Drabble! This idea came to me while watching some youtube video, I can't remember which. I know I missed a couple of kisses out but MEH.

Kissing with Meaning

The first kiss was over a year ago now. The night before my Seventeenth birthday, a few hours after I'd broken up with Nate. It was a simple kiss at first, one that showed all my nerves, told Chuck that I wasn't really sure of what I was doing, whether I should be doing this, wondering if I was going to be rejected. His kiss, on the other hand, was one of longing, of relief, of finally. There were no hints of rejection, only wanting more, more of me, more of the kiss.

The next night at my Seventeenth birthday party, we kissed on a stranger's bed. I was hesitant at first, I didn't want to do this somewhere foreign, but then I remembered the night before, it was in a Limo. So I stayed. I gave my thanks in the only way I knew how to, after all Chuck had bought me a $35,000 necklace. I'd wanted to say thank you, but we were Chuck and Blair. Something told me that we weren't meant to talk about feelings, we were just meant to kiss. Kisses held more meaning than words for us.

Before cotillion, the kiss was hot. An average teenage make-out kiss, which neither of us ever wanted to end. It was strange, just kissing Chuck without it leading to anything more, but something in his kiss told me that this would always be enough. He'd never ask me for anything more unless I asked first, that he respected me enough not to try and sleep with me every time we met up. I felt guilt in this kiss, but a thrill at the same time. It was thrilling knowing we could be caught at anytime, and it was the first time I realised that kissing Chuck was always this fun.

At the wedding, the kiss held an apology. It was an apology from me for getting back together with Nate in the first place, because it had caused us both a lot of pain in the long run. His apology was for a lot more than mine; it was for sending the tips to gossip girl, for ruining my cotillion and for saying those harsh words to me at the bar. I could have been angry at him for a lot longer if it wasn't for his kiss, his tender, almost loving kiss, which said sorry in so many different and better ways than the words ever could. This kiss gave me butterflies, something I hadn't had in a long time.

When he asked me to Tuscany and I accepted, his kiss held disbelief and, dare I say it, love. We were finally moving forward in our relationship, if you could call it that, and while no true feelings had been admitted yet, that one kiss told us both the intensity of what we felt for each other.

At the back to school party, during the black out, this kiss was one of passion, one of need. After a summer spent apart due to abandonment, after many nights wishing and dreaming that Chuck would come to Tuscany and meet me, tell me he was sorry, I needed this. I needed to feel that spark, the feeling of being alive that kissing Chuck brought me. His kiss told me he felt the same, that he regretted not coming to Tuscany because he could've had this everyday.

After the disastrous Brooklyn Rooftop argument, the kiss had been one of hope, of promise. Chuck had come to my room and all but said that he loved me, and that in the future we could be together, when the game between us finally came to an end. He'd kissed me softly, his lips just gently touching mine, and it felt so foreign, so un-Chuck-like that I'd wanted it to last forever, to stay in the same spot with his lips always against mine. His kiss promised though, it promised that one day that would happen.

At the snowflake ball, Chuck had said we had tonight, and we danced together. We'd decided to leave together that night, and as we sat in the limo together, our lips touched. The kiss held happiness, yet a twinge of sadness as we realised it wouldn't work, we couldn't just spend one night together and then go back to normal, we were in too deep now. That's when we received the call saying Bart was dead.

It was hard getting through to Chuck after his father died, we'd never got a chance to share our feelings again. We'd had heated kisses, ones that we almost grew to regret, but none like this one before.

We'd both finally said it, we'd said those three words that had been so hard to roll off our tongues for the past year, but this kiss was more. It meant more than the words did, made our hearts beat more than the words did, and made the butterflies flutter more than the words did. It was a different kiss; it wasn't heated, rushed or full of passion and need. This kiss symbolised the beginning, not the end. It held more promised than I could have ever imagined. It said that we were for real this time and that we were going to last forever. And suddenly, all those past kisses made sense.