Okay, so FFN deleted five of my fics back in May due to profanity in the title/summary and I never had the motivation to repost them. Now... Well, I'm sick and I figured I might as well get around to it. I apologize to those of you who have been waiting for these to be posted again, but better late than never, right? I've edited the profanity out of the title/summary, so this hopefully doesn't happen again.
As always, reviews are love. Even if it's something short.
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl does not belong to me.
Fucking Butterflies
One-shot
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he rationalizes that he must have had a breakdown at some point, because there was no other reason why Chuck Bass would be staring at Dan Humphrey's lips and wondering what they tasted like.
He had no problem with men; he'd fucked enough in the past, but this was Humphrey and he was Chuck Bass. The Chuck Basses of the world don't have rational minds wondering what sounds the Dan Humphreys make in bed.
Chuck grimaced and took a swig from the bottle of scotch, ignoring the glass he never bothered to take out.
Fucking butterflies.
The ones for Blair had long since died, shriveled up and vomited out the day she came back to New York with that ring on her finger. It was their demonic, little gay spawn that had replaced them, fluttering enough to make him nauseous every time he walked into the room.
Maybe he'd hit his head, fallen when he was drunk, high, or whatever. Maybe he had brain damage.
He hoped he did. At least then he could blame what he was doing now on the injury.
Chuck Bass didn't bottom. He did the fucking and he did it his way.
He hated Humphrey for being an exception to that rule.
He could feel the blood rushing through his body, half to his face and half much lower as Humphrey pushed him into the mattress and Brooklyn born lips sucked on his neck. There was no fighting it and they both frigging knew it.
Humphrey joked once that Blair had told him the nape of the neck was Chuck Bass' kryptonite and Chuck had hoped that he hadn't figured out that it went both ways.
Of course he did.
His entire body was shaking, the over sensitive skin on his neck burning hot as he cursed Mother Frigging Nature for putting too many nerve endings in his neck. Did people not get why he kept his neck covered? The entire thing was an erogenous zone.
He hated Humphrey for knowing what spot made him turn into a moaning little whore.
He hated himself for being proud of him.
He hated himself even more when he heard his own voice let out a needy please.
Chuck didn't even think he was in his own body when Daniel started fucking him, careful and slow, lips never leaving his neck.
He came twice while Daniel fucked him, feeling each time like some inexperienced little teenager that couldn't hold it off.
It was that third time when his body was so completely spent and they came almost in unison that his mind went black and he felt his body go slack, a complete deadweight.
Fucking butterflies.
Fucking Daniel Humphrey.
They could go to hell.
The End
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