Chuck never fails to make me laugh out loud, and this quote set me wondering...so here comes one rated M. The title means 'sun-kissed'.
Enjoy.
Acariciada Por El Sol
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'If you needed to mark your territory so badly, Nathaniel, maybe you should just pee on her.'
– Chuck Bass, Southern Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
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He would've marked his territory that first day in Tuscany, dabbing a touch of cologne onto the back of one ankle while she slept. Later on, when her legs were locked around his waist and she was moaning and raking her nails in perfect, parallel lines down his back (because even partway through dying over and over and over, she is an utter perfectionist), he would've been able to smell himself on her. He would've been Chuck Bass: her disease, her sickness, the first guy she screwed in a shower and who laughed with her when they smashed the damn thing to pieces. She would've sighed when he massaged shampoo into her long hair, sighed when he parted her legs (because, you know, on the beach wasn't enough, and neither was in the swimming pool...or on the bed...or on the floor...or bent attractively over the kitchen counter).
But he didn't go to Tuscany, didn't nearly drown in her and drown himself diving too deep to taste her under the water. He amused himself with Amelia, who was as she should have been, and then went on a short tour of the world by way of spending the summer: Italians and Germans and Spaniards galore while she sunbathed topless on a beach in France and he tried not to look at the accompanying picture.
He tried to ignore her when she came back, tried to ignore the tan which suddenly made her legs look eight feet long and the carefully tended and now gold streaked hair (their hair had once been of a colour – clever). He tried to ignore the bastard who fawned on her (she never had much talent for choosing swains) and would've probably have kissed her shoes if commanded. There was a night, once, when he had been the one to kiss her feet (and up her calf, and along her thigh, and in other places until she had rolled her eyes and parted her crimson lips and said, 'that's nice...are you going to fuck me now?').
And then he saw the pin, and he couldn't keep his face stitched on.
He would've bitten her, licked her, scratched her, slapped her and rubbed himself all over her; anything to mark his territory. Instead he left her in the garden, and no amount of sticky, sweaty, Blair-filled dreams and days and nights of hard-ons could stop him wondering why, if a picture was worth a thousand words, other people couldn't see his name written all over her body, from the crown of her head to her neat little feet.
He should've just peed on her.
Fin.