Chapter Twelve: The Eyrie
/ˈerē,ˈirē/
noun: high up and hard to reach, the nest of a bird of prey
Klaus was lighter these days– not quite happy – but as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and allowed him to stand taller. Eventually, Klaus began to leave his room more to socialize with the family, but still, he did not smile. He came to family dinner, but he did not laugh. Elijah considered this stalled progress as he paced his study with a cocktail of whiskey and blood.
Elijah wanted to be by Niklaus' side at all times of everyday to the point that he would probably smother the man. He only wanted to see him, protect him, touch him –
And Elijah remembered…
"I want you, Elijah," groaned Klaus, "I want you in ways that no man should ever want his own brother."
Those words had gone unexplained and unexplored. Uttered in grief and pain, forever locked away into that dark moment. Elijah couldn't ask. He wouldn't ask. Elijah needed to assume that it was all a misunderstanding, but he dreamt of Niklaus pressed up against his leg that fateful day.
Shame and fire swirled in his lower abdomen.
"Stop it," he ordered himself.
Elijah drowned these thoughts with a shot of whiskey and poured a second glass. He took a deep breath and reminded himself of all the reasons as to why he couldn't feel anything more than platonic love for Niklaus. In fact, Elijah had a list that he recited to himself on a regular basis at this point.
First: Niklaus was his half brother by blood.
Second: Niklaus had been raped and violated multiple times within the past few months.
Third: Niklaus was suicidal, vulnerable, and unstable.
Fourth: Elijah would be a monster if took advantage of this imperfect storm.
After reciting his list, Elijah felt the perfect amount of self-loathing to keep his desires in check. And yet, he still found himself watching Niklaus too long at dinners, or holding him too tightly when they said goodnight.
"Stop it, Elijah," he berated himself.
Still, his mind was whirring with tantalizing memories: Niklaus with only a towel clinging to his narrow hips and water droplets still hanging in his blond curls, Niklaus waking groggy-eyed in the early morning with his cheeks still flushed from sleep, Niklaus fumbling to hide his impressive morning wood when the blankets failed to cover him.
Without warning, this nostalgia was invaded by memories of blood splatters and blackened veins – Niklaus staked to a bedroom wall – bloodstains in bed sheets– water running red in the shower – arrogant, belligerent laughter that could only belong to one man.
"Stop," begged Elijah, but he was alone in these haunted memories.
He traded the glass for the bottle and drank deeply. The whiskey stopped his shaking, but at least his lust had been eradicated for the time being, just in time for a visitor.
There was a hesitant knock at the door.
"Elijah?" called Niklaus' muffled voice. "Are you in there?"
Elijah took another large swig of whiskey before answering. He wanted to be stronger.
"Come in," said Elijah too desperately, "Please."
Niklaus entered swiftly and shut the door behind him as if harboring a secret.
"Careful, brother, you're dangerously close to drinking us dry," said Niklaus with a hint of humor, but there were no smiles today either.
"You may be correct," confessed Elijah. "How was your afternoon with Vincent?"
"Pleasant enough," said Niklaus. "Although, I don't know if I can take much more jazz music in my life. Too many unnecessary notes, not nearly enough skalmejen."
Elijah clenched his teeth to keep from frowning, otherwise he might have enjoyed Niklaus' nostalgia for Viking instruments. Instead, a pang of envy shot through his chest. That damned witch had so quickly finagled his way into Rebekah and Niklaus' hearts. Elijah, on the other hand, wanted to wring Vincent's neck.
Niklaus sensed Elijah's rising bloodlust and asked, "Are you alright?"
Elijah waved his hand to brush off the question.
"Did you want to tell me something?" asked Elijah, hoping for news other than Niklaus' easygoing afternoons with another man.
Niklaus nodded and said, "Yes, actually, but feel free to refuse me."
Elijah would never refuse his brother.
"Go on?"
"I've been thinking, and I need to leave this city, brother," said Niklaus, "There are too many memories here. I just find that I can't move forward."
Anxiety bubbled up instantly in Elijah's stomach. "And you would like to go…alone?" he asked carefully.
"No I meant that… you would come with me," said Niklaus quickly as his gaze flickered between Elijah's eyes. "Of course, I can't leave without you because of the siphoning, but I do also want you with me, brother"
"I see," said Elijah calmly to hide his inner turmoil. "Then where would you like to go?"
"Is that a yes?" asked Niklaus with wide eyes.
Elijah nodded, and a light turned on in Niklaus' eyes for the first time in weeks.
"Our summer home in Colorado," said Niklaus, "I miss the mountain air."
Elijah remembered their last family vacation over a century ago. It was one of those rare weeks without political intrigue and murderous drama.
"That sounds absolutely serene," said Elijah, "I'll pack my things and we can leave as soon as tonight, if you would like that."
"I would," said Niklaus. His lips suddenly split into a thin smile and Elijah could have sworn that his dead heart skipped a beat. It was a tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. Niklaus left the room in a blur and Elijah went off to find a suitcase to make good on his promise.
Elijah began by packing his loosest pants, itchiest shirts, and dullest books – anything to distract him and keep his true feelings at bay while alone in the mountains with the object of his desires.
A few rooms away, Niklaus hastily threw clothes into bags with no concept of matching items or seasonal appropriateness. It was the middle of summer but he would later find unusable sweaters and ties without suits. Niklaus didn't care; he just needed to get out as soon as possible. The entirety of New Orleans reminded him of the man who used to be his father, and the man who used to be his son.
He didn't feel like dying here anymore, but this god-awful place didn't make him feel alive either.
Niklaus wanted to go back to the last place he was carefree and happy. This refuge in particular was one of their many family homes, nestled high in the Colorado Rockies and affectionately nicknamed The Eyrie. For the first time since Niklaus disintegrated the white oak bullet, he felt some semblance of hope.
Running away with Elijah made him uneasy though. Elijah had been distant and withdrawn since the attempted suicide. Niklaus was often met with short answers and even shorter eye contact. There was silence and tension during their daily interludes of physical contact. They only touched to prevent Niklaus from desiccating – nothing more, nothing less. Niklaus thought that if he could get Elijah alone long enough, without all the city distractions and watchful eyes, he could find out how to fix whatever it was that was broken between them. And if Niklaus were to be completely honest, he still wanted Elijah in ways that he tried not to think about.
Perhaps Elijah felt the same way –
"I can't exist in this world without you, Niklaus," whined Elijah as he lifted his lips to rest against Klaus' neck. "Please…"
But that was before Niklaus had run to Marcellus and begged for death – before Elijah had found him just minutes after another man's cock had been down Niklaus' throat.. A full body cringe shook him to his core. Elijah was probably disgusted by his behavior. Niklaus couldn't see why not, not when Niklaus was already disgusted with himself on an hourly basis anyways. Niklaus shook out his arms and cracked his neck as if exorcise these unpleasant memories from his body.
"Fuck it," he muttered and tried to look ahead to their vacation.
Niklaus brought his reading glasses, his books, and his traveling painting set. These were perhaps the only useful items in his entire suitcase at this point, but the mountains were calling. He then made his way towards Elijah's room, only to find that Elijah was already packed and waiting in the hall.
"Ready?" Niklaus asked to fill the silence.
"I was thinking we would take the Maserati," said Elijah with a boyish grin.
"I know you love your luxury cars, but I already took the liberty of requesting that the private jet be put on standby," said Niklaus.
"When?" Elijah scoffed, "You just assumed that I would agree to this?"
"How could you not?" replied Niklaus with the hint of a smirk.
Elijah rolled his eyes playfully as he turned to pick up his things. He would chase these little moments of happiness to the end of the world.
"Well come on now," beckoned Niklaus as he hurried down the hall, eager to leave.
And Elijah followed, because he would always follow Niklaus.
The three-hour flight passed smoothly with hardly a bump of turbulence. The clear, starry skies stretched from Louisiana to Colorado and they seemed to be in for beautiful mountain weather. Elijah was halfway through a bottle of scotch when he noticed they had flown over the bright Denver lights.
"Is our pilot lost?" asked Elijah, forever distrustful of outsiders.
"No," said Niklaus without looking up from his book, "I had a landing strip built into the valley of our estate."
Elijah exhaled through his nose in amusement.
"That seems indulgent, even for you," he said.
"Says the man who wanted to take a Maserati on an eighteen hour road trip," said Niklaus with a roll of his eyes. "Horrible fuel efficiency."
"And so we've chartered a private jet instead," countered Elijah.
Niklaus only mhmm'ed in response and Elijah peaked over to see a small smile playing on the man's lips.
If leaving New Orleans were all it took to raise Niklaus' spirits, then Elijah would never go back. They sat in a comfortable silence for the last twenty minutes until descent. Although nagging in the backs of their minds were their ulterior motives for the trip. For Elijah, to prove that he was trustworthy and good, that he was not a monster that would take advantage of his brother's vulnerabilities. For Niklaus, to close the widening gap between himself and Elijah, to regain the intimate friendship that had made life bearable and worth living. Unbeknownst to each other, they were at odds.
After a smooth landing, Niklaus and Elijah crossed the expansive grounds of The Eyrie with their suitcases under the cover of nightfall. They were silent and vigilant as they looked over their shoulders and peered into dark shadows. The winding stony steps guided them to the summit where their mountain home overlooked a shadowed valley. They stopped at the heavy stone door with an elaborate 'M' carved into the surface. Elijah swiped his thumb against the bladed edge of his incisor tooth and painted his blood along the initial. The stone slid open to reveal a wooden door, to which Elijah held the key.
"You told Freya we were coming?" asked Niklaus.
"Of course," he replied. "The wards are set."
Elijah opened the door to reveal a luxurious lodge of animal furs, open fireplaces, and bay windows. Elijah snapped his fingers, and the fireplaces came to life, giving off a warm and comfortable glow. Niklaus smiled once more.
"I see you updated our lodge," said Niklaus, remembering something much more rustic since his last visit in the nineteen hundreds.
"Do you like it?" asked Elijah. "I thought we would bring Hope here before…"
Niklaus nodded. That was yet another source of unending pain in his heart.
"Thank you Elijah, I'm sure she'll love it," murmured Niklaus. "But for now, would you like to join me for a night cap?"
Elijah paused as he watched the firelight dance on Niklaus' cheekbones. He couldn't trust his self-restraint in this setting, not with fur pelts, fireplaces, and nightcaps mixed together – not with the way Niklaus looked tonight.
Elijah averted his eyes and took a deep breath. "Forgive me, brother. The flight was long…"
Niklaus frowned as Elijah trailed off.
"Anyways, come here," said Elijah, holding out his hand.
Niklaus pressed their palms together and allowed himself to regain his strength. The tingling warmth put the fireplaces to shame, but the feeling was gone all too soon.
"Are you sure?" asked Niklaus with an attempt at a sly grin. "We just got here. We could celebrate the renovations and open an expensive bottle of cognac."
Elijah was tempted by that sly grin, but he knew better.
"Goodnight, Niklaus, I'll see you in the morning," said Elijah before he turned and left with a slight wave of his hand.
Niklaus parted his lips with a desperate plea balanced on the tip of his tongue, but Elijah turned a corner and was gone. Niklaus found himself alone once more, with only unspoken words to keep him company. That deep loneliness came back, and he feared that traveling so far had been foolish. His demons weren't in New Orleans – they were inside of him, and they followed him here.
Niklaus reached blindly for a bottle of liquor and drank straight from the bottle. The alcohol dulled his senses, but it wasn't enough to forget.
Alas, Marcellus could make him forget. Twisted longing gripped his insides. He wanted that mind-numbing, all encompassing experience again, he could let it erase everything old and rotten inside of him, if only for a moment.
Niklaus closed his eyes against those thoughts. He knew these thoughts were foolish, but he craved those minutes in Marcellus' apartments when everything had just…stopped. There had been no past, no present, no future – only movement, pain, and purpose – but it was a fools errand indeed, because Marcellus could not save Niklaus from what Mikael and Marcellus himself had already done. His abuser and his savior could not be one and the same. It had been a temporary Band-Aid on a gushing artery that bled him dry every day.
That was why he wanted Elijah. Needed Elijah.
Niklaus brought the bottle to his lips, but only a few drops fell onto his tongue. He sighed and felt kinship with this empty bottle.
Elijah could make him whole again.
Niklaus groaned. He felt insane.
He had already confessed his desires to Elijah. What more could he say at this point? Elijah's inaction had made his feelings as clear as day, but Elijah's flushed cheeks and fleeting erections had hardly gone unnoticed. Niklaus wasn't a child naïve to arousal in another man. The more he thought about it – the more cognac settled into his veins – Niklaus was sure that Elijah was holding back. He just needed to break his brother's resolve. Niklaus realized that he had been waiting for Elijah to come to him, as horrible men had come to him in the past, but his brother was a noble man – a conservative man.
Niklaus would approach this problem as he did with the hundreds of women he had seduced before.
The sun began to rise, and Niklaus dug his painting supplies out from his suitcase: a palette of paints, a bundle of brushes, a collapsible easel, and a furled roll of canvas. He made his way to Elijah's room and entered quietly. Elijah was sprawled under a thin white sheet. Niklaus could just make out the rise and fall of his chest, the dip beneath his solar plexus, and the points of his hipbones. If Niklaus hadn't already been set on painting this beautiful man, inspiration would have definitely struck in this moment.
The pale sunbeams carved Elijah's features like marble, and Niklaus finally felt a wave of peace in the stillness of the moment. Perhaps this trip was a good idea after all.
"Good morning," whispered Niklaus as he set up his canvas. Elijah was a light sleeper, and he peered into the hazy morning light to see Niklaus only a few yards away.
"Morning," mumbled Elijah. He closed his eyes again to the rhythmic sound of brush strokes on canvas. He breathed in the familiar scent of fresh paint, and he smiled.
"You haven't painted in a long time."
Niklaus hadn't realized before, but six years had passed since his last work of art.
"There was nothing to paint until now," he replied softly as he marked the highlights on Elijah's nose and brow. He didn't want to forget this perfect lighting as the morning sun passed.
Elijah tried to hide his flushed cheeks. Niklaus' anchoring blue eyes raked over his body every few seconds, and Elijah felt that the thin white sheet barely hid a single detail of his body.
"Don't be shy," chided Niklaus as Elijah attempted to shift his hips to a more conservative position. He picked up a rusty red to color the flush that had appeared on Elijah's cheeks. This artistic choice was not lost on Elijah, and his flush deepened.
"I would have fixed my hair if I had known there would be a portrait drawing today," said Elijah, trying to fill the silence as Niklaus studied him.
"I like your hair this way," replied Niklaus as he blackened the strands in the painting. "It makes you look a bit brooding – perhaps a bit wild."
Elijah scoffed. He would never describe himself as wild.
Niklaus knew exactly what his brother was thinking.
"I've seen your inner beast, noble Elijah," said Niklaus, "and you know what?"
Elijah cocked his head to one side as if to ask, but not trusting himself to speak.
A thin smile showed Niklaus' sharp canines.
"I like them," he finished, "it makes me feel a bit wild as well."
Niklaus held up a warm off white paint to color match to the sunbeams, and Elijah watched Niklaus' blue eyes turn a wolfish yellow. This brazenly handsome display was the last straw for Elijah. He felt blood rush to his manhood, and he bolted upright to cover his growing erection. He was too late, because Niklaus spotted the lifted sheets a fraction of a second before Elijah covered himself properly. Niklaus' smile widened and he knew he had been right. If Elijah had just been holding back due to a sense of responsibility and nobility, then Niklaus could easily shatter Elijah's resolve.
Niklaus set the paint down gently. He walked to the edge of the bed and put his palm squarely on Elijah's chest. Firmly, he pushed Elijah back into the bed to mimic Elijah's original positioning.
Niklaus leaned down to whisper in Elijah's ear, "If you move, you'll change the composition of the painting. As I said before, noble Elijah, don't be shy."
Niklaus tilted Elijah's chin so that his cheekbones caught the light again, all the while locking eyes and daring Elijah to refuse him.
"I think we both know that you want me…" muttered Niklaus as he smoothed out the wrinkled and bunched up sheets, "…to paint you…" he patted Elijah's upper thigh twice, "…to commemorate such a beautiful morning in these new renovations, of course."
Elijah could feel his heart throbbing – definitely on the verge of heart failure.
"I do want you to paint me," said Elijah with a low, pained voice. His resolve was cracking.
The sheets settled perfectly over Elijah's achingly hard erection.
"I know," replied Niklaus as he went back to work, adding in every new sinful detail to his painting.
Elijah closed his eyes and tried to breath through this sudden unveiling of his darkest desires. He thought that if he didn't move, then the consequences would never come. But Elijah was old, and he knew better.
"Do you hate me, brother?" Elijah whispered with his eyes still shut tight against reality.
"Sometimes, but not right now," said Niklaus, "not when you look like this..."
Elijah opened his eyes, and his heart skipped more than a few beats when he saw that Niklaus' layers were slowly starting to fall away: an unzipped leather jacket, an unbuttoned flannel, an unbuckled belt pulled through tight pant loops.
Then Niklaus was only in his thin white undershirt and fitted jeans.
Elijah still felt naked in comparison, although he was, with only a bed sheet to cover him.
"How did you know?" asked Elijah desperately, "I tried to be a good brother…I tried…"
"I remember the way you used to look at me," interrupted Niklaus as he picked up his paintbrush and added a few shadows to the corners of the canvas.
"You do?" asked Elijah as he bit his lip to test if he were dreaming.
Niklaus nodded.
"Used to?" asked Elijah. His mind was whirring with questions he didn't want to ask.
Niklaus sighed. He shouldn't bring this up.
"Before I ran off to him…"
…to Marcellus.
"After that, you stopped looking at me."
"I did," said Elijah. His mouth was a thin line as hurt feelings bubbled up to the surface. He still wanted his brother. He still craved Niklaus, but he felt like a second choice. He was jealous, and he wanted to kill something.
"Why?" Niklaus' voice broke and his eyes faded back to a sad, dull blue, fixated on the painting before him.
Elijah turned away, fists and teeth clenched, wondering if he should lie. He should have lied. his anger didn't let him and the truth spilled out.
"You should have chosen me over him. You told me…" said Elijah. "You know what you told me."
"I want you, Elijah," groaned Klaus.
The memory hung between them.
"You could have stopped me," whispered Niklaus.
Elijah let out a harsh, barking, humorless laugh.
He shouldn't have brought this up.
"Did you really want me to stop you?" asked Elijah, for the first time allowing himself to relive the pain of Niklaus' betrayal. "You wanted to die, Niklaus. You told me I couldn't ask you to stay with me. You remember that don't you?"
"I know," said Niklaus.
"You couldn't bare to stay with me, and yet you ran to him," said Elijah with a sneer, his voice dripping acid and bitter accusations.
Niklaus winced. Elijah wasn't wrong, but it wasn't like that. "I didn't mean for that to happen," he said. His paintbrush hovered over the painting – unable to continue now that the peace and stillness had broken.
"You didn't even let me – you didn't stay to listen – I could have…" Elijah sputtered and shut his eyes and he remembered the bruises on Niklaus throat and the stench of Marcellus coating his brother.
"Elijah," said Niklaus weakly.
He really should have never brought this up.
"You could have stayed with me, but you let him touch you again," said Elijah as his voice grew louder. He wiped his dry eyes angrily, daring tears to form. He would rip out his tear ducts if they dared to defy him now. Elijah wrapped the bed sheet around his waist and stood to face Niklaus as his anger and hurt got the better of him.
Niklaus stepped back, suddenly apprehensive in a small room with an angry man.
"How am I supposed to react when you abandon me to go fuck the man who raped you?!" bellowed Elijah, "why the fuck would you do that?!"
Those words echoed through the lodge and Niklaus felt his shoulders curl under the weight.
"I wanted to die," muttered Niklaus, "I told you that…"
"Pray tell me how giving him your body would achieve that," hissed Elijah.
And then Niklaus wanted to cry, but he couldn't, not now. Of course he couldn't go back to how things were. Of course Elijah was disgusted. Niklaus was disgusted too.
"It just happened," he said quickly, his temper rising with his volume, "He told me he would kill me if I let him use me...he promised he would kill me and he lied," bellowed Niklaus – as loud as Elijah had been – as his anger got the better of him as well. "Is that what you want to know, Elijah?"
Elijah shook his head, no, he didn't want to hear this.
"Do you want to know about how pathetic I was?" asked Niklaus with a sneer as his tone fell to a deathly low pitch. "Do you want me to tell you all the gruesome details? Alright then! He thought it was so hilarious that I wanted him to kill me. Just so bloody fucking funny. And I was just such a desperate suicidal slut – his words, not mine – that I got on my knees to let him throat fuck me raw before he would allow me to die."
Elijah looked green. He couldn't hear this.
"Oh but that's not the best part, Elijah, because guess fucking what?" said Niklaus as he flung his arms open, "I'm still fucking here! So Marcellus got a good fucking laugh, a sick fucking blowjob, and there you have it! That's the story of my inane and idiotic decision to trust a man who had already raped me twice. Because, you know, why wouldn't he just kill me and get it over with? Well the joke was on me, brother!"
"Niklaus, you don't have to…"
"Shut up, Elijah," spat Niklaus, "you want to berate me for going back to Marcellus? Then you should fucking hear about it, because you know what? I didn't fucking mind it. In fact, I might just do it again. Who the fuck knows?!"
"You don't mean that," countered Elijah, hoping he was right.
And Niklaus opened his mouth to disagree out of spite, but he knew that Elijah was right. Truly, he never wanted to set eyes on that bastard ever again.
"Of course I don't," said Niklaus angrily, "But just – I don't know – just go fuck yourself, Elijah."
Elijah seemed to deflate as his anger subsided, and all that remained was the same unyielding pain.
"You liked it that last time you were with him?" asked Elijah, pushing his luck, but needing to understand.
Niklaus' cheeks and collarbone turned a cherry red. He instantly regretted his tirade. Niklaus sucked his teeth and tapped his fingers on his elbows.
"Bloody fucking hell Elijah, I can't explain it."
"Please, for me," asked Elijah. He couldn't go on making up horrible things in his imagination anymore.
Niklaus exhaled sharply.
"Look, I don't know, I suppose he took my pain and replaced with something else – if only for a few moments."
Elijah's jealousy reared its ugly head again. He wanted to be the one to help Niklaus. He wanted to be the one to take away his pain.
"Did he know he was helping you…heal?" asked Elijah awkwardly.
"He didn't know," said Niklaus sharply, "it was just convenient that his sadism and my masochism coexisted in that moment."
Elijah pursed his lips. This little detail gave him more imagery than he was comfortable with: Marcellus' bestial form looming over his little brother – compliant and submissive on bruised knees. Elijah felt his cock twitch and he considered castrating himself.
Niklaus reached down to pick up his jacket, as if the thick leather would protect him from this utter humiliation. He zipped the jacket and turned towards the door, but paused to explain himself one last time.
"Every waking moment – every nightmare – I feel his body… I feel him marking his territory over and over again…I feel like I belong to him. I suppose I do in some ways with that talisman in play."
Niklaus swallowed thickly.
Elijah grimaced.
"I could live with myself if I belonged to you instead, brother," said Niklaus quietly. "That's all I wanted when I came in here."
Guilt shot through Elijah's chest, and then Niklaus was gone with the door firmly shut behind him.
Elijah stood alone again, once more burdened by heavy confessions, but he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Elijah wouldn't let him run away again. Elijah bolted through the door and down the hallway to find Niklaus. He caught up quickly and grabbed Niklaus' wrist to spin him around.
"I'm not a sadist," he breathed.
Niklaus' eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to protest whatever was happening, but Elijah continued.
"I've never dreamed of hurting you like he did, Niklaus," said Elijah as he pressed their foreheads together. "I need you to know that. Tell me you know that."
"I know," said Niklaus as he breathed in Elijah's hot breath.
"Good," said Elijah as his lips hovered over Niklaus, "but also…I can be whatever you need me to be. I want to help you. I want to heal you, even if that means hurting you."
Electricity shot through Niklaus' abdomen and blood followed suit.
"Just tell me what you want, Niklaus," he whispered.
Niklaus wanted so many things, but they all boiled down to one simple answer.
"You," he said, "I want you to make me yours."
"I will," promised Elijah, and their lips pressed together as warmth flooded their bodies. Niklaus pressed forward into Elijah, begging to be consumed, and Elijah set his morals aside. Elijah held Niklaus lower back firmly in place so that Niklaus could feel his erection pressing against his stomach. Elijah's other hand held Niklaus' throat at the junction beneath his jawbone, feeling for the borrowed blood pumping in Niklaus' carotid.
Elijah had claimed that he wasn't a sadist, but he tasted Niklaus lips and felt rage building up at the thought of another man using this mouth. He slammed Niklaus against the wall – pressed their bodies close – and saw red thinking about another man using this body. He wanted to erase Marcellus from every single aspect of Niklaus' mind, body, and soul.
"You're mine," growled Elijah against Niklaus' teeth, and felt Niklaus attempted nod despite the crushing grip around his throat.
Niklaus physically felt Elijah's mental break. Perhaps he should have worried about the monster stirring in his brother, but Niklaus had other priorities. Like Elijah's roving hands and gnashing teeth. He felt incisors sink into his neck and he rutted against Elijah's leg in an attempt to assuage the pressure building in his manhood.
"More," begged Niklaus as he began to feel lightheaded from blood loss. He was losing sight of himself, and he loved it.
Elijah spun Niklaus around and pinned his wrists on the wall above his head with one hand. Elijah tore Niklaus' jeans and boxer briefs away effortlessly – leaving jagged, bloody lines where his nails broke the skin. Niklaus sucked in air and arched his back as if to offer himself up as a sacrifice to Elijah's demons.
But Elijah paused and rested his head in the nape of Niklaus' neck to catch his breath.
"I'm hurting you…I said I would, but…" muttered Elijah as doubt set in. Blood was pooling on the other side of Niklaus collarbone when Elijah bit him, and blood was trickling down Niklaus hips where he tore away his clothing.
"Please don't stop," whispered Niklaus, "I need you."
Elijah furrowed his brows against Niklaus' neck, and thought for a moment. He had never done this with a man before, but he would never treat a woman like this.
"Hold on," he said softly.
Elijah scooped Niklaus into his arms and brought him to the living room. He set Niklaus down on a black fur pelt and went to the kitchen. Niklaus watched Elijah rifle through cabinets with an incredulous gaze. Finally, Elijah returned with a jar of coconut oil.
"Why?" asked Niklaus as he attempted to close his legs, wondering why he was splayed out on the floor with Elijah holding a seemingly unrelated container of cooking ingredients.
Elijah moved forward quickly to prevent Niklaus from closing his legs. He liked watching Niklaus squirm naked beneath him. It made him smile.
"Trust me," he said with a sly wink.
Niklaus watched without a hint of trust as Elijah let the now bloodstained bed sheet unravel from his hips. He nearly gasped at the sight of Elijah's cock, which was impressive and intimidating to say the least. Elijah wasted no time in taking a glob of the white oil and lathering his cock until it was shiny, slick, and warm.
Elijah kissed Niklaus' forehead, and then flipped Niklaus over so that the blond was bent over on all fours. Elijah bit Niklaus' neck and reopened the wound to drink deeply.
"I'm going to fuck you now," said Elijah in low tones.
Niklaus felt dizzy, hazy, and warm.
"I'm going to use you," said Elijah.
Niklaus nodded, pressing backwards and searching for Elijah's cock. Elijah obliged and pressed his lubricated manhood between Niklaus' cheeks. Niklaus pressed back again, but Elijah just teased at his entrance without going inside.
"I'm going to hurt you," he said.
Niklaus groaned. His cock hurt. His neck hurt. His hips hurt. He wanted more.
"I want your explicit permission."
"Please," begged Niklaus.
"Explicit," ordered Elijah.
"Fuck me," he begged.
Elijah kissed the back of Niklaus neck where the spine met the shoulders. He repositioned himself, bit down, and thrust forward with a sharp snap of his hips.
Niklaus screamed and fell forward as Elijah buried his cock halfway into Niklaus ass. Elijah tumbled forward with him, and the impact shoved his cock up to the hilt, making Niklaus whine in agony.
Elijah didn't pull out, but he didn't move either. "Are you okay?" he asked, fearful of having actually caused any damage.
Niklaus took a deep breath as he assessed his situation. Elijah was much bigger than either of the two men who had fucked him before. He felt stretched to his limits. His skin stung and his ass ached, but the pain was different – maybe even good. As far as he could tell, there wasn't even any blood.
"Do you want me to stop?" asked Elijah quietly.
Niklaus' heart skipped a beat. No one had ever asked him that before. No one had ever given him that option. Niklaus blinked back tears, not wanting to make Elijah feel bad. After all, Niklaus was the one who had started all of this in the first place.
"Is that okay?" asked Niklaus, still hardly understanding this sense of autonomy and humanity granted so easily by Elijah.
"Of course," replied Elijah quickly as he kissed Niklaus' neck a few times. Gently, Elijah removed himself from Niklaus so as not to cause any more shock to Niklaus' system. Elijah wrapped himself in the bed sheet to hide his raging erection, and wrapped Niklaus in a blanket from the couch.
"I'm so sorry," said Niklaus softly as he sat to face Elijah. He kept his eyes cast down, half expecting Elijah to retaliate and fuck him senseless anyways. When that didn't happen, Niklaus started to cry.
"Please don't apologize – please don't cry," said Elijah as he wiped away Niklaus' tears with his thumb. "Do you want to tell me what happened? Did I do something wrong?"
Niklaus knew exactly what happened, but it sounded silly to say it out loud.
"I'm sorry if I went too far too quickly," said Elijah when Niklaus didn't reply.
Niklaus shook his head.
"I've never been given a choice before," he said bluntly.
Elijah's heart broke for the hundredth time.
"I enjoyed what you were doing…it felt good. Even the painful parts felt good," said Niklaus, "but you asked if I wanted to stop and I just wanted to know what it was like I suppose – to choose when to stop. They never let me stop before."
Niklaus' voice broke with a hiccup and tears started flowing again.
Elijah felt ice in his heart and his fingertips.
"They?" he whispered.
And Niklaus' sob stopped as if the ice had frozen him as well.
"I thought it was only Marcellus," said Elijah. His eyes were wide, but Niklaus' eyes were wider.
Niklaus could have died if shame were poison. He shook his head and pulled the blanket tightly around him.
"Don't ask," he pleaded.
"Brother," started Elijah. He needed to know.
"Please," said Niklaus.
Elijah took Niklaus hand and tried to catch Niklaus' gaze, but it was no use.
"Let me kill them, Niklaus, please let me make this right," he begged, "I can't kill Marcellus, but I can kill anyone else. Please tell me."
Niklaus was shaking. Elijah had already yelled at him once for going back to Marcellus. How would he bellow and scream if he knew about their father?
"I don't think you can," whispered Niklaus. Their father had the talisman. Not one, but two now counting Marcellus. If Marcellus were invincible, than a man who had defied death would be godlike in strength.
"I don't unders- " started Elijah, but then he did. He looked up at Niklaus with horrified, unblinking eyes. "No…"
Elijah stood up suddenly and Niklaus thought for only a moment that a kick would send him careening into the bay windows, but that kick never came. Elijah brushed past him and began to pace through the living room with his hands in his hair.
"No, no, no," repeated Elijah as the puzzle pieced fell into place.
He stopped pacing long enough to stare at Niklaus with his hand over his mouth.
"Our father?" he asked, the words muffled through his palm.
Niklaus' eyes were cast down, trying to avoid this wrath, the child inside of him begging for someone to know – to help.
"Your father," said that quiet, childlike voice inside of Niklaus.
And something in Elijah snapped. His pupils blew out. His fangs dropped. His veins throbbed in his temples.
"Damn it," he yelled.
Elijah punched clean through the window and an entire wall of glass shattered and fell to the floor like wind chimes.
"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT," bellowed Elijah.
Niklaus winced at the sound.
Elijah picked up an armchair and threw it into the bookcase. The support beams of the ceiling high library snapped and books thundered to the ground.
"Elijah," said Niklaus as he stood carefully.
"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM."
Elijah flipped the marble coffee table into the far wall thirty feet away, and Niklaus flinched.
"Elijah, stop."
Niklaus edged towards his brother.
Elijah sank to his knees and started to cry when his anger couldn't help him. He felt useless. He felt helpless as he began to understand. All those overnight hunting trips with only Mikael and Niklaus – Niklaus sobbing in the middle of the night – trying not to wake the other siblings when he came back to bed at odd hours. Mikael's reappearance just as Marcellus discovered this horrible magic.
"I'm sorry," said Elijah before he let out another wordless bellow. "I should have known. I should have asked. I should have protected you."
"You couldn't have," said Niklaus plainly, realizing in that moment that millennia old resentment towards his siblings for – not – knowing had been so foolish.
Elijah crawled forward and pressed his forehead into the tops of Niklaus' feet. Niklaus felt Elijah's tears drip through his toes. He watched as sobs wracked Elijah's now seemingly broken and fragile form. Niklaus felt odd watching his brother's breakdown. He had wondered for hundreds of years what would happen if his siblings found out his nasty little secret. He thought that they would hate him – ostracize him – and so he shunned them first. But this…this was more than he had ever hoped for.
"I knew he hated you. I knew he beat you and abused you more than the rest of us. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't know," sobbed Elijah.
Niklaus knelt down, feeling oddly calm and at peace. He had lived with this trauma for nine hundred years, and for the first time (aside from Marcellus), someone else knew. Something deep and significant in his soul felt lighter – as if he could finally breathe.
"How old were you?" asked Elijah quietly, still hunched into the ground and shaking.
"I don't know," Niklaus lied. He was eight. He didn't want to lie anymore. "I think I was eight."
Elijah started to hyperventilate. Their childhood started to make more sense. The horror that was The Niklaus Mikaelson started to make more sense. A broken child grew up to be a broken man. Elijah had assumed it all began the day that his wolf had been triggered, but it had started more than a decade prior.
"How long did this go on for?"
Niklaus clenched his teeth. The answer was humiliating.
"Fourteen," he muttered. "I was getting stronger. Or he had lost interest as I got older."
Elijah was going to be sick, but he knew better than to let Niklaus know that. He took a deep shuddering breath and sat up to face his younger brother.
"Am I the only one who knows?"
Niklaus nodded, then shook his head.
"Marcellus figured it out before he attacked me."
Elijah's eyes twitched and his fangs began to protrude before he calmed himself once more.
He sighed heavily.
"Niklaus…please look at me…"
Niklaus hesitated before begrudgingly meeting Elijah's bloodshot eyes.
"I know I can't take back what happened, but if I had known, I would have gutted him and slit his throat. I would have run away with you. We would have found your real father, taken Rebekah, and lived with the werewolves in the woods."
Niklaus nodded and broke eye contact as tears started to fall.
"I would have liked that," said Niklaus as he cried into the crook of his elbow. A picturesque childhood taunted him. If only he had trusted his brother to save him all those centuries ago.
"Please believe me…I would have done anything to keep you safe," said Elijah in earnest, "I didn't protect you then, but I'll protect you now. Always and forever."
Elijah bit into his wrist and offered it to Niklaus as a sign of peace, love, and fealty.
Niklaus took Elijah's wrist to his lips, careful to avoid using teeth. "Always and forever," whispered Niklaus into Elijah's gushing blood.
Elijah breathed deeply and closed his eyes, contemplating his broken brother properly for the first time in their long lives. Niklaus' anger and trust issues – his built up walls and paranoia – the way he lost his mind at the slightest hint of betrayal. Elijah had always felt obligatory responsibility and compassion to look after this man, but for the first time, he felt sympathy. He might have even felt pity, but he would never let Niklaus know that.
Elijah's thoughts drifted back to Marcellus – now a minor player in this horrible game – but his betrayal now seemed even more heinous. Elijah couldn't even begin to fathom the heartbreak Niklaus must have felt, but now he understood something else.
"It must have felt natural to seek out Marcellus again," said Elijah softly.
Niklaus paused his feast and looked up. He looked so frail now, but Elijah still thought him beautiful with ruby red blood dripping down his chin.
"I suppose," murmured Niklaus as he released Elijah's wrist. After being dragged back into his father's bed again and again over the course of six years…it did seem normal to go back to Marcellus when he needed something. There had been neither fear nor apprehension where perhaps there should have been.
They sat in silence as they both adjusted to the new dynamic forced upon them.
"I've felt polluted and repulsive for centuries now," started Niklaus slowly. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't terrified that you felt similarly now."
Elijah took Niklaus' palm and pressed it against his racing heart.
"You are an enchanting, seductive, maddening creature," said Elijah in earnest, "How could I not want you?"
Niklaus smiled and Elijah could have kissed him. Instead, Niklaus leaned forward and brushed his bloody lips over Elijah's cheekbone. The ghost of a kiss was enough to leave a red stain on Elijah's skin.
"Come to bed with me?" asked Niklaus. "I never slept last night."
Elijah nodded and grabbed Niklaus' extended arm.
Of course he would follow.
He would follow Niklaus to the ends of the earth.
Six hours ago, back at the Mikaelson estate in New Orleans, a cloaked figure crept through the shadows with precious cargo in her arms. She was terrified to return to these blood soaked streets, but she needed help. She needed protection. Standing in the old familiar courtyard of the house that was once her home, she held her child close. She didn't trust the false serenity that had fallen over this place.
"Hayley?" called a sleepy voice from the stairs.
She nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Ouch, mom," yelped the little girl in her arms as Hayley squeezed too tight.
"Freya?" she called back softly, seeing a strikingly thin silhouette with short messy hair that could only belong to the eldest Mikaelson.
"Auntie Freya?" exclaimed Hope, having only heard stories of this magnificent witch.
Freya rushed down the stairs of the balcony and into the courtyard to see her niece and friend better. She had barely had time to enjoy Hayley's company before rushing back to save Niklaus, and she had not been permitted to see her niece before leaving.
"Hello sweetie," she cooed as she knelt down to examine the girl who had grown five years older in the blink of an eye. Freya pushed red hair out of Hope's eyes and smiled to hold back tears. "You have grown into a magnificent young lady, haven't you?"
Hope blushed and hid her face in her mother's hips.
Freya rose to her feet to meet Hayley's gaze, only to find distress and anxiety in the other woman's face. Hayley's lips were pursed and her brows were tightly knit.
"Hayley, what's wrong?" she asked softly.
"Can we go inside?" asked Hayley abruptly.
Freya nodded and led them into the mansion.
"Only certain people can pass through the wards around this house, but you still tripped the alarm when you entered," said Freya as they walked. "Don't worry. You are both safe here. I promise."
This did not ease Hayley's anxiety, and they walked in silence until Freya delivered them to a windowless room that she believed Hayley would find comforting. Indeed, Hayley's shoulders loosened a fraction of an inch.
"Hope, go brush your teeth and get ready for bed," ordered Hayley.
"But mom, we just got here," whined Hope.
"Go," said Hayley, harsher than she intended, and Hope sulked to the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
Freya frowned, noticing Hayley's lack of belongings.
"What's wrong?" asked Freya. "You didn't even pack before coming here."
"I saw a ghost," murmured Hayley as she sank into the bed and massaged the ache between her brows.
"A ghost?" asked Freya, hoping her first intuitions were wrong.
"Mikael," spat Hayley. "He came looking for Hope."
Color drained from Freya's face. A million and one possibilities came to mind, none of them good.
"Don't worry, Hayley," she said, hoping she wasn't lying, "Hope is safe here."
"Where is Klaus?" she asked. No matter how much she hated that man, she knew that Klaus was Hope's best chance at survival.
Freya exhaled sharply and pulled a crinkled note from her pocket.
'Dearest Sisters,
Niklaus and I will be traveling for an undetermined amount of time.
Our trip begins at the Eyrie. Please put the necessary precautions in place.
We will return in due time.
Always and Forever,
Elijah
Hayley cursed under her breath as she finished the hastily written note.
"Of course Klaus is gone," said Hayley sharply. "He has a daughter now. He can't just disappear."
Freya's lips pursed as she turned away from the visitor.
"Your anger is misguided," said Freya shortly.
"I'm sure you believe that," replied Hayley as she began to unpack.
The tension hung in the air until Hope retuned from the bathroom.
"Thank you for letting us stay," said Hayley quietly.
Freya sighed. "You're family after all," she said.
Hayley didn't reply.
"Anyways, you can relax here. I can fend off the monsters in the night until our family returns."
Freya quietly shut the door behind her, but her rage boiled over. She slammed her fist into the stone and blood trickled down the uneven grooves. Freya watched the red streams with tired eyes before she made her way to the library. Any iota of interest in her niece would not go unpunished.