A/N: I know I've been working on other projects recently, but I promise I'll continue writing CB. The one shots might be few and far between but I'm still morning on my multi-fics. In honor of Chuck's birthday and the recent Chair week, here's something I found in my notebook and decided to make something of. This is sort of for the wedding night prompt, though I assume it's a little late. But happy birthday to Chuck.
Summary: "Do you now why you find me attractive?" Chuck and Blair and their road to the altar.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Characters belong to the CW and author of the books. This is Gossip Girl and not mine.
When Nate's gone, she drinks more. Much more. Blair Waldorf is the queen of moderation. Her carefully selected salads and yogurt cups are proof of that. But it seems to him that the real Queen emerges when no one else is looking.
It always seems to be him.
"Do you now why you find me attractive?"
Chuck raised his eyes over his own glass of scotch. She's sinful in black lace and she looks every part of the black widow. She drapes her body over the doorframe of the secluded room in what makes it look like she knows every position.
He knows that she doesn't.
The distant sounds of the party are muffled behind her. He wonders how they always find themselves so terribly alone together. He wonders why it only recently started becoming a problem.
"I have a feeling you're about to tell me," Chuck remarks, being sure that indifference laces his tone.
She takes a sloppy sip from the martini glace dangling from her elegant fingers. Her ruby ring glints in the dark ambiance of the room. He can't remember if it was a gift from Nate or her father but it suddenly ceases to matter.
"Because you can't have me," Blair says teetering on her heels. She was always sober and controlled before.
He still can't recall when this started becoming a problem.
"And you never will," she whispers savagely. That's what she is. A beautiful savage when no one else is looking.
Chuck raises his eyebrows. He likes this game more than he should. He likes this version of her more than he should. A tainted virgin queen who wants to desperately to be fucked. But she can't allow it any other time than this.
He doesn't recall how this waltz started either, but he can't say that he hates it. Quite the opposite.
"Don't bet your life on it, sweetheart," Chuck said coolly, reaching behind her. She allows him, never breaking their dark eye contact. He locks the door. She never moves. She never protests. She just stares.
He doesn't move either.
"And what makes you so special?" Chuck breathes dangerously. "Out of all the girls at my disposal."
She doesn't retreat at all. Instead, she moves closer. "You salivate all over me when Nate isn't looking."
"Nate never looks," Chuck said dryly. He doesn't expect her to counter him.
Not tonight.
"Is that what this is?" Chuck sneered. "Desperate for my attention?"
"You're the one standing here," she countered.
He doesn't remind her that she was the one to seek him out. She was the one to break his solitude and sidle up to him.
"You're drunk."
"You're still here," she says softly. Her nails dig viciously into his shirtfront. "No one calls me desperate. Ever."
His breath must have the stench of alcohol. Just like hers.
He loves it.
"You must be if you're all over me."
"I don't need to be," Blair says daintily. "You were first."
"Just the way you planned." He only admires her when they're alone.
"Just the way you planned," she counters.
"Why would I waste time on you?" he mocks.
"You tell me," Blair says. "You said so yourself. You pulled me in, didn't you?"
Hers were the hands on his chest.
"And why would I do that?" he asks.
"You do love the manipulation," she says, her voice husky in a way he had never heard before.
"Like I care enough to manipulate you." Her mocking laughter is like bells.
"This wouldn't happen if you didn't want it." He knows her just as she knows him.
"I don't want anything from you."
"Just about as much as I give you," he parries.
He loves it, this dance of theirs. She must too or she wouldn't be here.
"You're going to have a rough time of it."
Her body is hot against his.
"It wouldn't be you if it wasn't."
And for once, just this once, he lets his body respond to hers.
Again, she drapes herself along the doorway. But she's not drunk and she wears white instead of her spider black.
"What are you doing?"
And it's her again that's pressed against his chest.
"What does it look like?" she asks slyly, pressing him further through the door.
"It looks like you're about to take advantage of me in the bathroom at your wedding reception."
"Nothing gets past you," she purrs. "Now I know why I married you."
"Blair," he sighs. "It's our wedding reception. You never got the dance, the cake, the bouquet toss."
"Tacky traditions of lesser marriages than ours," she waves it away.
"You don't want to be tacky with me?" He can't help but smirk.
"I've had a reception," she says determinedly. "I just want you."
"Can't you have me out there?" He knows her mother will have his head if she discovers this, no matter whose idea it was initially.
"God dammit, Bass, but put your hand up my skirt."
He can't help himself around her, no matter what his resolve.
"Don't you smirk at me after daring to resist me."
He pressed his sweaty brow against her clean collarbone.
"I love you. Forever."
The sentence hovers on the air. It's been longer than six years since they teetered around each other. Drunk, hormonal, and abandoned, they were always a bit destructive and desperate.
Now is different. Now they have family.
Though still a bit desperate.
"Prove it."
"In the bathroom?" he asks.
"God don't act so scandalized," Blair rolls her dark eyes. She's at the end of her tether and he knows it. "Are you going soft on me?"
He pulls her to him. "I'll show you how soft I am."
"Much better," she breathes. "You know I can't stand having to look nice next to you and not touch you."
They've spent hours at the reception; strict and clean like every trophy on the Upper East Side.
"You're telling me," he groans.
"I'm telling you?" she asked, exasperated. "Where is all of this restraint coming from?"
"I wanted you to have a proper wedding," Chuck answers. "That doesn't mean you don't look horribly inappropriate in that dress."
"My mother wanted a proper reception. Not me," she reminds him.
"And this is your revenge." He loves her.
"This is me wanting to have sex with my husband after hours of sitting proper and pleasing my mother."
Six years have passed, but that's still the only thing he wants to hear.