A/N: So, this crazy piece of work was constructed by listening to "Skyway Avenue" over and over on my computer. You don't have to listen to it if you don't want to; this is just a simple piece related to Chuck and Blair pertaining love...and butterflies.;)

Comments are wonderful, critism is better! You wont hurt my feelings if you totally hate this and feel like mentioning it to me.

(btw): So, so sorry for not working on LTKUVTDU (Love That Kills Us Vampires That Destroy Us) I've been so busy the last few months, with exams and homework and haven't had the time or patience to sit down and concentrate on writing! I'll try to get a new chapter up sometime this week, even if it kills me!

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I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight
You give me butterflies inside, inside and I

All I gotta say is that I must be dreaming, can't be real
You're not here with me, still I can feel you near me
I caress you, let you taste us, just so blissful listen
I would give you anything baby, just make my dreams come true
Oh baby you give me butterflies

-Michael Jackson, Butterflies

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He couldn't place it; the sign where he knew without a certainty of a doubt that he was in love with Blair Waldorf.

He had practically known her all her life, known every glance, smirk and pout more than he knew himself.

Knew how to make her sigh with happiness, how to make her squirm with unquestionable pleasure.

But, love? Love was an unknown concept for him. Love was for those who were deserving of love. He knew that he deserved love, but finding love was another matter entirely.

His father never gave a fuck about him. No, his father didn't love him exactly; Bart loved the concept of loving his son.

His mother, on the other hand, was never there, not really. He sometimes though he could feel her; shimmering around him like a thin layer of protection to shield him from the darkness that threatened to overtake him. And it did, more often than he wished.

So what was left? Love was as unknown as happiness, as unknown as a foreign country he wished to visit dearly.

So how could he love Blair Waldorf?

He wouldn't admit it to her, ever, but love came through lust, was strengthened by trust, and flew in the pit of his stomach like damn butterflies.

It started the night at Victrola, the night she shed her skin like a snake (or maybe a nicer concept, like a butterfly breaking from its cocoon.), and danced for him, all vixen and woman. She was beautiful and carefree and she aroused Chuck to a point were he could barely breathe.

And then there was the night in the limo. Oh, what a night it was, for both of them. It was like Chuck was loosing his virginity all over again. Every touch, every spark, left him trembling and wanting for more. She was perfect. She was Blair Waldorf and every caress was borne in mine that she was his best friend's ex-girlfriend. Every kiss was a reminder that she wanted, needed him. Every whispered moan and tremble of her thighs was a reminder that she was Blair Waldorf and he was Chuck Bass. They were Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck.

Months would pass after, battles would rage, but the lo---lust wouldn't stop coming; in wave upon wave until he was lying in his room with a Scotch in hand, nursing his broken he—ego. Blair Waldorf had cursed him, made him loose himself until he couldn't remember who he was. She changed his view of life, his morals, and his heart.

He should hate her; hate her for changing him, making him weak. He had never been weak before her.

But maybe, just maybe, with a simple three words and eight letters their butterflies would erupt into a symphony of butterflies.

Because they were Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck, and their love was stemmed from butterflies and sealed with a heart-shaped kiss.