A/N: This is really similar to another one I did because its sort of based on the same scene (from Buffy, I know I have a problem.) But they're talking about something different this time and she also doesn't have a fiance, so the circumstances are a little changed. Just a forewarning, Chuck may seem a little "forceful" but Blair is willing at the same time so I excused it.
Summary: Bruises bloomed on his neck where she had sunk her teeth into it to gain leverage against the pounding pleasure while red streaked down his back, proving the passion he ignited in her.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Rights go to Gossip Girl and quotes go to Buffy.
I may be dirt, but you're the one who likes to roll in it, slayer. You've never had it so good as me. Never.
But it made you scream, didn't it?
She struggled. She always struggled. She struggled beneath him. She struggled with his hands. She struggled in the morning when she wanted him off of her. Or at least, she pretended she did. This, he was sure of. She struggled with the best of them, but she would never want him off of her. She pretended to be disgusted but he was in her. He was always in her. Pulsating and throbbing, he made her. He embedded himself beneath her skin. He seared himself into her blood and there was nothing she could do that could get rid of him now.
And it scared the hell out of her. She couldn't be so attuned to another person that they were the same. She just couldn't. So she let him love her body the way no one else knew how but in the morning, shirked away, because he could never voice it. He could show his love physically but the words just wouldn't come. She didn't want to hear it and he wouldn't be able to bear the rejection. That didn't mean he didn't feel it. That didn't mean they both didn't. They both felt it and they both knew it.
She had to run. He claimed her and she couldn't stay. She couldn't lose herself again. She wouldn't get fooled by him again. She refused to be weak. So she refused to be weakened by him.
She felt his teeth test the nape of her neck. His kryptonite. It wasn't fair. He had one thing that made him break while everything about him made her scream. He knew it, too.
She watched the light filter through the dark curtains and she knew she had to leave. If she didn't, she knew that she never would be able to. If she didn't leave now, nothing could make her. She pulled from his resistant arms, clutching his sheet to her chest, scouring his penthouse for her clothing. Knowing them, it would be in some obscure place like hanging from his liquor cabinet. She hoped she would at least be able to find her La Perlas this time.
She tried shifting and her joints screamed at her to stop. Even her body was manipulating her to stay with him. She looked and saw the marks slowly forming on her ribs and thighs where he had gripped her a little too harshly through his blind ecstasy. If she looked like this, she didn't even want to know what he looked like. She didn't even want to know what the orgasmic euphoria he inspired in her translated to on his own pale and piquant flesh.
He drew lazy circles across her spine with his talented fingertips. She cursed the raised bumps on her skin for giving her away at his languid laugh. He could always turn her inside out.
"No spooning?" Chuck asked in mock disappointment as Blair pulled the sheet around her as she searched the ground for her clothes. She cast him a look of disdain before she pulled it tighter around her body.
"Its not like its nothing I haven't seen before," he added, eying the curves that protruded through the translucent sheet appreciatively.
"Nothing you will ever see again," she said under her breath.
"Is that so?" he asked. "Then to whom will you go to pleasure you so endlessly?"
"Some one who's not a self absorbed pig?" she asked brightly. She glared at his floor the was obviously swallowing up all of the clothing that she seemed to be dropping lately. She kicked across the floor with her darkly painted toe nails the affronting piece of lingerie that she was embarrassed to say was hers.
From last week.
It wasn't the fact that maid service obviously hadn't been up here but that this wasn't the first time that an occurrence like this had happened.
"And you think you could convince yourself?"
This caused her to look up at him in confusion.
"That you could ever fill the void of me when I'm not around."
"And there you go with that egotism again."
Chuck just shrugged leaning back unrepentantly in his bed, tucking his arms underneath his head. She had to physically force herself not to stare at his chest. He knew her weakness as well as she knew his.
"Only what you give me."
She had officially given up. She found one Louboutin and nothing else. And she couldn't very well go on her infamous walk of shame with a lone heel.
She rose her eyes and he smirked. He liked it when he had her attention.
"The only reason I'm this way is because you make me this way," he said, his voice still contorted with deep throated sex. She just swallowed, never breaking his gaze.
"Its your fault, really," he sighed. "You shouldn't give me so much attention. Then I wouldn't crave it."
"I'm giving you nothing," she spat.
"Is that what you tell yourself when you lay motionless underneath those lucid boys?" he sneered with emphasism, leaning towards her across the bed. "That they could please and satisfy you as much as I can? As a man only like me does? You try to move with them in synchronization that only we have only to come out disappointed, leaving them high and dry."
"You don't know anything," she said clearly, shutting out memories that he could magically read.
"I know its true," he continued, "because I feel the exact same way. When I'm with the ones that I so desperately wish were you."
"Keep wishing," she said darkly.
"Oh, no," he said, leaning away again. "That's just done. You've lost."
She scowled at him. He hit her where he knew it would hurt her the most. They both hated to lose both the sadistic and masochistic game they played.
"You can't lose something you didn't want in the first place," she smoothly covered. She had the practice.
"The claw marks on my back beg to differ."
As Blair looked away from his gaze, she idly wondered how long he was waiting to use that one. She tried to shake away the images the bore down on her with painful force.
She hadn't meant to jump him like that (not that he was complaining.) But he was completely right. He just knew her and it infuriated her to no end. She didn't want to believe it, but they fit together as perfectly as they did on their first night. The pain was fleeting and all of a sudden she saw white. That was how it always was with them. He would cause her pain, hurt her purposely. But compared to what they were together, it was just worth it. It was was worth the slight pain when she could feel the ethereal transcendence that was Chuck Bass. And no one else could even compare.
She couldn't even look at his lithe body in the morning light. It bore the evidence of her teeth and nails. Bruises bloomed on his neck where she had sunk her teeth into it to gain leverage against the pounding pleasure while red streaked down his back, proving the passion he ignited in her. It wasn't fair. It never was with him.
"And it surprises you how this is the only context you see me in?"
She knew she hit her mark when his face fell. If there was one thing she was good at, it was hurting him like he hurt her. Over and over. Ironically, it just made the sex that much better each time.
"Do you like that I use you in this way?" she taunted, nearing him. "Do you like that I come to you just so you can fill me and then I can go back to someone I really love in the morning?"
Maybe nearing him when he was angry wasn't the best way.
His hand was suddenly around the throat that was in his reach and he threw her on his bed, beneath him. She was painfully aware of his utter lack of clothing and utter lack of remorse. Or even care.
"You love me," he forced down her throat. "You love me so much it kills you inside. It hurts. And I told you why its so obvious. We feel the same. We scream the same. We are the same. The sooner you get over your superiority complex, the better. This game is tiring and this is exactly where I want you."
Blair struggled against the hand around her neck that pinned her. He let her breath move easily out of her throat but she knew how much control was an aphrodisiac. Control and power over one another was what they wanted the most and she knew he was getting aroused (again) by the mere feel of it. By the mere feel of her.
"Don't treat me I'm any less than you," he whispered darkly, his mouth on her ear. He never yelled, never rose his voice. He didn't need to. He had her complete and undivided attention. "You're the one who comes to me. I don't even have to pursue you anymore. Not when I have the guarantee that you'll be at my door, ripping my shirt open. I don't even have to step out of my own house. You deliver yourself to me every night."
"You're disgusting," she struggled, feeling like crying. She hated when he voice such painful truths that all she could do was listen. The sick thing was, she was crying with euphoria. It was what he inspired in her, laced with pain. It was instinct that she had since she could remember. It was only him. It was always him.
"You think I know I don't deserve you?" he asked as though an afterthought. "I know how perfect you are. I know I die inside of you every night. But I'm not completely at fault and you know it."
She wanted to say that she didn't. She didn't know how he felt this way. She had done so much wrong to him and yet he revered him self totally to her. It didn't make sense.
He could have anyone and all he wanted was her. All he had was her.
"The fact of the matter is no one treats you like I do. No one loves you like I do. I'm your best. And you'll never get as good as me," he continued. "I may be undeserving," he gasped and she realized with dismayed excitement how he could take her right at that moment. "I may deserve to die in a pool of alcohol, so alone. But the fact is I'm not. You come to me every night. We're the same. We're the same because you come to me. I may dwell in debauchery and lechery, but you're the one who revels in it. Your toes are the ones that go numb after the haze clears."
"You're twisted," Blair said. She was struggling again. She was always struggling to no avail.
"Maybe," he said. He reached so low that she had to clench her eyes shut, trying to regulate her excited breathing. "But it makes you scream."
If anyone had known what she did at night, the prim and proper ice queen of the Upper East Side wouldn't be anymore. Her reputation was almost destroyed after her sordid affair with the devil was revealed. But it was how her sweat mingled with his and his bass and her soprano reached harmonic heights together that was completely screwed up.
She let him do things to her that no one did. He was the first and he would be the last, even if that meant living with an arranged marriage with a cold marriage bed. It was the only way.
She couldn't ignore how true every word that slid so naturally from his mouth was. He was waiting for her. He knew when she would come for him. His stomach would do that thing where he thought he was sick. He still hadn't gotten used to it.
It was the mixture of her perfume and unadulterated sex that permeated his room. He had troubles reigning himself in, controlling himself. He didn't go to those society events unless he was the one being honored. Unless it was family. Watching her there would be unnecessary torture. He wouldn't take the cool glances that were misleading. He wouldn't be able to stomach it.
Waiting for her was easier because there was no false paths or journeys. He heard her heels and he broke the barrier with his need.
He hurt her to love her. She needed to go shopping every week from the endless outfits he tore to shreds. She retaliated in full, but there was no doubt why trips to Bendel's and Bergdorf's had multiplied.
He couldn't count the numbers of furniture they had broken and his precious scotch decanters they had smashed. He wrapped her long hair around his fist and made her flesh sing with color. She would never let any other man make her the way he did. She never did the things she did with him with anyone else. No man touched her with as much wrath and love as he did. There was no comparison.
It was the only time she would let herself go. She could only be herself in his presence and she did so with no remorse. He made her a sociopath and she just didn't care.
"I twist you into knots," he said into the darkness. She felt herself spasm and she was suddenly set aflame, burning and twisting and being consumed.
She remembered the things they had done the night before. She remembered the terribly eredescent things that made her climb to heights she never imagined, but that she would never admit to anyone else. It was sick. She was sick. He made her feel dirty and loved at the same time. She would literally bend over backwards for him. Bruises formed in places where he slammed her up against the wall. Screams ripped from her throat in ways that only he could inspire.
Because of the things he did to her. The things that were so horrible, they were beautiful.
She opened her mouth and let her scream pierce the air. He muffled her sound with his mouth and she lasted the sweet flesh that soothed every anxiety and pain in her body.
Sweat was already pouring down her body in the morning light and he remained victorious as he always did. He always made her stay longer, prove to her just how damn right they were. And it broke her heart more and more.
She had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop the smug claim hit the air.
"It makes you scream."
She heard it anyway.