[ 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. ]
[ he makes it impossible for her to pretend that this is just sex, that this is just a means to an end. that they are both seeking to fill a quota to get back to where they truly belong, to those they care about. she can't pretend that she doesn't care about him beyond this, not with the way he looks at her, the way he leans over and kisses her. it takes her breath away, uncomfortably and truthfully.
he doesn't take her like she orders him to, he kisses her and for a moment, her brow furrows, trying to resist him, try to figure out why he won't just do it. he's always been a man of action, always took what he wanted, at least she thought so. and here she is offering him herself, her body, wanting him to fulfill a need they both suffer from. he doesn't take it, take her, he chooses instead this reverent expression of... love? she isn't sure what it is.
he kisses her with too much emotion for her to fight off, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she gives into the tenderness, her hands finding his face to better tilt his head towards her own. she melts into the kiss, into his embrace as he touches her, his hand wandering lower. he's still fully clothed but she's distracted by the intensity of his kiss to do anything about it just now.]
[ if it is love, it is a damning kind, the kind found in a man long beheld to monstrosity. what he knows he cares about her, and she will feel a sliver of it. he will cradle her her neck in his palm and give of the roughened warmth in his chest, walk the dangerous line to his benefit. he wants to feel it: the breathlessness, the way she melts into him. he sighs, hums, heavy and sweet, when she does, feeling the uncoiling of the tense muscles in his shoulders. he feels the heat and line of her body under his as he presses to her, massages her pliant lips with his.
he doesn't expect it, how his heart skips painfully in his chest, how satisfying it is to feel her touch guiding him. he goes to her, parts his lips for her.
it's so much; too much, the lust and tenderness coursing through him at her fingertips, the love he knows she carries in her heart, if not for him. there is a tremor in him, bone deep as he rubs against her again, insistent and and groaning, feeling the layers separating them for the nuisances they are. it is white-knuckled, the grip he has on her underwear, and with another tug it tears.
it's that sound that snaps him, has him pulling back to reach for his shirt to shed, quick and blurring before he reaches for his belt. ]
[ no matter the complications that lay between them, no matter the pain he's caused her friends, herself, she doesn't wish to cause anyone pain, not really. she wouldn't want to make his heart skip painfully, she does mean to hurt him because as much as she can't admit it, she cares about him beyond a sexual curiosity. he is a broken thing that she wishes she could somehow fix even if he may be beyond repair, so twisted by his family.
and then gone is her underwear, after he loses his patience, grinding against her, groaning. her fingers slide from his face to his shoulders with a gasp as he rips the fabric. and he pulls back to pull his shirt off. her hands move to touch him greedily, hungrily, sliding down to help pull his belt from his pants. and if he doesn't stop her, she might accidentally rip the thing right out of his pants.]
[ it is not truly pain that seizes him, not the kind she could wrought. it is a pang in his chest borne of his own softness and weakness, one given life by her kiss and touch, one he steps into and cannot fully disregard in her arms. (one he cannot anytime, where it counts: to himself.) he doesn't want to thought he should, trembling at its force; when has he shied away from the vulnerable underbelly of what they have? (as much as he hasn't.)
it is a feeling that mixes inextricably with his lust, drives it to desperation as equally as the warmth and willingness of her body does. the slide of her hands overwhelm him; they are caresses of heat along his skin, searching and kneading everywhere. he feels her fingers like flames, in them the greedy need that so drives him, an echo of his hunger. no, he doesn't stop her haste; he revels in it. he takes and shares of it. he heralds it as best he can, nothing but breath and movement between them, the tearing of his belt loops. it takes only a moment of vampire-quick speed to step away and discard the rest of his clothes, and then he is above her again.
on her, and in her deep and rough, her skin against his a blessed, searing relief he savors. the relief of her slick and tight around him an incredible torture that catches his breath, makes his thighs tremble as he begins to rock, unabated and swept into the pleasure of friction, of her. his fingers flex around the slim wrist he has pinned above her head; his eyes as astonished as they are darkened. she is beautiful, and his thumb touches the roundness of her chin, follows it to her neck before he kisses her, moves within her with harsher, pinning strokes. ]
[ the differences between them are evident in the way they see love. he sees it as weakness but she sees it as strength. love makes you strong. it may make you vulnerable but there is a fierce, adrenal strength that comes from love. whatever form it may come in, be it a simple fascination or true and abiding or fractured and broken or something uncertain and undefinable.
she cannot put into words what she feels, she does not choose to try. she simply gives into the urge to be closer to him, in the physical sense. and he does little to dissuade her now. he moves away from her hasty, pulling hands to get naked as she is. she shifts on the sofa just a little before he's back on her in a flash, inside of her without warning. and she does not complain.
gasping, her body arches instinctively into his as he starts a merciless rhythm. he pins one hand above her head, leaving the other free to touch him, fingers curling at the hair at the back of his head. she breathes heavy against his lips, her eyes shutting to escape the intensity of his appreciating gaze, accepting his kiss as respite. she kisses him, she opens her mouth to him, yields her body to him, because not once has he not provided it with mind-blowing pleasure. ]
[ love does make you vulnerable. it does make you weak. whatever strength is in it can be twisted, manipulated, lost and undeserved. he knows this, and yet he cherishes this seed of something, this thin veneer of affection and infatuation, of connection for its simplicity.
it cannot hurt him.
and if it does, well.
(it always hurts him.)
there is a guttural moan at the back of his throat, one released at her clutching hand, at the yielding of her mouth and body to him. she shuts her eyes; she may hide, but she doesn't hide from this and can't; he knows. (he hopes she can't. he hopes that is what he hears in the racing of her heart against his own, in the pliancy and want of her kiss.) so he claims; that is what he knows, soothed and hungry at the fulfillment of it: his fingers wrapping tight around her soft thigh, lifting it open to his thrusts, to the weight of his body between her legs, his chest to hers. it is all he knows in the exquisite, blinding throes of pleasure that follow: the taste and breath of her kiss lulling him, tending to the heat in him, and making him moan, the brush of their skin and the shifting of the cushions beneath them, the lurid sound of his needy, demanding strokes taken inside of her, their joining as wet and heady as their kiss.
all the tumultuous, darting gazes, the touches and comfort she sought here; all that and her submission awakens something in him longing and possessive, always threatening and stirred beneath the surface. his grip on her wrist tightens to bruise before his fingers straighten and smooth, fumble and reach to thread with hers. it's fast and slow, hard and deep how he moves, savoring and groaning, driven entirely by impulse, by desire, now that he's indulged both. ]
[ he is not the only one who has suffered heartache. while his may be on some grander scale, she has known her fair share of rejection for something she cannot help. she never asked to be what she is, even if now she relishes in the power it gives her, even if she has embraced it.
she did not have centuries of distrust and rejection to twist her heart, the thing that beats in her chest now is only maimed, not so thoroughly broken. she has youth and inexperience on her side, she has the benefit of an optimistic light one that she will not let the darkness snuff out. she has the hope of love renewed, the possibility of finding acceptance within someone else if not herself.
her spirit is not so broken, as fragile and new as it is.
their bodies rock together in time, in that timeless rhythm, one that is both new and familiar. one that she fears she will seek to know again once they finish here ( the thought thrills her too). her body cradles his as he thrusts into her, their mouths pressing together with wet, sloppy kisses. she feeds off the sound of their skin colliding as much as she does the friction of their bodies, the push and pull of his hips. she finds the groan he lets out as appealing as the way his fingers bruise her wrist and then thread through hers.
she moans out against his lips, the sound rumbling in her chest, her back sticking to the leather beneath her as her hand leaves his neck to drag down his back, nails biting at his skin, beckoning him to move harder. to treat her a little more roughly. because unlike her other lovers, she has no need to hold back, to pretend to be anything other than unbreakable and insatiable. he doesn't want her to be demure nor does he have some sort of need to prove his masculinity, he seeks her pleasure as much as she does.]
[ of course she is not broken, because she is strong, full of light and kindness, wielding the benefits and bloodlust her species like a knife, and thriving with life all the same. he doubts even the passing of age and loss will dim her. (and if it does: he'd never forsaken darkness.)
she is much too timeless for that. too bright, too ravenous, too wanting of all the world has to offer, with the shrewdness to know what she desires and to take it when she sees fit. and beautiful; she is beautiful. she is stunning in all these things, and in that infatuation perhaps he is helplessly biased, and knows it.
he wants her. keenly and without shame.
he wants her knowing she carries uncertainty and fear for him, and her feelings, in her heart.
he wants her with little encouragement, with none.
and he feels it. on his skin, in the presence of her touch. he feels it in the score of her nails and at the slide of her gaze each time they meet. in her breath, against his; in her kiss. it's a visceral result of his longings, of his lust for her painted in the movement of their bodies. he knows what she wants, and he aches for it, is helpless for it. he feels it, that desperation, that violence in the pain she inflicts, and he gives it to her well. he fucks her, his hips pining and rolling, his cock mercilessly deep, his tongue parting her lips as he groans with promise and threat deep in his throat.
she isn't breakable, not by any lesser hands nor his, and he will prove it. to sate her yearnings like no one else. his shoulders are tense, steel above her, and so is his grip as it leaves her hand to claim a fistful of her hair, to tilt of her mouth up to his to take as he takes her. ]
[ there is no putting out the fire in caroline forbes. there should be no doubt of that. even surrounded by darkness, caroline will survive somehow. perhaps her light may fade but it will always come back, brighter than before. and none of that has anything to do with what she is doing now.
only in that her light has touched him in someway and perhaps, maybe it will make him better man. that is her hope. no matter how she feels about him, she hopes that she can somehow encourage a goodness in him, a light of his own to guide him from the darkness that he surrounds himself with, that he falls into all too easily after centuries of being dragged into it.
in turn, he can ruffle her feathers, feathers in need of ruffling. she cannot be the paragon of control and perfection always, she needs to slip into imperfection sometime without fear of judgement. perhaps that is what appeals or even more, perhaps that is what scares her about him. the way he withholds his judgements of her.
he gives her what she seeks now, fucking her into the plush leather sofa, the floor creaking some beneath the motion. he yanks at her hair and she gasps against his lips, melting into that kiss with a faltering moan. heat shoots through her, sets her on fire and on edge, pushing her suddenly towards that edge.]
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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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he doesn't take her like she orders him to, he kisses her and for a moment, her brow furrows, trying to resist him, try to figure out why he won't just do it. he's always been a man of action, always took what he wanted, at least she thought so. and here she is offering him herself, her body, wanting him to fulfill a need they both suffer from. he doesn't take it, take her, he chooses instead this reverent expression of... love? she isn't sure what it is.
he kisses her with too much emotion for her to fight off, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she gives into the tenderness, her hands finding his face to better tilt his head towards her own. she melts into the kiss, into his embrace as he touches her, his hand wandering lower. he's still fully clothed but she's distracted by the intensity of his kiss to do anything about it just now.]
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he doesn't expect it, how his heart skips painfully in his chest, how satisfying it is to feel her touch guiding him. he goes to her, parts his lips for her.
it's so much; too much, the lust and tenderness coursing through him at her fingertips, the love he knows she carries in her heart, if not for him. there is a tremor in him, bone deep as he rubs against her again, insistent and and groaning, feeling the layers separating them for the nuisances they are. it is white-knuckled, the grip he has on her underwear, and with another tug it tears.
it's that sound that snaps him, has him pulling back to reach for his shirt to shed, quick and blurring before he reaches for his belt. ]
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and then gone is her underwear, after he loses his patience, grinding against her, groaning. her fingers slide from his face to his shoulders with a gasp as he rips the fabric. and he pulls back to pull his shirt off. her hands move to touch him greedily, hungrily, sliding down to help pull his belt from his pants. and if he doesn't stop her, she might accidentally rip the thing right out of his pants.]
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it is a feeling that mixes inextricably with his lust, drives it to desperation as equally as the warmth and willingness of her body does. the slide of her hands overwhelm him; they are caresses of heat along his skin, searching and kneading everywhere. he feels her fingers like flames, in them the greedy need that so drives him, an echo of his hunger. no, he doesn't stop her haste; he revels in it. he takes and shares of it. he heralds it as best he can, nothing but breath and movement between them, the tearing of his belt loops. it takes only a moment of vampire-quick speed to step away and discard the rest of his clothes, and then he is above her again.
on her, and in her deep and rough, her skin against his a blessed, searing relief he savors. the relief of her slick and tight around him an incredible torture that catches his breath, makes his thighs tremble as he begins to rock, unabated and swept into the pleasure of friction, of her. his fingers flex around the slim wrist he has pinned above her head; his eyes as astonished as they are darkened. she is beautiful, and his thumb touches the roundness of her chin, follows it to her neck before he kisses her, moves within her with harsher, pinning strokes. ]
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she cannot put into words what she feels, she does not choose to try. she simply gives into the urge to be closer to him, in the physical sense. and he does little to dissuade her now. he moves away from her hasty, pulling hands to get naked as she is. she shifts on the sofa just a little before he's back on her in a flash, inside of her without warning. and she does not complain.
gasping, her body arches instinctively into his as he starts a merciless rhythm. he pins one hand above her head, leaving the other free to touch him, fingers curling at the hair at the back of his head. she breathes heavy against his lips, her eyes shutting to escape the intensity of his appreciating gaze, accepting his kiss as respite. she kisses him, she opens her mouth to him, yields her body to him, because not once has he not provided it with mind-blowing pleasure. ]
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it cannot hurt him.
and if it does, well.
(it always hurts him.)
there is a guttural moan at the back of his throat, one released at her clutching hand, at the yielding of her mouth and body to him. she shuts her eyes; she may hide, but she doesn't hide from this and can't; he knows. (he hopes she can't. he hopes that is what he hears in the racing of her heart against his own, in the pliancy and want of her kiss.) so he claims; that is what he knows, soothed and hungry at the fulfillment of it: his fingers wrapping tight around her soft thigh, lifting it open to his thrusts, to the weight of his body between her legs, his chest to hers. it is all he knows in the exquisite, blinding throes of pleasure that follow: the taste and breath of her kiss lulling him, tending to the heat in him, and making him moan, the brush of their skin and the shifting of the cushions beneath them, the lurid sound of his needy, demanding strokes taken inside of her, their joining as wet and heady as their kiss.
all the tumultuous, darting gazes, the touches and comfort she sought here; all that and her submission awakens something in him longing and possessive, always threatening and stirred beneath the surface. his grip on her wrist tightens to bruise before his fingers straighten and smooth, fumble and reach to thread with hers. it's fast and slow, hard and deep how he moves, savoring and groaning, driven entirely by impulse, by desire, now that he's indulged both. ]
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she did not have centuries of distrust and rejection to twist her heart, the thing that beats in her chest now is only maimed, not so thoroughly broken. she has youth and inexperience on her side, she has the benefit of an optimistic light one that she will not let the darkness snuff out. she has the hope of love renewed, the possibility of finding acceptance within someone else if not herself.
her spirit is not so broken, as fragile and new as it is.
their bodies rock together in time, in that timeless rhythm, one that is both new and familiar. one that she fears she will seek to know again once they finish here ( the thought thrills her too). her body cradles his as he thrusts into her, their mouths pressing together with wet, sloppy kisses. she feeds off the sound of their skin colliding as much as she does the friction of their bodies, the push and pull of his hips. she finds the groan he lets out as appealing as the way his fingers bruise her wrist and then thread through hers.
she moans out against his lips, the sound rumbling in her chest, her back sticking to the leather beneath her as her hand leaves his neck to drag down his back, nails biting at his skin, beckoning him to move harder. to treat her a little more roughly. because unlike her other lovers, she has no need to hold back, to pretend to be anything other than unbreakable and insatiable. he doesn't want her to be demure nor does he have some sort of need to prove his masculinity, he seeks her pleasure as much as she does.]
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she is much too timeless for that. too bright, too ravenous, too wanting of all the world has to offer, with the shrewdness to know what she desires and to take it when she sees fit. and beautiful; she is beautiful. she is stunning in all these things, and in that infatuation perhaps he is helplessly biased, and knows it.
he wants her. keenly and without shame.
he wants her knowing she carries uncertainty and fear for him, and her feelings, in her heart.
he wants her with little encouragement, with none.
and he feels it. on his skin, in the presence of her touch. he feels it in the score of her nails and at the slide of her gaze each time they meet. in her breath, against his; in her kiss. it's a visceral result of his longings, of his lust for her painted in the movement of their bodies. he knows what she wants, and he aches for it, is helpless for it. he feels it, that desperation, that violence in the pain she inflicts, and he gives it to her well. he fucks her, his hips pining and rolling, his cock mercilessly deep, his tongue parting her lips as he groans with promise and threat deep in his throat.
she isn't breakable, not by any lesser hands nor his, and he will prove it. to sate her yearnings like no one else. his shoulders are tense, steel above her, and so is his grip as it leaves her hand to claim a fistful of her hair, to tilt of her mouth up to his to take as he takes her. ]
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only in that her light has touched him in someway and perhaps, maybe it will make him better man. that is her hope. no matter how she feels about him, she hopes that she can somehow encourage a goodness in him, a light of his own to guide him from the darkness that he surrounds himself with, that he falls into all too easily after centuries of being dragged into it.
in turn, he can ruffle her feathers, feathers in need of ruffling. she cannot be the paragon of control and perfection always, she needs to slip into imperfection sometime without fear of judgement. perhaps that is what appeals or even more, perhaps that is what scares her about him. the way he withholds his judgements of her.
he gives her what she seeks now, fucking her into the plush leather sofa, the floor creaking some beneath the motion. he yanks at her hair and she gasps against his lips, melting into that kiss with a faltering moan. heat shoots through her, sets her on fire and on edge, pushing her suddenly towards that edge.]
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