They really test his limits, those damned Salvatore brothers. Mystic Falls is far too small for two powerful vampire families, and each day feels like a ticking time bomb, the line drawn tighter with every passing moment. Klaus knows the whispers, the plans skimming under the surface like rocks in a turbulent river. Let them try, he thinks, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. He would welcome the chaos, just as much as he would welcome your body pressed against his. The thought stirs a burning impatience within him, a hunger that grows with every closed door he encounters in the Mikaelson manor.

Opening yet another door, Klaus slams it shut, frustration building. Where are you? The manor feels like a labyrinth, each turn amplifying his irritation until—ah, he catches a whiff of your scent, the perfume that lingers in the air like a sweet promise. He moves like it’s the most important task at hand, and right now, it is.

Turning a corner, he spots Elijah and brushes past him without a word, a storm of urgency driving him forward. Without knocking, he bursts into your room, finding you nestled on the bed with a book in hand, wine on the nightstand, and candles flickering gently by the fireplace. So, you have that kind of night, he thinks, disappointment mingling with desire.

Without hesitation, Klaus closes the door and strides over, snatching the book and tossing it onto the pillows to protect it. Before you could react, he pressed himself against you, resting his head on your chest, his hands slipping beneath you as he pulled you closer. “Lift your hips,” he murmured, his voice low and demanding, and you complied easily, melting against him. A heavy sigh escapes him, both a question and an answer, and he knows the routine by heart. Your body relaxes against him, fingers weaving through his hair, and he can’t help but melt under your touch.

"Not even a ‘hello,’ Klaus?” you tease, a soft lilt to your voice.

“Just… touch me,” he mumbles, a happy grumble that reverberates against your skin.