Fic: Heaven Doth the Devil Yearn (3/4)
Jun. 11th, 2009 02:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
imp3ratrixRating: R/NC-17
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and all immediate characters, themes and ideas are registered trademarks and belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and Stephanie Savage. No profit is being accumulated from this writing piece.
Spoilers: Yes (Up to and including Valley Girls)
Notes: Sorry, this just got a little longer. Anyway, slight tampering with the events in the show, but only slightly. And do heed the rating, because writing these two brings out the worst in me....
He is power and means, and with almost divine execution, turns fantasies into realities.
So when Nathaniel mentions he’s taking Blair to Prom, he decides to afford her this one long-held desire, to show her in an almost selfless act of kindness the depths of his generosity.
He recalls every one of her wishes for the ideal night – so innocently childish but who is he to say no – and the mention of a certain precious scrapbook plays on his thoughts. Getting his hands on it is no difficult task; a few charming words, and he has an unassuming Polish maid eating from the palm of his hand. He largely ignores her gushing words of ‘Mister Nate’ and ‘Miss Blair’ as he skims the pages, pausing upon an endearing drawing that may as well have been lifted from one of her fairytale picture books.
Wasting no time, he takes out his phone and calls in a favour from Paris, playing the role of fairy-godmother to utter perfection.
* * *
He is seated in the back of his black Mercedes-Benz town car, patient and closely watching the building on the opposite side of the road. For behind those walls of stone, he knows a Queen is being crowned. It’s the night she’s incessantly replayed in her dreams; a broken record of fanciful wishes, romantic beginnings and a prince charming to call her king.
So he waits for her, waits to see how it all fell into place, and the resulting smile sure to be engraved upon her lovely lips. And the minutes continue to tick by, but he’s not really paying heed to the time, for he is certain he would wait an eternity and more for Blair Waldorf.
At some point, he finally sees her step out, Nathaniel draped on her arm, and she’s truly a beautiful sight to behold. Regal and heavenly – a goddess among men – donned in her ideal dress of black and gold, and his breath almost hitches at how perfect she looks. He swears he’ll have another million such gowns made for her, sparing no cost, if only to eternally be granted the privilege of seeing her majestic essence so flawlessly exposed.
On the surface all seems to be well, but then he sees the lifeless quality of her eyes and he knows something is not quite right. Surprised that something could be amiss, he watches closely as the two of them converse. When their words end, Nathaniel wraps his arms around her in a heavy embrace that means to last forever, but is stained with the burden of farewell. He blinks, for surely this is not the end he is bearing witness to, and he can scarcely believe the inanity of the boy in forsaking Blair Waldorf, of all people, once again.
But then Nathaniel places a small kiss on her forehead, his hands cupping her cheeks in such a delicate manner one would think he was handling some fragile flower. His eyes are closed through it all, committing the moment to memory so that it may last forever, and it dawns on him for the first time ever that his grandson truly loves this girl. So much so, he’d be willing to let her go.
And he does. With one last lingering – longing – glance, he turns away and disappears back indoors, leaving her alone with her aching thoughts. He’s not sure what to make of it, but the why is hardly if ever relevant. So he leaves her for the time being – her blonde friend is with her and he knows she will be alright – and tells his driver to go.
For the game will continue.
* * *
A long period of time elapses before he sees her again.
He’s heard from Nathaniel that she’s with the Bass boy, and his grandson’s delivery of the news is so unbelievably nonchalant that it only confirms his prior observation, and he’s certain Nathaniel’s reached an emotional crux; closing himself off to the matter, the world, and filling his time with Brooklyn trash if only to preserve his wounded heart. He acknowledges the sincerity of his affections, but the fact that he won’t fight for her is yet again a frustrating sight to behold – so pathetically weak – and he’s clearly not a Vanderbilt yet. But beyond that, Nathaniel seems reluctant to say any more. And he’s reluctant to ask, for nothing is more maddening and disappointing than hearing how low his Queen has fallen.
Yet, he knows how this horrid liaison will end, so he resigns himself to doing nothing – when he could so easily crush the boy – beyond waiting for the curtain to fall on this tragic act. Luckily for him, he mastered the virtue of patience long, long ago.
The end comes on the night of Lillian Bass’ and some Brooklyn fellow’s engagement party at the Palace.
He leaves the crowded ballroom, eager for a moment of silence, and heads down the foyer for the grand staircase up ahead. But the sound of cries and angry shouts force him to pause mid-step, and when he looks down to the lower level, it’s none other than Blair Waldorf and Charles Bass that welcome his line of sight.
“Don’t touch me!” she hatefully hisses out, and he thinks something within him might just snap at the sight of her lovely face contorted in pain.
The little son-of-a-bitch doesn’t listen as he reaches out for her, and he’s just about ready to go down there and break his arm when Blair takes the initiative and pushes it aside.
“I said don’t touch me!”
“…I’m sorry, Blair.”
And she’s taking a step back, shaking her head and clutching at it all the same, and she looks like some wilted rose ready to fall apart under the force of this agonizing storm. He had known this was going to happen with an almost divine conviction, and seeing what it’s doing to her makes him wonder if he should have done anything to prevent it. But he too knows that this had to happen, as painful as it may be, so that she may, once and for all, close the book on the idea of being with the wretched boy.
“Just go,” she finalises with a level tone, running her hands through her hair in an attempt to compose herself.
“Blair–”
“Go!” she shouts, pointing at the lower stairs.
The boy nods, and without a word turns to leave… not once looking back. He is going to destroy him for this – no one hurts her and lives – but thoughts of righteous retribution will have to wait, for Blair is falling to her knees, overcome by the dissonance of it all and crying her heart out. And despite having long ago forsaken his soul – paradise eternally lost – he can feel his heart suddenly going out to her, moved entirely by her plight, and it’s a sensation he’s never felt before.
He stops breathing then; pausing to consider the relevance of such a sentiment and it’s so overwhelming he thinks he might also be brought to his knees. He doesn’t think it’s possible, it cannot be possible, but it seems as if he’s beginning to feel something for her… something beyond mere lust and obsession. But it simply cannot be, he reasons harshly, and he’s closing his eyes and rubbing his temple because he cannot be in….
And he’s moving all of a sudden; moving down the stairs with a wild urgency, only to stop a few steps from the floor, his hand seeking out the railing and gripping onto it for support because the world is swimming before his gaze and he thinks he might be falling all over again. And just as quickly, the miasma clears, and all his focus is on her.
“Blair?” he calls out softly as soon as he’s collected himself.
And she looks up at him with wide, tearful eyes… eyes so desolate and empty, and he’s closing the distance between them before even realising it. She looks so young as she reaches out to him, so lost and alone, and he wants to assure her, to show her, that she won’t be alone anymore. That he’ll be there for her, for as long as she wants him to be. So he takes her into a protective embrace that promises to take all her pain away, rubbing her back soothingly as her tears soak his dark grey Armani tailored suit.
“Why… do they always… leave?” she chokes out, clutching onto him. “Aren’t I… good enough?”
“Shh, of course you are,” he whispers into her hair.
Several long minutes pass before her cries quiet down, and she’s slowly pulling back to look at him. “You won’t leave me, will you?”
“Never,” he assures, meeting her gaze with no reservations as his thumb wipes away her lingering tears.
And she must accept as true the sincerity in his tone, for it isn’t long before he sees a tiny spark light up against the darkness of her eyes.
“I believe you.”
She presses her forehead against his, eyes closed, and he doesn’t dare move. Even in all this despondency, there lies in wake a precious feeling of bliss, calling to him through her vulnerable words and despairing motions. She needs him, he is sure, as much as he needs her, and he wonders whether she realises what she’s doing to him; tearing him apart right to the core and remaking him right there in her hold. She’s changed the rules and expectations of this mêlée, so much so he doubts it is a game anymore. No, it’s all far too honest and real for that, and he never would have thought it would ever morph and come to such a point.
She tightens her hold, her eyelashes fluttering against his brow and cheek as she moves her head to rest upon his shoulder, but try as he might he has no words to offer, so he tightens his embrace, silently telling her everything she wants and needs to know. The gesture pays off.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispers wearily against his neck, and it’s obvious the finale is near and he can scarcely believe it. “Can I stay… with you?”
“Of course,” he replies warmly, elation quick to consume him as she removes herself from his hold with a tired, but appreciative smile, and wraps her arm in the crook of his.
They walk out of the Palace side by side, out onto the cobbled path, and to his parked town car in front. He opens the door for her and she goes in, her features absent of any hesitation, and it’s a look of yearning he notes as her dark eyes capture his. He takes a deep breath before going in after her, telling his driver to take them to one of his many Park Avenue estates because he doesn’t think he can last, as patient as he is, the long drive back to Connecticut.
They’ve barely had a chance to merge with the evening traffic before she shifts her body against his, her head coming to a rest upon his shoulder and the tender quality of it strikes a chord deep within his being. When he reaches for her hand, he can all but feel the weight of her gaze calling to him. So he turns to look at her, lost entirely within the depths of her enticing dark eyes, and their faces are so close….
She quickly moves in, her lips finding his and he’s momentarily surprised by her boldness. But then the thrilling majesty of what is happening dawns on him, and he’s winding his hand in her dark locks and eagerly deepening their kiss. She tastes better than anything he imagined, like strawberries and honey and champagne combined, and it sets him alight from the inside out as he devours her mouth like a man possessed. She moans into it, matching his fiery urgency, her tiny hands pulling at his suit and the pit of his stomach tightens in anticipation of what is to come.
Utter paradise, surely, and nothing less.
* * *
He doesn’t know how they manage to get from the car into the townhouse in their frantic state, but they have, and it’s a burning battle for dominance as they move from room to room, hands everywhere and nowhere at once, as they both attempt to curb the inferno consuming their beings. She forces his suit jacket to the floor just as he pushes her against the wall, biting down on the crook of her neck, and he hears the most wanton cry escape her lips as her nails dig into his back.
His grip is tight on her waist as he attempts to manoeuvre them to the stairs for the bedroom above, because she is a Queen… a goddess, and he wants this to be done right, not against a hardwood wall – though, to be honest, he suspects that too is on the menu before the night is through. But she doesn’t make it easy, minx that she is; clawing down his back, tugging off his tie, unbuttoning his shirt and her eager intensity is testing his control. So he pushes her against the wall once again, and just as quickly picks her up from under her thighs. Smooth, creamy legs wrap around him as her tongue battles with his, and he’s falling further down the pit of licentious desire as images of what will come next reign havoc on his mind.
He takes them up the stairs with blinding speed, overcome by crippling necessity and a thirst that demands to be quenched. They’re finally in the master bedroom when he lowers her to her feet and brings down the zipper to her black dress; the cold air forcing her to tremble as the garment falls about her feet. He falls to his knees before her ideal form – the work of God himself, he’s sure – his fingers lightly tracing a path down her breasts and ribs before closing around her underwear and pulling the obstructive material down, and her legs give out. He catches her easily, holding her close as she grasps tightly onto his shoulders.
“I need you,” she whispers breathlessly, and her wish is his command.
He lowers her onto the bed, paying homage to her beautiful body with the softest of touches, and sweetest of kisses. There is no plane or crevasse he leaves unexplored, familiarising himself with every inch of her soft, ivory skin… discovering those hidden little spots that make her moan and pant and grasp at the sheets in tortured want. When his fingers move to explore her most intimate parts, she’s clawing at his back and arching into him, and he has to pause for a moment to take it all in, this divine reality, because after all this time of planning and longing, it’s finally going to happen. He has Blair Waldorf beneath him, begging him with her sugary sounds and nonsensical gasps of ‘please’ to end this torturous wait and take her at last, and Heaven never was so sweet.
His lips leave her neck and breasts to join his fingers, affording her every bit of pleasure he can, and a sweet symphony of want and need effortlessly cuts through the air. Her moans, throaty and hurried, are an addictive tune that makes his blood boil like nothing else, and when she pulls harshly on his hair he looks up at her with eyes so dark and piercing and full of Hell’s burning light she ceases to breathe.
A strange clarity overcomes him, and he sits up, pulling off his shirt and tossing it to the side, all the while holding her gaze. She must see it too, this moment of finality, for she’s undoing his belt and pulling down his pants as he stalks over to her, not once tearing her eyes from his.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks against her lips, looking deep into her gaze for any signs of hesitation. He sees none.
“Yes….”
“Are you ready?”
“God yes!”
He smiles, but only for a second, and then his jaw is hard as he rises up onto his hands with rounded shoulders and takes in her perfect, perfect form. There is a moment of absolute suspense, and then, she’s gasping in pleasure and pain and the deed is done. Words cannot describe what he feels for he’s flying, passed the Nine Circles of Hell, and towards Heaven’s golden gates.
For she is paradise.
It’s slow at first, a savouring affair as they both gaze into each other’s eyes. And then she’s bringing his face to hers, kissing him with abandon and whispering ‘harder’ and ‘faster’ against his lips and all of a sudden he’s giving her all that and so much more and he fears she might just break. But she surprises him, like she always does, winding her legs around him and urging him on and he doesn’t disappoint as her cries and gasps fill the room, a carnal symphony of unwritten notes beyond mortal reverie. And suddenly… the world ceases to exist in a climax of light.
All that is left is the two of them, and the devilish song they play.
* * *
He sees her often, almost every other week if her schedule permits. Yale isn’t too far from the manor, and she has developed a penchant for surprising him on weekday nights and early-morning weekends, and the newly-formed ritual never gets old.
Nathaniel accompanies her on the odd occasion, and she tells him they’re working on being friends. Of course, he doesn’t tell her what his grandson truly wants; the boy will have to learn to fight certain battles on his own. Still, he’s shown promise, beginning with his decision to accept Yale, and in turn forsake rebellious notions of going against the family will and living life on his own. He’s proud of him, admittedly, for he didn’t think the boy was going to rise up – for the apple never falls far from the tree – and claim his destiny for the longest of time. But all has worked out according to plan, and he can’t help but credit Blair for her help in bringing it all about.
“Aren’t you done yet? You’ve been reading that file for just over an hour.”
He looks up from his reading material and his eyes settle on her easily, lying languidly on the white Rococo settee across from his antique mahogany desk; the soft afternoon sunlight caressing her porcelain skin. She’s donning a tight dress of jade cotton and lace that suits her beautifully, with his copy of The Art of War wide open and resting precariously on the edge before her chest. All in all, she is a picture of seductive radiance, shining more brightly than Helen herself, and his mind is consumed with a number of sinful thoughts… especially as to what she could be doing with that coy little mouth of hers.
“Patience, my dear,” he chastises playfully, looking back down at the tedious but necessary paperwork, but not before he sees her pout in annoyance… regal to a fault, as always.
She’s still for only a handful of minutes before sitting up and making her way to his desk, perching herself on the edge. He looks up, of course, and the way she’s bent her knee has caused the edge of her dress to ride up, exposing a considerable amount of her creamy thigh, and he’s truly impressed by her deviousness. But he won’t be succumbing to her ploy, for he knows this game well, and he has no intention of losing. And he has work to do. So he ignores her, even when he knows there’s nothing she hates more, and he’s fairly certain the frustration is killing her.
All of his attention is on the document before him, and just as he’s about to reach for a fountain pen, a bare leg finds itself resting across the length of his desk. So his gaze lifts to his little minx once again, and he stills as soon as his eyes land upon her parted legs. And to make matters worse, she’s negated her underwear.
He meets her gaze, and she’s smiling so haughtily, as if she has won some crucial battle, before biting down teasingly on her bottom lip. He considers the situation for only a moment, and moves his hand, fingers only just grazing the inside of her thigh, causing her breath to hitch. And just as she’s about to lean in, he severs all contact, and picks up his gold plated Mont Blanc pen instead. He signs several papers, and pays no heed to her incredulous expression; she’ll have to do better than that.
But she answers his challenge with true Waldorf determination, and he notices in his periphery her hand moving up her thigh slowly, teasingly, only to come to a rest there. His eyes narrow on the sight of her pleasuring herself, and he wonders when she became so wantonly daring – he doubts he’s wholly responsible for this, despite the road of decadent sin he’s taken her down. But he reminds himself that his little Queen is always full of surprises.
He quickly signs the rest of the papers and deposits them in the desk’s drawer, freeing the surface.
It is time he taught her a lesson in obedience.
He rises from his seat and lays a hand on each leg, running them slowly up her calves before hooking them just beneath her knees, and he pulls her forward forcefully. She giggles excitedly, her hands reaching for his neck but he shrugs her off easily. Before she has a chance to even raise a questioning brow he’s picking her up and turning her over, her hips slamming into the hard wooden edge and her yelp of surprise is quick to follow. He ignores it, his fingers digging mercilessly into her waist beneath her dress to keep her in place as his other hand winds itself into her chocolate curls. He pulls on the handful, hard, forcing her head back and simultaneously eliciting a fervent gasp.
He doubts anyone’s ever handled her like this, as innocent and chaste she pretends to be, but she’s proven she can take just about anything without shattering like some Venetian glass. And he’s truly looking forward to this… to showing her how pleasure and pain can go hand in hand.
“Now what am I supposed to do with you?” he asks dispassionately, pulling back on her hair for emphasis.
Another delicious gasp leaves her lips, but she manages a response, albeit a silent one, and rubs her rear against his pelvis. So daring indeed, his little minx is, and he can’t help but smile at her tenacity. But for all her teasing, he won’t let her flirt her way out of what he has in store for her. So his hand leaves her hip and comes to a rest against her exquisitely smooth rear, palming it gently. As soon as she moves into him, he raises his hand and brings it back down with a resounding smack that echoes off the walls. A surprised cry follows.
“Quiet,” he orders, tugging back on her hair.
His palm meets her rear once again, only with greater force, and he can hear her trying to suppress a whimper as she grasps onto the edge of his desk.
She’s learning.
He continues until both cheeks are throbbing and an angry red, and he’s notably satisfied with his work. Releasing her hair, he undoes his belt and doubles it before laying it beside her head. She turns to look at it and visibly tenses, and as much as he’s tempted to put the leather strap to good use, he’s decided she’s been disciplined enough for one day. Rather, he moves his fingertips over the red welts he’s created, slowly, and her resulting shiver is a reward in itself and his patience is at an end.
He pushes into her mercilessly, fingers digging into her hips, and she’s pushing back hard, meeting him thrust for thrust as her cries – louder than he’s ever heard them – fill the room.
“Remember, he who knows when he can fight and when he cannot will be victorious,” he states calmly, conveniently quoting Sun Tzu, and his pace increases, etching the important lesson upon her very being. “Choose your battles carefully.”
Her screams of ecstasy fill the entire manor.
* * *
“You approve of Blair, don’t you?”
He looks up at Nathaniel’s sudden query, and pauses for only a moment before moving his gaze back onto his morning paper.
“Most implicitly,” is his simple reply as he skims recent share prices.
“I want her back,” the boy proclaims passionately, and he has his attention once again. “Things were so complicated back in high school, what with Chuck and all, and I was stupid enough to let her go. But now… now that she’s finally cut him out her life she’s been so much happier and confident. And I think she might be ready to move on.”
“With you?” he asks pointedly, and he cannot hold back a hint of disdain from etching its way into his tone. Nathaniel doesn’t notice.
“I don’t see why not. We’ve been together since ever, and lately we’ve been spending so much time together, learning to be friends all over again, and it’s been great. I mean, she was the first girl I loved… that I’ll ever love!”
“Hmm,” he acknowledges, opting to keep his words to a bare minimum lest he say something regretful.
“Tripp told me I should fight for her, really fight for her, so I am,” he states, and he’s pulling out a small velvet box from his pocket, and it’s one he knows all too well.
His lips part in expectation of what is to come next, folding his newspaper and placing it beside his untouched plate of eggs Benedict. Nathaniel opens the box and his eyes narrow on the precious family heirloom, and he can scarcely believe it, but the boy is being serious, and his mind is thrown into chaos as he attempts to come to terms with this development. And the implications of it.
“I spoke to mum. She was so ecstatic when I told her she instantly gave me this, and told me not to stuff it up. Actually, I think she’s already booking caterers and reception halls,” Nathaniel says with a laugh.
But his expression is grim as his eyes remain fixed upon Cornelius Vanderbilt’s diamond ring… at the way it catches the morning light, shining more brightly than the many glasses of crystal combined, and he swears the damn thing is mocking him. His hand clenches atop the white tabletop, nails digging painfully into his palm, and he hopes the pain is enough of a distraction, because every word is like a dagger tearing at his being and murky soul, and he doubts he can take much more.
“I want to be with her,” the boy declares, staring down at the ring himself. “I want to be with her forever.”
Silence follows, and he feels as if Nathaniel is waiting for him to say something. “I see.”
“So, yeah, I just wanted to let you know,” he mentions offhandedly, closing the box and putting it back in his pocket. “Do I have your blessing?”
And Nathaniel’s looking at him with young, expectant eyes, waiting for an answer that he simply hasn’t to give. Yet he knows he has to give him something. His chest is tight, and he can barely breathe, let alone conjure the will to speak, so he nods and taps him behind the shoulder with his non-mangled hand.
The boy smiles happily, taking the gesture to indicate his support, and his mind is a chilling blank as he tries to come to terms with it all.
“Thanks Grandfather.”
He nods again, scarcely aware of a growing puddle of red tainting the pure white cloth beneath his grip.
* * *
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Date: 2009-06-10 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-11 12:30 am (UTC)I'm also glad Nate's going to fight for her, seeing as he wouldn't on the show and it really tested my nerves. But i do have a soft spot for Nate/Blair, so I had to redeem him in this.
Final part should hopefully be out soonish. Sigh, it almost makes me sad that it's all coming to an end.
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Date: 2009-06-11 04:21 am (UTC)Ah, I can't choose! Nate, William, Nate, William!
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Date: 2009-06-11 05:11 am (UTC)And yes, I'm torn too!
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Date: 2009-06-11 06:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-11 06:24 am (UTC)But in all seriousness, I'm happy to hear you're enjoying this deliciously vile rendition, and that I've done William/Blair justice. And I suppose Nate too, as there's so much love for him suddenly XD
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Date: 2009-06-11 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-11 06:37 am (UTC)Nate/Blair has so much potential, and they could have been one of the sweetest pairings ever... but alas, stupid writers are stupid.
But I truly do heart your N/B icon (and the pretty one before it); the sweet romanticism is contagious!