A/N: This refused to leave my head after watching The Tudors.

Summary: The glass shattered against the door he had just closed and he breathed a sigh of relief. Because there she stood, and even though she had just thrown her drink at him, she was still there.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. As usual. Thanks to comewhatmay.x, my coolest (and only) beta. By the way, I wrote this MONTHS before the finale. Just a heads up. This isn't supposed to be a season 5 thing or anything. If anything, it's whe they're in their mid-20's.

It may have been luck, but Chuck Bass liked to think of it as instinct as he ducked the exact moment a martini glass was vaulted at his head. The glass shattered against the door he had just closed and he breathed a sigh of relief. Because there she stood, and even though she had just thrown her drink at him, she was still there.

"There you are," Chuck said easily.

"Did me throwing a glass at your head confuse you?"

Her voice was shrill and Chuck had to stop for a second to absorb her visage. There she stood in the center of the hotel suite, her with a hand on her hip while the other raked through her already ravaged-looking hair.

"I don't want to see you."

"Why don't you calm down for a second," Chuck said smoothly, well apt in calming down a hysterical Waldorf.

"Don't tell me to calm down," Blair seethed.

Except... She wasn't exactly a Waldorf anymore.

"Why not?" Chuck asked. "I'm your husband. I can tell you to do what I want."

This time she did throw another glass. He batted it easily out of the air before finally crossing the distance to bring her into his arms again.

"Barely," Blair snapped, shoving him away. "We've been married for barely two days, and even if it was more, in no universe can you ever tell me what to do."

"Speaking of which," Chuck said dismissively. "We never did get to have that honeymoon. I was thinking Tuscany, but I'd understand if that was a sore spot for you."

"I can't believe I ever even considered romanticizing the thought of being your wife," Blair said. "This is all your fault."

"What's my fault, dear?" he smiled smarmily.

"Were you not downstairs?" Blair asked desperately. "Didn't you see how utterly humiliated I was?"

"Since when do you care what some society matrons think of you anyway?"

"Since you're the reason that they think that way of me," Blair retorted.

"Me?" Chuck asked. "I asked you to marry me and you accepted."

"You didn't ask," Blair snorted. "You demanded."

"I prefer suggested," Chuck said. "And you have free will."

"Then I must not have any sane mind," Blair replied. "Do you even see the way they look at me now?"

"So that's it, then?" Chuck asked. "You still care about what some girls' foundation cares to think of you?"

"Obviously," Blair retorted. "What do you think would happen, Chuck? What people think of you matters here."

"What people think of me," Chuck said.

"You were completely unrepentant," Blair defended. "I was supposed to be engaged to someone else and I come back married to someone who won't even apologize."

"Of course I'm not apologizing," Chuck said sharply. "I will never apologize for being married to you."

Her eyes wavered but it was only a moment until she made another outcry.

"You promised me," Blair said, her voice escalating. "You promised that everything would be alright. That's what you said. You said you would take care of everything."

"I am," Chuck said, wondering how things could turn on its head so suddenly. "I will always protect and take care of you."

"I hate you."

Her voice was so full of rage that he had to throw it back.

"No you don't," he said warningly, never able to stop from emoting passionately because of her. "You're drunk."

Blair rolled her eyes, but simultaneously picked up another drink from the table, downing it in a gulp.

"You're not going back downstairs," Chuck said confidently. Blair gave out a trilling laugh, letting him pull her into an affectionate embrace.

"Starting to abuse your husbandly rights?" Blair asked.

Her lips tasted strongly of gin. He pulled her in closer, liking it even more.

"You love me," Chuck said commandingly, pulling away slightly.

"I never had a choice in the matter," she said crossly.

When he leaned in to kiss her alcohol laced lips again, he was shocked by the sharp slap cracking against the side of his face.

He gripped her shoulders tensely, growling in disapproval deep in his throat.

"Don't take me for granted," she ordered.

He shook his head gruffly from her sting, finally pinning her to the table behind her. He punished her roughly with his lips, ripping her skirt up her thigh. She gasped as his fingers dug into her hips.

Her hand was hard against his face, but this time he just shoved her back onto the table, easily crawling on top of her form.

He was hot and sharp and her moaning shriek sung sweetly in his ears. They moved against each other perfectly with hard, excruciating pleasure, and she ripped his shirt apart easily.

The glass fell from the thrusting table, and hit the ground, promptly shattering.