Gossip Girl Fic: Take The Edge Off
Title: Take The Edge Off
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Rating/Characters: Chuck/Nate, R.
Author’s Note: 1000 words, series of connected drabbles/double drabbles. Spoilers through the end of the first season. Possible dub-con undertones in some parts.
Summary: Carefully laid traps can have unintended consequences.
He’s pinned under sharp, dark eyes as the door swings shut and the lock turns, letting the tinkling music turn into a distant hum. They’re stumbling backwards against the corner pillar, hard enough to bruise. His shirt rides up and the cold marble feels good against his hot skin. There’s a sudden freedom as his belt drops and a hand presses against his hardening dick.
He tenses. The word is clumsy in his mouth and a hand covers it, not letting it escape. “Relax,” Chuck’s voices soothes against his ear. “Don’t fight me, Nathaniel.”
Nate closes his eyes. Fuck it.
***
“Does she suck you off?” Chuck’s voice keeps his voice light and amused as he runs one hand along Nate’s hipbone and keeps the other stroking idly along his dick.
Nate’s china-blue eyes fly open and he twists his mouth in a sulky look. “Don’t,” he warns Chuck.
But Basses have never been good at following directions. He takes Nate in his mouth, licking and sucking, watching carefully.
The look on Nate’s face as he comes answers the question. “Didn’t think so,” he says, after spitting. (Chuck Bass doesn’t swallow)
The punch is almost a satisfying conclusion to the session.
***
Labor Day weekend and they’re alone at Chuck’s dad’s beach house in the Hamptons.
Nate blows a steady stream of smoke up at the cloudless sky and wonders if he can convince his parents that French would be an acceptable alternative to Pre-Calc.
He can hear Chuck going on about some heiress he banged in Paris and normally he’d listen but he knows that sometimes Chuck just talks to make talk. He throws his sandal at his friend in hopes of making him shut up.
“What was that for?”
“Just shut up.”
“Touchy, are we? Let me guess. Blair still hasn’t unlocked her chastity belt,” Chuck sounded about as bored as Nate felt.
“Shut up.”
“Witty response, Nathaniel.”
“Bite me,” and it comes out whinier than he would’ve liked. Ring of truth there.
“You know what you need,” Chuck says. “Someone to take the edge off.”
Nate takes another pull, inhaling deeply. “No strippers, thanks. My parents would kill me if I got an STD.”
Chuck laughs.
Later on, as the weed kicks in and Chuck’s hand somehow makes its way down his shorts Nate thinks enough to ask. “What are we doing?”
“Just shut up.”
And so he does.
***
It’s not as he couldn’t have a million girls who would have sex with him, sleep in his bed. Hell, a few discreet inquiries and he could get guys if he wanted. But it’s Nate, and Chuck can hardly breathe with the wanting sometimes. Pathetic.
They don’t talk about it. It just happens. That first night at the Farkas wedding. The afternoon in the Hamptons. A rainy Saturday afternoon with the hotel blinds pulled low.
He doesn’t expect it to be reciprocated. He knows it’s fucked up, wanting to fuck his best friend. Loving him.
Blair is a safer choice.
***
He knows it’s a flaw, but it’s not like living the life he’s been given has inspired him to be less passive. His tutors would glance sideways and whisper to his parents that he could use a little more ‘drive’, a little more ambition. For them, he thinks he’s managed to fake it fairly well. But it’s a thin veneer otherwise. He doesn’t need to react, to care; he has Blair and Chuck to do that.
Had. Past tense.
He thinks of Blair’s curved, perfect lips. Chuck’s secretive eyes, his sly smile.
He thinks of them together.
And he cares.
***
He’s not about to give Nate the satisfaction of seeing him wince. His shoulder is killing him, twisted into the unnatural position he’s been in since Nate ambushed him.
Chuck plans his next move. “Class is about to start, Archibald,” he says.
“I know,” Nate says and his breath is hot against Chuck’s neck. Reaching around, he uses his free hand to unbutton Chuck’s pants. Slowly, he edges his hand underneath the band of Chuck’s plaid boxers and Chuck suppresses a whimper, hating himself.
“Jesu-fuck!” he bites his lip as Nate roughly strokes and pulls.
“I’m taking the edge off, Bass,” Nate whispers in his ear. “So that next time you don’t have to go to your best friend’s girlfriend to get relief.”
With the familiar words ringing in his ears, he comes embarrassingly quickly, spurting messily over Nate’s hand and dribbling down onto ugly blue tiles. Nate wipes his hand on Chuck’s pants, and releases him from the hold, leaving him to tuck himself back into his pants.
Chuck can see Nate watching him in the mirror, but he doesn’t say another word as he exits.
Smoking a cigarette that tastes of come and shame, Chuck reconsiders his options.
***
Nate leaves the park bench a little after six. Vanessa had already left a few hours before, with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and an awkward, ‘If you ever want to talk…”
He doesn’t.
The sun is rising and he’s still in his suit from the wedding. He should go home but he doesn’t want to face the empty house yet.
Somehow he ends up a block from the Palace Hotel, then inside and in front of Chuck’s suite.
Blair’s already gone (or hadn’t stayed) and Chuck stares at him warily when he answers the door.
“Can I-”
“Yeah.”
***
“You said you love her.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “It’s complicated,” he says.
Nate shrugs. “Yeah, I get that.” And the maddening thing is, he does and he’ll do the right thing. Because he’s Nate. He stands up to leave.
Chuck is frozen, frantically trying to think of words to get through Nate’s stupid, honorable brain.
Nate turns around and his eyes narrow. “But you know what? I don’t think I care.”
Chuck could’ve kissed him and maybe it shows in his eyes because Nate doesn’t stop, pulling him close, their lips touching.
Chuck finally relaxes, savoring the victory.
***
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing/Rating/Characters: Chuck/Nate, R.
Author’s Note: 1000 words, series of connected drabbles/double drabbles. Spoilers through the end of the first season. Possible dub-con undertones in some parts.
Summary: Carefully laid traps can have unintended consequences.
He’s pinned under sharp, dark eyes as the door swings shut and the lock turns, letting the tinkling music turn into a distant hum. They’re stumbling backwards against the corner pillar, hard enough to bruise. His shirt rides up and the cold marble feels good against his hot skin. There’s a sudden freedom as his belt drops and a hand presses against his hardening dick.
He tenses. The word is clumsy in his mouth and a hand covers it, not letting it escape. “Relax,” Chuck’s voices soothes against his ear. “Don’t fight me, Nathaniel.”
Nate closes his eyes. Fuck it.
***
“Does she suck you off?” Chuck’s voice keeps his voice light and amused as he runs one hand along Nate’s hipbone and keeps the other stroking idly along his dick.
Nate’s china-blue eyes fly open and he twists his mouth in a sulky look. “Don’t,” he warns Chuck.
But Basses have never been good at following directions. He takes Nate in his mouth, licking and sucking, watching carefully.
The look on Nate’s face as he comes answers the question. “Didn’t think so,” he says, after spitting. (Chuck Bass doesn’t swallow)
The punch is almost a satisfying conclusion to the session.
***
Labor Day weekend and they’re alone at Chuck’s dad’s beach house in the Hamptons.
Nate blows a steady stream of smoke up at the cloudless sky and wonders if he can convince his parents that French would be an acceptable alternative to Pre-Calc.
He can hear Chuck going on about some heiress he banged in Paris and normally he’d listen but he knows that sometimes Chuck just talks to make talk. He throws his sandal at his friend in hopes of making him shut up.
“What was that for?”
“Just shut up.”
“Touchy, are we? Let me guess. Blair still hasn’t unlocked her chastity belt,” Chuck sounded about as bored as Nate felt.
“Shut up.”
“Witty response, Nathaniel.”
“Bite me,” and it comes out whinier than he would’ve liked. Ring of truth there.
“You know what you need,” Chuck says. “Someone to take the edge off.”
Nate takes another pull, inhaling deeply. “No strippers, thanks. My parents would kill me if I got an STD.”
Chuck laughs.
Later on, as the weed kicks in and Chuck’s hand somehow makes its way down his shorts Nate thinks enough to ask. “What are we doing?”
“Just shut up.”
And so he does.
***
It’s not as he couldn’t have a million girls who would have sex with him, sleep in his bed. Hell, a few discreet inquiries and he could get guys if he wanted. But it’s Nate, and Chuck can hardly breathe with the wanting sometimes. Pathetic.
They don’t talk about it. It just happens. That first night at the Farkas wedding. The afternoon in the Hamptons. A rainy Saturday afternoon with the hotel blinds pulled low.
He doesn’t expect it to be reciprocated. He knows it’s fucked up, wanting to fuck his best friend. Loving him.
Blair is a safer choice.
***
He knows it’s a flaw, but it’s not like living the life he’s been given has inspired him to be less passive. His tutors would glance sideways and whisper to his parents that he could use a little more ‘drive’, a little more ambition. For them, he thinks he’s managed to fake it fairly well. But it’s a thin veneer otherwise. He doesn’t need to react, to care; he has Blair and Chuck to do that.
Had. Past tense.
He thinks of Blair’s curved, perfect lips. Chuck’s secretive eyes, his sly smile.
He thinks of them together.
And he cares.
***
He’s not about to give Nate the satisfaction of seeing him wince. His shoulder is killing him, twisted into the unnatural position he’s been in since Nate ambushed him.
Chuck plans his next move. “Class is about to start, Archibald,” he says.
“I know,” Nate says and his breath is hot against Chuck’s neck. Reaching around, he uses his free hand to unbutton Chuck’s pants. Slowly, he edges his hand underneath the band of Chuck’s plaid boxers and Chuck suppresses a whimper, hating himself.
“Jesu-fuck!” he bites his lip as Nate roughly strokes and pulls.
“I’m taking the edge off, Bass,” Nate whispers in his ear. “So that next time you don’t have to go to your best friend’s girlfriend to get relief.”
With the familiar words ringing in his ears, he comes embarrassingly quickly, spurting messily over Nate’s hand and dribbling down onto ugly blue tiles. Nate wipes his hand on Chuck’s pants, and releases him from the hold, leaving him to tuck himself back into his pants.
Chuck can see Nate watching him in the mirror, but he doesn’t say another word as he exits.
Smoking a cigarette that tastes of come and shame, Chuck reconsiders his options.
***
Nate leaves the park bench a little after six. Vanessa had already left a few hours before, with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and an awkward, ‘If you ever want to talk…”
He doesn’t.
The sun is rising and he’s still in his suit from the wedding. He should go home but he doesn’t want to face the empty house yet.
Somehow he ends up a block from the Palace Hotel, then inside and in front of Chuck’s suite.
Blair’s already gone (or hadn’t stayed) and Chuck stares at him warily when he answers the door.
“Can I-”
“Yeah.”
***
“You said you love her.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “It’s complicated,” he says.
Nate shrugs. “Yeah, I get that.” And the maddening thing is, he does and he’ll do the right thing. Because he’s Nate. He stands up to leave.
Chuck is frozen, frantically trying to think of words to get through Nate’s stupid, honorable brain.
Nate turns around and his eyes narrow. “But you know what? I don’t think I care.”
Chuck could’ve kissed him and maybe it shows in his eyes because Nate doesn’t stop, pulling him close, their lips touching.
Chuck finally relaxes, savoring the victory.
***