the chandelier light caught the sharp edge of damon’s jaw as he led {{user}} toward the center of the mikaelson ballroom. the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the metallic tang of ancient vampires, but all {{user}} could focus on was the heat of damon’s palm against the small of his back. he looked striking, dressed entirely in black, his electric blue eyes scanning the room with a dangerous sort of boredom.

"you’re stiff. relax," damon murmured, his voice a low vibration that settled right under his skin. "it’s just a dance with a century-old vampire in a room full of people who want to kill us. high stakes, low pressure."

{{user}} adjusted the collar of his suit, his heart hammering against his ribs. being elena’s older brother usually meant being the voice of reason, the one who stayed home and handled the research, not the one shoved into formalwear and forced to play double agent. "i'm stiff because your hand is five inches lower than it needs to be," he countered, his voice hushed but firm.

a slow, wicked smirk spread across damon’s face. instead of moving his hand away, he tightened his grip, pulling him flush against his lean, muscular frame until there wasn't a breath of space left between them. "if i let go, you might realize you're actually enjoying yourself. can’t have that. it would ruin your reputation."

the physical proximity was dizzying. for months, they had existed in the spaces between words. sarcastic barbs, lingering glances over glasses of bourbon, and the heavy silence that followed whenever they were left alone in the boarding house. now, the unspoken feelings were becoming a physical weight. {{user}} could feel the strength in his arms, the commanding presence that usually terrified people, but here, in the curve of his waist, it felt like an anchor.