AN: Now, here's a different kind of Bamon from yours truly. I've written so many Erotica, and I thought, why not try to do it on Bamon? This could be a one-shot or a mini-series, but it will depend on the reviews, I guess.
Reminder: This is for Mature Audiences only. Enjoy!
Yet it is another boring afternoon at Mystic Grill for Damon Salvatore. He sits by the furthest stool at the bar, nursing a half-empty bottle of Jack. He shuts off his super-hearing ability by focusing on the way the alcohol heats up his un-dead body –how he does it, he doesn't know, but really, he wasn't interested in hearing about anyone's problems right now. Now was just a 'those days' for Damon, and even if an Original was conspiring to invade Mystic Falls in this god-forsaken grill, he wouldn't give a damn. All that matters was that he was alone and the kids were at school. He downs a big gulp of whiskey and puts the glass back down with more force than necessary.
As he was pouring himself another shot, a zing in the atmosphere gets his attention. It feels sort of an electric jolt, a tickle in his groin and almost a good kind of stake through the heart kind of feeling. He quickly turns his head around and disappointedly spots regular townsfolk behind him, still completely uninteresting. Turning his gaze back on his drink, wondering maybe he should just ignore whatever it was that made him feel something, it is when he feels it again. A strong galvanizing current pinches the tail of his spine, and he jolts from his seat, earning a couple of 'hot but weirdo' looks from other customers in the grill. It is then that he realizes that no one else felt what he did. Frowning at his surroundings, he slips his hand in his pocket and leaves a few bills on the counter.
Only one person could ever make me feel this way, Damon thought, and she skipped school. Oh, lucky day!
It amazed him how easily he could track her down.
Of course, Damon thinks as he draws closer, feeling the familiar fizz in the air, feeling it subside gradually, dying down. The power of the spell she had cast was akin to a beast, and it was now taming down, bowing low, retracting its fangs and claws, showing only obedience to its master, owner and dominatrix. He hides behind one of the many trees away from her –at least far enough to make sure his presence was hidden.
She sits cross-legged in the middle of a prairie in her olive-green dress, a crown of white daisies on her head, her eyes closed, and he purposely wants to eavesdrop on whatever spell she is casting. But it was already done, as all he could hear was her soft humming. His eyes lingered on her face, so calm and serene, and Damon being his usual self, couldn't help but to let his gaze drift downwards, feel the heat of the alcohol in his system intensify the stirring in his cock when he sees the outline of her braless breasts, and then the faint smell of her menses. Damon knows she would taste as delectable as her scent.
As much as it would have pleasured him to irk her now, something was telling him that this, too, was a day that the witch had made sure that it was her own. Besides, he didn't want to burn his new pants ever he disturbed her. So he memorizes the angelic vision of her one more time (pushes the idea away from his mind about wanting to corrupt her), still exceptionally righteous and innocent in her green Sunday dress, out on the field, still humming –but for Damon's own pleasure and purpose, skirts bunched up on the waist, without panties. Definitely without panties, he thinks, feeling himself salivate with the thought, feeling his cock harden at the sight of her mound exposed and she, waiting to be rutted against the ground repeatedly, hopefully, by someone as powerful as she is, or at least, by him. He turns around, hoping to race back to his room and rub one out –because he would want nothing more but to take her himself, but he knew just what his thoughts would do to her. What makes him hot will probably drive her insane with anger.
But as he was just about to leave, he smells it. He knew that scent far too well, too much, and he knew it was not such that came from her womb, but it was one that was less thicker, but all the while sweeter, but just as addictive –but there was no pleasure in this blood, no sense or purpose, just pain, and before he knew it, he was pressed against her form, cradling her head with the palm of his hand, his fangs barred and his face contorted into its vampire scowl. "What the fuck, Bonnie!"
But she does not respond with her usual wit or sarcasm, and though her eyes were open in little slits, the only movement was the slow oozing of blood from her nose. Damon curses, bites into his wrist and forces his blood into her mouth. But the witch was and always will be a stubborn one despite knocked out, because she proceeds to spit on his face. Damon growls loudly and impatiently. Angered by her lack of gratitude, he sucks from his healing wrist and crashes his lips against hers. He manages to cut her lips in the process, and their blood mix, they both get a sip, and the next thing was, both of them were a tangle of limbs, fingers and tongues.
Damon's free hand started to grasp her thigh, bringing her closer against his erection, rubbing against her to create more of what this was, their heat, and he could feel the hardness of her nipples against his chest, the fullness of her breasts, and oh, the blinding scent of the nectar that flowed between her legs…
"Damon, s-stop…" Bonnie pants against his ear, though she starts to lift her hips to give him more. "Y-you should go…"
Even though, Damon nods, almost obediently, his mind starting to wreck with the vision of the high of getting a taste of her blood, and he nuzzles the crook of her neck and inhales. What the fuck did you do to me, little witch? He wanted to ask, but all energies had left him suddenly, and all he could do was nudge her panties aside and slip his middle finger inside her heat. His cock hardens even more to the point it was so painful, and she screams for him, but because of sheer pleasure. He keeps his finger inside her and he starts sucking on her neck, he isn't even nipping, just sucking, wanting to leave evidence that he did this to her, wants to her to remember this –that he happened. He starts to move his finger slowly, taking his time, and her hips buck upwards, and she cries now, tears falling down her cheeks, and he kisses those away.
"Stop, Damon," she murmurs, pleading, but her hips keep on rolling against his hand, and the blush on her cheeks spread to cover her whole body. "Stop it!"
Damon knew she was drunk with magic, and probably without energy because of it, and she would probably kill him the next time they met, but so was he. The sip of her blood, the life force he could taste, her essence –it was all her fault. She had unintentionally called him to her, and he just responded. He was attracted to Power, and she was exactly that.
"Damon!" she screams, her fists confused against his chest, pulling and pushing, and when he drives her to an orgasm, she covers her face with her palms, and he pushes those hands away to watch her beautiful release, the crumbling of her soul just because of his hand, and when their eyes lock, he kisses her full on the mouth.
"Not with me, little witch," Damon whispered, pulling her close, feeling her softening tremors against his body, and kissed daisies. "Never be ashamed when you're with me." He hears her sniffle, and he squeezes her tighter as he extracts his drenched finger from her sex, and looks into her eyes as he slips that finger into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he sucks on his finger, marveling at her tastes. He shudders when her fingertips caress the side of his face.
Her big bright teary eyes look up to him shyly, and she bites her lip before asking, "Can you… take me home, please…?"
He lifts her up from the grass, tells her to hold tight, and together they leave without another word. As he flits back to her home, Damon doesn't think. He couldn't. Her taste was still in his tongue and he still aches to fuck her, violate her, put his head between her thighs and get more of what he wanted and needed. Bonnie was supposed to be off-limits –it was a thought that was now in the back of his head, long-forgotten. There was much to think about once he stops in front of her doorstep, and he didn't want to put her down just yet. He didn't think he could even if he tried. The barrier keeps him from taking another step inside her home, and they both know she shouldn't, but she does.
"Come in, Damon," she whispers against his neck, and he takes a step inside the Bennett household, and thinks that this is damnation at its best.
AN: Am considering making this a mini-series, and I have a plot in mind, but I think I'd need some reviews to push me to the right direction. So, review if you want an update. Anyway, thanks for reading! ;)