Definitions Of Bliss 5: Chuck/Blair, Mature content
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In retrospect, Chuck knows he should have expected this. They had five freakishly perfect days, filled with the best sex of his entire, experienced life and a relatively tame, playfully adoring Blair Waldorf.
But Blair Waldorf is not docile, not really, no matter how much she likes to pretend otherwise or how many delusions Nathaniel used to have about it. She is a pushy, egotistic, hypocritical, infernal little bitch sent on his case as a particularly sadistic form of karmic retribution.
“I can’t believe you embarrassed me like that!”
Once upon a time, he used to find the sight of her face and posture transfigured by ire sexy, but now there’s nothing more remote from truth. The way she is speaking to him only reminds him of far too many conversations he has had with Bart, and it creates the same churning feeling in the pit of his stomach. Her disappointment in his behavior is repulsive, angering: he would like nothing better than to shake her hard, maybe even slap her, because what the fuck, she has no right to be fucking ashamed of him.
“You are the one who insisted on making me stay and holding your fucking hand through Hazel’s crap! ”
“Unlike you, Bass, I like having acquaintances who don’t completely despise my company! And you are my boyfriend!”
“I must have missed the memo explaining how this detail enables you to decide how or if I can talk back to other people when in public! ”
Hushed voices, harsh whispers fill the chilly distance between their bodies while downstairs the party goes on like nothing is happening: suddenly he still feels like her dirty secret.
“You should not need a memo to know you can deflect an insult without becoming crass and crude! All you need is some class! Too bad that even with all your money you can’t buy that, can you?”
I should strangle her, he thinks through the loud thundering of rage in his veins; what has ever given him the impression she was above throwing his weaknesses back in his face? She knows how he feels about his new-money status, not because he ever told her but because she was there to see him struggle to become someone who couldn’t be easily brushed off like the UES bigots would have wanted.
Loving him doesn’t give the bitch full rights to mold him into a fucking trained peacock, dammit!
“Waldorf soiree or not, I won’t stand there to listen to some frigid Stepford wife criticizing my life!“
“Of course not, you don’t have enough respect for me to do that! And while we’re at it, what did you expect? That Hazel’s mother would compliment you for spending most of our high school years as a walking advertisement for intoxicated prostitution? ”
“Well, as I’ve already said, it’s a shame her mouth wasn’t nearly as scathing last year, it would have spared me -”
“Don’t you dare finish! God, that was so humiliating! You are lucky her husband wasn’t there, asshole, or I would have had to explain to my mother why my boyfriend started a scene at her soiree!”
“I’m sorry,” - he spits, not at all sympathetic to her distress- “I thought you were past your juvenile fixation with painting fairy tales wherever you look! ”
Really, at this moment, he hates everything about her. Her beauty, the elegant slenderness of her body as it leans towards his, the bitter curl of her lips, the indignation embedded in her words. Mostly, he hates the fact that she can look so flawless in his eyes even when his brain fucking knows that she is full of imperfections, because the more flawless she is, the more he feels flawed.
“You know, I’m not surprised you’re being like this. It must be difficult to even remember the meaning of the words ‘embarrassment ‘ and ‘propriety’ when you enter a room and discover you have already seen the majority of its occupants naked! ”
“Naked, sweaty and panting, if you must know!”
“You are a disgusting pig!”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? ”
“Yes!”
At once, Blair realizes that it’s the first time in long time they are looking at each other like opponents, and not like lovers. It undermines her anger somehow, awakening an uneasy feeling deep down.
“What do you expect, Blair? That my past is all gone? That I behave, wherever someone can see us or listen to us? That’s it? Do you want a nice trophy date with my face and dick and money and Nathaniel or Lord-What’s -his-face’s perfect manners?”
She stomps her feet down furiously, raising her hands in exasperation: “It has nothing to do with that! Stop making this about me! It’s about you! Your idiotic inability to keep your mouth shut when you should!”
“Really?” he inches closer to her, invading her personal space, so close that her breath is on his face and his hand is grazing her throat, wrapping slowly around it. she should probably be a bit scared by the assumedly threatening gesture, but she is not. She just feels hot, hot anywhere because that cold, ruthless hardness in his gaze is familiar and unfamiliar at the same time and …
It’s a bit startling, to realize she is getting abnormally, inappropriately aroused. It’s not the time or the situation for that, and she tries to blink the fire between her thighs away, into the realm of too-senseless-and out-of-place-to-be-consciously-acknowledged-things .
“I don’t like being treated with condescension, Blair, by you or anyone else. That won’t change.”
It makes her uneasy, to hear her name uttered from him like a curse. She is no longer sure of how they got to this point so fast, so worked up. She is not sure of why it hurts so badly, when they fought so much worse before they got together with so much less strain. He should understand where she is coming from, and he should not be so disappointed with her, nor should she be able to feel the brunt of his dissatisfaction so deeply. Chuck is not taking back his confessions of love and there are no sharp insults being thrown around… why does she feel so broken?
Fingers caress her throat softly before squeezing ever so slightly, and the restlessness in her heart increases, spreads to that dirty, moist place between her legs.
She could reply with something, but it’s impossible, with his eyes and hands on her, pinning her to her bedroom door, his grip on her left wrist so strong and tight that she should fear a sprain if only she cared.
She can’t bring herself to, not when his lips are so close, pressed together in a pale, sensual line of displeasure. She reaches for them, caught in an insuppressible longing to brush hers against them and taste them with her tongue, but his palm on her stomach pushes backward, roughly.
“Stay still,” Chuck snaps coolly, that unsettling kind of focused distance in his gaze that she hadn’t experienced since that time he called her a sweaty mare and pretty much equated her to the filthiest among the whores. His even breath tickles her cheek and she feels an incomprehensible feeling seeping into her, in between crippling fear and guilty desire.
She is startlingly aware that Chuck might say to her the most vicious, irreparable, hurtful thing if she only tried the wrong justification, so she stays quiet and allows him to flatten her back against the door.
Part of her yearns to cajole or to fight back- she has her fair chance to win- but the other side of her is stronger . It’s the side of her that is enraptured with his desperate cruelty as much as with his bouts of childlike tenderness , that hungers for the power only he can exercise on her emotions.
Chuck’s head dips down, so he can hesitate two tormenting seconds before freeing her throat, only to have his closed mouth apply a burning, insistent pressure on her flushed skin. She whimpers in response because underneath his lips her flesh is aflame and Blair can feel his smirk on her before his teeth drag along the curve of her neck, branding and bruising.
Gently, her hands are guided to lay open against the door, at her sides.
“Eyes open, Waldorf. Hold yourself up.,” he whispers inside her ear, and it’s like the sound can reach into her bones, seductive and severe, hot and cold. The verbal caress lifts her eyelids up effortlessly whereas before they were drifting shut.
She straightens, and It occurs to her that it’s the first time that being commanded doesn’t appall her.
It terrifies her, that she of all people would crave the knowledge that Chuck Bass can force control out of her grasp completely and irrevocably.
Yet she can’t stop staring back into that cutting, bottomless darkness of his eyes: it makes her feel small and exposed, like it might swallow her. Before she can realize it, her knees are going weak and for a helpless moment she is sliding down the hard wood surface; only when the vice around her wrists tightens even more, a spike of pain pulls her throughout her haze and she notices she is being pulled up.
A hand kneads her breast through her dress, its touch rough but purposeful, not slow nor impatient , but right enough to be more a delight than a torment.
Her thighs spread apart against the pressure of a possessive touch that lingers upon each of them in turn.
His palm cups her sex brazenly, brusquely, and all the tension in Blair’s body releases itself in a shuddering, shame-filled sigh. How is she supposed to keep her ground if she can’t hide from him what he does to her so easily?
“How is that?”- he whispers- “tell me why it seems so apparent to me that you don’t want me to be a gentleman now?”
His thumb probes her through her soaked underwear, punishes her clit with a forceful squeeze when he realizes she won’t talk back to him.
“Is that how you would like it, B? Proper and nice out in the open, real behind closed doors? ”
“N-no.”
“Then how is it?”
“I”- when did her tongue grow so huge in her mouth? -“I’m not asking you to change. ”
“But?”
She doesn’t understand why her knees are wobbling, if it’s the velvety coolness of his tone or the coarseness of his fingers rubbing her lace-covered pussy that is keeping her trembling and uncertain.
“I hate you sometimes,” she murmurs , turning her head to the side and moaning when his tongue revisits that sensitive spot behind her ear. It seems like the only thing to say at the time, but once it’s out she notices it’s not altogether right.
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” he dishes back and it hurts and it doesn’t hurt and it gets everything so much hotter. He’s still touching there, not quite the way she needs but pinching and stroking and scratching: her skin is melting like butter in response and she can’t stand the steaming heat eating her up from the inside.
“I would like to get off now,” Blair hears herself stating and she’s surprised that phrase came out so matter-of-fact and polite. It’s pretty much the same tone she would use while asking Dorota to make a cup of tea after a tiring school day.
Chuck has the gall to smirk in her face, an arrogant, nasty twist to his perfect lips that forces her to crave to be devoured inch by inch.
“I can smell it,” he drawls , the detached, nearly lazy sound of his words sliding across her taut form to leave wicked promises of secret delights in its wake.
It’s like all air has left her at once and she’s reduced to nothing but the fierce throbbing in the lower half of her body, the blind desire for this pitiless man to just take all of her and leave her with nothing, nothing but him and the pleasure and the pain he’s able to evoke.
“Chuck,” she gasps, a guttural noise of carnal need that sounds more animal than human to her ears. Darkness consumes her senses as her La Perlas slip along her legs to pool on the floor: she’s not quite being touched as much she needs and even that elusive caress of air on her slick folds, the contact of her panties on her stockings as they cascade down, is too much .
“I’m not hearing the magic words here, ” he taunts, sinister and foreboding but oh so intriguing.
“I love you.”
Blair all but squeaks and strangely, she might not have ever meant it more than in this shadowed room between anger and need, lust and sorrow. It shouldn’t surprise her: their relationship was always more of a chiaroscuro than a banal watercolor.
Chuck chuckles unkindly, his nose stroking the curve of her jaw as his breath fans over sensitive skin and one of his hands trails up to get reacquainted with the texture of her upper thigh. “That’s always nice to hear, but still not what I meant, lover. ”
“What, then?”
Out of her lips the words are slurred, clumsy. Her arousal is a sticky fog that asphyxiates her rational self. The teasing pinch to her bottom nearly distracts her from his next line. “Tell me you’re sorry.”
He says it so seriously, so nonplussed that she can’t avoid the bout of tittering, breathless laughter that escapes her. “Dream on.”
“Should I?”
It’s just disloyal of him, to talk mean and squeeze her butt just like that. He knows she can’t think straight when he acts all almighty and jerk-like. She always wants to either rip him apart or fuck his brains out, often at the same time, and it really doesn’t make it any easier to keep her mind straight and organized.
“Chuck!”
Her frustration is utterly justified, with the strap of her dress down and his head diving down purposefully, his lips brushing her nipple and pulling away as if to put off their task again and again before finally giving in, suckling too gently to truly satisfy her.
And his hands, clutching her hips and supporting her against the door, keeping her spread open and in place, but uselessly so since he’s not taking advantage of anything. Stupid, sadistic, sex-on-legs Basstard.
She so needs him inside, dammit!
Blair moans loudly while his tongue wets the valley between her breasts, roaming up to lap an indolent trail to her collarbone. When he kisses her, she opens her mouth to receive him even before his lips can graze hers. He kisses her like she belongs to him, filling her since the first taste, reining in her impatience to savor her better, molding her body against his so intimately that they might as well being having sex already...
If he was hard, which, she realizes startlingly, he is not.
Although the evidence -or the lack of it- is pretty much unmistakable, Blair convinces herself that her inebriated senses have to be fooling her, because if it was true, it would be completely unprecedented and senseless. It’s downright impossible that Chuck Bass is not affected by having his girlfriend (Her!) pressed all over him and ready for the taking, so her mind refuses to acknowledge the idle fact until he pulls back, carefully but firmly disentangling himself from her now eager embrace.
His palms curl around her buttcheeks, taking a solid, possessive hold of her flesh and his expression is a bizarre, beautiful blend of bland bitterness and malicious determination . “If you won’t tell me, you’ll show me, at the very least. You used to like that a lot, didn’t you?”
By the way he ‘s touching her, there’s no mistaking his meaning, even if she wanted to, which, surprisingly enough, she doesn’t think she does. Actually, the idea has a certain…appeal, admit it or not.
He doesn’t have the right to boss her around like a vile, chauvinistic tyrant and she still believes she was right in saying the things she said but none of this presently makes a difference.
In fact, Blair finds she wants to please him, desperately so. She craves wiping that cocky indifference from his visage till he’ll ache to take her as much she herself aches to be taken, till she’ll recognize the hungry desire in his tone and his gaze. Mostly, she wants Chuck to just stop being so cross with her and worship her again like he used to before their stupid spat.
“Fine,” she pouts, her voice faint and placating, almost smothered by the mouth that nips hers in approval.
“Good girl.”
A casual slap on her side and his body warmth and weight are gone as he swaggers off and away from her, without so much as a backward glance. He comes to sit on her bed like a king on his throne, waiting for her, his legs slightly parted. He leans back and she wants to frown over his stubborn lack of physical response to her surrender. Nothing turns Chuck Bass on more than having the upper hand, and it’s offensive that he is holding back from her s .
What a manipulative jerk. - she muses fondly while she steps out of the panties tangled around her ankles, turns the key inside the lock and sways toward her man as dignifiedly as someone who knows what is in store for her would do.
Blair gets on her knees in front of him, her best smoldering society smile in place because she knows it irritates him but it also makes him hungry to replace it with something else, and she is awarded for her effort when his gaze narrows on her lips.
“Bend over for me, sweetheart,” he coos and she shivers, both at his endearment of choice and the severe command preceding it.
She complies, playing it disciplined and without fretting, shivers some more as fingertips tap on the small of her back, accompanying her movement.
Her hands fall forward, resting on the cool floor to support her new position. Chuck smoothes her dress over her rear, tracing the contours of her firm globes at his ease through the cloth. He dares a lingering glance down to her profile while he riles the silk up over her bottom, baring the perfection of her milky curves.
He has always thought hat Blair has the most flawless proportions he has ever seen on a female body. Full breasts that fit well in his hands, not prepubescent-flat nor pin-up large. That tight little ass so faultlessly shaped, a ripe and pale peach very soft and pliant underneath his exploring touch.
He loves her skin, fair and unblemished as if kissed by moonlight, so easily tainted, smooth and inviting to caress, taste, mark.
Chuck will never consider himself a romantic, but there are fine rarities that merit poetry and attention: Blair Waldorf just happens to be among those, and her body is a work of art. He might spend hours like this, with her reclined over his knees, just studying her scantly-clad form as she allows him to rediscover her.
He runs a hand up and down her back, cups more gently than he means to one of her cheeks, glaring resentfully at her exposed nape (sometimes he swears she’s constantly pinned her hair up like this since they hooked up just to make sure that his mind will stay in the gutter) and revels in the strangled noise that squirms out of her ribcage when he squeezes her supple flesh .
The first slap is unexpectedly light , and the only sound it inspires is a wistful sigh. The second one makes up for that, being calibrated to provoke a real reaction out of her. She holds back all the sound this time, but her nape bows upward, and he can get a glimpse of her lips locked against each other like she was biting on them. He draws his hand back and goes for the next hit, the loud whack echoing in the otherwise silent room along with the hitch in her breath. Her whole body jerks forward and his groin twitches in response. It takes a considerable exercise of will to concentrate on the task ahead, set every smack stronger and louder than the one preceding it, while her body undulates back and forth over his knees, while her hisses become weak whines and then tiny moans. Lust makes his blood thick and thunderous in his ears, and he can feel himself hardening against her stomach. In a way, he is as bare as she is, as powerless to his desire as she appears to be to hers, but at the same time he has never felt less vulnerable or more exhilarated.
The raw rush of power that runs into his veins with each blow is tantalizing, addictive. He is a slave to it (to her) more than he will ever allow himself to recognize.
At one point, he has to stop because his palm burns and this is when he can’t avoid becoming entranced by his handiwork. He stares at her buttocks, which have a lovely, heated red flush, and his fingers reach out in fascination, his breath hard as he grazes the warm flesh. She rocks herself forward and backward to meet his hips that have now begun grinding against her, seemingly of their own volition.
“Chuck! ” she sobs, and he is helpless to say anything because he’s choking, and it’s too startling to hear the echo of his feelings in her needful cry. He knows only too well what she is feeling: he wants her so badly that he might have wept if he wasn’t already guaranteed to have her.
“Chuck, I can’t wait anymore.”
He lets two of his fingers slide down her ass crack to her slit, wet and quivering for him. He doesn’t dare to take her like this, regardless of her appreciative groan: it’s painful enough as it is, he doubts he could take feeling her spasm around anything that isn’t his dick.
He takes two ever so deep, rejuvenating breaths, then he pulls his teasing fingers away and doesn’t bother to suppress the fit of hysterical laughter at her unladylike growl of protest.
“You can rise now,” he deliberates evenly, because Chuck Bass is always in control except when he isn’t, and even then he likes to pretend otherwise.
Everything happens in a rush: he is looking into her wide, liquid-chocolate eyes and her lips assault his like her life depends on it, her hands open on his leg to brace herself, and he’s kissing her back furiously before he notices what he’s doing.
When he recovers, he cups her jaw and draws back, pushing her away firmly but not roughly because she is so fucking beautiful like that, panting and excited, expression and usually overactive mind clouded with lust for him. For a moment, he is almost struck speechless by the picture she provides, but he still finds it in himself to instruct, “Sit on my lap,” with a passable imitation of neutrality.
It’s perhaps a bit strange that Blair’s only response is to simply hike up her skirt and move to straddle him. Shaking his head to dissipate the fog that is impairing his thought processes, he stops her, silently guiding her to turn around and sit on him with her face turned the other way, like a queen on her throne.
He nuzzles his cheek against her nape and she arches back, toward him, moaning with utter abandon. He unbuckles his belt and frees his aching erection with one hand, the other groping her breasts and pinching her nipples. Blair seems downright enthusiastic to leave all the work to him, mewling and melting at pretty much anything he does, her arms limp by her sides. Just for today, he’s the puppet master and she is his most prized puppet, and it feels equally liberating for both of them.
His grip on her waist drives her down on his cock, and Blair lets him move her over him as he pleases, bouncing and groaning in his lap without any concern for the party continuing downstairs or what her mother could think if she noticed their absence .
This feels new and wonderful: she never allowed him to control her to this extent before and she couldn’t have imagined she would find it so incredibly pleasurable.
She is comfortable with having Chuck getting off on rising and lowering her on his cock to his satisfaction, his thrusts deep and long, knowing she is giving him this because she needs to feel him take his fill of her.
This is not the same pleasure she experienced with the others this past year. It’s not the same as getting fucked by Jack or Carter, or even by Nate, with whom she tried to convince herself it was right because his feelings were pure and genuine: she is not getting her rocks off on being used for another’s release. She is soundly certain that when it’ll be over she won’t find herself pushing a feeling of violation to the edges of her consciousness just because it doesn’t fit with the script she crafted.
This is not about her self-destruction, nor about not deserving or not being good enough to realize her wishes.
This is golden.
Chuck nibbles on her neck and whispers dirty sweet nothings on her skin, savors her flesh with biting kisses, and she feels unlike herself. Whole. Overwhelmingly safe, like he’ll take care of her and will never let go.
Her mind is in tatters but she wants…so strongly, blindly, recklessly.
And if suddenly she decides to take action and squeeze him tighter, to force him to cum before she does, it’s because she knows that control and power are shady words when it comes to the two of them.
His arms envelope her tightly, crossing around her sweaty stomach, and when he slumps onto her shoulders, her name on his lips as he shivers and reaches completion, she knows she’s his anchor and that’s all she needs to come apart at the seams.
He’ll hold her on her bed afterwards, his body spooning hers, and she‘ll giggle because even if the orgasmic haze has cleared, she still doesn’t feel dirty or used or like a weak-willed, clingy little fool. She just feels loved.