Disclaimer: I own none of this, otherwise it would have been stupid to read the books – I mean, and they'd be mine. How cool are they, by the way? And if the show was mine, I would have resolved the Nate\Blair\Chuck issue with much nudity, or, you know, at all.

Summary: More often than not, Blair and Chuck have conversations that Blair later edits out of the perfect movie that is her life, never to be remembered again. Starts from the Pilot and goes from there.

Pairings: Primarily Chuck\Blair, but all the cannon pairings – which, this show being awesome, would take about three pages and would look like the alphabet gone mad (Example: C\B, C\N, S\N, S\D,)

Spoilers: Every chapter would center on a new episode, so…

Oh my God, I'm so late. I'm late; I'm late, to a very important date. This chapter should have been posted weeks ago; I'm-late-I'm-late-I'm-late. I'm so sorry for taking so long. Things are starting to get… confusing now. We are moving from the safe ground of UST to the land of Issues. And besides, the SATs are in less than two months! Ah! I think I might start resembling poor Dan in the next few weeks. Still writing, though, for sanity purposes.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 7

Victor, Victrola

Spotted: With your mother's lawyer, who happens to be your (as of recently. Very recently) ex-boyfriend's father, arrested for screwing… just about everybody, is this really the time to party it up, Queen B? Well, C seems to think so. Shall we take his word for it?

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Chuck Bass, newest (kinda) owner of a successful club and future owner of the world, opened the door and motioned dramatically as he announced: "Blair Waldorf, welcome to Victrola…"

Blair exhaled impatiently. "Must we do this, really? I feel sleazy enough."

"You did not let me finish," he grumbled, somewhat deflated.

She rolled her eyes. "I know. That is the point of the interruption."

Why was she spoiling his fun? He wouldn't let her. "Shut up and let me welcome you once again to Victrola…"

She smiled cheekily, "A facility for the disturbed and addicted?"

"One more time and you are outta here, missy," he warned, even going as far as to wiggle a finger in front of her face, even though she was absolutely right.

Blair laughed incredulously, but otherwise (thankfully) remained silent, nodding for him to continue.

"Good. Now, for the last time, Blair Waldorf, welcome to Victrola, where bad has never seemed so good." She groaned; he preened. "Where even you, the tightest of all tight asses, can find solace, a place to escape, a…"

She checked her watch. "Is this gonna be long?"

He promptly ignored her, taking way too much pleasure in this. "…And last but not least, my own personal playground."

"Excuse-moi?" she didn't even bother hiding the incredulous shrill from her laughter.

"I think you heard me just right," he said, grinning broadly.

"No. I seem to have gone partly deaf," she murmured dazedly. "I thought I heard you declare ownership over this…" her lip curled as she took in the scantily-clad waitress who offered her a drink. She shook her head as if the cocktail contained contagious promiscuity germs, "…Fetish Retreat"

"Nice one," he nodded appreciatively. "I think I'll put it on the stationary. Because I will get to decide on such things from now on." He sighed dreamily, "Isn't life grand?"

Blair's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

Ouch. "Well, yeah," he shrugged, grinning wickedly. "Obviously, I'm not actually gonna be bothered with the stationary…"

There was really no hope for poor battered Mother Earth when deviants like Chuck Bass owned any kind of property, especially a club in which to incorporate their kinks. And get paid for it. "Your father actually went for it?" she almost squeaked.

He chuckled, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, B."

Blair felt sick to the stomach as the prospect dawned on her. Chuck's club? The club of Chuck? A place where decency dared not show itself? And she was here? Immediately she saw an S for Slut imprinted on every forehead of every woman who set foot in this hovel.

So what did that say about her?

No, she wasn't a slut. She might have still had her boyfriend if she were.

Now, Blair, that's uncalled for.

Shut up, mother. Like you would know.

Guys always made a show of liking virgins while fooling around with the experienced goddesses behind the poor virgins' backs. Bastards.

Chuck was still looking her with this wounded pout that had absolutely nothing to do with him feeling insulted and everything to do with an air of smugness that stuck to him like cheap cologne. He was so proud of raising such disdain from her. Bastard. She shrugged, not apologetic in the very least. "I'm sorry, but… seriously? Your father is willing to invest? In this?"

Her indignation was delicious almost to the point of licking his lips. He didn't, though. Such lack of subtlety was reserved to the Humphreys of the world. "And the hits keep on coming," he mourned.

"Wow," Blair murmured, looking around at what was actually, on second thought, a pretty decent-looking club. There were no STD monsters crawling on the walls, the guests were dressed decently, good liquor was served. What was happening? Was nothing stable anymore? "Either he's as disturbed as you, or you may actually have some marketing skills," she said, almost resentfully.

He rolled his eyes and smirked, "Hush now, I may start blushing."

Aw, what a spoilt little brat. The insecurity and desperate need of approval peaked through despite his best efforts. Everyone deserved an ego stroke from time to time. She raised her chin primly, "Then you'll continue blushing when I admit to you that I only somewhat thought you were destined to screw this up."

Chuck was so pathetic. He never felt it quite so much as he did right now, when he was beaming behind a glass of champagne at the compliment that was actually pretty insulting. If his father thought he was worth something and Blair thought he was worth something, then maybe… maybe he was? Nah. Blair was probably just being nice. She had that streak of humanity with him sometimes, when no one was looking. She probably thought for sure he was wasting his time and only helped him because of her aforementioned obligation.

But he didn't care, because he wanted her.

Yes, he could admit it now (about time too). He just didn't know what to do with it yet.

He sat down on the sofa placed right in front of the stage, the seat of honor, and patted the space next to him as if it were a throne. "Well, in that case, have a seat, a drink. On the house."

Blair sat down heavily, sliding way too close to him because she was so small that gravity hardly had an impact on her. She didn't move away, but it didn't make him happy because he knew it was the result of her having no idea he was even there. The proximity did turn him on, though. He was only human, and a teenage boy at that.

She took the tall glass he offered and murmured: "This is cause for celebration, after all."

Ah, yes. Right.

She and Nate had broken up and Chuck was really very happy about this, though somewhat in denial. If they were broken up then the only thing standing in Chuck's way was the fact that Blair regarded him, depending on the day, as a platonic girlfriend, a dangerous obstacle who sometimes blackmailed her, and a disgusting hedonist that stood against everything she valued in life.

Honestly, he preferred the boyfriend-is-best-friend problem.

Before him, girls were dancing in skimpy lingerie but he didn't care. Blair, on the other hand, was absolutely fascinated by them as she sat stiffly, clutching the glass without once bringing to her lips.

Great. Even strippers held more interest to her than he did. Clearly, his situation was just splendid.

So, partly because he wanted desperately to cheer her up and play around, and partly because he wanted to draw attention to his noticeable presence by any means possible, he let only a few seconds of silence pass before speaking up. "Blair," he started, his tone grave. "I'm sorry, I have to ask-"

"Don't," she hissed. "I don't want to talk about it."

Ooh, touchy. But she still wasn't acknowledging him, damn it. "No, not that." He looked her up and down. She looked absolutely lovely. Except she was wearing a circus tent. "I was just… that dress?"

Blair looked down at herself in surprise, as if she had forgotten the monstrosity she was wearing. It was understandable, he supposed. One tended to forget about the unpleasant aspects of life.

She chuckled wearily, "Horrible, I know."

Understatement. "What the hell?"

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. "My mother picked it," she sighed, looking down at herself yet again. "In her teenage years, no doubt."

Chuck curled his lip, "It's atrocious. Unfit for the public eye."

It could have been insulting had his expression not been so… funny. "O-kay, no need to rub it in, Bass," she laughed. "The dress is a moot point, I'm afraid."

But Chuck was undeterred, too busy undressing her in his mind and not too quietly either. "I mean, where the hell is the cleavage? Shoulders? Anything?" Blair rolled her eyes but his breaks had malfunctioned and he couldn't stop. "I'd let it slide if this were one of those tight, golf sweaters, but it's… not. It's just…" he winced. "Not."

"Anytime you want to stop is fine with me," Blair laughed again, mostly to cover for a rebellious blush that crept up her neck to her cheeks. It was nice to feel so desirable in such an undesirable piece of fabric. If anyone could make something sexy out of it, it was Chuck. His slimy charm and disregard for any decorum surpassed reality.

"And where is that delicious pair of legs?" he almost whined. "No cleavage or legs? What a rip-off."

"Such a charmer," she said dreamily, leaning back with a sigh…

…Which brought her even closerto him, and him even closer to hell. She smelled like fine perfume. Her lips were luscious and enticing. Someone stop him before he drives off a cliff. "I'm trying to help you, B. Someday, you'll thank me," he smirked, raising his glass in emphasis.

Blair shook her head and wished very much to be naked right now. Well, not like that. "I should develop a better backbone in regards to my outfit and watch what I wear outside the house, roger that. Now will you please drop it?"

Mission accomplished: Blair both felt better, and was annoyed at him enough to acknowledge he was there. Chuck felt so proud. "Reluctantly," he sighed. "I could go on for hours about the horror that is this dress."

"So I've noticed," she grinned. "Listen, I was at least allowed to choose my own headband."

He inspected the piece as if he gave a damn. His train of thought was usually: headband equals Blair Waldorf equals hot. Thus was his interest in headbands. But still, this one was yellow, elegant, and delicate – like its owner. Well, minus the yellow part. His romanticism definitely left something to be desired. "Ah, yes, the Waldorf signature," he drawled. "I still think it'd be better accompanied by Channel 5 and nothing else."

Blair ignored him expertly. Honestly, she needed a little break from the innuendoes. Thirty minutes straight on a day like this was just a bit too much. Instead, she turned to Chuck conversationally: "Speaking of signatures, where's your scarf? I haven't seen it all day. Did you two break up?"

Chuck beamed at the attention. Aw, did she stare at him for hours at a time and notice every little detail about him too?

Heh. Yeah, right, Chuckles.

"You don't think it's outdone?" he asked, fishing shamelessly.

Blair waved her hand, dismissing the notion. Imagine the devil without his flaming pitchfork. Imagine Hannibal Lecter without the muzzle. The Joker without the Joker card, Freddy Kruger without the metal nails, Lex Luthor without… but she was digressing. "Of course it's not overdone, Chuck. It's one of the top three things that pop to mind when one – for some reason – chooses to think about you."

"Do I wanna know what the other two are?" Chuck asked, interest piqued. He probably would have been somewhat less than thrilled had he known he was – at the very moment – being compared to Freddy Kruger. Not every attention was positive attention, after all.

She smiled sweetly, "Why, obscene and malevolent, naturally."

Not dashing and irresistible? He winked. "I love it when you talk dirty."

Rolling her eyes, Blair continued: "Next would be smarmy and manipulative. You know, if you were looking for a top five."

"Why, Blair, I didn't know you cared," he nudged her slightly and took a sip of champagne – though it was probably not an entirely good idea to encourage himself to lose even more control. "Would you like your top five now?"

"No, thanks," she raised a hand to stop him, chucking lightly. "I have a feeling it would either be insulting or just plain derogatory."

What was derogative about Dominatrix Waiting to Happen? "I can assure you, it wouldn't have been."

Blair took a deep breath and prepared to be horrified. "Alright then, go ahead."

Curious, are we? Chuck smirked and leaned back. "No, I don't think so," he drawled. "Too late now."

"Shame," Blair groaned, clicking her fingers in disappointment.

How did people see her, she wondered. Putting twisted, sex-driven Chuck aside, how did the people who had other things on their minds – namely Nate – see her? Probably nagging, strict, anal retentive, frigid, stiff. What charming Top Five qualities, indeed. Even Chuck's list was better than that.

The exact opposite of Serena. She was nothing like Serena.

Blair stared at the dancers, noted how they dominated the stage. They weren't the prettiest, or even the best dancers, but there was something magnetic about them. They attracted, they fascinated, they drew you in. They were the picture of sensuality. Burlesque was known for its funny-looking dancers and subtle movements. The dancers didn't quite give themselves over to the crowd but there was no doubt as to their intentions.

They teased men but never let them win. Like Serena.

Serena twirled around the world, turning heads and causing car accidents, only to spit in all their faces and run off with the sensitive boy from the wrong side of the tracks.

And what did Blair do? She didn't tease, just gave herself fully.

And what did she get? Nothing.

She clutched her untouched champagne glass, almost to the point of shattering it but not quite, much like the state of her nerves. The dancers became the center of her world.

Chuck, always in tune with Blair Waldorf's moods, noticed the change in atmosphere. Blair had an aura of bitterness that was usually attributed to her mother, her boyfriend, or Serena. In this case, he imagined, it was something of all three. Blair was never crueler or more impulsive than she was at those very moments. It was great fun, sometimes.

Not right now, though.

"Look, I know you don't wanna talk about what happened…"

"Relief," she snapped, staring straight ahead in determination. "I feel relief." She looked at the dancers and thought, 'screw this, I'm not anal retentive'. Everything could be faked, even confidence. Her lips quirked slightly. "You know, I've got moves."

Oh, man. He grinned mischievously, knowing a challenge when he saw one. "Really? Then why don't you go up there?"

She chuckled as if she wasn't deathly serious. "No. I'm just saying, I have moves." She wanted to break loose but she needed him to challenge her. This couldn't be of her own volition; she was Snow White. She was Snow White 363 days of the year, except for that one day when she kissed random engaged tacky strangers for no good reason and the one day when Chuck Bass forced her to be bad.

And Chuck knew this. "Come on, you're ten times hotter than any of those girls," he nudged, voice dropping to a tempting whisper. You know you want to, he almost said.

She rolled her eyes, the perfect picture of 'I would never. "I know what you're doing, Bass." There was a beat, in which she considered the best opening. "You really don't think I'll go up there."

He smiled affectionately. "I know you won't do it."

Thank you. Her eyes burned of defiance. So, did he really think she wouldn't? Oh, no. "Guard my drink," she said, almost stonily.

Chuck motioned her to the stage without even blinking. It was usually pretty stupid to trust a guy like him with beverages of any kind (though it was pretty widely known that he went for easy, not illegal and monstrous), but this was Blair Waldorf. Blair Waldorf, even before this stupid crush, was probably the only girl alive who was safe in the presence of Chuck Bass.

So safe, in fact, that he had become said platonic girlfriend. Not an ideal position to be in when one falls deeply in lust, despite what movies would tell you. He was invisible to her as a man, he knew this. She could give him her drink, be alone with him in the most secluded spots, hell, even ask him to hand her a towel while she was in the shower.

Well, he liked to think so, at least.

Blair swiftly got up and climbed the steps leading to the stage in what seemed like three long strides. No one protested – as if they would.

First went the headband, and Chuck had exactly three second to be disappointed until he noticed the way Blair's bangs sprang to life, bouncing around her, framing her face.

The ugly dress stopped being a problem a second later.

As the zipper of her dress slid down Blair's body, so did Chuck's blood stream. No longer was he able to walk, talk, think, or perform any activity that didn't involve gaping. Even swallowing was proving to be a challenge.

She always liked to tease him, but never quite so… literally.

Did she think it was funny to watch him squirm?

Knowing Blair, she probably did.

He stood up simply because he couldn't take it anymore. He felt stupid, sitting and staring like that. He'd be drooling next, for crying out loud.

Who's that girl?

I have no idea.

In Chuck's head, there were girls, and there was Blair.

It was just the way of the world.

There were girls, which he liked, or liked a lot, or wanted to see naked. Girls who were fun, kinky, shy, damaged, punishing, eager to please, exciting, seductive. And hell, if he was honest, he wanted to see all of them naked.

And then there was Blair.

This isn't to say he was madly in love with her for his entire life and had to watch - with ache in his heart and tears in his eyes - as his best friend whisked her away on his white horse with his mother's hideously disproportional engagement ring.

Well, probably not.

But either way, Blair Waldorf was just so… so perfect and yet, so not. She fell into all the aforementioned categories in a way that made him think of her as some freak accident of nature, albeit a blessed one. Someone he liked hanging out with who was also hot. How quaint.

He never tired of that wicked, witty, adorable Goddess. Never a dull moment with that one. And as for sleeping with her… well, he was forbidden from thinking about it, but what was Nate's excuse? The idiot. Although, maybe Nate's celibacy had a point after all, if you thought about it. Because, sleeping with Blair? With Blair? The mere idea was mind-boggling. You couldn't just sleep with Blair and move on your merry way. Oh, no. Blair was… Blair. How did one come out of that one with his sanity in tact? With the ability to move on with life?

If you slept with Blair, you had to know it was forever.

And seeing how Chuck's stupid best friend was stupidly in love with Blair's stupid best friend, maybe it was best that Nate didn't seal the deal, because Blair Waldorf also deserved her carefully built fairytale.

Blair Waldorf deserved whatever the hell she wanted, and she usually got it, pleasantly or not.

And now, there she was, dancing on stage, for him. To spite him, more accurately, but still – he was the center of her attention for once. The target of the teasing glances over her shoulder? It was him. Her eyes never left his except when they were closed in pure relaxation.

The song urged him to come and try, and God help him, he wanted to.

And Chuck Bass couldn't look away to save his life. She cut loose, she taunted, she was evil, she was having fun and she didn't care that he was suffering. In fact, she relished in it, drew pleasure from it. It was, simply put, amazing.

He told her as much, and she kissed him.

He asked her if she was sure since his mind was officially blown away.

She never answered, which should have really drawn his attention.

But before that…

The song ended and she smirked in triumph, tossing her hair back one last time. The crowd went wild but she never even glanced at the positive attention she was getting. Instead, she tipped her head ever so slightly in a twisted sort of bow. Done and done, it seemed to say. Chuck raised his glass again, returning the sentiment. And how.

Quick as a cat, she turned around and walked straight through the curtains as if she owned the place. Figures she wouldn't just stoop back to the commoners when she had just revealed she was a queen.

Chuck smirked and made his way backstage.

There he found her in one of the rooms, sitting on one of the chairs, legs and arms crossed, waiting for him.

"Nice exit," he commented with a grin. "Very dramatic. Very fitting."

"Of course," she said, conveying everything he thought about before in two simple words.

He leaned on the wall, slipping into his own persona. Deadly and dashing, that was. "Did you have fun?"

Blair smiled, "Lots."

Chuck emitted a dramatic sigh, "Well, then my work on this earth is obviously done."

She stood up and sauntered brazenly over to him in her little white slip. "Done well, I should add."

The groan got stuck in his throat just barely. Damn it. What was this? Did the girl have no mercy and/or self awareness? What, did she forget he had eyes? Did she usually saunter around wearing nothing but lingerie? What a bitch.

Get a grip, Chuck Bass.

With a deep breath, he was back with a bang – uh, smirk. "Wait," he drawled, "There's still one more thing left for me to do in this world."

Her smile widened. She was clearly enjoying herself. "Enlighten me."

Gently, he took her hand and brought it to his lips.

Blair tilted her head in question.

"Would the lady require a ride home?"

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