Notes: klarolineauweek Day Four! My most controversial day, thus far LOL. Thanks to those who've left reviews! A sequel to the Supervillianess/Superhero one is pretty likely. Hope you enjoy!
By The Pricking Of My Thumbs
(Prompt: For day 21, could you write something about Caroline being Katherine's maid, Klaus felt intrigued by her after meeting her, but she suspects something and tries to avoid him. Title from Macbeth. Rated T.)
Caroline attributed her initial uneasiness to shock – having stepped down from the carriage, assisted by a footman, her eyes had widened and her lips parted, upon glimpsing the familiar façade of Pavenham Park. She had occupied the servant's quarters for three years, serving the current Viscountess. Abruptly dismissed with most of the staff, due to the couples' finances being scandalously disarrayed, Caroline had been left scrambling for a new positon. A comfortable, permanent post had been hard to find ever since.
But Caroline had high hopes for her most recent gamble.
Miss Katerina Petrova is stunningly beautiful, and Caroline senses a wealth of determination to the girl, and more than average brains. Miss Petrova was determined to make a good match and Caroline was betting on her ability to make it happen. She had set about making herself invaluable, her attention to detail and skill with a needle being the things that had elevated her above her mother's housemaid status as a young girl. Katerina needed any edge she could get, her murky background a hindrance to many potential suitors, and Caroline's keen eye for fashion (and her vast knowledge of the workings of the nobility) provided one.
Caroline did not much like the young woman, truth be told. Found her a bit cold and calculating. Often snobbish. But that was fine as long as she was well paid and not mistreated. In the end Caroline rather suspected that those exact qualities would be what made Katerina's husband hunt a smashing success.
Caroline had been coaching her, helping her smooth out her accent, thankful for the lessons Tyler Lockwood, heir to the title of the household she had been born into, had once bestowed on her. Katerina's dresses were just on the edge of scandalous, per Caroline's design, her hair always arranged to show off the flawless beauty of her face. All the better to lure a man with deep pockets and little sense. Caroline was certain that such a man would serve Katerina's purposes perfectly.
It could be exhausting work and sleep was scarce. Caroline had scrambled for the last portion of their journey, trying to repair the damage the long carriage ride had done to Katerina's hair and ensemble.
They had high expectations for this particular invitation. Katerina was certain that, if she played her cards exactly right, she would be leaving with a betrothal secured. Caroline fervently hoped that the girl was correct.
Her frantic attention to Katerina had meant that she had paid no attention to the scenery, had not noted the familiar roads and countryside. Lord and Lady Saltzman, Pavenham Park's former occupants, had retreated to the small country estate of Lady Saltzman's niece Lady Elena Salvatore. The soft hearted girl easily convincing her doting husband to take pity on her only living relation. Pavenham itself was entailed, but rumor was that it, along with the rest of the Viscount's possessions (those that could not be sold to cover the debts resulting from his excesses with drink and gambling) were being rented out.
Caroline thought it is odd, to think of another family living in it. Different servants seeing to its upkeep. She glances at the people who have corrugated, and are watching Katerina's approach. Narrows her eyes suspiciously, because something seems off. The two men at the forefront are not speaking and something about the way they stand, so straight and still, nary a twitch or fidget out of either of them, sets off a low alarm in the back of Caroline's brain.
She had been warned of people like that. From her father, who cautioned her to beware of men who seemed impervious to things that should make a normal person uncomfortable. He had made her sit for hours as a child, teaching her to clear her mind and protect her thoughts. Caroline had always thought the exercises silly, his tales fanciful. But she had enjoyed spending time with him, whiling away her free moments with him in the stables amongst the horses.
Now, she wonders if she should have taken his words about unnatural creatures more seriously. The sun was hot, and the bugs were out, buzzing distractingly. But neither of the men seemed to notice, and in truth, the flies gave them a wide berth.
Caroline quickly schools her face into a pleasant mask, pushing her wild suspicions away, and falls into step a few paces behind Caroline. She keeps her eyes low, but does her best to observe. She had not yet encountered Katerina's suitor, a Niklaus Mikaelson. Or his brother, that Katerina spoke of in worryingly blushing tones. Caroline had tried to gently steer the conversations back to Niklaus, curious if there was anything Katerina could tell her that might be an advantage they could press. But she had only gotten the barest of information. Handsome, but in a different way than his brother. Quiet, but watchful. Interested in art, horses and chess.
Caroline had faith that Katerina would be wise, sensed that the girl had little choice, no family or wealth to fall back on, save for the kindness of her sponsor.
The men waiting to greet them are accompanied by an older woman and a handful of footmen. The footmen descend on the carriage, with a nod from the fairer man, and Caroline bites her tongue to keep in the directions she wants to bark. She had packed with great care, and several items in the smaller valises were delicate.
Caroline restrains herself, with great effort. It was not her place to order servants about in this household.
Yet.
One of the men steps forward, takes Katerina's hand and drops a kiss on the back of it, murmuring a compliment, and inquiring about the journey. Katerina flushes prettily, answers politely. The man has darker hair, and is impeccably dressed. Caroline could not wait to make the acquaintance of his valet and compliment his work. She knows that the better coiffed of the pair is Elijah, the brother, from Katerina's descriptions.
But it is the other man who catches Caroline's attention, and not only because he is attractive. He is, of course, with his windblown curls and full lips. His dress is not as fine as his brother's, less strictly adhering to the fashions – sleeves not quite as full, his doublet not as tightly cinched. He gives the appearance of a man who prefers utility to style, though his clothing is fine and he wears it well.
He is also looking at her, with something like interest in the deep blue of his eyes.
Caroline is used to being invisible, prefers it, to the odd man who thought that her station meant that they could take what they wanted from her. But this man seems to see her, and though she detects some appreciation, it is not base or lecherous. It doesn't make her skin crawl, or have her itching to flee.
Nor does it make her feel at ease. It is as if he is assessing her, and has yet to decide if he finds her wanting.
Caroline stiffens her spine, lifting her chin just a touch, and waits for the greetings to be finished. She nods at the head housekeeper, once the woman is introduced, follows when told, to assist in preparing a bath for Katerina, to wash the dust of travel from her person before dinner.
She feels eyes on her back, as she mounts the stone steps to the manor's door, knows without a doubt to whom they belong to.
She only hopes that Niklaus Mikaelson remembers his manners if their paths cross again.
Ghosting through the familiar hallways once Katerina is abed, Caroline lets her mind wander. Her initial impression, that something was not right with the occupants of Pavenham Park, had yet to go away.
The servants were unnaturally quiet, and Caroline had not managed to unearth even the tiniest nugget of gossip from them. The Mikaelsons were either the best employers in creation, or the worst, and it was fear not loyalty that kept things so circumspect below stairs.
She has no candle, confident in her ability to navigate her way from the guest wing to the servant's sleeping quarters. She had made the same trip dozens upon dozens of times. Elena had been a frequent guest of Lady Saltzman's and her own ladies maid – a timid little mouse of a thing named April - got sick on long carriage rides. Elena was too kind and compassionate to replace her, so Caroline was made to do double duty when Lady Saltzman's niece visited.
She passes an open doorway, keeping her eyes straight ahead. Is startled, when a throat clears behind her. She jumps, whirling, her hand clutching at her heart. Niklaus Mikaelson merely looks amused, lounging in the doorway in his shirtsleeves, a glass of liquor in his hand. Caroline dips a hasty curtsey, "Beg pardon, My Lord. I did not see you there."
He waves her apology away, "No matter. I am surprised you could see much of anything in the dark. We have plenty of candles, love. No need to fumble your way about."
Caroline straightens, keeping her eyes down. He is barefoot and her eyes widen, drifting away from the shocking sight. "It is no trouble, My Lord. I am familiar with this residence."
"Really?" he drawls, sounding interested. "Do tell."
Caroline bows her head, her hands twisting in her apron as she attempts to make a graceful retreat, "I do not wish to bore you, My Lord. I am certain that you have far more important things to do then listen to my employment history."
"I do not, actually," he tells her. Caroline cringes, feeling her chances of escape slipping away. "And I have been meaning to speak with you. My family takes our privacy very seriously, and I do like to impress that upon that to the servants, even the ones that are with us temporarily."
That is something of an understatement, in Caroline's opinion. In addition to the lack of chatter amongst the servant's in residence she had not been able to glean much from other sources. The Mikaelsons had money to burn, according to the whispers. The title was new, and no one was entirely sure where it came from. They had been in the country for a scant few months, and tales of where they had been before differed greatly, depending on whom you spoke to.
"I assure you, My Lord, that I would not betray any confidences."
"Hmm, we shall see," he speaks softly, contemplatively, and drains the last of his drink. "Step into the library. So we might chat more comfortably."
Caroline takes a deep breath, and it is shaky, her nerves twisting her stomach into knots. But she has little choice, so she takes a hesitant step forward. Lord Mikaelson's hand lands on her back, and Caroline starts. He pushes, gently encouraging her towards a leather seat. "Sit, love," he says, and Caroline understands that it's an order. "Get comfortable. I shall pour you a drink."
She bites back a protest. Caroline has never had a drop of alcohol other than an occasional sip of mead or sherry. She knows the liquor in the cut crystal bottles is more potent, and that could be dangerous. She really ought to keep her wits about her. But she cannot risk offending him, so she takes the glass he presses into her hands, takes the smallest of sips. It burns and she struggles not to react.
Lord Mikaelson makes a low noise of amusement, "It does take some getting used to, I will admit." He steps in front of her, seats himself on the table that sits before her chair. Caroline blinks at him in surprise, and confusion. "Now, your name is Caroline, yes?" She nods, brows furrowing. "And how old are you, Caroline?"
"Twenty," she answers automatically.
"How do you enjoy being a ladies maid?"
It is not a question she has ever been asked, not something that she ever thought she would. Her answer comes out more bluntly then she means it to, "I like it more than I liked being a laundry maid."
He makes another of those soft noises, a precursor to a laugh, reaching out and grasping her free hand. He flips it, cradling it in one of his while his fingertips trace over her palm. Her fingers twitch, an instinctive reaction to the caress, gooseflesh racing up her arm. "It would be a pity," he murmurs. "To have all this pretty skin ruined by something as mundane as laundry."
Caroline blushes, squirms uncomfortably. Her hands are likely rougher than he is used to, the pads of her fingers toughened from repeated pricks of sewing needles. But he does not seem to mind, his fingers tracing upwards and stroking the fluttering pulse of her wrist.
This is highly improper, but she has no idea how to extricate herself.
He drops her hand, shifting back to study her face. "How did you make the transition?" he asks. "It is a rare feat, you must admit."
Caroline clears her throat, "I… learned to read and write when I was young. A friend taught me. I was pressed into helping Lady Lockwood with her correspondence, and then little duties were added. My sewing was praised, so I was elevated."
His eyes narrow, "And why did you leave the Lockwood's service?"
Caroline presses her lips together, considers how best to answer. The truth was that Tyler Lockwood's designs on her grew beyond friendship, as he had aged. And that his father's failing health meant that his mother was determined that he needed to take a wife, sooner than most. Lady Lockwood had not needed Caroline around, turning Tyler's head. A stellar character reference had landed her in an elderly ladies' household. And, upon that woman's death her granddaughter had found Caroline a position with Lady Saltzman. But she highly doubted Lord Mikaelson cared about the particulars.
So she lies, "I found myself curious, about the world outside the place I had grown up. Lady Lockwood was kind enough to find me a position, in another part of the country."
"And was your curiosity satisfied? Or do you long to see more, perhaps leave England all together?"
Caroline's eyes widen, wondering at how he had read her so accurately. Caroline dreams of the sea, of lands she has only read about in snatches of books secreted from the libraries of her kinder employers. Lord Mikaelson grins, almost boyish, and distinctly pleased, "Ah, just as I had thought. You do a good job at feigning meekness, love. But your eyes do not lie if one knows how to look."
She sits up straighter, having forgotten her posture as she had sipped her drink and watched him. His words alarm her, and she stutters for an apology, "I… I am sorry, My Lord. I do hope I have not offended you…"
His skin on hers, when he takes her hand startles her, her teeth snapping together audibly. "You have not," he tells her. Caroline goes still, when his hand cups her jaw. "Shh, love," he croons, "I just want to test one little thing." His grip tightens, tilting her head slightly down, his eyes boring into hers. They dilate, his pupils overtaking the blue of his irises and he speaks firmly, "Take off your dress for me."
He releases her and Caroline's jaw drops, her hand whipping out intent on slapping him soundly. He catches her wrist, in a swift movement, the set of his face calculating. "Now that is interesting," he murmurs. "Apologies for my forwardness, but I had to be sure."
Caroline is shaking, her anger overriding her reason, "How dare you?" she hisses. She shoves the chair back, moving away from him, "I am not…"
She finds herself against a wall, his hand cradling the back of her head, protecting it from the impact. She blinks in shock, because she had not seen him move, had barely felt herself move, and they are several meters from where they had started. His voice draws her attention back to him, "Tell me, Caroline. What is your father's name?"
Caroline presses her lips together stubbornly, shifting her head so she is looking passed him. She feels his body shake this time, the low rich sound of his laughter reaching her ears. He pulls her cap from her head, followed by the pins that hold her hair in place. Caroline goes rigid, closing her eyes and refusing to think about the heat of his body pressed against hers. "You do not truly have to tell me, sweetheart. Because I'm fairly certain I already know. Lord Lockwood, unlike most of his peers, was not a man of leisure. Had some very interesting hobbies. Was often accompanied by his groom, a man named William Forbes. Together, in their prime, they were just about the best vampire hunters the world has ever seen."
Heaven help her but her father had been right.
There is only one conclusion Caroline can draw. "You are one of them, then? A vampire?" The question comes out heavily laced with resignation.
"One of the first," he confirms easily, his hands sifting through her hair oddly soothing and hypnotic.
"Are you going to kill me?" Caroline asks, proud that though her voice is small it does not waver. Her eyes are still closed so she does not see him move. But she lets out a gasp, feeling his lips on her throat, the rasp of his tongue tasting her skin.
His words brush against her skin, "Because of your father? No. He only killed those that made a spectacle of themselves. Saved me the trouble. And I find myself most interested in how he taught you to do what should be impossible."
Caroline swallows hard. Licks her dry lips. Lord Mikaelson's eyes follow the movement, a hunger in his gaze. But Caroline finds she needs more than that poor excuse for an answer, and decides she has little to lose from presuming more. "Then afterwards, once I am no longer of use. Do I die then?"
"I find that I do not particularly want you to," he tells her, sounding almost as surprised as she. His mouth lowers, nudging her severe collar aside. "I think you will make a glorious vampire. That watching you learn to take what you want will be endlessly fascinating. But, I have a plan in place, love. One I have spent centuries working on. I will not have anything disrupting it, not even a fascinating little thing like you. So I suppose your fate is in your hands."
Caroline finds that she does not mind the idea. Welcomes it, because her life has so often been subject to the whims of others.
She forces her eyes open, staring at him warily, "I do not want to die," she tells him resolutely.
Lord Mikaelson looks satisfied, a faint smirk curling his mouth. His hands skim her curves, the ones her shapeless grey dress conceals, a touch of possessiveness in his grasp. And something in Caroline likes it, though she knows she should not.
"I thought not. Your sharp mind and iron spine won't allow you to give. I can use that. Tell me, sweetheart, just how attached are you to Katerina?"
"Not particularly, Lord Mikaelson," Caroline allows.
His smirk widens, eyes lighting up with mischief, Caroline's heart speeds up, shifting restlessly against him in response. His low, intimate tone does not help to dull the unfamiliar twinges low in her belly, "Excellent. I'm certain we can work things out in a manner that will benefit us both. And, love? I think you should call me Klaus."
Closed Timelike Curve
(Prompt: time travel! Caroline is accidentally sent to the future by the latest big bad and requests help from future!klaus to get back to present time. Rated T).
It became clear – quickly, alarmingly super crystal clear – that they were seriously outgunned. The latest threat to Mystic Falls – some sort of freaky cult of white eyed weirdos who seemed to think that the town had something they needed to become immortal (but a good kind of immortal? Not the blood drinking kind. Caroline honestly wasn't clear on the details). Bonnie had been knocked out, a blast of a witch's power sending her hurtling across the room and into a wall. She'd landed in a crumpled heap, blood darkening her hair. Caroline had seen red, and bared her fangs. Let out a noise of fury. Torn from her throat it was a rough animalistic sound. She'd charged, her rage making her reckless.
Stupid. So freaking stupid.
Another witch had come out from nowhere (and Caroline was going to shove something pointy through Damon's eyeball for his half ass recon) palm raised and chanting. Caroline's muscles locked, her chest constricting, and she'd been dragged across the room. She heard Enzo's hoarse shout, but she couldn't turn to face him. Magic lifted her aloft and a low buzzing sound filled her ears. It grew louder, and louder, the pitch increasing and she squeezed her eyes shut because it hurt.
The witches drew nearer, all three of them. The pressure around her ramped up and Caroline could barely breathe, felt like her bones were being ground to dust inside her skin. Her mouth opened and she felt herself scream, the hoarse tear of it making her wince.
But Caroline couldn't actually hear it, couldn't hear anything. For a moment she could breathe, finally. But she didn't have time to be relieved, could barely manage to peel her eyes open. She tried to fight through the agony her body was suffering, wanted to check on her friends.
She doesn't get the chance. The pain is gone, but she still felt like she was floating, the room around her weirdly insubstantial seeming. Almost flickering, like she was watching it on an old TV with bad reception.
And then there was nothing.
But only for a moment.
Caroline's eyes fly open and once again she's deprived of air, her lungs burning. There's a hand around her throat, and someone's on top of her. Someone male, and naked, a lean body pinning her down. She panics, tries to thrash, to fight. But she's easily held down, so much weaker than whoever has her in their grasp. She struggles to focus, her wild eyes landing on a face. She half expects a smirk, icy blue eyes. But the pair that peer down at her are darker a darker shade, burning, with a depth of rage she's never been on the receiving end of, despite their rocky past.
Last she'd heard Klaus was in New Orleans, dealing with some serious Jerry Springer drama. Why is he here, looking like he wants to tear her head off?
She tries to form his name, her lips shaping the syllables weakly. She feels her eyes prickle, and begin to water. Klaus grits out a curse, sounding disgusted, but his iron grip loosens the smallest amount. "Who are you?" he demands.
The small stream of air she manages to suck in burns, and she swallows with great difficulty. Caroline wants to snap back something witty, a sharp stab of betrayal making her shaky, and ask if he's forgotten her so easily. But she can only barely manage to choke out, "C-C-Caroline." It hurts, that she has to, and she blinks furiously to keep the tears at bay.
The noise Klaus makes is feral, his face changes, and she freezes underneath him, watching his double fangs warily. He speaks in a low tone, dangerous and barely controlled, "Try again, sweetheart. Caroline died twenty-seven years ago. I personally dealt with the witches who ended her. I'd thought I'd seen the last of their coven, stamped out any straggler's pathetic ideas of vengeance. But it seems that's not the case." His thumb strokes her jaw, a mockery of a lover's caress, "If you're a good girl, and help me find whoever made you look like her, I'll kill you quickly."
Caroline goes still, mind going racing at his words. Her hands fly to clutch at him, needing an anchor, her nails digging in to his forearms. "What?" she croaks, "Dead? I'm not dead, Klaus."
He draws back, a flicker of something like doubt softening his eyes. But his hold remains punishing, "You're not Caroline either. There's no other side, no way to get her back. Yet, at least."
"Yeah, because I didn't die!" she exclaims, words spilling out frantically. "The witches did something to me, some freaky levitation chanting thing. I felt like I was being put through a meat grinder and then poof! Nothing." Caroline pauses, breathing deeply, now that Klaus' hand has loosened enough to allow her to do so properly. It hits her then, something he'd said, "Twenty-seven years?! Seriously?"
Klaus sighs, his gaze calculating. "It's entirely possible I'm going to regret this," he mutters. She feels his hand cupping her jaw, then a quick jerk.
Followed by nothing, once again.
Caroline awakens, for the second time, incredibly pissed. In less pain, which you'd think would be a bonus. Until you realized that you were in a creepy dank dungeon.
She rolls into a sitting position, wincing as she cracks her neck. Glances across the room, to where Klaus is leaning against the wall watching her carefully. "Do you remember who I am this time?" she asks testily. "Or do we have to go through that whole song and dance again? At least you're wearing pants this time."
He barely reacts, beyond a small switch of his lips, "I think I'm allowed to dress how I see fit in the privacy of my own bed, love. You were the one who invaded it."
Caroline sends him a cold smile, pitches her voice sugar sweet and mocking, "Guess I'm just lucky you were alone. That would have been an awkward threesome."
Klaus expression remains unreadable, her dig brushed off. "It really is a remarkable approximation. It's a pity I'll have to kill the witch who engineered it, should it prove false. They've got real talent."
Caroline leans forward, her hands curling around the edge of the cot she's on. "It's not an approximation," she spits. "My name is Caroline Forbes. I was born in Mystic Falls, Virginia in October of 1992. I met you officially on my 18th birthday because you'd tried to have me killed. Really didn't improve my first impression of you, which was murderous psycho, which I made that time you turned my boyfriend into your hybrid slave."
But Klaus dismisses her words, "All things that wouldn't have been difficult to uncover, with a little careful digging."
Caroline throws her hands up, surging to her feet, "Oh my god. Do you want me to recite a conversation? Something just between us? Rome, Paris, Tokyo. Ring any bells? Magellan, who must have had some serious patience if he really was your friend. Because you're an infuriating asshat! Or, I know, how about I tell you about that scar on chest? The mole on your hip. I licked it when my hand was around your cock, remember? Or is that not proof enough? Have you been spreading that around? Because I know I kept the details to myself."
She's stalked forward, while she ranted, her hands reaching out to grip the bars. Klaus looks momentarily stricken, as close to bewildered as she's ever seen him, before his careful mask of boredom falls back into place. He remains unmoved, makes no motion to free her. "It's not possible," he says, though he sounds less sure.
Caroline lets her head rest on the bars with a groan, "Did you see a body? Do I have a tombstone somewhere? Do you send tacky flowers every once in a while?"
He shakes his head, "There was a fire. It drove your friends out of the house. Destroyed half the town. There was nothing of Caroline left to bury."
"Because I wasn't dead!" Caroline insists. It's the closest she's come to stomping her feet since she was a child, but she's so incredibly frustrated. She takes a deep breath, tries to sound reasonable, "Klaus, come on. The witches did something to me. Sent me here. I don't know why. But you can find someone to send me back, right? And I'll be out of your hair."
The suggestion does the opposite of what she'd intended, his expression going thunderous, "In all my centuries on earth, all the odd and impossible things I've seen and heard and done, I've never heard so much as a whisper that suggests time travel's a possibility. So logically, that would lead me to believe that it's not."
Caroline snorts, "Yeah, says the guy whose sperm miraculously started working after 'all his centuries.' Where is the little ankle biter these days?"
"Nonexistent," Klaus clips out. "As it always was. Which is precisely my point, sweetheart. That proved to be a lie. A rather elaborate one, but the goal behind it was common enough. It's most complimentary, don't you think? Such planning and care all for me. But it's always for naught. All these witches thinking they can best me, and yet one never has. Oh, they've won a skirmish or two, but that's it. Honestly, it's surprising they've not died out as a race, with their complete lack of common sense."
Caroline blinks, shocked at the information. "And that's what you think this is? Another attack?"
Klaus pushes off from the wall, shrugging, his nonchalance grating on her already frayed nerves, "Perhaps not a direct one. It may just be a distraction technique. We shall see. The Bennett witch is en route. She'll be here tomorrow, and we'll attempt to sort this mess out."
He leaves without another word, his footsteps ascending the stairs quickly. Caroline's teeth grind together, her hands shaking the bars forcefully. They don't budge, because of course Klaus' dungeon would be top of the line and sturdy. Caroline lets out a frustrated cry. "You'd better be planning on feeding me!" she shouts, knowing Klaus can hear her.
There's no answer, not that she'd expected one. Klaus seems determined to play this cold, distant and calculating. And maybe she gets that. If he'd taken pains to exterminate a pile of witches to avenge her that means that he'd been hit hard by her death. Mourned her. Her popping up was likely a lot to take in.
Still, didn't make her feel better about her current state. Caroline flops down on the cot, her hands clenched into tight fists as she quivers in anger and exasperation, tries to calm herself.
There were bright sides here. Little glimmers of hope. He'd sent for Bonnie, and surely Bonnie would know her? Caroline tells herself that she only has to hold on for a little while.
Then she can punch Klaus' stupid face for not believing her. She'd never manage it normally but Caroline's pretty sure that snapping her neck and dumping her in a cell earned her a free shot.
Caroline huffs, trying to get comfortable. Quickly grows bored and considers shouting a request for a freaking book or something. But her stubbornness wins out, her pride refusing to allow her to ask for anything.
A distraction comes, in the form of a selection of blood bags is delivered by a dark haired vampire shortly, after Klaus had left. She takes the B+ and drinks it all in one go, the lingering soreness in her throat immediately eased.
So maybe she won't punch Klaus as hard as she can.
But she's still totally punching him.
An Afternoon's Discoveries (Part Two)
(A continuation to the historical in which Caroline is a widow who's trying to get pregnant in order to not be married off again. The original drabble can be found in the first half of Chapter 14. Smut. A lot of it.)
She brought a book with her, upstairs to the room she and Klaus have claimed for their trysts. Caroline is unsure of exactly when Klaus will be able to sneak away and she has nothing pressing to accomplish. He was set to be in meetings with his father's solicitors, had promised that he would do his best to hurry them along. They were merely coming to check that he had not burnt the property to the ground, Klaus had said. Joked, with a casualness that made Caroline hate the Duke, despite the fact that she had never set eyes on the man, that his father would probably gladly sacrifice the estate, if he got rid of his least favored son in return.
She had kissed him, after that confession. In broad daylight, with only the cover of a thick tree. Soft and tender, trying to tell him with her touch how very wrong his father was. Klaus had looked at her with such wonder after, her throat had felt tight, clogged with the emotions that he managed to inspire in her, that seemed to grow a little each day.
It scares her and it thrills her in equal measure. But she has no idea what to do with these feelings, given the situation she and Klaus have become entangled in.
Caroline sprawls across the bed, and settles in to read, tries to clear her mind. But she cannot focus, her ears perking up at the smallest creaks and groans. It is very new, this anticipation, and she has come to adore it. The tension that builds, the way she longs for Klaus' touch. How eagerly he satisfies her wants. It has only been just over a week, since Klaus began teaching her of pleasure and he has wrung more from her then Caroline had ever imagined possible.
And yet he promises that there is still much he can show her.
Words on the page blur together as Caroline presses her thighs together, a dull ache starting in her core. She is just about to give up, to let her mind wander to all the delicious things Klaus has done to her body when she hears the distinctive creak of the door opening.
She rolls over on to her back, uncaring that her skirts tangle and reveals her calves. They are somewhat beyond the proprieties at this point, though she sometimes cannot help but feel a little bashful. Caroline props herself up on her elbows to watch him enter the room. She has come to enjoy the way he moves, the way he holds himself. "Good afternoon," she greets him, just a touch formally.
Klaus smiles at her, strides to the bed, pulls her up and cups her face. His thumbs stroke her cheeks, "It is now. What is this blush for, I wonder?"
Caroline feels her color deepen, her eyes falling from his shyly. Klaus liked to hear her, had told her with quiet fervency, while the sweat cooled on their bodies, that there was nothing that she could say or do while they were intimate that was wrong – that he wanted to know what she liked.
Caroline tries, directs his hands sometimes, lets pleas spill from her lips when something feels so good that she thinks she would go mad if he stopped. But her tiny attempts at encouragement were nothing compared to the words that Klaus said. He had little shame, would describe things before he did them, things that Caroline were certain were sinful but she could never find it in herself to regret them, once he showed her how gratifying they were.
Caroline bites her lip, and musters her courage. Glances up at him, "I was thinking of you. And of what we did yesterday."
His eyes heat and he bends to brush his lips over hers. She parts her lips to accept his tongue, lets out a sigh as it rubs sensuously against hers. His hands go to her hair, and she tilts her head back in pleasure as he pulls the pins out. She feels his lips curve against hers, as he takes his time and lets her hair loose. It's a simple thing, but she enjoys it. Leaves her hair in its arrangement even when it would be more expedient to take it down herself.
She expects him to pull her up, to turn her and work her out of her dress. It is how their encounters usually go. But instead Klaus drops to his knees and Caroline's eyes pop open curiously. "What… what are you doing?" she asks.
Klaus begins to gather her skirts, his eyes bright with anticipation, "What we did yesterday, that was new, yes? And you liked it. Quite a bit, if I recall."
Caroline swallows hard, but manages to nod. He'd stripped her bare, turned her onto her stomach. She had been disconcerted, and stiff initially, but Klaus had made soothing noises, murmured that she could trust him. Klaus had applied something liquid to her skin. Its coolness had made her gasp and then his hands began spreading it along her back. She had squirmed, feeling odd. "It is merely an oil, love," Klaus has assured her. "You will enjoy this, I promise." His hands had glided easily over her skin, warming the oil. It had smelled sweet, and he had kneaded the muscles and tendons along her spine until Caroline had been putty, and had felt like she could sink right through the mattress.
And then his hands had dropped lower, cupping her backside with the same reverent attention. She had buried her face in a pillow, mortified even though she had known it was silly. Klaus had given her thighs the same treatment, then her calves. Even her feet.
It had been heavenly, her entire body lax and pliant when he was through.
And then Klaus had dipped his hand between her thighs, while he applied his lips to her back. He had traced her delicate folds so softly, and Caroline had not been able to help spreading her legs further apart, wanting more of his touch. His slickened digits had slid easily into her body, working her up in gentle waves. Her hands had clutched the pillow under her head, hips undulating with his motions, that sweet release just beyond her reach. He had stopped and she had let out a noise, a whine of protest that had left Klaus groaning, "I know," he had soothed, before he had propped her hips up on a few pillows. And then he had lain overtop of her, his weight on his forearms so not to crush her. He had laced the fingers of one of his hands with hers, reached down and placed himself at the dripping entrance of her body.
Caroline had understood then, had let her head drop and shifted so he could slide inside. Klaus had done so with a moan, muffling the sound against her shoulder. "You feel incredible," he had rasped, as he had begun to move.
She had had a fleeting thought that she ought to feel suffocated, with the lean length of him pressing her to the bed. But she had not, not in the slightest, had liked the sensation. Klaus' trembling, the soft noises of pleasure he made rumbling through her where their skin pressed together. Widening her legs and circling her hips experimentally had left him gasping, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. "Yes," he had breathed, his motions speeding up, his length dragging against a spot inside of her that left her panting. "Like that. Move with me, take what you need, sweetheart."
Caroline had dug her knees into the bed, shifted with more purpose, the familiar tingle low in her belly driving out all thoughts but one. She had wanted more, needed him to push her over the edge. "Please," she'd sobbed out, between harsh pulls of air. Klaus had tunneled his hand under her, his fingers rolling her most sensitive bit of flesh until she had let go while crying out his name.
Every time he takes her to that place, leaves her boneless and sated, she is surprised at how good it is, marvels at the things her body is capable of.
"Caroline," Klaus drawls, sounding amused. He is in the process of rolling down her stockings, fingertips skimming along the back of her legs. She shakes herself, embarrassed for having gotten lost in the memory. She tries to remember what they had been speaking of, the exact question he had asked. Klaus repeats himself, his face deceptively angelic, "I asked if you liked what I did to you yesterday? When I touched every inch of you, got you wet and desperate before propping your delectable little body upon…"
Caroline nudges him sharply with her knee, cutting him off and making him laugh. She glares, but it is half-hearted, "It was… acceptable," she tells him primly.
Klaus shrugs, looking mildly disappointed, "Only acceptable? Well, that just won't do. I suppose they cannot all be winners. We do not have to try it again. Or any of the variations such a position offers. I had thought you might enjoy sitting upright, while I took you from behind. Your nipples are so very sensitive, and I do enjoy the way your breath catches as I play with them."
Caroline clears her throat, shifts slightly, and feels the wetness that coats her thighs. "I suppose we could try that," she offers. "Perhaps it was just new."
Klaus grins, but nods seriously, and Caroline is sorely tempted to nudge him again, harder this time, for being so unbearably smug. "Gracious of you, love. But I've wandered off topic. I would like to try another act, one I suspect will also be new to you. Will you let me?"
It is not in Caroline's nature to be compliant, even though she has yet to dislike any of the 'acts' Klaus has shown her. She finds she cannot stop herself from asking a question, "What do I have to do?"
Klaus tugs her forward slightly, so her bottom just rests on the edge of the bed. "Absolutely nothing," he promises. "You merely have to sit there."
She remains a bit suspicious, because that sounds far too easy, but Caroline nods. "I suppose you may proceed."
His hands race up her skirts, making quick work of the tapes that hold her drawers together, tugging the fabric away and pushing it aside. Klaus gathers her skirts at her waist, and Caroline instinctively clamps her thighs together to hide her center from his gaze. Klaus shakes his head, a small smile playing over his lips, "Hold these for me will you, love?"
Caroline does as he has asked, pinning her skirts to her body. She jumps slightly upon feeling his breath on her thighs. Klaus' hands land on her knees, pushing them apart with gentle insistence, shuffling forward when she reluctantly parts them. His hands move higher, thumbs tracing the crease where her thigh meets her torso. One of them brushes over the seam of her, parting her folds. Caroline lets out a shocked squeal when his head dips, guessing his intention. "Klaus! You can't… oh!"
Her protest dies, because he is. And heaven help her but his tongue is so much better than his fingers. Soft and slick and teasing. Caroline's thighs widen unconsciously, a hand resting behind her on the bed to help her stay balanced, as she tries to get more. He licks broadly, and just as she's become accustomed to that sensation he lets the wicked point of his tongue flick over her clit. Caroline grips her skirts so tightly her knuckles protest the strain. And then he dips lower, circles her entrance, letting out a pleased hum that sends sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine. "Klaus…" Caroline chokes out again, unable to help writhing in place. "I do not think that I…"
"Yes you can. Do not think, Caroline. Just enjoy," he murmurs, right before his lips seal over her clit. He sucks hard and Caroline cries out, reaching for him and grabbing at his hair. Two of his fingers enter her, just what she needs, and Klaus strokes her to climax, worrying her clit with his lips.
Caroline falls back to the bed when it hits her, holding Klaus between her thighs as her body trembles and her mind goes blank. He doesn't seem to mind her grip, moaning as he licks her frantically. He slows, as the shaking of her legs eases, presses kisses down her inner thigh before he stands. He tugs her skirts from her hand, rubs his thumb over her knuckles before he kisses her wrist. Her fingers twitch, reaching out to stroke the slight stubble on his jaw. "How was that?" he asks, smirk in place.
Caroline rolls her eyes, because he very well knows how it had been. Her abandon had been certain and complete. "I did not know that you could do that," is what she says, her voice slightly gravelly from the volume of her cries.
Klaus smiles down at her fondly. "I had assumed as much." He crawls over her, brushes his lips over hers. They remain wet with her arousal, and Caroline finds herself curious, her tongue peeking out to taste before she can think to stop herself. Klaus freezes, a curse rumbling out. Caroline draws back, as much as she is able, "I'm sorry," she stutters, thinking he was displeased. He lets out a noise, kissing her more deeply, grinding his hips into hers. He is hard with want, and Caroline slips her hand under his jacket and shirt to feel his skin.
He is breathless when he pulls back. "Never apologize, love. You taste incredible. I could do that for hours." Klaus pauses, his eyes going dark and determined, "And I will, one of these days. You would need to be out of your dress, I think. So I could see your skin flush. You would be so pretty, love. Pink and aching for me as you thrashed in the sheets."
Caroline shivers at the low words, finds she has no objections. A thought occurs to her, "Could I do that?" she wonders. "To you? Do men like it too?"
The groan Klaus lets out sounds pained, "They do. And you could. But love…"
Caroline's already moving, her curiosity getting the better of her. She pushes Klaus off her, and he rolls to his side. And then on to his back. She props herself up on her elbow, tracing her hand down his clothed front to stroke over the bulge in his breeches. "Will you tell me how?"
Klaus swallows hard, his Adams apple bobbing. His breaths have begun to shallow, his body twitching under her touch. She finds that she likes it, that it makes her feel powerful to see him on his way to being overcome. His protest is weak, "You do not have to, Caroline. I do not need it."
Caroline shakes her head, her hair spilling over her shoulders, "I want to," she tells him firmly, setting her fingers to his waistband. "I want to make you feel good."
Klaus sits up abruptly and Caroline sends him a severe glare, thinking he intends to thwart her. He laughs softly, kisses her quickly, an affectionate brush. "So stern. I am not nearly so strong to resist such an offer. But I want you out of your dress. May I?"
Caroline nods her permission, slips off the bed and presents her back. Klaus works quickly, has her disrobed in no time. He pulls her back against his chest, cups her breasts and tweaks her nipples. She sets her hands on his legs, cuddles into his chest. Feels his erection against her bottom. "You are trying to distract me," Caroline accuses. "It will not work."
"I am not. Not really. I just like to touch you." Caroline likes it to, so she tips her head back on his shoulder, biting her lip as his touch tightens her nipples into aching points. He grabs one of her hands, and sets it over her breast, places his over top and encourages her to touch herself. She tilts her head, so she can see his face, see the rapt way he watches her hands on her own flesh. "Do you like that?" she asks curiously.
"Watching you touch yourself?" Klaus asks. Caroline nods, nuzzling into his throat. "I adore it," he rasps.
"I do it in the bath sometimes," Caroline confesses quietly. "But my hands never feel as good as yours."
Klaus lets out a shaky exhale that ruffles her hair, "Fuck, Caroline, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?"
She rolls her hips, and he moans. "I think I have some idea," she tells him as she turns. Her hands reach up, push his coat from his shoulders, caressing his arms as she goes. She reaches for the buttons of his shirt next, kissing his chest as his skin is revealed to her. Tests his reactions, with little nips and swipes of her tongue.
Finds herself wishing, not for the first time, that she would have been lucky enough to marry someone like Klaus. That she could have learned that all of this was possible between a man and a woman – warmth and euphoria and fun – far sooner then she had.
Her fingers fumble clumsily with his pants, the fastenings unfamiliar. Klaus reaches down to help her, shucking them and moving back on the bed. He rests against the headboard, "Come here," he tells her. He takes her hand, tugs her so she is facing him, kneeling between his legs. Caroline shuffles back slightly, reaches out hesitantly. She has touched him before, learned where he is most sensitive with her hands, and has enjoyed watching his face twist and his body heave under her ministrations. "What do I need to do?" she asks, wrapping her fingers and around him. Klaus lets out a strangled laugh, his head tipping back, the cords of his neck sharply outlined as she strokes him. "Honestly, love, whatever you do is going to feel incredible. Mind your teeth, and do not try to take too much. Anywhere I like your touch I'll love your lips or your tongue."
Caroline's nose wrinkles, her lips pressing together in mild annoyance. Because as far as instructions went, those were not particularly helpful. She swipes her thumb over the leaking tip of him, pulls it to her face to contemplate the smear of wetness left behind. Meets his gaze, when she puts it in her mouth. Klaus' eyes widen, a soft grunt falling from him. The taste is not as unpleasant as she had assumed it would be, and Caroline ducks her head and licks over the tip of his length, to see if that remains true. Klaus seems to enjoy it, her name coming out raggedly. She encloses him in her lips, sucks gently and then harder when he moans, long and loud.
She pulls back, slipping her hair over one shoulder so it stays out of the way. Klaus has reached up, his hands clamped over the headboard, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He watches her raptly, his face taut with hunger.
Caroline assumes that means she is not hopelessly inept at this particular activity.
One of her hands reaches lower to stroke over his balls and his hips shift, the muscles of his stomach pulled tight. Caroline licks her lips, and bends once again, sliding more of him into her mouth. She laves the underside before she hollows her cheeks around him. Klaus moves again, gritting out an apology, and Caroline grips him tighter, pulling off slightly.
Well, now she realizes what he had meant by 'do not try to take too much.'
Caroline continues, watches his face for cues, and listens carefully for his noises of enjoyment. Repeats the motions that cause them. Tries them with more speed and force. After a time Klaus goes still, seems to stop breathing and rasps out, "Caroline," with a satisfying note of pleading.
She looks up in question. Klaus reaches out, "Come up here. I should be inside you when I come."
Caroline crawls forward, chagrined. She had almost forgotten their purpose here, the bargain they had struck to get her with child. Klaus' hand slips between her thighs, stroking along her folds, and he groans, "God, you are dripping."
He sounds thrilled, so Caroline does not allow herself to feel self-conscious, lifting up and taking him inside of her. Klaus' head drops to her shoulder, his hands coming up to palm her breasts once she's fully seated. "This is going to be quick," he warns her, a note of apology coloring his tone. Caroline finds that she does not mind, the fullness of him inside leaves her muscles clenching rhythmically. His mouth takes over on her breast as his hands grip her hips, helping her rock on top of him. They have done this, several times, and Caroline has to admit it might be her favorite. She leans back, chasing that perfect angle. Shudders when she finds it, wrapping a hand around his neck for balance.
Klaus seems to be straining, body pulled tight, making greedy noises between rough pulls of her nipple. One of his hands burrows between them and he works his magic against her clit, sending her reeling right before he loses it, spilling inside of her.
He pulls her forward, so she sprawls against his chest, murmuring softly. Caroline is drowsy, her eyes drooping. She only catches a few words until he says something that floors her. She pulls back, wide eyed and shocked, "What did you say?"
Klaus clears his throat, looks as nervous as she has ever seen him. His hands come up to her face, noticeably trembling, "I said that I love you, Caroline."
Tears spring to her eyes, and Caroline grips his shoulders. Let's out a watery laugh. Her heart is beating wildly, and she is afraid he can hear the pounding, "That is completely crazy, Klaus. We have known each other for three weeks. I am in mourning. My husband has not yet been dead a month."
He shakes his head, presses his forehead to hers. "I do not care. I love you. I want you to marry me. We can go to Gretna Green. Tonight if you wish. Or we can sail to your home, speak to your parents and do it there. I will convince them that I will make you happy. I care not an ounce about any scandal. I just want to be with you."
"What about your family?"
"I cannot find the will to care what my parent's will say. We have never been close. My little sister has already been married off, so no scandal can harm her chances. My older brothers will scold me, but I know they will come 'round. Kol will likely congratulate me, find the situation endlessly amusing."
She finds that his offer is more than enough for her.
Caroline kisses him, laughs into his mouth, clutches him frantically to her, only releases his mouth when she can no longer go without breathing, "Yes. Tonight. I will write my parents immediately. My mother will be furious, but my father will understand."
Klaus lights up, his delight plain, before he rolls Caroline underneath him. He sets his hands on either side of her head, smirking down at her heatedly. "We have plenty of time before it grows dark, love. I say a celebration is in order."
Caroline has already begun planning, what supplies they will need, which carriage to take. But his mouth on her throat is distracting, more so as he moves downward, and she finds her mental lists difficult to focus on.
She gives in with a sigh, when he bites down near her collarbone, soothing the sting with his tongue.
Another hour or so will not matter, not when the rest of her life is about to begin.