This is first of a couple of non-related one shots that follow the same theme. The theme being cheesy (and sometimes overused) plot ideas or situations. Normally I wouldn't write something like this, but I found that Damon and Caroline can thoroughly screw up anything; thus, they can screw up these situations or get them just right.
Prompt: Damon writes Caroline a song.
Title from kick drum heart - the avett brothers.
1. my love like a voice.
Damon writes Caroline a song. He tells her about it one night at the boarding house when she's laid out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, counting how many times she loses count of how many times he sighs. She knows he wants to say something and she doesn't understand why he just won't say it. Because if there is anything about this man that Caroline knows it's that he says whatever is on his mind no matter what and that he likes for her to kiss the underside of his jaw when he's hovering above her. But that's something completely different from this, so.
He sighs for the nine hundred and forty-seventh time and this time Caroline groans, arms flailing beside her a bit. He gives her a disheveled grunt in response with, "What's wrong with you?" His face contorted into an unpleasant pout when she leans up her head to catch his sight.
"What's wrong with you? Won't you just spit it out already?" She slams her head back against the mattress going for something like dramatic effect.
Damon sighs again. Caroline legitimately thinks about ripping his heart out so he no longer can. But, she composes herself.
"I-" He hesitates, his hands that were once running over the leather of Stefan's old, old football stop, and he looks at her so pitifully. He starts again, "I," clears his throat. "I may have written you a song."
Caroline's head shoots up terribly quickly and she catches him slowly opening one eye, face scrunched up in fear. God, what kind of response was he expecting—her to maul him?
"You may have written me a song?" Caroline's face contorts with her sudden confusion. "What does that mean?" She didn't even know it was possible for Damon to surprise her anymore. (Last August, when he took her to the top of a Ferris wheel, she'd asked how he found the place, a carnival. He'd simply smirked— "Babe, I own this carnival.") But, of course, he manages to.
"I may have written you a song in the way that I may have switched Stefan's bunny blood with antelope blood two years ago." His expression suits Caroline's; which, you know, is all wide-eyed hilarity mixed with shock and fondness. Okay, maybe not exactly the same.
"You wrote me a song?" Her voice gets higher and softer and this is so sweet.
He simply nods, and since she's sitting up now, he can kiss her on the forehead as he walks by saying, "Wait here. I'll play it for you." And he does this walk that Caroline follows until she can't see him anymore.
Damon walks back into his room holding Stefan's guitar in his hand—which, by the way, Caroline didn't even know that either of the brothers fancied the instrument, let alone wrote songs or had voices of like, angels, or whatever—and settles himself back in the chair by the bed.
The guitar sits on his lap and Caroline watches as he strums it, the way he pulls his fingers away to flex them before starting again, the way his eyes focus only on what he's doing, like maybe Caroline's not even there anymore and that's okay because he looks beautiful this way. Something pulls and knots in Caroline's stomach. She clears her throat. It's not helping that he's only wear his black jeans, pulled so dangerously low on his hips with no shirt. She stares at the planes of his chest, the dip of his collarbone, his clenched jaw. She pushes her hair off her face, clears her throat again, suddenly feeling heat swarm her body, an aching in her chest.
He looks up at her and smiles so faintly that she isn't really sure he smiled at all, and then he begins to sing. And his voice is soft and rough and hollow all at the same time and fuck her, she doesn't appreciate him being so perfect at a time like this. Not fair.
A smile finds its way onto Caroline's face and she can't fight it. It takes over and accompanies the ache in her chest's effort to simultaneously destroy her and put her back together.
Caroline manages to actually pay attention to the lyrics and they're both sweet and cheesy and absolutely ridiculous at the same time; like the mention of her favorite breakfast food accompanied by the next line that says something about the way she falls asleep.
It sends this feeling of wholeness throughout Caroline's body that she's never felt before.
She catches a line that she's already committed to memory: you are my most. And after she hears it, she fucking hates him and loves him with absolute equal measure. There are tears in her eyes, and maybe she doesn't understand it completely right this second, but she'll always remember it and the way his voice cracked a little and it seemed like he released two hundred different emotions in those few seconds.
Caroline thinks she'd like to tell him she loves him.
The song finishes and he doesn't look up right away. It gives Caroline ample time to wipe away her tears and gather herself.
But that doesn't really serve any purpose, because as soon as he looks up, Caroline's throwing herself at him, falling into his lap with clumsy arms and kisses and he barely has time to put down the guitar.
She kisses him hard on the mouth, sliding her tongue over his bottom lip. She hears the moan he releases, instantly parting his lips for her. His hands fall to her hips and he squeezes tight, anchoring her to him. Or him to her. Either way, Damon thinks.
Caroline manages words when she finally pulls away. Her tongue dips out of her mouth, running over her bottom lip quickly, before she starts talking. "No one's ever written me a song before." And no, that's not what she was going to say. She was going to say something about how ridiculously cliché he just made their relationship, writing her a song, singing words he can't very well say yet. But still, it's true. No one has ever written her a song before.
She smiles, kisses him again, feels him smile into the kiss.
You're my most, she tells him, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. She's overcome with the smell of him and a hint of sweat. His fingers running up her sides beneath her shirt, and she suddenly thinks she may feel calluses on his fingers.
They are a cliché, Caroline thinks.
One second later, thinks, Oh well.