A/N: Hey guys! I really wanted to get another chapter of TBD out but I haven't had a bunch of time so I just wanted to do something Chuck/Blair in the meantime. It's obviously a little more sensual than my other fics so far so just a warning ;) I have this planned as a two shot but if you like it I could easily turn it into a multi-chaptered fic so review… review … review! You know how I love them (:
The ceremony is quiet, although the actions are loud and brash in every small and significant way. It's an affair filled with costume jewellery and intention. For the first time in his life, he knows that he isn't making a mistake, he's the cause of the silly grin that stretches across her ruby lips, rising into the browns of her eyes, and he wishes for nothing more than a million of the same nights spent in exactly the same way. He falters only momentarily, marvelling at the pace of his own devotion, and with one deep breath and a thousand promises ... Chuck Bass says 'I do.'
And nothing but adoration swells in his throat.
They leave the chapel as they came, only now they are much more than they were.
Chuck always imagined weddings to be lavish unnecessary affairs, the work of money spent and imagination and perhaps for a moment he frets, as they dance down the street, that he has unknowingly taken something from Blair, the first in a string of disappointments she surely expects, but then he catches her eye, holds her petite frame in his arms, and the doubts fall away. Disintegrating.
"I love you," She whispers into his sweater and his heart hammers against his chest.
"I love you more," He teases, pressing his dry lips to her forehead. She jabs him in the stomach playfully and breaks into a run. It's unexpected and Chuck finds himself panicking as she moves further and further away, was this a mistake? But then, before he knows it, he's running after her, laughing with abandon.
At night, after making love as husband and wife, the new titles that bulk up and lay on their nightstand, Blair rests her head on his chest. She's tracing circles on his shoulder blade, hot breath against his skin, "Do you think they'll be mad?"
He props himself on his elbows and sighs, long and ragged. It's an intricate question with so many layers and the force of it crashes against him, wondering. Silence fills their hotel room and he knows he must say something reassuring before her brow wrinkles and she worries, if she hasn't already, because he doesn't want their first night of marriage to be laden with the nagging question of their parents, their friends, the city of New York.
"I think," He begins, falling back onto the pillow, "that they'll definitely be surprised."
"Dorota's going to have a fit," Blair counters in all seriousness. "It will be all, you're too young this and I can't believe you that." She groans and uncurls her body, eyes falling on her husbands frame as she nestles further into the mattress. He strokes her cheek and nothing more is said on the subject. In fact, the night passes much as the day before it had, in a blur of limbs and kisses beneath the Parisian skyline.
Every movement alive with implication.
Two years ago he couldn't have imagined himself here, clutching Blair's hips as she rides him towards pleasure, but he suddenly can't wish to know anything but the curves of her milky body as she climaxes with a whimper and her wedding band glitters in the darkness. Because he is more hers than she could ever begin to know.
Even at eighteen, as she rolls off of him and under the covers, their hands clasping one another, he is certain with every bone in his body, that he will never want another woman.