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Branches hit her face as she runs through the trees, and her feet keep slipping on the moist forest ground. Her breath is loud and ragged in her ears. Her heart beats up a storm. The woods lie still and quiet, save for the noises of twigs breaking under her heels. If it was another person following her, she could at least hear how close they are, if she perhaps managed to shake them off, but the wolf pursuing her is deadly silent – too fast to be outrun, too familiar with these woods to be outsmarted.
She turns her head to catch a glimpse and promptly loses her footing, some kind of root peeking through the grass making her stumble, and down she goes. It's less painful than she expected. The soft grass and damp earth break her fall, but at the same time they make it harder for her to find the leverage to pull herself up and get to her feet again, and before she can, a deep growl behind her makes her freeze.
With slow, careful movements, she rolls onto her back.
The wolf stands barely two feet away, poised to jump should she try and get up, yellow eyes fixed on her. She crawls backwards, trying to put some distance between her and the beast, and the growling increases. A wordless warning: Don't move.
"Alright. Okay. I got it," she mutters quietly, going for soothing and probably missing it by miles, too scared to keep the fear from her voice. In response, the wolf falls silent and bares its teeth, white and sharp and glistening with saliva. It almost looks like a smirk.
Of course it's a smirk.
She can keep calling it the wolf in her mind all she wants, like it's some random animal roaming the woods – like she doesn't know better – but none of that will change the fact that this is Klaus, and that he knows exactly what he's doing. A surge of anger almost chokes her, and it's enough to temporarily drown out her fear and make her bold.
"Now what? We both know you're not going to kill me or turn me, not unless you want to give up on your precious supply of doppelganger blood. So what's your game here, Klaus?"
There's no answer, of course. She half-hoped that he'd turn back into his human form just to snark back at her, because even though she hates the way Klaus always knows how to find the exact words to inflict the maximum amount of damage and hit right where it hurts, he's still the devil she knows. The silent, deadly predator she's facing right now is another matter entirely.
He pads closer until he's standing right over her, bending his head to drag his nose along her throat.
Elena forces herself to stay still, letting him scent her, acutely aware of those razor-sharp teeth that could tear into her so easily. His breath is hot against her skin, a stark contrast to the cool morning air. She shivers.
When he moves back, she dares to imagine for a sweet moment that he's about to let her go. Instead, his muzzle dips down and finds its way under her skirt, teeth slicing through the fabric like it's nothing. She doesn't understand where this is going until he pushes against the bottom of her panties, the pressure too insistent and lingering to let her believe that he's merely sniffing her.
She frantically scrambles backwards, away from the touch. "No! No, you don't —"
The wolf jumps, claws sinking in the ragged remains of her skirt, pinning them to the ground on both sides of her hips. Physically, it doesn't quite render her immobile, even though her skirt has become a trap with the whole weight of his body holding it down. But it's the bared teeth and the way those yellow eyes narrow at her that stops her from moving. The expression is pure Klaus – the one that says, Test me and face the consequences.
Fear claws up like spikes inside of her, tearing apart her defiance, and she stays perfectly still as he lowers his head to her groin again. Only this time, he's not pushing; he takes the flimsy cotton of her panties between his teeth – careful, more careful than she's used to from him, wolf or man – and pulls.
They tear as easily as if they were made of paper, and then she's naked, exposed before him, and the thought drives a hot flush of shame and humiliation to her cheeks. There's barely time to consider her situation before his tongue darts out, licking a wet stripe along her folds, and she bucks up against him.
His tongue is rougher and larger than a human's, and the weird, foreign sensation of it moving against her tender flesh is as shocking as it is inadvertently arousing.
She fantasized about this once, shortly after she'd first come face to face with Klaus' werewolf form during her hike in the Smoky Mountains, looking for Stefan. A shameful indulgence in the darkness of her room with her hand between her legs, one that she purged from her thoughts the next morning by writing it down in her diary. She never thought about it again, but the way the soft, golden wolf fur feels brushing against the insides of her thighs makes it all come back, and guilt adds into the heady mix of arousal and disgust.
Some fantasies aren't meant to see the light of day.
Elena squeezes her eyes shut and tries to shut reality out as the wolf's tongue continues to lap at her sex, wet and warm and coarse, circling her clit and pushing at her entrance without penetrating her. Fangs graze softly against her vulnerable skin, and the jolt of adrenaline rushing through her veins makes heat pool tightly in her gut.
The orgasm hits her by surprise. One moment, there's a low-level arousal blanketed by fear and repulsion, the next it breaks through like a wild creature ripping through its cage at a particular insistent flick of that wonderful, horrible tongue, and she gasps out a broken scream as she comes.
She lies back and catches her breath until the pressure of the claws holding her down is suddenly gone. For a second, she thinks he's going to let her up, but then the muzzle is nudging her side, less teasing than directing this time, making her roll over. She knows what's coming even before he pushes her up onto her hands and knees, and she resignedly complies without bothering to protest, her mind still fuzzy and dulled from the unexpected orgasm.
Her hands tighten around the cool, slippery grass as she braces herself, fighting to keep the panic at bay.
The wolf — No. It was inconvenient to think of him as anything but a random beast before, but this is different. Now it's only the knowledge that this is Klaus that will make this bearable. She's not getting fucked by a wild animal, it's only Klaus finding a new way to humiliate her and prove to her that she's his. Klaus, who hosts ridiculously formal dinner parties, who will flirt up a storm one minute and rip out hearts the next, who uses casual cruelty as deflection. Klaus, who might be the most dangerous supernatural creature out there, but whose worst qualities and most fatal flaws are fundamentally human.
But there's nothing human about the way he mounts her as if she's a bitch in heat. The claws scraping along her flanks don't break the skin, but the threat is implied. She's still so wet and loose from her orgasm, there's almost no resistance as his cock breaches her. It's thick and hard, and he doesn't give her the chance to adjust to the girth, fully sheathing himself at once and rutting against her with shallow, forceful thrusts that drive all the air from her lungs. It feels like being split wide open. The angle allows him to go deep, so deep, the coarse fur on his thighs brushing against Elena's ass, and it's horrific and unspeakably hot and everything in-between.
He's panting, hot air fanning across the back of her neck, and she tries to imagine what he'd say if he could talk. No one loves to hear himself talk as much as Klaus does, not even Damon – it must be endlessly frustrating for him to be reduced to animalistic grunts and guttural whines when she can virtually hear the string of filthy comments he'd level at her if he could.
Look at you, love, spreading your legs for me and pretending to hate it even when you're so wet you're dripping.
He'd call her love and sweetheart and make it sound tender rather than condescending, as if they're terms of endearment rather than possession.
Her emotions are a tangled mess. The powerlessness of her situation makes her sick and angry, and every drag of his cock inside her drives that rage and shame and helplessness home, but at the same time it feels so damn good. Her eyes are brimming with tears and yet she can barely stop herself from arching back against him and meeting his thrusts, and her legs are slick and sticky with her own juices.
Elena bows her head and shuts her eyes, trying to steady her breath as his movements lose control and his growls turn into low, harsh howls. The claws scratch her skin, leaving shallow cuts that sting, but the pain barely registers, all of her attention focused on the way the throbbing cock inside her starts swelling. It was big enough before, but now the width is stretching the tight rim of her entrance, and all her nerve ends are on fire. She feels so full. He's barely moving anymore, locked firmly in place by the knot, and she can feel him spilling his seed into her, hot spurs of come coating her insides, like he's marking her, like etching Klaus was here into her flesh.
That's what sends her over the edge, making her tumble head-first into her second orgasm, her cunt tightening around his knot, drawing an almost pained grunt from his throat. She doesn't stop coming for what feels like minutes, even though it's probably much shorter, the spasms running down her legs and making her toes curl, and every throb of her muscles pulls the thick, swollen bottom of his cock further in and sends a fresh wave of gut-wrenching pleasure through her.
It takes a long time until they finally subside, until she can catch her breath again, and the cock buried deep inside of her has stopped twitching. It gets too hard to hold her weight with her arms and she collapses, dragging him down with her. She should try to get away, now that he's spent and exhausted, but they're still tied together, and she cannot quite summon that fight or flight reflex. The ground below her is pillowy and heated from her body, and the fur on the wolf's belly that's covering her back is warm and soft, lulling her into a weird, sleepy sense of safety. All she wants to do is lie down and rest for an hour or two.
Her eyes are still closed when she feels the body behind her changing, fur becoming cool, sweat-slick skin, claws turning into fingers moving gently over her skin. The cock inside her changes too, and it's the weirdest feeling as the knot subsides and the length grows, pushing against her inner walls. It's hard to tell whether it feels good or not – she's so over-sensitized that it's right between discomfort and pleasure, and her ability to tell them apart is shot to hell. She whimpers, instinctively pushing back, more to adjust to the new sensation than to ask for more.
Klaus chuckles, deliberately misinterpreting the gesture. "Well, well, well, looks like my lovely doppelganger is quite insatiable. I'm afraid I'm not up for round two just yet."
She's about to tell him to go to hell when his fingers – human and blunt now – sneak around her body and dip between her thighs and –
Oh!
Callused skin drags over her sore clit, again and again, ruthlessly chasing another orgasm that she didn't think she had in her, not just yet, but already she feels it building up like a tidal wave that's about to crash into her.
When she comes again, it's almost painful. She clenches around the soft, human cock still buried deep inside of her and feels it give an interested little twitch. She makes a small noise of protest.
"Please. No more," she gasps. She hates how her voice sounds all drowsy and blissed-out.
To her surprise, Klaus slips out of her almost at once, the friction making her wince. He turns her onto her back and sits back on his heels. He seems utterly unashamed in his nakedness, unlike Elena, who tries not to squirm under his appraisal, desperately wishing she had something to cover herself with. There are smudges of dirt all over his torso and face and a leaf is stuck to his hair. She doesn't even want to imagine what kind of picture she must make, lying in the grass mauled by a wolf.
"Was that everything you hoped for, sweetheart?"
For a moment, she thinks he's mocking her, but the curl of amusement in his voice is more satisfied than malicious, and it takes her almost embarrassingly long to put two and two together and arrive at four. "You read my diary." The indignation in her voice is genuine, even if the invasion of privacy pales in comparison to the liberties Klaus just took with her.
He smiles that self-satisfied smirk of his that instinctively makes her hackles rise. "Of course I did. I have to say, I was hoping for some detailed spoilers of how you and your little friends are planning to continue being irritating thorns in my side. Werewolf porn wasn't quite what I had in mind. Not that I'm complaining."
"You weren't supposed to read that. No one was! Just because I may have thought about it doesn't mean I wanted it to happen."
Klaus scoffs. "How boringly, predictably human, love. When you've lived long enough, you'll get tired of just thinking about things. You try everything at least once. How else would you know if you like it enough that it's worth doing it again?"
"You're crazy if you think I'll want to do this again. I didn't want it the first time," she says, but she remembers the feel of his fur against her skin, the adrenaline rush of those sharp teeth near her throat, the swell of his knot inside of her, and she already knows that nothing's ever going to compare.
Klaus' smile is as sharp-toothed as the wolf's. "'What sweet lies you tell yourself', the Big Bad Wolf told Little Red Riding Hood, and they lived happily ever after. Well. The happiness is a matter of perspective, I suppose," he quips, and she can't figure out if it's a threat or a promise.
End.