Title: Behind Closed Doors

Author: misaki


Disclaimer: All characters and settings are property of the CW, creators and producers. No copyright infringement intended.

Rating: MA / NC-17

Pairing: Blair/Chuck

Notes: This can be read in conjunction with 'Hurricanes' but also as a standalone. I ignored Blair's comment to Serena in 1.09 about sleeping with Chuck twice, because that's no fun ;). This is pretty fluffy, because they're always so fluffy when they're not fighting on the show.

Summary: One month of Blair and Chuck, before it all fell apart. Set between Seventeen Candles and Hi, Society.


With the sheets wrapped around her body and the space between her legs becoming a damp, dull ache, Blair had forced him to leave her birthday party, telling him she needed to be alone, feeling confused and tired because when he touched her, it was like she ceased to exist in the world. It was just Chuck's mouth, Chuck's skin, Chuck's voice filling her up and emptying her out so she was cool and clean like him. He'd forced her to look at him, searching her face, before turning away and pulling his clothes on, making that smooth, pale skin disappear beneath layers of soft Egyptian cotton.

Serena had knocked on the door a half hour later, asking if she was okay. She could still hear the party going strong outside, feeling a wave of nausea fill her stomach at the thought of all the people who were there for the sake of being there and silently wishing they would just go away.

Serena opened the door when she didn't respond and sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing Blair's back.

"Wanna get out of here?" she asked, smoothing her hair down. God. Smoothing her hair down because she'd just had sex with Chuck. Again. Being with him had numbed the pain for now and she couldn't feel anything at all when she thought about Nate. He had become grey and blank, replaced by an ostentatious scarf and a bowtie. Somehow she had still climaxed, had still managed to kiss Chuck with all of herself, when she didn't know she had anything left to give.

Blair nodded, sitting up, her Valentino dress black and huge around her waist. "I'm sorry."

Serena's perfect eyebrows knitted into a frown. "For what?"

Blair's hands raised, gesturing at the room. "…Everything. This party… really sucked." She suddenly laughed, sadly at first, then buried her face in her hands in mortification.

Serena laughed, pulling her hands from her face. "Yeah. It did kind of suck. But you didn't. And I kind of kicked ass." She squeezed her hand. "So you and I are going home, getting into our pjs, and we're gonna have some Blair cake," she said resolutely.

Blair smiled with reddened eyes. "Thanks, S."

Serena put an arm around her shoulders, head resting on hers. It was warm and comforting, making the numbness seep away a little, and she had to hold back tears.

Serena pulled her up onto her feet and straightened her clothes and hair. She looked at her with a soft, sympathetic smile. "I didn't notice it before, but I really like your necklace, B."

Blair touched the diamond heart, and smiled back sadly.


She sipped her champagne quietly, watching the guests mill around politely, loud raucous laughter coming from an older group mixed with the high tinkling laughter of the society ladies. The Winter Garden Party hosted by the Mountbattens, her mother's best client, meant that the word of the day was fur. She'd never seen so much fur in her life. A waiter stopped in front of her to refill her glass, and when he moved away, she suddenly found Chuck behind him, looking at her like she was a small rabbit and he the hungry wolf.

"What are you doing here?" Blair asked brusquely, straightening. They hadn't spoken since her party, two days earlier. He hadn't called, or texted, and her relief had been tempered slightly with resentment. Chuck was grey and fur-lined for the occasion, looking at her with hands casually buried in its pockets. She was surprised by the unobtrusive choice, before noticing his plaid trousers.

"I'm accompanying my date," he said, gesturing genially to Mrs Beauchamp, who stood with her back to them, tiny and oblivious, at eighty-two years of age.

Blair smirked a little, despite herself. "This could be regarded as stalking," she remarked.

He leered, standing very close to her now, and he smelled the same as he did on that bed at the party, as he did that night in the limo, and it made her insides tighten.

"Maybe. If you didn't enjoy having me so much."

Her friendly expression hardened and she turned away from him slightly with her chin straight, a classic Waldorf cold shoulder. "Please," she scoffed.

"And we'd been playing so nicely," Chuck tut-tutted at her response, "Especially on your birthday."

She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes. "Are you bored? Go pester someone else. And there is not going to be a repeat of that night, understood?"

He smiled without mirth. "Yeah, I believed you the first time." He put his mouth close to her ear, his breath tickling her skin and causing goosebumps to rise. "We both know you want it just as much as I do."

Blair shot him an irritated look, pushing him away. Suddenly he took her arm and pulled her into the house. She yelped at him to let her go until people began to look at them, and she closed her mouth with a blush, letting him drag her behind him through the lounge.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, still trying to pull her arm away. They were going up to the first floor.

"I want to show you something," he said, pulling her into what looked like a small library.

She exhaled, exasperated. "Chuck! I don't want to see your penis."

His lips twitched into a smile. Chuck had been somewhat worried that she'd be mopey and broken after Nate had made their break up public but she was still the Blair he loved to play with, this small spitfire in twelve hundred dollar Gucci stilettos.

"It's almost as good," he promised, pushing her into the room.

Blair gasped. In a tall glass case was a pink dress. She'd know it anywhere, having seen Breakfast at Tiffany's so many times she could recite every line.

"It's her dress!" she said in awe, staring at the diminutive cocktail dress, the beautiful silk dotted with rhinestone studs. For her eleventh birthday party she'd made her mother recreate it for her, making sure she got the bow just right with the exact shade of bright pink. She still had it at the back of her closet, small and protected by clear plastic. Her entire party had been Audrey-themed. Chuck had chosen Love in the Afternoon and seemed to have never changed out of costume since. Nate had shown up as Danny Ocean, feigning ignorance.

She spun around to look at him, her face shining with wonder. "How did…?"

"Heard a rumour Vivi Mountbatten is an even bigger fan than you."

She couldn't help herself and laughed aloud, remembering her 11 year old cigarette holder, Serena's giant plumaged hat, and their impromptu fashion show to Lady Marmalade, Dorota's favourite song at the time. Chuck had made fun of her loudly for flirting with Nate and pretending she loved heist movies, and she'd been furious, embarrassed, because it was true.

"Makes me kind of miss those days," she said softly, staring at the dress. She knew she didn't have to explain what she meant. She was slowly realising that Chuck always knew, had always known.

He tugged her toward him with his hand around her waist, gazing at her with an inscrutable expression, and Blair didn't push him away when he pressed his lips against hers, telling herself that it was okay to let go just one more time.


Chuck left small reminders of himself in her bedroom - a bowtie, a notebook, his cufflinks - slowly but surely insinuating himself into her life without his usual amount of precision. It was careless, and comfortable. Too comfortable, Blair thought, hiding them safely in her vanity. As she curled her hair into soft waves she thought of his hair, tousled and sticking up from her over-excited hands, the sight of him when he awoke from a nap and the slow, self-satisfied smile that spread over his lips whenever he saw her.

The day after the Mountbatten party he'd awoken in her bed, pulling her back against his body tightly and pressing languid kisses to her neck. He was already hard, had been for a long time as she was figuring out how to extract herself from her own bed without waking him.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice thick from sleep. It had been the first time he'd slept in days, and he wanted nothing more than to fall back into blessed unconsciousness, but having Blair in his arms and naked in his bed - or hers - was more than enough incentive to greet the day.

Blair had frozen when he'd moved, expecting him to say something obnoxious and Chuck-like, but at his warm touch she relaxed into the strong band of his arm, letting her eyes drift shut as he kissed her. She had been soft and pliant when he rolled her underneath him, kissed him fiercely when she felt him hard against her belly, and moaned when his fingers slipped between her legs to delve inside her core.

"Always so wet, kitten," he breathed into her ear, replacing his hand with the swollen tip of his cock. He'd already started calling her pet names, like they were playing a real couple.

"Shut up," she said without much force, because he was tracing her throat with his tongue as he moved inside her, creating deep spirals of pleasure through her veins, and when she came he had to clamp a hand over her mouth, chuckling quietly, so that they wouldn't alert Dorota.

She flipped them over and pushed him back into the pillows. "My turn," she said, lips gleaming.

Chuck didn't care how he'd gotten so lucky, because Blair was twisting her hips deliciously around him, raking her nails over his skin.

"Goodbye sweet sixteen," he grinned.


She'd told her mother she was at Serena's and they had ordered room service in his bed. He'd fed her strawberries just to watch her mouth devour the fruit, covered in pink juice.

"I want your limo," she said, sinking back into the pillows with contentment, stomach full and a hint of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. He kissed it off, smirking as he covered her breast with his hand, remembering how a few hours earlier she'd practically pounced on him as soon as the car door closed. Blair on her knees in her prim school uniform and white stockings, making quick work of his belt to get to her favourite part of him. The other day as soon as the lunch bell rang she'd slipped into the waiting limo before her cohorts could catch up and his hand was inside her blouse in a second - no bra, naughty girl - fingers sliding up her thigh and yanking down her lace g-string, worn just for him. Oh, she loved his limo.

"Of course you do." He traced a slow circle around her nipple, watching it harden. "I'm always waiting for you inside."

She turned to face him, slipping a warm leg between his, rubbing her foot along his calf. "Don't flatter yourself, Bass."

He gave her his Cheshire cat smile. "No, I have you to do it for me. You were pretty loud in the pantry today, I thought Eleanor was going to murder me."

"It would've saved me the effort," Blair replied sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him while her hands began to travel down his body.

Chuck caught her wrist before it reached its target, looking at her chidingly. "Play nice."

"I'm always nice," she grinned. "You know that."

He let go of her, capturing her lips instead and knocking empty bowls onto the floor.

Yeah, she was more than nice.


When Chuck opened the door to her bedroom, silently closing it behind him, she knew something was wrong. She sat at her vanity in a pale yellow slip, watching him through the mirror as she put her jewellery away. When he went to her window instead of kissing her, instead of putting his hands on her like he always did, she knew something was wrong.

Blair moved to stand next to him at the window, looking down at the city below, feeling something prickle in the air between them. When she turned to him, he was gazing at her, as if looking for something, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. Only she didn't know what puzzle he was playing with.

"I want you to tell me something," he said finally.

She frowned. "What?"

"Why you can't stop." He looked almost angry as he spoke.

She was about to ask what he was talking about, but at the tense, disquieted look on his face, she realised what he meant. Why he couldn't stop.

Butterfly wings beating against a glass jar, nowhere to go. He hated feeling weak, bound. The chase for more was ebbing away, and who was he without the chase?

"I can stop any time," she said coolly. Chuck looked unconvinced, and she had never been able to fool him, really, she never hid things very well.

He'd been at Victrola earlier that night, trying to feel something when the dancers curled up to his side, hands sliding over him as he kissed them. Somehow it all felt different; when he ran a hand up a long thigh all he felt were the criss-cross of fishnets and cool skin beneath his palm, the hair too short, too dark, the shoulder too lean. There had never been a difference between any of them before. They just were.

"You pretend you can but it's not true," he said, moving her in front of him so that they both faced the window. There was a cool breeze, making the curtains billow gently.

Blair felt Chuck's body against her back, warm and solid through his suit, his scent all around her. She had to stop herself from touching him. "I don't want to talk anymore."

He put his lips to her ear. "Because this is all nothing, right?"

She closed her eyes, caught in his voice. "That's right."

He was getting hard and she felt the heat rise between her legs in response, slowly radiating outwards to the tips of her fingers. Always ready for him, her body was a traitor.

Chuck kissed her shoulder, moving the strap aside with his teeth. She dug her nails into her palm, leaving half moon-shaped marks in her skin. He began to stroke her through her panties, building the heat, rubbing the soft material over her clit.

"And this?" he whispered, still pressing a slow line of kisses towards her neck.

She swallowed silently. "Nothing."

His other hand lifted her slip, caressing a feather light trail over her abdomen, making her shiver. Blair raised an arm to hold the back of his neck, feeling the tension there, the strength.

Chuck's fingers pushed her panties down until they slipped to the floor, then slid delicately over her folds, back and forth, barely sweeping over her clit. A rush of air left her lungs, and she concentrated on the fire in her nerves, his erection pressing against her back. She wanted to see it, feel it in her hand, inside her, she didn't care about not being able to stop because what did it matter, when they could have this?

"And now?" he said, slipping a finger inside her, making her twitch reflexively into his palm.

Blair sighed in pleasure. "Nothing."

He teased her until she was dripping, all soft and hot inside, until she could barely take it. She felt him unbuckle his belt, the sound of a zipper, and then the hard length of him rubbing against her centre. She moved her hips, increasing the friction, and his arm tightened around her waist, his breath becoming harder.

"What are you so afraid of?" she asked, turning her head so her lips were at his ear. She nibbled on it gently, a little teasingly. "That you'll like me? Little late for that."

Chuck held himself poised at her entrance, dipping in a centimetre. Sometimes she wondered how he managed to fit, it always seemed impossible at first.

"Smug little bitch," he said without malice, but when he thrust into her it was hard and fast, and Blair gasped at the sudden force.

"Like you said, it's nothing," she breathed, pulling his head towards hers for a punishing kiss. "Don't forget it."


They didn't speak to each other at school unless necessary, because they did not exist in daylight hours. When the sun went down and doors were closed, they reached for each other, and Blair was grateful for the stolen time.

Chuck liked to bring her small gifts, particularly flowers. Bright yellow orchids. White lilies. Orange tulips. She accepted them and had once shown her appreciation by letting him fuck her in the empty dressing room at Victrola, black feather boa draped around her neck, trademark scarf still around his.

Blair watched him stroll across the courtyard, sipping her sparkling mineral water and absently listening to Pene talk about the advantages of screwing much older men.

She watched as Chuck flirted with a blonde freshman who was standing way too close for her liking, a coy smile on her overly glossed lips as he no doubt suggested something extra-curricular they could do together.

"…and then she said my Dior was divine and that her agent knew some producers in LA that would love to speak to me. I always knew I was born for the silver screen." Penelope's expression grew annoyed and she tapped her fork. "Blair, you're not even listening."

Blair jerked her head towards her. "I'm listening," she snapped. She gathered her notebooks and stood. "I'll see you in English."

Before Penelope could voice her confusion she'd slipped her bag over her shoulder and was walking away from their table, her cell phone already out.

Limo. 10 mins. B

Eight minutes later the door was pushed open from the inside and she slid in, two blocks from school, and Chuck's lips were crushed against hers before she could speak, hands in her hair and dislodging her headband. She always told him not to mess up her hair but he never listened or cared, most likely just to spite her.

"I've been wanting to do that all morning," he purred, moving down her neck. God, her neck drove him crazy. She drove him crazy.

Blair had to clamp her mouth shut to stop herself from railing at him for flirting with that child, knowing she'd just sound stupid and jealous and it would only please him further and stroke his already inflated ego.

Then she pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him. "You did it on purpose. You knew I'd see you."

He looked pleased with himself, pressing light kisses on her lips as he spoke. "What can I say? I know how to… push your buttons," he said, fingering the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse, undoing them one by one to reveal her lacy plum-coloured bra. He recognised it as the one he'd bought for her that weekend, but by the time he had presented it to her he'd been too turned on to bother asking her to try it on. His eyes showed his approval. "Gorgeous."

Blair stared at him, conflicted. Part of her wanted to give in because it was infinitely easier and she would no doubt enjoy it, but the other part wanted to run away and leave all of his shrewd manipulations behind.

She slapped his hand away, closing her shirt. "I'm not in the mood."

Hand straying up her skirt, Chuck stroked the inside of her thigh, already used to her objections. It was all part of the game. She retreated, he chased. She pushed him away. Then she showed up at his suite wearing nothing but four inch heels and a Marc Jacobs coat, dark eyes and luscious mouth devouring him like she was starving.

He nibbled on the soft edge of her ear, knowing how sensitive it was to his touch. Her panties were damp. "Your mouth is saying one thing, but your body…" Her eyes fell shut, his low, languid voice never failing to arouse her completely. "…is saying something very different."

He watched her lips purse into that pout he adored, knowing he'd won this time.

"I despise you." Her hands curled around his blazer.

He grinned. "I love it when you talk dirty."

Blair yanked on his tie, looking him in the eye. "Kiss me," she ordered.

Chuck was only too happy to oblige. Blair never made it to English.


A/N: Thanks for reading so far. Feedback is lovely!