Title: Take Shelter
Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Romance / Angst
Rating: M
Pairing: Bonkai, bits of Bamon
Summary: "I know what he's thinking. Bonnie Bennett is drunk and belligerent. And here, I thought she was giggly drunk."

Author's Note: In my defense, I started this fic days before the S6 midseason finale, so I basically predicted Mystic Falls no longer being magic-free instead of being AU. You're welcome.

Take Shelter is by Years & Years.

Disclaimers are still a thing, huh.

•

His lips are at my neck, kissing the hollow of my throat, his tongue licking at my clavicle, white teeth biting my exposed skin. I exhale in spurts, as if the wind has been knocked out of me and I'm relearning how to breathe. He starts to mumble something smart, he's always saying something smart, so I bring his face back up to mine, tell him "don't be a smart ass, not now", and press my lips to his.

This is not how I thought my night would turn out.

"Leather looks good on you, Bon Bon."

He finds me at the bar – or I find him. This was his old stomping ground, sure, but I beat him to the punch. I have been here every day this week. I know this worries Matt, but he says nothing, keeps the drinks coming all the same. But I know what he's thinking.

Bonnie Bennett is drunk and belligerent. And here, I thought she was giggly drunk.

His barstool scoots closer to mine. I bite back the urge to roll my eyes by downing the rest of what's in my glass. I should know by now what I've been drinking. It might be rum. Or bourbon. Scotch, maybe? It's brown, I can tell you that. Honestly, I just told Matt to pour me whatever's good.

"All bourbon is whiskey, but not all whiskey is bourbon."

"Good thing I'm drinking rum, then."

"Actually, you're drinking Crown which is more corn than anything and is most certainly neither rum nor bourbon."

"Thank you for the science lesson, Bill Nye."

He growls under his breath and lifts his chin in Matt's direction. In his brief silence, I watch him. Exhaustion has riddled him lately, his attentions being pulled in a million directions. He's fairer than usual and I wonder if he's been feeding properly. That was my constant thought for four months because if he didn't regularly raid the Mystic Falls Hospital in 1994, it was only a matter of time before he'd come sniffing at my neck. And, damn. If vampires could get dark circles, everyone else would see what I do.

But who sees Damon Salvatore, really?

They look at what he's done, the good and the bad. Respectively, rarely collectively. They look at him compared to his younger brother Stefan, seeing only heroes or villains. Depending on the day. They look at the expert way he can handle his alcohol. They look at how well he can fill out both a tuxedo and a leather jacket and jeans. But they don't see him.

Not the him that can talk at length about how his father favored Stefan from a very young age. Not the him that will only talk about his mother when he's blind drunk on the verge of passing out. And not much even then. Not the him that walked around the Salvatore Boarding House for weeks upon weeks reading Stefan's diaries cover to cover. Chronologically. And then rereading them because what the hell else was there to do? Sometimes he'd narrate the musings in weird accents. Sometimes he'd sit by the fireplace in the kitchen and I'd pretend to not notice the tears streaming down his face. Definitely not the him so desperate for love and validation he'll shape himself into someone he just isn't.

No.

They look at the Damon Salvatore who sweeps his dastardly crimes under Persian rugs while wearing his brother's hero hair, who is perpetually under the feet of women who can't or won't give him love – as undeserving as he may seem - and they think that's who he is now.

He's not. No one sees Damon Salvatore.

I turn away before he focuses his gaze back on me.

"You're worrying people."

"That's a first. Whatever will they do with themselves?"

I meet his pale eyes, eyes I'd grown accustomed to seeing every day for four months. And then they were gone. Replaced with more sinister eyes and a tongue flipping double meanings on the words it spat out.

And then I was alone.

"If you ask me, I say to hell with 'em. I told Caroline micromanaging you would only give her wrinkles. Ric is well aware how I feel about his part in all of...you know."

"And Elena?"

Bringing her up unnecessarily in conversation is an ugly habit I'm trying my damndest to break, but I ask because I know it's coming. Dear, precious Elena. My best friend. The common ground Damon and I shared when we're constantly at each other's throats. We didn't always see eye to eye but at least he was willing to go as far as I would for my best friend. My friend who, as I've gathered, reduced their failed mission to rescue me consistently to her. Not to mention her brother, my ex, and his hands-off attitude at the possibility of my return.

I lace my tongue with alcohol in hopes that it sanitizes the wounds from always biting it.

"With you being back, not answering her calls, basically being distant and all, well, Elena is having a hard time adjusting."

"Boo fucking hoo."

"Tell me how you really feel."

Matt refills my glass and sets down Damon's usual, eyeing us both but, again, he says nothing. My hand slides to my right, grasps the other glass, and I take a swig. Damon doesn't protest but only because he knows better.

There are no eggshells. The floor is littered with shattered glass, we're barefoot but well callused.

"Elena's parents died. That sucks. They were like my parents, ya know. Better, really. I mean, they were there at least. Then her biological parents, one by one, bit the bullet too. That sucks. Major. Jenna died somewhere in that mix and then Jer – her brother. I get it. It's understandable to be a little fucked up in the head after that. Don't, for a minute, think I don't get that."

"Never, for a minute, did I think you didn't."

"But that happens to people all the time. People lose their loved ones every day. It happens. But they adapt. They carry on."

I drink from my own glass now. This one has more kick in it. I think to ask what else is in it but I don't care that much. I can't seem to care about anything or anyone these days.

"Your point, as valid as it will be, is..."

"She can suck it up. Grams was right. Elena is not my problem to solve. She wasn't when she was in transition. She wasn't when her brother died and I took it upon myself to resurrect him. I'm supposed to be her friend, not her goddamn mom.

"And to think she wanted me back just so I could give her love advice on you..."

I suck down the remainder of my drink and push off my stool, a fifty sliding across the bar towards Matt.

Damon's quick on my heels, tailing me out of the Grille. The winter wind whips at my cheeks and every bit of bare skin, so I clutch tighter to my jacket. I found it in my mom's closet in 1994. It's on top of a black lacy thing shoved in one of her drawers. I have yet to see her since I've been back, but her clothes are a strange comfort all the same.

"I'll admit, selfish on Elena is not her best look."

"If you add a 'but' to that, we're going to have a problem."

I round to face him. Tall, lean, forever communicating whatever he's feeling through a wag or furrow of his eyebrows.

"All I'm saying is you have every right to be upset. Pissed."

"Angry."

"Just not at me."

My chin sets in a defiant position. I'm surprised that's not my default as of late. But Damon's raising his palms in an "I surrender" manner, so I swallow the venom.

"You can be mad at me. You can yell at me, hit me, cry on my shoulder if you want. And, yeah, when it comes to Elena, my past actions haven't been in your best interest. You have every right to be mad at me. All I'm saying is I'd rather be there with you, for you, even if we don't say a word than for you to lock me out of the house with everyone else."

My ankle rolls, and I stumble back a step but not because of the alcohol. It's because Damon reaches towards me, his hand finding purchase on the side of my face and there's a hot static of energy coiling underneath my skin. I remind myself it's just my magic and that I'm feeling a lot of emotions right now. Damon invading my personal space is nothing I'm not used to and has nothing to do with the sharp intake of breath I just took.

Damon did try, I'll give him that. He fought so hard, harder than he thinks I realize, to bring me back to life. Granted, I was reduced to being the anchor. Not quite living, not quite dead. He tried to save me for that prison, that dark dimension and I don't blame him for the circumstances that ripped him away. I can't blame him because he tried and that's a helluva lot more than I can say for the rest.

It doesn't end there. He protected my magic before he knew he had it in the form of my teddy bear. He threatened his friendship with his own best friend at the tiny chance of saving me. He's pulled away from his ex-girlfriend, or sort of girlfriend, whatever the hell they are now, who I know he loves more than anything, and for some reason it's been for my benefit – and to their detriment.

My magic is no longer static. It's boiling and suddenly the wind isn't a chill. It's relief. I purse my lips and place my hand atop his, the lit bulbs of the Mystic Grille marquee exploding. His mouth ticks up at the corner, and I can feel us settling back into our old groove.

Every nice, sweet, endearing thing Damon has ever said to me or done for me is contrasted with the ugly, all the things that have broken my heart. Grams' exhaustion that slipped into death, my absentee mother being turned into a vampire, the raising of Silas who killed my father. Days and days of being tortured by a psychopath because I forced him to go home without me.

"You're a walking reminder of all the horrible things that have happened to me."

A shock runs through me at the echo of Elena's words and I jolt, stepping back from Damon's embrace.

"I've got to go."

•

He sits crosslegged hunched over my grimoire. The candles placed around the room are lit, casting a warm hue across the side of his face. He lifts his head at my entrance.

"Honey, you're home. So, I've been flipping through your grimoire and see you are in severe need of an updated version. Seriously. These spells are so elementary. If you could get a peek at the one for my coven, you would shudder out of your little lacy unmentionables. Oh. I might have also flipped through your panty drawer while you were gone."

I'll never get used to his shit eating grin. Like the face of a clown, masking his true intentions behind a painted smile. But here he is. In my room. On my bed. My home has become his hideaway, whether I like it or not.

I shrug out of my jacket, toss it on the foot of the bed, and kick off my shoes. He watches intently and I'm half expecting him to add how he massacred the nearby town while I was out. His mouth hangs open, something else waiting to fall out. I'm not in the mood.

"I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

"You're drunk."

"You've never seen me drunk. Trust me, this isn't it."

Kai shuts the spell book and sets it on the bedside table. He stands up and my natural instinct is to put as much distance between me and him as possible. I never know if he's going to smother me with a hug or a pillow.

He's taken a few fashion tips from this decade. Gone are the zip-up hoodies, sneakers, and ridiculous cargo shorts. He's sleek in black, though his shirt probably came from the department for teenage boys. If he were anyone other than the guy who shot me with a crossbow, stabbed me in the abdomen with a hunting knife, and left me for dead, I might give him a compliment.

As it stands, he is who he is and his ego is well inflated.

"You know the drill. Couch."

He pouts, taking another step closer with his head tilted in that pleading, puppy dog way of his. One more step and my back meets the wall.

"You sure do act standoffish towards the guy who saved you from eternal solitude in that prison world. I've been there all by myself for eighteen years. You, not nearly as long. If you ask me, that's pretty damn merciful."

"You and mercy are two words I would never use in a sentence together."

"And yet, here you are. Safe and sound and without nary an infection from your wounds."

"Wounds you inflicted on me."

"Technicality."

His fingers find my wrist and I flinch, but he extracts no magic. He's got plenty Traveler magic flowing through him but he's a greedy little shit, so that's one of the rules along with the couch thing, and so far he's obeyed.

Kai Parker rescued me.

Ironic, I know. Now he's a stowaway in my house. He's hiding from his family and coven and while my house is still visible from the street, he's veiled from all those he doesn't want to see him. Witch, vampire, and human alike. I wouldn't put it past him to periodically flash the neighbors before vanishing, but so far I'm the only one he'll reveal himself to.

I like to think that's a perfect reason to ignore phone calls and deny visitors.

"I told you about the touching thing."

"I'm not siphoning your magic. Relax. You look tense."

"You touching me is the opposite of relaxing."

"Do I excite you, Bonnie Bennett?"

"Anxiety and arousal might trigger some of the same biological processes, but they are not the same. Sorry."

His fingers don't loosen. Instead, they slide up my forearm, tap, tap, tapping at the soft skin of the crook of my elbow. Any minute now, he's going to break his promise and steal my magic. No matter how many rules I set or vows of allegiance he makes, the only thing I'm certain of is that I can't trust him. I'm just biding my time here. I know this. Tipsy Bonnie is aware, thank you very much.

"Leather looks good on you. Did you know that? Leather and lace, it's very Janet. Or Miss Jackson if you're nasty."

I match his playful gaze with one of repugnance, my magic crawling under my skin. I wretch my arm from him, the sting of his touch lingering.

"Stop talking."

"Making conversation was never banned as per your laws, uh, rules. I'm just curious. How are you? Which of your friends asked you for a favor today? How is it the owner of the Grille hasn't kicked you out yet? You are still underage, after all.

"Wait, let me guess. You're drunk and bitter. You've been avoiding all your friends. How do I know this? Because at least three of them showed up this afternoon banging down the front door. Only one came inside. What's his name? Stefan. Yeah, I thought maybe he's the only vampire allowed in, but then I remembered all your family is dead. Technically. So turns out he's just the only one who decided to pick the lock when no one answered. And you have been drinking with Damon, who probably compelled the owner to leave you alone."

"What makes you think that?"

"I can feel him on you. Here."

His hand rests on my cheek, the same one Damon caressed.

"Your magic, it's a livewire inside of you. You don't know how hot you are right now."

"My temperature is fine."

"You misunderstand me."

I place my hand on his, wrap my fingers around it, and pull it away from my face.

"Couch. Now."

"One question. When was the last time someone did something for you? Hm? You forget I spent four months watching you, listening to you, studying you. Your sacrificial lamb act, that's no act, is it? That's a personality flaw, Bonnie. A fatal one, apparently. I mean, from what I've gathered while I was over there and since I've been topside, Damon Salvatore should be at the bottom on your list of people to help. Hell, I'm under the impression he shouldn't even be on the list. And yet, you give up your only chance to get home – for him?

"So I ask, when was the last time someone did something for you? When has anyone reciprocated that selflessness for Bonnie Bennett? Has anyone ever done anything without an expectation of how it would benefit them? I mean, you were the anchor for fuck sake, and I'm fairly certain there's no upside to that. I bet that kindergarten boyfriend of yours wanted you alive and let you writhe in pain, what, every five minutes of every day for months just so he could touch you? Tell me I'm wrong."

His fingers are twisting around mine, his words twisting at my core. My magic shunts the flames, extending them before extinguishing them all together. And then it's dark in my room and I can only hear his even breaths. I realizing I've been holding my own.

I don't speak because he'll manipulate anything I say, but the air grows thin and he's closer than before. Chest to chest, his hands resting on my hips, thumbs playing at the hem of my blouse. In that glow of the moonlight, I avoid his eyes for fear of being discovered, that he'll lift the corner of this mask.

"When was the last time you were touched simply so you'd be the one to feel something?"

Truthfully? I can't recall. Jeremy… I have yet to admit this to anyone but he wasn't my first. My dad dragged me on a lot of business trips and sometimes there are cute guys staying down the hotel hallway. He definitely wasn't my only and wasn't the most attentive lover to boot. Remembering that is the straw that breaks the proverbial camel's back. My head swimming, my palms finding the sides of his face, I stare at Kai dead on.

"You talk too much."

Our lips meet in a rush of fury and fervor. I'm not even sure who moved first. Was it me, lifting onto the balls of my feet, or him, ducking his head down to me? He tastes like, ugh, grape jam and salt because Travelers are the salt of the earth and he absorbed so much of their magic. He's tugging at the straps of my dress and I'm working at shoving his blazer off his shoulders, and it's not until he moves from my mouth to my cheek and my ear that I see the candles aren't just lit. They're roaring with flames.

"If this is your way of showing me I'm a really good Thanksgiving cook…"

"Don't be a smart ass, not now."

His hands are greedy at my dress, yanking at it, snagging the fabric until my bra is fully exposed. I match his fire, pulling his shirt up and over his head. The heat becomes too much and then I see it. The singed remains of his cotton t-shirt falling through my fingers. We stand heaving breaths, ashes on the hardwood floor between us.

"Well, damn."

In his momentary distraction, I take the opportunity to place my hands on his chest and push him backwards. He catches himself on edge of the mattress, a smirk curving his lips, before I'm on him and I don't really want to stop myself.

The skirt of my dress hiked up, my thighs straddling his waist, my fingers in his hair, my lopsided bra, his mouth on my breast. And he's not gentle. He's in between clumsy teenage virgin and selfish frat boy, his hands never in the same place for too long and very generous with his teeth. But when was the last time he'd been with a girl? All things considered, I'm stunned by his sense of utter control. His fingers digging into my skin will leave tender whelps, but they will be for my benefit. Good. I'm not porcelain. Never have been.

He moves upwards, slick, wet lip prints trailing up my chest, my neck, my jaw. But he stops before our lips meet and I almost groan with indignation.

"What do you want, Bonnie?"

"I want you to make me forget."

"Forget what exactly?"

My so-called friends? The bad things that have happened to me? My self-loathing that's tethered to my love of the Gilberts? Damon Salvatore?

"Everything."

He responds with something stupid like, "Your wish is my command", but a sting bites at my waist and rush of wind whips through the room from the door slamming shut. He mutters an "oops" but he's not sorry for the lapse because he's a taker by nature. I don't have time to get mad because he's switching our positions, me lying on the mattress and him with my legs wrapped around his middle, hovering above me.

He slips his hands from under my shoulder blades then steps back out of my reach, leaving me a little breathless and very irritated. He pushes his hair back from his forehead, eyes fully dilated, and tells me to stand up. I glare but he's serious with his hand extended to me, so I do. With my palm against his, he pulls me off the bed, spins me around, and presses his bare chest to my back. Almost like an embrace, but it doesn't last because his thumbs are jerking my panties down my legs. His nose grazes my skin as he sinks down, making sure I kick the useless fabric from around my ankles and then he's upright and there's no space between us.

My dress is left to rest bunched at my waist, one bra strap hanging off my shoulder, but his hands are firm on my hips, my bare ass against his unbuckled jeans. One of his hands hold me to him while the other makes his way down between my thighs. His breath is hot on my neck, his lips at my ear. The memory of me with a bleeding wound and his hand at my throat in Damon's Camaro surfaces and is promptly eviscerated by one of his fingers dipping inside of me. Then out, then back in.

My eyes roll toward the ceiling, the light from the candles flickering like strobe lights around us. I writhe against him, clench around his hand at work, finally going weak at the knees and needing to find support from the foot of my bed. But he's relentless, the pressure of his body curved around my spine and the unbroken rhythm of his fingers at my folds. He fits a second one in and I gasp, my jaw threatening to unhinge.

"Wanna see a magic trick?"

I tense but I think that's what he wants because his fingers are as deep as they'll go, and he's got me biting my bottom lip until I taste blood. I go to mutter "don't", but he's already doing it and it takes me a minute to notice. I can still feel him, his wrist working overtime, but I have to focus my eyesight to get it. He's invisible. There's pressure from his elbow against my abdomen, his hand kneading my breast, his other hand stroking me, hell, I can feel his erection against me, but I don't see him.

"Ta da."

It's disconcerting as all hell, but I'm almost there and I get an idea, one I'm certain he'll like.

"Take me with you."

"Wha… Ah, oh, Bonnie. I'll need a little more magic for that."

"You have plenty."

"This is a special spell, though."

His voice is low in my ear and I imagine him as the devil on my shoulder, convincing me that letting him manipulate away a little of my own magic is my idea. It's a bad one, but his thumb is rubbing circles against my clit and I'm all but crumbling.

"Tick tock or you'll burn the whole house down."

Kai asked permission, a first, and I say yes, but only because his hand stopped moving and I'm so fucking close. He doesn't do it immediately, though. His fingers go back to working, sliding back and forth, in and out until I come undone in the palm of his hand. Literally.

We're both breathing heavy, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste on salt on my sticky skin. I turn to face him because he's not done yet and he wants me to see how he looks plenty satisfied licking me off his fingers. There's a malicious glint behind his hooded eyes and I crave it. It's a call to the darkness resident in my chest, present long before I was left stranded on an empty planet, before Expression, even before I reserved my abilities solely for defense and protection's sake. I've always been attracted to the purer parts of nature, fire and the dark oblivion among them.

He runs his slick tongue over his teeth and crawls toward me on the bed. He wants me too, he radiates it because his skin on mine feels like first degree burns I'll shed come morning. But he said this is about me and what I want, so my hand snakes out and retrieves a condom from the bedside table. His lips curl into a smirk.

"Bennett-Parker children would be doomed from the start and you know it's the truth."

"I didn't say a word."

He shimmies out of his jeans, then his boxers, and fits the condom on with no hesitation. Kneeling between my legs, he leans forward, his lips bypassing my mouth. In a wry voice, he reminds me latex is flammable. I tell him to shut up and make with the magic show.

Sitting back on his heels, he takes me in with his eyes. He's completely naked and I'm exposed and I know I should feel shy, be coy, but Damon's right. I'm not used to guys hitting on me and I want to enjoy it for once. He registers something, a shift in the atmosphere we've created, maybe because my thoughts went to Damon, so when he clamps his hands around my ankles he's less than gentle. I wait for the crackling suction of magic leaving me but it doesn't come. There's a crackle, there's a transfer of magic, but the salt I taste on my tongue is what alerts me.

He gave me some of his Traveler magic. He took some of mine, I'm sure of it, but replaced it with his slowly depleting supply. Before I can question it, he slides his hands underneath my ass, lifts me up to meet him, and dives into me. Both happen so quickly I don't know which knocks the air out of me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pull him closer, deeper. With each thrust, the windows rattle and I'm counting on them shattering. Imploding window panes are my specialty.

Leaning down to me, his arms forming a cage around me, his hands on either side of my face, he kisses me once. It's almost chaste. Then I realize. It's an apology. Sorry for taking your magic but it tastes sweeter. He'll never say it out loud but I can feel it, so I'll take it for what it's worth. Then he's mumbling, his eyes half shut as if in a trance. He's speaking Latin I don't know, too low for me to understand, and I'll be damned if he can't multi-task like I've never seen. Hitting spots I wasn't sure any guy would ever find, making my back arch, toes curl all while enacting a spell.

I grab at the nape of his neck, my fingers disappearing into this hair, nails scratching at his scalp. He kisses me, this time firmer, his tongue plunging between my lips, the thrusting of our hips becoming more and more aggressive. One hands stays caressing my cheek while the other slips down to play at my folds.

He tells me to open my eyes and I meet his gaze when I do. He ticks up his eyebrows, jerking his head to the side. Following his direction, my attention goes to the vanity across the room. I exhale sharply, both from the pressure building between my legs and the total absence of he and I in the mirror's reflection. I should at least be able to see his profile and my ankles locked around him.

"Oh, you have got to teach me that one."

"Would you believe that's a Bennett spell? An ancient one, really. The Gemini Coven is only really good at making twins kill each other. Would you believe my brothers and sisters could do that spell before they could walk?"

"We are so not talking about your dead siblings right now."

It's sick and morbid and does nothing to make me forget I'm fucking a sociopath because that is all this is. This is me blowing off steam and getting him off is a release so hopefully he doesn't slaughter half the town's population on New Year's Eve.

There is no making love to Kai Parker because he doesn't know how to love and love makes me do dangerous, reckless, stupid things. Sex is biological and this is something beyond that. This, it's metaphysical. Besides – for all the time I spent dead, as the anchor, and in Kai's prison with only Damon, it's about damn time that I'm being touched and getting some pleasure out of it.

I pull him back down to me, biting, sucking at his bottom lip. He groans, his thrusts quicker now, focused. A growl in his chest, he bites back, first at my lips then my jaw, finally his teeth leaving notches at my neck. Occasionally giving the mirror a glance, I run my hands up and down his back leaving marks like cat scratches. He's about as deep as he can go, my breathing hitches in my throat because I'm close to completely losing it, and that's when he turns my face towards him, his expression the picture of terrible control.

"Here's the thing, Bonnie. I won't make you forget because I don't want you to. I want you to remember every – little – thing. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and see the girl they left behind – the girl who died for those who wouldn't do the same – the girl who fucked a clinically – diagnosed – sociopath. See, the day will come when I need you, because let's face it. If you weren't useful, I would've killed you by now."

His hand palms the thick, healed scar spanning the skin over my ribcage while the other slides down my cheek, his thumb playing at my bottom lip. His hips swivel to hit me deeper than before and I fail to bite back the shaky moan that escapes my lips.

"That's why I follow your commandments because I'm selfish that way. I need you. But I'll need you angry – and bitter – and feeling a little self-loathy. That's when you'll be your strongest and – a Bennett – at her best is the most terrifying thing this side of the Nile. Because that's what I want."

"Only the dumb villains reveal their grand plans."

"Dumb?"

He pulls out, leaving only the tip, making me ache and writhe and whimper before thrusting back into me.

"You're just the weapon, Bonnie, but you'll love my plan."

He covers my mouth with his because he loves having the last word. His hand clutches at the nape of my neck until we literally could not be any closer. We pick up the tempo, our hips at war, bodies thrashing. I hate it and him because he's right.

This isn't my invitation to be someone's plus one to the Originals ball getting lost in the mail. This isn't Elena forgetting to turn in my application for Miss Mystic Falls – two years in a row. This is all the people I've saved from death and brought back from death twiddling their thumbs while I fought tooth and nail for my life battling a lonely and murderous warlock in that shadow of existence. This is me being angry and bitter and taking out that aggression the way that I want to.

I'll be the one to kill Kai once he's no longer useful to me because he will come in handy, I'll be the one to save Mystic Falls from burning to the ground but until then…

I squeeze around him until his jaw loosens, dragging my tongue along his separated teeth. I won't let him pull his face away, I won't let him concentrate because this is what I want. It's a powerplay and when he comes, I want to swallow his pleasure like all the times he's swallowed my magic.

He pants into my open mouth and we lock eyes as we near the edge. He winks, sending me over the brink, convulsing and gasping. There's a look of triumph in his eyes, but he climaxes moments later and that smugness disintegrates into ash. He shudders, the bulk of his weight sandwiching me between him and the bed.

When my heart slows to its normal pace and my vision no longer vibrates, I push him up and off of me. He chuckles breathily, rolling on his back and resting his hand on his damp abdomen. He lifts the spell, and I watch my reflection as I fix my bra, pull my dress down, and stick my arms through the stringy straps. He watches me too.

"Four months together in a world alone, and Damon never did that for you, did he? Not even once."

"Couch. Now."

"You should get drunk more often. I like drunk you."

"Not drunk enough, unfortunately."

"Ooh. You know if I had feelings, you might've hurt one."

I relax into my pillows and, with a flick of my wrist, the door unlocks then swings open. He finally obliges, lifting off my bed and picking up his clothes. Or what's left of them anyway. Balling them up to cover himself, though I know he has no shame, he stops in the doorway and turns to raise an eyebrow at me.

"You're a lot of things, Bonnie Bennett, but ultimately you're a good girl and that's the most unbecoming thing about you."

Take shelter
Take the pressure
Do what you want tonight
It's alright
If you want to get used