A/N: I know Chapter One was kind of short, but this one's a bit longer. This chapter is not just focused on Ivy and Chuck, although they still have a fairly significant section. Nate and Dan are in this one, along with a brief Blair scene. Serena's turning up in the next chapter. And while it may not seem too exciting right now, I promise big stuff is brewing for our Upper East Siders! Hope you guys like it, and thank you for the reads and reviews!
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"The sex was bad," Nate said. Not a question, but a statement.
Dan, embarrassed, could only nod. The situation was a bit too weird for him. Here he was, talking about his and Blair's relationship issues, in the home of her ex-boyfriend. At least Chuck wasn't actually present, having left for places unknown some time ago. It was a good thing, to say the least. If Chuck knew about what had happened he would probably make it his personal mission to make Dan feel as inadequate as possible. It wouldn't take much, either. Dan was feeling pretty inadequate all on his own.
"Well, it must have been you," Nate went on, a bit of a grin on his face, "because I've been with Blair, and I know it was all the way back in high school but even then she was- I mean, really-"
"Can we not talk about all the sex you two had?" Dan interrupted, looking faintly nauseated. "Especially when it was, apparently, so much better than… what happened with her and me."
"Doesn't even sound like anything happened, man," Nate laughed. "How long did you last? Two? Three minutes?"
Dan shot him a dirty look and took a swig of beer. "I'm not answering that one. Except to say, more than that. A lot more."
"Okay. I was joking, but obviously you're not in the mood for a laugh. I guess it's advice time. Why don't you just do it again?" Nate asked. "Practice makes perfect, right?"
I've had plenty of practice, Dan wanted to say. There had to be something else wrong. Dan thought back to what he was mentally referring to as the incident. There was kissing. The kissing had been good. Then there had been the undressing, which was fine. And then had come the actual act itself, during which Dan had apparently turned into some kind of fish, flopping around like some awkward teenage virgin. What was the problem? It hadn't been like this with anyone else, not even when he actually had been an awkward teenage virgin. His first time with Serena had been perfect. He had been so in love with her.
Was that what was wrong? He dismissed the thought immediately. Of course he was in love with Blair! He knew how he felt. And with other girls, girls he hadn't loved, he'd still performed admirably. So what the hell had gone wrong?
He could only sigh. Putting his muddled thoughts into words would be too much of an undertaking for this conversation. "You should have seen the look on her face. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look more underwhelmed in their life. I don't think she'll want to go for that again."
"All you can do is try," Nate said sagely.
"I guess you're right. Look out, world. Here comes sexual failure, Dan Humphrey."
Nate, who'd been trying to hold this very reaction in, burst out laughing.
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Blair sank into the tub with a sigh of relief and thought about her life. She was twenty-one years old, divorced (or soon-to-be divorced), friendless and dangerously close to becoming an uneducated boor. What had ever happened to her dreams of higher education? They were replaced with dreams of fairy-tale endings and Mediterranean principalities. Look how that had turned out!
She reached for a macaron, leaning her head back against the edge of the bath. What now? Did she go back to Columbia? Could she? Maybe it would be better for her to get a job. It wouldn't be difficult. She had no shortage of connections, especially considering her brief (but impressive!) time at W. But what if no one would take her, tainted by scandal as she was? She couldn't even have some decent sex to make her feel better about all this.
Oh, Humphrey. She didn't really want to blame him for their lack of chemistry, but who else was at fault? Herself? Blair Waldorf was many things, but she was not bad at sex. Something just hadn't worked out. It occurred to her that there might be a correlation between the amount of talking a guy did and how good he was in bed. Chatterbox Dan sank on his maiden voyage while someone like Nate or Louis or Chuck…
Chuck. Their relationship had been troubled at times but never without passion. Limo sex, secret rendezvous, all the games and schemes and costumes- they had been fun, hadn't they? Even if she was no longer in love with him, she had to admit that was true. She tried to imagine Humphrey dressing up as a waiter and snorted with laughter. He was all about romance. That was great and all, but sometimes you don't want the candles- you want the fire.
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"Wine, wine, everywhere," Ivy said to herself as she looked through the van der Woodsen's liquor cabinet, "and not a drop of scotch."
"You're a scotch woman?" Chuck asked from behind her, his voice right on the back of her neck, stirring in her ear. In response, she only nodded.
"I always keep some stashed around the place," he went on, reaching past her into the very back of the cabinet and pulling out a bottle. He offered her it to her so she could read the label. She took it, nodded appreciatively, and tried not to think about how good his cologne smelled. What was wrong with her, anyway? A few months without a guy and she starts to get stirred up by everyone who walks into her penthouse. Who next, the doorman? And wasn't Chuck supposed to be in love with Blair Waldorf, anyway? What was the deal there?
Squashing her muddled thoughts, she set the bottle down onto the kitchen countertop. "You can pour. Since it's your scotch and all."
"Don't mind if I do," he said.
He knew where the glasses were, of course, and got two for them. He poured and slid the glass across the counter to Ivy. She lifted it to her lips, taking a small, measured sip. As the liquid hit her tongue she puckered, squeezing her eyes shut while the scotch burned its way down her throat. It was the afterglow that she really wanted, anyway.
"How is it?" he asked.
"It's great," she replied when the harshness had disappeared and been replaced by a pleasant warmth. "You have good taste."
"So I've been told," he said, pouring himself a glass and observing the girl across from him. Ivy Dickens. He'd never given her much of a second thought until he heard about her deception- until then he'd figured she was just another Serena. In reality, she was the farthest thing. He had to admit that he was impressed. She was a born liar, skilled manipulator- how many people could have tricked the entire Upper East Side into believing she was one of them, and then actually completed the transformation by inheriting millions from Celia Rhodes herself? Not to mention that she was beautiful into the bargain. A tip of the hat to you, Ms. Dickens, he thought. Sometimes God does give with both hands.
Chuck waited for her to finish the rest of her drink before speaking again. "You know, a good host always strives to entertain their guests. Or, guest, as it may be," he said, trying to turn on the patented Chuck Bass charm. Ivy seemed largely unimpressed as she laughed dryly and ran a hand through her long, blonde hair.
"Yeah?" she said. "Well, I'm new to all this hostess stuff. Tell me, how can I entertain you, Mr. Bass?"
"Well," he said laconically, "There is one story I'd love to hear. And you're the only one who can tell it. I think you know the one to which I'm referring."
"You mean, 'How Ivy Dickens Went from Trailer Trash to Penthouse Princess'? I like that one myself. It's a solid read."
"That's exactly the one," he said.
"There's not much to tell that you don't already seem to know. Carol hired me to pose as her daughter so she could steal money from the van der Woodsens. CeCe took a shine to me, and when she got sick, I helped her. I was there for her the whole time she was being treated while her family was attending royal weddings and Constance Billard parties and… well, as you can see, she left me everything."
"And they're not too happy about that," Chuck observed.
"No."
"Seems like they should be more upset at Carol than you. I mean, it's not like you cooked up this whole scheme on your own."
"Yeah? It's nice to know someone gets it. Maybe you should tell them that."
He seemed to think about her words for a long moment. Then, suddenly, "You know, my friend Nathaniel is dating the real Charlie Rhodes. Or it seems she's calling herself Lola now. If she wanted a new identity, she might have picked a nicer name. I'm pretty sure I have a girl at the club named Lola."
Ivy snorted with laughter. His burlesque club, said a voice in her head. Ivy had never been to a burlesque club before. Was it basically like a strip club, only classier? New Yorkers were so weird sometimes.
"But honestly," Chuck continued. "All this playing of the name game is exhausting."
"You're telling me," Ivy said.
"What I meant to ask was, didn't Nathaniel have his eye on you for a while?"
"For about two minutes, despite my protests," Ivy agreed, looking down into her now-empty glass. "It's not entirely his fault. I may have led him on for a bit there. But I did it because… well, I did…"
"…what you had to do," Chuck finished.
Their eyes met. The corner of Chuck's mouth quirked upwards in a semi-smile, one Ivy slowly matched. The absurdity of the situation was evident for both of them. Ivy was thinking about how a girl from the bad part of town was sipping scotch in a penthouse (a penthouse she owned!) with a boy billionaire. And Chuck was thinking about how he was pouring drinks for an astonishingly clever identity thief with more money than she knew what to do with.
"More?" he offered, wanting to break the silence that had descended over them. Not that it was an awkward silence- it wasn't. Actually, he felt very at ease with this girl. But he'd felt the compulsion to say something. Is this what it's like when you make a new friend? he wondered, because Chuck hadn't made a new friend in years.
"Please," she said, and slid her glass over to him.