Damon & Elena Fanfiction: A Long Weekend

Hunger Pains

This chapter is inspired by a scene from "Hush Hush" from Becca Fitzpatrick. Hope you like it! :D xox

“You like Mexican?” He asked. It was more of a statement than a question, but I started to reply all the same, before he interjected.

“Tacos?” A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he leaned casually on the work surface.

“Tacos?” I echoed. This seemed to amuse him, and his smirk broadened.

“Tomatoes? Lettuce? Cheese? Sound familiar?”

“I know what a taco is!” I exclaimed exasperatedly, and Damon leant over and ruffled my hair – but I slapped his hand away and smoothed down my hair. He could be so annoying, sometimes!

            He went to the sink and ran the tap, scrubbing soap halfway up his arms. Then he went to the pantry, followed by a browse of the fridge, bringing out ingredients here and there – salsa, cheese, lettuce, a tomato. Then he dug in the kitchen drawers until he found a knife and a cutting board.

“I haven’t made tacos in ages – you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a bit rusty – I may need your help.” He winked at me, and I just glared at him from where I was sat on the countertop. I was still annoyed at him for making me forget Stefan so easily.

            He wiped the scowl off my face pretty quickly, as he whipped out one of the poufy white Chef hats, and perched it lopsided on his head – he looked hilarious!

“You’re not seriously going to wear that?” I asked him, laughter erupting at the comical sight of Damon in that hat.

“Of course, Miss Gilbert, of course I am. A chef can’t cook without his hat!” He looked at me, pretending to take offense and I fought back a serious case of the giggles.

            Damon picked up a knife, spinning it so the blade faced away from me, and he held it out. I took it from him, confused. “Come here,” he said, “I’ll teach you how to make tacos.”

            I didn’t move. There was a little mischievous sparkle in his eyes that made me think he was up to something... made me feel like I should be frightened of him... which I was. But that fright was equal to part allure, and I was beginning to think I was afraid of how I felt for Damon, rather than Damon himself. There was something extremely unsettling about being near to him, and at the same time, something extremely comforting. What with Stefan gone, I guess I just missed the attention.

            “How about a... deal” He lent down, his face close to mind, shadowed, and looked up at me through his lashes. The effect was an impression of trustworthiness, and I had to say, Damon did look rather sweet pulling that face. “Help me make tacos, and I’ll add another point to your score.” As of now, I was winning, but Damon was steadily catching up with me. I wasn’t taking any chances.

            Without a word, I jumped off the counter and moved beside him. He slid the cutting board in front of me.
            “First,” he said, coming behind me and placing his hands on the counter, just outside of mine, “choose your tomato.” He dipped his head so his mouth was millimetres from my ear. His breath was warm and minty, tickling my skin and making a shiver run through me. “Good. Now pick up the knife.”
            “Does the chef always stand this close?” I asked, not sure if I liked or feared the flutter that his close proximity caused inside me. Stefan, once again, escaped my mind.

            “When he’s revealing culinary secrets, yes, yes he does.” Damon smirked again, his breath warm against my neck. “Now hold the knife like you mean it,” he commanded.
            “I am!” I exclaimed.
            “Good.” Stepping back, he gave me a thorough twice-over, seemingly scrutinizing any imperfections – his eyes shifted up and down. For one split second I thought I saw a flicker of an approving smile, but I brushed that thought aside. “Cooking isn’t taught,” Damon continued, “It’s inherent. Either you’ve got it, or you don’t. Like chemistry. D’you think you’re ready for chemistry?” His voice was husky and he was stood immediately behind me once again. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
            “You tell me... am I ready for chemistry?” I retorted, pressing the knife down through the tomato, splitting it in two, each half rocking gentky on the cutting board. As I did so, I realised that this whole cooking thing had been an excuse for Damon to get to me. Well, he suddenly had, as I remembered to breathe again.
            Damon made a deep chuckling sound and said something which sounded something like “5-4 to you, Miss Gilbert”. I turned around, angered.

            “You said you’d give me an extra point if I helped you cook!” Damon grinned, and ruffled my hair.
            “Yes, I did, and I’ll stay true to my word, but we haven’t finished cooking yet! I never said anything about me not gaining points in the meantime, though.”

            I slapped him with the tea towel I was wiping my hands on and he immediately feigned being hurt – but we both knew that he hadn’t even felt it.