Now you kiss me," he answered, with only a hint of compulsion, sensing that not much was needed to convince her.

Her eyes widened a little but then her hands drove slowly over his shoulders towards his neck and her finger sank into his hair, holding him steady while she lowered her lips to his. She tasted of strawberries, too. Strawberries and excitement. She was nervous, he could tell – could tell from her fluttering pulse and the goose bumps forming on her arms. He returned the kiss slowly but deeply, testing her responsiveness. Her lips were delicious, plump and supple, yielding to the pressure of his but also firm in their own movements. When their tongues touched, she let out a tiny moan in the back of her throat and unconsciously sank more firmly against his body, spreading her legs slightly, pressing the crotch of her jeans against his already growing erection, letting her body sink against his, her breasts squeezing against his chest with every writhing movement she made on top of him.

He pushed against her lightly, making her gasp but swallowing the sound with his kiss. One of his hands grabbed her ass, holding her in place, pulling her closer even, while the other slowly travelled up her back underneath her shirt. When he reached her bra, he let his hand linger for a second before snapping the clasp open with a quick pinch.

Suddenly the girl that had been willing in his arms a second ago, jerked up and clasped a hand over her mouth in shock. "What am I doing?" she asked, burying her face in her hands. Damon had to use every ounce of self-control to not roll his eyes in annoyance. Why did humans have to be so squeamish? They couldn't enjoy anything they considered even slightly immoral, no matter how much they wanted to. And she wanted to enjoy him, he could feel it, taste it in the tiny drops of sweat that had broken out on her skin, they were saturated with pheromones. "This isn't me," she continued her self-berating.

"What," he said playfully, slowly brushing a strand of hair from her face and letting his thumb trail across her flushed cheek. They thought it was soothing, he knew. "Hot sweaty car sex not on your bucket list?" he asked and smirked up at her playfully.

"Hell no," she replied with a self-conscious smile. "It's all filled up with wanting to cure cancer and trips to Rome."

She wanted to sound relaxed and confident, but he could tell that she wasn't. Could tell from the way her spine was still stiff against his hand and her eyes darted across his face restlessly.

"Oh please, Rome is overrated," he said offhandedly. "You'd enjoy hot sweaty car sex with me a lot more than you'd enjoy wandering around old ruins, trust me." He picked up one of her hands she'd let fall to her sides and rubbed his thumb slowly across her palm.

Elena swallowed slightly. She wasn't used to how her body reacted to his touch. Usually, Elena needed to feel a connection, to have built a relationship and a trust with someone before she could shut off her mind and give in to the mere physical sensations. But somehow his lips on hers had ignited a fire in her that she hadn't known before and the soft pressure of his thumb against her palm sent shivers of heat down her spine.

"Oh yeah?" she asked with forced nonchalance, unable to take her eyes off their connected hands. "Have you been there?"

"I have," he replied, "Doesn't live up to its hype." He bent forwards slightly and pressed a soft kiss against her clavicle, gauging her reaction, before working his way up slowly along the pulsing aorta in her throat to the patch of soft skin behind her ear. He could hear her catch her breath. He was spurred by ambition now. He could have easily compelled her to make her succumb to him, but he didn't want to. She desired him, he was sure of it. Now he only needed to convince her to give in to this desire. He could do it. It was a matter of pride now.

"You should go to… Guadeloupe," he murmured, his lips never leaving her heated skin.

"What's in Guadeloupe?" she breathed, sounding only mildly interested.

He wasn't sure. It was the first thing that had come to his mind when he had thought about where he'd want to take her. "It's the most sensual place I've ever been. Close your eyes," he said. "I'll show you." She sobered up enough to fix her eyes onto his.

"Show me?" she questioned, looking at him skeptically even though slightly dazed.

"I'm a very descriptive talker," he explained. She seemed unconvinced but willing to go along for the time being. Slowly, she closed her eyes.

Suggestion took only slightly more effort than compulsion did. It worked better when the other person was sleeping, but Damon was strong, he had fed in the morning and the girl was willing; he wasn't expecting any difficulties. "The beaches are the color of ivory," he began, remembering his time spent on the tropical island. "And the water is clear and bright turquoise." He pushed the image of the tropical paradise into her head, the palm trees swaying slightly in the lazy breeze, the waves brushing gently against the shore. She gasped but kept her eyes closed. "Right now the temperatures are in the high seventies, even at night the wind is still warm enough to heat up your skin." The day on his imaginary island turned into night. He pushed ever so lightly at the hem of her shirt and slowly drove it up her body, savoring the goose bumps that followed the touch of his hands, until he finally lifted it over her head.

Elena's heartbeat sped up. She should stop him. She should stop him right now. But she really didn't want to. The last two days, she had felt unwanted and unloved, like she wasn't desirable. And now this beautiful man was showering her with attention. His attraction to her had been evident when she had been pressed to him only minutes ago. It had intimidated her, the stranger's hardness against her core, and the promise of ultimate intimacy with someone she had only just met. But it had excited her as well, to be wanted by this man. For some reason she felt safe, here in the darkness, where no one she knew could see or judge her. She could allow this man to touch her, allow herself to touch him, without having to think of the consequences. She could exact her private little revenge on the dirt bag she had left behind in tears. He would never know, no one would ever know, except her. She would know. That there was a man, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and he had wanted her and she had had him – had his body wrapped between her legs, had his lips pressed to her skin, had him inside her. She would know. And no one could take it from her.

Damon lightly brushed off her already opened bra, exposing her breasts to him. "When you lie on the beach," he continued, pushing her lightly so she leaned back over his steering wheel, offering up her naked torso, "the sand against your skin is so soft that it feels like silk." He let both of his hands smooth across her shoulders, then her breasts – feeling the pointed peaks of her erect nipples slide across his palms – and then pulling them slowly across her abdomen until they rested on the waistband of her jeans. Her breathing quickened and her back arched lightly. "The air smells of mango and passion fruit," he continued, bending over and kissing his way up from her navel towards her breasts. Little shivers ran down her spine, making her skin quiver appetizingly under his lips. "There are a million waterfalls streaming into clear ponds of warm water, hidden in the forest, safe from prying eyes, private." He had reached her breasts and swirled his tongue around one nipple lazily, eliciting a moan of pleasure that made him harden instantly. His hand snapped open the button on her jeans and pulled down the zipper slowly, then he let his thumb reach lower and slowly stroke across her clit. Elena arched her back and let out a sound between a moan and a gasp. When Damon felt how swollen the nub was already, something inside him snapped.

He reached for her neck, pulling her towards him from her reclined position. "Elena," he ordered huskily, coaxing her into opening her eyes and locking them with his bright blue ones. When he saw the dazed and hungry expression reigning over her face, he gave up. He didn't want to wait anymore, didn't want to seduce her slowly; he wanted to be inside of her now. "Fuck me," he commanded, pushing his desire into her head with all the force he had.

Immediately, she wrapped her arms around his neck and assaulted his lips with her own. Where their kisses had been sensual and slow before, tasting each other, they were now fevered. Her body pressed against his in need. He felt her feel around the car beside him and suddenly his seat back gave way and they tumbled backwards. Elena giggled lightly, pushing herself up to look down at him. She brushed her hair over her head with her arm and gave him an easy smile. All her previous hesitation was gone. She was enjoying this and she looked magnificent. She pushed his leather jacket off his shoulders easily and then let her hands run down his chest until she reached the hem of his shirt. With a mischievous expression, she pushed it upwards, making him lift his arms so she could pull it off his body. She let her eyes travel across his torso appreciatively.

Suddenly something inside Damon constricted. This was different… somehow… he was used to women being all over him, but the look in their eyes was different. It was detached, it was hungry, it was what it was: a one-night stand. Elena looked at him differently. There was excitement in her eyes. A kind of innocent joy and giddiness that he wasn't used to. She discovered his body with her fingers instead of claiming it with groping hands, she wanted him the way a girl wanted a boy, it was passionate, but it wasn't just about the satisfaction of needs. It was about emotions, too. It was decidedly human. And it made him feel decidedly human, too. It made his skin crawl. He hadn't felt like this in a long, a very long time, like just a guy who had just met a girl.

He reveled in the fact of being a predator, of ensnaring his prey, of objectifying them as they objectified him. This, he couldn't handle. He had compelled her to fuck him and the innocent look of anticipation on her face made him feel disgusting. It gave him a rush to the head, feeling wanted as a person; feeling like a person period. It was intoxicating. But it wasn't real.

"Elena," he choked out as she dropped her hands to the buttons on his jeans. Her gaze shot up to his face questioningly. He grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger and pulled her towards him until she was hovering over him, their eyes boring into one another. "You don't have to do this," he stated, pulling away the hold his desire had over her, relinquishing her of his command.

The look of surprise on her face was painful but also a relief. He would drop her off, erase her memory and go home to the judging eyes of his brother. This distraction wasn't worth the guilt he was feeling over it.

"I know," she said, half amused and half confused. "I want to." Carefully, gauging his reaction, she leaned down again and gently pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth.

Damon's head was spinning. He had not expected this. Slowly realization washed through him. She had not been compelled because she had already wanted it. A sudden wave of desire flamed up inside him. She had wanted him all on her own, had been willing to give herself to him all on her own. With a growl, he grabbed her slender waist and flipped her onto the backseat. She let out a squeal and a giggle, grinning up at him with complete openness. He peeled off her jeans and underwear and then shed his own, assisted by her frantic hands. When he finally settled between her legs, he paused for a moment. This was new, very new. He'd had girls against the sides of buildings, on hotel floors, in their parents beds, yes, on this very backseat even, from behind, standing, missionary, whichever way was the fastest, but it hadn't felt like this. Or at least he couldn't remember it feeling like this. She looked up at him with an expression in her eyes that he couldn't place. It unsettled him. Slowly, she reached up and stroked a lock of hair from his forehead, letting her palm travel over his cheek, looking into his eyes, full of… he didn't know. Too much of it in any case. This was tender. He didn't do tender. It creeped him out.

"It's okay," she said calmly, her eyes never leaving his. "I want this."

You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, he wanted to sneer, wanted to wipe that serene smile off her face, wanted to bare his teeth to her this instant to enjoy the look of shock and disgust on her face as he drove into her punishingly. But he didn't.

When she reached up, cupping his neck with her hand and pulling him down for another kiss, he let it happen, let their mouths mold together innocently, toothlessly, let his body sink onto hers slowly and finally pushed into her. She responded immediately, moving against him, wrapping an arm around him to pull him closer, her other hand grabbing at the muscles in his back and then his ass, moaning into the kiss. He picked up the pace, relishing the sensation when he was entirely wrapped in her soft heat, when she tightened around him, making a surge of pleasure shoot up his spine, when her blunt teeth bit into his supple skin, teasing, urging him on, when her legs clung to his hips and demanded he drive deeper into her. His hands began to roam her body, smoothing over her elastic skin, up her endless legs, along her soft thighs, digging into the flesh at her hips, urging her movements along, and then cupping her young breasts.

Elena felt like her body was on fire. She had read that lame expression somewhere and she had thought it was a stupid, romanticizing exaggeration, but that was before she had known how it felt. She did, now. One of the reasons her crappy boyfriend had given her for cheating on her had been that their sex life had been lacking and while this outrageous and ridiculous claim had angered her yesterday, she couldn't help but agree now.

Damon's hands touched her like they knew her skin, her body, inside and out; his lips were drinking her in, possessing her; when she looked into his eyes, she got lost, entirely. It was liberating. She wanted to free herself from the shackles of depression and imagined expectations. She wanted to give herself over to him, wanted to allow him to take her and take everything from her that weighed her down.

He could feel her body temperature rise, could feel her movements become less controlled and her breathing become more erratic. She was close, he could tell. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, feeling her blood hammer against his lips as it rushed in hurried intervals through her veins. Only a few more strokes and an onslaught of hormones would be shot into her system, making her blood heady and sweet and delicious. He lifted his eyes to hers. Don't scream. He formed the thought in his head, preparing to push it at her. When their eyes locked, he finally realized what it had been he'd seen in them this whole time, the emotion that had freaked him out. He suddenly recognized it. It was trust. She didn't see it, the monster, the darkness wrapped around him. She only saw a young man she had just met, who had told her of beautiful, faraway places and saved her from the storm. The shock surged through him and made him thrust into her more forcefully, making her arch her back in reaction and crane her neck. He had to stare at the long, elegant expanse of her throat offered up for him, stretching as if its only purpose was for him to sink his teeth into the delicate flesh and drain the humming, alive body underneath him dry. Stupid, stupid girl, he thought as he lowered his head back towards her clavicle, running his tongue along the bone and up her jugular, tasting a fraction of the anticipated hormonal mixture in the drops of sweat having formed there. And when she finally came undone in his arms, holding his body in a tight embrace, calling his name, he sank his lips to her pulse point and kissed her, sensing her blood convulsing against his lips, just out of reach, and followed her over the edge.

Damon dropped his keys onto the sideboard and shrugged out of his jacket. What a night.

"Honey, I'm home," he called into the darkness.

"Did you kill her?" Stefan's voice came from right behind him. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, looking at him with furrowed brows.

Damon took a beat, wondering how Stefan knew. "Stalking is very bad manners, little brother," he then chided dismissively.

"Did you?" the younger Salvatore persisted.

"She's a Gilbert, did you know that?" Damon questioned without paying any attention to his brother's insistence. "Would serve old John right, if I killed her."

"She has nothing to do with that," Stefan argued angrily.

"Thank you. For teaching me how time works," Damon replied indignantly and moved past his brother. Being a vampire had his upsides. Getting from the front door to the liquor cart fast enough to not be held back by your little brother was one of them. Slowly he poured himself a drink before turning around and facing Stefan again who was glaring at him from across the room. "Simmer down, she's alive and well," he reassured. "Very well even," he added with a smirk.

2003 – Nostalgia: a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.

It was the day before Christmas. Damon was driving down the empty road in silence. He was sure of it now – the music they played on the radio really did get worse every year. This summer had been all about milkshakes that brought boys to yards and girls that were shaking it like a Polaroid picture. The deterioration of vocabulary, analogies, and yes, language in general, seemed to have sped up over the past decades. Damon was over it. Better to keep the damned thing turned off. He had spent most of the day in a bar somewhere on the side of the road, drinking mostly and trying to make the time drag out as endlessly as possible before his trip home became absolutely inevitable.

As trees and fields were zooming by his window, he started to feel antsy. He felt it every year, the nervousness that crept up his spine, steeling him for the couple of days of constant animosity. He was getting closer now. He had already passed the little exit sign before it registered and he slowed down. That was the way to the back road he had taken last year, the way to the little cabin by the pond. He had barely recognized it. It wasn't snowing now, like it had back then. It was chilly, but in true Virginian fashion not very cold. He pulled over, hardly noticing that he had stopped driving, lost deep in thought. A flash of memory shot through him, of her big dark eyes looking up at him with passion and warmth – it had almost taken his breath away.

With an irritated grunt he turned his car around and drove back down the highway, turning off at the inconspicuous exit sign and following the smaller road into the woods. Soon enough, the small dirt road leading towards the cabin forked off on his right hand side. Damon pulled off and onto the small path almost instinctually. Just procrastinating so I don't have to face my pain of a brother, he thought.

When he reached the small pond and the shabby log-cabin, he stared at it in bewilderment. What was he doing here? If he had wanted to go back to the place where he'd shagged her, he was sitting in it. It unnerved him that he felt compelled to seek out this entirely insignificant spot. Nevertheless he couldn't stop himself from turning off the engine, leaving his car and walking over to the little shed. The door wasn't locked. Probably no one cared enough about it to prevent hobos or stray animals from entering it. He wondered if the current Lockwood family even knew of its existence.

He tried his luck with the doorstep and to his surprise didn't meet any difficulties. He had been right. This cabin had probably belonged to a groundskeeper or ranger at some point and since his death no one had taken possession of it. He idly strolled into the small structure and looked around. A few square feet of dirty floor, no real furniture to speak of and no decorations had been left behind. A small fireplace at the far side of the room had blackened the walls around it with soot. Only two windows let in some pale moonlight, one facing the woods and the other the small lake. He peeked through it and had to admit that it was a beautiful view. It was dark outside but the sky was clear and the moon reflected brightly off of the smooth surface of the water, only disturbed by the occasional ripple when a fish came up to catch a fly. Yes, being here was definitely better than playing catch-up with his brother.

Suddenly a foreign sound intruded upon his solitude – the sound of tires rolling on a dirt road and then the low hum of an engine. Great, so somebody did know about this cabin after all. What the hell did they want here? It was Christmas Eve for God's sake. Didn't these people have families they could annoy? Also, he should have hid his car.

He decided to wait them out. Maybe it was just a couple of teenagers looking for some privacy. Just another wonderful excuse to postpone his eventual arrival at the boarding house. But then the engine was shut off and the driver stepped out of the car, and everything changed. The air around him seemed to shift. He recognized that particular heartbeat; recognized this human's smell. It was Elena. In an instant he was back by the door, only noticing his movement himself when he came to stand there, the doorknob already in his hand. Impulse control issues, he mused. This was new. Or rather – it was old but it hadn't been a problem in a long time. This definitely warranted further investigation. For now, however, he would have to concentrate on not displaying any of his nifty little vampire traits, such as superhuman speed.

He took a breath and slowly opened the door, leaning against the doorframe nonchalantly. He could see her perfectly in the silvery moonlight. She wore a skirt underneath a coat that she pulled closely around her, her hair blowing softly in the light breeze. She walked slowly towards the cabin, her eyes turned up, looking wistfully at the stars in the sky. When the door squeaked open, however, she halted in her steps abruptly and snapped her eyes towards the person standing there. It took her only a second to recognize the man in the doorway. Damon could see it on her face, a flood of shock and disbelief warring over her features.

"Hi," she finally squeezed out, her eyes still wide, her arms still hugging herself tightly.

"Hi," he responded with an easy smirk. For a few moments they were both standing in place, completely immobile, just watching each other.

And suddenly she was no longer frozen. Suddenly, she was flying across the clearance and propelled herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck and crashing her lips against his.

Damon could have handled the physical strength of her assault. What unbalanced him was the actual fact of it happening. That was why he stumbled backwards into the cabin a few steps before being able to take charge of the situation and kiss her back properly. When he had found his bearings again, however, he doubled his efforts to make up for his short lapse of clarity. As soon as her forward momentum had dissipated, he closed his arms around her and pushed her backwards again, slamming the door shut with her back. She didn't even hesitate before pulling her legs up and slinging them around his hips, pulling him against her desperately.

Damon's head was reeling for two reasons. The first was that this was nothing like their comparatively sweet interlude a year ago. This time, Elena wasn't careful, curious or experimental, she was needy. She devoured him with her mouth, scratched at his jacket with her hands until it fell off, and clung to him dramatically with her long legs. She seemed changed, but when he pulled away for only an instant, pausing to look at her for just a second, he recognized the same girl she had been last Christmas, her dark eyes looking up at him with so much expectation and warmth that he felt it pull at something inside of him. Something in his groin, but also something further north. The second thing that surprised him was that he felt as frenzied as she seemed. No kiss was deep enough, no embrace was close enough. He wanted to rip her clothes off, he wanted to bury himself inside her, he wanted to bite deep into her neck and drink her in entirely.

For the second that he stared into her eyes, he did neither of those things. Then he felt her hand sneak in-between their bodies, felt her slowly unbutton his jeans and grab his already hard length, squeezing him tightly. He couldn't keep a low groan from escaping his throat as her long, slender fingers closed around him.

He held her up with his torso but moved his hips slightly to create more space for her hand to languidly stroke him. With one hand, he reached in between their bodies and when his fingers reached a tiny scrap of flimsy lace, already soaked from her excitement, he couldn't resist and ripped the garment off her body in one swift move. She gasped in surprise but pulled him impossibly closer at the same time.

"Sorry about that," he murmured into her ear while positioning himself at her entrance.

"Liar," she replied with a small smirk that made him chuckle and his erection throb.

Unable to wait any longer, he leaned in and finally drove into her.

Later they were lying on the floor of the cabin. It had to be dusty but Damon didn't care. He stared up at the ceiling and absentmindedly stroked Elena's back. She was laying half on top of him, her head on his chest, one leg entwined with his and her hand slowly exploring the hem of his shirt and then his skin underneath. He was not one for cuddling, didn't really get the concept. What was the point in holding a girl in your arms after sex? It seemed horribly boring and sentimental to him. Right now, however, he figured he'd stay just a little while longer. She smelled so good and felt so good, her hand dipping under his shirt and slowly crawling up the naked skin of his torso, her body warmth pressed against his, the two of them just resting quietly. Plus, it meant getting home even later. Win-win.

"Why did you come back here?" she suddenly asked, propping her head up and resting her chin on his chest. Damon turned slightly and studied her for a second before responding.

"Why did you come back here?" he ultimately returned her question.

"Nuh-uh, I asked you first," she retorted with a chiding smirk. Damon's brow furrowed. Stupid human logic. He could rip her to shreds in an instant, could force her to answer with only the blink of an eye and yet she expected him to go first because she had asked first. It was ridiculous.

He lifted his eyes back to the ceiling, contemplating the fragility of humanity and their annoying insistence to test his will to not break them. He was startled out of his thoughts by her warm lips pressing against his abdomen. Slowly, she pushed his shirt upwards and kissed his skin along the way until she reached his chest. There she stopped, as if to think and then leaned over and let her tongue dart out and flick across his now exposed nipple. She flashed her eyes up to his immediately, wanting to assess his reaction but was unable to read his expression.

"Tell me," she coaxed, slowly rubbing her thumb across the now wet and quickly cooling flesh.

"That right there might have had something to do with it," he replied in a raspy voice and a noncommittal smirk.

Elena smiled lightly before lowering his shirt again and leaning in to kiss him on the lips. "Tell me," she demanded again.

He looked up into her eyes, searching for an answer. An answer to her question. Why was he here? Hell, if he knew himself. "Nostalgia," he finally settled on.

He saw the surprise in her eyes, maybe even a slight flash of disappointment. "Oh yeah?" she asked lightly. "Did you come here as a kid?"

"Nope, only been here once," he clarified. The small blush that crept up her cheeks as realization hit her was delicious. She lowered her eyes but he could see joy in the smile she tried to hide.

"I came here because I wanted to make sure it was real," she then said in a quiet voice, her gaze still fixed on the entwining threads that made up his shirt. Damon didn't respond but he let his fingers travel through her soft hair, feeling it brush along them like silk. Then he moved his hand slightly to cup her cheek and stroked his thumb over her flushed skin. "I mean," she started up again. "I never saw you again, never heard from you. No one knows you." She was twisting a button on his leather jacket between her fingers. "I was beginning to think that maybe I had imagined all of it. So I wanted to come here. I figured if the house is real, then you must be real, too."

"I'm real," he said, pulling her up and kissing her again, slowly and luxuriously.

"I know," she whispered when they pulled apart. "Where do you live?" she asked, aiming for a casual tone.

"Right now? New York," he replied.

"Oh wow. That's far. You should maybe add me on Facebook," she proposed only half-jokingly.

"I don't do Facebook," he rebuffed the idea, dropping his head back onto the ground.

For a second she looked at him, completely baffled. "You don't do Facebook?" she asked disbelievingly. "You mean you don't have a profile?"

"Don't have it, don't want it. It's just a phase. It'll pass. It's not worth the hassle," he explained offhandedly.

"Okay, grandpa. You sound like a grumpy seventy-year-old man," she joked.

"One hundred and seventy-three, actually," he corrected her with a smirk.

"Oh yeah?" she chuckled lightly, pushing herself up on his torso so she could look into his eyes. "You gotta let me in on your exfoliation secrets," she quipped.

"It's all about the right diet," he quipped back, leaning up to playfully bite her shoulder with his blunt teeth. Elena squealed lightly before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Fine," she finally accepted after calming down. "Do you do phones?"

He looked into her eyes thoughtfully. What a strange idea, having this girl call him from her dorm room, asking how his day had gone, texting him her silly thoughts throughout the day, it was all so unfathomable.

"I don't do relationships," he stated in a clipped tone, changing the atmosphere from light to tragic.

Elena swallowed lightly and tugged a strand of hair uncomfortably behind her ear. "I wasn't…" she began but didn't finish, letting the sentence hang in the air awkwardly. "What do you do then?" she asked, going for light but unable to fool Damon.

"I come here every year for Christmas," he answered, feeling a strange discomfort at the pain he thought he saw flicker across her face. "I'd like to see you again." He had spoken the words before he had fully thought about what he was saying or why he was saying it. But once they were out, he felt that his words were true. He really would like it if he could see her again, strange as that may be.

She nodded quietly. "Next year," she said more as a statement than a question.

"I can't stay here, Elena," he said, tilting her chin up so she had to look at him. "I can't. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow and already I can't wait to get out of this place." She wasn't able to hide her crestfallen expression anymore. "If you want, we can spend the whole time in here, though," he proposed with a teasing smirk.

At that, at least some of the tension seemed to roll off Elena's back and a small, accepting smile curved her lips. "Wouldn't you like that," she bantered.

"I would," he assured her in a sultry tone and pulled her up to him again, kissing her strongly. It was true, too. If she stayed, he would spend Christmas in this cabin. For whatever reason, her prolonged presence seemed less annoying than anyone else's.

"My aunt would kill me," she replied, picking imaginary lint from his shirt. "I won't wait for you," she then told him, still not looking into his eyes.

"Good call," he replied, his hand trailing absent-minded patterns across her skin.

Her eyes shot up to him. "What, because the great Damon Salvatore never waits for anyone?" she scoffed.

"No," he corrected matter-of-factly. "Because I'll come back next year and I'll want to see you, but then I'll leave again. And I will never not leave again. So you're making the right call by not waiting for me."

She looked at him for a long time before speaking. "You're very dark and mysterious," she said and he wasn't sure if she meant to be frank or teasing.

"That I am," he confirmed. "Yet another good reason not to wait for me."

"Maybe I like dark and mysterious," she challenged.

"Not my kind of dark and mysterious," he answered.

"Says who?" she asked, carefully pushing herself up and leaving a slow, tempting kiss on his lips.

"Common sense," he responded before pulling her against him and deepening the kiss.

He could feel her press against him provocatively. "I'm not a very sensible girl," she murmured in between heated kisses.

"Obviously," he returned, before sitting up suddenly so that she was sitting in his lap, straddling him. He let his left hand glide up her thigh to where she was no longer wearing any underwear under her skirt.

Abruptly she pulled away from him, fixing him with her eyes, boring into them as if she was looking for something specific. He couldn't do anything other than stare back at her, hoping against hope that she would find what she was looking for and go back to kissing him. Finally the intensity in her gaze waned, she cocked her head lightly and an accepting smile played on her lips. She lifted one of her hands to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "But I'm not waiting for you," she then said and pressed another kiss to his lips. This one wasn't inviting, however, it wasn't encouraging; it was a silent goodbye. And when she pulled away from him, she stood up without another word and left.

2004 – To miss: to regret the absence or loss of…

Damon was driving down the empty road. The radio was playing "White Christmas" by Dean Martin. He didn't particularly like the song, but he had liked Dean. That guy had been a hoot. He'd known how to have a good time. Had been able to hold his liquor, too. Nowadays, Damon avoided the company of people who'd made it big in the music business. Yes, they partied, but usually those were sloppy, messy situations where people ended up vomiting all over the place. Dean had been different. He had downed a whole bottle of Scotch and then whisked a woman off her feet by dancing like a god. He had been classy. And a good friend, Damon reminisced. One of the few ones he'd been sad to see pass.

He supposed that was why people liked these old songs. They liked to remember past times and people they had known in them. They didn't remember Dean, of course, but probably some other friend they had shared a drink with. He even began to understand the White Christmas thing. He had never much cared for snow before but he had recently relocated to California and the absence of snow had begun to bother him. He hadn't even realized it, had only felt a strange unrest ever since it had turned December. Now, listening to the song, hearing Dean dreaming of a White Christmas, it had made him think of the last really white Christmas he'd seen. Two years ago. Made him think, also, of the freezing girl shivering on the side of the road and later shivering underneath him, though for very different reasons. Yes, he missed the snow. He was glad to be going back home. Maybe they would have snow there.

When he reached the exit that took him to the back road where the accident had happened and ultimately to the small forest path and the shed at its end, he didn't even hesitate. He didn't even care if she'd be there, he just wanted to visit the ramshackle little thing. Out of habit – nostalgia, he mused, unable to stop a small smile.

He parked the car in front of the house and stepped outside, taking a deep breath. No, there was no snow, but the air was frosty and he could see his breath condensate before his eyes. The grass crunched underneath his feet, frozen stiff. He was earlier than he had been the last times. The sun had just set and a dark and grey twilight was blurring the shapes of water, wood and sky together. He watched the remaining color completely drain from his surroundings and then watched them plunge into darkness. It was something he had come to appreciate a long time ago, standing still and watching nature change. As a human he had never wanted to take that time. But now, having all the time he could ever want at his disposal, it was a luxury he allowed himself – to watch time pass him by.

Two hours later, she hadn't come. It wasn't surprising; she had told him she wouldn't wait for him. Then again, many women said things like that but in his personal experience, when it came to him, none of them ever stuck to it. He would give her just a little more time. Because she would come. He was sure of it.

She didn't. He was sitting on the little step of the cabin, thinking that this possibly – no, probably – meant that something bad had happened to her. And what a shame that was. Then his phone rang.

"What?" he asked, without looking at the display. Only very few people had his number and whoever it was, they most likely warranted an unfriendly greeting.

"Damon, are you in Mystic Falls yet?"

Fine, so this person didn't really warrant an unfriendly greeting – he did, however, seldom bother to complain to Damon about his foul moods or being the undeserving target of them, which was probably why he was one of his only living friends.

"Ric, almost," he sighed before getting up and walking over to his car.

"Fine. I'm at the Grille. Come here as soon as you can," the other instructed before hanging up without waiting for a reply.

Damon smiled. Yes, Ric didn't complain about his foul mood, he didn't let him get away with it either, though. He wondered what this was about – an urgent, impromptu meeting. It could only mean Ric had discovered a new potential threat. Damon knew that the teacher slash hobby hunter of supernatural things was always looking for them. So far, luckily, he hadn't been too successful. Ever since he and Stefan had left town, it had quieted down around here. Very few vampires he knew would be caught dead in a rat-hole like Mystic Falls. There were several reasons for wanting to become a vampire – spending as much time as possible in a little town wasn't one of them.

As he entered the Grille, a wave of comforting memories hit him. It surprised him. Yes, he knew the bustle of this place and liked coming back to it – coming back to the stained bar, the creaking bar-stools and the sight of his friend hunching over a glass of cheap Bourbon – but the force of the comfort he felt this time was unusual. And then he made it out, her pulse among all the others – felt the soft and steady rhythm vibrate through the room. How odd that it would serve to relax him in this manner. How strange a reaction to her proximity. He let his eyes wander across throngs of pool-playing high-school jocks, companionably drinking co-workers and families out for a quick dinner until they landed on her. There she was, sitting in a booth with a few other girls, picking at fries and laughing. Her laugh reached his ears and made relief course through him. Not dead after all, then. And what a good thing that was.

At that moment Ric turned around and motioned for him to come to the bar. He'd go back to analyzing his reaction to the girl's presence later. For now he'd hear what urgent matter his friend needed to discuss with him.

"Where's the fire?" he asked as he sat down and waved the barkeeper over to order a drink.

"It's about Stefan," Ric began.

"What'd he do now? Purge a small town somewhere?"

"I've gotten word that Klaus is looking for him."

Damon turned to face his friend. This was disconcerting indeed. Klaus and Stefan had roamed and marauded the country decades ago. No one had been able to rival them in their ruthlessness and depravity. It had been the only time Damon remembered his brother ever being fun. But when Stefan had decided to leave his murdering days behind, Klaus hadn't taken the rejection too well. They had fought each other and when Stefan had managed to get away, Klaus had sent people looking for him. Stefan had killed two of his former friend's siblings, Elijah and Finn, to get his message across that he didn't want to be found. Ultimately, he had turned to Damon for help and they had faked both their deaths with the help of a witch. They hadn't heard from Klaus since. Vampires didn't really seek each other out, they usually stuck with their own bloodline, either the one who turned them or those they turned themselves, and there were few enough that you could go decades without running into another one. Ever since the eighties they had basked in an apparently false sense of security. But if Klaus had indeed started looking for Stefan that meant that he knew they weren't dead. And if Ric had heard about it that meant that he was closing in.

"What did you hear?" Damon asked, now legitimately concerned.

"Rebekah came here, looking for you. Back in September. Zach was very convincing though. I think they're concentrating on leads in Chicago for now. You should lay low for a while."

Damon frowned. He had never liked that bitch. And he didn't like laying low.

"Bree's dead," Alaric explained.

Damon's shoulders sagged. If Klaus was the one who killed her, and Alaric did his research well so Damon was sure it was, that meant that he had found out that her mother had helped him and Stefan back in the days.

"Thanks for the heads up," he said with a curt nod. He had to go home. He had to talk to Stefan.

Ric only nodded before his spine suddenly stiffened. "My girlfriend's here," he announced. "And I don't wanna hear it, Damon, so shut it."

Damon had to smile. He had never met Alaric's girlfriend, probably never would. His friend was adamant about not introducing them. He understood it perfectly well. He wasn't one to be introduced to loved ones. He definitely wasn't one to leave a good first impression if he ever should be introduced. Yet, he couldn't help but tease Alaric about his reluctance to let Damon meet this woman.

With mild curiosity and a smirk on his face, he let his eyes follow the path his friend took and watched him kiss a pretty blonde with a warm smile. She seemed like a nice girl, Damon decided. If Ric wasn't his friend, he'd have to corrupt her.

"Hi there, stranger," he heard a voice next to him. A voice that made his skin buzz inexplicably.

"Hello, Elena," he turned around to see the brunette stand next to him with a complicit smile on her face.

"My friends dared me to get the hot stranger sitting with our former history teacher to offer me a drink," she explained.

"Did they now?" he asked and let his eyes flick over to the booth where a group of girls was sitting and watching them breathlessly.

"We revert back to our middle-school ways when we all meet up on Christmas," she admitted.

"Well we wouldn't want to disappoint them now, would we?" he asked and signaled the barkeeper. "A scotch for the lady," he ordered.

"I'm sorry man, she isn't twenty-one," the guy had the nerve to object.

"That doesn't matter," Damon told him, annoyed that he had to waste energy on compelling this moron for a drink.

Immediately, the young man turned around and poured a shot of the golden liquid into a tumbler.

"You're very convincing," she commented, a hint of admiration in her voice.

"I can be," he agreed before clinking his glass against hers.

Elena looked at him intensely, as if she was trying to figure him out, before she downed the drink in one draw. Immediately her face scrunched up and she let the glass sink loudly onto the wooden bar.

"That was disgusting," she stated, sounding surprised.

Damon had to laugh lightly. "How about dancing instead of drinking?" he suggested.

Elena shot a quick, nervous glance towards her friends before putting on a confident smile for his benefit. "Sure," she agreed, extending her hand to him to be led onto the dance floor.

Soft Christmas tunes were coming from the juke box and a few couples had gathered in the area cleared of tables for the Christmas party and were swaying gently to the rhythm. Damon drew her hands up and draped them around his neck before wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against his body. He could feel her heartbeat increase and see a slight tint of red color her cheeks. How admirable of her to blush at the display in front of her friends. Too bad he didn't care.

"So, how's New York?" she asked offhandedly.

"I'm not in New York anymore," he replied absent-mindedly. Why did she want to talk about something inconsequential like a city when her body felt so good against his?

"You moved?" she asked, clinging to the casualness of their conversation.

"Mhm," he murmured. It really was of so little importance.

"Where to?" she asked as his thumb started stroking her lower back through her shirt.

"L.A."

"What are you doing there?" He could pick up on the desperation in her voice now.

"I'm producing a film."

She pulled back slightly and looked at him with eyes that weren't sure if they wanted to be surprised or laugh at a joke. "You're producing a movie?" she asked, more confused than anything else.

"I've never done it before. It seemed fun," he explained.

She looked at him quizzically; wanting to call him out on teasing her but his eyes told her he was being serious, "Just like that?"

"Sure," he replied, pulling her against him again. "Did you go to the cabin?" he asked in a low voice, his mouth almost close enough to her ear to touch her skin. He could feel her react to the question, could feel her pulse quicken and her breath hitch.

"Did you?" she returned and he heard the breathlessness in her voice.

"I asked first," he returned with a smirk, letting one hand trail slowly down her body to rest on her waist. He could feel her body-temperature rise a fraction.

"No," she confessed, "I told you I wouldn't wait for you." She closed her arms a little tighter around his neck.

"I know. I didn't think you'd go through with it."

She chuckled lightly but she couldn't hide her tenseness from him. "I have a very strong will," she told him.

"Is that so?" he asked and leaned in a little further to breathe a gentle kiss against her neck.

"Stop that," she told him, pushing him away. "Everyone's watching."

He scrutinized her for a second. She did seem like the kind of girl that cared about propriety. On the other hand her eyes were dark from her dilated pupils and her skin was vibrating under his touch. If she told him she didn't want him, she was lying. Warily, she put her arms around his neck again and they fell back into the slow movement.

"I went to the cabin," he told her while drawing her body against his once more, hoping she wouldn't push him away again.

"You did?" she asked. And he heard surprise in her voice, maybe even a little hope, and definitely fear.

"Of course," he said, splaying his hand across her clothed skin, wishing it weren't. "I told you I wanted to see you again."

"I have a boyfriend," she told him weakly.

"I don't care," he replied and pulled away slightly to look into her eyes.

Elena couldn't meet his gaze. Her eyes shot from one end of the bar to the other, restlessly searching for anything to latch onto other than his intense stare. "I have to freshen up," she finally told him and left in the direction of the bathrooms.

Damon leaned against the bar and downed his drink.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" a voice next to him asked.

Damon turned around and saw a pretty blonde climb onto the chair next to him. "It is now," he stated slightly annoyed. The blonde started to giggle stupidly.

"I haven't seen you here before," she observed.

Damon rolled his eyes inwardly. This woman needed to leave if she didn't want to end up as his dinner. He had eaten people only to shut them up before. He shut her out and let his senses travel through the noise and commotion around him, seeking out one specific heartbeat, one specific voice.

"Fuck," he finally heard it from the restrooms. She didn't necessarily sound like she was hurt or in danger but he still felt compelled to check up on her. Without another word he let his new drinking companion sit at the bar and headed for the bathrooms. For a second he stood outside the door and listened for any other occupants. Being reassured that they would be alone; he stepped into the tiled room and closed the door behind him.

Elena was standing at the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. At the sound of him entering, she spun around and looked at him wide-eyed. "This is the ladies' room," she spewed angrily. "You can't come in here."

"Are you okay?" he questioned, disregarding her statement entirely.

"God!" she exclaimed, turning back towards the mirror and bracing herself on the sink.

"Elena, are you okay?" he repeated, completely annoyed at her uncooperativeness.

"No, I'm not okay!" she cried out, turning back to face him, anger in her eyes. "What do you think, coming here once a year all smoldering and mysterious and then disappearing again?"

"I told you," he started but was cut off immediately.

"No, you didn't tell me anything. You can't stay here but why? You don't do phones but WHY, Damon? You make it sound like you urgently need to be someplace else and then you tell me you shoot movies in L.A. because you fucking feel like it!" She let herself lean against the sink and wiped her palm across her face in exasperation. "This is ridiculous. Who are you even? You're not a real person."

He stared at her, rooted to the ground in the place he had been standing in. She saw right through him. She didn't understand what she had realized but the essence was the same. She saw right through him.

"No, I'm not," he confirmed.

She let out an exhausted sigh. "I'm sorry," she said, looking back up at him, surprised by the utter shock she saw written on his face. "I didn't mean it like that, okay?" she tried to reassure him. She pushed herself away from the sink, walked over to him and stood in front of him helplessly, not daring to touch him. "Say something," she finally pleaded.

"You're right," he conceded and slowly lifted a hand to brush away her hair and caress the soft skin on her cheek. Her body reacted immediately, her face turning into the palm of his hand, her eyes drying. He had been selfish coming here. Time wasn't of much consequence to him. A year wasn't much time in the grand scheme of things. But to a human it was a lot. Two years were even longer. It was a tenth of her life so far. "I shouldn't have come."

"No, I'm a mess. I feel ridiculous for making a scene. I'm glad to see you," she replied to his surprise. He couldn't place the euphoria that rose up in his chest at her words.

"You shouldn't be."

"Well I am. And you're not the boss of me. I feel what I feel whether you like it or not." She looked up at him with her deep, brown, watery eyes, eyes so full of emotion that they threatened to swallow him whole. This was his cue to turn around and run; a human talking about feelings. But for some reason he couldn't. For some reason he wanted to stay, wanted to hold her, wanted to make the sadness on her face disappear.

Don't feel, he gathered in his mind, focused on it, pushed it to the forefront of his thoughts so he could force it onto her. Don't feel; don't think of me, leave!

When he opened his mouth to speak, she shot up on her toes and leaned in to kiss him. It was so wonderful, the sensation of her lips against his again, that he lost his train of thought for a second. "I missed you," he confessed against her lips. And it was true, he realized. He startled himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had missed something or someone. Losing things and people had become so commonplace, he had stopped caring about what was in the past a long time ago. But now, tasting her again, feeling her so alive and feverish in his arms, he understood that it was true. That he had missed her. That he had spent one horrible, excruciating summer looking for what she made him feel in other women's arms. That the restlessness and hollowness he had felt all year long had been a hole she had left when he had left her.

"It's okay," she whispered, clinging to him. "I know you're going to leave again. I don't care." She kissed him again, hungrily now, wanting to take as much as she could before he vanished from her life again.

He should leave, he knew. Tell her to stop thinking about him and leave. Morality, however, had never been his strong suit. And he felt especially weak right now as she pressed her body against his and practically begged him to take her – consequences be damned.

He let his hand dive into her hair and angled her head just a bit more, making her available to him. She gasped when he pushed her against the sink console and picked her up swiftly, effortlessly. She wrapped her legs around him to increase proximity, to engulf him completely with herself, in order to maybe keep something from him after he left again.

When he reached down to pull on her shirt, she became suddenly aware of their exposed position. "Stall," she commanded quickly and Damon carried her into the cabin furthest from the door, locking the plywood door behind them and shoving her against the tiled wall. Even in here the loudspeakers were blaring Christmas music and Elena would have been extremely annoyed if his hands on her skin hadn't been so distracting.

Like the last time, they didn't take time to shed their clothes. Once they'd given into their desire, it burned fast and drove them to move quickly. She held onto the lapels of his leather jacket when he finally drove into her. She couldn't help the moan that escaped her throat. Being with him always felt like coming home. He could tell her that he wouldn't stay, that he didn't want to be with her, it didn't matter – when their bodies came together it felt like he would never leave, like she would never be with anyone else ever again.

She could feel her body heat up, could feel its energy concentrate between her legs and spread out slowly, radiating up her abdomen and making her stomach quiver. His lips were suddenly on her neck, kissing up towards her ear and when he reached it, he whispered her name, almost reverently, and she felt herself edge closer to her orgasm.

Another stroke of him deep inside her sent a spark of pure pleasure up her spine when the bathroom door suddenly burst open and she heard the laughter of two girls suddenly intrude upon her secret moment. She stilled immediately and almost let out a yelp of surprise but Damon's hand was on her mouth before she could make a sound. Her eyes searched for his frantically and when she finally found them, the cocky smirk on his face almost made her want to forget anyone was in the room with them.

"He's so hot!" one of the girls exclaimed and Elena recognized her voice as belonging to Clara from algebra back in the day.

"He's got that whole bad boy thing down to a T. I think I've seen him here before but I have no idea who he is." Elena couldn't pinpoint the second girl but it didn't matter. They were talking about Damon and she was standing in a bathroom stall with him buried inside her.

A wicked look flew across his face, a quirk of the brows and the lifting of one corner of his mouth, and then he moved only a fraction to pull out of her and thrust back inside. Her already sensitive nerve endings sparked at the desired contact and she had to fight hard to keep down her moans of pleasure. He studied her for only a second before, obviously pleased with the result, he fell back into a slow pattern, more careful than before, less hungry, but no less effective in making her reach the high she had been on only a moment ago.

Suddenly Elena was thankful for the Christmas music. It gave her at least a little bit of hope that their movements and breathing couldn't be heard outside.

"I wonder where he is now," Clara mused.

At that moment he pushed inside of her again. He's right here, Elena thought, with me. It gave her a rush, hearing the other girls admire the man she was with. When he kissed her, she kissed him back hungrily, wanting him to feel the same way about her.

"Maybe he left with Elena," the other girl mused. "They were dancing together earlier."

"Maybe," he whispered into her ear suggestively and her eyes closed as she rode out another wave of pleasure that rolled through her body.

"I don't know," Clara deliberated. "I mean, I love that girl but… she's kind of bland." Elena felt new heat rise inside of her only this time not from desire but from shame. She couldn't handle him listening to these girls talk about her being bland.

He had to have picked up on her change of mood because his eyes found hers and his blue gaze bore into her eyes, her very soul. "Elena," he whispered, leaning in, so that his mouth was right by her ear. "You are intoxicating." His hand trailed up her body, circled her breast, glided over her clavicle and finally swept her hair from her shoulder, exposing her neck to him. He dipped down and drew in a breath before letting his tongue trail along her skin. Elena shivered in his arms. "The way you smell," he whispered, having reached her ear again, "the way you taste, the way you look at me." At that he drew back and looked into her eyes. "The way your heart beats," he continued and let his palm rest upon her chest. She could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage. He began moving again and leaned in, "you drive me insane."

She pulled him towards her and kissed him, ravished him with her mouth. She couldn't know if what he said was true, didn't even really care if it was. He had made her believe it and that was more than any other man had ever managed to do.

"He didn't seem to think she was all that bland," the other girl teased.

"Well I don't know what he'd see in her," Clara brushed her friend off.

"I don't know what you see in me," Damon whispered, increasing the pace of his movement. Elena wanted to reply, wanted to tell him all the things he made her feel but her mind couldn't form the words. A few more strokes and she exploded, fighting hard to stifle the moans wanting to leave her throat, praying that the girls' laughter would drown out her own sounds of pleasure and then she collapsed in his arms, not really caring about anything else in the world except his body wrapped around hers.

"Maybe he realized she was an easy fuck. Ever since her boyfriend cheated on her two years ago she's been strange with men. She's probably not over him and desperate." The girl underlined her statement with the click of her purse as she shut it and, laughing, the two of them left the bathroom.

Damon and Elena were alone again. "Is it true?" he asked, wiping some hair from her forehead. "Do you still hurt because of him?"

"No," she replied, feeling fear and elation war within her. Elation because she would finally tell him how he made her feel, but also fear because she didn't know how he would react. "It's because of you." She watched him carefully, watched surprise and curiosity flicker across his face. "You came into my life in the middle of a storm and you made me feel whole and safe. I never feel more alive than when I'm with you."

Damon stared at her, his mind reeling. How was that even possible, that a murderous, lifeless thing like him could make a vibrant human like Elena feel safe and more alive? And how was it that something insignificant like a human girl could make him care so much?

"Let me take you home," he offered, lowering her to the ground but at the same time reluctant to let her go.

"Okay," she agreed and followed him through the back door to his car. They drove in silence. Elena stared out at the dark landscape rushing past them. What was she doing, giving into him again? She didn't know him, didn't know anything about him, yet she couldn't shake him. When he called for her, she answered – and probably always would. She had tried to resist but had to admit that she hadn't been even remotely successful. His pull was too strong. She was too intrigued by the intensity she saw burn in his gaze and the strength and superiority that oozed from his pores.

"Can I come in?" his voice drew her from her musings. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed they'd arrived at her house.

"I don't think my aunt would…" she began.

"Which one's your window? I'll climb up the tree."

She looked at him in shock. "You want to climb up the tree?"

"Sure."

She laughed. Couldn't help it. Sure, he had said, just like he had said Sure after telling her he was producing a movie. Like it was a normal thing to do. Who is this man, she wondered. And what is he doing here, with me? It didn't really matter, though, did it? If he told her he'd climb the tree to her window, she had no doubt that he would. And there was no point in questioning why when instead she could just accept it and spend the night with him. One more memory to keep. "That one," she pointed and watched him walk over to the tree before she shook her head in disbelief and made her way towards her front door.

Jenna and Alaric were sitting on the couch watching a video. They smiled at Elena as she dropped her keys onto the sideboard, wished them a good night and made her way up the stairs. When she reached her room, she saw him already perched on the strip of porch roof before her window, leaning against the glass and looking out into the night. He was a fast climber; she had to give him that.

She tapped against the window and he turned around, moving away from the glass so she could push it open.

"Hi," she greeted with a small smile.

"Hi," he returned, throwing her a devilish smile. She leaned over a little and kissed him.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked teasingly.

"Sure," she returned and readily stepped back into her room to take off her jacket and drape it across her chair. When she didn't hear the expected sound of his jeans a leather jacket scraping against her window sill, she turned around, surprised to see him still leaning against her window frame, looking at her expectantly. She eyed him for a second; unsure of what he was waiting for.

"Come in," she said redundantly and finally he moved and stepped inside her bedroom.

Inside the Gilbert house, Damon mused smugly. There had been a time when he would have used this opportunity very differently.

"Where are your parents?" he asked while wandering around her room and looking at photos and the books she was reading.

"They're dead," she informed him in a quiet voice, obviously wanting to sound nonchalant.

"I'm sorry," Damon said while continuing his perusal of her belongings. He didn't know what else to say and this was, after all, what people said in this type of situation. He wasn't really that sorry about these people's death. They were Gilberts after all and for most of his life he had figured the deader a Gilbert was, the better for him. He was sorry, however, that their death caused Elena pain. Gilbert or not, he didn't want to see her suffering.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago," she explained.

"What are these?" he asked with a teasing smile, pulling a pair of cotton undies with pink hearts on them from her drawer.

"This is my childhood bedroom. You do not get to judge me based on the things you find in here," she returned, only a slight blush betraying her embarrassment. With a swift movement she pulled the panties from his grip, threw them back into the drawer and pushed it shut with her hip.

"Damon?" she asked, leaning against the dresser, so close to him they were almost touching.

"Mhm?"

"Why did you want to come here?" She looked up at him with those big, questioning, impossible eyes.

"I wanted to… not be the guy that bangs you against a wall and leaves." He looked at her, waiting. Would that be an acceptable explanation for her? It was a big deal for him. He normally didn't have qualms about banging girls and leaving them anywhere. But he knew that it might not sound as big of a deal to her.

"How very gentlemanly of you," she replied, sorting a few earrings into a sparkly jewelry box.

"Hey," he pulled her chin up so her eyes had to meet his. "I can't stay. In this town, I mean. There are too many bad memories. It drives me insane. I go stir-crazy. But I'm not leaving you, I'm leaving this place."

"But you don't do relationships; you don't even do phones, Mr. 'I'm a hundred and seventy-three'."

"Seventy-four," he corrected.

"What?" she looked at him in confusion.

"Last year I was a hundred and seventy-three. This year I'm a hundred and seventy-four." He winked at her.

"Oh we're counting now?" She rolled her eyes lightly.

"Of course we are. What, just because I've already had many, I don't get to celebrate my birthday anymore?"

She watched him lean casually against her dresser, all smug and dangerous in his leather jacket, almost like an antithesis to her bright and girly childhood bedroom. He looked so out of place.

"You're a whacko," she decided, slapping a hand playfully against his chest. "From now on I won't believe a word that comes out of your mouth. You're probably waiting tables in LA."

"Maybe," he shrugged before taking a step closer to her and cornering her against her dresser. Their sudden proximity made the mood shift instantly.

"I don't care," she said, looking at him with steady eyes now. "I don't care what you do or where you live or any of that. I only care about how you make me feel." She pushed up on her toes and gave him a tentative kiss on the lips. "Can you stay tonight at least?"

He contemplated her question for a minute before answering. "Yes, I can stay tonight."

Damon was lying under blankets with floral print. Next to him was a girl, a living, human girl; one that he hadn't fed on, one that he probably never would feed on – crazy as that sounded. He watched her sleep, watched her eyelids quiver every once in a while, watched the hints of smiles and frowns flit across her face as she dreamed, watched her breathe. It was his new favorite pastime. It was better than watching nature change, he decided. With one finger he slowly followed the outline of her arm as it rested across the blanket – not touching, but almost. It was fascinating to watch the tiny, downy hairs rise automatically under the electricity of his skin. A bluish tint, an almost unperceivable shift in color announced the nearing dawn.

"Elena," he whispered, not convinced he actually wanted to wake her up.

He noticed all the signs, the accelerating heartbeat, the short intake of breath, the twitch in the leg until finally, she opened her eyes a fraction.

"Hey," Elena smiled. She could barely make him out in the darkness, even though he was only a few inches away from her. She stretched out one hand and drove it through his disheveled hair. He didn't seem quite so out of place now, without his clothes, without his smirk, just lying next to her. She wished she could tie him to the bed and never let him go. Or at least take a picture of this moment so she could always remember that it had happened.

"I have to go," he said quietly, tracing the lines of her face with his eyes.

"Already?" she asked, disappointed but not surprised.

"The sun's coming up," he said by way of explanation.

"Not yet, it's still night," she returned and moved closer to him, slinging an arm around his torso, pulling him against her, around her.

He chuckled and kissed the crown of her head, trying to memorize all the wonderful things about her – how her hair smelled like lemons but her skin smelled like vanilla; how her fingers pressed into his skin, willing him to stay; how she sought shelter in his arms and how in return he wanted, for once, to shelter this itty-bitty human and not drink in her life force to destroy her and revel in his power. He wanted to stay and more than that – he wanted to take her with him, wanted to make her like him and take her away so she could stay in his arms like this forever.

"I have to let you go back to your family," he said while running his fingers up and down the naked skin on her back, "Your boyfriend."

"I lied," she said, turning her head up so she could look at him. "I don't have a boyfriend."

Damon nodded, unsurprised.

"You can't ask me not to wait," she told him seriously.

"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you that if you're smart, you won't." He could compel her. Should, really. He should tell her to forget about him, to go find a nice, normal human and have a family with him and to definitely not wait for him. Having her like this only made him want to keep her more. He couldn't guarantee that he'd be strong enough to walk away next year. But he couldn't bring himself to make her stop caring about him. It was such a crazy, unbelievable feeling, to have someone care…

"My smarts can't stop my heart from waiting if it wants to," she said, caressing his cheek and then pulling him in for a slow kiss, one that wanted to memorize and to keep.

2005 - Longing: a strong, persistent desire or craving, especially for something unattainable or distant

The summer of 2005 was excruciating. Producing a movie was no great feat when you could compel anyone to do anything. On the other hand he wasn't invested enough in the project to try it without the supernatural help. Worst of it all, however, there weren't enough pretty and stupid girls in LA – probably the world – to keep his mind off… things. He missed Elena; that much he had confessed to himself. But he couldn't wrap his head around the things he missed about her. She wasn't the first person that he missed in his life. He had missed other friends, other women even. Sage, for example. Had missed her quick wit and her ability to maneuver herself out of any situation, even without compulsion; had missed the way she took charge of a situation, even when with him. She was the last person to have known his 'old self' – as he thought of it – and after she was gone he missed having someone stand up to him, missed having someone who could and wanted to teach him. People, especially women, since Sage didn't challenge him. They let him lead, always, and it had gotten boring. There had also been times when he had missed his brother. When they hadn't seen each other for a few decades and suddenly a spark, a memory from before they had turned crossed his mind and he wondered where those brothers had disappeared to, what had happened to them to make it impossible to return to that place. He had missed Marilyn. Coy as she could seem and crazy as she was, she had been great in bed. When he had heard of her too early end, it had saddened him. And he had thought of her often, in the following years, regretting that he hadn't been able to care enough to maybe try and help. Then again, he probably wasn't alone in that and with the years, those regrets faded and only the good memories of lust-filled nights remained.

About Elena he missed… everything – even the things that annoyed him in other humans. While humanity's constant lack of experience in everything and their inability to learn from mistakes others had made before them aggravated him to no end, Elena's curiosity and naivety were endearing. While clingy women everywhere had tried to make him stay in their beds – tried and failed, all of them – he wished himself back between those cotton sheets now, the ones that smelled like Elena, the ones that were allowed to keep her warm at night.

This was pathetic. Even the last sex they'd had, had been pathetic. In her bed, arms wrapped tightly around each other, he hadn't been able to look away from her eyes. He had wanted to get lost in them forever, had felt like all the things she had told him and so many things she hadn't told him swam in them, pouring out and swallowing him up in a wave of… feelings. And he had wanted to get swept away in it, drown in it, in her eyes, in her feelings, give himself over to them and surrender all of it, his life, and give it to her. To be at her mercy entirely and at the same time to be the rock that she was looking for, that she could cling to, that would be the one steady thing in the mess that human life was. The stronghold that defended her against the turmoil that came from having to make irreversible decisions. He wanted to be a part of it, watch her live and watch her experience life, as if he could experience it with her. When he came, wrapped inside her in all ways a man could be wrapped up inside a woman, he had wished she'd ask him to stay, ask him right then and there, before he could come to his senses – he would have said yes. Pathetic. And the best sex he'd ever had.

It was late August and Elena was walking towards the campus library when her phone rang. She fished it out of her oversized bag and frowned at the unknown number.

"Hello?" she questioned, shouldering her bag again.

"Jennifer Lawrence or Emma Roberts?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.

"Excuse me?" Elena looked at her phone in confusion. They must have gotten the wrong number.

"I have to cast one of them and I have no idea who either of them are. You're young, you tell me who's hip."

Elena's head was reeling. She recognized this voice. "Damon?" Her heart stopped for the second it took the other person to answer.

"Do you have other important Hollywood producers calling you?" he asked flippantly but she could hear the smile in his voice.

"What are you… Where did you get my number?" She stood rooted in the middle of the luscious lawn, surrounded by time-honored brick buildings, incapable of moving.

"I have my sources," came his curt reply, "Now, Jennifer or Emma."

"I don't… I don't know. Emma?" She looked up and squinted at the sun, unable to process the situation.

"Emma it is. Nancy?" his voice moved away from the speaker. "We take Emma. Send Jennifer flowers or something." A woman in the background said something but Elena wasn't able to make out the words. Then she heard a door fall shut. "How are you?" His voice startled her out of her momentary numbness.

"Surprised," she answered, finally finding her orientation again and starting to once more move towards the library.

"I figured I'd give this whole phone thing a shot," he explained.

"How progressive of you," she teased.

"Wanna come to LA?"

Elena stopped moving again, shocked into immobility. "I… I can't," she began, wrecking her brain if she couldn't indeed find a way to get out of the internship she was currently slaving away at. She should. She shouldn't care about the credit, the good connections she was making, the experience she was gathering – she should drop it and go to LA and see him. She damned herself to hell for not being that kind of person. "I'm doing an internship at the hospital here. I can't leave."

The line was quiet for a while and Elena hated herself for not having said yes. Every second that passed, she was more sure that there was really nothing she wanted more than going to see Damon, wherever that meant she had to travel.

"You're studying to become a doctor," he observed, sounding caught off guard. As if discovering something new about her was shocking to him.

"Yes," she simply replied.

"That's good," he said, his tone quipped now. "I gotta go."

"Damon," Elena interrupted him before he could hang up. "I want to come," she said into the silence. "I do. So much. I just… I can't right now."

"Christmas then," he replied warmly.

"Yes, Christmas. Definitely."

"And you have my number now," he added, almost as an after-thought.

"I do. I'll call you." She didn't want to hang up. It would be the conclusion to the biggest mistake of her life, saying no to the possibility of seeing Damon.

"Just don't text me about what you're eating… or animal pictures."

She had to laugh. "Promise," she said with a smile and then, suddenly, the line was disconnected. Just like that. He hadn't even said goodbye. But he had called. She couldn't even believe it. She had his number.

It was the day before Christmas. Damon was driving down the empty road in silence. He had tried to take his mind off things by listening to the radio, but it had been of no use, it had only further aggravated him. He was nervous. He couldn't remember the last time he had been nervous. But he was nervous now. So nervous, he hadn't stopped at the bar to get a drink, so nervous he hadn't had the patience to compel and eat anyone today. There were blood bags in his trunk but he hadn't wanted to stop and feed. He wanted to get home as fast as he could. He wanted to see her. He wanted to tell her... everything.

She had called him. Hadn't texted, thank God, but she'd called. And he had liked it. He had liked hearing her voice, hearing her thoughts, hearing about her day, her life. It was almost like being there, seeing her. It was not like touching her, but it was better than nothing. The things she told him didn't even bore him, because they were things about her and he had found out, surprisingly, that he wanted to know everything about her. The first thing he had learned about her, other than that she was a Gilbert, was that she wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to heal people; how epically ridiculous was that – he relished taking lives and she fought every day to save them.

He had learned other things about her. Many other things, wonderful things, surprising things, inconsequential things, but they were all about her so he had wanted to know them all. And now he wanted to tell her something about himself. He would reveal his secret to her, the secret of what he was. And then he would probably compel her to forget it and possibly never see her again. He was well aware of that possibility, but he couldn't not tell her. One of the things he loved most about her was how she trusted him, inexplicably, despite all his warnings, and he couldn't keep betraying her trust so grossly.

When he turned onto the small road that would eventually lead to the cabin, he recognized the signs of nerves: the clenching in his chest, the slight twitch in his fingers. He was looking forward to seeing her again but at the same time the inevitability of the situation was weighing him down. He had to tell her, yet it was the last thing he wanted to do.

They had convened to meet at the cabin. He was a bit early, but that suited him well. He could use some time to collect his thoughts and feed before she got here. The restlessness he felt did nothing if not heighten his hunger. When he reached the small lake, however, her car was already parked on the small clearing. Damon cursed inwardly as he stepped out of his Camaro. So much for taking the time to eat before meeting her. Then again, if things went as he feared, he would be alone and free to do as he pleased soon enough.

As he stepped outside, he immediately smelled burning wood and heard the crackling of fire. He looked up and registered a small trail of smoke leaving the chimney. She had lit the fireplace. This girl would be the death of him, that much was for sure.

Stoically, he walked up to the little shack and entered it without knocking. There she was, standing by the window, lighting candles. She was wearing very little. He could make out silk stockings underneath a dark blue satin robe. The rest was left to his imagination but he was sure it looked just as enticing. She swirled around and looked at him in shock.

"You're early," she reprimanded, shaking out the match she'd been holding and placing it on the window-sill.

"I don't know, it looks like I'm right on time," he returned with a smirk, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it.

Elena heaved a defeated sigh and walked to the middle of the room where she had placed blankets and cushions. Slowly, she draped herself across the pillows, being ceremonious about her effort at looking especially appetizing. At last, she pulled the robe off her right shoulder before finally looking up at him and smiling an inviting smile.

"Merry Christmas," she said, waving one hand alongside her body as if she was presenting a new car.

Damon stood rooted in his spot, watching her with incredulity. She was lying there like a buffet for him to feast on and quell any hunger he might have. He noticed a few changes in her body. She had filled out a little since that first time he'd seen her on the side of the road. She had been a woman then, but her teenage years had still shown. Her face had been a bit rounder and her hips a bit slimmer. She was altogether curvier now and her eyes had a mischievous, daring glint to them. Some of her childlike naivety was gone from them and had made room for experience and lust. How could he ever tell her what he had to tell her?

"Aren't you going to unwrap your present?" she asked, twirling the robe's belt with her fingers. She wanted to sound teasing and adventurous, every man's naughty dream, but he heard the insecurity in her voice, the fear that came with lying naked in front of someone clothed.

"You look like a tableau," he said, pushing himself off the door and walking towards her. "I wouldn't want to disturb the perfection."

"Disturb away," she returned, more confidence now in her eyes. As he approached her, she sat up and pulled him down towards her, bringing his face to hers and finally pressing her lips against his.

Yes, this was what he had been longing for all year. To be back in her arms, to be at the receiving end of her smile, of her endless looks filled with want and surrender. Surrender to him and what he was willing to give her.

Suddenly the door fell open and a cold gust of wind invaded the small cabin, causing goose bumps to spread across Elena's body. And then there were footsteps – two sets of them, heavy and menacing. How had he not heard them? How had he let himself be so wrapped up in her that he had failed to notice them coming?

"Cozy," the voice belonging to one of the boot-clad feet commented.

Damon stood upright in an instant, facing the two young men who had intruded upon his tryst. Eternally young, these two, and eternally on the hunt – at the moment for him.

"Would you look at that," the other one said mockingly. "Not so dead after all. Or… well… not as dead as we'd like."

"Klaus," Damon greeted, wrecking his mind for a way to get Elena to safety.

"Damon, what-," Elena began to ask behind his back but was cut off by her own squeal as the third vampire in the room suddenly came to stand beside her.

"Pretty," he observed while pulling her up and leaning in slowly, letting his nose trail along the column of her neck. "Human," he then informed his brother.

"Take your filthy fingers off of her right now," Damon demanded, wanting to speed towards them but being held back by Klaus' firm grip on his shoulder. Klaus and his brother Kol were older than Damon. Not by much, but by enough years that both of them together posed a problem to him.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Klaus scolded into his ear. "Has the great Damon Salvatore fallen for a human?" He walked around to his other side, never loosening the death grip he had on his shoulder. "I gotta say, I'm a little disappointed. I had envisioned some sort of more or less epic fight but you made it all a little too easy." He let his eyes wander around the small room. "The candles are a bit much, don't you think?"

Damon gritted his teeth. "It makes them feel special," he pressed out, "Releases endorphins."

"Yes, you're such a gourmet," Klaus waved his explanation off. "You can drop the act; we know she's more than a midnight snack… You've really been so unobservant. We found you over a month ago. I mean… L.A., Damon? You know how people talk."

"Damon, what-," Elena began again but was immediately cut off by Kol.

"Let the grownups talk now, okay doll?" Damon could see him focus, could see the effort he put into the next words. "Don't move. Don't say a word." Slowly Kol's hold on her arm loosened until she stood by herself, looking around in irritation. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she was aware of her body's unwillingness to react to her brain's commands. Damon could see panic rise in her eyes as she stood, calm and immobile.

"You're going to regret this," he warned, feeling anger rising up inside him.

"No, Damon, you're going to regret this. This and all that crap you pulled in the past. Thinking you could lie to me and I wouldn't find out, wouldn't come after you?"

Damon spun around, grabbing at Klaus' throat, ready to rip it from his neck but before he was able to fully close his fingers around it, he was pulled down and thrown to the ground. Kol stood behind him, pulling his arm up. It was broken in just under three seconds and the sharp pain momentarily incapacitated him. He could do nothing but stare at the ground before him and the blood that was dripping from his fingers where he had ripped only skin off of Klaus' neck.

"Where's your fucking brother?" Klaus demanded loudly. "He's not with you in LA and he's not here at his fucking house. Where is he?"

They had been to the house? And Stefan wasn't there? "I don't know," he said weakly. He really should have fed on his way here.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Klaus raged.

"I don't keep tabs on the sad fuck. We don't really get along," Damon returned, equally angry. His arm was healing and his focus could shift back to other things.

"You never did. But you always kept tabs on him, Damon. Where is he?" Damon felt himself get hoisted up and then felt the excruciating pain of something being shoved into his side. It was wood, had to be, from the scraping agony it caused him.

"Fuck!" He exclaimed before raising his eyes to check on Elena. Big mistake. She stood there, completely still, but her eyes were widened in horror. "We decided it was best we didn't stay in contact," Damon explained in a strained voice.

"Now that's just too bad," Klaus said, stepping away from him slowly. "I guess I'll have to look for a substitute to release all this… anger I've kept inside of me." He stepped over one of the silken pillows and was now circling a terrified Elena.

"Don't you touch her," Damon warned helplessly.

"Or what?" Klaus asked. Kol grabbed the stake lodged between his ribs and gave it a twist. Hot pain and rage shot through Damon's body. The more agonizing thing, however, was to watch Klaus stand behind Elena and slowly pull at one end of the belt that held her robe shut until the cloth finally fell open smoothly. She stood completely motionless, only an uncontrollable shiver betrayed her inner struggle. "So this… girl… got to you, did she? The great Damon Salvatore. I've seen you eat girls like this for breakfast." He let one finger trail up her side while leaning closer to whisper into her ear "Literally."

It was then that Damon saw something shift in her eyes. In addition to the panic she was feeling, the fear she had of the two men threatening them, there came an uncertainty when she looked at him.

"Don't listen to him," he tried to reassure her but he knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

"Oh?" Klaus looked at him in mock surprise. "Don't be coy now, Damon. You were always so proud of what you did. Where did that Damon go? Let's see if we can't get him to come out and play." At that, he pulled a small knife from his pocket and held it against Elena's neck. At the contact of the cold metal against her skin a tear escaped her eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks.

"Don't," Damon asked, begged almost, but it came out like an acknowledgement of defeat.

"Kol, a little more blood loss, please," Klaus demanded and the stake that had been lodged in his side got pulled out and stuck a little higher into his chest. He roared in pain and could see Elena flinch.

"Now, Damon," Klaus continued in a calm voice, "aren't you hungry?" And at that he let the blade sink into the flesh on Elena's neck, cutting only far enough to let a tiny stream of blood trickle down onto her shoulder. Tears were streaming down her face, attesting to the silent agony she was suffering.

Damon could feel the hunger rise inside him, could feel it pulsate in his throat and gums, could feel the heat rise in his neck and his temples, pooling finally around his eyes. He fought it down with everything he had. He didn't want her to see him like this.

"No?" Klaus asked casually. "Not hungry? Not even a little bit? She smells so good." Slowly, his eyes never leaving Damon's, the other vampire let his head sink to her shoulder and then allowed his tongue to lick along the column of her throat, gathering her blood on its way. "Tastes good, too," he added with a satisfied smack of the lips as if he were a sommelier tasting an exquisite wine. "Not a virgin, though. Then again… you probably knew that, didn't you, big boy?"

Damon could hear Kol chuckle behind him and at that moment he lost it. In an instant he had the other vampire pinned against a wall, not even registering the pain the stake in his side was causing him. Before he could actually hurt him, however, he could feel Klaus beside him, pulling the stake from his chest and shoving it at his throat instead. Damon noticed, but didn't heed the pain. He knew full well that he didn't stand a chance against these brothers. But he also knew that if he failed, that meant that Elena was dead. And that thought was simply unfathomable.

He let go of Kol just long enough to turn and propel Klaus across the room and into the wall. He fell against the wood and then to the floor in a loud crash, mortar raining down around him. Kol had pulled the stake from Damon's neck in an attempt to hurt him in yet another place but before he could execute his assault, Damon had thrown him to the floor and was struggling with him. Klaus was back, suddenly, charging at Damon and hitting him with full force, making the two of them tumble across the floor. When Klaus was about to stand up, Damon saw his chance and kicked against his knee with enough force to break it. With an agonized cry Klaus fell to the floor and Damon shot off the ground and towards Kol who had been waiting for his moment to attack, stake in hand. Damon didn't care about getting hit by the stake, so long as it didn't reach his heart. He threw himself against the other vampire, arm stretched out, shifting his weight at the last second. The stake got stuck in his shoulder and it hurt like hell but he had achieved his goal. With almost childlike satisfaction, he closed his hand around the pulsing lump it had reached, pulled once and watched his adversary's body fall to the ground as his heart seized to beat in Damon's hand.

In an angry roar Klaus sped towards him, smashing him to the floor. Fueled by hatred, the older vampire was pinning Damon to the ground, grabbing at the stake and trying to push it further into his ribcage.

"You are going to fucking pay for this," he fumed. "I am going to kill you and then I am going to fucking kill your pet. And I will make it extra painful."

Damon grabbed at the other man's throat and face in an effort to thwart his assault but he wasn't successful and he could feel his strength wane quickly. Suddenly, he heard a crash and liquid and glass were spewing all around him. Klaus was distracted for only a second, turning around to see Elena stand over him, the neck of a shattered champagne bottle in her hand. That second was enough for Damon to gather his last strength and thrust his hand into his opponent's ribcage. As Klaus turned back to him with disbelief in his eyes, he ripped his heart from his chest and watched the life leave his features.

Exhausted, he rolled the limp body off of himself and pulled the stake from his shoulder. The dull sound of something heavy hitting the floor made him look up. Elena had dropped to the ground, sitting on the edge of the pool of blood flowing sluggishly from Klaus' chest. She stared at the scene in front of her in horror before turning her tear-stained face upwards to look at Damon. He had become a stranger to her, he knew. In less than an hour she had gone from offering herself to him to fearing him intensely. Her revulsion at the blood, at the violence, at the cruelty spewed from her eyes. The man whose hands she had desired to feel on her body had used them to rip out someone else's heart. She looked lost and devastated and Damon couldn't bear to be the one to have caused this.

"Elena," he started, moving to get up.

Like a scared fawn, she shrank away from him, her eyes fixed on the blood dripping from his hand. He couldn't explain this to her. Before, it would have been an abstract idea. I am a vampire, I drink blood, humans dealt well with abstractions. But she had seen the destruction that came with being what he was. She would never be able to understand let alone accept it. She would never look at him with anything other than fear and disgust now. At least she was alive. There was only one thing he could do now.

"Elena, look at me," he demanded while moving slowly towards where she was crouching in terror.

"Don't touch me," she yelped, breathing heavily. She was in shock, Damon understood, adrenaline rushing to reduce her field of vision to a small tunnel, an excess of oxygen threatening to cause her to faint.

"Elena, you have to look at me," he persisted, reaching for her.

Almost instinctually, she drew her hand back, recoiling from him in a panic, pushing herself across the floor, away from him. He was faster though, of course, was on top of her and holding her down before she had gotten further than a couple of feet away from him. She cried out in horror, pushing at him frantically, hopeless fists and knees battling to overpower a being more powerful than she could understand.

"Please don't hurt me. Please," she finally pleaded, when he had fully incapacitated her flailing limbs. Her eyelids pressed together tightly, wanting to shut out the horror around her.

"I would never hurt you," he promised calmly, soothingly. The memory of his hushed, tender voice against her ear made tears quell from her eyes once again.

"God," she whimpered, wanting to squirm away, unable to reconcile her recollections of this man and what he had meant to her with the atrocities he represented now.

"Look at me!" his voice suddenly thundered through the room. Feeling powerless in face of the agony he was causing her, Damon could no longer control his temper. Elena's eyelids shot open, reddened eyes staring up at him in fear.

Damon took a deep breath, gathering his remaining strength, putting it behind his words, praying it was enough to carry them into her thoughts.

"You are going to forget this," he began steadily, efficiently. "You are going to forget this house. You won't come back here. You are going to forget what happened tonight. You are going to forget me." He had to pause. He had come here prepared to do exactly this, but looking into her empty eyes, feeling her pull away from him with every word; it was more painful than he had anticipated. "You are going to forget we ever met," he continued stoically. "You won't remember my name. You won't remember meeting me every year on Christmas. You won't remember talking to me on the phone. You will go home and meet someone. And you will stop thinking of me. And you will stop waiting for me. You won't be afraid. And you won't know I ever existed."

2012 – The end: the conclusion; but also the object for which a thing exists

"Come home," Stefan pleaded exasperatedly.

"Stop asking," Damon responded, too bored to be annoyed. They had this conversation every year now and it always ended with Stefan throwing a hissy fit and Damon hanging up. He suspected Stefan had given up hope to convince him to spend Christmas at home a long time ago and only called now to make sure he was still alive and get his annual dose of judging out of his system. Damon popped a chocolate covered cherry into his mouth. The girl currently sitting to his feet was a keeper. She obviously wasn't one to give mind-blowing blow-jobs but she covered everything in chocolate. It made for quite the mess but was otherwise really enjoyable.

"Fine, if you won't come home for me can you please come home and clean up your mess?" Stefan sighed.

"What are you talking about?" Damon asked, nudging the girl a little to the left for a better angle.

"Don't play dumb, Damon, the Gilbert girl!" That finally got Damon's attention. He sat up and stopped the incompetent girl in her movement.

"What about her? Did something happen to her?"

"No, she's going back," Stefan explained in annoyance, "to the place where she had the accident." Damon's heart stopped for a millisecond. "I mean, near there. There's a cabin in the woods just off the road. She goes there and just sits. Like she's waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Damon asked, his mind racing.

"The fuck do I know?" Stefan returned.

"She doesn't remember that place," Damon mumbled, slapping away a persistent hand.

"Well obviously she does," Stefan returned in a mocking tone.

"For how long?" Damon asked while getting up and moving into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"I don't know. I only saw her last year on Christmas Eve. I always go to that part of the woods to hunt. It's secluded and…"

"Spare me the details," Damon scoffed, pulling a towel from the cupboard.

"Fine. She sits there. For hours. I don't know why but I'm sure it's something you messed up. So come and fix it!"

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Damon questioned angrily, turning on the hot water. Remembering the girl that was probably waiting for him in his bed, naked and confused, and not having the time and energy to deal with her right now, he pulled the door open again. "Fuck off!" he yelled into the suite before slamming the door shut again, not waiting for an answer.

"I didn't think it would affect you so profoundly," Stefan commented mockingly.

"God, you're such a pain. I should have let Klaus kill you." And with that Damon hung up and stepped into the shower, scrubbing away chocolate and sweat.

He reached Virginia at noon of the twenty-fourth and when he neared the site of the infamous accident that had changed his life and made the past seven years hell, it was nearly time for the sun to set. She remembered. Had to. At least fragments. And therefore he had to make her forget again. He couldn't have her remembering fully and running around screaming murderer or, worse, understand what she'd seen and tell people he was a vampire. She'd be called crazy and he wouldn't be able to show his face in this town ever again. Already Stefan didn't go outside anymore. Too much time had passed for people to not notice that they didn't age. Just what he needed, he thought, being dragged back into this mess. He had spent the past years trying to forget as much as he could but now, rounding the bend before the small path leading towards the cabin forked off the main road, there was no doubt in his mind that he had been utterly unsuccessful. He remembered everything – her dark eyes, her sensuous lips, the perfume she had been wearing the last night he saw her, the look of terror that had distorted her face after she had watched him kill two men in front of her.

Driving down the dirt road flanked by tall pine trees that prevented the last rays of sun to reach the frosted forest floor, he could feel anxiety build inside him. Would she come back this year? If so, how much did she remember? How would she react to seeing him again? And how would he react to seeing her?

The trees parted and opened onto the small clearing. He saw the house and standing in front of it, a car. A car he didn't recognize. He pulled up next to it and pulled the key from the engine. Then, when he looked up, he saw her. She sat on the steps of the weathered cabin and stared at him. Slowly, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. Her stunned gaze never left him, nailing him to the spot he was in. After a moment that seemed like years, she slowly moved to stand up.

She was stunning. Older, sure, a few years older now than he had been when he had been killed. But beautiful none the less. Her body was curvy and she moved like a woman who knew herself, nothing about her was fidgety or uncertain, every movement was entirely her own. Her face was a little more settled. Her eyes not quite as round, her cheeks not quite as chubby. There was less curiosity and wonder in her gaze and more knowledge.

"Hi," he finally said, no longer able to stand the silence.

Clasping a hand over her mouth, Elena sank back onto the steps, tears springing to her eyes and threatening to fall. "Oh my God, it's true," she said, incapable of looking away from the man standing before her. "You look exactly the same."

"What do you remember?" Damon asked, walking slowly towards her, like the cat that doesn't want to scare away the rabbit.

"I don't know," she shook her head, still staring at him – with wonder, though, not fear, he thought. "I wasn't sure I actually remembered anything. I…" She examined him like a scientist would a curious object. "I thought I was… daydreaming I guess? Or… just… imagining… things. I had this image of you and flashes of… moments. And then I got nightmares. It's all true, isn't it? You saved me from the storm and you fucked me in here and you killed those men. Here." She was looking at the door to the cabin in astonishment, recognizing but not remembering it.

"I did."

"And I forgot?" She spun back around to face him.

"You forgot because I told you to forget," Damon clarified.

"You can do that?" she looked more intrigued than shocked.

"I was too weak then, to do it right. But I can do it now. You can forget me again."

She looked at him in bewilderment. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "No," she repeated more forcefully, determined. "No!" she exclaimed, pushing at him angrily. For a second Damon was too surprised to react at all, letting her mad fists drum ineffectively against his ribcage, letting her angry palms shove at his chest and her desperate fingers cling at his shirt.

"Stop it," he finally said, irritated, grabbing her hands and stilling their movement.

Elena was too aggravated to be stilled, however, pulling furiously to free her arms, jerking her entire body in revolt, tears of rage springing to her eyes.

"Calm down," he ordered, wrapping an arm around her body to incapacitate her. Furious but powerless, she let her head sink against his shoulder and gave up fighting, the only movement in her body now stemming from her sobs. He held her still, wishing there was something he could do to end her misery. He heard her inhale deeply and then felt her heart stop for a second before being pushed to beat again.

"Damon," she whispered and it sounded like a prayer. Like the feel of his skin against hers, his smell around her, the sound of his voice, had wrapped together all the frayed ends of lost memories swimming around in her head and all the unconnected impressions finally merged into a coherent recollection. She tightened her arms around him, pulling him impossibly closer. "How could you do that?" she asked and he heard the strain in her voice and felt the dampness of tears against his neck. "How could you take that away from me?"

"I did it to protect you," he started but was interrupted when she pulled away from him.

"Protect me?" She sounded furious, looked furious.

"You saw what I did, Elena. You couldn't even look at me."

"I was in shock!" she exclaimed angrily.

"Remembering that night would have ruined your life," he argued, fire now in his eyes. He was the one who had suffered. He was the one who had given her up, selflessly, because he wanted to do what was right for her. He was the one who had led an agonizing and inconsequential existence ever since that day because ultimately everything she wasn't a part of was inconsequential. How could she be mad at him for what he had done?

"God, you don't understand." She shook her head exasperatedly. "I loved you, Damon. When you took everything away from me, you took away my fear and my pain, but you also took away my happiness and my hope. I could never figure it out, all these years, why I felt so empty. Why something was always missing. I've been coming to this place for three years. Wondering how I knew there was a cabin here. I thought I was going crazy!"

"You were supposed to move on."

"Don't you think I tried? I dated. I'm fucking engaged. But you left a hole inside of me. And it's swallowing me up." Tears were streaming down her face. "You made me love you and then you left me. With nothing. You even took my memory!"

"For your own good!"

"Well fuck you very much! My whole life I've missed you! I've missed something that I didn't even know was a memory. No guy I met was ever good enough. I could never just settle down and be happy. I always felt like something was missing from my life. I thought I was the problem. Stupid Elena, can't be happy with what she's got. Has to go and dream up a phantasy. I've felt empty for years, Damon. And it hurts."

"You don't know what I am – what I'm capable of."

"It wouldn't change anything!" she claimed indignantly.

Damon shook his head in frustration. She didn't understand. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed her and pressed her against the weathered wall of the cabin. The unexpected movement made her dizzy and she stared at him, surprised and disoriented. Slowly, he pulled the hunger up from where it constantly rolled in his stomach, pulled it into his neck and let it spread its heated fingers around his face. The fangs descended first, and then the blood shot into his eyes, coloring them in a bright red. The remaining blood that rushed to his eyes, there to focus the hunter's gaze on its prey, pushed into the veins around them, urging towards its goal, rippling darkly under his skin.

"This doesn't change anything?" he growled, slamming a palm angrily against the wood paneling next to her head.

Her eyes stared at the pools of bright red and their icy blue centers, daring her not to flinch. "No," she said quietly, her gaze never leaving his.

"You should be scared for your life. I can snap your neck without even breaking a sweat. I look at you and I see dinner."

She shook her head defiantly, her eyes still locked onto his. "You would never hurt me," she stated firmly.

"How can you be so stupid?" he asked, letting his forehead drop against hers.

"I trust you," she explained, grabbing his face with both hands and pulling him towards her until her lips finally met his.

Her heart leaped at the contact. While her brain had struggled before, her body remembered him instantly. Remembered how his touch electrified its skin, remembered how his kiss could make it forget any pain, and remembered that he was the only one it wanted to be loved by.

She could feel Damon's will wane, could feel his body slowly relax against hers, until finally he parted his lips to kiss her back. She let her tongue seek his, guided by the desire to experience again the pleasure that had made her head spin years ago. When she felt his still elongated canine drag against the side of her tongue, she was surprised at first and then intrigued. Carefully, she let the tip of her tongue trail its sharp edge and finally press against the point experimentally. It cut through her skin like it was nothing and before she could even register any pain, a drop of blood had hit Damon's tongue.

A groan rumbled through his body and with incredible force she was suddenly pressed against the wall behind her while at the same time he pulled away from their kiss. Elena gasped, barely able to breathe from the crushing weight of his torso against hers. She could see the dark veins around his eyes ripple and then disappear as he breathed out slowly. When he opened his eyes again to look at her, she thought they were almost mocking. "Cut ourselves, did we?" he asked with a condescending smirk.

"What was that?" she asked, still overwhelmed by the steel-like power with which he held her against the wall.

"Instinct," he declared, finally pushing away a little and giving her room to breathe. "Hunger," he added, leaning in slightly, menacingly, letting the veins around his eyes swell challengingly.

"You're hungry?" Her voice sounded weaker than she wanted it to.

"I'm always hungry. And you are delicious," he sneered, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "Are you scared yet?"

"No," she replied with certainty in her voice. And then, carefully, she pulled her hair from her shoulder and leaned her head to the side, baring her neck invitingly.

A deep, desperate growl rumbled up Damon's spine as he saw the skin of her neck twitch only inches away from his lips and heard her heart rate pick up in anticipation of his next move. "You don't know what you're offering," he said in a low voice that made Elena's stomach clench.

"I want to know," she said breathlessly, letting one hand dive into the silky hairs at the nape of his neck and pulling him down. He was right, she didn't understand what it meant to be like him or with him. But the power he exuded, the sheer animalistic force with which he had reacted to her blood, it was fascinating, exhilarating, and she wanted to experience it again.

Damon was so close to her, he could smell her blood through her skin, could feel the slight tremor in her hand that spoke of her fear. He wanted to step away, wanted to compel her again, for good this time, but something held him back, pulled at him relentlessly, told him that it was okay to give in – a distinct heat pressing against his leg where it was shoved in-between her thighs, a specific scent to her sweat, a certain edge to her flat breathing – she was aroused.

The realization almost sent him over the edge. Slowly, he lowered his head fully until his lips pressed against the thin layer of skin spanning around her neck. Her breath hitched as he caught some of it between his lips, pulling softly. "Relax," he whispered calmly, letting his hand close around her throat lightly and pushing his thumb along the smooth column towards her jaw, pulling the skin tight. He could feel her hand clasp his hair while the other pulled at his waist, willing him to get even closer. Finally, with one quick movement, he pierced the skin and pushed his teeth in, causing her blood to break free from its vital path and run down his throat.

Elena gasped at the quick stab and her body jerked slightly towards his. For a second they both stilled but then she could feel it, could feel him drag her blood from her vein, could feel the thick liquid escape her body, could feel a certain light-headedness at each draw. While his strong arms held her steady, she felt her own body weaken, felt her finger tips tingle and the muscles in her legs quiver. She knew that she was entirely at his mercy but she wasn't afraid. She understood at that moment what it meant to give herself wholly to someone else, what it felt like to belong to someone entirely.

Damon drank slowly, deliberately. He didn't need to feed, he wanted to taste, wanted to drink her in, wanted to consume her essence. She was his now. She had given a part of herself to him and, being the eternal being that he was, it would be with him forever. He waited for the fear that usually came when the dizziness set in, waited for the rejection, the impulsive withdrawal. Humans didn't understand how much blood he could take, they always fought.

Not Elena. She enjoyed it, moaned at the movement of his tongue and lips against her marred skin, pushed her core against his thigh to create friction and when her legs threatened to give out, her arms clung to his neck, holding him in place. Taking his last draw, Damon closed his eyes and let himself fall, into her arms and into the abyss that opened up underneath him. The thing that couldn't be true, was – she accepted him, she enjoyed him, she trusted him, still, and gave herself to him.

When he let go, cold air rushed to the spot where his lips had been and made her shiver. Her head was swimming with emotions, unable to focus on one in particular. She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the wooden wall behind her. Her whole body was shivering, overloading on adrenaline and endorphins. Her fingers blindly clung to him, desperate to keep the contact. Suddenly, she felt his lips on hers, soft and pliable, warmed by her own blood, kissing her reverently, gratefully, lovingly.

"Elena?" she heard his voice murmur, feeling his fingers brush gently against her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, locking with his. "How are you feeling?"

How had it made her feel, to give herself to him, to trust him with her life, to want to be his? "Incredible," she replied, insufficiently, winning her a knowing smile from him.

"Damon?" she began and he saw nervousness in her eyes. "Are you going to leave again?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "I hate this place."

She nodded, playing with the zipper on his jacket.

"But I hate Dallas, too. How is it where you live?"

Her eyes shot up to his, swimming with uncertainty. "New York?" she asked, causing his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise.

"New York?" he asked with a smirk.

She blushed lightly before allowing a smile to break out across her face. "I don't know. Something drew me there."

"I've always liked New York," he returned with a grin. "The snow always reminds me of this girl I met in a storm once."

A/N: The title of this fic stems from the song "Sixteen, Maybe Less" by the band Iron & Wine which is wonderful and gave me a lot of inspiration for this story. If you're following my ongoing fics, I assure you now that I got this massive OS out of the way, I'll be back to them asap. "Second Chances" is up first. Thank you so much for your patience!

Hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for reading it all the way through :) Have a wonderful 2013! xoxo