Synopsis: Bamon Kink prompt from Skysamuelle: Drunk Sex/ Since Stelena are away for the summer, a very sober Bonnie is forced to take care of a massively drunk Damon. She picks him up from the bar and decides to stay in with him at the boarding house to make sure no killing of the innocent occurs.
Problem is, Damon has a little crush on her and is very demonstrative about it
Last Chance for Liquid Courage
Bonnie starts in with the could nots, the can nots, the will nots and her reasoning falls as flat as a pancake. She's stuck. She's stuck babysitting a psychotic asshole who's grin feels like a thousand ants crawling all over her skin.
(That's what she tells herself because entertaining any other thought but disgust is not an option).
Two months. Two months of making sure no one dies. Two months of bar hopping with not an ounce of enjoyment.
Bonnie considered once, just for fun, if there was a salary for the type of job that had been placed upon her this summer. She was sure there was.
Another night and another bar and Bonnie thinks he will never stop. It must be that he is bored. It must be that the only two people who would hesitate to do him real bodily harm are gone. Stefan and Elena; how they loved to make sure they always provided him the attention he craved. Who would react to his misadventures now?
A bar full of strangers, that's who.
And they are so easily taken with his dark hair, and bright mischievous eyes, blue to the point of pain. Guys: they want to pick a fight, or they want his coolness to rub off on them. Girls: they simply want to take him home; a good hard screw, they don't count on blood and terror when the night ends.
Bonnie will not admit it anytime soon but she has gotten used to her summer nights. The drinks, the hopeless people, the seediness inherent to any bar no matter how upscale.
This bar in particular is rather Honky-Tonk as it is. Damon manages to fit right in, even without the cowboy boots.
She ignores the people around her because it only defeats the purpose.
"Dance with me," Damon whispers. He left a stupefied woman standing in the middle of the bar only to breathe against Bonnie's hair.
The drinks have been swallowed down so long and so often that it is a wonder that Damon is standing upright.
"No," Bonnie says. All she is supposed to do is take him home.
"You're no fun," he accuses.
Fun. She's the definition of fun when not forced to take drunken vampires home. It's all because she can't say 'no' to Elena. It's all because Stefan has somehow found a way to wrap Bonnie around his finger as well. It's his earnestness. It's how, that one time, Stefan helped her out of a hole that had become her life.
She'll repay the favor. Ten fold. Even when he's as psychotic as his brother.
Damon stumbles a little, leaning against her, nose nuzzling her cheek. That's her queue to take him home.
Leaving the bar is a fifteen-minute ordeal because Damon always ends up leading her into a dance anyway.
It's a bad joke when someone choices to play "The Crying Game" on the jukebox.
First there are kisses, then there are sighs
And then before you know where you are
You're sayin' goodbye
Damon sways around and Bonnie is forced to follow. His death grip crushes her ribs and she's pretty sure she will die of asphyxiation from her face pressed so tightly to his chest.
Why there are heartaches (heartaches), why there are tears
And what to do to stop feeling blue when love disappears
Bonnie sort wants to tell Brenda Lee to go to hell.
She's not quite sure how they make it to the Damon's bed. Driving to the Salvatore boarding house was precarious enough.
"Elena wants to buy the most atrocious lamp I've ever seen," Damon complains once he's plopped on the bed.
Bonnie can remember when flowers were the best way for a boy to tell a girl that he loves her. Stefan has to one-up the universe by giving his girlfriend the deed to his house.
Damon pats the space next to him slowly. The threat is clear. Play nice or his on the street in a second looking for more willing prey.
She didn't know how exhausted she was until her back hits the bed. She's half asleep within ten minutes until a hand lands on her knee.
"Are you fucking Jeremy Gilbert?," Damon asks, his fingers like spiders.
"That is none of your business." She doesn't remove his hand. She should.
"That's a no. Why not? He's dying for it."
No response. Just mute silence. Just Damon's hand on her leg.
He touches his own thigh, pulling at the black denim. Bonnie realizes after a few minutes that he is rubbing himself quite deliberately, still with his other hand on her knee, looking at her a bit slack-jawed with glassy eyes in that lovingly soused way.
The intimacy of it startles her out of silence, "You can't possibly be doing what I think you're doing?"
Damon shrugs, "You are the single, best jerk off material."
"Right. This is not happening." Bonnie attempts to get off of the bed only to find herself pushed against the mattress.
"Where do you think you're going?" It's not a question. It's a dare.
Some part of Bonnie always new that it would wind up this way. She commits to the idea that she'll let Damon do whatever he wants to do for tonight. As long as Damon stays here, keeps the destruction contained inside this room.
She offers herself like a sacrificial lamb because she's good at it.
Bonnie doesn't respond when Damon kisses her face, or palms her breast over her blouse. She tries not to say a word as he ruts against her.
It goes on this way for a few minutes, at best, until something breaks inside of her. Perhaps it's the rhythmic squeeze of Damon's hand on her breast. Or the desperate slow grind of his hardness on her hip.
She returns his kiss when Damon's lips land on hers. She tastes bourbon and metal. He tastes Pepsi™ and bubble gum. He draws lips away from hers and his mouth forms a grin. That's more like it.
"Let me take my clothes off, okay." It's more like she pushes her underwear down and unbuttons her blouse.
His thumb glides across her clit, the contact causing her to jump out of her skin, nerves skittering.
Damon pushes her breast out of the cup of her bra. A flesh offering on a cotton and underwire platter.
His mouth covers her nipple, pulling, sucking, swirling his tongue with a sharp nip of teeth.
There's no way I can come like this, Bonnie makes a vastly failing promise to herself.
"Your body is so sensitive." Damon says after he's licks the sweat that has gather on her neck.
Bonnie can't help the moans she releases out of her mouth or how she wills Damon to take any part of her he wishes. This treacherous body has never done her any good.
Damon soon grows disinterested with the barrier of clothes, "off" he demands, pushing at the blouse, tearing at the skirt. At the sound of ripping material, Bonnie realizes she has lost her bra. It's is rendered unwearable.
Damon's clothes soon follow and he's back on her, his mouth over hers, his tongue thick and active with audacity like he belongs here kissing her, touching her.
He settles himself between her legs into the bowl of her slim hips and grimaces pleasurably as he works his dick into her, her wetness easing the way.
And she's...She's never done it without a condom. It's a first that Damon will never understand.
The solid drag of skin on skin, the stretch and slight burn makes her twitch.
Damon hooks his thumb into her mouth because she looks like she needs something to bite onto as he fucks her.
He put her legs over his shoulders, bending her in half. It's easy. She wasn't a cheerleader for nothing.
She slaps his arm, and bites her own lip. She needs him to touch her there but her orgasm arrives without warning.
Forget it, forget it. It's done. Deep inside her it's like a bomb going off.
Damon hums his appreciation, the wet clench milking him.
A shuddering throb and pulse tells her that he has followed her into the warped abyss.
He pulls out of her, although he's still hard. What ever happened to alcoholic impotence?
Oh right, he's a vampire.
Damon slithers down her body, closes his eyes and sucks as much as her as he can into his mouth.
Bonnie's only slightly embarrassed as his tongue licks into her. The quick throb builds again without difficulty.
He slides back up, and when they kiss again its a sloppy exchange of air.
"No one acts like they're hungry for it like you do" Damon delivers like it's the cold truth and thrusts his dick inside her again so she won't be offended.
He holds himself up so he can watch her face , her bouncing breast, and their hips meeting again and again.
"What do you want me to do to you?," he asks, like what he is doing is just the beginning.
Song: "The Crying Game"/ Dave Berry/cover by Brenda Lee/ 1965/ written by Geoff Stephens