Author's Note: AU, of course. Set during season four and inspired by two particular scenes in season two. You'll know which ones before you reach the end.
Her back is pressed firmly against the wall, nestled in between two rather large pictures of the Sutton's Irish setters. The music from the benefit to save the whales or feed Africa – she doesn't remember which – occurring just on the other side of the partially cracked door to this hallway is waning in her ears as her heart beats louder. His right knee nudges apart her legs, creating space for him to stand even closer to her so she can feel every part of him through the thin fabric of her dress. His kisses are intoxicating, pooling the heat at the junction of her thighs.
"Why am I…why are we doing this?" She pants as his peppers kisses along her neck and collarbone.
He knows she knows the answer. He cannot really remember who dragged who back here, but he's willing to be money that it was her. Always her. Public places, the thrill of being caught always gets her blood boiling.
"Because you want me and I want you."
She frowns as she makes a derisive sound, and her eyes flare in response. His lips curve, but the twisted look on his face is not a smile. He tightens his grip on her hips, presses his fingers into her skin through the silk of her dress. He's not about to let her slip away from him this time, not about to let her use his words against him.
"So it's just lust—"
"No." He presses into her, gaining her complete attention and cutting her off. "Not lust. Not anything like it. You're not hearing what I'm saying. I want you."
She moans, groans, and loses all ability to formulate a witty retort or even a stinging rejection as his hands roam over her ass. He touches her through the fabric, caresses her until she moans and jerks her hips into his.
"Say it," he bits out as he nips at her earlobe.
"What do you want me to say?" Her voice is low; her tone unashamedly sultry. Meeting his eyes, she arches a haughty brow. "Take me? I'm yours?"
"Nuh uh," Chuck rebukes. "As pleasing as that sounds, you know what I want. Say it."
"Why do you have to complicate this?" She breathes out in frustration.
"You want this just as much as I do," he reminds her wickedly.
"This," she replies with a gesture to the lack of space between their bodies. "Not that."
"Liar," he declares.
He tips her jaw so he can trace the line of her jawbone with his lips. She shudders as his fingers caress the inside of her thigh, grows less rigid with each kiss. He presses his lips to the pulse point at the base of her throat, sucks lightly as her resolve falls and she becomes willing to cede to him, willing to see what he wishes to give her.
His hands trail from her ass to her breasts. His fingers knead and search until her breasts are swollen and firm, straining beneath the confining silk. With her lips and hips, she tries to urge him on, to make him go faster, to forget about that he wants her to say.
"Say it," he reminds her, "and I'm yours."
His hand drops from her breast, trails along her belly until his fingers brush against the fabric of her La Perlas. One last tempting touch to show her how much he desires her, how much he wants to make her his.
"Chuck Bass," she growls, "I will never say that to you."
His ministrations stop, his hands fall back to his sides. He steps away from her, musters as much temptation and sultriness as he can to inject into his own voice to mask the pain.
"Then you will never have me."
He turns and strides towards the door as he takes deep, settling breaths to quell the rage and desire coursing through him. What he wants to do, what he needs to do is turn around and push her back against that wall, brand her and remind her to he is the only one who can make her feel this way. He drudges up every boner crushing thought he can think of as his hand curls around the doorknob; there is no way he can stand out there and pretend that she hasn't affected him in such a visual way.
And then he feels the smack of something against his back. It's not heavy or particularly painful, but it does get his attention and his eyes flare in anger as he glances back towards her. Her chest is heaving in anger, in sexual frustration, or more likely both; her hair is mussed not from where his fingers tangled in her curls but from where she ripped her yellow headband from her hair.
"Did you just throw that at me?" He asks incredulously with a gesture to the yellow headband lying at his feet.
"Don't you walk away from me," she growls. "You don't get to walk away from me. I'm Blair Waldorf."
"And I'm Chuck Bass," he retorts.
"Exactly. You should be able to do this. No strings attached, remember?"
"I'm changing the rules of the game," he informs her as he stalks towards her. He catches her in his arms, yanks her to him, and crushes her lips with his. The fire between them – half smoldered by her rejection – leaps back to life. They burn together with each caress of greedy hands, with each hungry kiss.
"I want you. Won't you come to me?"
She blinks at him; her eyes heavy with desire and clouded by lust as she processes his words. Familiar all of them. Lies all of them.
"I can't," she bemoans as he runs his hands along her waist, as he explores the swells he first claimed long ago.
"You can," he whispers in her ear, coaxing her to let go and just feel. "I want you. I need you."
Her hand slides to his neck; her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. She's giving as good as she's getting, and he cannot help but back her into the wall again and press into her. He is coming undone, so close to giving in and losing the upper hand here.
"No other woman compares; no other will do. Only you."
She trembles under his ministrations, trembles under his words. She is going to lose this game, knows it and accepts it as she kisses him, surrenders her mouth, and feels the addictive warmth blossom between them when he accepts the invitation. And then he cuts her off, pulls himself away and leaves her with swollen lips and a deep flush across her skin.
"That's why we're here," he tells her with a gesture to the empty room, to their current stance. "That's why I'll pursue you no matter what happens until you agree to be mine."
"You can't be serious," she snaps as she moves to adjust her skirt and restore some of her dignity. She's not even sure when he pulled it up, not even sure when this went from a tryst at a party to this.
"Oh, but I am," he replies.
She glares at him in response, stares him down as he sinks to his knees in front of her. His hands encase hers, engulfing her small fingers in his palms and forcing her to stop tugging on her skirt. He drops a kiss to her thigh, ghosts his lips along the line of her very wet La Perlas and smirks against her when she shudders. He looks up, smiles at her hooded eyes.
"You know I have a ring," he reminds her. Her eyes flare open; her mouth drops open to say something, say anything. "I'm on my knees. Say it, Blair."
"Chuck," she groans.
"Not quite," he replies as he clutches her hands with one of his own and uses the backs of his free fingers to caress the apex of her thighs. He circles, strokes, presses until she bucks against his hand.
"One word. Three letters."
She fights to lift her eyelids, fights to crack them open enough to look down and see. But she's moaning, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back as the words tumble out of her mouth.
"Yes."
His fingers still against her as he echoes her response back to her. He has to be guaranteed, has to be assured that she meant what she said. Her eyes open as his fingers disappear from her sex, as he rises to his feet. He frames her face with his hands, tips it up to his so he can look at her for a long moment, searching her eyes for confirmation.
"Yes," she repeats.
He captures the last syllable off her lips with his own, kisses her longingly. Hungrily. Greedily. Happily. It is Blair that deepens the kiss and tries to sweep them both away, but he will not be deterred and it is him that breaks the kiss to slide the diamond he should have stopped carrying around onto her finger.
"Only you," he promises. "Only you."