FIC: "Not Quite Peace, Love, and Understanding" (Chuck/Blair) R
Gossip Girl and Greek and Bones, oh my. (Oh, and HIMYM too!) Monday night television is officially overwhelming.
That said, I got bored today, and decided to write a bit of fic, since I'm stalled on the Sam Winchester/Veronica story I'm working on. I wanted to write Dan/Blair, but somehow ended up writing Chuck/Blair instead. Whatever.
Title: "Not Quite Peace, Love, and Understanding"
Author: angel_grace
Pairing: Chuck/Blair
Rating: mild R, for a bit of language and some sexual situations
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl isn't mine; just playing for fun and no profit.
Spoilers: Through 1.17, "Woman on the Verge"
Summary: Blair and Chuck, together again. The back of a limo. Banter. Anger. What could it possibly lead to?
The ride from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side is...awkward. Nate had disappeared with Vanessa, while Serena insisted she wanted to look for Dan--alone. Which left Blair with Chuck in the back of a limo.
She doesn't want to think about the last time, doesn't want to remember the sex that was more satisfying than anything she and Nate had subsequently done.
"Why did you call me?" he asks suddenly, breaking the stifling silence that had enveloped the car for the past twenty minutes.
"Excuse me?"
"It's a simple question, Blair. Why did you call me for help with Serena?"
She turns to meet his gaze, her brown eyes unreadable. "Because you get things done," she answers quietly.
His lips are a twisted sneer, and she braces herself for the inevitable cruelty. "That's true. After all, I did you."
The color rises in her cheeks, and it's tempting--oh, so very tempting--to reach across and slap him. It's not worth the effort, she tells herself. Instead, she quips, "Several times," and turns to stare out the car window again.
He surprises them both by laughing, a dry chuckle that sends a shiver down her spine. She refuses to consider whether it's revulsion or lust. "I'd be happy to up the tally," he offers smoothly. "After all, Nate is busy with his Brooklyn charity case."
This time there's no mistaking the fury in her eyes. "What makes you think I would even consider letting you touch me?"
He gets out of his seat and moves to sit beside her, prompting her to press herself against the door. "Haven't you realized, Blair?" he practically purrs, reaching over to stroke her cheek with his thumb. "We're the same, you and I. We both know what we want, and neither of us hesitates to do whatever it takes to get it."
"That's not true," she stammers, flinching away from his caress.
"Oh, but it is," he argues, sliding his hand down to cup her waist. "You need someone who challenges you, someone who doesn't bend to your whims. Darling Nate, for all his recent rebellions, is really a good boy at heart, one who does as he's told." His hand begins to gently knead her skin through the fabric of her dress, and he smirks when she doesn't push him away. "How could he ever satisfy you?" he taunts her. "Queen B needs more than a vapid prince consort. Once you realize that...you'll come to me."
Finally, she shoves him, and he doesn't protest. Because her cheeks are still flushed, her breathing uneven, and he knows--he knows--that he's gotten under her skin.
"You're insane," she hisses. "I would never..."
"But you already have," he cuts in. "You have, and you'll do it again."
The car rolls to a stop in front of the Palace, and he puts his hand on the door. "A year ago you never would have fucked me in the back of a moving vehicle. Things change, Blair. Don't forget that."
He's out the door and walking away before she can formulate a proper response. Fuming, she slumps back in her seat as the car begins to move again. Of all the arrogant, psychotic... Pressing the intercom, she barks, "Stop the car."
He opens the door before she finishes knocking. "That was fast," he comments, damnable smirk firmly in place.
"Don't flatter yourself," she snarls, brushing past him into the suite. "I'm not here for...that."
"Sex, Blair. You can say the word. I thought we worked through those prudish tendencies when you rode me in the limo."
"Fine," she snaps. "I'm not here for sex. The reason I'm here..."
"The reason you're here is quite apparent." He looks pointedly at her chest. "Unless perhaps you're just cold?"
She crosses her arms defensively, willing her body not to react to the sound of his voice. Her tone is decidedly frosty when she speaks again. "I came here to tell you that I am not now, nor will I ever be, interested in sleeping with you again."
He takes a step towards her, and she takes an anwering step back. "If that were true, you could have just called. Or texted. Perhaps sent a tip to Gossip Girl. Personally, I think skywriting would be a nice touch." He continues to advance on her, and she retreats until she bumps into the love seat. "Instead, you came here. To my suite. Now, why do you think that is?"
She looks him straight in the eye, her tone defiant despite her defensive posture. "I thought it would be more effective face to face."
"Really?" he drawls. She's trapped between him and the arm of the love seat, and he presses his advantage, invading her space. "I think you wanted me to talk you out of it."
"That's ridiculous," she protests, her voice just a little too high to be normal.
"I'm quite fond of ridiculous," he murmurs. His hands find her hips, he leans in close enough to smell her perfume, and then...he waits. Waits for her to yell at him, to shove him off.
Instead, she asks, "Why are you doing this?"
He knows, then, that he has won, that he can have Blair Waldorf in his bed in under five minutes. The victory feels oddly hollow. "Simply proving a point," he replies, abruptly releasing her and stepping back.
The sudden rejection stings, and her temper rises, swift and high. "It's all just a game to you," she practically spits. "Another conquest to soothe your bruised ego, and damn the repercussions."
"What else did you expect?" he sneers. "I am, after all, Chuck Bass."
She stares at him, realization dawning, as the tiniest sliver of hurt slips out from behind his bravado. He's Chuck, and if she was any other conquest, he'd already have her naked and screaming his name.
"What?" he snaps, not trusting the Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
This time, it's Blair who advances, closing the distance between them. "I expected you to follow through on what you started."
His eyes widen slightly, but he discards his shock in favor of accepting an open invitation. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
She catches his hand and guides it beneath the hem of her dress, letting him feel what their antagonistic foreplay has done to her. "Any other questions?" she teases.
His breath catches slightly, and he leans forward until their foreheads touch. "What happened to not wanting to sleep with me?"
"Who said anything about sleeping?" she gasps, as his fingers continue their exploration, slipping underneath her stockings and underwear.
"Excellent," he murmurs against her cheek, before dipping down to nip at her neck. "I'd say we understand each other perfectly."
That said, I got bored today, and decided to write a bit of fic, since I'm stalled on the Sam Winchester/Veronica story I'm working on. I wanted to write Dan/Blair, but somehow ended up writing Chuck/Blair instead. Whatever.
Title: "Not Quite Peace, Love, and Understanding"
Author: angel_grace
Pairing: Chuck/Blair
Rating: mild R, for a bit of language and some sexual situations
Disclaimer: Gossip Girl isn't mine; just playing for fun and no profit.
Spoilers: Through 1.17, "Woman on the Verge"
Summary: Blair and Chuck, together again. The back of a limo. Banter. Anger. What could it possibly lead to?
The ride from Brooklyn to the Upper East Side is...awkward. Nate had disappeared with Vanessa, while Serena insisted she wanted to look for Dan--alone. Which left Blair with Chuck in the back of a limo.
She doesn't want to think about the last time, doesn't want to remember the sex that was more satisfying than anything she and Nate had subsequently done.
"Why did you call me?" he asks suddenly, breaking the stifling silence that had enveloped the car for the past twenty minutes.
"Excuse me?"
"It's a simple question, Blair. Why did you call me for help with Serena?"
She turns to meet his gaze, her brown eyes unreadable. "Because you get things done," she answers quietly.
His lips are a twisted sneer, and she braces herself for the inevitable cruelty. "That's true. After all, I did you."
The color rises in her cheeks, and it's tempting--oh, so very tempting--to reach across and slap him. It's not worth the effort, she tells herself. Instead, she quips, "Several times," and turns to stare out the car window again.
He surprises them both by laughing, a dry chuckle that sends a shiver down her spine. She refuses to consider whether it's revulsion or lust. "I'd be happy to up the tally," he offers smoothly. "After all, Nate is busy with his Brooklyn charity case."
This time there's no mistaking the fury in her eyes. "What makes you think I would even consider letting you touch me?"
He gets out of his seat and moves to sit beside her, prompting her to press herself against the door. "Haven't you realized, Blair?" he practically purrs, reaching over to stroke her cheek with his thumb. "We're the same, you and I. We both know what we want, and neither of us hesitates to do whatever it takes to get it."
"That's not true," she stammers, flinching away from his caress.
"Oh, but it is," he argues, sliding his hand down to cup her waist. "You need someone who challenges you, someone who doesn't bend to your whims. Darling Nate, for all his recent rebellions, is really a good boy at heart, one who does as he's told." His hand begins to gently knead her skin through the fabric of her dress, and he smirks when she doesn't push him away. "How could he ever satisfy you?" he taunts her. "Queen B needs more than a vapid prince consort. Once you realize that...you'll come to me."
Finally, she shoves him, and he doesn't protest. Because her cheeks are still flushed, her breathing uneven, and he knows--he knows--that he's gotten under her skin.
"You're insane," she hisses. "I would never..."
"But you already have," he cuts in. "You have, and you'll do it again."
The car rolls to a stop in front of the Palace, and he puts his hand on the door. "A year ago you never would have fucked me in the back of a moving vehicle. Things change, Blair. Don't forget that."
He's out the door and walking away before she can formulate a proper response. Fuming, she slumps back in her seat as the car begins to move again. Of all the arrogant, psychotic... Pressing the intercom, she barks, "Stop the car."
He opens the door before she finishes knocking. "That was fast," he comments, damnable smirk firmly in place.
"Don't flatter yourself," she snarls, brushing past him into the suite. "I'm not here for...that."
"Sex, Blair. You can say the word. I thought we worked through those prudish tendencies when you rode me in the limo."
"Fine," she snaps. "I'm not here for sex. The reason I'm here..."
"The reason you're here is quite apparent." He looks pointedly at her chest. "Unless perhaps you're just cold?"
She crosses her arms defensively, willing her body not to react to the sound of his voice. Her tone is decidedly frosty when she speaks again. "I came here to tell you that I am not now, nor will I ever be, interested in sleeping with you again."
He takes a step towards her, and she takes an anwering step back. "If that were true, you could have just called. Or texted. Perhaps sent a tip to Gossip Girl. Personally, I think skywriting would be a nice touch." He continues to advance on her, and she retreats until she bumps into the love seat. "Instead, you came here. To my suite. Now, why do you think that is?"
She looks him straight in the eye, her tone defiant despite her defensive posture. "I thought it would be more effective face to face."
"Really?" he drawls. She's trapped between him and the arm of the love seat, and he presses his advantage, invading her space. "I think you wanted me to talk you out of it."
"That's ridiculous," she protests, her voice just a little too high to be normal.
"I'm quite fond of ridiculous," he murmurs. His hands find her hips, he leans in close enough to smell her perfume, and then...he waits. Waits for her to yell at him, to shove him off.
Instead, she asks, "Why are you doing this?"
He knows, then, that he has won, that he can have Blair Waldorf in his bed in under five minutes. The victory feels oddly hollow. "Simply proving a point," he replies, abruptly releasing her and stepping back.
The sudden rejection stings, and her temper rises, swift and high. "It's all just a game to you," she practically spits. "Another conquest to soothe your bruised ego, and damn the repercussions."
"What else did you expect?" he sneers. "I am, after all, Chuck Bass."
She stares at him, realization dawning, as the tiniest sliver of hurt slips out from behind his bravado. He's Chuck, and if she was any other conquest, he'd already have her naked and screaming his name.
"What?" he snaps, not trusting the Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
This time, it's Blair who advances, closing the distance between them. "I expected you to follow through on what you started."
His eyes widen slightly, but he discards his shock in favor of accepting an open invitation. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
She catches his hand and guides it beneath the hem of her dress, letting him feel what their antagonistic foreplay has done to her. "Any other questions?" she teases.
His breath catches slightly, and he leans forward until their foreheads touch. "What happened to not wanting to sleep with me?"
"Who said anything about sleeping?" she gasps, as his fingers continue their exploration, slipping underneath her stockings and underwear.
"Excellent," he murmurs against her cheek, before dipping down to nip at her neck. "I'd say we understand each other perfectly."