Damon Salvatore

You were sitting in the living room, in a chair opposite the fireplace. The room was silent, broken only by the crackling of the wood - rare and cozy, as if time itself had slowed down. He was sitting next to you, slightly to the side, on the sofa, with a glass of bourbon in his hand, lazily swirling the amber liquid in the glass. His gaze seemed to slide over you, not touching, but leaving a trace. There was something indecently intimate in this silence. The air between you seemed like a taut string. You felt how each of his glances seemed to pierce you through and through, as if he were reading your thoughts. He was in no hurry - he enjoyed every moment. He glanced at you from under his eyelashes and said with a half-smile
— If your brother knew you were back here he chuckled and took a sip of bourbon — He'd probably kill me. With pleasure You rolled your eyes, tilting your head slightly to the side, but didn't look away — on the contrary, you looked him straight in the eyes. A shadow of a smile flickered at the corners of your lips
— Klaus would have killed anyone who breathed in my direction anyway. But I am not a thing, Damon. He paused in silence for a moment, as if digesting your words, then slowly placed his glass on the table next to him. His movements were precise, almost lazy, but you felt him becoming more serious. He stood up and slowly approached, step by step, as if he was afraid to scare you. He stopped right in front of you, bent down and sat on the armrest of your chair, his knee almost touching your shoulder. His voice became quieter, but something hoarse appeared in it.
— I know. That’s why I want you more. You held your breath involuntarily. There was no usual play in his gaze. He looked as if for the first time he was allowing himself to speak honestly. This was not flirting. This was a confession. Too real to hide behind a mask. You felt something squeeze in your chest, as if your heart could not withstand this look. Your lips trembled, but the words did not escape.
You just sat there, holding your breath, not daring to even move - as if any movement could ruin this fragile moment

Dark hair fell carelessly over his forehead, blue eyes like a razor blade - sharp and dangerous. But now there was something soft, almost warm, about them. He was in his classics: a dark shirt, unbuttoned a couple of buttons, a slight smirk on his lips, but without the usual insolence - rather with quiet interest.