--

She could hear his gentle, even breathing beside her as the cool, cotton sheets pool around their tangled legs. She squeezes her eyes shut and sighs softly, because this just couldn't be happening again.

She's Blair Waldorf, and a Waldorf never gives in.

(But he's Chuck Bass, and a Bass never gives up.)

Blair slides out the bed, refusing to let her tears fall. She quietly gathers her clothes as Chuck rolls over on the bed, mumbling in his sleep. She allows a small smile to grace her porcelain face as she realizes her heart is beginning to break all over again.

Stupid Bass-tard.

Leave it to him to break through the ice queen facade (made out of Swarovski crystal, thank you very much) and see right through her with those dark, smoldering eyes of his.

Honestly, was she that transparent?

(Honestly, only Chuck could ever see through.)

How could Serena even say those things, the lying, ungrateful bitch? She may have shone, but who was there to even make it happen? Who was there to make sure nothing was out of place, out of order, out of drunken vomit? Serena needed Blair. She needed her to stop from falling from grace, from making a fool out of herself, from becoming the party-loving, cocaine-snorting bitch Blair knew she really was.

She never loved her.

Blair scoffs. Not like anyone ever did.

(Chuck Bass begs to differ.)

Maybe it was the vodka, and the gin, and the vodka and gin she had downed at the Palace Bar, or maybe it was way she was feeling so used and manipulated that she let Chuck and his liquid eyes seduce her right out of her bar stool and onto his bed.

(Or maybe because she loved him.)

"You're leaving" his smooth, velvety voice sends shivers down her back.

Blair stiffens as Chuck sits up on his bed, the sheets rustling around his lithe, muscular body. She would know. Blair imagines his trademark smirk, his dark, leering eyes and tousled sex-hair, and whips around to bitchily retort, when her heart stops beating at the expression on his Roman-esque face.

He looks sleepy and confused, and the way he bites his lip oh-so-innocently (like he wasn't the one mauling her in the elevator) makes Blair trip over her Prada heels. She can hear him chuckle as she straightens herself, throwing a dirty glare in his direction. Chuck tilts his head, watching her intently. His intense stare makes Blair feel more naked than she already is.

"Don't, Chuck. Just don't" she half-pleads, feeling her tears burn at the back of her throat.

He comes up behind her, his fingertips ghosting the skin of her collarbone. Blair ignores the quivering of her legs.

"Why not?"

Blair turns to meet his penetrating eyes, and before she can speak the reason they know would break both their hearts, he captures her lips in a heated kiss and pulls her back to bed.

She lets him, because they both know she needs this.

--