Chapter Text
The thing about getting everything your heart has ever desired, is that your heart doesn’t necessarily know what to do with it.
Gillian is learning this rapidly.
She fiddles around with her instruments in Kol’s apartment, scattered among his own possessions. He loves music. She didn’t know that before, not until he looked up at her with his big dark eyes and quietly asked her to sing for him.
And she did. How could she not? Gillian doesn’t think there’s a woman alive who could say no to Kol Mikaelson when he looks at them in that special way of his. Like he loves you and wants to eat you whole.
Gillian hasn’t done a single favor for the Mikaelson family since this… evolution of her relationship with Kol. Maybe they’re giving space— maybe Kol is maintaining that space. She’s not sure which. Not entirely sure it matters. Instead, her days are filled with sex and little magic tricks— simple things like twinkling lights and floating feathers. She’ll brush his face with the edges of her magic and he’ll close his eyes and have an expression that’s almost like sadness.
Today, Gillian strums her guitar, occasionally writing down a chord progression in a notebook. Maybe she could write something for Kol, she muses. It’s hard to imagine what to give someone a thousand years old as a present. Christmas has long passed, but maybe—
It occurs to Gillian she doesn’t even know when his birthday is. There’s so much she doesn’t know about the man she loves when sometimes she feels like everything about her could be put in a single box.
Gillian puts this thought, alongside many others, at the back of her mind.
“Darling,” Kol calls, door closing with a punctuated slam, “Where are you?”
“In here!”
Kol appears in the doorway, grin on his face that’s so sharp she could cut herself on it. Her eyebrows furrow.
“What happened?”
“Oh nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” he says airily.
“I always worry when your face looks like that.”
He balks. “You mean because of how beautiful I am?”
“Sure,” she says dryly, “Who did you murder?”
Kol pouts. “I didn’t murder anyone. Why does your mind always to go murder?”
“Because I’ve met you.”
Kol rolls his eyes, because he knows he’s lost this particular argument, but rips Gillian’s guitar out of her hands, because he can’t stand to lose at anything for long. He presses a long and hard kiss to her lips, nipping at the soft skin, sucking the bead of blood that comes to the surface. He looks down at her, grey veins rippling around his eyes, and pounces.
“I’ve missed you,” he groans against her neck. Gillian bites back the frankly embracing sound that builds in the back of her throat.
“You saw me this morning. Do you understand what object permanence is? Are you a baby?”
Kol wrenches her head back by her hair.
“You’re lucky you’re as beautiful as you are,” he comments maliciously, “Otherwise I’d do terrible things to that mouth.”
Gillian hopes he can’t hear the way her breath hitches in her chest, hopes if he does he’ll just ignore it. He doesn’t. Kol smiles a little cruelly and says—
“No, but you’d enjoy that. I’d have to think of a better punishment. Maybe take away your instruments.”
Gillian gasps dramatically.
“Not even you could be that cruel.”
“Oh, I can be all that and more,” he promises, and swats at her backside, “Now get to bed. Quickly.”
Gillian scurries to the bedroom, not fast enough for Kol’s taste.
An immovable force pushes Gillian up against the wall, all heat and fabric behind her.
“You didn’t even give me a chance,” she says, but her complaint hangs in the air for only a split second before she’s divested of her clothes and there’s a firm pressure at her throat and one hand snaking down to stroke through soft curls to her clit, teasing her endlessly. She arches, open-mouthed, into the sensation.
“There we are,” Kol murmurs, “Too preoccupied to backtalk now.”
“Never.”
Kol tuts. “I suppose I’ll just have to try harder.” The pressure at her throat releases and he’s kneeling behind her, between her spread legs, mouth firmly pressed against her dripping cunt. Gillian gasps. The position is too awkward to move much; the only moment she’s allowed is a slow grind into Kol’s mouth. It tires out her core too quickly and instead she’s just forced to take what he gives her.
She’s lucky enough that Kol chooses to treat her well most of the time.
Gillian blinks and she’s on Kol’s bed— their bed, now— looking down at him.
“I’ve missed you,” he groans again into her thigh and presses a sucking kiss there. Gillian imagines the skin purpling beneath his touch.
“You can’t miss me in the span of 3 hours. You need help,” she retorts, but it’s undercut by the twitching of her hips, trying to press down onto his sharp mouth until—
Kol grins and his teeth are every bit as sharp as she remembers, dreamed about late at night or when she was washing dishes. And he’s all hers.
Kol doesn’t make her ask, which is kind of him. He takes her by the hips and presses her firmly down onto his face as he eats her out. Kol, as he does with everything, eats her out with a steady determination. He is unrelenting in his search to drive her closer and closer to the edge, tossing her over with hardly a care in the world. He keeps her legs anchored to his sides. Gillian would have better luck breaking open stone then getting away from Kol as he drives her clean past overstimulation and into another orgasm.
She pulls Kol’s hair in one hot fist as she comes.
Gillian’s muscles twitch as she comes somewhat back to herself. Kol looks up at her with his enchantingly dark eyes and pulls his mouth away.
“May I?” he asks.
“Yes.”
Kol’s veins darken and distend as his teeth drop. He nuzzles her inner thigh softly before biting in and it hurts but not enough where Gillian would ever tell him to stop. She feels dizzy with it the longer he goes.
When her vision starts to go a little fuzzy, Kol reluctantly retracts his fangs and kisses the marks he’s left on her body.
“You’re perfect,” he rasps, “Did you know that?”
“Shut up.”
He flips her over so he’s firmly between her spread legs, hips aching from the stretch.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said shut up. Didn’t you hear me?”
“You should be more polite to the new king of New Orleans,” he says and she doesn’t have time to hear it because he drags his cock through the wetness collected between her legs. Her hips follow him, stuttering.
“Is there something you want?” he teases. Gillian groans.
“What kind of stupid fucking question is th—” But then it’s not so stupid after all because Kol’s cock splits her open and she loses even the possibility of having thoughts.
“There we go,” he says, almost sweetly, but it’s Kol so it’s not sweet at all.
Gillian has only had her Kol for a few months. She knows in her heart that regardless of this fact, she will never be able to live without him. He is stuck with her until one of them dies. This belief only grows stronger with each time they end up losing hours at a time in Kol’s bed or couch or floor.
Kol reaches up to pull Gillian’s head back by her hair. She arches into the feeling and Kol takes the opportunity to nip at her neck. For a moment, she thinks he’s going to bite her again. The wound on her inner thigh seizes at the thought. Instead, he rips open his wrist and forces it into her mouth. The copper taste floods her senses, heightening her already frantic energy. Every bruise and cut on her body knits up all at once, leaving soft, unbroken skin behind.
“I love you,” he says in her ear. Gillian can’t say anything, so instead she drinks down his blood and hopes he knows what she means, means with every fibre of her body.
Kol reaches down to stroke her clit and she comes again, his blood on her tongue, every nerve lit up.
“There we are,” he coos, “My precious queen.”
He grips her with a ferociousness, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go for too long. Gillian relishes in it as he fucks into a senseless mess. Not a thought enters her brain as she comes again, him following closely after, face buried in her neck.
They breathe together.
Kol finally plucks his head up, complete satisfaction painted over his face. Like he’s pleased with the entire world. Gillian brushes his hair out of his face.
“What was all that about?” she asks.
“Can’t I bed the witch I love?”
Gillian flushes hot.
“I love you too.”
Part of him softens at her words. He presses a kiss to the divot of her palm.
“When it’s time, you will make a wonderful mother to our heir.”
Gillian goes a little hot and flustered at the thought, then confused.
“We can’t have children.”
Kol nuzzles her neck. “There are spells, some of which have potential. There’s no need to give up hope quite yet.”
“And—” Gillian hesitates before voicing the second part of her question, like she already knows the answer even though she doesn’t, “Heir?”
Kol tilts back and if Gillian thought he looked satisfied before, then now he looks triumphant. His grin is sharp and his eyes are pitch black.
“My dear brother is taking a little nap,” Kol says and each word drips with a maliciousness Gillian cannot decode, “You are looking at the new king of New Orleans.”
He takes her by the hand.
“And you, my dear,” he says, “Are to be my queen.”