Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Title and lyrics taken from "The horror of our love" by Ludo.

Written for the tvd_hiatus-challenge over at LJ.

I'm a killer
cold and wrathful
silent sleeper
I've been inside your bedroom
I've murdered half the town
left you love notes on their headstones
I'll fill the graveyards
until I have you

Sometimes he does things he doesn't have to do.

He snaps Alaric's neck in a fit of rage and the damned teacher gets angry at him for it. Won't speak to him for days. For weeks. He doesn't call, he doesn't come over for a drink, disappears from his life as if he's never been there, never been a part of it.

At first Damon thinks he can handle it, piece of cake. He'll come back, one day, show up at his doorstep to talk and clean things up between them, business as usual. What's a snapped neck between friends, anyway?

Except, he doesn't, Alaric doesn't get with the program, doesn't give in, not an inch. He stays away from him, and that's when Damon realizes that, maybe, doing things he doesn't have to do can be pretty stupid and will eventually hurt the one person he really doesn't want to get hurt: himself.

He also realizes something entirely different: This is what it's going to be like in the future, say, fifty years from now: Alaric will be gone, time will do its job, eventually. The ring won't keep him alive for centuries. It doesn't help against nature, death because of old age is anything but unnatural. And that means that, one day, he will be gone for good. Dead. Rotting in the ground, being eaten by worms and whatnot and that is…


That's when he comes up with the plan. It's pretty simple, actually, get him drunk, turn him and keep him at his side. Forever.

Oh, Alaric is going to throw a fit, Damon has no doubts about that. If temporarily killing him results in Alaric pouting for weeks, turning him into a vampire will make him furious. He will get angry, be disgusted with him, maybe even leave him. Will never want to see him again.

At first.

Damon knows about his own charms, he knows Alaric will come back eventually, he knows Alaric has a thing for him. And how could he not? He's going to have to wait for that, for him coming back. Maybe for months, for years if he has to. Because he wants him; it's as simple as that: he wants Alaric at his side.

He has it all planned out: he is going to invite him over, spend some time with him, get him drunk and eventually put something in his drink to knock him out. Because Alaric would fight against him if he found out what Damon has in mind. Alaric isn't stupid; he'll figure it out faster than Damon can come up with a backup plan.

That means he's not taking chances with this. He's going to turn him in the empty boarding house, while Stefan is away having a good time with Klaus and everything is so quiet and lonely that Alaric could scream for days and nobody would hear him. Alaric won't scream, though, won't be able to with a slit throat. Or a snapped neck. He hasn't decided on that yet. Maybe he'll just drink him dry.

Alaric arrives on time, looking good in black, appropriate. He's still a little annoyed about the neck snapping, tight-lipped at first, but Damon promises him to make up for it this night. He puts on the best show he can, charming his way back into Ric's heart using every trick in his book… and it works. Before long, Alaric is smiling at him, really smiling at him, for the first time in weeks. Damon feels his insides flutter at the thought of getting to see that smile for the rest of his life.

And then the mood changes, goes from relaxed to heated and before he knows it they are making out, pressing against each other on the couch, lips crushed together so hard he couldn't breathe even if he needed to and Damon is so stunned about it he forgets everything about his plan and just enjoys. They end up in bed together, fighting for the upper hand, doing things he's been itching to do for months now, and then Alaric is lying beneath him, all sweaty and relaxed and sated, grinning at him with that boyish charm Damon will make damn sure he'll never lose. This is right, this is what—who he wants.

He waits until Alaric has fallen asleep, watches him for a long time until he finally decides to do it. He tears open his own wrist, forcing his blood down Alaric's throat before the other wakes up enough to realize what is happening. Alaric starts coughing, tries to spit the blood out while Damon spoons up behind him, curling one arm across his throat, the other across his chest to keep him close, resting his forehead against Alaric's neck as the other man tries to buck him off and desperately fights for air. It takes some time. Alaric is strong, almost twists out of his hold, but in the end he is no match for Damon's strength. When his body gradually relaxes against him and his arms fall limp, Damon reaches out to pull the ring off his finger, throwing it into the darkness of his room.

And then he waits, stares at the dead body, running his hands across the naked back, waiting for him to come back.

Alaric wakes up with a breathless cry and starts twisting on the bed, back arching off the covers, eyes bloodshot, unseeing, fangs extended. He writhes on the bed in obvious agony, grasping at the covers, howling in pain as the vervain he's drunk that very morning burns through his veins, twisting as if he is being skinned alive. Damon pours an entire blood bag down his throat to make sure he'll get through transition and complete the change and the blood seems to help a little. Damon falls asleep to the sight of Alaric twitching feebly on the bed, fighting for every breath he no longer needs.

Alaric is so weakened by the vervain he spends two days just lying on the bed, sometimes awake, sometimes caught in nightmares. He doesn't talk to Damon, not one word, doesn't even look at him, and once he can walk, he puts on his clothes and leaves.

Damon lets him.


Alaric disappears.

Damon spends two weeks worrying that maybe he's found a way or someone to kill him, someone to take him out of his misery.

On the fifteenth day he gets a phone call. It's Katherine, checking in for chit-chat, as is her nature. He's about to hang up on her when she breaks the news to him that she's picked up a companion along the way, a young vampire who is anxious to learn more about their world. She doesn't need to tell him his name, but she picks up the jealousy in his voice and laughs at him, tells him to come and get him, take him home if he wants him so bad—but he refuses. He won't come for him, won't go after him, he'll wait.


When they finally meet, it's years later, at Elena's funeral.

Damon looks up to find Alaric standing in the background, dressed in black, watching the coffin being lowered into the earth, never once taking his eyes off it. He looks the same, exactly the same, the hair, his taste in clothing—everything is the same. Everything, but his eyes. Alaric's eyes are cold now, calculating. Their eyes meet over the crowd, Alaric's gaze searching his the moment the earth is filled into the open grave and they just look at each other, for a long time, none of them moving. Damon knows he looks sad, because he is, he misses Elena already, misses her voice, her presence in his life, but he misses him, too. Maybe more.

There's no sign of Katherine anywhere, but Damon knows she's there, too, clever enough to hide.

And then Alaric turns and walks away, without a word, without so much as a smile.

And, again, Damon lets him.

There's a note in his mail, a few days later, just a few words.

She would have hated me if I had killed you.

He smiles, he's expected no less.

After Elena's death, Damon leaves Mystic Falls and he never comes back.


The next decades become a game of hunting, cat against mouse, vampire against vampire hunter.

Damon doesn't exactly go into hiding, but he doesn't make it easy for Alaric to find him either. There are many meetings, fights, near-misses. Alaric always keeps humans out of their game; he will back down and stop anything as soon as Damon threatens innocents and Damon uses that against him mercilessly, enjoying the power he has over him.

But Alaric learns and he becomes faster, deadlier. A few times he almost gets him, using every trick in his little vampire hunter book. If Damon wasn't having so much fun teasing him he would have had to kill him by now, he's getting closer to him with each year.

Katherine finally grows tired of Alaric. Damon gets a call in the middle of the night. She rants at him how much she's over Alaric and his obsession, how she threw him out and screamed at him to find Damon already and get it over with. She tells Damon to kick his ass once he shows up, to take him, mark him and finally claim him, for God's sake. Damon likes the sound of that.

He has a run in with Stefan a few years later. His brother, now more loyal to Klaus than ever, attacks him on sight, does his best to kill him with his bare hands. Damon manages to fight him off and Stefan taunts him, tells him he'll always be alone, that everyone he's ever wanted to have will leave him eventually. Because he doesn't deserve them. Damon just laughs at him, tells him how wrong he is about that, but keeps quiet about the rest, doesn't want anyone to know just how much he is looking forward to that moment, to the minute he will have Alaric back in his life again.

It's then that he realizes he's beginning to grow tired of their game, doesn't want to wait anymore, doesn't want to play anymore. Alaric seems to sense it as well; only a week later they meet again.

It's some nameless town, a dark backyard.

Damon knows he's not alone, lets the young man he had been feeding on drop to the ground as soon as he senses another presence close by. The heartbeat gives him away instantly, the smell, the feeling, everything is right, everything screams his name. Damon turns, smile in place, searches the shadows for the familiar figure.

He's hit, something sharp and small slams into his chest, burning a hole into his flesh. Vervain bullets.

Damon lifts a hand, rubs it across his chest. "Ow", he complains lazily.

The shadows move in front of him. Alaric steps into the light of a streetlamp, rifle in one hand, held loosely at his side. His eyes are still as cold as when they met on the funeral, but Damon isn't afraid, he welcomes him with a smirk, even as his knees start to give out beneath him.

Alaric gets closer, until he's standing over him, looking down at him, face obscured by shadows.

"Finally," he says softly and Damon wants to say something, only his mouth won't let any sound out but a weak gasp for air. Alaric kneels down, gets closer, looks him straight in the eyes, smiling.

"You're a fool, Damon," he says, almost lovingly, resting a hand on top of his chest, right above his heart. "I wouldn't have said 'no' if you'd bothered to ask first."

The last thing Damon sees before everything goes black is Alaric pulling a stake out of his jacket.


I'm your servant
my immortal
pale and perfect
such unholy heaving
the statues close their eyes
the room is changing
break my skin
and drain me