You spend the first few days in New York City wandering around the city with Klaus in hand.
More correctly, you drag Klaus into every bakery you can find in the metropolitan area. You slowly compile a list of different pastries to attempt at home. You contemplate getting into cakes again. Properly, this time. (Absolutely no American Buttercream so-help-you-God).
"What do you think of this one?" You ask through a mouthful of mango genoise.
Klaus taps his fork on the plate.
"Too sweet for me personally. It feels like it's missing something."
You take another bite and hum.
"Agreed. It needs tajin or something. Maybe paprika." Klaus gives a thoughtful nod and you stifle a smile. It's nice to see Klaus out of his depth sometimes. Even if your expertise lurks in sponge cake instead of murder. "Did you ever think you'd be forced to put so much thought into baking?"
"Not as such. Cooking has been a… low priority for us for the past millennia."
"True. Also I was doing some research, did you know you can whip blood like egg whites to make meringues?" Klaus glitches for a second before you continue. "Well, at least it works with pig's blood. Sort of. I don't see why it would be different for human. Apparently it's a kind of egg substitute. You can even use it in cakes."
"… I think we shouldn't leave you alone any more. Who knows what you'll get up to."
You kiss your teeth. "No one appreciates me."
Klaus rolls his eyes and checks his watch.
"We should be getting back to the penthouse soon, we have our plans at six."
"Are you still not going to tell me what you have planned?"
Klaus flashes you a quick smile. "Absolutely not," he says, "It's a surprise."
"I don't do well with surprises."
"We all have to adapt eventually."
You roll your eyes.
Klaus whisks the two of you back to the apartment— sorry, penthouse.
"Do I at least get a general dress code?" You call from inside your room. It's not super necessary thanks to vampire hearing. You can never seem to remember that fact.
"Black tie, love. Most of your wardrobe would do."
You whirl around to see Klaus lingering at your now-open door.
"What are you doing in here?" You demand, wrapping your towel tighter around you.
"I heard you call," Klaus says, flicker of a teasing grin flashing across his face, "How was I supposed to know you weren't properly dressed?"
"I'm not sure, are you deaf? Or blind? I thought you would have figured it out by now."
Instead of leaving, Klaus chooses to step further into the room.
"I can certainly say I'm not blind," he murmurs and drags his eyes down your body.
Something in you pulses. You swallow.
"Do you have any preferences for what I wear if you're going to continue being a pain in the ass?"
He hums and reaches over your shoulder to look through your closet, caging you by proximity. Eventually, he plucks out something satin and midnight blue.
"This will be appropriate."
"… Appropriate."
He smiles, sly in the corner of his mouth. His hand lingers near your bare shoulder.
"You look stunning in cool tones."
Klaus steps away without so much as a by-your-leave. You feel his warmth retreat as he exits the room, your own heat rising in your face.
You're not going to survive the night at this rate.
You get ready, begrudgingly. (Not really, it's just been so long since you've done actual fancy makeup that you've almost forgotten). You put your hair up with silver hairpins topped with small crystals that you suspect are real. They glitter in the soft glowing light from behind the bathroom mirror.
All of the makeup under the sink is brand new, unopened. There's a warm red Atelier lipstick you remember seeing in Sephora years ago. You had balked at the price then. You twist off the cap and dab it on, blotting with a tissue. It doesn't look nearly as good as you remember, you think wryly.
Oh well. You wipe it off and try another one.
The dress Klaus picked out is, as annoyingly as usual, perfect. The satin spills, neckline hovering on the edge of too low. A low level of guilt still tugs at you. The past few days you've barely texted the others beyond quick, one-off messages. You hope they don't think you've abandoned them. You've been so worried about incurring Klaus's jealousy that you've forgotten how easily their feelings get hurt. (You wince at the memory of Rebekah's disastrous kiss).
Just as a precaution, you send a quick message to all of them and hesitantly turn your phone off.
You miss them. You glance at the clock and realize it's a little past five. Oops. You pluck a crocheted shawl on your way out in anticipation of the February night air.
Klaus is waiting for you at the door. He's no longer wearing his henley and dark jeans, instead in a thick wool coat and tailored suit. You've never seen him dressed like this. You're used to seeing Elijah constantly in a suit and thinking nothing of it. This is different. You realize you've been staring too long and force yourself to look away.
His eyes roam as well, but he makes no attempt to hide it.
"The dress was a good decision."
"Weren't you the one who told me to wear it?"
"I'm allowed to compliment myself on choices well made. It's perfect camouflage for this evening."
"Too many self congratulations and you'll turn into an ego maniac."
"Many say I already have," Klaus says brightly and opens the door, "Shall we?"
You laugh despite yourself and tuck your arm in his on the elevator ride down. His thumb strokes the top of your hand and something in you warms. You turn to glance at him. You still have to look up to make eye contact despite your heels.
"So, do I get to know where we're going now? Or should I just guess?"
"I'm interested in hearing your hypotheses."
"Based off the tux, I'm going with the opera or a wedding," you say dryly, "Long lost love? You could make a heroic declaration midway through the ceremony."
Klaus sighs, exasperated.
"You're impossible," he says.
"Pot, kettle," you respond easily and pat his hand to comfort him.
The elevator dings and lets you out in the lobby.
"To answer your indirect question, we are not going to a wedding."
"So opera is still on the table?"
He sighs again, deeper this time, and holds the front door open for you. You shiver as the freezing night air hits you, seeping through your shawl. You really should have worn a jacket. It's colder than you expected.
You barely have the thought before Klaus's coat is draped over your shoulders. You glance back at him, eyes indecipherable. He doesn't look away. Something unfiltered and genuine lurks there. Whatever playfulness you had drains out of you into something more concrete and molten.
(It frightens you to see such intensity. You have to look away or else you might burn with it).
There's a taxi out front. Klaus closes the door after you.
"Metropolitan museum," Klaus says easily. You blink up at him as the taxi pulls away from the curb.
"What's happening at the museum?"
"Just a new exhibition I wish to show you. It's only in the city for tonight."
Your eyebrows draw together.
"Why only tonight?"
"Because," Klaus says with a shark-like grin, "We're going to steal it."
Of course you are.
The taxi stops in front of perhaps the ornate building you've ever seen in real life. You crane your neck upwards. Gothic Victorian arches glow with hundreds of lights, turrets lit up against the night sky. It looks more like a castle than a museum, you muse. Your second thought is that it has to be full of cameras. There's no way Klaus can get away with robbing a place like this… right? (Then you remember Elijah casually breaking into the Richmond Auction house and you think perhaps not).
You're a little afraid that Klaus is going to try to steal an entire collection of original Van Goghs or something ridiculous like that. Suspiciously, you don't immediately recognize the artist's name on the banner outdoors. Then again, you're not super up to date on your art history.
"Thank you for coming to the unveiling of our new exhibition, do you have tickets for tonight's event?"
Klaus shows the doorman two printed off ticket stubs that you're surprised he even bought. The man opens the door and welcomes you in.
"Couldn't you have just compelled your way in?"
"Sometimes, love, it pays to do things the right way."
"I never thought I'd hear you say those words."
Klaus laughs. "No, I suspect not. But this is a closed event. Normally I doubt they'd notice two additional persons, but this is the Met, and therefore you can't be too careful. Historians in particular are wary of vampires. Always do your best to slip under the radar until the last possible second."
"Are you trying to give me lessons on grand larceny?" You demand in a hushed whisper.
Klaus imitates your whisper. "This is called burglary, love."
You huff an exasperated sigh. "You're impossible."
He pats your hand, a loving mockery.
"Yes, dear."
The exhibition is past the four story high entrance, past the ornate fountain you barely catch a glimpse of before you're following Klaus to the elevator.
"Well I assume you already know where we're going," you say dryly.
He just smiles.
You really do want to come back and look at everything, you think to yourself as you walk past exhibit after exhibit, but if Klaus really does rob the museum that's probably not in the cards for the rest of your trip. Maybe in a couple years when they've had a chance to forget. (Or the statute is up, whichever comes first).
Honestly, it wouldn't surprise you if there really were vampires in charge of the collections who made it their life's mission to protect them from thieves (i.e. The Mikaelsons). In that case, you suppose you better look around while you have the chance.
Klaus takes you up two flights of stairs and past the American Art wing.
"How big is this place?" You ask, winded.
"Over a quarter mile," Klaus says, far too casually.
Hm. Maybe you'd have to come back a couple more times. You don't think you have it you to look at the entire museum in one day.
The exhibition in the rooftop garden is more ornate than it has any right to be. Klaus was right— there are less people here than you expected. Obviously closed to the general public, but you suspect this is only open for donors and people famous enough to warrant an invitation. Everyone here is wearing ten thousand dollar dresses and suits, platinum and gold jewelry and wrist watches. The kind of people you try to avoid and rarely manage to encounter. It's not like you have much cause to meet celebrities in your day to day life.
"… Is that Rihanna?"
Maybe you wouldn't mind meeting one celebrity.
Klaus hushes you and a man on the small stage taps on his microphone. Everyone in the crowd quiets.
"Hello and welcome everyone to the unveiling of 'The Art and Life of Nicolás Michele'. I'm so happy to welcome you all here tonight. I'd like to thank our donors and sponsors for making this all happen. Nicolás Michele's body of work present here today was scattered among 29 different families who are kindly lending their paintings out to us. Several were hiding in museums around the globe. For now until April twenty-sixth, they are gathered here on display. Please enjoy tonight's exhibition!"
The crowd applauds as the man finishes speaking.
"Come," Klaus says, "Let's get drinks first."
"Bossy," you comment but follow him anyway. It's not like you're going to turn down free champagne. (Not that you've been footing the bill for any of this, really. Does this count as sugaring? Oh well).
"Any preference?"
You shrug. "Something bubbly."
Klaus reads your mind and gets you a flute of Prosecco. You smile at him in thanks as you pluck it out of his hands.
"So," you say, taking a sip, "Why are you going through all the trouble of stealing some artist's work? Did you know him?"
Klaus lips twitch but he can't hide the amusement in his eyes.
"Close."
The way he says it gives you pause. You try to think if you've ever heard the name before. Nicolás M—
"Oh, you've got to be kidding."
Klaus grins without an ounce of shame.
"I don't think it counts as stealing if they truly belong to me."
"Uh huh," you say, unimpressed, "I don't suppose that would hold up in court."
Klaus shrugs. "It's hardly my fault that I… misplace my possessions and greedy museums snatch them up. They do it to all of us. Rebekah has an entire wardrobe in the fashion exhibit here that she's been too lazy to steal back."
"Do you do this often?" You hiss.
"Every so often. I do have to say, storing our possessions in museums means they last a lot longer than if we shunted them from place to place."
"Museums are not storage units!"
He shrugs again. "Perhaps not to you, love."
"… Just don't get me arrested, please."
"I'll do my best," Klaus promises.
He better.
No one bothers you at the exhibition. No one comes up to ask if you're in the wrong place, or if you need a map. Slowly, that fear that you'll be caught out as an infiltrator starts to wane. Klaus was right, you muse, wear the costume and they'll never see what's beneath.
Klaus's— sorry, Nicolás's— work is incredible. They're most of the French countryside with a smattering of portraits, all in dark somber tones. The artist description states that Nicolás suffered from depression nearly his entire life.
You wonder how much of that is true.
Rebekah's face catches in your peripheral. You turn to see a three quarter portrait of her, eyebrows neatly raised in an almost mocking expression. It's one you find familiar.
"I see you found my sister," Klaus's voice says behind you. You start.
"Yes," you say, "She caught my eye."
It's been too long since you've seen her. Since you've seen any of them, to be honest— even if it's been less than a week. You're starting to wonder if you have codependency issues.
"You miss her, don't you?"
Klaus's voice is quiet. You search it for any accusation, but if it's there, it's hidden.
"Yes," you admit, "I've loved getting to spend this time with you, but…"
"You'll see her soon."
"… Klaus—" You hesitate, jaw clenching into something painful. "I know I asked you before, but do you really wish you hadn't introduced me to your family?"
"What is this about?"
Now that you've started, you can't seem to stop the words from spilling out of your mouth.
"I— I'm afraid that you'll regret it, if not now then later on. I don't want to have to walk on eggshells when I care about them too and I don't know what I would do if they got hurt—"
Klaus takes you by your shoulders. "Breathe, love," he says quietly enough so the guests around you can't hear, "Where is this coming from?"
"It's just—" You falter. "I know how possessive you can be and Marcel—"
Klaus stiffens.
"Marcel?" He states, "What, pray tell, did he tell you?"
You hesitate, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood. Klaus sighs and rubs his eyes.
"I'm not angry with you, beloved," he tries to reassure you, "I just want to know what lies he's been filling your head with."
You can't stop the sharp, brief laugh that escapes you. "I don't think he has to lie to try to warn me off of you."
"Love."
You glance down away from his burning eyes.
"Nothing I didn't know. Just… just that everyone who gets involved with your family winds up dead and Anya and—"
Klaus interrupts. "Marcel doesn't know anything about Anya."
"I didn't hear it from Marcel."
Klaus's jaw tightens.
"Elijah," he grinds out, "He's been acting like a kicked puppy lately. Of course he went behind my back—"
"It wasn't Elijah either," you retort. Klaus's eyes sharpen.
"Then who?"
You waver, undecided. (This could be a test, you reason with yourself, a test to see what he'll do when one of his siblings goes against his wishes. The other part of yourself riles at the idea of putting Finn on the end of a fish hook).
He says your name, commanding.
You swallow, glancing back up at Klaus.
"It was Finn."
He blinks. "And how the bloody hell would Finn know?"
"I suggest you ask him. Politely."
Klaus looks at you for a long moment. He sighs and shrinks into something less looming. The two of you are silent for a moment. Your heart rate slowly tapers down to racing instead of 'about to explode'. His hands come up to gently cup your face, tilting your chin hip to face him. The other guests in the crowd are far enough away that to them, you just look like a couple in a loving embrace.
"Please know I understand your concerns. Also please know that I would not do anything to hurt you."
He sighs again and takes a deep breath.
"To answer your question, no, I don't regret introducing you to my family. Everything you've heard from Marcel, the Salvatores, any vampire over the age of one hundred, is the result of a millennia long plot to place myself at the head of vampire kind. That is not to say that none of it is true. But I am not the only spiteful, vindictive member of my family. If I had not introduced you to my family the way I did, you would be dead by now. There's a reason why the first sibling I introduced you to was Kol. He would happily break any interest, any person, I found myself fond of. Rebekah is the same way. You've somehow even gotten Finn on your good side, and to be honest I have no idea how that happened. He's been trying to kill himself, or us, for nearly his entire existence."
"And Elijah?"
"Oh Elijah wouldn't kill you," he says, wry smile twisting his mouth, "No, he would pine after you relentlessly and try to whisk you out from under me under the pretense of being the righteous Mikaelson." Klaus strokes the side of your face with his thumb. "I do not claim to not be a monster. I am cruel and possessive and bad tempered and a thousand other things. But it would do well to remember that they are too."
"… I don't think you're a monster."
"No?" He muses, "You should."
"None of you are. Not to me."
Klaus looks at you, truly looks at you. He slowly steps back and releases you. He offers you his arm.
"Come on," he says quietly, "Let's go home. The paintings can wait."
You breathe and weight lifts off your chest. Klaus quickly compels the museum workers to pack up the art pieces once the guests are gone and put them in a warehouse on the other side of town. Privately, you think he could have done that without making an appearance at the exhibition, but you don't say that.
You're feeling too emotionally raw for any complex conversation.
"So," Klaus starts when you reach the cold outdoors, "Do you have any other revelations or concerns? I'd like to get everything out of the way now."
"Freya and I have an emotional tether," you blurt out, "I can taste all of her emotions."
Klaus makes a strangled sound that could either be a laugh or a sigh.
"Of course you do. It's amazing to me how much trouble you manage to get into as a human."
"Just a talent, I guess."
Klaus loops his arm around your waist and tucks you into a taxi. His body heat sinks into yours on the short ride home. Neither of you feel much inclination to talk. You absent-minded play with the soft wool of his coat.
"… I'm glad I met you, Klaus."
He shifts, encouraging your head to tilt up to look at him.
"You really mean that, don't you?"
You nod and rest your head on his shoulder again.
It's not terribly late, but you're exhausted by the time you get to the penthouse. Well, you were exhausted far before now. You have every intention of crawling in your bed after your shower and passing out.
The viridian dressing gown hangs in your closet, beckoning you.
Klaus is dressed for bed, standing by the window like Gatsby looking at the light across the lake. (Fitting then, you think wryly, that you wore green). He blinks at you when you crack open the door. You know he must have heard you coming.
"Love," he asks, "Do you need something?"
You slip fully into his room and shut the door behind you, knob closing with a click. It's dark in his room, dark enough you can barely make out the pattern on his bed sheets. You take pleasure in the way Klaus's hand tightens into a fist— knuckles white. His eyes trail down the plunging neckline to folds of semi-transparent silk, up the slits that start around your ankles and end nearly to your waist. Klaus straightens, backlit by the New York cityscape.
"Love," he says carefully, "Are you sure?"
"More than I've ever been."
That, it appears, is all you had to say. Klaus is in front of you faster than you can blink, holding you fiercely— like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"I know I didn't say it earlier, but I'm glad I found you too," Klaus admits, "Finders Keepers, and all that."
Your lips twitch, amused. "You can't keep me, Klaus."
He hums. "Can't I?"
Klaus bends down to brush his lips against your neck and you're suddenly struck by the fact that you've never even kissed.
"Klaus."
Klaus presses you up against the solid wood door, lifting you to the point you have to wrap your legs around his waist to stay upright.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he groans, "I've wanted you ever since I stumbled upon you in that bakery."
You laugh breathlessly.
"Liar."
Klaus winds his hand in your hair, wrenching your head back and pressing hot open-mouthed kisses to your neck. Blunt, human teeth graze you and your pulse jumps in your throat.
"Never. You were mine the minute I saw you," he murmurs. His lips move against your skin.
"Kiss me," you plead and Klaus obeys. There's a fierceness in it— a hunger whose depths rival your own. Klaus's solid body presses open your legs open as his mouth moves against yours. You can't get enough leverage to do anything besides hold on to him desperately.
If you went back in time to all those months ago when you first met, you don't think there's any possibility you could have predicted this. Not you who did her best to avoid any kind of risk, the person so afraid of slipping she refused to live.
Heat pools in your cunt, slick wetness making itself known.
You grind and smile against his lips. He swells beneath silk fabric, thick and satisfying beneath you. He breaks the kiss and wrenches your head back.
"You," he grinds out, "Are a tease."
You tilt your head.
"Am I?"
You slowly lift your hips to follow the line of his cock. It's oddly freeing to be this shameless. The silk is barely there. You're so wet it turns the silk translucent, ruining the fabric. You could probably come like this, eventually— just from the slick slide of silk against your clit.
You get barely a growl in warning before Klaus tosses you on the bed. You laugh in delight as you bounce on the mattress, smile not fading even a little as Klaus turns his predatory eyes towards you. You try to reach for him, but he bats your hands aside and holds them above your head without even trying. His grip just tightens at your struggles.
"Klaus."
His eyes shine with amusement.
"Yes, love?"
"Don't be cruel."
"I have no idea what you mean," he says lightly, but his eyes roam downwards. The dressing gown is barely covering you at this point.
"Now," he murmurs, "Lets see what you're hiding."
Klaus undoes the tie holding your robe closed and trails a teasing finger from your collarbone to your sternum.
"Beautiful."
You squirm under his heated gaze and the hands delicately tracing over soft flesh.
"I'm feeling a bit under dressed," you snipe. Klaus arches an eyebrow.
"Oh? Is that so. I suppose I best make it even."
He peels off his Henley, leaving him only in his silk sleeping pants. You've never seen Klaus undressed before— can't stop your eyes from roving over what seems like miles of uncharted territory. Even after the Mikaelsons declared their intentions, it still felt wrong to look at them with desire. Now, the only thing stopping you from staking your claim in Klaus Mikaelson's skin is that he won't let you up—
Klaus flips you over onto your hands and knees, arms still stretched out over your head.
"What are you—"
"Hush," Klaus admonishes, "Consider this retribution for your earlier teasing."
You're about to ask him what he means when he flips up the long skirt of your robe and delves into your cunt, licking broad strokes into the pooling arousal there. Your hands claw the sheets.
"This—" you manage to strangle out, "Doesn't seem fair."
He laughs and you can feel it inside you.
Sex isn't supposed to feel like this— not this glowing, molten thing that makes you think you're going to explode if it continues for one more second and die if it stops. It's supposed to be mediocre at best.
Not something you can't imagine living without.
Klaus jerks you back into your thoughts by focusing his attention on drawing soft circles around your clit, hands grasping onto your hips like he owns you.
You suppose, in a way, he does.
You can't come like this, not yet. You've never managed to come this quickly in your life, but your body doesn't seem to be getting the memo. Hot waves lap at your insides, never quite reaching the finish.
"Klaus— Klaus," you gasp, "I need you to fuck me."
He laughs again, the vibrations making you shiver.
"Oh really?" He drawls, "And what'll you give me for it?"
"— Anything—"
"Well," he hums, "If you insist."
You flip around while he shucks his pants off, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your eyes immediately draw to his cock laying heavy between his legs, swallowing at the sight. It's thicker than you've imagined. (Not that, well, you've imagined. Much).
Klaus tugs you to the edge of the bed by your ankles, green silk spilling around you like a halo. You pulse at the unexpected show of strength.
"I do appreciate this color on you," Klaus muses, "But I'm afraid it has to go." He peels the robe off of you, revealing you to his gaze.
"You are stunning."
You don't get time to respond, words caught in your throat as he sucks dark bruises on the underside of your breasts. Your hands wind themselves in his hair just because you can, because Klaus is yours just as much as you are his.
"What did I say about teasing?"
Klaus pulls away, drawing to his full height.
"I'm not sure that I heard," Klaus says lightly, "I was rather preoccupied, you see." One large hand splays on your lower stomach, gently grazing your clit while Klaus opens you up for inspection.
"Jesus Christ—" You can offer no jealousy to anyone Klaus has ever slept with, only gratitude for what they taught him. "Klaus, don't make me beg."
"Perhaps you ought to."
You let out a long groan of pure frustration. "I'll leave," you threaten.
"That is the opposite of begging."
"Well spo—" You break off into a gasp as he slips two fingers inside you, curling unyieldingly upward. The molten heat from before quickly returns, his thumb still rubbing soft circles on your clit.
"Sorry?" He mocks, "What was that?"
"Please don't stop."
Klaus smiles, teeth shining in the city lights streaming through the window.
"That's what I thought you said."
There's really barely any pressure, just light touches and a solid firmness repeatedly pressing into that sensitive spot inside you. But it's enough. You can't get away from it as it marches you closer and closer to the edge. A slick sound fills the room and you realize that's you.
"I'm going to—"
"Come," Klaus commands and you do, back arching as Klaus's fingers get to be too much. He slows down as you shudder.
"We're going to have to change the sheets, aren't we?"
Klaus laughs.
"Yes," he says, amused, "I believe we will." He shifts and comes into contact with your still-pulsing cunt.
"Did I do enough begging?"
Klaus tilts his head, contemplating. "I'm not sure," he says, rutting against you, "What do you think?"
"I did," you whine and you're going to blush about this tomorrow, but right now all you really want is him inside you, "Please."
"Ah," Klaus says with a cruel smile, "There we are."
He presses inside of you with a groan.
The stretch is inescapable, a pleasant burn that's almost too much right after you came. You're still sensitive, a fact Klaus takes joy in exploiting. He holds onto your waist with an iron grip, pressing you into the mattress. It's too much. It doesn't stop you from jerking your hips into his for more, more.
"What?" You manage to say with a straight face, "Is that all you got?"
You reconsider that maybe it's a bad idea to taunt Klaus when he's inside you when he flips you over again, pinning your knee under your chest.
"You," Klaus punches out, snapping his hips forward, "Are an ungrateful. Brat."
You moan. He reaches up to wrench your jaw to the side, facing him.
"What? Lost for words?"
"Yes—"
He laughs humorlessly. "Thought so. You really are all talk."
Part of you wants to argue. The other part knows he's right and you should shut up before you make things worse for yourself.
Klaus fucks you inescapably deep. You can't focus on anything else other than the slick drive of him inside you. You try to slip a hand between your legs, but Klaus catches you.
"You still want more? Greedy little thing."
"Please, I need it, Klaus."
He hums and nips at your throat. You flinch instinctively for a split second, convinced he's going to bite you.
He doesn't.
"I won't hurt you," he reassures you, "Not if you don't want me to."
You squeeze his hand. "Very—" Klaus lifts your hips into the air and presses firmly at your clit, "Considerate. Klaus, I'm going to—"
"I know."
You come again and feel yourself gush with unexpected wetness. Klaus fucks you through it, trembling through the aftershocks. You realize belatedly that you're babbling in-between staccatoed moans. It's too much and not enough. You waver in-between reality and that warm ache that threatens to consume you. You can't do anything other than sink into the mattress and let Klaus fuck you the way you need.
You come two more times before Klaus finishes inside of you.
"I don't think I can think anymore." You look up at him accusingly, "What did you do to me?"
Klaus just grins, unendingly satisfied, across from you on the bed.
"Something a very long time coming."
He draws you into his arms and you trace the tattoo there. You didn't even know he had one. Warm contentment sinks under your skin. The kind of happiness you never really expected you would find.
"… I guess I should probably get Plan B tomorrow."
Klaus looks at you, amused.
"You don't have to worry, love. Vampires are incapable of procreating."
"Yeah, but aren't you a hybrid?"
You suspect you're going to store the shocked expression on Klaus's face for decades to come.
*taps on a microphone* I hope you guys enjoyed this monster of a chapter. This fic only took like 100k and a complete calendar year (happy bday Patisserie!) to earn its mature rating! Whoop! Hope you guys enjoyed :)