Gossip Girl fic: two drabbles
Title: Message Sent
Rating: PG-13ish, I suppose?
Pairing: Nate/Chuck, reference to Nate/Blair
"Trust me, Nathaniel," Chuck assured him, "the little princess will jump you when she sees you in those."
Nate eyed his reflection in the mirror very, very doubtfully. The pants were... well, they were something Chuck would wear, pale green plaid shot with blue and close-fitting. On Chuck, it probably would have looked good, but Nate just felt profoundly ridiculous.
"I think," he said slowly, frowning, "that the only way Blair would rip these off of me would be to get them out of her sight. After, of course, she finished taking blackmail pictures and laughing hysterically at how stupid I look."
Chuck clicked his tongue. "You look hot in them." A brief pause. "Not to send you into a heterosexual panic, but you do," he added as an afterthought, but there was an intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze when Nate met his eyes in the mirror that belied the words. Nate swallowed and looked away.
"You're just looking forward to my public humiliation."
"I have better ways to humiliate you than pants, Nathaniel, and I think I'm offended you don't trust my taste."
"No one trusts your taste."
Chuck tilted his head, smirking lazily. "They make your ass look good. Run along and change, Nathaniel, you're buying them."
They've been hung somewhere in the back of Nate's closet ever since, never worn. The tags were never even cut, but Nate does so now, discarding the scraps of paper and holding the pants up a little uncertainly for a moment before shucking his khakis and pulling them on. They still fit him, though tighter than he generally prefers, but all things considered he isn't planning on wearing them for long. His uniform shirt and tie are shed in favor of a plain blue tee shirt, then Nate pads barefoot back into his bedroom and grabs his cell phone off the table before flopping back on the bed and flipping it open to scroll down to Chuck's name on the menu.
Mom not home. See u in 10?
Message sent.
Title: Restless
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Chuck/Serena
Serena had expected the house to herself, this late in the night after a particularly extravagant party. It's past four in the morning, late enough that it's becoming early, but Chuck is walking into the living room through the other door just as she comes in.
"Trouble sleeping, sis?" he drawls, and rakes his gaze slowly and deliberately over her body- Serena realizes rather belatedly that a filmy summer nightgown is not the best thing to be wearing when there's any chance whatsoever of running into her stepbrother alone in the dead of night. "If you need tiring out..."
"Chuck, just- just shut up for once in your life, okay? Please." The words come out sounding tired and defeated, and Serena sinks on to the couch and tucks her feet up under her. Chuck frowns, fleetingly, just for a moment.
"Had another fight with Humphrey, did you." It isn't really a question- he knows that looks she gets, dull and dejected, but Serena gives a brief nod. Chuck disappears from the room for a minute, returning shortly thereafter with a bottle of something strong enough she'd probably never drink it straight any other time, but she accepts it anyway when he presses it into her hand and sits down next to her, and the alcohol burns its way down her throat. Brief distraction.
"I saw Blair storming out around midnight," Serena murmurs, a propos of nothing, and Chuck slants a sharp glance at her.
"You and everyone else," he answers, in a tone that says drop it. Serena's mouth twists, bitter and discontent, and she lifts the bottle slightly in a mocking sort of toast.
"Here's to fucking everything up," she says, and Chuck catches hold of her hand and takes the bottle from her. A long swallow, and another, before he passes it back.
"I don't know why you don't just get with Nathaniel," Chuck remarks after a moment. "He's always had a thing for you. Trails after you like a puppy."
"He trails after you like a puppy, too," Serena retorts. "I don't want to talk about him, either."
"If that's the case, you may as well do your drinking alone."
"That was the plan, before I ran into you." Her tone is faintly accusing, but he ignores it, leaning closer to her.
"Then what is it now?" His voice is low and close to her ear, and when Serena turns her head to look at him their noses bump together. Chuck smells of alcohol and aftershave, his breath warm against her skin, and right now all the reasons she has never let him close suddenly seem distant and unimportant as she tips her head just enough to meet his lips. Chuck twists the nearly forgotten bottle out of her hand and sets it aside somewhere- she doesn't see or care where exactly he puts it- before settling his weight fully on top of her and kissing back in earnest, slow and thorough and almost gentle. The sweetest talker on the Upper East Side tastes bitter, from cigarettes maybe, but he feels good pressed against her. He, at least, is there.
Right now, that's all she cares about.
Rating: PG-13ish, I suppose?
Pairing: Nate/Chuck, reference to Nate/Blair
"Trust me, Nathaniel," Chuck assured him, "the little princess will jump you when she sees you in those."
Nate eyed his reflection in the mirror very, very doubtfully. The pants were... well, they were something Chuck would wear, pale green plaid shot with blue and close-fitting. On Chuck, it probably would have looked good, but Nate just felt profoundly ridiculous.
"I think," he said slowly, frowning, "that the only way Blair would rip these off of me would be to get them out of her sight. After, of course, she finished taking blackmail pictures and laughing hysterically at how stupid I look."
Chuck clicked his tongue. "You look hot in them." A brief pause. "Not to send you into a heterosexual panic, but you do," he added as an afterthought, but there was an intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze when Nate met his eyes in the mirror that belied the words. Nate swallowed and looked away.
"You're just looking forward to my public humiliation."
"I have better ways to humiliate you than pants, Nathaniel, and I think I'm offended you don't trust my taste."
"No one trusts your taste."
Chuck tilted his head, smirking lazily. "They make your ass look good. Run along and change, Nathaniel, you're buying them."
They've been hung somewhere in the back of Nate's closet ever since, never worn. The tags were never even cut, but Nate does so now, discarding the scraps of paper and holding the pants up a little uncertainly for a moment before shucking his khakis and pulling them on. They still fit him, though tighter than he generally prefers, but all things considered he isn't planning on wearing them for long. His uniform shirt and tie are shed in favor of a plain blue tee shirt, then Nate pads barefoot back into his bedroom and grabs his cell phone off the table before flopping back on the bed and flipping it open to scroll down to Chuck's name on the menu.
Mom not home. See u in 10?
Message sent.
Title: Restless
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Chuck/Serena
Serena had expected the house to herself, this late in the night after a particularly extravagant party. It's past four in the morning, late enough that it's becoming early, but Chuck is walking into the living room through the other door just as she comes in.
"Trouble sleeping, sis?" he drawls, and rakes his gaze slowly and deliberately over her body- Serena realizes rather belatedly that a filmy summer nightgown is not the best thing to be wearing when there's any chance whatsoever of running into her stepbrother alone in the dead of night. "If you need tiring out..."
"Chuck, just- just shut up for once in your life, okay? Please." The words come out sounding tired and defeated, and Serena sinks on to the couch and tucks her feet up under her. Chuck frowns, fleetingly, just for a moment.
"Had another fight with Humphrey, did you." It isn't really a question- he knows that looks she gets, dull and dejected, but Serena gives a brief nod. Chuck disappears from the room for a minute, returning shortly thereafter with a bottle of something strong enough she'd probably never drink it straight any other time, but she accepts it anyway when he presses it into her hand and sits down next to her, and the alcohol burns its way down her throat. Brief distraction.
"I saw Blair storming out around midnight," Serena murmurs, a propos of nothing, and Chuck slants a sharp glance at her.
"You and everyone else," he answers, in a tone that says drop it. Serena's mouth twists, bitter and discontent, and she lifts the bottle slightly in a mocking sort of toast.
"Here's to fucking everything up," she says, and Chuck catches hold of her hand and takes the bottle from her. A long swallow, and another, before he passes it back.
"I don't know why you don't just get with Nathaniel," Chuck remarks after a moment. "He's always had a thing for you. Trails after you like a puppy."
"He trails after you like a puppy, too," Serena retorts. "I don't want to talk about him, either."
"If that's the case, you may as well do your drinking alone."
"That was the plan, before I ran into you." Her tone is faintly accusing, but he ignores it, leaning closer to her.
"Then what is it now?" His voice is low and close to her ear, and when Serena turns her head to look at him their noses bump together. Chuck smells of alcohol and aftershave, his breath warm against her skin, and right now all the reasons she has never let him close suddenly seem distant and unimportant as she tips her head just enough to meet his lips. Chuck twists the nearly forgotten bottle out of her hand and sets it aside somewhere- she doesn't see or care where exactly he puts it- before settling his weight fully on top of her and kissing back in earnest, slow and thorough and almost gentle. The sweetest talker on the Upper East Side tastes bitter, from cigarettes maybe, but he feels good pressed against her. He, at least, is there.
Right now, that's all she cares about.