Fic: Infinity is but a Golden Ring
Title: Infinity is but a Golden Ring
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): Tripp/Blair
Rating: M
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.
Word Count: 1,005
Spoilers: No (AU fic)
Warnings: Adult themes.
Summary: Not even her dreams are quite this perfect.
Notes: I still intend to write a slightly dark Tripp, but for this, something sweet was in order. Birthday fic for
mocca_fix_gold; enjoy!
iv.
The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is a magnificent ray of light, elusive in its beauty, and it’s possible she may still be dreaming. Dreaming of paradise and seamless bliss, but not even her dreams are quite this perfect.
The Vanderbilt Promised Land, however, clearly is.
It stands tall like some mystic mirage; a shining pillar of salvation and divine grandeur demurely reflected in the simple band of precious gold wrapped about her finger. It’s a promise of love and security to last a lifetime, but the sincerity of it beckons a timeline far greater than even that. Infinity, she decides, is thus far more appropriate.
The protective arm holding onto her even in unconscious sleep adds yet another element to the mix, one of devout possessiveness and princely affection, and she decides the feeling of content it brings is enough to quell her internal pouts of victories lost during nightly jousts. So with an acquiesced smile, she remains in bed as her body and mind escape to a plane of serene nothingness.
Her younger self would have surely gone mad at such an idle display, but all is right in the world, and the mindless minutes won’t be missed. In her carefree state, she eyes the curtains lining the wall-length windows with abstract wonder. They dangle listlessly in pretty cascades of smooth translucent white, catching the bright morning light in guarantee of a shining day ahead.
Perfect, she thinks.
And it's the absolute truth; long gone are the days in which she had to lie to herself.
Everything is perfect.
iii.
It’s always a struggle for power with them.
A heated skirmish for dominance. And yet, their movements are slow and assured despite the deep-sated desire to forgo any and all sense of inhibition in favour of raw necessity. But like any battle, control is key, and neither of them wishes to come out as anything less than victorious.
He pulls her hips against his; she retaliates by pulling his hair. He bites down on an area of her exposed neck; she unmercifully tightens her thighs around his waist. The pattern continues for most of their foreplay; a game of tit-for-tat with no clear winner in sight, and the stakes are doubling by the second. And so he launches the first strike; an open palm travelling up the length of her thigh, and higher still, right until his fingers are taunting her with the barest of touches and she thinks she may scream.
Quickly, she bites down on her lip - assuring herself she won’t break - but her fingers are already curling against his neck, biting into flesh, and she can suddenly feel the smile breaking out across his face. She curses his confidence then. Curses his resolve and ruthlessness and the way his breathing never pauses or deepens, even in the throes of passion.
She wonders if he's even human.
Turns out, he is, for when she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear - his Achilles heel, if you will - and bites down on it softly, he instantly tenses. Stops breathing. It’s a petty gain, but a victory none the less. Her satisfaction, however, is short lived, because his fingers are suddenly entering her unexpectedly and she can only gasp in wanton surprise.
He is cruel in his ministrations, teasing and deliberately slow, and she thinks he derives some sort of twisted pleasure in seeing her teetering on the edge of what is left of her sanity. But just as she’s about to go mad, she groans despite herself, and arches against him in hopeless surrender.
He has won.
His fingers disappear then, and he’s instantly filling her with a frightening urgency that makes her forget all about her loss. The only thing on her mind, is this. This passionate and fiery affair… so vigorous and potent and deep. And, fittingly enough, sweet as well.
“I love you,” he whispers against her mouth, and her heart greedily absorbs every word as if they were water and she was dying of thirst.
“I - oh, God!” she cries when he moves his hips just right; the ploy deliberate in its timing, she’s sure.
Before she can even consider a reprimand, he’s already claiming her swollen lips with a kiss softer than silk, and with it, steals her very breath and every word left unsaid.
ii.
Her legs hit the edge of their bed in her sudden haste, and she falls upon it precariously. There is little grace or control in her failed retreat, and she would have spared a second to frown in dissatisfaction if it weren’t for her husband removing his shirt with calculated patience directly in front of her. A well-toned torso comes to view, and her lips part slightly in approval and anticipation. The sensation that follows is as crippling as it is insatiable, and she couldn’t refuse even if she tried.
“So, here we are… again,” she states with a half-smile, and meets his gaze with dark, determined eyes.
“Here we are.”
The shirt falls carelessly to the floor.
i.
Seated before her vanity, she barely spares a glance in Tripp’s direction, and continues to brush her hair. Her preoccupation alone should have been enough to send him away, but in spite of his continued silence, she can wholly feel his eyes on her. His gaze burns with determination, firm with resolve, and she doubts he’ll be leaving any time soon. Blair frowns in irritation.
“It's too late for games, Tripp.”
“Games? I don't for the life of me know what you mean.”
The playful tilt of his reply makes her sigh. “You just got back from Washington.”
When he doesn’t say anything, she bites back an indignant reproach and elaborates instead. “You need to sleep.”
“No, I don't actually,” he returns, coming up behind her and laying his hands on her shoulders. She instantly stills, surprised by the turn of events, and meets his devious gaze in the mirror. At her raised brow, a smirk etches itself across his handsome face.
“What I need… is you.”
Shaking her head, she curses the Vanderbilt charm as the brush falls from her hand.
But she is a Vanderbilt too - and a Waldorf by birth - and she promises herself she won’t go down without a fight.
Fin
Category: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Character(s): Tripp/Blair
Rating: M
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.
Word Count: 1,005
Spoilers: No (AU fic)
Warnings: Adult themes.
Summary: Not even her dreams are quite this perfect.
Notes: I still intend to write a slightly dark Tripp, but for this, something sweet was in order. Birthday fic for
mocca_fix_gold; enjoy!
iv.
The first thing she sees when she opens her eyes is a magnificent ray of light, elusive in its beauty, and it’s possible she may still be dreaming. Dreaming of paradise and seamless bliss, but not even her dreams are quite this perfect.
The Vanderbilt Promised Land, however, clearly is.
It stands tall like some mystic mirage; a shining pillar of salvation and divine grandeur demurely reflected in the simple band of precious gold wrapped about her finger. It’s a promise of love and security to last a lifetime, but the sincerity of it beckons a timeline far greater than even that. Infinity, she decides, is thus far more appropriate.
The protective arm holding onto her even in unconscious sleep adds yet another element to the mix, one of devout possessiveness and princely affection, and she decides the feeling of content it brings is enough to quell her internal pouts of victories lost during nightly jousts. So with an acquiesced smile, she remains in bed as her body and mind escape to a plane of serene nothingness.
Her younger self would have surely gone mad at such an idle display, but all is right in the world, and the mindless minutes won’t be missed. In her carefree state, she eyes the curtains lining the wall-length windows with abstract wonder. They dangle listlessly in pretty cascades of smooth translucent white, catching the bright morning light in guarantee of a shining day ahead.
Perfect, she thinks.
And it's the absolute truth; long gone are the days in which she had to lie to herself.
Everything is perfect.
iii.
It’s always a struggle for power with them.
A heated skirmish for dominance. And yet, their movements are slow and assured despite the deep-sated desire to forgo any and all sense of inhibition in favour of raw necessity. But like any battle, control is key, and neither of them wishes to come out as anything less than victorious.
He pulls her hips against his; she retaliates by pulling his hair. He bites down on an area of her exposed neck; she unmercifully tightens her thighs around his waist. The pattern continues for most of their foreplay; a game of tit-for-tat with no clear winner in sight, and the stakes are doubling by the second. And so he launches the first strike; an open palm travelling up the length of her thigh, and higher still, right until his fingers are taunting her with the barest of touches and she thinks she may scream.
Quickly, she bites down on her lip - assuring herself she won’t break - but her fingers are already curling against his neck, biting into flesh, and she can suddenly feel the smile breaking out across his face. She curses his confidence then. Curses his resolve and ruthlessness and the way his breathing never pauses or deepens, even in the throes of passion.
She wonders if he's even human.
Turns out, he is, for when she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear - his Achilles heel, if you will - and bites down on it softly, he instantly tenses. Stops breathing. It’s a petty gain, but a victory none the less. Her satisfaction, however, is short lived, because his fingers are suddenly entering her unexpectedly and she can only gasp in wanton surprise.
He is cruel in his ministrations, teasing and deliberately slow, and she thinks he derives some sort of twisted pleasure in seeing her teetering on the edge of what is left of her sanity. But just as she’s about to go mad, she groans despite herself, and arches against him in hopeless surrender.
He has won.
His fingers disappear then, and he’s instantly filling her with a frightening urgency that makes her forget all about her loss. The only thing on her mind, is this. This passionate and fiery affair… so vigorous and potent and deep. And, fittingly enough, sweet as well.
“I love you,” he whispers against her mouth, and her heart greedily absorbs every word as if they were water and she was dying of thirst.
“I - oh, God!” she cries when he moves his hips just right; the ploy deliberate in its timing, she’s sure.
Before she can even consider a reprimand, he’s already claiming her swollen lips with a kiss softer than silk, and with it, steals her very breath and every word left unsaid.
ii.
Her legs hit the edge of their bed in her sudden haste, and she falls upon it precariously. There is little grace or control in her failed retreat, and she would have spared a second to frown in dissatisfaction if it weren’t for her husband removing his shirt with calculated patience directly in front of her. A well-toned torso comes to view, and her lips part slightly in approval and anticipation. The sensation that follows is as crippling as it is insatiable, and she couldn’t refuse even if she tried.
“So, here we are… again,” she states with a half-smile, and meets his gaze with dark, determined eyes.
“Here we are.”
The shirt falls carelessly to the floor.
i.
Seated before her vanity, she barely spares a glance in Tripp’s direction, and continues to brush her hair. Her preoccupation alone should have been enough to send him away, but in spite of his continued silence, she can wholly feel his eyes on her. His gaze burns with determination, firm with resolve, and she doubts he’ll be leaving any time soon. Blair frowns in irritation.
“It's too late for games, Tripp.”
“Games? I don't for the life of me know what you mean.”
The playful tilt of his reply makes her sigh. “You just got back from Washington.”
When he doesn’t say anything, she bites back an indignant reproach and elaborates instead. “You need to sleep.”
“No, I don't actually,” he returns, coming up behind her and laying his hands on her shoulders. She instantly stills, surprised by the turn of events, and meets his devious gaze in the mirror. At her raised brow, a smirk etches itself across his handsome face.
“What I need… is you.”
Shaking her head, she curses the Vanderbilt charm as the brush falls from her hand.
But she is a Vanderbilt too - and a Waldorf by birth - and she promises herself she won’t go down without a fight.
Fin