Walking after Midnight

Summary: She didn't know why she did it. Why she continued to do it night after night. She loved Stefan, right? Had loved him from almost the first moment she had laid eyes on him. Had loved him through the terrible revelation that he was a vampire. Had loved him through countless trials and tragedies.

Why then, did every night she sneak into Damon Salvatore's bed?

Rating: NC-17 all the way baby. That's how I roll.

Disclaimer: The usual.

Chapter 1

She supposed she'd done it for comfort at first. Stefan was gone, dead for all she knew, and if not dead then something worse had happened to him at the hands of Klaus. Padding quietly from Stefan's room she cracked the door to Damon's. She wasn't sure why she was trying to be so quiet, he was a vampire, of course he'd hear her. So the creeping was done partly to convince herself that what she was doing wasn't really happening and partly to send a clear message to him. One that said, say nothing. No greetings, no snide or snippy comments. Just be silent.

She approached the bed and observed him sleeping. Whether he was or not didn't matter, he was quiet and still and pretending she wasn't there. She slipped her robe off and slid soundlessly under the crisp white sheets. As before, as soon as she pressed herself against him he would wrap his arms around her and hold her so tightly she wasn't sure if she'd be able to breathe. Her arms snaked under and over him and pulled him even closer. The moment their bodies touched goosebumps broke out on her arms and legs and she rubbed herself against him as if she were trying to warm herself from a chill. But it had less to do with temperature and more to do with what happened to her every time he touched her.

He rolled her on top of him and poised himself at her entrance. That was the thing about Damon Salvatore. He always seemed to know what she needed. Some nights, like tonight, there was very little foreplay, just him inside her, filling her up, the two of them rocking together almost oblivious to anything other than the sound and feel of their bodies meeting. Other times he feasted on her for hours, exploring every inch of her, multiple upon multiple orgasms leaving her limp and pliant in his arms.

If it was any other man, tonight had all the appearances of being a quickie. Damon, though, had the staying power of a rutting bull. As he slid into her, inching slowly through her tight walls, she thought again of Stefan and the shameful comparisons she was always making between the two of them. Damon was bigger, but Stefan was more tender. Stefan always took it slow. He understood she was only a 17-year-old inexperienced girl, one who needed tenderness and coaxing. With Damon, it wasn't even an issue. She knew once he sheathed himself fully within her she was in for another wild, thrilling ride. He never took it easy on her, never asked her if anything hurt or if she was comfortable trying anything new. He just did it. And after the whole of the summer he knew her limits without asking, knew her body better than she did herself.

The only time he took it slowly was now, as he rose up into her, the walls of her sex closing around him. It was the only time she allowed herself to look him in the eye. It was the only time she saw the love he had for her coming through. At some point he must have decided it was too hard to make love to her all night and accept her coldness in the morning because once he was fully inside her his gaze would avert, taking in her shoulder or looking to where their two bodies met. But for one brief moment his eyes shone right into hers, the reflection boring deep down inside her to place that hadn't been touched in a long time. She knew her expression was guarded, as it always was. He never expected anything more, she knew, but it saddened her that this amazing man was once again throwing himself against the rocks of unrequited love.

His hands slid down her hips to the globes of her ass and as he hit her womb his hands molded her to him, holding her there for a moment before pulling out and plunging in again.

Her eyes fell shut and she moaned, arching her back, grinding into him. When she opened them again she saw his were shut, his head thrown back, pain and ecstasy painted on his face. How hard this must be for him, she thought. It was always at this moment she wanted to flee, as she could clearly see the damage she was causing both of them.

But then he would pull out and slam back into her again and she would be lost.

Like right now, she thought, feeling him pull out like a strong tide before crashing back into her. Her hands skated along his chest to his shoulders, rounding her palms over them, loving the power she felt pulsing beneath her fingertips. He pulled her to him for a deep drugging kiss that left them both breathless. She had tried, in the beginning of this tragic not-love, not-affair, to not kiss him. To keep that one thing Stefan's. But Damon wasn't having any of that. Once he figured out her grand plan of avoidance and evasion, all he ever did was kiss her, bruising her mouth with his stronger one, each time making her submit and admit his hold over her.

His hands wove themselves in her hair. He held her to him as he fucked her hard and steady, his mouth never leaving hers. She was so wet, always so wet for him. It was like Pavlov's dog, all he had to do was walk in a room and she felt herself swell and grow damp.

One hand cupped a breast gently, pebbling the tiny nipple. She arched into his hand and he pinched her hard, making her gasp and grind against him harder. This was textbook Damon, one moment gentle, the next rough. His other hand found its way to the other breast and he kneaded both, keeping time with their thrusts together. His tongue plundered her mouth barely letting her draw a breath. The effect left her light-headed and dizzy. He took advantage of her momentary unsteadiness and flipped them over drawing her legs around his waist as he thrust steadily into her. He was never in a hurry as if his pleasure was not his own to seek, but hers only.

She felt the first wave of orgasm build; slow and sure-footed like his thrusts into her body. He felt her spasm and slammed into her harder and faster, forcing her onto a higher and higher plane before he latched his mouth onto a nipple and sucked hard. She cried out, grew stiff then felt herself free-fall and melt into his body, once again undulating with him, both in tune with some unheard rhythm.

He waited till she calmed then pulled them to a sitting position, she straddling him. He entered her slowly again, mimicking the first time, but quickly his thrusts became incessant and demanding. She bounced with abandon on his lap, her breasts close to his mouth where he latched onto one then the other, each powerful pull drawing her closer and closer to him. His hands were all over her, but always drawn back to her ass. He couldn't get enough of her ass, always kneading and molding her to his cock as if he was shaping it for his body only.

He snaked a hand between them, his fingertips lightly brushing her clit, working it in rhythmic circles, never quite latching on, driving her crazy with need. Her panting grew heavy as she tried to grind against his hand only to have him resist her each time. She grabbed his head and kissed him hard, plunging her tongue into his mouth to meet his. He flicked her clit harder and she spiraled out of control, wishing once again she could shout his name. Her pussy clenched then gushed onto him. He gasped and renewed his thrusts, she could tell he was close. She expected him to flip them over again but he held her there thrusting into her with increased force until he grabbed her chin and forced her eyes to him. She tried to look away, but he held her tight as he tore them both apart. Lost in his blue-eyed vortex her third orgasm appeared out of the blue and she rode with him through the storm, eyes locked together, clinging to each other as if the two of them were the only two survivors of a terrible calamity . She couldn't tear her eyes from his as she watched him climax, his gaze growing lidded and heavy, all his emotions and passions sweeping his face in one single solitary moment.

After he had filled her up with his come, he held there for a moment, his head moving in to rest in the nook of her shoulder. She was still as well, feeling him still throbbing inside of her. He was still half-hard, it would take nothing for him to begin again, a little shimmy of her hips, a nail raking down his back. All she had to do was move.

But instead, she dislodged herself from his body and stood without looking at him. She put her robe on and left as soundlessly as she had arrived. She could feel him staring at her as she walked out, could almost hear the words that would come out of his mouth if he let himself go.

As soon as she hit Stefan's sheets, the tears and recriminations began and she cried herself to sleep for the umpteenth night in that long, long summer.


A/N: Can't decide if I should take this further, because God knows it's depressing as hell. What do you think? Review and let me know.