A/N: I'm honestly not even going to comment on reviews for BitSog. Here's this, though. I needed to write, and here it is. Strange, but I think I like it. Bold words are physical feelings, and slight flickers to the vision of what's happening. Italics are thoughts.
Oh, unbeta'd. Damn finals.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl, or the allusions to 'Alice in Wonderland'.
Haste, Waste
Blair Waldorf looked up from her book only to find the one and only, Chuck Bass leaning against her bedroom's door-frame and smirking...leeringly? At her? Why?
Her eyes traveled up and down the length of his body with suspicion and almost a little bit of fright. His foot rose from the royal blue carpet of her floor and it was as if everything was moving in slow motion. His steps were calculating, precise, and his eyes were determined and devilish. The smirk grew wider and wider the nearer he got to her, and she found herself curled up against her headboard.
Chuck's smirk turned into the famous Cheshire cat grin he every-so-often donned and though she knew it was best if her eyes trailed away from his form, she couldn't tear them from him, no matter how hard she tried. His swagger, his overall predatory demeanor...it seemed different. It wasn't the same perverse Chuck that she had known of.
This Chuck...he had a flaw. She just couldn't figure out what it was.
That was when Blair realized she had been impolitely staring, and no conversation had been made as of yet. She opted to begin some sort of dialogue and Chuck's eyebrows raised as her red lips parted and confident words tumbled from her lips.
"Bass, I was reading a damn good book. You know not to interrupt me while I immerse myself in Jane Eyre," she scolded, looking at him with a sort of disdain that bordered on disgust.
He didn't answer. Perhaps that's the flaw, Blair thought to herself.
Chuck continued his approach, and now he was alarmingly close to her bed, to her. She felt her chin tremble the slightest bit, and she instantly locked it. Too late. The observant bastard noticed, and the smirk was put back into position on his lips.
His smirk was an interesting thing. A being in and of itself. The upturn of his lips always signaled a victory; it told of a time when he knew that someone had tasted the rancid bitterness of defeat. If it was a larger smirk – like the one he chose to show off now – it said 'oh, you better watch out.' A smaller smirk indicated that he could just sense the feeling of triumph and it often widened with each redeeming point of success.
The smirk was wide now. Wide as ever. She went over her body's checklist. Cheeks: cool and pale, as always. No sign of a blush. Overall tremors....nope. None. Breathing: staggered. Dammit, she thought angrily to herself. It was one of the most telltale signs she had of anticipation and nervousness.
"Chuck," she pleaded in a breathy whisper. "What is this? Why are you here?"
Still no answer from the ghost-like teenager.
"Damn it! Answer me!" She reached out then, and grabbed him by force. His reaction was expected; he was, after all, Chuck Bass.
Plunging down on top of her, his lips melded to hers. She let out a surprised squeak.
There was the smallest of small voices in the back of her mind – what was that called again? A conscience? She thought to herself fuzzily.
His breath became one with her own, his grunts and moans close together and slightly unpredictable. Go figure, she thought – still fuzzy – Chuck Bass has unpredictable qualities.
Her moans were starting to come now. That tiny voice beckoned her yet again – Nate! What about Nate?! You cheating whore!
Chuck pulled away from her and she yanked at the buttons on his tan corduroy suit jacket, pushed the buttons on his purple and pink striped shirt through the holes with her fingers. Only about an inch and a half of his chest had been exposed, but she already felt an indescribably feeling of want and need come over her. A heat pulsated...down there.
You should be ashamed of yourself!
The minuscule hairs on his chest were smoothed down. She would have sworn that he combed them daily. Surely there were chest hair combs available. Especially for a Bass. She blew on them experimentally and gave a small satisfied smile of her own when he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.
He still hadn't spoken to her. She never would have admitted it to a soul, but this made her feel unwanted, insecure. Like just another one of his whores.
I have to be more.
You have to be? Or you want to be?
She plowed all thoughts of anything negative from her mind and focused on him. She nipped at his chest, nearing his nipples. Then she teasingly bit back up to his neck. Little indentations formed in his skin and licked a trail that traced them.
Hard.
Does it feel the way it should?
She rolled her eyes, partly because of the nagging voice in her head, and also because of Chuck's talented and experienced tongue on her ear, licking, teeth scraping. Wet.
Her fingernails scraped down his chest, and the feeling of the hairs rising sent a chill through her. She controlled a part of him. She knew it was insane; it was only the smallest part, a part that he couldn't even control himself. Only manually. But it still gave her a sense of power and domination.
She was just about to grab the tip of the tent in his trousers, when the most exhilarating feeling swooshed – yes, feelings could swoosh – through her entire being. It tickled her soul with its cooly tantalizing fingertips and grazed her heart with its fiery passion.
Then he spoke.
"Haste makes waste, my dear," He whispered on one very small curve of her inner ear as his tongue trailed back out. He drifted away, and she noticed something now.
A hole.
Where his heart should have been. It was black, cavernous. It was unidentifiable and untraveled. Not explored and empty. The flaw! Her thought was fleeting and nearly unrecognized because of the other realizations hitting her.
The heart was forbidden. Chuck Bass's was, at least. It did not exist.
For the first time in her life she felt alive.
It was only right that it be taken away, wasn't it?
Throbbing need.
A/N: I honestly don't know what this is...What I do know is that it came to me. And the idea switched so many times, but I liked this ending best, I suppose. Remember what I said at the beginning, bold is physical feeling, and italics are thoughts...from the many facets of Blair's brain. review if you feel like it.