[ the beat of his heart is loud, quick; it is the only indication of his excitement besides the hint in his eyes. the organ is quicker still at her coyness, and that enchanting, promising shake in her breath, the notion of truly painting her. as she implies. klaus reaches for her empty glass without hesitation, casts his fingers over hers as if to take it.
he doesn't; he lingers. there is a sincerity in his eyes, a firmness. for as much as he knows she jests, well: ] If I were to paint you, there would be nothing, no promises or favors, no price that would persuade me to part with an image as wanted and intimate as you.
[ he touches her and it drives her a little crazy. she should go. she should leave. this is crazy. all of it. she's walking a dangerous line but she wants to walk it, like she had before. maybe it's some kind of self-punishment letting herself be charmed, be seduced by him. or maybe it's that she likes his attentions, likes the way he makes her feel, the way he desires her without reservation or without care.
why can't she want him the same way?
there's a voice in her head that reminds her that he is a monster. but so is she. she's killed, not nearly as many as he, but she has killed the innocent, not just carter who she couldn't help. she killed to protect as he has. his body count is higher because he has been alive for centuries. caroline isn't the sort to make excuses for people, at least that's what she tells herself until she remembers stefan and every excuse she's made for him.
his words only push her to say what has been racing through her mind since she got here, since before that, since she kissed him on the beach. his touch lingers and her gaze does too. in any other moment, she might laugh at his words, at how cheesy they are but right now, with the sorrow in her heart, the uncertainty of this place filling her thoughts, and the beginning of a buzz, she is enchanted.
she lets out a breath, looking up determinedly at him, feeling as sure about this as she feels uncertain.] Sleep with me. [ she speaks the words quickly but she says them with a confidence that is singularly hers.] If intimacy is the way to get back home... why shouldn't we? We've done it before. [ and it doesn't have to mean anything.]
[ he stills. it is demanding, the way her request sears through him, and the playful light in his eyes flickers before it mutes, leaving behind only a gleam, as searching and keyed as any of his prior hopes and yearnings -- but focused, hungry. he wants to: to do exactly as she requests, the words beckoning in him a rush that drowns his senses. there is heat in his cheeks thinking of taking her, undressing her, tasting and touching and claiming her for his pleasure, and enticing her own.
he wants to. it is caroline, not just beckoning his lust but the softness of his heart.
yes, is his answer, and everything about him says so.
it is primal, instinctual, the roaring of his base desires, and not the sharpness of his mind. she lays it at his feet, all he desires, and there is no doubt in him to take it. even as her justifications make him pause, cut him just so, in the way only she can. but fine, he thinks -- for it doesn't truly matter to his decision how she cuts him, or what she tells herself. still he meant it, what he thought, the desire behind what he asked of her wants before, and his pride demands nothing less than the sincerity of it. he wants her to want this. he needs her to, to have that seed, to nurture it.
she wants him. he can hear it in her heartbeat, see it plain in her eyes, smell it on her skin. his thumb runs over hers, spreads the dew of her cold drink to the soft apex of skin, coaxing as slowly as his words. ] And is that all it would mean to you? [ he knows the answer, but he wants to hear hers, his voice even, knowing, and non-expectant all the same. ]
[ the way she balks at his question is every indication that, no, that is not all it would mean to her. caroline forbes is a creature of feelings. try as she might, she cannot be anything else. she doesn't take someone into her bed, her arms, her heart lightly. she takes every consideration and turns them over in her mind, over and over. even a move so impulsive isn't so, it is something born of her heart's desire, try as she might to deny that fact.
she does not love him in the way he seeks nor in the way he loves her, but that does not mean she lacks all feeling for him. there is a desire there, not-so-beneath the surface. at the very least, she is not compassion-less.
she is not indifferent to him. that much should be obvious.
blinking at him, she pulls her hand from his with a frustrated expression. why did she believe this would be uncomplicated? why did she think he would simply agree with her without question or terms or anything like that? the look he gets from her is almost deadly as she downs the watery remains of her drink, whispering her answer just before she does.] You already know the answer to that. [ no, of course not.]
[ he has made her angry, he knows, but in truth he has every right to ask. even knowing she feels for him, and especially knowing that she feels for him despite herself. he has no intention of entering a situation as volatile as this, not without knowing their footing, and with or without the feeding of his own insatiability, with or without the admission he now has.
she is not the only player here with feelings, with desires. yet he is the only one who has a particular hope that can be crushed. he may quiet it, tuck it away until it is useful; all he needs is her cue, her decision as to what she desires this to be.
complicated. he knows what this is, making his heart race, the air thick with its danger.
and so she is as mistaken as she is right (he does know) and he will not pain or aggrieve her any longer with questions. he will take this opportunity before it is spent. klaus reaches again for her drink as she lowers it, but this time he does take it, setting it on the floor between them. what she asks she will receive, and he shifts weight to his feet with no other prompting. the table creaks just so as he moves forward, over her, into her space, one hand pressing into the cushion beside her hip. his fingers are as eager as they are slow to touch her waist, the warmth and spark the feel of her body beneath his touch alight along his skin, bringing a flush to his face. his palm smooths over the curve, pressing her forward, his breath a heated exhale as it reaches hers.
only then do his eyes find hers, close enough to kiss. they lust and want, encourage and wait. he is here, willing. (feeling.) ]
[ he has every right to ask, to wonder, to question. he is not unfeeling either, she knows that even as she feels frustration and indignation rise up within her at his words. the feelings are soothed only a moment later as she reminds herself that she would ask the same of someone else, expect honesty when receiving a proposal so intimate.
the anticipation she feels, despite her anger, is dangerous in its intensity. she looks at him when his hand moves to take her drink, setting it aside, setting it away. she feels her stomach flutter, her own skin flush as the realization hits her that he does not mean to refuse her offer.
a voice quietly protests, tells her she should retreat, turn back, forget this foolishness. but the desire for more (beyond the desire to get back home) is stronger, louder, more powerful. she feels restless in those few short moments it takes him to move towards her, invading her space.
she takes in a deep breath, his scent suddenly intoxicating, the smell of paint and his cologne (is it cologne? or just the natural smell of him?) filling her senses. blue eyes flutter as he leans in close, as he poses himself over her. it's now or never. and his breath hot and mingling with hers is the spark that ignites the flame of action beneath her.
she moves with the preternatural grace her vampire status provides her. she shifts swiftly, moving her legs to slide over his thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he leans over her, trying to flip them so that he is on the couch and she is perched in his lap, her hands on his chest, his neck to help the transition.]
[ he could never refuse her. why would he with her enchanting and willing, here of her own volition, for whatever reasons have brought her here? how could he? she is the longings in his past, the unasked and unanswered question of his future. she is untouched and memorized all at once, hot and needed beneath his touch, icy and warm to him all the same, with the power to make him small and worthy at her judgement. his fingers flex at her slim waist, wanting her and wanting her closer, wanting more than her lips that tease his with her breath, making him shiver, more than the soft, wet kiss of her tongue that will awaken him. more than her body, and the desire that makes his heart skip a beat.
it will not do, these things. it will not do because he is never satiated, never full. it is a harsh, sweet madness that raises in him with every short moment in which they hover: he wants her, deadlocked in an orbit he believes he has once left, swayed into her by power he has nearly forgotten. if it is good or bad, he does not know, and he does not care.
she takes the reins and he lets her, submits to the sliding of her legs over his, the push and pull of her hands. he doesn't fight it, rendering himself useless at the telling catch of her breath, at her fight. but he does grab her, his hands vices at her waist, wrinkling the softness of her dress. he looks at her body straddling his, the way she sinks into his lap, warm on his thighs, and his white-knuckled grip; the pertness of her breasts at his face, the dress he thinks of ripping clean off her. his eyes lift to hers, heavy-lidded and roused under her pinning, stirred and dark. ]
[ she had once justified her tryst with him in the woods as scandalous sex. it had been another attempt at covering whatever feelings bloomed within her as something less than what they were, what they are. there's no avoiding now that she's back in his arms, perched in his lap this time, pressed close upon her own accord (as it had been the last time).
she cannot deny that the way he looks at her stirs something within her, an hungry, voracious appetite. there is dangerous in this, more than anything she's done before, more than battling witches, werewolves, or other vampires. there is something in the way he looks at her that scares her as much as it excites her.
she doesn't keep him waiting long, she refuses to hesitate now that she's made her choice, now that she's followed (what she thinks of as) her baser desires. her mouth closes the distance between them, hands tilting his head upward so that she can kiss him full on, properly. his fingers grip at her and hers curl against the base of his scalp as she gives a steady roll of her hips, eager to coax him towards excitement.
her thumbs slide restlessly over his cheeks as she seeks to deepen the kiss. she may not have control long, knowing a little of his own predilections but she will not waste her chance now that she has it.]
[ he has what he wants, and he does not intend to let go, driven by the lone impulse to take, and to indulge. it is loud, his desire, deafening and complete, and he is all too willing to tilt his head to hers, to give into her pressing hands with a claiming movement of his own. she kisses him, all lips and need, the softness of her sweet mouth and the demand of her hunger both feelings the beast inside him seeks to enjoy and devour again and again.
his fingers tighten at her dress, they pull and adjust; they rub and bruise her skin. he groans, deep in his throat from this first kiss, shivers from the clutching of her hands, and cranes his neck to kiss her back, to do it hard, forcefully. it is coaxing, the caress of her body, the pressure it exerts on his lap, on his already thickening cock, and he welcomes it, her seduction. his hands pull her down, push her into him even as he leans forward to press his lips to hers with a gasp, wet and hot.
it's not enough, and his arms encircle to cage her, to press her closer, tighter. his heart pounds loud in his chest, against hers, all animal and all for her. ]
[ she is no longer shy with what she wants, now that she has given into her desires, into his. she hums contently into his mouth as their mouths mingle, as he groans into their kiss, the sound vibrating his chest and hers in the most pleasant and addicting way.
his kiss is forceful and even more hungry, she pulls back from it at her peril as he tugs and pulls at her so impatiently, her lips curving into something utterly wicked, her whispered words reflecting her mood and expression a moment later.] You want to tear it off me, don't you? [ it's dangerous to tease him in this state, she does not doubt as much. but she cannot help but feel a twisted thrill at knowing that he wants her that badly.
he isn't alone, however. she finds she wants him too, now that she lets herself once again. she presses herself even more firmly in his lap, squarely applying pressure and friction for both of their benefits. however it is not nearly enough for her either. she gasps softly when he wraps his arms so tightly around her, keeping her close.
there is no protest in her, in fact, she simply arches into him, kissing him again, teasing by tugging gently on his bottom lip.] Don't you?
[ she is not shy, not in the least, and oh how he has been waiting for the taste of her unadulterated lust, desiring and seeking it so keenly all over again, a hunger renewed, that tasting it now is an elixir. she rubs against him; he forces it even as she takes it, exciting his blood in a rush to every extremity, to focus on the one place that truly begs attention.
he nearly growls feeling her pull away, nearly smothers her lips and her useless words until he hears them: that tease, that knowing, the curl of her pink lips and dangerous glint in her sharp, crystal eyes. she knows him. she knows what he desires, what he wants; it burns and frustrates. if he was not hard he is well on his way now, his arousal straining just so, throbbing in time with his pulse.
he is aroused, in such a heady way, in exactly the way he knows she'd like, and it drives him mad. his fingers tighten at her dress and he lets her take her pleasure, press herself to him like a cat in heat. and he does growl when her teeth snag his lips, a low rumble of warning in his chest, vibrated through his throat.
there is vindication in the way he snaps, grabbing at her, moving her quicker than even she can process or fight. she is facedown on the couch and he is kneeling behind her, her cheek pressed against the leather, his palm pinning her slim shoulders down. he does tear her dress, straight down the back, rips it open to expose her, bare save the pretty number hugging her hips. it's painful, how the sight of her stirs him.
he grabs the silk, pulls to stretch the fabric taut against her sex. ] Tell me again what I want. [ it's harsh, as much a punishment as it is a promise. ] Hm? [ klaus prompts her again, softer, his fingers trembling to encircle the back of her neck, the slender grace of it. (she's beautiful, his eyes cherishing those curves, her porcelain skin, her golden curls.) he feels the heat in his face as he guides her up to him, to her knees, presses his lips to her cheek as his arm circles around her front. ] What do I want, Caroline? [ he means it, this time, his fingers sliding between her legs to find her heat. he wants to hear her say it: he wants her. he wants her to feel it. ]
[ she knows what she's doing exactly. she knows what game she is playing and how exactly to play it. she coaxes him into action even if it is not quite the action she had been expecting. he moves her quickly, forcefully, flipping her onto the couch and stealing the control she'd only just secured for herself.
but it is what she wants, she is heady with it, the knowledge that just her words, her actions could drive him to such a reaction. some might call it sick or dangerous, but it appeals to the darker side of her, to the animal always pacing beneath the surface. he pins her to the couch just before the sound of ripping fabric fills the air. so much for that dress, she'll make him get her another.
she lets out a huff of air as he pulls at her underwear, pulling the silk against sensitive skin and makes his demand of her. she says nothing the first time, she merely lets out a breath. it is when he tugs her up, pulling her body flush with his, his front pressing to the curve of her back perfectly, that she answers his demand, his question.] Me, [ she says it simply because it is just that, simple. the answer has been her since the moment they saw each other on the beach. he wants her. she knows it. and it's why she'd shown up to his apartment on some level. because she was wanted, desired.
he treats her roughly, like she is not made of glass, something she likes to be reminded of. she is immortal, unbreakable despite how she might feel on the inside. his touch finds the apex of her thighs and she lets out a breath.] You want me. [ he wants her. he wants to fuck her. he wants to possess her. he wants to love her. and she answers the question before he can even ask it.]
I want you inside of me. [ it's more bold than anything she's ever really said to anyone. but it is honest in that moment, she wants to feel something other than the heartache of her mother's illness, she wants to escape the craziness of this place. she wants to feel something good, to feel him, desirous and hungry for her.]
[ his eyes are open, low and focused on the slope of her reddened cheeks. she does know what she is doing, and he knows with mad excitement that borders on dangerous ground that she intends to wield his desire, to draw it out, to take what is given. he feels the softness of her skin beneath her fingerprints like a lure, the muscles of her throat working around those answers that sear through him, the truth of them on her lips making him harder: because she knows what he wants and she indulges it, invites it if only for this moment. wants it. (good, he thinks; the truth unfettered, the reflection cast.)
he does not see past it, not with the curve of her arse pressed to his cock, not with her sweet, heavy breaths and murmurs making him burn. not with his hand between her legs. he rubs her sex, the heaviness of his breath colliding with her skin, the tempo of it short and quick and suffocating: she is hot, wanting beneath his giving fingers. the sigh that escapes him chases hers, shakes him, his lips moving a slow trail from her jaw, pushing her head to the side with his to kiss the back of her neck. she tastes of salt and lust, and his teeth nips gently, that harmless scrape of his human bite digging in at her confession.
at her request. her demand.
it brings heat to his face, makes him groans softly under his breath, volatile and eager, animalistic. he wants to feel her tightness, the firm slide of her around him, wet and quivering. he remembers, and it makes him weak. it makes him weak and powerful to hear her say it, to want it, and it is am impulse to flatten his palm between her shoulders, to push her body back against the couch with both force and speed. (his, is the word that pounds through his veins, yes, yes, he will be inside her, seeing her moved by his will, laid out for him.)
he tugs her underwear down hard and quick, needing her bare, needing it more with every passing moment. the fabric cages her thighs, and he slips his hand to cup her heat and feel her wet. his mouth waters, the tangy smell of her arousal thick to his senses as is the swell of it against his touch. it is with a moan klaus ducks his head, kisses and bites the plump flesh of her arse before closing his mouth over her, his tongue reaching to part her glistening lips. if her scent was enough to beckon him, her taste is something else entirely. the sound he makes vibrates against her, the press of his lips and movement of his tongue audible as he grabs her thighs in an embrace to his chest, to keep her still as he devours her. ]
[ he moves to grant her request in a way she did not expect. but oh, it is not unwelcome. she is his to move as he pleases for the moment, she moves with his beckoning and forceful hands, tilting forward, back down on the couch as she'd been before. it happens within a blink of the eye, drawing a thrilled sort of gasp from her. rarely was she treated with so little care while still being worshipped somehow. klaus walks that fine line perfectly, as though he'd been doing it all his life. she doesn't complain, she simply relishes in the feeling of his hands as he works at getting her bare, her thong stuck where her knees are bent on the couch.
that doesn't stop him from getting his prize, however. it keeps her trapped in that position, as does the grip of his hands as he bites at her skin. this is different than the first time they did this, so different. he moves with his thousand years of experience, this isn't about exploration, about relishing in something never done before. this is about power, even if neither of them will admit to it. it is about claiming and wanting. it is about needing something neither can truly give the other.
his mouth finds its destination a moment later, his face buried between her legs earning him a low moan, one that is timed perfectly with his as it vibrates her skin. with knuckles already white as they grip the edge of the cushion beneath her fingers, she shifts her hips back against him, unshy of showing him what she wants. because while it may not be his cock, as she meant, she intends to distract herself with his tongue.
and if this should fill some requirement of intimacy? then so be it.]
[ his hunger rumbles in his throat, dark and wanting, feeling the insistence of her hips, hearing her moans, tasting the trickle of her arousal, a shock and an addiction, against his tongue. klaus pushes back, presses forward with no mind to her balance with her so caged, buries his face so deep it is a struggle to breathe in anything but her scent. it is what he wants, what he craves:
her pleasure to drive her mad, her pleasure taken for himself. the way it must feel to her to have his tongue stroke her, taste her, press and lick at her clit. this is about power. emptinesses needing to be filled. helpless frustrations being given comforts. she is warm, and beautiful, and right, and he need not indulge, duty-bound, to want her. he need not wallow away in the dankness of this empty apartment, drinking bottle after bottle as he paces. he has her, inspiring something real, something else, something genuine and frightful and primal.
his tongue drags along her slit, up between her cheeks and back again, swirling as he presses his hand to her lower back, forces its slight curve deeper to take more of her, to take and give more. she is at his disposal, truly for the first time, wanting without the newness of their desires fulfilled, without the initial uncertainties, without the finality. this is lust and connection; darkness and light unfettered by goodbyes. he hums as he eats her, panting, his kiss somehow restless, hot and wet, uncontrolled and precise in its torture all at once. ]
[ this hadn't been her intention when she came here. not even close. she's not sure something like this was ever even in her thoughts except fleetingly, on nights she felt lonely, on nights her mind wandered to darker places. darker, sexier places that she did not dare linger.
yet here she is, bent over on a couch, klaus mikealson's face shoved between her thighs, his tongue working against her in intoxicating ways, in ways that have her moaning already. but her count this is dirty, dark, and sexy. there's no bark to press into her back, no leaves to mess her hair, no one who might happen upon them. that makes this more real, more insane, hotter. she is with him now, she is letting him have another chance, taking one herself. it's stupid, it's crazy.
god, it's so hot.
she squirms some when his tongue slides over her clit then between her thighs properly then upward before moving back to taste her again, making her shiver and gasp, to hum hungrily. with arm braced beneath her, the other moves to slide out, forward, gripping the couch's cushion as she slowly starts to shift her hips against his roving mouth. she is already wetter than she should be, she is already gasping and panting with anticipation and some fear upon realizing that there is no limit to their time together here. she doesn't need to get back to anyone, no one will miss her or notice her absence as they might have the first time they did this.
time, they have all of it. and she is terrified at how much that thrills her.]
[ of course she is terrified; she should be. keyed up, so drunk on her own lust; it is a rush of knowledge that consumes him, how she writhes against his probing, stroking tongue, how she begins to welcome and ask for it with every rock of her hips. it is a drug; she is, the kind that inspires the headiest euphoria and darkest appetite.
he is groaning against her wetness as is coats his lips, his chin; chasing her with an insatiable drive to claim her every moment she shifts away, his tongue willing, ready, hot and caressing when she pushes back to him. he wants her all, and it is the reason his heart pounds painfully, the reason his cock throbs as he holds her tighter, lunges forward as if to pin her, to leave her even more merciless to his hunger. he is groaning, growling, grabbing her hand gripping the cushion to hold it in a vice to her side.
the sounds she makes lure him into the present, the moment, out of his thoughts and head. they are all he wants, delving deep into her, flexing his fingers around her palm. ]
[ he is like an animal in his voracity, in the way he growls and groans, the way he grabs at her, the way he moves his mouth such relish. and she is equally an animal, rutting back against him, moaning freely, her eyes darkening with every swipe of his tongue.
he takes away her balance somewhat, gripping her hand and pulling her arm back, making her fall forward a little with a gasp. in turn, it presses her body more into his mouth, as she imagines he wants. she does not struggle against his hold, she simply lets out a moan of his name, a warning that she is already close.
this is unlike anything she has done before. no one has treated her the way her instincts call for her to be treated, the rough tug and push of things. her body, indestructible, calls for the recklessness of it.]
[ his eyes lift, unseeing of her face, her wantonness, but sharp with the cognizance of it all the same. there is hot blood in his cheeks thinking of how she must look on the cusp of unravelling, how she did, hair angled and lips open. it is bright, how his name whimpered with such need sears through him, how it makes him shudder and melt deeper into this haze of desire. it piques him, proves among a thousand looks, touches, and words, just how keenly and intimately she does, has, could want him.
he does not pause, does not let her suffer, only presses to her closer, deeper with a low rumble in his throat, imprints the length of her legs to his front, and cranes his neck to give her all she wants, all she needs with the ferocity that drives him. he needs her pink, slick skin against his tongue. he needs to feel the inevitability of her clenching, coming. her cries.
they do have all night. he intends to make every moment matter, every moment serve and call to all those thoughts and fantasies she has in the dark. he intends to make good on this agreement, to touch and taste every inch of her he has coveted. ]
[ she doesn't stand a chance, not with his relentless pursuit of her pleasure. she has always been more responsive than most, something that was amplified tenfold once she became a vampire. it's easy enough for him to make her feel as though she might shudder to pieces, pressed against the couch with his body now.
he gives her no room to move, no leverage or power beyond just laying there, experience every little press of his tongue and lips, every sensation of pleasure. he overwhelms her with his tenacity, he moves her towards that edge with bigger and bigger pushes until she stands on it and simply jumps, not denying either of them it.
she tenses beneath him, every cell in her body seeming to return to life before she shudders, hard, gasping something unintelligible, something that might be his name or perhaps not. then she is his to taste, her body's reactions there for the experiencing as she rides out the first few waves of pleasure with nothing but whimpers and panting breaths.]
[ it is perfect, sweet, fulfilling and whetting of his hungers all at once. he remembers this about her: the sensitivity of her, how easily she'd unfold, how mesmerizingly she would submit and slave to her pleasure. how the want of her felt next to her rejections, her slights, how she'd walled her heart from his. (he remembers leaves and branches, his fingers deep in her. he remembers how she murmured and gasped, just like this. just like this and nothing like it.
this is more, better.)
he moans. he grabs her arse hard, bruising, and spreads her cheeks to him, eager as she trembles, as she quivers against him, into him, rubs ceaselessly to his mouth. he finds her clitoris to attend, to make her gasp, his tongue restless and greedy as he detours only to lap at her wetness, at what is his to claim. he moans still, lingering until she is spent, wanting everything.
his tongue drags over her once more, leaves her still shuddering.
only then he lifts his head, lets his dark, hunting gaze find more than just the curve of her spine, the way the line of it dips and moves up her back. god, she is beautiful; he thinks it again and again seeing the muscles of her shoulders ripple and the crown of her curls, and it pounds through him with centuries worth of softness, of longings she has always easily stirred. it is ceaseless, how his tongue travels to the dip of her lower back. how his hand cups her flesh of her bottom, his thumb pressing against her, into her. his lips kiss her slow and cherishing against her spine, and his other hand moves to her hip to pin her down, firm and gentle. ]
[ as he is in almost everything, he is relentless in the way he pushes her through her orgasm. he holds fast, he grips her backside with a bruising force, keeping her body to his mouth, working his tongue and lips over her until she almost begs him to stop, feeling so overwhelmed by the endless waves of pleasure. in fact, she can't be sure she didn't come again as his tongue finds her clit to tease before it moves to lap up the evidence of her first climax.
when he finally lets up, she slumps against the couch, panting, head spinning. ready to turn over to face him if she could only get her body to agree or even move, still shuddering and shivering from it all. this is too much and not enough at the same time, she needs to stop but she never wants to. she remembers just as well as he does how good it all felt.
and this time, it's already proving to be more intense. to be better.
it has been on his terms, all of it from the moment she relented, but in a way, that means all of this has been her decision. he seems to be exercising whatever control he can. he pins her to the couch, he kisses her back, his thumb brushes over sensitive areas, and she gasps his name.] Klaus, [ she is distracted by the sensation of the forbidden, untouched.] God... what are you doing? [ there is not one sound of protest in her question, she merely wants to know what he intends to do to her.]
[ a breath leaves him, one riding on a soft, nearly inaudible hum hearing the tightness and melody in her voice, the uncertainty and anticipation. she tastes of salt and skin; the smell of her blood beneath it, the soap she uses imprinted in his memory for when he remembers this moment. there is no protest, and so he rotates his wrist in answer, a finger finding just how very soaked he's left her, seeking that warmth, slipping inside as his thumb rubs slow circles, dangerously deep. he drags his mouth down the curve of her lower back, up towards her shoulders, kissing and tasting, drawing a soft, wet line up her spine. she is tight still, yet relaxed from his mouth, and he seats another finger deep inside of her to gently fuck her with the shifting of his hand.
he pulls his lips from her skin, just enough to whisper to her, his eyes unwavering all this time from the back of her head, from her profile. ] Making you come. Every way I know how. Before I take you. [ it is a promise, a reassurance. and while his fingers nor the movement of his hand does not let up, he hovers there, breath against her skin, watching. ]
[ with a shift of her hips, she glances back at him, finally, eyes fluttering.] Just take me now. [ she commands it as much as she begs, she doesn't want him to have such a hold on her, to make her quiver like he can. it's a power play, she thinks, the way he seeks to make her come again, to see her fall apart.
she pulls her hands from his gasp, moves them to either side of her, trying to push herself upward.] Just take me now. [ it is not a plea this time, she won't beg him to do what they both want. and she's shivering still, her body is pulsating as the tendrils of pleasure and heat continue to rush through her, his fingers coaxing her, making it so.] You want to.
[ he does. it is what he wants: to take her, and her supplicating orders only insist on his own longings flaring, divert his concentration to his own pleasure, to the aching of his cock. he does want to take her, to give into her, to relinquish his hold for something much more. his eyes find hers; he searches them with a sharp keenness, his hand stilling.
it's when she starts to move that he flips her onto her back, the movement as efficient as it is quick. there is a knot somewhere in his chest, and he leans over her naked form, one hand bracing himself over her, the other cupping the back of her neck.
and as much as he wants to, he does not take her, not the way she'd like, not the way she asks. not the way he would. (they are not one and the same, not completely.) his thumb finds her throat, a brush of a touch over the curve, a caress down its line before he tilts her lips up to his.
he does want her. and perhaps this is a power play, borne of the control he needs, of the slights and the angers he nurses. but he wants her for more reasons than those selfish, of those instinctive to his brokenness, and primal to his lust. he wants her, and the reason he kisses her is all that speaks of: the bruising desire of his heart, the knowledge of all she fears from him, with him, because of him, and her welcome to hold him close again. to let him touch her, to invite it. he kisses her freely, biting, wet, breathless, and cherishing as he lowers his weight to hers, as his palm moves from cradling her neck to her chest, her side, her hip, finding the scrap of her thong to curl his fingers around. he tugs with a rumble of a moan, presses his hips between her thighs. ]
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he doesn't; he lingers. there is a sincerity in his eyes, a firmness. for as much as he knows she jests, well: ] If I were to paint you, there would be nothing, no promises or favors, no price that would persuade me to part with an image as wanted and intimate as you.
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why can't she want him the same way?
there's a voice in her head that reminds her that he is a monster. but so is she. she's killed, not nearly as many as he, but she has killed the innocent, not just carter who she couldn't help. she killed to protect as he has. his body count is higher because he has been alive for centuries. caroline isn't the sort to make excuses for people, at least that's what she tells herself until she remembers stefan and every excuse she's made for him.
his words only push her to say what has been racing through her mind since she got here, since before that, since she kissed him on the beach. his touch lingers and her gaze does too. in any other moment, she might laugh at his words, at how cheesy they are but right now, with the sorrow in her heart, the uncertainty of this place filling her thoughts, and the beginning of a buzz, she is enchanted.
she lets out a breath, looking up determinedly at him, feeling as sure about this as she feels uncertain.] Sleep with me. [ she speaks the words quickly but she says them with a confidence that is singularly hers.] If intimacy is the way to get back home... why shouldn't we? We've done it before. [ and it doesn't have to mean anything.]
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he wants to. it is caroline, not just beckoning his lust but the softness of his heart.
yes, is his answer, and everything about him says so.
it is primal, instinctual, the roaring of his base desires, and not the sharpness of his mind. she lays it at his feet, all he desires, and there is no doubt in him to take it. even as her justifications make him pause, cut him just so, in the way only she can. but fine, he thinks -- for it doesn't truly matter to his decision how she cuts him, or what she tells herself. still he meant it, what he thought, the desire behind what he asked of her wants before, and his pride demands nothing less than the sincerity of it. he wants her to want this. he needs her to, to have that seed, to nurture it.
she wants him. he can hear it in her heartbeat, see it plain in her eyes, smell it on her skin. his thumb runs over hers, spreads the dew of her cold drink to the soft apex of skin, coaxing as slowly as his words. ] And is that all it would mean to you? [ he knows the answer, but he wants to hear hers, his voice even, knowing, and non-expectant all the same. ]
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she does not love him in the way he seeks nor in the way he loves her, but that does not mean she lacks all feeling for him. there is a desire there, not-so-beneath the surface. at the very least, she is not compassion-less.
she is not indifferent to him. that much should be obvious.
blinking at him, she pulls her hand from his with a frustrated expression. why did she believe this would be uncomplicated? why did she think he would simply agree with her without question or terms or anything like that? the look he gets from her is almost deadly as she downs the watery remains of her drink, whispering her answer just before she does.] You already know the answer to that. [ no, of course not.]
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she is not the only player here with feelings, with desires. yet he is the only one who has a particular hope that can be crushed. he may quiet it, tuck it away until it is useful; all he needs is her cue, her decision as to what she desires this to be.
complicated. he knows what this is, making his heart race, the air thick with its danger.
and so she is as mistaken as she is right (he does know) and he will not pain or aggrieve her any longer with questions. he will take this opportunity before it is spent. klaus reaches again for her drink as she lowers it, but this time he does take it, setting it on the floor between them. what she asks she will receive, and he shifts weight to his feet with no other prompting. the table creaks just so as he moves forward, over her, into her space, one hand pressing into the cushion beside her hip. his fingers are as eager as they are slow to touch her waist, the warmth and spark the feel of her body beneath his touch alight along his skin, bringing a flush to his face. his palm smooths over the curve, pressing her forward, his breath a heated exhale as it reaches hers.
only then do his eyes find hers, close enough to kiss. they lust and want, encourage and wait. he is here, willing. (feeling.) ]
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the anticipation she feels, despite her anger, is dangerous in its intensity. she looks at him when his hand moves to take her drink, setting it aside, setting it away. she feels her stomach flutter, her own skin flush as the realization hits her that he does not mean to refuse her offer.
a voice quietly protests, tells her she should retreat, turn back, forget this foolishness. but the desire for more (beyond the desire to get back home) is stronger, louder, more powerful. she feels restless in those few short moments it takes him to move towards her, invading her space.
she takes in a deep breath, his scent suddenly intoxicating, the smell of paint and his cologne (is it cologne? or just the natural smell of him?) filling her senses. blue eyes flutter as he leans in close, as he poses himself over her. it's now or never. and his breath hot and mingling with hers is the spark that ignites the flame of action beneath her.
she moves with the preternatural grace her vampire status provides her. she shifts swiftly, moving her legs to slide over his thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he leans over her, trying to flip them so that he is on the couch and she is perched in his lap, her hands on his chest, his neck to help the transition.]
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it will not do, these things. it will not do because he is never satiated, never full. it is a harsh, sweet madness that raises in him with every short moment in which they hover: he wants her, deadlocked in an orbit he believes he has once left, swayed into her by power he has nearly forgotten. if it is good or bad, he does not know, and he does not care.
she takes the reins and he lets her, submits to the sliding of her legs over his, the push and pull of her hands. he doesn't fight it, rendering himself useless at the telling catch of her breath, at her fight. but he does grab her, his hands vices at her waist, wrinkling the softness of her dress. he looks at her body straddling his, the way she sinks into his lap, warm on his thighs, and his white-knuckled grip; the pertness of her breasts at his face, the dress he thinks of ripping clean off her. his eyes lift to hers, heavy-lidded and roused under her pinning, stirred and dark. ]
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she cannot deny that the way he looks at her stirs something within her, an hungry, voracious appetite. there is dangerous in this, more than anything she's done before, more than battling witches, werewolves, or other vampires. there is something in the way he looks at her that scares her as much as it excites her.
she doesn't keep him waiting long, she refuses to hesitate now that she's made her choice, now that she's followed (what she thinks of as) her baser desires. her mouth closes the distance between them, hands tilting his head upward so that she can kiss him full on, properly. his fingers grip at her and hers curl against the base of his scalp as she gives a steady roll of her hips, eager to coax him towards excitement.
her thumbs slide restlessly over his cheeks as she seeks to deepen the kiss. she may not have control long, knowing a little of his own predilections but she will not waste her chance now that she has it.]
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his fingers tighten at her dress, they pull and adjust; they rub and bruise her skin. he groans, deep in his throat from this first kiss, shivers from the clutching of her hands, and cranes his neck to kiss her back, to do it hard, forcefully. it is coaxing, the caress of her body, the pressure it exerts on his lap, on his already thickening cock, and he welcomes it, her seduction. his hands pull her down, push her into him even as he leans forward to press his lips to hers with a gasp, wet and hot.
it's not enough, and his arms encircle to cage her, to press her closer, tighter. his heart pounds loud in his chest, against hers, all animal and all for her. ]
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his kiss is forceful and even more hungry, she pulls back from it at her peril as he tugs and pulls at her so impatiently, her lips curving into something utterly wicked, her whispered words reflecting her mood and expression a moment later.] You want to tear it off me, don't you? [ it's dangerous to tease him in this state, she does not doubt as much. but she cannot help but feel a twisted thrill at knowing that he wants her that badly.
he isn't alone, however. she finds she wants him too, now that she lets herself once again. she presses herself even more firmly in his lap, squarely applying pressure and friction for both of their benefits. however it is not nearly enough for her either. she gasps softly when he wraps his arms so tightly around her, keeping her close.
there is no protest in her, in fact, she simply arches into him, kissing him again, teasing by tugging gently on his bottom lip.] Don't you?
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he nearly growls feeling her pull away, nearly smothers her lips and her useless words until he hears them: that tease, that knowing, the curl of her pink lips and dangerous glint in her sharp, crystal eyes. she knows him. she knows what he desires, what he wants; it burns and frustrates. if he was not hard he is well on his way now, his arousal straining just so, throbbing in time with his pulse.
he is aroused, in such a heady way, in exactly the way he knows she'd like, and it drives him mad. his fingers tighten at her dress and he lets her take her pleasure, press herself to him like a cat in heat. and he does growl when her teeth snag his lips, a low rumble of warning in his chest, vibrated through his throat.
there is vindication in the way he snaps, grabbing at her, moving her quicker than even she can process or fight. she is facedown on the couch and he is kneeling behind her, her cheek pressed against the leather, his palm pinning her slim shoulders down. he does tear her dress, straight down the back, rips it open to expose her, bare save the pretty number hugging her hips. it's painful, how the sight of her stirs him.
he grabs the silk, pulls to stretch the fabric taut against her sex. ] Tell me again what I want. [ it's harsh, as much a punishment as it is a promise. ] Hm? [ klaus prompts her again, softer, his fingers trembling to encircle the back of her neck, the slender grace of it. (she's beautiful, his eyes cherishing those curves, her porcelain skin, her golden curls.) he feels the heat in his face as he guides her up to him, to her knees, presses his lips to her cheek as his arm circles around her front. ] What do I want, Caroline? [ he means it, this time, his fingers sliding between her legs to find her heat. he wants to hear her say it: he wants her. he wants her to feel it. ]
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but it is what she wants, she is heady with it, the knowledge that just her words, her actions could drive him to such a reaction. some might call it sick or dangerous, but it appeals to the darker side of her, to the animal always pacing beneath the surface. he pins her to the couch just before the sound of ripping fabric fills the air. so much for that dress, she'll make him get her another.
she lets out a huff of air as he pulls at her underwear, pulling the silk against sensitive skin and makes his demand of her. she says nothing the first time, she merely lets out a breath. it is when he tugs her up, pulling her body flush with his, his front pressing to the curve of her back perfectly, that she answers his demand, his question.] Me, [ she says it simply because it is just that, simple. the answer has been her since the moment they saw each other on the beach. he wants her. she knows it. and it's why she'd shown up to his apartment on some level. because she was wanted, desired.
he treats her roughly, like she is not made of glass, something she likes to be reminded of. she is immortal, unbreakable despite how she might feel on the inside. his touch finds the apex of her thighs and she lets out a breath.] You want me. [ he wants her. he wants to fuck her. he wants to possess her. he wants to love her. and she answers the question before he can even ask it.]
I want you inside of me. [ it's more bold than anything she's ever really said to anyone. but it is honest in that moment, she wants to feel something other than the heartache of her mother's illness, she wants to escape the craziness of this place. she wants to feel something good, to feel him, desirous and hungry for her.]
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he does not see past it, not with the curve of her arse pressed to his cock, not with her sweet, heavy breaths and murmurs making him burn. not with his hand between her legs. he rubs her sex, the heaviness of his breath colliding with her skin, the tempo of it short and quick and suffocating: she is hot, wanting beneath his giving fingers. the sigh that escapes him chases hers, shakes him, his lips moving a slow trail from her jaw, pushing her head to the side with his to kiss the back of her neck. she tastes of salt and lust, and his teeth nips gently, that harmless scrape of his human bite digging in at her confession.
at her request. her demand.
it brings heat to his face, makes him groans softly under his breath, volatile and eager, animalistic. he wants to feel her tightness, the firm slide of her around him, wet and quivering. he remembers, and it makes him weak. it makes him weak and powerful to hear her say it, to want it, and it is am impulse to flatten his palm between her shoulders, to push her body back against the couch with both force and speed. (his, is the word that pounds through his veins, yes, yes, he will be inside her, seeing her moved by his will, laid out for him.)
he tugs her underwear down hard and quick, needing her bare, needing it more with every passing moment. the fabric cages her thighs, and he slips his hand to cup her heat and feel her wet. his mouth waters, the tangy smell of her arousal thick to his senses as is the swell of it against his touch. it is with a moan klaus ducks his head, kisses and bites the plump flesh of her arse before closing his mouth over her, his tongue reaching to part her glistening lips. if her scent was enough to beckon him, her taste is something else entirely. the sound he makes vibrates against her, the press of his lips and movement of his tongue audible as he grabs her thighs in an embrace to his chest, to keep her still as he devours her. ]
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that doesn't stop him from getting his prize, however. it keeps her trapped in that position, as does the grip of his hands as he bites at her skin. this is different than the first time they did this, so different. he moves with his thousand years of experience, this isn't about exploration, about relishing in something never done before. this is about power, even if neither of them will admit to it. it is about claiming and wanting. it is about needing something neither can truly give the other.
his mouth finds its destination a moment later, his face buried between her legs earning him a low moan, one that is timed perfectly with his as it vibrates her skin. with knuckles already white as they grip the edge of the cushion beneath her fingers, she shifts her hips back against him, unshy of showing him what she wants. because while it may not be his cock, as she meant, she intends to distract herself with his tongue.
and if this should fill some requirement of intimacy? then so be it.]
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her pleasure to drive her mad, her pleasure taken for himself. the way it must feel to her to have his tongue stroke her, taste her, press and lick at her clit. this is about power. emptinesses needing to be filled. helpless frustrations being given comforts. she is warm, and beautiful, and right, and he need not indulge, duty-bound, to want her. he need not wallow away in the dankness of this empty apartment, drinking bottle after bottle as he paces. he has her, inspiring something real, something else, something genuine and frightful and primal.
his tongue drags along her slit, up between her cheeks and back again, swirling as he presses his hand to her lower back, forces its slight curve deeper to take more of her, to take and give more. she is at his disposal, truly for the first time, wanting without the newness of their desires fulfilled, without the initial uncertainties, without the finality. this is lust and connection; darkness and light unfettered by goodbyes. he hums as he eats her, panting, his kiss somehow restless, hot and wet, uncontrolled and precise in its torture all at once. ]
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yet here she is, bent over on a couch, klaus mikealson's face shoved between her thighs, his tongue working against her in intoxicating ways, in ways that have her moaning already. but her count this is dirty, dark, and sexy. there's no bark to press into her back, no leaves to mess her hair, no one who might happen upon them. that makes this more real, more insane, hotter. she is with him now, she is letting him have another chance, taking one herself. it's stupid, it's crazy.
god, it's so hot.
she squirms some when his tongue slides over her clit then between her thighs properly then upward before moving back to taste her again, making her shiver and gasp, to hum hungrily. with arm braced beneath her, the other moves to slide out, forward, gripping the couch's cushion as she slowly starts to shift her hips against his roving mouth. she is already wetter than she should be, she is already gasping and panting with anticipation and some fear upon realizing that there is no limit to their time together here. she doesn't need to get back to anyone, no one will miss her or notice her absence as they might have the first time they did this.
time, they have all of it. and she is terrified at how much that thrills her.]
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he is groaning against her wetness as is coats his lips, his chin; chasing her with an insatiable drive to claim her every moment she shifts away, his tongue willing, ready, hot and caressing when she pushes back to him. he wants her all, and it is the reason his heart pounds painfully, the reason his cock throbs as he holds her tighter, lunges forward as if to pin her, to leave her even more merciless to his hunger. he is groaning, growling, grabbing her hand gripping the cushion to hold it in a vice to her side.
the sounds she makes lure him into the present, the moment, out of his thoughts and head. they are all he wants, delving deep into her, flexing his fingers around her palm. ]
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he takes away her balance somewhat, gripping her hand and pulling her arm back, making her fall forward a little with a gasp. in turn, it presses her body more into his mouth, as she imagines he wants. she does not struggle against his hold, she simply lets out a moan of his name, a warning that she is already close.
this is unlike anything she has done before. no one has treated her the way her instincts call for her to be treated, the rough tug and push of things. her body, indestructible, calls for the recklessness of it.]
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he does not pause, does not let her suffer, only presses to her closer, deeper with a low rumble in his throat, imprints the length of her legs to his front, and cranes his neck to give her all she wants, all she needs with the ferocity that drives him. he needs her pink, slick skin against his tongue. he needs to feel the inevitability of her clenching, coming. her cries.
they do have all night. he intends to make every moment matter, every moment serve and call to all those thoughts and fantasies she has in the dark. he intends to make good on this agreement, to touch and taste every inch of her he has coveted. ]
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he gives her no room to move, no leverage or power beyond just laying there, experience every little press of his tongue and lips, every sensation of pleasure. he overwhelms her with his tenacity, he moves her towards that edge with bigger and bigger pushes until she stands on it and simply jumps, not denying either of them it.
she tenses beneath him, every cell in her body seeming to return to life before she shudders, hard, gasping something unintelligible, something that might be his name or perhaps not. then she is his to taste, her body's reactions there for the experiencing as she rides out the first few waves of pleasure with nothing but whimpers and panting breaths.]
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this is more, better.)
he moans. he grabs her arse hard, bruising, and spreads her cheeks to him, eager as she trembles, as she quivers against him, into him, rubs ceaselessly to his mouth. he finds her clitoris to attend, to make her gasp, his tongue restless and greedy as he detours only to lap at her wetness, at what is his to claim. he moans still, lingering until she is spent, wanting everything.
his tongue drags over her once more, leaves her still shuddering.
only then he lifts his head, lets his dark, hunting gaze find more than just the curve of her spine, the way the line of it dips and moves up her back. god, she is beautiful; he thinks it again and again seeing the muscles of her shoulders ripple and the crown of her curls, and it pounds through him with centuries worth of softness, of longings she has always easily stirred. it is ceaseless, how his tongue travels to the dip of her lower back. how his hand cups her flesh of her bottom, his thumb pressing against her, into her. his lips kiss her slow and cherishing against her spine, and his other hand moves to her hip to pin her down, firm and gentle. ]
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when he finally lets up, she slumps against the couch, panting, head spinning. ready to turn over to face him if she could only get her body to agree or even move, still shuddering and shivering from it all. this is too much and not enough at the same time, she needs to stop but she never wants to. she remembers just as well as he does how good it all felt.
and this time, it's already proving to be more intense. to be better.
it has been on his terms, all of it from the moment she relented, but in a way, that means all of this has been her decision. he seems to be exercising whatever control he can. he pins her to the couch, he kisses her back, his thumb brushes over sensitive areas, and she gasps his name.] Klaus, [ she is distracted by the sensation of the forbidden, untouched.] God... what are you doing? [ there is not one sound of protest in her question, she merely wants to know what he intends to do to her.]
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he pulls his lips from her skin, just enough to whisper to her, his eyes unwavering all this time from the back of her head, from her profile. ] Making you come. Every way I know how. Before I take you. [ it is a promise, a reassurance. and while his fingers nor the movement of his hand does not let up, he hovers there, breath against her skin, watching. ]
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she pulls her hands from his gasp, moves them to either side of her, trying to push herself upward.] Just take me now. [ it is not a plea this time, she won't beg him to do what they both want. and she's shivering still, her body is pulsating as the tendrils of pleasure and heat continue to rush through her, his fingers coaxing her, making it so.] You want to.
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it's when she starts to move that he flips her onto her back, the movement as efficient as it is quick. there is a knot somewhere in his chest, and he leans over her naked form, one hand bracing himself over her, the other cupping the back of her neck.
and as much as he wants to, he does not take her, not the way she'd like, not the way she asks. not the way he would. (they are not one and the same, not completely.) his thumb finds her throat, a brush of a touch over the curve, a caress down its line before he tilts her lips up to his.
he does want her. and perhaps this is a power play, borne of the control he needs, of the slights and the angers he nurses. but he wants her for more reasons than those selfish, of those instinctive to his brokenness, and primal to his lust. he wants her, and the reason he kisses her is all that speaks of: the bruising desire of his heart, the knowledge of all she fears from him, with him, because of him, and her welcome to hold him close again. to let him touch her, to invite it. he kisses her freely, biting, wet, breathless, and cherishing as he lowers his weight to hers, as his palm moves from cradling her neck to her chest, her side, her hip, finding the scrap of her thong to curl his fingers around. he tugs with a rumble of a moan, presses his hips between her thighs. ]
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