Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/250377.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Vampire_Diaries_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Bonnie_Bennett/Alaric_Saltzman
  Character:
      Bonnie_Bennett, Alaric_Saltzman
  Additional Tags:
      Exhibitionism, Community:_kink_bingo, Teasing, Teacher-Student
      Relationship, Dirty_Talk, Plot_What_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-09-07 Words: 3868
****** Once Open the Books ******
by summerstorm
Summary
     Alaric makes an offhand remark about Bonnie's affinity for jeans, and
     Bonnie has trouble getting it out of her head.
Notes
     Ostensibly for the 'teasing' square on my kink-bingo card, but it
     contains a whole lot of other kinks as well, most notably
     exhibitionism. This is very much idfic, and — I have two WsIP that
     don't exploit the teacher/student aspect of the pairing, but this is
     not one of them.
Bonnie's so busy trying to squirm out of her pants she doesn't hear Alaric at
first.
"What?" she mutters, too distracted to enunciate.
Alaric looks up this time, licking his lips, his hands stilling on her thighs.
He looks at her for a second, and when he speaks it sounds like he's not
repeating what he said before, which would bother her if she weren't too
distracted to care. "Don't you own any skirts?"
"That's a weird question," Bonnie says, slow, because it is. There's an
implication there that makes her tilt her head defensively; it wouldn't be the
first time someone's accused her of not being, like, feminine enough or
whatever, which is ridiculous even as a concept, accusing a girl of that.
Alaric doesn't seem to take notice of her confrontational stance; he drags her
jeans, with some difficulty, off her legs, and says, "These are damn hard to
get off you."
"Oh." Bonnie purses her lips. "Okay. I guess that's a valid suggestion, then,"
she says, but by then her pants are hanging off the foot of his bed and he's
leaving a trail of soft bites up her inner thigh and he probably doesn't even
hear her.
*
It's been six hours.
She doesn't know what got into her this morning. She's worn skirts before,
dresses; there's a reason she has a number of them in her closet. She wears
them relatively often. Pants are easier, more comfortable, she has more of
them, but before now, she's pretty sure she'd never thought twice about putting
on skirts. She'd never thought hey, this is unusual or anything.
It's all she could think about today. Maybe it's—normal, normal because she's
never dated anyone for that long, and she never even slept with anyone she
dated before Ric, so it never occurred to her to think of clothes in that
context. Showing off her legs is the only thing she's deliberately done in that
regard, but now of course she's thinking about it, about how much easier it
would be to touch her like this. How much easier it is—before she left this
morning, in her room, she put a hand on her knee and dragged it upwards,
between her thighs, just to see, and it was—it was interesting. Her panties
were still in the way, but it's not like it would have taken much to take them
off or push them aside. They're pretty light, and they stretch.
She really had no reason to take them off. For one thing, it's not like she
randomly decided she was going to have sex in the middle of the morning or
anything. She hasn't lost her mind. School is school, and getting good grades
is important to her, and that's not even considering the kind of trouble she
could get in if someone saw her doing anything at all with Alaric anywhere, let
alone on school grounds.
She just thought—she thought she'd do it for herself. Just for fun. Not to turn
herself on or anything, but because it felt a little reckless, a little
rebellious. So she waited until the restroom was clear to stuff them in a
hidden pocket in her bag, and walked out. She's careful in every other area of
her life, and it wouldn't be weird if she didn't tell anyone. Which she had no
reason to. She could tell Alaric, later, when they were somewhere safe.
She even thought she might not even see him at school, actually, which is why
she regrets it all of a sudden when Elena comes up to her and says, "Oh, Ric
told me he was going to be at the library working on that thing about
the—wolves, if you want to help out."
So that's where Bonnie is now, sitting next to Alaric in the local library,
books scattered all over their table, wearing a skirt with nothing underneath.
Every time she thinks about it, she presses her legs closer together, which
should be impossible by now considering she's been thinking about it since she
got here. Before she got here. It's pretty hard to concentrate on spells when
eighty percent of her brain is busy freaking out. What if he notices? She
doesn't know how he could unless he touched her, which—terrible road to go
down. No. She can make it through this. They're looking for something pretty
specific, so it shouldn't take that long to find out if there's any info at all
on it in all of the local mythology section that they haven't already gone
through separately. So they can do that, and then she can go home, and put on
panties, and write this whole day off as an experience she shouldn't have ever
again.
"Bonnie," Alaric says. It sounds like he's been calling her name for a while
now.
Bonnie feels herself flush. "Sorry."
"Are you all right? You look kind of flustered." He lifts a hand to her
forehead, which is fine, she's fine, and she tells him as much. He takes a look
around before thumbing a few threads of hair back, and his hand ends up on her
arm. He's still looking at her.
"I'm," she begins again, but actually, no: she's not fine. She's distracted.
She's incredibly turned on, and she could miss something, and he's touching her
and her skin is burning pretty much everywhere from her neck down, and she
needs to get a grip. This isn't her. She's composed, she's responsible. She
doesn't make rash decisions to drag people's hands under her skirt.
She doesn't. She doesn't except, apparently, when she does.
Her lips press together as his fingers trail over her inner thigh, his eyebrows
drawing a frown until she pulls his wrist higher, until he reaches hair.
"You wanted easier access, right?" she whispers, because that wasn't the point
but it is, now that she's made it the point.
"Not like—" He gives a short, breathy laugh. "Like this." His hand's still
between her legs, though, a shallow touch. She feels all these things at
once—embarrassed, exhilarated, pleased that he's not judging her for this, or
lecturing her on appropriate behavior in public, not that she thought he'd do
that. She didn't think he'd touch her either, though. She didn't really think
about what he'd do. He curses under his breath as he spreads her out, still
soft, still careful. "How long have you been waiting to do this?"
"I haven't," she says. It's the truth. This is not what she was working toward,
but—"Pretty much all day?" she amends, as matter-of-fact as she can manage when
he's parting her folds with the edge of his hand and pushing a fingertip inside
her. She rolls her hips into it, biting her lip to keep from sighing. He pulls
back immediately—his hand, at least. His eyes are still trained on her face,
and his mouth is a little open, a little dry.
"We need to finish this," he says, and she instantly feels less embarrassed,
more in control of the situation. She bites back a smirk, but the corners of
her lips curl up anyway. It's such a thrill when he gets like this—when she
makes him like this. "Besides, someone could walk by," he adds, soft, almost
like he's telling himself.
She nods, trying to convince herself not to say anything, and failing
miserably. "It's not that risky," she hears herself say. "Is it? I mean, you
can just take your hand back if you hear anything. That can be done fast."
Alaric looks like he wants desperately to agree with her. There's this
intensity on his face, in his eyes when he glances at the edge of her skirt,
and it doesn't bode well. For someone who hangs out with Damon Salvatore,
Alaric can be frustratingly self-sacrificial and horrible at giving into what
he wants. He puts his hand back on her knee, but it's just a second, and then
he says, "Later," and goes back to the books.
She knows, and the thought surprises her, that she could push him. If she
grabbed his wrist and dragged it back between her thighs, she knows with a
solid certainty that he wouldn't pull back again. It's like he has some kind of
two-strike rule when it comes to her: the first time she tries something he'll
give her a chance to think it over, be responsible, and the second time he'll
just give in and let it be on her head.
It's more than a little weird that she can apply this to—to sex, now, to sex
with Alaric, but the thing is, that rule or whatever it is probably works
because she doesn't push it, because right now she's thinking about it but has
no intention of doing anything that could mess things up.
"How early can we leave?" she says instead.
When he looks at her, he's licking his lips. "As soon as I figure out what's
missing from the tranquilizer plans."
"What are you looking for exactly?" she asks, crossing her legs and squaring
her shoulders. She can wait, and she can do so with some composure, and maybe
even try to help. That's what she came here for in the first place. The new
incentive to be done as quickly as possible doesn't hurt.
Alaric grits his teeth, taking the books in with his eyes. "I'm not sure, but
it should be here. Probably in the old journals."
"Do I know what you're looking for?" She bites her lip, and when he turns to
her again, she can see the moment he realizes what she's suggesting.
He cocks his head. "Is that question for me or for you?"
She lifts a finger to urge him to stay quiet and breathes in deep, filling her
lungs, looking at all the open books scattered over the library table. She
thinks about wolves, about werewolves as people, out of control people who need
to be hindered but not hurt, and when she raises her hands, two books jerk into
the air, their spines crack, and they hit the table upside down with a soft
thump. "There."
"You couldn't have done this when we got here?"
With a shrug, she says, "I didn't think of it."
Alaric picks up the books and finds what he needs almost immediately, which
sends a shiver of anticipation through her. He takes a few notes and closes his
notebook; when he's done, he looks at her with his eyebrows a little raised and
god, if she could just—
"Sit down," Alaric says, his voice suddenly low and firm.
"What?"
Alaric takes in a breath. "Sit down."
She does, more out of surprise than anything else. She sits down. He's pushing
his chair back, touching the edge of the table appraisingly. She frowns at him,
but he doesn't even look at her before he crawls under the table, and suddenly
there are hands on her knees, pushing them apart, and his mouth is on her
before she knows to expect it. She jolts in her seat, hitting her shoulders on
the sturdy wood of the tall library chair, and spreads her legs wider before
grabbing one of the closed books, opening it before her so she can hide her
face if—fuck—if she doesn't fall down first.
She clutches the floating arm of the chair and tries to stay upright when
Alaric's doing his best to pull her right to the floor.
"Careful," she says quietly, and he groans, the sound vibrating against her
clit, her skirt shifting up her waist when he moves.
She doesn't know how she manages to stay silent; fear, probably, and that she
knows she can't alert anyone to this. That may turn her on more than she'd like
to admit, but she's never been one to push situations until they unravel out of
her control and she's not going to start now. So she keeps her vowels back,
letting only breath come out of her mouth, soft even when it turns to panting,
even when she—stupidly, stupidly—gives up on the cover of the book and drags
her palm over his head instead.
Kneading at his neck, embarrassingly aware of the place her skirt ends and his
hair begins, she whispers, "Please," once, and out comes the begging, always
the begging that pops out when she can't control it and all she can do is hiss
please, please, please over and over until her orgasm hits and knocks
composure, if not sense, back into her.
*
After, they gather their things in silence, perfectly normal except for his
hand on the small of her back.
In his car, he tosses everything into the backseat and touches her thigh before
starting the engine, her skirt hiking up. She says, "You can stop touching me
any time now," and he draws his hand back like it causes him pain to do so.
She's not—she's not trying to tease him, exactly, she's just—she's really
turned on, and even the idea of doing this makes her a little crazy with need,
so she does it, now, before he pulls out of the parking lot, before it can
blindside him into an accident or something: she spreads her legs and toes off
her right shoe, the one closest to the door, before pulling her foot up on the
seat, knee bent up, her skirt stretching over her thigh for only seconds before
dropping loosely around her hips.
"You look really unlike you like that," he says when he turns to her, but it's
preceded by a sharp intake of breath and accompanied by a forced smile, like
he's trying to make light of it, so she shrugs and smiles, feeling a little shy
all of a sudden.
"Just trying new things," she says, and he pulls the car out and on the road.
During the drive to his apartment, she's pretty sure he actively avoids the
rearview mirror, looking in the side-view instead, which she feels a little bad
about, but it's not like Mystic Falls is brimming with activity this time of
day. At red lights, she shifts, feeling her wetness spread; she feels self-
conscious for about a second, when her skirt rides up and her bare ass touches
the car seat, but she sticks to it; it seems like it'd be more embarrassing to
change her mind now, and she doesn't want to anyway—she's so turned on she can
feel herself pulse, and she wants more and she's gotten this far, she can—
Alaric lowers the driver's window and the breeze hits her like a truck, draws a
long, low moan out of her. When the car moves again, it gives her goosebumps,
so she lifts her other leg up, rubs her shins with her hands. She doesn't make
a conscious decision to touch herself, but she can't help cupping herself, just
a steady pressure of her palm, not wanting to get off but afraid she's going to
come just like this if she doesn't calm down. She presses her legs together
when he starts to park, quickly stretching her skirt down again, and for a
moment she thinks he's not going to bother getting the research out of the
backseat, but he does while she steps out.
As soon as the door to his apartment opens, everything he was carrying lands
unceremoniously in an armchair and she's being dragged in by her skirt, the hem
of it pressed back to front together between her legs, his knuckles brushing
her pussy until he gets the door closed and kisses her so hard it goes to her
head, his hand on her jaw, his other hand letting go of her skirt and wrapping
her leg up around his thigh. He hauls her up then, straightening up, and
carries her in until she can sit on the arm of his couch. She drops to her feet
when he lets go and makes quick work of his belt, a suggestion more than any
intention to get him naked herself, before deciding she hasn't milked this for
all it's worth yet.
She walks away. She doesn't walk out, but she walks a little farther into the
apartment, dragging her fingertips over the kitchen island until she's in the
worst possible place—the most visible, the one with the most space around her.
Then, she sets her palms firm on the surface, steps back and lifts her ass.
"What are you doing?" Alaric asks after her, his voice so rough she almost
doesn't catch it.
"I'm exploiting this," Bonnie says. "You're the one who wanted me to wear
skirts."
"Not like that," Alaric says, but she can hear his footsteps, his belt falling
on the couch.
"So you don't want to fuck me?" Bonnie says sweetly.
He groans in an exasperated way, the same way he does every time Bonnie forces
him into a topic he's not comfortable with. She always knows what she's doing,
and she's fairly sure she never sounds serious about them, but he responds the
same way every time. "That's not what I mean," he says, walking over to her
until he can settle his hands on her hips, drag her skirt higher.
"I just thought we could make this a little creepier," Bonnie says. "Since you
won't bend me over your desk or anything."
Alaric laughs. "Do you want me to bend you over a desk?" he asks, like it's a
ridiculous idea. Which it is, maybe, but that's not the point.
Bonnie breaks then; she can't act like she's not embarrassed about this. She's
not that good. "I kind of do," she says in a small voice, and his grip becomes
tighter, and in seconds her skirt is bundled around her waist and she hears a
zipper go down and fuck, at this rate she's going to come before he's inside
her. It's not even that she doesn't want to, not like she couldn't come again
after that, but she wants to stretch this feeling, the anticipation so close to
orgasm. She breathes in, out, looking around his apartment, trying to steady
her hips, the nerves in her stomach. She's so distracted she squeaks when a
hand touches her hip again, and then it vanishes and reappears in her hair like
a suggestion, a request for her to look back, so she does and meets his mouth
halfway, gasping a yes into his mouth when his cock pushes in.
"I think you're getting off on this more than I am," he murmurs against her
earlobe when the pressure on her neck gets to be too much and she looks forward
again.
"Maybe," she says in a whisper, biting her lip.
"But I—I would," he goes on, starting to move inside her, "I would do it. If it
wasn't such a monumentally bad idea," and he snorts there, soft and airy, "I'd
do it. I'd probably feel like an asshole the whole way through, but—"
Bonnie rocks her hips back and says, "What would you do?"
"Bend you over," he says, the words clipped, like he can't muster up the
concentration to speak normally. "All those times you sat on my desk, the first
few weeks—all I could think about was how easy—how easy it would be to take
your pants off and eat you out."
She rolls her hips faster until he matches up the rhythm, until she can hold
back a little, get steady on her feet again. "I might have let you," Bonnie
says.
"You wouldn't have," Alaric says, completely missing the point. "If I had let
myself try it, you would have stopped it."
She laughs a little, tight in her throat. It's true. It's different in her
head—it would be a lie that she didn't think about it, about pushing things
before they crossed that last line, but she wouldn't have. She knows better,
and Alaric knows better, and she feels so hot right now; her skin is burning.
"You could have made me strip for you," Bonnie says now, hoping he gets the
message now, the switch to purely hypothetical.
"Bonnie," he says, like a warning, like he's asking her to stop talking but
doesn't really want her to.
"You could," Bonnie says. "I'd just—I'd stand in the middle of class and do it.
I'd be so turned on doing that." The worst part is, she would; if she let
herself do it, she would love it. "And then I could hide," she goes on, "before
your next class, I could crawl under your desk and hide there, completely
naked, my clothes in a drawer."
He buries his face in her neck, kissing along, whispering, "How far gone are
you?"
Bonnie lets out a soft laugh. "To be telling you this? A lot."
"You're easier to handle when you haven't lost your filter," Alaric says, and
bites at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, soft, just teeth scraping over
skin.
"What you did, at the library," she says, her voice turning into a whine, so
close, "I want to do it to you under your desk. I've thought about it so much."
His breathing's hard now, loud below her ear, and his fingers are rough on her
hips, pulling her back against him as he fucks her. She tries to keep going,
"If I—if I sucked you off there—" but her voice breaks just before she comes,
still rocking her hips, not stopping for a second. It helps her settle back
into reality, a reality where what she did today is a wild anomaly and she's
self-aware enough to not even be tempted to do anything in a classroom; it
helps her settle back into this room where Alaric's arms are wrapped around her
and it is another one of those things that manages to be comforting even when
it shouldn't.
It takes him a couple more minutes to come, and when he does it's with a hoarse
shout and his hands on the edge of the kitchen island. His breathing is so loud
until he comes down from it, and Bonnie leans back against his chest as he
slips out, and misses his presence when he walks around the counter to get rid
of the condom. Bonnie sets her forearms on the surface and watches him, her
legs sore but not sore enough to need to move them yet.
He reaches for her hand and fingers the stretch of skin between her thumb and
forefinger before lifting his wrist to cup her jaw. She props herself up on his
hand so she's close enough to kiss, a soft touch of lips, and she sighs when
she stands back on her heels.
He's shaking his head as he thumbs at her jawline, considering, and then he
says, "Never do that again. Not that it wasn't—you know, but—"
Bonnie laughs briefly, tired. "That's probably a good idea," she says, and
shifts her weight to her feet, feeling her skirt settle down over her hips.
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