A/N: Thanks to all for reading and reviewing, here's Damon POV "the morning after", 4x08, as well as reflecting on the night before. Enjoy!
Jose Gonzalez - Heartbeats
One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise paid
Four hands and then away
Both under influence
We had a divine sense
To know what to say
Mind is a razor blade
To call for hands of above
to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief
Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love
To call for hands of above
to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
To call for hands of above
to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
And you, you knew the hand of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolves teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night
To call for hands of above
to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
To call for hands of above
to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
I can't believe this happened.
But it did; and it's finally right, and now.
The Devil that was whispering in my ear that she would be gone when I opened my eyes was wrong.
She's still here.
She's smiling, and I feel time skip.
It started when she showed up with a bag on her shoulder; so we sat.
Our physical language has always said volumes more than our words; and this was no different.
More than anything, we carry the title of friendship.
We talk to one another, but we try our best to only flirt with the edge of the unspeakable truth between us, and rarely do we cross that final barrier.
We spend time together.
We can share a comfortable silence when we're alone, though we still have to endure the sexual force that's suffocating us.
But even that is comforting in its consistency.
We don't have to speak, just laugh, or cry, or both, or stay silent.
Other than Ric, she's probably the only other sane person that's ever trusted me.
Not that I'm sure I want her to.
Then we danced.
It was gentle and supportive and slow, everything we're not supposed to be, especially to each other.
But we are anyways.
We broke all the rules by falling in love, and I'm sure we'll break more still.
I can still feel the pressure of my hand on her back, promising her I will always be there to hold her up, to catch her when she falls, to carry her when she's broken.
I held her hand in a vow that I will never leave her, but explaining that she is not bound to me unless she wants to be.
I want her to want me to follow her.
She swore she trusted me when her forehead grazed mine, and I wanted to inhale her sigh in the relief of being wrapped in comfort and safety.
We declared it all, and without saying a word.
We kissed, and existence deserted me.
Her mouth was everything that defined need, and want, and fear.
She pulled and she took with a thirst that matched and drove my own, and in all my life I had never met or known such violence in sweetness.
But her breath was full of grief, and guilt, and defeat; and I know it could have been over Stefan, but I want to, and do, think it was more about me.
She was tired of fighting us, and was ready to say that she wanted it now, but she didn't know if that was something I would still want.
She was scared that I would say no.
I made sure she felt my endless yes as I crushed her against me, roaring that I was hers to devour and mangle at her bidding.
There was nothing, is nothing, I wouldn't do for her.
She is my Queen.
She rules all that is light from her throne of lilies; and she knowingly has the ability to brandish armies to seek, destroy and protect.
She's done it before, and she can do it again.
Even on her own, she is strong enough to endure the apocalypse that is her life.
She's so brave, and I don't honestly know if I've ever even said those words to her.
And now she's glowing.
Her hair is rough and her make-up is faded and smudged, but she's beaming at me with a smile that I haven't seen her wear in months.
It's because of me.
She's twisting slightly as she grins at me, taunting me with her body to take her; it's as plain an invite as if she was beckoning me with her finger.
But she doesn't have to raise her hand, her hips and shoulders say it all; both of which are barely covered by the shirt I was wearing last night.
The shirt she ripped off me.
I can't believe a button survived, but apparently one did.
It's deliciously low on her.
With infinite thanks to the lone survivor, I'm welcome to admire the deep "v" of her chest and stomach that's been revealed; only interrupted by the thin fabric of her black, lace bra.
I've always adored this about her.
She's very fond of lavish and racy undergarments and I'm convinced her collection of bras and panties should be on display in a museum.
One that's located inside of my house.
And above my bed.
God, I love her.
It's only been one night, and everything I feel for her is so much more overwhelming that I don't know if I'll be able to survive an eternity with her, because I love her so much it hurts.
And I don't know what I hate more; the part that it's so disgustingly cliché, or the fact that it's absolutely and unfortunately true.
She may kill me if she loves me back.
She'll annihilate me if she leaves.
I focus on her smile, and just like that the pain is gone.
Let her slay me; I don't care as long as she's happy and she's mine.
I think she gave herself to me.
I knew they were done, but I was adamant with myself about giving them both plenty of time to settle down and realize they were going to get back together eventually, like they always do.
She said I was the reason, but we didn't find the time for her to tell me why I was the reason and what that really meant.
I didn't want to dare to assume that in all of the possibilities, it would be the perfect combination of what I wanted.
Her; ready, willing and able.
She's never been before; she's never even been able to admit outright what's been growing between us.
She usually can't make it past my name.
I've heard her say how much she cares, and I know she craves me, but she refuses to tell me she loves me.
We both know she does.
Her body betrayed her when it exposed it last night, and so did mine.
And now she's lying on the bed next to me, and she's looking at me like she's never seen me before.
She's looking at me like she just realized it.
This can't be happening.
I don't know if anyone deserves to be this happy.
I'm not sure if God and the Devil together could tear me away from her, but they probably should, for both our sakes.
My hands have done such a multitude of dark and vicious things; so many bones broken under them, so many hearts torn out.
I shouldn't be allowed to touch her.
I wonder if she sees blood on them when she looks, because that's all I see.
I'm starting to worry they may actually be permanently stained red and constantly dripping with the names of the lives I've taken.
But whenever I pull away from her skin, she's still clean despite my fingertips against her.
And she is a study in beautiful contradiction.
Her skin is devastatingly soft, but just below lies muscle that can strike and snap, crush and maim, with ease.
Her lips are plump and round, and I know if I'm not careful I will disappear as I sink away inside them.
Her tongue is assuring me of safety, but she's biting me and nipping with fangs that I think may be sharper than my own.
It was, and is, all blood and sex and love, passion and tenderness, and still fear...
So much fear...
But this is, without a doubt, the perfect way to conclude what will probably be the best and worst night of my life.
I have her now, and I have so much more to lose.
Nothing can save us from each other, and for the first time I think I understand what she means when she insists she doesn't want to be saved.
She is worth any sacrifice, because she is my miracle.
A/N: So, tell me what you think! Love to hear your thoughts, and many thanks for following! Next up, Elena.
-Goldnox