this is 2.8k words of straight up porn, guys. written in part to @ishenwulf‘s prmpt, “klaus and caroline having sex in remembrance of the last time they banged.”
( listen )
through the night down the hills;
.
.
Theconversation doesn’t lull. She doesn’t regret coming at all. She feels soakedwith wine, fed with blood, pliable with comfort. He has a house off the gridand she’d found him covered with dirt and naked as the day he was born.
“Lettingoff some steam?” she asked, placing her suitcase down on the grass between her feet.
Klaus,astonished, had gone straight inside, showered, put on some clothes, beforecoming back outside to gather her into his arms.
Shehadn’t minded the wait. The open country was really beautiful.
.
.
Whenit’s late enough in the day to concede drinking, and a lot of drinking, Caroline finds herself in the position of havinglost her dress somewhere between the parlour and the room he’s lead them to.
Thefirst thing she sees is a bed and she thinks, Oh, soft, as Klaus lays her there.
“Canwe slow it down a bit this time, love? Give us a chance to explore.” Klauslowers himself down her body. Caroline feels him go. It’s hard to distractherself from how hot his skin feels against hers. His wolf is whining, sheknows, and she knows he won’t listen. That he’ll be stubborn, determined to beselfish the same way she is.
“Imight already have a list in mind,” she says impishly. She feels young in herbones, she wants to make terrible jokes and laugh against his neck, and feelhim harden against her. She wants to tug at him and tease and kiss until theylose against the tide. She wants him in a way she couldn’t explain. At least,not in words. “Touch. Let’s start with that.”
Klausswallows as he looks up at her. All at once she’s unsettled by him, and that inhis eyes she can see something so soft, a longing so sweet. Klaus presses akiss to her right breast; the sound of it almost has her hips bucking. Hesmiles. “That is a fine place to start, sweetheart.”
Carolineis sorry when his warmth leaves like the pull of a blanket; childish with wantshe actually extends her arms to him, her elbows around his neck as if to pullhim down towards her, but Klaus gently reprimands her, placing his hands on herhips to stop her. She groans and he starts laughing.
In adesperate attempt to placate herself she takes a frantic glance around theroom. “Looks real cosy, Klaus.”
“Ididn’t plan it to be this way—not exactly. But I thought of home and saw you.”
Shesnorts. Really? “You saw wolf furs and a lamp that literally looks like a hanging moon – which, by the way, can Bonnielearn to do that? I’m sort of into it—”
Klauspromptly pushes her down onto the bed. The look he gives her is utter wickednessand a flush creeps up her neck.
Klaushad laid her down in a room filled with the colour of red smoke: it’s lateevening and his bed faces the sunset. The shadow from the blinds marks his facewith strange lines. He is bathed red and black all over and it all feels alittle like a slow, slow dream.
“Awww,”she can’t help feeling pleased, “you built a sex room.”
“Gladyou caught on,” he smirks, but he’s a little distracted with worrying his teethon the sensitive part of her hipbone. She’s a little surprised, to be honest,that he had remembered, considering that their last time together was a little more… urgent.
Shestretches her body against the length of his bed. Her knuckles brush againstcarved wood, and she absentmindedly hopes he has something around to tie her upfor later.
Klausappears to have had the same idea, and he rose to the occasion extravagantly,rolling off her slightly to retrieve two scarves from a drawer by the bed.
Ohdear fucking G—
.
.
Theoffending item is in his hand. He wraps it around his knuckles, demonstrating itsability to hold. Her eyes take it in readily.
“Whatdo you say, love?” He grins as he tosses the scarf into the air, letting itfloat down onto her bare stomach. It slides off with how smooth its fabric is,and she moans softly—even more when he continues: “That way your hands won’t bein the way when I lick you just shy of your cunt.”
“Welldon’t let me stop you,” she groans. “You’re gonna have to take your shirt offfirst, though. I’m pretty sure ripping it off you goes against slow.” She sounds put out, and actually glares at him like it’s all his fault.
Heloves it.
Hestokes the fire by placing both his hands flat against her torso. There isn’tmuch of her that he can cover with his palms, and her hips press down into thebed with the sink of his hands. All at once he feels a flood of nostalgia. “Ididn’t give proper appreciation to the volume of you when covered by hands,” hesays ruefully.
“Theforest was a long time ago,” Caroline says. She’s looking down at where hishands are. “Rediscover me.”
Helooks up at her sharply. “I intend to,” he swears.
“Youdon’t have to be that intense, you kn—”
Hekisses her.
Shegasps right before she melts against him, gently urging him to settle better ontop of her, using her ankles to coax his knee into place between her thighs.She excels at slow, loathe as she likes to be. He can feel their bodies line upand press against each other. He brushes hair off her forehead and his fingerstangle with hers. He wonders if it’s painful for her, to have her hair pulledwhen he tightens his fingers around hers. He certainly wouldn’t mind.
KissingCaroline is an experience. He can count on one hand the amount of time she’sallowed him, and the one time he stole one (in a forest). It’s morally wrong for him to feel so proud of that,still. He kisses her like only one thousand, eight hundred and fifty two dayshave passed deserves. Their noses bump and Caroline instinctually tilts herhead. His teeth part and he is welcomed by the taste of her. She licks histongue. Goosebumps flare across his back.
“Dude,”she breaks away breathlessly. “I was not kidding about the shirt. Gotta go.”
He’sjust as breathless as she is. When he fumbles at his buttons he does so with ashaky chuckle. His shirt is gone soon enough, and he shucks off his trousers aswell, but keeps his underwear on. “Is the state of my being deserving of yourapproval?”
“Mmm,”Caroline hums appreciatively, nodding. She hooks a finger between her lips inthought. “What did you say these scarves were meant for?”
‘Salacious’isn’t a term he uses so often these days, but no other word can describe howher voice sounds then. She spreads her legs ever so slightly, the smallestinch, and it’s with an embarrassing amount of time that he is immediately ontop of her again.
“Andthat,” she says, looking at himdarkly, “is definitely not slow.”
“Sueme,” he says hoarsely, and ties a sheer black scarf around her wrist. He securesthe other end of the scarf to the bedpost, tests the strength of the knot, anddoes the same with her other wrist.
“Whatabout my legs?” she asks wide-eyed.
Hiseyes make short work of making her feel more undressed than she already is. “ThinkI’ll leave them. I like when you wrap your legs around my neck.”
“Great,”she nods, “good decision. Wait—neck?”
Henods back, chin pressing into her abdomen. “Yes, love. Neck. Shall Idemonstrate now?”
Hedoesn’t wait for a yes. She wants it badly, anyway.
.
.
“Youbastard,” she gasps. Lifting herhips, she tries to grind down onto his mouth, wants to feel his tongue in hercunt.
Klauspouts. “I don’t like that word.”
Sheresponds by tightening her trembling thighs around his neck, but Klaus onlygrins at this. This was the point, after all. He lowers his mouth to herhipbone again, licking a hot wet mark down, down, down—and, just like he’dsaid, just shy of her cunt.
“Yourclit’s all swollen, love,” Klaus says, fascinated. He sends her a wicked lookbefore giving her clit the briefest oflicks with the tip of his tongue. “Oh, that didn’t help. Sorry.”
“Isaid tease, not torture,” Carolinegroans. “If you’re not going to do anything with your mouth, at least touch me,damn it.”
Hishands travel to her breasts. She sighs with an inward finally and closes her eyes when he pinches her nipple; he has hisfingers buried almost painfully in her other breast, and she hates how much she loves it.
Withoutwarning Klaus licks her again, this time from her waiting cunt all the way upto her clit, a sudden and vigorous lick, one that made her spine scream. Shesupposes she must have, too, because Klaus’ laugh vibrates against where she really wants him to kiss her.
Shesort of wants to flick his ear for being so mean.
Shecan’t, of course, since she’s all tied up.
Which:yum. There will definitely be a lot more of this next time. She swears if hedoesn’t do something soon she’ll tiehim standing up, she’ll suck the entire length of him into her mouth, she’llmake him curse and shake, she’ll make him beg and, fuck, he is sliding his tongue into her cunt and his thumb is circlingher wet clit with excruciating slowness.
Herhead thuds into the headboard when he pushes his tongue deeper inside, his noseburied in her mound, his eyes struggling between the decision to keep lookingat her or close his eyes and get truly lost.
Shemakes the decision for him. “Let go, Klaus. I’m not scared.”
AndKlaus—Klaus whines, long and hoarse, and suddenly he’s licking at her sodeliberately and so good that she can’thelp but cry out his name, in both shock and pleasure, her two most favouritesensations during sex. If it didn’t terrify her that she’d lose control andsink into the dark, she didn’t want it—her vampire needed, with a burning, to be closer to him.
Shecan admit that freely now, and she laughs with so much joy to discover feelingso liberated.
Herlaugh soon turns into nonsense. She half-urges, half-begs, for what she’s notquite sure. For him to sink his cock into her, for him to never stop fuckingher with his fingers, for him to never again look up at her if it meant thatshe’ll keep on feeling this good forever.
It’sbetween all those angry, breathless declarations that she stammers out aplease. Klaus only stops eating her out when he’s sure the lower half of his faceis absolutely covered by her, and the look of satisfaction on his face is sofilthy she almost rips out of the scarves’ hold to be able to claw at his back.
Carolinedoesn’t bother to hide her heaving chest as she pushes her way up the bed soshe’s leaning against the pillows. “Is ‘slow’ over yet? Because I don’t mind ifwe make quick work of numbers one to five on my list.”
“What’snumber six?” Klaus asks with intrigue. “Surely there’s nothing else you want to—”
“Numberone was for you to kiss me. Two, for you to—” she blushes, but ploughs on, “getdown on your knees for me. Three, I wanted you to touch my breasts, which youdid, and four… take off my panties and just, you know, go to town. I wanted tobe tied up for five, but I’m glad we didn’t go in numerical order with thatone.”
Sointent is Klaus listening that it takes him a while to realise she’s trailingoff. “Six?” he prompts.
“Finda way to tear out of my bonds and fuck you on the floor,” she admits, and thenimprovises. She is spectacular at improvising, as proven when she yanks once onthe scarf and her wrist falls away: the other required a bit more work becauseKlaus had started showing off about his knots.
Carolineflexes her hands twice before whisking him off the bed, where he lands on hisback with a soft cry. She divests him of his boxers with an eagerness thatmight usually offend her, but she’s waited long enough.
Klausalmost gasps at how wet she feels when she lowers herself down onto his cock.It’s too easy for her to take the entire length of him, but she takes her time,knowing he deserves the punishment. Klaus strains his neck, his back arches, hepuffs a curse through his lips.
“I’msorry, what was that?” she asks. Her breathing’s ragged. She wants him too, butthis is delightful.
“Love,”he begins with gritted teeth, “Sweetheart. Beloved, betrothed, bewitchinglittle termagant—”
“Noneof those sounded remotely nice.” And she takes him all the way in.
Shejerks her hips and his mouth twists. “The safe word is Jericho, if you haveneed for it,” she smirks.
Klausnarrows his eyes at her. Seconds later he has her slammed back onto the bedagain, and when he pushes into her with violent need it’s all she can do not tocall his name. The pace builds and crashes and builds and crashes again, untilhe takes her by surprise when he slows down.
“Iwant to have something to remember you by,” Klaus pants. His hair is matted tohis forehead: she pushes it back for him with sweaty fingers.
“Whywould you need to remember me?”
“Youmean—” There’s that look of utter adoration on his face now, that look thatused to agitate her, but now filled her with purpose. “You’re staying then? Butyou bought just one suitcase.”
“Um,yeah, duh. I’m not going to wear my regular ole’ clothes when I’m in Paris, Klaus.” Their hips are stillmoving ever so insistently ttogether, in rhythm, a slow and sweet build. “We’reshopping later.”
“Whateveryou want,” he says.
Hecloses his eyes. Wanting to feel what he feels she closes her eyes too, andfinds that in the dark she sees the smear of his blood against hers, the harshpants of their breath louder, the feeling of his cock, hard and slick insideher, magnified beyond choice.
Everythrust of his cock manages to fill her just right, rising to heights that mightjust undo her if he went that littlebit faster. She wraps her legs around him, holds on as tight as she can. Shedoesn’t want this to end, not just yet.
Heis thinking of the woods. She knows this because he purposefully wraps his armsaround her: one arm cushioning the back of her head and the other restingbeneath the small of her waist. Where before he bedded her on a mat offlattened leaves he now lays her down on his bed with a fragility thatdiscarded thought of a rougher Klaus from her mind.
She’shad enough of him being brash and wild—at least, she thinks. Enough is neverenough, and more is a mantra, but the Klaus who wants to take his time with herexcited her just the same way.
Klauspresses his forehead to hers and opens his eyes the same time she does.
Sheisn’t sure what she’s looking at: the bright stone blue in his eyes, or afragment of a forever.
Klauskeeps at this punishing, pure pace for so long she forgets the feeling ofhaving a physical body and existed only in sensation, and feeling. When shecomes it takes like a sharp, swift fall. Klaus looks shaken out of a dream aswell when his body shudders against hers, and—
—whenthey’re lying so heavily against each other, and when he’s pressing lingeringkisses to her forehead, she says, “That didn’t really count as an orgasm, didit?”
“Notnow, sweetheart,” Klaus mumbles sleepily. “This bed is going to smell of sweatand sex now. My wolf is on the verge of hibernating.”
“Wolvesdon’t really hibernate, do they?” she asks, her eyelids heavy.
Klausdoesn’t answer. Against the rise and fall of his chest, she tumbles along intosleep, where he’s waiting with his hands behind his back, smiling.
“So…wanna try dream sex out?” she asks.
Helaughs so loud it’s a wonder it doesn’t wake them both up.
send me a song and i’ll write out a pairing + feels to it, which are not allowed to be edited at all
i've just realized that rambling was not what you asked for per se but give it to me either way KC CINEMA
Some Great Machinery;caroline(/klaus) + ensemble, 2.8k words.
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Stuck deep in the ugliest, stickiest, steamiest bit of summer, a rumor that Kai might be some sort of deranged weather witch starts circulating around the town, lingering in coffee shops and hanging above worn benches, because it’s right after nobody goes to his 4th of July party that they all find themselves in the ugliest, stickiest, steamiest bit of summer.
“Never mind the fact that this happens literally every year?” Bonnie asks while they’re queuing for coffee.
“Look, I’m not saying he’s responsible for This -” And this is Caroline swatting a fly away from her already-slick neck, “ - but he sure as hell has something to do with This coming early.”
“He was upset.”
“So you agree with me?” Caroline pauses, backtracking. “You’re defending him? Wait, no, I can’t - Jesus, it’s too hot to even– I think he’s a witch, okay?”
“Even if he is, do you really think you should be telling people?” Bonnie stands on tippytoes to see the menu over the other irritated heads in the cramped little cafe.
“I do, if it might stop This!”
“You can say it Caroline,” Bonnie sighs. “You can say the word drau–”
Caroline’s clamped her hand over Bonnie’s mouth. “Naming it gives It power.” She only releases Bonnie when Bonnie’s promised, as expressively as she can with only her eyes being way of communication, that she would not stand in the way of Caroline’s plight to stop Kai disseminating.
“Disseminating what?” Enzo appears.
“This,” Caroline says gravely.
“Ah,” Enzo nods. “So, hey, did you hear? Heard he might be some sort of deranged weather witch or something.”
–
The look Damon gives them when they finally saunter in can be summarized into one of utter betrayal, given how he was in the middle of brewing the first pot of the day.
“I just made coffee,” he splutters.
“Smells great,” Caroline says. “Listen, have you heard about–”
“No idle chit chat today!” Damon swoops around the wood and steel counter. “Seeing as how my birds aren’t so eager to catch the worm–”
“We’re not birds,” Bonnie frowns.
Damon softens. “Of course not.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be changing the reels?” Enzo asks, strumming a guitar he’d pulled from behind the soda machine. He’s always pulling his guitar out of places.
“He only comes out to flirt with Bonnie,” Caroline says.
“No, I come out to remind you that I pay you to have jobs,” Damon says. “And to flirt with Bonnie.”
“Subtle,” Katherine appears.
Damon sighs. “How are you two always doing that?”
–
When Damon’s disappeared into the Reel Room and Katherine’s jacked up the AC, which Enzo takes great care to return to its previous state by the time Damon comes out, which isn’t always, Bonnie returns to her job, which is basically brewing more coffee and explaining why they don’t have popcorn.
“This is a cinema,” April Young says.
“Yes, I work here,” Bonnie says.
“And you don’t have popcorn?”
“We have coffee.”
“But no popcorn.”
“You’ve said that.”
“How do people watch movies then?”
“Um,” Bonnie says. “Usually by sitting still for about an hour and a half, two hours if Damon falls asleep at the reels–”
“No, I meant–” April sighs. “How do people enjoy movies?”
“Um,” Bonnie says. “Usually by sitting still for about an hour and a half, two hours if Damon falls asleep at the reels–”
“You know what, never mind. I’ll have a Coke.”
“Enjoy your movie,” Bonnie smiles.
–
Caroline’s not sure how long Damon’s family’s had this place exactly, but they still kept the original red velvet curtains covering the screen, the woodwork and the wainscotting is still exquisitely preserved, remnants of the theatre days of old.
Sometimes Stefan remembers that he owns one half of the theatre too. He’s less tetchy than Damon, but he has his vices.
“The Intouchables,” Stefan says when Caroline approaches the booth.
Caroline presses her lips together, chastising herself for being dumb enough to spend her only day off here of all places. But then she remembers the AC.
“I actually came here to ask about my paycheck. It hasn’t come in yet.”
“So you’re not here to watch The Intouchables?”
“I’ve already seen it.” Four times, Caroline doesn’t add. One of those times someone had snuck their cat in and the theatre smelled like piss the entire day.
“Great movie.”
“It is. So about my pay–”
“Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t want to watch it again,” Stefan continues, going back to his book, “Omar Sy is something else.”
“Yeah –”
“There is really no other movie I’d rather watch on a Tuesday afternoon.”
Caroline takes a breath. “Stefan.”
“Caroline.” He flips a page.
Caroline sighs. “One ticket for The Intouchables, please.”
Stefan’s already printed it out. When he hands it to her there’s an envelope with her payslip inside, and Caroline can’t find it in herself to be frustrated.
–
From where she’s standing, the screen looks like a strange little puppet show, subtitles in reverse, sounds and lights and bangs. She pushes aside the curtain, heavy and lush in her hands, and peeks at all the faces illuminated by the screen, eyes reflected eerily in the dark, nobody saying a word. It seemed almost ritualistic.
Katherine appears, as she always does, with a flask in her hand. Silently she passes it to Caroline, and together they sit cross legged behind the curtain, drinking and not talking, until the lights go on. Then it’s back to work.
–
“ – don’t have popcorn?”
“We have coffee.”
“And air conditioning,” Enzo says.
“The only reason why we’re here, really,” Katherine agrees.
Rebekah looks confused for all of two seconds before her sneer is back in place. “But no popcorn.”
–
“Psst - hey.”
She’s drank too much. Her skull is pounding and her mouth’s dry, the bass is thrumming off the walls, she really needs to put her head down somewhere, and talking is taking up pretty much taken over all cognitive abilities she has at the moment, and the dude still has not stopped recording the movie.
“What?” he asks, not bothering to whisper. It grinds somewhere against the back of her eyes.
“Stop recording the movie.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” she says, intelligently swatting his phone out of his hand.
Except it isn’t a phone, but a notepad, and the tiny little light she’d assumed was his camera’s flash was actually - Jesus, was that a pen with lights attached to it?
“You’re not,” Caroline says.
“I’m not,” he says, sounding rather irritated, and then he flashes the light up to her eyes, perhaps to look into the face of she who had so rudely accosted him. The sudden bright flash is searing, and Caroline accidentally punches him in the eye.
–
This is how she meets Klaus Mikaelson.
–
“I was really drunk,” Caroline tells him later, feeling really drunk.
Klaus says nothing, just presses the can of 7 Up into his right eye. He’s not smiling but he’s not scowling either, which maybe would have been better, because now Caroline’s both drunk and guilty, and neither Enzo or Katherine are here to swoop in as they usually do.
“I was enjoying that film,” Klaus says.
“I know,” Caroline says, feeling wretched. “But, hey - free movie? On me? Where you can take as many notes as you like?”
“The last showing was today, wasn’t it?”
“We can extend foreign film week,” Caroline says, in the helpless way one does when one has fucked up a situation.
And Klaus - there’s a smile on his face now, slow and wolfish. “All for me?”
“For your black eye,” Caroline says, frowning. She wrings her hands because if she doesn’t, she might do something stupid, like touch him.
“And when would this be?”
Damon, who had popped out for a smoke and looked suitably disappointed that Bonnie wasn’t there, zeroes in on Klaus’ bruised eye socket. “Did Barbie do that?”
“I was drunk,” Caroline says, and maybe if she wasn’t so drunk she’d realize it’s not exactly something you should say to your boss.
–
Which is how she ends up double-shifting it, and she’s so hungover she can’t even stand, but does Damon care? He’d gone up to his little nest before she could even protest.
“Look,” she whispers to Klaus, “I know I punched you and you’re the last person on earth who would want to help me, but I’m just - really hungover right now and I’m supposed to be checking on the crowd but obviously I can’t do that right now and I’d appreciate it if you could cover for me or something; I’ll bribe Damon into playing nothing but Jon Luc Godard for you the entire month if I have to, if you’ll just let me sleep.”
She says all this in one long exhale, and without waiting for a response promptly falls asleep next to him.
–
When she wakes up, the movie’s finished, and there’s a jacket covering her. The owner of the jacket is gone, but there’s a notepad in one of the pockets, and she thinks that maybe this is a test, because she doesn’t look through it at all.
–
The next day Klaus is back, and she returns his jacket and his notepad, sober and sheepish. “Do you always take notes in movies?”
“Not always,” he says. “Not on the first watch. Ruins the immersion for me.”
“Are you writing a paper?”
“I’m looking to critique one, actually.” Klaus ducks his head before clearing his throat. “That directors are considered the author of a film as opposed to the writers.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“Based purely on how they have their own particular styles that gives direction and flavour to a film.”
“Really?” Caroline says again, but this time she’s frowning. “Should directors really be celebrated for that? I thought it was a universal thing to have your own style.”
Klaus smiles at her, corner of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, that’s exactly it. But you know who side-steps all this criticism? Jon Luc Godard.” His smile dimples in something like admiration, his eyes taking on a wistful quality, “He’s a genre of his own. He was known to write, direct, produce, and sometimes even edit his own films.”
“Pretty cool,” Caroline smiles back. “What else is in that notepad of yours?”
“Well.” Klaus looks shy all of a sudden. “The paper goes on to claim that there are no good and bad films, only good and bad directors.”
“Truffaut wrote that.” Enzo appears. “Load of crock.”
Whether or not Klaus thought it was a load of crock or not Caroline doesn’t know, because he does not actually react to Enzo suddenly having his notepad in his hand, flipping idly through it. But his hand does twitch.
“Can I have that back?”
“Auteur theory,” Enzo reads, sounding delighted. “You think film is a voyeuristic medium? Do tell.”
Klaus looks reluctant, and then angry, and then reluctant again. It all happens within the span of one second. Caroline waits, fascinated. “It is voyeuristic. When watching films we’re submittingourselves to the moment. We passively sit back and watch what goes on on screen,and constantly make value judgements about it. It’s onlygood or bad in terms of one’s standards or priorities.”
Caroline tilts her head. “So there are no good and bad directors either?”
Klaus looks pleased that she’s caught on. Caroline tries not to look pleased. “Let’s look atHitchcock. We go in thinking we’re a respectable audience, but he loves to –and often does – deconstruct that belief. The audience learns the secrets of his characters before the characters themselves do. He makes us aware that we are taking part in a peep show, not watching a film. ”
“And that’s highly unrespectable,” Enzo nods.
“Don’t you mean disrespectful?” Caroline asks.
“No, I don’t.” Enzo turns back to Klaus. “Loved RearWindow as a kid. When he turns to us and demands to know what we want ofhim – goosebumps.”
“How ethical,” Caroline says.
“Or lack thereof,” Enzo says. “You writing a paper or something?”
Klaus frowns, “No, I’m critiquing one.”
“Good on you, mate,” Enzo says in that way of his, “but you are writing one about the writing of one.”
“Well, if you put it that way,” Caroline laughs.
Klaus scowls. “My notepad. Now, if you may.”
“Right here, haven’t lost it.” Enzo hands it back to him with a smile before leaving. “Cheers.”
“Does he always do that?” Klaus asks.
–
Damon’s smoking out frontbecause he constantly thinks that he’s in a David Fincher movie, watchingBonnie to see if she’s watching him. She rarely ever is, busy as she isexplaining why they only serve coffee here and not popcorn. Caroline throws him asympathetic glance from the heavy glass doors before heading to Stefan.
“Pierrot le Fou,”Stefan says.
“No,” Caroline says. “Listen, I need to talk to you–”
“About that Kai thing, yeah. I think he might really be a weather witch. Or should it be wizard? Is there some othergender-neutral term for it?”
Caroline stops to ponder onthis. “Bonnie’s Grams says that everyone south of this town is a witch. And Ithink wizard means wise man.”
“So male witches are still called witches?” Stefan asks.
“Just like male nurses arestill called nurses,” Caroline says. “But anyway. Remember when Iaccidentally punched Klaus?”
“I wouldn’t call it an accident.” Klaus appears. “You punched me.”
Caroline pales. “Yeah, and I apologized.”
“No need,” Klaus waves. “Just don’t call it an accident. It removes purpose from the punch; it was rather a good one.”
“Oh,” Caroline says, unsure. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching your movie?”
“Yes, except I have here a ticket for Pierrot le Fou.” Klaus glowers at Stefan, “And I distinctly remember asking for Departures.”
“Amazing movie,” Stefan says. “Best foreign film award, if I remember. But Pierrot le Fou’s a classic.”
“I thought you were on a Godard kick?” Caroline asks. “What about your paper?”
“Critique,” Klaus corrects her. “And I’ve changed my mind. Won’t be writing it.”
“Why?” Caroline asks, curious.
“No reason.” Klaus avoids her eyes, tilts his jaw at Stefan instead. “The right ticket this time, mate.”
Stefan merely points his thumb at the sign next to him that said, in block letters, TICKETS ARE NON-REFUNDABLE.
“I’m not asking for a refund,” Klaus scowls. “I’m asking you to give me the ticket I paid for.”
“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”
“Yes you do,” Caroline says. “You own this place.”
Stefan ignores her. “Can’t you just buy a new ticket?”
Klaus’ eyes narrow into slits. “What are you playing at, Salvatore?”
Behind the scratched glass Stefan’s doing that thing where he puffs up his chest, bringing out his Hero Hair. Caroline knows there’s only one likely way this might end, from the last time Stefan brought his Hero Hair out. There were tears, for one, and Damon had ended up bleeding into the popcorn machine.
In a corner, Bonnie fiddles with the buttons of the AC - the temperature drops so suddenly that they’re all shivering, except Katherine, who’s practically mewling in delight.
“If you’re all going to have a good brawl,” Bonnie says, “I suggest you take it outside.”
The three of them turn their heads outside, to where Alaric seems to be passed out in a puddle of his melted ice-cream.
“No? Too hot for you?” Bonnie quirks her eyebrow. “Then unpuff your chests and watch your damn movie.”
“Come on,” Caroline says, beckoning Klaus out of the room. He follows, but not immediately.
–
“I always end up here if it’s a crazy day at work,” Caroline tells him. They’d pushed past the red velvet curtains, and now Caroline stands in the middle of the extended alcove behind the screen, where projections swoon and sweep.
She has to stand close to him for him to hear, even if the sound system’s a little more muffled where they are. Stacked against the walls are old reels, dusted with age, that Caroline sometimes (most of the times) uses as a coaster for the booze Katherine sneaks her.
Klaus rubs his jaw. “I can’t hear myself think.”
“Exactly.” She pauses. And adds, “Thanks for covering for me the other day.”
“No black eyes were doled out, I can assure you.”
Caroline blushes. Klaus looks down.
The sound of an explosion thrums through the room, and for a moment Klaus and Caroline are lit up in orange. He shifts closer to her. “Do you know what I was thinking, that day you fell asleep on my arm?”
“I hope I didn’t drool on you, God,” Caroline says.
“I was thinking - this is how a man goes mad.”
Caroline doesn’t blush then. She doesn’t know what to think.
They both turn to the screen. The voices sound more distant, faraway. It was dark here, and cool, and comfortable. On the screen, a building crumbles.
“This reminds me of an ending of a film,” Klaus says, and very timidly, reaches for her hand.
“You’re thinking Fight Club,” Caroline says, and grasps his hand in hers.
–
Since Klaus has been spending a lot of his time at that rundown theater across town instead of wreaking the usual havoc he wreaked, Elijah walks in one day wanting to know why.
Stefan takes one look at him, and says, “Finding Nemo.”
Elijah looks startled. “How did you know?”
“I’m just perceptive,” Stefan says, and with a print of the ticket he adds, like an afterthought, “Enjoy your movie.”
I KNOW you just blessed us with sterek art but i was just listening to the weeknd's "beauty behind the madness" and thought of them and then immediately of you??? your art style would be PERFECT for something inspired by this record. like, destructive love! toxic self doubt! drug use (even tho he sings mostly of cocaine, etc) and sex sex sex
oh word, i have been listening to the weeknd since his house of balloons mixtape in 2011! he def has some depressing/inspiring shit haha. i’ll see what i can think up…. <3
