A/N: I couldn't help myself. I had to write another one. I don't know how long this is going to be. But there is something about the Bamon/Stefonnie triangle that has me intrigued that it's really ridiculous. This is also for my dear friend PEL1. Read on if you're interested. This is AU and contains adult themes not suitable for those under 17. Just a warning.

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Wake up, Damon and put your pants on."

One blue eye opened followed by the other. He groaned as he rolled on his back and winced at the sunlight that poured into the wide open bedroom and cooked his irises. Damon futilely reached for the Egyptian cotton sheets and pulled them up over his head. Soft laughter tickled his ears and he felt a warm body sit astride him.

A game of tug-o-war ensued and the woman with the svelte curves and honeyed voice won. Damon Salvatore glared at his companion and grabbed her by the swell of her hips.

"Kicking me out so soon?" he asked and dropped his eyes to the flesh that her silk robe barely covered.

Playful green eyes peered down on him as a warm smile overtook her face. Damon felt something quicken in his chest and in his guts every time she looked at him with such heartfelt sincerity. And then not before long, it was replaced with irritation.

She was everything forbidden. Everything a man in his position should never want or covet, but he did. His brother had warned him a long time ago that she was poison, had labeled her a hypnotic cancer that would systematically shut down his organs without him realizing. How right Stefan would prove to be, but then he would know best.

This was his wife after all.

Damon changed the trajectory of his thoughts. Stefan had been dead and gone for the last two years but the sting of it never ceased to have the same choking effect on Damon. They had been brothers for twenty-eight years before he went missing during a rock climbing trip in Montana. For two years they searched for his body and found nothing, and it was a vastly hard decision to declare him dead, although according to law a person had to be missing for seven years before that could be applicable.

A person could survive in the wilderness for weeks if they knew the tricks of survival, but if you didn't you had days. So it was decided to have Stefan declared dead, closing the book on such a young life.

Attending his brother's memorial service had been hard. There had been no need for a coffin because there had been no body to bury. All they had was a blown up picture of Stefan, a wreath, and lots of floral arrangements from those who supposedly cared about him.

He was the only remaining Salvatore left and it was something Damon thought of everyday and carried with him like a heavy cross.

Warm hands splayed on his chest and he moaned at the gentle sensation. This woman, this goddess had been the love of Stefan's life for six years and then one day everything was inexplicably ripped from her. Her own family had been of no help because her father hadn't approved of her relationship with Stefan. They were it for each other. Best friend. Confident. Lover. Mother and father. They filled voids that had been raw since their contentious childhoods. Stefan had walked down the path of darkness, seeking love and acceptance through casual hookups and drinking.

She had taken the road of drowning herself in her education and then later on in her work making herself into one of the top clinical psychologists in the country. To get an appointment with her, you had to wait two years.

Damon was able to skip to the head of the line. Nepotism had its perks—there was no denying it. Together they grieved their loss, they rebuilt bridges, and then before either of them realized what was happening, their late-night discussions transferred into dinners, jazz concerts, plays, and then…

A night of passion that was burned into his memory, something laser removal surgery wouldn't be able to vanquish.

And no matter how many nights he spent at her house, or she came to keep him company at his penthouse, she had been forever branded as Stefan's.

Damon knew what they were doing was wrong. But he couldn't stop. She was his addiction, and something told him that he was hers as well.

How many times had they called things off? How times had they sat down like rational adults and said that no one would approve of their union and that what they were doing was an insult to Stefan's memory. No one could overlook that fact and see the…was it love? Sometimes it felt like love, but most of the time it felt like hurt and anger manifested through powerful lust. This was their deep dark secret that could never see the light of day regardless of how many days, weeks, months, years passed.

"I have a busy morning, Damon. Appointments. Clients to soothe," she leaned forward until her nose almost touched his. "I would love to stay here with you, you know that," she pulled away. "But I have obligations to fulfill."

"Damn psychologists," he muttered. "Always thinking about the little man."

She smiled again at his impertinence and then pecked his lips. "If you get up now I'll cook breakfast, otherwise you'll have to eat at home. Tell me, when was the last time you went grocery shopping?"

"2002," he replied. She laughed.

She made a move to climb off him but Damon reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. That touch alone sent a signal straight to his lower extremities, waking him up. She was wearing his favorite scented perfume, her hair hung down her shoulders in loose curls, and she had just finished applying her make up. Her lips were still natural. She always waited until after breakfast before swathing them in lipstick.

Damon wrapped an eager hand around the slender column of her neck and pulled forward until their lips collapsed on top of one another. She purred into his kiss and ran her hands up his torso delighting in the muscles that bunched and contracted underneath her warm hands.

Damon flipped their positions. When he pulled away and stared into her moss green eyes, he wanted to tell her that he loved her. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he knew that would destroy what they had.

When this began they agreed, nearly took out a contract this was about need and fulfilling desires, helping each other, and nothing more. Talking about their feelings in relation to how they felt about one another was forbidden. Damon had stupidly agreed because at the time he was only worried about one particular thing. There were so many mysteries to unravel and discover about her.

He hadn't been disappointed.

"What?" she asked against his optical scrutiny.

Damon was well aware of the fact she was a shrewd woman, was capable of putting two-and-two together. Some days he felt like Venetian glass and figured he'd expose his deep, inner feelings for this woman who was so wrong for him. She'd see what he felt for her and would go screaming in the opposite direction.

But then, she would act aloof as if nothing mattered beyond the four walls of this room. That bothered him—how she was able to shut off and shut down any feelings that might be bubbling up inside of her. They engaged in pillow talk but always spoke of trivial things. The content never went any deeper than discussing their careers and the people they interacted with that they made fun of.

Damon shook his head when he realized too much time had passed between her initial question.

"Nothing. Do you have plans for dinner?"

She bit her lip. "Elijah called. He's in town."

Damon's lip curled at that. Elijah Mikaelson had been circling her for years. The douche was a vulture that made it a habit of picking off women that just got out of really bad relationships, or relationships that ended abruptly like her marriage to Stefan.

"Fudge him," Damon spat. "I thought he was seeing Elena?"

She shrugged and then ran her sensitive fingers along his proud jaw line. He closed his eyes at her touch. This wasn't fair! The advantage she had over him. Some days Damon wondered if a spell or a curse had been placed on him to want this woman to the point of madness. He thought about her all the freaking time. When he was at work trying to finagle people out of their fortune, when he met with his personal trainer that was more of a slave driver, when he brushed his teeth, she was constantly in his thoughts.

"He was seeing Elena. They broke up over the summer. I could have sworn I told you about that."

He rolled his eyes. "You expect me to remember the trivial details of your friends' love lives."

She smirked. "No, I guess you wouldn't care about that. And for the record I never said I agreed to have dinner with Elijah. I know he's been looking for Mrs. Mikaelson number three for quite sometime. I'm not interested."

Damon couldn't tell you how immensely happy it made him to hear that. "Hmm, now this brings us back to my original question. Do you have plans for dinner?"

She shook her head. "I'm available."

He dipped his head and began to kiss the space where her shoulder and neck connected. This was one of her many erogenous zones. She inclined her neck to allow him better access.

"Damon…" she said breathlessly.

His nimble fingers quickly undid the messy knot holding her robe together. The pieces fell apart exposing all the parts of her he loved and craved. This woman was one large candy shop that never ran out of his favorite sweets.

"I have to get ready for work," spilled from her mouth as she thrashed her head against the pillow.

"I'm already at work," he growled.

"You're so evil," she groaned. Damon agreed wholeheartedly with that statement of fact and began to take her to new and familiar heights.

He should stop and let her finish getting dressed but that was just nonsensical. And he, too needed to make it back to his own abode and prepare for a long, boring day at the office, but there was little that could remove Damon from this bed and from her. World War III, the apocalypse could be happening right outside and it wouldn't have made a single difference to him. If he were about to die, he'd die an extremely happy man.

Damon repeatedly bit his tongue so he wouldn't shout towards the ceiling how much he loved her, how much he wanted to stop this childish game they had been playing and make a real commitment.

Deep down he knew she didn't want to be with him that way. She valued their friendship and did everything in her power to protect it. She wasn't shy about letting people know they were close but of course gave off the impression they kept certain boundaries in place. She had been about appearances from the beginning and that was probably the only area in which they clashed. She had the capability of letting her hair down and keeping it down, but she chose to be tight and stuffy because ultimately that's what she was comfortable with.

Yet when she stared at him as if she saw into his soul and threatened him to say he loved her, he was at his weakest and could deny her nothing. No matter how much he stood to lose, he'd give her all he had to give and then some.

Because at the end of the day he loved her.

Naturally the phone chose that precise moment to begin ringing. "Ignore it," he commanded.

It rang, rang, and rang, until finally her voice mail greeting clicked on. They were too busy making out to pay any kind of attention until the person who was calling identified themselves.

"This message is for Missus Bonnie Salvatore. My name is Detective Lance Hamilton of the Bozeman Police Department in Bozeman, Montana. This may sound hard to believe but the reason I'm calling is because we believe we've found your husband Stefan Salvatore. I hate to do this sort of thing over the phone but please call me back at your earliest convenience my number is…"

All activity stopped. Came to an abrupt end. Bonnie and Damon stared at each other with wide, disbelief filled eyes. Hastily Bonnie climbed off the bed, tripped her way to the phone, and picked it up before the detective hung up.

Damon for his part slowly came to a sitting position—jaw hanging open. They found Stefan? After all this time they finally found his brother? Was it his remains or did they find him alive? If it was the former…they'd finally get the closure they had been seeking for so long. If it was the latter…what the hell had he been doing for the last two years to just suddenly pop up out of the blue?

Someone had better answer his questions and fast damn it. His heart had been beating fast because he had been making love, now it was beating fast because he stood to lose the woman he loved if his brother really was alive. Stefan alive? After two years of fruitless searching? Damon couldn't believe it.

"Detective Hamilton…" Bonnie sputtered.

"Yes," the detective replied hesitantly. "Is this Missus Bonnie Salvatore?"

She vigorously nodded her head. "Yes. You found my husband?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Tears formed in her eyes. "He's a-alive?"

"Yes, ma'am…he is."

Chapter end.

A/N: If I continue this, of course this would be a complicated story. In my other stories I always have to shy away from Bonnie being involved with both Salvatore's, but in this I can let loose. If you like, let me know. But thanks in advance for reading. Love you.