Title: Cocoon

Author: Isabelle

Rating: PG-15

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I wish I did. That would be grand. 

Summary: He didn't sign up for these midnight conversations and she knows it but he's not sure if she's seriously serious or just playfully serious because she can become quite the stranger in bed. Chuck/Blair

Special thanks to Beth who beta'd this for me!


"What are you thinking about?" she asks him and he frowns. He didn't sign up for these midnight conversations and she knows it, but he's not sure if she's seriously serious or just playfully serious because she can become quite the stranger in bed.

And now she's running the soft pads of her fingers over the hair on his forearm and it makes him want to twitch. To twitch away from her because it's too intimate. It's too close.


He can pretend to be asleep. Snore a bit. Her back is on his chest, he could pull it off if she wasn't as smart as she was. Plus her pert ass nestled firmly on his crotch doesn't help.

It's not like he's ready to go another round – it's been three hours non-stop. A man can only do so much, you know?

She's insatiable. He would compare it to jack-rabbit sex but the fact is that they're quite coordinated. He's had sex with other women since her and it just feels all wrong and that bothered him for quite sometime… until she let him back in. And now he feels the only way he'll be with anyone else is if he's high, drunk or heartbroken. Which are conditions she can easily drive him to.

And now she's turning in his arms because he's been quiet long enough. He wishes it were pitch black and he could close his eyes. But she's a candle lover and there's still a soft glow around her room.

He fears one day they'll fall asleep of exhaustion and they'll die, burned together to a crisp. It'd be quite fitting. Passionate lovers they are.

And she's starring at him now, running her small little hands over his matted hair, massaging his scalp. He's not going to lie, it feels wonderful. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the warmth of her stomach on his. It's perfectly delightful.

"What's going on inside your head?" she's asking in a bare whisper and he closes his eyes because her little head massage is lulling him to sleep. He feels butterfly kisses on his cheeks and temple as she displays unusual signs of affection.

It's a rarity between the two of them; they're usually careful or at a distance – afraid they'll mess each other up further than they already are. So when she goes into these moods he basks in them. He's never really had anyone give him butterfly kisses and they feel like sweet honey against his skin. Because she can be sweet when she wants to be.

He returns the sentiment by drawing lovely circles on her back by her waist – feeling her silken skin. Just to think that she's allowed him to touch her more than any other man in her life makes him tighten his hold on her waist, pulling her even closer. She's his.

She likes his possessiveness. She drowns in it. Because she longs for attention the same as him. They are the same, them two. She's his better half, of course. While he drinks, gets high and parties to escape and cope she likes to do other (and just as self-destructive) things to herself.

They seldom talk about it. About her little secret. About his need for alcohol.

But they know it. It's as real as the circles he's making out on her skin.

"Won't you tell me?" her voice is soft and beckoning. She wishes sometimes he would tell her everything. More than she'd ever need to know. Like a normal guy would. But she would be bored. Like she's been in the past. That's why they keep finding one another. Because they are unlike anything else out there.

He kisses her shoulder softly as a response because he doesn't feel like talking. He feels like holding her close. They've been apart all week and now it's time to reassure each other that they are still as one. He rests his chin on her thin shoulder and he feels her sigh against him, one hand still on his hair, the other caresses his back.

"I love you, you know." She tells him and he can no longer control the happiness that quivers through him when it happens. Because he's never really felt such love. It's magical. Like he was born for his.

His response is squeezing her softly and rubbing the sole of his foot over her smooth calf. He feels her toes wiggle in appreciation. She runs her hand over his arm and pulling his hand to her until their fingers are intertwined. He likes it. Likes her holding him. He doesn't know what was so scary about it before.

He can hear her thoughts.

Chuck and Blair, holding hands.

So he decides to take a risk. He's always prided himself on being a risk taker. When people flocked to Tommy Hilfiger he rebelled and insisted on wearing vintage Dior. This was a risk.

"I think I may grow a beard." He admits.

She pulls back and stares at him. Her eyes are wide and amused – slightly disturbed. He can read her like his Literature book.

"W-what?" she's aghast and he likes confusing her. She's lovelier when confused.

He smirks.

"What's wrong? Not fond of a bit of facial hair?" he asks her.

"Listen. I have to handle your hair all over the place. Keep it off the face." She snaps and his smirks widens because he likes bothering her.

"How about I keep the beard and shave my balls?"

She's pensive for a minute. Like she's actually considering it. He'd never shave his balls. Ever.

"No." she finally concludes. "I like you the way you are."

He tries to prevent that silly grin that comes out when she's in bed with him, all naked and warm. He really does try. He fails miserably.

Chuck Bass doesn't fail at things but Blair Waldorf vetoes that statement.

She smiled indulgently back at him and leans forward to kiss him. In moments like this their kisses are gentle and loving – reflecting the opposite of what their loud moans and desperate hands performed mere minutes before. They are compressed into one another. Skin to skin, hair to hair, heartbeat to heartbeat.

"I was thinking that I love you, that's all." He finally says and he feels her smile against his ear, the same ear that she nuzzles her nose to.

"Chuck Bass is a big teddy bear," she taunts softly, nipping at his ear. He doesn't like where she's going with this and he tries to pull away but her agile little legs wrap themselves tightly around his waist and she holds him in place.

He sighs, resigned.

"No." she protests and he gives in, relaxing once more against her. Now her finger is tracing his eyebrows and she looks like its taking everything in her to concentrate on this. She's feeling sleepy and he can't blame her. After three hours he's about to pass out himself. But it's a good way to go, that's for sure.

He presses his mouth to her collarbone, he likes resting there. "Go to sleep." He urges her.

"No." she claims sleepily.

"Why not?" he asks, enjoying the feel of her skin under his fingers.

"Because you'll be gone in the morning." She states.

"I don't particularly like it when Dorota finds me and preaches about safe sex. It's weird." He states and she finds it funny, laughing against him. "Don't laugh, this is serious."

She laughs more and he can't help but smile because no one knows this about them. They amuse each other. It's their little secret. The smiles, the touching, it's all special, hidden and theirs – just theirs. No one would ever understand how two harsh people can love each other so much. It's their little cocoon.

"She says it because she likes you, otherwise she wouldn't care," she tells him and this makes him feel better. Eleanor doesn't particularly like him and Dorota is like ten times better in Blair's eyes. So yeah. He can deal with being the favorite.

He supposes he could stay until she scolds them.

"I suppose I can stay," he says and she's content. He can tell by the way she pushes his hair back and smiles at him.

"Ok." She whispers and kisses him. Slow and sensuous and her inner light is slowly turning off. She's as tired as only Chuck Bass can leave her.

"What are you thinking of?" he asks her back as her lids slowly droop.

She smiles, slightly, her hair is splayed out around her and he thinks to remind her that he likes how she went back to her natural chestnut brown color. It suits his dark queen.

"I'm thinking… about how you're holding my hand." She whispers and she's a goner.

He looks down and sure enough their fingers are once more married together.

He certainly didn't sign up for these midnight conversations but he'd gladly live through them just to have her like this. Just for him – for no one else. Yeah. He could get used to this.

"Go to sleep, Bass."

Minx, he thinks as he rests his head against her bare chest. Her heartbeat always lulls him to sleep.


The end.

Just a happy note of a scene between CB once they're together and mushy, you know?