Rated M

Queen

She was the queen. Everyone knew it. Of their class, of their school, of this island. It was all hers, lying in her dainty little palm. The die always fell the way she desired, because she was the one to cast it. She was flawless, and no king was ever the right suitor. Dark or fair, brown eyed or blue, she traded one for another with each event of the social calendar.

Where Blair was the light, Chuck was the quiet darkness. Her darkness was secret- alluded to by those who feared her, where his greatness, his beating heart, was lost in layers of smoke and mirrors and shrouds. They would collude together on occasion, when the scheme necessitated it. Because of this, his hidden heart was bound to the darkness only he could see in her, and she always knew he was there, for all shapes had shadows, and even the Queen of Hearts for her beautiful frontispiece had an elaborate, intricate backside.

There had been dark nights with him stolen away in summers outside the city or in a hidden room at a club; five, ten, fifteen minutes of her life that were unaccounted for. He would touch her, make her tremble, and gasp for breath. That is when she not only shined; she burned. There were glimmers of he and she that existed nowhere else, except perhaps the safety of sleep or the quiet breaths of long minutes alone, away from Queens and Dark Princes and the games that were their lives.

One day they would clash.

One day they would burn,

together.

And it would all fall away.

Leaving nothing but him and her.

Nothing but pure light, pure dark, and the pure power of creation they wielded.

It was late afternoon; classes had ended several hours ago, but he climbed the staircase, turning, and turning again, before reaching the auditorium, slipping into the shadows.

She was fury unleashed today, sitting center stage, the hot light shining down on her. There was no music stand, just Blair seated there, her head knelt down, a curtain of chocolate curls hiding her. Sight was not needed here, her fingers flying up and down and across the long, dark, magnificent cello between her legs. She was playing Bach, a sign that she was volatile as the bow dug into the thick strings, breaking a number of horsehair's and causing the air to hum and surge. Not just Bach, but his Partita for Solo Violin, Number Three. Today had not been a good day for the Queen, and she was taking it out on her cello- taking it out on him. Though he was hidden, she knew he was there, and the notes rained down on him, reverberating in his ears and through his veins.

The high note, a harmonic, hit with perfect precision, it rang through the space; she dropped straight into the Gigue from Suite Number One. He heard her harshly berate herself as she dug the bow in harder, striking hard accents, other phrases sliding across the bow and climbing into the air. Ending on a delicious low note, she let this one fully ring out until the note died. He could hear her breathing hard and he felt the memory of her hot breath panting in his ear begin to burn in his blood.

Long beautiful broken chords slurred, sliding together. Yes. She knew he was there in the shadows. They were the Prelude; low and high, fast and slow, slipping, spinning, climbing, falling, only to rise again, arpeggios, up, crescendoing up, climbing higher still, whirling in the apex to settle in a low, perfect complete chord, two strings struck together, resonating together in harmony.

The bow slipped from her fingers with a clatter. She sat there unmoving, a flame, causing fire to scream in his veins. He left without disturbing her; his footfall walking down the hallway was long and measured, a languorous misdirection of the pounding of his heart. He had watched her torment for days now and this was the last of it. He would push her, break her, release the scream she refused to let out.

After her heart slowed, she put her cello away, smoothed her hair and skirt, and gathered her bag to return home. The school was desolate; the streets were relatively empty- school children inside, parents not yet rushing home. Headphones nestled in her ears, she listened to the Bach she had just played. Walking up 85th Street, she still felt the music surging through her.

She did not see him.

In the shadows.

Waiting.

From the gated rear service access to her building, Chuck reached out, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him. Blair was breathless, even more so when his lips pressed hungrily to hers. They were stumbling towards the service door, his fingers licking flames across her skin everywhere he touched. She fumbled to find her access card, his body hard against hers, asking how much she wanted this. The green light flashed, he threw the door open and they stumbled to the elevator, his hands in her hair as they resumed kissing furiously.

The prelude sang to them as the elevator climbed higher, her head swam, and the headphones in her ears forcing her to hear the depths of her wanton moans as his tongue teased her, as her fingers met the hard body hiding under his yellow dress shirt.

Tumbling upwards.

The arpeggios began to climb.

Her room.

Blazer and shirt hit the ground.

He relished tearing the headband off her head with a dark smirk.

It all fell away. Bag. Headphones. Uniform. Lingerie.

He dragged her to the bed, shoving her down hard on her stain coverlet.

She saw him, in the light. She had never seen the darkness burn before. She had never seen him before. Taunt sinew of muscle, the dusting of hair across his chest, his eyes... how had she never seen those eyes? They consumed her as she stared into them.

His voice was deep and unyielding.

"This ends here."

He was not touching her yet. His body standing over her was what pinned her on the bed. He watched as she exhaled a shuddering breath, her body trembling at his words, her skin prickling into little bumps, her mauve nipples tightening until they could grow no harder.

He was mesmerized by her eyes. She was mesmerized by his.

"Chuck." It was a whisper, a moan from deep within.

At this he finally yielded.

At this he finally was undone.

He bore down on her. Her skin met his and his need to have every part of her broke free. Mouth to mouth, skin to skin, her hands clinging to him, the raging fire barely contained within him burned within her too. With one forceful, delicious thrust, she was his, he was hers, his fire was her fire and hers was his, her scream of pain, his of pleasure. Quickly it turned to pushing... pulling... a sob of protest, a cry of gratification, it began there, unsteady, needy, inconsistent, until the arpeggios started building.

Up.

Higher.

The light was blinding.

Pleasure screamed in her ears.

Through her body.

Breathing his name.

It tore from her throat.

She opened her eyes to him when she had no breath, no voice left. Light glimmered, refracted, then turned dark, glowing up at him. She had changed and shifted before him, no. Because of him. She was his now. He grinned at this, gleeful in his possession. It multiplied her beauty, her splendor, her light cutting through him, shattering the deceptions, the shadows, illuminating that as much as she was now his, he was now hers. The lightness made his head swim, bliss mingling with his passion shot through his body, the fire burning low. He heard her cries in his ears, her nails biting into his skin, her hips bucking against him. Harder, harder, until it pulled deep down, surging, and the light broke free inside of him, pouring back into her.

Stillness.

Completion.

Two hearts beating, resonating in harmony.

A tremor.

He shifted.

She resisted, mewling, no.

He grinned wickedly. He flexed inside her, still perfectly hard, watching her sigh with happiness. He leaned his head down, his hands sliding under her to grab her ass, forcing her hips flush against his.

His voice was raspy, stated yet unsatisfied, "Hold on."

They switched places, and now it was Blair who grinned wickedly. Somehow, pressing her hips down on him, he reached even deeper into her than before. Her eyes rolled back, her fingers digging into his chest as she smiled and moaned happily. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she slowly lifted herself upwards, feeling the aching and longing of every little bit he left devoid of their connection. She reached a hand down, running a finger up along his shaft, feeling, and watching with fascination as he left her.

He moaned at this as she pulled further and further away from him. He was barely at all inside her now, and her fingertip caressed the ridge of his head as he lay nestled there, inside of her, but not quite. His moan became a growl, his back arching, and his hands flying to wrap around her hips forcing her back down on him. He cried in relief, she gasped at the joy of being filled so completely by him once more.

"Enough." He commanded her, forcing her hips to jerk against his in a consistent forceful rhythm. Blair moaned, leaning down to kiss him deeply, her mind swimming in the fire and the light. She pulled her mouth from his when it began to consume her.

He grinned at the haze of pleasure he saw in her half opened eyes while she rode him. He was growing closer, but he would make sure she came again. One hand came to rest on her neck, just under her jaw.

Blair's heart began to race even faster at this. She leaned into him, her hips bucking harder. She panted at the pressure of his hand around her neck, her mind growing fuzzy with white heat. It only took one last word to push her down the spiral of ecstasy once more.

His hips pushed back, up, against hers, and he groaned.

"Come!"

She gasped.

The hand on her hip dug in hard enough, deep enough to bruise.

They cried together, the world shaking, colors blurring, sound becoming a deafening silence.

She fell forward into his arms in a state beyond exhaustion.

He managed to pull her black satin blanket over them, softly kissing her mouth before they both blinked out of existence for awhile.

Blair awoke in an empty bed.

Cold.

Dark.

She shuddered. Her thighs were coated with him. But he was gone. Disgusted, she fled the bed they had defiled and went to shower and repair her appearance. As much as she could at least- when she found bruises, scratches, bites, all across her body. When she went to dress, there was an outfit laid out for her. Lingerie, a dark red dress- just to look at it heated her blood. Unquestioning, she dressed, just in time to catch his reflection in the mirror.

He proffered peonies, bright white and deepest pink. He had changed out of his uniform, his suit complimenting the dress perfectly. She accepted the flowers, a small smile as she inhaled their fragrance.

Chuck tilted her face up, so he might gaze into her eyes. They had not changed back. He smirked, his voice low, "There is no more denying us." before kissing her passionately. There bodies were hungry for more as her arms clung to him, her mouth begging for him.

But he pulled away, "No."

Blair's pout was mixed with the anger one would expect at denying a queen.

"Dinner first," he replied and held his arm out to her.


Happy birthday to…

Well.

Me.

Thank you to Georgia for respectfully editing this, despite her distaste for classical music, and my confusing 'artsy' language, lol. The music for this story was posted on my Tumblr on November 13th. The gate access mentioned for Blair's building is real, too. I observed it when Tawny and I walked passed 'Blair's building' in October.

I wrote this one-shot out of pure greed, this is everything I wanted it to be. The images, the music, the emotion, the smut. So while it's a weird kind of 'birthday present' to myself, I'm sharing it with you because I easily have some of the greatest, most amazing readers, and friends, on the Internet.
xoxo
~K