I don't think this will finish by April 1. . .
Temptation is the fire that brings up the scum in the heart.
-William Shakespeare
She pushes the doors to an old fashioned lounge and scans the room briefly for a dark mop of hair. He is at the corner, a bottle of wine before him, a glass in his hands. Blair takes a deep breath and walks to him, her heart thundering traitorously.
"Archibald. . .?" he says, and his words are slurring a little. He's drunk , and it makes it less awkward, she thinks, because she's pretty sure he won't even remember much. It's much better than being near sober Chuck.
"Nate sent me instead. He couldn't make it."
"I figured."
"Really?" she asks curiously, setting her bag down and taking the seat across him.
"Yeah." He looks down on his drink. "Only reason why you'd come."
She almost smiles sadly at that. A few weeks ago, she'd told him to basically stay away, and surprisingly, he did, and even if it was what she wanted, it didn't feel right. Nate still didn't know about them, though technically they hadn't done anything wrong. Of course, he didn't think there was anything wrong with asking Blair to meet Chuck in his stead. And she couldn't refuse Nate, not when she didn't have a valid reason.
"You look beautiful."
"You're drunk," she replies.
"You're. . .unfathomable. And cruel."
"You're an ass."
He pours himself another glass clumsily. "You're a bitch."
She fights a losing battle of not smiling. It's not good that she's looking forward to their next verbal spar.
"Oh. . .I'm sorry, did you want a drink?" he asks, waving his glass dangerously.
"No thank you. One of us has to be sober."
"Suit yourself."
She crosses her legs and watches him drink almost the whole bottle, what remained of it, at least. And something looked amiss to her, a part of him that didn't feel the same. He looks thinner, somehow and his eyes darker, with circles under them and he doesn't insult every second he gets to. She blames this all on the economic crisis, the perfect reason, she thinks. Not that she's worried.
"How's Nathaniel?" he slurs.
"He's fine. We're doing fine."
"I'm sure," he says below his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"I can't believe you have the nerve to still invite Nate for a drink," she tells him smoothly.
" No. . ." He shakes his head. "Nathaniel. . .He invited me."
"Well, you had a nerve to accept."
"You don't control my life," he says sarcastically, with a rueful smile. "I'm Chuck Bass. . ."
"He's mu husband."
"Then tell him."
"No, I'd rather not, thank you. Unlike you, I value you my relationships," she replied sweetly, a barb in her tone. "You Basses don't. Not even your son."
"Hey—" Chuck hiccupped and excused himself with a little chuckle. "Daniel's a good kid."
"You keep saying that."
"It's true."
"So you're saying running away is just in your genes?"
"Look who's talking," he mutters. She frowns, knowing she'll be tempted to ask about that.
"What are you talking about now?" she says, trying an impatient tone. "You know, listening to you drunk rambling is as interesting as watching—"
"Like hell you don't know what I'm talking about," he interrupted, his tone louder. "Like hell you haven't run away before, back to your husband."
"Because he is my husband!"
"Before he was, Blair! I was there," he says passionately quiet. His eyes don't look like someone drunk's. He looks sober. "You ignored all my phone calls, my letters, my emails. . .I was there and you ran away."
She looks at him, in what she hopes is an impassive stare. He shakes his head at her and pours himself another drink, gulps it quick, and refills his glass. She wants to say something about wondering how long it would be before the drinking catches us with him, but it's not the right time.
She spends the next hour holding her phone, wishing someone would interrupt the awkward silence between them. Nobody does, and a few times, she flips it open and pretends to be texting when she isn't. He drinks like she isn't there.
"It's late," she says impatiently. "And I think you've drunken enough to ensure you're going to need a liver transplant."
"You can. . .go home ahead," he mumbles. "Leave."
"And what about you?" she asks in a prissy tone.
"You don't care."
She hesitates. "Chuck."
"Life's unfair, Archibald. Deal with it," he scoffs. His words are coming together, and she's having difficulty understanding him. "Worse for me."
"When you're selfish, that's what you think."
He looks up. "And you're not?"he asks, sharply for someone whose drunken almost the entire bottle of scotch.
She rolls her eyes and sighs. Nate would understand what she's about to do; after all, it's his fault she's here. "Let's get you home, okay? Where's your driver?"
"Outside," he mutters and attempts to stand. He waves and Blair quickly holds him still, and he places his arm around her shoulders, throwing a couple of bills on the table. She thinks his breath smells like mint and scotch; almost irresistible.
Almost.
"Come on," she says, guiding him to the door. Most of his weight is on her and she bites her lip to keep from complaining. He tries to pull away but fall sback and nearly makes them both topple to the ground.
"Sorry," he slurred. She almost has to push him into the limo, and he leans against the window as far as could be from her. He looks asleep from where she sits, and she wishes too that she could.
The driver thankfully helps her bring Chuck up to his bedroom as he's half-asleep, and fully drunk. He throws up twice into the toilet, Blair looming above him(not worriedly), and ready to help him back up. And when he does look up again, his eyes look empty, red and tired. He looks sick.
She brings him back to his bed and pulls the cover over him, and watches him steadily.
He looks like a lost little boy, and as much as she hates it, it kills her.
"Blair?"
"Go to sleep, Chuck." She looks into her purse, searching for her phone, and trying to ignore him as he looks at her from his bed.
"Don't leave? Please."
"She sighs and lowers her purse. "I have to."
"Just for awhile."
Reluctantly, she sits next to him on the bed, figuring she'll leave when he falls asleep. Somehow, she gets to lying next to him, though she's put her arm in between them, just in case. Her eyes are closing, damn it, and she can still smell him from where she is.
Suddenly, she feels something on her lips, someone. She opens her eyes and in the darkness, she can make out his eyes over hers, his lips against hers. She can't find the strength to pull away, and it's one of those nightmares when you feel helpless against someone else. Except in this dream, in this nightmare, she wants it so badly she's scared.
She finds the strength to push him a little, but his lips are still too near.
"Chuck. . .what--?"
"Tell me you don't want it," he whispers. It's the second time this night that he doesn't seem as drunk as he is. "Tell me and I'll stop."
He buries his head in the crook between her shoulder and neck, kissing the latter gently. She gives a little sigh, and thinks: fuck it.
"I can't."
He gives her a little smile and kisses her lips again, deeply; it's like the fire she hasn't tasted in years.
"I love you, Blair," he finds time to say.
Before long, clothes are on the ground, and they're making love like only they can.
Blair knocks on the Humphrey residence's door and sighs, closing her eyes for a little moment. She didn't sleep too well last night. A maid answers the door and she waits in the living room for Serena, smiling at her children, her godchildren, on the way.
"B! This is a surprise. . .It's only nine in the morning. Dan's still asleep, actually."
Blair nods, her blood running cold in her. "I'm sorry."
"What happened?" Serena asks, her eyebrows knitting in worry. She flutters next to Blair on the couch. "Are you okay? You look like you haven't slept."
"I. . .Serena, I've done a horrible thing."
Serena withdraws a little.
Blair tries to phrase this as easily as she can.
"Last night, I cheated on Nate. With Chuck."
She looks at Serena, her face crumpled in helplessness.
"Oh my God, B."
Well, then? Did that deserve any reviews? Please tell me why or why not!