wholeworldoutthere | (no subject)

She makes a soft sound against his mouth that's not anger or irritation or anything else besides this, and as he moved on, as the kiss changed she ended up letting her hand slip from his hair to the base of his neck, the other down to his chest as she gives herself into it, the kiss sweet if still passionate, and it's like a dance that he's teaching her the steps to as she knows he's doing this on purpose even if she can't think as to why.

Eventually, he pulls back, even though he's fairly certain that he could literally kiss her like this for hours on end. But now that the kiss has said, now that she's back with him, he has to tell her, "I don't think you're going to die. In fact, I have every intention of making sure that you stay alive, Caroline." It's said in a low murmur that her ears should easily pick up, his tone the very continuation of that kiss as he looks at her, looks at her like he sees her, brushing hair back from her face, fingertips tracing her jaw, all manners of small touches as his other hand covers hers on his chest. "You're not going to die. I'm going to make sure of it."

Her eyes are shiny, and she stares up at him, her eyes searching his, and it's not that she doesn't believe him, really - it's not that she doesn't believe that he'll try, but she's had so many things happen over the last few months, and she's so scared. She's not scared of him, but maybe that's why she had been so angry, so angry about coming in second, to him. It wasn't about him not liking her, or anything like that, but that she's playing a game she can't win by herself, and she feels sort of like nobody's in her corner except him. And it's not a relationship thing, it's not why she's kissing him, but it's just a fact that she doesn't understand why he keeps saving her when they're not friends and they're not dating, but when he kisses her this way, she wonders if she knows.

"Tell me you'd miss me if something happens." She whispers it, and it's not like she has a death wish, but she's afraid, and she doesn't feel like in this second that she ever wants him to let her go, her hand still on his chest, still standing so close to him her dress is against his legs. "Lie, I don't care, I just- Please, tell me?"

"Nothing's going to happen," Klaus answers, because nothing is. If she goes missing like the others on the station, he will dismantle it piece by piece until he finds something, anything to either get to her, or get to their captors. Make them pay. "Nothing," he tells her, "and I'm not going to lie. I don't need to lie. I wouldn't have saved you if I didn't care."

He cares for few people enough, but when he cares, he cares hard. It's not love yet, and to be honest he's not even sure he's capable of love anymore, he's not even sure he ever was, he's not even sure Mikael didn't spoil him for that kind of love, but it's the beginning of something that could be so much more, if they let it grow. Of course he would miss her, but he's not going to, because nothing's going to happen.

She nods, and she can't stop the way her eyes water and he ends up with tears on his fingers. She gives a little self-depreciating laugh, and shakes her head, still not saying anything, and then she looks up at him, shrugging like what're you going to do? "Can we try this again? I'm just- I'm scared. And I don't want to go home, and we can talk, and Klaus-" It's the first time she's said his name to him since she's arrived, and she's staring up at him, and she leans up to kiss him, and it's sweet and oddly innocent and it's Caroline, real, honest, not putting on a sham Caroline, and she's pouring herself into it because she's made a choice about that, too, and this is it.

Klaus feels a wave of warm relief wash through him, and he knows that she's a little drunk, or maybe more than a little, but it still feels so genuine, this kiss, cupping her face with one hand again, the other one wrapping more snugly around hers, and it feels like his heart is beating too strongly for his chest, like it might implode any moment. "Spend the night," he offers, when he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers, opening his eyes to look into hers. "Spend the night, and we can talk, or we can sleep, or we can just lie there and be."

She smiles, and she's feeling shy because she feels like he can see something in her because he's so close. "Yeah," she breathes, even as she slips away from where his forehead presses against hers, her face pressed against his neck instead as she folds herself against him, her hand still on his chest. She's a lot drunk, and she's going to be for a while until she's got a hangover that'd drop an elephant - the blue drink was Romulan Ale, and there's a reason it's an outlawed fictional drink - but right now she's curled in his arms and letting him hold her and it feels good.

"I want to stay," she says, and she presses a kiss against his neck, soft and short, before she sighs. "I don't have pajamas, you're going to have to let me wear yours." Like that's some sort of great trial. She smiles against his throat, and honestly - deep down, she's hoping that she doesn't have another meltdown, because it's tiring and makes her feel like crap, every single time. "And we should dance, because we went to a party and nobody danced, and you should indulge me because I say so." The last sentence is less of a whisper and more of a we should do this, even though she's barefoot and he's just in a t-shirt and pants.

Edited 2012-06-06 02:48 (UTC)

"I don't have any pyjamas," he tells her, with a half-smile, because he doesn't, and why would he? It's always struck him as terribly modern and decadent and him, not wearing any night clothes after so many centuries when he used to. "But I can do something about the dancing," he assures her, and presses a kiss to her ear, since her face is in his neck and it's the closest patch of skin he can get to, before he lets her go and moves, to go grab his communicator from the bed. He throws it at her. "Pick your music, love."

Because that's one thing he doesn't know, what kind of music she even likes, and this is for her, and he takes his shoes and socks off while she picks. He has no intention of stepping on her feet, that's not what it's about. It's about equal footing, really.

She rolls her eyes as she shakes her head, her forehead still against his neck, before he lets her go and it's weirdly disorienting because of the drunk, but she manages, and sits on the edge of his bed, her brows furrowing as she scrolls through, as she thinks, and it takes her a few minutes, until she finds the album name, and that works. She pauses it once she knows it's the right song, and she holds it out, knowing he can grab her hand as well when he wants her on her feet. Because apparently drunk also means she's a little lazy.

Klaus takes the communicator from her, presses play, barely looking at what she chose, and as the sound of a piano - and a fire in the background - start to sound in the room, he pushes the comm louder, and puts it down on the nearby dressed, so it's higher up than if it were on the bed.

Then he comes back to her, amused and surprised by her choice of song, but it works, and he holds out his hand to her. "Dance with me," he requests with a smile, as if it hasn't been the plan all along.

Caroline smiles, and she takes his hand as she pulls herself to her feet, and she sighs. "Why, I never thought you'd ask." And she's smiling, as letting him lead but it's not formal the way it's been before, it's not stiff, it's just her hand in his and her hand on his shoulder and she's actually relaxing from her super-keyed-up-always-stressed-neurotic-control-freak mindset so that she can just stare up into his eyes, speaking only after a minute or two, her voice soft. "If you could have anything- anything, what would it be?"

And her eyes search his like there's some deeper answer there, like she'll find it and then a lot of things that don't right now will make sense again.

Klaus is just glad to look into her eyes as they dance to the piano and the fire, and it's simple and casual, and just the two of them, and there's a hint of a smile on his lips and a happiness in his eyes. This is the best dance they could have, but then she asks her question, and his gaze darkens. Not in anger, but in sorrow.

He doesn't know what he wants most, he doesn't know how much anything is truly anything, but then in the end there is only one answer that would still lead them here, to this moment. "I'd bring Finn back to life."

They haven't talked about it since the day he went and found her to find out more about it, but it is true, right then. He doesn't even think about going back to their world, because right now, in this moment, he is happy.

Her eyes soften, and she lets go of his hand, her arms slipping around his neck as they don't stop moving, but she's hugging him, her lips against his cheek and her eyes closed as she holds him tight for that one second, and she wishes - really, truly wishes that she could bring his brother back for him, that all of this could have stopped, but she just pulls back after those few moments to press a kiss to his lips, and then to step back to where she had been, to take his hand if he's still offering.

Because she doesn't have words, because she knows how it hurts, and it's all she can do, to hold him close and then nod, because she understands. She doesn't ask anything else, because what can she say, and she lets him.... not talk, or talk, or ask, or not ask, just how he chooses.

It's a surprise, an actual surprise, to suddenly be hugged. He doesn't know if he's ever been hugged quite this way before. Part of him tries to feel offended, because he doesn't want her pity, but he knows that it isn't pity, it's compassion, and it's Caroline, so he hushes that part of him, and gets over his surprise to hug her back, like it isn't a completely foreign thing to him, being hugged so genuinely. A few seconds more, and he turns his head slightly so that he's breathing against her neck, smelling the smell that is just her because there's no perfume for her to put on, here, and he kisses her neck softly, thankfully, because he can't put any of it into words, or he won't.

Then she pulls back and kisses him, and nods, and he nods back, because he knows that she knows, her father, his brother, and they go back to dancing, and he still has no words to say.

Caroline has no idea how long they swayed and turned and were just there with each other, but neither of them speak until the music runs out and she slips her arms back around his neck. She stands in his arms, just breathing for as long as she can, as long as she can without it feeling weird, and she pulls back, her voice low and quiet. "I'm just going to grab one of your shirts, okay?" And she pulls away to tuck herself in the bathroom so she can change, and it's better than the last time because she's not sobbing, she's not covered in blood, and she's not hiding a secret from him.

She leaves her clothes in a puddle in the corner of the bathroom because she doesn't really care this second, and she takes out the hairpins and leaves them on the sink. When she comes back, he's in a t-shirt and boxers, and she's not surprised, because he's the least come-onny guy that she knows, and she still slips into his bed like she sort of belongs, and when it's dark and he can see sort of but not a lot, she feels the dip of the bed and she reaches to brush the hair out of his face. "Can I kiss you again without it being a totally weird come-on?" Because- because she wants to be close, she wants to cuddle and kiss him but he's not acting like he wants-her wants-her, and she doesn't know if that's okay but it seems like it might be. Unless he actually wants her, and she doesn't know how she feels about that. But just a kiss... that, that was doable.

"I don't see how it could be a weird come-on unless you wanted it to be," he points out, and his eyes have accommodated enough to the darkness by then that he can make her out fairly well, reaching out to push her hair back, fingers lost in the thick of it as he closes the distance between them and kisses. Of course he wants her, but they have time, and he's in no hurry. He doesn't want to rush this, and he's glad for this, for just a kiss, for the way it made his heart tighten in the best of ways, and while they kiss he pulls her closer, and into his arms, because if she's spending the night she's not getting out of that much if he can help it.

She laughs and it's breathy as finally he kisses her first and she sort of slides into him, and it starts sweet, it does, and that sort of low-burning fire thing that they've had going since they'd stopped being pissed at one another, but it changes. She changes it, making a low noise in her throat, and she's kissing him with promise, with more heat, and she can't really stop the way her leg slides up the outside of his, her bare foot against his calf.

Her leg slips higher, and she's not really thinking with her real brain, she's sort of thinking with her wants to get laid brain, because her real brain knows that this is probably not the best plan even though all she wants is for him to touch her.

It all feels so very natural, and his hand naturally finds it way to the underside of her thigh, soft bare skin and if she pressed just a little closer, she would have no doubt of the effect she has on him. Of course he wants her, but he's not going to, not so soon, and even less so when she's a little drunk. So he pulls back from the kiss, and reminds her, a murmur against her lips, "Not a come-on, love, weird or otherwise," and he puts his hand from her thigh on her back, where it's safer, tugging the shirt down where it's ridden up, and he kisses her again, gentle and brief, forcing the heat out of it, no matter how much he wants it, low fire kindled deep inside him.

She makes a noise that's pure disappointment, and she murmurs against his mouth before he pulls back- "There's nothing wrong with making out." Although she's hoping that making out becomes more than making out, and that's a bad idea, and she just sighs, her forehead against his.

"I like it when you touch me," she whispers, and she shakes her head, shifting so that they can still be curled together, and her thigh's still bare on his but it's shifted back a little so it's her ankle against the side of his calf instead of the heel on the back of it, and she sighs, knowing she should just go to sleep.

"And I will touch you more," he tells her, and it's a promise breathed against her lips, breathed with how much he wants to be touching her more right now. For a few moments, he thinks, maybe this morning, she would have sobered up by morning, and if she has a hangover, endorphin would help - rationalisation to justify the very vivid image of his head between her thighs, but he forces himself to dismiss it, because she's right there, in his shirt, and she wants him, so he has to dismiss it. He's glad they're whispering, or it would be all too obvious how husky his voice is. "There's nothing wrong with making out, but we won't want to stop."

"But I don't want to stop," she whispers back, and she pulls in a breath right before she kisses him, and it's brief, and she almost whines with the noise she makes, and then her cheeks are burning and she bites her lip, knowing that this is not- that she really needs to not push. It's not fair. He's being a good guy, and it's not fair, and she finally speaks quietly. "If you don't-" She licks her lips, and her eyes find his in the darkness. "We can just go to sleep, if that's what you want." She's giving him an out.

What he wants - what he wants is not to sleep, and sleep is very unattainable right now anyway, with her there and kissing him, half naked and asking for more. "I don't think I could sleep right now," he answers, and means it, and he wants to kiss her again, her lips so close to his, so tempting, and he almost does, but he wants to wait. Wait until she's no longer drunk, wait until she knows what she's doing. "But you said it yourself. The blue thing was really strong."

She's staring at his mouth, and her breath isn't calm and slow, it's quick and she's trying to not press closer, to not let her leg slip around his hips, and it's hard. It's difficult, and she takes a deep breath and forces herself to pull back all at once, to roll back on the bed and her breath catches as she stares up at the ceiling, and she's nodding once. "Okay. Okay, I can just- We're okay now, right?" She rolls over, so she's facing the wall, and she can take a deep breath without just throwing herself all over him. "Sorry, I- I know you don't- I want you," she blurts, and she's not facing him because she can't, and she forces herself to take another deep breath.

"So much," he finishes her sentence for her, his hands on her back, stroking it through the fabric of his shirt, because she's not in his arms anymore, and somehow it makes it harder. "I want you so much," he tells her, moving closer to lean his brow against the back of her head, his hips safely away from hers, they don't need that. He breathes in the scent of her hair, a hand still on her back, the other one on her arm, focusing on the points of contact and not moving, not doing anything, no matter what passes through his mind, and for once he's glad for whatever limits their abilities, or he might have unwillingly passed the visions on to Caroline.

It would be the easiest thing. It would be the easiest thing to take his hand, to move it, but she's not, she's not doing that, she's lying instead perfectly still, so still she's barely breathing, because it would be the easiest thing so she has to force herself not too. She breathes in and out slowly, because she's got to calm herself down and she knows it, and it's only fair.

"Goodnight," she says softly, to the air of his room instead of to him.