Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except a belief in constructive criticism.

A/N - Two updates (don't get excited, I'm talking about my other fic TTE) in one day! Takes place between NROE and Mirrors. I think. I confuse myself, too. Sorry for the delay. Please read'er and lemme know what y'all thought.

I open the heavy oak door just wide enough so that I can squeeze through it and shut it soundlessly behind my back. Which, if you've ever attempted to do while trying to be quiet know is a feat within itself. Add to the scenario the creakiest damn door in the fucking – I probably shouldn't be swearing in 'the Lord's house' as my bride to be calls it, but if Chuck Bass is going to hell it will definitely be for what he's thinking about doing to his fiancé right now and not because of his foul language. (Or his fashion forward attire, thank you very much GQ Magazine. Bastards.)

My eyes adjust to the soft lighting of the modest sized room and my lungs refuse to work at the sight of her. She's standing with her back to me, the gown she'll wear as she walks down the aisle in under half an hour unzipped and offering me the most tantalizing view of her back I have ever seen. And I've seen her naked back 85.97% of our six years together.

Yes, that's right – I calculated it. Mainly because she was adamant that the figure could not possibly be over 50%, but also because it not only won me the most amazing night of sex I have ever had in my entire twenty-four years on this planet (thirteen of which I spent with my wick…well…you get point), but because it also afforded me the right to pick our honeymoon destination. She's going to melt into a puddle of goo when she realizes just exactly where it is that I am taking her. Chuck Bass can be romantic when he wants to be.

But only for Blair Waldorf.

I smirk because in – I check the pocket watch Bart's given me in a rare gesture of pride – less than twenty seven minutes she'll be Blair Bass. My wife.

Now, you would think that that term would terrify the piss – that just may be my last swear of the day, because if I pi… anger the Big Guy upstairs enough that he decides to muck with B's perfect wedding day before I get the chance to fulfill half of what I'm fantasizing about doing to her right this f.. effing…(that doesn't count) minute, I will reject Catholicism altogether and turn Buddhist.

Not that I'm Catholic to begin with. Actually, come to think of it, I never really understood why she wanted to tie the knot in a Catholic Church. And for the life of me I can't remember agreeing to it. Although, I do remember this little red number she brought home that she refused to let me see her in until I'd been blue in the face – among other areas – from arguing and she'd worked herself into that sexy little snit of hers…

Well played, Blair. Well played.

I make a mental note to repay her for that one at some point during over the next fifty years and clear my throat as quietly as I can in an attempt to convince my lungs to finally work. She hears me, of course, because she's Blair Waldorf soon-to-be Bass.

"You shouldn't be in here," she tells me sternly as she quickly pulls a shrug around her shoulders in an attempt to cover her gown from my prying eyes. She's not as angry as she's trying to appear at my intrusion, a fact I would have known regardless had I not noticed the lack of the telltale glint of fire in her eyes. The room is empty. Her mother, Serena, Lily and Vanessa – yes, Vanessa… it's a long story – are no where to be found.

"Seems you're missing a few that should," I return, slipping my hands into my pockets and rocking back slightly on my heels. The gesture tugs the front of my pants snugly against my straining erection and her tongue darts out to trace her full lips unconsciously before she realizes what its doing and clamps her lips firmly shut.

"Yes, well…" she shrugs her shoulders as she fumbles for something that she thinks will put me firmly in my place and the shawl slips down one creamy, bare shoulder. Her brown curls, laying loose around her face in that style she knows I love, free themselves from the shawl's hold and tickle her now bare shoulder.

If she thinks I'm leaving now after that, she's sorely mistaken. She's a vision.

"Baby," I drawl and her fingers fumble the shawl as she tries to right it around herself. I file away this newfound information – she claims to abhor the term – to be further investigated when I'm not about ready to bust the zipper on my tuxedo pants from wanting her, and rock back on my heels once more. Her eyes flit to my crotch and I see her realize just how turned on I am. Which normally she can detect with her eyes closed. From three miles away. My pulse starts to hammer in my ears as I realize just exactly what her distracted state of mind means.

Under the heavy material of her wedding dress she's hot and wet and ready for me.

I feel myself grow almost painfully hard as I use up every last bit of spare room in my pants, but I don't pull my hands from my pockets or move to take a step toward her.

She's made her bed and now she has to lie in it.

Or not lie in it, as the case may be.

"Chuck…" she whispers. But not in the tone of voice she usually uses when she wants me to f…eff her. No, she's moved past flirting, skipped right over teasing, and has jumped straight into cheating. She knows, despite all my protests to the contrary, that I can not for the life of me resist it when she looks at me all wide-eyed and innocent and asks me to make love to her.

I raise a brow, silently asking her if she knows just what she's about to give up, and she nods ever so slightly as she finishes in the same whisper; "…make love to me."

I pull my hands form my pockets and quickly lock the door behind me before I cross the room and slowly pull her shawl from her shoulders. She stares into my eyes as I run my palms up her arms to cup her face and I feel something deep inside me click into place. This is where I'm supposed to be. With this woman. For the rest of my life.

And the little minx knows it too. She's smiling like the Cheshire cat even though I'm the one who told her we wouldn't make it the week she wanted to sleep apart. I'm the on who told her that we'd break her 'no sex before marriage' stipulation (even though we'd broken that one years ago in the back seat of the limo I had bronzed – yes, the entire thing… she didn't think I'd do it either) the second I got to the Church.

But she'd wanted to try. So we'd tried. I'd even spent the last few nights sleeping in my old bedroom at my parent's penthouse (note to self: remove porn from under the bed before the maid – or worse, Lily – finds it) even though it nearly killed me. And I don't mean that - see previous note to self; I'd become accustomed to falling asleep with the most beautiful woman in the world draped across my chest and waking up to her nuzzled against my neck.

Yes. Chuck Bass is a giant softie.

I press my lips against my bride's and feel her begin to slowly unzip my pants as her tongue darts out to taste mine.

Ok. Small…ah… large… amendment: Chuck Bass is a giant romantic.

And that is exactly how he plans on making love to his almost wife: romantically. She'll remember our slow lovemaking just minutes before our wedding for the rest of our lives. The way I slowly explored her mouth as I traced lazy circles to the exposed small of her back with the tips of my fingers. The way I held her gaze as I carefully helped her gather the yards of material keeping her most intimate of places from mine before I gently slid home. The way our bodies hummed in tune together as, fingers linked together we crested.

Because after I help her get fix into her gown and sneak back out of the room just seconds before my step mother, step sister, soon-to-be mother-in law, and best friend's fiancé (like I said, long story) rush through the door with their hands empty of whatever obscure object Blair no doubt sent them all in search of, she'll walk down the aisle to find Daniel Humphrey standing in the place I'd always pictured Nathaniel being up until the second I realize he'd seen Blair naked one too many times. (Yes, once is one too many.) I won't be able to pi…pee straight for a month, let alone enjoy hot, raunchy newlywed sex in every room of the French Vineyard I've bought her.

Or the weeks of seeing her walk around in nothing but lingerie that her crumbling will power (and a certain favourite cologne of hers I thought I'd lost, but had only left behind at Bart and Lily's the last time we snuck in to have sex in my old bedroom) have earned me.

A/N - Slightly fluffy and 'gooey', but I wanted something a little softer after all the angst we've all been patiently waiting through on the show.

Lynne