It wasn’t until Alaric actually kissed him that Damon realized he’d been sure it wouldn’t happen, that he’d stammer some lame apology and go home again, that Damon was about to once again go upstairs with his dick in his hand and a head full of fake BFF (who was, genuinely, the real BFF as well).
Damon was dizzy in moments. Alaric’s hands were big, and… dominant in a way that suggested he was in for an interesting night, if Alaric could stay out of his own way. Damon felt a strong desire to do something, literally anything he could come up with to make Alaric keep going. Not just tonight. Tomorrow. The next day. Days and nights and weekends. Something real, in this sea of fake. Some trick, some performance that might prove he was worth coming back to. He felt Alaric’s tongue slip past his own and pushed closer.
I don’t want you to be a secret.
Fuck. If Damon hadn’t been sunk before he was now. Alaric, if drunk, sounded as sincere as anyone Damon had ever heard utter a word out loud, and urge to just fuck the rest of the world right off and insist on being folded into those arms was strong.
He licked his lips. If Alaric called this off now Damon was going to lose his mind. He might just pack a backpack and get on the next bus out of town.
He closed his eyes, and pressed his jaw into Alaric’s hand. Okay, apparently drunk was catching.
“She’ll be fine,” he said, opening his eyes again. Alaric’s pupils were as big as dinner plates. “Look, head to the side, airway clear. She’ll wake up sick as a dog and walk back to the bar to pick up her car, about the same time I’m nudging you awake for round two.”
Maybe the words were smartass but his voice… no, his voice was wrecked. Fuck the keys, he knew Alaric had a spare set in case of emergencies (and this was that, even without the gangsters). Damon opened the door and pulled Alaric through. He was torn. More efficient to just make their way to Alaric’s apartment like sensible adults and resume this once they were in his bedroom, but he had to be careful Alaric didn’t get a chance to start thinking straight, either.
… but no. There was nothing new about this expression. Alaric wanted him. It was the same face he’d seen at the end of the bar only a few hours ago, the same face he’d seen when he’d stepped out of a dressing room down the street the weekend he’d arrived. The only difference was that now, he’d had a taste, and he wanted even more than he had before.
“I don’t care if it’s a secret,” he said, turning the knob on Alaric’s door and pulling him inside. “As long as it’s real. I can be real with you. If I have to be this shadow, Damien, everywhere else, I can be Damon with you. Don’t change your mind when you’ve sobered up. Promise me.”
It sounded like something halfway between empowered and pathetic, which was probably about right. He put his hand on the back of Alaric’s neck, kicked the door closed and pulled him down for another kiss.
“So take me upstairs,” he said.
They were in Alaric’s apartment before he could even process what was happening. He remembered sparing the girl (whose name he couldn’t remember) a glance over Damon’s shoulder to make sure she was in the condition Damon claimed she was in, then he briefly remembered the door opening. After that, it was a blur…mainly because his brain was racing a mile a minute.
But, this time, it wasn’t whispering that getting close to Damon was a bad idea. This time he was screaming at him to pull Damon closer, lock the door, take him upstairs, and not let him go until he was a pile of goo on Alaric’s bed. It sounded like the perfect plan.
“Come on,” he said, voice huskier than even he recognized. Ric took hold of Damon’s hand the second the kiss was broken, reached behind him to flip the lock on the door with the other, and started tugging him toward the stairs. There was a momentary panic when he tried to remember if he had the things they needed upstairs; it had been a very long time since Ric was with anyone – and certainly much longer since he was with a man.
But yeah, he thought he had them covered.
There was laundry in the floor (it had been on the bed, but Ric kicked it off in a vain attempt to get to sleep earlier), but other than that, the room was sparse. It was a loft, open enough that it made having overnight guests awkward. His bed was large, soft, hunter green sheets that were heaven (if he did say so himself). Thick pillows. Ric really loved his bed; it was his favorite place in the entire apartment. Other than a nightstand on either side of the headboard and a chair (also covered in laundry), that was the sum total of his furnishings in there.
Which was fine; he rarely did anything but sleep there anyway.
Head spinning – but blissfully not from the booze – Ric pulled Damon into his arms the second their feet hit the carpet of his room. He had him pressed against the wall a second later, hands wandering down his sides while his lips wandered down Damon’s neck. “I can’t wait to get you in my bed. I have wanted this since…” Too many words. Sealing his lips over Damon’s, he kissed him hard – tongue tasting his lip, teeth tugging playfully.
Ric stepped back, to the side, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped just a bit, as he began tugging at his shoes, the buttons on his shirt. “Take your clothes off, Damon. I want to look at you.”
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