Archive of Our Own

Alaric

“I can’t find my keys.”

This was common enough; too much alcohol and not enough sleep, too many nightmares (or dreamed memories, Alaric really wasn’t sure which, only knew he woke up cold and rigid with terror) making the quality of his sleep poor. He misplaced everything. Once he searched for his wallet for almost an hour and was about to cancel his credit cards when Jeremy found it in the fridge.

“Fine. We’ll take my car.” A simple solution which showed, as so many things did, that Damon had failed to understand the essential problem, which was; keys. Gone.

Alaric looked around, pretended not to notice that Damon was once again deliberately standing too close. As he did. Hips and shoulders bumping more often than strictly necessary as if the right touch could transport them back. (It couldn’t.)

“We’re talking about nearly a four hundred mile round trip and we have to get back for ’Lena’s birthday. So. I’ll help you find your keys later if you get in the fucking car right now. Before she gets home and demands to know where we’re going.” Damon pressed a cool hand to Alaric’s hip, forcing him to step out, step away.

But. Alaric acquiesced, in the end, as he always did. Easier, that way.

Neither he nor Damon were expecting to find Elena leaning against the door of Alaric’s car in sensible clothes and shoes, dangling the keys, looking for all the world like she was planning to do a four hundred mile round trip with them.

“Nuh-uh.” Damon crossed his arms. “Forget it. No way in hell.”

“Seconded. What are you doing, Elena?”

From time to time, when Elena set her face in a determined line, Alaric could see Isobel in her features. Ferocious, beautiful. The long line of Elena’s legs was quite different, though, drawing the eye south, and then north again.

“You tell me,” she said. “Obviously we’re going somewhere. You two’ve been whispering. You’re like schoolgirls. Is it the lead I got from Sheriff Forbes?”

“Not a lead. A half-lead. At best. And anyway. You have a birthday party tonight. You have less than ten hours to do your hair and makeup. Better get to it.” Damon tried to snatch the keys.

Elena pulled them away.

“I’m serious, Damon.”

“It’s either something you don’t need to see, or it’s nothing at all.” Alaric stepped in. “I’m supposed to be taking care of you, Elena. This me taking care of you.”

“I need to know. If I’ve lost Stefan – and you two seem to forget, but I helped scrub blood out of the floorboards at the loft, I know he’s been drinking – I need to see it. Or I’ll never move on.”

**

Elena cried silently in the back seat all the way home from Tennessee with her fingers tangled with Damon’s where they trailed behind him, between the seats, until Alaric couldn’t bear it a minute longer and pulled over, so Damon could crawl in the back and hold her. No one spoke, with the smells of blood and smoke and gasoline lingering in their clothes.

**

The party was small, of course, small for Caroline. Only three hundred or so people, filling up the boarding house with music and noise and too much life when Elena’s eyes were still too wet and too red from all the crying. Alaric fought the urge hourly to throw everyone out, but as it was neither his house nor his party he didn’t; instead he sat with Damon on the side porch and drank too much.

Damon sat too close, knees almost touching. Alaric ignored it.

“We should have stopped her,” he said, for what must have been the hundredth time. Damon raised an eyebrow.

“Short of tying her up and sticking her in the basement, how would you have gone about doing that?”

Alaric shook his head. “I don’t know. Something. She shouldn’t have seen… that.”

Damon inched closer, or he didn’t; was closer, for a moment, before he leaned away, and after, he might have been closer or he might not have been. His point was the leaning.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Damon drained his glass, topped it up again. Topped Alaric’s glass up too, and it wasn’t empty. Unnecessary. “She’ll stop chasing him, now.”

“Will she?”

Damon shrugged. “I have no idea. More likely than it was yesterday, though.”

Elena wore a white dress. Pretty, of course, though Elena was always beautiful; just the white seemed inappropriate to her mood. She joined them, slumping against the wall between them. Damon leaned to unnecessarily brush a wisp of hair from her shoulder.

Always with the leaning.

“You alright?”

Elena turned to him, then. Shook her head. “No. I wish everyone would go.” She took Damon’s glass.

“We could.” Damon said it quietly, kinder than he usually spoke. “We could leave.”

Elena looked enthused by the idea for a moment, but she slumped lower again. “Caroline would kill me. And they’d trash the place.”

“Good point.”

Alaric realized he was staring at Elena’s throat, her décolletage. South, to the dip between her breasts. Tore his eyes away, but it was too late. Elena raised a hand to her throat. “I know,” she said. “It’s weird, huh?”

Weird wasn’t what Alaric was thinking.

“After today, I can’t wear it any more.”

There was a long moment of disorientation. Ah. Her necklace. They had found it when cleaning the loft. Alaric had washed it carefully and Damon had put it around Elena’s neck. And now, it was gone.

“I put it… in Stefan’s drawer. I don’t even want to see it.”

Alaric’s eye was drawn back to that smooth plane of tanned flesh. Away, and he met Damon’s smirk, curious and satisfied.

“Good idea,” he mused, and returned to his drink.

It was time to leave the Gilberts’ for good.

**

She cried, a little, when he told her at the door that he was going. He gave her reasons, but not all of them. “I encourage bad behavior,” he said. “I’m not a role model.” I want to know what your skin tastes like was one of the things he didn’t say, and wouldn’t. The next time you crawl into my bed I’m gonna do something neither of us can come back from was another. “You’re eighteen. You can do all this yourself, now.”

He hardened his heart against her wet eyes and pulled the door closed behind him.

The loft was just the loft, though there were places that would never come clean. Not the loft it had been, once. It didn’t feel like home, but then, it never had, not really; he lived in it, that was all. His stuff was there. His favorite coffee mug and his books.

He toed his shoes off, there at the door, crossed to the bed, and fell on top of the covers, fully clothed, to sleep.

When he woke up it was horribly and all at once with one strong hand in his hair, another roughly yanking his arm, lifting him to his feet. Throwing him into a chair. There was a searing pain in his shoulder – not dislocated, but badly wrenched – as strong hands clasped his together, behind the chair back. Tied them tight and rough until the blood wasn’t flowing properly and struggling made everything hurt that much worse.

Suddenly, the light was on. Every corner of the room was illuminated, and Alaric had to blink.

“Who…?”

Stefan stood leaning against the back of the door.

“Hi, Alaric. How have you been? Good? Keeping busy?”

Stefan’s mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t.

“Stefan?”

“Well, if it looks like a duck, and walks like a duck, but blacks out and tears the heads off girls on orders from its werepire master, is it still a duck?”

For the first time since Alaric had returned John Gilbert’s ring, he felt naked without it.

All too suddenly there, Stefan punched Alaric hard, across the jaw, and he blacked out.

When he woke again – not too long after – the loft was no longer just the loft. It was a war zone. Books were thrown from shelves and torn apart. Drawers were emptied, picture frames shattered. Even Alaric’s clothing had been torn to rags. Stefan sat in a chair across from Alaric’s, methodically tearing the pages out of an early edition of The day Lincoln was shot. Each page fluttered to the ground before Stefan took the next one.

“Thanks for that,” Alaric slurred. “Been meaning to wreck all my stuff.”

“You took Elena to Tennessee.” It wasn’t a question.

“It was that or lock her in the basement at the boarding house.” Alaric stretched his jaw out. “Tenacious, that girlfriend of yours.” Shooting for conversational and sounding more like someone who had just taken a fist to the jaw.

“No, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you took her. She’ll stop trying to save me, now. Unfortunately, Damon? Not so much.” Stefan threw the empty book cover across the room. “Need to find a way to motivate him.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“He thinks you just texted him a booty call. He’ll be here in another five minutes or so, I think. He’s been lonely since you pulled the plug on your little… fling? Whatever you called it. What will complete this lovely tableau?” Stefan clicked his fingers. “I know.”

Faster than could be believed, he closed the space between their chairs. Eyes black, fangs out. “Give him a message, there’s a good dog. Tell him to stay away. I’m not coming back. I don’t want to.” And he sank his teeth into Alaric’s throat.

Alaric hollered. Maybe he did, or maybe the sound was muffled by Stefan’s hand over his mouth. He tried, anyway, for a long moment before he was pulled under.

**

Alaric woke with Damon’s fingers on his wrist. On noticing that, he noticed a number of things all at once; he was lying on soft bedding, not slumped in a chair. His hands, his wrists, his arms, all hurt terribly. His throat doubly so.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ric.”

Eloquent.

“Nope. Just your cuddly little bro.” Alaric coughed, and flecks of blood escaped his mouth as he did so. “Think I liked him better when he was the good brother.”

Damon grunted. Sat on the edge of the bed. Let his face shift and tore delicately into his own wrist. “Here. Medicine.”

Alaric shook his head. “No need. I’ll -”

“Not a negotiation.” Damon held his wrist to Alaric’s mouth, anchored him there with the other hand. Smirked, somewhat, but less than he probably wanted to; still his eyes were bright. “Been a while.”

This used to be recreational, Alaric thought absently. Eyes fluttering closed, the taste of Damon’s blood and the smell of his skin setting off particular neural pathways, making his cock twitch dangerously.

Finally Alaric pulled away, opened his eyes. “Yeah.” He felt the pain subside, the disconcerting feeling of the skin at his throat beginning to knit shut. “Thanks. You should go.”

Damon furrowed his brow. “Me? We. We should go. You shouldn’t have even moved back in here, after… everything. Once this place was Access All Vampires. I thought you were at the Gilbert’s.”

Everything. Interesting way to put it. Everything. You mean the time I was possessed by a thousand year old vampire and you didn’t even notice? And when you worked it out, you let a girl die for me? And sure, Bonnie was fine, in the end, but it all could have fallen out very differently.

Alaric let his eyes close again, vaguely aware of the fireworks going off in his brain. Vampire blood. Awful stuff. Except not. Fantastic. He felt like he could run for miles, roll Damon onto his stomach and fuck him for an hour.

“I can’t sleep on the Gilbert couch forever.” Not where Elena sneaks up and insinuates herself into my arms while I’m asleep, he doesn’t add.

“Wasn’t what I was suggesting.” Damon raised his eyebrows. “Oh, don’t be such a killjoy. It’s a boarding house. You can have your own room. I’ll even let you lock the door.”

It was the dumbest idea Alaric had ever heard; and it was his only real option. For now.

“I’m getting a new apartment as soon as I can find one.”

“Naturally,” Damon agreed, nodding. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**

The following day Alaric returned to the loft with garbage bags, and a couple of large bins, and threw away almost everything he owned. Quietly cataloguing all the shopping he’d have to do. Clothes. Only a couple of dozen books remained undamaged. His cutlery and pots and pans were fine, but all the plates and mugs and glasses were smashed. Stefan was nothing, if not thorough.

There was a knock on the door.

“Go away, Damon,” he called, but the knock persisted. He climbed to his feet to answer it.

Elena was smiling, until she saw the state of the loft. “Oh, my god,” she said. “What happened?”

Alaric turned away.

“Did Klaus do this? Why is there blood on your shirt?”

“It wasn’t Klaus.”

Elena nodded. “Stefan.”

“It was a message for you and Damon,” he admitted. “To stop looking for him.”

Elena’s eyes were freshly wet. “Let me help,” she said. “I want to help.”

Alaric shook his head. “No.”

Elena ignored this as she ignored everything. Pulled her hair back into a ponytail like she was getting ready for a fundraising car wash, and not a grizzly clean-up.

They worked silently, and Alaric was unsurprised when Damon arrived. He nodded sharply and began to carry rubbish bags downstairs to a dumpster.

When most of it was gone, Damon produced a shopping bag. “Here. Not much, but it’ll get you started.”

Jeans and a couple of t-shirts. Alaric nodded sharply. “Thanks,” he said, slipping into the bathroom to shower quickly and change.

It was ridiculous, to jerk off in the shower with Damon and Elena in the next room; but whatever, he had to do something. On one shoulder, a tiny devil yelled over and over ‘she’s eighteen! It’s legal!’ and on the other, another devil yelled ‘he wants you! Just take him!’

In every cartoon Alaric had ever seen on this theme, one shoulder had an angel.

Just his luck.

**

No arrangement was made to meet Jeremy for dinner at the Grill; still, that’s what happened. The Grill had its own gravity on harder nights, drew them in anyway. Jeremy was quiet. Examining Elena from heavily lidded eyes.

“Spill, Jer,” she said at last.

“Does Damon have to be here for this?”

Damon started to slip out of the booth. “I’ll just go and fuck myself,” he said, growling, but Elena stayed him with a hand.

“Jer… we don’t have much family left. This is it. So spill.”

Alaric couldn’t bring himself to meet Damon’s eyes. Too much responsibility. Even across the table, though, he could feel Damon’s body shift; not fear. Anticipation. He was loving this. Not the loss of Stefan, but the accompanying gain; he’d have Elena right where he wanted her. Take care of her until she fell under his spell.

The image of Damon and Elena together was intoxicating, and repellent. They were both so beautiful. And Damon could take care of her so Alaric didn’t have to. He wasn’t sure what inspired more jealousy, the thought of Elena’s hands on Damon, or the thought of Damon’s hands on Elena; he only knew he hated himself for thinking about it.

“I’m moving in with Matt.”

Jeremy’s voice focussed Alaric very effectively.

Elena was still, a long moment, and then she nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s not you, Lena. Or you, Ric. It’s just… Stefan, Elijah, Katherine. Anyone can get in there.”

Elena shook her head. “We can give the house to Alaric. Sign it over. Then…”

Alaric’s heart clenched in panic.

“Or we can sell it. Use the money for college and rent. Matt’s… no one would try to go after Matt,” Jeremy said; and there was truth to this, too. “He’s just a normal human dude with rent he can hardly pay and a spare room. I want this,” he added. It sounded like an afterthought, but Alaric suspected it way just the part he didn’t want to say.

For a long time, Elena held Jeremy’s eyes. At last, she nodded.

After a silent meal Jeremy left, and Alaric rubbed his finger and thumb over his eyelids. Leaned on the table, head propped up on his elbows. Ignored Damon’s leg when it crept across the space under the table to rest against his own.

“Can I move to the boarding house too? Live with you two?”

Damon agreed, quickly. Alaric looked up. “I won’t be staying, Elena. Gonna find my own apartment, as soon as I can.”

The look of disappointment on her face was horrible, and wonderful, and Alaric blocked it out.

**

The room Damon had picked for Alaric was nearly a mirror of his own, and the bed was just as improbably large. Alaric closed the door, toed off his shoes. Thought for a moment about locking the door, too, but he didn’t.

It was like a hotel, impersonal. Two boxes of various kitchen items and his remaining books were stacked against one wall. There was a suitcase full of boxers and socks and three t-shirts with the tags still on. The weights bench, hard to destroy even for a crazed vampire, stood out strangely.

Alaric sat on the edge of the bed. How had this become his life? He lay back, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. There was a knock on the door.

“Go away, Damon,” he called.

The door opened, as he knew it would. Damon leaned against the door jamb.

“I could kill Stefan,” Alaric said.

“I kinda want to send him flowers.”

Alaric pushed himself up onto his elbows and fixed Damon with a glare. “Why are you still bothering? Play your cards right and you’ll have Elena, soon enough. Why keep chasing me?”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “I am a complicated man,” he said. “Any chance you’re gonna stop being mad at me anytime soon?”

Alaric lay back again. Hoped it didn’t look like an invitation. “I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m just done.”

Damon was silent for a long time. “That’ll do, for now,” he said, pulling the door shut as he left.

**

Elena moved in the following day; not completely, but she moved enough clothes and enough of her own things so she was definitely now a resident of the boarding house, and not the Gilbert house. Jeremy moved everything he had into Matt’s house.

Truth be told, the knowledge that she wasn’t sleeping in an otherwise empty house was a relief. There was very little that could happen to her here – or nearly happen – that Damon couldn’t take care of.

It was about two in the morning, and Alaric was a little tipsy, and almost asleep, when there was a soft knock on his bedroom door. Almost automatically, he prepared to call out his standard go away, Damon, when he realized the knock was smaller, tentative.

Elena, then. Fuck.

She turned the doorknob, and stepped partially inside.

“Ric?”

Her voice was husky, panicked.

“You okay?” Alaric rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Nightmare. Can I sleep with you?”

No, no, no. No way. Not again.

“I thought they’d stopped,” he said. Prayed they’d stopped would be more accurate. It had been killing him, for weeks. After her death, when she’d wake up screaming and he’d curl up on her bed with her, careful to stay on top of the blankets, where it was safe. Worse nights when she would wake quieter, and sneak in with him on the couch, far too small, crawl into his arms.

“They had. Until Tennessee.”

Dammit.

At least this bed was huge. If he was careful, he could keep an acre of space between them.

“Course you can,” his treacherous mouth shaped. He shifted until he was on the very edge of the bed, furthest from the door.

Elena slipped between the sheets. “You’ll fall off,” she said.

Okay, so he was being ridiculous. He moved a little closer to the middle of the bed. Elena moved into his arms. Unbidden, they closed around her.

Dammit.

“I just… can’t believe it’s him,” she said. “You know?”

Alaric could feel her breath against his bare chest. First priority when he did some shopping would be pajamas. Itchy ones that covered every inch of his body. He’d sleep in socks. In Kevlar. He pressed a kissed to Elena’s forehead. “I know. We’ll… Damon will… Fuck, Elena.”

“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” she said. “I have to let him go. I just… haven’t worked out how, yet.”

**

Alaric’s own dreams were unpleasant as well, but they didn’t make him scream. He’d wake cold and sweating, half-remembering some hideous detail; Katherine stabbing herself over and over in the leg, the sick sensation of blood that was not his own being forced into his veins. Katherine beneath him, snarling, but submitting, sometimes with tears in her eyes.

When he woke his heart would be thrumming in his chest, his breathing panicked. He could smell blood and more than once he had woken to find half moons cut into his palms, made by his own fingernails. Sometimes he tasted blood in his mouth and about half those times the blood would be his own, drawn from his own tongue with his own teeth. Sometimes it would be a memory of Katherine’s blood.

When he woke, completely, when he remembered where he was, remembered who he was, he would hit the weights bench for an hour or more, until he couldn’t see for the sweat in his eyes. Shower until he was entirely himself again, every inch, until he couldn’t smell Katherine’s perfume, couldn’t see the fear in her eyes. Couldn’t taste blood in his mouth.

Alaric never had the nightmares with Elena in his bed.

**

Alaric was like a zombie, during the day. School would start soon. He had to do something.

He sat at the kitchen counter with a newspaper, absently drinking coffee. Elena slipped in, sat beside him. Damon followed. Poured coffee. Almost fondly, he said “You look like shit.”

Raising an eyebrow, smiling a little, but not looking up, Alaric deadpanned “Thanks. Really.” He turned the page. Circled two small advertisements for apartments. Very limited market, unfortunately.

“I have a present for you,” Elena said, watching him make a third circle. “A back to school present.”

He gave her a sideways grin. “Is it clothes? A lot of clothes?”

She giggled. “No. But I’ll go shopping with you, if you like. You can’t wear the same few t-shirts over and over every day.” She raised a hand. In it was a safety razor with a bright red bow.

Alaric laughed; a good laugh, a rare laugh. He was accustomed to laughing a lot, but it had been so long since there was much to laugh about. Damon grinned as well, cracking eggs into a bowl.

“You want me to shave my chest?”

“Never! I want that animal off your face.” Smiling, Elena reached to put her hands on Alaric’s cheeks, to trace his eye sockets with her thumbs. Tender. Worse; loving. The temptation to lean across and kiss her was as overwhelming as the look on her face that promised she wouldn’t resist. He recoiled, leaping from the stool as if it hurt, those delicate fingers, that gentle promise.

“Thanks,” he said. Took the razor, and just left. Didn’t meet Elena’s eyes, or Damon’s.

In his bathroom, Alaric stood for a long time. He took a shower, a long one, to open up his pores, make a closer shave. Jerked off because he had to do something. Living with Damon and Elena was torture. In two weeks Elena had shared his bed three times, curling her warm body against his own, slinging a leg over her hip as if she was a little girl, and not a woman with a body built of sin. He was going to have to talk to her about it. It was…

“Inappropriate,” he muttered as he came all over his hand and against the shower wall.

Jesus. How had this become his life?

He should go. Leave Mystic Falls. Permanently. Elena was safe, as long as she was believed dead. For anything else she had Damon.

Alaric knotted a towel around his waist – Damon’s towel, of course, everything was Damon’s, Alaric had nothing left of his own, no home, not a coffee mug, barely a book to his name, all Damon’s – and stood in front of the mirror.

Okay, so she was right. He needed to shave. This wasn’t stubble. This was just bad facial hair.

He stared for a long moment at the half-moon cuts in his palms, partially healed.

After lathering up, Alaric took his time, careful not to nick himself anywhere; a good shave, not his usual hurried scrape in the morning before work. Finally he slapped some aftershave on (his own – something Stefan hadn’t smashed), smarting at the burn. He dressed again, and stood for a long time breathing in and out, in and out until it was easy again. Leaning against the window. Ghosted a hand over the scar on his hip, Damon’s teeth, Damon’s brand. Why its presence still comforted him Alaric couldn’t say. He could smell just faintly the sweat of the last bad night, so before he left the room, he threw the windows open, that the fresh Mystic Falls air might take it all away.

Obviously, Damon had waited with the eggs and they were ready just as Alaric reached the kitchen. He smiled, not over-bright, hoped it didn’t look as false as it felt. He pointed at his face. “Better?”

Elena nodded. “Better,” she said, but she looked a little sad.

**

The night before school was to start again the three of them sat in the library, quiet. Alaric sat in a big, comfortable chair while Damon and Elena bickered quietly on the couch. He’d been back at work a week, already, plotting the semester’s lessons and enjoying the silence of an empty school. Would miss it empty.

True to her word Elena had taken him shopping. Said it was the least she could do when he and Damon had helped her pack up the rest of the Gilbert house and get it ready for sale.

(“Are you… feeling okay about this?”, Alaric had asked her. With her hair tied up and back her neck was impossibly long, ripe for kissing and tasting. Alaric stared at a poster in the realtor’s office instead, a photo of a happy family. Nice normal family, everything he’d never have.

She’d shrugged. “It’s already under offer. I can take my memories with me.” But she’d tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

Elena sounded calm and adult, which always made things worse. Made it harder to convince himself every day that she was just too young.)

Damon raised an eyebrow at Alaric. “You got a pen?”

Alaric shook his head. “What?”

“Pen. Stick thing with ink in it. Used for writing. I thought you went to college?”

“The sarcasm’s clever, Damon. Yeah.” Alaric’s jacket was draped over a nearby chair, and in the pocket was a pen. Alaric tried to ignore the way Damon tried to tickle Elena, the way she shrieked and pulled away from him.

It was better than all the crying had been. Still.

“Do you want this?” Alaric held out the pen. Damon tilted his chin at the side board.

“Got some papers for you to sign.”

Elena stilled. Looked altogether too much like she knew this was coming. Alaric frowned. “Papers?”

“To give you the boarding house. You can go over it all, if you like. Just don’t actually sign until I’m out on the porch,” he warned.

Alaric slumped. Yes. Legal papers. Here, have a boarding house, and some sumptuous grounds, too. All very proper.

“What are you… Damon, what the fuck?”

Damon stood and crossed his arms. “You know it makes sense.”

Alaric put the pen down. Not a bad plan, as far the plans of evil geniuses go, he supposed. The signature wouldn’t mean anything if Alaric wasn’t living in the house. Damon’s plan. Tether him, tether him and Elena both. Make it so he couldn’t leave, not if he wanted Elena safe.

Alaric listed names in his head. Stefan, Katherine, Elijah. Klaus, possibly, since Klaus, wearing Alaric’s body, had been invited inside the house. Who knew?

And yet.

“I… can’t. I can’t stay here.”

Elena spoke, then. “Why? You have to live somewhere. Why not here?”

Alaric imagined months, a year – two years, since he couldn’t imagine leaving Mystic Falls while Jeremy was still in school, either – living here, with these two. Hoping that Elena would tiptoe into his bedroom every night, press her warm body against his, frighten the nightmares away. Hoping she wouldn’t. Wondering if her lip gloss tasted the way it smelled. Holding onto the arms of his chair to stop himself crossing the room and pinning Damon to the bookshelf. Missing the feel of a hard body beneath his, Damon’s teeth in his lip or his hip, the sensation of fireworks going off in his brain. Damon’s bruising kiss.

Imagined jerking one out in the shower every morning as quietly as he could to try and keep his raging libido in check.

Storming up the stairs didn’t seem like much of an option, so Alaric dropped the pen on the papers and returned to his chair.

Damon poured a large glass of bourbon and crossed the room to push it into Alaric’s hand. “See, I don’t know, Ric. Maybe they do things differently in Boston. But I was raised to believe that if someone gives you a gift, you say ‘thank you’.”

A harness, cuffs. A chain. A thin sliver of gilt around one ankle, tightening when Alaric tried to pull away. “Gift?”

Damon shrugged. “Yeah. What, you were angling for a tie pin?” He settled back into the couch. “That would be ridiculous. You don’t even wear ties.” His tone was light but his expression was tense and there was no smirk where a smirk should be, just a cautious, angry lip turned up a quarter-inch.

Elena watched with bright eyes and a curious expression.

Alaric leaned his elbows on his knees and slumped, badly. “This was never meant to be long term,” he sighed.

“And yet,” Damon answered quietly. “Here we are. Would it kill you? Is it the worst thing in the world, the thought of living with us?”

Alaric met Damon’s eyes.

Easy to forget, at times, but everything that Damon did was motivated by a crushing loneliness. He managed it a lot of the time by pushing people away completely, choosing to be on his own. Spending decades at a time without a real home. Drifting in and out of people’s lives, tormenting Stefan for a while because Stefan was the closest thing he had to ‘home’. Vanishing again.

The thought of finding a way to ensure Alaric and Elena stayed must have been enticing.

“How long is it since you killed anyone?” The silence was so absolute, suddenly, that you could have heard a pin drop.

Damon’s face drew storm clouds. “You know.”

Alaric held his gaze.

“Long time.”

Elena stilled again. Made herself as small as possible on the couch.

“After the Rose thing.”

Pretending Damon wasn’t what he was did no one any favors.

“Do it again and I’ll take Elena and we’ll go. And you’ll never see either of us again. Get outside. Fast. Before I change my mind.”

With a quirk of one eyebrow, Damon slipped out of the library and a moment later, the front door opened on well-oiled hinges. Alaric stood by the sideboard, hand poised over the papers.

“You…  really don’t want to stay?” Elena asked, from her space on the couch.

Alaric shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m just… afraid of what will happen if I do.”

Elena was there, then, a warm body tucked against his own. “But we’re family.”

“You’re really a sucker for a lost cause,” Alaric said.

“You keep saying that. But you’re not a lost cause, Ric. You’re just… lost. So am I. So’s Damon.”

A moment later, Elena’s tiny hand was slipping the Gilbert ring onto Alaric’s finger. It was twenty times heavier than he remembered, heavier than physics should have allowed. He barely met Elena’s eyes.

“I just think, since Damon’s giving you something.” She turned her head, straining to meet his eyes.

Alaric shook his head. “No. That’s for your kids, some day.” He tried to pull it away, but Elena closed her hand over it.

“No kids for me. Line ends here.”

For a brief, too long, beautiful, horrible moment, Alaric wanted to lean down and kiss her. Taste her lips, her tongue. Tangle his hands in her hair.

Instead he closed his eyes and counted to ten.

“When you change your mind, I’m giving it back.” He tightened the hand into a fist, and the deed was done. A ring on one finger and a pen in his hand, he prepared to sign for his fate. He flipped through the stack, signing everywhere he found a little red flag. He tried not to think of them as red flags and all but they were, literally, stickers in the shape of little red flags. They might as well have flashed neon: DANGER. “There. Why do I feel like I just signed over my soul?”

Elena leaned against him, put a hand around his waist. “You didn’t,” she promised. She pressed her palm into his side, and he wondered if she knew that below her hand was a scar.

(They had built up over months. Alaric had never given it a moment’s thought, how he’d ever explain them away to someone else. Never occurred to him that he’d have to.

Jesus. He was like a teenager. No frontal lobe to speak of. Consequences? What are those?)

Alaric dropped an arm around Elena’s shoulder, pressed a kiss into her hair, dangerous as he knew it was. “I meant what I said,” he promised. “Damon goes dark side and we’re out of here. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, leaning her head against his chest. “I promise.”

Elena and Alaric walked to the front door, and Alaric opened it. Damon stood with his mouth set in a thin line. Waiting.

“You should make up some rules,” Elena said. Wicked smile on her face. “Before you let him in.”

He’d already made the only rule that counted for anything. “Come in, Damon,” he said. Turned on his heel and ascended the stairs.

**

Elena

As much time as Elena had spent in the boarding house, she’d never explored it.

The room Damon had picked out for her was beautiful, and he’d spent a long Saturday helping her to paint it a soft grey, to tone down the severity of the wood; and it had a picture window, which made it feel more like home, a place to sit and write in her diary.

Not that she did that any more.

The picture window, with its upholstered bench, was instead where she sat to remember and forget  and remember some more; everyone lost, and everyone missed. Jenna, most of all, but Stefan, too, who felt almost as much like a ghost and had since she’d seen the girl in Tennessee put back together like a puzzle in a room with blood splatter on the walls. John, who had sacrificed himself for Elena. Even Isobel, who Alaric had lost as well, though he wouldn’t talk about it.

Elena would sit and look out the window at the grounds and the edge of the forest and wonder every day if ghosts were real, if anyone was watching out for her. It made her feel very much alone.

Elena’s memories of the night of the ritual were foggy, thankfully, but thinking about it still felt like taking a knife to the gut. Watching Jenna’s sweet face turn for the first time, terrified and beautiful. The feeling of panic when Elena’s life left her body. Klaus’ hands on her. She wondered if it would have been easier, or harder, if Klaus had still been wearing Alaric’s body at the time.

No. Harder, definitely harder.

Later, there was more. The sickening flat crunch when John hit the ground outside the Bennett house. Jenna’s funeral. Damon getting sick, trying to drain her dry. Holding him in her arms while he nearly died himself.

That kiss, that stupid kiss. That she couldn’t stop thinking about. Not even a real kiss, just lips barely pressed together. It shouldn’t have happened. She was with Stefan, then. Stefan wasn’t a monster, then.

‘Then’ seemed like a very long time ago.

The house was rarely empty but Alaric was often alone in his room, and Damon disappeared for hours on end, so it seemed empty. Or, empty of people. The memories were held tight in the walls and lingered in the carpets. The paintings and photographs. The strange nick-knacks on the shelves were evidence of things Elena didn’t know yet and might never know because there were too many years of history to be recalled.

(“What do you mean, you don’t know where it came from?” she asked Damon one day of a strange, tiny jug, used to water down whisky at the table. “It’s so pretty. You really don’t remember?” Honestly, even the idea of table whisky was sort of antiquated and sweet.

His expression had been incredulous. “What did you have for breakfast Thursday last week?”

Elena didn’t know. She wished he’d asked about a Sunday, because Damon cooked bacon and eggs on Sundays so Alaric would sit and eat with them. He dragged it out for hours, feeding them fruit salad for breakfast-dessert, until everyone was laughing, and Alaric forgot to brood altogether.

Damon had leaned into her hair, spoken into her ear. “I don’t know who owned the stupid jug. I don’t remember the boring bits. You had fruit toast for breakfast last Thursday and you put too much cinnamon on it, so you sneezed.”

And then he’d cocked his head fondly and wandered away.)

There were rooms in the basement with shelves of seventy-year-old preserves and boxes full of old guest ledgers and strangely, a woven basket full of old toys, furred with dust. In a closet in the hall past Elena’s bedroom was a pile of quilts, at least fifty years old, which she hand-laundered carefully and piled up on her bed for colder nights. There were hand-written recipe books with annotations in Italian from three generations of Salvatore women. Falling apart with age and use. Damon wrote translations for her when Elena said she wanted to learn to cook, but because she loved to sit in the kitchen and watch him do it instead, she never really learned.

Damon cooked to draw her to the kitchen, to draw Alaric in. From any part of the house they would smell the moment the garlic went transparent in the pan and appear like cats smelling cream. They would pour wine, let Elena have a glass or two as well. Alaric would help, slice vegetables or chop herbs or mince garlic, to give his hands something to do, to give his eyes somewhere to be.

(One night Alaric chopped a pile of olives, and rinsed his hands a dozen times as though the vinegar on them was burning. Elena crossed to the sink, and took one of her hands in both of hers; he pulled away, but not before the saw the impression of four half-moons cut into his palms.

“Alaric!”

She’d said it like a scold, and it wasn’t. Not that.

“You’re not the only one who has nightmares,” he’d said, turning back to the olives.

He wouldn’t meet Elena’s eyes, so she looked at Damon instead, all furrowed brow and with his eyes fit to pierce the back of Alaric’s skull.

Alaric stopped rinsing, but he wouldn’t be drawn on it, not again.)

**

Too much grief in one house, and Damon trying to hold them all together in the middle.

**

Admittedly, it took Elena a little longer to work it out than it should have, but she got there in the end. It was the scar, of course. She’d spotted it a couple of times, when Alaric had stretched and yawned, or reached for something on a high shelf. She had been shocked, until she worked out the context; then she’d found herself a little intrigued.

Alaric was hard to draw out on any touchy subject – especially lately – but at night, with the lights off, with an arm tucked around Elena and his breath all slow and sweet, he could be convinced to talk, sometimes.

Elena stood at the door of Alaric’s bedroom, chewing at her lip. Opened it, firm and decisive, and slipped inside. Alaric barely stirred, until she slipped between the sheets and tucked herself into his arms.

Alaric yawned. “Elena?”

“Nightmare,” she lied. “But they’re not as bad any more.”

Alaric grunted and turned his face away. “Sleep tight,” he said.

Elena lay with her eyes wide open for a while. “Alaric?” she said at last. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah.” He turned his head to face her, but kept his eyes shut. “You need to talk about it? Same stuff?”

Elena snaked her arm over his body, up under the edge of the t-shirt he was sleeping in, and over the scar she knew was there.

Alaric tensed. “Elena…”

“How long have you been sleeping with Damon?”

For a long moment, Alaric didn’t even breathe. “I’m not sleeping with Damon,” he said. “Not any more. Get some sleep.” He adjusted his shirt, and gingerly moved her hand.

“But you were.”

Alaric groaned, rubbed his eyes. “Do we really need to talk about this? It’s been over for months.”

Elena was silent a long time. “Why is it over?”

“Oh, god. Really?”

Elena pulled away a little, drew herself up onto one elbow. “We’re all sharing this house. Secrets just make it harder. Don’t you think?”

Alaric shook his head. “People in this town are way too ready to talk about everything. It’s not about secrets. It’s about privacy.”

Elena said nothing, but relaxed down off her elbow and curled a little closer.

At last, Alaric sighed. “It was the Klaus thing.” She had him, now. If she just let it tumble out into the silent dark he’d talk until it was all out. “I was possessed and no one even noticed. And I get it, you know… you don’t look at someone and think huh, is that Alaric, or is someone maybe possessing him today? But Damon… should have known.”

“He did know. He was the one who worked it out.”

“Sure. And then he let Bonnie die, instead of me. Could have stopped the whole ritual from happening. Saved everyone. If he’d let me die, or stopped me before I even got that far.”

He let Bonnie die instead of us, Elena thought, but did not say.

“Bonnie wasn’t strong enough, not then. And anyway, she’s fine. You know? And would you stop referring to Klaus as you? We all know the difference. I don’t understand why you can’t keep it straight.”

Alaric rubbed his eyes again. Elena wondered what he was thinking. Alaric was a little like Jeremy, a little like her father had been. Retreated into silence when something was bothering him, instead of talking about it. Fair enough. Privacy, secrets, whatever.

“We didn’t even know if letting you die would have killed Klaus, you know? And then we’d be down a vampire hunter, and more.” She nestled closer, always closer. “You matter too, you know. I need you.”

“It doesn’t matter, now. What’s done… is done.” Alaric shifted uncomfortably.

Elena spoke again. “No one can tell the difference between me, and Katherine dressed up like me. I don’t take it personally.”

“I can always tell.”

Elena lifted herself onto her elbow again. “You can?”

“Katherine always looks in. You always look out.”

Elena thought for a long time. When she spoke, she said “I think you should forgive him. I think he sort of misses you.”

Alaric sighed. “You’re not actually trying to play matchmaker, here, are you?” He settled his head back into the pillows. “Go to sleep, Elena.”

A little light spilled into the room, playing over Alaric’s features. His long eyelashes, the stubble that was always present on his chin by early evening.

She wondered what Alaric would do, if she kissed him, if she climbed over his body. Half asleep maybe, just like this, defenses down.

Quietly, she promised herself it would be the last time she snuck into his room at night.

(It wasn’t.)

**

One morning, weeks later, Elena rolled over, pressed her face against the chest she found. Alaric’s bed. Alaric. Not Alaric. Neater. Alaric was broad, and warm. Stefan?

She opened her eyes. “Hello, sleepyhead.” Damon had a wicked smile on his face, glancing from Elena to Alaric and back again.

“Grand Central Station in here,” Alaric muttered, and closed his eyes. Pulled a pillow over his head.

“I found Stefan.”

Elena sat up, and Alaric pulled the pillow off his face. “You what?”

“Anonymous tip.” Damon smirked. “You two wanna come bring him back with me?”

Elena froze. “What?”

“If we leave now we can be on a plane to Chicago in a couple of hours.”

Elena looked to Alaric. He barely met her eyes before returning his gaze to Damon.

“Why would he go to Chicago?”

“My guess is that his BFF Klaus wants to be there. Though I can think of another reason or two. He’s lived there before, you know. In the twenties. Had a slutty blonde girlfriend called Rebekah. She had quite the appetite. They were quite the pair.” Damon crossed his legs at the ankle, examined his fingernails. “Maybe they’ve hooked back up. Whatever. I’ll make coffee. You two… talk about it. Decide between you.”

Airily, he climbed off the bed and slipped out the door.

Alaric lay back into the pillows. “What do you want to do?”

“I guess we go to Chicago,” Elena said, after a long beat. “Don’t we? I mean, it seems like the right thing to do… don’t you think?”

Alaric closed his eyes, scratched his chin. “The right thing to do. Jesus, Elena. You’re asking me? I’m sharing my bed with a student. Living with my… vampire ex, I suppose. Ask someone whose moral compass points north.”

They went to Chicago.

**

In a nightclub full of compelled humans, most of whom were unconscious or sitting in stunned silence at their various booths, though for the most part still alive, Damon and Alaric found Stefan making out with the slutty blonde. There was almost nothing of Stefan in his face, they told Elena, when they got back to the car. He’d hissed like a cat, left Rebekah snacking on a waiter in her booth. Told them to leave before Klaus saw them. Made the very reasonable point that it would blow their cover, somewhat, if Klaus found out Elena was alive.

Alaric wore a ring of black bruises around his throat, and spoke in a rasp. Each of Stefan’s fingers was discernible in the pattern.

“Stefan sort of made the point that he could tear Ric’s head off; and would, if we didn’t leave, and get you out of there.” Damon said it airily, though his expression was fierce. “In the end, we agreed. Isn’t that right, Ric?”

They were sitting in a diner, Alaric and Damon drinking from a bottle of bourbon Damon had compelled from the bartender. Elena poked listlessly at a plate of fries.

“Right,” Alaric said. Defeated.

Elena leaned away from the table. “Will he always be like this?”

Damon held her eyes steady. “Do you want the truth? Think about it, Elena.”

She took a deep breath.

“Yes. The truth.”

Damon nodded; looked sort of impressed, actually.

“No. He’s a good person, ultimately. Boring. Dull. And good. For a blood-sucking monster. He’ll snap out of it, in ten years, maybe twenty. Maybe more. And he’ll hide himself from the world for another twenty, thirty years. And then he’ll rejoin it. Come find me and list all the ways it’s my fault, like I don’t already have that list committed to memory.”

Elena bit her lip. Alaric poured more bourbon.

“So here’s my question for you. You want to wait? Thirty years? Forty? You might get some sort of medal. Imagine that.”

Elena felt tears burn her eyes. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I’m not very nice. You asked me for honesty. I’m being honest.” He leaned forward. “You can wait. If you want. See if he still wants you when you’re middle-aged and don’t look like Katherine any more. Or you can get on with the rest of your life.”

Alaric looked as though he wanted to speak, but it caused him pain. He swallowed, grimacing. “Shut up, Damon. Leave her…” he rubbed his throat. “Leave her alone.”

Elena slipped out of the booth, to the bathroom. Cried in front of the mirror for a long time. It seemed too soon, especially since Damon said he would be back one day. But, thirty years? Forty? Fifty? And what if it was less, what if they kept looking? They had Stefan’s diaries – they could work out how Lexie did it, dragged him back to himself each time – how long did that take?

To the mirror, she said, “I’m sorry, Stefan,” and she washed her face before slipping away again.

**

When Elena returned to the booth, Damon was gone.

“He went to eat,” Alaric admitted. Pushing past the lump in his throat. “He won’t be long.”

“He won’t…”

Alaric shook his head. “No. He won’t.”

It seemed cruel to make Alaric speak with the bruises on his neck, but Elena couldn’t help herself. “But… why won’t he? Why doesn’t he?” She tucked her hand into the crook of Alaric’s elbow, leaned her forehead against his upper arm, so broad and strong. “He never cared before.”

Alaric kissed the top of Elena’s head, making her heart stutter. “Because he doesn’t want to risk us leaving.”

Elena thought for a while, tucked there against Alaric’s arm.

“He fights,” she said. “Doesn’t he? He fights himself, mostly. But he fights for everyone. He fought for Katherine, for a hundred and fifty years. He’s fought for Stefan. Now he’s fighting for us.”

Alaric said nothing, just sipped his drink.

“You think anyone has ever fought for him? For Damon?”

“Do you?”

“No,” she said. “Maybe we should.”

**

Monday morning Alaric and Elena dragged themselves from separate beds, off to school. Exhausted, both of them, and Alaric wearing a hideous scarf to hide his neck from the rest of the world.

“Should have let him fix it,” Elena murmured.

“It’s a bruise, ’Lena. It’ll go away.”

They were both miserable from a depressing weekend and the realization that at some point, life had to start just going on. In the parking lot of the high school, they sat in Alaric’s truck, not speaking. Maybe ten minutes. Waiting until the last possible moment to go inside.

Elena clasped her hands in her lap. “What are we going to do?”

Alaric shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t ask ‘about what’, which was nice.

**

At lunch, in the cafeteria, picking at the edible parts of a slab of tuna casserole, Elena relayed the weekend’s adventures to Caroline, Bonnie and Jeremy. The decision – perhaps premature, perhaps inevitable, maybe both – that there was nothing they could do to bring Stefan back, not now; the decision to let him go.

Bonnie nodded. “I think Damon’s right, Elena. I just think he’s right for the wrong reasons.”

“What are the wrong reasons?”

Caroline sighed dramatically. “Obviously, he wants you! Come on, you are not this dumb!”

“He hasn’t done anything! Would you keep your voice down?”

“Oh, come on, Elena. He installed you and Alaric in the boarding house like a pair of concubines.” Caroline rolled her eyes as Bonnie and Jeremy’s faces went slack. “Vampire, remember. I could smell those two all over each other for months.”

Elena shook her head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it wasn’t my business. But ’Lena…” She sighed. “You are my business. You can’t pretend you don’t know what Damon’s doing. And you can’t…”

Caroline shot a determined look at Jeremy. He took the hint, and left, looking a little shocky and pretending he wasn’t. Muttering about girls, some such. Joined Matt and Tyler at another table, where they were hunched over incomprehensible box scores, and didn’t look back.

“The way you and Alaric look at each other… He’s our… and he’s your…” Caroline got huffy and incoherent, sometimes, when words failed her; and bright as she was, words often did. “The whole thing is just weird.”

Elena lifted her bag onto her shoulder. “I haven’t done anything wrong.” She stood up, lifting her tray. “I’d appreciate you not implying I’m some sort of a slut, just because I’m…”

She shook her head, clearing cobwebs, sparking neurons. “They’re the only two people in the world who make me feel safe. And I’m an adult.” She stood straight and tall, carrying the tray away.

An adult? What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Elena locked herself in a bathroom stall for five minutes and tried not to picture Alaric’s mouth against her breasts. Alaric’s hands, big hands, everywhere. Tried not to picture Alaric’s hands on Damon, more confusingly; tried not to imagine two sets of hands on her, one mouth on her throat, the other buried between her legs.

Elena moaned, and bit it back.

She remained distracted through the rest of the day. Tried not to stare at Alaric in history class, and then reminded herself that he was the fucking teacher, she was supposed to be looking at him. She tried hard to make nothing of the fact he barely looked at her.

**

The week progressed no better. Everything was just a bit more awkward than it had to be. There were too many limbs tangling in the kitchen and it seemed Damon herded them about, at times, ensuring that, the bumping and tangling, until Alaric started rising earlier to eat breakfast alone, his perpetual hangovers notwithstanding.

Sometimes it seemed Alaric drank nearly as much as Damon did.

Evenings, the three of them did their own thing, but later, they tended to end up in the library, Alaric marking papers or reading a book, Damon cajoling Elena into a game of Scrabble or something equally ridiculous.

“Rimjob is not a real word, Damon. No.” Elena felt a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Look it up. And I get a triple letter score for the J.”

“It’s slang. No slang in Scrabble.”

“Alaric?” Alaric looked up, distracted and tired looking. “Is rimjob a real word?” Damon’s face was utterly without guile.

“I’m going to bed,” Alaric answered, and slipped off up the stairs.

Elena flipped the board, knocking all the tiles away. “Why do you do that to him?”

“Because it’s funny. He won’t pay any attention to me at all if I’m not teasing. It gets boring.” Damon began to rearrange the tiles. “When did you figure it out?”

“A while ago.”

Damon shrugged. “A hundred and seventy years old, and I still suck at running my own love life.”

Elena was silent. “Do you?”

“Do I suck at…?”

“You said ‘love life’. Not ‘sex life’.” Elena squirmed, flipping letters over, collecting two tiles that had slipped under the couch. “Do you… love him? Alaric?”

Damon shrugged, and made words on the board. “I love you both.” He said it quietly, like he thought he could bite it back if he wanted to, and he did not meet Elena’s eyes.

Elena sat on her knees, while Damon played with the letters. He made ‘universe’ and ‘calypso’ and ‘pocket’ and then swirled the tiles again, rearranged the letters until he had ‘apocalypse’. He made ‘heart’ and ‘idiot’ and ‘deathbed kiss’.

“Would it be so bad?” Damon didn’t look up as he said it, just kept rearranging letters. He made ‘brilliant idea’.

Elena was good at a lot of things but lying to herself wasn’t one of them. God knew she’d tried.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Alaric… thinks… I’m a kid, Damon. I’m a student. His…ward, or whatever. I don’t think he wants to…” Nope. Hopeless liar. Alaric wanted. He just wouldn’t take. “I don’t think he’d ever touch me. You know?”

Oddly, it felt good to be talking about it, out loud. Damon rearranged the letters until he had ‘share’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘kiss me elena’.

No point pretending she didn’t know what he was doing. “We just said goodbye to Stefan,” she said, and only because it felt like she had to; she wasn’t even sure they’d done that. She searched her heart for the place she kept him like a small candle. It was still there, but the flame was low. Damon was still turning over unclaimed letters. He made ‘life is short’. Then he looked up at last, no smile. Not a hint of snark. Just big blue eyes, so pale they were almost silver, and so much fear, and so much want.

Elena’s heart beat hard in her chest. She leaned, not two inches, and Damon came the rest of the way, pushing the board aside. He put his hands either side of her legs, brought his face up close to hers. A twinge of desire fluttered between Elena’s thighs.

Just a kiss, though. Nothing else, not now, she promised herself, and mostly meant it.

Damon paused, to catch her eyes once more. Elena licked her lips, and then Damon’s mouth was against hers, gentle; a soft rub, back and forth. She opened her mouth a touch, admitted his tongue.

Damon’s hand was in her hair, the pressure increasing. Elena could feel her lips swell, her head start to spin. Damon kissed her so thoroughly. She found herself reaching for his arm, tightening her hand around his wrist and wondering how Alaric could stay away from this. A hundred and fifty years of kissing, until the art was mastered.

Elena could have kissed Damon like this for hours. Something between a sigh and a murmur escaped her throat.

He pulled away. Leaned another moment for a softer kiss. Faces a few inches apart, they held each other’s eyes.

Damon smoothed Elena’s hair, and pulled away. “That was the best thing that has happened to me in months,” he admitted, quietly. “And now I’m gonna go, before I can do anything to fuck it up.” He gave a quick, tight smile, rose to his feet and walked away quickly.

Just as he reached the door of the library, Elena called him back. He stood, silver eyes wide and face betraying nothing.

Elena sighed. “About Alaric.”

Damon waited.

“Just be honest with him.”

Damon paused another moment, nodded, and walked away.

**

Damon

Things, Damon had decided, were going better than expected. In the midst of grief and loss life was starting to happen again.

He lay splayed over the couch, as he often did, when the house was empty and boring and Alaric and Elena were at school doing dull human things for hours at a time; not that he wanted necessarily to break them of the habit, but it really was. Dull. Sort of adorably human but dull, and a near daily occurrence. They’d barely been back at school three weeks and Damon was bored, bored, bored, every day bored.

He put a hand to his lips, recalling Elena’s kiss.

Next task was, of course, to get Alaric back into his bed. That was non-negotiable, though it was taking longer than Damon thought it would. Judging by Alaric’s frustrated grunting in the shower every morning, he’d thought it wouldn’t take much. Alaric had been holding pretty stoic so far, but Damon was intimately familiar with Alaric’s sex drive. He had to be close to losing his mind.

A couple of times a week he heard Elena pad down the hall to Alaric’s room after waking up from a nightmare. Sometimes, no nightmare was required, though Alaric probably didn’t know that. Had to be hell, sleeping with Elena, night after night. Certainly it was hell not doing that.

Humans. Puritans and martyrs. Probably, Alaric was tying himself in knots over the age difference. How quickly he’d forgotten that Damon himself was nearly five times his age. Adorable, in a frustrating sort of way.

Just be honest with him.

She made it sound so easy.

**

Saturday evening Elena was at a movie with Bonnie and Caroline and Stefan was probably ripping the heads off a cheerleading squad somewhere.

Alaric was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. Cutting beef into chunks for a curry. Alaric made good curry, made the paste from scratch. Cooked it slowly. Always made enough so it would last a few days, getting better and more complex in the fridge. The paste was garlicky and smelled of ginger, lemongrass. Kaffir lime, perhaps. Not as hot as he used to make it because Elena liked it mild.

Damon leaned against the door jamb, watching, for a long time. Alaric had to know he was there. He had good senses, for a human, could sense a threat, though Damon wasn’t that.

Damon spoke when Alaric kept on not turning around. “Smells good.” Fresh ingredients only, not a thing had hit a pan yet, but it did smell good, sharp and clean and spicy.

Alaric grunted. “Thanks.”

There were risks always worth taking. Damon took several steps, until he was standing barely an inch behind Alaric. Feeling the heat of Alaric’s body warm the air. Alaric put the knife down. Stood up a little straighter and turned his head; not enough to look over his shoulder, but he was waiting for Damon to say something. Patient.

Neither moved, for a long moment. Fifteen seconds, a whole day perhaps, and then Damon pressed his lips to the spot behind Alaric’s ear.

“I miss you,” he said. Said it directly to Alaric’s warm skin, his hairline.

Magic words, apparently.

Alaric turned, balled his fists in Damon’s shirt and mashed their mouths together. Pushed Damon back until he had him pinned to the wall. Damon purred, and kissed back, just as aggressively, relief running a line directly from his lips to his cock. Yanking Alaric’s shirt over his head, following it with his own. They paused a moment to kick their shoes off, and Damon grabbed Alaric’s belt.

“No,” Alaric said.

“Feels like a yes to me,” Damon argued, voice low and glittering, grinding his hips into Alaric’s, still tugging at the buckle. Mouthing roughly across Alaric’s jaw, nuzzling roughly against Alaric’s neck.

Alaric’s pupils were blown black, and he let out a long, delicious moan. It definitely wasn’t a proper ‘no’. “Not down here. Elena could come home.” He barked it like he was trying to convince himself this concern was worth the extra minute it would take to get them both upstairs, ever the responsible adult.

Damon bit back the urge to point out that Elena walking in on them in flagrante delicto on the kitchen floor could save some time but a few rapid-fire calculations by his sharpened mind and no. Not worth risking an argument. He shrugged volumes. “Fine by me.”

Once in Damon’s room, things got interesting. Urgent in a way they almost never were; usually, it was either ‘we have exactly enough time for a quick fuck’ or ‘we’ve got hours’. Not like this, like Alaric was starving. Like Damon was the meal, this time. Turning the tables. Life affirming, perhaps. Something.

Damon liked it.

Alaric pushed him down onto the bed and tore roughly at his belt. Damon lifted his hips to let Alaric pull his jeans off. As Alaric stripped his own jeans off, Damon grabbed lube from the nightstand.

“On your stomach,” Alaric said.

Interesting. Not planning to take things slowly, then. Damon said nothing, even when Alaric took almost no time to prepare him. No problem. Damon liked it rough. A gorgeous moment stretched out longer than moments generally did, and then Alaric was taking him hard, deep. All of him all at once, and there was a lot of Alaric. Damon groaned; the pleasure-pain threshold was shattered. He curled partially onto his side so Alaric could grip him hard with his brilliant hand, tease and twist and torture. Alaric’s other hand was on Damon’s shoulder, keeping him pinned down.

Damon liked it when Alaric held him down.

It wasn’t a matter of physical strength; Damon could have thrown him off in a second. It was the possessiveness of the gesture, the entitlement. The fact Alaric had the gall to hold a vampire beneath him at all, to take command like this – it was part of why this worked so well, one of Damon’s favorite reasons. The taking, and the being taken.

“Jesus fuck, Ric…”

Alaric took this as the encouragement it was sort of intended to be; sped up, began to thrust harder, until Damon thought he might actually black out. The pressure increased on his prostate and he pushed back hard against Alaric’s thrusts. The slap of their bodies, ferocious. Alaric’s fingers digging hard into Damon’s shoulder as they both began to sweat in earnest.

He’d missed this.

Above and behind him, Alaric grunted. Totally focused, driving. Damon tried to look over his shoulder, wanted to see the face that went with those sounds, but he wasn’t going to interrupt the rhythm for anything.

It was never going to last long; not after too many weeks of self-administered orgasms, sexual tension like a dense fog all over the house. Alaric gave a familiar shout, filling Damon with an equally familiar warmth, and Damon lasted barely a minute longer.

Alaric leaned until his forehead rested on Damon’s back. Not for long enough. Like he was afraid of the intimacy, and he probably was. He pulled back and withdrew, and rolled onto his back on the bed. Damon stayed where he was, for a long moment, and then crawled until their bodies were aligned.

Breathing and breathing, both of them; Damon unnecessarily, but automatically, relishing the calm it brought.

“Sorry,” Alaric said. Solving puzzles on the ceiling over the bed. Tiny cracks telling oldish secrets.

“For what?”

“That was…” Alaric swallowed, hard, and turned to meet Damon’s eyes. “That was a little… mean.”

“Worked for me.” Damon waggled his eyebrows.

Alaric chuckled, and there was very little mirth in it. “You know what I mean.”

Damon shrugged. “I’m almost glad you held out this long.” He said it with a self-satisfied smirk, put his hand under his head, pulling that side of his body into a long, lean line Alaric couldn’t help but look at. Smiled with one side of his mouth and the whole of the rest of his face.

“No, you’re not.”

Damon nodded. “You’re right. I’m not.” He rolled, threw an arm over Alaric’s body. “So…”

Alaric let his eyes drift shut. “So what?”

“Was this a miserable horny fuck, or can we try and get back on track now?” Mouthing gently at Alaric’s neck, eliciting shivers and other things.

“On track?”

“You know what I mean.” Damon shifted until he could straddle Alaric’s body. Let their faces get close enough so Alaric could feel Damon’s breath against his lips. “I meant what I said. I’ve missed you.”

Alaric said nothing, for a long time. Their eyes met in the middle and stayed there. Looking and looking. Most people can’t hold eye contact for long, with nothing else happening, no conversation to detract, not even a kiss that lets eyes flutter shut long moments. Alaric could, unselfconscious, dark eyes still saucers. It was Damon who spoke.

“Are you still pissed about the Klaus thing?”

Alaric shook his head. “No.”

Damon dropped a kiss on Alaric’s mouth, then, tugged at his bottom lip. “So? What’s the problem?” He lowered himself onto Alaric’s body, let his weight hold Alaric down, hold him firm. Alaric ran a hand over Damon’s spine, over the jagged line of one hip, while Damon nuzzled into his neck.

Alaric sighed. “What do you want from Elena?”

(When, oh when, did sex get all tangled up with emotions? There was a time Damon could take it (and did) or leave it (and occasionally did that too) and never give anything a second’s extra thought.)

Damon paused. Debated lying. Told the truth, capturing Alaric’s eyes again. “Same thing I want from you.”

“Sick, Damon.”

“Why?”

Alaric rubbed his eyes and pushed Damon off him. Gently enough. “Because… She’s a girl. She’s eighteen years old, for fuck’s sake. I’m thirty four.” Ah. Excellent. He understood, then.

“I’m a hundred and seventy.”

“That’s worse, not better.”

“Did it bother you with Stefan?”

Alaric sighed. “It should have.” On his forehead was a flashing sign: Worst. Guardian. Ever.

Damon began to kiss and lick his way down Alaric’s chest, tasted salt and traces of pheromones. When his mouth reached Alaric’s hip, he ran his tongue over the scar, there, followed it up with enough cool breath to raise goose bumps on Alaric’s flesh.

He met Alaric’s eyes, and felt, more than saw, him nod.

It had been a while, so he was careful, bit shallowly. Alaric flinched just a little, but ran his hand over Damon’s head, his neck. Damon lapped lovingly at the wound, felt his black-red eyes drift shut. Too good. The shifting tensions in Alaric’s muscles, the twitch of his cock, already coming back to life, too good.

About time Damon re-staked this claim.

He licked away the rivulets of blood that trickled slowly from the wound.

“I can’t be a part of that, Damon. I won’t.”

Damon shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Did I stutter?” Damon lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

**

Damon came home one day to find Alaric and Elena bent over the dining room table with a huge pile of college brochures, bickering quietly.

“You don’t pick the closest school. You pick the best school,” Alaric chided, and Damon felt a flicker of irritation; what could possibly be wrong with the closest school? But Alaric and Elena’s heads were close together, and they looked wonderful like that, so Damon drifted slowly into the room and leant against the doorjamb.

Alaric looked up first.

“Tell her,” he said.

“Like she needs an education,” Damon answered airily.

Alaric and Elena rolled their eyes at almost the exact same moment, and Elena said “I want an education, Damon. I just don’t get why Alaric wants me to go so far away.”

Alaric leaned back in his chair. “Think about it,” he said. “California. Have you ever been outside Virginia? Even Washington. Seattle’s a great city.”

Damon cocked his chin at Elena, and burned, a little. Guilty. He had never asked. Only wanted the immediacy of her.

“Well, Chicago,” Elena muttered, in response.

Something about that made Damon want to shake Elena by the arms. Yes, yes, he’d say. Go everywhere. I’ll take you. Everywhere. But he just flexed his hands, and leaned, and said nothing, because how would that work?

Alaric wouldn’t go.

Probably, Alaric would be relieved.

The thought hurt, so Damon set it aside, and strolled amiably to the table. Slumped into a seat and snatched the brochure Alaric and Elena were reading. “New York isn’t that far,” he said, with a sniff.

Elena snatched the brochure back. “I want to visit some campuses,” she said, determined. “I can’t decide from pictures.”

Damon’s heart rolled. “So visit.” He grabbed at another brochure. “Actually, this campus…” he grinned, fanning himself with a brochure for University of Southern Florida. “The girls in the arts faculty…”

Alaric stood, awkwardly.

“I have papers to mark,” he said, and drifted away.

Damon glared at Alaric’s back until it was gone, and Elena crossed her arms. “You slept with him,” she said. “Recently. I knew something was different.”

Damon shrugged, picking at the carved corner of the table. Damon loved this table. Damon loved this house. Damon owned houses, across the country. But Mystic Falls was home, much as he loathed it. And the boarding house, he loved.

“I don’t know what to do, Damon,” Elena said. Damon dropped the brochure. Thick, glossy thing full of pictures of smiling models with perfect teeth. “I don’t…”

Damon felt suddenly bold.

Truth be told he was sick of all the sitting around and waiting for the fucking plot to thicken. So he reached out, pulled Elena’s chair closer. She grabbed at the armrests and uttered a sigh of protest.

“Damon…”

Damon half-pulled, half-encouraged Elena into his lap. She went more willingly than she would have admitted even to her diary, and let an almost-reluctant hand wrap across Damon’s neck.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Elena ran her beautiful pink tongue over her lips. “What do you mean?”

Damon pulled her closer. “It doesn’t matter what I mean,” he said. “What do you want it to mean? I want to give you the world, Elena,” he said, cocking his head. Their lips were still too far apart to touch. “Do you want to go to college? Whatever college you want, you’ll go there. Do you want to be kept in the lap of luxury? Never work a day in your life?”

Damon pressed a kiss to Elena’s collarbone. Trailed it south. Altogether too bold.

Elena whimpered.

“What do you want?” Damon asked again, kissing Elena between her breasts. Just at the point where they made an enticing vee shape and disappeared into her shirt, the skin so warm and smelling so good. Damon let his tongue escape, a moment, and pulled away. Heart pounding in his chest.

Elena looked obscene; lips puffed up, eyes glazed. She put her hand on Damon’s cheek, turned his face up.

“What do you want?” he asked a third time.

“Everything,” Elena admitted at last.

Damon ran his finger over the soft swell of her thigh, settling his hand between her legs with a gentle rub. Elena ground into Damon’s hand, tightening her grip over his neck. “Damon…”

“What?”

A slight flash of irritation.

Elena shook her head, and leaned to catch Damon’s lips in a kiss.

It was the sort of kiss that books get written about. Slow, initially, but hungry. Elena let her tongue slip past her lips first, and Damon drew it into his mouth, an almost-growl, almost-purr escaping his throat.

She was so soft. And what on earth could be wrong with wanting a little balance, in life? A hard body, and a soft one, in his bed? Damon pulled Elena closer, swiping her hair aside so he could allow his lips to drift to the warm, fragrant skin there. Beautiful. Probably too soon to ask if he could tap a vein but Damon thought about it, anyway.

Elena slumped almost bonelessly against Damon’s body, and he pulled her even closer. Settled her chin over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Elena confessed.

“Nobody ever does,” Damon agreed, rubbing circles into her shoulder.

“I’m not ready, Damon,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m just not.”

Damon groaned.

“I know,” he said. Held her for a long moment anyway, carding through her hair, inhaling that intoxicating scent. Willing away the erection she had to be aware of.

When Elena extricated herself from Damon’s arms, it was almost a relief. There was an awkward moment and a series of not-smiles and Elena’s shirt had ridden up, exposing delicious inches of porcelain skin, and Damon was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to notice that.

He noticed anyway, dared to touch her there, just a second, and felt her skin, the nerves beneath, all twitching furiously as Elena let out a soft little huff. She returned to her own seat, which was a surprise.

“I want to visit some of these campuses,” she said again. Blushing furiously but, to her credit, trying to calm herself, rather than run, or, as Damon suspected she probably wanted to, blame him for the whole thing.

He stood, and pressed a kiss to the top of Elena’s head. “Whatever you like,” he said, and slipped out into the quiet house.

**

Over a week passed.

Elena came into the kitchen just as Damon had finished cleaning it; one of the better nights, really, where they had sat down at the table to eat, and drunk wine. A Friday. The only thing missing was Alaric, who had flown to Boston straight after work to visit his elderly parents, and would be back on Sunday afternoon.

Elena was tipsy, and giggling, and sat on the edge of the kitchen bench, long, tanned legs dangling. Damon finished cleaning the stovetop and turned to her, with a fond smile. “You going out?”

Elena wrinkled her nose in a way that was altogether too appealing, and shook her head. “No. Let’s do something together. Something fun.”

“Come in here flashing your bare legs and tell me you want to do something fun, and you know my mind goes straight to the gutter, ’Lena,” he said, and she giggled.

“I mean it. Come on. What do you want to do?”

Damon crossed to the counter. He put his hands on Elena’s thighs, and spread them, leaning between them against the countertop. She stopped giggling, and bit her lip, hands crossed in her lap. Her heart rate ratcheted up to almost twice its speed. Her breath stuttered in her lungs.

Damon ran his hands over those thighs, pressed into them with his palms. “Beautiful,” he muttered. Elena’s skirt rode up, but she didn’t try to stop Damon. Not even when the thumb of one hand pressed against her panties, so warm, already a little wet. She mewled, and her eyes closed for a second, rich brown temporarily vanishing behind her long lashes.

Damon slipped his hands to Elena’s hips, and quickly pulled her closer.

“You know how badly I want you,” he said.

“Yes,” Elena answered.

“You want me, too. I know it.”

Elena was not a good liar. Couldn’t lie to herself any better than she lied to anyone else. She put her small, warm hand on Damon’s arm, and nodded. “Yes.”

But she didn’t do anything more. Damon shook his head. “Stefan stuff. I get it. I do.” He moved to step back, and Elena took his arm.

“Damon…”

He stopped. Met her eyes, expectant. Cautious. Too accustomed to having the carpet pulled away at the last moment. But Elena licked her lips, again, like she did that first time, so Damon leaned and kissed her again.

This time, she didn’t pull away, even when the kiss got deep and messy, even when Damon moved his hand back up her thigh, ran his thumb over the wet heat his hand found at the junction of Elena’s legs. When he slipped the fabric aside, and expertly found her clitoris, found it swollen and exquisitely sensitive. Elena groaned, and made no attempt to pull away. Her kiss became erratic, her hips shifting against Damon’s hand.

Emboldened, he slipped two fingers inside of Elena. She was so wet, so exquisitely ready. She rolled her hips, and reached for Damon’s neck. So beautiful. He’d known she’d be like this, wanting and open, enjoying her body and all the wonderful things it was capable of.

Damon lowered Elena until she was lying back on the countertop, and slipped his thumbs into the legs of her panties, pulling them away.

For a moment, he thought he should say something. Some disclaimer. Tell me if you want to stop, if I’m too rough, if I’m too gentle, but Damon knew Elena well. Could read her like a book. He’d know, he was sure, what she wanted, what she needed. He flicked her clitoris with his thumb, which elicited a full body shudder that got Damon entirely hard, and shifted to breach her with his tongue, settling her legs over his shoulders.

Damon Salvatore made love to Elena Gilbert with his mouth until she was panting helplessly beneath the able hands on her hips, on her stomach, on her breasts. He wished he could see her face better. Wanted to watch her jaw slacken and tense. One hand was tangled in Damon’s hair, and the back of the other covered her eyes as she bucked against Damon’s face, arched her back. With a final, breathy shout, and a sudden jerk forward with her hips, she reached her climax.

It seemed to go on forever.

Damon unhooked her legs so he could watch her face, and was horrified, a moment, to see tears in her eyes. But she smiled, at last, and Damon helped her to sit up.

“Was that the sort of fun you had in mind?” he purred, as Elena leaned forward to kiss him. He couldn’t help but think about what she was tasting, and wonder if that was why she was so rough, so exploratory.

“Take me to bed,” she said simply.

**

The whole next day, Damon strutted. He smiled smugly. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he almost didn’t recognize himself, such was the depth of his smug.

He let himself remember, every second of it. Elena on top, astride him, moaning, setting the pace. Her lips on his chest, on his cock. She had surrendered utterly, and it was a thing of beauty.

In the morning, she had been warm in his embrace, and so slight. So utterly different from waking with Alaric. She had turned in Damon’s arms, with a heartbreaking little smile on her face, and nuzzled into his chest.

“You feeling okay?” he’d asked. “No regrets?”

“No regrets,” she’d said, meeting his eyes, throwing her leg over Damon’s hip. “Breakfast in bed?”

When he returned half an hour later, Elena was wearing one of his shirts – Damon had never worked out why it was, exactly, that a woman wearing a man’s shirt was so sexy, only knew that it was – and reading a book he had left on the side table.

They ate strawberries and pancakes with syrup, hand-feeding each other tidbits from the tray; they drank French-pressed coffee and orange juice Damon had squeezed himself, and Damon unbuttoned the front of the shirt Elena was wearing, so he could shape her breasts in his hand, so he could taste her nipples.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Elena said, and Damon sat up. “Not yet. They… won’t understand.”

Damon nodded, though he was admittedly disappointed.

“I can keep a secret,” he said airily. “I was going to get t-shirts printed, but it can wait.” He slipped another strawberry into Elena’s mouth, and she smiled. “But Alaric…?”

“We have the whole weekend to work out what to tell Alaric,” Elena said. She moved the tray to the side table and snuggled against Damon again. “You’re not going to… leave him, are you?”

Damon froze. “We’re not together.”

“Well, something happened,” Elena said.

“Does it bother you?”

Elena was quiet a long time. “No,” she said at last. “There’s something…”

Damon waited patiently. Well, no, not patiently. What he wanted was to jump up and shout. Yes, he’d say. There is something. It’s called, the three of us get our happy ever after.

“There’s something about three,” she said at last. “It makes sense, you know?”

Elena Gilbert, genius. Damon waited, and bit his tongue.

“I mean, it’s stable, you know. A three legged-stool works a lot better than a two-legged one.” Elena met Damon’s eyes. “But Ric wouldn’t… I mean, not that I…”

“Aw, c’mon, ’Lena,” Damon said, brushing a hand over her waist again. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. He looks at you the same way.”

Elena blushed. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.” Damon turned her face up, catching her chin on his thumb. “Shouldn’t you be all possessive and obnoxious?”

“I am possessive and obnoxious,” Damon said, pulling her closer again. “But I want you both.”

**

Elena headed out around lunchtime. Some volunteer crap which sounded beyond boring, and then meeting Bonnie and Caroline for homework. Which left Damon stalking about the boarding house, bored, but smug. He had smug to spare.

He sat in Alaric’s room for a while. Stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night, when Alaric went to bed, Damon would join him. He’d beg Alaric to fuck him. He’d climb all over Alaric and kiss him until he couldn’t see, and then when Alaric was sated and lazy and beautiful, the moonlight streaming in the window, Damon would tell him what had happened.

Yeah.

Things didn’t quite work out that way.

Alaric got home a couple of hours earlier than he was supposed to on Sunday afternoon and found Damon and Elena making out on the couch in front of the fireplace. The back of the couch would have shielded them, had Elena not just sat up to pull her shirt over her head. Alaric mumbled his apologies, and left again, after dropping his bag near the door.

He didn’t look stricken. He looked resigned, and his face betrayed little else. His truck pulled away from the house before Damon and Elena could really register what had happened.

Elena cringed, pulling her shirt back over her head, and Damon took a moment to reflect on the fact that he’d been so distracted by her that he hadn’t even heard the door open. The taxi pull up. None of it. He cursed himself quietly, and rubbed his eyes.

“Go after him,” Elena said.

“He’s probably somewhere sharpening his stakes.”

“He’s at the Grill, and you know it. Go after him.” She looked so adult and reasonable. A little sad and panicky, too, but firm.

“Fine,” Damon said, buttoning his shirt. “If he stakes me, I’m blaming you.”

Alaric

He wasn’t surprised, not at all. He wasn’t even disappointed, really. And he guessed, as he ordered his third bourbon in thirty minutes (would have to get a taxi back to the boarding house, he supposed) a weekend without Alaric in the boarding house would be the perfect time for Damon to make his move.

Evidently, Damon agreed. Alaric threw back his drink, and ordered a fourth. Only a little while later, Damon joined him, swinging onto his stool and nodding at the bartender. Alaric didn’t look up, just turned his glass on the bar.

“How was Boston, Ric?” Damon asked. Fair enough. Small talk. Seemed appropriate. Alaric shrugged.

“Rainy.”

“I bet you’re wondering why I asked you to meet me here.”

At that, Alaric did look up.

“Relax, it was a joke.” Not one Alaric found particularly funny; or if it was, he certainly wasn’t going to say that. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

“Only surprised it took you this long.” Alaric sipped his bourbon. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Damon. I know how you feel about her.”

Damon bumped his leg against Alaric’s. “Oh, now, don’t be that way. I’ve been pretty fucking specific. With both of you. I want you both.”

Alaric shook his head. “Can’t see Elena…”

“Oh, she has this fantastic analogy about three legged stools,” Damon said, airily. “Ask her about it, sometime.”

Alaric chuckled.

They were silent a long time, and then Damon spoke again. “I’m not giving you up,” he said. “Elena doesn’t want me to, I don’t want to, and when you’re used to the idea, you won’t want me to either,” he said. Matter-of-fact. Alaric shook his head again.

“I don’t think it’s my style, Damon.” He shook his head.

“Which part? The whole… three thing? Or sleeping with a student?” Damon frowned. “She won’t be, for much longer. You’re being ridiculous. I know how you feel about each…”

“Keep your fucking voice down, Salvatore,” Alaric growled. “I’d really like to not lose my job. She’s… I’m supposed to be taking care of her.”

“She would love you to take care of her, if you know what I mean.” Damon leaned, a little, in that way he did. Just to lean. Bumped against Alaric’s shoulder, touched his leg. Alaric rubbed his eyes.

“Drop it. I’m not talking about this right now. And definitely not in public. Just give me a break, Damon. I’ve had two days with my sick, elderly parents. I’m tired, I have to work tomorrow, and my life just gotten ten times more awkward than it was, which I gotta say was pretty fuckin’ awkward. So I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t make me.”

He finished his glass.

“Polyamory is the new black,” Damon said, absurdly.

“Oh, fuck off,” Alaric said, dropping a couple of notes on the bar and walking away.

**

And actually, somehow, things didn’t get that much weirder, which might have mostly been a reflection on how weird things were before; Damon and Elena kept their extracurricular activities behind closed doors, at least when Alaric was around. The next few days were quiet, perhaps, but not necessarily weird.

Alaric stuck to his room, more than he had. Fearful of walking in on them, fearful of finding them laughing with their lips an inch apart. Fearful of the stab of jealousy he would no doubt feel.

The worst of it all was not knowing where the jealousy would be directed.

Alaric found a desk, not too large, in the attic, and asked Damon to help him bring it down. Damon glared, and scoffed, and refused, until Alaric tried to do it by himself.

“Don’t. Leave it here. It’s ugly,” Damon said. “Why do you think it’s been up here for a hundred odd years?”

“Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Not.” Damon placed his hands on the desk, brought his whole weight to bear, effectively immobilizing it. “What do you want it for?”

He wanted it so he had somewhere to sit and be himself. Not the third wheel in this bizarre household arrangement. Somewhere he could sit and look out the window, and work, or not, and not think about his how spectacularly his life was spiraling into chaos. Someplace to open a book wide, hear its spine crack. Or do nothing at all.

“I just want a little space of my own, Damon,” Alaric said, and fuck, but he sounded tired. He was tired. Ran his hands over his eyes, and yawned. “Just want to claim a bit of space for myself. Somewhere to mark tests. Somewhere to stick my computer.”

“You want to shut yourself in your room,” Damon growled. “Live up there like a fucking teenager. Is our company that bad?”

Alaric didn’t answer, just shot Damon a withering glance. Damon glared, and kept leaning. Didn’t budge an inch. And then he smirked. Stood up straighter, and moved to the front of the desk. He spread his legs a little, and leaned across the surface, gripping the lip on the other side.

“It’s a good height,” he admitted. “I’ll give you that.” He met Alaric’s eyes, grinning mischievously, twitching his ass. And then he stood up. “Fine. I’ll help you move it,” he said, and they wrangled it down the attic stairs. Not an easy task, but Alaric had reasoned that someone got it up here, so they should be able to get it down.

And after that he spent a lot of time, sitting at that desk. Staring out the window, as he had planned. Or marking papers, sober and silent. Sometimes the sun would set and then suddenly it would be eleven, and really time to sleep, and then midnight would be a memory, and Alaric would pour himself just one more nip of bourbon, just one more, all the while straining to hear what he might hear down the stairs or down the landing. One more nip, until his chin was heavy and his eyes were bleary and he had to sleep or he’d never make it to work.

There were nights that were very hard indeed, and some that were only impossible.

**

Elena spoke quietly in the seat beside Alaric on the way to school each morning, though she generally got a lift home with someone else. Alaric rarely left before six, and some days, if he was honest, it was deliberate; he would linger in his classroom unnecessarily, uncomfortable about going home, where he didn’t quite seem to fit.

“We need to talk about college again, soon,” she said one morning, tying her hair up in a ponytail, high on the back of her head, as they walked across the car park towards the school. “There’s campuses I want to visit, and I don’t want to go by myself…”

Alaric pushed the door open. “I’m sure Damon will take you anywhere you want to see…”

Elena shook her head. “What do you really think Damon knows about college?”

Their eyes met, both sparkling and amused, and Elena giggled out loud. “He’s been on campuses,” Alaric said.

“I bet he could tell me which ones have the best keggers,” Elena agreed.

Alaric adjusted his satchel over his shoulder. “We’ll work it out,” he said, and walked away, leaving Elena at the lockers, still smiling and biting her lip, and looking oddly regretful as she sorted through her things.

Not that Alaric looked back.

**

“I’m not visiting colleges,” Damon said, a few days later, an incredulous look on his face. “What do you take me for? A responsible adult?”

Elena looked like she wanted to stomp a foot, and looked to Alaric, eyes pleading. “Ric…”

Alaric shook his head. “You can be a world class dick,” he said to Damon, and then to Elena, he said, “of course. Whatever you need. But if you want to check out NYU, it’s gotta be this weekend. So you’d better organize tickets.”

Elena put her hand out to Damon, and with a dangerous smile, he withdrew his wallet from his pocket, and handed her a shiny black credit card. Elena snatched it.

“Just so you know? We’re flying first class,” she said, and Damon sprawled over the couch with a grin.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said, and there was something hidden in the curve of his lip that Alaric didn’t want to think about. So he didn’t.

**

Late that same night, Damon slipped silently into Alaric’s room, between his sheets. Kissed Alaric everywhere he could reach, whispered filth into Alaric’s ear until Alaric held him down and fucked him, hard. Ferocious, the way he needed it to be. Alaric threw Damon’s legs over his shoulders and called him Salvatore, and Damon groaned, and panted, and came saying Alaric’s name and with his head beating a steady tattoo against the headboard.

Afterwards, Alaric drew Damon into his arms. More affectionate than he’d been in a while. His heart hurt and he needed relief, he reasoned, and perhaps Damon did too, because he stayed there, curled up. They kissed a little more, even held hands, and it was okay because it was dark, so it didn’t count.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Damon murmured, and Alaric cringed.

“I know,” he said. “Shut up, Damon. Go to sleep.” It was the first night they’d slept together in months, and the best night’s sleep Alaric could remember.

If he thought about it hard enough, he could imagine Elena curled between them.

**

New York was cold, but not as cold as the last time Alaric had been there; and the campus was beautiful. They joined a walking tour, met with a group of humanities students, attended a lecture about how to improve the chances of being accepted into the school, and Alaric tried not to worry about the thought of her being so far away.

A sophomore with blond hair and huge, bright blue eyes (looked like a quarterback, and Alaric was not pleased) looked Elena up and down and tried to get altogether too close when they shook hands. Elena was brisk, pulled her hand back, and pressed herself to Alaric’s side, with a coldly polite “Nice to meet you,” tucking her hand into Alaric’s elbow. Alaric pretended his heart-rate didn’t ricochet well into triple digits, and smiled just as coldly at the disappointed kid. To his credit, he only shrugged, good-naturedly, and said “sorry. Figured he was your brother.”

Elena gave Alaric’s arm a little squeeze, as if she knew he was going to correct the misconception in an entirely unacceptable way – no, I’m her guardian, her teacher, her… boyfriend’s occasional lover, whatever. Alaric shook his head, and let Elena lean against him, and tried not to let his mind run irresponsible pornographic imagery.

As the day began to darken, Elena smiled, hailing a taxi, and said “do you want to go and get dinner, or check into the hotel?”

Alaric’s stomach answered for him. “Pretty hungry,” he said, and besides, he wasn’t looking forward to find out that Damon had dropped a grand on a penthouse suite.

So they went to dinner. Alaric tried not to feel like a total failure as a role model when Elena produced fake ID which declared her to be twenty-one, and promised himself he wouldn’t let her get drunk. She didn’t, of course. She wouldn’t. She sipped slowly at a glass of white wine in a mid-priced restaurant and smiled at Alaric, chattering excitedly about the campus. The possibilities, living in New York.

Alaric grinned, and shook his head.

“What?” Elena wanted to know.

“It’s just… seems like I was making the same decisions, just a couple of years ago, but… no. It was half a lifetime ago.” Alaric chuckled. “I’m a little jealous, in a way, I guess.”

“Half a lifetime ago? Stop trying to convince me you’re old, Ric,” Elena said, and Alaric’s smile dropped. Under the table, her leg bumped his.

“Elena…”

The waiter brought Alaric’s steak, Elena’s spaghetti marinara. The interruption was a relief, and Alaric allowed the waiter to add far more cracked pepper than he really wanted or needed. Elena seemed to see through it, but she didn’t roll her eyes, or speak, and when the waiter left, she began to eat. Slowly, methodically, tasting everything. She paused, putting knife and fork on the plate, and sipped at her wine.

“You’re not old, Ric,” she said again. “Especially not in our little circle. Damon’s a hundred and seventy. Stef…” She swallowed hard. “And I’m… not that young.”

“Eighteen is pretty fucking young, Elena,” Alaric insisted.

“There’s eighteen, and there’s eighteen,” Elena argued. “I’ve been through a lot. I’ve…”

“Elena. Stop. Please.”

“No. I want to know why.”

“Why what? Why I don’t want to… sleep with a student? Why… God, Elena, can you imagine what Jenna would think?” He kept his voice low, trying not to attract attention.

Elena sighed. “Jenna would want you happy,” she said. “Jenna… Jenna was wild,” she said. “Wilder than you think. I wish you’d had more time together.”

“I am not drunk enough for this conversation,” Alaric answered, returning to his meal. Elena raised a hand, catching a waiter’s eye, and pointed at Alaric’s glass. The waiter nodded. “Not what I meant,” he said, but he couldn’t help laughing.

Elena smiled in return.

Bizarrely, Damon had kept his promise. The hotel was nice, but it wasn’t the Ritz, and it wasn’t a posh suite. He had, however, in a very Damonesque way, booked a double room, instead of a twin. Alaric groaned, and rubbed his eyes.

“We’ve shared a bed before,” Elena said, opening the mini-bar. She withdrew a bottle of red wine. “Nice,” she said, reading the label, and opening it before Alaric had a chance to protest.

“That was different. You weren’t trying to talk me out of my pants, then,” Alaric said. “At least, not out loud. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Elena

Elena sighed, and poured wine.

Alaric started to flick through the channels, until he found a film that was only just starting. A film was good. A film was easy. With a glass of wine in his hand, and a film to watch, Alaric would let Elena settle against him, even drape an arm around her. He seemed a little reluctant. Damon must has spoken to him. Please, she thought, let Damon have spoken to him.

The film was pretty terrible, but the wine made it tolerable. “I was,” Elena grumbled.

Alaric stirred, draining his glass. “You were what?”

“Trying to talk you out of your pants,” she mumbled. “I just didn’t know how to ask.”

Alaric stiffened, and tried to shift away, and Elena felt like her heart would break. “I don’t understand,” she said. “It’s what I want. It’s what Damon wants and… you might not really feel like admitting it to yourself but I think it’s what you want, too, Alaric. The three of us… we fit, we make sense together, in the strangest way.” She pleaded with her eyes, and hoped she didn’t sound like a little girl. She turned beneath Alaric’s arm, resting her legs against his thigh. “Don’t pretend this isn’t real. We all know it is.”

Alaric bit his lip, made sad eyes. “Elena…”

“Don’t tell me I’m eighteen. Age has no relevance here. Damon loves us. Both of us. And I love both of you…” she blushed, and shook her head slightly, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. “I guess it’s just a question of whether you love us, too.”

“It’s not that simple.” As he said it, though, Alaric’s hand sifted through Elena’s hair. “I’m supposed to be looking after you.”

Elena smiled. “That won’t change. Just, everything else will.”

Bold, suddenly, she leaned, and captured Alaric’s lips in a kiss, swallowed the murmur he let out. “It’s not so crazy,” she said.

“It’s crazy,” Alaric answered. “It’s pretty goddamn crazy.” But he pulled her closer, and kissed her deeper, his body relaxing as she eased into his lap.

“it’s what I want,” she said. “It’s what we all want. Does that count for anything?”

“I don’t have it in me to argue about this any more,” he said, and kissed her again. Took her swollen lip between his teeth, slipped his tongue into her mouth until she murmured breathily and moved her hips against him. He didn’t argue when she stood up and led him to the bed.

Elena had wondered for weeks what the magic words might be. When she walked past Alaric’s closed bedroom door, she would pause, sometimes, and think to open it. Cross the room uninvited and perch on the end of the big desk.

She never did.

She wasn’t sure exactly why. The pang of rejection, she supposed, which was getting frankly painful. She wasn’t even sure why she wanted it so badly, only that she did. The thought of Damon on her left arm and Alaric on her right… nothing in her life had sounded so right, so normal, since her parents had died.

After turning the lamp on – Elena wasn’t sure why that surprised her, but it did – Alaric pulled the short dress over Elena’s head, lowering her to the bed as he kissed her bare breasts. Ran a sure and practiced hand between her legs, eliciting a low, deep moan. With his mouth against Elena’s Alaric slipped two fingers deep inside her, fingers that came away wet, and then again, thumbing at her clitoris until she almost begged him to stop; she wanted to come with Alaric inside her. She’d pictured this for too long. Alaric was big, his hands enormous, shaping and guiding her, opening her up. His stubble was a new thing; Damon was always clean-shaven, but Alaric’s face was rough, and she couldn’t help but hold it between her hands, as he finally guided himself into her. He’d been hesitant; no condom, he’d murmured, but Elena had assured him she was on the pill, and it was true, what he had said, he seemed to be well past the point of arguing. He wanted this so badly; she could feel it in his arms, in his rough kisses. In the way he spread her open, split her apart, the hungry way his hands roamed her body. The nipple caught between thumb and forefinger, just the right pressure, fingers slightly calloused and rough. So real, so present. The way their mouths were never far apart.

It was so different to being with Damon. Alaric was ferocious where Damon was slow and tender, and the difference was so stark that when Elena came, with Alaric’s face nuzzling roughly into her neck, she almost cried with relief.

This was what she needed. This was the balance.

Tears sprang to Elena’s eyes as she smiled into Alaric’s kiss.

It was far too soon for any such declaration, but “I love you,” she said. “I love you so much.”

Alaric groaned, and came hard, his thrusts slowing until they stopped altogether, with Elena’s legs wrapped tight over his hips.

And after they just kept touching. These bodies needed to be learned. Alaric kissed Elena’s thighs, her stomach. He declared her beautiful and she felt it. She explored the contours of his hips, the sharp vee of muscle that usually disappeared into his jeans.

They were human, though, and humans need to sleep. Wrapped tightly in Alaric’s arms, feeling his breath in her hair, Elena smiled. She felt so safe, had never felt safer. She turned the ring on Alaric’s finger.

“You’re not gonna run away from this tomorrow, are you, Ric?” she asked, and he kissed her hair.

“You and Damon would hunt me down,” he answered.

Elena felt a chill. “Is that the only reason?”

Alaric sighed, an pulled her a little closer. “No,” he promised. “Just sleep, Elena,” and Elena just slept.

**

The next day they had a few hours to kill, so Elena insisted on seeing MOMA, after a proper New York breakfast of lox on a bagel. She held Alaric’s hand in the street, and thrilled to the way he fussed over her scarf and coat. They stole kisses in corners of the museum and Elena swore Alaric looked ten years younger.

After a hurried lunch – terrible, wonderful hotdogs made of pork fat and crack, Elena suspected, and lashings of mustard and onions – they caught a taxi to the airport. Holding hands in the back seat, and god, it was like a drug. Elena wanted to get home and jump on Damon and tell him the good news, and then she wanted to get started right away on the rest of their lives.

“So you’re going to apply?”

“Apply?”

Alaric blinked. “We came to visit NYU, ’Lena,” he chided, and Elena’s heart sank.

“I guess so,” she said.

Alaric shook his head. “Don’t let this derail your plans,” he said. “Me, and Damon…” his eyes flickered to the oblivious taxi driver.

“Shh,” Elena said, and Alaric nodded.

**

Alaric had barely reached for the doorknob when Damon opened the door. Elena crossed the threshold first, wrapping arms around Damon. He kissed her hair, and looked at Alaric.

For a terrible second, Elena wondered if maybe, after all, Damon didn’t want what he said he’d wanted. That he’d be angry, jealous. No. He had no right, none at all, and besides, he’d said…

He reached for Alaric, closed a hand around Alaric’s neck. A little rough. Searching Alaric’s eyes. Alaric looked guilty, a little scared. About to argue, perhaps, but he didn’t. He opened his mouth, as if to apologize, and Damon smiled. Glittering, dangerous. He pulled Alaric close, kissed him hard. Up against Alaric’s mouth, he muttered, “about time.”

It was the first time Elena had seen them kiss, but now, she knew, it wouldn’t be the last. Her heart thumped. They were so hungry for each other, so different together. She found herself anticipating what would happen next. Wanted it to happen now, wanted to cement the thing, make it solid. Give it a name. She wanted, urgently, to see Damon unravel Alaric with his mouth the way he had Elena. She wanted to see Damon plastered over Alaric’s back, Alaric over Damon’s.

She wanted to see Damon’s fangs in Alaric’s flesh.

But from the kitchen wafted wonderful smells, and Elena was starving.

As Elena poured wine, Alaric almost shook his head (he wanted, Elena thought, to point out she’d drunk rather a lot of wine the night before; but there was a celebratory mood in the air, so he only smiled, and brought bowls from the cupboard, so Damon could serve the pasta). The ate at the table, all three of them. A week ago it would have felt like a rare and precious moment, but now, it only felt like the beginning of the next part. Elena chattered about NYU, and the MOMA, and how she’d need new clothing, and Damon grumbled about how New York was too far away. Elena talked about on-campus housing and Damon talked about muggings. Elena talked about English majors and Damon offered more parmesan.

“Cute touch, by the way, Damon,” Elena said with a smile that she thought might crack her face open. “The double room. Trap effectively set.”

Alaric didn’t look up, but he didn’t frown, or blush, either, just smiled that strange smile, and twirled spaghetti on his fork, and that had to be progress.

**

Elena wasn’t sure why, or how, exactly, it happened, but that first night, the first time the three of them came together was on the floor in front of the fireplace, the warmth and light of fire giving the whole scene a surreal feeling. Damon and Alaric had collected quilts and blankets and cushions and pillows from their rooms and piled them up, making a nest there on the hearth.

It should have been more awkward than it was. Certainly, the abundance of limbs was an interesting thing to manage, though Elena’s blood quickened in her veins when she realized it was something they’d get the hang of soon enough.

They undressed each other slowly; like unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning, relishing each layer. Elena stood while Damon unfastened her shirt, eyes on Elena’s, a button at a time, tongue darting out to moisten his lips from time to time. He pushed the shirt over her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Behind her, Alaric unhooked the strap of Elena’s bra, shaping her breasts with his hands as he pulled it away, catching her nipples between thumb and forefinger and kissing her shoulder and neck. Damon unzipped her jeans, crouching to help her step out of them, laying a line of kisses up and down her leg, a trail of tongue. Kissing the mound of her pubis through her panties before stripping them away, too. With a smile up at Elena he nudged her feet apart, and she giggled, until he spread her wide with his hand and licked a careful strip between the folds of her pussy, already wet and hot for him.

For them both.

Alaric took his shirt off, and pressed along the line of Elena’s back, holding her up; and she might otherwise have fallen, so she was grateful, but then Damon stopped, and stood, and despite his deep kiss Elena could think again, then.

She giggled as she unbuttoned Damon’s shirt.

“What?” he asked, but he was smiling.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said, and Damon kissed her again. Between them, Elena felt Alaric’s hand, unbuckling Damon’s belt, unzipping his pants, pulling his erection from its prison. Elena pressed harder, against the hand, against Damon’s cock, looking over Damon’s shoulder at Alaric’s eyes, sparkling and wicked. “I’ve dreamed about it.”

When she was settled into the nest, her men had finished undressing each other, speaking some language she didn’t yet understand, with their eyes, with their hands. Alaric still looked a little worried, or was it wistful? But when he stepped out of his jeans, he lay alongside Elena.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, but his fingers traced patterns on the inside of her thigh, and she couldn’t help but spread them a little, eager to be touched, as she leaned to kiss him.

“Never been so sure of anything in my life,” she murmured back, as he pressed two fingers into her. Damon lay down a moment later, on the other side, watching, stroking himself the rest of the way erect. He pulled Elena’s face from Alaric’s kiss, and kissed her himself.

The sensation of Damon’s kiss and Alaric’s fingers was electrifying. Elena moaned, arching into Alaric’s sure hand, biting at Damon’s lip.

No decision seemed to have been made, not out loud, but a few moments later, when Elena was moment from orgasm, Alaric stopped. He pulled her across his lap, settling her back to his chest, and moving his hands gently over her body; slightly rough and calloused hands, but they moved so gently, touched her so thoroughly. Damon kissed her from ankle to knee, making her shriek, making Alaric laugh deep in his chest. Damon was smiling, gazing wickedly up at them both for a moment before returning to focus on the exquisitely sensitive flesh of her thighs.

Damon’s cock was flushed a deep dark red, curving until it almost touched his stomach. Elena’s hips began to twitch in anticipation, the ache between her legs becoming unbearable; she felt dizzy. “Damon,” she pleaded, and at last he pressed into her. Slick and sure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, supported by Alaric’s strong arms – without him there she might have melted into a puddle.

She lay between Alaric’s legs as Damon made love to her slowly, kissing her in a way he hadn’t, before; less showy, more passionate. Like they were established now.

Nothing left to prove.

Alaric cradled Elena in his arms, and from time to time, Damon kissed him, and each time he did, Elena felt dizzy. Safe between them. Soon after, Damon settle on his elbows and knees, ass in the air, Alaric’s hand pressing against his shoulder, while Elena watched, spellbound. She lay alongside, propped on an elbow, and watched as Damon’s face twitched, wishing desperately that she knew what it was he was feeling.

From where she was, she could plainly see the scars on Alaric’s side. Messy white rings, ghosted one over the other. She reached a hand out to touch them, and Alaric met her eyes, his own glazed over with lust. He smiled, just barely, so close to release, and as his rhythm began to stutter, Elena lay back, and just watched, warm and sated and safe.

Though Elena and Alaric were tired, a protracted night behind them, Damon was buzzing. Couldn’t stop kissing and kissing, down Alaric’s chest, down his side, slowly tonguing over the scar there. Elena inhaled through her teeth, and Alaric sighed, nodding, tangling his fingers in Damon’s hair. Elena watched as Damon’s face changed, as he bit shallowly into the flesh there, mouth working lazily over the fresh wound. Alaric flinched, a moment, and then his face went slack.

“Does it feel good?” Elena wanted to know. It felt like the first time she’d spoken in hours, and in a way, it was. The first time she’d said anything more intelligent than ‘Damon’, ‘Ric’, or ‘yes’.

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” Alaric said, as Damon withdrew his fangs, licking lovingly over the wound.

“When you’re ready,” Damon said, “you’ll find out.”

They slept there in front of the fire, that night, and Elena wasn’t sure how they knew to, but they settled Damon between them. Alaric curved over his back, and Elena settled into his arms.

He’d fought for this, after all.