...
They tell me that love is blind
I really need a girl like an open book
To read between the lines
Love in an elevator
Livin' it up when I'm goin' down
Love in an elevator
Lovin' it up till I hit the ground...
Aerosmith. Love in an elevator
...
With a cheesy "ding" the elevator doors open and Bonnie moves to step forward, over the threshold and…
She rolls her eyes at the dark clad man standing in one corner who is sending a smirk her way.
Enzo.
It's been a while since she's seen him. She certainly didn't expect to see him at this fancy fundraiser Caroline had planned and executed for Whitmore College's arts department. Well, technically, this is not the fundraiser event anymore. It's just a hotel elevator.
He wags his eyebrows and stands tall, and she is acutely aware of the fact that she was just at a Wild West motto party and is wearing an intricate black and dark red dress, showing quite a lot of décolleté under the fancy frills, while he is in his usual dark attire, black pants, dark shirt - maybe green, or gray? - and his favorite standing collar leather jacket.
"Bonnie Bennett," he says and she wants to snap 'I know my name,' but she keeps quiet and finally, with an annoyed huff, tells him, "I'll wait for the next one."
She steps back, with all the intention of following through on her words when he leans forward and holds a hand in between the doors just as they are about to close and with a shuttering noise they retract again and the gap between them is once more open wide.
"The other one is out of order," he informs her, "Come inside, love, I promise I don't bite," he pauses, "at least not you…" He cocks his head and his smirk widens as she rolls her eyes again.
"I'll take the stairs." She is curt and firm about her choice, but he still lingers and despite her words, so does she. As if transfixed by his dark dark eyes.
His gaze moves over her body, his expression now different. She's so very aware of it. How his eyes roam over her body. She should have really chosen the cowboy outfit. When he's reached her feet with his stare, her stilettos, the smirk returns and she feels more comfortable. Until he speaks again. "With those shoes?" he queries, then chuckles briefly. "I don't think so." He licks his lips - and why is she noticing it, why is she staring at his mouth so much?
Then she hears his sonorous voice again, dark and soothing, as he suddenly steps out of the elevator. "I'll let the lady have this one to herself, then." He stands right next to her now, fingers wrapped around one door, forcing it to stay open for her. He moves close to her, too close, bending down until she feels his breath catch in her hair, but she doesn't back down, just stares up at him challengingly as he looks at her, his gaze falling on the slow rise of her chest as it moves up and down with every in- and exhalation.
She feels a tingle. She actually feels a tingle. (What the hell?) Then she moves her head and pretends to curtsy. "Such a gentleman," she mocks, then walks past him, brushing against him as she does, her dress ruffling too loudly. She turns around to see him tap his head, then she sees him turn and limp away.
Limp?
She frowns, then, right as the doors give a relieved sigh as they are finally able to close, her hand flies forward and she forces them to stay open one more time.
"Hold up!" She calls out to him, and she sees him stop and wait without properly turning toward her.
"Get in here," she orders with a sigh, "Can't in good conscience let you use the stairs with that limp," she allows, and he finally turns to look at her, grinning a little awkwardly, before he accepts her offer and hobbles back in with her.
…
"So… what happened?" She asks when their silence becomes a little too awkward and oppressive for her liking, and she has to actively force herself to stop nestling with the row of buttons on the front of her dress.
His gaze falls on her hands just as she circles the topmost button after all and she rolls her eyes internally as she sees him smile as if to himself.
"You're limping," she elaborates when he doesn't come forward with an answer and he shoves his hands into his pants' pockets and looks at her, smile still in place.
"Oh, that?" He jerks his head in the general direction of his leg, continuing, "Minor altercation. Wasn't careful enough."
"Clearly," she says, and frowns. What is he even doing here? Was he at the event, too? "Did Caroline randomly invite you to the fundraiser?"
"There was a fundraiser? Lovely idea. What are they raising those funds for, may I ask?"
Is he playing dumb?
She really doesn't want to talk to him right now, or anyone, really. Especially not after having been hit on by her sleazy professor earlier, and some of the fundraiser guests that seemed to have thought giving money entitled them to have a piece of the art students, too.
She wants to be alone. But here he is, and she has to deal with it at least for the next few seconds. It'll be over soon enough, she tells herself, she can do this.
She doesn't like him. He's impulsive and hotheaded like Damon, but unlike Damon, he hasn't been stuck in a prison world with her and shown her that he does have a good side. He's obnoxious and deadly, he's treated her with disrespect and he almost killed her boyfriend at the time. And… the list goes on.
She really wants to be anywhere but in close quarters with him, doing small talk.
So she decides to ignore him and to her surprise, he stays quiet and just stands waiting in his corner, not even looking in her direction. She catches herself being slightly irked by that, too, and is annoyed with herself for it.
What is wrong with her?! She bites her lip, looking up at the ceiling, then checking the numbers counting down the floors the horrifically slow elevator has already descended. Still a few more to go.
She sighs.
She drank too much. She knows it. She's still fighting the stupid PTSD from her time in the prison world and she knows she shouldn't have used alcohol to do that. But she just wanted to forget it all for one peaceful night. She wanted to party.
And then she had realized she wasn't enjoying herself at all, the professor had "happened," she had had a freaking panic attack and had run to the bathrooms and that's when she had decided to leave and just go home.
But she isn't there yet. She's still in the stupid elevator.
She exhales deeply, getting antsy. The seconds tick by slowly. So. Slowly. She doesn't like being trapped with other people. Anywhere, but especially not in something the size of a shoe box.
She glances over to him in his corner and sees him shift his weight, grimacing as he does.
"Leg still not healed? What's up with your vamp healing?" She asks, if only to fill the stifling silence with her own voice.
He looks up, gauging her. "Vervain bullet. I'll have to do some digging later," he explains matter-of-factly and she grimaces on his behalf. Not that she cares. But that should hurt.
"Ouch," she makes, almost asking him whether he needs assistance, but before she gets the chance there is a loud metallic creaking. She looks up in alarm, and so does Enzo.
"That can't be good," he states, hands still in his pockets as some powerful force suddenly sends them flying.
Bonnie feels her body crash against the roof of the elevator, and she holds out her hands to protect herself as best as she can, but she really can't do much.
Then, with another awfully metallic sound, the elevator stops, making her crash back down where she ends up in a crumpled heap of limbs, gingerly touching her face, then the rest of her body to check whether she is still whole.
Her gaze falls on what looks like a protruding bone in her arm and she hisses in sharply, her breath refusing to come back out until she feels Enzo's touch on her, hears him calmly tell her, "You'll be okay, love. Let me take care of this."
He taps her chin, making her look at him instead of the arm, and she can't help a mask of anger appearing on her face as she pulls away from him.
"I can take care of myself, thank you very much. And it's not like this is the worst I've dealt with," she adds, reminding him what tough material she's made off.
She catches him smiling appreciatively.
"I know. Bonnie Bennett is a tough cookie. But… someone will still have to set the bone - and it might as well be me. Seeing as we don't know for how long we'll be stuck in here." He pauses briefly, contemplating, then adds, "I promise I'll be quick, and you can have a sip of my blood after. - To end your suffering a little quicker this time around…"
She makes a face as the reality of his words hits her. She could do without that, for sure. But he's right. The pain is a bitch and she wants it to stop. It's bad enough that she has to spend time with him locked in here for god knows how long, she does not need to add prolonged excruciating pain to that situation.
"Do you really have to set it?" She whines, she can hear herself and grimaces at her pathetic tone, yet she can't do anything about it.
He merely nods, his one hand already hovering over her arm, while his other gently strokes the side of her face in a soothing gesture that should feel way less nice and intimate than it does.
She glowers at him and grumbles. She pats herself down to find her little purse and when she does, she takes her phone out quickly, her face falling when she sees how banged up it looks. When she tries to unlock it, the screen stays black.
The pain in her arm seems to increase by the minute and she grimaces. "Is yours working? Maybe we can just wait until-"
He is already holding out his sad excuse for a phone. It looks even worse than hers. "I'm sorry, love. Looks like it's just you and me…"
As if to underscore how dire their situation is, the lights above suddenly flicker and when Bonnie realizes that they might really be stuck in here for quite a while, she eventually gives in. Nodding, she hisses, "Do it."
...
It's over in seconds. She yells ridiculously loudly, though not loud enough to cancel out the ominous noise the parts of her bone make as they scrape together. She gags and almost throws up. But she catches herself.
Enzo is holding her in a tight embrace, just holding her for a few moments, and she has to admit that it helps calm her. Eventually, he pricks his wrist with one of his canines, then half shoves it against her lips. Her hand grabs his wrist, and she glares up at his smile as she takes a sip.
Part of her suddenly has the strange urge to drain him of more than a few ounces. Part of her really wants to continue drinking up his warm coppery blood until her belly is full and the nausea gone, but she stops herself, pulls herself together, and lets go of his arm, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Thank you," she allows, preparing herself for a stupid comment from him that never comes.
...
When he lets go of her, she instantly feels cold and awkward, but of course she knows they're not that close. (Not at all.) And of course she can't expect to sit huddled up in his arms for the remainder of their involuntary stay here.
They both come to sit opposite each other in the too narrow little elevator and wait.
Bonnie tries the useless emergency phone when she is tired of just sitting around, and she huffs in despair when nobody replies and there's merely static crackle filling her already ringing ears. Not even magic is doing anything, she doesn't understand why.
She's this close to another panic attack, but she doesn't want him to notice so she works hard to concentrate on something else.
The dark spot on the side of his pantleg is a welcome topic. She nods to him, where he sits with his head leaning against the mirrored wall behind him, staring into nothingness.
"Since it looks like we'll be here for a while, maybe I can help you with your little vervain problem."
"Don't I feel special. Bonnie Bennett offers her help."
"Excuse me?" She scoffs in annoyance. "Are you forgetting that I pretty much risked my life to rescue your sorry ass from the Other Side before it collapsed?"
He grins at her, an expression she wants to beat right out of his face. And she's not the violent type. Normally…
"No," he tells her, "I haven't. I already thanked you for that. I still don't quite get it, to be quite honest, but I happily accept that you did that for me, and I owe you my life."
Well… She did not expect that. It sounded so sincere. She almost starts smiling in his direction. But then he ruins it by adding, "But you and your tight woven Mystic Falls gang don't usually stray from helping each other out these days. Excusing and defending all your atrocious behaviors and decisions to any outsider that dares come too close to your incestuous little group of 'friends.'" He air quotes the last word and Bonnie rolls her eyes for the umpteenth time that evening.
Why does her night have to end here, with him of all people? Why couldn't she have gotten stuck with someone a little more…
She bites her lip, stopping herself right there.
"You're jealous," she notes, and the fact that he doesn't say anything in return is strangely jarring.
"I get it," she says. It was meant sarcastically, but what comes out sounds way more understanding than she intended. "So… are we doing this or do you want to fall into agony the more that bullet bores itself into your flesh. I've seen how nasty things like that can get."
"I'll be fine. Immortal and all." He smirks. "Nothing I can't handle."
She stares at him, challengingly. "Come on," she cajoles, she doesn't even know why, "Stand up so I can take a look."
There must have been something about her tone that makes him obey her, because he does get up, looking at her, suddenly wary, before his hand moves to his right leg, lingering close to what Bonnie can now see is a small hole in the fabric.
She finds herself kneeling in front of him and suddenly notices how very awkward that might look if anyone is to open the elevator door now. They would surely think she is about to give him a blowjob or…
The skin at the back of her thighs and neck prickles and she forces herself to focus focus focus. She can't look up now. Her head is wayyyy too close to his crotch.
Gingerly, she touches the fabric of his pants.
"No need to be delicate, love. I'm no stranger to pain…" She does look up now, taking him in, that almost soft smile on his face, with just a hint of… regret? She takes a deep breath.
"If you really want to get the bullet out for me, you'll have to get your hands dirty."
"Maybe we should wait after all," she says, but not because she is suddenly squeamish - because she is not. She's seen too much blood and carnage in her life already. But she's suddenly worried about the level of pain she could cause him.
"Like you said, it's only going to get worse if I wait much longer. So it'll either be me doing it myself, or you."
"Fine." She tries to come up with somewhat of a plan. Should he maybe sit down again? Should she… She touches the pant leg and tries to tear the hole a little bigger to have better access. But it's not really working at all. All it does is make him hiss out in pain.
"Yeah, sorry, but that isn't gonna work. You'll have to take the pants off," she tells him and feels herself flush at the look he gives her. He should be in way more agony and not be able to convey so much… rated r content with just a simple stare.
"How bold of you, Bonnie Bennett. I took you to be the romantic type."
She rolls her eyes. It's her favorite new thing to do, and she already knows she'll probably be doing that a million times more before her stay in this horrible elevator is over.
"Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type."
He smirks, then starts undoing his belt. "What is your type, may I ask? Pumped up emo teenagers like Jeremy Gilbert?"
"None of your business."
He's unbuttoning his fly now and she swallows and looks somewhere else, a ridiculous tension between them now that she isn't sure is just on her side or not.
What is wrong with her? It's not like she has the hots for him or anything. She can't deny that he's handsome. But he's also Enzo St. John, resident jerk and hothead. And a vampire. And the things he's done to her in the past are just...
"Alright. All yours," he says and she suddenly realizes that his pants are down and that his legs look really nice and muscular and-
Stop. She bites her lip. Focus.
"You might want to sit down," she tells him soberly and he grins that cocky grin of his again, so suggestive that she wants to shove him. "I don't want to have to try and catch you when the pain gets too much and you pass out on me," she snaps, and briefly wonders what it would feel like to have his weight on her body.
She must really be overdue for a good fuck, she thinks, chiding herself for even thinking of him in that way.
He says something she doesn't catch, but does as she suggested and when he's finally sitting again, telling her that she can use this against him in the future now, how she had him sit at her mercy with his pants around his ankles, she merely glares at him.
"I'd rather not even tell anyone we met."
"It's Damon, isn't it?" He suddenly says as she is about to delve her fingers into the burnt looking flesh of his right thigh, and she can't look at his face when he continues.
"Whatever happened in that prison world, it did something to you. And he was there… It's normal to develop feelings for someone under those circumstances."
"He's a friend," she retorts, angry now, and before he can say anything else, she digs into the wound, the squelching sound making her gag involuntarily, and she feels his muscles tense as he lets out a single curse before growing awfully quiet.
Except for his breathing. A little too rapid. A little too loud.
She can't find the bullet. Bonnie squints and repositions the hand she uses to steady herself. It's now right between his legs…
"It's… too deep. I can't get to it," she whines, exasperated.
"I'll try it myself," he says, grabbing her hand, making her take away her fingers and she stares at them as they reemerge, all bloody and red.
"I can give it another-" Before she has finished talking, his fingers are where hers have just been seconds before and it's honestly quite horrible and uncomfortable to watch him and when his breath hitches and his face starts looking even paler than usual, she quickly pulls his hand away and, shaking her head again, she resolutely gets to work again. She's rougher this time, but she has to be. If she wants his suffering to be over quickly too, just like hers earlier, she has to hurry. And trying to be gentle didn't help anything so far.
This time, however, it does work, and she pulls out the bullet with a triumphant expression on her face.
"Ta da," she makes, and his tired smile is all the reaction she gets for a few minutes until she watches his body mend itself, slowly but surely, and with a sigh, he stands up and puts his pants back on.
"And you saved me again," he whispers, his voice darker than before, more exhausted, but still with a distinct note of banter, and she plays along gladly.
"Don't let it become a habit, or I may change my mind about whether you're worth saving…"
"So you do think I'm worth saving."
She looks up into his face and there's an expression there that cuts straight to her core, a sudden openness and vulnerability that she doesn't get to see often in others.
"Why else would I have held on to you when the Other Side collapsed?" Yeah, she wonders, why? Has she really always thought he was worth it? Had she seen something in him back then? Something she doesn't see now? Or does she see it?
Why did she save him? For Damon's sake?
She remembers how fiercely he fought against oblivion. She remembers how he'd told her that it can't be everything. That fate can't be so cruel to torture him for decades and then let him vanish just like that.
And it had struck a cord in her.
They all deserved something out of life. Not just pain and suffering.
…
She gets pulled out of her thoughts when it suddenly grows dark around them. The lights give a last few flickers, then die. "No," she says, "not this, too."
Enzo remains quiet where he sits opposite her once again.
"Do you think they've noticed the elevator isn't working, yet?" She asks eventually, trying to make conversation to keep herself from freaking out. She can barely see his outline, but her eyes have adjusted a little and it's better than it was at first.
She can't be stuck in here. She can't ever be stuck again, not with anyone. Even if it's not Kai…
"I mean, you'd think some other party guests would have tried leaving yet, right? And what about the people you… hung out with?"
"Dead."
"What?" She asks, not quite comprehending.
"They're dead," he repeats, "And I didn't 'hang out' with them."
She frowns to herself. "So, what did you do? And why did they try to shoot you with vervain bullets?"
"Hunters I'm guessing. I'm not sure."
"You're not sure."
"Does it matter?" She suddenly hears him move, and sees him push himself up, starting to pace. "Fuck this. There's gotta be a way out of here."
She watches slightly bewildered as he walks over the few steps to the door and tries to pry it open.
"You should have done that ages ago," she chides him as it dawns on her how strong he is and how easy it should be for him to open those pesky doors into freedom.
"Yeah, I was a little busy and preoccupied," he reminds her and she presses her lips together at how testy he suddenly sounds.
He gets the door to open about half a hand width before another metallic creak makes him stop. He curses, worrying her.
She gets up slowly to come up behind him. He's still holding the doors open, she can see the strain in his body, and then…
"Oh shit," it escapes her. There's nothing behind that door. Nothing but darkness. A wall. "We're really stuck, aren't we?"
"There should be an emergency exit on top," he says, slowly letting go of the doors, and they fall closed with a loud and dooming 'bang.'
She looks toward the ceiling and can't see anything. She tries to summon her magic once again, but there is still nothing. Why?! Is it because she is panicking too much?
"Yup. There it is," he says, sighing. "I'll try and open that. Climb out and get help for you."
"No way in hell am I staying down here alone!" She sounds way too freaked out to her own ears and she earns herself a concerned look from him.
She bites the inside of her cheek, looking sheepishly at him, then down. "I may have a little problem with PTSD after…" She trails off, unable to continue. She can't bring herself to mention the prison world. But he seems to understand.
"Aren't we a pair," he suddenly says as if to himself and she frowns.
"What?"
"Of all the people to get stuck in a small dark elevator, it has to be two with PTSD from previous experiences with being… stuck," he says the last word with a weird intonation that tells her he is using the word loosely.
"You have PTSD." It's a realization more than a question. "Of course you do," she thinks, unaware that she also said it out loud until she sees the shadows of his expression.
He raises his eyebrows at her, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he focuses back on the latch in the ceiling and jumps up so he can reach it, making the elevator shake ominously as he does.
"Oh god, please stop," she begs him, real panic returning, and she feels his fingers on her face again as he whispers an apology.
"We need to get out of here," he breathes, and she finds herself grabbing his arms as if to support herself. She needs to know she is not alone right now. She needs to feel it.
"We also need to survive. I'm… I'm afraid if you try that again, the elevator will just… come crashing down and…"
"Okay," he allows, "Okay." It sounds so defeated that it worries her. What kind of PTSD does he have, exactly? Does he also get that feeling of being trapped and too vulnerable? The need to hide away and get to safety? Does he freeze, unable to move or do anything?
She stands so close to him that she can feel how erratically he's breathing.
"How about we just sit down for a minute?" She suggests, trying to make him look at her, but he's still staring up at the ceiling.
"I could maybe try to lift you up," he starts, and even though the mere idea of having to climb atop the elevator freaks her out, she also really wants to escape the confines of her current prison, so she agrees.
With a nod, she steadies herself on his shoulders, then waits for his arms to come up around her waist - so strong - before he lifts her up. She can almost reach the latch, when a groan shivers through the elevator upon the shift in weight and the next thing she knows, she falls into his arms as they slide down a few more feet, metal screeching as they go.
She spaces out for a moment to return clinging to him, her hands digging into his jacket, her head against his chest.
"That was not good," she croaks, and hears him reply with a small, "No."
"Okay. So… we wait?"
"We wait."
They slowly disentangle and sit back down, this time next to each other, her leg touching his, her side touching his.
And they wait.
…
It's hours later, and still no one there to rescue them, and what the hell is keeping them?!
Enzo is sitting with his legs pulled up, arms resting on his knees. He's massaging his temples as if he has a headache. He's also still breathing too fast. At least he's also immortal, so Bonnie doesn't have to worry that he'll make himself pass out or anything.
Right?
She herself has calmed down a little. Enzo's presence is strangely soothing and she has finally convinced herself that Kai cannot be behind any of it and that they WILL get out of this eventually.
Worst case scenario, they'll be found in the morning, when there'll be more personnel to notice that the elevator is not running.
They can hold out that long.
She glances to the side again, where Enzo is digging the palms of his hands into his eyes.
"Are you alright?" She asks carefully.
"Peachy, love. You?"
"You're not peachy at all and neither am I. But we'll be alright. You know that, right?" She says insistently, and he finally glances up and over to her.
He makes a face. "You must think I'm a nutcase."
"Then we both are. I'm sure you have all the reasons to not be particularly thrilled by being stuck in a dark place like this."
"It was alright until the light went off," he admits and surprises her with that.
"A vampire who's afraid of the dark?" she blurts and berates herself instantly, but he doesn't seem to mind.
"How ridiculous, right? It's not the darkness per se…"
Of course it isn't. She has no idea just what exactly they have done to him during his seventy years of torture, but it can't have been nice and it can't have been pretty, and all things considered he is holding up pretty well and is even mostly sane. (Well, the latter is debatable...)
"It's not ridiculous at all," she quietly allows and surprises herself by taking his hand in hers. He gives her a curious look, but accepts the gesture, and they just sit like that in silence for a while, until she finally explains, "The prison world fucked me up. Kai… fucked me up."
"Understandable, love. I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"Yeah," she chuckles sadly, "me too. Fate hasn't exactly been my friend."
"That makes two of us."
They exchange a look and chuckle. It's almost a comforting moment. Almost…
"I don't think I can do this," he suddenly says agitatedly and she frowns at him, worried.
"What? Wait?"
She sees the muscles in his jaw move as he seems to be working something out with himself.
"I'm a little… self destructive."
"Now there's a surprise." She grins and it's his turn to roll his eyes.
"Yeah yeah," he allows, "Enzo St. John, the loose cannon."
"Your words, not mine."
She grins, but they both sober quickly and a laden silence fills the elevator for a long moment.
"Do I need to worry that you're going to hurt yourself?" She suddenly asks as something clicks in her brain and he glances at her briefly before hanging his head and running a hand over the back of his neck.
"More like, worry about the integrity of the elevator, I guess. Which is why I'm trying really hard to keep myself in check here," he half explains, adding a small, "not easy," as if only speaking to himself.
She can picture it now. How he'll try and tear or kick his way out, completely disregarding his own health. Banging his head, tearing his fingernails out in the attempt to open the doors. There's so much strength and pent up energy and pain and panic in him that it is a miracle he hasn't exploded yet.
"What did they do to you?" She whispers, even though she doesn't even want to put him on the spot, certainly not here, not now, and he looks at her with such a sad smile that she wants to pull him close, and she actively has to fight that urge, because they are not like that with each other. They don't hug. They don't do this.
"You don't want to know, love."
But she does.
…
"Look at me," she tells him when his urge to free himself - and her - is threatening to overcome him. "Look. At. Me."
He does, but his eyes are shuttered, his breathing labored, he's only half here, with her.
If he explodes, the elevator could come crashing down, killing them. Or at least her. He knows that, which is why he's fighting himself so hard.
He's told her to knock him out if she has to. Part of her wants to do it. But how? With her bare hands?
The bigger part needs his company so that her own panic doesn't overcome her. She can't be alone.
Her hands cup his face, she stares at him intently.
She can't be alone. She can't do this. She can't be trapped anymore. She can't...
"I can't-" he chokes out, as if he knows just what she's thinking. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't…"
"Neither can I," she admits. "I want it to be over, I need to get out. Send this stupid elevator down if you have to, I don't care anymore. Just please please let it be over!"
She suddenly pulls him close, her hands clutching at him, her mouth too close to his. They stare at each other forever, seeing their own dark secrets reflected in each other's eyes and then…
… she kisses him, pulling back immediately, wiping her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from," she rasps, his gaze on her, and before she knows it, he has pulled her close yet again, his mouth on hers as he thrusts his tongue between her lips, circling her teeth, as his hands tear at her costume, one delving into her corsage, freeing one breast, making her gasp out in shock, as the other is undoing the strings at the front until the fabric falls off her like a shroud and she stands before him in nothing but her high heeled shoes, panties, stockings and bra, and his eyes roam across her body with an intensity that makes her shiver.
Then she leans forward, shoving his jacket over his shoulders, his shirt up his torso until she can see the muscles in his chest working, and she gasps as he opens his belt for the second time today, this time to take off his pants completely.
She wants to feel him, she needs this. She needs them to be one, she needs to make the panic go away and what better way than to be with him, to feel his skin pressed against hers, to feel his touch on her body.
He unclasps her bra with way too much ease and as her breasts are finally completely free, she can breathe easier again… until he leans in and down and cups her nipple with his lips, his tongue gently flicking at her, before he pulls away again, half tearing her panties away.
"I need you inside me," she hisses, not knowing why the hell she is doing any of this, with him! But she can't stop now. She doesn't want to. She won't.
She pulls down his boxers, licking her lips as she sees how hard he is for her, his erection straining and twitching as she caresses his length with the palm of her hand.
She traces the veins with a finger, before she grabs him, hoisting herself up to shove him where she wants him, between her legs.
He smirks at her, cockiness back in his features as he shakes his head, then grabs both her arms by the wrists and guides them over her head, holding them there.
She's completely at his mercy, trapped in an entirely different sort of way, and it turns her on so much she can barely catch her breath.
"Fuck me," she begs as he just stares at her for a bit, and she gasps with sudden delight and arousal when his free hand grabs her hard where she is so wet, her flesh so engorged and ready that his touch almost sends her straight over the edge.
But she wants to ride it out first, and she bites her lip so hard it starts bleeding, making him tilt his head with interest, before his lips crash into hers again and he licks at her, tastes her blood, while he's still holding her captive, one hand tracing letters between her folds, every so often grazing her most tender spot.
"Please," she whispers, her body starting to shiver. She feels so empty inside, the pressing urge to be filled up becoming so unbearable that she suddenly pushes against him, hard, freeing her arms, and making him chuckle.
Her eyes flicker with unadulterated desire as she takes a step toward him, grabbing him so hard he winces. "I want your cock inside me, Enzo St. John," she commands and his eyes flicker at her.
"Good," he breathes, nothing more, and she shoves him against the other side of the elevator, both of them oblivious to the jarring noise the metal makes as it shifts, and his straining hot flesh finally touches her opening as she guides him inside, not slowly at all, but fast and urgent, and she's so wet now that he slips right in, all the way back where she needs him, and she moans out as the emptiness vanishes at last as she feels him pound against her.
She wants him to come quickly, wants to feel his twitches massage all her walls, but he has other plans. He slows down, his cock moving in and out of her, in… out. Just his tip against her opening, until she begs for more again. For all of him, and he gives it to her with a smirk, and then…
… his finger is on her clit, right on it. And she's so ready, she is so ready. She just needs him to push down a little harder…
… but his finger travels up and away, as she grinds her hips against his, wanting to feel him at the other side of her. Then she finds his hand and roughly places it on her folds again.
"Make me cum," she whispers, so bold that she can't believe herself, but he seems to be so turned on by how she's taking charge that she feels him hiss out and bite her neck, only half playfully, but she welcomes the prick of pain and wallows in all the different sensations washing over her until eventually…
… they all explode right out of her and her moan mingles with his as he collapses against her, both shuddering with the power of orgasm.
...
They stay like that for an eternity or just a few minutes before they pull themselves together, Bonnie grinning sheepishly at Enzo as they both try to get her back into her dress.
"Well," she says, her voice as soft and warm as molasses, "if this isn't the best way to fight dark feelings…"
He smiles at her, she can barely see him, but she can see how white and even his teeth are, what a handsome smile he has when he actually means it for once.
"I want to say thank you, Bonnie Bennett, but it sounds wrong," he mutters, and she knows what he means. The "after" is a bit awkward for them both. Did they really just have sex in an elevator? Bonnie Bennett and Enzo St. John? She's never going to live that down if she even dares to tell anyone.
She really shouldn't.
She does feel better now, though. But they're still trapped.
His urge to bang against the walls seems to have dissipated somewhat, and that is good. If only they knew for how long they still have to hold out.
They resume their positions, sitting next to each other, waiting.
"Just so you know," she announces, "we can't ever admit to anyone this happened."
He chuckles lightly. "Of course not," he agrees. "We'd never live that down."
"Right."
"Right."
There is a sense of longing in her suddenly, and she finds herself grabbing his hand, holding it tightly.
"I'm glad I'm not alone in here," she murmurs and he squeezes her hand ever so lightly.
"Me too."
…
They get rescued in the early hours of the new day. A worried looking Caroline waits for Bonnie, arms slung around herself as she shivers in a long men's coat someone must have lent her as she was waiting for her best friend to get freed.
She apologizes profusely for not having noticed what was going on with the elevator.
So does the hotel management. Bonnie and Enzo each get offered a gift card for a free stay at one of the suites, and they exchange a glance, a flicker passing between them that no one really catches.
(Or so they think. Of course Caroline is on to them and frowns to herself, suddenly wondering just how innocent of a gesture it really was that they found Bonnie and Enzo holding hands. But she keeps her suspicions to herself for the time being. Bonnie has been through enough and doesn't need an inquisition.)
She brings Bonnie over to her car, offering Enzo to take him wherever he needs to go, but he declines with a shake of his head and vanishes into the darkness of the predawn world, not without nodding to Bonnie first, smiling. "It's been a pleasure being stuck with you, Bonnie Bennett," he says, and Bonnie grins at him awkwardly, flushing a little.
"Likewise, Enzo St. John." She smiles. "Let's not do it again, though."
He chuckles, Yeah, no…" he mutters almost to himself, then he's gone and Bonnie suddenly feels a little…
… fluttery.