A/N: So here is a one-shot, something that's been in my head for a couple of days. This is slightly canon, but in short without giving too much away, this is after the fallout involving Silas, the cure, Professor Shady Shane, but it doesn't touch on any of those subjects. This is a tad different from the stories I usually tell, although not overtly different. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith and The CW. No copyright infringement is intended.

I congratulate myself on not having arrived into the world until the present time. This age suits my taste—Ovid

Damon Salvatore wasn't particularly sure why his mind all of a sudden decided it wanted to quote Ovid. He needed to keep his attention sharp and focused; not allow himself to get distracted by the myriad of pretty scantily clad little things that walked past his line of sight. He'd picked one out of the crowd, give her a very thorough once-over before discarding her with all the rest. He was here tonight to feed, and nothing else.

The music was beyond deafening. The crowd heavy and stifling. Yet the press of warm bodies, the ambrosia of human blood hiding just below a flimsy protective barrier was all he absolutely cared about. His throat was on fire. Not for alcohol but for that vermillion tinted fluid that reanimated his tissues and muscles, heightened his senses, made him a vampire.

Licking his slightly protruding fang and the edge of his throbbing gums, Damon spotted his dinner. She was standing at a table nursing what appeared to be a shot of tequila. On the table there were three purses. She wasn't alone. Her friends were scattered amongst the crowd having an obviously good time without her. The woman didn't look put out, only miserable like she rather be home sitting on the couch in front of the television eating her tears and a gallon of chocolate flavored ice cream. Damon didn't smile. He only imagined sliding next to her, or rather appearing out of thin air. Already he could hear her inhale sharply at his sudden arrival and then she'd look. They all did. Couldn't be helped. But she would look and color would rise beautifully up her neck and settle into the apples of her cheeks. She'd pretend to be flustered while he merely stood there and listen to her heart speed.

He would then ask for her name, ask if she wanted to dance, and Damon was positive she'd come up with some lame excuse for why she couldn't abandon her post. He'd tilt his head, deliver his notorious smirk and that would knock what common sense she had left in her to flee in the other direction, out. He'd extend his hand and she, helpless to deny him anything, would accept his offering. He'd pull her into the crowd, wrap his arms low around her hips, and press her as close to his hard chest as physically possible. Her heart would be beating erratically by that point, and it would only take just a touch of his lips against her pulse point, and her neck would recline back on its own and then, volia he'd have his dinner.

Instead of rushing off to put his well thought out plan into action, he made another revolution around the room with his eyes. It really was a shame that vampires couldn't sense one another. This place was the perfect hunting ground. And though he could really give a shit if another vampire was present or a whole coven of them, so long as they stayed away from the prey he's chosen, then they could all feed happily and gluttonously without getting in each others way.

He did have a modicum of courtesy after all.

However, Damon couldn't escape feeling as if someone were watching him. He knocked the thought away as ridiculous. Of course people watched him! He was stereotypically tall, dark, and handsome. In his humble opinion his best features were his eyes because in all his hundred and seventy years he had yet to come across another immortal or another human being with eyes as blue as his. Sometimes they were the same blue as cotton candy, or could lighten until they resembled liquid mercury, or deepen until they resembled a turquoise stone. His eyes reflected his mood. Yet they paled in comparison to the rest of him especially that instrument in his pants that was trying to stir to life behind the fly of his jeans. He was classically beautiful. Broad shouldered, slim waist, raven-haired, face perfectly symmetrical. He was a throwback from ancient Greek and Roman times. Heritage wise he was Italian, yet being American he wasn't apple pie, fried chicken, or a white picket fence kind of a guy.

Damon's ledger was covered in red. Dripped the blood of innocents, the blood of the guilty, the blood of the criminally insane. It shaped him from another type of clay; this kind impenetrable and hard to breach.

Getting his mind back into the game he was about to play offense, defense, and referee, he smiled a little when he noticed the woman he had selected out of the crowd was still there, still nursing that same drink. A woman grabbed his ass from behind briefly capturing his attention. She was cute but wore the wrong scented perfume, and her face was heavily caked in makeup. Without acknowledging her blatant attempt at flirtation, he simply looked away and brought his eyes back to his meal.

He picked up his foot, ready to move into action and that's when something slammed into him like a truck.

Surprise flushed his face; anger immediately evicted that emotion as he stared down at the culprit.

With his back braced up against the wall he was impressed with her strength. As easily as he liked Damon could break her hold but he was curious to see what she would do next. Questions flooded his mind like: what the hell did she think she was doing? Did she follow him here?

"What…?" he didn't get to finish his question before his head was wrenched painfully to the right. There was a definite pop and the pain of knowing that he was just a few cervical bones shy of having a broken neck. That thought vanished as soon as fangs tore through the barrier of his neck, and he was being guzzled like a fountain drink.

Damon could have easily turned the tables back in his favor, but call him inquisitive he wanted to see how far she would take this.

With her mouth covering his carotid artery, fangs buried in the surrounding skin, one hand tightened in his hair at the nape, pulling the strands sending small bursts of electric pain racing along his spine before tickling the crown of his head. Damon was positive or rather hoping she'd only take a pint maybe two, but nope she wasn't slowing down, she wasn't easing up.

She meant to drain him dry.

His instinct to fight her off and preserve what was left of his undead life kicked into gear, yet the will to fight was noticeably absent. Maybe he wanted to push his own limits. Maybe he actually wanted to see if she'd finish him off here in this crowded and public place. Damon thought of the all the wonderful places she might decide to discard his body once she was finished. Maybe she'd dump him at one of the tables, and close his eyes to give partygoers the impression he had merely fallen asleep. Or roll his body off a steep cliff, steal his ring, and let the sunlight finish what Giuseppe started back in 1864.

Quite simply the possibilities were endless.

The strength in his muscles were weakening, his energy sapping as she continued to drink from him. A moan of excitement and pleasure rippled from her to him and it miraculously made him hard although he clearly didn't have the right amount of blood floating in his system to cause an erection. That was just the sadistic side of his personality's doing. He had no more control over that than he had on the weather.

Her lips and teeth compressed his skin trying to eek out as much blood as possible while her hard, tight body kept him upright and from slumping over. She was strong now, more powerful than ever so it wouldn't have been that difficult for her to support his weight. His arms fell limply to his sides. Drowsiness made his eyelids feel remarkably heavy. He was so tired that he just wanted to rest. He let out a sigh that was barely a breath at all. She was a thirsty little thing was the last thought he recalled having before a hood of darkness engulfed him.

He wasn't in a ditch. That was the first thought to come to Damon. And he wasn't lying in a filthy gutter somewhere nor had he been thrown haphazardly into the trunk of his car either. Blinking his eyes against the sunlight pouring into his room, Damon cleared the last remaining cobwebs from his mind and looked around.

He was in his bedroom, on his bed. The scent of blood caught his attention and he looked to his left and saw two blood bags waiting to be consumed. Damon snatched one up and tore into it finishing the bag off to quell his ravenous hunger within seconds. He didn't even question whether or not he needed the other bag. Merely picked it up, ripped off the top, and smashed it. Looking down his body he was a tad disappointed to see he was still dressed in the clothes he wore the night before. So she didn't use his unconscious state against him to get a cop and feel.

Parading into his bathroom, Damon stood in front of the mirror and examined his face. It was perfect, which he had been expecting, but there was no evidence left behind to suggest that he had been the victim of a hate crime—if he could call being drained by another vampire a hate crime he would. Twisting his head to stare at the spot where her fangs had been stuck in him like a pin cushion, there was nothing there.

Not even pain.

What was last night about? Of all the people she could have gone after why target him? The answer was there and he could pick at it like a scab, but would it change anything? It happened. She used him. She discarded him. It was over. But what if she made another attempt? Would he simply let her get away with it?

His automatic response was no, but…

Damon stripped, took a shower, and donned a fresh pair of clothes. Last night was a fluke and it wouldn't be happening again. So there wouldn't be any need for him to ever think about it or give it any kind of validity.

Except he couldn't stop thinking about it. With his vampire mind he could recall the scent that lingered on her skin, could still feel the pressure she used on his torso and head to keep him complacent, could still feel phantom fangs burrowed into neck right this very second. He should be angry that a neophyte had its way with him, but he couldn't muster up the right emotions. Last night took him totally by surprise, kind of woke him up from a coma he hadn't realized he had existed in. His eyes were open now and he was aware, too aware that they were now engaged in a game.

This question remained: what was the prize?

Damon wasn't overly hungry, but he did want a drink so he headed to his second favorite place in his family home.

The bar.

However his journey was interrupted when he saw Elena sitting on the couch seemingly waiting for him. As usual she looked—nothing like a vampire. Her long mahogany hair was perfectly straight, parted on the side as a way to mix up her look, but of course not too radically lest she be confused with Katherine. As was customary she was dressed in a long-sleeved rust-orange Henley shirt that she paired with skinny black jeans and sneakers. Nothing remarkable.

"Hi," she said a bit shyly before pushing a strand of her hair behind her ears.

"Hello," Damon mumbled and went over to the bar. He held up a bottle and looked at Elena silently asking if she wanted a drink. Of course her answer was yes. Whatever he wanted to do she wanted to do, and that should have given him an even bigger god-complex than he had before he found out about their sire bond but it only…disappointed him.

Elena would never slam him up against a wall at a club and drink from his neck. Damon cleared his throat.

"I came by last night but you weren't home," Elena began her fishing expedition.

After pouring them both drinks he wasn't terribly surprised to find Elena standing right behind him. Damon passed over the glass and took a sip from his own; his eyes crinkling around the edges.

"I was out," he explained but didn't elaborate.

Elena momentarily fixed her eyes on the liquid in her cup wishing it were blood. She frowned a bit before making eye contact with Damon again. "Are you still upset about…"

"Elena, that's old news to me now. Sure I might hold on to grudges but I really don't care."

"I know, but I just want to understand why you don't want…I hate this tension that's between us. We haven't spent any time together in weeks, and I just don't know what to think or what to do because you won't talk to me."

"I'm all talked out," Damon stepped around Elena really not in the mood for her theatrics, whining, complaining, or her guilt.

"You still don't believe me," Elena guessed and tossed her drink back taking it down the hatch in one huge swallow. She sat the cup down and then ran the palms of her hands down her thighs before bringing them back up to cross over her torso.

As usual there was a fire going in the hearth and with Damon standing in front of it, she fixed her eyes on the flames. She hated when Damon would block her out, keep her arm's length as his way of protecting his fragile feelings. She hated when he would do something rash and stupid rather than taking the mature route and explain what was going on with him, what he was thinking. She couldn't see how this aloofness didn't drive Stefan insane and perhaps it did. Who knows? It wasn't like she was there when they first became vampires.

Yet Elena was holding on to what they had by its last remaining thread. The cure was here. She could take it. Damon could take it and then they could wait and see together if her feelings for him would vanish or if they would remain the same or strengthen. But Damon wanted no part of being human ever again. He had asked her as plain as day why did she ever assume he'd want to return to being weak and vulnerable. And Elena took his questions to mean that he wanted nothing to do with her; that he loved being a vampire more than he would ever love her.

That had been a blow she hadn't exactly recovered from.

"Look," Damon faced her. "We've been through this I don't know how many times. It's always the same argument. I say something idiotic and fucked up. You cry and get upset and I end up feeling like an asshole afterwards. I'm tired of the cycle, Elena. This is your life and you need to figure out what's best for you. I can't make that decision for you."

"So being a vampire is really that important to you that you're willing to risk possibly losing me?"

"And being human is that important to you to lose me?" he countered. At some point, Damon realized they were both missing the point. It wasn't about them losing each other or even loving each other. It was about them not being on the same page and the fact they never would be.

"I told you, Elena that I'm here for you no matter what. If you want to be human again, be human again. If you want to stay a vampire, then stay a vampire. But that decision shouldn't be based on…"

"Shouldn't be based on what?" Elena challenged. "Who I love and want to be with?"

Damon allowed his silence to fill in the answer to that blank.

Elena looked up at the ceiling and shook her head. They were right back here. The exact place where she didn't want to be. When this argument started she honestly believed Damon was being difficult on purpose to hide his true feelings, but now she wasn't so sure that he was pretending at not being affected by whatever choice she decided to make. Maybe he really didn't care which path she chose. And maybe he had never been in love with her as he claimed.

"Then order me to forget about you, Damon," she approached him. "Send me away for real this time and tell me to go be with Stefan or Matt or the mailman because it'll make you happy. Go ahead," Elena said through clenched teeth.

Their eyes locked in a showdown. Damon wanted to do exactly what she was egging him on to do, but then he'd have to relinquish his last remaining card, and he wasn't quite ready to do that.

Suddenly thoughts of last night bombarded his mind. That vampire. That look in her eyes before she bit him. Her warm lips on the column of his neck. The feeling of her fingers curling in his hair bringing him just that much closer to her sharp and elongated teeth. That feeling of lost of control. He had been at her total mercy and he loved it which surprised the shit out of him because Damon relished feeling like a king. He the hunter had been turned into the prey seamlessly. Flawlessly. And some dark part of him wanted to experience that again.

You know just until the novelty wore off.

Elena's lips began to curl upward in triumph at Damon's lack of a response. Misinterpreting it, really. She cleared what space was left between them and kissed his lips. Lips that didn't mold against hers. Lips that didn't respond and take control.

She pulled back staring at him questioningly with those swimming dark brown orbs of hers. Damon was standing in the room with her but his mind was obviously focused on something else.

Or someone else her feminine pride tried to insert speculation. Elena shook the thought away because Damon—yeah he slept around—but no one else had managed to capture and hold his attention. No one except for her. And that couldn't have changed.

Right?

Maybe he had been talking to Rebekah who was no fan of hers and the feeling was mutual. But then again, Damon thought Rebekah was as useless as a sixth finger and would never give any admonishment from her power to influence his decisions.

"Damon?"

He blinked and stared at Elena like he couldn't remember she had been here the whole time. "I'm going for a drive to clear my head. I'll see you later, Elena."

He was gone before she could even invite herself to tag along.

The door to the boardinghouse opened again moments later, and Elena attempted to smile at Stefan but she couldn't even find the effort.

Days blended together and Damon was bored. Six days. He couldn't believe he had been counting since the last time he saw her. But he had been. Six days he had had no sighting of her. And though he should have been counting his blessings, he couldn't because well…he wanted to figure out what was going on. Damon couldn't shake loose the memory of that night. He had dreamt about it, fantasized about it up to the point he felt a lobotomy was in order.

So in the mean time he did what he did best—he lived his life.

At night he'd stalk his victims, cornering them, allowing them to scream, plead, and beg for their lives before viciously ripping into their throats. He never left the bodies. Couldn't afford to get caught and have the new council in an uproar with pitch forks and burning torches hunting his ass. Things were quiet for the most part and that was getting to him. This unsettling harmony that finally descended on Mystic Falls giving them all a break.

So he tried—in his own malicious way—to draw her out. He'd go to the most public places and choose random women to feed on silently hoping she might be watching him. Hoping she might add him to her menu once again. It was one thing to feel needed by someone you cared about. It became quite another thing to be wanted simply because you're an egotistical monster who needed to be punished for his crimes against humanity.

Wiping his lip clean with the bottom of his tongue, Damon stood over his latest victim. He hadn't drained her. Could still hear her heart beating though it was faint and if he didn't get her help soon she would die. In the old days he used to pick the pockets of his prey, but now he only went through their wallets just to read over their information in case he'd need an emergency snack, he'd know who he could turn to, to get a donation.

Just as he stood up that's when he became aware of the fact someone was standing behind him. Smirking he turned around and just like the last time, no words were exchanged between them.

His back met with brick and his legs were wrenched apart by a knee. A hand clasped around his throat, squeezing just painfully enough but not enough to do any serious damage.

"You're so obvious it's gotten pathetic," she spoke.

"Oh? I'll try to remember not to liter next time," he ribbed hoping his cavalier attitude would get under her skin.

No emotion flickered on her face much to his disappointment.

"You're seriously going to turn me into a McDonald's happy meal again?" he asked drolly.

That question earned him a tiny smile that disappeared within milliseconds. "I was thinking a number three with cheese," she replied and cruelly sank her teeth into him.

Just like the first time she pulled angrily on him, his blood rushing out in torrents, much too fast for him to stop, to gain the upper hand and push her away. Well that wasn't entirely true. He could break her hold, slam her up against the wall and violate her the way she's now taken to doing to him. Damon could stop and question why she was targeting him specifically but he already knew the answer to that.

Instead he allowed her fierceness, her power to wash over him, drown and submerge him like someone holding him under water.

She ended much sooner than expected, and though he had remained on his feet, he was defenseless against what she might do next.

She snapped his neck.

He woke up in his bed again with another two blood bags resting next to him.

Twenty-nine days into this—whatever this was—and Damon was facing a dilemma: what to wear. Not everything he owned came in black, but he noticed that when he wore other colors she left him alone. Yet when he decided to wear his favorite color that's usually when she struck or maybe it just happened to be coincidence. Damon was fairly sure although not a hundred percent sure that she only attacked him when he wore funeral black, but then he might be putting too much thought into this.

In any case he selected a black button down shirt and dark blue jeans. He took his time actually styling his hair instead of leaving it in his usual disheveled state. Her fingers would succeed in messing it up anyways. That is if she pursued him.

His eyes lowered to two bottles of his favorite cologne. Again Damon was conflicted on which one to pick. The Versace or Armani?

Though one night, as he was being fed on, she had stopped her feeding briefly and whispered in his ear…

"You smell nice."

But he couldn't for the life of him recall which scent he wore that night. So he went with the scent he preferred when he wore black: Armani.

He didn't dare spray his neck. He sprayed the center of his chest instead.

Plenty of times Damon questioned the intelligence of allowing this to continue. This vampire had somehow wormed her way to controlling his life, of being the deciding factor of when he went out to hunt, the places he decided to feed, the women who would be his bait. Now she controlled what he wore and how he smelled.

She had ambushed him in the woods, in his car, behind a bookstore, and one time dragged and dumped him on the porch of the boardinghouse. Yet she always left him a blood bag or two to recover.

He could end this and go off and do what exactly? Remain in that yo-yo of a situation with Elena? Subject himself to her open and quasi-loving gaze pretending to be a vampire who actually gave a damn about the humans who remained in her life? That was Stefan's forte not his. He was a killer. A manipulator. A liar. A con artist.

Elena needed to realize there was no such thing as a good bad guy. They simply didn't exist.

Flicking the lapels of his shirt, Damon winked at himself, collected his leather coat, keys, cell phone, and headed out the door.

Sauntering into The Grill the restaurant was unusually packed for a Wednesday night and Damon wondered what stupid fundraiser was being held, but then banked that thought. Carol Lockwood who had headed up all these events and parties was dead. Her replacement Rudy Hopkins pretty much eradicated tradition by placing Mystic Falls under martial law or something eerily close to it. Having fun of any kind had been banned and frowned upon. All the school dances cancelled. No more festivals. No more needless parties, galas, balls steeped in tradition was allowed. The citizens of this backwoods town were to be behind locked doors before nightfall.

When would people learn that danger could occur at any hour at any waking moment, and that sunlight was no longer a precursor for safety? It was all a lie. An illusion that if you slept with the light on you were safe and that only real monsters came out at night.

Damon was fully prepared to take his assigned seat at the bar, but then he spotted someone in the crowd and decided to change course. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her. Helping himself to one of the bottles behind the bar, Damon grabbed a shot glass and then made his way out of the restaurant to go sit on the hood of his car and drink.

Whistling and carrying his bounty with him, Damon stopped when he heard the distinct sound of a vampire feeding. Turning his hearing to pinpoint exactly where this interlude was taking place, Damon looked west and saw a diminutive figure holding on tightly to a man who was contorted to a weird and uncomfortable angle; his face a cross between pleasure and pain. Screwing the cap off the bottle Damon took a sip before strolling over to interrupt.

Before he made it to the couple, the man fell to the ground, but he wasn't dead. He moaned a little, his pallid skin taking on the appearance of someone who was just a brush away from death. Surreptitiously Damon looked around and noticed the parking lot was empty for the most part. He upturned the bottle to his lips again hoping to distract the small flare of jealously he felt that she would turn to a mere mortal for a meal when she had him.

Damon had no idea why he was thinking along that line. What they had was unconventional and sick if he really put some thought into it. She was on his brain because her method of getting what she needed was kind of unprecedented in their world. But then he had to remind himself that she was the first of her kind so her boundaries were pretty much non-existent.

Still it rankled somewhere deep that he caught her feeding on someone else. Someone he was sure wouldn't fill her quite the way he could. Someone who was utterly beneath her.

He waited for her to turn around. He could open up the dialogue by making light of the fact he caught her feeding, but he simply wasn't in the mood. The palms of his hands were burning and itching, and already he was feeling overly full and needed a good bloodletting. At least those were the lame excuses Damon was willing to come up with to justify he was excited for what could possibly go down next.

However, he should have been pissed and he was. Here he was her walking blood bank and she not once offered up her own veins. If this "partnership" was going to continue then she needed to shell out some dividends. His whole life had been spent getting screwed over, but no more. This would end one of two ways tonight.

Either she reciprocated or he went public with what had been going on between them. Oh, what was he saying? Damon thought. Call the cavalry's attention to this? Was he insane? They would take her away and he'd be left with that hollow feeling again. Of being displaced waiting for the anvil to drop on his head, or the guillotine blade to slice him to pieces. And Damon was tired of living in the in-between.

This vampire standing with her back to him, she needed him for some reason. Or at the very least she enjoyed toying with him as he had done to so many in his nefarious past.

Damon watched as she wiped the blood away from her mouth with the back of her hand. She kneeled down to the man and began to speak to him like a mother would to a frightened child.

"Don't die. You can't die. Hold on to your life because it's the only one you're going to get. Get up, go home, and treat yourself and live your life without fear," she bit into her wrist and fed him just a few drops of her blood before commanding him to get up and walk away.

"The vampire who moonlights as a motivational speaker. Alert the media."

She didn't turn around to glare at him. Merely tightened the belt around her waist that held her jacket in place.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To scalp tickets," Damon replied flippantly. "Why didn't you kill him?"

She turned around then those viridian eyes cut into him like a blade. "Just because I can doesn't mean I should. I let him go not because it was the right thing to do, but because I can control the situation how I see fit. That's what this game is all about. Control. I can hand it over or I can take the reins. It's up to me on how this is going to be played."

Damon sensed that she was speaking about their situation.

She had been turned against her will and by her own mother, go figure. The Expression that Shane taught her consumed her and took control of her life. Bonnie went off like a nuclear powered bomb and short of killing her they had no way of stopping her. So Abby swooped in doing the only thing she thought would spare her daughter's life, by turning Bonnie into the one thing she never wanted to be. Everyone figured she wouldn't go through with the transition, but surprisingly she did and then vowed to get revenge on them all.

Starting with Abby.

They were still waiting for her to make her first move, but so far Bonnie had been caught up on the euphoria of being a vampire. The expression still lived dormant inside of her and any time she pleased Bonnie was sure she could access it thereby making her a hybrid of sorts: witch/vampire a vitch.

Damon leaned against a car, folded his arms over his chest with the bottle of whiskey dangling between his fingers. He worked his tongue over his bottom lip observing Bonnie who was busy removing faint traces of blood from the corners of her mouth with a tissue.

Words were hanging on the tip of his tongue, threatening to come out but he was…he didn't want to say he was afraid to ask if he was next; if he should leave and pretend he never caught her in the middle of a feed. If she were going to ambush him he certainly didn't want to ruin the surprise by asking questions.

Bonnie already knew why Damon was hanging around and she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of curing his curiosity. She merely ignored him as she cleaned herself up. Her belly was full, appetite satiated but not yet satisfied. Already her craving for something stronger flared.

"Do I even need to ask?" Damon broke his own rule.

"Ask what?" Bonnie said in return.

He stalled by taking another sip from the bottle. Damon thought about offering her a drink but he knew it wasn't Johnnie Walker Bonnie craved a taste of. It was him.

Maybe he liked this arrangement—whatever it was—because it was the first time someone needed just him. There were plenty of vampires Bonnie could feed from, but for whatever reason she had turned him into her own personally sippy cup and he certainly didn't want to end it. At least not now.

"Can I go about my business as usual or should I invest in a bodyguard?"

Bonnie's eyes glowed a bit at the thought. Vampirism brought out a person's best physical features and Bonnie's skin reflected specks of gold under the moonlight. She had taken to wearing her hair in elaborate buns and ponytails probably to keep her locks from being caked with blood. Gone where the clothes in earth tone colors. She had a closet full of black dresses because she all of a sudden loved showing off her legs.

Damon didn't know if she were wearing a dress tonight or a skirt and top because she was wearing a knee length trench coat with gold buttons. Her feet were housed in a pair of studded ankle boots that with enough thrust could do some permanent damage to someone who thought to mug her.

"Two for the price of one you shouldn't tease me with a good bargain, Damon," she held out her hand for the bottle.

Damon was hesitant to pass it over only because he didn't want her to crack it over his head. But he gave it up nonetheless. Bonnie drank a liberal amount before passing it back.

"I hated alcohol when I was human and it tastes even bitter now," Bonnie licked her lips clean.

"So what do you have a taste for?"

"Something from a warm, hard source. Point me in the right direction and I'll be sure to go the opposite way," Bonnie stretched her arms over her head and sighed a bit as her bones popped into alignment.

Damon took a swig from the bottle. It was almost empty by the time he stopped drinking.

"You're not on the prowl tonight?" Bonnie wondered.

Damon smiled. "I'm on the prowl right now and I'm looking at my next meal."

Bonnie wagged a finger at Damon and then pushed one side of his jacket aside to see the color of his shirt. Damon kept his gaze locked on her as Bonnie eyed, more like ogled his chest. Of course she didn't let off if she were pleased with what he had selected. Besides Bonnie had gotten used to seeing him in this wardrobe of button down shirts and jeans. He really needed to expand his horizons a little bit.

"Save the flirting for Elena. She's the one who blushes. I don't."

"I thought being a vampire would make you cool. My mistake," Damon said dryly.

Bonnie's face went completely emotionless and Damon was sure she was about to unhinge her jaw and eat him whole. Instead she bit a corner of her lip and then stepped but a fraction closer to him.

"Three days."

"Three days what?" Damon hated riddles.

"Is the amount of days you'll get to live in peace. Have fun."

Damon watched as Bonnie ghosted away. A shiver ran down his spine. Three days just seemed too long.

Day one passed without much fan fair. Nothing but emo Stefan, emo Elena, emo Gilbert, hyperactive Caroline, the paranoid hybrid Tyler, the waste of space human Matt, but no Bonnie. Everyone had given Bonnie plenty of breathing room after she transitioned and once she got a hang on being a vampire which she had taken to easier than anyone expected.

They were still on the fence if that was a good or bad thing.

Day two Damon had spent it walking along the halls of the boardinghouse trying to decide on what to do. Yet every little sound or creak the house made he stopped, listened, and wondered if Bonnie was about to jump out and blood jack him.

Day three he was practically on edge and couldn't pay attention to anything or anyone. Elena had called him out on it because she had been in the middle of speaking about something or another, but her words ran together in his head and he heard nothing but gibberish.

She had cornered him in his room looking hurt and stricken. "Damon something is going on with you. I know there is. Is it Klaus? Has someone threatened you?"

Damon rolled his eyes. How could he explain that he and her best friend had some sort of thing going on that wasn't entirely sexual, but was still pretty powerful and personal just the same? Stefan had flipped his lid when he found out that he and Elena blood-shared and he had every reason to. Vampires sharing blood was almost the equivalent of getting hitched. Bonds could be formed, unbreakable bonds, and that could be dangerous especially if the vampires were already in a committed relationship with one another. If anyone interfered that person lost their life. It was as simple as that.

He and Elena hadn't been at the time which meant things were pretty much one-sided. Yet that didn't stop Damon from offering up a vein to Elena when she was having difficulty keeping blood down. He wanted to be inside of her anyway he could get inside. That's how desperate and out of control he felt back then. And he wasn't in the right frame of mind either. He had just lost his only real friend although on a good day he had been a piss pour excuse of a friend to Rick. The girl he loved was turned into a vampire which in retrospect he should have been happy about, but he just wanted the whole world to burn.

Damon shook his head. "Nothing is wrong with me. I'm perfectly fine."

Elena didn't buy that. She took hold of his face, rubbing the pads of her thumbs across his cheeks. It was a move she knew could melt his icy exterior, but it did nothing but irritate him.

"No you're not," she rebutted. "Stefan says something strange is going on. He found you unconscious on the doorstep one day. Someone attacked you. Why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to hear it from Stefan? Do you know who's responsible?"

Yeah he knew.

"Elena," he grabbed her hands to pull them away from his face but he didn't let go. "It doesn't matter because I can take care of myself."

"Damon I just want to be here for you. I…I understand if you don't want to be together right now, but I'm still your friend."

He nodded but refused to say anything.

Elena sighed and stepped away from him. "Some days I really…I question if you care about anything at all."

Not this shit again! Damon's mind roared. He could kiss her until oblivion to prove that he was still in whatever classification you wanted to put them in. He could say that he's glad she was trying so hard to prove that he mattered to her, that she still obviously loved him, but that's not what he wanted to do.

Right now he was straining, listening to see if he could hear the purr of a Toyota Prius pull up into the driveway. His dealings with Bonnie could end at any moment leaving him no choice but to deal with Elena full-time again, and well he was enjoying his break.

"That's probably my problem, Elena," Damon began, "I'm just in a weird place right now and I need to work things out on my own. Can you understand that?"

"Yes, of course. But…you don't have to push me away." Pause. "I guess you'll call when you're in the mood to talk or hang out."

"You can count on that."

"All right," Elena sighed and then walked out of his bedroom.

Hours later Damon was stretched out on his bed, shirtless, reading. His eyes flew over the words but they weren't translating into images in his mind.

He snapped to attention when his door opened and then someone was standing at the foot of his bed. The book fell out of his hands, forgotten, as he sat up.

Bonnie was there wearing another trench coat, another pair of boots except these came to her knees and in her hand she was holding a blood bag. It was a little difficult for Damon to swallow because anticipation was clogging his throat and mixing with the blood he had ingested earlier.

"I hope you ate," Bonnie said and threw the bag on the bed.

"I did." Damon looked at the clock and noticed it was just ten minutes to midnight. "Any longer and you would have been late."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Salvatore. I'm right on time," her hand began to unbutton her trench coat.

Damon wasn't sure what to expect. He was hoping for nudity but knew that would never happen on this planet. Lingerie had been ruled out as well because come on he was Damon and she was Bonnie. She might be a vampire, and might be a little into S&M, that didn't mean she stopped being who she was at heart.

Completely and utterly annoyed and detested by him.

Damon realized that when he got under Bonnie's skin she would only take that and use it as fuel to prove that he didn't have her all figured out. Plenty of times he had to eat his words when it came to this girl. She didn't play him from an emotional standpoint like Stefan and Elena were prone to doing. Bonnie stood her ground, forced him to look at his life choices, actually made him behave decently which he couldn't stand. She got under his skin, and he hated but respected her for it.

And here he was about to stand on his hind legs like a good doggie waiting to be petted by his master.

"If I weren't here right now, what would you be doing?" Bonnie asked as she flicked another button.

Damon decided he could show her better than he could tell her. So he propped himself up on his pillows and trailed a hand down the center of his chest and rubbed his hand along the length of his slightly hardened penis.

Bonnie stopped her ministrations, her eyes fixed on his crotch before they flickered disapprovingly back to his face. She pursed her lips and dropped her hand from her coat.

"I'm not interested in watching you molest yourself, Damon. You were reading. That's what I want you to do."

He could argue, but he didn't. When was the last time he did something a hot, young woman told him to do the first time she asked?

Picking up the book, Damon attempted to find the page he had been reading while seemingly ignoring Bonnie's presence. He was tempted to look when he heard her coat hit the floor, and she zipped off her boots. The bed dipped announcing that Bonnie was crawling towards him and with all of his concentration he kept his eyes on the small black letters, letters that were morphing into Chinese before switching to Sanskrit.

Her scent, something earthy tickled his nose and he could just feel the impression of Bonnie looming over him.

"Remember I'm not here," she said in a low voice, her fingers lightly skimming over his abs making them contract under her touch.

Bonnie slipped under his arms as they held up the book. Once she was in a position that was comfortable, Bonnie tilted her head at a forty-five degree angle and pressed her lips against the jumping vein in his neck.

Damon cleared his throat. "How do you honestly expect me to pretend you're not here when you're feeling me up? Can I touch?" he asked hopefully.

Bonnie shook her head. "You touch me you die!"

And her tone of voice meant she was being absolutely serious. Damon nodded and tried to go back to reading but it was absolutely impossible to focus because Bonnie was kissing along his shoulder and then she buried her fangs into his deltoid.

He groaned. It couldn't be helped. His cock stretched fully and hardened to painful proportions. Damon couldn't recall ever being this hard a day in his life. And there was no way Bonnie couldn't feel it. But then she was otherwise occupied.

Damon allowed his eyes to drift over Bonnie's person. He watched as the muscles in her back contracted and flexed, watched her shoulder blades press together before going their separate ways, saw the hills of her ass sticking up in the air. He wondered if the dress she was wearing which was nothing more than lavender lace with thin straps covered all of her areas. She wasn't wearing a bra. That much he could easily tell as her mounds were crushed against his ribs.

Bonnie ejected her fangs. "Are you still reading or are you wishing you could jack off?"

Her question unfortunately almost made him come. "I'm still reading."

"Good boy," Bonnie went back to feeding.

Damon turned the page in his book determined to prove that he was still in control of himself. He wouldn't flip her over, pin her underneath him, and then slide right into home base and invade her like Normandy beach. That's what Bonnie was expecting so he'd remain rigid on his bed and wait for Bonnie to drain him and then knock him unconscious how she saw fit.

Except she pulled away and wiped the corners of her mouth. Damon didn't look at her though he was dying to.

"Put the book down," Bonnie ordered.

Damon followed her orders without complaint and finally looked at her. The veins under her eyes were black, not red, and her eyes were as large as a cat's, the green standing out like a lighthouse against a sea of red.

She was beautiful to him.

"I'm cold could you light a fire?"

Nodding, Damon climbed off the bed and did as his "mistress" requested. With some space between them he could clear the lust from his mind. He braced one arm on the mantle and then looked at Bonnie over his shoulder. She looked good on his bed and he forced himself to switch the directions of his thoughts.

"Are you finally going to explain to me why you've been coming after me and my blood like this? The suspense has literally been killing me."

"Why should I explain and then ruin the surprise, Damon? Apparently you like our arrangement because you haven't tried to stop it, and you haven't told anyone about it. Why?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because I've never quite found myself in this type of situation before. Having my life basically turned upside down and controlled by a former witch who's now a vampire."

Damon was positive bringing up the fact she used to be a witch would certainly get him skewered on something. Silence filled the air and Damon looked at Bonnie again. She was now reading the book he had been pretending to read.

"You don't miss it?" he asked.

"Putting my life in danger every time I chanted a spell? Being taken for granted? Being used and controlled by things that felt they were superior to me simply because they were older? No, I don't miss it. You want to know something funny?" Bonnie didn't wait for him to say yea or nay. "I actually feel more connected to nature than I was when I was a witch, when I was human. I feel everything more intensely. When I touch grass, trees, water I feel life. I felt it before but it pales to what I feel now."

With the fire going, Damon turned to walk back to the bed. "So why haven't you been practicing magic?"

Finally a flicker of emotion he could name appeared on her face but only fleetingly. It was fear.

"One step at a time," Bonnie said and then came to rest on her knees as she approached Damon who sat on the edge of the bed.

Bonnie ran her hand over the dried blood staining his shoulder before sliding it up his neck. She brushed his hair aside. He was letting it grow longer now and Bonnie wasn't sure if she liked it. But that didn't stop her from tugging it until his neck was wrenched backwards.

Damon looked at her askance as Bonnie grew closer, her jaws widening, her fangs becoming visible. The double pin pricks sank deep into him and he let out a groan whereas Bonnie moaned as his hot blood flooded her mouth, and slid down her throat like hot chocolate.

Her fingers tightened in his hair before releasing him and trailing down to his shoulder where he was pushed against the mattress.

"Straddle me," Damon said past the burning sensation resounding in his neck.

Bonnie didn't move. Only continued to drink.

"Let me drink from you," he persisted with another option. Damon was doggedly curious to find out just exactly how her blood tasted. Was it any different from when he savagely took her blood after Emily through her destroyed the crystal? Would he taste the expression magic that lingered in her tissues, in her soul, in her spirit? What would happen to him if Bonnie allowed him to get a drop of her blood?

Since she was busy feeding from him, Damon reached for her leg and brought it up until her knee brushed over his crotch. He did it again several more times and then let go. He smiled because Bonnie kept at it.

"Touch me, Bonnie, just touch me."

Disengaging her teeth from his neck, Bonnie licked away the spilled drops of blood coating his neck. She pulled back and stared down in his heavy-lidded eyes, pleased that Damon looked drained.

"You want my blood?" it was a rhetorical question. "You're going to have to work for it."

At this point teetering between permanent death and recovery, Damon was willing to do anything for her blood.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

What he didn't know he was already doing it.

"I don't trust many people, Damon, but you've been the only person who has always shown his true colors to me. Don't change, but if you do, make sure you change for yourself. Do you promise?"

Damon thought over Bonnie's subliminal message. He nodded.

Bonnie climbed off Damon and rose to her knees again. She pushed her hair to one side of her neck and looked at him from beneath her thick eyelashes.

In a flash he was behind her. He ran the back of his knuckle down the column of her neck. Her skin malleable just like a human's only she wasn't human anymore. Goose bumps rose, he saw each individual hair follicle lifting and that for some reason he found charming. Damon inhaled her scent, the tip of his nose made the briefest of contact with her skin and then, stretching his jaws, his eyes already blurring red, the red veins dancing, he bit into her neck, slowly methodically. He wanted Bonnie to feel every centimeter of his fangs entering her skin.

Bonnie gasped loudly. Damon wrapped one arm around her waist the other pressing across her chest between her breasts to keep her still.

The minute her blood hit the back of his throat his body warmed—considerably. He tasted her life, the untapped magic that lingered and whispered ancient words that meant nothing to him viscerally. Damon wanted to fly apart because it was too much, the sensations thriving over his body, growing like a virus, multiplying and expanding. If he held on to Bonnie any tighter he was liable to break her in half.

She grabbed his wrist and bit into it. He groaned but didn't stop his feeding. He couldn't.

This transference was beyond amazing. He drank her and himself along with the blood Bonnie had consumed before she came over.

Oh fuck, he thought and knew he should stop. Then suddenly he was seeing things. Bonnie's memories or his, it was hard to differentiate but…no they were definitely Bonnie's because he was seeing himself but from her perspective. She was recalling all those times they used to get into it with another arguing over whose plan was better. And then he was looming over her and his fingers caressed her cheek before closing her eyes.

That memory more than anything knocked Damon right off his high horse and he came crashing back to earth.

She knew about that?

After she faked her death to play Klaus, Damon had been alone with her body and stared down at her knowing she wasn't really dead but seeing her that way had done something unexpected to him. Bonnie was fearless. That went without saying, but seeing her so vulnerable, he did what he would have done to any friend who suddenly lost their life. But she shouldn't have been aware of his actions. No one was around so he certainly wasn't putting on for an audience. It was just a moment with a girl whose heart was too big for her little body to contain.

But she knew about that and never brought it up. Anyone else probably would have, but Bonnie didn't.

Damon opened his eyes and stopped feeding. Bonnie let his wrist go two seconds later.

Sitting down, Damon bent his legs at the knees and rested his elbows on them. He ran a hand through his hair.

He was finally faced with the truth. He cared more for Elena's extended family than he claimed he did. Cared more for the girl sitting on the bed across from him. It wasn't only about keeping Elena safe. It had been about keeping Bonnie safe and Caroline, Jeremy, and even Tyler by extension.

Bonnie stared at Damon and then reached for the blood bag. "I don't think you'll be needing this."

Damon shook his head unable to look at her. Just a minute ago he was ready to have sex with her if he could talk her into it, and now he wanted to pledge his allegiance or something.

He was furious now because she set him up to fall into some type of trap. Damon was more than willing to play this game with Bonnie because it kept him on his toes, but no feelings other than expectation and anticipation had been involved. Now she flipped the fucking script and he felt raw and open two things he avoided like the plague.

"You played me," he accused and looked at her with death in his eyes.

Bonnie had the nerve to smirk. "I didn't play you. You knew what could happen if we swapped bodily fluids. You wanted it. I wanted your blood and it really is as simple as that. Anything else that happens is all you."

His hand was around her neck and her back hit the mattress in the blink of an eye. Damon breathed fire out of his nostrils as he pressed her firmly against the bed.

"Damon," Bonnie said calmly.

"You got inside my head and I hate it when someone gets inside my head, Bonnie. You should know that. I think it's time we turned the tables and I snap your little neck. See if you like that."

Bonnie remained mute only defiantly glared at him. She really wasn't afraid of him but then she had no reason to be because she knew he wouldn't do it.

Damon shifted until he rested between her thighs, and he loosened his hold on her neck only a little, not much, not enough for her to get away. A worried look overtook her face and that's because she could feel his still hard dick pressing against her belly though his jeans.

So he found her fault, her weakness. Damon let go of her neck and trapped her between his arms as the palms of his hands kept his upper body from making contact with her.

"Move," Bonnie warned.

"No, I like being here just fine," Damon leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "You'll like having me here and…" he skimmed a hand to her hip and moved it inward until he brushed against her crotch. Bonnie tensed. "You'll be begging me to take you there."

Her nails dug trenches into his arms to push him off, but Damon grabbed her hands, wrenched them off of him and then transferred her wrists in one hand, and held them above her head.

"Not as long as you're in love with Elena you can forget about that ever happening, and even if you weren't no way in hell."

Damon smirked and then cleverly pushed her panties aside and slid his thumb over her clit.

"Damon!" Bonnie screeched and bit into her lower lip not wanting to give into the bliss that began deep in her womb, spread out, and ended up tickling the nerves in her breasts tightening her nipples into rigid peaks.

"Something you want to say?" he was going to turn this game around. Bonnie wouldn't be able to feed on him whenever the urge hit. Not unless she wanted to deal with being teased and toyed with like this.

He brought his thumb up and moistened it with this tongue before burying it between the curls of her nether lips. Bonnie tried to twist away as much as she could but it was pretty much futile.

"Something you want to say, Bonnie?" Damon reiterated his question, dipped his head to kiss along her jaw and neck.

Bonnie had had enough of this. Clamping her thighs around Damon which knocked the wind out of him, she flipped until he was on his back. She held him down with one hand.

"We're not going there with each other because…" she hesitated.

Damon stared up at her. "Because of what?"

Color tinted her cheeks. It was faint but it was there. Bonnie merely arched her eyebrows and it didn't take long for Damon to put two and two together.

It had been a while since he tasted virgin blood but how could he have forgotten the taste? Damon placed his own arms above his head as a sign of surrender.

Bonnie climbed off him, off the bed, and quickly threw her coat on, and slipped her feet in her boots. Starting this had been her way of weakening the sire bond. It looked as if she had succeeded, but then it took a turn she should have prepared herself for only she didn't because Damon had never shown the slightest bit of sexual attraction towards her. So foolishly she thought she was safe.

"So you and Jer-bear never…"

"I don't want to talk about it," Bonnie turned to face him. "There were a lot of things I didn't get to experience when I was still human. That being one of those things."

Damon could believe it but he was having a hard time believing it only because of the way she acted towards him—the sexual charisma she seemed to ooze. Many vampires came equipped with the seduction trait, others had to work a little harder at it, but for Bonnie it came naturally.

He was in no position to offer her anything. There was too much on his plate, yet as he stared at her there was that part of him that thrived on challenges. Despite that, Damon knew he couldn't go there with Bonnie. Not if he wanted to keep all of his limbs and his heart firmly planted in his chest and his brain in its cranium.

"I should go."

Damon said nothing. Only watched her head towards the door, but he had a question.

He grabbed Bonnie and pulled her until her back connected with his chest. "So does this end tonight?" One hand landed on her thigh.

Bonnie boldly looked at Damon over her shoulder. "Just because the mouse is dead doesn't mean the chase is over. I'll always be watching you, Damon waiting for you to make that one wrong move."

And then, grabbing him by the neck, Bonnie brought him down and kissed him deeply on the mouth. She was gone by the time Damon opened his eyes again.

The End.

A/N: I usually shy away from turning Bonnie into a vampire or writing a story where she is a vampire, but I wanted to give it a shot. I didn't want to go into how she transitioned and what that may have been like because it would have been slightly depressing and I'm trying to lean away from the angst stuff and write something a little more light-hearted. Although you know it wouldn't be me if I didn't get a little nasty ;) But this was strictly for entertainment purposes, which I hoped you enjoyed for that reason alone. Thank you for reading and be sure to let me know what you think. Love you!