#lissasmikaelsonweek

You still weren’t sure how you managed to pull a man like Elijah. You met a while ago, when he walked up to you like he already knew what you would say. All dark eyes and smooth charm, tailored clothes and quiet confidence. He had disarmed you instantly. From the first moment, you sensed something different about him. Though you didn’t know then just how true that would turn out to be.

And now, months later, here you were. Nestled against one of the oldest living creatures on earth, with his arm around your waist like it belonged there. He could have had anyone. And yet, he chose you.

You certainly weren’t going to argue.

A soft sigh slipped from your lips as you pressed in closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around both of you. You looked up at him, studying the familiar lines of his face in the firelight. His hair fell softly across his brow, his dark eyes tracking the lines of his book. But the way his hand moved, slow and precise, long fingers flexing just enough to remind you how they felt against your skin. That was what made your heart flutter.

Your gaze moved up to the column of his throat, the curve where neck meets shoulder. A place you kissed before many times, gently, reverently. But tonight, you didn’t want to kiss it. You wanted to bite it.

The thought hit fast and hot. You swallowed hard, shifting under the blanket as heat pooled between your thighs. It wasn’t the first time you had felt it. That deep, aching urge always crept in during quiet moments like this. When you felt content and safe around him, overwhelmed by love and want and intense feeling.

But just as quickly, shame curled through you like smoke. You shouldn’t want that. Not like this. It was too much. You were too much.

The last time you followed that instinct, let it slip past your lips in the heat of the moment, your ex hadn’t understood. He laughed. Pulled back. Shut down. Called you intense. In that tone people use when they mean something else. When they mean weird. When they mean wrong.

You pretended it didn’t hurt, but it stuck. It lived in you. Ever since, you kept that part of yourself locked away. Bit your own lip instead. Dug your nails into the sheets instead of skin. Avoided the feelings that threatened to swallow you whole.

And now here you were, held in the arms of the most perfect man you had ever known. Still too scared to show him the whole of what you wanted.

Elijah turned another page, but he hadn’t read a single word in the last five minutes. He could feel your body pressed against his side, warm and restless, your breaths coming shallower now. And he could practically hear the thoughts racing behind your silence.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched you from the corner of his eye, taking in the way your gaze lingered on him a little too long, the way your lips parted like you might say something, then thought better of it. Your breath caught.. just barely. But he noticed. He always did.

There was a flush rising beneath your skin, a certain tension in your frame that made his chest warm. You were trying so hard not to let it show. He could feel it in the way you tucked yourself a little closer, like you needed him to notice without asking. He found it very sweet.

He didn’t know what you were holding back, not exactly. But he could feel it, some small ache just beneath the surface. Something you thought you needed to hide.

He could wait. He would wait. But it was hard not to smile when you got like this. All quiet and shy…and clearly about two seconds from climbing into his lap.

His book was forgotten. His eyes were on you now, wearing that unreadable expression he saved for when he was studying something closely. Not judging. Just observing.

"W-what?" you asked, trying not to squirm. "You’re very distracting, you know that?"

Elijah gave you a small, amused smile. "I haven’t done anything."

"Exactly," you said, returning the smile. "You sit there looking like that and expect me to concentrate on anything else?"

He hummed, low and content, and leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. "I was under the impression we were just reading."

"I was trying," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brushed your skin. "Then your hand turned a page and my brain completely stopped working."

"That sounds serious," he said, voice dropping just a little, all low and velvet-soft as his fingers slipped beneath the blanket. "Should I be concerned?"

You giggled breathlessly just before he caught your mouth in a soft kiss. His hand trailed up your thigh, pausing just beneath the hem of your dress. Then, with careful ease, he dipped under the fabric. Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t pull away.

His palm slid higher, warm and steady against bare skin. He smiled into the kiss, then shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his lap. The blanket slid down, pooling around your waist as your knees braced on either side of his hips. He only broke the kiss long enough to lift your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

He hadn’t expected his evening to go like this. Elijah had planned to read, maybe kiss you once or twice and fall asleep with you curled against his chest. But now you were in his lap, bare and radiant, and all he could do was stare. The way your skin flushed under his palms, the way your fingers trembled as they touched him. It always undid something in him.

Your hands moved to the front of his shirt, fumbling slightly with the buttons. He didn’t rush you. He liked watching you like this. A little nervous, focused, so clearly wanting him. You got halfway down before he leaned in and kissed your jaw, a whisper-soft encouragement. You pushed the fabric back off his shoulders and down his arms, quickly tossing it aside.

His hand slid down your back, firm and possessive, pulling you tight against him. He was already hard, and the pressure of it beneath you made your breath hitch. He guided your hips with slow, deliberate movements, coaxing you to grind against him. The friction stole your focus, made your fingers tremble against his skin as the heat between you deepened, hungry and sweet and impossible to ignore.

You let your hands roam across his chest, drinking him in. His skin was warm under your palms, his muscles carved and defined. Your fingertips traced the ridge of his collarbone, slid up the curve of his neck, tangled in his hair. He felt like something meant to be worshipped.

You reached between you, breath shaky, and undid the fastenings of his pants. He let you, his eyes never leaving your face. You pushed the fabric down just enough to free him, and the second your hand wrapped around him, he groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest.

You stroked him slowly, deliberately, savoring the feel of him in your hand. The way he exhaled like you were undoing him. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the ways his pupils dilated, making them somehow even darker.

The firelight flickered across your back, casting the two of you in molten gold. He leaned in, breath warm against your throat, and you tipped your head back as he kissed along your neck, his mouth open, tongue teasing. His hand moved between your legs, slipping beneath your panties and pushing the fabric aside.

His fingers teased you gently, not enough to satisfy, just enough to make your hips shift, seeking more.

"Go slow for me. Let it ache a while," he murmured. "I'll take care of you."

Your body trembled with anticipation, with need, and you bit your lip, stifling a whimper. He kept his touches light, too light, just barely brushing the surface, then a little deeper, circling and coaxing until your legs began to shake.

You tried to stay in control. Tried to hold back the part of you that wanted to claw, to bite, to take. The part that always felt too hungry.

But then he pulled away, slow and deliberate, and shifted beneath you. He pressed the head of his cock right where you wanted him most and held there, unmoving, letting the need twist hot and sharp inside you.

You held your breath as he pressed against you, and then, slowly, you began to sink down. You let out a quiet moan, savoring the stretch and the way his hands tightened around you, steadying you.

You started to move, slow and careful. Lifting just enough to feel the pull before sinking down again. Every motion was thick with wet heat, achingly slow. Sweet friction that built fire with every pass.

Your muscles burned with the effort of staying in control, and your heart pounded like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. Your nails digging into the sofa.

His hands slid along your spine, grounding you as he let you set the pace. But it was not enough to hold back the rush building in your blood.

It was too much. The pleasure. The pressure. The unbearable fullness of him, deep and steady, everywhere.

And still, you tried to hold it together.

Still, you held back.

He felt it in the hitch of your breath, in the tremble that started in your thighs and worked its way through you like a current. Your heart was a wild, beautiful thing beneath your skin. Fluttering against your ribs, echoing in his ears like a siren’s call. And your scent… god, the warmth of it, the way clouded all of his senses as you eased down onto him. It nearly undid him.

You were trying so hard to stay composed. He could see it in the tension at your jaw, the way your fingers dug into the leather behind you instead of into him. It made something sorrowful ache in his chest. You were holding back. Still afraid. Still unsure if it was safe to fall apart with him.

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to be. That he could take it. That he wanted it. Wanted you to be hungry, wild and unrestrained. But he didn’t speak. Not yet. He didn’t dare interrupt the soft, sacred rhythm you set.

One of his hands slid across your shoulder, fingers trailing down your arm until he found your wrist. He brought it forward, pressed your palm to his chest, his skin hot beneath your touch.

“Touch me,” he said softly, steady as a heartbeat. “You don’t need to hold back.”

Your pulse jumped. The warmth of his skin, the steady thump under your palm, was too much. Too intimate. Too good. Your other hand followed, splayed flat over his heart. His hands returned to your waist.

You moved again, hips rolling deep and slow. You arched into him, nails dragging red down his chest. The pleasure built and built. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Your body trembled, caught between the instinct to take and the fear of being too much. You kissed along his jaw... that beautiful jaw. Just a little bit of stubble, sharp enough to cut. You kissed along it, slowly, breathing him in, afraid and desperate in equal parts to sink your teeth in.

Your mouth lingered there. Open. Wanting. But not daring.

His fingers flexed at your hips.

"Take it," he murmured, voice wrecked. "Whatever you want. Take it."

And finally you gave in.

You sank your teeth into the curve where neck met shoulder. Not enough to break skin, not on someone like him, but enough to hurt. Enough to shake him.

Elijah’s groan was guttural, the sound of a man utterly undone. His head fell back, and hips jerked beneath you, a sudden, uncontrolled thrust, and your body clamped down around him so tight it made your breath catch.

“Fuck.”

He swore under his breath, more primal than polished now and his hands squeezed your ass, guiding your hips.

“Again,” he hissed. “Harder.”

Your chest clenched. No one had ever enjoyed your intense side. No one had ever asked for more. The shame that always curled beneath your ribs was gone, burned out by the raw need in his voice. He wasn’t tolerating it. He was loving it.

And you were helpless to resist.

You bit him again, harder, and the strangled sound that escaped him sent a thrill down your spine. Your hands were shaking, fingers pressed tight against his chest, and your heart was pounding, but everything else felt perfectly, blissfully clear.

"Yes," he breathed, and his hand slipped between you, his fingers stroking over the spot where you were joined, and then up, rubbing in insistent circles over your clit, "Yes, love, yes..."

You moaned against his neck, the sound muffled. It was too much. The feel of him moving beneath you, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his skin, the press of his fingers, his hand against your back. The sounds he made. That beautiful, wrecked voice saying yes, over and over again.

Your mouth was everywhere, rabidly moving along the line of his jaw, the sharp ridge of his throat, the flushed skin you already marked once. You bit down over and over, teeth dragging just enough to make him groan, filthy and low. You felt drunk on it, dizzy, like the whole world was spinning around you and he was the only thing that could keep you upright.

Your hips bucked hard, your rhythm lost, and he began to bounce you, lifting your hips and bringing them back down with a punishing force. Every thrust drove a ragged sound from the both of you.

“Elijah,” you gasped, already breathless, fingers curling into his shoulders.

“Again,” he growled, voice sharp now. “Fucking bite me.”

The command in his voice hit like a punch to the gut. A moan tore from your throat as you did, harder this time, the taste of his skin flooding your tongue. His pace increased, his whole body shuddered, and his cock twitched deep inside you as he cursed under his breath. He started moving you even faster, every thrust hit something perfect, something devastating, and your moans turned into broken little sobs.

Your hands scrambled for his skin, digging into his chest, his shoulders, holding on as you bounced in his lap, thighs burning, body slick with sweat and slick and spit.

“Look at you,” he gasped, voice gone completely hoarse, his dark eyes wide and wrecked. “So fucking sweet like this. Look at how you ride me…wild fucking thing-”

You didn’t even recognize the sound you made. You were too far gone.

It wasn’t even sex anymore. It was heat and hunger and something feral. You bit him again, just under his jaw this time, and he groaned, his hips losing their rhythm, and you didn't care. You didn’t care how loud you were, how your teeth tore at his skin, the way your nails left angry red marks down his chest.

The ache in you was so deep. It had been there for months, burning like an ember in your core. And now, finally, the fire was burning through you, scorching everything else away. There was nothing but this moment.

You came with a cry, body clenching down around him in waves, your whole body shaking, lips still pressed to his skin. You couldn't stop. You didn’t want to. You kept licking, kissing, moaning into his neck as the pleasure overtook you completely.

He followed you, voice wrecked and raw, hands still guiding you through it as he spilled inside you with a shudder that wracked his whole frame.

Slowly, the world came back. The crackle of the fire, the cool leather of the couch, the heat of his body, and the gentle press of his lips against your cheek, your neck, your shoulder.

Your limbs felt like lead, and all the air left your lungs in a shaky exhale.

"Holy shit," you managed, still gasping for breath.

"That is," he murmured, the ghost of a smile on his lips, "One way to put it."

You laughed, still dizzy, and collapsed against his chest. He pulled the blanket back up around the both of you, his hands smoothing along your spine, soothing you as your breath came in pants.

The fire had burned low. Most of the room had fallen into shadow, and the chill of the air was starting to creep back in. Without a word, Elijah shifted, carefully disentangling himself from the mess of limbs and blankets.

“No,” you mumbled, arms wrapping tighter around his middle. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He chuckled softly. “Nowhere far, sweetheart.”

You let him go reluctantly, flopping onto your side as he stood. And then … well. You definitely didn’t regret letting him go.

The firelight kissed every plane of his body in soft orange-gold. You watched as he moved to the fireplace, unhurried and utterly unbothered to be naked, every muscle flexing as he bent to adjust the wood in the hearth. Strong shoulders, defined arms and the curve of his back… he looked like he should be carved into stone. He didn’t even have to look at you to know what you were thinking.

“You’re staring,” he said without looking back.

“You’re naked,” you shot back, pulling the blanket up to your chin, flushed and smiling.

He gave the fire one last nudge and turned, smiling in that infuriatingly composed way. “So I am.”

He crossed the room with slow, easy steps, the light catching the curves and ridges of his torso. Your gaze drifted lower, and he laughed, a low rumble in his chest. “You alright?”

You nodded, blushing.

He climbed back onto the couch, leaning in to kiss you, long and languid. When he pulled back, you were grinning, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Was that alright?” you asked, voice small. “I know I can get… in my head. And the biting thing, it’s…”

He shook his head and kissed you again, gentle and certain, as if to hush every doubt before it could reach your lips.

“My love,” he said, brushing a knuckle down your cheek. “You are speaking to a vampire. You think I’d be scandalized by a few enthusiastic nibbles?”

You giggled, a little fluttery in your chest. He pulled the blanket closer, settling in beside you. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose, then down to your jaw. He continued like that, peppering soft kisses all along the line of your jaw until he reached your ear. “I meant what I said. I want all of you. Even the parts you think are too much. Especially those.”

Your heart clenched.

You peeked up at him again, shy. “Even if I want to bite you like… all the time?”

He grinned. “Especially that.”

You weren’t trying to start anything. Not really.

You were just bored. Horny in that aimless, restless way that came from too much scrolling and not enough serotonin. The sheets were soft. The night was quiet. You were freshly showered, wrapped in an oversized t-shirt, legs bare, your period cramps finally dulled to a distant throb. For whatever reason, your brain had decided Niklaus fucking Mikaelson was the problem and the solution all at once.

So you opened your messages and did something incredibly stupid. You pulled your shirt up and snapped a photo. Nothing too explicit. Just bare thighs, legs spread, the hem hitched high enough to hint at more. Just enough to drive him insane. You hit send, a little thrill of adrenaline spiking through you.

And then you waited. The response was almost instant. ~ Nik: thinking of me? ~

You laughed. You had been doing nothing of the sort. ~ You: i was bored ~

~ Nik: is that an invitation?  ~

~ You: could be, what's in it for me? ~

You could hear the smirk in his voice as you read his next message. ~ Nik: anything. Name it, and I'll give it to you ~

A shiver rolled down your spine. A promise like that was a dangerous thing, coming from someone like him. ~ You: send me a picture ~

There was a long pause, and for a moment, you thought you might have gone too far. He was a possessive man. He didn't share, and he didn't like when people saw him vulnerable. You had pushed. Maybe you had pushed too much.

The ping of a new message made you jump. Your heart thudded in your chest, a rush of adrenaline and arousal spiking through you. The image was mostly a tease. Just the barest glimpse of the hard line of him beneath the soft fabric of his pajama pants, the outline of him thick and straining, the fabric tented and pulled tight. It was hot as fuck.

 He sent a second message. ~ Nik: don't say i never gave you anything ~

You took another photo. A little bolder, this time. The shirt pushed up a bit further, your breasts on display for him.

~ Nik: touch yourself for me ~

~ You: you can't tell me what to do ~

He knew you were teasing. There was a part of you that loved when he got bossy, that loved the way he would grab you, force you down, pin you beneath him and take what he wanted. You could almost feel the ghost of his lips on your throat, the weight of him heavy between your thighs, the delicious ache of him filling you.

~ Nik: I'm coming over ~

You blinked at the screen. ~ You: No you're not ~

No response. ~ You: Nik i’m serious ~

Nothing. ~ You: do not show up here right now, I'm on my period... I'm not even joking, don't come over here ~

The bubbles stayed on delivered. Either he killed his read receipts, or he was already enroute. You sighed, dragged a blanket and your phone out to the living-room sofa, and snuggled deeper into the couch cushions. If he showed up, you would just not invite him in.

A knock at the door.

 Shit.

You threw back the blanket, shoving your feet into the nearest pair of shoes. You grabbed your robe, throwing it over your shoulders. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the chill, and threw the door open.

Klaus stood in the threshold, eyebrow raised, an amused smirk curling his lips. You leaned against the doorframe, feigning boredom... never mind the way your pulse kicked at the sight of him.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, gaze roaming over you. He seemed... amused.

“Why?” you asked sweetly. “So you can ignore me again? Or maybe chat up another random blonde at Rousseau’s like you did last week?”

"That was a misunderstanding, love," he said, his tone low and smooth, the way he spoke when he wanted to talk his way out of trouble. 

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.  "Oh, really?"

"Let me make it up to you," he murmured. "You know how persuasive my tongue can be."

Your mouth went dry, but you kept your composure. "I'm on my period."

"Is that an excuse," he said, voice dropping low, "or a challenge?"

Klaus braced one palm flat against the doorframe, the other against the opposite side, boxing you in without crossing the invisible line. The threshold itself seemed to sizzle between you, the thin membrane of old magic keeping the monster at bay.

"Let me in," he said again, quieter this time. "Let me fix what I fucked up."

"You can’t fix it with sex."

"No," he agreed. "But I can start with my mouth. And darling..." His eyes dipped to your thighs, pupils blown wide. "If you think a little blood between your thighs makes me want you less, you’ve forgotten what I am."

Your breath caught, your cheeks on fire.

“Invite me in,” he murmured, nearly begging, finger-tips tapping the wood, knuckles whitening with restraint, every muscle coiled to leap the second permission fell.

One heartbeat. Two.

 “Fine,” you breathed. “Come in. Lock the door behind you.”

The word come barely left your lips before the barrier snapped open. Klaus surged forward, slamming the door behind him and pulling you into his arms. His lips captured yours, biting at your bottom lip like he wanted to taste the need right off your mouth, then he tugged you towards your bedroom.

You fell back onto the mattress, legs sprawled. Your nightie rode up on its own, and you didn’t bother fixing it.

"Sweet fucking hell," he groaned, staring at the slick and dark-red sheen between your thighs.

He dropped to his knees, his gaze locked with yours, dark eyes full of reverence and desire. The moment his tongue touched you, a wave of relief rolled through your body, chasing away the lingering ache of cramps you'd been battling all day. You exhaled shakily, the tension in your muscles easing immediately under his touch.

The first lap of his tongue made you gasp, the second made your eyes roll back, and the third was nothing but a high-pitched moan as he latched his lips around your clit and sucked. You were so sensitive, and the way his tongue moved against you was too much and not enough, the wet, obscene noises of his lips working against you only making it better.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he muttered, voice rough and wet with need. His thumb teased at your entrance, and you bucked, hissing. He pressed his forearm across your hips, pinning you in place. “You’ve no idea what it does to me. How sweet you taste.”

You gasped, hands flying to his hair, fingers tangling in those curls and tugging hard. That only made him groan louder. He loved it and it spurred him on. Klaus was relentless. Tongue flattening and circling, then flicking just right, until your legs shook and your hips jolted with every stroke.

“Nik,” you cried, voice catching. “Please.”

He pulled back, lips slick with blood, eyes gleaming. “Please what, love? If you want something, you’ll need to ask properly.”

When all you could do was whimper, he smirked and pressed a kiss to your mound. Then slid two fingers inside your soaked cunt in one smooth, practiced motion. You jolted, hips lifting, the pleasure white-hot and searing, the pace he set making your toes curl.

“Ah. That, then.” He chuckled.

The pressure built fast. Too fast. Klaus didn’t slow. If anything, he got rougher, more focused. His mouth stayed messy and hot against you. His fingers never relented.

He looked up at you through his lashes, face slick, and smirked. “Come on, then. Show me how pretty you are when you break.”

You didn’t stand a chance. Your back arched as the orgasm hit, sharp and electric, tearing through you. Your thighs clamped around his head but he didn’t stop. Just groaned into your cunt, licking you through it like nothing else mattered.

“Nik, too much.”

He didn’t budge. Didn’t stop. He just kissed your clit again, harder this time, and slid a third finger in with a filthy sound. His other hand gripped your ass, spreading you open. His thumb circled the tight ring there with slow, steady pressure.

“Relax,” he said, and eased it in.

A moan fell from your lips. It didn't hurt. But the pressure was overwhelming, the feeling of being stretched and filled making you writhe. You whimpered, tugging his curls even harder. He moaned, deep and guttural, fingers driving into you with purpose. The second orgasm hit fast and brutal. You squirted around his hand, slick soaking everything, a strangled sob ripping from your throat.

“Fuck,” he snarled. “That’s it. Look at the mess you’re making.”

You trembled violently, body twitching through the aftershocks, unable to do anything but pant and take it. The sheets were a mess of red, and when you managed to open your eyes, his face was still buried between your thighs, his eyes black, the veins dark and stark beneath them. He groaned, licking a final slow stripe up your cunt.

You tried to scoot back, but his arm tightened.

"Too much, Nik." You whined, pushing his bloody face away. "Stoppp," you slurred, the syllables coming out all wrong.

He chuckled, and pulled away, his mouth and chin gleamed a dark crimson. But he didn’t wipe it; he looked proud of the mess. Then he crawled up your body, dragging hot kisses along your skin, up your stomach, your chest, your throat. Painting faint red smears everywhere his lips touched.

“You are so fucking smug,” you rasped, half out of your mind.

“Hard not to be, after tasting ambrosia.” He licked his lips, his mouth still stained and wet.

"Ew, go brush your teeth," you grumbled, and shoved him.

"I didn't hear a thank-you," he said, rolling his eyes. But he slid off the bed and sauntered towards the bathroom.

You smiled, rolling onto your side, watching him through the open doorway. He washed his face, then rinsed his mouth. He didn't bother closing the door, or turning the light off. He knew you were watching. Knew you liked seeing him. You didn't bother hiding it.

He returned with a warm, damp cloth, and cleaned you up, gentle and slow. You were nearly asleep by the time he was done, and he tossed the towel aside, climbed into bed beside you, and wrapped you in his arms.

"Does this mean I get another chance at taking you out?" he murmured, stroking your hair.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not I wake up alone."

He snorted, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That won't be a problem, love. Not a chance in hell."

“I swear on my eternity, I won’t tell a soul,” Rebekah promised, eyes wide and wine-glossed.

You squinted at her. “You said that last time.”

“That was about stealing from Elijah’s wine stash. This is your sex life. Entirely different. Totally private.” She drained the dregs of her glass, then held it out. You refilled it, trying not to roll your eyes.

“What sex life?” You muttered.

Rebekah gave you a look, all wide-eyed and scandalised, “You mean to tell me,” she began, dramatically setting her wineglass down like the stem offended her, “you’ve never...wait. Not even once?”

You groaned, already regretting everything. “Can we not...”

“Not even a casual drunken hookup?” she pressed, scandalized. “You’re twenty-seven.”

“Exactly. And busy. And constantly surrounded by immortal egomaniacs with god complexes,” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “Not exactly a dating pool.”

“And yet,” she said, one brow arching like a knife, “you’ve had plenty of time to dream about my brother bending you over every surface in the compound.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What did you just say? You said you wouldn't tell anyone about that!"

Rebekah shrugged, a mischievous smile playing over her lips. "It was a slip of the tongue."

You groaned again.

She nudged your ankle with her bare foot. "Don't be embarrassed. It's actually rather endearing that you've got such a schoolgirl crush."

"It's not a crush. I don't know what it is," you confessed. "They just happen, okay? It's not like I want them to. But the suddenly he's there, and the next thing I know... he's not wearing any clothes, and we're kissing, and-"

"Okay," Rebekah interrupted, "you don't have to go into detail. I'm quite certain I can imagine what happens next."

"Well, that makes one of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have any idea what the rest of it would feel like," you said, voice small. You picked up the bottle and took a swig straight from it.

Rebekah gave you a sympathetic look, reaching for your hand. "I'm sure you'll find a lovely guy soon enough… and have lots of sex."

"Whose having lots of sex?"

You froze, bottle still tilted in your hand.

Rebekah went very still beside you. Her grip on your fingers tightened just slightly..whether in apology or panic, you couldn’t tell.

Slowly, mechanically, you turned your head toward the sound of Klaus’s voice.

He stood in the doorway to the parlour, arms folded loosely over his chest, one brow lifted in open amusement. His curls were tousled, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and his smile... that was the real danger. Lazy, knowing, smug. The kind of smile a man wore when he already knew the answer to the question he’d just asked.

“Rebekah?” he prompted, his gaze flicking to his sister, who stared back at him like a deer caught in vampire headlights.

She cleared her throat. “Oh, you know. Just girl talk.”

He stepped further into the room, his gaze settling on you. You looked away, pretending to be fascinated by a loose thread in the cushion beside you. He chuckled and flopped down beside Rebekah, sprawling his legs out, taking up every inch of space, a king on his throne.

For a moment, there was silence, punctuated by the faint sounds of jazz music spilling through the windows and the clink of the bottle against your teeth as you took another sip.

You set the bottle down a little too hard. “I should go.”

Rebekah gave a weak little laugh, clearly trying to help but already retreating. “Oh, don’t be dramatic-”

“No, really,” you cut in, rising so quickly your foot caught on the edge of the rug. You stumbled, recovered, didn’t look at either of them. “It’s late. I’m tired. And apparently incapable of keeping my mouth shut when wine is involved.”

Rebekah made a soft, protesting sound, but didn’t move to stop you. And you rushed towards the front door as fast as you could without looking like a total fool.

A shadow flickered at the edge of your vision, and you turned, pulse skipping. A figure leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, mouth quirked up in a knowing smile.

Klaus. Of course it was Klaus.

He blocked the way. The hallway felt suddenly narrower, the air heavier, as you came to a stumbling halt. Your cheeks burned, your heart pounding. He raised an eyebrow, smile deepening. He had a dimple. Somehow, it only made him more handsome.

"Running away, love?" he asked, tone smooth as silk.

"No." You answered too quickly, voice tight. "Just tired. Need sleep. Goodnight."

He did not move. Instead, his smile widened. You stepped sideways, trying to slip past, but he shifted effortlessly, mirroring you. Casual. Precise. Unyielding.

Your glare sharpened, but he only looked more amused.

"What?" you snapped, folding your arms.

"Are you really leaving because of what I overheard?"

You stared at him, defiant but humiliated. "What do you think?"

"I think there is no need to be embarrassed," he said, voice low and husky.

"Embarrassed?" You let out a weak laugh, shifting again, eyes darting toward the exit he was blocking.

“There is nothing wrong with a healthy sex drive, sweetheart.”

“There is also nothing wrong with wanting to die when someone overhears you talking about said sex drive.”

He chuckled and stepped closer.

Your back hit the wall. The impact was gentle, but it still made you flinch. You stiffened, shoulders locking, spine straightening as if you could will yourself invisible. You refused to shrink away.

Klaus stopped in front of you, gaze locked to yours. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, little dreamer,” he said, voice like smoke curling through the dark.

You swallowed hard. The heat in your face crept down your throat, coiling in your chest and belly. Every inch of you felt laid bare.

“Please move.”

“In a minute.”

“Nik.”

He leaned in, his face impossibly close, his lips almost brushing your cheek. “I'll tell you a secret,” he said. “If you stop blushing and look me in the eyes.”

You hesitated, then obeyed. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. His eyes burned into yours and he smiled, slow and sweet. The kind of smile that could undo you.

“Better.”

You felt your breath catch. “What is your secret?” you whispered.

“I have had dreams about you too.” His fingers found your jaw and traced the line of it, featherlight. “About this pretty mouth. These soft hands. What I might find if I peeled off all your layers and tasted the skin beneath.”

“Stop,” you said, but there was no force behind it. Your voice cracked. Your face burned. You could barely breathe.

He did not laugh. He did not push. He just watched you.

His eyes searched yours, then dropped briefly to your mouth. “Why have you never done it?” he asked, voice quieter now, stripped of any teasing.

You blinked. “What?”

Klaus tilted his head, expression softer than you had ever seen it. “You said you have never had sex. Not even once. Why?”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t know. Life. Bad timing. Shitty options.” You shrugged. “And maybe…” You hesitated. “Maybe I didn’t want my first time to be with someone who’d forget it five minutes later.”

Klaus’ smirk faded... not all the way, but enough that something earnest slipped through. Something sharp. “And you think I would?”

You looked up at him then, finally. He was watching you carefully. No teasing. Just quiet, simmering intensity.

“I don’t know what you’d do.”

He reached out, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek. “Then let me show you.”

You swallowed.

He stepped closer, his palm curving over your cheek, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. He was smiling again, but there was something different about it. Something gentler.

"I would never disrespect your trust, sweetheart," he promised, thumb tracing the curve of your lower lip. "Nor would I ever treat the privilege of being your first anything lightly."

"And you..." Your voice faltered, but his touch was warm, and his gaze was steady. "You won't ...tell anyone? About any of this?"

He smiled. "I wouldn't dare."

"Okay," you whispered, and his lips were suddenly so close, and his arms were slipping around you, and you could smell the spice of his cologne and the sweetness of bourbon and feel the warmth of his breath.

"Okay," he echoed, his lips brushing yours, then his tongue, teasing your mouth open, tasting you. You gasped, and he made a soft, satisfied sound, pressing closer, his body molding to yours.

"Is this alright, love?" he murmured, one hand sliding down your spine, curving over the swell of your ass.

You nodded.

"Need to hear you say it, sweetheart," he said.

You swallowed, meeting his eyes. "Yes."

He smiled and kissed you again, his hands seeking yours, fingers intertwining. Then he broke the kiss, gently tugging you by the hand as he led you down the hall. His room was dim, draped in shadows. You saw glimpses of a large bed, an easel, a wall of books. 

Then the door closed, and it was just you and him.

You hesitated, not sure what to do, how to move. He seemed to understand, reaching for you again, gathering you close to him by the waist.

"Relax," he said, kissing the side of your neck. "Your heart is racing."

You laughed weakly. "Can't really help it."

"Do I scare you?"

"No," you answered, a little too quickly.

He smirked, catching the lie.

"It's just..." You shrugged, feeling like a silly little girl. "This is a big deal."

"It is," he agreed.

"But I... I'm not completely clueless. I mean, I have internet. And books. And..." You blushed, realizing you were rambling.

Klaus's expression was somewhere between amused and fond. He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.

"Sweetheart, I am well aware of the fact that you've spent an indecent amount of time imagining me naked and writhing on top of you."

You blushed hotly. "I was not -"

He chuckled and began to back you towards the bed, his hands skimming your waist, the curve of your hips. "I know the sorts of things that are on your mind," he murmured.

You stumbled, falling back against the mattress, and he followed you down, covering your body with his, surrounding you in heat and skin and steady breath. One of his hands braced by your head, the other slipping beneath you to curve around your hip, grounding you.

You tilted your chin and met his mouth again before he could say something else smug. He hummed against your lips, amused but pleased, letting you set the pace for a few heartbeats. Then he caught your lower lip between his teeth and nipped gently, his hand sliding up the hem of your shirt, spreading heat across your stomach.

"Still okay, sweetheart?" He whispered.

"Mhm," you managed, gasping when his teeth grazed the delicate shell of your ear.

He leaned back, just far enough to tug off his shirt. You bit your lip, tracing the shape of the tattoo, heat creeping through you, pooling between your thighs. He watched you, his gaze warm, his eyes bright. He smiled when he caught you staring at the trail of hair that led down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.

"Now your turn," he said.

You hesitated, heart fluttering, a sudden spike of nervousness. But Klaus didn't rush you. Just waited, smiling, patient and steady.

Slowly, you reached for the bottom of your shirt and tugged it over your head.

His breath caught.

His pupils dilated.

And then, slowly, his hand found yours again. "May I?"

You nodded.

His knuckles traced the curve of your jaw, then brushed lightly along the hollow of your throat. Slowly, slowly, slowly, his palm flattened against the space between your collarbones, the tips of his fingers dipping beneath the edge of your bra.

Your breath hitched.

"So soft," he murmured. His fingers slid over the swell of your breasts, then down, finding the catch. You heard the fabric tear and felt the lace pull free, the sudden rush of cool air and warmth from his hands making you gasp.

Klaus groaned, leaning down, his breath ghosting across your bare chest. "You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on," he murmured. Then his mouth was closing over your nipple, and you arched against him, moaning.

"You like that?" he asked, his tongue flicking the hard little nub.

"Mmmhm."

He chuckled, then sucked gently.

You whimpered, squirming.

"Still okay, love?" He asked, pausing, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"Don't stop."

"Bossy," he teased, smirking, moving to the other side.

He lavished the same attention there, his tongue swirling, his lips tugging, his hand stroking the underside, squeezing, massaging. You moaned and whimpered, clutching his hair, arching up against him, seeking pressure, friction. He pressed closer, you could feel his erection straining against the denim, his hips moving in time with his tongue.

He kissed the soft valley between your breasts, then began to trail his mouth lower, leaving a burning path in his wake. He pulled your jeans down with agonizing slowness, his mouth following, until his lips were at the apex of your thighs. Your hands clutched the sheets, breath catching as the tension that had been building all night surged forward all at once. Pure need, panic, heat, all tangled together in your chest.

“Nik...wait.”

He froze instantly. His hands paused on your hips, his mouth barely brushing your inner thigh.

His head lifted. “Too fast?”

You shook your head. “No. I just…” You swallowed. “You don’t have to do that.”

A wicked grin spread across his face. He leaned down, nuzzling the damp spot on your panties, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, rough and low. “Who told you that?”

You tried to sit up, flustered. “It’s just...I know that’s not always... expected. Especially for a first time.”

Klaus moved before you could finish the thought, pushing you back down. He moved slowly, deliberately, crawling back up the length of your body, pinning you beneath him, his lips brushing yours.

“You think I brought you here, laid you out on my bed, listened to those little noises you make...” his hips rolled gently into yours, enough for you to feel the thick press of him through his jeans, “...just to skip the part where I get to taste you?"

He kissed you again, his tongue parting your lips, his teeth grazing, nipping, sucking. You moaned into his mouth, and he rolled his hips against yours again, harder.

"Do you like the way I taste?" He asked, his voice a low purr.

You nodded, dizzy, unable to think.

"So why wouldn't I want the same?" He whispered, kissing a trail down your jaw, your neck, your chest, settling back between your thighs. "Why wouldn't I want to know what you taste like when you come on my tongue?"

Your whole body burned. You stared at him, unable to form words.

He smiled. Slowly, deliberately, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, sliding them past your knees, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder.

You felt his breath, hot and gentle, on your bare skin.

"So beautiful," he murmured. His hands parted your thighs, revealing the most intimate parts of you, all slick and swollen and wanting.

He made a low, hungry sound, then dragged his tongue through the length of you, looking up at you from beneath those lashes.

"That's it," he murmured. "Look at me. Look at what I'm doing to you."

You kept your eyes open, heavy, hooded, watching his tongue slide through you again, and again, his lips closing over your clit, sucking gently, his tongue swirling, his stubble rubbing. It was too much, the sight of him, the sound of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. You felt like you were unraveling.

He made a soft, humming sound. His hand left your thigh, his fingers sliding inside you. Your head fell back, your eyes squeezing shut, a broken moan leaving your throat.

"Keep looking, love," he said.

You managed to open your eyes, looking down the length of your body at him. His eyes were bright, focused, fixed on you. His mouth was curled in a smile, his tongue still tracing the hard little bud between your legs. Your body responded, bucking, twisting, writhing, pleasure rolling through you in waves, growing stronger, hotter.

"Oh," you gasped. "Oh, god."

"No," he murmured. "Just Klaus."

He pressed deeper, crooked his fingers, and you were gone. Your head fell back, the pleasure crashing over you, drowning you. Your whole body tensed, trembled, your thighs clamped down on either side of his head. He kept working you through it, his tongue still swirling, his fingers pumping, dragging out the release until you were boneless and limp, sinking into the mattress.

Klaus rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a wolfish smile playing across his lips. "Delicious," he purred.

You managed a weak smile, your cheeks burning, your breathing still coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He sat back on his knees, his hands working at the button on his jeans.

"I can-" You began, trying to push yourself up.

"Shhh," he soothed, "I've got it, love. Lie back. Relax."

"But…"

"If I let you touch me now, I won't last long," he confessed, pushing the denim and his boxers down his hips, revealing all of himself. You were momentarily distracted by the flex of muscle, the perfect expanse of warm skin pressing into yours.

Then his hands were back on your thighs, spreading you open, positioning himself. You felt the blunt head of him slide through your wetness, and you gasped. You had imagined this moment. Dreamed of it an embarrassing amount of times. Woken up sweaty and panting, aching between your legs, wishing he were there to take care of it. And now, finally, you were going to get the chance to feel him. To really feel him.

"Look at me," he said, his hand cupping your cheek.

Your eyes flicked up to his.

"Breathe."

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to relax.

"That's it," he praised, pressing deeper. He was beautiful, his chest and shoulders flexing, muscles coiled and trembling, the effort of being gentle written in the lines on his forehead.

You felt a twinge of pain, a pinch, then the ache and stretch as your body yielded to him, the pressure and the heat, the sensation of fullness. You gasped, and his hand found yours, tangling your fingers together. He pressed a little deeper, his teeth scraping over the delicate curve where your neck met your shoulder. You whined, clutching at him.

"Easy," he soothed, "you're doing so well, love. So good."

Your cheeks flushed, a strange swell of pride blooming in your chest. You tilted your head, exposing more of your neck.

"Please," you gasped.

"Please, what?"

"Kiss me."

"Like this?" His lips ghosted over your collarbone, his lips curving upward. "Right here?"

"No. Yes. Higher."

"Here?" His lips skimmed the hollow of your throat, his smile growing.

You let out a soft, impatient whine.

"Or here?" He kissed the corner of your mouth, smiling, smug.

You made a soft, frustrated sound and caught his mouth, kissing him hungrily. He made a pleased hum and returned the kiss, his tongue stroking, his teeth nipping, his lips claiming. His hips rolled gently, and you gasped.

"That's it," he purred.

You moaned, your legs wrapping around him, drawing him deeper, wanting more. He gave a breathless laugh, and moved faster, the pace changing, deepening, until his hips were slamming into yours, the room filling with the sounds of skin on skin, his low, guttural groans, the high, breathless sounds spilling from your own lips.

The pressure was building fast. Too fast, too strong. Your body felt like it couldn’t contain it, like everything inside you was tightening, winding tighter with every thrust, every graze of his chest against your breasts, every filthy word murmured against your skin.

Your nails dug into his back, and his fingers found your clit again, circling fast and perfect.

"Yes, love, that's it, just like that."

That did it.

You shattered.

The orgasm hit like lightning. Sharp, consuming, full-body. You cried out, legs tightening around him, entire body shaking as the waves crashed through you.

Klaus groaned into your mouth, slamming into you one last time before he spilled inside you with a curse and a growl that sounded like it had been pulled from the pit of his chest. His whole body shuddered, muscles flexing, arms locked around you as he buried his face in your neck, his mouth sucking a mark into the soft, delicate skin, his breath warm and ragged against you.

The room was quiet after that, nothing but the sound of his breath and yours, the distant rumble of a passing car, the ticking of a clock. You felt drunk, your body heavy and warm and sated, your head spinning. Klaus rolled to the side, his arm still thrown over your middle. He tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “I think you scrambled my brain.”

He laughed.

Your cheeks burned, and you buried your face against his chest.

He caught your chin, forcing you to look at him. He was grinning, and his cheeks were flushed. He leaned in, kissing you again, the smile never fading.

"So," he said, when he pulled away, his hand tracing lazy circles along your back. "Any regrets?"

You shook your head.

He grinned, and rolled on top of you, pinning you beneath him, his hands finding yours.

"Good," he said, kissing your nose. "Because we're only just getting started."

You swallowed. "Only?"

"Well, you have a lot to catch up on, sweetheart."

You laughed, breathless and still a little dazed. "God, what have I gotten myself into?"

Klaus smirked and leaned in, brushing his lips over your cheek. “Something far better than your dreams.”

Sleep came fast after that. Your body blissed-out and warm, your mind wrapped in the steady rhythm of his breath against your back. When you stirred hours later, the room was bathed in soft morning light. The air smelled faintly of coffee and cologne.

You blinked, eyes adjusting, and found him across the room, sitting in a chair by the window, shirtless, hunched over a sketchpad.

His hand moved in sure strokes, charcoal-stained fingers dancing. His eyes lifted when he felt you watching and a slow smile spread across his face.

“Caught me,” he murmured.

You stretched beneath the covers, muscles deliciously sore. “What are you drawing?”

He flipped the pad closed with a flick. “A keepsake,” he said. “For me.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t want to show me?”

He stood, crossing to the bed, placing the sketchpad face-down on the nightstand. Then he leaned over, his palm skimming along your hip, the sheets slipping away as his lips found yours.

“I’ll show you someday. But first...breakfast, a bath, and perhaps... round two?”

You flushed, smiling helplessly as he pressed you back against the pillows. "Are you always this demanding?"

He nipped your lip and tugged on it, his hand slipping lower. "Not at all, sweetheart. Usually I'm worse."

It was late. Past midnight. The fire in Elijah’s study had burned low, casting gold light across his cheekbones, making him look like something carved out of stone, all sharp edges and shadowed angles. His dark eyes seemed almost completely black in the soft glow. His sleeves were rolled up. His tie was gone. There was a half-smile on his lips, like he was letting you talk just to humor himself.

“You’re making that up,” you said, laughing as you sipped your wine.

Elijah shook his head, lounging back in his chair like he had all the time in the world to prove you wrong. You were curled lazily in one of his oversized armchairs, legs crossed at the ankle, glass balanced in your hand. It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to end up here. Late-night debates, shared bottles of red, conversations that wandered from art to war to pop culture to vampire trivia.

Just friends. That’s what it had always been. Comfortable. Easy. But tonight the air felt warmer, thicker. Your cheeks were flushed from the wine. Your limbs loose. And the teasing had started to feel more like testing.

The debate had begun when Elijah brought up Catherine the Great and her lesser-known hobbies.

“She absolutely did not write erotica,” you said, shaking your head with a grin. “That’s ridiculous.”

Elijah tilted his head, amused. “I assure you, it’s entirely true.”

You raised your brows. “You’re telling me Catherine the Great. Empress of Russia. Famed for her political prowess…spent her downtime writing smut?”

“Precisely.” Elijah’s tone was calm, eyes glittering with mischief. “And quite enthusiastically, I might add.”

You stared at him, openly skeptical. “You’re messing with me.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Prove it.”

Elijah leaned forward slightly, the challenge brightening his gaze. “Would you like to place a wager?”

You laughed, bold from the wine and feeling a thrill ripple through your chest. “What are you betting?”

“A favor,” he replied, voice smooth as velvet. “If you’re right, and I cannot prove it, you may ask anything of me.”

You bit your lip, pulse quickening at the possibilities. “Anything? Like anything anything?”

Elijah smiled slowly. “Anything within my power.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance though your cheeks warmed beneath his intense stare. “Fine. If you’re right…though I know you’re not- what do you want?”

His gaze lingered a fraction too long, his eyes softening slightly, the amusement slipping briefly into something gentler. What he wanted was dangerous, he was far too close to revealing the depth of his affection. He had carried this secret yearning for far too long, treasuring these quiet nights, savoring every teasing smile you threw his way. But tonight, tonight perhaps he would take a risk.

“If I win,” Elijah said gently, setting his glass aside and rising smoothly to his feet, “I’d like a dance.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “A dance?”

“A dance,” he confirmed softly. “Just one.”

It wasn't an unreasonable request, but the look in his eye made you hesitate, something sweet and longing and utterly vulnerable. You told yourself it was a trick of the firelight, a trick of the shadows, a trick of your own longing.

You smiled slowly, softly. “Alright, Elijah. If you win, you’ll get your dance. But you won’t.”

He chuckled softly, turning and selecting a volume from the shelves behind him with calm certainty. He opened it smoothly, flipping to a page with practiced ease, and handed it to you with an almost apologetic smile.

"That's her real signature," Elijah said, nodding towards the looping letters. "I'm afraid I'm not bluffing."

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a small laugh. "No way."

"Yes, way," he teased, lips twitching into a smirk.

You looked down, scanning the first page of the short story, then flipped to the next, and the next, and the next.

"Are you enjoying the Empress' literary talents?" Elijah murmured, and when you looked up he was standing much closer than before, his gaze warm and soft.

Your cheeks burned and you quickly closed the book, offering it back to him. He took it, eyes sparkling and placed it back on the shelf with a satisfied smile.

"Fine," you said, laughing, "I was wrong. Catherine the Great wrote porn. You won."

He nodded in agreement and walked over to his old gramophone, selecting a slow, classical piece and carefully adjusting the needle. The soft crackle of vinyl filled the silence, and then the first delicate notes began to play.

He turned toward you, extending a hand.

“Our wager, if you’ll recall, was one dance,” he said, voice low and smooth.

You hesitated for just a second, just long enough to feel the tension bloom in your chest, then set your glass down and stood. The room felt warmer as you crossed it. His eyes tracked you the whole way, that unreadable half-smile still on his lips, but softer now. Less teasing. Like something was shifting between you and he didn’t dare move too quickly.

You slipped your hand into his.

“So it was,” you said, and your heart stuttered as he pulled you gently into him, his other hand settling lightly at your waist.

The room blurred at the edges, the firelight flickering gold across the walls, the soft strings from the gramophone wrapping around you both like a spell. He didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. Just moved with you slowly, eyes flickering down to your lips and then back up again.

You tried to laugh, to keep it light, your brain not quite registering what he was doing. “You’re really cashing in this bet with a waltz?”

Elijah’s lips curved, but the amusement in his eyes was soft. “You’d be surprised how revealing a dance can be.”

“You say that like it’s a threat.”

“A promise,” he said quietly.

You weren’t sure when his hand drifted from your waist to the small of your back, guiding you just a little closer. Your chest brushed his with every slow sway. You could smell his cologne, feel the steady strength beneath his clothes, and something in your stomach twisted, you were nervous, wanting, and wholly unprepared.

“What am I revealing to you, then, Elijah Mikaelson?" You whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

"More than you realize," he said softly, and it sounded like a confession.

He lifted your hand, his palm warm against yours, and turned with a gentle spin. Your feet stumbled a little, but he caught you with ease, smiling, and drew you back against him, closer than before.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers tangling into the collar of his shirt, clinging to him for balance. "Unfortunately I have two left feet. No dancing skills whatsoever."

"You're doing just fine," he murmured, the words low and warm against your skin.

"I'm following your lead."

"Exactly."

"So it's not really me doing the dancing, is it?" You pointed out, lips twitching.

"Perhaps," he admitted, "but it is a partnership. I'll catch you if you fall."

Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way he said it…soft and steady and sure, like he meant it. Like he wasn’t just talking about dancing. . And in that moment, something shifted. Subtle, but unmistakable. All your doubts melted away. Of course he felt it too.

You looked up, and his face was inches from yours, every line of it softened by the glow of firelight and some quiet, patient ache you weren’t sure had been there before. Or maybe it had always been there, and you just never let yourself look.

He reached up, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and trailing his fingertips lightly down the side of your neck.

The fire crackled. The song ended. The rest of the world disappeared. Your eyes flickered to his mouth. His hand curled around the back of your neck. You tilted your chin up, and he lowered his, and somewhere between the stillness, the fire, and the years of almosts, your lips touched.

Soft. Slow. Just once, and then again. And again. You sank into him, hands clutching his shirt, and his tongue slipped past your parted lips, the taste of him sending heat curling through your stomach. He sighed against your mouth, arms tightening around you as he broke the kiss slowly, breathing uneven, and leaned his forehead against yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled softly nearby, the music long faded, but your bodies still swayed slightly, as if the dance hadn’t quite ended. Your breaths mingled, all close, steady and intimate. You could feel his heart beating through his chest, feel your own stuttering to match it.

Elijah’s hand found your face again, thumb brushing gently along your bottom lip, his voice hushed and raw. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

Your eyes fluttered closed under the weight of the confession. “You’re not alone,” you breathed.

“No?” he murmured, still gently swaying you.

You shook your head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping. “God, no. Elijah, I… I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for ages. I thought maybe we were just...”

“Just what?” he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice even as his fingers skimmed down the side of your neck.

“Just friends,” you admitted, cheeks burning.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest as he leaned in again, brushing his lips against yours.

“Well, we are,” he said, voice low and warm. His hand slid from your jaw to your waist, drawing you closer as he began walking you backward, gently guiding you step by step toward the hearth. “But friends can also be lovers.”

You didn’t resist. Couldn’t. You let him lead you, your fingers tangled in his shirt, the heat of the fire warming the backs of your thighs. You tugged hard enough to pop a button, and then another, as his hands slowly pulled up your dress, his knuckles grazing the soft skin beneath.

He leaned in and kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue brushing yours.. You fumbled with the remaining buttons, tugging his shirt off his shoulders and tossing it aside, and his mouth trailed lower. He tasted your neck, nipped gently at the base of your throat, and the room spun.

"You're right," you said, a breathless laugh escaping as he peeled your dress away and dropped it on the floor.

"About what?" he murmured, his lips skimming the curve of your breast as he deftly undid the clasp at the back.

"A dance." You ran your hands down his bare chest, relishing the heat of his skin, and started to unfasten his pants. "It's incredibly revealing."

Elijah’s low chuckle rumbled against your skin as he leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time and deeper, his hand skimming down over the curve of your ass.

Then, without warning, his arms slid beneath you, one bracing your back and the other curling under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.

You gasped, laughing breathlessly as your arms flew around his neck. “Elijah!”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice thick with warmth and affection. “Always.”

He walked toward the firelight, his gaze never leaving yours. Then he knelt and lowered you carefully onto the thick rug in front of the fireplace. The flames licked heat across your skin, but his gaze was hotter, filled with hunger, the golden light flickering in his dark eyes.

He leaned over you, his hands tracing the contours of your hips. He kissed his way down your chest, swirling his tongue around one nipple, then the other, until they hardened and ached beneath his mouth. You moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, looking up at you, eyes glittering. "Like something from a dream."

Your cheeks warmed. You couldn't help smiling, hardly believing this was real. Him, here, saying these things. He held your gaze as his lips moved lower, trailing along your ribs while his hands caressed your sides. Then his mouth pressed gently to your stomach, just above the lace edge of your panties. 

Your hips rolled unconsciously, seeking more, and he gripped you a little harder, stilling you. Then came his tongue, the wet heat of it making your head spin. You squirmed, moaning softly, and his lips curved against you, a low hum reverberating from his chest.

“You’re sensitive here.” His voice was warm and low, edged with delight, like he’d just discovered a secret meant only for him.

Then he kissed lower, tongue dragging in lazy, open-mouthed strokes across your skin. Down the inside of one thigh, then the other, his mouth hot and unhurried. He nipped, kissed, licked like he was savoring a feast he’d waited lifetimes to taste.

You shifted beneath him, your legs lifting and spreading instinctively. He caught them easily, placing them over his broad shoulders and sliding his palms down your thighs.

"Stay right there," he whispered, the command barely audible over the crackle of the flames.

Without warning, he dragged his tongue, hot and slick, across the thin fabric between your legs. Your hips jerked, a strangled gasp catching in your throat. He laughed softly, his voice low and rich with wicked pleasure.

"Mmm... sensitive everywhere, then," he purred. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you still, pinned beneath his mouth.

His teeth scraped the delicate lace, the tip of his tongue tracing your seam through the fabric. You whimpered, head falling back. You could feel him smiling as he kissed lower, sucking gently at the lace that barely covered the soft bud of nerves. Your thighs clenched around his head, toes curling.

"Elijah," you whimpered, hands fisting in his hair.

He hummed in response, tongue flicking again against the lace. You cried out, bucking helplessly. You couldn’t think. Couldn't breathe. Could only moan and shudder, your thighs flexing and releasing with every stroke of his tongue.

He pulled away just enough to push the fabric aside, his fingers spreading you open. Then his mouth was on you again, no barrier this time.

You sobbed his name, hips lifting. He held you steady, his strength gentle but unyielding. Your whole body tightened. Every nerve lit up. Heat bloomed low in your belly, dark and consuming. 

Your hands twisted in his hair, his name slipping from your lips in a litany of moans. His eyes flicked up, meeting yours over the plane of your stomach. He didn’t stop. Just groaned into you, he couldn’t get enough, your taste was everything he’d ever wanted.

Your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue flattened and dragged across the sensitive bud in a slow, devastating stroke.

"Oh fuck, Elijah, I can't-"

Your release hit you like a wave. He stayed with you, his mouth never leaving, fingers moving with careful, steady precision, coaxing the pleasure out in long, languid pulses.

He held you there, tongue swirling in slow circles, until your body finally began to soften under him. Only then did he pull away, pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

You were still trembling, panting. Your eyes found his as he knelt above you, chest glistening faintly with sweat, dark hair tousled, eyes burning. All you wanted was to have him close. On you, in you, surrounding you completely.

You reached up, pulling him down, crushing your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned into the kiss, one hand sliding up your ribs, the other fumbling at his waistband.

You could feel the thick ridge of his cock straining against the thin fabric of his briefs. You rolled your hips, gasping as he dragged himself over your swollen, sensitive center. He was hard, heavy, and you whimpered, reaching down to push the last layer of fabric aside. He let out a rough sigh as his length brushed over you, his teeth catching your bottom lip.

You tugged at the waistband, and his hand slipped between your bodies, covering yours. For a second, you thought he was going to pull away. A soft whimper escaped. But then he guided your hand lower, until his thick shaft filled your palm.

You curled your fingers around him, stroking lightly. He let out a low groan.

"That's it," he murmured, voice rough. "Just like that, sweetheart."

Heat pulsed between your thighs, and you stroked him a little faster, feeling him twitch in your grip.

He broke the kiss. When his eyes met yours, the hunger softened into something tender.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?"

You bit your lip, heart twisting. "Tell me."

His smile was small, sincere. "Since the moment we met."

Your heart fluttered. A breathless laugh escaped. You couldn’t look away. "That long?"

"Yes," he whispered, moving your hand aside and leaning in to kiss your throat. "Since the first time I saw you... you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen."

"Elijah..." There were no words big enough, so you kissed him, giving him everything instead.

His hand slipped between your legs, fingers sliding through your wetness. The tip of his cock nudged your entrance. He pushed in slowly, carefully, hands braced on either side of your head, hips rocking until he was seated fully inside you.

You moaned, hands clutching his shoulders. He kissed you again, his lips lingering. "Is this alright?"

You nodded, wrapping your legs around him. The low, needy sound he made was enough to melt you.

"You feel incredible," he whispered, his mouth trailing along your jaw.

"So do you," you murmured, your hands running down the smooth lines of his back.

He pulled out slowly, almost completely, then pushed back in. Another moan slipped from your lips. Your fingers dug into his skin, urging him on as his hips began to move in a steady rhythm.

His hand cupped your cheek, keeping your eyes on his as he made love to you. Every thrust was deep, deliberate. His breath warmed your mouth, his dark gaze never straying from your face, watching each shiver, each gasp, each desperate whisper.

"Look at you," he said, voice filled with reverence.

You tried to respond, but all you could manage was a broken whimper as he thrust deeper. His strokes began to quicken.

He let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through your body. "Beautiful."

"Elijah, please," you whispered, tugging him down for a kiss.

He groaned, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hips drove harder, his control starting to unravel.

"Touch yourself," he said, breaking the kiss and brushing his lips along your jaw.

You slid a hand between your bodies, circling your clit. His forehead dropped against yours.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Just like that."

He reached down, covering your hand, his fingers pressing yours a little tighter, a little faster. You could feel the pleasure coiling, building, and his eyes met yours again, hips smacking against yours with a soft, wet sound.

"Come for me, sweetheart."

You were so close. So full. It felt so good, his skin against yours, his cock driving into you, his fingers working in tandem with yours. Your body clenched, thighs shaking, and your release rushed through you in a dizzying wave. He followed you over the edge, spilling hot inside you, his groan rumbling against your neck as he pumped his hips, driving you both higher, deeper, until it was too much. Until you were clinging to each other, gasping, shuddering.

He leaned up, pressing his lips against yours, and for a few moments neither of you spoke, content just to trade lazy kisses, your hands slowly stroking the sweat-dampened skin of his back.

Finally, Elijah's arms slipped beneath you, and he rolled, shifting you with him so that his back was against the carpet and you were lying on top of him, sprawled across his broad chest.

His fingers trailed idly up and down your spine. The fire was still burning, the logs popping softly, and he leaned down to brush a kiss against the top of your head.

"I hope this isn't presumptuous," he murmured, a smile in his voice, "but I was hoping you might stay tonight."

"Mmm," you murmured, turning to nuzzle his chest. "As long as you cook me breakfast tomorrow."

"Done."

"Good. Because I'm famished."

His laughter rumbled through his chest, and his arms tightened, hugging you a little closer.

"You'll need your strength," he whispered, trailing his fingers along the curve of your hip, "because we have a lot more bets to settle."

Your head snapped up, eyes widening as you grinned.

Somehow, losing had never felt so good.

The little flat Kol and you did spells in smelled like dried lavender and ozone. Calm. Domestic. Magical.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, an old grimoire open in front of you, carefully laying out ingredients in a neat spiral just as the text instructed. The ritual was just a simple calming charm, but you still wanted it perfect. Your chalk lines were crisp, your chant steady. Every herb, gem, and drop of oil went into place with deliberate care.

Kol was sprawled on the couch like a bored cat, watching you with half-lidded eyes and a smile that curled at the edges like smoke.

“Little precise, don’t you think?” he drawled, “The spell’s barely more complicated than tying your shoes.”

You didn’t look up. “And yet somehow, you still managed to fuck it up last time.”

“I did not,” Kol said, clearly offended. “It worked just fine.”

“It made your eyebrows fall out, Kol.”

“They grew back.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward to adjust the position of a small rose quartz. Kol’s gaze tracked the motion, dark and pleased.

“You’re very sexy when you’re pretending magic is a science,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

You ignored him. Mostly.

He got up and crouched beside you with a lazy grin. Then, before you could stop him…he flicked one of your precisely placed herbs out of the circle.

“Kol!” you snapped.

“What?” he said, utterly unrepentant. “Doesn’t matter where the rosemary goes.”

“It does if you want the charm to work properly.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said smugly, “watch and learn.”

He muttered the chant under his breath. Half of it slurred, the other half skipped entirely, then he tapped the chalk circle with two fingers. The air shimmered faintly, and the spell completed with a satisfying hum.

You stared…half-annoyed, half-reluctantly impressed.

He looked insufferably pleased with himself. “See?”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

Kol sat back on his heels, and gave you a pointed look. “And yet… I did.”

You sniffed. “You are such a lazy witch.”

The change was instant.

Kol went still.

The amusement in his eyes didn’t vanish, exactly. It just sharpened. Darkened. In that signature Mikaelson way. He tilted his head and looked at you like he just discovered something interesting.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked, voice low and light.

You smirked, brushing chalk dust from your fingertips. “Only when you act like one.”

His gaze stayed locked on yours. You expected him to laugh, or maybe roll his eyes again. Instead, he stayed crouched beside you, his smirk fading into something more intent.

“Come here,” he said softly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Because,” he murmured, “you’ve got a little something…”

He reached out and brushed your cheek with the pad of his thumb, sweeping away a smudge of chalk. His touch lingered longer than necessary, his fingers slipping just barely into your hair as they fell away.

His expression had shifted, still playful, but quieter now. Fond.

“You’re very beautiful when you’re focused,” he said. “All that effort… just to do things right. It’s sweet.”

The compliment was unexpected. Earnest. Your breath caught a little.

Kol leaned in, pressed a kiss to your cheek. Then another at your jaw. The third landed on your mouth,  soft and slow and reverent.

You melted into it, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hand slid behind your head, fingers threading through your hair, deepening the kiss until it pulsed with heat. His lips moved against yours with aching patience, like he could take his time, like he wanted to savor you.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his voice a warm breath against your mouth.

“Now… let me show you what a lazy witch can do.”

You let out a soft giggle, and he stood, tugging you gently up with him. His fingers laced through yours, sure and warm, grounding.

He led you across the flat to the little alcove tucked beside the window. You had filled it together over time, too sentimental to throw anything out. Now it was a riot of cushions, trailing plants, dog-eared grimoires, and half-finished spellwork. It smelled like dried herbs and beeswax and him. A space that belonged to both of you.

Kol sank down into the chaos like he belonged there, then pulled you down with him. You landed with a soft sigh, his body settling over yours, weight pressing you gently into the cushions. You kissed him again, needier this time.

You let him undress you piece by piece. His eyes never left your face, even as his hands explored bare skin, fingers slipping over hips and thighs, reverent in their touch. He kissed your chest, your collarbone, your mouth again, and you melted beneath him, warm and pliant and wanting.

Then he shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to undo his belt. You took the opportunity to tug off his shirt, your hands sliding over the muscles of his back, shoulders, chest. His skin was warm and smooth beneath your palms.

Kol’s eyes went dark as he watched you touch him. That look meant he was about to ruin you in the best possible way.

He slid your panties down and settled between your thighs, fingers tracing slowly up the inside until they reached your core. He slipped one inside, teasingly slow. Your breath caught, and he smiled, pleased.

“So lovely,” he murmured against your neck. “My sweet little witch.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then dipped lower. His mouth moved over your breast, tongue circling your nipple. He hummed softly, content, then pulled back. His fingers still worked you with care as his other hand freed himself from his jeans.

His thumb found your clit, moving in slow, steady circles that made your legs twitch and your hips rise, heat building fast and sharp in your belly.

When you were trembling, panting, nearly begging, he pressed the head of his cock against you. Just that, firm and deliberate, making you gasp. Then he eased inside, inch by inch, a slow, dizzying slide that made you cling to his shoulders.

The pace he set was maddening. Deep, unhurried thrusts that rocked you into the cushions, each one dragging pleasure through your core. His mouth stayed on yours, kissing you softly. Your nails scratched at his back, hips rising to meet him, wanting more, needing it.

“Would you look at that,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. His eyes trailed down your trembling body, landing between your legs where you were joined. “You’re shaking already, sweetheart. Barely even fucked you.”

You whimpered, squirming beneath him, hips twitching upward instinctively to meet his next thrust. But Kol held you down easily, one palm heavy over your stomach, his pace deliberately lazy. Just enough to keep you desperate, not enough to let you fall apart.

“Kol,” you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets. “Please…”

He grinned, tilting his head. “Please what, darling? Use your words.”

“I need more,” you stammered. “Faster. Please…just fuck me.”

Kol slowed even further, hips barely moving now, just the tip of him dragging over your soaked entrance in the most maddening way. You cried out in frustration, hips grinding up helplessly, but he didn’t let you get any real friction.

“Oh no,” he tutted, lips brushing your jaw as he kept you pinned. “darling, you don’t get to call me lazy and then beg for more…If you want it so badly… then move. Show me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “What?”

His grip eased just enough to let you move, just barely. “Come on then. Fuck yourself on my cock. Prove how needy you are.”

The humiliation hit hot and sharp. You bit your lip, face burning, but the need won out. Slowly, shyly, you began to rock your hips upward, the small motions making his cock slide just slightly in and out. It felt incredible, sharp, hot pleasure blooming low in your belly, making your eyes flutter closed and your mouth fall open.

Kol let out a low, satisfied hum. His hands stayed firm on your thighs, but he didn’t help, not yet. Just watched with wicked delight. “Look at you,” he said, voice thick with amusement. “Working so hard for it. Desperate little thing, fucking yourself under me like that.”

The sound of his voice, dirty, smug, laced with a teasing kind of affection, made you shiver. You whimpered, hips rolling faster now, trying to take more of him, to make the friction hit just right.

“Fuck, yes, Kol,” you gasped, frustration bleeding into your tone as your movements turned frantic. You were chasing it now, that unbearable pleasure just out of reach. “Please, I need you, please help me.”

He raised a brow, grinning down at you. “Help you?” he repeated, mockingly thoughtful. “Hmm. I don’t know. You’re doing such a good job making a mess all by yourself.” He leaned in closer, mouth brushing your cheek. “Your pretty little cunt grips me when you beg. Absolutely starving for it, aren’t you?”

You moaned loud and broken, nearly sobbing from the intensity. Your hips jolted in short, desperate motions, your pussy clenching around him, soaked and needy. Your legs trembled in his grip, knees pressed tight to your chest, trying to find a good rhythm.

“Kol, fuck, please,” you babbled helplessly, your voice cracking. “I can’t, I can’t come like this, I need you…”

His gaze darkened, his smirk sharp and feral. He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you beg.”

Then, finally, he thrust forward. A single, hard roll of his hips that pressed him deep until you gasped and arched off the bed with a broken sound.

“There we go,” Kol purred, tone still teasing but darker now, need threading through every word. “Was that it? Is this what my greedy little darling wanted? For me to fuck her properly?”

Your mind was blank, all rational thought gone, replaced with nothing but desperate, mindless need. Kol set a brutal pace, pounding into you again and again. The angle making you feel it everywhere, pleasure sparking across your entire body. His hands gripped your hips hard, pulling you against him. You were both gasping, panting, the filthy sound of his cock sliding into you wet and messy and perfect. Your cries grew louder, sharper, and he just laughed, low and delighted, like this was the best game he'd ever played.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice ragged with pleasure. “You were so shy a minute ago, now you’re dripping down my cock like you’ve got something to prove.”

Your nails dug into his forearms, your body arching helplessly beneath his, the rhythm of his thrusts punching little moans out of you with every snap of his hips.

“You’re going to come for me,” he said, cocky and certain. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t even speak. Just nodded frantically, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

Kol leaned in and kissed one of them from your cheek, then grinned against your skin. “That’s my girl.”

He shifted his angle just slightly, hitting that spot that made your entire body jolt. “There it is,” he whispered.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast and overwhelming. You sobbed out his name, your whole body locking up, then trembling violently as you clenched around him, slick and soaking and undone.

Kol groaned low, hips stuttering once, twice, before he buried himself deep and came with a sound that was more growl than breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, panting, then huffed a breathless laugh.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he muttered, then kissed you like he didn’t mind at all.

Your laugh was shaky, your breath still coming in short, heavy pants as your body slowly relaxed beneath him. Kol pressed gentle, lingering kisses to your mouth, your cheek, your jaw…each one soothing, bringing you back down gently.

“You alright?” he murmured softly, stroking his thumb affectionately over your cheek.

“Mhm,” you sighed, smiling as you looked up into his face, still flushed and smug. “Though, for the record, you’re still a lazy witch.”

Kol raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes. He leaned back slightly, tracing a casual pattern through the air with his fingers. “Lazy, am I?” he asked playfully.

You frowned slightly, suspicious. “Kol, what are you…?”

The air shimmered faintly around you both, suddenly heavy and charged. Your heart skipped as Kol’s smirk deepened, eyes glittering with intent.

Your breath caught. “Wait…”

A wave of warm, tingling magic flooded your body, pleasure rolling gently but insistently through every nerve. It surged, grew sharper, deeper, until your body arched up from the cushions with a gasp, overwhelmed by the intensity.

Kol grinned, slowly kissing his way down your body, lingering here and there, teasing each sensitive spot. Your body trembled, hips shifting instinctively toward his touch, but his hands held you steady, firm but gentle.

Kol hummed against your stomach, pleased by your reaction. “See? That wasn’t lazy,” he said, voice dark and smoky and smug. “That was improvisation. I figured my girl deserved something special.”

He ducked lower, kissing the inside of your thigh, sending another shudder rippling through you. You moaned softly, head falling back against the cushions, legs shaking beneath his careful touch.

Kol settled comfortably between your legs, smirking up at you before lowering his mouth slowly to your soaking cunt, breath warm against your skin.

“Now,” he murmured teasingly, “let’s see how many more you can handle.”

Your boyfriend was late. The kind of late that made you wonder if he was even planning on showing up.

You had gotten ready for him, too. Showered. Shaved. Spritzed the perfume he liked at the crook of your neck and behind your knees. You wore the little nightgown he once said made you look like trouble… and nothing underneath.

The candles had burned halfway down. Your phone lit up with everyone except him.

So you got bored. Horny. And maybe a little petty.

It started with just looking around, being a bit nosy to keep yourself occupied. The drawer beneath the bed was cracked open already… probably from the last time Kol had grabbed something without bothering to close it. That was his fault, really. You told yourself that as you slid it open further and pulled the little silicone toy from its case.

Your breath caught before it even touched you. The idea of using it without him, of getting yourself off in his bed, on his sheets, in his space… it was wicked… irresistible. And his fault for not being here.

You lay back on his plush pillows, lifted your legs slightly, and pushed it in.

It wasn’t enough.

You reached back into the drawer and grabbed the slim, pink vibe he loved to torture you with. Switched it on low. Let it buzz lazily over your clit until your thighs trembled. You arched, hips rocking, mind spinning with thoughts you would never dare say out loud.

You pictured Kol above you, his fingers around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes roll back. You imagined him telling you how pretty you looked spread open for him. You liked when he was completely in control.

He was usually very sweet and attentive in bed, although he had a darker side that would sometimes slip through. You loved it. The way he took what he wanted from you. The way his gaze grew sharper and he started ordering you around. It turned you on like nothing else.

A shiver ran through you. Your body clenched down hard on the toy and you moaned, lost in your own pleasure... Until the sound of the front door opening made you sit up.

Footsteps. Light. Careless. Unhurried.

The toy was still humming between your legs. You tried to switch the vibe off, but your finger slipped in panic. The buzzing got louder. You cursed.

And then his voice, low and far too amused.

“Well, well,” Kol said from the bedroom doorway, watching you with those dangerous eyes.“Looks like someone got impatient.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you were already wet and swollen, the vibe was still pulsing, and all you wanted was him.

“Did I say you could play without me?” he asked, voice sweet and smug and dangerous.

You scrambled to shut the toy off, cheeks burning, thighs sticky with arousal and shame. Kol didn’t move. Just stood there watching you like he was deciding whether to fuck you or punish you.

Or both.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped, breathless. “You are late.”

Kol just smirked, then reached for the hem of his shirt and peeled it off with theatrical slowness, like he was doing you a favor. His belt came next, then his jeans, until he was left in nothing but a pair of sinful black boxers, his cock already hard and thick beneath the fabric.

He didn’t come closer. He walked around the bed, calm and unbothered, and stretched out across the pillows like a man settling in to watch something entertaining. Arms behind his head, lips curled.

His eyes dropped to your hand.

"Well, go on then," he said lazily, nodding to his cock. "It’s far better than that toy you're still clutching."

You blinked. Heat crawled up your neck.

"I don’t see why you’re not already sitting on it."

Your mouth dropped open.

“Kol,” you said, half shocked, half turned on. “You’re so-”

“Honest?” he offered, clearly enjoying himself. “You were making such a mess without me, darling. Seemed cruel not to offer the real thing.”

He patted his thigh, expression turning softer. "Come here. Let me feel how badly you need it."

You hesitated. Just a second.

Then you moved.

You set the toys aside, careful to close the drawer this time, and crawled into his lap. His cock was already hard against your thigh when you straddled him, the heat of it soaking through his boxers. You rocked against it, teasing, slow, and Kol groaned low in his throat, hands sliding under your gown to cup your bare ass.

“Such a needy little brat,” he murmured, giving one cheek a sharp slap. “Couldn’t even wait an hour.”

You gasped, hips jerking into him. He laughed.

"I was trying to be good," you said, leaning down to press a slow kiss to his throat, your body stretched out over his as he reclined beneath you.

His hands roamed lower, over the swell of your ass…kneading, gripping, pinching. “You touched yourself in my bed, sweetheart. Without me. That doesn’t sound like good behavior to me."

He gave you another playful squeeze. "That calls for punishment."

You shifted, grinding down again, flushed and needy and so desperate for him to do just that. “So punish me.”

His eyes darkened with interest. Then, without warning, he pushed up from the pillows and sat upright.

The sudden shift made you rise with him, your hands bracing on his shoulders for balance. His face was right there, his lips brushing against your jaw.

“I don’t feel like doing the work tonight," he murmured, voice thick with intent. "You want to come so badly? Earn it.”

You blinked, breath catching.

He tugged at the straps of your nightie, slipping them down your shoulders like he was unwrapping something precious. His hands followed the fabric down, over your breasts, thumbs swiping across your nipples.

“If you do a good job,” he said softly, “I’ll be sweet to you. If you don’t…”

His eyes gleamed. His fingers pinched down on the tight buds. You whined.

“I’ll compel you. I’ll make you ride me while I just sit back and watch."

Your heart pounded. A sharp ache pulsed between your legs.

“That what you want?” he asked softly, brushing his lips over your ear. “You want me to take control? To get in your pretty little head and keep you going until your legs give out?”

You nodded, a little too fast.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please. I want that.”

He grinned. “Good girl.”

Then he loosened his grip and leaned back, his hands resting behind his head once more.

You didn’t need any encouragement. Your whole body was humming. You shifted, dragging your core over the thick line of his cock, his boxers the only thing separating you.

Kol let his eyes fall shut, his fingers curling into his palms, but didn’t move.

You rolled your hips again, and again, building a steady rhythm. The pressure was good. The friction was delicious. But you wanted more.

Your fingers slid under the waistband and freed him, wrapping around the warm, heavy length. He hissed. His hips jerked and you smiled.

You pumped him slowly before pulling away and raising up on your knees. Kol licked his lips, his eyes dark. Watching. Waiting.

You held his gaze as you eased down on him, inch by torturous inch. You held still for a moment, breath shaky as your body adjusted around him. The stretch was deep, sharp, perfect. And Kol just watched you, smug and relaxed, like he wasn’t even feeling it.

You began to move. Slowly at first. Rolling your hips in tight little circles, trying to find the right angle, trying to make it work. You braced your palms on his chest for leverage and lifted, then dropped again, gasping at the pressure. But it wasn’t… clicking. Not the way it did when he was in control. When he had your knees pressed to your chest or your face buried in the pillows. When he was fucking you his way.

You tried again. A little faster. A little deeper. But your thighs were already beginning to tremble. It wasn’t enough. Not the right angle, not the right pressure, and no matter how hard you chased it, you couldn’t catch the edge. You were aching. Frustrated. Your rhythm faltered.

You whimpered.

Kol didn’t help. Didn’t move. Just looked at you with that maddening smirk.

“I hate this,” you whispered, rocking your hips one more time. “I hate being on top.”

“Then you should’ve thought twice before touching yourself without permission,” he murmured.

Your legs burned. Your body trembled. You tried to ride him again, desperate, but the muscles refused to cooperate. 

And then you collapsed forward, chest to his, head buried in his neck, “Please,” you sobbed, humiliation flooding your veins. “My legs… they hurt, I can’t-”

He leaned up just slightly, capturing your chin in his hand, forcing you to look directly into his eyes. “You asked for this, darling.” His eyes dilated slightly, voice commanding and velvet-soft. “Keep riding me. Don’t stop until I say so.”

You shuddered as the compulsion sank deep into your mind, overriding your exhaustion. A fresh whimper tore from your lips as you obediently began rocking your hips again, slow, deep motions that stretched you open, the delicious friction unbearable.

“See?” Kol murmured, lounging back with infuriating ease, his smirk wider than ever. “Knew you could be a good girl if I told you nicely enough.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as your overstimulated body protested, pleasure twisted sharply with pain as your exhausted thighs burned. Yet you couldn’t stop, your body moving, rhythmically, grinding down onto his cock, chasing the cruelly building pleasure he forced you toward.

“You look so fucking pretty when you struggle,” Kol purred, eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched you fall apart. “Does it ache, darling? Legs giving out on you already? Poor thing. You really thought you could handle me.”

Your breaths came faster, ragged and shallow, each movement of your hips more frantic than the last. You were so close, but your thighs were burning, muscles locking up, rhythm faltering. You couldn’t keep the pace. You were falling apart.

And you were close. So close it hurt.

The tension coiled deep in your belly, every muscle tightening, your hips grinding faster in desperation. But just before you could tip over the edge… Kol’s voice slipped into your mind, overwhelming and final.

“Stop.”

Your body froze mid-thrust, thighs trembling, your cunt pulsing helplessly around him. A sob caught in your throat. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t come. Couldn’t do anything but teeter on the edge, stuck in the most delicious, aching stasis.

Tears welled in your eyes as Kol sat up slowly. One hand stroked your cheek, brushing the tear away with maddening tenderness.

“You were about to come without permission,” he said, voice low and sweet and merciless. “That’s not very obedient of you.”

You whimpered, trying to shift. You couldn’t. The compulsion held you tight, locked in place on his cock.

He leaned in, mouth at your ear.

“I want your eyes on mine.”

You looked.

“Good girl.”

Then he slid a hand between your legs and pressed his thumb against your clit.

Your body screamed to move, to grind down, to chase the friction… but all you could do was sit there, legs trembling, while he teased slow, excruciating circles over your swollen nerves. His cock throbbed inside you, untouched. He watched you fall apart, watched the tears slide down your cheeks, watched your mouth fall open on a sob.

“You’re going to come,” he said, “when I let you. Not a second sooner.”

Another tear slipped free. Another choked cry.

“Tell me you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I-I have,” you whispered. “Please…please, I learned-”

He kissed you. All tongue and fire and teeth. Then he pulled back and looked straight into your eyes.

“Come for me.”

You shattered.

The orgasm tore through you like lightning, every nerve igniting at once. You couldn’t move...but your body clenched, spasmed, locked up around him as waves of pleasure broke over you, again and again. You sobbed his name, wrecked and wide-eyed and shaking in his lap.

Kol cradled your face, kissing the corners of your mouth. "You're perfect," he whispered. "Perfect little toy for me to play with."

His hands were at your hips, then, shifting you, moving you. He guided you slowly, carefully, lifting and lowering your trembling form on his cock, his pace slow and even and punishing.

Your face was buried in his neck, his hands bruising your hips. He used you, just like he said. You were nothing but a warm, pliable, limp little doll in his lap.

Kol fucked you through his own pleasure, until he was grunting and gasping, his fangs finding the soft skin of your throat and sinking deep, his hips pumping up hard and fast. You whimpered, his teeth sharp, his cock deeper than it had ever been, his thrusts jarring you with each snap of his hips.

Then, after one last, shuddering thrust, Kol stilled, his cock buried deep. A strangled noise left his lips as he emptied himself inside you, his fingers digging bruises into your hips.

You stayed in his lap for a long moment, limbs limp, head resting against his shoulder. Your breath came in ragged little gasps, your whole body boneless and soaked in sweat, your mind blissfully blank.

Kol let out a low, satisfied hum. His hand slid slowly up and down your back, fingers tracing idle, lazy circles between your shoulder blades.

“Well,” he said, voice still rough with the afterglow, “that was a pathetic ride.”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Fuck you.”

“You just did,” he said smugly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Very loudly, I might add. The neighbors are going to think I’ve sacrificed someone.”

You groaned into his neck, too exhausted to move. “My legs don’t work.”

Kol grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before spreading your pretty little legs in my bed without me.”

You reached up and half-heartedly smacked his shoulder. He caught your wrist with ease, brought it to his lips, and kissed the inside of your palm with surprising tenderness.

“Oi,” he said, quieter now. “Don’t pass out yet.”

“I’m not,” you muttered.

“Liar.” His other hand slid up to gently card through your hair, pushing the damp strands back from your face. “You look completely wrecked. I’m flattered.”

You huffed a laugh, still clinging to him. “I’m gonna kill you when I can walk again.”

He nuzzled your cheek, still impossibly smug. “I’ll take my chances.”

He kissed you. Slow and sweet this time, all teeth gone, all bite melted into something warm and wicked and fond.

When he pulled away, he murmured against your lips, “Next time, though… try lasting more than five minutes on top, yeah?”

You groaned and shoved your face into his chest. “I hate you.”

He laughed again, soft and sincere, wrapping his arms around you like he was never letting go. “No you don’t.”

And you didn’t. Not even close.

~𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣 ~ 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱 ~ 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 ~ 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱 ~

Bites {Elijah Mikaelson}{3.2k} ♡♡ --- You were afraid to bite him. Until he told you to do it again.

Push {Kol Mikaelson}{2.5k} ♡♡ --- Kol’s late. You’re bored. And maybe a little reckless. But when he catches you playing with his toys without permission, he decides to teach you a very thorough lesson.

Face First {Klaus Mikaelson}{1.7k} ♡♡ --- A few late-night texts leads to a very unexpected house call. You’re on your period. Klaus doesn’t care.

Losing {Elijah Mikaelson}{3.6k} ♡♡ --- A late-night debate turns into a wager you’re sure you’ll win. But when Elijah proves you wrong, his prize isn’t gloating...

Need {Kol Mikaelson}{2.2k} {Witch!Kol}♡♡ --- You’re trying to do a spell. He’s trying to ruin your night in the best possible way

Dreams {Klaus Mikaelson}{3.9k} {Virgin!Reader}♡♡ --- A drunken confession leads to an unexpected night with Klaus, where fantasy blurs into reality, and your first time becomes unforgettable.

Surrender {Elijah Mikaelson}{1.4k} {Sub!Elijah}♡♡♡ --- After a bloody night out, Elijah returns home teetering on the edge. You don’t try to reason with the violence simmering under his skin. You offer him relief instead.

The front door creaked open, and for one agonizing second, your heart seized. It was late. Too late. You had spent the last hour imagining every brutal way this night might end.

But Klaus's voice echoed first, vibrant and smug, shattering your dread.

"And that's precisely how one makes a grand exit, brother," he announced, voice dripping with satisfaction. You could practically hear his smirk as he swaggered into view, dripping blood and arrogance, his henley torn to ribbons, clinging damp to his chest from sweat and gore, his curls a wild, sweat-soaked mess.

Elijah followed behind, his suit still pristine save for the splatters of blood staining the cuffs and the lapels. His eyes, though... Elijah's eyes had always been his tell, and tonight they burned, wild and hungry. His body remained still, but his eyes moved like the sea, a raging, tumultuous tempest that could only mean one thing.

He saw you and something in him jolted. Relief tried to surface, but it was quickly smothered under the weight of everything else. Duty. Rage. Control. Always control.

You exhaled slowly, relief flooding you as you rose, moving instinctively toward your husband, needing to touch him, to hold him, to confirm for yourself that he had truly returned unharmed.

He stiffened slightly when you wrapped your arms around him, a brief flash of tension in his body. But then he slowly allowed himself to melt into your embrace, his own arms winding around you as his lips pressed a gentle kiss against your temple. Even now, even here, his body hummed with residual energy. Violence lived just under his skin. He didn’t know how to release it. Only how to restrain it.

Klaus tossed his jacket onto the chair carelessly, eyes glittering as he recounted the night’s exploits.

"You should've seen it, Y/n," he said, grinning fiercely. "A masterpiece, really. Broken necks, blood everywhere. My dear brother got particularly artistic. Quite the show."

Elijah hummed faintly, voice even, almost bored. "I merely sought efficiency," he replied.

The words came out flat. Polished. Safe.

Inside, he was anything but.

You shifted, pressing a palm against his chest. You knew the mask he wore, the calm exterior he defaulted to when the world became too loud, too sharp. It was the shell he built when centuries of loss, pain, and responsibility threatened to crush him. It was the front he wore when he wanted nothing more than to break, and the only thing that kept him from shattering completely.

And when the cracks in his mask began to show, when the pressure of his endless self-control began to overwhelm him, it became your duty to peel it away, gently, deliberately, piece by piece, until you reached the man beneath.

Klaus kept talking, relishing every bloody detail, oblivious or uncaring of Elijah’s silent unraveling. You lifted your gaze, catching Elijah’s eyes as you tilted your head, studying him. No injuries. No fatigue. Just the unbearable, quiet pressure he had placed on himself.

Your gaze softened. "Klaus," you said quietly. "It’s late."

Klaus turned, his eyes flicking knowingly from your hand pressed against Elijah’s chest to Elijah’s barely contained energy. A wicked smirk curved his lips.

"Ah, eager to retire already, are we?" he drawled, voice rich with amusement and innuendo. "I suppose there's nothing quite like a good fuck after a proper massacre to calm the nerves."

You rolled your eyes. "We’re going upstairs," you said flatly.

Klaus smirked, his gaze sweeping appreciatively over the pair of you. "Well, if you want company..."

"Good night, Niklaus," Elijah cut in smoothly, his voice still even, but the threat in his tone was clear.

You were already tugging him toward the stairs, his fingers laced tightly with yours. He followed without hesitation. A part of him didn’t trust himself to lead right now.

The bedroom door shut with a soft click and the world outside fell away.

You did not turn on the lights. The moonlight spilling through the high windows was enough, the silver glow catching on the sharp planes of Elijah’s face as he waited, motionless, in the center of the room.

You walked slowly, deliberately, circling him once without a word. Your nails trailed lightly across his shoulder, the collar of his stained shirt, the faint smear of dried blood on his throat. He watched you. Always watching. But saying nothing.

You stepped close. One hand came up to rest gently on the side of his neck. Your voice was calm, soft, but there was no mistaking the command beneath it.

"Kneel."

His eyes snapped to yours, wide, startled. And then… grateful.

And he dropped.

No hesitation. No arrogance. Just obedience.

Elijah knelt in front of you like he belonged there. His body still buzzing from violence, and yet his gaze was soft, adoring. He breathed you in like salvation, like he had only just now remembered what oxygen was. He did not care. This was peace. This was the only thing that ever silenced the noise.

"Good," you murmured, stepping closer, your fingers grazing through his sweat-dampened hair. "That’s better. Look at you. Such a perfect little killer. Slaughter on your hands, and now you’re here, waiting to be told what to do."

He didn’t respond, didn’t need to. The praise hit somewhere deep, curling inside his chest and loosening something tight and long-held.

His hands rested lightly on his thighs, posture still too perfect, too composed. Still trying to hold on.

So you tightened your grip in his hair, just enough to tip his head back, to make his throat stretch out for you.

"I said let go, Elijah," you whispered, voice low and mocking. "You don’t need to think. You don’t need to speak. All that blood, all that fury. Gone. And now? You exist for this. For me."

You watched his lips part, breath coming faster. That mask, that control, it was already slipping. And for once, he welcomed it.

"I want your mouth," you said, slowly, deliberately. "I want you to forget everything except how to make me come. You understand?"

He moaned softly, reverently, as your fingers pulled up your dress. Slowly. You revealed inch after inch of bare skin, enjoying the way his eyes tracked the movement like prey caught in the jaws of something bigger. Hungrier.

You stepped out of your heels and panties, then lifted one leg over his shoulder, guiding his face between your thighs with the kind of ease that came from knowing he would follow you anywhere.

"You’ve killed for me," you whispered, your tone almost sweet. "Now earn your reward, my beautiful monster."

Only with you did it not feel like a curse.

His mouth landed on your cunt like it was prayer. He licked slowly, deliberately, savoring your taste with the passion of a man unmaking himself. This was not desperation. This was devotion.

"God," you breathed, rocking your hips forward. "You taste me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive. Is that it, baby? Is that what you need? Just something warm to bury your mouth in after all that blood?"

He whimpered against you. Not just from arousal… but from relief. You always could see him so clearly.

"Look at you," you whispered. "Elijah Mikaelson, terror of men. On your knees with his mouth full of cunt. What would your enemies say, hmm?"

His pride didn’t flinch. Not even a little. Not with you. Instead he moaned at your words as you guided the rhythm, grinding against him. His jaw flexed. His tongue followed every twitch of your hips like he was born for this.

"You feel that?" you whispered, panting, hips rolling harder now. "That’s me using you. That’s your reward for being such a good little killer."

Tears stung his eyes. He didn’t fight them. He had no more room for control. He let surrender take over.

You rode his face, cunt soaked, thighs trembling around his head as the orgasm built fast and sharp and relentless. His tongue flicked, circled, sucked. Every movement perfectly in tune with your body.

And when it hit, when your orgasm crashed through you, you did not hold back.

You ground your hips down hard, moaning his name like a mantra, your thighs squeezing tight around his face as your cunt pulsed against his tongue. He stayed there. Still. Anchored. Letting you use him until the trembling passed and the world slowed.

Only then did you release your grip.

Only then did he pull back. Face flushed. Mouth soaked. Chest heaving.

You stroked the sweat-matted hair back from his forehead, your thumb brushing under his eye. You tilted his chin up with two fingers, your gaze soft now, heavy with something warmer than lust.

"Better?" you asked quietly.

His nod was immediate. Small. Honest.

You smiled.

"Come on," you murmured, guiding him to his feet with a gentle tug. "Let’s get you in the shower."

And just like that, he followed.