Seduction at the End of the World
Well, isn't this just fine and dandy. I have here for you... a PINCH HIT FOR THE SUMMER BLEIGHTON FICATHON! Iknorite, aren't we doing the winter Bleighton ficathon by now? Well, uh, better late than never?
Title: Seduction at the End of the World
Author: shadowings
Challenge: written for the bleighton_squee summer 2009 ficathon.
Recipient: 08adabry
Word Count: 1346
Pairing: Blake Lively/Leighton Meester
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Blake Lively and Leighton Meester. New York City. The apocalypse. Things change when there are only two of you alone in a city filled with the dead.
Notes: I'm really sorry for the lateness! Even though I'm a pinch hitter, I probably could have knocked this out way earlier. I'm also sorry for the shortness and abruptness of the story - if I had more time and more interest, I could probably flesh out the story way more. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this!
I suppose I should also mention that this story is not beta read... lol, sounds like a mess, doesn't it? I swear, it's not really as bad as this note is making it sound. I'll shut up now.
I.
So that's it? Just that? No dream.
A memory, and it happened
a while ago. On Grove Street
a sophora tree slightly swayed,
soul to soul in the plum-misted chill.
II.
You wait and see. That language doesn't work
anymore, its century is over.
-parts from Just That, by Lawrence Joseph
Seduction at the End of the World
“Leighton, that's probably gone stale by now,” Blake said crossly. They were standing in the kitchen of Leighton's apartment, at the opposite ends of the room. Blake leaned against the counter in a too-small shirt that belonged to Leighton and no underwear, smoking a cigarette. Leighton sat in a chair, fully dressed in civilian rags.
Leighton ripped off a piece of the bread and munched on it thoughtfully.
“Nope,” she said. “Just a little hard and crunchy, that's all.”
“Leighton,” Blake said more forcefully. “That's called stale. Dude, there's like blue mold and shit growing on it!”
Leighton rolled her eyes, grabbed a knife, and cut out the moldy section. She lasered it into the trash, and offered Blake a piece. Blake recoiled.
“Well, why don't you find some fresh food then, Blake? Jeez.” Leighton made a hurt face, then focused on the bread again.
Blake groaned.
“I don't understand,” she whined to the air. “Of all... of all of the people I have to get stuck with in the middle of New York, it has to be you!”
“Here she goes, another one of her little rich girl tantrums,” Leighton said, rolling her eyes again. She was, of course, talking to the air. Blake was the only other person there.
“Don't belittle me, I'm not a child!”
“Stop acting like one then,” Leighton said, slightly annoyed. “Look, either you can stop lounging around this place whining about the apocalypse and smoking through five packs of cigarettes a day, or you can start leaving the apartment with me to go find food.”
“But what if whatever killed everyone else kills meeeee?”
“Do I look dead to you?” Leighton asked.
“No,” Blake admitted. “You look very, very alive.”
And Leighton did. She might have looked gorgeous in Gossip Girl, but she looked absolutely radiant now, even without any makeup. Instead of blush she had an actual red glow, and her hair was legitimately windswept. Her eyes were bright, her lips curved into a real frown, not the delicate snobby sneers that were her trademark on Gossip Girl. Had been.
Physical labor had never looked so good on anyone.
“Can I kiss you?” she asked spontaneously.
“No,” Leighton said firmly, “I'm not desperate enough yet.”
“What?” Blake asked, shocked. “You used to try to make out with me all the time! Every time you even slightly got drunk, you would drape yourself all over me!”
“Yeah?” Leighton asked, rolling her eyes. A slight blush tinged her face. “Well, that was before I learned how much of a whiny loafer you are. Should have let you and Penn live your All-American dream together instead of - ”
She stopped abruptly, clapping her hand to her mouth. A silence filled the room. Blake stayed against the counter, frozen, breathing hard but paralyzed. Her cigarette burned to a stub, the ash forming a light mist against the floor.
“I'm sorry,” Leighton said quietly.
Blake tried to whisper. Her voice cracked.
---
It started like this. The world was going about its merry business, generating rain and hurricanes, exploiting young children, filming Gossip Girl. Blake and Leighton were on set, a few seconds before a break, and Leighton was busy trying to work her magic on Blake.
It worked, partially, because Leighton managed to pull Blake into her trailer without a mention of puppy dog Penn.
Of course, Penn came looking for his perfect soulmate, and Blake stepped out of the trailer for what she said was about ten minutes, or code for a quickie, an appetizer before the main event.
The next Leighton knew, Blake was screaming, screaming, and everyone else was screaming. All she could hear was screaming, and maybe the heroic thing to do was run outside and see what was happening, but instead she shut all her blinds and hid curled up on the couch.
And then all of the other screaming stopped. It was silent, except for Blake, until Blake eventually fell silent too.
When Leighton stepped outside, everyone else on set was lying dead in a pool of their own blood. Blake was lying down too, but alive in a pool of Penn's blood.
Everyone Leighton called was a messaging system, and everywhere she just saw bodies as she walked a catatonic Blake back to her apartment. No one alive.
She took care of Blake for a few days. Blake said nothing, just rocked herself back and forth. Leighton undressed her, washed her of blood, tucked her into bed, fed her food. She needed Blake to stay alive, because she knew she wouldn't be able to live by herself alone forever. She would have taken anyone, even that sleazeball Sebastian for companionship at that point.
Blake regained life and gave Leighton something to busy herself with. Leighton realized she'd lost her overwhelming lust for Blake somewhere along the way. And here they were.
---
Whenever Leighton brought Penn up by accident, Blake got real quiet and couldn't speak or move for a few hours. She'd been out there, witnessed all the bodies collapsing around in a fountain of blood. Leighton had stayed inside and cowered.
So after that incident, Leighton made sure to treat Blake gently for a while. She made no comments about Blake's commitment to suicide by lung cancer, and gave all the best food she could forage to Blake.
Blake, for her part, got better little by little. First she was a catatonic rock, and then she was a depressed rock, and then she was a depressed person floating around the house, and then she was a whiny bitch floating around the house. Little by little.
Today, for example, Blake offered to leave the apartment with Leighton. Blake hadn't left the apartment since she'd gotten there, five months.
They didn't walk very far - Blake was extremely weak and New York City was getting cold. All the same, Leighton was glad for the company. It kept her from having to think about the upcoming winter, from having to think about a sustainable living strategy, from having to absorb the impact of decaying bodies everywhere.
They held hands. No paparazzi were around to zoom in, shadowing them everywhere they went and snapping pictures of everything they did.
“Do you really not want me anymore?” Blake asked as they walked back, breath misting in the air.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, did you really mean what you said, about not wanting to kiss me?” She let go of Leighton's hands and rubbed her bright red cheeks, trying to stave away the bitter cold.
Leighton walked in silence for a few moments before answering.
“I don't really know. I mean, you are difficult to deal with sometimes,” she admitted, “More difficult than I imagined you to be. I guess I never thought past the fact that I wanted to fuck your brains out.”
Blake snorted and choked at the same time, and Leighton giggled demurely, as if she hadn't said anything at all. Leighton could still be charmingly devious. Blake found it comforting.
“Can we try?” Blake asked. “Kissing, again? Just, being together, living as best as we can. I think I liked the kissing before, before the end of the world. It made me feel happy. I want to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
Leighton stared at Blake, eyes wide. Tears welled up out of some emotion, Blake couldn't tell what. Leighton crossed her arms together, shivered, dropped her arms, brought a hand up to scratch her ear, brush her stray hairs back. She licked her chapped lips nervously, her tongue darting in and out over the cracks.
Her eyes brightened and she smiled shyly and a little slyly, like Blair would have done, as she shuffled forward. Blake thought it was the sexiest thing she'd ever witnessed, and the most seductive.
Leighton leaned in.
Title: Seduction at the End of the World
Author: shadowings
Challenge: written for the bleighton_squee summer 2009 ficathon.
Recipient: 08adabry
Word Count: 1346
Pairing: Blake Lively/Leighton Meester
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Blake Lively and Leighton Meester. New York City. The apocalypse. Things change when there are only two of you alone in a city filled with the dead.
Notes: I'm really sorry for the lateness! Even though I'm a pinch hitter, I probably could have knocked this out way earlier. I'm also sorry for the shortness and abruptness of the story - if I had more time and more interest, I could probably flesh out the story way more. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this!
I suppose I should also mention that this story is not beta read... lol, sounds like a mess, doesn't it? I swear, it's not really as bad as this note is making it sound. I'll shut up now.
I.
So that's it? Just that? No dream.
A memory, and it happened
a while ago. On Grove Street
a sophora tree slightly swayed,
soul to soul in the plum-misted chill.
II.
You wait and see. That language doesn't work
anymore, its century is over.
-parts from Just That, by Lawrence Joseph
Seduction at the End of the World
“Leighton, that's probably gone stale by now,” Blake said crossly. They were standing in the kitchen of Leighton's apartment, at the opposite ends of the room. Blake leaned against the counter in a too-small shirt that belonged to Leighton and no underwear, smoking a cigarette. Leighton sat in a chair, fully dressed in civilian rags.
Leighton ripped off a piece of the bread and munched on it thoughtfully.
“Nope,” she said. “Just a little hard and crunchy, that's all.”
“Leighton,” Blake said more forcefully. “That's called stale. Dude, there's like blue mold and shit growing on it!”
Leighton rolled her eyes, grabbed a knife, and cut out the moldy section. She lasered it into the trash, and offered Blake a piece. Blake recoiled.
“Well, why don't you find some fresh food then, Blake? Jeez.” Leighton made a hurt face, then focused on the bread again.
Blake groaned.
“I don't understand,” she whined to the air. “Of all... of all of the people I have to get stuck with in the middle of New York, it has to be you!”
“Here she goes, another one of her little rich girl tantrums,” Leighton said, rolling her eyes again. She was, of course, talking to the air. Blake was the only other person there.
“Don't belittle me, I'm not a child!”
“Stop acting like one then,” Leighton said, slightly annoyed. “Look, either you can stop lounging around this place whining about the apocalypse and smoking through five packs of cigarettes a day, or you can start leaving the apartment with me to go find food.”
“But what if whatever killed everyone else kills meeeee?”
“Do I look dead to you?” Leighton asked.
“No,” Blake admitted. “You look very, very alive.”
And Leighton did. She might have looked gorgeous in Gossip Girl, but she looked absolutely radiant now, even without any makeup. Instead of blush she had an actual red glow, and her hair was legitimately windswept. Her eyes were bright, her lips curved into a real frown, not the delicate snobby sneers that were her trademark on Gossip Girl. Had been.
Physical labor had never looked so good on anyone.
“Can I kiss you?” she asked spontaneously.
“No,” Leighton said firmly, “I'm not desperate enough yet.”
“What?” Blake asked, shocked. “You used to try to make out with me all the time! Every time you even slightly got drunk, you would drape yourself all over me!”
“Yeah?” Leighton asked, rolling her eyes. A slight blush tinged her face. “Well, that was before I learned how much of a whiny loafer you are. Should have let you and Penn live your All-American dream together instead of - ”
She stopped abruptly, clapping her hand to her mouth. A silence filled the room. Blake stayed against the counter, frozen, breathing hard but paralyzed. Her cigarette burned to a stub, the ash forming a light mist against the floor.
“I'm sorry,” Leighton said quietly.
Blake tried to whisper. Her voice cracked.
---
It started like this. The world was going about its merry business, generating rain and hurricanes, exploiting young children, filming Gossip Girl. Blake and Leighton were on set, a few seconds before a break, and Leighton was busy trying to work her magic on Blake.
It worked, partially, because Leighton managed to pull Blake into her trailer without a mention of puppy dog Penn.
Of course, Penn came looking for his perfect soulmate, and Blake stepped out of the trailer for what she said was about ten minutes, or code for a quickie, an appetizer before the main event.
The next Leighton knew, Blake was screaming, screaming, and everyone else was screaming. All she could hear was screaming, and maybe the heroic thing to do was run outside and see what was happening, but instead she shut all her blinds and hid curled up on the couch.
And then all of the other screaming stopped. It was silent, except for Blake, until Blake eventually fell silent too.
When Leighton stepped outside, everyone else on set was lying dead in a pool of their own blood. Blake was lying down too, but alive in a pool of Penn's blood.
Everyone Leighton called was a messaging system, and everywhere she just saw bodies as she walked a catatonic Blake back to her apartment. No one alive.
She took care of Blake for a few days. Blake said nothing, just rocked herself back and forth. Leighton undressed her, washed her of blood, tucked her into bed, fed her food. She needed Blake to stay alive, because she knew she wouldn't be able to live by herself alone forever. She would have taken anyone, even that sleazeball Sebastian for companionship at that point.
Blake regained life and gave Leighton something to busy herself with. Leighton realized she'd lost her overwhelming lust for Blake somewhere along the way. And here they were.
---
Whenever Leighton brought Penn up by accident, Blake got real quiet and couldn't speak or move for a few hours. She'd been out there, witnessed all the bodies collapsing around in a fountain of blood. Leighton had stayed inside and cowered.
So after that incident, Leighton made sure to treat Blake gently for a while. She made no comments about Blake's commitment to suicide by lung cancer, and gave all the best food she could forage to Blake.
Blake, for her part, got better little by little. First she was a catatonic rock, and then she was a depressed rock, and then she was a depressed person floating around the house, and then she was a whiny bitch floating around the house. Little by little.
Today, for example, Blake offered to leave the apartment with Leighton. Blake hadn't left the apartment since she'd gotten there, five months.
They didn't walk very far - Blake was extremely weak and New York City was getting cold. All the same, Leighton was glad for the company. It kept her from having to think about the upcoming winter, from having to think about a sustainable living strategy, from having to absorb the impact of decaying bodies everywhere.
They held hands. No paparazzi were around to zoom in, shadowing them everywhere they went and snapping pictures of everything they did.
“Do you really not want me anymore?” Blake asked as they walked back, breath misting in the air.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, did you really mean what you said, about not wanting to kiss me?” She let go of Leighton's hands and rubbed her bright red cheeks, trying to stave away the bitter cold.
Leighton walked in silence for a few moments before answering.
“I don't really know. I mean, you are difficult to deal with sometimes,” she admitted, “More difficult than I imagined you to be. I guess I never thought past the fact that I wanted to fuck your brains out.”
Blake snorted and choked at the same time, and Leighton giggled demurely, as if she hadn't said anything at all. Leighton could still be charmingly devious. Blake found it comforting.
“Can we try?” Blake asked. “Kissing, again? Just, being together, living as best as we can. I think I liked the kissing before, before the end of the world. It made me feel happy. I want to be happy. I want you to be happy.”
Leighton stared at Blake, eyes wide. Tears welled up out of some emotion, Blake couldn't tell what. Leighton crossed her arms together, shivered, dropped her arms, brought a hand up to scratch her ear, brush her stray hairs back. She licked her chapped lips nervously, her tongue darting in and out over the cracks.
Her eyes brightened and she smiled shyly and a little slyly, like Blair would have done, as she shuffled forward. Blake thought it was the sexiest thing she'd ever witnessed, and the most seductive.
Leighton leaned in.