Your town car revvs back to life soon after Clark makes a not-too-graceful entry. Clumsily shoving his messenger bag onto the absurdly vast floors — all while attempting to balance his recorder on his knee.
He sits there under your scrutiny, all too stiffly, failing miserably to even look like he belonged in a leather-scented cocoon of old money.
You tipped your chin up, watching him over the rim of your glass while he got himself ready.
"So, farm boy," Clark winces at your choice of words, pausing to turn at you with a finger raised, "uhh…I would very much prefer if you didn't call me tha —"
"What exactly do you even want me to say again? 'Daddy's going to be the best mayor ever?'" You cross your legs in an exaggerated flourish, then slump back, "because that would be boring."
"Well, no," he clears his throat, hunching to squint at his recorder to angle his finger over the right one. "I just…need you to speak candidly. About what he's doing for the city. How it affects the —"
The satin of your dress rustles as you shift. Letting your heel casually graze Clark's shin, idly toeing at the hem of his slacks while he droned on and on.
He swallows.
"How it affects the community," continuing with a mumble.
"Are you really making me do this?"
Clark looks over with his lips pressed into a purse. "A deals a deal. You owed me a favour." He reminds.
"Mm," you lean back, tapping unhappily on the crystal glass you nursed. "I was thinking more martinis and…less being recorded."
"It'll be a quick, informal one," he promises, then lowers his gaze to look at you, while pushing his glasses up by the sides. "I won't be including anything you don't want me to."
He proceeds to press the button, and the recorder beeps with a blinking red light.
[A faint rustle is picked up in the audio]
"Uh — what are you —"
"Just continue," you retort while dragging your feet across his lap, strappy heels left abandoned somewhere beside his shoes.
"Right. Okay. Um, Miss," Clark takes your last name, meeting the playful glint in your eyes.
"Your father speaks highly of Luther Corp's bio-engineering efforts to 'balance life forms' in Metropolis, and his re-election campaigns for that."
"You sound sceptical."
[Your voice is sharp — a clink from the ice in your glass is heard as you set it to the side]
Clark glances down, grabbing hold of your ankles that were sliding far too close to the inside of his thighs.
[He clears his throat nervously]
"I'm not the one…being interviewed. What I think doesn't really matter."
"But you said this was an informal one, why not let us know your unfiltered thoughts?" you say all sweetly, leaning closer.
[A pause, your voice is harder to pick up on the recorder]
"Unless…you thought you could use me to get dirt on my father."
Clark's eyes flutter shut at how close you'd gotten, the softness of your lips grazing past his earlobes. His hand comes to rest on your knees as they flex upward.
"I — I…never intended to make you feel used."
There's an earnest look on his face. It was obvious he was registering the manipulative tactic he'd gone for, even if it had been unintentional.
The recorder slides off Clark's thighs.
"I don't believe that," you hum. Walking your fingers up his chest while you scoot closer. His hands hover to catch your wrist, but then he halts.
"But sure. My feelings are really hurt."
You obviously hadn't meant it, but Clark takes it to heart — with the way he was currently sporting a kicked puppy look. His palm turns to fists, resting loosely on his sides.
Dejected when you slink back to your side of the seat. Your head leans back onto the headrest of the car, lazily turning to Clark, who was looking your way.
"I'm sorry. I really am. But we both know your father hardly plans to do good."
You shrug, the sides of your arms brushing past Clark's who mirrors the same position as you.
"I know."
Clark shifts closer to you, his nose bumping yours. He's transfixed on your lips and nothing else.
"I can get you what you need." You whisper. It was a tempting offer, but he shook his head.
"I'll figure out another way that doesn't risk you."
His words taper off into a gentle peck to your lips. He leans into it, pulling back a tad to rake his gaze over you. Clark's knuckles drag down your jaw while you blink at him hazily through your lashes. Cheeks still squished up on the brown leather.
It turns to a firm hold around your jaw, and he leans in to kiss you, thumbing at your earlobe, then carding his digits to lock at the back of your hair.
A low, guttural satisfaction echoes back into your throat. You nudge your face forward, lips parting only to latch onto them, wetter and sensual.
You whimper into his mouth, and it seems to snap Clark's restraint.
His arm snakes around your hips to twist you onto his lap. It's paired with the car driving over a speed bump, only helping you perch yourself directly on top of Clark with your thighs tucked underneath you between his hips.
"When will I see you again?" He suddenly says breathlessly. You pull back with a tilt of your head.
"Why don't you focus on the fact that I'm on your lap right now?"
It was a cop out response, at best. Your palms rest at the base of his neck as he groans into your mouth at the sudden collision. "Just — mmh, wasn't exactly —"
Your part in between his words, going in over and over, his cock twitching harder and harder at every kiss. Clark's palms glide down your lower back, craning his neck back to blink up at you with his glasses askew. "— I-I can't help but think you're avoiding me."
You thumb his saliva off your lower lip, thumbing the zipper of your dress off until it hits the ground — leaving you in a lace silk slip beneath.
Clark shuts up then.
He drags his hand down the sides of your ribs, down to the fat of your hips, the material snagging — collecting at your hips as he hikes it up. "You…are a vision." He mutters, his nose following the line of lace up your collarbone, and to your pulse.
Then, he readjusts you, holding you by the scruff of your neck to lick your lower lip, rolling it into your mouth.
You groan louder when he squeezes the globes of your ass without warning. Holding it with his large palms, spreading and coaxing the muscle to rhythmically grind down onto his erection.
Nothing but your desperate pitched pants and Clark's grunts fill the smaller contained space, charging the atmosphere with something far more heady.
"You're…unusually quiet," you point out finally, while his belt clinks to the ground. Clark lifts his head to look up at you. Hesitates but opts to tug you flush to his chest.
"I don't want to — I don't want to need excuses to see you."
His eyes are fixed on your face as he frees his cock from its confines, pumping languidly over his length. You lick your lips. Glancing down to rub your finger over his tip.
"I can arrange for that."
Clark slumps his head back, letting your softer hands take over to stroke him. "O—h…"
He jolts when a sudden wetness lands on his cockhead, his expression twisting to catch you dribbling saliva onto him just in time.
His thumbs gravitate to rub at your lips, poking and prodding to rest on your tongue. Strained pants fill the once quiet space. You drag the wetness down his shaft, squeezing him harder.
"G-osh. Like that…a little tighter," he grunts, feeling you suck and drool over his thumb. "Mhm, good…that's perfect. Y-You're perfect."
Your thighs tense at his praise, a string of wetness begins to gather in your panties. Something about his grateful babbles never failed to make you feel things.
You pull away from his hand, leaning in to messily suckle on his lower lip, then onto his tongue. He grunts into your mouth, and his thighs instinctively spread further apart, forcing yours open in the process.
He pulls away from your lips to get a proper look below, angling his cock to the base of your ass, dragging it down from your puckered hole to your soaked gusset. "Mmh—nn!" You whimper all too quickly when his finger hooks at the soaked fabric, pulling it away, a slickness following.
"I—I'm gonna put it in. Okay?"
You nod quickly. Anchoring yourself onto the seats to lift your hips, Clark does the rest, snaking his arm around your hips to jerk you down onto his cock halfway.
The car bumps again, burying his cock to the hilt in you. Clark's jaw tenses, gritting through a curse.
A broken moan leaves you, and he lets you stay here, pulsing around his cock. "Hmh!"
His balls instantly go tight at your moans. You lean back, holding onto his thighs to lazily fuck his cock into you. Clark's eyes roll back at the sensation of your warm pussy suck at his length, grabbing your ass tight as he bounces you on his lap.
Clark's head dips, pressing his lips against whatever exposed skin it could find. You shudder as his heavy palm drags down your shoulder, pulling at the thin strap of your slip. He presses a kiss there and down to your chest.
The loud slaps echoed through the partition, rattling at an increased tempo. A slow pressure begins to build in your gut, growing more and more potent with the vibrations you feel from the car thrumming onto gravel, paired with Clark's cock driving up into you.
You whine louder, fingers locking around the back of his head as you circle your hips, rolling and grinding.
Your other hand slams onto the headrests when the vehicle jumps up, forcing your hips to lift and gravity slamming you back down onto his cock.
"Sh-Shoot! O-Oh…g..—sh..." Clark's palms spread your cheeks apart, lifting and pulling you down like his own personal fleshlight. Your pussy clamps down on him at every thrust, sending shockwaves down to his balls.
He groans your name, repeatedly, eyes fluttering shut when the pleasure entirely consumes him.
Your eyes widen when you feel a weak, warm gush in you, followed by a quiver of Clark's thighs beneath yours.
Clark's panting, with his fist shakily coming to rest over his eyes.
"That was…I-I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." He chokes with his cock, significantly softening in you.
"Did you…cum?"
He nods while slumping into your chest. Fisting the fabric by your hips. You squirm when his curls tickle your chest.
Your pussy clenches instinctively, a teasing smile on your lips. "Felt light."
Clark groans. Lifting his hand to peek at you, his glasses adorably tilted. "I-I may have…had…solo 'pre-game' at home, so I wouldn't embarrass myself by popping a boner or something."
You mouth an amused oh, tipping his jaw up with your finger. Pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Pity. I was hoping to be fucked, not whatever this was."
His cock twitches. And his blue eyes flicker with something else. "Don't…say that."
"Why not? I haven't gotten to cum yet."
You hiccup when he abruptly turns you over to lie flat on the seats.
"Yet."
He points out, hiking your hips flush to him, his knee hitting plastic.
[The recorder hits the ground with a loud static, picking up the rustles of clothes being thrown, dress shoes being kicked off, and a repeated thudding noise is heard]
CONTENTS : : alcohol , post-breakup , reunion , reconciliation , oral (f!receiving) , p in v sex , make up sex , drunk sex
GENRE : : (slight) angst , fluff && smut
SUMMARY : : call it poor timing that your parents shipped you off for your summer internship mere weeks after serena van der wooden’s mysterious departure. what’s worse is you didn’t leave things with your boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend on the best of terms.
SONG : : bye [altare remix] — ariana grande
⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 i. all nate fics ii. all masterlists iii. navigation
you didn’t even want to go. your parents made a plan for you; things that were decided before you were even born. you’d go to the best school, graduate with academic prestige, frame that paper scroll like it means anything other than proof of your ability to study, and get that ceo job ‘cause that scroll says you should. because at the end of the day, everything looks better on paper.
everything has always been done for you, down to the finest details. your hair, your outfits, your friends. funnily enough, you actually like your friends. your hair isn’t bad, either; and your mom has okay taste, you suppose. you couldn’t say otherwise, anyway; since the majority of your closet has eleanor waldorf on the label.
first world problem, right? it wasn’t even really that your future was set in stone, without so much as an opinion on what color the tablecloths should be at your wedding. oh yeah, that’s all been planned, too. of course everything will be white; your dress probably another waldorf design. frilly macaroon—courtesy of paris and misery because beauty is pain. insert fancy word here: three business days long with too many accented letters. throw in a few silent ones too ‘cause it’s not hard enough to pronounce already.
brunch this, clubhouse that. just once, could one of these priggish brunches be bottomless?
you just want a voice. but it wouldn’t matter if you had one, it’s not like anyone would hear you. guests frequent your penthouse often, never the same faces twice. your father always leads them to the trophy cabinet, gushing over the plaques upon which your name is inscribed. figure skating championships ‘04, swimming gala from somewhen, tennis tournament of. . . ‘90-something? you’re his proudest achievement, of course. but he has to say that.
the davenport name still has to mean something when he no longer does. laughable, since he’s so hell-bent on your taking of the last name bass. if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, it’s have something in common with a type of fish.
with a bitter laugh, you sip from your wine. if there’s anything you love about london, it’s that you can drink at 18.
“you have way too little teeth to have an attitude of that size.” you heckle, wine sloshing in your glass as you hoot and holler alongside jeremy kyle’s live audience. how do people take this show seriously?
after a while, you begin channel-surfing. “bbc news, snore. eastenders? i’m an east-ender! well, east-sider. hmm, no.” chucking the remote somewhere behind you, you place your glass down and meander over to the tv set, opening the cabinet to peruse the movie options.
daddy got you a swanky apartment in chelsea. quite the commute from the offices, but he hired a driver to cover that. fully-furnished, you’ve got everything you need. the downside of course is that his generosity ended with the driver, so you don’t have a maid. you’re starting to grow tired of the microwaveable meals, too. there’s only so many lukewarm carbonaras a girl can take.
“dirty dancing? seen it. godfather? don’t get the appeal. the devil wears prada? she certainly does. pretty woman? thanks.” you shuffle through the selection until you come across the friends boxset. you purse your lips, then sigh and turn the vcr on. “it’s one of those nights.”
another two glasses later, you’re arguing with the tv. “they weren’t on a break!” with a shake of your head, you reach for the bottle. empty.
groaning, you pad over to the kitchen and tug open the wine fridge, only to find that empty also. “what? no way.”
the tiled floor plays victim to the wrath of you fluffy sock-clad stomps as you march back to the couch and flop down with a performative sigh. the episode has since finished, the main menu prompting you to switch over to the next one. “fine. this is the one consistency in my life right now, anyways.”
you jab your finger onto the play button and sink deeper into the cushions. ross starts to whinge about rachel’s 18-page letter again and you roll your head from side to side with a tut. “what the hell are you complaining about? you’re the one who slept with that copy place whore! rachel let you off easy. . . i would’ve gone all ‘hell hath no fury’ on your phd ass!”
okay, so maybe it hits close to home. except, you and nate actually were on a break, right? still, did it have to be serena? with a huff so strong that it blows a gale-force wind onto the stray hairs across your forehead, you snatch your cell from the crack between the couch cushions.
you and blair talk most days, sometimes even skype. she’s always the first to comment on your myspace uploads, usually to compliment your outfit or express jealousy over the pictures you post of iconic landmarks and local cuisine.
serena’s been radio silent since she went mia, and chuck texts next to never but that’s still more than what nate’s been giving you. if he’s been giving you anything, it’s the cold shoulder. the last time you heard from him was on your way to jfk airport. you remember the exact words that displayed across your cell’s little screen.
‘good luck in london. keep safe.’
that was a month ago.
you frown at the memory, and before you acquire the inner-strength—or inner-growth—not to, you find yourself clicking through your old photos.
skipping through the ones of you and serena, which for some reason, you don’t have the heart to delete; you finally stumble across the ones you’re seeking. with a wistful smile, you tilt your head and take you time flicking from one to the next.
selfies of you and nate smiling up at the camera occupy the small screen. some are silly, the two of you pulling funny faces; while others are more serious, the two of you mid-kiss or gazing lovingly at one another.
a single tear frees itself from your eye, gliding down the soft slope of your cheek like a raindrop on a window. he was your golden boy, the one with whom you were meant to spend the rest of your life. your parents wanted you to marry chuck, and still do. but nate always promised he’d never let that happen.
“look at us.” you hum, your vision blurring from the tears. “we had no idea.”
raised voices from the tv startle you and you flit your attention back to it. ross and rachel are amid another breakup, this time because ross preached to the choir that they were indeed on a break.
“i can’t,” you let out a shaky sigh and turn the tv off. “i can’t watch anymore.”
snapping your cell shut, you rise from the couch and begin making your way to your bedroom when a frenzied knock at the door stops you in your tracks.
frowning, you retrace your steps back across the living room and unlock the front door before cranking it open. your pulse quickens as you peer around it, mouth falling agape. “what are you doing here?”
nate shuffles nervously and clears his throat. “i had to see you.”
all you can do is stand there and stare, your words—if there are any—failing you.
nate pockets his hands and starts to rock back and forth on his heels. “can i. . . come in?”
after a moment’s hesitation, you move aside and allow him to step into your apartment. pulling the chain back across, you slowly turn to face him and fold your arms defensively. “we live in the 21st century, you know. if you wanted to see me, you could’ve video called. flying across the atlantic is a bit much, don’t you think?”
he rubs the back of his neck, then takes a cautious step nearer. “that’s not the same. i needed to see you.”
you want nothing more than to run into his arms and have him hold you forever. it takes everything in you to refrain. it’s strange, ever since you arrived you’ve wished he’d turn up on your doorstep. now that he’s actually here, you kind of wish he’d leave. with a slow blink and an even slower exhale, you undo the chain again and open the door, pointing out into the dark hallway with a manicured finger.
“okay, you’ve seen me. off you go.”
his face falls, those big blue eyes threatening to drown you in their sea of sorrow. “no, not until i’ve said some things. i. . . i’ve got a lot of things i’d like to say, if you’ll please just hear me out.”
you look away, scared you’ll crumble beneath his desperate gaze. “i can hear perfectly fine over the phone. this couldn’t be a phone call?”
“no, it couldn’t.” he stands firmly in place, but still appears unsure of himself.
you can’t say you’re not curious, and no matter how mad at him you might be, you’re not about to throw him out after he’s travelled halfway across the world to say his piece. so you finally relent, pushing the door to a close before brushing past him to take a seat on the couch.
he stays glued to the spot, looking over at you like he’s lost. with a small smile, you pat the space next to you. he smiles back, his expression hopeful, and lowers himself to sit beside you. when his knee bumps yours, you subtly scoot away, to which you swear you see him wince at what he must assume to be rejection.
“i’m all ears.” you say, trying to sound nonchalant when you’re in fact about to burst at the seams.
he nods and takes a thick swallow, his fingers flexing pensively. “well, first of all, i want to say how good it is to see you.” the confession is softly-spoken, his eyes even softer when they flicker up to land on yours.
“yeah, well. . .” you trail off with a shrug, suddenly enamoured with the skin around your nails as you pick at them.
his feet shift and he lowers his head to rake his hands through his mousy hair. when he looks up again, his face is overcast. “i, uh. . . i’ve missed you.”
“could’ve fooled me.” you mumble. “good luck in london, keep safe. really?”
he gives you an incredulous look. “if i’d begged you to stay, would you have? when has that ever worked before?” he scrubs his fists against his eyes. “i wasn’t sure you’d even respond, which was fair, ‘cause you didn’t. you couldn’t at least let me know you’d landed?”
“well, evidently i did.” now fiddling with the hem of your tank top, a loose thread makes itself known and you yank it out, then let it float to the floor.
nate watches the action with pinched brows, his eyes following the thread on its journey through the dense air that divides you. “don’t be like that, please. i’ve been worried about you. i try to ask blair and chuck how you are, but blair’s pretty much iced me out and chuck either pretends not to know or likes to see me suffer. you have no idea how hard things have been—”
“aw, why? did your girlfriend sleep with one of your best friends?” you snicker cruelly when he shamefully diverts his attention back to the floor. “oh no, wait. . . that was you.”
“hey, we weren’t together then, remember?” his voice ups in volume, but not in anger. waves of sadness roll beneath it, like you’re the tide that reels it in.
“whatever. the breakup was fresh, nate. you waited, what, 24 hours? one day and you were already fucking my closest friend.” you scoff and trap your bottom lip between your teeth, fighting the urge to break down in sobs.
there’s a pause before he speaks again. “it was a one-night stand. i didn’t plan it, i certainly didn’t go looking for it, and to say it was unexpected is an understatement. i mean, jesus, i was wasted! i barely even remember it. i was miserable ‘cause the last place i wanted to be was at a damn wedding. then i headed to the bar to drink alone but blair had already sent serena there to sober up, ‘cause that’s where you go to do that apparently.” he pauses, lets out a huff, then glances around aimlessly before continuing.
“she was on the bar top throwing her legs around, and i thought she might fall so i tried to steady her. next thing i knew, she was in my lap. i was still shitfaced and hardly knew my own name. then she started kissing me and. . .”
he stops himself, aware of his rambling and your probable desire to hear no more about it.
you rub your forearm, feeling the goosebumps that have arisen there. “and. . .?”
“and,” he starts, swiping a hand along the curved arch of his stubbled jaw. “and there’s nothing in my life i’ve regretted more. i. . . i think about it all the time. not because i like to, but because it’s what cost me you.”
“you’d already lost me.” you tell him, and as the words roll off your tongue, they leave a bitter taste. it hurts for you to say because it simply isn’t true. he hadn’t lost you, but it felt like you lost him.
nate’s head whips in your direction rather sharply, expression heavy and pained. the statement obviously punched him right in the gut. a physical punch would’ve hurt less. “really? so before you found out about serena and i, our relationship didn’t stand a chance?”
of course it did, but you won’t let yourself say it. “nate—”
“we were great together.” he argues, taking both your hands in his. his grip is firm and assured, and you’d forgotten how much you missed his skin on yours. his touch. “regardless of how much i sometimes wish i wasn’t some rich, privileged kid. an archibald. i’m also glad to have led this life, because this life gave me you.”
his thumb traces random patterns against the back of your hand, then he gives your wrists a squeeze, directing your gaze back to his. your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, like you’re seeing him for the first time again.
“that night meant nothing to me, because what happened didn’t mean anything. it was stupid and if i could take it back i would, but i can’t.” his eyes search yours pleadingly, remorseful and brimmed with longing.
you retract your hands, a chill coursing through you at the loss. “i just don’t know.”
“what do you need me to say? that i love you?” he teeters his body toward yours, his arm draping over the back of the couch. “because i will.”
your lips part, your tongue poking out to wetten the plump flesh. his eyes dart down, pursuing its path. “i. . .”
they linger there, then wander up the bridge of your nose until he’s staring into your eyes again. your stomach spins, but you blame the wine.
you do want to hear him say it, but refuse to give in.
“tell me what to do.” he murmurs, and you almost don’t notice his hand slip back into yours until it scorches you, snatching the breath right out of your lungs like a hiccup.
“if i do, i won’t be able to resist you.” it’s humiliating to be so raw and honest. vulnerability looks good on no one. it’s so tacky. “i can’t get hurt again, nate. it almost killed me.”
that kills him, just when he thought he couldn’t feel bad enough. “stop trying so hard.” he whispers it, the words wafting over your skin—a ghost of a kiss, velvety like the ones you used to share. “i love you.”
there it is. three little words, eight little letters. they take a bite out of your soul like the very first time he uttered them, all those years ago.
“nate—”
his lips cover yours, swallowing his name as your mouths slot together perfectly like the two remaining pieces of a puzzle. you want to pull back, be that strong independent woman you’ve been trying to embody since your leave, but you surrender to him, your bodies melting together as you kiss him back.
you feel him nip at your lower lip, asking for better access. it’s then that you break the kiss with a slight pop, head fuzzy. “i’m drunk.” you admit, dragging your thumb around the edge of your damp, slightly kiss-bitten mouth.
he smiles. “me too. made a pit stop at a pub for some dutch courage.”
your heart drops like a penny in a quiet room. “oh. you couldn’t have meant any of it then. . .” it’s probably paranoia, but you can’t quench the nagging feeling that this was all too good to be true. or maybe you’re dreaming again? “people do things they don’t mean when they’re drunk, you especially.”
he grimaces at your implication. “what’s that saying? ‘a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts’? i promise you i was sober when i bought that plane ticket, and sober on the flight over here when i was praying it wouldn’t be for nothing.”
that’s good enough for you. unwanting to hold back any longer, you grab his face and smash your lips against his. it takes a moment for him to reciprocate, surprised at your sudden forwardness, but his strong arms soon surround you, molding your body to the form of his.
you find yourself on your back soon enough, nate hovering above you as his kisses roam south of your lips to your chin, then lower. a contented sigh escapes you and you can’t fight the grin that spreads across your face. “i’ve missed this.”
“me too.” he mumbles against the skin that peaks out above your tank top. “and i’ve been meaning to make things up to you.”
he flashes that signature smirk, the one that makes you weak at the knees, and slowly pushes your top up to reveal your breasts, his hand skimming your waist on its way up.
you let out a moan when he lowers his head, his mouth hot as he leaves wet kisses upon your flushed skin. your giggles fill the room, his teeth grazing your pert nipple as he suppresses a laugh of his own, then he plants his chin between your breasts to peep up at you.
“someone’s comfortable.” you beam, running a hand through his ruffled hair before gripping hard.
his eyes flutter shut, then his face disappears again, nose nuzzling like he’s trying to motorboat you as eloquently as one can. “best seat in the house.”
“i dunno, i can think of a better one.” you arch your brow pointedly at him, then punctuate the hint by pushing down on his head.
his eyes light up and he smiles broadly at you, holding eye contact as he descends the length of your body, worshiping it all the while as he scatters kisses in his wake. he leaves one right on your hip bone, then eases your sweatpants over your thighs and past your knees until they’re a crumpled heap on the floor.
you nibble at your fingertip when he rears up to shed his shirt, flinging it sidelong to join your sweats. you seize the opportunity to appreciate him from his sculpted arms to his toned stomach. he gives your calf a gentle pinch when he catches you staring, but his face tells you he’s enjoying the attention.
“no matter where i am, you always give me a room with a view.” you purr, your tone jesting despite being deadly serious. he wrinkles his nose at the corny comment, but can’t help an amused snort. you lift your leg to skate your foot down his front, stopping at the front of his jeans where you curl your toes and apply some light pressure.
he groans, head tipping back. you exaggerate a pout when he takes hold of your ankle, placing it on his shoulder instead, then reaches for the other to do the same.
you allow yourself to relax, anticipation bubbling in your core as he situates himself between your legs, his soft breath a cool contrast against your heat. he hooks his fingers under your panties, but when he makes no attempt to remove them, you crack an eyelid to find him looking up at you in question. you smile sweetly and nod your head.
his lip quirks and he doesn’t waste another second, peeling them away to expose you entirely.
“stop torturing me!” you tease, his tardiness winding you up.
“this is what you get.” he kisses your inner thighs, his hands curling around them to pull you closer to his face. “for leaving me.”
you clamp them around his head with a playful frown, but you let out a yelp when he nudges your center with his nose. “alright, alright. i can be patient, i guess.”
he hums, taking a moment to admire you before flattening his tongue to rest snugly between your folds. your breath comes quickly, your chest heaving as he drags it upward to flick and twirl. the initial serenity of having his tongue on you again only lasts until he purses his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. your fingers clench into his hair, knuckles paling when he doesn’t relent, releasing with a crude pop before probing it with his tongue’s tip.
your moans become strangulated, their pitch increasing when his hands meander upward to fondle your breasts while his mouth travels further down. the twin sensations narrow on your spine, back arching of its own accord once his tongue enters you, his nose replacing its earlier focus on your clit.
“nate. . .”
“hmm?” it vibrates against you, his stubble caressing the undersides of your thighs in the most delicious way.
“come here.” you demand, breathless.
“don’t think i can get any closer.” he rasps, lapping at you before licking a long, tedious stripe back up through your folds.
you groan, head slamming against the arm of the couch. “come here.”
he chuckles against you when you dig your nails into his shoulders, raking your fingers all the way up his arms to where his hands massage your chest.
“please.”
your voice is angelic and he almost comes right there and then. your whimpers are what he was hoping he’d be hearing tonight, after all. not your cries. well, not the sad kind, anyway.
“since you asked so nicely.” he surges up with a cocky smirk, catching your mouth in another heated kiss. its intensity floors you, and he takes advantage of your throaty gasp to snake his tongue inside, searching for its mate. they tangle together, messy and uncoordinated.
growing increasingly impatient, your hands slither between your bodies to fumble with his belt, eventually unbuckling it. you bend your legs and use your feet to force his pants down, your hands preoccupied with palming him through his boxers. his hips buck against you, his mouth leaving yours to suckle urgently at your neck.
he positions himself, lifting his head from the purplish mark he’s sucked onto your skin to look down at you with a fondness that almost melts you. your hands yank his boxers down, his cock springing free to burrow against your slit. you both jolt at the contact and your hands come up to cup his cheeks. he leans into it, rolling his hips slightly so he slides through your folds.
he twists his head to kiss your palm, then your wrist, and props himself on his elbows as he pulls his hips back to align himself. you lock your legs around his slim waist and he shifts his weight onto one arm to secure your hip with one splayed hand.
no words are needed, your eyes doing all the talking as you gaze at one another, not even breaking eye contact when he slowly pushes into you. your legs tighten around him, his fingertips cutting into the supple flesh of your curves.
you were sleeping together for the entirety of your relationship, and you crossed that line even before you became romantically involved, giving yourselves to each other as best friends. but this time feels different. it’s potently intimate and your heart skips at the realization.
as if he can read your thoughts, he smiles adoringly at you and pulls halfway out a few times, then sinks all the way back in. you stay like that for a short time, neither one of you moving while you spread feather-light kisses over each other. eventually, you grind up against him, silently asking him to move.
so he does, finding a pleasing rhythm you can both match as his lips alternate between your neck and mouth. he maintains a deliberate pace at first, each pump dragging torturously within you until you reach around him to claw at his back with need.
he releases your hip to cradle your head, picking up speed as he starts to thrust a little more forcefully. he presses further against you, deepening the angle. your jaw drops and you moan a little louder than intended, then lunge forward to claim his lips again.
his chest rumbles appreciatively, reverberating against you as you rock together on the couch, consuming each other’s cries of pleasure. your teeth clash a few times but neither of you care, losing yourselves in the moment as the flow of his rhythm loses its precision and becomes more frantic.
you mirror him, meeting his thrusts midway with your own. the tenderness remains with the raw addition of desperation and a month’s worth of yearning as you both near the edge, and you mewl into his panting mouth when he slams into you a little roughly.
he breaks the kiss to look at you with wide eyes and your heart swells at the mild concern that dashes across his features, then pull his face back to yours, keeping him there with a hand on either side of his sweat-damp neck.
when the pent-up emotion hits you, so does your climax, and the ecstasy of it carries in your voice to ring off the walls. it doesn’t take long for his release to follow, his pace slowing but not stilling completely for a few transcending moments.
you hold him to you while you collect yourselves, your legs trembling around him. unable to hold himself up any longer and not wanting to crush you, he shifts himself onto his side, slipping out of you as he does.
your brows furrow at his absence, almost saddened by the way you feel yourself shrink without him to stretch you out.
once you’ve both caught your breath, you turn to look at one another, your foreheads knocking together. his blue eyes shine at you, crinkling at the corners.
“what the hell are you laughing at?” you grin, practically giddy.
he slings his arm around your midriff, tucking you more snugly against him. “i’m not! i’m smiling. i understand that’s what people do when they’re happy.”
you giggle girlishly, still riding the waves of your immediate afterglow. there’s no high quite like this. “me too, that was nice.”
“just nice? well, damn.”
he squirms when you jab him, then twists at the waist when you find the ticklish spot just above his ribs. “nooo, mercy!”
“fine.” you yield, turning onto your side to snuggle up to him and nestle your head into the crook of his neck.
his other arm wraps around your shoulders and his presses a kiss to the crown of your head, then inhales the familiar scent of your hair. “you, woman, are a wicked sorceress.”
you scoff, smushing your cheek more cozily against his skin. “please. you love me.”
“i do.” he gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“i love you too, nathaniel archibald.” you whisper, suddenly shy as you drape your leg over his and play your fingers across his chest.
“so. . . come back to new york with me?” he implores, reaching down to run his hand up your bent leg and over your thigh.
“my parents will kill me if i don’t complete my internship.” you sigh, now missing manhattan even more if that’s possible.
“well, we can’t have that, can we? guess i’ll have to stay here a little longer, then.”
⎯⎯ ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 note : : uh, why are there barely any fics for this man? he’s so beautiful. can we all lock in please? i need MORE. nate girlies unite!!
Serena van der Woodsen who uses her status to get you into every party you could ever possibly want.
Blair Waldorf who protects you from Vanessa, Jenny, Georgina- anyone and everyone who could potentially be seen as a threat to you.
Nate Archibald who's always there for you if you ever need anything, whether that be a shoulder to cry on or just a friend.
Chuck Bass who lavishes you with the most expensive gifts possible, ones that he knows nobody else would ever be able to afford.
The Non-Judging Breakfast Club loving you and obsessing over you and needing you to be theirs and theirs alone, regardless of whether you want to be or not. After all, you're not the one who gets to make the decisions here, they do.
