when i thought to be strong you must be flame retardant
Fic! For ohlaydown, from that one meme ages ago. This. . .is not a drabble. I do not know how that happened. :D
(Also, someday I will not use alcohol as a plot device. But today is not that day.)
Title: I’m not in love with you (I’m in love with what we do)
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1200
Pairing: Chuck/Eric
Warnings: pining, stepbrothers in love, language, alcohol, strange amounts of fluff
Summary: Being in love with Chuck Bass isn’t exactly a new thing.
NEW NOTE: Reading back over this, me making light at all of Chuck's assault against Jenny was stupid and offensive, and I apologize to anyone who read this and was offended by it. I'm not going to delete it because I don't like when people do that, but I'm kind of calling myself out, now.
Chuck makes him take the limo to get coffee with Jenny, even though it’s only down the street, touching his shoulder and looking at him very seriously before saying, “Someone may or may not want me dead today. It’s best not to take chances.”
“When does someone not want you dead?” Eric asks, blinking up at him. Chuck almost smiles, just his lips turning up at the corners, and Eric’s heart does an awkward, clumsy somersault in his chest. Which isn’t really new.
“Godspeed, young Van Der Woodsen,” Chuck says, and he gives him the slightest of shoves, and they really, really have to stop this affectionate touching thing, because Eric’s not sure he can handle it.
*
When Jenny sees the limo, she goes off on a patented Anti-Bass rant, mostly consisting of her looking indignant and saying: not to mention that time he totally, practically raped me. He’s a rapist, Eric. He rapes people.
“Why do you even talk to him?” Jenny asks, after she has calmed down, nose wrinkling over her coffee, and Eric is suddenly struck with the image of how easy life would be if he could just fall for her. They would still have to deal with that whole Wrong Side Of The Tracks thing, but that seems to be something of a tradition with his family. Besides, Jenny’s probably going to own half of New York someday, and their children would be really, really blonde.
“Uhm,” He blinks at her. “You don’t really want to know.”
Jenny narrows her eyes at him, and he’s actually blushing, trying to hide it by ducking down and adding too much sugar to his cup. He looks up just in time to see her finally get it.
“No,” she says, setting down her mug and looking properly scandalized. “No.”
“Yes,” he whispers, miserably.
“But he. . .”
“I know,” Eric murmurs.
“And you. . .”
“I know.”
“And Blair!”
Eric, very delicately, rests his forehead against the edge of the table and sighs.
*
Being in love with Chuck Bass isn’t exactly a new thing. It’s just that, when Chuck wasn’t living in Eric’s home, it was really easy to write it off as a harmless crush. He’s always been a little stupid about Chuck, ever since he was a kid. He wants to be his best friend and his brother and he also kind of wants to hold his hand.
When he stops to think about it, really think about it, not in that little part of his head that is thinking about Chuck all the time, Eric is pretty honestly fucked.
*
Chuck gets lonely, and Chuck likes to drink, and this more often than not leads to him staying out all night with one or more members of his apparent brothel or stalking Blair. It’s all very heteronormative, at least for the Upper East Side, and it’s safe for Eric. He only worries when Chuck drinks at home, the slow, steady kind of drinking that he’s pretty sure actually means something, the kind that leaves the hurt showing behind his eyes.
Nobody else seems to notice, so Eric has to. He grabs three bottles of Serena’s expensive water and hip-checks Chuck’s door open. He winces as he watches Chuck sit up to look at him. His shirt is mostly unbuttoned, wrinkled at the shoulders but still tight at his wrists, and he looks out of place in his clothes for once (red eyes, bad hair, Armani. One of these things is not like the other.) Eric curls up beside him on the bed, palms a bottle into his hand, and tries to make him talk about his feelings.
Eventually, when Chuck is half-asleep and hasn’t told him anything that Gossip Girl (and everyone else) didn’t already know, Eric tries to leave him alone, but Chuck curls fingers around his arm, tugging him backwards.
“I shouldn’t. . .” Eric whispers, like someone’s actually listening.
“You want to stay,” Chuck says, tiredly. “Just. . .do something you want for once, kid.”
The last time Eric did what he wanted, he almost ended everything. He lets Chuck move him, though, pull the blankets over top of them both and press up against his back, lightly. The hairs rise on his neck every time Chuck breathes out, hot and damp, nosing gently at the juncture between his neck and shoulder as he starts to fall asleep.
*
After that night, things change. Every day is full of excessive touches that only look careless because nobody expects them to be anything else (a hand pressed against the small of his back, untucking his shirt when they’re alone, cold fingers against the waistband of his slacks. Brief tugs of his hair, smoothing down the back to rest against his neck), and Eric has absolutely no idea what is happening. Part of him wants sidle up to Chuck when he doesn’t expect it and say something along the lines of, “well, Mr. Bass, are you trying to seduce me?”, like a slim, pretty heroine with red lips and no scars on her wrists, but a much larger part of him wants to run away and hide.
Sometimes, Chuck comes into his room without alcohol on his breath, when Eric is almost asleep. He fits behind him, bare chest against Eric’s back, heartbeat through Eric’s thin t-shirt. He’s stopped thinking about it by this point, just pushes back against a heavy arm around his waist and murmurs something intelligible, not even a question.
*
“He comes into your room? At night?” Jenny asks, eyes wide and horrified, and Eric shakes his head violently.
“It’s not like you’re thinking!” he says. “It’s, like, cuddling. And weird pillow talk. And. . .Jenny, I don’t know what’s happening.”
“He’s lulling you into complacency,” Jenny says, eyes narrowed. She rests hands on her narrow hips, leaning up against her locker. “Before he takes advantage of your youthful ignorance.”
Eric nods. That maybe makes more sense than what he’s thinking, which has been something along the lines of Chuck professing a deep, undying love for him in some sweeping romantic gesture other than stealth cuddling.
*
The next night, Eric goes to Chuck’s room after dark and catches him still awake. This is probably the most nights in a row that Chuck has ever stayed at home, any home, for more than a few hours. He looks up at Eric, a little startled, and Eric sits down on the bed and leans forward so their foreheads are resting together. Chuck doesn’t even close his eyes, and Eric feels crazy and brave, but he might have a heart attack any time now.
“Jenny thinks you’re trying to lure me into your den of iniquity so you can steal away my virtue,” he says, softly, and Chuck’s rare smiles this close are ridiculous, a little blurred, really fucking beautiful.
“Something like that,” Chuck murmurs, and Eric kisses him. It’s stupidly awkward, and his teeth scrape Chuck’s lower lip completely by accident, but Eric kisses him first. Chuck laughs somewhere low in his throat and opens to it, sliding arms around Eric to hold him up.
“I don’t think you’re a rapist,” Eric promises, hushed against his lips, and Chuck laughs again, kisses him like he really means it.
(Also, someday I will not use alcohol as a plot device. But today is not that day.)
Title: I’m not in love with you (I’m in love with what we do)
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1200
Pairing: Chuck/Eric
Warnings: pining, stepbrothers in love, language, alcohol, strange amounts of fluff
Summary: Being in love with Chuck Bass isn’t exactly a new thing.
NEW NOTE: Reading back over this, me making light at all of Chuck's assault against Jenny was stupid and offensive, and I apologize to anyone who read this and was offended by it. I'm not going to delete it because I don't like when people do that, but I'm kind of calling myself out, now.
Chuck makes him take the limo to get coffee with Jenny, even though it’s only down the street, touching his shoulder and looking at him very seriously before saying, “Someone may or may not want me dead today. It’s best not to take chances.”
“When does someone not want you dead?” Eric asks, blinking up at him. Chuck almost smiles, just his lips turning up at the corners, and Eric’s heart does an awkward, clumsy somersault in his chest. Which isn’t really new.
“Godspeed, young Van Der Woodsen,” Chuck says, and he gives him the slightest of shoves, and they really, really have to stop this affectionate touching thing, because Eric’s not sure he can handle it.
*
When Jenny sees the limo, she goes off on a patented Anti-Bass rant, mostly consisting of her looking indignant and saying: not to mention that time he totally, practically raped me. He’s a rapist, Eric. He rapes people.
“Why do you even talk to him?” Jenny asks, after she has calmed down, nose wrinkling over her coffee, and Eric is suddenly struck with the image of how easy life would be if he could just fall for her. They would still have to deal with that whole Wrong Side Of The Tracks thing, but that seems to be something of a tradition with his family. Besides, Jenny’s probably going to own half of New York someday, and their children would be really, really blonde.
“Uhm,” He blinks at her. “You don’t really want to know.”
Jenny narrows her eyes at him, and he’s actually blushing, trying to hide it by ducking down and adding too much sugar to his cup. He looks up just in time to see her finally get it.
“No,” she says, setting down her mug and looking properly scandalized. “No.”
“Yes,” he whispers, miserably.
“But he. . .”
“I know,” Eric murmurs.
“And you. . .”
“I know.”
“And Blair!”
Eric, very delicately, rests his forehead against the edge of the table and sighs.
*
Being in love with Chuck Bass isn’t exactly a new thing. It’s just that, when Chuck wasn’t living in Eric’s home, it was really easy to write it off as a harmless crush. He’s always been a little stupid about Chuck, ever since he was a kid. He wants to be his best friend and his brother and he also kind of wants to hold his hand.
When he stops to think about it, really think about it, not in that little part of his head that is thinking about Chuck all the time, Eric is pretty honestly fucked.
*
Chuck gets lonely, and Chuck likes to drink, and this more often than not leads to him staying out all night with one or more members of his apparent brothel or stalking Blair. It’s all very heteronormative, at least for the Upper East Side, and it’s safe for Eric. He only worries when Chuck drinks at home, the slow, steady kind of drinking that he’s pretty sure actually means something, the kind that leaves the hurt showing behind his eyes.
Nobody else seems to notice, so Eric has to. He grabs three bottles of Serena’s expensive water and hip-checks Chuck’s door open. He winces as he watches Chuck sit up to look at him. His shirt is mostly unbuttoned, wrinkled at the shoulders but still tight at his wrists, and he looks out of place in his clothes for once (red eyes, bad hair, Armani. One of these things is not like the other.) Eric curls up beside him on the bed, palms a bottle into his hand, and tries to make him talk about his feelings.
Eventually, when Chuck is half-asleep and hasn’t told him anything that Gossip Girl (and everyone else) didn’t already know, Eric tries to leave him alone, but Chuck curls fingers around his arm, tugging him backwards.
“I shouldn’t. . .” Eric whispers, like someone’s actually listening.
“You want to stay,” Chuck says, tiredly. “Just. . .do something you want for once, kid.”
The last time Eric did what he wanted, he almost ended everything. He lets Chuck move him, though, pull the blankets over top of them both and press up against his back, lightly. The hairs rise on his neck every time Chuck breathes out, hot and damp, nosing gently at the juncture between his neck and shoulder as he starts to fall asleep.
*
After that night, things change. Every day is full of excessive touches that only look careless because nobody expects them to be anything else (a hand pressed against the small of his back, untucking his shirt when they’re alone, cold fingers against the waistband of his slacks. Brief tugs of his hair, smoothing down the back to rest against his neck), and Eric has absolutely no idea what is happening. Part of him wants sidle up to Chuck when he doesn’t expect it and say something along the lines of, “well, Mr. Bass, are you trying to seduce me?”, like a slim, pretty heroine with red lips and no scars on her wrists, but a much larger part of him wants to run away and hide.
Sometimes, Chuck comes into his room without alcohol on his breath, when Eric is almost asleep. He fits behind him, bare chest against Eric’s back, heartbeat through Eric’s thin t-shirt. He’s stopped thinking about it by this point, just pushes back against a heavy arm around his waist and murmurs something intelligible, not even a question.
*
“He comes into your room? At night?” Jenny asks, eyes wide and horrified, and Eric shakes his head violently.
“It’s not like you’re thinking!” he says. “It’s, like, cuddling. And weird pillow talk. And. . .Jenny, I don’t know what’s happening.”
“He’s lulling you into complacency,” Jenny says, eyes narrowed. She rests hands on her narrow hips, leaning up against her locker. “Before he takes advantage of your youthful ignorance.”
Eric nods. That maybe makes more sense than what he’s thinking, which has been something along the lines of Chuck professing a deep, undying love for him in some sweeping romantic gesture other than stealth cuddling.
*
The next night, Eric goes to Chuck’s room after dark and catches him still awake. This is probably the most nights in a row that Chuck has ever stayed at home, any home, for more than a few hours. He looks up at Eric, a little startled, and Eric sits down on the bed and leans forward so their foreheads are resting together. Chuck doesn’t even close his eyes, and Eric feels crazy and brave, but he might have a heart attack any time now.
“Jenny thinks you’re trying to lure me into your den of iniquity so you can steal away my virtue,” he says, softly, and Chuck’s rare smiles this close are ridiculous, a little blurred, really fucking beautiful.
“Something like that,” Chuck murmurs, and Eric kisses him. It’s stupidly awkward, and his teeth scrape Chuck’s lower lip completely by accident, but Eric kisses him first. Chuck laughs somewhere low in his throat and opens to it, sliding arms around Eric to hold him up.
“I don’t think you’re a rapist,” Eric promises, hushed against his lips, and Chuck laughs again, kisses him like he really means it.