SIN
an immoral act considered to be a transgression against divine law.

"If our love is a sin,
Then what are we but sinners?"

Sex permeated the air like smoke, thick and heavy.
And all that could be heard were the laboured breaths, sheets moving against a rhythm and skin against skin. He was a vicious man, taking pleasure in every action as it fits him, and not anyone else's. It was about him, everything was about him, and will always be about him.

Some believed that Klaus Mikaelson is unable to love, between reigning terror and destruction there was no room for such silly feelings in his dark heart – or if he even had one.
Contrary to those beliefs, Klaus Mikaelson does love, he is a passionate man. He was passionate in everything he does: from creating chaos, killing those who cross him and his family; to every stroke of his brush as it lay colours on the canvass.

Even in his own way of showing love to his family and those close to his heart, that it was destructive and chaotic – toxic, even.
But between the both of us, there was just the need and lust, nothing more and nothing less.

Reaching my sweet release, I breathe for air to calm the wild heart drumming against my chest as it relished in the high. He kept on until he reached his own satisfaction. Burying his face on the crook of my neck, he sinks his fangs on my skin and drawing blood that flowed like wine on his mouth. Of course, it wasn't just actions in the sheets. What good is there in sex if you were quiet as a mute after?

He would rant and rave about things I didn't care about and people, whose names nor faces I haven't seen nor have any knowledge of.

"And now this werewolf is pregnant with my child, whilst my ever noble brother goes out of his way to protect her, believing that the child would be my redemption," he says, drinking from his glass as we sat on the bed.

Letting out a breath, I opened the windows and let the cold air in. Not like we even felt nor need the heat. Lighting a cigarette, I placed it between my lips then blew out the smoke, reminding me of hazy dreams and dragons. Of course, this was the part where Klaus would sigh, before saying, "Angelica, love, can you even refrain from smoking?"

"Why? It's not like it could kill me," I say to him, running a hand through my ash blonde tresses, as I continue to look out the busy city across the river. "Yes, but the smell is not something I'd like to catch, love"

"And I don't like werewolf venom running in my veins," I replied, glaring at him.

Turning back to the open window, I tap the cigarette on the ash tray I leave by the sill, the sound of the city across the river was all jazz and cars; people talking and beating hearts thumping against their chest as the lights shine in darkness.
"And now I plan to take my kingdom back, from a vampire I sired hundreds of years ago." Standing from the bed, he started to pick the clothes strewn on the floor carelessly.

"I plan to dismantle it, but before that I have to learn the inner workings. How does he control the witches, the humans and, as I recall, there used to be werewolves prowling about the Quarter?" Donning on his jacket, he looked through the mirror.
"After that, I'll take it right out of his hands, but first he needs to trust me. He's been on guard the moment I stepped on the French Quarter, for that to happen I have to give him a token of trust," he said, turning to me with an evil smile, mischief dancing in his blue orbs. I raised a brow as I blew out another puff of smoke, I returning a smirk. "Then I might fancy a home here," I hummed, walking towards the man as I traced a line from his heart to his chest, biting my bottom lip as I looked at him in the eye.

"Imagine what it would be like, to live in a city of music and art, under the reign of the Klaus Mikaelson."

Looking down at me with a smirk, he brushed a strand of hair back to my ears. "You will not remember any words exchanged, between you and I," he said, pupils dilating as the memory erased itself from my mind until our next meeting. Blinking, I realized it was done and he had to go, but he will be back – he always comes back.

In some sort of odd way, no matter how long we part or no matter what road we take we – Klaus and I – always end up in the same situation of tangled limbs and messed up sheets.

This is us, Klaus Mikaelson and Angelica Summers.

To him I was just someone to relieve him of what goes on that messed up mind of his.
And to me he was just another drug to satisfy my addiction.