fic: Teacher of Fine Arts
Chuck has been teaching Blair all her life, it seems.
TEACHER OF FINE ARTS
“You’re taking an extra step, Blair.”
A defeated sigh. “It’s no use. I’ll never-”
“Hey.” An arm wrapped around her. “Here.” Chuck held out his arm, a demand in his pointed stare.
Blair still towered over him at ten, but he had the upper hand - and knew it - and it chafed. With a grumble she complied. “Now what.” The phrase was not a question, but a hanging - hers.
“Follow my lead,” he said, then fluidly stepped forward, a tiny push marking where he wanted her. “Relax. It’s a waltz, not a beheading.”
She overstepped, planting her foot firmly on his by accident. And fumed. “Shut up. I can’t count when you talk.”
He winced, nursing his big toe where her heel had done the most damage. And chuckled. “You’re not supposed to,” he said matter-of-factly. “The steps have to come naturally, and besides, remember: I’m leading. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, well,” she began hotly, shoving away with a huff and planting her hands on her hips. “You’re Gene Kelly. I’m… I’m…” No one, she thought.
He shook his head, almost as if he’d heard her private thought. “No, you’re not,” he countered with a frown. “You’re just…”
“Incapable,” Blair finished on a grumble, and bowed her head lest he see the tears in her eyes.
Heavy silence for a few instants, and suddenly Chuck grabbed hold of her hand and jerked her back into him. When she looked up, startled, his eyes were nearly black with… was that anger? “I told you I’d teach you,” he growled darkly. “And I will.”
Blair blankly let him lead her around the polished dance floor for what felt like hours, speechless. She’d never heard him talk to her like that before. But learn she did.
#
“Are you sure?”
She matched the emotion there, the delicate tenderness, inching forward again to taste him and the warmth and intimacy there. Chuck felt familiar, and yet so foreign, and as his hands drifted over her arms and then her back and her barely clad hips and still lower… he was trembling, breathing just as heavily as she did, and she found herself wanting to keep that memory instact forever.
He pulled away somewhere along the way, regarding her somewhat warily. “This isn’t going to help with-”
“Chuck,” she stopped him before he could say more - say his name. “Please. I can’t - I’m… I’m…”
The long-ago memory surfaced within her at the same moment it did him. Chuck’s face contorted with anger even as he cupped her face. “No, you’re not.” He instigated the kiss this time, teeth nipping and tongue invading her mouth. “You’re Blair Waldorf,” he growled, hands possessive over her suddenly exposed skin, “and don’t you dare forget it.”
She didn’t. If anything, as Blair locked eyes with Chuck, as she cried out and Chuck suffered her crushing hands and as he squeezed right back, stroking her hip and her hair with the other, she felt more alive than ever. More like herself, with him.
“Show me,” she breathed, the pain receding sweetly.
TEACHER OF FINE ARTS
“You’re taking an extra step, Blair.”
A defeated sigh. “It’s no use. I’ll never-”
“Hey.” An arm wrapped around her. “Here.” Chuck held out his arm, a demand in his pointed stare.
Blair still towered over him at ten, but he had the upper hand - and knew it - and it chafed. With a grumble she complied. “Now what.” The phrase was not a question, but a hanging - hers.
“Follow my lead,” he said, then fluidly stepped forward, a tiny push marking where he wanted her. “Relax. It’s a waltz, not a beheading.”
She overstepped, planting her foot firmly on his by accident. And fumed. “Shut up. I can’t count when you talk.”
He winced, nursing his big toe where her heel had done the most damage. And chuckled. “You’re not supposed to,” he said matter-of-factly. “The steps have to come naturally, and besides, remember: I’m leading. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, well,” she began hotly, shoving away with a huff and planting her hands on her hips. “You’re Gene Kelly. I’m… I’m…” No one, she thought.
He shook his head, almost as if he’d heard her private thought. “No, you’re not,” he countered with a frown. “You’re just…”
“Incapable,” Blair finished on a grumble, and bowed her head lest he see the tears in her eyes.
Heavy silence for a few instants, and suddenly Chuck grabbed hold of her hand and jerked her back into him. When she looked up, startled, his eyes were nearly black with… was that anger? “I told you I’d teach you,” he growled darkly. “And I will.”
Blair blankly let him lead her around the polished dance floor for what felt like hours, speechless. She’d never heard him talk to her like that before. But learn she did.
#
“Are you sure?”
She matched the emotion there, the delicate tenderness, inching forward again to taste him and the warmth and intimacy there. Chuck felt familiar, and yet so foreign, and as his hands drifted over her arms and then her back and her barely clad hips and still lower… he was trembling, breathing just as heavily as she did, and she found herself wanting to keep that memory instact forever.
He pulled away somewhere along the way, regarding her somewhat warily. “This isn’t going to help with-”
“Chuck,” she stopped him before he could say more - say his name. “Please. I can’t - I’m… I’m…”
The long-ago memory surfaced within her at the same moment it did him. Chuck’s face contorted with anger even as he cupped her face. “No, you’re not.” He instigated the kiss this time, teeth nipping and tongue invading her mouth. “You’re Blair Waldorf,” he growled, hands possessive over her suddenly exposed skin, “and don’t you dare forget it.”
She didn’t. If anything, as Blair locked eyes with Chuck, as she cried out and Chuck suffered her crushing hands and as he squeezed right back, stroking her hip and her hair with the other, she felt more alive than ever. More like herself, with him.
“Show me,” she breathed, the pain receding sweetly.