When she fell on him, breathless and spent, he kept her there with one hand open at the center of her back.
She was too tired to untangle herself without some sort of cooperation on his part and so, since he hadn't offered any, she had chose to rest on him. Bonnie had fell asleep two minutes after and Damon smiled, caressing her hair with his free hand, until he had reached out and grabbed his shirt from the ground to cover her up so she would not wake up from being cold.
She never trusted him with the simplest, harmless things, he thinks, and look at them now.
He's not so stupid to believe they are actually going to get anywhere with this, or that it will happen again, still, she trusted him with her first time, and she can sleep on him like she hasn't a worry in the world and he likes it.
He likes the way her heartbeat resound in his own ribcage, the way her skin feels pressed against his own and how her regular breath meets the hollow of his throat.
To think of it, they probably stained the carpet. Well, he doesn't care one bit.
He just wants to enjoy the feeling 'til it last. Which is more or less around seven in the morning, when Bonnie stirs against him and Damon must let go of her because she's pushing herself up, falling on his side. Their legs brushing together as she moves.
He zips his jeans and looks back at her.
Her lashes bat once, then twice and she stares at him, absorbing the fact that they really spent the night together, as the shirt falls from her back.
Damon doesn't say anything, just sits up and reaches for the shirt on the floor putting it back on her shoulders, as she covers herself with arms crossed on her chest. Bonnie watches him as he covers her carefully, and then helps her slipping her arms into it to wear it properly.
He closes the first button and another one that weakly hangs by its thread.
"Morning," he says, looking in her eyes.
She cannot hold his gaze for more than two seconds at the time, but the fact that she's not running away screaming is a good sign, he supposes.
When his cocky smile settles on his face Bonnie rolls her eyes.
"Morning," she says, trying to straighten up her spine. A whimper escapes her lips and she grimaces.
"Are you alright?" he asks, already guessing her answer.
"Yeah, I just feel so… sore," she admits with a scowl. If he's going to brag about his lover capabilities she will claw his eyes with her nails.
Her expression is so eloquent that he does his best to resist the impulse to tell her that it happens when you ride someone an inch from their life, you know, so he decides to be the good guy for five minutes since she's not totally awake and ready without her caffeine dose.
"I wonder why," he grins.
Bonnie shakes her head and look around her to find her clothes. The sweatshirt is a few steps away and she doesn't feel like walking at the moment.
"Isn't it too big for you?" he asks, referring to her Duke clothing. He really wants to know who the damn thing belongs to and why she would choose to sleep in it.
"Yeah, it's my father's. I like it, and he never uses it anyway," she says, grateful to have something to ignore the embarrassment of waking up naked on top of Damon Salvatore. The vampire that took her virginity with her blessing; and a few, very eager encouragements if she must really be painfully sincere.
She pushes her hair from her face, but still cannot hold his gaze for long, so she stands slowly to take her things from the floor and tells him, "I think I'll go take a shower."
He nods casually "Yeah," and gets up turning his back on her, pretending to be busy putting stuff back to their place; he knows she's not inviting him to join her, and he knows that if he jokes about it she'll clear things up right now and he'll end up regretting it, so it's kind of a bitter relief to hear her steps as she leaves the room.
Oh God, what did he get himself into?
#
Her hand travels from the right side of the mirror, covered in steam, to the left one. The movement leaves a clean band of space in which her eyes and her cheekbones are reflected back to her.
The last drop of water from the shower falls on the ceramic of the shower plate, behind the curtain half opened.
She wraps herself into a soft towel and turns to enter her bedroom. The window is ajar and the curtain flutters very lightly as a tepid breeze reaches the wet skin on her back and she shivers as she looks at herself in the full-figured mirror.
It's not because she feels cold, quite the opposite.
She looks at herself in the mirror, her grip tightens on the closed towel around her body and she remembers every part of her that's been touched by Damon that night. Bonnie thinks that maybe his hands, tracing her skin inch by inch, found some sort of switch and turned it on, because she feels so different, like her nerves are glowing.
The air is thicker, the colors are brighter, and she feels the earth through her viscera. Everything inside her is completely awake.
If she had her powers now, she's sure she would feel it pulsating through all of her. Sex and power have a much real connection when it comes to witches; she could never understand how that was possible 'til now, even if she's magic deprived for the moment.
She takes off the towel slowly letting it fall on the floor, half expecting to find new veins of black magic on her skin, but it looks exactly as it always did. Yet, she feels so very conscious of her body, of every curve. So female.
Bonnie inspects herself, looking for a sign of what she did the precious night, to not find any; she's almost disappointed that she cannot see Damon's fingertips on her hips, on her breast, anywhere he touched, but she shushes the thought.
They had one wonderful night, but nothing's changed between them. She wouldn't want it to, either, because there's only one direction their relationship would go if it moved from there: down the drain.
He can only love Elena; and she cannot love him. She better keep it in mind.
#
When Bonnie enters the kitchen Damon is cutting vegetables and has a dishtowel on his right shoulder. The whole room smells of fresh coffee and she takes her mug from the cabinet.
She waits for him to say something but he doesn't. He doesn't even look up at her until she starts playing with the mug in her hands.
The silence is unbearable. They are good at fighting, at screaming, at trying to kill each other. Yes, it comes out they are good at many other things that can still make her shiver if she lets herself think about it, but this is not the point.
The point is that this kind of silence is not comfortable, at all.
"So, about last night," she begins, as he keep on cutting. "Damon, listen-" she says, and he raises his head to look her straight in the eyes with a stark look in his.
"This is not the part where you come to me to tell me that it was a moment of weakness, it was an error, it didn't have to happen," his voice is a mocking imitation of the female tone, "right?" he asks, almost aggressively, "Because I believe you to be more original than that."
Bonnie gasps and blinks, thrown by his brusque ways, but doesn't falter, "That's not what I was about to say."
"Really?" he asks, and this time is voice is much gentler, "You don't think I took advantage of you, do you?"
He's been recalling the events of the previous night; her face talking about Jeremy and her loneliness, and how he wanted her so much that he was blind to anything else, and he doesn't know anything anymore.
He's always been the summary of everything she despised, and he fears that he'll be back soon at being only that.
Damon was never good at giving things up once he had them. Or even when he didn't.
"What?" she asks back, grimacing, "No, no, of course not! If I remember correctly how things went, I had many chances to stop you and I never did, did I?"
"I am that good after all. You were helpless against me from the start," he jokes, "it's not your fault."
Bonnie rolls her eyes, and sighs.
She had been so nervous about how they were going to face each other now; obviously, all the worrying had been useless, because nothing has changed.
"You don't regret it?" he asks, seriously this time.
She's startled by the question. Leave it to Damon to jump from one light moment to an earth-shattering question in the blink of an eye.
"I-"
She really doesn't know how to answer to this question but she needs to try if anything else because she thinks she owns him that much.
"Well, let's face it," Bonnie says, "You're not exactly the one I figured I would have lost my virginity to."
"That's because you don't aim high enough," Damon says with a cocky smile.
She needs to hold to all of her will power to not throw something in his face. Or smile to his terrible attitude.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," she says, "Anyway, I don't regret it," she admits, "It was… rather… good."
Now, if only the earth would open up and swallow her whole. God, can this situation get any worse?
"And even if we are not… in love," she says those two words with the same sentiment if she was actually talking about a fungal infection, "obviously," she adds; his mood is completely sobered by now - just to use an euphemism - as she keeps on talking, "I'm glad that it happened with someone I came to trust as a friend, you know."
It takes Damon a moment to be able to go back to his usual, cocky self. Well, of course Bonnie doesn't love him, it's not like he loves her either. And she trusts him, that's great, isn't it?
"It doesn't hurt either that your trusted friend is America's wet dream, really," he says, batting his lashes to her.
"Oh, God," she says looking up at the ceiling, "Why are you punishing me so?"
"Such a religious person, you're truly praiseworthy," he says, "I remember you calling out to God many times last night, too."
"Are you done?" Bonnie asks, trying to not let her irritation or her embarrassment show. She remembers way too well where Damon knelt, where his capable, irritating mouth was when she called out to God last night.
"I'm not even halfway in… my reminiscing time," he replies, using the same words he used during the previous night.
"Well, stop," she demands, felling her cheeks burn, "It wasn't that great anyway," she lies, walking to the fridge to take blood. Her movements to the fridge and back are slow, she feels tired, which is really nothing new lately. And she supposes it's to be expected after such a challenging night.
Bonnie pours blood in Damon's mug, as he protests, "Oh, please. I did a number on you."
"Far be it from me to burst your bubble," she answers, pouring coffee into her mug.
He looks at her like he's asking seriously?
"You know what?" he asks, "We can do it again and keep scores. I'll buy you a blackboard."
Damon can be so childish. She laughs, shaking her head, and looks away.
For the un-life of him, he cannot stop looking at her; maybe he got a concussion, maybe he's out of his freaking mind, maybe his ego is feeding on her beauty and makes him see things but, for a moment, she looks like she's been set alight from the inside. He would like to think that, and that he's the one responsible of it.
"You just want to do that because I did a number on you and you can't get enough of me!" she jokes back.
Luckily for him she's having too much fun fighting with him over nothing to notice that for a moment his eyes stopped smiling, because, what if she's right? What if he can never stop wanting her?
But that can't be, because he loves Elena. He'll always love Elena.
Right?