There’s a reckless energy buzzing in Damon. That old familiar feeling coating every bone in his body. He shouldn’t be out here, he shouldn’t be digging his fangs into the flesh of Aaron Whitmore’s neck, but he is, and it feels good. The way perverse acts always do, the way the wrong thing always feels like the right thing to him in that self-destructive sort of way.
Aaron falls dead at his feet and there’s a rush in his veins. He missed this. (He hates that he missed this).
“Now that’s the Damon Salvatore I remember.” Enzo’s voice comes to him. Damon looks up at him and smiles.
He missed that too. The sound of Enzo’s voice. Being near him. Talking about all the horrible things he was going to do to the Whitmore’s and not being met with judgment. Being met with agreement, actually. Having someone who would listen to his revenge fantasies and then turn around and talk about his own. Damon loves Enzo’s mind. How well it works with his.
Enzo looks at him, that look in his eyes like he’s proud, like he wants to lick the blood off of Damon’s lips. Damon sort of wants him to.
And there’s the thing. In five years together Damon had fantasies, had wants and hopes, all of which came crashing down the moment he had to turn his humanity off. The moment he had to leave all those hopes and dreams to burn along with the man who gave him a reason to live when he’d lost all hope.
Now he’s here. Real and in front of Damon. Enzo walks forward and Damon resists the urge to reach out to him right then, pull him close and—
Looks down at the body to distract himself. Doesn’t want to let himself hope.
“Suppose we should bury him.” Enzo says.
Damon just nods, looks back up at him, bites his lip.
“You keep looking at me like that I’m going to have to do something.” Enzo tells him, stepping closer.
“Look like what?” Damon smirks, “Devilishly handsome?”
Enzo laughs, licks his lips, reaches out to wipe away some of the blood from Damon’s chin, keeps his hand on Damon’s cheek. “Like you want me to kiss you.”
Damon blinks. Tries to maintain his composure. His voice gets quiet, he can feel his eyebrows do that thing people always talk about. “Maybe I do.”
Enzo steps even closer, brings his other hand up to cup Damon’s face. Leans in to kiss Damon softly. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Damon’s eyes fall closed and his heart flips. He’s not used to being kissed tenderly. He’s not used to being held like he’s fragile. Enzo does both. Damon can’t stand the way it makes him feel so he grips Enzo’s waist, tugs him forward, pushes him against the hood of the car.
From there its all tongues and teeth and wandering hands. Damon’s lips move down Enzo’s face to his neck, draws a moan out of him.
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” Enzo breathes, hands moving into Damon’s hair to tug. Drawing a moan from Damon that makes Enzo smirk.
“My house.” Damon bites at Enzo’s lips. “Now.”
He barely has the willpower to pull himself away, wants so desperately to latch himself onto Enzo and never let go.
They haul the body into the trunk and then Enzo says, “I’ll drive.” And Damon just nods, because he doesn’t think he could focus enough to drive without crashing.
Enzo nearly crashes the car into the house, but Damon is already getting out of the car, too preoccupied with getting back into Enzo’s arm to even care about the damage. Enzo meets him halfway, kissing him deeply, pressing into every inch of Damon that he can get to. Damon walks him backward, trying to get to the door, trying to get into the house, to the couch waiting just inside.
Enzo gets the message, kisses up Damon’s neck, stops below his ear and says, “I need a drink.”
Damon pulls away, smirks, says, “I live to serve.”
Make their way inside, not caring about shutting the door because they’re too wrapped up in each other. Damon grabs a bottle, two glasses, brings them over to Enzo, who’s taking off his jacket. Damon’s mind is a bit clearer now. There are things he wants to say, to explain, and now’s as good as any.
“Enzo I—” Damon starts.
“Save it, mate. I don’t need your apologies.” Shakes his head. “It won’t change the past.”
And, well, that’s good enough for Damon. Takes the bottle from Damon’s hand, drinks directly from it, grips the collar of Damon’s shirt and drags him forward, making Damon lose his grip on one of the glasses. Enzo doesn’t seem to care, just presses their lips together, tasting of bourbon and blood.
Damon has had is fair share of good kisses and good sex, but he’s never encountered anything like Lorenzo St. John. Never had anything that makes him feel this particular way; wild and drowning but in the best way possible.
“I just need you.” Enzo tells him, making Damon drop the other remaining glass in order to tug at Enzo’s shirt. In the process of getting it off Enzo drops the bottle, groaning as Damon attacks his chest with hands and lips.
What follows next is a blur of vampire speed and bottles of alcohol and touching. Eventually, after they’ve made out on every available surface, rough and needy, biting bruises into each other’s hips and collarbones and pressing so hard against each other that they leave marks, Damon ends up on the couch.
To much protest, Enzo has his hands pinned down, has his weight settled on top of him, so Damon can’t do anything to change the situation as Enzo slows things down. The cushions are in the way, so Enzo pushes them up, out of the way, gives them more room. Damon is laid out, bare, beneath Enzo, who kisses his body like its glass. Enzo only has one hand pinning down Damon’s, the other one is running down his body, touching him as though he’s something to be careful with, like he could be broken. Damon wants to scream. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve how tentatively Enzo kisses every inch of him, how he slips the hand holding down Damon’s to his cheek instead, how Enzo looks at him like he’s everything.
“Enzo.” Damon half breathes, half moans.
“Oh, I love it when you say my name like that.” Enzo looks up at him, smirks.
Damon flips them, runs open mouthed kisses down Enzo’s abdomen, breathing out Enzo’s name between each one. Enzo groans, snakes his hands into Damon’s hair, uses his grip there to pull Damon up to him to steal another kiss. Connects their hands and then kisses Damon’s knuckles, his wrist. Flips them once again and lays him out presses as close as possible. Damon feels so much and not enough. Touches Enzo absolutely everywhere. Opens himself up to the other man.
I love you. Is a phrase that Damon does not utter. Doesn’t dare. There’s pleasure wracking his body, Enzo’s enveloping him completely.
He’s whispering, “This,”
He’s breathing into Damon’s skin, “You,”
He’s kissing his cheek and his nose and his lips and saying, “You are all I ever wanted.”
And Damon thinks be might implode.
Wraps his legs around Enzo and pulls him closer, closer, closer. Damon’s hands are in Enzo’s hair, pulling, needing, wanting. Buries his face in Enzo’s neck, closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of sweat and alcohol and all the bad decisions that led him here and all the unsaid words that could have brought them sooner.
“Enzo.” Damon breathes when it’s over and Enzo is pulling away. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere, mate.” He says. Damon’s crystal blue eyes are trained on Enzo and he can swear there’s a smirk and a laugh and a mean joke in there somewhere. Enzo leans back down, gets close to him, says, “That’s what you do.”
There it is. Damon smiles. And Enzo keeps his word, he doesn’t leave. Damon’s not entirely used to that.
In the morning Damon’s hold body aches. He remembers cleaning himself up. He remembers getting dressed again. And he remembers the copious amount of alcohol ingested. He remembers… Enzo.
There are footsteps at the doorway. Damon resists his urge to sigh, turns it into a groan, rolls off the couch. “Sorry about the mess. I had some company and things got a little out of hand...”