Fic 3/4 Mason/Damon/Alaric
Nov. 19th, 2011 07:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turnonmyheelsTitle: Here Comes Another Fall from Grace (I'm Always Falling On My Face)
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Damon/Alaric/Mason, Damon/Alaric, Damon/Mason, Mason/Alaric
Summary: Post Ghost World -- All the ghosts are gone, or are they?
Notes: Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moosesal for the beta. Title from Placebo's Breathe Underwater
Alcoholic kind of mood
Lose my clothes, lose my mood
Cruising for a piece of fun,
Looking out for number one.
Different partner every night,
So narcotic outta sight,
What a gas, what a beautiful ass
Nancy Boy, Placebo
The game of scientist was botched from the start. The general parameter of Mason’s corporeality was simple to determine -- every time they tried leaving the study he would disappear. The fine-tuning was a bit more difficult to determine. And Damon? Could have gone his entire life without experiencing the result of that particular experiment.
It started off quite predictably -- Mason, having a body, wanted to use it. Damon, also possessing a body and having recently lost his girlfriend/blood bag/fuck buddy to murder-by-brother, was also amenable to using said body for something besides Elena’s sparring partner.
(To be perfectly honest, which Damon always was, the less said about Elena and her sudden urge to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer the better. Learning to defend herself against muggers and rapists was smart, sensible, and something both Alaric and Damon could totally work with. Her sudden desire to be able to kill a vampire without any help -- or more importantly a twelve-step plan and shit ton of luck -- was beyond her physically and clearly a result of Stefan being a complete ass.)
One epically long eye-fuck from Mason was reciprocated with elevator eyes from Damon. Mason circled Damon making sure to admire the view from all sides and upped the ante by asking to borrow a change of clothes from Damon. Damon, circling the other way, upped the ante even more by claiming his svelte, super-model figure was not at all suited to Mason’s wolfish frame.
Mason -- appalled and offended, but mostly just horny as only the recently dead, then corporealized, then dead, the corporealized again, can be -- demanded that Damon prove it by stripping immediately and switching clothes with him. Mason was halfway out of his clothes before he finished issuing his challenge, but Damon took his time.
Damon maintained eye contact with Mason while he started with the buttons on his ubiquitous black button-down. He undid them slowly, letting his fingertips skim down his skin as it was exposed button by button. He left his shirt on and tilted his head back while he trailed his palm from his heart all the way down to his black (there wasn’t another color) John Varvatos slacks.
“Quit being such a cock-tease,” Mason said as he clenched his hands together to keep from reaching out and ripping off Damon’s pants.
“Who’s teasing?” Damon asked, unbuckling his belt. He toyed with the button on his slacks and looked up at Mason as he batted his eyelashes. “I’m building the anticipation. Besides, you’re the one who’s always talking and never actually doing.”
“Yeah?”
Damon flicked his wrist and the button slid free. “Um-hm.” He looked Mason over, top to bottom then bottom to top, as he slid his zipper down tooth by tooth.
“You are completely ridiculous. You know this, right?”
Damon smirked and held his arms out wide in an obvious invitation.
Mason -- like all Lockwoods -- was unable to resist a challenge, a dare, or a partially naked body. He closed the distance between himself and Damon in three brisk steps. Heat rolled off of Damon and the fire behind him. Mason wasn’t sure when it had been lit, and to be honest he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that it had spontaneously burst into flames due to the building sexual tension in the room. Mason promised himself that the tension would be resolved immediately.
He reached out and pushed one side of Damon’s shirt off so that it revealed his shoulder and collarbone. “Take yourself out.” He watched nearly mesmerized as Damon’s pectoral muscles rippled while he pushed his underwear and pants down barely far enough for his rapidly hardening cock to spring free of its confines.
Mason knelt before Damon, placing both hands on his hips, and tilted his head up just enough to brush his face against Damon’s erection. He closed his eyes and breathed in Damon’s scent: the top note was like an exotic spice that he couldn’t place, underscored by a hint of leather and earth, with a bottom note redolent of copper. The scent was heady and other than the hint of leather reminded him of Katherine so strongly he almost expected her to walk in the study and join them.
Mason’s brain whited out for just a second as he imagined what it would be like to be the filling in a Katherine and Damon sandwich. He came back to the present with a tight grip on the base of his own cock and a shake of his head. He parted his lips and licked them before running the tip of his tongue across the head of Damon’s cock.
“Foreskin?” Mason was surprised; he’d never had first-hand acquaintance with an uncut penis.
Damon shrugged. “Circumcision didn’t become common practice in this country until after 1870.”
“Who would have thought a blowjob would be accompanied by a history lesson?”
Damon smirked at him and pushed his hips forward just enough to press his erection against Mason’s lips. “Clearly, you’ve never gotten Ric drunk and seduced him. The only time he ever stops talking is when his mouth is full. It’s all ‘the evolution of hunting rituals and ancient warrior traditions evolved into modern day homosexual sublimation’ all the time. Boring.”
Damon’s hips pressed forward again and this time Mason opened his mouth, letting Damon slide his length along the tip of Mason’s tongue before pulling back, getting it nice and wet. Mason wrapped his lips along the shaft and started to gently suck. Mason allowed Damon to do all the work rocking gently in and out. He did his part using lips and tongue enough to make Damon’s rhythm falter when Mason moved just right.
It was nice, great even, but Mason wanted more. He’d been dead for an undetermined amount of time and he needed hot, hard, and dirty; not soft and slow. The next time Damon slid out, Mason tilted his head back and opened his throat. His hands tightened enough on Damon’s hips to bruise --albeit briefly-- then he yanked Damon’s hips forward and swallowed him all the way down to the base. Neatly trimmed hairs tickled his upper lip for a second before Mason pushed him back.
Then he looked up at Damon and winked. Damon smirked back and pushed all the way in and rolled his hips in a slow circle. Mason slapped him on the ass and let go of Damon’s hips, allowing Damon to set his own pace and fuck his face.
Being dead, he didn’t have to worry about breathing. Damon didn’t realize that -- or he was more conscientious than Mason would have ever predicted -- and would give him just enough time to catch a breath every so often before slamming home harder than before. His mouth was stretched open wide, drooling more than a little. Damon’s hands came down to rest on his face. He pressed his thumb where Mason’s mouth was stretched wide, smearing the spit across Mason’s cheek.
Mason was so hard it hurt. Every single time Damon fucked in Mason felt his cock twitch in response. He stroked himself with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Damon’s waist. He held onto Damon, pulling him hard against his face, not letting him pull back, and swallowed around the length of him over and over. Damon’s eyes closed, his head tilted back and Mason could feel him pulsing against his tongue nearly ready to come and then--
“Damon?” Elena’s voice called out. “What the hell?”
Damon opened his eyes to see Elena staring at him from across the room. He met her gaze but he was too far gone to stop now even though Mason had disappeared and taken all the stimulation with him. Damon came onto the carpet, in front of Elena, half-naked in his own study, looking for all the world like he had just jerked off in the middle of the room. He looked down at the carpet and sighed. “That’s going to be a bitch. Elena, hand me the club soda from the bar would you?”
“Damon, what...” Elena trailed off.
Damon refused to be embarrassed or show that he was at all affected by Elena witnessing whatever it was she had seen without seeing Mason. He tucked himself away, pulled his shirt back up but left it hanging open. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and knelt down on the rug. “Seriously Elena, hand me the club soda.”
He looked up; Elena was gone and he was eye-to-eye with Mason.
“My turn?”
Damon’s eyes darkened and veins spread slowly beneath them. “Special requests?”
“Use your imagination.”
Damon moved quicker than Mason could follow. One second he was on his knees in front of the chair in which he’d died and the next he was sitting in said chair with a finger in his ass and his aching cock halfway down a vampire’s throat. Mason heartily approved of this. Damon swallowed him down, crooked a finger against his prostate and massaged. Mason let out a wordless shout. His hands clenched the arms of the chair, fingernails digging into the antique velvet. He threw his head back and circled his hips, pushing as deep into Damon as he could.
It was over in seconds. He came with a growl and Damon swallowed, finger easing off his prostate as he gently sucked Mason until he was completely soft. Damon sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.
“Sorry, it wasn’t my best creative endeavor.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mason replied, refusing to acknowledge Damon’s lame attempt to fish for a compliment. “I needed that.”
Damon nodded and stood up. “I need the club soda.” He found a bottle in the bar and immediately started cleaning come off the carpet.
“I need some clean clothes.”
Damon glanced up from blotting, never rubbing. “I told you, my clothes won’t fit you.”
“Damon, I’ve made some headway on these glyphs,” Alaric’s voice rang out.
Damon looked up at Mason ready to see him disappear when Alaric came into the room. Alaric entered and Mason was still there, naked in front of the fire. Damon looked between the two of them. “But I bet Ric’s would fit you fine.”
Ric looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not going to ask.”
“Look, honey!” Damon jumped to his feet and blurred across the room. He grabbed Alaric by the elbow and pulled him toward Mason. “The ghost of Lassie followed me home. Can we keep him?”
“I don’t understand,” Ric said as he turned slightly away from Mason. “I thought the ghosts were gone.”
Mason pulled on his jeans. “They are.” He grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it on too. “As far as we know I’m the only one that’s left.”
“It’s fascinating Ric, he’s only visible in this room. And until you walked in I was the only one who could see him.”
Ric raised his eyebrows and looked back and forth between Mason and Damon, a dubious expression on his face. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“I know!” Damon beamed clapping his hands together. “This calls for booze. Lots and lots of booze.” Damon headed for the bar. “And research!”
“I could really use a change of clothes. These have cavern crap all over them. Think you can loan me some clothes, buddy?”
Ric looked at Mason. Sure enough the clothes he was wearing were dusty and muddy and torn in a couple of places. He let out a sigh. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the trunk of my car.”
“Awesome!” Mason grinned. “Uh, you’ll have to go get them, I can’t step out of this room without becoming disembodied.”
“How is this my life?” Ric muttered under his breath as he went to get the ghost of a werewolf he had helped murder a change of clothes.
Next Part
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Damon/Alaric/Mason, Damon/Alaric, Damon/Mason, Mason/Alaric
Summary: Post Ghost World -- All the ghosts are gone, or are they?
Notes: Thank you
moosesal for the beta. Title from Placebo's Breathe UnderwaterAlcoholic kind of mood
Lose my clothes, lose my mood
Cruising for a piece of fun,
Looking out for number one.
Different partner every night,
So narcotic outta sight,
What a gas, what a beautiful ass
Nancy Boy, Placebo
The game of scientist was botched from the start. The general parameter of Mason’s corporeality was simple to determine -- every time they tried leaving the study he would disappear. The fine-tuning was a bit more difficult to determine. And Damon? Could have gone his entire life without experiencing the result of that particular experiment.
It started off quite predictably -- Mason, having a body, wanted to use it. Damon, also possessing a body and having recently lost his girlfriend/blood bag/fuck buddy to murder-by-brother, was also amenable to using said body for something besides Elena’s sparring partner.
(To be perfectly honest, which Damon always was, the less said about Elena and her sudden urge to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer the better. Learning to defend herself against muggers and rapists was smart, sensible, and something both Alaric and Damon could totally work with. Her sudden desire to be able to kill a vampire without any help -- or more importantly a twelve-step plan and shit ton of luck -- was beyond her physically and clearly a result of Stefan being a complete ass.)
One epically long eye-fuck from Mason was reciprocated with elevator eyes from Damon. Mason circled Damon making sure to admire the view from all sides and upped the ante by asking to borrow a change of clothes from Damon. Damon, circling the other way, upped the ante even more by claiming his svelte, super-model figure was not at all suited to Mason’s wolfish frame.
Mason -- appalled and offended, but mostly just horny as only the recently dead, then corporealized, then dead, the corporealized again, can be -- demanded that Damon prove it by stripping immediately and switching clothes with him. Mason was halfway out of his clothes before he finished issuing his challenge, but Damon took his time.
Damon maintained eye contact with Mason while he started with the buttons on his ubiquitous black button-down. He undid them slowly, letting his fingertips skim down his skin as it was exposed button by button. He left his shirt on and tilted his head back while he trailed his palm from his heart all the way down to his black (there wasn’t another color) John Varvatos slacks.
“Quit being such a cock-tease,” Mason said as he clenched his hands together to keep from reaching out and ripping off Damon’s pants.
“Who’s teasing?” Damon asked, unbuckling his belt. He toyed with the button on his slacks and looked up at Mason as he batted his eyelashes. “I’m building the anticipation. Besides, you’re the one who’s always talking and never actually doing.”
“Yeah?”
Damon flicked his wrist and the button slid free. “Um-hm.” He looked Mason over, top to bottom then bottom to top, as he slid his zipper down tooth by tooth.
“You are completely ridiculous. You know this, right?”
Damon smirked and held his arms out wide in an obvious invitation.
Mason -- like all Lockwoods -- was unable to resist a challenge, a dare, or a partially naked body. He closed the distance between himself and Damon in three brisk steps. Heat rolled off of Damon and the fire behind him. Mason wasn’t sure when it had been lit, and to be honest he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that it had spontaneously burst into flames due to the building sexual tension in the room. Mason promised himself that the tension would be resolved immediately.
He reached out and pushed one side of Damon’s shirt off so that it revealed his shoulder and collarbone. “Take yourself out.” He watched nearly mesmerized as Damon’s pectoral muscles rippled while he pushed his underwear and pants down barely far enough for his rapidly hardening cock to spring free of its confines.
Mason knelt before Damon, placing both hands on his hips, and tilted his head up just enough to brush his face against Damon’s erection. He closed his eyes and breathed in Damon’s scent: the top note was like an exotic spice that he couldn’t place, underscored by a hint of leather and earth, with a bottom note redolent of copper. The scent was heady and other than the hint of leather reminded him of Katherine so strongly he almost expected her to walk in the study and join them.
Mason’s brain whited out for just a second as he imagined what it would be like to be the filling in a Katherine and Damon sandwich. He came back to the present with a tight grip on the base of his own cock and a shake of his head. He parted his lips and licked them before running the tip of his tongue across the head of Damon’s cock.
“Foreskin?” Mason was surprised; he’d never had first-hand acquaintance with an uncut penis.
Damon shrugged. “Circumcision didn’t become common practice in this country until after 1870.”
“Who would have thought a blowjob would be accompanied by a history lesson?”
Damon smirked at him and pushed his hips forward just enough to press his erection against Mason’s lips. “Clearly, you’ve never gotten Ric drunk and seduced him. The only time he ever stops talking is when his mouth is full. It’s all ‘the evolution of hunting rituals and ancient warrior traditions evolved into modern day homosexual sublimation’ all the time. Boring.”
Damon’s hips pressed forward again and this time Mason opened his mouth, letting Damon slide his length along the tip of Mason’s tongue before pulling back, getting it nice and wet. Mason wrapped his lips along the shaft and started to gently suck. Mason allowed Damon to do all the work rocking gently in and out. He did his part using lips and tongue enough to make Damon’s rhythm falter when Mason moved just right.
It was nice, great even, but Mason wanted more. He’d been dead for an undetermined amount of time and he needed hot, hard, and dirty; not soft and slow. The next time Damon slid out, Mason tilted his head back and opened his throat. His hands tightened enough on Damon’s hips to bruise --albeit briefly-- then he yanked Damon’s hips forward and swallowed him all the way down to the base. Neatly trimmed hairs tickled his upper lip for a second before Mason pushed him back.
Then he looked up at Damon and winked. Damon smirked back and pushed all the way in and rolled his hips in a slow circle. Mason slapped him on the ass and let go of Damon’s hips, allowing Damon to set his own pace and fuck his face.
Being dead, he didn’t have to worry about breathing. Damon didn’t realize that -- or he was more conscientious than Mason would have ever predicted -- and would give him just enough time to catch a breath every so often before slamming home harder than before. His mouth was stretched open wide, drooling more than a little. Damon’s hands came down to rest on his face. He pressed his thumb where Mason’s mouth was stretched wide, smearing the spit across Mason’s cheek.
Mason was so hard it hurt. Every single time Damon fucked in Mason felt his cock twitch in response. He stroked himself with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Damon’s waist. He held onto Damon, pulling him hard against his face, not letting him pull back, and swallowed around the length of him over and over. Damon’s eyes closed, his head tilted back and Mason could feel him pulsing against his tongue nearly ready to come and then--
“Damon?” Elena’s voice called out. “What the hell?”
Damon opened his eyes to see Elena staring at him from across the room. He met her gaze but he was too far gone to stop now even though Mason had disappeared and taken all the stimulation with him. Damon came onto the carpet, in front of Elena, half-naked in his own study, looking for all the world like he had just jerked off in the middle of the room. He looked down at the carpet and sighed. “That’s going to be a bitch. Elena, hand me the club soda from the bar would you?”
“Damon, what...” Elena trailed off.
Damon refused to be embarrassed or show that he was at all affected by Elena witnessing whatever it was she had seen without seeing Mason. He tucked himself away, pulled his shirt back up but left it hanging open. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and knelt down on the rug. “Seriously Elena, hand me the club soda.”
He looked up; Elena was gone and he was eye-to-eye with Mason.
“My turn?”
Damon’s eyes darkened and veins spread slowly beneath them. “Special requests?”
“Use your imagination.”
Damon moved quicker than Mason could follow. One second he was on his knees in front of the chair in which he’d died and the next he was sitting in said chair with a finger in his ass and his aching cock halfway down a vampire’s throat. Mason heartily approved of this. Damon swallowed him down, crooked a finger against his prostate and massaged. Mason let out a wordless shout. His hands clenched the arms of the chair, fingernails digging into the antique velvet. He threw his head back and circled his hips, pushing as deep into Damon as he could.
It was over in seconds. He came with a growl and Damon swallowed, finger easing off his prostate as he gently sucked Mason until he was completely soft. Damon sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief.
“Sorry, it wasn’t my best creative endeavor.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mason replied, refusing to acknowledge Damon’s lame attempt to fish for a compliment. “I needed that.”
Damon nodded and stood up. “I need the club soda.” He found a bottle in the bar and immediately started cleaning come off the carpet.
“I need some clean clothes.”
Damon glanced up from blotting, never rubbing. “I told you, my clothes won’t fit you.”
“Damon, I’ve made some headway on these glyphs,” Alaric’s voice rang out.
Damon looked up at Mason ready to see him disappear when Alaric came into the room. Alaric entered and Mason was still there, naked in front of the fire. Damon looked between the two of them. “But I bet Ric’s would fit you fine.”
Ric looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not going to ask.”
“Look, honey!” Damon jumped to his feet and blurred across the room. He grabbed Alaric by the elbow and pulled him toward Mason. “The ghost of Lassie followed me home. Can we keep him?”
“I don’t understand,” Ric said as he turned slightly away from Mason. “I thought the ghosts were gone.”
Mason pulled on his jeans. “They are.” He grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it on too. “As far as we know I’m the only one that’s left.”
“It’s fascinating Ric, he’s only visible in this room. And until you walked in I was the only one who could see him.”
Ric raised his eyebrows and looked back and forth between Mason and Damon, a dubious expression on his face. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“I know!” Damon beamed clapping his hands together. “This calls for booze. Lots and lots of booze.” Damon headed for the bar. “And research!”
“I could really use a change of clothes. These have cavern crap all over them. Think you can loan me some clothes, buddy?”
Ric looked at Mason. Sure enough the clothes he was wearing were dusty and muddy and torn in a couple of places. He let out a sigh. “I’ve got a change of clothes in the trunk of my car.”
“Awesome!” Mason grinned. “Uh, you’ll have to go get them, I can’t step out of this room without becoming disembodied.”
“How is this my life?” Ric muttered under his breath as he went to get the ghost of a werewolf he had helped murder a change of clothes.
Next Part
