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 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 breathe 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.”
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TVD; Damon/Alrac, #4 and a bit of #1 and #2, R, cool kids belong together (1/2)
Date: 2011-01-12 05:54 am (UTC)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 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 breathe 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.