A.N: Just a little one-shot that popped in my mind after watching 5.01. Chuck, as always, is a pleasure to write because that guy has the best poker face ever. But I am grateful for the insight to his mind when he watched the little invitation from Blair. That is what inspired this one-shot. It's mostly Chuck with a little Blair. I am undecided whether to rate this a M. But I decided against it. I do not think I have been too vivid about anything-
…
The vanilla envelope in his hand caused the cursed butterflies to create havoc within him. He held it gingerly, almost casually to the normal eye because Chuck Bass never trembled but it was causing him physical pain to read.
You are cordially invited to the wedding ceremony of
Blair Cornelia Waldorf
His face froze and his hand tightened on the helmet in his hand. He swallowed hard as he fought the nausea rising within him. And the butterflies continued to flutter.
At an early age Chuck Bass had decided that he hated butterflies. He was barely four when he arrived at that decision. It was his first day at the school and he was dressed to the nines. A pink Versace suit specially designed for him was his choice of attire to mark this momentous occasion. He sauntered into the classroom and was deeply disappointed. None of his classmates were wearing anything close to what he wore. Instead they were dressed in casual tees and jeans (shudder). Some even were dressed in overalls. Scrunching his nose up, he decided he would tell his father that he should find Chuck a better school- more suited to someone of his stature. There was nothing that could hold his interest here.
That was until he spotted her. She was sitting primly, her back straight and her eyes focused on the painting in front of her. Her white Oxfords were spotless and resting on the leg support on her desk. Her starched white shirt was well-ironed and her skirt was arranged neatly around her seat. Beautiful curls of a molten chocolate color hung around her collar and were held together with a headband with a ridiculously big bow.
Chuck had never seen a more beautiful sight. He made his way towards her. She didn't look up as he stood in front of her. So he put his tiny hand in his front pockets as he had seen his father do and cleared his throat.
Beautiful brown eyes looked up at him questioningly. The expression Bambi eyes passed through his mind and he realized that deer weren't as stupid as he first thought them to be.
"You are beautiful" he said in a would-be husky voice that his father used on his previous nanny.
"Excuse me" she said scrunching up her perfect tiny nose. She looked at him like he had cooties which, in all fairness, Serena told her all boys had.
Chuck lost his swagger as he realized that she didn't giggle like his nanny had. Instead she looked disgusted. Quickly he looked for some sentence that would melt her icy look and found him mesmerized by her purple headband. It looked perfect in her hair. He decided it was his favorite color.
"Purple is beautiful" he amended quickly "It's my favorite color" he announced as though purple had been granted the greatest honor it could know and in his opinion it had.
She shrugged at him and he shrugged back and sat next to him. He sat like that as the teacher droned on about drawing. He pulled out his notepad and realized that he couldn't draw. Not that he wanted to draw, he thought. He dipped his brush with purple and brushed it against the blank paper. Satisfied that purple was worthy of the honor he granted it, he peered at his neighbor's drawing. She had drawn a butterfly with a pair of lopsided wings.
"What is that?" he asked
"Are you blind, new boy?" asked her Royal Highness "It's a butterfly."
"It's lopsided."
"No, it's not..."
"Yes it is."
"Nope"
"Yeah"
"No…"
"Yeah... here…"
"No, don't touch it..."
"Just let me…"
"Aarrghhh…" it was a loud scream that attracted the attention of the whole class. The teacher, Mrs. Knight quickly rushed forward. Little Miss Prissy was throwing a fit.
"Look what you did... You destroyed my butterfly…This is all purple"
Chuck smirked "I did you a favor. It looks better now…"
Furious doe eyes stared at him. Before he knew, his pink suit was drenched in purple water. He gasped; shocked that anyone with Bambi eyes could be so cruel.
"How dare you…"
"I did you a favor. It looks better now…" was the snarky reply
Mrs. Knight had rushed forward "What is the meaning of this?"
"She ruined my suit..."
"He ruined my butterfly."
Two hours later, after a through lecture from his father and a disapproving I-know-a troublemaker-when –I-see-one from Headmistress Queller, Chuck discovered two things.
One-The doe-eyed Miss Prissy was called Blair Waldorf.
Two-He hated butterflies.
In that afternoon in LA, standing in a yacht that he won in a poker game and heading out to a date with a random brunette, he was struck once again at how much he detested those butterflies. He should have unwavering in his decision about them. He should have never let them invade his stomach.
But it wasn't like he had a choice.
The first time he felt the fluttering it had gone unnoticed. He had more pressing matters at hand. He was lying on top of the one girl he had never imagined himself to be worthy of touching. His lips were sucking gently on the delicious curve of the neck of the one girl who dominated his erotic fantasies since his hormones had made themselves known to him. He gently bit her earlobe, his hand playing with her rock hard nipples as her red bottom lip was jutted out as she gasped.
"Oh, Chuck..."
Her hands were clutching him to her, her nails raking down his back. Lying underneath him in a fit of passion, with a wanton look on her face and the molten chocolate curls tangled in his hand was Blair Waldorf- the secret forbidden object of his fantasies. The one girl who commanded his respect, the one soul who knew him and yet trusted him….
And he was about to take her much coveted and priced virginity. The thought itself drove him to utter bliss. The idea of being the man who marked this beautiful brunette as his own, the man who first tasted her elixir, the first man to bring her to her sexual awareness was a gift beyond any he had ever received in his life.
But as with all priceless gifts, its need to be given and not taken...
With the last slice of restraint he slowly in his attentions to her perfect body and gently spoke out: "Are you sure?"
The three words that never crossed his mouth were now uttered with urgency. He couldn't take her, not until she gave herself to him.
She grinded herself against him and he groaned at the friction. She smirked at his groan.
He was throbbing with need. And yet the question slipped out.
"We could stop if you want. Get off some other way" He needed to make her his and yet he couldn't.
Her eyes snapped open then and he found himself lost in those eyes. She smiled slowly.
"I trust you. Take me, Chuck"
The words ignited a need as he never felt before. It wasn't only physical craving but something deep rooted within him. As he gently coaxed her to open and drove himself to the hilt, the lust throbbing in him was enhanced by the queer fluttering erupting in his stomach. As she moaned loudly, he clutched her to him and craved to relieve both the throbbing and the fluttering.
And it was futile. The fluttering never went away. But they got name- courtesy Blair Waldorf- butterflies. Damned cursed butterflies that refused to die.
With
Louis Phillip Grimaldi
It was the hardest decision he ever made and that most selfless act he ever committed. He still believed that he was right. That didn't mean that the pain erupting in him fanned by the ever-present and never dying butterflies wasn't spreading through his body. It was heartache, it was worse. It was a slow painful death, drawn by the tip of a sword that plunged inch by inch in his heart. It was a pain that he couldn't numb by Scotch or any substance. That is why he turned to being an adrenaline junkie, the façade of happiness coated with the thrills of momentary jolts of feeling.
The pain couldn't be numbed so he heightened the other emotions to ignore it. Now if he could only trap the butterflies and kill them…
"Butterflies are meant to be free." Twelve year old Blair Waldorf announced grimly.
At eleven and half, Chuck had learned the lesson of life. Never disagree with Blair Waldorf but being Chuck Bass when he ever paid heed to lessons.
"Says who, Waldorf?" he said staring at the butterflies in the jar.
"Anyone who has the slightest sense, Bass" she said. She stared morosely at the faint fluttering of wings of the butterfly who desperately wanted to escape. "See, they want to be free."
"Who cares what they want? It's my house and I 'll do what I want" he sat down on the table and pulled a bottle of Scotch.
"Are you out of your mind? Bart will kill you…" she said watching him pour a glass.
Chuck shrugged. It's not like his father expected anything better. He eyed the furious brunette and said:" Don't get your panties in a twist, Waldorf" he smirked then and continued "Or better yet, I don't mind if you do if I get to untwist them"
Blair scrunched up his nose "You are disgusting"
"You love it"
"You wish" she said with a scoff
"Nope. You wish" he replied with a smirk
"I have an amazing boyfriend" she replied haughtily
Chuck leaned back against the chair. "And why aren't you bothering him instead? Come to think of it I haven't seen him all morning. Where is Nathaniel?"
As if on cue a shout of laughter was heard. Chuck watched as Serena appeared laughing her heads off and squealing as she tried to fend off Nathaniel. He watched as he tackled her to the ground. He seemed reluctant to get off her. He turned to make an obnoxious comment to Blair but trailed off as he saw the uncharacteristic vulnerable look on her face. The expression clenched something within him. It was a queer feeling and he hated it. He drank some Scotch but it didn't seem to help at all.
As a last resort he stood up and picked up his jar.
"Here you go, Waldorf" He lifted the lid and one by one the butterflies fluttered out. Blair squealed in delight, the disgruntled look fading from her eyes.
"Chuck…"
"Well, butterflies are meant to be free, aren't they Waldorf?" he asked with a smirk.
"I need to let you go. You need to let go"
He couldn't trap the butterflies, not when they were meant to be free. He couldn't let her go even when she had. So he did what he knew best, ignore the fluttering. He needed a rush of adrenaline. Something to take his mind off the cursed pain... He placed the envelope in his jacket pocket and headed out.
"I have changed my mind…"
He had indeed. He couldn't choose to be careful when he needed to be distracted every single moment. Forbidden to acknowledge and impossible to destroy, those butterflies only be momentarily distracted when he lived on the edge.
The word is yes. There is nothing that he wouldn't try once- Even happiness.
Provided there was a distant chance that the butterflies would stop swarming. And stop making him sick.
…
It felt like butterflies and they made her sick. Gasping for breath as she purged, she fought back tears. She couldn't cry, she wouldn't cry. She stood up wiping tears and removing any trace of them from her face.
No one would know. Because this wasn't happening. She wasn't pregnant. She couldn't be pregnant.
And it was a given that she wasn't. She walked out, throwing herself into fights over petty matters such as her wedding dress, the center pieces and her flower arrangements. As she stood posing for Vogue Paris, the fluttering in her stomach never stopped. And yet she didn't feel nauseous.
Though he didn't exist she had a feeling that baby Bass liked butterflies.
How could he not?
….
Tell me whether I should keep it or delete it.
Review please.