Play pt. 2
"So we're back?"
"Yes, we're back,"
"For...inventory,"
Damon could already feel the urge to maim Stefan crawling throughout his body just from the patronizing tone his brother's voice took. The least he could do was play along and not ask any questions before he ended up with his ass inanimately slumped over the bar again.
It's not like he actually wanted him here. Stefan was but a veneer in the larger scheme of things; it was crucial for Damon to bring his brother along to keep up appearances, hide the fact that seeing the little witch in a new light stirred something inside of him that unfurled like steam from a teapot…
Bringing Stefan along was Damon trying to convince himself that last night hadn't bothered or affected him as much as it actually had; so what if he'd seen his bestie unbeknownst to her, giving one of the sexiest stripteases he'd seen before… probably ever? His life was already bizarre. Surely that couldn't be the stake to his heart.
Damon Salvatore had to come back to the club so he could do things the right way. His way. Yank Bonnie off of the stage like an intolerant child, kicking, screaming, and thrown over his shoulder if he must. As opposed to returning to his suite with a bunch of confusing, irrational thoughts and mental images he may or may not have replayed on a gorgeous, glittering loop in his mind. Sadly, from what he recalled of last night, the shower head wasn't the only thing spraying.
At his final death, his coffin would be nailed shut with flames lapping at the steel, but really, was that anything new? Was it even surprising anymore? He was an old vampire in a young man's body, accustomed to not playing by the rules. When any restriction dared to challenge him, his nature was to bulldoze it. And he'd done just that. Again.
After making his brother's perfect and pure soulmate fall for him and under him, it only made sense that his own bestie-the one that was her bestie first- would be the next ticket in line.
However, Bonnie had always made it hard for his mind to go too far, for his "what-ifs" never surpassed the facts. She was untouchable, out of the question, and even on the nights where the lines blurred a little on his side, Bonnie was there to wipe away the fog and darken it. If her shoulder strap fell, she was there to put it in place. If he got too close, her rolling eyes signaled annoyance. If his touch lingered for too long, there'd be a subject change to Elena.
Her resistance towards him was solid and white, unfeeling, insouciant, a hurdle he simply couldn't jump over.
But her, crystallized, looking like the physical embodiment of sin coiling around a strip of silver, kicked dust on the line in place, cracked the hurdle into yolk and white. Now, he had free reign to fantasize.
Just like with Elena, it started out as nasty little daydreams that grew harder to ignore under a piping hot stream of water with peace and quiet and privacy. Even then, he knew the situation was out of his rationale but he gave himself false hope as if he had it under control.
Elena said it would always be Stefan.
You'll never have a chance.
If he kept filling his head with those thoughts, the guilt about him picturing Elena with her legs spread open like a pair of wings floated up, up and away, no different from the condensation of his scalding shower, before vanishing into thin air.
Maybe that's why it was so easy to seduce his brother's girl. Hard to have remorse when it had all but evaporated.
Things weren't that easy when he thought about Bonnie.
His guilt was sitting on him just as hot and heavy as his desire, weighing him down, steaming his insides. Cooking him like leather in July. Even with his dick as stiff as an iron board, Damon thought to himself if only Bonnie could see me now, and his stomach developed a dropping feeling of- dare he think it- embarrassment.
He was never, ever, ever supposed to see Bonnie in that way, the little witch was the closest thing to what he imagined a sister would be, or maybe a step-sister because it was awfully improper to think something like that after doing that other thing that he did just last night. Hell, the whole ordeal was driving him to the brink of insanity since he was sounding so elementary in his own mind.
He could put it past him. He could throw it all away. As a matter of fact, it never even happened- no one had a spot of evidence that Bonnie made him feel so unbearably horny, he had to use his warm soapy hand for relief. He could've found a girl, any girl he wanted, but he thought if he punished himself with the promise of his own hand, maybe he'd snap out of it and realize how trivial he was acting.
Yeah, well, it didn't work.
He had some redemption with the anonymity from last night, though not much since Klaus revealed Bonnie's location and Stefan was his ride-along. But Damon was sure he'd have no trouble with Stefan keeping his mouth shut since even he was practically drooling during her performance.
They could both forget what their eyes witnessed, collect the witch and hit the road.
He hoped she had enough fun at Play because she'd never be seeing this place again, he'd make sure of it.
.
Bonnie was in the dressing room, rimming her eyes with kohl black liner before she heard Big Ed alert her that she had a private dance. It wasn't uncommon for her to get a healthy amount of requests on the days she backed down from centerstage. While she was damn good at what she did, Bonnie had no interest in making enemies out of the Play Veterans who could get possessive of the night life and their performances; she witnessed some of the vicious things certain women had done to maintain their notoriety amongst club goers.
She could understand it. She could almost respect it- under the spotlight, the energy was different, everything was brighter, beautiful, and all the fear or pain just melted away when the music started. Once the money hit the floor, it was heaven and after the applause, her ears still rang.
Bonnie had a reputation that was good, she was quiet, mostly kept to herself and was willing to share tricks, as many of her coworkers admired her style.
"Bon always comes in here looking like a supermodel. I love her aura, it's silently commanding. You don't see her coming until she hits you," Honey, a red-haired, freckled-faced beauty had skin reminiscent of her name: light brown and the epitome of smooth. Her hands reached out to frame Bonnie's chin as they both looked in the mirror. "I'd kill for cheekbones like these." She stated and smoothed Bonnie's long, damp hair away from her neck.
"Honey, always living up to your name as being the sweetest," Bonnie mumbled under her breath, "and absolute thickest, girl here." The two laughed, and Honey flaunted her Jessica Rabbit curves.
"Well, I don't mean to brag, but-" she stood in the center of the dressing room to give everyone an eyeful, "it's au-naturale, babyyy." Followed by an award-winning smile.
Collective giggles sprung forth before Bonnie grabbed Honey's wrist to ask her a favor.
"Can you," Bonnie lifted an eyebrow as a signal and twisted her pointer fingers around. It was code for asking Honey to examine the customer in the private room to determine whether or not she should accept the dance.
"Of course, Bon. You know I have your back." She smiled cheekily before dashing off.
Back with just her mirror and reflection, she ran a brush through her hair before deciding to go with the wet look. For her lips, she simply added a gloss then stepped into a nude mesh set. Her garment gave the illusion of complete undress, like something invisible was holding the drapes of an expensive cloth to barely cover her top and bottom.
"You look like a Venusian painting," one girl complimented in awe.
Bonnie blushed and humbly thanked her.
Not too long after, Honey excitedly returned. "Girl! Please just go to your private dance and thank me later. He looks like a hard mix of angel and demon, but the demon side won… and Bon, I mean that in the best way possible."
Bonnie hummed in evaluation. Honey held pretty high standards so she knew she could trust her approval.
"I wonder if he has a brother," Bonnie heard her mutter before she made her way, albeit anxiously, to the room.
.
"What are you doing here?!"
Just when she grew so comfortable.
Just when she established some sort of leverage to live for herself creatively, no rules. In a town where she felt protected and loved, admired, and desired. She could set boundaries, be in control. Never in New Orleans did she have to save herself or someone else. She could just be. In the morning, when the sun rose, she was still Bonnie Bennett, no bleeding nose or over exhausted powers. Here in Louisiana, she felt a freedom that she owed herself a long, long time ago and all of that had just changed in one night. It had been busted open like a piñata by a vampire-shaped bat.
There was a monologue she was biting down her throat, one about Damon and Elena, Mystic Falls, and Stefan. Caroline. She had practiced it a few times in her room, watching herself in the mirror but she never could finish it without breaking down in tears. The first line was, I'm tired, and she was, of everything. Of everyone.
She could see her new life behind her, Damon stuffing her in the back of the Camaro, Honey waving her away with fondness in her eyes.
I'm tired of the pats on my back for persisting.
She'd be but a fever dream, nothing more than a beautiful mark of glitter in the memories of her coworkers. Big Ed would smile brightly at the next lost girl trying to erase her sick, sad existence. She would sit in Bon Bon's old spot almost as if she never left and Bonnie's very own fear of being forgotten, or worse, replaced would unfold like a lotus flower.
I'm tired of the pats on my back for persisting when my soul was shattering in front of you. Did you know? Did you care?
Her size seven transparent stiletto heels would be filled, and she'd be back on the sidelines of what was supposed to be the most glorious years of her life.
I was an afterthought to all of you, I gave you all my life and kept the pieces that were small enough to fall between my fingers. Silly me.
The bite of tears made her green eyes swampy. Though she was a pro at holding back, an unreleased tear wet the crease of her eye.
Do you care?
No, no, no, this wasn't what she expected let alone needed right now. Bonnie should've known that anyone described as more demon than angel had to ring alarm bells. Clad in actually nothing, she wished for the first time since she started working at Play that there was a towel she could wrap around her frame, or better yet a towel she could throw over her head and disappear like a magic trick. How foolish of her to think he wouldn't hunt her down? It's not like he ever listened.
Bonnie's heart had damn near tripled in speed as Damon sat quite comfortably, sprawled on the leather couch in the secluded space. His eyes drifted up her frame like ice slipping, sliding, gliding and melting into her flesh. Her eyes widened as she fought off a shiver.
"Don't be scared, Bon Bon. I'm just here for a lap dance." Damon said mockingly, gesturing her towards him with his fingers. "Come to papa," he smiled.
"Ugh, please don't make me gag."
His eyes narrowed like tiny stones of blue quartz. "I could. And you'd love it."
An expression formed on his face that she was unfamiliar to- surprise at himself for letting that come out of his mouth, perhaps. Bonnie could definitely admit that that sort of commentary from Damon was a touch more brash than his usual innuendos, but sadly she wasn't complaining.
Her body reacted before she could reel it all in, and there her arousal entered the room to hang out for a bit.
Damon's brow lifted.
It was just all very unexpected since she truly thought she'd found an escape and she hadn't seen Damon in a while which meant her usual defense against him wasn't up as high. She was panicking! And despite being a sex symbol virtually every night, the other side of her bed was still empty. So yeah, maybe she was a little… tightly wound. Sexually frustrated. Thirsty… whatever.
And Damon was looking at her like that. Like he had promises to fulfill, it was poking at her in both the wrong and right ways.
"Who are you and what have you done with my Bon Bon?" Damon asked, leaving his seat to encircle her like a shark contemplating which ligament to tear into first. "It's almost as if you want me to be bad." He smirked, walking up to her until her back bumped into the wall.
"Damon," her tone held apprehension, the tip of his nose was at her collar bone when he inhaled deeply. He placed his thigh in between hers as leverage so they were eye to eye.
"Hmm?" He looked up at her then, soft lashes brushing against her cheek. "Yes?"
She gulped.
She couldn't remember exactly how she used to be in his presence. That feeling of besting Damon, when she used to outwit him. Make him remember that she was the one woman on Earth that actually didn't fall for his flimsy charms. Maybe if she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, she could rekindle the flame of annoyance that used to burn so brightly.
Once he stopped breathing up her air and invading her space, maybe her right mind would activate again. She wouldn't hold her breath for it.
Bonnie could kick herself.
Performing for men was different. She was a fantasy, a pretty little dream they held in their minds to help them sleep easier. Bonnie was nothing more than a cloud, looking so soft and beautiful and pliable but if they couldn't touch her- was she even real?
And here Damon was, grounding her, making her feel as solid as she did when she left; her feet hadn't remembered soil until now, mud caked up to her ankles. She was flesh and bones and this was reality where someone like Damon would never let someone like her get too far away.
"Hope you had your fun, 'cuz playtime is over, Bon Bon."