A/N: Sadly, there is no smut this chapter! BUT there is some very important plot movement. Also, there are a lot of subtle "fuck you"s to the current show. Enjoy.
Then Chuck heard it, those words, one very specific one catching his attention. He could hardly believe it (it must have been in his imagination, his mind cooking up what he wanted to hear as a result of the brain cells he'd no doubt killed from the torture of waiting so long). That brief second of distraction was all it took, because it was overwhelming then and he was being pulled under. Pleasure burned through him, like flames from an explosion billowing out, and his seed spilled inside of her, his grip almost cruelly tight on her body.
"Blairblairblairblair," he breathed her name hard against her, somehow, miraculously, continuing to stand, his back only slouching slightly. His hand flew from between her legs to her jaw, pulling her so she faced him and he kissed her hard with his heart beating wildly in his chest. The hard kiss turned into several softer ones while he picked himself up from his drop, lungs practically bursting with the need for real oxygen.
"We should shower," he said, voice gruff and thick. "I'll be damned if I'm letting anyone else see you like this." This vision was for him alone, her weak limbs, wild hair, swollen lips, and sticky thighs.
"A shower is definitely needed," she paused momentarily, "But it needs to be fast, your business partners may arrive soon, and even though you're quite impressive naked, I don't think they'd feel the same way."
"I'm Chuck Bass," he said, and though to him that was the only excuse needed "My body impresses everyone, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. However, I don't think they need to be gifted with that vision." That's for you, he added silently.
Wheels turned in her mind, a shower with Chuck, fast? No way in hell that was happening. "On second thought maybe we should shower separately." She laughed lightly, hand gently playing with the small hairs at the nape of his neck as her head lay rested against his shoulder.
A smirk, slow and devious, curled at his lips and he laughed quietly, almost dangerous. "What's the matter, Waldorf?" he drawled. "Don't you trust your self-control enough to be able to keep your hands off me?" he stroked her bare stomach tenderly. He was fine showering, but she… his eyes flickered to the black brace around her ankle momentarily. "I'll go first," he finally said, giving in with a featherlight kiss to her shoulder.
Fear lashed at his heart and mind with his next thought - he almost didn't want to ask, but it was out before he could stop himself.
"Did you mean it?" He was uncharacteristically quiet - not in a seductive way, but a vulnerable way - and he left the question purposefully vague. If she didn't know that she'd said it, it could stay that way. Or, if she did know, but wanted to feign amnesia… this would give her an out that could save him from agony.
When the question spilled from Chuck's lips, she froze. She thought perhaps he hadn't heard her, that she'd gotten away with it, but…her eyes popped open and her back straightened. Reluctantly, she pulled away from him, in the process losing that sweet heat of him being buried inside her.
"I…" she turned, staring at him. What could she say? Last time she'd said those three little words he seemed to simply push her away. She wouldn't deny that they'd slipped out in a moment of passion, but it didn't mean they were any less true. She searched his eyes for something, something that would tell her that she could say it, that it was okay. Fear gripped her—what if he kicked her out? What if he just needed to work out his frustrations somewhere and she was the closest warm body? She quickly told herself that she was wrong. Chuck had plenty of call-girls, all of which don't require them to hold their purse or stay overnight at a hospital. Did she mean it? Of course she did, but could she tell him that? She'd never felt more weak in her whole like than she did right at that moment. Her future was balancing on a thin line, her heart on her sleeve. Doe eyes bore deep, deep, into his own. Somewhere behind those hazel pools she'd memorized so well, was a glimmer of hope.
"I meant it, Chuck. With all my heart. If you don't feel the same way, then…then I need to know." She swallowed hard, heart beat pounding in her ears.
She meant it. She'd said it, after months of her denials and rejections haunting him (how could she still love him after what he did? "I don't love you anymore."), she'd said it, and she'd meant it. He was speechless, actually speechless. He didn't know what to say, but he knew he had to say something soon, because her soft brown eyes were searching his, for some sort of reaction.
"You…" he said solemnly. "Are the only," his voice constricted momentarily and he swallowed largely, "The only one I have ever loved." He paused for a moment before nodding his head once. "The only one I love," he confirmed his feelings for the present, feeling like his heart might explode out of his chest. She loved him still! After everything, she loved him, and she'd said it.
He loved her. Even after all the scheming and the games, he still loved her! She couldn't help the bright grin that broke out on her lips, or when she took his face in her hands and kissed him for all he was worth—only pulling back when breathing became an issue. She wasn't sure whether she should rejoice or not, but the happiness bubbling up inside of her was immense, threatening to spill over the top. She loved him, he loved her. What was standing in their way? Why couldn't they be Chuck and Blair again? Blair and Chuck! They were inevitable, like he'd said during their junior year. Somewhere deep down she knew that, but half of the time she didn't want to believe it. She had to believe she was capable of moving on, of letting him move on. She was wrong. Every piece of her belonged to Chuck and vice versa. He could never be happy with anyone else. Blair didn't want him because of his money or because of his amazing skills in bed (though those qualities definitely didn't hurt). She wanted him because of who he was, right to his core. The Chuck Bass she'd gotten to know, every single part of him, good and bad.
"While I hate to delay our…celebration," she began, hands slipping from his cheeks down to his shoulders, "Your business associates will no doubt be by soon, and you need to get clean." She leaned forward and laid another kiss on his lips, this time more chaste, before he reluctantly parted from her and headed to the bathroom.
After Chuck disappeared, Blair limped into his room and tossed his clothes in the hamper, hanging up her dress in his closet, and pulling out one of his robes, wrapping the large garment around her small frame. For a moment, she reveled in the smell of it. It was completely…Chuck. His natural musk, mixed in with the strong smell of scotch, and his signature cologne. In the background she faintly registered the fact that the water turned on and was running, and she also heard the tell-tale ringing of his hotel phone. She quickly scurried (as fast as she could), into the living room of his penthouse, and picked up the phone.
"Bass suite," she answered smoothly, a little smile curling on her lips.
"Andrew Tyler is here to see Mr. Bass. It was requested I hold all visitors in the lobby, shall I send him up?"
Blair's brow furrowed as the wheels turned in her mind, Andrew Tyler? Wasn't that his P.I.?
"Hold him for a few minutes, Chuck will be ready to see him shortly." The line went dead, and Blair returned the phone to the cradle, confusion etching her features. However she decided to drop it, for now, and grabbed her crutches, hobbling back over to the bedroom.
"That looks good on you," Chuck commented as he entered his bedroom and opened the door to his closet. "You can't keep it though," he added, smirking a touch while he sorted through his clothes, pulling out a gray suit jacket and pants, tossing them onto the foot of the bed.
"You're only saying that because it's yours," there was a smirk pulling on her lips, "And you know if I wanted it then I would have it. Luckily for you, this is just temporary. I didn't want to put my dress back on, only to keep having it removed."
"I should argue with that since getting you out of your clothes is so much fun," he started, his eyes glinting mischievously. "But I think getting you out of that will be just as entertaining." He paused for a beat, "Were there any calls while I was in there?" he asked idly, looking between a blue dress shirt and a white one.
"Yes, the front desk called and said that Andrew Tyler was here to see you. I told them to hold him for a few minutes before sending him up." Blair slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom, only pausing in the doorway to say, "I'll be in the shower."
He simply nodded with a quick, "Thank you," smiling at her in return when she excused herself, watching her leave his bedroom and then turning to the clothes he'd lain out. After discarding the towel in the hamper, he donned a pair of boxers before pulling on the rest of his clothes. With a final brush at the front of his suit jacket and a last swipe of the comb through his hair, he was ready - and just on time, too, judging by the ping he heard from the elevator. He stared at himself hard in the mirror, letting out a heavy sigh. Don't let her down. In three long strides he was at his door, opening it and stepping out.
"Tyler," he greeted him, eyes falling immediately on the bowl of whipped cream (greatly softened by now) that had been left on the couch and the plate of strawberries and croissants. "Pardon the mess," he said smoothly. "I haven't had a chance to have breakfast put away yet." He placed the bowl on the table and sat himself down. "What do you have to show me?" Tyler eased himself down into a chair as well before procuring a file and flipping it open.
"This is the driver," he informed Chuck, passing over a picture. His eyes narrowed immediately as he looked down at it. "Goes by several aliases, none of which seem to be his real name. He was reported crossing through the Canadian border, and one of my contacts found him in Toronto. We don't think he's going to stay there, though, he seems to know someone's on his tail. If he hops to Europe he'll be able to disappear, or at least hide extremely well."
"So how do we get him?" Chuck inquired gruffly. There was silence and he looked up sharply.
"Mr. Bass, I think it would be in your best interests to let him go to Europe-"
Chuck's eyes squinted and he leaned forward in his chair immediately, nearly laughing from the sheer insanity of that suggestion.
"Are you insane?" he asked, his voice threatening and soft. "You think I'm going to let this guy waltz into Europe when you yourself just said that if he got into Europe it would be all but impossible to find him again? That I'm just going to let him slip through my fingers without a chance to get them around his neck first?"
His investigator took the photograph back from him. "Kid, if you would listen for just a mo-"
Chuck shook his head. "You listen, he hurt Blair," his voice thundered. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He hurt her, and if he gets to Europe he may come back in a few months time to try and kill her, regardless of whether or not I leave that money tomorrow. You think I believe them when they say they'll leave her alone? You think they aren't going to pay for hurting her, for threatening to do worse?"
"Mr. Bass, if he got to Europe," he charged on, despite the look of pure venom Chuck was throwing at him, "He could lead us straight to the larger operation at hand. It's more than one person at work here."
Chuck was silent for awhile before finally taking the bait. "How do you know?" He launched himself out of his seat and stalked around to the bar, grabbing a bottle of scotch and a glass. He unstopped the glass bottle before pouring a dose into the crystal glass and taking a large gulp from the container, the burn familiar and soothing in his throat as the liquor slid down to his stomach.
"A few reasons, actually. One, if it were just him, he'd need to stick around to collect the money that you leave. He's fled the country, which means someone else is sticking it out to pick up the dough. That same someone is probably watching your every step to see if you're complying with their wishes. Secondly, they asked for one million euros. Not dollars, not yen, not pesos, but euros."
At that Chuck turned. "It's common sense. Everyone knows the euro holds more value over the dollar. It's used in a wider variety of places, making being on the run easy, and they could switch it out easily enough and still have a tidy sum of money."
But his investigator was shaking his head. "You're thinking a bit too much like a businessman," he criticized.
Chuck's jaw tensed and he took another swallow of liquor, his brain processing the new information. "Keep a close eye on him," he instructed finally. "Tail him all the way to Europe yourself if you have to. I want his whereabouts known every hour of every day. I swear to God, if you lose him, you'll lose your head." There was a chill in the air and they both knew the threat was serious. "Also," he pulled out his phone as Tyler rose to leave, scrolling through to the text he'd received that morning. He showed it to the P.I. who read it and shook his head.
"The best that could be done is to have your phone tracked so we could get their location, but now that this has already gone through, there's not much we can do."
Chuck nodded simply and waved the man out, downing another mouthful of scotch. It wasn't quite noon, and it certainly wasn't five o'clock (he winced at the meaning that time now held for him - at five he would have exactly twenty-four hours left), but he'd never been one to follow the rules with what was proper for drinking. He felt utterly defeated, like he'd been fighting for days only to lose it all in the end. He just wanted to find out who was responsible for this - if they'd managed to put her in a hospital bed, he knew very well that they were certainly capable of putting her in a body bag. His stomach lurched - he felt sick - and he was at the bar again, pouring another glass. That was when he realized that he was alone, and he was suddenly itching to hold onto her.
"Blair," he called through the penthouse, walking towards the bathroom. "Are you still in there?" He frowned.
After she'd thoroughly washed her hair, body, and face (as well as adding a silk conditioner to her brown locks), Blair slipped out of the shower and stood in front of the mirror to examine herself. Her skin was practically glowing, something that she found rarely happened. She assumed it was her body's hormonal response to orgasm, but then again, the fact that she was in love helped too. Speaking of which, was the meeting over? She figured it'd be best to lay low until she was positive.
Then again…Blair pressed her ear up to the door to try and divulge as much information possible, however she only heard their muffled voices; her efforts were a failure. There was no use in trying to listen to a conversation that she couldn't make out. Pushing away from the door, she returned to the other side of the bathroom and scooped up Chuck's robe, slipping it on. She hoped his meeting would be done soon—she was getting bored and wasn't sure whether Chuck wanted her to be seen or not.
While she patiently waited for Chuck's meeting to be over she decided she would brush her hair so when it dried it wasn't a mess, and then snooped through his things. She wanted to make sure that there wasn't a single trace of Eva in the entire bathroom. As quietly as possible she opened each medicine cabinet, but all she found were pill bottles, a variety of aftershaves, toothpaste, a few combs and brushes, and a couple of different hair gels. There was no evidence a girl had ever lived here—no pink shavers or fruity lotions. Either Eva was very masculine, or Chuck had already done the deed of clearing his bathroom of anything that had her name on it. Shrugging, Blair closed the cabinets and drawers she had opened, just in time to hear Chuck's voice calling her name. She immediately limped over to the door and pulled it open (assuming his beckoning of her to be an okay to come out) with a smile on her face. However, her smile soon faded into a frown, concern etched on her features. She noted the glass of scotch in his hand, and that look on his face, the one she'd seen at his father's funeral—the one in which he felt powerless. She immediately stepped forward, eyes sweeping over him to check for any changes besides the alcohol, but found none.
"Chuck," she began slowly, eyes searching his own, "What's wrong?" She itched to reach out and take the scotch from him, to tell him everything was okay, but she didn't know what had happened. Had he found out some terrible news about his father? About Lily? Sometimes Blair didn't know why Chuck insisted on having a private investigator, after all, some things would be better if they were kept a secret. But like father like son. It was times like these, when he fell into his old habits, that she really became concerned. She stepped forward once more, her hands reaching up to frame his face. Her eyes urging him to tell her what was wrong.
Heat filled his face, flooding through his body, when her hands reached for his face. She was so soft against him and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Without even trying to, she grounded him. She was here. She was safe. She was in his robe, in his penthouse, having just had her body thoroughly invaded by his. There was no one coming for her, not today anyway. And anyone who wanted to get to her would have to go through him.
He grabbed her arm and turned his face so he was laying a kiss on the inside of her wrist. He lingered for a long time, his eyes still closed while his thumb rubbed circles against her skin. She was better than any aged liquor, any narcotic… than anything at all, really. He swallowed hard before opening his eyes and running his hand up her arm and to her own face, cradling it gently against the curve of his palm. His mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, as he battled with himself.
"Nothing is… wrong, per se" he said, testing the word carefully. "It's nothing that I can't fix. I am fixing it," he added. Seconds passed, and then he was speaking again. "I…" his voice died for a second and he cleared his throat. "I love you." They were quiet, truthful, painted with tenderness something reverential. "You know that? More than money. Or the pleasures it can buy me. More than Nate, even," a whisper of a smirk, and then it was fading. "I will never let anything happen to you again. I would give up all of this," he gestured with the hand holding his glass, the light amber liquid sloshing up against the sides a bit, "If it would keep you happy, and safe." The soft words were hard, steely, and determined, and he stressed the last word importantly, stroking the side of one of her roses and cream cheeks. "Do you believe me?" he asked, his eyes burning into hers, only slightly afraid of what answer she might give.
Many questioned rose up for Blair, but she chose to suppress them—he seemed stressed enough as it was. Her arms slowly wormed their way around his neck as he spoke, his eyes searching hers for…something.
"Yes," she responded with conviction, "Of course I believe you."
Her arms slightly tightened around his neck then, and she kissed him, her eyes fluttering shut. Mixed in with his own intoxicating taste was the strong presence of his aged scotch—she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. She hoped the simple act would reassure him, make him come up from whatever rut he'd fallen into. After a few moments, she pulled back slightly, her lips just a breath away from his own, "I'm not going anywhere, Chuck."
The words she murmured, caused him to still, his hand fisting into the material of the too-large robe. He only believed it when she said it, because she never did leave him. Not… not without him pushing her away, anyway. Still, it left him speechless, incapable of expressing his emotions even to himself. He hauled her body against his when she kissed him again, opening his mouth marginally wider as he returned her kiss with heated fervor. She was warming him through in a way that the scotch in his hand never could, and the aftertaste in the back of his throat was suddenly especially bitter in comparison to the taste of her mouth.
A moment later, however, the kiss was ruined by the sound of Dan Humphrey's voice. They'd been too caught up in each other to hear the dinging of the elevator. They parted from the kiss but the damage had already been done. A wide-eyed Dan Humphrey was staring at the two of them, lips red with kisses, Blair in Chuck's bathrobe, hair slightly damp.
"Uh…is, Nate here by any chance? I tried calling his cell but he didn't pick up so I just thought I'd swing by. Wait, don't you two, uh…hate each other?" Blair's eyes lowered as she stared at Dan, standing there and blabbing off like he always did.
"You didn't think to maybe…call the penthouse before rudely barging in?" She asked, leaving no room for argument as she shunned him with a look.
"I, uh, I didn't mean to interrupt anything so, by all means," he gestured with his hands before turning to walk away, only to pivot and face them again, "But do you happen to know where I can find Nate?"
Blair gave him an incredulous look, "Do I look like I keep tabs on Nate's whereabouts?" Her eyes flickered up to Chuck as if to tell him to deal with the Humphrey. She honestly wouldn't be surprised if twenty minutes later a gossip girl blast was posted about them being back together. By why should she care? If she was happy with Chuck, why did it matter who knew? It's because I'm a control freak, she told herself, and that I want to be the one who decides when we come out. She saw something in Dan Humphrey's gaze that surprised her. Something that she'd only seen once before—a plot twisting in his mind, even some anger. It always frustrated her how others were so fake. Blair was a bitch and she didn't care who knew. Sure, she'd twist things in order to get her way, but it was expected of her. Not a Humphrey. The money must be getting to his head, she reasoned, her eyes quickly raking across him once. The least he could do was exchange his hand-me-downs for some designer labels, or…get a haircut.
Chuck met Blair's eyes when she turned them up to him, slowly setting them on the target they both seemed intent on destroying. It felt good to have his partner back by his side. His hand slid down her back as he pulled it away, letting it brush against her ass subtly as he went as if giving her a signal. I'll get rid of him. He extricated himself from her arms and walked slowly towards Humphrey, like a predator stalking his prey.
"Nate isn't here," he said. "Which I'm sure you've deduced by now, which means you have no other reason to be here," he all but snarled the words. It was good to take out some of his adrenaline on this punching bag that couldn't care less. "So if you don't get out, I'll have security come and throw you out," he emphasized, jamming his thumb into the button, the doors instantly sliding back. "From the top floor of this building," he added. They shared a look before the tasteless Brooklynite was in the elevator and the doors were rolling shut. He sighed heavily and turned back to her. "Remind me to have that elevator sanitized," he said, tossing back the remainder of his scotch finally, swallowing it in one mouthful.
A/N: Never fear, there will be smut in the next chapter. And as always, DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW! It makes us work faster...the more reviews...the more we update the story...deal? Deal. :D