He couldn't stop touching her. Couldn't stop kissing her. It was a ceaseless battle, give and take, push and pull, indulgence and restraint. With anyone else, Chuck would have taken what was offered, no questions asked, no hesitation, and walked away without a second thought. He had learned long ago to give only what was necessary, just enough to keep the game going. Never more than he could afford to lose. That was how it worked: you took, and took, until there was nothing left worth taking.
But this was Blair.
With her, the rules had never applied.
It wasn't about taking anymore. It was about proving he could be more than the tarnished version of himself everyone else had grown accustomed to. The guy who had burned bridges and hearts alike. It was a quest for redemption, and from the moment he had found her sitting alone on that beach, all he had wanted to do was give—his heart, his truth, his entire goddamn soul if she asked.
To show her that she hadn't made a mistake in trusting him. To atone, somehow, for all seven days of the past week. To hold back his own release and focus only on hers, until happiness flowed like a river, one that could wash away the scars he had left behind.
Even when she urged him to stop holding back and take his share too, he had resisted. Tried to, at least. But Blair, with her fierce intuition and unapologetic desires, had cut through his defenses without even trying. Her need for him was raw, consuming, leaving him with nothing to fight back with. It disarmed him, undid him completely.
And then, with crystalline clarity, he realized: the only thing she needed from him was the very thing he had always been too afraid to give.
Him.
Stripped bare. Down to the bone.
Just him.
And nothing else.
The night unraveled. In gasps. In whispers. In confessions, too precious, too real to ever be spoken in the harsh light of day. The eager, passionate opening gambit followed with a slow, tender second act. Bodies clung and collided, their desire flaring until every ember was spent. But as dawn slipped through the curtains, Chuck remained wide-eyed, unwilling, perhaps unable, to surrender to sleep. His muscles throbbed with that familiar, residual ache, yet it wasn't this physical discomfort that anchored him to the waking world. It was something else: the imprint she had left behind, the ghost of her touch still pressed into his skin, refusing to fade. Proof that opening his heart didn't always lead to pain. To rejection. Instead, it had brought warmth. Chills with every kiss. Peace with every look. Her body had responded so fully to his, now sacrosanct and reserved for her alone.
To him, this was always more than a fleeting affair of teenage lust. And he hadn't needed it—at least, he thought he hadn't. But hearing her say it back was like the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.
Chuck blinked at the ceiling, as if the stillness might calm the storm in his chest, but those three little words spun wildly, caught in the afterglow of what they'd shared. Each breath tasted sweeter now, fuller, as if the very air had changed.
His heart still pulsed to the rhythm of her name, steady and inescapable. How could he possibly rest, when the night had woven itself into his most intoxicating dream?
Time had lost its grip entirely, each second folding into the next without weight or consequence.
If he closed his eyes, would it all disappear?
Then Blair stirred, her arm sliding across the sheets, lazy, effortless, an instinctual grace only she possessed. Fingertips brushed the bare skin of his side, soft but deliberate, like she was making sure he was still there. Still hers.
He hadn't moved. Not this time.
How could he?
Dark lashes touched her cheeks. Lips parted, soft, inviting. Always like this when she was just waking up. He had missed it. Missed her. Missed those early days after their first kiss. But he could see the exhaustion lingering in the soft rise and fall of her chest, in the way her eyelids drooped.
"Go back to sleep, beautiful," he murmured, trying—and failing—not to smile. "You need it."
The lines on her face softened as his words sank in, and slowly she blinked awake. "I love that, you know?" Her voice was throaty, sleepy, but sure.
Chuck frowned slightly. "Love what?"
"I love when you call me beautiful," she replied.
He exhaled, brushing a stray lock from her face. "Well, you are."
The words felt too simple, too casual, but no less true.
Blair could fight him all she wanted. It didn't change a single thing. To him, she was everything. Flawed, infuriating, brilliant. Beautiful. Perfect in a way only she could be.
Her eyes locked onto his, and the fog of sleep slowly lifted, replaced by a spark he was all too familiar with. Then came that smile—not just any smile, but the self-assured one that promised trouble. The one he could never resist.
Like a predator who had just sighted its prey.
And Chuck was more than willing to be caught.
His body tightened, heat pooling low as he imagined how fast he could have her trembling, gasping beneath him. He clenched his jaw, trying to shove the thought aside.
How much sleep had she really gotten? An hour? Maybe two, at most.
"Sleep."
"I'm not tired."
His fingers caressed the curve of her arm, now resting on his chest. "Liar."
"Why would I sleep," she said, inching closer, "when there are far more… enticing possibilities right here?"
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Chuck never put much stock in luck, but something, or someone, had been watching over him the day Blair Waldorf stormed into his life. "Careful. You know I'm always up for the challenge."
"Who said you had a choice?"
"Since when do I ever? Come on, what's your devious little mind plotting now?"
"I'm insulted," she quipped, her fingers tracing lazy circles over his skin. "You make me sound so predictable."
"You're many things, Waldorf, but predictable isn't one of them. Dangerous, though—that's another story."
"Oh, really?"
"Really." His voice dropped, the heat between them thickening. "Though, judging by the state you're in, I must've worn you out with all my adequacy last night."
Blair bit her lip, pressing her naked body against his. "Not even close."
"Would a tired girl be doing this?" she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. Her lips brushed just below it, the light flick of her tongue setting his nerves alight.
Tension coiled tight in his chest.
It was crazy, ridiculous even, how little it took.
"Or this?" she murmured, her lips trailing to his neck. A sharp nip, soothed by a soft kiss, made his breath falter.
Her hand slid down his torso, fingertips tracing every muscle ridge with unnerving precision. His pulse quickened, restraint slipping as a low groan escaped him. "You really should work on keeping up," she teased.
He closed his eyes, surrendering to the pleasure, his head sinking into the pillow. "You're walking a fine line, Blair."
"Maybe." She pulled back just enough to make him miss the contact. "Or maybe I just want to enjoy my boyfriend while he's still here—before he disappears to some far-flung corner of the world for a week, because heaven forbid things start to get a little too real."
The word knocked the air out of his chest. He had worn many labels in his life, some earned, others not, but this one felt foreign. Like a suit that didn't quite fit yet. Or one he wasn't sure ever would. Perhaps that was the point: to grow into it. To try.
Chuck breathed again, the air coming easier now.
It had slipped from her lips with an unexpected certainty, as if no other word could ever mean as much.
But then the rest of what she said caught up with him. No malice in her tone, no sharp edge meant to wound, but the ghosts of that night still haunted the space between them. For a moment, he let the silence stretch. He could brush it off, flash a smug grin, toss out another well-timed quip to push the moment aside, and keep things in safe territory. It would be easy. Familiar. Too familiar. But if he did that, he might as well have stayed gone.
So, he turned on his side and offered her a bit more of the truth. "If by 'far-flung corner of the world' you mean my suite at the Palace, and by 'disappearing' you mean suffering through a week of pure, unrelenting misery without you… then yeah, you've got me all figured out."
Blair's lips parted, but nothing came out.
Not wanting to dwell too long on the uncomfortable revelation, Chuck released some of the pressure, like slowly uncorking a bottle. "Don't tell anyone," he added, lowering his voice with mock seriousness. "I've got a reputation to uphold."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare ruin the Bass legacy." Her composure snapped back into place with ease. "Years of debauchery and excess… wasted."
"A lot of time, manipulation, and top-shelf Scotch went into that."
Blair studied him for a beat, not letting him off the hook. She never did. "And what did all that misery look like, exactly? Brooding in the dark, feeling sorry for yourself?"
"Pretty much." This was the part he hated—the admission that he wasn't as in control as he liked to pretend. "Popped pill after pill just to get through the day. Slept too much. Barely ate. Every time I closed my eyes, you were there. Sometimes I was so out of it, I could almost feel you next to me. It was pathetic, really. I was a fucking mess."
"No, you weren't."
"Trust me. It was far from pretty."
"You were just scared. And, fine, maybe a little bit stupid."
That hit close. She wasn't wrong, though. His own mistakes had cost them a lot of time—time they couldn't get back. But they were here now, weren't they?
"In the end, it didn't turn out so bad, did it?" he said. "All things considered."
"You do realize we would have ended up here regardless, right? I was ready that morning."
"I wasn't." His voice cracked. "I would've ruined it. Maybe not that day, but soon after. I wasn't ready then, and I'm not even sure I am now. Hell, I'm terrified I'll still find a way to fuck this up."
Admitting it felt like tearing open an old wound, one that had never truly healed. The kind that only needed a careless touch to start bleeding again. He hadn't meant to put it out there, as if he were a ticking time bomb, but now that it was, he couldn't take it back.
Blair didn't flinch. "But you're here."
"I am."
"And you'll still be here tomorrow?"
Maybe it could be that simple. He could give her today, and tomorrow, and the day after. One day at a time.
The tension that had been wrapped tightly around his chest eased, slowly unraveling like a knot pulled just loose enough to let a small smile break through. "If you don't kill me first, I will."
Her lips curled. "Now where's the fun in that?"
A soft chuckle escaped him, surprising even himself. Maybe, just maybe, those days would turn into months. And months into years.
She was it. She had always been it.
Blair moved closer, her fingers brushing along his jaw—lightly, but with purpose.
"So," she asked softly, her voice dipping back into that familiar, teasing lilt, the one that always made his pulse quicken, "what does that make me? Your personal tormentor?"
"Temptation... tormentor... the one thing I can't stay away from. Call it whatever you want, Waldorf."
"Temptation? That's a new one."
"Don't act so surprised. You know you are."
"I do. I just like hearing you say it."
He shook his head, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips, as if he could shake off the magnetic force of her presence, but it clung stubbornly to him. It started in his fingertips, a subtle spark, before surging to his heart like an inevitable tidal wave. "God, you're impossible."
"So I've been told. But you like me that way, don't you?"
"Like doesn't even begin to cover it."
Her smile widened, all quiet triumph. "Then what are you waiting for?"
Chuck didn't need to be told twice.
Their mouths crashed together with a hunger that felt inevitable. It was no secret that she was an exceptional kisser, a master of pressure and release, and he was a willing addict, always coming back for more. And as her hands ran through his hair, pulling him closer, it should have been impossible for them to smile—but somehow, they both did. There was a wild joy there, sharp-edged and electric, something Chuck could hardly believe was real but was set on grabbing hold of anyway. It was the shadow of something larger, something neither had dared to touch before. And they just kept searching, looking deeper.
Redefining the lines, giving them a new meaning. A new name.
His hands worshiped her, each touch laced with the hope that she felt as good as he did. Hoping that the thought of him leaving was as inconceivable to her as it was to him.
They had spent most of the night giving and taking and giving some more, lost in each other, and it still felt like it wasn't nearly enough.
When they finally broke apart, for the sake of oxygen and that alone, Chuck rested his forehead against hers, not letting things escalate any further.
Yet.
"Your boyfriend, huh?" He tossed the word out casually.
"Mmm, yes," she replied with a wet kiss, her tongue flicking over his lower lip before she pulled back just enough to scan the room with exaggerated flair. "Have you seen him? Devilishly handsome, infuriatingly smug, and with an ego so big, I'm surprised the house hasn't collapsed under the weight of it."
"Sounds like a nightmare."
"Oh, he is."
"Should I be worried?" His voice dipped, rich with the challenge, as his palm slid down her side in a slow, merciless stroke.
Blair tilted her head, pretending to weigh the pros and cons as his hand continued its descent, claiming inch after inch of her skin like he was marking her without leaving a trace.
"Only if you're threatened by someone who thinks he's God's gift to women," she said. "Though, between you and me, he could probably use a bit more… finesse."
Chuck snorted softly, his thumb skimming the inside of her thigh. "Please."
"Any objections?"
"None at all. Keep going."
"Well, he has potential. But you know, sometimes potential needs a bit of... encouragement. A nudge, here and there. To get the job done."
His knuckles brushed the warmth between her legs, coaxing the air out of her lungs as he leaned in, his lips near her ear. "So, you're saying this guy doesn't know how to finish?"
"Let's just say he's great at heating things up… but not so great at following through."
"Interesting," he said, fingers working her just enough to get her close but never quite enough to give her what she wanted. "And here I thought he was supposed to be skilled."
Her breath hitched despite herself, but she masked it with a casual shrug. "Oh, he thinks he is. Which is cute. Sometimes." Her tone shifted, more calculated now. "But really? He's more of a work in progress. Lucky for him, I've always enjoyed a good project."
"I'm well aware. Anything else I should be bracing for?"
"Plenty."
"Well, fuck me."
"Pretty sure we've covered that." Her voice was taut with tension, but she managed to keep the challenge alive in her eyes. "More than once."
"Like I'd ever forget." He kept the rhythm slow, relentless, circling her with precision. "Come on, what else?"
Her nails dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she pulled him closer, her mouth dangerously close to his. "Oh, since you asked… he's got the full package: high-maintenance, emotionally unavailable, notoriously hard to keep around. A bit of a classic fight risk, really."
He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess I had that one coming."
"You did."
Before he could respond, Blair shoved his hand aside and pushed him back onto the mattress, her knee sliding between his legs as she swung over him with the kind of confidence that made his breath catch. Fuck, she learned fast. Straddling him like she owned every inch, her hands splayed across his chest, pressing him down as if pinning him beneath her will. His body betrayed him as his dick twitched in response, hardening under her as she rubbed herself against him.
"What about you?" She bit her lip, her voice all honey and venom. "Anyone I need to worry about?"
"Oh, absolutely. Unlike that disaster you've been saddled with, my girl is... exceptional. Almost impossible to resist."
"Exceptional, you say? Do tell."
His hands slid up her thighs, his grip firm as he leaned back into the pillow. "Always three steps ahead of everyone else. Ambitious, ruthless. Knows exactly how to keep me on my toes. So clever it's almost maddening."
"That's exhausting. You sure you can keep up with her?"
"Oh, I manage. I wouldn't want her any other way."
"One would say you have found a real one."
"I have."
Blair let the silence hang between them for a moment, her nails trailing down his chest, dragging just hard enough to make him inhale sharply. "Too bad it's just me here, then." She shifted her hips, grinding against him. "But I can still make you feel good. And who knows? Maybe you can fuck me before she gets home."
Chuck's laugh came out rough, almost a groan. "You're so fucking crazy."
Blair let out a low hum of agreement, a throaty, dangerous sound. Her smile was pure temptation as she leaned down. "That girlfriend of yours doesn't stand a chance."
"She really doesn't."
Eventually, exhaustion took over and drew them into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Limbs intertwined, sheets knotted beneath them.
But the peace didn't last.
A sharp knock shattered the quiet. Chuck tensed, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, as if he could will the interruption away. His mind lagged behind, sluggish, still crawling out of the fog of sleep. For a fleeting second, he convinced himself it was just a bad dream. And then, like a cruel cosmic joke, Serena's voice cut through—shrill enough to wake the dead. Or, in this case, ruin his morning.
"Chuck? You in there?"
High-pitched. Irritating. Unmistakable.
Of course, it had to be her.
His head pounded, the haze still clinging to him.
"Chuck?"
Another knock. Louder. More demanding.
"Chuck!"
Tap, tap, tap.
It was like she had taken a nail gun directly to his skull, precise, relentless, and completely maddening.
If someone demanded every dollar he had to make his stepsister stop, he'd hand it over without hesitation. How could one person be so exhausting?
Chuck didn't bother opening his eyes. "I've had hangovers less grating than this."
Blair groaned beside him, voice muffled by the pillow. "Chuck… get rid of her before I do something drastic."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How drastic are we talking?"
"Drastic enough to lose a friend and make tomorrow's Page Six."
"Now that's tempting."
"Oh, come on!" Serena's voice pierced through the door again. "I know you're in there. I can hear you whispering."
Clearly, some people in this house didn't know how to take a fucking clue—or a closed door, for that matter. But then again, common sense was wasted on his stepsister.
Chuck cracked one eye open, his brow furrowing as he let out a low, annoyed grunt. "It's far too early for this shit."
Blair, ever the realist, glanced at the clock. "It's way past noon, Chuck."
"Like I said. Too early."
He shut his eyes again. If Serena wanted to keep this up, she could take up permanent residence in the hallway for all he cared. Eventually, she'd exhaust herself. Or drop dead from the effort. Either outcome was acceptable.
But Blair, of course, had other plans. Her palm smacked against his arm with just enough force to make her point. "Do something."
"Why me?"
"Because this is your room, and she's your problem. I'm just the innocent bystander who happens to be trapped here."
Chuck snorted, finally peeling his eyes open. "Innocent? You? Spare me the performance."
Blair rolled onto her back with a dramatic sigh, her fingers curling around the edge of the sheet as though she were testing how easy it would be to strangle someone with it. It didn't take much to guess who. "What the hell does she want?"
"Does it matter? Just pretend she's not there. It's working for me."
It was not working. At all.
"How does she even know you're back?"
He hesitated, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I might've told her."
"You what?" Blair shot him a look that could freeze over Hell.
"Don't give me that look. I needed to know where you were."
"Right. Forgot you two were inseparable all of a sudden."
"Don't start."
"Why shouldn't I? She's pounding on the door like we're hosting an open house."
Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Well, I do love a good gathering."
"Yes, because that's exactly what we need right now—more of your 'guests.'"
On the other side of the door, Serena's voice droned on. "Is Blair in there with you?"
His eyes rolled so far back he swore he saw his past sins. "Astounding, isn't she? A real beacon of intellect. Maybe she'll win a MacArthur Fellowship. If they ever start giving them out for stating the obvious."
Blair finally cracked, a soft laugh escaping as she relaxed beside him. But Serena, oblivious as ever, kept going. "I checked her room, her bed's untouched, and she's not answering her phone. Chuck, what if something happened to her? I'm starting to think I should call—"
"Oh, something happened to her, alright," he said.
She shot him a sideways glance, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.
"We could just ignore her," he suggested, lazily draping his arm over his eyes.
"Yeah, that's going well so far."
"She'll get bored eventually."
Blair's snort was pure derision. "In your wildest dreams."
"Those, Waldorf, are reserved exclusively for you."
The knocking paused. Silence—blessed, glorious silence. Chuck let himself hope, for a second, that maybe, just maybe, Serena had given up. Then, like an auctioneer at Sotheby's who just wouldn't drop the gavel, her voice returned, louder and more relentless. "Fine! I'm coming in!"
Blair bolted upright, eyes wide. "Shit."
Chuck groaned, rolling his head toward her with a long-suffering sigh. "Relax. She's bluffing."
"How can you be so sure?"
"She learned her lesson last time."
"Which was?"
"Not to barge in uninvited. Last time she did, she got an eyeful of me in all my glory." He paused, letting the words sink in. "That's a sight she'll never get out of her mind, I can tell you that. Scarred her for life."
Blair's eyebrows shot up. "Did it really?"
"Fastest I've ever seen her run. And we've seen her run out of galas barefoot with half of Fifth Avenue chasing her."
Then, it was like a lock finally turning, each click precise and inevitable. Blair's face sharpened, her expression changing to something more cunning. "You know… we could make this fun," she said.
Fun. How could they make this fun?
The thought snapped to life, and before he could voice it, her lips curled into a devilish grin. Of course. She didn't need to explain. She never did. They were always one step ahead, reading each other like a well-worn playbook. He could practically taste her plotting, the air between them crackling with the same high. His own grin followed.
Poor Serena. Pacing outside, clueless as ever, like a jittery rabbit waiting for the snare to tighten, while inside, he and Blair circled like wolves. His stepsister was so easy to wind up, and that made the game all the sweeter.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Blair asked.
"Absolutely."
"She's right there. Impatient, waiting. And we're in here…"
"...making her imagination run wild." His reply was effortless, their minds already dancing in sync.
Nothing more needed to be said.
Another knock rattled the door, more hesitant this time. "Chuck? What's going on in there?"
Blair's hands moved with slow, deliberate intent, tracing the line of his jaw before sliding down to rest against his chest. Then, with perfect timing, she let out a low, throaty moan.
Loud enough to cut through the door like a knife.
A pause. "Um… guys?" Serena's voice wavered, rising in pitch. "Blair? Are you—oh my God."
His amusement deepened, as if orchestrating both Blair's pleasure and Serena's torment was the most natural thing in the world. It twisted into something darker, more primal, as Blair straddled him, her bare skin flush against his. The absurdity of it all only heightened the heat between them. That, and Blair's little habit of getting extra loud when the stakes were high. He sat up to meet her, one hand sliding to the back of her neck as he pulled her closer, capturing her mouth in a deep, languid kiss, savoring every second.
His hands slid down to her hips, gripping her firmly enough to create friction between them. Blair's breath hitched, her body reacting instinctively. And then, with a knowing smirk, he bucked his hips up hard enough.
"Chuck!" Her cry, part pleasure, part performance, wrapped around them.
"No, no, no! I—oh my God, seriously? What the hell is wrong with you two?!"
Blair didn't miss a beat. She let out another moan—longer, louder, dripping with exaggeration. The sound carried through the room, through the walls, probably through the entire damn hallway. Chuck could practically hear Serena's brain short-circuiting.
Her panicked footsteps shuffled back, then forward, as if she couldn't decide whether to flee or barge in. "Stop it! Right now! I swear to God, if you two are—no, oh my God, this is—I can't unhear this!"
Blair's laugh was pure evil. "Maybe we should open the door. Let her see for herself."
"Trust you to get turned on when you have an audience, Waldorf."
She hummed in agreement, then lowered her voice to a whisper only he could hear. "Should I start narrating?" Her fingers trailed down his chest to where their bodies met. "Tell her all the dirty things I want you to do to me?"
"Get creative."
And so she did.
"You guys are disgusting!" Serena shouted.
Chuck buried his face in Blair's neck, laughter shaking his body, his mouth pressed against her skin, muffling the sound. "You're incredible."
Blair's lips curled, her response soft and smug. "I know."
"Think we broke her?"
Serena's retreat was fast and frantic, footsteps practically echoing as she ran down the hallway, curses flying like scattered debris. Chuck plopped onto his back, one arm flung across his forehead.
"Well," he said between breaths, "that did the trick."
"I think she'll need a team of therapists after this."
"Let her bill me." Laughter still bubbled in his chest. "Worth every penny."
Their eyes met, and in that brief exchange, the entire game was laid bare. This—the thrill, the understanding, the way they fit together like a perfect con. They didn't just thrive in it—they owned it. No one could match them. No one even came close.
The distant sound of footsteps faded down the hall, punctuated by the slam of a door. The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was theirs, humming with triumph, the kind that settled deep in your bones.
Blair sighed, lazy and content, rolling onto her back, her head finding its place against his shoulder. "You think she'll ever come back?"
"Not without a priest."
Author's Note:
Hi! It's been a while, I know, so forgive me for taking so long! I had a bit of a tough time staying focused over the summer, but I'm finally back on track. Honestly, I'm not over the moon about this one, but it's what my heart was telling me to write, so I went with it. We're almost at the end of the story, and I'm not sure how many people are still following along, but I just wanted to say thank you for sticking with me. I really hope you've enjoyed it, even just a little ❤️