[ 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.]
[ she tastes of revelation, of relief. she is a light and a balm, one that touches him. it is something he never meant: to be affected by what he longed to touch, to be stirred by what he desired to know. (it is inevitable, for someone as steeped in centuries of hatred and darkness. predictable even; something he might scoff at if it weren't so complete, if it weren't so entirely what he longed for, that he'd see a girl with a bright smile and a brighter soul, a kind, strong heart, and fall.)
she tastes of all he is not, all he does not have. and she tastes of want, of the sharpness of her own hunger. she tastes of everything about her, down to the fierceness, the ruthlessness of her being, everything that he has admired, and adored. it is primal, how he presses her close, how his tongue massages hers, how his lips caress. he wants it all; he wants her mouth, her taste, her moans. he gasps having them all, knuckles white as he pushes her closer, addicted and insatiable. he wants the sliding, hot friction of their bodies moving ceaselessly, seamlessly against each other, coaxing and finding pleasure in equal measure. he wants the gasps of surprise, the savoring. he cannot stop, chasing each dizzying wave, pressing closer, harder, deeper, slower; whatever her body needs, whatever makes her flush and sound.
he has lost his breath, and it is the only reason he pulls his lips from hers. the only reason he presses them and his hot breath to her cheek. his thumb finds her lips, presses against the bottom of the plush, ravaged mouth. the words that touch her are broken, whispered, thick, promised, cut off only by the distraction of his pleasure, of hers. ] You know I want you, how good you feel; you feel so-
[ if she is everything he does not have, then he is the same to her. he is the risks she does not take, as fearless as she can be. he is the darkness she does not allow herself to venture towards. he is the ferocity she has deep within herself. he provides the thrill she longs to seek. he is not some dirty secret, pretend as she might, he is more than that. he is the life, unharnessed, passionate, and unbridled that she cannot ever allow herself to live.
every stroke of his hips, every hard press is a reminder of it. every motion earns him a sound, be it a moan, hum or gasp. each sound is his alone, greedy and giving. she takes from him more than she gives, unfairly perhaps. but he has been just as selfish.]
Good-- [ she finishes his frayed words, whispering the word against his thumb before she draws it between her lips, sucking gently, obscenely. her body arches and moves, it looks for completion in the friction of their sliding bodies. she moans her contentment, her warning that with just one more push, her pleasure will be his once more.]
[ her voice is heat; it is temptation and lust. it is truth, and that she knows it sends him spiraling, needy to claim it all. that one beckoning word has him groaning, has his cheeks filling with such searing blood he is sure she can feel it coursing through him. coupled with the pornographic warmth of her mouth closing around his thumb, feeling the wetness of her caressing tongue, the softness of her suckling lips, his cock throbs inside of her, for her. he loses every and any trace of control, even before hearing her moan, feeling its headying vibration.
he is possessed by pleasure, by the seeking of it, the growl in his throat released as his hips stutter before he fucks her with demanding strokes, just as selfish, just as greedy, just as giving. he doesn't hear the grinding of their desperate bodies, the harsh sounds he makes; he knows nothing past the haze he is in, and her. his fingers close around her chin; he pushes his weight onto her, pins her with an overwhelming force, each surge of his body to hers to bury his cock inside of her, to make her feel every inch.
to take every bit he must, to feel her coming and clenching. to sink deeper into the fever he is in. ]
[ she has a few tricks up her sleeve, she knows the way to play him just as much as he knows how to play her. and yet, his reaction is almost unexpected in its intensity. the way he suddenly surges forward, the way he sounds, the desperation of every thrust. she can feel the tension in his body, the way it matches hers, makes it even more apparent.
she gasps around his finger before she sucks more wildly, teeth grazing against skin as he fucks her harder. he grips her face as he moves, uses his leverage to increase the force of his body. he wants her to feel every inch and she does. dear god, she does. he fills her to the hilt with such a pace that she cannot tell where he ends and she begins, it's cliche and so very true.
he loses control and that is the final push she needs to lose her own. she practically spits out his finger as she moans, her body locking beneath his, tensing as she moans his name, coming hard.]
[ a pitched groan spills from his lips, one strangled feeling her body pressing to his, feeling the intense slide of her skin as she shakes, the endless, maddening clench of her taking his cock. even in the throes of his own pleasure, her own spurs him; it is what he wanted, after all: the end he sought. it is all he knows, every breath she takes, every whimper, the sensitivity of her under his touch. his thumb moves below her chin, he takes her throat in hand as he shudders, taking every bit of her pleasure for his own, leaning his head back to watch with dark, lidded eyes. he lingers with every stroke, feels her merciless tightness, the rubbing of their hips, dizzy with the smell of her, of sweat and sex.
it is only when their bodies slow that he feels the coolness of his exertion drying at his brow, that he claims her pink, moaning mouth for another kiss, open and wet. he hums into her, snakes his arm under her trim waist, and cradles her to him, moves to sit with a burst of quick speed, carrying her to his lap.
his hips moves up into hers, drives himself deep in the new position, coaxing her spent body with his own. his hands rub her hips, reach to palm and squeeze her arse; his teeth bite at her bottom lip. the caresses are slow, persuasive and demanding. he doesn't want to stop, and so they are not stopping ]
[ she is lost to that carnal pleasure for a long few moments, barely aware of the way he clutches at her, his hand her throat, his arm around her torso. she simply rides out the waves of pleasure, selfishly, her hips quirking a few more times before she stills beneath him, panting.
her eyes only open when she is whisked into a different position. her gaze landing squarely on his face as he grinds his hips up into hers, as she is suddenly perched in his lap. Her hands find his face as he presses back inside of her, trying to keep things going despite his body's waning efforts. She has no doubts he'll recover soon enough, he seems to have the stamina of ten men. As it is, she does not need to be persuaded, as breathless and satisfied as she is. She simply dips in to kiss him once more, after he bites at her bottom lip.]
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no subject
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.]
no subject
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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she tastes of all he is not, all he does not have. and she tastes of want, of the sharpness of her own hunger. she tastes of everything about her, down to the fierceness, the ruthlessness of her being, everything that he has admired, and adored. it is primal, how he presses her close, how his tongue massages hers, how his lips caress. he wants it all; he wants her mouth, her taste, her moans. he gasps having them all, knuckles white as he pushes her closer, addicted and insatiable. he wants the sliding, hot friction of their bodies moving ceaselessly, seamlessly against each other, coaxing and finding pleasure in equal measure. he wants the gasps of surprise, the savoring. he cannot stop, chasing each dizzying wave, pressing closer, harder, deeper, slower; whatever her body needs, whatever makes her flush and sound.
he has lost his breath, and it is the only reason he pulls his lips from hers. the only reason he presses them and his hot breath to her cheek. his thumb finds her lips, presses against the bottom of the plush, ravaged mouth. the words that touch her are broken, whispered, thick, promised, cut off only by the distraction of his pleasure, of hers. ] You know I want you, how good you feel; you feel so-
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every stroke of his hips, every hard press is a reminder of it. every motion earns him a sound, be it a moan, hum or gasp. each sound is his alone, greedy and giving. she takes from him more than she gives, unfairly perhaps. but he has been just as selfish.]
Good-- [ she finishes his frayed words, whispering the word against his thumb before she draws it between her lips, sucking gently, obscenely. her body arches and moves, it looks for completion in the friction of their sliding bodies. she moans her contentment, her warning that with just one more push, her pleasure will be his once more.]
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he is possessed by pleasure, by the seeking of it, the growl in his throat released as his hips stutter before he fucks her with demanding strokes, just as selfish, just as greedy, just as giving. he doesn't hear the grinding of their desperate bodies, the harsh sounds he makes; he knows nothing past the haze he is in, and her. his fingers close around her chin; he pushes his weight onto her, pins her with an overwhelming force, each surge of his body to hers to bury his cock inside of her, to make her feel every inch.
to take every bit he must, to feel her coming and clenching. to sink deeper into the fever he is in. ]
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she gasps around his finger before she sucks more wildly, teeth grazing against skin as he fucks her harder. he grips her face as he moves, uses his leverage to increase the force of his body. he wants her to feel every inch and she does. dear god, she does. he fills her to the hilt with such a pace that she cannot tell where he ends and she begins, it's cliche and so very true.
he loses control and that is the final push she needs to lose her own. she practically spits out his finger as she moans, her body locking beneath his, tensing as she moans his name, coming hard.]
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it is only when their bodies slow that he feels the coolness of his exertion drying at his brow, that he claims her pink, moaning mouth for another kiss, open and wet. he hums into her, snakes his arm under her trim waist, and cradles her to him, moves to sit with a burst of quick speed, carrying her to his lap.
his hips moves up into hers, drives himself deep in the new position, coaxing her spent body with his own. his hands rub her hips, reach to palm and squeeze her arse; his teeth bite at her bottom lip. the caresses are slow, persuasive and demanding. he doesn't want to stop, and so they are not stopping ]
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her eyes only open when she is whisked into a different position. her gaze landing squarely on his face as he grinds his hips up into hers, as she is suddenly perched in his lap. Her hands find his face as he presses back inside of her, trying to keep things going despite his body's waning efforts. She has no doubts he'll recover soon enough, he seems to have the stamina of ten men. As it is, she does not need to be persuaded, as breathless and satisfied as she is. She simply dips in to kiss him once more, after he bites at her bottom lip.]
You're insatiable.
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