Five Times: Gossip Girl ficlet
Some fun to celebrate GOSSIP GIRL being back on TV today - and for oxoniensis for the Free For All and because she is a kind and generous soul.
Four Times “I'm Chuck Bass” Got Chuck What He Wanted, and One Time it Didn't.
Chuck/Nate, passing ref to Chuck/OFC
PG-13 with some sexual references? Doesn’t warrant an R rating I wouldn’t say. Some swearing and sexual situations.
2765 words. With a special guest!
1.
Chuck sees Nate as soon as they turn the corner, picks him out from the crowds behind him, the spot of color among the gray. Nate's got his hands in his pockets, his head tilted away from the club door. He's staring up toward the night sky, and Chuck has no idea what he might be thinking.
He's no idea what Nate is doing on the street corner either, because that's where the trash belongs. Even Nate, with his odd ideas about following his dreams, and his occasional whims about being one of the masses, would usually wait for Chuck inside. He should be sat in a booth with champagne and libido waiting.
The limo pulls up alongside Nate and Chuck swings out before it's at a halt. “Nathaniel!” Nate snaps to attention, a smile pulling at his lips the second he sees Chuck. Chuck's stomach does a pleasurable squeeze in response. There are certain things that never get old the more he has them: champagne, foie gras, and Nate's smile. “What are you doing out here?” Chuck sniffs toward the long line of waiting people.
“I got refused entry.” Nate's lips pout.
Chuck immediately wants them around his cock. Patience, he tells himself. That's for later.
“They told me to join the line.” Nate pouts even further as he gestures toward the waiting throng.
“The line?” Chuck is incredulous.
“Apparently the Archibald name is no longer good here.” Nate steps toward the still waiting limo, Chuck's driver well trained not to leave until he's inside a club, and then never to be too far away from a necessary escape. “C'mon let's go somewhere else.”
“Nathaniel, you were the one who wanted to see the band. You begged me to frequent this place.” Chuck stalks toward the door, not bothering to wait and see if Nate will follow. He knows he will. He flashes a sneer at the doorman when he lifts an arm up to block his entry.
“There's a line,” the doorman says, with a cock of his head toward the waiting people. He gestures a pretty brunette in. In front of Chuck.
Chuck grins and plays his trump card. His only card; the only one he ever needs. “I think you want to let me in. I'm Chuck Bass.”
The doorman hesitates and Chuck catches the glance he exchanges with his equally as dumb friend. Then he inclines his head toward the door. “Sorry Mr. Bass. Go on in.”
“Thank you.” Chuck nods at Nate. “He's with me.” The branding of Nate shouldn't please him so, the marking him out as his own, but it does.
They enter the club, and Chuck orders champagne and to speak to the manager. He needs to expand on Victrola. This club is as good a start as any, and that way Nate won't be refused entry again. He'll even keep the music night, he reflects, not so much for the music itself, which is loud and irritating and makes Chuck's head hurt. More for the way the crowd is thick around the band and Nate is forced to press into Chuck's back as they watch. Chuck feels Nate sway to the music, and Nate's breath on his neck makes him shiver in a way he'd deny later.
Chuck wouldn't mind doing this again, and what Chuck wants to do again, he makes happen.
**
2.
Nate's been acting like a prissy bitch all week, and Chuck pretty sure he knows what's annoying him. It 's the reappearance of Blair - she's always a sore point between them, however much they try and pretend she isn't. Nate's been argumentative and distant by turns, and Chuck's tired of manipulating him into being where Chuck wants.
There was a time when flirting with Blair would have achieved Chuck's aim, but Chuck's no fool, he knows that would be a step too far, possibly push Nate further than Chuck wants. No, this has to be a carefully aimed attack.
He gets Nate to the club mainly by sending the car for him and barraging him with texts. Once he knows Nate is on his way, Chuck sets about finding his victim.
He spots her, clearly here for the band only, as she's waiting by the bar, looking at her watch and casting wistful glances toward the stage. She's wearing a denim skirt and knee-highs, with a band t-shirt that doesn't show off her cleavage at all, but rather the promise of one. She's more Nate's type than Chuck's, but that's why she'll work so perfectly.
“Hello.” Chuck calls to the barman before she can answer: always assume the answer will be yes. Chuck rarely gets a no. “Can I have a bottle of your finest champagne please?”
She tears her eyes away from the band, blonde hair falling around her shoulders and across her eyes. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
“Who said it was for you?” Chuck waves for another glass when the barman only puts down one. “But seeing as you asked so nicely, I can share.”
That earns him a laugh at least, but she doesn't touch the glass, and she's eyeing the stage again with impatience.
“What's your name?” Chuck pours the champagne anyway, but he doesn't move the glass toward her. That would be too much like begging.
“Letitia,” she answers, in the end, deigning to look at him at least. “And you?”
“I'm Chuck Bass.”
The answering light in her eyes says she's heard of him, but who hasn't? She pays him more attention after that, especially when he says he's in talks to buy the place. Before Nate arrives he's kissing her, pulling her onto his lap, running one hand underneath that denim skirt in a way she doesn't protest.
Nate's short cough interrupts them.
“Nathaniel. Letitia. This is Nathaniel. There's champagne, Nathaniel.” Chuck carries on mouthing her throat, catching Nate's open-eyed disgust as he does.
Nate practically pulls him off her and propels him out of the door. Nate doesn't bother waiting until they're back at Chuck's suite, but fumbles his way into Chuck's pants in the back of the limo.
Chuck likes Nate like this; desperate, fumbling, impatient. Chuck lets noises out that usually he'd keep back, mumbles words he'll deny he ever said in the morning, and lets Nate pretty much do whatever he wants.
Whatever Nate wants, Chuck wants. It's never worked like that with anyone else.
**
3.
It's the end of the summer and that's a crazy time for a new sunglasses range to come out. Which is perhaps the point, Chuck knows. Those who wear the Cavalli sunglasses like an accessory do not care that it is nearly fall. Of course, most of the people who will get hold of one of the hundred exclusive pairs are based in California, and so seasons are not an issue.
Seasons are an issue for Chuck, but he still wants a pair. They'll be his other trademark, along with his scarf and his wit.
It should not be so hard to get hold of them. He calls the store and he's told only one hundred pairs are being made, and the head office decides. He finds out the number for the office, and when he calls, is told the hundred pairs have all been promised to people. She hangs up before Chuck can even give his name.
This makes Chuck unaccountably annoyed. He buys a suit in three different colors, spends a fortune on accessories for Victrola 2 and is still too pissed to enjoy Nate's begging text messages.
He wants those sunglasses.
If he asked his father, Bass Senior probably knows someone who runs a sub division, or a main division, and Chuck would have them in minutes. Chuck doesn't want to use his father. Bass Senior will roll his eyes and ask why Chuck isn't concerned about more important matters. It will undo all the good work Victrola 2 will do, once Chuck has it settled, and announces it.
In the meantime Chuck isn't even on a list, a list that probably consists of Paris Hilton's boyfriend and people who aren't even rich, just act on some TV Show.
This is unacceptable. He heads to the Fifth Avenue showroom and straight to the woman behind the counter.
“I want a pair of the limited editions,” Chuck says, without bothering to say hello. “You can tell them it's Chuck Bass.”
He has a pair on their way via courier within five minutes. The power of his name will always have sway in a multitude of ways, and Chuck will never tire of using it. He goes for a bellini around the corner, returning Nate's text message and arranging to meet him at the suite.
He arrives at the suite with the sunglasses perched on his nose, and feeling much cheered for it. Items are all the better when he hasn't had to pay for them, even when he can afford them five times over.
Nate is in his suite already, arranged on the couch, and that's the third time this week he's worn that same shirt. Not that Chuck notices what Nate wears, especially, unless it shows off Nate's arms like that. In which case he can't help but notice.
Now he comes to think of it, it's been a while since Nate's bought anything new. The perils of the current status of the Archibald name, Chuck supposes.
“Hey. Neat sunglasses,” Nate says.
Chuck sits down next to him, half on Nate's feet, and leans in for a kiss. Nate takes the sunglasses off him as they pull apart, turning them over in his hands.
“They're cool,” Nate says. He puts them on, and leans his head against the back of the couch. “How do I look?”
“Not bad Nathaniel,” Chuck leans in to kiss Nate's neck, focuses on unbuttoning his top button.
“I should get some.” Nate gurgles when Chuck reaches that spot on his collarbone. “How-”
The sentence is swallowed, but Nate was about to say the unforgivable. How much were they?
Chuck undoes another button. “I'm tired of them already,” he lies. “You have them.” He glances up, sees Nate slipping them off his face and giving a smile that makes the sacrifice worth it.
Nate's Chuck's best accessory, in any case.
**
4.
Bass Senior's approval, that's all Chuck needs to make Victrola 2 a reality. Victrola 1 paid for it, Chuck's done all the planning. As a minor, he needs Father to approve the papers.
Even if he didn't, Chuck would tell him about it anyway. He books an official appointment, turns up in his business best, and catches Father's nod of approval as he walks in.
“Chuck. I take it this is a business matter.” Father's tone someone manages to put doubt into every word.
“Yes, Sir. Another business proposal.” Chuck throws it onto the desk. Father doesn't bother opening it, merely eyeing it then looking back at Chuck. “I put this together myself,” Chuck says, emphasizing the self. “And Victrola funded it.”
“Really? I knew Victrola was doing well, but to fund a second place...” Father pulls the proposal toward him and he even nods toward the seat next to Chuck.
Chuck takes it, folding and unfolding his hands into one another as he waits, the only way he'll let his nerves show. Father doesn't speak while he glances through it, and Chuck tries not to watch every tic of Father's face as he does so. Is that eyebrow raise good or bad? Does that purse of his lips indicate he thinks Chuck has massaged the figures?
“I think this is a stretch,” Father says, finally. “The figures for the new place are good, but it's taking a lot out of Victrola's profits that should be put back into Victrola.”
“But-”
Father raises his hand. “How did you get the planning permission for the extension you propose? It's notoriously difficult to get permission on this Avenue.” He taps the folder, leans forward and sounds genuinely interested.
Chuck grins. “I told them who I was.” He raises his hands palm upwards, hiding his nerves at last. “Who could argue with that?”
Father chuckles. “I'll fund this, Victrola can keep its profits.” He nods his head at Chuck in dismissal, even as Chuck's rising and trying not to sound too grateful as he grasps Father's hand and squeezes it.
It's the nearest he'll get to being told his Father’s proud of him.
**
5.
The best thing about building the extension is that Chuck gets to sit in the empty bar in the meantime, and drink. Sometimes, like tonight, he calls Nate to come and join him, and they sit in the dark after the workmen have gone home and fuck on the new couches Chuck bought.
Nate's late, and tonight the bar seems big and empty, and Chuck downs two champagnes in his impatience.
The last workman to leave comes up, approaching Chuck with a hesitant walk that drives Chuck mad. Why do people insist on behaving as if they must apologize to the world for their presence? “Sir, we're all finished.”
“Thank you. Seems to be coming on quickly.”
“Yes. We'll be done soon. One thing sir-”
“Yes?” Chuck finishes the glass and pours himself another. Surely Nate can't be far away.
“A man broke in just as I was leaving. Told me to get out sir, and started throwing salt around. Of all things. I don't think he noticed me.” The workman inches toward the door, as if he's afraid Chuck will throw him out. “I thought it best to fetch you Sir.”
“Did he frighten you or something?” Chuck bites back the firing that's on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't want this opening to be delayed any more than it already has been by the complaints of the workmen about strange noises and odd chills. “I'll remove him.”
Chuck heads down the staircase to the basement, and turns to the side, where the extension is taking over the patch of rubble that used to reside there. He notices salt lining the wall and door of the side of the room, and there's a tall man standing in the makeshift room that will soon be a private members' area.
“Can I help you?”
The man twists around - and jesus, he's tall, and well built. Chuck doesn't bother trying to compete in height or build. Chuck has advantages in many other ways. The man doesn't answer, and that's when Chuck notices the gun in his hand.
Chuck doesn't like guns. He doesn't particularly want to get involved with some crazy man waving one around.
“It's not safe here, you should go.” The man doesn’t look at him, but carries on examining the room.
“I should go? You're in my club. I think you’re the one who should leave.” Chuck walks straight up to the guy, ignoring the gun. People who intend to shoot you don't tell you it's not safe first, he reasons. This guy must be here to burgle the place.
“Your club?” The guy's eyes flicker over him, and Chuck catches the disbelief.
“Yes. I'm Chuck Bass.” Chuck delivers it as importantly as possible, but the guy simply laughs - actually laughs, a short sharp laugh, and doesn't even seem to hear Chuck.
He either didn't hear, or hasn't heard of Chuck, and the latter just can't be true.
“Yeah, well, I'm Sam Winchester, and I don't give a damn who you are.” Sam looks around him as if he expects someone else to be there, and when he looks back at Chuck, he appears sad with the angry, and his tone has softened. “Look, I don't have time for the whole speech. It's nearly midnight, so it'll be here soon.”
“What will?” As soon as the words are out Chuck feels cold, really cold, and there's a strange rattling noise. It's all very odd. Chuck wishes he were still upstairs with the champagne waiting for Nate. Let the guy take a few tools or furnishings, Chuck can afford it.
“I told you, I don't have time for the speech. Get out. Whoever you are, it's not safe.”
“I told you, I'm-”
Chuck gives it up. There's no sense reasoning with a crazy person. He walks back upstairs, finds Nate waiting on a couch and forgets all about the crazy man downstairs.
Even if he was kind of hot, now Chuck thinks about it, he still hadn't heard of Chuck, and that's unimaginable.
**
Feedback is love.
Four Times “I'm Chuck Bass” Got Chuck What He Wanted, and One Time it Didn't.
Chuck/Nate, passing ref to Chuck/OFC
PG-13 with some sexual references? Doesn’t warrant an R rating I wouldn’t say. Some swearing and sexual situations.
2765 words. With a special guest!
1.
Chuck sees Nate as soon as they turn the corner, picks him out from the crowds behind him, the spot of color among the gray. Nate's got his hands in his pockets, his head tilted away from the club door. He's staring up toward the night sky, and Chuck has no idea what he might be thinking.
He's no idea what Nate is doing on the street corner either, because that's where the trash belongs. Even Nate, with his odd ideas about following his dreams, and his occasional whims about being one of the masses, would usually wait for Chuck inside. He should be sat in a booth with champagne and libido waiting.
The limo pulls up alongside Nate and Chuck swings out before it's at a halt. “Nathaniel!” Nate snaps to attention, a smile pulling at his lips the second he sees Chuck. Chuck's stomach does a pleasurable squeeze in response. There are certain things that never get old the more he has them: champagne, foie gras, and Nate's smile. “What are you doing out here?” Chuck sniffs toward the long line of waiting people.
“I got refused entry.” Nate's lips pout.
Chuck immediately wants them around his cock. Patience, he tells himself. That's for later.
“They told me to join the line.” Nate pouts even further as he gestures toward the waiting throng.
“The line?” Chuck is incredulous.
“Apparently the Archibald name is no longer good here.” Nate steps toward the still waiting limo, Chuck's driver well trained not to leave until he's inside a club, and then never to be too far away from a necessary escape. “C'mon let's go somewhere else.”
“Nathaniel, you were the one who wanted to see the band. You begged me to frequent this place.” Chuck stalks toward the door, not bothering to wait and see if Nate will follow. He knows he will. He flashes a sneer at the doorman when he lifts an arm up to block his entry.
“There's a line,” the doorman says, with a cock of his head toward the waiting people. He gestures a pretty brunette in. In front of Chuck.
Chuck grins and plays his trump card. His only card; the only one he ever needs. “I think you want to let me in. I'm Chuck Bass.”
The doorman hesitates and Chuck catches the glance he exchanges with his equally as dumb friend. Then he inclines his head toward the door. “Sorry Mr. Bass. Go on in.”
“Thank you.” Chuck nods at Nate. “He's with me.” The branding of Nate shouldn't please him so, the marking him out as his own, but it does.
They enter the club, and Chuck orders champagne and to speak to the manager. He needs to expand on Victrola. This club is as good a start as any, and that way Nate won't be refused entry again. He'll even keep the music night, he reflects, not so much for the music itself, which is loud and irritating and makes Chuck's head hurt. More for the way the crowd is thick around the band and Nate is forced to press into Chuck's back as they watch. Chuck feels Nate sway to the music, and Nate's breath on his neck makes him shiver in a way he'd deny later.
Chuck wouldn't mind doing this again, and what Chuck wants to do again, he makes happen.
**
2.
Nate's been acting like a prissy bitch all week, and Chuck pretty sure he knows what's annoying him. It 's the reappearance of Blair - she's always a sore point between them, however much they try and pretend she isn't. Nate's been argumentative and distant by turns, and Chuck's tired of manipulating him into being where Chuck wants.
There was a time when flirting with Blair would have achieved Chuck's aim, but Chuck's no fool, he knows that would be a step too far, possibly push Nate further than Chuck wants. No, this has to be a carefully aimed attack.
He gets Nate to the club mainly by sending the car for him and barraging him with texts. Once he knows Nate is on his way, Chuck sets about finding his victim.
He spots her, clearly here for the band only, as she's waiting by the bar, looking at her watch and casting wistful glances toward the stage. She's wearing a denim skirt and knee-highs, with a band t-shirt that doesn't show off her cleavage at all, but rather the promise of one. She's more Nate's type than Chuck's, but that's why she'll work so perfectly.
“Hello.” Chuck calls to the barman before she can answer: always assume the answer will be yes. Chuck rarely gets a no. “Can I have a bottle of your finest champagne please?”
She tears her eyes away from the band, blonde hair falling around her shoulders and across her eyes. “Is that supposed to impress me?”
“Who said it was for you?” Chuck waves for another glass when the barman only puts down one. “But seeing as you asked so nicely, I can share.”
That earns him a laugh at least, but she doesn't touch the glass, and she's eyeing the stage again with impatience.
“What's your name?” Chuck pours the champagne anyway, but he doesn't move the glass toward her. That would be too much like begging.
“Letitia,” she answers, in the end, deigning to look at him at least. “And you?”
“I'm Chuck Bass.”
The answering light in her eyes says she's heard of him, but who hasn't? She pays him more attention after that, especially when he says he's in talks to buy the place. Before Nate arrives he's kissing her, pulling her onto his lap, running one hand underneath that denim skirt in a way she doesn't protest.
Nate's short cough interrupts them.
“Nathaniel. Letitia. This is Nathaniel. There's champagne, Nathaniel.” Chuck carries on mouthing her throat, catching Nate's open-eyed disgust as he does.
Nate practically pulls him off her and propels him out of the door. Nate doesn't bother waiting until they're back at Chuck's suite, but fumbles his way into Chuck's pants in the back of the limo.
Chuck likes Nate like this; desperate, fumbling, impatient. Chuck lets noises out that usually he'd keep back, mumbles words he'll deny he ever said in the morning, and lets Nate pretty much do whatever he wants.
Whatever Nate wants, Chuck wants. It's never worked like that with anyone else.
**
3.
It's the end of the summer and that's a crazy time for a new sunglasses range to come out. Which is perhaps the point, Chuck knows. Those who wear the Cavalli sunglasses like an accessory do not care that it is nearly fall. Of course, most of the people who will get hold of one of the hundred exclusive pairs are based in California, and so seasons are not an issue.
Seasons are an issue for Chuck, but he still wants a pair. They'll be his other trademark, along with his scarf and his wit.
It should not be so hard to get hold of them. He calls the store and he's told only one hundred pairs are being made, and the head office decides. He finds out the number for the office, and when he calls, is told the hundred pairs have all been promised to people. She hangs up before Chuck can even give his name.
This makes Chuck unaccountably annoyed. He buys a suit in three different colors, spends a fortune on accessories for Victrola 2 and is still too pissed to enjoy Nate's begging text messages.
He wants those sunglasses.
If he asked his father, Bass Senior probably knows someone who runs a sub division, or a main division, and Chuck would have them in minutes. Chuck doesn't want to use his father. Bass Senior will roll his eyes and ask why Chuck isn't concerned about more important matters. It will undo all the good work Victrola 2 will do, once Chuck has it settled, and announces it.
In the meantime Chuck isn't even on a list, a list that probably consists of Paris Hilton's boyfriend and people who aren't even rich, just act on some TV Show.
This is unacceptable. He heads to the Fifth Avenue showroom and straight to the woman behind the counter.
“I want a pair of the limited editions,” Chuck says, without bothering to say hello. “You can tell them it's Chuck Bass.”
He has a pair on their way via courier within five minutes. The power of his name will always have sway in a multitude of ways, and Chuck will never tire of using it. He goes for a bellini around the corner, returning Nate's text message and arranging to meet him at the suite.
He arrives at the suite with the sunglasses perched on his nose, and feeling much cheered for it. Items are all the better when he hasn't had to pay for them, even when he can afford them five times over.
Nate is in his suite already, arranged on the couch, and that's the third time this week he's worn that same shirt. Not that Chuck notices what Nate wears, especially, unless it shows off Nate's arms like that. In which case he can't help but notice.
Now he comes to think of it, it's been a while since Nate's bought anything new. The perils of the current status of the Archibald name, Chuck supposes.
“Hey. Neat sunglasses,” Nate says.
Chuck sits down next to him, half on Nate's feet, and leans in for a kiss. Nate takes the sunglasses off him as they pull apart, turning them over in his hands.
“They're cool,” Nate says. He puts them on, and leans his head against the back of the couch. “How do I look?”
“Not bad Nathaniel,” Chuck leans in to kiss Nate's neck, focuses on unbuttoning his top button.
“I should get some.” Nate gurgles when Chuck reaches that spot on his collarbone. “How-”
The sentence is swallowed, but Nate was about to say the unforgivable. How much were they?
Chuck undoes another button. “I'm tired of them already,” he lies. “You have them.” He glances up, sees Nate slipping them off his face and giving a smile that makes the sacrifice worth it.
Nate's Chuck's best accessory, in any case.
**
4.
Bass Senior's approval, that's all Chuck needs to make Victrola 2 a reality. Victrola 1 paid for it, Chuck's done all the planning. As a minor, he needs Father to approve the papers.
Even if he didn't, Chuck would tell him about it anyway. He books an official appointment, turns up in his business best, and catches Father's nod of approval as he walks in.
“Chuck. I take it this is a business matter.” Father's tone someone manages to put doubt into every word.
“Yes, Sir. Another business proposal.” Chuck throws it onto the desk. Father doesn't bother opening it, merely eyeing it then looking back at Chuck. “I put this together myself,” Chuck says, emphasizing the self. “And Victrola funded it.”
“Really? I knew Victrola was doing well, but to fund a second place...” Father pulls the proposal toward him and he even nods toward the seat next to Chuck.
Chuck takes it, folding and unfolding his hands into one another as he waits, the only way he'll let his nerves show. Father doesn't speak while he glances through it, and Chuck tries not to watch every tic of Father's face as he does so. Is that eyebrow raise good or bad? Does that purse of his lips indicate he thinks Chuck has massaged the figures?
“I think this is a stretch,” Father says, finally. “The figures for the new place are good, but it's taking a lot out of Victrola's profits that should be put back into Victrola.”
“But-”
Father raises his hand. “How did you get the planning permission for the extension you propose? It's notoriously difficult to get permission on this Avenue.” He taps the folder, leans forward and sounds genuinely interested.
Chuck grins. “I told them who I was.” He raises his hands palm upwards, hiding his nerves at last. “Who could argue with that?”
Father chuckles. “I'll fund this, Victrola can keep its profits.” He nods his head at Chuck in dismissal, even as Chuck's rising and trying not to sound too grateful as he grasps Father's hand and squeezes it.
It's the nearest he'll get to being told his Father’s proud of him.
**
5.
The best thing about building the extension is that Chuck gets to sit in the empty bar in the meantime, and drink. Sometimes, like tonight, he calls Nate to come and join him, and they sit in the dark after the workmen have gone home and fuck on the new couches Chuck bought.
Nate's late, and tonight the bar seems big and empty, and Chuck downs two champagnes in his impatience.
The last workman to leave comes up, approaching Chuck with a hesitant walk that drives Chuck mad. Why do people insist on behaving as if they must apologize to the world for their presence? “Sir, we're all finished.”
“Thank you. Seems to be coming on quickly.”
“Yes. We'll be done soon. One thing sir-”
“Yes?” Chuck finishes the glass and pours himself another. Surely Nate can't be far away.
“A man broke in just as I was leaving. Told me to get out sir, and started throwing salt around. Of all things. I don't think he noticed me.” The workman inches toward the door, as if he's afraid Chuck will throw him out. “I thought it best to fetch you Sir.”
“Did he frighten you or something?” Chuck bites back the firing that's on the tip of his tongue. He doesn't want this opening to be delayed any more than it already has been by the complaints of the workmen about strange noises and odd chills. “I'll remove him.”
Chuck heads down the staircase to the basement, and turns to the side, where the extension is taking over the patch of rubble that used to reside there. He notices salt lining the wall and door of the side of the room, and there's a tall man standing in the makeshift room that will soon be a private members' area.
“Can I help you?”
The man twists around - and jesus, he's tall, and well built. Chuck doesn't bother trying to compete in height or build. Chuck has advantages in many other ways. The man doesn't answer, and that's when Chuck notices the gun in his hand.
Chuck doesn't like guns. He doesn't particularly want to get involved with some crazy man waving one around.
“It's not safe here, you should go.” The man doesn’t look at him, but carries on examining the room.
“I should go? You're in my club. I think you’re the one who should leave.” Chuck walks straight up to the guy, ignoring the gun. People who intend to shoot you don't tell you it's not safe first, he reasons. This guy must be here to burgle the place.
“Your club?” The guy's eyes flicker over him, and Chuck catches the disbelief.
“Yes. I'm Chuck Bass.” Chuck delivers it as importantly as possible, but the guy simply laughs - actually laughs, a short sharp laugh, and doesn't even seem to hear Chuck.
He either didn't hear, or hasn't heard of Chuck, and the latter just can't be true.
“Yeah, well, I'm Sam Winchester, and I don't give a damn who you are.” Sam looks around him as if he expects someone else to be there, and when he looks back at Chuck, he appears sad with the angry, and his tone has softened. “Look, I don't have time for the whole speech. It's nearly midnight, so it'll be here soon.”
“What will?” As soon as the words are out Chuck feels cold, really cold, and there's a strange rattling noise. It's all very odd. Chuck wishes he were still upstairs with the champagne waiting for Nate. Let the guy take a few tools or furnishings, Chuck can afford it.
“I told you, I don't have time for the speech. Get out. Whoever you are, it's not safe.”
“I told you, I'm-”
Chuck gives it up. There's no sense reasoning with a crazy person. He walks back upstairs, finds Nate waiting on a couch and forgets all about the crazy man downstairs.
Even if he was kind of hot, now Chuck thinks about it, he still hadn't heard of Chuck, and that's unimaginable.
**
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