AN: Just a little random one shot that popped into my head. The first part is from Elena's POV, the second from Damon's. Please, please, please review. Seriously, PLEASE.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I don't own the Vampire Diaries…

Hands

I only held them for a minute. I didn't really have a choice. It was hold his hands for a three minute dance or be humiliated because I had no one to dance with. So I held his hands. And, god, I can't believe I'm even writing this down…It was nice.

Stefan's hands are so big. They dwarf mine; wrap them up in his warmth and safety. But Damon's hands; Damon's fit perfectly around mine, smooth and secure. They hold my own with flawless grace and firm strength. It was nice.

But it doesn't mean anything. Stefan's large protective hands are the ones meant for mine. Because Stefan is big and kind and protective, and, alright, okay, a little overbearing. But I love him. I really do. I love him more than I have the words to express. I danced with Damon because he was there and Stefan wasn't. And I understand why Stefan wasn't. I'm okay with it; with him. And we're going to help him, Damon and me.

And the memory of Damon's hands holding onto mine so carefully, so tenderly, well, that's just one of the few memories I'll keep near my heart to balance out the gaping wounds he inadvertently gouges out of it.

I see good in Damon. But he doesn't want to see it in himself and every time I see it shine to the surface, he does something to remind me of the monster he so desperately wants to be.

…But his hands are nice.

I only held her hands for a minute. So why does her touch still haunt me? This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to dance with Stefan. But he wasn't there. Off in his bloodlust induced frenzy. So I had to step in and take his place. I had to. It was either hold Elena's hands for a three minute dance or watch her be humilated. And I couldn't bear to see the latter. So I had stepped up and taken her onto the dancefloor. And, god damn me, it was nice.

Her hands are so small and delicate. How can she hold my brother's massive sasuage fingers with something so small? His must engulf hers and their beautiful entirety. My hands though, my hands fit perfectly around hers and hers around mine. They seemed so graceful, so strong, together. It was nice.

But it doesn't mean anything. It can't. Stefan's polar sasuages are the ones that will wrap around the slender beauty of hers. Because Stefan is large and overprotective, and way overbearing, but she loves him. I can see it. Anyone with eyes can see it. She danced with me because she had no real alternative. And she'll understand. And she'll forgive. And she'll be here because Stefan needs her love and support to get through this. And she'll help him in ways that I never could, no matter how hard I try.

And the memory of holding Elena's hands so carefully, so tenderly, well, that's just one of the many memories I'm starting to hold closer to my heart than I'd like.

She sees good in me. But I don't want to be good. That's Stefan's gig. I'm the bad brother; the evil one. The monster.

...But her hands are nice.