A/N: I wrote this story as part of the Damon & Elena Holiday Exchange on livejournal, organized by BadBoysAreBest. I was super-flattered to have been invited, and really hope that you enjoy this story, based on a prompt from cecevolume:

"On Christmas Eve, Damon is left with a present under the tree: Elena wrapped with a pretty bow. Why is she there and how did she get that way?

Bonus points: dark (not sweet) Damon, keep Elena tied, biting!"

Shameless self-promotion: Twitter - SweetWillowTree

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.

There was a pounding somewhere, like quick footsteps, but Elena paid it no mind. She was enjoying her dream, whatever that dream was. She couldn't quite make it out, but she was certain that it did involve cotton candy and Star Trek. Whatever that could mean.

The pounding became a soft thumping, slower now as the sound grew closer, and still, Elena ignored it. There was an odd little alien thing that was about to hand her a flower and -

She woke with a jolt, unable to remember the dream that had had her so occupied a moment before, and unable to remember where she was or how she'd gotten there. She kept her eyes closed as she stretched, noting with a brief stab of fear that her wrists and ankles were bound. Someone stroked her cheek, murmured her name, and she squinted, finally viewing the person crouched before her.

"D-Damon," she stuttered, trying to sit up as he pinned her down with a hand on her shoulder. "What's going on?"

That was a redundant question: She'd figured it out; she knew where she was and what was supposed to happen. But this fear perplexed her; she was with Damon. Damon was safe, right?

His eyebrows rose in response to her question as he slowly glanced along her body. She followed his lead, looking down at herself: she was covered only by two thin scraps of fabric. One, a red, practically transparent bra that was tied together between her breasts by a green bow. The other, matching panties that, again, were tied together at her hips, with the same green ribbon.

She tried to curl up, cover herself. She realized with a stab of intense discomfort that the cords holding her limbs together cut into her skin as she moved. She was trying to alleviate the pressure when he spoke again.

"You tell me what's going on," he answered in a low voice.

"Damon, you have to untie me, and we can figure out who did this."

She held her wrists out to him, her eyes wide, biting her bottom lip. And for a moment, it seemed as though he'd succumbed to her plea. But then his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he groaned, hooking his thumb in the waistband of his jeans, drawing her attention there.

She noted, with a repressed sense of satisfaction, that he was only wearing the pants; his chiseled chest was on full display, rippling with deep breaths. In spite of herself, Elena only bit her lip a little more, overcome by the urge to touch the perfect expanse of skin before her.

No, she thought to herself, Now is not the time.

Her eyes travelled further down, registering the bulge that tightened his jeans over his groin. He wanted her, she'd known that already, but this was different; this was much more overwhelming, and Elena suddenly realized that she may be in a fair bit of danger.

"But Elena," he cooed, allowing a finger to graze her cheek, jaw, collarbone, "Someone went to all the trouble to leave a gift under the tree for me. It would be terribly rude of me to reject it."

Her eyes widened even more. "N-No; D-D-Damon. This isn't – This isn't you, okay? This isn't right. So just... Let me go, and we can talk about this."

He growled, suddenly darting forward to pin her wrists above her head, stretching her out and she felt the skin under the cords tear a little more. Her chest rose and fell with panicked, rapid breath, and she found his eyes drawn there. This wasn't the Damon who had gently carried her out of the hospital, or softly applied first aid to her cheek; no, this was a predator, someone to be frightened of. And in spite of everything she knew about him, she was afraid.

And, she now noticed, holding her thighs together in some semblance of control, that fear was turning her on. A lot.

Damon seemed to notice the same thing. His eyes snapped up to her face and he groaned, smirking.

"I don't think -" he began, "That you want me to untie you."

His warm hand slid slowly down her quivering belly and slipped between her tightly clenched thighs. She was torn between begging him to let her go, and begging him to never stop.

He leaned down, hovering with his lips next to her ear. "I think that this is turning you on."

He pressed on, forcing her legs to open until he was caressing her sex through the flimsy fabric. It took everything Elena had to keep from bucking into his hand in search of the friction that she now so desperately wanted.

"I think that you want it a little rough."

And with that, he slipped his middle finger under the panties and inside of her. Immediately she arched back, a loud gasp escaping her lips, eyes closed tight. But still she kept her thighs held tightly together. She wouldn't give in; she couldn't give in.

"God," he rasped, "Elena you are so -" He thrust his finger out and then back in, and she let out a gasp of pleasure "- Tight, and wet. So ready for me."

"Damon," she breathed. "Damon, not – not like this." Her eyes were still closed, her body still coiled in anticipation, but she knew this wasn't how it should happen. He pulled his hand back, slowly, as she continued speaking. "Just untie me, and we can go upstairs and -"

He released her wrists to suddenly bury his hand in her hair, pulling her head back. She cried out at the sudden pain, her eyes popping open. She met his icy gaze, and froze: He looked furious.

She knew it wasn't just her resistance in the moment that was enraging him; she knew she deserved much of his wrath. She had promised him that she would spend Christmas with him, and then promptly disappeared for weeks when he'd said something she hadn't liked. She had coerced him into setting up the tree she was currently under, practically forced him to decorate the mansion for the holiday season. And he had done it all, grudgingly.

She had known the impression she was giving; though their relationship was constantly changing, deepening, intensifying, she had never spent a holiday just with him. And she knew that, despite his complaining, he had been looking forward to it.

And then she'd broken him. Again.

"Why are you lying, Elena?" he asked menacingly, bringing her back to earth. He brought his finger to her lips, the finger that had just teased her so perfectly. "Taste it;" he ordered. "Taste how much you want this, want me, just like this."

She could feel her eyes widen as she pressed her lips together in defiance. With a growl, Damon pulled her hair again. She opened her mouth to scream, and he took the opportunity to slide his finger past her lips. Her mouth snapped closed around the digit, and she instinctively ran her tongue along it. The taste of herself on him was doing wicked things to her, and she closed her eyes, sucking on his finger and lightly raking her teeth over the skin.

Suddenly he pulled his hand back again, and she let out a mewl of disappointment before remembering that she wasn't supposed to be enjoying this, and glaring at him.

"Get up," he breathed.

"I can't," she snapped in response. "I'm all tied up, in case you forgot."

"Oh," he cocked an eyebrow at her sudden change in mood. "So are we finished pretending that this isn't good for you too?"

"No," she hissed, rolling onto her shoulder and pushing herself up to her knees. Her voice softened. "You know that this is wrong, Damon. You aren't this man; be better than this, please."

"Right," he answered slowly. "See, it's easier to be the better man when the only person I'm doing that for isn't tied up, naked, in my living room."

As he spoke, his anger seemed to rise again, and Elena felt the answering trembling in her limbs, a dangerous mixture of fear, curiosity, and arousal. He got to his feet, still gripping her hair tightly, and for a moment, she didn't think even he knew what to do. Then he huffed, an angry sort of sound.

"Do you know what it's like, Elena -" he began, pulling her forward as he stormed across the room. She felt the cord cutting into her ankles now too. "To feel this thing between us, every minute of every day, and know that you feel it too, that you want it too -"

He came to a stop in front of an armchair, and turned to face her. She'd reached up to wrap her fingers around the hand embedded in her hair, nails digging in. Her knees were burning from being dragged along the carpet, her scalp was throbbing, her wrists and ankles were bleeding, and her face was contorted in pain, but her eyes shone with her continued resistance.

"But that you won't ever follow through on it, because of some misplaced sense of loyalty to my worthless, helpless, lying excuse of a brother!"

Stefan, she thought, though she wouldn't dare say the name. It always comes back to Stefan.

"Damon," she whimpered. "Please... You're hurting me."

Slowly, he released her, so that she slumped a little bit, but still kept her eyes on him. They were silent, eyeing each other, sizing each other up.

"Where did you go, the past few weeks?" he asked quietly.

"I've been around," she answered, equally quietly.

"'Around?'" he drawled in disbelief. "'Around?' Elena, this town is the size of a postage stamp; if you'd been around I would have seen you around. Where were you?"

She clenched her jaw, unwilling to say anything that might anger him again.

"Were you off looking for him again?"

Still silence.

"Well if you won't tell me the truth about that, tell me how long you've wanted me."

She reared back a little at the change of subject. "I don't -"

Damon interrupted her with an incoherent growl, pinching the bridge of his nose in repressed rage. "I swear to God, Elena, if you lie again, I will snap your pretty little neck."

She swallowed hard, looking down at the floor between his feet, her mind racing with possible answers. She was certain that he wouldn't kill her, even if she denied him again. But there was no telling what he would do, especially in this state of mind. She licked her lips, and slowly met his gaze again.

"Since the day we met."

She had spoken so quietly, even she hadn't heard herself. But he did; his jaw ticked, but he didn't say anything for a long moment.

"What?" he breathed.

She frowned, her voice hardening. "Since the day we fucking met. Since you opened the door, told me you were a fatalist, kissed my hand. You had me at fucking hello, Damon, but you know what?" She sat up a little straighter, smirking. "I could never stoop low enough to be used by an asshole like you."

Oddly enough, her words, meant to hurt, seemed to have the opposite effect; Damon returned her smirk and leaned down towards her, blue eyes flashing.

"You're looking pretty low now."

She growled at him, a feral sound low in her throat. She was shaking with indignance and humiliation at his assessment. And worst of all was the wet heat she could feel building between her legs, and the hardening of her nipples against the fabric of her bra. And from his expression, she knew Damon had noticed too.

"I'll bet," he began, straightening up without breaking eye contact, "That you've always wondered what I would taste like." She squirmed a little as she realized where he was headed. "What it would be like to have me in your mouth, coming down your throat."

True as that may have been, this was nothing like what she'd ever imagined. She shook her head stiffly, her eyes widening in a silent plea.

"Stop lying," he spat, his fists clenching and unclenching. "You want me; you just admitted it. So now, you get to do something about it." He grinned malevolently, but she shuddered. "Take off my pants," he ordered.

"But my hands -"

"You're a smart girl," he stated condescendingly, "I'm sure you can figure it out."

At his tone of voice, her eyes hardened again, and she glared as she unbuttoned his jeans, only looking down once she pulled them down his hips. His erection sprang free, his pants hit the ground, and Elena swallowed hard.

"Please Damon," she tried once again, her voice softer. "We can still do this right -"

She broke off, fighting against the restraints.

"I think," he began in a low voice, "That we should just play the hand that fate has dealt us."

She looked at his swollen member once more, then met his eyes again, shaking her head.

"I can't do it," she choked out.

"Excuse me?" he growled, cocking an eyebrow.

"I – You're too big, and I can't -"

"Elena," he stroked her hair affectionately, and this time, she didn't pull away. "You were a cheerleader in small-town Virginia. Now, you may act all sweet and innocent, but I know how these stereotypes work, and I'm pretty sure you've had your fair share of experience, if you know what I mean."

She did know what he meant. The next instant she'd turned a deep shade of red, a frown marring her smooth forehead.

"You're disgusting," she hissed.

He sent her a pointed glare, which she met with one last pleading look. And then her shoulders drooped and she gave in.

She could feel his eyes on her as she moved forward, wrapping both hands around his base and pumping slowly. She pressed her lips to his tip, then took his head in her mouth, swirling her tongue around. He let out a gasp of pleasure, gripping her shoulder with one hand, and her hair with the other.

She sighed as she found her rhythm, stroking him with her tongue and sliding her lips along his length. She moaned, taking him deeper and deeper. She hadn't been lying; he was bigger than any other boy she'd been with. She released him, smacking her lips, only to take him in deeper once more.

He groaned as he sank down into the armchair, his head tilted back, muttering nonsensical things. His hips bucked and he hit the back of her throat. She forced herself to relax, humming when she finally fit his entire length into her mouth.

"Fuck! Elena! You're so good..." he gasped, holding her head with both hands now.

She smiled, oddly proud. His hips were jutting forward more and more, and every time he hit the back of her throat, she squealed a little; whether in satisfaction or discomfort, she didn't know anymore.

He pried his eyes open and looked down at her. She could feel all of his muscles tightening, so she redoubled her efforts, squeezing his upper thighs as best she could.

"So close," he whispered, his eyes shut again. "God, Elena, I lo-"

She dug her nails into his thighs, and he let out a strangled yell, spilling himself down her throat. She swallowed convulsively, stroking his punctured thighs from habit.

"Elena," he moaned when she sank back onto her heels, "That was -"

"Shut up," she bit off, wiping her lips with the back of one, now slightly numb, hand. "Untie me now," she ordered, holding out her wrists without meeting his eyes.

She heard him chuckle darkly, and then he grasped her chin and forced her to look up at him.

"We aren't even close to finished yet."

Elena's stomach twisted in anticipation and her lips parted, though she tried to suppress it.

"What do you mean?" she asked, breathlessly.

He looked over her shoulder then back to her again. She turned, searching the spot that he'd found, and then she whipped back around, an outraged expression on her face.

"Don't you dare," she rasped, fighting down the blooming anxiety.

"Stop me," he taunted back, standing up and kicking his pants away from his ankles.

He tugged on her arms, hauling her to her feet so she was pressed against him, skin on skin. Their lips were only an inch apart, and she could feel him breathing her in. Just a little tilt of the head, and she could taste his kiss. His eyes searched hers for something she wasn't sure she wanted him to know.

Then his expression changed; his eyes froze over, and he was walking her backwards toward the wall. She'd seen a hook hanging from the ceiling, presumably for a planter, and she sincerely hoping that he wasn't thinking what she thought he was.

But sure enough, when she was underneath the chain, he raised her arms up.

"It won't hold me," she pointed out, looking up at where their hands met.

"Sure it will," he grunted, lifting her onto her tiptoes to slip her bindings onto the hook. "I've hung St-" She looked at him, hard, and he clamped his mouth shut, took a deep breath, and then continued. "I've hung my brother from this thing a few times, you'll be fine."

Their eyes met again and the atmosphere grew heavy. Elena felt vulnerable, unable to cover herself, unable to move. Damon's demeanour had changed; he was softer now, gentler. His fingers skimmed along the skin of her arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He moved closer so she could feel his warm breath on her neck, his cold fingertips dancing past her breasts to graze her ribs, waist, coming to rest on her hips.

"What do you want?" he asked her, lips pressed to her ear.

"Let me go."

She heard him snicker softly, his hands gripping her hips.

"What do you want?"

"Please Damon!" she called out, twisting and turning, desperate now that the panic had subsided. "Please, just let me go!" She met his eyes and smiled a little. "We could go upstairs, do this right, in your bed."

His hands moved around so they were splayed across her back, rubbing patterns into her spine.

"Are you afraid someone will come in?" His eyes were oddly clear, making him seem terribly vulnerable. She bit her lip and nodded, figuring it to be as good a reason as any to get free. But then Damon's eyes darkened, and his hands tightened on her torso. "Are you afraid he'll come in?"

"I don't care about your brother," she assured him, trying to calm him down. She tugged on the chain again, harder this time, until pain shot through her shoulders, and she cried out. "Damon please!"

His hands moved up to her aching muscles, kneading them, and she found herself relaxing into his touch.

"Please," she tried one last time.

His only response was to press his lips to the pulse point in her neck, then down lower along her collarbone. He continued kissing down to the valley between her breasts.

"I think," he murmured into her skin, and she let out an involuntary sigh, "That it's time for me to unwrap my present..."

She noticed, then, that his hands were shaking. Slowly, he tugged on the ends of the ribbon holding her bra together. The bow fell apart and he dropped the sheer fabric to the floor, cupping both of her breasts and running a thumb over each nipple. Elena gasped, and he smirked, chancing a glance up at her before dipping his head down to pull one pebbled nub between his teeth.

"Ah! Damon!" she whispered. "Damon, please..."

"Save your breath;" he murmured, moving over to suckle her other nipple. "I'm not letting you go until you beg for me."

"I'll never beg for you," she assured him.

"Well then," he pulled away from her and dropped to his knees. "I guess I'm never letting you go."

Before she had a chance to retort, he lifted her legs, bending her knees so he could slide his shoulders under her thighs, dropping her bound ankles behind his neck. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her clit through her panties, and her hips bucked. She could feel him smirk and chuckle.

"You know, for someone who keeps asking for this to stop, you are incredibly wet right now."

"For the record," she began when he started untying the bows at her hips, "I didn't ask you to stop; I asked for a change of venue."

They both froze at her admission, but before she could take it back, he had her panties peeled off and his tongue inside of her.

"Ohmgah – Damon!"

She was outright swinging on her chain, twisting with the sensations stampeding through her. His free hand was across her lower back, holding her in place as she squirmed.

"Good?" he rumbled into her core before replacing his tongue with two fingers.

"Ah! Ah!" She twisted her wrists to grip the chain when he pulled her clit between his teeth. "Mm... Okay, yes, that's good!"

"What do you want?" he asked her yet again.

She clamped her mouth shut, forcing herself into silence when all she wanted to do was scream his name over and over. He took it as a challenge, thrusting his fingers in and out faster and faster, quirking his fingers to hit a different angle every time.

She could feel every move he made, no matter how infinitesimal: His eyelashes fluttering against the soft skin of her stomach, his fingertips drawing along her tailbone, his breath coming faster and harder. For her part, Elena had her head thrown back in reluctant ecstasy, tears escaping from the corners of her tightly closed eyes, mouth open in one long, silent scream.

Until Damon added a third finger, and it became one long loud scream. It only took a few moments for her to find her release after that. He used both hands to hold her hips still while his tongue slowly lapped at her.

"Stop," she breathed, "I can't -"

"Yes you can," he said, continuing his ministrations. "I won't stop; not until you -"

She knew what he was going to say, and she knew he wasn't lying. He would keep going, pushing her, over and over, until she passed out from exhaustion. And when she woke, he'd restart.

And really, that didn't sound so bad... But suddenly, she realized...

"Please Damon! I want you! Take me; have me! I want you inside of me!"

Later on, she would regret not seeing the look in his eyes when she gave in. Faster than she could see, he'd released her ankles, risen to his feet and wrapped her legs around his waist. And just as she registered his eyes level with hers, he was inside of her, hard and fast. She cried out at the penetration, her eyes wide. He grinned at her, pulled back, pumped back in, one hand holding her hips in place, the other tunnelled into her hair.

He set a fast pace, pounding into her without relief. She screamed louder with each thrust, her head thrown back, relishing in the feel of his breath hot on her neck.

"Yes Damon! Just like this!"

"Is this how he does it?"

"Ahhh – No! He treated me like glass; like I would break."

He slowed for a moment, and she tipped her head forward to meet his eyes.

"Will you break?" he asked earnestly.


"That's my girl," he said, his voice so low she could taste the words.

He resumed his earlier pace, but their gazes held. Finally, his lips approached hers and she fell into his kiss. There was nothing gentle or romantic; it was hard and rough. He bit down on her lower lip and pulled. When she moaned, he soothed the spot with his tongue, then slid the wet muscle against hers. She had never had a more erotic kiss in her life.

The cords that bound her wrists were cutting into her skin as she tried to find something to hold onto, but the pain only added to the overwhelming pleasure. She couldn't feel her legs anymore, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was Damon moving inside of her, and the feel of his lips against her own.

Her over-stimulated walls were throbbing, clutching at his cock and drawing him in. He was pushing her higher and higher and she was so close...

"Damon," she murmured. "I'm almost -"

"Sh..." He kissed down from her lips to her cheek, along her jaw and neck, back to her pulse point. "One more thing... I'm going to make your world explode."

And before she could so much as moan, he struck, sliding his fangs into her with a precision born of over a century of practice. He sucked at the wound a little, and she was gone, launched into a universe where everything was Damon, and nothing hurt.

She felt him stiffen inside of her, felt him throb and shoot his seed deep into her womb. She felt him slow and slow and stop, the two of them intertwined and still.

Elena was still flying high when she felt Damon reach up and snap the cords at her wrists. She fell forward into his arms and he stumbled back, carrying her to the couch and covering her with a blanket. When she felt him pull away from her, she reached out to grab his arm.

"Where are you going?" she asked, forcing her eyes to open.

He smiled softly at her and pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead. "Just going to get you something to drink; you're tired."

She shook her head petulantly, opening her arms for him to join her. "Hold me," she demanded.

He obeyed, stretching out on the couch and gathering her against his chest. When he spotted her cut wrists, he took them, kissing and blowing over the wounded skin.

"Is that what you wanted?" he muttered into her hair. "When you asked me a few weeks ago... Is that what you wanted me to do? Or did I go too far...?"

"No," she sighed, shaking her head again. "If you went too far, I would have used the safe word." She snorted softly, looking up at him. "You almost said it though; you got partway through saying his name."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I almost lost it a few times."

"Anyways, it was the best Christmas present ever," she reassured him. "I know you were mad when I suggested it, but you seemed to enjoy yourself," she teased.

"Well, not letting me touch you for three weeks helped with the anger part."

She curled closer to him, her limbs tangled with his. "I love you," she whispered sleepily.

He kissed her forehead softly and stroked her hair. "I love you too."

And in the shadow of the Christmas tree, they drifted off together.