Chuck's long and graceful fingers were perched around the end of a burning joint, bringing it up to his flushed lips and inhaling deeply, expertly sucking the perfumed smoke down into his lungs. "My father," his deep voice drawled out lazily through an exhale of smoke, "was born poor. Did you know that? The great Bart Bass," he jeered loudly. "One of the wealthiest men in the Upper East Side… was the son of one of those blue collar workers that you and your family so adore." He let his head fall back against the couch, gazing aimlessly at the ceiling as he spoke. "He built the entire Bass empire from nothing. He loves telling that story. Loves rubbing it in my face that, no matter what I do, I'll never have accomplished as much as him." Chuck's gravelly voice was becoming increasingly more languid as the effects of the weed began rush over him, muting the passage of time and his incessant need for control.
Another long and languorous draw on the joint, the tip momentarily glowing bright red in the dimly lit room. "Have you ever read an article written about him?" Chuck asked, pausing as if he expected his companion to reply. When no response was granted, he continued anyway. "They are nothing but verbal fellatio, a healthy stroke to his ego" he said as the smoke curled out from between his lips. "He wasn't a good businessman because of sheer talent. And he certainly didn't have "the golden touch," Chuck sneered almost viciously. "He was successful because he was ruthless. It was never about right and wrong. It was about getting things done. Whatever needed to be done… was done… regardless. And if you stood in the way of that," Chuck paused as the edges of his lips curled into a sinister smile. "You were crushed."
His smile turned bitter as he brought the joint up to his lips for another draw. "It's almost funny, in a way. The epitome of irony. My father was the biggest sonuvabitch I knew. I watched him lie, cheat, and undercut the people he did business with for my entire life." Chuck ticked the offense off on his fingers. "Business isn't about playing fair, he would tell me. It's about winning. Winning," he repeated his final words with disgust. "Winning what?" Chuck asked incredulously, shaking his head. Another pause, another draw on his joint. "And it was a complete mystery to dear old dad as to how I turned out the way I did. As if he was a shining example of virtue. Everything I learned," the boy explained. "Everything I am, I am because of him. I learned it all from him. As if I was ever anything but a more effective version of himself."
Chuck took another slow draw from the joint, letting the conversation lull as he held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could stand. It erupted from his lungs in a rush as a cold chuckle rippled from deep in his throat. "This is some good shit," he said, a smile momentarily tilting his lips upward as he inspected the joint between his fingers. "Good quality," he mused. "Potent… but still, it gives a very mellow high," Chuck rambled lazily through dilated pupils.
He shifted on the couch, sinking down into the velvety cushions until his torso was nearly even with his widely splayed thighs. Bringing the joint to his lips once more, Chuck inhaled deeply as his unfocused eyes glazed over the stage in front of them. He tilted his head upward to blow the smoke out in a rush through his puckered lips before returning his dark brown eyes to the stage. "I love this place," he said. "I love everything about it. The women, the booze, the atmosphere, the music. Everything." One foot taped in time to the slow, pulsating music that filled the room. "I own this place, you know? Quite literally. It was the first useful thing I did with my inheritance after Bart died. It only seemed appropriate." As he spoke, his eyes never left the scantily clad women and their gyrating hips. "It was the first business idea I ever pitched to Bart. I analyzed every aspect of this place. I spent weeks going over the numbers. Weeks," he emphasized, bringing the joint to his lips again as his eyes settled on the petite brunette occupying center stage. Momentarily forgetting about the conversation, his head tilted to the side, a mixture of fascination and lust infusing his expression as he took another long draw from his joint. Her hips undulated rhythmically as she danced, slightly more exaggerated as she noticed her admirer and tossed a seductive smile in his direction.
If Chuck had seen the gesture, he made absolutely no effort to acknowledge it despite his continued fascination with the brunette. "It was the first time he even came close to telling me that he was proud of me," he said, the wry smile that had graced his lips only moments earlier quickly morphed into an ugly sneer. "I was seventeen. Seven-fucking-teen years old, and it was the first time," he spat out bitterly before taking another deep draw from the joint to calm himself. As he exhaled, the smoke streamed slowly out of his nostrils. "It didn't last. All the work I'd done… all the effort… it didn't matter. Bart had his mind made up as soon as he walked into the place. He didn't even read the proposal. He didn't give me, his own son… his own flesh and blood… the courtesy he would normally have given a complete stranger." The muscles in Chuck's jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, his contempt clear as he held a very thin string of control over his anger. "It took some Asian whore attempting to fuck her way to the top to get him to consider that I might have a worthy idea."
Chuck fell silent as he forced himself to unclench, his body visibly relaxing again into the couch. "That little episode," he drawled out. "That all but summed up the extent of our father and son relationship. Some relationship," he muttered as the burning tip of his joint glowed red from between his lips. "I killed his beloved wife. I can't imagine that he ever thought I was worth the loss," he stated coldly. "And he did his damnedest to make sure I always knew exactly how big of a disappointment I was. Tit for tat, that was how Bart operated. I can see that now." Chuck shook his head through pursed lips as his eyes drifted back to the brunette. "It wasn't as easy to understand when I was eight," he spat out bitterly. Another pause in the one-sided conversation as he took another long pull from his joint. "I hated the son of a bitch," Chuck's words dripped with deeply laced hatred and bitterness before softening considerably. "But I loved him at the same time. Fucked up, isn't it?"
When the brunette disappeared behind the curtain, Chuck closed his eyes and relaxed into the couch. For several minutes, his chest rose and fell steadily as they sat in silence. "She reminded me of Blair." The corners of his mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile as he blindly took another hit. "I always thought the fascination I had with her was because she was… unattainable." He was selecting his words carefully, much unlike the torrent of words that had flowed from his mouth when he'd spoken of his father. And while his spoken words revealed little in terms of depth, the tone of his voice and the expression on his face voiced his obvious affection for the girl.
"You always lust after what you can't have. And she was as unattainable as they come." With the joint still in hand, Chuck reached towards the serving table beside the couch, his fingers clutching around the glass of scotch he'd deposited there earlier in the evening. After sending a burning gulp of scotch down his throat, he switched the glass to his opposite hand and eagerly chased the alcohol with another deep inhale of smoke. "You see, not only had she and Nathanial been practically betrothed since kindergarten, but she had… an almost literal chastity belt." He drawled out warmly. "I may be an asshole," he drawled out lazily, "but I am not a complete asshole. There are some boundaries that even I won't violate. And I always though Nathanial's trust and Blair's virginity were among those." His eyebrows shot upward on his forehead and he shrugged his shoulders as he downed another burning gulp of scotch. "But then I saw her… up on that stage," he gestured with the burning joint. "She and Nathanial, they'd just broken up. I knew better. But the way she moved up there… she was incredible." He repeated nearly the same words he'd uttered to her that night, with the same soft and intoxicated expression resting on his features.
His gaze became more distant as he spoke, staring intently at the stage but obviously not really seeing anything beyond the scenes replaying in his mind. "She kissed me first," Chuck reasoned softly. "I thought I was doing us both a favor. I was saving her from losing her virginity to fumbling inexperience. And I… I would get to bed her and my obsession for her once and for all." Another sip of scotch and a lungful of smoke. "What I didn't count on… what I never saw coming…" He drawled out as smoke blew through his nostrils. "Was realizing that the lust I'd felt for her had turned into something else… something completely different." He blinked slowly, as if he was still trying to absorb what had happened between them in the backseat of his limo. "It was one of the best nights of my life."
Bringing the joint back to his lips, Chuck took another long hit, dragging the burning tip as close to his fingertips as he dared. As he exhaled, a wicked grin split his features and he stood from the couch. "If only I'd brought a blunt," he mused, grinding the joint out with his fingertips in an ashtray. "Maybe then I would have had enough time to tell you more about the sensitive side of Chuck Bass. Perhaps next time," he suggested.
Chuck slipped back into the suit jacket of his school uniform and cleared his throat. "This talk, this is just between you and me, right?" He asked smugly, his eyes finally traveling over to his companion. "I wouldn't want people to get the wrong impression. They might think I was… going soft."
Upon getting no response, Chuck reached forward and prodded his companion and was answered by a muffled groan of pain. Chuck sneered at the sight in front of him, disgusted. "Let this be a lesson, Humphrey," his voice was cold and dangerously low as he held his lips close to Dan's ear. "I don't like your sanctimonious attitude. I don't take kindly to people whoring out things I tell them in confidence. I dislike people nosing around in my father's business. And Serena deserves someone so much better than you, you fucking hypocrite." Reaching forward, Chuck straightened Dan's blood-splattered collar. "You might have a good right hook, Humphrey," he said, moving to push Dan's loosened tie back into place. "But my bouncer's is much, much better." Chuck taunted as he gave Dan's shoulder a less than gentle pat. "Let's get one thing straight: I am not my father. No," he shook his head as he stood upright, leaving Dan still slumped unconscious in the armchair. "I am far worse. Never fuck with Chuck Bass." He paused momentarily, considering his next words carefully before vocalizing them. "Or his family."
Turning, Chuck glanced to the front entrance, catching the eye of the bouncer. He snapped his fingers in the air and, with a flick of his wrist, motioned first to the unconscious form in front of him and then to the back door of the club. "Get him out of here," Chuck spat out abruptly as he turned back towards the couch.
"But where should I put him?" the bouncer blinked stupidly.
Chuck whirled around quickly, his usually perfectly groomed hair slipping out of place and falling across his forehead from the momentum of his movements. And, for a moment, he lost control. "Does. It. Look. Like. I. Care?" he asked, each carefully enunciated word was clipped and dripping with anger. His glare burned into the bouncer, who shifted nervously before him. Taking a deep breath, Chuck reached upward and pushed his hair back into place before continuing. "The sidewalk, the gutter, the road," he spat out a few suggestions as he turned away from the bouncer. "You can throw him in the god damn Hudson river for all I care."
AN: Thanks to all those who left feedback on my last story. It is greatly appreciated and did a lot for helping me find the motivation to write again. Any sort of critiques are greatly appreciated. I'm always looking for ways to improve. And, considering I'm actually running out of ideas to write about, I'm very open to any sort of topic suggestions or story prompts. Oh, and sorry to all those out there who love Dan. I don't hate him, but he's an easy target. Plus, I'll admit, I get tired of the constant judging.