He supposes it's quite an artistic sight. Her nude body under the looming tree, jasmine at her feet, hair lifted delicately in one hand. Their night together has left marks. Her hips, her back, her shoulder-blades, her legs are all canvassed with his attentions. But whatever visual pleasure he may have otherwise derived is squashed under the weight of fury and disbelief as he stares at her corresponding tattoo.
It's a triskelion, like his, a mirror image in fact except for color. While his is deep serpentine green, hers is bright gold like veins of mineral beneath the skin. It glitters when she moves, slipping out of sunlight and shadow.
The longer he looks at the glowing mark, the more his stomach twists in an uneasy feeling of vulnerability and exposure. If any of his numerous enemies discovered he'd gotten himself magically married to a Bennett witch-
He can already hear the derision and outrage that would ring through the Quarter, followed no doubt by plots and traps designed to exploit this new liability.
Once again, the witch's presence in his life proves dangerous. They'd have to move quickly to rectify the situation.
She glances over her shoulder, and he remembers, suddenly, the softness of her skin and the way she'd trembled when he kissed her there. For some reason, this darkens his mood even further.
"Cover that up," he says roughly. "And let's get back to the car."
He could've sworn she flinches a little. Or perhaps it's a trick of the light, the breeze skipping over the magical mark on his chest. The longer he looks at her, the more the feeling grows, like anemone currents of awareness.
If she has questions about her tattoo - what it looks like (what it looks like to him, perhaps) - she keeps them to herself, letting her hair fall over her neck.
"Klaus?"
He's been staring. Like some hapless schoolboy.
"What about our clothes?" she asks pointedly. "And what car?"
"The car I stole for you, sweetheart," he supplies, beginning to scour the perimeter for any discarded clothes. He spots his white dress shirt between some bushes and dusts it off.
"The car you- what?"
"Stole. Or, rather, Compelled from the owner. Some pompous fool in a dinner jacket, if I remember correctly."
"Oh my god-," he hears her whisper.
"Yes you were quite liberal in your use of that particular phrase."
"You. are -"
"Terrible? Disgusting? Evil incarnate? Yes I know." He begins scouring the perimeter for more of their clothing, locating his trousers not far off. "Do be sure to add 'husband' to my long list of attributes." He stands in before her with his shirt.
She raises a quizzical eyebrow, prompting the realization that he was prepared to help her into it.
(Like a personal valet. Unacceptable)
"Put this on," he tosses it to her without ceremony and stalks off among the grass, searching for more discarded garments.
The witch holds her tongue, which almost irritates him further.
His shoes make an appearance soon enough, but the heirloom cufflinks he'd had to practically extort from Elijah to complete his formal attire are nowhere to be seen.
Fantastic. Just bloody fantastic.
The fact that, a few feet away, her bridesmaid dress lies in glittery ruin is only a small comfort.
"Is that my dress?"
He pokes the gauzy fabric with his foot. "It would appear so."
She snatches up the garment in a show of righteous indignation that would have been a tad more impressive were she not currently swallowed by his dress shirt. Watching her revives that same uneasy feeling. He strains his memory for information about who might have seen him with the witch last night but comes up blank. There's a mist over portions of their night together that is only half clearing.
They head off through the trees, but their pace irks him almost immediately. She's picking her way slowly through the thick grass, barefoot and clearly exhausted.
"Here," he stops in front of her and offers her a bitten wrist.
The look she gives him is so contemptuous he may as well have offered her candy stolen from a child. "Are you crazy? I'm not drinking any more of your blood." She speaks haughtily enough but he notes the way she averts her eyes, clearly caught in the grip of embarrassing memory. He lifts her chin and examines her neck, eyeing the faint marks left by his fangs.
"A little late for these maidenly qualms don't you think, love?"
Green eyes cut him like glass. He is briefly reminded of a night in Mystic Falls years ago, and the disgusted horror on her face when he emptied his blood into a goblet for the Unlinking spell. "You know blood makes any spell stronger," her voice like ice. "I'm not giving this...thing any more ammunition than we already have."
It's difficult to believe her head was pillowed on his chest mere moments ago, or that hours before that -
(her lips had been soft and hungry as they suckled his wrist, her eyes hooded with the rush of his blood through her veins. He should have insisted she take more. But he'd been reckless and overeager, ravening to taste her in all the ways available to him - )
His own actions - the kisses he'd planted along her throat, the care he'd taken with the bite despite the naked hunger he'd submitted to - prove equally incomprehensible in the light of day.
For an instant he considers forcing the blood down her throat, but something about the mutinous look on her face combined with the recollection of their night together dampens his resolve in a peculiar way. Her attitude rankles of course, but then again it always had. What proves harder to expunge, what blights any trace of good humor left to him and has him sneering "Have it your way then," before striding ahead of her is not her refusal.
It's something else altogether. The incongruity of tenderness.
By some miracle, the blue Monte Carlo convertible is still parked on the dirt road where they'd left it. The icy gleam of new paint flashes in her mind.
She'd marvelled at the sapphire color and creamy leather seats, how the vehicle smacked of old school glamor, like the black-and-white movies she used to watch with Grams. Klaus had noticed her admiring looks and smoothly Compelled the keys from their owner. She'd protested of course. They can't just take someone's car. But that's precisely what they did. Just took the car, her protests melting into laughter when he swung her up bridal style in his arms to carry her into their new acquisition. "Let's go for a drive, wife." He'd grinned in a boyish triumph that made her heart flutter. She'd kissed him with her arms around his neck.
She can't remember the last time she had a speeding ticket or even jaywalked. And yet, only last night, she'd happily let him carry her into a stolen car. She'd lost herself for a night and she has no idea how. There are as many gaps and clouds in her brain as there are memories.
"You are staying at the Marriott, I assume?"
"Yes...why?" she answers warily. Klaus seems as calm and self assured as though standing by a poached convertible in nothing but tuxedo pants is an everyday occurrence for him. And yet, she can sense the agitation boiling underneath. She rubs the back of her neck, willing the sensation to subside.
"I'll have your things brought to my residence. As soon as we're dressed we can return to that blasted emporium and see about having these marks removed."
"I need to call my dad," she blurts. "And I need to shower."
"Shockingly, I happen to live in a place with both electricity and running water," he informs her, sliding into the driver's side. "Get in."
"You have petals in your hair, by the way. Just thought you should know," she adds faux-sweetly, closing the passenger door.
"Thank you, wife. I believe these belong to you," he plucks something small and silky off the gear shift and flings it at her, and she is mortified to discover they are panties. Specifically her panties, with a tear on one side. She firmly pushes that memory to the back of her mind.
The drive proves more harsh on her overwrought senses than the walk to the car. The brightening sunlight hurts her eyes and her mouth is so dry it's painful to swallow. Bonnie leans her throbbing head on the window and closes her eyes. When she opens them next they're parked behind a white-columned house that engulfs half the block.
Cleary a Mikaelson residence.
She sits up and wipes drool off her chin. She feels sticky...everywhere. Ugh.
Klaus pauses drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to glance irritably at her. "Look alive, witch. We have a problem."
She can think of a hundred snappy responses but seeing as how nothing feels as important as getting under a shower as soon as possible, she waits for him to continue.
"I can hear people inside. Specifically, two of my siblings and two of your friends. Which means-,"
She claps a hand over her mouth. "Do you think they know-"
"I doubt they know about -," he gestures vaguely at his chest " - our predicament. I suspect your dear Caroline spied us leaving together and, when you had yet to turn up this morning, rushed here to your rescue with Stefan in tow."
"Oh god-," she rubs her aching forehead, already sensing Caroline's barrage of questions and Stefan's confused shock. She's hungry, parched, her muscles hurt in places they have no business hurting, and she's sitting in a stolen car dressed only in Klaus' shirt. She groans, sagging into the seat, "Forget walk of shame. I'm a float in a Mardi Gras parade of humiliation."
He opens her door and holds out his hand, "Well, let's not keep the public waiting."
She ignores his hand and climbs slowly out, folding her arms around herself as if to regain an air of dignity. "So...what, we just pretend we had a one night stand?"
"Precisely. Be sure to emphasize how you, a hapless little witch, were swept off your feet by my considerable charms, how you threw all caution to the wind when I-,"
"Keep talking and I will set you on fire right here in this street."
"Now now wife, think of what the neighbors will say," he steers her toward the house by the elbow.
"Don't call me that."
"As you wish, darling."
"Or that."
Frowning, she slips his hold and hurries back to the car and retrieves her torn dress, waving it in front of his bare chest. " Cover up your tattoo, genius. One look at that and everyone will know."
He quirks an eyebrow, running a strip of gauzy fabric between his fingers. "As ravishing as I look in drag, love, I doubt your dress is much good to anyone anymore. You and I made quite sure of that last night."
She narrows her eyes and flings the garment across his shoulder. "Just use it like a scarf until we get past the crowd."
Klaus mutters about the indignity of this entire situation but nevertheless adjusts the dress so it hangs over his chest just so. She would have laughed if her stomach weren't in angry knots.
They enter the house together.
Bonnie's not quite sure what she expected when they strolled into the foyer (a foyer where Elijah, Rebekah, Caroline and Stefan all awaited them with matching looks of suspicion and disapproval) but her imagination certainly didn't extend to Elijah's greeting. She blinks like she's swallowed her own tongue, not quite sure she's heard right. Her mind goes utterly blank. She manages a glance at Klaus and finds him white as a sheet, looking just as flabbergasted as that time she strode out of the woods and nearly killed him.
The elder Original pauses from pouring brandy out of a crystal decanter, an elegant eyebrow arched in their direction.
"Ah, Niklaus. Ms Bennett, right on time." He raises his glass, "A toast? To the new Mr and Mrs Mikaelson. Although, perhaps I should not presume you would take my brother's name. This is, after all, the twenty first century."
Bonnie finds her limbs have turned to blocks of ice. Caroline approaches them slowly, handing Bonnie a crumpled sheet of paper without ever meeting her eyes.
Bonnie reads it once, twice. The room spins.
She's holding a signed and notarized certificate of marriage in her hand.
A/N: Thank you SO MUCH for all your reviews. Y'all are wonderful and such a pleasure to write for. Thank you for keeping support and enthusiasm alive in our little fandom! And in that vein, I would just like to direct people to a crop of new Klonnie fics being written by some of my favorite writers and people:
A Mate for a Throne by lilac17 (this is a Soulmate AU with a wonderful, heartbreakingly sweet take on how Klaus and Bonnie fell in love)
a longing like despair by the fudge is grumpy (an AMAZING, riveting Klonnie historical AU where they're step-siblings who form a strange and intense connection, written by my trash soul sis so y'all know it's the bomb dot com)
Out in the Woods and Geaux Tigers by LittleWingx (two achingly good Klonnie oneshots that hit all the right spots for our OTP)
So, if you're thirsty for Klonnie do read these amazing writers and show them some love!
Until next time loves xoxox