Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously. Just playing in their world for a while.

Title courtesy of Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud." (For Damon and Elena, it should be changed from "till we're seventy" to "for eternity." :))

This fun bit of fluff (and smut) was requested, I'm ashamed to admit, nearly a year ago when we were all fantasizing about the various ways Damon could take the cure from Elena. Since the show did us dirty on that front-and quite a few others-I suppose it can't hurt to keep imagining those what-if scenarios. :)

Manali, I'm soooo sorry it took me forever to write this. I love the idea, and I hope I did it justice! Maybe this will make up for all the teasing you have to endure. ;) xoxo

Enjoy!

"Damon, you can't carry me forever."

"Says who?"

"Your wife."

She wiggles in a put-me-down sort of way, but he ignores her and tightens his grip. Typical.

"Last I checked, you're wearing an immaculate, white gown that doesn't need to be accessorized with straw wrappers, pieces of toilet paper, and wads of chewed-up gum," he reminds her. "Besides, who wouldn't want to be toted around by their devoted, chivalrous husband."

The emphasis he gives the last word leaves a big, sappy grin on her face. After all the ups and downs—the fights and make-ups, the separations and reunions, the laughter and tears—they finally did it. Tied the knot. Said "I do." Put a ring on it.

The cool metal of Damon's wedding band brushes the inside of her arm, and she shivers, the realization of how lucky they are hitting her with renewed force. They really survived living hell and overcame death itself for the near-impossible chance that, one day, they'd be able to stand in front of their family and friends and promise themselves to each other.

And they did.

And she wouldn't change a single second of the journey, however long and twisted it became.

"Cold?" Damon asks, misinterpreting her shiver.

"No, I'm fine. Shouldn't we be in the terminal by now?"

They left the limo ten minutes ago, and since then, he's just been . . . walking. She knows they're still outside. The faint hum of jet engines and the smell of warm tarmac tell her that much. Thanks to the blindfold he slipped over her eyes before they got out of the car, that's all she knows.

He chuckles. "And deal with a swarm of loud, agitated, annoying people? I think we'll pass."

He's probably tired of being peppered by questions, but her curiosity is at the breaking point. "Then where are we going?"

"Patience, baby," he soothes, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You'll find out soon enough."

She sighs, stroking the rose pinned to his lapel. "I suppose I should enjoy this. You won't be carrying me much when you're human again."

He stiffens, his step faltering slightly. "You think I'm gonna turn into a weakling without my vampire strength?" He sounds mildly offended, and she buries her face in his jacket to hide her smile. "This body you love to cling to existed before I turned. Besides, your dress weighs more than you do. I think I can handle a pint-sized spitfire made mostly out of snark."

"It's too easy to get you riled up," she says with a giggle.

"Mmm. I'll pay you back for that later," he growls. "Our chariot awaits."

Without giving her a chance to guess what the so-called "chariot" might be, he shifts his hold on her and ascends a flight of stairs. The trip is a short one, and she soon feels the softness of carpet beneath her feet as he sets her down. She automatically reaches for the blindfold, but he stops her.

"Not so fast," he purrs. "This might give you a clue."

Something rubs against her lip, leaving a smudge of . . . wetness? Her tongue swipes over the spot, sampling the blend of sweet/tart juice.

"A strawberry?" She opens her mouth, eager for more than just a taste. As he feeds her the berry, the realization of where they are dawns on her. This definitely isn't coach or even business class. "We're on a private—"

He whisks off the blindfold, and she's greeted by the sight of opulent leather seats, a fully-stocked bar complete with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, and, best of all, a bedroom toward the rear of the plane, separated from the rest of the cabin by a door. Hope that sucker's soundproof, she muses. If not, the crew better have earplugs handy.

"—jet?!" she squeaks, glancing at Damon, who's sporting his ever-present smug grin.

"Yep. If you thought I was going to spend hours in a cramped, metal tube, unable to ravish my bride the way she deserves to be ravished, then you don't know me very well, darlin'." He advances on her like the predator he still is and loops an arm around her waist, pulling her snug to his chest. "Besides, you're forgetting that I've heard a fair number of whispered conversations between you and Blondie, and thanks to those, I learned that one of the items on your bedroom bucket list is to join the Mile-High Club."

Oh, god. She blushes to the roots of her perfectly coifed hair, recalling the exact conversation he's referencing. She and Caroline had been hitting the wine a little too hard when the topic of discussion turned to unfulfilled fantasies. The rest, as they say, is history.

"I'm going to miss some of your special vamp skills, but super-sensitive hearing isn't one of them," she grumbles, swatting his arm.

"Hey, don't knock it. When I first explored your delectable body, your heartbeat told me how you liked to be touched and what would guarantee screams of pleasure, especially when you were too blissed out to form the words yourself. Remember that?" he asks, trailing his lips along the shell of her ear and nibbling on the lobe.

"I do." The light scratch of a fang has her tipping her head back, granting him better access. "I'd never felt more alive," she breathes, echoing the beautiful affirmation he gave her that night.

His cheek twitches as he smiles against her skin. "Shall we put my abilities to the test again?"

She strokes his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands at his nape. "Yes. God, yes."

###

Buttons. Dozens and dozens of miniature pearl buttons.

Damon has lost count of the number of villains he's faced in his extended lifetime, but these fucking buttons are the most sinister by far. Still, he's waited long enough for this moment; he's not going to let impatience get the best of him now.

He pops three of them loose, exposing the flawless skin of Elena's back, just above her demi bra. His mouth goes exploring, leaving a trail of kisses from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. She shivers, reaching behind him to cup his neck and hold him to her.

"That feels wonderful," she sighs, "but at this pace, you'll just nicely have my dress undone by the time we land."

"And I thought I was the overeager one," he murmurs between kisses. "Baby, I've had entire dream sequences about how I'd undress you on our wedding night. I'm not gonna ruin those carefully constructed plans for a quick romp in the sack that lasts as long as a yawn. This is the first time I'm going to see mywife bare and spread out on this bed, ready to be worshipped, and I intend to do exactly that," he husks, unfastening another string of buttons.

A tremor runs through her at the word bare. "When you put it that way, I guess I can't complain."

Damon continues to tackle the little pearl menaces, nearly sobbing in relief as the last one slips free beneath his persistent fingers. He eases the dress down her body and helps her step out of the mound of fabric pooled at her feet as if she were some sort of ethereal nymph emerging from a cocoon of ivory silk.

He collects her discarded gown and carefully drapes it over a chair, then returns his attention to his bride, clad only in her bra—which showcases the generous swell of her breasts—garter belt, sheer thigh-high stockings, heels, and the tiny scrap of lace hiding her sex from his view.

Temporarily, of course.

His gums tingle, fangs threatening to punch through again at the sight of her. The beast prowling just below the surface wants to devour, but the man wants to savor.

He stalks toward her, licking his lips in preparation for tasting every inch of her, but a hand pressed to his chest stops his progress. He glances at the manicured nails with their classy French tips and the diamond-plus-wedding-band combo adorning her ring finger. God, how she'd sputtered, wide-eyed, when he sunk to one knee and presented her with the fifteen-carat stunner . . .

"Damon, it's . . . huge. This is too much!" she insisted through the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"That's not what you said last night," he teased.

The ring's nothing compared to his girl. She's the true priceless treasure.

"Mr. Salvatore," she hums, "I'm almost naked and you're fully dressed. Let's remedy this situation."

Without giving him a chance to protest, not that he would—Elena stripping off his clothes? Sign him the fuck up—she unbuttons his suit jacket and pushes it from his shoulders. His black, silk tie is next, and he briefly considers keeping it within reach in case the mood takes a kinky turn, but no, he wants, needs, to feel her hands on him. He gets his wish as his dress shirt flutters to the floor, then she caresses his chest, her lips skimming across his warm skin, placing kisses there as she goes. Her tongue slips out to tease his nipples, watching him intently as he hisses in pleasure, her pupils slowly expanding until barely a sliver of her dark-chocolate irises remains.

"Like that?" she asks, palming the ridge of his erection. He jerks at the contact, and she smiles, latching onto one of his hard nipples and gently tugging at it with her teeth.

"Christ, Elena," he grunts, arching into her ministrations. "You know I do, but if you don't pump the brakes, I'm gonna come in my goddamn pants like some teenager who's about to round third base."

She has the nerve to giggle at that, and he gathers enough willpower to brush her hand away from his aching cock. He walks her backward toward the giant bed—it's not his custom-made nest of hedonistic delights, but it'll do in a pinch—and nudges her with his hip until she tumbles onto the mattress. As he fights with the button on his too-snug slacks, she spreads her legs wide, one hand drifting lazily across her flat belly and lower, to her sex. She rubs her slit through the damp material of her panties, moaning softly, her heavy-lidded gaze never leaving his.

He snarls a curse and nearly rips the zipper clean off in his haste to be rid of the rest of his restricting clothing. In seconds, he's wearing nothing but a look of pure hunger, a growl tearing from his throat as her scent slams into him, making him salivate like one of Pavlov's dogs. He joins her on the bed, pulling her hand from between her legs and kissing each fingertip.

"Don't start without me," he murmurs, pressing his thigh to her core as he shifts closer.

"I can't wait any longer. Want you inside of me." She bites her bottom lip and rocks her hips, trying to generate some much-needed friction, but he easily pins her in place, stilling her movements.

"Not just yet, my little minx," he chides, undoing the clasp on her bra. Her breasts spill free, and he cups the smooth mounds, circling her nipples with his thumbs. "I tell you this every day, and I'll continue to do so until my very last—you're exquisite, Elena. Every inch of you."

Heat surges beneath her skin, shades of pink deepening on her cheeks and chest. "Says the man who could make a Greek god hide his face in shame."

He chuckles as he dips his head, swirling his tongue around one nipple then switching to the other. He carefully runs a fang over the sensitive buds then suckles her while she buries her fingers in his hair, yanking harder on the silky strands with each moan he coaxes from her. He splays a hand over her ribcage, expertly prodding her ticklish spots just enough to elicit a gasp followed by a startled shriek.

"Damon, no—"

Her words fade into a mewl of bliss as he traces the waistband of her thong then picks up where she left off, drawing patterns on the now-sodden lace. He neatly avoids her clit, at least until the grip on his hair becomes mildly painful.

"Need something, wife?" he coos, sliding down her body and dipping his tongue in her navel.

"Touch me," she pleads. "Don't be a tease."

His fingers curl in the flimsy material, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, the elastic snaps. Her eyes widen as he tosses the ruined pair of undies over his shoulder. "Better?"

"Much."

He briefly considers peeling off the rest of her undergarments but ultimately decides against it. He loves the vision of her in just her stockings, garter belt, and heels. She reminds him of the pin-up girls from days gone by, and did he mention how sexy she looks like this?

"So fucking gorgeous," he rasps, spreading her open and admiring her glistening sex. Unable to resist sampling her sweet juices, he licks a path from her slick entrance to her clit. "Mmm. Delicious, as always." He smacks his lips and grins at her like the devil he is, making her blush burn hotter.

"It's all for you," she whispers, slipping a finger past her folds. He's riveted as she strokes herself, slowly pushing deeper then retreating until every part of him—from his fangs to his cock—throbs with need. He's more than ready to take over, but she removes the digit and brings it to his eager mouth instead. He doesn't need to be told what to do from there; he curls his tongue around her finger and licks it clean, collecting every last drop of her essence.

Damon groans as she pulls it from his mouth with a wet pop. "I'm not done here, not by a long shot, but if I'm not buried inside you in the next thirty seconds, I'm gonna lose my mind."

He nudges her legs further apart and settles between them, keen on working her up to a screaming, back-scratching orgasm before giving her a second one, courtesy of his tongue. Right now, however, his dick is so hard it hurts, and there's only one remedy: her. He rubs his thumb over the tip of his shaft, coating it with the pre-come gathered there. Elena reaches for him, grasping his thick cock and guiding him as he enters her one glorious inch at a time. She arches her hips, and he sinks in to the hilt, eyes closing as he basks in the feel of her tight sheath surrounding him.

Being with her—so intimately joined, hearts beating in sync—makes all the suffering and hopelessness from those lonely, miserable years seem like a distant memory. As he starts to move, she tugs him forward until he's hovering above her, bracing his weight on his forearms so he won't smother her. She smooths the crease in his brow, then her mouth finds his, erasing the frown that had taken up residence on his lips.

"Don't think about it," she says quietly, reading his mind in that uncanny way of hers. "It's over, and we survived. We always survive."

Her words are an echo of the past, a reminder of their resilience and how far they've come since those dark days when he used to wonder if she could ever love a monster like him. Those memories dissipate as he deepens the kiss, grinding his pelvic bone against her clit with each thrust. His only focus is the woman clinging to him, crying out his name every time his stiff length massages the patch of nerves that makes her writhe in ecstasy.

Her legs circle his waist, and her stilettos dig into his ass, spurring him on. Her nails bite into his biceps, leaving little half-moon marks on his skin that vanish almost as soon as they appear. "God, Damon," she pants, her breathing ragged. "So close."

"I know, sweetness. Hang on." She does just that as he fucks her harder, mindful not to increase his speed beyond what her human body can handle. She flutters around his cock, her inner walls clamping down on him and sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure coursing through his veins. "That's it," he grunts, his rhythm faltering as the telltale pressure builds at the base of his spine. "Squeeze me again."

His thumb settles on her clit, stroking the taut nub until her thighs begin to tremble, her muscles holding his shaft in a velvety grip. She tilts her head back, exposing her neck, and he's so damn tempted to slide his fangs into her carotid and drink his fill. He knows from experience that his bite will send Elena spiraling into an instant orgasm, but there's a neon sign flashing out a warning in his brain:

The Cure.

There's no doubt he's taking it, but right here, right now? It would be less than ideal to pass out in the middle of making love on their wedding night. Oh, yeah—and while they're rocketing through the sky.

He decides on a compromise and seals his mouth to her throat, sucking and nipping at the tender skin, but not enough to draw blood. Elena spasms underneath him, a shrill scream splitting the air as her release slams into her. It's a good thing he compelled the crew to ignore any suspicious noises coming from the bedroom. With a muffled shout, he follows her over the edge, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he bathes her womb with his seed.

###

Damon props his chin on Elena's hip, smiling smugly as he watches her recover from her world-rocking climax. Her eyes are shut, her chest rising and falling as her breathing gradually returns to normal. Aftershocks ripple through her boneless limbs, making her moan and enticing his twitching dick to rise to the occasion for the second time that evening. She's not ready for round two just yet; he doesn't want her to be sore from jumping into things again too quickly, but there is another option . . .

As the delightful idea takes shape, he shifts his position until he's resting in the cradle of her thighs. He caresses the silky skin of her legs, hitching one over his shoulder while he dusts tender kisses across her abdomen and the top of her mound.

She stirs, whimpering his name as she struggles to lift her heavy lids long enough to look at him. "What are you up to?" she asks, brushing her tousled hair away from her face.

"Just following through on the promise I made earlier," he explains matter-of-factly.

She arches a brow, obviously not putting the pieces together. That changes abruptly when he sticks his tongue out, flicking at her clit with the tip.

"Oh, god." Her head falls back on the pillows, and she reflexively tries to close her legs as he gently laves her oversensitive nub. He grips her thighs and spreads them wider instead, leaving her exposed for the sensual assault he has planned. He breathes in her intoxicating scent then splays her open with his thumbs and blows a puff of warm air on her slick center. "Damon!" she cries, jerking her hips, but he holds her steady.

"I told you I wasn't finished with you," he purrs, licking her slit. "I need dessert after the main meal."

Elena shudders, unable to form words, as he delves in, lapping at her like a kid after a melting ice cream cone on a hot summer day. He spears her with his tongue, tasting himself on her—in her—and the primal, territorial side of him howls in satisfaction. He's marked her as his, and no other man or vampire will ever know her sheer perfection.

He fucks her with the only part of him that hasn't had a thorough workout—yet, anyway—alternating between thrusts of tongue and the suction of his lips as he ensures her throbbing clit gets plenty of attention. The tension in her body grows, muscles contracting and releasing with the first stirrings of an orgasm.

"Holy hell," she squeals, twining her fingers in his hair as she grinds her sex against his enthusiastic mouth. "I'm gonna c-come!"

"Yes, you are," he growls, fangs descending as his hunger for her nears the point of no return. He knows he should slow the pace, reign in his raging libido and his darkest urges, but he's lost in the moment and his wife tastes far too heavenly to stop now. "Let go, Elena. I want your juices dripping from my chin."

As she shatters beneath his ministrations, her loud cries of pleasure fill his ears along with the rush of blood coursing through her body. He can feel the rapid pulse of her femoral artery. It's beckoning him closer, and this time, he can't resist the call. The veins that signal the rise of his true nature snake across his cheeks, and his vision takes on a red cast. All he has to do is turn his head . . .

With one last lick to her clit, he surrenders to blind instinct, sinking his sharp teeth into her inner thigh. She jerks at the brief flare of pain, then he's drawing her rich blood into his mouth, suckling at the wound and sending her into oblivion once more. It's not until a strange lethargy steals over him that he realizes what he's done. When his sight dims and he slumps to the mattress, the dreamy tone of Elena's voice becomes sharp. Panicked.

"Damon!"

###

The sound of waves crashing on the beach and palm leaves rustling in the breeze should be soothing, but Elena isn't relaxed, not one bit, and it all has to do with the man still lying unconscious in the center of the king size bed that dominates the room. Normally, she'd be charmed by the cozy bungalow Damon chose as their love nest for the next three weeks. She'd be admiring the sunset and pulling him toward the ocean for a dip, or maybe he'd be carrying her to the jacuzzi for a shared bubble bath.

Instead, she's stretched out beside her husband—her newly human husband—stroking his inky hair and babbling about their future. Their life together just began. He can't leave her. What if Kai's spell somehow affected the cure's potency? Damon's no longer a vampire; a quick prick of his finger told her that much. This is exactly the kind of cruel trick that maniacal bastard would pull. Now that she's awake, is Damon the one who'll be trapped in a coma for the rest of his days?

They hadn't pinpointed the timing of when he'd take the cure. She assumed it would probably be while they were on their honeymoon, but now she's kicking herself for not paying attention, for not diverting his focus before the desire for her blood became too strong to ignore. Damon isn't used to holding back with her, and why would he be? She loves him—all of him—including the part that isn't quite tame and never will be. By acting on the instincts he honed for over a hundred and seventy years, he may have paid the ultimate price.

"Hey," she murmurs softly, tracing the shell of his ear. "You promised me forever, remember? I won't accept anything less." Her voice hitches as a sob threatens to swallow the rest of her plea. "You're going to be a father someday. There'll be a mini hell-raiser running around with dark hair and the lightest blue eyes, and later on, a second mischief-maker so they can—"

"Keep each other company when we're distracted by other things?" he finishes for her, repeating what she'd said to him before their plans—five-year ones and otherwise—went to shit.

Elena gasps and cups Damon's cheeks, her hands trembling as she waits for him to open his eyes, to prove she's not dreaming. When he lifts his lids, she sees the familiar glint of amusement in those pale depths.

"If you've been playing possum this whole time . . ." She lets the warning hang in the air between them until he chuckles and pulls her in for a kiss.

"Only for a couple minutes," he reveals once their lips part. "I didn't hear anything before the bit about the hell-raiser that has my looks."

She laughs as some of the tension finally leaves her body. Looping her arms around his neck, she hugs him tight, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I'm so glad you're alright. You scared me to death."

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he reassures her, planting a kiss on her temple. "How long was I out?"

"Too long. I had to convince the crew you'd passed out from overindulging with the champagne, then I begged the driver who dropped us off here to help me get you inside."

"Sorry, sweetness. I got carried away. I shouldn't have—"

She presses a finger to his lips, halting his apology. "We were both wrapped up in the moment. There's nothing to be sorry about; I'm fine, you're fine . . ." She studies him closely, looking for any signs that something might be wrong. "You are fine, right?" she asks anxiously, checking his forehead to make sure he's not feverish.

"Absolutely. I'd forgotten what it's like to not thirst for blood every second of every day. I won't miss that, but I will miss the compulsion," he adds ruefully. "That was a handy trick to have."

"You have plenty of other skills that don't involve rewiring people's brains," she says with a smile.

"I do, don't I?" He rolls her onto her back, settling himself between her thighs. "Shall we put them to the test, hmm? Maybe work on creating a little she- or he-devil, or an angelic, brown-eyed brunette?"

His enthusiastic suggestion launches her into a fit of giggles. "Not so fast, mister. I'd like a little more than just nine months of you-and-me time before we add a child to the mix."

He grins and shimmies down her body, stopping to pepper kisses across her stomach. "I can't wait to caress your rounded belly and feel a kick against my palm. Plus, when you're pregnant, I might actually be able to persuade you that pickles are delicious."

"That would be a feat," she agrees, relishing the picture he's painting of the two of them as parents-to-be.

"In the meantime, we can get in lots of practice." He shifts slightly, nudging her with his already stiff cock. "Really perfect our technique."

It's a good thing I packed an industrial-size box of condoms. "I like that plan. Very much."

"Perfection doesn't happen overnight, so we should start right now. What do you say, Mrs. Salvatore?"

His signature seductive gaze burns into her, and she's powerless to deny him.

"I'm all yours, Mr. Salvatore."