(A/N: Written for a comment ficathon at LJ. Katherine always knows how to get inside Damon's head. Prompt: Damon/Katherine - wanted it to be real.)


Want

She found him nursing his metaphorical wounds with drink. Typical Damon.

"You know," Katherine drawled, "the way you moon over Elena. It's pretty pathetic."

He rolled his eyes, not even looking at her. "Thank you for your opinion."

That was way too much of an 'I'm so over you' response. He thought he was wise to her games, unaffected. They'd see about that.

She sauntered over, snatching away his glass so that he was forced to look at her. "Well, instead of mooning or whatever it is that you do, how about we turn this into something more fun. I'm wearing Elena's clothes, I've straightened my hair. I can give you the whole doe-eyed Elena experience."

There was a pause while she let him take in the fact that she was indeed wearing Elena's clothes. And make-up, and perfume. She had the girl-next-door look down pat.

"You'd pretend to be Elena, for me?" He snorted. "Like you ever do anything for anyone but yourself."

She slid into the seat next to him, making sure to invade his personal space, and gave him a wicked little smile. "Who says I wouldn't get anything out of it?"

"I do. Because you're not."

"I know that you want her."

"You have no idea what I want."

"Then tell me." She turned suddenly Elena on him, her eyes going soft and concerned, her hand gently clasping his arm. "It's all right, Damon, you can tell me."

Something in his expression flickered, even while his voice remained hard. "What I want, Katherine, is for you to get back inside that tomb and rot."

"Let Katherine rot in the tomb. She never loved you. She never cared. But you and I, Damon, what we have - it's real." She was inching closer and closer to him as she spoke, and she lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. "That's what you want, isn't it? Just to be loved back..."

"But you don't," he said, and it wasn't clear who he was replying to.

"But I could."

The tension in his body was palpable, but he didn't turn away from her. Their lips almost touched, and then she saw him close his eyes and lean in, losing himself in the moment. She felt the ghost of Elena's name against her lips, captured it, and kissed him back with abandon. Their kiss was a lie, a twisted mess of hopeless desire on his part and gleeful triumph on hers. Her poor, sweet Damon, all tangled up in the Petrova web. He had his hands in her hair and her (Elena's) scent on his body, and his breath hitched with every touch.

Little boy Damon. How easily she could draw him out.

When she pulled away, she was instantly Katherine again. "See, Damon. I know exactly what you want."