rating: nc-17/explicit
warning(s): coarse language; explicit sexual situations
word count: 10,382
note: there's a lot of smut in here. this was supposed to be a short smutty piece and then i kept writing and it turned into a much bigger story with more substsance. but, there's still a ton of smut, so be forewarned, i guess...

i

It's not really cheating, he tells her. They're dead. Trapped in a world they might never leave. It can't be cheating if there's no chance of them getting out. And, really, considering it was always them who came through with the last-minute plans, who was going to bring them back?

They were fighting a minute ago. Weren't they? Bickering and snapping at each other over nothing and everything. Her chest heaves from anger and frustration. Her skin feels too tight, her clothes too loose. Her insides are tied up in knots, leaving her edgy and needy. Not a feeling she likes having, not here, not with only him to keep her company. His eyes are too bright, his hair tousled from running his fingers through it, his shirt barely buttoned, and his jeans hang off his hips in a tragically attractive way. She's not supposed to feel this way about him. But, he's standing there, an ode to sin, and she feels want pool in her stomach.

Bonnie stares at his mouth just a beat too long, and she wants to blame him for it. Easier him than her. They've been walking on egg shells for too long, pretending they're fine and normal and nothing is different. But, something is. It pushes and pulls, drawing them together. Like a string is tied to her navel, dragging her forward by her hips, until she falls into his rotation. A part of her says stop, turn back before it's too late, but another part tells her not to. That this is exactly where she needs to be. He is what she needs.

The slow drag of his tongue over his lips makes her toes curl.

"Fuck it," he mutters. And then the table is digging into her back and his front is pressed to her, all of him is stretched out against her. His mouth hovers just short of hers, enough that she can feel his breath panting against her lips. And she shouldn't- she shouldn't. But she tips her chin up, like she's being stubborn and egging him on. Telling him in not so many words to go ahead, if he think he can. She's not sure Damon's ever turned down a challenge, and she doesn't want him to start now.

His fingers scrape through her hair and squeeze the nape of her neck, and everything freezes. A moment for sanity to bleed through? It passes.

His kiss is hard and rough; it almost hurts. Lips and teeth meet hers in a bruising fashion that she gives right back to him, twofold. His free hand pulls at the collar of her shirt until the fabric bends and strains and tears. Her shirt peels open, and her bra falls apart soon after. His shirt feel rough rubbing against her bare skin as she arches up into him, meeting each searching slant of his mouth.

Everything picks up after that. She's not expecting gentle and slow. She's not even sure she wants that. She just needs this feeling, this ache, to go away. And he makes that happen.

They shuffle clothes down and out of the way, but not completely off. Her shorts are on the floor and her underwear is torn open but still hanging from her waist. He lifts her up by her hips and drops her on the edge of the table. She pushes his jeans off, letting them fall to his knees before she's got him in her hands, squeezing just a little too tight, her fingers working over the length of him, thumb swiping at the head of his cock. His mouth drags down her chest and his teeth scrape the top of her breast before he's sliding a hand between her thighs and teasing her open. She spreads her legs apart and pulls him forward; the grips he has on his hips would be bruising on anyone else. He chuckles, dipping a finger inside her, and she bites her lip on a groan. She's a lot wetter than she thought she was, and she wonders, briefly, if maybe their fighting was a strange dance, a foreplay of sorts, and her body knew what was coming. Could anticipate where things were headed even as her mind rebels.

This is Damon.

Elena's Damon.

Only he doesn't feel like Elena's, not when he's pressed so deep inside her that he feels like an extension of her. Not when he's panting against her neck, his fingers digging into her skin, pulling her closer, holding her tighter. Not when her name tumbles from his lips like a well-loved prayer.

The table rocks and creaks under them, but it doesn't break. She's half-sure they've scuffed the floor, and it almost makes her laugh. Because later, she thinks she'll probably bury this whole thing in the back of her mind and refuse to remember it. But, then she'll come down for breakfast one day, see the floor, and know that some things just can't be forgotten.

His teeth scrape over her chin as she comes, and she can feel him watching her, but she closes her own. She won't lie and say she's thinking of someone else. She wasn't thinking of Jeremy as Damon's fingers rubbed her clit or his mouth left a trail of biting kisses down her neck. She wasn't thinking of how Jeremy felt or how gentle he was with her while Damon's mouth folds around her nipple and his arm wraps around her waist, pulling her in tight as he grinds his hips against her. She's not even sure she remembers her own name, let alone Jeremy's. Maybe it would be easier to excuse, to understand, if she could pretend it was someone else standing between her legs, but she doesn't. She can't.

It's been a little over six weeks since she officially died. Is this hell or heaven? If you'd asked her yesterday, she would've said hell, but then Damon fucks her so good she sees stars, and she's really not sure anymore.

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When it's over, she lays back on the table, her body buzzing, her legs dangling over the edge, and throws an arm across her too warm face.

Damon's hands are planted on either side of her hips as he tries to catch his breath. And then he pats one against her hip. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving..."

She knows what this is. The 'let's not talk about what just happened' moment. She has a choice. Face what she's done, what they've done, or ignore it. In a different time, a different world, she would face it. She would own up to what she's done and face the consequences.

Clearing her throat, she says, "Not pancakes."

"You wound me," he jokes.

She can hear shuffling as he pulls his jeans back on, and then whistling as he makes his way around the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink. "What about spaghetti? We got everything we need here... I can make a mean pasta sauce."

Sitting up, she pushes herself off the table and grimaces as her legs shake under her. "Fine. But, I'm making a salad."

"You gonna force feed me my leafy greens here, Bon-Bon?" He raises an eyebrow, but he looks calmer. Lighter. And for the first time in a while, she feels like they're on the same page.

"If I have to."

He grins. "Salad it is."

He says nothing as she grabs up all her clothes and leaves the kitchen, making her way upstairs to shower and change. Standing under the hot spray of the shower, she almost wishes she felt guilty. That shame would swarm her like a blanket and remind her that this isn't her. This isn't who she is or what she wants and she should hate herself for it. That Elena's face might conjure itself in her mind, bringing with it tears and absolute mortification.

That doesn't happen.

Maybe it's a coping mechanism, that reminder that she's dead and may never be alive again. She still has hope for the opposite. That one day, somehow, they'll get out of here. She still believes that Grams created a way out for her. When she'll find that way out, she doesn't know. What she does know is that feeling lost and lonely is doing her no favors. Maybe sex isn't the best way of dealing with things, but it works. For now, at least.

When she gets back to the kitchen, Damon's changed, too. His clothes are still a little loose; only two buttons keep his shirt closed and his jeans perpetually hang off his hips. She tells herself it's just an objective observation, but is glad when he points to the chopping board, bowl, and freshly washed vegetables waiting for her, it gives her something to focus on. She doesn't complain when he puts on 80's rock music and sings, loud and out of tune. She might even tap her foot along to the beat. For a moment, it feels domestic. Like they're something more than frenemies caught in their own version of hell. And it's not the worst.

He's right. He does make a great pasta sauce. They eat in the living room, in front of the fire, and he trades his usual bourbon in for a nice bottle of wine. They talk about the past, their childhoods, the good parts anyway, and it feels like a breakthrough. Like some barrier that's been keeping them apart has melted away. She's not sure if it was the sex or the intimacy or just a lack of tension, but whatever it is, it helps. She tells herself it won't happen again, but he tops off her glass and she stares at where his shirt is open, revealing smooth skin, and she wants to push him back against the couch, slide into his lap, and sink her teeth into him. Shaking it off, she takes a long drag of her wine, and tells herself there isn't a glint in his eye that says he'd like that, too.

It's a one time thing.

It won't happen again.

She's a terrible liar.

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.

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It does happen again.

It happens a lot.

She's not sure who initiates it the next time, or the time after that. Maybe it's a mutual thing. Maybe they meet in the middle, orbiting each other until there's nothing to do but crash together.

What she does know is that she doesn't hate it. She wants it and she likes it and she looks forward to the next time. Because there's always a next time.

It might be the only good thing about hell.

(Is it hell?)

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It's early morning. She can just feel the sun filtering in through the window, climbing the bed, warming her legs, and crawling up her stomach.

Damon's got her pressed down against the bed, her underwear dangling off one ankle, her knee hitched over his shoulder as he eats her out. Bonnie can honestly say she has never had a more eager mouth make her come. In part, because Jeremy had never done this. He'd used his fingers on her and they'd had sex before, but for as much as she'd dropped to her knees for him, he'd never done it for her. Damon seems to be trying to make up for those lost opportunities; he's made something of a habit of burying his mouth against her. She wakes up to it most mornings these days. His mouth teasing over her stomach as her bleary eyes open and find him already spreading her thighs, staring up at her with that 'can I?' look on his face that she's grown a whole new appreciation for. It takes one sharp nod and her teeth digging into her lip before he grins, eyes dark with lust, and drags his tongue from one end of her slit to the other. He likes to take his time. For all that she's called Damon impatient in the past, there are certain things that he will always linger on.

His hands wander up and down her thighs, rubbing and squeezing and parting. He keeps her open with his shoulders and presses his palm down on her stomach when she starts jerking against him, needing more pressure and less teasing. He's setting the pace here; it's both the best and worst. Bonnie loves control. It's her bread and butter. But, there are moments where she doesn't mind giving it up. Where she wants to let go and trust that, whatever happens, she'll be okay. These are those moments. As long as she's here, with Damon, as long as they're doing this, it all ends with bliss. There are no Big Bads; no death-defying magical demands; no innocent or not-so-innocent lives dangling over her head. It's just her and Damon and an unrelenting source of pleasure.

He tongues her through the first climax and right into a second one. Her vision whites out and her breath catches. She draws her knees up as he just keeps going. He only stops when she starts to pull away; after two orgasms, she's sensitive enough that it starts to hurt and she needs a break. He climbs up her body, pressing wet kisses to her hips and her stomach and her ribs, circling his tongue around each breast in a shrinking spiral until he reaches each nipple. Kisses climb a straight line up her chest, along the column of her neck up to her chin, and then he's hovering right over her mouth. His lips are still damp, puffy, and flushed red.

He keeps his eyes open as his mouth slants over hers, his tongue and teeth parting and plucking at her lips. He keeps his eyes open a lot. She wonders if he's trying to remind himself of who she is. If he ever forgets. If he ever wishes he could close his eyes and see, hear, feel, taste, have someone else.

Bonnie closes her eyes, wraps her arms around his neck, and drowns out the answers she doesn't want to know.

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.

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"You're cheating." Bonnie glares at him over the Monopoly board. "See, this is why you're not allowed to be banker anymore."

"Can you prove I was cheating?"

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head. "Damon, there's only two of us playing. Who am I trying to prove it to? What imaginary jury is going to convict you?"

He shrugs. "I'm just saying, if you don't have proof, you shouldn't be throwing accusations around."

Her teeth grind together. "And your ego shouldn't be so fragile that you can't lose a game of Monopoly!"

"I wouldn't know because I never lose." His brows hike. "I'm starting to think you're the sore loser here, Bon."

Sighing, loud and exasperated, she throws the car piece at his forehead and stands. "I'm not talking to you until you learn how to play properly." She leaves him sitting in the kitchen with his stolen money.

"For someone who talks so much my ears hurt, you sure seem to think silence is a threat," he calls after her.

She snorts.

He lasts an hour before he starts following her around, peppering her with questions and random facts to get a reaction out of her. When she simply takes a book to the couch and blocks him out, he rolls himself over the couch to land on top of her, climbs up until his head is on her shoulder, and starts reading her book out loud.

"You're such a jerk," she tells him.

He grins. "You wanna play Scrabble?"

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It's not really cheating, he tells her as he bends her over the kitchen counter, his fingers thrusting in and out of her from behind. It's all a mix of too much and not enough at this point. She spreads her legs wider and lets her mouth fall open in a silent cry. She can feel her thighs grow wetter and would, at any other time, with any other person, feel a flush of embarrassment at how much this does it for her. How completely, overwhelmingly, into this she is. But, she doesn't. Instead, she relishes in how freeing it is to not feel an ounce of shame in how thoroughly he makes her body come alive.

His mouth wanders across her shoulder and up her neck, stopping just behind her ear. He scrapes his teeth against her skin but never draws blood. It's tempting to ask him to. To drop her head to the side and whimper, "please." To feel his teeth penetrate her neck just like his fingers have filled her pussy. Two, moving so quickly and so deeply that she arches her hips back, tears biting at her eyes. She lets out a whoosh of breath that's mostly his name. He sinks another hand down her front and presses the edge of his palm against her clit, rubbing it in hard, rough circles. Her voice catches and her whole body goes stiff. And then, warmth, everywhere. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Heat and pleasure spread through her like a thousand little lightbulbs turning on. She goes limp after that, all too aware of how the counter digs into her stomach now. His fingers leave her, dragging up and down her thigh gently.

He presses against her; the denim of his jeans rough against her bare skin. She can feel the hard curve of his erection tucked against her ass and moves without much thought, rubbing against him as she draws in deep breaths, trying to get her legs to stop shaking and her heart to slow down. He catches her hips, his fingers folding around her sides, and squeezes. She's not sure if it's encouragement or not, but she keeps moving, like a cat in heat. Maybe that's what she is. They've been stuck here for what feels like forever but is really only three months. They'd started this... whatever this is... six weeks ago. The funny thing is, Bonnie can't remember ever being this insatiable. It wasn't that she didn't want or like sex. But there was always so much going on that she hardly ever had time to enjoy it. Or, more accurately, to explore it enough to enjoy it. She got hurried, frenzied hook ups with Jeremy where a part of her was constantly waiting for the next threat. Their mutual fumbling was endearing at the time, just a part of the life they lived. He was a good guy, sweet and caring, but also young. More experienced than her, yeah, but still young. At some point, Bonnie's stopped feeling like such a novice and started to feel like she could and should want more. She's not sure when she realized Damon could give her that.

When her legs don't feel like they'll give out on her as soon as she stands on them properly, she pushes off the counter and gets her feet under her. He's still so close that there's hardly enough room to move. She's about to turn around, to face him, when his hand wraps around her throat. It's not a warning or a threat. It's also not tight or particularly scary, like it might've been a year or two ago. His fingers spread and he pulls until her back is pressed flat against his front, molded to him. And then his fingers slide down her chest, gently skimming her skin, until they curl under a breast, thumb flicking around one nipple. He holds her there, just like that, and it's a strange sort of intimacy. Her shirt is tossed somewhere else, her underwear and skirt are puddled together on the floor, and she stands completely naked, while he is still entirely dressed. His hand arches up and pushes down, palm laid flat between her breasts, rising and falling with each breath she takes. And then his other hand slides down to lay half on her shoulder and half on her bicep while his face nuzzles against the curve of her neck.

She can see them reflected in the window, a stark contrast to one another. Her brown skin to his white, her nudity to his seeming modesty, her body standing upright and open while his seems to curve around every part of hers. They look like a piece of art. A beautiful, fragile, dichotomy of human intimacy trapped in time. She almost can't look at it. At how perfect—wrong—right—open—inevitable it all seems. So, she doesn't. She drops her gaze and she tips herself forward, turning around in the small space between them. She stares at his chest as she opens the button of his jeans and slides the zipper down. Her thumbs rub against his hips as she hooks her fingers in his boxer-briefs and pushes the denim apart. She falls to her knees and takes everything down with her, her hands skimming back up his thighs slowly. One coils around his shaft while the other wanders up his stomach, clenching and releasing under her fingers. She drags her tongue over the head of his cock and raises her eyes to meet his.

She wonders at how easy it is for him to look at her, to see her, here at his feet, naked and wanting, when his heart must ache for someone who looks nothing like her. She drops her gaze down and takes him into her mouth. A part of her wants to wipe his mind clear of anything other than this, of her, so she does just that. And when his fingers bury in her hair and his head falls back as he comes, it's her name he groans.

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"What do you miss most?"

She wants to take back the words as soon as they leave her mouth. Because she knows the answer and it isn't one she wants to hear. With Elena comes guilt and regret and sorrow, and she's not sure she can handle that right now. Or maybe she just doesn't want to. Is that selfish? Probably. She can't find it in herself to care. The days and weeks drag on and the only reprieve from any of it is him. Maybe Elena will forgive her this one thing. After all, there was a time when Elena was tempted by him, too. A time when Stefan was supposed to be everything to her and yet she still let herself be pulled in by Damon. Bonnie had never understood that. Couldn't rectify it with her idea of love and loyalty. But now, here she is, sprawled out on a bed of pillows, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the fire dance, warmed more by his body pressed so close to hers than the fire itself.

"My brother," he tells her.

She doesn't say it's a lie, even if she's thinking it. It's not like Stefan is the wrong answer. She knows that Damon misses him. She just doesn't think he's the first answer. Maybe he's trying to bury it, too. That connection they both have to a woman who isn't there, but still divides and connects them in equal measure. Or maybe he knows that saying it will build a wall between them they can't climb over and, right now, they can't afford that.

"His judgy, grumpy, brooding face."

Bonnie smiles slowly. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

"Of course he does. What would he do without me?" He sounds more bitter than lighthearted, and she turns her head to look at him. His brow is furrowed and his mouth folds into a frown.

"He loves you, Damon. He begged me to bring you back. He cried when he realized I couldn't..." She reaches for him, her fingers sliding over his palm. "You don't have the best history..."

"Understatement," he snorts.

"But, he's always cared. Even when you tried your hardest to push him away. He's always loved you."

His hand folds around hers and squeezes. "What about you? Who do you miss?"

She turns her eyes up to the ceiling once more. She misses a lot of things and a lot of people. The person she misses most in the world isn't back home at all. "Grams."

He hums, his thumb stroking along the length of hers. "You still think she sent us here for a reason?"

"I do." She nods. "I don't know why or how or what it is we're supposed to do. But, I do think she had a plan." For months, Bonnie's been trying to get her magic to kick in and nothing has worked. She can't even light a candle, let alone find a way to send them home. But, she still has hope. It might be all she has. Hope and him.

He taps her thumb and nods. "She'd be proud of you."

"For what? Dying again?" Her chest hurts when she thinks about her Grams for too long. About what she wanted and what she got instead. Of what she expected of Bonnie, who she expected her to become, and how she never gets to see it happen.

He shakes his head. "You're a lot more than what you give up, Bon."

She's not sure what he means, or if she's ready to know. So, she doesn't ask. "What's the first thing you'll do when you get back?"

"Burn that Bodyguard DVD."

Bonnie clucks her tongue. "Liar. You love that movie."

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Bonnie tells herself it's not cheating as she climbs into his bed, stripping the flannel shirt off herself, having given up on wearing bras for the remainder of their time in hell. He always sleeps naked, which is something she can objectively appreciate at a time like this. She's needy and she can't sleep and her mind will not shut up. She needs it to stop. Needs to stop feeling lonely in this world that's too quiet and too empty. All she has is him, which is ridiculous. What kind of luck is that? That of all the people she could've been stuck with, it had to be him. It doesn't seem fair. It's completely unfair, in fact. And yet...

He kicks the blanket off before she's even reached the bed. He knows this routine. They've gotten good at it. If it isn't him coming to her, it's her coming to him. What was once the odd hook up, unexpectedly getting wrapped around each other in a moment of sheer need, has become a daily occurrence, and she can't find it in herself to despair over that. Instead, she relishes in how easy, how right, it feels to climb into his bed, seat herself on his stomach, and bury her face at his neck. She rocks her hips back and forth, rubbing her pussy down against his stomach, and can feel him hardening behind her. She presses licking, biting kisses down his neck and across his chest, her hands skimming across his shoulders and sliding down his arms. She finds his fingers and tangles them with her own, drawing them up, high above his head, and pinning them there. He smiles at her. He can break free anytime he wants. While she doesn't have her magic anymore, he is just as strong as ever, a vampire with no real restrictions. But he likes it, when she acts like she has some hold over him, that she can keep him right where she wants him. She likes it, too. Even if it's just a fantasy.

Maybe that's what all of this is. Just one long, elaborate, incredibly detailed fantasy. Maybe her hell is knowing that she only lasted 46 days before she slept with her best friend's boyfriend. A man she'd frequently claimed to hate. A man who had gone out of his way to make her life miserable. A man who epitomized so much of what she despised about her life and the supernatural. Forty-six days and she didn't even put up a token resistance. She just spread her legs and invited his hands and his tongue to do as they pleased.

And even now, reaching between her own thighs to grip his cock and hold it steady as she slides down, she can't muster up a complaint. She can't tell herself that she hates him—who he is and what he represents. She can only let herself sink down in search of fulfilment. What does that make her? She can't be the Bonnie of before. That Bonnie had a strict set of rules that she lived by. She had morals and values that would never let her do this. Never let her want this. Never let her enjoy this. But, that Bonnie was dead. And naïve. The new Bonnie, this Bonnie, doesn't want to think about choices or consequences or the teary-eyed accusations Elena will inevitably shoot in her direction.

(How could you?)

Bonnie closes her eyes and shakes her head. She doesn't want to hear it or think about it. She doesn't want to consider a future where she goes home and she has to face someone she loved like a sister and admit that she'd slept with the 'love of her life.' That it wasn't just a one-time thing or a spur of the moment mistake. It was more than that. It was days and weeks of exploring each other. It was hours spent in beds and atop every available surface. It was losing track of time as she was pressed against the glass wall of the shower, letting the steaming hot water run cold as they got caught up.

He watches her ride him through her first climax and then turns them over, her legs hitched high on his hips as he pins her to the bed, their hands bound together again, arched atop her head. Only he isn't pressing her hands down against the bed to keep her from moving. Their fingers are threaded together and her hair gets tangled around them, lashing her wrists and his forearms as the entire bed rocks under them. His grip on her is loose, lazy, and soft. He stretches his fingers out against her own, lets the tips skirt over her knuckles and the back of her hands. He kisses her cheek and her forehead and her nose, the corners of her eyes and the curve of her lips and the hill of her chin. He kisses everywhere but her lips, hovering there, his breath warm and close. And when he grinds himself against her and she can feel that edge coming up fast, her eyes start to close, until his nose brushes against hers, and his mouth is so close that she can feel it brush her own as he says, "No." Her eyes open and meet his and they've never been so clear and blue and intense as when she falls apart and he follows.

One day, if she ever gets out of here, she's going to have to tell Elena that no, it wasn't one time. No, it wasn't a mistake. No, it didn't mean nothing. No, she can't forget it. No, she doesn't hate him. No, no, no.

Damon is heavy against her, their skin over-warm and slick with sweat. He drops his forehead to her shoulder and just breathes for a while. Their hands untangle and she runs her fingers through his hair. And then he's pressing a kiss to the center of her chest and rolling himself over to lay next to her.

It's a couple minutes before she gets up and uses the bathroom, cleaning herself up and trying not to stare at herself in the mirror, her hair in disarray and her skin peppered with all the marks he always leaves. He's not far behind her, cleaning up before he pauses at the sink, standing just behind her, his hands braced on the counter, bracketing her hips. He doesn't say anything. A feat for him, really. But, he doesn't snark at her after they do this. He never has. And she thinks that's his one concession. His rarely seen sympathetic side that doesn't make her feel worse about this. Instead, he presses a kiss to the top of her head and leaves the bathroom, climbing back into bed. He leaves the blanket up on one side in invitation. She should go back to her room; her feet take her to him instead. She falls asleep quickly and doesn't ask herself why it's so much easier when he's right there, curved around her body, his breath warm against the nape of her neck.

Because it makes no sense really, that somehow, after everything that's happened, he's her safe place.

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Bonnie knows they're not alone. She knows that someone or something is there with them. It's a recent feeling. Between the crossword, the carousel, and Damon's car, she's absolutely sure that she isn't seeing things. Damon doesn't believe her. And she gets it, she does. Too much has happened, too much has been lost, and as time keeps ticking away, they're all the more aware of it. With every day that passes, she can feel a little more of him giving up, and she hates it. Hates that there is no way to change it or fix it. There are days that she can cope. Days where the games and talking and watching The Bodyguard over and over again are more fun than downright depressing. And then there are other days that she just wants to cry. She misses the sound of other people. She misses her friends. She misses a world she knew better than the empty, vacant, mausoleum she's trapped in. But, having Damon tell her there's no point in hoping they might get out only hurts.

"Which means we're alone in hell with no Grams' escape hatch..." His chest heaves and his face falls grim as he stares listlessly at the parking lot around them. "We're never getting out."

Bonnie stares up at him from narrowed eyes. "Give me your ring," she says and holds a hand out.

He glances at her hand. "What?"

She grabs his wrist, but he folds his fingers into his palm and tries to pull it free.

"Give me your ring." She grits her teeth and presses a hand flat against his stomach. "All I've heard you say is that you have no hope, that we're never getting out, that we're stuck here in hell!" She leans up, shouting in his face, frustrated and angry. "So, if it's so bad, why don't you just end it? Huh? If you want to be done so badly-"

Damon pulls her hand off him and holds her back, grimacing.

"Hope is the only thing I've got left, Damon." She yanks her arm free of him. "If you're done, then be done, because this isn't helping." She turns on her heel to walk away, pain lancing across her chest and tears sparking in her eyes. She wishes she could say he was the only one who's starting to give up, but she can feel it creeping in. That exhausting surrender that she hates to her very bones. Bonnie is tired. Tired of being the only one that hopes and fights and lets herself believe that somehow, despite everything, they can get through this. Just once, she wishes someone would help carry the burden.

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She leaves sometimes. It's a thing. Sometimes he gets extra annoying just for the sake of being annoying. And sometimes she needs to cry where he can't hear her. She's stayed away for days a time in the past. This time, she doesn't get far before she goes back. In part because she feels a little bad that she essentially told him to kill himself. He's entitled to his feelings, even if he always falls on the depressed, hopeless end of the scale.

Bonnie expects to find him in the liquor aisle of the supermarket, so she isn't surprised when she does. What she doesn't expect is for him to be on the ground, surrounded by shattered bottles, his skin burning up from vervain, a stranger standing over him, ready to stake him through the back with an umbrella.

"Stay away from him," she demands.

The homicidal stranger looks up and meets her eyes. "The useless one is here... Thank God." He lowers the umbrella to his side. "I've watched you try to do magic for months now. What are you gonna do, fail at me? It's embarrassing... I'm embarrassed for you."

Bonnie can feel her heart beating too hard in her chest. She glances at Damon, and his face clears. His skin heals and his eyes soften, and for a moment she thinks he's forgiving her in something as simple as a look. It feels like a goodbye she's not ready to make. Bonnie's fingers fold into her palms, her knuckles burn as she clenches her hands into fists. No, she decides. This is not how this ends. This is not how she loses him.

There's a shift inside her then. Something distant climbs up from an unreachable depth, a link being remade, a slow burn that starts at her heart and spreads out through the rest of her body. The tips of her fingers tingle and she draws a deep breath.

The stranger raises the umbrella once more. Bonnie turns her head and spots a candle. She stares at the wick and watches a flame flicker up. Triumph bursts inside her and a grin turns her mouth up as she looks back.

"Uh-oh," the stranger mutters.

Bonnie looks to Damon, a knowing grin pulling at his mouth. "Run," she tells him.

For once in his life, he listens. He's out from harm's way in a flash, and then it's just her and the attempted murderer. "Phasmatos... incendia." The alcohol spread across the floor at the stranger's feet lights up, fire flickering all around him, penning him in.

"Okay... Okay, okay..." He tosses the umbrella aside and raises his hands in surrender.

"Giving up so soon...?" Her brows hike as her lips curl in amusement. "I'm embarrassed for you."

Damon appears behind him and bashes him over the head, sending him flying a few feet over to crash into a lawn display. To Bonnie, he says, "This might be a good time to tell you that you were right... Turns out, we aren't alone."

Crossing her arms, she tips her head and stares at him. "That's all you have to say?"

"Thank you for saving my life...?"

It's a question more than a statement, and Bonnie rolls her eyes.

"You're ridiculous." She turns on her heel to make her way outside, throwing a hand back to douse the flames as she goes.

"Love you, too," he sings after her jokingly.

She smothers a smile.

.

.

.

As it turns out, the stranger's name is Kai, and he has a way to get home. Namely, her.

"We're on the same team," he tells them.

"Really?" Bonnie snorts. "Do you always try and kill your teammates?"

"The important thing is that you have your magic back. It worked."

Damon and Bonnie exchange a look, unconvinced. Damon taps his shoulder with a fire poker and Bonnie seriously considers letting him use it on their guest.

"What, you... you didn't really think I'd kill Damon, did you?" Kai chuckles. "In what universe does that make sense? Who would kill one-third of our population? I'm not a monster. I knew Bonnie would show up. She always comes back. All thirteen times... And I knew with the right motivation she'd be able to access her magic. Although, I did get a little worried there close to the end, between the bickering and the sex, you send some mixed signals. But, I guess that's just how you two show your love..."

Bonnie scoffs. "So, you did all that just to make sure I would have my magic?"

"Of course I did." Kai smirks at them. "Because your magic is the key to getting the hell out of here."

.

.

.

They leave Kai in the den and move to the kitchen. The door has hardly swung shut for Damon's telling her, "He's lying."

"We don't know that."

"We can't trust him."

"Why not?"

"He tried to kill me!"

"A lot of people have tried to kill you and we've teamed up with them in the past." She tosses a hand up. "Hell, I've tried to kill you."

"Passively letting me die in a fire isn't exactly the same as attempted murder," he mutters dismissively.

"Setting you on fire is."

"Okay, all right, never mind. The point is that little psychopath would say anything to keep from being killed."

"So, what, we're just not going to investigate this? Damon, this could be our way home..." She stares at him searchingly. "To our friends, to—to life, to..." She doesn't say Elena, even though she's thinking it. They don't talk about her. Not after what they've done. It just feels like salt on the wound. Instead, she walks to him, and reaches for his hand, drawing it between both of hers and rubbing her thumbs across his knuckles. "A couple hours ago, you were ready to give up. What if this is the escape hatch, huh? What if he knows what Grams' plan was?"

"If he does, then why hasn't he used it?"

"Maybe he can't." She shrugs. "He said that my magic was the key, maybe he needed a Bennett."

"Which is even more suspect." His mouth purses and his eyes narrow as he glares at nothing in particular. "Whatever this place is, before we got here, he was left alone for who knows how long. Which means someone sent him here. Probably someone Grams-shaped. And she doesn't send people off to oblivion for a nice vacation, which means he's a bad guy. Ipso facto, not trustworthy."

Bonnie takes deep breath and lets it out on a sigh. "I'm not saying you're wrong. But, I am saying we at least need to hear him out."

"So, he can lie to us some more?"

"Look, if there's even a grain of truth in what he's saying, we could go home... That doesn't mean we have to take him with us."

Damon stares at her a beat, and then grins. "Bonnie Bennett, I'm rubbing off on you, aren't I?" He reaches for her and cups her face, thumb tapping against her chin. "Look at you, going dark side. I love it."

Rolling her eyes, she sighs at him, exasperated. "Focus!"

"Oh, I am." He looks giddy now, wiggling his eyebrows. "How do you wanna do this? Personally, I still wanna use the poker..."

"Or we could just ask him. Clearly, he wants out, too. If we let him think that's a possibility, he might tell us how to do it."

"Oh, Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie... So naïve."

Shoving at his chest, she turns and makes her way back to the den, where Kai is still strapped to a chair in front of the fireplace. "Explain."

After that, Kai is frustratingly annoying and deceptive, but eventually, it breaks down to needing an ascendant, an eclipse, Bonnie's magic, and a little blood. All of which they have, which means that going home is that much closer.

.

.

.

With Kai there and playing games, Bonnie expects it to upset the status quo. He's an outlier, something they can't account for and certainly can't trust. Not to mention, he knows things about them. Personal things. Like he's just been there, watching it all unfold, playing viewer to their lives like they're his favorite TV show. It rubs her wrong. And that's not even taking into account the fact that her skin crawls when he gets too close. There's something about him. Something missing or off or wrong about him. She just can't put her finger on it...

And then she sees the newspaper.

A family massacred in Oregon, and the only survivor is a missing son: Malachi Parker.

"Who names their kid Malachi? It's like they wanted me to be evil."

He admits to it with the kind of blasé honesty that makes her stomach twist and her heart lurch. There's no humanity there. No grief or sorrow or regret. He's a sociopath, and this was supposed to be his prison.

.

.

.

Kai walks away, further into the woods, using the ascendant to measure where, exactly, they should be in order for this all to work. Bonnie drags Damon back across the lawn and stares at him. "We can't do this."

"Can't do what? You said it yourself, we don't need to bring him with us." His hands find her shoulders and squeeze. "He shows us where to go and how to do this, we leave him behind. Easy as pie."

Bonnie purses her lips. He makes it sound so easy, like the only other person stuck in this world didn't just admit that he'd violently killed his own family. Now that she was aware of what he did, of why he was sent to this place, she can't help but feel like the hope of just a few hours ago is quickly dwindling. She knows her Grams. If she sent Kai to this place without any way to get home, that means she didn't want him to get out. What is she supposed to do with that information?

"What if it doesn't work like that? What if he doesn't tell us how to do it unless he's guaranteed a way out?"

"Hey, you're overreacting..." He stares at her searchingly. "This might be our only way out. Are we going to throw that away for him?"

She stares up at him, conflicted.

And then a whistle breaks through the tension. "Hey, lovebirds, are we having a little tiff? Don't tell me it's over me. I'd hate to get between you two guys..."

Bonnie presses her lips together. "No. We're fine..." She pulls away from Damon and starts for the house. "Just fine."

.

.

.

She's not fine.

In the last two days, she's gotten her powers back, nearly lost Damon, and found out his would-be killer, their only way home, is a psychopathic magic-stealing serial killer. Whatever hope she had feels like it's riding a roller coaster, up and down and all around, and she's not quite sure where it's going to stop.

Damon finds her in his bathtub, hugging a bottle of vintage wine to her chest.

"That stuff's usually better chilled..." He takes a seat on the edge of the tub as he dangles his fingers in the steaming water.

She looks up at him, her eyes puffy and wet. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Then let me." He stares at her, intense and serious. "We let him get close, let him think he's with us, and at the last minute, I'll take him out myself."

She sinks a little deeper in the water, letting it slosh over her shoulders. "What if he figures it out?"

"Then I kill him back home. Either way, he dies." He purses his lips and trails his fingers over her knee as it crests the water. "I won't let him hurt you, Bon."

"It's not just me I'm worried about. If he can take my power and use it, I'm not the only one he can hurt. There's you and everyone back home. I—"

"Trust me." He drags his fingers down the slop of her damp, soapy leg. "I'll do everything I can to keep that from happening."

Bonnie stares at him a beat, and then nods. She tips her wine back and takes a long guzzle before she holds it out for him.

His mouth hitches up and he takes it, knocking back a swig of his own before he puts it aside, noticeably out of her reach. "You feeling any better?"

She shrugs.

After the sunset, Kai had picked up on her reticence to be around him and cornered her in the kitchen. He'd made it clear that if they thought they were leaving him behind, they were wrong. He could drain her powers any time he felt like it, and it wouldn't cost him much effort.

"It hurt," she whispers. "Like something inside me was tearing..." A little piece of her magic felt like it was gone, never to be found again, and she hates it.

Damon slides off the edge of the tub to kneel next to it. He reaches for her, pushing a loose tendril of hair off her cheek and behind her ear. "By this time tomorrow, we'll be home."

His words are meant to be soothing and, in a way, they are. She does want to go home. She's just not sure what happens after that.

He presses a kiss to her forehead and stands. "I'm gonna make dinner. You wanna eat it up here or downstairs?"

"I'll come down," she decides.

She wants to stay up here and hide in the comfort of Damon's bedroom. But, she doesn't want Kai to know she's hiding. She doesn't want him to know that a very real part of her is scared of him. So instead, she plans to show him he can't intimidate her. He can't break her.

As if Damon knows, he nods, and winks at her. He also takes the wine with him as he leaves.

By this time tomorrow, she'll be home, and everything will be different.

Bonnie regrets giving him the wine.

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.

.

Bonnie wants out. She wants so desperately to be in a world with people and noise. At the same time, another part of her, an insecure little voice whispering at the back of her head, reminds her that 'life' was not always all it was cracked up to be. Her reputation back home was that of the sacrificial martyr, waiting for the next apocalypse to demand her life in exchange for everyone else's. She's not sure she has it in her to do that again. She's not sure she would've survived this one without Damon, who she'll have to watch run back into Elena's arms, leaving her in the dust. And Bonnie knows—she knows she knows she knows—that falling for him was never an option. Never a choice. Because he can't fall back. Not for her. And this, all of this, was just a way to get through it. A way to feel connected to the only other person they had.

She's still thinking these things as she lays in her bed, staring at the ceiling. And then the door is open and she knows it's Damon. She can feel it. That presence he has. He walks deeper into the room, letting the door fall closed behind him, and crawls across the bed. She has questions. So many questions. But, like always, the answers won't be what she wants them to be, so she swallows them down. He reaches for her, dragging the blanket and sheet down and out of the way, and then he's fingering the end of her tank top, drawing it up her body, inch by inch. He traces concentric circles across her stomach and teases his fingertips over the ticklish spot on her ribs. He shifts her shirt higher and higher, until it's off, and he can toss it away.

She's seen him play the piano before; long, tapered fingers moving over ivory keys with the kind of gentle reverence she wouldn't expect from him. But, he's like that. He traces the hollows and curves of her body like they're new and familiar at the same time. He circles her nipples until they pebble almost painfully, drawing wider circles around her breasts, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He traces the tips of all four of his fingers, back and forth, along the lines of her collar bones. He walks them up her neck, pausing over her quick-beating pulse, and higher still, until they teeter on her chin. And then they're skimming along the edge of her mouth. It tickles, and a shiver spins down her body.

Is this goodbye?

One last time, before it's all gone. Before they have to go back to who they were and pretend none of this happened. Maybe she doesn't tell Elena that she had Damon, even for a little while. She had all of him in a way she never knew she could; never knew she wanted. Maybe they keep this secret for the rest of their lives. Draw it up from time to time in the peaceful place of their minds, where there's no judgment, only a quiet reminiscence that leaves them a little sad. Maybe she stands at their wedding and watches him pledge himself to her best friend and that hollow ache behind her heart grows just a little, but she doesn't say anything. Just lets it be. And maybe twenty, thirty, sixty years from now, he'll look at her and say, 'We had fun, didn't we, Bon?' And she'll smile and say, 'Yeah, we did.'

Bonnie turns onto her side and reaches for him, pulling at the bottom of his shirt as she meets his eyes. He undresses slowly, and she strips her underwear off, throwing them in the vague direction of her top. They take their time coming together. She wants to remember all of this. Every inch of the body she doesn't think she'll see again. She wants to remember the scar on his shoulder that he got when he was a little boy. The hills of his arms and his stomach and his face. The hollows of his neck and the shape of his knees. The dip of his hips and the lines leading down to the length of his cock. She wants to remember the sounds he makes and which places her touch makes his breath catch. She wants to remember the look in his eyes as he watches her, the sound of her name on his lips, drunk on bliss. She wants to remember what his fingers feel like, slotted between her own, palm to palm. What his mouth tastes like, teeth and tongue joining the fray. She wants to remember the way her whole body lights up, every inch of her warm and floating, pleasure stealing away thought and air alike.

It's late, after four in the morning, when it ends. When she comes for the last time, seated in his lap, arms wrapped around him, his mouth pressed to the top of her breast as he pants. His hands pressed to her back, fingers dug in against her skin. She runs her hands over his hair, down his neck, and across his shoulders. In a few hours, she'll be dressed, whatever she's feeling right now locked away deep in her heart. But, for this moment, naked in every way she can be, she lets herself want for something she can never keep.

.

.

.

When she's laying on the cave floor, wearing a hole in her gut like it's the latest fashion, she wants to laugh. She really does. Just when it seems like maybe, somehow, life might be throwing her a bone, a sociopath gets thrown in the mix. It's just her luck that killing him with a pick-axe doesn't stick and he comes back with a vengeance.

Crawling around the dirt and twig covered ground, she stretches an arm out and grabs the ascendant.

Damon is fighting against Kai, pressed backwards over a jagged rock. "Bonnie," he grunts, "get... out... of here..."

Tears swim in her eyes and she smiles, sad and knowing. "I'm not gonna make it..." Determination fills her. "But you are." She throws a hand out "Modus!"

Kai is torn from Damon and thrown away, rolling to a rough stop.

Meanwhile, Damon is forcibly drawn toward the light beaming down through the opening in the cave ceiling. He catches the ascendant as its thrown to him, the gears moving and shifting as the light hits it. "No." He looks up, startled, his eyes wide. "No!"

And then he's gone and she's left behind. Again. Her face falls and the tears drip down her cheek. Her whole body gives up, slumping to the floor. She's glad in a way. He's out and he's free. That's all that matters, right? It seems even in the prison world, she's still a sacrificial martyr. She was never good at learning her lesson.

.

.

.

What follows is a terror-filled game of 'keep away.'

Bonnie escapes Kai's clutches, broken ascendant in hand, and makes her way to the hospital to try and fix the wound in her stomach. In a mostly empty world with a life-threatening injury, it isn't hard for Kai to find her. She puts up a good fight, in her opinion. It's a little hard to focus on putting him out of commission when her stomach is on fire and every inch of her body feels battered and tired. But, she tries. It even seems like she's winning at times. And then she's in Damon's car and Kai's hand is around her throat as he tells her there's no way out of this. She's going to take them back and that's all there is to it.

Except, he's wrong. She puts her powers in Miss Cuddles and sends her teddy bear away, far out of reach. She's done a lot of things in her life, things she's not always proud of, but keeping Kai in prison isn't one of them. She only regrets that it means she's stuck there, too.

But then, when has life ever been easy on her?

Trick question. It never has.

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.

.

One might think that would be enough, but Kai shoves her into the trunk of the car and drives out to Oregon. It's strange and creepy to be in his childhood home, plagued with the shadows of a family that was destroyed under his calculating hand.

In pain and still dizzy on car fumes, Bonnie's not sure what she's supposed to be getting out of his trip down memory lane. But then she has a knife in her gut. A knife his sister had once hidden her own magic in, which means Kai has his sister's powers, an ascendant with her blood on it, and a very real way home.

Meanwhile, Bonnie has a whole lot of regret, a knife wound, and an even emptier prison world to greet her when she wakes up.

She passes out in a pool of her own blood and hopes Grams can forgive her.

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.

.

Bonnie takes comfort in her memories. They're about all she has left. She patches herself up as best as she can and makes her way back to Virginia, slow and sluggish. Eventually, she'll gather herself together and start looking for another way home. But, for a little while, all she does is drink and sink. Depression is a welcome friend. One she knows all too well. She spends days curled up on the couch, drowning in her misery, going over every decision she made and second guessing it all. Wallowing isn't particularly helpful, but she thinks she might deserve a moment to mourn her hope.

The house is especially quiet without Damon there to help fill it with his noise and his music and his terrible dancing. That only makes it harder. She sleeps in his bed and wears his clothes and wishes she didn't feel so pathetic for it. He was probably back home, reuniting with Elena, happy to be alive and whole, while she was here. Alone and lost and missing something she never really had.

She thinks about that a lot. What it meant or didn't mean and what she wanted it to mean. Because that's what it really comes down to. Hope versus reality. For a while, she convinced herself that they were just an isolated response to their situation, but now she wonders if maybe she wanted more from him. If maybe, on the darkest nights, she let herself believe he held her tighter, kissed her harder, needed her more. If maybe she left a lasting mark on him like he did on her. The reality is, she is alone, and he isn't. And the only one who can change that is her.

She wants to go home. Not for Damon, not really. She misses him, she might even love him, but her reason for living is not intrinsically tied to him.

Bonnie wants to live for herself... So, she will.

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.

.

When she finally pulls it together and sets her mind to getting out, she finds a map, one of Damon's many attempts at finding a way home, and sees possibilities. She can do this. It won't be easy, it'll take time and work, but she can make this happen. So, she does.

Bonnie travels to Nova Scotia, she gets Silas' headstone, and she sucks it dry, absorbing Qetsiyah's ancient magic. It takes three months all together, but ascendant and Bennett powers in tow, Bonnie returns to Mystic Falls and makes her way to the cave to send herself home.

There's no one there to greet her. No open arms to hug her or best friends to cry with in relief. But she wasn't expecting that. As far as the world is concerned, Bonnie Bennett is really and truly dead. For a moment, she considers letting it continue to think so. She could hitchhike her way out of Mystic Falls and run far, far away. She'd never have to look back. Never have to face what she'd done and who she'd done it with. But, then she remembers Kai.

Kai who had tortured and terrified her. Kai who left her behind to die. Kai who would only bring more pain and terror to those around him. And maybe it's that little bit of martyr complex stirring up inside her, but Bonnie figures she should get rid of him before she walks away. After all, it's a little bit her fault he's out in the first place. If it wasn't for her dying, for Grams' back-up plan, for her letting him catch her and use her blood, he wouldn't be free.

Besides, she thinks, she owes him a little pain.

author's note: this story has been separated into three parts, the other two parts of which are already finished. it's semi AU due to the fact that they slept together in the prison world and you can see through a few different conversations that the canon has been changed a little (for example, i ignored the whole 'damon killed his nephew's pregnant partner in 1994' narrative cause it didn't flow with mine and was just kind of distracting from the main plot). but also because the timeline has shifted some back in the regular world. so, the next chapter covers bonnie's return to the world, kai, and her reunion both with damon and her friends. i skim over basic canon for season 6, but you'll see some obvious changes in what's happened.

if you can't tell, the original idea behind the story was 'it's not really cheating,' which you see threaded throughout, but then i kept going and it blew up into something much bigger than that. i like to think you get a fairly clear idea of damon's thoughts through how he acts with bonnie over the growth of their sexual relationship. how he starts off a little rough and becomes more and more gentle and reverent with her. the way he talks to her, reaches for her, and wants to protect her are also signs of what he thinks of what's happening. but it will be explored in more depth.

having already finished the rest of the story, i'm happy to post sooner rather than later. but it'd be great to get some feedback before i do, so please try to leave a review! :)

thanks for reading,
- Lee | Fina