Title: The First Plague
Author: Syrianora
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.
Pairings: Chuck and Blair.
Summary: She would laugh cruelly, writhing against him, whilst he would spread his arms to be at her mercy, a hint of a dreamy smirk and lust-filled eyes gazing upon her as she heartlessly consumed him. Future CB Fic. Very Mature.
Author's Note: Ok, first off I want to say that BABW is coming. I promise :) I've had a bit of trouble with the next chapter on where exactly it should end, and since I never like to throw out any chapters that I'm not 100% proud of, this has led to an extreme wait. I love all of my reviewers and alerters and favoriters, and I just hope you can bear with me as I try to put this new chapter together :) Now, I'm going to warn all of my readers that this one-shot is very dark. There are very extreme themes in here, very masochistic/sadistic, some biblical themes, but absolutely, absolutely naughty. As such, I wanted to throw out this little warning before you embark, because it is probably one of the most erotic things I have ever written :) But, as always, I hope you enjoy :) Reviews are absolutely adored; without them, I'm sure this little piece of erotica would never have come to pass.
"If you could only see
the beast you've made of me."
"Howl", Florence and the Machine
He knew it was her before she even entered.
Although the door still remained closed, and he was the sole occupant in his home, and the city before his eyes continued to cry with life, the air around him suddenly changed.
It grew heavier, overpowering, suffocating.
Less room to breathe.
Less room to see, less room to sense, less room to be.
As it always became, as it always was, whenever he was around her.
The aged amber beneath his cool fingertips suddenly grew hot.
Moisture grew at his palms; his heart grew wild to pound angrily against his chest, his nostrils swore of a scent of vanilla that had swept into the room, until its very essence became all he could sense.
Palms over breasts, teeth at the chin, nose pressed against the sensitive arch of her jawbone, he inhaled sweetened vanilla.
The door snapped shut behind him; his eyes continued to watch through the penthouse windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, over the city that had been the only mother he had ever known.
Breathe, and it would all be okay, they told him.
But had they ever met Blair Waldorf?
She uttered no sound, although he was certain that her back was pressed against the doorway, palms were pressed against the smooth wood, heart was pressed against her chest, like the cruel trail liquid fire made over the weeping earth.
But her lips would be red.
The stain of her lips would run red, and would be as blood, like the merciless bitch she was.
And the rivers and waters of Egypt ran red, and were as blood.
She was a plague, and she would tear at his flesh.
She would tear at his flesh and grasp at his hair, she would sink her fingernails into him, blood red dripping from her fingers. She would laugh cruelly, writhing against him, whilst he would spread his arms to be at her mercy, a hint of a dreamy smirk and lust-filled eyes gazing upon her as she heartlessly consumed him.
He couldn't think of a more enticing ending.
"The price has changed considerably," he murmured, eyes still locked to the city. "I'm afraid it has… significantly bypassed your budget."
When the heat from her palms soared through his suit-clad shoulders, he inhaled deeply, eyes shutting and visualizing her off-white trench coat, the oh-so red lips, the sweeping, shoulder-length bob, the tiny waist, the familiar lower lip of red.
And when he heard the material of her trench coat fall to the ground below her, like golden, free-falling leaves on a crisp autumn day, he swore he saw stars before him.
"You know that's not how we play."
A few years ago, he would have been joyous at the scene before him.
Her body was straddling his; his suit coat had been tossed to the side, and her knees supported her body as she hovered over him atop the couch, fingers etching at his lower lip, a familiar black box lying beside them atop the fabric of the couch.
Slowly, he ran his hands over her bare back, meeting her strapless black bra, before he continued downward.
Her knees separated even farther.
One lone finger traced the tiny bow at the row of her spine, the tiny bow that hung the strings of her thong together.
"What are you gonna do to me today, Chuck?"
Her voice was low and husky, low and husky against his ear as her fingers grasped onto the hair at his neck, perhaps a bit of a painful grasp.
It was all pain when it came to her.
Some pain, some pleasure, but he would be damned to claim it was all chocolates, stockings, macaroons, and butterflies.
Water to blood, water to blood.
Good to evil, life to death, virtue to sin.
But he would be damned to claim she wasn't the most lovely sin he had ever seen.
He let out a dramatic sigh, tracing the intricate shape of the tiny bow, loop and loop, loop and loop, back and forth.
"I'm not particularly in the mood."
He saw the perfect row of teeth as she smiled, red lips curling with pleasure, eyes darkening to near coal.
Wasn't the devil the most beautiful thing to man?
She tugged at his hair furiously, making him wince, making him wince with pleasure and pain.
"Behave," she hissed into his ear, before dipping her tongue into the delicate structure.
One hand still at the tiny bow, the other darted out to the black box, tugging open the lid.
He felt her mouth smile against his ear as she heard the box being opened.
Her fingers slowly undid the first few buttons of his shirt, hand delving into the ripple of curls below the fabric.
Red lips moved along his jawbone, barely touching, barely there, barely Blair, like the whisper of the devil to man.
He ran a finger over all three before he pulled one out.
The other hand moved from the tiny bow down the string at her ass, to the front of her body, tracing the thong's line, one finger brushing at the apex of her thighs, eliciting a whimper from her red mouth.
The devil, the devil was pleased.
His thumb pressed against her inner thigh, moving up and down against the surface before he found the perfect spot.
Her thigh quivered as she bent one leg and exposed her inner thigh to his gaze. As she stretched her leg to the side, one pink, neatly waxed petal of flesh escaped fabric and met his hungry gaze.
The man, the man was pleased.
And he pressed the needle to her skin, pressed the needle to the skin of her inner thigh as she moaned as the red-lipped devil.
It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.
Her body, which had been cool, perhaps a bit frigid, beneath his touch, immediately grew hot. She tossed her head back, taking in deep breaths of air, fingers digging into his shoulders, as droplets of rain ran from her brow down the sides of her lovely face. His palms ran over the heated skin of her arms, over her neck, down her inner thighs, as he met the sweat of her skin.
She was gasping now. Her eyes were wide, open, unrelenting to the ceiling before her. Red lips open, pale chest glowing, short bob clinging to her mist-soaked neck, she thrust forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, her frantic pleas for him to 'take it off' ringing in his ears.
And he succumbed to her pleas, freeing her bra from her sweat-soaked skin and tossing it to join his suit coat.
And when she pulled back, still gasping, he thought that the bare-breasted devil was far more enticing.
Her gasps grew louder and quicker; her hands tugged at his and led them to her backside, down her waist, down the cheeks of her ass.
And although the tiny bow had such an intricate shape, it gave way so easily.
"You're heinous," she murmured atop his bed.
Naked body twisting atop his sheets, hands fisting at the silk, eyes deliriously closed, red lips still intact, a glean of moisture covering her entire skin as she neared the end of it.
"You're so fucking heinous, Chuck Bass."
He had taken nearly a hundred pictures.
Some of her cunt, some of her pink nipples, some of her jawbone arch.
Some of her backside, some of her lips, some of her eyes.
But most were of her in the most erotic of positions.
When he nearly pressed the black lens of the camera to the skin at the underside of her left breast, she had muttered tiredly, "You send one of those pictures out, Bass, and you'll never see the light of day."
He chuckled darkly as he ran a finger at the skin before taking the picture. "First on the forwarding address? Mr. Colin Abester."
He saw her teeth as she smiled.
"You wouldn't dare."
He set the camera down and pressed his lips to the skin below her breast.
"You're right," he whispered gloriously.
Because man never overcame thered-lipped devil.
"God, you're beautiful," he murmured against the arch at her jawbone. "You're fucking breathtaking, you know that?"
She smiled as one of his palms cupped a cold and crying breast. She ran her palms against his bare thighs and looked over her shoulder, pressing red lips against his ear.
"I want another one."
She felt him smile against her cheek, felt the nail of his thumb trace the underside of her breast.
"No."
She smiled even wider than him, pressing her backside even further against his chest. "I want another one, Chuck."
He brought his other hand to the lone breast and began equal treatment.
"No."
She pulled away from him to her feet, walking over to the penthouse windows that were now draped in burgundy curtains. Facing him, she set her feet wide apart and leaned her back against the curtains.
And like the man to the devil, he was immediately drawn to her.
Like the temptation of sin, like the enticement of evil, he stood up and grabbed at the second needle in the box, moving towards her in a predatory manner.
There she stood, the red-lipped devil, bare body against dark red, pink petals against white skin, pink nipples against pale flesh, red lips against gleaming white teeth.
"I want another one, Chuck."
He slowly approached her.
"No."
She ran her palms over her breasts.
"I want another one, Chuck."
He was closer, dark eyes watching her palms.
"No."
She smiled wickedly, peeking up at him through dark lashes.
"I want another one, Chuck."
Teeth tugging at her bottom lip, eyes blissfully shut as her palms descended and she touched herself.
And he was before her before she could blink, arm twisting her body, twisting her in pain and pleasure, making her white breasts and hairless sex press against the pricey curtains.
Her throaty chuckle ran rampant in his head as he pressed the needle to her hip, her arms reaching backwards to press his skin against hers, head tossing and red tongue darting out, as the cycle began all over again.
He fucked her against the curtains, hot and moist body scraping against the curtains, full and red lips attached to his ear.
And when she brought him to the ground and climbed atop of him, his arms outstretched, her fingers grasping at his hair before moving to claw at his chest to draw sweet blood, he gazed upon her. He gazed upon her as she held him down and rode him hard, breasts bouncing, eyes crossed, sweat glistening, before stars finally came to his lust-filled eyes.
"B! B, come on, we're gonna be late!"
Blair took one final glance at her appearance before smiling and grabbing her clutch to join Serena.
Her eyes caught sight of her phone glimmering with a new message.
She licked her lips before opening.
I believe Ms. Blair Abester would have liked to see this.
And with the message came a picture, and with the picture came a smile, a naughty, naughty smile planted upon the red-lipped devil's face.
fin