Against the Dying of the Light

Spoilers: 2.13 and vague spoilers on another event this season.

Summary: He came to her bedroom for comfort, because he knew if there was one place where he would not question the love, it was within her embrace.

Pairing: Chuck/Blair

Rating: Between T and M. Placing it in T right now, but can you let me know if it seems like I should move it?

AN: This was going to be a one parter, and would have ended exactly where this part does. But Bangkok was such a diverse and thrumming and busy and raw city, and I know I can work a short multichapter with Bangkok as one of the characters. Will you let me take you there? As always with my first parts, this is a test chapter to help me determine viability.


It was exhaustion to near insanity.

Chuck Bass grieved the way Chuck Bass, in theory, would love. It was the one that went over and over in her mind like a chant as she held him, and he clutched painfully at her arm. When he slept beside her, she watched him breathing, counted how many times his body rose and fall. In his sleep, he rested, and she hoped his heart healed from the loss of the one man he allowed to rule many of his decisions over his whole life.

One day, she was sure, she would marry him.

With Nate, with Marcus, she had hoped and planned for a future, made sure that the cards would fall in the right place and she could build a life for her in their worlds. From being a long-suffering, amenable girlfriend to a boy who never really seemed to love her enough, to being a sophisticated lady in the making to a man who seemed perfect in every perceptible way.

With Chuck, it had been effortless. She could run and he would chase her. And when he ran, she found herself chasing.

One day, she would marry this boy.

One day he would no longer be destroyed the way he was now, and they would come together. No trying, no crying, they would fall into place like the king and queen in a deck of cards.

The certainty allowed her to sleep.

Someday she would marry Chuck Bass, and that was the oddest certainty she ever had in her life.

Yale, grad school, a business, Chuck Bass. Someday it would be the two of them and they would travel the world. They could not walk into a movie house holding hands, but maybe one day they could stroll down Champs-Élysées with his arm around her waist. It would be closer to his style, and it was so natural to imagine.

She found herself placing a kiss at the back of his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered as he slept. Once the first time was over, it had been so easy to repeat it over and over, but she held the statement close. Blair pressed her cheek against his back and sighed, allowing her body to sink into the pillows.

"I can't," came his soft, unexpected voice. She had not thought he was awake. The words sent a shiver down her back. He turned to his back, and she sat up to look down at his ravaged face. He reached for her, and she sighed when he wrapped her in his embrace. She laid her hand on his chest and kissed the bare skin above his heart. "I love you," she said again.

Tonight, she was brave. According to Nate, she was maternal. According to Cyrus, she was patient.

To her, she was honest.

"Chuck and Blair," he said faintly. He reached for her cheek, and drew her down for a kiss. "Blair and Chuck."

Blair smiled upon hearing it. As much emotional stress he had suffered that night, Blair too was spent with the demand of staying, of being, of all that she had tried to be just to keep him from folding. The moment her head rested against his chest, she was asleep.

The sleep was not nearly sufficient enough when she felt herself wake. Blair's heart jumped to her throat when she felt a weight rest heavily on top of her. Her eyes opened and she saw him, his hair in disarray, his eyes dark and just a little bit mad, looming over her. He was positioned above her, between her legs as his arms hooked at the backs of her knees, spreading her open. She held her breath as his demanding lips pressed fervent short kisses, almost violent ones, on her chin. He pressed up against her, and she felt him push her panties to the side.

"Chuck?" she whispered. Without warning, he thrust inside. Blair swallowed deeply and willed the tears that rose to her eyes to disappear. He was not going to see them, not now. She waited for her body to adjust to the intrusion. She was still dry and he lunged firmly instead. Blair cried out at the small pain, but held onto him, tightened her thighs around his hips as he pumped into her. There was no steady motion, and she could not even predict his next push inside her. It was erratic, completely devoid of the finesse that he had already shown her he had. Blair blinked back the tears and cursed herself for crying so easily. His face buried in the crook of her neck as she bit into the skin of her shoulder.

"One more time," he begged, and he surged inside her. Blair gasped. "Please, Blair. One more time."

"What, Chuck?" Whatever he wanted, she would do. Whatever he asked for, she would give. Each motion hurt, and it created such exquisite pain that she pushed his head off her shoulder and raised it to meet his eyes. "Tell me."

Chuck's movements grew faster and faster, as her thighs started to scream. "Tell me. Again."

"I—love—you," she uttered, with each jarring thrust.

Deeper, he thrust. Sweat rolled down his forehead, down the side of his face, then dripped onto the hollow of her throat.

"Chuck," she pleaded, so close, her body hurting for release.

"Again," he demanded, stopping halfway inside her channel.

Blair arched up. It hurt and she savored it so so much.

"I love you," she said in a rush. Above her, he stiffened, and his head fell against her forehead as he sucked in his breath and poured himself inside her. His fluid filled her, and he pumped once more, twice, thrice, as he expended himself. Her eyes shut tightly and she could not help the tears dripping from the corners of his eyes. He raised himself from her body. Blair lay empty, and her legs were slightly open still when he collapsed beside her in the bed.

He slept, and she wondered if tomorrow he would remember. Her underwear back in place, and the skirt of her dress pushed back over her thighs, it almost seemed like nothing happened. She placed a kiss on his sweaty forehead and returned to her place pressed behind him, the only evidence of the extreme need he sought her to fill was the harsh breathing, and the throbbing pain between her legs.

Blair's eyes fluttered shut.

In the morning, she would find the letter that fantastically failed in its attempt to explain his absence. The sheet of paper flew down to the bed, and she ran to the bathroom. She sniffled as she took off her clothes and washed herself of him.

He was gone, and he did not want her to come looking.

Once, she thought she would marry that boy, and it would have been effortless. Blair reached for a bathrobe and covered herself, then padded barefoot back into her bed.

Someday he would come back.


Anything if he would come back.