summary: based on hints for a kiss between two people in an upcoming episode; all currently aired episodes.
"-then I believe we have completed our partnership, Katerina."
She watches him smile around the name, the killer's pleasure, condescension in his eyes.
His face doesn't change a fraction of that intensity when she nods understanding. Elena has the unsettling awareness his hand could snap towards her neck, here, in the middle of a nowhere street, in a nowhere town. She'd not see it if he didn't want her that respect. The result of a few weeks of vampirism pretending to be just a bit more, to his thousands.
She realizes she hadn't put as much thought in the words for 'Katherine's' deal, not like she used to. Since Caroline threw her off that cheerleader, something shifted, become aware she's clouded over by... Something.
She can't do anything about it, now, and decides, derisively, Katherine wouldn't have noticed.
"And I will stay away from three hundred and sixty five days of tacky, Mardi Gras hell for the next century," she quips.
She pastes the look she spent practicing in the mirror the last few days - for a year really, her own secret-to-realized /dress rehearsal/ - the satisfied but still carefully subservient smile Katherine reenacted of five hundred years ago, in a damp tomb, for a shot of days old blood.
She turns, a dip of her hip - like she is more, should be wearing something more, than Elena's dish rag dull wardrobe - the Katherine-defiant way to show an Original her back.
She doesn’t really register the inhaling through teeth --
-- if she weren't a vampire she might have had a heart attack when his hand wraps around her wrist.
(It still doesn’t mean Caroline and Bonnie were right, about anything. Elena is just fine not hurting like this, better even.)
"One last piece of business..." Elijah murmurs, as she turns around. Elena meets his gaze and finds after that she cannot look away, thoughts of two broken faces as she spits she burned that freshman year picture, fall away. She feels melded together by the feel of his hand shooting up one part of her body, and his dark eyes - shifting to something on the tip of her tongue - overwhelming her through the other.
It’s familiar and she’s off guard, memories stun her, still too blurry and glowing gold (not dilapidated) the closer she finds herself to him. And then he tilts his head towards hers and Elena's dead heart jumps.
"I ..." Elena doesn't, can't, drop the performance completely, but the next words out of her dry mouth escape: "I'm not Katherine."
Like a crack running down the wall she'd built (that she's only doing what is in her blood - Katherine's, Damon's), it comes out. An apology once a daily prayer, a warning (he cared about Katherine once) to a dawning fear, and -
Those dark eyes narrowed as he leaned in, close enough to brush noses with her, her senses could taste it. "I know," Elijah says, his voice so much lower than usual.
He pulled back to look at her. A wind blows through the trees. The air feels... "Elena..." His lips twitch at her frown, his eyes trace her face; with fascination she traces his own back. His thumb soothes her pulse once, slow, as it jumps for him. Elena isn't thinking when she guides herself closer than their remaining inches, until she says, "I'm going to kiss you now," and presses her mouth to his.
Elijah's hand cups her face. Her eyes close and allows her body what she won't allow her heart: feeling. His suit is warm from the sun, on her bare legs stepping closer, her arms where she braces and then explores his front; his hand strokes up her arm before falling to wrap around her waist. She fits neatly against his body and his mouth is soft, surprisingly yielding against hers, and his other hand traces her collarbone, moving under her cardigan, and then to her jaw just as she presses her tongue to his open mouth.
It's deep, its curiosity exploring their patience and hunger. They both know what they are good at. But soon enough Elena feels the rich want start to brim over her dead bones from his tongue, and her hands itch to bury themselves in Elijah's hair, and she is passionately aware of every place where she presses herself against him: mouth, chest, hips, thighs. Like fresh blood, filling veins and muscles the more she drinks. He's sun warm and wrapped around her, his grip is secure and his mouth is cool. His hold tightens when she steps onto her tip toes, pressing herself more and there's a name for this feeling, somewhere. She sighs a little and Elijah bites at her lower lip, the way he had his own when she, also without thinking, told him in so many words to be safe after he'd given 'Katherine' freedom. She lets out an encouraging moan when he tugs, wants again, wants a turn, wants blunt teeth all over and - and suddenly Elijah thinks that's the perfect time to stop. He releases her and the space, particularly in her chest, feels so empty Elena nearly follows him.
She shouldn't need to breathe, and she doesn't know why she suddenly needs to. The ground under her feels different, thin, barely supported by each plank of wood; she opens her eyes and to her senses not even the sky above her looks the same. Her lips part, as she exhales he strokes her lip with his thumb and she forgets what she wants to say. He holds her back with a few fingers at her waist; she feels dazed and more than a little confused. Her vampire senses saw him coming, one of her hands still tugs the v of his buttoned shirt, the other hovering over his hand keeping her back, her eyes trail hesitantly to his, why wouldn't...
Slowly details start to slide back in- what she was supposed to be doing, getting from him, where she needs to /be/.
He's waiting for her to reassemble. His eyes watch her, dark, unblinking eyes transfixed at the possibility of something unexpected.
And Elena remembers, still a distant echo, like a movie someone else is watching:
there is no switch