A/N: Angst. Angst.
-groanfacepalm-
This is definitely not a fuzzy, feel-good fluff piece. Sorry, about that.
Disclaimer: Neither Chuck nor Blair, or any other references to Gossip Girl, belongs to me.
...
A nimble leg snakes precariously around him.
"Hey, Chuckie," a voice hisses against his neck, sending chills down his back.
And there she is. Blair Waldorf, in the flesh, swaying unsteadily to the pulsing rhythm.
"Are you drunk?" he asks bluntly. Never in a million years, did he think that Blair Waldorf would be in Victrola drinking as if life depends on it.
"Maybe. Fine, a little," Blair's eyes flit away from his face, giggling manically into her palm.
He expects to feel something. Maybe a pang of regret, maybe a wave of sorrow. Yet, he feels nothing. He doesn't feel anything as she presses a delicately manicured hand against his chest. He feels nothing as she places kisses against the hollow of his neck. Nothing. He feels nothing as she runs her long, tapered fingers from the nape of his neck down his back.
"Blair…" Chuck extracts himself.
"Fuck me, Chuck. Please," she moans hysterically against his ear, crashing her lips onto his forcefully, causing him to stumble backwards.
Brown eyes wide, lashes fluttering profusely, Blair wraps herself into Chuck.
Nothing.
"I need it," Blair begs.
He needs it, too. Not Blair, but it. The sex. The fuck. He needs it. His eyes harden into a sea of blackness and he growls inherently.
He lets himself go on instinct. He feels himself kiss her lips, pressing hard, until he's certain bruises will certainly be involved. His hands move swiftly down to the clasp of her skirt. Blair's nails are plunging into his back as he hitches her leg roughly against his waist. A muffled scream escapes from Blair's lips, but he silences it with another harsh, painful kiss.
Nothing.
He feels every movement against him. Her nails raking against his bare flesh, her tongue pressing against his, her hips grinding against his. But that's all he feels. Underneath, in what he assumes to be his heart, is a hole of utter darkness, with no ending or beginning.
He lets her dainty hands pull viciously at his pants and when she's finished, he slams himself into her vigorously. A throaty gasp is all he hears as he lets her hips swirl against his rhythmically, bucking towards him.
Physical ecstasy is his only emotion.
Then, instantly, they're finished. Blair seems to be less inebriated, but her knees crumble under her as she breaks into frantic sobs, tears pouring down her face.
He knows something is wrong with him as he turns away, unaffected by her precious, poignant bawling.
As he reaches the end of the hall, his eyes flicker back to her stricken face.
Nothing.
fin.