A/N: Finally, this is the M version to The Glass Prison. Stormy, you frigging rock with your beta skills and thesaurus and random ideas.

Warning: I am a virgin and first time smut writer. Do not expect anytthing outstanding (to quote stormy).

Dedicated To: FeatherDeath for being impatiently patient.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Vampire Diaries or any of the characters.

Point Of No Return

The dark red liquid sparkled deeply from inside the confines of its glass prison. Flashing strobe lights reflected off of the surface, casting an amber glow about the pale skin it laid upon. Connected to a leather thong, it stayed firmly in place against his chest, revealed only by the open buttons of his constricting shirt. A constant reminder of who he was. What he was.

Upon entering through the underground gateway, he was stopped inside the door for just minutes, like all of the other victims to wander into the banco. Placed on a stool and surrounded by a curtain, he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeve. The man he was so used to seeing surrounded by vials and ice coolers tied a tourniquet around his arm. Snap went the gloves, protecting the calloused hands from any stray germs or disease. He was all too used to this. Knew the routine.

"Flex, please."

Curling his hand into a fist, he coiled the muscles in his arm, making sure to leave them somewhat flaccid so as to not rise suspicion. He sat in silence while his elbow pit was tapped and prodded, bribing a mighty vein to the surface.


A simple nod, his confirmation.

The prick of the needle was a small pleasure, feeding on the blood that ran soundly through his body. However, it never lasted long enough for his liking. The blood being drawn up into the syringe never took much time; a few seconds of suction, at most. No, the real sucking would be done later on.

Removing the tourniquet and rolling his sleeve back down, he watched closely as the man emptied the thick liquid into a tiny vial. A cork sealed the top, a tiny metal ring protruding out of the top. Through the loop went a thin leather strip, the only one he would get. After all, he would be after the velvet cords tonight. Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, he took the primitive necklace from the man's outstretched hand, and secured it tightly around his neck, the vial making a home for itself amongst the hollow of black silk and pale skin.

With a nod at the man who was readying a new set of supplies for the next customer, he grabbed his jacket, slung it over one shoulder, and was out from behind the curtain, off down the dark hallway towards the belly of the beast.

The clunk clunk of his boots echoed off the cobblestone floor, slowly giving way to inky stained hardwood. The tunnel opened up into a large room, where strobe lights of every color assaulted his eyes. Slipping off his dark tinted Ray-Bans, he let his eyes adjust to the now familiar atmosphere. The bar was going steady with a line of happily paying customers drunk on lust, walking away with shots of vodka, or glasses of absinthe; easily spiked by guys waiting for an opening- a turned head, a break in conversation. A tiny, odorless drug. A trip back to a dingy apartment with a ratty old mattress. How unfortunate for the poor, unsuspecting female who sits next to one of those sick bastards.

For those who were brave enough, they had nightly on tap specials. While most of the customers preferred a simple AB or O blend, he preferred a nice tall glass of V. Virgin always was the sweetest. What got him the most about this were those who sported porcelain fangs, ordering the drink for amusement, instead of carnal enjoyment. It was quite comical. The clinking of the glass as they unsuccessfully tried to sip at it, all the while spilling it down the front of their shirts.

Oh well. Just an extra few dollars for dry cleaning.

A balcony on the second floor was home to the private booths, each secluded in darkness and yards of richly colored tulle. A hook-up spot if he ever saw one and definitely more comfortable than the back seat of someone's ride. The moans of pleasure were drowned out by the noise of the crowd, but anyone with an imagination could see the picture vividly. A coffee table defaced; bodies' slick with sweat as each thrust was met by another harder one, trying impulsively to get the promise of much needed release. Nail marks and bite scars distinct in the darkness. The only light was leant from a few select placed oil lamps and the reflections from the dance floor below.

The floor was crowded with tightly packed bodies, the smell of sweat and cheap perfume hanging acrid in the air. All around, shirts were cut too high over midriffs and jeans fell too low, revealing piercings, tattoos, and far too much skin for decency. The dancing itself couldn't be described as much more than grinding and thrusting. Hips swaying drunkenly and hands roaming freely. A grope here. An under the skirt feel-up there. - an open sex show right there on the floor. No DJ was in sight. Instead, the eerie sounds of gothic electropop bounced off of the walls, loud enough to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. The backing force of all the madness.

In two corners of the room were mini stages, each home to the dancers' agency. Naked breasts bounced as they turned tricks and drew the attention of both sexes as they easily spun around glass poles, the innards pumping rich with blood. No matter how disturbing the sight was, it was impossible to tear your eyes away. Occasionally a brass fool would reach out to cop a feel or shove a bill under a g-string, but the dancers' held their own. The moves were sultry and the captured wine of life entrancing.

It happened to everyone who entered the vastly sensuous lair. It's like being trapped with no way out. Leaving seems so easy, but so difficult at the same time. A labyrinth of emotions too terrifying to face. You have a vague sense of where the door lies, but no matter how hard you try to find it, it eludes you. Almost like an invisible barrier holding you in, like double sided glass; you can see nothing but your own reflection, but you know, on the other side, is your escape- the way out, transparent to everyone but you. You become a victim of the Glass Prison, never to be released until punishment is handed out and your time is complete. Seconds run into minutes and minutes to hours as your mind languorously unravels. The feeling of ecstasy runs rampant through your veins, your eyes blinded by the orgasmic rush that pulsates its way throughout your body. A mind-wracking shudder grasps at the edges of your sanity, easily pushing you over the edge.

Time passes in a blur of drinks and dance refusals. After who knows how many hours and a no-longer-kept-track-of amount of glasses of V later, he scans the room in search of his first prey. So many lovely young maidens, so many deliciously gorgeous necks just waiting to be ravaged after the pre-collected sample- perhaps something a little more carnal if the girl is willing. But where to start? With the model thin blond who is working hard to draw the eyes of any male within a ten foot range of her on the dance floor? Or how about the tiny raven haired beauty who was holding on tight to her bloody mary and flirting shamelessly with a sad excuse for a goth-lite?

Deciding to go with the blonde, he leaves the table for two he had earlier acquired near the bar, his jacket hung on the back of his chair, and makes his way to the floor. The music pulsated through his veins with every note, the speakers pounding from all corners of the room. Weaving his way gracefully though the mass of bodies, he slinks up behind the girl, places his hands boldly on her naked hips, and begins moving in time with the beat. Turning around in his arms, she smirks, and shimmies her body down to the floor giving him a lovely view down her barely there shirt. Grinding against his legs, she lets her fingertips dance along his thighs.

Slithering her way back up his body, she licks her plump, red lips.

"Hey there," She shouts over the music. "You new in town?"

Was that supposed to be a line?

"Hardly." He yelled back, grinning at his own private joke.

"I've never seen you around here before." The blonde replied, dancing a circle around him. The lacy threads of a black thong were pulled high over the top of her leather skirt, which in itself was leaving little to the imagination. The girl's body was to die for…

Chuckling at his thoughts, he pointed out "I'm a regular."

"Really now?" She came back around to his front, running her fingers along the cord holding his vial.

"B negative." He answered her unspoken question.

"I'm A positive."

How unfortunate. Sweet, but not quite up to standards.

"So bambola, you have a name to go with that blood type?" He asked, locking his eyes onto her pitifully flat green ones for good measure.

"Maybe…" Her eyelashes fluttered.

The ones who play hard to get are so tiring…

"Which would be?"

"You can call me Bambi."

How annoying. She was playing off of his use of the native Italian word for baby. Well, two can play at that game.

"So, Bambi, what do you say we speed things up a little bit?" He said, stilling her hips with his hands. "Can I see your velvet?"

Without a word, she turned around and lifted her hair up for easy access. With nimble fingers, he reached over and untied the knot in her velvet cord, and slid the vial from her neck. Dropping her hair, "Bambi" turned around and watched with rapt attention as Damon popped the cork, and put the vial to his lips. The blood slid down his throat easy enough, but it tasted a bit on the stale side. It was most definitely going to leave a bad after taste.

Bambi looked satisfied as she watched him gulp it down. But Damon knew she wasn't finished yet. As her gaze fell from his now blood stained lips to his own vial, he made a quick excuse of "bathroom break" before losing her in the crowd of dancers.

Slipping the now empty vial into his pocket, he thought about how he wasn't entirely satisfied with how the night started off. Oh well, better luck next time.

Knowing he needed something to get that taste out of his mouth, he made a beeline for the bar.

"A V on the rocks, please. Make it a double." He ordered when the bartender turned his way.

As soon as it slid down the counter towards him, he grabbed it and knocked half of it back at once.

"So you like your blood iced, huh?" A tiny voice asked from his right. Turning to see who spoke to him, he noticed a voluptuous red-head sitting on the stool next to his. With creamy, unblemished skin and bright blue eyes, she was a sight to behold. Especially, he noted, since she still had a vial around her neck.

"When I need to take it down a notch, I do." Damon answered, smiling his best charming smile at her. "What's your poison, cara?"

"Absinthe, but occasionally I like a nice shot of O negative." She returned, seeing where this was going.

"And which are you drinking tonight?"

"La fee verte." The words rolled easily off of her tongue. Sexy.

Getting the bartender's attention once more, he said "I'd like a green fairy, with extra dilute, easy on the sugar."

The red-head looked at him skeptically.

"We can't have you getting too laced, now can we?" He chuckled, grabbing the glass before it could slide off the end of the bar. Moving his stool closer to his next victim's, he picked up the glass and commanded "open".

She did as she was told, opening her mouth wide. Holding the glass high, he tipped it forward, letting the burning liquid trickle onto her tongue. He loved a woman who could drink. She moaned in pleasure as the last drop slid down her throat. Licking her lips, she brought her hand up to rest on her vial.

"Your turn." Ripping the cord from her neck, she uncapped the vial and brought it up to his ready lips. It didn't take long to polish off.

Taking a liking to this girl, he reached up for his own cord, ready to release it when she brought her hand to rest over his.

"Save it, babe. I'm not in the mood for blood exchange tonight. Besides, it looks like you've got yourself another contender."

Scrunching his face in confusion, he followed her gaze, turning around to meet the eyes of an abnormally tall brunette.

"Hey sexy, is that a vial in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" She shrieked loudly, shoving him back into the bar. Stumbling, he caught the edge and watched in wonder as the women stalked towards him. A tight, wet tank top hugged her chest- a B cup if Damon was to guess. Her hair was pulled in high pigtails that fell to the middle of her back, each ending with a bright pink pom-pom. Evidently, his attacker was a forty year old cheerleader on spring break.


Flashing his eyes to the left, ready to signal the red-head for help, she just laughed and ordered up another absinthe.

Some help she was. Time to reevaluate her likable meter.

Turning back to the brunette, he noticed just in time that she was thrusting her vial in his face, nearly strangling him with the velvet cord. Not that he could be strangled by a mere human, of course, but that was beside the point.

"Want a piece of me, honey?" She slurred, leaning in close. Clearly this girl was drunk.


Removing her death grip form his neck while being careful not to get his shirt wet, he pushed gracefully off from the bar, spinning her around in the process. "Why don't we take this somewhere a little more private?" He said, not waiting for a reply as he led her to the darker part of the floor, covered in shadow from the balcony above.

"Well, go on then!" The girl cried, spinning back around to look into his eyes. "Try it! You'll like it. I know you will."

Despite sounding like an afterschool program on peer pressure, this girl was willingly offering her blood to him. And who was he to deny her?

Wasting no time, he tore the vial from her hand, ripped out the cork with his teeth, spat it to the floor, and downed the sweet liquid.

Yum. O positive.

Watching the girl's eyes flutter shut in ecstasy, he quickly deposited the vial into his pocket, and wrapped his arm around her back. Her hands automatically flew to his hair, tangling themselves in the dark tresses. His other hand cradled her head, leaning it back as far as it would go without causing pain. Eyes searching for the deep blue life line, he could feel his fangs extracting. Oh, sweet heaven! This was going to be good.

Just as he was about to sink his teeth into was would be a rushing river of pleasure, his eyes caught a flash of something coppery up on the balcony. And that something was tiny.

No. It couldn't be.

Getting back down to business, he opened his mouth wide before another flash- this time of pale, smooth flesh.

Was it possible?

Giving the limp girl in his arms a shove towards the dance floor, she stumbled into the arms of some tall, jock-looking type, forgetting about him completely. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he crouched down and pushed hard off the floor, leaping up over the railing of the second floor balcony. And there, not five feet in front of him, was the back of the girl he had been trying to shove out of his mind since day one in that damnable town of Fell's church. Her bright red curls tumbled down in a messy pile over her pale shoulders, exposed by the thin straps of her emerald green dress. Creamy, sleek legs poured out from the hem, running down to meet a pair of silver kitten heels. He could tell from the way that her head was moving this way and that; she didn't quite know what to do with herself.

"You're the last person I expected to see here, cara."

She jumped at the sound of his voice, turning around with caution; her bright, sparkling green eyes wide with fear.


"The one and only." He spread his arms wide, taking a step closer to her.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off terrorizing young girls in dark alleys or something?" She asked, taking a step back for every one he took toward her.

"Ah, but love, what better place to get my late night snack than a place like this?" He grinned, backing her into the wall. "I'd say the better question is: why are you here? Aren't you a little young to be in a bar? And a blood bar at that?"

"I didn't see them carding people at the door." She sneered icily. "Did you?"

"No. But I'm surprised that Carlos checked you in. Usually he's pretty good with ball-parking ages. You're hardly twenty-one. I'd say a ripe seventeen years… eighteen at most."

Huffing silently, she turned away from him towards the private booths, hoping he'd just lose interest and go away. She had no such luck.

"So, are you here with Mutt tonight? Or what about my pitiful brother's girlfriend and Meredith?"

"It's Matt. And if you must know, I'm here alone; not that it's any of your business."

"Alone?" He scoffed. "Are you serious?"

She didn't answer.

"Bonnie, this if hardly the place for someone such as yourself to come alone."

"Someone such as me?" She seethed, turning around to poke him in the chest. "Someone innocent? Someone naive? Someone weak?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of 'young', 'single', and 'female', but your description works too."

"Urgh!" She groaned, pushing him away from her. "You're so infuriating, you know that?"

He didn't answer as he followed her back to the balcony, leaning on the rail quite close to her.

"Look at them all down there, so free, so careless." He murmured, locking his gaze on the dancers down below. "Their only worry that the AB tap might run out before they're thoroughly intoxicated." Which prompted him to say, "What are you drinking tonight, by the way? You're a little young for alcohol and I'm sure that blood isn't your style."

Shooting him a glance that was no longer filled with annoyance, she replied "Nothing."


She nodded in response.

"Not even water?"

Looking towards the floor, she said in a low voice, "I was afraid it might be spiked."

Damon gave her one of his few second smiles. "Smart girl."

He watched her eyes drift back to the crowd, something mysterious to him hidden in their depths.

"How many girls tonight Damon?" Bonnie said casually as if she were talking about the weather. "Five? Ten?"

Building the suspense, Damon paused a while before responding "Three."

"Three dozen? That's impressive."

"Not three dozen. Just three. And only their vials."

"Well, that's hardly enough to keep a grown vampire like yourself going." Bonnie giggled, trying to shrug off the fear in her voice. He obviously wasn't sated yet. He would still need more.

Turning towards her, Damon straightened up and leaned his hip against the balcony, folding his arms across his chest.

"Why are you here, Bonnie?"

The question caught her off guard.

"What?" She said, turning to stare at him.

"Why are you here?" He repeated, looking down into her eyes. "You said that you haven't even had a glass of water, so it's obviously not for the drinks, and you're not down the dancing. And I can't help but notice that your vial is still full, so it apparently isn't to share yourself with someone else. You know my reason." He shrugged. "What's yours, cara?"

She held her silence, looking around at the other couples mingling around on the balcony. Taking notice of this, Damon unfolded his arms and held out his hand.

"Come on," Realizing her hesitance, he chuckled and said "I don't bite."

"Right, cause that makes me feel so much better." Bonnie mumbled, placing her tiny hand in his.

Leading her away from the balcony, they moved past a few lingering couples, their ears screaming from the cacophonous panting and groaning, down the stairs to the edge of the dance floor.

"What are we doing? Where are we going?" Bonnie asked as he pulled her past the edge of the crowd.

"What does it look like?" He replied, glancing back over his shoulder. "To dance, of course."

"Oh no," Bonnie planted her feet, refusing to go any further. "With you? Never. And besides, I can't dance."

"Ah, but cara, I've seen you at those childish get-togethers at the school, moving your body like there's no one in the room but you… You're good. So don't try and tell me that you can't hold a beat."

It was worth a shot, Bonnie thought as her feet inched forward, finally breaking out into a slight jog to keep up with Damon's long stride. The farther she got away form the wall, the more a smile began to eclipse her face. With Damon, she might actually be able to let loose and have a bit of fun.

"So, is this your idea of exhibitionism?" She joked, following him out to the center of the dance floor, being careful to avoid the writhing bodies. "You know, personally I'd prefer a booth."

"McCullough, do you really think I'm stupid enough to bite you in the middle of a crowd of people- only half of which are drunk?" Damon rolled his eyes, stopping them beneath a string of purple faerie lights. "All we're going to be doing is dancing."

Bonnie looked at him warily.

"I promise." He said, his voice like honey.

Conceding, Bonnie allowed him to guide her hands to his shoulders, after which he placed his own on her waist, and began moving to the music.

The lights cast a tender violet glow across his face, seeming to smooth out the sharp angles and hard points, almost softening his gorgeous frozen features. His hair fell gracefully across his brow, a few stray strands hanging in his shadowy eyes. Instinctually, Bonnie reached out to push them aside; her palm lingering on his cheek.

"Try it like this," Damon instructed, spinning her around so her back was flush with his chest. Replacing her hand back on his cheek, he trailed it down the side of his neck, guiding her hips with his other hand.

Enjoying this position, Bonnie took charge, scraping her nails against the skin of his throat, just hard enough to sting. Knowing it was his usual target point, she wondered if he was sensitive there as well. A rough scratch, a gentle stroke… nothing.

Damn it.

While Bonnie was sidetracked with trying to make him squirm, Damon took advantage of the free time to leave a feather light trial of fingerprints down to her thigh. His other hand was skillfully gentle as it followed the line of her arm to her shoulder, across her collarbone, and down the neckline of her dress. Lingering right at the end of the deep V, he took a few moments tracing lazy circles on the naked flesh. Feeling her hand tighten on his throat, he continued easing his way down under the silk, quickly meeting up with a horde of coarse lace.

"Damon…" Her voice held a warning, but Damon paid it no heed.

"Shh, little one," He crowed, placing a dusky kiss in the crook of her shoulder. "Just let yourself relax."


"If I do anything you're not comfortable with, just tell me and I'll stop Alright?"

Bonnie just nodded, loosening her now rigid muscles. His fingers danced along her bra, teasing the untouched flesh through the lace. He could feel her nipple harden, pushing against its restraints. Grazing his finger over the erect pink nub, he relished in the sound of Bonnie's moans as she dropped her hands to his thighs. Tugging and squeezing until she was panting hard, he shoved the lace aside, needing to feel more of her. The friction of his skin against hers made Bonnie shudder in pleasure.

"More…" She managed to get out between her erratic breaths.

"What was that?" Damon said, rolling the tiny mound between two fingers. "I can't hear you over the music."

"More," She panted again, barely louder than last time.

"I'm sorry, I still can't understand you."

"More!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, not caring if she was being stared at by the other dancers.

"As you wish," He simpered, burying his face in the crook of her neck, covering her with kisses. As he sucked and nibbled, he continued his ministrations on her breast, easily gliding his hand's attention to the other one.

"You like it, don't you?" Damon grinned, watching a tiny purple mark appear where he had been sucking only moments ago. "The thrill of getting caught…"

"W-what?" Bonnie managed to gasp out in between moans. "Someone saw us? Where? Who?" She demanded, spinning her head from side to side.

"No one saw us, Bonnie. I was talking about the possibility of getting caught. At least," Damon cooed, moving his hand from her hip to snake it up under the hem of her dress, "I don't think anyone saw us."

Bonnie's eyes narrowed.

"And if they did," Damon continued, "They're probably getting off because of us. Face it McCullough…" He pinched her nipple, making it pebble under his sensual touch, "We're hot…" Suddenly, he was sliding the lace of her panties across her little bundle of nerves, causing her to tremble. "You're hot."

Slipping a single finger inside her, he felt her tighten around him, struggling to adjust to the new adventure as her body rocketed like a million fireworks shooting around in the pit of her stomach. Her head fell back against his shoulder as he added a second finger, stretching her out.

"You feel that?" Damon breathed, his lips just touching her ear lobe. He started pumping his fingers slowly in and out, loving the way she was so wet for him.

"Uh-huh," Bonnie drew in a deep breath, trying to hold in her voice.

Faster and faster he thrust into her, never relenting, never taking a break.

"Do you like it?" Using his thumb to stroke down her hot, wet center before sliding back up to treat her clit.

A moan was her only reply.

"Do you know what it is- this feeling of pleasure coiling up in the pit of your stomach?" His voice like liquid sex, rolling across her skin.

He coiled his fingers. She screamed out, but managed to nod: No. Good. He was her first.

"That's an orgasm, Bonnie…" He explained, dropping a light kiss in the dip between her throat and shoulder. "…would you like another?"

"W-we really shouldn't…" She choked out, drawing herself out of his grasp.

Damon did not respond as he watched her peek around before reaching down her dress to discreetly fix her bra.

Once she had righted herself, Bonnie met his dark eyes, realizing how they had gone stone cold.

"I'm sorry Damon, I just-" She began, but he cut her off.

"I told you that if I made you uncomfortable at all, I would've stopped. You just had to say so."

Casting her eyes downwards, Bonnie turned and began to stalk off the dance floor. She didn't get more than ten feet when a consoling hand came down on her shoulder.

"Come on, McCullough. I'll buy you a drink." Damon said from behind her. Taking her hand, he led her in the direction of the bar.

"A drink?"

"I won't let them spike it, I promise." He smirked. "And for the record? Never apologize for something that wasn't your fault."

Bonnie was silent, thinking, when they strolled up to an empty spot at the bar.

"So, what would you like?" Damon asked, picking up one of the tiny drink menus on the counter-top. "I'm partial to the taps myself, but I would suppose you're interested in something a little less wicked. A cosmo, perhaps? A screaming orgasm? But wait, you already had one of those this evening."

Ignoring the comment, Bonnie looked sideways at the menu before saying "I'll have a water."

"A water?" Damon crinkled his nose. "Where's the adventure in that? Are you sure I couldn't interest you in a Gin And Sin? How about a Sex On The Beach? A Slippery Nipple? A Thunderfuck? A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall? Or what about-"

"Just a water, thanks." Bonnie repeated.

Rolling his eyes, Damon called to the bartender "I'd like an ice water and a Lickity Clit. Make the water a virgin."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Virgin water?"

"You never know in this joint," Damon shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Taking the drinks, he nodded at the bartender and turned away, motioning for her to follow.

"What? Not only do you not pay for the drinks, but you don't even tip the guy?" She snorted, following him along the wall to the stairs that led to the balcony.

"I have a tab here," He explained. "And I tip very well if you know what I mean."

Ascending the staircase, they made their way past the few people to one of the private booths at the far end of the row. Stepping into the shadows of the yards of dimly lit sapphire tulle, he glanced back at Bonnie, who was standing a few feet away, glancing at the other booths with apprehension.

"Don't make me force you, McCullough."

Sighing deeply, Bonnie acquiesced and followed him into their own world of seclusion.

The space was tiny, but cozy in a quaint sort of way. A tiny glass topped table stood in one corner, presumably to hold agency to any drinks. An antique Victorian loveseat was stationed on the back wall, its framework dark and serpentinly curved, the cushions a plush, creamy velvet. Extra bolster pillows sat at either end, their tassels well braided. The only other adornment was a Bisanzio mosaic rug, composed of tiled pearly flowers and golden leaves against a dark, midnight sky. All in all, the space was beautiful. Tiny and gorgeous.

"It reeks of sex in here." Bonnie complained, letting go of his hand.

"Oh? And how would you know what sex smells like, my little virgin?" Damon asked, crossing the space to set her drink on the table.

"I'm not a-"

"You're a virgin. It practically emanates off of you. Besides, I think we both know that I found out just how tight you are not an hour ago."

Bonnie scowled, refusing to say anything.

He smirked. "I thought so."

Bonnie did her best to hide her blush, looking anywhere but at him.

"Well, sit down." Damon said, flopping down onto the love seat, his arm slung across the back.

Reluctance was clear on her face as she took baby steps toward him. Stopping at the edge of the loveseat, she stared unblinking into his strong, commanding eyes.

Why are you here? The question echoed through her head. Why was she here? A hundred reasons filtered through her mind, not one reasonable. If she told him the truth, would he laugh at her? If she told him a lie, would he see right through her? There was only one way to find out…

"You want to know why I'm here?" She asked, throwing up a carefully blank facade to shield her emotions.

"What I want for you is to sit down." Damon reiterated, moving his arm down to pat the spot beside him, taking a big gulp of his alcohol.

Bonnie stared at the spot momentarily, opting instead to sit on the armrest at the opposite end. He watched her perch there, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly. Was she truly that scared of him? And he thought he had made some progress…

"Closer, cara. I've already told you that I don't bite." Damon coaxed, then added as an after thought, "Well, not unless you want me to."

A shiver crawled up her spine, causing her back to arch slightly. Unfortunately for her, Damon noticed.

Taking advantage of this, he placed his half-empty drink beside her full one, and inched his way across the love seat until he was situated right beside the arm rest. Reaching over, he took her tiny hand in his, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over her knuckles.

"Are you frightened of me, Bonnie? Afraid?" His voice was smooth as silk, his eyes pools of molten ebony. "Because contrary to what my poor excuse of a brother might think, I would never, ever harm you."

"Did you decide this before or after you envisioned my blood running down marble white steps?" Bonnie asked idly, ripping her hand from his, bringing it up to examine her nails.

"You know the fraudulence of that statement well enough." Damon said, teeth gritting together.

One minute she was hot, the next she was cold… Why must the opposite sex be so frustrating?

"I also recall you hating all things human. Or should I widen that statement to all things mortal?"

"I don't hate you."

"So you say."

"I believe that's defamation of character."

She glanced up, narrowing her eyes and spitting "Tyrant."

"And that, tesoro, is vilification. Just one more sin to add to your list of crimes this evening."

"You are full of big words tonight, aren't you? What'd you do, eat a dictionary for breakfast this morning?" She rolled her eyes.

"No, actually, that would be Café Waitress a la mode."

"Urgh! You disgust me!" She scoffed, making to stand up. Before she could get to her feet, Damon grabbed her arm and jerked her back, causing her to stumble.

"Ahh!" She shrieked as she plummeted backwards over the armrest, arms flailing as she felt her feet leave the ground.

"Got you," A husky voice whispered right next to her ear as a pair of steady arms went around her.

Opening her eyes, which she had closed during the fall, she found herself merely inches away from Damon.

Dismayed, she struggled a little but that only made his grip on her tighten.

"Let go of me!" She demanded, trying desperately to get out of his lap.

"You're the one who fell on me, if I do recall." He so graciously pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're the one who pulled me!" Bonnie retorted, refusing to give up her brawling.

"All you're doing with this asinine wrestling is making me get very happy." Damon pointed out, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Instantaneously, Bonnie sat still.

"Now, I'm not letting you go until you tell me what you're doing here, why you've secluded yourself all night, and what I can do to make you feel like you're walking on cloud nine."

"Well you could start by moving down a little bit. This," She kicked the side of the armrest, "Is really uncomfortable; not to mention I'd rather not have my skirt up around my waist, thank you very much."

Tearing his eyes away form her face, he noticed that the skirt of her dress had indeed turned up to her waist, showcasing her creamy legs a very skimpy, pair of panties.

Too bad she was probably as uncomfortable as he was when he wore leather pants in the summer.

Holding her tight, Damon stood up and inched a few steps to the left, before turning and falling back onto the cushion, his legs stretched out, feet propped up on the arm Bonnie was only minutes before occupying. The girl in question was hiding her face in his chest, hands covering her eyes, her body cured tightly around his.

"Comfy, are we?" Damon smirked.

Pulling her head back, Bonnie looked up into his amused face, not saying a word; she knew arguing would be futile.

"Black lace truly is ravishing against your skin."

Taking her silence as a sign that she was content, he raised one hand to her hair, running his fingers though the fiery ringlets. The feeling of her breath on his chest was sweet heaven. He knew that if he looked down, he would see the vial fogging up from the humidity. Strange how he forgot about the blood until now. His blood, still untouched. Her blood, nestled upon her breast…

"You want to know why I'm here?" She repeated. "They ignore me." Those three simple words brought him back to reality. Taking her fae-like hand with his free one, he placed it over his heart, encasing her fingers within his.

"Who ignores you?" He prompted, feeling as though he was finally getting somewhere.

"Elena, Matt… Meredith and Stefan." Her voice was elfin, barely a whisper.

Damon narrowed his eyes at the sound of his brother's name. "They seem to listen to you well enough," He removed his hand from her hair, shifting it down to caress the bare skin of her shoulder and arm.

"Psychic Bonnie, maybe." She mumbled, basking in his touch. "But not just Bonnie. Never human Bonnie."

"Explain." A command.

"As you well know, they take heed of my visions and trust them, mostly, but when I'm just hanging out with them it's like they see right through me; almost as if I don't even exist." No lies, no falsehoods- she was letting out the truth. And it felt good.

"Elena is always too wrapped up in Stefan to take any notice of me. Meredith pays me some attention, but usually the most I get from her is a reprimand not to be childish. And Matt…"

Damon knew that she hadn't reached the hard part until now. How is it that the stupid human boy always managed to complicate things?

"What did Mutt do now?" Damon whispered encouragingly, hoping to get an elaboration.

"He just…" Bonnie trailed off, burying her face deeper into Damon's chest. He could feel her hot tears trickling onto his ashen skin. Feel her tiny hands latch tightly onto his shirt, her nails threatening to penetrate the Venetian silk. Oh well. What's a few hundred dollar shirt in comparison to a young maiden's solace?

"Shh," He cooed, pulling her as close to his body as he could. "It's alright. Just breathe." Those four words became his mantra as he rubbed soothing circles on her back. The drifting sounds of a gothic ballad spilled overhead, wrapping them in a cocoon of chaste innocence. The only sign of life within the booth was the soft fluttering of the tulle from the quickstep of passersby.

After what seemed like a lifetime of quiet sorrow, Bonnie sniffled and muttered "Sorry about that. I'm sure the last thing you wanted to do this evening was to console a whiny little brat."

"Don't you even think it McCullough," Damon breathed. "You may be whiny at times, and, let's face it, you are pretty little," He chuckled as she smacked his chest, "But you're far from a brat."

She sniffled again, but stayed silent.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Damon ventured after a minute or so.

"Actually, I'd rather not."

Nodding, Damon attempted to sit up, but was stopped by a tiny hand on his shoulder.

"Could we just stay like this?" Bonnie asked, "Just for a little while?"

Looking down into her tear-stained face, how could he possibly say no?

Settling back down, Damon answered, "So long as we switch positions. Even vampires get cramped."

Before Bonnie could reply, he flipped them around, so she was pressed flush into the back of the loveseat. Directly in front of her was Damon. Keeping himself propped up on his right elbow; he stared smugly down at her surprised face.

"Much better." He grinned, relieved to be off of his back for awhile. No matter how well crafted Victorian furniture was, it was never made for comfort.

Bonnie didn't so much as blink when he reached out to run his fingertips over the side seam of her dress, trailing them up and down her side.

Odd. He half expected a protest of some sort.

"You know, this shade of green really is lovely on you, cara. Especially against your hair."

No reply. No acknowledgement. Nothing.

"Il modo tua occhio seguire mio corpo fare mio spirit volare e mia cuore gridare fuori in estasi…"

"Huh?" Bonnie moaned, throwing her eyes up to meet his.

"You have no idea what I just said, do you?"

Bonnie just nodded her head no before looking down again.

"What's caught your eye?" He asked, turning his soft caresses into nail scraping, hormone raising stimulations.

"Nothing." Bonnie replied, her voice steady and light, as if she were in a trance. "Nothing at all."

Damon followed her gaze down where his shirt was unbuttoned, the vial of blood resting in the pools of fabric.

So that's what has her undivided attention…

"Tempting, isn't it?" Damon asked, removing his hand from her dress to place upon her own. "The deliciously lush liquor that you know is forbidden and irrevocably wrong." Silk slipped from under her fingertips, leaving way to ashen skin sheathing amass of impenetrable muscle.

Bonnie didn't move, didn't blink, giving way to the bewitching swell of his voice. Slowly, sensually, he wrapped her fingers around the leather cord, dragging them downwards towards the glass prison containing his claret.

Releasing her hand, he tilted her chin upwards, commanding "Stay." The sound of the cord breaking was oddly liberating, the leather hanging limp on either side of her hand. Sitting himself up, he guided her free hand to the cork, popping it open. In one fluid motion, the vial was resting on her awaiting lips, the liquid slipping easily down her throat.

Her bloodstained lips looked rich and enticing in the dim lighting. The slight bobbing of her throat as she swallowed- exquisite. Her eyes were glassy with desire as she reached for her own vial to return his favor.

"You enjoyed it?" He asked idly, watching her fumble with the knot behind her mouthwatering neck.

"I never knew something so taboo could taste so…"

"Delectable? Titillating? Pure?" He supplied.

"I was thinking more along the lines of sexual, but your description works too." She laughed, a smirk hanging on the corner of her glossy lips. Holding out her vial, he glanced briefly at the gleaming liquid, before grabbing it roughly as tossing it over his shoulder.

"I was thinking about something more… lecherous, for this evening's menu." Damon grinned.

Bonnie gasped beneath his lips, her body melting from his kiss. The heat, the passion- it was almost too much for her to bear. When he pulled back, his black eyes shone with mischief, his tongue flicking out to lick the stray blood off of his lips. She copied his action, realizing too late that he cleaned her mouth from his blood.

Damn him. That was hers to taste.

An archangelic grin slid onto his well carved face. He was the fucking devil in disguise, and she couldn't care less. Without permission, he slung one leg over her satin-clad hip, effectively straddling her; trapping her in place between him and the cushion. Cold hands ran their way up the inside of her arms, raising them above her head with interlocking fingers.

"So we finally reached first base about half an hour after hitting third." He chuckled. "We really need to learn to prioritize, Bonnie."

"I don't know, I kind of like breaking the cycle." She replied, beaming as she ground her hips upward against his.

Her sudden confidence took Damon off guard.

"Feeling lascivious are we?"

Bonnie giggled. "I have no idea what that word is, but if it means horny as hell, then yes. Very."

She never ceased to amaze him.

Lowering his body flush against hers, he reveled in the rise and fall of her chest against his. "Are you sure this is what you want?" He whispered, staring straight into her eyes.

Without a word, Bonnie thrust her head forward, capturing his lips with hers. "I'm on the pill," She whispered before attacking his lips once more.

Damon took that as a yes. Ripping his mouth away from hers, he lowered his head, placing a set of butterfly kisses along her collarbone. Her breath hitched, urging him to continue. Releasing her hands, he muttered a quick "Don't move" between kisses as he slid the tiny strap of her dress off her shoulder, quickly followed by the other. Shimmying the fabric down her sides, Damon couldn't help but simper as her lace covered chest was revealed; an intricately crafted web of indigo veins glowing brightly beneath her translucent skin.

"Exquisite," He breathed out, wrapping his arms around her back, arching it upwards. Finding the clasp on her bra, he easily opened it. Bonnie hands reached for the material, but Damon growled, warning her to keep them above her. Satisfied that she wouldn't disobey him again anytime soon, Damon let her back down, telling her to relax. Placing his hand flat against her chest; his curled his fingers between the cups, skimming it up her breasts inch by slow inch. Slithering the straps up over her arms, it fell silently to the floor.

He admired her newly naked skin hungrily, wasting no time in beginning his festivity. Licking a lazy trail up the valley between her breasts, he began fondling them, pinching and squeezing, stroking and caressing. Bonnie's head fell back against the armrest, a low moan escaping her lips. Latching his lips onto her breast, he used his newly free hand to grope around for the bolster pillow, easily finding it and shoving it under her arched back to get a better angle. Never relenting with his nibbling, he worked at sliding the dress down her waist, past her hip, to her knees, where she proceeded to kick it too the floor. Switching breasts, he began sucking on the other while his hand took over her newly erect nipple.

"Dear god," She breathed out between gasps, unable to get control over her breathing.

"Not god, just call me Damon." He laughed, pulling back from her breasts to look her in the eyes. There was a feral gleam just beneath the surface, hidden by the sparkling green that pierced his heart.

"I think you're a little overdressed," Bonnie stated, sitting up. A hand on her stomach stopped her.

"Not this time, cara," Damon chastised. "How about I give you a show?"

Falling back under the weight of his hand, she was forced to prop herself up on her elbows and watch in wonder as he sat back on his haunches, his fingers moving to his shirt. They were nimble and annoyingly slow as they undid each button, slipping it effortlessly through the hole before moving down to the next. His pale chest peaked out from its dark confines as the last button was popped, exposing a set of sinewy abs. She was so entranced by the white, rippling muscle that she nearly missed him shrugging his shoulders back, letting the shirt tumble down his arms. Pitching it off to join her clothes on the floor, he gave her quick wink before moving onto his belt.

Bonnie swallowed hard, feeling very lightheaded. What if she fainted? Would Damon laugh? Would he sympathize with her? Would he suggest they stop?

Painfully slow, he removed the end from the belt loop in his jeans, pulling it back to jostle the buckle. Letting the pin fall from the hole, he slid the buckle forward, effectively making her swoon. Deciding to switch it up a little, Damon ripped the belt sideways, causing it to lash out, snapping at the air.

The buckle clinked as it hit the floor, prompting Damon to begin the next phase in the dangerous game he was playing; placing his hands firmly on his hips, he effectively drew Bonnie's eyes to the deep V that disappeared beneath the waist of his low-slung black jeans. She was amazed by the lack of hair on his body, so smooth, so touchable; but what intrigued her most was the stray trail of black that traced from just below him belly-button down to his jeans. It seemed so out of place, but that only made it all the more captivating.

"Do you want to take a guess, Bonnie? Boxers or briefs?" He smiled genuinely as she gaped openly at his finger teasing the button.

"B-boxers?" She wavered, swaying from side to side.

"Well, let's see, shall we?" Standing up from the couch, he quickly removed his boots and socks. Popping the button, his hands moved to the zipper, sliding it down tortuously slow, tooth by tooth.

Bonnie's hand flew up to her eyes, shielding him from view.

"McCullough," He growled playfully, "Eyes on me. My face, if you please."

Taking in a deep breath, Bonnie dropped her hand, and locked her eyes with his. The sound of the zipper was drowned out by the music, but somehow she knew when he was done.

"Now, that wasn't too hard, was it?" Damon asked as he stepped out of the jeans as he stalked back over to the loveseat. He vaguely noticed that she didn't glance down even for a second. Oh well, it was her first time; let her have it her way. Placing himself at the bottom of the couch, he bent down and began kissing from her ankle, up her calf. Stopping at the inside of her knee, he flicked his tongue out, and blew gently on the wet spot, making her shiver with pleasure.

Always works, He congratulated himself.

He followed the path of butterfly kisses with a sweet caress of his fingers all the way up to the top of her thigh. Just before he got to her last sliver of clothing, he moved back down to her other ankle and duplicated the process.

Bonnie's eyes fluttered in ecstasy as she struggled to stay alert. Lifting her head, she watched as he worked his way up, the muscles of his back completely relaxed and- oh god! There was her answer to boxers or briefs… His lower back ached up into a tight mound of milky skin- completely void of clothing.

Figures he'd be the type to go commando, Bonnie thought as she tilted her head back, refusing to look again for fear of attacking him. He was in control; she was just along for the ride.

Suddenly, her legs spasmed with uncontrollable force. He rubbed her vigorously through the lace, sending a shot of bliss straight to her heart.

If only he would just get on with it already…

As if reading her mind, Damon slid his hands upward, snaking his fingers under the waistband. They crept down her legs with ease, going a lot faster than the rest of her attire had. Flicking it off with ankle, she raised her leg; bringing the end of her heel close to his face.

"Go ahead," She prompted, "I know that if I tried to take them off you'd just scold me."

"Actually, I think you'll be keeping these on." Damon replied, hitching her leg up over his shoulder, "But I know you'll enjoy it."

Without warning, he dove forward, thrusting his tongue inside her. She screamed out, not knowing what else to do. It just felt so… unbelievable. His tongue flicked around, hitting every spot within its reach, licking her clean. As he continued his tirade he cupped her backside, lifting it up in the air, molding it in his hands. Grabbing the armrest, Bonnie took a risk to run her hand through his hair, pushing him closer. He responded with a bite to her folds, removing his tongue from her core. She whimpered at the loss, wanting to feel like she was floating once more, but he resisted against her as she attempted to push him back.

Pulling back entirely, Damon smirked in that deliciously evil way of his and commanded, "Roll over."

When she made no move to follow his order, Damon flipped her himself, stationing himself between her legs, spreading them out as far as the couch would allow. If she wanted things to speed up, he would be happy to oblige. Gripping her hips, he positioned himself at her entrance. Her intake of breath was like an arrow through his heart. She was truly scared. He needed to find a way to ease her fear. Swiping her ling curls away from her neck, he began tracing shapes on her back, leaning forward to run his nose along the side of her throat.

Mmm, mint. He inhaled deeply, his head spinning form the scent of her come he hadn't noticed it before?

Green eyes fluttered shut as he trailed a line of scorching kisses up her back, across her shoulder, and along her carotid. The scrape of his teeth was wicked against her skin, causing her to shudder in raw delight.

"Ready?" His voice was soft, his breath trailing over her skin as he got back in position.

She didn't respond. Not vocally, at least. The race of her pulse was consent enough. A soft caress. A sweet kiss. A tiny lick. A comforting thrust. A luscious bite. Continuous moans of pleasure. Newly deflowered.

Sweet heaven.