A/N: Since "Kismet" was such a short thing, I decided to make it a collection of one-shots. And also to alleviate my pain of the imminent doom that is next week.
Summary: Her 20th birthday, and she had already been set on her path to empowerment. Years later, she wasn't any different. Years later, she was still that insecure little girl and there still remained one man that made her that way. In the best—and worst—way possible.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, and Elle was something that was suggested by my awesome beta comewhatmay.x. Characters are Gossip Girl's.
It had been the start. Her 20th birthday, and she had already been set on her path to empowerment. Years later, she wasn't any different. Years later, she was still that insecure little girl and there still remained one man that made her that way. In the best—and worst—way possible.
Sitting in her old room at her mother's house, turning the pages of her signed copy of This I Remember was the only way she could distract herself. No more refusals of red dresses and tearing up treaties. She was the editor of Elle and she wouldn't indulge his childish games anymore.
Apparently no one told him that.
So absorbed in Eleanor Roosevelt's trials, she didn't hear the chime of the elevator and the knowledge that the idiotic doorman let him up. She most certainly didn't hear his predatory tread up her stairs. The only sound was her even breathing and her fingers itching the corner of the next page.
And then her breaths got stilted.
She recognized the drawn out knock on her door and she damned herself—and the light that broadcasted her consciousness at four in the morning.
And damn him to hell too, while she was at it. Damn him, because she was walking towards the door and even though she couldn't smell the new cologne that he recently discovered she couldn't resist-paired with his natural musk he had developed since they were sixteen-she knew it was him.
She knew how self-deprecating it was to open that door, because as she did, there he stood. And she knew there was no way she could get out of this.
But at least she tried.
She ignored his rumpled clothing, the strong stench of scotch, and the way his disheveled hair fell across his forehead. She grabbed the door in attempt to send him a message—by slamming it in his face.
He had been waiting for it.
"Not so fast, darling," he said fondly, wedging his foot between the door so it flung back against the opposite wall. "If you didn't want me here you wouldn't have opened the door."
"How was I supposed to know it was you?" Blair sneered, turning her back him, and cringing at the soft and intimate sound of the door closing behind him.
She was very aware of the sound of the lock clicking into place.
"Don't you find this innocent act of yours tiring?" Chuck sighed, sounding quite fatigued himself. "After ten years, I know you are as much aware of my presence as I am of yours."
"Through a solid door?" Blair asked, taking a seat on the bed, and promptly scolding herself for situating herself in the last place that was appropriate.
"Through..." Chuck trailed off suggestively, eying her nightwear, "everything."
Not liking Chuck's advantage in height over her, and the threat that he could easily pin her to her own bed frame, Blair got to her feet, attempting to look as intimidating as possible as she glared into his eyes.
The amusement on his face only infuriated her more.
"I want you out of my house," Blair said, begging her voice not to waver. His laugh was condescending and she forced herself to control the hand that was begging to slap him.
"Convince me," he urged. "This hasn't been your house. Not for a long time."
"I grew up here."
"But your marriage bed is in a penthouse that I own," Chuck reminded her, taking her diamond adorned left hand and placing a subtle kiss on it. She wasted no time pushing him away.
"We're separated, Chuck."
"So we are," Chuck answered in a tone that was too calm for her taste. "But I have happened to notice that this is the third time in our six years of marriage that we've been separated. Doesn't that seem strange to you?"
"No," Blair said. "You're an inconsiderate, lecherous bastard and I've had it with you."
"Doesn't it also seem odd," Chuck said, ignoring her last statement, "that all three times it was you filing the order?"
"Like I said," Blair answered, "you're selfish and I'm done with you."
Never once did Chuck's face fall and she knew he had literally and figuratively backed her into a corner.
"You can't fool me," he said softly. "I'm your husband and I'm going to stay that way. You love my selfish lechery and even though I do things to make you cry sometimes, you only file for trial separation to make me chase you."
The reality that she had been so desperately trying to hide from Chuck shattered, and she knew her bedroom door was locked for a reason.
"And I will never stop chasing you," he smirked easily. "You can count on that."
"You're perverse."
"You love it."
They breathed heavily as their mouths met furiously. He tugged at the sash on her satin robe, revealing her delicate negligee. He grunted with concentration, pushing her towards the door. Her hand shot out, sending the lamp crashing to the floor as they forced themselves together in uncoordinated perfection.
"I missed you," he surrendered into her neck, fighting with the clothes that still encumbered on her body. No words were allowed past her lips. She just pressed him closer, his smirk growing more prominent along with other parts of his anatomy as she pressed her wedding ring into the flesh of his neck.
