![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ozmissageTitle: cool kids belong together
Pairing: Alaric/Damon
Rating: Hard R
Words:1,065
Disclaimer: Not my boys.
Summary: This was supposed to be a strategy meeting.
A/N: Five Acts fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
janie_tangerine who asked for attention, consensual d/s, and crossdressing.
Twelve.
That’s the number of times Damon has touched Alaric in the past twenty minutes. Briefly, he entertains the idea that it might be considered a little OCD to keep count. But then Damon leans across Alaric on the pretense of grabbing a bottle of ketchup and takes special care to make sure their thighs press together beneath the bar in the process and Alaric decides that keeping count is a very rational, very practical thing to do. Damon smirks to himself as he tips the glass bottle upside down and drenches his already soggy, inedible fries in ketchup.
This was supposed to be a strategy meeting. Alaric had come prepared to share the impressive number of ways he had learned how to kill a vampire so Damon would be ready for Klaus when he showed up on their doorstep. But so far they had discussed Springsteen vs. Dylan, got into an argument over Springsteen vs. Dylan, drank two and a half pitchers of beer, bemoaned their rotten luck with vampire women, and ordered two plates of food that they ignored in favor of more beer before cycling back to the Springsteen/Dylan debate.
And in between all that, Damon has somehow managed to inappropriately touch Alaric thirteen times. The first couple of times were innocent things---a tap on Alaric’s arm to get his attention, a quick, friendly nudge of his boot. But then they got strange. Once, Damon reached out to wipe an imaginary stain away from Alaric’s cheek with his thumb. Another time, he left his hand on Alaric’s knee so long Alaric was forced to turn sideways just to shake him off.
He knows Damon’s screwing with him. It’s a game. Damon wants to see how long it will take before Alaric calls him on his bullshit, before he lets on to the fact that Damon’s got him squirming. So Alaric keeps a running tally in his head and his mouth shut rather than give Damon the satisfaction of winning. In fact, Alaric thinks it’s about time to turn the tables.
(Also, he’s maybe a little drunk.)
“You okay, buddy?” Damon asks, eyes wide and as innocent as he can manage.
Alaric turns slightly so they’re facing one another on their bar stools, their legs sliding together like puzzle pieces, and reaches out to clamp a hand on Damon’s shoulder, taking extra care to make sure his hand touches the bare skin of Damon’s collarbone. Serves him right for leaving so much skin exposed. How damn hard is it to do a couple of buttons?
“I’m great,” he says. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m awesome,” Damon says. He scoots to the edge of his seat, forcing his knee to slide up the length of the inside of Alaric’s thigh, stopping less than inch away from his crotch. Alaric swallows hard and pretends not to notice the look of satisfaction on Damon’s smug face.
This is stupid. He’s a grown man. A grown, teacher type man. He shouldn’t be playing cat and mouse games with a vampire. Especially not this vampire. And especially not here with half of Mystic Falls watching them.
“What are you doing, Damon? Aren’t we a little old for this?”
Damon shrugs and flexes his leg so his knee brushes against Alaric’s crotch. Alaric’s breath hitches. He’s already hard and now Damon knows it.
“I’m pulling your pigtails,” Damon says. “You know, like when little Johnny likes little Sally he runs up to her on the playground and gives her pigtails a good yank---” he punctuates the word by rubbing is knee firmly against the rapidly growing bulge in Alaric’s pants.
Alaric’s had more than enough. He angrily shoves Damon’s leg away and slides off his stool with every intent of walking out the door, but Damon’s hand clamps down on his elbow like a vice and his face is suddenly so close Alaric can feel his cool, completely unnecessary breath on his cheek.
“I want to fuck you, Ric,” Damon whispers. “And I know you want to fuck me.”
“Go to hell,” Alaric growls.
Damon laughs and wraps a hand around the back of Alaric’s neck dragging him forward until their lips are crushing against each other. Alaric knows he should pull away. He’s standing in the middle of the only restaurant in Mystic Falls with his tongue jammed down Damon Salvatore’s throat.
There’s no way this is going to stay quiet.
But he is drunk and hard and Damon’s sucking at his bottom lip and fuck---
He pulls away and catches the corner of Damon’s jacket.
“Bathroom,” Alaric says through gritted teeth.
“Yes sir,” Damon replies.
Alaric pushes Damon through the door and begins checking the stalls while Damon leans against a sink watching his every move.
“I didn’t think you’d give in so easily,” Damon says conversationally. “I had a master plan and everything and then you go and pull me into a bathroom stall on the first night. Got to say, I’m a little disappointed in you, Ric. I didn’t think you were the easy type.”
Alaric turns the lock on the door and takes a deep breath before turning around. He’s lost his mind. That’s the only explanation. Damon killed him, for God’s sake. He sure as hell shouldn’t be dragging him into any bathrooms.
Damon crosses the distance between them so quickly Alaric barely has time to register the fact that he’s moved. He presses his long, lean body against Alaric’s and Alaric can feel their cocks rubbing against each other through their jeans.
Yeah, he’s doing this.
“This only happens once,” Alaric says.
Damon winks before jerking Alaric’s pants down and wrapping his hand around Alaric’s erection. Alaric bites his tongue to keep from whimpering.
“Whatever you say, Ric,” Damon mutters against Alaric’s ear.
Without warning, Alaric flips them so Damon’s back is against the wall. Damon doesn’t fight him; in fact he seems perfectly happy to be manhandled. Alaric drops to his knees and yanks Damon’s jeans down only to find Damon’s cock straining against the flimsy cotton of a lace-trimmed black thong.
Alaric arches an eyebrow at Damon who merely grins and hooks a finger in the lace band to pull them down.
“Like I said, I wasn’t expecting you to give it up tonight.”
Alaric shakes his head. There’s no way he’s not going to regret this tomorrow.
Title: my heart was never pure
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Rating: R (sex)
Words: 253
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Elena knew she was always going to end up here.
A/N: Five Acts fic written forangeldylan628 who asked for first times.
This is not how she imagined it.
(And she did imagine it. Almost every day---the cool press of his mouth on hers, the way she would suck gently until his lips burned red with life, with blood. The way his voice would break around her name as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, drawing him in---)
But this is good too. Different.
He’s stronger than she expected, he holds her tighter than Stefan ever did, he holds her like he expects her to change her mind and bolt for the door.
He drags his tongue across her pulse point, lets his teeth graze flesh and her body tenses out of instinct. Reluctantly, he moves away from her neck to run a thumb across her lips, down the soft line of her jaw as if he’s memorizing the shape of her.
At some point she began to shiver.
His eyes are dark and full of want, not their usual blue---it doesn’t scare her.
“Do you trust me?” Damon asks.
She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him to her, catches his bottom lip between her teeth and sucks until she feels his moan.
When they part, his pale face is flushed red, his lips swollen. She shifts her hips upward, gasps as he pushes into her with one easy thrust.
“Elena…” his voice cracks and then she hears her own voice, muttering back, one word like an anthem.
“Yes.”
This is better.
Title: an act of faith against the night
Pairing: Stefan/Caroline
Rating: PG-13
Words: 531
Disclaimer: Not mine. Title from a Richard Siken poem.
Summary: Stefan stares at the sign, tipped over and cracked, letters faded---Welcome to Mystic Falls.
A/N: Five Acts fic forcrickets who asked for ghost towns, apocalypse, and isolation.
Stefan had hoped he would never live to see this day.
(He had hoped it would never come.)
The world has gone to hell and for the lucky, for the living this is the end.
But Stefan is not alive, hasn’t been for decades, so he persists along with the other monsters, the other devils, he persists along with her.
Caroline takes his hand, knitting her fingers through his, a reminder that he is not alone. Not yet.
“We could go somewhere else,” she says. “I bet the beaches in Miami are totally empty now.”
Only Caroline could find a silver lining in the apocalypse.
Stefan stares at the sign, tipped over and cracked, letters faded---Welcome to Mystic Falls.
“We’re where we need to be,” he says and Caroline tightens her grip on his hand.
*
It seems wrong for the town to be so empty. Mystic Falls was always teaming with life and death, with people loving, hating, fucking, killing. Stefan misses the chaos.
He watches Caroline closely, waiting for her to break. She never does. He forgets how much she’s changed. There are places she won’t go. The remnants of her house, the Lockwood estate, the school---they’re all off limits. But she makes the rest of the town their home.
They live in the mansion. Stefan can’t imagine living anywhere else. He turns every corner expecting to see ghosts, to hear voices he never thought he’d miss. He finds Caroline instead, sneaking up behind him, covering his eyes with her small hands. It’s not an unpleasant surprise.
*
“Do you want rabbit or Bambi?” she asks, two glasses of fresh blood clutched in her hands.
They could eat like animals now, there’s no one left to pretend for, but she still pours the blood of their kills into tumblers, still makes him sit down at the table like a man.
“Rabbit’s fine,” he says.
She wrinkles her nose and Stefan can’t stop himself from laughing.
“Now that I’ve called it Bambi, I’m kind of over this one,” she says.
Stefan leans forward and takes the glass of deer blood from her hand.
“So you’re okay with drinking Thumper then?” he teases.
“Shut up.”
She smiles brightly and that sight warms him faster than the blood ever could.
*
They lie face to face on a bed he’s shared with too many people before and stare at each other in the darkness. They’re quiet, both listening to the night, waiting for the sound of others. As usual, there’s nothing.
Even the vampires have left Mystic Falls to rot.
It’s just the two of them now. He doesn't mind.
“We don’t have to stay here,” Stefan whispers.
Caroline shifts closer until her head is tucked under his chin, her voice lost against his skin.
“I don’t mind. It’s nice…being home.”
*
They chase each other through the square, past The Grill and the offices with their shuttered windows and doors. They run and they forget for a moment to worry about the world beyond Mystic Falls, about all the people that will never come back.
He catches her and they fall to the ground, tangled together, laughing and free.
Pairing: Alaric/Damon
Rating: Hard R
Words:1,065
Disclaimer: Not my boys.
Summary: This was supposed to be a strategy meeting.
A/N: Five Acts fic for
janie_tangerine who asked for attention, consensual d/s, and crossdressing. Twelve.
That’s the number of times Damon has touched Alaric in the past twenty minutes. Briefly, he entertains the idea that it might be considered a little OCD to keep count. But then Damon leans across Alaric on the pretense of grabbing a bottle of ketchup and takes special care to make sure their thighs press together beneath the bar in the process and Alaric decides that keeping count is a very rational, very practical thing to do. Damon smirks to himself as he tips the glass bottle upside down and drenches his already soggy, inedible fries in ketchup.
This was supposed to be a strategy meeting. Alaric had come prepared to share the impressive number of ways he had learned how to kill a vampire so Damon would be ready for Klaus when he showed up on their doorstep. But so far they had discussed Springsteen vs. Dylan, got into an argument over Springsteen vs. Dylan, drank two and a half pitchers of beer, bemoaned their rotten luck with vampire women, and ordered two plates of food that they ignored in favor of more beer before cycling back to the Springsteen/Dylan debate.
And in between all that, Damon has somehow managed to inappropriately touch Alaric thirteen times. The first couple of times were innocent things---a tap on Alaric’s arm to get his attention, a quick, friendly nudge of his boot. But then they got strange. Once, Damon reached out to wipe an imaginary stain away from Alaric’s cheek with his thumb. Another time, he left his hand on Alaric’s knee so long Alaric was forced to turn sideways just to shake him off.
He knows Damon’s screwing with him. It’s a game. Damon wants to see how long it will take before Alaric calls him on his bullshit, before he lets on to the fact that Damon’s got him squirming. So Alaric keeps a running tally in his head and his mouth shut rather than give Damon the satisfaction of winning. In fact, Alaric thinks it’s about time to turn the tables.
(Also, he’s maybe a little drunk.)
“You okay, buddy?” Damon asks, eyes wide and as innocent as he can manage.
Alaric turns slightly so they’re facing one another on their bar stools, their legs sliding together like puzzle pieces, and reaches out to clamp a hand on Damon’s shoulder, taking extra care to make sure his hand touches the bare skin of Damon’s collarbone. Serves him right for leaving so much skin exposed. How damn hard is it to do a couple of buttons?
“I’m great,” he says. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m awesome,” Damon says. He scoots to the edge of his seat, forcing his knee to slide up the length of the inside of Alaric’s thigh, stopping less than inch away from his crotch. Alaric swallows hard and pretends not to notice the look of satisfaction on Damon’s smug face.
This is stupid. He’s a grown man. A grown, teacher type man. He shouldn’t be playing cat and mouse games with a vampire. Especially not this vampire. And especially not here with half of Mystic Falls watching them.
“What are you doing, Damon? Aren’t we a little old for this?”
Damon shrugs and flexes his leg so his knee brushes against Alaric’s crotch. Alaric’s breath hitches. He’s already hard and now Damon knows it.
“I’m pulling your pigtails,” Damon says. “You know, like when little Johnny likes little Sally he runs up to her on the playground and gives her pigtails a good yank---” he punctuates the word by rubbing is knee firmly against the rapidly growing bulge in Alaric’s pants.
Alaric’s had more than enough. He angrily shoves Damon’s leg away and slides off his stool with every intent of walking out the door, but Damon’s hand clamps down on his elbow like a vice and his face is suddenly so close Alaric can feel his cool, completely unnecessary breath on his cheek.
“I want to fuck you, Ric,” Damon whispers. “And I know you want to fuck me.”
“Go to hell,” Alaric growls.
Damon laughs and wraps a hand around the back of Alaric’s neck dragging him forward until their lips are crushing against each other. Alaric knows he should pull away. He’s standing in the middle of the only restaurant in Mystic Falls with his tongue jammed down Damon Salvatore’s throat.
There’s no way this is going to stay quiet.
But he is drunk and hard and Damon’s sucking at his bottom lip and fuck---
He pulls away and catches the corner of Damon’s jacket.
“Bathroom,” Alaric says through gritted teeth.
“Yes sir,” Damon replies.
Alaric pushes Damon through the door and begins checking the stalls while Damon leans against a sink watching his every move.
“I didn’t think you’d give in so easily,” Damon says conversationally. “I had a master plan and everything and then you go and pull me into a bathroom stall on the first night. Got to say, I’m a little disappointed in you, Ric. I didn’t think you were the easy type.”
Alaric turns the lock on the door and takes a deep breath before turning around. He’s lost his mind. That’s the only explanation. Damon killed him, for God’s sake. He sure as hell shouldn’t be dragging him into any bathrooms.
Damon crosses the distance between them so quickly Alaric barely has time to register the fact that he’s moved. He presses his long, lean body against Alaric’s and Alaric can feel their cocks rubbing against each other through their jeans.
Yeah, he’s doing this.
“This only happens once,” Alaric says.
Damon winks before jerking Alaric’s pants down and wrapping his hand around Alaric’s erection. Alaric bites his tongue to keep from whimpering.
“Whatever you say, Ric,” Damon mutters against Alaric’s ear.
Without warning, Alaric flips them so Damon’s back is against the wall. Damon doesn’t fight him; in fact he seems perfectly happy to be manhandled. Alaric drops to his knees and yanks Damon’s jeans down only to find Damon’s cock straining against the flimsy cotton of a lace-trimmed black thong.
Alaric arches an eyebrow at Damon who merely grins and hooks a finger in the lace band to pull them down.
“Like I said, I wasn’t expecting you to give it up tonight.”
Alaric shakes his head. There’s no way he’s not going to regret this tomorrow.
Title: my heart was never pure
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Rating: R (sex)
Words: 253
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Elena knew she was always going to end up here.
A/N: Five Acts fic written for
angeldylan628 who asked for first times. This is not how she imagined it.
(And she did imagine it. Almost every day---the cool press of his mouth on hers, the way she would suck gently until his lips burned red with life, with blood. The way his voice would break around her name as she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, drawing him in---)
But this is good too. Different.
He’s stronger than she expected, he holds her tighter than Stefan ever did, he holds her like he expects her to change her mind and bolt for the door.
He drags his tongue across her pulse point, lets his teeth graze flesh and her body tenses out of instinct. Reluctantly, he moves away from her neck to run a thumb across her lips, down the soft line of her jaw as if he’s memorizing the shape of her.
At some point she began to shiver.
His eyes are dark and full of want, not their usual blue---it doesn’t scare her.
“Do you trust me?” Damon asks.
She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him to her, catches his bottom lip between her teeth and sucks until she feels his moan.
When they part, his pale face is flushed red, his lips swollen. She shifts her hips upward, gasps as he pushes into her with one easy thrust.
“Elena…” his voice cracks and then she hears her own voice, muttering back, one word like an anthem.
“Yes.”
This is better.
Title: an act of faith against the night
Pairing: Stefan/Caroline
Rating: PG-13
Words: 531
Disclaimer: Not mine. Title from a Richard Siken poem.
Summary: Stefan stares at the sign, tipped over and cracked, letters faded---Welcome to Mystic Falls.
A/N: Five Acts fic for
crickets who asked for ghost towns, apocalypse, and isolation.Stefan had hoped he would never live to see this day.
(He had hoped it would never come.)
The world has gone to hell and for the lucky, for the living this is the end.
But Stefan is not alive, hasn’t been for decades, so he persists along with the other monsters, the other devils, he persists along with her.
Caroline takes his hand, knitting her fingers through his, a reminder that he is not alone. Not yet.
“We could go somewhere else,” she says. “I bet the beaches in Miami are totally empty now.”
Only Caroline could find a silver lining in the apocalypse.
Stefan stares at the sign, tipped over and cracked, letters faded---Welcome to Mystic Falls.
“We’re where we need to be,” he says and Caroline tightens her grip on his hand.
*
It seems wrong for the town to be so empty. Mystic Falls was always teaming with life and death, with people loving, hating, fucking, killing. Stefan misses the chaos.
He watches Caroline closely, waiting for her to break. She never does. He forgets how much she’s changed. There are places she won’t go. The remnants of her house, the Lockwood estate, the school---they’re all off limits. But she makes the rest of the town their home.
They live in the mansion. Stefan can’t imagine living anywhere else. He turns every corner expecting to see ghosts, to hear voices he never thought he’d miss. He finds Caroline instead, sneaking up behind him, covering his eyes with her small hands. It’s not an unpleasant surprise.
*
“Do you want rabbit or Bambi?” she asks, two glasses of fresh blood clutched in her hands.
They could eat like animals now, there’s no one left to pretend for, but she still pours the blood of their kills into tumblers, still makes him sit down at the table like a man.
“Rabbit’s fine,” he says.
She wrinkles her nose and Stefan can’t stop himself from laughing.
“Now that I’ve called it Bambi, I’m kind of over this one,” she says.
Stefan leans forward and takes the glass of deer blood from her hand.
“So you’re okay with drinking Thumper then?” he teases.
“Shut up.”
She smiles brightly and that sight warms him faster than the blood ever could.
*
They lie face to face on a bed he’s shared with too many people before and stare at each other in the darkness. They’re quiet, both listening to the night, waiting for the sound of others. As usual, there’s nothing.
Even the vampires have left Mystic Falls to rot.
It’s just the two of them now. He doesn't mind.
“We don’t have to stay here,” Stefan whispers.
Caroline shifts closer until her head is tucked under his chin, her voice lost against his skin.
“I don’t mind. It’s nice…being home.”
*
They chase each other through the square, past The Grill and the offices with their shuttered windows and doors. They run and they forget for a moment to worry about the world beyond Mystic Falls, about all the people that will never come back.
He catches her and they fall to the ground, tangled together, laughing and free.