Will Not Remember, Cannot Forget

Before her birthday, Blair had mentioned that her father was flying in from Paris to see her over Thanksgiving, and aware of how much her dad means to her, Chuck allows her some respite during the holiday. He’ll have plenty of time to pursue her after. During the break, he thinks of her often though, envisioning the entire Waldorf clan crowded around a table, happily sharing a home cooked meal, and Blair in the center of it all, radiant.

He tries to imagine what that would be like; sharing a special day each and every year with people one loves who love one back? It must be wonderful.

The Basses never do family holidays, Thanksgiving or otherwise. Privately he doubts that had always been the case, worries that perhaps they ceased celebrating after he had been born, when his mother died bringing him into the world. He never works up the courage to ask, however, because he believes he already knows the answer. Having it confirmed is an agony he would rather spare himself.

So he spends Thanksgiving as he always does, alone. He drinks scotch in his suite while watching the Macy’s Parade on television rather than in person, and before the first football game even airs, he gratefully passes out.

By Monday however, he is back in top form, and as Blair opens her locker that first day back to school, there on top of her books is a purple peony and an unsigned card.

I need to see you

Between classes, their paths cross. She bumps into him, sneering at him in front of everyone. “Watch where you’re going Bass,” she spits as she storms off, but not before surreptitiously pressing a small folded piece of paper into his palm. Feeling like it is burning into his hand, he delays reading it only long enough to disappear into the safety of a bathroom stall.

Met steps
3:30
Pick me up

As soon as school lets out, he is waiting, and at the exact appointed time, Blair arrives and slips covertly into the limo.

“No one can know about this,” she says.

“Know about what?” he replies faux innocent, positive he understands her meaning completely. But he will take her any way he can have her, and if she wants to keep their relationship under wraps for a while, that is fine with him.

He starts to say something else, but with a sly grin she is suddenly in his arms, tearing at his clothes as if ravenous, kissing him fiercely, and for the life of him whatever he had been about to say no longer seems that important.

It is only after a couple weeks, when she agrees to go to her debutant ball with a blueblood dullard instead of him that Chuck realizes he should never have consented to keep their affair hidden for any length of time. Clandestine meetings and concealed rendezvous are exciting, but not enough. He wants more. He wants it all, everything, the whole works, not just stolen moments in dark corners and special looks across the courtyard.

Blair is glowing and it is all because of him and why shouldn’t everyone know that? He is more at peace now than he has ever been, and it is because of the effect she has on him, and he wants to shout it from the rooftops and share that knowledge with all of the Upper East Side and furthermore, he needs her to be his. Not secretly his or sort of his, but utterly and openly his!

“Chuck? Earth to Chuck? Hello?”

“What?” Chuck says turning to see Nathaniel looking at him bemused. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“What is up with you man?” Nate asks, shaking his head. “I never see you anymore, and when I do you’re always so scatterbrained.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been a bit… preoccupied lately,” Chuck admits.

“Doing what?”

Chuck knows he is treading on dangerous territory, but he cannot help himself. “Not what,” he smirks. “Who.”

Nate snorts. “I should have known a girl was involved. Who is it? Anyone I know?”

“Not… precisely.”

“Is she another of the Maxim covers?”

Chuck shrugs, noncommittal, allowing his friend to misinterpret the gesture.

“You dog!” the golden boy exclaims. “How many is that now?”

“Why do a few when you can do the whole set, Nathaniel,” Chuck leers.

“You lucky bastard!” Nate laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.

Looking across the quad to meet Blair’s gaze for a brief second as she passes surrounded by her circle of minions, Chuck smiles. “Yes, yes I am.”

Later in the day, mere minutes after cotillion rehearsal ends, Chuck finds himself in the Waldorf penthouse, kissing Blair like he is starving and she is food. He virtually growls into her mouth as his hands rake up her legs. Those scarlet stockings she’s wearing had driven him mad all afternoon through that infernal dance practice. He can barely keep his eyes off her shapely thighs in public as it is, and to have them paraded in front of him encased in crimson cotton when he couldn’t touch them because others were around had been a cruel torment. He knows she wore the tights to taunt him deliberately. He never should have confessed how much he enjoys stripping them off her.

Such a vixen.

God, he loves it. He loves her. He cannot get enough.

“You looked pretty hot on Princess Theodore’s arm today,” he murmurs between kisses.

“Oh, is that what I am to you? Just an accessory?” Blair inquires jokingly.

“Next to him? Yes,” Chuck smirks, and then rolls so that she is astride him, pressing on his growing arousal. “On me you’d be so much more.”

“Yes, but I can’t be on you, remember? ‘Cause you don’t want Nate to find out, and I don’t want anyone to. And you’d have to learn how to behave yourself first,” she whispers, mischief in her eyes, pulling him up for another kiss.

Then a ping sounds downstairs, alerting them to the arrival of the elevator. A second later Dorota calls, “Miss Blair! Mister Nate for you!”

Goddamn it!

Chuck collapses back onto the bed, irritated with the interruption. But Blair leans over him once more, nuzzling his neck. “I’ll get rid of him as quick as I can,” she promises before sliding away.

He lays there for a few seconds, debating. But curiosity wins out, and he walks to the door to eavesdrop on their conversation. Hearing Blair tell Nate that they need to move on fills Chuck with glee, but then Nathaniel pulls out his ace in the hole, reminding Blair of the heart pin she’d sewn in the sweater he is apparently wearing.

That mother fucker!

Blair had given Nate that pin the first time she told him she loved him, and using it now was a low blow, a dirty trick even by Chuck Bass standards. And of course, of course she agrees to go to the ball with him instead of Prince Theodore because of it. As friends, but regardless, Chuck is fuming.

That asshole!

When Blair returns upstairs shortly afterwards, he is still pissed. As soon as she steps into her room, he slams the door shut, pulling her roughly into his arms for a harsh kiss that leaves her weak in the knees.

“You’re going with Nathaniel?” he snarls against the skin of her neck, pushing her back onto the bed, pressing himself between her legs.

She arches into his hardness. “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend again,” she pants.

“Well we both know I’m not.”

“A boyfriend? No. Jealous? Yes.”

“And whose fault is that?” he retorts, cupping her through her shorts, finding the crotch damp.

“Mine,” she whimpers.

“Exactly, because you keep turning me down.” He takes his hand away, shoving her shirt up to reveal her brassiere.

“It’s more fun this way,” she gasps as his head lowers to suck one taunt nipple through the thin lace.

“For you, maybe.”

“Right, like you’d enjoy being a couple? Chuck and Blair going to the movies? Chuck and Blair holding hands? Oh God, don’t stop!” She shudders, his palm reaching under her waistbands to find her slick folds.

“We don’t have to do those things,” he points out, plunging a finger into her wet heat. “We can do the things we like.”

She cries out, bucking against his hand. “What we like is this!”

He continues thrusting inside her, smothering her moans against his lips until her sheath clenches around his probing digits. Then he withdraws his hand, undoing her shorts to whisk them off along with her tights and drenched underwear.

Her tongue ventures out to moisten her parched lips as he lowers his own pants, revealing his throbbing erection. He quickly unrolls a condom over his length before crawling over her.

Ready to sink into her warmth, he looks deeply into her eyes and stops unexpectedly. “Please say yes,” he begs, not sure himself entirely what he is asking her to say yes to. Wanting him? Choosing him? Loving him? All of the above? He isn’t sure, but understands that the answer is terribly important even if he doesn’t know the question.

She peers back at him playfully. “Chuck Bass, I… will never say that word to you.”

He pulls back from her entrance slightly, his jaw tightening. “Then you will never have me.”

She snorts, wrapping her legs around his waist, trying to impale herself upon him. “Please! I already have you, and we both know I’m your one and only,” she teases.

“Then why can’t I be yours?”

She breathes out exasperated. “Because Nate would freak,” she explains stretching up to recapture his lips.

He turns his face away. “So what? Agree to be mine and I’ll handle Nathaniel.”

She nibbles his neck, curving her hands over his shoulders, purring into his ear. “I’d rather you handle me right now.”

And without warning, he jerks away from her completely. “I’m tired of you acting like this is just sex,” he snaps.

Blair blinks at him like he has lost his mind. “What is it then?” she demands.

“You know exactly what it is!”

She groans, closing her eyes and leaning back upon the blankets. “You’re ruining the mood with all this talk.”

“And you’re ruining it with all these games,” he sneers, pulling his trousers back up.

Hearing the unmistakable sound of his zipper, she props herself on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

“Going home, unless you’re ready to raise the stakes,” he observes drily.

Her mouth drops in shock. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Admit what this is, or I’m leaving.”

“Is this about Nate? It’s a stupid dance, Chuck!” she cries angrily.

“Not to me it isn’t!” he shouts suddenly grabbing her shoulders. “Don’t you get it? I lo – ” He bites the word back. He can’t say it, won’t say it. Not while she still pretends she feels nothing for him. He drops her arms abruptly; fearful he will shake her in his frustration. “I can’t do this anymore. Not today,” he confesses, heading for the door.

As his hand closes over the knob, she climbs off the bed, wrapping her arms around him. “Chuck! Chuck don’t go,” she pleads.

He turns to look at her. “Why? Give me a reason.”

“Cause you don’t want to,” she responds as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

He shakes his head minutely. “Not good enough.”

“Cause I don’t want you to,” she sighs.

“That’s not enough,” he repeats, beseeching her with his eyes to be honest with him about this for once.

She only stares back as if confused. “What else is there?” she asks.

He smiles sadly, disentangling himself from her embrace. “The truth. When you figure that out, you know where to find me.”

“Chuck wait!” she exclaims clutching at him as he tries to leave once more, then he hugs her suddenly, kissing her, coaxing her lips apart, plundering the depths of her mouth with his tongue, cupping her face tenderly. He puts all of his emotions into this moment, telling her without words everything he feels as she softens against him and he propels them back towards the bed.

Then he breaks the kiss, leaving her breathless, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “You need to decide if all this is worth it,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “Or I’m done.”

With that he turns and walks rapidly away, not daring to look back at her, knowing he will cave if he does.

He caves anyway after three days. Three hellish days in which she doesn’t so much as speak to him although she is damn near unavoidable. She is everywhere, constantly wearing him down. Brushing against him at school. Giving him significant looks across the courtyard. Pinning her hair up, exposing the nape of her neck. Letting their fingers touch a second longer than necessary at dance rehearsals. Taking a long moment to bend over to adjust her shoe so he catches a glimpse of the lace garters she has on under her Constance uniform. She becomes a seductive minx, flaunting herself at him, intentionally tormenting him with her very proximity.

Bitch.

But he admires her for it, truly. And on the morning of the fourth day, he is standing in her foyer waiting while Dorota rushes to fetch her.

“Waving the white flag, are we?” she gloats as she descends the stairs.

“Not exactly,” he replies when she reaches the bottom, handing her the bouquet of lavender roses he had kept hidden behind his back. The florist told him they represent love at first sight, although he is guessing Blair does not know that as she raises the fragrant blooms to her face.

“Smells a little like desperation,” she smirks.

He looks down, shifting his weight self-consciously. “Blair, I came to apologize. I was jealous – ”

“Obviously!” she interjects.

He grits his teeth, squelching the impulse to snap something nasty back at her. He takes a deep breath and continues. “I was jealous, and I took it out on you. I never should have pressured you that way. I demanded too much, too fast, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. Is there any chance I can make it up to you today?”

“No,” she answers immediately.

“Fine!” he grinds out angrily, turning to go, pissed as hell.

“But only because I’m busy today,” she calls to his back. “I have to go give final approval on Nate’s tux, and then host a tea for my mother.”

Hope surges within his breast. “I’d love to give you a ride,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you would.”

“Not that kind of ride!” he scowls. Then, off her look, he amends, “Okay, not just that kind of ride. But seriously, let me take you where you’re going.”

She laughs. “I can walk. It’s only up the street.”

“Please Blair. Don’t torture me. I’m dying,” he begs melodramatically.

She purses her lips, considering, making him suffer a little longer. Then she exhales as if doing him a great kindness. “Okay.”

He meets her eyes in triumph, and finds that there is triumph in her chocolate orbs as well. And as she glides past him, he wonders briefly who exactly is pursuing whom in this relationship.

As they exit the elevator, he watches the swing of her hips as she struts in front of him, appreciating the delectable curve of her backside in those…

“Since when do you wear jeans?”

She tosses him a coy look. “You like?”

“They’re… okay,” he shrugs, totally lying, curious when she had gotten them and if he had been the impetus behind the purchase.

Smiling, she flips her hair back over her shoulders. “They’re more than okay, and quit staring at my ass.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grins.

Once they have both climbed into the limo, Blair speaks again. “So you weren’t really serious about that ultimatum then?”

Chuck narrows his eyes at her. “Not at all,” he answers guardedly.

She nods thoughtful. “And how you felt? Was that not real either?”

He glances away, unable to meet her eyes, unable to lie. “I… I… ”

“Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear.”

The next thing Chuck knows, she is kissing him passionately. “I missed you,” she acknowledges as she cradles his face, and he relaxes in relief before sliding her headband off to bury his fingers in her chestnut curls as they continue kissing. Somehow she ends up straddling him, rocking her pelvis against his hardening cock with whimpers of desire.

“Please, Chuck, please. I need you inside me,” she breathes as he caresses the column of her throat.

Without pausing, he twists so that she is pressed upright against the leather seats. Fondling one breast through her sweater, he uses his other hand to undo her jeans, sliding the denim down around her ankles. But instead of reaching for his own belt, he parts her thighs and lowers his head, tongue flicking out to taste her creamy wetness.

“Oh my God,” Blair sighs, head falling back as he licks again, slower, more deliberate, seeking that sensitive bud hidden within her cleft. And as he finds it, she arches up into his mouth, pressing his face deeper into her center.

“Chuck! Yes, yes!” she calls out after a short while, so enthusiastically that for a moment he stops to grin against her tender flesh before resuming his ministrations and inserting two fingers into her slit. He pumps into her, tongue still swirling, until her head thrashes wildly upon the seats. Her nails dig into his scalp, an exquisite pain he loves as she moans his name and around his fingers, she spasms, muscles contracting, flooding his hand with a rush of new warmth as he continues scissoring into her, lapping at her until the last tremor fades and she slumps against the seats satiated and boneless.

With a gentle kiss on the insides of her thighs, he slips away from her, sitting back on his heels. She smiles at him lazily, her arms hanging useless at her sides. “Chuck Bass you…” her voice trails off, her eyes drifting closed. “Come here,” she whispers finally.

He does, crawling over her to nuzzle her neck, breathing in her flowery perfume. She slowly turns her head towards him, seeking a kiss. As his lips meet hers, she moans unexpectedly, letting him know that the taste of herself on his tongue is an erotic treat she wickedly enjoys.

When he tries to draw himself back, she cups the back of his neck with subtle pressure, urging him to stay. Then she is clutching at him again, limbs regaining strength, reaching for his belt.

“Not enough time, princess,” he protests, pulling away, sliding her jeans back up her hips. “You’re already late.”

“Then we’d better be fast,” she counters, fingers dipping under his waistband.

He groans, but extracts her hands. “I don’t want a quickie,” he says. “So run along to Nathaniel’s fitting and hurry back so we can have makeup sex worthy of the title.”

She pouts slightly, but he can tell she is actually quite pleased as she gives him one last lingering kiss before exiting the limo, her cheeks flushed, her hair in disarray, her headband forgotten.

“Oh, and Blair?” he calls out through the lowering tinted window as she starts to turn away on the curb. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, or I might finish without you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Wouldn’t I?” he smirks, glancing deliberately downwards, drawing her focus to his hand already rubbing his straining erection through his pants. “Best get a move on, Waldorf. Clock’s ticking.”

“You bastard!” she squeals. Then with a glare that is more amused than angry, she dashes up the street.

As soon as she disappears from view, Chuck taps the partition. “Circle the block,” he instructs Arthur. “We’ll be picking her back up in a few.”

He waits a couple minutes, finally pulling his cell from his pocket and pressing the keys.

– R U With Him Rt Now? –

Satisfied with the message, he presses SEND, and almost immediately, his phone beeps in response.

– Yes. B Back Soon! –

He smiles, typing.

– Ok. Corner. Hurry. I Miss U –

Seconds later, her reply arrives again.

– Already? –

He decides to be completely honest.

– Always –

Laughing, he leans back against the leather upholstery. He doesn’t think he has ever been so happy in his entire life. He loves Blair Waldorf, and she is his in everything but name, and even that will be changed eventually, as soon as she admits to her feelings. Things could not be more perfect.

Moments later, the door to the limo opens and she is scrambling inside, breathless and radiant.

“You asshole!” she exclaims, swatting him as he pulls her forward. Still, she allows herself to be drawn into his lap, entwining her fingers in his hair as their lips meet in a searing kiss.

Next she undoes the buttons of his shirt, sliding the garment off his shoulders, as he reaches out to press the intercom. “Arthur, turn the heat up.”

“I can keep you warm,” she assures him as she explores the planes of his chest.

He grins at her, before pulling her sweater over her head. “And if you get cold?” he counters.

“Well then,” she teases, plucking his scarf from the discarded pile of clothes and draping it back around his neck, “Best keep this on. Don’t want you to get chilly.”

He snorts as she uses the tasseled ends to draw him forward for another kiss. When his hands reach for the snap on her jeans, however, she turns her face away.

“No,” she says, pushing him back upon the seats. “I want to return the favor.”

“You will be as soon as these are off,” he says trying to capture her lips again.

“Not that favor,” she clarifies. “This one.” And with those words, she slides down between his knees and begins unzipping his trousers.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Blair, you don’t have – ”

“I know, but I’m going to.”

She frees him from the constraints of his pants, and runs her fingers up his shaft experimentally before leaning down. Her breath grazes hot over the smooth skin of his cock, causing his stomach to flex in expectation. Then her mouth lowers over his length, and Chuck has to master a shudder as she begins sucking. She is going slowly, but soon he is breathing heavily. His hand brushes her tousled curls back so he can watch himself glide between her ruby lips. Sensing his gaze, she raises her eyes to meet him, and winks. It is all he can do to keep himself from losing it right then and there.

How is this happening? This is Blair Waldorf. On her knees. In his limo. Giving him head. Him. Chuck Bass. Even in his wildest fantasies, he has never imagined this. And oh sweet Jesus, it feels incredible. There is just something so wrong about her doing this to him, about her wanting to do this to him even, that makes it all the more arousing.

He throws back his head in abandon, fingers tightening reflexively in her hair, and she moans low in her throat, the vibrations traveling into his dick, pushing him to the edge.

“If you don’t want me to cum in your mouth, you need to stop!” he gasps, barely managing to hold back.

“You better not, Bass,” she admonishes as her tongue circles the swollen head of his cock. “You have more stamina than that.”

“Blair…” he groans through clench teeth as her lips descend again. “I am not kidding!”

“Okay, fine,” she says, sliding away from him. He closes his eyes, breathing raggedy, willing his pulse to slow, and ignoring that ache in his loins screaming for imminent release.

“What was it you said before Chuck? Don’t keep me waiting?” she whispers several long moments later, her voice a seductive dare.

He glances at her, and what he sees stops his heart. She is reclined on the seats opposite, her jeans and panties gone, naked thighs spread invitingly. Lazily, she runs a hand down her body, the fingers swirling around one erect nipple, skimming her belly, and delving into the triangle of curls between her legs with a sinful twist of lips.

For a second, all he can do is stare transfixed, the saliva drying in his mouth as he watches her pleasure herself. Then, he is searching like mad amongst the discarded clothes for his jacket and the foil packet he keeps hidden in the inner pocket.

Once he has it on, he positions himself between her legs and enters her liquid core in one short effortless stroke. She moans as their bodies join, and when he starts to withdraw she looks at him with unabashed lust, sees his eyes darkened to jet black pools, his lips unconsciously curled into the slightest of snarls, thinly held restraint radiating off him dangerously. His whole body is tense, his expression terribly raw.

“Fuck me, Bass,” she whispers, a command.

And with a harsh intake of breath, his control snaps. He thrusts into her so fiercely, the impact is jarring, their bodies slamming together again and again. He knows he cannot possibly last like this, but from her increasingly frantic cries, neither can she. And it feels so good to take her this way, burying himself repeatedly within her center. So unbelievably good, the world contracting, narrowing until the only thing left is this, just this.

Screams of pleasure beneath him. Nails raking down his back. Teeth in his shoulder. Sheath convulsing exquisitely. But he doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Can’t see. Can’t breathe. No thoughts. No worries. No hesitancy. Nothing but instinct. Need. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Close. Close. Harder. Faster.

And then with a shout wrenched from the depths of his soul, he explodes, climaxing so strongly all else ceases to be.

When he comes back to himself, he finds her still below him, eyes nearly closed, a languid smile on her lips. “Welcome back,” she murmurs amused before he kisses her, savoring the way she moulds herself to him, as if the smallest space between them is too much.

Eventually, they separate, pulling their clothes back on. He hisses slightly as the fabric of his shirt brushes against the scratches on his back.

Blair winces at his reaction, knowing she is responsible. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Chuck shakes her apology away. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

Still, she looks chagrined. “You bring out the worst in me.”

He groans with faux annoyance. “I believe ‘worst’ is a relative term,” he tells her as his mouth meets hers again. “I would call it your best.”

“You would, you monster,” she jokes against his lips, failing to catch the way his eyes snap open, fear flickering momentarily within their depths.

“Like you don’t enjoy it?” he says, pulling away suddenly, his voice strangely toneless. Her brow furrows slightly, sensing something is off, but then he leers at her and she shoves him playfully.

“Smug bastard,” she laughs.

He smirks weakly, pulling her down for one last kiss before she can notice. “See you tomorrow princess.”

“Tomorrow,” she repeats, beaming as she steps out of the limo onto the sidewalk in front of her building.

“And Blair? You should wear the necklace I gave you to the cotillion.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Knowing she will wear the necklace, Chuck returns to the Palace Hotel content, with only a mild sense of worry intruding occasionally in upon his thoughts.

“…you monster.”

He pushes the memory of her words away. She hadn’t meant it like that, he reminds himself. She doesn’t see him like that.

He walks through the main lobby, and spots Nate.

Shit.

Chuck tries to avoid the golden boy, but Nathaniel catches a glimpse of him before he can retreat. He is forced to talk to him, listening to Nate complain about Blair seeing someone else and requesting that Chuck find out who it is, a request he agrees to with supreme irony.

The next morning, Chuck arrives at the Waldorf residence, eager to share this new development with Blair, knowing it will amuse her as much as it does him. But he discovers her in talks with a reporter from the Times, telling him how wonderful her date Nate Archibald is.

And while Chuck has promised himself he will no longer be jealous of her attending the ball with Nathaniel, at this moment, hearing her say those things, he cannot repress his anger.

He strides up to the reporter, introducing himself, and decides to share some tidbits about the not-so-wonderful Nate Archibald.

“I’d just like to say how proud I am of Miss Waldorf and her commitment to Mister Archibald,” he begins. “Even though he ruined her seventeenth birthday and slept wi – ”

Blair stomps on his foot with her stiletto heels, effectively silencing him. “Thank you! That was great, right?” she beams at the reporter, clearly indicating the interview is over.

“Take care,” the reporter says, taking the hint and moving towards the elevator.

“Alright. Have a good one,” she calls after him. Once he has disappeared she turns livid eyes back to Chuck. “What was that?” she spits.

His temper rises to meet hers. “I should ask you the same question. Perfect gentleman? Perfect date? That broken record was a hit last year. Get with the times. He bores you,” Chuck sneers.

“You almost made a fool of me in front of the New York Times!” she snaps back. “Which proves my very point, you can’t be trusted. Nate is a gentleman. He would never cause a scene.”

“Never get your blood going either,” he leers.

“Speaking of going, that’s what you should do,” she orders, shoving him away. “Carter Baizen is on his way here right now.”

“What?” Chuck asks, incredulous. “What the hell are you doing with Carter Baizen?”

If that scum…

“He left his jacket here yesterday and I’d rather you be gone when he got here. There’s been enough scenes for today.”

She stalks away, leaving him standing in her foyer, seething with rage.

Nate a perfect gentleman who would never cause a scene? The guy who had fucked her best friend? Who had broken up with her and made out with some random blonde the next night, the eve of her birthday party, getting photos of the hookup splashed all over Gossip Girl before the breakup even went public? The same bastard who had almost gotten back together with her only because his family needed the business deal with her mother?

How the fuck does that make Nathaniel a better date than Chuck Bass? He has never done anything to hurt her so severely, so thoroughly, or so often. And yet he is the one who would cause a scene? Who can’t be trusted?

Fuck her!

She wants to overlook all the times Nate has been a total douche bag? Great. Just fine. See if Chuck gives a shit. But if she thinks for one moment that she is getting a perfect gentleman tonight, she is wrong. She doesn’t want her date to embarrass her? Too damn bad. He will make certain that her precious Nathaniel is anything besides gentlemanly, and someone who will definitely cause a scene! Then Chuck can sweep in, an actual perfect gentleman and rescue her from social embarrassment and all will be well. He will never have to be made to feel like he is less than Nate ever again.

And to arrange everything is so shockingly simple. She has given him the very method to do it. All he has to do is hide in his limo and wait to capture some pictures of Carter entering Blair’s building. Send the photos to Gossip Girl, and presto, Nate will think Blair is seeing Carter. A well placed comment to Nathaniel during the first dance at the cotillion should provoke the golden boy into attacking Carter, getting Nate thrown out, leaving Blair dateless until Chuck waltzes in, and then she is his. Mission accomplished.

And if Carter’s nose breaks in the process, so much the better.

It happens almost as planned too. Except Nate doesn’t hit Carter nearly hard enough in Chuck’s opinion, and then when Chuck takes Blair into his arms to dance, he is too pleased with himself. Too confident. She realizes what he has done. And she is not pleased. Not at all.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses as he begins gliding her across the floor. “You knew Carter was going to my house. You tipped off Gossip Girl. You ruined my cotillion on purpose.” She drops his arms, stepping away from him. “You did all this for your own enjoyment and didn’t care what it would do to me, which is exactly why you and I can never work!”

“Please, slow down there Waldorf,” he says, realizing that this perhaps was not the best plan to win her affections.

“You make me sick,” she spits, shoving him away when he tries to touch her again. “This thing between us? It’s over. For good.” With that she turns and starts to walk off the floor.

“Blair wait! I didn’t mean – ” he rushes to say, grabbing her hand.

She jerks away. “Don’t talk to me!”

“Blair!” he calls after her, and then she is running.

He follows her of course, but he does not run. And for the rest of his life, he will regret that.

When he finally catches up, climbing the marble staircase where she had fled, he feels like something inside him shatters.

There she is, at the top of the stairs, in Nathaniel’s arms, kissing the golden boy with fervor, her hands all over him. And Chuck is forced to watch his best friend wink slyly at him with a leer, as if to say ‘thanks for helping me win her back.’

He cannot breathe. He cannot see. He cannot stop.

With no recollection of how he got there, he finds himself back in his suite. He throws his luggage open onto the bed. He changes into the first articles of clothing his hands touch, and then he rips things indiscriminately from their hangers, tossing sweaters and slacks and shirts and scarves and shorts and socks, everything his fingers blindly come in contact with into the suitcases. It is a jumbled mess, and all of it will have to be steamed or ironed or pressed, but he doesn’t care.

He zips the bags, dragging them to the elevator and out to the street himself rather than ring for a bellboy. The limo is already there, waiting. Had he ordered it? Is this how he got home?

No matter.

“Where to Mister Bass?” Arthur asks, taking the luggage from him.

“The airport,” he replies, having no idea beyond that. He’ll decide later, when he gets there. For now, he just has to get away. Away from here. Away from her. Away from them.

Them.

Oh God.

He climbs in, his chauffer shutting the door behind him. The interior is quiet. So deathly quiet.

“Did you honestly think she would want a monster like you over Nathaniel, Chucky?”

A fleeting thought, whispered insidiously through his head. But this time the voice does not belong to Georgina. It’s his. Entirely his.

And there in the back of the limo, before he even realizes he is doing it, in that space that he had considered sacred since that first hesitant kiss with Blair the night before she turned seventeen, Chuck Bass starts to cry.