A/N: It's been awhile since I updated this, so it might be helpful to reread the last scene of Chap 15. Also… this is rated M.
Chapter 16: Kiss with a Fist
You hit me once
I hit you back
You gave a kick
I gave a slap
You smashed a plate over my head
Then I set fire to our bed
-Florence and the Machine
After pausing to check her reflection one last time, Blair adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose. She tucked a few stray curls beneath her cashmere headscarf and made sure the ends were tied securely underneath her chin.
She looked just like Jackie O., she decided with a nod of approval, and snapped her compact mirror shut.
Satisfied with her disguise, she stepped out of the towncar and strode towards the wrought iron gates of the Palace courtyard, tugging up the collar of her wool coat as she walked.
Of course, it wasn't unusual for her to visit Chuck's suite, so her presence alone wouldn't be cause for suspicion- but since these late-night trysts were likely to become a regular occurrence, she figured better safe than sorry.
Once she was inside the elevator and headed to floor 18, she pulled her phone out of her pocket to check her messages again.
Still nothing since she'd texted him earlier that afternoon.
still on for 10?
see u then
(Just "see u then"? she thought indignantly. No "can't wait" or "miss u" or "don't wear panties"?)
She realized that she'd heard very little from Chuck since their rendezvous at school the day before. He'd been too busy to talk on the phone that night, and his replies to her text messages- even the flirty ones- had been brief and noncommittal. And somehow they hadn't even seen each other at school all day long.
She had to admit, his aloofness worried her a little. It produced just a hint of that nagging fear she always used to feel with Nate- the suspicion that something was wrong, no matter how many times he reassured her otherwise.
But she convinced herself that she was just overreacting. After all, Chuck was new at relationships, and he probably had no idea how insecure and crazy she could get from analyzing the hidden meanings in a three-word text message. And she didn't want to freak him out, so she figured it was best to keep most of her relationship neuroses on the DL- at least for the time being.
Upon arriving at room 1812, she removed the scarf and sunglasses and tucked them neatly inside of her purse, and then rapped on the door. She frowned when she didn't hear a response, knocking once more before swiping her keycard and pushing the door open.
Her eyes went immediately to Chuck, who was sitting on the living room sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a tumbler of scotch dangling carelessly from one hand.
And her heart dropped in her chest when she saw the expression on his face.
"Hey," she greeted him with forced brightness, dropping her bag on one of the bar stools and draping her coat across the back.
"Hey," he responded coolly, not meeting her gaze. He swirled the glass in his hand and eyed it with inordinate interest.
"I missed you at school today," she commented.
He nodded, but remained silent.
"We're still on for our… committee meeting tomorrow afternoon, right?" she said breezily, trying to disguise her growing dread.
When Chuck finally raised his eyes to meet hers, she realized that it wasn't boredom or disinterest reflected back at her.
He looked… pissed.
She swallowed tightly, disconcerted by how much this unnerved her.
"Chuck, what's..." she faltered, fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know, Blair," he responded with a pointed shrug. "You tell me."
She stared back at him, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Is there maybe something… you neglected to mention earlier?" he went on in a frosty tone.
"Oh!" The syllable escaped her in a sudden exhalation. "Carter…"
"Oh yes, about Carter," he went on with affected nonchalance. "Perhaps you could explain why you're going on a date with him this weekend?"
"I told you, it's not a date-" she began.
"And why I had to find this out from Nate, of all people?" he continued as if she hadn't spoken, his jaw taut with annoyance.
"Nate?" she echoed. "How did he even know?"
"Not really the point, Blair," Chuck said sharply.
She sighed, nodding in acknowledgement, and took a seat on the sofa next to him.
"Okay, I know, I should've told you earlier," she admitted. "And I was going to, before the wedding, I just… hadn't gotten around to it yet…"
She trailed off, realizing that none of this sounded terribly convincing- and he simply stared back at her, his expression tense and implacable.
"Chuck, it was my mom's idea, I don't even want to go with him. I promise you have no reason to be upset," she insisted.
"I am not… upset," he interrupted, emphasizing the word with distaste.
It was his immediate denial- the disgust in his voice at the very suggestion- that made her realize exactly how upset he was.
"Chuck," she said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I put it off because I was afraid you might get ups- annoyed, and things have been going so well… between us…" She averted her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush.
Talking about their relationship face-to-face, sober, and fully-dressed, was not something that felt entirely natural yet.
"I guess I just didn't want to… cause problems," she finally concluded.
He was quiet for a moment, and she glanced back over to find him staring down into his glass.
"So nothing's… going on with Carter?" he asked abruptly.
She blinked in surprise.
"What?" she snorted. "Of course not. Carter's an ass."
"So am I," he pointed out, a hint of dark humor in his voice.
The corner of her mouth quirked up.
"Yes," she agreed playfully. "But you're my ass."
She reached out to place her hand over his and felt him tense at the unexpected contact.
"It doesn't matter who takes me to this wedding, Chuck. We agreed to be monogamous," she reminded him.
She ran her hand across the back of his, feeling the tendons flex beneath her fingertips.
"Don't you trust me?" she asked.
"Of course I do," he replied in a gruff tone.
"So are you about done being jealous then?" she teased him.
"Jealous?" he repeated in disbelief. "I'm not… jealous."
Feeling assured that the crisis was now averted, she pulled herself up on to her knees and swung one leg over his lap, straddling him against the back of the sofa.
"You are totally jealous," she countered, tracing her thumb across his full lower lip, which was protruding just slightly. "And it's… adorable."
He narrowed his eyes at her, indicating his disapproval of her word choice.
But then he placed his glass of scotch on the side table and wrapped his hands around her waist.
"Maybe just a little," he conceded, looking slightly disgruntled by the admission.
She gave a playful smile before leaning in to kiss him. Capturing his lower lip between both of hers, she gently sucked on it, dragging her teeth along the inside until she heard his breath quicken.
"Don't be," she murmured against his mouth, and then pulled a few inches away from him, just enough to look him in the eyes, and touched him softly on the cheek. "I'm your girl."
Chuck didn't say anything- just gazed up at her, lips slightly parted, thumbs stroking idly against her hipbones. But she could see the warmth, the affection softening his caramel-colored eyes.
That contented little smile that was reserved for her and her alone.
She was the only one who got to see this side of him- and it never failed to make her insides quiver.
"You know… I think we just had our first fight," she declared, her lips curving into a grin.
"You say that like it's a good thing," Chuck replied, the skepticism in his voice offset by his slightly erratic breathing, as she began to press kisses along his jawline.
Her mouth found that especially sensitive spot right below his ear, and his head tilted back to allow her better access, his neck growing taut as she stroked it with her tongue.
"Because it means we can have our first make-up sex," she whispered against his ear.
She caught the lobe between her teeth and nibbled on it, relishing the feel of him growing hard beneath her. Slowly, purposefully, she rolled her hips, grinding her body against him until they were both breathing heavily.
"I like the way you think, Waldorf," he replied in a husky voice.
Sliding his hands under her skirt to cradle her ass, he rolled her over onto the sofa.
.
.
"Hey Jen," Dan said absentmindedly, as his sister came through the front door in a flurry of blonde hair and shopping bags. He barely glanced up from his book, but he did a double-take when he saw what she was carrying.
"Is that from Bergdorf's?" he asked, staring at the label on the garment bags slung over her arm.
Jenny continued past him, unperturbed.
Frowning, he dog-eared his page and tossed the book onto the sofa before following his sister to her bedroom. He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, watching her spread her purchases out across the bed.
"How did you pay for all that?" he finally asked.
"Dad's credit card," she replied with a casual shrug.
"Jen," he admonished her. "Are you serious? That's like… thousands of dollars worth of stuff!"
She sighed, looking annoyed by the lecture.
"Which is exactly why I'm not keeping it," she replied.
"What do you mean, you're not keeping it?" Dan's brow furrowed in confusion.
"I'm going to make my own version, and return it," she explained, as if talking to a small child. "I had to buy them both because I wasn't sure I'd be able to find the right shade of silk to match the Badgley Mischka…"
Unzipping one of the garment bags, she pulled out an emerald-green gown and hung it on the back of her closet door. Turning back to the bed, she rummaged through one of the bags from Mood and retrieved a long swath of identical silk chiffon, spreading it out across her work table with a quick snap of her wrist.
"And the shoes?" Dan asked skeptically, eying the boxes that Jenny had stacked by the foot of her bed. "Are you also a cobbler now?"
Jenny rolled her eyes.
"I put sole protectors on them so the bottoms don't scuff, then I can return them afterwards," she explained.
Dan opened his mouth to point out the questionable morality of this plan, but, after spotting the mutinous expression on Jenny's face, thought better of it.
"After what, exactly?" he asked. "I thought you already had a dress for the Snowflake ball."
"I do, this is for the Prentice wedding this weekend," she replied with just a hint of triumph in her tone.
"Wait, you got invited to that?" Dan asked, taken aback. "How?"
"Oh, Nate asked me to go with him," Jenny said in an airy tone, as if that sort of thing happened to her every day.
Dan stared at her for a beat.
"Nate… Archibald… asked you on a date?" he asked in disbelief.
Jenny nodded smugly.
"But…" he trailed off, turning this development over in his mind.
On the one hand, Nate going out with another girl kept him away from Serena, so that was a definite plus. On the other hand, Nate going out with his little sister meant… Nate was going out with his little sister.
That was a definite minus.
He stood in silence for a moment as his brain attempted to do the math.
"Dan." Jenny blew out an annoyed breath. "Can we just preempt the whole protective big brother routine? It's not like I've never gone out with guys before."
"You've gone out with one guy before," Dan corrected her. "And he was gay."
Jenny narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not appreciating the reminder.
"Well, it was inevitable that I would find a heterosexual to date sooner or later, they're only like 90% of the population," she replied frostily. "And could you at least pretend to be happy for me? I mean, you would've given your left arm for a date with Serena when you were a sophomore."
The realization that Jenny was almost as old as he'd been when he'd started dating Serena was an uncomfortable one. His little sister, Dan decided, was growing up way too quickly.
But she did have a point. Perhaps he should try being more of a supportive older brother, and less of a… black raincloud of judgment.
Besides, Nate did seem like a decent enough guy, aside from the fact that he barely had two neurons to rub together.
"You're right, Jen," he conceded. "I'm sure you two will have a… great time together."
"Thanks," she replied, her voice distorted by the handful of pins she was holding in her mouth. She'd already begun marking off her pattern on a swath of muslin, and he just watched her work for a moment, awed by her ability to create garments seemingly out of thin air.
"So…" He cleared his throat. "Do you know if Serena's going with anyone, or if maybe she might need a, umm…"
"Oh, I heard she's going with Quinn," Jenny said absentmindedly.
"Quinn?" he echoed in disbelief.
"I don't think it's a date, they're just going as friends," she added.
"He doesn't even have a neck…" Dan muttered under his breath.
"Besides," she went on. "He's probably doing you a favor. After an evening spent trying to carry on a conversation with that guy, she'll be begging for a dose of your pretentious pseudo-intellectualism."
Dan frowned at the backhanded compliment.
"So says the girl going with Nate Archibald," he commented snidely, but Jenny merely rolled her eyes.
She did have a point though, he reflected. After all, Serena had been eager to reunite after their summer apart. Maybe all she needed was a little time to miss him. Maybe just another week or so… then he could start wooing her again in earnest. And maybe if he'd finally worked out the conclusion of his short story by then, he could give her a copy of it, and she would be moved to tears by his poignant depiction of their epic romance.
Maybe he'd throw in some flowers too. Girls loved flowers.
Mumbling a goodnight to his sister, Dan headed back to his own room, resolving to work through his writer's block as soon as possible.
.
.
"What do you think, man?"
Chuck glanced over to Nate, who was standing in front of the full-length mirror, holding up three vests in varying shades and patterns against his charcoal tuxedo jacket.
"Green?" Chuck questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Seems a little… colorful for you."
He spread his feet at Vincenzo's urging, the gray-haired tailor kneeling on the dais to press a measuring tape along his inseam.
"Well, Jenny told me her dress was green, so…" Nate shrugged, studying one of the vests as if he were trying to see a Magic Eye illusion in them.
"You're not matching a bridesmaid dress here, Nathaniel," Chuck pointed out. "Think… complimentary colors."
Nate responded with a blank stare.
"Silver," Chuck added succinctly, trying not to roll his eyes.
Nodding obediently, Nate returned to the rack of vests, returning with a handful of swatches for Chuck's examination. He cast a brief glance over them before gesturing towards a muted pewter shade.
"Arms," Vincenzo ordered, his heavy Italian accent muffled by a mouthful of pins, and Chuck relaxed his arms against his sides, allowing the tailor to measure the fit of his jacket across the shoulders.
"Really?" Nate studied the swatches with a furrowed brow. "Because this one is more silver…" He picked up a metallic fabric, vaguely reminiscent of a disco ball, and held it up against his jacket.
Chuck and Vincenzo eyed his selection with equivalent looks of derision.
"Except you're not going to a prom in the 80s," Chuck pointed out wryly.
Vincenzo muttered something in Italian about gigolos.
Nate sighed in concession, replacing the rejected swatches back on the rack.
"Usually Blair just picks out something for me," he explained. "You know, so it matches whatever she's wearing…"
"Well, it's never too late to… learn how to dress yourself," Chuck murmured, and then snorted with laughter at Nate's affronted expression.
"Whatever," Nate grumbled. He cast a disparaging eye over Chuck's white dinner jacket and black trousers. "What about you? Do you think you're starring in a Bond movie or something?"
"It's classic, Nathaniel," Chuck replied, unperturbed.
He smoothed down the lapels of his tuxedo, assessing his reflection in the three-way mirror; he could totally pull off Bond, he decided.
But more importantly, it would go perfectly with Blair's gown- an elegant, backless black and white number that would look absolutely mouth-watering on her petite frame. She hadn't shown it to him, but he'd happened to catch a glimpse of it the other day.
After giving her seamstress a hundred and his most charming smile.
Just because he and Blair weren't technically each other's dates didn't mean they shouldn't coordinate, he reasoned. Surely they'd get in a few turns around the dance floor- always keeping a socially-appropriate distance, of course. Looking for all the world like a couple of old friends.
Except they'd be covertly eye-fucking the hell out of each other, waiting for the moment when they were finally alone… and could do it with more than just their eyes.
There was something so delightfully naughty about playing platonic at an uptight society function.
Feeling the stirring of his body in response, Chuck decided he should probably corral his thoughts before poor Vincenzo had quite the tailoring situation on his hands.
"You've got to be kidding me," he heard Nate suddenly mutter.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he glanced up to find a most unwelcome sight.
Carter Baizen.
He was leaning against the front counter on his elbows, surveying the small shop with a disinterested expression. His posture was relaxed, his entire body radiating that carefully-cultivated air of bored superiority that came from being too rich to give a shit about anything or anyone.
Chuck knew it well- he'd seen it in the mirror for the better part of a decade.
But that didn't make him hate the smarmy little prick any less.
Carter's gaze landed on them. He smirked.
"Archibald," he drawled. "Bass."
Chuck could feel his jaw clench in annoyance.
"Baizen," he replied shortly.
"You two getting all gussied up for the festivities this weekend?" Carter inquired, a humorous note to his voice.
Chuck said nothing, his only response a contemptuous stare.
"Didn't know you were back in town, Carter," Nate commented, making little effort to disguise the antagonism in his typically genial voice.
"Yeah, I'm interning at my dad's firm starting next week," Carter replied with a disinterested shrug. "Something about… 'straightening up and getting my act together'. You know how it is."
His gaze landed back on Chuck for a moment.
"Or maybe you don't," he added with a hint of dark amusement.
Nate snorted.
"Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," he muttered.
"Aww, why so serious, Archibald?" Carter asked, his brow furrowed with feigned curiosity. "You worried I'm gonna dance a little too close to your ex-girlfriend again?"
Nate remained silent, glowering through his tawny manbangs.
"I mean, my relationship with Blair is purely platonic, but if she wants a shoulder a cry on…" Carter trailed off with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows. "Who am I to refuse a woman in need?"
Chuck felt his chest tighten, and opened his mouth to reply- until he saw Nate stiffen in outrage out of the corner of his eye, and remembered that the lewd insinuation wasn't meant for him.
He bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue.
"Blair wouldn't touch you," Nate replied sharply. "She's got better taste than that."
Carter chuckled.
"Yeah, maybe," he allowed. "But you know, it's remarkable what a recent breakup and a couple of drinks will do to a girl's… taste level."
At that moment, Vincenzo's wife appeared from the back room, a tuxedo draped over her arm in a clear plastic garment bag.
"Waldorf?" she read off the tag.
"That's me," Carter replied drolly, taking the bag from her grasp and holding it up for a quick examination.
White tuxedo jacket. Black trousers.
Chuck's eyes widened in disbelief.
Carter glanced over at him, and then back at the garment bag, his eyes twinkling with barely-concealed mirth.
"Oh, don't fret, Bass," he said mockingly. "There's no shame in looking like a knockoff version of me. Which… let's face it, is pretty much what you are anyway…"
Chuck gritted his teeth in annoyance.
God damn, he hated that fucker.
"Well, it's been fun catching up…" Carter's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, his lips still twisted into a patronizing smirk. "But I've got to be going. See you boys Saturday."
The bell hanging on the top of the front door chimed softly as he departed, echoing through the tension-filled room.
Chuck swallowed down the aggravation tightening his throat.
He told himself it didn't matter that Carter had practically announced his plans to make a move on Blair. Or that Nate was clearly peeved by the entire situation, for reasons that Chuck preferred to not consider too carefully.
Because Blair was his girl now.
A stab of possessiveness twinged in his gut, a reaction that was starting to occur with disconcerting frequency; apparently his transition from commitment-phobe to jealous boyfriend had taken all of a week.
Sighing at the irony, Chuck glanced down at his outfit and felt another burst of annoyance.
"Vincenzo, I need a different jacket," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders out of the one he was wearing and holding it out on the end of his index finger. "In black."
Nate snorted.
"Aww, are you upset Carter's wearing the same dress to the ball as you?" he asked teasingly.
"Shut it, Nathaniel."
.
.
"Champagne?"
Blair glanced back from the window to the proffered flute.
"It's barely 4PM, Carter," she replied derisively. "You really can't wait two more hours until the reception?"
Carter rolled his eyes, bringing the flute to his own lips and taking a long swig. "Don't be such a buzzkill, Waldorf," he muttered.
Blair narrowed her eyes at him, choosing not to dignify that with a response.
She couldn't put her finger on precisely what it was about him, but Carter Baizen had this certain way of radiating smugness, this almost mocking way of talking to her, that just… rankled. It made her yearn for a chance to put him in his place, preferably with a well-timed, caustic piece of wit. Or perhaps a sharp kick to the shin.
On the other hand, he was an appropriate escort to a society event; her mother had certainly been right about that. And they did look quite eye-catching together. His tuxedo was the perfect foil to her gown, the white of his jacket setting off the embroidery on her bodice exactly the way she'd envisioned.
Although his hair was too light, and slicked back with some sort of greasy substance that made him appear even smarmier than usual. And his eyes were too light as well, lacking the depth and intensity of a darker pair. Dark like coffee, dotted with tawny flecks that appeared almost gold in the light… narrowing just so when they raked over her figure, as if contemplating all the things he wanted to do to her…
Feeling the car roll to a stop, Blair shook her head sharply to regain her wits.
Within moments, the inside of the limo was whirling with pink chiffon and blonde hair, Serena greeting them both enthusiastically as she hopped in and took a seat beside Blair. Quinn followed more sedately behind, looking appropriate enough in his tuxedo- a mere prop to Serena's effortless radiance.
"Ooh, champagne!" Serena flashed a wide grin as Carter poured her a glass.
"Glad to see at least one of you is planning on having some fun tonight," he commented dryly, with a challenging look in Blair's direction.
"Aww, come on, B!" Serena coaxed, giving her a playful nudge as she took a sip of her drink.
Feeling three sets of eyes fixed on her, Blair conceded with a sigh and held out her hand grudgingly.
She soon discovered the champagne did wonders for her mood. It also made her feel pleasantly light-headed, but that probably had something to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten all day.
And Serena's high spirits were infectious as usual, so the two girls were soon giggling together as they discussed the goldmine of gossip that was certain to lie in store for them that evening. Mixing Manhattan's elite with six hours of open bar was a foolproof recipe for scandal.
"I can't believe Nate's bringing Jenny," Serena commented, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I mean, I don't think they're dating or anything, but… how did that even happen? It's not like they ever hang out."
"Hell if I know," Blair said disdainfully. "Little J might as well have 'social climber' tattooed across her forehead, Nate's just too clueless to realize it."
"Come on, she's not that bad," Serena protested, her brow creasing earnestly.
"She'll probably be wearing one of my hand-me-downs," Blair continued, contempt dripping from every word. "It's not like she has anything else to wear."
Serena frowned.
"I thought you two were friends," she said, confused. "I mean, you did pick her to co-chair the Snowflake ball committee."
"Yes, well…" Blair hesitated.
For a moment, she'd forgotten that Serena had no idea why she'd befriended Jenny in the first place. Initially she'd kept it to herself because Serena was still with Dan, and after that she just figured it was best to avoid any mention of her tryst with Chuck.
"All I'm saying is that I recognize conniving when I see it," she said finally, adding a haughty sniff for good measure.
"Or maybe you're just pissed because she's moving in on your territory," Carter interjected with a knowing grin.
"Nobody hit your buzzer, Carter," she shot back.
"Hey, if you want to use me to make Archibald jealous…" He smirked suggestively. "I'm more than willing to oblige."
Blair shot him a look of disgust, which only seemed to increase his amusement.
"Oh, we're here!" Serena announced excitedly as they pulled to a stop in front of the church. "Does my hair look okay, B?" she asked, shaking it artlessly over her shoulders.
Blair evaluated the blonde mane with a critical eye; it framed Serena's face in loose, shiny waves, the strands catching and reflecting the late afternoon sunlight until it glimmered like spun gold.
She looked like she'd just walked out of a shampoo commercial.
"It looks perfect," Blair said at last, resisting the urge to smooth a hand across her own meticulously-coiffed updo.
The four of them made their way into the church, past the clusters of paparazzi camped out to catch a glimpse of the happy couple- even among jaded Manhattanites, the marriage of a Rockefeller was still a momentous occasion.
Once they were seated, Blair discreetly looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of Chuck. She finally spotted him, several pews in front of her, sitting with Bart, Lily and Eric. She could only see the back of his head, the whorl of thick, dark hair that brushed the tops of his ears- but it still brought a smile to her face.
And only one row back sat Nate, flanked by his mother and… Jenny Humphrey.
Blair gritted her teeth in annoyance.
She wasn't upset that Nate was there with someone else- actually, that bothered her far less than she'd expected. But this was a high-profile event, and the idea that someone might start whispering that Nate Archibald had dumped Blair Waldorf forJenny Nobody-from-Brooklyn was… completely unacceptable.
Clasping her hands together in her lap, Blair resolved to have the most overtly fabulous evening imaginable. As long as she looked like she was having the time of her life, no one would even dare to think of her some sort of… scorned woman.
There'd be plenty of time to exact her revenge on Jenny later.
.
.
Several hours and one extremely boring religious ceremony later, Chuck was sipping his way through his third martini. He leaned against a gilt-trimmed pillar while he surveyed the other occupants of the Plaza's Grand Ballroom, his idle gaze and languid posture belying the fact that he was intently tracking someone.
Someone who happened to look absolutely delectable in her black evening gown, he thought, surreptitiously watching Blair waltz around the ballroom.
Her full-length skirt swirled around her legs in layers of filmy chiffon, occasionally revealing a set of strappy black stilettos gliding over the polished floor. The fitted, v-neck bodice emphasized her tiny waist, elaborate embroidery showcasing a slight but tempting hint of cleavage, the open back displaying a tempting expanse of pale, silky skin. Her hair was swept up into an immaculate chignon, a few carefully chosen tendrils framing the sides of her face- and his eyes kept following the dangling onyx-and-pearl earrings down to the exposed curve of her neck.
But she still hadn't given him a good opening to approach her, he thought with a twinge of annoyance. She'd already danced with Carter two numbers in a row-which irritated him far more than it should have, due to the cut of her gown and the not-quite-proper positioning of his hands.
Although he was somewhat mollified to see her step heel-first onto Carter's foot when his hands wandered too far south.
"Chuck Bass?"
He turned, his eyebrow arching in response to the murmured greeting, to find a familiar-looking blonde woman by his right elbow.
Karen, maybe?… or Kelsey… something similarly pedestrian.
He couldn't remember how he knew her, and he didn't particularly care, so he simply furrowed his brow in an expression of vague recognition.
"Yes?" he returned disinterestedly.
"You don't remember me," she realized, her lips tilting upwards in a disbelieving smile.
Experience had taught him that it was better to neither confirm nor deny in these types of situations, so he just stayed quiet and waited for her to elaborate.
"Kendra Warren," she reminded him, shaking her head with a little laugh. "We met at the Bass Industries charity gala two years ago?"
Warren… right. College-aged daughter of one of his father's business associates.
After the gala, they'd gone to an afterparty at some club, which had turned into an eight-hour coke binge- during which he'd fucked her in a not-very-secluded corner of the VIP lounge.
No wonder he didn't remember her- not only had he been completely blitzed, but that sort of thing had been a fairly routine weekend for him back then.
"Right, Kendra," he said finally. "How's it going?"
He made little attempt to conceal the disinterest in his voice, but she didn't seem fazed.
"Better now," she said with a suggestive smile. "I was afraid this party was going to be… terribly dull."
Chuck smirked a little in acknowledgement.
"So…" she trailed off, running one finger down the lapel of his jacket. "Do you have any plans for after the reception?"
.
.
"How about we stop for a drink?" Carter suggested, his mouth a bit too close to her ear, and Blair nodded stiffly.
She was going to need more than a few drinks to get her through the evening, she thought. Between keeping Carter at a safe distance, ignoring Nate, chaperoning Serena- who thankfully appeared to be behaving herself tonight- and plotting to find a way to dance with Chuck, casually, so as to avoid suspicion… pretending to have a fabulous time was becoming quite taxing.
They walked off the dance floor together, Blair's perfect society smile ossifying when she felt Carter's hand linger on the small of her back for a moment before he headed off to the bar.
Apparently almost impaling him on her heel had been too subtle, she thought grumpily.
As she waited for him to return with her drink, she scanned over the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of Chuck across the sea of people turning and swaying across the dance floor.
When she finally did, however, she felt her heart drop.
He wasn't alone.
There was a voluptuous blonde standing far too close to him.
Smiling up at him suggestively, intimately. Running one hand down his chest.
And he was letting her.
She felt Carter return to her side, drink in hand, and she quickly schooled her expression into one of indifference.
"Do you know that girl?" she asked, her tone conveying the intended mix of boredom and disinterest. "She looks… familiar."
"Who?" Carter followed her gaze. "Oh, Kendra Warren. Her mother's in the Colony Club."
Blair arched in eyebrow in disbelief, casting a disdainful glance over the plunging halter neckline and thigh-high slit of her gown.
Clearly her mother hadn't managed to teach her any class.
"She looks… delightful," she murmured, the haughty disdain in her voice unmistakable.
She couldn't see Chuck's face from this angle, but she could see that he hadn't moved. He hadn't thrown the girl's hands off him in disgust and told her to take her tramp ass home. And apparently he hadn't told her that he was taken, thank you very much, and wouldn't be interested in her tawdry… charms, even if he weren't.
"Yeah, Kendra's pretty much a sure thing," Carter commented with a hint of mirth. "Surprised he'd go back for seconds though. Seems a little early in the evening for that."
"Seconds?" Blair echoed, feeling the blood drain from her face.
Carter glanced over at her.
"Yeah, a year or two ago." He shrugged. "I had a front-row view, they weren't very discreet about it."
Blair swallowed back the tears clogging her throat, avoiding Carter's curious gaze.
She'd been an idiot to think Chuck would change just for her, she thought despairingly. It didn't even matter that she was in the same room, or that they'd planned to spend the night together- he was just drawn to shameless bimbos like a moth to a flame.
Thank God she hadn't brought him as her actual date. She would've ended up completely humiliated by the end of the evening.
"Blair?" She looked up and realized that Carter was studying her with narrowed eyes.
Giving him a tight-lipped smile, she downed her martini in two quick gulps and replaced it on the bar with an audible clink.
"Let's go dance," she said, her tone brokering no disagreement.
If this was how Chuck wanted to play it, she was more than game.
.
.
"I'm afraid I'm… otherwise engaged this evening," Chuck responded, fully aware that he didn't sound the least bit regretful.
"That's a shame," she purred in response.
Her fingernails traced against the smooth satin of his lapel, her face tilted up towards his, lips curved in that same wicked little smile.
"Mmm," he replied noncommittally.
He was surprised, actually, that he didn't feel the least bit tempted. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a strong desire to sleep with someone other than Blair. Even at the White Party, he'd just grabbed the easiest-looking woman in the vicinity so he could get laid with a minimum of effort.
And now, with this... Kelsey? seemingly two seconds away from mounting him, all he felt was an overwhelming urge to push her away. Her hands, her smile, her grating little laugh- everything about her just felt all wrong.
Clearly this whole monogamy business had done quite a number on him, he thought with an ironic quirk of his lips.
"Well, I'm having a party at my suite tomorrow night," she suggested, her eyebrows raising in anticipation. "Maybe we can take a rain check."
Glancing down at her hands still playing with the front of his jacket, he realized that Kelsey didn't seem to be taking the hint. He briefly considered telling her he was seeing someone- but that would lead to follow-up questions that he wasn't allowed to answer yet. He'd just have to let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn't interested in a repeat performance.
He took a step backwards, which had the intended consequence of her hand sliding off his jacket, and opened his mouth to deliver a polite, but firm, dismissal.
When his gaze suddenly caught on the dance floor, where Blair and Carter were dancing far closer than they'd been before.
His fingers, trailing across the bare skin at the small of her back. Her fingers, resting on his shoulder and toying playfully with the collar of his shirt. Her face, tilted up to give him a coquettish little smile, all pouty lips and fluttering lashes.
He stared in disbelief, waiting for Blair to unsheathe her claws with a sternly-worded reprimand, or another "accidental" dance misstep.
But instead, he watched as she giggled at something Carter said, gazed up at him seductively through her lashes, and then leaned up to whisper into his ear.
Leaving their bodies pressed closely together, swaying slowly back and forth.
Their clasped hands shifting until their fingers were intertwined.
The surge of revulsion, of almost violent anger, that coursed through his body was so intense, it was all he could do to keep himself from stalking over and knocking Carter to the floor.
Don't you trust me?
The words echoed mockingly in his ears.
He had trusted her, against his better judgment. And he'd been an idiot to do so.
It was Cotillion all over again.
But he wasn't running away this time, he decided grimly. If their relationship didn't mean anything to her, he would damn well show her he felt the same way.
Turning back to his companion, he regarded her with slanted eyes and the hint of a smirk.
"You look like you could use a drink," he offered.
The blonde's eyes lit up.
Too easy, he thought disparagingly, barely suppressing an eyeroll.
"Lead the way," she replied, her mouth curving in a triumphant grin.
He slipped an arm around her, his thumb stroking lazily along the bare skin of her back as he led her towards the bar.
His impassive expression giving no hint of the anger roiling beneath the surface.
.
.
Two dances later, Blair felt like her face was going to crack from all the fake smiling she was doing.
Not to mention that being all touchy-feely with Carter was starting to make her a little nauseous.
"How about another drink?" she suggested, sliding her hand teasingly down his forearm.
"Sure."
He draped an arm around her back, his fingers squeezing into her waist. She just gave him a coy smile, pretending that she welcomed the overly familiar gesture- and ignoring the look of concern and confusion she could feel Serena shooting her way.
Her smile froze, however, the second her eyes landed on Chuck.
He was propped against the end of the bar on one elbow, engaging in what appeared to be a very intimate conversation with the same trampy blonde. She was seated on a stool next to him, swirling a tacky pink martini between her fingers, and angling her torso so that her well-exposed cleavage was directly in his line of sight.
And based on his expression, he was definitely enjoying the view.
Blair watched in dismay as he leaned in, murmuring something against the woman's ear with a naughty little smile. She laughed in response, rewarding him with a similarly wicked grin, her hand reaching up to touch the side of his neck.
Her fingers lingering there. Stroking him.
While he gazed back down at her, clearly undressing her with his eyes.
Blair had to swallow back the bile rising in her throat; for a moment, she thought that she was going to be sick all over the floor of the Plaza ballroom.
She knew she couldn't bear to stay here a minute longer.
"Carter," she murmured, turning into his body and trailing her fingers down the front of his chest. "What do you say we get out of here?"
Desperate to convince him, she decided to up the ante, giving him her most alluring look and tracing the tip of her tongue along her upper lip.
She was unprepared, however, for what came next.
Before she realized what was happening, or that Carter had mistaken her gesture as an invitation, she felt his mouth pressed against her own. For a moment she simply stood there, frozen in shock, as lips that were too soft, too thin, too… wet, moved against her own.
When she finally regained the presence of mind to pull away, the first thing she saw was Chuck's face.
He was staring directly at her, his nostrils flaring with rage.
Looking angrier than she'd ever seen him in her entire life.
Before she had time to even react, he'd turned on his heel, shaking off his companion's roving hands and stalking towards the exit.
Whereupon Carter, having no clue what he'd just done, promptly leaned in for another kiss.
The resounding slap that followed echoed across the enormous ballroom.
He jerked back from the force of it, staring at Blair with stunned eyes as she wrenched herself out of his grasp.
Heads swiveled to stare, furious whispers increasing in volume as Blair ran towards the door with the flowing skirt of her gown bustled up in one hand. When she finally reached the outer corridor, safe from the throng of curious onlookers, she released a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.
Then she saw a dark-haired, tuxedo-clad figure disappear around the corner.
She wasn't even thinking, just acting purely on instinct- buoyed by anger and indignation and embarrassment- when she chased after him.
"Chuck," she called out in a hushed whisper.
He didn't even turn around- just continued walking at a quick clip down the back corridor, heading towards the hotel's rear exit.
"Chuck," she repeated in a louder tone.
She quickened her pace to a near jog to catch up to him.
"Chuck," she snapped, grabbing him by the arm to force him to stop, and he finally spun around to face her.
She took a halting step backwards when she saw the fury radiating from his eyes.
"What. The fuck. Was that?" he hissed at her.
Momentarily speechless at the anger she could feel rolling off him in waves, she took a second to regain her own outrage.
"I could say the same to you," she shot back indignantly.
"Me?" he scoffed. "I'm not the one who was sucking face with Carter fucking Baizen."
"No, you were just getting felt up by some… desperate tramp," she retorted with a visible shiver of revulsion.
Chuck recoiled in surprise, his eyes narrowing at her.
"Don't try to turn this around on me, Blair," he said sharply. "I didn't lay a finger on her until I saw you and Carter pawing each other all over the dance floor."
"That is bullshit," she spat back. "The only reason I was even dancing with him was because she was all over you, and you weren't doing a thing to stop her."
He opened his mouth to reply when the sound of footsteps made both of their heads jerk around.
A white-tuxedoed waiter gave an uncomfortable cough, averting his eyes and wiping his hands nervously on his pants. Chuck and Blair stared each other down in silence as he quickly trotted past them.
"Anyone could see us out here," she pointed out in a loud, angry whisper.
"Oh yes, God forbid you do anything to publicly embarrass yourself," he replied mockingly.
Blair's only response was a fierce glare.
Quickly scanning the hallway, she spotted a unisex bathroom several doors down. She grabbed Chuck by the arm- paying no attention to his disgruntled expression- dragged him into the small room, and locked the door behind them.
Whipping around to face him, she saw that his eyes were still blazing, his anger not having abated in the slightest.
So she decided to go on the offensive.
"What's the matter, Chuck, couldn't you find anyone to hit on at this wedding you hadn't already slept with?" she snapped.
He blinked in surprise.
"How did you-"
"Carter told me," she replied in a tight voice. "Although I should've guessed, right? You've probably banged half the women in that room."
He glared at her in disbelief.
"I'm not going to apologize for my past, Blair," he replied in a low voice, his fists still clenched with muted fury. "This is about tonight. This is about the fact that I just watched you kiss another guy right in front of me."
"I did not," she countered defensively. "He kissed me. And I didn't want him to, at all."
"Well, I wonder how he could've gotten the wrong impression," Chuck mused, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Maybe because you were throwing yourself at him like… what was that phrase you used?" He pursed his lips in feigned contemplation. "Oh right- a desperate tramp?"
She inhaled sharply, staring daggers at him.
"I was only doing… that because I saw that brazen hussy crawling all over you," she retorted, lifting her chin haughtily. "Did you even think of just telling her 'no'? Or 'down,' or 'heel?'"
"I was trying to do exactly that, before I saw you dry-humping your escort all over the dance floor," he shot back, taking a step towards her.
Realizing that they'd reached an impasse, she simply glared at him, her body quivering with indignation.
And he glared right back at her.
His dark eyes smoldering with anger, frustration… and a fierce possessiveness that made her pulse race.
She had only a moment to contemplate it before his lips captured hers in a forceful, aggressive kiss, stifling her gasp of surprise.
His hot mouth opened against hers, his hand grasping her neck as he kissed her with increasing urgency, his body maneuvering her backwards and pinning her against the bathroom wall. His hands roamed across her curves with barely-restrained aggression; needing, seeking, demanding capitulation, caressing her with a purposeful roughness that set her entire body ablaze.
They were pressed so closely together that she could feel his heart pounding against her chest, and the echoing thump of her own in tandem.
Her last coherent thought was that they actually had a hotel room upstairs.
Then she felt him yank the fabric of her skirt upwards, his fingers grip her thighs and press them apart, his hips thrust forcefully, insistently against hers- and coherent thought quickly evaporated.
Her whole body felt hot, unbearably so, the cool tile against her bare back doing nothing to quench the fire shooting through her veins, the heat pooling between her thighs, the desperate desire to have him inside her, right here and now.
Chuck's mouth burned a path down her neck, kissing, sucking, biting, leaving marks; she was certain she'd be furious about them later, but right now they only fueled her arousal, her craving to feel him claim her entirely, possess her, fuck her until the only thing she could see or taste or smell was him.
She felt the straps of her gown being wrenched down her shoulders, left to dangle uselessly at her sides as Chuck turned his attention to her breasts- licking and sucking each taut pink nipple in turn, sucking so hard that she whimpered in a mixture of pleasure and agony, and she clenched her fingers into his hair so roughly that he hissed in pain, and yanked him upwards to fuse their mouths together once again.
He retaliated by biting down on her lower lip, but it only spurred her on, her tongue thrusting aggressively into his mouth, parrying with his, fighting for dominance. Her hardened nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt until she couldn't bear it any longer, yanking apart his bowtie and ripping at buttons until she reached bare flesh, digging her fingernails into his skin and delighting in the low growl that rumbled through his chest.
She reached down and pulled at his zipper impatiently, making a throaty sound of satisfaction as she freed his cock. She took it, hot and throbbing, into her hand, and felt it grow harder with every stroke. Chuck's breath was coming out in harsh pants against her neck, his teeth scraping across the delicate flesh, his hands fondling and squeezing her breasts, tweaking her nipples until a dart of pleasure shot directly to her core, making her gasp aloud.
With swift, purposeful movements, he pulled her away from the wall and hoisted her up onto the sink, leaving his hands free to slip on a condom, and her hands free to roam over his bare chest, his shoulders, his neck. She touched him with almost greedy hunger, reminding herself that he was hers- all hers- and he'd have the scratches and welts and bite marks to prove it.
For one brief moment, their eyes met- and the wild, unrestrained want in his gaze almost scared her with its intensity.
An answering shiver of lust rippled down her spine.
And then he was inside her, plunging to the hilt with one deep thrust; then again, and again, his fingers gripping her hips so hard she was sure they would leave bruises, his mouth on her neck, sucking her skin between his teeth, branding her as his.
Her lips curved upwards in wicked satisfaction at the thought.
As his pace quickened, it was all she could do to keep her hands on his shoulders, her thighs wrapped around his waist. She began to feel that unmistakable tightening in her center- that hot, needy ache that made her dig her nails into his skin, her moans turning into eager whimpers and finally hoarse, demanding cries.
Her entire body arched against him, taut and shuddering as a blinding orgasm ripped through her. His fingers digging into her flesh and his teeth biting her neck only intensified her pleasure, sharpening the sensation until it was nearly unbearable, until she thought the sweet, throbbing ecstasy might shatter her into pieces.
She was still trembling with aftershocks when she felt him pull out of her. A soft whimper of disappointment fell from her lips as he set her back onto her feet.
"Turn around," he commanded, his low, husky voice thick with lust.
She complied on unsteady legs, shivering as she felt his hands slide up her thighs to her ass, to her hips, to the small of her back, to the nape of her neck where he pressed down, urging her to bend forward. Her hands gripped the back of the sink as she watched his reflection behind her in the mirror; his darkened eyes trailing slowly, hungrily over her exposed curves.
Then her breath expelled in a rush as he thrust into her once again.
God, this man would be the death of her, she thought, rocking her hips back against him, already eager and ready for more.
But what a beautiful death it would be.
.
.
"I'm… really sorry about that, Carter," Serena murmured as they made their way down the hallway, taking another sympathetic glance at the red handprint across his cheek.
She was pretty sure she could see the outline of Blair's actual fingers.
"Don't be, it's not your fault." Carter gave her a wry smile.
"Let's just find something to wrap these in," she went on, the glass of ice cubes she'd grabbed from the bar jangling in one hand. "Maybe they'll have a Ziploc in the kitchen."
"Well, I couldn't have asked for a lovelier nurse," he said charmingly.
Serena felt an odd little flip-flop in her stomach.
"You know, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson by now," Carter commented in a thoughtful tone. "Which is to never get between Nate Archibald and Blair Waldorf. Apparently it always ends with me getting hit in the face."
Serena blinked at him in puzzlement.
"Remember Cotillon?" he asked, and mimed a punching motion towards his jaw.
"Oh!" Serena said, remembering how this situation appeared from Carter's point of view. "Right."
She knew better, of course. She'd spent the entire evening watching Chuck and Blair's game of jealousy roulette with increasing trepidation, dreading the moment when a live round finally blew up in everyone's faces.
Thankfully Carter had no idea what kind of clusterfuck he'd inadvertently stumbled into, even though he'd ended up as collateral damage.
"Right, Nate's… so jealous when it comes to Blair," she said distractedly, averting her gaze. "Yeah, definitely."
Carter came to a sudden halt in the middle of the corridor, a furrow appearing between his brows as he studied her expression. Serena tried to look innocent and guileless as she stared back at him, but somehow she just knew that the truth was written all over her face.
"Holy shit, she's got something going on with Bass," Carter realized, and let out a disbelieving little laugh.
"Shh!" Serena shushed him, looking around frantically to make sure there was no one within earshot.
Carter just shook his head, still chuckling.
"I should've known," he mused. "He's been trying to murder me with his eyes all night long. And then she asked me about that girl who was hanging all over him…"
Serena felt a swell of panic inside of her. She knew that Blair would murder her, both literally and figuratively, if news of her super-secret affair got out and her best friend was somehow responsible.
"How the fuck did Bass manage that?" Carter pondered aloud. "Wait, does Nate…" He looked at Serena, his eyes lighting up with wicked amusement. "Does Nate not know?"
"No, nobody knows," she insisted in a hushed tone. "It's a total secret. Please, Carter, promise me you won't say anything to anyone."
Carter took a moment to consider her plea.
"Please," she repeated.
"Okay, okay, fine," he said, holding up his hands. "On one condition."
Serena just stared at him.
"Let me take you out sometime," Carter said in a low, velvety voice.
She felt blood rush into her cheeks. "I… I'm not sure if-" she started to say, but Carter was already grinning.
"I'll take the fact that you just turned red as a tomato as a yes," he interrupted her. "How about drinks on Thursday? I have a feeling I'll have a lot more fun with you than I did with Waldorf tonight."
Serena let out an exasperated breath, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling.
"Deal," she finally agreed. "But if only if you solemnly swear to keep… what we just talked about a secret."
"I do," he promised, and looked at her with dancing eyes.
And then they both heard a muffled noise, and turned their heads towards it.
A moan, faint but distinct, echoing from behind the door several yards down the corridor.
"Oh Chuck…"
Serena's eyes widened in horror.
Carter's eyes widened in glee.
"Oh God… yes… YES…"
"Uh, maybe we better make it Tuesday," he said with a grin, taking a traumatized-looking Serena by the elbow and steering her back towards the ballroom. "Because at this rate, I'm pretty sure they're gonna blow this secret on their own."
.
.
A/N: Hmm, seems like their relationship is quickly becoming the worst-kept secret on the UES, no? Wonder how that's going to turn out… For the record, I never intended for this story to become a smutfest, but I'm finding it difficult to write Chuck and Blair in a relationship without constantly wanting to bone each other, haha. Not sure why the GGWriters failed so spectacularly hard at that in S3…
Anyway, I don't usually ask for reviews (That's a lie, you say! You ask for them all the time!). Okay fine, but this was like 10,000 words and I think TUF's a little jealous that my other story's getting so much more attention, so… maybe show it some love?
(Right, and I do have a S5 story in-progress for anyone interested. I'm thinking I'll keep my angry show-related rants to that and leave this as the happy S2 oasis it's supposed to be. Remember S2, writers? That was that awesome season that you keep failing miserably at imitating with this one? Oops, sorry. Snarking is like breathing for me, I really can't help it.)
Thanks to Terrabeth for her splendid betaing, as always, and thanks to my reviewers, especially those who've been prodding me to update this: Eternally Romantic, bfan, maryl, Infinitywr, Rf, dreamgurl, livelybass, Adriana, Aliennut, Krazy4Spike, 24hrscout, KelGGBel, Stella296, CBfanhere, Questacious, aliceeeebeth, katharienne, ellibells, notoutforawalk, Bellemme, Rossiee, Nicole208, kousi, fanny, Olivia, kim, flipped, fiona249, 13maggi13, CBBW3words8letters, Arazadia, Iz, sophie, annablake, Incorrigible dreamer, fswickar, freaktonight, louboutinlove, Clair Carlyle, Shaz, svenjen, 2xlivegonzo, and natyroganlover.