The blood-scene from 4x02, recounted from Damon's POV. Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think ^.^

Bite Me

I was feeding her; providing her with nourishment; helping her survive; sacrificing something for her strength and more than that, I was practically her maker, which made it inexplicably right. All this fed a newly-hatched dynamic: very familial, intimate and dependent.

It was dominating and compelling. It was the most potent aphrodisiac.

But I concentrated on breathing for the first few tenuous moments and I tried to be steadier than the rush of her heartbeat. I tried not to be consumed by the sensations drugging me as her teeth sank deeper into my increasingly tender flesh and her tongue swept over sore, sensitive skin, inspiring shudders I had to strive to suppress. I tried to disregard the erotica of the act and turn it into a clinical service, no thing more.

But it became too intense too soon and I succumbed, my chains finally broken as she slammed me against a wall. Her instincts and emotions were fresher and rawer than ever for her and she was responding gloriously. I was completely hers for the taking and she knew it.

I couldn't resist stroking her hair and cradling her head against my chest, in the knowledge that I was genuinely taking care of her- nursing her- in a way no one else could or would ever get the chance to.

Ecstasy rode hard through my veins, twisting me higher and higher to heaven, it felt like. My other hand risked tracing up her thigh, following her hurtling hot blood and nerves, before I used that arm to hold her securely and closely to me. The satisfaction in every sound she released made me feel like a god.

As her fingers pulled and squeezed zealously at mine, she provoked a twinge in my stomach that turned to an ache which soon reached a nerve that would- if she didn't stop soon, if she kept on tugging at it- hurl me over a dangerous ledge.

I wouldn't be able to control my need to ravish her, to return the favour of pleasure and quench my own thirst.

And she wouldn't forgive herself- she knew by now how personal this was and she'd hurt herself for being unfaithful to my presently loathed brother.

She began to drink with much more spice in her movements, though, passing the point of pure starvation and experiencing- I could tell- a far more carnal desire. Her hip stroked softly against me and my breath caught in my throat.

She couldn't help but ask, subliminally, for me to make a move. My restraint was being sliced open by her impatience and attempts to hide her hungers to concentrate wholly on the feed. I could feel her ebbing in and out, almost falling completely under the spell before being yanked back by her conscience.

It wasn't her fault, she was in no wrong- this sacred exchange was a chance for us to revel in the phenomenal potential of us. In so many senses of the word this was but a taster and we both needed it to be no more, as much as we wanted it to be more, to stave off an apocalypse. But the pleasure was getting sweeter and sweeter by the second, our heartbeats were aligning, her feeding more enthusiastic, her entire body growing more sensual...

I knew she felt good, no, I knew she felt incredible and I knew she knew I felt exactly the same way. She was learning and yearning, testing her boundaries and relishing her lethal new powers.

But she was so young, did she know how powerful this was? Did she have any idea what shadows she could unleash? Did she understand the repercussions of what I would do to her?

She needed to stop now.

"Shh," I soothed as best I could without encouraging her. She held my wrist tighter and slightly shook her head, sensing an end, squeezing my heart too it felt like. I considered for a few more seconds giving her what she wanted, what- it had to be admitted- she needed and angst almost combusted into uncontrollable lust. But my little brother's sad face interrupted and I cursed him before I urged in a gentle voice, "That's enough- any more and Stefan would definitely rip off more than my head."

I knew the mention of my brother would distract her long enough to cool her appetite away from me and managed to unhinge my hand from her fangs and guide her head away from its resting place.

We both lost a warmth that made us pause in mourning for a moment before I gestured towards the door.

She thanked me under her breath but I heard far more, a pulsing that surpassed her heart.

She left as soon as we returned to the bar- which was silent and inconsequential to my ears, at least- and I ordered a scotch before I could follow her and show her the myriad ways she could feel just as good again if not a great deal better.

And I tried to erase that intoxicating, repeating sound of the hitch of her breath from my mind once I held the glass in my hand. I let go lest it should shatter.