FIC: "12 Days of Crossovers: One St. Jude's Tie" (Julie Taylor/Chuck Bass) PG-13
First and foremost, Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! The stockings were hung and all that, and mom is cooking breakfast as we speak. Yummo.
My first Yuletide was a smashing success, as I loved both my main story (What Happens In Vegas) and my Yuletide treat (Pink Cupcakes). Friday Night Lights and Cupid FTW!
And one last ado before the without further ado of my first 12 Days fic...2 prompt slots (conveniently, 11 and 12) still remain in my personal fic challenge. If you'd like to get in a last-minute request, act now by going here.
And now, without further ado...the fic!
Title: 12 Days of Crossovers: One St. Jude's Tie
Author: angel_grace
Rating: PG-13, for one use of profanity
Pairing: Julie Taylor/Chuck Bass
Spoilers: No show-specific ones, I don't think, for either Friday Night Lights or Gossip Girl.
Summary: A small-town girl in the big city. To Chuck Bass, that's pretty much catnip.
Disclaimer: Friday Night Lights and Gossip Girl were created by and are owned by people other than me. No profit is being made from the use of these characters.
Author's Note: Written for my own personal 12 Days of Crossovers fic challenge. Pairing and prompt provided by leobrat.
Julie stared up at the imposing facade of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She couldn't believe she was actually there. It hadn't been easy convincing her parents--especially her dad--that a class trip to New York City was worth the cost and potential corruption of their oldest daughter. She might not have succeeded at all if her mom hadn't rallied to the cause after a while. Even her dad couldn't really say no once Tami Taylor made up her mind.
Now, all that mattered was that she was there, and she intended to make the most of it.
Chuck lounged on the museum steps, watching with vaguely bored amusement as yet another charter bus deposited a load of wide-eyed naifs. It was spring in the city, which meant the tourist per capita was up--along with his conquests of malleable virgins.
"What do you think?" he asked Nate, who was trying to plow through one last chapter of Anna Karenina. "Suburbs? The Midwest? Deep South?"
Nate glanced up, annoyance flickering across his features. "What difference does it make? We have an English quiz in fifteen minutes. Have you even started the book?"
"The difference is in the approach, Nathaniel. One does not rely on a single method of seduction. Know your target, and you automatically increase your chances of success."
"If you spent half the time studying as you do plotting seduction, you'd probably be valedictorian."
Chuck scowled. "You've clearly been spending far too much time in Brooklyn. Again. Enjoy the English quiz. I'll be furthering my education in other ways today." Rising elegantly, he stalked up the steps without a glance back.
Julie turned the map ninety degrees, and then another ninety. After staring at the offending paper for nearly five minutes, she finally concluded that she had no idea where she was.
"Lost?" she heard someone ask.
She turned to face a guy around her age, with dark hair and hooded eyes. "Completely," she admitted.
"What are you trying to find?"
"The modern art collection. Specifically Jackson Pollock."
"Allow me," he said, holding out his hand for the map.
She handed it to him, and then watched, puzzled, as he carefully folded it up. "What are you doing?"
"You won't be needing a map," he assured her. "You have me."
It was tempting to laugh in his face, but she just asked. "And who are you?"
He smirked, the expression faintly predatory. "I'm Chuck Bass."
It took Julie less than five minutes to decide that Chuck Bass made Tim Riggins look like a rank amateur. He was handsome and charming, almost old-school debonair. It was a far cry from the Riggins method of flirtation, which mostly consisted of "Here's a beer. Wanna fuck?" Not that Riggins had ever said that to her. Unfortunately.
Chuck, on the other hand, was pulling out all the stops, playing the role of tour guide to the hilt. He'd taken her arm like he was her escort at the debutante ball, and was peppering their stroll through the museum with miscellaneous factoids and amusing anecdotes about various pieces of art. His voice was intoxicating, low and intimate, and he could almost make her believe they were the only two people in the immense building.
Naturally, she didn't trust him at all. Her mama hadn't raised a fool.
"Tell me about where you're from," he practically purred.
She shrugged. "There's not much to tell. It's a tiny town in Nowhere, Texas that no one has ever heard of except college football scouts. It's so far from New York, it might as well be Mars."
He stopped them in front of a Rodin sculpture, and angled his body towards hers. "It sounds like you want to leave."
"I do, and I will. One more year, and I'm off to college. Preferably as far from Dillon as possible."
He studied her face intentely. "I can't see you in a small town. You're so much more than that."
She couldn't help herself--she laughed out loud. "Do those lines actually work? Or did you just expect them to work on the 'simple small-town girl'?"
He looked affronted, but didn't deny the accusation. "Simply expressing an opinion," he said stiffly.
"You've known me less than an hour, Chuck. The only opinion you have of me is that I'm an easy mark."
He released her arm and took a step back. "Clearly I was wrong about you. Enjoy the rest of your visit."
She allowed him to get five feet away before calling after him. "Chuck."
He paused, and turned to face her again. "Yes?"
She approached him slowly, bravado faltering slightly with each step. When she was close enough, she reached out and tugged gently on the tie she assumed was the mark of some snooty private school. "I'm not some stupid small-town girl," she said quietly, "and I'm not an easy mark. I am, however, 1900 miles from my parents." She pulled a little harder on the tie, forcing him to take a step closer. When she spoke again, her voice was even softer. "And I'm...open to new experiences."
A thousand lascivious thoughts flashed through his mind at her words, most of them involving champagne, bedposts, and his blasted tie. "Well then," he murmured, dipping his head close to hers, "why don't we go exploring?"
My first Yuletide was a smashing success, as I loved both my main story (What Happens In Vegas) and my Yuletide treat (Pink Cupcakes). Friday Night Lights and Cupid FTW!
And one last ado before the without further ado of my first 12 Days fic...2 prompt slots (conveniently, 11 and 12) still remain in my personal fic challenge. If you'd like to get in a last-minute request, act now by going here.
And now, without further ado...the fic!
Title: 12 Days of Crossovers: One St. Jude's Tie
Author: angel_grace
Rating: PG-13, for one use of profanity
Pairing: Julie Taylor/Chuck Bass
Spoilers: No show-specific ones, I don't think, for either Friday Night Lights or Gossip Girl.
Summary: A small-town girl in the big city. To Chuck Bass, that's pretty much catnip.
Disclaimer: Friday Night Lights and Gossip Girl were created by and are owned by people other than me. No profit is being made from the use of these characters.
Author's Note: Written for my own personal 12 Days of Crossovers fic challenge. Pairing and prompt provided by leobrat.
Julie stared up at the imposing facade of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She couldn't believe she was actually there. It hadn't been easy convincing her parents--especially her dad--that a class trip to New York City was worth the cost and potential corruption of their oldest daughter. She might not have succeeded at all if her mom hadn't rallied to the cause after a while. Even her dad couldn't really say no once Tami Taylor made up her mind.
Now, all that mattered was that she was there, and she intended to make the most of it.
Chuck lounged on the museum steps, watching with vaguely bored amusement as yet another charter bus deposited a load of wide-eyed naifs. It was spring in the city, which meant the tourist per capita was up--along with his conquests of malleable virgins.
"What do you think?" he asked Nate, who was trying to plow through one last chapter of Anna Karenina. "Suburbs? The Midwest? Deep South?"
Nate glanced up, annoyance flickering across his features. "What difference does it make? We have an English quiz in fifteen minutes. Have you even started the book?"
"The difference is in the approach, Nathaniel. One does not rely on a single method of seduction. Know your target, and you automatically increase your chances of success."
"If you spent half the time studying as you do plotting seduction, you'd probably be valedictorian."
Chuck scowled. "You've clearly been spending far too much time in Brooklyn. Again. Enjoy the English quiz. I'll be furthering my education in other ways today." Rising elegantly, he stalked up the steps without a glance back.
Julie turned the map ninety degrees, and then another ninety. After staring at the offending paper for nearly five minutes, she finally concluded that she had no idea where she was.
"Lost?" she heard someone ask.
She turned to face a guy around her age, with dark hair and hooded eyes. "Completely," she admitted.
"What are you trying to find?"
"The modern art collection. Specifically Jackson Pollock."
"Allow me," he said, holding out his hand for the map.
She handed it to him, and then watched, puzzled, as he carefully folded it up. "What are you doing?"
"You won't be needing a map," he assured her. "You have me."
It was tempting to laugh in his face, but she just asked. "And who are you?"
He smirked, the expression faintly predatory. "I'm Chuck Bass."
It took Julie less than five minutes to decide that Chuck Bass made Tim Riggins look like a rank amateur. He was handsome and charming, almost old-school debonair. It was a far cry from the Riggins method of flirtation, which mostly consisted of "Here's a beer. Wanna fuck?" Not that Riggins had ever said that to her. Unfortunately.
Chuck, on the other hand, was pulling out all the stops, playing the role of tour guide to the hilt. He'd taken her arm like he was her escort at the debutante ball, and was peppering their stroll through the museum with miscellaneous factoids and amusing anecdotes about various pieces of art. His voice was intoxicating, low and intimate, and he could almost make her believe they were the only two people in the immense building.
Naturally, she didn't trust him at all. Her mama hadn't raised a fool.
"Tell me about where you're from," he practically purred.
She shrugged. "There's not much to tell. It's a tiny town in Nowhere, Texas that no one has ever heard of except college football scouts. It's so far from New York, it might as well be Mars."
He stopped them in front of a Rodin sculpture, and angled his body towards hers. "It sounds like you want to leave."
"I do, and I will. One more year, and I'm off to college. Preferably as far from Dillon as possible."
He studied her face intentely. "I can't see you in a small town. You're so much more than that."
She couldn't help herself--she laughed out loud. "Do those lines actually work? Or did you just expect them to work on the 'simple small-town girl'?"
He looked affronted, but didn't deny the accusation. "Simply expressing an opinion," he said stiffly.
"You've known me less than an hour, Chuck. The only opinion you have of me is that I'm an easy mark."
He released her arm and took a step back. "Clearly I was wrong about you. Enjoy the rest of your visit."
She allowed him to get five feet away before calling after him. "Chuck."
He paused, and turned to face her again. "Yes?"
She approached him slowly, bravado faltering slightly with each step. When she was close enough, she reached out and tugged gently on the tie she assumed was the mark of some snooty private school. "I'm not some stupid small-town girl," she said quietly, "and I'm not an easy mark. I am, however, 1900 miles from my parents." She pulled a little harder on the tie, forcing him to take a step closer. When she spoke again, her voice was even softer. "And I'm...open to new experiences."
A thousand lascivious thoughts flashed through his mind at her words, most of them involving champagne, bedposts, and his blasted tie. "Well then," he murmured, dipping his head close to hers, "why don't we go exploring?"