Christmas Song;
The lights where dim, as all Christmas stories should have it, with candles flickering. No need for any other lights, with a small amount of it he can see perfectly. He's a predator, a killer. But the girl in his arms trusts him, his little bird that he saved numerous times. That he brought back from the edge of death. But now is not a time of death...for her. He's already dead.
They're sitting on her bed, comfy with her head on his chest. They swam in dark blue blankets, under the soft cotton fabric.
She adjusts her position, red shirt riding up from the waist slightly. His eyes travel down her body; pale, creamy stomach and arms. Fiery red hair at the top and twinkling dark brown eyes accent a heart shaped face. She's petite, but she looks great in the dark jeans she's wearing. The color almost matches his black jeans (and his black shirt, black jacket, black hair and eyes).
"I got you a present." He mumbles. They had agreed on no presents; they're in a shaky relationship as it is and she didn't want him feeling awkward.
"You did?" She bites her lip, turning herself over so instead of with her head in his lap she's just siting on it. "Daaamon!" She draws out his name. "I told you no presents!" She said, slapping his chest lightly.
"Then does it mean I can return it?" He chuckles.
She glares, smirking. "Well now that you said I have one, I wanna see!"
"But it's only Christmas Eve."
"Oh, don't be so specific with me! Gimme!" She giggles.
"Good. Because the shop that I bought it from didn't even use receipts." He pulls out a decorated black box from his jacket's breast pocket.
Black just like his clothing, with fine sparkles decorating it just like his eyes. It's beautiful, she thinks.
She gazes into those deep black eyes, smiles, and wastes no time in opening the box.
Inside, it reads, 'To My little Redbird.'
"Damon." She grins, happily. It's written in his hand writing, bold and entrapping. Even his hand writing is beautiful.
"Pick up the actual present, I didn't get you a box for Christmas."
Rolling her eyes she does so, drawing up a dark strand of velvet with a bright silver bird at the bottom. A songbird with its wings spread out. "Damon Salvatore! Are it's eyes made of rubies?!" She smacks his chest again.
"Yeah. So?"
"We said no presents and you got me something super expensive!"
"Who said I paid for it?"
Again, she slaps his chest. "Oh sush!" She laughs, she can see him smiling.
"Keep smacking me I'm gonna think you like it rough." He laughs.
"I love it." She says, kissing his cheek.
Inside him there's a crack, something loud and audible. She's the only one that can do this to him, move this rock wall he spent centuries putting up. Boulders are falling away.
"You gonna put it on?"
She nods, hands fumbling to do it herself.
"I'll do it, move your hands." Damon mutters, chuckling.
Damn: the girl had him chuckling. What the hell was wrong with him?
She smiles again, a smile that was in full force and bright. Dammit, she knew she was making him soft.
He picked up the velvet, connected by a small chain link she hadn't noticed, and clipped it together behind her head. His fingers grazed her neck and she had it on full display as she lifted her hair out of the way for him. It made him hungry.
However...he had made a promise. He had given his word that he wouldn't bite her until she offered herself and he would never go back on his word, especially when it came to his little witch.
She stood up, gently getting off his lap, and walked towards a mirror. She gazed at her reflection and smiled. "I love it Damon." She grinned, turning his way.
He smiled back.
"I'm sorry I didn't get you a present." She said, pouting.
He shrugged. "Whatever."
Now she frowned, looking at him with an injured expression on her soft features.
"Whatever, as in, I don't care about presents. I remember when Christmas was about giving. So it's fine to see you smile." He muttered, looking at the floor. He was being so soft and sappy. Soon, he thought, unicorns would be flying from his pores.
"Awww, thank you Damon." She grinned, running to jump back on her bed and hug him.
He smiled, kissing her head. "It's okay my little bird." He told her, wrapping his arms around her stomach. She nuzzled into his warm hug.
"I'm ready." She almost shouted.
For a second he was confused. What? For sex? He didn't mind deflowering her but jeesh, it was Christmas. Her family was finishing dinner and he would have to leave soon, he didn't want her first time to be a quicke. As sappy as it was he wanted to do her till she felt his feelings through that rock wall around his heart that she was chipping away at.
Then it hit him, right in the predator side of his head. For submitting to him in the ultimate form; for being his prey. Allowing him, of her own free will, to drink her blood. His fangs protruded out, pulsing. The blood of a psychic; something he had never tasted. It would be a first for everyone.
He brushed her hair away from her neck, running one hand up and down her side comfortingly. He didn't, as strange as it was, to hurt her. He wanted this act; that he had preformed in vicious carnage thousands of times, to be as painless as possible for his little witch.
She sighed, melting into him as her eek was bare and he placed one hand firmly on her stomach, holding her to him.
He located a vein in her throat...and bit. His teeth pushed through her skin like paper, drawing her blood to him in waves. She squeezes her eyes shut, gasping. Her breath hitches in her throat as the pleasure courses through her. She feels something so special, so intense, she cries out. The pain is hardly there but she never knew that having blood drawn would feel so good. It's immensely satisfying, pleasuring.
It's a great Christmas gift.