The Devil Made Me Do It

by Swamy

[1] He knows her buttons, he loves all of them, and knows how to push them for their mutual benefit.

Warnings: graphic violence, characters death.

STEP ONE

Damon slips her key into his pocket before laying down next to her, one arm bent behind his head. Bonnie is all balled up on herself, legs tangled in her cotton sheets which smell like her perfume, and when her alarm on the nightstand goes off, her arm reaches blindly out, unable to pat the horrid thing off because there's something very solid obstructing her way.

Her eyes open, but her look is perplexed rather than scared. The smell of his skin, a rather delicious mix of leather and bourbon lulls her senses into a trustful state. She blinks sleep away, trying to decide if it's a pretty convincing dream or if Damon is really next to her in her small – uncomfortable, as he always reminds her – bed. Her hand, open above his chest, grips the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling at it like elastic before letting go.

"Good morning," he says, breaking through the walls of her apathetic senses.

"So…you're speaking to me again?" she asks, her arm stretching out to hold onto his chest as she tries to regain a position comfortable enough to go back to sleep.

"It's possible," he concedes, dragging the words like he's considering the option. Bonnie's lips twitch a little as she nestles her face against his shoulder.

"Did you miss me?" he asks, making her smile.

"It's possible." She drags the words in a haughty impression of him.

"Good." He turns to her to drop a kiss on top of her head.

She loves this, the warm feeling of his presence, because for all of his flaws Damon is unwavering in his affections. And their strange, indefinable deep bond makes her feel like she's part of something special, something that cannot exists without her. Something he cares not to lose, enough to throw a temper tantrum when she starts dating a guy and having a little less time for him.

"I won't skip movie night again," she mutters, feeling a bit guilty. "I promise." After all, all her life she's been set aside and taken for granted – reliable Bonnie would always come to the rescue and offer her shoulder to cry on and her life to step over – and she doesn't want Damon to feel that way, not because of her.

"Oh, you better. Otherwise I'll replace you with Stefan," he threatens weakly. "He's not half as pretty, and he doesn't smell so good, but other than that he's just boring to spend time with," and she giggles, hiding her face against his side.

"Now, to start gaining my forgiveness you could buy me breakfast and tell me how amazing I am," he suggests, looking at her amused face, at her big smile and the way her messy hair falls over her eyes making her look innocent and beautiful.

"I'll buy you a coffee and admit you're passable." She rolls onto her back. Detaching herself from him makes her shiver from cold but she ignores it, ripping herself off the bed to walk to her closet.

"Mmm," he says with a shrug, looking at her with the strange intensity he only reserves for his prey. "Baby steps."

#

She looks at her cell phone for the umpteenth time, her finger sliding over the screen to check on her latest message. It's just a text from a group chat. They are scheduling the next study session.

The last of the popcorn explodes into the pot and it's oddly timed with Damon's rapidly darkening mood.

"What the fuck, Bon!" He turns his head over his shoulder to see her face buried in her phone, waiting for a sign that doesn't come.

"Sorry," she replies immediately, pulling the phone away and into her back pocket.

"Yeah, sure," he says when the symphony of cooking popcorn is over. "Listen, we can just watch this another night. It's clear you're not—"

"I'm sorry, okay? Really. I am totally in the mood to watch a movie with you, I swear—"

"Then you're really fooling me," he replies sarcastically, his eyes growing larger as he fakes surprise.

"I'm just…" She opens her hands, looking away for a moment before biting her lips nervously. "It's just, this was the first guy I actually liked, okay? And I though he liked me too, but I haven't heard from him since last night, and I just can't help but wonder where things went wrong."

"Nothing went wrong." He takes the rag off his shoulder to put it down on the counter top before turning to her and taking her by the shoulders. He looks deep into her eyes before saying, "You're here with me," and Bonnie chuckles at his self-grandiosity. Of course that should make everything perfect.

"And despite your weird habit of denying my unparalleled physique and my incomparable personality, truth is I only mingle with the best," he clarifies. "I have experience and taste, and I picked you, Bonnie Bennett, as my best friend and confidante, so the guy clearly is cerebrally flatlined if he has any doubts about how incredible you are." And the way he says it, it's so firm, so steadfast, so matter-of-fact, like he would hurt anyone saying otherwise, that her knees go a bit weak.

Her hands fly up to cover his on her shoulders and the moment is so charged with tenderness Bonnie can't even breathe properly. "Thanks," she offers with an embarrassed smile and a shaky voice. It feels like everything in her is shaking because of Damon, and if she does more than this she'll fall to pieces at his feet.

"Any time."

And there is a moment, a moment where her brain processes the fact that he is still touching her and he shouldn't, and she's still smiling at him and she really shouldn't, but it's bigger than she is and she's powerless.

Her phone starts ringing in the back pocket of her jeans, and it reminds her of a fire alarm. Damon drags his hands away as she reaches for the object making such an intrusive noise, and something in her is relieved that her date finally decided to call, that this strange electricity between her and her best friend has disappeared into thin air. That everything is going to go back to normal and they can shrug it off like nothing happened.

"Sean?" she answers her phone after waiting for the customary three rings. Caroline is always so adamant about the three rings. Bonnie doesn't really see the point in following these stupid steps, about making it harder for the guy to reach her when she's interested, but Caroline explained that it's something about availability and desire, and presented a whole theory to her. She doesn't want her friend to sit her in a classroom and go over it again with a blackboard and a pie chart, so she waits.

Damon is pouring the popcorn into a bowl. The salty, fragrant aroma fills the air of the Salvatore kitchen and it seems like a stupid joke when the guy on the line announces, "This is Detective Foster."

Bonnie stares at Damon who is busy tasting his work, trying to grasp the normalcy of being with him before anything this man is about to tell her makes her world crumble.

"This number was in the call log of a cellphone that was found in a trash can. We think it might belong to a boy found dead this morning."

"What?" Her voice is weak, her eyes blinking as she tries to understand what it is happening.

"Sean, is that your friend's name?" He probes tactfully, "We couldn't find his wallet, or his ID, so I have to ask you to come to the station and help us with the identification of the body," he continues. The sound of his voice is muffled by the sound of her fuzzing brain.

Damon senses the change in her body, in the stiff way she stands, like she's on the edge of a precipice. His eyes turn to her, studies her measured, fazed reaction like it's a map.

Bonnie nods her answer before remembering the man can't see her.

#

Life is strange, one can routinely hang out with vampires and werewolves and manage not to get killed – too often – and yet one day you cross a junkie and you get killed for a few bucks. That's the explanation she got after she identified Sean Hicks.

"The detective said he got attacked when on his way home. Someone crashed his head against the wall and stole his wallet, probably to get money to buy drugs," she explains to Damon as she sits on his sofa, tormenting a tissue in her hands. Her eyes are glossy but she hasn't been crying. She didn't know him well enough to have her heart broken by his death. It's only the sadness for something that could have been that she feels now. Something good that could never be bigger than the things she's done and seen and lived, but something good, nonetheless.

"I'm really sorry, Bon," he offers in a whisper, sitting right next to her to press her into a hug. She knows he didn't give a shit about Sean and he won't lose any sleep over his death, but the fact that he's at least trying to fake it for her sake is somehow strangely comforting. His smell is comforting. It reminds her of when the world was simpler, made just of him and his irritating ways of getting under her skin, when it was just him and her and no other person between them. Sometimes she misses it, but she will never tell him that. He couldn't understand.

"At least he got to kiss you before he kicked the bucket," he sighs, his chin on top of her head as he cradles her in his hands. Her hair feels silky under his palm, and the scent of her shampoo makes everything feel fresh, even the picture of a dead guy in a filthy alley.

Damon always manages to be very sweet in very morbid ways, she thinks with an exasperated ghost of a smile before pulling back.

"How did you know we kissed?" she asks, looking up into his eyes, confused.

Damon grimaces, rolling his eyes at the silliness of her question. "I know you," then looking at her like, of course he knows her too well. "You're really not one to put out on the third date."

#

She's holding her head up with both her hands as her eyes stare down at the printed words and she almost misses the slight change in the air, that murmuring that grows, if very subtly, whenever he's around, because they are in a library anyway and there are rules. So, the girls try to choke on their tongues silently when he walks in, and she can almost ignore the ridiculous reaction they have because of his blue eyes, or his sculpted features, or that lean, muscled body, or anything else that reduces them to hyperventilating muddle of hormones.

"Your eyes are about to bleed on that book," he warns her, leaning against the long table of lacquered wood.

"They better not start now. I need to focus," she replies in a hushed tone, but he snatches the book and she yelps, getting a reaction from the whole room.

"Damon." She stands up from the chair where she's been sitting for the past seven hours, more controlled, all too aware of the scene she's caused. "I really need that book, now."

One of her professors is giving her hell, and she's barely passing the class. Every effort she puts into it seems fruitless. The guy just keeps on telling her that he wants more from her.

Damon doesn't like that.

The man is being subtle for now, Damon thinks, but it won't take long before he explains himself better.

Just a couple of nights back Bonnie had a breakdown about the whole situation. She's barely eating, sleeping even less than that, and all she does is drive her body to the limit to appease the expectations of a man that cannot be satisfied with her academic efforts.

Sometimes she's so naïve it's sexy. Bad men like that kind of girl more than anything else.

"What you need is a break," he clarifies; but, when she tries to protest, instead of wasting time and breath – he actually doesn't need – Damon just turns around and leaves with her book trapped between his forearm and his hip, keeping both hands sunk into his pockets.

Bonnie rushes after him, though with a little difficulty because her legs are cramped. "That's public property, Damon," she hisses, following him, "you're stealing."

"Call the police," he replies in the same tone, turning his head to look at her in a challenging manner and walking in front of her. "The number is 911".

#

Bonnie is chewing on the end of her pen waiting for the test to start, a horrid habit she has never had since this semester, when the professor enters the classroom. The old man fixes the glasses on his nose and looks at the class.

She's confused, and the general commotion brings the man to clear his throat a bit more forcefully than he had first done.

"Mr. Soranson has a family issue and thought it better to hand in his resignation letter," he explains, brushing some imaginary lint from his grey cardigan without bothering to say his own name. He's the oldest, most respected professor at their college, famous for being very uncompromising about education.

"I am aware that you had a test today, so we're going to pick up where he left off." He takes a pile of sheets from his leather overnight case.

"But before we go ahead, I've got the results of your latest test." He slowly takes the steps to hand out the corrected tests. "Almost all of you did decently," he explains. "Some need to put in more effort, I have to say," he adds with a sigh.

"Miss Bennett?" He looks around for the name he called. Bonnie raises her hand trying not to panic, bracing herself for the public humiliation that she is about to endure, hoping this man will have the kindness not to make fun of her in front of her colleagues. The man looks up at her and takes the steps to reach her in one of the middle rows. His stern frown makes her want to throw up.

"You did an outstanding job, Miss Bennett," he says, handing her the paper, graded A+.

Damon smiles at her astonished expression, looking at her through the glass window glass at the top of the door. She catches a glimpse of jet black hair as he leaves but her brain is still essentially stuck on the professor's words to register his presence.

#

Damon is still the one to ruin her life, in a way.

She's triumphant, an accomplished member of a great academic institution, but he calls her and his stark voice says "I need you," and there's a sound of broken glass and a curse before the line goes out. Suddenly, she can't think of her well-deserved success because it's entirely possible Damon has pissed off someone very powerful and very dangerous and he's watching his insides desiccate on the concrete at the moment.

A few months ago, she would have done her nails first, then called the group to have them consider their options, and in the end, she would have agreed to help because Stefan or Elena or both would make sad eyes at her. Now, her stomach twists and she's tracking him down because she needs to help him. And it doesn't cross her mind to call the cavalry because this is not about doing the right thing; it's about protecting what she cares about. And on occasion she cares about Damon, a lot.

She switched a couple of red lights on the way because she can't possibly wait, and luckily enough, she doesn't kill anyone in the process.

She's installed an app on his phone. "So you can find me anytime like with one of those no-string-attached hook-up apps?" he had asked, flipping through the channels and sounding vaguely titillated at the idea. Of course, she had ignored him altogether, as it was sane and wise to do so. It gives his position with an approximation of one hundred yards, but she doesn't need to walk around much once she's in the woods because she can see smoke, right where the cave was. It chills her out, the idea of going back to that place, but Damon is there and she cannot let her feet stop now.

With their luck there's a solid chance of Kai being back and ready for a reprise of his psychotic, theatrical, dramatic shit-fest of a killing spree, and maybe he started with Damon because that's the fastest way to get her attention. When she doesn't have time to split hairs or grab onto her stoic denial, she can admit that it is a good plan, that Damon Salvatore is actually the fastest way to get her attention.

She swallows the knot in her throat, tries to lighten her step to study the situation and decide the strategy of attack, but as she places her palms against the bark of a tree, she can only see Damon's body lying on the ground next to the fire.

She stops breathing, trying to see the traces of blood on his clothes, the broken bones he must have, the torture instruments abandoned on the ground, but actually there's nothing. "You are a lousy stalker, Bon. But I can teach you if you ask me nicely," he says, fingers wrapping around the neck of a bottle of bourbon.

"What the hell Damon! I thought you were in trouble!" she protests stepping out of her lousy hiding place and brushing off her clothes with her hands, hating the idea of an insect slipping inside her shirt. "If you needed a drinking buddy you could just—"

"I'm not the one needing a drinking buddy, you are," he corrects her, his blue eyes staring up at her as he lays down with an arm bent behind his head. "You need to celebrate," he declares with a smile, raising his hand to pass her the bottle.

"What—" she starts, but clearly he knows about her success. His eyes glint with pride and something twists inside her stomach, and while he does the explaining, their fingers meet as he passes her the bottle and it's like evil possession. Not that she gets possessed that often to be able to tell, but her body shivers and something warms up inside her and a girl's voice inside her brain squirms at the idea of putting her lips on the mouth of the bottle, exactly where Damon's have been.

To her, it doesn't matter, of course, but that girl is so thrilled at the idea she is almost ashamed of herself.

"Elena asked about you, you know," she informs him, dutifully reminding them both how the universe works. Damon is a satellite and Elena is the Earth.

"I had to make sure you knew how to properly celebrate your academic success," he explains, ignoring Elena's mention altogether. He sits up and pulls one of those camping fridges closer, which she had completely overlooked in her delirious worry. "We have everything you need. I've got beer for all your plebeian needs," he says, sounding dirty like he's suggesting she pay the plumber in sexual favors. She can't help but roll her eyes as she gets down on her knees and rests her weight on her legs. "Then we have gin…" he continues, "vodka…" he trails rummaging inside the mini fridge, pulling out lemons. "But…I'd start with tequila," he proposes, dangling the bottle in front of her.

"You just want to see me lick something," she replies distractedly, watching the bourbon bottle in her hands before she realizes what she has actually said.

Damon laughs at that. "You know me so well!" And she actually does, she realizes. And that is the last straw, so she takes a gulp of bourbon. Her lips find the bottle and Damon's taste echoing on the opening.

Bonnie coughs on it and he chuckles at that, "Easy there, tiger," patting her back gently to avoid having her die yet again. His hand rests open on her back and its peculiar warmth spreads everywhere and feels very nice.

"To the smartest girl I know," Damon cheers once she's recovered from her coughing crisis, and she imitates him taking another, larger, sip of alcohol.

Maybe if she was really so smart, she would have found herself a different best friend, one a bit less sculpted, a bit less needy and all-consuming, slightly dumber possibly, repellent even. She once considered him the last man on earth she wanted to be close to, but not so much now.

She had liked Sean so much.

Bonnie had wanted to look at someone and see how much better, how much saner and sweeter they are compared to her best friend. And though Sean was much sweeter, and much more normal, and incredibly right for a nice, satisfactory relationship, the kind of guy that could pass for a trophy boy and help you with your biology test, at the end of the day Damon was still taking up space in her life like a deadly disease in a girl with suicidal tendencies.

She sees his phone's screen lighting up on the ground but she's way too tipsy already and a little confused and a little resentful because Elena didn't want him but she's still calling him now that they are busy celebrating her academic victory. She uses the hand holding the bottle to wave her fingers in the direction of his phone to make him notice the call and a gush of alcohol spills on it.

"Ooopsy," she says. And to think that just today she'd been commended for her knowledge and expository style.

"Someone is drunk," Damon says approvingly, as he picks it up holding it between his thumb and index finger. The name on the screen goes completely ignored, and something is very wrong with that, because never in her life has he ignored Elena's call, or Elena's needs, or Elena's wishes. It's a strange, thin feeling that bites toothlessly at the bottom of her stomach.

"Am not," she denies, though her head flops over her weak neck. "I disinfected it," she says, putting much effort into it because her tongue tries to knot itself inside her mouth. "Who knows where you've put your hands," she whispers, wrinkling her nose as she grabs one of his hands to inspect it.

The phone falls from his hand and drops on the ground as the screen lights up again – Elena's name appearing on it clearly through her slightly blurred vision – and in a clumsy effort to pick it up she spills some more alcohol on it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she says, reaching out again. She's not sure if she's telling that to Damon or Elena. "I can dry it," and a gush of power leaves her palm, only it's too much and the cell phone sizzles and catches fire after a distinct crackle.

"You could have just taken off your t-shirt and used that to dry it off," he reflects aloud as he watches the carcass of his phone burning between them.

"I think I broke your phone," she admits with a pout. Damon stares at her and blinks as he tries to hold in his chuckle.

"What gave it away?" he asks as he tries to turn the thing around using one finger. He has to wrap his hand around hers to avoid a trip to the hospital. She looks so mortified and so adorable as she bites her lower lip that he can't help but stare – stare and get closer, get closer and stare – so much so he gets distracted enough to not realize what's happening until it's too late.

Bonnie starts crying, really hard. Sobbing, truly. Like a desperate woman who's just seen her whole family exterminated. Which has more or less happened, only not right now.

"Bon, what happened?" he asks, completely at loss because a stupid cell phone cannot be the reason for the Flood. Is this about Sean? She was supposed to have moved on by now. "Bon," he takes her by the shoulders, "Tell me wha—" but she hides her face in his chest, soaking his t-shirt and leaving him speechless.

"Why are you crying?" he asks patiently drawing circles on her back to soothe her.

"I'm have no idea," the words are muffled against his chest and she's sobbing heavily, and her breath burns his skin pleasurably. It's like a tiny electric shock that restarts his heart every time she breathes.

"Oh, you're that kind?" he asks amused. She makes a sound he interprets as a question so he answers, "You know, the sad drunk," he chuckles, dropping a kiss on her head.

"Elena was calling you," she laments, like it was important. "And I set the phone on fire," she whines.

"Good," he nods, his eyes taking on a new glint.

She never learned how to take a hint. But maybe he can help?

#

He blinks astonished as he watches Elena's arms flap at her sides like a headless chicken trying to escape death, as her flesh burns and melts around the dry bones. The vision is horrific but the smell is delicious and his stomach clutches like a fists as he takes a step in her direction to stare into the holes where her eyes have melted, because he can't believe this is really happening. And suddenly Bonnie's body hits him in the middle of his chest making him take a step back before the flames can touch him.

She grips his black t-shirt with both hands, clinging to him like she wants to tie him down, desperate to keep him there as she turns her head over her shoulders, eyes wide and clouded with hot tears.

"Don't, please don't," she repeats, and over Caroline's screaming it's hard to take a moment to understand what she means. His fist closes around Elena's ring and he tries to remove Bonnie's grip on him, to launch himself into the fire as she expects of him, the devoted lover of her dear, dear friend.

"What did you do?" Caroline screams, trembling frantically, but Bonnie just grabs his hand and pulls him in the opposite direction, calling for Stefan's help.

"Let me go, Bon!" he protests. "I don't want to hurt you. Just let—" but she uses her magic to pop the veins in his knees, so that his legs can't hold him up. He falls down miserably, the warmth of Elena turning into dust a mere couple of feet from him, crawling over him, and then comes the familiar aneurysm and he's safe.

#

He sits in a corner in his room, his brother standing guard to make sure he doesn't kill himself to follow his great love into the afterlife. Like he could, considering he's chained him to the pavement.

"It's my fault," he confesses, hearing Bonnie's heartbeat outside the ajar door.

"I told her it was over, told her that I wanted to erase her from my life as she had done with me," he explains, sinking his face into his hands. "And now she's gone…she's really gone. And it's my fault."

He hears a sob and it breaks his heart because he cannot go to her, cannot hold her and tell her that it's going to be okay. He misses the old days, when they were trapped on the other side and the only way to stay sane for her was to be around him, because he could talk back and look into her eyes and understand. But now she's got all the reasons to stay away and a very long list of people available to help her in that matter.

And it would be so out of character of him do anything but be self-destructive and an absolute dick.

He laughs sinisterly. "I told her we were toxic for each other and I would get her killed." He pulls at his hair, feeling the flesh tearing. "And they say I'm not the sensible one"

#

It takes her one week to come around and open the door to his room. His eyes hurt for the lack of light they've been subjected to, but he needed to do it right. He needed to be pitiful and hurt for her to take it upon herself to come and break down his walls. She's the only one that can do it.

He's refused to acknowledge Caroline's presence, barely responds to Stefan's questions when he remembers to pay attention. All the time his hearing has been aimed at her. Her breath, her steps around the house, her words.

He cannot be any less of the single-minded asshole she's always known, the centre of his attention has shifted for awhile now. But he has no idea how one goes from best friend to award-winning lover. He kicks ass first, asks questions later. He's learned the name of a vast majority of his bed companions only after he was done with them, usually when they tried to convince him to call. But Bonnie is different. Bonnie is his best friend, and his sweet obsession, and the only thing he truly cares about.

It's not that he's a sociopath; it's just that he's really, really, really selective with his affections.

When she steps inside the room, he can smell her shampoo, her tear-stained skin. Someone's touch.

Damon feels a vein pulsing and groans turning his face. It's okay because that fits into the scenario.

"Stefan says he can't get you to eat a thing," she says, lowering herself on her knees. He remembers their night celebrating her grades, how she had half fallen into his arms and was asleep before he could make a move.

It was like destiny had brought her into his arms and she refused to give in to it out of loyalty towards Elena. Now that obstacle was taken care of, but she still could not let herself be happy with someone that was supposed to belong to her friend.

That's why he'd made sure she knew of their last exchange, though he had conveniently left out the part of the conversation when he told Elena she could set herself on fire for all he cared. Well, he wasn't sure that would be exactly what she would do because this thing about the sire bond was quite tricky. Was it in place? Had it ever been? Worst case scenario she would have thought him to be hateful and stayed away for a few days.

Best case scenario: here we are.

"You shouldn't punish yourself. It's not your fault," she explains, not raising her eyes away from his bruised wrists. "Alaric thinks maybe having her memories messed with did something to her brain."

Damon is the one to look at her first, waiting for permission to start being okay again. When she meets his eyes, they are full of tears. One drop rolls down and stops on the contour of her cupid bow. Maybe it's the hunger but he'd bite those lips and lick away the tear.

"It's not your fault and I'm sorry for staying away and letting you think that it was when it's not," she pours out, launching herself into his arms and hiding her face in the crook of his neck. She smells so nice…if he ignores that faint male scent on her skin.

"We can get through this together," she promises with a broken voice and a grip so strong the little blood left in him starts pumping hard. "Just don't leave me."

And Damon smiles, content, as he tries to hold her with his hands and his chains and that dirty, gritty love he needs to remember to give her in small doses.

#

"I was kind of hoping you'd want to see me again," the guy admits, looking at the people walking as he sits next to her on the bench, "I liked the time we've spent together."

They didn't play monopoly in the time they spent together, that Damon can tell.

"I was going though some things," she explains, embarrassed by her lack of rationality and boundaries. She's not the sort of girl to have sex with a random guy, but people try to feel at least physically alive when all the rest is too numb to be able to feel the difference. Damon had his fair share of widowers. One he's fucked in the room where her husband's body laid. So yes, he gets that. Just another silly bump in the road.

"I understand that," the guy says, nodding. He's taking rejection as well as one can expect, and at least he's not being an ass about it. "I don't like it, but I understand."

He's kind of sorry the guy will distractedly walk into the street to get run over by a car. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hasty, but that's his style. He'd shrug it off more easily if Bonnie hadn't turned around to watch the guy walk away with a pacific expression on her pretty face.

One must be ready for what life throws at them, especially in a place like Mystic Falls with its flourishing funeral homes market, but he doesn't wish to see her cry again, and probably water wounds that are supposed to be closed enough to let her move on.

He can't take back his words, but he can do the next best thing, phishing Nice Guy away from the car's trajectory. When he grabs at his shoulders, he smells the scent of him, familiar now that he's smelt it on Bonnie, and for a moment ponders stepping back and watching him get run over as he stares at him with scared, wide eyes like a deer on the highway. But Bonnie is watching the scene, half surprised, half scared and so he does the noble thing. Damon saves Nice Guy and lets him go on living with a pat on the shoulder and wise words such as "watch where you're going, pal."

Damon walks up to Bonnie, who bats her lashes incredulously. "What are you doing here?" she asks, surprised, almost breathless, and he thinks that maybe he fucked it with his usual timing, right when his effort was bringing results. But before he can find the words to reply her eyes soften. "I thought you were never going to leave the house…" she confesses, "or be the same again, after you…lost Elena," she concludes sadly, like she can hear the swelling violins in the background.

"We all lost Elena," he corrects her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I actually lost her before she died. Or maybe…it's the other way around." Definitely it's the other way around, but he can't tell her that now or she'll have a stroke.

Damon's confession sobers up her expression, her green eyes grow large with a hint of compassion. It doesn't look like the prelude to long hours of carnal knowledge, but he can work with that.

"And if I don't want to lose myself, I need my best friend," he adds as sincerely as he can, because she's everything to him now.

"It seems like today I was the one needing you," she admits, talking about the guy he's just saved. The one she has allowed to fuck her, but she doesn't seem to think of him fondly or with any regret, so he doubts he made her come.

"Your personal hero in shining armor," he replies with a wink that he tries his best to keep playful. Bonnie has taught him the importance of going slow, and let things grow at their peace, and if she knew how hard he's trying right about now she'd be proud. Aside from the killing part of course.

"And about that…" he begins, "who's the guy I spared from ending up splattered on the windshield of a subcompact?" he asks pointing a thumb over his shoulder, faking a mild disinterest.

She looks into his eyes like there's no one else in the world and has no trouble answering with a smile. "Absolutely nobody."

Damon can't help but smile back.

#

Their lips touch and for a brief moment he can hear a roar exploding in his chest and the furious rush of blood to his head before she pulls back, shaking her head with a panicked voice as she tells him, "This is wrong, we shouldn't. I can't…" as she walks backwards to put as much space between them as she can, and his stomach falls because he was so fucking close.

It's been two months since he played hero with Nice Guy, and almost five since Elena bit the dust, and seven since Sean took a dirt nap and he's been patient and understanding and he's taken it so slow his balls are now blue and he's still set on letting her come at least four times before he does, so it's exasperating to see her pull back after all his effort and devotion.

"Of course you can't," he replies, smiling bitterly as he turns his back on her. "I wanted to convince myself you'd found it in yourself to forgive me, but even Saint Bonnie can't do that," he says, sinking one hand into his thick, black hair.

"What?" she asks confused, standing still.

"You were right all along. It's my fault. And you tried to warn her but she didn't listen, and I didn't either."

"What?" she asks again. This time her tone is urgent, and she takes a step forward and he knows he's doing it right. He knows her buttons, he loves all of them, and knows how to push them for their mutual benefit.

"And look at me now," he laughs hysterically. "Isn't it an appropriate punishment?" He opens his arms, looking up at the ceiling, his back still to her. "Everyone has been pitying me for five months because I lost the woman I love, but that has only happened today!"

Her small feet rush to him and she grabs his arm, turning him around forcefully. She's not big or strong enough to actually do that, but he lets her manhandle him because why not. A bit of dominance only makes her sexier.

"What are you saying?" she asks, looking at him like he's not making any sense.

"It's quite thoughtful of you to give me an out," he tells her, looking away from her like he's been defeated. "I mean, I'm pathetic, aren't I? I could never take a hint," he admits shrugging. "I've been in love with you since we were on the other side and I waited until the death of my forgetful ex-girlfriend to admit it to myself. And I suppose I should be thankful to you for trying to salvage some of my dignity even if you lost Elena because of me."

Bonnie uses her palm to cup his cheek and turn his face enough that he's looking at her, and her eyes are so clear and wide and it's not really possible that she didn't know, somewhere deep inside of her, that he felt this way. But she's unaware of herself and humble and so beautiful, he can forgive her willful blindness.

"I don't blame you for Elena's death," she tries reassuring him. He knows that, though she totally should, "I'm sorry I've let you think otherwise."

He shakes his head like he can't believe her.

"I'm shameless, aren't I?" he asks with an oblique smile.

"Definitely," she admits, breathless, one tear rolling down her cheek.

"Bon…" he starts, searching her face to watch her walls crumble down and burn the image into his retinas. "Even if it's impossible, even if you swear to me it will never happen, I will still be waiting for you to love me back someday," he promises, heart on his sleeve because that's the only language he can truly speak with her.

"That seems like something you would do," she agrees with the faintest voice, nodding as his mouth gets closer and closer.

His mouth is warm, his tongue entering her mouth slowly but hard. The feeling of it makes her knees weaken and her heartbeat stronger and stronger behind her ribcage and between her legs. He steals her breath when they kiss and lets her reemerge for air just long enough to not die in his arms, though it doesn't seem such a horrid idea while his tender lips suck gently at the soft flesh of her lobe.

Damon's hands slide round her waist like destiny enveloping her, making her shiver so violently she moans. "I'd do anything for you," he admits between his consuming kisses, and she cannot remember why she's feared destiny so much.

#

"You…" She looks at the torn panties dangling from her fingers and then at him, reproacheful like a severe teacher. That's a fantasy he'd be interested in exploring, he thinks, smiling at her.

"I'll replace them," he says taking the cloth from her hand and throwing it behind his back to press her against him and kiss her mouth sweetly. "I'll be careful next time," he reassures her before she begins her tirade. He's already half hard again without that.

"I'll always be careful with you," he promises, kissing the tip of her nose first and then her forehead.

He cannot believe his luck for a moment, for Bonnie is naked and happy in his arms and her skin smells like them.

Her fingers trace the defined muscles of his pecs and places a kiss over his heart, taking ownership of it. Damon's member hardens against her with an impossible eagerness and she smiles shyly, slipping away from his arms, walking backwards, this time around with no intention of escaping him.

"I'll run us a bath," she says, not yet entirely comfortable with seeing him naked and hard in plain daylight and with such a naturalness but excited to explore this new aspect of their relationship.

When she disappears behind the open door of his private bathroom, he turns around to pick up her torn panties, looking at them like a token of love. He pushes aside the painting hanging from the wall, opens the safe turning the dial to the right, then left again, and back and forth until it's open. He rests her panties on top of the pictures he's taken of Mr. Soranson getting intimate with one of his female students. Sean's wallet is right next to them, while Elena's ring remains forgotten in a corner.

He's not like Stefan, who writes down his love and his life, but he's got his own ways of remembering how destiny unfolded. And writing down the list of things he's done for Bonnie would likely get him into trouble.

Damon closes the safe, puts on some music and joins his girlfriend in the bathroom.

"Did you miss me?" he asks, sliding into the tub, behind her, letting her rest her back against his chest, arms closing around her firm like metal bars. He makes an effort to soften his hold enough. She's fragile and human and beautiful, skin glistening in the soft lights, nipples adorned with white foam.

"It's possible," she admits, dragging her words like she's purring.

"Baby steps," he concedes, dropping a kiss on top of her head.

So some say love is a burning thing
That it makes a fiery ring
Oh but I know love as a caging thing
Just a killer come to call from some awful dream
O and all you folks, you come to see
You just stand there in the glass looking at me
But my heart is wild. And my bones are steam
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free

Note: I admit it, I am stuck with my writing. I feel quite drained IR and this stops me from being productive with my stories. I needed to give myself an assignment, something with a beginning and an end, just to see I could write something whole, and since the darker tones are lighter to write for me, here comes this one shot. I'm signing this as a Complete story, but I could use The Devil Made Me Do It as a serie of one-shots, to flex my muscle and keep you company.

The song I used at the end of this story is "Song for Zula" by Phosphorescent.

If you can and you want, consider buying me a kofi, you can find the link in my profile and over my tumblr paintedwithwords (where you can talk to me and/or send me prompts). Please, if you read leave me a review. I go back to reviews every time I'm stuck and uninspired and they are precious to me.

As usual thanks to my beta Syeira Lei for her help.