A/N : This fiction is dedicated to xthesebonesx and GoTimberwolves - they are essentially the reason why I've joined the dark side long enough to write this One Shot. It came out of nowhere and doesn't make much sense, but I thought I'd publish it and see what you think. Bamon isn't exactly my pairing of choice, but I thought I'd give them a try, since I've grown to actually appreciate Bonnie since the end of Season Two. I have never written smut before, but I felt like sex couldn't be left out of a possible Damon/Bonnie interaction; Kat Graham and Ian Somerhalder have too much chemistry for that - excuse me if this part sucks and feel free to share any comment (good AND bad) you might have.


I let it fall, my heart

And as it fell, you rose to claim it.

It was dark and I was over

Until you kissed my lips and you saved me.

Adele, Set Fire to the Rain

"Those Gilbert kids, such heartbreakers," he says bitterly.

She spits that he can't possibly compare her being cheated on – and now, abandoned – with him lusting after her best friend. He frowns and shrugs it off. His nonchalance annoys her, so she says he has no right to say they have been through the same thing, because he is the Anna in his story. He is the one kissing someone he shouldn't be kissing. He is a liar, and a cheat, and he has no right to even imply that he understands.

"You need to toughen up," he says. "Or you'll always end up like this."

Like what? she asks; he points out to her and says the word screwed. His voice is quiet, almost devoid of any emotion – it infuriates her. She says that he can go to Hell, that she shouldn't have come. He agrees, but now she's here and he won't let her to go home with a heavy heart, because he is tired of people – including himself – falling head over heels for the wrong person.

He orders her to sit down in a lazy voice; she scoffs and endeavours to walk away, but his somewhat warm hand encloses hers with an iron grip and he forces her to look at him, then he says "Sit down" again. Her mind screams he's compelling you but she knows that really, he isn't. It's just that his blue orbs, in this moment, seem to have power over her and she just nods. "Here" he says, nodding to his lap. This time, she snorts. Damon gives her a hard look and nods towards his lap again; he doesn't need to repeat the words – she knows she doesn't want him upset. Two hesitant steps later, she sits, and he's still holding her hand and the exposed back of her knees is brushing against the uncomfortable fabric of his jeans. He puts down his glass of alcohol. He looks up for a brief second.

Something very similar to an electric shock causes her muscles to tense. She thinks she sees tenderness in these pale blue eyes, and then it occurs to her that it's the first time she's described his eyes as "pale" blue, instead of "icy". That's it – there's warmth in those eyes, in those eyes looking at her and she doesn't understand. Her throat is all constricted and she doesn't even know why. She stops breathing to put the overwhelming wave of emotion that's threatening to crush her under control and her mind sings JeremyJeremyJeremy in a melody that only the broken-hearted know of. She faintly wonders if Damon's mind is singing ElenaElenaElena.

"You are going to cry, now," he says; it sounds like a command. "And I am going to hold you while you do."

Her best friends have issues of their own to deal with, and certainly Damon Salvatore is better than an empty home, so her head falls onto his shoulder, her tiny hands clutch his arms, her sobs are silent, and her tears turn the grey fabric of his shirt to a darker shade. The deafening sound of her pounding heart gradually slows down until it's regular and peaceful again. She falls asleep and he has trouble believing that she actually trusts him enough to be so vulnerable in his presence.

He could easily get her to bed, but he finds that he enjoys the sensation of her warm body against his. Her silk-like hair is brushing against his face; it tickles and it's pleasant. One of his fingers brush against her cheek. Her skin is unbelievably soft and for some reason, he smiles. Are you dreaming, Witchy? he wonders. She groans in her sleep and he interprets it as her saying Shut up, Damon. He laughs in his throat and lets his head fall back, closing his eyes as well. He'll make her toughen up, starting tomorrow.


She suspects something isn't quite right when she wakes up in an unfamiliar environment. She is sitting on someone's lap and when she opens her eyes and identifies that she is at the boarding house and it is Damon who she fell asleep on, she frowns. She knows that something definitely isn't right when she realizes that hisarms are holding her really close, and her first instinct isn't to run.

Memories from the day before make their way back into her conscience gradually and she decides to maintain her eyes closed until she has figured out what she is going to do about this tricky predicament; how she is going to survive the endless teasing that will submit her to for crying herself to sleep his arms. She considers going back to sleep, in hopes that maybe, when she opens her eyes again, she will be comfortably tucked in her bed, far away from him and his annoying smirk.

"Good morning, sunshine," he says, his voice filled with amusement. "Made up your mind about running yet?"

She sighs. Of course, he can tell that she's awake – he is a vampire. She tells him to shut up and tries to stand up; he doesn't let her. She feels like the prey of an anaconda with those arms around her, and she wonders how she could possibly find safety in this a few hours before.

"Let me go," she growls.

"You deserve better than Jeremy Gilbert," he says after a while. "I'm not leaving you alone until you understand that, and set your sight on someone worthy of you."

For God's sake, that man is so full of himself, and what exactly is your plan, Einstein? Once again, her instinct tells her something isn't right when he points out that she has never been really loved before. She has never had a boyfriend who got her flowers, took her to the restaurant and made love to her into the night.


His plan is basically to change that. Besides, he could use a distraction. He can be the perfect boyfriend, but you must promise not to fall in love with me.


She calls him crazy.

Everything about this idea feels wrong but she's seen the way he looks at Elena and she desperately needs someone to look at her like that. For a moment, she pictures herself having dinner in a fancy restaurant with him, somewhere out of town; she'd wear an evening gown and he'd wear a tuxedo and it feels right and then before she knows it … she is playing along and it does feel right.

There are restaurants and compliments and movies curled up in his bed and longing stares and flowers and secret rendezvous and jokes and skinny dipping and holding hands. There are kisses. Pecks on the lips when he picks her up once all of her friends are off living their lives, sweet kisses when he whispers in her ear that she looks pretty, and kisses that make her knees go weak when he drives her back home after yet another wonderful evening.

She likes it and hates it with equal measure. He usually dismisses her concerns with this eye thing that he does so well, but when she becomes profoundly troubled, he reminds her that, without this little experiment, she will find another Jeremy and have her heart broken over and over again. It usually does the trick.


She has been brooding all night, and he is tired of it, and why can't you ever just enjoy the moment? He refuses to see his efforts rendered useless just because she is impervious to love and happiness.

Vampire speed and all, he grabs her roughly and she squeezes her eyes shut because she might puke if she doesn't (too much lobster for dinner). She'd hate to ruin that shirt of his – for some reason, she knows he would make her pay for that, in ways that she doesn't want to imagine. When she opens her eyes, she finds herself in his bedroom, more precisely lying on his king size bed and what the hell am I doing here?

He heaves a deep sigh and turns around. She notices he is unbuttoning his shirt. She averts her gaze immediately and he snorts at that. He calls her uptight and says she needs to get laid, just like he could have said the weather was lovely.

She can think of about a billion reasons why this is a terrible idea and I have not signed up for this nonsense but then he's like shut up, Bonnie and somehow, the use of her name silences her. He makes his way towards her slowly. With his arms on each side of her, he makes her lie all the way back and feels flattered when she lets her eyes wander over his body, making his skin tingle a little. She opens her mouth to protest, but a simple shake of his head is enough to dissuade her.

Their faces are only inches apart, and she can almost taste the Bourbon he drank earlier in his warm breath. This is an unusual situation for her; what she is supposed to do is very clear but his sensitive skin looks so soft that her clumsy fingertips might just feel unpleasant for him. Why in the world is she even considering taking this further? Her eyes roam over his body: his broad shoulders, his pectoral muscles, his abs – his body is so perfect that it looks fake. Her eyelids flutter as she imagines what it could be like to agree to this mad, senseless idea. Would she like the feeling of his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down her throat, all the way down to her stomach –

He shivers when her warm hands tentatively come into contact with his body; he interprets this as the green light. He decides to start with the inconvenient pieces of clothing that stand as a barrier between their skins; she wriggles uncomfortably beneath him and closes her eyes – she can't yet witness the reality of two naked bodies grinding against each other, but oh, she does grind. It's like her body has its own volition and it doesn't give a crap that her brain is screaming DO NOT DO THIS. Her resistance fades slightly when he leaves open-mouth kisses all the way from her jaw to her collarbone. She could absolutely enjoy that if she wasn't petrified, and the thought makes her tense even further.

He is Damon, he is a vampire and his teeth are teasingly grazing the tender skin of her neck, so, for now, there is only one question that needs answering: is he going to bite her? He just chuckles, but he soon lets out of few choice curse words when she "witchy migraines" him, simply because she can. She is in a vulnerable position and he is making fun of her, so screw him. He falters a while but recovers quickly and pushes her back onto the bed. His eyes are a little mad and she swallows. Are you going to bite me? she says again. Ahem – not unless she asks him to.

She does ask him a lot of things, like is it going to hurt and could you please shut up and oh my God, do that again, but she doesn't ask him to bite her, which, if you ask him, is a crying shame. But he is a gentleman and tonight is not about his needs. It's about awakening her to the satisfaction of the desires of the flesh, and turning Bonnie "Judgy" Bennett into a sinner is enough bliss for him, for now, anyway. Not to mention, she is much more skilled than she gives herself credit for, and he would know – he has had more than a few dozens women in his bed, after all.


When her heart is done threatening to beat out of her chest and she can use her legs again and she isn't seeing stars anymore, she runs away. He lets her, because he's sure she will come back.

She does come back. There's more movies and compliments and kisses and now there's also sex and it's fucking awesome.


She makes her way into the boarding house, not bothering to knock. Damon is predictably sipping Bourbon, staring intently into the fireplace. Just the sight of him makes her roll her eyes. What the Hell does she think she is doing here? Oh right – she's here to tell him that what they're doing is disgusting and it needs to stop.

He puts his glass back onto the coffee table, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge her. She notices that he is leaving fingerprints over his glass, just like he left them all over her skin. The memory takes her breath away. She tenses, her hands curling into fists. Almost as if he's sensed it, Damon finally lets his eyes meet hers. He raises an eyebrow at her when she doesn't speak immediately. If there's one thing he isn't used to with her, it's silence. The girl has an opinion of fucking everything.

"Be gentle with me," she finally says, and she thinks what the fuck are you saying? and her voice is a little too pleading for her taste. "I bruise easily."

Something in her voice makes his heart rush and he thanks God that she isn't a vampire, so she can't hear. He averts his gaze and settles for contemplating the fire again. In more ways than one, Bonnie is just like fire. Being around her makes him feel warm again, but if he gets too close, he'll get burnt. So soon after the Elenagate, he knows that would finish him off.

"You're a witch, you can heal yourself."

That's it. Bonnie resorts to her powers to throw him against the closest wall. Her eyes have darkened from her fury and she almost wishes she were a vampire to snarl at him. So arrogant, she thinks. Her forearm goes to rest against his throat although her strength won't be of any help at all. Damon's eyes widen slightly when she inflicts pain on him, but he doesn't shove her away.

"What happened to being gentle?" he breathes slowly.

"I should kill you."

Finally, she's toughening up, he thinks. She has barely finished her sentence when he brutally pushes her away. In the blink of an eye, he is back against the wall, back into a position where he gives her the upper hand. He also gives her a freshly sharpened stake, closes her hand around it and positions it just where his heart is. Or, is supposed to be.

"Your wish is my command, Witch. Do it," he says. "If you can."

He watches with amusement as she drops the stake.

"I hate you," she spits; she means it.

Damon welcomes her harsh words. He hates her, too, with everything he has. Bonnie Bennett is nothing but judgments and morals and prejudices and all of those others things he loathes. He is mature enough to acknowledge that what they hate the most about each other is the pleasant way they feel when they are together and the way they want to start kissing again.

"I hate you more," he states emotionlessly; nothing annoys her more than his nonchalance.

"I hate you with a passion, Damon," she counters. "I hate you more than I hate Stefan and Klaus, okay? I hate you more than I hate – "

Her voice is getting high-pitched and it makes him lose his temper. His breath gets heavy and he wonders what is the fastest way to silence her.

"Shut up," he yells. "Holy Mother of God, can you ever keep that big mouth of yours shut? You give me a permanent migraine, so just … Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

"You can't make me," she yells back before she can think twice about it.

Of course he can. He can resort to strength or simply let these baby blue eyes of his work their magic on her. If he considers this is an emergency situation, his kisses and heated words will do.

She internally rolls her eyes when he resorts to strength, lets his blue eyes work their magic on her, and then starts kissing her.


He is more willing than she is because he has always known that deep down, they are cut from the very same cloth. Antagonizing each other is their privileged way to communicate, and he promises her to get back to this as soon as he has fixed her.

When she starts questioning their experiment again, she doesn't use words anymore. She uses magic, since it is the only way she can bring herself to resist his exasperating eye thing and his soft lips. She sends him flying over one end of the room; his head bumps against antiques and he wants to murder her for ruining a piece of art that's older than her great-grandmother.

He fixes his shirt and asks why it always has to be a power struggle with her, why she can't just embrace the fact that she could be loved. She answers that power is the only thing he understands, and it reminds her of what Klaus told him not so long ago. He smiles to himself and decides to push her just a little more. He pins her to the ground before she can register and pushes one of his knees between her legs and closes his right hand around her throat.

Her skin immediately turns a vivid shade of red and his eyes travel from her face to her neck, then to her cleavage. One of the straps of her top has slipped a little and he can glimpse her lace bra. He swallows painfully, sensing his body react to the enthralling sight. It was not exactly the plan, but eh. Despite the little air she has left into her lungs, she manages to call him a pig when he tenses against her. He slams her head into the wooden floor and she bites her lip to hold back a cry of pain.

"Yes, Bonnie, I am a pig," he hisses. "At some point, you should consider doing something about it."

"You're not making this any easier," she notes.

He almost falters. It angers him. The plan changes once again. If he's angry, she'll be angry, too.

"You must have me mistaken with someone who cares about making your life easier," he says, his voice suddenly cold.

His fangs elongate and before she can open her mouth to protest, he bites. He bites hard, he sinks his fangs deep into her delicate neck and that's not the kind of penetration that she expected so she cries out in pain. He lets her push him away and do that aneurism thing that she loves. You're a dick, she spits. She fixes her skirt and walks away. Only when she's out of the room does the pain in his head stop. He stands up with a smirk.

Yeah, that was my point, sunshine.


She spends three days locked up in her bedroom, remembering the moments they have shared and the way it feels to have a Greek god looking at her with lust and tenderness in his eyes.

He spends three days waiting for her to storm into the house and beg for his attention, but … nothing.


When three days turn into two weeks, he can tell that she's slipping away. He can tell because of the way her schoolmates talk about her in town; she is not the nice Bonnie Bennett anymore, or Elena's friend. She is the hot chick that Caroline and Elena are hanging out with, you know, dude, sexy legs and green eyes. She is what he has made of her, throughout the storms of the passion they have shared, and the teasing, and the compliments, and the moans. Although he's supposed to be detached about this whole "experiment", he muses about her whereabouts, wondering if she has finally understood that she is one hell of a woman. If she knows that she's strong and she can have any guy and she should make them fight for it.

To be quite honest, he is obsessing. He doesn't care to make sense of it.

And then, there she is again, just came to say goodbye apparently. There is something utterly different about her and he can't quite place it. She doesn't ask if she can come in, she walks past him with a cryptic smile and the sound of heels makes him frown because since when do you wear stilettos? She chuckles and takes her time to spin around slowly. Her green eyes hungrily caress what she knows is underneath the clothes and he thinks he feels her soft skin brushing against his. She lazily orders him to sit, and he doesn't miss the reference. He says no just for sport.

She takes a step towards him and he wonders if witches have a way to influence a vampire's will. Other than her sex-appeal, that is to say. If he tries to resist, it's more a matter of pride, but he doesn't last more than two seconds – he is far too curious to see where she is going with this. He hopes it's somewhere sinful.

He obediently sits on the couch, the sense of anticipation nearly making his blood boil. His eyes travel up her body. From her ten inches stilettos to her slender – and oh-so-sexy – legs, from the skin-tight dark blue dress to the chocolate skin of her exposed shoulders, she is damn near perfect. Damon inhales deeply – when did she get so confident? And when did he get so sensitive to her charms?

With agonizing slowness, she makes her heels click on the floorboard as she nears him. She stops just in front of him, her hands firmly positioned on her hips, and for one second, he almost thinks she will magically turn on some music and start dancing for him.

He pictures her voluptuous body swaying, her head raised above her head, her fingers combing through her hair as she'd never break eye contact with him.

Damon blinks a few times to push the images away. Bonnie delicately sits on his lap, with a cocky smirk. Deliciously sinful. His mind travels back to the day this started; he almost had to compel her to get her in this position. Her lips near his ear.

"Do not move," she commands in a whisper.

Damon barely has time to register the painful sexiness of her voice when her lips press a kiss just below his ear. He shivers a little, but who do you think you are? She is obviously convinced she can turn him into jelly right then and there and …

Fuck, she does.

Her lips explore every exposed inch of his neck, with slowness so unbearable that she has to push his hands away from her several times. He wants more of her against him. But she is just sitting on his lap and kissing, gently biting, tasting his neck. When he makes another attempt at bringing her closer, she forces him to lie on his back, grabs his wrists and pins them against the couch, on each side of his head. Her eyes flash with a warning that he doesn't miss.

"I will leave you here alone to deal with yourself," she threatens.

Damon sighs in defeat, earning a bright smile from Bonnie. She unbuttons his shirt – oh-so-slowly – and unzips his pants. His boxers join the rest of the pile on the floor and the way she looks at his fully unclothed body makes him greet his teeth. The last ounce of willpower that he has is used to remain motionless; for some reason, he is sure that if he as much as bats an eyelash, she will leave him alone to deal with himself. At that point, he wants to throttle her for making him wait.

He silently prays that she'll get tired of playing hard to get, because a certain part of his anatomy is driving him insane – patience has never been his number one quality, especially when a hot woman is eyeing him so indecently. Her hair brush against his skin as she bends over him, looking for that sensitive spot, in his neck; she knows she has found it when a moan escapes his lips, as his hips jerk a little beneath her. She chuckles and endeavours to taste every inch of his body.

He props himself onto his elbows, only to catch a glimpse of a blur of brown locks. Sensing his gaze, Bonnie brings her hair out of the way. She purposefully makes eye contact with him and shivers at the darker shade of blue that meets her eyes. Without blinking, she lowers her head onto his flat stomach and licks a trail from the hem of his pants to his belly button. Just what he wanted her to do. It is more than Damon can take. He stops breathing long enough to bit back the moan that so desperately wants to escape him and lies back on the couch, his hands lost in his raven hair. She has him.

"Bonnie," he calls in an embarrassingly needy voice; she smirks against his skin. "Stop torturing me."

"I'm just getting started."

He remembers the first time they found themselves in this situation and enjoys that right now is, from all viewpoints, the exact opposite. She's learned from him, she's using what she's learnt against him and now it's his turn to love it and hate it with equal measure. She calls the shots and he lets her – she's the one giving all the pleasure, eliciting moans from him and you need to stop doing that's and Bonnie please and all sorts of things that a woman hasn't heard from him in fucking decades.

He stops complaining when finally it's not Damon and Bonnie anymore, but rather DamonAndBonnie. Her warmth, her softness, her fire – he allows himself to savor it all one last time. His hands and lips shamelessly roam all over her body as he meets her thrust for thrust and then suddenly she's all panting and sweating and her eyes are rolling in the back of her head and her nails are doing their best to leave marks on his skin.

He wants the moment to last, but he can't fight this urge; he is only moments from coming, anyway. His hips thrust up and up again – faster, stronger; she calls out his name in a mix of reproach and eager encouragement. He runs his fingers up her sides and brings her down for a bruising, trembling kiss. It's all lips and tongues and teeth, but she quickly breaks away, because she's human and she needs air. Air that she has trouble finding when her legs start trembling. He gives a few more thrusts (deep, very deep ones) to send her over the edge; she welcomes them with words that he can't make out. Words that he knows are as naughty as it gets. She puts a hand on her own mouth and that has to be one of the hottest visions he has ever had the luck to witness.

"Didn't forget you," she purrs in the middle of her haze. "Sit up."

He had almost forgotten about that, but as soon as she mentions it, he feels it, the need to relieve the pressure, his undead heart pounding in his chest, the tension between his shoulder blades and in his groin, still buried inside of her. So he does as he is told and sits up in the bed. She wraps her legs around him and the second she opens her eyes to meet his, he knows she is about to rock his world. She strokes his cheek with the back of her hand tenderly and for a second, they are just two lovers alone in the world. He leans into the touch with a discreet smile.

Without notice, she tightens her inner muscles around him and damn, he whimpers. The sound is needy and high-pitched and he wants to just die when she smirks at him. If it didn't feel so good, he'd push her away and tell her to just piss off. He buries his face in the hollow of her neck just to avoid the smug look on her face. He takes in a few, unneeded sharp breaths to get a hold of himself, but she does the muscle clenching thing again – once, twice. He bites into her shoulder to muffle the embarrassing sound that would have escaped his lips; she shifts uncomfortably. It doesn't actually hurt, but that fixes her for toying with him. She gently grabs his hair to pull him back. He curses her – she knows he loves it when she does that. She pulls roughly enough to arouse him a little more (if that is even possible) and his entire body tightens.

Her lips brush against his and just when he leans in, she pulls away. He frowns in frustration and she laughs a little. He intends to command her to stop her teasing, but he hardly manages a hoarse whisper that sounds like a plea – he wants to die again when she shrugs with a laugh and starts disengaging her body from his. He holds on to her thighs and she laughs again. He does feel humiliated, but at this point, he's ready to beg if he has to. She must read the begging in his eyes.

"You said to stop," she teases. "What do you want, Damon?"

She rolls her hips in a slow, nerve-wrecking motion.

"That?" she whispers in his ear.

He mumbles something along the lines of yes fuck yes. His eyes widen as he takes her in, because she's never been so incredibly beautiful – her skin is glowing, and she's struggling to breathe and her lips are perfectly swollen from devoting so much attention to every inch of his body and more. Just a few more seconds and she's making him climax so hard that he cries out and tears fill his eyes and he sees stars and he forgets his own name. A few minutes later, when she is snuggled against his chest, he wonders who the Hell Elena Gilbert is, and he laughs.

That was one Hell of a goodbye.


When they run into each other, they always share a secret smile that says I kinda love you and You're my friend and Damn, I miss your goddamned body. It is out there for the world to see that something has been going on between those two, but no one dares to ask, because they have a feeling they couldn't understand, and Hell, how right they are. Now that it's over and done, she doesn't understand it more than he does. It just happened. And it was good and pure (despite all the dirty things they did and said and thought).


When she finally starts dating again, he doesn't ask much about the boyfriend, because seriously no one is going to do it for you like I did, but just so we're clear, if I ever need to hold you while you cry again, I swear to God someone will get killed.