A/N: Couple of more chapters to follow. Thanks again to those reading along!


"We've gone over this. A million times. That's all I know. I was compelled. I woke up back at my place. End of story. That's the last time I feel like I've seen him. And it was four months ago. I can't tell you anything else."

But that wasn't true. There was more, but he sure as hell wasn't going to share those memories with his brother. The fleeting glimpses into that night, the events that played out in his head every time he closed his eyes. The visions had a dream-like quality to them, almost like they happened to somebody else.

But it had been him. He had been the one on his back. Loving every inch of it. Begging for it, moaning his pleasure, his desire. For hours and hours he had been, to put it mildly, out of control. A position he didn't want to be in ever again. Because he hated not being in control. Normally.

He couldn't remember all of what happened. But he knew he had done things he'd never done before. That he'd responded to a man in a way he'd never known was possible. His craving for the muscular, passionate being who pounded him into the sheets unparalleled anything he had ever experienced.

He had told Stefan the truth the last time they'd been together. For him, it never was about sex when he sought out other men. Instead it was about his brother and their complex, messed up relationship. He never dated men, never compelled them, or fed on them, or repeated a tryst. He'd killed every single man he'd ever fucked, fed on them, discarded them but never lost control.

And he never let himself get fucked. Well, twice. Once it had been necessary to complete the kill. (Long story) The only other time had been that fated night. When he'd been out for answers. And ended up with even more unanswered questions.

Frowning, he flipped over onto his stomach, pushing Stefan closer to the edge of the small bed. His thoughts returned to that infamous night.

When he'd been fucked. Literally and figuratively. He'd awoken in his own bed, no recollection of returning, no recollection of anything beyond the wild, crazy, super fantastic sex. Vampire sex.

He couldn't share those memories with his younger brother. It was all too complicated. And Stefan had just recently returned to him. He wouldn't jeopardize this most recent truce, their passionate reunion by sharing his 'sexual encounter of another kind'.

Instead, he ran a thumb gently up his brother's thigh and buried his fingers in the mound of pubic hair, tugging gently.

"Wouldn't you rather spend our first few days together in over a decade thinking of things other than a rogue vampire? Admittedly, he isn't your typical, garden-variety fanger. I mean, seriously, what vampire have you met who can change his outward appearance, fake a heartbeat and come back from the dead? "

Stefan shook his head and removed the fisted fingers now stroking his hardening penis. "Damon. Focus. This guy has a thing for you. Whatever that may be. He was going to kill you."

"Then why didn't he this last time? Why did he just, um, compel me and return me? It would have been easy enough to kill me. After all, my little brother wasn't there to rescue me." He affectionately ruffled Stefan's hair, knowing full well that his brother hated having his hair mussed.

Stefan sat up, leaning against the wall, and flattened his hair back down with both hands. He shot a look that would have quelled a mortal man. "Damon. We have to figure this out. In case he comes back. For when he comes back. Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Because I'm enjoying being with you. I'd rather focus on this," he replied, running a hand along the lengthy torso beside him, pausing to tweak the sensitive nipple, "than a not-present, fucked-up vampire."

His brother sighed, kissing the top of his head. "You're always so 'in the moment', so reactionary. You need to plan, think of the future."

"No, Stefan. That's your job. My job is to fuck things up. To make a mess of your 'best-laid' plans. Now come here." Growling, he pulled his brother on top of him. And the conversation was left. For the moment.


"OK, he likes music. Every time, except the first time, I've spotted him at a music venue. So, I figure we hang out in clubs, concerts until we see him. And then I hook up with him, get him alone. Then you come in and stake him. See? And you thought I couldn't make a plan."

"That's an extremely lame plan, Damon. It could take decades, or more. And he may have figured out that you know about him, that you're stalking him. I think he is really dangerous. And are you sure he's on his own? I mean, most of us travel in pairs."

"Yeah, except when their brother is busy punishing them. For nothing." Stefan shot him a look. "OK, so it isn't the best plan. Got a better one?"

His younger brother shook his head negatively and looked a bit crestfallen. "No. Let's start listening to music then. God I hope he is out of his 'grunge' phase. I hate that shit."


Tinley Park. Back to Chicago. Elvis Costello. He was getting tired of this. But couldn't think of another way to 'run' into the guy. Scuffed his foot against the fence as he awaited entrance into the amphitheatre.

He seriously would rather just be with Stefan. His brother seemed more relaxed this time, less serious. He denied any major 'life changing' event. But something had happened to him. Perhaps Stefan would tell him about it one day. He had left Stefan back at their shared motel. There was no point in both of them wasting their time standing in lines.

Shit. The young man beside him in line was giving him the 'eye'. Seriously, dude. He shot a dirty look, trying to discourage the unwanted attention.

And started. The scruffy appearance. The scraggly dirty blonde locks. And the eyes looking back at him. Those eyes that shifted from green to blue. It was him. Crap. And no Stefan.

This situation had 'disaster' written all over it.