Author's notes:
Yes, this is an update.
Let me tell you first that I'm very sorry for taking so long to post a new chapter. I have been working on this for two months. I was hit by writer's block and let me tell you, it is a b*tch!
I'm not very happy with this chapter but, at some point, you have to let go. I just hope you won't be too disappointed with it.
Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me. A special shout-out to Psyc0gurl0 and SweettFace for their continuous support.
You may have noticed that I have changed my pen name, it matches my tumblr: thefrenglishgirl. Check it if you want. :)
As usual, this is unbeta'd. Please forgive any mistake.
Happy reading! ;)
He was walking in a field of softness, warmed by the light of a comforting sun. He stopped when he heard the moans of the wind in the distance, the tapping and rattling of its claws against the window. Soon, he was pulled away from his blanket of comfort. And, consciousness, gentle and reassuring, lightly touched him.
His eyes fluttered open and stark threads of light, frosty and white, greeted him and harshly kissed his eyes, and he winced. He passed a hand over his face to shake off the remnants of sleep and became slowly aware of the warm weight on his chest.
Caroline.
He looked down at the blonde head using him as a pillow, an arm around his waist. And he let out a sigh of relief.
She was real.
They were real.
He caressed her hair, her cheek, and she sighed his name. ''Caroline?'' he whispered, running his fingers along her back. He turned toward the clock on his beside table.
They had slept in. But he did not care.
Work was the last thing on his mind.
He looked back at the girl sleeping in his arms. ''Caroline,'' he said again, softly. ''Wake up.''
''Five more minutes,'' she murmured, half-asleep, and he smiled. Of course.
''It's time to wake up,'' he said again.
''I don't care,'' she said, moving a little, her breast rubbing against his arm as she did so. She hid her face in the crook of his neck and he decided that it would not be that bad after all, to stay in bed a little longer. ''I don't care,'' she repeated, nuzzling his neck, and her hair tickled his nose. ''Five more minutes.''
Alright. Five more minutes.
But he just could not wait to start his day.
With her.
Their first as something other than friends. As something else.
''Caroline,'' he said but she did not answer. He ran two fingers on her cheek but she did not move. ''Sweetheart?''
She had fallen back asleep. Of course.
He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb her; she murmured something unintelligible when her cheek hit his pillow and turned on the other side. She was now lying on her stomach, hair spilling on the pillow, arms outstretched.
Had he not known her – had he not delightfully corrupted her again and again – he would have said that she was the picture of innocence.
And, yet, she was in some way. Innocent.
There was something pure and damaged about Caroline, an eagerness to please that stemmed from her insecurities. People that had abused her trust – her heart. But he would show her, just like he had said. He would show her that, in his eyes, she was perfect.
He leaned and kissed her hair, took a minute to breathe her in.
''Caroline,'' he said, kissing her shoulder. ''Wake up.'' He slowly brought down the sheet that was covering her and continued to kiss every inch of skin that was exposed to his gaze, rediscovering her body. ''Wake up,'' he said again, lips hovering over her back.
''Please, wake up.'' He uncovered her completely and continued his ministrations, kissing, caressing, kneading her, urging her to wake up. Anything to make her open her eyes.
Sighs escaped her and she began to awaken under his lips. She rolled on her back and her eyes opened.
Finally.
He moved over her and dropped kisses on her chest and belly. He was hungry this morning. Even more so now that he had had a taste. And another.
He felt her fingers in his hair and her hand on his neck and he looked up. She was wide awake now and she was smiling down at him. And she had that look. The look that said that she was hungry too.
''Hello,'' she said with a raspy voice. And she bit the side of her lip.
Yes. Definitely hungry.
He tilted his head to the side, with a delighted smirk. ''Hello, sweetheart.'' His hand, which was lazily drawing random patterns on her stomach, began its journey south. And his smirk grew wider when she closed her eyes with a tiny moan.
Randomness turned into purposeful circles. Drawn on her intimate flesh. And her hand covered his, soft and urging. Eyebrows knitted in concentration, rosy patches on her skin, she was chasing her climax and she looked magnificent.
The flush spread and he knew it would not be long.
Indeed.
She came quickly and quietly – with a sigh.
''Good morning,'' he said with a smile when she came down from her high.
She shook her head, eyes still closed, and laughed. ''Good morning,'' she said. She sighed and opened her eyes, returned his smile lazily. ''Good morning,'' she said again, more tenderly.
He looked at her, flushed and smiling, naked and boneless in his rumpled sheets, and was hit by a sudden wave of emotion.
It left him breathless.
Breathless – and just a little bit scared.
~o~
He threw back the covers and got up. He stretched and went to the window, not bothering to put on his pajama pants.
The sky was colorless and the autumn leaves, stark against the white background, like rusty stains, moved along the sighs of the wind. Touches of red and orange brought a glow to the melancholic tableau, a glimmer of hope against the melancholia it radiated.
Everything did not have to be cold and lonely.
He was not lonely anymore.
''Nik!'' she called from the bathroom.
''I'm coming!''
He smiled.
No. He was not lonely anymore.
~o~
She kissed the back of his neck and let her nose linger on his skin. Breathed him in. Familiar and comforting.
His scent had never failed to appease her. But now – oh now – it made the butterflies in her belly even more agitated. They soared, soared madly against the open cage and flew out and up. Up. Up. Up.
Up to her heart.
And it felt like she was flying with them – lifted by those thousand wings. And then falling.
Falling.
''What are you doing?'' he asked with a chuckle.
''Nothing,'' she answered, smiling against his skin, and he chuckled again, shaking his head. She took another breath, closed her eyes, and held him tighter.
Falling endlessly.
~o~
She looked up from her magazine, feeling his eyes on her. He had that smug smile, that smile that usually drove her up the wall, that made her huff and roll her eyes. And yet, now, she could not help but blush. ''What?'' she asked, hiding her face behind her mug of coffee.
''Nothing,'' he answered, wearing the same smug expression. Only now, on top of that, he looked amused.
Seriously?
''Then why are you looking at me like that?''
''Like what?'' he asked her with wide eyes. Eyes that screamed innocence. She refrained from snorting.
''Like you know something that I don't,'' she answered. But he remained silent, smirking at her. Kept his little secret to himself.
She shook her head with raised eyebrows. ''Right.'' She tried to concentrate on her magazine and continued to sip her coffee. But he just kept looking at her. She shook her head again and rolled her eyes.
''You can be terribly annoying. You know that, right?'' she remarked with feigned annoyance.
Half-feigned.
''But you love it,'' he told her with a dimpled smile. This time, she snorted.
''Oh, Nik. You can be so delusional sometimes,'' she said, standing up, going to the coffee pot to refill her mug.
Delusional and –
She squealed when he encircled her waist from behind.
Smooth bastard.
''Please, sweetheart,'' he smirked in her ear. ''It's part of my charm,'' he continued, kissing her neck.
''No, it's your accent.'' She smiled, filling her mug, and he chuckled against her hair.
The truth? It was the dimples.
He could get anything – get away with anything.
She had seen it, had been a first-hand witness. A simple smile and women would swoon. It was disgusting, really, to see how some of them would throw themselves at him.
Bitches.
She took a sip, shaking her head.
''What are you thinking about?'' he inquired, kissing her temple, and she turned toward him.
''Nothing,'' she said, eyebrows raised in mock challenge.
Two could play at this game after all.
''Alright.'' He took her mug from her hands and put it next to the coffee pot. ''What are you doing?'' she giggled. She tried to move when he took her face in his hands but he stopped her with a kiss. ''Having a taste,'' he smiled. ''Just another taste,'' he whispered and he kissed her again.
Her arms found their way around his neck. ''Your dimples,'' she said, when they broke the kiss.
''What?'' he asked.
''Your dimples,'' she repeated against his lips. ''I'm a little partial to them,'' she confessed.
Just a teeny tiny bit.
He looked at her for one second, puzzled, and threw his head back, roaring with laughter. ''Oh, Caroline,'' he said, gently.
Caroline. She loved how her name rolled off his tongue. Melodic and comforting. In his mouth, it was not just a name – her name. It was something else.
Something rare and unique that only him got to say.
Maybe it was the accent, after all.
No.
It was the whole of him.
He ran his knuckles on her cheek, a serious look on his face. ''You're beautiful and – '' He paused.
''And?'' she bit her lip, waiting for him to elaborate. Nervous and a bit eager.
''You're – you,'' he finished simply, with a subdued smile.
It took her a moment to understand what he was trying to say. But when she did, her heart sighed contently.
''That I am,'' she replied.
She was perfect. That was what he meant.
Perfect without trying. Just by being herself.
Flawed.
And, to him, it was what made her perfect.
It was what made her perfect for him.
She was –
Caroline.
~o~
He unveiled his unfinished painting and stared at it for a few moments. At a loss.
He knelt in front of it and ran his fingers on the canvas, along the ridges of dried paint. A solid visual of his loss.
Maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it was time to accept that he would never –
It was too late now. To mend things. They would stay forever broken. Broken bonds.
Divided loyalties.
And, anyway, he had not even expressed any interest in –
The sudden shrill of the fire detector pulled him out of his thoughts and he frowned when he recognized the acrid smell of smoke coming from downstairs. ''What?'' He stood up. ''Caroline!'' He dropped the sheet and ran down the stairs.
''Caroline!'' Smoke was coming from the kitchen and he heard her cough. ''Caroline!'' he called again.
She was standing in front of the stove, surrounded by a smoky fog, and she held in her hands a plate of something charred beyond recognition. ''Are you okay? What happened?''
''I burnt the bread!'' she said, incredulous, coughing. ''I burnt the bread!'' she repeated, shrilly, bordering on hysteria. ''How could I burn the bread?!''
''Calm down, Caroline. It's okay.'' He could see that she was peeved and, judging by the way she threw the burnt bread in the trash, she was very much angry at herself.
Her hair was a mess and she wore their dinner all over herself. Otherwise, she looked fine.
Still, he quickly checked for any sign of injury and let out a sigh of relief when he did not see any. ''You scared me,'' he told her when he released her, but she did not seem to hear him. She was still contemplating her failure. And he tried not to smile at her grumpy face. The thing with Caroline was that she looked sweet and lovely in almost any situation.
''Now, we won't have anything for dinner. Not even bread! I suck!'' she exclaimed.
''Don't say that. It's okay. We can order take out,'' he told her, as he opened the windows in order to let the smoke out.
''What? No! I said I was going to make dinner and I will,'' she said stubbornly. And he turned toward her.
''Caroline, we both know that cooking is not your thing,'' he said, raising his eyebrows.
She huffed, annoyed, arms crossed. ''You're the one to talk, Mr Takeout.''
''I'm only saying the truth. Come now. Why are you so bent on cooking tonight?''
When she did not answer, he came closer and held her. ''Hey, sweetheart? What's the matter?''
''I wanted to surprise you,'' she said, begrudgingly.
''By cooking?'' he asked, chuckling. What surprised him was that she kept trying after all her failed, disastrous – and sometimes dangerous – attempts.
''I wanted to do something nice for you,'' she said with a little frown. She shook her head, lips pressed in a thin line, and he found it so endearing that he had to have her in his arms. To feel her and kiss her.
''Thank you,'' he said in her neck, grateful that she kept trying for him.
She snorted. ''You're welcome.''
He looked at the mess in their kitchen, bits of their failed dinner on the floor. Empty cans and boxes scattered everywhere. A lingering cloud of smoke in the air. And, then, he looked at her, flushed and disheveled.
A total disaster. By her standards.
And it was all for him.
Every single effort. It was all for him.
~o~
When she came downstairs, after she got rid of the smell of smoke that clung to her hair and skin, she found him rummaging through the poor contents of their fridge.
''Don't bother, Nik. There's nothing.''
Well, there was hot salsa. And hummus. And an old lime. Was it even a lime? She was not sure.
''Nothing worth eating anyway,'' she finished.
''One day, I swear, sweetheart. One day, we're going to starve to death,'' he said, closing the door of the fridge. He turned toward her and stopped, staring at her.
''What?'' she asked, approaching him, feeling suddenly very self-conscious.
Maybe she should have asked before borrowing his shirt.
But it smelled just like him and she just could not resist.
''Nothing.'' There was a pause. ''We should go out, get some proper food.''
''I'm not that hungry,'' she told him and kissed his chin. ''Not for food anyway,'' she added, running her lips on his throat.
''Really? And what are you hungry for?'' he inquired, knowing fully well that, right now, she wanted only one thing.
One very delicious thing.
''Not sure. Help me figure it out,'' she added, smiling.
''Well, in this case.'' He lifted her on the counter, making her squeal with delight. His hands traveled to the front of her shirt – his shirt – and he began to unbutton it, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses on her skin. A kiss for every button he opened. ''Is that helping you?''
''Maybe,'' she said throatily.
When he stopped, her chest was offered to his hands and eyes.
And to his mouth.
His lips closed around a nipple, his tongue teasing the rosy bud.
God, this man was full of talents.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned back on her hands, as he took hold of her hips, pressing his lips against her skin. ''And now?''
''You.''
''Me?''
She nodded. ''Yes. It's you that I want.''
That I need.
He undid the last buttons and got rid of the shirt, leaving her completely bare. And went back to sucking on her breast.
God, they ate there.
They –
''Maybe we should take it upstairs,'' she said, half whispering, half moaning.
''Definitely,'' he agreed.
Definitely.
~o~
There was a burning fire in her loins and her whole being was melting under his weight and his touch. His lips and his gaze. He was everywhere. On her, in her. Around her, above her. With her forever. She had been so afraid to lose him that she had forgotten a simple truth.
She carried him with her. A piece of him that was hers only. That simple truth clouded by her fears.
But she knew now.
They were endless.
The feelings overflowed her heart and her hands moved from his lower back to his neck. Then to his hair, like they always did. A habit that she could not – would not – shake.
For as long as she remembered, she had always needed to feel him. Most of the time he would shake off her touch and complain. And, on very rare occasions, he would let her demonstrate her tenderness. And sometimes, on those occasions, he would return her display of affection. Stiffly and awkwardly. And she would laugh at him and hold him tighter. Tell him that she loved him. And he would grumble that she was being silly.
And she would feel blessed.
Because he was in her life. In her arms.
Like now.
He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand, his nose brushing against hers. His breath hitting her lips in a feathery kiss. He dropped his head in the crook of her neck and she felt quick, timid kisses on her throat as he moved leisurely; the slow pace, like a breath of air, coming and going, fed the fire, making her all tingly. Washes of pleasure slowly building in intensity.
He moved his head from the crook of her neck and kissed her, ardent and loving and needy. ''You,'' he gasped when he released her lips. ''You. Always.'' And his lips were on her jaw and at her ear. ''It will always be you,'' he told her again as he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. Masculine and strong under hands. And hers.
''And it will always be you,'' she whispered.
Always. A vow they had made as children. Repeated as friends – best friends.
A vow that was old and yet so very new. Always.
Her hands went down, on the back of his neck again. She sighed, kissed the shell of his ear and she felt him smile against her temple. He stilled and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before he broke their embrace, his hands on her thighs. Her arms fell on each side of her head and she looked at him, half curious, half impatient.
He stood on his knees, towering over her, all smirk and dimples, and lifted her lower body. Her back slid on the sheets, her hair trailing behind her, and a shot of sudden raw pleasure had her moaning and arching. He was deep inside her now, filling her so deliciously. Fitting so perfectly.
With his palm, he caressed her stomach, her upper thigh, as if he were spreading invisible color on her skin. Her hands closed around the sheets when his fingers brushed against her nub and she stopped breathing, shaking a little. He alternated between feathery strokes and rubbing, applying just the right pressure. Her body was on an overload of sensuality, aware of every little thing.
''Don't stop,'' she breathed, looking at him through heavy lids.
He caressed her, unhurriedly, taking his time, his eyes never leaving her face. Eyes that reflected the same need he could read in her eyes, she was sure. ''Please. Don't stop.'' She moved against him urgently, desperately. Feeling more alive than she had ever been. Needing only him.
It was as if she came to life under his stare and his touch. As if she grew under his lips.
And it was a scary thought. To realize how she had come to depend on him so completely in such a short time.
Or maybe it had always been like that. Maybe he was the reason why her relationship with Matt could never work – would never have worked. Because, just like she carried a piece of him, he carried a piece of her that only him knew how to nurture, a piece of her that was his only. And no one else's.
And right now, he had her, moving inside her, angling his hips just right. ''God. Oh, God,'' she chanted. ''Oh, God.'' The pressure was killing her softly. And she wanted more. And he was –
''Oh, Nik.''
The way he moved above her, inside her made her see –
the heavens.
She was seeing stars behind her closed eyelids. Dim at first – in the distance – they slowly grew in intensity and became deliciously bright, as they came nearer and nearer. She could touch them – taste them. And they stole her breath away. ''Oh, God,'' she repeated shakily. Breathless. She was –
She was going to –
''Hmm.''
The pressure intensified with his strokes. She could feel the starry warmth on her skin. Under her skin. ''Oh.'' And when the sky above her exploded in a symphony of shooting stars, fiery warmth spread in her veins, down to her toes, and she contorted in pleasure, head rolling to the side, sighing, shaking, clinging. Her nails marked his back, never letting go.
Never letting go.
She was riding those stars like waves. Wave after wave. Powerful and high. And so full light. Light within her and all around her. And when she crashed, she took him with her. His weight comforting, his breath on her face. And a new warmth – purely him – in her womb.
He left the comfort of her thighs, leaving her empty as he fell on his back next to her, his hand brushing against hers.
They stayed in silence, trying to catch their breath, pressed against each other in the comfort of his warm bed, shielded from the melancholy of the outside world. A sweaty mess of two souls.
Intertwined and real.
He took her hand in his and brought it to his mouth. And when he released her hand, she nestled her head on his chest, her arm around him. And did not say anything.
Something that was so unlike her.
Silence.
But sometimes there was nothing to say. And everything. With a single look and a single smile. A single sigh. And a single touch.
~o~
Her fingers skimmed over his back, stopping over each mole, drawing a colorless sketch. They ended their journey on his shoulder blade; there, she pressed her outstretched fingers over his triangle tattoo. His visible invisible scar.
His family.
A faded triangle.
A distant mother. An absent father. And a lost son.
Three estranged dots linked by ghostly bonds.
They never talked about it. About how he had lost his sense of home. And family. About how he had lost a father and an identity with one single cold confession.
Mikael is not your father, Niklaus. You're not his son.
She pressed her lips to the tattoo and pressed herself into him. Tried to ignore the lump in her throat. Her Nik.
Shattered under his armor. A million shards, beautiful and sharp. And as many faces.
He had lost more than his father that day, had lost so much more.
''You're painting again,'' she said softly, without thinking, and she felt him tense.
''I don't want to talk about it.''
She pressed her cheek to his back. ''I know.''
She knew. She had tried to talk about it, thinking that it would help him in some way, but he had made it clear that the subject was off-limits. She had not listened the first time. And it had been awful.
One of her worst memories of him.
Angry and ruthless. And so terribly hurt.
''I know,'' she repeated, caressing his arm absentmindedly.
He turned and faced her. ''Don't. Don't try to fix me. I'm not broken.''
She looked at him and nodded. ''I'm not – I just – I want you to be happy.''
''I'm fine,'' he told her, non committal.
Of course he was. He was never anything else. Except when he was smashing things or having one of his legendary fits.
''Okay,'' she replied softly, feeling slightly defeated. It was in her nature to want to make people happy. And more than anything, she wanted him happy.
''Come here,'' he said, reaching for her. She moved to his side and nestled in his arms.
''I'm fine,'' he said again. ''And I've got you,'' he added lightly, over her head, and she gave his middle a squeeze.
Yes, he had her.
But she wanted him to have more. She wanted him to have everything he deserved.
''I've got you,'' he repeated. ''That's enough for me.''
Yes, he had her.
And that was why he would get everything.
She would fix things.
She would.
He held her on his chest, going over her forehead with his fingertips, her brow bone, the shell of her ear. And her eyelids grew heavy. She felt his fingers running through her hair. His lips on the top of her head. His voice, a caress on her heart. ''Sleep, love.''
And she drifted off to sleep.
A smile on the lips.
Please leave a comment if you have time. It will make my day.
But most importantly, I wish you a very happy new year. I really hope it will bring you love (lots of it) and happiness. :)