Pour Me Another [Alaric/Damon]
Title: Pour Me Another
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: (Pre-ish) Damon Salvatore/Alaric Saltzman
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Possible alcohol triggers
Words: 1200
Summary: Rick will do anythng. Anything for Damon.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: Written for this prompt in the Kiss Me/Kill Me meme. Also? I gave Alaric some completely false alcohol issues. Roll with it.
The bottle wasn't cold, not that that made any difference. It'd been sitting on the table for a time that stretched out far too long, growing into a presence, the more they tried to ignore it. Damon had watched in amusement, a twisted sort of pleasure, as Rick's fingers continually brushed along the bottom of the label. It was a flirtation, a tease, a relationship that Damon knew Alaric had stayed away from for seven years, going on eight.
Damon didn't understand it, didn't get why Rick's previous 'issues' with alcoholism were issues at all. It was just a drink. Just a smooth, comfortable kick working it's way down his throat. And so what if it made him a little crazy? So what if it brought out the dark side, the rough side, the side Rick tried so hard to keep contained. Because after all, that's what drinks were for, right?
And eventually, everything had crumbled. The music had started skipping, the lightning outside cracked brighter through the sky. The flames in the fireplace had blown with a phantom wind, bending and dancing until they licked at the bricks of the walls. It was a quiet moment that felt deafening all the same, as Rick's hand finally closed around the bottle.
He didn't even bother with the shot glass.
"I wasn't... what, I wasn't good enough for her?" Rick moaned the words, for the third time in an hour, hands fumbling over the table as he tried to wipe up a spill of amber liquid. "I wasn't enough... excitement?"
Damon stayed silent as he let his friend ask, ask, and ask again. They were rhetorical questions, he was sure. Because how could he possibly have the answers to them?
"My girlfriend fucked my brother," Damon shrugged, deciding it was time to interject some of his own pain into the moment. It went unnoticed. As it always does.
"I did everything I could," Rick explained, voice loud and soaring, echoing through the room, before being swallowed up by the rows of books lining the walls. "I did... I did everything..." He trailed off eventually, letting his words grow quiet, as his face fell deeper, etched with lines that showed his age, as so rarely, rarely happened.
"Well you just ha--"
"And she... she..." Rick cut off Damon's half-assed attempt at a reconcile, stumbling over words like they were physical hurdles. Damon bit his lip, staying silent, against his nature. He had nothing to say, nothing he could possibly say. He could do nothing, give nothing, be nothing, except possibly a friend. And a bartender.
Rick stilled as he watched Damon pour him another drink, filling a crystal glass with a heavy shot of dark whiskey. It splashed up along the sides, and Damon was almost surprised when it didn't coat the glass in a thick red jacket, the way his drink of choice always did.
"No more," Rick decided, shaking his head in a way that was almost more of a nod. Damon topped off the glass anyhow, knowing that despite Alaric's decision, despite his words and motives, he'd always want more, now that he'd had a taste. He'd crave it, he's lust for it. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, hellbent on crossing state borders if it meant getting just a taste.
They really weren't so different, Damon and Rick.
"Alright then," Damon drawled easily, sliding the now-full glass in his own direction, away from the darkened focus of the history teacher. He watched as Rick's eyes followed the motion, not straying for a moment, as his focus locked on Damon's hand.
"Something you want?" Damon asked darkly, only vaguely aware that he was breaking the one human on earth who came even close to being called his friend. It was terrible, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind. It was twisted and sadistic; forcing Rick into this situation. But he didn't mind, he didn't fucking care, because he was what he was. And what he was was something awful. Something that enjoyed these moments, ones just like this, when the innocent, defenseless human would be weak under his power. But never had it felt this good. Because this wasn't just any human.
"No," Rick shot back finally, tearing his gaze away from the glass, before letting it settle somewhere along Damon's face. "I don't need this," Alaric insisted, leaning back in his chair as he let his focus fly up to the high ceiling.
Damon watched with genuine interest as Alaric's face flashed every emotion known to man, and some which Damon suspected were not. They each lasted for a moment, at most, a split second of humor, torment, pain, before finally settling on resignation.
"My brother," Rick started finally, a story that Damon suspected would end with 'my wife', as all of Rick's stories tended to do. "He always tried to buy me drinks," he continued, bringing his attention back to Damon, as he shifted in his chair across the table. "In fact... all of my family... all of my friends..."
Damon felt his face knit in confusion as Rick rambled on, a story that Damon assumed would have no relevance to anything, anywhere, ever.
"I never... it's been eight years, because... I just... I don't want..." Rick struggled with his point, words slurring as he folded his arms over the table in front of him, laying his head down on top of that. Damon watched as an uncleaned spill of whiskey bit at the sleeve of Rick's button-down shirt, darkening the fabric as it soaked right through.
"Seems to me that it's bedtime," Damon piped up loudly, deciding that having Alaric wake up at his table tomorrow would not be a good way to start the morning. "Come, I'll take you home," Damon tried, pushing his chair back from the table as he stood, taking the two steps it took to cross to Rick's chair.
"Mister Saltzman," Damon lilted, bending slightly to invade Alaric's space, let him know that this night was over.
Rick had other plans, apparently, because his next words changed everything.
"Sometimes I let myself believe that you're compelling me," Rick admitted suddenly, words soft and low, but clear and crisp, in a way they hadn't been for over three hours. "Sometimes I... I make myself forget the things I do for you, the things I do because of you, and I just... I believe in compulsion, because that's... that's the easy answer," Rick continued, turning to press his face deeper into the barrier of his arms. Damon leaned in closer, hands on his knees as he raised an eyebrow, trying to make sense of what Rick was making his last words, before the inevitable pass out.
"And the difficult answer is..." Damon let the question hang in the air, leaving his thought unfinished, in hopes that Rick would supply the second half of the statement.
Rick sighed heavily, deeply, as if this breath would be his last, and inwardly, Damon knew it wouldn't be. Rick would never experience a last breath, or feel the tension of the moment of deciding on his final dying words. Because no matter what happened, no matter what went wrong, Damon knew he'd watch out for him. Rick would never be gone.
"The honest answer is... " Rick mumbled the words into his sleeve, a dark brown shirt that he seemed to wear on Tuesdays more often than not. "I just... it's you, Damon, it's not... I'd just..."
Damon considered cutting Rick off, in more ways than one. No more alcohol, no more talking, no more struggling to stay awake. But Rick continued before Damon could act on that plan, ceasing the Vampire's thoughts entirely, as he leaned over Rick's shoulder.
"I'd do anything for you, Damon. Anything you ever... anything you ever need, I want to... I wanna... I lost her," Rick said the words softly, quietly, but with a bite that almost warned at a scream. "I lost her, she's gone, and I... I can't lose you, Damon, I can't--"
"Whoa, hey," Damon backed up slightly, one hand on his hip, as the other found it's way to Rick's shoulder. "I'm not going anywh--"
"I need you, Damon, please don't leave me, don't... don't lie to me, don't--"
"Rick!' Damon crouched down beside him, dropping quickly, quicker than was humanly possible. He let his hand stay on Alaric's shoulder, spread flat and tight over the dark fabric of his shirt, warmed by the heat of the skin underneath. "Hey man, you're not even making sense, so we're just gonna..." Damon let his words trail off as he pulled at Rick's body, trying to force him onto his feet, with no success. Rick was making perfect sense, and that was exactly the reason why he needed to stop talking immediately.
"Damon," Rick said the name with reverence, with trust, with... with a million things Damon hadn't heard since... well... not for a very long time.
"Come on, let's just--"
"Damon," Rick stood, pressing and pulling at Damon until they were as close to face-to-face as their height would allow for. "It's always you," Rick confessed, an admission that Damon wasn't even entirely sure that he understood. "I'd do anything for you, anything you ask, anything you need, I'll... I wanna..."
Damon swallowed deeply as Rick continued to push at him, until he felt his back hit the wall behind him. He felt trapped and secluded, stuck in a cage, as Rick's hands founds their way to the wall on either side of Damon's waist.
He could move, he knew, was nowhere near being physically encompassed. He could snap Rick's arms clean off in one simple movement if he wished to do so, and lick up the blood before anyone else could even realize what'd happened.
But he wouldn't, he knew. He wouldn't do anything but stand there. No compulsion, no violence, just...
Yeah. Damon knew what Rick was saying.
"I'm tired, Damon," Rick complained, voice worn and mirroring the nature of his statement.
"Which is why I'm trying to bring you home," Damon reminded, speaking as if to a child, as he pressed himself harder against the wall, putting a much-needed extra inch of space between them.
"Don't... don't fuck with me anymore, please just... I'm tired of... us pretending like... I didn't just drink a bottle just because you suggested it. Like I don't get up at three in the morning when you call me, like I don't do everything you want me to. I'm tired of you not realizing that I..." Rick stopped his words suddenly, stilting them in a way that sounded forced and unnatural, like maybe he didn't want them to stop at all.
"I realize it, Rick," Damon confessed, slumping slightly against the wall, as he felt Rick's eyes run over his face. "I realize it," he confirmed again, softer this time, giving up on the battle he'd been fighting for the last six months.
"I'm taking you home," Damon reminded, by way of conclusion, as he let his hands instinctively rest along Alaric's waist. He wondered subconsciously when this had become an occurrence normal enough to be an instinct.
"I'm not going home," Alaric countered, pressing forward, claiming back that inch of space that Damon had created, as their bodies came flush against each other. "Unless you're coming with me," he added, a statement that was dark and troubled, hinting at falling over the border of becoming a dare.
Damon considered his options for a moment, wanting nothing more than to remind Alaric that he was drunk and dizzied, making decisions that... well, that was the problem. This situation, this accusation, this moment in general? It'd been building up for months. It was the little things between them, tiny details that added up to a whole lot of big ones. Speed dials, shared clothing, the fact that Rick regularly let Damon drive his car? They were all just the multiple ways in which this conversation could have started days, weeks, months ago. Who'd have known that all it would have taken was a bottle of Jack?
"No," Damon denied, letting his eyes slip shut as he felt Rick fall heavily against him, pressing tightly in every place possible. "I won't... there's..." Damon fumbled with his words as he felt his breath hitch, frustration and anger and pain and confusion consuming him entirely until finally... peace. "Won't go home with you... because you're not going home," Damon finally explained, opening his eyes to find that nothing around him had changed. Nothing was broken or troubled, nothing was evil or awful, as he finally spilled the words he'd been holding back for a time that felt like an eternity. "Stay with me," he suggested, making the words sound as casual as possible, when he knew they were anything but.
Rick didn't reply for a moment that burned heavily between them, too long in silence, too long in question.
"But she left me," Rick cried softly, leaning against Damon's shoulder.
"Yes, yes she did," Damon confirmed solidly, coldly, because he was tired of trying to justify Isobel's actions to his bleeding heart friend. "But I never will."
-End-
Author:casiedearestfic
Pairing: (Pre-ish) Damon Salvatore/Alaric Saltzman
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Possible alcohol triggers
Words: 1200
Summary: Rick will do anythng. Anything for Damon.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the boys. All characters belong to respective copyrights.
Notes: Written for this prompt in the Kiss Me/Kill Me meme. Also? I gave Alaric some completely false alcohol issues. Roll with it.
The bottle wasn't cold, not that that made any difference. It'd been sitting on the table for a time that stretched out far too long, growing into a presence, the more they tried to ignore it. Damon had watched in amusement, a twisted sort of pleasure, as Rick's fingers continually brushed along the bottom of the label. It was a flirtation, a tease, a relationship that Damon knew Alaric had stayed away from for seven years, going on eight.
Damon didn't understand it, didn't get why Rick's previous 'issues' with alcoholism were issues at all. It was just a drink. Just a smooth, comfortable kick working it's way down his throat. And so what if it made him a little crazy? So what if it brought out the dark side, the rough side, the side Rick tried so hard to keep contained. Because after all, that's what drinks were for, right?
And eventually, everything had crumbled. The music had started skipping, the lightning outside cracked brighter through the sky. The flames in the fireplace had blown with a phantom wind, bending and dancing until they licked at the bricks of the walls. It was a quiet moment that felt deafening all the same, as Rick's hand finally closed around the bottle.
He didn't even bother with the shot glass.
"I wasn't... what, I wasn't good enough for her?" Rick moaned the words, for the third time in an hour, hands fumbling over the table as he tried to wipe up a spill of amber liquid. "I wasn't enough... excitement?"
Damon stayed silent as he let his friend ask, ask, and ask again. They were rhetorical questions, he was sure. Because how could he possibly have the answers to them?
"My girlfriend fucked my brother," Damon shrugged, deciding it was time to interject some of his own pain into the moment. It went unnoticed. As it always does.
"I did everything I could," Rick explained, voice loud and soaring, echoing through the room, before being swallowed up by the rows of books lining the walls. "I did... I did everything..." He trailed off eventually, letting his words grow quiet, as his face fell deeper, etched with lines that showed his age, as so rarely, rarely happened.
"Well you just ha--"
"And she... she..." Rick cut off Damon's half-assed attempt at a reconcile, stumbling over words like they were physical hurdles. Damon bit his lip, staying silent, against his nature. He had nothing to say, nothing he could possibly say. He could do nothing, give nothing, be nothing, except possibly a friend. And a bartender.
Rick stilled as he watched Damon pour him another drink, filling a crystal glass with a heavy shot of dark whiskey. It splashed up along the sides, and Damon was almost surprised when it didn't coat the glass in a thick red jacket, the way his drink of choice always did.
"No more," Rick decided, shaking his head in a way that was almost more of a nod. Damon topped off the glass anyhow, knowing that despite Alaric's decision, despite his words and motives, he'd always want more, now that he'd had a taste. He'd crave it, he's lust for it. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, hellbent on crossing state borders if it meant getting just a taste.
They really weren't so different, Damon and Rick.
"Alright then," Damon drawled easily, sliding the now-full glass in his own direction, away from the darkened focus of the history teacher. He watched as Rick's eyes followed the motion, not straying for a moment, as his focus locked on Damon's hand.
"Something you want?" Damon asked darkly, only vaguely aware that he was breaking the one human on earth who came even close to being called his friend. It was terrible, he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind. It was twisted and sadistic; forcing Rick into this situation. But he didn't mind, he didn't fucking care, because he was what he was. And what he was was something awful. Something that enjoyed these moments, ones just like this, when the innocent, defenseless human would be weak under his power. But never had it felt this good. Because this wasn't just any human.
"No," Rick shot back finally, tearing his gaze away from the glass, before letting it settle somewhere along Damon's face. "I don't need this," Alaric insisted, leaning back in his chair as he let his focus fly up to the high ceiling.
Damon watched with genuine interest as Alaric's face flashed every emotion known to man, and some which Damon suspected were not. They each lasted for a moment, at most, a split second of humor, torment, pain, before finally settling on resignation.
"My brother," Rick started finally, a story that Damon suspected would end with 'my wife', as all of Rick's stories tended to do. "He always tried to buy me drinks," he continued, bringing his attention back to Damon, as he shifted in his chair across the table. "In fact... all of my family... all of my friends..."
Damon felt his face knit in confusion as Rick rambled on, a story that Damon assumed would have no relevance to anything, anywhere, ever.
"I never... it's been eight years, because... I just... I don't want..." Rick struggled with his point, words slurring as he folded his arms over the table in front of him, laying his head down on top of that. Damon watched as an uncleaned spill of whiskey bit at the sleeve of Rick's button-down shirt, darkening the fabric as it soaked right through.
"Seems to me that it's bedtime," Damon piped up loudly, deciding that having Alaric wake up at his table tomorrow would not be a good way to start the morning. "Come, I'll take you home," Damon tried, pushing his chair back from the table as he stood, taking the two steps it took to cross to Rick's chair.
"Mister Saltzman," Damon lilted, bending slightly to invade Alaric's space, let him know that this night was over.
Rick had other plans, apparently, because his next words changed everything.
"Sometimes I let myself believe that you're compelling me," Rick admitted suddenly, words soft and low, but clear and crisp, in a way they hadn't been for over three hours. "Sometimes I... I make myself forget the things I do for you, the things I do because of you, and I just... I believe in compulsion, because that's... that's the easy answer," Rick continued, turning to press his face deeper into the barrier of his arms. Damon leaned in closer, hands on his knees as he raised an eyebrow, trying to make sense of what Rick was making his last words, before the inevitable pass out.
"And the difficult answer is..." Damon let the question hang in the air, leaving his thought unfinished, in hopes that Rick would supply the second half of the statement.
Rick sighed heavily, deeply, as if this breath would be his last, and inwardly, Damon knew it wouldn't be. Rick would never experience a last breath, or feel the tension of the moment of deciding on his final dying words. Because no matter what happened, no matter what went wrong, Damon knew he'd watch out for him. Rick would never be gone.
"The honest answer is... " Rick mumbled the words into his sleeve, a dark brown shirt that he seemed to wear on Tuesdays more often than not. "I just... it's you, Damon, it's not... I'd just..."
Damon considered cutting Rick off, in more ways than one. No more alcohol, no more talking, no more struggling to stay awake. But Rick continued before Damon could act on that plan, ceasing the Vampire's thoughts entirely, as he leaned over Rick's shoulder.
"I'd do anything for you, Damon. Anything you ever... anything you ever need, I want to... I wanna... I lost her," Rick said the words softly, quietly, but with a bite that almost warned at a scream. "I lost her, she's gone, and I... I can't lose you, Damon, I can't--"
"Whoa, hey," Damon backed up slightly, one hand on his hip, as the other found it's way to Rick's shoulder. "I'm not going anywh--"
"I need you, Damon, please don't leave me, don't... don't lie to me, don't--"
"Rick!' Damon crouched down beside him, dropping quickly, quicker than was humanly possible. He let his hand stay on Alaric's shoulder, spread flat and tight over the dark fabric of his shirt, warmed by the heat of the skin underneath. "Hey man, you're not even making sense, so we're just gonna..." Damon let his words trail off as he pulled at Rick's body, trying to force him onto his feet, with no success. Rick was making perfect sense, and that was exactly the reason why he needed to stop talking immediately.
"Damon," Rick said the name with reverence, with trust, with... with a million things Damon hadn't heard since... well... not for a very long time.
"Come on, let's just--"
"Damon," Rick stood, pressing and pulling at Damon until they were as close to face-to-face as their height would allow for. "It's always you," Rick confessed, an admission that Damon wasn't even entirely sure that he understood. "I'd do anything for you, anything you ask, anything you need, I'll... I wanna..."
Damon swallowed deeply as Rick continued to push at him, until he felt his back hit the wall behind him. He felt trapped and secluded, stuck in a cage, as Rick's hands founds their way to the wall on either side of Damon's waist.
He could move, he knew, was nowhere near being physically encompassed. He could snap Rick's arms clean off in one simple movement if he wished to do so, and lick up the blood before anyone else could even realize what'd happened.
But he wouldn't, he knew. He wouldn't do anything but stand there. No compulsion, no violence, just...
Yeah. Damon knew what Rick was saying.
"I'm tired, Damon," Rick complained, voice worn and mirroring the nature of his statement.
"Which is why I'm trying to bring you home," Damon reminded, speaking as if to a child, as he pressed himself harder against the wall, putting a much-needed extra inch of space between them.
"Don't... don't fuck with me anymore, please just... I'm tired of... us pretending like... I didn't just drink a bottle just because you suggested it. Like I don't get up at three in the morning when you call me, like I don't do everything you want me to. I'm tired of you not realizing that I..." Rick stopped his words suddenly, stilting them in a way that sounded forced and unnatural, like maybe he didn't want them to stop at all.
"I realize it, Rick," Damon confessed, slumping slightly against the wall, as he felt Rick's eyes run over his face. "I realize it," he confirmed again, softer this time, giving up on the battle he'd been fighting for the last six months.
"I'm taking you home," Damon reminded, by way of conclusion, as he let his hands instinctively rest along Alaric's waist. He wondered subconsciously when this had become an occurrence normal enough to be an instinct.
"I'm not going home," Alaric countered, pressing forward, claiming back that inch of space that Damon had created, as their bodies came flush against each other. "Unless you're coming with me," he added, a statement that was dark and troubled, hinting at falling over the border of becoming a dare.
Damon considered his options for a moment, wanting nothing more than to remind Alaric that he was drunk and dizzied, making decisions that... well, that was the problem. This situation, this accusation, this moment in general? It'd been building up for months. It was the little things between them, tiny details that added up to a whole lot of big ones. Speed dials, shared clothing, the fact that Rick regularly let Damon drive his car? They were all just the multiple ways in which this conversation could have started days, weeks, months ago. Who'd have known that all it would have taken was a bottle of Jack?
"No," Damon denied, letting his eyes slip shut as he felt Rick fall heavily against him, pressing tightly in every place possible. "I won't... there's..." Damon fumbled with his words as he felt his breath hitch, frustration and anger and pain and confusion consuming him entirely until finally... peace. "Won't go home with you... because you're not going home," Damon finally explained, opening his eyes to find that nothing around him had changed. Nothing was broken or troubled, nothing was evil or awful, as he finally spilled the words he'd been holding back for a time that felt like an eternity. "Stay with me," he suggested, making the words sound as casual as possible, when he knew they were anything but.
Rick didn't reply for a moment that burned heavily between them, too long in silence, too long in question.
"But she left me," Rick cried softly, leaning against Damon's shoulder.
"Yes, yes she did," Damon confirmed solidly, coldly, because he was tired of trying to justify Isobel's actions to his bleeding heart friend. "But I never will."
-End-