AN So, trying a TVD fic here... I've only ever done a drabble for them before, but... hmmm thought I'd give a fic a shot. Unbeta'd (cuz I don't have one :(); disclaimer on profile.

She wasn't quite certain how she ended up standing in his arms.

Well, actually, she did know.

She was standing in his arms because she couldn't say 'no'. Her! ... Unable to say 'no'! To Damon!

Oh, for the other members of her twisted Mystic Falls group of friends, she was a soft touch; saying yes to them for everything from: baking cookies, to killing rogue Vampire Hunters. But it wasn't one of her friends that she'd failed to say no to this time; it was Damon. Damon!

She usually pretty much started every conversation with him with the word 'no'.

So what the hell happened tonight?

Tonight, she'd felt sorry for him.

Sorry for the impassioned, outspoken, sometimes brutal Damon Salvatore.

Why?

Because tonight Elena and Stefan had gotten married... And Damon had stood behind his brother as he wed the woman they had both been obsessed over for years.

She watched Damon stand next to Stefan as Elena floated down the aisle towards him - a vision in white silk. She watched him as stand next to Stefan and witness Elena: her face bright, her lips smiling, her eyes beaming as she said 'I Do' to the man she loved.

Damon had amazingly, remained quiet and respectful throughout the whole ceremony; keeping his eyes, oddly enough, peeled on Bonnie during the majority of the ceremony... only sparing a glance at Elena as she stood on her tip toes to kiss her groom.

Since his eyes were drilled in on her as the prayer, and vows were read, and because she wasn't quite certain that he wouldn't try to pull some sort of hail mary 'stop the wedding' stunt, she kept her eyes equally trained on him.

She watched his lips tighten as the vows were exchanged. She watched him take a shallow breath when Stefan and Elena kissed. She watched his eyes shutter when the clergyman introduced 'Mr. and Mrs. Stefan and Elena Salvatore' to the wedding guests.

She saw it all.

And when the wedding dinner was done, and the DJ opened the dance floor to the reception guests - playing a long, smushy, 'so in love' ballad - and Damon raised a brow in her direction, nodding his head towards the floor – she nodded her head in agreement.

She simply couldn't make herself say no to him when she knew what he'd just been through.

She only hesitated for a half a second when he stood up and extended his hand to her, and then she pushed herself up out of her seat and placed her hand inside of his.

And then, it was just the two of them.

In one another's arms.

Thigh to thigh, torso to torso, hand to hand; her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

()

And yeah, that was how she ended up standing in Damon's arms with her heart beating in the most peculiar way.

It wasn't beating overly quickly, or even particularly loudly. But she could hear it beating. Beating in time to Damon's. And it occurred to her that her heart shouldn't beat in time with his. She shouldn't be as comfortable... as deliciously relaxed in his arms. Her heart shouldn't be so 'at peace' next to his.

He was humming, off tune of course, to the slow song that was playing... and her body was warm - wonderfully warm - pressed against his. And she was thinking... thinking that it didn't feel horrible to be this close to him.

She was thinking that it wasn't horrible to be this close to him, and she was also thinking that he - at this moment - didn't feel like her enemy. He didn't even feel especially like a frenemey. He just felt like... like a man.

Next to her...

Close to her...

She breathed in and relaxed into his scent. He smelled of sandalwood, and scotch, and that cologne that he always wore. And it suddenly struck her that she was aware of his scent. That she 'knew' it. When the hell had she learned Damon's scent?

She reminded herself that she didn't want to know his scent... and yet... here she was… in his arms, her head against his shoulder... 'knowing' him.

And yeah, the scary part was that she knew more than his scent. She knew his height - and that her head would fit exactly where it was - just between his pec and shoulder.

And she knew his sounds; the sound of his heart beating... the sound of his body breathing -rising and falling - against her frame. And she knew the feel of his hands... his fingers... manicured and callused at the same time... wrapped around her own, smaller hands.

How the hell did she know these things?

And why?

Why did she know him this way?

He wasn't her friend.

He wasn't her anything.

And yet... he was someone she knew.

She wracked her brain to see if she could recall Stefan's scent... or if she could imagine where her head would rest against his body if they were to dance together.

She tried to think about Matt and his heartbeat… his breathing... to pull the memory of those sounds to the forefront of her brain.

But she couldn't. They weren't buried inside her.

They weren't a part of her.

Damon was.

She pulled away from him just before the song ended... refusing to look up at him. Refusing to allow her self to finish the song; if she finished the dance in his arms, she knew she'd have another memory indelibly entered into her psyche... a memory that she didn't want to have. A memory that wasn't of him hurting her, or hurting those she loved... a memory that carved out a spot inside of her... a spot that purely set aside for Damon. The Damon who killed and raged and... and was so loyal to those he loved.

She wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of love.

Of that kind of intensity. Just for once in her life.

Would she burn beneath it? Or would she blossom?

She backed away, her eyes focused on the floor. She parted her lips and gathered her breath, "I... I need some air."

She needed to escape his scent. To escape his sounds. Escape his touch.

And with those words she fled from him in as dignified a manner as she could, heading toward the balcony just off of the hall where the reception was being held.

"Bonnie?"

She heard him calling after her but she ignored him. She needed to rally her senses back around her and to get her head screwed back on straight.

Stepping onto the balcony she scolded herself. Bonnie it's Damon. Damon the killer. Damon the hothead. Damon 'the one who's in love with one of your best friends'. What the hell are you doing? Why the hell are you suddenly cataloging his scent, his body, his breath? You hate him. He's your enemy... or at the very least, he's the least suitable person for you to suddenly have a jones for!

Her brain scampered around trying to find a reason for her sudden hyper-awareness of one Damon Salvatore.

Spell? Could someone have placed a spell on her? It was possible.

But why? What advantage would anyone find in having her suddenly have… feelings - or whatever it was she was experiencing - for her 'not friend' Damon?

She couldn't think of any benefits... unless the goal was purely to torture her.

She hugged her arms to her body. If torture was their endgame... they were succeeding. Brilliantly.

So a spell was possible, but not likely – driving her batty by confusing her about how she truly felt about Damon didn't seem like a strong motive. So what else could explain what had happened on the dance floor? What else?

Something in the back of her head niggled at her.

He's free now. He's free from Elena. She's married to Stefan, so Damon's hopes have been – more or less crushed.

She responded to the niggling thought. And? So what if he's finally free of his delusion of the two of them getting together.

Well that means you're free too. Free of the possibility of his being with Elena. You wouldn't be transgressing on your best friend's territory.

Oh please, it's not like Elena and I were having a pissing contest over Damon!

No... it never truly reached the level of a pissing contest, but that's because you were consistently too nice; constantly stepping aside and letting her have first dibs on him.

I wasn't -

You were... You never even put your hat in the ring to make a try for him... all because you're not the type to steal (or try and steal) someone that you think your best friend is drooling over. And let's be frank... Elena was drooling over Damon for quite a while there.

He's kind of drool-worthy. She mentally slapped her hand over her mouth. Okay this is just wrong!

Her inner self chuckled. Think about it. Elena's married. Damon can't have her. Damon is therefore free. Finally free and clear.

They could still have an -

They won't. You know they won't. Her psyche paused... I don't know if Damon would hold back just because Elena's married – he's pretty single minded, and when he wants something, he wants it 'til the end - but Elena has made her final decision and she won't look at Damon again...

Well even if they're never going to touch or look at one another again, that still doesn't explain why I'm suddenly, she shuddered before saying the word, 'drooling' over him.

Oh please... you've always drooled over him. You would have to be blind not to admit he's hot... blistering hot.

Well yes, but...

And he's loyal. No matter his other faults... when this man loves... he loves deeply.

Yes, but...

Think about the fights... the yelling... the bantering the two of you have constantly done.

Yes...

Foreplay.

NO!

YES!

Dammit... no!

Her mind was silent... letting her try and corral the thoughts that had been traipsing through her head.

After a few seconds the imp on her left shoulder sing-songed in her head: Go after him now... now before he leaves Mystic Falls, or before he finds someone else who he thinks is his soul mate. Show him... tell him... make him see that you're the one he's been looking for all of these years.

I don't want him.

Liar.

Well even if I did want him... and I don't… I shouldn't have him. Just because we want something doesn't mean it's good for us... or that we should just give in and have it. Sugar is delightful to eat, but it doesn't do great things to our hips.

Betcha Damon could do some great things to your hips.

She flushed pink as she stood in the darkened corner of the balcony.

"What kind of naughty thoughts are you having out here Bennett?"

She spun around to find the object of her rabid thoughts standing a few feet behind her.