Author's Note: Many apologies to anyone actually following this series. My life doesn't extend far beyond the lab these days. That hasn't exactly left an abundance of time to write for pleasure. Anyway, I just have a few more months to go before I'm done. Can't wait. In the mean time, since I can't get the next chapter I'd intended to publish quite to my liking, I decided to interject with some fluff. The world needs a little more Happy!Chuck.
There was a boyish flush to his cheeks as his eyes fixated on the sliver of pale skin sandwiched between the hem of her pleated skirt and her stockings. Chuck Bass swallowed hard, trying in vain to divert his attention elsewhere. But the inane droning of the balding and bespectacled teacher in front of them held little interest in comparison. Within seconds his eyes snapped back to her, and he barely suppressed a groan when she shifted in her seat, causing the material of her skirt to ride up higher on her thighs.
For all the charm, poise, and perfection that practically radiated from Blair Waldorf, she was a shark. Few people understood the amount of shrewd and calculating scheming that went on behind her large, doe-like brown eyes. So while most people assumed she was engrossed in the day's lecture, leaning forward in her seat, pen in hand, and eyes closely following the rambling little man in front of the class, Chuck knew better. She was teasing him, exploiting her knowledge of his weakness for her own personal gain.
Chuck Bass loved her thighs. It was odd, really. He'd never considered himself to feel anything other than ambivalence towards women's thighs. He'd seen then in all shapes and sizes, and it never seemed to make much of a difference. They had always been just a minor stop along the way to his final destination. But Blair's thighs were something of beauty. Smooth, shapely, but not so overly muscular that he felt inadequate for his own slothful ways. He worshipped her thighs just as much as the stockings that inevitably adorned them. He could imagine them wrapped around his torso or looped over his shoulders. Either scenario was fine by him. Maybe both.
The tingling warmth that had tinted his cheeks had now worked southward, tickling his stomach with a flurry of fluttering before settling with a pleasurable pulse in his groin. Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat and, as casually as possible, folded his hands over the impending tent developing just under his palms.
His movement attracted her attention. One quick sideways glance in his direction, and a victorious smile was practically embedded in Blair's features.
That bitch!
Did she not know who she was dealing with?
He was Chuck Bass.
Chuck-fucking-Bass didn't get one-upped, especially not publically!
"Oh god," Chuck gave a deep growl and his eyelids fluttered closed momentarily as Blair, taking advantage of yet another of his weaknesses, had pulled her hair off of her shoulders into a messy bun.
That bitch with the heavenly thighs, Chuck mentally corrected himself.
The teacher that had been nothing more than background noise to the porn-like scenarios playing in Chuck's head suddenly appeared in front of him. "Mister Bass," he chastised, "is there something you'd like to share?"
"Afternoon prayer," Chuck answered in his usual drawling tone without missing a beat. "It's private."