A/N: Hello guys!

I am back from my vacation and currently writing for you a few things, including this charter. There is something new and something that you may recognize, but mainly know that the first two parts are from Damon's point of view and the last part is from Elena's.

I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Warning:Mature Content. And by the way, I don't own The Vampire Diaries, nor the Red Hot Chili Peppers band. If I could, I would allow Ian Somerhalder to do cuddle sessions with his pets all day long and RHCP would sing/play to me everytime and everywhere I want.

I am a man

Cut from the know

Rarely do friends

Come and then go

This heat is unbearable.

I've been living in California for more than two years now; years full of never ending freedom, hot sex and dark liquor. But I've never felt this way.

So warm. Sweaty. And restless.

I don't do this shit. I don't get attached or even connected to anyone, not even girls that I fuck more than just one time. However, she came and my world is suddenly turning upside down.

I thought that I can have control over everything and still get the feeling of utter freedom; the kind of freedom that makes you enjoy every fucking second of your life. I thought that I can be a teacher in this department; that I am a professional who gets paid for his clever comments. But I was so wrong, because control is a weakness and freedom is never granted.

She knew it all. Right from the start. She knew what she was doing and she definitely knew what she was losing. She was afraid of control; though always needed to be sure that nothing would stop her from reaching her dreams. And freedom? That was something she was desperately trying to find.

I helped her. It's the only thing that saves me now; knowing that I helped her become a new and better person. But sometimes, when I think about it really hard, I realize that she actually never needed my help. She only needed to know how impossibly addictive and incredibly easy it is to be truly free.

And that's exactly what I showed her.

The thing is... she showed me much more.

The heat. The sun. The moon. The whole fucking universe.

And truth is that now that I know it all, I can't figure out how to make myself forget and get back to never ending freedom, hot sex and dark liquor.

How people do that? How do they let go?

They don't. She would answer. Yeah, she would tell me a story of how it is not necessary to let go; how important it is to really feel it through and then, after some time, to make a new start. Build a new life. Create new dreams. And get new chances how to screw it all over again, may I add.

But I know she won't be like me. No, she's not that shy girl anymore. She doesn't apologize for nothing. She doesn't answer with whisper to shouting. No, not anymore.

She walks away from me with her head held high. She doesn't start crying when I force her to see my pleading face. She doesn't run into my arms when I tell her about the love that I feel burning in my heart. Instead, she turns away and begins searching for her own fresh start.

Maybe - and I wish it would really happen - she will meet a person whom she can love with all her heart and with all her art; whom she can tell everything and whom will make her feel incredible things. Who will show her the heat, the sun, the moon and the whole fucking universe. I really wish she would find that person.

Because I did.

She was a girl

Soft but estranged

We were the two
Our lives rearranged

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

"Let's go, Frank is waiting for you."

I nod my head and after one last look in the mirror – yeah, I'm looking fantastic – I finally make my way towards the beach.

It is midday and we're somewhere in South California, working on my first summer styled photo shoot. Sun is burning like hell, which is not so pleasant for my body still devastated by hangover, but at least there is this blue shimmering thing that thankfully brings sweet wind and helps me cool down.

I walk up to the furthest and most shadowed part of the beach. Frank Holing, my photographer, is playing with his cameras and lenses just a few steps from me. He's a true professional, the best photographer I've ever worked with. In June he got an offer to take photos for several prestigious fashion brands whose names I still can't remember, even after ten long years in this job. Originally, I didn't want to work through this summer, but Frank asked me to do with him some photo shoots here in my home California, and so I'm here.

"You're okay, Damon? Want some coffee?"

I push a smile onto my lips, like a true hangover champion would do, and accept a cup of coffee from the always-so-generous woman, Bonnie Bennett, that is also known as Frank's assistant.

"What is he doing?" I ask and point to Frank who is all of a sudden walking to the other side of the beach, right where a small bar with great and fresh beer is waiting for me.

Bonnie shrugs. "A new photographer will be working with us, apparently one of Frank's students from Art College in New York."

"Excellent," I say with a groan. Young photographers are always so much ambitious that it hurts my eyes. Though, Frank enjoys yelling at them more than yelling at me. "That means we're going to work on this scene more than a full week before he finally realize that fashion photography is not his dream job and we end up with-"

Before I have time to finish the speech, my view is full of long legs covered with only mere centimeters of black cloth.

"-painful headache..."

"Evidently we should rather talk about him in a feminine gender," suggests Bonnie with a sly smile playing on her lips.

"I'm so fucked up."

"Evidently yes, pretty boy."

Without further ado, Bonnie goes to check out our set scene - cameras, lenses, tripod, lens filters and all the accessories necessary to make good photos - while I'm trying to gather up my strength and stop myself from looking at her.

She's a unique creature.

Her hair is not as long as I prefer, but despite its boring brown color her curls are sparkling in the morning sunshine, like if they were made of gold. Wind repeatedly plays with each one of them, which gives me an opportunity to closely observe what is hidden under their softness.

She's young. Exactly how I prefer. Rosy, plump lips. I can easily imagine how would they feel between my teeth, sucked inside my mouth.

Oh! And what are we having there, just above the nose? Curious, brown eyes. They are screaming innocence, but I can sense they may easily burn you with passion-filled fire. Just like they are trying to do to me right now.

This is so not good. I'm absolutely and utterly fucked up.

"Damon!" shouts Frank. "Fucking come here you piece of-"

"I'm here, dumbass."

As I move out of the shadows, Frank shoves Miss I-Am-Here-To-Destroy-You into her back, which would result in a pretty bad fall if I didn't catch her like a true gentleman that I am.

For a few milliseconds her soft breasts are pressing into my hard chest before she quickly regards balance and slowly steps back, her arms unconsciously clutching my bare forearms. It's not helping that as my skin gets into brief contact with her velvet softness, my cock slightly twitches.

Oh, holy Jesus.

I have to suppress a groan, but I'm still not sure if it is from that quick sexual tension developing in my pants – and brain – or if it is from the premonition of upcoming frustration.

"Easy, tiger," I breathe out, studying her puzzled expression.

"I am…," she stutters.

I raise an eyebrow. "You are?"

"Sorry. I am sorry."

Then she looks at me. For the first time ever. Eyes wide open and mouth agape.

"Nice to meet you Sorry," I say with a smile and stretch my right hand towards her, unwillingly shaking off her touch on my forearms. "I'm Damon."

She looks down at my hand and I can tell she would accept it, but then we both hear someone approaching us and the spell is broken by Frank's screeching voice. "I hate to disturb your lovely romance, but we are here to work and I don't see you're doing anything more than exchanging hot looks."

"I am so sorry Mr. Holing," she whispers while blushing like crazy.

My mind is clouded by zillions of visions containing her blushing cheeks as I slowly, or rather quickly, push into her tight-

"Elena," says Frank sternly, "stop apologizing and just start doing something productive."

So her name is Ele-

"Damon," yells Frank. "Could you please join our little party? I believe you're the one who gets the biggest amount of money from this."

"I'm going!"

Twisting and turning
Your feelings are burning
You're breaking the girl
(She meant you no harm)

"Let's go Elena."

I slowly look up from my sitting position and recognize Bonnie's tired face. "Have they stopped yelling?"

Bonnie just shakes her head and sluggishly walks away.

We've been here for what? Three hours? Maybe even five. And we haven't taken any good photos yet. I wouldn't mind it because Frank has forbidden me photographing models for the time being, but it's exhausting and I'm bored and can't stop thinking about my ruined career.

Annoyed, I stand up and go back to loud bickering, snapping of various cameras and all those noises two men can manage.

"Damon! Not like that!"

"Then how? I only do what you tell me to do!"

He's right. Damon does exactly what Frank tells him, but that's also exactly Frank's problem. He always wants you to work harder and reach higher than what your abilities allow you. You have to put one hundred percent into your work and then add another hundred percent so your final work is not just excellent, but it is incredibly excellent.

Normally, Damon is a true professional. I've never met a model like him… He is beyond egoistic, but can look as vulnerable as you want him to be. He is sexy, but can look as disgusting as you want him to be. And after work, he's back to being egoistic and sexy and just… Damon.

"Elena," says Frank who's now resting on a chair beside his tripod and camera. "Tell me what you think."

I observe the scene before me. Damon is standing on a wooden pier, wearing jeans and a loose sweater. His hair is slightly disheveled and eyes, those blue eyes, are fixed on the never ending sea. Blue to blue.

"It is nice, but…"

"But?" snaps Damon.

"But it's too much."

Frank slowly stands up from his seat and walks up to me. "What do you mean?"

"The sun, the sea, his clothes… It's like a scene from some romantic crap movie."

Damon's gaze connects with mine. He nods. He actually nods! What happened?!

"She's right," he says. "It is too much."

I'm exactly two weeks in California, working every day and sleeping barely five hours each night. Frank hates my work, although he had chosen me to be there with him. Bonnie knows about fashion photography more than me, although she hasn't studied any college. Damon hates me too, although he now agrees to my opinion. And I understand nothing.

Apparently, sun is beating too much today.

"Where would you move the scene?"

I don't have to think for too long. "Under the pier."

"But there is no light," argues Frank.

"And lots of shadows."

Damon looks amused and Frank is slightly taken aback. However, I won't back down. If Frank wants me to do my job better, then he has to listen to me.

"Okay. We can try it."

Twenty minutes later we are sitting in a bar, drinking cold beer and going through our photos. It's the first evening after work that I'm pleasantly tired, not terribly exhausted.

"It was a great idea," says Frank. "I'm glad you finally proved to me that you can do it."

I smile, totally proud and full of satisfying emotions. "I'm glad you let me."

"You should let her do your next photo shoot," offers Bonnie and Frank laughs.

"I have better idea."

"Which is?" I ask.

"I want Damon and you to practice together."

The man in question lifts up his gaze from his untouched beer. He's clearly tired, but I've also never seen him this much… quiet.

"Pretty boy," taunts Bonnie, "you must be really exhausted if you're not complaining."

"Oh no, Bonnie. He's just waiting for his next victim."

Frank and Bonnie had talked to me about "Damon's victims", though I have not seen him with a girl yet. However, I believe he can seduce every girl, woman and even every guy in this bar.

"I'm going home," says Damon and without another uttered word he just walks out of the bar.

"What happened to him?"

"Nothing," answers Frank and as I look to Bonnie for further info, she only makes an odd grimace.

The rest of the evening is quick. We talk about normal stuff and after we drink up our beers, we say goodnight and go home. I'm staying in Bonnie's house which is beautiful and white, standing near the beach. She used to live there with her grandma, but she died one year ago so Bonnie rents it to Frank's students and models.

"I'm going straight to bed," announces Bonnie once we step into the house. "Goodnight Elena."

"Goodnight."

There are not many things you can do when you work all day long and then sleep through the night, but sometimes I can force myself to at least read a book, or watch a film. Also Caroline phones to me quite often, although I don't have much to say to her. She wants to hear about my experiences; stories full of interesting people. I have none of it.

I decide to read another book and swiftly walk up the stairs. I stop just inside my small room, closing the door behind me. It is dark in there, but I recognize him.

"How did you get there? What do you-"

"So many questions, but less and less answers."

We watch each other like two predators preparing to fight for their lives. He's drunk, but his eyes still manage to inspect every part of my body. And I do the same to him, unashamedly. His clothes, white top and black jeans, are dirty. He had to fall down on his way here. What surprises me the most is that his mask is down. No wink. No sarcastic smile. Just burning flames in his normally so cold and sweet eyes.

"I have a problem Elena," he whispers and takes a few steps closer to me.

I instinctively grab for a handle of the door behind me. "I'm sure Bonnie can help you better than me."

"You're scared of me?" he asks in a surprised tone. "And I thought you would like to see me."

"You're drunk and it's late. Go home," I tell him sternly and prepare myself to open the door, but he's suddenly right in front of me, pressing me into the hard wood of the door and bringing both of my hands above my head.

I'm trapped. Not only by his muscular body, but also by his intoxicating scent, something what's purely him and, judging by his lower part, also by something that is purely onto me.

"I won't be your next victim," I get out through gritted teeth. "I don't even know you."

His eyes are glued to mine. His face is vulnerable, almost heartbroken. "That's what I hate the most... You don't even know me and still you act like I am just some dirty spot on your Converse shoe."

"I don't act-"

"Oh yes, you do," says Damon and continues to watch as I struggle against his hold. "Since we met you've done nothing else than ignore me."

I open my mouth in honest bewilderment. "What? Since we met I haven't seen you try talking to me for more than five seconds," I spit into his face, getting tired of his drunken arguments. "You're just walking around with your egoistic face on and a sign above your head which says that nobody can be better than you."

"And that's wrong?" he asks in astonishment.

I don't know what to say. People always reject a person with high ego. But I hate to reject others and I hate to judge or being judged. Damon clearly doesn't care what other people think about him. He does what he wants to do. He says what he wants to say. He wins. And what should I say to him? That his way of living is practically everyone's secret dream? That I want to be like him? Confident, full of freedom and high spirit?

Damon stops my turmoil of never voiced thoughts when his face starts getting dangerously close to mine.

"You're jealous," he whispers just mere centimeters from my lips.

I can feel his breath hitting my skin. Unexpectedly, it makes my body hot.

"Stop it. Please."

In less than a second he has my left leg scooped up around his hip. Again, I try to squirm, but then I bump with my core straight into his arousal and quickly stop, waiting for his reaction.

"Do it again," he whimpers in a needy voice and moves his face into the crook of my neck. I've never done something like this before and honestly, I really don't want to continue. He immediately senses my hesitance and starts to drop tiny kisses on my neck, then collarbone and finally on my face. As he gets to my ear and his tongue joins the game, my throat is suddenly pressing up a low moan.

"I know you want it," he whispers into my ear. "Give it to me."

And I do. I raise my hips and collide with him. Quickly and dirty.

We both moan; lowly, but longingly.

"What do you want from me?" I ask between heavy breaths.

He continues to kiss my neck, but answers anyway. "The question is… What can I give to you?"

Think you're so clever
But now you must sever
You're breaking the girl
(He loves no one else)

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