fic: fuck me into open caskets (i wanna die with this) (rebekah/klaus)
fuck me into open caskets (i wanna die with this) | tvd/the originals | rebekah/klaus | NC-17 | 110 words.. | for clockwork-hart1 who is a flawless human being, and who prompted i've been hurt before, but never as good as this for Rebekah/Anyone, which naturally I turned into a Rebekah/Klaus fic. For the porn! ficathon which you should go visit :)
warning for... oh, my, what to say. this is klaus/rebekah, so basically a warning for everything. incest, bloodplay, violence. oral sex. self-destructive behavior.
(This is their tragedy, a thousand years in the making.)
She puts on a short black dress. It's her favorite. It'll get ruined tonight, probably, but she'll live, even if the dress doesn't. She can always get a new dress anyway. There's just some make-up left to be applied, red lipstick and black black mascara and she's set to go. Ready to play her part.
She walks to his house. The yard seems empty and she simply walks towards his house and opens the front door. Her footsteps echo throughout the hallway and for a few unbearable moments, everything is still. The hallway is almost completely dark and she can barely see. How fitting, she thinks. Her eyes will get used to it. (Though she's not sure she ever will, not in the ways that matter.)
Niklaus? Are you here?
Her voice almost breaks just then, but it's too early for that. She doesn't get to bend and break just yet. He wouldn't like it that way. (She wouldn't like it that way either.)
You just had to ruin it, sister.
It's his voice, of course. She knows this, she would recognize his voice anywhere. Recognize it by the way it seems to make around him vibrate. (Recognize it by the way it seems to make her skin vibrate.)
Soon she recognizes more of him as well, because before she can move out of the way (before she can decide if she wants to) he's moved towards her and slammed her body down on the floor.
You had to screw it all up, didn't you?
He's lying on top of her, and she can feel by the way his muscles tense that he's trying not to touch her more than is necessary. He's propped himself up on top of her, his hands are holding her wrists pressed firmly to the floor and his short nails are digging into her skin. If she wasnt's a vampire, she'd have started bleeding by now.
(If she wasn't his sister, she'd have started bleeding by now.)
His grip still tight, something seems to click in his eyes (she can see this, even in the dark) and then he lowers his head to her neck. His touch is feather light. It could pass as gentleness, if she was anyone else. (If he was anyone else.)
She shivers, this is what she wanted and this is what'll kill her, and she should feel bad only she doesn't, she doesn't feel bad at all.
He bites into her breast, doesn't bother taking off her dress or tearing it off in some passionate display of something she doesn't want to have to name. That's never what this was about. She doesn't even make a sound. It's almost like a game, it's playing pretend. He wants to hurt her, so she won't let him know if he's succeeded, because she won't let him win.
(The first and the last thing one should know about any game is how to be the best at it.)
(Or at least how not to be the only one to lose.)
(He has to step up his game, and then eventually she loses. She knows this by now. It always plays out the same, she knows every note of this melody by now, the G major of his grins and the C minor of her defiant smiles. She still plays along.)
He kisses her then and she tastes her own blood on his tongue and his lips, something bitter and something sweet and she enjoys the taste every time.
She bites his lip then too (she doesn't do this always, just when she's feeling bold or suicidal, one or the other most definitely). She bites down just a little, just enough to mix her blood with his, just enough to sate her hunger.
She bites just hard enough to win.
(Because when she bites his lip, that's always when he lets go. Control takes a back seat in his mind, then, and only then, and he makes a sound that's more of a growl that anything else she's heard in her life. He's a wolf and that slips her mind sometimes, but he's still a wolf, even if she forgets that.)
He lets go of one of her wrists then, because it's not the first time he's playing this game either.
She feels his hands briefly on her thighs, pulling her dress up and she has her hands free and she could help him, but then this wouldn't last as long, and she wants this as long as she can get it.
(She could get away if she wanted to, she knows this. She wouldn't even have to break a sweat. But this is her choice as much as it's his and it's almost kind of him to hold her down, pretend he's the one making her stay. He pretends to take away her options and that should serve to take away the blame she feels as well. She guesses she'd be more grateful if it actually worked.)
He's looking at her, a million universes in his eyes and her breathing's hitched now and she hates how he can still do this to her.
(After all, she knows this part of the story the best, skin on skin and sweat on sweat and the familiar arching of her back.)
His smile is more teeth than anything else (how fitting, she thinks) as he lowers himself down onto her body and as his lips trace a way down to her thighs. He pulls her panties down to her ankles and then takes them off. His lips find their way across her left thigh and he settles himself near her clit and then he waits. It's like he's trying her out, easing himself in.
(Like this isn't something they've done a million times, like he doesn't know every inch of her skin as well as his own.)
They're fools, both of them.
He's not moved yet, and he's looking up at her from between her legs like this silence of theirs holds the answer to anything. There's no answers, there's just questions neither of them'll answer and he should know this by now about them.
I hate you she says then.(For good measure; because it's fitting; because she does and because she never really will. Because this is the only sort of answer she'll give to him like this; pinned on the floor beneath him, their blood on her lips and the smile of a wolf on his.) But maybe he'll believe her for a second, and maybe then it'll hurt him as much as it sometimes hurts her. Maybe.)
Before his tongue finally meets her clit, he whispers into her skin, a secret that never really was.
No you don't. But you should.
warning for... oh, my, what to say. this is klaus/rebekah, so basically a warning for everything. incest, bloodplay, violence. oral sex. self-destructive behavior.
(This is their tragedy, a thousand years in the making.)
She puts on a short black dress. It's her favorite. It'll get ruined tonight, probably, but she'll live, even if the dress doesn't. She can always get a new dress anyway. There's just some make-up left to be applied, red lipstick and black black mascara and she's set to go. Ready to play her part.
She walks to his house. The yard seems empty and she simply walks towards his house and opens the front door. Her footsteps echo throughout the hallway and for a few unbearable moments, everything is still. The hallway is almost completely dark and she can barely see. How fitting, she thinks. Her eyes will get used to it. (Though she's not sure she ever will, not in the ways that matter.)
Niklaus? Are you here?
Her voice almost breaks just then, but it's too early for that. She doesn't get to bend and break just yet. He wouldn't like it that way. (She wouldn't like it that way either.)
You just had to ruin it, sister.
It's his voice, of course. She knows this, she would recognize his voice anywhere. Recognize it by the way it seems to make around him vibrate. (Recognize it by the way it seems to make her skin vibrate.)
Soon she recognizes more of him as well, because before she can move out of the way (before she can decide if she wants to) he's moved towards her and slammed her body down on the floor.
You had to screw it all up, didn't you?
He's lying on top of her, and she can feel by the way his muscles tense that he's trying not to touch her more than is necessary. He's propped himself up on top of her, his hands are holding her wrists pressed firmly to the floor and his short nails are digging into her skin. If she wasnt's a vampire, she'd have started bleeding by now.
(If she wasn't his sister, she'd have started bleeding by now.)
His grip still tight, something seems to click in his eyes (she can see this, even in the dark) and then he lowers his head to her neck. His touch is feather light. It could pass as gentleness, if she was anyone else. (If he was anyone else.)
She shivers, this is what she wanted and this is what'll kill her, and she should feel bad only she doesn't, she doesn't feel bad at all.
He bites into her breast, doesn't bother taking off her dress or tearing it off in some passionate display of something she doesn't want to have to name. That's never what this was about. She doesn't even make a sound. It's almost like a game, it's playing pretend. He wants to hurt her, so she won't let him know if he's succeeded, because she won't let him win.
(The first and the last thing one should know about any game is how to be the best at it.)
(Or at least how not to be the only one to lose.)
(He has to step up his game, and then eventually she loses. She knows this by now. It always plays out the same, she knows every note of this melody by now, the G major of his grins and the C minor of her defiant smiles. She still plays along.)
He kisses her then and she tastes her own blood on his tongue and his lips, something bitter and something sweet and she enjoys the taste every time.
She bites his lip then too (she doesn't do this always, just when she's feeling bold or suicidal, one or the other most definitely). She bites down just a little, just enough to mix her blood with his, just enough to sate her hunger.
She bites just hard enough to win.
(Because when she bites his lip, that's always when he lets go. Control takes a back seat in his mind, then, and only then, and he makes a sound that's more of a growl that anything else she's heard in her life. He's a wolf and that slips her mind sometimes, but he's still a wolf, even if she forgets that.)
He lets go of one of her wrists then, because it's not the first time he's playing this game either.
She feels his hands briefly on her thighs, pulling her dress up and she has her hands free and she could help him, but then this wouldn't last as long, and she wants this as long as she can get it.
(She could get away if she wanted to, she knows this. She wouldn't even have to break a sweat. But this is her choice as much as it's his and it's almost kind of him to hold her down, pretend he's the one making her stay. He pretends to take away her options and that should serve to take away the blame she feels as well. She guesses she'd be more grateful if it actually worked.)
He's looking at her, a million universes in his eyes and her breathing's hitched now and she hates how he can still do this to her.
(After all, she knows this part of the story the best, skin on skin and sweat on sweat and the familiar arching of her back.)
His smile is more teeth than anything else (how fitting, she thinks) as he lowers himself down onto her body and as his lips trace a way down to her thighs. He pulls her panties down to her ankles and then takes them off. His lips find their way across her left thigh and he settles himself near her clit and then he waits. It's like he's trying her out, easing himself in.
(Like this isn't something they've done a million times, like he doesn't know every inch of her skin as well as his own.)
They're fools, both of them.
He's not moved yet, and he's looking up at her from between her legs like this silence of theirs holds the answer to anything. There's no answers, there's just questions neither of them'll answer and he should know this by now about them.
I hate you she says then.(For good measure; because it's fitting; because she does and because she never really will. Because this is the only sort of answer she'll give to him like this; pinned on the floor beneath him, their blood on her lips and the smile of a wolf on his.) But maybe he'll believe her for a second, and maybe then it'll hurt him as much as it sometimes hurts her. Maybe.)
Before his tongue finally meets her clit, he whispers into her skin, a secret that never really was.
No you don't. But you should.