AN: A slightly belated b-day drabble for llgwrites. Happy Birthday, Luce! Hope you like it :)

Also, I haven't watched The Girls Next Door so fingers crossed it turned out well.

"The Girl Next Door!Klaroline AU aka Klaus is totally smitten with his new neighbor who is actually a porn actress."


"Forgive my lips. They find joy in the most unusual places."

(A Good Year)


It's her hair.

That must be it, Klaus decides.

There are few things that truly captivate him. Grape, its texture, sweetness, the soil it grows on - these never fail to catch his attention. How wine swirls and kisses the edge of the glass, the smell hitting his nostrils and invading his taste buds long before the crimson liquid floods his mouth.

This is what he ponders over as he goes to sleep. The poetry of sun, flesh of fruit and smell of cork.

He's not fond of people much. It's his sister's job, winery tours and wine tastings and all things that require dealing with those pesky tourists. Rebekah pesters him about it from time to time, raves on and on about how he should go out to see people more and how are you going to find someone if all you see on a regular basis are grapes? Nik!

But someone's got to do it and Kol feels more inclined to swallowing wine in huge gulps (the barbarian!) than making it, whereas Elijah would rather walk on hot coals than stain his dearest Armani with juice.

And it's no hardship at all, because Klaus is an artist at heart and what is wine-making if not art? A smudge of sun, a delicate stroke of oak, paint of yeasts, combined with math and time, all coming together in a symphony of flavours. He's the bottle master and excellent vintages are his masterpieces.

So it comes as most vexing, really, this bizarre fascination he holds for this girl living next door. She arrived not a fortnight ago, stopping by their gates to ask for a way to St. John's house and Klaus was the one to point her in the right direction. Red convertible, pop music blasting from the radio and legs going on for miles, trembling on high heels on the rough terrain. He should dismiss her as a cliche but there was something in her step and that spark glimmering in her eyes, inviting him to sink in the depths of her ocean blue eyes.

And her hair.

The golden wave of curls that bounces to the sway of her hips and it's that particular shade of Pinot Grigio, the one that comes out when the light reflects on the glass. Sun seeps through these tresses the same way it teases the grapevine and Klaus finds his fingers itching to trail them through her hair just like he brushes the leaves.

He has this strange feeling he knows her from somewhere and voice schooled into indifference, he makes a subtle inquiry to Rebekah about the mysterious girl. His sister snorts (so perhaps it wasn't so subtle after all) and grumbles how she must be yet another one of Lorenzo's conquests and really brother, I pegged you for someone with better taste.

Klaus thinks his taste is just fine.


It's decided - she likes it here.

So alright, it may not have been on Caroline's shortlist of vacation spots, but since Enzo offered his house in an unusual fit of actual selflessness, Napa Valley it is.

This place might be just what she needs. An escape. A pit-stop before making her next move, or rather, figuring out what's that move going to be.

It's so peaceful and quiet here, with fields splashed in greens and violets of grapes, and the August sun grazes her skin just right. She spends her days like she's never spent them before, strolling, sunbathing, daydreaming.

Lazily, leisurely. Carefree.

Perhaps it's the atmosphere of this place and the faint yet rousing smell of wine in the air or the fact that the number of tourists stays low so far, despite the height of the season fast-approaching.

Her closest neighbour owns a winery but it seems the luck is on her side and it's not one of those swarming with visitors.

Even if the brand is popular. And Caroline figures it must be, with grapevines stretching along for miles and grand house that resembles a freaking mansion. It screamed money.

If Caroline knows one thing, she knows money.

After all, she used her body earning hers. And she has no regrets about it.

It's such a futile notion, too, regret and if she hates anything tremendously, it's wasting time.

Barely out of high school, she left her pony little town, with empty pockets but head full of plans and dreams. They got a bit squandered along the way, but hey, a girl's gotta eat sometimes and maybe own a condo and a Chanel bag or two. In the end, she just had to be practical about it.

Instead of famous, she became infamous.

Caroline Forbes, A-list porn-star (she wouldn't settle for anything less than A).

She doesn't believe in half-measures.

Even if her face didn't match the typical canon of beauty for this kind of entertainment and her figure wasn't one desired for the truly hardcore stuff, Caroline managed to gather an impressive number of fans, placing her in the higher salary rank. She even landed a Playboy photoshoot and then some more followed.

But like everything else, it couldn't very well last forever (not that she wanted it to) and at 27, Caroline pretty much hit her expire date.

Faced with that fact, she did the next logical thing.

Wrote a memoir. Or more accurately, one of those fancy raw tell-it-all tales that seem so rage nowadays.

Confessions of Barbie Porn Star Queen.

With the catchy title (she was proud of it) and equally catchy content, Caroline ended up pretty damn well-off.

Enzo's offer to "look after" his Napa house came at just the right time (and she was positive there was nothing accidental about it). She needed to decide what to do with her life, no matter how dramatic it may sound.

Now that she doesn't have to work for 16-hours straight or so. Now that there's no need to put aside every dollar she could afford. Now that she has money and time to spare, and then some.

Her new neighbours greeted her with the most…peculiar welcome. The snotty blonde, Rebekah, was practically fuming, her words polite but tone clipped. Caroline was truly impressed with how much venom she managed to fit into one short "yet another one of St. John's playthings, are you, oh dear".

It was so entertaining she didn't bother to explain just how far from the truth that statement was.

And then there was Klaus.

The lilt in his voice has this way of wrapping around her smoothly and his What can I do for you, sweetheart makes her skin prickle in awareness.

Oh, yes, she's perfectly aware there are great many things he could do to for her.

Her imagination can be so wickedly vivid sometimes.

It must be his lips, she decides.

So perfectly shaped that it's frigging unfair and touched with just enough of crimson to make her want to bite into them like into a succulent flesh of forbidden fruit.

Caroline imagines how he purses them into the thin line, her own lips busy nibbling to coax it open and kiss his annoyance off them. Pictures Klaus deeply focused on the glass, just one alluring inch of tongue sticking out as he considers the liquid floating within.

A drop of wine lingering stubbornly in the corner of his mouth and she's there, oh so helpful, to gather it with the tip of her tongue.

She wonders whether he tastes better than the wine he makes. Or perhaps, they come most deliciously when mixed together.

Not in the business of lying to herself, Caroline admits it freely. Yes, she's dying for a taste.

The cold manner he regards her with might suggest he's out of her reach but that gleam of interest in his eyes tells another story.

She'll take it as a challenge, either way.

People often tell her she can't get this or do that and she's always loved to prove them wrong.

And Klaus? He deems himself an artist, her serious winemaker. But she is an artist as well.

Artiste de l'amour.

To lure, to tempt, to coax, it's her forte. She'll weave him in a warm sweet web of burning touches and heavy-lidded glances and he can drown her in his heady kisses of wine.

Caroline doesn't know where the next months will take her. What she is sure of is this.

She will get a taste of those wine-coloured mouth.


It's decided then, it's her hair. That's what keeps him distracted.

Except she's been here for three weeks and he's heard her vibrant laugh by now and it reverberates like glass clinking against glass. He's seen her mouth trembling, on a verge of curving into the most delicious sultry smile.

Klaus remembers where he knows her from.

Playboy calendar. Not that he indulges in that sort of thing but he might've caught a glimpse of it in a locker room and winery workers start chiming about Miss September being their new neighbour.

Gently, as if he feared scaring her image off the cover, he outlines her curves and valleys of her glorious body, adorned with no more than a mere scrap of lace, her porcelain skin in contrast to autumn leaves her body seems drowning in.

Miss September indeed. Because there's not a tinge of innocence in her, eyes bursting with mysteries untold and this inviting smile of hers that's capable of bringing any man to his knees. It's a time of harvest and she resembles ripe grape that's ready to be plucked from the vine and fall into the starving man's mouth.

He dreams of licking Merlot off her navel and painting her taut little nipples with Shiraz.


He meets her in the most unusual places.

One day, he ventures to inspect his vines, an everyday habit of his. It's a hot August afternoon, one of those with heavy air and sun burning bone-deep, sparkles of electricity promising a storm. Sweat covers his skin and there's not even a hint of wind to offer some relief as he walks through the violet alleys of fruit. He stops in his tracks when he sees her long lean legs on the ground.

She's lying under the grapevines, her eyes closed and a secret smile emerging on her face, as she visibly revels in the cool refuge of the shadow. The turquoise crop top she's wearing reveals the slightly sun-kissed skin of her abdomen, her blonde hair like a pillow under her head and his mouth waters when he notices a drop of juice dried up on her chin.

Yes, the thought of licking it clean crossed his mind.

Instead, he croaks, "Caroline." It sounds so right, like a like he should be the only one calling her that.

Such a silliness.

She stirs, her ocean blues stare right into his eyes and there's not even a glint of surprise in her gaze as she lazily stretches her body. "Klaus," she purrs like a cat, gracefully rising to stand just before him.

"By all means, sweetheart, help yourself to my best vintage in the making," he finally finds his voice.

But she chooses to ignore the obvious irony of his words, "I knew you wouldn't mind. Very neighbourly of you." Her eyes laugh at him as her fingertip traces the damp skin on the inside of his arm.

Touch ignites the spark, want thrumming between them like this electricity from before the storm and Klaus discovers his mouth is dry and with no words to say.

It doesn't seem to bother her. "I thought it would bore me to death, you know. When my friend suggested this place. But it's so peaceful and lively at the same time and it makes me wonder how you manage to pack all of this - " she points across the field, "- into neat little bottles. I know nothing of wine except how to drink it." She looks at him before adding coyly, "Perhaps you could teach me sometime?"

It's tempting, so very tempting and Klaus fights for the last scrap of reason he hopes he possesses. "I reckon there's not much left that I can teach you, Miss September." Comes his drawl.

It just makes her laugh. "Ah, so you've seen the calendar. One of my favourite photo shoots if I'm being honest," Caroline shoots him a knowing glance from under her lashes. "And have you seen the movies?" With a wink and a toss of hair, she strolls away, the sway of her hips hypnotizing.

What movies?


He watches them all.

His breathing is harsh and his palms sweaty as he fast-forwards through all the scenes that don't include her. Head thrown back in ecstasy paired with moans of pleasure she makes are now etched in his mind and there is no going back.

It's just a bloody porn, he tells himself.

But… It may sound utterly ridiculous and Klaus supposes it is but somehow…he knows her a little more now.

Her, not her body. Naturally, if he said he didn't pay attention to it…he would lie. The swell of her breast, a little mole on her collarbone, tattoo on her ankle. He wants to trace it all with his tongue, carve her lithe body with the roughness of his hands, devour the folds and creases of her flesh.

Yet, strangely, at the same time, he seems to learn so much more. A deep furrow of her brows, teeth sank in her lower lip, a wrinkle by her eyes. She's one splendid actress, that she is, but he watches her and reads her face. So arrogantly, but he's sure he can tell whether she's having a good day or a bad one just from the slightly tipped corner of her mouth. Recognize a genuine laboured breath from a feigned gasp. Set apart all the fake orgasms and pained expressions from the actual pleasure.

It's just a bloody porn, he repeats.

Except it's not. It's her.


Next time he sees her, Caroline's swimming in his pool.

"It's not my fault! Yours is way bigger than Enzo's," she claims and Klaus is not entirely sure they're still talking swimming pools.

Like a siren luring him to the sea, she coaxes him to the edge. Peering at him innocently, she asks, "Help me?"

He offers his hand and for a moment, he's sure she will pull him in but instead she emerges from the water, causing him to catch his breath. Tiny, almost non-existent golden bikini clings to her frame like a second skin, her nipples peeking through the material. It must be sinful, how the droplets caress her body.

"As always, I'm happy I could be of humble assistance, love," he speaks, fighting the gravel in his voice and determined to fix his eyes on her face.

"You've seen the movies, I presume. Given how you can't seem to look at me." Her voice is teasing, just like her fingers on his chest - and they stain his skin like the crimson of red wine.

Covering her hand with his own, he rebukes, "I'm merely trying to be polite, Caroline." And again, her name rolls off his tongue in that effortless lilt.

"Polite?" she scoffs. "What gave you the idea that I want you to be polite? I want you to be you."

"Says the master of faking it."

Her eyes lit up at the taunt and her nimble finger starts to play with the button of his shirt. "Oh, I was the best damn actress there, that's true," she agrees as her hand escapes the hold of his, diving under the white cotton. Her eyes dart to his. "Except with you, I wouldn't fake it, you know. No, I would demand to be pleasured."

Palm spread on his chest, it seems like she brands him with her expert touch, wandering off to feel the pectorals, graze his nipples with nails. A gasp dies on his lips and he bites into them, his body straining with arousal, all blood flowing down to the bulge in his pants.

One step closer and her mouth is on his ear. "Have you imagined me, Klaus? On my knees before you and with your cock between my lips? My thighs cradling your face while you fuck me with your tongue?" Her hand travels lower now, to his stomach and the muscles there flex when she drags her fingers down, down, down. "You, licking off the drops of wine trickling down my sternum. Do you think it would compare to the taste you've had of me?" Her nails trail the path along his zipper. "Because I can't wait to know if you taste better than wine."

Klaus shifts his head and their lips are inches apart, their breaths mingling together. Leaning down, he gives her mouth the barest touch, just a flicker of skin against skin. Caroline gasps and he can feel that gasp rest on his lips.

Her gaze is fixed on him now, hungry, heavy with lust and it sure as hell reflects what can be seen in his own eyes. Her tongue darts out and flicks across the corner of his mouth and he's ready to devour her completely, he's been ready for what seems like forever now and he's about to trap her between his arms…

With a swift step back, she escapes his embrace.

"Find me when you're ready to find out," she dares before walking away from him, yet again.


He's been growing more and more thirsty for weeks now and all the wine has turned sour and all the grapes seem dry.

There's only one way out.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

So impatient. Knock.

"Hello, Klaus," she greets him with an undeniable joy colouring her voice.

She looks ravishing, in the simple red halter dress, that's just on the right side of flimsy.

His eyes rake over her delectable form and rest on the strings of her dress that simply beg to be untied.

Later.

But not much later.

"Caroline. I brought wine," he hold up the bottle of Pinot Grigio that reminds him of the colour of her hair.

"Of course you did," she graces him with a smile before gripping him by his shirt and hauling him into the house.

Doors shut and then her hand rests on the nape of his neck and her legs lock around his waist. Klaus has half the mind to put the bottle on the nearest flat surface.

No need to waste such a fine beverage.

Even if he finds out just minutes later that she does taste better.

With dusk far behind them, Caroline tells him she prefers to drink wine from his lips.

He agrees.


Thank you for reading and for all your support! It's very much appreciated, believe me :) So what did you think of this one? I feel like it's a bit different from what I usually write. Do winemaker!Klaus and porn star!Caroline work for you here? How about this reverse situation aka Caroline pursuing Klaus? Please share your thoughts!

Till next time,

Kate