Power Plays

by adlyb

Pairing: Klaus/Elena

Rating: R

Spoilers: Alls fair in love and war.

Warnings: Underage sex (Elena's 17), canon typical-violence, explicit sex, bloodplay, vampires, etc.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except these words.

Prompt: I wish you would write a fic where Klaus absconds with Elena's body after the sacrifice but before he learns she's coming back to life.

He planned to burn her body.

The same had been done ten centuries prior to Tatia's remains. He had been the one to discover that ragged, sliced up husk, bled dry and thrown out like so much refuse by his parents, had been the one to build the pyre for her, Elijah working by his side as though in a dream. He'd been the one to set alight her wretched corpse. All of Tatia's otherworldly beauty had been drained from her with her blood, shown to be an illusion of the living. He had mourned her still. Still mourned her now.

There hadn't been time to know this Elena Gilbert who had given him so much, but the least he can do for her is to offer her a proper warrior's send off. And she had been a warrior—he had seen as much in her during their one night together.

For this reason, he'd had her body brought to the dull-as-death-by-old-age history teacher's apartment after the sacrifice.

It's half past seven in the morning two days after the sacrifice. He's had a productive day. Fulfilled the apogee of his true potential. Neatly daggered and boxed up Elijah. Katherine waits for him in the little chair he left her in, stabbing herself endlessly, the floor beneath her feet slick with blood. He ignores her furious attempts to snare his attention and heads to the bedroom, where he knows he shall find Elena Gilbert's cold corpse.

He pauses in the doorway when he sees her. She looks like the princess from a fairy tale asleep her in glass coffin, her long dark hair fanned out beneath her in still shimmering cascades, her skin white as it never was in life, now that she has been drained of blood. A streak of what is still crimson in his mind's eye has dried black against her throat. Hair as dark as ebony, skin as white as snow, throat red with blood.

Once he has the thought, he cannot resist coming to her bedside.

She is far more beautiful dead than Tatia had been. He had been so very careful not to tear her throat more than necessary as he drained her, to hold her tight against him so that she could not thrash, so that she might feel as little pain as possible during her death. It had taken him to the limits of his self-control to be so cautious with her, but now, as he gazes upon her lovely, unblemished face, he is glad of it. This one will burn with all the gifts of her nature intact.

And with her dead, she can no longer wield that beauty as a weapon against him.

He sees no reason not to indulge himself with a kiss.

Her lips are stiff under his, but the illicit thrill of touching her in this way, when he imagines that she would never allow for this alive, makes up for any deficiencies.

That thrill is nothing compared to the shock he receives when her mouth warms and opens against his. For a moment, he's caught in the strange whimsy that his kiss has awakened the sleeping princess after all. The fantasy evaporates like so much mist when she coughs and convulses against him like a fish floundering on dry land.

Klaus starts back, thunderstruck by the gallop of Elena Gilbert's heart kick-starting. He watches, transfixed, as a deep flush re-saturates her skin. Her warm, living breath fans the air as she bolts upright, panting and alive—improbably, incredibly alive.

They stare at each other at a distance of less than a foot. Her eyes have a wild cast to them, like a horse sick with fright, almost seeming to roll in her skull as she takes in the room, and him along with it. She looks like she might sick up at any moment.

"Well, this is rather unexpected," he says, finally. "Did my brother offer you that daft potion? If he did, you were a fool to drink it." If she has, then she is very, very lucky that he has already settled the question of whether the sacrifice succeeded. Nonetheless, he cannot keep the thin edge of menace out of his voice when he poses her the question.

Elena Gilbert emphatically shakes her head no, and then, still looking terrified out of her skin, she asks him, in a small trembly voice, "Am I in transition?"

Of course. Klaus gives her a sharp look, and, swift as lightning, grabs hold of her chin. Her skin is human hot under his fingers, but not feverishly so. He tilts her chin up until she is forced to open her mouth and show him all of her pearly, human teeth. No signs of inflammation or descending fangs. He cocks his head, moving his fingers down to rest against her throat, and listens again to her hummingbird pulse, rapping strong and sure under his fingertips. Nothing laggardly or struggling against Nature's Balance about it at all. He releases her, intrigued and dissatisfied with his findings.

"No, I can't say that you are, sweetheart." Leaving him certain of the Bennet witch's involvement in this most unexpected turn of events. "Which leaves us with a conundrum. You are alive, when you are supposed to be dead. How are we going to fix this?"

That flash of fire he had so admired in her the night of the sacrifice resurfaces in her eyes, subsuming her terror completely. He allows her to knock his hand away, and admires her gall still more when she actually raises her chin and tells him with cold steel in her voice, "You needed me to die to break your curse. I died and your curse was broken. That was the bargain, and I fulfilled it. You never said I had to stay dead." With immense poise, especially for a girl who had been well into rigor mortis not five minutes ago, she climbs from the bed and strides for the door. She pauses only slightly when her eyes land on Katerina, still trapped on her bloodsoaked chair, stabbing herself by rote. But it is a small pause, and he thinks the way she rolls her shoulders back and presses onward for the front door admirable.

He nearly lets her escape before he makes up his mind.

Klaus cuts in front of her and blocks the door. Takes hold of her shoulders and walks her back, until her hips strike the granite kitchen counter behind her.

"I want you to come with me," he tells her.

"What?"

Behind him, Katerina nearly fumbles the knife. The creature displays preservation instincts enough to stay silent, however, so he chooses not to admonish her.

"I'm taking you with me when I leave," he restates, liking the idea more and more as it takes shape in his mind.

"What?" –and this time, it sounds like more of a squawk—"That's insane! Let me go." She tries to push past him, but this time he doesn't let her.

"No, truly." He never has been one for solitude. Now that he's broken his curse and has transcended, he no longer sees a reason to go it alone. And come to think on it, keeping her close is really for the best, should any of his plans go awry. And should any of his new plans, hatching just this very morning as he looks upon this most bewitching of faces, go aright. "I think it's a marvelous idea."

He does not yet realize that her beauty is only one of her weapons, and not even her most deadly.