Summary: Mystic Falls bachelor, Damon Salvatore, begins therapy in order to figure out why his romantic relationship fail miserably. His therapist thinks it would be a good idea for him to have a sex surrogate. There are rules. Ethics in this kind of thing. He's not think it is real, this thing between them. He's certainly not supposed to fall in love with her.

Author's Note: A sexual surrogate, sometimes called a surrogate partner (sex coach), is a member of a sex therapy team consisting of client(s), supervising therapist, and surrogate.

SWEETHEART

CHAPTER ONE

"It started with a date at a café and ended with a date at a café…"

"So I'm supposed to tell you about my feelings, right? I am supposed to lament about my mother. My father. My brother. My dislike of pickles since I was a small boy. I almost choked on one when I was five. Hated them ever since," Damon Salvatore's voice dropped an octave, denoting the seriousness of his hate for pickles.

Damon Salvatore reclined in the soft, brown leather couch in Sandra Brikham's office. She and another therapist, Nick Cassaov, shared the private practice, located might cozily on the outskirts of Central Virginia.

Damon planned to visit King's Dominion after this. Roller Coasters were calling his name.

Sandra Brikham raised one perfect strawberry blonde eyebrow. She resisted the urge to smile with her teeth. Instead, her eyes crinkled at the corners, the lines in her mouth creased, just slightly.

"It's okay," Damon said, granting permission. "I am witty. You are welcome to be amused."

Brikham seemed to take a breath before responding, more for her client's benefit than hers.

"I'd rather talk about why you are here. You sought therapeutic services from our clinic." Brikham paused. She looked down at her papers, various consent forms on her lap, and Damon's intake form with his basic psychosocial information. Name, age, and address. General and mental health history. Work history and the like. A cheat-sheet of sorts.

"It was Stefan's idea that I see a shrink. He's reading The Golden Notebook again or something. He thinks it's a good idea that I let someone take a look inside my head. Preferably a professional."

"Stefan? Your brother? That's a strong suggestion. Not many people feel they need therapy. Or listen when someone tells them that it would be helpful. Do you listen to your brother often?" Brikham asked.

Damon's smile slipped. Right off of his face, landing on the floor somewhere near his feet. It's an innocent question, sure. But Damon has the sinking feeling that it has gotten too deep, way too soon.

Isn't there some sort of warm-up first?

"You stopped smiling," Brikham observed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"N-no. Not really," Damon's words tripped out, belying his denial. "It's just that Stefan would eat that question up. The waves in his forehead would probably be nodding in agreement right now." Damon wiggled his fingers to imitate the waves, the spark back in his eyes again. Amused at his own joke.

Brikham stared at Damon, her teeth ticking at a thought before jotting something down on the papers in her lap.

Damon sat up straighter. His hands smoothing over his jeans, rubbing off the sweat gathering on his palms.

Damon's issues out a noise, a cross between a laugh and a huff, "You're writing stuff down already. This can't be good."

"I was just writing something to go back to in our later sessions, should you decide to continue with therapy. It doesn't seem appropriate to bring up right now, so early."

"What? You don't have to handle me with kid gloves. I'm a big boy." Damon's mouth rounded around the words, suggestive. A bit seductive. He's not above banging his therapist. He's all for new experiences.

"Okay. I'll take your word for it, "Brikham nodded. "You seem to tense up when your brother is mentioned. Are you on good terms with him?"

Damon out right frowned, shaking his head. His nostrils flaring on a breath in "I don't know what you're are implying. I love my brother."

"I wasn't implying that you didn't –"

Damon held up a hand to interrupt. "Yeah. No. We're done. We are done."

He gathered his form from the couch, picked up his jacket and baseball cap. He gets stuck on the fact that it isn't his hat, but Stefan's. Damon's cap is navy blue with white lettering. The cap in his hand is white with navy blue lettering.

"Um. I don't think this is going to work out," Damon looks up from the cap and jacket in his hands, squinting.

"How was it?" Stefan stretched his neck up and back, instead of turning around. Damon's face upside down in his view. Stefan's body was prone on the couch. He didn't bother to remove his tie or dress shirt after work. Just pulled the offending fabric from his throat, white shirt rolled up to his forearms.

"How was what?" Damon asked, momentarily lost as to Stefan's meaning.

"Therapy." Stefan's chin tipped up.

Damon grimaced, "She's a quack."

"Really. Caroline seemed to really like her. Said Brikham really helped her."

"Yeah, well. Caroline is a quack too. And fix your face. It's weird having a conversation with your chin."

Stefan smirked and righted his position, adjusting his neck to face Damon properly. "She said something."

"No. What do you mean?" Damon frowned. He was doing that a lot today and it was pissing him off.

"Well she must have said something because you're all angry and tense. Was It about Katherine?"

Damon ruffled Stefan's hair, patting him like a dog, or a very obedient kid. "We didn't get that far. What's for dinner?"

Stefan batted Damon's hand away and smoothed his hair into place, willing to allow Damon to change the subject for now. "I don't know. It's your turn to cook. There's steak. We can have steak. Or we can go out. You never take me out to dinner anymore." Stefan pouted. He stood up and placed his hands on his hips.

Damon slinked over to where Stefan was standing and replied, "Well, wear your prettiest dress, darling and I'll show you a good time.

The brothers succeeded in holding in their laughter for all of five seconds.

He promised he wouldn't go back.

He went to work. He slaved away from nine to five. (4:55, actually). As Chief Executive Officer, he saw to it that Salvatore Construction Corporation ran smoothly from day to day.

He swore he wouldn't go back. On his dead mother's grave.

He went back.

"You've had a lot of success for someone so young. I wonder how it might affect your relationships with those around you."

Damon noticed that Brikham does that a lot now. She won't ask a question. Not really. She'll … wonder out loud or some therapeutic shit like that.

"Things are great. I mean, people like me. Hell, people love me. Stefan and I were featured in Forbes three times. I get pussy anytime I want. I walk into a bar and guys buy me a beer even though I can afford to buy everyone in the bar a drink many times over. I'm good."

"But, and this is just from my perspective, it must be difficult to be so many things to so many people. A boss. A brother. A lover, apparently."

"Sure, I mean it's not all it's cracked up to be." Damon gave a long dramatic pause. He covered his mouth, and appeared to stifle a sob. "Sometimes it gets so hard."

Brikham leaned over her chair, her hand outstretched to the box of tissues on her desk.

"I'm kidding. It's fucking awesome! Seriously, why the hell would I be complaining?"

"When is the last time you had a girlfriend?"

Damon likes this approach better. Brikham asking questions straight no chaser.

"Maybe two years ago. I'm not hurting or anything. It just didn't work out."

"Elena, yes? That was her name?"

"Yeah. Elena. She and I were hot and heavy and it just –" Damon did his best imitation of a car crash before continuing, "crashed and burn."

"No hard feelings?" Brikham prompted.

"No. I mean my brother was a bit relieved. He thought we were too intense. Like Angelina/Billy Bob intense. I was so close to having a vial of blood around my neck," Damon joked.

"Did you know Elena for a long time?"

"A few years. She was engaged to Stefan. But then that just got boring for both of them. So me and her got together."

Brikham blinked quite a bit. The pen in her hand touched her mouth several times before she continued. "You formed a romantic relationship with your brother's fiancé." It wasn't a question. Just a statement hoping for clarification.

Damon's eyes squinted, "You're judging. I feel like you are judging me."

"I guess I am just surprised. It just seems complicated; some would say simply wrong. For instance, I wouldn't dream of crossing that boundary with my sister," Brikham self-disclosed.

Damon leans in as if sharing a tremendous secret, "It's not a big deal. It happened before. We dated the same girl before."

"Really?" Brikham sat up straight in her chair, like they were getting somewhere finally.

"Yeah. Katherine. I told you about her. He dated her first. Rose. Caroline. But Caroline was just sex and Rose only dated me for like a week after going on a blind date with Stefan, so that doesn't count."

"So it seems like you like the same women," Brikham stated, keeping her voice neutral to let Damon stir this part of their session.

"I wouldn't say we like the same women. There are countless females we don't share."

"Female what?" Brikham inquired.

"What do you mean?" Damon was on a roll and he didn't feel like getting stuck on trivial things.

"Female implies gender. But it doesn't indicate species. So when you say female, do you mean female dog, female goat, female –"

Damon held up a hand to interrupt, "I get it. Woman. Is that better?"

Brikham smirks, "Well it does help to clarify what we are talking about."

"Yeah. I bet you say that to all the guys," Damon pops a button on his suit jacket. The first time he was here, he wore very casual clothing, opting to take off a day from work for his first therapy session. Now, fitting in a session every Thursday for lunch was the norm.

"I would really like to try something with you because I feel that while you seem to be very confident in many areas of your life, it seems to me that you still struggle with intimacy with others."

"My sex life is pretty regular."

"I'm sure it is. But that is not the only type of intimacy I mean. All of the major relationships you've had, Katherine and then Elena, were known to you through your brother. As if he vetted these women for your benefit. And while I really want to explore that some time soon, I want to start working on you and how well you can take care of yourself and your significant other in a relationship. I'd like you to work with a sex surrogate."

Damon got stuck. He does that a lot now. Getting stuck on things Brikham says, and in turn getting stuck on his own thoughts, analyzing, looking closely at himself.

Being self-aware is a bitch.

"Wait you want me to work with a sex surrogate. Isn't that for dudes who can't get it up. My dick's not broken."

"Physically, I have no doubt that you are a healthy man. But there is dysfunction there. If you didn't think that as well, then I don't think you would continue with our sessions. But you do. I want you to have blanket slate. Start from scratch with authentic feelings. Work at establishing healthy relationship behaviors. There is an information session this Friday, 7 pm. Then you will be required to take a sexual education course, which is less about birds and bees and more about arming you on information about your body and your prospective partner's body. Finally, after some psychoeducation, a surrogate will be selected."

"Do I get a say? I mean do I get to sample the goods before I pick?" Damon's gaze roved around, not looking at Brikham directly. Probably looking for an escape route.

"Are there some specific things you would like?" Birkham asked out of politeness. This wasn't a dating service.

Damon thought a moment. "No," shaking his head, gulping, "I trust you."

Brikham smiled.

Damon hated this café. He hated the people sitting ad sipping their coffee, their tea. He hated the chairs. He hated the tables. He hated the windows that seemed to have a weird tan tent, as if to exude warmness.

It's a crock of shit.

He had a breakdown yesterday. (If he were to be real honest, it's been every day since starting this surrogacy process).

He drank. He drank anything and everything. He hates vodka but he drank that too. He drank to forget. He drank to remember. He drank himself to sleep.

Stefan didn't say anything. Just followed him over the deep end. Glass after glass. Two points in a distance. From table to mouth, the glass traveled. And good ol' Stefan. Refilling Damon's glass and his own.

Damon's sure he doesn't look his best. Everyone has been giving them looks at work. It's not every day that a CEO and COO come in to work, obviously plastered or recovering from a bender. In Stefan's defense, he looked marginally better. A Chief Operating Officer has to look like his not sloshed when vising the construction sites.

Damon settled his sunglasses firmly on top of his nose, making sure his eyes were completely shielded from sunlight.

"Is this seat taken?"

Damon followed the voice. He followed the voice from the slender fingers griping the chair. He followed the voice past the thin knit sweater. Peach. He thinks the color is peach. Not something bland, like beige. He followed the voice to the elegant neck sitting on top of straight shoulders. He followed all the way to her face, little crooked smile on lips he wanted to kiss.

He followed all the way.

He said something he is sure because she sat down in the chair opposite of him. She smiled. She said her name was Bonnie. She said put her fingers to cheek, demure, tiny fingernails touching rich skin.

She laughed at him or with him, he is not sure.

She touched his hand, the outside of it, grazing the knuckles. She touched his forearm and his shoulder. Right back to his hand. And he feels like he is melting.

He hated tea but he ordered it and she sent it back because he kept grimacing.

She said she reads books all day. That's her other job. She worked for a publishing house. She didn't say where. Damon didn't ask.

He told her about the Salvatore baby, the company. SCS. He told her about Forbes magazine. He told her about his brother. He told her about his traumatic experience with pickles. She didn't laugh. She said, "poor baby," rubbing his hand.

She drank three cups of tea. Raspberry. Honey. No sugar.

He said something about her having to pee later. She proclaimed, "they're tiny, little cups."

She asked if he liked his coffee better than the tea. He wanted rub her shoulder, so he did. He wanted to kiss her already but he didn't.

It was just coffee and he feels like every word out of her mouth changes his life.

Author(s) Note: Quote in the beginning of chapter from article "What I learned from a male sex surrogate" by Rosie Garelick.

References To:

Kings Dominion is an amusement Park located in Doswell, VA

The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing (1962)

Marriage between Angelina Jolie (now Jolie-Pitt) and Billy Bob Thornton. One word. Google.