Bloodstream {Bamon One-Shot}
So, it was recently pointed out to me that I’ve never shared my smutty goodness with Tumblr, so here you go. This was posted on FF.net and A03 awhile back, until I moved everything to my own website. It’s the first fanfic I ever wrote, which lead to the 23 chapter madness that is ODD DAYS. Enjoy!
- SN
Summary: Bonnie and Damon are trapped in the Prison World. When his pessimism drives Bonnie to tears, Damon comforts her the only way he knows how - and discovers a longing for something more.
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries: BAMON
Rating: All the smut. Like, all of it.
Musical Inspiration: Bloodstream by Stateless
She talks in her sleep. Random words and phrases in Latin, half mumbled curses and imaginings slipping past her lips in a purge. It’s like she’s trying to relearn magick even as she dreams, her subconscious attempting to tap back into the only thing that can get them home. He teases her about it relentlessly, but he’s already grown accustomed to the sounds; her white noise is a comfort on the nights he can’t sleep. Makes the world seem less empty.
It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while - usually after a few too many drinks - she retires to her room opposite his and cries herself to sleep. He hears her through the walls, late night whimpering and pillow smothered sobs that, in the real world, could be mistaken for the sounds of the boardinghouse settling or some restless animal outside. He’d lay there, listening, wanting to get up and apologize for calling her useless, or for whatever else he had done that day to undermine her hope. But he was conscious of her efforts to keep her tears to herself; the crush of cotton against her lips echoed in his ears as she fought to suffer silently.
So usually, he would simply listen, try to afford her some privacy in this world so full of nothing. He’d picture her green eyes swollen and weeping, count the rapid beats of her heart, and wish the sadness would leave long enough for her to get some rest.
But tonight, when Bonnie’s tears start, he remembers the depth of her compassion, her empathy. He recalls the sacrifices she’s made - for their friends, for him, for those they love. He realizes she’s crying for the both of them. Crying for what they’ve lost, for what their lives could have been. And suddenly he’s no longer content to let her suffer on her own.
Damon gets out of bed and crosses the hall, entering Bonnie’s room without knocking. She starts but doesnt speak, doesnt look at him; just wipes her face quickly and curls deeper into the blankets. After a moment’s hesitation, he crawls onto the bed, staying on top of the blankets but wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.
“Come on, BonBon,” he says quietly. “Your chili wasn’t that bad.”
She laughs - the sound still choked with tears, but a laugh nonetheless.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, squeezing her softly. “We’re alone in this, together.”
She doesn’t reply, but her arms come up and grip him, her fingers intertwining with his. He kisses the top of her head and draws her closer, tightening their spoon position as her breath steadies into rhythmic air.
“We’ll be alright, Bonnie.”
He wakes a few hours later, the night still pressing down on them. Somehow, he’s ended up underneath the covers with her in his arms, half on top of him, their legs tangled and her head resting in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Damon lays his head down on the pillow and lets himself drift back to sleep, his hands roaming over her back, gently trailing and petting. She’s warm, her skin emitting that clove and earth scent that is specifically Bonnie and he breathes it in, lets it flood his senses.
Halfway between awake and dream, he forgets this is his own personal hell, forgets the loss of his brother. He forgets the fear and the lack of control over the circumstances, and he forgets the longing to see the sparkle in Elena’s eyes one last time. He doesn’t quite recognize the feeling that envelops him in this moment; it’s foreign and familiar all at the same time, but it soothes him, and he’s grateful.
Contentment. That’s the word he’s looking for. More content than he can ever remember being, his cellmate nestled close and settled against him. He smiles softly and his hands grow stronger on her backside, pulling her into a kind of hug, his hips involuntarily pushing up into her.
The moan that escapes her lips is rich with sleep and longing, and though she’s still unconscious Bonnie grinds herself against him in response. Damon snaps awake, his skin warming and the blood rushing to specific parts of his anatomy. And before he can comprehend what he’s doing he thrusts into her again, locking his groan in his throat at the contact. Her hand sweeps across his bare chest, absently tickling and pinching his nipple, but he can hear the change in her heartbeat as she starts to wake up.
If he gives her a chance to realize what she’s doing she’ll stop, pull away, and in this darkness, in this content moment, that’s the last thing he wants. He misses being touched, misses the blood pulse of another body pressed into his. He doesn’t think, just slides his hands down to her hips and shifts her tiny frame to completely over his body, squeezing her ass and surging up against her pelvis again.
Her eyes are open now as she looks down at him, hands trembling slightly against his shoulders. She doesn’t speak and neither does he but he holds her stare, ice blue and forest green locked together, silently discussing the right and wrong of it, each daring the other to back down.
It’s a long moment before she leans in and brushes her lips against his, softly, tentatively, and he lets her set the pace as she teases her tongue into his mouth. He groans when her flavor hits his tongue and that grateful feeling rolls over him again, and when he opens wide to take all of her in Bonnie responds with a moan of her own that shakes his core. He can smell the heat of her blood as the desire rises within her, all smoke and spice, and he has to fight the urge to sink his teeth deep into her throat and drown in her red.
It’s slow. Quiet. Movements only frantic with the threat of realization, voices only used to whisper encouragement. Clothes tossed with abandon as lips, fingers, tongue find the secret hidden places that make her moan his name. She’s free, sensual, wicked in a way he never dreamed she could be and Damon briefly wonders how he could have missed all this fire inside her before. It’s overwhelming the way the power and lust bursts from her skin and embraces him, takes him in, accepting all that this is without judgment, without fear. It’s only when her small, delicate hand grasps his cock and guides him to her entrance, only when he sees the hunger on her face does he realize that same inferno is burning within him, that this consuming is something they can only bring out in one another.
Heat. Pulsing, tingling, devastating heat wrapped around his cock like a vise and she meets him thrust for thrust, rolling her hips like a dancer, taking all he has to give. Which, from his perspective, is everything. Every whimper. Every growl. Every drop of sweat and every empty beat of his undead heart belongs to her. He can’t look her in the eye because he’ll cum too soon and he needs this to last just a little bit longer. Just a little longer.
Just a little bit longer.
The sharp tug of her fingers in his hair are just another spur now as she pulls him back into her line of sight and covers his mouth with hers. He kisses her, hard and deep, losing himself in it before she deliberately runs her tongue along his fang, splitting it open and filling his mouth with blood.
Hot copper, sacred fire, hitting his throat as he surges into the tight, wet sheath of her body. His name, rising and falling on her breath, her nails in his flesh, the electric shock of her cunt as she starts to cum. He can’t take it, it’s too much too fast and Damon is emptying his cock inside her before he can stop himself, the ecstasy racing through his body and across every nerve. It’s good, so good and so fucking perfect he can’t help the roar of her name that bellows out of him, cant help the bruising grip he has on her hips as he watches the witch come apart beneath him, with him, for him.
It’s a few moments before either of them can move. But when he’s done panting air he doesn’t need to breathe, he’s gathering her to him, his hands cupping her face and staring into her bright eyes. She looks beautiful and spent, lips swollen and bruised from his attention, and when she opens her mouth to speak he kisses her again, effectively silencing her.
He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to remember where they are, who they are. He just wants this moment of peace and her magickal blood slipping across his tongue.
This moment where just the two of them is enough.
