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[She knows that feeling, that emptiness, wanting to fill it with anything or to just make it go away.

She can hear footsteps beyond the door, hears them closing closer before the door opens. She sees him standing there, knows that her suspicions were correct within the space of a breath; something is wrong. She can smell the liquor still on him, clinging to his wet clothes, and her expression morphs to something of despair.

There's not much that could leave him like this, she knows. The necklace she recognizes from the memories he gave her, and she can take a few guesses as to what's occurred, all of them terrible.

She steps toward the threshold, closer to him, then steps closer still. Her arms slip around him as she rises onto her toes, feeling the dampness spread across the front of her blouse as she pulls him in, but she doesn't care.]

( he lets go of the door. he lets go of everything weighing him into the shallows and depths he feels underneath him as she comes forward. his arms open and the force of her body rocks him back before she pulls him in. pulls him somewhere far better than here or in a thousand universes, somewhere so rare and precious because it is her with her loving abandon taking him in; filling up that space where it is her body pressed against his and her arms enveloping him.

she is warm, and he has never felt more needful of warmth now. he has never felt more humbled by it or more in submission of its power; despite the despair, despite his anguish, despite the aching and uncertainties he has felt in clementine's betrayed regard, the horror in jessie's, the lost love and belief in rebekah's, his eyes close. after that suspended moment his palms press into her lower back, one above the other. he leans his cheek to hers as if he cannot feel her close enough, and rubs his hands in slow half circles, switching them along her spine. )

[She can never be entirely sure how he's going to react, but she had been almost certain that he wouldn't reject her, not once he'd already opened the door. Why else would he let her see him in this state if not to seek comfort? No, he would have pushed her away from the start.

The way he holds her, presses them cheek to cheek, breathes against her skin, all of it signals that he needed this, needed her to be here.

She'd needed him in her own way, too.

Her arms are around his neck, one palm laying across the back of his neck, her thumb running over the bottom line of his hair.]

I'm sorry.

[It's not an apology, but something else. It doesn't matter what happened, she wishes it hadn't. She wishes Wonderland hadn't done something else to him, to them. She'd fix it if she could.]

( there is no reason for closed doors, denied comforts, or for shame, not between them and not tonight. it is not the first nor the last time he has given himself to the solace in her arms, and though a mere hour ago he might've turned away or lashed out with anger, embroiled in his own bitter sorrows, he does not now. he will not. he does not want to.

he wants to hold her. he wants to feel her holding him. he wants to be reminded of the goodness in life, in him, in her, in this.

she reminds him. with her touch, her words, her vow. she lets him breathe with that reminder.

he is sorry too. tear prick his eyes. they burn. one of his hands moves up her back to cradle the nape of her neck. to cling. ) Rebekah's gone.

[It's one of those moments where she realizes, with utter clarity, that no amount of optimism is going to help here. She wants to soothe him with words, tell him he'll see her again, that it's going to be okay, that she's still here even if Rebekah is not.

It won't help ease this pain. His sister isn't here, it isn't okay, and Caroline is neither a replacement nor is her presence in Wonderland a guarantee.

Anything she says could end up a lie, and none of them will make the hurt go away.

She squeezes him tighter instead, lets him cling, providing a place where he feels safe enough to let himself feel what he needs to. She's not someone who would claim this reaction to be a weakness, and maybe there's some solace in that too.]

Edited 2017-10-06 04:53 (UTC)

( he wants to share with her everything: every pain and uncertainty that has been harshly dealt these past few days; every terrible, frightened, and anxious thought that has emerged from his spinning head. (he keeps those thoughts close. he always has. as a child beaten and a growing man silent in fear, he always has.

he has not kept them quiet from her. he wonders now if she wants to hear those hushed, thick whispers in the dark. if he can trust she wants his heart as she once did. it's hers; it's hers: that's how it beats, and he wants always to offer it.) perhaps those words will come. (that offering will come, vulnerable and longing in his eyes.) perhaps he will summon them or let them fall in snapped desperation soon, but for now all he wants — all he needs —

she holds him tighter and he feels that gaping emptiness weigh in him. he thinks of a life without his sister. he thinks with horror that one day they might all be gone. (his truest fear, come to life again and again. hope. elijah. hayley.) clementine. freya. caroline, the woman he holds so fiercely in his arms. they will fade away as easily as he met them here, and there will be nothing but this emptiness.

his arms are not empty now. there is solace in that. there is strength. he dips his head, presses his face into the curve of her neck. his breath is shaky but he breathes her in, his fingers crushing the soft curls in his grasp. )

[Her hands moves up from the nape of his neck to the back of his head, fingers threading through hair as she cradles it, letting him hide his face in the hollow of her collarbone. She feels him breathe, the shake of it impossible not to notice, and remembers the moment when he'd ceased to do even that, if only for a short while.

It's ever present, how temporary all of this is, and it scares her. Not because she might lose something, but because she might regret the things she doesn't say and do, because she'll never get this time back, and the day will come when it will be like it never happened.

She's been wasting it. Rebekah's departure proves that even more.

Her own breath stills, her words quiet when she speaks, a question that she isn't sure is right but she also isn't sure she cares.]

...Do you want me to stay?

[It's not just about feeling bad about leaving him like this, no matter how much time would pass before she did so. It's about the fact that she wants to be here, but it's about his grief now. He'd given her the space she'd asked for when their situations were reversed; this time, it's up to him.]

( she smells like yesterday. like all the days he wishes were this one and the next, and the next. she smells like now, this constant he will always seek and know: this inexplicable, endless well of how he loves her. he feels the tether between them, that presence and act of intimacy he covets and holds.

he feels it and he loses himself in it, despite uncertainty, despite heartache, despite fear. a shiver runs down his neck, feeling the journey of her touch; the tension in his shoulders unwind at her fingertips against his scalp.

her question stills him. klaus pulls back, his touch drifting down from her hair to her spine. he pulls back enough to look at her, to seek to understand, his heart large and hopeful in his chest.

his eyes search hers, his own wide and awed, filled with the longing and fear he has not voiced. he blinks and attempts to temper the transparency, the answer echoing inside of him and possessing him. what he worries, what he wonders, what he nearly asks is, does she? does she want to stay?

(he is terrified of being alone, yes. but he can weather his loneliness. the grief and the emptiness. he has time and time again. what matters to him is what she desires; he has always known what he wants.)

decision cements in him. faith and fear that she will do what she chooses. he can only make himself known. ) Yes.

Edited 2017-10-07 11:40 (UTC)

[She always does what she chooses, now that she has the strength to be able to choose. No one tells her what to do anymore, and the things she does are very rarely out of anything resembling obligation.

He knows this. He's dealt with it from her more than enough times.

He pulls back to look at her, and her expression is vulnerable, as if she's afraid he'll say no. It only hurt more to know that she turned him away when he likely felt the way she does now.]

I just...I watched you practically die and I can't stop thinking about it.

[She feels like she needs to explain, to prove that she's not just doing this for him.]

If you left tomorrow, I'd regret it if I'd kept doing what I'm doing.

[She needs to make her decisions based on the now and not what might happen. She can live with that, no matter what happens later.]

So if you want to be, then I'm here. I don't want to waste time anymore.

( he has suffered his own unravellings from that close brush with whatever death is possible for him here. he has, but he has not thought of hers. he has not considered what fears or revelations it might have inspired in her, much too occupied with his own.

her confession strikes true, and the dealt blow of it is clear on his face: he did not consider her worry for him. he does not consider anyone's worry for him, from perceived indifference to the lack of necessity for it. he is immortal, but that is not why this moves him.

it moves him because she cares. (she cares like so few do.) it moves him to stunned silence, his breath held in exquisite anticipation as the rest of her confession falls from her lips, because it means she wants. she wants more. she wants again. this is a blow, because it takes him a moment of incomprehension to understand, to believe —

he shifts on his feet once in his uncertainty.

then there is nothing left to say. his hand reaches to cradle her face; his lips fit with tender and firm passion to hers. )

[It had inspired a multitude of things that she'd found difficult to process or express. He was supposed to be one of those things that would always be there, that couldn't get brought down by anything, that she didn't have to dread the loss of. Maybe, somewhere in her mind, she simply assumed he would always be there when she might need him, but that very thought had been shaken to the core when his heart stopped, when he dessicated just like any of them could.

She could lose anyone, at any time.

At first, that made staying away seem like the safer option, but Caroline needed people. She needed friends and love and company to be happy. Isolating herself would only make her angrier, and she couldn't fathom the thought of doing it just to save herself some heartache in the future.

That would happen. It was inevitable. Nothing could have saved her mother and nothing was going to prevent what might happen in the future, regardless of how they tried to fight whatever might come their way.

She was selfish. She hadn't wanted to have this conversation now, when his wounds were so fresh from his loss, but she hadn't been able to help herself now that she was here, wrapped up and feeling a warmth she'd resisted for too long because she'd been afraid.

The press of his hand against her cheek is less surprising that the sudden pressure of his lips against hers, but it feels as good as it always has, and she finds herself unable to fight the urge to stop. She doesn't want to, even if hiding pain in comfort might not be the best course of action. If he wants, then so does she, and she proves it in the way she responds, pulse racing and lips turning up against his mouth.]

( the wounds are fresh, yes. there are words they should speak, sentiments and confessions and secrets of the heart and mind they should whisper to each other. there is grief to be felt, but klaus knows that grief will always be there, when he is ready to feel it. (he will feel it still, heavy and sorrowful in the whole of his heart, even with the bittersweet joy possessing it now.) he wants this comfort. he wants this piece of homecoming.

he wants her.

he needs this, as he's needed it all these months. as he's yearned and longed for, as he's weathered in absence. if that is selfishness then so be it, but he doesn't consider selfishness for a moment.

all he considers is her lips, turned to his. the wild, tender need spiraling out of control, feeling her racing heartbeat so close to his. her body, pliant and perfect as he presses her close by the cut of her waist. he turns her inside and reaches blindly to shut the door behind them. )

[It's easy to give in to this selfishness, because if he isn't thinking of it, then they aren't hurting anyone.

Her lips grin again as he turns her into the room, hears the door shut rapidly a moment later, her body curving into his and her arms slipping further around his neck to keep her balance. Those same lips part gently, the whole movement so familiar to her that suddenly it seems like very little time has passed at all.

He tastes exactly like she remembers.

Her arms loosen around him, hands dragging over shoulders and then down between them to reach for the hem of her shirt. Her lips part from his reluctantly, though only so she can drag the thin fabric over her head and toss it aside.

If this right here isn't the biggest fuck you to Wonderland right now, I don't know what is.]

( she tastes as he remembers. better for her absence, the pleasure like a bolt of lightning through him, her soft, open mouth a tease against the way they bend and press and pull to be nearer, to be seamless. he nearly whimpers, nearly groans; he leans in to chase her lips as she pulls away, his breath a dragging gasp.

his heart is pounding and pounding harder still as his eyes open slowly to see her smile and bare her skin.

it's the joy in her grin that electrifies him. that brings him to life. that reflects his own elation, so stark and bittersweet, mingling with the low of devastation crowding his heart. he takes it. he embraces it. he rushes forward, pushing her to the edge of the bed. his hands grasp the waist of her skirt and he tears it in half.

he grabs behind her thighs and lifts her up, coaxing her legs around him, as they've been dozens of times before. his eyes are full of heat, of wickedness, of love and promise as his palms slide up from her thighs to her back. )

[There's a short gasp of disbelief at the sound of ripping fabric (always with the destruction, Klaus), but his hands easily coax her legs around his hips all the same, her thighs tensing to hold herself flush against him.

Her hands fist into the fabric laying against his back, slipping it up until she can grasp the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head, her skin aching with the need to feel his against it.

There's a strange exhilaration in her eyes, as if her confession took some immense weight off her shoulders. She's as relieved to be here in this moment as he is, any fears or concerns dashed by the action of making her choices and knowing they're the right ones for her.

Her hand slides over the back of his neck, pulling him into her, the intensity of her kiss speaking volumes about how much she's been holding back, how it's been welling up inside her, how it was only a matter of time before it spilled out.]

( ~~she should really expect destruction at this point. order two of everything from the closets?~~

she sheds his shirt. it's discarded with all haste; he needs the feel of her skin just as she. he needs the softness of her and the solidity of her against him. his hands span her waist, the light in his eyes ignited by the same in hers: it's content. passion. that same uncoiling relief. when she pulls him into her, her sweet mouth finding his, he meets her with a moan.

his fingers dig into her skin. he savor and revels and cherishes that desire of hers, pushing and pulling at him. he falls into it with abandon, his kiss just as hungry, the corners of his lips turned up in a smile that fades only as the pleasure overcomes all other sensations but bursts of joy and want.

his hands clutch and caress her. he groans into the heat of her kiss and spin them around, sitting at the edge of the bed and tugging her hips into his, her into his lap. his heart races; he pulls from her mouth to press his lips and tongue to the hollow of her neck. his palms finds the curve of her shoulder, the strap of her bra to fist in his hand and draw into down. his lips and teeth and tongue find the peak of her breast beneath fabric. )

[~~Just because she expects it doesn't mean she has to like it, sir. But let's be real, she's clearly not that pressed.~~

His fingers press and leave their marks. She sucks air through her teeth even through her kiss, the pressure of his hands against her skin feels like home. Another quick spin and she's straddling him, sinking onto his lap as he sits on the edge of the bed. Her palms carve a path up his chest as his lips part from hers, then run up the sides of his neck and into his hair as his teeth and tongue do their work.

Her hips shift against his, her head gently falls back with a contented sigh, long blonde locks brushing over her shoulder blades.]

( there is no hesitation, no pause, no thought — only ardency and fervency. if he lingers, tongue painting wet circles around pert peak straining against his touch, his fingertips drawing down her arm, it's only because every sensation intoxicates him. it's only because he knows how to touch her and how he needs to touch her.

a breathy hum rumbles in his chest as her hips implore friction against his. (that's what he wants; he wants that.) he turns his head, bites the soft mound of her other breast and pulls her negligée down with coaxing force; it slips away beneath his mouth, already open and wet above her nipple.

she feels like home. she also feels like water to his parched throat; he's desperate for her. )

[Her mouth closes as his teeth graze her skin, her own clenching shut as she pulls another breath through them in a quick hiss. Her nails drag against his scalp she pulls her fingers free from his hair, chin tilting back down to look at him before she's placing her palms against his chest and shoving hard.

She doesn't think he'll resist.

Her arms reach behind her, undoing the clasp on her bra and discarding it before he leans forward, her now bare torso brushing against his. One hand falls flat against the mattress above his shoulder, the other slipping between them to tug impatiently at his belt.]

( he has no protest despite the loss; on the contrary — his eyes are dark with pupils blown, revelry in her show of force in the hint of his dimples. his back hits the bed but immediately his shoulders lift from it. (he feels a rush from her bared and commanding above him. he wants to claim her; he wants her to have her way. he wants everything and in this wild passion he will take it.)

he buries her fingers in her hair, savoring the softness of her cheek and the shape of her face cradled in his palm before delighting in the silk of those locks he reveres so much. his skin sings for hers; he arcs slightly at the brush of her body, heats and melts at the slide of her hand. klaus does nothing but aid her endeavor, helping her undo his belt and shuck his jeans down his hips. )

[She shifts above him, her foot hooking into the waist of his jeans as he shucks them down, dragging them the rest of the way with a stretch of her leg.

Good enough.

She grins wickedly as she leans in again, reclaiming his mouth as she rolls to the side, calf slipping around his hip and dragging him with her until they're laying side by side. Her heel presses into his lower back, pulling him closer. Her arms encircle his neck as her torso presses firmly against his.

Each of her movements is demanding, insatiable, as if she's trying to physically destroy any remaining distance placed between them by Wonderland's meddling.]

( there is no distance. he eschews every inch of it, only her hands pulling him in, every part of her rediscovering and known again, wrapped up with him. his breath catches and his lashes lower at her exquisite allure and dark intent, and when her lips descend on his, his fingers are already curling into a fist into her hair, tilting her face to the side to meet her.

and he groans, face flushing hot, heart racing at the friction and pleasure of her, from the wet, tender heat of their kiss to his hard arousal pressed between them. his arm, wedged beneath her, squeezes her impossibly closer, needy as his hips roll. his other hand maps a path up her thigh, from her hip to the curve of her spine to the nape of her neck. )

Klaus...

[His name spills from her mouth as she inhales a quick breath against his mouth, the touch of his hand drifting over the length of her body sending a ripple down her spine. He's so close, but it's not enough; she wants more, she needs it.

Her leg shifts even further up, over his hip bone, before an impatient hand slips between them, her abdomen tensing to create just enough room to reach lower, fingers wrapping around to stroke him a few times before she guides him between her parted thighs, pressing the tip against her entrance.

She draws her mouth away from his, opens her eyes to look at him. Her breath shudders once in anticipation, her gaze holding his with hooded eyes holding a mixture of emotion and lust.]

( he knows. he knows with familiar, instinctual, answering heat: from the sweet tenor of his name on her lips to the soft shudder and melding of her body against his how much she wants. this. him. them. it catches his breath short before she ventures her hand between them, the shallow raggedness of it erupting into a soft grunt as her hand wraps around him and strokes him in a way that drowns all remaining thought. his hips seek her touch; his lips part with breaths of pleasure against hers.

she leads him to the wet, promising heat of her and he shudders and heats. his hand presses to her hip; his other takes her wrist to guide it around his neck. his eyes are open too, depthless and ardent, tender and lustful both. he presses them together, slow and seamless: sinking her onto him as much as he meets her. this is what she wanted. what he wants. he wraps her up close, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, and gives to her impatience just as he draws their desire out. )

[She can't help the parting of her lips at the gentle press of him, her mouth falling open further as he sinks inside, and she exhales a long contented sigh that brushes across his face. Her hips shift slightly against his, settling her body against his even as it cries out for the heated friction she craves.

Her forehead presses harder against his as her lips press together then, stifling a groan that she firmly silences as she presses her mouth to his. The kiss is needy but doesn't last long before she's breaking her mouth away, her breathing heavy despite their relative stillness.]

I missed you.

[She missed this, a fact that she had tried to hide from as if it were wrong to seek this comfort in the midst of her grief. She wanted to miss this for the right reasons, not just because she was alone.

She does. She did. He should know.]

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bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull;

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; THIS IS PROBABLY ABOUT TO GET NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW INCOMING

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW INCOMING

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW

bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW