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Jan. 27th, 2011 06:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Frienemies
Part: 2/5
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay
Pairing: Damon/Alaric
Rating: R, maybe light NC-17 (up to R or possibly NC-17 overall)
Wordcount: 2,153
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Spoilers: For this installment, spoilers through 2.1 "The Return." (Series overall contains spoilers through 2.3, "Bad Moon Rising.")
Warnings: Slash, drinking, a complete lack of plot
Summary: After the events of "The Return," Damon's ready to get drunker.
Series masterlist
Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tvd_fic, tvd_slash, and damon_alaric. Apologies to anyone who gets spammed.
It didn’t seem funny anymore.
The idea of sex with Damon Salvatore had been floating vaguely around in Alaric’s mind for a couple weeks now, fueled by the looks Damon gave him (but he looked at everybody like that) and the flirty comments (of course, Damon flirted with anything that wasn’t nailed down). Mostly, he’d tried to ignore it, the persistent, nagging attraction. After all, he didn’t have sex with men.
Not since coming to Mystic Falls, anyway.
It always seemed simpler to let everyone read him as completely straight. And it was almost true. After all, he hadn’t dated another man since college. After Isobel disappeared, when it was still too painful to think of being with a woman, he’d found short-term comfort in a couple brief assignations. It chased away the loneliness, for a few hours. But it wasn’t a hobby or anything.
…This was all beside the point.
The point was, since Alaric had stopped hating Damon, he’d found his attraction to the vampire sort of amusing. (The armchair psychologist in him justified the feeling; all that emotion had to go somewhere.) When he let himself think about it, he laughed at his own foolishness. And Alaric kind of enjoyed it when Damon pretended to flirt with him. He knew it was meaningless, and even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t like he would do anything about it. But it was still flattering. Damon was a good companion, when he wasn’t trying to kill you.
The whole thing had become a little less funny after Alaric went to drink with Damon the night Isobel showed up. It bothered him that Damon had been his instinctive refuge. Oh, he had rationalizations aplenty – but he was starting to fear that they were just that: rationalizations. You know you’re miles away from rational when you have to prove it to yourself. Alaric decided that the occasional embarrassing jerkoff fantasy wasn’t as harmless as he’d thought. It was time to stop laughing and put the vampire out of his mind.
And this – well, this wasn’t funny at all. Damon at his apartment, leaning against the doorframe like he couldn’t stand without its support. He was trying to keep his face a blank mask, but painful emotions Alaric couldn’t decipher kept flickering across his expressive features.
“Drinks,” he croaked, when Alaric opened the door.
“It’s late,” Alaric said. “I have to teach tomorrow.”
“I need. A lot. Of drinks,” Damon insisted, voice still odd and strained. And he sounded like he’d already been drinking.
“What makes you think I’d even invite you in?”
“I gave you drinks when you needed drinks,” Damon said. Alaric winced. Damon had, in fact, done that. It seemed unfair not to return the favor.
“I don’t know – ” he started.
“Look,” Damon said, finally standing upright and staring into Alaric’s eyes. “I’ve been rejected by two identical women tonight. I don’t think I could stand to be turned away again.”
There was something so raw in his voice, so vulnerable in his eyes…Alaric couldn’t say no. Someday, someone with beautiful eyes was going to be death of him; he just knew it. Hell, it could be Damon.
“Okay,” he said finally, standing aside. “Come in.”
Damon flashed him a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and stepped over the threshold.
***
Halfway through his third drink (it had only been half an hour; damn it, why did Alaric keep getting so drunk around a dangerous vampire? and Damon had barely touched his own, for all he’d insisted he wanted the alcohol) Damon scooted closer to him on the little sofa in Alaric’s drab living room. Their legs were almost touching.
“I want to thank you,” he said, letting a hand fall heavily on Alaric’s knee. His words were a little slurred, but Alaric suspected he was faking it now.
“For what?” Alaric asked. He was too warm.
“For letting me in,” Damon said, leaning in close. “You have no reason to trust me. It was probably a stupid move.” He smirked and drained his glass, then put it down on the coffee table.
“No problem.” At least, not yet.
“No,” Damon insisted, laying on the alleged drunkenness a little too thick. His hand slid a few inches up Alaric’s inner thigh. “I mean I want to thank you.” His eyes were two wicked lamps, winking naughty promises Alaric didn’t want to think about. Or at least, he didn’t want to want to think about them.
“Really,” Alaric said. “You don’t have to do that.” But he wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t even pulling back, and he certainly wasn’t moving Damon’s hand, which was creeping higher by slow centimeters.
Damon leaned in closer, closer, until his lips were by Alaric’s ear.
“But I want to,” he murmured. Alaric didn’t say anything, but he could feel his heart rate shooting up. He wondered if Damon could hear it.
With excruciating slowness, Damon moved his head, his lips almost-but-not-quite brushing Alaric’s jaw. And then suddenly, in the space of an eyeblink, his lips were on Alaric’s, his hand buried in Alaric’s hair. Damon pulled away after only a few seconds, before Alaric had time to decide whether to respond or not.
Damon kept his hand in Alaric’s hair, but granted him a full four inches’ breathing room. His thumb stroked the inside of Alaric’s thigh.
“What are you doing, Damon?” Alaric asked. His tone was warning, but his voice sounded rough and strained, which wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. Accurate though it may be.
“Surely your parents gave you the birds and bees talk, Rick,” Damon murmured, the mocking words incongruous with his voice, dripping sex. “Did they leave out vampires? Let me explain.” He leaned forward again and pressed a kiss to Alaric’s neck, just under his jaw. Alaric could feel his pulse thudding against Damon’s lips.
“What they failed to tell you,” Damon whispered, “is that you should never say no, when a vampire hits on you.” He moved down Alaric’s jawline again, and this time he did drop little kisses there. When Damon reached his lips, Alaric kissed him back, letting his mouth open. His alcohol-muddled mind wasn’t processing much besides how surprisingly warm Damon was.
Then Damon’s hand on his thigh moved a little higher, and Alaric pulled away, inhaling sharply.
“I can’t,” he said. Damon scooted closer to him.
“I’ve got evidence to the contrary,” he said, doing that eye-thing again. It was hypnotic, and Alaric stared at him.
“Jenna,” he said. Damon smirked and rolled his eyes.
“You haven’t called Jenna since you saw Isobel,” he said. Alaric looked away. It was true; he felt like an asshole for it.
And right in front of him was the opportunity, and the means, to feel even guiltier.
Damon leaned in; Alaric leaned back, but Damon kept coming until Alaric was half-reclining against the armrest. Damon straddled his leg with an air of triumph and kissed his neck.
“Besides,” Damon said, “I won’t tell her. If you won’t tell Stefan.”
Startled, Alaric looked at the vampire. Damon’s proximity meant that Alaric ended up with his face right next to Damon’s neck. He was wearing that cologne again. Alaric tried to pull himself together.
“Why?” he asked.
Damon was licking a slow line up his throat, bracing himself on the back of the couch with one hand and Alaric’s arm with the other.
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want Stefan to know?” It wasn’t like Alaric wanted to tell Stefan. At all. But it had been an odd thing to say.
Damon pulled back slowly, so he could look into Alaric’s face again.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said finally. “The lectures, the holier-than-thou attitude…do you have any idea how annoying it is, being related to someone who thinks he’s so perfect?”
“Can’t be any worse than being related to you,” Alaric pointed out. Damon flashed him a tight smile.
“Couldn’t possibly be,” he said, and kissed Alaric again; harder this time, demanding. Pinned beneath the vampire, Alaric had little choice (he told himself) but to kiss him back – if he didn’t want to fight him. And he didn’t. Surely, he thought, Damon had been kicked around enough for one night. (Elena and Katherine? What had happened?) It wasn’t until Damon ground his hips down against his that Alaric realized he’d been arching up towards him. He bit back a groan at the friction, at feeling Damon hard against him.
“Well, Rick,” Damon said when he pulled away, his voice a purr. He slid his fingers under Alaric’s t-shirt, playing them over his stomach. “What’s it going to be?” Alaric hesitated for just long enough that an expression moved across Damon’s face; here and gone, but Alaric had recognized it. The uncharacteristic vulnerability he’d worn at Alaric’s door. The expression that had made Alaric, in probably one of his worst decisions ever, invite Damon into his home.
It was as good an excuse as any to give in. After that most fleeting of expressions, Alaric wasn’t sure he would have been able to say no, anyway.
He swallowed, wondering if someone had switched his morning multivitamin with idiot pills when he wasn’t looking.
“I won’t tell Stefan,” he said, because ‘yes, I’ll have sex with you now,’ seemed like a bit much.
For an instant Damon looked surprised; then he gave a low laugh and kissed Alaric again.
Most of the rest of the night was a blur, when Alaric tried to think back on it. The alcohol; or maybe a haze of lust. There were few things that turned Alaric on more than the forbidden, and Damon should have been off his list for so many reasons.
But when Alaric remembered that night, he didn’t think about why it had been such a bad idea. Instead he snatched at fleeting images and sense memories: Damon’s weight when they were still on the couch; Damon’s hands all over him as he stripped him neatly; the feeling of Damon’s pale, smooth skin as Alaric tried to keep up.
“Put me down,” he’d demanded, as Damon carried him Gone With the Wind-style into his bedroom, but Alaric was laughing drunkenly as he swung at Damon’s chest and shoulders in a faux bid for freedom. And Damon was smiling.
It seemed like it should have been less intense in the dark of the bedroom, where Alaric couldn’t see Damon’s electric eyes. But his other senses had been dialed up instead. Damon’s mouth seemed to be everywhere, tasting, teasing him until Alaric was fisting his hands in the bedsheets, grinding his teeth so he wouldn’t start begging. He’d come with a grunt, but it should have been a cry.
Alaric remembered two sharp points at his throat, barely touching, not even breaking the skin, and he’d jerked away, but not – he hated to admit it – not because he didn’t want to.
“Vervain,” he’d gasped. “I’ve been drinking vervain.” He’d started after Isobel’s visit, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Spoilsport,” Damon had muttered, so Alaric had pushed him down and kissed him, tried to draw it out and tease him back, but he was impatient, and Damon’s moans (frequent, wanton) just drove him faster. Damon, though warm, had less of a taste than humans, as though his skin didn’t retain sweat and dirt and molecules of scent the way living flesh did. At the end, he was salty and bitter, with a coppery aftertaste no human ever had.
Alaric felt like himself again when they were done. Himself, with a shadow of guilt and shame. They lay next to each other; not cuddling (cuddling Damon Salvatore was unthinkable) but Alaric was conscious of their arms touching.
Alaric was getting tired, but he fought it. He spoke hesitantly, afraid of – what? Hurting Damon? Laughable. Afraid of sounding like an idiot, more like.
“This is a one-time thing,” he said. Damon scoffed.
“Oh wow, Rick,” he said. How did the vampire manage to sound sleepy and sarcastic at the same time? “Break my heart, why don’t you. Here I thought we were going to be boyfriends and spend next weekend picking out dishes at Pottery Barn.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alaric grumbled. He’d call Jenna the next day, he decided.
Neither of them spoke again, and Alaric quickly drifted off to sleep. In the morning, Damon was gone. Alaric wasn’t surprised. He wondered how he would have felt if Damon had still been there. Would breakfast have been awkward? Damon seemed like the type who’d be grouchy before he got his coffee. Alaric wasn’t, and being married to Isobel had taught him how to deal with night owls in the morning. Still, it would have been weird to wake up next to Damon. He was relieved the vampire was gone.
Alaric thought he should call Jenna before he went to school, but he didn’t.
***
Part 3
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: I'm reviewing The Vampire Diaries over at Affairs Magazine. Find my review for the most recent episode here (and you can find all the reviews under The Vampire Diaries tag at the bottom of the page). I'd be delighted if anyone wanted to check it out.
Part: 2/5
Author:
ellerkayPairing: Damon/Alaric
Rating: R, maybe light NC-17 (up to R or possibly NC-17 overall)
Wordcount: 2,153
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Spoilers: For this installment, spoilers through 2.1 "The Return." (Series overall contains spoilers through 2.3, "Bad Moon Rising.")
Warnings: Slash, drinking, a complete lack of plot
Summary: After the events of "The Return," Damon's ready to get drunker.
Series masterlist
Crossposted to
tvd_fic, tvd_slash, and damon_alaric. Apologies to anyone who gets spammed.It didn’t seem funny anymore.
The idea of sex with Damon Salvatore had been floating vaguely around in Alaric’s mind for a couple weeks now, fueled by the looks Damon gave him (but he looked at everybody like that) and the flirty comments (of course, Damon flirted with anything that wasn’t nailed down). Mostly, he’d tried to ignore it, the persistent, nagging attraction. After all, he didn’t have sex with men.
Not since coming to Mystic Falls, anyway.
It always seemed simpler to let everyone read him as completely straight. And it was almost true. After all, he hadn’t dated another man since college. After Isobel disappeared, when it was still too painful to think of being with a woman, he’d found short-term comfort in a couple brief assignations. It chased away the loneliness, for a few hours. But it wasn’t a hobby or anything.
…This was all beside the point.
The point was, since Alaric had stopped hating Damon, he’d found his attraction to the vampire sort of amusing. (The armchair psychologist in him justified the feeling; all that emotion had to go somewhere.) When he let himself think about it, he laughed at his own foolishness. And Alaric kind of enjoyed it when Damon pretended to flirt with him. He knew it was meaningless, and even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t like he would do anything about it. But it was still flattering. Damon was a good companion, when he wasn’t trying to kill you.
The whole thing had become a little less funny after Alaric went to drink with Damon the night Isobel showed up. It bothered him that Damon had been his instinctive refuge. Oh, he had rationalizations aplenty – but he was starting to fear that they were just that: rationalizations. You know you’re miles away from rational when you have to prove it to yourself. Alaric decided that the occasional embarrassing jerkoff fantasy wasn’t as harmless as he’d thought. It was time to stop laughing and put the vampire out of his mind.
And this – well, this wasn’t funny at all. Damon at his apartment, leaning against the doorframe like he couldn’t stand without its support. He was trying to keep his face a blank mask, but painful emotions Alaric couldn’t decipher kept flickering across his expressive features.
“Drinks,” he croaked, when Alaric opened the door.
“It’s late,” Alaric said. “I have to teach tomorrow.”
“I need. A lot. Of drinks,” Damon insisted, voice still odd and strained. And he sounded like he’d already been drinking.
“What makes you think I’d even invite you in?”
“I gave you drinks when you needed drinks,” Damon said. Alaric winced. Damon had, in fact, done that. It seemed unfair not to return the favor.
“I don’t know – ” he started.
“Look,” Damon said, finally standing upright and staring into Alaric’s eyes. “I’ve been rejected by two identical women tonight. I don’t think I could stand to be turned away again.”
There was something so raw in his voice, so vulnerable in his eyes…Alaric couldn’t say no. Someday, someone with beautiful eyes was going to be death of him; he just knew it. Hell, it could be Damon.
“Okay,” he said finally, standing aside. “Come in.”
Damon flashed him a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and stepped over the threshold.
***
Halfway through his third drink (it had only been half an hour; damn it, why did Alaric keep getting so drunk around a dangerous vampire? and Damon had barely touched his own, for all he’d insisted he wanted the alcohol) Damon scooted closer to him on the little sofa in Alaric’s drab living room. Their legs were almost touching.
“I want to thank you,” he said, letting a hand fall heavily on Alaric’s knee. His words were a little slurred, but Alaric suspected he was faking it now.
“For what?” Alaric asked. He was too warm.
“For letting me in,” Damon said, leaning in close. “You have no reason to trust me. It was probably a stupid move.” He smirked and drained his glass, then put it down on the coffee table.
“No problem.” At least, not yet.
“No,” Damon insisted, laying on the alleged drunkenness a little too thick. His hand slid a few inches up Alaric’s inner thigh. “I mean I want to thank you.” His eyes were two wicked lamps, winking naughty promises Alaric didn’t want to think about. Or at least, he didn’t want to want to think about them.
“Really,” Alaric said. “You don’t have to do that.” But he wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t even pulling back, and he certainly wasn’t moving Damon’s hand, which was creeping higher by slow centimeters.
Damon leaned in closer, closer, until his lips were by Alaric’s ear.
“But I want to,” he murmured. Alaric didn’t say anything, but he could feel his heart rate shooting up. He wondered if Damon could hear it.
With excruciating slowness, Damon moved his head, his lips almost-but-not-quite brushing Alaric’s jaw. And then suddenly, in the space of an eyeblink, his lips were on Alaric’s, his hand buried in Alaric’s hair. Damon pulled away after only a few seconds, before Alaric had time to decide whether to respond or not.
Damon kept his hand in Alaric’s hair, but granted him a full four inches’ breathing room. His thumb stroked the inside of Alaric’s thigh.
“What are you doing, Damon?” Alaric asked. His tone was warning, but his voice sounded rough and strained, which wasn’t the impression he wanted to give. Accurate though it may be.
“Surely your parents gave you the birds and bees talk, Rick,” Damon murmured, the mocking words incongruous with his voice, dripping sex. “Did they leave out vampires? Let me explain.” He leaned forward again and pressed a kiss to Alaric’s neck, just under his jaw. Alaric could feel his pulse thudding against Damon’s lips.
“What they failed to tell you,” Damon whispered, “is that you should never say no, when a vampire hits on you.” He moved down Alaric’s jawline again, and this time he did drop little kisses there. When Damon reached his lips, Alaric kissed him back, letting his mouth open. His alcohol-muddled mind wasn’t processing much besides how surprisingly warm Damon was.
Then Damon’s hand on his thigh moved a little higher, and Alaric pulled away, inhaling sharply.
“I can’t,” he said. Damon scooted closer to him.
“I’ve got evidence to the contrary,” he said, doing that eye-thing again. It was hypnotic, and Alaric stared at him.
“Jenna,” he said. Damon smirked and rolled his eyes.
“You haven’t called Jenna since you saw Isobel,” he said. Alaric looked away. It was true; he felt like an asshole for it.
And right in front of him was the opportunity, and the means, to feel even guiltier.
Damon leaned in; Alaric leaned back, but Damon kept coming until Alaric was half-reclining against the armrest. Damon straddled his leg with an air of triumph and kissed his neck.
“Besides,” Damon said, “I won’t tell her. If you won’t tell Stefan.”
Startled, Alaric looked at the vampire. Damon’s proximity meant that Alaric ended up with his face right next to Damon’s neck. He was wearing that cologne again. Alaric tried to pull himself together.
“Why?” he asked.
Damon was licking a slow line up his throat, bracing himself on the back of the couch with one hand and Alaric’s arm with the other.
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you want Stefan to know?” It wasn’t like Alaric wanted to tell Stefan. At all. But it had been an odd thing to say.
Damon pulled back slowly, so he could look into Alaric’s face again.
“I don’t want to hear it,” he said finally. “The lectures, the holier-than-thou attitude…do you have any idea how annoying it is, being related to someone who thinks he’s so perfect?”
“Can’t be any worse than being related to you,” Alaric pointed out. Damon flashed him a tight smile.
“Couldn’t possibly be,” he said, and kissed Alaric again; harder this time, demanding. Pinned beneath the vampire, Alaric had little choice (he told himself) but to kiss him back – if he didn’t want to fight him. And he didn’t. Surely, he thought, Damon had been kicked around enough for one night. (Elena and Katherine? What had happened?) It wasn’t until Damon ground his hips down against his that Alaric realized he’d been arching up towards him. He bit back a groan at the friction, at feeling Damon hard against him.
“Well, Rick,” Damon said when he pulled away, his voice a purr. He slid his fingers under Alaric’s t-shirt, playing them over his stomach. “What’s it going to be?” Alaric hesitated for just long enough that an expression moved across Damon’s face; here and gone, but Alaric had recognized it. The uncharacteristic vulnerability he’d worn at Alaric’s door. The expression that had made Alaric, in probably one of his worst decisions ever, invite Damon into his home.
It was as good an excuse as any to give in. After that most fleeting of expressions, Alaric wasn’t sure he would have been able to say no, anyway.
He swallowed, wondering if someone had switched his morning multivitamin with idiot pills when he wasn’t looking.
“I won’t tell Stefan,” he said, because ‘yes, I’ll have sex with you now,’ seemed like a bit much.
For an instant Damon looked surprised; then he gave a low laugh and kissed Alaric again.
Most of the rest of the night was a blur, when Alaric tried to think back on it. The alcohol; or maybe a haze of lust. There were few things that turned Alaric on more than the forbidden, and Damon should have been off his list for so many reasons.
But when Alaric remembered that night, he didn’t think about why it had been such a bad idea. Instead he snatched at fleeting images and sense memories: Damon’s weight when they were still on the couch; Damon’s hands all over him as he stripped him neatly; the feeling of Damon’s pale, smooth skin as Alaric tried to keep up.
“Put me down,” he’d demanded, as Damon carried him Gone With the Wind-style into his bedroom, but Alaric was laughing drunkenly as he swung at Damon’s chest and shoulders in a faux bid for freedom. And Damon was smiling.
It seemed like it should have been less intense in the dark of the bedroom, where Alaric couldn’t see Damon’s electric eyes. But his other senses had been dialed up instead. Damon’s mouth seemed to be everywhere, tasting, teasing him until Alaric was fisting his hands in the bedsheets, grinding his teeth so he wouldn’t start begging. He’d come with a grunt, but it should have been a cry.
Alaric remembered two sharp points at his throat, barely touching, not even breaking the skin, and he’d jerked away, but not – he hated to admit it – not because he didn’t want to.
“Vervain,” he’d gasped. “I’ve been drinking vervain.” He’d started after Isobel’s visit, but he wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Spoilsport,” Damon had muttered, so Alaric had pushed him down and kissed him, tried to draw it out and tease him back, but he was impatient, and Damon’s moans (frequent, wanton) just drove him faster. Damon, though warm, had less of a taste than humans, as though his skin didn’t retain sweat and dirt and molecules of scent the way living flesh did. At the end, he was salty and bitter, with a coppery aftertaste no human ever had.
Alaric felt like himself again when they were done. Himself, with a shadow of guilt and shame. They lay next to each other; not cuddling (cuddling Damon Salvatore was unthinkable) but Alaric was conscious of their arms touching.
Alaric was getting tired, but he fought it. He spoke hesitantly, afraid of – what? Hurting Damon? Laughable. Afraid of sounding like an idiot, more like.
“This is a one-time thing,” he said. Damon scoffed.
“Oh wow, Rick,” he said. How did the vampire manage to sound sleepy and sarcastic at the same time? “Break my heart, why don’t you. Here I thought we were going to be boyfriends and spend next weekend picking out dishes at Pottery Barn.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alaric grumbled. He’d call Jenna the next day, he decided.
Neither of them spoke again, and Alaric quickly drifted off to sleep. In the morning, Damon was gone. Alaric wasn’t surprised. He wondered how he would have felt if Damon had still been there. Would breakfast have been awkward? Damon seemed like the type who’d be grouchy before he got his coffee. Alaric wasn’t, and being married to Isobel had taught him how to deal with night owls in the morning. Still, it would have been weird to wake up next to Damon. He was relieved the vampire was gone.
Alaric thought he should call Jenna before he went to school, but he didn’t.
***
Part 3
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: I'm reviewing The Vampire Diaries over at Affairs Magazine. Find my review for the most recent episode here (and you can find all the reviews under The Vampire Diaries tag at the bottom of the page). I'd be delighted if anyone wanted to check it out.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-01-28 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-01-28 07:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-29 04:58 am (UTC)Anyway, thanks so much for the comment! Very glad you're enjoying it. :)
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Date: 2011-02-05 12:33 am (UTC)Your dialogue is amazing as usual.
<3
En +