Gossip Girl fic | Made A Scene By The Revolving Doors | Eric (& Chuck) gen | ~1300 words
Made A Scene By The Revolving Doors
Eric & Chuck | Gen | light R-ish (underage drug use) | ~ 1300 words
"All of my scandals ultimately end up being about something else," Eric says. "It's a funny thing to be grateful for."
Set during 1.16- "All About My Brother".
Many thanks to proteinscollide for looking this over.
Title and cut tag from Party Pit by The Hold Steady.
Eric's phone buzzes in his pocket, but there's more chance that it's another Gossip Girl update than an actual text message, so he doesn't bother checking. He adjusts the straps of his backpack, glancing sideways and noticing the limo creeping along the street beside him.
The window rolls down. Chuck doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows.
Eric walks over, shrugging his backpack off. Chuck watches, waits until Eric starts moving toward the limo before he scoots backwards, making room for Eric to settle in beside him.
"Why are you walking?" Chuck asks. "We have cars for that."
"I didn't know where I was heading," Eric says.
"A car will take you anywhere," Chuck says. "That's kind of the beauty of it." He leans forward, and tells the driver to, "Just drive wherever," and moves to sit across from Eric.
He pulls out a joint and asks, "Do you mind?" holding the lighter in his other hand.
Eric shakes his head. He shakes his head again when Chuck offers it to him.
"It'll be good for you," Chuck says, holding it out and waiting.
Eric pauses for a moment, takes the joint, takes a toke. The smoke is smooth, and he inhales more than he means to and starts to cough. He passes the joint back, coughing into the back of his hand to muffle the sound. He tries to keep his lips closed.
Chuck says, "You'll get used to it." He tilts his head back, exposing the pale line of his throat while he exhales.
He passes the joint back and says, "I saw you and Asher this afternoon," right as Eric's inhaling, and Eric's ears start ringing. He chokes and coughs through the cold shock of panic.
"Maybe take less next time," Chuck says.
"What did you see?" Eric asks, clearing his throat and trying to hold back another coughing fit.
Chuck's arm is outstretched and resting on the back of the seat, his legs crossed. "You and Asher," he repeats, but this time he drags out Asher, exaggerating each sound and dragging out the sh. "Someone else saw, too." Chuck holds up his phone, tilting it from side of side. "It's breaking news."
Eric shifts. He looks at Chuck's shoes, then down at his own. "I haven't told anyone," he says.
"Then it's lucky that your name wasn't mentioned on gossip girl."
"Sure," Eric says. Chuck's holding the joint lightly between two fingers. He passes it over when Eric holds his hand out.
"All of my scandals ultimately end up being about something else," Eric says. "It's a funny thing to be grateful for."
"Well, we could get your name on there, too," Chuck offers. He smiles using only the corners of his mouth, the rest of his face staying blank.
Eric rolls his eyes. "Thanks anyway."
Chuck opens his mouth, but whatever he's going to say is interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone.
He checks the screen then sighs, says, "Just a moment," to Eric and answers the phone.
Eric leans back against the seat and stares out the window, tuning out the conversation. His forearms feel numb, or tight or something. A little tingly. He keeps having to remind his eyelids to stay open. He's squinting, only it's not actually squinting because his eyes aren't all wrinkled up; his eyelids are heavy. His eyelashes feel long like this, like he could bat them and someone could forget that he's fifteen, could forget that he's got a cock and it'd be enough for him to get on his knees. Asher said, Stop fussing. Said, Look, we'll talk about this later. In private, and rubbed his thumb over Eric's palm. Rubbed his thumb over Eric's palm but stayed away from his wrist. It's down the river, not across the stream, or-- there's an expression, but anyway Eric never wanted to die. It hurt then, but when he picks at the scabs it doesn't feel like anything.
Chuck snaps his phone shut. He says, "You look so morose."
Eric shrugs. He passes the joint back to Chuck.
"There are worst things than being a sexual deviant," Chuck says. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He looks at Eric for a long moment, then blinks, tilting his head. "You can trust me on that one."
"It's not the same thing," Eric says.
"Other people don't control the way you feel," Chuck says. "Be that who you like, or what you feel ashamed about afterwards."
Eric shrugs, tilts his chin in something like a nod. "I wanted to tell Jenny," he says. "But I didn't know what to say."
"She looks like the kind of girl who has a tiny pussy," Chuck says, rolling the joint between his fingers before taking a toke. "You know?" he asks, his lips pulled tight as he tries to speak without exhaling. "You'd have to coax it open, and then she'd still bleed all over your bed sheets. Pussy blood smells disgusting like wet dog."
"That's--" Eric trails off, making a face.
Chuck leans forward. "Are you one of those fags who hates pussy?"
Eric shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth mouth start twitching.
"All that skin," Chuck says. He exhales in a tidy, practiced motion, his lips pursed. "Pussy juice gets under your fingernails, gets all crumbly when it dries. Lube doesn't dry the same way. It makes your hand feel like rubber, if you-- ever have cause to coat your whole hand," he trails off pointedly, raising his eyebrows.
"Fisting," Eric says. "Right. Because I've never heard of that before."
"The littlest van der Woodsen isn't as easy to shock," Chuck notes.
Eric bumps his hands around in his lap. "People spent a lot of time trying to up each other in group therapy. I picked up a few things."
"I'm sure you did," says Chuck. He quirks the side of his mouth up. "You and Asher. Did he sneak into your room or you into his? Were you scared to get caught or was that part of the fun?"
"Getting caught was never part of the appeal." Eric's fingers feel a little twitchy, the rush of exposure, of admitting any of this out loud.
Chuck gives him a sympathetic smile. "You'll get used to it. Nothing stays hidden for long. It's just a matter of getting the exposure to work for you."
He reaches into the mini fridge, and pulls out a bottle.
"Baby's first sexual scandal," Chuck says. "This call for a toast."
He passes the joint back to Eric, and Eric takes another toke. He blinks, and there's a champaign flute in his hand. He takes a sip, then raises his hand to clink glasses with Chuck.
"Thanks," Eric says.
Chuck nods. He tilts his head back as he takes a slow sip, his jaw moving as he swallows. Eric got out of school late, and in the time they've been driving around, the sun has set.
Eric finishes his drink, and Chuck pour him another.
"Where do you even keep these glasses?" Eric asks. He's slurring his words a little, so he speaks louder to make up for it.
"It's a limo," Chuck says. "There's room."
There is room. So much room here, and Chuck's legs aren't near Eric's, and it's been a long time since anyone touched him and still smiled back when he said, hello, the next day, but he likes having space right now. He looks out of the window and watches the lights flash brightly, reflecting off the glass as they cruise along. The smooth leather seats are cool under his fingertips.
He takes a long sip of champagne and holds it in his mouth, lets the bubbles burst until his tongue feels numb.
Eric & Chuck | Gen | light R-ish (underage drug use) | ~ 1300 words
"All of my scandals ultimately end up being about something else," Eric says. "It's a funny thing to be grateful for."
Set during 1.16- "All About My Brother".
Many thanks to proteinscollide for looking this over.
Title and cut tag from Party Pit by The Hold Steady.
Eric's phone buzzes in his pocket, but there's more chance that it's another Gossip Girl update than an actual text message, so he doesn't bother checking. He adjusts the straps of his backpack, glancing sideways and noticing the limo creeping along the street beside him.
The window rolls down. Chuck doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows.
Eric walks over, shrugging his backpack off. Chuck watches, waits until Eric starts moving toward the limo before he scoots backwards, making room for Eric to settle in beside him.
"Why are you walking?" Chuck asks. "We have cars for that."
"I didn't know where I was heading," Eric says.
"A car will take you anywhere," Chuck says. "That's kind of the beauty of it." He leans forward, and tells the driver to, "Just drive wherever," and moves to sit across from Eric.
He pulls out a joint and asks, "Do you mind?" holding the lighter in his other hand.
Eric shakes his head. He shakes his head again when Chuck offers it to him.
"It'll be good for you," Chuck says, holding it out and waiting.
Eric pauses for a moment, takes the joint, takes a toke. The smoke is smooth, and he inhales more than he means to and starts to cough. He passes the joint back, coughing into the back of his hand to muffle the sound. He tries to keep his lips closed.
Chuck says, "You'll get used to it." He tilts his head back, exposing the pale line of his throat while he exhales.
He passes the joint back and says, "I saw you and Asher this afternoon," right as Eric's inhaling, and Eric's ears start ringing. He chokes and coughs through the cold shock of panic.
"Maybe take less next time," Chuck says.
"What did you see?" Eric asks, clearing his throat and trying to hold back another coughing fit.
Chuck's arm is outstretched and resting on the back of the seat, his legs crossed. "You and Asher," he repeats, but this time he drags out Asher, exaggerating each sound and dragging out the sh. "Someone else saw, too." Chuck holds up his phone, tilting it from side of side. "It's breaking news."
Eric shifts. He looks at Chuck's shoes, then down at his own. "I haven't told anyone," he says.
"Then it's lucky that your name wasn't mentioned on gossip girl."
"Sure," Eric says. Chuck's holding the joint lightly between two fingers. He passes it over when Eric holds his hand out.
"All of my scandals ultimately end up being about something else," Eric says. "It's a funny thing to be grateful for."
"Well, we could get your name on there, too," Chuck offers. He smiles using only the corners of his mouth, the rest of his face staying blank.
Eric rolls his eyes. "Thanks anyway."
Chuck opens his mouth, but whatever he's going to say is interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone.
He checks the screen then sighs, says, "Just a moment," to Eric and answers the phone.
Eric leans back against the seat and stares out the window, tuning out the conversation. His forearms feel numb, or tight or something. A little tingly. He keeps having to remind his eyelids to stay open. He's squinting, only it's not actually squinting because his eyes aren't all wrinkled up; his eyelids are heavy. His eyelashes feel long like this, like he could bat them and someone could forget that he's fifteen, could forget that he's got a cock and it'd be enough for him to get on his knees. Asher said, Stop fussing. Said, Look, we'll talk about this later. In private, and rubbed his thumb over Eric's palm. Rubbed his thumb over Eric's palm but stayed away from his wrist. It's down the river, not across the stream, or-- there's an expression, but anyway Eric never wanted to die. It hurt then, but when he picks at the scabs it doesn't feel like anything.
Chuck snaps his phone shut. He says, "You look so morose."
Eric shrugs. He passes the joint back to Chuck.
"There are worst things than being a sexual deviant," Chuck says. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." He looks at Eric for a long moment, then blinks, tilting his head. "You can trust me on that one."
"It's not the same thing," Eric says.
"Other people don't control the way you feel," Chuck says. "Be that who you like, or what you feel ashamed about afterwards."
Eric shrugs, tilts his chin in something like a nod. "I wanted to tell Jenny," he says. "But I didn't know what to say."
"She looks like the kind of girl who has a tiny pussy," Chuck says, rolling the joint between his fingers before taking a toke. "You know?" he asks, his lips pulled tight as he tries to speak without exhaling. "You'd have to coax it open, and then she'd still bleed all over your bed sheets. Pussy blood smells disgusting like wet dog."
"That's--" Eric trails off, making a face.
Chuck leans forward. "Are you one of those fags who hates pussy?"
Eric shakes his head, but the corners of his mouth mouth start twitching.
"All that skin," Chuck says. He exhales in a tidy, practiced motion, his lips pursed. "Pussy juice gets under your fingernails, gets all crumbly when it dries. Lube doesn't dry the same way. It makes your hand feel like rubber, if you-- ever have cause to coat your whole hand," he trails off pointedly, raising his eyebrows.
"Fisting," Eric says. "Right. Because I've never heard of that before."
"The littlest van der Woodsen isn't as easy to shock," Chuck notes.
Eric bumps his hands around in his lap. "People spent a lot of time trying to up each other in group therapy. I picked up a few things."
"I'm sure you did," says Chuck. He quirks the side of his mouth up. "You and Asher. Did he sneak into your room or you into his? Were you scared to get caught or was that part of the fun?"
"Getting caught was never part of the appeal." Eric's fingers feel a little twitchy, the rush of exposure, of admitting any of this out loud.
Chuck gives him a sympathetic smile. "You'll get used to it. Nothing stays hidden for long. It's just a matter of getting the exposure to work for you."
He reaches into the mini fridge, and pulls out a bottle.
"Baby's first sexual scandal," Chuck says. "This call for a toast."
He passes the joint back to Eric, and Eric takes another toke. He blinks, and there's a champaign flute in his hand. He takes a sip, then raises his hand to clink glasses with Chuck.
"Thanks," Eric says.
Chuck nods. He tilts his head back as he takes a slow sip, his jaw moving as he swallows. Eric got out of school late, and in the time they've been driving around, the sun has set.
Eric finishes his drink, and Chuck pour him another.
"Where do you even keep these glasses?" Eric asks. He's slurring his words a little, so he speaks louder to make up for it.
"It's a limo," Chuck says. "There's room."
There is room. So much room here, and Chuck's legs aren't near Eric's, and it's been a long time since anyone touched him and still smiled back when he said, hello, the next day, but he likes having space right now. He looks out of the window and watches the lights flash brightly, reflecting off the glass as they cruise along. The smooth leather seats are cool under his fingertips.
He takes a long sip of champagne and holds it in his mouth, lets the bubbles burst until his tongue feels numb.