Touch
Author: Sky Samuelle
Summary: Chuck contemplates tactility, sex and why they feel different with Blair Waldorf. Set during ep.1.10 'Hi Society.'
Pairing: Blair/Chuck
Rated: PG14
Words :1091
Chuck Bass can't remember last time touch meant something.
When he was a child, he used to watch his mother in wonder as she sat before her mirror, performing with face powder, mascara and lipstick the mysterious midmorning ritual which transformed her from the spent, bored creature that lingered in her bedroom into the ethereal, elegant woman who handled confidently his father and her social obligations.
As far as he could remember, his parents were never the ones to indulge in open displays of affection, toward him or each other. Tactile contact always needed to be somehow legitimized, justified.
Except some nights, when Bart was away and Mrs. Bass was lonely or desperate enough to make her son to sleep with her. Her arms surrounded his small body tightly, securing his back against her womb. She clung to him, not like she wanted to guard him from his nightmares, but like she was seeking protection from hers.
Psychotic bitch.
Although, after the first few minutes of feeling entrapped and fighting the instinct to wriggle out of her grasp, it used to get somewhat comfortable. After a while, it even gave him a weird warmth, the illusion that his mother needed him.
What does he know, anyway? He was five, six years old? Maybe even younger. Maybe it's only his memory playing with a common, dull story and embellishing it with mildly interesting details.
Either way, those days are long gone and today he barely recalls the sensation or thinks of his mother more often than it's strictly necessary.
Touch has became an addiction, the frenzied rhythm of conquering the most guarded territories of the female body, the glorious surge of power he experiences while making a girl plead and quiver for his caresses, his taste. It's a different way of being needed.
The warmth of orgasm is cold heat, a liberating shiver which relieves him of the craving and leaves him pleasantly hollow.
It's dirty, in spite of how much he appreciates that underlying sense of violation on his naked flesh, the almost morbid way the distance between him and a virtual stranger can be so easily bridged only to be established again the morning after.
Yes, Chuck Bass definitely loves sex.
He cannot figure out what his recent little fling with Blair means or the reason it feels different.
It's pretty clear it can only end badly, especially now that Nate is reentering the equation, but he's hoping to see how it will play out and cut his losses as the game goes on. He can reasonably expect that his best friend will step back once the novelty of Stringless-Blair has faded.
After all, the constant about Nate is that he drifts thoughtlessly through, life pushed around by waves of easy enthusiasm and fleeting fancies. The boy will find another source of excitement, if given enough time.
Chuck doesn't plan on having any difficulties entertaining Blair in the meanwhile.
He can't stop seeing her, wanting to witness the helpless surrender on her beautiful face when she comes apart in his arms, all vulnerable and willing.
Picturing her like that—especially knowing that he's the only one to awaken this wild and sensual side of her—never fails to give him this deeper, new kind of thrill.
It's a predatory excitement which seems to weaken him even while it empowers him.
He cannot understand what this is, but he sort of likes the novelty.
He loves teasing her until she loses control and shudders underneath him in desire, no longer capable or determined enough to deny her body is burning for his touch, building both her hunger and his just to revel in the aching with his wandering hands and mouth. He loves how she shifts from shy to bold with no sensible warning. How she fights teeth and nails to gain dominance.
Maybe it's the secretiveness or the boast of swiftly stealing something so precious from Perfect Natie, but his steamy encounters with Blair give him a satisfaction which lingers hours after they depart.
Being with her fills him with a kind of inner warmth which disturbs him and soothes him at the same time, but what it's more surprising about the matter is that he feels more like himself – more daring, more smarmy, more hormonal—than he has ever did before. It reminds him of the first time he wore a suit with irritatingly too-ironed cuffs, but then looked at his reflection in the mirror and knew it was perfect on him.
With Blair Waldorf on his arm for everyone to see, he would feel like a god
.
"Yes, but I can't be on you, remember? Because you don't want Nate to find out. And I don't want anyone to…"
Chuck chooses wisely to dismiss the memory of that particular conversation or anything else he has heard that evening to concentrate on how inviting she looks with her short skirt and her shapely legs clad in those red thighs. Conservative, but sexy. Inaccessible yet not necessarily inviolable.
When they are alone, Chuck can't restrain himself from kissing her until she can't think straight (finally, he has discovered a trick to shut her up without risking his safety), caressing her until he can't think straight, encouraging her touch until they are forcefully interrupted, be that from a phone call, Dorota, her conscience or his.
Yes, Chuck Bass has actually a conscience, it simply works with different priorities than most. It has been eating at him for a while, telling him this might actually mean something and that—if he holds his mental health dear—he shouldn't really bother to pinpoint what. Leave it to Nate to agonize over philosophical implications of lust, and focus on keeping the girl until the assumed rival gets over his nostalgic fit.
He gets a hold of his cell and writes, a smirk of anticipation on his lips: 'R you wt him now?'
His mind is already weighing how much it will take him to draw Blair away from the Archibald pretty boy and back to his side. To much, much more exciting occupations than keeping her escort from actually managing himself for once.
Chuck doesn't entirely resent himself for feeling moderately possessive of her.
He supposes he must accept territoriality a healthy, unavoidable male compulsion and that if anything else, competition spices up appetite very nicely.