Fic: "Between lost and found (you show me the difference)", Chuck/Jenny, NC-17
Fic title: "Between lost and found (you show me the difference)"
Author name: the_milky_way
Genre: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Chuck/Jenny (hints of Chuck/Blair)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4. 269
Beta: Thank you so much parka_girl
Warnings/Spoilers: language, no spoilers for the show itself
Disclaimer: This story is fictional (not real, didn't happen). Not true in any way. I don't own anything. Characters belong to the CW
Notes:
This is for sandrine, who prompted me with this picture for
The air's cold when she steps out of the cab. Doesn’t slam the door but isn’t gentle either. The driver scowls but when she hands over a twenty, he almost smiles. She roles her eyes because people are so predictable.
The merchandise, and how stupid are those people to use that as code word, is safely tucked into her coat pocket. They are somewhere close and watching her, she isn’t stupid. But the black limo down the street gets her almost too excited. It doesn’t mean anything but she can’t help it. She hopes it does, she wants it to.
Coat draped over her arm, she puts a little more swing into her hips when she enters the club. The guy at the door doesn't even blink at her nor ask for any ID either. It’s that simple and she feels the spike of fear slowly ebb away. One possible obstacle out of the way now and she can breath more easily.
She feels good. This night is hers, she just knows it.
She feels like she belongs here, like the danger is calling her even closer. Good girls go bad all over the world and there's no reason why she should be an exception. It’s so much more exciting than being a scheming teenager with no real life.
Her dress would send Lily into a fit and Rufus into a rage. Dan would ramble, try to talk her out of wearing it and then pout. But Dan has changed lately so she doesn’t know anymore if he’d really mind. Eric would blink like he does when he doesn’t know how to react, would maybe leave a scathing comment and she would laugh and try not to feel hurt.
But they aren't here and her life is hers when she's out like this. No one telling her what to do, what to think or what to wear. No one even trying to. She doesn’t allow it.
Her shoes cost more than she’d earn tonight but they do the trick and people are blinded by the mask, by the appearance. This world is so set in its ruling materialism that no one questions money anymore. Money can buy everything, after all.
Almost everything. She knows she wants something that money can only bring her close to, the rest will be up to her.
The night's still young, she slipped out of the penthouse when Lily was busy trying to hold Serena back from whatever scandal she's caught up in now. Not that it can get any worse than sleeping with a married congressman. She has to admit that Serena has impressed her with her selfishness this time. Though, she does think she'd have done the same.
Not that she's in love, but getting something, someone, she wants will always be high on her priority list. Love or not.
***
The beat is hard, thrumming through her veins. Strobe lights make it hard to concentrate and hard to find the corner where she's supposed to be in two minutes. Spotlights catch every movement for the briefest of a second. Blue, red and white all mixed together in a hypnotizing flash that moves along her spine every time she dares to let it reach her.
Excitement rules her every move, her every heart beat. Excitement and maybe a little fear.
She moves slowly, tries to take it all in. There's still time and she wants to get everything she can out of this.
This is something she’ll never be able to experience at home, in the sheltered world that still holds so much deceit and hate. This right here, in this club where she isn’t supposed to be where she's doing things she isn’t supposed to do, is what she's been looking for.
It’s making her blood boil like nothing ever has before. This is so much better, so much more exciting than being the queen of conceited teenagers or plotting schemes can ever be. Here she feels alive, feels like she's someone. And she loves the mystery, the danger, of it all.
It’s become her drug of choice, her way of escaping reality. It’s what she needs now. She needs to feel, needs to be. And, most of all, she wants to find that special feeling again, the one she'd felt the very first time. Not the one she had while doing it all, but the one afterwards, when she was almost caught.
The bass is hard, almost too hard to stand. The air is hot, stale even and it’s almost too crowded, bodies moving against each other, against her. And she knows it’s the perfect cover.
She sees the target, knows where she's supposed to go. The little package clutched in her fist and hidden behind the handbag. She smiles, secretive and seductive, the same smile she's watched Serena use when to get something from Dan or Nate.
The man straightens up a little, not too noticeably but she sees it nonetheless. The beat changes slightly, gets even faster. Bodies move, slide, bump, slip and she moves forward, eyes on the man and nowhere else.
The hand comes out of nowhere. The tug at her arm is almost brutal and she gasps. It hurts, will bruise and she's dragged through the masses of bodies without really seeing anything.
Her first instinct is to fight, to get away as fast as possible. Her first thought is that this is it, that she's been caught. Then, so suddenly that it almost knocks her off his feet, the feeling is there. A feeling she’ll never be able to describe, a feeling she’ll always recognize, always seek out and will always try to keep.
It crushes through her so violent that she gasps again, whimpers even and doesn’t care who hears. It makes her dizzy, excited, scared and so fucking hot that she shivers. Her free hand comes up to clutch at the one around her arm, at the one bruising her. She doesn’t even try to pry it away, just hangs on.
She knows with a clarity that scares her even more than the fact that someone is dragging her towards a dark, empty hallway, that she's in trouble. But somehow this just spikes her excitement even more. This is what she had been looking for all along. This and not what the rather pathetic excuse of a drug dealer and ambassador’s son is offering her.
This is what makes her blood rush through her body, makes her shudder in excitement and anticipation. This what she wants and what no one else, save one personv will ever understand.
She stumbles off the dance floor, crashes into the wall and then is slammed against it. For a second everything whirls in front of her eyes, makes it hard to focus. Her breath catches and the fear that was there but somehow buried deep down in her mind takes a front seat now.
It makes her heart beat faster, makes her breath harsher and shiver even more. It makes her so wet that she's almost embarrassed. Almost.
It's déja vu.
This time, though, she's been waiting for it, almost counted on it. Knows how to take it now, knows how to make it her game, on her terms. This is nothing like last time. She won’t allow it.
***
“The fuck do you think you are doing?” It’s growled into her ear, heavy with anger and concern. There is something else though. Something she doesn’t dare to hope for, because jealousy never played a role in this. Never should play a role in all of it.
She doubts it’s even there. Her heart's in her throat, beating almost out of rhythm, too hard, too fast. Like the bass earlier, it hurts in her chest. The rough surface of the wall is digging into her back, scraping a little and she revels in the feeling of it. The little spikes of pain combined with the rush of adrenaline and fear make her bold.
She moves slightly, as if to struggle but without much intent to get free. She tightens her fists against the solid muscles of the chest in front of her, not getting anywhere with it but wanting to feel the power behind the body keeping her trapped. He growls again, narrows his eyes and in a simple but finely executed move, has her arms above her head.
Trapped against the rough plaster of the wall, one of his hands easily enclosing her wrists. She could get free, could move and knee him maybe. She could struggle more, try more.
She doesn’t want to.
She shivers at the cold gaze, stills and just waits. Shivers make her tremble and for a second she thinks it might have been a stupid plan. She knew. Knew he’d be there, knew he'd be watching. Not only her but over her as well.
It makes her feel special on a way. In a very fucked up way. If she manages to get his attention then things are really not okay anymore. It’s terrifying to be the sole focus of his attention once more. Even though it’s different this time. Power has shifted a little and suddenly she knows she's part of it now instead of just a participant.
She can move if she wants to, he’ll let her. She can protest, say no. If she wants to.
She doesn’t say a single word.
Instead, she just looks at him, steady with no fear. She lets him hold her, pressed against the wall in a dark hallway of a club where she was supposed to sell drugs. She lets him press even closer, lets his hot breath touch her skin.
She allows herself to shudder, to trembles. She allows it all to happen. Because this is what she's been looking for ever since the first time. Even more so since he intercepted the first deal all those months ago. This is what she'd hoped for every time she saw the car, saw the window lowered just enough to look through, to see her.
Almost unconsciously she spreads her legs, lets him settle even closer.
His eyes narrow even more, full of something that sends waves of excitement down her spine, makes her wanting to move closer.
She wants it.
She wants him closer, suddenly feels the need to rub, to seek friction. Closer. But he doesn’t move. Just looks at her.
Then the feeling of being trapped becomes almost too overwhelming, almost enough to make her struggle for real. He's close but not close enough. She can’t read his look anymore, can’t predict what to expect. It makes her even needier.
His mouth whispers against her ear, one hand suddenly wandering along her side. Gentle and slow, contradicting everything he says, everything his body is projecting.
“I thought we talked about this? What is it you want, that you get out of this? Surely not the attention of that Belgian ogre? Is that it? You want him to notice you? To be with you?” It’s all rhetorical, no answers expected just his talking, getting it out in the open, makes her shiver again.
He knows way more than she thought, knows what she's after and is willing to grant it. All she has to do is say it. Say it out loud and submit to her lust the way he wants her to and which he has perfected to an art form.
The urge to get away, to end it right then and there is strong. She doesn’t know if she can go through with it and live with herself afterwards. She isn’t sure what to do and she suddenly wants to close her eyes, not see herself reflected in the depths of his.
“What do you want? Tell me.” It’s followed by a lick to her ear, almost not there, gentle and teasing. Then there are teeth, sharp and stinging. She moans, surprising herself with it. “Tell me or end it. Your choice.”
It aches deep inside of her. She feels hot and dizzy. Elated in a way. It’s like a current she can’t fight against, like a wave surging and ebbing with every touch of his fingers on the skin of her wrists. She feels almost as if she's not really herself but still somehow there to feel it. The fight she'd expected doesn’t happen and she thinks it’s almost too easy to say it. Too easy and so very needy.
“You.” She knows that as soon as she says it, her plan's sort of derailed. It shouldn’t be like this, so easy for her to give up, give in. But then he moves closer, so close that she can finally settle against him. She moves, just a tiny bit, but there's friction and it's nearly enough to make her faint.
The noise of the club is close, it makes everything vibrate and thrum, almost too much for her to bear. Beats go through her, making her move in a rhythm she isn’t really aware of. All she's focused on is the feeling of a high she can only get when she thinks of him. When she thinks of him and touches herself.
He's dangerous. Sometimes unbalanced to such an extent that she's almost afraid to get too close. But then he can be this caring man who destroys limits just to protect the ones he loves. She wonders if she’ll ever get to see the real him.
Her arms are still trapped above her. It makes it even more exciting, more of a forbidden fruit she isn’t allowed to taste. His lips move along her neck, teeth scrape and tease the skin, make her moan with every sharp nip. Make her move against his thigh. She needs more, so much more. She needs him to stop teasing, to make it reality.
She needs to feel something, anything. She needs this feeling, this reminder, that she's alive. It feels like she's flying, like she's standing out side her body seeing everything happen and still being able to feel it, to enjoy it.
***
A particularly violent bass beat crashes through her daze and her body reacts almost as violently, arches off the wall. His hand's no longer gently stroking her sides but is now scraping along her bare skin.
Her dress hiked up to her waist, his hand scratching along the curve of her hipbone. She feels as if the room got darker the second he touched her skin and yet at the same time it feels so much brighter.
She moans, doesn’t hold back and she hears him chuckle. It makes her furious because this is not his game, not his moment to claim. She fights then, growls a little but he has her pinned even more. Against the wall, against his body.
She should be scared, like the first time. Should be thoroughly chastised and tell him she's learned her lesson, that he can stop now. She would have to succumb to him to do all that. And she knows that there's no way that she'll do that this time. She's just too close enough to what she's been craving to say no. This is what she's wanted since he allowed her to look behind his mask.
Heat shoots through her, muscles twitching and straining but then his mouth is on her neck again. Sucking blood to the surface, making her dizzy with lust. He won’t stop now and she knows he can’t even if he wanted to.
Fingers and nails scratch along her side, his other hand in her hair, tugging so much that it almost hurts. It’s a good pain, one that reminds her where she is and what she's doing. Even though her hands are free, she keeps them where they are. She's not exactly sure why, maybe because she likes the position or maybe because she wants to keep doing what he is doing and not break the spell, the moment, by moving.
They kiss, hungrily and without holding back. They kiss like this is the end of the world, as if they'll never do it again. And knowing him, she thinks that might just be the truth. But if she does this right, if she's lucky, maybe it won't be the end.
It’s frantic, like nothing she’s ever experienced. Minds clouded with lust, hands grabbing, pushing and then soothing gently over scratches. Lips smooth over bites and nips, then crash together when they can’t stand being apart any longer.
His hands tug her dress up even higher, until it’s bunched around her breasts. His fingers stroke gently over her skin and tug almost painfully at her nipples. His lips move from her throat, down her cleavage, until he can suck bruises into her slightly sweaty skin and make her moan out loud again.
He bites at her stomach, licks over her navel leaving her breathing hard and fast. Her hips move, straining against the hold he has on her. She tries to make him go further, lick where she desperately needs him to. But he doesn’t even move close to the already wet spot in front of her panties.
He kisses along her inner thighs. Licks along the trail of fine hairs that goes back up to her belly button, nips at her hip bone and kisses his way up again until her dress stops his explorations. His hands follow the way of his tongue, stroke, slide and scratch.
She closes her eyes then, lets the sensation of him touching here like this envelope her mind. Spikes of lust, of want, move through her, making her head thud against the wall and spread her legs in a way she never thought she would. Not for him and not in a place like this.
***
She's overwhelmed, almost stunned by how desperate he seems. She thought it would be just a game for him, not something he wanted. She thought he’d use her weakness to get what he wants, not that she'd have the chance to take and not be told off for once. She'd call it a miracle if she was still thinking in childish terms.
The second his fingers slip into her panties she almost convulses, twitches in his hands and whimpers. She needs more. More of his fingers, more of this friction. Just more. He moves the fabric out of the way, has her panties down her thighs with a smooth move, just like that.
His hands on her waist, moving her up against the wall. The move allows her to hook a leg around him, as his thigh presses against her just right. Her arms slip from above her head, and she dares it, slinging them around his neck. She lets her fingers slip beneath the collar of his probably very expensive shirt, scratches the skin there. She guides his head, his mouth, back towards hers.
The kiss is long, not as frantic but just as thrilling. Her fingers seek more of his skin and for the first time she doesn’t like him being fully clothed. She wants him naked, wants his shirt out of the way. She moves her hands lower, tries to get more, hears the shirt rip and shudders at the idea that he'll make her replace.
When she can’t reach more than just a few inches of skin, she buries her hand in his hair. Really grabs onto it, revels in the feeling as it slides through her fingers. She sucks in his lips and wants to get even closer. She whimpers into his mouth when he moves his leg, slides her into position and rubs against her.
“Shhh. It's all's good. Promise me, none of this anymore. No wannabe Belgian drug lords, no clubs like this at night. Just none of it anymore. None. Am I clear?” He growls the words into her ear, just like he always does, all while his fingers almost stroke a rhythm into her skin.
His hand to her lower back, steadying her, the other is moving and stroking her hooked up leg. It moves slowly, gently, over her straining muscles, toward her ass, playing with every patch of skin it finds on its way. She almost chokes on her next moan, doesn’t know if she wants to move away or closer.
She finds she can’t help but rub against his leg, against the fabric of his pants. It’s rough, almost too rough but it’s enough to get her thoughts away from his questing fingers behind her. It’s almost enough to make her lose it.
“Am I clear?” He asks again and moves his hand from behind her to clasp around her waist. Slides his hand up again, stops just inches away from her center, resting there.
She nods, too high on him, on the feeling of his fingers against her, pushing but not yet there, not where she needs them to be. He's teasing, doing what he does best but he's also still there, pressed against her. Moving against her. He's still there, with her.
The wave builds inside of her, she can feel it throbbing through her veins. Her back moves from the wall, while her head still touchs it. She arches against him, against every touch and every move he makes. All she can think of is getting off, her need to rub harder against his leg and just lose it right there. She clutches at his shoulder, fingers almost tugging too hard at his hair. But she doesn’t care.
He moves with her now, the same rhythm her hips have somehow caught. He moves his groin against her, rubs faster and hooks her higher on his leg, almost sits her down there, makes room and deprives her of the so needed contact.
She protests but he just smirks against her neck, bites down at the juncture and licks it afterwards.
Then his fingers are there. Rubbing, make her groan out loud, almost scream with relief. His fingers move between his leg and her, spreading her legs even wider, He has to pin her against the wall again to keep her from sliding down.
He presses in when her hips move forward. Just a finger, his palm resting where she needs the contact. He isn’t moving at all, not his finger, not his hand. It's too hot all of a sudden. Her heart's in her throat, she feels it beating against his lips, against his teeth.
Then there are two fingers, moving frantically in and out. Same rhythm as his hips against her leg, as her hips against his leg. It’s too perfect to last long.
And with a bite against her neck and a vicious twist of his wrist it crashes through her. In waves and trembles, contracting around his fingers, it moves through her. She groans out loud, literarily rides her orgasm out against his thigh, against his palm.
She moans, groaning against his lips which are back on hers. She sucks greedily at them, feeling only slightly slutty. Yeah, this is exactly what she needed. Her hips are still moving, still sending sparks and tiny waves of pleasure through her body.
When he shudders against her and stills, she's so surprised that she doesn’t move at all.
***
She's back on her own two feet. Dress straightened, panties pack to where they belong. She breathes a little shakily, but doesn’t back down when he just stands there and looks. His hair is a mess and she thinks it actually suits him. They are still close though; one of his hands on her hip, preventing her from running. Not that she's even thinking about that.
It’s a little awkward, to stand there and not say a word. She doesn't know what to say. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still rippling through her and she nearly whimpers when her panties chafe against her.
She can see that he isn’t any better off. Can see the dark spot in front of his pants and feels smug about it. Judging from his raised eyebrows, she knows she isn’t hiding it well. He's not the cool, controlled man he usually is and she wonders what he's thinking. His eyes haven't been cold toward her for a while now.
“And now?” She doesn’t want to sound like this, doesn’t want him to hear it in her voice. Hear how desperate she is for more, for him. She doesn’t want him to know, because she's sure he'll take it all. She won’t allow him this advantage over her.
Then he dips down, lips hot against her skin, sucking gently and his bruising grip on her waist loosens. He licks the skin he just bit, licks and sucks with a gentleness that makes her tremble again. He doesn’t let go for a while and then moves to kiss her. Not so gentle anymore but still nowhere near close to the feral lust of a few minutes before.
Who would have thought Chuck Bass can do gentle at all. Jenny Humphrey is surprised that she likes it. They both know she won’t keep her promise, that she'll go out again. She'll seek the danger, but they also both know that he'll be there the next time as well.
“Now? Now we go home, Jennifer.” The cool smirk is back, but he offers his arm and she knows that Blair wants this night and for once she won't get what Jenny wants. Not tonight. Jenny doesn’t feel bad about it, not this time.
Author name: the_milky_way
Genre: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Chuck/Jenny (hints of Chuck/Blair)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 4. 269
Beta: Thank you so much parka_girl
Warnings/Spoilers: language, no spoilers for the show itself
Disclaimer: This story is fictional (not real, didn't happen). Not true in any way. I don't own anything. Characters belong to the CW
Notes:
This is for sandrine, who prompted me with this picture for
The air's cold when she steps out of the cab. Doesn’t slam the door but isn’t gentle either. The driver scowls but when she hands over a twenty, he almost smiles. She roles her eyes because people are so predictable.
The merchandise, and how stupid are those people to use that as code word, is safely tucked into her coat pocket. They are somewhere close and watching her, she isn’t stupid. But the black limo down the street gets her almost too excited. It doesn’t mean anything but she can’t help it. She hopes it does, she wants it to.
Coat draped over her arm, she puts a little more swing into her hips when she enters the club. The guy at the door doesn't even blink at her nor ask for any ID either. It’s that simple and she feels the spike of fear slowly ebb away. One possible obstacle out of the way now and she can breath more easily.
She feels good. This night is hers, she just knows it.
She feels like she belongs here, like the danger is calling her even closer. Good girls go bad all over the world and there's no reason why she should be an exception. It’s so much more exciting than being a scheming teenager with no real life.
Her dress would send Lily into a fit and Rufus into a rage. Dan would ramble, try to talk her out of wearing it and then pout. But Dan has changed lately so she doesn’t know anymore if he’d really mind. Eric would blink like he does when he doesn’t know how to react, would maybe leave a scathing comment and she would laugh and try not to feel hurt.
But they aren't here and her life is hers when she's out like this. No one telling her what to do, what to think or what to wear. No one even trying to. She doesn’t allow it.
Her shoes cost more than she’d earn tonight but they do the trick and people are blinded by the mask, by the appearance. This world is so set in its ruling materialism that no one questions money anymore. Money can buy everything, after all.
Almost everything. She knows she wants something that money can only bring her close to, the rest will be up to her.
The night's still young, she slipped out of the penthouse when Lily was busy trying to hold Serena back from whatever scandal she's caught up in now. Not that it can get any worse than sleeping with a married congressman. She has to admit that Serena has impressed her with her selfishness this time. Though, she does think she'd have done the same.
Not that she's in love, but getting something, someone, she wants will always be high on her priority list. Love or not.
***
The beat is hard, thrumming through her veins. Strobe lights make it hard to concentrate and hard to find the corner where she's supposed to be in two minutes. Spotlights catch every movement for the briefest of a second. Blue, red and white all mixed together in a hypnotizing flash that moves along her spine every time she dares to let it reach her.
Excitement rules her every move, her every heart beat. Excitement and maybe a little fear.
She moves slowly, tries to take it all in. There's still time and she wants to get everything she can out of this.
This is something she’ll never be able to experience at home, in the sheltered world that still holds so much deceit and hate. This right here, in this club where she isn’t supposed to be where she's doing things she isn’t supposed to do, is what she's been looking for.
It’s making her blood boil like nothing ever has before. This is so much better, so much more exciting than being the queen of conceited teenagers or plotting schemes can ever be. Here she feels alive, feels like she's someone. And she loves the mystery, the danger, of it all.
It’s become her drug of choice, her way of escaping reality. It’s what she needs now. She needs to feel, needs to be. And, most of all, she wants to find that special feeling again, the one she'd felt the very first time. Not the one she had while doing it all, but the one afterwards, when she was almost caught.
The bass is hard, almost too hard to stand. The air is hot, stale even and it’s almost too crowded, bodies moving against each other, against her. And she knows it’s the perfect cover.
She sees the target, knows where she's supposed to go. The little package clutched in her fist and hidden behind the handbag. She smiles, secretive and seductive, the same smile she's watched Serena use when to get something from Dan or Nate.
The man straightens up a little, not too noticeably but she sees it nonetheless. The beat changes slightly, gets even faster. Bodies move, slide, bump, slip and she moves forward, eyes on the man and nowhere else.
The hand comes out of nowhere. The tug at her arm is almost brutal and she gasps. It hurts, will bruise and she's dragged through the masses of bodies without really seeing anything.
Her first instinct is to fight, to get away as fast as possible. Her first thought is that this is it, that she's been caught. Then, so suddenly that it almost knocks her off his feet, the feeling is there. A feeling she’ll never be able to describe, a feeling she’ll always recognize, always seek out and will always try to keep.
It crushes through her so violent that she gasps again, whimpers even and doesn’t care who hears. It makes her dizzy, excited, scared and so fucking hot that she shivers. Her free hand comes up to clutch at the one around her arm, at the one bruising her. She doesn’t even try to pry it away, just hangs on.
She knows with a clarity that scares her even more than the fact that someone is dragging her towards a dark, empty hallway, that she's in trouble. But somehow this just spikes her excitement even more. This is what she had been looking for all along. This and not what the rather pathetic excuse of a drug dealer and ambassador’s son is offering her.
This is what makes her blood rush through her body, makes her shudder in excitement and anticipation. This what she wants and what no one else, save one personv will ever understand.
She stumbles off the dance floor, crashes into the wall and then is slammed against it. For a second everything whirls in front of her eyes, makes it hard to focus. Her breath catches and the fear that was there but somehow buried deep down in her mind takes a front seat now.
It makes her heart beat faster, makes her breath harsher and shiver even more. It makes her so wet that she's almost embarrassed. Almost.
It's déja vu.
This time, though, she's been waiting for it, almost counted on it. Knows how to take it now, knows how to make it her game, on her terms. This is nothing like last time. She won’t allow it.
***
“The fuck do you think you are doing?” It’s growled into her ear, heavy with anger and concern. There is something else though. Something she doesn’t dare to hope for, because jealousy never played a role in this. Never should play a role in all of it.
She doubts it’s even there. Her heart's in her throat, beating almost out of rhythm, too hard, too fast. Like the bass earlier, it hurts in her chest. The rough surface of the wall is digging into her back, scraping a little and she revels in the feeling of it. The little spikes of pain combined with the rush of adrenaline and fear make her bold.
She moves slightly, as if to struggle but without much intent to get free. She tightens her fists against the solid muscles of the chest in front of her, not getting anywhere with it but wanting to feel the power behind the body keeping her trapped. He growls again, narrows his eyes and in a simple but finely executed move, has her arms above her head.
Trapped against the rough plaster of the wall, one of his hands easily enclosing her wrists. She could get free, could move and knee him maybe. She could struggle more, try more.
She doesn’t want to.
She shivers at the cold gaze, stills and just waits. Shivers make her tremble and for a second she thinks it might have been a stupid plan. She knew. Knew he’d be there, knew he'd be watching. Not only her but over her as well.
It makes her feel special on a way. In a very fucked up way. If she manages to get his attention then things are really not okay anymore. It’s terrifying to be the sole focus of his attention once more. Even though it’s different this time. Power has shifted a little and suddenly she knows she's part of it now instead of just a participant.
She can move if she wants to, he’ll let her. She can protest, say no. If she wants to.
She doesn’t say a single word.
Instead, she just looks at him, steady with no fear. She lets him hold her, pressed against the wall in a dark hallway of a club where she was supposed to sell drugs. She lets him press even closer, lets his hot breath touch her skin.
She allows herself to shudder, to trembles. She allows it all to happen. Because this is what she's been looking for ever since the first time. Even more so since he intercepted the first deal all those months ago. This is what she'd hoped for every time she saw the car, saw the window lowered just enough to look through, to see her.
Almost unconsciously she spreads her legs, lets him settle even closer.
His eyes narrow even more, full of something that sends waves of excitement down her spine, makes her wanting to move closer.
She wants it.
She wants him closer, suddenly feels the need to rub, to seek friction. Closer. But he doesn’t move. Just looks at her.
Then the feeling of being trapped becomes almost too overwhelming, almost enough to make her struggle for real. He's close but not close enough. She can’t read his look anymore, can’t predict what to expect. It makes her even needier.
His mouth whispers against her ear, one hand suddenly wandering along her side. Gentle and slow, contradicting everything he says, everything his body is projecting.
“I thought we talked about this? What is it you want, that you get out of this? Surely not the attention of that Belgian ogre? Is that it? You want him to notice you? To be with you?” It’s all rhetorical, no answers expected just his talking, getting it out in the open, makes her shiver again.
He knows way more than she thought, knows what she's after and is willing to grant it. All she has to do is say it. Say it out loud and submit to her lust the way he wants her to and which he has perfected to an art form.
The urge to get away, to end it right then and there is strong. She doesn’t know if she can go through with it and live with herself afterwards. She isn’t sure what to do and she suddenly wants to close her eyes, not see herself reflected in the depths of his.
“What do you want? Tell me.” It’s followed by a lick to her ear, almost not there, gentle and teasing. Then there are teeth, sharp and stinging. She moans, surprising herself with it. “Tell me or end it. Your choice.”
It aches deep inside of her. She feels hot and dizzy. Elated in a way. It’s like a current she can’t fight against, like a wave surging and ebbing with every touch of his fingers on the skin of her wrists. She feels almost as if she's not really herself but still somehow there to feel it. The fight she'd expected doesn’t happen and she thinks it’s almost too easy to say it. Too easy and so very needy.
“You.” She knows that as soon as she says it, her plan's sort of derailed. It shouldn’t be like this, so easy for her to give up, give in. But then he moves closer, so close that she can finally settle against him. She moves, just a tiny bit, but there's friction and it's nearly enough to make her faint.
The noise of the club is close, it makes everything vibrate and thrum, almost too much for her to bear. Beats go through her, making her move in a rhythm she isn’t really aware of. All she's focused on is the feeling of a high she can only get when she thinks of him. When she thinks of him and touches herself.
He's dangerous. Sometimes unbalanced to such an extent that she's almost afraid to get too close. But then he can be this caring man who destroys limits just to protect the ones he loves. She wonders if she’ll ever get to see the real him.
Her arms are still trapped above her. It makes it even more exciting, more of a forbidden fruit she isn’t allowed to taste. His lips move along her neck, teeth scrape and tease the skin, make her moan with every sharp nip. Make her move against his thigh. She needs more, so much more. She needs him to stop teasing, to make it reality.
She needs to feel something, anything. She needs this feeling, this reminder, that she's alive. It feels like she's flying, like she's standing out side her body seeing everything happen and still being able to feel it, to enjoy it.
***
A particularly violent bass beat crashes through her daze and her body reacts almost as violently, arches off the wall. His hand's no longer gently stroking her sides but is now scraping along her bare skin.
Her dress hiked up to her waist, his hand scratching along the curve of her hipbone. She feels as if the room got darker the second he touched her skin and yet at the same time it feels so much brighter.
She moans, doesn’t hold back and she hears him chuckle. It makes her furious because this is not his game, not his moment to claim. She fights then, growls a little but he has her pinned even more. Against the wall, against his body.
She should be scared, like the first time. Should be thoroughly chastised and tell him she's learned her lesson, that he can stop now. She would have to succumb to him to do all that. And she knows that there's no way that she'll do that this time. She's just too close enough to what she's been craving to say no. This is what she's wanted since he allowed her to look behind his mask.
Heat shoots through her, muscles twitching and straining but then his mouth is on her neck again. Sucking blood to the surface, making her dizzy with lust. He won’t stop now and she knows he can’t even if he wanted to.
Fingers and nails scratch along her side, his other hand in her hair, tugging so much that it almost hurts. It’s a good pain, one that reminds her where she is and what she's doing. Even though her hands are free, she keeps them where they are. She's not exactly sure why, maybe because she likes the position or maybe because she wants to keep doing what he is doing and not break the spell, the moment, by moving.
They kiss, hungrily and without holding back. They kiss like this is the end of the world, as if they'll never do it again. And knowing him, she thinks that might just be the truth. But if she does this right, if she's lucky, maybe it won't be the end.
It’s frantic, like nothing she’s ever experienced. Minds clouded with lust, hands grabbing, pushing and then soothing gently over scratches. Lips smooth over bites and nips, then crash together when they can’t stand being apart any longer.
His hands tug her dress up even higher, until it’s bunched around her breasts. His fingers stroke gently over her skin and tug almost painfully at her nipples. His lips move from her throat, down her cleavage, until he can suck bruises into her slightly sweaty skin and make her moan out loud again.
He bites at her stomach, licks over her navel leaving her breathing hard and fast. Her hips move, straining against the hold he has on her. She tries to make him go further, lick where she desperately needs him to. But he doesn’t even move close to the already wet spot in front of her panties.
He kisses along her inner thighs. Licks along the trail of fine hairs that goes back up to her belly button, nips at her hip bone and kisses his way up again until her dress stops his explorations. His hands follow the way of his tongue, stroke, slide and scratch.
She closes her eyes then, lets the sensation of him touching here like this envelope her mind. Spikes of lust, of want, move through her, making her head thud against the wall and spread her legs in a way she never thought she would. Not for him and not in a place like this.
***
She's overwhelmed, almost stunned by how desperate he seems. She thought it would be just a game for him, not something he wanted. She thought he’d use her weakness to get what he wants, not that she'd have the chance to take and not be told off for once. She'd call it a miracle if she was still thinking in childish terms.
The second his fingers slip into her panties she almost convulses, twitches in his hands and whimpers. She needs more. More of his fingers, more of this friction. Just more. He moves the fabric out of the way, has her panties down her thighs with a smooth move, just like that.
His hands on her waist, moving her up against the wall. The move allows her to hook a leg around him, as his thigh presses against her just right. Her arms slip from above her head, and she dares it, slinging them around his neck. She lets her fingers slip beneath the collar of his probably very expensive shirt, scratches the skin there. She guides his head, his mouth, back towards hers.
The kiss is long, not as frantic but just as thrilling. Her fingers seek more of his skin and for the first time she doesn’t like him being fully clothed. She wants him naked, wants his shirt out of the way. She moves her hands lower, tries to get more, hears the shirt rip and shudders at the idea that he'll make her replace.
When she can’t reach more than just a few inches of skin, she buries her hand in his hair. Really grabs onto it, revels in the feeling as it slides through her fingers. She sucks in his lips and wants to get even closer. She whimpers into his mouth when he moves his leg, slides her into position and rubs against her.
“Shhh. It's all's good. Promise me, none of this anymore. No wannabe Belgian drug lords, no clubs like this at night. Just none of it anymore. None. Am I clear?” He growls the words into her ear, just like he always does, all while his fingers almost stroke a rhythm into her skin.
His hand to her lower back, steadying her, the other is moving and stroking her hooked up leg. It moves slowly, gently, over her straining muscles, toward her ass, playing with every patch of skin it finds on its way. She almost chokes on her next moan, doesn’t know if she wants to move away or closer.
She finds she can’t help but rub against his leg, against the fabric of his pants. It’s rough, almost too rough but it’s enough to get her thoughts away from his questing fingers behind her. It’s almost enough to make her lose it.
“Am I clear?” He asks again and moves his hand from behind her to clasp around her waist. Slides his hand up again, stops just inches away from her center, resting there.
She nods, too high on him, on the feeling of his fingers against her, pushing but not yet there, not where she needs them to be. He's teasing, doing what he does best but he's also still there, pressed against her. Moving against her. He's still there, with her.
The wave builds inside of her, she can feel it throbbing through her veins. Her back moves from the wall, while her head still touchs it. She arches against him, against every touch and every move he makes. All she can think of is getting off, her need to rub harder against his leg and just lose it right there. She clutches at his shoulder, fingers almost tugging too hard at his hair. But she doesn’t care.
He moves with her now, the same rhythm her hips have somehow caught. He moves his groin against her, rubs faster and hooks her higher on his leg, almost sits her down there, makes room and deprives her of the so needed contact.
She protests but he just smirks against her neck, bites down at the juncture and licks it afterwards.
Then his fingers are there. Rubbing, make her groan out loud, almost scream with relief. His fingers move between his leg and her, spreading her legs even wider, He has to pin her against the wall again to keep her from sliding down.
He presses in when her hips move forward. Just a finger, his palm resting where she needs the contact. He isn’t moving at all, not his finger, not his hand. It's too hot all of a sudden. Her heart's in her throat, she feels it beating against his lips, against his teeth.
Then there are two fingers, moving frantically in and out. Same rhythm as his hips against her leg, as her hips against his leg. It’s too perfect to last long.
And with a bite against her neck and a vicious twist of his wrist it crashes through her. In waves and trembles, contracting around his fingers, it moves through her. She groans out loud, literarily rides her orgasm out against his thigh, against his palm.
She moans, groaning against his lips which are back on hers. She sucks greedily at them, feeling only slightly slutty. Yeah, this is exactly what she needed. Her hips are still moving, still sending sparks and tiny waves of pleasure through her body.
When he shudders against her and stills, she's so surprised that she doesn’t move at all.
***
She's back on her own two feet. Dress straightened, panties pack to where they belong. She breathes a little shakily, but doesn’t back down when he just stands there and looks. His hair is a mess and she thinks it actually suits him. They are still close though; one of his hands on her hip, preventing her from running. Not that she's even thinking about that.
It’s a little awkward, to stand there and not say a word. She doesn't know what to say. The aftershocks of her orgasm are still rippling through her and she nearly whimpers when her panties chafe against her.
She can see that he isn’t any better off. Can see the dark spot in front of his pants and feels smug about it. Judging from his raised eyebrows, she knows she isn’t hiding it well. He's not the cool, controlled man he usually is and she wonders what he's thinking. His eyes haven't been cold toward her for a while now.
“And now?” She doesn’t want to sound like this, doesn’t want him to hear it in her voice. Hear how desperate she is for more, for him. She doesn’t want him to know, because she's sure he'll take it all. She won’t allow him this advantage over her.
Then he dips down, lips hot against her skin, sucking gently and his bruising grip on her waist loosens. He licks the skin he just bit, licks and sucks with a gentleness that makes her tremble again. He doesn’t let go for a while and then moves to kiss her. Not so gentle anymore but still nowhere near close to the feral lust of a few minutes before.
Who would have thought Chuck Bass can do gentle at all. Jenny Humphrey is surprised that she likes it. They both know she won’t keep her promise, that she'll go out again. She'll seek the danger, but they also both know that he'll be there the next time as well.
“Now? Now we go home, Jennifer.” The cool smirk is back, but he offers his arm and she knows that Blair wants this night and for once she won't get what Jenny wants. Not tonight. Jenny doesn’t feel bad about it, not this time.