brightestlight | (no subject)

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klaus mikaelson

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Are you coming over?

It's the text that makes her chew on her lip, that makes her type four answers and delete them and then type again and then delete that, because it's not so simple as yes or no, and she's spent the last four hours going what am I doing and being weirdly girl-power-self-affirming because she's making a choice for herself, but then wondering what the hell Bonnie and Elena would say, and then wondering what Tyler would do, but she's not thinking about Tyler, because she's not letting her think about Tyler, because- because. Because she's not. Because she doesn't love Klaus, she loves Tyler, but this thing she's got isn't dating, and-

And it's sort of crazy. Of course it's crazy.

But he sends her a text asking her if she's coming over, and she starts tearing through her clothes after she goes back and forth, but she just sort of gives up, and ends up in leggings and a t-shirt that's belted like a dress and flipflops, but she's got makeup on and she's trying to balance between not looking like she tried too hard or too much, and looking nice.

It's a delicate line, and as she's walking to his room, she walks halfway, and then turns around and walks back, and then stopped again, turning back, because she's going to do this, and when she gets to his room, she hesitates but the door's open and she's got a pillow under her arm because it's hers and she just goes in. "I'm spending the night," she informs him, and she looks at him like What're you going to do about it? and she sort of flops into one of his chairs, folding up her feet, like she wasn't here like six hours ago.

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Okay, so she's not actually expecting him to follow her, and he does, and he's right there and she can't stop the way she looks surprised but it's not like she's complaining, her cheeks tinged red with a blush, but her eyes sort of droop closed when he kisses the side of her neck, because apparently - apparently right there is a spot, and she makes that tiny sound she'd made in the beginning, and then he's kissing her, and she's leaning up on tiptoes under the water, and the kiss isn't exactly what she should be doing, because they're supposed to get clean and she's pulling back.

Because clean. And soap. "Sorry," she murmurs with a soft laugh, ducking her head as her hair sticks to her skin, and she's pulling back enough to grab a washcloth, and that's when she does see his back, and she just sort of stops, and yeah, his neck is his neck, and she knows that, but seriously, it's not just scratches, and she's trying to find the right words and they just don't come.

Klaus is oblivious for a moment, because he's tipping his head into the spray and slicking his hair back under the hot water, eyes closed. His neck and back itch and prickle even more with the water, but he's growing familiar with long-lasting pain again, because it wasn't something he really remembered, but it's not completely unwelcome. It's new, even if it's unpleasant, and it was worth it, and those two things make it okay.

But then he looks back down and at her and there's something there, something that has her upset, although he doesn't know what kind of upset or why. "What's wrong?" he asks her gently, with a slight frown.

"Your back," she says quietly, and she looks lost. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Her eyes flick up to his, and she's not okay with it, because they're not light scratches, they're gouges and she did that. She did that. "I don't- I mean, I don't even eat people, you know?" She swallows hard, and she looks up at him again. "I didn't mean too, I swear."

"It's alright," he assures her, and cups her face, hoping she'll let him. "There's nothing you can do to me that I wouldn't let you." That is the absolute truth. He might be weakened, but he is still stronger than her. He knows that, not because he has tried it, but because he trusts that it is true. Either way, he knows that any time, he could have tried to stop her, and he didn't. That is what matters. "You didn't do anything to me that I didn't let you."

Her hand came up to cover one of his hands on her cheek, her eyes searching his, clearly distressed. "I don't want to hurt you," she whispered, licking her lips, both of them soaked from the shower. She had been trying not to bite him, and her eyes slid from his face to his neck, and she reached to very, very gently touch next to the raw wound, the pink streaks in rivulets down his chest, and she was breathing quickly, too quickly, and she shook her head. "I don't- This is- I don't want to hurt you." And it was a bigger thing than him, and she wasn't going to melt down in the shower, but he needs to know that she doesn't mean to hurt him, that she tried not to.

She drags her eyes from his neck, to lean up and kiss him, and it's not a kiss that's an apology, it's not tentative and worried, it's just emotion, and the two of them - it's like they're drunk on it, and tonight--

Tonight was tonight, and in the light of dawn it might be different, but she kissed him under the pouring water, her hand catching his waist, to pull him against her.

Klaus lets her pull him close, thumb brushing her cheekbone as they kissed, but eventually he pulls back, but keeps his forehead against hers. "This is nothing, Caroline. I'm fine. It'll all be gone come morning."

His hand has caught hers, and he brings her fingers back to the wound in his neck, controlling his expression well enough to hide the flicker of pain when they reached it. "This is alright. It made it all better - for you and for me."

"But it's not better. It's-" And she doesn't say it, but she just shakes her head, and then pulls her hand away, curling close against him, her temple against his jaw. "I don't want to be that person." Because of reasons she wasn't going into, because of a lot of things, because she knew what it was like and she didn't want to be that person.

"Can we not talk about this?" She said it quietly, not pulling away, just letting the steaming water run over them both like it'd carry away the problem, too.

Klaus thought that they ought to, that it wouldn't go away for not talking about it, but for now, well, for now... "For now," he agreed, or compromised, really, between what she wanted and what he did. But they would talk about it, because she had to accept who she was - what she was.

The steaming water wouldn't carry any of the problem away.

She accepted what he gave her, and she curled closer to him, which wasn't getting either one of them clean, and she had to force herself back, looking down as she grabbed the washcloth, not really wanting to look up at him. Not now. Not- Her thoughts were heavy, and even though they shouldn't be, they were.

She should be sort of up and happy and man, great sex, but... not so much. She thought - only for a moment - about going home, until she realised it'd make him feel awful and bad, and so she set her shoulders, mostly just expecting to go to bed after this.

"Caroline," he calls her, softly, because she is so far away, and he can feel it, he knows it, somehow. "Let me," he requests, his hand wrapping around her washcloth. He wants to be the one to wash her, less because of the symbol, although that, too, and more because he just doesn't want her to close in on herself.

"I'm okay," she said, her smile small, but when he took the washcloth, she let it go. "Really, I'm clean and everything." She shrugs one shoulder, but she makes the mistake of glancing at his shoulder and she looks away, biting her lips together. Does it hurt? she nearly asks, but she swallows the words, forcing that smile.

"You know," she says after a second, and her voice is bright. "Someday, I will officially stop being so weird about stuff. You need to wash your hair." She leans past him to grab the shampoo, and holds it out to him with raised eyebrows, expectant. Because there's only so many ways she can change the subject and deflect, but she will try them all.

"As long as you don't stop being you," he murmurs, and the washcloth is now full of soap and running over her skin. It isn't about her being clean, it's about contact and keeping it going, no matter how much he wants to get out of there and drink something.

When she holds up the shampoo, though, he sighs, but with a smile, because he's about to humour, and he puts the cloth away to grab the shampoo, tilt his head back and pour some on his hair, quickly rubbing it in.

"Of course I'll be me," she says, and it's too quiet and not really lying to his face, but, well. She's doing her thing, and ignoring stuff like a champ. So much so, in fact, that she laughs, reaching up to brush the bubbles free before they get in his eyes, and then she finishes washing off and her hair's pretty blood free, so they're good there.

She watches him expectantly, and she's recovered enough that the small smile's grown into a larger one, and she's not going to look at his shoulder, or anything, but be glad she got laid and he's acting normal and not creepy and she's got - well, she's ignoring the feelings, too, because hello, hormones, but he's maybe not a bad guy at all and there are worse places to spend your nights and Caroline Forbes can rationalize anything and she's sort of proud to do it.

"I'm staying," she tells him, like he didn't already know that. "Okay?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," he assures her, because it never even occurred to him that she might leave unless he managed to piss her off again. He seems to be good at that, after all. But he's glad that he hasn't yet, and after he rinses his hair and body he steps out of the shower, and grabs his towel and another for her.

A little extra vampire speed thrown into it - or as much as he can get now - and he's dry, or close enough, including his hair, still moist but not actually wet. A kiss pressed to her temple and he's off to the main room, so he can get some blood from the replicator, and good or not, he's drinking it all down without a wince or a flinch.

She's not as fast, on purpose she's not as fast, because she walks out with the towel wrapped around her, with she stands and watches him for a long, long moment, watches him down the blood without even making sure it's blood, and she knows he's needed it for too long, and she doesn't understand why he waited, why he showered - but more than that, she feels that sinking in her stomach, and she moves from the doorway back to the mirror, to blot dry her hair with a towel and stare at herself in the mirror, before brows furrowing.

She smiles, and she knows it doesn't look right, but she turns away and once she's only damp instead of dry she pads back into the bedroom, moving to grab another one of his t-shirts, not saying a word. Then, when he's stopped, she speaks quietly.

"Why didn't you drink before the shower? I would have waited, you know that." Or, at least, she hoped he knew that.

"I could wait," he answers, and he's halfway through his second bag of blood. His wounds have started itching even worse, which he takes to mean that the healing has picked up, or maybe that's just wishful thinking. "I wanted to wait."

It's as easy as that, and he goes back to the blood, finishes it within seconds, and drops the empty tag in the trash. He moves back to her, and wraps his hands around her waist. "I swear to you, love. I wanted it, or it wouldn't have happened."

"But I didn't want it," she said. "I was trying not to, I- I never wanted- I'm not that person." I'm not him. "I don't bite people during sex. I don't, even though I want to, because-" She stopped then, before her brows furrowed. "I wasn't going to," she finally says, her voice small.

"If you don't want to bite me again," he tells her, and tips her head back slightly, so he can keep her gaze, "then you won't. But I see no reason to stop if it makes you feel good. I'll heal."

"Because I don't want to be that person," she says thickly, and there's no explanation, just that same strained question. "I don't want to talk about this. Can we just not? Please?" Nevermind that she'd asked him about the blood, that it kept circling around because she was thinking about it.

"We can just go to bed. And you should eat more."

"I know what I should do, Caroline," he tells her, and he is this close to snapping, because he isn't used to teenagers, save from his sister, who seems to still be one a lot of the time, and he would probably have fully snapped at her. But she's right, and he trails his hands off of her regretfully, to move back to the replicator, and get some more blood.

"Fine."

You know what? Fine. Of course he knows what to do, he knows everything, he knows what they should do in bed, he knows how to kiss her and what he's looking for and how to be charming, and she just presses her lips into a thin line, and she's not talking to him, but she is not going to walk of shame it back to her rooms, and she instead moves to his bed and slips under the covers, turning away from him as she stares at the wall. Because- because, he's infuriating, and she's on edge already and it sort of makes her want to throw up, but whatever, right? Right. He can take care of his own gaping wound, he asked for it.

The atmosphere in his room is thick with it, her anger, her resentment, and this isn't what he had in mind when he said he would be disappointed if she didn't stay. So he feeds, and once he's fed enough - or as close as he can get to it without an actual body to feed from - he comes to the bed. He's still naked and that's just fine by him, but instead of getting under the covers and joining her, he sits beside her, and reaches his hand out to lay over her leg, and waits until she'll talk to him.

She doesn't talk for a minute, five, ten, because she's rolling words over in her mind and it's taking her that long to put them together into a sentence that's not pity me, it's why. Because why was safe, and she's not asking for his pity.

"He bit me too many times," she said quietly, not looking at him, not reaching for his hand, just staring at the wall. "And he'd feed on me while he- while we slept together, and then he'd compel me again so I didn't care and so I'd forget. I don't want to be like him. I never want to be like him."

Klaus is suddenly very glad that he waited, when she speaks and it is so much more than he expected. So much more, and it makes his blood boil over with anger.

It takes a few seconds before he can speak without it filtering into his voice, although he doesn't sound like his casual self either. "Who?"

"Damon," she says like it's obvious, and she shrugs one shoulder. "He was- I mean, I guess he was sort of my-" And then her brows furrow, and she speaks carefully. "We were dating for a while." Which was to say, she was his mindless walking snack buffet with a heap of sex and larceny on the side, but she really hates thinking about it.

"It was along time ago. Before- I didn't... " She stopped again, and then, shortly. "He compelled me." And then she stops, because that's where her thinking about it stopped.