AN: OK, so I've been reading Bamon lately again and just as expected, I come up with some convoluted piece that doesn't necessarily make sense. All I know is, I love them together, they're really my OTP and I still can't believe what TVD is doing to them.

"I want to practice."

"Sounds good."

After a beat, their secret game resumes. It's one they play on a regular basis, if one of them was keeping track.

It's a test they have for each other (how long can they hold out, how long can they not do anything), masked as a guessing game in the dark.

They both know it's stupid (especially the blindfolds); painstakingly bittersweet because it's lazy, but they play it anyway.

"Guess what I'm doing now," her voice quiet as a whisper, reverberates as a harsh caress to his ears, enough to make him shiver from the other side of the room. Something drops to the ground, her skirt probably, and she speaks again, "How many fingers?"

The darkness hides her from him, but they like it that way. That's where they always find each other, after all.

"Hmm," he hums out loud, and clicks his tongue afterwards. "No cheating, Bennett."

She giggles breathlessly, "Come on, Salvatore!"

This was what they were good at, testing each other's limits.

The longer he doesn't answer, the more he wants her. His lust for blood and flesh intensifies with each beat of her heart. So he holds out, pretends he couldn't see – just like he pretends they weren't lovers when they weren't alone.

Because he's a cheater.

"One finger," he lies easily, although he can see the sleek of her middle and ring finger squished between her legs. He feels himself harden even more, gives himself one smooth stroke.

She doesn't respond, and it's okay. He knows she's that sensitive to pleasure, even if it was because of her own fingers. That thought alone makes him smile, makes him wince because he's not the one doing it to her. His fangs descend, his skin itching like mad fire to touch her there.

But she stops all of a sudden, and he feels disappointed, a bit angry that she did. She puts a hand on her throat, takes a deep breath. "What am I doing now?"

Being adorable, he answers in his head. Instead he fakes a mocking snort, tells her something that'll make her feel annoyed. He's up for anything that can get a rise out of her. Always up for that. "Are you... fisting yourself?"

They weren't supposed to be seeing anything, and yet he knows that she was probably rolling her eyes at him, thinking he was watching too much porn.

"You watch too much porn," she sighs, and slowly, that hand from earlier returns to its spot, and he's back to wanting her more than he did earlier.

One finger.

"Two fingers?" he asks in the quiet, but she doesn't reply, but he doesn't care because he knows she could hear him. She could hear the way he was rubbing himself, the pre-cum making it louder every time.

"We're getting good at this, huh?"

"I suppose we are," he agrees, and groans in the dark, into the edge of his release.

She doesn't know which was the joke – the blindfolds, or the way they danced around the fact that they were lying to each other.

To give him some credit, he believes she literally couldn't see anything, and it was true. Doesn't change the fact that she can read his mind like an open book, see through his eyes like she was looking at the mirror every time they played this game.

Her magical powers of empathy had grown impossibly strong since… she doesn't know since when, but she could feel every spark of desire, every single dirty fantasy that invaded his mind each time one of them wanted to 'practice'.

Initially, this was supposed to be for her.

Then it just had to be about him again.

Then they fell in love somewhere along the way, and it was (and is) unbelievable, so they choose to not talk about it.

Outside their sessions in the dark, they were simply Damon and Bonnie, the two who'd never see eye to eye, they'd never get along, he was still in love with Elena, and she was still mastering the art of playing second fiddle.

There are times when they talk. Anything but what they already know about each other. They laugh. They joke.

There are times when they want to cross the line and touch each other, but they have to find out. They have to find out of this is as real as it feels.

They have to find out who'd make the first move, because they were both stubborn.

They want to prove that one of them was weak enough to stop the game and just open the damn lights.

But they don't.

So they beat around the bush and keep on practicing.

They keep practicing on falling in love.

Deeper into this, Bonnie only hopes, that their practicing so hard in the dark would lead them into finding each other in the light.