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"You offered your blood to Stefan. I never thought I would have seen the day… " the lazy drawl that drifts out from the shadows as Bonnie closes Stefan's door behind her back is laced with poison.
The witch turns around slowly, not at all surprised to find Damon Salvatore looking at her with contempt from the other side of the hallway.
"He's seriously hurt," she reminds him softly, knowing she needs to tread carefully around him now. Elena is inside the room holding her boyfriend's hand while he drifts in and out consciousness, and Damon has been back to the sadistic, violent, volatile version of himself ever since Elena chose Stefan again a few months before. These days, motivating the older Salvatore to snap necks is as easy as pushing Caroline into a shopping spree, and with a certain young couple nearby, exchanging soulful glances and whispered reassurances …
Bonnie considers the entire situation ridiculous, because it's absurd that Damon, in nearly two centuries, has found no other way to deal with rejection than hating his brother and going psycho on her town.
"He's a martyr," the vampire spits sarcastically and shrugs, his cold eyes crinkling in humorless amusement.
He follows her as she descends the stairs, and she tries not to be nervous over it.
"He's your brother, and he needs you. With those new water-demons in town, he's bitten off more than he can chew."
"You say that like you think I care if he dies. Let me assure you I don't. Elena is welcome to cry all over his grave and I'll laugh in her face while she does. She has made the choice, hasn't she? I have no reason to play nice anymore."
Bonnie stops, turning back and toward him despite herself. Even if her good sense is telling her to close this conversation as soon as she can, something deep inside her rebels at the idea of swallowing all of Damon's resentful bullshit.
"You won't hate him forever, Damon," she reminds him, her tone stern and impatient whilst she steps back from the sudden physical proximity with her enemy. She has never understood Damon's preference for speaking straight into her face.
"You wanna bet?"
"Mystic Falls is your town too. Helping us will keep it safe for you to live in, too," the witch insists more heatedly.
Damon shakes off her argument with one of those smug, uncaring smirks she hates so much. "Honey, the chances of me playing hero with your little desperate group of amateur vigilantes is as good as you offering me your lovely throat for an evening drink."
Bonnie tilts her head aside and regards him oddly, green eyes clouding in suspicion.
"Is that a proposition?"
Damon blinks repeatedly, taken aback for a moment. "Would you take it?"
The witch stares back at him unwaveringly, face expressionless as she swallows hard. He shifts his weight from a foot to the other anticipating the instant she will back out of it.
"Yes," she says instead, and Damon has never known he wanted this so much until he knew this was an actual possibility. The idea of running his canines along her skin alone does things to his mind that he never thought possible.
"Then," he repeats, still a bit incredulous, "we have a deal."
Short of five minutes later they are in the mansion's study, and she is stiff and unflinching in front of him. She nearly jumps out of her skin as his hand closes around her forearm and pulls her closer, a bit too roughly. When he sweeps her beautiful black hair away from the vulnerable curve of her neck, the witch is shivering and biting on the inside of her cheek, obviously scared despite her determination to not be.
"It won't hurt if you relax," he remarks, more gently than he means, feeling a bit in awe of what he is about to do and yet finding her fear more than a little downgrading.
"Easy for you to say," Bonnie snaps, sounding shaken, not bitter like he would have expected. "It's not like you ripped off my throat before."
"I didn't even see you that time. This will be very different. I'm going to be gentle."
The way his lips move around the word 'gentle' makes it sound at least twelve different brands of dirty and Bonnie finds her nerves wreaking with something else than fear .
A cool mouth brushes her cheek, lingering almost tenderly over her heating skin before tracing the contours of her jaw repeatedly. His lips stay closed but she can feel them quivering against her flesh during their quest. His hands are on the small of her back, grasping without any coercing force, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as she gets used to this entirely new kind of contact.
It's not until her heartbeat slows down imperceptibly that Damon's lips transform those soft brushings into ghost kisses that follow the arch of her neck with a worshipful insistence, but by then Bonnie is not thinking anymore, too caught in the strange, languorous, pleasant feeling that is spreading from her skin to every other part of her.
"Oh," she grasps, low and breathless as sharp fangs suddenly nip at the base of her throat, playful. There's no fear here and now, only a very intense awareness of everywhere their bodies are touching, and of how his larger frame is absorbing her bodily warmth.
His nose presses hard against her pulse-point and she notices Damon is trembling too, breathing her scent in and out. She melts against him without wanting to, and she doesn't mutter one word of protest when he fists her hair and tugs her head back, not quite roughly but none too gently neither.
She knows she should be protesting when his tongue runs slowly from her collarbone to the tip of her chin, because, frankly, this is not what she signed up for…. But she doesn't care.
Right or wrong, unnatural or normal, she doesn't want this to stop. It feels too damn amazing.
And in typical Damon fashion, as soon as Bonnie has realized that, he has pushed her into an armchair and forced an offensive amount of distance between their bodies.
"What?" the witch questions, frustrated.
Damon's ink black eyes roam all over her while the vampire licks his lips slowly, but he doesn't come any closer or make any move to finish what he has started.
He explains himself – and with a disturbingly chipper tone- only when the veins around his eyes are no longer engorged and his irises are back to a brilliant blue.
"Just testing your resolve. I promised I would have helped if you offered a vein, I never said I would have accepted."
And Bonnie would be incensed, if his argument made any sense at all, even in a Damon-sorts-of-logic.
As a matter of fact, she sees red for a full eight seconds before the stupidity of his reply catches up with her.
Witch blood is powerful and Damon never turns away any human blood anyway, so what the hell is his problem?
The truth is that Damon is chickening out of it, and the panic is written all over every excessively stiff feature of his arrogantly handsome visage.
"Seriously?"
"Believe me little witch, I'm very satisfied as it is."
The impish grin he throws at her while he does what Elena used to call 'his eye thing' would pass for endearing if he didn't immediately ruin it with a lewd, "You know how delectable you smell when you're turned on?"
Blushing up to the roots of her hair doesn't hinder Bonnie from giving the stupid pervert a painful aneurism.