Vigil PT2.
He watched her always after he whisked her away, watched her and wondered when the pain would come. She seemed well enough after they left, hardly batted a lash when they boarded the private jet to "anywhere" and she seemed, quiet, as her veridan gaze swept the black of the night sky. But Klaus knew better, he knew better because he could feel the roiling turmoil as if it were his own, her insides and thoughts jumbled in the most alarming way.
Bound.
He'd bound himself to her when she completed that spell, tearing the veil, rending her reality to make herself alive. He was her other half whether or not she knew this herself; the final piece of the puzzle that was her new life.
His witch now, for it was partly him that flowed through her and he wondered as he watched her, if she realised the depth of her work, how tightly they were joined, how aware of her he was, and she him.
So he watched, he waited, and he planned, for they would do such wonderful things together, have such control and power, though he hadn't yet touched her since she was made flesh. He didn't really dare, for once, in his long life, he calculated the cost to him should she rebuff his advances. Should she deny utterly her need for him.
And she /did/ need him.
It would be an advance, for he knew once he got his hands upon her there would be no going back, no return to the sweetly aching /want/ he was experiencing now and no way to hold dear this tightly held feeling of completion he was experiencing.
He'd never known another quite like her and he knew, deep in his twisted innards and dark insides that he never would again and that for this once, he would bide, he would savour and he would enjoy her turning into this, this being of such ultimate power everyone would fear her in the end.
She was already heading in the direction he wished and he exalted in that.
But he was already close to this goal he'd set and when she unfolded from the plush seat in front of him, he found himself rising too, towering over her petite body. Automatically his hands shaped the perfect curve of her waist and perhaps if he hadn't been so intent on the electric feel of her dusky skin under his palms, he'd have noticed how her eyes bled from vibrant green to crystalline black in an instant and how much actual pain shot through his now shattered legs as he crumpled to the plush carpet of the plane with a howl.
"No touching Klaus."
Was all she said by was of a reprimand as she stepped lightly over him and made her way to the tiny loo and firmly shutting the door behind her small bum, the clicking sound reverberating in his skull and straight down to his cock, making him uncomfortably hard.
He loved the pain she caused him.
Amazing. She was amazing and she didn't even know it and he growled as he healed, finally able to pull himself into his seat and attacking the wet bar with vigour. He would have to curb his baser instincts around her regardless of how she let him hold her in that dank basement, he would have to keep his hands to himself.
But did she know how he affected /her/? Perhaps that was why she reacted with such appetizing violence after all; Klaus's nose never lied.
Bonnie never spoke, but she scolded herself internally nonetheless for her reaction to /Klaus/, of all people; or rather /things/.
She couldn't seem to get her mind, or her body, to cooperate at /all/ and that bothered her more than she cared to admit.
She'd been inside his mind, seen the crushing loneliness he carried, had seen the deep paranoid fear that he wasn't good enough; not for his family, not for his lovers(surprisingly few over the centuries she noted with not a little smugness) and not for /her/. Her.
Why or when had he ever noticed /her/ as more than a threat? When had he noticed her as a /woman/, something to be desired and wanted and, by god, courted?
/Courted/?
Because, in his own warped way, he /was/ courting her.
He must have ruptured something when he helped her channel his power, that was all she could think, because why oh why would he ever be attracted to her? She was the tag along, the left over and looked over for the flared sunshine of Caroline or the sad mystery that was Elena.
And why did she care so much that he seemed to be so smitten?
Why did she like that he was smitten with her?
Vile abomination...
Even that was a lie she tried to tell herself, because she didn't find him vile, not at all, not when she could remember how he kept coming back to her body, the sorrow that he tried to hide but couldn't.
Not when she'd seen that he was just like the rest of them, with fears and wants and desires to be happy and she found a softening inside herself for the joy she made him feel.
She straightened, all five feet two of her held up and proud and she exited the tiny washroom and moved with purpose to stand directly in front of the brooding hybrid.
Indrawn breaths, deep and silent as she tried to calm the "thud" "thud" of her galloping heart, glad that her heart beats once more and thankful to the man in front of her for helping to make it so once again. Her voice comes, strained under the labour of her feeling.
"Stand up."
He blinks, no clever rejoinder at all now and does as she asks, so close he can feel her heat, smell her scent and wrap himself in her aura. So close she can smell the wild scent of him, the musk of his wolf, the expensive spice of his cologne. It hollows her.
She scoots her trembling hands up his broad chest, having always wondered what he would feel like under her palms, if his Henley's were as soft as they always looked. They were. Her head, tips back and she slides up on her toes, barely touching him still, balanced only by her hands over his pecs, mouth forming a softer line in invitation, a hair away from his impossibly red lips.
All artifice is gone as she breathes a light touch to his mouth, taking a second to impress this into her memory, the plump moist give of his lips, sheer perfection as she takes a little more, dares a little more, leans closer still.
He dives in, tongue flicking out to trace the seam of her lush tiers, fingers tamping their hold on her birdlike shoulders, careful of her as he learns her in a way he never thought possible before now, head slanting to take control, to beg her silently to open her mouth, and she does and it's better than blood, better than he had ever known and he hears distantly a sound, a low noise that sounds of contentment and he notes, dimly, that both she and he are making it together, as if they were only waiting for this moment to be finally, ultimately, in tune with one another...
And then she's gone, standing still only inches away, her crooked mouth half open while she breathes uneven, hands curved over his chest.
"Bonnie..."
Her head shakes and she leans forward again, lips on his, and then she's gone again.
"Baby steps Klaus."
He blinks, body an inferno, his desire a thrashing caged thing that nearly derails his thousand years of discipline; all because of one teenaged witch he just happened to be a little bit in love with.
Oh, he was so fucked...