Chapter Ten: Ignominy

/'igne,minē/

noun: deep personal shame and disgrace

Footsteps echoed in the halls as he made his way down into the courtyard, Klaus breathed a sigh of relief into the open air. The light of the morning sun welcomed him. The white oak bullet seemed to sing into the skin of his palm. With sharp clarity, Klaus unbuttoned his nightshirt slowly. Cherishing the smooth gentle curve of each button, the warmth of the sun on his skin, and wind dancing in his hair. Klaus pressed the tip of the white oak against the bare patch of skin until it dented and stung. He could push the bullet through with his bare hands and end this disappointing life once and for all. He wondered what awaited him on the other side.

He could not hope for heaven, and hell seemed much too kind.

Just as he began to push deeper, he heard a familiar shout.

"NIKLAUS," Elijah bellowed as he stormed the yard.

The sun hid behind the clouds.

Angry hands snatched the white oak away and Klaus felt his heart break. Not only had Elijah stolen is only hope for peace and salvation, but the look on his brother's face was too much to bear. He could not stand there and receive harsh judgment from Elijah's unwavering gaze. Klaus turned away, pained by the unspoken accusations.

"Why?" croaked Elijah.

The wind settled.

Klaus looked away and just barely clenched his teeth against the answer that threatened to spill out. Why had he wanted to die? Wasn't it obvious?

A tight fist cracked against his jaw. Pain exploded through Klaus' face, but he couldn't answer his brother.

"Why?" Elijah demanded once more, fists still curled. "After all of this – after everything I've done – and you're going to…"

Another clean punch split Klaus' lip.

"And you're just going to leave me here – alone – without you?" Elijah's voice rose with his temper. "Without so much as an explanation? Without a goodbye?"

A sharp kick to the stomach sent acid spewing from Klaus' lips. He coughed and spit the clear his mouth, but would not look up.

"You ungrateful, irredeemable, sociopath," bellowed Elijah. Which each insult, Elijah shoved Klaus backwards. "Do know how this would destroy Rebekah?" Elijah shoved him. "Destroy Freya?" Another shove. "Can you even comprehend the heartbreak that I – that I would…"

Elijah could not finish his sentence. Klaus had not broken his sullen silence, nor barely blinked during the verbal and physical onslaught. It nearly drove Elijah mad. With a deep growl, Elijah shoved Klaus hard enough to send him careening into the stone wall behind him. Klaus felt his skull snap back into the stone and the pain only served to ease his sorrow. Every mean word and vicious punch felt well deserved. In a way he could not explain, Klaus welcomed Elijah's anger. It felt more real to him than any other experience since his release from captivity. The pain in his skull, his lips, his jaw, and his shoulder coursed through his body like lifeblood. He need this.

Finally, Klaus met Elijah's glowering eyes like hot coals that burned into his psyche.

Yes, he wanted more. The pain and suffering would cleanse his spirit and redeem his shattered soul.

"Elijah…" Klaus started, but he knew his noble brother would never – should never – oblige those wishes. And yet, delirious with pain, Klaus felt compelled to act with abandon.

Klaus grabbed Elijah's wrist in a bone-crushing grip and pressed Elijah's palm to his chest. Slowly, Klaus forced Elijah's nails into the skin above his heart – where the white bullet had pressed mere moments ago. Elijah tried to pull away as he felt skin and blood collect under his fingernails, but it was no use. Klaus' grip was iron and his unhinged gaze was steady.

"Please, brother Elijah, my noble brother," begged Klaus as he pulled Elijah's hand deeper into his chest and groaned as Elijah's fingers found bone. "Release me from the cursed existence."

Elijah grimaced – tempted to break through Klaus' breastbone and rip out his brother's heart. Klaus wouldn't die, but he felt it was the only way to show the betrayal and hurt that burned him from the inside out. And yet he couldn't. Elijah let his forehead fall to rest on Klaus' shoulder. He stepped forward to close the gap between their bodies and drew a hand around his brother's waist.

He felt Niklaus' frantic heart rate slow beneath his breastbone.

"Please don't leave me," whispered Elijah.

Tears dripped from Elijah's eyes and Klaus felt them pool in the hollow of his collarbone.

"I can't live like this," replied Klaus.

"For me, brother," he begged.

"You don't know what you're asking of me," said Klaus. Tears stung behind his eyes but would not fall. Could not fall. Something inside of him had already died.

Klaus let Elijah's hand fall from his chest, but he didn't push his brother away.

"I can't exist in this world without you, Niklaus," whined Elijah as he lifted his lips to rest against Klaus' neck. "Please…"

Klaus scrunched his eyes shut, the heat of Elijah's breath traveling straight to his groin. Elijah pulled Klaus closer, hoping to never let him go. The intensity of the embrace made Klaus' jaw ache. The friction of Elijah's shirt fabric against Klaus' open chest wound felt like acid and fire. Klaus felt lightheaded with pain, but in Elijah's arms, he liked it. Elijah and marked Klaus' body and evicted the memories of Mikael and Marcel. The pain belonged to Elijah. Klaus belonged to Elijah.

His mind flooded with thoughts of Elijah pinning him to the wall and spreading his legs. His body begged to be destroyed beyond repair, and then rebuilt anew. Before he could stop himself, Klaus rutted his hips against Elijah and mewled in agony. Pleasure surged through his abdomen, but nausea quickly followed.

Finally, those long awaited tears overflowed as Klaus began to sob in Elijah's arms.

"I want you, Elijah," groaned Klaus, "I want you in ways that no man should ever want his own brother."

Klaus turned to hide his face, missing the red that tinged Elijah's cheeks and the hardness in Elijah's pants.

"How can I let myself live like this?" sobbed Klaus, "My soul has been twisted and tainted. There is neither happiness nor joy that remains unsullied by horror and rape. You beg me to stay with you, but you know not what you ask of me."

Klaus took short and ragged breaths. He was on the verge of hyperventilating as he pushed away a dumbstruck Elijah. And with that, Klaus sprinted out of the courtyard, leaving Elijah with his mouth agape and his heart broken.

Klaus blurred through the city in broad daylight, paying no mind to the risk of being spotted. All he knew was that he needed to get away from Elijah's soul piercing eyes. He knew he needed something to dull the screaming in his mind and stabbing in his gut. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to die. If the gods truly existed, they should strike him down now. But Klaus knew that his only release had been confiscated. He should have been quicker with the white oak, but he lost his only chance.

Then, inspiration struck Klaus and he stopped dead in his tracks. Cars honked and veered to avoid him, but he hardly noticed. There was one more thing – one more person – that could kill him, and he was right here in the city. In fact, Klaus could feel him. He'd been able to feel this man in his body since that fateful full moon night.

It was a tugging in his chest – a summoning to reunite him with the man who had hooked into his very soul.

Spurred on by desperate grief, Klaus followed this feeling that led him through the streets of New Orleans. He made lefts and rights with no real concept of anything other than the buzzing in his head – calling him. He ran until he found himself at the base of a high-rise apartment building on the far side of the city. This was it. He needed to step inside. The thrumming in his bones urging him through the doors and up the stairwell made all the difference. The pleasant feelings grew stronger up until the point at which he stood stock still in front of one solitary apartment door.

He knocked and waited for the door to open.

"Hello, Klaus."

That familiar cheer was absent. Silence.

"Hello, Marcellus."

The ritual magic that bonded them led Klaus here, and neither man seemed surprised.

In fact, Marcellus seemed downright bored. His eyes were half-lidded as if he hadn't slept in weeks. His skin was ashen and showed signs of early desiccation. His shoulders were hunched forward under an unknown weight as he supported himself against the apartment doorframe. Dark veins were just beginning to creep up the tips of his fingers.

"I see," murmured Klaus, breaking the tense silence, "I wondered what became of you when my Father took you away that night."

Marcel's dead-eyed stare slowly became a heated glower.

"Why are you here, Klaus?" asked Marcel dryly. "Go back again and hide like a filthy, wounded animal. We'll come and get you when we need you."

"Are you sure you'll need me? It looks like my father found a new fuck toy after all," said Klaus with a hint of a sneer. He knew which buttons to press.

Marcel lunged at Klaus and wrapped one hand around his throat to slam Klaus into the hallway wall. Luckily, dry wall was softer than stone.

"I'm not a faggot like you," spat Marcel so close that Klaus could feel his hot breath on his lips, "you goddamn fucking asshole. For your information, it's a weaker ritual that I wouldn't have to fucking put up with if you would just stay in your goddamn fucking place."

"Weaker," wheezed Klaus through the grip on his airway, "because you're not a faggot or because he didn't fuck you?"

A punch landed clean across his jaw and Klaus stumbled a few steps from the impact. Klaus rubbed the blood from his chin and stared down at his bright red hand. He felt at peace.

Marcel scoffed and replied, "as if I would let another man touch me."

Marcel was always easy, his insecurities always plain as day.

"Honestly though," said Klaus, "out of the two of us, you're the one who went out of your way to fuck another man."

Klaus was playing with fire now.

The next thing Klaus knew, Marcel threw him headfirst into the unfamiliar apartment and slammed the door behind them. Klaus skidded across the hardwood floor and stopped when he crashed into the coffee table. He watched with dazed curiosity as Marcel stomped towards him and lifted him up by the collar of his shirt.

Marcel shook him roughly.

"Do you want to die?" growled Marcel, "Do you want me to fucking kill you."

Unable to speak through the haze of pain in his head, Klaus nodded.

Marcel blinked a few times. His eyes were wide as he processed this request, but his blank expression twisted all too quickly into one of amusement.

"Say it," demanded Marcel.

Embarrassment bubbled in Klaus' stomach. This was all too similar to their exchange in caverns beneath the city. Still, he swallowed his pride.

"Marcellus Gerard, I want you to kill me," said Klaus softly.

His request was met with a barking laugh.

"So you get it up the ass a few times and now you're too fucking fragile for this world?" said Marcel with a sneer, "Pathetic. Real fucking pathetic."

Marcel let Klaus drop back to his feet as he released Klaus' shirt. Without thinking, Klaus smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric as Marcel paced in front of him.

Marcel stopped and glowered.

"Tell me…why would I ever – ever – do you a single goddamn favor, Klaus?"

Klaus gritted his teeth, honestly surprised that Marcel hadn't killed him on sight. He had nothing to offer this man who had already taken everything from him. His dignity. His autonomy. His sanity. It seemed there was only one thing that could sway this stranger who had once been his friend.

Slowly, Klaus reached for the belt around his waist and eased the strap from the buckle. His face flushed as he stared at the ground. If his father and Marcel were so alike, than perhaps what swayed his father would sway Marcel as well. Klaus let the belt fall to the floor and began to unbutton and unzip his pants with robotic precision. This had always worked before when his father had refused to feed him or provide adequate medical care. One night of compliance from Klaus could spare him or his siblings any number of untold tortures Mikael had in mind.

A snort from Marcel jolted Klaus out of his revolting reverie. Klaus realized that he had been standing with his pants half down and his fists trembling around the waistband for far too long.

"Reduced to a cock hungry, suicidal slut…Klaus Mikaelson," Marcel muttered to himself with a bemused grin. Marcel couldn't lie to himself – not with his cock twitching in his jeans – he got off on this fucked up power dynamic. "Let me get this straight…you're trading your body for death?"

That concept hadn't occurred to Klaus, at least not phrased in that way. He didn't want his last moments on earth to consist of him acting as some sort of deranged and morbid prostitute. He didn't want his last memories to be of Marcellus fucking him raw, but what choice did he have without the white oak? None but this monstrous super vampire designed to kill him and his family.

Klaus swallowed and shrugged as he let his pants fall to the ground.

Marcel just laughed and beckoned him forward. As soon as Klaus was within reach, Marcel grabbed a fistful of blond hair and dragged Klaus down to the floor. Klaus winced as his bony knees landed with a thud. A small part of Klaus was relieved that Marcel had chosen to end it this way. It was less painful, less humiliating, to service a man with his mouth rather than his ass. He waited patiently while Marcel undid his own pants and removed his flaccid genitals. Klaus closed his eyes and dreamed of nonexistence. How long until he could rest in peace? One hour or less? Yes, he told himself, this was worth it.

"I never thought I'd see Klaus Mikaelson get on his knees to suck a guy off," mused Marcel as he hooked his thumb behind Klaus' lower front teeth and yanked his jaw down. His cock followed suit quickly and Klaus could feel Marcel growing and pulsating in his mouth. The taste was pungent and stale as if Marcel hadn't showered in weeks. Marcel pulled Klaus further down on his cock using Klaus' bottom teeth as leverage. Klaus felt his jaw twinge and crack to accommodate both Marcellus' thumb and thickening manhood.

Klaus gagged as Marcel touched the back of his throat, and gagged again as Marcel thrust further. His throat convulsed and tried to reject the intrusion, but Marcel grabbed the back of Klaus' skull and pushed down, forcing himself deep into Klaus' throat. Klaus didn't need air to survive, but his base animal instincts fought against the thickness that blocked off his airway anyways. Klaus shuddered backwards, but Marcel kept his cock firmly buried balls deep in Klaus' throat.

Marcel grunted with pleasure as he rolled his hips and ground his cock into the wet heat of Klaus' esophagus. Klaus' nose tickled Marcel's pubic hair as he shook, and Klaus' retching tongue felt good on the base of his cock. He could cum soon if he wasn't careful – drunk on power and vengeance – but he wanted to enjoy this longer.

Minutes passed at Klaus' strength and consciousness faded. His lungs burned and his eyes watered as the world shrunk into a pinpoint of light. Unable to fight any longer, Klaus passed out, only to awake moments later as Marcel unplugged his throat with a viciously satisfied smile.

Klaus grabbed at haggard breaths. Sputtering strings of saliva between him and Marcel's throbbing erection. His vision had barely returned when Marcel began again. Marcel grabbed hair at the base of Klaus' neck and pulled him down to the base of his cock once more. Klaus didn't fight it this time. He let his eyes roll back as he fell into the sensation of letting another man use his throat like a cunt. In a lightheaded stupor, he imagined letting Elijah slip into his mouth. Perhaps Elijah would taste better. The world faded out of existence once more as he suffocated and lost consciousness.

Klaus woke to a few hard slaps on his cheekbone. He stole sweet breaths as quickly as he could, not knowing when he would be able to breathe again. Then, he felt something pressing down firmly into his groin.

"Disgusting," muttered Marcel as he nearly crushed Klaus' painful erection with the bottom of his foot.

Klaus groaned and rutted forward against Marcel's foot without meaning to. Shame no longer existed. Fear no longer existed. He was hazy from asphyxiation and something in his primal subconscious felt good – useful.

And then Marcel was deep in his throat again. This time, Marcel was thrusting at an unrelenting pace that bruised his esophagus and his lips. Klaus' mind went blank as Marcel used one hand to hold his skull still. Marcel's other hand tightened around Klaus' throat where his cock bulged against the muscles with every thrust. Marcel groaned and went faster. Klaus thought he would pass out for a third time, but Marcel lurched forward, grunted, and shot long spurts of ejaculate down Klaus' throat. Marcel breathed heavily and caved in over Klaus' head, not ready to remove his cock from the tightness and the warmth as Klaus shook from suffocation beneath him.

With one last satisfied breath, Marcel pulled out slowly and wiped his dick in Klaus' hair to clean off the spit and semen.

Klaus wheezed and doubled over, thankful to have completed his end of the bargain. The end was in sight and his path was clear. Once more, he was brought back to reality my Marcel grazing his groin.

"You liked that?" questioned Marcel lazily as he felt up Klaus' raging erection with the base of his heel. Marcel smirked, "Unbelievable…"

Then, Marcel moved his foot up to Klaus' chest and kicked him down flat onto the floor. He held his once again flaccid cock in his hands and let out a stream of urine that first hit Klaus square in the face. Klaus sputtered as the bitter liquid invaded his taste buds and filled up his nostrils. He twisted and thrashed on his back, but Marcel had him pinned to the floor.

"What the fuck, Marcellus," spat Klaus as he turned his head to avoid the burning hot piss. He coughed violently as the pungent liquid invaded his sinuses and windpipe.

Marcel just laughed as he adjusted his aim each time Klaus tried to move.

Finally, Marcel finished and shook off the last few drops before stepping off of Klaus and letting him up. Klaus doubled over immediately and vomited a mixture of acid, urine, and semen right at Marcel's feet. His cheeks burned with humiliation as he blinked back unwelcome tears.

"Get out," said Marcel as he headed towards the bathroom, not looking back.

"You promised," croaked Klaus weakly, barely able to turn to watch Marcel go.

"I never promised you shit," snapped Marcel as he slammed the bathroom door behind him.

Klaus heard a lock click for good measure. He was sure he could break the lock and the door, but what was the point if Marcel wouldn't kill him? Klaus stared at the high ceiling – angry, bitter, and ashamed. What was he thinking coming here? He should have listened to Marcel in the first place. There was no way that Marcel would do him any sort of favor, and there was definitely no chance of Marcel releasing him from that cursed ritual.

"Why the fuck did I come here?" whined Klaus as he furiously wiped his eyes to alleviate the burning sensation of ammonia. He had nothing now. No life. No way to die.

Trembling, drenched in piss, and still a bit lightheaded, Klaus used the coffee table to hoist himself up before darting out of the apartment. He collided with the wall in the hallway and stumbled towards the elevators. He breathed heavily as he waited, unsure of the emotions brewing inside of him. He was stuck on this ungodly earth. Perhaps he could find those precious daggers and beg someone to put him to sleep for an eternity, but even that didn't seem good enough.

His thoughts were cut short as the elevator dinged and he was face to face with the last person he wanted to see.

"Elijah…" choked Niklaus. Shame stabbed at him. Had he not confessed his lust and pain to his brother mere hours ago? Of course, given his awful luck, Elijah would appear out of nowhere to find him bruised, wheezing, and covered in another man's urine.

Elijah scrunched up his nose and the sight and smell of his disheveled brother.

"By the Gods, Niklaus, what happened to you?" he asked, but Klaus had no time to answer as his eyes rolled back and he crashed face first into the carpeted floor.