Warning: Rated [M] for language and slightly sexy stuff.

The woman on stage was slipping a Chinese fan down her legs in a move so smooth and practiced he was desperate to know what it would feel like. (Her legs, not the fan.)

For a Wednesday night the crowd in Victrola was decent. Sparse really, but Chuck preferred to think of it as exclusive. He'd wound up here, against his better judgement, with Charlie Dern. Nate was busy and it was a night for herbal aided relaxation.

The world was soft, and the music was distant. He almost thought he was imagining things when a familiar blonde blocked his view.

In the dimly lit club, with its lingerie clad women and business attired customers Serena seemed even more ethereal than usual. With her free flowing hair and 60s mini in acid tones, she almost gave off her own light.

"Hey Charlie," she greeted the boy beside him with a nod. She turned to him with a grin. "Bro."

He could tell immediately that this wasn't Serena. It was one hundred percent S. The brilliant simper, flirty gaze, and slightly glazed eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Lookin' good S," Charlie chimed in with a dumb grin.

Chuck did his best to refrain from rolling his eyes. There were very clear reasons why he never hung out with Nate's buddies. The breastless ones, anyway.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, cringing at his own tactlessness. This was his place. It was his retreat, where he could do anything, be anyone: though he'd never choose to be anyone other than Chuck Bass.

Serena put on a sulky expression, eyes sparkling with laughter. "I wanted to have fun." She said the word like it was filled with meaning (wasn't that epic? I can't believe we did that!). She collapsed elegantly into the lounge, between him and Charlie. "So I came to find you." She taped his nose with the end of her finger, in case there was any doubt who she was talking about

Before he could stop himself, his arm had wrapped itself around her shoulders. His arm didn't seem to care that this was the girl who abandoned him after screwing his best friend (simultaneously screwing over hers); it didn't even mind that she was fucking his father (maybe just to fuck with her mother).

She curved into his side, every lithe inch and soft curve. It felt as easy and perfect as he remembered.

"You're sure now? I heard Blair was hosting a Ladies of the Mayflower meeting," he teased.

She let out a sigh that almost turned into a giggle. "I doubt Blair would admit me in my current state," she returned honestly.

Serena turned to watch the stage with an expression that reminded Chuck of a child watching cartoons. With a wave of his fingers a hostess rushed to take his order.

Serena golf clapped enthusiastically at the end of the performance. Charlie hesitated momentarily before following her lead like the minion he was. It almost hurt to admit it, but he'd forgotten about the auburn haired temptress the moment Serena walked in. "This isn't a musical; you're not obligated to applaud."

"That would be impolite," she chided haughtily. Her eyes widened and she cocked her head to the side. He knew she was about to ask for something. "I want to dance, Chucky!"

He winced at the use of the name he'd thought had disappeared on a train to Connecticut. "Go ahead." He dipped his head toward the stage with a smirk.

"I'm not a stripper," she huffed.

Ivory skin under a warm spotlight, delicate hands running over his shoulders.

Would golden skin and brazen hands be as enthralling? Or just as devastating?

"That's not what I remember," Charlie muttered under his breath.

He chuckled at the other boy's comment, annoying the blonde further. Serena flicked the basketball player in the head.

Chuck stood before Serena had turned back. They would have gone anyway. Serena would have turned big blue eyes on him, and her pouty lips would have dipped downwards, and he would have done precisely what she wanted.

At least this way he could pretend, if only to himself, that she couldn't work him over. Like a schoolboy.

(Like his father.)

They ended up in the Meatpacking District, at a club with more smoke than trend. Chuck didn't dance so much as offer a willing body for Serena to move around.

It wasn't anywhere he wanted to be. It wasn't anything that he liked. People didn't scurry out of his path, or give him sidelong glances of awe.

He really should have hated it.

But his hands were on her slim hips as they swayed to a pounding beat nobody should be able to keep up with. Her heavy lidded eyes regarded him with something like amusement and a lot like sex.

He couldn't quite decide what was more intoxicating: the drinks, the hash, or her.

Smile, lips, hips, kiss. He couldn't think straight enough to hate it, couldn't even fake a complaint to keep up appearances.

His lips brushed her throat, tasting moisture and something he would never be able to get enough of. She twirled out of his grasp with a move that would have been to agile for anyone else who had consumed as much alcohol as she had. He trailed her long strides even before she could look over her shoulder with a challenge and a promise.

He was still pretending that he wasn't following her. As if he wouldn't give her everything she asked for and anything she didn't.

He was already texting for his limo with one hand, eyes never leaving her yellow-blonde mane.

She didn't touch him when they emerged into the chilly night, barely even looked at him. He grasped her hand when she leaped onto a bench, tightrope walking along the edge. He followed alongside without thought, knowing better than to point out that she probably shouldn't be doing that drunk and in four inch stilettos.

At three a.m. outside some rundown ex-warehouse he felt the need to shade his eyes. She glowed. She fucking shimmered.

He craned his neck so that he could meet her eyes. He didn't know what was in his expression (knew it would probably be embarrassing if he wasn't so far gone), but her bubbly facade seemed to recede, sink somewhere deep, leaving only naked vulnerability and more trust than he deserved.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whispered. It was quiet and so intense he wondered if it was meant for his ears.

"Nothing," he hissed. Anyone with eyes could tell her that.

She shook her head violently and her body waivered, rocking forward precariously. He moved towards her, but she caught herself and went on as if she hadn't noticed.

"I never wanted to be perfect. I didn't want to be one of them," she told him, one hand moving emphatically with her words, the other weighed down by his grasp.

He didn't wonder who them was, knowing it meant her mother, his father, half of the UES.

She hurried on, "so I did whatever, made messes for other people to clean-up, you know? And I didn't mind that I was a little wrong, because it was what I wanted. I chose my mistakes. Needed them. But now I don't feel messy: I feel broken." Her navy eyes pleaded with him, but he wasn't sure what she wanted.

Nate would have known what to say; he'd have been sweet and reassuring. Blair would have been able to make things better. But he just grimaced, trying to sort through the enigma with his sluggish mind, and idiotic tongue.

The limo pulled up beside them and she skipped off the bench, escaping his hands and ducking into the car before the driver could open the door.

During the ride back to The Palace, Serena put herself back together. If he hadn't seen it, he'd never believe for a second that the girl on his lap, stealing his bowtie had had a self-doubt in her life. The distant part of his mind that was still capable of thinking was worried. The Queen S facade was built so fast, so seamlessly, how often did she fall apart and rebuild herself without anyone ever noticing?

She pressed kisses onto his lips, hands roving under his shirt leisurely. He pulled back, putting his hands over hers, stilling them despite his body's protests.

He'd watched it so many times before. The way she'd move and entice while greedy hands did nothing but take and unworthy boys basked in her shimmer.

His voice was just a sigh, but he got the words out. "Nothing's been done, S. No mistakes made. It would be a good time to stop if you don't want anymore... mess." It hurt to offer. He almost wished he could suck the words back before she disappeared, but he couldn't just take, not when she seemed to give up everything without holding back anything for herself.

She smiled lazily, regarding him through lowered lashes. "But I'm so very, very good at making them."

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

They fell through the door to his suite. He couldn't even turn the light on before she was in his arms, ridiculously long legs wrapped around his waist, and uncannily deft hands pulling his vest off.

He fought the need to push her dress up and do her on the kitchen table. (Family resemblances at this point would be unseemly.) With deep breaths he calmed himself enough to lower her onto the bed. She got to her knees, shrugging her dress off without an ounce of hesitation and then removing his clothes with the same sharp movements.

Her arms tugged him down to her mouth. His body ached. He felt sick with wanting. And she was laughing! Pressing giggles into his chest, with her nails carving marks into his ass and mumbling something about missing "scarf".

His hands travelled down her body, lips sucking gently at the thin material covering her breasts. Serena let out breathy gasps, moulding delicate skin and perfect curves into his body. His world seemed to narrow. Kiss. Touch. Fuck.

Take.

He'd take everything she had to give.

Keeping it would be the hard part.

E/N:Yes, I know I shouldn't spend an entire chapter on C and S getting it on, but I'm only one person and I really don't have that sort of self-control! And if ff wasn't invented so I could drag out inappropriate comfort between step-siblings, then I have been sorely misled.

*heavy sigh* Drama chap will be up in the next day or so.