hi guys! i've read a few ffs where Bonnie is a stripper, (the primary one being Money Moves,) and i figured heyyy why not explore this topic myself??? i swear the fic started writing itself.
the plan was to post it for Bamon Day (May 10th) but now it's basically May 12th and um my birthday is May 13th hehehehehe. if you know me, i loveeee birthdays- especially MINE. so um yeah tips are totally appreciated- link in bio-and i really hope you guys enjoy. this might just end up being a two-shot. love you sooo much
PLS LISTEN TO THE SONGS ON YOUTUBE TO GET A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF THE VIBES: the first is
VULNERABLE by TINASHE ft. TRAVIS SCOTT
the second is
ON IT by JASMINE SULLIVAN ft. ARI LENNOX
xxoo
lazypeachx
Play.
Out of all the places Bonnie could be, he didn't expect her to be in some seedy club in Louisiana.
Maybe seedy was a bit harsh, but compared to Damon's extravagant taste, the club seemed shabby and quaint, not opulent or decadent or inspiring; it was a notch above being an eye soar. The drinks were less than up to par, the music too obvious with a booming bass, the lights a little too purple as to make everything in the vicinity cartoonish.
In fact, the only somewhat redeeming quality was the women, more specifically, the ones twisting and turning against the silver poles with shiny garments chasing after them like little flags.
An underlying disdain polluted the air as if they did this because they had to and not because they enjoyed it. But when Stefan and Damon walked in, hope twinkled in dark eyes, brighter than the shimmering body lotion on their legs, brighter than the glowing lights that kept shifting.
He wouldn't be here if his best friend hadn't decided to up and leave like it wasn't his sole duty to protect her, especially now since Elena was in a magical coma. The witch had barely been gone two months before Damon went stir crazy, a little note in her pretty penmanship did nothing to assuage her absence. If anything, it made matters worse. Time and time again, (before finally deciding to go after her,) Damon found himself questioning what exactly New Orleans had for Bonnie that caused her to vanish quicker than dust in wind and as he looked around, he concluded not much.
After nearly signing his and Stefan's life away on a dotted line, Klaus eventually relented and revealed Bonnie's remote location with that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. Damon all but disregarded it, throwing the hybrid away now that he received the information he needed from him which consequently lead them to Play, a strip club that most locals preferred because of the talented bartenders and the beautiful women.
So in a very Damon-like fashion, he dragged his brother alongside him to go find Judgey, because as he had told Stefan almost manically, "Bonnie can run, but she can't hide." And Stefan can recall the way he gripped the steering wheel of his Camaro like if he clutched the leather firm enough, the little witch would appear. Oh brother.
The feel of the bouncer's hands patting him down was equal parts unnecessary and unwelcoming but Damon complied with the rules once, if ever, since Bonnie was the only thing that lived in his mind. It was urgent to get to her. He had ideas of making her regret abandoning him, the capital form being embarrassment, but to his surprise, Bonnie was nowhere to be found manning the bar.
"Klaus-the asshole, he gave us a dead end," Damon practically growled, eyes shifting searchingly like he was somewhere close, laughing at his demise.
"What if she doesn't work at the bar?" Stefan suggested.
"Where else would she be?" He looked up to the ceiling and back at Stefan with his eyes squinted in earnest. Like there was no other job at a strip club for a beautiful young woman to be besides mixologist.
"Where else could she be?" Stefan inferred, coaxing Damon's mind into what was probably the hardest thing for his brother to imagine. Stefan could admit it was a vision not even his mind could conjure up and he was quite the muser.
Suddenly the image of his bestie in black dress pants and a fitted t-shirt with the words PLAY in red across the chest was zapped away as if bees were swarming around it with an angry intent just to prove how wrong Damon was. Bonnie? A... stripper? He tried once, twice, to picture it but felt like a buzzer in his brain was preventing him from thinking of Bonnie in any way outside of the mental barriers he had formed long ago.
Bonnie had a girl next door beauty, very innocent and fresh and real. He'd catch himself being goofy in front of her, something he rarely did with Elena. With Elena, he had to protect himself with the things he knew to be foolproof. There was evidence that he could distract with a smolder and sexiness so he played his assets up to the fullest to keep Elena's eyes on his long enough for her to forget about Stefan's.
But with Bonnie, his charm and wit had grown passed superficiality; she had disarmed him from his seduction with her honest green eyes and flippancy- that alone pretty much rendered his main appeal useless against her. Bonnie made him think outside the box since she proved that his charm was rudimentary so early on in their hate-hate relationship and before he knew it, they developed a unique dialogue and snapped into their roles effortlessly: the vampire, the witch, and the undying banter. Every snark-filled bit of conversation gradually progressed into a very fond love-hate relationship. Thus, his first platonic relationship with a woman blossomed. It wasn't the easiest thing but there were certain places he would never let his thoughts stray when it came to the topic of his best bud.
For instance, when he found his mind dancing around the edges of the clothes she wore, or when he felt his eyes slip down to her lips for a moment too long, he'd reel it all back in because if he didn't get a grip on his dangerous reveries, he'd find himself wondering how pretty his best friend would look with his hand fisted in her hair while she-
"Bonnie doesn't dance. She isn't a dancer," he blurted with contempt. He was more than a little angry at himself for dangling off the edge so quick which in turn sent him in a sour mood.
"Okay, Damon." Stefan replied flatly.
The older Salvatore sent a claw through his dark hair before plopping onto the nearest bar stool. He sighed. "Well while we're here, I might as well grab a drink."
But it was merely a humble way for him to see if Stefan was right after all. Yes, he was absolutely going to stick around just in case this happened to be the witch's new hangout spot, so what if he was too prideful to admit that? Damon darted his eyes to and fro amongst the crowd and after his third drink, he noticed the amount of men doubled; they settled into their sections, payed for bottle service, and waited, clearly anticipating something.
Or someone, the voice in the back of his head hummed and still, his mind was tightly closed around the idea of his best friend being the object of every hot-blooded male's desires. It was unfathomable.
"Everybody feelin' good tonight?" The emcee's voice expanded over the speakers, inciting hoots and hollers from the eager crowd. "Now that's what I like to hear."
Said crowd was shoulder to shoulder surrounding the stage, the staff placed one long mirror just beside a particular pole that was centered perfectly to draw everyone's eyes to it.
"I hope y'all have a sweet tooth,"
And Damon bated his breath, knowing what that estranged voice would say next, but he insisted on drowning in denial. He could feel Stefan look at him with a brow raised as if to say, fill in the blank, brother.
"Because Bon Bon is the honey you've been waiting for all...damn...night."
Lights cut out before Stefan could see the tick in his brother's jaw.
It was dark and dead quiet for a beat, like a ghost walking on sand, then the sound of music and steamy instrumentation reverberated throughout the club. Damon's drink took a life of its own and vibrated with every beat while the sweating glass left beams of water pooling at his tumbler.
Once upon a time I was all alone...
How you like me now, do I turn you on?
Out of the darkness, a spotlight darted out, warm and exposing. It landed on bubblegum pink toes in glass stilettos, a modern Cinderella, except the prince would never forget her. One foot followed the other, the spotlight remained fixed yet still crawled up Bonnie's toned legs as she slinked forward.
She was oiled brown skin and sparkling Swarovski crystals.
When his eyes played tag with the dips and curves of his bestie's very supple, very exposed skin, he deeply regretted bringing Stefan along. Stefan was never supposed to see Bonnie like this. (Hell, neither was he.)
But there she was in the skin and next to nothing else, the deep brown of her crystals diffracted as they hit the light, every subtle movement sent rainbows out into the audience. He followed the trail of sparkles, the ones that curved around her breasts, the ones that spiraled between her legs, the animation of her glimmering garment gave the impression that she was wet, that the light was catching every drip and suddenly- he was parched. Damon gulped.
Now I got you drunk, high, and vulnerable,
Bonnie's baby pink nails shook volume into her long dark hair then she whipped it to one side, revealing the slope of her neck. Her hands started to trail up her body, disappeared between her legs before sliding back out and up her thighs, her tiny waist, pushing up her breast before finally deciding to dangle her fingertips along the edge of her glittering bra strap. Damon found the tension in his jeans rising, so he adjusted himself, futilely attempting to focus his blood back into his head.
Show me what you want, give me what you... want, (want,) want...
The crowd was arrested, held hostage like the cup in his hand. A house full of men with a gorgeous girl on the stage and nary a wolf whistle. In fact, the only apparent sound was a rumbling amongst the men, digging in pockets, opening wallets, as Bonnie sauntered to the silver strip of pole with her back to the audience, unabashedly admiring herself in the mirror.
That's when the tumbler he held shattered, glass shards and icicles on the bar countertop. Bonnie's ass was adorned with a crystal thong that eventually got lost betwixt heavy mounds of flesh and really, Damon was wondering, who was this girl? Her face painted so prettily, eyes rimmed with smoky liner and glossy, dark eyeshadow, cheeks holding a coquettish blush with plump, nude lips. He felt as if he were in a lion's den with the fierceness she held in her gaze, demeaned to some prepubescent fool peaking through the slits of her closet door as she undressed to take a shower.
How could the Bonnie he knew and loved reside in something so feral, so carnal, so absolutely intimidating? So...arousing. In his mind, Bonnie was a neophyte when it came to sex, or plain old seduction but she had obviously been doing some thorough exploration. Taming a snake-like sexiness with such a finesse was no simple proposition, but there she was.
She curved her back, enlacing her hands on the pole from behind and squatted, never taking her eyes away from her reflection, looking as mesmerized as the crowd. In that position, she rolled her hips around once, twice, money already doubling at her feet.
Damon chanced a glance at Stefan who looked equal parts entranced and shocked.
A desire hurtled through Damon to snap his brother's neck, to stop the show right here and now, yank Bonnie Bennett off of that stage for the sake of her pride, for the sake of Elena's judgement but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, his eyes snapped right back up to the stage. Perhaps he was spellbound.
She stood up and braced her hands on the pole and flipped herself upside down while she twirled around and around for the chorus.
He thought Bonnie as a cheerleader was a sight to see but that had been violently upended.
Don't...stop...looking at me,
Don't stop looking at me.
Don't...stop...looking at me,
Don't stop looking at me...
The lights strobed, creating a tick in her movements like a buffer as dollar bills swished onstage. Her legs opened wide then closed around silver. She slipped down the pole, landed into a split, Damon could only think if his heart still beat, it would've helicoptered right out of his chest to impale itself on a 6-inch heel.
Man, oh man, the devil on his shoulder was far too loud and the ear the angel was speaking in was deaf. He could do it, tear everyone else's head off in this club, make himself the only witness to his best friend's wild and dangerous seduction but he couldn't let anyone, not even his brother know how deeply this was impacting him. Damon could never reveal the passion and anger that was causing his stomach to do Olympic-tier flips.
On all fours Bonnie crawled forward, the music switching to a lax guitar solo under soulful songstresses. She pushed hair out of her face and commanded the audience with a single smirk.
I want to sit on it
"Oh my god," Damon mumbled. Wishing he had another drink. Wishing he could be saved from this. Wishing he could stop himself from dreaming about being multiple inanimate objects just so his best friend could walk all over, twirl around, and slide up and down his very being. If this wasn't her taunting him, yet the cherry on top was that she didn't even know it.
But tell me why you deserve it,
He could come up with a long list of why he didn't. Damon found himself falling into the void of his mistakes, every misstep that could cause him to view Bonnie in any other way besides friendly. Fuck, it was the one thing he wasn't supposed to do but he knew if she looked at his blue eyes, she'd see the world and everything in it offered up on a shish kabob. That'd be his present if he could at least drag the tip of his nose against the flesh of her neck where her pulse thrummed. Or if he could lose his fangs in the crevice of her upper thigh.
Bonnie jumped up the pole and climbed at the very top, muscles expanding under a layer of lithe skin. Languidly she twirled as the voices from the speaker filled the room with smoke, so oblivious to the scrambled emotions he was facing. So unaware that she had slaughtered and buried the Bonnie he knew and loved in his head.
Come on and prove,
Why I should move...
I'll spit on it.
She glittered up against silver that was probably so warm with her body heat. The thought of having his tongue stuck to that pole like the kid from A Christmas Story came tumbling in his thoughts so rudely. He figured he might as well envy the crystals that toyed with her, melting into the folds of her brown skin, while he was at it. And he should go ahead and imagine if she would move just like that if he hid his third leg inside of her.
Yes. Damon was a possessed man.
Even after the music stopped, her heels click-clacked off stage and the applause practically shook the building, she haunted his mind. That was no easy image to shake.
"Well... we found her." Stefan said awkwardly, clearing his throat then rubbing the back of his neck like his hand was caught in the cookie jar.
Damon's eyes narrowed into slits of ice before he grumbled a "yeah, we did," and snapped Stefan's neck for the hell of it.
While it didn't help tame his thoughts from going off the deep end, he felt a tad bit better.
an: hope you enjoyed part 1, dont forget to wish me a happy birthday when you comment teeheeee :3