#bkkau

“You know,” Kol muses to Rebekah. “I do envy them this one thing. After we’ve feasted, there’s no one left to fuck. But they’re never left wanting.”

At court, Kol grew accustomed to the wealth of warm bodies. Though he loved the taste of young women’s blood, he sampled their flesh and pleasures just as often.

Rebekah isn’t immune to the allure of sex, either. Without the watchful eye of her father, and with countless advances from those at court, Rebekah sampled her share of flesh as well.

She misses the attention, more than anything. Her brothers barely look at her.

Now they are all she has. Finn can hardly stand to speak to any of them. Niklaus and Elijah are too wrapped up in each other to notice anyone else.

Kol, though…

He has a streak of wickedness in him. Nothing that compares to Niklaus, but he cares not for the laws of men.

Perhaps…

She rises, propping herself on one elbow. She lets her hair spill long and loose over her shoulder, catching the sliver of moonlight.

“There’s always…me.”

She sneaks her hand up his sprawled body—on the pretense of grabbing his hand, but she lets her fingers dance across his thigh. His groin.

Kol shifts the arm under his head so he can meet her gaze, a little confused and a little curious. “Bex?”

Rebekah’s heart speeds up. Her breath comes out in a quiet rush. “I mean…we could always…”

“What, you and me?” Kol’s mouth twists down. “No, thank you.”

He turns his head to the side, away from her.

“Why not?” Rebekah rolls onto her stomach, chasing after him. Lays one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, turning him gently back.

He shifts uncomfortably. “You’re my sister.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want you.”

It’s bald and plain and unapologetic. He cares nothing for her feelings, for letting her down easy.

Rebekah’s heart stings. It’s not the first time Kol has pushed her away.

But with Nik as a brother, Rebekah has grown accustomed to much deeper rejections.

Beyond them, in the occupied tent, Elijah’s deep voice stretches into a euphoric groan.

Rebekah chases Kol’s eyes until their gazes meet. His grudging, hers pleading.

“You can’t think it’s wrong. No more wrong than…anything else we’ve done tonight.” She glances suggestively in the direction of the corpses they created.

Kol shrugs at this, a flicker of agreement passing over his face.

“You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“You are, Bex. I suppose. But not for me. You’re just…” He grimaces. “I remember you suckling at Mother’s breast. I remember bathing you in the stream before you could walk.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” she insists. “Look at me.”

She moves her skirt, slowly lifting one bare leg over his body until she is practically straddling him.

She has never had to seduce anyone. Everyone she has bedded has been willing—eager, even—

He tenses under her, as though she is an overeager pup who wants to play in the dead of night.

Yet his eyes travel, almost unconsciously, down the length of her body.

She leans closer to him, pressing their torsos together—making sure he can feel the firm roundness of her breasts through her dress.

“You don’t have to want me. But I’m warm and willing and I’m here. Just imagine I’m a stranger.”

Kol groans, covering his eyes with a bent elbow. Yet other parts of him respond differently—his heart speeds up, his legs twitch.

She presses a series of kisses down his jaw and neck, while her hand wanders into his shirt. His stomach muscles hiccup under her light, teasing touch.

By the time her fingers slip below his waist, a tent has already begun to form in his pants.

“By the gods, Bex,” he says, a little breathless. “You’re going to damn me to hell.”

Rebekah strokes his hardening cock, eliciting what can only be described as a whimper out of her confident, smug brother.

She drags her mouth back up his neck to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. Meets his dark-pupiled eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“If there is a hell,” she whispers, letting her teeth graze his cheek, then his ear, “we’re already destined for it.”

Kol smirks at that.

He rolls suddenly, flipping their bodies so he straddles her. His sex presses hard and insistent into her skirt, into the join between her legs.

She laughs breathlessly, only to find his hand over her mouth. “Don’t talk, little sister. You might make me remember what I’m doing.”

He’s looking at her hands, her chest, anywhere but her face.

No matter. He is hers for the night.

She smiles against his fingers and uses her tongue to lure two of them into her mouth, where she sucks them lewdly.

.

He tears her dress beyond repair, though he doesn’t fully remove it.

He pushes his fingers into her, sighing at the warm wetness.

She takes his cock in his mouth and lets him have a few good thrusts.

She doesn’t speak, even when a particularly enthusiastic thrust hits the back of her throat exactly wrong, and her eyes begin to water.

She leaves enough spit as a lubricant as he withdraws his member and tears her skirt open.

He doesn’t wait for her discomfort to fade before he is moving inside her, digging, it seems, for his own completion.

He hits some of the right spots along the way, and Rebekah muffles her cries into his shoulder when she sees stars.

She tears his shirt open and runs her tongue over his chest, his hard nipples. He wrenches her dress open at the neckline and gropes at her breasts, squeezing rather harder than she’d like.

“Oh, god—oh, god, Bex—” Kol seems to have forgotten about pretending she’s anyone else. He braces his hands, leaning more of his weight on her breasts.

She moans, near pain. Her brother is on top of her, thrusting into her at a rapidly increasing and erratic pace. She doesn’t mind.

She pulls one hand free and repositions it at her clit, letting the pads of her fingers enhance the experience.

Kol comes with a shudder and a groan. His fingers close tight around her breasts—if they were still human, she’d have bruises for weeks.

He slumps around her, their half-naked bodies clashing warm—but not soft—on the ground. He pants into her collarbone, worn out quickly by his efforts.

She feels him soften inside of her, and she accepts that she’s not going to come tonight.

Not with him, anyway. Nik and Elijah are still going at it, by the sounds from their tent.

Kol slides out of her without meeting her eyes. Warm, runny liquid leaks out of her cunt and down toward her buttocks.

He sighs and dismounts her. Runs an arm across his sweaty brow. “Damn it. I…I needed that.”

Rebekah swipes a stray strand of hair off of her face. “So did I.”

Kol flops back onto the ground, on his back, and stares up at the sky. He makes no move to distance himself from her.

“Next…next time I should take you from behind. That’ll be…easier. I think.”

Rebekah covers her sly smile with an arm. “All right. Whatever you want.”

More boyking

“Are you here to prove your worth to me, boy?”

Niklaus smiles, though he must know he is outmatched. “Why would I want to do that? No. I thought we could have some father-son time.” He runs his blade against Mikael’s, edge along edge. Not an attack. Hardly even a test—it is a tease.

Fury rears in Mikael’s chest at such arrogance. The boy has never known his place. “You ought to do as you’re told. Instead of spending all day off gallivanting with your brother.”

“Lijah? Why should I? He wouldn’t know what to do without me. He loves me.” He begins prowling in a slow circle, blade held level and at the ready. Mikael mimics his movements.

But Niklaus seems to have little interest in the fight itself. “You know what I mean, don’t you Father? He loves me. He loves every part of me. He loves the taste of me.” A wide smirk stretches across his lips.

Mikael’s steps falter. He nearly stumbles.

Niklaus knows just how to get under his skin. Knows just what to say, to inspire shock and revulsion.

“Such filth,” he hisses. “You ought to be ashamed.” No child of his should speak that way and not suffer for it. “I should cut that filthy tongue from your mouth.”

“See if you can manage it, Mikael.” Niklaus runs said tongue over his teeth, a lewd gesture. “I don’t imagine Elijah would be too pleased.”

“Elijah?” Mikael scoffs. In spite of Niklaus’s obsession with his brother, this faith seems misplaced. “What can he do?”

“For me?” Niklaus smiles widely. Wickedly. “He’d do anything. He tells me so every night.”

Mikael tries not to think about what his devil child is implying. “He is a good son.”

“Oh, Father. So naive. He would bleed for me. Kill for me. I think he would die for me.” He whips his blade out suddenly, clanging against Mikael’s with an unexpected ferocity. “Would he die for you? Does he tell you that at night, as he holds you?”

His pale eyes glitter with malice.

Mikael lunges at him. Sloppily, he knows. Niklaus sidesteps him easily. But his fury is so great—blood pounds through his head, clouding his vision and clubbing his limbs.

Niklaus has not stopped smirking, completely unrattled by Mikael’s anger. “He belongs to me, Mikael. If he had to choose between us, do you honestly think he would choose you?”

Mikael lunges again, and misses again. His sword glances off of Niklaus’s. Niklaus casually flicks a strand of hair off his forehead.

He should be cowering. Apologizing. Swearing to be better. Instead, Mikael’s anger only amuses him.

Niklaus tilts his head, mockingly thoughtful. “If both of us were lying here bleeding, who do you think he would choose to save? Admit it, Father.” His lips drip with sweet honeyed poison. “You don’t have him. You never did.”

Mikael tries to ignore the grain of icy dread growing inside him. If he cannot control his own children, then what is he worth?

His next words are so naked, so unguarded, so weak, it almost turns his stomach. “What do you want from him?”

“Just…him.” Niklaus has abandoned even the pretense of fighting. He stares past Mikael and speaks in a slow, measured voice. “I want him to see me, and only me. I want my touch to be the only thing he feels. I want him to feel sick when he’s not with me. I want his smiles to be because of me alone. I want him, every part of him, to belong to me.”

He looks Mikael in the eye, certainty scorching his gaze. “What do I want from him, Father? I want his everything. And I have it. If I asked him to leave with me, today, he would.”

“And if I asked,” Mikael replies icily, and not as sure and certain as he would like to be, “our entire family would follow me to hunt you down.”

“Are you sure about that, Father? Do you truly have the loyalty of our family, that they would follow your every command?”

“My wife,” Mikael says tightly, “has raised our children to be obedient. Aside from the single abomination before me, she has succeeded.”

“Oh, please.” Mockery laces his words. “Mother puts up with your temper tantrums, but even she has a limit. Whose blind loyalty do you have? Not Finn’s. He is Mother’s sycophant. Kol is her protégée in magic. Rebekah loves me through her fear. And Elijah…let’s just say if he had to choose between you and me…” He scoffs. “Father, all you have is little Henrik.”

He smiles blithely, as if he has not laid bare every fear Mikael harbors about his family. “So what do you have, Mikael. Other than some harsh words and your fists?”

Mikael makes good use of those fists, ramming one into Niklaus’s ribs while the other clips under his jaw, sending him reeling backward into a tree trunk. He grunts in satisfaction.

Niklaus leans casually against the tree, looking entirely unshaken. Unimpressed. “Honestly. All this talk of me being an abomination—a beast. Here you are, growling and lunging like a pathetic caged animal. Maybe it’s you who is the beast.”

“Stop.” Mikael’s teeth are clenched. He holds his blade toward Niklaus, ready to strike. Hoping his son won’t notice how white his knuckles are on the hilt.

“Tell me, Father. Do you hate yourself so much you’d bestow that title on your most hated child—because I’m everything you fear?”

With a yell, Mikael drives his sword through Niklaus’s shoulder, pinning him to the tree like an animal. Like an insect.

Blood wells and spills from the wound, staining his son’s clothes. Staining his blade.

He exhales in satisfaction. “Let that be a lesson to you.”

Niklaus looks coolly down at the hole in his shoulder. “What exactly have you taught me?” No hint of pain or fear or shame.

“To leave my son alone.” Please. Let him be. Leave this place. Or better yet, just die right here.

“With this wound? Unlikely.” He opens his mouth and screams—a sound of pure agony. It clangs in Mikael’s head like the tedious cries of a wounded, dying beast.

But Niklaus isn’t dying. He smiles gleefully at Mikael through a trickle of blood in his mouth. “He’ll be here soon. He’ll know my pain. He’ll know who caused it.”

He leans forward, heedless of how the bloodstain darkens on his shirt with the movement. “And he’ll make it go away.”

And then Elijah is there, all but shoving Father aside to reach Niklaus, who whines in pain for his brother.

Neither of them pay Mikael any notice as he demands they separate, that Elijah let Niklaus deal with the consequences of the duel alone.

His blade is lodged in Niklaus’s shoulder, now useless to him. Elijah is deaf to his orders.

Truly, all he has are harsh words and his fists.

Though the duel is over with an indisputable outcome, Mikael cannot convince himself he has won.

More boyking snippets

Niklaus has always frightened Henrik. He’s nothing like their other siblings. Not loving like Rebekah, or Elijah. Not indulgent or funny, like Kol. He doesn’t even act like a parent, as Finn does.

Nik…Nik looks at Henrik like he’s a tool in the market. Sizing him up, weighing whether or not to buy him. Whether or not he would be useful enough.

He has never struck Henrik, or acted outright cruel to him. There is simply an air about him, a feeling that Henrik ought not cross Nik, ought not get too close.

He cannot even look into his eyes too long; Nik’s gaze sends chills down his spine.

Once, when he was feeling bold, he asked: What are you looking at?

Nik tilted his head to one side. Just deciding whether or not to eat you.

He was probably joking, Henrik tells himself. Probably. A common jest meant to tease younger children. Mother has said as much before—I could eat you for dinner, little one.

But he can’t be sure. The cold way he speaks, the way he holds himself—Henrik can imagine Nik doing anything.

That’s why he bites back his protests when Nik pulls him to his feet. Inspecting him, sizing him up. How brave, little brother?

He squares his shoulders. Brave enough.

You’re coming outside with me. As soon as it’s dark, we’re going to see the wolves.

Henrik swallows the fear pounding in his chest and nods solemnly. It’s not a good idea to argue with Nik on the best of days.

And Nik has been far from calm of late.

Henrik can only guess exactly why—the intricacies have been kept from him, the youngest. There was a fight, he knows, between Father and Niklaus—a massive one. Mother got involved, which she rarely does. Elijah has all but disappeared. All his siblings can barely look at each other now.

Even Henrik’s friends in the village seem to know more about this than he. They stare at him while whispering behind their hands.

Nik’s behavior has become unpredictable and unsettling. Instead of his usual icy calm, he is bristly and on edge. The one time Henrik approaches him, he hisses a rejection that borders on a threat. (Hold your tongue, if you want to keep it. Leave.)

What’s wrong with him? he asks Bekah, who understands Nik better than anyone but Elijah.

Rebekah strokes Henrik’s hair, her gaze never leaving Nik. He’s lonely. Father sent Elijah away on a scouting trip.

Kol scoffs from where he lounges nearby. More like he forbade them from seeing each other.

Why? Henrik asks, ears perking up. He’s desperate for any scrap of news, any explanation for what has torn a hole in his family.

A wicked smile grows on Kol’s face. No one’s told you yet? Father caught them f—

Kol. Rebekah’s tone is suddenly harsh, her grip on Henrik’s shoulder hardening to iron. Stop it.

Henrik’s gaze darts between them. No, why would Father forbid them? What did they do?

Nothing. She articulates each syllable clearly at Kol as he struts away, still smirking.

She smiles down at Henrik, although her expression is far from reassuring. It’s all right. Father’s just cross. Kol is just being childish.

She won’t explain any further, no matter what he asks her. (Sometimes he hates being the youngest.)

So he still doesn’t understand why Nik’s eyes blaze with anger as he all but drags Henrik outside. Why his grip is rock hard, why his jaw clenches and turns his expression to stone.

Elijah has returned—Henrik even saw them speak earlier before they descended into the safety of the caves.

So where does his rage come from?

Why me, Nik? Why are you bringing me along? Why not Elijah? Why not Bekah?

Niklaus jerks to a stop, chest heaving. He turns and looks down at Henrik. His lips twist with something like disdain.

Elijah wouldn’t come, he explains tightly. I don’t want any of the others.

Why am I here?

I want you to see the wolves, little brother. I want you to feel the rush of danger. I want you to prove you’re braver than Elijah.

They are outside by now, and dusk is truly falling. Nighttime sounds are loud in Henrik’s ears. The village is deserted.

Niklaus turns to him, eyes burning through an otherwise blank and calm expression.

Perhaps Henrik is imagining how his skin glows in the moonlight.

We’ll have to climb a tree. The wolves are vicious when they turn.

The tree Nik chooses has slim, delicate branches. Henrik must test each of them before letting his weight rest on a new place.

Niklaus darts ahead of him, quicker and more nimble in his movements.

A loud, animal whine stretches out through the forest. Henrik’s palms begin to sweat. His limbs tremble with every movement.

Nik. Nik, wait up.

His older brother pauses, staring down at him with pale, haughty eyes. He lounges lithely across two branches, seemingly without any effort—almost lazily.

Suppose we’re high enough. They’ll see us no matter how far we climb.

Henrik pants as he hauls himself up, level with Nik. Now what?

Niklaus tilts his head up to the full moon in the sky. Now we wait.

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls.

Henrik lets the night air cool his sweaty face. Sneaks a peek at Niklaus. Watches him fume as he drinks in the moonlight.

He doesn’t know where the courage comes from for him to blurt, What happened between you and Father?

Nik’s reply is clipped. He saw something he shouldn’t have.

You and…Elijah? He can’t imagine their crime.

Elijah still fears him. More than I thought.

Is that why he wouldn’t come tonight? Father wouldn’t let him?

He should have been here. I wanted to share this with him.

I’m sorry, Nik. (Somehow, he is. Despite everything, he feels for his most unknowable brother.)

Me too. He almost smiles.

Henrik almost relaxes.

Then Niklaus shakes his long hair out of his face. Tell me, little brother, have you ever loved someone?

Of course. Mother. Rebekah. Finn, Kol, Elijah…you. He tacks the last word on hastily. (He already knows he must not mention Father.)

Not…no. He exhales sharply. Have you ever loved someone with everything you are?

The moon seems to grow bigger in the sky. Closer. Brighter. Nik cannot seem to keep his eyes off it.

Have you ever felt love for someone that burns you from the inside out? Makes you hungry for them?

You want to own them—devour them. Your skin doesn’t feel right unless it’s touching theirs. That love is the only thing that keeps you feeling human.

Henrik can say, with certainty, he has never felt anything like that in his fourteen years. I…

The woods come alive with howls. Henrik grips the tree even tighter.

Niklaus does not react to the cue in the slightest. His eyes are wild. Crazed. Have you ever felt a love you’d do anything for? Bleed for? Hurt? Kill?

He growls, driving his forehead into the trunk of the tree. What do I have to do? How do I make him listen? I can’t feel like this anymore. How do you do it? How can you stand it?

Henrik is frozen. He isn’t sure Niklaus is speaking to him anymore.

I did everything. Why isn’t he mine?

You mean Elijah. His voice shakes as he offers their older brother’s name. What little he understands of Nik’s ramblings, he knows it has to do with Elijah.

I want him beside me. I need him here. You, little brother, he snarls, are no substitute.

I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what to do.

His eyebrows raise. Convince him he was wrong to stay behind tonight.

How do I do that?

You can’t.

Henrik’s heart pounds under his ribs. Nik, let’s go. We’ll go home. You just need to talk to him. He’ll listen. He loves you, I know he does.

We can’t go home, he says, smoothly cutting across Henrik’s babbling. They’re here.

Wolves have caught their scent. Running through the forest, the pack stops under the tree they’ve taken refuge in.

They growl and bark and claw at the tree trunk. They leap in the air, trying to reach the two humans, whose legs hang tantalizingly low.

One catches Henrik’s boot.

There’s no pain, not yet. He knows he will feel it later, when they get home to Mother.

(If they get home to Mother.)

He starts to slip from the tree. He hugs the branch desperately, begging Nik to pull him up. Please. Please help me.

Niklaus surveys him with a blank face. Says nothing. Does nothing.

It occurs to him, just before. What Nik might be thinking under that cold, angry stare.

This will convince him.

Henrik’s fingers give out.

He feels a rush of panic as he falls, the night air whipping past him. (He knows it’s going to hurt.)

Nik’s empty expression shrinks into darkness. It’s the last thing he sees before he hits the ground.

After that, nothing.

More boyking snippets