Thank you to my beta for whipping this into shape! Hope you all enjoy.

Warnings: Graphic content; underage sex and drinking; teacher/student relationship; M/F, M/M, and M/F/M relationships; polyamory

Standing perched poolside with her toes curling haphazardly over the edge, Elena Gilbert plays with the loose knot of her black nylon cover wrap. It requires only a bit of fiddling with before it pools lazily at her feet to reveal her La Perla black bikini. Elena just admires the pleasurable sensation of the midday sun against her skin for a time. An indulgent grin melts across her face, encouraging her to stretch her arms above her head, to arch her back to a dazed effect. She is impeccably lethargic.

A perfect target.

"Think fast, 'Lena!" Stefan yawps, scooping her up around the waist as he propels them both forward and into the water. Elena barely has time to shriek, much less react, as both of them sink beneath the surface of the Salvatore family's Valencia style pool. It's only her years of recreational swimming that keep her from inhaling a lung-full of water, but by the time she breaks the surface of the water again, she's a drowned rat seeing red.

"Stefan!" she yelps wildly, slapping so much water his way that she could've been a one-woman hurricane. From the side of the pool, she catches the jovial uproar of their friends: Caroline, Bonnie, Matt, and Tyler. "You asshole!"

With his arms angled in front of his face in a failed attempt to shield himself from the assault of water, Stefan smiles broadly at her.

"You were just asking for it," he laughs, diving out of the way when Elena looks to bristle and lunge for him. "Standing there with your arms up, looking so relaxed and serene..."

"Stefan Salvatore, I should kill you!"

"You wouldn't," Stefan beams gaily as he makes a beeline for the opposite end of the pool with Elena hot on his tail.

"That was before you football-tackled me into your pool! I could have died!"

She's coming at him with the proverbial claws unsheathed now which has their beached audience practically howling with amusement.

"Another Oscar award-winning performance from Elena Gilbert—"

Stefan continues his insistent monologue which only further serves Elena's purpose. At this rate, she'll have him cornered in the shallow end in no time. With her lips drawn back, she perseveres emphatically.

"Or cracked my skull!"

...to which Stefan is apt to proceed:

"—whose theatrics are only outshone by the size of the stick up her massive, perfectly shaped a—"

Taking him by the shoulders, she forces all of her weight down upon him to shove him beneath the water. She holds him down there until she feels as though she's made her point (or, essentially, until she can virtually hear their friends' sides splitting from laughter). By the time she lets him go, he comes up gulping and spewing water. It's perhaps for dramatic effect that Elena takes a sweeping and cheeky upper-body bow.

"Waterlogged is a good look on you, Stef," Elena clucks, flicking more water toward him as she wades toward the side of the pool.

"I'm calling attempted murder," he wheezes exaggeratedly.

"Self-defense," she corrects him with a pointed wag of her finger. "You started it."

Stefan feigns bitterness for only a moment longer before he strides languidly toward Elena. He joins her at the left as she props herself up on her elbows to look at their rag-tag group of friends. Caroline descends upon Stefan not long after, draping her legs on either side of him as she sits with them calves-deep in the pool.

"Hi," Caroline coos adoringly as he draws his arms around her waist. Stefan purrs something to her that Elena can't (and almost certainly, doesn't want to) hear while Tyler, Bonnie, and Matt gather around. Bonnie dips her feet in the pool near Elena just as Matt and Tyler wrestle one another precariously into the deep end, splashing all of them.

"Boys," Elena simulates annoyance.

"Yes, boys," Bonnie wriggles her eyebrows at Elena suggestively, to which Stefan and Caroline laugh.

Elena pointedly rolls her eyes. This is their continuous reminder of her seemingly eternal uncommitted state. Where Stefan and Caroline have each other, Bonnie has Elena's younger brother Jeremy, Matt has some college girl named Rebekah, and Tyler is pining after some yet-to-be-named cougar, Elena is caught in a continual lapse of relational solitude. Caroline likes to poke fun and call this Elena's Lone Wolf Syndrome.

"But even lone wolves eventually find their mates," Caroline had said once, too.

Elena screws up her face and gropes for her stranded sunglasses. Slipping them onto the bridge of her nose, she purses her lips at all of them.

"I'm quite fine being the pack's communal third wheel, thanks," she says at last.

"But don't you miss sex, 'Lena?" Caroline drawls whimsically and unprovoked, causing Stefan to lightly pinch at her upper thighs. All of these couples are making Elena lovesick but sicker in the literal sense of the word. They're making her downright nauseous.

"Whoever said I stopped having sex, Care?" Elena responds somewhat defensively.

"Gee, I dunno, maybe the fact that you've never spared us the details about any of your sexcapades, like, ever," her blond friend persists before snorting in amusement. "It's been—I don't know—like, three months, or something."

"Wow," faux shock floods over Elena's face. "Three whole months? What is this, my sexual intervention?"

"Kind of," Bonnie cuts in, looking devilish.

Something like a stone drops in Elena's stomach. They are definitely up to something. She groans.

"Just hear us out!" Caroline trills swiftly, nearly strangling Stefan with her legs in the process.

"Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"You didn't even let me fini—!"

"That's because the last time I let you finish, you set me up on a blind date with the pizza delivery guy."

"What?" gapes Caroline. "He was cute."

"He was into Star Wars and fantasy RPGs. He also had a chronic case of garlic breath."

"Okay, so maybe that set-up was kind of a bust..."

"Kind of?"

"Fine, it was a total bust!" Caroline tosses her hands up in exasperation before drawing her legs out of the water to better angle herself toward Elena. "Look, this isn't like that."

Extremely skeptic, Elena peeks at her friend from above her sunglasses.

"It isn't! Seriously! Pinky promise, cross my heart."

It becomes abundantly clear to Elena that unless she lets Caroline say her fill that she will never hear the end of it. So, she folds her arms on the concrete and balances her chin on them.

"Okay, Care. What is it?"

Squealing in delight, Caroline licks her lips before gesticulating exuberantly with her hands.

"We're going to, wait for it... Decade!"

As the others hiss with excitement, Elena's jaw drops.

"The twenty-one and up nightclub owned by the Mikaelsons?"

"What other Decade is there?"

"How the hell did you manage to get an invite there?" Elena presses, genuinely suspicious.

When Stefan and Caroline exchange a perceptive look, this only further escalates Elena's mounting skepticism.

"We met somebody," Caroline murmurs surreptitiously.

"You met somebody?"

"Yup," she nibbles gently on her bottom lip while side-glancing Stefan from the corners of her eyes. Elena looks uneasily between the two, but their silent eye-fuck is already more than enough to set fire to some sort of frustration within her.

"Okay, what gives? Spill, Caroline. Your attempt at secrecy is downright shameful."

"Promise not to judge!" Caroline says needlessly, her eyes radiant as Stefan palms encouragingly at the small of her back. For once, Elena is actually worried.

"Oh, god. You aren't pregnant, are you?"

There's a moment of silence before everyone except Elena—who hardly finds this funny—busts out laughing.

"No!" crows the blonde, her face bright red with humor. "Oh, my god, no!"

"Then what is it?" Elena urges, now more irritated than anything else.

"Well, you know the owner of the club, Mikael, right?" as soon as Elena nods at the essentially rhetorical question, Caroline continues. "His sons oversee Decade now, and Stefan and I—" again, the two lovebirds in question insist on doing that mysterious eye-thing with each other. "—we sort of met one of them, and... we all really hit it off," now both Caroline and Stefan are blushing strawberry red. What the actual fuck is going on? "His name is Klaus."

For several ticks, Elena squints, despite the fact that her eyes are veiled by her sunglasses. She looks to Caroline, then to Stefan, and then to the rest of them before settling back on Caroline. It's almost as though the name Klaus is some kind of covert trigger for something, and Elena is the only one still in the dark.

"So this Klaus let you in?" muses Elena, after the most pregnant pause imaginable.

"Yeah," Caroline smiles, fluttering her eyes toward Stefan.

Elena finally throws in the towel.

"Okay, what's the part of the equation that I'm missing here? What was that you said about judging, exactly?"

For what seems to be the fifteenth time in a span of thirty seconds, Stefan and Caroline gaze meaningfully into each other's eyes. Elena bites back pretend vomit. Their romance, although inspiring, is a bit too saturated for Elena's tastes, at times. Even so, when Stefan snakes his arm around Caroline's waist from his place in the pool and her spot on the side of it, Elena watches them expectantly.

"We're dating him."

The way Stefan says it is so nonchalant, so commonplace, that for a moment Elena swears they're just talking about the weather. Then, the reality of the statement sinks in, and Elena is strangely unperturbed.

"Wait. Dating him, as in... both of you?"

They nod.

"All three of you? Together?"

They nod again.

"…Nice."

Honest to god, it's the first word that stumbles out of her mouth, and Elena doesn't think to grab it back. This is probably because it's the truth. It is nice. As long as her friends are happy, so is she. But when the pair of them looks uncertain if not a bit worrisome, Elena proceeds.

"I mean it, guys, I'm happy for you. It is nice. I'm glad," Elena smiles evocatively and at last the couple smiles as well. Honestly, from the look of it, all of their friends appear more than happy for the threesome. So, Elena figures the matter isn't too pressing.

"So, about this club."

"Oh! Yes!" Caroline perks up as she takes her eyes off hers and Stefan's threaded fingers. "So, tonight... there's a big end of summer party, and we're all going!"

Elena, in spite of herself, grins a little.

"Will I get to meet the mysterious Klaus?"

"Of course!" chirps Caroline.

"Well, then," Elena's eyes sweep to Bonnie and then back to Caroline mischievously. "Let's dust off our fake I.D.'s, girls. Tonight we're getting a little bit rowdy."

. . .

Five short hours later, the three girls are underwear-clad and toeing around Elena's generously sized room. Dresses and clothes of all shapes, sizes, and colors are strewn on every surface imaginable—except for, of course, the actual bodies of the girls themselves.

"What's more my color?" Caroline asks as she holds a midnight blue dress in her left hand and a tea green dress in her right. "Undress-me blue or sex-me-up green?"

Bonnie and Elena erupt with laughter as Caroline strikes an evocative pose with each of them.

"Undress-me blue," Bonnie concludes, to which Elena enthusiastically agrees.

"The decision is unanimous," proclaims Caroline as she casts the green selection aside to display the sexy, strapless dark blue cocktail party dress. It will easily rest at her mid-thigh when she puts it on. Stefan and this Klaus fellow will be going crazy for her tonight. No doubt this is Caroline's intention. "Now you, Bonnie!"

"I've already picked my dress," she smirks slyly as she nods over to where a short, black, and backless chiffon mini-dress rests. Elena tries not to think about how thrilled her brother would be to see her best friend in that.

"Holy fuck," Caroline hisses with approval. "Too bad Jeremy's not going with us tonight. He'd have that dress off you before you even—"

"Thank you, Caroline!" Elena's voice booms over hers as she pretends to plug her ears with her fingers.

As they all share another laugh, Elena tip-toes unhurriedly toward her bed where her top three choices of dress now lie. Drawing her teeth over her bottom lip, she agonizes briefly over the decision. Should she go for a classy yet sassy deep rose halter dress, a sensual slip of mauve, or a downright sinful black and green bandage style ribbon dress? It takes her only a moment to come to her conclusion, where she had been debating the three now for the better part of an hour.

"I'm thinking... ribbon dress."

Her friends both express their praise with eager claps and comments of clear endorsement.

"Good choice," Caroline says as she steps into her own little number. "Makes your tits look outstanding."

"And shows off those sexy legs," Bonnie giggles as she knocks her hip into Elena's.

"Maybe our lone wolf won't stay stag for long after the boys catch sight of you," ventures Caroline as she readjusts her breasts to get them settled just right in her outfit.

"Boys?" Bonnie exhales flippantly. "You mean men."

Elena rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

"You two are insufferable," she says in earnest as she, too, slips into her tight, form-fitting dress.

"You'll thank us after that dress finally gets you laid."

Grabbing the first hard object within reach, Elena playfully pelts Caroline with one of her sky-high stiletto heels.

. . .

Within the next hour, they're all standing outside of the already packed Decade. Elena wonders for a moment if they'll even be able to get in. With the way the bouncers are sending away wannabe patrons left and right, her concern isn't without merit.

"I hope your beau comes through with this," Elena speaks over the noise to a cozy Caroline and Stefan (who hasn't been able to keep his hands off Caroline since the boys picked them up). "I don't want to have spent two and a half hours getting ready for nothing."

"Have some faith, Elena," Stefan chuckles. "All of us are expected."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

As they continue to move ahead in the line, Elena tries to busy herself with people-watching. She keeps her arm looped with Bonnie's as she combs through the throng of couples, couples, and more couples. There comes that lovesick feeling again—the gross kind. It's only the promise of alcohol inside that keeps her from ditching in that moment, because with her luck, there wouldn't be a single guy within a five mile radius.

Although, she reckons that, at the very least, she has Bonnie for a date. She wouldn't have to dance alone for the entire night, anyway. Thank god Jeremy doesn't look a day over sixteen. The kid turns up useful sometimes.

By the time they are almost at the front of the line, Elena avows that she never wants to see love or be in love again. The atmosphere is stifling, even outdoors. The people who aren't slobbering on each other have their hands wandering, and she will even swear an oath that she saw two girls getting to third base. Was something in the water at this place? Because holy shit.

Elena's practically thanking god and converting to Christianity once their group is face-to-face with the bouncer and his significant-looking list. Caroline steps forward, unable still to break Stefan's loving hold on her.

"Caroline Forbes' party of six."

The burly beast of a man thumbs through his list before giving Caroline a gruff nod and barking, "VIP" to the man in charge of unhooking the rope leading inside. Practically bursting with pride, Caroline rings her arm through Stefan's before moving inside, leading their little group to the alleged VIP-section of the animated club.

After all of them have their wrists situated with their twenty-one-and-up bands, they part the waters of their pack mentality to admire their surroundings with visible awe. Almost at once, Elena's hold on Bonnie's arm loosens. Decade's dark, inviting display is thick with mystery. While the ambiance is sensual and divine, it's also got a certain relaxed and welcoming quality to it, as well. The music currently playing is sexy and low, a dull thump that makes Elena's entire body pulse. There's no denying her excitement now. Where before she had wanted to drink and maybe share a dance or two with her friends, now she wants to find somebody sexy and tell them all sorts of hey.

"This place is amazing," Elena says.

"Isn't it?" beams Caroline as she leans into Stefan's side. "Stefan, look!"

All eyes are on Caroline as she nearly jumps from her boyfriend's arms to gesture toward a sharply dressed and deceptively handsome man with blond hair. Elena knows almost instinctively that this has to be Klaus.

As the man in question catches sight of the enthusiastically waving Caroline and the wide-smiling Stefan, Elena discovers that she is not disappointed. As he strides over, he makes a point to press a doting kiss to both Stefan's and Caroline's lips.

"Everyone," Caroline begins with her arms around both of her boys. "This is Klaus Mikaelson. Klaus, these are all our best friends—Tyler, Matt, Bonnie, and Elena." Each of their names is accentuated by a nod in their direction.

"I do believe I already know this young fellow," Klaus inclines his head toward Matt with mischief twinkling in his eyes. Caroline laughs joyously as she leans further into Klaus for a moment.

"Matt's dating Klaus' sister."

It's just one of the many truth bombs of the day. Elena considers that maybe she should be alarmed by this turn of events, but instead she decides that she just wants to be pleasantly surprised. She could be angry at them all later for taking so god-damned long to clue her in. For their sakes' there had better be a damn good reason why this entire evening had been so shrouded in mystery. That is to say, if they valued their heads at their current status between their shoulders.

"Small world," Elena relents with a meaningful but tight-lipped smile as she steps forward to greet Klaus. "Nice to meet you."

Without warning, Klaus moves to kiss both sides of her cheeks. She supposes, in retrospect, that she probably should have expected this sort of class from a man with such a delicious accent. At the very least, Caroline and Stefan have great taste in men.

"A pleasure, Elena," he insists. "Gilbert, yes? Your family's name precedes you—and well, if I might add."

Elena manages a smile. Though her parents are now deceased, their names and wealth live on in her and her brother. The Gilberts are one of Mystic Falls' oldest families, as well as one of the Northeast's most prominent lineages of doctors.

"As does yours," replies Elena, stepping back slightly. She debates asserting her dominance as both Stefan and Caroline's best friend by telling Klaus that he had better treat them right, but as she watches the trio gawk and smile and just ooze affection for each other, she thinks better of it. Caroline and Stefan would take care of themselves and each other. Mama Bear Elena finds herself effectively unnecessary… and in need of an alcoholic beverage again.

"Anyone up for a round of drinks?" she asks, to a roaring response.

"May I, love?" Klaus cuts in, almost annoyingly. "I'd hate to be seen as anything less than a hospitable host."

"Please," Elena keeps up her poker face of a grin while they all gravitate toward the bar. A bartender is waiting for them, his sense of duty no doubt aroused by one of the owner's sons padding his way. Each of them places their particular drink order before a celebratory tray of tequila shots, salts, lime wedges is situated in their midst. Elena can practically feel the buzz that awaits her in that little shot glass.

"To friends and to love," exclaims Klaus with a smirk as he lifts his glass. The others laugh and follow suit just as Elena considers gagging. Instead, she ignores the brief sensation to become the first to lick off her salt and down her glass—much to everyone else's surprise. She relishes in the burn of the tequila as it races down her throat. Screwing up her face for a moment, she's soon biting into her slice of lime and looking raring and ready to go as the others are just now nursing their shots.

"Someone's ready to tear it up," Bonnie laughs but then coughs through the inevitable burn of her shot.

"Don't tell me you need a chaperone, 'Lena," Matt grins deviously as the bartender slides their specified orders their way.

"Up yours," Elena rolls her eyes as she scoops up and then chugs her Irish Car Bomb.

"It's summer. She doesn't need to behave yet," maintains Stefan as he takes to his gin and tonic.

"What's this?" comes the dark velvet voice of someone Elena realizes at once that she does not know. "My baby brother… having a little illegal fun?"

Except in that instant, Elena reconsiders that she does know him. Actually, she's known about him almost her entire life.

What the fuck is Damon Salvatore doing back in town after effectively being out of it now for over six years? And, oh, fuck—just look at him. Her legs clench together involuntarily as her eyes drag excitedly over his form. He's sipping on bourbon and sporting a five o'clock shadow that's all kinds of sexy. Elena's unknowingly biting her lip now. How long can she stare at him before it becomes awkward? Or perhaps the more appropriate question is how long can she stare at him before she melts into a puddle of alcohol, sweat, and teenage hormones? She's too far gone to know at this point.

"Damon!" Stefan goes for a look that reeks of practiced surprise, but Elena's too enamored with eyeballing his brother to care why. "Don't tell me you're here to play the fun police."

"No, dear brother, I'm here to express just how proud I am for your long-awaited fall from grace," Damon's lips twist into a smirk that's so attractive it's nearly inhuman. "Who do I get to thank for your moral descent?" he tips his glass curiously before knocking back the rest of his drink.

Elena swears that some sort of secret code is going on in this moment because almost all of them turn their eyes on her in the seconds that follow. She tries to give off the air of a cool, collected bar mistress for this impromptu spotlight but she worries that the way she's fisting her empty drink and chewing on the inside of her lip is severely killing her vibe.

"Who?" Elena plays coy, the buzz from the alcohol already boosting her confidence and attitude considerably. "Me? Guilty as a whore in church."

Several of them almost spit out their drinks, but Elena's eyes are fixated on Damon. It's almost certainly wishful thinking, but he appears to be rather taken with her. God, the feeling's mutual. She chances another quick taste of her drink. Already the alcohol has her feeling warm and hungry for the challenge and risk that this older man no doubt presents.

"Damon, that's Elena Gilbert," Caroline chimes in, a little too cozy for Elena's tastes, but that's in all likelihood the alcohol talking. Maybe Elena just missed the part where everyone else had exchanged names with Stefan's positively dangerous-looking older brother. Or maybe she just doesn't care. Regardless, a moment later and he is moving toward her with the pristine stride of a lethal predator. His presence alone is enough to make her weak in the knees. She catches herself pressing more of her weight into the bar as he nears her and his aftershave tries to defy all logic by successfully assaulting all five of her senses.

"Hello, Elena," the sound of her name in his mouth does unspeakable things to her. Elena needs to take a moment to tell her hormones to sit the entire fuck down just so she can offer him her hand—which he takes at once to press the back of her palm to his lips. Soft and beckoning, they brush against her skin with an unanticipated roughness supported by the coarseness of his stubble.

"Hi," she drawls, hoping that she doesn't sound as dilapidated and drunk as she feels. This is an inebriation that has nothing to do with her slight intake of drink and everything to do with the sight, scent, and presence of the gentleman before her now. Elena questions her stance on the love at first sight debate in this instance; at least as far as her sex drive is concerned. Because, god damn, if her body isn't absolutely humming for this Greek god of a man.

"Heavy drink for such a little girl," Damon seems to tease her as he nods toward her emptied choice of alcohol.

Immediately, Elena's on the defensive but with a spur of buoyancy.

"I'm no lightweight," she says with a manner of coolness as she licks the remnants of her drink from her lips before leaning up to whisper, "and I'm certainly no little girl, either."

Setting her drink on the countertop, Elena makes her best work of her hip-hugging dress and show-stopping heels as she moves toward the dance floor. She doesn't look back, but then again she doesn't need to. If the look in his eyes had been any indication as she had moved in, as he had presumably thought her unproblematic enough to kiss him then and there, she knows he will follow—or, if not for her audacity then for the purposefully wicked sway of her hips. She knows this game all too well.

The finer details that she misses in her conquest, however, are the grins exchanged behind her back, the knowing looks flashing in her friends' eyes. Yet none of that matters as she weaves through the mass of writhing bodies, a seasoned professional on her heels even when tipsy.

A woman on a mission, Elena hones in on her target quickly before moving into him. The boy is of college age. He's young of face and form and mildly attractive. All it takes from her is a general glance in his direction, and he steals away his chance. His hands are cupping her waist mere heartbeats later as they begin to dance closely and heatedly to the aberrant bass of the club music. She plays up her interest by looping her arms around his neck and leaning in closer still.

Elena knows Damon is watching. His stare is severe, like an actual weight (or, more appropriately, a target) on her back. She hadn't been wrong that he would pursue her. Feeling mischievous, she casts her head and her hair back as she moves with this stranger and pretends to laugh at something funny that he hasn't said. Her nameless partner looks about to take advantage of Elena's newly exposed neck when Elena feels the return of Damon's commanding shadow. She waits until her placeholder of a dance partner ceases to move before she permits her eyes to wander to Damon where he stands in his form-fitting black shirt and dark jeans. A lazy smile overcomes her dark eyes.

She had won.

"Excuse me," Damon says dismissively to the boy who doesn't argue. Elena had chosen correctly again in a young man who knew when to back down. She doesn't move again until Damon comes to her, his impressive hands waiting to take their place at her hips only after granted permission by a certain glint in Elena's eyes. Suddenly, it's as though it's only them. The rest of the club dissolves, leaving Damon and Elena, circling one another in a precarious mêlée for dominance.

"What sort of games do you play, Elena?" he asks her as their bodies press intimately together. Elena requires a moment to collect herself, to learn to speak over the vibration of attraction that he sends hastening through her. Her blood is roaring as they dance, close and sweltering. If it had not been for his right hand at the small of her back, she worries that her legs would have buckled entirely.

"Games?" she breathes the word after a long moment. "Only little girls play games, Mr. Salvatore."

The music shifts to a song that's sultry and soft, and at once, he has her turned about with her back to his chest. Elena's breath becomes caught in her throat, and for several heartbeats, all she can hear is her own pulse over the hushed sighs of the music. His lips brush against the left side column of her neck as they continue to sway with her backside arched with sinful accuracy against him.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Gilbert," Damon taunts her with her own civility as his palms climb up the slope of her waist and her curves., "for you are certainly no little girl."

"He listens," Elena exhales, allowing her eyes to close for a moment as she rolls her hips with debauched precision. "I like a boy who learns quickly."

"Not a boy," he murmurs the words against the back of her ear impishly. "A man."

This man. God, this man. Elena practically dissolves into his embrace. What's more, it feels as though it physically pains her to move as she makes to turn herself to face him again, to catch his eyes. So blue. A white ball of heat settles at the slope of her belly. She feels enraptured, wholly captivated. Tentatively, she allows her hand to hover just shy of the left side of his face. The pads of her fingers twitch, ghosting over his cheek. Elena is just about to gather up her nerves when his hand rises to cover her own, holding it against his skin.

"I don't bite," Damon claims smoothly as her hips crush against his. His desire for her is painfully obvious, and it sends her heart racing away. She can't help her body's natural reaction which is to move further against him. This draws a gruff sound from the depths of Damon's throat and encourages Elena to lean into his chest. Her hands move up the length of his back just as his work over the swell of her bottom.

"What if I want you to?" she slurs, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Damon—which is a delectable mixture of aftershave, cologne, and bourbon. Resting his face beside hers, he encourages her head to tilt to the side, exposing his neck to him. His breath comes warm and heavenly against her skin, influencing her lips to part and her eyes to fall shut once more. The moment that his teeth nip at the lobe of her ear, however, the heat between her legs reaches a boiling point, and there's nothing that she can do to stop the moan that escapes her lips.

"Then you'll find you won't be disappointed," he hums against her neck as he drags his teeth across an offered stretch of luscious olive skin. Elena knows that she couldn't have resisted Damon even if she wanted to (and, god, she didn't). Her body is aching, the delicate space between her thighs wet and wanting. She is so desperate for this man who she barely knows, and yet who she feels such an electric connection with. Canting her head up to look once more into those blue, blue eyes, she mouths the words that have been on her mind since she had first laid eyes on him. There is no need for games when she knows precisely what she wants.

She wants him.

"Take me home," Elena all but implores, her hands fisting Damon's shirt at the base of his neck. Her brown eyes are dark and heavily lidded, and she can feel his body react to the scorching desperation of her plea.

Through the dark shadows of the dance floor, he steals her away, then and there.

. . .

It's purely a miracle that they make it home without totaling Damon's car. For the entire drive, they can barely keep their hands off each other. Had Elena been of sounder mind, she would have considered that neither of them should be driving, but as it happens, all she can focus on is the unbelievably attractive man to her left and what awaits her at his home. In fact, she's so taken with him that when he parks his Camaro in front of the Salvatore estate, it barely registers that this is where she had just been earlier today with her friends—with Stefan. It's like a small, minor detail that has suddenly fled from her as they are unbuckling their seatbelts and climbing out of the car.

Damon's hands are immediately on Elena's waist, guiding her or perhaps just needing to touch her, to feel her again. He has her pressed against the column of the house within heartbeats, and his mouth covering hers soon after. It feels far too long and cruel of a build-up for this kiss, but where their contact on the dance floor had been electrifying; this is a volatile cataclysm of unadulterated lust and feral need. He's pressing into her, their pelvises quaking from the intimate contact of his too-tight jeans against her showing undergarments.

Her dress has ridden up past her hips, leaving her lacy black boy shorts exposed as her legs rise to drape around his thighs. Damon moans into her mouth which she parts to accommodate his hungering tongue. He kisses her lips swollen, kisses her until both of their chests are heaving and frantic for air. Elena's head lolls to the side once his lips coast lower, to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. He's got her pinned against the pillar now with her legs wrapped eagerly around his waist.

"Damon," she sighs, her fingernails scraping impatiently against his scalp as he trails hot, wet kisses up and down the span of her neck. It takes Elena rolling and swiveling her hips against the strain of his erection just to distract him. "Damon."

This gets his attention with a deep-throated groan.

"Mm-mmm?"

"Inside."

Damon doesn't need to be told twice. Carefully letting her down—though the distance pains the both of them—he moves to first unlock and then open the door before he steps back to her. Craning up to meet him, she claims his lips for hers and buries her fingers in his hair. There's a meeting of tongues, a fleeting but unflustered clash of teeth, and he's leading her inside. He has set her body ablaze, successfully igniting every nerve in her system with desire and sensation. Then he scoops her up, cupping her backside, and she's rewarded with the friction she's so longed for.

They're fumbling into some dim room in the dark with her legs holding onto him with longing and ease. Not even seconds later, and they're on the bed with her legs spread apart and him resting between them. Elena sighs, her hair splayed out around her indiscriminately as she tugs him into her so he can lay assertion to her lips, her face, and her neck. She wants for him to have all of her.

At this point, her dress has risen to expose her navel with her panties in plain view to him. She watches as Damon drinks in the sight of her with the eyes of man thoroughly parched and as though she alone is the woman to quench his thirst. Her fingers coast through his hair, and for a moment, they merely look into each other's eyes. All of their passion jolts between them, and they're left completely unable to resist one another any longer.

His thumb finds her clit through the fabric of her underwear, and Elena nearly comes undone. She whimpers beneath him, arching up to meet his ephemeral touch. Damon has her desperate and starving for more as the tether of sexual tension between them becomes too much for her to bear any longer.

"Damon, please," she whines, her breasts straining against the tight fabric of her dress.

"Please, what?" Damon purls.

"Enough foreplay," Elena groans, urging her dress further up until it rests just beneath her chest. His eyes darken as he watches her, but soon he's helping lift her dress over her head to reveal her matching black bra. Abruptly self-conscious beneath his appraising stare, her body flushes. Then, Damon's lips descend upon her.

"You're beautiful," he kisses the words into the hollow of her throat as she begins to slip his own shirt above his head—and, fuck him, if he isn't just as perfect beneath all those gratuitous layers. This man couldn't be human. Elena is absolutely convinced.

"Fuck me," she rasps the words into his ear, her face flushed from both his compliment as well as from her earlier indulgence of alcohol. Her body is pulsing with overconfidence, and she is wholly beyond feeling shame at this point as she drags her teeth across his ear. The damage is immediate as his palms skate down the lengths of her winding curves to hook his fingertips beneath the waistband of her panties.

"Be careful what you wish for, Miss Gilbert," he breathes against the sensitive skin of her belly as he whisks her boy shorts down. This invites an onslaught of cool air against her which elicits a sharp intake of breath from Elena. Before she can prepare herself, his fingers are touching her experimentally. "Fuck, Elena... you're so wet." It's an observation but the lust behind it saturates her, sending an abrupt shiver down her spine.

"Ever since—" a shudder and a shift of his fingers disrupt her, but she soon persists wickedly. "—ever since the club."

Drawing up and back slightly, Damon flicks his thumb over her clit before delving his fingers deeper into her, parting her wet folds. Elena shifts impetuously beneath him, angling her hips up as she silently begs him for more.

"So impatient," he taunts her, opting to utilize the element of surprise as he skillfully slips one of his fingers inside of her. Elena's back arcs off the bed as she bares her teeth to fight back a moan. He moves his finger effortlessly inside of her as her come visibly coats it.

"God damn it, Damon," hisses Elena as he hooks his finger inside of her with a skilled exactitude that strokes her in just the right spot. Her legs begin to tremble, and she's left a writhing and rosy mess on the comforter. "Please. Please."

"I love it when you beg."

"Then you'll really love it when I leave you begging, high and dry," she snaps heatedly as he inserts another finger which he pumps in and out of her in tandem with the other one. Elena wants to strangle him, shake him—something. Her body is shaking with need, and he's just toying with her, pulling that tether tighter and tighter as though he never intends to allow that necessary snap. She could kill him.

He's driving her mad, and so she decides it's time to take matters into her own hands (rather literally). The next time his fingers pull out of her, she makes her move. Shifting down, she reaches between them and firmly grasps his erection through his jeans with the palm of her hand.

"Take off your pants," she commands, and he's working at his belt instantly and then tugging his pants down and off. Elena licks her lips, her eyes nothing but sinister lust and intention as she comes to find that he has been wearing nothing beneath them this entire time. Her breath catches as she fists the length of him. He instinctively bucks into her grasp as he arches over her, his lips at her neck.

Damon whispers her name into her hair as she slides her hand up his cock, her thumb moving over the head of him with agonizingly slow precision. His hips jerk erratically as she begins to stroke him leisurely, and then he's murmuring something about getting that goddamned bra off Elena and now. She makes an appreciative noise before jerking her hand down to the base of his dick where her fingers tease him incessantly. He is painfully hard, and it makes her even wetter to know that it's all because of her.

"Do you have a condom?" Elena asks in a languid purr.

He grunts an affirmative, and she watches as he takes to his bedside table. Elena uses this very short time to unclasp her bra as he's tearing open the packet with his teeth. By the time she's casting her last article of clothing aside, he's almost got himself wrapped up and ready. So, she catches him by the wrist.

"Let me," her eyes twinkle menacingly as she receives the condom from him. Pawing against his chest, she has him lying on his back within moments. Readying it at the tip of his cock, she slowly, slowly envelopes the length of him while never once allowing her eyes to waver from his. She revels silently in the sight of his blue eyes nearly rolling back into his head from the sight of her.

Almost as soon as she has the condom in place, he has her by the hips and on her back. The sight of him above her, dotted with the beginnings of sweat and his hair awry, sends her hormones into overdrive and her heart beating rapidly. She knows in this moment that she's never seen a more beautiful man (and that she probably never will). Damon moves himself against the folds of her pussy, teasing them both as she seeks to wrap her legs around his waist.

"Damon," Elena growls before reaching between them again to wrap her fingers around his cock. She guides him to her entrance, and this is all it takes for him to cant forward into her—and suddenly. It takes Elena by pleasant surprise, and she is rises up to meet him without conscious realization.

Both of them cry out together as his hand moves to grasp at her left hip, needing to join them closer together in any way that he could. With her legs trembling, Elena locks her ankles above his waist as he draws out of her only to sheath himself gradually again. She rocks with him now, wordlessly begging for a quicker pace that he is all too content to oblige. It isn't long at all before they've set up a moderate speed that has both of them breathing hard. As Damon buries his face in her hair again, her fingernails drag down the planes of his back.

"Elena," his pace quickens as her name falls from his lips unintentionally. The sound of skin against skin joins the chorus of her quiet mewls and his low groans. Elena is overcome with the waves of pleasure that he sends rushing through her. He has her weak and beseeching.

"Faster," she pleads, angling her legs further up his back so that he can touch her deeper. He thrusts into her faster than before as she jerks her hips up to meet him stroke for stroke. She can feel the burn of her impending orgasm building and building. What had started off as a slow burn has now begun to ignite and escalate. Her fingernails dig into the contours of his back as she pulls him closer to her.

Elena can feel herself tightening around him, her walls gripping at him tighter and tighter with every deft move of his hips. She's about to reach down and circle her clit with her fingers when he beats her to it.

"Just come for me, Elena," he says as he works at her clit at a pace that nearly pains her for the nerves' sensitivity until he hits it just right and reduces her to a quivering heap. As he moves in and out of her, his fingers thrumming over her clit without pause, she finds the force of pleasure in her lower body expanding. He fills her so completely, and she knows it's only a matter of time before he takes her over the edge.

"D-Damon," her voice arrives at a stifled cry.

"That's it, Elena," he rolls his hips quicker still while using his free hand to prop himself up.

The pace doesn't let up in either aspect as she finds the pressure in her lower body building to its pinnacle. One minute, she feels the fire catching, and the next, that tether—at long, long last—snaps. Damon is burying himself deep inside of her as she cries out, tossing her head back. She sighs his name with such unimaginable need as he continues to stimulate to her clit and move within her. Again and again, she says his name, her limbs curling tightly around him as they work together to force him deeper and harder within her. She's seeing white stars and heaven by the time her orgasm is through, and by the way that he pitches his hips forward not moments after her climax's conclusion, she knows he had been holding out for her.

Damon presses his lips to her neck as he moans, jerking into her unconsciously as he loses himself inside of her. The aftershocks of his own orgasm leave him pumping his hips at a lazy pace. As their lips meet, both of them are smiling. She kisses him, and he threads their fingers above him. Elena could have laid there with him for hours for all the fatigue and pleasant release that she felt, but instead, she flips them over and decides to take him for another ride while they still have the house to themselves.

She would leave feeling shocked or guilty for the morning after. For now, she has exactly what she wants, and she intends to take full advantage of it—come what may.