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Games

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September, 1802. Paris, France

I worry for my brother and his involvement with Napoleon. He makes us all too obvious here, too much a spectacle of himself near this King he chooses to spend his days with. I agreed to this trip to France because I thought it would do us some good, as a family. So much has happened since we have come to New Orleans that I worry about our bond, and how we will survive it. Some time away was meant to help us, not so my dear brother could contribute to the delusions of this war-mongering-

"Elijah. Put down the pen and come to bed." The voice that calls to him is female and one he knows well. There's an edge of intoxication to Rebekah's words, the result of having drunk from so many at the party that night who were themselves inebriated. "Why must you always write in that thing?"

"A moment, dearest sister," he says softly, capping the ink and carefully closing his journal. They're dangerous thoughts to put to paper, Elijah knows this, knows that even hiding the book will not stop Klaus should he wish to read it. He leaves it out, atop the desk, knowing it is as safe there as anywhere else.

"He must always write in that thing as you call it so eloquently, Rebekah, because he is upset with me. Aren't you, Elijah?" Klaus stands in the doorway to the rooms they share, bemused and with heavy eyes. "You're annoyed with how I've been spending my days."

"No not how, or rather, not precisely, brother. With whom you spend your days is what I worry over." Elijah stands, considering his brother carefully. It is difficult to know the things that might send him into a rage, and best, he thinks, to choose his words with precision. “It is a dangerous thing that you do with this man, a dangerous game-”

“It is not a game,” Klaus is abrupt, cutting him off. He tenses in anger, Elijah can see the way his jaw tightens and shoulders quirk. He dares a glance at his sister, kneeling on the bed to watch them both, as still as a deer in the forest who thinks they’ve caught wind of a predator. It is a fight she has seen many times before, and would stop if she could, Elijah knows that too. But some things are impossible to stop once they’ve begun, as they are both too aware.

But then, as quickly as Klaus’ anger begins, it fades. “I-” he says, holding up his hands peaceably, “have not come to be goaded into a fight. I’ve come to tell you I’ve booked us passage to New Orleans. We leave in three days time. We have delayed long enough, and I wish to return home.”

“But if you speak of games-” he says with a laugh, moving faster than any could see to sweep Rebekah off the bed, and to land in her place looking at the two of them rather knowingly. “I can very much give you recreation.”
Even his words fill Elijah with a deep sense of longing. It has been too long since Klaus has come to his bed, or he to his brother’s. Longer still since the three of them have dallied together.

Rebekah breaks the silence first, looking to Elijah questioningly as if asking what he will do. It is she who has spent most nights in his bed here in France, both of them missing others left back in New Orleans and wanting the company of someone who understands. She lifts a leg to the bed, holding a hand toward him as she speaks his name softly, “Elijah, come.”

“See, brother,” Klaus says, watching Rebekah and Elijah both. He is aware of the game that he plays, Elijah is sure of it, and aware of the desire that exists within him. Family. Always together. “It is not just my request. How can you resist our angel of a sister?”

Elijah cannot resist her, no more than he can resist Klaus. He’s proven that too many times through the centuries, always returning to his brother’s side, no matter what horrors he might commit. He nods, loosening his shirt collar as he crosses to the bed, feeling he needs the space to take a breath that is entirely unnecessary. His fingers brush Rebekah’s, twining through hers as he draws them to his lips to kiss their tips. Her eyes flutter and he smiles, only then turning to face his brother.

“No kiss for me? A shame-” Klaus’s words are teasing, a taunting edge that near always exists when he is close to admitting his feelings. As if that barb can drive away those that are close and protect his heart. But this is no game to Elijah, it never has been.

He cuts off Klaus’ words with his mouth, gripping the front of his vest tight, Elijah’s kiss is hungry and demanding. Too much time spent trying to ameliorate Klaus’ feelings or protect them from whatever he may might make him see weak at times, but he is not weak. Considered, yes, but he also knows when to take charge of situations. Rebekah’s hands up his back let him know that he was right in this.

He gives Klaus no time to recover, pushing his back against the headboard to pull at his shirt. Buttons pop and Elijah does not care, Rebekah helping him to divest their brother of his clothes. Stunned into silence it seems, the look in Klaus’ eyes tells Elijah everything he needs to know. How much their brother has been longing for this as they both have but has in his own way been afraid to approach, afraid to break into the unintentional circle he and Rebekah made without ever realising.

They’re feelings that cannot be spoken of or acknowledged with anything more than a look and a kiss. To speak of them would be to shatter this fragile moment, to leave them broken and even further apart than how they started.

Klaus’ kiss is fierce, and it is as if he cannot choose between Elijah and Rebekah. It matters not, the need for choice not existing, not tonight. It is Rebekah’s deft fingers that remove most of their clothes, and Elijah’s hands that guide them down on the bed. Klaus between the two of them, as it always is, in the end, whether in love or in anger. He stretches behind his brother, waiting for Rebekah’s gasp of breath as Klaus enters her to press inside himself, first with fingers and then his cock. Klaus moans, sinking his head into Rebekah’s neck and it is all Elijah can do to keep moving. He could have watched them and been entirely happy, but the sensation of tightness, of Klaus’ skin against his and hand reached back to grasp at his hip, Rebekah’s leg over the both of them, this was what he has truly wanted.

Elijah is the one to break the skin first, his teeth sharp against the small of Klaus’ neck. The other man jerks but then succumbs to the sensation, a feeling that is near overwhelming when shared between two vampires. There is no hiding then, no keeping emotions or thoughts to themselves. He hears Rebekah cry and knows that Klaus has done the same in turn to her. He can feel that connection through him, reveling in it and the heights that it brings them to.

“Games,” Elijah whispers later, lying limbs entwined on the bed. “I feel these games may have gotten away from all of us, tonight.”

Rebekah laughs softly, nuzzling closer, and he’d almost think Klaus asleep were it not the whispered response that comes minutes later.

“No, brother. They went exactly how I wanted.”