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“You did what!?” Damon stood in your doorway, his icy stare enough to make most people reconsider.
But you weren’t most people.
“I know what I’m doing, Damon,” you rolled your eyes and turned away from him only to find him in front of you once more.
Anger burned in his eyes, and you knew for a man with very little patience to begin with that you were pushing your luck. "Really? Because it sounds like to me you just invited Elijah Mikaelson for dinner."
You shrugged. "And a drink."
“You invited a vampire over for a drink?” His eyes narrowed. "You do hear yourself, right?" He snapped.
“Not that kind of drink," you were exasperated.
"I can't protect you from him," Damon growled.
"And I'm not asking you to," you countered. "I can protect myself." As you stepped around him once more, you felt the rage rolling off of him in waves. You knew Damon well, so you anticipated his next move, bringing your hand up and summoning your magic to drop him to his knees before he could attack.
Damon cried out, gripping his head in pain. You had never had an aneurysm personally, but you could only assume it was excruciating. You decided he had enough, releasing him. He panted, the pain subsiding as his body healed.
"See?" You smirked.
He glared at you, and you knew that had you been anyone else, you'd likely be dead - whether that was because of you were a witch or because Damon had a soft spot for you, you couldn’t decide. "I don't trust him."
You shrugged. "Well I do."
"Why!?"
"I can't explain it, Damon," you sighed. "There's something about him...I feel like I need to do this. Like I'm being drawn to him, and I need to figure out what that means."
Damon opened his mouth to argue when you cut him off.
"All I’m asking you to do is trust me."
He scoffed. "Maybe if you didn't make such colossally stupid decisions..."
You raised your brows at him. "I haven’t been on your case about you being drawn to Elena, have I?”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Exactly.”
He looked at you incredulously. "Elena isn't plotting our deaths..."
"Elena is alive because Elijah wants it that way. And he's saved your life what? Three times now?"
Damon rolled his eyes. "And what about when he decides he no longer needs Elena alive? Or me?"
You didn't have an answer for that - only a gut feeling. "We're missing something, Damon. I can't explain it, I just know I need to do this..."
He nodded, knowing you were stubborn and there was no changing your mind. He sighed heavily, walking over to a bookcase and pulling out a very large, very old book. The leather spine cracked as he opened it to reveal the pages had been hollowed out, and he took out an object wrapped in a white cloth. "Then here, take this."
You stepped towards him, and as he unwrapped it, you realized it was the dagger, a small jar of ash from the white oak tree beside it. "Damon..."
He shook his head, his face sullen. "Y/N, I've been around long enough to know when I'm fighting a losing battle with you. And if you're going to insist on being this stupid," he held the dagger out to you. "I at least need to know you have a backup plan."
You nodded, dipping the dagger in the ash before placing it carefully into your jacket. "I have to go," you whispered.
He rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't want to keep him waiting..."
*****
You paced in your kitchen, suddenly nervous as you waited for Elijah to arrive.
You couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Sure, he was attractive, and his charm was refined, but there was something more. A gravity pulling you into him that you couldn't seem to escape.
Maybe Damon was right, maybe this was crazy. Elijah wasn't exactly safe - you had no reason to trust him. You considered the dagger hidden in your sweater, feeling as if even having it in your possession was a betrayal. Still, you weren't sure where the sense of loyalty came from. Before you could think on it any longer, you took it out.
A gentle knock alerted you to his arrival, and you panicked, shoving the dagger in the knife drawer before making your way to the front door. You looked yourself over once more, fixing your hair and wiping your palms on your thighs.
You took a deep breath, steeling your nerves. You swung the door open, the air leaving your lungs as you took in the sight of him.
He stood in a pristine suit. He oozed confidence, but the hint of a smile he offered you was reserved. His eyes were warm, and as they traced over you you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.
“Good evening, Y/N.”
You managed a breathy hi in response, and swallowed, leaning up against the door for balance as you felt the familiar pull. You waited for a moment and he let out a soft chuckle.
“Are you going to invite me in?” He asked calmly.
You shook your head, as if clearing the fog. “Right, yea, of course...sorry...” you muttered. “Elijah,” your eyes met his, a heaviness settling over the two of you, as if the invitation wasn’t just into your home, but your life. “Would you like to come in?”
He unbuttoned his jacket, placing his hands in his pockets as he stepped over the threshold with ease.
He maneuvered with a gracefulness you could never hope to possess and you were mesmerized with each movement. He stepped into your space, crowding you and making you realize you hadn’t backed up to give him room. He looked down at you, and your breath hitched at being so close to him.
His smile was knowing and soft, like he was holding something back. As if he had a secret. He took a deep breath, his eyes tracing your neck. “It smells delicious.”
You froze, unsure if you had made a mistake. Still, something in you stirred though, a curiosity that had you wanting to offer him everything.
“Are we having Italian?” He asked with a smirk.
You bit your lip, glad that his teasing broke the tension. “Umm, yea,” you laughed before remembering the oven. “Shit!”
You rushed to the kitchen, Elijah forgotten for a moment as you tried to save the lasagna you had slaved over. You grabbed pot holders, tearing the oven open and pulling out the ceramic dish. In your hurry you lost your grip, and it fell to the floor.
Elijah hadn’t been quick enough to save your grandmother’s recipe, or maybe it wasn’t where his priority had been, but he had rushed in, spinning you away from the scalding hot dish that splattered before you could even process what had happened.
In his movements you had lost your balance, but he steadied you, pulling you into him. You had your hands on his chest. Your gazes locked, his breath mingling with yours as he straightened up, steadying you with ease before releasing his grip on you.
Your hands remained on his chest for a moment longer before you stepped away from him. “Thank you,” you whispered before turning to see the damage. Tomato sauce was all over your kitchen floor, and you were grateful he had saved you from a burn. You should have been upset that you had nothing to offer him for dinner, but you began to laugh. It was soft at first, and he watched you in amusement as it bubbled up, tears building in your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you howled. “But I slaved over this all afternoon...and you don’t even eat.”
He chuckled at that, and you grinned at the sound.
“You’re a vampire, and I know it’s just a myth, but that thing is loaded with garlic. Kind of funny...”
The irony wasn’t lost on him, but he was distracted, taken with how carefree you seemed. Something he was not used to humans being in his presence. You were so alive, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Until recently.
“Perhaps some wine,” he grinned.
The sight was enough to pull you from your fit of giggles, and you knew you’d do almost anything to pull that smile from him again. “Okay,” you agreed. You stooped down, using the pot holders to pick up the dish and dump it in the sink to be dealt with later. “You get the wine, I’ll clean this up,” you opened the closet, pulling out your mop.
He had offered to help, but you insisted, so he dug out a bottle of merlot from your cabinet while you made quick work of cleaning up the sauce.
“Do you have a bottle opener?” He asked, examining the label.
You placed the mop in the corner, it would need to be cleaned out, but it could wait. You glanced over your shoulder. “Second drawer to your right,” you replied as you moved to get wine glasses.
His movements stilled, and when you turned you found him holding the dagger in his hand, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me, Y/N,” he spoke slowly and deliberately. “What exactly did you have planned this evening?”
You moved next to him, pouring the wine and offering a glass to him.
He considered you for a moment, before taking the glass and placing the dagger on the counter between the two of you, the hilt facing you. If you wanted to, you could reach it with ease, and maybe he’d be quick enough, but something in you told you he wouldn’t stop you. Whatever your next move was, he was leaving it entirely up to you.
He sipped his wine in quiet contemplation, waiting for you to make your decision.
You opened the knife drawer, placing the bottle opener back inside. You picked up the dagger, twirling it in your fingers for a moment before placing it back where he had found it. You looked up at him, his head was cocked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Dinner, drinks...pleasant conversation. Of course, that was before I ruined the dinner,” you added.
His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to piece you together. “Perhaps,” he said. “However I believe we’ve remedied the drinks.”
“And the conversation?” You asked. He grinned again, and your heart pounded at the sight. He was achingly beautiful.
“I find conversation is almost always pleasant with you,” he admitted softly.
You took a sip of your wine. “Almost always?” You questioned.
He shrugged, a levity behind his eyes. “I believe you told me to...what was it?” He made a show of pretending to comb through his memories and you winced. “Go fuck myself, was it?”
The curse sounded foreign from his lips, as if something so crude didn’t belong coming from someone so noble, and you couldn’t help but chuckle in embarrassment. “To be fair, you were threatening my friend...”
He nodded, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips. You followed the movement. “Ahh yes, Damon Salvatore,” there was a hint of distaste in his voice, but you didn’t press the issue. After all, the feeling was mutual. “For all of his flaws I can see he cares about you.”
You nodded. “He’s my best friend,” you offered.
“And yet you’re here with me. I assume Damon provided the dagger.”
“He’s just looking out for me.”
He nodded at that, and you wondered if there was a hint of respect there. “He protects those he loves...”
“One of those qualities that keeps me hanging around,” you shrugged.
He took another sip. “Tell me, what is keeping you here with me?”
A heaviness settled between you as you considered your answer. “Gravity,” you breathed. You weren’t sure why you had made that confession, but something about the way he looked at you told you that he could be trusted. That he’d protect you, too. “It’s like every time I try to put some distance between us, I am pulled back in even further,” your voice was a whisper. “What is that?” You blushed, turning away and sipping at your wine.
“Gravity,” he repeated as though trying it on.
Your eyes shot to his again, and you found yourself inching closer in a trance. You were pulled out of the moment when your stomach rumbled loudly. Your face flushed. “Sorry,” you chuckled.
He straightened his posture, leaving space between you once more. “Let’s find you something to eat, shall we?”
You beamed as he took off his suit jacket, rolling up his sleeves and getting to work, rifling through your fridge. He ignored your protests, insisting that in all of his years he has managed to learn a thing or two, and that you had already slaved over one dinner. Now it was his turn. So you did as he said, and sat at the island, watching him work.
He asked you about your family, and you told him about your hometown. How moving to Mystic Falls hadn’t been so bad. You laughed as you told him about your siblings and the time you had gotten grounded for stealing your parents car. You told him how your mother had taught you magic, and how it had come from her mother before her.
As you ate he shared about the places he had traveled, how his time in New Orleans had felt the most like home and he’d like to return someday. He promised to take you to Paris, and told you how he had missed his baby sister.
And suddenly you realized that this Original that everyone had feared, this legend, was still just a man somehow. A man with regrets and dreams. A man who has suffered great loss throughout lifetimes, and your heart swelled. You got the sense as he talked that he saw himself as a monster, and it broke you inside a little. You suddenly couldn’t reconcile the monster he saw with the man you were getting to know. You only saw Elijah.
Maybe it was that realization, or the wine. Perhaps a combination of the two, but as he stood to clear your plate, you placed your hand on his wrist. He paused and you stood, moving into him. Slowly you inched closer, your eyes searching his for any signal that you may be unwelcome before they fluttered shut. You placed your lips against his delicately. His lips were soft and he stilled, breathing you in.
The kiss was brief, but you remained close, your faces almost touching and your breaths mingling before you pulled back and smiled. “Gravity,” you whispered.
When he didn’t respond you pulled away, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I just...”
His hand on your elbow cut you off, and he spun you back into his chest, his other hand brushing the hair from your face. His eyes searched yours. “Y/N,” he whispered. “I haven’t felt this alive in centuries,” he admitted softly.
You fisted your hands in his shirt, your body pleading for him to move.
As with all things Elijah (you had come to learn over the last few weeks) he was deliberate and controlled. He leaned in slowly, tasting your lips once more, and pulling a soft hum from you. He pulled back to look at you, his secret smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Gravity,” he said again.
And then he was moving, his lips crashing into yours, all hints of carefulness dissipated as his tongue begged for entrance. You opened to him, and he kissed you greedily, the taste of wine on his tongue. His hands traced your curves, and you were surprised when you found yourself pressed to the wall in your living room. His strength excited you, and you noted his restraint. You hitched a leg up, and he held it up, wrapping it around himself as he pressed into you.
You moaned, and he released you then, his mouth tracing a path down your neck. Your hands ran through his hair, running down the back of his neck, your fingertips desperately seeking. You traced along his shoulders to his chest, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
You pulled, untucking it from his belt and pushing it down his shoulders, desperate to feel him. Your hands roamed the hard muscle of his chest, but it wasn’t enough.
He pulled away, discarding his shirt before stripping you of your sweater. He took in the sight of your breasts greedily, and you were grateful you thought to wear the black lace bra. He traced his fingers along the edge of the fabric, and you yelped when he suddenly pulled, tearing the scrap of lace from your body.
You would have been annoyed that he had ruined your favorite bra if his mouth hadn’t latched on to your chest, his tongue tracing your nipple. His teeth grazing, dancing the line between pleasure and pain.
You arched your back, your hips searching, and once again he moved you, his hand cradling your head as you found yourself on your back on the couch. He rose up, eager to look at you, take you all in as he hiked your skirt up above your thighs.
His gaze burnt a trail into your skin, the blush rising as he watched you. Still, you didn’t shy away, letting him drink it all in. Your hips rose on their own volition, desperate and searching for purchase.
He clenched his jaw, and he traced his fingers along your panties. You whimpered beneath him, and even as you slammed your eyes shut you could tell he was cataloging the ways you reacted to him.
“Elijah,” you cried, sitting up on your elbows.
He leaned forward, kissing you again, tasting you. He pushed your panties aside his fingers teasing your folds and you cried out. He smiled, and you felt like you were in on his secret now, privy to a piece of himself he didn’t often share.
He swallowed your moans as he worked you, pressing one, then two fingers into you. He groaned at the tightness. His tongue traced your throat and you dug your nails into his back as he used his thumb to work your clit.
You gripped his arm desperately with one hand, the other tangling in his hair - your body tightening as you felt your orgasm building.
“Please,” you begged, reaching for his belt.
He sat up once more, making quick work of his belt and zipper, releasing himself before leaning back down, desperate to be close to you. He pressed into you, and you both groaned at the contact, a wave of relief washing over you both before he began to move.
He hitched your leg up, pressing himself deeper into you and you writhed beneath him. You met every thrust, slamming your eyes shut at the pure ecstasy that was Elijah. He held himself up with one arm, his other hand tracing your throat. You hoped there’d be more of this, that you would have time to give him everything.
He began to thrust harder, and he brought his thumb to your clit once more, rubbing deliciously as he filled you.
He sat up, pulling you with him so you straddled him, his thumb still teasing your clit as you rode him. He buried his face in your chest, kissing every inch of skin he could find. You bounced on him, chasing your orgasm wildly. You rose and rose, feeling like you were floating until suddenly you exploded. You cried out, and he followed you over the edge. He worked you through it, taking in every way you moved as you came.
You came back down softly, Elijah pulling you in, his gravity keeping you in his orbit.
He chuckled quietly against your throat, his voice deep and wrecked. “Does that happen often?”
You opened your eyes to ask him what he meant only to find you had shattered the bulbs in the house, your residual magic released and leaving you in a blackout. You laughed then, the movement quickly rippling into aftershocks of pleasure. “No,” you panted. “Never.” You leaned back to look at him.
Even in the dark you could see his secret smile. “We may need to get you a flashlight,” he teased.
You shook your head. “Mmm,” you hummed. “I’ve got it.” You closed your eyes, concentrating when suddenly all of the candles in the room lit up.
Your eyes met his in the flicker of light, and you leaned down in a languid kiss.
“Gravity,” he growled against your lips.