Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize here. If I did, this would be canon.
Chapter summary: Things are quiet. Damon and Alaric both find themselves remembering the way they started out.
Chapter warnings: Slash. Explicit slash. And a touch of fluff.
Damon's favorite place in the world is the roof of his own house. His favorite thing to do up there is drink bourbon with Alaric while they read.
Best imaginable date.
Sensing eyes on him, Damon looks up. Alaric has that half-smile on; he's thinking. Maybe remembering something.
"What?"
Alaric chuckles. "Have you meet Harry's new… whatever?"
"Harry has a 'whatever'?" Damon frowns. "Gareth?"
Alaric shrugs. "Not after last night. Maybe."
Damon shrugs. He casts his eyes back to the page. "You're staring at me."
Alaric nods. "Yep."
Damon suppresses a smile. "It's creepy."
"Let's go to bed," Alaric says, and they go.
Some time later, Damon is draped over Alaric's sweat-slicked body, candles casting fascinating shadows on the wall, the smell of want and need heavy in the air. Alaric teases the small curls that settle against Damon's neck between his thumb and forefinger. Shifts his hand to curl over Damon's arm, and then back to the hair.
It's been a comfortable few months. The bar is running itself, nearly. The staff have been well-selected, their reputation is excellent, and the refrigerator is covered in reviews clipped from newspapers and local magazines. Alexander won the prestigious 'S.F. Bites' award for his tapas and got his photograph on the cover of Foodies magazine. They had to give him a hefty pay rise. Worth every cent. The bar is raking in money.
Damon and Alaric drift in and out almost only exactly as often as they need and want to. Alaric likes to help out behind the bar when things are busy and Damon likes to watch him do it, flirting with patrons and strutting around. And afterwards, back at home, Damon plays the piano and Alaric reads or they make love until the sun comes up.
Alaric is quiet.
"What?"
Damon repositions himself to kiss Alaric's mouth. Alaric has a secret smile, one Damon can't read.
"I was just thinking about how we started."
Damon groans, and mouths languidly over Alaric's jaw, kissing all the way to the spot behind and below his ear that always makes him take a stuttering breath. "Why?"
Alaric shrugs. "Harry, and his… whatever. They've been at each other's throats since the day they met."
"How romantic," Damon murmurs, and then he reaches to pinch the candle-flames out one bye one, settling into Alaric's arms to sleep.
Their first encounter had been sort of charged and inevitable. Heat of the moment, full flush of battle. Too much to drink. Damon still unsure of why Alaric hadn't shot him with his crossbow when he had the chance. Damon squirming on a bar stool at Alaric's side in the Grill and barely able to keep his hands to himself.
"You can't deny," he had said, "we were Bad. Ass."
It was shocking and cool when Alaric punched him across the jaw; something about a level of comfort he maybe shouldn't have had around an unstable vampire type. It had hurt, a bit, for a moment, but Damon had smiled and said to the curious onlookers, "It happens."
Far more shocking was that Alaric was still standing there when Damon looked up, all pissed-off and turned on. "Are you coming?" he asked, and Damon didn't even try to suppress his smirk.
The alley behind the Grill; perhaps not the most romantic setting for a first kiss but Damon wasn't going to risk suggesting they go somewhere else, lest Alaric come to his senses. He'd been gratified to feel the strength in Alaric's arms when Alaric pressed him against the wall, trapping him with his arms. He'd purred when Alaric's kisses turned rough, when Alaric sucked Damon's tongue into his mouth, almost too hard.
So Damon hadn't been quite sure, before. Only mostly sure. Alaric had a weird sexual vibe. Also he maybe hated Damon as much as he was attracted to him, so there was that. But there was nothing cautious in this. This was raw. Alaric's stubbled face, his big hands running over Damon's hips and ass, pulling him closer. Very interesting.
"Now that I've saved your life, are you going to apologize for killing me?" he murmured, right up against Damon's mouth.
Damon shrugged. "If you like," he said. "Want me to do it on my knees?"
And he'd reversed their positions, because Damon gave a world-class blow job and he was going to make absolutely sure Alaric couldn't stay standing under his own steam. He'd tugged open Alaric's belt, and the fastening of his pants, reaching into Alaric's boxer briefs (score 1 Damon Salvatore, who had correctly guessed the underwear again) and closing a hand over Alaric's enormous erection (score 2, Damon Salvatore, with a side of smirk).
The pure want on Alaric's face was intoxicating. His mouth fell open a little in anticipation as Damon leaned back a little, giving Alaric a slow, maddening stroke, studying his face.
So Alaric Saltzman was hot. And? Everyone knew that. But there was something so blown-open about that expression on his face that Damon suddenly, urgently, wanted not just to have him but to keep him.
Damon dropped to his knees, then; this would have been much better executed over a good long stretch of time, on Damon's enormous bed, maybe with a candle or two, Zeppelin One on the turntable, but since Alaric is likely to come to his senses any second Damon figured he'd have to convince him this was worth doing again. Somewhere that smelled less like restaurant refuse.
Alaric had one hand leaning heavily against the lip of an industrial garbage bin – fuck, tawdry much – and the other fisted into Damon's hair, anchoring him in place, and he kept making these hot little sounds Damon thought he'd dream about later. Alaric rolled his hips, trying not to fuck Damon's face – so considerate, trying to ensure Damon could breathe – so Damon cleverly reminded him he didn't have to, taking the whole of Alaric's huge dick halfway down his throat, working the muscles in his mouth, his tongue, cupping Alaric's balls, feeling the fascinating shivers that ripple through Alaric's abs through Damon's other hand, snaking under Alaric's shirt.
Damon started to pull back as Alaric started to come; he wanted Alaric to come in his mouth, wanted to taste him. Wanted to see the look on Alaric's face as Damon milked him. When Damon cast eyes north, Alaric looked well-fucked, eyes closed, lips open and swollen, pink tongue darting out for just a second and away again, and the hand on the back of Damon's head was stroking, almost tender.
Damon stood again, tucking Alaric's spent cock back into his pants, buttoning buttons and zipping flies.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It was a dick move. Though, to be fair, you were trying to kill me." He wiped a stray drip from the lip into his mouth.
Alaric's eyes were blurred. He looked sort of confused. "Huh?"
It made Damon want to kiss him again, that incoherence. He'll be back for more in less than three days, Damon thought, and quietly noted the time, and added seventy-two hours. Twelve minutes past ten on Saturday night. At the latest.
"Killing you."
Alaric had tugged his belt out of Damon's hands, realizing suddenly he was being dressed. "Uh. Yeah," he said, re-buckling it. "I have to…"
Alaric pushed back from the wall.
"Ric?"
"I have to go," he'd said, still looking shaky, and then almost inaudibly, "fuck."
"What? Why? Come back to the house. For a. You know. Nightcap. Or whatever." Damon had frowned because, really, that was the blow job of the fucking century, right there, and Alaric was walking away. Fuck, Damon was so hard he was counting down seconds before he tore through his pants like the Incredible Hulk of vampire pornography. A little reciprocation wouldn't go astray.
"I'll see you," Alaric had said, walking away, a little hunched over, not meeting Damon's eyes.
Damon watched him walk away. Okay so he hadn't thought they'd trade rings or hold hands but he didn't think Alaric could walk away so easily after something like…
But fuck, of course, there was still the whole 'banged your wife, turned her into a vampire' thing.
It would take more than a blowjob for Alaric to get past that, probably.
Shrugging, Damon had wandered in the direction of the boarding house, keeping his eyes peeled for a snack.
...
At thirteen minutes past ten on Saturday night, irritated beyond the telling of it, Damon set his face to nonchalant and waltzed into the Grill to find Alaric sitting smiling in a booth with Jenna Sommers. He arched a brow and rolled his eyes and sat at the bar, working his way across the top shelf, straining to listen to Alaric's conversation.
A little later Alaric left with Jenna but Damon didn't kill anyone. He just went home to slump across the couch and drink some more.
...
Monday night there had been a knock on the door, and Damon had opened it slowly, leaning against the doorjamb, wearing a t-shirt just a little too tight, posing so it rode up a touch and revealed about a tantalizing half inch of skin at one hip.
(And in remembering this Damon has to admit to himself that this had not been cleverly planned because he had a strong feeling Alaric might come by. No, basically, Damon had set himself the task of looking as fuckable as possible at all times until Alaric showed up and started cooperating.)
Alaric had noticed the scrap of cool white flesh, and made a face that said 'really, Damon? Really?'
"Can I help you?" Damon had asked. Voice drawling and lascivious and five kinds of fuck me.
Alaric stood, waiting to be asked inside. Damon stepped back, with a sweeping arm, and Alaric was there, then, inside the boarding house, for the first time since the Blowjob of the Century™ as Damon was now thinking of it.
"Get you a drink?" Damon asked, as Alaric followed him toward the library.
"Sure," Alaric had answered, sort of quiet and maybe feeling a little bit foolish. Damon couldn't help but notice Alaric run his eyes over Damon's arms. As he poured the drinks, Damon flexed as much as possible.
Maybe a little bit much.
"This," Damon had said, passing the glass, "is one of the best things you'll ever have in your mouth."
Alaric had squinted at the total lack of double entendre, but when he tasted the rich honey flavor of the bourbon he refrained from biting back. "Nice," he said.
They were still standing and Alaric wasn't trying to get Damon's clothes off so Damon rolled his eyes. "I don't think you came for the bourbon."
Alaric nodded. "I'm out of vervain."
Liar.
Damon nodded his head. "Totally out, huh?"
Alaric took another sip, avoiding Damon's eyes. "Yeah."
Damon took a small step closer, swirling the bourbon in its glass, and caught Alaric's eye at last. "That was an interesting choice."
"Choice?"
"You could have come up with any one of fifty painfully transparent reasons to come here tonight. And you chose that."
"Dude. I'm out of vervain."
"Which means I can compel you."
Alaric hesitated. "You wouldn't -"
"To prove a point? Of course I would. I could compel you to, say, kiss me, and you'd have to either pretend you were compelled, and kiss me, or admit you have vervain inside that silver bracelet you're wearing."
"Damon -"
"Ric." A touch of eye-flare. "Kiss me. Like you mean it."
Alaric had hesitated, and Damon threw back his head and laughed. Of course then Alaric made that pissed-off face Damon was sort of becoming addicted to over time and shook his head.
"I could punch you instead. That would be great fun."
Damon shrugged. "It would do for foreplay," he said. "C'mon, Buffy."
"I just remembered that I don't like you," Alaric said, and started to walk out of the library.
Damon blurred in front of Alaric, stopping him in his tracks.
"You might not like me, but you are definitely attracted to me. I can literally hear all the blood north of your dick rushing south. If you took off that bracelet, I could get in your head, and we could act out whatever filthy fantasy you've got going up there."
"Get out of my way, Damon."
"Get out of your own way."
Alaric had closed his hands into fists at his sides, twitching, and then something shifted; his eyes darkened, and he reach for Damon's neck, pulling him close.
Yeah. That was much better.
Damon let Alaric drive; responded, very enthusiastically, but didn't push further. Alaric was still far too close to leaving and Damon wasn't having that.
"Is Stefan here?" Alaric asked, and Damon figured that was as close to a 'yes' as he was going to get.
"He and Elena went out. They'll be back here sometime, I suppose. But I wasn't going to suggest the library. I have the biggest bed you've ever seen," Damon answered, and then tugged on Alaric's lower lip with his teeth; even the kissing was stupidly good and right and like they'd been doing it for years, just a rhythm made for them and them only, and Alaric had hold of Damon's hair like he'd seen it written down somewhere that this particular gesture was one of Damon's biggest turnons.
So fucking hot and possessive and controlling. Damon couldn't wait to see what Alaric was like between the sheets.
"Fuck," Alaric said, like he was mustering up the strength to leave; so Damon settled his hands on Alaric's hips, stroked down until he was cupping Alaric's ass in his hands, pulling him closer until there was no denying they were both definitely 'up' for this. Damon's aching cock craved Alaric's huge hand and there was no way Damon was letting Alaric leave.
"That's the idea," Damon murmured. "So. Upstairs?
And Alaric had let himself follow Damon up the stairs and even that got Damon hotter so that by the time Alaric had closed the door, Damon had literally No Choice but to push him against the wall and kiss him even harder, palming at the front of his jeans until Alaric seemed to get weak at the knees.
Alaric pulled his shirt over his head and finally, there he was, hairy chest and strong, defined abs, and nipples Damon wanted to bite.
(Though he thought he might wait and try that in a few weeks. He doubted Alaric would be very keen, right now.)
Damon took off his own shirt then and loved the way Alaric's eyes went a little rounder. He stepped back to toe his shoes off and Alaric did the same, going straight for his belt right away afterwards (this, Damon had thought, boded very well. As much as he was a big fan of the whole 'tear each other's clothes off' thing it was damnably inefficient and he wanted Alaric's hands on him as soon as fucking possible).
"What the fuck am I doing?" Alaric wondered aloud and no, Damon wasn't keen on that line of questioning so as soon as Alaric was naked, erection straining and leaking pre-ejaculate at the tip Damon grabbed Alaric by the hand and dragged him to the bed, pushing him down, climbing over him, gratified by the way Alaric rolled his whole body against the bed.
"This is going to be way too much fun," Damon said. "You're never going to want to leave."
Actually though Alaric looked sort of like he was starting to think with his big brain again, so Damon effectively distracted him by running his thumb over the leaking slit of Alaric's little brain and kissing him again. This time, effectively focused, Alaric reached and tugged, returned the favor, with exceptional skill and finesse and a glorious moan Damon decided he needed to eat, right away.
"Tell me you've got lube," Alaric said, directly into Damon's mouth.
"Of course I do," Damon purred. "Why? You think we'll need it?"
Alaric's eyes were so full of want. Fuck, but this was a good idea (score 3, Damon Salvatore).
"In a minute I'm going to fuck you," Alaric said, voice low and graveled. "And I don't plan to be gentle about it."
Damon stopped keeping score right then, and lifted himself off Alaric for just long enough to reach for the nightstand and find the lube. "Don't need gentle, Ric. Vampire, remember?"
"Trying not to," Alaric admitted, pulling Damon closer again, wrapping one leg around his body.
"I suppose a snack is out of the question, then," Damon grumbled.
"Unless you actually want to get staked." Ooh, bravado! Damon approved.
Alaric was strong. Damon liked that too. Liked the arms, the legs, the richly muscled torso. Vaguely, it occurred to Damon that Alaric would make a great vampire, but that was also a conversation for another day. Instead he pushed Alaric's head aside, nuzzling hard into the crook of his neck and shoulder, scraping teeth lightly over the skin. At this, Alaric should have freaked, probably, but he moaned instead, and returned to the maddeningly slow stroke he'd established before, speeding up a little as his breathing got heavier and shallower. His tongue darted out to moisten his lip and yeah, Damon wanted that lip more occupied, so he shifted until he was positioned perfectly to stick his dick in Alaric's mouth.
Alaric took to this task with a great deal of enthusiasm, hands wrangling Damon's hips while Damon held himself up by half-leaning, half-clutching at the head of the bed.
Although the vast majority of Damon's brain was letting him things like 'yes' and 'Ric' and 'exactly like that' a small part was thinking that yeah, actually, sexually, they were really fucking compatible. So far. There were Things Damon wanted to do, to try, find out how much Alaric was really up for but he decided to go slowly, for now. Perhaps try a new Thing each time, experiment.
Alaric's eyelashes were really long, Damon thought, looking down, watching Alaric's lips move over him, watching Alaric shift his hand to cup Damon's balls, and that was it, then, officially too much. Damon's elbows went weak as he came in Alaric's mouth, thrilling to the feeling of Alaric still sucking, drinking him in, swallowing him down.
When Damon shifted off Alaric it was only reluctantly, but yeah, he really wanted to taste himself on Alaric's lips, so he kissed him again, tongue questing every corner of Alaric's mouth. Alaric was breathing hard and sort of shuddering, too, and Damon pressed against him.
It had been way too fucking long since he'd done this. Felt strong arms around him, a hard body under his. Alaric reached for the lube, and Damon grinned, shifting off him.
Alaric spread a generous amount over his fingers and kneeled between Damon's legs. He paused.
No, no, no. Not stopping now.
"Roll over," he said. No 'please'. Damon obeyed, kneeling slightly, fuck, like he was presenting or something, and was shocked a moment when instead of the fingers, he felt Alaric's mouth, gloriously wet and hot and exploratory over his rim.
Damon became one long moan, and was devastated when the mouth disappeared, but he didn't care, when it was replaced by two slick fingers to the first knuckle. Jesus Christ. Alaric put such perfect pressure against Damon's prostate that Damon couldn't help but push back against him. Alaric responded by pressing further, spread his fingers a little, pressing harder and further until Damon was only saying Alaric's name, or parts of it, punctuated by the occasional expletive.
Totally maddening.
"Fuck, Ric," Damon said, and it sounded a little like he was begging. Maybe he was. Alaric chuckled, which was good, and then he lined himself up, nudging against Damon's rim.
Not good enough.
"Ric. Get in me now or we're going to have a problem."
In response, Alaric pressed in, maybe an inch, so there were still, like, a million or so more inches to go, and then out again.
"This is a good look for you," Alaric muttered, pressing in a little, again.
"Swear to god, Ric…" and then Alaric was fully in Damon, setting a ferocious pace. No, not gentle. Controlling the rhythm by Damon's hips, as the sweat continued to build. Damon made a series of noises he figured Alaric would tease him about later but right then, Damon didn't give a shit. Alaric reached beneath Damon's body and gripped his dick, teasing him all the way hard again, matching the pace of his thrusts.
Damon felt himself fill with a familiar, forgotten warmth, as Alaric started to stutter, let out an almost inhuman growl that made Damon come, too.
"Jesus," Alaric moaned.
"Damon," Damon corrected. "Jesus was the guy with the beard."
Alaric withdrew, and rolled to lie on his back, head against the pillows. Staring at the ceiling.
Damon let himself lie flat, and watched Alaric's face for a long moment.
"I need a fucking cigarette," Alaric said, and Damon climbed off the bed, noting the ejaculate starting to drip down the back of his leg. He slipped into the bathroom to wipe off with a towel and wash his hands, and then crossed to the wardrobe.
"I have cigars," he said, and he and Alaric shared one, the rich smell of chocolate and port filling the room, tangling with the tobacco.
After a while, Alaric didn't want any more, so Damon put it out and they lay quietly for a long moment. Still nude. Just a pair of naked guys hanging out.
Damon wanted to ask a billion questions. He wanted to know now, right now, when this would happen next. How often. He was about to start streaming nonsense from his mouth when Alaric spoke instead.
"Would have figured you for a top," he admitted.
Damon shrugged. "I like both," he said. "Just felt like getting fucked tonight, that's all. You?"
Alaric shook his head. "Same." Their eyes met a moment. "You know that's sort of rare, right?"
Damon wanted to jump on the bed, but instead he shrugged again. He wanted to roll into Alaric's arms but he didn't do that either. Hard to guess what Alaric's response would be and Damon didn't feel like getting laughed at, aching and satisfied as he was.
Alaric swung his legs off the bed. "Mind if I take a shower?"
"Mind if I watch?"
"Could I stop you?"
Damon smirked. Alaric rinsed off under the shower, that was all, dried himself quickly and knotted the towel around his hips. Disappointingly, he then started collecting his clothing, and putting it on.
"You're leaving?"
Alaric had been surprised, which was weird, and just nodded. "Of course I am. I have to go home and get drunk and berate myself for being a complete idiot."
Ouch.
"Okay… correct me if I'm wrong, but that was fucking awesome."
Alaric sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his socks on. "It was fucking awesome. Not correcting you."
"Then…"
Alaric met Damon's eyes. "Do I really have to list all the reasons this was a bad idea and will never happen again?"
"Yes. You do." Because Damon could only think of one, and it wasn't even a big one.
"You killed my wife. You… slept with my wife, come to that. You're a vampire and I'm a hunter."
Damon spluttered. "Worked fine for Buffy and Angel."
"You're a murderer. And you're in love with a seventeen year old girl whose aunt I'm dating." Alaric tied his first shoe. "Do you want me to keep going?"
Humans really held a grudge.
"We could just put all that behind us," Damon reasoned.
Alaric finished tying his shoes, and stood up. His eyes scanned Damon's body, heavy with regret. "I have to go," was all he would say. "I'll see you."
Good enough for now.
Damon is still stretched out on the bed when Alaric returns from a morning jog.
"You know there is no point in doing that. Our bodies don't change." Damon always says this. Reminds Alaric, as if the unchanging face in the mirror wasn't adequate reminder every day.
"Feels good," Alaric says as he always says, and leans to kiss Damon briefly.
"Missing the wolves?"
Alaric smiles, and heads for the bathroom to shower. As soon as the sweat is rinsed from his body Damon joins him, and they make out for a while under the hot water, which is nice.
To work, then, because renovations need to be made in the kitchen. The bar is still closed, a couple of waiters setting up for lunch service, a very pissed off looking bartender stocking fridges. In the office, Harry is hunched over the computer.
"Harry," Alaric said.
"Ric. Damon." He barely glanced up.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to find a way to take Saturday off so I can go to Gareth's sisters wedding."
Alaric started to open a pile of letters. "Thought he didn't expect you to go?"
"Apparently, if I was really 'in this', I would want to."
Damon flicked eyebrows north, catching Alaric's eyes and smiling. "We'll come in. Just make sure Jo's on."
Harry turned, surprised. "Thanks," he said, half-frowning. "I swear to god, though… We fight, we make up… one of us is going to kill the other, one of these days."
Damon and Alaric couldn't even look at each other, at that.
It was just the occasional thing; usually after a fight, or too much to drink, Alaric and Damon would find their eyes had met, some kind of fire in it, and it was a bad idea that kept getting worse each time but Alaric couldn't help himself. Damon's body was like a drug. His eyes, pale and fierce on Alaric's, ran a sharp line from Alaric's brain to his cock, shocking him awake like he'd been sleeping for years.
Just sex, though. Only sex.
Until the night the tomb vampires were burned to death in the basement of the old doctor's surgery, and Damon nearly died with them: it changed, that night. That was the moment, for Alaric. He'd gone to the boarding house later, maybe two in the morning, and had barely reached the door when Damon opened it for him.
It was strange and new when he didn't even let Damon shut the door before taking him in his arms. Damon had stiffened, and then relaxed, and the look in his eye when Alaric pulled away to look at him; it was delight, or something, the eyes glittered like they came with their own light source. And then something darker flashed there too.
Damon stepped away and pushed the door closed, and Alaric followed him into the library. Damon poured drinks.
He looked… distressed. Weird for Damon.
"Are you alright?"
Damon had shrugged.
"Caroline…?"
"Gave her some blood. She'll be fine in a few hours."
Damon slumped onto the couch, warming the bourbon in his hand. Alaric sat beside him. "You're not alright," he said, and Damon frowned.
"Katherine's back," he said, and only met Alaric's eyes for a moment.
Alaric downed the bourbon in one burning mouthful.
"That's… great," he said. "I hope…"
"Don't, Ric…"
"I mean, it's what you wanted." Alaric put the glass on the side table and stood up.
"Ric, seriously…"
Alaric waited. But Damon couldn't look at him.
"Do I have to remind you that you are dating Jenna?"
Alaric hung his head. "We broke up."
At that, Damon did look up. "What? Why?"
Alaric sighed, seeing Jenna's sweet smiling face, the tears in her eyes.
("I'm not an idiot, Ric," she'd said. "Whatever you have going with Damon Salvatore… I think you're great, I do, but the way you two look at each other – I'm not going to even try to compete with that," she admitted.
"It's not like…"
"It should be," she had said, and hugged Alaric tight, and kissed him one last time. "Friends? I won't take no for an answer.")
"Because she has eyes." Alaric sighed. "You know where to find me," he'd added, and left.
Several days later Damon had sidled up to Alaric at the Grill, half-drunk already, and bumped his shoulder, and grabbed at his shirt, and rather than let Alaric try to molest him in front of the whole of Mystic Falls Alaric had bundled the very drunk vampire into his truck and driven him back to the boarding house.
When they got there Damon wouldn't get out of the truck.
"Seriously, Damon…"
"Seriously, Ric," Damon had mimicked back. He ran his hand over Alaric's leg. "Come in and have a drink with me."
"I think you've had enough drinks."
"I'm a vampire. Alcohol can't hurt me."
"Enough of it will still turn you into a complete dick," Alaric said, brushing Damon's hand away.
They sat a while longer in the car, Alaric finally switching off the engine. Damon reached for him again. "You should come inside. Fuck some calm into me. Before I do something stupid like throw myself at Elena or kill Jeremy."
"Just go, Damon," Alaric said. He felt cold. Reminded himself Damon was a vampire and not a very stable one.
Damon was still looking at him. "Fuck," he said. "I blew it. Didn't I?"
There were fifty answers and none. "We couldn't have… It wouldn't have worked anyway," Alaric said, feeling the blood drain from his face. Not a breakup. Not a breakup because they were never together. It was sex, and not even much of that.
Just sex.
Alaric felt so cold.
Damon opened the door and blurred away into the forest before Alaric could shape words to make him stay.
Turned out it was a cry for help. That very day, Damon had thrown himself at both Katherine and Elena, been soundly rebuffed by both, and then in a fit of rage, had indeed killed Jeremy (who had survived, thank to the magic ring). Alaric reacted to this the way he reacted to almost everything; by staying home, in the loft, drinking too much, and trying not to think about it.
They didn't have sex for months, after that. They drank quietly at the Grill from time to time and went out hunting monsters together but when Damon made that face, Alaric pretended not to notice. He crossed his arms and leaned them against the bar and didn't look back.
The contractor seems competent.
"We can do more with the space you have. If I move the sinks and the dishwasher to that back wall. Bust through there so the waiters can bring dishes straight through from the corridor and they don't have to walk into the kitchen." He gestures, vaguely. "They can pick up plates from there – we can punch through that wall."
Alexander is enthusiastic; he refers, frequently, to how waiters in the kitchen are a menace and a nuisance and would be happy not to have them walking through so much. Alaric watches him speak some foreign language to the builder, and Damon's hand brushes over Alaric's elbow.
Alaric nods. "We'll pay for the design and quote and take it from there," he says, and he and Damon leave, because it is a beautiful day, and they don't want to be indoors.
It was the day after Stefan left that things changed a final time.
He had been grateful, at least, that he couldn't remember much about being possessed by Klaus, not clearly. Speaking to Isobel, and then a pain in his head, and then knocking on the door to the boarding house with a message he knew he was supposed to deliver. Physically unhurt, his mind a fog, his memory patchy and red around the edges.
Alaric had stayed the night at the Gilberts', and figured he'd be staying there a while, but he had to do something about his loft. Clean it. But when he pushed the door open, he immediately wished he didn't have to.
There, that chair, his chair, blood soaked into the upholstery – Katherine sat in that chair and stabbed herself over and over again, in the leg. Alaric had known this like it was something he had been told, not like it was something he saw. Still. The stains spoke volumes.
Less expected was the blood elsewhere in the room. It had leaked out from the corners of mostly drained blood bags, dozens of them. Dripped arcs on the hardwood floor where mostly empty bags were thrown across the room.
Alaric's heart had hurt just thinking about it.
He had filled a bucket with cold water and soap and pulled rags and scrubbing brushes from under the sink. The rug, a tattered, pretty thing Isobel had bought from a Navajo market and loved couldn't be saved; Alaric knew it would never come clean, and the stain would remind him, always. He rolled it up and put it in a plastic rubbish bag by the door.
He changed into an old pair of sweatpants and an ancient Duke t-shirt. Kneeled on the floor and began to scrub.
He'd been at it a week or perhaps an hour, and it was already becoming clear that the wooden floorboards would retain some horror (Alaric only hoped his own body bore no similar traces – some imprint of Klaus in his veins, like a disease) when there was a knock on the door.
Alaric took a deep breath.
"Who is it?"
"Who do you think it is? Open up."
Alaric's heart turned over, a touch.
(Hours before, Elena had texted him to say Damon was alive and recovering, but he hadn't quite believed it. Not until he had heard the irritable bark in Damon's tone, and thank fuck for it.)
Alaric had rinsed his hands, dried them. Opened the door to the loft and stepped outside, pulling it shut behind him against the tale it told.
Damon had taken half a step back.
"You're alive."
"Your eyes work. Good to know." Damon hitched an eyebrow. It wasn't even real snark. Everything had fallen apart and sometimes the only way to go forward is to get back, a little. Reclaim what was.
"Are you going to let me in?" Damon's face was not quite Damon's, bravado aside. He looked a little haunted.
"No." Alaric had stepped sideways and neatly into Damon's path. "You don't… want to…"
Damon had grunted and pushed past, pushed the door open. Pushed his way in the way he did everything.
Alaric had watched as Damon's eyes took in the pile of empty blood bags. The blood splatter on the walls, on the floor. On the couch. His nostrils flared a second and unerringly he found the place where poor Katherine had sat for so many hours, stabbing herself over and over in the leg.
(Poor Katherine?)
Damon had shaken his head, more slowly than he did most things. No trace of the frenetic energy he usually buzzed with. "Jesus fucking Christ."
Alaric had just leaned against the door jamb.
Damon had taken his jacket off, draped it over a chair, once he was sure it was clean, and rolled his sleeves up, less elegantly than he did most things.
Not himself, quite. Still. Alive, and beautiful.
"Are you alright?" This was not quite what Alaric had meant to say. He meant to say 'I'm glad you're alive' or 'I'm sorry everything is the most fucked up anything has ever been' but instead, he just asked. Are you alright. Like there was an answer.
The answer had been a brisk nod and a flash of brilliant blue. Damon kneeled where the bucket was and pulled out a wet cloth. Just kneeled there, and began to clean, like the world hadn't ended. Like he wasn't wearing expensive slacks and shiny shoes.
"You don't have to do this, Damon."
"I know." Damon did it anyway. They both did it, muttering occasionally about the stains. Quiet. Sombre. Respectful of those they had lost. Jenna, dead and undeclared and buried. Stefan, not just gone, but really gone, high on the taste of human blood. Even John, who had done the right thing, in the end. Sacrificed himself for his daughter.
Isobel.
Alaric couldn't think about her, yet.
It was testament to how involved they both were in the grizzly work that it had been Elena's voice, and not the turning of the knob, that alerted them to her presence.
"I… oh, my God," she said.
Damon leapt up like he'd been shot, rounding her back out the door. There was nothing in this room a girl should ever see, nothing anyone should ever see. Certainly not a girl who had lost so much and still had more to lose.
Alaric had let his eyes drift shut as angry words were exchanged. Elena stormed away, and Damon came back.
"You should go after her. I can do this. It's my problem, Damon."
Damon shook his head. "No."
Alaric shrugged, emptied the bucket and refilled it. When he returned to the slightly clean spot on the floor Damon met his eyes, held them fierce.
"She kissed me. When I was dying."
Alaric had nodded though the confession hurt like fuck. "And was it everything you'd ever dreamed of?" Sounded a little bitter, perhaps. Perhaps more bitter than that.
Damon had sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. "You two think you have the market cornered, on fucked up. You don't."
They had glared at each other for a good long time and Alaric's arms had ached to reach for Damon but the last three feet between them had seemed like a long way. Wars could be fought in that much space. So Alaric had resumed scrubbing, and Damon did too.
When it was all over Damon and Alaric had gone to the Grill, which had its own gravity, on harder nights. They sat at the bar and drank.
Neither said anything for a long time.
"Come home with me," Damon had said at last. Quietly, like he thought he could pretend he hadn't said it, if Alaric said no.
"I can't."
Damon had groaned. "Come home with me, Ric. I've missed you. It's been months."
Alaric had warmed the bourbon in his hand, and shaken his head.
"Why not?"
"I should really leave. I'm staying at the Gilberts'." He'd started to climb down from his stool and Damon had grabbed his elbow. Irritated.
"Go there after."
"Let go of me, Damon."
Damon had let go, and Alaric had left. He'd walked less than half a block when Damon had blurred in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "I want to know why. Why? We were having fun, weren't we?"
"Sort of the problem."
"Fun is a problem for you?"
Alaric had shaken his head. "It's been a long day, Damon."
And then Damon had actually stamped his foot. "Tell me why. Use little words so I can understand."
"You're in love with Elena."
Damon had rolled his eyes, irritable, rolled his neck a little as well. Gritted his teeth. "Don't start on…"
"You're in love with Elena and I'm in love with you."
Might have been the first time Alaric had ever seen Damon speechless. He'd pushed past Damon, heart in his mouth, and kept walking, another half a block to where he'd parked his truck.
I can't believe I just said that, he had thought, over and over. I can't believe I just said that. He had, though, said it just like that, I'm in love with you. Alaric hadn't even been sure it was true, until it had tripped off his tongue like that.
He had slipped quietly into the house, unsurprised to find Elena and Jeremy in the living room, talking quietly. They'd both been crying. Elena looked up hopefully when Alaric came in.
"Are you staying here tonight?"
Alaric had hesitated, and nodded. "If you still want -"
"We do." Elena had stood up. "I'll make up Jenna's bed. You can't keep sleeping -"
"No, Elena…"
"- on the couch."
"I can." He dropped his bag, there by the bookcase. Slumped into an armchair with yet another glass of bourbon.
And then it was three, silent, in the Gilbert living room, mourning. Silent until there was a knock on the door.
Elena had leaped up because she was sure, sure Stefan would return, that it was all some horrible mistake, that he'd be back and everything would go back to normal. But she'd frowned, when it was Damon instead.
"Going to invite me in?"
"You only need one invitation."
Damon had pushed past. "It's polite." His eyes had found Alaric's quickly. "We need to talk."
Elena had frowned. "If it's about Stefan…"
"Not everything is about Stefan, Elena." Damon had barely looked at her. Just looked at Alaric. "You two should probably leave. Go to bed. Go to your rooms, at least."
"Why?" Elena had frowned, looking from Damon to Alaric.
Damon had rolled his eyes. "Because I'm about to kiss him. And it would be really weird for you two to stay and watch."
Jeremy had stood up, hands out, and headed for the stairs. Elena, dumbstruck, had followed him, and he'd said something like "you owe me twenty bucks."
When they were gone, Damon had crossed his arms. "Were you serious?"
Alaric had taken a breath, trying to decide what to say next. Perhaps that was enough because Damon had nodded.
"No one's ever been in love with me before."
"I doubt that." Alaric hadn't moved, just stayed sitting where he was. "I can't do the fuck-buddy thing any more, Damon."
"We can be more than that."
Alaric had shaken his head. "You're -"
"I'm not in love with Elena. I'm not." And Damon had crossed the room, put his hands on the arms of Alaric's chair, and leaned to kiss him. "We can be more than fuck buddies. I'll prove it." He had kissed a little harder, a little deeper.
Alaric had reached for Damon's shirt, tugged at it, until Damon was half-straddling him in the armchair.
"We can be everything."
"Mushy, Salvatore."
"Fuck you."
"What do you want to do?" Alaric looks relaxed, lazy, hands loosely tucked in his pockets, mild grin on his face.
"Let's buy books," Damon answers, and off they go in the direction of one of the only brick and mortar bookstores left in the city. Freshly encumbered, they head home, stopping at a deli to buy smoked meats and unpasteurized cheeses and a spicy olive oil.
Alaric had kept the loft partly because he needed somewhere to call home but mostly because he and Damon wanted some privacy, some nights. It had gone from a quiet, furtive thing to the thing everyone knew about. Damon liked the word 'boyfriend' – thought it had a nice ring to it, or perhaps he liked the way it made Alaric frown.
And sure everything had been shitfully hard and they'd not spoken for weeks after a small misunderstanding had resulted in Damon breaking Alaric's neck but as the weather had started to warm, Elena's senior year, they'd established a rhythm, a shared life.
And then one morning Alaric had woken tired – as tired as he'd been when he had gone to bed the night before – and yawned, and stretched, and discovered Damon watching him intently.
It should have been strange but Damon didn't need a lot of sleep and it was not entirely unusual for Alaric to wake with big silver eyes on him.
"I think I understand Katherine," he'd said. "After all this time."
Alaric had rubbed his eyes, yawned. Pulled Damon in for a kiss. "What are you talking about?"
"Katherine. I think I get it." Damon had run his hand over Alaric's side. "Time passes so fast."
"What are you even talking about?"
"Why she turned us. Me and Stefan."
Alaric had held Damon's eyes, and nodded.
"You're going to get old." Damon had frowned. "You'll get old sooner than you think."
"This is a bit heavy for a Monday morning."
"I don't care. Do you…" Damon had taken a deep breath, let it out. Settled back against the pillows. "Do you ever think about it?"
No point in lying. "I do."
Damon had frowned. Bitten his lip. He wanted to ask. Alaric sort of wanted him to and sort of didn't want to deal with it, at six on a Monday morning.
"It's exam time," he had said, as Damon kissed his throat. "I've got a lot on."
"I know."
"I just…"
"You have to understand," Damon had said, then, shifting to spread himself over Alaric's body. "I've never had this."
"I know."
"I don't…"
"Seriously, Damon…"
"I can't lose you."
Alaric had let his eyes close, as Damon licked and kissed his neck. Because, yes. He'd never really had this either.
"After Elena's graduation."
Damon had stopped, drawn back. "Don't say that if you don't mean it. Or if you're not sure."
"It's not something I'd joke about."
The path had been set, then.
Damon plays the piano while Alaric stretches out on the couch, reading a new book.
"Our life is fucking awesome," Damon says.
"It is." Alaric puts the book down. "Come here." And Damon, ever obliging, crosses to the couch and stretches his body over Alaric's.
"Quiet year," Damon says, as Alaric pulls him in for a kiss.
"Jinx," Alaric answers. "Next year we'll have a zombie apocalypse, if you don't shut up. And by the way, we're award-winning bar owners. It's not that quiet."
Everything is as it should be.
A/N: O HAI.
I was nominated for an award! For most promising in-progress slash fic. I did mention this last week but voting has opened now sooooo...
www dot energizewipawards dot blogspot dot com - obviously you need to replace the word 'dot' with a dot.
Click 'vote here' to get started. You don't have to vote in every category. I can't see myself beating out anything from Twilight... BUT who knows?
Next week: for those of you who read a lot of my fic, the name 'Ben' might make you go weak at the knees. I know some days when I'm pissed with Damon I sort of wish Benaric had worked out. Oh well! No. But Ben will be back next week. See you then :D