fic: Things We've Always Had (part 13)
Title: Things We've Always Had (Part 13)
Author: Air (klingy12 @ fanfiction.net)
Summary: A series of one-shot drabbles covering Chuck and Blair's relationship from kindergarten to the present day.
Author's Note: Hi everyone. I am so so sorry that this took as long as it did to update. I kind of had to regroup and see how I was going to take this story into the show's timeline. But there's finally some romance for you now! I hope you enjoy and please take the time to review and tell me what you think. And as always, a special thanks to Lynne.
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
9 - Eighth Grade
10 - Ninth Grade
11 - Tenth Grade, Part One
12 - Tenth Grade, Part Two
+Plus, this fic is now available on fanfiction.net right here if you prefer.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days and not one of them was spent without the other. The minutes proved it, but somehow the duration of each second-of every millisecond, seemed more languid, more drawn out. It felt like a lifetime.
Thanksgiving had been spent with a rare but upstanding Johnnie Walker, a good friend. A friend who could make Chuck Bass forget about his frustratingly painful infatuation with the only woman he could never touch was a good friend to have. He purged himself of coherent thought and action while she purged the remnants of her stomach.
The next day, when at last thankfulness could be disregarded for another year at least, she’d arrived at his suite. Knocking loudly and persistently as early as dawn.
“What is it, Waldorf?”
“Serena knows,” she had said plainly.
It was over.
He started at the sound of the door slamming behind her as she crossed the threshold inside and threw herself at him with an ardent kiss. Blinding, in fact, as his eyes could only see searing white as she bruised his lips and pressed her entire frame against him.
“Blair,” he rasped, willing himself to pull away from her and lose the sensation of her melting completely and utterly into him.
She ignored his plea and caught his bottom lip between hers, tugging at it with her teeth. He couldn’t resist then, with the glint of the cool morning sun reflecting off of her hair and the slight red that sparkled and disappeared as she moved above him, suddenly horizontal on his mussed sheets. He couldn’t resist then because it may very well have been the last time he would have her.
Every time for two weeks may have been the very last time he would have her. So he’d had her every day. He couldn’t get enough of her, and luckily she seemed insatiable too.
So he had grown confident.
“Meet me on the roof,” her phone buzzed and she read the words. A gulp forced itself down her throat.
It wasn’t enough that she had spent the entire afternoon in his suite, but his eyes had been on her all night. Like a fox, he watched her every move and she readily ignored him, flashing smiles and sipping on champagne.
“No,” she typed and snapped her phone shut.
She scanned the room and he was no longer watching her and maybe she missed it. Suddenly she was stifled by the swarms of mechanical ants feeling their way all around her. Like bugs, like worker bees that could only follow. Sometimes she hated being the only one who could lead. But the queen bee reigns solitary without an equal king.
It’s just how it is.
Outside, the Manhattan air was crisp, but not biting. It cooled his hands around his glass tumbler, but the wind-for being twenty-five stories up-was relatively calm. He loved rooftops. The remoteness, the intimacy with the skyline and all of the lights. The city was his. To watch over, to covet, to hold.
Even if just for an instant.
The thick metal door hitched.
“Chuck,” her voice was low and ominous.
“Waldorf,” he nodded. Coolly.
He brought his tumbler to his lips. She grabbed it and gulped.
“You’re an idiot.”
“So?”
He leaned forward, smelling the scotch on her breath.
“It’s sexy when you have a man’s drink on your breath, Blair,” he drawled.
“Shut up.”
His shoulder blades hit the bricks behind him and he grimaced.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
There was the heat of sex dripping from their very words.
“Don’t ever pull something like that again,” she ordered.
“Then don’t ever wear this dress again,” he parried.
He brought her fingers to the belt of his trousers.
“Keep it in your pants, Bass.”
“Make me.”
Zip.
She had always been a hypocrite.
On the one day Chuck thought he was going to lose her for good, it had been fourteen hours since he’d seen her. Fourteen blurred hours and now her door was locked.
“Open the door, Blair.” His words dripped with frustration.
“Leave now or I’ll call Dorota!”
“Please,” he scoffed.
He could hear the numbers being punched on the other side of the door. She was standing right there and two inches of thick oak felt like the fucking Atlantic Ocean.
Her phone snapped shut.
“Go away Chuck!”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me.”
She sighed. The phone again. He rolled his eyes.
His vibrated.
It was a text. Forwarded: Can’t. With N. Later. -C
“Well, it’s later,” she mocked. “Come for your gratuitous fuck?”
He hit the door with his open palm.
She flinched.
“Open the door Blair.” His voice was low. His brow against the Atlantic Ocean.
She didn’t even bother to respond.
“Ok. Fine. I’ll play your little game.” He rammed his thumb down on speed dial, number one.
She could hear the ringing. Like bees buzzing in unison somewhere in the distance.
“Nathaniel.” Chuck smirked. “How about that bar out in Soho later tonight? What was it called again? Right. I’m just at Blair’s-“
The door swung open brutally.
His phone dropped to his side. The line went blank.
Her face was drained of color; even her lips were almost nude. Wide eyes, those very wide eyes, were frightened and lost. She looked like she had just seen a ghost, and the tremor of her chin rendered her almost juvenile in her vulnerability.
She held his gaze.
He beheld her with fascination at this new person he was seeing. His brow furrowed and his lips parted as he tried to assess her. He tried to speak but he’d never really been on good terms with earnestness.
His mouth was on hers before she could get her bearings. Large masculine hands held her face in place as his lips crushed down over hers. She parted her lips and she could have sworn he literally stole her breath away from her and claimed it for his own.
If all love equated to was disappointment and disenchantment, she would rather take this. Whatever this was. At least she felt wanted, desired, needed. If, for only a moment, being in love with Nate Archibald meant apathy, then she would rather take…
Author: Air (klingy12 @ fanfiction.net)
Summary: A series of one-shot drabbles covering Chuck and Blair's relationship from kindergarten to the present day.
Author's Note: Hi everyone. I am so so sorry that this took as long as it did to update. I kind of had to regroup and see how I was going to take this story into the show's timeline. But there's finally some romance for you now! I hope you enjoy and please take the time to review and tell me what you think. And as always, a special thanks to Lynne.
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
9 - Eighth Grade
10 - Ninth Grade
11 - Tenth Grade, Part One
12 - Tenth Grade, Part Two
+Plus, this fic is now available on fanfiction.net right here if you prefer.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days and not one of them was spent without the other. The minutes proved it, but somehow the duration of each second-of every millisecond, seemed more languid, more drawn out. It felt like a lifetime.
Thanksgiving had been spent with a rare but upstanding Johnnie Walker, a good friend. A friend who could make Chuck Bass forget about his frustratingly painful infatuation with the only woman he could never touch was a good friend to have. He purged himself of coherent thought and action while she purged the remnants of her stomach.
The next day, when at last thankfulness could be disregarded for another year at least, she’d arrived at his suite. Knocking loudly and persistently as early as dawn.
“What is it, Waldorf?”
“Serena knows,” she had said plainly.
It was over.
He started at the sound of the door slamming behind her as she crossed the threshold inside and threw herself at him with an ardent kiss. Blinding, in fact, as his eyes could only see searing white as she bruised his lips and pressed her entire frame against him.
“Blair,” he rasped, willing himself to pull away from her and lose the sensation of her melting completely and utterly into him.
She ignored his plea and caught his bottom lip between hers, tugging at it with her teeth. He couldn’t resist then, with the glint of the cool morning sun reflecting off of her hair and the slight red that sparkled and disappeared as she moved above him, suddenly horizontal on his mussed sheets. He couldn’t resist then because it may very well have been the last time he would have her.
Every time for two weeks may have been the very last time he would have her. So he’d had her every day. He couldn’t get enough of her, and luckily she seemed insatiable too.
So he had grown confident.
“Meet me on the roof,” her phone buzzed and she read the words. A gulp forced itself down her throat.
It wasn’t enough that she had spent the entire afternoon in his suite, but his eyes had been on her all night. Like a fox, he watched her every move and she readily ignored him, flashing smiles and sipping on champagne.
“No,” she typed and snapped her phone shut.
She scanned the room and he was no longer watching her and maybe she missed it. Suddenly she was stifled by the swarms of mechanical ants feeling their way all around her. Like bugs, like worker bees that could only follow. Sometimes she hated being the only one who could lead. But the queen bee reigns solitary without an equal king.
It’s just how it is.
Outside, the Manhattan air was crisp, but not biting. It cooled his hands around his glass tumbler, but the wind-for being twenty-five stories up-was relatively calm. He loved rooftops. The remoteness, the intimacy with the skyline and all of the lights. The city was his. To watch over, to covet, to hold.
Even if just for an instant.
The thick metal door hitched.
“Chuck,” her voice was low and ominous.
“Waldorf,” he nodded. Coolly.
He brought his tumbler to his lips. She grabbed it and gulped.
“You’re an idiot.”
“So?”
He leaned forward, smelling the scotch on her breath.
“It’s sexy when you have a man’s drink on your breath, Blair,” he drawled.
“Shut up.”
His shoulder blades hit the bricks behind him and he grimaced.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
There was the heat of sex dripping from their very words.
“Don’t ever pull something like that again,” she ordered.
“Then don’t ever wear this dress again,” he parried.
He brought her fingers to the belt of his trousers.
“Keep it in your pants, Bass.”
“Make me.”
Zip.
She had always been a hypocrite.
On the one day Chuck thought he was going to lose her for good, it had been fourteen hours since he’d seen her. Fourteen blurred hours and now her door was locked.
“Open the door, Blair.” His words dripped with frustration.
“Leave now or I’ll call Dorota!”
“Please,” he scoffed.
He could hear the numbers being punched on the other side of the door. She was standing right there and two inches of thick oak felt like the fucking Atlantic Ocean.
Her phone snapped shut.
“Go away Chuck!”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Enlighten me.”
She sighed. The phone again. He rolled his eyes.
His vibrated.
It was a text. Forwarded: Can’t. With N. Later. -C
“Well, it’s later,” she mocked. “Come for your gratuitous fuck?”
He hit the door with his open palm.
She flinched.
“Open the door Blair.” His voice was low. His brow against the Atlantic Ocean.
She didn’t even bother to respond.
“Ok. Fine. I’ll play your little game.” He rammed his thumb down on speed dial, number one.
She could hear the ringing. Like bees buzzing in unison somewhere in the distance.
“Nathaniel.” Chuck smirked. “How about that bar out in Soho later tonight? What was it called again? Right. I’m just at Blair’s-“
The door swung open brutally.
His phone dropped to his side. The line went blank.
Her face was drained of color; even her lips were almost nude. Wide eyes, those very wide eyes, were frightened and lost. She looked like she had just seen a ghost, and the tremor of her chin rendered her almost juvenile in her vulnerability.
She held his gaze.
He beheld her with fascination at this new person he was seeing. His brow furrowed and his lips parted as he tried to assess her. He tried to speak but he’d never really been on good terms with earnestness.
His mouth was on hers before she could get her bearings. Large masculine hands held her face in place as his lips crushed down over hers. She parted her lips and she could have sworn he literally stole her breath away from her and claimed it for his own.
If all love equated to was disappointment and disenchantment, she would rather take this. Whatever this was. At least she felt wanted, desired, needed. If, for only a moment, being in love with Nate Archibald meant apathy, then she would rather take…