Disclaimer: If I owned VD, I wouldn't have to work. -_- My God I wish I didn't have to work.
A/N: So, I wrote this a few months back - not that long ago, truth be told, but long enough that I forgot about it, really. So I edited it and here it is! Again, kind of angsty (my MO these days or something) and definitely Daroline. But I've had a bad day and I'm tired and I have to go and do a million more things now, so I'll not waste anyone's time with a long author's note. Hope you enjoy!
we all want something to hold in the night, we don't care if it hurts
—Florence + the Machine, "Hardest of Hearts"
Sometimes he crawls into her bedroom through the window (despite the fact that he's a vampire, he still doesn't want to face an angry Liz Forbes with a shotgun, and so he doesn't use the door after midnight anymore) and watches her sleep. He doesn't talk to her so much anymore. Honestly, the only thing he uses her for anymore is compulsion. It's mindless little things, usually, something that he could get someone else to do, but it's just so much easier and so much more fun to have her, Elena's bestie, do it instead. Besides, she's gorgeous.
Most of the time when he sneaks into her personal space, he wakes her up for some quiet but steamy sex, and then she falls asleep on him, and then he dislodges himself from her like a parent pushing away an unwanted pet that the child insisted on, and he leaves after a while. (He usually sticks around for just a little bit. Sometimes, she talks in her sleep, and it's usually some juicy stuff. She seriously needs something to relieve some of her stress. Yoga is probably what Mr. Brooding Forehead would prescribe, but then, Damon himself would probably just recommend some good old booze and a book during some downtime, not that you get much of that in Mystic Falls anymore.)
This one time, though, he doesn't wake her up. Elena pissed him off today, and he's just not in the mood for sex today. (Gasp. Alert the fucking press; Damon Salvatore doesn't want meaningless sex with a gorgeous pawn.) So he just sits there, on the inside edge of her window: watching her chest rise up and down in an almost-soothing rhythm, listening to her heartbeat match it, grasping the faint scent of her vanilla conditioner, nearly tasting her blood on his tongue just by being so close to her (he's tasted her blood enough times that he just needs to be near her and he remembers the sensation of it: sweet, light, and slightly—highly—addictive), touching her stupid translucent curtains between his thumb and forefinger. All five senses, completely engaged in her and only her.
It's kind of ironic. All that she really craves is just a little bit of attention, and now that she finally gets it, she's off in dreamland. Really, most people would think it hilarious. He just thinks it's kind of depressing.
In all honesty, he and Barbie aren't really all that different. They both want attention, they both aren't used to it, and, he admits secretly, they both require love. (Sometimes it's just not enough, having a brother running away from you after sending a Christmas card signed, "Hate, Stefan." Wonder why.)
All that she really wants is for her life to not be a competition. Maybe her long little tirades (that he doesn't really listen to, really, except sometimes when he's bored and he'll pay attention just to make fun of her later) are getting the best of him, because he does agree with her: life is dominated by Elena Gilbert. Especially her life. Elena's problems are Caroline's too, and if Barbie doesn't like it, then, well, just too bad. Because now that the Salvatores have come to town and totally changed Elena's life, Caroline's is forever changed as well.
Before the Salvatore's came to town, there was no compulsion and no blood and no pain for her. The worst she had to worry about was whether her cheerleading outfit matched her jacket, or whether her paper was finished on time, or if she was gonna break a nail cooking dinner. (Actually, that's not true. She probably worried about if her mom was gonna come home from the next stakeout, and if she would be able to get into a good college, and if Elena was properly coping from her parents' deaths. He's just added to that list with a few more life-threatening things.)
Anyway. So. He sits and watches her, probably for ten minutes, maybe more. Maybe hours. He doesn't check her alarm clock.
She wakes up just as he's planning to go (no, really.) and stares at him sleepily when she notices the movement in her window. "You could just use the door like a normal person," she mumbles when he doesn't make the first move. "God knows you can break locks, and my mom sleeps like the dead."
"Hey, I happen to be a very light sleeper, and I'm dead," he counters.
She yawns and rolls onto her side, facing him. "You're undead, there's a difference," she says, a little louder, a little more awake. Her eyes are now cleared almost fully of sleep, and she props her elbow up and sets her chin in her palm, staring at him. "What do you want?"
"I just—"
"If you wanted sex, you'd have woken me up already," she deduces. He lets her. She's probably spent too much time with Elena, who's spent too much time with Stefan—and God does Stefan love playing mystery games, and he's never grasped the concept that you could just ask. "If you wanted to make me do something, you'd have made me do it already. So what do you want?"
He rolls eyes. "I just needed a break, Barbie. Jeez."
"From?" she asks expectantly, rolling her eyes. (And he kind of likes that, the ways that she quietly stands up to him lately just with a simple gesture or a few carefully arranged words. In an odd way, it's kind of thrilling.)
"Everything," he admits after a few seconds, and she sucks in a breath, surprised that he's being so truthful with her. (He doesn't blame her for that. He kind of deserves it.) Maybe he's drunk or something, she's probably thinking.
She sighs after a couple of long moments, the silence kind of stretching into eternity, and rolls over until she's on the far side of the bed. "Come lie down here. I don't know about you, but I've never found windows to be very comfortable chairs."
Damon waits for a punch line, because there is no honest-to-God way that she's inviting Damon Salvatore, unofficial sex god, to get in a bed with her and just lay there, but it doesn't come. And then she yawns and shrugs and closes her eyes, and he decides what the hell and crosses over before a normal, human person could blink.
He's under the covers before she can stir, and then she curls herself into him without a word (when most people would demand an explanation as to why he's so damn complex). He hesitantly wraps his arms around her, because God knows that Damon Salvatore does not freaking cuddle or whatever the hell this is called (he should ask Stefan, Mr. Bunny Decimator probably knows everything about spooning or what the fuck ever) and he's uncomfortable with this, dammit.
But she's not, and she sleepily whispers into his neck, "Goodnight," and he nevertheless finds it hard to pull away, discomfort be damned.
Then she's out like a light, and he wonders why it is that he could never fall for a girl like this. She doesn't play games, she doesn't give him more stick than carrot, and she doesn't tease. She doesn't choose his brother every time. She's gorgeous and just a little bit smarter than anyone around here would like to give her credit for.
For just a moment, he discards everything else and thinks about only her (he's been doing that a lot tonight). Because for just a moment, he's not completely in love with the ghost of a memory of a woman/vampire/heartbreaker named Katherine, and he's not totally in lust with his brother's girlfriend, and he's not an absolutely complicated mess.
For just a moment, she is the most beautiful thing is his world, because she stays with him even when he drops the compulsion (you can't compel feelings after all, you just can't—you can make the kiss happen, but you can't force the sparks) and she listens to his long monologues about the perfection that is Katherine Pierce (yeah, sure, he compels her to be silent, but he lets her have her turn with her own rants about Elena's flawlessness) and somehow she gets him to freaking cuddle with her without even having sex first. (That, he can't even attempt to explain.)
For just a moment, he forgets about doppelgangers and Petrovas and tombs and curses. He forgets about one hundred and fifty years of loneliness and forced independence and no closeness. Because she was not a willing donor at first, but she's a handy one, and she'll stick around for a while even when it becomes too much and he damages the crap out of her. (It's a guarantee—one day in the possibly near future, he will, and he knows that he'll deserve it when she gives up on him and never looks back. It's happened too much before for him to expect anything less or more, and besides, this time he knows he'll have warranted it.)
But for now, she's here with him, and he'll take all that he can get.
She tightens her hold on him in her sleep, her breath hot and a reminder on his neck, and he feels the blood pumping in her veins just beneath him when he rests his chin on her sunlight-burned hair. She is human. She is faulty. She is wonderful and light and air and he thinks that maybe he could get used to her flaws, because imperfections can be slightly endearing sometimes.
He forgets doe eyes and innocence and a girl with an urge to protect everybody when she's the one that needs to be saved. Because there's ocean orbs and sexiness and a woman with a willingness to stay when she really should leave for her own good on his mind instead.
But it's just for a moment. (Really.)
A/N: I'd forgotten how angsty that one was. Wow. Ummm...review?
And BTW I'll be updating my zombie Daroline story soon! Hope you enjoyed! :)