the surrender to the power (gossip girl | blair/vanessa)

[fiachairecht]

the surrender to the power. gossip girl, blair/vanessa. hate sex ft knifeplay, that's it that's the plot. 250w, rated m. for the sapphic spring prompt 'cut throat'.

She doesn't bare her neck for anyone — never has, never will, but now, spread out on her bed with her back arched, Vanessa's knee firm between her thighs and her own knife at her throat, Blair thinks she might revisit that. The alternative, that Vanessa's made her do this, is worse.

Still: at least it's Vanessa, she thinks, and the thought trips over the blade on its way from her heart to her mouth, and then she thinks: it better stay there.

She hates everything about this — the smirk glimmering in Vanessa's eyes, the blood pooling at the back of her throat, the way V. bends down so her curls brush against Blair's bare breasts. Everything but the way it makes her feel, which is why this is happening still. Again.

Vanessa leans back, and Blair struggles to get her breathing under control as they both watch the river of crimson make its way down to her collarbone.

"Art," Vanessa says, prouder than she has any right to be.

"Before I even met you," Blair agrees. Her lips are dry, throat sore.

Vanessa rolls her hips against Blair's, not really a question, and when she says, "Prettier with me, though," it's not a question either.

"Fuck you," Blair says.

They do.

They're both bloody by the end.

(Tomorrow, Serena will flip her hair, say, nice scarf, B., and it'll be too nice to be true, and Blair, silk raw against scars only she can see, won't say anything at all.)