perfume cognac lilac
Blair/Serena. Mentions of Nate/Blair.
R. 1163 words. Pre-series.
Summary: Blair is doing her very best to read this month's Vogue, basically ignoring it until she feels Serena's fingertips on the back of her leg, fingers walking the seam of Blair's stocking all the way up to the hem of her skirt.
Note: For this prompt. Came out more angsty than I intended? Oh well.
Serena's high. She's the kind of high Blair can marginally stand, where she's just spacey and giggly and the worst she'll do is try to take off her dress around company. Blair very much prefers this to the other – messy hair and mascara tears and a sober little voice breaking through (Blair, I think I did something bad).
Now she's just rolling around Blair's bed, examining her ends and every often announcing that the music playing "looks pretty." Blair is doing her very best to read this month's Vogue, basically ignoring it until she feels Serena's fingertips on the back of her leg, fingers walking the seam of Blair's stocking all the way up to the hem of her skirt.
"Serena, I'm reading," Blair says in her best firm-no-arguments voice.
Serena's nail follows the seam back down to the underside of Blair's knee, which tickles, and then back up to just under her skirt. "I'm bored."
Dismissively, "Learn to amuse yourself."
"I am," Serena says defensively. Her fingers skate a little higher up and find the steel clasp holding Blair's stocking in place. She toys with the ribbon hanging from it, then flicks it open. "But you could amuse me too…"
"You're messing up my outfit," Blair huffs impatiently. "And I am trying to read." Blair doesn't look back but she can visualize the pouty little frown on Serena's lipglossed mouth, the dent between her brows. Serena does not like opposition when she's on a giddy high and once her mind is set on something there's really no dissuading her.
"Nate promised to take me to dinner for tomorrow night," Blair says. She has decided to distract Serena. Distracting Serena is usually the best course of action. "A real dinner, not something with his family."
"Mm." Serena sounds bored. She hooks her fingers idly under the garter strap, pulls it back ready to snap it, but then just sets it gently into place again. "What are you going to wear?"
Blair is doing her very best not to fidget. She turns a page. "I was thinking the cranberry dress with the peter pan collar."
She imagines Serena wrinkling her nose. "That's not sexy." She continues her exploration, touch traipsing over the bare expanse of Blair's upper thigh to her lace panties – black, to go with the stockings and garters, with a bow at the front from which hangs a single seed pearl. They're Blair's favorites but Serena doesn't know that, or care, and she pokes a finger right through the lace to tug them down.
Blair frowns, bites her lip, lifts her hips. She always goes along with Serena. The panties end up caught around Blair's thighs where Serena promptly forgets them, instead concerned with investigating the crease of Blair's thigh and ass, following it to its natural conclusion.
"I have to look appropriate for dinner," Blair says, swallowing a little as Serena traces over her, indifferent almost to the way Blair parts for her. "Everything sexy is for underneath. The reveal is half the fun."
"Yeah, but he doesn't know that," Serena says. Curious fingertips follow over Blair's lines and folds, dip into her just slightly to test and then slip down to say hello to her clit. "You have to be more obvious. He'll just see a pilgrim dress."
"It's not a pilgrim dress," Blair snaps, a little more forcefully than she means to. She doesn't dare look at Serena but she gives in and wriggles just a little, silk of her blouse scratching against the heavier duvet, nipples tightening. Blair blushes, thinking how obvious they probably look under her thin shirt; but isn't she supposed to be obvious?
Blair complains, "That's no fun. There's no fun if it's all just…out there." She leans more heavily on one elbow as she flips glossy magazine pages, freeing one hand enough to surreptitiously touch her breasts, her hardened nipples. "I'm a gift, I should be unwrapped."
That makes Serena laugh. "Yes," she agrees, circling and circling Blair's clit, "But this is Nate. He doesn't exactly do subtle." Her thumb presses into Blair slightly, seeking moisture; Blair doesn't exactly like how fond Serena sounds when she says Nate's name.
"He'll learn," Blair says with confidence she absolutely does not feel. Serena is easing a finger in now, just one, in and out until the way becomes slicker, Blair's body flushing and swelling for her.
Unexpectedly, Serena drops down next to Blair, stretched out on her side and so very close. One of her ankles hooks over Blair's and her breasts press snugly against Blair's arm. Still her finger moves in and out, tormenting and repetitive, every so often darting to quickly tease that little knot that causes Blair so much trouble. "You'll teach him, huh?"
"Of course." Blair looks at Serena, finding her more sober-seeming than Blair expected, but still with a certain unnatural brightness to her eyes. Serena slides a second finger in and Blair's breath barely hitches. "That's my job," Blair adds.
"Is it supposed to be a job?" Serena asks. It's an honest question, none of the passive aggressive nastiness Blair would've imbued the query with.
Blair doesn't answer at first. She looks down at the magazine, a picture of a skinny girl with big blonde hair in a blue dress. This is the part Blair almost doesn't like, feeling too open, too sensitive, too full.
She can tell she's getting wetter because of how fast Serena's hand is moving now, relentless almost. Serena presses on her clit with a concentration that Serena shows to no other task, presses hard and massages slow; pleasure washes up over Blair like waves, lapping up through her limbs, curling around that pit of nausea in her stomach. She feels good right now and she'll feel even better in five minutes but five minutes after she'll feel undeniably worse.
"You have to work at these things," Blair finally says. Now her breathing is having trouble remaining regular and even. Now she leans into Serena a little more blatantly.
"I guess I wouldn't know about that," Serena says, idle intonation belied by softness, so soft Blair might think it was pity if she didn't delude herself better.
"No, you wouldn't," Blair agrees. Serena pushes three fingers into her, the most she's done ever, and she does it a little too hard, which Blair is beginning to suspect she likes (the thought of which makes her flush with shame). Blair's own hand moves down to toy with her clit as Serena fucks her, letting it built until it's too much, until Blair doesn't think she can take it – but of course she does, she was made to. Her eyes shut tight and she moans and she feels a mouth against her own, tastes vanilla lipgloss. Her entire body goes rigid, tightens up like a coil about to spring, and once the tide recedes she can't do much except return Serena's slow kiss.
Her lipstick is probably ruined.
Blair/Serena. Mentions of Nate/Blair.
R. 1163 words. Pre-series.
Summary: Blair is doing her very best to read this month's Vogue, basically ignoring it until she feels Serena's fingertips on the back of her leg, fingers walking the seam of Blair's stocking all the way up to the hem of her skirt.
Note: For this prompt. Came out more angsty than I intended? Oh well.
Serena's high. She's the kind of high Blair can marginally stand, where she's just spacey and giggly and the worst she'll do is try to take off her dress around company. Blair very much prefers this to the other – messy hair and mascara tears and a sober little voice breaking through (Blair, I think I did something bad).
Now she's just rolling around Blair's bed, examining her ends and every often announcing that the music playing "looks pretty." Blair is doing her very best to read this month's Vogue, basically ignoring it until she feels Serena's fingertips on the back of her leg, fingers walking the seam of Blair's stocking all the way up to the hem of her skirt.
"Serena, I'm reading," Blair says in her best firm-no-arguments voice.
Serena's nail follows the seam back down to the underside of Blair's knee, which tickles, and then back up to just under her skirt. "I'm bored."
Dismissively, "Learn to amuse yourself."
"I am," Serena says defensively. Her fingers skate a little higher up and find the steel clasp holding Blair's stocking in place. She toys with the ribbon hanging from it, then flicks it open. "But you could amuse me too…"
"You're messing up my outfit," Blair huffs impatiently. "And I am trying to read." Blair doesn't look back but she can visualize the pouty little frown on Serena's lipglossed mouth, the dent between her brows. Serena does not like opposition when she's on a giddy high and once her mind is set on something there's really no dissuading her.
"Nate promised to take me to dinner for tomorrow night," Blair says. She has decided to distract Serena. Distracting Serena is usually the best course of action. "A real dinner, not something with his family."
"Mm." Serena sounds bored. She hooks her fingers idly under the garter strap, pulls it back ready to snap it, but then just sets it gently into place again. "What are you going to wear?"
Blair is doing her very best not to fidget. She turns a page. "I was thinking the cranberry dress with the peter pan collar."
She imagines Serena wrinkling her nose. "That's not sexy." She continues her exploration, touch traipsing over the bare expanse of Blair's upper thigh to her lace panties – black, to go with the stockings and garters, with a bow at the front from which hangs a single seed pearl. They're Blair's favorites but Serena doesn't know that, or care, and she pokes a finger right through the lace to tug them down.
Blair frowns, bites her lip, lifts her hips. She always goes along with Serena. The panties end up caught around Blair's thighs where Serena promptly forgets them, instead concerned with investigating the crease of Blair's thigh and ass, following it to its natural conclusion.
"I have to look appropriate for dinner," Blair says, swallowing a little as Serena traces over her, indifferent almost to the way Blair parts for her. "Everything sexy is for underneath. The reveal is half the fun."
"Yeah, but he doesn't know that," Serena says. Curious fingertips follow over Blair's lines and folds, dip into her just slightly to test and then slip down to say hello to her clit. "You have to be more obvious. He'll just see a pilgrim dress."
"It's not a pilgrim dress," Blair snaps, a little more forcefully than she means to. She doesn't dare look at Serena but she gives in and wriggles just a little, silk of her blouse scratching against the heavier duvet, nipples tightening. Blair blushes, thinking how obvious they probably look under her thin shirt; but isn't she supposed to be obvious?
Blair complains, "That's no fun. There's no fun if it's all just…out there." She leans more heavily on one elbow as she flips glossy magazine pages, freeing one hand enough to surreptitiously touch her breasts, her hardened nipples. "I'm a gift, I should be unwrapped."
That makes Serena laugh. "Yes," she agrees, circling and circling Blair's clit, "But this is Nate. He doesn't exactly do subtle." Her thumb presses into Blair slightly, seeking moisture; Blair doesn't exactly like how fond Serena sounds when she says Nate's name.
"He'll learn," Blair says with confidence she absolutely does not feel. Serena is easing a finger in now, just one, in and out until the way becomes slicker, Blair's body flushing and swelling for her.
Unexpectedly, Serena drops down next to Blair, stretched out on her side and so very close. One of her ankles hooks over Blair's and her breasts press snugly against Blair's arm. Still her finger moves in and out, tormenting and repetitive, every so often darting to quickly tease that little knot that causes Blair so much trouble. "You'll teach him, huh?"
"Of course." Blair looks at Serena, finding her more sober-seeming than Blair expected, but still with a certain unnatural brightness to her eyes. Serena slides a second finger in and Blair's breath barely hitches. "That's my job," Blair adds.
"Is it supposed to be a job?" Serena asks. It's an honest question, none of the passive aggressive nastiness Blair would've imbued the query with.
Blair doesn't answer at first. She looks down at the magazine, a picture of a skinny girl with big blonde hair in a blue dress. This is the part Blair almost doesn't like, feeling too open, too sensitive, too full.
She can tell she's getting wetter because of how fast Serena's hand is moving now, relentless almost. Serena presses on her clit with a concentration that Serena shows to no other task, presses hard and massages slow; pleasure washes up over Blair like waves, lapping up through her limbs, curling around that pit of nausea in her stomach. She feels good right now and she'll feel even better in five minutes but five minutes after she'll feel undeniably worse.
"You have to work at these things," Blair finally says. Now her breathing is having trouble remaining regular and even. Now she leans into Serena a little more blatantly.
"I guess I wouldn't know about that," Serena says, idle intonation belied by softness, so soft Blair might think it was pity if she didn't delude herself better.
"No, you wouldn't," Blair agrees. Serena pushes three fingers into her, the most she's done ever, and she does it a little too hard, which Blair is beginning to suspect she likes (the thought of which makes her flush with shame). Blair's own hand moves down to toy with her clit as Serena fucks her, letting it built until it's too much, until Blair doesn't think she can take it – but of course she does, she was made to. Her eyes shut tight and she moans and she feels a mouth against her own, tastes vanilla lipgloss. Her entire body goes rigid, tightens up like a coil about to spring, and once the tide recedes she can't do much except return Serena's slow kiss.
Her lipstick is probably ruined.