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Five rivers, black and unending, swirled and meandered down his realm with a howling ferocity that made even the dead and forgotten halt their endless wandering, breathe the sulphur of his lands into unexpandable lungs and relive past slivers of a distant bygone life reflected in it’s thrashing waters, moments of life lifted on one cresting wave and submerged under the next, and then: continue being lost.
The Land of the Dead they called his Kingdom; Death, infinite and final, cloaked his sunless empire from it’s eternal winter, and yet—
He disagrees.
Truly if it was the impenetrable realm of the dead, then explain to him this:
Why does one such as her— light given golden ichor and godly flesh, one with the warmest sunlight woven into her hair and the pink of sunset skies colouring her cheeks; this women with a smile more devastating than every horror his Tartarus could possibly conjure, why does she with her tender bloodstained hands, hold him by his cheek, press her forehead to his, with breath a tickle against his lips and whisper this:
You are my home.
She’s running through the fields, her hair a wild whip behind her, her hands stroking every dried, dead shrub she touches, life sparking and spreading into each blade she runs past, as the black burnt field slowly and cautiously comes to life around her, it’s wary in its sway yet barely holds back as it rejoices in it’s revival, and from her comes this sound, free and unfettered, something one wouldn’t want to hear in the Underworld: she’s laughing.
Loud and shrill and uninhibited, as she runs and runs, bringing the field to beautiful vibrant life, and he—
He chases like he promised he always would.
Their sunless sky is only a roiling dither of thick, thick smoke from the fires of their land, the sulphur that’s always in the air, and the ascending screams of the dead, it swirls above them and groans under the weight of the earth on its shoulders, creaking away under it’s strain, and yet, it shakes loose ash that falls softly with the flutter and touch of an eyelash onto her cheek, a touch that feels as tender as a blooming flower.
She stops abruptly and spins, taking in the endlessness; the eternity this land hoards in both space and time. The grass around her, now green and merry and roused from their sleep, chatter away happily in her ears, babbling away with such vibrance as though they were to catch up on all their missed affairs with one another.
She sees the smoke rise up from it’s pits, and the sulphur froth in it’s fissures, the sky grumbles once more above her and then Tartarus as if to make itself known, rumbles and quakes beneath her feet, and she thinks: The Underworld is simply a reflection of him.
She thinks: she couldn’t have fallen in love with anyone more beautiful.
He catches up to her as she stands, slowly comes to a halt behind her and breathes in the life she’s sparked and sung into the air and fields around them, then, even more tenderly, carefully— as though he is still, after centuries, unsure if what he is doing, his touch, his hand, his presence, will ever amount to anything more than death—slips his arms around her sides to her front and pulls her closer to his chest, lips pressing against the back of her neck, so, so softly; softer than the ashes of their sky.
“This is the perfect spot,” she says, “we should set it all up, right here.” She points to the ground and spins around in his arms,
He hasn't stopped smiling since she took off running into the field, the smile, she sees, has only grown wider, fonder as he chased and she finds that the urge to kiss his dimples till they imprint on her lips has also only grown stronger.
He snaps his fingers, and invisible servants made of swirling white smoke bring forth platters of fruit and cheese, all the warmest spicy breads and the finest ambrosia the Underworld, or the Upper World, could possibly dream of and then, in a blink of an eye, it is all set up on the grassland floor, neatly, conveniently; exactly the way she herself would have done it.
Yet she goes down on her knees and fusses around with the plates and the blanket; moves everything around with shuffling hands and finally after shifting each article to meet her faultless exacting standards, she invites him to join her and he—
He still hasn't stopped smiling.
He rarely ever does these days.
“Happy with the spread, love?”
“Very.” She grins up at him, cheeks flushed from her running, shoulders pulled back proudly at her handiwork.
He stands very still, expectant, his smile turns into a smirk and his eyes intent on her darken just a touch.
“Very well then, my love, let us begin.” He says as he lowers himself down beside her, she wastes no time in reclining against him, her back to his chest as he settles his chin on her shoulder and breathes in the scent of her hair.
His arms come around her middle, pulling her back, hoisting her onto his lap where he sits, she goes willingly, and threads her fingers through the hand that rests on her stomach.
She sighs, utter content brimming in her chest, and twists her neck to kiss his stubbled cheek,
“So,” she says eyes sparkling with that ever present glint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “Why’d you bring me all the way here, we could've had this picnic back at the castle, in the Garden.”
She twists fully, thighs astride on either side of his lap, and wraps her arms around his neck, “that way Ceberus could have joined us,” she says tilting her head.
His brows scrunch the slightest bit in annoyance at the suggestion.
“That slobbering mongrel has been hoarding you away enough as it is already,” he holds her tighter for a second, instinctively, and she nearly rolls her eyes, “No, we’re here—”
“Because you got jealous of all the pets and cuddles I give Cerberus and wanted some for yourself.”
Her eyes laughing, she directly raises her hand as if to pat his head in demonstration. He catches it before she can and brings it to his lips smiling fondly, a little exasperatedly, but with more stars in his eyes than she can bring herself to count, so she let’s the little eye roll he learnt from her slip. He kisses her knuckles gently, looking up at her as he takes her hand and places it back on his neck, his hands move up and down her sides as he draws her closer still, and places a kiss to her chin just because he can—
“Truth be told sweetheart, I wouldn't abscond away with you in that manner; risking Ceberus’ wrath like that,” he shuts his eyes and pretends to shudder, not that he can do it properly, what could this man who has conquered all, even death, especially death possibly be afraid of.
“I’m not sure you’ve proven yourself worthy of such a hassle.”
She lets out an offended gasp, “Excuse you—”
She makes to get off his lap and is pulled down back just as immediately, his laugh; a sound the Underworld both fears and marvels at in equal measure rings through the air. The ashen sky above, hearing the commotion, rumbles with him and lets loose more flakes of ash that flutter down to the grass she’s revived, as though they wish to see their master, their King, much more closer, to truly take in this feat, as if they're eager to be part of the cheer.
“My love,” he consoles, “Let me finish— We’re here today, in the open field because I wanted to show you something, something I’ve been working on for the last century,”
The register of his voice grows softer and he loosens his grip on her waist, his lashes flutter close for a second and if he weren't a god himself, she’d think he was muttering a quick prayer of good luck—
It truly bewilders her, the conclusion she draws from this tiny, nearly inconsequential act of his: Her husband was nervous.
The thought does things to her she simply cannot explain; humans and Gods alike, are but two things: either dead or soon to be dead, yet her husband is death himself, he is, as death is, the final one. This carousel wave brings forth every tidal surge of life, century after century, generation after generation, to the shores of his asphodel and shatters these cresting waves onto his sulphur soaked rocks and leaves them as nothing but memories of a space once occupied. This man who has made death his home and eternity but his humble servant, what could he possibly have to be nervous for—
“This is for you.” He says, as though answering her musings, but he isn't, he is instead tilting her chin upwards, and urges her to look at the sky.
She looks up only to see that, all at once, the swirling thicket of dense black smoke and sulphur, slowly, gently parts, as though the heavens themselves have descended with unholy intentions into the underworld, the swirling clouds of black dissipate, thinner and thinner as they dissipate.
Caroline is struck with wonder as she takes it all in, never before has she witnessed such a feat, and she barely thinks she will again, the skies sigh and part, the smoke howls it’s departure and slinks away— where, she does not know. How, she doesn't even begin to contemplate
“A favour from our dear friend Nyx.” He says as a way of explanation. “She made the night sky available to us.”
“Wait, she did this?”
He’s very quick to correct her, “No, no I did, she just,” he gestures vaguely at the sky, “cleared out the smoke.”
Caroline laughs at his miffed expression, and kisses his nose in consolation.
“Don’t worry, I’m planning to have thank-you sex, for uh…whatever this is,” she looks up just a tad confused but no less in marvel, “with no-one else but you.”
His eyes darken and his hold on her waist slides up dangerously close to her breasts, he kisses her neck once, then twice, before turning her around again, back to chest, and holds her in front of him, she shifts at his urging and settles back down with a sigh.
The smoke clears up completely, and to her utter and unfettered delight, it opens up to show the night sky of the world above, dotted with a billion and one stars, all gleaming, twinkling, winking at her. The sight is beyond breath-taking, and she feels her chest tighten at the sheer beauty of it; millennia she’s lived in this realm after removing her obligation of spring to the over-world entirely, and she would change nothing about it, and yet, the night sky, the vast immensity of it, the endless glimmer and the reach of stars that whisper the name of legends that pre-dated even her, the same stars that have guided and lit the path of every human since time immemorial, it gleams before her with such permanence, and she does not feel a lick of guilt in admitting she missed it.
She sighs in delight and rests against him.
“A night of stargazing from the Underworld, with all the richest food in all the realms, and such fine company to share it with,” she grins brightly up at him, nestled against his chest, only to immediately sober up and ask seriously: “You know what this means for your reputation right?”
He shrugs, amusement bright and dancing in his eyes, "I wouldn't know love," he presses a kiss to her temple, "tell me, what does it mean?"
“It means you're a sap. I mean, a sap I love, but still.” she shrugs, “a sap.” And as usual, there's Always a brilliant smile on her face when she insults him.
He chuckles, dimples bracketing his smile, and pinches her side, she twists away with a yelp and a glare not even she would believe..
“All I heard was that you love me, nothing else registered,” He kisses the back of her head, and breathes in her scent, “Nothing else matters.”
These are the times when she believes even the immortality of being divine couldn't save her from the way her heart splits into two, one half for her to keep, the other begging to be placed within Klaus.
She looks down at her hands resting over his on her stomach, and speaks softly “You’re just proving my point, you sap.”
He only smiles wider, as he always does, and presses his face to the back of her neck, mumbling something about how it's not the worst moniker hurled at him by his beloved. He places his chin on her shoulder again and urges her to look at the sky,
“I have a gift for you,”
“Yeah, I see,” she says as she keeps her eyes on the night sky, her gaze never straying, how could it possibly stray; she’s sure he can see that the glimmer of the sky in her eyes isn't entirely just the stars, “It’s beautiful.”
“No, love, look there’s a gift for you”
She’s about to say with more spirit, that she was Indeed, looking, but he instead tilts her chin up once again and points at a certain portion of the night sky, right above them.
“There, do you see it?”
“See what?”
He picks up her hand and points with it, cheek pressed against hers, lips nothing more than a soft whisper, “Now, there, do you see it?”
“What am I supposed to see—Oh my gods.”
She stops breathing all together,
“K-klaus—” her voice wavers along the syllables of his name.
He’s looking only at her, eyes never straying, smile ever softening, and dimples ridiculously endearing as ever.
“Oh my gods, is that? Is that....Oh Olympus—Is that a h-hummingbird?”
He doesn't say anything, he only nods.
And then in the weakest voice she’s ever heard slip out of her mouth, “Is that—is that for me?”
“I call this constellation: Caroline.”
“Klaus, you’re joking.”
“Utterly serious, my love.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“We could continue like this forever, but, yes.”
She doesn't reply, only stares at the sky and then at him, eyes wet with a thin film of everything she’s feeling barely kept from falling.
“Today marks a century since the day you poisoned and killed the entire Kingdom of Salvatore. I believe such an anniversary should be celebrated. The hummingbird, I thought, was most fitting in this case.”
Caroline let’s out a disbelieving laugh, “That’s today?” She looks back at him, “And you remembered?”
“Well sweetheart, you don't just forget the day your glorious wife poisoned and killed an entire country's worth of deplorable miscreants with just hummingbirds for aid. It’s the sort of brilliance that is appreciably rare to come across, even after countless millennia of existence.”
She honestly wasn't one for humility or modesty, so she basks in the praise, it is true, what she accomplished was utter brilliance, and till this day the plague she single handedly orchestrated that killed generations of rascals the kingdom in question bred, is one of her fondest memories she cherishes.
Years ago, a mortal King by the name Damon of Salvatore Isle, had challenged her power and honour and sullied the sacrality of her chief temple in the mortal world in the most deplorable manner possible; he burnt down the eternal fields of spring that surrounded her place of pilgrimage and tried to tear down her sacred walls of worship, he violated and killed the priestesses of her temple and demolished every idol sculpted in her honour and image that the temple housed, and in its stead built a palace for his own comfort and residence, he believed no goddess of something as trivial and harmless as spring and flowers could possibly be given any more importance than what he already has shown, which is to say none.
He openly challenged her power and all but begged to face duel with her, at which point he was practically asking to be crushed beneath her toe, and so that is exactly what she did.
She, in the beginning, had only targeted the Mortal King and his family but the fickle minded morons he called countrymen, were swayed by his guiling blase words and perpetuated this disrespect that she would not let stand, and so she set into motion a series of events that would end in the slow and painful death of thousands.
She first conjured a flock of hummingbirds she created out of the emeralds and sapphires of the underworld and coated each of their beaks with water from the River Phlegethon, she sent these birds to the surface with the instruction to drink nectar from every flowering plant the kingdom grew, knowing that just the faintest trace of the river was enough to poison every bundle and sac of produce these thankless people would harvest in their season of reaping
She poisoned the people with their own harvest and their bounty ran red, sickness and ailment plagued their lands, the poison of the River eating them from the inside out, the people were nothing but breathing festering wounds in a matter of months.
The Underworld saw a steady influx of the dead on any good day, but the months Caroline wrecked havoc and death above ground where the days when even the fates couldn't keep up with the amount of lifelines severed.
Klaus of course, was absolutely delighted by the festivities and believed it to be a joyous occasion meant to be celebrated amongst his brethren. She remembers that never were the pits of tartarus more vocal in their screams and wails and howls of anguish as they were on the day Klaus decided to celebrate her vengeance. She believes even the humans living in the world above could hear their shrieking pleas for mercy or death, but death is not a luxury granted twice, and so they went away and into the frothing bowels of the Underworld, leaving behind the perfect symphony of victory to ring in her ears even centuries later.
She was surprised Klaus did not choose a similar avenue of celebration this time around, anniversary and all considered, but she should’ve never have fooled herself into believing she could predict his every next move, so of course he instead goes and does the unthinkable—
“But this, this is impossible, you don’t just make new stars, or a whole freaking constellation! The universe decides if you get one, and if you don’t, well you don’t. Even you don’t have power over fate Klaus, I just—I don’t understand.”
The constellation was that of a hummingbird, 8 stars that depicted a beak, two spread wings, and a tail all arranged in perfect precision .
“Tell me my love, do you believe me to be a man easily hindered by something as fickle as fate?”
The arrogance practically oozes out of him, and honestly she’d love him no other way, but right now, she’d just like answers to her queries—
“There’s a reason this took an entire century Caroline, I shall not divulge the gorey details today, I’m told it supposedly ruins the ‘mood’” He pauses and then smirks his I’m-imagining-you-naked-and-it’s-glorious-smirk, “but knowing you, gorey details is precisely how you get into the mood.”
“Exactly, gorey is sexy. So. Spill.”
“Soon my love, but first I want to hear what you think?” And out surges the nervousness that colours his eyes and slackens his fingers, that leaves her heart flailing for purchase at the very thought that he is capable of this.
“Do you—Do you like it?”
“You’re kidding me right?” She looks at him in exasperation, where she's on his lap, “Klaus I can’t—I cant wrap my head around this, this is marvellous, this is just, I don’t even know what to say. I mean sure! You’re the King of the Underworld and a dramatic sap with expensive tastes, but the Best I’d expect was probably a garden full of ruby roses with stems carved from only the finest of bone. I mean you are the god of all precious gemstones, and also, uh, death, so it’s like, right up your alley, but this? This— this is just—Gods.”
She knows he won't even try to not be smug.
She twists completely on his lap, knees astride him and chest pressed to his, she takes his face in her hands with gentle fingers and holds her forehead to his, her breath fanning his face, she speaks on to his lips, a mere hairbreadth away as they are:
“I am going to kiss you; kiss the breath out of you, like all of it, so that you feel exactly what I’m feeling right now because clearly millenia worth of words and languages are failing me but you need to know just how much I adore this.”
Plush lips collide and she moans at the first taste of him, he holds her closer and tighter, grabs her hips and pulls her down into just the right angle, making them both groan in anticipation of what’s to come.
She is devastatingly soft on his lips, yet she bites him when he least expects it and then soothes his lips with her own just to ravish him again.
“S-sweetheart lay back down.” He says, breathless as he lowers her onto the grass around, sunshine hair spreading beneath her and starts working the gauzy white dress she wears with bright flowers and leaves embroidered into the hem and sleeves, he isnt patient, and goes to rip the gown before she can stop him.
He doesn't let her grumble of disapproval go any further and smothers it with a kiss to her addictive lips, he divests her completely off her clothes and watches as her soft flushed breasts spill out of the dress, all that milky creamy skin, glinting in starlight, on display awakens a feral greed in him for every inch of her, he swoops down without wasting a second to nibble and kiss her skin, lips pressed against her soft breasts as he takes his time listening to her moan his name with so much need and lust coating her voice, it drives him mad beyond words,
“Keep letting out those moans for me sweetheart and I’ll fill you with my cock only to make you beg for each thrust exactly like that.”
That, by design, does not help her predicament as she spirals further into being a moaning writhing temptress of desire beneath him,
He doesn't relent with his ministrations, and nibbles and sucks on one nipple, laving at it, while pulling and twisting the other with his fingers, he keeps it up until he is sure His Caroline couldnt take the torture a second longer before relenting and moving further south, she shivers and moans when he kisses down her stomach, and then whispers profanities when he’s lavishing his attention on her inner thighs, yet he takes his sweet time kissing and licking the soft skin there, and that was not amenable to his beautiful queen it would seem,
“Klaus please, I need you,” she spreads her legs further for him, he sees her folds glistening with wetness and the sight makes his hardened cock twitch in his pants, yet he continues his ministrations on her inner thigh, while King of the Underworld he may be, he is by no means a cruel lover so he strokes her folds gently, parts them and rubs her where she’s most sensitive, he keeps his circles tight and constant, and her legs all but start trembling, she keeps her eyes close and mouth slightly open as he replaces his finger with his mouth, and sucks her clit between his lips, her moans getting louder and louder, head twisting side to side, her shaking legs swung over his shoulders.
She starts mumbling incoherently as he increases the pressure on her clit, a string of profanities and pleas spilling out of her lips that she then bites in pleasure, the act doing absolutely nothing to relieve his own arousal, only serving to arouse him maddeningly more
He looks up at her to see her eyes open and dark, a flush sat high on her cheek and the little gasps and moans she let out for each swirl of his tongue only makes him want to drive his cock into her with no more pre-amble, but he resists, instead he completely removes himself from her, and the look on her face as though terribly wronged doesn't stay on for long when he picks her up and returns her to her original position on his lap, his chest to her back and ushers her to put both of her legs over and astride his, he spreads them further by bringing up his knee as his hand wanders down her naked body, palming her flushed heaving breasts and softly caressing her stomach as he trails his questing fingers down to her folds, he runs two fingers along the glistening seam of her coating his fingers in her arousal, and groans with eyes closed at how wet she is before he brings them up before her to show her her arousal clinging to his fingers,
“Look at you love” he brings his fingers to his lips and tastes them, hums his pleasure and nuzzles her exposed neck, “So wet for me,” He says as he places his hand back on her, while gently parting her folds. He fills her with two fingers and hooks them inside her, making her moan brokenly, lust and need thick in her voice.
“Look at the sky and try to keep count of the stars, sweetheart, each time you lose count, start over again, let’s see how far along you can get.” He says, as he tilts her head up to the sky, smirking smugly, a challenge in his voice.
She tries to twist around, presumably to look at him with her patented look of incredulity sat high on her eyebrows, but he doesn't give her the chance; he sinks a third finger into her warm wetness and begins pumping in and out of her in a steady but unrelenting pace, she moans at the fullness of three fingers stretching her open as her pleasure soars, and let’s her head fall back onto his shoulders, her voice breaking along the syllables of his name.
She sounded utterly enchanting, every little gasp and moan intoxicated him, he wanted to hoard every helpless little noise erupting from her lips and collect them all, keep her in such a state until he tired her voice out. Every time she gasped his name, or whispered it in a mumbling sigh, it was a true testament to the strength he showed in his fight against insanity
He pumped his fingers in and out of her as he whispered all the filthy things he’d do to her all night, lips kissing and biting the side of the neck as he pressed her back impossibly closer to his chest. He tells her how he'd love to take her spread out on the field she brought to life and see if he could make her lose control of her powers with a blinding orgasm that would have her single handedly creating a jungle right where they lay, it was after all a night dedicated to celebrating her powers and brilliance.
Caroline can't bring herself to form a coherent response for him and writhes against his chest, moaning his name and sobbing her pleas, the sight so devastatingly beautiful it leaves him wrecked even while it is his fingers plundering her to his heart’s content.
As she gets closer to her high, she clutches onto his forearms and turns her face to bury it in his neck. He does not relent with his fingers picking up speed, sliding in and out of her in a pace that was a stark counter point to the lazy way he pulled on her nipples twisting and pinching them with his other hand, till he can feel her dripping her arousal onto his palm.
"How many have you counted Caroline,"
She doesn't answer him immediately, as if taking time to collect her bearings and then barely mumbles out: "If y-you mean orgasms—” she let’s out a low moan, “—zero, n-no thanks to you."
He chuckles at that, dimples unapologetic in their appearance, and presses down on her clit with his thumb to make tight circles as he drives his fingers knuckle deep into her body in merciless strokes that have her hips jerking up.
“Come for me, Caroline” he says into her ear, his voice dark and touched with gravel, she shivers throughout before going still all together, and then she’s coming with his name on her lips; the most beautiful sight he has ever witnessed.
He keeps going, fingers moving without slowing down, hitting that one sweet spot inside her as she trembles through her orgasm body arching and a continuous chant of his name mingled with profanities slipping from her lips.
He slowly brings down his pace as she all but tries to push his hand away even as she helplessly rolls her hips against his fingers for more
She lets out these sweet little gasps and sighs with each roll of her hips that he wants to swallow with a kiss, and so he does, twisting her face to him, he kisses her, slow and wet and a little messy, till he feels her clench down on the fingers still gently moving inside her, renewed wetness coating his fingers, as she mumbles his name against his lips.
“I- I counted…73, or 37, I’m not really sure, but one of those two.” She says as her head once again falls back on his shoulders.
He laughs out loud, doesn't bother holding back any smugness that would warrant a smack to his shoulders, he gently pulls out his fingers but doesn't remove them any further; he cups her flesh and continues lavishing her neck with kisses, sucking and biting giving her time to come down from her pleasure, but before he could make a quip about how millennia old goddesses who rule and run the Underworld full-time should be better at counting, he finds himself pressed to the ground.
A smiling, gloriously naked, flushed and breathless Caroline above him, he already knows she doesn't even have to hold him down to keep him there.
“Ok, now my turn, you count. Let’s see if you can make it past 20”
He chuckles easily as she undresses him, a challenge readily accepted.
He would spend all eternity counting every star in the sky with her if that meant he could keep her always and forever, and even if the sky ran out of stars for them to count, he could always just hang more stars in the sky for her.
He asks his rivers this: Why.
He asks his souls this: Does she know? He is death, and everything after.
He asks his skies that rumble and groan with the weight of the world above: Why does she welcome death, with such warmth spanning the width of her open arms?
His realm remains silent as always; silent as death.
He didn't expect anything different.
And yet the heavens ushers her clouds closer, veils her striking rays behind them, as cowardly as ever, when he looks up in question, it says with cheek still turned away, eyes seeing behind his head: we wouldn’t know, we couldn’t tame her.
She then adds, guile and temptation and another hundred different unheavenly things washed away to sinless innocence in her voice: maybe you can?
And he laughs; what fools they have been, what fools the gods have always been.
Do they know she is capable of doing something much more monstrous than destroying either realm; Do they know she could destroy both?
Do they not know that he has already been destroyed: He—he loves her.
And do they know, he, Death given ichor and bone and a broken heart, never knew death could be so, so sweet.