[ does he? does he truly know why she's here? for comfort, yes. maybe even for him. (for bonnie.) for the blindness of this, maybe even for the desires she wraps up and shields from all else who may gaze upon her. but for all he knows her, he knows he does not hold her heart. all her denial, all her rejection has created around the organ a fortress he can only wonder if he can reach; he can only feel the bliss of when she gives him a sliver of encouragement.
she has boarded up the softest corners, the most precious parts, and perhaps she will never mean for him to have them. (despite his promise, despite his wish: to be her last.) that is fine, for he does not need them to want her, and she does not need them to be here, with him.
no, she simply needs the want of it, the perversity, the desire she considers obscene. there is no difference to him; what he wants is pure. and she is here, restless and needy against him, moaning and eager against his touch, seeking and abiding by it. it is what he wanted, her body to tense and uncoil, to feel her wet his cock further. he watches her fluttering lashes, feels the bubbling of excitement from her lingering pout. the slow smile of it is in his eyes, and his grip clenches around her neck, pulls her to him as he slides down into his seat, all the better to find leverage.
he fucks her, suddenly hard, quick, and keeps her in place to watch her face as she takes him, his thumb restless against her. the slap on their skin fills the room, and so does his hummed exhale. ]
[ she finds excitement in things she didn't know she could find exciting, in the way his fingers curl around her neck, in the way he holds her into place as he fucks her, despite her being on top of him. he rocks up into her without any sort of mercy, relentless in the pursuit of pleasure, be it his or hers.
the sounds that fall from her parted lips are almost pornographic, their frequency and volume. it's a series of gasps, hums, and low moans, between excited panting breaths, her eyes fluttering as the sounds of their bodies colliding and her thundering pulse fill her ears.
ever since she turned, this is how she's preferred things. a rough fuck. tenderness is sweet and sometimes something slow is what she desires but there's an appeal to being reminded what she is now. unbreakable. and she is greedy for it. her hands grab at him, unable to hold still, roaming over his skin, just touching, pulling at his hair and shoulders. and the more he gives her what she wants without judgement, the more she feels those walls weakening.
she fights it now, one hand moving to his at her throat, fingers curling around his wrist as she presses herself into his hold and starts to move roughly above him, seeking more, rougher, faster. this needs to be just fucking, this can't be anything else. not yet.]
[ it is all for her, every relentless thrust, every caress of his thumb, pressed and rubbed expertly of over. he takes from it the satisfaction she gives him, and the rush of power and lust and servitude it evokes, the three tying inextricably together, all for her. the touch of her soft hands soothe and awaken him, the sounds she makes gorgeous, exquisite; the friction of taking her enough to weaken his knees. he could come, hearing her whimpers, feeling her so wanting and wet. feeling the fight in her to take as much as he gives. he groans as she does, their rhythm becoming one, adjusts with such overwhelming zeal to her liking.
he can do better. the words stir him in just the way she seeks, burning with a flash of heat, a slide of it down his neck, his chest, alighting over the places she's touched, marked, pulsing up through his cock as she rides it, harsh and quick, so tight and soft. there is no warning, only the rough grab of her neck and her hair, the yank as he pulls her head back, and in a second's count has her thrown face down on his bed, the sheet rumpled under the force, her legs dangling over the edge.
he doesn't wait for her to adjust, only moves her enough to bury himself deep and fucks her harder, tugging her head back by her hair to keep her still, to keep her braced, and so he can lean over to murmur: ] You tell me when it's enough.
[ it's lurid like one of those pornos that she dared to watch a long time ago, the way she's bent over his bed suddenly, the way he pulls her back against him with her hair. she never got a proper tour of his apartment, so she has no idea how far they travelled in that unexpected instant. but she barely has time to register what is happening before he's inside of her again, thrusting harder, with better leverage, her body bouncing against his.
her arms slide forward to grip the sheets beneath her, to brace herself, to keep from sliding forward as her toes curl against the floor. she gasps and moans as an answer to his demand. it's enough, this is enough, she thinks. it's more than enough. she doesn't waver in her enjoyment, she simply allows herself to get lost in the ride, in the pleasure that races through her now, coaxing heat through her veins.
her eyes close with another soft sound, as she grinds against him, rocks backward into his body's movements, trying to coax that same pleasure through him.]
[ she need not try very hard to please him: the sounds she makes, the wordless, incredible gasps as she finds her leverage and moves into his thrusts in more than enough to make him groan, to make his knees weak, his weight to lean against her. a hand braces himself on the bed; his wrist twists, pulls her head back further, keeps her at his mercy. the scruff of his beard brushes against the soft skin of her forehead, her hair; he touches his lips there, and he can just see the bounce of her pert breasts from the rocking of their bodies.
it is lurid, and beautiful: the way she bends to his hands, the way she hungers at it. he wants it, the press of her arse against his front, the movement of her hips beckoning him deeper. he growls softly, leaning to her, grinding inside of her over and over, faster and harder, the sounds he makes approving, his eyes lidded and watching the profile of her face, watching her pleasure. his hum is one of approval, his face hot, his grip weigh of head back. ]
[ he takes more, the moment she gives him the encouragement of her hips. he leans over her, he pulls harder at her hair as the sounds of their thighs colliding and panting breaths fill the air. for a long moment, she is simply lost in the slide of his body into hers, his cock filling her to the hilt with every grind of their bodies, her body practically vibrating around his with the force of his thrusts.
her hands move restlessly over the bedspread, gripping and pulling, tugging for leverage, fingers curling with pleasure as her head turns just a little, her eyes catching sight of what is to her left. it is then she sees them in their full glory reflected in a mirror. it should disturb her, to see klaus mikaelson deep inside of her from behind, the man who caused so much sorrow, the two of them rutting like animals so impassioned and hungry. but instead she moans desperately, surprised by the jolt of excitement that runs up her spine upon seeing them there.
she watches with a distracted fascination, the sight feeding into the heat she feels, watching the bounce of her breasts, the sway of her body as he rocks into her, the wild look of both of their hair. gasping something about god, her eyes flutter and she bites back another moan so soon after the first as she tries to fight the hold he has on her hair a little, arching off the bed a little rocking against the mattress with his movements.]
[ he is too in tune to her not to notice, too intent, too watchful. he feels every rut of her hips like a lure, hears every hitched breath dousing him, the pitch of each as he thrusts into her, taking and giving of the friction that is making her tremble and moan, that makes him tremble and moan, roughen with each roll of his hips. they are seamless, the sound of their skin colliding muting as his hips rub against her. his own groans spill from his lips, low rumbles that follow hers, and when his eyes follow the focus of hers to the mirror, something primal and wicked posses him. (is this what she likes, he thinks -
he likes it; he likes her against him, on him, and) she is a mess, her hair clenched in his grasp, her body needy for his, her eyes glassy and anguished with pleasure, pink skin balmy with a sheen of sweat. it is instinctive as she struggles a moment later: he lets her go, gives her the freedom she seeks, only to shove her flush against the bed, a steel grip around her neck. his thighs push against hers; he slides her deeper onto the bed and follows; each movement a jerk of speed.
there is just the pulse of his heart, the tightness of her around his cock, the golden crown of her hair his eyes find and do not stray from. his fingers reach to slide between the cheeks of her arse, so wet as his thumb rubs, circles, tests the entrance as it presses down. he strokes the softness of the yellow strands damp against her back before reaching beneath her, finding her clitoris to caress. there is nothing merciful about his touches; he means to make her come, to force it from her, to overwhelm every nerve, even as he teases her with deep, rough, rolling thrusts, the heat rising in his cheeks.
[ he grants her no relief from her climbing pleasure, from the pleasure that blooms from her previous orgasm (and the one before that). he is well on his way to sending her into her third and fourth. she is practically salivating from it, her fingers threatening to tear his bedspread to shreds, and maybe they would have if he hadn't caught her by surprise as he does, so distracted by the reflection of their bodies in the mirror.
suddenly she's shoved against the bed even more, pressed forward while he joins her, the speed of his movement making his thrust even harder than before. she gasps with an unfettered sort of delight, momentarily shocked from her admiring gaze in the mirror. her forehead presses to the bed as she pants his name only to gasp again when his thumb moves to slide against a forbidden spot, one that is rarely touched and yet... it makes her moan, makes her clench around him tightly. and it seems he set on making her writhe and gasp until she knows no other course of action.
her head tilts once more towards the mirror, unable to help but look, gasping at the sight before her. his arm wrapped around her as he touches the bundle of nerves, his other hand pressed between her cheeks that seem to bounce with every thrust he makes.
it is all too much, seeing it, feeling it. heat courses through her veins at an alarming rate, making her head spin, making her eyes fall shut with a long, low moan. it's then that she comes, with his name on unabashedly on his lips.]
[ yes. it is the summation of all he sees, all he hears, all he feels. he watches her begin to unravel, feels the unsteadiness in her, the tremors that vibrate into his frame. he feels her tighten at his touch, at the boldness of his caress, feels it down to his knees. he pushes her further, because she is perfectly close, maddeningly ripe for it amongst all her moans and gasps, the panting of his name.
he likes how it sounds, so lost in her pleasure, touching him like a physical caress. his. it's his name she intones, his name she calls as she comes, soft and wet and rutting against his thrusts. he nearly folds over her in the ensuing bliss, the clench of her body and the easy way he slides into her nearly too much to take. he feels her coming, his eyes trained, his lips parted as her pleasure reverberates through him, dizzies him with heat that possesses him, renders him useless to all else but her. all else but touching her, fucking her.
he does not realize he is grunting, soft and greedy, with each rock of his cock inside her, not until she is well and truly sated.
yes, he thinks. good. it is what he wanted: her flushed and completed and beautiful.) and he pushes her off his rigid cock to the ruined, mussed sheets with a shove, turns her to her back just as easily. his eyes are dark and longing, stirred despite their steadiness, his breath long and heavy as he takes her hands to stretch out above her head as he stretches out atop her. he takes her lips; he tastes the sweetness of them but once, hovering over her; lashes fluttering as black pupils watch her gaze. he rocks his hips in a strong, nearly painful effort to be inside of her. their bodies collide and he is buried deep, the groan against her lips tapered by the slow, unforgiving force of his next thrust. ]
[ she is lost now. gone is any hope of recovering from this, from pretending that she didn't completely lose herself to the pleasure his body provides. she could claim it's purely physical but that would be a lie, one he'd see right through given the way he's able to push her to her limits.
she doesn't watch herself come, her eyes clench shut when the tidal wave of pleasure sweeps her under. she is helpless to do anything but ride out that wave, her fingers clutching at the sheets beneath her, a dizzying amount of ectasty take hold. and when she finally comes out the other side of it, she's rendered, almost like he is, useless to anything else but his pleasure now.
she can barely move beyond trembling, she doesn't even fight or tense when he pulls himself from her body to roll her over. she sees the darkness in his eyes and knows that it's reflected in hers, that desire, that want, it's still there even after getting her pleasure for the... whatever time. she's lost count how many times she's come now, even if she was counting them merely seconds before. she barely has time to react before he's back to pinning her to the bed in a different fashion, her eyes fluttering open to look at him as he finds his way home, thrusting back into her over-sensitive body.
gasping against his lips, she winces the way it makes her pulsating skin feel, even then, her reaction isn't one to tell him to stop. she is wrecked, a panting, sated mess, her legs flexing, moving so that her feet lay flat on the bed, knees shifting upward as he settles between her thighs. her eyes stay on his for now, almost pleading for him to find his completion, as if she isn't sure she can take much more but knowing that her body is built for this and more.]
[ it was for her, all the pleasure he's given, but that look in her eyes is for him, what has him wanting for nothing and everything more. his fingers splay hers out, each of his pressing along the lengths along hers, the tips against her fingerprints. she is a pool of desire, of flashing longings, the base, pure connection forged between them living and wrought as he takes her in. making his heart beat as his fingers weave with hers, and tighten to clasp.
she is a pool and a pillar both, the one solid thing in this storm they drown in. he fucks her to feed the pulsing of his torturous desire, on the edge always of kissing her pretty, bruised lips so close to his own. he wants to come, his stomach pressing to hers as he strokes into her, the cool dampness of their sweat and coming sticky between them. he wants to come, but more than that, he wants that look in her eyes to last. and it is that reason he cannot though his thighs shake; they tremble as he finds a broken rhythm, gasping quietly, slow and grinding; never enough.
his lips touch her cheek, press a soft kiss there as his body melts against hers, seamlessly rocks. ]
[ Insatiable is the only word that comes to mind now, when she tries to think of how to describe him in this moment. Ruthless and formidable come through next. an unstoppable, hungry force. he keeps moving within her as he tangles their fingers so intimately together.
her eyes flutter at the slide of their fingers as much as they do at the slide of their bodies, uneven and unsteady as the thrusts of his hips are. she shifts beneath him, doing what she can even as she grows sexhausted (that's right sexhausted) beneath him, trying to coax him into the same pleasure she's feeling, to drive him over that edge that he's pushed her over too many times.
her fingers tighten over his, pushing up at his hands, pulling them more over her head as she speaks, tilting her head to force his back towards hers, to push his lips away from her cheeks so that her gaze burn into his.] Let go, Klaus. [ of whatever he's holding on to, she urges him to let go of the resistance to fall and just fall.]
[ it's formidable, such a request, striking deep and sure. even as her body stretches beneath his, curves into his like a cat. it makes his cock ache, his panting breath to quicken, his thrusts to harshen just so; it meet her, to take what she offers. and he cannot think of it: the sweet brush of her lips against his face as she searches for him, the reassurance of her squeezing grasp that makes his pulse start and his cock to throb painfully at the intimacy for more reasons than one, the searing look in her eyes that catches him, that piercing blue and darkest black. and the deepness of what she asks, the vulnerabilities it would incur, to let go of what he truly holds onto: her. his heart, for her. for anyone.
and yet it means nothing, none of it. it means everything as he strokes into her quicker now, pointed with each pinning caress of his body, roused and excited and ravenous. he keeps her eyes with the darkness in his own, releases one of her hands to hold her face.
soft sounds barely leave his throat. his thumb touches the tip of her chin, and his lashes barely flutter low as he barely kisses her, soft and unpressed and chaste. his tongue gently touches her top lip, the bed rocking thunderously under them. it's waves of pleasure, building and shaking him, trembling his fingers, his hand at her face. it's violence, lust, and softness. his hold flexes, finds her throat for something to steady him, to keep her gaze on his as the first grunt spills from his lips. ]
[ she wouldn't look away from him now even if he wasn't forcing her gaze. she doesn't want to miss the way he looks now, now that he's doing as she bids him to, a plea and command both. she wants to see him unravel as he's seen her do so many times, those pools of blue focused keenly on his, darker and more wild. his hand leaves hers free to move, and it does, moving to clutch at his chest, over his heart.
if she could only touch him there. truly touch his heart, make him less of who he is, who he forces himself to become because of paranoia, a centuries worth of hurt and anger. if only he sought redemption like she did, like stefan. she can't be his redemption when he doesn't even want it. it stings, to think that he's more like damon, the sort to do anything to protect his interests ( his main interest being power and his family). anything but give into the lightness that might be hidden in the darkest corners of his heart, waiting to be freed.
her fingers splay out against his skin, laying flat as his fingers find her throat, cutting off some of the air to her lungs, making her gasp, hitting her with enough pleasure that her body trembles around his, quivers and quakes, every one of those descriptive words that you read in dime store novels. she swoons and melts, she pants against his lips as he strokes inside of her with a merciless frenzy, doing as he's been bade to do, losing himself inside of her, so close to what she actually wants and yet so impossibly far.]
[ he gasps, the sound audible, terrible and fearful; he nearly flinches at her holding touch, at the pressure of her fingers, the danger of her palm against his racing heart. she could not have rendered him thus anymore than if she had plunged that hand into his chest, wrapping her hold around the organ to tear it out. he should want to pull away, not submit to it; not what his body does instead: tensing before leaning into the pressure, offering the immortal pounding like a sacrifice that might sway her, should she ever want to take it.
he doesn't want redemption. he doesn't even want love or loyalty, as keenly as he longs for both, stripped away from him at every turn. he wants safety, family, the anxiety for both coiled in his gut. he want simplicities, joys. he wants her kiss, her trembles, her breath as he takes her lips, shaken in his vulnerability. his fingers loosen to move upward, to take her chin, to pin her in punishment and indulgence of his own emotions, under the sway of them. he surges into her, over and over, as if the force might drown out all else. and he comes, muffling his moans until he cannot kiss her any longer, too steeped in the mercilessness of his body's release.
that is what it is: release, and dizzying pleasure only second, his eyes clenching closed as he slows, his head bowed, her name leaving him in strained, lustful anguish.
[ for a moment, she trembles with the fear that she's done something wrong, that what she's done has turned him monstrous, perhaps even lost to her on all counts. he tenses for less than the blink of an eye, cementing for that length of time that she can never touch him there, there just beneath where her palm lays flat.
they want different things, rendering them incompatible, it seems. she wants love and loyalty, she gives it to those who seek to earn it, she wants to give it. she cannot give him the things he wants. there is nothing she can do that he couldn't to make himself safer. and as for family... there was never a chance for that since the moment katherine smothered the life out of her. not that he seeks that from her anyways. either thing.
perhaps simplicities she can do, even if she prefers things more complicated, needs them that way. still, she moves with him as best she can, returns the brutal kiss he gives until he comes undone above her with sounds that send fire up the length of her spine.
her eyes flutter only when his close, shutting briefly as he says her name that way. she cannot know the true anguish behind it, whether she has caused it or if it is simply from the relief of finally giving into to well-chased pleasure.
how could she accept his heart when he could never give it to her freely? without strings or conditions? without bitter fractures that she cannot hope to ever mend? ]
[ if all he is to her is broken, then there is no reason for affections to linger. she wants for what she would not take from him, wants for what she would not trust. (he is a monster, no matter how wanting he is, how soft she can render him.) he is not simple, unseeing, unknowing. he knows. he knows despite her attractions, despite how she cares for him, despite the connection that thrums between them, there are places they do not meet. because he adores every one of them about her, despises them with sorrow.
she can touch his heart. she is, and his hand moves to his chest to press her hand there, to hold it tightly in his grasp to the heave of his chest as he lifts his head to kiss her again, soft and full and wet.
[ it is too dangerous, the waters they tread now. in the end, they will both end up hurt (and who can say which of them will be marred more). the common ground for them now is sex, the passion that is fueled between them, the attraction that remains unspoken besides that day in the woods, even now she cannot quite admit it aloud, should she be asked. it is unfair and wicked, the truth of it. and yet, she longs for it, to touch his heart the way he lets her now.
it makes her own heart beat wildly, spreading compassion and the wish that somehow those spaces between them could narrow, that the fractured bits of their own hearts that keep them apart now could somehow be healed (they cannot be, they are too wounded).
she kisses him back, tilts her head to give him back some of that emotion, her other hand moving tighten her grasp of his before she pulls her fingers away, moving to find the back of his head to hold.]
[ he knows it is not the end. even if she were to vanish tomorrow, even if they had never met here, he knows there are lifetimes in which they could use to bridge any gaps, to find any peace. eventually, perhaps. he can want that, in the back of his mind; he can want, as unfair and wicked as this is now.
she kisses him and he kisses her back, pulling in a heady breath as she shifts, as he follows to pour just as much ardency, just as much tenderness into the caress. his arms frames her shoulders, knuckles reaching to brush the pink of her cheeks. and when he pulls back there is no fear but that of anxiety, just the smallest bit of awe that part his lips, affection and warmth and kindness in his eyes. ]
[ time will tell what this will lead to. if this only bring them trouble or deepen whatever bond is between them. the kiss is intoxicating as it is worrying on that count. her eyes only opening when he pulls back to look at her with such a look, one that makes her heart stutter in her chest.] Oh no you don't, [ she murmurs playfully, intent on keeping this lighter than it actually is. She chases his lips for another kiss, arching her neck off the bed so that she can accomplish such a task. her fingers crawl up his neck to slide through his hair, caress over his scalp.
she relents after a moment, laying back against the bed, a vision of sexual satisfaction, skin ruddy, lips bruised, hair tussled. she lets out a contented sigh before her hands fall back against the bed in the pursuit of being lazy, sliding down over his arms first before they find their rest on either side of her head, resting on a bed of messy curls.]
[ he knows what she is doing, knows what she seeks with her kiss. he lets her take that leave, lets her come to him, pressing his mouth to hers only after a moment. it's soft, softer than even before, his head tilted just so, leaned by her traveling hands.
how beautiful she is, in the aftermath. he smiles watching her uncoil from him, adoring and wicked both. only after a moment does he lift himself off her, settle beside her with a hand at her side and an arm tucking below her head. he pulls her gently and loosely, palm against her ribs, fingers curled over her torso, into his embrace, drops his face to her shoulder. his voice is thick with amusement. ] I daresay that was to your liking.
[ she stretches like a cat would once he rolls off of her, in that brief moment before he pulls her to him. she stretches her arms and legs, curls and uncurls her toes before letting out a lengthy, lazy sigh. then she's pulled in his direction, rolling onto her side as she is pressed to him.
she lets out another contented sound at his not!question, one that's tempered by a yawn then amusement of her own.] I think you know the answer to that. [ as if the multiple orgasms weren't proof enough, she seems much more cheerful than she did when she first arrived.] But yes, in case you couldn't tell.
[ he likes the grace with which she lounges, his eyes running the length of her body, his head dipped to brush his nose against the line of her bare shoulder. while she settles in repose, he does the same, tangling their legs, hooking their ankles as he stretches them out.
he likes settling with her, if only for the moment. he likes her endearing yawn, and her retorts, and above all, her content. he moves along her skin, up her neck, and kisses tenderly, lingeringly behind her ear before he begins to truly relax.
her hair is his pillow, draped over his arm, and so he presses his cheek and face to it and to the back of her head, to her scent, with a sigh. ] I believe that I and my neighbors could attest.
[ she gives him a pointed look when he basically accuses her of being loud.] Please. I wasn't loud at all. [ he's teasing her, of course, probably. so she just turns her head away from his so he can't reach her lips at all, as punishment despite how lovely it was to have him kissing along her neck and shoulder.]
[ perhaps she wasn't loud, but she was certainly noisy. he sees no reason to tease and argue the point, merely smirking and catching her eyes before she draws her gaze from his with a pointedness that not difficult to discern. so his thumb skirts over her ribs, brushes the soft underside of her breast before he smooths a touch up her sternum to lay his hand about her neck, to tighten his arms around her. ] You could be. [ he promises, whispers it, pressing his face into the curve of her jaw, running his hand back down, between her breasts, over her tummy. ]
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no subject
she has boarded up the softest corners, the most precious parts, and perhaps she will never mean for him to have them. (despite his promise, despite his wish: to be her last.) that is fine, for he does not need them to want her, and she does not need them to be here, with him.
no, she simply needs the want of it, the perversity, the desire she considers obscene. there is no difference to him; what he wants is pure. and she is here, restless and needy against him, moaning and eager against his touch, seeking and abiding by it. it is what he wanted, her body to tense and uncoil, to feel her wet his cock further. he watches her fluttering lashes, feels the bubbling of excitement from her lingering pout. the slow smile of it is in his eyes, and his grip clenches around her neck, pulls her to him as he slides down into his seat, all the better to find leverage.
he fucks her, suddenly hard, quick, and keeps her in place to watch her face as she takes him, his thumb restless against her. the slap on their skin fills the room, and so does his hummed exhale. ]
no subject
the sounds that fall from her parted lips are almost pornographic, their frequency and volume. it's a series of gasps, hums, and low moans, between excited panting breaths, her eyes fluttering as the sounds of their bodies colliding and her thundering pulse fill her ears.
ever since she turned, this is how she's preferred things. a rough fuck. tenderness is sweet and sometimes something slow is what she desires but there's an appeal to being reminded what she is now. unbreakable. and she is greedy for it. her hands grab at him, unable to hold still, roaming over his skin, just touching, pulling at his hair and shoulders. and the more he gives her what she wants without judgement, the more she feels those walls weakening.
she fights it now, one hand moving to his at her throat, fingers curling around his wrist as she presses herself into his hold and starts to move roughly above him, seeking more, rougher, faster. this needs to be just fucking, this can't be anything else.
not yet.]You can... do better than that.
no subject
he can do better. the words stir him in just the way she seeks, burning with a flash of heat, a slide of it down his neck, his chest, alighting over the places she's touched, marked, pulsing up through his cock as she rides it, harsh and quick, so tight and soft. there is no warning, only the rough grab of her neck and her hair, the yank as he pulls her head back, and in a second's count has her thrown face down on his bed, the sheet rumpled under the force, her legs dangling over the edge.
he doesn't wait for her to adjust, only moves her enough to bury himself deep and fucks her harder, tugging her head back by her hair to keep her still, to keep her braced, and so he can lean over to murmur: ] You tell me when it's enough.
no subject
her arms slide forward to grip the sheets beneath her, to brace herself, to keep from sliding forward as her toes curl against the floor. she gasps and moans as an answer to his demand. it's enough, this is enough, she thinks. it's more than enough. she doesn't waver in her enjoyment, she simply allows herself to get lost in the ride, in the pleasure that races through her now, coaxing heat through her veins.
her eyes close with another soft sound, as she grinds against him, rocks backward into his body's movements, trying to coax that same pleasure through him.]
no subject
it is lurid, and beautiful: the way she bends to his hands, the way she hungers at it. he wants it, the press of her arse against his front, the movement of her hips beckoning him deeper. he growls softly, leaning to her, grinding inside of her over and over, faster and harder, the sounds he makes approving, his eyes lidded and watching the profile of her face, watching her pleasure. his hum is one of approval, his face hot, his grip weigh of head back. ]
no subject
her hands move restlessly over the bedspread, gripping and pulling, tugging for leverage, fingers curling with pleasure as her head turns just a little, her eyes catching sight of what is to her left. it is then she sees them in their full glory reflected in a mirror. it should disturb her, to see klaus mikaelson deep inside of her from behind, the man who caused so much sorrow, the two of them rutting like animals so impassioned and hungry. but instead she moans desperately, surprised by the jolt of excitement that runs up her spine upon seeing them there.
she watches with a distracted fascination, the sight feeding into the heat she feels, watching the bounce of her breasts, the sway of her body as he rocks into her, the wild look of both of their hair. gasping something about god, her eyes flutter and she bites back another moan so soon after the first as she tries to fight the hold he has on her hair a little, arching off the bed a little rocking against the mattress with his movements.]
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he likes it; he likes her against him, on him, and) she is a mess, her hair clenched in his grasp, her body needy for his, her eyes glassy and anguished with pleasure, pink skin balmy with a sheen of sweat. it is instinctive as she struggles a moment later: he lets her go, gives her the freedom she seeks, only to shove her flush against the bed, a steel grip around her neck. his thighs push against hers; he slides her deeper onto the bed and follows; each movement a jerk of speed.
there is just the pulse of his heart, the tightness of her around his cock, the golden crown of her hair his eyes find and do not stray from. his fingers reach to slide between the cheeks of her arse, so wet as his thumb rubs, circles, tests the entrance as it presses down. he strokes the softness of the yellow strands damp against her back before reaching beneath her, finding her clitoris to caress. there is nothing merciful about his touches; he means to make her come, to force it from her, to overwhelm every nerve, even as he teases her with deep, rough, rolling thrusts, the heat rising in his cheeks.
he will give her a show. ]
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suddenly she's shoved against the bed even more, pressed forward while he joins her, the speed of his movement making his thrust even harder than before. she gasps with an unfettered sort of delight, momentarily shocked from her admiring gaze in the mirror. her forehead presses to the bed as she pants his name only to gasp again when his thumb moves to slide against a forbidden spot, one that is rarely touched and yet... it makes her moan, makes her clench around him tightly. and it seems he set on making her writhe and gasp until she knows no other course of action.
her head tilts once more towards the mirror, unable to help but look, gasping at the sight before her. his arm wrapped around her as he touches the bundle of nerves, his other hand pressed between her cheeks that seem to bounce with every thrust he makes.
it is all too much, seeing it, feeling it. heat courses through her veins at an alarming rate, making her head spin, making her eyes fall shut with a long, low moan. it's then that she comes, with his name on unabashedly on his lips.]
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he likes how it sounds, so lost in her pleasure, touching him like a physical caress. his. it's his name she intones, his name she calls as she comes, soft and wet and rutting against his thrusts. he nearly folds over her in the ensuing bliss, the clench of her body and the easy way he slides into her nearly too much to take. he feels her coming, his eyes trained, his lips parted as her pleasure reverberates through him, dizzies him with heat that possesses him, renders him useless to all else but her. all else but touching her, fucking her.
he does not realize he is grunting, soft and greedy, with each rock of his cock inside her, not until she is well and truly sated.
yes, he thinks. good. it is what he wanted: her flushed and completed and beautiful.) and he pushes her off his rigid cock to the ruined, mussed sheets with a shove, turns her to her back just as easily. his eyes are dark and longing, stirred despite their steadiness, his breath long and heavy as he takes her hands to stretch out above her head as he stretches out atop her. he takes her lips; he tastes the sweetness of them but once, hovering over her; lashes fluttering as black pupils watch her gaze. he rocks his hips in a strong, nearly painful effort to be inside of her. their bodies collide and he is buried deep, the groan against her lips tapered by the slow, unforgiving force of his next thrust. ]
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she doesn't watch herself come, her eyes clench shut when the tidal wave of pleasure sweeps her under. she is helpless to do anything but ride out that wave, her fingers clutching at the sheets beneath her, a dizzying amount of ectasty take hold. and when she finally comes out the other side of it, she's rendered, almost like he is, useless to anything else but his pleasure now.
she can barely move beyond trembling, she doesn't even fight or tense when he pulls himself from her body to roll her over. she sees the darkness in his eyes and knows that it's reflected in hers, that desire, that want, it's still there even after getting her pleasure for the... whatever time. she's lost count how many times she's come now, even if she was counting them merely seconds before. she barely has time to react before he's back to pinning her to the bed in a different fashion, her eyes fluttering open to look at him as he finds his way home, thrusting back into her over-sensitive body.
gasping against his lips, she winces the way it makes her pulsating skin feel, even then, her reaction isn't one to tell him to stop. she is wrecked, a panting, sated mess, her legs flexing, moving so that her feet lay flat on the bed, knees shifting upward as he settles between her thighs. her eyes stay on his for now, almost pleading for him to find his completion, as if she isn't sure she can take much more but knowing that her body is built for this and more.]
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she is a pool and a pillar both, the one solid thing in this storm they drown in. he fucks her to feed the pulsing of his torturous desire, on the edge always of kissing her pretty, bruised lips so close to his own. he wants to come, his stomach pressing to hers as he strokes into her, the cool dampness of their sweat and coming sticky between them. he wants to come, but more than that, he wants that look in her eyes to last. and it is that reason he cannot though his thighs shake; they tremble as he finds a broken rhythm, gasping quietly, slow and grinding; never enough.
his lips touch her cheek, press a soft kiss there as his body melts against hers, seamlessly rocks. ]
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her eyes flutter at the slide of their fingers as much as they do at the slide of their bodies, uneven and unsteady as the thrusts of his hips are. she shifts beneath him, doing what she can even as she grows sexhausted (that's right sexhausted) beneath him, trying to coax him into the same pleasure she's feeling, to drive him over that edge that he's pushed her over too many times.
her fingers tighten over his, pushing up at his hands, pulling them more over her head as she speaks, tilting her head to force his back towards hers, to push his lips away from her cheeks so that her gaze burn into his.] Let go, Klaus. [ of whatever he's holding on to, she urges him to let go of the resistance to fall and just fall.]
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and yet it means nothing, none of it. it means everything as he strokes into her quicker now, pointed with each pinning caress of his body, roused and excited and ravenous. he keeps her eyes with the darkness in his own, releases one of her hands to hold her face.
soft sounds barely leave his throat. his thumb touches the tip of her chin, and his lashes barely flutter low as he barely kisses her, soft and unpressed and chaste. his tongue gently touches her top lip, the bed rocking thunderously under them. it's waves of pleasure, building and shaking him, trembling his fingers, his hand at her face. it's violence, lust, and softness. his hold flexes, finds her throat for something to steady him, to keep her gaze on his as the first grunt spills from his lips. ]
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if she could only touch him there. truly touch his heart, make him less of who he is, who he forces himself to become because of paranoia, a centuries worth of hurt and anger. if only he sought redemption like she did, like stefan. she can't be his redemption when he doesn't even want it. it stings, to think that he's more like damon, the sort to do anything to protect his interests ( his main interest being power and his family). anything but give into the lightness that might be hidden in the darkest corners of his heart, waiting to be freed.
her fingers splay out against his skin, laying flat as his fingers find her throat, cutting off some of the air to her lungs, making her gasp, hitting her with enough pleasure that her body trembles around his, quivers and quakes, every one of those descriptive words that you read in dime store novels. she swoons and melts, she pants against his lips as he strokes inside of her with a merciless frenzy, doing as he's been bade to do, losing himself inside of her, so close to what she actually wants and yet so impossibly far.]
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he doesn't want redemption. he doesn't even want love or loyalty, as keenly as he longs for both, stripped away from him at every turn. he wants safety, family, the anxiety for both coiled in his gut. he want simplicities, joys. he wants her kiss, her trembles, her breath as he takes her lips, shaken in his vulnerability. his fingers loosen to move upward, to take her chin, to pin her in punishment and indulgence of his own emotions, under the sway of them. he surges into her, over and over, as if the force might drown out all else. and he comes, muffling his moans until he cannot kiss her any longer, too steeped in the mercilessness of his body's release.
that is what it is: release, and dizzying pleasure only second, his eyes clenching closed as he slows, his head bowed, her name leaving him in strained, lustful anguish.
she would never accept his heart. ]
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they want different things, rendering them incompatible, it seems. she wants love and loyalty, she gives it to those who seek to earn it, she wants to give it. she cannot give him the things he wants. there is nothing she can do that he couldn't to make himself safer. and as for family... there was never a chance for that since the moment katherine smothered the life out of her. not that he seeks that from her anyways. either thing.
perhaps simplicities she can do, even if she prefers things more complicated, needs them that way. still, she moves with him as best she can, returns the brutal kiss he gives until he comes undone above her with sounds that send fire up the length of her spine.
her eyes flutter only when his close, shutting briefly as he says her name that way. she cannot know the true anguish behind it, whether she has caused it or if it is simply from the relief of finally giving into to well-chased pleasure.
how could she accept his heart when he could never give it to her freely? without strings or conditions? without bitter fractures that she cannot hope to ever mend? ]
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she can touch his heart. she is, and his hand moves to his chest to press her hand there, to hold it tightly in his grasp to the heave of his chest as he lifts his head to kiss her again, soft and full and wet.
there is no reason for this, for them. and yet. ]
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it makes her own heart beat wildly, spreading compassion and the wish that somehow those spaces between them could narrow, that the fractured bits of their own hearts that keep them apart now could somehow be healed (they cannot be, they are too wounded).
she kisses him back, tilts her head to give him back some of that emotion, her other hand moving tighten her grasp of his before she pulls her fingers away, moving to find the back of his head to hold.]
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she kisses him and he kisses her back, pulling in a heady breath as she shifts, as he follows to pour just as much ardency, just as much tenderness into the caress. his arms frames her shoulders, knuckles reaching to brush the pink of her cheeks. and when he pulls back there is no fear but that of anxiety, just the smallest bit of awe that part his lips, affection and warmth and kindness in his eyes. ]
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she relents after a moment, laying back against the bed, a vision of sexual satisfaction, skin ruddy, lips bruised, hair tussled. she lets out a contented sigh before her hands fall back against the bed in the pursuit of being lazy, sliding down over his arms first before they find their rest on either side of her head, resting on a bed of messy curls.]
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how beautiful she is, in the aftermath. he smiles watching her uncoil from him, adoring and wicked both. only after a moment does he lift himself off her, settle beside her with a hand at her side and an arm tucking below her head. he pulls her gently and loosely, palm against her ribs, fingers curled over her torso, into his embrace, drops his face to her shoulder. his voice is thick with amusement. ] I daresay that was to your liking.
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she lets out another contented sound at his not!question, one that's tempered by a yawn then amusement of her own.] I think you know the answer to that. [ as if the multiple orgasms weren't proof enough, she seems much more cheerful than she did when she first arrived.] But yes, in case you couldn't tell.
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he likes settling with her, if only for the moment. he likes her endearing yawn, and her retorts, and above all, her content. he moves along her skin, up her neck, and kisses tenderly, lingeringly behind her ear before he begins to truly relax.
her hair is his pillow, draped over his arm, and so he presses his cheek and face to it and to the back of her head, to her scent, with a sigh. ] I believe that I and my neighbors could attest.
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