We Weren't Perfect | Klaus Mikaelson

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Heart Of His World

Klaus' mind was filled with her, no matter how hard he tried to shake her, it was impossible.

Everything he drew was her. There was nothing he could do, to stop himself. She was his whole vision, she was his burden to hold.

Rebekah walked in, looking at the array of drawings.

"I thought, you'd have gone by now. Elijah's leaving. Kol has fleed. Esther and Finn are gone too" he declared, pulling out the pages of his sketchbook and scattering them across the table.

"I hated you when I learned you killed out other" Rebekah suddenly declared, drawing Klaus' attention for a moment. "I realise now, that after a thousand years together, as a family you're the only one who never left me."

"Well, aren't we a pair" Klaus muttered, begging to stack the pages back up on top of each other.

"And you seem to think, that after a thousand years, I wouldn't realise when you were in love" she commented, smiling at the sketches in her hands. "She's Bonnie's friend. Esme's isn't it."

Klaus' attention was centred on Rebekah. He couldn't- he wouldn't risk her exposing him and Esme to Mystic Falls if she tried, he would dagger her without a second thought. He knew that much.

"You caught me," he said, with no emotion. "Last time I checked, you were sleeping with Damon Salvatore, so let us not judge me too quick" he commented. He dropped his sketchbook onto the table and waited for Rebekah to say something, else.

"Is this what you do with your time then?" she asked him, a hand on her hip. "Draw pictures of girls you fancy?"

"Shut up Rebekah" Klaus muttered, snatching the pictures out of her hands. "Go back, to kissing Damon" he snarled.

"Hey!" she yelled, after him. "I'm not the one, drawing creping crush pictures!" she called after him but he was already gone.

~*~

Esme resigned.

The money from her grandfather's will had finally come back. With the full total of four hundred and seventy-three thousand dollars, she saw no reason to work as a bartender, anymore.

She wanted to do art, and that's what she intended to do.

But of course, she was cut short by Mystic Falls drama.

Mystic Falls, had a serial killer, on its hand.

Esme's number one suspicion was, of course, Damon Salvatore, but he was persistent it wasn't him, so she gave in and went to ask Klaus.

She found herself, armoured by the mansion architecture, every time she walked through its doors. She could always tell, that Klaus was an artist. Every part of his life, every piece of the world that he could control had a meaning. When he was in control, the world around him bloomed.

"I would offer, to let you move in, but I know what your answer would be" Klaus declared, appearing behind her, wrapping one of his arms wrapping over her shoulder.

She smiled, letting herself, lean into his chest. That was until she remembered why she was there. "Have you been murdering members of the council?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Klaus scoffed, staring at her confused. "What?" he chuckled.

"Damon said he didn't do it and I ... I want to rule out every possibility" she explained.

Klaus scoffed again, shaking his head. "So you come straight to me, with accusations?" he asked. "Thought you knew me better than that."

"I do" she sighed, already regretting her comment. "Can you just say you didn't do it and put my mind to rest?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around her waist. "I didn't do it, but you can tell Mystic Falls, I did if it puts their mind at rest," he said, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. "Or you can stay, and we can admire my amazing architecture" he whispered, in her ear.

She smiled, there was nothing she wanted more than Mystic Falls, which had made her paranoid. "Klaus" she whispered.

He hushed her, letting his hands slip down her waist slightly. "Let's get out of this town. Have fun" he whispered, in her ear.

She rolled her eyes, catching a glimpse of a sketch. "Is that me?" she asked, a smile spreading over her lips.

She noticed the way Klaus' head dropped, in shame.  "I um" he wander over, standing by her side. "I couldn't get you off my mind, so I drew you, hoping it would help" he admitted.

"Did it?" she asked, rifling through the pile.

"No" he muttered, handing her a drawing of the two of them in Chicago. "I drew that the night we came back to Mystic Falls and this ..." he headed her a drawing of her bent over painting and one, of her behind a bar. "... and this is the night we met."

Her eyes flickered up, to meet his. "You remember" she whispered. "Every detail" she chuckled.

"Like it was yesterday" he whispered, letting his arm rest on her hip, once again.

"Glad to know, I torment you" she chuckled, letting herself fall into his hold. She looked back up at him and his eyes hadn't moved an inch. "I can't stop drawing this, house" she admitted.

"You can't do realism," he said.

She smiled, at his memory. He remembered every single detail, she had the utmost admiration, for that side of him. He didn't miss, a single thing. Every detail remained fresh in his mind.

"I don't know, how you remember all of this" she muttered to herself.

"After a thousand years, you have to learn, to remember the little things," he said, with a teasing smile on his lips.

She let herself go.

She let her head fall onto Klaus' chest, and his arm tightened, around her waist. Her heart was thundering against her chest as she turned to look Klaus in the eyes letting her lips fall against his.

It felt like they had kissed a thousand times before. She could feel herself falling more in love, every time she looked at him. She felt like, they were entangled in each other's minds, constantly.

Klaus pushed her against the bed, his fingers skimming her inner thigh as her breath caught in her throat, and her heart was beating against her ribs.

He explored, every inch of her body, for hours upon end.

Her skin was his canvas and he was a true artist. He painted her skin, in shades of red, planting lilies on every inch of her skin, that he could reach. He pained all night, without giving himself a moment, to rest.

He could handle breath without touching her. She was the only thing, that mattered in his mind.

She was the heat of his world.