Note: I am very sorry it took me so long to update, I'm having troubles contacting my beta so this chapter has not been checked. I really hope it's not too bad.
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Damon stumbles back, more to have a chance to put space between their bodies then because she really had the strength to push him away.
She's angry, her eyes are dense pools of dark green and her full lips are thigh into a line.
"So this is your payback for not letting myself be used like a tool anymore?"
"Paranoid much, aren't we?" he asks, raising his hands like he's surrendering to her "You should think of it as rehab," he explains, "No magic until you live under my roof, young lady!" he tells her mimicking a parental voice.
"I'm not an addict."
"Sure. And I'm not a dashing stallion," he replies, with a flat tone, "We all have our crosses to bear, little bird," he adds, in a more lively tone.
"I'm telling you I'm perfectly fine. In fact, I've never felt so in control in all my life," she almost hisses; her satisfaction so solid that she nearly feels physical pleasure at the idea.
"Yes, that's exactly what I thought you felt, and if you're so sure you're fine all you have to do is show me," he says, shrugging, "I promise to never get on your nerves… so much, as I would like at least."
Bonnie does not look pleased at the idea; she just grimaces and calls for "Stefan!" but there's no answer.
"He's with Elena, whom can't come and protect you from the big bad wolf because she can't walk in the sun," he reminds her "Thank you for that, by the way," and – funny as it is - he suspects he's really meaning it.
"I'm not the one that needs to be protected here," she says making him grin.
Bonnie could always play this game and he likes it. She can be dominant while being elegant, and fragile while being strong, and hot while being cold.
"So stay," he says, "Unless you're too scared to fall for my charm, living with me under the same roof and all, but-"
She makes an incredulous sound and looks outraged "You're delusional."
"-I promise to lock my door at night if it makes you feel any better."
Bonnie crosses her arms under her breast. She's all covered, to hide the black veins of magic abuse marking her skin like a conquered territory, but all the same, pushing against the thigh clothes, he can see sweet curves, rounded and high hills which rise and fall with grace and he understands why anything could want to conquer such land of pleasure.
He can be whipped with Elena, but he's far from being blind – and with Bonnie it's just very bad to be anything but.
"Live here for a few days, with no magic, and if it comes out I'm wrong I will crawl at your feet," he says again.
"Oh, you have no idea," her tone is a promise and he can just picture what method she will use to make him. He bets she's already making plans about the way she'll make him crawl; sadly none of 'em is what he'd like.
Well, he supposes he's asking for it.
#
She didn't have a chance to have breakfast so she marches into his kitchen and starts scrambling eggs, like it's just natural.
"This feels so homie," he says watching over her shoulder, from behind her, into the pan on the stove "I always knew you wanted to play house with me," he pipes, and she just keeps on cooking, but rises her right foot from the ground and then stomps with in on his right foot.
"Ouch!" he says taking a step back "And I didn't even nibble," he does not say what he wanted to nibble – because he was not thinking of that but he wants to make her believe otherwise just to make her a bit angry now that she can't use him as guinea pig. And because making her angry will make her forget what he's trying to do.
She eats her breakfast, while reading a few pages from a book she took in the library, and ignores it. She does both things very well, mind you.
The book is a first edition of North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell and its yellow pages smell like vanilla. From the contiguous room he catches her twice leaning in slightly just to smell it.
It occurs to him that she is into Victorian and generally historically set novels, because he saw her caressing the spine of their copies of the Bronte sisters and Jane Austen's books and her mouth curved into something similar to a smile. Damon can easily picture her wrapped in corsets and petticoats, with strings to undo and skin to uncover, but he suppose it's safer to stop picturing that.
She's deadly set on ignoring him. He thinks she plan to read the entire library. Damon just plans to read her.
Bonnie picks a guest room and just barricade herself in it; she comes out only when someone rings the bell.
Damon follows her to remind her "You know you can't leave and I don't think you should make me give whoever is at the door a brain washing, because I can just do that."
She does not even turn, just answers "If you don't trust me, you are welcome to follow me," and he does. She can barely hear his steps, for how light they are, but she just knows he does follow her.
The delivery boy looks about two or three years younger than her, and he smiles to her so much that Damon thinks all of his pimples are smiling too.
The boy wears a baseball cap and one earphone, while the other dangles on his striped shirt.
Bonnie is unaffectionately polite as she takes the bag he's offering and all Damon thinks is that a prepubescent snotty should not go around lusting after dangerous witches he's trying to bring back on the good side because he's that generous. Really, he should show some respect here.
"Damon, go ahead," she says turning to him with an annoyed expression, "he's waiting."
"For the puberty?" he asks.
"Pay," she tells him, leaving him standing there while she goes in the kitchen.
The boy nods following the sway of her hips with an expression that says that what he's seeing her carry in the other room is a lash instead of a bag. In his fantasy she's probably dressed in a leather suit, if she is dressed at all.
Damon grimaces and obstructs the boy's sight with his body, giving him a scowling look like he's daring him to look at her again, and asking "How much?"
#
"You're a troublesome guest, you know," he says joining her in the kitchen.
Once again all he can see of her is her back, but he'll settle for that since it gives him a rather nice view if he, just slightly, lowers his eyes toward south. Did he say she fills up her jeans quite good?
"Flattering will take you nowhere," she informs him, smelling the fresh pears she's taking from the inside of the bag.
"Pears?" he asks, "I figured we could have strawberries and whipped cream, you know, feed each other and then lick-"
"I'm allergic to strawberries," she informs him cutting his monologue short.
"Too bad, but I guess we can find something else to have fun with," he replies, bending to rest his weight on the arms, flat on the marble counter top "And speaking of fun, I don't think you should call the delivery boy anymore," he informs her.
Bonnie turns her eyes in his direction, raising one eyebrow.
"Not to say that your opinion counts, because it doesn't," she says "But why is that?"
"They say people can go blind doing those bad things," he says. He is sure she will be the moaning force behind the boy's hands, so to speak.
Well, he'll make sure to break his fingers if he meets him again.
"Naughty boy. He's using me…" she seems to wonder aloud "He must be someone with good taste," she decides, "And it's not like you never used me," she adds looking into her eyes with the same sarcasm coming out from her soft mouth, "One way or the other," she clarifies, "At least his way is harmless and kind of fun. Exactly what I'm not having right now."
She does not worry about anything, and anything belongs to her, only because she decided so. Somehow, he think, why should be otherwise? She was born with beauty and grace and strength and she forgot; they all made her forget.
Bonnie needs to come out of this black hole dark magic put into, but all the same, why should the world not fall at her feet?
Where they were all looking when she took the weight upon herself, or when she was brave and alone?
He knows where they were looking; where he is still looking: Elena.
The fridge fills up in a few minutes, and suddenly the kitchen starts to look different. Because she used stoves and stuff and now the place looks real. And it does even after she leaves the room to go lock herself in hers.
Damon just shrugs and goes to fix himself a drink; he really hopes this cohabitation will be very, very short.