[ fic ] a fickle heart and bitterness ; klaus/rebekah, the vampire diaries
De-anoning from posting this at the TVD Anon Kink Post because well, what the hey. Written for the prompt "Begging/Marking; After being resurrected, Rebekah feels neglected that Klaus is spending so much time on Stefan. She gets needy and insistent in the attempt of getting her brother to mark her again as his own." Originally posted here.
a fickle heart and bitterness » the vampire diaries. klaus/rebekah. nc-17. 1,418 words.
She tells him she missed him, even though that doesn't make sense at all. warnings: incest. I own nothing of TVD.
They tell her it's been almost a century, but it doesn't look like much has changed.
Her dearest brother still appears to be obsessed with her Stefan Salvatore, except that, oh, that's right, Stefan's not hers anymore, is he? That's changed, and when he takes Nik's side over hers in their little banters and they share a grin, she pouts fiercely and doesn't know which one of them she wants to stake more.
You're supposed to love me, pay attention to me, you idiot! she wants to yell, and maybe stomp her foot for good measure-
But that would be childish.
Besides, Stefan would probably think she was yelling at him.
“You know, your affections are embarrassingly obvious, brother,” she tells him one night with a wrinkle of her nose; she was never very good at keeping silent when bothered.
Nik sighs - he’s perfected the art of treating her like nothing but a bore, she thinks nastily - and doesn’t even look up.
“Are you jealous, sweetheart? You’ve been gone quite a while-”
“And whose fault is that?” she snaps, sidling closer and tilting her head.
Her brother lifts his head then, slow smirk unfurling.
“Did you miss me?” he asks, sliding his knuckles lightly down her cheek.
She slaps his hand away. “That’s not how it works, Nik.” She can’t have missed him because it doesn’t even feel like any time passed. But he’s reaching back up to her face again, cupping her cheek now and then sliding his hand around her neck, just firmly enough that she knows he won’t let her push him away this time, not as he steps closer and pulls her in.
He grins, that stupid, delighted grin of his that only makes her pouting lips twist unbecomingly in response. She tries to pull her head back but he doesn’t let go, leans in closer so his nose almost brushes hers.
“I bet you did anyway,” he whispers.
“Why are you still keeping him around?” she demands, fists clenched. She’s already gone and proved that precious Stefan’s so-called loyalties mean nothing, that he’s a rotten, little liar.
Nik chuckles, pats the space beside him for her to sit down. He’s perched on one of the coffins, in that casual way of his that he works so hard at. It’s always such a show, but she sits down anyway, and tries not to wonder who’s in this one.
He twirls a curl of her hair around his finger, then brushes it all over her shoulder and lets his hand rest there, tapping patterns on her skin idly.
“You get worked up too easily,” he tells her, and she glares at him, shakes him off and starts to stand up.
He grabs her wrist instantly, his hand curling like a manacle. Strong like iron.
“Say the magic words,” he breathes, and she narrows her eyes and lowers herself onto his lap, leans her forehead against his.
“I missed you,” she tries, makes sure her to keep her voice mocking. She’s perfected scorn.
Nik smiles. “That’s better,” he says, and he’s got a hand on her thigh and she almost expects him to start to slide it up, like he used to, but he just pats her leg instead.
She gets to her feet and stalks off, and this time he doesn’t stop her.
He gets a special grin when he talks about Mystic Falls, the surprise he’s got in store for Stefan, and she wants to rip it off his face.
“Enough about Stefan,” she finally pouts, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him closer to her. “I told you, I missed you,” she says, even though it still makes no sense at all.
Nik ghosts his thumb over her chin lightly, tilts her face up to his.
“What do you want from me, sister?” he asks her, all faux-innocence, and she has to remind herself that she is far too old to be throwing tantrums.
She starts to move as if to kiss him, as if maybe that will work, but he’s still holding her chin and he tilts his own head back.
“Ah ah ah,” he tsks, and shakes his head. “What do you want, Rebekah?” he asks, and she gets it. She has to say it.
“No more Stefan,” she whispers through clenched teeth. She wets her lips. “He doesn’t care about either of us. He’s a liar. I missed you.”
He trails his fingers down her neck lightly, and she shudders, but takes the opportunity to press her mouth to his, hard. “Miss you,” she whispers, frantic all of the sudden. She tries to twist closer to him, but he’s got his hands down to her waist and holds her in place, just far enough away that it makes her squirm. Bastard.
She can feel his grin against her lips, and with a surge of anger she shoves him, sends him crashing into the far wall. He’s still grinning, though, and she only has time to feel the first prickles of trepidation before he’s rushing at her, sending her flying backwards to the ground and then pinning her down beneath him.
“What do you want, Rebekah?” he says slowly. Deliberately.
She’s got her fingers curled around his shirt, and she can only make a whining sort of noise from the back of her throat.
He grins, trails one hand down her side gently, almost like he’s never traced the curves of her body before.
“What do you want?” he asks again, but he’s letting her pull his shirt off.
“Yours,” she whispers, and it’s so natural to pout. “You don’t need him. Me. I missed you.”
He seems pleased by that, buries his face in her neck and breathes deeply. “Oh, Rebekah,” he murmurs, and she feels his voice vibrate on her skin. He starts to pull at her dress, and she gets the appeal of clothing that hardly covers anything; it’s so easy to remove, off in a blur.
“Me, me, me,” she keeps insisting, and she hears him chuckle, but then he’s pressing his teeth against her skin oh so gently, just hardly, and the whine stops in her throat.
“What do you want, Rebekah?” he whispers.
“Again. Like you used to,” and that’s all she has to say before he bites her. He groans as he sinks his teeth into her soft, soft skin, and her blood pools out slow and messy. The mark he leaves will heal up in a matter of moments, she knows this, so she’s already reaching up to feel it, fingers lightly tracing the broken skin even as he bites again - she’s in the way, and he nips her finger with his teeth, but she doesn’t care.
It’s a good thing there won’t be a scar, she knows, because later she won’t want it, later she’ll be angry at her brother again and she’ll pout and stomp her feet and certainly won’t want to think of how it feels when he’s pressed on top of her, holding her down and marring her just because he can and she lets him.
But for now, she just whimpers, tilts her head back as she twists under him, and digs her fingernails into his skin as if to pretend that she gets to mark him too, that he’s hers as much as she’s his.
He finds new skin to attack even while she rids them both of any remaining clothing, doesn’t even pause when he pushes himself into her, and it’s almost too much - the biting and the feel of him buried so completely in her - but then he’s pulling out slowly, and she can feel his grin.
“Say the magic words,” he murmurs, and she twitches.
“Please, Nik, please, I missed you, miss you, please,” - it’s all an incoherent rush of words, but it’s enough for her brother, who’s digging his fingers into her sides as he thrusts into her.
She keeps it up anyway, “Miss you, missed you, please, Nik, please,” afraid that if she stops so will he.
Later, before she pulls her silly dress back on, she traces her fingers over her neck, down her collarbone, her breast, her stomach, over her arms... Only the ghosts of his marks remain, buried deep in her skin, but close enough to the surface she thinks she can almost feel them if she tries.
Nik reaches out to tuck some wayward hair behind her ear. He’s got that grin on his face again, but softer, and he presses a kiss to her head before he starts to get to his feet.
“I missed you too, sister.”