Fic: Light Doth Seize the Broken Heart
“Why?!”
He turns towards the enraged voice, turns and looks at her. Blair Waldorf, the Upper East Side’s resident Queen in all her regal glory, every bit demanding and a picture of fatal confidence. It’s an impressive façade, and she wears it well, but deep down Blair is an emotional mess; distraught and hurt and so confused, and she thinks she just might break before this man. This man who promised her a shining future, who opened her eyes to the majesty of the Vanderbilt promise land, only to later do her wrong and tell Nate everything.
Nate, her one true constant in life, and the boy she was beginning to fall in love with all over again. Who left her not so long ago... who couldn’t stand to even look at her as he broke her heart all over again.
He promised her everything, and left her with nothing.
“Why did you tell him?! What could you have possibly gained from stabbing me in the back?”
His eyes narrow at her angry tenor, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze that does not go unnoticed, and he’s probably wondering who this little girl is. This little girl who thinks she can talk to him in such an impertinent manner and survive unscathed.
Perhaps she is mad; driven to irrationality by a torrent of painful emotions, only to foolishly settle on the Vanderbilt patriarch as the outlet for all that is wrong in her life. It’s an incredulous move that may end up costing her more than she can afford to pay, but she has to know why.
He says nothing.
“God, you’ve taken away my future and Nate, and you won’t even afford me this?!” she nearly screams, frustrated beyond measure, and desperately trying to suppress the tears threatening to spill.
She can’t let him see her cry; Blair Waldorf has no weaknesses.
“What would you have me say, Blair?” he asks with a level tone, all indifference and practicality and she wonders how anyone can be so cold. “Sorry? I only told Nathaniel the truth, and for that I have nothing to be sorry for.”
She raises a brow at this; a haughty, disbelieving arch that is sure to put even him to shame, because he can’t possibly be so cruel.
“I can see it now… why Nate doesn’t want anything to do with you!” she spits out before she realises it, every word laced with venom.
He looks at her then, really looks at her. And rather a response of indignation - he could crush her so easily if he wanted - it’s a small smirk that plays on his lips and it isn’t at all what she expected. He swallows some of the brandy in his glass, dark eyes purposely centred on her and she sees so much in that heavy gaze she almost forgets to breathe.
No one has looked at her like that - she won’t think about Chuck - with eyes so full of need, want, desire, and something else, and it renders her speechless as an inferno begins to stir the deepest recesses of her being. It’s not a reaction she would have ever expected or accounted for, and her instincts are telling her to leave, now, but she is a Waldorf… a Queen, and she won’t run away.
“With neither one of us. Rather fitting, wouldn't you say?” he corrects, challenging her to deny it.
She doesn’t, and she grimly recalls his words to her at dinner, when he reminded her of their arrangement. Of what she had at stake, and her mind fills with images of her slaving away sewing buttons and she thinks she just might faint.
How low the mighty have fallen.
“We are the same, you and I,” he elaborates, pulling her out of her reverie. He puts down his drink and takes a step towards her, walking with all the power and confidence of some revered predator. But she won’t be intimidated; she stands her ground.
“We choose what we want from life, and we take it.”
He’s so close now, his tone low and conspiratorial, as if he were breaking some higher law by telling her this. She tries to wrap her mind around it, to understand it, but her conscious is slowly falling apart - down the rabbit hole she goes - overwhelmed by the scent of alcohol and expensive cologne and the way his body seems to burn and it’s been far too long....
“But to take all we want from life, we first need power.”
He begins to circle her, slowly, and she doesn’t dare move. It’s a simple ploy, but it makes her feel small all of a sudden; small, alone and weak. Her rational mind knows now that she should not have come to him, but she won’t run. She won’t.
“You’ve always valued control, haven’t you? Keeping little girls in line… wrapping little boys around your finger; trivial acts that kept you content for the longest of time. But now you’ve seen the real world beyond the confines of childish realities, and you find you no longer have as much control as you used to,” he whispers into her ear, his lips but a whisker’s length away, and she can’t help but go weak in the knees as his hot breath splays across the expanse of her neck.
She’s not sure where he is going with this, and her sudden inane thoughts - so debased, and God what would he think of her if he knew - aren’t helping her nerve-wracked being because this is becoming far too intimate and it’s all wrong… so very wrong. He’s her boyfriend’s - ex-boyfriend’s - grandfather, and old enough to be her father - no, Blair Waldorf does not have daddy issues - and her mind is in a frenzy simply because she has no idea what to do. It’s a precarious feeling because she loathes having no control, and she ponders on the comic irony that he should know that too.
“The fates have been cruel to you, and you have lost so much. But you can still have what you want Blair, you just have to take it.”
The word sounds both vulgar and sacred when it leaves his lips, and the deep baritone of his voice almost makes her tremble. When his fingers caress her bare upper arm, she thinks she’s going to come apart. She closes her eyes, suddenly oblivious to everything around her because it’s all so surreal... a dream, a haze. This shouldn’t be happening, and yet it is, and it’s so wrong. With a mere a touch he has rendered her helpless... powerless, and for the first time that night she is truly afraid.
“Place your faith in someone who won’t disappoint you... who can give you anything your heart desires.”
His tone is still level, so calm and composed, and she hates him for it. Hates him for what he did to her earlier that evening, hates him for what he’s doing to her now... hates him for illustrating her mortality, for taking away any control she may have had. She can barely breathe now; the length of his warm body against her own, his hand trailing lazy lines up and down her side and Lord, who is this man?
“So tell me, Blair. What does your heart desire?”
Fingers find her dress’ zipper and pull it down, inch by agonizing inch.
“A father?”
Her dress falls to the floor; a puddle of silk about her feet. Her strapless bra follows.
“Nathaniel?”
Lips find her neck with a searing kiss.
“Yale?”
His hand disappears beneath the waistline of her black La Perla underwear.
“Tell me what you want.”
Skilled fingers touch her there and she is undone.
Her gasp echoes across the room, so raw and carnal and needy and it sounds nothing like her, and she’s struggling to breathe because she’s fallen into some netherworld of existence and it’s as if the wind has been knocked out of her. A place she’s never reached before; not with Nate, not with Carter... not with Chuck. It is Heaven and Hell and everything in between, and in the midst of it all there is only rapturous darkness, so potent, and piercing, and sweet, and... oh, God!
Her legs give out, plucked from right underneath her, and she thinks she’s going to fall before an arm wraps securely around her abdomen, and she’s leaning into him - his body is so warm - her head thrashing from side to side as his fingers continue their relentless torment. Its pleasure like she’s never felt, and they’re not even passed foreplay, but it still isn’t enough. She wants more… so much more, but when she tries to tell him only breathless moans manage to leave her lips.
“Open your eyes.”
It’s a whisper but it sounds like a command and she doesn’t dare disobey. Forces her heavy lids open and she sees them; their image reflected off a gold framed floor-length mirror on the wall she had failed to see earlier. He meets her gaze in the mirror and holds it with dark eyes that seem to burn for her, and yet his refined, handsome features remain completely detached as he continues with his ministrations.
She wants to force a reaction from him - no man has ever looked at her with such indifference and she won’t stand for it - so she brushes her rear against his pelvis, and her cheeks turn an even darker shade of red at her daring.
“Eager, aren’t we?” he says with a small chuckle and she’s satisfied she managed to get even a smile out of him. But then his fingers pick up their pace, as if reminding her that he is the one leading this sinful dance. His other hand caresses the underside of her left breast and she doesn’t think she can hold out much longer.
“Please!” she manages to choke out, her gaze silently pleading with him.
“What was that?”
“Please... I need... I need.”
“Shh...,” he coos as she continues to hopelessly stutter, lips grazing her ear, “good things come to those who wait.”
So she bites down on her lip, and allows this furious torture to continue only because she has no power to stop it. He is doing things to her body she never considered possible; working her up to a white hot frenzy, only to pause and touch her so assuredly and tenderly that a cold shiver sets off down her spine.
Nate had always been sweet and gentle; Carter, arrogant and forceful, and Chuck... Chuck had been exciting if not a little impatient. But not the man behind her, no; impossibly collected - her arse is resting against his pelvis and he still isn’t hard - he has the patience and expertise that can only come with maturity, so different to the little boys she’s known for so long and it’s quite the thrill. He’s teaching her a very important lesson - the first of many, she’s sure - that she should learn to savour every sensation as opposed to rushing towards the finish line.
Still, she is only human.
“Mi-mister Vanderbilt... please... I... I’m so close!”
“I’m disappointed,” he tsks, and strangely enough, his displeasure sends a wave of shame through her. “Surely you can hold out just a little longer.”
She wants to please him, she realises, she wants him to be ‘proud’ of her - maybe Blair Waldorf has daddy issues after all - but this isn’t a dance she can currently keep up with. And all of a sudden, the world goes white. Total euphoria wracks her being and enfolds her very soul, and she thinks she’s flying - or maybe she’s falling - and she feels so alive and it’s all so right, and then it all comes crashing down as her body collides with the floor.
Her eyes dart open.
“Really… I expected better from someone who takes pride in their strength and resilience. What happened to that fighting spirit you displayed earlier?”
Wide, vulnerable and eager eyes seek him out as she quickly turns around, taking no heed of her semi-naked form. Her mind’s in tatters, but she knows she’s already missing the warmth of his body and longing for his touch.
“Control, Blair. Clearly you still need to learn control. Thus it seems as if I overestimated you, and I have no time for weak little girls,” he states in that apathetic tone just as he’s about to turn and leave.
“Wait!” she cries out, lunging forward and grabbing onto him.
Desperation laces every word and action, a stark contradiction to the anger she felt when she first walked into the room, and she can barely pause to wonder how it all morphed and came to this point… to come to terms with whom this man really is, and how he can play her so.
“Please, don’t leave!”
It’s an agonizing truth; that every man she’s ever been close to eventually leaves. Her father, Nate, Chuck… even Carter and Jack disappeared shortly after their time together. And in turn, her mind and heart succumbed to the vile insecurities that constantly gnaw at her sanity. That make her think she isn’t good enough. That impel her to thrust her fingers down her throat if only to numb the pain away and find some measure of control. Or maybe she’s simply cursed to be alone.
But now she has passed the point of no return with this man, and she doesn’t think her fragile state can handle another rejection. Her arms wrap tightly about his waist, her head resting against his stomach, and she doesn’t care how pathetically needy and childish she looks; she won’t let him leave too.
“Blair-”
But he prides confidence, she recalls, so she quickly puts on a hard expression with the intent of making him see her as an equal; he did say they’re the same, after all. Meets his narrowed gaze with no inhibitions, and quickly cuts him off.
“You’re right, I still have a lot to learn. A lot which I know you can teach me. But I’ve decided to take a stand... right here, right now,” she proclaims, and he raises an eyebrow at this; amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “And I’m going to take exactly what I want.”
With that said, she wastes no time unbuckling his belt, and to her surprise and elation, he lets her. He won’t reject her. But before she can undo his pants’ zipper, his hands close around her wrists and her insecurities strike once again... her heart sinking at the prospect that he may not want her in that way.
Dismayed, she lets him pull her up but before she knows it, he has her against the wall with such force she can’t hold back a yelp of surprise.
“Don’t move,” he orders, and she nods her consent, just glad he hasn’t turned her away.
He keeps her in place with a forceful grip on her wrists, both hands pinned above her head. She can’t help but tremble as his free hand caresses her cheek, down her neck and across her collarbone, before wrapping around her left breast, teasing the small bud with practised ease. His mouth wraps around the other and she is gone.
The world is nothing but pure ecstasy, and she’s lost in it.
“Tell me, what did you expect by coming here, Blair?” he asks against her skin, moving further down and placing small kisses across her abdomen.
“I... I wanted a-answers,” she manages breathlessly, “I w-wanted to hurt... you the way... you hurt me.”
“Hmm,” is all he offers, but the strength of his hold doubles and she fears her wrists just might break. The meaning isn’t lost on her; she hasn’t the power to do anything, let alone hurt him with her poisonous words, when she is completely at his mercy. The thought is terrifying - her fear from before coming through - but equally exciting because this is a road she’s never been down before. With anyone.
His lips find the inside of her thigh with a kiss so soft and tender, and then he's suddenly biting down on the smooth flesh, hard. A sharp hiss escapes her lips and she almost comes off the wall, but luckily his hand is still there to hold her in place. Then, his tongue runs over what she’s sure is a newly formed bruise - he’s clearly branding her as his - and she can’t help but moan at the conflicting sensations. She’s so lost in her haze of proverbial pleasure she hardly registers his fingers undoing her garters and slowly tugging down her soaked underwear. Reality hits when his mouth meets her clit.
Her eyes shoot open as his tongue plays with it, over and over, with the occasional bite to throw her senses into a frenzy. His fingers join the delicious torment, and her thighs begin to shake in anticipation and she’s just about ready to explode when he suddenly moves away.
She groans and her hips move forward at the lost contact, desperate for release, but his grip is still firm and soon enough the fight leaves her as she falls back against the hardwood wall. She hears a deep chuckle and it’s enough of an indication to know he’s enjoying this, playing with her. It’s another frustrating display of his power over her, and once again she hates him for it.
But he must be human on some level for he finally lets go of her strained arms and just as quickly picks her up from under her thighs, lifting her up, and she realises it’s finally going to happen as she willingly wraps her legs around his waist. They look at one another closely, only the sound of her ragged breaths and his zipper being undone - delicious music to her ears - cutting into the stifling silence. She decides he’s truly a handsome man, almost otherworldly under the warm yellow light, and she just has to voice the question nagging at her mind.
“Who are you?” she whispers, looking deep into his ebony eyes as if she’ll find her answer somewhere in their dark expanse.
He doesn’t reply, only smiles with sinister intent, and he’s suddenly entering her with a single, powerful thrust. She cries out, the violent force of it slamming her against the wall, and she quickly grabs onto his broad shoulders because it’s as if the world is splitting open and he’s the only thing that can keep her from falling into the awaiting abyss.
He sets a firm pace, every move of his hips measured, and domineering, and harsh, and deep, and she finally understands why he toyed with her… why he strung her along all this time, so she could take this.
His grip on her thighs is merciless - she’s sure there will be bruises there tomorrow - but she can hardly register the pain, not when he’s doing things to her she’s never felt before; setting her alight from the inside out… tearing her apart and exposing her very soul.
His pace picks up and she shudders terribly, her tiny hands fisting the fabric of his grey suit, trying to grab onto as much of him as she can because, at that moment in time, he is the only other thing that exists. Here, in this twisted world they’ve created, there is no Nate, no Chuck, no pain, no disappointment. There is only pleasure... raw, unadulterated pleasure.
“Is this what you want?” he asks, his tone and breaths steady even through this.
She cries something out, but she isn’t sure what exactly. She doesn’t think it was even anything legible, but she receives a response nonetheless.
“God? God has nothing to do with this Blair.”
And he’s pushing into her with even greater vigour; with such possessiveness she thinks she’s going to break right there in his hands from the sheer power of it all. Her eyes are sealed, taking everything he gives her without complaint, but utter relish because deep down she’s wanted this; to feel needed and adored and appreciated, even if it kills her - it’s only fitting that Blair Waldorf, a tortured soul like no other, would turn out to be such a masochist.
“Look at me,” he demands, so she opens her eyes and meets his fiery gaze.
She sees entirely too much in those timeless black orbs, but at the same time she sees nothing at all. She wants to look away, but she doesn’t dare in fear of what he’ll do to punish her defiance; he holds all the power in this decadent game. So she presses her lips against his instead - she too can play - kissing him with abandon, and he meets her urgency with brutal force, devouring her mouth as if quenching some dire thirst. When he bites down on her bottom lip she instantly tastes blood, and its enough to send her over the edge along with one final delicious thrust.
She comes with an intensity that reaches her very core; her mind and body and heart and soul are on fire, and the world is white, consumed by light. She collapses onto him - exhausted and broken and remade all the same - her arms wrapping around his neck as she comes down from her heavenly high.
And then there is silence.
The world is quiet save her heavy breaths, so she tightens her embrace just to prove to herself that he is still there. That he exists. That he hasn’t left her. And whilst she’s perfectly content with remaining in his strong hold, her mind travels back to the beginning of all this, and she realises he has yet to answer her original question.
“What were you hoping to gain from telling Nate?” she whispers tiredly.
“Nothing,” he finally answers after a long expanse of silence, and it sounds so sincere she’s glad she cannot see his face... or his eyes, only to see something else there entirely.
Another pause, and then, “...Everything.”
It makes all the sense in the world, and none at all, and her fears are confirmed.
William Vanderbilt is no man.
William Vanderbilt is the Devil himself.
Fin