Notes: klarolineauweek is here again! Today's theme is AU: All human and here are my contributions. You can check the tag on tumblr or go to the everythingisklaroline blog where everything will get reblogged eventually. Thanks so much for the reviews for the last few! I really do appreciate them.
Good Fences
(Prompt: AU + the electricity went out and I don't have candles au. Rated K+)
Caroline hadn't thought much of that first rumble of thunder, the loud splatter of raindrops on the glass door of her balcony. She'd just moved in so it's not like she needed to go anywhere. There were boxes everywhere (and some of the movers were completely incompetent because she kept finding her clearly labeled boxes in the wrong rooms).
The disorganization was driving her nuts.
She's startled by the first crack of lightening, jumps and clutches her chest. Glances around, like she expects someone to point and laugh. Living alone is going to take some getting used to. She wanders over to the windows to glance outside. Squinting down at the street below she can't make out much, the heavy rain leaves details obscure. There's the odd dot of a streetlight, but that's about it.
She shrugs, and goes back to work, arranging her kitchen cupboards. She'd stopped by a grocery store for some basics, ordered a pizza for dinner. But, if she actually wanted to be able to cook tomorrow, she still has some work to do.
The first flicker of the lights gives Caroline pause, leaves her holding her breath. She's just about to see if she can find the box with her emergency flashlight and candles in it when everything goes dark.
Yeah, she probably should have thought of that sooner.
Caroline freezes, peering into the darkness. She can make out the large shapes of her furniture, stacks of boxes, but that's about it. Taking a tentative step forward she immediately stubs her toe, letting out a curse and hopping for a moment.
"Great," she mutters, hobbling slightly. "Just great." She feels her way over to where she thought the correct boxes were, digs around trying to recognize things by touch. But anything remotely candle shaped remains elusive.
She lets out a frustrated groan, setting aside the sixth box she's rummaged through. Caroline briefly considers calling it a night, and going to bed, but quickly dismisses that idea. She's way too grimy between moving boxes in the New Orleans heat and giving her new apartment a thorough scrub before unpacking.
No, a shower's a must, and tackling an unfamiliar bathroom in the dark seems like a terrible idea. There's no way Caroline is willing to spend her first night in a new city in the emergency room.
This leaves her with only one viable option – her neighbors.
It can't be that bad right? She was totally a people person.
Decision made Caroline puts her hands out, gingerly making her way to the door. The building had been quiet when she'd been moving in, people likely at work, so Caroline hadn't had the opportunity to meet anyone. She cross her fingers that whoever's door she ends up knocking on isn't completely terrible (and/or crazy), and that they had extra candles they were willing to lend her.
There's no answer at the first door she knocks at, the one right across the hall. Caroline edges her way down, until she feels another doorway. Knocks firmly, and waits for a moment.
It seems like she's in luck, because she hears movement immediately.
When the door's thrown open, and she sees the man holding a lantern on the other side, she kind of wishes she'd moved in the opposite direction. Because he's serious eye candy, and she knows she looks awful. It makes sense, because who dresses to impress to unpack? No one that Caroline would be interested in hanging out with. She's wearing a ratty Whitmore tank, and an old pair of grey leggings. No makeup and her hair's pulled back in a ponytail that had gone limp and lifeless several hours ago.
So much for being lucky.
"Can I help you, love?" he asks curiously.
And her hot neighbor had a hot accent. Ugh, why couldn't she have met him when she looked cute?!
Caroline smiles brightly, shoving her sudden bout of self-consciousness aside, "I kind of hope so. I'm Caroline. I just moved in. I was trying to unpack, but I hadn't gotten to anything candle-ish yet, and the lights are out, so…"
"So you'd like to borrow some?" he continues understandingly, cutting off her ramble. Probably a good thing.
"If you have any to spare?"
He considers her for a long moment before answering. "Of course. Come on in." He steps back, opening the door wider. Caroline follows him, glancing around with interest. You could tell a lot about a guy from his apartment. She can't see much, but he seems to be pretty neat. And the couch looks super comfy. There's several small battery powered lanterns, like the one he carries, dotted around the living room. A book on the coffee table, a liquor bottle and a half full glass next to it. She eyes him carefully, but he doesn't seem drunk.
"Do you do a lot of camping, or something?" she wonders.
He makes an amused noise, "No. I tend to stick to cities. But this building is old, and up until they redid the wiring last year, prone to outages."
"Huh," Caroline mutters, making a mental note to invest in a lantern or two of her own. "They didn't put that in the ad."
A short chuckle and he throws her a smile over his shoulder, "No, they wouldn't would they? But, rest assured, that it's a rare occurrence these days. Only when Mother Nature is particularly temperamental."
He opens a drawer, pulls out a couple of batteries. He collects one of the lanterns and hands both items to her. "Here. Safer than candles and a bit more effective."
"Wow. Thank you. I really appreciate it," she tells him sincerely.
"Not a problem, sweetheart." He leans a little closer, growing conspiratorial, "Just keep this quiet, yeah? I've got a bit of a reputation as the big bad around here, and I'd like to keep it that way. Don't want everyone knocking on my door to borrow sugar, or tools, or any other random thing."
Caroline laughs, thinking he's joking, but his face tells her he's not. She sobers, brows furrowing, "Yeah, you're going to need to explain that one. Because you seem nice enough to me."
He shrugs, a hint of a smirk curling his lips, "Trust me, I am not. And nothing to explain. It's mostly a sanity saving measure. I'm not too fond of most of this building's occupants. And I like to avoid the obligatory party invites that float around."
"Are they that bad?" Caroline asks.
Klaus' expression remains poker-straight, "Let's see, there's the Salvatore brothers – one dreadfully dull, the other about the most self-important wanker you'll ever meet. He'll likely attempt to convince you to sleep with him. I'd advise you not to, because you may very well catch something. Though it is, of course, your decision. Katherine Pierce is catty and vicious, and prone to monopolizing the laundry room. There's Greta Martin, who's not a fan of other women, particularly attractive ones. Luke Parker, who I'm fairly certain is a drug dealer, and his sister, who hates everyone who she didn't share a womb with. And that's just our floor."
Caroline wrinkles her nose. "I really hope they're not that bad. Otherwise I'm going to seriously regret signing a lease. I reserve the right to make up my own mind."
"As you should," he agrees. "And I'll try not to take too much satisfaction out of telling you 'I told you so.'"
Caroline rolls her eyes, though she's a little amused, at his assured recital, "Hey ever thought that, if you think everyone's terrible, it might not be them?"
He feigns a dramatic gasp, "Hurtful, sweetheart. When I've been so very neighborly."
Caroline shakes her head, shifting the lantern to the crook of her arm. This guy was definitely a little bit of a dick, but a charming one. And he could have slammed the door in her face, so he got points for that. She motions to the door, "I should get out of your hair. I'll drop all this off tomorrow."
"Find your candles first, love," he advises. "It's supposed to storm through the weekend."
"I'll do that. Thank you…" she trails off, hoping he'll get the hint, because she realizes that he hadn't given her his name.
Her mom would totally kill her if she ever found out about that one.
"Klaus," he supplies. "And you're welcome, Caroline."
He leads her to his door, surprises her by following her out into the hallway and to hers. He momentarily relieves her of her burden, so she can unlock the door. She smiles at him again, smooths the wisps of hair that have escaped the elastic, "I feel like I'm repeating myself a lot, but thanks."
He smiles back at her, warmer then she'd expect, from a guy who claimed not to be nice. Klaus lets his hands brush against hers when he hands the lantern back, and she'd be lying if she didn't feel a prickle of interest, wondered what a more deliberate touch would feel like. And she's not the only one, judging by the way Klaus' eyes linger on her face. "Welcome to the neighborhood, Caroline," he murmurs. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you."
Food (and) Fights
(Prompt: Klaus is a chef and Caroline is his sous chef or a waitress (you pick!) who doesn't put up with his Gordan Ramsay behavior. He loves that, of course, because everyone else is too scared to stand up to him. Rated T.)
She looks away from Klaus as she lifts the fork to her mouth. It smells amazing, her mouth is watering, and she already knows that it's going to be hard to act neutral, to resist the urge to slouch down and make obscene noises of enjoyment (that are probably inappropriate for the kitchen) once she's tasted the bite of food. To restrain the urge to immediately dive back in for another.
Klaus Mikaelson might be an arrogant douche (most of the time), but his food is heavenly. And he knows it.
The beef practically melts on her tongue, the sauce rich and pleasantly spicy. Her eyes close, just for a second, as she savors it.
Ugh, so much for playing it cool.
She opens her eyes to find him staring at her, as he always does during these meetings. There's an intensity to him, like watching her eat is the highlight of his day. The expression's there, even though he's been colder, more distant than usual today. It's a relief even as it makes Caroline more determined to find out why.
Because if she's being completely honest, testing the specials Klaus prepares weekly, spending time with him while he does it, is usually the highlight of her day. It's been kind of a struggle to wrap her head around. Because Caroline is technically his boss. And that means she needs to be professional, damn it. But it gets harder and harder all the time. Right now with Klaus less than a foot away from her, his eyes dark and focused on her mouth it's almost impossible.
She wants to set the dish aside and reach for him. Slide her fingers through the curls at the back of his head and pull him into her, until he settles between her thighs and she can finally feel him pressed against her.
She's watched his hands an awful lot since she'd met him. Precise chopping, delicate plating, twirling a pencil as he'd sketched an idea for a layout change for her. They're always mesmerizing.
Caroline has long since admitted, at least privately, that she wants to know what they'd feel like on her skin.
She'd thought Klaus wanted that too, was working on convincing herself to take the leap. And then today had happened.
It's made Caroline wonder if she might be too late.
She'd met Klaus by happenstance, at the exact perfect time.
She'd weathered all sorts of snide remarks about how she had no business 'playing around' with her dad's restaurant when she'd first started making changes. A lot of condescending, "That's cute, sweetheart, but…" followed by a lecture about how the industry really worked. Caroline had ignored all of those idiots, plowed ahead with her plan to rebrand William's. And she'd be lying if she wasn't immensely satisfied at having proved everyone who'd doubted her wrong, as profits had steadily ticked up in the last two years.
She was even eying the vacant property next door, dreams of expanding more possible than ever.
But Caroline had to give credit where credit was due. She'd first tasted Klaus' insanely good food at a pop up restaurant in London. And she'd known immediately, as soon as she'd finished that first app (pork belly and cranberry sauce on a toasted baguette), that she had to have him. His style was exactly her vision - the perfect mix of traditional and trendy.
He'd proven elusive, in the beginning.
Oh, he'd been interested in Caroline, and what was under her low cut little black dress, his eyes raking over her when she'd gone to introduce herself. But he'd been in the middle of a service, barking orders at a handful of line cooks, so she hadn't been offended when he'd murmured his thanks for the compliments and offered to buy her a drink afterwards.
She had been offended however, when he'd seemed amused by her attempts to talk business once they'd been settled into a booth at a nearby pub. He'd been all arched brows and disbelief, "You're trying to recruit me? I've got to be honest, love. That's not what I was expecting."
Caroline had snorted, "What? Did you think I was a groupie? That I was going to drop my panties because you're talented? Please. I've been around chefs, and chef wannabes, my entire life. You're hot but I know better. I did my research, during service. You're a legacy, your father runs half a dozen acclaimed restaurants in four countries. But you dropped out of culinary school for some mysterious reason. Have never run your own kitchen. And there's no way you don't want to. I can give you that."
He'd been quiet, sipped on the bourbon he'd ordered, and she'd thought she'd seen a tiny flicker of interest in his expression. Quickly masked, but she was certain she hadn't imagined it. "Why don't you tell me your name?" he'd suggested.
It had been an opening, a tiny one. But that's all Caroline had needed.
She'd introduced herself, told him about the restaurant that had been in her family for sixty years. And her plans for revitalizing it, turning the too-traditional steakhouse into something more, something that would draw a younger crowd. Foodies, and tourists, instead of the aging regulars her father had always catered to.
She'd known exactly when she'd hooked him, had seen the gleam in his eye when she'd offered a certain amount of creative control. One he wasn't likely to get, as an untried chef, in another operation. But he'd played it cool and agreed to fly out and tour the kitchen. To look at her business plan in depth.
He'd shown up a few weeks later and Caroline had pulled out all the stops to woo him. Including a tiny bit of flirting, because Caroline fully believed in utilizing every asset she'd been blessed with.
And it had worked.
Klaus had signed a six month contract, and together they'd revamped the menu. She'd even consulted him in the minor renovations she'd done – nothing crazy, because money had been tight at that time. But the place had kind of an old man hunting lodge vibe that had to go. A couple more lights, ripping out the carpets, changing up the art – the bare minimum that was necessary, to make the new concept work.
They'd clashed, in the beginning. Often and loudly. Had screaming fights when the place was closed, icy silences and whispered arguments when it was filled with people. He could be harsh, demanding with the kitchen staff, some of whom Caroline had known since she was small. She'd gritted her teeth, and let him run things as he'd seen fit (because she had promised) but the first time he'd tried to bark orders at her front of house people she'd nipped that in the bud.
Menu planning could sometimes be all out war. Specials flipped weekly, never to be repeated. Something to lure people back. Klaus favored trendy ingredients and sometimes Caroline had to put her foot down. Either they were too out there, a risk of alienating their core client base, or they were too expensive and would have blown their target price point.
Klaus was stubborn but Caroline could hold her ground. And she'd felt like he'd respected her more each time she won a skirmish.
They'd gotten better at compromising somewhere along the way. Learned to work together. They still fought, always would. But she rarely had the urge to throw things at his stupidly attractive face anymore. Caroline had been insanely nervous that he'd up and leave when his contract was up. But he'd signed another without hesitation.
And business had only gotten better since then.
The restaurant didn't do lunch service Monday through Wednesday and Caroline usually came in early on Monday, since it was so quiet, to work in peace.
Until Klaus had decided that Monday would be tasting day. It was technically his day off, but he insisted that it worked best for him. He usually showed up mid-morning, his thicker than usual scruff making Caroline's palms itch to know what it would feel like.
He'd pop his head into her office to say hi, would throw himself into one of her guest chairs and proceed to be very distracting. He was excellent at coaxing her away from her spreadsheets, getting her talking about her (admittedly limited, at the moment) like outside the restaurant.
She'd eventually pull herself together and shoo him away, and he'd go with a smirk and a promise that he'd prepare lunch.
She'd wander down to eat, at the appointed time. And they'd bicker until they agreed on the next week's specials. It was their routine, one she'd come to genuinely enjoy.
Today had been a little different, and it made Caroline nervous. Klaus had texted her instead of coming up to her office. The text itself was blunt, "In the kitchen. Be here at 1." She'd been confused, had stared dumbly down at her phone, wondering if she should text him back, or go down and investigate. See if something was wrong.
She'd decided against either course of action, rationalizing that maybe he'd just had something involved planned out for the test specials, and no time for idle chit chat. But her mind had stayed half on him, and half on her to do list. She hadn't managed to get much done.
Finally, throwing her pen down in exasperation, accepting that work was just not happening, Caroline had gotten up from her desk. Grumbled under her breath about how only Klaus could mess with her when he wasn't even in the room. There was a full length mirror on the back of her office door, and she'd taken a second to shake out her hair and smooth out her sundress (telling herself that no, it didn't mean anything that, pre-Klaus, she did Monday paperwork in yoga pants with her face free of makeup).
She'd been nervous about going to see Klaus and she'd hated it.
Caroline had breezed into the kitchen, forcing a casual demeanour while calling out a greeting. Klaus had grunted something unintelligible, not bothering to turn away from the pot he was stirring on the range.
And yeah, that had pretty much confirmed that he was pissed about something. Caroline had plowed ahead, lifted herself up on a prep counter. She'd kept her eyes on his back, intent on waiting him out.
She'd done it before when Klaus took to brooding. She could easily do it again.
Twenty minutes later, Klaus is proving stubborn. She takes another bite of braised short rib, watches a brief, pleased look cross his features. She loves the dish, knows it'll sell well. But an idea hits her, a way to shove Klaus into talking to her. He could be annoyingly tight lipped. Unless she pissed him off. And there were few buttons more effective then questioning his food. To that end Caroline wrinkles her nose, just a little, pokes at the food on her plate. Speaks hesitantly, "It's... fine, I guess."
Klaus, temperamental artiste that he is, bristles immediately. "Fine?" he repeats, incredulous. "I beg your pardon?"
Caroline lifts one shoulder, crosses her legs. "Could use a little salt, maybe? And it's kinda similar to the flank with chimichurri you did a couple weeks ago."
Now he looks insulted, "It most certainly is not," Klaus spits, his outrage thinly veiled. "That spice blend is decidedly Asian, thank you."
She blinks at him, her very best innocent expression pasted on, "I'm not saying it's bad, Klaus. Just a little… eh."
His jaw drops. "Eh?" he parrots, tone pitching high in his irritation. He stiffens and stalks closer, shoulders rigid. "Are you getting sick? That's the only possible explanation I can think of for how wrong you are. Perhaps you caught something from that gentleman that was all over you on Saturday night? He did look a bit unwashed."
Caroline drops the act, confused at the abrupt shift. "What?" she asks, genuinely having no idea what he's talking about. "What guy? I went out with Kat after we closed. Had a drink and went home to bed. Not that it's any of your business."
His face falls, the anger cooling rapidly leaving nothing but a blankness that makes Caroline wish for it back. "Yes," he says softly with a hint of bitterness. "You've made that perfectly clear."
She reaches out, grabs a handful of his shirt, before he can step away. She's more certain than ever that she needs to fix this. Immediately. "Wait, Klaus. Don't."
"Don't what, Caroline?" He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, "Don't cut my losses? Don't accept that you're never going to give me a chance? I've come to love this place, sweetheart. You don't have to worry about me leaving it. No need to dangle yourself in front of me any longer."
She rears back, stung. But she doesn't release her hold on him. "Excuse me?"
"Isn't that what you've been doing? I've made my interest perfectly clear. You flirt, but you hold yourself back. And I understood, because you've been busy, and wary of what people would think. So I waited. But from what I saw on Saturday you're not too busy to start something, you're just not interested in starting anything with me."
She's still confused, "What is it that you think you saw?"
Klaus rolls his eyes, lets out an exasperated sigh, "He was quite literally in your lap, Caroline."
It clicks. She and Kat had gone to a bar across the street, had run into an old friend. She hadn't seen Klaus there, but it was kind of a regular hangout for the restaurant staff so she's not surprised that he was. "Enzo? You're talking about Enzo? Jesus, Klaus he used to be a host here. Worked his way through school. He's my friend and he was drunk. That's it. I called his girlfriend to come pick him up."
Klaus stills, and looks more embarrassed then she's ever seen him. Caroline wouldn't have thought it possible, as self-assured as he always seemed to be. He glances down, and then back at her. Winces when he sees the look on her face. She hadn't forgotten the not so nice accusation he'd thrown, and she wasn't going to let it go.
He reaches out slowly, watching her face to gauge her reaction. Klaus rests his hands on her knees when she doesn't swat him away. She lets go of his shirt, lifts an expectant brow.
"I think I may owe you an apology," he begins sheepishly.
"You think?" Caroline asks sharply.
"Alright, fine. I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. But you've been dodging me for ages. I was beginning to think there had to be a reason."
"Uh, yeah. I've had way too many old guys try to pat me on the head and tell me that my plans are adorable, but never going to work. That little 'ol me shouldn't try to play with the big boys. What do you think they're going to say when they find out I'm sleeping with my head chef?"
Klaus contrite expression gives way to a smirk, his eyes lighting up as his hands drift up higher on her thighs, "So you do plan on sleeping with me then? Good to know."
She glares at him, but she's fighting a smile, her hands landing on his shoulders. She can't resist one last dig, "Pretty arrogant for a guy who sucks at seasoning."
Instead of replying he tugs on her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the counter. He slants his mouth over hers, licking past her lips and stroking his tongue over hers in a way that has her arching into him and wrapping her legs around his hips. She gets her hands in his hair, tugging his head to the side and sending a moan rumbling through him.
She kisses him until she's breathless, tearing away from him and sucking in a gasp when she needs air. Klaus' mouth drops to her throat, his teeth scraping a sensitive spot that leaves her panting. He nudges the strap of her dress aside, lips dragging over her shoulder. Caroline hates to stop him, but she has to. Stupid professionalism. "I'm totally not sleeping with you in this kitchen, Klaus. That's such a health code violation."
He laughs, and she feels it against her skin. "Someone's getting a bit ahead of herself. Perhaps I want to be wooed," he murmurs teasingly, pulling back to look at her.
His thumbs are stroking her inner thighs, under her skirt, and it takes her a second to focus on his question. She pushes him away slightly, "You are so full of it. If I asked you to take me to my office, lock the door, and do very dirty things to me, would you really say no?"
Klaus' eyes widen, growing hot, "Far be it for me to refuse a lady's wants."
Caroline grins, shifts off the counter, and relishes the curse he grits out as her body slides down the length of his. She slips her hands up his shirt, strokes over the taut muscles of his abdomen. "Tempting, but the prep cooks will be here in forty-five minutes. And I'm going to need more time if said dirty things are going to be worth my while."
She scrapes her nails over his skin, watches his lashes lower in response. He swallows hard, hands coming to rest on her waist when he asks his next question, "Can I take you out later?"
Caroline bites her lip, pretends to think about it, just to make him squirm, "Yes. We'll get a drink, and if you're charming enough…" she trails off suggestively, tracing a fingertip along the line of his belt.
"I'm very charming, love. Trust me. And very interested in making things worth your while."
Caroline's glad to hear it, pulls him in for one more quick kiss. He's reluctant to let her go, but she turns to leave. She can't resist getting the last word, tossing one last taunt over her shoulder, "I guess it's a good thing neither of us has to work early tomorrow, isn't it?"
His pained groan keeps her smiling for hours.
This One's On Me
Prompt: KC + stripper/college AU + "we've got this British guy as substitute art professor and well, this is awkward, you're one of my regulars/I gave you lap dance last night" Title from 'Striptease' by Danity Kane. Smut.)
Her professor is late (again – the man was a sweetheart, but the epitome of the 'absent minded' stereotype. All tweed jackets and mussed hair, a battered briefcase that seemed to be held together with luck and little else). Caroline's got her head down, going over her notes on labor markets. This art history class had nothing to do with her major, but she was getting her distribution requirements out of the way so she could really focus on next year, her final one.
The students are just beginning to get restless, and the hall is filled with quiet conversations and restless shifting. She expects someone to invoke the ten minute rule any second now.
But they're out of luck, because the door creaks open. Caroline glances up, expecting her familiar professor, harried and offering apologies.
But that's not who comes through the door.
Caroline cringes, when she recognizes the man, a soft curse spilling out as she slouches deep into her seat. The guy a couple chairs down gives her a strange look, but the vicious glare she shoots back leaves him gulping nervously and facing forward.
This was so not good.
She's not ashamed of what she does, how could she be? Working three nights a week pays her bills and keeps her mostly out of debt, something very few of her peers can say. Her mom's sheriff's salary wasn't exactly up to the cost of Caroline's Ivy League school, and scholarships didn't cover everything either. Her shifts dancing at a 'Gentleman's Club' did and left enough left over so she didn't have to scrimp and scrape for occasional indulgences.
But there was a reason she drove an hour and a half into New York City every Thursday afternoon, took advantage of a friend's couch over the weekends. And that was to lessen the likelihood that she'd run into someone from school, someone who would think she should be ashamed of stripping.
Never mind the fact that whatever douchebag dudebro who tried to harass her would never have known about her part time occupation if he hadn't been at a strip club in the first place. Those types weren't great at recognizing hypocrisy. No, they'd whisper 'slut' and assume that her stellar class ranking had nothing to do with her brains, or the fact that she worked her ass off to get the grades she did.
Caroline took great pains to avoid that particular potential awfulness.
And she was kinda pissed that it was entirely possible her cover was blown. All because Klaus, the guy setting up papers at the lectern, was one of her regulars.
He'd first shown up almost a year ago, a 21st birthday party for a dark haired smirker who'd called her a 'tasty little thing' and passed out halfway through a lap dance.
Klaus had rolled his eyes, and helped her up, gingerly extricating his friend's head from where it had landed on her cleavage. He'd offered her a smile, and had managed to keep his eyes trained on her face. He'd handed her a hefty tip. "Sorry, love. Kol's not one for pacing himself," he'd apologized ruefully.
She'd eyed the birthday boy, who'd been dangerously close to falling out of his chair. "I can see that," came her dry reply. She'd then glanced at the rest of the party, none of whom had seemed to be in a much better state. "Do you want me to get a bouncer to help you carry him out?"
He'd let out a sigh, sounding long suffering and so incredibly done. "I'd appreciate it. We've a gaudy monstrosity of a limousine outside."
The unconscious guy had been wearing a crown, and holding a sceptre, so that seemed only appropriate to Caroline. She'd slipped passed Klaus with a polite nod, and made her way backstage.
She'd been due for a break anyway.
She'd forgotten about him quickly, hadn't even known his name at the time, even if she'd noted his attractiveness in a distantly appreciative sort of way. A decent number of hot guys strolled through the doors, made eyes at her while she danced. And she flirted back, to an extent – a flutter of lashes here, a coy lick of her lips there - mindful of tips. But she'd never been tempted to cross the lines she'd drawn. She kept her work life and her life-life strictly separated. Caroline Forbes didn't exist inside the four walls of the club and 'Mysti' ceased to exist the second her heavy stage makeup was scrubbed off.
Was it a little complicated? Sure. But Caroline made it work.
Until Klaus started coming back.
It had become harder and harder to keep things separate ever since that fateful birthday party. Once just a random designated sober friend Klaus managed to become something more. He watched her dance, his eyes dark and greedy, tracing the lines of her body with such heat. He looked a little pinched sometimes, when she was dealing with other customers, the set of his jaw tense. He kept his distance though, never lashed out, never bit out snide comments about 'selling herself' like a certain ex-boyfriend.
They talked occasionally, he'd sidle up to her at the bar, order another drink while she waited for a bottle of water between lap dances. She'd wave the bouncers away, because he never tried anything. Didn't attempt to slide his hands over any of her bare skin, coerce her into leaving with him for a 'private show.'
The security at the club didn't stand for that and neither did Caroline. Her parents had been pretty insistent she learn the basics of self-defence when it had become clear that their pretty teen daughter had a bit of a boy crazy streak. She had no problem applying her knee to the crotch area of hands-y drunks.
Klaus always asked her how her night was going, complimented her performance. Called her ravishing, in a way that managed to be admiring without a hint of lechery. Impressive, but Caroline allowed for the possibility that the accent just made the words seem prettier. He'd told her his name, in one of their early chats, but never asked for hers. He'd sprinkle in dry comments about the other patrons that had her biting her lip to hold in a smile. But he always knew - would light up and appear very pleased with himself. She'd find herself leaning closer, bantering back, tempted to be the one to reach out and touch. Until duty called and she had to get back to work.
It was almost a relief, walking away from him. She had a hard time being 'Mysti' during those brief conversations and little bits of Caroline began to bleed through. Which was a problem she'd never been able to solve, hadn't even tried all that hard.
Klaus was there, every other week, like clockwork. Katherine, her boss, had taken her aside, asked if he was bothering her, made it clear that she'd be perfectly willing to 'ban his ass if he's being a creeper, even if he buys the good shit.'
Caroline had assured Kat that she had it handled, and she should keep stocking the top shelf bourbon that Klaus preferred.
She'd never seen him outside of the dim club, kind of thought she never would, hence the reason she had practically slid to the floor of the lecture hall at the sight of him.
He looks up once he's gotten organized, a faint smile on his face, scanning the room. Clearing his throat he says, "Hello. My name is Klaus Mikaelson, and I'm working on my MFA. Your professor had a family emergency, and his usual TA's out sick, so I'm afraid you'll have to bear with me as I muddle through."
Caroline hears several giggles, of the breathy impressed variety, notes that most of her female classmates having perked up. Not that she blames them. He's not dressed all that differently than usual, only lacking the dark jacket. He's just wearing a thin grey henley, and it clings to his shoulders in a way that's definitely noteworthy.
He wanders out from behind the podium. "I do believe you're studying the tail end of the Baroque period, yes? Not my favorite, but we'll see how you all feel about it." He sets his eyes on a girl in the front row, smiles at her warmly, "If you wouldn't mind getting the lights, Miss…"
"Lewis," she titters, standing quickly. "Jessica."
He thanks her, and Caroline can see the girl's face turn pink even from all the way across the room. Lewis comma Jessica hurries to the light switch, dimming the room. Caroline cautiously sits up, thinking he won't be able to see her in the dark, pulls the hood of her sweater over her hair just in case.
She only half pays attention to the slides, too distracted by watching him, the way he moves, the tiny shifts in his expression as he speaks of the works that flash across the screen. He wanders the room as he talks and she cringes, as he draws near, looking intently down at her notebook and scribbling nonsense.
He pauses, just for a second, so briefly that Caroline prays she's imagined it.
It's possibly the most stressful hour and fifteen minutes of her life.
She lets out a sigh of relief when Klaus clicks the projector off and dismisses them, squints when the lights turn back on. Realizes, with a sinking feeling that she'll have to walk right passed him to get out of the room. Unless she wants to be a weirdo and climb over all the seats in the middle section to go down the second aisle. Which would probably just draw more attention to her. Several people have corrugated at the front to talk to him, and Caroline crosses her fingers that he'll be sufficiently distracted and she'll be able to sneak by.
Caroline tells herself that's entirely possible that he won't even recognize her fully dressed and without an inch of makeup slathered on. And then she tells herself that she wouldn't be disappointed, were that the case.
Such a lie.
A pointless one, as it turns out. Klaus looks up, at the exact wrong time, just as she'd hazarded a peek in his direction as she hit the last stair. His blue eyes widen in recognition and maybe some delight. He steps forward, as if he's going to speak to her but she shakes her head, a vehement denial, and speeds out of the room.
She refuses to allow herself to feel sad, as she walks away. Caroline liked her nicely compartmentalized life, thank you very much.
But it seemed as though the compartments are no longer content to stay tightly closed.
Caroline's surprised to see Klaus, when she steps out on stage. He's closer then he usually is, right in the front row. She slips in her high heels, has to grab the pole and swing around to cover.
She's been doing this for years, never gets nervous anymore. But her heart begins to beat a little faster, and the sweat on her palms might very well be a safety hazard.
A change of plans is necessary because she's so not up to her usual acrobatics. Katherine will think it's weird, but Caroline can handle her questions. Setting her back to the pole she slides down, teasingly opening her legs, running her fingertips up her thighs, flashing what's under her skirt, before closing them with a demure pout that leaves the crowd whistling.
Sliding back up she untucks her shirt, lazily letting her hands run over her body, and into her hair as she spins, pointedly avoiding looking in his direction.
She focuses on the music, keeping her movements slow and provocative, rolling her hips and arching her back. It's the longest performance of her life. Finally, she finishes her set, in her usual sparkly G-string, and struts backstage with a final kiss blown to the audience.
The applause level's about the same as it usually is, so she assumes no one's disappointed in her performance. Kat's waiting for her, with a raised brow and a robe, "Did you pull something out there? Cause that wasn't your usual style, Forbes."
"No, I'm fine. Don't worry about it." She shrugs into the robe, tying a tight knot to avoid Katherine's shrewd gaze.
"You sure? Because you can skip your first floor shift, if you want. The crowd's not that thick just yet and the other girl's will be fine with getting the tips."
Caroline bites her lip and considers the offer. It's generous, for Katherine. But hiding wouldn't solve anything. "You know what? Yeah, I'll skip it. But could you do me a teeny, tiny favor?"
Kat looks wary, "Maybe…"
"The guy that's been hanging around, the one I said was cool. Could you send him back to the dressing room?"
"No sex in my club, Caroline. The last thing I need is to get busted because the cops think my girls are doing something more than getting naked."
Caroline feels her face flame, "What? No!" she cries, indignant. "It's not like that."
"Please. He's been dying for a shot since he first walked in that door. And you've thrown him the sex eyes more than once, cupcake."
She splutters, her hands waving as she gropes for words, "Oh my god, Kat. Seriously? If I was interested I would not be dragging him to my tiny, curtained, not so private, cubicle. Second, I saw him this week. At school."
Katherine's eyes widen, understanding dawning, "Did he say something to you? Make you feel uncomfortable? Because I might be able to arrange to have him roughed up. If you wanted."
Kat's entirely serious and Caroline finds herself smiling. Because that was about the sweetest thing Katherine Pierce had possibly ever said and she kind of wants to hug the other woman. But Kat would kill her. "No, it's fine. I just want to talk to him, make it clear that he needs to keep what I do to himself. I think he's trustworthy but if not, well, I might take you up on your offer."
Kat nods in satisfaction, an oddly excited gleam in her eye, "Alright, if you're sure. I'll send him back and have Mason stay within earshot. Yell if you need any a kneecap broken."
She spins away, moving out into the club before Caroline can say thank you. Likely on purpose, as Kat wasn't really great at sentimental.
She makes her way back to the dressing room. Caroline ducks into her tiny area, leans into the mirror and methodically begins to repair her makeup. Her foundation's a victim of the lights this time, because she'd barely broken a sweat with her routine. She takes a deep breath and focuses on the task, trying to ignore the nerves twisting her stomach into knots.
Her hand trembles when she hears footsteps, and she sets her brush down when they pause just outside. Caroline slides the heavy red curtain back, looks up at Klaus warily. "Hi," Caroline greets him guardedly, before jerking her head to the side. "There's an extra stool over there. I think we need to get some things straight."
He looks a little amused at her brusque tone but obligingly grabs himself a seat. She turns away from him, meets his eyes in the mirror as he settles on to it. "Okay, number one, I'm going to need you to keep this away from school. If any of the trust fund legacy frat bros in my program knew about this I'd never hear the end of it."
He looks momentarily angry but his face smooths and he nods, "Of course, love. I'd not intended to say anything."
"Yeah, well calling my 'Mysti" when you saw me in class wouldn't have been exactly subtle, would it?"
He appears somewhat abashed, "Right. I'd always assumed it wasn't your real name, of course. But it was an instinct. I was just shocked to see you. Thrilled, really. Didn't really think."
Caroline studies him, the way he meets her eyes steadily. His contrition seems genuine so she decides that she might as well forgive him. No harm had been done, in the end. "It's Caroline, actually. But don't go using that one here, okay? Only my boss and a couple of the girls know it."
"I'm honoured," he murmurs.
The silence gets a little too heavy then. Caroline's suddenly very aware that they're mostly alone, and she's wearing very little. And she totally blames Kat for putting that thought in her head.
Conveniently ignoring the fact that Klaus has been a pretty frequent star in her sexual fantasies.
She forces a smile, a light tone, reaching out for a hair brush so she can occupy her hands. "Why are you here, anyway? You're usually an every other Saturday guy. That makes you a week and two days early."
A tiny smirk curls his mouth, "So you have noticed me."
Caroline rolls her eyes, "Yes. And noticing you tonight almost led to me cracking my head open on stage."
He winces, "Sorry. I'd have felt terrible. But, to answer your question, I wanted to see you. You looked rather spooked in class yesterday, and I wanted to see if I could do anything to ease that."
"Well, you have," Caroline tells him. And she's not lying. Were he a sleaze he would have tried to get something out of her before agreeing to keep quiet, but he hadn't even blinked before promising.
"And I'd like to ask you out," he continues, watching her carefully.
Maybe she'd spoken too soon.
Caroline's just opening her mouth to shut him down, but he hurries to speak. "And I'm not expecting anything. I've heard a few men attempt to come on to you, and some of your coworkers, very ineptly. I don't think your job means you're obligated to sleep with me. And I'm not assuming anything about your sexual likes and dislikes, based on your occupation."
She narrows her eyes, "Oh, really? Then why the interest?"
He shifts a bit, almost awkward, his palms running over his jeans. "I think it'll be easier if I show you. So Monday. Come to my studio space. I'll pick up lunch. Broad daylight. And we can leave the door open, if you'd feel more comfortable."
It only takes her a moment to make a decision. The idea of spending time with him outside the club, where she can be Caroline is appealing. She reaches over and snatches a pad of post-its and a pen from her bag. "Write down the address."
He does so quickly, with a small grin, letting his fingers linger over hers when he hands it back. "I look forward to seeing you."
She kind of agrees, a giddy warmth building, anticipation and excitement. "Until Monday. But I'm going to have to kick you out. My first set was terrible, so I'm going to have to make up for it by getting extra fancy in the next one.
His eyes widen, mouth falling open slightly. Caroline supresses a smirk, sure that his imagination has just run wild. But he's always been uncannily good at sensing her moods, pins her with a playful glare as he stands, "You're a little mean, sweetheart."
Caroline shrugs, unrepentant, "Part of my charm."
He reaches out to toy with a loose curl, the back of his hand just brushing the silk that covers her shoulder. Caroline's surprised by how disappointed she is when he pulls back. "Have a good evening, Caroline. And do be careful, please. I quite like your head as it is."
She nods, and he retreats, leaving her with a softly voiced goodnight.
She sleeps in on Monday, skipping Art History. Rolls out of bed, throws her hair in a messy bun. Dabs on a little mascara, a swipe of lip balm. Wears jeans, flats and a grey t-shirt she's had since high school.
Caroline's determined to make it clear that she's not Mysti, just in case Klaus still has any illusions.
She's never been to the address that he'd given her, the building far from her usual haunts. She feels plain, and a little out of place, amongst all the tattoos and piercings and unnatural hair colors the students inside sport. But no one gives her a second look, and soon she's standing outside a door with 'Klaus' scrawled across the whiteboard next to it.
Caroline takes a deep breath, and straightens her spine, before knocking loudly. There's a flurry of movement on the other side, and Klaus appears, looking more unkempt than usual. He smiles when he sees her, "Caroline. You're right on time."
"Also part of my charm," she tells him, standing up on her tiptoes to peer behind him. There's paint speckled on his forearms, a few smears of yellow on his shirt.
"Right. I got a little caught up in a piece. It's been giving me trouble for a while and I didn't set things up the way I wanted to for you…" he's rambling, running a hand through his hair and she can't help but find it endearing.
"I could come back?" she offers. "I have class at 3 but if this isn't a good time for you…"
He refuses immediately. "No! No, it's fine. Come in."
He steps back, and ushers her in, his hand landing on her back for a moment. "So, I paint. Mostly. I dabble in a few other things, but painting is my favorite. Always has been. But last year, I got sort of… stuck."
"Okay," Caroline says slowly, mystified by the story. "Artist's block. Didn't know that was a thing."
That coaxes another smile from him. "Nor did I, until I found myself afflicted, and unwilling to commit a thing to canvas. But then I was dragged out for my younger brother's birthday. Unwillingly, because his friends are idiots and Kol the worst of the lot once he's hit a certain level of intoxication."
"He was your brother?" Caroline asks. "The guy who passed out in my boobs?"
"I don't always claim him," Klaus jokes. "As I'm sure you can understand. But yes, we are related. And he gave me something of a gift, that night. Even if it was unwitting."
Klaus moves away from her, towards a stack of canvases on the far side of the room. Digs through them, before pulling one out and flipping it to face her. It's a woman's torso, partially in profile, in bold abstract lines. Curves of a breast, and a hip, the indents of a spine. Black, with splashes of purple and blue.
"Is that…me?" Caroline asks, tipping her head to the side to study it.
"It is. The first proper thing I'd painted in ages. I settled my brother into bed and went immediately into the studio, my mind filled with how you'd moved, the way your skin shifted over your muscles and bones. I had to paint it, right then."
"Oh," Caroline manages, at a loss. This hadn't been what she'd expected.
"There's more," he continued. "It's why I kept going back, at first. And then I felt strange, painting you without knowing you. So I started to talk to you, and that only made me want to paint you more, to see if I could capture you, your stubbornness and poise, in the lines and curves of your body."
"Can I see them?" she asks.
Klaus looks relieved, like he'd expected her to be angry. And she wasn't, not yet. She was still reserving the right, depending on what else he showed her. But the work wasn't lascivious at all, or overtly sexual. Didn't make her feel violated, or like an object. There was strength to the way he'd depicted her that appealed. There was no fragility, but a sense of controlled movement and power.
It's beautiful, and she wants to see more.
Wordlessly, he starts pulling canvases, and they're all much the same style. There's a study of her arm, hand clenched around the pole, the strength of her bicep hinted at. The curve of her shoulder, her face in shadow. Her crossed legs, as she twirls, the muscles of her thigh lovingly outlined. And so many more.
She's silent, for a long time, when he's finished. She takes another lap around the room, eyeing each piece in turn. "Why now?" she asks him, curious. She's yet to find anything in the pictures that upsets her. There's nothing that would give away her identity, for one. And they're very, very good. Caroline never thought she'd be anybody's muse, but she finds she doesn't hate it.
"Because I enjoy you, Caroline. But you've always been so carefully distant, when we've spoken. Hiding. Seeing you here, it made you more real, and even more appealing. I thought I'd best take a chance, or I'd regret it."
"So… you want to date me?" Caroline asks skeptically. She gets plenty of offers, but experience has taught her that some guys couldn't handle the reality of her job. "I'm not going to stop stripping, FYI. The money's too good, and I've still got a master's degree to pay for. I work Thursday through Saturday every single week and that's not going to change. Other people are going to see me ninety-five percent naked regularly. Boyfriends are strictly forbidden from the club, because that can get messy. Can you really handle all that?"
He doesn't hesitate, "Yes."
Caroline scoffs, "How do you know?"
Klaus steps closer, watches her carefully, before resting his palm on her shoulder. "I've thought about this extensively, love. You hide yourself, when you're on that stage. I saw tiny pieces, of who you really are, when we spoke and I managed to make you laugh. I want more of those. I want to study them, hoard them. And as long as they're only for me, I don't care about who sees the mask. Didn't you ever wonder why I never paid for a lap dance, love?"
She had, Caroline can grudgingly admit. He shelled out serious money for bourbon, but had never paid her to dance for him.
"It's because I want you to want to touch me. I want your skin burning because you need my hands on it." He steps into her, as he speaks, the hand on her shoulder gliding up, burrowing into her hair and encouraging her to tip her head back. And then his lips are on her throat, a whisper of a touch that leaves Caroline shivering. Her hands, almost without permission, come up to clutch his shoulders because her knees actually feel a little weak.
Because yeah, he was totally living up to her fantasies right now. "Let me take you to dinner," he murmurs, kissing a spot just below her ear.
Her nails digging into his shirt in response, "I have class tonight," she tells him, tipping her head to the side to encourage his mouth.
"Tomorrow," he offers, voice pitched low and tempting, a palm gliding down her spine. "Anywhere you want."
She finds herself nodding, her eyes drifting shut. His lips slant over hers, but it's far too simple of a brush, and she bites back a groan of protest as he pulls away.
She's shocked at how shaky she is, and is really glad that the molded cup of her bra hides the hard point of her nipple. It's been way too long since she's felt like this.
Klaus clears his throat, and she's gratified to see she's not the only one affected, his eyes are dark and there's the faintest flush on his cheekbones. "Can I pick you up?" he asks. "Or we could meet somewhere, if you'd be more comfortable."
Out of habit, Caroline names a Mexican restaurant a few blocks from her place, asks if he knows it. Klaus nods, "I'll be there. Six?"
"Make it six-thirty?" Caroline requests. She's got class until five, and she kind of wants to pull out the big guns, primping wise. She's never been shy about going after what she wants, doing whatever it took to make things happen. She wants him, has for a while now, but had been too wrapped up in her self-imposed rules to admit it.
She's so done with that.
But he's still being careful, controlled. Caroline's already plotting how she's going to make him lose it.
Klaus grins, pleased and completely oblivious to the plans she has percolating, "It's a date."
She takes Klaus' hand as they walk out of the restaurant, pulls him in the direction of her apartment. Dinner had gone even better than anticipated, the sparks she'd felt before (and forced herself to ignore) igniting and running rampant. He was dryly funny, attentive. Interested in her opinions and her plans. Passionate about art, and willing to answer her questions about it without sounding the least bit condescending.
It's definitely the best date she's been on in years. Possibly ever. And she's totally unwilling to end it with something as tepid as a simple goodnight kiss.
She might even be a rebel and skip art history again tomorrow, planning on getting very little sleep tonight. Surely Klaus will be willing to offer a little tutoring? After she rocked his world, of course.
He glances down at their joined hands curiously, "May I ask where you're taking me, love?"
"My place," Caroline replies simply.
Klaus pauses, just for a moment. Caroline doesn't and pulls him along with her. "So you've decided…"
"To give you a shot, yes," she confirms, not looking at him. "You seem to get what I do better than most people. A lot of guys don't really understand that it's not necessarily about sex for me. It's a performance. And I'm great at it, and I enjoy it. Doesn't mean I want to sleep with every guy who'll throw a wad of cash at me."
He stops once more, but uses his hold to tug her back, until she stumbles into his chest with a laugh. It's muffled by his mouth, pressing against hers hungrily, his tongue practiced and determined and out for her sanity.
She opens to him with a moan, sliding her hands into his hair and pressing the length of her body against him. Her thigh slips between his, rubbing against the growing evidence of just how much he wants her. He groans, clutching her hips and rocking against her. A car drives past, something unintelligible (but probably rude) yelled out the window. They break away, Klaus with a curse and Caroline with a giggle. "So not the place," she manages, breathless from the kiss. "I'm only like two blocks away."
Klaus kisses her again, softer this time, "Lead the way."
She laces their fingers together, sets a brisk pace that he matches easily. They don't talk, content to exchange heated glances, their bodies brushing deliberately. It's the subtlest form of foreplay she's ever endured, but it raises her temperature more effectively than anything more blatant ever has.
There really is something to be said for chemistry.
Her hand shakes, as she tries to unlock her door, and the kisses he's planting on the nape of her neck are not helpful at all. When she gets the door open she stumbles through, whirling and slamming him against it so it closes with a bang, clawing at his shirt. Klaus helps her toss it aside, pulling her back and sealing his mouth over hers. His mouth is frantic, but his hands are reverent, tracing down her sides like he's memorizing the curves he finds.
Caroline's impatient, reaching up and shoving the straps of her dress aside, peeling the stretchy fabric down easily and kicking it aside. Klaus makes a noise, low and appreciative, pushing off the door and walking her backwards. His hands smoothly dispose of her bra, an arm wrapping around her back to steady her as his head dips and his tongue plays with her nipple.
Caroline arches back, a silent plea for more, and lets out a whine when he sucks roughly. They stumble, kicking off their shoes, clumsy even though neither of them had bothered with alcohol, before running into her couch. She pushes him down, climbing onto his lap, fumbling with his belt buckle. Klaus brushes her hands away, slouching back into the cushions, and the widening of his legs leaving her thighs spread over his. He runs a single fingertip over the front of her panties, stroking over the damp spot that's formed and then up higher, brushing over her clit and making her shudder. He presses harder, and Caroline lets out a ragged curse. It's not nearly enough, and she stands up. "Take your pants off," she tells him, shimmying the scrap of fabric that covers her down.
Klaus doesn't listen, sitting up and grabbing her hips. He nudges her feet apart, "In a minute," he grits out, letting his hands slip down her legs. His thumbs trace the soft skin of her inner thighs, inching back upwards tortuously slowly. "I've been thinking of this for months, Caroline. Watching you on that stage, beautiful but so controlled. I want you to moan for me love, come apart around my fingers calling my name."
She's onboard, is about to bite out a demand for him to hurry, but Klaus hooks a hand around her calve, lifting it so her knee rests on his shoulder lips brushing over her slit. "Yes," Caroline hisses out, threads her hand through his hair and pulls him into her, writhing against his mouth.
His hands clutch her ass, tilting her hips, his tongue swiping through her folds before landing on her clit. Broad licks and teasing flutters, the occasional hard pull that leaves her gasping. Her toes curl painfully, her head thrown back. He's merciless, pushing her higher, until she breaks apart with a cry, slumping forward as she shudders.
Klaus catches her, arranging her boneless limbs until she's sprawled across his lap, his voice a low rumble as he tells her that she's incredible.
A compliment she's not sure she deserves. Yet.
When she's caught her breath Caroline smiles into the skin of his shoulder, grinds her hips down against his. He's rock hard, still confined in his jeans, and a hoarse moan spills from his lips, his head tipping back against the couch. She kisses his throat, nibbles at his collarbone.
She moves against him again, slow and languid, enjoying the renewed flutters of desire it drags out of her. She stands, ignoring the shakiness of her legs. Klaus looks up at her with something like wonder. Caroline arches a brow, "Condom?" she asks
"Pocket," he rasps, reaching down for it.
"Take off your pants and put it on," Caroline instructs. She brings her hands up to cup her breasts, enjoys the heated way he watches her as she rolls her nipples. His hands are unsteady, as he strips away the rest of his clothes, rolls the condom down the length of his cock, shamelessly stroking himself as he watches her. Caroline bites her lip at the sight, finding that it turns her on more then she'd expected.
Files that thought away for later exploration.
Caroline turns away from him, lowering herself into his lap, the lean planes of his chest cradling her back. She can feel his cock, hot and hard against her ass, and he lets out a tortured groan when she lifts up, reaching below her and pressing the tip of him to her entrance. She sinks down slowly, swirling her hips teasingly as she goes, clamping down hard once he's inside of her.
He stiffens, his "Fuck, Caroline," muffled by her hair.
She gropes for his hands, pulls one to her breast and directs the other between her legs, before she reaches behind her and wraps her own around his neck. "I want you to touch me, Klaus," she tells him, waits for him to obey. And then she starts rolling her hips, a mimicry of the way he's seen her dance a hundred times.
His breath comes out in harsh pants against her skin, and she calls his name when he bites down on her shoulder, just as he begins to rub her clit.
He begins to meet her motions, pushing up and driving deeper and she turns her head, pulling his lips to hers in a kiss that's more passion then finesse. He doesn't mind, sucking her lower lip into his mouth. They move together frantically, rough and perfect, and she's just about there, but his arms band around her, slowing her movements.
She whines, high pitched and embarrassingly needy. "Klaus, please. I'm so close."
He barely moves, tracing soft circles on her clit that leave her eyes rolling back and her thighs twitching. "Slower, love," he coaxes. "We've got plenty of time." He adds more pressure, and she tries to speed up again, but he makes a noise of admonishment, "Just feel it. Isn't it good? So much better then I'd imagined," he breathes.
She nods, because she agrees. Her imagination hadn't prepared her for the reality of being with him, the callouses on his fingers dragging over her most sensitive nerves, the scent of his skin all around her. It's blissful, but Caroline can only take so much. Her muscles begin to tighten up, searching for a second release. He reads her cues perfectly, letting up so she can rock her hips a touch faster, chasing what she so desperately needs. The shallow thrusts leave her keening, and the pressure snaps unexpectedly, her mouth falling open in a silent scream. Her spasming muscles pulls Klaus' own finish from him. He comes with a groan, his mouth buried in the curve of her shoulder.
The pant together, almost in synch. She scrapes her nails through his hair, savors his pleased murmur. His palm rests on her belly, fingers stroking her skin soothingly.
He drops a kiss on her shoulder, and when he speaks it's with a grumble, and great reluctance, "As much as I'd like to stay here you have to get up, sweetheart."
Caroline makes a face, but she shifts, standing up to he can pull off the condom. She grabs the box of tissues on the side table, and he takes it with a grateful smile. She clears her throat, feeling strangely shy, even after everything they'd just done, "Do you want to stay?" she asks tentatively.
He looks up at her like she's insane, "Is that a serious question?"
Caroline huffs, crosses her arms over her breasts, "A valid one! We did technically just go on our first date, you know. Maybe you want to work up to the whole spending the night thing!"
Klaus rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. He stands, unashamed of his nakedness, and tugs her arms away from her body, pulling her into him. "I'd love to stay. And see your bedroom. And your bathroom. Tonight, tomorrow, whenever you'll have me."
Caroline pretends to think it over, drawling, "Well, if you're that good on the couch, I suppose I owe it to myself to see what you can do in a bed."
He laughs, gets a look on his face like he's going to be making a snarky retort. But Caroline cuts him off, with a kiss, licking eagerly into his mouth. He looks a little dazed, when she pulls back, so maybe it's cheating when she mutters, "Race you!" and darts away.
He follows, and she dodges before he can catch her, ending up on top of him across her bed.
She's pretty sure Klaus doesn't mind, at least he seems fine with the turn of events, looking up at her with bright eyes when she straddles his abdomen. "I'm beginning to get that you like to be on top," he says, stroking her thighs.
Caroline throws her hair over one shoulder, kisses his chest. "Sometimes," she confirms. "But I'm pretty flexible. Figuratively and literally. Totally up for experimenting."
His breaths grow shallower, as she makes her way down, tasting his skin as she goes. Whatever retort he was formulating comes out garbled, when she licks the head of his cock.
But they do experiment. Extensively.