(no subject)
Title: Things We've Always Had (Part 15)
Author: Air (klingy12 @ fanfiction.net)
Summary: A series of one-shot drabbles covering Chuck and Blair's relationship from kindergarten to the present day.
A/N: Thanks for everyone who keeps reading. Reviews, as always, put a smile on my face and brighten up my day. I'll try and be better as replying to them. Thanks to Lynne for the lovely beta work. She is a doll. Also, this story WILL continue into 12th grade and season two. I will have to wait for the end of the season in order to finish the last installment or two, but keep an eye out for updates through the end. And hopefully CB will be together by the end so that I can write them together. How awesome closure would that be? Ok, continue with the update! Go!
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
13 - Eleventh Grade, Part One
14 - Eleventh Grade, Part Two
+Plus, this fic is also available on fanfiction.net right here if you prefer.
Why was it that her life seemed to be measured in small increments of time? A day here, a week there, a dozen days somewhere. Blair wasn’t entirely sure of the last time she had been truly, inexplicably happy. It’s a hard thing to turn to someone and confide in them that when you wake up in the morning, there is nothing you would change, nothing you would rather have or aspire to.
Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.
She felt that now, but told herself it couldn’t be entirely true since she was unable to admit it to the body sleeping next to her. His chest rose and fell in sync with her heartbeat it seemed, and she realized she had never seen him sleep before. He looked like a beautiful angel, so simple and innocent from the fire underneath, and she loved that about him.
She wondered why she hadn’t been more heartbroken over Nate’s refusal to speak to her. She had lumped him in with the plethora of problems that had flown her way, and she had gone to him. Only to find rejection. The greatest rejection she had ever known. And yet, his were the words that bit into her most, that scared her the most, because she had feared the sincerity of them.
And here he was, the muscles in his back flexing slightly as his lungs contracted every few seconds.
So much for going slow.
And then she remembered the events of last night. How his thumb had caressed her cheek as she kissed him in the limo. How he had not let her kisses deepen and how his lips mimicked the softness of butterflies as they fluttered over her skin. How their dress shoes had stumbled over each other on the way to his suite, not with urgency, but like a sweet, slow dance.
Let’s take it slow.
And when he entered her and whispered for her to open her eyes, she found him looking right into her. Slow, languorous movements rustled the sheets over them slightly. The deep, hitched breathing permeated the room.
His hands lightly traced the contours of her body underneath him, from her thighs to her hips to the flatness of her stomach and the curve of her breasts. But he would not dislodge his eyes from hers. Dark pools of brown met equally dark pools of brown as he hovered merely inches over her, refusing to lose her gaze. All she could do was travel her hands up the contour of his arms, thumb the crook of his neck, and bury her fingers into his hair. She wanted to pull him down for a kiss but she was afraid to break from his spell.
She had never been more terrified than she’d been at that moment.
Do it right this time.
Chuck began to stir and Blair retracted her hand from exploring his perfectly formed jaw. He groaned, in that way that is only ever attractive for a man to do when waking up, and dared to open his eyes to the light. And he saw her.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
“Good morning,” she said back.
“You’re still here,” he said as if he had expected her to be long gone; a passing visitor in the night that he could not hold onto when the light of day shone through his curtains. And now she was real instead of an apparition.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, unsurely and looked away.
“Good,” he said and reached for her, pulling her under the sheets with him and covering her lips with his.
“Chuck,” she breathed into him, and the morning after had never felt so right before.
“Come to Tuscany with me,” he breathed back, in between dusting her shoulders with kisses.
Her eyes snapped open. “What?”
“You heard me,” he smiled into her skin.
“I’m going to France.”
“Make a stop over with me first,” he parried, matter-of-factly in his smug way that lit a fire in her. That or it could have been caused by the sudden dart of his tongue into her navel.
“Were you planning on going to Tuscany before last night?” she asked inquisitively.
“Why do you care? Just come.”
“Why?”
Chuck groaned in frustration and fell back onto the mattress.
“Fine,” he said. “Don’t fly the Bass private jet, don’t spend a week or two with me at Bart’s villa in Tuscany, don’t let me visit you at your Chateau with Roman and Harold, tour Nice and Bordeaux and Paris, and by all means, don’t even think of spending Bastille Day with me.”
Had Chuck just rendered Blair speechless? She opened her mouth to say something and nothing came out. Her hand wrapped around her throat and she looked away from his form in order to compose herself. Flashes of a summer with Chuck raced through her head and she was baffled that she could actually picture it all. All of it. With him. With Chuck Bass.
“Good!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I won’t. Because I’d much rather go to Normandy than Nice anyway and why bother just visiting? What are you even going to do in betw-“
She was cut off when she felt strong arms pulling her on top of him, her legs settling on either side of his thighs as he brought his face to hers fiercely. And they were both suddenly aware of the fact that they were very, very naked. His breath hitched as she pressed against him, her bare nipples hardened, pebbling against his equally bare chest.
“Chuck,” she mewed into his mouth.
If she lifted herself up just a few inches she would be able to lower back down onto him and all would be set right. She began to push herself up, gripping onto his shoulders and grazing them slightly with her nails.
“Blair,” he rasped. He grasped her hips, but instead of helping her up, he held her firmly against him. She wriggled and tried to break free from his grasp so that she could just sink herself down onto him and…. “Stop,” he said. “We’re supposed to take it slow, remember?”
“Come on, don’t be ridiculous,” she chided playfully and rolled her hips.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably and plopped her next to him on the bed.
“We’re going to get brunch,” he told her.
Tousled curls, a wrinkled dress shirt, a bubble pink dress and a tuxedo jacket made their way to the lobby of the Palace and out to brunch. The sun was bright and caused their eyes to squint, like disheveled newborns emerging into a brave new world they weren’t nearly ready for. Within the hour, Gossip Girl posted pictures of the two in their wedding attire from the night before getting in the cab, arriving at brunch sticking out like sore thumbs, and sharing kisses above the spritzy mimosas in front of them. They each ignored calls from their best friends, fought over the fact that Blair would not let him wear fresh clothes when she had none herself, and peppered insults amongst the romanticized talk of Europe.
By the time they had parted ways to change and look like their immaculate selves once more, and headed out to go shopping, Chuck and Blair had both turned their phones off, choosing disconnection from the masses. Reality could not be bothered to surface today. They were fragile and new and infantile and could not risk reality. Not today.
This was much better.
“Chuck, come here,” she demanded on the other side of the door.
“Why?”
“Zip.” She unlatched the door so he could enter. He obliged silently. “What do you think?”
Turning around, she revealed the ornately textured red satin, the thick black strap and the hug of the seams along her hips. Chuck smirked; he had faultless taste. He saw her sipping wine on a warm, sticky night, at a rustic restaurant on the hills. He saw her against the skyline, against the sheets as he peeled the luscious material off of her to reveal even more luscious material underneath. He saw how every time she wore it, it would be a reminder that it was his, his choice, his creation, his painting, his image of her. And she was beautiful.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Blair’s hands found her hips and she looked even better. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. Perfect. Beautiful. Sexy. On you, on the floor, it’s impeccable and will look good on both.”
Blair smiled coyly. “You mean...” Her hand reached behind her. “Like this?” she asked innocently as her dress dropped around her ankles.
“Blair,” Chuck rasped, almost warningly. His eyes raked over her perfect lingerie set.
“It looks good there too, you were right,” she said and approached him. Her index finger poked him in the chest and trailed down to his belt buckle. She began to undo it. “Just because you’re playing the part of the perfect gentleman, Bass, doesn’t mean I have to be a lady,” she whispered into his ear and darted her tongue out to touch the shell faintly.
It was her turn to help with a zipper.
“I just feel bad about the condition I left you in this morning. I’d like to make it up to you,” she said with a practiced pout and dropped to her knees.
Fifteen minutes later Blair exited the dressing room, dress in hand and man in tow. The sale associate stared tactlessly at them as they passed by. Blair gave the woman a punishing once over, “He’s my stylist,” she threw out with a saccharine tone.
Chuck lifted his brow and smirked, amused. “Stylist?”
That night, he ordered room service to be served by candlelight, returned Blair’s favor on the grounds that third base was basically a regression for them anyway, and discovered the magic word that was Yale. The sun began to rise and they rode in the new day from the old. Today they would have to face Gossip Girl, Nate, Serena, canceling commercial flight reservations and reality altogether. Blair wondered if anything ever lasted, decided it didn’t and thought what a shame that was. A day here, a week there, a dozen days somewhere. Small increments of time defined the only happiness she had known thus far in life and she wondered if it might extend now, if there might be a month here, a year there, a lifetime somewhere. At least it was comforting that in six days, there was certainty in the fact that she would be on her way to Tuscany.
Author: Air (klingy12 @ fanfiction.net)
Summary: A series of one-shot drabbles covering Chuck and Blair's relationship from kindergarten to the present day.
A/N: Thanks for everyone who keeps reading. Reviews, as always, put a smile on my face and brighten up my day. I'll try and be better as replying to them. Thanks to Lynne for the lovely beta work. She is a doll. Also, this story WILL continue into 12th grade and season two. I will have to wait for the end of the season in order to finish the last installment or two, but keep an eye out for updates through the end. And hopefully CB will be together by the end so that I can write them together. How awesome closure would that be? Ok, continue with the update! Go!
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
13 - Eleventh Grade, Part One
14 - Eleventh Grade, Part Two
+Plus, this fic is also available on fanfiction.net right here if you prefer.
Why was it that her life seemed to be measured in small increments of time? A day here, a week there, a dozen days somewhere. Blair wasn’t entirely sure of the last time she had been truly, inexplicably happy. It’s a hard thing to turn to someone and confide in them that when you wake up in the morning, there is nothing you would change, nothing you would rather have or aspire to.
Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.
She felt that now, but told herself it couldn’t be entirely true since she was unable to admit it to the body sleeping next to her. His chest rose and fell in sync with her heartbeat it seemed, and she realized she had never seen him sleep before. He looked like a beautiful angel, so simple and innocent from the fire underneath, and she loved that about him.
She wondered why she hadn’t been more heartbroken over Nate’s refusal to speak to her. She had lumped him in with the plethora of problems that had flown her way, and she had gone to him. Only to find rejection. The greatest rejection she had ever known. And yet, his were the words that bit into her most, that scared her the most, because she had feared the sincerity of them.
And here he was, the muscles in his back flexing slightly as his lungs contracted every few seconds.
So much for going slow.
And then she remembered the events of last night. How his thumb had caressed her cheek as she kissed him in the limo. How he had not let her kisses deepen and how his lips mimicked the softness of butterflies as they fluttered over her skin. How their dress shoes had stumbled over each other on the way to his suite, not with urgency, but like a sweet, slow dance.
Let’s take it slow.
And when he entered her and whispered for her to open her eyes, she found him looking right into her. Slow, languorous movements rustled the sheets over them slightly. The deep, hitched breathing permeated the room.
His hands lightly traced the contours of her body underneath him, from her thighs to her hips to the flatness of her stomach and the curve of her breasts. But he would not dislodge his eyes from hers. Dark pools of brown met equally dark pools of brown as he hovered merely inches over her, refusing to lose her gaze. All she could do was travel her hands up the contour of his arms, thumb the crook of his neck, and bury her fingers into his hair. She wanted to pull him down for a kiss but she was afraid to break from his spell.
She had never been more terrified than she’d been at that moment.
Do it right this time.
Chuck began to stir and Blair retracted her hand from exploring his perfectly formed jaw. He groaned, in that way that is only ever attractive for a man to do when waking up, and dared to open his eyes to the light. And he saw her.
“Morning,” he mumbled.
“Good morning,” she said back.
“You’re still here,” he said as if he had expected her to be long gone; a passing visitor in the night that he could not hold onto when the light of day shone through his curtains. And now she was real instead of an apparition.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, unsurely and looked away.
“Good,” he said and reached for her, pulling her under the sheets with him and covering her lips with his.
“Chuck,” she breathed into him, and the morning after had never felt so right before.
“Come to Tuscany with me,” he breathed back, in between dusting her shoulders with kisses.
Her eyes snapped open. “What?”
“You heard me,” he smiled into her skin.
“I’m going to France.”
“Make a stop over with me first,” he parried, matter-of-factly in his smug way that lit a fire in her. That or it could have been caused by the sudden dart of his tongue into her navel.
“Were you planning on going to Tuscany before last night?” she asked inquisitively.
“Why do you care? Just come.”
“Why?”
Chuck groaned in frustration and fell back onto the mattress.
“Fine,” he said. “Don’t fly the Bass private jet, don’t spend a week or two with me at Bart’s villa in Tuscany, don’t let me visit you at your Chateau with Roman and Harold, tour Nice and Bordeaux and Paris, and by all means, don’t even think of spending Bastille Day with me.”
Had Chuck just rendered Blair speechless? She opened her mouth to say something and nothing came out. Her hand wrapped around her throat and she looked away from his form in order to compose herself. Flashes of a summer with Chuck raced through her head and she was baffled that she could actually picture it all. All of it. With him. With Chuck Bass.
“Good!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I won’t. Because I’d much rather go to Normandy than Nice anyway and why bother just visiting? What are you even going to do in betw-“
She was cut off when she felt strong arms pulling her on top of him, her legs settling on either side of his thighs as he brought his face to hers fiercely. And they were both suddenly aware of the fact that they were very, very naked. His breath hitched as she pressed against him, her bare nipples hardened, pebbling against his equally bare chest.
“Chuck,” she mewed into his mouth.
If she lifted herself up just a few inches she would be able to lower back down onto him and all would be set right. She began to push herself up, gripping onto his shoulders and grazing them slightly with her nails.
“Blair,” he rasped. He grasped her hips, but instead of helping her up, he held her firmly against him. She wriggled and tried to break free from his grasp so that she could just sink herself down onto him and…. “Stop,” he said. “We’re supposed to take it slow, remember?”
“Come on, don’t be ridiculous,” she chided playfully and rolled her hips.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably and plopped her next to him on the bed.
“We’re going to get brunch,” he told her.
Tousled curls, a wrinkled dress shirt, a bubble pink dress and a tuxedo jacket made their way to the lobby of the Palace and out to brunch. The sun was bright and caused their eyes to squint, like disheveled newborns emerging into a brave new world they weren’t nearly ready for. Within the hour, Gossip Girl posted pictures of the two in their wedding attire from the night before getting in the cab, arriving at brunch sticking out like sore thumbs, and sharing kisses above the spritzy mimosas in front of them. They each ignored calls from their best friends, fought over the fact that Blair would not let him wear fresh clothes when she had none herself, and peppered insults amongst the romanticized talk of Europe.
By the time they had parted ways to change and look like their immaculate selves once more, and headed out to go shopping, Chuck and Blair had both turned their phones off, choosing disconnection from the masses. Reality could not be bothered to surface today. They were fragile and new and infantile and could not risk reality. Not today.
This was much better.
“Chuck, come here,” she demanded on the other side of the door.
“Why?”
“Zip.” She unlatched the door so he could enter. He obliged silently. “What do you think?”
Turning around, she revealed the ornately textured red satin, the thick black strap and the hug of the seams along her hips. Chuck smirked; he had faultless taste. He saw her sipping wine on a warm, sticky night, at a rustic restaurant on the hills. He saw her against the skyline, against the sheets as he peeled the luscious material off of her to reveal even more luscious material underneath. He saw how every time she wore it, it would be a reminder that it was his, his choice, his creation, his painting, his image of her. And she was beautiful.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” Blair’s hands found her hips and she looked even better. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. Perfect. Beautiful. Sexy. On you, on the floor, it’s impeccable and will look good on both.”
Blair smiled coyly. “You mean...” Her hand reached behind her. “Like this?” she asked innocently as her dress dropped around her ankles.
“Blair,” Chuck rasped, almost warningly. His eyes raked over her perfect lingerie set.
“It looks good there too, you were right,” she said and approached him. Her index finger poked him in the chest and trailed down to his belt buckle. She began to undo it. “Just because you’re playing the part of the perfect gentleman, Bass, doesn’t mean I have to be a lady,” she whispered into his ear and darted her tongue out to touch the shell faintly.
It was her turn to help with a zipper.
“I just feel bad about the condition I left you in this morning. I’d like to make it up to you,” she said with a practiced pout and dropped to her knees.
Fifteen minutes later Blair exited the dressing room, dress in hand and man in tow. The sale associate stared tactlessly at them as they passed by. Blair gave the woman a punishing once over, “He’s my stylist,” she threw out with a saccharine tone.
Chuck lifted his brow and smirked, amused. “Stylist?”
That night, he ordered room service to be served by candlelight, returned Blair’s favor on the grounds that third base was basically a regression for them anyway, and discovered the magic word that was Yale. The sun began to rise and they rode in the new day from the old. Today they would have to face Gossip Girl, Nate, Serena, canceling commercial flight reservations and reality altogether. Blair wondered if anything ever lasted, decided it didn’t and thought what a shame that was. A day here, a week there, a dozen days somewhere. Small increments of time defined the only happiness she had known thus far in life and she wondered if it might extend now, if there might be a month here, a year there, a lifetime somewhere. At least it was comforting that in six days, there was certainty in the fact that she would be on her way to Tuscany.