AN: This one gets a little graphic. A lemon is a hard thing to get right, and if I spend too long on it I feel like a voyeuristic perv. Weird? If it's not your thing, avoid. Seriously you can just skip it. Otherwise, enjoy? It's just sooo weird… I creeped myself out.

He sat up, squinting. A new pain splitting his brain in two…

"What's wrong?" Bonnie ghosted her fingers up his spine, lackadaisically beginning to come down from her high.

"Uhhh…" I'm hungry… and your fucking dead grandmother is trying to cast me out… He stared indolently at the canopy spread above them, at the sun peeping out through the clouds… At the silent lightning… his fangs popped out for a split moment. I'm so hungry… "You witches don't believe in privacy… What happens when you have to take a piss? You take a squat over the nearest fern or–"

"Damon," she moved to sit up.

"Stay!"

It came out more like a command than he'd intended. Too much like a threat for her liking, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't have her running away from him again. Witch Country, he'd learned the hard way, was a big fucking country. He'd have to be cautious, until he could come about a decent length of rope. Or chain… "And you won't drink from me?" he asked again. A ball of twine, even. GPS equipment…

She shook her head. "Not unless I'm dying."

He ignored that. Rope. Where would he get rope?

Her hands moved to her chest, her eyes turned away from him…

"Stop that," he grinded out, a little gentler.

"Stop what?" her green eyes latched on to his.

"Being afraid of me. Being afraid of being with me. Being afraid of being beautiful with me." He took her hands by the wrist and pinned them down on either side of her. In a smooth nanosecond he was straddling her, nuzzling the lobe of her ear. "Be wanton." He bit her, tasting her hot blood and sucking on the piece of flesh.

She hissed at the sting and then moaned.

Relax… It had been too long since he'd had a decent meal. Since he'd had Bonnie… His teeth clamped down on her bleeding ear.

She pushed him off, not as forcefully as he knew she could have… which encouraged him.

"I like your eyes. You've the best eyes I've ever seen." Well, they were. All green and brown and muddy. Like spring.

She looked away from him.

"What?"

"I'm not Elena," she said to the sycamore tree fifteen yards to her right, because she sure as hell wasn't looking at him.

"I know you're not Elena. You're Bonnie, the girl from the bloody bathtub. The girl I was willing to die for. The girl who saved my slumdog existence. The girl I'm trapped in this magical, under-populated twilight zone with. When we get back to Mystic Falls in a hundred years, give or take never, Elena'll be long dead, so this is a non-issue the way I see it."

"What if it isn't?"

Damon swallowed. "What if the non-issue isn't a non-issue? I'm dead Bonnie. Not undead dead, dead dead. Mystic Falls is over for me. Anything's that not here and now is a non-issue."

"We can send you back. Resurrect you from this side–"

Your grams is trying to do that as we speak. "And what about you?"

"We still have to kill Klaus. We still need Magwyr to–"

If a talking tree hadn't been blowing smoke up his ass, then Mags should be dead. Bonnie should have a body to return to back in Mystic Falls. A life to return to. Whatever. "I don't want to talk about Klaus. I'm naked on top of you, and I don't want to talk about Magwyr. Or Elena. Or Katherine. Or Stefan. Or Rose or Andie or all the other people that don't matter." A rabbit ran out of the bushes distracting him. He half expected it to be carrying a pocket watch. Bonnie watched it pass… then kept her eyes locked on the patch of bush it had disappeared into.

He slapped her hard across her face. So hard even his own skin hurt. "Look at me!" he barked.

The pain came instantly behind his eyes. Her eyes flashed with the lightning that came down so close his hair raised. He laughed, "Good!"

"Damon!" she screamed, fighting against him to sit up, eyes wet and blinking furiously. "I hate you!"

"I said I like your eyes, Bonnie. That's the topic at hand, stop trying to change the subject. That's a virgin tactic. You're two times fucked, by me, so enough with the bashful maiden shtick."

She pushed him off with enough force to probably break his neck. He slipped twice trying to regain his balance, then he was back on her.

"You hit me!"

"It hurt me more than it hurt you! You didn't like it?" he grinned. "I thought you'd like it," he ground his hips down on hers, ignoring the tears… "Some girls like it rough."

"Not me."

"You sure?" he pinched her chin, and turned to see the beginning of a bruise. Maybe he shouldn't have hit her, but he had to check that it was real. He really needed just to double check that he wasn't dealing with Magwyr. The Mag-Slap Test – Use if your girl has recently been possessed by Magwyr. If said girl becomes excited by the slap, do not engage in sexual activity. WARNING- Sex with Magwyr is hazardous to your health. Symptoms may include – blood loss, multiple fractures, multi-organ evisceration, visual, tactile, auditory and olfactory hallucinations, emasculation, destruction of your self-esteem, paranoia, nightmares, suicidal ideation, depression, mania, irregular sexual fantasies, death. Note – If said girl does not become aroused by physical abuse, you are advised to apologise. "I like the colour of–"

She slapped him back.

Nothing. "That's weak." He smirked, "Are you weak, Bonnie?"

She hit him again. Hard enough to break skin the second time around. A couple teeth went down his throat.

Hmm… He responded by tracing his tongue over her lips. "I like that. Love is supposed to sting. What do you like?"

She shut her eyes. "What do you want?" she screamed back at him. "Get off me!"

"I want you." He pressed her back down to the ground with him. "And I'm not getting off you because I can smell how much you want me. I know you don't want me to get off you. I want you to open your eyes, look me in my eyes and tell me what you want."

"Rapist."

"Please. As if you don't want this. You can full a swimming pool with how much you want this."

"Get off me!"

He readjusted his grip on her hands, pinning them down over her head. "What do you want?"

"Why are you–"

"Bonnie…" he bent and kissed her forehead. The scent of her blood and that constant lub-dub of her heart was getting to him. "I want you… in ways that I can't even describe. I want to drink the blood right out of your heart and give you my own in exchange. I want my cock so far inside you that… that it gets stuck. I want to tear your cunt apart with my teeth; I wish it was a Venus flytrap that would hold on to me and never let me go. I want you in positions Russian gymnasts don't even know about–"

That earned him half an angry scoff.

"I'm Damon Salvatore, certified sex god," he whispered against her ear, snaking his tongue into it. "And if you're going to roll with me you're going to have to step your game up–"

"Step my game up?" she asked, failing to keep her voice from breaking. She raised herself a little, by the strength of her abdominal muscles alone, or magic. "You should be grateful!"

"I am grateful," he brought her fingers to his lips for a quick peck, "I shouldn't ask for more, but I'm a greedy son of a bitch and…"

"And what?"

"And I want more."

"More what?"

"More you. When I'm with you… I feel like you… like you want to jump on your witch broom, fly away, and leave me with my dick in my hand."

"I don't have a broom."

"If you had one, would you fly away?"

"No."

Right, even when she didn't have a broom he'd had to go fence-jumping and unicorn-taming to get to her. Following dragonflies and flying cats through hill and dale… The very definition of hard to get. And even now that she was got, after he'd taken to bended knee in the rain confessing every feeling in his heart, he wasn't secure enough to blink. "I think you would."

"I wouldn't."

"Then why can't you look at me when I'm in you? You shut your eyes and go somewhere in your head, and you leave me outside wondering what's going on with you, what's going wrong, who you're fantasizing about – and I hope to God it's not Jeremy–"

"You want me to look at you?"

"I want you to be a wanton, witchy sex goddess, who'll rip my hair out and fuck me till my dick breaks off instead of you being just a–"

"Instead of me being just a what?"

"A regular, ordinary witchy goddess."

"Complaints on the first day..." Her eyes were wet again, and staring off into the distance.

Wow.

Besides being an arrogant, high and almighty, prudish, stuck up, entitled little Ms Perfect, she's a crybaby too. She's a bag of issues and insecurities.

Cute.

A sudden pity and respect for Jeremy blossomed in his heart. The hoops the poor boy had probably had to go through just to get her to hold his hand. The effort he must have put in to get to that slow-dancing phase. Bonnie was a runaway bride in the making. She'd accept the proposal, then pawn the ring and move to Vietnam the next day. She'd fake a dissociative disorder and side step him in the mall. Cock-a-doodle-doo, she denies me. Forget public displays of affection… Forget sharing a fudge sundae… Forget sex on the pool table at the Grille... She'd been forthcoming enough with her 'fuck me' mind fuck, but that was when she'd been safe in her own hallucinatory realm. Now… just the possibility of a rabbit looking on, a rabbit who for all intents and purposes was getting more sex per day than either of them, had her jumping out of her skin. They'd never have a date. Show up anywhere with dastardly Damon in tow – excommunication from the nunnery. He was normally the one against the 'boyfriend' label, but apparently the word had been taboo in her house, punishable by death.

"Just say you want me."

"You're an asshole…" she pulled her knees up tight, like a vice.

This is negative progress. We're actually going backwards. "Remember our first time?"

"No."

Wow. "In Klaus' bathroom, against the glass?"

"That was Mags."

"It wasn't."

"It was!"

"And five minutes ago, who was that?"

No answer. Except a sob.

He was halfway on the verge of feeling sorry for her. Wasn't her fault she was a shy prude… Except, he'd had first-hand experience of Bonnie Gone Wild, and he was loathe to go back to doing it missionary. To make it clear, he'd take missionary if that was all he could get, but he'd be damned if he couldn't get a little extra out of it… She kept angling her face away from him, and honestly, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't force the issue but a niggling feeling in the back of his cranium was telling him he was running out of time. Running out of time to cement whatever they were, to consummate whatever they were becoming. Sheila and her bitch-hag crew had set up their chanting… He could leave, kill them all, come back… but another niggling feeling was telling him that if he left her, if he disentangled himself from her, if he went ten seconds without feeling her skin on his that she'd go poof and disappear, leaving nothing but magic dust in her wake.

"Why can't you look at me? Am I too good looking? Do I hurt your eyes with my outrageous beauty?"

"No."

"Then look at me."

She sniffed.

"Even if you're crying, show me." He raked his hands through her hair… She wasn't really crying, not yet… "Show me your eyes. Please."

Nothing.

He bit her bottom lip sharply, puncturing the soft membrane with his fangs. Green eyes met his in an instant. She didn't fight him off though as he sucked on her, didn't try to electrocute him, set him on fire… She put her hands to his hair, pulling him closer to her…

Mmm… His cock went hard between the two of them. His breath hitched, "Fuck me, Bonnie." He pulled one of her hands down around his girth. "Suck me off."

Wouldn't that be something? His hands in her hair, her hot, little mouth tight around him, going up, and down, and back up…

"Suck… you… off?" she asked between kisses. "I–" She stabbed her tongue in and out of his mouth. Sucking on his tongue, moaning into his mouth, "I–"

Yeah, right. Twice they'd done it and she was yet to even look at him down there.

Fine, fine, fine… Let's make this all about Bonnie. Certified sex god, yours truly, will take time off from his oh-so-busy scheduling to teach you the art of how to go down on your lover. No trouble, no need for money on the dressing table; it's my pleasure, really.

"It's easy…" He pressed her back down to the ground. "I'll show you. First step – profuse sensual kisses distributed randomly." A little hurried, he covered her in a flurry on quick kisses, nicking her with his teeth when he lingered at her areola. Bonnie's best physical feature… hands down? Her belly, first off – very petite, very toned, very touchable, very kissable, very worshipable… And her breasts. Not the largest, not the freakiest, but very… He pinched a hard, large nipple and watched her writhe underneath him…. Very nice. His mouth found hers again. Her eyes were closed again.

"Look at me. Second step… hands." He pinched both her nipples, pulling them out and twisting just enough to have her gasping. "You like my fingers?" he pressed his thumb against her bottom lip and she took it into her mouth, sucking it hard…

Fuck…

She moaned as he walked his fingers like a spider up the inside of her thigh on her sticky warmth. He'd been in there just minutes ago, pounding into her. Not one of his best forays, he'd been a bit selfish… He moved his fingers through her hair, parting her folds, pulling on the swollen outer lips. "You want my fingers, Bonnie?"

She nodded, eyes still on him. Beautiful, beautiful, perfect eyes.

He spread her inner folds, rubbing them up and down and tickling her insides. She twitched and bucked as his thumb brushed her hardening clitoris, moaning out his name, beautifully. "Damon…"

"Tell me what you want, Bonnie." His own voice was shaky. The smell of her, the danger in the air… One of his own crows watching on giving him a surreal panoramic view of the two of them entwined on the enchanted forest floor… Me and my Bonnie. My Bonnie. My Bonnie. My Bonnie… "What do you want?" he whispered, not even hearing himself. He could hear grass rustling somewhere, someone stepping over bramble, his crows cawing raucously cheering him on. "Who do you want, Bonnie?"

"You."

Aw, shucks… A stupid teenaged grin broke out over his face in that moment.

I win.

Take that! I win!

"You want me inside you?" He stabbed his finger into her and pulled it away wet.

"Damon!" her hips swerved up to follow his hand.

"You want to taste yourself?"

She shook her head.

He stuck the finger in his own mouth, tasting her, her eyes trained on him all the while. "Who else knows what you taste like, Bonnie?"

She shook her head again, eyes wild in a sexy panic that suit her. She was something an artist should paint, her hair tangled in leaves and knots, her mouth just slightly open… heavenly.

He licked the underside of her breast over her heart partly just to taste her sweat and partly just to feel her heartbeat with his mouth. That pulse of pulses… "Who's been here, Bonnie?" He took the nipple in his mouth and sucked, sliding another finger inside of her. "Who, Bonnie? Who's kissed you like this?" he groaned, pulling away from her breast, licking his way down her ribs. "Who's kissing you, Bonnie? Who–"

The pain in his head exploded. Sheila?

"Get off her."

"No."

He broke his gaze away from Bonnie to scan the woods around them for the old bitch.

"Get off her, vampire. She's not for you."

He stabbed another finger into her, curling them around her inside and raising her ass off the ground. "This one is mine."

"She is not for you, Damon!"

"She's already mine." He swung one of her legs over his shoulder and adjusted his grip on her waist, spreading her open in front of his face. "And she's wet and willing." The pink flesh puckered and clenched around his fingers, desperate for his touch. Beautiful. Someday, he'd shave her. Oil her down. So small, so neat. No wonder she was so tight around him.

"Stop this!"

He pulled his fingers out, licked them clean. "Tell me what you want, Bonnie?"

"Fuck me…" she breathed, biting down on her bottom lip. "Fuck me, Damon. Please!"

He pulled her up closer to her face, her languid legs draping over his arms, and blew across her. He could be wicked and not touch her. Tease her into an orgasm… He wanted to thread it out. Make her beg and cry for it. If he only had time… She was the type of girl to go to work on, carry her right up to the edge and bring her back down. He could talk her into an orgasm. Just the right words, the right voice… He spread her legs a little wider, letting the cold air do its work.

"Damon…" She was dripping now. A trickle running down and into the crack of her ass.

He wasn't normally big on going anal… Should he? He couldn't decide. And then there was Sheila and her gaggle watching on… Anal with an audience? It wouldn't be fair to Bonnie… he'd save that for the next time he had a bedroom. With walls and doors and such.

She had one of her breasts in her hand, fiddling with a nipple.

Was she… A girl like Bonnie… so utterly moral…

Another hand came down between her legs, searching… He let her get two fingers and a couple pumps in before he swatted her away. He'd pay in blood to watch Bonnie get herself off, but sometime way inthefuture… when he had some fucking privacy.

"Who thought her how to do that?" he threw to Sheila, revelling in the woman's palpable disgust. "Does it hurt?"

Bonnie nodded, eyes glazed over.

He pressed his baby finger against her anus, not going inside, just enough to make her squirm. The walls of her vagina flared, making a sucking wet sound.

"Please… Damon…"

"With what?" He flashed his tongue over her opening, spreading her inner folds.

"Anything."

"Anything?" He twisted the finger in her ass, as the muscle gripped him. "You here that? What do you think she wants? I think she means my cock. You got a measuring tape on you? How many inches of cock you think she can hold in her sweet little cunt, Sheila? I say seven. Eight if I ram it in."

"I want you to come for me, Bonnie," He nuzzled her clit with his nose. She was almost there already, dripping for him. He'd have to break Bonnie down in reverse, sexually at first, emotionally after. She didn't respond to words well at all. Prolonged foreplay, extrapolated sex, and maybe, just maybe, he'd get a cuddle after. That was the name of the game. Play on her teenage sexual need, and then maybe, the morning after, she'd not scream in horror and try to set him on fire. Maybe they'd have breakfast… He pinched her clit. It was large as far as clits went, sticking out a bit, begging for some attention. He'd work a symphony on that, sometime. "Come for me, Bonnie."

"Yes," her fist tightened painfully in his hair. He really didn't have to do much again. She was right there, tottering at the brink.

"I want to taste it, Bonnie. Let me taste you." He bitdown on her swollen nub. Hot pulsing blood filled his mouth as he sealed his lips over her. His tongue brushed up and down her slit then he pushed it inside of her. In and out, tongue-fucking her.

"Yes…" she fisted dry leaves and mud.

"Stop it!"

"Come stop me. She tastes like…" he really couldn't put a flavour to it. "Pomegranates and veal and…" Whatever… The first wave of her orgasm made her tremble in his hands. And her eyes… At least he had eye contact. They were glazed over, narrowed to slits and gazing straight into his. Straight into his soul. One of his hands drifted away from her and down to his needy cock, painfully hard and painfully neglected. He never let himself go untended, usually. According to his MO, at that point, he should have already gotten his load off, about twice. He should have a bellyful of blood by now… "Bonnie." Her thighs tightened around him, crushing his face into her.

"Damon… Ah…" she broke, filling his mouth with her blood and creamy goodness. A squirter… who'da thunk it? Good old, sex kitten in the making, Bonnie. He lapped at her, carrying her through it. Her body went limp, her panting raspy breathing the only sound he wanted to hear. He bit her again, taking advantage of the haze point to get a quick feed in. He latched down on her femoral, sucking hard, pulling blood out of the artery.

Was there anything in any world more beautiful than a post-orgasm, naked Bonnie? No one beside him should see her like that. No one beside him should ever get to feel that electricity moving through her when she came.

Quickly, he changed their positions, pulling her down on his cock, his fangs plunging down into her neck. The plan had been to go gentle. The plan had always been that. Slow and steady wins the race. Except he couldn't help himself. Nearly all of him fit in her. Nearly, she was so tight around him his options pretty much boiled down to glacial drift or pound.

"Stop it!"

"How hard do I give it to her, Sheila?" Couldn't she see he was busy? Annoying much? Voyeuristic much? He let go of Bonnie's throat. Feeding on her to stop his craving would be like trying to get full on caviar. The bushes ruffled with movement. "Bonnie…"

The fuckers were actually going to make a move on him. What did they think he'd do? "You can't kill me. I'm already dead. Twice now."

"We'll send you back."

"I'm not going back without Bonnie. You better work on killing me. Or I'll fucking kill all of you. Always so high and mighty, understand this – Bonnie is mine!"

"Leave her alone! You don't deserve her. Don't be selfish!"

"Selfish?" Had he ever said he was selfless?Why were they acting like they just cracked some ancient code? Selfish? And? Not sexually, at least. He just had certain… preferences. As in, he preferred to have a seventeen year old witch straddling him.

Why shouldn't he?

Who else was there? Elena? Katherine? As far as sex went, human trumped vampire any day of the week. All warm and sweaty and panting… sometimes a dead guy needed that. Two vampires going at it… He could stick his dick in a bowl of ice and get the same effect, just with less biting. Human beat vampire any day of the week and witch beat human. He'd tangoed with some real fire-cracker witches, but even the lamest of them had left him with memories of damn good times. The minute you put your dick in a witch, you leave all your worries behind. Life instantly becomes better and that was the only way he could really put it. Just feeling that power around you, holding you, draining you out. And Bonnie, bouncing on his lap… swallowing him, crushing him… burning him… Timingherrhythm,he thrust up inside of her, pushing as far as he could and feeling her squeeze. Then he stopped. He'd let her have this one… Let her scratch her itch on his pole… Selfish?

"She's my heir, Damon. You'll corrupt the entire line!"

"Do I fucking care, Sheila?"

"She wasn't born to feed a vampire. She wasn't born for you. She has a destiny! She has a path that's been lain down. Let her go."

"Let her go?" Hesecuredhis grip on her. "Because of some ordained vow she made to be the saint martyr of Mystic Falls? Sheila I swear, I'll kill you."

"Again?"

"The first time wasn't my fault, but I'll fucking kill you now! You come here and I'll rip your fucking throat out." Bonnie came around him, her entire body quivering, her arms weak and still clinging to him. He held her. Feeling her heartbeat thumping so hard against his chest.

"Love me, Damon," her lips against his neck, the sexiest thing in the world.

"Fuck it, Bonnie. You don't have to ask." He used a knotty tree root for leverage as he thrust up into her, "I do."

"Just love me. Only–" she broke off as another orgasm rocked through her body.

He exploded inside her as she clenched him. "Only you," he mumbled, kissing down her throat, his bite already healing, sadly... He needed a permanent way to mark her… A stamp, a collar, something permanent.

The first one he recognised was Esme, with her sad-ass doe-grey eyes. Then Bree… chanting the same-old, same-old mumbo jumbo. Some strong mumbo jumbo, down to his bones, it hurt him.

Fuck…

Gloria… Sheila…

"Bonnie…" he pulled out of her gracelessly. Fuck…

His fangs were already out… nothing much to do beside kill them all…

Bonnie lay there, languid, her body a trembling, heaving masterpiece. The sun was coming through the leaves just right to make her glow, to make her wet thighs glisten. Ah, Bonnie. Light of my life. Fire of my loins. It hurt, not touching her…

Esme stayed at the periphery, chanting on with the rest of them. So did Bree… Only Gloria and Sheila approached… A part of him wished he at least had pants on… instead of being so excruciatingly naked. He felt as if he were extra naked. He used to have more layers, didn't he? He used to be a complicated guy… Now he was running naked through forests, heart on his sleeve, dick waving like a flag. He pulled up his lip and ran his tongue over his fangs. Sharp enough for witch-hide, "Sheila?"

"Damon, don't–"

Don't what? He zoomed in on the attack. Second time's the charm. His teeth sank in with no resistance at all. He pulled back and spat… an assorted mouthful of gore – some oesophagus, some windpipe, some cartilage, some carotid, a little jugular vein. Mmm… he'd damn near bit her head off. Well, I'd sworn, hadn't I? Nobody listens to me until I start killing people. He let the carcass drop, chuckled a little bit at the way it just… crumpled, and started stalking after Bree. He'd have to come up with a creative way to kill her. How many times can you rip the heart out of the same woman before it gets old? Once?

She gave up her chanting and started running. He followed, taking his time. Half the fun was in the chase, and her screams were just so… soothing? Is soothing the right word? Hypnotic?

"You were always a noisy girl, Bree," he called after her. Well, she was. How many times had they woken up her roommate with her incessant moaning and screaming? One of the loudest fucks in his recollection. He'd rip her throat out too, he settled. Quick, dramatic… why not?

Why'd he gone so long without feeding?

Damon stretched, using his crows to scan the area.

Twenty–seven witches in all. That would hold him for the while.

Take it slow on the rest… Small bites. Waste not, want not. Every drop. Bleed them dry.

His head hurt so badly though, he didn't want to be gentle. Gentleness ought to be reserved for Bonnie only. Everybody else could get–

Thinking about Bonnie, where…

Fuck…

He tried to blot out the rest of the chaos all around him and zone in on that precious, little heartbeat.

Ahh… There she was chanting right alongside with Gloria. His little Bonnie. Naked and proud and beautiful. Was she crying? Maybe, but it had a nice effect. Some people were beautiful even when they cried. Look at her. My witch. Had he ever seen a woman so utterly perfect? He could imagine her on a stool, naked, strumming a cello. Could she play a cello? He'd forgotten to ask. No matter, he'd teach her. He was lost in the shape of her lips as she chanted, even the pain of their spell forgotten. He'd have to gag her in the future, of course, which would be a shame. Maybe invest in a cage... A gilded cage – the gold would match her skin. A gilded cage for his little flight-prone, love-resistant bird. Maybe some kind of harness… Tie her up… handcuffs? Hot candle wax? She was always so fond of candles…

A witch came running up to him with something that looked like a pipe, wherever she'd gotten a pipe from. He flickered away, popped up behind her, grabbed the pipe and planted it in the middle of her skull.

The he reached Bree. Ripped her heart out again. For the irony, or whatever they'd call it. Serendipity? Faith? Whatever…

Another witch, a chubby one, he grabbed her intestines and strangled her with it. Not an original move, he'd seen it in a Martial arts movie, but which one of them would know that?

The fourth one he drank from. Pulled out the abdominal aorta and sucked on it like it was a straw. He was getting really good at 'grabbing a meal on the go'. The aorta technique he could definitely see becoming a favourite. He got more out of the meal. At least two liters more than what he'd have got from the carotid. The only downside was that it killed them faster. Not a real problem, but sometimes he liked the pulse.

He killed witch number five by a simple draining of the ol' carotid, for comparison sake.

Nope. Too much annoying struggle.

The one after he decapitated and tried to drink the blood that streamed out, dangling the head over him. Messy, but the effect was nice. Feeling the blood pitter patter down like rain. If he ever got that blood bath up and running, he'd have to put in a shower too. With a detachable showerhead.

Who's next?

One woman who looked vaguely familiar… "Susan?" he waved to her. Yes, tall, graceful, used to teach ballet in Manchester. They'd been almost friends."If I'd known it would have killed you, I wouldn't have asked you to do it. She wasn't in the tomb anyhow, so… how's it been? You look good, as usual. Almost edible," and he smiled, crinkling his eyes at the thought of how her warm blood would feel on his fingers.

"I'm casting you out, Damon!" Bonnie screamed.

Oh… He really would have to gag her at some point in time. It was his wish powering her up. His wish. He was the one who'd died and made her queen of paradise lost. Now she was casting him out? "Yeah? You and what army?"

"I'm the army."

Cute. "Well bring it on, witch."

AN: No comment.

I was going to go fluff, but then I thought that would be a cop out. I mean, from the get go in my head this was supposed to be about Crazy Evil Selfish Damon and Cherubic Bonnie. What I was really hoping for was to get that classical vampire Dracula seduction feel and add Damon's twisted craziness to it. This chapter was about 1,500 when I finished it the first time and then it just mutated into this. I had no control over this. None. It spiralled and wrote itself. Just give me a thumbs up or a thumbs down. All feedback appreciated.