A/N: A series of very random one shots all to do with CB because really, who else is there worth writing about when it comes to GG? Exactly. Review me please?
GENERAL SPECIFIC.
When it rained, the city seemed to dull and blur under the heavy clouds of winter. Only a little as if a painter had splashed water droplets across his canvas.
"You know," Serena tapped her fingers against the wallpaper, "You should dye your hair B, you look like a virgin."
Blair crossed her arms and tossed her head back. "But I am one." She swallowed a shot of vodka, winced and collapsed onto the bedspread, resting her feet on the headboard.
Serena lay down beside her, grey plumes of smoke surrounding them as she took another drag of the menthol between her slender fingers.
There was a moment of silence, rain beating against the windowpanes.
"You don't have to broadcast it."
Serena was the woman every man wanted to love while Blair was just … Blair. She read books curled up on the sofa and quoted Audrey Hepburn and tried to remember how to waltz and forgot about everything in between her French lessons and warm cups of tea that only Dorota could make right.
Serena had the boyfriends, the men who sent her roses and left little notes of romance underneath her bedroom door. They were only sixteen but she had already … with a man almost twice her age. Lily was threatening to send her to boarding school as though that would catch the eye of the storm, calm it some but the twinkle in Serena's eye suggested otherwise.
"We should go to a party tonight," Serena said shrug of her shoulders.
Blair frowned. "What party?"
"Oh you know," Serena skirted around the edge of the question, "Nate's."
"Ugh. No."
Nathaniel Archibald was out of the question.
"Why do you hate him?" Serena sat up, shook out her hair.
Blair followed suit. She looked over at her best friend, frowned and crossed her legs at the ankles.
"I don't hate him."
"You do," Serena whined, "You like never hang out with us."
"I don't hang out with you because I'm busy."
Serena scoffed. "Bullshit."
The three of them had grown up together. They ran in the same circles, bobbed through identical courses, had the same wealth behind every step, every motivation. They were old money, older than even their parents knew and in each other there were years of hide-and-seek, summers of Disney movies on long flights.
"Last week, Mrs Wellon asked him how many states there were, do you know what his answer was?" She didn't wait for a response. "Fifty and then he laughed, smiled that stupid smile of his and slapped Chuck Bass on the shoulder as if he were Einstein."
Serena bit back a laugh, "He was probably kidding."
"He's an idiot and a brat."
"That's rich," Serena prompted, "coming from you. You're being stubborn."
"Are you calling me a hypocrite?" She flared.
Serena held up her hand, put her cigarette out on the windowsill and eyed Blair. "Maybe."
"Well I never …"
They pushed their way through the crowd, pulling each other along as they went. The penthouse was crowded but it smelt familiar like Chanel and white linen. She tried not to turn her nose up or crinkle in disgust as they stepped over someone that had passed out playing a game of beer pong.
Nate and Chuck were sitting on bar stools, hands protectively cupping large tumblers of vodka. They were surveying every woman that passed with a quick nod, as though each girl was a fish ripe for the catch.
"Hey buddy!" Serena glowed, hugging him.
"You made it!" Nate yelled, his voice even still faint over the crowd.
Serena nodded, smiling. "Yeah, we did."
"Get the hell away from me Bass," Blair sneered.
She had a headache from the music, it vibrated through her and she couldn't stand another moment of being in that awkward conversation with bubbly and airhead drooling over one another like pieces of meat. She had managed to claw her way through the mass and onto the balcony of the Archibald townhouse, to breathe a little and find some calm in all the chaos.
The drink she'd swiped from Serena was doing little to combat the cold night. She could almost catch her breath in the palm of her hands, hold it up to the dim street lights.
He closed the balcony door, stepped away from the shadows.
"I don't bite Waldorf," His voice low and even, "Unless of course, you're into that."
She rolled her eyes. "Oh please, don't flatter yourself."
"Said the virgin queen," He smirked.
She bit her lip, turned away.
Chuck Bass was all tailored suits and carefully disheveled chestnut hair. She eyed his scarf, the same one he wore every single day during winter. He reminded her of a plastic toy, cheap and colorful.
She could hear the ice clink as he walked. He was an alcoholic and a womanizer, the two things that landed him in the midst of just about every gossip girl blast. He was bad news, stamped, taped up and packaged with the sharp cheekbones of European descent.
Quiet passed between them like broken glass. She could feel the warmth of his chest, the maroon vest that was so close she could shift slightly and touch it with her knuckle. She looked into his eyes, saw the darkness churn and stepped away.
"Such animosity, whatever did I do to deserve it?" He blinked.
"I'm not going to sleep with you," She warned.
"Is everything always about sex with you?" He chuckled, sipped at his drink.
She narrowed her eyes, fluffed her hair. "Funny."
"Relax," He balanced his drink on the railing. "I merely wanted to escape Trixie, you being out here is just a perk."
She raised an eyebrow. "Trixie?"
"A dancer at my father's club," He cleared his throat. "It was a one time deal."
"Isn't it always?" She prompted.
His eyes fell to the ground. "You've got me all figured Freud." He downed the rest of his drink in one swift gulp.
"You don't exactly make it hard."
"I don't intend to."
She could feel his eyes on her body, burning holes through her reserve.
And then his hands were on her lower back, holding her in place as though she could slip through his grasp and they were kissing.
She was sliding down a hill, not even bothering to hold on to anything but the sleeves of his jacket as his hands roamed through her hair, down her thighs and breasts. She couldn't even think, didn't want to.
When it was over, they broke apart like puzzle pieces, confused by their own actions.
She gingerly stepped back, heard the house band start another set.
"I didn't ... that wasn't ... I'm drunk," She stammered.
He bent his head towards her, still.
"I should go," She turned on her heel and dashed inside, slamming the door shut behind her. Outside, Chuck finished off her vodka and relished the taste on his lips, the virgin queen beneath the tips of his fingers, a fleeting desire that left with her departure but why did he quiver with the thought?