The Edge of the Deep Green Sea

by duchessofdisaster

Damon Salvatore had spent the better part of the last two years trying to convince Alaric Saltzman to let him turn him into a vampire. He'd been holding out, being a good boyfriend and now it was all going to hell.

4. Chapter 4 – The edge

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. If it did, Matthew Davis would be cooking me breakfast.
A/N: Yes, events are out of order. It's fanfiction.

Title and chapter titles belong to The Cure, and if you don't know the song, go check that shit out.
Massive thanks to my beta, Saltzatore: she is the queen of all things Dalaric.

Chapter 4 – The edge of the deep green sea

Alaric woke with a violent shudder, grabbing at his face. "Ungh," he groaned. "I'm never gonna get used to that."

Damon leaned across him, put a hand on his hip, gave a gentle squeeze. "Would you want to?"

"Probably not." He rubbed his eyes, tried to sit up.

"Relax," Damon said. "Your ribcage is still a bit of a mess."

Alaric was surprised. "Really?" He probed his side gently and was surprised at just how painful it was. He usually woke up, well, perfect. "I feel like shit," he admitted. Damon was frowning, seemed about to say something. "What? You look like someone shot your puppy." Alaric let his eyes close again.

He felt Damon stand and move towards the bar. "You want a drink?" he asked, but started to pour before Alaric answered.

Alaric noticed suddenly that he was shirtless. "You cut my shirt off?" He laughed, and it hurt. "S'pose I should be glad I woke up wearing pants."

Damon came back, kneeled at his side again. "Like I'd violate you when you were all helpless," he smirked. He helped Alaric into a sitting position. Passed him the glass.

"You do it when I'm asleep," Alaric answered, grinning wryly. Taking a sip of the amber liquid. "Wow. You broke out the good stuff. What's the occasion?"

Damon took Alaric's face in both hands and kissed him. Not gently. Nothing gentle about it. Nudged his mouth open and twisted their tongues together like the world was about to end. Alaric grinned against his mouth, tangled his fingers into Damon's hair.

After a minute, Alaric pulled away. "I take it I've been dead for a while?" Teasing.

Damon tugged gently at the sparse hair on Alaric's chest. "Couple of hours." Leaned in again for another kiss, soft, the closest thing to chaste Damon Salvatore could manage.

Which, in fairness, was not that chaste.

Alaric was starting to worry, and he felt oddly vulnerable, sitting on the ground with his shirt flapping open. Damon couldn't read his mind, but they were so attuned to each other after nearly three years that is was as good as. Damon helped him to his feet, led him to the couch. Handed him another t-shirt. As he stripped off the rags of the old one, wincing, Alaric noticed the sigil on his chest.

"Um. Damon?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What is this?"

Damon shrugged, a failed attempt to look nonchalant. "I was bored. Thought I'd do some sketching."

Alaric pulled the clean t-shirt over his head. "What aren't you telling me?" As he said it, Alaric noticed a throbbing ache in his jaw, in his gums. Massaged over the hinge of his jaw with thumb and forefinger and took another mouthful of whisky. Damon remained standing, eyebrows knitted in the middle. Reached for another glass on the sideboard and passed it to him.

It was blood.

Alaric's sight grew foggy. Partly with want, partly with panic. Shaking like a kicked dog, he crossed his arms over his bruised chest. Partly trying to hold himself together. Partly to give his hands something to do. So he wouldn't just grab the glass and drink it.

He couldn't take his eyes off it.

"What did you do?"

Said it so quietly he wasn't sure he'd said it out loud at all.

Damon withdrew the glass. "I had no choice. You were dying."

Alaric flexed his hand, noticing for the first time that he wasn't wearing his ring. "What, I was dying, and my ring fell off?" Felt rage uncoil in his chest like a snake.

Damon shook his head. "You don't remember what happened?"

Alaric closed his eyes and cast his mind back. "We were heading back to the truck, and…"

"The vampires' little love slave got his revenge on, ran us down with his car. He might have been supernaturally stupid, but he was human. The ring wasn't going to work." Unbelievable. Damon had broken his promise and still had the audacity to sound pissy.

"You don't know that." Alaric stood up, wincing, though he noticed the pain in his side was already starting to subside. Knew if he looked, he'd soon see the bruises fading to green, to nothing at all.

"You think I was gonna take that risk?" Damon narrowed his eyes, looking irritated. "I called Bonnie. She said even if I killed you and let the ring work its magic, the natural death would probably take you anyway."

"Probably? You didn't know for sure."

"We could ask Elena's dead dad. If he wasn't, you know, dead. Ring didn't help him much, did it?" Damon rolled his eyes, but it was false bravado.

"Nice, Damon." Alaric paced, trying to ignore the smell of the blood, which was already eclipsing every other smell in the room.

And there were a lot of smells in the room. Old books. Older books (he could smell the difference between the ones that had always been here in this house and the ones that had been kept for a while somewhere near the sea). Two different kinds of wood in the fire, and something like moss. The bourbon in his glass, which he threw back, realising that it was the same thing they usually drank; just made more complex by the addition of vampire senses.

Alaric was exhausted. It was all totally overwhelming, and he stumbled.

Damon caught him. Of course, Damon caught him. Wrapped his arms, like narrow steel bands, around Alaric's body, ground his face into his shoulder. Alaric pushed him away, shaking his head. Fighting desire and trying to hold onto his rage.

"You promised me it was my choice, Damon." Couldn't even look him in the eyes.

"You think I did this lightly? You've told me a hundred times if I turned you against your will I'd never see you again. You think I just blithely took that risk?"

"I think you do whatever you want to do, Damon."

"I didn't have choice. You still do, Ric."

Alaric collapsed back onto the couch, crossed his arms again, elbows resting on his thighs. Noticed how much blood had dried in the fabric of his jeans. Noticed he was breathing hard and wondered if it was habit or something else that drove his lungs now.

Damon took a hesitant step forward, which was unsettling, because Damon was never hesitant. Another step. Crouched in front of the couch and put his hands on Alaric's thighs.

"It's still your choice," he repeated. "I could have held you down and poured blood down your throat the second you woke up. I didn't. I'm doing my best here, Ric." About as gently as Alaric had ever heard him say anything, but there was a taste of something else; desperation, maybe.

"Is that my blood?" Alaric asked, referring to the cloying, sweet stench of Damon's shirt.

Damon nodded. Moved his hands to the sides of Alaric's neck, searched his eyes for any sign of forgiveness. "Mostly. You lost a lot of it. Your ribs were crushed. You were bleeding into your lungs. Your heart was slowing down by the time I got to you and that was less than thirty seconds." He tilted Alaric's head up, pressed their mouths together a moment. "I called Bonnie. She made the very astute observation that if I loved you, I'd do anything to keep you here. So I did. We thought there might be time for my blood to heal you. There wasn't."

Alaric snapped his head again. "You told Bonnie about us?"

Damon shook his head. "She's known for years, apparently. And she doesn't care. Asked me why we bothered hiding it."

"What did you tell her?"

"That she'd have to ask you."

Alaric shook his head. "You honestly don't know?"

"I've asked you five hundred times and you've never told me. So no. I don't know. I figure either you're ashamed of yourself, or you're ashamed of me." Damon shrugged, but couldn't hide the hurt look he wore.

Alaric blinked slowly. "What?"

Damon looked away. "What was I supposed to think?"

Alaric cupped Damon's neck with one meaty hand. "I'm not ashamed of you. And I'm not ashamed of myself." Leaned so their foreheads met. "Nothing like that."

"Nice to know." Damon waited. "Since time is of the essence, maybe you want to tell me now? So we can fight about it, and I can convince you you're being an idiot, and you can drain that glass, and we can get on with the rest of our eternal lives?" As he said this, Damon clambered onto the couch, straddling Alaric's legs.

"You're fuckin' gorgeous, you know that?" Alaric murmured, as Damon nuzzled into his neck.

"Yes," Damon answered, "but that seems like a weird reason to be all cagey." Placed a line of wet kisses across Alaric's collarbones, eliciting a moan. Transferred his mouth to Alaric's ear. "It feels different, doesn't it?" he whispered. "If you transition, it'll be even better."

Alaric sighed, resting against the back of the couch. Damon shifted him easily onto his back, taking advantage of the full length of the couch, ground their hips together, relishing the friction. Alaric was suddenly hard, and Damon made no effort to conceal his smirk. "So?" he asked again, brushing his lips back and forth over Alaric's. Alaric hesitated, ran a hand through Damon's hair.

He was exhausted. Buzzing. Nerve endings on fire, crackling like electricity on the line. He knew his body was singing for blood, needed it. The ache in his jaw and gums was getting steadily worse. He wondered how long he had to decide, let his eyes flutter closed as Damon ran those talented fingers over his chest.

He wondered how long it would be before his skin was as cool as Damon's. Wondered if feeding from his lover would feel as good as being fed from did.

"Ric? You had a Maury moment coming on, remember? 'Why I won't tell anyone about my hot vampire boyfriend'." As he said it, Damon reached for the bulge in Alaric's pants, ground the heel of his hand against it, making Alaric moan into his mouth.

Alaric shook his head, trying to focus despite being messy and weak with lust. Took Damon's bottom lip in his mouth and arched into his body. "You'll leave," he said, resigned. "I've always known that. Whether I turn or not. Five years, ten years, whatever. You'll leave."

Damon reeled back. "What?"

Alaric nodded. "If everyone knows, then when you leave, everyone'll know what I've lost. I couldn't stand it. Not again."

Incredibly, Damon's erection was starting to subside. He looked stricken. "I can't believe I'm hearing this," he said. "Are you serious?" He sat back, still straddling Alaric's hips, breathing hard.

"Why do you breathe?" Alaric asked. Genuinely wondering. He had so many questions. Couldn't think why he'd never asked them before, all the times they've argued about this.

Damon shook his head. "Doesn't matter right now. Are you serious?"

Alaric shrugged. "It is what it is."

Damon actually looked angry. "Three years, Ric. Have I ever given you any reason to think I was going anywhere?"

"What's three years to a vampire?"

"The longest I've ever been monogamous, for one thing." Damon ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide. "Does that mean anything to you at all?" He climbed off the couch, poured himself another drink. Stood stooped before the fire, looking wretched.

Alaric rubbed his eyes, but stayed lying as he was. Unsure whether he wanted Damon to come back or not.

"I've been trying to convince you to do this for two years, Ric. You think I did that lightly?"

Alaric chuckled mirthlessly. "Shall we ask Vicky Donovan?"

Damon whirled on him. "That was a dick move. You honestly think I haven't changed at all since then?" He shook his head. "You know, while I was sitting here, feeding you my blood, waiting to see whether you were going to die or not, I was thinking about all the reasons this was my fault. Shouldn't have been there in the first place, check. That's me in all my charming arrogance, spoiling for a fight because it makes for great foreplay." Damon shook his head, lips twisted in a rictus of regret. "Should have been paying attention to the car coming up behind us, check. So I was horny and distracted. Sue me." He shrugged.

"But the really dumb thing? I should have compelled that idiot to leave Virginia. Two years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated. But tonight I told him to leave. You know why I didn't compel him?" Cocked his head at Alaric. "Ric. Do you know why?"

Alaric took a deep breath, surprised again at the peace it brought him. "Because I hate when you do that."

Damon touched a finger to the side of his nose, and then pointed it at Alaric. "Give the man a cigar. Yes. I haven't compelled anyone outside of a blood bank for over a year and a half, because you hate it. Don't act like you think I'm still the guy who turned Vicky Donovan."

Alaric thought for a long time. "This is so fucked up," he finally said, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "I'm so tired."

Damon returned to the couch. "You're not tired. You're hungry," he said, gentle and stern.

Hungry. It meant something new, now, and with a jolt, Alaric sat up. "What if I turn out like Stefan or Isobel?" Voice panicked.

Damon shook his head. "Can't happen," he said, Sitting beside Alaric, feet drawn up beneath him. Pressed his hand over the sigil on Alaric's chest. "The little witch anchored you to your humanity."

"What does that mean?"

"No switch. You can't turn it off."

"That's good, right?" Alaric closed his hand over Damon's wrist.

"Depends." Damon shrugged. "When Bambi's mom died, did you laugh, or cry?"

"What?"

"Ultimate sociopath test. Totally approved by three out of ten psychiatrists." Damon sighed. "You can't go on a murderous rampage now any more than you could have yesterday afternoon. Not without the guilt of it driving you to stake yourself." He shrugged. "Seemed kind of mean to me, but she said if I didn't let her do it, she wouldn't make you a ring."

Alaric thought about this. It sounded better than the alternative.

The smell of blood in the glass on the sideboard was making Alaric salivate. Damon's hand was still on his chest.

"Ric," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere. In case you hadn't noticed, I can be kind of obsessive. You'd be lucky to get away from me." He let his hand drift to Alaric's shoulder, squeezing, exploring, and then to his neck, rubbing his thumb over Alaric's aching jaw. Leaned in for a kiss.

Alaric let his mouth open, drew Damon's tongue inside. Tasted bourbon and fear. Aware, again, of how much more his senses were telling him. Felt himself moan against Damon's mouth. "Let's go up to your room."

"Bonnie's sleeping in there."

Alaric gave a wry grin. "That's just weird."

Damon pulled away, gave Alaric a hard look. "She's staying to see whether we need her to make a ring or not."

Alaric was silent a long time, Damon watching his expression. "How long do I have? To decide?"

Damon shook his head, eyes haunted again. "How long do you have? Seriously? How long do you need? You drink, or you're dead in a few hours." Damon shook his head.

"It's what you wanted," Alaric said, quietly.

"I thought Katherine was dead. Which meant I had nothing to live for. Nothing that made it worth being a monster, anyway." Damon scowled. "And you're going all pussy on me because you think I might break up with you one day? Puh-lease." Ran desperate hands through his hair. "You've never said 'no'. You were thinking about it. Could you really stop now? Let yourself die? I'll tell you right now, I won't watch that." He balled Alaric's shirt in his hand. "If you die, you die alone."

Alaric wrapped his arms around Damon. "I don't need long. Just want… to be human a little longer."

Damon let himself be held, though he was agitated. "You're not human now. You're a corpse. A talky, stupid, stubborn corpse. Ric… c'mon."

Alaric was barely aware that Damon had slipped his embrace when he returned with the glass of blood. Offered it like a benediction.

Alaric held Damon's eyes for a long time, trying to ignore the fresh ache in his gums.