Chapter Text
Damon has never seen Bonnie high before until now- the green of the palm trees and the crystal clear of the ocean provides the perfect backdrop to truly make the clouded sage of her eyes pop and as glassy as they are, Bonnie is still very functional.
Who would’ve thunk?
He watches her, blunt perched between her fingers like a cigarette, her lids growing lower and sclera turning hazy and Damon can’t possibly look away. How dumb of me, he almost thinks to himself, to have wanted to go to Paris when Jamaica was always right there, specializing in weed strong enough to make even him see shooting stars in his best friend’s pupils.
There’s a cherry taste when his mouth is on the joint again from Bonnie’s lipgloss, as if she’s kissing him. He presses his lips together to chase that fruity flavor with his tongue dragging along the seam of his lip.
It’s been a while since he’s had a woman’s hands on him- possibly a few weeks- and he’s suffering withdrawals, so he attempts to find release in any and every inflection in Bonnie’s tone or inconsistency in her normally prudent behavior.
More often than not, he’s nudging her in certain ways to uncover that sexier side of herself that she hides so well. To his surprise it’s been on overdrive ever since they arrived in Montego Bay- but not directed at him.
The guy who plans excursions, (excursionist?) has been sending heart eyes Bonnie’s way and she’s been sending them back. He’s light brown skin with even lighter locs, modelesque height, tattoos. Damon can admit, to merely be human, he is a contender for good looks but naturally this excursionist is no match for him.
Damon Salvatore is otherworldly.
He sets his jaw.
“Why so serious?” Bonnie makes a gesture of her pointer finger encircling his face then laughs. “You look like you’re about to kill someone.” she pauses to consider what she’s just said before leaning forward, his eyes flit to the neckline of her shirt struggling to hold in ample cleavage before returning up. Voice low so that only he hears, she mumbles. “Wait, please tell me you aren’t?”
Killing excursionist guy is probably not a bad idea, but he won’t, Damon already made a promise earlier that this will be a murder-free trip. “No… that’s off limits. A promise is a promise.” He grins wide enough for her not to renew her faith in him. “You have to keep me preoccupied so I don’t get that urge.” However, he knows that deep down, the urges won’t subside, they’ll just be different.
For instance, the island heat is so intense that his skin tans a bit. Bonnie is several shades darker, a deep brown since she intentionally palm oils herself to lounge out in the sun in a bikini. Damon watches her, follows those trails of perspiration drawing curves around her neck and waist when the temperature is too warm. He observes so hard that he swears he can taste the saltiness, feel the weight of her skin on his tongue. His mind insists he throw her over his shoulder when she pulls her neck and back strap loose for an even complexion. Urges so strong, he takes a step closer to the sliding glass door.
It takes him a while to realize he’s longing for Bonnie-his best friend- in a way that he shouldn’t. But it’s hard to encourage his mind not to when she’s splayed out like a starfish.
Or times like now, when his eyes play tag between her cleavage and her face because in Jamaica, Bonnie wears tank tops with straps thinner than spaghetti. With necklines that sink lower than anvils. Cherry-flavored blunts. He promises she’d have that same look in her eye if she tried him out for one night. The same feeling too.
It’s hard for him not to have his mind all muddled when just yesterday, she was searching for something in her bag and she bent over far enough that her shorts lowered and her shirt rose and Damon saw a new set of teeny tiny tan lines from a string bikini he’d never seen her in before. After that, there was no such thing as pulling him back so those “urges” are perhaps on his to-do list. Bonnie Bennett is perhaps on his to-do list.
But imagine, all of that teasing to not so much as hint that she’s doing it for him. Actually, he knows she isn’t. The little witch is just enjoying her time on vacation, her time by herself, and her time with her best friend. Damon is keeping an eye out so she won’t decide to enjoy her time with Excursion guy. She’s too busy with her bestie and if Damon’s not getting any, neither should she, no matter how many times Goldilocks reminds her of his very available schedule after 3pm.
She declares she has the munchies with a giggle before reaching into her purse to reveal an orange, pulpy mango skinned delicately and plastic bagged.
“You have the whole world in your purse.”
Bonnie rolls her eyes before she bites into it, juices dripping down her chin, down the front of her shirt, leaving see-through streaks. His mind is in shambles just that quick.
“I wish you could taste how sweet it is,” Bonnie says, popping a thumb into her mouth.
Damon is not thinking about fruit.
When her fingers become too messy to hold the joint, he holds onto it for her and inhales until his vision is ocean waves of dark brown skin, light brown hair and peridot eyes.
.
“There’s something magical about this place…I can feel it- like this old wisdom that lingers and is kinda intimidating.” Bonnie gets lost in thought. “Almost reminds me of this one time I visited Haiti when I was a little girl and everyone used to talk about mermaids taking their family members away for years... If a mermaid asked you to go with her, would you?”
Damon convinces Bonnie to share a suite with him since there’s more than enough space in a California King-sized bed. She relents. They have a wonderful view of the setting sun as the room is painted in reds and pinks.
“Only if you went with me. I can’t have Mr. Excursionist attempting to take my place.” Damon admits, not intending to put his foot in his mouth but doing so anyway.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He decides to run with it, “Please, Bon Bon. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at that guy. You two have some creepy eye sex thing going on as if I’m not there.”
“What difference does it make? You do the same exact thing but with every woman you come in contact with.”
“Semantics. This is supposed to be a trip for two besties and here you are adding a third to the mix, who is quite unwanted if you ask me.”
“One, I want him, and two, no one is asking you. Besides, he could never take your place-“
“Aww,”
“-because you’re my best friend. With Leo, I want fun. Young, dumb fun.”
“We have fun all the time.”
“Don’t be dense, Damon.” She says, with leaf green eyes looking at him like that type of fun between them is never going to happen.
He wants to tell her that he’s been dying to have fun with her. He wants to tell her how he’s dreamt of bending her over the modern eclectic dining table and fucking her so hard that every knickknack and napkin-wrapped silverware falls to the floor. He wants to tell her that there’s no way she hasn’t noticed the thirst in his gaze, or heard how his innuendos no longer sound like jokes.
“I never get to have fun.” She declares, with every intention of changing that.
.
She sneaks out at night in the black micro bikini he’s never seen her in. Every so often, she turns around probably making sure he’s not trailing her but Damon is a vampire with quick reflexes, his footsteps are soundless. He moves too fast for her to catch a glimpse.
Behind them is the resort, in front of them is bright, pearly moonlight and the beach. She walks offshore to welcome the cool waves, find peace, the sea at her thighs before she decidedly pulls away to sit on one of the unfolded resort loungers.
This time it’s water droplets curving around her waist- they crystallize like little pools of silver in the light before racing down her body, between her breast and legs. He’s never seen this much of Bonnie at once and all of his blood is rushing so far South that it makes him lightheaded. To at least breathe comfortably, he unzips his pants.
He observes Bonnie as she swivels her head around and Damon realizes that she’s looking for him. Goldilocks.
Already, he’s a tall mass of limbs and arms, walking towards her so accustomed to the sand that he moves fluently. Bonnie watches him like he isn’t real, by the sound of her heart rate, she doesn’t seem nervous which surprises him. This guy cups her face to bring her in for a kiss with enough passion and romance behind it that it makes Damon’s stomach twist but it doesn’t stop him from staring.
They do that for a while, kiss, before Bonnie tugs at his waistband with this neediness that automatically makes Damon wish that he’d snapped his neck.
Mr. Pretty laughs at her eagerness before caressing the side of her face, “There’s no need to rush.”
How silly of him to assume.
Damon knows Bonnie is rushing because she’s not sure how long she can be gone before her best friend realizes and breaks every neck that won’t tell him where she is. Instead she says she needs him, like really, really bad, right now and tears the condom with an anticipation that makes her thighs quiver.
With Bonnie’s next blink, Damon is behind her, hand over her protesting mouth, peering into her fantasy’s eyes, telling him to only remember this night in his dreams, when the witch and the vampire have boarded the plane to their next destination, far away from here. The girl on the beach does not exist, she is not real, she is a figment of his imagination when his eyes are open, and he will never remember her name. She’s just a mermaid who lured him in to sea when the waves were too high for him to swim in.
Mindlessly, tall, dark and handsome leaves, the tent in his pants a compass that points to the way back home.
Bonnie screams at Damon when he lets her go, hits him, strikes him with aneurysms strong enough to bring him to his knees and fuck, he feels that attention he so desperately needs from her. Finally he can confirm she feels something towards him even if it’s a hate strong enough to split him in two because someone like him is never meant for the friend zone. He can never feel her power surging through him like this if he’s tiptoeing on becoming a safe and reliable security blanket.
Even with blood vessels in his brain popping, he thinks to himself, yes, yes, Bonnie, give me everything you’ve got and then his vision goes black like the color of her tiny bikini.
.
Damon’s head is underwater before he jolts himself awake, it’s still nighttime, still very hot and humid when he stands up in the sea, shirt plastered to his torso and jeans heavy with water weight. He looks down at a frowning little witchy.
“Anything you want, you get. Anything at all.” Bonnie says, staring at him with hostility in her eyes, stronger than when they first met. “But what do you want this time, Damon? For me to be miserable? We’re on vacation for Christ’s sake and still, I’m angry at you. It’s always about you.”
“That’s the thing, Bonnie. You’re on vacation with me, so why the hell would you get lost in other people?”
“We’re not a fucking couple!”
“Yes we fucking are.” Damon pauses to evaluate his words. “We’re a couple of really close friends who protect each other.”
She laughs sardonically, “I should be protecting myself from you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh but I do, you’re a walking nightmare. You’re the best friend from hell.”
“Bonnie-“
“Don’t touch me.”
He drops his arm. “I just think you’re overreacting.”
“And i just think you’re a narcissist.”
“Penny for every time I’ve heard that one.”
“You’re singlehandedly ruining my life and joking about it…Just leave me alone.”
“You and I both know that I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
The waves roar as they stare each other down.
“You know, I used to think you protected me for Elena. Kept me safe when I became your best friend, but slowly you’ve just started mixing up my role with hers. I am your friend, nothing more or less, so you have to stop treating me like my world is supposed to revolve around you. Newsflash, Damon, it’s not.” She bumps him when she walks off and he turns around to see the moon looking closer than it was before.
.
It’s not too late, he notices when he glances at his phone and sees it’s a little passed midnight. But he’s deeply tired, so much so that he’s considering getting sleep tonight. Bonnie is in the bathroom brushing her teeth though it doesn’t stop him from stripping and closing the glass shower door behind him.
She mumbles something he can barely hear over the sound of the faucet and the shower head.
“What?”
Bonnie tugs at the handle and opens the door to his shower, steam rushing out, “I said you wish it were you, don’t you?”
Her eyes don’t stray just hold his with a fierceness that lets him know she’s still very pissed at him. And he’s just stunned.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now if you’re coming in, close the door so I can stay nice and warm, please?”
She does, to his disbelief. She closes the door behind him, and there’s enough room in this fancy shower that she can stand up in it with only her feet getting wet. Damon lathers his body up, determined to not get too excited about having company in here with him, and Bonnie of all people. She’s still mad enough to set him on fire.
“You were jealous. All that time, I couldn’t pinpoint why you’d do something like that and then-bingo- you wish I were sneaking out to have sex with you.”
There’s no accusation in her tone, she presents her idea confidently as if it’s not up for debate.
“Uh-uh,” he lies, “I was only trying to protect you from a situation you didn’t know how to handle.”
“I decide what I can and cannot handle.”
“Tell that to your bleeding nose.”
She taps at her nose to see red on her two fingers before washing them away. “This is all your fault.”
“Yeah, yeah. Blame the big, bad, vampire. You’re still wrong.”
Bonnie folds her arms together and looks at him sideways.
“I’m wrong.” She steps forward with this judgey look on her face and something else; he hasn’t really considered Bonnie to be dangerous but he’s uneasy when she steps close enough that her hair is soaked and her oversized sleep shirt sticks to her bare skin. “You don’t want me…Right?”
This is a fever dream, witchy in a wet t-shirt and nothing else, tempting him while he’s in the shower is hard to accept as reality.
“Exactly.” He confirms, but his lashes drop when he drinks her body in, the press of her curves against fabric that might as well not even be there. “You’re so wrong.” His voice is hoarse with how badly his loins ache.
“I can’t tell.”
He thinks she’s about to embrace him but the dig of her nails down his back is better, renders him weak with an all-encompassing arousal that almost makes him double over. It’s impossible to speak.
“I needed Leo tonight, but you compelled him to forget about me, Damon. You should pay for that.”
“I am paying, my balls are fucking blue.”
“Well, I want them to turn into Christmas ornaments.” She brushes her body up against his as close as she can get before leaving him alone.
She mumbles something else under her breath and when he goes to release the tension in his damn near purple erection, his arms won’t allow him to.
“Fuck,” he groans.