Chapter Seven: Snap, Sizzle, Burn
Don't make me sad, don't make me cry.
Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough, and I don't know why.
Keep making me laugh, let's go get high.
The road is long, we carry on, try to have fun in the meantime.
- Born to Die by Lana Del Rey
:::
November 30th, 2007: The Back Woods
"I solemnly entrust my loyalty to the Victors and Victrolas of The Briar House. In schemes and secrecy, in blood and honor. We are saints, we are sinners. We are brothers and sisters. If one lights a flame, we will burn together. We will never be tame, we will burn forever." Blair held Chuck's gaze as she repeated the words under the dewy glow of candlelight and lanterns. He smiled at her, and her chest lifted at his approval. They were in the back woods, the expanse of gnarly trees and shrubbery behind the aged school building. A rickety, abandoned shed had transformed into a dark, makeshift club, its room scented with incense and fine whiskey, its walls draped in black silk. Once upon a time, she might have thought this silly—secret initiations and whispered pledges. But the thrill of danger heightened every one of her senses, gave her a high as the low light hit the edge of Chuck's jaw.
"Drink," Chuck insisted, raising the goblet of red wine to her bottom lip. Blair slipped out her tongue, her eyes closing as the alcohol poured into her mouth. Chuck grinned, relishing the sight, giving her more, and then even more as he held her chin. For a moment, they forgot the rest of the room, Diana and Jenny on either side of Blair in short black dresses. Ethan and Damien were present, as were the rest of Penelope's ex-army. But they answered to Blair now.
Blair and Chuck.
Chuck's hand surfaced with a glimmering gold pin, Damien carrying a small bowl beside him. Chuck meant to prick her skin with it, and the thought made her tense. Her nerves betrayed her cool exterior, and he frowned for a moment, holding her dainty little hand in his. Blair swallowed as he shook his head at her, a silent assurance, and when the pin descended, she waited for the sharp pain—but it never came. Blair recoiled, confused by the blood that fell into the bowl, blood that was not her own. Chuck hid the cut on his own finger from the rest of the room and silenced her with a pointed look. Blair nodded back, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Welcome," Chuck whispered, his head ducking right beside hers. His lips brushed her jaw, his teeth slid across her neck, and Blair stifled the embarrassing moan bubbling in her throat. Instead of kissing her, he simply blew out the dwindling candle in her hands before moving on to Diana, who was next in line. The two boys continued down the row, blowing out candles until the room faded to black. Blair let out a breath as Diana and Jenny impulsively grasped her hands. They could see nothing but shadows in the dark shed, and the girls clung to each other as if they were three sisters. And in an odd, twisted way, Blair supposed they were.
"Now enough business," came a voice in the darkness. Chuck's voice. "It's time for pure," a haze of smoke filled the room, an entrancing beat thumped in the air, "unadulterated," a drink fell into Blair's hand, and Diana began to dance to the music, twirling beside her, "pleasure." Blair gasped as the small crowd of students engulfed her. The air felt dirty, the air felt surprisingly good as hands passed over her, as she allowed her own hips to sway from side to side. She could manage this. She could be like Serena—dancing on tables at the Tribeca, stripping down to her underwear in Chuck's old Jacuzzi.
Speaking of, Blair felt a tug of disappointment when she lost Chuck in the small crowd. Her cheeks went hot with jealousy as she thought of the other writhing girls in the room, of where his hands would wander in a haze of intoxication and darkness. She was just about to seek him out when she felt hands on her arms, pulling her back into a broad chest.
"Dance with me, beautiful," Ethan slurred. Blair turned in his grasp, amused by the vacant look in his eyes, the blonde hair damp on his forehead. "This night…this night is epic." His voice could be heard above the music as he busted out with spastic dance moves, spinning Blair around him.
"You are so drunk," Blair scolded, allowing him to lead her for a few more minutes before placing a hand on his chest to steady him.
"I only had—" Ethan raised his fingers, frowning as he silently counted. "I only had one drink." Ethan held up three fingers as he said it, and Blair rolled her eyes. "Tonight is the night, Blair. Tonight is…this is it." He was nearly incoherent as he pumped his fist in the air, sloppily smiling down at Blair.
"Tonight?" Blair sighed. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm going to tell Eric," Ethan started, his tone suddenly solemn and determined. Blair's eyes widened, and she urged him to lower his voice. It wasn't commonly known that Ethan swung the other way, and she had a feeling that sober Ethan wouldn't be shouting it out at exclusive parties. "I'm telling him that I love him. I'm in love with him."
"Okay, shut up," Blair hissed, a splash of decency urging her to take action.
"He's so smart, Blair," Ethan practically swooned. Blair blanched at the stars in his eyes, hoisting him over to the corner of the room. He held Blair's waist as his head lolled over, a lazy grin lighting up his face. "I'm popular, and he doesn't care. Isn't that…isn't that cool?"
Blair pushed his arms off of her. "Yeah, really cool," she deadpanned, shouting over the music. Ethan mumbled Eric's name again and again as Blair snapped her fingers in his face, shaking at his shoulder. "Listen, Merrick. You're going to sober up now. I'm not going to play your designated babysitter all night. Honestly, you sound like a tipsy schoolgirl."
"You're so sweet, Blair," Ethan laughed, stroking her cheek. Blair slapped his hand away, which only encouraged him to squeeze the tip of her nose. Blair seethed, slapping him again and giving a sharp and impatient twist to his wrist.
"Stop it, or I'll hurt you," Blair spat, jerking his chin up. "Now try to hold in your little love confessional while I go get you some water. Okay?" Blair jerked his chin up again as he dozed off. "Okay?"
Ethan grinned, looking much like a young boy as he squished Blair's cheeks together. "Yes, Captain Waldorf." Blair slid his hands from her face, propping him against the wall as she made her way back through the crowd. God, he was like Serena in male form. Playing Mommy was getting exhausting. She scanned the room, squinting in the darkness until she laid eyes on a cluster of abandoned water bottles on a stray table. She squeezed her way past grinding, drinking bodies, relieved when she grabbed one of the bottles in her hand.
"Having fun?" The voice startled her, as it was so close to her ear. Fingers wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against the back wall. Blair dropped the bottle in her hands as Chuck's lips fell to her neck, his hands anchored gruffly on her tiny waist. "Having fun with…Ethan?" Blair scoffed, ready to correct him on Ethan's sexual orientation until she remembered… If seeing you with me gets on Chuck's nerves, let it. Blair recognized the jealousy in his voice like it was a learned language.
"Maybe," Blair murmured. Chuck's grip on her tightened, and he pulled her hips to his as the bass dropped and the room spun. "Maybe you should get a handle on that jealous streak of yours." The fury that passed over Chuck's features frightened her for a moment. Her stance faltered, and she held onto his arms for support. But just as quickly as his anger came, it went. She expected him to make some snarky comment about Ethan. But instead, he simply grinned.
"Afraid of the dark?"
"I'm Blair Waldorf," she scoffed. "I'm not afraid of anything." Another lie. Blair was terrified. Terrified of the way his touch lit her skin aflame, petrified when a simple glance from him sent her guarded heart astray. If he was fire, she was a pyromaniac. And to love the blaze was to get burned. The smirk on his face faded to parted lips when she dropped to kiss his neck, nibbling and sucking on the skin just below his ear. She worked his skin between her teeth, moaning when his hand raised to hold her head there. But she pulled back to admire her work anyway, gingerly touching the bruised patch on his neck. When she glanced up, Chuck's eyes were nearly black. He reached behind him and took a glass in his hands, drinking it down. And then he kissed her, a harsh mix of hard liquors pouring from his mouth and into hers.
She was drowning.
And she loved it.
Once her lips swelled and her head was numb, he held her back, guiding her face back into the crease of his neck. And over the thump of the music, she heard his voice in her ear. She heard his voice everywhere saying, "Again."
:::
Hours after the liquor ran out and the excitement of the night died along with it, the tipsy group trickled out of the abandoned shed in teams of two, daring not even to rustle the grass out by the fields as they snuck into their pre-discussed secret entrances. Damien, whose eyes had been clouded over since break had ceased, led a weary Jenny back in through the cellar underneath the cafeteria. Diana watched on for a moment, wishing she was too drunk to care, before pulling Ethan's arm around her shoulders, poking at his side to get him into the broken door behind the pool house. The rest of the gang followed suit, leaving two brunettes behind, shadowed by the shed. Chuck stared down at the black fabric straining over Blair's body in the darkness. He held her hips, his thumbs skimming her waist as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes were bright, her limbs loosened. A bit of alcohol did wondrous things to the reckless girl hiding below stacks of SAT scores and term papers.
And it turned Chuck on to no end.
"Come on," he whispered to her, slamming a padlock shut on the shed before pulling her into the night. Chuck ignored the fact that she wasn't that drunk at all. He didn't need to take care of her. But he ignored that too. Her fingers held tightly to his as he pulled her through the little alley where he liked to smoke between classes, up stairs that were much too out of the way to be used. Blair clung onto him, and he wavered. Chuck Bass wavered, completely intoxicated by her perfume and the way the alcohol kissed her sweet breath. Instead of turning into Dexter Hall to return her to her room, Blair frowned as Chuck ducked into Wentworth—the boys' dormitories.
"Bass," Blair hissed, wincing as her slight slur broke the silence around her. "What are you doing?" Chuck hushed her with an admonishing stare, pulling her past a neat row of blue doors. It was when they came to the end of the hall that he stopped, and she steadied herself with a hand on his back. Blair expected the door to be opened and unlocked, just as most of the rooms were at Briar. But Chuck's hand surfaced from his blazer pocket with a brass key that fit right into the knob before them. She followed him inside as he casually flicked the light on, revealing the mod yet sinister décor before her. It was a dignified bachelor pad, way out of place in a rustic boarding school like theirs. A king-sized bed was pushed up against the farthest wall, its comforter and pillows a deep noir. Beside it was a wooden nightstand, a dark lampshade that did little for lighting. And on the other side of the room, beside closed closet doors, was a black leather chaise that took up much of the space. Blair let out a shocked breath and shook her head. "Of course you have your own room."
"I'm Chuck Bass," he said by way of explanation, a smarmy grin upon his lips. Blair rolled her eyes at him, remaining stationed in front of the door, her hand poised on the knob behind her. Chuck, on the other hand, was already loosening the casual tie slung around his neck, kicking off the dress shoes he'd worn for initiation. He glanced up at her while tugging at the buttons near his wrists. "Do you plan on standing there all night?"
"All night?" Blair echoed, nearly stamping her foot. "Chuck." He looked up again, amused by her frustration as she repeated the words. "All night?"
"Waldorf," Chuck drawled, walking over to her in a slow saunter. "Why don't you kill the teacher's pet act and take a seat. Tomorrow is Sunday. You can get off on studying later. So stop whining and relax." Despite the hostility on her face, she allowed him to pull her over to his bed and push her down on the plush duvet. God, that was comfortable. She sat before him, her hands in her lap, her eyes trained on his as he stared down at her. She shuddered as the pads of his thumb traced her collar, sliding the straps of her dress from weak shoulders. He peeled the silk from her, rolling it down to pool at her waist. And then his lips were on the flat of her stomach, his tongue tracing just above her ribs. He savored her for a moment, waiting until she drew a low moan to pull away.
"I don't want you to…" Chuck trailed off, his eyes darkening. "You're not going to hurt yourself again." He pressed lightly into her stomach as he spoke, and Blair lost her breath. "If I find out that you have, I won't stop. You won't hear the end of it. I'll make your life a living hell." Blair scoffed at the thought of Chuck having that power over her. But he didn't look domineering or arrogant. His eyes appeared honest, his face solemn. It was a twisted way of proclaiming his rumpled emotions. And that was even worse.
Blair narrowed her eyes. "Why do you care?" To this, he said nothing. His stare held firm, his hold even firmer. It was Blair who reluctantly backed down first, her shoulders falling slightly. "I haven't. Not since the Homecoming Ball." She expected him to react, waited for him to claim credit for her recovery. But all he did was pull the dress off of her completely, sliding her heels off until they clanked on the hardwood. She shivered in her bra and thin panties as he left her, ducking into his closet and surfacing with a soft dress shirt. Blair watched him as he put it on her, buttoning just below the dip of her cleavage, down to her bellybutton. And when he was done, he pressed a last reverent kiss just under her chin.
Maybe it was the simple gesture of it that forced Blair's blood to rush under her skin, that uncapped the Blair Waldorf from her pre-teen years with harlequin romance novels hidden under pretty pink bed sheets. She took hold of his collar and met him in a searing kiss—no space to breathe, no room to feel anything but this. He groaned and she whimpered. Together they fell back onto the sheets, feeling empty when they pulled away, lying beside each other. Chuck's heart stuttered when Blair rolled into his side and her head fell to his chest.
Cuddling.
They were cuddling.
"I want to know," Blair began, treading with caution. "I want to know what broke you. I want to know why you stop yourself from laughing like you're not allowed to be happy. I want to know why you drink more than anyone I've ever known, but you're never ever drunk."
"Blair—"
"I want to know what there was before—" Blair gestured to the boy before her. "This."
Chuck stared up at the ceiling, his eyes stony. "There was nothing before this."
"You're lying," Blair accused, forcing his chin down. But Chuck simply shook his head, frustrating her beyond belief.
"I'm not lying."
"You are," Blair argued. "Tell me, Chuck."
"Why?" Chuck choked out, almost exasperated. His eyes were wide, his lower lip holding a slight tremble. She reached out to touch it, to soothe him, but he pulled away from her the minute her finger made contact, leaving her hand hanging in the air. Already she could see their makeshift, broken agreement—the one they'd made on the fields nearly two months ago—ripping apart. And not even the pieces of it resembled the two cold-hearted kids who'd begun this madness.
"Tell me about your mother." The words resounded in the room, hitting the silence in a full-blown collision. Blair shrank back as Chuck physical jerked up in bed, his back to her as he leaned up on his knees. She wondered if this would be the end, the moment the game was forfeited, if she was suddenly disqualified. She waited, waited, waited—
"My mother was alive," Chuck rasped. "I was born. And now she's dead."
"Don't you have anything of hers?" Blair asked, sitting up on her elbows. "Isn't there anything to…" As Blair trailed off, Chuck's mind flitted to tattered photographs, hair like tarnished gold, eyes as warm as the sun. He thought of his first memory, Bart holding the photograph, Chuck holding his own heart. You look like her. It was all his father said before the room fell to pieces.
But that—It wasn't the only thing. Chuck glanced at his shelves, where one hardback was tucked behind the rest.
"A book," Chuck murmured, not bothering to look back at her. Blair bit her lip at the admission, following his gaze to the bookshelf in the corner. But it was much too dark to see, and it could have been any one of them.
"What book?"
Silence.
"Chuck?" Blair touched his back. "What book?"
More silence.
Blair held her breath in a silent surrender, laying her head back against the pillows in defeat. She counted three breaths, six short heartbeats until he joined her, his arm pressed against hers, his knuckles brushing the back of her hand. It took more to thaw out the man of stone beside her, a kiss on the curve of his neck, a hand on his chest, the end of their desperate conversation. Her eyes forced closed under the weight of exhaustion. And she didn't know exactly if she was dreaming or if she was awake. He might've pulled her closer then, might've kissed her hair, might've whispered something against her forehead, only to have it lost on unhearing ears.
"You're under my skin."
:::
December 1st, 2007: The Briar Dining Hall
"God, look at them. Think they're hungover?"
"I heard it was an orgy."
"You're just jealous."
The demure group of freshmen huddled in their corner table of the cafeteria, their hushed whispers blending into the usual symphony of school gossip. They watched on as Blair and Diana mulled it to their center table, arms linked, steps in unison. Jenny trailed behind them, scrolling through her phone with a slant in her brows. Ethan was already sitting when they got there, his blonde hair even more rumpled than usual, his eyes completely bloodshot. Diana swung into the chair next to him, ruffling his hair with a light laugh. Blair shot him a shaming glare before gently sitting on the other side of the table. She'd woken up alone that morning, after the initiation. Chuck had left her to fend for herself in the boy's dormitories, still in last night's dress and last night's regrets. She'd called Diana, who was well-used to finagling her way around Briar's male population. She came bearing a rescue outfit, and they snuck behind the infamous back stairwell together to catch breakfast.
Blair was groggy, sloppy, and highly unhappy. And, of course, it was all a direct result of Chuck Bass.
"Well, don't you all look cheerful?" Eric called, setting his tray down with a loud clank. The rest of them groaned, Blair included, as he happily sat down at the table. Eric was more than happy to play a guest role in their popularity, coming and going as he pleased. It was Eric that most on the outside were jealous of. He had a glimpse of their life, a taste of it—wading in the shallow end but still in the pool. And now he was glancing up at Ethan, whose appearance had brightened the moment Eric sat down.
"Hey," Ethan murmured, calming his tone. "Can we talk?"
"We did talk," Eric said, a small grin on his face. "When you drunk dialed me last night. When you sent me random text messages over break. But not when you ignored me the minute we got back to Briar." Ethan froze, his lopsided grin fading as he glanced over at the girls. But Diana, Jenny, and Blair were too immersed in their own conversation to notice. Eric watched him with a shake of his head. "Nobody even knows that you're…" He paused, not bothering to say the word. "Do they?"
"I…" Ethan trailed off, lowering his voice. "Blair knows."
"Well, we have that in common," Eric smirked. "Coming out to Blair Waldorf."
"Look…" Ethan practically whispered, stretching out over the table. He stole a tiny piece of bacon from Eric's plate to lighten the mood. Eric cracked a smile, waiting for him to go on. "You've been my Trig tutor for weeks, putting up with my lame jokes and sports recaps, and I've never talked to anyone the way I talk to you. You know…that I like you."
Eric shook his head again, ducking his head to hide his smile. "I also know that I'm not going to be your secret." Ethan parted his lips to protest, but Eric cut him off, running his fingers through the blonde highlights in his hair. "And I'm not going to be your experimental walk on the queer side."
"That's not—" Ethan cleared his throat. "That's not what this is, okay? I promise." Eric raised his eyebrows as Ethan reached under the table, poking his pinky at Eric's thigh. Eric reluctantly hooked it through his, shaking once before pulling away. Ethan smiled, clearly satisfied, and straightened his tie. "I just need time."
"Time," Eric repeated.
"Time," Ethan affirmed, a bright smile on his face. As Diana imitated her French teacher for an unamused Blair and a giggling Jenny, Ethan slid his chair closer to Eric's. "I like you, Eric van der Woodsen. I know that I do."
Eric swallowed, offering him a gentle grin. "I like—"
"What is it that we like?" Chuck smirked, grabbing Ethan's apple from the table and staking his claim with a loud bite. "Morning, kids." Damien followed him at a sluggish pace. On impulse, his eyes found the chair right beside Diana's, and he sleepily grinned at her familiar blue eyes, the washed glow on her cheeks. But he stopped himself just as he was about to sit down, realizing that Jenny was watching him, paused mid-mouthful. He cleared his throat, pushing away from the chair to join the blonde. Across the table, Chuck bypassed the seat beside Blair to sit at the head. She met him with a hard stare, a frigid one. But he avoided her eyes, hid words behind his grin, and he felt nothing.
"We like consistency," Blair spat, slamming her fork down on the table. The rest of them startled, eyeing the two with interest. Chuck swallowed, his posture only faltering for a moment before he managed to look at Blair.
"Careful, Waldorf," Chuck retorted. "You might spill your yogurt." Blair let out a breath as his empty chuckle echoed in her ears and the rest of the table silenced. Blair bit the inside of her cheek, her temper flaring as she looked up at Chuck's content expression. Smug bastard. Before she could stop herself, her hand flicked out and slapped the bowl of Chobani over, sending the yogurt flying across Chuck's dress shirt and into his lap. He pushed back from the table, watching in disgust as the strawberry mixture stained his clothes.
"Fuck, Blair."
"You're right," Blair said cheekily, gathering her belongings, wrapping her sweater tightly around her shoulders. She shot him one last smile before standing. "I should be more careful." Chuck frowned as she walked off, waiting until she was out of sight before storming off in the other direction, murmuring something about Armani and silk.
"That was bitchy," Damien murmured, breaking the awkward silence at the table. He groaned when Jenny elbowed his side to shut him up. He clutched at his side, throwing a hand up. "What? It was."
"Well, he's an asshole," Diana retorted. "Who can't make up his mind." She jerked her hands up, angrily tying her hair into a messy knot. Damien swallowed, realizing that her eyes looked more tired than they'd ever been. They hadn't been alone for a minute since break—and he only had himself to blame. Diana clasped her hands together, leaning over the table. "But you wouldn't know anything about that would you?"
Ethan cleared his throat. "Sorry, did we—"
"—miss something?" Eric finished.
"Apparently," Jenny murmured to them, keeping her gaze on the table. Diana wanted to look at her, wanted to wave the moment away, but she could only think of Damien's hands on her, and the way they talked was just... They were the same. They would always be the same. And so she stared him down, and he matched her, torn between making her stop and never wanting to let go.
"Sometimes people get confused," Damien said evenly. "They get lost." His hand slipped from Jenny's under the table.
"Yeah," Diana nodded, an empty expression crossing her features. "And sometimes they get tired." Pink fingernails dug into her own thighs as she said a silent goodbye. For a moment, she forgot that his supposed girlfriend was stationed right beside him, that their friends were watching and waiting. "Sometimes they're done."
:::
December 7th, 2007: The Briar House Gymnasium
Chuck managed to stealthily avoid Blair for all of seven days —seven long, torturous days—before he snapped. He hated this feeling, of being tied so completely, so irrevocably to somebody else. He'd been a part of his mother, he'd come from her, and she'd gone before she could teach him how to love, how to feel the things that other people do. Now the pain was written in his bones. And that night, Blair had ripped at a seam, tugged at a loose thread. That could never happen again.
He sat back behind the bleachers as girls milled it to gym class, tennis rackets in hand. Other boys littered the edges of the room, tossing around basketballs and footballs during their free periods. But Chuck, who preferred death over athleticism, merely watched on as Blair surfaced from the girls locker room. He sat up straighter, taking in the stark white tennis skirt twirling around the tops of her thighs, the fitted baby tee that taunted him with the prospect of what could be underneath it. The moment her eyes met his, she looked away, lifting her chin as she passed by.
"Nice skirt, Waldorf," Chuck called. "It leaves so little to my imagination."
Blair stopped in her tracks with an exaggerated sigh. "Oh. He speaks." She kept walking, her hands gripping the handle of her pink racket until her knuckles burned white.
"You ruined my pants."
"Yeah?" Blair smirked, practicing her swing as she took position. "Send me the bill."
Chuck parted his lips to reply, but he was cut off by a woman in a bright blue jogging suit. Miss Harold crossed her arms, blowing her whistle in his face as she blocked his view of Blair. "Mister Bass, I'll have to ask you to leave if you're going to disturb my class. Are we clear?"
Chuck scoffed at her, cracking his knuckles. "Crystal."
Across the gym, Blair lifted to execute her flawless serve. Just as she poised herself to swing, a catty voice broke her concentration, the smell of a vapid poseur filling the air.
"Trouble in paradise?" Penelope snarked, jerking her head over at Chuck. Blair jumped, hitting the ball with the edge of her racket, sending it flying across the room, near the exit. Blair frowned, letting out a quick breath before she turned to face her opponent. Penelope stood before her in high-heeled sneakers—so last season—and a sloppily-pinned ponytail. Blair touched the tail of her own French braid, satisfied that her knock-off had failed to meet her standards yet again.
"Penelope," Blair deadpanned with a bitter smile. "I'd almost forgotten about your existence." Blair took the opposite end of their court, picking up a stray ball as Penelope stood across from her. "But I suppose that even parasites have their lulls." Blair tossed the ball in the air, relishing in the snap that sounded across the room when she hit it, enjoying the sight even more when it flew right past Penelope's pathetic stance. "Perhaps you should find a partner you can keep up with."
"Perhaps you should find a boyfriend who actually wants to be with you," Penelope smirked, snatching the ball from the ground. Blair met every hit with one of her own, swinging the racket so hard she thought her arm might snap off. But she was relentless, refusing to miss one serve. Penelope was also relentless—refusing to miss one opportunity. "Such a shame that you thought you'd be different. But Chuck cycled you out just like the rest of us." Enraged, Blair dropped her racket and caught the ball in her hand, letting it drop to the floor. As she pretended to reach for it, she yanked at Penelope's ankle, shoving her to the ground.
"You bitch," Penelope spat, her hand darting out to yank at Blair's braid.
"Pull all you want," Blair hissed. "You should know what real hair feels like." Penelope's ponytail unraveled in Blair's fingers and, sure enough, a strand of her highlighted extensions fell to the gym floor.
"Break it up!" Ms. Harold shouted, yanking Penelope up by her elbows. "Break it up now. Penelope, to the bench. Blair, take a break. Showers, now."
"But—"
"Now."
Blair reluctantly obeyed, patting down the pleats of her skirt as she walked off the court, loosening her braid from its elastic. In her fury, she was vaguely aware of Chuck at her feet, following behind her. "That was quite the show."
"Leave me alone."
"Blair—"
"Leave me alone."
She didn't expect him to back off. And, of course, he didn't. Chuck slipped into the girl's locker room behind Blair as Miss Harold turned her attention to a sullen Penelope by the benches. The space was abandoned in the middle of the period, the sound of every footstep, every breath, completely filling the room. Chuck watched as Blair pulled opened a stall door and ran a shower, just to fill the silence. He watched as she leaned back against the stark white tiles.
"This isn't who I should be," Blair finally said. "This isn't the Blair who Yale wants, who the society women want, who my mother wants."
"Fuck what they want," Chuck said, walking over to her. "Forget who you should be." He yanked at the zipper of her skirt, until it fell, and he kicked it to the side. And then he was forcing her arms up, freeing her of her tee. He'd never seen a plain white sports bra or nude boy shorts look better on any other girl. And then he got rid of those, too. Blair's tiny tennis sneakers followed, her socks neatly folded into them as she stood beneath the stream of water, cooling her heated skin. Chuck waited for a moment, savoring the sight, memorizing it. Droplets of water fell over her pert breasts, following a clean trail down her navel, disappearing between her legs.
"And what about you, Chuck?" she accused, hugging herself. "What do you want?" In the same moment, his shoes came off, but his clothes stayed on, and he was right beside her in the shower, slamming the stall door shut behind him. Blair gasped against his lips, pulling him closer, but not close enough. A week apart did wonders to the gooseflesh of her skin, on every part he touched her. His fingers splayed out across her back, his lips on her chin, his teeth scraping skin. And then he spun her around, holding her against the wall.
"What are you doing to me?" Chuck rasped, his breath hot on her ear. Blair's eyes crossed as he held her wrists to her back, pressing her cheek to the cold white shower tiles. She was naked, completely naked, under the florescent lighting of Briar's locker room, unhidden by the dim glow that had draped over her when she'd visited his room at The Palace back in the city. She flushed, letting out an eager gasp as his hand slipped over the curve of her bottom, his fingers digging into the dimple that met her thigh. "I haven't slept." His hand came up to her hair, pulling her head back. Blair braced herself on the wall. "I feel sick." Blair was hazily aware that he was still wearing clothes under the light pelt of the shower, his hardness strained against his gym shorts, pressing against her ass. "Like there's something in my stomach…fluttering." At the word, his hand came around, and he shoved two fingers inside of her, so deep that Blair thought she might break.
"Chuck," she choked out, her sex pressing against the curve of his palm. He held her down, a steady hand on the arch of her back as he pleasured her. Her worked her perfectly, effortlessly, having gotten to know her body very well since the first time he touched her. He knew that she liked her hair pulled a bit—but not too hard—that his fingers curled in her sent a moan from her throat, made her toes curl in turn. And he knew that she was a romantic, that under her cool, unfazed exterior was a girl who wanted to be swept off her feet. Chuck could do that. He could forget locking his feelings away and stop dodging her in the hallways.
He would do that.
But as he reached up to caress her, Blair had other ideas. She pulled away from him, emitting a slight whimper when his fingers slipped out of her. He looked at her, surprised, as she gingerly hooked her fingers into the waist of his shorts. "Show me, Chuck." Blair swallowed, her eyes betraying her, revealing only vulnerability. "I want to…" She bit her lip as she pulled his shorts down a slight inch, not daring to look down. Chuck suppressed a groan. The whole thing, this innocence, this honesty, was ten times sexier than the mewling senior girls who threw themselves at him in his boredom. He knew what this meant to her, asking him how to do this, laying herself bare. She didn't have to tell him she was his. Chuck already knew. And so he kissed her soundly, holding her chin for a moment as his lips only brushed hers. His hands came to her shoulders, following as she knelt down before him. Blair pulled his soaked shorts down, letting them pool under the shower, all while keeping her eyes on him.
"You don't know how good you look right now, Waldorf," Chuck said, cradling the back of her head. "You're…you're flawless." Blair brightened at the admission, finding the courage to look in front of her. And God, he was so…big. She hadn't looked, had been too afraid to look, on that night at The Palace. But now she touched him, her finger delicately running over his length, following the path of the startling vein there. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers threading through her hair. "Blair…please." Blair licked her lips, delighted to draw a beg from Chuck Bass. And the way he looked at her—she felt beautiful. She felt powerful.
She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his member, tasting him—all salt and something sweet. He groaned, murmuring a low fuck as he urged her on. She smiled before she wrapped her lips around him, sucking slowly, savoring the moment. He let her find her own rhythm as she flattened her tongue against his base, closing her eyes at the sensation of having him in her mouth. When she opened them again, she found his eyes closed, his lips parted as he drew her name from under heavy breaths. She pulled back, running her tongue over him for a moment as she blinked up at him.
"You taste so good, Chuck," Blair whispered. Talking dirty wasn't exactly her forte—it was something she usually left to Chuck during their trysts. But the reaction it drew from him made her reconsider. His eyes widened, then rolled back. His grip on her hair tightened, and he pushed down until he hit the back of her throat. Blair panicked for a moment, her eyes tearing, her hands gripping his thighs for balance.
"Relax," Chuck rasped, the pad of his thumb finding her cheek as he slid deeper. "Just…" Blair did as she was told, and he nearly cried out at the feeling of her throat constricting around his cock as she swallowed. "That's perfect. You're…" He choked off as they found a new rhythm, Chuck working her gently, steadily, Blair eager to follow. And then she heard, "Touch yourself, Blair."
Blair pulled back fully, her eyes wide. "What?"
"I told you to touch yourself," Chuck repeated. "I want to see you." She stroked him as he spoke, suddenly shy as she glanced down at herself.
"I can't…"
"You can," Chuck insisted. "Trust me, Blair." Blair shivered at the command, her mouth wrapping around him once again, her small hand reaching between her legs. Chuck angled her head to the side, watching her pleasure herself as she took him in her mouth. The sight was delicious, decadent, more than Chuck deserved after keeping her away for a week. He didn't think it could get any better. And then she pressed down, sucking harder, allowing him to hit the back of her throat once more. She mewled around him, one of her fingers sinking inside of her, and Chuck bowed forward, holding her down against him as his yell echoed around the tiny stall. "Fuck, Blair. Fuck." She swallowed what he gave her, working herself into her own release with her eyes shut tight. He broke, and she broke too, her senses heightened and her vision danced.
And she felt more accomplished than she'd ever been.
When it was over, he sank down to his knees in front of her, pulling her flush against him. Blair waited in silence for a moment, already cursing herself for the question that escaped her lips. "Was I…okay?"
"You were perfect, Blair," Chuck said, setting his head back against the tiles. "You were amazing." Blair smiled, a small yawn escaping her lips. It was adorable, and it warmed Chuck in a way that had made him avoid her in the first place. But his legs were tired, his heart too comfortable, and he forgot where he was, tucking his chin into her damp hair as her nose skimmed the curve of his neck. And they stayed that way until noise burst into the locker room, chattering teenaged girls just finished with gym class. Blair slapped at him to get out, and Chuck teased her, raising his voice, threatening to give them away. Blair slapped him again, fighting her laugh until he ducked out of the showers in his soaked gym clothes, saluting a horrified freshman before escaping into the boys locker room.
And then Blair let the water run over herself for fifteen long minutes, trying to remember when exactly she'd stumbled.
And began to fall for Chuck Bass.
:::
December 9th, 2007: The Briar Pool House
"I can't believe you dragged me into this," Eric groaned as Blair pulled him into the alleyway near the pool house. The campus was quiet, and it was well after midnight. It was some sort of tradition among the Victors and Victrolas, breaking into the pool as a rite of passage. Blair held a wrap around her shoulders, her red bikini hiding underneath. She frowned at herself as she got lost in imagining Chuck's face when he saw her. Instead, she snapped at a reluctant Eric in the darkness.
"As if you're really so torn up about seeing your boyfriend all wet in a swimsuit," Blair smirked. "You two are disgustingly…perky together." Eric smiled as they reached the back door of the pool house, the frosted glass on one wall revealing a glow of lights on the other side, a row of bikinis and swim trunks, tipsy laughter and silenced squealing. Blair smiled, flicking her hair back. "Ready?"
"Blair…" Eric trailed off. "This isn't my thing. I'm not one of you."
"Eric," Blair hissed, cutting him off. "You're my friend. And as your friend, I won't allow you to sit in your room, swooning over your boy-toy while you could be having fun." She paused, relaxing. "You've always been like a little brother to me. Whatever I am, you are, too. Okay?"
Eric smiled, lightly nudging her side. "Careful, Blair. Your sweet side is showing. You might want to cover up."
"Ugh," Blair groaned, wrinkling her nose as she remembered Ethan's exact words when he'd first told her that he liked Eric. You're not the bitch you pretend to be. You do nice things all of the time, when you think people don't notice. "You're more like your boyfriend than you think."
Together, Blair and Eric waltzed into the pool house, where the hushed party was in full swing. Only a second passed before a drink fell into Blair's hand and her wrap was pulled from her shoulders. Chuck shamelessly hung an arm around her waist and dropped his lips to her ear. "You look ravishing," he practically growled, sending shivers up her spine. Blair flushed, falling into his touch.
Beside them, Eric blanched, turning away from the obvious display of affection that was unfolding before him. His sandaled feet padded against the wet tiles, careful not to be shoved into the pool by a drunk upperclassman. He passed by Damien, who clapped him on the back with a lit joint in his other hand. Eric nodded at him, realizing that he was far from both Jenny and Diana, who were in the pool in front of them. He continued on, his eye catching a familiar wave of blonde hair atop the lifeguard chair. His heart lifted when he saw Ethan staring back at him, a bright smile on his face.
"Hey, you," Eric said, leaning against the red and white post. Ethan turned in his seat, his eyes bright.
"Hey," Ethan replied, losing his position against the armrest before falling over. Eric let out an amused chuckle and steadied him.
"You're sort of drunk," Eric laughed.
"I'm always sort of…" Ethan pouted, "drunk." He glanced up, sitting back in the chair. "And you're always really…really hot, Eric van der Woodsen." Eric shook his head, making sure to be discreet as he touched Ethan's arm, trying to pull him down from the chair. But Ethan was having none of it as he squeezed Eric's hand, standing to balance on one of the chair's beams. He swayed back and forth for a moment, his eyes lost to something else as he spoke, "And I'm so tired of being told what to do. I'm tired of hiding this thing between us." Ethan raised his voice, catching Blair's attention from across the room. She was in the pool, Chuck stationed behind her, pulling the strings of her bathing suit loose. Blair stilled his hand, frowning at Eric and Ethan as the latter flailed his arms.
"Hey, why don't you get down?" Eric warned, stepping towards Ethan. "Come on, let's go over by the pool and—" His voice cracked as Ethan slipped from the beam, with a shout for help, tripping before falling headfirst towards the pool. There was a sickening crunch as his body hit the water, and a hush fell over the room.
A pause.
A cry.
And Ethan did not surface.
"Oh my God," Blair whispered. "Oh my God." She grabbed Chuck's hand as he pulled her from the water, Diana and Jenny running behind them. The rest of the room crowded around, panic heavy in the air, instantly sobering them up. Chuck and Damien dropped their drinks and dove into the water, finding Ethan and lifting him back onto the tiles. Jenny let out a muted cry as Ethan's head lolled to the side, a red, bloody welt on the side of his face. It was Blair who sank down beside Eric, giving Ethan a panicked shake, tears pooling, hands trembling.
"Ethan," she hissed, her voice breaking. "This isn't funny. Wake up."
"Blair," Chuck said, stopping her from moving him. Blair pulled away as Chuck pressed two fingers to Ethan's neck, avoiding his rolled-back eyes as he waited for thirty torturous seconds. And then his head fell, the room stilled, the bomb dropped.
"No pulse."
Author's Note: I'm terrible, I know! It was a tough week for our favorite Briar students. And even I felt their stress as I was writing! I'm sorry that this was a bit shorter, but hopefully I made up for that with the sudden turn of events here. As always, I want to thank everyone who's been following from the start and has taken the time to give me those lengthy, wondrous, and helpful reviews. It's so awesome to get feedback on what you guys like - it's definitely a great motivation. And thank you to all of the new readers. I have so much love for all of you guys.
So, predictions? Favorite scenes/quotes? I want to hear it all. Are Jenny and Diana finally going to make a decision for Damien? And what of poor Eric? Has he lost his boyfriend before he ever really had him? And, of course, Chuck and Blair are at the height of their high...and they might just come crashing down any second. Until next time, guys!