Happy Holidays, elenarain!
Title: Before I Tumble Homeward
Recipient: elenarain
Author: dametokillfor
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Alaric
Word Count: 4210
Warnings: Smut, blood sharing, mentions of canon character death.
Summary: Set post 2x22, Damon decides the best way to deal with everything is with a little kidnapping, home invasion and cookery. Of course, he’s also quite happy with Alaric’s alternate ideas.
Author's Notes: Happy holidays! I chose to use the prompt ‘Damon and Alaric are stuck somewhere and Damon must feed to survive’, I hope this fits that for you. It vaguely developed something resembling a plot along the way, sorry about that! Title from Mumford & Sons ‘Lover of the Light’.
*****
“Where are we going, Damon?”
It must be the fiftieth time he’s asked the question since regaining consciousness in the back of his truck. So far Damon’s yet to provide a satisfactory answer, it’s mostly been a mix of where’s your sense of adventure, Ric? or Narnia. Not for the first time, Ric’s wondering why he puts up with this idiot.
“You worry too much, Ric.” Damon offers, craning his neck to look across at him for a moment. Damon has what Ric supposes he thinks a reassuring look is on his face. In actuality, he just looks smug.
“You kidnapped me while I was sleeping.” Ric points out.
He can almost hear Damon rolling his eyes.
“We’re just getting away from Mystic Falls for a few days.” Damon explains, “You’ve been through a lot these past few days, with Jenna, with Isobel, with Klaus. Being the responsible adults we… you are, we’re going to have your emotional collapse out of town.”
Ric’s polite enough not to comment on everything that Damon’s had to deal with over the past few days. He figures Damon needs some time away just as much as he does, he just doesn’t want to admit it.
Besides, it’s a better answer than to take back the Iron Throne.
-x-
It’s overcast when they finally reach their destination, a few drops of rain falling from the dark clouds above.
Ric recognizes the lake house from photos in the Gilbert’s house, from Jenna’s accounts of dirty weekends stolen away here and oh God, Jenna. They were supposed to come here and talk it out and fix everything and Damon’s right, they do need their emotional breakdown somewhere away from the Falls.
Damon appears at his arm, looks over the place with him.
“Elena has no idea we’re here, does she?” Ric asks, knowing the answer already.
“She’d have wanted to come with. You don’t want that. You need to be selfish, need to be in pain without worrying about what she’s lost too.”
Not for the first time, Ric gets the feeling this is as much for Damon’s benefit as it is for him. He doesn’t say anything. Damon will admit it when - if - he’s ready to. It’s how their friendship works.
“You mean I need to be completely shitfaced without needing to form coherent sentences to help her through it all?” Ric offers.
“You make it sound so sordid.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Tiny bit.” Damon agrees.
There’s a rumble of thunder overhead and suddenly the heavens open. Damon and Alaric are drenched before they can so much as look at each other.
“Don’t suppose you’ve brought us spare clothes, have you?” Ric asks, looking over to Damon.
“I kidnapped you while you were sleeping, what makes you think I’ve prepared anything?” Damon asks, “Anyway, you can just shake the water out of your fur.”
Ric half-heartedly punches him in the side.
“You’ve at least got the keys, right?” Ric asks.
Damon holds up a keychain, a large key hanging off it, “It either opens that door or there’s some secret Gilbert treasure somewhere.”
“Well, I always wanted to be Indiana Jones.” Ric admits, as they start walking towards the house.
“You kind of look like Harrison Ford actually.” Damon says, “I mean, more like the product of that one night Han and Chewy never talk about, but still.”
“Keep making the pelt jokes, Damon, I dare you.” Ric says, “But when you get attacked by bears and I’m the only one who can talk them down, you’ll be thankful for it.”
It’s only when they reach the door, both as wet as the other, that Ric remembers Damon could have and should have zipped ahead of him, utilized that vampire speed. He’s not sure what it means that he chose to walk alongside him like a mere mortal, but he can’t help but feel it’s something.
-x-
Ric takes the first shower. Damon busies himself in the kitchen, focussing on creating a masterpiece out of the few non-perishable goods left in the house. Canned tomatoes, chicken in the chest freezer outside, whatever was in that jar at the back of the cupboard. It smells good at least, he’s hoping it might be at least slightly edible.
And if it kills Ric, surely the ring will bring him back, the chef was supernatural, surely that counts as a supernatural death, and oh God, Ric doesn’t have his ring anymore. Vampire blood in the marinade?
He’s about to tear into his wrist when Ric enters the room, shirt slung over his bare shoulders, ill-fitting jeans at his hips. Damon’s eyes sweep across the broad planes of Ric’s chest, not for the first time admiring the way his friend is built.
“You’re cooking?” Ric asks. Damon’s eyes flit back to Ric’s face, “Stefan was right. You really are a 50’s housewife…”
It’s only after the words have left his mouth that Ric seems to realise what he’s said. He starts to apologize, but Damon cuts in.
“There was a week in ’56.” He says, “I looked great in a poodle skirt.”
Ric’s head looks as if it’s about to explode and Damon instantly feels better. He smirks to himself and turns to portion out the food for them. Ric pulls the shirt from his shoulder and pulls it on. It doesn’t fit particularly well either, it’s too big and really Damon can’t help feeling a little sad about that.
“Y’know, I don’t put out on the first date.” Ric tells him, sitting at the table.
Damon puts the food down in front of him, “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
He goes to grab the bourbon he’s brought with him - he might be a little prepared - and is stopped in his tracks by a sinful moan from Ric, a sound which he’s a little ashamed to say goes straight to his cock.
He turns back to see Ric digging into the food like a dying man.
“How long has it been since you last ate?” Damon asks. The food isn’t that good.
Ric looks over at him, thinks for a moment, “Was it Thursday Klaus made dinner for Stefan and Jenna?”
Damon rolls his eyes, pushes the plate he’s made for himself across to Ric too. Ric quirks an eyebrow at him.
“It’s chicken, Ric, not O neg.”
“Thanks.”
Damon returns to grab the bourbon from the side, forcing himself not to pay attention to the little contented noises coming from Ric as he tucks into his meals.
It’s going to be a long few days if he keeps this up.
-x-
Ric’s inevitable breakdown had gone significantly better than Damon had hoped it would. There’s been very little crying, just a stream of drunken heartbroken words about ‘saving her’ and ‘it’s all my fault’ and ’oh God, Elena and Jeremy’. Damon had been very good about it all. He’d sat, he’d listened, he’d offered manly slaps on the back and promises that it’d get better and they’d fix everything.
He’s not completely sure how this had all lead to the making out though.
Okay, Damon had been thinking about it. He’d may be been topping Ric’s bourbon up a little too fast, been sitting a little too close, letting his hand rest a little too long on Ric’s back.
And maybe he’d been a split second away from kissing Ric, when Ric had mumbled something about regretting this in the morning and done it for him.
Now they’re laid out across the couch, which really isn’t big enough for the two of them, but that neither of them is willing to move from. Damon’s on top of Ric as best he can be, one foot on the floor, one leg thrown across Ric’s. His fingers tangle in Ric’s overlong, sandy hair as he kisses him.
Ric’s hands are under Damon’s dark shirt, skating across the cool flesh, pushing the annoying fabric out of the way. He wants his hands, his lips on every part of Damon. He wants it before he starts to think again and realises this is the most stupid idea he’s ever had.
He pulls the shirt up, pulls back from Damon to tear it from him and throw it aside. Damon’s surging at him again, Ric pushes a hand out to stop.
“We shouldn’t…” Ric starts.
“We should.” Damon argues, pressing kisses to Ric’s jaw. He’s drunk on the bourbon, Alaric. “We really should.”
“Do this here.” Ric finishes.
“If I carry you to the bedroom…”
“You’ll get staked.”
Damon rolls his eyes, “Isn’t that what we’re…”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
There’s a smirk on Damon’s face. Even now, Ric kind of wants to punch it away. He settles for kissing him again.
“Bed.” He says against Damon’s lips.
Damon pulls Ric to his feet, can’t resist stealing another kiss from him. He pulls at the oversized shirt Ric’s wearing, tears it from his body and throws it aside. It was a horrible shirt, one that should be as far away from Ric’s gorgeous, broad, hairy body as possible.
Damon’s mouth is at Ric’s neck, kissing and nipping at the skin. He wants to bite, god he wants to bite, but he controls himself. He wants nothing more than to taste him, wants to know if he’d taste of the bourbon they love so much, that their entire friendship is based on. Ric wouldn’t thank him for it though, and he’s not about to do anything to destroy this.
He’s making goddamn gorgeous noises, low and strained and a sound Damon doesn’t think he’ll ever hear enough.
He makes the decision right there that this is going to happen again, Ric has no choice in the matter. Damon will seduce him perfectly and effortlessly and his pants will be off before he has time to question it.
Living in the now, Damon tugs at the baggy jeans at Ric's hips. Ignoring Ric's feeble protestations about finding a bed, he pushes down the jeans and pushes Ric back onto the couch, quickly positioning himself between his thighs.
It's then he realises Ric has forgone underwear. He looks up at him, one eyebrow raised.
"There are some things I won't borrow from other people." Ric offers by way of explanation.
Damon chooses to believe it's just an official excuse.
His hands slide along Ric's strong thighs, hard and powerful and so warm, so human. He uses them as leverage, moves to kiss Ric again because fuck, he can't get enough of that. His lips trail across the rough stubble of Ric's jaw, along the line of his throat. Ric's head tilts back willingly, baring himself to Damon in a way he'd never have dreamed of - in this situation or any other - only a few months before.
Damon's lips move across Ric's broad chest, his nose twitching at the thick hair he's so often teased Ric about.
Is that why Klaus chose you? You're half wolf too?
His mouth attaches itself to a nipple, nipping at the sensitive nub, tonguing at it to soothe. The stunning cry Ric lets out at this encourages Damon to do the same to the other, taking extra time over this one. He files this away for future reference, his 'things that drive Ric crazy' list taking on a whole new meaning.
He kisses a slow trail down Ric's stomach, revelling in the way Ric's moving under him, arching into his lips.
"Damon..."
His name has never sounded so wanton and decadent.
Ric's hands are in Damon's hair now, tangled in the inky black mess. He's not forcing him, not guiding him, just gripping.
Damon's leisurely pace is driving Ric out of his mind, more so than he feels he already was for agreeing to do this with him in the first place. As Damon's hot mouth closes around his cock, Ric is already close to gone. He's lost in the feel of Damon's talented tongue doing things he didn't know were physically possible. As Damon swallows around him, Ric can barely remember his own name, while Damon's is clear as day on his lips.
“Damon, so… so close.” He moans, his voice strained and broken and desperate.
Damon doesn’t pull away, doesn’t so much as pause in his ministrations, just hums his assent around Ric’s dick and fuck, he’s gone. His whole world is Damon and his mouth and Ric doesn’t quite know why it’s ever supposed to be anything but.
He peers down at Damon, to see him gazing back up at him, almost nervous, as if he’s afraid whatever temporary insanity came over Ric has passed now he’s come.
He almost looks hurt, before Ric hauls him up and kisses the look off his face. A desperate promise that this isn’t done, not yet.
His hand finds its way to the fastenings of Damon's impossibly tight jeans. Damon helps, pulling them open, pushing them down as far as they will go. Ric's big hand closes around Damon's rock hard cock, without trepidation. He pulls back from the kiss, his lips resting at Damon's ear.
"Is this what you really had planned?" He asks.
For a moment Damon's worried Ric's seriously pissed off at him, before Ric starts to stroke at him, starts to press soft kisses to his ear.
"I'm starting to wish I had." Damon says, almost laughing, "I don't have supplies for any of this."
"You should have warned me." Ric says, twisting his hand just so, "There's so much I could have brought with me. Cuffs, for those pretty wrists. Whips, to mark that gorgeous pale skin. I have things that would stretch you so wide, ready you for my cock."
Damon didn't know Ric had it in him. He wants to tell him, but all his witty remarks are stuck on his tongue. He's reduced to a mess of Ric, yes, more.
“God, I want to fuck you right now.” Ric tells him, “Take you apart with my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”
Damon would like that, he’d fucking love that. He thinks it’s probably beat out Klaus’s still beating heart as the number one on his list of things he really wants. He drops his head forward to Ric’s shoulder, as he mumbles this to him.
“When we get back to Mystic Falls,” Ric says, leaving the sentence hanging in the air, but fuck, it’s good enough for Damon.
Their mouths are moving together in a vague semblance of a kiss as Ric’s talented, rough hands bring Damon to a shuddering climax.
He falls against Ric, boneless and satiated, searching for a quip that just isn’t there.
He’s about to open his mouth and see what his brain comes up with, when there’s an almighty clap of thunder outside and the room descends into sudden darkness.
“Was us having sex a sign of the apocalypse?” Damon asks.
-x-
On their quest to find a bedroom, Ric manages to injure himself on low tables and sideboards twice. Damon can see exactly where he’s going, but helping would completely ruin his fun. They fall into bed together, lazily kissing for what feels like forever until Ric’s annoying human need for sleep gets the better of him and he drifts off. His arms are looped around Damon, clutching him tight to him.
Damon fully intends to extract himself from Ric’s arms, to check the fuse box and see if he can’t get the electricity back. There are also dishes in the sink, which are in dire need of washing.
So he does fully intends to extract himself from Ric’s arms.
It’s only when he feels Ric’s lips brushing against the back of his neck, a sleepy hello mumbled into the skin that he realises he’s fallen asleep next to him.
-x-
The power’s fucked.
A falling tree nearby seems to have taken out a power line, leaving the lake house with nothing. There’s an old generator outside, but neither Ric nor Damon are especially keen on electrocuting themselves trying to get it up and running.
They should go back to Mystic Falls, back to Elena and Jeremy and the friends they’ve left behind. They need to be the responsible adults and try and fix things, hold things together, but neither are ready, not yet.
They’ve text Elena, let her know they’re okay, that they’re just taking a few days to themselves. She’s told them both to be careful, to look after each other. Ric had to laugh at that. The looking after each other thing is something they can do.
They’ve spent most of their two days without power lost in each other’s bodies. Lazy making out sessions on the couch, blowjobs in the shower, a surprisingly dirty wake up call from Ric after Damon had drifted off into a contented sleep.
When they’ve been too tired, too sore and fucked out to do anything, they’ve been talking, been reading, been drinking. It’s been everything they have back in Mystic Falls, just a little more R-rated.
Ric thinks it should probably be more awkward than it actually is. This is Damon, the vampire who killed his wife, killed Jeremy, killed him. He’s the last person Ric should be finding any kind of comfort in. But then Damon’s the only person who really gets it, who understands how Ric feels, what he’s having to deal with. Ric’s lost Jenna, lost Isobel, lost himself for a time to Klaus. Damon’s lost his brother to the same monster.
And Ric’s waiting for Damon to explode with that, because he can see it bubbling under the surface. As blissful as their few days together has been, there’s been an edge to Damon which has only got harder as the time has rolled on.
On top of which, there’s the fact that Damon’s not had any fresh blood since they’ve been at the lake house. Ric can see he’s trying to ignore the cravings, there’s always a glass or bottle of bourbon within reach. It’s not working though, his pissy mood is growing worse by the day.
Ric has reluctantly offered to go home a few times, but Damon’s shrugged him off, kissed him quiet. (He’d also suggested maybe tracking down a bunny, an idea received with hysterical laughter). It’s almost as if he wants to stay here 'til he desiccates, wants to be nothing for a little while, so he doesn’t have to worry about everyone and everything. Ric gets it, he does, but he can’t let that happen.
Damon’s kissing him stupid again, sat astride his thighs, his arms pinned behind his head. Ric’s trying to ignore his stupid human need to breath, but to no avail.
“Da-m’n.” He mumbles against Damon’s lips, tries to pull back so he can breathe. (He momentarily wonders if the ring would have protected him from suffocation at the hands of his vampire lover).
“Damon, need to breathe.” Ric tells him, turning his head to avoid Damon’s lips, “Just… let me breathe. A second.”
“Humans.” Damon grumbles, contenting himself with kissing along the length of Ric’s neck.
He’s panting heavily, a ridiculous thing to be doing as a vampire who doesn’t need to breathe. He’s trying to focus on anything that isn’t the blood he can hear coursing through Ric’s veins. He is dying to bite Ric, not to hurt him, never to hurt him. He’s so hungry and Ric tastes so good, he can only imagine how his blood is going to taste.
He’s nipping at his neck with blunt, human teeth, sucking marks into the skin that Ric is going to have to hide with a snappy scarf, contenting himself with the action of biting and sucking and trying to trick his mind into thinking he’s fed when Ric says it, so quiet Damon thinks he’s imagined it.
“Do it.”
Damon pulls back, looks over at Ric.
“Do it.” Ric says.
“Vervain?”
“I haven’t been on vervain since Klaus got into my head.” Ric admits, “Not something he was great about keeping up.”
Damon wants to ask if he’s sure, wants to tell him it won’t hurt and it’ll drive him insane and he’s going to love it, but he’s selfish, terrified Ric is going to take it back. He looks down at Ric, allows his face to shift, the capillaries popping beneath his eyes, his fangs descending. Ric’s staring up at him, a momentary flicker of fear in his eyes, before he settles back into contentment.
“Ric…”
He turns his head again, baring his neck to Damon. It’s insane, he knows it’s insane but he also knows Damon won’t hurt him. He trusts him, it’s fucking crazy, but he does.
Damon’s nuzzling at his neck, before his fangs pierce the soft flesh beneath them, the blood rushing into his mouth.
Ric tastes like ecstasy, like bourbon, reminds him of long nights spent together talking about nothing and everything, like everything good in Damon’s fucking life. There’s electricity coursing through Damon’s veins, he feels like he’s on fire. His entire body is alive, singing with Ric’s blood. He ruts against him, desperate for any kind of friction, for more.
He pulls back from Ric’s neck, gazes down at Ric. There’s a lazy, dazed, contented expression upon Ric’s face.
“Damon…”
Damon brings his own wrist to his mouth, bites into the flesh. Ric looks up at him, shakes his head, “No, Damon, not…”
“Relax, I’m not turning you. I just…” Damon starts, “You need to feel this.”
He holds his wrist to Ric, doesn’t force him, lets him make his own choice. Ric’s staring at the proffered arm, a mix of intrigue and disgust on his face. Damon can feel his skin beginning to knit together, that surreal sensation he’s still not used to. He’s almost disappointed when Ric hesitates.
Ric grabs his wrist at the last second, brings it to his lips, sucks at the wound hungrily. He’s biting at the closing wound himself, trying to get more of Damon’s blood into his system.
Ric drinks deeply. Damon feels himself becoming more lightheaded with the blood loss, but doesn’t stop him, can’t stop him. Ric pulls himself back soon enough, drops Damon’s wrist and looks up at him.
His eyes are near black with lust, a half smile across his blood stained lips. Damon doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look more attractive than he does right now.
“Jesus, Damon, it’s like…” The words catch in his mouth.
“I know.” Damon says, leaning down to kiss him with his own bloody mouth.
There’s a near feral grunt from Ric as he catches Damon by surprise, flips them over so he’s on top of him. He’s not felt this alive in years, if ever. He can feel everything, every sensation, every place Damon is touching him.
There’s laughter from Damon below him and he realizes he’s saying these things aloud.
“I am so getting you stoned on my blood more often.” Damon grits out, before Ric kisses him silent, rolling his hips against him.
Every nerve ending is tingling, it’s too much, it’s not enough. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out like this. He rolls his hips against Damon again, Damon arching up into his movements, his moans like a symphony to Ric’s now hypersensitive ears.
They rut against one another, their bodies moving in perfect harmony to bring themselves closer to the edge. Damon pulls Ric close to him, his lips moving over the now closed wound across his neck, his tongue lapping up the drying blood there. As Ric is warning him that he’s close, Damon smiles into his neck and sinks his fangs in again. He’s drinking deep from Ric as their climaxes hit them simultaneously, the blood-deep connection between them causing a perfect synchronicity.
Ric’s whispering his name as he comes down, as Damon retracts his fangs and licks his lips in a lascivious fashion. Ric rolls off him, flops down on the bed next to him. His eyes are closed, his body loose, he looks completely blissed out. Damon rolls over, grabs the tissues by the bed and cleans himself off. He looks over to Ric, quickly cleans him off too, before it can turn into a weird awkward moment. (He’s Damon, he’s got a thing about things being clean and tidy, it’s nothing else.)
There’s a flickering of light above them, the light in the bedroom slowly coming to life again. The pair of them stare up at the light. Ric closes his eyes and Damon turns his head to look at him.
Absently, Damon rests his hand on Ric’s heart, fingers threading through the thick hair that covers his chest. (And okay, maybe Damon’s kind of become attached to that now). He can feel the steady, calming beat of Ric’s heart. A constant Damon’s finding himself more attached to.
“I’m still here, Damon.” Ric tells him, looking over.
Damon half-smiles, “Yeah, can’t get rid of you.”
“You’ve tried often enough.” Ric huffs a laugh.
“Well, it wouldn’t be Thursday without you getting your ass kicked.” Damon replies.
Ric smiles at him, doesn’t respond. It’s not the emotional breakdown he was expecting from Damon, but he thinks it’s close enough, for now.
*****
Recipient: elenarain
Author: dametokillfor
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Damon/Alaric
Word Count: 4210
Warnings: Smut, blood sharing, mentions of canon character death.
Summary: Set post 2x22, Damon decides the best way to deal with everything is with a little kidnapping, home invasion and cookery. Of course, he’s also quite happy with Alaric’s alternate ideas.
Author's Notes: Happy holidays! I chose to use the prompt ‘Damon and Alaric are stuck somewhere and Damon must feed to survive’, I hope this fits that for you. It vaguely developed something resembling a plot along the way, sorry about that! Title from Mumford & Sons ‘Lover of the Light’.
*****
“Where are we going, Damon?”
It must be the fiftieth time he’s asked the question since regaining consciousness in the back of his truck. So far Damon’s yet to provide a satisfactory answer, it’s mostly been a mix of where’s your sense of adventure, Ric? or Narnia. Not for the first time, Ric’s wondering why he puts up with this idiot.
“You worry too much, Ric.” Damon offers, craning his neck to look across at him for a moment. Damon has what Ric supposes he thinks a reassuring look is on his face. In actuality, he just looks smug.
“You kidnapped me while I was sleeping.” Ric points out.
He can almost hear Damon rolling his eyes.
“We’re just getting away from Mystic Falls for a few days.” Damon explains, “You’ve been through a lot these past few days, with Jenna, with Isobel, with Klaus. Being the responsible adults we… you are, we’re going to have your emotional collapse out of town.”
Ric’s polite enough not to comment on everything that Damon’s had to deal with over the past few days. He figures Damon needs some time away just as much as he does, he just doesn’t want to admit it.
Besides, it’s a better answer than to take back the Iron Throne.
-x-
It’s overcast when they finally reach their destination, a few drops of rain falling from the dark clouds above.
Ric recognizes the lake house from photos in the Gilbert’s house, from Jenna’s accounts of dirty weekends stolen away here and oh God, Jenna. They were supposed to come here and talk it out and fix everything and Damon’s right, they do need their emotional breakdown somewhere away from the Falls.
Damon appears at his arm, looks over the place with him.
“Elena has no idea we’re here, does she?” Ric asks, knowing the answer already.
“She’d have wanted to come with. You don’t want that. You need to be selfish, need to be in pain without worrying about what she’s lost too.”
Not for the first time, Ric gets the feeling this is as much for Damon’s benefit as it is for him. He doesn’t say anything. Damon will admit it when - if - he’s ready to. It’s how their friendship works.
“You mean I need to be completely shitfaced without needing to form coherent sentences to help her through it all?” Ric offers.
“You make it sound so sordid.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Tiny bit.” Damon agrees.
There’s a rumble of thunder overhead and suddenly the heavens open. Damon and Alaric are drenched before they can so much as look at each other.
“Don’t suppose you’ve brought us spare clothes, have you?” Ric asks, looking over to Damon.
“I kidnapped you while you were sleeping, what makes you think I’ve prepared anything?” Damon asks, “Anyway, you can just shake the water out of your fur.”
Ric half-heartedly punches him in the side.
“You’ve at least got the keys, right?” Ric asks.
Damon holds up a keychain, a large key hanging off it, “It either opens that door or there’s some secret Gilbert treasure somewhere.”
“Well, I always wanted to be Indiana Jones.” Ric admits, as they start walking towards the house.
“You kind of look like Harrison Ford actually.” Damon says, “I mean, more like the product of that one night Han and Chewy never talk about, but still.”
“Keep making the pelt jokes, Damon, I dare you.” Ric says, “But when you get attacked by bears and I’m the only one who can talk them down, you’ll be thankful for it.”
It’s only when they reach the door, both as wet as the other, that Ric remembers Damon could have and should have zipped ahead of him, utilized that vampire speed. He’s not sure what it means that he chose to walk alongside him like a mere mortal, but he can’t help but feel it’s something.
-x-
Ric takes the first shower. Damon busies himself in the kitchen, focussing on creating a masterpiece out of the few non-perishable goods left in the house. Canned tomatoes, chicken in the chest freezer outside, whatever was in that jar at the back of the cupboard. It smells good at least, he’s hoping it might be at least slightly edible.
And if it kills Ric, surely the ring will bring him back, the chef was supernatural, surely that counts as a supernatural death, and oh God, Ric doesn’t have his ring anymore. Vampire blood in the marinade?
He’s about to tear into his wrist when Ric enters the room, shirt slung over his bare shoulders, ill-fitting jeans at his hips. Damon’s eyes sweep across the broad planes of Ric’s chest, not for the first time admiring the way his friend is built.
“You’re cooking?” Ric asks. Damon’s eyes flit back to Ric’s face, “Stefan was right. You really are a 50’s housewife…”
It’s only after the words have left his mouth that Ric seems to realise what he’s said. He starts to apologize, but Damon cuts in.
“There was a week in ’56.” He says, “I looked great in a poodle skirt.”
Ric’s head looks as if it’s about to explode and Damon instantly feels better. He smirks to himself and turns to portion out the food for them. Ric pulls the shirt from his shoulder and pulls it on. It doesn’t fit particularly well either, it’s too big and really Damon can’t help feeling a little sad about that.
“Y’know, I don’t put out on the first date.” Ric tells him, sitting at the table.
Damon puts the food down in front of him, “You haven’t tasted it yet.”
He goes to grab the bourbon he’s brought with him - he might be a little prepared - and is stopped in his tracks by a sinful moan from Ric, a sound which he’s a little ashamed to say goes straight to his cock.
He turns back to see Ric digging into the food like a dying man.
“How long has it been since you last ate?” Damon asks. The food isn’t that good.
Ric looks over at him, thinks for a moment, “Was it Thursday Klaus made dinner for Stefan and Jenna?”
Damon rolls his eyes, pushes the plate he’s made for himself across to Ric too. Ric quirks an eyebrow at him.
“It’s chicken, Ric, not O neg.”
“Thanks.”
Damon returns to grab the bourbon from the side, forcing himself not to pay attention to the little contented noises coming from Ric as he tucks into his meals.
It’s going to be a long few days if he keeps this up.
-x-
Ric’s inevitable breakdown had gone significantly better than Damon had hoped it would. There’s been very little crying, just a stream of drunken heartbroken words about ‘saving her’ and ‘it’s all my fault’ and ’oh God, Elena and Jeremy’. Damon had been very good about it all. He’d sat, he’d listened, he’d offered manly slaps on the back and promises that it’d get better and they’d fix everything.
He’s not completely sure how this had all lead to the making out though.
Okay, Damon had been thinking about it. He’d may be been topping Ric’s bourbon up a little too fast, been sitting a little too close, letting his hand rest a little too long on Ric’s back.
And maybe he’d been a split second away from kissing Ric, when Ric had mumbled something about regretting this in the morning and done it for him.
Now they’re laid out across the couch, which really isn’t big enough for the two of them, but that neither of them is willing to move from. Damon’s on top of Ric as best he can be, one foot on the floor, one leg thrown across Ric’s. His fingers tangle in Ric’s overlong, sandy hair as he kisses him.
Ric’s hands are under Damon’s dark shirt, skating across the cool flesh, pushing the annoying fabric out of the way. He wants his hands, his lips on every part of Damon. He wants it before he starts to think again and realises this is the most stupid idea he’s ever had.
He pulls the shirt up, pulls back from Damon to tear it from him and throw it aside. Damon’s surging at him again, Ric pushes a hand out to stop.
“We shouldn’t…” Ric starts.
“We should.” Damon argues, pressing kisses to Ric’s jaw. He’s drunk on the bourbon, Alaric. “We really should.”
“Do this here.” Ric finishes.
“If I carry you to the bedroom…”
“You’ll get staked.”
Damon rolls his eyes, “Isn’t that what we’re…”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
There’s a smirk on Damon’s face. Even now, Ric kind of wants to punch it away. He settles for kissing him again.
“Bed.” He says against Damon’s lips.
Damon pulls Ric to his feet, can’t resist stealing another kiss from him. He pulls at the oversized shirt Ric’s wearing, tears it from his body and throws it aside. It was a horrible shirt, one that should be as far away from Ric’s gorgeous, broad, hairy body as possible.
Damon’s mouth is at Ric’s neck, kissing and nipping at the skin. He wants to bite, god he wants to bite, but he controls himself. He wants nothing more than to taste him, wants to know if he’d taste of the bourbon they love so much, that their entire friendship is based on. Ric wouldn’t thank him for it though, and he’s not about to do anything to destroy this.
He’s making goddamn gorgeous noises, low and strained and a sound Damon doesn’t think he’ll ever hear enough.
He makes the decision right there that this is going to happen again, Ric has no choice in the matter. Damon will seduce him perfectly and effortlessly and his pants will be off before he has time to question it.
Living in the now, Damon tugs at the baggy jeans at Ric's hips. Ignoring Ric's feeble protestations about finding a bed, he pushes down the jeans and pushes Ric back onto the couch, quickly positioning himself between his thighs.
It's then he realises Ric has forgone underwear. He looks up at him, one eyebrow raised.
"There are some things I won't borrow from other people." Ric offers by way of explanation.
Damon chooses to believe it's just an official excuse.
His hands slide along Ric's strong thighs, hard and powerful and so warm, so human. He uses them as leverage, moves to kiss Ric again because fuck, he can't get enough of that. His lips trail across the rough stubble of Ric's jaw, along the line of his throat. Ric's head tilts back willingly, baring himself to Damon in a way he'd never have dreamed of - in this situation or any other - only a few months before.
Damon's lips move across Ric's broad chest, his nose twitching at the thick hair he's so often teased Ric about.
Is that why Klaus chose you? You're half wolf too?
His mouth attaches itself to a nipple, nipping at the sensitive nub, tonguing at it to soothe. The stunning cry Ric lets out at this encourages Damon to do the same to the other, taking extra time over this one. He files this away for future reference, his 'things that drive Ric crazy' list taking on a whole new meaning.
He kisses a slow trail down Ric's stomach, revelling in the way Ric's moving under him, arching into his lips.
"Damon..."
His name has never sounded so wanton and decadent.
Ric's hands are in Damon's hair now, tangled in the inky black mess. He's not forcing him, not guiding him, just gripping.
Damon's leisurely pace is driving Ric out of his mind, more so than he feels he already was for agreeing to do this with him in the first place. As Damon's hot mouth closes around his cock, Ric is already close to gone. He's lost in the feel of Damon's talented tongue doing things he didn't know were physically possible. As Damon swallows around him, Ric can barely remember his own name, while Damon's is clear as day on his lips.
“Damon, so… so close.” He moans, his voice strained and broken and desperate.
Damon doesn’t pull away, doesn’t so much as pause in his ministrations, just hums his assent around Ric’s dick and fuck, he’s gone. His whole world is Damon and his mouth and Ric doesn’t quite know why it’s ever supposed to be anything but.
He peers down at Damon, to see him gazing back up at him, almost nervous, as if he’s afraid whatever temporary insanity came over Ric has passed now he’s come.
He almost looks hurt, before Ric hauls him up and kisses the look off his face. A desperate promise that this isn’t done, not yet.
His hand finds its way to the fastenings of Damon's impossibly tight jeans. Damon helps, pulling them open, pushing them down as far as they will go. Ric's big hand closes around Damon's rock hard cock, without trepidation. He pulls back from the kiss, his lips resting at Damon's ear.
"Is this what you really had planned?" He asks.
For a moment Damon's worried Ric's seriously pissed off at him, before Ric starts to stroke at him, starts to press soft kisses to his ear.
"I'm starting to wish I had." Damon says, almost laughing, "I don't have supplies for any of this."
"You should have warned me." Ric says, twisting his hand just so, "There's so much I could have brought with me. Cuffs, for those pretty wrists. Whips, to mark that gorgeous pale skin. I have things that would stretch you so wide, ready you for my cock."
Damon didn't know Ric had it in him. He wants to tell him, but all his witty remarks are stuck on his tongue. He's reduced to a mess of Ric, yes, more.
“God, I want to fuck you right now.” Ric tells him, “Take you apart with my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”
Damon would like that, he’d fucking love that. He thinks it’s probably beat out Klaus’s still beating heart as the number one on his list of things he really wants. He drops his head forward to Ric’s shoulder, as he mumbles this to him.
“When we get back to Mystic Falls,” Ric says, leaving the sentence hanging in the air, but fuck, it’s good enough for Damon.
Their mouths are moving together in a vague semblance of a kiss as Ric’s talented, rough hands bring Damon to a shuddering climax.
He falls against Ric, boneless and satiated, searching for a quip that just isn’t there.
He’s about to open his mouth and see what his brain comes up with, when there’s an almighty clap of thunder outside and the room descends into sudden darkness.
“Was us having sex a sign of the apocalypse?” Damon asks.
-x-
On their quest to find a bedroom, Ric manages to injure himself on low tables and sideboards twice. Damon can see exactly where he’s going, but helping would completely ruin his fun. They fall into bed together, lazily kissing for what feels like forever until Ric’s annoying human need for sleep gets the better of him and he drifts off. His arms are looped around Damon, clutching him tight to him.
Damon fully intends to extract himself from Ric’s arms, to check the fuse box and see if he can’t get the electricity back. There are also dishes in the sink, which are in dire need of washing.
So he does fully intends to extract himself from Ric’s arms.
It’s only when he feels Ric’s lips brushing against the back of his neck, a sleepy hello mumbled into the skin that he realises he’s fallen asleep next to him.
-x-
The power’s fucked.
A falling tree nearby seems to have taken out a power line, leaving the lake house with nothing. There’s an old generator outside, but neither Ric nor Damon are especially keen on electrocuting themselves trying to get it up and running.
They should go back to Mystic Falls, back to Elena and Jeremy and the friends they’ve left behind. They need to be the responsible adults and try and fix things, hold things together, but neither are ready, not yet.
They’ve text Elena, let her know they’re okay, that they’re just taking a few days to themselves. She’s told them both to be careful, to look after each other. Ric had to laugh at that. The looking after each other thing is something they can do.
They’ve spent most of their two days without power lost in each other’s bodies. Lazy making out sessions on the couch, blowjobs in the shower, a surprisingly dirty wake up call from Ric after Damon had drifted off into a contented sleep.
When they’ve been too tired, too sore and fucked out to do anything, they’ve been talking, been reading, been drinking. It’s been everything they have back in Mystic Falls, just a little more R-rated.
Ric thinks it should probably be more awkward than it actually is. This is Damon, the vampire who killed his wife, killed Jeremy, killed him. He’s the last person Ric should be finding any kind of comfort in. But then Damon’s the only person who really gets it, who understands how Ric feels, what he’s having to deal with. Ric’s lost Jenna, lost Isobel, lost himself for a time to Klaus. Damon’s lost his brother to the same monster.
And Ric’s waiting for Damon to explode with that, because he can see it bubbling under the surface. As blissful as their few days together has been, there’s been an edge to Damon which has only got harder as the time has rolled on.
On top of which, there’s the fact that Damon’s not had any fresh blood since they’ve been at the lake house. Ric can see he’s trying to ignore the cravings, there’s always a glass or bottle of bourbon within reach. It’s not working though, his pissy mood is growing worse by the day.
Ric has reluctantly offered to go home a few times, but Damon’s shrugged him off, kissed him quiet. (He’d also suggested maybe tracking down a bunny, an idea received with hysterical laughter). It’s almost as if he wants to stay here 'til he desiccates, wants to be nothing for a little while, so he doesn’t have to worry about everyone and everything. Ric gets it, he does, but he can’t let that happen.
Damon’s kissing him stupid again, sat astride his thighs, his arms pinned behind his head. Ric’s trying to ignore his stupid human need to breath, but to no avail.
“Da-m’n.” He mumbles against Damon’s lips, tries to pull back so he can breathe. (He momentarily wonders if the ring would have protected him from suffocation at the hands of his vampire lover).
“Damon, need to breathe.” Ric tells him, turning his head to avoid Damon’s lips, “Just… let me breathe. A second.”
“Humans.” Damon grumbles, contenting himself with kissing along the length of Ric’s neck.
He’s panting heavily, a ridiculous thing to be doing as a vampire who doesn’t need to breathe. He’s trying to focus on anything that isn’t the blood he can hear coursing through Ric’s veins. He is dying to bite Ric, not to hurt him, never to hurt him. He’s so hungry and Ric tastes so good, he can only imagine how his blood is going to taste.
He’s nipping at his neck with blunt, human teeth, sucking marks into the skin that Ric is going to have to hide with a snappy scarf, contenting himself with the action of biting and sucking and trying to trick his mind into thinking he’s fed when Ric says it, so quiet Damon thinks he’s imagined it.
“Do it.”
Damon pulls back, looks over at Ric.
“Do it.” Ric says.
“Vervain?”
“I haven’t been on vervain since Klaus got into my head.” Ric admits, “Not something he was great about keeping up.”
Damon wants to ask if he’s sure, wants to tell him it won’t hurt and it’ll drive him insane and he’s going to love it, but he’s selfish, terrified Ric is going to take it back. He looks down at Ric, allows his face to shift, the capillaries popping beneath his eyes, his fangs descending. Ric’s staring up at him, a momentary flicker of fear in his eyes, before he settles back into contentment.
“Ric…”
He turns his head again, baring his neck to Damon. It’s insane, he knows it’s insane but he also knows Damon won’t hurt him. He trusts him, it’s fucking crazy, but he does.
Damon’s nuzzling at his neck, before his fangs pierce the soft flesh beneath them, the blood rushing into his mouth.
Ric tastes like ecstasy, like bourbon, reminds him of long nights spent together talking about nothing and everything, like everything good in Damon’s fucking life. There’s electricity coursing through Damon’s veins, he feels like he’s on fire. His entire body is alive, singing with Ric’s blood. He ruts against him, desperate for any kind of friction, for more.
He pulls back from Ric’s neck, gazes down at Ric. There’s a lazy, dazed, contented expression upon Ric’s face.
“Damon…”
Damon brings his own wrist to his mouth, bites into the flesh. Ric looks up at him, shakes his head, “No, Damon, not…”
“Relax, I’m not turning you. I just…” Damon starts, “You need to feel this.”
He holds his wrist to Ric, doesn’t force him, lets him make his own choice. Ric’s staring at the proffered arm, a mix of intrigue and disgust on his face. Damon can feel his skin beginning to knit together, that surreal sensation he’s still not used to. He’s almost disappointed when Ric hesitates.
Ric grabs his wrist at the last second, brings it to his lips, sucks at the wound hungrily. He’s biting at the closing wound himself, trying to get more of Damon’s blood into his system.
Ric drinks deeply. Damon feels himself becoming more lightheaded with the blood loss, but doesn’t stop him, can’t stop him. Ric pulls himself back soon enough, drops Damon’s wrist and looks up at him.
His eyes are near black with lust, a half smile across his blood stained lips. Damon doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look more attractive than he does right now.
“Jesus, Damon, it’s like…” The words catch in his mouth.
“I know.” Damon says, leaning down to kiss him with his own bloody mouth.
There’s a near feral grunt from Ric as he catches Damon by surprise, flips them over so he’s on top of him. He’s not felt this alive in years, if ever. He can feel everything, every sensation, every place Damon is touching him.
There’s laughter from Damon below him and he realizes he’s saying these things aloud.
“I am so getting you stoned on my blood more often.” Damon grits out, before Ric kisses him silent, rolling his hips against him.
Every nerve ending is tingling, it’s too much, it’s not enough. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out like this. He rolls his hips against Damon again, Damon arching up into his movements, his moans like a symphony to Ric’s now hypersensitive ears.
They rut against one another, their bodies moving in perfect harmony to bring themselves closer to the edge. Damon pulls Ric close to him, his lips moving over the now closed wound across his neck, his tongue lapping up the drying blood there. As Ric is warning him that he’s close, Damon smiles into his neck and sinks his fangs in again. He’s drinking deep from Ric as their climaxes hit them simultaneously, the blood-deep connection between them causing a perfect synchronicity.
Ric’s whispering his name as he comes down, as Damon retracts his fangs and licks his lips in a lascivious fashion. Ric rolls off him, flops down on the bed next to him. His eyes are closed, his body loose, he looks completely blissed out. Damon rolls over, grabs the tissues by the bed and cleans himself off. He looks over to Ric, quickly cleans him off too, before it can turn into a weird awkward moment. (He’s Damon, he’s got a thing about things being clean and tidy, it’s nothing else.)
There’s a flickering of light above them, the light in the bedroom slowly coming to life again. The pair of them stare up at the light. Ric closes his eyes and Damon turns his head to look at him.
Absently, Damon rests his hand on Ric’s heart, fingers threading through the thick hair that covers his chest. (And okay, maybe Damon’s kind of become attached to that now). He can feel the steady, calming beat of Ric’s heart. A constant Damon’s finding himself more attached to.
“I’m still here, Damon.” Ric tells him, looking over.
Damon half-smiles, “Yeah, can’t get rid of you.”
“You’ve tried often enough.” Ric huffs a laugh.
“Well, it wouldn’t be Thursday without you getting your ass kicked.” Damon replies.
Ric smiles at him, doesn’t respond. It’s not the emotional breakdown he was expecting from Damon, but he thinks it’s close enough, for now.
*****