NEW HABITS
Author: Sky Samuelle
Rating PG14
Summary: Post 'Blair Waldrof Must Pie', Queen B turns to Chuck Bass again for some stress relief: There's no plausible reason she should feel ashamed for wanting to feel better, pretty and whole rather than frustrated and unattractive, if Chuck can do that for her. It isn't like she is calling him for sex, anyway. Not at all. Just a little friendly and very necessary ego boosting.
--
This must be the worst Thanksgiving in History. In a 24 hour- arc, Blair Waldrof managed to go from giddy and impatient to depressed and self-destructively furious. Her father has bailed on her again, her best friend gained for herself a temporary but nonetheless hurtful estrangement after an epic parody of catfight, her mother revealed herself once more as a self-centered and ever-scheming tyrant.
Blair was still angry, but too tired for expressing it.
At Serena for judging her and dissolving her nice and personal cloud of denial.
At her mother for being…well, herself.
At her father for either being so naïve to not see through his soon-to-be-ex-wife's plotting, or so horny for his French male model to not care enough to. Had not Harold played house with Eleanor for decades? That should have to be enough long to know the woman wouldn't take a divorce sentence lying down…
But mostly, Blair is angry with herself for needing all of them so much than it had made her weak and worthless again. For allowing them to cornering her into succumbing old habits and for crawling back to her mother and Serena like a terrified kitten, hungry for scraps.
She hates not being been capable to stand her ground, hates herself a bit more for the bitter taste of vomit lingering in her mouth.
It should be disgusting and it is, but it also feels tempting, a depreciating reminder of how liberating it was purging herself bent over the porcelain basin, just few moments before the act made her to feel even more stupid and worthless.
Ugly inside out.
God she is just so tired, so sick of feeling so hollow and angry than it drained her of all her usual willfulness.
Examining her figure in a full-height mirror, Blair studies meticulously her attire and tries fighting off the wave of self-disgust which threatens to pull her asunder as a small voice in her head points out to how the chubby her cheeks are.
She closes her eyes and remembers the night of her last birthday, the way her reflection had gave her back, for a moment, an echo of that delicate, distant beauty Chuck saw and admired.
Blair opens her eyes, ready to recapture that fleeting sense of admiration and seductiveness, but it doesn't matter how resentfully she stares at her body, all what stands out is how the classiest skirt can't hide the swelling of those hips.
She holds on the memory again, lingers on the moment her eyes met Chuck's eyes in the mirror.
Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty.
She chooses forgetting –for now that this is Chuck Bass and he thinks all women are beautiful when they are on verge of spreading their legs. He has always had an odd knack for lifting her spirits.
A flash of Serena's disgusted expression admonishes her against her next course of action and Blair's fingers fumble over her cellular keys.
What does S know anyway?
C can be a pervert, but at least that pervert has never betrayed her or gone AWOL when she needed support.
There's no plausible reason she should feel ashamed for wanting to feel better, pretty and whole rather than frustrated and unattractive, if Chuck can do that for her.
It isn't like she is calling him for sex, anyway. Not at all. Just a little of friendly and very much necessary ego boosting.
He picks up after her second trill and Blair finds herself skipping preambles with a pretentiously fake cheer.
"I had an horrible Thanksgiving, what about you? "
On the other side, Chuck's condescending irony matched her sincerity perfectly.
"I had spend it in close quarters with my father, doesn't that speak for itself? "
The Mr Bass has forced her son to accompany him and spend the festivities out of town to court the inheritance of an aging spinster aunt.
Blair smirks: he probably hasn't had a chance to get laid in days. Then the smirk falls, replaced by a frown.
Or maybe not. Chuck Bass has his sad habit of getting happy with the hired help if no more intriguing offer comes up. Maybe he has had maids or something to that effect.
Ugh.
She is not jealous, mind you. She merely thinks it's unbecoming he has touched low class with the same hands he has laid on her.
"I was never so happy to return to 1812 by myself."
Chuck adds when she offers no immediate reply.
"You are happy? Apocalypse now?"
Not one of her most clever lines, but she swears she can feel him smiling as he teases her back.
"It's a metaphor, Waldrof. "
She wonders if he even knows what a metaphor is. Probably not.
"So are you already back?"
"I'm on my way to the Palace right now. Care for a drink? - He pauses a fraction of second before suggesting flippantly- I could pick you up?"
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Blair rolls her eyes and sighs audibly in forced exasperation.
"In your suite? – She is careful about not giving him enough time to react before adding haughtily – No, thank you. Have a good night."
Just like that, she hangs on him.
Twenty-eight minutes after, she is knocking on 1812's door.
Chuck looks oddly, transparently perplexed to find her there.
"You are just full of surprises, B."
He shakes his head in amusement and stands aside, letting her in.
"Welcome back." she says mock-sweetly, then waits for him closes the door behind her back before kissing him on her tiptoes and drawing scrumptiously back, a veil of confident playfulness covering the uncertainty she truly harbours inside.
The game feels still new to her.
Although her kiss was hardly more than a tentative peck on his lips, it has sufficed to ignite a tingling sensation which is spreading from her dry mouth to her flushing neck… lower too, she is embarrassed to state.
They are standing close enough that he must lean in only barely to rest his hand on her nape and gently pulling her head toward his for another kiss.
Her lips open under his tongue' teasing caress after a single moment's hesitation and soon they are making out against the door, the handle digging in her back.
She keeps waiting for the resurrection of that glorious rise of sensuality and confidence he has breathed into her the night of her birthday, or before that, the night she has allowed him to consume her stifling innocence with the taint of his experience.
It never happens.
The only emotion blossoming underneath her skin as her arms encircle his neck and she kisses him deeper is a resentful greed.
Blair almost wishes he could fray her with harsh words or forceful hands, punishing her for the grossness she has demonstrated stuffing herself hours ago.
She isn't sure about the reason she isn't disappointed he's doing neither.
Their kissing becomes more hurried, rushed when hands begin adventuring under clothes.
Then Chuck's groan in her hair as her fingers tuck in his shirt and flatten over his stomach makes her half-mad, impatient.
Her nails dig in the soft flesh, evoking deeper sounds, spiking the vague ache in her abdomen.
She is disappointed and a bit offended that Chuck is drawing away from her, shrugging off her touch brusquely, but then he 's taking her hand and leading her backwards toward his bedroom, smug smirk firmly in place, his eyes never leaving hers.
It's the heat in his gaze, which lures her in and stops her from slapping that conceited expression off his face.
Although she might, maybe, find the evil, conceited grin a marginal turn on.
It's not long before she is once and again naked under him, fighting him off to take his opened shirt off his shoulders: there's no way they are doing IT with Him almost fully clothed while she's nude and open on his bed.
Once Blair has managed to free him from the hindering garment, she catches his gaze following her movements with palpable interest, sweeping up and down her body at his leisure.
She finds herself quivering and self-conscious, curling on herself as she lies back against the pillows.
"Don't hide- he softly reproaches her, a note of something she could be imagining into adoration in his voice as he slides besides her- there's nothing to not like."
Perhaps she should feel dirty and perhaps she does so a little, because his eyes are so dark and the liquid lust she can sense there- and in his words- reaches deeper than his groping has done before.
But mostly she feels cleansed, released from the oppressive hold of her imaginary inadequacy.
Blair's smile glows in the poorly lit room: she feels beautiful.
--
Not even fifteen minutes after, Chuck is all but purring in her ear how much he loves being buried up to his balls inside her, she thinks his extreme crudity really, really, really should repulse her, not - most certainly not- be turning her insides to mush.
And she refuses considering how freakishly out of character it is, hearing Chuck Bass saying he loves anything, whether the appreciation is expressed in a depraved way or not.
"Tell me how it feels for you, being wrapped so tight around me. "
He encourages her, in that condemnable, lecherous, raspy purr which falls again on her skin, rich and sinful as black chocolate on a diet day.
"You must be the most narcissistic pig on this planet…"
She sighs, only distantly surprised of how much the naked lust in her voice covers the exasperation she meant infuse in it.
Oddity must be the flavour of the day.
After all, it's the third time Chuck Bass takes the misery she offers and transfigures it into something so wild that it's almost beautiful.