Chapter Fifteen: Eyes Closed, Headfirst
Neck, chest, waist to floor. Easy to take, you could take me in fours.
Make me a deal, a day a piece. Take it all, just stay a week
I'll take you in pieces. We can take it all apart.
I've suffered shipwrecks right from the start.
I've been underwater, breathing out and in.
I think I'm losing where you end and I begin.
Basic space, open air. Don't look away, when there's nothing there.
- Basic Space by The XX
:::
March 1st, 2008: Wentworth Hall Dormitories
There were so many ways to have sex.
Against the window, her headband haphazardly falling from her curls, her back hot against the glass. Against the balcony wall, a blur of restricted tape and the unaware students down below as he'd wrap his coat around them both, thrusting until his knees buckled and they were a panting mess atop the cold concrete.
But Blair's favorite was just this way, simple and naughty, tangled in sheets after class. No deliberation or easy schemes like the ones she once used to get her ex-boyfriend to spare a second for her expensive lingerie.
No, Chuck would steal Blair away like a bandit, tug on her coat, unravel her appearance as if it were his hobby.
"Stalker," Blair would murmur, her books already in his hands.
"And it turns you on every time," Chuck would claim, loudly enough to startle the passing underclassmen on their way to class.
Blair thought this all to herself amidst a wave of pleasure, cheeks burning so hot that it surpassed the toils of any mundane fever or winter cold. Chuck bit the inside of her thigh, and she arched away from her sheets, fingers desperately pulling through his hair.
"God."
"Suddenly so religious, Waldorf." He gave one lazy lick, sending a tremble up her spine. "And such an…ironic source of it all." Everything about this—the way a trickle of perspiration dripped from her navel, only to be caught by his tongue, the way his hair tickled her skin whenever she jerked upright, the way he nibbled ever so gently on her clit until Blair broke out screaming—everything about Chuck Bass drove her insane.
"I need to study," Blair whispered, her voice high-pitched, almost hysterical. He laughed, the sound of it reverberating against her slick folds.
"I thought," Chuck murmured, rising to kiss her hipbone, to lick a trail along the underside of her breast, "you were the queen of multitasking." He nudged the crook of her elbow with his cheek, just as a mischievous puppy would. "No one's stopping you."
Blair took a frustrated breath, and then another.
"Get away from me," she finally snapped, pushing at his shoulders. She glanced down, embarrassed at her current state of undress. Her uniform shirt was spread open wide, revealing the pretty pink bustier underneath, the matching lace panties now caught against one of her thighs. She worked at the buttons, swung her legs over the side of her bed before he had a chance to lure her back in. There's was a twisted game of cat and mouse, in which both creatures lusted after the chase and reveled in the inevitable catch.
Blair jumped when Chuck caught her hands and scooted them away to finish buttoning up her shirt himself. She sighed when he shoved her hair away from her neck in the next instant, pulled her back flush against his chest. He bruised her skin and then beyond it.
"Study for what?"
Blair struggled to focus her gaze on the wall in front of her. "Oceanography."
Against her scalp, she felt his lips move. "Plate tectonics," he drawled carefully, tracing the word along her naked thigh. "A theory associated with the oceanic lithosphere—formed to explain how the planets were pried—" his fingers sank into her skin, and he spread her thighs apart "—away from one another."
Blair smiled despite herself. "Chuck."
"Waldorf," he scolded, "no distractions." It seemed he was kissing her everywhere, all at once. In one second, his lips were pressed to the nape of her neck. In the next, they were trailing kisses across her hot cheeks. "I need to study."
Blair rolled her eyes. She wondered if he'd ever run out of lines to whisper in her ear. And when she turned around, she caught the same intensity that was always there, etched into his features. He was smiling, and his eyes were blazing. A second passed, then another, that growing burn becoming impossible to bear when they were sitting so far apart.
They grabbed for the book at the same time, fingers intertwining to shove it off his lap, and their lips met in a kiss that didn't even allow one moment to breathe.
"When is the period over?" he rasped against her lips, shoving her shirt from her shoulders once again. Blair bit down on his lip, pushed his shirt away. The walls around them blurred as Chuck grabbed her ass and pulled her forward, and they sat up together in the middle of the bed as she straddled him.
"Mmm," Blair moaned against his lips, trembling when his fingers worked their way underneath her tights and yanked down, further until his warm fingers found purchase on her bare thighs. "Fifteen minutes."
"And Little J?" Chuck questioned, his breath hot on her neck. She worked at the button of his slacks, nearly breaking the zipper as she drew his length out of his pants. Blair inched forward, forehead pressed to his, and his thumb hooked around her panties, pushing them to the side.
They paused, lips brushing one another's.
Blair repeated, "Fifteen minutes."
He smirked, reaching into his pocket, holding her still as he slid a condom onto his length. A moment later he lifted her hips, and Blair sank onto him. She let out a satisfied breath, tucked her face into his neck as she rolled her hips forward. They were hot, still fully-clothed, panting and flushed as Blair continued to grind her hips forward, nails scratching at the fabric covering his back.
"Again," Chuck kept whispering under his breath, heavy hands pulling her hips forward in the same rhythm. "Again, Blair." His eyes crossed, and she moaned, tightening around him, rising and falling as quickly as his heart pounded in his chest. Her inner thighs pressed into his hips, and she curled all around him, lips parting against his jaw.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes."
Chuck thrust into her with all he had, rolling her backwards until she was on her back and her head was at the very edge of the bed, quivering and trembling beneath his tensed body. He groaned, biting into her collarbone, then the swell of her breast. Blair clutched onto his hair, smoothed her fingers against his scalp.
"Convergent boundaries," Chuck taunted her. Blair's eyes rolled back, and she could not find the consciousness to disagree.
Blair turned her head, eyes wide as a second wave of pleasure washed over her. She watched his fingers sink into the edge of the bed, kissed his shoulder as his muscles tightened, shoved his slacks further down with her foot.
"It's so much," Blair mumbled when he kissed her again. She was half-delirious and overheated, mumbling things that made no sense, the pitch of her voice rising every time he sank into her. Chuck finally silenced her with another kiss, his tongue tracing the line of her bottom lip. His breath wavered as he lifted her leg, angled her over to the side with a final thrust.
The room stopped spinning, and her leg fell back to the bed.
Over his shoulder, Blair caught the time on her wall clock and smiled. "Twelve minutes."
"An effective lesson," Chuck murmured.
Blair frowned down at him, confused. "On what?"
Chuck raised his eyebrows, his chin on her shoulder. "The Big Bang."
:::
When Jenny came to pick up her uniform for gym that afternoon, she stopped herself from entering the room, the door to it still slightly ajar.
Chuck and Blair were sitting at the foot of Blair's bed, almost exactly in the same position. Though obviously mussed up from their time...together, they were both still perfectly prim and proper—the navy stripe at the center of her headband made from the same fabric as the ascot around his neck. His fingers idly toyed with the hem of her uniform skirt as she read aloud to him from a textbook.
And he sat, listening carefully, hanging on every word as if they were engaging in dirty talk.
Was this the same boy she'd watched stumble out into the woods last year from her dorm room window? Was this really the playboy who'd always had two blondes linked to either arm, one drink in his hand away from expulsion?
Since she'd mistakenly endured a French literature class during her first semester at Briar, Jenny had always imagined Chuck stepping right into the pages of Le Petit Prince. Jenny closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how the story had gone:
The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.
"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."
And the roses were very much embarrassed.
"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you-the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.
Jenny opened her eyes as Chuck toyed with the ends of Blair's hair, stretched out across her bed with languish. Blair moved like ice, with something guarded in her eyes that Jenny could not understand, but she somehow still fit to him, tucking her legs in, pressing her cheek against his dress shirt. It was Chuck who grabbed the textbook and began to read to her this time, inserting various dirty expletives where vocabulary words should have been.
The giggle surfaced from Jenny's throat before she could stop it.
"Jenny?" Blair scowled, shoving up from the bed with one hand planted at the center of Chuck's chest. He groaned, flicked her wrist away, then smirked when he noticed their intruder.
"You know, I've noticed a growing trend of voyeurism at this school," Chuck drawled, clearly unaffected. "I can't say that I'm disappointed."
"Shut up," Blair and Jenny said at the same time. At hearing the words come from Jenny's mouth, Blair smiled, clearly surprised. Chuck raised a brow, as equally amused.
Jenny, on the other hand, was horrified. One little hand came to clap over her mouth as she scrambled around her side of the room, digging out her navy blue shorts and white polo from a pile of clothes. She averted her eyes and darted straight for the bathroom, cheeks tomato red.
"Oh God," Jenny murmured before she closed the door, "I'm sorry. That was stupid. I was just joking because I thought—I just thought…" Jenny eyed the couple on the bed before her, who were now exchanging a look. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the verbal beat-down, the potential social suicide, and the –
A low chuckle came from the bed.
"Sassy," Blair commented.
"Very," Chuck replied.
Blair paused a moment, then grinned. "Of course," she concluded. "She's under direct guidance of the queen."
Jenny exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, then shot the older girl a gentle smile before retreating into the bathroom.
When she surfaced, feeling awfully gangly in her new PE uniform for spring, Chuck and Blair took no notice of her presence. Blair was dutifully trying to read, but Chuck was complaining about his newly wrinkled shirt. They bickered quietly, smiling the entire time.
And though he didn't call her baby or profess his love as naturally as it would come to any other teenaged boyfriend, there was something inexplicable between them, like every time she so much as shifted, it meant more to Chuck than anything he'd ever known.
Jenny ducked her head from the sight, not wanting to be caught staring again. And when she finally made it outside, the day was beautiful, and she fit into the cluster of navy-clad girls by the fields right away. But rather than blending into the back of the group, most girls smiled at her in subtle awe, struck up conversations with the sort of bashfulness Jenny held with Blair.
She smiled, relaxing into the first lulled moment she'd had in the longest and tied her hair back into a bouncy little ponytail. Down by the woods, there were no mysterious figures, and she could almost forget the permanent tension that had built in her bones. So much worrying, Jenny thought. And it was all for nothing. Even Penelope had seemed to take some sort of social cue and backed off.
As they ran their first lap around the east side of the school, Jenny caught sight of the new rose grove growing up against the brick wall. Cut neatly and gleaming scarlet, they seemed perfectly tamed, full bulbs ready to be picked.
Jenny grinned again to herself, glancing up at the window of her dorm room, where she swore she could see two shadows bending into one.
:::
March 6th, 2008: The Dining Hall
"…and then he told me that he was Chuck Bass…"
Blair tensed, head snapping up at the low chatter coming from two tables behind theirs. She was sitting across from Diana in the dining hall as they shared a yogurt parfait at the center of the table. But now, Blair was stabbing her fork into the bits of granola as the younger girls behind them chattered.
"They're just being stupid," Diana promised. "You know that the underclassmen like to out-lewd each other."
Blair narrowed her eyes and held a finger to her lips.
"…there's this thing that he likes. Right on his neck. I probably discovered it, you know, last year. Just before he's about to—"
"Okay," Diana suddenly said, cutting into Blair's line of hearing. She recognized that pissed-off glare on her best friend's face much too well. "Look, like I said, they're skanky. If Penelope can't even push your buttons, they really shouldn't." Diana waved her spoon in the air, rolling her eyes at the younger girls. "I mean, it's probably a lie."
Blair pursed her lips, popping a raspberry into her mouth. "It's not." She averted her gaze, stared down at the parfait. "It's not a lie."
Diana dropped her spoon, effectively causing a big commotion at their table. A bit of yogurt splattered on the wood, and Blair crinkled her nose, pressed her hand to her forehead when her friend continued, "No. No shit!" She leaned forward, plump lips parting in delighted surprise. "B, that's epic." She narrowed her eyes at Blair, then sat back in her chair, satisfied. "I knew I recognized sex hair."
Blair patted down her curls, eyes wide. "I do not have sex hair."
"You clearly need a mirror," Diana taunted. "Or is it too dark in Chuck's bedroom?"
"Funny," Blair commented. She gave up on the parfait, shoved it away in disgust. "Why don't you go ask Hannah Montana over there? Or anyone else on Chuck's list of conquests since his enrollment."
"You know that it isn't like that," Diana argued. She scooped the rest of the parfait down and claimed it for herself. "That boy looks at you like you're a goddess. The infamous Chuck Bass, and he gets like those guys in the deserted island movies—all desperate and aching." Diana waggled her eyebrows. "With a thirst that simply must be quenched."
Blair feigned apathy, but those dimples appeared on her cheeks again. "I'm not sure he has to worry about that anymore."
Diana grinned, poked her fork at Blair. "B, that was dirty."
Blair smiled openly this time, parting her lips to respond—
"…who knows? Maybe it'll happen again. He's Chuck Bass, after all."
The smile dropped from Blair's face, the spell of their conversation broken by the girls' high-pitched mewls over Chuck Bass' very specific expertise. But what could she do? True queens didn't whip around to defend their sex partners, nor did they compare notes on naughty preferences. She flicked her hair back and rolled her eyes.
Decorum ranked higher than ill-mannered sophomores with fugly highlights, after all.
"Shit, B," Diana sighed. "I…" She cut off mid-sentence, eyed something over Blair's shoulder. Chuck had just strolled in, a carefree grin on his face, a swagger in his step that only looked half-ridiculous paired with his leather shoes and lavender pocket kerchief. The moment he set his eyes on a familiar tumble of loose brown curls, he headed over in their direction—entirely unaware of the perturbed expression waiting for him.
"And…that's my cue," Diana said, shooting up from her seat. Blair frowned, watched as the girl squeezed her shoulder. Diana skipped off, and Chuck nodded to her as she passed.
Diana shot him a sympathetic little smile, patted the lapel of his blazer and said, "I'd protect the package if I were you." Diana leaned in, nodded back at Blair. "She's wearing heels today."
And when she walked off, she made sure to kick the leg of a certain table of underclassmen, sending a cup of fruit punch flying across the table and all over their kilts.
Chuck, of course, found this entirely amusing.
"Hey," he murmured when he got to Blair's table, smoothing his thumb down the line of her jaw. But she flicked him away in the same instant, stared straight forward when he passed. She was peeved when he chose to slide his chair over to her side of the table and casually sat down, one leg crossed, much to the dismay of the students trying to get down the aisle.
Blair clasped her hands atop the table, unwavering. "Hello, Chuck."
He sighed, immediately catching her cold tone. "Waldorf." He leaned in, elbows propping him up. "What is it?"
Blair drew her phone from her bag, pretended to slide her finger across the blank screen. "I don't know what you're talking about." Her smile was pinched, and she pried her fingers away when he made a grab for them. "As a matter of fact, Bass, I never have any idea of what you're talking about."
Chuck watched her, then grabbed the phone from her hands before she could protest. He held it up, higher than her arm span allowed, toying with her as she tried to reach for it. He pointed to the screen and smirked. "Interesting conversation you're having. Should I be…jealous?"
"Very funny, Bass," Blair said, reaching again. "Now give it."
"Maybe later," Chuck amended, tucking the phone into his blazer pocket. Blair shot him a sour look, and he couldn't help but cup her chin, in full view of the rest of the cafeteria. And despite her initial annoyance, Blair was satisfied at the little show they were putting on for the girls behind her.
When Chuck finally pulled away, she immediately missed his touch. She imagined that this was equivalent to the guilt the Snow Queen felt when she sat by a fire.
It was a secret, how lovely warmth could be.
"Tense?" Chuck asked. "Did one of your headbands snap?"
"No," Blair hissed, pushing away from the table. "One of your groupies did."
Chuck adjusted his collar as Blair stormed off, took a moment to compose himself before getting up to follow after her. As she descended the stone steps down to the courtyard, he caught her arm, almost made her trip down the bottom two.
"Fantastic," Blair sighed. "You're trying to kill me as well."
Chuck flattened his hand against her stomach, gently pulled her back until she was up against the ivy-covered railing. And then he took a step forward until she was bowed against his front. His lips brushed hers for a second, and then he pulled away, caging her in with an arm on either side of her waist. Blair's eyes rolled back at his proximity, and she sank forward a bit.
Damn him.
"You," Blair said evenly, "are a whore."
"Getting inventive with our nicknames, are we?" Chuck asked, a chuckle in his voice.
"I had to sit there," Blair spat, "and listen to some idiot group of underclassmen compare notes about your time in bed with them."
"Blair," Chuck sighed. "It's no secret that I was a bit wilder in my pursuits before you arrived." Blair raised a brow, and Chuck weakened. "Okay, perhaps that was an understatement." He tipped her chin. "My talents are like a gift…once distributed globally." Chuck smiled, as if this was the most charming thing he'd ever thought of. "Now exclusively yours."
Blair's mouth dropped open, incredulous. And then she shoved him back, slapped him on his right cheek. "You," she said, "are so disgusting."
They stared at one another—Blair enraged, all breathless, fists balled up at her sides. But rather than the coming of World War III, Chuck hooked an arm around her waist, caught her lips in a kiss that made her stumble back, made them both stumble down the stairs and against the cold brick wall down beside them.
"Mmm," Blair moaned, parting her lips in surprise. God, she loved the way he wound his fingers into her hair and— "Mmph." Her eyes flew open in realization, and she pulled away again. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, just to take a jab at him. "What are you doing?"
Chuck raised a brow. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Wow," Blair realized, "you really are deranged." She massaged her temples and paced in front of him. "I slap you, and you kiss me?"
Chuck watched her pace, not bothering to stop her. "I thought that was foreplay."
Blair put on a look of distaste. "You thought that was—"
"Hey…guys," Eric began, trailing off when he realized that Blair held the stance that usually meant Chuck might be facing imminent death. He took a step backwards, clutching his textbooks to his chest, almost in self-defense. "What did I just walk into?"
"Absolutely nothing," Blair said, jerking her shoulder into Chuck's as she passed by. She barely spared a glance at Eric as she went. "The lunatic is your problem now."
"She's...impossible," Chuck murmured once she was a safe distance away, eyes on the smooth slopes of Blair's curves as she sauntered off. She was fuming, and it made her hotter still, heels clicking in perfect unison with the bounce of her pretty curls.
Mesmerized, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket until she was but a dot in the distance, off to the fields where she liked to take her romance novels and read on her own. It was just one of the things that made her regal—a body in his hands, a soul from before their time. He'd followed her one day, watched her as she read, hands on her shoulders as she pretended not to notice.
Shaking the thought from his head, Chuck lit the cigarette, took a puff, then handed it over to the younger boy. Eric hesitated only a moment before taking it. Well, Chuck thought, observing the dark circles under the boy's eyes, the ease with which he took the stick. Things truly had changed.
Eric coughed up a foul hack of smoke, gestured down the path where Blair had just disappeared. "At least you have her."
An AP Economics teacher passed them by, and Chuck shoved Eric's hand out of view, jerking his head to lead the boy back behind the wall. When they were out of sight, Chuck salvaged the dying cigarette from Eric's fingertips and continued to smoke it near one of the pillars.
"Hey," Eric said. "Thanks."
Chuck shrugged. "No use in marring your record of innocence."
Eric nodded. "Right." The blond sighed, and Chuck could see the bits of brown by his scalp, the dye twined through his strands. "I know that you do most things for Blair. You're like one of those anti-heroes, the boy who wants to seem all valiant in the lead girl's eyes." Eric tried a smile. "But that's becoming who you really are."
Chuck shook the compliment off, almost as a brush from his shoulder. "I'm Chuck Bass. All this talk of valiance is unnecessary."
"Yeah, alright," Eric said.
They were quiet for a moment, and when Chuck looked again, the boy seemed sad. He cursed under his breath, realized he was supposed to engage in some sort of male bonding session now. The kid's boyfriend was gone, and it wasn't as if Eric and Damien were particularly close. Chuck stared down at his shoes, wondered what positive influences said to seem legitimate.
"What's on your mind?" Chuck asked, cupping his own jaw. "How's your…situation?"
"It's all the same," Eric said. "I've…been thinking a lot about Briar. About Ethan and I—and what it would've been like for us anywhere else."
Chuck frowned. "You'll have to elaborate."
"Being at Briar means walking in with baggage," Eric explained. "We're all a bunch of screwed up kids, all loving in flawed ways. The things we have won't ever be unscathed. I—" The boy looked up at the spiraling towers, the dorms inside. "I don't think this is the place where things are supposed to last."
Chuck grew uncomfortable, heat rising up the back of his neck. "That's not necessarily—" He paused, thinking better of what he was about to say. "Look, Eric, as much as I enjoy listening to the prophecies of the damned…" Chuck frowned. He couldn't talk about this, couldn't deliberate the permanence of relationships at Briar when Blair's kisses on his cheek were still fresh on his mind.
Chuck cupped the back of Eric's neck, led the boy back to school. Perhaps some moments were better left silent.
"Do you play pool?" Chuck asked.
"No," Eric said, surprised at the contact. "But…I can learn."
:::
March 8th, 2008: Paramore Fields
Years before, when she was busy cleaning up Serena's puke and tidying Nate's shirt collars at parties she hated attending, Blair never imagined herself smoking and eating chocolates with Diana St. Jean, giggling with their hair loose, sprawled out across a picnic blanket on the grass.
The winds had to shift sometime, she supposed.
An hour earlier, Blair had walked into the library to find her friend twirling a strand of her hair by the stacks, talking to some handsome junior with gorgeous hair and a body from an Abercrombie catalogue. Diana was working her magic, while the boy was struggling to keep up.
But Blair noticed the little things, like the way Diana shifted, froze and tensed whenever the boy leaned in too close. Blair's heart dropped at the sight, and then she'd walked over, tugged at Diana's hand.
"I hate to interrupt," Blair lied. "But I need my friend. And you have—" Blair scowled. "You have drool on your chin."
"God," Diana had said as they headed out of the library in fits of laughter. "You're such a bitch. I love it."
And now, there they were, sharing a box of chocolates they'd picked up from a shopping trip on the main street downhill. And Blair was in absolute bliss.
"Chocolate," she declared, "is an absolute sin."
"Mm," Diana agreed, lying on her back as the sky fell pink above her. "Then Hell must be saving me a spot." Beside her, Blair giggled, ankles crossed, curls splayed out beside her head. She eyed Diana and her wild demeanor for a moment, the unruly hair-do, the red lipstick, then looked down at herself, her white knee-highs contrasting against the plain black baby-doll she wore, tight against her curves. Smoke in the air, freedom in their eyes, they were like 2008's Thelma and Louise, in plaid kilts and Prada.
For once, jealousy did not strike her.
This sort of best friendship was equal.
"So?" Diana prompted, rising on one elbow. "Is Chuck's head still intact?
Blair rolled her eyes, fed herself another truffle. "Bass is fine." She sighed. "That's the problem. He always seems to be fine, and I—I become some insecure little girl around him. I always feel like I have to be one step ahead." Blair sighed. "The one doing the breaking and not being broken."
Diana nodded. "You want to level out the playing field."
"I was a virgin," Blair admitted. "Before…"
"Chuck," Diana finished. "Look, B, you might have been a virgin, but you're no Jenny. Yeah, she's got the whole innocent thing working for her, but there's a reason why Mister Master of Sex was so intrigued by you." Diana smiled, already knowing exactly how to butter her friend up. "You idolize Audrey because you are her. Elegant, but not too innocent. Prim, but not too proper."
Blair smiled, like she very much agreed with this.
"So put everything on the table, B." Diana smiled. "You and I both know that this isn't about him. I think you need to feel comfortable with your place in this nonsensical relationship."
"No—"
"And Chuck will never say it, but he's found his girl. You're the only one holding yourself back." Diana snatched the last chocolate from its place. "So what else are you waiting for?"
:::
March 10th, 2008: Wentworth Hall Dormitories
When Chuck answered the door to persistent little knocks, he was hardly surprised to find his non-girlfriend standing before him, her curls tied up in a pretty ponytail, her eyes alight with something he couldn't quite place. She was wearing a trench coat, though warm weather was just beginning to creep along the woods outside of Briar, trickling through in the forms of sun-soaked balconies and blossoming gardens.
"Waldorf," Chuck murmured, leaning against his doorframe with interest. And he wasn't the only one. Over Blair's shoulder, he spotted the boy from three doors down checking out her ass, licking his lips without shame. Chuck pursed his lips and moved aside to let Blair in, shooting the boy a look that could kill before checking Blair out himself.
Well, the trench coat did do justice to her….assets.
"You've formed a habit of showing up at my doorstep, Blair," Chuck faux-scolded. He pressed the door shut behind him, and the room fell grey again. But instead of making some comment about how Chuck lived in Dracula's caverns, she simply toyed with the belt around her waist, pressed her heels together.
"And you," Blair whispered, a low huff escaping her lips, "have formed a habit of groveling at my feet."
Chuck grinned. "I enjoy nothing more." He paused. "It makes you squirm. Are you here to slap me again?"
Blair smirked. "Perhaps." And then she did squirm, cheeks flooding with a stream of gentle pinks. She clasped her hands together, raking her eyes up his uniform, his shirt unbuttoned past his collar, one suspender hanging off his hip. "Look, Chuck, we need to talk."
The words made him falter, if only for a moment. Blair watched him saunter over to the sleek black mini-fridge tucked beside his nightstand. He put on the mask that he always did, cold and defensive. His eyes glassed over when his fingers curled around the neck of a Smirnoff bottle, his features were stone, and hours of stolen touches, whispered affirmations, heated glances in World Lit—it always brought them back to square one.
"You know, I didn't peg you as the type to use such a generic line," Chuck smirked, a bitter choke at his throat, like he was forcing the words out. He sat at the edge of his bed, sloppily sprawled out, preparing to hurt rather than be hurt.
The habitual groveling, it seemed, had its exceptions.
Blair narrowed her eyes, came to stand in front of him, her trench coat still pulled tight around her body. "Are you drunk?"
Chuck looked up at her, hooded eyes settling on her lips. Blair blinked at the blatant fear she saw there. It was something hesitant. His fingers twitched like he wanted to touch her. He grimaced, lifted the bottle in front of her as he explained, "Not yet."
Blair let out a crisp sigh, exasperated now. "What's wrong with you?" She paused. "What are you talking about?"
Chuck set the bottle against his knee, worked at getting it open with fumbling fingertips. He seemed perturbed, hit with the madness that always scared her, that always enamored her. He was beautiful this way, a broken boy off his hinges, a wild thing playing in shadows. And Blair was always desperate to follow.
But it was dangerous. As Blair spun around in the dark, in his arms, the New York City skyline, buildings topped with jeweled lights and crystal beams, all became that much harder to see.
"We need to talk?" Chuck echoed, almost mocking. "It seems that you're unfit to handle this thing we have going on. It's a far leap from your pedestal, after all." His lips pressed together in disdain. "I just didn't think your attempt to end this would be executed with some line from a poorly-written romantic comedy." He was hurt, that was clear. "You want out, Waldorf. Don't play dumb. You don't wear it well."
"Chuck—"
His knuckles burned white as he tried to twist the bottle open, his suit jacket stretching against his back as he hunched over.
Blair shook her head, incredulous. "Chuck."
Her dainty fingers came over his, contrasting the same as a princess's from her beast's. Blair stroked his knuckles before prying his hand away from the bottle. Once she set it down on the floor, her hands rested on his shoulders, idly massaging. Chuck frowned, watched to see what she would do next.
"You're such an idiot, Bass," Blair smirked, cupped his jaw. "You're a fool."
The corner of his lips lifted just slightly. "Is this meant to console me?"
Blair stepped away from him, reached up to pull her hair out of its ponytail, curls bouncing in perfect synchronicity all around her face. "I don't want out."
An eyebrow rose. "No?"
"No. And if you weren't such a presumptuous ass," Blair said, rolling her eyes as she pulled at the belt of her trench coat again, "you would have realized that I only," She bit down on her lip again, and Chuck perched forward, curiosity thoroughly spiked, "wanted to show you something."
The trench coat pooled at her feet, a pool of thick black silk giving rise to a goddess in noir. She wore a transparent negligee, black and laced around her milky thighs, tight at her bust, where he could see the rise and fall of her nervous breaths, stuttering in an unruly succession. Her fingers jerked, like she was desperate to wrap her arms around herself. But she held firm, rolled her shoulders back and stood confidently as he stared.
"Blair…"
"I'm not proving anything to you," Blair explained, her tone firm. When he nodded at the curve of her hip, Blair continued, "But I am proving something to myself." She stepped between his knees, nudging his thighs apart, and he immediately went to touch her, fingers spread wide under her ass.
Chuck's smile was gentle now. "Waldorf, I'm not opposed to these kinds of talks at all."
She cupped his chin. "Just watch." For once, Chuck did as he was told, laid back against his bed and propped himself up with pillows. And then Blair took a step back, exhaled as she rolled one black strap down her arm, coy and inviting as she revealed the black lace bandeau beneath. She leaned forward, braced her hands on his chest again, shimmied out of the other strap.
Chuck swallowed, eyed the black fabric gathered at her waist. "Blair, let me touch you."
She shook her head, the smell of her perfume and the rose shampoo still fresh on her hair was heady. But still, he obeyed, kept his palms flat on his own thighs. Blair leaned in and kissed him, parted her lips and tasted like strawberries, then pulled away when he tried to kiss her back.
When he opened his eyes, the negligee had joined her trench coat on the floor.
"Blair—"
"Shh," Blair whispered, pressing her lips to his ear. His pulse was racing against her cheek, thumps so quick that she could barely count them. She took his hands, hooked his fingers into the edge of her bandeau, urged him to, "Take it off."
He yanked the bandeau down, and Blair held herself back. Her breasts were flushed pink; that was inevitable. Her entire body felt hot, down to the tingle in her toes. Chuck parted his lips, stared at her chest as an artist would observe his muse in utter appreciation. His hand reached up, paused mid-air in question, and Blair allowed it.
But he only touched her breasts for a moment, cupped them, then slid his hands to cradle the back of her neck. "Waldorf," Chuck breathed, massaging her skin, "Can I kiss you?"
Blair fought back a smile. "Ye–"
Chuck's lips were on hers, his thumbs darting down to roll her panties from her legs. He kissed her soundly, pressed his lips to her neck, then to her shoulder. His fingers were warm when they parted her folds, and he groaned when he felt how wet she was. Blair gasped when a finger sank into her, thrusting slowly at first.
And then he added another.
"Chuck." Her fingers curled into his shoulder.
"Do you know how beautiful you are?"
"I—" Blair moaned, moving her hips against his palm, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Chuck," she suddenly gasped, cupping his face in both of her hands. "I wanted to tell you—" At her tone, he stilled his fingers, stroked her clit in slow circles. Blair let out low gasps, whispered, "You're the only boy who's ever seen me entirely naked." Her forehead fell to his shoulder, and she murmured, "I think...something in you set me free."
"You…" Chuck trailed off, incredulous. In one swift movement, he anchored his hands on her hips, nearly swept her off her feet as he moved to the mirror up against the wall across the room. Her skin was so soft, and he couldn't stop himself from running his hands down the center of her chest, down the slope of her back. "You're incredible."
Blair hooked her arms around his neck, ground her hips forward until she could feel his length, hard through the material of his slacks. "I need you."
Chuck's smile was dark, sans regret. "You have me."
He spun her around, took her hands and pressed them against the mirror's glass. Blair gasped, realized that she could see what he saw now, the curve of her hips, the v between her thighs. He lifted her hair away from the back of her neck, kissed down its nape. His other hand pressed low on her stomach, and he arched her back, ground against her ass.
Blair faltered. "Like this?"
Chuck kissed her neck again. "I don't want to stop looking at you."
Blair smiled, felt his knuckles on her skin as he unzipped his pants, let them drop to his knees. She heard the crinkle of foil, felt his boxers slip against the back of her thighs.
"You know," he whispered. "Before you, I never realized the allure of the nape of the neck. Every part of you…" He stroked his cock down her folds, delighted in the high-pitched moan he drew from her. "Every part of you is so beautiful." He thrust into her, then held still. "I've never been weaker for anything else."
He set one hand on her shoulder and began to fuck her, lips finding every inch of skin he could reach, his low murmurs prompting her to watch. Blair pressed her hand to the wall and thrust back against him, moaning when he squeezed one breast in his hand.
"Harder," Blair rasped.
Chuck pressed her forward, teeth biting at her shoulder. "Be a bit more specific, Waldorf."
"Fuck me harder," Blair whispered, a loud hush that fell across the room. But she forgot to be embarrassed when he spread her arms, intertwined their fingers against the frame of the mirror. She angled her hips higher, and he began to pound into her, choked noises surfacing from his lips.
"Like that?" Chuck's voice was rough, his kisses persistent.
"Yes," Blair cried. She pressed her cheek to the glass, eyes rolled back, skin trembling under cold sweat. "Oh God, yes."
"Is it that you want to hear how—" Chuck paused, a groan rumbling against her other cheek. "How exquisite you are to me? How I spend nights thinking about how easily you fit against me?" His voice raised, his words broken as he reached down to rub circles around the throbbing bud above her center. Blair was incoherent, her moans pitching until she became hoarse. She could barely hear him, but he went on, felt her walls flutter around his cock. "I thought I'd been ruined before. But now—you have ruined me for every other girl." His teeth raked down her earlobe. "I just need to know that—"
Chuck tried to finish his sentence, but it was lost when he pressed his hips to hers a final time, heat rolling under his skin, again and again, for longer than he'd ever experienced. She held onto him as he cried out, reached to cup the back of his head, down the nape of his neck, as he grunted against her shoulder.
The pleasure was all-consuming.
And the request was lost.
I just need to know that you've let go just as I have.
I just need to know that you love me like I love you.
:::
"I'll be right back. I'll—" Blair giggled, shrugged her shoulder away from Chuck's kiss. They were standing at his door in their post-coital bliss, the color of roses stamped on her cheeks, an easy grin on his lips. And still, Chuck held her hip despite her protests. Apparently, collecting her books for yet another study session was being deemed more important than rolling under his sheets all day. And it was Chuck's goal to convince her of just the opposite.
But Blair was having none of it. "Chuck. Those red F's on the top of your paper don't stand for fun, you know. I actually need to study."
"Hm," Chuck murmured. "Don't they?" He shot her a parting glance, like it physically hurt him to watch her go. And in a moment of unfiltered sweetness, Blair gave him a kiss, his chin caught between her fingertips. Blair could feel him smile as he kissed her, and she sighed, settling back against his dorm room door.
"Chuck," she whispered, breaking away from the kiss. "While we were…" Blair trailed off, smiled. "Were you going to ask me something?"
Chuck's lips lifted, his eyes glinting like he was holding back. "Just go get your books, Waldorf, and I'll entertain this whole concept of studying."
Blair grinned. "Fine."
She crossed into the hallway, her kimono fitting against her body, styled more like an eccentric dress. The boys were all in their dorm rooms, the low hum of video game blasts and house music thrumming behind closed doors. Blair was quick to head down the hall, a content little pep to her step as she crossed the pathway that led into Dexter Hall. Here the place was quiet, most of its residents down the hall, watching a chick flick in the lounge.
It was eerily quiet, sans the burst of hot blow dryers and constant chatter. Blair wrapped the robe tighter around herself, feeling a chill down her back and counting doors until she saw hers and Jenny's near the end of the hall.
She was just about to turn the corner to their side of the dorm when she heard, "Hey, B."
Blair paused, whipped around, eyes narrowing at the empty hall behind her. Not even a shadow passed, but the whisper lingered. She held firm, lifted her chin. "Who's there?" Blair frowned when there was no answer. She rolled her eyes, clutched her robe tighter around herself. "I'm not kidding."
Nothing.
It was then that Blair noticed something slumped against her door, dark and dead. She neared it with caution, glanced around, then relaxed when she realized it was only a pile of thick fabric, probably a dropped cardigan or—
A hoodie.
Like the ones boys wore when they played lacrosse at St. Jude's.
Blair picked it up, held it to her chest. She ran her fingers down the worn hem, lifted it and caught the scent of Armani Blue. Funny, that was the cologne she'd given Nate as his signature, back when he'd first begun to cut his hair and work out.
And now it was mixed with Marc Jacob's Daisy.
Blair frowned. It was all too familiar.
When she'd been young, they'd all been sitting out by The Boathouse in Central Park. It was the Fourth of July, and they were doing a fireworks show down by the reservoir. Despite it being midsummer, there was a breeze too quick for Blair and Serena's little sundresses.
Nate's hoodie had gone around Serena's golden shoulders in seconds. On the blonde, it fit beautifully, made her look even more athletic and natural. Thinking back now, Blair remembered that there had been a moment after, a scarf tossed onto her lap, another boy who would never acknowledge it, though the symbolism was something she finally understood.
Blair was smiling at the thought, but the expression faded as quickly as it had come when she found a photograph pinned to the hardwood in front of her. Blair yanked it down, stared at the ripped-up picture of Nate Archibald, his arm wrapped around someone she could not see, his lips pursed at whatever belonged to the other piece of that photo.
On the back, scrawled in a girly flourish, was a message written loud and clear.
Follow the breadcrumbs, B.
But this was not folklore. Diana's door, vandalized with the same grainy picture, just a different piece, was merely a few steps away.
And as Blair fit the pieces together, mouth going dry, heart beating once before it broke, a girl watched on in utter amusement, obsession intermingling with the satisfaction of revenge.
"Who," the stranger whispered, "is the crazy bitch now?"
:::
March 10th, 2008: The Student Lounge
In the student lounge, a fire kindled in its place, though winter was long dead. There was a slight chill outside, but the trees were already standing greener, the fields were already growing thick and healthy in preparation for spring. As the sun set, Damien took a sudden interest in botany as his frustrated girlfriend waved flashcards in his face.
"Vasco da Gama?"
"Don't know," Damien sighed, ruffling the fluffy locks of brown against his forehead. The side of his hair was plastered to one cheek from dozing off atop the desk. Jenny giggled into her hand, reaching over to fix it. He looked like a disgruntled…elf.
"Damien," Jenny urged, as peppy as ever, "Vasco da Gama, remember?" Damien peered up at her, and she grinned, tucking a blonde strand of hair back in place. The headband atop her head was wide and pink—pretty, but nothing Blair would ever dream of wearing. It was what he liked about her. Jenny was a follower by choice, taking and reinventing when she wanted to. Dreaming while others temporarily led. Damien sighed, watched her toy with the headband again. Both the princess and the pauper.
"Jen," Damien sighed, "I don't give a shit about Vasco da Gama."
"But I thought you were happy that I was taking World History with you," Jenny pouted. "You said you were happy that we'd be studying together now." She bit down on her lip. "Perhaps someone needs to take a time out."
Damien rolled his eyes, then smiled. "I know that you're trying to help. But Mister Felton is going to screw me over like he always does. He's such a—"
"Douche," a voice finished.
Diana stood before them, her books in hand. Her hair was piled up in that sexily sloppy way it always was, and her cheeks were glowing from the warmth inside. Jenny glowered as Damien unknowingly made room for the girl at the table. Diana flipped through the pages of her calculus hardback idly, humming under her breath. Damien stared between the two girls, Diana's blatant blow-off and Jenny's fuming little breaths. He frowned, instantly backtracked to make sure—
"Did I do something wrong?" Damien raked his fingers through his hair, leaned back in his seat, already prepped to make a break for it.
"Ugh," Jenny and Diana groaned at the same time, "No."
Blue eyes snapped to dark ones, leftover bits of friendship almost visibly scattered between them. Diana narrowed her eyes, and Jenny's lips quivered, like perhaps both had forgotten why they were arguing in the first place.
"Okay…" Damien trailed off, slightly pleased that the attention had been diverted from the incomprehensible stack of textbooks before them. "This is a Blair thing then?"
Diana frowned, and Jenny exhaled. Ah, that was why.
"Hey, Pinocchio," Diana muttered, tapping her pencil against the hardwood.
Jenny sighed. "Are you kidding me?"
Diana shrugged. "I thought the name would be fitting."
"Well, it's dumb," Jenny spat, slamming her book shut. "This entire thing is dumb. It's not my fault that you started dating Blair's ex. And the fact that you're blaming it all on me is just—"
Damien lifted his pencil, frowning at Diana. "You're dating Blair's ex?"
"Great," Diana said, rather pointedly, to Jenny. "Thank you."
Jenny pressed her fingers to her temples and sighed. "As if it were a secret." The blonde shook her head and glanced at Damien, who seemed a bit concerned by the expression on her face. His lips lifted, his hand came over her knee under the table. But nothing settled the way her heart raced, pain spreading across the back of her neck, then into her head, a short lifetime's worth of held back words and stifled comebacks clouding her consciousness.
When Damien noticed his girlfriend growing red in the face, he quickly cleared his throat and said, "Alright then…I enjoy catfights as much as the next guy, but I'm sure this can all be resolved if we just hear each other out." The boy adopted a meditative pose, nudged both girls' sides. "Let's take turns with the talking stick, sing Kumbaya…"
Diana slapped the back of his head. "Don't be a prick, Damien."
He laughed to himself, a snarky little chuckle that sounded too much like Chuck's, then flinched when Diana raised her hand again.
"Okay…okay. All I'm saying is that things are finally getting good for us. I'm officially borderline average at school." He shot both of them a prodding look but neither cracked a smile. "Jenny scored herself an awesome boyfriend." The blonde grimaced at him, then smiled at the wall when he wasn't looking. "…Diana is smiling again, Eric is getting over his shit with Ethan." He paused, pensive. "And Chuck and Blair haven't murdered each other yet."
At this, Damien began to clap, but the girls only rolled their eyes.
"Come on," Damien sighed. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?"
Diana shook her head. "So it was okay when we were fighting over you?"
"No…"
"Look," Jenny sighed. "Damien's right." She shot him a look. "Deluded and conceited, but he's right. I know that I—"
"Lied."
"Withheld the truth," Jenny murmured. "But…I don't want this to be how things are between us. Just this once, no one did anything wrong. And if we fight, this thing is going to be hanging over our heads forever." Jenny hesitated before sliding a hand over Diana's. She'd never had a best friend before, not one she could fall away from and still keep in sight over her shoulder—and she'd never imagined having two. She squeezed Diana's fingers like a small child holding onto something they absolutely couldn't lose. "I'm willing to forget all about this if you are." Jenny nodded to herself, biting down on her lip. "It'll be like Nate never happened."
Damien smiled as he placed his hand over theirs. "My lips are sealed."
The slaps came in unison.
"Yeah," Damien muttered, rubbing his shoulders. "Ouch."
Diana tied her hair back, a sleek black strand sticking to her lip. "I freaked out." She blinked, suddenly a bit embarrassed. "I'm not used to having friends that are girls." She thought of Penelope and scowled. "I'm not used to having girlfriends that I really care about. It's hard to trust—"
Jenny smiled, her bitten fingernails a sharp contrast to Diana's maroon, manicured ones atop the table. "I get it."
Diana grinned in relief, pleased at not having to explain herself. "Right. The most important thing is that B never finds out about—"
"Hey, watch it."
"God, what's with her?"
It was a cloud of papers at first, a stack knocked off one of the lounge's tables. And then the three could see that the storm was actually a girl, a brunette clad in a bathrobe, though she wore it like the finest Chanel. There was only one person who was capable of that, and it was—
"Blair," Damien said aloud. He blinked at her furious features, her obvious state of distress. And then he threw his hands up as if he'd known that his previous speech was too good to be true. "Well, we're fucked."
Diana shook, her body shrinking back into her chair. "Totally, totally fucked."
"I…yeah," was all that Jenny could muster up.
Blair was already poised at the head of their table, the entire room silent behind her. By the light of the fire, her features were kissed with flames, the same way they presented wrathful queens in fairytale films just before the scene broke. But in place of a cape was the fine kimono hanging from her shoulders, the black silk making her eyes darken to the same color. And in place of black magic came a broken photograph, ripped down the middle and scattered over the hardwood.
A girl who claimed to be her best friend.
A beautiful boy who'd once belonged to her.
Enter déjà vu—in its worst iteration.
"Tell me that this is some sort of sick joke." Blair's voice was deeper than usual, words forced and cutting, as if she was having trouble even speaking. Her fist clenched around the belt of her robe, fingernails cutting into her own skin.
Diana let out a breath, stared down at her own smiling face, then Nate's. "Oh…B. I—"
"I knew—" Blair cut off, stared up at the ceiling to catch her breath. "I knew that I could only have bliss if I was being punished for it. Apparently, it's all that I deserve."
"You deserve the best, Blair. Which is why I would never—" Diana got up, neck reddening at all the eyes on them. She frowned, glanced at the other students. "What the fuck are all you looking at?"
But the spectacle was too good to pass up.
"I didn't know," Diana said to Blair, grabbing for the torn picture, stacking one piece under the other. "When it all started, I had no idea. I was hurt, and we were strangers. For a long time, we were just strangers, Nate and I."
Jenny sat up straighter, glanced at Blair. "She's…she's telling the truth."
Blair looked at the blonde for a moment that seemed to last forever, lips parted in realization. "Because you knew." The girl poised herself, tucking one strand of hair behind her ear.
It was Damien who spoke this time. "Hey, wait—"
"You all knew," Blair said. Diana's hair blurred into blonde waves, and Blair recalled things that never mattered—Serena tying a bow into her hair on the first day of eighth grade, Nate's last kiss on Blair's forehead as he bid her goodbye, the two blondes covered in cake, the people delighting in hushed whispers all around the room.
Just like they were now.
So, you're prone to having panic attacks, the doctors had all said.
Blair could barely breathe.
"Blair, you're not even together. I—"
It was blind rage, a rose untamed. And suddenly, all Blair knew was how to break hearts with words that she didn't mean.
"But that world, that life belongs to me," Blair claimed. "You, Serena, why can't you get it through your heads? You're not the only ones who shine brightly. You're not the only ones who get to be golden. Nate always belonged with someone like me."
"Blair, I'm not Serena."
Blair straightened. "Are you sure about that? You might want to compare scorecards." Her smile was bitter. "Some of your lays may overlap."
"You don't get to say that to me," Diana snapped. "No one gets to say that to me."
"No one gets to do this to me," Blair corrected, slamming her hand down on the table. It was as if she forgot where she was, who was watching, the feeble material wrapped around her form. "Especially not a—"
"But," Jenny interrupted when she realized that Blair was about to say something she wouldn't be able to take back. "But, Blair." She grabbed onto the brunette's arm, feeling her stiffen beneath her touch. "Things are different now. You have Chuck."
The name woke her up like a slap in the face, like remembering how right things were at the entirely wrong moment.
Blair blinked. "I know that. It's not about that. It's not about him."
Was the betrayal still supposed to sting when she'd already won a better prize?
"I—" Blair scrambled to find the words, but Diana was no longer paying attention to her. She and the rest of the table were looking over her shoulder at a boy who'd just made himself known in the crowd—a boy who'd gone looking for his lover and stumbled into something harsher instead.
He wore a blazer over his dress shirt, arms at his side, cufflinks pressing into his skin, the ones she'd ordered a week ago, "CB" engraved into the silver. Chuck Bass, Chuck and Blair—but it never meant what they wanted it to.
Not when she was stuck on princes and he so easily fled.
Blair took a breath before turning around to face the boy.
"Chuck."
Dedication: This chapter is a very early birthday present for my dear friend, Moo, who requested that I write in that slap/kiss. Happy birthday, darling!
A/N: So, this chapter was a long time (and a lot of drama) coming. I really wanted to explore a universe in which Blair was the one who had trouble committing, not because her feelings for Chuck aren't strong, but because our B has control issues and can't really deal with losing a title, even if it means adopting a new one. But you'll see that this was sort of a slap in the face for her. A lot of barriers are broken in this chapter, and when the dust settles, CB will really have to work through what they truly want.
Also, by now, you all should have guessed who this Gossip Girl is. And, believe it or not, there's still a bigger revelation to come. As I've said on Twitter, I have the entire story outlined to about 30 chapters, and I'm so excited to show you what else I have in store. A big thank you to all of the new readers I've gotten since my last update and every one of you who has been sharing your thoughts and reviewing regularly. You guys are all amazing. Until next time! xo, N