Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

Weddings are all alike, and he is so not drunk enough for this one. Too late, he realizes he should have brought a flask. He’ll remember next time. For now, he’ll have to suffer through it sober.

The ceremony lasts forever until he is tempted to just stand up and shout to put the fucking ring on her finger! It wasn’t like the marriage wouldn’t end in divorce anyway. They all did, especially in the Upper East Side. So best to hurry it along and quit wasting everyone’s time with all this lovey dovey crap. People only attended these things for the open bar anyway.

But the reception is a bust too. Sure there are bridesmaids aplenty, all alike in horrid chartreuse gowns chosen by the bride so that none of her friends had a chance of upstaging her, but even he has standards. There isn’t any challenge when it takes little more than a smile to get them to raise their skirts. The only time he fucks a girl that easy is when he’s paying for her.

He sips his scotch and tries to avoid eye contact with the desperate blonde that has been staring at him. Bitch can find another dick to ride. His is getting out of here as soon as he finds his best friend.

His dark eyes scan the crowd of Manhattan’s well dressed and wealthy. Across the room, he spots a familiar head of chestnut curls, but no sign of Nate. Still, Blair will certainly know where he is. She always does.

Bitch.

Downing the last of his scotch, he stalks off across the room, deftly swerving to sidestep the bimbo bridesmaid. As he passes her, he catches a whiff of her perfume. His jaw tightens involuntarily as the vanilla scent invades his nostrils.

That’s all it takes. The faintest trace of a smell he wishes he could forget and the memories crash to the forefront of his brain, bursting into his awareness. “Hello Chucky.” A fleeting whisper in his mind. Georgina’s mocking voice. He shivers despite the late summer heat as the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He needs to get away from that awful stench right now. Increasing his stride to put more distance between himself and the slut, he quickly makes it to Blair’s side. Scornful laughter only he can hear follows him every step of the way.

Blair raises a sardonic brow as he approaches. “Bass,” she acknowledges with absolute civility. She’s always been good at this, the thin veneer of politeness that she uses to disguise her utter contempt of him while others are around.

He leers at her, his eyes dipping pointedly to the slight swell of her breasts above the top of her dress, certainly a Waldorf original. He allows his gaze to linger there until she grows uncomfortable, shifts her stance ever so slightly.

“Stop it, Chuck,” she says in a voice of perfect courtesy. No one but he knows how hard she is fighting to maintain that façade of composure. That’s why he does things like this. Each time pushing a little further, goading her closer to the edge. One of these days that serene mask is going to fall and he plans to see it. Hell, he plans to be the cause of it.

He finally raises his eyes to her face. Her mouth is stretched in a tight lipped smile that is not really a smile at all. Seeing it, he smirks.

“What do you want?” she asks, the barest hint of derision coloring her innocent words.

“Nathaniel. Where is he?”

Instead of answering him, she raises her glass of champagne to her ruby lips. Takes a long slow sip, savoring the taste before she swallows it. Her tongue peeks out, catching the last drops of the sparkling liquid glistening upon her bottom lip.

Chuck’s hot gaze follows every move. Sometimes he thinks she does stuff like this deliberately. That she is fully aware of the lush allure of her mouth, and the power her moistened lips possess. Other times, however, he has his doubts. There is something too beautiful, delicate and untouched about her for the action to be intentional.

Now is not one of those times.

Regardless, he feels blood rushing towards his belly, the first stirrings in his groin. Then the taunting voice of the whore from years past intrudes on his thoughts, effectively killing the impulse stone dead. “…touch her, touch anyone…” Georgina’s cruel tone echoes, mixes with her laughter. He shudders at the memory.

“Where the fuck is Nate, Waldorf?” he snaps, much louder than he intends. Several heads turn in their direction. Blair grins pleasantly at the onlookers like everything is all right before turning her hateful glare to him.

“What is your problem?” she grinds out through her forced smile. “Nate went with Serena to find her purse. She set it down inside somewhere. I’m sure they’ll be right back.”

With a sound of impatience, he turns abruptly from her and heads towards the large flower draped archways that will lead him back indoors. Once there, he begins searching the rooms for Nate. He’s on an upper walkway overlooking a closed private bar when he inadvertently stumbles upon some people having sex. Before the couple realizes he is there, he quickly heads back the way he came. He’s just about to the exit when a low moan from below stops him. Although he has never heard it make this particular sound, he immediately recognizes the voice. Surreptitiously so as not to be seen, he returns to the railing and peers over.

Holy fucking shit!

After the initial shock, the first thing he feels is a stab of annoyance. After months of pursuing her, Nate is the one Serena finally bangs.

Typical.

The story of his life: Chuck Bass, second always to Nate Archibald, the boy who does no wrong.

Damn it.

At that thought, a twinge of guilt flares within Chuck. It isn’t Nate’s fault, he reminds himself. Nate can’t help that people are drawn to his easygoing manner. The one that allows everyone to think of him as their own personal best friend. Besides, Nate is so young still, so naive. He probably had no idea what was going to happen when he came in here. Can’t blame him for that. But Serena? Chuck can blame her just fine.

After all, she isn’t a virgin. Far from it. But Nate is. Or rather, was. And because Nate still believes in love and devotion and all that crap, Chuck thinks his friend deserved to have had his first time with someone better. Someone who believes in romance too. Someone like Bl –

Well, someone other than this golden haired hussy who’s riding him like a pro. Not a tramp who would fuck her best friend’s boyfriend.

He stops. Thinks. Smirks. It’s quite an admirable feat really. If only he’d thought of it.

But no. That isn’t an option. Not with Blair. Nothing can assail that frigid bitch. Not even Nate has made it past her chastity belt. But maybe…

He shakes the thought away.

No, Chuck knows better than to try for Blair’s cherry. She belongs to Nate, and if she spreads her legs for anyone, it will be for Nate and Nate only. Although…

No, he admonishes himself. No, never, no. He’s your best friend, remember? And you hate her! Despise her! Focus, Bass, don’t lose sight of the goal, of the plan!

Ah, yes. The plan. It was almost as good as conquering the virgin queen. He’d gone after her cohort one by one. And somehow she always knew without him having to boast about it. For a while there’d be one less girl on the Met steps at lunch, one unfortunate waif ostracized for the crime of sleeping with Chuck Bass. Then, after enough penance, Blair would welcome her wayward disciple back into the fold while Chuck selected from the rest and began a new seduction. Each conquest a little more challenging than the one before until at last all of her minions had been fucked until they walked funny and then sent packing back to Blair.

All except Serena. Whom he’d been pursuing. Who was right now screwing his best friend and ruining the entire damn plan!

Fuck!

He supposes he could just continue chasing her. It’ll take longer now, but he can be patient when it is beneficial for him to be so. Then again, there might be another way to hurt Blair, he thinks as he glances back over the rail. A much better way that does not involve Nathaniel’s sloppy seconds.

All those times Blair has thrown Nate’s perfection in Chuck’s face? Condemned him with look and word? Reminded him at every turn how beneath Nathaniel he is?

Well, Blair’s golden boy isn’t looking so golden anymore. Not while he pounds into her best friend. As much as she claims Nate is a thousand times better than him, Nate is still fucked up. It will crush her to find out her wonderful perfect prince is just as flawed as everyone else. Add in Serena’s betrayal, and the ice queen will fall.

But he can’t betray Nathaniel that way. Bros before hoes and all that. Even if it wouldn’t exactly be choosing Blair over Nate. More like choosing to hurt her at Nate’s expense…

Chuck runs a hand through his hair angrily. He can’t do it. Nate would never forgive him. There has got to be another way.

He considers. This secret is big, far too big to keep for long. It’ll eventually come out all on its own with no help from him. Once the three of them get together, it’s bound to happen. Blair will sense something is wrong. She’s intuitive like that. She’ll press, and force the issue. But it won’t be Serena who crumples under the guilt. Oh no. She’s too good a liar. Georgina has taught her well. But Nate? He’ll confess. He’ll feel obligated to. And really, Blair hearing it from him is even better. More damaging.

So maybe Chuck will help. He could encourage it surely. Arrange something. Host a friendly little gathering. Get them in the same place. Throw in some alcohol to weaken reserves. Then sit back and wait for the fireworks. It’s foolproof. The truth will come out, no one will be able to pin it on him, and he’ll have front row seats to the destruction of Blair Waldorf.

Genius.