Summary: a coda to 4x07
Warnings: none, really
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Title borrowed from Richard Siken's "wishbone"
Summary: coda to 4x07
Thank you, as always, to nondescriptf for the beta
He's already standing in the hallway when the doorbell chimes, tumbler held loosely in hand, trying to get the erratic pounding of his heart under control. Plastering a smile on his face, Klaus pulls open the door with a flourish.
"I'd ask if you've come by for a night cap," he drawls, feigning nonchalance and hoping it works, "but I could smell the whiskey on you the moment you set foot in my driveway..."
Stefan glowers in his general direction, and takes another long swig from the bottle in his hand.
"And I see you've brought your own." Klaus smirks, taking two steps back to let the other man inside. There's something about the way Stefan carries himself that pokes at something raw inside him, makes him regret ever opening the door. The obvious drunkenness aside, Stefan looks upset, frayed around the edges.
It makes Klaus' fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and touch. The reminder that he's not allowed to, not anymore, is a taunting whisper at the back of his mind that sounds a lot like his baby sister. Annoyed, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans, swallowing hard. "So let me guess, more trouble in paradise?"
"Shut. Up." Stefan spits out, and Klaus' eyes are immediately drawn to the line of his throat as the younger man takes another mouthful of whiskey.
Klaus allows the smirk to stretch wider, eyebrows lifted in mock innocence before his lips pull into a pleased grin. "Right. Honestly, mate, you're getting a little predictable. What's it about this time? Did the darling Elena finally realize your brooding is a poor match with her newfound taste in AB negative?"
Klaus has barely finished speaking before he's slammed into the wall, head connecting hard enough with the wall to nearly crack the wooden panel.
"I said, shut up!" Stefan growls, throwing the bottle away with an angry jerk of his arm. It shatters against the floor, filling the air with the smell of alcohol. Stefan flinches at the sound, and stumbles; as if the grip of the bottle had been the only thing anchoring him. "I don't know-" he trails off, suddenly looking more like a seventeen year-old than Klaus has ever seen him before.
The lost look in Stefan's eyes is enough to make Klaus want to kill, rip the heads off anyone who dares as much as look at his old friend the wrong way. He's reaching out for the younger man before he can stop himself, wrapping a hand around the back of Stefan's neck to stop him swaying. He expects Stefan to push him away, snarl and curse. He's ready for it, already bracing himself for the hit.
What he doesn't expect is Stefan's lips on his, insistent and demanding. It's like a switch is flipped inside his mind, and within seconds Klaus is licking his way into Stefan's mouth, groaning into the kiss. Time goes a little hazy, after that. Everything reduced to the feeling of lips moving against his own, Stefan's hands on his back, underneath his shirt.
Klaus is frantically tugging at hindering layers of clothing, his mind chanting moremoremore, when Stefan's mouth suddenly stops it's moving up the side of his neck. Reality comes slamming back with the strength of a freight train, and they both stop moving. Stefan still has his face buried in the crock of Klaus' neck, and with the haze of lust dissipating further with every passing second, he can make out the words Stefan is mumbling over and over against his throat. I don't know what to do.
He's a boneless weight against Klaus, and this is not the way it was supposed to be. Gritting his teeth, Klaus forces away the last, lingering hopes that he might finally get what he's spent decades waiting for, in one shaky breath.
Stefan is still mumbling brokenly into his skin, until Klaus forces his head back with a finger under Stefan's chin. Stefan's not meeting his gaze, eyes locked on a point somewhere behind him on the wall, and for a moment Klaus wants to shake him like a doll. He's not used to feeling powerless, and it's frustrating beyond words; this inability to fix things. "Go to bed," he says, finally, the words tumbling out before he can second guess himself.
"I can't," Stefan replies, meeting Klaus' eyes briefly before looking away again, "the Boarding house… and I was at Caroline's but-"
"There's plenty of guest rooms upstairs," Klaus interrupts him, pushing Stefan back with surprising gentleness, one steadying hand curled around his shoulder.
"Every fiber of my body is telling me to rip someone's head off and drink until I can't even remember my own name-" Stefan grits out, eyes flashing dark.
"You won't-"
"- and you expect me to sleep?"
"You won't." Klaus repeats, not unaware of the sheer irony of those words coming out of his mouth. This could be the moment, the one where he could finally push Stefan over the edge, for good this time. When he could finally be the ripper that Klaus remembers; the one that doesn't look at him like he's the villain, the abomination. But no, not tonight.
"You're stronger than that," Klaus shrugs, pretending like it doesn't feel like he's prying his own chest open for the entire world to see, as he acknowledges the truth, "I won't let you."
Stefan looks almost startled at that, but doesn't object further. Klaus gives Stefan a careful shove, turning him around, and watches him as he heads for the stairs. Before disappearing out of sight Stefan turns around, and they lock eyes for a moment; the air around them still humming with something Klaus don't have a word for. He's frozen on the spot, dares not make a sound, until Stefan nods before walking up the dimly lit staircase.
When Klaus finds him minutes later, Stefan's already asleep, or pretending to be, on the bed in what used to be Finn's room. Klaus quietly makes himself comfortable in the antique armchair in the corner, stretching his legs out. He takes a mouthful from the glass in his hand, keeping a watchful eye on Stefan's sleeping form.
the end.