Title: Silk
Author: Syrianora
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All is used for entertainment, none for profit.
Pairings: Mostly Chuck and Blair. (D/S to come)
Summary: She awakens in a darkened room: bruised, bleeding, and pleading for mercy. He will grant it to her, but on his terms.
Author's Note: See, I promised myself I wasn't going to do this. I was downright insistent with myself. I said, "Finish BABW, and then we can think about posting this erotica. Another fic will distract you. Posting another fic is bad. Bad bad bad. You want to finish BABW. Finish finish finish."
But the allure of CB has me contemplating sharing with you the most insane workings of my mind.
This one is going to be quite dark; think alongside my one-shot The First Plague. Very very mature; I seem to be drawn to the masochist and sadist relationship. Very very AU; you're going to see a very unique (perhaps unliked) version of New York City in this story. Think Season 1 Chuck, but far more sinister and menacing; he's going to be doing things that may haunt you. And Blair, as always, will remain his Achille's heel.
Usually, I outline my stories down to the very beginning and end of each chapter, along with a few key points of dialogue. That's just how I publish. But this time is a bit different. Outline's inside my mind; I have a very generalized idea of the story's plotline, but a very specific mindset of how I want the characters to progress.
Quite simply, I am too excited to share this with you to sit down and outline for another week.
So leave a thought; if this is something you would like to read, I would be very pleased to please.
You won't believe what I have in store for these two.
Prologue: Awakening
But he did not understand the price.
Mortals never do.
They only see the prize: their heart's desire, their dream.
Neil Gaiman
It was the smell that awoke her.
A putrid mixture of Chinese takeout, burned matches, and faint urine edged towards her nostrils, shut eyes squinting and lips parting slightly as the rancid scent danced upon her dullened senses.
It was cold underneath her body; of that she was sure. Fingertips edged along the raised bumps of the stone surface; slow, deliberate, searching. She furrowed her eyebrows as her fingers roamed over a thick liquid, her hand rising upwards as her eyes gradually flitted open.
Although the entire room was bathed in darkness, she could still make out the outline of her hand. The color was dark against the pads of her skin; she squinted faintly, attempting to make out the exact color staining her pale fingertips, before the stinging throbbing at the base of her skull had her moaning slightly.
With the little strength she could command, she lifted her body upwards, fingers running over the aching spot. The area proved to be far too tender; she winced with pain, willing the pounding in her head to settle. The muscles of her body strained tightly.
It was as if she had been rudely awoken from a most deep slumber, body yearning for more rest, head feeling achingly heavy.
Blair Waldorf looked around the blackened room as the roots of fear stemmed deep within her. She cried softly as a shot of pain rushed from the sore spot at her skull. Her legs attempted to pull themselves up, but she fell to the floor as the muscles departed and shook underneath her weight.
Her heart beat a staccato rhythm against her chest as a faint dripping noise grew to become the only sound she could hear. Palms feeling around the floor, she dragged her body along the cement, as she neared iron bars. She hissed in agony as an unknown jagged edge sliced against her ankle, the flesh feeling warm as crimson liquid weeped out of the cut. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed her body to continue, ignoring the stinging as her own blood pooled at her ankle. Wrapping shaking palms around the chilled surface of iron, she licked her cracked lips, nearly gagging as she encountered the faint taste of blood at the corner of her mouth.
"Help…" she murmured, voice hoarse and weak, her eyes attempting to look out into the shadows looming before her for a hint of life. "Help…me…"
No salvation appeared before her.
The dripping continued. Her forehead pressed against the cold iron, the frigid surface a very soothing sensation to the overwhelming pain growing at the base of her skull.
The sound of footsteps had her eyes lifting with hope.
And yet, a flash of red fabric was all she needed to forgo her pain and begin screaming.
They dragged her; dragged her by the hair, by the silk of her negligee, by the long fingers that were clawing at their wretched faces with the insanity of a caged animal.
She was screeching, begging, shrieking with the collection of men surrounding her- two at her limbs, two marching behind her with the order of a commanded army- to let her go; she was innocent, she could prove it, couldn't they listen for a mere moment?
She was thrashing between the two men; hair wild, silk thrashing, limbs tugging, as one of the men stepped forward and opened two mahogany doors.
"Please, please! I did nothing wrong!" she begged with tears in her eyes, as one man, with the firmest of straight-lined mouths, grabbed a fistful of her dark strands, and yanked her by the hair down a long hallway.
She continued to kick and beat, fingernails digging into the carpet, heart soaring with joy as she managed to pull out of the man's grasp and crawl away from her stoic captor on hands and knees. However, her cries became hysterical as his long arms found her waist and pulled her off the floor.
She landed with a shriek against the crimson carpet before her eyes. Her knees were bruised, her arms sported faint scratch marks, and her face was damp with tears as she slowly looked up, black pearls meeting the smirking face of one Charles Bass.
A thought?
