CRYSALIS

CRYSALIS

Author :Sky Samuelle

Rating: G

Characters/ship: Chuck centric, C/B

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my lousy wit

Spoilers: First season

Summary: Post 1.18- Chuck leaves Blair stranded in Tuscany, but what was the reasoning behind it? Maybe he wasn't scared of losing himself, or of having her. It was the concept of her having him- seeing him- to freeze him on spot when he almost talked himself into running after her.

He wanted her. He had always wanted her really, and now that he had had her, he doubted she would ever stop being his most treasured fantasy.

He was her fist lover and he treasured taking her innocence enough to consider it a gift , even when the very same act was been nothing but a caprice with all the countless ingénues he had taken to his bed–or anywhere else—in his long career of unrepentant womanizing.

He wasn't always certain she was his first love: sometimes, there was just no other name he could appoint to what she had awakened inside him. But there were also times he laughed at himself and denied it all.

He hungered for her body, craved her company, respected her mind. Was it love?

There was not a single thing he would have changed about her. Her malice amused him when directed toward third parties, turned him on—more often than not—when she used it to antagonize him.

The contrast between her uptight coldness and the sparse glimpses of vulnerability she conceded both him and herself came across as intriguing.

He noticed everything and anything about her—things she wanted to hide and to forget, things other people weren't careful enough to pick up on—and he enjoyed it because it gave him the impression that he could win the upper hand in this endless struggle of tempers they engaged in.

It could be Love and if it wasn't, it was at least as close as someone like Chuck Bass would ever come to.

So why was he still here, drinking scotch, not returning her phone calls, when he could be with her in Italy, hearing her sigh his name against his lips, making her shiver?

She was finally giving in, realizing Nate was no longer enough, that he was the one who could get her blood going, her heart racing… she actually wanted him this time around.

It was what he wanted all along, wasn't it? Knowing her passion matched his?

If he truly loved her—like he had said to Nate—why wasn't he chasing her, when it was so clear she wanted be caught?

It wasn't that his desire had been dulled by the chase's nearing its end. He wanted her as he much he ever had, maybe even more. He even missed her—her acerbic wit and her compulsive little habits—so why wasn't it enough to get him on that plane?

She wanted him back finally… maybe someday she could even come to love him. If she managed to curb that weird obsession of hers with having everything unrealistically perfect.

Maybe she was already looking at him the same way he looked at her—hunting for revelatory details to memorize—and seeing past the insatiable sexual appetite, the pot and booze, the not-so-pleasant stranger underneath.

Now that was dangerous, that was scary.

He wasn't terrified of losing Blair more or gaining her by losing himself.

He wasn't Nate–forever a prisoner of his vague idealism—or Blair—willingly a slave to someone else's expectations.

He was Chuck Bass and if his preposterous lifestyle defined him, it was only because of a calculated move on his part.

He liked flaunting his reputation to hide his secrets and he found pride in using his vices to cover his real weaknesses. Just give the masses something scandalous and inappropriate and they will never bother to come delving under the shiny, entertaining surface.

The idea of his perceptive, attentive Blair spending the summer with him, stripping him of all those layers made him uncomfortable.

So no, he wasn't going to stay because he feared losing her or having her. He wasn't this much of a pussy.

It was the concept of her having him to freeze him on spot when he almost talked himself into running after her.

The concept of Blair scratching her way past his masks, to find whatever was left under the taint of casual fucking and empty nights of social drug-using and mindless drinking.

He couldn't conceive of looking through her eyes and discovering someone better, the way he has done for her time and time again.

Until he is alone, he can be as blind or brutally honest to himself as he chooses to be.

He loves that, being able to make-believe he is shallow and superficial until a situation doesn't require otherwise.

He won't change.