Carnal Apple, Woman Incarnate
Characters: Jack, Blair, Chuck
Summary: Post 2.14. They would all burn for their unhealthy obsessions.
AN: We have had a long and storied affair, my friends. Here's to hoping you give me a chance with this one. This will be short, as again I do not like my multichaps spilling over to the next episode. A little bit crazy and purely assumption that I don't even fully believe in, but I couldn't help it.
She was so far gone, and so was he.
But she was eighteen and had every right to lose herself the way she so apparently did.
"Whatever you want to do to yourself," she had pleaded. "Don't do this to me."
She had thrown it to the harsh wind on the rooftop, and he watched the crack in his nephew's façade. Chuck looked down at the girl who was bundled in the shapeless gray coat, then reached for her hand. The boy wavered at his feet. The ledge threatened to fall away from under the soles of his shoes. The girl caught her breath, reaching up further.
They would destroy each other.
For a split second he wanted to stride in and pull her away, just so she did not have to witness the fall, just so she would not see Chuck's head bashed in, the gray matter splattered on the cement below.
Chuck reached for her outstretched hand. The moment his feet touched the ground Chuck collapsed into her arms like a broken doll, his face buried in the crook of her neck, into the thick gray wool, lost for a long moment like he himself wanted to be lost.
"Please," he heard the telltale whisper.
Fuck, the plea, the longing, would destroy him if he let it. Self-destruction. This was what this was. He knew her the moment she turned around on that bar stool when she went to him.
And then it was Chuck, muffled, unrecognizable. "I'm sorry," the boy said.
When he first met her he supposed she had an unrequited obsession, and it was a fair game all in all.
In any court of law, he would always have that defense. She had gone to him, not the other way around. He grasped the knowledge close to his chest, under his hand, ready to put the fact in play.
Her voice, soft like it was the night he saw her, when she pleaded with him with broken eyes and urgent hands clutching at his coat. "It's okay."
Leave it to Jack Bass to form an unhealthy obsession in his head. Green fingers curled around his throat.
The sight seared through his brain like nights on a blue concoction he tried once in Eastern Europe. He'd almost burned off his retinas the moment he looked up at the sun.
She was a disaster waiting to happen. Chuck, in his state, would eat her alive.
He was a disaster that had already started destroying himself. If he stayed around, waited to a moment to take from Chuck—any and all he could—she would eat him alive. It was in the way she looked at him, helpless and determined, when she mistakenly sought his help in bringing Chuck back. It was the way her eyes never seemed to look up at him even at her height. Always she had a way of making him feel inferior. When he saw the flicker of disgust in her eyes, he felt the low stirring in his belly that threaded to his groin.
It was the fucking way she blinked back tears when he told her—the very moment the lights of New York City exploded in a thousand shapes and colors outside the glass windows—where the boy was, what he was doing, who he was doing it with. And she had responded with a relieved, "At least he's alive."
"Buried in a cocktail of methamphetamine and coke and more women than you can possibly count in your fingers, Miss Waldorf," he told her clear as day. He had regarded her, from the perfectly coiffed hair to the polished twelve hundred dollar shoes. "What could you possibly want with him?"
She had glared at him like the very action would send him burning straight to hell.
And it sent him burning.
He moved forward, pressed himself against her hip. On the barstool that she sat, there was no mistaking the pressure on her upper thigh. She stiffened, pulled away. He reached for the glass of scotch that sat on the bar and threw it back in one gulp.
"Just help me find him," she said, cold, authoritative, unlike any of soft, yielding, gorgeous bitches that were so eager to grind themselves on him. Despite the cool exterior he supposed, if he buried himself inside her, she would be so searing hot he could fall off and he would rend his throat in pain and pleasure threaded into one.
Chuck, apparently, like Jack's brother himself, the achiever Bart Bass himself, had their top pick of bitches in the city.
He had been so far gone with the girl who seemed obsessed with his nephew that he carted off the boy from his addled state in Bangkok to an addled state in New York.
"Satisfied?" he murmured into her ear as she helped Chuck stagger into the hotel.
"You couldn't even sober him up. That was a long flight." She looked at him scathingly, and he could tell she remembered the way he ground into her, fully clothed, against the bathroom sink.
"I'll get him for you," he told her. "But nothing's free. You have to know that." His hot gaze focused on the white gold clinging around her wrist. If his tongue could be the charms hanging off that chain, he would lick his way to her veins.
She had fed on cheesecake and champagne in a mock celebratory blowout, then stumbled towards the bathroom. And he had had just enough of the Bass men's favorite brew that he followed her in concern, and saw the distasteful sight of the pretty girl throwing up the mush contents of her stomach. His lips curled in disgust.
"Wash your mouth."
She did, then looked up at her reflection in the mirror, let out a sob. She turned to him, "Bring him back."
Her words were slurred, just a little, and even if she was obsessed with his nephew, he had a little compassion left. He reached his hand for hers. He waited, but she would not put her hand in his. Chuck did leave her high and dry, did he not? He wondered how many of them he would meet in Manhattan.
He walked forward, a little unsteady on his feet. She leaned back against the tile wall and closed her eyes.
"You've got to move on. He's a problematic little boy," he advised her. Really, it was an honest advice. That much he had cared.
And it sent her reeling. She pushed at his shoulder and leaned over the sink. This time when she heaved it was dry. Her stomach emptied, alcohol running through her system, he caught her under her elbows when she almost fell.
He pressed against her hip, ground himself against her. Her bleary eyes opened wide and met his on the mirror. "Stop."
"It's alright," he slurred. "Just one minute." He pushed against her, rubbed against the material of her dress. She bent over the sink and threw up.
It was the fastest he had ever come, the most humiliated he had become in all his adult life.
She was a fucking disaster when she pulled away from him. "You're disgusting," she choked under her breath.
She wasn't just going to kill Chuck. She would kill him too. And he was Jack Bass, not that she cared.
Jack watched from under hooded eyes when she pulled his nephew to the steps and assisted on the way down. Chuck's arm wrapped tightly around her waist in an effort to keep the two of them from stumbling down.
"Blair," he said, needing to see her look at him, wanting to know what she wanted. She got Chuck like she asked.
She barely spent him a glance. Instead, she reached up and brushed Chuck's hair off his forehead, and wrapped an arm around his nephew's shoulders as Chuck leaned against her when they entered the elevator. "Not now, Jack. Chuck needs to rest."
He settled in the corner of the elevator, watched the interaction darkly. Slowly, he drew out his cigarette case from his pocket and snapped it open. He picked out one stick and held it between his fingers.
"Stop smoking in front of us. Do it when you're alone," she stated, cold, authoritative, the way she sounded on New Year.
Jack's nostrils flared as he quietly reached for the case and put the stick back inside.
"Of course," he drawled. "Anything for you."
And he was pleased by the shiver that passed through her body. That, at least, he could do.
AN: I do want to know the viability of this fic as well. You know the drill with my first parts :-)