Walk the Razor's Edge

by Sandrine Shaw

One day, there might be a line he won't cross, something Klaus will demand of him that he's not willing to give. One day. Today is not that day.

Walk the Razor's Edge
by Sandrine Shaw

"Joshua!"

The way Klaus says his name makes something in Josh's stomach curl, sending adrenaline pumping through his veins. It's animal instinct, he tells himself, and he remembers the feeling of Klaus' hands around his neck, thinks – irrationally – that he can remember the sound his spine made when it snapped.

No one but Klaus and his siblings ever calls him by his full name anymore.

He's been 'Josh' since he can remember, except when he was a teenager and his mother was angry with him, drawing out the 'Joshua' with the full force of maternal disappointment. It used to make him cringe. When Klaus does it, it makes the hair at the back of his neck stand to attention and the stolen blood freeze in his veins, a new kind of fear that he's only known since he came to New Orleans. Josh doesn't understand how Klaus does it, how he puts so much weight into two syllables, but he turns Josh's name into a command, a brand of ownership, a reminder of who gave him his second life and can just as well take it away again.

It makes him want to run, just as much as it makes him want to bare his neck for Klaus, either instinct self-destructive in its own way.

"Joshua, I need —" Klaus begins, and Josh sighs and prepares himself for another long day, week, month, that will end up with his life hanging by a thread in the delicate equilibrium between potentially disappointing Klaus and having Klaus' countless enemies take their anger out on the hapless middle man.

There's always something with Klaus. He's always asking for something. For an oath to be broken. A life to be taken. A favor or the other, and it's never something easy, and the implication is always that there is no choice. Do this or die at my hand.

If Josh were a more principled person, he'd tell Klaus to go to hell. But he's seen death and he doesn't want it, so he'll choose life, time and again.

One day, there might be a line he won't cross, something Klaus will demand of him that he's not willing to give.

One day.

Today is not that day.

#

Loyalties in the quarter are shifting, shifting, shifting.

For the moment, Klaus and Marcel are friends again, which makes things easier for Josh, not having to choose between loyalty and survival instincts. It also makes his head ache when he remembers how it was barely weeks ago that Klaus was Enemy No.1. Now the two of them are sitting at a corner table at Roussau's, drinking and laughing like there had never been any kind of betrayal and no one ever chained anyone up in the basement to suffer excruciating torture.

Marcel beckons Josh over to fill up their glasses, and he brings a bottle of the most expensive Scotch the bar holds. Klaus rests his chin in his hand as he watches him pour it, smirking up at him before turning to Marcel. "You got your boy well trained," he comments.

The suggestiveness in his tone makes a rush of borrowed blood color Josh's cheeks red, but Marcel only laughs and shakes his head. "I know it's hard for you to grasp the concept, Klaus, but when people do what I ask them it's because they're loyal to me, not because I manipulate them. You should try having friends instead of minions."

Klaus raises his glass to Marcel in a salute. "What a lovely sentiment. Not sure if I agree, though. They will all betray you in the end, but with minions at least it's not personal." He smirks at Josh. "Isn't that right, Josh?"

He probably didn't mean it like that, probably barely recalls just how Josh became a vampire, but it makes Josh remember coming to New Orleans with Tina, and how fast she'd gone for that coin, damning him to death to secure her own survival. Even after all this time, he still feels bitter about her betrayal. He still misses her, that's the worst part.

He steps away from the table, holding up his hands. "Um, leave me out of it, guys."

Their joint laughter follows him all the way to the bar.

#

Klaus' hand curves around his neck, pulling him into an uncomfortable embrace.

"Joshua. Sweet, loyal Joshua, who can't stop playing both sides." His eyes sparkle with mischief, and there's a warm sort of confidentiality in his tone, like he's sharing a secret. "One of these days, love, that little habit of yours is gonna get you killed. And that would be a shame, now, wouldn't it?"

He smiles, crooked and wicked. Maybe he's drunk or maybe he's just in a playful mood – it doesn't matter. The threat is genuine, and that arm looped loosely around Josh's shoulder in a parody of a friend's touch just might rip off his head in a second or two, without warning.

Josh almost snorts at the thought, because there is no without warning with Klaus. Being around Klaus, knowing Klaus, is warning enough. Just because Josh's been not heeding it, sticking around against his better knowledge, doesn't mean he can claim ignorance.

He smiles and ducks his head and doesn't shake off Klaus' arm like he knows he should. "It would absolutely be a shame. Please remember that, if you ever feel the impulse to kill me," he quips, turning Klaus' smirk into a burst of heartfelt laughter.

The arm tightens, and for a moment Josh wonders if he finally misstepped. If this is it, the moment when Klaus stops being fondly amused by him and starts being dangerously annoyed. But all he does is lean in close and faux-whisper against Josh's ear, "Why do you think you're still alive, kid?"

Then he's gone in a gust of air that ruffles Josh's hair. Josh's undead heart is racing in his chest, and he tells himself it's only fear that leaves him so thoroughly shaken.

#

Another one of those big, flashy Mikaelson parties where they gather up all their enemies to make a show of power and which will doubtlessly end in bloodshed. Josh has attended too many of them to relax and enjoy himself, knows that even if the buffet is rich and the blood and wine are flowing, even when it's all sharp suits and revealing dresses, before long someone's heart is going to get torn out and he'd rather it's not his.

"It's a drag, isn't it?" Rebekah says, sidling up to him so stealthily that it makes Josh almost jump out of his skin. He flails and spills some of his drink.

"That's... not exactly the word I'd use, but yeah, I guess it's pretty much like every other party your family throws. Must be getting old, after a millennium or so."

Rebekah chuckles. "You know, it's always the same old thing. Before the night's over, one of my brothers is going to throw a tantrum and we'll spend the next few days cleaning up the carnage. Both literally and figuratively. Wanna make a bet on who it's going to be this time?"

"Um, I'd rather not. I can't decide if Klaus would be more upset if I bet on him or if I bet against him, so in the interest of keeping my head on my shoulders where it belongs, I think I'll abstain from the vote."

He's barely finished the sentence when suddenly a pair of hands descends on his shoulders, giving them a squeeze that's just a fraction too hard. "I believe I heard my name. Don't you know it's impolite to talk about people in their absence?"

"I forgot that you're such a model of decorum and manners, Nik," Rebekah shoots back, and there's a moment when the two of them share a grin, wrapped up in each other, and Josh thinks it might be safe to slink back into the crowd. Being anywhere near a Mikaelson at these kinds of festivities is never a good thing; it's the vampire high-society equivalent to standing close to a bomb that might go off at any minute, and Josh doesn't want to get caught in the blast, when it inevitably happens.

Before he can make his exit, though, Klaus' hand shoots out and clamps around Josh's waist like a shackle laced with vervain.

"Not so fast, Josh. It turns out I require your assistance," he says, steel hidden underneath a conversational tone, and Josh's heart sinks.

He doesn't know what he expects – something violent or deceitful, probably, an insidious plan that makes Josh both an essential participant and utterly dispensable – but not for Klaus to drag him towards the middle of the hall, amongst the dancing couples.

Klaus pulls him close, arranging him like a rag-doll in his arm, and before Josh understands what's happening, they're swaying to the music.

"Wait, what — What are you doing?" There's a panicky note in his tone that he hates. Klaus is too close for comfort, his hair tickling Josh's cheek, their bodies touching from chest to hips. It's been a while since Josh took lessons in ballroom dancing, but he still remembers how his teacher kept going on about 'appropriate distance'. Clearly, they skipped that part in Klaus' lessons.

He feels Klaus smile against his neck – and that's wrong, they shouldn't be so close that Klaus' facial expressions register in a physical way against his skin.

"Right now? I'm pretending to be engrossed in my pretty little boytoy while keeping an eye on my old friend Emmanuel over there, who I think is plotting to kill us all."

"I'm not your boytoy," Josh protests feebly while fighting the instinct to turn around and look for Emmanuel in the crowd. He tries to remember which one he was – the snobby warlock from Paris, or the dark-haired, middle-aged vampire Klaus sired some time in the 15th century? It doesn't really matter. Both of them give him the creeps.

"Why, yes, my dear Joshua, I am perfectly aware. That's where the pretense part comes in." Klaus lets his mouth trail along Josh's carotid, sharp, poison-filled teeth pressing down dangerously hard, almost but not quite breaking the skin. "Now be a good boy and play along. Can't have our guests thinking I lost my touch and you're unaffected by my attempts to seduce you."

Josh wants to laugh, or scream, or both, because the weakness of his knees and the way his hands are tightly gripping Klaus' waist, rumpling the expensive silk of his suit jacket under his fingers, has nothing to do with playing along.

When exactly did danger become a turn-on? Yes, sure, Klaus is attractive – he'd have to be blind not to see it, but he's hardly Josh's type – and anyway, even if he was, Josh would assume that the 'murderous sociopath' part of the equation would quell any kind of attraction. Instead, here he is, practically panting after Klaus as if he hadn't explicitly threatened his life on at least half a dozen occasions.

One of Klaus' hands travels down his spine and makes Josh's nerve-endings tingle like an electric shock, before it cups his ass and squeezes.

He swallows. "I really hate you." He blames the uncharacteristic boldness on the fact that all the blood from his brain is rushing south.

Klaus' chuckles, low and amused against his neck. At least he's not tearing it open in retaliation – that's something. "You say the sweetest things, love."

The night ends in bloodshed. Of course it does.

#

When Josh steps out of the bathroom after taking a shower to wash the blood out of his hair, he finds Klaus sitting on the couch, leaning back with his arms spread wide across the backrest, looking perfectly at home, like he owns the place. For all Josh knows, maybe he does – it wouldn't surprise him to find out that Klaus has been his landlord all along.

He crosses his arms over his naked chest, feeling absurdly vulnerable over his state of undress, as if Klaus couldn't tear his heart out just as well through multiple layers of clothing. As Emmanuel could attest, if he were still alive and his blood wasn't all over Josh's suit that's now in a heap on the bathroom floor.

"Klaus." He tries to put some fake cheer in his voice. "Was there something else you wanted? Use me as a shield against another old friend of yours who came to kill you, perhaps? Or maybe get rid of one more body, since I'm already on it? Two for the price of one. Well, more like, fifty-seven for the price of fifty-six, but who's counting, right?"

Somewhere in the back of his head, warning lights flicker: don't aggravate the powerful original vampire who you've just witnessed rip apart several dozen enemies. But he's tired, and his suit is ruined, and he had to fight off a bunch of attackers with a raging hard-on after being molested by Klaus on the dance floor.

He's fucking done tonight. If Klaus wants to kill him, he can go right ahead.

Klaus quirks an eyebrow at him. "You sound tense, love." He rises from his sprawl with the smoothness of a predator, stepping towards Josh. "How about I help you relax a little? Work off all that leftover adrenaline from the fight?"

His lips curls into a smirk that's more mocking than suggestive, and maybe that's why Josh is surprised when Klaus' hand curves against his cheek, his thumb trailing Josh's mouth, pressing down hard against the lower lip until Josh opens up for him.

The digit trails along Josh's teeth, and his brain short-circuits in a mess of confused desire. He blinks. "I didn't know you, um, swung that way."

Klaus' chuckle is as rich as fresh O-negative. "I'm a thousand years old. I swing every which way."

Before Josh can come up with some clever response, he's being kissed. It's slow and measured, nothing like he expected at all, like Klaus is holding back to contain all his violence and possessiveness.

Josh is the one who revs up the intensity, who curls his hands around Klaus' neck and pulls him closer. Klaus' shirt, still stained with the blood of Emmanuel and God knows how many others, brushes against Josh's chest in a rustle of cool silk on skin. Klaus' hands settle on his hips, just above the damp towel wrapped around his waist.

Josh pulls back, licking his lips, and he's not sure if he's chasing Klaus' taste or trying to wipe it away. "This is... a really bad idea." The protest might have more weight if he could bring himself to put some distance between them.

All Klaus does is roll his eyes. "Of course it is. I can leave, find someone else to take to bed. The city's full of bright-eyed, attractive people. And we can pretend that you're not going to jerk off imagining me on my knees for you the minute I'm out of the door. But what's the point? It'll be just as damning as if we'd actually done it." He runs a finger along the upper edge of the towel, and Josh shivers. Klaus' eyes blaze bright blue amusement. "Come on. Where's your sense of adventure, Josh?"

Josh closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to gather up the mental strength to tell Klaus to go to hell, but all he can envision is the mental image of having Klaus drop to the floor in front of him and getting to fill up that eternally smirking, brilliant, lethal mouth with his cock.

There's no way he's going to say no to that, even if it costs him his pride. Or his life.

He looks straight at Klaus. "So, the thing you mentioned, with the kneeling? That's actually on the table, right? Not just something you'd want me to imagine if you left?"

Klaus' smile is wide and full of teeth.

#

It's unfair how utterly in control Klaus looks, even when he's on his knees in Josh's living room, expensive pants rumpling on the wooden floorboards. He pulls the towel away and looks up, holding Josh's gaze as he licks a long, wet stripe along the underside of Josh's cock, and it's only the weight of those eyes on him that makes Josh stop himself from letting his eyelids drop shut.

Then Klaus swallows him down, mouth hot and wet and hungry, bobbing up and down almost aggressively, all lush lips and clever tongue and a hint of teeth.

Josh can't remember ever having received a blowjob that's such a blatant show of dominance, such a stake of ownership, and when his fingers bury in Klaus' blonde locks, it feels like Josh's the one who's submitting.

When he comes, spilling down Klaus' throat, Josh bites his lip bloody with fangs he can't hold in to stop himself from moaning Klaus' name. Klaus stands and licks away the blood, kissing him so hard that the cut only opens further, the coppery taste mixing with the bitterness of cum.

He's too wrung out for protests when Klaus rushes them to the bedroom with superhuman speed, spreading Josh out and sliding into him with no foreplay or preparation. It hurts for a moment, the pain bright and clear, just enough to cut through the mellow, wrung-out sense of afterglow. It hurts, and then it doesn't, and then everything narrows down to Klaus fucking him, filling him, taking what he wants the way he always does. Josh would hate him for it if Klaus' hand wasn't wrapped around his cock, stroking him back to hardness and wringing another orgasm out of him that hits him so hard it almost makes him black out.

#

Back when he was still human, eight years and a lifetime ago, he used to love too easily. Fall too hard at the first kind smile on a pretty face, at possessive touches and heated kisses.

But he's not that boy anymore, and whatever might have been left of him died with Aiden.

Klaus kisses him and fucks him, and throws him a wicked, conspiratorial smirk across a room full of people who have no idea how damn good Klaus looks when he's sucking Josh's cock, and it's one hell of a rush, but Josh doesn't fall in love with him. He's not stupid. People who love Klaus die. Always. Inevitably. By Klaus' own hand or one of his numerous enemies.

He doesn't love Klaus. But there are moments when Josh knows he could, that it would be altogether too easy to let the feelings sink their teeth into him and rip him apart. When Klaus grins a bloodied smile at him after tearing out the throat of someone coming after his family. When his fangs rip into Josh's shoulder a split second before his climax ripples through his body and, unprompted, Klaus offers up his wrist before the poison can take hold. When he says Josh's name and it feels like an odd, unhealthy mixture between a threat and a caress.

Josh has come to terms with how much he enjoys walking the razor's edge between fear and desire. But it scares him, knowing that he could love a monster like Klaus if only he let himself.

#

"Joshua," Klaus calls, barging through the door of Roussau's. His accent curls around the vowels of Josh's name like sticky, warm blood, and his tone has the half-amused, half-impatient tilt that means he's just about to announce something else he expects Josh to do for him.

Another demand masked as a favor, one more thing that might get Josh killed, that will make him cross another line, hate himself a little more.

He drops his head forward and takes a deep breath, before facing Klaus with a resigned smile.

"Klaus, hey. What do you need?"

End.