two five acts ficlets, both vampire diaries, both damon/alaric
Yes, I know. I wrote the vporn. My life is officially screwed. Or maybe not. ;) Anyway. I wrote two for the five acts meme, but since they're both short-ish I figured I'd post them both at once.
Title: We've Always Been Out Of Our Minds
Rating: R
Pairing: Damon/Alaric
Words: 666 (seriously.)
Summary: The blade is sharp and thin and deadly, and Damon’s face halfway between inexpressive and satisfied as he moves it downwards, ripping Alaric’s shirt with a soft sound that sounds haunting when they’re surrounded by silence, except for their own breathing.
Spoilers: er, assumes that you've seen at least until 1x18, but it's not really specifically spoilery.
Disclaimer: the Vampire pornography Diaries aren't mine. No, not really.
A/N: originally written for gottalovev for the Five acts meme with knifeplay as a prompt. Title stolen from Tom Waits.
The more this goes on, the more Alaric thinks that he has to be out of his mind.
Because well, being in a bed with someone who has turned his wife into a vampire (albeit on her request, so he can’t exactly blame him, as much as he’d like to) and killed him once is insane enough, and Alaric probably wasn’t in his right frame of mind when he didn’t try to get away from the situation, but letting him do this, well, that’s totally insane.
It doesn’t mean that he’s trying to put a stop to it. Maybe it’s because Damon can’t really kill him if he wanted, that’s established; but still, as Damon moves that silver knife (Alaric’s silver knife, fuck) right along his throat (and he could slit right there in less than a second if the just flicked his wrist a bit), the blade becoming warm from the contact with his skin, he can’t help biting his tongue in order not to moan.
(He’s not giving Damon satisfaction so easily.)
The blade is sharp and thin and deadly, and Damon’s face halfway between inexpressive and satisfied as he moves it downwards, ripping Alaric’s shirt with a soft sound that sounds haunting when they’re surrounded by silence, except for their own breathing.
There’s something skillful in the way Damon handles that knife.
As the shirt falls off, a cool hand runs down his bare stomach and Alaric wishes this wasn’t making him so helpless. But if he moved he’d probably manage to gain a cut on his own and so he stays still.
“You know what would be fun?” Damon teases, the tip of the knife circling Alaric’s navel. “If you just let me have a taste. And don’t make that face, you know better to think that I’d try to turn you. It’d be…” he trails as the knife cuts Alaric’s briefs at the hip, “… against my better interests, anyway.”
“Fuck you,” Alaric answers, but for some reason he turns his head baring his throat.
No, not for some reason. It’s for the thrill. It’s for the way he felt his cock harden at the suggestion. Fuck Damon and the fact that sometimes Alaric wonders how she had felt when he turned her.
Not that he wants to turn.
But.
He still has thought about it more times than he’d have liked.
And he can’t even hide how hard he is.
The knife’s tip cuts just a bit and not even on his throat but rather in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder; Alaric can feel a small quantity of blood seep out and Damon’s eyes go dark as he leans down.
It’s the most dangerous position he’s ever been in, and suddenly he knows what to do. He lets Damon lick at his skin for a second, enough to make him slightly lose control, and then Alaric’s hand reaches Damon’s wrist and he takes the knife away in a smooth motion before turning on his left.
Now their positions are reversed and fuck, the way Damon’s eyebrow raises in sincere surprise is enough to give him another thrill that goes straight to his cock.
“What about this?” Alaric asks, letting the side of the blade run along Damon’s unnaturally pale cheek, and he’s glad he’s managing to keep his voice in check.
Damon raises the other eyebrow, standing perfectly still, and his whole body language screams challenge.
“I’m impressed. And oh, please, have your fucking way,” he purrs as his hips slightly, slightly grind against Alaric’s crotch.
Alaric can’t really say no to such an offer and he licks his lips as he brings his knife down and starts tracing random lines with the tip. He won’t cut, he doesn’t want to go there, he will never go there, but he has rarely felt so satisfied as he does in the moment he brings the knife near Damon’s throat and he shivers without being able to control it.
End.
Title: I Know You Want What's On My Mind
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Damon/Alaric
Words: 723
Summary: As Alaric's left hand moves and his index slowly, slowly reaches the pool of dark blood on Damon's chest, he wonders for a second if he’s really doing this. If he’s right exactly where she was. (And he is. Oh, he is.) What would happen if instead of tracing a random, diagonal line which sort of shakes along the way, he brought that finger up and licked it clean.
Spoilers: assumes that you've seen at least until 1x18, but it's not really specifically spoilery. Hell, this is just porn-ish stuff without redemption whatsoever.
Disclaimer: the Vampire pornography Diaries aren't mine. No, not really.
A/N: originally written for fullonswayzeed for the Five acts meme, with bloodplay for a prompt. Title stolen from Stone Temple Pilots.
If this doesn’t take the prize for most dangerous and fucked up thing he has ever done, he doesn’t know what does.
The fact that the other half of the equation is Damon Salvatore is just part of it, not the whole deal. He wishes it was.
Because really. There’s nothing right in being in Damon's company if the point isn’t either killing him or having some kind of enemies-with-benefits alliance. Except that now he’s most definitely in Damon’s company and instead of the previously stated options, he’s fucking him right into the soft mattress of that ridiculous bed of Damon’s in which Alaric is sure the other doesn’t sleep.
Since when vampires sleep, anyway?
Point is, it was all his idea, and how Alaric went with it, is something you need to ask him on a day when he hasn’t had anything to drink and he can actually recall the whole sequence of happenings. Right now he can’t. Not when there’s blood seeping out a moderately deep cut that Damon carved into his own flesh and Christ, Alaric can’t believe that the wound is right where his hand is holding him down as he thrusts into him.
And he’s totally into this, the smug bastard, because he isn’t trying to do anything except buckle his hips and meet Alaric’s thrusts in a way that has something greedy in it.
As Alaric's left hand moves and his index slowly, slowly reaches the pool of dark blood on Damon's chest, he wonders for a second if he’s really doing this. If he’s right exactly where she was. (And he is. Oh, he is.) What would happen if instead of tracing a random, diagonal line which sort of shakes along the way, he brought that finger up and licked it clean.
No, he thinks, snapping out of it, and brings a hand behind Damon’s neck to bring him forward, and he does come up, and kisses him forcefully, crushing their lips together so hard that it hurts; and he knows that Damon could just go and take a bite, but he also knows that it wouldn’t be convenient to either of them, and so Alaric just lets him take as he pounds harder and swallows Damon’s moans.
Well, making him moan like that, unless he’s faking, is something Alaric figures he could be proud of.
If there’s blood smeared over both of their chests, if sometimes he has to move backward and move a hand across it, taking in the dark red creating random patterns made of liquid streams, he tries to ignore it. And the blood, he notices maybe incongruously, is thick as he moves his finger, scoops a bit of it with his fingers and brings it closer to Damon’s lips.
There’s something in the smirk appearing on Damon’s momentarily flushed face that is outright impressed.
“Oh, that is kinky. I bet you didn’t even know that yourself, did you?”
Alaric just doesn’t answer and if he comes with more than one shiver just after soft, swollen lips close around the tip of his fingers, he tries not to care too much.
Mostly because the fucking bastard came at the same time, more or less, and because there’s a thrilling pleasure shaking him all over, that Alaric’s sure would taste like copper if he could feel it on his tongue. It’s not like he will ever know that, and he doesn’t even want to (most times). Still.
When he’s back to his senses again, he doesn’t move even if he knows that Damon could free himself easily. He doesn’t, though, and that should probably mean bad news the same way Damon means bad news.
Damon opens his mouth.
“Your teeth aren’t going near my throat. Ever,” Alaric breathes down in his face, because while Damon can’t kill him, there’s a limit to everything.
Damon rolls his eyes.
“Touché,” he says in a voice that is way too warm, and then grabs the dirty knife from the other pillow and cleans the blade against the sheets.
“Your arm isn’t your throat, though,” he suggests, and Alaric curses himself for it, but for some reason, for some goddamn reason which isn’t related to the fact that Damon controls people when he feels like it (because in this case, all bets are off), he just can’t, can’t say no.
End.
Title: We've Always Been Out Of Our Minds
Rating: R
Pairing: Damon/Alaric
Words: 666 (seriously.)
Summary: The blade is sharp and thin and deadly, and Damon’s face halfway between inexpressive and satisfied as he moves it downwards, ripping Alaric’s shirt with a soft sound that sounds haunting when they’re surrounded by silence, except for their own breathing.
Spoilers: er, assumes that you've seen at least until 1x18, but it's not really specifically spoilery.
Disclaimer: the Vampire pornography Diaries aren't mine. No, not really.
A/N: originally written for gottalovev for the Five acts meme with knifeplay as a prompt. Title stolen from Tom Waits.
The more this goes on, the more Alaric thinks that he has to be out of his mind.
Because well, being in a bed with someone who has turned his wife into a vampire (albeit on her request, so he can’t exactly blame him, as much as he’d like to) and killed him once is insane enough, and Alaric probably wasn’t in his right frame of mind when he didn’t try to get away from the situation, but letting him do this, well, that’s totally insane.
It doesn’t mean that he’s trying to put a stop to it. Maybe it’s because Damon can’t really kill him if he wanted, that’s established; but still, as Damon moves that silver knife (Alaric’s silver knife, fuck) right along his throat (and he could slit right there in less than a second if the just flicked his wrist a bit), the blade becoming warm from the contact with his skin, he can’t help biting his tongue in order not to moan.
(He’s not giving Damon satisfaction so easily.)
The blade is sharp and thin and deadly, and Damon’s face halfway between inexpressive and satisfied as he moves it downwards, ripping Alaric’s shirt with a soft sound that sounds haunting when they’re surrounded by silence, except for their own breathing.
There’s something skillful in the way Damon handles that knife.
As the shirt falls off, a cool hand runs down his bare stomach and Alaric wishes this wasn’t making him so helpless. But if he moved he’d probably manage to gain a cut on his own and so he stays still.
“You know what would be fun?” Damon teases, the tip of the knife circling Alaric’s navel. “If you just let me have a taste. And don’t make that face, you know better to think that I’d try to turn you. It’d be…” he trails as the knife cuts Alaric’s briefs at the hip, “… against my better interests, anyway.”
“Fuck you,” Alaric answers, but for some reason he turns his head baring his throat.
No, not for some reason. It’s for the thrill. It’s for the way he felt his cock harden at the suggestion. Fuck Damon and the fact that sometimes Alaric wonders how she had felt when he turned her.
Not that he wants to turn.
But.
He still has thought about it more times than he’d have liked.
And he can’t even hide how hard he is.
The knife’s tip cuts just a bit and not even on his throat but rather in the hollow between his neck and his shoulder; Alaric can feel a small quantity of blood seep out and Damon’s eyes go dark as he leans down.
It’s the most dangerous position he’s ever been in, and suddenly he knows what to do. He lets Damon lick at his skin for a second, enough to make him slightly lose control, and then Alaric’s hand reaches Damon’s wrist and he takes the knife away in a smooth motion before turning on his left.
Now their positions are reversed and fuck, the way Damon’s eyebrow raises in sincere surprise is enough to give him another thrill that goes straight to his cock.
“What about this?” Alaric asks, letting the side of the blade run along Damon’s unnaturally pale cheek, and he’s glad he’s managing to keep his voice in check.
Damon raises the other eyebrow, standing perfectly still, and his whole body language screams challenge.
“I’m impressed. And oh, please, have your fucking way,” he purrs as his hips slightly, slightly grind against Alaric’s crotch.
Alaric can’t really say no to such an offer and he licks his lips as he brings his knife down and starts tracing random lines with the tip. He won’t cut, he doesn’t want to go there, he will never go there, but he has rarely felt so satisfied as he does in the moment he brings the knife near Damon’s throat and he shivers without being able to control it.
End.
Title: I Know You Want What's On My Mind
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Damon/Alaric
Words: 723
Summary: As Alaric's left hand moves and his index slowly, slowly reaches the pool of dark blood on Damon's chest, he wonders for a second if he’s really doing this. If he’s right exactly where she was. (And he is. Oh, he is.) What would happen if instead of tracing a random, diagonal line which sort of shakes along the way, he brought that finger up and licked it clean.
Spoilers: assumes that you've seen at least until 1x18, but it's not really specifically spoilery. Hell, this is just porn-ish stuff without redemption whatsoever.
Disclaimer: the Vampire pornography Diaries aren't mine. No, not really.
A/N: originally written for fullonswayzeed for the Five acts meme, with bloodplay for a prompt. Title stolen from Stone Temple Pilots.
If this doesn’t take the prize for most dangerous and fucked up thing he has ever done, he doesn’t know what does.
The fact that the other half of the equation is Damon Salvatore is just part of it, not the whole deal. He wishes it was.
Because really. There’s nothing right in being in Damon's company if the point isn’t either killing him or having some kind of enemies-with-benefits alliance. Except that now he’s most definitely in Damon’s company and instead of the previously stated options, he’s fucking him right into the soft mattress of that ridiculous bed of Damon’s in which Alaric is sure the other doesn’t sleep.
Since when vampires sleep, anyway?
Point is, it was all his idea, and how Alaric went with it, is something you need to ask him on a day when he hasn’t had anything to drink and he can actually recall the whole sequence of happenings. Right now he can’t. Not when there’s blood seeping out a moderately deep cut that Damon carved into his own flesh and Christ, Alaric can’t believe that the wound is right where his hand is holding him down as he thrusts into him.
And he’s totally into this, the smug bastard, because he isn’t trying to do anything except buckle his hips and meet Alaric’s thrusts in a way that has something greedy in it.
As Alaric's left hand moves and his index slowly, slowly reaches the pool of dark blood on Damon's chest, he wonders for a second if he’s really doing this. If he’s right exactly where she was. (And he is. Oh, he is.) What would happen if instead of tracing a random, diagonal line which sort of shakes along the way, he brought that finger up and licked it clean.
No, he thinks, snapping out of it, and brings a hand behind Damon’s neck to bring him forward, and he does come up, and kisses him forcefully, crushing their lips together so hard that it hurts; and he knows that Damon could just go and take a bite, but he also knows that it wouldn’t be convenient to either of them, and so Alaric just lets him take as he pounds harder and swallows Damon’s moans.
Well, making him moan like that, unless he’s faking, is something Alaric figures he could be proud of.
If there’s blood smeared over both of their chests, if sometimes he has to move backward and move a hand across it, taking in the dark red creating random patterns made of liquid streams, he tries to ignore it. And the blood, he notices maybe incongruously, is thick as he moves his finger, scoops a bit of it with his fingers and brings it closer to Damon’s lips.
There’s something in the smirk appearing on Damon’s momentarily flushed face that is outright impressed.
“Oh, that is kinky. I bet you didn’t even know that yourself, did you?”
Alaric just doesn’t answer and if he comes with more than one shiver just after soft, swollen lips close around the tip of his fingers, he tries not to care too much.
Mostly because the fucking bastard came at the same time, more or less, and because there’s a thrilling pleasure shaking him all over, that Alaric’s sure would taste like copper if he could feel it on his tongue. It’s not like he will ever know that, and he doesn’t even want to (most times). Still.
When he’s back to his senses again, he doesn’t move even if he knows that Damon could free himself easily. He doesn’t, though, and that should probably mean bad news the same way Damon means bad news.
Damon opens his mouth.
“Your teeth aren’t going near my throat. Ever,” Alaric breathes down in his face, because while Damon can’t kill him, there’s a limit to everything.
Damon rolls his eyes.
“Touché,” he says in a voice that is way too warm, and then grabs the dirty knife from the other pillow and cleans the blade against the sheets.
“Your arm isn’t your throat, though,” he suggests, and Alaric curses himself for it, but for some reason, for some goddamn reason which isn’t related to the fact that Damon controls people when he feels like it (because in this case, all bets are off), he just can’t, can’t say no.
End.