Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girls.
Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful comments! I really appreciate them.
She woke entangled in sheets and his arms; the weight of him, the heat of him, trapping her against the mattress.
Yesterday rose up quickly in her mind, pressed upon her the memories of a disorientated Serena and the crushing sense of duty she couldn't run from. Her breath hitched at the memory, a moment later Chuck shifted against her and she grimaced realizing there was no way for her to escape without waking him.
So she closed her eyes and waited.
She couldn't say how much time slipped by before she felt his head lift, but she made sure to hold herself perfectly still as he tilted back away from her; even when as she felt the weight of his gaze on her face, even when she felt his fingertips brush over her cheeks she remained still.
"I know you're awake, Waldorf." He said after a long moment of stillness.
Of course he did.
She debated for an instant whether she should play the fool or not; decided on not. She opened her eyes.
He was watching her. Sometimes it felt like he was always watching her.
"Let me up." She whispered.
He smirked. "Good morning to you too."
She said nothing more, just waited. She had lost the game last night; it had been a perfect opportunity, as if she had orchestrated it herself, but she had failed, had let the moment slip through her fingers. She hadn't been strong enough to not care.
"You aren't going to tell me you think what we did last night was wrong, are you?" He asked her.
She blinked at him, she had resolutely not given what they'd done any thought. "No, I'm not. Let me up." She repeated, voice tight.
But something inside her was unraveling, edges that had just been frayed, were coming undone; because she was weak, she had lost this game.
The welling of tears shocked them both.
She turned her head. He didn't move. The silence enveloped them.
She could feel the way his eyes were roving over her face, examining her, trying to figure her out. It was easier to focus on what he must be thinking than to focus on what she was thinking... or wasn't thinking.
One of his hands was in her hair suddenly, his fingertips rubbing at her scalp softly.
"Did I tell you...? I like your haircut." He murmured.
He hadn't.
She'd had it trimmed earlier this week, short hair required more maintenance than long. She turned her face back to him, reached up and slipped her own fingers into his hair; it was soft and smooth and she didn't know what she was doing here in Chuck Bass's bed playing with his hair…
Because she'd lost at the game, even playing by the new rules, because she hadn't let her fall… and she'd wanted to, but she couldn't… and she didn't know why…
And she had followed Chuck Bass to his bed, hadn't fought him, had let him take her hand... she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her thoughts away from that path. Instead she whispered, "Thank you," and then reached up and kissed him. She pulled him down closer and willed the world to vanish, willed herself to fall into his kiss, to be swept away like she had been last night.
But he pulled away from her; yanked himself up off her and the bed in one fluid motion.
He was frowning at her, looking actually confused. "What is going on with you?" He demanded.
She blinked at him again, used the sheet to cover herself as she sat up, and then looked around the room. "What time is it?" She wondered.
She started shifting towards the edge of the bed, "Are we late? God. Serena really needs to not party on Thursdays…"
"Blair."
He'd pitched his voice deep and scratchy, meant to snag her attention and it did. He was watching her with those dark eyes, seeing her, and Blair couldn't have that-- not right now.
She sent him an innocent look, bat her eyelashes once. "Would you hand me my dress, please." She murmured and slipped off the bed. She used the sheet as a toga while she scanned the room for her undergarments.
She wasn't going to think about how sweet Chuck had been last night, about how slow and gentle everything had been, about how he hadn't said the words, but she'd have to be blind to not have seen them in his every touch.
She gathered her clothing in one hand and then lifted her gaze to Chuck. He was holding her dress and shoes in one of his hands; but there was no smirk on his face, nothing teasing in his eyes.
It hit her with the force of a tidal wave—he was worried about her.
That was almost amusing. Almost.
She smiled at him as she outstretched her arm for him to drape the dress over. She let him keep the shoes and disappeared into his bathroom.
As soon as she closed the door, she slid to the floor, her back against it and drew her knees up to her chest.
What was going on with her, indeed.
TBC.