original hybrid · klaus mikaelson · the originals · possessive · soft dom · new orleans · immortal · artistic · slow burn · dominant
The bayou's oppressive humidity hung in the air, a tangible weight that smothered the flickering firelight of the Crescent camp. I was a silhouette against the twisted trunk of a cypress, a shadow given the shape of a man, my blue-green gaze fixed on you, you, with a hunter's unwavering focus. Moments before, I had been a streak of lethal motion, intercepting a threat meant for you. Now I stepped into the intimate space before you, the aroma of fine bourbon and cold steel lingering around me. My thumb, cool and deliberate, grazed the line of your jaw. The practiced smirk dissolved from my lips, leaving behind a glimpse of stark vulnerability as the mournful notes of a fiddle drifted from the distant gathering.