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Mar. 6th, 2011 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellerkayTitle: Bloodstream
Part: 1/1
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellerkay
Pairing: Damon/Alaric
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,000
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Spoilers: Nothing in particular; early season 2, generally.
Warnings: Slash, erotic blood drinking
Summary: Alaric stopped drinking vervain awhile ago.
A/N: Takes place in the universe of my Frienemies series, at a somewhat indeterminate point but definitely after part 4. You probably don't have to have read Frienemies to get this; all you need to know is that Damon and Alaric as established at least inasmuch as they've been sleeping together.
***
It was dark in Damon’s bedroom. He’d shut the heavy drapes on the windows, and the only source of illumination was the tiniest strip of faint light coming in from under the door.
In the dark, Alaric felt more keenly the slide of Damon’s skin smooth on his, the hardness of muscle and bone, the humid brush of lips, the insistent press of arousal. The rustle of the expensive sheets, the gasps and moans from his mouth or Damon’s, and all the weird, wet sounds of sex were dialed up.
So, as Damon planted kisses on his jaw and neck, Alaric heard him give a low sound like a growl, and then there was a soft, strange crackling noise. Damon turned his head away with a frustrated little moan under his breath; almost subsonic, if Alaric had been distracted by sight. Damon was fast – faster than anything – but not quite fast enough, because Alaric had noticed the twins pricks of sharp teeth against his neck.
Alaric’s heart pounded faster as he weighed his options. Damon had stilled for a moment; Alaric knew he was letting the blood drain out of his eyes again, willing his fangs to retract. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, or the second. Alaric made his decision.
“Do it,” he said, voice rough with nerves (excitement and fear, always a heady combination). There was a long silence.
“Do what?” Damon asked. There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but something else, too. He was surprised, unsure. Alaric liked to inspire those emotions in him. It was rare.
“Bite me,” he said. He couldn’t suppress a tiny breath of laughter. “Drink my blood.”
Damon shifted fast then, pinning Alaric’s wrists and hovering over him. Alaric could hardly see him, but he knew the vampire could make out every detail of his face.
“What are you trying to pull, Rick?” Damon asked. He was trying to sound casual, but he was still wary. “You drink vervain. You told me, remember?”
Alaric gave just the faintest smirk, feeling pleased and in control, even though he was the one being held down.
“I stopped,” he said. Damon didn’t immediately reply, and Alaric wondered if he was scrutinizing Alaric’s expression.
“When?” Damon asked finally, and Alaric shifted a little then, uncomfortably, letting his eyes flick away from the pale blur of Damon’s face.
“Awhile ago,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. “I don’t remember exactly.” That was a lie.
Damon’s grip on his wrists tightened.
“When?” he repeated.
“It’s definitely out of my system by now,” Alaric tried. Damon leaned down, lips just next to Alaric’s ear.
“Tell me when, Rick,” he whispered.
Alaric considered refusing to answer. Damon would probably do it even if he didn’t give him a timeframe, and if he didn’t want to, then it was no skin off Alaric’s teeth. Damon would only be denying himself a snack.
But – and he’d had to come to terms with this as he decided to make the offer – Alaric wanted to know what it was like. He wanted Damon to bite him. He’d fantasized about it. And what did it matter if he told the truth, anyway?
“It was after the first time we – did this,” Alaric admitted, finally. Damon pulled back sharply, to stare into his eyes again, Alaric assumed. To try and determine whether he was telling the truth. Alaric wished he could see Damon’s face, to attempt to read Damon’s reaction.
The reaction wasn’t too much of a surprise, when it came. Alaric heard the little crackling noise again and then Damon’s head plunged down. Alaric tensed, but Damon stopped short, lips on Alaric’s throat. Alaric turned his head to give Damon better access, but the vampire still didn’t take the bait. He released Alaric’s wrists and let his fingers play down the inside of his arms. Then he started kissing Alaric’s neck, over and over, tongue darting out to taste Alaric’s skin, nipping a few times with his front teeth. Alaric’s breath grew shorter with anticipation, and Damon’s caresses became faster, more frantic, as the seconds ticked by. Finally, with a sigh, Damon slid his fangs in.
For a split second it didn’t hurt, and then the event reached his brain and Alaric winced at the pain, the intrusion, hands reaching up instinctively to curl around Damon’s upper arms. For a second Alaric had to fight the instinct to try and throw the vampire off him, but as quickly as the pain had arrived it was gone. A wave of pleasure swept him from head to toe, centered on the two wounds in his throat, and Alaric’s body relaxed. He felt comfortable, warm, and he almost would have been drowsy if the arousal wasn’t so intense, if Damon hadn’t been rubbing against him, moaning into his neck. Damon ran his hand down Alaric’s chest, his torso; instead of the light, teasing touch that was his forte, he was pressing into Alaric’s skin as if trying to get closer to him. When he reached his cock Damon pumped Alaric in time to the beating of his heart. Alaric came with a gasp; his orgasm occurring without warning, like when he came in a dream.
Everything had a dreamlike quality, Alaric realized as the post-orgasmic shudders subsided. Damon’s relentless mouth at his throat, Damon’s increasingly frantic thrusts against the hollow of his hip, and the warm splash against his stomach as Damon shuddered and slowed. Damon gave a disappointed groan as he lifted off Alaric’s neck, and Alaric heard an echo of the same noise from his own lips.
“Don’t,” he murmured, not really thinking about what he was saying. Damon’s lips were on his, and Alaric tasted copper and salt.
“Believe me,” Damon said languidly, “I’d rather not stop. But, if I want you around for fast food another time…”
Alaric laughed, his head starting to clear. Damon lay next to him, a hand on Alaric’s chest, and they were silent for several minutes as Alaric tried to process the experience, and Damon thought about whatever it was he thought about after sex.
“Why in the hell would you stop taking vervain?” Damon asked suddenly. “This town is crawling with dangerous vampires.”
“I still carry a sprig of it,” Alaric said. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re naked,” Damon said. “And unless you’re hiding it up your ass – which I sincerely hope you’re not because that could have been a very nasty surprise for me – you don’t have any on you right now. Ergo, you are an idiot.”
Damon said this kind of thing a lot. Alaric preferred to ignore it, but this seemed to require an answer. Sleepy as he was, though, he had no desire to get into a debate about how trustworthy Damon might or might not be.
“No, I’m not,” he said, with a note of finality in his voice that brooked no argument. For once, Damon didn’t argue.
“What did it taste like?” Alaric asked a few minutes later.
“Copper, salt,” Damon said. Alaric felt a little disappointed, and mildly suspicious.
“You’re telling me blood tastes the same to vampires as it does to humans?” he said. “I’m not buying it, Damon. Stefan wouldn’t be an addict if it were like that. You wouldn’t have been – ”
“Yes, Rick?”
Alaric frowned. “You wouldn’t have sounded like that when you were drinking it, if it was copper and salt.”
He felt Damon shrug. “It’s copper and salt,” he said. “But…” He paused so long Alaric almost prompted him again. “It’s more than that. Richer. It tastes like the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. Ambrosia. And I don’t mean that creepy fruit salad.”
“Does it taste like other foods?”
“Not exactly.” Damon’s voice was thoughtful now. For once. “You know how wine tasters use foods and woods and all that to describe a wine? It doesn’t actually taste like that – not quite – but it’s a system you can use.”
“So you can compare it to other foods,” Alaric said.
“Sure. Other foods. Scents. The emotions you associate with them.”
“What – ”
“What do you taste like,” Damon interrupted, not even asking. Alaric could feel his face flush.
“Well – ” he started defensively.
“Oh, relax, Rick,” Damon said. “Everyone wants to know.”
“Are you going to tell me?” Alaric asked after a lengthy pause. Damon’s fingers twitched on his chest.
“Whiskey,” he said. His tone was so serious that Alaric suddenly regretted the question. “Old books or old libraries – musty, but in a good way. Clean sweat, the kind you want to lick off someone. Loneliness. Grief.”
“All that?” Alaric asked, trying for a joking tone. It didn’t seem to come out very clearly.
“Any other questions, or do you maybe want to bandage your wounds?” Damon asked, voice normal again.
“Oh, shit.” Alaric touched his neck; his fingers came away wet, but it didn’t feel like he’d been bleeding profusely. At least, not since Damon had stopped actually sucking his blood out.
Damon was across the room in an instant. He flicked on the bathroom light and then zoomed back to the side of the bed, where Alaric was struggling up.
“Would you slow down?” Damon asked in an annoyed tone, giving Alaric a hand as he stood. His head swam, and he steadied himself on Damon’s arm until the feeling passed.
“I’m okay,” he insisted, trying to let go as Damon walked him across the room.
“Yeah, and if I let you fall and hit your head because I drank your blood, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Damon muttered.
The bathroom light seemed especially bright after the near-totally dark of the bedroom, and Alaric squinted as his eyes adjusted. Damon bustled around, pulled out bandages and antiseptic. Alaric stood docile as Damon wiped a few spots of blood off his skin and then cleaned the puncture marks on his neck. Normally he would have insisted on bandaging himself, but now he just watched the two of them in the mirror. He looked a little paler than usual, and Damon still looked far paler than him, although his cheeks were flushed.
Damon taped the gauze carefully in place and patted Alaric’s neck with a self-satisfied air. “You’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a couple days, but don’t worry. Your students and the other teachers will assume you have a massive hickey.” Alaric rolled his eyes. “All right, let’s go fix you something to eat so your blood sugar doesn’t crash, and then I want to go to sleep because I’m fucking tired.”
“You’re tired?” Alaric repeated in disbelief, as he followed Damon back to the bedroom and looked around for his boxers. “I just donated blood.”
“And the Red Cross Vampire Division thanks you,” Damon said with a smirk. His smile faded as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants to wear to the kitchen, and suddenly he was standing in front of Alaric with his serious, slightly puzzled look. Alaric frowned, surprised to see it.
“Thanks,” Damon said. “You could’ve let me go on thinking you were drinking vervain, and we might’ve never done this.”
“I’m – glad I didn’t,” Alaric said. Damon flashed a smile and put Alaric’s shirt in his hands.
“Get decent. I’ll make you something good. The Red Cross Vampire Division doesn’t stop with cookies.”
Alaric smiled and followed Damon as he pulled his shirt on over his head.
“They’d probably get more donors if they got you off while they were bleeding you, too.”
Damon smirked over his shoulder in appreciation.
“Suggest it to somebody, Rick. They’ll never try to take your blood again.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And that means more for me.” He flashed down the stairs to get started on whatever it was he was concocting.
“More for you,” Alaric repeated, sotto voice, and followed Damon to the kitchen at his slow human pace.
***
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: I'm reviewing The Vampire Diaries over at Affairs Magazine. Find my review for the most recent episode here. I'd be delighted if anyone wanted to check it out.
Part: 1/1
Author:
ellerkayPairing: Damon/Alaric
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,000
Disclaimer: All for fun, none for profit.
Spoilers: Nothing in particular; early season 2, generally.
Warnings: Slash, erotic blood drinking
Summary: Alaric stopped drinking vervain awhile ago.
A/N: Takes place in the universe of my Frienemies series, at a somewhat indeterminate point but definitely after part 4. You probably don't have to have read Frienemies to get this; all you need to know is that Damon and Alaric as established at least inasmuch as they've been sleeping together.
***
It was dark in Damon’s bedroom. He’d shut the heavy drapes on the windows, and the only source of illumination was the tiniest strip of faint light coming in from under the door.
In the dark, Alaric felt more keenly the slide of Damon’s skin smooth on his, the hardness of muscle and bone, the humid brush of lips, the insistent press of arousal. The rustle of the expensive sheets, the gasps and moans from his mouth or Damon’s, and all the weird, wet sounds of sex were dialed up.
So, as Damon planted kisses on his jaw and neck, Alaric heard him give a low sound like a growl, and then there was a soft, strange crackling noise. Damon turned his head away with a frustrated little moan under his breath; almost subsonic, if Alaric had been distracted by sight. Damon was fast – faster than anything – but not quite fast enough, because Alaric had noticed the twins pricks of sharp teeth against his neck.
Alaric’s heart pounded faster as he weighed his options. Damon had stilled for a moment; Alaric knew he was letting the blood drain out of his eyes again, willing his fangs to retract. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, or the second. Alaric made his decision.
“Do it,” he said, voice rough with nerves (excitement and fear, always a heady combination). There was a long silence.
“Do what?” Damon asked. There was a teasing lilt to his voice, but something else, too. He was surprised, unsure. Alaric liked to inspire those emotions in him. It was rare.
“Bite me,” he said. He couldn’t suppress a tiny breath of laughter. “Drink my blood.”
Damon shifted fast then, pinning Alaric’s wrists and hovering over him. Alaric could hardly see him, but he knew the vampire could make out every detail of his face.
“What are you trying to pull, Rick?” Damon asked. He was trying to sound casual, but he was still wary. “You drink vervain. You told me, remember?”
Alaric gave just the faintest smirk, feeling pleased and in control, even though he was the one being held down.
“I stopped,” he said. Damon didn’t immediately reply, and Alaric wondered if he was scrutinizing Alaric’s expression.
“When?” Damon asked finally, and Alaric shifted a little then, uncomfortably, letting his eyes flick away from the pale blur of Damon’s face.
“Awhile ago,” he replied. It wasn’t a lie. “I don’t remember exactly.” That was a lie.
Damon’s grip on his wrists tightened.
“When?” he repeated.
“It’s definitely out of my system by now,” Alaric tried. Damon leaned down, lips just next to Alaric’s ear.
“Tell me when, Rick,” he whispered.
Alaric considered refusing to answer. Damon would probably do it even if he didn’t give him a timeframe, and if he didn’t want to, then it was no skin off Alaric’s teeth. Damon would only be denying himself a snack.
But – and he’d had to come to terms with this as he decided to make the offer – Alaric wanted to know what it was like. He wanted Damon to bite him. He’d fantasized about it. And what did it matter if he told the truth, anyway?
“It was after the first time we – did this,” Alaric admitted, finally. Damon pulled back sharply, to stare into his eyes again, Alaric assumed. To try and determine whether he was telling the truth. Alaric wished he could see Damon’s face, to attempt to read Damon’s reaction.
The reaction wasn’t too much of a surprise, when it came. Alaric heard the little crackling noise again and then Damon’s head plunged down. Alaric tensed, but Damon stopped short, lips on Alaric’s throat. Alaric turned his head to give Damon better access, but the vampire still didn’t take the bait. He released Alaric’s wrists and let his fingers play down the inside of his arms. Then he started kissing Alaric’s neck, over and over, tongue darting out to taste Alaric’s skin, nipping a few times with his front teeth. Alaric’s breath grew shorter with anticipation, and Damon’s caresses became faster, more frantic, as the seconds ticked by. Finally, with a sigh, Damon slid his fangs in.
For a split second it didn’t hurt, and then the event reached his brain and Alaric winced at the pain, the intrusion, hands reaching up instinctively to curl around Damon’s upper arms. For a second Alaric had to fight the instinct to try and throw the vampire off him, but as quickly as the pain had arrived it was gone. A wave of pleasure swept him from head to toe, centered on the two wounds in his throat, and Alaric’s body relaxed. He felt comfortable, warm, and he almost would have been drowsy if the arousal wasn’t so intense, if Damon hadn’t been rubbing against him, moaning into his neck. Damon ran his hand down Alaric’s chest, his torso; instead of the light, teasing touch that was his forte, he was pressing into Alaric’s skin as if trying to get closer to him. When he reached his cock Damon pumped Alaric in time to the beating of his heart. Alaric came with a gasp; his orgasm occurring without warning, like when he came in a dream.
Everything had a dreamlike quality, Alaric realized as the post-orgasmic shudders subsided. Damon’s relentless mouth at his throat, Damon’s increasingly frantic thrusts against the hollow of his hip, and the warm splash against his stomach as Damon shuddered and slowed. Damon gave a disappointed groan as he lifted off Alaric’s neck, and Alaric heard an echo of the same noise from his own lips.
“Don’t,” he murmured, not really thinking about what he was saying. Damon’s lips were on his, and Alaric tasted copper and salt.
“Believe me,” Damon said languidly, “I’d rather not stop. But, if I want you around for fast food another time…”
Alaric laughed, his head starting to clear. Damon lay next to him, a hand on Alaric’s chest, and they were silent for several minutes as Alaric tried to process the experience, and Damon thought about whatever it was he thought about after sex.
“Why in the hell would you stop taking vervain?” Damon asked suddenly. “This town is crawling with dangerous vampires.”
“I still carry a sprig of it,” Alaric said. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re naked,” Damon said. “And unless you’re hiding it up your ass – which I sincerely hope you’re not because that could have been a very nasty surprise for me – you don’t have any on you right now. Ergo, you are an idiot.”
Damon said this kind of thing a lot. Alaric preferred to ignore it, but this seemed to require an answer. Sleepy as he was, though, he had no desire to get into a debate about how trustworthy Damon might or might not be.
“No, I’m not,” he said, with a note of finality in his voice that brooked no argument. For once, Damon didn’t argue.
“What did it taste like?” Alaric asked a few minutes later.
“Copper, salt,” Damon said. Alaric felt a little disappointed, and mildly suspicious.
“You’re telling me blood tastes the same to vampires as it does to humans?” he said. “I’m not buying it, Damon. Stefan wouldn’t be an addict if it were like that. You wouldn’t have been – ”
“Yes, Rick?”
Alaric frowned. “You wouldn’t have sounded like that when you were drinking it, if it was copper and salt.”
He felt Damon shrug. “It’s copper and salt,” he said. “But…” He paused so long Alaric almost prompted him again. “It’s more than that. Richer. It tastes like the best thing you’ve ever put in your mouth. Ambrosia. And I don’t mean that creepy fruit salad.”
“Does it taste like other foods?”
“Not exactly.” Damon’s voice was thoughtful now. For once. “You know how wine tasters use foods and woods and all that to describe a wine? It doesn’t actually taste like that – not quite – but it’s a system you can use.”
“So you can compare it to other foods,” Alaric said.
“Sure. Other foods. Scents. The emotions you associate with them.”
“What – ”
“What do you taste like,” Damon interrupted, not even asking. Alaric could feel his face flush.
“Well – ” he started defensively.
“Oh, relax, Rick,” Damon said. “Everyone wants to know.”
“Are you going to tell me?” Alaric asked after a lengthy pause. Damon’s fingers twitched on his chest.
“Whiskey,” he said. His tone was so serious that Alaric suddenly regretted the question. “Old books or old libraries – musty, but in a good way. Clean sweat, the kind you want to lick off someone. Loneliness. Grief.”
“All that?” Alaric asked, trying for a joking tone. It didn’t seem to come out very clearly.
“Any other questions, or do you maybe want to bandage your wounds?” Damon asked, voice normal again.
“Oh, shit.” Alaric touched his neck; his fingers came away wet, but it didn’t feel like he’d been bleeding profusely. At least, not since Damon had stopped actually sucking his blood out.
Damon was across the room in an instant. He flicked on the bathroom light and then zoomed back to the side of the bed, where Alaric was struggling up.
“Would you slow down?” Damon asked in an annoyed tone, giving Alaric a hand as he stood. His head swam, and he steadied himself on Damon’s arm until the feeling passed.
“I’m okay,” he insisted, trying to let go as Damon walked him across the room.
“Yeah, and if I let you fall and hit your head because I drank your blood, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Damon muttered.
The bathroom light seemed especially bright after the near-totally dark of the bedroom, and Alaric squinted as his eyes adjusted. Damon bustled around, pulled out bandages and antiseptic. Alaric stood docile as Damon wiped a few spots of blood off his skin and then cleaned the puncture marks on his neck. Normally he would have insisted on bandaging himself, but now he just watched the two of them in the mirror. He looked a little paler than usual, and Damon still looked far paler than him, although his cheeks were flushed.
Damon taped the gauze carefully in place and patted Alaric’s neck with a self-satisfied air. “You’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a couple days, but don’t worry. Your students and the other teachers will assume you have a massive hickey.” Alaric rolled his eyes. “All right, let’s go fix you something to eat so your blood sugar doesn’t crash, and then I want to go to sleep because I’m fucking tired.”
“You’re tired?” Alaric repeated in disbelief, as he followed Damon back to the bedroom and looked around for his boxers. “I just donated blood.”
“And the Red Cross Vampire Division thanks you,” Damon said with a smirk. His smile faded as he pulled on a pair of pajama pants to wear to the kitchen, and suddenly he was standing in front of Alaric with his serious, slightly puzzled look. Alaric frowned, surprised to see it.
“Thanks,” Damon said. “You could’ve let me go on thinking you were drinking vervain, and we might’ve never done this.”
“I’m – glad I didn’t,” Alaric said. Damon flashed a smile and put Alaric’s shirt in his hands.
“Get decent. I’ll make you something good. The Red Cross Vampire Division doesn’t stop with cookies.”
Alaric smiled and followed Damon as he pulled his shirt on over his head.
“They’d probably get more donors if they got you off while they were bleeding you, too.”
Damon smirked over his shoulder in appreciation.
“Suggest it to somebody, Rick. They’ll never try to take your blood again.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And that means more for me.” He flashed down the stairs to get started on whatever it was he was concocting.
“More for you,” Alaric repeated, sotto voice, and followed Damon to the kitchen at his slow human pace.
***
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: I'm reviewing The Vampire Diaries over at Affairs Magazine. Find my review for the most recent episode here. I'd be delighted if anyone wanted to check it out.
