This really was spectacularly fun, and not just because of the way Alaric was lurching and giggling. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled… swigging champagne from the neck of the bottle… Damon was going to courier a copy of the DVD to Stefan’s current abode with a bouquet and possibly a strip-o-gram. He needed to come up with something that rhymed with ‘married a hunter’. In the back seat of the taxi, Damon cheerfully let himself be pinned to the seat, rolling his hips up to make sure Alaric knew exactly what was waiting for him in the morning. Or the early afternoon. Or whenever the hell they woke up. Damon didn’t care.
“Football fields. Hmm. They’re big, right?” Damon took the wedding certificate, which was already getting crumpled, and rolled it in the little cardboard tube they’d tucked into the bag with the DVDs (beautifully emblazoned with a silhouette of two Elvises under a wedding arch… well, well well, they were learning to cater to everyone, weren’t they?).
“They’ve got everything,” Damon promised. “But no, red velvet pancakes and lamb chops sounds absolutely disgusting, not that it should stop you.” He slipped his hand into Alaric’s. “Honestly, three football fields worth of food and you want cheese fries? Ew.”
Except if Alaric wanted cheese fries, they were getting cheese fries. (also, if Alaric wanted cuddling, Alaric was getting the most thorough cuddling of his life.) Damon gave his hand a squeeze and dragged him in the direction of the guy who wanted either their money or their passes, and dug the passes out of the bag.
“And point us to the cheese fries,” he said, with a wink, and the man did as he was asked, years of despair over people who eat too much etched into his features. Poor soul.
So. Plates. Damon found them, and started off. “The question of the night is… exactly how much can Alaric Saltzman eat? I feel like having a bet with myself.”
A little while later they were sitting at a surprisingly elegant table with a less elegant amount of food; Damon didn’t even particularly care about the food, just wanted to watch Alaric enjoy himself, which was why Damon had put himself together a huge and obscene sundae with both hot and cold chocolate sauce and a lot of nuts. Plus whipped cream, the gross fake kind which Damon loved. Also a handful of cherries, mostly so he could suck the chocolate sauce off them and remind Alaric he was a genius for having proposed and wedded him in under an hour.
“I’m buying better rings,” Damon said, pointing his long sundae spoon at Alaric, and then sucking the ice cream off it in a way that would have gotten him arrested for lewd conduct in Utah, and possibly also Alabama. “Tomorrow. If we get out of bed. Or the next day. Something classic. And by classic, I mean expensive and impossible to remove.” He patted his eyelashes, and caught another spoonful of ice cream, while his ankle hooked around Alaric’s under the table. “Eat up. I want you sober and super, super bendy in the morning.”
The question of the night wasn’t how much Alaric Saltzman could eat; it was how much could Alaric Saltzman eat before he was singing praises to the gods while bent over the toilet bowl.
And would Damon hold his hair back?
Still, it was worth the challenge (and possible side effects), and Alaric felt glorious. He was married to about the sexiest creature to ever walk the planet, he was drunk off his ass on really good booze, and he was spending the week not hunting down monsters. Win. Win. Win.
“You need a tiara and a just married sash.” Alaric was only barely kidding. “I would look good on you. Maybe we can stop by Victoria Secrets…get you something lacy.” That had started out as a joke as well, but damned if the mental image didn’t make him wish they were somewhere alone – instead of in a vast sea of…
“Found the fries!” Alaric pointed excitedly at a basket of fries being poured out onto the buffet. They were sitting next to a well of cheese sauce, chili, sour cream…the makings of a beautiful mess that would certainly lead to indigestion later. “Does vampire blood help with heartburn?” he asked, not even remotely playing around. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Alaric knew he was going to pay for all this in the morning.
He took the plate from Damon and began loading it up. Fries. Chili. Cheese. Green Onions. Bacon bits. Jalapenos. Delicious.
“They have ice cream. Look,” he pointed to the back wall where there was a build your own sundae bar and about a hundred different types of pies, cakes, and other desserts. Fuck, he was in love. “I’m going to be so sick, but I’m going to love every minute… Eat something so I don’t look like the only tourist with eyes bigger than my stomach.”
A few minutes later he was at a table waiting on Damon to join him, happily munching on fries, and eyeing his next stop on the buffet. “You know what I think?” Alaric looked up as Damon sat down. “I think we should make this a tradition – every year until I’m old, fat, bald and in a rocker. Come here for our anniversary. Eat cheese fries and stay in a hotel with a room as big as a bowling alley. What do you think?”
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
2087
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
