"Well, sometimes… I do things I don't have to do." Damon tries to look indignant. Looks almost sheepish.
Alaric is incredulous. "You gonna recycle the same crap-ass apology you gave Mason Lockwood?"
"Yeah, well…" Damon's making eyes, and Alaric already knows he's going to forgive him. "I didn't mean it with him."
Damon's lip curls in a half smile, eyes boring holes in Alaric's, as he takes a step, three, towards his favourite human plaything.
Alaric feels a familiar tug, the fault line that runs straight from his heart to his cock. He takes a step back.
Number one rule when you're dealing with a predator: Don't. Take. A step. Back.
There's a blur and then Damon has him up against the cave wall. One hand on Alaric's hip running his fingers just inside the waistband of his jeans, the other on Alaric's throat, thumb over his pulse, and it's all so very, very familiar.
Fuck, I've missed this.
Unbidden, a sound escapes his throat. He can feel Damon's breath on his lips.
"What are you doing, Damon…" Because although the outcome is inevitable, sweat and come and knees crumbling, muscles that twitch deliciously, and probably a little blood, the dance must be played out; the push-pull that makes this whole thing so fucking sweet. Alaric leans his head against the rock, displaying his throat.
Damon nestles his nose into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply.
"Things I don't have to do." He places his mouth, open, wet, hotter than it has any right to be over that pulse point. Fangs out just enough to pierce skin, just a taste. Damon snickers.
"You're a terrible liar, Ric. I knew you weren't back on the vervain."
"Don't take it personally. I fuckin' hate the stuff."
Damon laughs low in his throat. He shifts his hand to Alaric's chest, feels his heart accelerate. "Is that right." He scrapes a fang across the spot. Draws blood, more than a taste, but he's not biting.
He never bites properly, not until he's asked, not Alaric, but somehow Alaric always ends up asking.
Alaric's resolve, shaky at best (who's he kidding? He's been wanting this for weeks, came to after his 'temporary funeral' on Damon's couch to the smell of sweat and bourbon and wanted it right then) crumbles. He rolls his eyes, hooks his elbow around Damon's neck and crushes their lips together.
He can feel Damon smile against his mouth before he pulls away. "You're such a slut, Ric."
"Yeah, whatever. Can I just check out this cave so we can go? This wall's not exactly comfortable, you know."
Damon responds by nudging Alaric's mouth open with his, deepening the kiss.
"Nope." He pops the 'p'. "That would be a waste of a perfectly good boner."
But it's too late, Damon's kissing him again, expertly unbuckling his belt, undoing his jeans. More than a little rough. The top button tears away, making a clinking sound as it hits the rock floor.
"You've gotta stop doin' that, man. Do you know how many pairs of… of, fuck." Damon has his hand down Alaric's pants, gripping him with those talented hands, thumb running pre-come over the tip of his cock. Equally talented lips and tongue distract his mouth from the complaint it was about to voice.
Damon groans, fisting him in long, slows tugs. He's not going to stop until Alaric's forgiven him properly. Alaric forgives him. Wants to forgive him with his face buried in Damon's crotch.
He reaches for Damon's belt.
"Nuh-uh-uh. You get to be the princess today." He easily knocks Alaric's hand away, grips his wrist, just hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to remind Alaric who's in charge. "Just think of this as the apology Mason Lockwood was never going to get."
"I thought you said it was too uncomfortable down here for that?" His pace is slow. Too slow.
"Harder," he commands. "Faster." Hates the scratch in his voice.
"Only if you ask nicely."
Damon shrugs. "Close enough." He picks up the pace, and it's been too long, and it's a good thing Damon's holding him up, holding him to the wall. He shudders, knees buckling, as he feels his balls tighten and release, shooting over Damon's hand, all over his own shirt.
Seems like every time he gets close to Damon Salvatore he ends up coming all over himself.
Damon's eyes are half closed as he raises his hand to his mouth. Alaric meets his gaze just as Damon licks his hand. "Hmm. Yummy. You know jizz is almost identical to blood, at the molecular level?" The way Damon pronounces 'molecular level' actually makes it sound like a newly-invented genre of porn. He's doing something obscene with his mouth, and it's enough to get Alaric back to half-mast.
But he smiles grimly, tucking himself back in his pants, doing up his belt. He's about to test the ability of his legs to hold him up when Damon pushes him against the wall again.
"One more thing." He bites at Alaric's bottom lip.
"Can it wait? Cave, bourbon, then one more thing."
"How about one more thing, then cave, then bourbon, and then several more things?" He pushes his hips into Alaric's, leaving no doubt about what the several more things might be.
Alaric rolls his eyes, hooking his fingers possessively through the belt loops on Damon's painted-on jeans. "What, then?"
"Something you said. Hmm. What was it? You were sounding like a whiny bitch at the time, so…" He clicks his fingers. "Oh, right. You told me I needed to 'take a beat' with Elena."
Suddenly unsure of where this might be going, Alaric starts to withdraw his fingers. Damon grabs his shirt, bunching it in a fist, kissing him hard again.
"She's a kid, Damon."
"Yes. She's a kid. I wanna go kill vampires, I wanna fuck in a cave, I wanna foil nefarious schemes, I'm not calling Elena fucking Gilbert, I'm calling you. So can the jealousy. Doesn't suit you."
"You haven't noticed the burning crush she has on you?"
Damon rolls his eyes. "She'll get over it as soon as I get St. Stefan back for her. So get in that cave and tell me how we're going to kill Klaus so I can get her out of my hair. 'Kay?"
He steps back, gesturing towards the hidden room.
Alaric crouches to climb through the hole, stopping to grab the lantern.
And hopes to himself that Damon never stops doing things he doesn't have to do.