The Warmth.

One word prompt fic: Warmth.

Title based on Incubus – The Warmth.

A storm had been brewing for a good couple of days. The forests getting eerily quiet and the air heavy with the impending anger for when it decided to hit and when it did, it was indeed very angry. The rain pounded against the glass of every house in Mystic Falls, making most locals anxious, as the thunder rumbled and the lightning brightened the dark skies. The wind grew harsh and tree's were being pulled out of the ground and toppling over the roads. The news had issued an extreme weather warning and asked those in the worst of the storm to not leave their homes unless it was an emergency.

Alaric had decided, to hunker down in his apartment for the weekend and let the angry weather pass by him unaffected. Laid on his sofa, drinking a nice hot cup of coffee, with a little whisky poured in to it, giving it an extra punch. His lamp flickering horribly as he read a book on European history, with the sounds of the news reporter babbling in the background. His cell buzzed violently on the coffee table as "Damon" flashed on the screen.

"No, I'm not leaving the house." Alaric grumbled, as he answered the phone.

"Well, I, seeing as this weekend will be a boring one, I thought perhaps you'd pack a bag and come over."

"In this weather? You're kidding."

"I was thinking, I bought a bottle of whisky, straight from Scotland, Glenfiddich and it was put into it's casket in 1955 and just bottled in November last year. Cost me around seventy-two thousand, six hundred and something odd dollars and I would crack it open and brighten up our weekend but if you-"

"Really?" Alaric replies, shocked "You're lying. You'll have the bottle sure, but you'll give me a a Glenfiddich twelve year old."

"Ouch. You wound me." Damon replies sarcastically "No, really. I'll even let you open the bottle." There was a pause and god, even Alaric could feel how uncomfortable Damon was through the phone "There's no-one else I'd rather share it with, okay." He spoke again, grumbling.

"Yeah, you say that now. Then wait two hundred years and then you'll be crying."

"When have I given you the impression that I cry? I might take this request back if you keep insulting me, then where will you be? Stuck at home drinking your piss-water Whisky while I'll be basking in post Whiskey glow."

Alaric laughed "Yeah, alright. You've won me over. I'll pack a bag and be over in a few."

"Remember your cell, just in case..."

"You worried about me?" Alaric teased

"Just... be careful. It's bad out there."

"Why don't you come over here then, you know, with being a vampire and easily able to handle killer storms?"

"If I'm going to drink something this great, I'm not going to do it in your tiny apartment."

"All right, I'm on my way!" Alaric smiled

Hanging up on the call, he placed his cell on the island counter and grabbed his duffel. Pulling out a pair of sweats and t-shirts, clean underwear he stuffed them in his bag, along with his deodorant. Changing from his grey sweats and ripped t-shirt into his jeans, jumper and slipping on his thick socks. He left the bedroom and grabbed his mug and downed the rest of his Irish coffee before lacing up his black boots. The lights flickered, and the TV screen went black before it all came back on. Switching all the appliances off he grabbed his jacket and car keys and left the apartment.

Pulling his jacket tighter around his neck he jogged to the car and threw himself in as soon as it unlocked. Alaric cranked the heat up the whole way, turned the radio on but only to hear static, he quickly shut it off and decided it would be best without the distraction anyway. Taking the roads cautiously, he made his way out of the town and halfway down the road to the Salvatore boarding house before he had to stomp on the breaks before colliding into the thick fallen tree that covered the whole road. Cursing into the quiet car, as it shook from the wind, he quickly searched his pockets for his cell, then his duffel and cursed again as he remembered his phone lying on the island counter top back at his apartment.

Deciding instead of driving back home for it, he grabbed his duffel, zipped his jacket all the way up and switching off the ignition; he'd walk the half mile up to the house. Quickly exiting his car and locking it he cursed himself for forgetting his phone, the weather for being so horrible and the tree for falling over in the first place. Sliding over the tree, he made his way up the dark road. His unease building as the wind tried to push his steps backward, the rain soaking through all his layers and the tree's creaking horribly.

"I swear" Alaric started, even though he couldn't hear himself over the wind and rain "If I get crushed by a tree before I even get a drink of this whisky, I'm haunting his ass forever."

After a horrible few more minutes of walking, Alaric finally breaks through the trees and sees the large house standing there, lights shining brightly onto the lawn in front of it and Alaric sighs with ease because he's soaking wet, cold and severely pissed off at nature and all he wants to do is get in that big house that will be so lovely warm with it's huge stone fire places, his dry clothes, his kind of dick-like but somewhat great best-friend and a good glass of whisky. He tracks up the path, quickly, though his jeans are causing uncomfortable friction on his inner thighs which is making it harder to walk but he gets there and when he reaches the house, the heavy wooden door flings open to a wide eyed Damon.

"What the hell?" Damon blurts out, his voice all high and confused "Where's your car?"

"You've got a tree fallen over blocking the road." Alaric grumbled, sliding past him.

"Then you could of called me?"

"Forgot my cell." Alaric replies, already shrugging off his dripping jacket and shaking his head so the water droplets flick all around him.

"I told you to remember it! Did you just ignore me to piss me off? What if something happened to you? God damn it, Ric."

"I didn't like walking half the mile here but doesn't matter now!" Alaric snaps back at him.

"Doesn't mat... fine, whatever." Damon huffed in surrender.

Damon looks at him then; Alaric's nose is pink, along with his cheeks and his lips have turned slightly blue. His hair is dripping and sliding down the side of his face and onto the floor. His jumper was somewhat protected yet it clings to his torso from it's dampness and his jeans, well his jeans have sucked to his legs as if they are an extra lair of skin and are running water from the ends into a soaking puddle in the carpet.

"Come with me." Damon grumbles, annoyed that he feels this discomfort at the fact that this could make Alaric ill.

He lets them into the downstairs bathroom, which is cosy warm from the radiator and don't those big, warm fluffy towels just look like a little piece of heaven to Alaric right now.

"Strip." Damon demands more than asks as he grabs one of the towels from the radiator and waits.

"Privacy?" Alaric asks, eyebrow angled uowards.

"I need to get those clothes into the washer, so hurry up." Damon replies, impatience evident in his voice.

Alaric shrugs, and pulls the sticking jumper off and throws it at Damon with a sly smirk, that he probably got from looking at Damon too much, not that he looks at Damon a lot, of course. Damon catches it quickly and narrows his eyes at it as if it's nearly as bad as vervain. Alaric attempts to bend to get his boots unlaced but his jeans just have no give and he's awkwardly trying to crouch and attempting to grab at his laces. Then there's Damon, at his feet, quickly untying the boots for him, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. It shocks Alaric for a moment before he quickly mumbles his thank-you and then starts kicking the boots off. Damon throws one towel at him and waits for Alaric to wrap it around his own shoulders.

"I'll wait, uh, out there." Damon jabs his thumb in the direction of the door and then he's gone.

Alaric is standing in the warm bathroom, peeling the god awful now skin tight jeans off, which take his equally soaking underwear down, and they land of the floor with a weird Splot! Kind of noise and then he's pulling off his damp socks and wrapping the other wonderfully warm towel around his waist and picking up the rest of his clothes. Alaric walks out, and throws the rest of the clothes at Damon, smirking again, Damon watches as Alaric takes the towel off his shoulders and towel dries his wet hair and makes his way to his duffel at the front door. Damon is watching, the muscles in Alaric's biceps and back moving as Ric dries his hair then bending to grab the duffel and...

Damon turns away because those feelings and his best-friend in the same equation is not good, not good at all. His mind thinking of something to fill his one way awkward silence. "Irish coffee or just whisky?" He asks.

"Both?" Alaric replies, still in the doorway

Damon looks up to see what he's doing just in time to see Ric sliding his boxers up his legs and under the damn towel, the towel rising just enough to see more of the toned thighs and damn, how did Damon not realize his best-friend was so... hot? The towel drops to the floor and Ric is stood clad in his boxers, pulling out his grey sweats and a t-shirt. Slipping on the sweats, he makes his way back to Damon, whilst unfolding the white t-shirt. They make their way into the parlour, grabbing the wooden boxed bottle of Glenfiddich whisky and then making their way into the library and down the steps, where the fire is blazing and there's actually a steaming pot of coffee and two mugs laid out on one of the side tables. Damon regrets laying it out as soon as he walks in because it looks too intimate but Alaric walks in and he feels the warmth of the room soak into his skin and the friendly, caring feeling the room is emanating and it feels just right.

"Stefan out tonight?" Alaric breaks the silence as he makes his way towards the fire place and sits on the floor directly in front of it and pulls his t-shirt on. Which helps Damon become a little less distracted.

Alaric already knows the answer because Damon is only ever this caring, this open and just Damon when they are alone and in a weird way it makes Alaric happy and makes him feel loved because this is special and no-one else gets to see Damon this way. This is his Damon. All for himself and he's happy that he doesn't have to share.

"Yeah, staying at Elena's to make sure she's okay during the storm." Damon rolls his eyes.

Damon's pouring out two steaming mugs of coffee, then grabbing another bottle of whisky and pouring it into the coffee and then taking the mugs in one hand he tucks the box under one arm and then picks up two crystal glasses in one hand then makes his way over to Alaric next to the fire; folding himself down onto the floor, facing Ric, he places the mugs and glasses beside them. Damon looks over the wooden casing and he's happy that he has Alaric to share this with because this whisky is something special and so is Ric. He passes the box over to Alaric who raises both his eye brows.

"You sure you don't want to open it?" He asks, partially shocked.

To anyone else who was watching this conversation, they'd probably think Just open the damn box and bottle already but to those two, it's important because it's what when they first met and were hating each other, it's what they bonded over, it's how they got to where they are tonight, through their mutual love for fine malted whiskeys and bourbons.

"I told you I'd let you open it, you can double check it's not 12 year old as well." Damon smirks at him, the air finally less heavy.

"I think I love you." Alaric replies, jokingly, not so much but he wouldn't let Damon know that.

Damon swallows hard at those words, here's the tone of jest in his friends voice but No, not tonight he tells himself. Tonight, he plans on getting drunk off a damn good expensive bottle of whisky and having a good night. He watches, a smirk pulling at his lips as Alaric handles it as if it were a new born baby and slowly peels the lid open. Staring at the bottle in awe as if he's never seen anything so perfect he pulls it out and twirls it, to read the label. When he's finished he hands the bottle back to Damon, placing the box next to him.

"I said-"

"I know." Alaric interrupts "If I do open it, I think I'll cry and if I spill any I'll kill myself." a smile pulling at his lips.

Damon snorts, actually snorts but Alaric has heard that sound so many times but it still gives his stomach a happy little clench and he watches as Damon unwraps the plastic around the cork and then pulls it off. He holds it up and takes a good long breath in and his senses fill the glorious smell of the malt whisky and hands it over for Alaric to take a whiff. Alaric freaking moans aloud at the smell because damn has he ever smelt something so good in his life. Damon pulls it back, his eyes never leaving Alaric's face which is coming back to his normal look from the look of bliss. Pouring the whisky into the crystal glasses, he places the cork back in the bottle a little bit and when Damon looks back up, Alaric is staring at him and his eyes are full of... something Damon still isn't used to seeing in the eyes of anyone who looks at him. It makes him feel loved because the wonder and awe that is sparkling in Alaric's eyes, his bright pink cheeks and red nose standing out along with his not so much now blue lips, Damon may have fallen a little more in love with the man and only come to realization tonight. Alaric breaks eye contact and his cheeks darkening a little more he offers a glass to Damon and picks one up for himself. Damon holds his glass out and the little clink! Fills the room along with the crackling of the fire and the both take a drink. Damon groans and Alaric moans as the taste explodes over their tongues. They place their glasses down again and lick at their lips in silence because the taste is magnificent, something they have no words to explain. So they savour the first taste in silence. When Damon's eyes finally open, he catches the tiny little bumps that crawl up Alaric's arms and the shiver he can't fight back before he settles again.

"Are you still cold?" Damon asks

"Yeah, a little." Alaric replies, eyes opening to look at Damon, with a soft smile then he's taking hold of the mug of coffee and taking a sip.

Damon stands up and walks over to one of the cupboards that frame underneath the shelves of books and pulls out a blanket and when he comes back over, he crouches down and instead of just giving it to Ric, he takes it and wraps it around Ric's shoulders but doesn't move when he pulls back because they are face to face and Ric has that look again, the look that makes Damon feel like maybe he's worth something good to someone, to Alaric. Then there's lips, pressing against Damon's and Damon just kisses back because if he thought his kisses or even his love for Katherine was anything compared to this simple kiss, the press of each others lips moving against the others was anything. Then he was mistaken, god was he wrong. He knows that he has Ric, as a friend, to trust, to have his back no matter what and to be there whenever he calls and it makes it that more special. Alaric knows that this was a big step, a huge gigantic leap into a dark abyss that he doesn't know if he's going to be caught at the bottom but when he feels Damon's lips moving against him and somehow feels like its going to be okay. He's body lending up and pressing against Damon's cold body which is feeling exquisitely warm, sends a heat pooling at the bottom of his spine, overriding the shivers he got from the angry storm, filling out, spreading through his limbs and sitting heavy in his chest and he thinks Maybe this could work. They both taste of fine whisky and coffee and it's just them and it's good and it's amazing.

Damon pulls back, only enough to rest his forehead against Ric's to say;

"I think I love you." this time when those words fill the room, it's not laced with humour.

"I think I love you too." Alaric replies, this time seriously.

And it's the warmest both of them have felt inside for a very long time.

Reviews are like whisky tasting, fire side Dalaric first kisses.

Rated M for soft sexual content. Barely there... squint you might see it.

Or close your eyes... you can imagine it there, yeah?