fic: Things We've Always Had (part 9)
Title: Things We've Always Had (Part 9)
Author: Air
Summary: A series of one-shot drabbles covering Chuck and Blair's relationship from kindergarten to the present day.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not Gossip Girl, or its characters.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Hey everyone. Sorry this has taken awhile. I've been getting over some writer's block. Please comment to help my motivation for the next chapter! Hope you like this one, it's my longest yet.
Previous Chapters:
1 - Kindergarten
2 - First Grade
3 - Second Grade
4 - Third Grade
5 - Fourth Grade
6 - Fifth Grade
7 - Sixth Grade
8 - Seventh Grade
+Plus, this fic is now available on fanfiction.net right here if you prefer.
“We have to get him to stop doing this,” Nate whispered.
“Why? What good would it do?” Blair whispered back harshly.
“You’re really going to sit back and just let this happen?”
“Yes. And so should you.”
“Why, Blair?”
“Because when Chuck sets his mind to something you can’t change it.”
“Even when that something is my father’s thirty year old single malt scotch whiskey?”
The couple was seated on the Archibald’s royal blue velvet recliner in the Captain’s study. He and Anne were out for their usual Thursday night dinner. And when the Archibald’s were away, Chuck Bass would play.
“My, my, the Captain does have good taste, Nathaniel,” Chuck exclaimed as he finished transferring the contents of the bottle into his two flasks and returned them to the warmth of his jacket. The flasks were for the road. He poured himself a glass, turned around to face the recliner where his friends were sitting and nearly spit out his beloved amber liquor at the sight of them. He began to chuckle. “You two look like you’ve been trapped in a loveless marriage for seven years. Seriously. Live a little.” And with that Chuck raised his glass to them in a mock salute before taking another swig.
“Oh God, now he’s drunk,” Blair rolled her eyes in annoyance. Nate sighed, exasperated, and stood up while Blair leaned back on the recliner, opting to do nothing.
“Come on Chuck, don’t you think it’s about time to call it a night?” Nate asked, concern evident in his tone.
“No,” Chuck responded coolly, not keen on Nate’s condescending tone. Why were sober people so self-righteous?
“Seriously how fun is it to drink alone? I mean Blair enjoys her champagne on a Saturday night and I’ll drink with you on the weekends if I don’t have a game the next day, but on a Thursday night? When we’re supposed to be studying for our Algebra test?”
Blair sighed happily from her seat. “I do like my Dom Perrignon to usher in my weekends.”
“Not really the point, Blair,” Nate snapped.
“A single malt isn’t for the purpose of simply getting drunk, Nathaniel,” Chuck interjected. “It’s meant to be savored. Also, I need to build up my tolerance level. Soon enough I hope to be virtually unfazed by its effects.”
“Great, I’m glad you’re training to be an alcoholic, Chuck,” Blair said sarcastically. “See sweetie? He’s exactly like you without the soccer ball attached to his foot.”
Nate was fed up with both Blair’s indifferent attitude and Chuck’s increasing inebriation. “Ok, Chuck I think it’s time we sent you home for dinner. Give me your phone I’ll call your driver.”
Chuck handed over his phone and sneered at Nate. “Itssalright Nate. I know when you and the lady want to be alone in the house.”
“How perceptive,” Blair responded saccharinely.
Chuck had never slurred his words before. He made his way to the door for a dramatic, sweeping exit, but his shoelaces were untied and he kept stepping on them and stumbling ever so slightly. Once at the door he wrapped his hand firmly around the knob and pulled. And shook. And pulled. But it would not budge. He was making a racket that could potentially attract the housekeeper so Blair finally stood up and approached the door, placing her hand atop Chuck’s. She pushed forward, releasing the door from its latch and sending Chuck tumbling forward into the foyer, struggling to keep his balance.
Nate hung up the phone with a loud snap. “Actually, Blair. I think it’d be a good idea if you went home too.”
Blair looked at her boyfriend incredulously. “I’m sorry. What?”
“You can call a cab, or you can go with Chuck and his driver can drop you off on the way to the Palace.”
“Fine.” Blair stormed out into the foyer and passed Chuck, who gave her his best smirk. Before he made a move to follow her, he hung onto the doorframe and poked his head inside the study.
“Hey. Next weekend make sure you’re free. That senior Carter Baizen wants to hang out. It’ll be worth our while,” Chuck said to Nate and made a smoking motion with his hand. Nate nodded and smiled his approval. After all, he wasn’t all that judgmental of Chuck’s ways, he just hated having to play the mad scientist by trying to even out whatever liquid Chuck had pilfered with whatever else was already open under the bar so that the Captain would remain none the wiser.
Chuck found himself outside, and the hot, sticky air wasn’t doing anything to help him sober up. He looked around for his limo, and finally spotted it in front of him. He’d forgotten there were a few steps leading down to the sidewalk and clumsily tried to find his footing before Blair had suddenly appeared, yanking on his arm and pulling him down the rest.
“Ow!” Chuck yelled.
“Oh save it, Bass. Get in.” Her nails were biting into his arm through the thick material of both his jacket and his shirt. Before he knew it, He’d been thrown into the back of his limo, and the door shut quickly after the petite brunette slid in. “You’re taking me home,” she said.
Chuck had noticed that time wasn’t moving at the right speed. He couldn’t remember transitioning from the study to the foyer to the steps to the limo. He remembered each place and what had happened, but he couldn’t link the incidents together. And now his head was spinning from all of the thinking and he pulled out his flask and took a swig. His free hand kneaded his temple as he contemplated his shoes. Why were his laces undone? That was simply unacceptable.
“Why don’t you call me Bass in front of Nate?” he mumbled after a few minutes of silence.
“Why don’t you acknowledge me in front of Nate?” She parried.
“Because I’m his friend and not yours,” Chuck answered callously as he shoved the flask in Blair’s face. “Here,” he said.
“Ew!” She swatted the unwanted thing away from her face, liquid erupting from its spout as her hand made contact with the cool metal. It spurted all over Chuck’s pants and the limo floorboards. He took another sip.
“Great. Now you’re going to reek of liquor even more than you already do,” Blair chided.
“Like you care.”
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be even more insufferable than you normally are, but clearly I was wrong... I hope you build up that tolerance quickly, Bass.”
“I love it when you call me that, B,” he drawled. Apparently his seductive charm wasn’t entirely lost while his head was spinning and his movements reacted a second later than his brain told them to.
“Do you, Bass?” Blair asked flirtatiously. She couldn’t help it sometimes. She had grown tired over time of constantly swatting him away and feigning disgust at every nasty thing he'd said. It was down right exhausting. So she had decided to play his game and ever so subtly respond to his verbal advances from time to time. He liked when she changed it up, it made her unpredictable and he couldn’t wait to see how she’d respond from day to day. He was definitely never bored if Blair Waldorf was around.
“I do, Waldorf,” Chuck nodded his approval. His eyes were hooded and his hair was a mess. Blair noticed his tie was crooked and his shoelaces were undone. She smiled at his disheveled appearance; he was an utter disaster and she didn’t think she had ever seen him this way.
Chuck leaned sideways to rest his head on Blair’s shoulder, finding peace from the spinning at last. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body so that he slumped against her and let out a breathy sigh.
“Gross, Chuck. We have to do something about your breath. Your father is going to smell you the second you sit down at the dinner table,” Blair said after his breathy sigh reached her nostrils and the smell of stale alcohol suddenly pervaded everything around her.
“Fuck,” was all Chuck could muster. He didn’t have the mental capacity to come up with a solution. “Do you have any gum?”
Blair opened her purse. “Let me see…I…I don’t-no I don’t.”
Chuck groaned. He was a dead man. And Blair Waldorf was going to be the last to see him alive. “I can’t believe Blair Waldorf is going to be the last person to see me alive,” he grumbled aloud.
“What? Ugh, pull yourself together. Here, here! This will have to do.” She pushed him into an upright position and probed his lips open with something glass and shaped somewhat like a bottle. She poured a warm liquid into his mouth and held his chin so that his jaw stayed closed. “Now. Don’t swallow. Chuck do you hear me?! Don’t. Swallow. Rinse.”
Blair shoved him towards the window and reached across his lap in order to push the automatic window control down. “Now spit.” She was glad his mouth was full right now or else she knew he’d have some clever remark about spitting and not swallowing.
Chuck cursed inwardly that he’d missed the opportunity to point out the familiarity with which Blair used the felatio related terms. He looked down at her spread across his lap holding the window button down and coaxing him to spit his drink out-wait. His drink. What was it? It tasted disgusting. Like rubbing alcohol and flowers with a hint of ocean breeze. Chuck’s eyes widened and he spit the shit out the window hurriedly. He spit several times, trying to get all of the taste out of his mouth. Blair moved her finger to the other end of the button and closed the window. She sat up.
“Blair?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you just feed me…perfume?”
“Eau de Toilette. Coco Mademoiselle.”
Chuck glared at her menacingly.
“Hey. At least this way you can simply say you had a girl in the limo,” Blair helped him out.
“Technically I did,” Chuck retorted snidely.
“Well then. Your father can be impressed by your conquests and not your blood alcohol level.”
“You owe me for this, Waldorf.”
“No. You owe me,” Blair countered. The limo slowed as it pulled up to the Palace. “Here. Let me fix your tie.”
“What about my shoelaces?” Chuck asked.
“Don’t push your luck. Take your shoes off when you walk in. Your dad goes to Bangkok a lot, he’ll like the nod to the custom there.”
“Come on, all you have to do is bend over a little bit.”
“Goodbye, Chuck!” and she pushed him out of the limo and sent him on his way to his four course dinner with Bart.
Author: Air
Summary: A series of one-shot drabbles covering Chuck and Blair's relationship from kindergarten to the present day.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, not Gossip Girl, or its characters.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Hey everyone. Sorry this has taken awhile. I've been getting over some writer's block. Please comment to help my motivation for the next chapter! Hope you like this one, it's my longest yet.
Previous Chapters:
1 - Kindergarten
2 - First Grade
3 - Second Grade
4 - Third Grade
5 - Fourth Grade
6 - Fifth Grade
7 - Sixth Grade
8 - Seventh Grade
+Plus, this fic is now available on fanfiction.net right here if you prefer.
“We have to get him to stop doing this,” Nate whispered.
“Why? What good would it do?” Blair whispered back harshly.
“You’re really going to sit back and just let this happen?”
“Yes. And so should you.”
“Why, Blair?”
“Because when Chuck sets his mind to something you can’t change it.”
“Even when that something is my father’s thirty year old single malt scotch whiskey?”
The couple was seated on the Archibald’s royal blue velvet recliner in the Captain’s study. He and Anne were out for their usual Thursday night dinner. And when the Archibald’s were away, Chuck Bass would play.
“My, my, the Captain does have good taste, Nathaniel,” Chuck exclaimed as he finished transferring the contents of the bottle into his two flasks and returned them to the warmth of his jacket. The flasks were for the road. He poured himself a glass, turned around to face the recliner where his friends were sitting and nearly spit out his beloved amber liquor at the sight of them. He began to chuckle. “You two look like you’ve been trapped in a loveless marriage for seven years. Seriously. Live a little.” And with that Chuck raised his glass to them in a mock salute before taking another swig.
“Oh God, now he’s drunk,” Blair rolled her eyes in annoyance. Nate sighed, exasperated, and stood up while Blair leaned back on the recliner, opting to do nothing.
“Come on Chuck, don’t you think it’s about time to call it a night?” Nate asked, concern evident in his tone.
“No,” Chuck responded coolly, not keen on Nate’s condescending tone. Why were sober people so self-righteous?
“Seriously how fun is it to drink alone? I mean Blair enjoys her champagne on a Saturday night and I’ll drink with you on the weekends if I don’t have a game the next day, but on a Thursday night? When we’re supposed to be studying for our Algebra test?”
Blair sighed happily from her seat. “I do like my Dom Perrignon to usher in my weekends.”
“Not really the point, Blair,” Nate snapped.
“A single malt isn’t for the purpose of simply getting drunk, Nathaniel,” Chuck interjected. “It’s meant to be savored. Also, I need to build up my tolerance level. Soon enough I hope to be virtually unfazed by its effects.”
“Great, I’m glad you’re training to be an alcoholic, Chuck,” Blair said sarcastically. “See sweetie? He’s exactly like you without the soccer ball attached to his foot.”
Nate was fed up with both Blair’s indifferent attitude and Chuck’s increasing inebriation. “Ok, Chuck I think it’s time we sent you home for dinner. Give me your phone I’ll call your driver.”
Chuck handed over his phone and sneered at Nate. “Itssalright Nate. I know when you and the lady want to be alone in the house.”
“How perceptive,” Blair responded saccharinely.
Chuck had never slurred his words before. He made his way to the door for a dramatic, sweeping exit, but his shoelaces were untied and he kept stepping on them and stumbling ever so slightly. Once at the door he wrapped his hand firmly around the knob and pulled. And shook. And pulled. But it would not budge. He was making a racket that could potentially attract the housekeeper so Blair finally stood up and approached the door, placing her hand atop Chuck’s. She pushed forward, releasing the door from its latch and sending Chuck tumbling forward into the foyer, struggling to keep his balance.
Nate hung up the phone with a loud snap. “Actually, Blair. I think it’d be a good idea if you went home too.”
Blair looked at her boyfriend incredulously. “I’m sorry. What?”
“You can call a cab, or you can go with Chuck and his driver can drop you off on the way to the Palace.”
“Fine.” Blair stormed out into the foyer and passed Chuck, who gave her his best smirk. Before he made a move to follow her, he hung onto the doorframe and poked his head inside the study.
“Hey. Next weekend make sure you’re free. That senior Carter Baizen wants to hang out. It’ll be worth our while,” Chuck said to Nate and made a smoking motion with his hand. Nate nodded and smiled his approval. After all, he wasn’t all that judgmental of Chuck’s ways, he just hated having to play the mad scientist by trying to even out whatever liquid Chuck had pilfered with whatever else was already open under the bar so that the Captain would remain none the wiser.
Chuck found himself outside, and the hot, sticky air wasn’t doing anything to help him sober up. He looked around for his limo, and finally spotted it in front of him. He’d forgotten there were a few steps leading down to the sidewalk and clumsily tried to find his footing before Blair had suddenly appeared, yanking on his arm and pulling him down the rest.
“Ow!” Chuck yelled.
“Oh save it, Bass. Get in.” Her nails were biting into his arm through the thick material of both his jacket and his shirt. Before he knew it, He’d been thrown into the back of his limo, and the door shut quickly after the petite brunette slid in. “You’re taking me home,” she said.
Chuck had noticed that time wasn’t moving at the right speed. He couldn’t remember transitioning from the study to the foyer to the steps to the limo. He remembered each place and what had happened, but he couldn’t link the incidents together. And now his head was spinning from all of the thinking and he pulled out his flask and took a swig. His free hand kneaded his temple as he contemplated his shoes. Why were his laces undone? That was simply unacceptable.
“Why don’t you call me Bass in front of Nate?” he mumbled after a few minutes of silence.
“Why don’t you acknowledge me in front of Nate?” She parried.
“Because I’m his friend and not yours,” Chuck answered callously as he shoved the flask in Blair’s face. “Here,” he said.
“Ew!” She swatted the unwanted thing away from her face, liquid erupting from its spout as her hand made contact with the cool metal. It spurted all over Chuck’s pants and the limo floorboards. He took another sip.
“Great. Now you’re going to reek of liquor even more than you already do,” Blair chided.
“Like you care.”
“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be even more insufferable than you normally are, but clearly I was wrong... I hope you build up that tolerance quickly, Bass.”
“I love it when you call me that, B,” he drawled. Apparently his seductive charm wasn’t entirely lost while his head was spinning and his movements reacted a second later than his brain told them to.
“Do you, Bass?” Blair asked flirtatiously. She couldn’t help it sometimes. She had grown tired over time of constantly swatting him away and feigning disgust at every nasty thing he'd said. It was down right exhausting. So she had decided to play his game and ever so subtly respond to his verbal advances from time to time. He liked when she changed it up, it made her unpredictable and he couldn’t wait to see how she’d respond from day to day. He was definitely never bored if Blair Waldorf was around.
“I do, Waldorf,” Chuck nodded his approval. His eyes were hooded and his hair was a mess. Blair noticed his tie was crooked and his shoelaces were undone. She smiled at his disheveled appearance; he was an utter disaster and she didn’t think she had ever seen him this way.
Chuck leaned sideways to rest his head on Blair’s shoulder, finding peace from the spinning at last. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body so that he slumped against her and let out a breathy sigh.
“Gross, Chuck. We have to do something about your breath. Your father is going to smell you the second you sit down at the dinner table,” Blair said after his breathy sigh reached her nostrils and the smell of stale alcohol suddenly pervaded everything around her.
“Fuck,” was all Chuck could muster. He didn’t have the mental capacity to come up with a solution. “Do you have any gum?”
Blair opened her purse. “Let me see…I…I don’t-no I don’t.”
Chuck groaned. He was a dead man. And Blair Waldorf was going to be the last to see him alive. “I can’t believe Blair Waldorf is going to be the last person to see me alive,” he grumbled aloud.
“What? Ugh, pull yourself together. Here, here! This will have to do.” She pushed him into an upright position and probed his lips open with something glass and shaped somewhat like a bottle. She poured a warm liquid into his mouth and held his chin so that his jaw stayed closed. “Now. Don’t swallow. Chuck do you hear me?! Don’t. Swallow. Rinse.”
Blair shoved him towards the window and reached across his lap in order to push the automatic window control down. “Now spit.” She was glad his mouth was full right now or else she knew he’d have some clever remark about spitting and not swallowing.
Chuck cursed inwardly that he’d missed the opportunity to point out the familiarity with which Blair used the felatio related terms. He looked down at her spread across his lap holding the window button down and coaxing him to spit his drink out-wait. His drink. What was it? It tasted disgusting. Like rubbing alcohol and flowers with a hint of ocean breeze. Chuck’s eyes widened and he spit the shit out the window hurriedly. He spit several times, trying to get all of the taste out of his mouth. Blair moved her finger to the other end of the button and closed the window. She sat up.
“Blair?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you just feed me…perfume?”
“Eau de Toilette. Coco Mademoiselle.”
Chuck glared at her menacingly.
“Hey. At least this way you can simply say you had a girl in the limo,” Blair helped him out.
“Technically I did,” Chuck retorted snidely.
“Well then. Your father can be impressed by your conquests and not your blood alcohol level.”
“You owe me for this, Waldorf.”
“No. You owe me,” Blair countered. The limo slowed as it pulled up to the Palace. “Here. Let me fix your tie.”
“What about my shoelaces?” Chuck asked.
“Don’t push your luck. Take your shoes off when you walk in. Your dad goes to Bangkok a lot, he’ll like the nod to the custom there.”
“Come on, all you have to do is bend over a little bit.”
“Goodbye, Chuck!” and she pushed him out of the limo and sent him on his way to his four course dinner with Bart.