GOSSIP GIRL: Making Pain (Serena & Chuck)
slodwick organized the seventh picfor1000 challenge.
Title: Making Pain
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Serena & Chuck
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: I think I grow tensions.
Notes: Pre-series
In grade school, Serena never really noticed Chuck. He was just always there, one of those kids she'd known forever. He was there at the same, boring parties where they had to wear nice shoes and smile while grown-ups told them how mature they were, and the same, boring parties where they had to wish total strangers happy birthday and pretend they cared.
(Chuck came to one of her birthday parties once. He gave her a pony. She rode it once, then it went to a stable somewhere, and then she stopped worrying about it. When she went to Chuck's birthday party, she gave him a watch. Her mom picked it out.)
In the fourth grade, during library time, he pulled her and Nate behind the shelf with the picture books with a smirk on his face and a flask in his hand. When she threw up at recess later, he told the supervisor he had dared her to eat a spider.
*
When they got older, school parties became things like dances, things that included pageants and contests and kings and queens. Blair announced she should always win because she dressed like a princess. Her mother said so. (Blair frequently made announcements like this, before she realized it just wasn't done. Serena had known, but she liked Blair, and didn't explain it to her.) Serena liked to wear tiaras, but not those ones. Blair thought they were
important, so she wanted them more.
Nate always won the crown because he didn't think it was important, and he didn't care. He always smiled, though, because he was that kind of guy, and Blair told him he should smile more.
Serena leaned against the back wall of the ballroom and watched Blair sparkle, and she thought it was cute. Chuck leaned next to her, and she shifted sideways to give him room. He offered her a flask, and she looked around, and then she took it. Took a quick gulp, and it burned like a secret.
"This is a joke," he told her, settling the flask in his pocket again.
Serena folded her arms, then unfolded them to wave back at Blair, beaming. "I know," she said.
And everybody cheered, and everybody smiled. Chuck and Serena laughed, and only they knew why.
*
There was a party, because there was always a party, and Serena thought it was some model's cousin's debut, but it was the second party she'd been to that night, and she didn't really care as long as the people were pretty and the drinks were fresh.
The air was sticky-warm from humidity and people, but the drinks at the party were very, very fresh. Somebody handed her a vodka something, and she danced holding the glass in her hand, the liquid splashing over the rim. The music was loud, and somebody pulled her hand back. He smelled good, and he licked the drops from the back of her hand like a cat. Serena moaned, tilted her head back, and whoever-he-was laced his fingers in her hair, kissed her, and the drink tipped in their hands, splattering against the floor.
Serena jerked away and opened her eyes. She looked at the puddle on the floor, and then whoever-he-was cursed, and she knew that voice. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I'm swearing off vodka," she announced between the music's beats.
Chuck took the glass from her hand. "I blame the tequila." And he stalked off without another glance.
*
Geometry wasn't really that interesting, and it was even worse at nine in the morning. Serena didn't think any reasonable person could blame her for maybe having a few mimosas, just to make it more interesting, but somehow she ended up in detention anyway. It was the weekend, and for some obscure reason, it was combined with St. Jude's detention, and that was how Serena ended up slumping into a desk next to Chuck.
He looked at her and smirked. "Caught in the locker room with the volleyball captain again?"
Serena rolled her eyes. "Miss Pratt is, like, a human breathalyzer."
"Ah," he said. "Good."
"What about you?" Serena asked. "And what do you mean?"
"Just a misunderstanding about the definition of trafficking," Chuck eluded. "And Hildenbrath isn't worth your time."
"Yeah?" Serena stretched her feet out, rested her chin on her hands. "Why not?"
Chuck shrugged, his eyes watching Mr. Daniels like prey. "Trust me."
"Funny," Serena said.
Nelly Yuki trudged through the doorway, quickly averted her gaze from theirs.
"Try not to make any Breakfast Club jokes," Chuck whispered to Serena.
She rolled her eyes, and henceforth ignored him.
*
Serena spent her summers by the pool and by the ocean, depending on where everybody else wasn't. In July, she went to Mykonos and regretted it, because the only people more annoying than tourists were twenty-something tourists crashing a club they couldn't afford.
She bailed before midnight because she didn't like football players slinging their arms around her hips, and the party was lame anyway. She slunk into a bar with no view of the ocean, but a wide window framing the flickering city. The bartender slid a bottle of something clear and sweet to her, and she tipped the bottle back, felt the burn and smiled.
"Serena," Chuck purred from behind her.
She rolled her eyes, but she wasn't shocked. Of course Chuck was there. Chuck was always there.
"Tired of fending off the bourgeois?" he asked. He twisted his body around the stool next to her, resting his elbow against the bar. "I'd be happy to make my yacht available to you."
"I'd be happy to make this," she squinted at her bottle, shook her head, "stuff available to you."
Chuck laughed. He ordered ouzo, raising a pointed hand without turning his attention from Serena. "This is why I like you, S."
"Ssssss," she echoed. She wagged her finger at him, like a funhouse mirror. "You sound like you're hissing," she said.
Chuck laughed, and offered to find a pomegranate.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Robert Creeley's The Flower. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Linked on picfor1000.
Title: Making Pain
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Pairing: Serena & Chuck
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: I think I grow tensions.
Notes: Pre-series
In grade school, Serena never really noticed Chuck. He was just always there, one of those kids she'd known forever. He was there at the same, boring parties where they had to wear nice shoes and smile while grown-ups told them how mature they were, and the same, boring parties where they had to wish total strangers happy birthday and pretend they cared.
(Chuck came to one of her birthday parties once. He gave her a pony. She rode it once, then it went to a stable somewhere, and then she stopped worrying about it. When she went to Chuck's birthday party, she gave him a watch. Her mom picked it out.)
In the fourth grade, during library time, he pulled her and Nate behind the shelf with the picture books with a smirk on his face and a flask in his hand. When she threw up at recess later, he told the supervisor he had dared her to eat a spider.
*
When they got older, school parties became things like dances, things that included pageants and contests and kings and queens. Blair announced she should always win because she dressed like a princess. Her mother said so. (Blair frequently made announcements like this, before she realized it just wasn't done. Serena had known, but she liked Blair, and didn't explain it to her.) Serena liked to wear tiaras, but not those ones. Blair thought they were
important, so she wanted them more.
Nate always won the crown because he didn't think it was important, and he didn't care. He always smiled, though, because he was that kind of guy, and Blair told him he should smile more.
Serena leaned against the back wall of the ballroom and watched Blair sparkle, and she thought it was cute. Chuck leaned next to her, and she shifted sideways to give him room. He offered her a flask, and she looked around, and then she took it. Took a quick gulp, and it burned like a secret.
"This is a joke," he told her, settling the flask in his pocket again.
Serena folded her arms, then unfolded them to wave back at Blair, beaming. "I know," she said.
And everybody cheered, and everybody smiled. Chuck and Serena laughed, and only they knew why.
*
There was a party, because there was always a party, and Serena thought it was some model's cousin's debut, but it was the second party she'd been to that night, and she didn't really care as long as the people were pretty and the drinks were fresh.
The air was sticky-warm from humidity and people, but the drinks at the party were very, very fresh. Somebody handed her a vodka something, and she danced holding the glass in her hand, the liquid splashing over the rim. The music was loud, and somebody pulled her hand back. He smelled good, and he licked the drops from the back of her hand like a cat. Serena moaned, tilted her head back, and whoever-he-was laced his fingers in her hair, kissed her, and the drink tipped in their hands, splattering against the floor.
Serena jerked away and opened her eyes. She looked at the puddle on the floor, and then whoever-he-was cursed, and she knew that voice. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"I'm swearing off vodka," she announced between the music's beats.
Chuck took the glass from her hand. "I blame the tequila." And he stalked off without another glance.
*
Geometry wasn't really that interesting, and it was even worse at nine in the morning. Serena didn't think any reasonable person could blame her for maybe having a few mimosas, just to make it more interesting, but somehow she ended up in detention anyway. It was the weekend, and for some obscure reason, it was combined with St. Jude's detention, and that was how Serena ended up slumping into a desk next to Chuck.
He looked at her and smirked. "Caught in the locker room with the volleyball captain again?"
Serena rolled her eyes. "Miss Pratt is, like, a human breathalyzer."
"Ah," he said. "Good."
"What about you?" Serena asked. "And what do you mean?"
"Just a misunderstanding about the definition of trafficking," Chuck eluded. "And Hildenbrath isn't worth your time."
"Yeah?" Serena stretched her feet out, rested her chin on her hands. "Why not?"
Chuck shrugged, his eyes watching Mr. Daniels like prey. "Trust me."
"Funny," Serena said.
Nelly Yuki trudged through the doorway, quickly averted her gaze from theirs.
"Try not to make any Breakfast Club jokes," Chuck whispered to Serena.
She rolled her eyes, and henceforth ignored him.
*
Serena spent her summers by the pool and by the ocean, depending on where everybody else wasn't. In July, she went to Mykonos and regretted it, because the only people more annoying than tourists were twenty-something tourists crashing a club they couldn't afford.
She bailed before midnight because she didn't like football players slinging their arms around her hips, and the party was lame anyway. She slunk into a bar with no view of the ocean, but a wide window framing the flickering city. The bartender slid a bottle of something clear and sweet to her, and she tipped the bottle back, felt the burn and smiled.
"Serena," Chuck purred from behind her.
She rolled her eyes, but she wasn't shocked. Of course Chuck was there. Chuck was always there.
"Tired of fending off the bourgeois?" he asked. He twisted his body around the stool next to her, resting his elbow against the bar. "I'd be happy to make my yacht available to you."
"I'd be happy to make this," she squinted at her bottle, shook her head, "stuff available to you."
Chuck laughed. He ordered ouzo, raising a pointed hand without turning his attention from Serena. "This is why I like you, S."
"Ssssss," she echoed. She wagged her finger at him, like a funhouse mirror. "You sound like you're hissing," she said.
Chuck laughed, and offered to find a pomegranate.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Robert Creeley's The Flower. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.
Linked on picfor1000.