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A/N: So it's been many, many months since I updated this story… apologies for the delay, and hopefully some of you are still interested in reading more! If so, you're in luck, because this is about 10,000 words of CBness.
It's early November of S2 in TUF-land, and Chuck and Blair are now officially in a relationship, but haven't gone public yet. And just as a reminder, the story went AU as of 1x13, so 1x18, 2x01, etc., never happened here.
And it's still rated M. Like, serious business, maybe-don't-read-it-on-your-phone-in-a-public-place style M. Enjoy!
Chapter 18
The quiet ding of the elevator echoed across the first floor of the Van der Bass penthouse.
Lifting his gaze from the investment portfolio on his lap, Bart Bass watched a petite brunette enter, her heels clacking against the marble as she strode confidently through the foyer.
Only to come to an abrupt halt when her gaze landed on him, her brown eyes widening with surprise.
She recovered in an instant, though, straightening her spine and curling her lips into a practiced society smile.
"Hello, Mr. Bass," she greeted him with perfect poise. Only the tightness of her fingers around her handbag strap hinted at any discomfort.
"Blair," he replied impassively, acknowledging her with a slight incline of his head.
"I… didn't know you were back from Singapore."
"Negotiations went faster than expected." He shrugged. "And I have business to attend to in New York."
"Well, I'm sure Lily is thrilled to have you back so soon," Blair said with forced warmth, her polite smile still firmly in place.
"Yes, she certainly did enjoy her new necklace," Bart responded dryly.
There was a silence that lasted a second too long.
"Well." Blair cleared her throat. "I'll just let you get back to your work then."
She was already heading towards the rear of the penthouse when Bart's next comment stopped her in her tracks.
"Serena's not here."
Blair turned back to face him, a puzzled crease wrinkling her forehead.
"Serena," he repeated in an obvious tone. "You just missed her. She left about twenty minutes ago. I believe she's gone… clubbing."
The last word was infused with derision.
"Oh." Blair exhaled a quick breath. "Actually… I'm here to see Chuck."
Bart regarded her skeptically.
"We're supposed to study together," she elaborated, gesturing towards the textbook clasped under one arm.
"Study?" Bart repeated, his lips twisting in a wry smile. "Are you sure you don't have my son confused with someone else?"
He eyed her up and down, taking in her bright red headband, neatly-pleated skirt, and cashmere sweater set. "Or is this part of some… school-mandated tutoring program?"
Blair frowned.
"Actually, it was Chuck's idea," she replied, tilting up her chin. "He's been doing… much better in his classes recently."
Bart took a moment to consider this dubious assertion.
Well, the girl wasn't necessarily lying, he supposed. It wasn't as if his son's grades had anywhere to go but up. And if Blair Waldorf had taken him on as some sort of academic charity project, who knew? Maybe it could actually help.
Maybe he could even lowball his first offer when it came time to buy Chuck's acceptance into one of the lower-tier Ivies…
Given his arrest record, though, it seemed doubtful.
"He's in his room," Bart replied finally, returning his gaze to the sheaf of papers in front of him. "Studying," he added in a droll tone.
.
.
Blair quickly made her way down the hallway- at least, as quickly as she could, without making it obvious to Bart how eager she was to escape his presence. When she reached Chuck's bedroom door, she paused for a moment, taking a deep, calming breath to steady the drumming of her heart.
Normally she had Upper East Side parents eating out of the palm of her hand, but there was just something about Bart Bass that threw her off her game. His icy blue gaze seemed to see straight through her usual Marcia Brady act.
And straight through her little cheerleading routine on Chuck's behalf.
She hadn't actually lied, though. Just… exaggerated. So what if the "recent" improvement in Chuck's grades was as recent as two weeks? Or that she was only assuming they'd improved because he'd actually attended most of his classes for a change?
Or that Chuck's enthusiasm over their study date had most likely stemmed from the assumption that there would be no actual studying involved?
Minor details.
With Phase One of her boyfriend-improvement initiative (Get Chuck to Go to Class) now complete, tonight was the launch of Phase Two: Get Chuck to Do His Homework. Since the operative entity (Chuck) was completely unaware of said initiative, the success of which depended upon him remaining that way, Blair had prepared for this deceptively simple "study date" with the precision of a general readying for battle.
She rapped quietly on the door.
"Come in," she heard on the other side, and pushed it open.
Chuck was lounging on his bed, one knee propped up and the other folded to the side, as he thumbed across his iPhone screen. He was still wearing his school clothes, minus the jacket and tie, but he'd undone several shirt buttons to reveal the base of his throat and a hint of dark chest hair beneath. His hair was just a bit rumpled, one dark lock curled temptingly against the edge of his brow.
"Hey," he murmured, smiling up at her.
It was one of those lazy, knowing smiles that made her breath catch in her throat and her cheeks flush pink.
"Hi," she chirped in response.
It was downright embarrassing the way her body reacted to him sometimes. One smile, and she turned into a besotted schoolgirl, with her heart and lungs and other… parts, all a-flutter with excitement.
Chuck deposited his phone onto the bedside table, then turned back to recline against the pillows, both hands folded behind his head. He regarded her with an expectant look.
As if he expected her to crawl right across his bed and jump him.
Ignoring the impulse to do precisely that, Blair cleared her throat and produced the textbook she still had tucked under one arm, depositing it onto his bed with a flourish. It was so heavy it bounced twice before finally laying still on the duvet.
Chuck frowned at it in confusion.
"I brought all of my notes," she said cheerfully, retrieving a spiral-bound notebook and leather pencil case from her oversized Bottega Veneta. "And my highlighters. I find it's helpful to color-coordinate my annotations, so I can cross-reference them with the textbook. You may have a different system, of course."
There was a beat of silence. Chuck's gaze flicked down to her study materials, and then back up to meet hers.
"If this is your idea of foreplay, Waldorf, I think we need to expand your repertoire," he commented, his voice laden with skepticism.
Blair rolled her eyes.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Chuck," she chided him. "I asked if you wanted to study together."
"Given the usual agenda of our 'yearbook committee meetings', I think I can be forgiven for assuming that 'study date' was a euphemism," he said dryly.
"Well, maybe it could turn into one later…" she replied in a coy tone.
Taking a seat on the side of his bed, she turned her head to gaze at him through lowered lashes, employing all of the seductive persuasiveness at her disposal.
He still looked unconvinced.
Maybe it was the color-coordinated highlighters, she thought to herself. She probably should've worked her way up to those.
"Chuck," she cajoled, "I need to do my homework, but I really wanted to see you. I figured we could… work first, and then play later."
She reached out to rest her hand on his thigh, and felt the muscle instantly contract beneath her fingertips. His eyes dropped down to her hand and lingered there- as if willing it to inch its way upwards- before rising back up to meet her gaze.
She batted her eyelashes several times and gave him her most enchanting smile.
"Fine," he conceded at last, begrudgingly.
In an instant, every hint of seductive longing had vanished from Blair's face, to be replaced by purpose and enthusiasm.
"All right," she said decisively. "We're supposed to read chapter 5, section 8, and then do the worksheet we got in class." As she spoke, her hands busily stacked notebooks, papers, and writing implements into neat piles along the foot of the bed.
Then she flipped open their calculus textbook to the correct section, which she'd already marked with a color-coded tab (yellow, for Thursday), kicked her shoes off, curled her feet up underneath her, and commenced reading about integration of trigonometric functions with a contented little sigh.
Several moments passed before she looked back towards Chuck, who had yet to move an inch.
"Aren't you going to get your book out?"
"Left it at school." He shrugged. "Don't worry, I can keep myself entertained."
She saw his hand start to reach back towards his phone.
"Oh, well, you can just share mine." She scooted over and patted the spot beside her on the duvet.
His hand paused, suspended in midair over the nightstand.
She looked back over her shoulder at him with an expectant smile and another innocent fluttering of her lashes.
Finally he heaved a sigh, rolled onto his knees, and crawled over to sit next to her.
Victory, she thought to herself, inwardly smirking in satisfaction.
"Just let me know if I'm reading too fast for you," she said cheerfully, as she uncapped her pink highlighter.
.
.
Tick
Tick
Tick
The room was so quiet that Chuck could actually hear his own watch marking off the passing seconds.
Which it had done, thousands upon thousands of times, since the beginning of this torturous little exercise.
Studying- at least, studying according to Blair Waldorf- was an extraordinarily slow process. Every other word needed to analyzed and highlighted. Sentences were copied verbatim into a notebook. And every single sample problem in the text needed to be independently worked out- despite the fact that the solution, and the steps needed to obtain it, were already right there in front of them.
If Blair were this meticulous about all of her schoolwork, he had no idea how she ever managed to get any of it done.
"Ready?" She glanced over at him, her hand poised to turn the page over.
"Mmm hmm."
But despite the mind-numbing tedium of spending two hours in front of a calculus textbook, Chuck had managed to keep himself entertained.
First, he decoded Blair's highlighting system. The colors were ranked according to some sort of importance scale- a system that she took very seriously, often spending several seconds with an adorable little furrow between her brows as she debated between yellow and pink ("medium high" and "high" importance, respectively). And when he'd picked up the blue marker to highlight a passage himself- mostly just to see her reaction, since she hadn't even used the blue one yet- she'd visibly flinched.
Blue must be "highest importance," Chuck decided.
Then he watched her do practice problems. She would cover the solution with the top of her scratch paper in order to avoid peeking, and then carefully work through the problem in her neat little handwriting, nibbling on her lower lip when she paused to think. Then she would slide the paper down and confirm that her answer was right, giving an unconscious little nod of satisfaction when it invariably was.
He was perversely curious to see how she would react if her answer weren't correct.
But it hadn't come up.
Mostly, though, Chuck just watched her. He watched her lips purse when she had to read the same passage multiple times. He watched her blow out a frustrated breath, stirring a wisp of hair that had strayed down her cheek, when a problem took longer than it evidently should have. He watched her tap the end of her pencil against her chin as she contemplated something, the eraser rebounding against the curve of her lower lip.
He watched the eraser slowly stroke its way along that plump, pink swell, and imagined replacing it with his finger. Or maybe his tongue.
Or maybe-
"Hey!" Blair's voice snapped his gaze upwards to meet her brown eyes, which were narrowed in suspicion. "You're supposed to be reading!"
Chuck shrugged unrepentantly.
"How do you expect me to pay attention to anything," he murmured, reaching out to coil that stray curl he'd been eying around his finger, "with you lying right next to me, looking like that?"
Her cheeks suffused with color as he tucked the stray lock behind her ear.
"Yes, well." Blair's attempt at primness couldn't quite disguise the smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. "We're almost finished, so… keep it in your pants, Bass."
She returned her attention to the last page of their assignment, while Chuck propped his chin on one elbow and unabashedly admired her.
Even lying on her stomach on his bed, Blair still looked perfectly put-together. Glossy curls spilled down her back, gleaming against the silky-soft cashmere. Her skirt was carefully tucked around her hips, not a pleat out of place. Her tights-clad legs were bent upwards at the knees and neatly crossed at the ankles. Every now and then, her toes would flex unconsciously inside the red fabric.
Chuck eyed them, pondering how quickly he could peel that material off of her legs.
"All done!" she announced suddenly, closing the book with a decisive snap.
"Thank God." Chuck wasted no time leaning in for a kiss.
He cupped one hand behind her neck, tangling his fingers into the curls at her nape, and slanted his mouth over hers; his other hand braced them against the bed as he arched her body up beneath him. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting the sweet flavor of her lip gloss and the peppery hint of wintergreen on her breath.
"Chuck…" she protested softly, when he finally paused to take a breath.
"Mmm?"
His mouth moved down to her neck, leaving a hot trail of kisses from her jawline down to her shoulder.
"Chuck, we still need to do the worksheet."
Feeling her palms pressing into his chest, he drew back, confused, and Blair used the opportunity to slide out from under him and sit up.
"The what?" He rolled over onto his back, blinking stupidly.
"The worksheet we got in class," Blair explained in a patient tone.
She reached for her notebook and retrieved a stapled sheaf of papers from it.
Jesus Christ, he thought. Was this some kind of sick cosmic joke? After seventeen years of complete academic negligence, the universe must be punishing him with a girlfriend who wouldn't fuck him until he finished his math homework.
"I left mine in my locker," he sighed. He rubbed his hand across his forehead in frustration and willed his erection to abate. "You go ahead and do yours, and I'll just… wait here."
"Oh, no need for that," Blair said brightly. "I brought another copy."
She reached into her notebook and produced a second set of papers, which she held out towards him with an upbeat smile.
Chuck stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowing.
"Now why would you do that?" he asked abruptly.
"In case you forgot yours," Blair replied, pretending to not understand the problem.
He'd been mildly suspicious of her behavior ever since she'd shown up, but since he hadn't been able to rule out the possibility that homework was just Blair's idea of a good time, he'd played along.
But now… he couldn't decide whether he was more offended by the goal of her manipulations, or the fact that she considered him gullible enough to fall for them.
"And why do you care so much whether I do it or not?" There was increasing sharpness in his tone.
He rose to his feet and she followed suit, a furrow of concern appearing between her brows.
"Why are you so determined not to?" she countered, hands on her hips. "Do you want to fail?"
"I've never cared much either way." Chuck said with a shrug, the motion more angry than disinterested. "But you obviously do. The question is, why?"
"So I want to help my boyfriend do well in school," Blair acknowledged. "Is that so wrong?"
"When it's just a nicer way of saying that my current performance doesn't meet your standards," he infused the word with mockery, "then yeah, I have a problem with it."
Blair exhaled in frustration.
"I can't imagine you ever pulled this crap with Nate," Chuck added with a derisive snort. "He would've fallen asleep or thrown himself out a window over an hour ago."
"I never had to, because Nate could keep himself off of academic probation!" Blair shot back.
The words seemed to echo across the silence between them.
Well, there it was, he realized. The first of many unfavorable comparisons.
But even though he'd seen this coming a mile away- even though he'd basically goaded her into saying it- he still felt a painful tightening sensation in his chest. Like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs.
Blair opened her mouth, and then closed it again, appearing at a loss for words.
"Look…" she said finally. "Nate does the best he can with his… abilities."
Chuck would've laughed at his friend's expense, if he hadn't been consumed with an almost overwhelming desire to break something.
"But you…" She made a helpless gesture towards him. "You don't even try. And you're ten times smarter than him, Chuck. Or any of the other guys at school. And I just… I don't understand why you're so determined not to show it."
The plaintive note in her voice struck an unexpected chord in him.
Because even though he'd heard a million speeches from Bart about "not living up to his potential" and "squandering the opportunities he'd been given", this felt different. The words weren't dripping with disparagement, or tinged with barely-concealed disinterest. They weren't motivated by how his failures reflected upon her, and they didn't leave him with the spiteful urge to prove her low expectations correct.
They sounded… invested. Like she genuinely believed he could do better- and what's more, like it actually mattered to her.
And he couldn't recall anyone ever feeling that way about him.
He ran one hand through his hair, taking a long, deep breath.
"Then just say that," he said finally.
"What?" She frowned in confusion.
"Just say that," he repeated. "To me. Tell me what you're thinking, instead of trying to trick me into doing what you want."
Blair stared at him for a moment, dubious.
Well, he couldn't really blame her. It was a counterintuitive concept for him too.
"Okay…" she said doubtfully. "So… I wish you would try a little harder in school."
"Okay." He nodded.
"So… you will?"
He pursed his lips, pretending to consider the idea. "That depends. What's in it for me?"
Her eyes narrowed in indignation and he chuckled.
"I'm never going to be the kind of guy who gets off on doing schoolwork, Waldorf," he pointed out. "No matter how many highlighters you bring over."
Blair balked, her mouth opening slightly in outrage.
"Don't mock my system," she said defensively. "It has a proven track record of success, and just because-"
"Okay, fine," Chuck quickly interrupted. "I'm just saying… when it comes to schoolwork?" His voice dropped to a lower, more insinuating tone. "You're going to have to find another way to make it worth my while."
"And how exactly do you propose that I do that?" she asked suspiciously.
He eyed her up and down with an impudent little grin.
She rolled her eyes, looking flattered nonetheless. "You already get that."
"Well, how about a little wager?" he proposed. "Let's say, if I get every question on that worksheet right, then I get to choose the location, props and... wardrobe…" (he let his gaze linger over her body for a beat) "…for our next rendezvous."
Blair made a disbelieving noise.
"Chuck, you missed almost the entire first quarter of the semester, you barely paid attention to the reading, and you slept through class yesterday," she rattled off. "If you somehow manage to magically get all of those answers right, you can choose anything you want."
"Anything I want?" he echoed, raising his eyebrows.
Blair hesitated, belatedly realizing the implications of what she'd said.
"Well, not… anything…" she hastily backtracked.
"You're going to have to be a little more specific if you want me to agree to this bargain," Chuck said with a lascivious smile. "What, exactly, is excluded?"
"I… well…" Blair floundered for a moment, before she appeared to regain her wits. "No third parties, for one," she said sternly.
"I'd assumed as much." Chuck smirked. "What else?"
"No onlookers. No cameras. No recording, either audio or video." She ticked the items off her fingers one by one, narrowing her eyes at him as she did so.
"Just as long as we're not taking sextapes off the table forever," he agreed, his voice full of mock solemnity.
"No illicit substances," she went on, ignoring this interjection. "No bondage. No strap-ons. And nothing, I mean nothing, anywhere near the back door."
She punctuated the last statement by folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him, as if every item on that list had been his idea.
"I think I can agree to those terms." Chuck grinned. "Honestly, Waldorf, I'm kind of impressed by your imagination."
Blair just rolled her eyes and turned to retrieve her cell phone from her bag.
"How exactly did you imagine getting the strap-on involved, anyway?" he murmured, grinning even wider as he watched a pink flush spread all the way to the tips of her ears.
"Okay, I'm setting the timer for forty-five minutes," she declared. "Ready… set… GO."
Before she'd even said "go", Blair had already lunged onto the bed, annexing the textbook, the writing implements and all of the scrap paper for her private use.
Chuck just smiled wryly- he'd never expected her to play fair- and sauntered over to his desk to find a pencil.
Exactly forty-five minutes later, a chirpy beep indicated that their time was up.
"Pencils down," Blair announced. She finally removed her right arm from where it had been resting between them, carefully guarding her answers from Chuck's view.
Spreading both worksheets out before her, she fished a red pen out of her pouch and began correcting them. Chuck watched for a moment, perplexed.
"Don't you have an answer key?" he finally asked.
"No, I'm just using mine," she replied nonchalantly.
Of course, he thought, with an affectionate eyeroll.
She quickly worked her way down the two sets of answers, a little furrow of concentration appearing in the middle of her forehead. Chuck watched with satisfaction as it grew more and more pronounced at every matching answer she encountered.
He was lucky that she'd chosen to "tutor" him in math. If it had been almost any other subject- history, French, English- he would've been doomed to failure by all of the facts he'd never memorized, all of the vocabulary he didn't know, and all of the reading he'd never bothered to do.
But math was just a set of rules. And once you understood the rules- which had always seemed fairly intuitive to Chuck, after a modicum of effort- applying them was straightforward.
"Did you cheat?" Blair asked, looking up at him with an accusing stare.
"Off of you?" He snorted. "You were guarding your answers like a CIA missive."
Blair narrowed her eyes, obviously unconvinced, but returned her attention to the task at hand.
"There!" she said triumphantly. "Number 19."
Chuck glanced down at the second-to-last question, on which Blair's finger was firmly planted, then back-and-forth at their answers.
She was right- they weren't the same.
His brow creased as he read through her work, her neat penmanship easy to follow compared to his own chicken scratch.
And he heard her sudden intake of breath, a split second before he saw the error himself.
She'd forgotten to include a negative sign when she'd integrated the sine function. If she had, the two answers would've been identical.
Blair blinked, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.
"Well, I guess that's settled." Chuck stretched back against the bed, folding his hands behind his head. "So the only question is, do I collect my prize now, or later?"
Blair remained motionless, still staring in disbelief at her erroneous answer.
"I think later," Chuck decided, running one hand through his hair. "We'll need a wardrobe change, plus I have a certain location in mind, so I'll need to check on availability…"
"But I wouldn't be averse to a little… amuse-bouche right now," he added suggestively, and leaned forward to slide his hand up her back.
That's when he realized, from the stiffening of her spine, that her shock was starting to turn into anger.
Because Blair Waldorf did not react well to losing.
Not even at calculus homework.
And this was problematic, because it didn't seem like the kind of anger that led to ripping each other's clothes off.
"Hey…" He scooted forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You okay?" He started rubbing her shoulders, feeling the muscles tense further beneath his hands.
"I'm fine," Blair responded in a clipped tone.
"Look at it this way- you got exactly what you wanted, right?" he reasoned. "I did my homework."
"… I guess," she conceded, after a short pause.
"Plus, you caught your mis-" Feeling her body tighten under his palms, he quickly corrected himself. "Your oversight, before you turned it in."
"That's true," Blair admitted. "It would've tarnished my perfect homework average."
"And also…" he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the velvety skin. "You're about to have an absolutely mind-blowing orgasm. So you've got that going for you."
He could feel her reluctant smile as he laid another kiss closer to her jawline.
"Is that so?" she murmured.
"Satisfaction guaranteed," he promised. "If it isn't mind-blowing enough, I'll even throw in a second one for free."
She pretended to consider this for a moment, as his hands finally took the opportunity to stroke those tights-clad thighs he'd been admiring all night long.
"That does sound like a good deal." Her breath rushed out in a little gasp when his teeth sank into her ear. "Although I don't know how I feel about having sex with your dad sitting in the living room," she added, tilting her head towards the door.
Chuck shrugged.
"I've had sex plenty of times when he's been in the apartment," he replied nonchalantly.
Blair arched an eyebrow at him, unamused.
Chuck coughed, belatedly recognizing his gaffe, and then gave her his most contrite and charming smile.
"I just meant… I can guarantee you that he doesn't give a shit what I'm doing in here." He dropped another kiss onto her neck, feeling her resistance start to ebb. "He won't bother us, trust me."
He rolled her beneath him in one fluid motion and pressed his mouth to hers, their bodies melded together from shoulder to hip.
Finally, he thought to himself.
But just then, the sound of footsteps right outside the door made Blair stiffen beneath him.
And a second later, she was shoving him off of her and scrambling to her feet, while he cursed under his breath in frustration.
"I'm sorry, I can't, it's just too... icky," she whispered, glancing towards the door with a cringing motion. "I wish you'd told me he was going to be here, we could've met somewhere else."
"I didn't know he was going to be here." Chuck sighed. "He doesn't keep me updated on his comings and goings."
Rolling onto his back, he readjusted his aching erection with little regard to propriety.
"Well, next time we should just go to your suite." Blair leaned over the polished mahogany dresser and examined her reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to reposition her headband and run her fingers through her curls.
"We could go over there now," he offered, wincing at the desperation in own voice.
"It's already past eleven, and my curfew's midnight." Blair looked at him with obvious regret.
Still, not as regretful as he was, Chuck decided. She wasn't the one who'd had a hard-on for almost three straight hours now.
If it persisted for much longer, he was pretty sure he'd need actual medical attention.
"How about tomorrow night after dinner?" she offered over her shoulder.
"Fine," Chuck conceded grumpily, fully aware that he sounded like a petulant child.
But apparently, that was what he turned into in a relationship. In lieu of coked-out hook-ups with beautiful, anonymous models he'd never see again, here he was delivering soup, giving back massages, and doing his homework like a pussy-whipped little bitch… only to be left to jerk off alone in his room at the end of the night.
How exactly had he allowed this to happen?
"Hey," Blair said softly, returning to sit next to him. "I'm sorry about tonight. Believe me, this isn't how I wanted it to end either."
She placed her hand on top of his and threaded their fingers together. Then she glanced up at him, lashes lifting to reveal brown eyes so luminous, they appeared almost liquid.
And just like that, all of his other thoughts vanished, like wisps into the ether.
"I promise I'll make it up to you tomorrow," she murmured.
She leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek.
"You'd better believe you will," he returned, a deliberately sardonic note in his voice.
But he left his hand beneath hers, their fingers intimately twined together.
.
.
As he descended the stairs into the darkened living room below, Bart suddenly became aware of the low murmur of voices.
He paused, a few steps from the bottom, just as two figures in the foyer came into view.
One was Chuck; the other, Blair Waldorf. They were standing side by side waiting for the elevator- Blair in her coat and heels, her bag neatly tucked over one shoulder, Chuck in a half-unbuttoned dress shirt and stocking feet.
And there was something- a certain hush of expectancy in the air, a little prickle of premonition- that kept Bart from making his presence known.
So he watched, eyebrows scaling his forehead in disbelief as Chuck leaned over, cupped Blair's chin under one hand, and kissed her.
And Blair, instead of slapping him across the face in outraged disgust… kissed him right back.
It wasn't a lewd or overtly sexual kiss. It was warm, intimate.
Almost… romantic.
Well this was an interesting development, Bart thought to himself. Either little Miss Waldorf was going through a rebellious phase, or his son had pulled off quite the coup.
The couple pulled apart when the elevator arrived, sharing one last kiss before Blair disappeared behind the closing metal doors.
Chuck watched her go, but lingered for a moment afterwards. Hands in his pockets, head tilted to one side, he continued to stare at the closed doors for several long seconds, before he finally turned and sauntered back towards his bedroom.
An interesting development, indeed, Bart thought.
.
.
Blair fidgeted impatiently in her seat, casting another wary look over towards Chuck.
"Why won't you just tell me where we're going?" she asked suspiciously.
"Patience, ma chérie," he replied, unperturbed.
She looked out the window, but all she could see was the shadowy outline of Park Avenue townhouses.
"Are we going to the Met?" She craned her neck to try and see the block ahead.
Chuck didn't respond, just leaned back with a self-satisfied expression on his face.
"Because I thought I made it very clear that onlookers were out of the question," she said sharply. "Plus, their security is no joke. They wouldn't even let me into the Friedlander exhibit ten minutes before closing, and-"
"Blair, you'll find out where we're going when we get there," he interrupted her.
She huffed indignantly and folded her arms across her chest.
"I just think I have a right to know if you're hauling me off to some sort of creepy sex dungeon, that's all," she muttered.
"Don't worry, I save the dungeon for special occasions." He smirked.
The limo rolled to a stop, and Blair peered out into the night. She blinked in consternation when she saw a familiar brick steeple towering above them.
"Okay, I am not having sex with you in there," she declared with a vigorous shake of her head. "Just because they're Unitarians doesn't mean we can -"
"We're at a stoplight, Waldorf," he said dryly.
"Oh."
Suitably chastised, she was silent for the next several blocks while she reconsidered her strategy.
She'd basically given Chuck carte blanche to plan this little tryst, which was worrisome because… well, it was Chuck. He'd probably performed every kinky sex act she could think of, and quite a few that hadn't even occurred to her.
So if he'd decided to take her to some sort of… masked prostitute orgy, she needed to know, so that she could start planning her escape route.
"Chuck…" she wheedled, strategically placing one hand on his upper thigh. "Can't you just give me a little hint?"
"I figured the outfit was a hint." He deliberately eyed her up and down, and she felt her skin flush under his approving glance.
He'd texted her a long list of wardrobe requirements, which had included a headband, white blouse, plaid skirt, knee-high socks and high-heeled Mary Janes.
Oh, and white cotton panties with pink bows on them. He'd been oddly specific on that point.
And she did happen to own a pair exactly like that, which had made her suspicious that he'd been rooting around in her lingerie chest.
"But this is just what I wear every day to…" she trailed off as she looked out the window and saw them pull up beside a familiar brick façade. "… school."
Eyebrows raised, she turned to give him a dubious look.
"Really, Bass?" she said skeptically. "How are we even going to get in? It's like 11 pm. The building's been closed for hours."
He removed a gold skeleton key from his pocket, dangling it in front of her by its crimson ribbon.
Her mouth dropped open.
"Where did you get that?" she asked in disbelief. "Serena was the only one who had one."
"No, Serena was the only one who got caught with one," he corrected her.
His driver pulled open the door with an understated flourish, and Chuck gestured towards it.
"After you," he murmured.
.
.
"But what if someone catches us?" Blair hissed under her breath, as she followed Chuck down the first floor corridor. "What about the security guard?"
"Hector's shift ends at 11," he replied calmly. "And it is currently…" -he turned his wrist, squinting in the dim light to read the face of his Piaget- "11:20."
"So you're sure there's no one else here?" she whispered, still skeptical.
"Blair, I did my research," he said wryly. "Trust me."
Somewhat mollified, she followed him up the west stairwell and down the second floor corridor, until he eventually came to a halt in front of one particular room.
At which point, she couldn't help a little smirk.
"Mr. Hall's class, really?"
"Well, I figured that since you seem so very fond of calculus," Chuck replied, opening the door with a twist of the knob, "perhaps you'd like to earn some… extra credit."
He pressed one hand to the small of her back and guided her forward into the darkened classroom, pausing to flip on the lights as he pulled the door closed behind them.
The room smelled like it always did- chalk dust, wood polish, and that cheap cologne Mr. Hall bathed himself in every morning- but the drawn shades lent it a certain illicit intimacy.
Blair walked forward to the heavy oak teacher's desk, and then turned on her heel, facing him with a speculative gleam in her eye.
"So what exactly did you have in mind?" she asked, intrigued.
"Well, Miss Waldorf." Clearing his throat and adjusting the knot of his tie, Chuck walked around to the other side of the desk, his expression suddenly austere. "I'm afraid we have a problem with your most recent homework assignment. It wasn't quite on par with your usual work."
Blair's eyes narrowed in confusion… then widened in realization.
"Role play?" she said, amused. "Seriously, Bass?"
"I assure you I'm quite serious, Miss Waldorf," Chuck said sternly, planting both hands on the surface of the desk. "And when you're in my classroom, I expect you to respect the rules and address me appropriately. Are we clear?"
After taking a moment to process this scenario- as well as the rather pleasant effects of Chuck's authoritative tone upon her body- Blair tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Yes, Mr. Bass," she said in a low, throaty voice.
"Now… as I was saying. Unless we do something to address this little… drop in your performance, it might lower your average in the class to an A-minus. Or even…" He paused for effect. "A B-plus."
Blair's look of dismay was only partly feigned.
"But there must be some make-up work I can do," she pleaded, her eyes searching his face for signs of approval. "Or maybe… a special assignment?"
With a purposeful swing to her hips, she walked towards Chuck until they were only inches apart. Then she trailed one hand down the lapel of his blazer and gazed up at him with a beguiling flutter of her lashes.
"Please, Mr. Bass," she implored. "I'll do anything."
His eyes swept up and down her body appraisingly.
"I think we could come to some sort of arrangement," he said finally, before turning to take a seat in the teacher's chair.
With a faint squeak of the wheels, he rolled away from the desk and turned to face her, his fingers steepled casually against his chest.
"Why don't you show me…" He paused, his eyes narrowing speculatively. "…just how dedicated you are to your academic future?"
Taking that as her cue, Blair sauntered over and stepped between his parted knees.
"Oh, I'm very dedicated," she promised in an earnest tone. Hands braced on his thighs, she lowered herself to her knees, and then slid one hand upwards until she was stroking the prominent bulge at the front of his trousers. Coyly biting her lower lip, she looked up at him through lowered lashes.
Only the slight hitch in his breathing betrayed his reaction.
With nimble fingers, she undid his pants and pushed aside his boxers, wrapping her hand around his already-hard length.
"Oh my…" she said in a breathless voice, eying it with awe and just a bit of apprehension. "You're so… big."
His cock twitched in her hand at the compliment.
She pumped it slowly, tantalizingly, enjoying how warm and smooth it felt in her grasp, while she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
Leaning forward, she darted her tongue out for a quick, teasing stroke along his length, before taking him all the way into her mouth.
It only took a couple of minutes before she could tell he was getting close, just from the tempo of his breathing and the way his hips started involuntarily arching upwards. She dipped down into a particularly deep stroke and heard him swallow back a groan, before he grasped her shoulders to push her backwards.
Holding back a little smirk of satisfaction, she gazed up at him expectantly.
"Very impressive, Miss Waldorf," he said, sounding remarkably in control of himself. "Definitely A-plus work."
"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Bass?" Blair slid her hands up his thighs in a provocative motion.
"Well." Chuck cleared his throat. "I'm sure you could use a recommendation letter for your Yale application." He trailed one finger along her cheekbone. "And I'd certainly be willing to expound on what an… exceptional student you are, if…"
Her eyes widened.
"If?" she echoed eagerly.
Taking her hand in his, he gently pulled her to her to standing position between his parted thighs.
"If you show me what else you can do," he said in a low voice. With one hand, he reached out and flicked open the top button of her blouse, and then settled back in his chair, motioning for her to continue.
She nibbled on her lower lip in feigned modesty, pretending to hesitate a moment, before undoing the rest of the buttons with slow, deliberate motions. She could feel the heat of his gaze as it took in the newly exposed flesh, the rounded curves of her breasts barely covered by the skimpy demi bra.
"Very nice." Chuck trailed one finger up the outside of her bare thigh, underneath her skirt, until he reached the edge of her matching panties. He paused for a moment, stroking the decorative little bow with the pad of his finger. "I don't think you'll be needing these."
Blair hooked her thumbs beneath the elastic and slid her panties down her legs with a seductive shimmy. Chuck's eyes followed them all the way to the floor.
"Up on the desk," he instructed, with a possessive squeeze of her thigh.
Feeling her body respond to the note of command in his voice- God, there was just something about that sexy, take-charge tone that got her so wet- she obediently hopped up onto the edge of the desk and waited for him to join her.
But he didn't. He remained in his seat, his eyes devouring her with a speculative gleam.
"Touch yourself for me."
At this, Blair hesitated. Because she'd never done that in front of anyone.
And she felt overwhelmed by a sudden, unwelcome surge of self-consciousness.
Sensing her discomfort, Chuck shifted closer, until his hands were resting atop her thighs.
"I won't tell anyone," he murmured soothingly, rubbing his thumb along the sensitive inside of her knee.
Blair took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.
She could do this, she decided.
Letting her eyes drift closed, she slid one hand up beneath her skirt and in between her legs. Then she drew one finger across her folds- which were almost embarrassingly slick- and circled her clit with the tip of her finger.
A pleasured sound escaped her lips.
She heard Chuck's intake of breath, and opened her eyes to find him watching her, his expression absolutely mesmerized.
Well, she did like to see that.
Regarding him from beneath half-lowered lashes, she repeated the motion, propping herself against one hand and arching her back slightly as she did so. And then again, and again, as she reveled in the heat in Chuck's gaze, the tension in his body.
The way he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.
"Mmm," she hummed in enjoyment, letting her eyes flutter closed as her fingers made another pass along her wet slit.
A moment later, she let out a gasp of surprise when she felt her hand suddenly pulled away. Her eyes flew open just in time to see the top of Chuck's head between her thighs.
And after that, coherent thought was no longer an option.
Because all she could focus on was his mouth- tasting her, teasing her, until every inch of her body felt like it was pulsing with arousal.
Chuck ran his hands up the back of her calves and propped her feet against his chair; some part of her brain dimly registered the squeak of her heels against the well-worn leather, the grip of his hands gently pulling her knees further apart.
The soft moan that she vaguely recognized as her own.
Her head lolled to one side as she felt her body succumb to the sweet torment of his tongue, lapping, swirling, flicking against her clit until she was practically mindless with need.
Her fingers, of their own volition, threaded through his hair to pull him closer; her other arm, which was bracing her above the desk, began to tremble from the effort.
Two more languid strokes of his tongue almost pushed her over the edge, her hips bowing upwards as a bolt of pleasure shot through her.
"Fuck," she gasped out.
Chuck pulled his head away, and she whimpered in frustration.
"I don't allow swearing in my classroom, Miss Waldorf," he said sternly; his tone belied the heat in his eyes as they raked her body up and down.
He stood, causing the chair to roll backwards and her feet to slip from their perch.
Then he grasped her around the waist, pulled her to her feet and turned her around in one quick motion.
"And you know how I discipline students who don't behave." The low voice vibrating against her ear made a shiver of delight run up her spine- as did their current position, which she'd discovered she was quite fond of.
So she braced herself on the desk with both hands, her back arching in anticipation.
With one hand still securely holding her hip, his other hand slid up the back of her thigh, lifting her skirt until she could feel it caressing the bare curve of her ass.
A moment later, his hand was gone.
Only to return immediately with a sharp, forceful smack.
"Chuck!" she squeaked in surprise.
"Mr. Bass," he corrected her, nipping gently at her neck.
Smack.
Her protests caught in her throat when the initial sting of pain produced unexpected aftershocks of pleasure. Little tingles that shot straight to her hot, throbbing core.
Smack.
Her breath rushed out in a soft gasp.
Smack.
And another gasp that turned into a moan.
"Now are you going to be a good girl?" he murmured. His palm languidly caressed her backside, soothing the tender flesh. "Or do I need to get out the ruler?"
She could feel him now, hard and throbbing against the inside of her thigh. And she needed him so badly she ached.
"I'll be good, Mr. Bass," she said throatily, arching back in invitation. "I promise."
She'd barely gotten the words out when he thrust into her, eliciting groans of satisfaction from both of them. For a moment they just paused, his head resting heavily against her shoulder, and savored the sensation. Marveling at how perfectly, how completely, their bodies fit together.
Then he gripped her hips with both hands and began to fuck her, with slow, controlled thrusts.
Which soon became faster, deeper, more erratic, as arousal began to overtake them both.
Her hips pressed back to meet every stroke, sounds of pleasure and encouragement and need falling from her half-parted lips.
"Fuck, Blair…" he groaned against her neck, breaking character for the first time since they'd entered the room. "You feel so fucking good…"
He slid his hands up her chest, inside her open blouse, and cupped both breasts in his palms. He thumbed the taut nipples through their thin covering.
"So good…" he repeated, as he pressed his mouth against her throat.
Suddenly desperate to feel him, to taste him, Blair reached back and grabbed his neck, pulling his head forward and turning hers to the side so that their lips met.
It was a hot, open-mouthed kiss, their tongues tangling aggressively, as his hips continued to pump into her from behind.
She could feel herself approaching her peak, the tide of pleasure rising higher and higher until it was almost unbearable.
Then she felt Chuck's hand move beneath her skirt and slide upwards to stroke her slick, swollen clit.
And her senses exploded like a firecracker, her whole body jerking from the intensity. Currents of pleasure radiated outward from her core, thrumming through her veins until they electrified every inch of her body. Her breath came out in sharp, panting gasps. Her arms nearly collapsed beneath her.
She was still shaking when she felt Chuck reach his own peak, spending himself inside her with one last, desperate thrust. He buried his face against her neck and groaned- a deep, throaty sound that vibrated across her skin. Both of them trembled as he continued to grind his hips against her.
Long minutes later, they finally grew still. Chuck's arms remained wrapped around her waist, his head cradled against the side of hers.
"Fuck…" he breathed out.
Well, she wholeheartedly agreed with that.
Blair finally raised her head- which took an inordinate amount of effort- and looked out over the neat rows of school desks, the LCD projector propped on a back table.
The freshly-cleaned chalkboard on the side wall, still bearing traces of that morning's lecture.
And an unexpected giggle bubbled up in her throat.
"What's so funny?"
"I was just thinking," she murmured, "that if Mr. Hall had any idea what we just did in his classroom… he would never teach in here again."
"Well, that would be a shame." Chuck brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and pressed his lips against it. "I was finally starting to enjoy this class."
.
.
"I wondered if you were ever coming to bed," Lily commented, smiling over the top of her reading glasses.
Bart shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie as he walked towards the dressing room.
"One of the drawbacks of doing business with a time zone thirteen hours ahead," he said impassively.
"I know, I know. 'The market never sleeps'," she quoted him in a wry voice.
He was halfway done unbuttoning his shirt when he heard her clear her throat.
"But I was thinking…" she began. "It might be nice if we could get the whole family together for brunch on Sunday. I know Serena and Eric have missed spending time with you."
Bart seriously doubted that. If anything, Serena probably appreciated that he hadn't been around to scrutinize her comings and goings.
But he had been more preoccupied than usual lately. So if one family brunch was all it took to placate Lily, he wasn't going to argue.
"And I feel like I've barely seen Charles these last few weeks," she added.
Bart's hands paused in the process of undoing the last button, as he recalled what he'd witnessed the night before.
"Sunday should be fine," he replied. "I don't have any commitments until mid-afternoon."
He continued undressing in silence for a few moments, considering how to broach the subject.
"You're… fairly well-acquainted with Blair Waldorf, right?" he asked finally.
"Of course," Lily replied, sounding puzzled by the change in subject. "She and Serena have been best friends since kindergarten."
"And my understanding is that she's basically betrothed to Nate Archibald?" He phrased the statement as a question.
"Well, they were together for quite a long time- but apparently they broke up several weeks ago," Lily said, a note of regret in her voice. "Anne was rather distraught about it, as you can imagine… but you know how fickle teenagers can be."
Bart felt inexplicably relieved by this information.
"Why do you ask?" she wanted to know.
He turned towards the doorway of the dressing room, to find his wife studying him with a perplexed little furrow between her brows.
Well, he couldn't blame her. Inquiring about the adolescent dating habits of their children's friends wasn't exactly typical behavior for him.
"Blair was over here last. With Chuck," he said gruffly.
Lily continued to look at him, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
"And they seemed… extremely close." He averted his eyes and began to undo his cuff links.
"Well, Blair and Charles have always been good friends," Lily said offhandedly.
Bart sighed, not wanting to go into more explicit details.
"They were kissing," he said in abrupt tone.
"Really." Lily removed her reading glasses and sat up straighter, suddenly intrigued. "Did you ask him about it?"
Bart almost scoffed aloud at the implication that he and Chuck regularly had heart-to-hearts about his love life.
"I haven't had the opportunity," he said instead. "But you know how he is with women." He gave a little shrug. "I'm sure it's nothing serious."
"I know how you were with women," Lily countered. "Before you met me."
He couldn't help a wry little smile of acknowledgement.
"And Charles is more like you than either of you is willing to admit," Lily tilted her head to the side in contemplation. "Maybe settling down with the right girl is exactly what he needs."
"I'll try to wrestle some details out of Serena during our spa date tomorrow," she added in a conspiratorial tone.
Bart couldn't imagine that his seventeen-year-old son, who'd dedicated his entire life thus far to womanizing and delinquency, had any interest in settling down. But if Lily wanted to indulge some romantic notions about the power of love, he wouldn't be the one to disillusion her.
And who knows, he thought. Maybe whatever Chuck had going on with the Waldorf girl would actually teach him some respectability for a change.
.
.
"Goddamn," Chuck exhaled in a burst.
Blair slumped back against the seat next to him, struggling to regain her own breath.
Goddamn was right, she thought. Clearly something about their little roleplaying adventure had gotten her all… worked up, because the second they'd gotten back into the limo, she'd basically mauled Chuck like a hungry lioness.
She turned her head and eyed the red scratches down the front of his chest, visible through the gap in his ripped-open shirt. He'd probably want to put some Neosporin on those, she thought to herself.
"If this is the sort of treatment I'm going to get every time I kink things up a little," Chuck murmured, still sounding slightly winded, "then I am… fully on board."
She couldn't help the little grin that curled up the corners of her mouth. The fact that she- prim, straitlaced little Blair Waldorf- was capable of satisfying Chuck Bass, the reputed king of sexual debauchery, to the point of dazed exhaustion…
Well, she'd be lying if she said she didn't take a certain satisfaction in that.
"Just to be clear…" She said pointedly. "Turnabout's fair play. So don't think your little disciplinary action in there isn't going to have… repercussions."
She figured she'd better make it clear that he wouldn't always have the upper hand in these situations.
Especially since she'd already started brainstorming a couple ideas of her own.
"Oh really?" Chuck raised his eyebrows. "Now that's the kind of tutoring session I might actually enjoy."
Blair smirked.
"I have to say, I expected something slightly more debauched than a schoolgirl fantasy, Bass," she said teasingly. "Seems so very… conventional."
"Well, it was less of a schoolgirl fantasy and more of a… Blair Waldorf fantasy," he corrected her, taking a moment to refasten his pants.
"One, I might add," he murmured, "that I've been having for… quite some time."
He gave her a lingering look that made her heart forget to beat for a moment, and then trip over itself attempting to catch up.
"You're cold," he commented suddenly.
Blair looked down to see that her bare legs were dotted with goosebumps.
"Well, someone in the costuming department insisted on knee socks instead of tights," she said in mock accusation.
"Easier access," Chuck explained with a grin.
Then he reached under her knees and pulled her legs over his own, so that her thighs were draped sideways across his lap, and began to stroke the chilled flesh with his palm. Starting just below the knee, he rubbed upwards to the hem of her skirt, and then back down again.
The warming effect was immediate. It seemed to heat not just her legs, but every inch of her body.
And it felt completely natural to curl up against him, her head resting against his shoulder, while his other arm curved around to cradle her back.
"Mmm." She made a contented little sound.
It occurred to her, then, that she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this… genuinely happy.
As if all of her stresses and worries, the pressure of expectations that she felt every minute of every day, couldn't touch her right now. And all that existed was the two of them, snuggled up together in their private little cocoon.
In the exact spot, she realized, where her life had first veered off its prescribed course. Almost a full year ago.
"Chuck?" she murmured, idly trailing her fingers down the front of his shirt.
"Hmm?"
"You know it's almost our one-year anniversary?"
He looked down at her, eyebrow arched.
"Anniversary of…? Oh," he realized. "Well, that is an important one."
"We should do something special to celebrate," she decided.
"I think I could come up with something suitably… special," he said in a suggestive tone.
Blair rolled her eyes.
"I mean actually special, not like… Chuck's pervy bedtime fantasies special," she replied dryly.
"Hey," he said in mock affront. "It's not all sex all the time in here, you know. I can do romance."
"Is that so?" She sounded skeptical.
"Sure." He traced his fingers along the length of her spine. "I can get some flowers, some candles. Throw on some Sinatra. The whole nine yards."
"Chuck Bass is a romantic," she laughed. "Who knew?"
"Well, now you do," he said in a low voice. "That's all that matters."
She snuggled her head back into the crook of his neck, feeling as though a silly grin had been permanently plastered to her face.
Who would've thought, she contemplated dreamily. That after years of hoping and planning and waiting for some far-off day when she and Nate would be perfectly happy together… she'd ended up finding happiness now, in the present. With the last person she'd ever expected to fall for.
And now that they were finally here, she had no idea why she'd resisted her feelings for so long.
"I love you," she murmured softly.
For a long moment, she was certain that the words she'd heard were just her own thoughts, echoing around in her mind.
Until she realized that Chuck had gone completely still, his hand frozen in place on her leg.
Oh God.
She'd said it out loud.
She'd said it out loud, and now Chuck wasn't saying anything back. His body had gone tense and motionless beneath hers, their intimate position suddenly unbearably awkward.
As she waited through what felt like the longest silence in the history of time.
Five seconds passed, then ten. It felt like years.
Until finally, Chuck cleared his throat.
"Well," he said, a forced casualness to his voice, "any time you want to show me how much… I'm always up for another round."
Oh God.
She'd accidentally, in the midst of some endorphin-induced hallucination, told Chuck Bass that she loved him. And he'd responded with the Bassian equivalent of a thank you.
She'd never been so mortified in her entire life.
She glimpsed the doors of her building through the limo window and felt a momentous surge of relief. There was no way to salvage this shitshow, but at least she could make a timely escape.
"Well, I should get going." She swung her legs off of his lap before the limo had even rolled to a complete stop, carefully avoiding eye contact.
"Yeah, it's, uh… pretty late," he said in a strained voice. "So, I'll… call you tomorrow?"
"Sure." She made a weak attempt at a smile, still not looking at him.
Realizing that her handbag was across the seat, on the other side of Chuck, she made a quick lunge to grab it.
Which Chuck apparently misinterpreted as an attempt at a goodbye kiss, and turned his head so that his lips brushed awkwardly against the side of her mouth.
"Okay, well… goodnight." She grabbed her bag and practically dove out the door of the limo.
She kept her head up and her shoulders back as she marched towards her penthouse; if Chuck were to glance out the window, she didn't want him seeing the way she felt right now.
Like a heartsick little girl, desperately blinking to keep the tears from falling from her eyes.
.
.
A/N: Oh dear. Looks like we've had an unexpected L-bomb detonation. Thoughts?
Thanks as always to my beta Terrabeth, for spiffing this up for me. If you haven't read her latest two chapters of "Criminal", you should go do so right now. And special thanks to Ellen (Dr. GG), whose reviews inspired me to continue with this story when I was considering giving up on it.
And thanks to the rest of my lovely reviewers, for always making my day: Stella296, notoutforawalk, Trosev, Eternally Romantic, an, bfan, jojo4ever, flipped, thegoodgossipgirl, Rd, infinitywr, Dr. Holland, Dr. GG, Questacious, coleyoo, QueenMabGG, Whatevergirl1985, Eve, louboutinlove, Grish, ellibells, dreamgurl, CB, Kreist, Moe, livelybass, jane, ggloverxx19, maryl, inevitablechair, Rebeccajill, Arazadia, mkersey, bells-mannequin, nygirl26, fiona249, strangeless, haley, Leftwriter224, TeamSethGroupie17, Aliennut, Drown-in-sequins, madetobemrsbass, BiteMeBass, Abi, BBCBPP130, annablake, chinuchan-inulover, buy the stars, Where's Waldorf, KM, Unknown63, smephii, leightedandnian, , Anne, Gricelda, Elizabeth Stanton, Dimples84, bowtie-bass, Ashley, Beexoxox, hipskip11, Cool Sharry, Camilin, Alice Hell, blueberry23cupcake, and vale1103.