[094] make sure to build your home brick by boring brick
Title: In Sickness and In
Author: poprika
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Characters: Nate, Chuck and some Blair
Pairings: Nate/Chuck (dysfunctional) friendship.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, a random switch in POV halfway through that I like too much to get rid of.
Words: 1664
Summary: Set after S01E13. Chuck's sick and Nate's forced to take him his homework by a very determined Blair, who only wants them to stop acting like the proud men they are and make up. Unfortunately, boys will be boys...
For hs_bingo . My first attempt at writing a Gossip Girl story, but it was actually really interesting. I like Chuck's character a lot and getting to write him was definitely entertaining. Hope you enjoy~
In Sick and In
Nate should have known by now that no one disagreed with Blair. Especially not ex-boyfriends. And especially when she was in one of those moods, the ones that made her eyes seemed three shades darker and her lips press down into a scowl.
“Sorry, Nate- did I say you had a choice?”
Nate sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes (it would only anger the beast). Blair was giving him that raised-eyebrow look, full of impatience and just barely controlled annoyance.
Another sigh.
“I still don’t see why I have to do this. Who cares if Chuck misses a day of school? The guy barely ever shows up anyway. And plus, we’re not exactly on the best of terms right now.”
Feeble protests. ‘Resistance is futile’ and all that shit. It would only annoy Blair further, Nate knew, but he was a man, right? He could stand up to her…
Right?
...Yea- no. How had he gotten himself into this again?
“Oh my God. I am tired of watching you two moping around school every single day. Breaking up with your bff does not give you the right to play poor-me for three weeks straight! If anything, I should be the one feeling sorry for myself.”
“He slept with my girlfriend-”
“Will you grow up already? I got over it. I am way over it.” she stabbed him in the chest with a finger, hard enough to leave a dotted bruise. “And it’s time that you and Chuck did the same. I swear to God, if I have to spend another week around you two acting like a couple of wronged wives, there will be consequences.”
A handful of papers were thrown in his face and he had no choice but to catch them before the drifted to the ground. He stared, mouth agape at his once-girlfriend, still trying to convince himself that yes, she did just say that. “And that’s any of your business because? And I haven’t been acting like a- like a-” he couldn’t even say it, it was so ridiculous (Blair had the gall to look amused), “Hell, I bet he’s not even sick. It’s the oldest excuse in the book.”
Nothing stopped Blair from rolling her eyes as she speared him with another narrow eyed glare. “No more excuses, Archibald. You’re taking him the homework and that’s final. You do not want to piss me off today. Now, off you go!”
Did she just shoo him?
She did, didn’t she?
Another sigh. He glared down at the papers in his hand, a bit wrinkled from when he had grabbed them. Really, it would be easier just to go (Nate briefly considered agreeing but not visiting Chuck at all, but that thought was quickly discarded- Blair had spies everywhere and would surely find out by the next day- no, by that evening), but, damn it, he really didn’t want to have to deal with Chuck today.
Screw the bastard, right?
Blair’s murderous expression said otherwise. After a brief staring match, Nate shoved the sheets into his pocket.
“Fine, fine.” he said around his exasperation, mouth full of dread already. He threw a finger in her face, “But you owe me.”
Blair brushed the comment off like a gentle gust of the fall wind. “No I don’t, Archibald. By tomorrow, you’ll be thanking me. Now get going.”
∆
Nate found Chuck in his hotel suite and when he caught sight of the Bass prince as he stepped around the bar towards the bed, he couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him.
“Holy shit, man. You’re actually sick!”
For a second, it was as if nothing had ever changed- that Blair had never slept with Chuck, and Nate was still with her, and his dad was clean as a whistle- he loped over to the bed to peer around the covers for any signs life.
The sheets rustled in answer, accompanied by a pained groan as a mussed up head of hair emerged from underneath the heap of blankets and quilts.
“Nathaniel- is that you?” Even husky with sleep (or maybe it was whatever virus he had making Chuck’s voice all deep and rough), Nate could hear the mild surprise in his voice.
“Yeah, it’s me.” he said, and realized that he was almost enjoying seeing the bastard in such a sorry state. Well, it served Chuck right. “What the hell happened?”
He got another groan in response. Then a sigh. Finally, Chuck managed to lift his head enough to send Nate a one-eyed glare.
“The flu happened, smart ass.” he drawled as he dragged himself up to sit against the headboard. He regarded Nate through half-lidded eyes. A hand gestured lazily, “And why are you here again?” Chapped lips twisted into a sneer. “I thought we weren’t ‘bff’s anymore.”
He couldn’t be too sick if he could manage that sarcasm, Nate decided as he grabbed the papers from his pocket and deposited them on Chuck’s lap (they fell easily, successfully crumpled into a nice, messy ball from the walk over).
Chuck considered it with an expression of complete disinterest. He even poked at it with a finger before lifting his (slightly amused, Nate noticed) gaze back up to Nate’s face, “And... what is this?” The sneer turned into a sultry smirk, “A love letter?”
Nate balked. Chuck’s smirk twisted and the ‘slightly amused’ evolved into ‘very amused’ as he picked up the ball of paper delicately, as if plucking up a dead fly, “Surely, you could have presented it in a more…. appealing manner.”
Nate found himself wondering how difficult it would be to smother a sick man with his own pillow.
“You wish,” he threw back, but the response was too late and weak to pass as a good parry. Nate scowled. “Right, whatever. I did what I came here to do. Rot in peace, man.”
He couldn’t help but enjoy the displeased look twisting Chuck’s face as he turned to leave.
“How cruel, Nathaniel, turning your back on the sick and helpless.”
Nate rolled his eyes and reached for the door handle with much relief and no guilt. “You can’t be that sick if you’re still talking.” he said. “Asshole.” added under his breath.
“And here I thought we were friends”
Nate froze, halfway out the door. Blue eyes glared at the painting on the opposite wall (some stupid landscape that could be found in any high class hotel). He hesitated (give into the anger coiling in his gut, or continue through that door and let it slam behind him and never look back?).
The door slammed, but Nate didn’t leave.
He found himself back at the foot of Chuck’s bed, fists clenched and wanting to punch that smug smirk off the other man’s face.
“Friends?” he spat the word out of his mouth as if it were a poison that burned his tongue, “We’re not friends, Chuck. We haven’t been friends since you decided it’d be fun to have sex with my girlfriend in the back of a limo.”
Chuck had the gall to look bored. Nate reconsidered the whole smothering idea.
“Oh please,” Chuck drawled, reclining back against the headboard. “You had already broken up with her. Which is more than you can say about your sweet little drunken screw with Serena.”
Chuck’s nightshirt was smooth silk that slid seductively against Nate’s fingers as they curled around the cuff. Chuck’s eyes widened as Nate towered over him, all icy blue eyes and gritted teeth.
“Shut the hell up, you hypocrite.” Nate growled, his face inches away and breath hot against Chuck’s face. Spit hit his cheeks like little droplets of sticky water and Chuck had to resist lifting a hand to wipe the filth away. Instead, he concentrated on keeping his expression flat and bored.
“My, Nate, threatening a sick man? I have to admit, I’m surprised.” Chuck hissed, hoping that his breath was just as warm against Nate’s face, that the virus in his body bled through his words and into Nate’s mouth to infectinfectinfect.
It would serve the self-righteous bastard right.
Nate’s eyes were very blue, Chuck realized, especially this close- so close that Chuck could watch as they darkened with anger, flecks of green and gold clouding into brown and black.
For a moment, Chuck was sure that Nate was going to hit him, but then those eyes closed and Nate took a deep, long breath that Chuck inhaled without meaning to.
When Nate opened his eyes again, they were bright blue like he had already given up.
“You know what? Fuck you, man.” He let go, letting Chuck fall back into the mattress as Nate stood, mouth twisted downwards (he didn’t wear anger well, Chuck noted. It turned his boyish features into a sick mask, wrinkled in all the wrong ways).
The door slammed shut even harder the second time, with Nate on one side and Chuck on the other. They both paused for a second, hearts pumping with adrenaline and anger and the need to punch the other until they stopped being so damn stupid (and was that a small, tiny, weak urge to apologize? A silent wish for the old days?- for shared drinks, nights spent in dim bars, mornings waking up to a pounding headache and the other’s amused grin).
But Nate was already disappearing down the hallway and Chuck was sinking back into his mattress and neither even thought to ask the other to “wait”.
The papers Nate had brought remained on the floor until the next day, when a maid found it while vacuuming under the bed. At first she was confused; Mr. Bass hadn’t mentioned any missing documents. She briefly considered its importance, but it was wrinkled and ripped, the black ink smudged and nearly illegible- clearly it wasn’t anything of value.
She crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
Fin.
Author: poprika
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Characters: Nate, Chuck and some Blair
Pairings: Nate/Chuck (dysfunctional) friendship.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, a random switch in POV halfway through that I like too much to get rid of.
Words: 1664
Summary: Set after S01E13. Chuck's sick and Nate's forced to take him his homework by a very determined Blair, who only wants them to stop acting like the proud men they are and make up. Unfortunately, boys will be boys...
For hs_bingo . My first attempt at writing a Gossip Girl story, but it was actually really interesting. I like Chuck's character a lot and getting to write him was definitely entertaining. Hope you enjoy~
In Sick and In
Nate should have known by now that no one disagreed with Blair. Especially not ex-boyfriends. And especially when she was in one of those moods, the ones that made her eyes seemed three shades darker and her lips press down into a scowl.
“Sorry, Nate- did I say you had a choice?”
Nate sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes (it would only anger the beast). Blair was giving him that raised-eyebrow look, full of impatience and just barely controlled annoyance.
Another sigh.
“I still don’t see why I have to do this. Who cares if Chuck misses a day of school? The guy barely ever shows up anyway. And plus, we’re not exactly on the best of terms right now.”
Feeble protests. ‘Resistance is futile’ and all that shit. It would only annoy Blair further, Nate knew, but he was a man, right? He could stand up to her…
Right?
...Yea- no. How had he gotten himself into this again?
“Oh my God. I am tired of watching you two moping around school every single day. Breaking up with your bff does not give you the right to play poor-me for three weeks straight! If anything, I should be the one feeling sorry for myself.”
“He slept with my girlfriend-”
“Will you grow up already? I got over it. I am way over it.” she stabbed him in the chest with a finger, hard enough to leave a dotted bruise. “And it’s time that you and Chuck did the same. I swear to God, if I have to spend another week around you two acting like a couple of wronged wives, there will be consequences.”
A handful of papers were thrown in his face and he had no choice but to catch them before the drifted to the ground. He stared, mouth agape at his once-girlfriend, still trying to convince himself that yes, she did just say that. “And that’s any of your business because? And I haven’t been acting like a- like a-” he couldn’t even say it, it was so ridiculous (Blair had the gall to look amused), “Hell, I bet he’s not even sick. It’s the oldest excuse in the book.”
Nothing stopped Blair from rolling her eyes as she speared him with another narrow eyed glare. “No more excuses, Archibald. You’re taking him the homework and that’s final. You do not want to piss me off today. Now, off you go!”
Did she just shoo him?
She did, didn’t she?
Another sigh. He glared down at the papers in his hand, a bit wrinkled from when he had grabbed them. Really, it would be easier just to go (Nate briefly considered agreeing but not visiting Chuck at all, but that thought was quickly discarded- Blair had spies everywhere and would surely find out by the next day- no, by that evening), but, damn it, he really didn’t want to have to deal with Chuck today.
Screw the bastard, right?
Blair’s murderous expression said otherwise. After a brief staring match, Nate shoved the sheets into his pocket.
“Fine, fine.” he said around his exasperation, mouth full of dread already. He threw a finger in her face, “But you owe me.”
Blair brushed the comment off like a gentle gust of the fall wind. “No I don’t, Archibald. By tomorrow, you’ll be thanking me. Now get going.”
∆
Nate found Chuck in his hotel suite and when he caught sight of the Bass prince as he stepped around the bar towards the bed, he couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped him.
“Holy shit, man. You’re actually sick!”
For a second, it was as if nothing had ever changed- that Blair had never slept with Chuck, and Nate was still with her, and his dad was clean as a whistle- he loped over to the bed to peer around the covers for any signs life.
The sheets rustled in answer, accompanied by a pained groan as a mussed up head of hair emerged from underneath the heap of blankets and quilts.
“Nathaniel- is that you?” Even husky with sleep (or maybe it was whatever virus he had making Chuck’s voice all deep and rough), Nate could hear the mild surprise in his voice.
“Yeah, it’s me.” he said, and realized that he was almost enjoying seeing the bastard in such a sorry state. Well, it served Chuck right. “What the hell happened?”
He got another groan in response. Then a sigh. Finally, Chuck managed to lift his head enough to send Nate a one-eyed glare.
“The flu happened, smart ass.” he drawled as he dragged himself up to sit against the headboard. He regarded Nate through half-lidded eyes. A hand gestured lazily, “And why are you here again?” Chapped lips twisted into a sneer. “I thought we weren’t ‘bff’s anymore.”
He couldn’t be too sick if he could manage that sarcasm, Nate decided as he grabbed the papers from his pocket and deposited them on Chuck’s lap (they fell easily, successfully crumpled into a nice, messy ball from the walk over).
Chuck considered it with an expression of complete disinterest. He even poked at it with a finger before lifting his (slightly amused, Nate noticed) gaze back up to Nate’s face, “And... what is this?” The sneer turned into a sultry smirk, “A love letter?”
Nate balked. Chuck’s smirk twisted and the ‘slightly amused’ evolved into ‘very amused’ as he picked up the ball of paper delicately, as if plucking up a dead fly, “Surely, you could have presented it in a more…. appealing manner.”
Nate found himself wondering how difficult it would be to smother a sick man with his own pillow.
“You wish,” he threw back, but the response was too late and weak to pass as a good parry. Nate scowled. “Right, whatever. I did what I came here to do. Rot in peace, man.”
He couldn’t help but enjoy the displeased look twisting Chuck’s face as he turned to leave.
“How cruel, Nathaniel, turning your back on the sick and helpless.”
Nate rolled his eyes and reached for the door handle with much relief and no guilt. “You can’t be that sick if you’re still talking.” he said. “Asshole.” added under his breath.
“And here I thought we were friends”
Nate froze, halfway out the door. Blue eyes glared at the painting on the opposite wall (some stupid landscape that could be found in any high class hotel). He hesitated (give into the anger coiling in his gut, or continue through that door and let it slam behind him and never look back?).
The door slammed, but Nate didn’t leave.
He found himself back at the foot of Chuck’s bed, fists clenched and wanting to punch that smug smirk off the other man’s face.
“Friends?” he spat the word out of his mouth as if it were a poison that burned his tongue, “We’re not friends, Chuck. We haven’t been friends since you decided it’d be fun to have sex with my girlfriend in the back of a limo.”
Chuck had the gall to look bored. Nate reconsidered the whole smothering idea.
“Oh please,” Chuck drawled, reclining back against the headboard. “You had already broken up with her. Which is more than you can say about your sweet little drunken screw with Serena.”
Chuck’s nightshirt was smooth silk that slid seductively against Nate’s fingers as they curled around the cuff. Chuck’s eyes widened as Nate towered over him, all icy blue eyes and gritted teeth.
“Shut the hell up, you hypocrite.” Nate growled, his face inches away and breath hot against Chuck’s face. Spit hit his cheeks like little droplets of sticky water and Chuck had to resist lifting a hand to wipe the filth away. Instead, he concentrated on keeping his expression flat and bored.
“My, Nate, threatening a sick man? I have to admit, I’m surprised.” Chuck hissed, hoping that his breath was just as warm against Nate’s face, that the virus in his body bled through his words and into Nate’s mouth to infectinfectinfect.
It would serve the self-righteous bastard right.
Nate’s eyes were very blue, Chuck realized, especially this close- so close that Chuck could watch as they darkened with anger, flecks of green and gold clouding into brown and black.
For a moment, Chuck was sure that Nate was going to hit him, but then those eyes closed and Nate took a deep, long breath that Chuck inhaled without meaning to.
When Nate opened his eyes again, they were bright blue like he had already given up.
“You know what? Fuck you, man.” He let go, letting Chuck fall back into the mattress as Nate stood, mouth twisted downwards (he didn’t wear anger well, Chuck noted. It turned his boyish features into a sick mask, wrinkled in all the wrong ways).
The door slammed shut even harder the second time, with Nate on one side and Chuck on the other. They both paused for a second, hearts pumping with adrenaline and anger and the need to punch the other until they stopped being so damn stupid (and was that a small, tiny, weak urge to apologize? A silent wish for the old days?- for shared drinks, nights spent in dim bars, mornings waking up to a pounding headache and the other’s amused grin).
But Nate was already disappearing down the hallway and Chuck was sinking back into his mattress and neither even thought to ask the other to “wait”.
The papers Nate had brought remained on the floor until the next day, when a maid found it while vacuuming under the bed. At first she was confused; Mr. Bass hadn’t mentioned any missing documents. She briefly considered its importance, but it was wrinkled and ripped, the black ink smudged and nearly illegible- clearly it wasn’t anything of value.
She crumpled it up and threw it in the trash.
Fin.