Fairytale Ending

by adlyb

Disclaimer: I own nothing except these words.

Summary: Klaus takes his girl and his hybrid and gets out of that one pony town.

Spoilers: Through 3x05, The Reckoning

Rating: R

Warnings: Hostage situation/explicit violence/gratuitous angst/extremely dubious consent/potential character death


Kissing Klaus is like falling upward into the night sky.

Like nothing she has ever dreamed, because her dreams could never capture the reality of this—the feel of his lips brushing against hers, the roughness of his face between her hands, the weight of him pressing her down into the cushions. Nothing could prepare her for the way her stomach flutters and her toes curl when he strokes his tongue along her own. For the feral way he sucks her lip between his teeth when he pulls back, just for a moment, so she can swallow down another lungful of air. She tugs him back to her by the front of his shirt, and he takes long, drinking kisses from her mouth. He tastes like whiskey and like copper. What she must taste like to him, she has no idea, save for the way he presses his appreciation into the corners of her mouth, murmurs his satisfaction with her onto her lips and passes it from his tongue to hers with all the care he would show to something precious.

None of her dreams had been anything like this. In her dreams, everything had always moved so fast. Klaus had always played the aggressor, the sunken star dragging her inexorably, irresistibly under his thrall. Crushed by the overpowering weight of his desire, of her fixation, she had always, inevitably, found herself not just under his thrall, but under him, a slave to the passion he had awakened in her.

Those dreams had frightened her as much as they had fascinated her. Made her want to run as far away as she could even as they guaranteed she would always find her way back. Ensure her way back, despite every particle of her very being screaming at her to stay away—

It's a different kind of seduction he works now.

He kisses her for hours. Slowly, thoroughly tastes her, again and again. Kisses that leave her panting, delirious, hungry for his mouth and his teeth and the wicked slide of his tongue against her own that sends sparks and shivers down her spine. Several times, she attempts to urge him into something more heated, something that matches the fire he's set blazing through her veins, but he simply, with infinite patience, absorbs her rolling hips and restlessly roving hands and nails and urges her to pliancy. Stills her restlessly churning hips with one palm flat against the bone and captures both hands, easily pinning both wrists above her head while he takes his time with her. Driving her toward a new kind of wildness, one she's never felt nor glimpsed before, with the intent, languid way he opens her to his touch.

At some point he pulls her atop him. The position should grant her more power, but instead, all it makes her feel is even more tangled up in him. Klaus holds her flush against him with his hands splayed against her shoulder bones. Pulls her so close that every hitch of her breath brushes her chest against his, until they are breathing together, and his kisses become like breaths, something she needs as fundamentally.

She lets him guide her. Surrenders herself to the strength of him, to the feeling of his hands, so large that the splayed fingers cover her entire back from shoulder to spine. To the molten heat of his mouth and the way he makes her very bones feel like jelly.

She cannot think. Cannot begin to remember, let alone understand, what her life had been like before she'd finally taken that final leap. Before she had plummeted, to land in his dark embrace.

When they do finally break apart, it's like breaking the surface of the ocean. She takes deep, gasping breaths, while Klaus works his way from the corner of her mouth down to her neck.

Elena had thought herself experienced, but Klaus's searching, searing attentions have shown her up to be a novice.

Klaus pauses at the base of her throat. Pulls away. His fingers trace over the scar he left her last year.

Unable to help herself, Elena arches under his touch, baring her throat to him. Yielding.

Their eyes meet. An arc of desire, tense and too long held at bay, crackles between them. Shifts the energy from the slow, controlled, torturous kisses he had pressed on her into something prowling and alive.

It's too much.

All at once, Klaus is on her then, mouth diving toward that silvery mark, teeth scraping over the sensitive flesh. He pulls her down under him, one knee driving her legs apart as he settles into the bower of her body. He laves at that heated oval of tissue-thin skin. An oval, a circular cicatrix where he had drained her, and overlaid in her mind's eye, the circle of flame. That moment when fate had come to claim her. This moment, when desire had come instead.

A trembling yearning shoots through her. She clutches him closer, even as he slips from her grasp to brace himself on his elbows and stare down at her. He watches her, takes in the involuntary flutter of her eyelids and the hitch of her breath as he, quite deliberately, rocks himself against her. Confusion laps at her, confusion that this is real, that she's really been making out with Klaus on this familiar leather sofa for hours in very truth, and not just in her fantasies. It only lasts a moment, though, before the delicious friction between their bodies sweeps everything else from her mind.

This is real

This is happening

This is real, she chants to herself as she rises up to meet that mouth that has become too distant, as she takes humid, open kisses from those soft red lips which she had once so feared.

Her fingers twine in his shirt, and she uses the fabric twisted round her fists to lure him back down atop her. Klaus follows eagerly. The new angle, combined with the sublime weight of him covering her so entirely, wrenches a moan from her, the sound low and taught and needful. Klaus growls into her mouth, and she can feel it in her ribcage, in the way he sets each slender bone to vibrating. Her blood pulses in time with that animal declaration, that promise of masculine force. She revels in it. Writhes with it.

Wants, very much, to be rid of the layers of clothing between them, to unbuckle the heavy metal belt digging into her hip, to unzip and unhook and wrap her bare legs around his hips and draw him inside of her. Inside. Yes. She can nearly taste the heat of him, feel the way he would stretch her, fill her, undo her. She wants to know, needs to know, if being with him will feel as right, as essential to her soul, as she has dreamt.

Somewhere, there was a line. She knows it was there, but she's forgotten what it was supposed to mean, or why she put it down in the first place. She can't even remember when she crossed it.

The needle prick of his teeth at her jaw—his fangs, her mind supplies, blank with passion—has her urging him onward, clutching with both hands at the short, curling hair at the nape of his neck and twisting beneath him, desperately searching for the right rhythm, the right pressure, that will ease this maddening drumbeat within her.

At some point she crossed that line, and she has been falling ever since, hurtling toward this inevitable capitulation to Klaus's desires, his appetites, because they are a mirror of her own desires, her own ravenous hunger for him.

He sucks hard on the spot below her ear, one arm wrapping around her waist to fit her even closer against him. The strength in those arms, that could keep her aloft for hours without tiring, thrills her to her core. She cannot keep her hands from wandering, from mapping the lean planes of that broad back, from trailing down to the hem of his shirt, which she peels back so as to finally, finally press her palm against his hard, muscled abdomen. Her hand blazes upward, to the place where his heart thunders against her fingertips.

Klaus shudders and pulls back. His pupils are blown wide, eyes bled black with lust. With lust—or with the primordial demon her blood had unleashed within him. Either way, the sight captivates her utterly. Those eyes mark her in her entirety, the depth of her breath, the current of her blood, the dark whisper of her longing. Her longing, which feels like a lake, an abyss, something so sudden and so deep she does not know where it ends or where it ever began.

She has been plunging deeper and deeper within that abyss for months now, and the only way to stop this descent is if he catches her.

Elena wriggles under him, uses the extra space to grasp the edges of her shirt so she can pull it up, over her head.

Klaus catches her wrist.

"Don't." It's the first word either of them have spoken since she started this hours and hours ago. Klaus's voice is rough, a deep rasp she's never heard before. But then, she's never had him in her bed before. Or—her library sofa. Not like this.

"You don't—want?" She can't complete the sentence. The notion that maybe, somehow, somehow she's misread the signs is too mortifying to contemplate. That maybe he has been doing this to laugh at her, or to play her somehow, and she's only just made a complete fool of herself, throwing herself so enthusiastically into his arms and spreading her legs for him without even nominally resisting—

Klaus rests his forehead against hers and takes a slow, deep breath. He's still clutching her wrist. Presses it against his chest as he inhales, exhales. "Of course I want," he finally tells her. "I have wanted since the moment I first beheld you in that absurd history classroom."

"Do you—do you need me to say it? Is that what this is?"

He stops breathing. Long seconds pass, before he asks, voice very carefully controlled, "Say what, exactly?"

Reason reinvades her mind. Her stubborn heart. No, she cannot say it.

"I thought this was what you wanted," she tells him instead. She shifts against him, feels the evidence of his arousal hard against her.

Klaus grits his teeth. "You're making this very difficult." He sinks against her, burying his face in the side of her neck. Murmurs into her hair, "I can nearly taste you in the very air, and the way you smell—" .

For a moment, she thinks she's won. Can feel it in the way he holds himself, wound tight as a bowstring. But he shakes himself, visibly retakes control of himself.

He releases her between one instant and the next, and disentangles himself from her completely. He's kneeling on the floor in front of her before she can even process that he's no longer in her arms, and she has to shake her head to clear away the residual sense of his body against her own.

"I'm to leave in just a few short hours," he tells her.

"You're not serious."

"Ah, but it's my misfortune that I am. Events are in motion that must not be delayed."

His words quell some of the fire raging inside of her. None of this should surprise her, and yet. Disappointment swamps her. Disappointment, that this night wherein the entire earth shifted out from under her feet could possibly play second to his ambitions.

He must read it in her face, because he grasps her chin, and makes her hold his gaze while he tells her, "When I finally do take you to my bed, I intend to take my time with you. I won't be rushed by anything. Not with you. Do you understand?"

It's all Elena can do to nod. It's a promise, and a threat. A declaration of his intent, to have her in ways she can scarcely imagine in even her most fevered fantasies. Already, her mind conjures up possibilities, and a needy twinge pulses at her core. She thinks she might faint if she tries to move too quickly.

Hazily, she looks away from him, toward the tall windows at the back of the room. Dawn has already traced its rosy fingers across the night sky.

"Is it really so late?" she asks absently. It's hard to grasp anything beyond the lingering sense-memory of him.

Her question seems to amuse him. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Is it really so early, you mean." He stands, and holds his hand out to her.

Elena slides her hand into his and feels the ghost of that elemental attraction binding them together.

"And it is rather early days, at that," he concludes.


Klaus walks her to her bedroom door. It's one of the weirder things she's ever done, hooking up with this particular monster in such spectacular fashion and then letting him walk her to her room as though he were a normal date. Not as weird as drinking a bowl of her own blood and coughing up that malformed bloodstone, or as weird as the very first time she was caught in Katherine Pierce's leopard-like gaze, when she first felt reality slip sideways. But very close.

Their silence is a live thing between them.

The further she strays from their library, the more impossible the last few hours seem. She could almost convince herself it was a dream, were her lips not so swollen from Klaus's fervent, probing kisses, were her cheeks and chin not chapped raw from the scratch of his stubble against her face as they devoured each other with single-minded intensity.

Just the memory of it is enough to make her flush.

Whatever restraint Klaus had shown in the library, it's certainly strained now. She can literally see the moment he notices her blood, so close to the surface of her skin.

The pause is infinitesimal. He opens her bedroom door for her as though he were a perfect gentleman.

She lingers in the doorway. "So, you're off then?"

"Imminently."

"For how long?"

"I shall endeavor to reunite with you as soon as I am able." He glances over her shoulder. "You never did tell me, sweetheart, what you thought of your Twelfth Night gift."

"I think you know."

"Grant me the satisfaction of your praise."

"It's the most outrageous gift anyone has ever given me." It's true enough. Better not to reveal how that painting makes her feel when she studies it for too long. Better not to dwell on it at all, when she can still taste him in the corners of her mouth.

Her answer pleases him immensely. That damnably bright, boyish smile spreads across his face. "Then I shall have to outdo myself on the next occasion. When is your birthday?"

"I'm a Cancer on the cusp of Gemini. Satisfied?"

The word hangs between them. A question unanswered. For now.

She wishes she could take it back, take everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours back, except…

Whatever barricades she'd thrown up against Klaus these past six months have come tumbling down, victim to the irresistible magnetism between them.

And maybe that's okay. Maybe that's just how it is.

Maybe… she can allow herself this one, grave sin. She can pay for it later.

Blue early morning light streams in through her bedroom window. Every moment the sun climbs just a little bit higher, and this night comes just a little bit closer to well and truly ending.

And he'll be gone again.

"Goodnight, then," she tells him at last.

She moves to shut the door, but Klaus reaches for her hand and pulls her in to his arms. Opens her mouth to his and consumes her completely with his brief, brutal kiss. He gazes down into her face the way a man stares out to sea. "Goodnight, then, Elena mine."


Dazed, she stumbles off to bed.

And dreams of Klaus.


She sleeps the entirety of the next day.

When she wakes up, Tyler brings her a plate of French toast smothered in syrup for dinner.


It's chilly in the house, she reasons, so there's every reason to wear a turtle neck when she joins Tyler in the second parlor downstairs for their nightly ritual. It has nothing to do with the hickey she's relatively certain Klaus left decorating the space right under the curve of her jaw.

How strange, that she had spent the evening with Tyler in just this very spot merely two nights ago. It feels as though an eternity passed by while she was shut away with Klaus.

"So. Was it okay?" Tyler asks her once she's settled with her drink, her feet curled up beneath her.

"What?"

"Your one-on-one with Klaus. Was he okay to you?"

"He was fine." Her voice sounds strangled.

Tyler looks her over. "You look weird, is all."

"Weird? Weird how?"

"Out of it." He frowns at her. "He didn't compel you, did he?"

Elena wrinkles her nose. "Ew, no."

"How can you be sure?"

"I just am, okay?" She can't keep the snap out of her voice.

"Sorry, 'Lena, I'm just—I'm trying to look out for you. Make sure you're alright."

Of course. His words make her feel terrible. Ungrateful for the love he's given her, the laughter and the joy he taught her to feel again.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm just—" Just, what? Out of sorts, because she very nearly had sex with Klaus on the library sofa last night? Hot and bothered, because he told her no? "Just, you try spending all day with that ego-maniac and see how you do." God, it sounds almost fond when she calls him that.

Tyler shrugs. "Yeah, I get it. He nearly drove me off the deep end when he took me on that recruitment trip last fall."

"Hm. So, what did you do yesterday?" she asks him, mainly, she realizes with a tinge of guilt, to steer him away from all Klaus-related topics. She'll never be able to focus if he keeps coming up.

Tyler does tell her, and she does listen, really, she does, but the memory of last night distracts her endlessly.


That night, when she's alone in her room, her hands stray over her body while she shuts her eyes and tries to place herself back in that room, back on that couch. Back under Klaus.

She's already wet, has been slick with want for hours now. It's so easy, to slip her fingers inside of herself and to bring herself off to the sense memory of his touch, which even now paints flames under her skin just thinking about it, and to the wickedly tantalizing promise of next time.

Release clears the fog from her mind enough for her to worry that she has made a colossal, irreversible mistake. Something she cannot simply walk back.

"I can't think about this right now," she whispers.

She can't. She won't.

Not when her stomach is in flutters and she cannot fight the glow of excitement she sees in her eyes when she looks in the mirror.


It is in the mirror that Elena looks at herself the next day. And sees for the first time the bruises that have ripened along her arms and bloomed over her throat and collarbone over the past day. They lay like shadows on her skin. Familiar shadows.

She leans forward and studies her mouth, the faint web of bruises there too. The darker than usual color to her lips.

One in particular jumps out at her. The hickey Klaus had given her is a deep blue-black, violet-red around the edges and irregularly shaped. Little ruby pinpricks score the area where the blood vessels have burst like overripe spring berries.

She's seen a mark like this on her body before.


A/N: You didn't think I'd let that last, did you?

Thank you for reading. Please review if you're enjoying this (KLAUS AND ELENA, ON THE SOFA! I just about fainted while writing this, I've been suppressing my inner shipper for too long while writing this slow burn).

You can find me on tumblr at livlepretre. Ask box is always open.

Recently published an official Fairytale Ending playlist on my tumblr—the Klaus/Elena edition.

Catch y'all next time!