An Armistice Of Sorts, Bonnie/Damon, M
Title: An Armistice Of Sorts
Author: Sky Samuelle
Rating: M for sexual situations
Ship: Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore
Author’s note: Written for a tvdanon prompt. kink of choice: semipublic sex against the wall. Thank you to awesome Monique for revising it.
Summary: AU. Damon and Bonnie are strangers in a bar that have bee eying one another all night…
---
He has watched her whole the night, insistently so, from his ‘usual’ spot at the bar - since she came in, all bright and smiling with her group of silly, loud friends.
He usually loves his co-eds loose, forward and flirty so he can’t quite explain why he can’t take his eyes off from this one. Who hides something somber behind those olive-green, cat-like eyes and wears nothing very revealing.
Idly, he wonders if all those years he has spent chasing the mirage of Katherine -that malicious, lying, treacherous whore!- before accidentally coming face to face with her in Dallas, 1984, finally turned him off sluts and into nuns.
He decides the thought doesn’t completely displease him as the girl - Bonnie, he heard her friends calling her shoots yet another bashful glance in his directions while nervously tapping her fingers against her empty glass. Fifteen minutes since last one of her friends abandoned the table, and sweet little Bonnie still has not figured out what doing with his blatant staring.
Her sudden bout of shyness amuses him -she certainly didn’t look all that intimidated until she was in company - and, maybe, it even arouses him a bit. She stayed behind for him, after all, so he thinks he can choose generosity and take her out of her misery.
He strolls to her table, confident smirk in place, blue eyes shining as he takes his measure of her. She is more beautiful, close up, and that wide, lovely mouth thins a little when he makes himself comfortable in her booth, stretching his arm behind her shoulders. She is petite and smells like citrus and honey as he leans in, invading her personal space. He likes that. It fills his head with all sorts of fantasies where he drives his hand between her legs and just watches as her eyes glaze over and her mouth hangs open and her cheeks flush in pleasure.
“Hello - he introduces himself with a shark-like grin, before she can voice any insincere objection to his presence- I am Damon and I am going to buy you a drink.”
He might compel her right away, make it easy and simple, but he is not sure he wants easy and simple tonight. He is not thinking about feeding, for once. He might to want kiss every inch of that mocha skin without going in, fangs first.
But her expressions shifts, from uncertain to disappointed to hard, and her body slinks away.
“You are a vampire?” she grits out , like she can’t quite believe it yet but she resents her luck more than anything.
Damon grins wider, but a bit more falsely. “Let me guess, you are a witch.”
--
One heated discussion and a few aneurysms after, they are in the back alley behind the Mystic Grill and she is not complaining while he pushes her up against the dirty, cold wall.
“I’m going to fry your brain if those fangs come out.” She warns, probably not as stern as she had hoped to sound.
“Suit yourself.” He nods, mildly condescending as he pulls her skirt up and drives a knee between her thighs.
Damon is not quite sure of how they got here, but he is certainly not complaining. There was something moving between them at that table, between a threat and an insult. Call it lust, chemistry, heat … but he might swear he saw himself reflected in her for a moment or two, and he liked that, more than he liked anything in a long time. Strange as it is, he is nearly certain she felt that same.
“So -he smirks, malice-less, running his cool palms on the soft, bare skin of her legs and luxuriating in the feeling of her warmth- this is a truce?”
“More like an armistice.”
She breathes against his lips, a moment before pressing them hesitantly against his. He responds eagerly, brushing his tongue against the close of her lips, and then Bonnie is opening her mouth to his, like a hungry and needful thing that is trembling in his arms.
It’s strange, how he finds himself brushing her hair away from her cheeks, how his body presses against hers, almost cradling it, in a way, and he suddenly she doesn’t feel like a stranger at all.
Her tongue moves against his, and Damon feels greedy for more of her taste, of her scent, of the feeling of her breasts crushed against chest as she shudders again with a soft moan.
“Bonnie. ” he tries out her name, tastes the weight of every letter as his lips linger on her jaw, but she doesn’t ask how he knows, even if she never told him.
She is too busy gasping loudly in the cold air of the night, maybe in shock at the feeling of a hand kneading her soft, round ass so roughly. He can read the caution, the want, the anger warring and melding together, written in every tense line of her limbs. Her arms fasten around his neck and her legs wrap unsteady around his waist.
Damon smirks, his nose gliding up and down the sweet curve between her neck and shoulder, breathes her in once more before he rips off -none too gently- her cotton panties, exposing the moist flesh of her cunt to the night’s caress.
And to his searching, eager fingers.
The reluctant surrender that erupts across her features while he parts her folds slowly and thumbs her wet, hot hole is everything he fantasized and more. Her swollen lips part, her cheeks warm, and the cry that crawls from deep within her throat is an endearing mew - the face of his little witch is a portrait of delicious decadence.
He kisses her again, avidly, and forces two fingers deeper inside her weeping pussy. Her inner walls wrap around his flesh like she is born for it, and he can’t help imagining it’s his dick she is tightening around.
He imagines how it would feel - just as empowering, but sweeter, more sinful, more gratifying, more … just more. He wants it now and her relentless grinding on his groin is definitely not helping.
Bonnie moans in a way that makes his toes to curl and his suddenly painful erection grounds against her center, insistently, until her little hands start fumbling with his belt and finally free his cock.
Damon feels almost petty when he removes his fingers, wiping on her ass the juices he can’t taste, because he’s hoisting the witch up, positioning himself between her parted thighs and enjoying a bit too much the impatient sound she has just made .
“Fuck… Damon, I-”
It almost startles him, the sound of his name coming from her, broken by her voice into something that is both a curse and a blessing.
His hips buck instinctively and in one vigorous stroke he is inside, buried to the hilt into her damp, hot, tight haven.
He rests his forehead against hers, enjoying the sensation, trying to contain the burning in his gums so he won’t give in the impulse to sink his fangs deep into her beautiful throat.
He would really hate to kill this one, assuming that she did not manage to torch him alive first. She looks like she has excellent reflexes and … well, the danger kinda turns him on even more.
Which is probably why his cock twitches and starts thrusting hard and fast, harder and faster, like it has a will of its own.
He refuses to go easy on her only because she is nearly human and Bonnie sure as hell is not asking him to. Quite the contrary, given the string of obscenities she is mouthing off into his ear.
And then the witch is biting him, clamping her mouth around his shoulder and squeezing with her human teeth - the sting of it goes straight to his lower regions, spurring him to go deeper, more harshly.
His last coherent thought before he loses himself is that he could use more truces like this one.
Author: Sky Samuelle
Rating: M for sexual situations
Ship: Bonnie Bennett/Damon Salvatore
Author’s note: Written for a tvdanon prompt. kink of choice: semipublic sex against the wall. Thank you to awesome Monique for revising it.
Summary: AU. Damon and Bonnie are strangers in a bar that have bee eying one another all night…
---
He has watched her whole the night, insistently so, from his ‘usual’ spot at the bar - since she came in, all bright and smiling with her group of silly, loud friends.
He usually loves his co-eds loose, forward and flirty so he can’t quite explain why he can’t take his eyes off from this one. Who hides something somber behind those olive-green, cat-like eyes and wears nothing very revealing.
Idly, he wonders if all those years he has spent chasing the mirage of Katherine -that malicious, lying, treacherous whore!- before accidentally coming face to face with her in Dallas, 1984, finally turned him off sluts and into nuns.
He decides the thought doesn’t completely displease him as the girl - Bonnie, he heard her friends calling her shoots yet another bashful glance in his directions while nervously tapping her fingers against her empty glass. Fifteen minutes since last one of her friends abandoned the table, and sweet little Bonnie still has not figured out what doing with his blatant staring.
Her sudden bout of shyness amuses him -she certainly didn’t look all that intimidated until she was in company - and, maybe, it even arouses him a bit. She stayed behind for him, after all, so he thinks he can choose generosity and take her out of her misery.
He strolls to her table, confident smirk in place, blue eyes shining as he takes his measure of her. She is more beautiful, close up, and that wide, lovely mouth thins a little when he makes himself comfortable in her booth, stretching his arm behind her shoulders. She is petite and smells like citrus and honey as he leans in, invading her personal space. He likes that. It fills his head with all sorts of fantasies where he drives his hand between her legs and just watches as her eyes glaze over and her mouth hangs open and her cheeks flush in pleasure.
“Hello - he introduces himself with a shark-like grin, before she can voice any insincere objection to his presence- I am Damon and I am going to buy you a drink.”
He might compel her right away, make it easy and simple, but he is not sure he wants easy and simple tonight. He is not thinking about feeding, for once. He might to want kiss every inch of that mocha skin without going in, fangs first.
But her expressions shifts, from uncertain to disappointed to hard, and her body slinks away.
“You are a vampire?” she grits out , like she can’t quite believe it yet but she resents her luck more than anything.
Damon grins wider, but a bit more falsely. “Let me guess, you are a witch.”
--
One heated discussion and a few aneurysms after, they are in the back alley behind the Mystic Grill and she is not complaining while he pushes her up against the dirty, cold wall.
“I’m going to fry your brain if those fangs come out.” She warns, probably not as stern as she had hoped to sound.
“Suit yourself.” He nods, mildly condescending as he pulls her skirt up and drives a knee between her thighs.
Damon is not quite sure of how they got here, but he is certainly not complaining. There was something moving between them at that table, between a threat and an insult. Call it lust, chemistry, heat … but he might swear he saw himself reflected in her for a moment or two, and he liked that, more than he liked anything in a long time. Strange as it is, he is nearly certain she felt that same.
“So -he smirks, malice-less, running his cool palms on the soft, bare skin of her legs and luxuriating in the feeling of her warmth- this is a truce?”
“More like an armistice.”
She breathes against his lips, a moment before pressing them hesitantly against his. He responds eagerly, brushing his tongue against the close of her lips, and then Bonnie is opening her mouth to his, like a hungry and needful thing that is trembling in his arms.
It’s strange, how he finds himself brushing her hair away from her cheeks, how his body presses against hers, almost cradling it, in a way, and he suddenly she doesn’t feel like a stranger at all.
Her tongue moves against his, and Damon feels greedy for more of her taste, of her scent, of the feeling of her breasts crushed against chest as she shudders again with a soft moan.
“Bonnie. ” he tries out her name, tastes the weight of every letter as his lips linger on her jaw, but she doesn’t ask how he knows, even if she never told him.
She is too busy gasping loudly in the cold air of the night, maybe in shock at the feeling of a hand kneading her soft, round ass so roughly. He can read the caution, the want, the anger warring and melding together, written in every tense line of her limbs. Her arms fasten around his neck and her legs wrap unsteady around his waist.
Damon smirks, his nose gliding up and down the sweet curve between her neck and shoulder, breathes her in once more before he rips off -none too gently- her cotton panties, exposing the moist flesh of her cunt to the night’s caress.
And to his searching, eager fingers.
The reluctant surrender that erupts across her features while he parts her folds slowly and thumbs her wet, hot hole is everything he fantasized and more. Her swollen lips part, her cheeks warm, and the cry that crawls from deep within her throat is an endearing mew - the face of his little witch is a portrait of delicious decadence.
He kisses her again, avidly, and forces two fingers deeper inside her weeping pussy. Her inner walls wrap around his flesh like she is born for it, and he can’t help imagining it’s his dick she is tightening around.
He imagines how it would feel - just as empowering, but sweeter, more sinful, more gratifying, more … just more. He wants it now and her relentless grinding on his groin is definitely not helping.
Bonnie moans in a way that makes his toes to curl and his suddenly painful erection grounds against her center, insistently, until her little hands start fumbling with his belt and finally free his cock.
Damon feels almost petty when he removes his fingers, wiping on her ass the juices he can’t taste, because he’s hoisting the witch up, positioning himself between her parted thighs and enjoying a bit too much the impatient sound she has just made .
“Fuck… Damon, I-”
It almost startles him, the sound of his name coming from her, broken by her voice into something that is both a curse and a blessing.
His hips buck instinctively and in one vigorous stroke he is inside, buried to the hilt into her damp, hot, tight haven.
He rests his forehead against hers, enjoying the sensation, trying to contain the burning in his gums so he won’t give in the impulse to sink his fangs deep into her beautiful throat.
He would really hate to kill this one, assuming that she did not manage to torch him alive first. She looks like she has excellent reflexes and … well, the danger kinda turns him on even more.
Which is probably why his cock twitches and starts thrusting hard and fast, harder and faster, like it has a will of its own.
He refuses to go easy on her only because she is nearly human and Bonnie sure as hell is not asking him to. Quite the contrary, given the string of obscenities she is mouthing off into his ear.
And then the witch is biting him, clamping her mouth around his shoulder and squeezing with her human teeth - the sting of it goes straight to his lower regions, spurring him to go deeper, more harshly.
His last coherent thought before he loses himself is that he could use more truces like this one.