A Vision

ChuckMeMondays

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl, nor am I making any money from this. I'm just saying, I'm not the one with my own limo.

Summary: Here's something about Chuck you probably didn't know: He was born blind in his left eye.

You like secrets, right? Of course you do. You're signed up for Gossip Girl's e-mail blasts, aren't you? You love a good secret.

All right, then. Here's something about Chuck you probably didn't know: He was born blind in his left eye.

You can sort of see it, if you know what you're looking for or if you're lucky enough to have Chuck stare at you for any extended period of time. You can see it in the way Chuck tilts his head ever so slightly to the left and narrows his eyes; leads all his movements with his right side; in the way he turns his head all the way to the left but gives sidelong glances from the right.

Blair noticed it in the way his left eye lagged only the tiniest bit behind his right as they swept down her body from her eyes to her lips, past her neck and clavicle, resting on her breasts before moving across her abdomen and then staring at the center of her, pink and wet for him, and then back up.

"Chuck," she said, cupping his face in her hands and meeting his gaze, her voice genuinely concerned. "Does your left eye feel all right?"

He raised an eyebrow - the right one - in surprise. "It's fine," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her neck.

Her brow scrunched. "But it-"

"It's always like that," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I was born blind in that eye."

Her eyebrows shot up and she pushed him off her onto his back, rising up over him on one arm to study his eyes more closely. Both tracked her movement.

"Obviously, not anymore," she stated.

"No. Near 20/20," he assured, hoping that would end the conversation. He ran his hands from her hips to her breasts and back, stopping to cop a quick feel, trying to get her back in the mood.

But Blair was not easily deterred. "So?" she demanded.

He sighed, knowing she wouldn't let it go until he explained. "Some of the muscles and nerves were improperly developed. My father hired the best surgeons money could buy and had it fixed."

"When you were a baby? Wasn't that dangerous?"

He was silent a moment. "Blair, I didn't have the surgery until I was 10."

She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again: "How did I never notice? How did no one ever notice?"

He shrugged, liking the topic less and less. "I was good at hiding it. My father…" He trailed off, but he didn't have to finish. Blair knew. "Anyway, you're now only one of a very few people in the world that know, and aside from my doctors, the only one not related to me."

She smiled. "Is it a secret, then?"

He frowned. "Not exactly. It's just no one's business."

She nodded. Then her brow furrowed again and she traced her fingertips below his eye. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Not usually. Sometimes I have migraines. They're usually caused by flashing or bright lights that stress the nerve."

She nodded again and this time it was her lips that traced below his eye. Her breasts brushed against him as she leaned in. He exhaled contentedly. That was better than talk of a defect that had been another of the long list of things his father held against him.

"Were you scared? When you had surgery?"

He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her on top of him. She automatically straddled his hips.

"Yes," he replies. "I remember being afraid that they'd operate on the wrong eye and I'd wake up completely blind. I didn't tell my father that."

She pouted in sympathy and stroked her hands over his chest - stronger than most people knew.

"I'm sorry I didn't know. I would have brought you macaroons while you were recovering."

He smirked and guided her hips into position above him. "Ride me now and you'll be forgiven."

She laughed and kissed him and sank down, letting out a pretty little purr as he filled her. His fingers tightened on her hips. Then she sat up on top of him, steadying herself with hands on his ribs, and started to move over him in a familiar rhythm. He stared up at her: The pale expanse of skin from where they joined together to her long, graceful neck, interrupted only by a few beauty marks, the locations of which he had committed to memory. The way her breasts swayed. The way her chest moved as her breathing deepened.

"I'm glad," he started breathlessly. "I'm glad I can see all of you like this. You- You're magnificent."

Her fingernails dug into his ribs. His hands gripped her so tightly he knew he'd leave small, round bruises on her hipbones. She smiled brilliantly.

The thought floated across his fuzzy mind that a smile that bright should trigger a migraine.

-end-