PROMPT:Â âYouâre the treat sweetheart.â
SMUT SMUT SMUT and FLUFF. (NSFW)
Itâs basically a 5k porn smut-shot.
(Because of course my brain saw a gif set of Mr. Klaus Forbes flashing his dimples and thought PORN.)
The conversation was flowing smoothly, a little too smoothly, it truly was a sight to behold,
She doesnât find awkward bumps that the participants uncomfortably had to step over stilling the flow, no problematic cracks people either ignored or tried to tear open with their teeth, no blunt blows to the back off the head, or venom tipped words sharper than the fangs the Mikaelson family sported, Hell, even Kol kept his sexual innuendos count to an all time low of two per sentence, and it wasnât tedious either, it was sunny honest conversation one that flowed and ebbed in tranquil warmth enveloping all those who took part in it.
But of course, the insufferable bastard sheâs been calling her husband for the last handful of decades, and her last love for two centuries now, decides heâll singlehandedly throw all progress out the backdoor.
Her husband, and his freaking audacity to flash those dimples, in that exact way, throw all progress out the backdoor if sheâs being more accurate.
God heâll be the end of her.
Itâs no grand truth, that sheâs very very closely acquainted with his dimples, and she means, âlick a sweet path from dimple to lip as per her wishâ closely acquainted, those perfect indents on his cheeks, make no mistake, they are hers for the taking,
But she admits, she has her preferences, sheâs a bit finicky with her interests,
Sheâs not too fond of his shit eating âYet again Iâve bested you, my love.â dimples, or any other variant of that he flashes in the rare case he has the upper hand between the two of them.
Sheâs quite partial to the one sided dimpling the evil villain smirk has to offer, one sheâs privy to during their hunts, or the âIve got one word for you: run.â smirk he displays before transforming into a walking talking guillotine, those are quite entertaining to watch bloom, and the customary thorough debauching of her body that follows any such murder work out is nothing dismissible.
Now the almost bashful and youthfully eager ones he shows her when he talks about his place in the world as an artist, when for once his hand can create instead of destroy, those are entirely just for her, that sit there pretty on his cheeks in the privacy of his studio, where they continue to relive a thousand different times in a thousand different places including Rome, Paris and Tokyo, that one day, when he thanked her for the first of many things he feels gratitude for, her honesty,
He still remembers it as the day he allowed the truth to be something he didnât particularly like for the first time in a long time, she however still remembers the day by the absolute fishing he did, standing there in his studio as he introduced his passions to her, patiently waiting in silent humility for her to notice these paintings were his and compliment him.
He still doesnât allow this truth to remain, she of course always knows better.
Then again she also loves the shy soft little ones he offers her and only her, the ones he gently picks from the buried bounded depths of his heart and places in her hand with such care, as he sweetly leans into her palm, moist plump lips pressed against her pulse. When he is so beautifully hers that the hybrid gold of his eyes is the sun and when directed at her is as warm and sweet as golden honey. Or when he nuzzles his nose into the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast, half laying on top of her, when he gathers her close pauses and then closer, as if he finds the flesh separating them offending, as though his very existence is meant to directly infect her soul unimpeded by skin and bone, as if he means to exist in her and through her, and live only within her.
Heâs a bit pretentious with his love.
âFill each otherâs cup but drink not from one cup.â
His simple response was to pull her to him and offer his neck,
Sheâs never brought it up again,
His devotion for her, his raw thirst for her, it unnerved her at first when she finally decided after
The numerous âSweetheart, they were not bloody stagedâ run-ins in every continent she dared to set foot on,
The two times she needed his blood in the century she spent on her own,
The one night she needed his arms and scent to engulf her and his dead heartbeat to soothe her when Elizabeth Forbes passed at age ninety four,
The one time when she realised somewhere along the way between the sporadic meets and witch hunts, the werewolf venom and death counts, the art and music and culture their souls burgeoned to connect, the great cities they carved into their own stars, the languid conversation as they winded through both cobblestones and pink sands, underneath both fluttering snow of and steady stars, the silent moments of equal awe they both shared between the most downtrodden godforsaken places of hunger and poverty and the most lavish heavens, between all the beauty and filth in the world when they only had eyes for each other, amongst the scent of both death and life when they only inhaled a shared breath so sacred they locked it in and never let it out, when seas and continents and words couldnât keep them apart, when neither his ego nor her stubbornness could count for any importance in the face of each other, when the one time she realised immortality for her wasnât the ungodly number of years sheâs left behind still apple cheeked and smooth as milk, but was the ungodly amount of years still ahead of her that somehow always evinced his hand in hers,
When she finally, one balmy faultless Sunday afternoon, in the thick of Thanjavurâs humidity in India, sitting barefoot as per the townâs religious customs on the ground, sprawled carefully in the warm green grass that precedes the entrance of the glorious Brihadeeswarar Temple, that is almost as old as the man occupying her thoughts,
She finally finds her deviously elusive,
Realisation hits her with the weight of immortality and her acceptance that there was no other possibility but this, that this has been inevitable for the better half of the last century, carries the weight forward into her heart and fills it with such indisputable finality, that Klausâs place is by her side and hers alone.
And after that, well, what else was there to do?
After all of that, itâs one knock on his door, and,
âAlright, apparently However long it takes only lasted a total of 113 years, 6 months and 25 days. I thought Iâd last longer, but Iâm not as stubborn as I wished I was.â
That night was the first time she realised it wasnât the first time theyâve made love, slow and sweet and beautiful, But it was the first time Klaus with all the vulnerability of a little boy back in Mygradrir who wore a sterling around his neck tight as a noose because his mother loved him so much, asked, mouth against her skin, face hidden in her neck, a whisper that shook in the middle and dissipated at the edges,
âYouâll stay, not just tomorrow, but after?â
That was about two centuries ago, and apparently after did not mean the day after tomorrow.
But she hasnât had too many complaints, she admits the novelty of him has worn off, heâs a bit grating on the edges, the sides and the middle, heâs entirely too insufferable to put up with for an extended period of time, definitely is only enjoyable in moderation and bite sized doses,
But she did let him put a ring on her finger, and also stood there holding his hand as they were bound by a witch in supernatural matrimony, so she canât really tell itâs wholly his fault, but she apparently likes him too, in addition to loving him, so sheâll stay.
But she digressed a whole lot,
Their appearances are continual and each unique situation had one kind assigned to it, but that does not mean they are repetitive, Klaus is many things but least of all predictable, So he presents her with new ones every now and then, dimples sheâd like to kiss till they imprint on her lips,
She knows that even if she goes on to live twice the millennium Her husband experienced, and even if every glittering rarity becomes a hackneyed iteration, and every resounding wave of novelty is a mere echo sheâs experienced a thousand times, even if there is nothing new as she leads time through this carousel world as the closest thing to omniscient, then sheâll at least know her husbandâs smile will always catch her a tiny bit off guard. That she will always take a second to touch it and see it widen even further when she does.
But there was this one single type of smile he flashed from time to time, a rarity in its own right, that one smile basically threw all progress out the backdoor,
The smile is always characterised by the fact that itâs not for her, or for his siblings, or his enemies, itâs for the world, itâs a smile that he never intended to give but slipped out of his hand anyway, and somehow ends up smiling with his entire body, but heâs done that countless times for her, smile with his whole being, sheâd say at least twice everyday, usually more, but when he does it for the world, sheâs a bit unprepared,
She knows his hostility against the way of the world all too well, itâs why heâs so adamant on dictating it, she knows the millennium of undead life under Mikaelâs hatred left him with a tight grip on the world but only because he was hanging on to the edge of it, with both hands and legs dangling, but he doesnât show it that way, instead phrases it as âI had the world at my finger tips, Now I have it beneath my feet.â
Heâs a bit flashy with his pretty words, that total honesty to this man is as difficult as love will never surprise her, but the fact that this same honesty sometimes slips out so easily, unfettered and ensconced in peace and content, that does surprise her, like for instance, right now, Heâs sitting there ankle over knee, occupying an entire settee with the way heâs sprawled because of course he has to be the biggest being in the room, he needs to know his ego easily accomplishes that for him, holding in his hand one of the thousand sketchpads heâs still kept after paper was no more the norm nor necessity but became a relic of bygone ages for centuries now, and as he sits there sketching god knows what, in the same room as his siblings, their chatter as perfectly idle as a familyâs,
Heâs smiling, not at her, not to his siblings, hell not even at his drawing, she knows heâs not listening to the conversation, so itâs not something Kol said or Rebekah whined, heâs perfectly uninterrupted in his smile that just bloomed on his face with no given reason, and there as he bows his head a little closer to the page, not because he wants to hide the smile but because he simply wants to see the sketch closer, she knows he doesnât even know heâs smiling, but he is.
So wide and beautiful and honest, and just because, a smile directed at the world, and to think he doesnât even notice, to know that itâs so whole and full, that there isnât a place left in his heart or mind to remind him to restrain it.
She knows sheâs smiling just as wide too.
God, the things this man does to her heart,
And not just her heart, apparently her body too if the heady arousal that rushed straight to her clit as if a phantom hand rubbed it is anything to go by, because of course, sheâs never so aroused by him as she is when he dimples.
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