Sacred Geometry : chapter 11
Title: Sacred Geometry
Author: Sky Samuelle
Characters: Bonnie and Damon centric, but Katherine, Jeremy, Elena and Stefan will be nearly as heavily featured. This is probably as close to an ensemble fic as I'll never get.
Pairings: Bonnie/Damon, Stefan/Elena, Jeremy/Anna
Rating: Mature
Timeline: Post 1.22
Summary: Mystic Falls will be never be the same again after Founders Day. Not with Katherine and Jeremy allying to resurrect Anna and Pearl. Not with Stefan and Elena on the receiving end of Katherine's sick games. And Bonnie and Damon? Well, they are struck at the epicenter of everything. Currently on: Damon and Bonnie’s relationship keeps changing, whether Bonnie likes it or not.
CHAPTER 11
This was never supposed to happen again. Bonnie knows it just like she knows she should stop. Stop familiarizing with Damon, stop paying attention to those possessive, appreciative once-overs he’s been sending her since the night they had sex whenever Alaric, Stefan, or Elena aren’t around. Which was barely two days and half ago, actually.
She should stop remembering that too; stop having nightmares about the men she has killed, about what could have happened to her if she had not been able to protect herself. She should stop feeling like that night has irreversibly connected her to Damon.
She is not Elena: she doesn’t think all Damon needs is love, and she doesn’t particularly appreciate his tendency to place on whatever love interest he is chasing at the time the responsibility of deciding whom he is. She wants no part in the Salvatore-Pierce love square and she definitely doesn’t need to question Damon’s feelings where she is concerned.
Bonnie has seen Damon being both a protector and an evil fiend, and she finally understands that fierce loyalty and cold cruelty can come just as easily to him.
And that makes him all the more dangerously unpredictable, because most of time he chooses to be bad, selfish, and uncaring.
Hell, he kissed Elena (or the vampire who posed as Elena) less than one hour after Elena’s boyfriend - Damon’s own brother- saved him from being burned to a crisp.
He’s the type of person she should to be setting strict boundaries with. Boundaries to stop her from having sex with him again. The last thing she needs is to have sex with him again.
Which is why she should stop this. Push his cool, toned, bare-chested body off hers, crawl out of her bed, pick her discarded shirt and invite him to leave her bedroom.
It’s the right decision: to stop, stop before this truce they managed to build goes to waste. There’s a reason they argue so often and so easily. There are many good reasons actually, but she can’t go there, not now, even if her sensible, sane side reminds her that she should.
“Stop thinking,” Damon growls against her collarbone, demanding her full attention by fisting her hair and pulling hard at it.
It had started -again- while she stood in her kitchen, supervising him as he compelled her father to leave for some small town near Dublin, to stay there until he received a certain phone call from Damon, who was supposed to simply hum some ridiculous folk song. Her father was convinced he had won the trip at some drawing. The compulsion was complex - Sean Bennett being carefully persuaded not to ever question any part of the well-crafted illusion. It was a relief that Damon seemed to know what he was doing. The whole trip and getaway was organized by him…organized and paid for, which Bonnie hated. She hated being so dependent on another person in general and Damon in particular; hated not being able to provide for her family, both economically and magically. But what was she supposed to do?
Her father doesn’t have enough money to stay abroad for Gods-know-how-long and she can’t afford to refuse Damon’s offer.
“Take it as me making up for getting your grannie six feet under,” he had commented carelessly, when she had tried to protest, effectively putting end to their argument.
While Bonnie watched the car drive away with her dad inside, a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness washed over her. She felt fragile all of sudden, like going inside the now empty house was a despairing prospective. So she stood on the porch, arms crossed before her chest, staring at the driveway long after her father was gone. At least it felt like a long time, but it couldn’t have been very long, considering Damon’s impatient streak. He lingered behind her like a shadow, until she felt his lips dragging along her neck, exploring the curve of her neck while his hands settled on her hips and drew her toward him.
She should have sent him on his way then, instead of just pulling out of his arms and striding inside, allowing him to trail after her. Why had she not?
Sleeping with him once was a fluke of fortune, but twice is…
The painful pressure of fangs on her shoulder shakes Bonnie out of her thoughts. “Ow,” she cries out, her fist punching his back repeatedly while he licks the blood oozing from the superficial cut with an appreciative purr.
“I told you to stop thinking,” he has the gall to reprimand her, patronizing as ever. His knee slides between her legs, locking her in place.
“If His Majesty spoke…” she mocks him, rolling her eyes as routine dictates.
“You should pay attention to Him,” Damon drawls, almost lazily, in her ear, nipping the lobe lightly. His palms cup her bare stomach and her breast like he’s claiming ownership.
It’s not a mindset she should encourage. She has no intention of becoming his latest toy. She should not allow him to think that he can do or ask whatever of her just because there are secrets and small courtesies piling up between them.
But it’s hard to be reasonable when her fingers are entwining with his at each side of her head and his weight is pinning her down to the mattress, his mouth demanding access to hers. It feels comfortable, the way their bodies fit together, more familiar than it should.
Bonnie doesn’t feel alone or fragile now, just intensely aware of his taste, his scent, the strength in his quivering muscles. She feels him brushing against her entrance and knows it’s too late to stop anyway.
When Damon pushes inside her, the movement smooth and hard at once, it feels different than the first time. She feels nothing but a rush of pleasure at being stretched, filled at first. Then it comes again, the strangeness of his feelings mingling with hers. She senses his desire and his bloodlust slipping into her bloodstream plus some new feeling…a sense of entitlement, of self-satisfaction, of possession.
She resents the last one the most, and yet she arches under him, matching the pace he has set while holding on to his broad shoulders, her nails digging in harshly.
His thoughts thunder between her ears, and try as she might, there’s no gathering the focus to push them out.
‘My pretty, tight Little Witch. I love it when she tries to hold in all the sounds. Come on sweetie, I wanna hear you choke on them.’
Stay out of my head-Bonnie wants to scream, but she is afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she even tried to be articulate. Her hypersensitive body is a stranger to her right now.
Psychically, and emotionally, she is completely open and vulnerable to him. Damon might destroy her so easily, and that loss of control is both frightening and exhilarating in the extreme.
It’s also what gets her utterly undone. One moment she is sure she’s about to crawl out of her skin unless he stops torturing her and the next she is squeezing him hard between her thighs and dissolving into liquid fire.
-------
In the ‘after,’ exactly like the first time, she has no clue what she’s supposed to do with herself. On a list of activities Bonnie Bennett expected engaging in at some point of her life, casual sex wasn’t even contemplated.
She feels sore and extremely self-conscious, all the more since Damon appears perfectly at ease, naked beside her. Which makes sense since he might well be the most promiscuous person she has had the misfortune of meeting.
Her bed is small enough that their bodies are pretty much forced to press against each other, but the vampire makes no move to disentangle their legs and leave her side.
“Where’s your psycho cat anyway? I was half-expecting an attack on my family jewels, if you know what I mean.”
Bonnie doesn’t quite fight off the smile at her companion’s usual, casual crassness. “Finn is not really my cat; he’s more like a…frequently visiting guest. He goes away for days at times, and then he comes to check on me before leaving again.”
Almost like he’s watching over her on Grams’ account. It makes her sad, because she has a feeling that someday Finn will see her starting to get better, and he will not return to her door anymore. He has been itching for the wilderness since Grams has been gone, and all that keeps him still connected to the Bennett household is the old bindings of loyalty to his witch. Finn was Sheila’s familiar, and therefore the last living piece of her heart. Bonnie doesn’t want to lose that too, but there’s nothing she can do about it; familiars will never belong to anyone but the witch they chose.
“He’s not doing a good job then.” Damon’s voice is silky, insinuating, as his fingers spread over her hip and his teeth nip at the joint between her neck and shoulder. “Letting strange, old, dead men into your bed.”
“Do you ever talk of anything that is not connected to either sex or murder?”
She tries to push away his touch but it’s not practical, with the cramped space they have to share and he is nothing but persistent. Apparently, vampires have no concept of personal space whatsoever.
“Only when I can’t help it, honey,” he teases silkily, his lips brushing her ear. “But if you want to talk about where this relationship is going so badly, I can indulge you. Orgasms soften me up.”
Bonnie chuckles, shaking her head almost fondly. “You know your dirty jokes amuse only yourself, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t kidding. I was trying to not make you feel like a cheap pity fuck.”
He runs a hand along the curve of her back while he speaks, resting his palm too low for her liking. She repays his impertinence with her most brilliant fake smile. “Or maybe you are just suicidal and trying to push me to torch you alive.”
“I would prefer if you tried to kill me via utter exhaustion,” Damon whispers suggestively, slipping his hands lower yet to squeeze her ass.
Bonnie heaves an annoyed sigh, snatches his offending hand away from her flesh, clutching it as hard she can, hoping it hurts at least a little but knowing that it probably doesn’t, and sits upright.
“This,” she remarks, waving her index between them to indicate them both, “can’t and won’t happen again, Damon.”
“Are you sure?” the smirk that settles on his lips as he lounges back is lazy, derisive. “You and I are so stressed these days. And this, as you call it, was curing us so well. Why should we stop?”
His façade of detached arrogance is so well-perfected that his attitude would fool her easily, if not for those unwanted glimpses she gets about him while they have sex. Just one more reason to stop before they get in too deep.
The gaze she pins on him is hard, a definite no-nonsense memento.
“It’s not about that,” she reminds him with deliberate surety. “I feel so disengaged from everything lately, but not from you. Don’t even pretend you aren’t in the same place, because I wouldn’t believe it. This absurd situation has stuck us with each other, but it doesn’t mean we have go along with it and just…screw each other silly.”
His blue eyes lose a bit of their coolness to brighten up in unmasked appreciation. “I almost like you when you’re talking dirty.”
“I’m serious, Damon.”
“Aren’t you always?”
“We’re banning sex from this ‘association’ of ours right now.”
“If you want me to take you at face value, witch, you need to stop sounding like a dominatrix. It gets me in the mood.”
“Damon…”
Instead of softening, her features harden in a strict glower and although he finds the expression to be absolutely inviting of all sorts of convoluted, filthy images, he just rolls his eyes like he’s uninterested.
“Suit yourself,” the vampire snaps, thinking that he might as well take it as a challenge. He never wants something as much as when he is denied it, anyway.
Why should he let some annoying Emily descendant call all the shots?