A/N 1: Yo, I am back with part two! And I'm nervous about this. Extremely nervous. I have to warn you: this is an M-rated chapter and it's still kinda angsty.
Don't be afraid of leaving me a review! It would be much appreciated :)
We're one away from one hundred follows. Thank you so much to everyone who's read this and enjoyed it and I hope this chapter is up to par with the rest. It was a bitch to write for some reason.
All mistakes, cheesiness, and angst are mine. But you all should know that by now.
Okay, here we go! Enjoy.
"She's got your number and you've got her scent,
she left it on your collar,
but you don't know where she went.
It's the ghost of a good time you carry around
A little artificial, like the confidence you found."
Saturday Night Again | Patrick Stump
Drabble #6 (of 10) | Back For More pt. two
Her body was motionless and he was certain she'd stopped breathing somewhere between saying his name and him uttering hello. He should probably worry about that, but she didn't need to breathe, so he let the small factor slide by him without care.
Music played upstairs, the faint chords of a once familiar song exciting him more than it should.
Darkened eyes watched him and he suddenly felt uncomfortable with the attention focused on him.
He didn't like the tables being turned; he disliked being the one glared at. He could do it to her all he liked, simply because she never knew about it, but the way her baby blue's studied him intently, noticing everything, made him squirm.
"What are you doing here?" She asked finally, her voice the softest of whispers.
It sent the same bubbles of desire through his veins and he fought the urge to shiver.
Klaus couldn't give her an answer; he didn't know what he was doing there. The idea to knock on her door was stupid and rash. But then again, he'd always been stupid and rash. Brilliantly stupid and rash.
He held no power to speak, which angered him greatly. He was the king of witty remarks and one-liners. Where were his magical words now?
Swallowed up by the blonde vampire in front of you, probably, he told himself.
Luckily, Klaus didn't have to come up with some lame coverup. His brain would not be forced to decide between "oh, I was just in the neighbourhood," and "funny you should mention that, I've been stalking you for years now."
After her initial shock floated away, he saw her face cool and set into a relaxed state.
He stood in his place, unmoving and silent. His breath caught when she stepped outside, the light pattering of her feet jerking his hands into fists so as to restrain himself from running for her.
She stared at him for two undead heartbeats of uncomfortable silence.
And then, almost begrudgingly, while his curled fists squeezed the blood away from his fingers, Caroline grabbed his stubble-covered cheeks and cemented their mouths together.
She kissed him. She kissed him again. It was all her—he was thinking of changing her name to instigator.
"Wait, wait," he said, pressing his hands to her shoulders and pushing her away so their eyes could meet, surprised at his own trepidation.
Her breath hit his face like cocaine and he inhaled until he saw stars.
"Are you sure?" He asked, his throat closing with horrid emotion.
Anger, hatred, lust.
Klaus didn't get a vocal answer.
He got her head bobbing forward and taking him hostage as a response.
Not that he was complaining.
Through all the chaos of tongues and hands she mumbled in an invitation inside. They stumbled over the threshold, him holding her like a lifeline and her pulling the clothes off his back.
The door slammed closed and he jumped at the noise, but didn't separate from his golden goddess.
He kicked his shoes off and lifted his arms so she could rip his shirt away. He heard it land somewhere far, far away; somewhere only the living could reach.
"I missed you," she said lowly, so low he wasn't sure he heard right, but then she said again, "I missed you."
And then she kissed him, long and suffocating, and whispered, "I hate that I missed you."
His head pounded, his brain unprepared for the admission, but his dimples still showed, his stubble sticking to her cheeks.
There was a jackhammer drumming against his skull, and every time her lips slapped his, the noise got unbearably loud. He was too drunk on her to care, though. Too high and lost in the sensation of her ripping the skin of his chest with her fingernails to remember that nearly ten years had gone since their last meeting.
She had a boyfriend, right?
He couldn't recall.
She definitely didn't kiss like she had a boyfriend.
She kissed like it was going out of style. Like she wanted to forget everything but him. Like she'd only just discovered the joys of locking lips with someone else, of sucking and biting until moans and groans were all that could be heard.
All he could think was how sweet she tasted. How much he wished, prayed, that this was not another one of his cruel dreams.
Their eyes were shut, their other senses overloading on touches and noises and neediness.
Blood spilled as she tore at his lips, the scent of the stuff dizzying his already fuzzed mind.
Her tongue lapped at the copper liquid dribbling down his chin.
It washed them in animalistic colours.
It sent the remainder of his blood down, down, down to where want controlled his movements. He was hard, painfully so, and needed to relieve the discomfort soon.
With vampiric speed he slammed her body so roughly against the wall that the house shook, and started running his hands everywhere on her.
She submitted, letting him control their movements.
He enjoyed it, being in control. It felt safer—even if he didn't feel anything close to safe with Caroline unbuttoning his jeans with her long, cold fingers.
Soon enough, she'd reminded him of her own strength and switched their positions, trapping him in a web of limbs and forgotten secrets against the opposite wall.
His head dropped back and hit the brick, lights flashing in his eyes as Caroline's mouth left hot, slobbery kisses on his neck, her tongue painting a wet picture on the dancing veins pressed against his skin.
There was a familiar salacious tinge to the searing lips and the way they moved up his neck and nipped roughly at his mouth.
His bare chest roughed her clothed one—begging for more skin—and he tugged lightly on the tie of her robe, admiring blindly the quick ease in which it billowed down around their feet.
Caroline gasped, a gorgeous sound that stabbed straight through his ribs like a stake, as his hands roamed the skin he'd craved for much too long.
Never had he agonisingly hungered for a woman like he did Caroline Forbes. This—them—was all too surreal.
The thought frightened him, so he forgot it and focused instead on the small jolts her hips gave whenever he hit a sensitive spot on her chest.
His deft fingers knew her breasts well despite only ever exploring them once before.
He twirled his hot tongue around her nipples, leaving her lips to lather the swells of flesh with saliva.
He loved the small noises she made above him and barely noticed when she yanked at his hair and pushed his face further into her chest.
Satisfied with his work, smelling her arousal clear as day, he moved back to kiss her lips heatedly, smiling into the violent attack and trying to ignore how badly he needed her.
She panted in his mouth, letting her own hands reach further down his body until they buried themselves in his pants.
Now it was his turn to whimper.
Not much shorter than him, she was able to wrench his jeans down and free his erection without having to part the kiss.
"I have a bedroom," she moaned against his lips, her hands grappling with his shoulders while he unceremoniously untangled his toes from his jeans and lifted her up.
Legs encircled his waist, want smothered his pelvis. Caroline, ever the tease.
He nearly dropped her several times on his way up the stairs, her kisses and bites and jolting hips steadily becoming unbearably erotic.
"Sweetheart, I need to see where I'm going," he muttered between the assault on his mouth.
"Why do I have a feeling you would know where to go in this house blindfolded?" She retorted angrily, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
He bit back a cry, rolling his eyes at the sudden pain radiating on his skin.
He deserved that. She knew now that he'd been watching her. Probably knew it the minute she opened the door.
The small detail hadn't stopped her from jumping him, though, so he assumed he wasn't completely on her bad side.
Still, she guided him with small instructions until they landed on a warm, well-used mattress.
Nerves uncharacteristically overcrowded his mind and he couldn't quite remember what was supposed to happen next.
"Klaus," Caroline mewled desperately when he ran a mindless hand up her thigh.
Right, he thought, that's what I'm supposed to do.
She was wet, but he wanted to make her quake.
Leaning over her, Klaus kissed her nose, cheeks, and lips to distract her from thinking too much. To distract himself from thinking too much.
This was happening, he needed to remind himself. It was happening and it was happening fast and zealously and hungrily.
Her hands were moving all over his back, tracing an outline of the tattoo drilled into the skin of his back.
She lifted herself using her elbows and forced his lips off her face.
Caroline observed him with a look of contentment, her hand gliding up to his neck and rifling through his hair. She brought her head forward and kissed the base of his throat, pinching the skin lightly with her teeth.
He hissed as a wave of pleasure washed over him whilst he separated her legs, lifting them at the knees either side of him, preparing her—and himself—for the inevitable.
A choked groan escaped his throat when her hand caressed his erection and he knew exactly what she was asking him, but was trying to prolong it for as long as he possibly could.
"Klaus," she whispered in his ear, "take me."
The order was there, plain and simple. She was telling him what to do and he had to do it. Because he was not the alpha here. He never had been.
"I've wanted this for too long," he grumbled, mildly unaware that he was speaking out loud.
"Klaus," she repeated sternly—breathlessly. He looked at her through his eyelashes. She was breathtaking underneath him. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips parted in a small smile. Blue eyes blinked at him as sweat stuck her hair to her face like glue. He adored her. "Take me."
The part of him that was thick and pulsing ached for her. It needed her. He needed her.
So he took her.
He grabbed himself with his right hand and grabbed her with the other.
Gliding up and down her folds, he made sure she was ready by locking their eyes. Her eyes bugged out of her head as he teased her, but the slight nod gave him all the indication he needed and he dipped inside.
They let out a mutual groan, both their heads falling forward.
Their breathing laboured, eyes watching where he steadily disappeared into her, inch by inch.
Her face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain as he slipped deeper. She looked on the verge of either exploding or yelling at him with the way her eyebrows scrunched over her nose.
She moaned beneath him, one of her hands tugging his back, urging him to move quicker. Her legs tightened around his waist, bringing his whole body down to hers, their eyes not once straying from the other's.
He sped up his movements, desperate for more friction as their bodies slid together with sweat and arousal.
Tightness surrounded him everywhere, chaining him to her, not leaving any room for escape.
"God," she called, her eyes closing momentarily before shooting open.
Knowing she was close, because he'd memorised the way she writhed when she was getting ready to collapse, he opted for a change in position. He twisted around, popping out for just a second, and guiding her body so she sat up on top of him, moving her heated centre down over him.
Looking at her this way, sweaty and vulnerable and shocked, plagued him, so he gripped her hips painfully and started ushering her down and up.
He gasped, unable to control the many noises currently trilling out his mouth. She smiled above him coyly, knowing she was the cause for his lapse in restraint.
"You have to leave before morning," she panted between the loud slaps of their grating skin, her eyes watching him too intently.
"I promise," he groaned, moving her quicker and trying to ignore the pinch in his gut at the reminder that this was not his life. This was a one time thing.
Hell, he wasn't even sure this was real.
Her hair framed her face angelically and he wondered how on earth anyone could look so much like a heavenly creature when bouncing unrelentingly over a demon such as himself. He would never deserve her goodness. Animals like him didn't get girls like her.
But for now, with some song screaming at them in the background, telling them everything was going to be all right, he could make-believe that this was all real; that he could stay until morning and that he could look at her without feeling the weight of a thousand deaths.
"Klaus," she whispered.
His eyes shot to hers, having been lost somewhere else.
The blues of her irises never looked more like the ocean than they did now. Like vast, bottomless pits he would forever be lost inside.
"I'm close," she said, but he already knew.
Her walls had been contracting around him for some time, but he took initiative and pressed his thumb to the sensitive bundle of nerves of her sex, loving the shuddered breath he received in return.
Slamming her hands on his chest, her fingernails popped beneath his skin as she struggled to maintain her self-control.
Blood pooled as she detached her claws, tangling itself with the fine hairs on his skin, smearing against him like paint.
Caroline brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked the thick, red substance between her lips, successfully bringing him one step closer to release.
Amidst all the erotic bloodsucking and the sly smirks and the toxic puffs of breath, Caroline grumbled something that was quickly accompanied by the spasms of her orgasm.
Her toes curled and her eyes shut and her mouth dropped open.
He came shortly after her with his own grunts and probably embarrassing facial expressions as ecstasy coursed through him like blood.
Their bodies remained attached, neither of them having the energy to move.
He still had her by the hips, but she'd stopped moving. He almost said it then; the three hellish words burning the tip of his tongue. But he didn't mean it—couldn't mean it—so he held his breath until the moment passed.
She stood up, successfully releasing him from his personalised prison, and bent her knees so she was crouching next to him.
Sex lingered in the air, the heady scent wafting into his nostrils, burning his lungs.
Her wonton eyes bored into his long-dead soul as she leaned down and kissed him with venomous lips, poisoning his bloodstream yet again with an impassioned tongue battle.
The muscle sliced his mouth like a sword, but he got off on the hurt.
Letting him go, she buried herself under the covers of her bed, motioning for him to join her. Not one to disobey Caroline Forbes, he threw away the voice that told him he needed to leave in favour of lying beside this beautiful woman for just one more minute as they came down from their high.
Sitting up against the head of her bed, Klaus raised his eyebrows and smiled playfully. Caroline frowned at him from her position and fixed her hair, smoothing the various fly aways and getting herself comfortable.
"What?" She asked confidently, like it hadn't been ten years since they last saw each other.
His smile widened at her boldness.
"Can't I just be happy, Caroline?" He retorted, folding his arms behind his head and peering at her through content slits.
"That's not a happy smile. That's an 'I've won' smile. What did you win, Klaus?"
A stinging resonated through his chest and he dropped his smile, returning to his face the infamous scowl.
"An evening in paradise, I suppose," he mumbled, looking around the room.
There was a small television against the opposite wall and various photographs littered the surfaces. He recognised a few of her friends, but some people were strangers. Yet another indication that she'd moved on.
Caroline's room was bigger than the one she had back in Mystic Falls, but he wouldn't consider it a great size. Her queen bed overflowed with fluffy pillows decorated in evil fringe and he wondered what the allure to such objects truly was.
Females, he guessed.
"Where's your rat?" He asked after the silence stretched too long.
She narrowed her eyes at him and he smirked, her annoyance pleasing him greatly.
"She's not a rat. And she's probably in the laundry room getting my clothes dirty."
"It looks like a rat. She didn't bark when I came inside," he mentioned.
Caroline rolled her eyes gorgeously.
"Well, she is a rat terrior," she defended. "She's not meant to be an attack dog."
"Clearly," Klaus murmured under his breath, earning himself another death glare.
He barked a laugh at Caroline's face and absently started tracing circles on the inside of her arm.
When he realised what he was doing, he was tempted to stop, but Caroline didn't say anything and there were goosebumps on both their arms.
He kept doing it, writing silly things and serious things on her skin, hoping some of it would eventually imprint on her.
"This is new."
He pointed to a tattoo on her hip. It was bathed in scratches. His scratches.
She bit her lip and nodded carefully.
"Sweet dreams are made of this," he read, not really noticing the cringing Caroline next to him. "Eurythmics?"
He gave her a questioning look and she replied by smiling embarrassedly.
"It was a stupid bet. One I made with Stefan a few years back. There was something about trying to beat him up some stupid volcano in Hawaii and I lost. This was my punishment. In my defence, I was much drunker than him."
Klaus immersed his thoughts in images of her gang from back home, trying to imagine her and Stefan Salvatore racing up a volcanic mountain. Caroline, happy and running free. Stefan, knowing she had no chance.
He smiled again.
"Did they choose the words too?"
He lifted his hand from her arm and outlined the lyrics, lowly humming the tune, refusing the part of him that wanted to yell to Caroline that this was one of his favourite songs.
"No," she said shortly.
He waited for her to say more.
She sighed and turned on her side, trapping his hand under her weight. He didn't dare pull away.
"It had to be song lyrics, that was part of the bet, so I wanted to choose wisely. None of that Katy Perry shit that I could write in my sleep," she buzzed, her body giggling with excitement. "Sweet Dreams was one of my favourite songs growing up. It's about a desire to have a fulfilling life. I'm a vampire that gets to live forever, provided I don't accidentally land on a stake, and it seemed like a good idea at the time."
There was more she wanted to say—he'd missed her rambles—but she held her tongue.
"I like it," he insisted.
She turned on her back again, freeing his now numb hand.
"You smell nice," she said suddenly, not looking at him.
He blinked in surprise, but chuckled all the same.
"I smell like you, love," he informed her warmly.
"That must be it," she joked, a tired air hitting her.
Silence surrounded them like a blanket.
"Why," he began delicately, breaking the carefully crafted stillness, anger simmering deep within his belly. Caroline shifted to look at him. "Why did you get rid of all the things I gave you?"
He held his breath as he waited for her reply. An array of emotions cast over her features: everything from shock to pure annoyance.
She opened her mouth to speak and he had the sudden urge to run and hide.
"Because," she said softly, her voice quivering, "because I felt guilty. Everyone was making me feel guilty. And I didn't like it, so I took it out on the thing they were attacking me for: you," she explained, dangerously low.
"Stupid, right? I was stupid, very typically stupid. But it happened and that's not really something that can change."
Klaus didn't reply yet again, too enraptured with her excuse to properly formulate a response. She'd gotten rid of the picture because her "friends" were digging their dirty paws where they didn't belong.
If he cared enough he might mull over the many ways he could murder them all savagely.
"There's another picture waiting on your doorstep for whenever you want to see it," he told her, refusing to look at her as he spoke.
"I won't ask how you were able to paint me," she said sardonically, blowing the fringe out of her eyes.
"I wouldn't tell you anyway, Caroline."
A yawn captured her attention for a moment and she closed her eyes soon after. She was still awake, though. Her collected breathing and random vocalisations told him that much.
He didn't take his eyes off her as they continued their conversation, feeling it was safe if she didn't actually know he was carefully studying her.
They didn't talk about anymore of the heavy stuff. They weren't in the mood for it.
He wasn't in the mood for it.
For the first time in a long time, he finally felt somewhat happy and he wasn't about to ruin it by delving into the past or asking where her boy toy was and if he would mind that his girlfriend just fucked another man.
When she fell asleep, he stayed awake, afraid to close his eyes. But eventually the day and all its confusing glory got to him and he slowly let his eyelids droop until the room went black.
He left the house before she woke up.
January air hit his face in slaps, biting his pale cheeks raw.
Klaus listened for Caroline. He heard her awaken as he stood plenty of feet away from her home. She jumped down her steps and quickly opened the front door he'd recently closed.
A safe distance away, Klaus saw Caroline bend down and retrieve the slip of paper lying on her doorstep, but she went inside before he caught her reaction.
So he walked away, knowing that soon enough he'd be back in the tree by her window. And maybe next time he'd make sure she noticed him.
"So, bartender fill me up,
'Cause I'm so sick of being la la la loved."
A/N 2: Let us all remember that Klaus has been suffering from a severe case of loneliness and that's why he's a bit OOC in this. And no offence to Katy Perry fans. Honest.
Next time . . . Tyler finds out another way. Oh no! (it'll be much shorter than most of these. Maybe even shorter than the first part of this.)
So, what did y'all think? Was it written okay? Too emotional? Too emotionless? Not enough fluff? Not enough drama?
I don't know why I decided to make this one M-rated. It just came to me like this. Anyway, please feel free to review. It would please me greatly. And I'm sorry if you hated it. I know I kind of slid over the destroying of the picture part, but it will actually come up clearer in another one-shot for this series. Be patient, young grasshopper.
The song that I alluded to [not "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)"] is "Everything Will be Alright" by The Killers. Great song. Great album, actually. I think it's one of my favourite debut's of all time.
Okay, that's it for me until next week. I hope I wrote this well enough for your tastes and I hope you'll tune in next Friday for a less dramatic instalment.
You're wonderful and I love you all, thanks for making this worth it.
Six down, four to go.
-LoveIsATemple