I write to give word the war is over Send my cinders home to mother
Girly. Neurotic. Insecure. Anal-retentive. Needy. Untrustworthy. Unreliable. "In need of fixing." Traitor.
Caroline Forbes had been called many things. When she stood up among the bodies of her friends with their blood staining her hair, she was filled with a sickening sense of glee. They'd never thought to call her victor. Survivor.
She cut her stained hair and didn't pack an extra set of clothes. Best her mother thought she died with the others. She looked at herself in the mirror and called herself queen. Then she burned the boardinghouse to the ground and went to Paris.
I'm on your side when nobody is, cause nobody is Come sit right here and sleep while I slip poison in your ear
Nameless lovers in nameless countries began to blur together as the better half of the century passed. Nostalgia would occasionally set in, but she'd become adept at ignoring it. Drowning it. Drinking it away. She forgot her past like she forgot the names of the men who flirted with her in bars. Sometimes she'd break their necks just for fun and dump the bodies in the river. Or she'd just burn the building to the ground and walk away.
For fire being such a threat to vampires, her love of it was peculiar. But she liked being different, so she kept burning buildings and breaking necks and moving to exotic countries with names she couldn't pronounce.
Klaus showed up just when her hair finished growing back.
We have taken to the streets in open rejoice revolting We are dancing a black waltz fair Paris is burning after all
"Your lust of fire could be a dangerous thing," he warned her one night as she sat playing with matches. If she burned the house down around them, he would have the better chance of walking away, being the almighty hybrid that everyone cowered before. Except her. She'd lived too long on her own, the queen of her own realm, to cower before anyone. Not even when he pinned her against the wall and bit into her neck did she cower, whimper, plead for mercy. If he wanted to kill her, so be it. But they both knew he didn't want that.
"Who says it's fire I lust after? She rose from the floor and removed her shirt, tossing it aside as she straddled his hips. He leaned back in the chair and watched her undo her jeans before she ground her hips into his. His hands slid beneath the denim fabric and she bucked against his hand as he cupped her, fingers dancing along her skin with the talent of a very skilled lover. She ripped the shirt from his body pressed herself against him, moving against his hand as she bit his neck.
The world was on a tilt for a second as he shoved her up against the wall, keeping her still as he made quick work of her jeans, giving the same treatment she'd shown to his shirt. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he scaled the length of her body, kissing and licking and biting as she gripped at his shoulders, nail digging into flesh until he bled. She threw him into the opposite wall and the plaster cracked at the impact. She was there before the dust could begin to fall, her hands slipping beneath the rough material of his jeans as she slowly stroked his length. He rubbed himself against her, enjoying the sensation of her nails as they ghosted over him. It was when they began to relax against each other that Caroline ripped his jeans from his body and shoved him back into his chair. He tore what little clothing remained from her body and she straddled him again, his fingers digging into her hips as he guided her onto him. She quivered in his arms for a moment before rocking her hips in slow circles keeping his hands pinned to his side with a tight grip on his wrists. It would be easy to dominate her, to control the situation, but the way she was swirling hips was a torture so exquisite, Klaus allowed himself to play by her rules.
At least until they finished with the chair and moved onto the kitchen where he took her roughly from behind. Caroline repaid him by throwing him through a wall and pinning him to the staircase. They followed up with the couch, the bed, every floor in every room, and ended the night with the shower because by then, they were both covered in drywall dust and blood.
When they were finished, the house was in need of renovation. Caroline lit a match and set it all on fire. Klaus watched as she danced in the street before pulling her away as the authorities arrived. There always ruining my fun, she had complained before he pulled her into an alleyway near the inferno. He took her up against the wall and she could feel the heat of the fire as the destruction she created raged on, Klaus shoving the dress she'd thrown on aside as he thrust into her.
That became their pattern. They ruined houses that she burned to the ground and he'd watch as she danced in the street before pulling her away and reminding her how they had ruined the house. He began to sate the lust in her and she erased the memory of every lover he had ever had.
Sticks and stones have made me smarter It's words that cut me under my armor they say
"I love you," he whispered one night into the soft flesh of her abdomen. The fingers that had been toying with his hair stilled and he looked up to see her eyes staring at the ceiling.
"No," she said, "You get to fancy me, desire me, and fuck me, but you don't get to love me." He growled in frustration and pinned her body beneath his. She squirmed for a moment, her naked body sliding against his own, before realizing resistance was futile. That every queen needed someone to love her, even if she didn't love him back. She hooked her leg around his hip and he slid into her slowly, watching her eyes roll back as she arched against him.
"I love you." He kissed the words into her skin and she decided she could live with him loving her so long as he kept doing that thing with his hand.
I am sorry to report dear Paris is burning after all
"We should burn a city down," she commented aimlessly one day, poking at the fire. Or rather leaving the poker in the flames until it turned red hot.
"That's ridiculous," he remarked, not bothering to look up from his book. But then she rested the burning poker on his chest and he hissed, flicking it to the other side of the room as he threw her into the coffee table. It shattered at the impact and she pulled him down with her, pinning him beneath her body and glaring.
"I want to burn a city down," she said, "And you'll dance with me when I do." He yanked her down by blonde locks she never bothered to cut and punctured her lip with his teeth. She gasped, but repaid him by digging her finger into the burn healing on his chest. He growled and through her against the wall, following behind and pinning her to it with a hand to her neck.
"I could break your neck," he spat at her, but all arguments were rendered useless when she pulled his hips towards her and ground against him.
"You won't do that," she said, leaning into him and biting the lobe of his ear, "You like me too much."
He threw her to the floor and reminded her just how much he liked her and just how much she liked him.
I'm the queen, she had told him once. Then that must make me the king. She shook her head at him before kissing his shoulder. No, just me. Alone. The queen of everything. He had asked if she would get lonely, being the queen all by herself. She hadn't thought about loneliness, so she kissed him and called him lover. Lover is better than the king anyhow, he'd said. He never told her she would whisper I love you in her sleep.
The apartment eventually caught fire and they took to the street. They were in Paris where the buildings were pressed against each other the way Caroline was pressed against him. The entire block was ablaze and in the mass hysteria, the authorities did not arrive to ruin Caroline's fun for a while. When they did though, he took her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and danced with her there as the city was consumed in flames. Klaus didn't pay attention though.
He was too busy dancing with his queen of the night who kissed him and threw him through walls and called him lover.
Conqueror. Queen. Seductress. Pyromaniac.
Her friends had never thought to call her that.
Dance poor people dance and drown Dance fair Paris to the ground Dance poor people dance and drown Dance fair Paris ashes now
a/n: Woo, sexy time! I own my ideas, but if I owned the show, it'd probably be renamed "The Porn Diaries."
Fave, flame, faint. [or fuck, as Caroline so eloquently put it]
[song fic inspired by "Paris is Burning" by St. Vincent]
oxox