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

Ready for some super smutty, post-series-finale fun? ;) Thought so. I can't claim the credit for this amazing headcanon; that honor goes to my kinky sis. Happy Birthday, Kyle! It's *your* day, and you deserve as much hot-and-heavy DE as your heart desires. I hope this does your brilliant idea justice. xoxo

Review? Pretty please? :)

Enjoy!

"Remind me why we're doing this again?"

On any other day, Damon might not care, but today's not that day. Sure, the sun is shining and birds are singing (probably; he can't hear shit between the roar of the engine, the wind whipping through the open windows, and the chorus of "Sweet Home Alabama" Elena's hollering, which is cute but loud). Problem is—there are several, actually—his skin is on fire, radiating doused-in-vervain levels of pain thanks to the sunburn stretching from his neck to his lower back. Thank fuck he wasn't naked; his balls would look like dried apricots. It's safe to say his human self is still adjusting after being out of the game for over a century and a half.

Second issue is the knockout riding shotgun. Elena's string bikini and Daisy Dukes aren't helping his below-the-belt situation, and they don't have time to pull over for a quickie. Figures.

Elena turns down the radio and scoops a wild hank of hair out of her face, anchoring it in place with her sunglasses. "Because we promised Caroline we'd check in before we fly out tomorrow."

He's honestly surprised she heard him over the racket. "Can't we just call her from the road and tell her we're running late so we won't make it? I'm excellent at creating diversions."

"I'm aware."

The heat in her cheeks puffs him up with pride. Which of their sexcapades is she remembering? The elevator in Vegas? The pool table in Baton Rouge? The rooftop last night in Miami? So many choices.

"Babe, there's a nude beach in the south of France with our names on it. We can catch up when we get back. I'll even buy Care Bear a keychain or a frou-frou purse or something," he tries. Their three-month road trip through the States has been a blast, but he's itching for their next adventure and a change of scenery. Change of country, too.

"The beach will still be there. Plus, if you catch anymore rays, you're going to start glowing."

Okay, so she kind of has a point. A small one.

"Fine," he sighs in the overly dramatic way that usually earns him a punch on the arm—yep, there it is—"you win. Mystic Falls, here we come. The Lone Ranger better not give me a fucking speeding ticket."

"Damon."

"My bad. Sheriff Donnelly. Er, Dollophead. Dingbat. Donovan! Knew I'd get it eventually."

The next slap lands dangerously close to his sunburned shoulder. Note to self: can the Matt jokes. For a week. Maybe.

###

The boardinghouse is different, and not in the oh-hey-look-what-you've-done-with-the-place sense. It's crawling with kids, from pint-sized glitter monsters and paste-eaters to the broody, eyelinered teen squad. He's only been back once before, for the dedication. It's still weird to have children running around his former den of iniquity, and not just any children.

Supernaturally enhanced children.

He's not much of a creature of the night fan anymore, considering his shortened shelf life, but he's even itchier surrounded by ten-year-olds who can set you on fire with a sneeze.

Three steps into the foyer and his ears are assaulted by dual screeches that would've sent vampire-him racing for the nearest exit.

"Uncle Damon! Auntie 'Lena!"

Twin bundles of energy in the form of Josie and Lizzie tackle them, and it's a flurry of hugs, kisses, and gifts of abstract crayon artwork until Caroline comes to the rescue.

"Easy, girls. I know you're excited, but they've had a long drive. Let them catch their breath first, okay?"

"Yes, Mommy."

They race off toward what used to be the living room, the site of untold hours of drunken debauchery, and Damon winces. It's a good thing walls can't talk, unless the Hogwarts crew figures out how to make them. Shit.

Blondie hugs Elena then him, grimacing when she notices his reddened skin. "Ouch. Someone had too much fun in the sun. I have aloe upstairs." She hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "Elena, wanna come with?"

Wait, what. "You need to use the buddy system just to go track down a bottle of lotion?"

Caroline rolls her eyes. "It's code for I'd-like-to-talk-to-my-bestie-without-my-brother-in-law-lurking-nearby. You're getting dense in your advanced age."

"Watch it." He attempts to flash fangs he no longer has. "And I don't lurk. Where's Ric?"

"He's in Richmond, but he'll be here for dinner. You guys are joining us, right?"

Elena nods before he can come up with an excuse. He'll get her back for that later.

"He left the castle unguarded? What if Voldemort shows up?"

Caroline bites her cheek, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but Elena snickers. Still got it.

"We'll be back in a bit. Most of the kids are in class, but some of the younger ones have a free period, so try not to terrorize them with your bad jokes," Care warns.

"There go all my plans," he mutters. Oh, well. There has to be a bottle of bourbon stashed around here somewhere, right? That'll do, except he'll have to take it easy since it has a funny habit of getting him sloshed a lot faster than it used to.

He waves at the girls as they scurry away to chat about . . . whatever it is he shouldn't be listening to. Waxing tips? Celeb crushes? Secret fantasies? He should totally be in on that last one.

He wanders into the kitchen, figuring that's about as safe a spot as any, and is on the hunt for one of his beloved decanters of booze when his search is interrupted by whispering. The witchy kind. Phasmatos and whatnot.

Peeking around the corner, he spots the twins holding hands in the pantry, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. As he watches, the lights flare and the hair on his arms stands at attention.

Not good. At. All.

He'd rather sleep on a bed of Legos than interrupt a spell, but Caroline will kill him if anything happens to the girls on his watch.

"Lizzie? Josie?" he calls quietly. "What are you munchkins up to—"

The chanting stops and a blast of energy hits him square in the chest, knocking him backward. He lies in a crumpled heap as the twins screech his name and pat his face with their tiny hands. At least nothing hurts except his stupid sunburn. Maybe the spell was a dud.

The thought barely exits his mind before a strange pressure builds in his head and flows all the way to his toes. He tries to make his mouth work, to tell the girls not to worry, their uncle isn't going to kick it in front of them, but whatever's brewing inside of him pulls the plug, and it's lights out.

###

Damon groans and rolls over, searching for a comfortable spot on the lumpy mattress. What a bizarre dream. Or was it a nightmare? Josie, Lizzie, the pantry, the spell that kicked his ass . . .

A crow caws, and his eyes jerk open. He's sprawled on the ground—that explains the lumps—staring at the underbelly of a tree. And it's raining. What the fuck?

He knows these woods. Intimately. They're the closet hiding his literal skeletons. But what's he doing outside, in the backyard of the boardinghouse? He should be in bed, spooning a half-naked, or better yet, an all-naked, Elena. Where is she anyway?

"Elena?"

He startles the crow from its perch, but everything else remains quiet and motionless. It's just him, the rain drenching his clothes, and the thunder rumbling in the distance. Picking his way through the underbrush, he jogs across the soggy lawn, slips once, trips on the steps of the stone patio, and finally makes it to the back door. After wiping the mud from his jeans, he tries the handle. Unlocked.

Halfway down the hall, he nearly collides with a vamp-speeding Caroline.

"Whoa. Where's the fire?"

"Damon?" She frowns, studying him like a jumbled Rubik's Cube. "What are you doing out here?" Her gaze lands on the shirt clinging to his chest. "And why the hell are you wet?"

"Uh, because it's raining?"

"In the kitchen?"

Okay, this is getting weird. "I'm no expert, but precipitation usually happens"—he cocks his head at the door—"out there."

"But you were just . . ." She grabs his hand and yanks him along behind her. "C'mon."

His skin prickles when they enter the kitchen, and it has nothing to do with his sunburn. This is disturbance-in-the-force type stuff. Another spell?

He spots Elena's windblown hair, now pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. She's crouched beside someone he can't see, using her no-nonsense, soon-to-be-med-student tone. "Are you in pain? Do you have a headache?"

"Oh, my god," Caroline whispers, glancing between him and the person Elena's tending to. "It can't be."

That's it. Enough of the mystery theater. "Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?" he snaps.

His outburst draws Elena's attention, and when their eyes meet, she jumps as if she just touched a live wire.

"Damon?"

"Hey—"

"What?" he interrupts himself.

Wait a second. That's his voice, but he didn't say it. Did he?

There's shuffling on the floor, the squeak of boots seeking traction, then Elena's patient lurches into view.

He rubs his eyes. He must've hit his head hard because there's no way the guy standing next to his girlfriend is his own mirror image.

Another Damon Salvatore.

Not possible.

###

"Are they doppelgängers?"

He groans and so does his . . . clone? God, he hates that damn "D" word.

Elena has them sitting side by side on a pair of stools while she checks their vitals and asks them their birthdate, the make and model of their car, their favorite color, and more personal things, like where they were when she first told them she loved them, and what they promised her that summer they made out like teenagers during a downpour.

Forever.

Their answers always match. Sometimes they even speak in unison, which is creepy as hell.

"I don't think so," Elena murmurs, running her fingers through the clone's hair. Damon pouts, and soon enough, she's stroking his hair, too. "They're not two different people who look alike. They're the same person. Like an original and"—her deep brown eyes settle on him—"a copy."

So he's the clone? No fucking way.

"How do you know I'm the copy?"

"The girls did the spell here, and that's where we found, er, the other you." She pats Mr. Original's knee.

The spell. So it wasn't a dream.

"What were they trying to do?"

Caroline sighs and rubs her temple. "They wanted to make doubles of themselves so they could play while the others went to class and did their homework."

Huh. Smart, but he doesn't need doubles. "How do we fix this?" he growls. He's not playing second fiddle to himself for the rest of his days.

"Ric will be here soon, and Bonnie should be calling back any minute," she explains. "With her help, the girls can reverse the spell."

"Mommy?"

Speak of the munchkins.

"Yes, sweeties?"

"We found another one."

He's afraid to look, but curiosity wins out. Sure enough, there in the doorway, hand in hand with the twins, is another clone. Or copy. Whatever.

Perfect.

###

"Unreal."

"Obviously not," Damon snaps. "Stop looking at me like I'm a fucking science experiment, Ric."

His former drinking buddy steps back and focuses on one of the other hims. "You're really the same, aren't you?"

"Right down to the . . . never mind," Clone Two chimes in, and the three of them snicker while Alaric rolls his eyes.

The extra doses of snark are the only good thing to come out of this clusterfuck.

"Can you feel what the others feel? If I punch him"—Ric gestures to Original Recipe Damon, who's sporting the magical version of a temporary tattoo on his wrist so they can tell him apart from the others—"will it knock all of you out?"

"A, I've seen a better swing on a screen door, so I doubt you could take down one of us, and B, no. We already did the pinch test, and I have the bruises to prove it," he mutters, rubbing his arm. Caroline enjoyed herself a little too much, the sadist.

Ric rolls up his sleeves and cracks his knuckles. "Oh, I don't know about that. Let's give it a shot, just for kicks."

If Alaric wants his ass whipped, who is he to deny him? "Just remember, after I rearrange your face, that this was your idea, professor."

"Bring it, Salvatore."

"Boys!"

Caroline rushes in and waves them apart, glaring at them with her patented pissed-off-mom frown. "We're trying to find a solution and you two, er, four are in here fighting?"

Four? He lost track of his other selves while he was busy taunting Ric, but they're flanking him, fists raised like his, ready to rumble. Must be some kind of a hive mind thing.

"Way to ruin our fun. What's the word from Bon-Bon?" Damon asks casually, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. His extremely handsome backup crew disperses, one settling in a chair while the other lounges on the leather couch.

Ric pats him on the arm. "Sorry. You'd think I'd be used to you pushing my buttons by now. We good?"

He nods. "You owe me a drink."

"Done." Alaric returns to his desk and shuffles through a stack of papers. Responsible Adult Mode reengaged.

Meanwhile, Caroline is fixated on Clone Two as he re-laces his boots.

"Earth to Blondie," Original Damon interrupts while reorganizing Ric's ridiculous collection of throw pillows so he can stretch out on the couch. "Can we fix this, or am I doomed to a life of tripletdom?"

She startles at the sound of his voice. "Uh, yeah. The good news is the girls can undo the spell."

"And the bad news?" he asks. I'm not referring to myself as Clone One, dammit.

"Bonnie needs to iron out a few kinks in the incantation, so it won't be ready until tomorrow."

"Better be early." If they miss their flight because of this nonsense, he's going to lose it. "What are we supposed to do until then? I can't just wander around with my minions in tow."

O. D. bristles. "Don't you mean my minions?"

What a circus. He considers chucking one of Alaric's insanely heavy tomes at the smug bastard, but then Elena steps into the office. Three sets of pale blue eyes immediately focus on her.

Her gaze skips around the room, landing on each of them in turn. "We should, um, probably get going."

Going? Where? All of them? How?

As he plays Twenty Questions with himself, Caroline's smile at seeing her best friend transforms into a pout that would make her daughters proud.

"You're leaving already? Before dinner?" she whines. "But I made cheesecake!"

"I wanted to stay, I did, but it's better if I take these guys someplace safe, especially after what Bonnie told us. Raincheck?"

Blondie glances at him and sighs. Hey, it's not like he asked to be magically multiplied. "You're right. Where will you go?"

"The lake house."

A romantic evening after all. He'll lock the other two in a spare room, then he and Elena can . . .

Wait.

"What did Bon-Bon say?"

"She warned me that if you get hurt, or if one of you dies"—Elena swallows thickly, and he follows the bob of her throat, wishing he could put his mouth there—"you all die. The spell didn't just make copies of you; it divvied up your soul."

So, he's only working with a third of a soul?

"Huh."

Elena steps closer and he opens his arms for her, but then she stops and bites her lip, staring guiltily at the other two. O. D. and Clone Two are glaring at him, of course. It's weird as hell, being jealous of yourself.

"You're not worried?" she asks.

"Why would I be? I have my warrior princess to protect me."

"She's not yours—"

"Back off, asshole—"

"And the peanut gallery makes themselves known," he mutters.

Ric bursts into laughter and even Caroline is trying not to crack a smile. Elena, however, is bewildered.

"This is . . . I just . . . we should . . . I'll get the car."

If tonight is ruined because of this fucking spell, he's going to be pissed. Cockblocked by myself? No way. Uh-uh. Not going to happen.

"Well, it's been fun touring Professor Saltzman's Menagerie of Mischief-makers, but that's my cue. Ciao." He nods to Ric, waves at Caroline, and gestures to his groupies. "Come along, Things 1 and 2."

The bitching flares up again, but he ignores it and sets off to find Elena. If they want a fight, they'll have to catch him first.

###

I have multiple boyfriends, and they're equally handsome and amazing in bed. Er, untested theory, but probably.

Elena snickers at her ridiculous thoughts as she scrubs her wet hair with a towel. She and Damon have faced impressive supernatural obstacles in the past, but this is, by far, the strangest. During the car ride, she suffered through his constant arguing with his other selves until her head was spinning. They fought over sleeping arrangements and who should be allowed to kiss her, hold her hand, sit next to her. She ended the discussion by warning them that if they didn't chill out, there wouldn't be any touching, period.

The remainder of the trip was peaceful with the exception of the occasional arm pinch and ear flick. Children. She's stuck with three grown-men-turned-jealous-kids.

As she changes into a fresh cami and a pair of shorts, she listens for signs of a disagreement. She shouldn't have left them downstairs while she showered, but she needed a break from the bickering. Sure enough, there's hollering, cussing, and a loud bang that could be a piece of furniture shattering. Or a body hitting the floor.

"Damon!"

Racing to the kitchen, she discovers a scene straight out of a comedy skit gone wrong. One of the Damons has another pinned to the refrigerator, a fistful of his black tee in his grip. An armchair is toppled on its side, and while she watches, number three staggers to his feet after apparently being pushed over said chair. He advances on the two grappling against the fridge, cranking his arm back to take a swing, and she darts into the melee, catching his wrist before it connects with a jaw.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop it, all of you!"

"Elena," they respond in unison, voices breathy and rough. It reminds her of lazy mornings, hands caressing in the dim light, a meeting of mouths, slow thrusts, ragged moans. A shiver skitters down her spine, and she shelves the between-the-sheets memories for now. She has bigger problems to solve.

She separates them, plucking fingers from fabric and uncurling fists. Once they're out of striking distance, she meets each frustrated, guilty gaze.

"Is anyone hurt?"

There's vague muttering and puffed-up chests and an "I'm fine," but she checks each of them anyway. The one who tangled with the chair has a scrape on his elbow, and the others have a smattering of bruises but no serious injuries.

"What do I have to do to keep you out of trouble?" she sighs.

"I can think of a few things," the Damon closest to her—the one sporting the tattoo on his wrist—rumbles, slipping an arm around her waist.

Oh, god. Talk about a fantasy come to life. "Don't go there," she warns. "The other two would rip you apart."

A second set of hands settle on her hips and warm breath tickles her ear. "What if we all got to play?"

"W-what?" They can't be serious. "You were trying to kill each other five seconds ago."

Another voice chimes in. "Because we couldn't stand the idea of not being with you, but if we're all together"—fingers flirt with the hem of her top, slipping underneath to brush her belly—"there's nothing to be jealous of."

They are serious. "But you can't," she sputters. "Not at the same time. That would be . . ."

"A foursome," Damon—the one now fiddling with the button on her shorts—finishes for her. "Why not? It's still me, just multiplied by three. Imagine a trio of fan-fucking-tastic lovers who know exactly how you liked to be touched, what it takes to make you scream, to get you off," he husks. "Everything goes back to normal tomorrow. It's now or never, sweetness."

Holy hell. Heat spreads across her skin, and she clenches her thighs, her flush burning hotter at the dampness seeping into the scrap of lace beneath her shorts.

"You want this?" she breathes. "You're sure?"

Two heads bob in eager agreement and a "fuck yeah" is growled in her ear from the Damon she can't see. The one grinding his extremely hard cock against her ass.

She palms a nape, buries her fingers in a mop of soft, unruly hair, and trails her toes up a muscled calf. As lips skim the base of her throat and hands mold to her breasts, her final ounce of control evaporates. She's ready for the wildest ride of her life.

"Bedroom. Now."

###

Hands. Mouths.

Everywhere.

Whisking her cami over her head, sucking a hickey onto her neck, shucking her shorts, unclasping her bra, rolling her nipples into stiff buds, stroking her sex through her drenched panties.

Her feet leave the ground as one of them scoops her up and lays her on the bed. The bed she's about to share with three men. Three devastatingly gorgeous men with disheveled hair and intense, pale gazes locked on her as if she's an oasis and they've been lost in the desert for years.

Three men who are really one man. A man she loves to the root of her soul.

There's only one problem.

"You're overdressed," she murmurs.

Seconds later, she's blessed with a trinity of very naked, very aroused Damons. This must be what heaven is like.

They only allow her a moment to ogle before they pile onto the mattress, swarming her. Lips find hers, soft but demanding, and a tongue joins in, coaxing her to open for its invasion. As she loses herself in the kiss, she reaches out to the others, combing her fingers through their hair and tracing the well-defined lines of muscle. The need for air eventually forces them apart, but she only manages to gasp in a breath when another mouth captures hers. At this rate, she'll keel over from oxygen deprivation, but what a way to go.

She could use an extra set of hands. Another mouth, too. She can't keep up with the onslaught, and she doesn't want anyone suffering from a lack of attention. Simultaneously pleasing three men is no easy task, but she's going to give it her all, dammit.

With eyes closed, she explores the bodies around her, aiming for—there—the rigid jut of a cock. She grips the hard length, and the Damon tonguing her nipples groans against her breast. Elena rubs her thumb over the slick head, ready to work him into a frenzy, when she's lifted to her knees. He slips out of her grip, and she whines at the loss.

"Hang on, baby."

The flurry of movement ceases, and she's straddling one of them—or his head, rather. The other two are on each side of her, holding her waist to steady her.

"What are you . . . ohhh."

Damon grins at her from between her splayed thighs, flicking his tongue and teasing her folds. "I've been dying to taste you all day," he purrs, spreading her open and sampling the juices trickling onto his fingers while splotches of pink dot her chest and cheeks.

"Oh, god." Few things are as dangerous as his mouth, even without fangs. He won't stop until she's a screaming, boneless mess. At least there aren't any neighbors near enough to be disturbed by the racket.

He tugs her closer, lapping at her like she's a decadent dessert he's dying to devour. As she rocks her hips, the others join in, lavishing attention on her breasts. While one kneads the soft mounds, his partner in pleasure plucks at her nipples, each touch sending jolts of bliss straight to her core.

Someone cups her bottom, and a finger trails along the crack of her ass, delving between her cheeks. When it gently presses on her puckered entrance, she gasps and jerks at the familiar sensation.

Memories flood her mind—nights of nonstop sex when their inner demons were hell-bent on consuming each other. Teeth sinking into veins and drinking deep, blood and sweat streaking their skin. He fucked her until they were delirious from the ecstasy, pinning her to the bed—or the floor, or the wall, or the dining room table—and claiming every inch of her body.

"Damon," she moans, remembering the first time he took her there. It was the most raw, carnal experience of her vampire existence. Her heightened emotions and sharpened senses led to an orgasm that nearly stripped her of her sanity. She was invincible then. Fearless.

And now . . .

She isn't as agile as her immortal self, but she wants this. She longs for that rush, the thrill of pushing boundaries and embarking on new, erotic adventures. If they're all a part of it—and I thought Damon had a filthy mind—she's not sure she'll survive the overload of sheer bliss.

The tongue worshipping her sex shifts its focus to her clit, and her concentration falters. "Please," she rasps.

"You want me to fuck you here?" Damon slowly pushes the tip of his finger past the tight ring of muscle.

The shiver that wracks her frame is so violent two of them have to support her so she doesn't lose her balance.

"Y-yes. Just go slow."

"Don't worry. I'll be gentle as a kitten," he promises.

"Somehow, I can't picture you doing anything kittenish." Her laugh becomes a cry of delight as lips capture her sensitive nub, suckling and nipping at the bundle of nerves while his finger slips deeper into her ass.

"I'm a grade-A cuddler and you know it," he reminds her, "but we'll get to that later. Right now, you owe us a nice, big"—teeth close around her earlobe—"orgasm."

His mouth returns to her breasts and another latches onto her throat, laving the pulse point there. She tilts her head, offering better access and instinctively holding her breath in preparation for the strike of fangs that will never come. It's an old habit, but Damon loves it and so does she. His blunt, human bite sets her off just the same, and she grinds on the tongue nestled in the valley of her thighs.

"That's it, baby. Come for me," he growls. "For us."

With one last stroke to her clit and pinch of her nipples, she tumbles over the edge, gripping an arm and a fistful of hair to keep from collapsing. When the quivers finally fade, she's greeted by three extremely smug faces, one of which is coated with her juices.

He licks his lips clean of her essence, smacking them in satisfaction. "Delicious. I want more."

She's still floating in a dreamy, post-orgasm haze, all wobbly limbs and foggy brain, so she's content to let them do the rearranging.

It's not the most suave endeavor. Four bodies are a lot harder to coordinate than two. And Damon can't help but antagonize himself. Himselves.

"Move. That's my spot."

"Get your balls out of my face."

"Keep your dick to yourself."

"It's your dick, too, dick."

"Guys, you're killing the mood," she groans.

"Sorry, babe."

When they're finished positioning her, she's straddling one of them again—his hips this time—and there's a bobbing cock prodding her belly. An arm circles her waist from behind, and a second cock brushes her thigh then rubs against the cleft of her ass. She sucks in a sharp breath as their intentions become clear.

Dear. God.

Sure, in her freakiest fantasies, she's conjured up a scenario like this, but to actually indulge in it . . .

"Damon?" she squeaks. "I love your kinky mind, but is this . . . can we . . . can you . . . ?"

"Relax, darlin'," he soothes. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

She craves more than vanilla—always has—and their sex is never less than an eleven on the I-might-be-dying-from-how-amazing-this-feels scale, but this is uncharted territory. Her heart is pounding and her hands are trembling, but there's excitement and desire surging through her veins. She trusts Damon with her life, and she wants to share herself with him in a way she never thought would be possible.

"I want to try."

"That's my girl."

Her giggle turns into a hiss of pleasure as the Damon underneath her teases her slit with the tip of his cock. Guiding him to her entrance, she impales herself on his rock-hard shaft, sinking down to the base inch by glorious inch. Once he's seated inside her, she flexes her muscles, giving him an experimental squeeze. He grits his teeth and pulls her in for a kiss, swallowing the moan that leaves her throat.

A disgruntled sigh disrupts the glide of her tongue against his, and she glances at the Damon hovering beside her, the one who's scowling at the other two. His glare intensifies as cool, slippery digits probe her ass, gently working her open, and she mewls at the intrusion.

Refusing to leave him out of the fun, she crooks a finger at him, beckoning him closer. "C'mere, pouty."

He huffs but shuffles nearer, eyes widening as she catches his cock in a loose grip and steers him toward her parted lips.

"Fuck," he snarls as she takes him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around his thick length. His fingers tangle in her hair, but his grasp is light, allowing her to set the pace.

As she sneaks a hand between his legs to palm his balls, the feeling of fullness in her bottom grows. He's carefully stretching her, preparing her for the final part of their hedonistic trifecta. While she meets the shallow thrust of his digits, she basks in her lovers' tender, calming caresses.

The smooth head of Damon's cock pressing against her opening drags her out of her sensual zen, tension flooding her body. The temporary anxiety spike is quelled when a thumb settles on her clit, stroking her nub into a tight knot. Her muffled squeal draws a chuckle from beneath her.

"Like that, don't you?" he murmurs.

"Uh-huh."

Damon slowly enters her, pausing to let her adjust before sliding deeper. It's incredible, the sensation of having all of them inside her at once, but she's almost unbearably full. She gasps at the twinge of discomfort, dislodging the cock from her mouth.

"You okay, baby?" he asks, worry evident in his voice. "Is it too much?"

She nods. "I'm a little, um, overstuffed."

The one beside her grins. "Can't have that."

Damon retreats a bit, and the odd sensation passes. "Much better," she sighs, her tongue resuming its ministrations on the other's neglected hard-on. As an apology for the interruption, she relaxes her throat, taking him to the hilt.

He shouts her name in surprise as she works him over, hollowing her cheeks with each pull of her greedy mouth. She bobs her head, tongue and lips teasing and tasting in a bid to drive him wild. She loves watching him lose control, like he is now—breaths ragged, lids low, his harsh groans spurring her on. He rolls his hips, sliding across her tongue, and she moves with him, sucking him in deep.

They're not the only ones moving—hands latch onto her waist and lift her up slightly, holding her steady as the two cocks buried inside her tantalize her with shallow thrusts. They alternate strokes, taking turns so it's not overwhelming, and fuck, does it hit all the right buttons. There's no denying it; nothing can compare to this moment: her entire being is drowning in wave after wave of unending pleasure.

One of them strums her clit, matching the rhythm of the cocks pumping into her, and she cries out, struggling not to lose focus before she can coax one (or more) of her lovers into oblivion. She clamps down on their shafts, squeezing them tight, while massaging the other with her throat, swallowing around him until he jerks, losing his finesse.

"Christ, Elena," Damon growls from behind her, panting louder as she clenches her muscles again. "I thought the idea was not to kill us."

She hums happily and wiggles her ass, proud of her ability to reduce him—them—into a state of pure desperation. The one sprawled beneath her, flushed and slick with his sweat and hers, rubs her clit harder, a cocky grin curling his lips as her thighs begin to tremble.

"It's no fun if we come first. I say we give it up"—he tweaks her nub, enjoying her stifled moan—"together."

"Fuck, yes," two gruff voices answer in unison.

They're already teetering on the edge, and with a few determined pulls of her mouth and a series of sloppy but hell-yeah-that's-the-spot thrusts, they surrender to their release, Elena's muted screams of ecstasy competing with the trio's shouts and snarled curses. Three pairs of hips stutter as he fills her with his seed, and she fervently guzzles the hot jets bathing her throat. Once the last drop disappears along with what's left of her strength, she collapses in a heap.

A thoroughly sated heap.

They curl around her protectively in the aftermath, petting her hair, caressing her damp skin, dusting lazy kisses over every part of her they can reach. It's soothing, peaceful.

She wouldn't trade this feeling—or the mind-blowing lovefest they just shared—for the world.

###

Elena wills her eyes to stay open as the twins' soft chanting threatens to lull her to sleep. It's too early to be awake, especially after the night she had. The only rest she managed to get came from brief naps between orgasms, and there were many.

So very many.

The reason for her exhaustion, the three smirking sex gods looking like the cats that got the cream—and they did, repeatedly—eye her proudly as they stand in the circle painted on the floor, waiting for the girls to complete the reversal spell.

"Ugh, you poor thing," Caroline mutters, patting Elena's shoulder in sympathy. "One is bad enough, but three?" she shudders. "I can't even imagine. Maybe you should go to Europe solo. You deserve a break."

"Care!" she scolds, smothering a laugh. Her bestie and her boyfriend might be family now, but they still live to annoy each other. "You're terrible."

"No, I'm truthful. You're exhausted because he, er, they probably kept you up with their nonstop fighting."

Elena quickly turns away to hide her raging blush. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."

"See? I knew it," she insists. "Oh, thank god, it worked. Good job, girls!" Caroline crouches down as her daughters run into her open arms. "No more spells around Uncle Damon, okay? Unless you find a way to permanently turn him into a toad," she murmurs.

"Caroline!"

"Sorry! Mommy was just kidding, my loves."

An arm hugs Elena's waist, and she turns to find Damon back to his singular self with his signature mussed hair, devil-may-care grin, and pale eyes she could lose herself in for days.

She cups his face, brushing her thumb across his cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Right as rain. Ready to catch a plane?" he asks, pressing a kiss to her palm. "I'll let you sleep in my lap."

"It's the least you could do after keeping me up all night."

"I don't recall hearing any complaints at the time."

She smacks his chest. "Smartass. No Mile High Club for you."

"Spoil my fun," he pouts.

"Oh, you've had plenty of fun"—she lowers her voice to a whisper—"and I have the hickeys and shaky legs, still, to prove it." She sifts her fingers through his hair, studying him closely to ensure he's telling her the truth. "You're definitely okay? No double vision, headaches, or memory loss?"

"I'm fine, babe. Cross my heart." He drops a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I even bribed the kidlets with cookies to remember the spell for me."

"What? Why?"

"You never know when it could come in handy." He winks, tugging her tight to his chest and tilting her chin up for a proper kiss. When they part, he puts his lips to her ear. "Maybe we could try it on you. I wouldn't mind worshipping three goddesses."

"Damon!"

Even as she chases him through the house, she's mulling over the possibilities. It's not a bad idea, really.

Not bad at all.