Winds of Change, 4/?
Title: Winds of Change
Pairing: Damon/Jeremy
Rating: PG-13
Genre: angst, romance
Warnings: none that I can think of
Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2
Summary: Now that they're both back in Mystic Falls, Damon doesn't know if he can be held responsible for his actions. Future fic.
Word count: 2950ish
Author's note: Ooops, it's been a ridiculously long time since I updated this. Previous chapters are here for anybody that needs a refresher.
Jeremy paces his room, feeling like an animal trapped in a cage that’s too small. He’s been awake all night, trying to sort through everything that just happened. He feels totally blindsided. The hurt look on Damon’s face after Jeremy pushed him away keeps flashing into his brain. He can’t remember Damon ever looking like that, like someone had stomped all over his heart, even in the days of the Stefan-Elena-Damon love triangle drama.
He feels another twinge of something he can’t explain, thinking about Damon and Elena. He’d been so angry that Damon’s return to Mystic Falls might have had something to do with her. It had startled him, as had the immediate relief he’d felt when Damon had scoffed at his assumption. He tries to remember key parts of the conversation, but he’s not sure what matters and what’s just typical Damon snark. He thinks the part that really matters is the kiss anyway; or maybe it’s the kiss combined with their moment in the kitchen and the things Damon’s been saying over the past three days.
Has it really only been three days? Time has a way of slowing down in Mystic Falls. The days blur together, feeling too long and exhausting and Jeremy feels like he’s been bickering with Damon for weeks. Running through the conversation again, he can’t help thinking he might have overreacted somewhat. But he’s spent three days convinced Damon is up to something, and because it’s Damon he was certain it had to be something unpleasant. But maybe Damon doesn’t have an ulterior motive. Maybe he’s been telling the truth since the beginning; he really is back because Jeremy is.
He wants to shove the idea aside the same way he’d pushed Damon away earlier. It just seems so improbable. But he’s not sure he can come up with another reason for Damon to kiss him. Any evil master plan of Damon’s would have to be ridiculously complicated for him to take it that far. And Damon seems to have been behaving himself otherwise: no bodies turning up, no reports of animal attacks, no missing people, nobody even compelled, from what Jeremy can tell.
He can’t help wondering how things could be different if Damon weren’t Damon. If Jeremy didn’t know him as well as he does, or at all, if he weren’t the vampire who used to be disastrously in love with Jeremy’s sister, if they didn’t have so much dramatic history between them… Objectively speaking, Damon is…well, too fucking hot for his own good, let alone Jeremy’s. Completely unbidden, Jeremy remembers Damon the way he looked the other night in the Grill, his forearms planted on the bar as he leaned forward to talk to Jeremy, in his perfectly-fitted leather jacket, with his lips quirking up into something between a smirk and a smile. Damon had been flirting with him. It’s so obvious now, Jeremy thinks-actually, it had probably been completely obvious then too. If he’s being totally honest with himself, he can’t help feeling drawn to the vampire. He’s been digging his heels in, resisting for the past three days, fighting every impulse he has where Damon’s concerned. He doesn’t know what it is about the vampire that puts him on the defensive so quickly.
The problem isn’t fear. He’s not afraid of Damon, and he hasn’t been for a long time. Even so, he’s not sure he trusts him. Jeremy feels guilty, thinking that, especially remembering the easy way Damon had grinned at him earlier when they’d been closing the Grill and the gentle pressure of Damon’s lips against his own. Damon offered him something genuine and Jeremy had thrown it back in his face.
Jeremy’s room grows lighter as the sun rises. It’s early, but he can hear the beginnings of Jackson and Tucker starting to wake up. He’s still wearing his clothes from work, his Grill t-shirt and jeans that smell like spilled drinks and fried food, but he doesn’t care. He slips down the stairs and out onto the porch. He’s never been more certain of anything than he has been right now: he has to fix this, no matter what it takes.
* * *
Damon isn’t exactly a stranger to rejection. But it’s been long enough since it last happened that he’d forgotten how much it hurts. Until now. The feeling is an almost physical ache settling heavily on his chest. He walks slowly home from Jeremy’s, half-hoping the other man will chase him down. He doesn’t.
He heads straight for the living room to pour himself a drink once he reaches the boardinghouse. He’s certain he’d been making some progress over the past few days, and now he feels like such an idiot for destroying all his hard work. Because it is work, pretending he doesn’t care about Jeremy, being flippant when he’d rather be sincere and feeling like he needs to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching Jeremy.
He downs his bourbon in one swallow and fills his glass again. He sips his second drink more slowly, letting the burn of the alcohol down his throat dull the hurt. It’s only now that Jeremy pushed him away without a second thought that Damon realizes how high he’d let his hopes get. And Damon doesn’t usually let himself have any hopes at all. It’s easier that way. Less disappointment. Less of this feeling.
He wants to go back to being angry with Jeremy for being so incredibly stubborn, because at least the anger hurt less. But his walk home cooled his anger, leaving regret and pain in its place. He’d thought having Katherine and Elena both choose Stefan over him had been bad. But this is worse. It isn’t a competition; he isn’t up against anyone but himself and everything he’s done to Jeremy in the past that turned the other man against him.
Damon slouches back against the couch, sighing heavily. He wonders if he really would have gained anything by trying to explain his feelings rather than just kissing Jeremy, or if the end result would have been the same either way. He takes another sip of his drink, deciding he doesn’t want to think about this anymore. He finishes his bourbon, leaves the glass on the table next to the couch, and climbs the stairs to his room.
He distracts himself with a scalding shower and a few chapters of Gone with the Wind. He ends up throwing the book across the room in frustration, but after a few seconds he regrets it and kicks free of his covers, going to scoop the book up off the floor. It is a first edition, after all.
He doesn’t sleep. He lies in bed in the dark, trying not to think. It’s impossible, of course. He thinks about the injured tone to Jeremy’s voice when he’d misunderstood about Elena, juxtaposed against the stubborn indignation on Jeremy’s face after Damon had kissed him. The conflict bothers him; he doesn’t know which reaction tells him more. He wants to pick apart every conversation he’s ever had with Jeremy, but he’s certain it would be an exercise in futility, especially considering how desperate and miserable he is. He’d find a way to apply meanings to everything.
He considers leaving Mystic Falls. Jeremy’s right, Damon doesn’t need to be here. He could quite literally go anywhere else in the world. But the pressure in his chest feels worse, not better, at the thought of going anywhere. Yes, he might avoid any awkwardness with Jeremy, but leaving now guarantees that Damon will never have another chance at this again. As it is, he may never have another chance, but he’s not leaving until he knows for sure.
He must doze off for an hour or so, because he jolts awake abruptly to the sound of someone knocking on the door. His room is dimly lit, and a glance at the clock on his bedside table tells him it’s not even six yet.
He already knows who’s knocking, so he takes his time, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. He pulls the door open and isn’t at all surprised to find Jeremy standing on the porch.
“Hi.” Jeremy says.
The urge to slam the door in his face is so strong that Damon has to cross his arms tightly over his chest.
“What do you want?” Damon scowls. The rejection is still fresh and raw and he really doesn’t want to do this now.
“Can we talk?” Jeremy asks. Damon opens his mouth to refuse, but Jeremy keeps speaking. “Please, Damon.”
Damon sighs and steps aside, letting Jeremy inside the house. They stand silently in the front hall for a moment.
“Uh, why don’t we sit?” Jeremy suggests and Damon shrugs, leading the way into the living room. He wants a drink, but it’s a little early, even for him. He sits on one of the couches and Jeremy understands that Damon’s cool stare means don’t sit next to me, and sits in the chair opposite.
There’s another long stretch of silence. Damon resists the urge to snap at Jeremy. Jeremy is the one who wants to talk; he can start the conversation. Damon would have been perfectly happy to avoid the other man for a few days, giving himself some time to lick his wounds and wallow before coming up with a new plan.
“I’m sorry.” Jeremy says.
Damon’s eyes narrow. “Sorry for what?”
Jeremy sighs and glances up at the ceiling, like the answer to the question might be up there. “I admit I might have…overreacted last night. This morning. Whatever.”
“Overreacted.” Damon repeats, because it sounds like a cop-out if he’s ever heard one.
“I’m just…having a hard time getting my head around this.” Jeremy says, and it’s just another meaningless, empty expression as far as Damon’s concerned. He doesn’t want placeholders; he wants something real.
“Why?” Damon demands. “What’s so confusing for you?”
“I haven’t seen you in four years, Damon. All of this feels like it came out of nowhere.”
“Maybe for you.” Damon shakes his head. “But not for me.”
“Okay.” Jeremy says. “Can you explain that to me then?”
“I don’t know.” Damon sighs.
“Try? Please?” Jeremy looks desperate now; desperate and confused and frustrated and Damon can’t help thinking that at least they’re finally on the same page about something.
Damon huffs out another sigh, struggling to find the same words he couldn’t find last night. “Have you ever sat next to someone and known you’d do anything to touch him?” Jeremy looks as if he isn’t sure whether the question is rhetorical or not, and Damon doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve gone about as far as I possibly can from this town to escape that feeling and it didn’t work. The second Elena told me you were moving back here, I knew I was too. That’s what it’s like. It’s how it’s been for years now.”
Jeremy blinks slowly and looks like he wants to say something, but Damon continues. It’s not often that Damon allows himself honesty untainted by sarcasm and the words that wouldn’t come last night are fighting their way out now, demanding to be heard, a catharsis he didn’t realize he needs.
“You were such an irritating teenager. You know that, right?” Damon doesn’t say it harshly, and Jeremy doesn’t seem to take offense, since he just shrugs his shoulders. “You were just so…stubborn. Determined to help, all the time, even if it was going to get you killed. It was annoying as fuck.” He can’t help smirking a little. “But it was brave. Braver than anybody gave you credit for, I think.”
Damon gets to his feet without even thinking about it. He can’t help pacing across the floor between the couch and Jeremy’s chair.
“There were times I thought I was going to go crazy from wanting you so badly. Still are, actually. I’ve been here three days and you would not believe the number of times I’ve thought about dragging you out of the Grill and having my wicked, wicked way with you.” He smirks like it’s a joke, but he can tell Jeremy understands exactly how serious he is from the way his heart starts to thud loudly against his ribcage. It’s both an encouraging sign and a distracting one.
He swallows thickly, wondering if Jeremy is going to make him say the words he’s been avoiding. He really hopes not. He knows neither of them is ready for that kind of confession yet.
“I’ve been running from this for a long time,” Damon sighs. “But I don’t think I can anymore.”
“Damon.” Jeremy breathes, and it’s not a tone the vampire recognizes. He risks a glance at the other man. Jeremy still looks a little shell-shocked, but most of the desperation has left his eyes. “You could have said something.”
Damon snorts and the sarcasm creeps back into his voice. “Because it obviously was such a big hit last night.”
Jeremy has the decency to look somewhat sheepish and Damon smiles ruefully. “Don’t start apologizing again. Rejection and I are old friends now. I’ll get over it.”
Jeremy frowns. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Damon actually starts a little when Jeremy gets to his feet. He has the irrational urge to take a step back as Jeremy moves closer.
“After all of that, you’re just going to give up and get over it?” Jeremy scoffs.
“I know I seem like a total masochist, but even I have my limits.”
“What, I’m not allowed to change my mind?”
Damon freezes. People don’t change their minds about him, which is exactly how he likes it. The closer people are, the more they can hurt you, and Damon has been hurt enough to last several lifetimes. Then again, people don’t show up to his house before dawn demanding sincerity and explanations either, and Damon thinks he’s probably in way over his head where Jeremy is concerned.
Before he can come up with a sufficiently cool, detached, witty reply to Jeremy’s question, Jeremy takes another step closer, close enough now that Damon can smell the spilled alcohol on his clothes and see the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes. He manages to find some twisted form of comfort in knowing Jeremy has had a sleepless night too.
One of Jeremy’s hands lands on Damon’s hip-warm and solid and possessive and it’s the last that Damon wants to fight against most, because he isn’t Jeremy’s, not yet, maybe not ever-and the other curls around his jaw and Damon can’t help flinching. He feels exposed and last night’s rejection still smarts and despite Jeremy’s thumb stroking slowly across his skin, he still doesn’t quite know where the other man stands on all of this.
“Damon,” Jeremy breathes again and then he’s leaning closer, closing what little distance there is between them. Damon can’t explain why, but he expects a kiss that’s soft and tender and tentative. It’s not; it’s hungry and determined, Jeremy’s arm sliding around his waist, holding him tight. Damon kisses back fiercely-his reservations are still there, but they’ve quieted to a whisper in the back of his head that he can easily ignore.
His own hands slide down the sides of Jeremy’s torso (he doesn’t miss the slight squirm that means Jeremy is ticklish, and he files the information away for future use) stopping at his hips and steering him backwards. They tumble gracelessly onto the sofa and Jeremy laughs. He nips teasingly at Jeremy’s pulse point, and he feels the other man’s heart begin to race under his mouth. He wants to taste Jeremy and to strip him bare and learn every inch of him, but after the highs and lows of the past twelve hours he feels even more cautious where Jeremy is concerned. Damon has bared his whole soul, practically, and Jeremy could destroy him so easily. He doesn’t yet know if he can trust the other man not to.
He pushes the thought away as best he can, back to the corner of his mind where he keeps the other things he doesn’t think about. He mouths his way across Jeremy’s jaw to capture his lips again. This kiss is slower and sweeter, and Damon can feel some of his panicked desperation ebbing away. He’s still not entirely sure how in the span of six hours, they’ve gone from shouting at each other in the Saltzmans’ driveway to here, but he doesn’t think he wants to question it right now, when Jeremy’s tongue is tangling with his and Jeremy has one hand gripping Damon’s hair and the other tugging rather uselessly at Damon’s shirt.
Jeremy pulls away a few moments later, a smirk on his face, “What was that you said, about wanting to have your wicked way with me?”
“Sorry, babe, but you’re gonna have to earn that.” Damon’s only half-joking, but he doesn’t mind that Jeremy laughs. After watching the other man mope for three days, a genuine smile on his face is something Damon isn’t used to and he can’t help smiling back.
“And what does that involve?” Jeremy teases.
“Oh, the usual. Laugh at my jokes, don’t use Gilbert judgey eyes on me, generally worship the ground I walk on, get me free drinks at the Grill.”
Jeremy snorts. “I can promise you none of those things.”
Damon smirks. “Just the free drinks, then.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Matt.”
“Hmmm. Three-way. I mean, if that’s what you really want-
“Damon. Shut up.” Jeremy rolls his eyes.
“Make me.”
Jeremy does.
Pairing: Damon/Jeremy
Rating: PG-13
Genre: angst, romance
Warnings: none that I can think of
Spoilers: Seasons 1 and 2
Summary: Now that they're both back in Mystic Falls, Damon doesn't know if he can be held responsible for his actions. Future fic.
Word count: 2950ish
Author's note: Ooops, it's been a ridiculously long time since I updated this. Previous chapters are here for anybody that needs a refresher.
Jeremy paces his room, feeling like an animal trapped in a cage that’s too small. He’s been awake all night, trying to sort through everything that just happened. He feels totally blindsided. The hurt look on Damon’s face after Jeremy pushed him away keeps flashing into his brain. He can’t remember Damon ever looking like that, like someone had stomped all over his heart, even in the days of the Stefan-Elena-Damon love triangle drama.
He feels another twinge of something he can’t explain, thinking about Damon and Elena. He’d been so angry that Damon’s return to Mystic Falls might have had something to do with her. It had startled him, as had the immediate relief he’d felt when Damon had scoffed at his assumption. He tries to remember key parts of the conversation, but he’s not sure what matters and what’s just typical Damon snark. He thinks the part that really matters is the kiss anyway; or maybe it’s the kiss combined with their moment in the kitchen and the things Damon’s been saying over the past three days.
Has it really only been three days? Time has a way of slowing down in Mystic Falls. The days blur together, feeling too long and exhausting and Jeremy feels like he’s been bickering with Damon for weeks. Running through the conversation again, he can’t help thinking he might have overreacted somewhat. But he’s spent three days convinced Damon is up to something, and because it’s Damon he was certain it had to be something unpleasant. But maybe Damon doesn’t have an ulterior motive. Maybe he’s been telling the truth since the beginning; he really is back because Jeremy is.
He wants to shove the idea aside the same way he’d pushed Damon away earlier. It just seems so improbable. But he’s not sure he can come up with another reason for Damon to kiss him. Any evil master plan of Damon’s would have to be ridiculously complicated for him to take it that far. And Damon seems to have been behaving himself otherwise: no bodies turning up, no reports of animal attacks, no missing people, nobody even compelled, from what Jeremy can tell.
He can’t help wondering how things could be different if Damon weren’t Damon. If Jeremy didn’t know him as well as he does, or at all, if he weren’t the vampire who used to be disastrously in love with Jeremy’s sister, if they didn’t have so much dramatic history between them… Objectively speaking, Damon is…well, too fucking hot for his own good, let alone Jeremy’s. Completely unbidden, Jeremy remembers Damon the way he looked the other night in the Grill, his forearms planted on the bar as he leaned forward to talk to Jeremy, in his perfectly-fitted leather jacket, with his lips quirking up into something between a smirk and a smile. Damon had been flirting with him. It’s so obvious now, Jeremy thinks-actually, it had probably been completely obvious then too. If he’s being totally honest with himself, he can’t help feeling drawn to the vampire. He’s been digging his heels in, resisting for the past three days, fighting every impulse he has where Damon’s concerned. He doesn’t know what it is about the vampire that puts him on the defensive so quickly.
The problem isn’t fear. He’s not afraid of Damon, and he hasn’t been for a long time. Even so, he’s not sure he trusts him. Jeremy feels guilty, thinking that, especially remembering the easy way Damon had grinned at him earlier when they’d been closing the Grill and the gentle pressure of Damon’s lips against his own. Damon offered him something genuine and Jeremy had thrown it back in his face.
Jeremy’s room grows lighter as the sun rises. It’s early, but he can hear the beginnings of Jackson and Tucker starting to wake up. He’s still wearing his clothes from work, his Grill t-shirt and jeans that smell like spilled drinks and fried food, but he doesn’t care. He slips down the stairs and out onto the porch. He’s never been more certain of anything than he has been right now: he has to fix this, no matter what it takes.
* * *
Damon isn’t exactly a stranger to rejection. But it’s been long enough since it last happened that he’d forgotten how much it hurts. Until now. The feeling is an almost physical ache settling heavily on his chest. He walks slowly home from Jeremy’s, half-hoping the other man will chase him down. He doesn’t.
He heads straight for the living room to pour himself a drink once he reaches the boardinghouse. He’s certain he’d been making some progress over the past few days, and now he feels like such an idiot for destroying all his hard work. Because it is work, pretending he doesn’t care about Jeremy, being flippant when he’d rather be sincere and feeling like he needs to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching Jeremy.
He downs his bourbon in one swallow and fills his glass again. He sips his second drink more slowly, letting the burn of the alcohol down his throat dull the hurt. It’s only now that Jeremy pushed him away without a second thought that Damon realizes how high he’d let his hopes get. And Damon doesn’t usually let himself have any hopes at all. It’s easier that way. Less disappointment. Less of this feeling.
He wants to go back to being angry with Jeremy for being so incredibly stubborn, because at least the anger hurt less. But his walk home cooled his anger, leaving regret and pain in its place. He’d thought having Katherine and Elena both choose Stefan over him had been bad. But this is worse. It isn’t a competition; he isn’t up against anyone but himself and everything he’s done to Jeremy in the past that turned the other man against him.
Damon slouches back against the couch, sighing heavily. He wonders if he really would have gained anything by trying to explain his feelings rather than just kissing Jeremy, or if the end result would have been the same either way. He takes another sip of his drink, deciding he doesn’t want to think about this anymore. He finishes his bourbon, leaves the glass on the table next to the couch, and climbs the stairs to his room.
He distracts himself with a scalding shower and a few chapters of Gone with the Wind. He ends up throwing the book across the room in frustration, but after a few seconds he regrets it and kicks free of his covers, going to scoop the book up off the floor. It is a first edition, after all.
He doesn’t sleep. He lies in bed in the dark, trying not to think. It’s impossible, of course. He thinks about the injured tone to Jeremy’s voice when he’d misunderstood about Elena, juxtaposed against the stubborn indignation on Jeremy’s face after Damon had kissed him. The conflict bothers him; he doesn’t know which reaction tells him more. He wants to pick apart every conversation he’s ever had with Jeremy, but he’s certain it would be an exercise in futility, especially considering how desperate and miserable he is. He’d find a way to apply meanings to everything.
He considers leaving Mystic Falls. Jeremy’s right, Damon doesn’t need to be here. He could quite literally go anywhere else in the world. But the pressure in his chest feels worse, not better, at the thought of going anywhere. Yes, he might avoid any awkwardness with Jeremy, but leaving now guarantees that Damon will never have another chance at this again. As it is, he may never have another chance, but he’s not leaving until he knows for sure.
He must doze off for an hour or so, because he jolts awake abruptly to the sound of someone knocking on the door. His room is dimly lit, and a glance at the clock on his bedside table tells him it’s not even six yet.
He already knows who’s knocking, so he takes his time, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. He pulls the door open and isn’t at all surprised to find Jeremy standing on the porch.
“Hi.” Jeremy says.
The urge to slam the door in his face is so strong that Damon has to cross his arms tightly over his chest.
“What do you want?” Damon scowls. The rejection is still fresh and raw and he really doesn’t want to do this now.
“Can we talk?” Jeremy asks. Damon opens his mouth to refuse, but Jeremy keeps speaking. “Please, Damon.”
Damon sighs and steps aside, letting Jeremy inside the house. They stand silently in the front hall for a moment.
“Uh, why don’t we sit?” Jeremy suggests and Damon shrugs, leading the way into the living room. He wants a drink, but it’s a little early, even for him. He sits on one of the couches and Jeremy understands that Damon’s cool stare means don’t sit next to me, and sits in the chair opposite.
There’s another long stretch of silence. Damon resists the urge to snap at Jeremy. Jeremy is the one who wants to talk; he can start the conversation. Damon would have been perfectly happy to avoid the other man for a few days, giving himself some time to lick his wounds and wallow before coming up with a new plan.
“I’m sorry.” Jeremy says.
Damon’s eyes narrow. “Sorry for what?”
Jeremy sighs and glances up at the ceiling, like the answer to the question might be up there. “I admit I might have…overreacted last night. This morning. Whatever.”
“Overreacted.” Damon repeats, because it sounds like a cop-out if he’s ever heard one.
“I’m just…having a hard time getting my head around this.” Jeremy says, and it’s just another meaningless, empty expression as far as Damon’s concerned. He doesn’t want placeholders; he wants something real.
“Why?” Damon demands. “What’s so confusing for you?”
“I haven’t seen you in four years, Damon. All of this feels like it came out of nowhere.”
“Maybe for you.” Damon shakes his head. “But not for me.”
“Okay.” Jeremy says. “Can you explain that to me then?”
“I don’t know.” Damon sighs.
“Try? Please?” Jeremy looks desperate now; desperate and confused and frustrated and Damon can’t help thinking that at least they’re finally on the same page about something.
Damon huffs out another sigh, struggling to find the same words he couldn’t find last night. “Have you ever sat next to someone and known you’d do anything to touch him?” Jeremy looks as if he isn’t sure whether the question is rhetorical or not, and Damon doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ve gone about as far as I possibly can from this town to escape that feeling and it didn’t work. The second Elena told me you were moving back here, I knew I was too. That’s what it’s like. It’s how it’s been for years now.”
Jeremy blinks slowly and looks like he wants to say something, but Damon continues. It’s not often that Damon allows himself honesty untainted by sarcasm and the words that wouldn’t come last night are fighting their way out now, demanding to be heard, a catharsis he didn’t realize he needs.
“You were such an irritating teenager. You know that, right?” Damon doesn’t say it harshly, and Jeremy doesn’t seem to take offense, since he just shrugs his shoulders. “You were just so…stubborn. Determined to help, all the time, even if it was going to get you killed. It was annoying as fuck.” He can’t help smirking a little. “But it was brave. Braver than anybody gave you credit for, I think.”
Damon gets to his feet without even thinking about it. He can’t help pacing across the floor between the couch and Jeremy’s chair.
“There were times I thought I was going to go crazy from wanting you so badly. Still are, actually. I’ve been here three days and you would not believe the number of times I’ve thought about dragging you out of the Grill and having my wicked, wicked way with you.” He smirks like it’s a joke, but he can tell Jeremy understands exactly how serious he is from the way his heart starts to thud loudly against his ribcage. It’s both an encouraging sign and a distracting one.
He swallows thickly, wondering if Jeremy is going to make him say the words he’s been avoiding. He really hopes not. He knows neither of them is ready for that kind of confession yet.
“I’ve been running from this for a long time,” Damon sighs. “But I don’t think I can anymore.”
“Damon.” Jeremy breathes, and it’s not a tone the vampire recognizes. He risks a glance at the other man. Jeremy still looks a little shell-shocked, but most of the desperation has left his eyes. “You could have said something.”
Damon snorts and the sarcasm creeps back into his voice. “Because it obviously was such a big hit last night.”
Jeremy has the decency to look somewhat sheepish and Damon smiles ruefully. “Don’t start apologizing again. Rejection and I are old friends now. I’ll get over it.”
Jeremy frowns. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Damon actually starts a little when Jeremy gets to his feet. He has the irrational urge to take a step back as Jeremy moves closer.
“After all of that, you’re just going to give up and get over it?” Jeremy scoffs.
“I know I seem like a total masochist, but even I have my limits.”
“What, I’m not allowed to change my mind?”
Damon freezes. People don’t change their minds about him, which is exactly how he likes it. The closer people are, the more they can hurt you, and Damon has been hurt enough to last several lifetimes. Then again, people don’t show up to his house before dawn demanding sincerity and explanations either, and Damon thinks he’s probably in way over his head where Jeremy is concerned.
Before he can come up with a sufficiently cool, detached, witty reply to Jeremy’s question, Jeremy takes another step closer, close enough now that Damon can smell the spilled alcohol on his clothes and see the beginnings of dark circles beneath his eyes. He manages to find some twisted form of comfort in knowing Jeremy has had a sleepless night too.
One of Jeremy’s hands lands on Damon’s hip-warm and solid and possessive and it’s the last that Damon wants to fight against most, because he isn’t Jeremy’s, not yet, maybe not ever-and the other curls around his jaw and Damon can’t help flinching. He feels exposed and last night’s rejection still smarts and despite Jeremy’s thumb stroking slowly across his skin, he still doesn’t quite know where the other man stands on all of this.
“Damon,” Jeremy breathes again and then he’s leaning closer, closing what little distance there is between them. Damon can’t explain why, but he expects a kiss that’s soft and tender and tentative. It’s not; it’s hungry and determined, Jeremy’s arm sliding around his waist, holding him tight. Damon kisses back fiercely-his reservations are still there, but they’ve quieted to a whisper in the back of his head that he can easily ignore.
His own hands slide down the sides of Jeremy’s torso (he doesn’t miss the slight squirm that means Jeremy is ticklish, and he files the information away for future use) stopping at his hips and steering him backwards. They tumble gracelessly onto the sofa and Jeremy laughs. He nips teasingly at Jeremy’s pulse point, and he feels the other man’s heart begin to race under his mouth. He wants to taste Jeremy and to strip him bare and learn every inch of him, but after the highs and lows of the past twelve hours he feels even more cautious where Jeremy is concerned. Damon has bared his whole soul, practically, and Jeremy could destroy him so easily. He doesn’t yet know if he can trust the other man not to.
He pushes the thought away as best he can, back to the corner of his mind where he keeps the other things he doesn’t think about. He mouths his way across Jeremy’s jaw to capture his lips again. This kiss is slower and sweeter, and Damon can feel some of his panicked desperation ebbing away. He’s still not entirely sure how in the span of six hours, they’ve gone from shouting at each other in the Saltzmans’ driveway to here, but he doesn’t think he wants to question it right now, when Jeremy’s tongue is tangling with his and Jeremy has one hand gripping Damon’s hair and the other tugging rather uselessly at Damon’s shirt.
Jeremy pulls away a few moments later, a smirk on his face, “What was that you said, about wanting to have your wicked way with me?”
“Sorry, babe, but you’re gonna have to earn that.” Damon’s only half-joking, but he doesn’t mind that Jeremy laughs. After watching the other man mope for three days, a genuine smile on his face is something Damon isn’t used to and he can’t help smiling back.
“And what does that involve?” Jeremy teases.
“Oh, the usual. Laugh at my jokes, don’t use Gilbert judgey eyes on me, generally worship the ground I walk on, get me free drinks at the Grill.”
Jeremy snorts. “I can promise you none of those things.”
Damon smirks. “Just the free drinks, then.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Matt.”
“Hmmm. Three-way. I mean, if that’s what you really want-
“Damon. Shut up.” Jeremy rolls his eyes.
“Make me.”
Jeremy does.