Title: Cold

Rating: M

Synopsis: Fate has delivered Elena to Demon's mercy. Will his pride and cruelty push them apart or push them together? Damon/Elena. Rated M for Adult Content.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was darkness—swirling, cold, dangerous.

The feeling of Elena Gilbert's flesh ripping against the pressure and pull of gleaming white fangs was experienced very differently from the perspective of the predator and the prey.

For Elena, the pain was distinct, yet far away. The pain was an echo, reverberating down a long, empty hall. She heard herself scream, but it was as if her hands were cupped tightly over her ears. Even still, she languidly pressed her torso upward and against the hips of Damon Salvatore.

'Kill me,' she thought dizzyingly.

For Damon, everything feels quite different. The pleasure was immense—like consuming an intoxicating drug. Her pulse was rapid, like the flutter of wings. It took all the restraint he had to keep from ripping into her neck like a starved animal. He tasted her fear on his tongue and reveled in it. His moan was light but heavy with gratification as he felt her press herself against him, already hard in between her naked thighs.

Her dress was scant—a short 'funeral shroud' of coarse, black cambric. It was nothing of note but it clung to her—accentuating all. Although, she could wear a potato sack and still Damon would have noticed the round curve of her breasts and the creamy softness of her thighs below.

He knew she came for self destruction. Stefan was gone—who knew when he would return? He had to have known that leaving her, helpless, that this could happen. Damon was certain of it. In fact, it was probably expected. Stefan would have been too much of a coward to do it himself had he known. His loss…

Elena writhed underneath Damon, her breathing starting to regulate itself. She heard the snap of his belt buckle and she welcomed it. Her hand slid between them and underneath his pants. She found what she was looking for and she sighed expectantly, waiting for his next move.

Damon's eyes were shut, his face buried into the crook of her neck and she moved her hand up and down him. He felt Elena move her thighs slowly apart and he looked up. She was a goddess, laying on his bed and underneath him. Her dark hair was splayed out on his satin sheets like lace. Her blood was swirling in his mouth, singing its swan song to him. He growled then, a deep and feral moan, that signaled his loss of composure.

She heard as her panties ripped with a loud scream and felt as Damon tugged them away with impatience.

"Yes…" She managed to whimper and closed her eyes.

He entered her then. Suddenly. Completely. Deeply. Her eyes snapped open and her mouth was agape. Damon moved away from her neck and lifted his head to look down at her. He moved slowly, deliberately. He filled her up entirely and then withdrew enough until she was whimpering and moving her hips upward to meet him. His eyes darkened, changed. He pulled her hands above her head and anchored them in place with his own. He kissed viciously, not attempting to sheath his razor fangs against her soft mouth. No. He wanted her blood, her pain, her pleasure. He moved faster, harder. Again. Again. Again. She was moaning now and her breathing was beginning to hitch. He stopped suddenly and put his hand under her chin and snapped her face to his.

"You belong to me now."

"Don't stop, Damon…"

"Look at me."

Elena opened her eyes, a confused look of ache and pleasure were crossing her features.

"Elena, you belong to me now."

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I belong to you, Damon. Only you."

He smirked and began to thrust into Elena again and brought her to a fevered pitch where she was begging him. And then all at once, a rush filled her and satisfaction flooded her veins so violently that she shuddered and moaned out Damon's name and to God. And this in itself signaled Damon's own release that he had been holding back. He buried his face into her neck and moaned out Elena's name, and to God. He brought his wrist to his mouth and bit it suddenly, his dark blood sliding down his arm. He pressed it to Elena's mouth and demanded that she drink.

Elena weakly grabbed Damon's hand and pulled his wrist to her lips. She drank slowly at first and then with much more fervor—sucking down his blood hungrily, greedily and welcoming the end of her life. She slowed again, feeling Damon tense from his blood loss and finally, she kissed his wrist before pushing it away.

"I'm ready," she said weakly.

Damon sat up and looked down at her.

"I'm just," he paused, "…close your eyes."

Elena did as she was instructed.

Damon pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. It was different this time. It was soft, undemanding and yet full of expectation. His hand cupped the side of her face for a long moment and drunk in her features with his intense gaze. He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her temple.

Damon then slowly slid his hand to her throat and pressed on her windpipe.

"Shhhhh," he whispered. "Go to sleep….go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Elena tried to breathe but couldn't. Instinct told her to scream and thrash but she did not move. Reality began to fade, sound began to distort. Damon's voice became farther and farther way. And then she was dreaming. It was as if she was driving down a fast highway and lights were flying by her. She heard her mother's voice calling her…and then there was nothing at all.

Damon had held Elena's throat until she turned red and then pale and held it tighter as the body's natural instinct was to struggle for life in its final moments. He held his hand there, tightly, until he no longer felt her heartbeat. He stared down at her then. She held a sated look still that was now mingling with death. It was beauty.