A/N: Soooo much love and gratitude to everyone who commented, favorited, followed. Your guys' support and enjoyment of the story literally makes my LIFE. Lmfao.
I know this took way too long to upload but I had insane writer's block in December. Here's to a 2020 with way less of that!
This chapter is twice as long as the first one but I don't know how I feel about it yet. Let me know what you think. I hope you guys enjoy! Xoxo - Ailey
Home With You
Chapter 2
Chapter Rating: M
#
When Bonnie wakes up, the first thing she's aware of is that her face is burrowed in the crook of a neck. She doesn't know where she is, when she is, but it doesn't matter, because the skin, smooth and familiar, both cooling and warm against her cheeks and forehead, feels amazing.
Feels… safe.
She vaguely realizes that she's curled on top of someone, the length of her torso stretched across a naked chest, her legs straddling a pair of hips. There are muscular arms wrapped around her and in any other situation she would probably freak out about being in bed with a stranger, but right now, in this not-fully-conscious state, all she can think about is the absolute cloud nine comfort of it all.
Grams did it. She got me to heaven.
She doesn't know whose body she's entangled with, nor can she remember how she got here. But in this moment, she can't bring herself to care; every cell in her body is screaming that she belongs here and nowhere else.
The horror and loneliness of the past few months is now just a distant, painful memory because she's saturated with the sweet sensations of the skin pressed against her, the hands resting on her back. The unbelievably warm contentment that envelops her body.
A blissful sigh exits her lips.
That familiar scent wades into her nostrils. Sandalwood, leather, vanilla and bourbon. His smell, that earthy aroma.
Home.
Another heavenly sigh.
I don't care if it's real or not. As long as I stay here forever, I'll be okay.
She's lost in a fog of sensory delight, and all she knows is that she wants to lean in to the embrace as much as possible.
Deepen the contact, the pleasure.
She lightly brushes her lips against the shoulder she's made her little home in, and presses her nose to his neck and slowly inhales his scent, a hum of satisfaction reverberating in her throat.
Suddenly her mouth waters and the need to taste him overpowers.
Just a kiss and a lick.
As if animated of their own volition, her lips part on an exhale and the next thing she knows she's hungry and delirious and leaning in—
And then his voice, smooth as silk, magic to her ears, cuts through the haze. "Good morning, little bird."
She jerks her head up to meet his baby blues, her face hovering inches above his.
"Damon?"
Confusion distorts her features for a moment, to which he replies, "You didn't have your way with my body, if that's what you're thinking. Not that I would have objected."
They're so close that she can feel the breathy vibration of his words on her lips and it sends a jolt through her whole being —
Whoa, Bonnie.
She snaps up into a seated position, back straight, eyes roaming over the vampire underneath her. Gets a full look of his angel face.
He's wearing his typical lazy, self-satisfied smile, but there's something tentative, a little nervous in his eyes. His pupils seem a little wider than usual.
Am I imagining this?
She blinks, struggling to orient herself. "Am I dreaming?"
His smirk widens. "Now you're just making me blush."
Is this real? Is he real?
"You're really here? I'm really back?"
"I told you, judgey. When are you just going to learn that I'm always right?" He's teasing her, peacocking with that world class snark she's almost embarrassed to admit she missed, but his smile and soft eyes says he's happy.
Just like that, a powerful rush of relief and joy washes through her like a tidal wave and she doesn't know if she's about to cry, laugh, or both.
An excited giggle escapes her lips and he lights up with a grin and for a moment they lose themselves in their shared elation, palpable and almost overwhelming.
Her heart swells with affection and she has to stop herself from lunging at him. She wants to tell him how much he means to her; show her gratitude and happiness with kisses all over his cheeks and face and neck but he's half naked and she's seated on top of him and even though it feels rightand safe, there's a part of her thrumming with awareness of how really delicate their position is right now.
How close they are to a line that they cannot cross.
So instead she lowers herself down to curl back around him in a tight hug, resting her head on his bare chest, humming with satisfaction. Closes her eyes and smiles wide.
Home.
His hands rub up and down her back and he chuckles as he drops a kiss on her head. "Have you gone Alzy-heimers on me Bon Bon? We literally had this exact celebration reunion last night."
"Shut up, Damon. Don't ruin the moment."
"Don't worry, I have no problem with the senile. Even in judgey witch form."
She's too tired for their verbal jousting, and her body shakes with laughter and sighs as her cheek bounces lightly on the solid plate of his sternum. The contact reminds her that somehow she's mounting him and she doesn't remember how or why it happened.
"Damon, how did we end up like this?"
"Well, from a cosmic perspective I think I was always meant to end up taking care of you, but if you're referring to you straddling me, you climbed on top of me in the middle of the night."
She feels herself go red. "Sorry."
"Don't be. I like that unconscious Bonnie is a top." She can practically hear the smirk dancing on his lips.
His hands find their way to her hair, stroking and lightly caressing her scalp. It's absurd to her how normal this feels. How comfortable and sweet. They've never done anything like this before — they hugged maybe once before in the whole history of their relationship before her return and now here they are — intertwined in his bed like it's nothing.
"You just gonna lie on top me of all day? Not that I'm complaining." There's humor in his voice.
"Just a little while longer. Please."
After a little while he says, "It's 5 pm, you know?"
"What?" She snaps her head up to meet his eyes.
He's grinning. "Clearly you were exhausted, all witchy tapped out. I guess prison world inter-dimensional travel will do that to you. But we should probably get you something to eat soon."
She can't process what it means.
Has he just been awake for hours, lying here under me?
"Have you… you stayed… did you move…have you been here the whole time?" She sputters and then flushes deeper at the amused look on his face.
"Wow, who knew Bonnie Bennett would be so adorable when she's embarrassed."
Did he just call me adorable?
But she can't think about that right now, pushes on his chest to sit up and straddle him again. Her head spins with shame and she wants to apologize, wants to climb out of her skin.
"Are you hungry? Why would you just let me keep you trapped here the whole time? You must be so uncomfortable.."
She moves to get off him but his hands land on her hips in an iron grip, not quite painful but pinning her to him.
"I'm a vampire, Bon Bon, I don't get uncomfortable." His tone is playful and light, taunting even, and he taps her nose with his finger. "Why are you acting like I killed ten people? It's not a big deal. You needed the rest and I got to listen to you snore for 18 hours." He smirks.
"You didn't have to stay the whole time…" Her face is hot and she doesn't understand why she wants to cry.
He scoffs, but not in an unkind way. "Actually, yes, I did have to, you were pretty messed up. Besides, I promised you I'd stay."
"Yeah, but—" The words die in her throat, replaced by a knot, thick and painful.
I don't want to be a burden to you. She can't bring herself to say it.
"But nothing, Bonnie." There's an edge to his voice, irritated and very Damon, and that shuts her up. His gaze rakes over her vulnerable form above him and then he's softer, his fingers ghosting along the curve of her cheek. His mouth twitches and then his voice drops, serious but gentle.
"I like holding you."
A heat tingles in her belly. It's been so long since she's felt something other than despair and fear and loneliness, and even longer since she felt something like that. She doesn't even know how to name it or place it, but her mouth speaks for her, automatically, before she knows what she's saying.
"I like it when you hold me."
He says nothing as they just look into each other's eyes, a tender silence washing over them, warm and sweet. Something about his gaze suddenly makes her uneasy, makes her hyper aware that her core is pressed against his lap.
"Come here, then," he says finally, and pulls her back down into him.
She lets him hold her for a while longer, nuzzling into his chest and blinking back tears.
Never leave me, Damon.
#
About an hour later, Damon makes them the latest breakfast of all time — vampcakes of course — while Bonnie watches from the dining table.
She's trying to be discrete about her voyeurism, but her glowing emerald eyes are burning holes in his face.
And people claim I have a smolder?! The witch puts me to shame.
He doesn't mind it though, as blatant as it is. It's definitely new — he's accustomed to being the one with the intense, stare-y gaze and the old Bonnie pretty much avoided looking at him whenever possible. Eye contact was once an excuse for a glare or an eye roll… or an aneurysm. But then again, there's a lot of things that are new about their relationship now, and he's okay with all of it.
If he's being honest he finds it kind of endearing, the way she quickly drops her gaze and fidgets awkwardly every time he glances up from the stove to catch the tail end of her stare.
It's adorable, really.
He's left stifling a smile each time, and considers teasing her but he doesn't want to make her retreat and withdraw. Doesn't want her to stop.
Weird.
It registers that the old Damon would jump on every opportunity to make the little witch uncomfortable. And that urge is still present, still strong. It's just that there's something else there.. overpowering and knotted in his stomach, his throat, his chest.
And that something else wants nothing else than keeping her safe and happy. Because lord knows she deserves it. He doesn't know when the witch started taking up residency in his heart like this but damn, she's in there now.
It's just the prison world bonding, he tells himself.
It strikes him that he's never seen her like this before — all defenseless and vulnerable. Painfully open. At the mercy of her fragility. For as long as he's known her, she's kept a strong face and her head held up high, carrying everyone with her quiet confidence and power. How many times did she save all of their lives again and again, without so much a care for her own well being? Without even a falter or a moment of weakness?
Even in 1994, he was the raw one, paralyzed by fear and ready to give up. But she wouldn't let him. She held it together for both of them, with her hope, her positivity, her light. Her strength was the reason he made it out alive, even as he constantly berated her and brought her down, doubting her ability to get her magic back.
He tries not to cringe thinking about it, because that Bennett gaze is still hot on his flesh.
Ugh.
Of course if anyone would make him feel so devastatingly human, it would be his little bird.
He thinks of earlier in bed, when she was so (cutely) worried about inconveniencing him and he nearly rolls his eyes at it.
Only Bonnie Bennett would return from a prison world hell scenario and still put everyone else's needs before her own.
His stomach suddenly clenches with irritation at the thought, and he wants to grab her and tell her that he'll hold her for in bed seven damn days if he so pleases and she'll just have to deal with it.
Whoa. Possessive Damon makes an appearance. Down boy.
He loosens his now iron-grip on the spatula and plates the pancakes and vamps them up, with the whipped cream he has kept stockpiled since he's been back, in preparation for this very moment.
"Bon appetit, mon cherie Bon Bon."
She crinkles her nose as he settles in his seat across from her. "I hope your cooking is better than your french."
"Sure, let's pretend like you haven't already tasted what I have to offer. Like you don't love it." It comes out way more sexual than he intends— well, maybe I intended it — and his mind flits back to the delicious way he woke up, with Bonnie's hot breath against his neck. He could have sworn she was going to sleep kiss him in her semi-conscious state but damn it, he panicked — best friend and all — and woke her up.
Stupid morals.
The witch is unfazed by his dirty talk, all her focus on attacking the plate before her and shoveling food down her gullet.
He watches in amusement, the corner of his mouth ticking up as she groans happily. "Well," he drawls, "you clearly missed my masterful vampcakes. I seem to remember a very judgey, ungrateful food critic named Bonnie Bennett who took sick pleasure in insulting the glorious breakfasts I would make for her."
She makes a face at him and he has to physically stop himself from leaning across the table and booping her on the nose because she's just so damn cute with her cheeks bulging with pancake.
He lets her inhale the rest of the spread in silence, wondering what she ate that whole time without him. All those times Liv would send him back to follow her around the boarding house as a desperate ghost, crying out for her attention, he realizes that he rarely saw her eat. The thought makes him go cold as his eyes drop to her collarbones — have they always protruded that intensely? — and he shivers, pushing his own plated stack towards her.
When he's met with a raised eyebrow, he tells her he's not hungry.
When both plates are licked clean and she rests back in her seat with a satisfied huff, he leans forward and places his elbows on the tabletop.
"Sooo, Bon Bon, talk to me. What's on the schedule for today? Well, for the remaining few hours of the day that is."
"You tell me. This is Mystic Falls. Don't you have places to be? Doppelgängers to save? Cures to find? Villains to plot against? Some impending doom to postpone?"
"Nope," he says too quickly, knowing it'll irritate her. "Don't know, don't care. I'm on Bon Bon duty."
Ridiculously pretty green eyes narrow at him from across the table. "You're telling me there's actually nothing going on?"
"What I'm saying, witchy, is that me and all the Mystic Falls bullshit drama are on a break."
The skeptical look on her face says it all. He can practically hear her say it, because she always sees right through him: Mystic Falls bullshit drama? You mean Elena? He knows she wants to ask about the tortured doppelgänger love saga that has kept him pathetically tethered to this town and its miscreant inhabitants.
But thankfully, the witch is feeling generous because she just says, "They're your friends, Damon."
"You're my friend too."
"But if they're in trouble—"
"Do you see anyone banging down the door, begging for my help? No. The scooby doo gang can handle themselves for now."
Her glare doesn't waver and he feels that spike of irritation again.
Unbelievable. Even after all this, she's unable to put down that insufferable savior complex. Why is everyone around me a goddamn martyr?
"What ever happened to you not wanting anyone to know you're in town? What happened to needing time to adjust, to heal? You haven't even been back for 24 hours, Bon."
He manages to keep his voice even and gentle with gargantuan effort, and it's working because she's softening in front of his eyes.
"Listen Bon, I spent every waking moment the last few months trying to get you back. Sometimes they would help out but most of the time they didn't, so I mostly kept my distance. I don't know what they've been up to. And then Liz got sick and…" He trails off, lump suddenly lodged in his throat.
She reads him like a book. "Liz? Sheriff Forbes—?"
He nods, averts his eyes. "She died. Cancer."
She gasps, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Seconds later there's a loud scrape of the chair against the kitchen hardwood and she's moving towards him.
He's still seated and his face meets the soft warmth of her chest and stomach when she gathers him in a hug.
"She was your friend," the witch whispers, cradling the back of his head. As if to justify or explain the reason for their embrace.
He says nothing, just lets her hold him, his arms slowly wrapping around her waist to pull her in closer. Tighter. Inhales her sweet cinnamon-y scent and on the exhale the knot in his throat dissolves.
To live and die in Bonnie Bennett's arms.
She caresses the nape of his neck and holds him tighter when he hums and sighs into her.
"When?"
"Three days ago," he mumbles against her belly.
"Three days ago!?" She freezes and then pulls away lightly to look at him. He stifles a groan at the loss of contact but still can't meet her eyes.
"Caroline," she says more to herself than him, and is stepping away from their embrace when he grips her hips, keeping her in place yet again.
"Is dealing with it. Nothing you can do about it now Bon."
The witchy glare is back but he doesn't care.
"She's my best friend, Damon."
"I thought I was your best friend?" He gives her his best pout to disarm the situation but naturally judgey is far from amused.
"She needs me right now, needs all of us—"
What if I need you more? he almost says, but stops himself just in time.
"No she doesn't. As far as she was concerned, you were dead and she wasn't exactly scouring the ends of the earth to find you. She has Elena and Stefan. "
Bonnie flinches, but he doesn't give a damn, because he's annoyed to all hell that she's so eager to become everyone's emotional support pet again.
Has she learned nothing? I just told her nobody here gives a proper fuck about her, except me.
"I have to make sure she's okay—"
He snaps. "Okay? Of course she's not okay, Bonnie, Liz is dead! And there's nothing you can do to change that." He takes a deep breath to calm himself down and stands up to place his hands on her shoulders. "Look, can't you just put yourself first for a few days? Before we get back to trying to save everyone's asses?" He looks at her pointedly. "You just got back… and that's all that matters right now." It's unclear whether if he says this for her or for himself.
Of course the little witch looks like she still wants to argue but he's gripping her shoulders a little too tightly and boring into her soul and he can hear her heart pounding, not to mention the slight blush that has creeped into her cheeks. He starts to wonder if he's scaring her before she finally huffs a sigh and rolls her eyes. "Fine."
He smirks, pleased, and begins to whisk her into the other room. "Now was that so hard witchy? Also unless you specify what you want to do tonight, we're watching The Bodyguard."
"Why does it feel like you're trying to hog me to yourself?"
Maybe I am.
"Don't flatter yourself Bennett. You think one night of cuddles makes us friends? Tell that to every sorority girl on the east coast from the last century."
She slaps his arm with zero force and he grins.
#
Twenty minutes into The Bodyguard, Bonnie realizes that maybe she went a little too hard with the pancakes.
At first, she thought it was just residual butterflies from their heated interaction at breakfast. She's genuinely not used to this ultra-protective tender side of Damon. Sure, she has witnessed brief snaps of it before but almost always directed at Elena, and boy is it intense to be its object.
She tells herself that it makes sense since he's just an intense person, that she's sure Stefan has to deal with this side of him all the time.
There is no avoiding it; the stubborn vampire has gotten under her skin in more ways than one and it's doing all sorts of weird things to her insides.
But she quickly realizes this particular unpleasant churning in her belly is because of the inhaled stacks of pancakes.
When an involuntary groan escapes her lips, the vampire sitting at the end of the couch turns to her with a raised eyebrow.
The grimace on her face says it all. "My stomach hurts."
"Like an I-ate-way-too-many-vampcakes-way-too-fast-because-I'm-a-witchy-glutton-stomach-ache orrrrrrr?"
She chucks a cushion at the annoyingly, unhelpfully perfect smirk on his face. "It's called indigestion, you ass."
He grins and ducks. "Tomato, tomahto."
She watches the grin disappear when she doubles over in pain, clutching her stomach, hissing out moans and owwwwws.
He's closer to her on the couch now, his hand resting on her arm. "Jesus Bon Bon. How can I help?"
That damn tenderness again.
She flashes back to the first time she noticed it, back in 1994. She had been having a particularly rough day of trying to reignite her magic, and it ended in her cutting her palm open when she smashed a vase in frustration. When he found her like that, on her knees, crying and bleeding, he had silently scooped her up, carried her to her room and sat her on the bed, while he cleaned and bandaged up her hand. She remembers how he had periodically glanced up at her to make sure the pain wasn't too bad — his eyes almost shy — and tried to distract her with stupid jokes and silly anecdotes.
She remembers it so vividly, because it was the first time that she had the thought: Oh, this must be the Damon that Elena fell in love with.
She shakes the memory from her head because they're not in 1994 and he's staring at her and she's hunched over in pain. "Tums?"
He stands up immediately. "I'll go get some from the store."
Panic.
"No!" she shrieks, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down to the couch, before reddening at her overreaction.
Okay, I'm still clearly not okay with being alone.
It doesn't help that the vampire is somber now, only eyeing her with concern. "Do you want to come with me to go get them?"
She shakes her head sheepishly, mildly irritated that she is proving him right — that she needs more time to adjust, because the thought of leaving the boarding house suddenly feels impossible. "No. No. It's fine. Just stay."
She expects him to gloat and start up a fight, make fun of her, or at the very least to mutter an I told you so, but he only nods, eyes never leaving her face.
The small smile she extends to him is interrupted by a wince and groan when the aching ramps up again.
"Bon.. at least let me give you a belly rub."
She snorts. "A belly rub? I'm okay, thanks." Even though they've been touching each other non stop since she returned, which is already weird enough, somehow a goddamn belly rub seems to be too intimate.
"It'll help with the indigestion, I promise. I don't offer tummy rubs to just anyone, you know." His hand reaches out to her in the seemingly innocent offering, but she catches the gleam of mischief flashing in his eyes.
"What am I, a dog?" she retorts, even as she's desperately clutching and kneading at her abdomen with her own hands, seeking that relief.
"Noooo, you're a kitten," he purrs slowly, mouth curling up in a devilish smile. "Bon Bon the kitty kat."
What kind of crackhead flirtation is this mf trying now?
She doesn't even have time to roll her eyes before he pulls her into his arms, tickling her mercilessly, and she's scream laughing and convulsing in his arms — "Damon! Stop! Stop it!" — because his fingers are relentless and she's near hysterics.
He's alternating between "Who's a ticklish kitty kat?" which is unbelievable, and "Come onnnn, Bon Bon, let me rub your tumtum…" over the sounds of her squeals and giggles.
It goes on for what feels like way too long, but he stops right before she's about to cry and she collapses in his lap as she comes down from the overstimulation.
Well, she has to admit, that did provide a distraction from my stomach ache.
"So how about that belly rub?"
She can hear the smirk. "I hate you."
"Was that a yes, judgey?"
His hands are already resting on her stomach, tapping softly, and she realizes begrudgingly that just that contact itself brings her some comfort. So she nods, letting herself relax into his touch.
When he starts stroking around her navel in slow, lightly pressured circles, she practically mewls in relief, like a goddamn cat.
He chuckles against her hair. "There's my kitty."
"Shut up, Damon."
"You know, Bonkat, I can get a deeper massage if you take your top off."
She opens her mouth to call him a dirty old pervert but then his fingers flirt with the lower hem of her sweater and every fucking cell in her body seizes with terror.
My scars. He can't see my scars.
She screams, way too loud and bloodcurdling and panicked for the situation —
He can't see how ugly I am.
"No! No!"
How grotesque, how monstrous, how damaged,
— and shoves away from him, flinging them each to opposite sides of the couch,
It'll be all over his face when he sees my mutilated flesh. That I'm broken beyond repair, too disgusting to ever be… loved
and before she knows it he's crying out in pain, clutching at his broken hands.
She hadn't even felt her magic in that moment, it just happened, her power acting of its own volition with her fear as fuel, really a moment of unconscious self defense where her body's concerned.
When she snaps back to the moment, he's realigning his mangled fingers with obscene cracks and horrible groans as his bones heal themselves.
The look he gives her hurts, because it's angry and confused and pained and even though she once relished in making the elder Salvatore writhe in agony before him, she never wants to make him feel that way these days.
"Why the hell would you do that? I was joking." He delivers the words with a venom that is somehow both too cold and too hot for her liking.
She can only stare on in wide-eyed guilt, frozen with remorse and horror that she's ruined everything — which is what, exactly? — between them.
"I won't touch you," he says next, the white hot rage of the moment now replaced with something far more terrible: a cold, stiff, distance. She feels him pulling away and it's abundantly clear that he is hurt.
Emotionally hurt that is, which she can rationally recognize is ridiculous and an overreaction, because truly he has no right to be hurt — she's always responded to his half-assed sexual advances and intrusions on her personal space with hostility, aneurysms and broken limbs galore.
So what's different now?
And it was just a joke, wasn't it? It's not as if he actually wants her in that way, not like he actually thought a topless massage would be in any way appropriate for their friendship, so why the sore feelings? Why the cold shoulder?
He is being dramatic, you did nothing wrong, her pride states, but she can't explain why it upsets her so badly to see him sitting all the way at the other end of the couch like a wounded child, compulsively rubbing his hands in his lap.
She can't explain why she moves towards him until she's nearly in his arms again and why it crushes her when he flinches away from her touch; can't explain why she takes his hands in hers and looks into his wounded blue eyes and says what comes out of her mouth next.
"No, Damon, please don't be mad. I'm sorry, okay? It was an accident."
He doesn't budge, all steel blue gaze and hard facial lines as he takes her remorse in stride, but his thumb strokes the palm of her hand— on purpose or instinctually? she can't say.
That's more than enough of an apology, her pride supplies, but she ignores it again, because she needs him to understand.
"I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't even realize what my magic was doing until…" she trails off, and it doesn't take long for the concern to start cracking through his facade. The openness of his face and eyes, they can never hold his pretend indifference for long, and she's momentarily grateful for his raw nature.
"I'm just sensitive right now, Damon," she finishes with a heavy sigh and peers up at him to see that he has softened significantly, simply watching her with a curious eye.
She prays that he doesn't try to push it, doesn't scold her for not being in control of her magic or pry her for details around her wounds and traumas.
Could you possibly know how much Kai hurt me? Could you possibly understand how deeply I've been cut?
She doesn't remember Damon's Augustine history, that he too is an unexpected survivor of body mutilation, of unspeakable violence and torture. That they are kindred spirits from a shared dark timeline.
He doesn't push it and when he finally nods in assent to her apology, her small, rueful smile stretches into a beaming one. He rolls his eyes in response, because he knows that she knows that her grins are contagious — her witchy wiles, he calls them — but he can't stop the smirk that graces his lips.
"Let's finish this damn stupid movie," he begrudges and she giggles and turns around in his lap to face the tv. Moments later when she takes his hand and puts it over her (clothed) stomach, it makes her happy when he quietly starts rubbing.
#
It's only about fifteen minutes later in the movie when the witch falls asleep in his arms, and another twenty minutes that he sits there on the couch in silence with the tv off, enjoying the feeling of her body as it rises and falls against him with each breath.
Eventually he carries her up to his bedroom; not that they ever discussed it but he assumes this is still what she needs, and he doesn't want her to wake up panicking again.
At least, this is what he tells himself because frankly, he's the one who wants her beside him tonight.
When he settles in bed for the night and cradles her in his arms again, he wonders if she will wake up in the night, screaming in terror at their closeness, at his touch.
He doesn't know what to think or how to feel about any of it, but he knows that seeing her like that — repulsed and horrified by him — wounded him deep, for some stupid unknown reason.
It's not like he was going to actually take off her shirt or anything — well, unless she wanted him to, but that's beyond the point — but her response cruelly reminded him that he is still the monster that everyone sees him as.
Of course she reacted like that. We might be friends but after all the pain I've caused her? Breaking my hands wasn't even close to what I deserve.
All this tenderness and playfulness between him and the little bird these last couple days had him fooled. Brought him back to more innocent times, human times, where there were no such things as vampires or witches, where they could just be two friends taking care of each other.
A blissful and happy vacation from the achingly heavy reality of being Damon Salvatore, abject villain and devil's reject.
If the most virtuous and honest person he knows, one Bonnie Bennett, is disgusted by him that severely then that is pretty damning, isn't it?
Serves me right for thinking I would ever be able to escape myself.
When he finally falls asleep he does so listening to the soft steady thump of her heartbeat, because it's the only soundtrack that calms him right now.
He doesn't wake until several hours later when the witch is crudely pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him.
He grins sleepily to himself as she straddles him, not even bothering to open his eyes — guess this is our sleeping routine now — as she presses her core into his lap and settles above him.
He waits for her to rest down onto his chest so he can envelop her in his arms but she never comes, and just when he's about to mumble her name, her fingertips graze his cheeks, sending a jolt of electricity through his whole being and forcing his eyes open.
Bonnie is sitting up with her back straight, staring down at him with one hand resting on his chest and the other hovering near his face. There's a languid, dreamy smile pasted on her face and lingering in her eyes and in this moment, even though she looks hauntingly beautiful, he doesn't recognize her and it is scaring him a little.
He blinks furiously, taking her in, as her fingers find their way to his jaw, tracing.
"What are you doing?" He slurs his question, sleep voice and all.
She doesn't reply, and he's not even sure she heard him, as her other hand starts gently caressing his neck.
What in the witchy woo fuck is going on?
He knows something is wrong because this is not judgey witch behavior, oh no no, not his Bon Bon, but there's that part of him that is entranced by her ethereality, and there's another part of him that wants her to continue touching him ever so lightly.
"Bonnie," he says, louder this time, "what are you doing?"
"Shhhh," she breathes. "I'm touching you."
The typical judgey tone he has come to love is peculiarly absent, and the only way he can describe her voice now is like honey and music, seductive and softly dripping. Surrounding him in a warm bath. He nearly hums in pleasure just thinking about it.
Get a grip, Damon.
"O…kay, but why exactly are you touching me?"
No reply again, and both her hands are now trailing along the sides of his neck.
Mega witchy weirdness.
"Why are you touching me Bon, at 4 in the morning?"
She seems unfazed by his questions, but her normally emerald eyes are flashing silver in the dark, and he's tempted to throw her off him and turn on the light because he's not sure if he's tripping out or not.
Her whispered reply would have completely bewitched him if her behavior wasn't concerning him so much. "Because I want to. Because this is a dream, and I can."
Ah, yes.
Damon's memory quickly flits through all those times in 1994, when he would hear her sleep talking to herself in the bedroom down the hall, as the realization settles.
Back then, it consisted primarily of either mumbled nonsense or adorable gurgling, the distinction entirely depending on whether he was annoyed with her at the time or not.
But this… damn, this is a whole new level of sleep talking.
"This isn't a dream, Bonnie. I'm awake," he says evenly.
"Oh, Damon," she sings, and his mouth twitches at how much he enjoys hearing dream Bonnie's tongue curl deliciously around his name. "Damon, Damon. I know that I'm asleep because I'm touching you like this, and it isn't awkward."
He almost snorts, because of the obtusely silly dream-logic-ness of her reasoning, but also because, well, she's kind of right. If she were awake, he thinks, then all thiswould be a lot more… let's say tense of a situation.
"No, Bon, I'm right and you're wrong, as usual. How can I prove it to you? Or should I just wake you up?"
She smiles at him and it's so beautiful he is immediately annoyed at himself. She cups his cheek and sighs, but not unhappily. "Why is my dream Damon as stubborn as my real Damon? Can't you let me dream in peace?"
My Damon?
Oh, he was ready to argue with her, but the witch's use of the possessive pronoun stops him dead in his tracks.
My.
He's faltering and it's embarrassing.
I'm her Damon.
The warmth and affection billowing in his chest has abruptly turned him into a sap, and so much of the pain from her earlier rejection is gone, even if this is just dream Bonnie, but he can't really dwell on it because it's a little distracting how she's cupping both of his cheeks and gazing into his face.
"Fine," he manages with great difficulty, "Say we're dreaming. Then what?"
She smiles again and lets go of his face to run her hands up and down his upper arms and biceps. "You have amazing arms."
It can't be helped, a grin blooms on his face only to quickly be downgraded to a smirk, because he's Damon Salvatore and has to remain cool, even in a dream flirt situation.
"Thanks." He knows how to play nonchalant too well, even when he wants to tease her relentlessly — who would have known the judgey Bonnie Bennett likes my sexy, masculine, ultra muscly arms? — but right now he doesn't want to scare dream Bonnie away, she's delicate and he likes her.
Besides, his little bird will never hear the end of that comment; the fact that he'll have an eternity to remind her of it is enough to put the stupid grin back on his face.
Her hands continue their journey, now brushing sublime patterns atop his sternum and chest.
He's holding down the fort remarkably well, because every touch of her fingertips, no matter how feather light, sends electric volts of pleasure up and down his skin and through his body. The worst part is that he can't quite tell if it's witchy juju or just… desire. He tells himself it's the former, because her magic is clearly on the fritz these days and well, the latter is too difficult to think about right now.
When her finger gets worrisomely close to his nipple, he decides to do what he does best. Puncture the tension with a joke. "Is this all you ever do in your dreams, Bon Bon? Feel me up?"
She laughs, and it reverberates in the air like literal magic.
"Wouldn't you like that, dream Damon?" she teases, voice like silk and trilling with glee, and the vampire finds himself basking in the glow that is a flirtatious Bonnie Bennett, light and airy, magic and beauty, unburdened by the pain of the world.
Before he can get in his feelings about it, she dazzles him again.
"Why aren't you touching me?"
"What?" Her question is so surprising that he has to ask for clarification, even though he heard her loud and clear the first time.
"Why aren't you touching me, Damon?"
He's nonplussed, just staring while at a loss for words, as her silver tinted gaze picks him apart. Too long passes in silence, and he feels frozen in this impasse, before… an embrace? before loss? he can't say.
"Hmmm?" she beckons, massaging his ribs and it spurs him into action.
"Do you want me to touch you?"
"Yes, Damon," she croons, as if explaining to a child.
His heart flutters like a teenage boy but he doesn't dare lift a finger, because he has to know. It's now or never, and even though a part of him says that maybe this isn't the best conversation to have with dream Bonnie, it's already in his throat and eating him alive.
"You didn't want me to touch you earlier. You panicked when I touched your shirt. You were disgusted by me."
There, I said it.
"Oh," is all she says, and removes her hands from his body. She suddenly looks so sad, so lost and pained, that he feels his face, heart, and stomach all fall simultaneously.
Whatever this reaction is, he doesn't want it, and it's so much worse than he imagined.
"Never mind," he chokes out, "I get it."
He wants to get away from her because it's too much, but the witch is murmuring something.
"He hurt me, Damon."
"What?"
"Kai hurt me." She's staring down at her hands, which are folded on top of her belly.
He flinches as he remembers the arrow piercing her there, one of his greatest regrets, leaving her there bleeding out and alone because of that stupid ascendant.
"I know," he says. "I'm sorry." It's all he can offer her and it still feels utterly pathetic.
"No," she snaps, and it throws him off seeing dreamBonnie get aggravated. "You don't know. You don't know how he hurt me."
"Tell me," he croaks.
"He hurt me so badly, Damon."
She sounds so anguished, looks so wounded, that his heart shrivels up inside him and all he can do is look at her. It alarms him again how open and vulnerable she's being, he's still not used to seeing this side of her, frankly any side of her that isn't all strength and resilience. More surprises of dream Bonnie.
"What did he do to you?"
"He hurt me so badly." She's not looking at him, her whisper seems to be directed to the darkness of the room and it sends chills down his spine.
He grabs her wrists and pulls her hands away from her belly to get her attention. It's the first time he's touched her since this whole dream ordeal began, but she doesn't give any indication that she's aware of his presence, even when he asks more aggressively this time.
"What did he do to you Bonnie?"
Her line of vision is fixed on some imaginary point in the distance, and her eyes are glassy and unfocused. That intrusive thought about how achingly beautiful she is tears across his mind again.
"Bonnie," he lightly shakes her wrists, "Hey." Shakes them again, but it's no use because she's a million miles away.
Her next words make him go cold.
"He hurt me everywhere," she says, her voice a shaky whisper.
No.
The insinuation behind that statement, he can't wrap his head around it, and for the first time since he was probably a human, he prays to god that he's wrong — even though it all makes sense now, the way she freaked out when he tried to take off her shirt — he prays that dreamBonnie is just being facetious or dramatic, that she isn't saying what he thinks she's saying, that it really just is that she's disgusted by him.
"Tell me what he did to you Bonnie," he growls, yanking at her wrists more roughly.
She finally looks at him, meeting his frustrated, borderline desperate stare, and there's only compassion in her eyes. He loosens his grip on her, and her arms fall out of his clutches at the same time as a tear falls from her eye.
He's reaching up to wipe it away but she intercepts the movement and cradles his hand in hers, smiling sadly at him.
"Damon. The only time I feel better is when I'm with you."
And then she's lowering herself down towards him and his breath hitches as her lips land gently on his cheek, open and wet and soft. She curls around him, nuzzling her face into his neck, and dreamBonnie disappears as her breathing deepens and she settles into silence, asleep as his little witch again.
Damon lies awake under her, cheek burning and his whole body buzzing in the darkness.
I'm going to kill Kai.
Thank you so much for reading lovelies! I'm very curious as to what you thought about this chapter!
Did you guys like dream Bonnie? From her intro in the beginning to her full appearance at the end. PTSD can cause strange dream/sleep patterns and dissociative fugue states in people and that's kind of what I'm working through with dream Bonnie. There will also be other manifestations of her PTSD that she's gonna have to deal with.
Other characters will be making an appearance… if not next chapter then for sure the one after that LOL
Much Bamon love. I look forward to hearing what you all have to say. Will see you all hopefully soon for chapter 3. XOXO