Originally posted on tumblr, for the prompt: "the things you said when we were on top of the world."
"Look at her, sister. The way she watches," Klaus's smirk creeps into his voice as he whispers in Rebekah's ear.
Rebekah extricates her teeth from the manservant's neck, nudging him on his way so she can see the woman Klaus points out.
The maidservant is hardly more than a girl. Golden hair frames her round, pleasant face. Her full lips curve easily into a smile.
This is not the first time Klaus has glimpsed her watching one of them feed—eyes wide, breast heaving in ecstasy.
Her name is Mary…he thinks.
Rebekah thumbs blood off her lower lip and flashes the girl a fanged smile. She gasps and flinches visibly, nearly dropping the platter in her hands.
"She seems just as taken with you as she was with me," Klaus teases. For once, no bitterness wells inside him at the thought of someone else looking at his sister.
Nothing, it seems, can touch him here, in their little haven.
Their ties with the local nobility have won them a mountainside estate—just the three of them and a small staff, compelled to ignore their unorthodox feeding habits. They have been sequestered for months with no disturbances, drunk on peace and power.
"As with you?" Rebekah repeats. "Don't tell me you've already taken her." Her lips turn down into a pout.
"Don't worry, sister." Klaus closes one eye in a wink toward the girl, flustering her further. Her feet stutter, unable to decide where to carry her. "There's plenty of her to go around. We can share."
Rebekah meets his eyes with disbelieving wonder. (Truly this place has breathed new life into him.)
Before they can scheme any further, though, they are interrupted by their older brother.
"I daresay some of the staff has taken to us more than the others." Elijah sits gracefully beside Rebekah at the banquet table. "Particularly our young Mary Porter." He takes Rebekah's hand. "Sister, please tell me you did not compel her affections. Or you, Niklaus."
His tone, as always, is steady and serious. However, Klaus knows well enough to recognize the lilt under his smooth words, the warm, teasing fondness in Elijah's eyes. He is just as happy here as the rest of them.
"Brother, do you mean to say I could only win a woman to my bed by means of compulsion?" Klaus adopts an expression of mock offense. "Or are you speaking out of jealousy?"
"Don't pretend, Elijah." Rebekah's eyes are alight with mischief. "I heard your door creak open in the dead of night last night. Who did you invite to enjoy the pleasure of your company?"
Elijah says nothing, instead staring into the distance with a barely concealed smile.
No, not into the distance. At…
"Elijah," Rebekah gasps. She begins to giggle, clapping one hand over her mouth.
Klaus follows their eyes—follows their gazes to where Mary Porter still stands, fixated on the trio of vampires. A blush creeps along her neck, her cheeks.
"It would appear," he hears himself say, "she needs none of our compulsion to want all of us."
The idea is appealing to him.
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