[personal profile] rheasilvia: Alaric/Damon, getting in over their heads (in any sense you want to take it *g*); also, a fix-it would be nice

At Once Our Time Devour

“What did you do!” Alaric yelled.

Damon retreated, because the stake in Alaric’s hand looked sharp and he wasn’t sure that the whole vampire slaughterer thing was entirely gone, especially with the shock of the resurrection on top. “While I understand why you’re assuming I did something, and while ordinarily that would be a reasonable assumption—” He ducked out of the way of the stake, which was thrown only with ordinary human speed and force. Now that he knew that Alaric wasn’t SuperAlaric, he sped over and slammed his surprisingly lively friend against the nearest tree.

“Like I was saying,” he emphasized, “I didn’t do this. And as far as I know, Bonnie didn’t do this. Resurrection tends to get her in trouble with the witches. I got a mysterious text message from a blocked phone number. I came to your grave, even though I had a hell of a time finding it, and here you were.”

Alaric’s lips were quirking. “A hell of a time? You mean you didn’t come out here and drink every time your emo got too big for you to handle on your own.”

Damon pulled back a few inches. “How do you know about that?”

“Um, I saw you?”

Damon didn’t have the blood to flush, so he didn’t, but he did let Alaric go, pressing his lips together to show that he wasn’t impressed by Alaric’s ghostly spying. “So, you saw me but you have no idea why you’re standing here, in the very non-rotted flesh.”

“… It’s a little blurry. Ghost time isn’t like human time!”

Damon gave him an unimpressed look. It was one of his better expressions, if he did say so himself. “So, to recap: we don’t know why you’re here. We don’t know why I’m here. To me, that spells ‘plot by someone with nothing good in mind for either of us.’”

“I wish I could dispute your logic,” Alaric said.

“You just like to contradict everything I say,” Damon replied and started walking out of the graveyard, human-fast. He was keeping his eyes and ears open but nothing alive seemed to be moving other than Alaric and the owls.

“No, I don’t,” Alaric panted, catching up. Damon considered a crack about how being dead had been bad for Alaric’s endurance, but discarded it as too easy. And they said he had no brain-mouth filter.

Back at the boarding house, Damon filled Alaric in on recent developments, other than the ones he’d already drunkenly disclosed. How unfair was that? Alaric had been dead, not undead, and should’ve had the decency not to listen.

“Right,” Alaric drawled when Damon pointed that out. “Okay, so none of that explains why I’d be brought back.”

“And presumably, whoever did this is also going to use the threat to return you to that fine and private place.”

“Or maybe it’s not a real resurrection,” Alaric said thoughtfully. “If there’s an expiration date—did you just quote Andrew Marvell?”

“I’m an educated man,” Damon said, miffed. “Just because I don’t go back to high school on a regular basis like Stefan—”

“Just an interesting choice for a vampire,” Alaric said, stepping closer. “But a good message, overall.” Which was when he closed the final distance and kissed Damon.

He was a good kisser, Damon decided, after taking a minute to evaluate. Playful, soft-rough-soft, and using the kiss to stealthily grope further, as if Damon might not notice that his shirt was being unbuttoned.

He probably wasn’t a zombie compelled to do this; Damon had seen enough appreciation in Alaric’s eyes before to consider this within the realm of possibility (resurrection aside). Still, it was probably a dumb idea, because Damon’s lovers tended to end badly. Yes, he’d noticed.

“Shut up,” Alaric said as soon as Damon pulled away from the kiss.

“What? I didn’t—” Damon flailed.

“You were about to say something hurtful and probably true. And right now I don’t want to hear it. I don’t know how long I have above ground. I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me back.”

Damon took a moment to re-evaluate. “Well, that’s blunt,” he said.

Alaric had the temerity to look disappointed. Damon hated that expression. “So now you’re the only one who gets to be crude?”

“I am very good at it,” Damon pointed out.

“How about convincing me that you can be good at other things?” Alaric challenged, and oh, it was on.

****

“I’m in love with Elena,” he said, after, tracing random knots on Alaric’s well-defined and surprisingly undecayed chest.

“That’s okay,” Alaric said. “You killed my wife. Emotional infidelity isn’t really moving the needle for me.”

An hour or so after sunrise, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Damon answered it just wearing his pajama pants. Even if it wasn’t Elena, a good ogle was rarely wasted. It was in fact Elena, and even better, Stefan was right behind her. Damon grinned at them. “Yes?”

And then Alaric was coming up behind him, nearly touching. From the heat of his skin, Damon could tell that he hadn’t bothered with a shirt either. Damon deeply wished that he had a camera to capture the mindblown expressions on Stefan and Elena’s faces. “Alaric’s alive, we had ‘yay you’re alive’ sex, we don’t know anything more than that, so it’s probably time to take a shower and call in the cavalry.” He winked at them and turned to suit action to words, leaving Alaric to exchange expressions of incredulity and reunion joy with Elena.

Of course it would all likely end in suffering and death, just like always. But any day that started out with such a perfect opportunity to mess with their heads couldn’t be all bad.
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