Just One Left

Damon leaned back against the cool leather-backed couch, flicking a piece of lint from his designer-yet-rumpled jeans. He just knew that Stefan was hiding a cat somewhere—he kept finding stray hairs on his things that didn't look like they came from any of the women he'd brought over. And since Stefan was busy pining after Elena all the time, he figured he hadn't brought home any women of his own.

He rolled his head back and stared at the ceiling, starting to count the individual grains in the wooden beams criss-crossing above his head. He was bored, so bored, and needed something to do, whether it be ripping out someone's throat or redesigning the guest bedrooms. No one knew that about him, that he loved interior decorating. After so many years of flittering around from city to city, you pick up a few things here and there.

A slight movement vibrated from his back jeans pocket and he hoisted himself up a few inches, reaching back to remove the phone located there. It was flashing with a text message, and he felt his lips stretch into his trademark cocky grin as he set in his password on the lock screen, bringing up the text message.

Witch: You went through my pantry and left one of everything in the box. One cracker. One cheesit. One piece of cereal. I really fucking hate you.

Oh, Bonnie. How he loved messing with that girl. Everything he did, every word he said, every movement of his seemed to piss her off to no end and he relished it.

Me: Yeah, well, that's what happens when you mess with magic. The laws of the universe have to balance out, right?

As he waited for her response he slid down the couch and swung his feet up onto the end, not caring that his shoes were probably scratching the leather. He could always buy another couch. He settled against some uncomfortably-overstuffed pillows and propped the phone on his chest as he inspected his hair in the glossy phone screen. A few moments passed and the phone vibrated again, the screen lighting up with a prompt for him to answer.

Witch: I feel the need to reiterate that I really fucking hate you.

Me: I was just doing some light housework for you, I was in a charitable mood. I got hungry. Consider it payment.

Witch: Housework? What else did you do?

Me: Check the bottom drawer in the upstairs bathroom.

He turned off the phone screen and spun it around in his hand, the slick plastic gliding between his fingers. He shifted his position on the couch and leaned on his side, hugging one of the pillows, waiting for the phone to vibrate once again.

Witch: One, what the fuck were you doing in my bathroom, and two, why is there a single condom left in this drawer?

Me: I think you know what that's used for. See you in fifteen?

Witch: Ten, and you'd better be ready.

Me: Always.

She never could resist him, no matter how hard she tried, whatever magic she wasted on resisting his charms.

She always eventually succumbed.