Author's note: When her fisherman boyfriend goes missing, Caroline flies to Alaska to find him. She also finds his smug asshat of a sea captain who seems determined to send her packing before she gets any answers.
Warning: Klaroline sexytimes
"The water is a dark flower and a fisherman is a bee in the heart of her."
― Annie Proulx, The Shipping News
This was crazy. Caroline's boyfriend hadn't answered his phone, so she jumped on a plane to find out why. In her defense, Tyler was a commercial fisherman and should've been back from his 90-day shift over a week ago. Rough seas, poor fishing, or mechanical problems were just a few reasons for a delay like this. But this was the first time since he'd started doing these runs that Tyler hadn't been able to get a message to her, and Caroline was tired of pacing the length of her house on the other side of the country.
She shivered in her thin coat, wondering if she should've stopped back in the small Alaskan village to get something warmer. But she'd stubbornly kept marching toward the harbor, anxious to get answers. Slip 101, 102, 103...she jogged past each one until her sneakers skidded to a halt in front of the enormous boat bobbing back and forth in Slip 110.
She breathed a sigh of relief — Tyler's boat looked like it was in one piece. Gripping the small silver compass she wore around her neck, she sent a silent prayer to whatever was listening to bring her good news. It was her good luck charm, and she always seemed to find where she was meant to be.
"You must not know how to use that thing, sweetheart," commented an amused voice in a clipped accent from below deck. "Because you've the look of a forsaken creature who's dreadfully lost."
Despite the chill in the air, Caroline felt a flash of heat as her temper flared. "I was navigating boats way before I could drive a car." Slamming down her suitcase on the weather-beaten dock, she snarled, "I just got off a 13-hour flight with two plane changes, plus the world's bumpiest ferry ride. My boyfriend's been away for months and he should've been home OR AT LEAST CALLED ME BY NOW and I don't have time for your grizzled fisherman bullshit! So, just tell me where I can find Captain Klaus Mikaelson and I'll be on my way."
Heavy footsteps leisurely climbed up the ladder from the cargo hold, and Caroline found herself staring at impossibly perfect cheekbones with dimples on full display. Lips twitched in amusement as he said, "I stand corrected — your navigation skills are uncannily accurate, sweetheart. I'm Klaus."
Fuck. Every time Tyler had bitched about what a bastard Captain Klaus Mikaelson was, she always pictured an elderly Ernest Hemingway or the Gorton's fish sticks guy. But Klaus looked like L. had opened a strip club...and she had to remind herself to blink. "You're Tyler's captain," she asked faintly, eyes roving over his t-shirt where the sweat made it cling to very interesting places. Tyler. You're here for Tyler.
Giving her a mocking bow, he gestured along the expanse of his boat. "Captain Klaus of the Bloody Bastard. And we made port several days ago, love, so I'm not responsible for where my crew scatters once our catch is offloaded." Gray eyes narrowed as though a thought had struck him. "You're Caroline. You send care packages for Tyler that always are waiting for him right before we ship out." Shaking his curly head, he bluntly told her, "Go home. A girl like you deserves better."
"What the hell does that mean," she shrilly asked, stomping her foot in frustration.
"Nothing," Klaus muttered, his handsome face settling into a surly scowl as he stared off into the horizon.
Realizing this conversation wasn't going anywhere, Caroline grabbed her suitcase and stormed off, figuring that in a town this small, maybe it wouldn't be too hard to find someone who knew where Tyler was.
She only had to question a couple of lumberjacks before she learned that Tyler usually stopped in at the cafe across from the post office. Poking her head inside, she asked the lone waitress behind the counter, "Has Tyler Lockwood stopped by today?"
"Doing inventory with Hayley."
Caroline followed the direction the bored waitress had pointed, and walked through the swinging doors with a nod of thanks. Was Tyler working a second job? That bastard captain must not pay his crew as well as he should. She was so wrapped up in planning all the things she'd yell at Klaus that she didn't hear the moans until it was too late.
A white apron was dangling off a raised leg like a wilting flag, and breathy moans were perfectly (definitely too perfectly) timed to Tyler's thrusts. Her mind went blank as she watched Tyler's bare ass flex as he raggedly gasped for air.
"So, you can't spot a fake orgasm no matter who you're with," she said woodenly, delighting in Tyler's horrified expression as the color drained from his face.
"Caroline! It's not what it looks like! I...you shouldn't be up here," he said in an unusually high-pitched voice, stuttering out, "I — I uh mean..."
Of all the... "Seriously?! And you shouldn't be up in someone else!" She scoffed, disbelief etched on her face as she realized Tyler apparently intended to have their breakup conversation while still inside his side piece.
Except she didn't have to. They were over and they both knew why. And that bitter realization finally freed her. There was nothing more to say. She turned around and swiftly walked away without another word.
But Caroline still planned to set his stuff on fire when she got back home.
The bar was dark and cluttered with dusty old lobster traps, splintered fishing rods, and dented metal tackle boxes. It could be passed off as a deliberate attempt at ambiance, but everything had an air of thoughtless abandonment, like the former owners had stopped by after their shifts and got so drunk they simply forgot their stuff and wandered off. She shouldn't be here.
But she didn't know where else to go. Her flight had been cancelled and the airline couldn't find anything else until later that week. And she couldn't bear the thought of going back to that tiny motel room and stare at that tacky floral wallpaper another minute.
"Why are you here?"
Klaus' voice surprised her again, and she turned to find him at the end of the bar, impatiently tapping the handle of a beer stein. "You know why," she said curtly, trying and failing to signal the bartender staring at the game on the small TV with a fuzzy picture. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, she turned to favor Klaus with a piercing stare. "That warning was way too subtle. You could've told me what Tyler was up to."
He shrugged, shifting slightly on his barstool as though uncomfortable under her accusing stare. "Wasn't my place." Nodding toward the dirty glass door where some corrugated cardboard had been hastily taped along the bottom, he told her, "You should go home; this isn't a good place for someone like you."
Her temper flared despite the traitorous thought in the back of her mind that told her Klaus was probably right. What was she hoping to find there? Would a watered-down drink really her make sense of the mess her life had become? "You have a lot of opinions about someone you don't know."
Before Klaus could reply, another man suddenly slid in next to her, greasy dark hair peeking out from beneath his worn knit cap. "Hey there, Blondie. Lemme by you a drink."
"No thanks."
"It's one little drink, not a marriage proposal," he retorted, leaning over until she was uncomfortably pressed against the bar.
"And I said 'no thanks'," she repeated, cautiously maneuvering her palms flat against the tarnished brass edge of the bar.
His pale skin turned an angry red and his sour breath washed over her as he snarled in her face, "Why you gotta be such a cunt? Bitches oughtta be grateful when a man steps up and shows a little interest!"
Well, she'd been looking for a distraction. Caroline shoved away from the bar with all her might, ramming the top of her skull right into the sleazy asshole's forehead. While he was still dazed, she grabbed one of his scrawny forearms and twisted it up behind his back. When she slammed his face against the bar, the crack was a bit too satisfying. Damn, she needed that. Repressed emotions could be such a bitch.
It was mildly flattering to see Klaus had kicked aside his barstool to storm over to them, a furious expression his face. As he yanked the stranger up by the scruff of his neck, Caroline hissed at the slimy jackass, "I've been shot, stabbed, carjacked, and once had to sit through an Adam Sandler marathon. You don't scare me, little boy."
Klaus wordlessly tossed him outside, coming back in to signal the bartender with a shrill whistle. The beer sloshed over the rims of the steins as they were slid over to them and Caroline gave him a nod of thanks. Wow, those forearms were impressive even in this dim light. She'd never been a fan of playing the damsel, but she appreciated the assist all the same. Maybe chivalry smelled like salmon and gasoline.
"Care to elaborate on how an Adam Sandler marathon rates the same revulsion as bodily harm," he asked with a dimpled smirk.
Rolling her eyes, she scoffed, "Have you seen those movies? Pretty sure they run them on an endless loop in hell." She clinked her beer against Klaus', holding it up to her lips, but then made the mistake of looking down. It wasn't just the foggy, unidentifiable layer of filth along the inside that made her want to gag — it was the tiny chunks of...something up one side that had her slamming it back down on the bar like it had burned her flesh.
"I see the dishwasher's still broken," Klaus commiserated with a sigh. Jerking his chin toward the door, he said, "Come on, I've got bottles back on my boat."
It wasn't how she'd initially envisioned her evening going. But Klaus' fishing boat rocked her gently along the waves, and his accented voice was just as soothing. She quietly sipped her beer, looking out the small porthole at the dark waves lapping at the boat.
"You're oddly calm," Klaus finally blurted out, ears reddening as though embarrassed he couldn't maintain his aloof demeanor.
She chuckled darkly, wondering when the failed tragedy of her relationship had turned into a comedy. "Maybe it's shock. Pretty sure my ex was trying to gaslight me into thinking he wasn't cheating...while he continued humping his side piece right in front of me." At his strangled snort of amusement, Caroline added with a vicious grin, "Tyler always was terrible at multitasking."
A bit of melancholy wound its way into her heart, though, and she wondered why she hadn't stayed to curse and scream at Tyler. She had enough self-respect not to fight for such a broken man-child, but he'd hurt her and she should've wanted to make him feel that loss too. Instead, she'd been relieved.
"Our story's hardly unique — high school sweethearts who grew up together in a tiny town with few prospects. Tyler came out here because the money was too good to pass up. He kept telling me just a few more runs and it would be enough for a fresh start."
Klaus scowled, "Bastard. I never liked him — too soft."
She grinned, feeling entirely too pleased by the weight of Klaus' stare. "His mom used to iron his boxers. Maybe that had something to do with it." The laughter felt good at first, like she'd been hollowed out for so long and suddenly filled up again. But then it caught in her throat and burned.
She managed to unclench her jaw, feeling a slight pop as she quietly admitted, "This should feel different, right? I mean, I caught my boyfriend cheating on me and I'm pissed as hell, but I'm not...broken by it, I guess?" Shaking her head, she told him, "It's such a cliché, but I actually feel free."
"I had the same reaction," Klaus unexpectedly revealed. "I came home early to surprise my fiancé for her birthday and I found her riding my brother on the couch." At Caroline's gasp of surprise, his dimples cut deep into the edges of a mirthless grin. "I grew up under the stifling weight of familial obligations, and it never occurred to me to question the wisdom of being engaged to a woman my family had all but selected merely for her impeccable family connections." Scoffing, he added, "Like they were choosing breeding stock."
"Fuck. So, what happened?"
He chuckled darkly, sarcastically replying, "What any Oxford-educated son of a respected MP does — I bought a boat and left the country."
"Right. Of course." Did she seriously find a Mr. Darcy hiding out in a remote Alaskan fishing village? With a teasing smile, she said, "Not sure my credit card miles would buy a boat, so I may need to come up with a different plan."
Klaus handed her another beer, propping his boots up on the small table between them. "I'd made certain assumptions about our different backgrounds, but I must admit you managed to surprise me with your tales of violence, not to mention the way you handled that reprobate quite readily."
"I grew up in a rough town. You take care of yourself because no one else will." She held out the chain where the tiny silver compass hung and added, "I helped my dad run fishing charters; his boat capsized when I was in high school and this was the last thing he gave me." But he'd stolen the compass out of her jewelry box while she was sleeping after he'd come up short at a card game. She was getting it out of hock at the pawn shop down the street when she got the news about the accident.
Caroline quickly cut her gaze away, wondering if Klaus' long silence during his own confession meant that he too was telling half-truths. Did it matter? She felt like this was an in between time, where the things she normally cared about or valued no longer applied. At least not until she figured out what came next.
Feeling the weight of his stare, she was surprised to find heat there as well. She'd never been good at picking up on subtle interest, but the way his gray eyes darkened when he caught the blush staining her cheeks was unmistakable. She'd figured out what came next.
Sliding across the rounded bench seat, Klaus tugged her the rest of the way, taking his time with their kiss until she was the one to pull at his dirty blonde curls, demanding more. Suddenly, she was straddling his hips, ripping away his t-shirt and running her palms appreciatively over the smooth, hard muscle she found there.
Pushing up her sweater, he let out a low, sexy growl at the sight of her breasts and latched onto a nipple. Holy fuck, he was using his teeth. Just dove right in. She loved a man that took charge. She ground down in his lap, sensual circles that delivered a delicious friction that kept building and building. Almost there. The insistent press of his cock through the rough denim of their jeans was an impatient itch that she was anxious to scratch.
Moaning into his mouth, she unzipped his jeans, slipping her hand inside. His flesh was hot to the touch and it twitched against her fingers with an eagerness that made her grin. Fumbling with her own zipper, she shoved aside the thong and took his hand to rub where she ached.
"Dirty minx," Klaus murmured into her ear, curling his fingers inside. He stroked along her walls, driving her wild as she bucked into his hand.
"Fuck," she hissed, the clever little vibration he added pushing her right over the edge.
As she melted against him, Klaus unexpectedly lifted her onto the table, rising to his knees as he hovered over her with a devilish smirk. "A taste," he told her hoarsely, gripping the backs of her knees as he raised her pussy to his lips.
Caroline's senses were on fire even before his tongue touched her, and she let out a needy whine. He curled into her with the finesse of an artist, a true connoisseur who knew how to fondle every hidden nerve ending to set her on fire. Just as she teetered on the precipice again, Klaus abruptly pulled away, bringing the tip of his cock to her soaked core. It tickled and tortured and infuriated her in equal measure how he silently taunted her, so close to where she needed him to be.
"Beg," he demanded, gray eyes dark with lust as he stared down at her.
Caroline defiantly matched his gaze, tilting her hips just enough to slide his cock along her folds. "Fuck me," she gasped, voice beautifully broken by their rough kisses. "Or, I'll fuck myself," she warned, fingers slithering down to cup her mound.
He groaned at the sight of her fingers playfully rubbing along his leaking tip before returning to pluck at her clit. Just as she began to ride her fingers, Klaus snarled possessively, pulling away her wrist and then thrust home. He spread her wide, blunt nails digging into the meat of her thighs as he wildly moved inside.
Caroline matched his passion, vigorously meeting each powerful stroke until she could feel him start to shudder. He cursed as he gripped her ass tight, a finger tantalizingly swiping against her puckered asshole as she cried out.
"You like that, sweetheart," he ground out, the tip of his finger pushing inside to make her vision go white with pleasure. He came with a hoarse shout, the spasms causing their sweat-slicked bodies to collapse into a twitching pile of delight.
The boat continued to gently rock them, but Caroline was struck by the stillness she felt in that moment. Her mind was calm in a way she couldn't recall feeling before. The anxieties that tended to be her constant companions had taken a backseat to the peace that inexplicably had settled over her. Her necklace had twisted and bounced until the compass lay between the table and her cheek. The cool metal reassured her and as Caroline felt Klaus tangle their fingers together, she understood that she always seemed to find where she was meant to be.
