.

I'm in need of some restraint

It was a storm of all the desperation and loneliness and need he had been carrying, drawn out over weeks and months of wanting her, those fiercely buried desires forced to the surface and surging over them both, a tidal wave that blazed through his veins, leaving her tumbled head over feet, gasping, clinging to his shoulders for support.

Only for a moment. Then Caroline had shoved him from her, standing a good foot away, bright-eyed and trembling with passion, glowering at him.

"What the hell is this, Klaus?" she demanded, her temper crackling off her in waves as she went. "Did you think you could just sweep me off my feet with a few fancy views and impressive paintings and expensive bottles of champagne? Did you think I would forget everything after Tyler and just –"

"You weren't exactly fighting me, love," Klaus pointed out, not entirely unreasonably, he thought.

The explosive punch that threw his head to one side and had him seeing stars – supernovas – told him that clearly she thought otherwise. A halo of bright gold whirled around his vision and the world momentarily tilted on its axis. When the room finally righted itself, he saw she was still fuming, her anger burning bright and fierce. Just seeing her so incensed clawed at his insides, caught in his throat, and he wanted wanted wanted her. She was brilliant in her fury. An inferno.

A euphoric, sadistic rush consumed him. He suddenly realised that all those trivial acts of courtship – buying her presents, giving her drawings, flattering her with compliments – were no way to win her. Caroline had no patience for anyone who lay down and gave up, and she certainly didn't respect those who let her walk all over them. Now he saw that she was craving a fight just as much as he was. She might be loud, domineering, often annoying and always neurotic, but above all, she was indomitable.

Something inside him snapped. His hand flew out with preternatural speed, gripping her waist and pulling her to him. Her fists hit his chest (hard enough to crack his ribs), his pounding heart, brought to life after years of callous emptiness and bone-wearing cruelty.

"Back – off –" she gritted.

"Ask nicely," Klaus hissed in her ear, lithe fingers winding through her hair and pulling her head to slant his mouth roughly over hers again. It was brutal, shattering, but time enough for tenderness later… He wanted to burn in the heat of her, bright and searing as summer lightning. His tongue thrust against hers, a dark grin tugging the edges of his mouth as her lips – on a protest perhaps – parted to let him in.

Victory.

She tasted of champagne and sunlight and innocence. Citrus and honey, the sweetest nectar he had ever known, a stimulant even more intoxicating than her blood. He needed more, more of her, her passion, her strength, her conviction. He would devour her whole, a ravenous wolf. Ruthless, like a conqueror of old, plundering the raw silk of her mouth. And what a thing, to occupy her sharp, scathing tongue so often used for unleashing insults towards him.

This time, he released her, letting her go on his terms. His face darkened, moist and swollen lips pressing into a rigid line. He noted with satisfaction that her breathing was fast and shallow, the beginnings of a flush staining her cheeks (you feel it, don't you, love?)

"You promised you wouldn't –"

Klaus smiled with a flash of his old despotism (perhaps he really was half-mad). "I lied."

His mouth slipped lower to suck a dark bloom across her throat, tasting the hammering of her pulse. Her skin was tantalisingly soft, tantalising warm. Caroline clutched at his arms, nails digging into the fabric of his Armani jacket so hard she clawed the flesh beneath.

"This is stupid," she said breathlessly.

"Then tell me to stop," Klaus urged her, challenging, knowing full well that she wouldn't (he could hear the pounding of her heart).

Her fingers were trailing up and down the lengths of his arms, skittish. A blush on her face hidden behind soft beige powder. Her summer blue eyes had turned the colour of thunder clouds. He could taste her need in the air, dark and potent (really now, did she think he couldn't sense it?)

"We can't," she whispered.

"Oh Caroline," he said, looking down at her with an exulting smile, vicious. "Do you really think the rules apply to us? We're not like others, love."

A blur of movement and his back slammed against the wall, a deep crack rending the gold-leaf plaster.

"Stop ," she snarled – and to his surprise, his jacket hit the floor with a thud and she was tugging the sweater over his head – "calling me love –"

Her kiss was like an attack. It took Klaus only a few stunned moments before he responded heatedly, losing himself in the heady taste of her. He felt a thrill of satisfaction that here was no demure, shrinking violet – no, she was a wild thing, as ruthless and unrestrained as himself for all that bossy, controlling exterior. Unleashed. But he knew that already – the one time she had kissed him in the woods, nothing but raw heat and hunger and need, a pity he had been occupying Tyler's body at the time…

No such complications now.

He ran the scrape of his stubble along her skin, a dark feeling of grim satisfaction unfurling within him at the knowledge that he was marking her. He had a sudden, savage urge to brand her, imprint himself so fully on the pale gold map of her skin that she would never give Tyler Lockwood a second thought.

But, to his surprise – teasing girl – she stepped out the way in a blur of gold. He lunged for her, but she coyly evaded him once more. The side of her mouth curved upwards in a come hither smirk that elicited a low chuckle from him even as he moved in to kiss her again.

"Ever the tease, Caroline," he murmured, the amusement evident in his voice, but an undercurrent of warning lingered beneath, the promise that he wasn't prepared to wait forever. Still she danced on the edge of danger, only allowing him a mere grasp (when he wanted to consume her whole), light, fleeting touches before pulling away, eyebrows raised with curved seduction. The small gesture set his nerves ablaze, leaving him wild, wolfish, wanting.

Enough tormenting. In a ripple of air he had moved and struck, hauling her easily against him. Caroline struck him half-heartedly across the ribs, the action swiftly turning into a caress as she immediately soothed the blow with the press of her lips.

"That's cheating," she mumbled against his chest, but made no attempt to escape.

Klaus wanted to laugh, but instead lightly nipped her shoulder, savoring the sweet, slick flesh of innocence. Then lower, burying his face in the soft valley of skin. Even in the dark haze of feral lust, he knew he had to hold back, to take care… he had bitten her before and the taste of her blood – light made liquid, golden champagne spilling across his tongue – was intoxicating, as was the heady knowledge that he had the power to bring her to the brink of death and back again. His mouth lingered at the rapid rise and fall of her chest, fingers toying with the gossamer thin straps crossing her back, drawing them down slow and reverentially. Her dress spilled to the floor like liquid, and Klaus's eyes drank her in. She was ravishing. He ran a hand possessively down the length of her body. Oh, the things he had imagined… he was a thousand years old and she had no idea what she was in for –

A hiss escaped his lips as she licked up the hollow of his throat, gripping the waistband of his jeans and pulling his hips to hers with a sharp jerk that caught him off-guard, trapping a laugh in his throat (aren't you the eager one?) Her leg hooked around his waist, dragging him in deeper. Lashes fluttering shut at the exquisite pressure, and the little shuddering sigh that escaped her awoke something dark and primitive within him, a predator scenting blood in the air.

His fingers lingered on the lace edges of her underwear, the urge to tear the flimsy material in two almost overwhelming.

"Won't be needing these, love," he said hoarsely. But he resisted the temptation (he had waited far too long for this), instead concentrating on keeping his hands in seemly places, hearing the impatient growl in her throat.

He tucked a straying curl of blonde hair behind her ear and Caroline jumped at that – Klaus had to suppress a grin – he could ravage her without so much as a raised eyebrow and yet a little gesture of tenderness shocked her? She leaned away from him slightly, a questioning look in her eyes.

Klaus only laughed, a deep throaty sound. "Oh no, love. You had your chance."

A sudden cool draught of air then there was giving softness beneath him, the susurration of silk and the slide of bare legs around his waist. They had moved with such speed that he must have thrown her on the bed, pinning her beneath him. Klaus paused a moment to appreciatively take in the sight of her sprawled across the sheets, all pale skin against vivid crimson, the very embodiment of luxuria. The vision stole his breath. A thousand years of searching for beauty and he had never seen anything more exquisite…

One day, Klaus thought fervently, he would sketch her like this; wild, disheveled, that maddeningly perfect blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she lay back, looking up at him with wanting in her eyes…

He curled his fingers around her wrists to lock her in place as he lowered his head to ravage her mouth again in an almost brutal kiss, lips and teeth and tongues warring in heated union –

Then Caroline seemed to remember her preternatural strength because in a blur of speed, she had gained dominance, shoving him down on the cushions and straddling his hips, gazing down at him with a fierce glow in her eyes. The vervain must have been leaving her system because he was able to get a brief glimpse inside her head, almost hear the flash of her thoughts (always such a control freak – )

"You know," she growled almost bestially as she shook the long strands of blonde hair from her eyes, "I hate it when you do that."

"Then by all means," Klaus said with a salacious grin, wickedly jerking his hips upwards in a sudden movement that made her give a small cry and clutch his shoulders, "show me."

Her head bent over him, coils of gold hair brushing his chest, soft and tantalising. For a moment, Klaus was content to lie there letting her lips travel down his skin (further, there – just – God, Caroline –) closing his eyes to the darkness and savouring the knowledge (triumph) that he had her, completely, just as she had him. Her fingers danced light patterns across his hips. Tender almost, and he didn't want her to be tender, because he wasn't feeling merciful tonight. Oh no.

A guttural growl escaped him, his head thrashing from side to side helplessly. Did she enjoy this? Having him writhing – pinioned – beneath her? Overpowered, his mind whispered sneeringly. Tamed. It was too close to weakness. His lips curled back in a snarl. He was supposed to be in charge, in control. He was the Big Bad, the Original Hybrid. And she had to know it. His fingers curled around her throat, the beatbeatbeat of her pulse hot against his flesh.

Caroline's head snapped down, her eyes locking with his. The uncertainty he saw there was exhilarating. Before she could so much as try to draw breath, he had reversed their positions, flipping her back against the sheets.

His eyes darkened with need and want at the sight of her. The straining rise and fall of her chest, her lips parted around a silent plea, fingers running up and down his back –

Caroline lifted her head and whispered demurely in his ear, I want you to –

Klaus hissed something inarticulate. He ripped at her hand, pinning it above her head, trapping her beneath him.

She wasn't going anywhere.

…

The breaths left her in short, sharp gasps. Her body trembling and pulsing, drowning in the sensation of warm bare skin (the heady scents of cologne and pine and exotic spices), lost in the way Klaus was murmuring her name like a caress and a sin wrapped in one… Caroline. Caroline. Caroline.

Her nails were digging into his strong, broad back, her heightened senses flooded by him. The ragged heat of his exhalations, the scrape of stubble along her jaw, the perspiration on his musk-scented skin. Every sharp movement of his hips resonating through her, making her shake.

"Open your eyes, Caroline," Klaus whispered, the press of his fingers at her waist tender and bruising and yet not enough –

Caroline complied without thinking, and almost wished she hadn't.

The breath caught sharp in her throat at the expression on his face, that contrary symmetry of refined and bestial. His irises caught between warring shades of blue and green and gold. His mouth was dark and swollen as nightshade blossoms. The glint of his teeth pressed against his parted lips (lips red as blood). He was smiling down at her, a devilish grin that told her exactly what he wanted to do to her –

Her legs tightened around his ribs, silently demanding (praying, begging). Klaus caught her upper arms, almost too rough, but she was mouthing moremoremore –

It had been far too long since someone had held her like this, and yet… no one had held her like this. Wild and untamed, all those courteous, gentlemanly airs long gone. Unrestrained hunger was pulsing in his eyes. Steel-strong arms were rigid around her (not that she had any intention of escaping, not that she could) –

He was alive under her touch. Muscled flesh warm and golden. Caroline ran her fingers almost wonderingly over the tattooed designs on his shoulders, half-inclined to ask the story behind them, but for once her inquisitive mind was silenced; all that mattered was getting her lips on every inch of bare skin she could reach and tasting the frenzied thrum of blood beneath…

He slowed the rhythm of his body. She could see the tension in his wrists, the corded muscles of his neck, the concentrated effort of holding himself back. He kissed her softly. Exquisite, he breathed against her mouth. Artistic hands moving slowly across her skin, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of her. His expression serious. Revering. Slowly, breathing her in, savoring her. He was looking deep into her eyes, ardent and intent and with just a hint of wonder. Caroline faltered momentarily at the indescribable yearning she saw there, a wanting for something that went deeper than the instinctive need for sex or blood. It was a longing for her heart, her soul, her very essence.

Fingers slid through hers, slick, entwining. His movements slow and dragging, a sensation similar to that of his teeth at her throat, drawing the life from her… but it was all too deliberate, too languorous and drawn-out… she wondered vaguely whether this was his idea of retribution after she had spent so long denying him, and decided that he couldn't have chosen a more effective method of torture if he had spent centuries planning it –

The beads around his throat twisted between her sweating fingers as Caroline forced his head down to bring his mouth on hers, knowing he could sense her impatience. She bit his lower lip, tasting wet salt and heat. Lightning, spice and wine. His hands dropped to her hips, angling her more fully against him, and she couldn't breathe for pleasure of it –

Her fingers dug into his hair. Striving ruthlessly towards that white-hot pulse coiled at the centre of her being –

Klaus's face was buried against her neck, breath hot and sweet on her burning skin. "Something you want, love?"

"Please –" she choked – "Klaus –"

"There now." And he actually stopped momentarily, holding himself over her, a wicked smile curling the edges of his mouth. "That's what I was waiting for."

I'll lay your soul to waste

Sketch after sketch of her lay crumpled and discarded on the floor and on the table, the charcoal shadings unable to satisfactorily recreate the sweeping dusk of her lashes against her cheek as she slept. No paints or colors could do justice to the beginnings of early morning light casting a rosy flush on her skin, the pale curve of her exposed shoulder, the tumbled golden fall of her hair as it lay messily across the pillow.

In the end Klaus gave up the effort, sliding into bed beside her, an arm thrown possessively around her waist. He inhaled the scent of her – drowsy, sated, languid with contentment – and mouthed a soft I love you against her hair. As he lay deliberately still (close enough to see the freckles on her nose that by day she always stubbornly covered with powder, denying their existence) Klaus was aware of a strange sensation lingering beneath the dark satisfaction and triumph of conquest, and realised with some surprise that it was the closest he had come to happiness in a thousand years.

…

Caroline awoke to the sensation of lips blazing a trail down the back of her neck. Slow. Searing. Something inside her tightened (painful, exquisite) as she felt a warm hand curve around her hipbone. His exhalation hot against her skin. She remained motionless, feigning sleep a little longer before she would inevitably have to tell him to –

"You're a deep sleeper."

She started almost guiltily, turning her head to a glimpse of burning blue eyes and a predatory red mouth. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver.

"I was tired."

She winced at the sound of her voice – not naturally husky with sleep but hoarse and raw, from –

"I'll take that as a compliment." A slow smile spread across his face as he took her in, lingeringly. Caroline felt a flush burn her cheeks as she realised the silken sheets were tangled down somewhere around her legs (she hadn't been in much of a state to care last night). She knew how she must look. There was no chance of lying to him, no way of scornfully dismissing it as something insignificant or forgettable (wasn't really my thing, but thanks anyway). He would never believe her. She would never believe herself.

He leaned in to kiss her but she pressed a trembling hand against his chest.

"Klaus, I –"

She felt him stiffen, his muscles turning rigid as metal beneath her fingers. His full lips were drawn tight, eyes slits of blue anger.

"Feeling guilty, are you?"

Just the memory of Tyler was a crushing weight inside her chest. She hadn't even thought about him last night, not with Klaus's hands and lips at her throat (and then lower still, murmuring, there love, there, that's it, I know you can, let me feel you – and she had, all the while seeing his face dark with satisfaction, eyes wild and wanting as the convulsions shuddered through her) until she had barely been able to remember her own name –

"Of course I feel guilty," she said, her voice shaking.

"Then I think we're done here." He sat up, and Caroline swallowed hard, for the first time really seeing him in the morning light. The scratches she had inflicted on his shoulders were already beginning to heal, but she hadn't even been aware she was making them. His curling hair was a mess, his lips swollen. Caroline winced. She hadn't realised she'd been so… aggressive. It frightened her, what she might be capable of, the thought that he could make her abandon all sense of herself (and she wouldn't lose control – it was too dangerous because she couldn't, just couldn't allow herself to fall in love with him). She thought back to how softly he had kissed her and felt even worse.

She could hear him ease himself off the bed, every sound painful – amplified. And thought, what the hell do I do now?

…

His hands were shaking as he dressed. Ribs clenched tightly around his heart. For a few brief moments, everything had been perfect. He had felt light and airy, full of joy. Young. Klaus felt that familiar twisting of agony – pain and rage and murder and such terrible loneliness – didn't she realise he could crush her skull without a moment's effort?

His gaze fell on the drawings scattered around the lavish suite. He had burned his sketches of her once before – back in the days when he had tried to burn away his feelings, still fool enough to think this was something he could fight. They were nothing but hollow mockeries of the real thing, so close yet so unattainable. He didn't want mere outlines and shadows. He wanted her as she was, with her lashing tongue, her quick mind and her strength, her confidence and charm. Caroline, with her sharp tongue and soft heart. He had her, but he didn't have her.

She was sitting in the middle of the bed, the sheets drawn tight around her. She looked too young, too vulnerable, and somehow that made him feel like a scoundrel. Her accusing gaze pierced him to the heart.

"Why are you angry?" she demanded. "You got what you wanted – didn't you?"

Klaus wasn't aware of moving, but in an instant, he had her pinned against the wall, the thin sheet wrapped around her body. His anger swelled like a storm. He could snap her neck, crush her heart with his bare hands. He could destroy worlds if he wished it. Didn't she know that if she pushed him too far, it would be the last thing she ever did?

"Not even close," he snarled.

He paused to take in the sight of her; flushed and breathless, bare shoulders, summer-blonde hair spilling down (just waiting to be ravished). The scent of her inflamed his senses (a heady mixture of confusion and anger and fear and, yes, just a hint of desire). He was breathing hard, fevered blood thrumming beneath the skin. Caught between the conflicting impulses of tearing her throat out and kissing her senseless –

"I won't be made a fool of, love, and next time this happens, be assured that it will be just you and me in that bed, and not you and me and your absconding lover –"

"I didn't even think about Tyler," she cried. "Don't you get it?"

His hand dropped to his side, murder dancing at the ends of his fingers. "But you are now."

Tyler. Always Tyler.

There was nothing but bitterness in his heart, mingled with the fury and desire for revenge. Knowing that whatever he did wouldn't erase the young wolf from her mind, that he would never win. Klaus suddenly thought back to a conversation with Damon Salvatore (how is it she manages to overlook every horrific thing you've ever done?) and God, he wanted to kill someone, or rip out his own heart and be rid of this sickness –

He had sneered at Elijah with complacent derision at his folly (so easily won, brother, drawn in by the little whore's smiles) and had utterly failed to foresee his own impending damnation – caught, ensnared – by a girl so young she was still in the morning of her prematurely-severed existence, only just beginning to have a taste of encroaching darkness. Elijah, at least, had been able to renounce Katerina when the time came. Klaus, led by his passions, a creature dominated by the fury of his impulses, was not so strong.

He was the real fool for love.

…

Caroline watched him warily from across the room. His blue eyes – probably for the first time since she had known him – were cold. Distant and unreachable. She suddenly realised how old he was, how much he must have seen. She must have seemed so pathetically young, a little Baby Vampire that had no idea about anything beyond her small town life –

"Say it, then." His voice was low. Weary.

"Say what?"

"Well, I suppose this is the part where you ask me to take you home."

Caroline glanced at him in surprise. There was a world of pain beneath that visceral surface of deep blue. Any last illusions she might have had that his interest was based solely in the thrill of the chase died then and there. I've really hurt him, she realised wonderingly. It never ceased to amaze her that someone so casually cruel could be that easily hurt. And she hated how much that affected her, how she could feel sorry for him, empathise with him like he was someone deserving of her sympathy.

Wanting him she could understand – after all, it had been nothing but physical attraction that had gotten Damon Salvatore into her bed a lifetime ago – but it was the thought of caring for Klaus that truly frightened her. The feeling had been there all along, lurking, tucked away into one of the more sinister corners of her mind. And, almost without realising it, she had moved towards it, towards him, as his voice whispered to her. He had crept inside her, embedding himself beneath her skin, and she wanted to tear him out. Because rationally, she could never love, never want a creature like him, so wild and ruthless and cruel.

But there was that something between them – a flash, a spark, the crackle of static when his fingers brushed hers – keeping her in place, keeping him in her life, and suddenly, the thought of him walking away was like a knife twisting in her heart –

"I don't want to go home," she said, quietly.

Silence. Silence so thick she could taste it at the back of her throat.

Klaus had turned very still. Tense. In his tailored black jacket and jeans, hands clenched at his sides, he looked startlingly human, like any other guy (but he isn't just any guy). He had become so much more than that. Appealing to both the little-girl Caroline and the bloodthirsty-predator Caroline; on the one hand making her feel like Cinderella finally going to the ball, and on the other allowing her to give in to her darkest impulses. Someone who would accept her, all of her, the good and bad, the light and the dark. Klaus, who answered to no one, who served no power higher than his own nature.

Caroline moved closer, her heart beating fast. Here was the man who could make her discover so many things, feelings, worlds… Here was the mysterious smiling creature who had watched her from the corner of his eye for so long, had she only had the curiosity to notice. This was Klaus, the lonely artist and unrepentant murderer.

She could almost taste the coppery blood thrumming just beneath the surface of her skin. This was the scariest thing she had ever done. For a moment, her resolve faltered. She remembered the warmth in Tyler's dark eyes, his comforting arms around her. It felt like a hundred years ago, the life of a different girl.

"I have feelings for you," she blurted out, not very gracefully.

"Do you?" Klaus retorted tightly.

He wouldn't even look at her. Her heart was thudding, hard and furious, and she clenched her fists, fingers tingling with the desire to slap some emotion into his face, because she was Caroline Forbes, former Miss Mystic Falls, goddamnit, and she did not get ignored.

She tried to keep her voice from trembling, her eyes burning bright. "You're petty and you're mean, and you've screwed up our lives more times than I count. And I keep telling myself over and over all the terrible things you've done, and that none of it goes away just because on the odd occasion you can sometimes bring yourself to be even halfway decent. And I must be delirious from travelling through too many time zones to be even thinking about this –"

In a flash, he was standing in front of her. Sharp cheekbones ran high with colour, stormy eyes glowing like a fever.

"Caroline," he said hoarsely. "I mean this in the nicest possible of ways, but for once, stop talking."

His mouth melded to hers faster than rending lightning, swift and burning. Caroline could only grip his shoulders to keep from falling into the searing blue abyss of his eyes, pressing her body closer, closer, blazing like she had stepped under the full glare of the sun. She could feel possessiveness in the way his muscles clenched, his hands framing her waist, every touch hot-blooded and frenzied. As though he could never have enough of her –

She broke away, gasping for breath, and this time Klaus let her. He grinned, a flash of white teeth. His eyes almost black with wicked intentions.

"Oh," was all Caroline could manage.

"If that was your idea of a declaration, love…"

Still wrapped in nothing but a silk sheet, Caroline braced a hand against her hip, feeling something of her old Mean Girls attitude returning. She tilted her head to one side, watching as his hooded eyes followed the curve of her throat.

"When I make a declaration," she said sweetly, "Trust me, you'll know about it."

She would never get used to the way Klaus could move so fast.

"Is that so?"

He was standing less than a heartbeat away. A long-fingered hand coiled her hair, holding it up and above her head. It tumbled back down and his full lips curled. Warm breath ghosting the nape of her neck. Caroline swallowed hard. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so confident any more.

"Are you…" her voice wavered. "Are you going to…?"

"Not that the thought isn't a tempting one..." An appreciative, lingering gaze accompanied the words. "But I did have other arrangements in mind. I suggest you get changed if you don't want to miss our flight."

Automatically, Caroline opened her mouth to argue (old habits died hard), then paused. Matt was spending the summer with Rebekah. Elena was with Damon. None of them were exactly innocent anymore. And she was no longer the girl with bubble-gum pink nails who believed in happily-ever-afters. She realised she hadn't wanted that for a long time now.

She looked at Klaus. With his too-bright eyes and earnest face, it could have been the night he first showed her his paintings, giving her an intriguing glimpse of the man behind the monster. But she was just as drawn to that other side of him which called at something within her, deep and primal. The chaos to her control. Cold and wild, warm and tender.

He would always be the villain. She just wasn't sure what that meant anymore.

So, instead, she asked, "Where?"

Klaus's lips twisted upwards in that old familiar smirk she knew so well. The gleam of his blue eyes steady on hers even as his hands made circles of static electricity at her hips.

"Tokyo."

Fin.

REVIEW if you like, wish this was canon, still can't get on board with the idea of the spinoff, etc etc. Or just to let me know that Klaroline fans still exist out there.