iβve missed you guys π₯Ή finally updated dark seas, palm trees and mangoes! hope you enjoy, leave me kudos and a review if you did. hope you all are okay! muah muah!
βSo what exactly are we pitching a tent for?β
Theyβre still in the Dominican Republic, enjoying their sunny days and humid nights before Bonnie calls on him to help with the structure of her sturdy little tent at sunset.
The beach is in front of them and the resort isnβt too far away with a tide low enough for her to set up comfortably on the expanse of slightly dampened sand. She presses at the humidity on her forehead absently while reviewing the instructions.
Damon has already made a vow to himself to be on his best behavior for at least the rest of their time in the DR. His mind has been so far in the gutter lately but luckily Bonnieβs spell released its hold on him around 1:27 this morning and well, he was in the shower for far too long.
He thinks that merely existing so close to him, Bonnie has a way of bringing the best and the worst out of him-whatβs left of his humanity and the beast- but he always gets mixed up on which part is which.
However, today is the perfect day for him to make an active effort to control all parts of himself.
Zero hungry gazes. No physical or metaphorical boners. Not one naughty musing. He will be good if only to prove to himself that he can.
He chances a glance at Bonnie, her flyaways blowing in the ocean breeze. She looks pretty, and innocent, and like she would probably throw a shoe at him if she could hear his inner dialogue about her the other ninety percent of the time.
βIβve always wanted to go camping.β
βWhat better view?β She gestures behind her to the orange and purple skies, the saltwater a perfect pink. βIt looks like paradise.β
βIβve had my fair share of camping with Stefan. Humans always taste a little better when you eat them with sβmores.β
βWow, that is definitely demented.β
βOur emo phase, dare I say it.β
βWhy give up a bed with its own area code for a sleeping bag?β
βItβs the principle. And you have to stay with me tonight since youβre my only lookout.β
He barks a laugh. βBut the all-powerful Bennett witch needs no saving.β
βYouβd like to think so, wouldnβt you?β She says it jokingly though the words linger in his mind almost as long as the taste of her lip gloss in his mouth.
Damon can probably count on one hand the amount of times the little witch has needed his help. His specialty was always messing things up anyway, but stillβ¦
When he thinks back, he can only recall Elena who needed the rescue, the only one with the big, orange raft. Elena whom he buckled in with the life jacket while everyone else sank around him. She is the only one he remembers writing SOS in the sand.
βAre you gonna help me or what?β She waves the creased paper of instructions in irritation before folding her arms across her chest, shaking him out of his musings. βCanβt you set this thing up in record timing?β
βAnd risk an estranged mortal finding out that Iβm aβ¦β Damon takes a pregnant pause and looks around him in angst. ββ¦a vampire?β
The tent is smaller than sheβd planned, from peering into it. Big enough that Damon can lay down comfortably but she can tell by looking at it that theyβll hardly be any space between them.
Damon clutches his chin in thought when he reviews their dilemma, before deciding on a sigh. βI guess youβll just have to sleep on top of me.β
When they both crawl their way in, Bonnie feels odd. Like the one thing sheβs been determined to escape has found its way through that little entrance arch and has no plan to leave. Like itβs the only thing holding up the tent now, bouncing around and through.
Theyβre sitting upright, Damon in his usual uniform of all black, Bonnie in a sundress, but their thighs are touching and itβs different from her teasing him for revenge. Itβs different because before, there was space. Lots and lots of space. She could back away, come and go, tease, leave. Breathe. But now, in such a tight space, the only thing she breathes is Damon.
Not to mention, their vacation has created some sticky situations, made their bond a slippery slope, sometimes a tightrope. Itβs obvious their relationship, (friendship,) has gotten complicated to say the least but when wasnβt it? And those ginormous vacation beds are big enough to bury the nightβs emotions with the rising sun.
In this tiny tent, there is no room to forget. She canβt help the feeling that the walls are pressing in on her, forcing her to acknowledge the charge thatβs always been there between her and him.
Damon seems unaffected. Or not unusual to how he normally is- flirty, devil-may-care, kind of dastardly.
βOur little hut isnβt so bad.β
She lets out a lifeless chuckle and Damonβs eyes shoot to hers with a question wondering what might be wrong.
She looks away quickly for fear he can see the mango from Jamaica on her mind and how she wishes Damon had tasted if only to have their teeth, tongues and mouths on the same thing at once.
As with her cocktail, that flittering satisfaction she felt when he sipped from the same spot she had- the lightest imprint of her gloss bringing color to his lips. Damon returned the glass to her in a way that made their fingertips brush, (because how else can he return a champagne flute?) and an overwhelming impulse to lick the rim of the glass-right where he drank- bubbled up in her. The feeling came almost as fast as it went but the worse part was that he could provoke some animalistic urge within her without even knowing. She hated his undeterred ability to make a moment so average an aphrodisiac.
She wiggles her ankle as if it could rid her of the phantom feeling of his knuckles on her back tying her bikini straps, she blinks long enough to raise concern. Her pulse is jumping.
Damon leans forward and wraps his hand around her ankle to still her, offer some sort of peace, make her laugh with a comical look on his face like sheβs batshit crazy, but she swears it takes every ounce of her being to stifle her groan. How pertinent of him to think heβs making the situation better when his hand around her ankle feels like a test.
If he hadnβt looked at her like he saw fireworks for the first time in his century-and-a-half life.
If he hadnβt pulled that jealous boyfriend act.
If he hadnβt enjoyed her angry aneurysms so much that even when he was on one knee in pain, the want in his eyes was enough to make her dizzy.
If he hadnβt said he loved her like thatβ¦.
She puffs out a breath, humidity building under her breasts like her heart is sweating or something.
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