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: I love you all :) I honestly never thought the story would have received such a positive response!
I want to take this opportunitiy to thank every reviewer, reader, alerter, favoriter, and all you glorious people who brighten up my day with every fanfiction alert :) Some days, all it takes is a single review or story alert to brighten up a day. There is nothing like the feeling, so I thank you and hope to please :)
Sorry for the extended wait; school has started for me, and this semester will test my strength. However, I haven't given up on CB, or this story, although I may as well have given up on the show :( Please let me know what you think! If you only knew what I had planned for these two ;)
Also, I'm pulling out BABW as we speak :)
Remember, this is AU; as such, not everything is as it seems... Thank you for reading, and enjoy :)
Chapter 1: Memory
Those who restrain desire,
Do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.
William Blake
It seemed as if an eternity of time passed between the two.
She, bruised knees amongst the carpet below her; he, with his smirk seeming to lengthen, grow, glow against those insidious features as he took her in, finger running across the jagged point of his chin, body eased against the velvet of the golden seat upon which he sat.
Everything about him was alarming. The sharpest jaw paired with supremely full lips, an elongated but slender nose, and the most piercing of hazel eyes were the most definite features that demanded absorption. A midnight suit cloaked his body, a hint of crimson peeking out from underneath the coat jacket; a shade that disturbingly matched the surface at his feet.
She was in a large hall; fabric of carpet stretched from the soles of his feet to the mahogany doors she had attempted escape. Bare cherry walls enchanted by gold-framed pieces surrounded her, and the chair upon which he sat was the only piece of ornate furniture in the room.
She took a pained breath, the muscles of her body weak and pleading for rest. As the iron taste of blood crept into her mouth, she spit quickly, bile rising in her throat as her arm wiped away the red liquid at the corner of her lips. She glanced at the numb portion of ankle, the mangled sight of flesh and crimson greeting her eyes. She turned her head as the men who had dragged her in marched out of the great hall, hauling the weight of the mahogany doors behind them as the room was engulfed in complete silence.
Leaving her at her knees, and him watching her.
She had seen photographs of him, of course. Dark, endless nights at a bar, finger tracing the rim of water left behind her glass, her eyes would lift slightly at those forbidden pictures passed between the callused fingers of hidden men. Their orbs would fill with the sting of jealousy, mutters of their desire to rid the man of his power so quietly whispered amongst the throng of those who wished him dead. It had simply been fleeting glances of the glossed images; only the last week had she finally asked to see a picture of their most heated discussion.
And he was every bit of the picture, and then some.
The black eyes that had stared out into her soul through the picture now glowed an eerie hazel; the straight line of his mouth was now formed into a radiant smirk.
The tears that had been weeping down her face immediately halted; she was transfixed, eyes locked with his own, but body, unknowingly, pulling away from his hovering figure. Fear gripped at her heart; she cast her eyes cast downward, in fear of seeing her future glow in the color of his narrow eyes.
It seemed as if an eternity of time passed between the two.
"You gave my men there quite a fight," she heard him declare; a throaty, amused declaration creeping along the surface of her spine. She shuddered, keeping her head down, watching the limp strands of her hair surround her face.
"It has been said that only the guilty go down with such vigor."
Be humble, she had heard an aged, balding man with the most brilliant green eyes whisper amongst the collection of his most passionate aggressors. If you are faced before him, make him believe he is your redeemer.
Her eyelids flitted, pleading for strength.
It may be the only thing that saves your life.
She heard him rise, saw the tips of his leather shoes move towards her. Her heart beat an amaranthine rhythm against her chest as he knelt himself down to her level.
Electricity shot through her spine as he tilted her chin upwards, bringing her face to his. She was shivering underneath his touch, mind working for divine intervention, some sort of fortuitous aid, as those narrow eyes studied her.
He smiled, and she was certain he stroked her chin, before she felt a searing pain tear into her flesh.
She gasped, eyes rolling backwards, whites revealed, as the agony at her hip instantly grew to euphoria, filling her veins, flooding the surface of her skin, the lull of it all demanding her eyes to shut close as her body fell supple against his hands.
But before she fell into complete unconsciousness, she felt the rasp of his voice against her ear.
"Welcome, Miss Waldorf."
He felt her body fall against his, and he conceded a full, effulgent minute of her weight against him, nose turned away from the porcelain skin of her neck.
When he felt the familiar stillness of limbs beneath his hands, he meticulously pulled out the syringe, tossing the worn needle to the side.
He nodded and watched a large, rotund woman in a blue and white pinstriped uniform come forward, along with her two charges, to take her away.
But before he was ready to release her from his arms, he breathed a proper greeting against the delicate organ of her ear.
Dark irises and pink nipples.
The figure allured him, his own siren, leading him from the tumbler by his side to the glory of crimson sheets, her mouth stretched in a lazy smile, lips lengthening, growing, glowing, hair in dark, delicate waves, as he approached.
He joined her, two bodies hidden underneath the sheets, where the most curious of eyes couldn't catch them. Eyes brilliant against the moonlight streaming through the fabric, she toyed with the skin at his neck.
"You're horrible."
He smiled against her lips, even as he felt her lone tear press against the skin of his cheek. He pressed his lips against the skin at the underside of her breast before he pulled away, hovering over her body.
"You're beautiful."
"Sir?"
He breathed sharply, lifting his head from the cradle of his hands. When he saw Gideon standing before him, with a most puzzled expression, he pressed his fingers at the arch of his nose for several seconds, before he rose quickly.
"Get me Ray," he spoke slowly, recalling the name of the man who had dragged her in by the strands of dark, delicate waves. "Let's see if we can teach him how to treat our newest guests."