1.8 - Is a drink ever just a drink?

[pleasebekidding]

Author: pleasebekidding
Rating: Explicit.
Characters: Alaric/Damon
Word Count: ~2200
Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. If it did, Alaric would be the main character.
Warnings: SLASH, EXPLICIT SLASH.
Summary: Alaric fulfills his promise from 1.1. Easier than arguing.
A/N: Thanks to lauren3210 for the beta!






Around ten o'clock, Alaric was about to knock on the boarding house door, when Damon opened it, shit-eating grin on his face, hip jutting out to the side. "Hello, Ric," he said.

"You sent a crow to harass my class."

"I'm a terrible person." Damon tugged on Alaric's sleeve, and pushed the door shut behind them both. "Dastardly, in fact. Vampire. Big sharp teeth and…"

"… and no boundaries to speak of. I told you this morning I really didn't have time tonight." Alaric barely protested when Damon slipped his jacket off, though, and pushed him in the direction of the kitchen. It smelled amazing, garlic and herbs and... "Have you been cooking?"

"Prepared to bet you had some crappy hours-old sandwich for dinner. Am I right?"

Alaric shrugged, because yeah, true, and crossed to the stove, stirring the sauce, letting out a fresh bouquet of aromas into the warm kitchen. "Bit romantic for you, Damon," he teased.

Damon shrugged. "I'm Italian. Sue me." He put a couple of handfuls of freshly-made pasta into a pot of boiling water, and Alaric shook his head. Hard to know, sometimes, what went on in Damon's mind. Probably, he'd been bored.

"Can I help?" he asked, because it seemed appropriate.

"You can pour wine," Damon answered, eyes flicking to where a very old bottle of something expensively French-looking was breathing on the countertop.

Damon spoke at a million miles a minute, but to be honest, Alaric wasn't paying much attention to what he was saying; just enjoying the rhythm, watching him grate parmesan cheese, the sharp smell of that, the rich meat sauce.

When Damon placed a plate in front of Alaric, right there at the kitchen bench, Alaric had to grin. "You're not eating?" he asked, surprised, because Damon often did.

"Is it weird if I don't?"

Alaric shrugged, and returned to listening to Damon talk and talk and occasionally steal a forkful of food from his plate.Oddly domestic and comforting, and not at all what Alaric could have pictured when they first met.

When he was done, Alaric stole a glance at his watch. "I should go," he said reluctantly. Damon frowned irritably.

"We haven't even had a drink, yet," he said, and Alaric glanced dubiously at the empty bottle of red wine. But he didn't protest when Damon pushed him towards the library, where the fire was roaring.

Something about fire. Hypnotic. And the too-warm room, too, it always made him altogether too pliant. Damon led Alaric to the couch and fussed until Alaric was sitting down. He pressed a glass of bourbon - the honey smell was strong, and the firelight made it sparkle - into Alaric's hand, and sat alongside him.

"This is nice," Alaric said, tasting.

Damon shrugged. "It's bourbon."

"Until you've bought bourbon on a teacher's salary, you have no idea what you're talking about," Alaric said. "Did you know it's possible to buy bourbon for under $30 a bottle?"

Damon shivered. "I'd rather not think about it." They sat a moment in front on the fire, just relaxing, until Damon swung around, putting his feet on Alaric's thigh. "Thrilling day?"

Alaric shrugged. "No one died," he said. "Not bad."

"Well. It's only Monday," Damon said, stretching out. Raising one arm over his head so his t-shirt rode up, revealing an inch of flesh at his hip.

Alaric tried not to look. He really did.

He failed.

"See anything you like, Ric?" Damon purred, settling further against the cushions, poking Alaric with his toes.

"Is a drink ever just a drink, with you?"

"Do you really want it to be?"

"Do you you always answer a question with a question?"

"Do you?"

Damon shifted, then, and crawled across the sofa like a cat stalking prey. Alaric made no comment, not even when Damon ran a hand up under the edge of his t-shirt. His nerves spoke, screamed, even, rearranging themselves beneath his skin. But he just blinked once, slowly, and continued to gaze into the fireplace.

"There are a lot of people in the world who would be delighted with an arrangement like this," Damon said, taking Alaric's glass and setting it on the floor. He shifted Alaric so he was half-lying on the sofa, and teased up the edges of his t-shirt. Alaric sighed, when Damon kissed his stomach, tracing patterns over Alaric's flesh with his tongue. "You don't have to buy me flowers, or candy, or dinner…"

"You disrupt my classroom."

"I also cook. And I give a world-class blow job." He grinned, and sat up to take his own shirt off. "And I look like this."

Alaric's cock twitched appreciatively at the sight. "Damon…" he said, but it was too late, by then. Path set. As Damon leaned over Alaric, pulling his t-shirt off, Alaric made no move to stop him - he sat up, instead, making it easier. Settled a hand over Damon's hip, and pulled him closer. Damon responded to the change in attitude with an appreciative purr, and lips against Alaric's throat.

Alaric thought, as he always thought, that this should have stopped months ago. Before it began, maybe. But they'd both been so long lonely and they fit together, just so, and no one had pursued Alaric - not really pursued him, made him feel so wanted - since the early days with Isobel. And Damon, too. Alaric saw the look in his eyes when Alaric got aggressive with him, held him down on a bed or against a wall…

Some days, Alaric suspected Damon wanted him just as badly as he wanted Elena.

He didn't really want to think too hard about badly he wanted Damon. Psychotic vampire bastard who had ruined Alaric's life but made him feel like he was seventeen again.

"Tell me Stefan's not here."

"Stefan's not here," Damon agreed, and leaned again, kissing Alaric everywhere but his mouth, pushing his head aside to suck dark little bruises into Alaric's neck, one after the other. Alaric felt teeth, scraping his skin, nipping over his collarbones.

Damon could be rough, but he wasn't, right now; more cajoling, trying to talk Alaric around with his mouth and his teeth and yeah, as he settled his hips against Alaric's more firmly, beginning to grind, with his cock. "Oh, yeah," Alaric murmured, and ran his hands up over Damon's arms, taking Damon's head in his hands, keeping them connected.

"Couch is nice. Bed is nicer," Damon muttered, between kisses that were getting heated. Alaric reached around to squeeze Damon's ass, pull him closer, and Damon purred. "It's been days," he said, and Alaric open sex-heavy eyes to meet Damon's, dark with lust and anticipation.

"Bed," he agreed, and off they went.

Damon was an octopus; a heavy octopus, but an octopus, all hands and arms and legs, touching Alaric everywhere, pushing him down into the mattress, holding him there with fingers and lips and appreciative purring. Alaric felt like a specimen, sometimes, something Damon was trying to learn; Damon kissed and tasted him so thoroughly. Lips pressed to the inside of his thigh, to his nipples, to his ears, a tongue striping his straining cock from base to tip. Much as he wanted to wrestle Damon onto his back and fuck him until he blacked out, Alaric relaxed, instead, let the nerve endings all over his body light up.

Sometimes, he thought he should question it. Ask, why, why are we doing this, how did this happen, but Alaric knew very well that he didn't always make very good choices. And this was definitely his choice.

Damon got rougher, then, using teeth as much as lips, pace getting frantic. Spent a few long moments tugging on Alaric's cock, running a thumb over the tip, but stopped, transferring his attentions to Alaric's head again, kissing his neck, curling his tongue over Alaric's earlobe.

"Really, really want to fuck you," he said, into Alaric's mouth. "Really want to," he added, as if concerned he hadn't been clear. "Made you dinner, got you tipsy, and now..."

"Yeah, I caught that," Alaric said, biting hard into Damon's bottom lip, drawing a trace of blood. Damon gasped at that; Alaric knew he loved a little pain mixed with his pleasure, and heartily endorsed anything that resulted in Alaric tasting his blood, in whatever quantity; Damon kissed him harder, then, teeth clashing a moment as he reached for the lube in the top drawer.

So much for Alaric's determination to get out of there before midnight.

Damon took his time, achingly slow, settling between Alaric's legs. Ghosting a slick finger over Alaric's hole, and then inside, a finger down to one knuckle. A little wriggle against Alaric's prostate, enough to make him press back harder, enough to make his eyes close a moment. When he opened his eyes, Damon was watching him intently.

"You look so good like that." Damon's eyes were wide, and so dark, a ring of silver all Alaric could see of their beautiful blue. He withdrew, and added a second finger, stretching Alaric out, unlocking him like a secret. "Open your eyes."

Alaric didn't realize he had closed them again.

Damon drew back again, lining himself up to enter Alaric slowly. Licking his lips. Maddening. Alaric wrapped his legs hard around Damon, trying to pull him in, pull him closer, but Damon chuckled darkly, determined to take his time.

Fully inside Alaric, at last, he leaned to kiss him, rolling his hips, frustratingly slow. Alaric stifled a groan. "Thought you said you wanted to fuck me, not torture me to death," he said, and Damon began to really move. Harder, and faster, the angle electrifying and Alaric about to black out on every pass. He settled one hand on Damon's hip, the other on his shoulder, and pressed back in time with Damon's movements, their bodies working so perfectly together, like they always did.

"It's real, you know," Damon said, with his mouth up close to Alaric's ear; one arm alongside Alaric's head, the other guiding Alaric's hip. "I know you wonder about it, because I am a complete dick, and I am, admittedly, a little in love with Elena."

Alaric suppressed a laugh, and what came out was a low moan.

"Maybe don't bring that up when we're..." and he hitched one leg higher, pulling Damon closer.

Damon rolled his spine, thrusting harder. Alaric's cock, caught between the hard planes of his own stomach and Damon's, was leaking steadily, complete fucking mess between their bodies. "I'm coming to my point," he said, mouthing at Alaric's jaw, forcing his head to the side. "This is real. I fucking love you, Ric."

In shock, Alaric turned to meet Damon's eyes again, and clamped down hard on Damon's cock, every muscle in his body rigid with tension. Damon threw his head back, and came hard, filling Alaric with that odd warmth, mouth falling open.

Maybe it was the expression on Damon's face, maybe it was his strange declaration; Alaric came, too, hot jets painting over his stomach and chest, and Damon watched, making a lazy fist over Alaric's cock, milking him gently. Leaning to flick his tongue out, tasting.

Alaric said nothing, though he groaned a little when Damon withdrew.

Damon lay on his back, alongside Alaric, and put his hands behind his head. Waiting, Alaric was sure. Waiting for something. "Hell of a thing to spring on someone," Alaric said at last. "Where did that come from?"

Damon shrugged. "I'm old-fashioned," he said. "Once upon a time, people didn't think everything to death or crowd-surf for advice on facebook before deciding to tell someone how they felt."

Alaric said nothing, though he opened and closed his mouth several times. In the end he stuck with mouth closed, and gazed at the ceiling for a while, vaguely aware that a shower was in order.

Damon shifted suddenly to straddle Alaric's body. "Now I want to bite you," he said, and kissed Alaric's mouth again. Alaric nodded, vague, sort of dreamy, and Damon crawled, again the heavy octopus of the vampire world, mouth hovering over Alaric's hip. Over a year of scars, lovingly built up after these delicious nights. Alaric could almost her Damon's fangs snick into place, just as Damon licked carefully over the spot.

Alaric breathed in through his teeth, as Damon's fangs pierced his flesh. "Fuck," he gasped, though it was a known pain, not something which bothered him much, anymore. And not deep. Damon wanted to taste, not feed, and he sucked lazily over the wound, as Alaric weaved his fingers into Damon's hair.

It made no sense, but they never did.

"Damon?" Alaric asked.

"Hmmm," Damon answered.

I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. I love you too.

After a long pause, Alaric pressed a kiss to Damon's forehead, accessible no Damon was kissing over his chest. "I love you, too."

~fin~