Damon & Elena Fanfiction: A Long Weekend

A Guilty Conscience & Childish Games

Elena’s POV

            As I followed Damon Salvatore down the stairs, I couldn’t help but think about what I’d just said – I’d told him I didn’t eat lunch because I was preoccupied, which was true. I was too busy worrying about Stefan. Stefan, the man who I’d all but forgotten about during my little competition with Damon! I shrugged it off. I was having fun with Damon, and what’s more, I was beating him! My brain was already formulating little ways in which I could get back at him, and I was pretty impressed with my own cunning, even if I do say so myself!

            As I followed Damon down the mahogany staircase, all I could focus on was that bum, clad in black denim, and the torso that was swathed in an equally tight black cotton top, that clung to his muscles... I was so wrapped up in staring at Damon’s perfect body that I completely missed the bottom step, and landed in a sprawled heap at the foot of the staircase... or I would have done, had Damon not caught me. He picked me up in both arms and carried me like Princes’ carry Damsels in Disney films, into the kitchen, where he seated me on the granite worktop. He gingerly put a hand on each of my knees, parting them softly and sliding his body in the space between them and the countertop. I gasped, at the sudden closeness of our two bodies, and I was certainly aware of the presence of his hand on my legs.

            “You alright?” he asked me, his voice injected with concern. I mumbled a yes, averting my eyes from his gaze. He chuckled, and with two hands, turned my head to face his. Before I could react, once again his lips came crashing down on mine, sending shivers down my back and sparks dancing through my veins. All thoughts of Stefan were completely gone from my mind. There was only one person filling my head right now, and I wanted more of him. Caught up in the moment I pulled him closer to me, and I felt him slide his hand under the bottom of my top. My legs began to quiver with excitement as I felt him pressing his lean, muscular body against mine... and then he was gone.

            He was leant against the sink, casually, as if he’d been there for an age, but his hair was ruffled and his bottom lip swollen, from where I must have bitten him during the kiss. I grinned sheepishly. “5-2 to me, Mr Salvatore.”

            He chuckled, “You’re so not winning this one, Miss Gilbert.” I stuck my tongue out at him in a totally immature way. To my surprise, he did it back, and before we knew it, we were having a competition of who could pull the silliest face. Damon won, with no shadow of a doubt – I was laughing so much I fell off my position on the worktop. Once we’d stopped laughing, and Damon had picked me up off the floor and sat me on a bar stool he held three fingers up to indicate he’d got one over me again... but I was still winning, so I just beamed at him triumphantly.

            “So,” I started, “What are you making?”