A/N: It's been forever. Many thanks for your patience and reviews, and also my apologies. I suffered with MASSIVE writer's block, couldn't decide whose POV I should start with and where things should go. I know there was an urgency to get to the *good* Stefonnie stuff, but I can't force something I'm not ready to take there in terms of development. The push and pull won't be ongoing. Trust me, I have your back. Here's the latest. It's told in both Bonnie and Stefan's POV. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Characters (apart from my OC's) regrettably belong to the CW, butchered, neglected, tarred and feathered by JP. Copyright infringement is never intended.

||Bonnie||

Scores of my Washingtonian brethren walked in a processional over herringbone brick beneath a canopy of clouds. The rumble of drums in the form of tires flying over manhole covers could be heard for miles on end. The bustle of life was irritating and adrenaline inducing symbiotically, but it chased away the lethargy I had been feeling since waking up too damn early. It was an annoying trend that had been happening all week now that the sun rose right at five forty-five in the gotdamn morning.

I dipped inside of a small café for a mid-afternoon meeting and a pick me up. I found a table as far from prying eyes and ears and waited. The jingle of the doorbell drew my attention.

Things were about to start.

Eli, which probably wasn't his real name, was something of an informant, more cipher than anything else, but he always managed to know things that were supposed to be top secret, and hush-hush. If the price was right, he'd sell his mother. For our meeting he shrugged on a semi-clean shirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of dirty boots that emitted a rank odor anytime he moved his feet. I had been nice enough to buy him a cup of coffee—black with six sugars, but was withholding the pastrami on rye his gaze kept flickering to.

"I don't have long so let's make this quick," Eli began gruffly as he sat across from me.

"It's great to see you again," I mocked cheerfully.

Eli snorted and ran his index finger under his nose, sniffed. Ew.

As much as he was turning my stomach, the narc had invaluable information. I was considering doing undercover work on what it really meant to be a sugar baby. Pieces had been done, documentaries shot on living the escort lifestyle, staying in prison or jail overnight etcetera, but not many on being a "professional" sugar baby. There was the MTV True Life episode that covered the topic, and sugar babies and daddies were featured on Dr. Phil, but that was nearly a decade ago.

If you knew the history of DC, you knew that DC politics and prostitution went hand-in-hand. The popular or unpopular opinion, depending on which side of the fence you stood on, believed being a sugar baby was the soft-core version of being a high priced hooker. I wanted to either debunk the myth or validate it. It was more of an individualistic business meaning there wasn't a madam or pimp you reported to. Or so claimed by the preliminary research I had already conducted. There were websites you could join, and there was even a support group, but as far as being truly organized, that was the gray area. To make my book believable I needed the experience. I had never done anything like this before and I was scared shitless, which meant I was probably on the right track.

"So you want to be a maîtresse-en-titre…a chief mistress."

My bottom eyelid twitched. "No, a," I paused, looked around, lowered my voice, "a sugar baby."

Eli picked up his cup, sipped, "Mistress, whore, escort, sugar baby same damn difference. You want to know which marks are on the up and up and who to avoid, right? That'll be twelve large."

This uncouth asshole. I accidentally on purpose kicked his shin. He jumped and scowled. "Talk to Rosamund about that."

"I'm talking to you. I don't deal with suits."

"Eli," I practically growled in warning then let it go. Rosamund was my managing editor. It would be her call anyways and I knew she'd pay him whatever. "Fine, I'll talk to her. Do you have the list?"

Nodding his head, dandruff flakes fell and I grimaced. Eli gulped more coffee. He reached for his back pocket and withdrew a folded document. "Politicos or upper level managers of the DOD? There's even a few pretty boy or ladies if you're into that, CEOs."

"Just give me the list. I'll decide. They're clean, right, and I'm not only talking about their health."

Eli grinned and I wished he hadn't. "For the most part. If you want my suggestion go with number twenty-two. I think you'll like him," he finished his coffee and slid me the list.

I snatched it before he could take it back.

The scrape of his chair legs across the floor irritated my ears but I looked up at him.

"Have fun. You know my number if you need anything else and…I'll be looking for my deposit."

Slipping his shades on, Eli grabbed the sandwich I had forgotten all about, and booked it for the exit tucking his head down and speeding down the block.

I opened the list, examined the names. Number 22, he was joking, right? I shook my head. This would be my summer project to keep me occupied. And to preserve the integrity of my assignment I couldn't tell a soul about it. Not even Stefan. This would be interesting.

I was wet again. Mother Nature was on the rampage unleashing her children thunder, lightning, rain, and wind on us poor mortals. I was like sugar over heat. Melted and sticky. My shirt was plastered to my chest, droplets of rain fell off the bottom of my chin, my hands and bare legs were damp. Needless to say I needed a towel. I shook out my umbrella, which had pretty much been rendered useless, and propped it up in front of the door to dry.

"Gotdammit. Shit."

Ah, nothing like expletives when you first walk through the door after a day of hell and attempted murder by glaring. My stupid editor thought she knew everything, and several times I dug my nails into my legs to keep myself civilized. Some people were born to create and others were made to bludgeon your creativity. My editor was the latter and yes, I understood it was her job to make sure I was telling a concise story. Her ideas on how to manage the storytelling process left much to be desired.

Tossing my keys and shirking my footwear that were badly water damaged, I traipsed barefoot to the bathroom.

Stefan's back greeted me. I couldn't see what he was doing although I could see water rolling along his sepia skin, and soaking into the hem of his black jeans. His hair was wet, but it was undetermined if he were drenched from the rain or fresh out of the shower. As I peered around, I saw it. He had scraps and abrasions along his ribs, and he was fighting to bandage his fingers. He was speckled with blood and some had gotten on the floor and the closed toilet lid.

"Stefan what happened?"

He swung around to face me. He stared for a moment before refocusing on giving himself medical attention. "Some asshole decided to be an asshole and tried to push his way to the front of the metro. He knocked a woman down and I tried to break her fall. I did all right by landing on some idiot's bike. Why the fuck do people bring bicycles on the gotdamn train anyways?"

When Stefan was this irritated I knew it would be wise to let him simmer on his own. To give him space. Yet this time I would make an exception since he was injured.

"Do you need help?"

Stefan answered by pressing his lips together. He wasn't spitting, barking, or shifting from foot to foot for the time being. He had gone absolutely still.

He moved aside giving me access to the sink where I washed and dried my hands. I grabbed the peroxide and a gauze bandage saturating it, and turned to my roommate. His throat worked as he swallowed while a tick hammered in his jaw.

Stefan waited for the corresponding sting as he took a deep breath and I swabbed his bruised ribs.

"Shit," he hissed quietly.

The skin was broken and discoloring, but there weren't any serious cuts or gashes that would require stitches. His abs flexed and contracted with each breath he pulled and released from his lungs. The veins in his forearms and hands filled with blood and protruded beneath his dermis.

This was the closest we had been—proximity wise—since the night he returned from Mystic Falls and flashed me his goods. We weren't given the chance to dance awkwardly around one another since Stefan had to take a sudden trip out of town to Chicago for a training conference. Then out of nowhere one of his college buddies decided to elope and asked him to be a witness. Thus, he changed his outbound ticket from DC to Cali where his friend exchanged 'I do's' in Laguna Beach.

Stefan's eyes were on me the whole time whereas mine were on what I was doing. The heat steadily rose between us because we were both wet as hell inside of a cramped bathroom. I tossed the soiled gauze and covered his wound with a fresh one, securing it with tape.

"Were you hurt anywhere else?" I stared at my roomie from beneath my lashes.

Stefan drew his bottom lip into his mouth, released it. "I don't think so. Thank you, Bonnie."

"Anytime."

Without warning, Stefan drew me into his chest, arm weaving across my shoulders. He kissed my forehead, and I smiled thinking whatever weird tension that existed between us had been broken, cut like the electricity when you don't pay the bill.

Unfortunately my nipples chose now to make themselves known, or perhaps they pebbled the minute I entered our air conditioned apartment, and being in this tight space crushed to Stefan's chest, I became aware of their erect state. There was no way he couldn't feel them and…ha-ha I felt his dick jump.

I waited for him to pull away and start rambling about irrelevant shit like how it was my turn to shop, or how I forgot to put something into the fridge, or how I ate his takeout leftovers. That wasn't me by the way. That was Damon.

His fingers curled around my chin, tilted it up, his mood ring irises were extra bright. "I'd be a bigger mess if you weren't around."

"That is true."

A boyish grin spread and Stefan kissed my forehead again, his lips lingered. "What do you want for dinner?"

Forget dinner, I needed a drink. My mouth was exceedingly dry. "I don't have a taste for anything, but you know I'll eat whatever you cook. You are cooking, right? You did get home first," I fluttered my lashes reminding him of our rule that whoever made it to home plate first was responsible for dinner.

A growl rumbled from his chest, and the arm around my shoulder dropped to my waist. "I gotta clean this mess up first. You need a shower. Use mine."

He pushed me into the hallway and grabbed the Lysol and went to work disinfecting.

I purified myself in the waters of…shit I didn't know where DC got its water from exactly. The Chesapeake, the Potomac, the Anacostia river? In any case I scrubbed with my almond scented gel, shaved my legs and underarms, and promptly exited stage left. The whole time though the assignment I was about to embark on was never far from my thoughts.

I'd have to update my wardrobe and my appearance. I'd call Suhad first thing in the morning to get her opinion on what I should do and who could do it for a fairly reasonable price.

Dressed in a comfortable pair of leggings and a T-shirt I haven't worn since high school, I joined Stefan in the kitchen where he manned the stove. Pots were bubbling, things were sizzling, and the exotic blend of spices (that I had to tell him to use repeatedly) drenched the air.

Stefan abandoned his post and grabbed the bottle of chardonnay on the counter, popped the cork and filled two glasses. He had dried himself off, shucked his jeans for his favorite gray sweats and a loose white V-neck shirt.

He held a glass out to me which I accepted, my slender fingers overlapping with his thicker ones. We tapped our glasses together without making a toast because one wasn't always necessary. You live with someone, learn their habits, you could pretty much guess at what they would say or what they were thinking. Stefan's lips pulled back from his teeth revealing his longer than usual canines, his fangs as I often referred to them. The chardonnay was sweet and would go well with what I suspected was a chicken and vegetable dish Stefan was whipping up.

He motioned with his head toward the table, "Go have a seat."

"I rather sit here and watch you make your culinary magic," I plopped my booty on a stool.

Stefan chuckled lowly and returned to the stove. "You feel better after your shower?"

"You could tell I was stressed about something?"

He glanced over his shoulder, "Of course. What happened at work today?"

Circling my off-centered lips with a finger, I thought back to this afternoon. The meeting with Eli that caused some flutters of anxiety, but not as badly as the one with my book editor. I met with her to turn in the chapters she had been hassling me about for the last two months. The bitch pretty much wanted to throw out everything I had slaved to accomplish to replace with the usual clichéd, trope-y bullshit that made subpar writers famous. My male main character wasn't obsessive enough, wasn't stalkerish enough, wasn't assholish enough for her newly acquired taste of the modern day abuser. And I could forget about a heroine who was not only intelligent, but used her backbone quite frequently.

"She's just unrelatable, Bonnie," Rosamund Gafferty said, actually spoke those words to me.

I nearly told Rosamund that parts of my heroine were inspired by her. Wondered if she would retract that statement if she knew. Then I thought better of it. People couldn't see themselves how others saw them especially if those were positive views.

Shaking my head at the decline in literary standards, I drank more wine. "My creative meeting didn't go so well. You know how it is. I'm a new writer sure, but I'm a published journalist, which is different. She thinks I'm writing too much like a reporter, but that is kind of my point."

"I'm guessing there's no way to ask for a new editor," Stefan turned from the stove.

"No there's not. I just don't want this book to slowly deteriorate into another knockoff BDSM version of Twilight fanfic. What's more important? Selling lots of copies of a shit book, or maintaining my integrity as a thinker and a creator? I'm going with option two."

"Poorly written smut sells. I thought you knew that."

I flipped him off. "How was your day?"

"Before the incident at the metro it was a basic, routine day," Stefan resumed cooking, handing several things at once: stirring, tasting, seasoning. His hips shimmied a bit and I couldn't help but stare at his cute little white boy buttocks.

My phone started ringing and I hopped up to answer it. It was Jared. My heart pounded a bit. Our communication dwindled after we agreed to take things slow on a friend-only basis. I had seconded-guess if that had been the smartest move to make. I hadn't intended to friend zone myself.

Nevertheless, I pressed the green button opening the line, my tone intentionally high-pitched, "Hey, how are you?"

"I'm doing well," Jared replied. "What about you? It's been a while since we've touched base."

The timbre of his voice still inspired butterflies, but the effects had been dialed down severely.

"I've been okay."

"Just okay?" I could hear the smile he was wearing.

"Yeah, just okay."

"Hmm. Are you busy?"

"No, not really. Just sitting around trying to unwind after a hectic day. What's up?"

"I was curious if you have any plans this weekend? My friend Bruce is having a birthday cookout and I can invite a plus one. Interested?"

This weekend was Memorial Day weekend and I had plans to hit the beach. I lumbered to the stool I had been sitting on and continued to watch Stefan cook. "I'm headed out of town. I'm sorry."

Pause. "Oh. Maybe we can meet up for lunch or dinner."

"Maybe. I don't have anything on my calendar for the next two weeks. Just hit me up, call, text."

"Okay," the pep was back in Jared's voice. "I need to get back to work. I just wanted to see how you were. I'll call you later."

"All right."

"Good night, Bonnie."

"Good night, Jared," I hung up.

Stefan said, "Can you grab the plates? The food's ready."

I did and waited to see how long it would take him to question me about Jared. Stefan never did.

|| Stefan||

Bonnie licked bruschetta flavored olive oil from her finger and smiled. I returned the gesture stifling a burp with a closed fist. We had gone through an entire bottle of wine and I wasn't feeling the slightest buzzed. I knew it'd sneak up on me at some point, but for now my stomach was full, the painful beat of my injuries was a low throb, and I could use a blow job as a sedative. Two of out three was pretty good for an average Wednesday night.

I didn't want to say things had been weird between Bonnie and me since I deliberately flashed my junk. However the playful, light-hearted moments we used to share had become scarce. That could be blamed with me going out of town, but the strain was still felt. You could be with a person in the same room or far away and, depending on the circumstances, feel extraordinarily close or like there was a mountain separating you. Nevertheless, I had replayed that night again and again in my mind with a collection of alternate endings. Yet the most vivid had been the one which actually happened.

Bonnie got her fill, said the word, "Nice," coughed and ran smack dab into the wall as she went to go let Damon into the apartment.

Either I could curse or praise my brother for his timing.

That night the only thing I ended up fucking was my fist.

"Have you finalized plans for Memorial Day with Eddie?" Bonnie's question detoured where my thoughts had been going.

"I did. He's going to have a full house. Fair warning."

My friend Eddie Thawne owned a timeshare in Ocean City, Maryland that he used for the national holiday. I had stayed there a few times since he bought it, but this would be the first year Bon and I would be guests at Eddie's together.

"How many?"

"Eight altogether, you and I included."

"How many bedrooms does the timeshare have?"

"Three—no four. The fourth is a converted mud room. There's only a twin sized bed in that. There's also the fold out couch in the game room."

Bonnie nodded and polished off the rest of her wine. "Will you and I be sharing a room, or will I be bunking with some chick I don't know?"

"We can share. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No. I rather stay with someone I know and feel comfortable with."

I leaned my elbows on the table, "What if I meet someone and want to bring them back to the room…?"

"You plan on hooking up with some girl while we're there?" Bonnie stared at me archly.

"No, that's not the plan, but you know nature. It likes to take its course," I stretched my arms above my head, a fabricated smug grin in place.

Bonnie twisted her lips. "What about Amber?"

"What about her?"

"Don't be daft, Stefan. You know what I'm getting at."

I did know. Amber was cool, and I enjoyed hanging out with her among other things, but I never made her any promises. Though she loved dropping hints about exclusivity. To be honest, I was over the routine of our 'thing'. I was far from a fan of drama and angst, and believed those things weren't always necessary to keep shit interesting and from becoming stale. But there was no drama with Amber besides the minor hiccups of miscommunication. She would be happy with a life packaged fresh off an assembly line. Me, I was still getting a feel for what I wanted. I wanted my blood to boil when I looked at someone, not out of anger but out of a heightened need for proximity. I wanted the impassioned debates, the calming moments of silence, the secret smiles, the inside jokes, the painful stab of separation as we went our separate ways to conquer our occupational worlds.

Bonnie was saying something and that's when it slammed into me. Hard. I already had that.

My spine went straight. "What did you say?"

"Amber? Ring a bell? Are you still seeing her?" Bonnie waved her fork around.

As of this moment, no. I'd tell her that eventually. I rose from the table collecting my empty plate and Bonnie's. "I think it's time for me to move on."

"Really? I thought things were good with you guys."

I slighted Bonnie with a 'yeah right' look over my shoulder in which she tossed back an innocent 'I'm trying to be nice' one. I chuckled, rinsed the dishes and stuffed them in the dishwater.

"Things have kind of hit a plateau," I informed. "You know when something isn't going anywhere. Best to cut it off rather than waste more time dragging it out to its inevitable end."

Bonnie hopped up on the counter. "You're preaching to the choir. Can't say I'll miss her."

"You never liked her."

"I don't know her is more accurate," Bonnie scooted closer and ran her fingers through my hair. My jaw flexed because that felt too good.

A lot of the things she did to me felt good, and now seeing it for what it was I knew I was headed straight for trouble.

"I want you happy," she said. "That's all I care about. I'm Team Stefan."

I looked at her, green eyes rounded, the pinnacle of honesty. "And you know I'm Team Bonnie."

"You really don't have a choice," she snorted. "Watch a movie with me?"

"Yeah, let me just get this kitchen in order."

"I'll make popcorn."

"Try not to burn it. You always do."

Bonnie rolled her eyes and hopped down, slapping her feet on the tile as she headed to the pantry.

We settled on the couch. The apartment was dark and I was feeling…strange. That typically happened once you became self-aware about something. For once I kind of wished Damon was here so I wouldn't do something stupid. I could write this whole thing off as arousal but it was more than that. Just two more hours, Stefan and then you can go to bed.

"You okay, Stef?"

"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "I'm fine."

Bonnie had her fleece blanket because the apartment was an icebox. Me, I had a bag of Twizzlers and the popcorn. She curled up on her side, remote control in her hand, flipping through every single HBO channel on the hunt for something entertaining to watch. I handed Bonnie the Twizzlers and wedged the bowl of popcorn between us.

Bonnie found a movie and hiked the blanket across her lap. She ripped open the Twizzlers removing two pieces of licorice, sliding a twisty stem between her lips. I cleared my throat and looked at the flatscreen with no clue as to what the hell we were watching. I couldn't stop stealing peeks at my roommate, and had no idea why I was torturing myself knowing I should go laze in bed and fool around on social media. It would be better than listening to the little voice in my head telling me to fool around with Bonnie.

This want I was beginning to feel for her was getting worse. But I wouldn't take advantage and push for more. We were friends above anything else, and it was our friendship I was going to protect.

Bonnie shifted, drawing my attention. Her chest was now pointed in my direction while her head was turned toward the TV. She couldn't have been comfortable sitting like that, but she didn't appear to have any problems. I, on the other hand, did. Her nipples were hard and tented her shirt. I stifled a groan and the fact my half-chub was at a total salute by this point.

"You want a Twizzler?"

"No thanks."

Bonnie shrugged and moved around, changing position once more. Her small foot now pressed against my thigh that she nudged every few seconds. I clamped a hand on her ankle to get her to stop.

I tried to get into the movie. Something with Chris Evans living on a train that couldn't stop because the world was accidentally frozen in an attempt to squelch global warming. Could you say major fail? I got lost in the action and anytime I began to forget that I wanted to do more than share an apartment with Bonnie, she'd move and remind me of my earlier predicament.

The movie was starting to drag for me, and I just wasn't interested anymore. "Bon, I think I'm gonna head off to bed."

"Okay."

Normally she would list a bunch of reasons why I should stay and finish watching a flick, but tonight she was uncharacteristically letting me off the hook. I lifted an eyebrow, rose pressing one knee into the couch for support as I loomed over Bonnie to kiss her goodnight. My target was her temple but she rolled and…

My mouth brushed the bridge of her nose. She giggled. I chuckled lowly and then we were staring at one another. No different than how we typically looked at each other, but there was an element there that hadn't been before. Nothing insidious like she was afraid of me, but…an invitation of sorts, unspoken yet opened ended. No set time limit, but you could sense the urgency not to waste a precious second.

It may have just been an hour ago I realized I may want something more with Bonnie, but did it mean now was the time to act on anything physical? Neither of us was tied down in hardcore relationships, nor had demanding jobs that required we slave eighty hours a week. Feasibly nothing stood in the way. I didn't count Jared as an obstacle. Not a terribly big one. Things were too new with them to be anything serious. So if she didn't want what was probably coming, she'd push me away.

"Bonnie," my voice was low, deep.

Her hand framed my face. "If you're going to kiss me, Ste…"

I didn't let her finish. Couldn't let her finish.

Fuck. Me.

Ideas always seem good at the time until you actually begin to work them out. You think to yourself that nothing earth shattering will happen, and that you'll be able to walk away scot-free. That your life won't be flipped off its fucking axis, and everything would be as it's always been.

Lies. All of it. Lies.

Her lips were…

Heady. Sanguine. Perfect. My god.

Our hands were everywhere. Clutching, pulling, sliding while our mouths worked: taunting, biting, undressing. Bonnie's mouth was hot and sweet, her tongue pliant and extroverted. I drank her sighs, sipped on her moans, swallowed her inhibitions. The noise of our constantly smacking lips was louder than whatever was happening on the TV screen. Her legs wrapped around me, trapping me, and I was happy to be a prisoner. I knew what Bonnie's soft body felt like, touched it a million times, but being this tight, this close made every last drop of blood in me head south.

Taking shallow breaths through my nose meant I wouldn't have to part for air, but Bonnie needed a break so my lips aimed for her jaw, her neck.

"What are we doing?" Bonnie panted, arched her back crushing her tits to my chest. Her nipples were so hard they could cut me.

"You want me to stop?" of their own, my hips started a slow grind. Shit.

"We should stop," Bonnie whispered.

"This is wrong," yet I didn't stop kissing her.

"Mm-hmm," she mewled, scraping her nails through the blunt hairs on the nape of my neck. That was one of my spots.

Bonnie forced my lips away from her throat and smothered them with her own once more. I guess I got my answer. Stopping was the last thing she wanted. And who was I to let a lady down?

I heard keys rattling, voices, footsteps and prayed it wasn't Damon. Keep going, keep going became my mantra hoping whoever was walking in the hallway would bypass the door.

They did.

Whew.

But another decision would need to be made and made quickly because I was forgetting how to think.

Warm, tiny hands slipped under my shirt and I was catching a drift on my back as the material inched up my spine. If I pulled away to yank it off that wouldn't be the only item of clothing that would be removed. I would be more than happy to give Bonnie anything that she wanted. She just had to let me know.

As if reading my mind, she broke the kiss, her mouth wet and swollen. "I don't want to use my B.O.B tonight."

"I don't want you to, either."

I was harder than titanium and the smell of Bonnie's arousal was becoming noticeable. I shivered just imagining how wet she was, and the fact she was that wet just from kissing. I swallowed a lump and fell back on my ass.

Bonnie sat up and we stared at one another searchingly. I glanced at the hallway that led to our bedrooms. It was completely dark. Anything could happen. I brought my gaze back to her. Heat pooled gotdamn everywhere as Bonnie looked at my hard on, which was pretty fucking obvious through my sweats. I touched myself, groaned at the pressure.

She stood from the couch. The blanket hit the floor and she left it there. Bonnie shut off the TV, grabbed my wrist and we blindly made our way to her room. I hesitated at the door, and she let me go, fumbled for the light switch. I blinked at the brightness stinging my eyes. Common sense was beginning to nudge my lust aside.

"We don't have to do anything, Bonnie."

"I know we don't have to, Stefan. That's the beauty of everything. I want to show you how beautiful things can be. Come in and close the door."

The flesh, my flesh was weak. It was a wrap.

A/N: Thoughts? Thank you for reading! Reviews make my day, literally.