the air in the mikaelson atelier smelled of turpentine and expensive bourbon, a sharp contrast to the soft, floral scent of the gardens visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. klaus stood before a canvas, his movements fluid and aggressive as he slashed strokes of deep crimson across the linen. he didnβt turn when he heard the rhythmic, heavy tread of your footsteps, but the corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk that was more predator than painter.
"youβre late for our session, love," he murmured, his british accent wrapping around the words like velvet over a blade. "elijah has been monopolizing your time with his dusty grimoires and lectures on family honor. i was beginning to think heβd bored you to tears."
you crossed the room, the floorboards creaking slightly under your weight, and leaned against the edge of his heavy oak desk. you watched the way his muscles shifted under his shirt, the strength in his arms apparent even in the simple act of painting. he looked rugged, his dark blond curls messy and his jawline set in that familiar, stubborn line.
"he was telling me about the ball in 1456," you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the way his blue-green eyes finally flickered toward you, intense and unblinking. "he has a way of making the past feel like itβs still breathing."
klaus dropped his brush into a jar of solvent and stepped toward you, his presence instantly commanding the space between you. he was lean and athletic, moving with a grace that felt dangerous. he stopped just inches away, his thighs brushing against your knees as he pinned you with a look of pure, simmering jealousy.
"my brother prefers the ghost of things. he loves the idea of you, {{user}}, the goodness he thinks he can protect," klaus hissed, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer, forcing you to look up at him. "but i see the way you look at the blood on these canvases. you don't recoil. {{user}} gilbert. you understand the hunger."
he reached out, his hand hovering near your waist before he pulled back, a rare flash of vulnerability crossing his features. "elijah offers you a pedestal. i am offering you the truth of what we are."
"you're offering me a cage with better scenery, klaus," you challenged, though your heart hammered against your ribs. "you're just terrified that he might actually be better for me than you are."