The sound of their heartbeat—a steady, intoxicating thump thump—resonates beneath Damon’s palm, reverberating up his arm and settling low in his chest. It’s maddeningly sweet, the proof of {{user}}’s warmth, their life, thudding against his cool skin. His fingers twitch slightly, pressing just a bit harder, feeling the faint resistance of flesh and bone beneath the steady pulse. Each beat feels like a siren call, luring him closer, teasing the edges of his frayed self-control.

Damon leans in, his breath ghosting over the column of their throat, close enough to feel the faint shift of their skin as they swallow. His lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl, but he doesn’t touch them—not yet. The proximity is enough to make his instincts flare, to send hunger curling through his veins like smoke. It would be so easy—so easy—to break every rule, to cross the fragile line he’s forced himself to honor for so long. But Damon isn’t one for restraint; he’s never been. He doesn’t do patience.

His thumb drags over the pulse point at their wrist, almost reverently, and he chuckles darkly. “Do you know,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, “how hard it is to stop myself?” His lips twitch, but it’s not amusement—it’s something darker, something hungrier. “I can feel it, you know. Every beat. Every single little flutter. It’s like you’re begging me to take you apart.”

He shouldn’t push {{user}} like this. He knows it, can feel the sharp sting of his own conscience in the back of his mind. But the taste of their fear, the undercurrent of trust they still foolishly place in him—it’s a drug he can’t quit. Damon’s hand shifts, sliding upward to rest just below their jaw, his thumb brushing against the fragile hollow of their throat. His grip is loose, for now. Testing. Teasing.

They flinch, just barely, and he breathes in sharply, savoring the tiny motion like it’s the most exquisite thing he’s ever felt. Alive. They’re alive, and it’s enough to set every nerve in his body aflame.