This was intended to be a part of a larger story where Bonnie ends up transferring the sire bond to herself (Tyler comes to her for help and agrees to it) once she realizes she can't break it. She dies in order to give him his freedom (using the same kind of spell from 2.18) but withholds this all from him and he's the one who finds her dead. I'd started this before Abby died and at this point in canon I didn't think that Bonnie was all that interested in living and was kind of going through the motions, just surviving because that's what she was expected to do. Tyler in canon didn't have a place outside of Caroline, so I really wanted him to contemplate what being dead means: no kids, no aging, watching your friends and family die. It was basically masturbatory living dead meta (that I'm rolling my eyes over now) about Tyler living beyond his expiration date and dealing with that, and Bonnie feeling dead while alive. I think they could be real friends to each other (because nobody on this show is an actual friend) and I'm really just in love with the idea of that. Then sex because why not.

So this is just some sex.

I have no beta and all mistakes are mine. And I don't think it needs any warnings beside sex, but if anyone thinks I should add something please let me know.

He's always been sweet to her. When he hated Caroline and Elena was just Matt's girlfriend, he always liked her. She doesn't know why. She's never cared to examine it.

Because he's always been that kid.

That kid that messed around with most of the cheerleading squad. That kid that drew penises on his desk.

That kid.

But when he's mouthing the letters of his name out between her legs (L-O-C-K-W-O-O-D), he's not just that kid anymore.

"Tyler."

He looks up at her, big eyed and wet-mouthed, breathless, his thumb replacing tongue.

"I love that."

Her breath hitches in her throat as he circles the nub. "What?"

"The way you say my name all…needy." She groans, her head falling back on the pillow and he kisses the inside of her thigh.

He's so different now. Everything Tyler says now has so much gravity; everything holds so much weight. She wonders if this is a product of immortality or has he just matured that much. He speaks in a different language, one belonging to only him, but she can easily read him.

You say my name like you need me.

It says more about him than it does her. Tyler latches onto things, persona or person, because he's lost without an anchor. The persona is gone, that kid is gone and so it's only normal that she's become his person. He kisses her other thigh.

"What do you want, Bonnie?"

It's such a loaded (rhetorical) question, what doesn't she want right now, but she'll start with him always saying her name like that.

He says my name like he wants me.

It's a simple name, one she's never really liked. She'd inherited it from some long-dead woman, somehow related to her father that she shares a crooked smile with (or so she's told). When other people say it, it's a cute name that would better suit a senior citizen, but when he says it has weight. It's smooth and heavy like buffed stone, its simplicity all a part of its beauty. He says her name like it's a pleasure to have the letters on his tongue so he lets them roll off slow, slow, like he's tasting them for the first time, savoring them.

That kid, didn't say her name like that.

But he isn't that kid, this is the strange serious boy, the one that laughs with his mouth open and head thrown back, the one that likes to hold her hand and speaks fluently in forevers.

He doesn't wait for her to answer; he never does. Maybe he knows what she wants and is waiting on her to find out. He's so in tune with her, she wouldn't doubt it.

He's been at this for a while, she's so wet, and she's ready for him to be heavy on her, to ground her with his weight. He's so good at it, he knows her well, instinctively rather than out of practice, and when she tells him that she sees a glimpse of that boy (cocky, confident). That helps her hold it together, keeps her from feeling like she's sleeping with a complete stranger. She's not too familiar with this boy.

She wonders if ever feels the same way about her.

Tyler's taken the approach of trying to map his way to her heart through triangle between her legs and while it feels amazing, she doesn't know if he'll ever reach his destination. He's in love, she sees in the way he looks at her, how he cares for her and she doesn't know if she can return that any time soon. But right now not asking for it in return, he wants it, but he's not pushing her for that, and that lack of pressure is so important right now. Bonnie doesn't want to hurt him (he's the only one who has come close to understanding her) but she honestly doesn't really need him.

She likes him well enough, actually a lot, she likes him a lot, but she can exist without him, he's not a necessity. Bonnie doesn't really need anybody. She's proven that time and time again; they're the ones who need her.

He needs her.

There are other boys she could fall into bed with: boys with heavy hearts and heavy words, weighed down by the world and reeking of experience. Ones with substance. She needs that, not necessarily him. However, at the moment she wants him to be that for her.

So Bonnie'll let him interpret her need for substance as need for him, even if it's only when her eyes are locked on the vaulted ceiling of his bedroom and her toes are slotting the bed post. When she's without her armor of billowy blouses and fake smile, or when she dissolving completely into feeling while writhing underneath a cute boy that gives God praises in her ear.

"Tyler."

T-Y-L-E-R.

Her back arches off the bed. There's not much friction, too slick, and she's too sensitive for him to do anything but lightly lick at her, but every lick sends tremors through her legs. Her breath catches, a shiver spreading through her body, scalp to toes, and it pulls at her resolve.

She pulls him up to her mouth.

She feels weightless and she's always thought that would be a good thing, floating through life like a leaf on a wind current, but it's not. When she felt like the world's problems were on her shoulders, when her feet were cement blocks and she was sinking, drowning, she felt so much. And now there's nothing to keep her grounded. Tyler however feels everything (magnified) and she keeps thinking that maybe he'll rub off on her.

He lies on top of her, heavy, and he's heavy in the palm she's reached between them. She runs her hand over his him, gently, and lines him up. She watches his face when he slides into her on a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut while they both adjust, thick eyelashes brushing her face when he rests his forehead on hers.

He's fills her up, heavy.

Weighs her down, heavy.

He's courteous but not overly tender. Bonnie's mouth falls open, her nose scrunches. He's so focused, eyebrows knitting, bottom lip caught between his teeth. A groan releases it and she leans up to bring it into her mouth.

He kisses her and she feels a little less weightless. Each stroke reels her in, brings her back to earth and puts some mass back on her soul. This feels real.

Authentic.

Of substance.

There's nothing abstract about it. She doesn't have to pretend, she feels this.

When she comes it's deeper this time, but less intense somehow and it's all Tyler needs to finish. He doesn't leave her, doesn't move and just lets his weight sink them deeper into the bed.

Eventually he flips them. Tyler presses his lips to her sweaty forehead and drops his head back onto the pillow.

"You don't plan on moving anytime soon," he says barely above a whisper but a smile on his face.

"No, and it's not like you have anything else to do."

"Did you ever think that you might just be heavy?"

Bonnie buries her head in the crook of his neck and laughs.

Thanks for reading and any reviews you may leave!