AN: I'm re-arranging and screwing with a few plotlines for my own crazily fluffy, storyline to work (during the Spring 2008 section). Teasers will be sent to all that review. Thanks, as always, to my fantabulous beta, bethaboo.
Blair Waldorf doesn't do morning afters. Serena can have her messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed hairdo, but Blair Waldorf's hair is always perfection.
Trust Chuck Bass to change that.
The sound of vomiting wasn't unfamiliar to Blair Waldorf's ears. Whether it was her, by her own choosing, or Serena after a night consisting of shots, dancing on tables, and ultimately, calling her friends for help getting home, she could easily pick out the sound of vomiting.
The latter situation was now apparent as Blair lifted her head sleepily, briefly wondering if her presence was needed at Serena's side. Holding back the blonde's hair and rubbing her back gently were two roles she had assumed since Serena had first discovered the joys of a fake id.
This time was different, however, as Blair's own head was pounding, and the stale taste of raspberry vodka was present at the back of her throat.
It was only after attempting to sit up did Blair realize that her hangover was worse than she had originally expected.
Groaning, she flopped back onto her pillow, but instead of the soft, down-filled pillow she fell onto something, or rather, someone, else.
It was only when she heard the rather masculine sound of protest, did she sit up once more.
"Bass?" she said in disbelief.
"Waldorf," he returned begrudgingly, massaging his shoulder. "While I do welcome any girl who throws themselves at me, it's eight in the morning."
"What are you doing here?" Blair hissed, desperately trying to recall the events of the previous night.
"You and Serena called me from the club," Chuck grumbled.
"We called you?" Blair asked with distrust. "More like you probably followed us there."
"Contrary to popular opinion, I do have better things to do than follow you and your trainwreck of a best friend around. I had that redhead from room service in my bed when you—"
"I don't need to hear the rest of that sentence, thanks." Blair said scornfully, glaring at Chuck. "And why would I call you, of all people?"
"You mentioned something about Nate being busy?" Chuck asked with a shrug, and Blair's heart dropped slightly, remembering her and Nate's previous conversation.
"Right," Blair mumbled. "Well, I better go check on S."
"Waldorf," Chuck said, eyeing her cautiously. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Blair replied, mustering up her best smile under current circumstances and attempting to hop off her bed.
Which was, apparently, not the best idea as she found herself lying on her bed, icepack to her head, arguing with Chuck twenty minutes later.
"Yes, a walk."
"That's like…" Chuck frowned for a second. "Five blocks away."
"So, you just fell over trying to get out of bed."
"I'm better now," Blair argued. "Besides, Nate just asked me to meet him."
Chuck raised an eyebrow, and Blair flopped back amongst her pillows.
"Fine, don't. When I trip onto the street and get run over by a cab, I'll have you to blame."
Chuck sighed, running his hand through his unruly hair. "Why don't you ask Serena?"
"She's probably passed out in the bathroom," Blair said with a wave of her hand. "She'll come to in an hour or so."
"And you're going to leave her there?"
"I've done this before, Bass." Blair reminded him, eyes steely. "S will sleep it off and be as annoyingly chipper as always in a few hours."
"Fine," Chuck grumbled. "But you might want to do something about your hair. I doubt Nathaniel will believe that we slept innocently next to each other with you in such a—"
He was cut off by another glare courtesy of Blair Waldorf, but as she attempted to rearrange her tangled curls, he couldn't help the small smile that graced his face.
She ignored the pounding on the door as she continued placing the headband in her hair. She had already tried on three-they were now discarded almost carelessly on the countertop, and she was running out of options.
It was practical, really, that Blair left a few uniforms, coats, and pairs of shoes at his suite. Blair Waldorf did not do walks of shame, and exiting the Palace in yesterday's clothes would simply not do. Additionally, nights with Chuck had left her sufficiently exhausted and going straight to Constance instead of returning home was more sensible.
But when it all came down to it, Blair loved the fact that she had a (albeit tiny) space in his closet. It was almost as if they were dating, and her green and white striped toothbrush next to his navy one was certainly proof that something was going on between them. Furthermore, he had graciously (or not-so-graciously, now that she thought about it) cleared out room in his scarf drawer for her headbands. She was going to have to ask him for more room, she thought as she threw the grey headband down in frustration.
"Blair!" came his voice again, and Blair rolled her eyes as she opened the door.
"What?" she asked, refusing to be turned on by the sight of Chuck bass, looking slightly disheveled and clad only in silk boxers.
"You didn't wake me up," he accused, almost petulantly as he ran a hand through his unruly hair. Blair had the sudden urge to kiss him, to pin him to the wall and run her hands through his hair. She settled for gripping the doorknob instead, leveling him with a smirk.
"Well darling," she emphasized, reveling in the glower that spread across his face. She knew her usage of pet names irritated him to no end, and she wouldn't be Blair Waldorf if she didn't take advantage of that knowledge. "You were so worn out from last night I thought I'd let you sleep."
Chuck raised an eyebrow suggestively as he took in the black lace of her bra, barely visible through the demure white button up.
"Well," he husked, smirking as he drew closer and she backed away almost cautiously. "If you had woken me up earlier, I would have joined you in the shower."
"And we'd be late," Blair chastised almost breathlessly, grabbing a headband at random-a rich purple silk one-and placing it haphazardly in her curls. "Which I will be if I don't leave. Now."
Chuck only stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his arms folded across his bare chest as he smirked at her.
"Nuh-uh," he crooned. "You're not going anywhere."
"And why is that?" she huffed, grabbing her blazer from where she had tossed it on the counter.
"For one," he started with another smirk. "You're putting your blazer on inside out."
Frowning slightly, Blair realized that she was putting her blazer on inside out, and she quickly removed it and turned it right side out.
"And," he continued, moving forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. "You made me late, so you're going to be late with me."
"No," she said sternly. "I have had a perfect record at Constance Billard since-"
"Kindergarten," he said with a roll of his eyes. "We've all heard. Come on Waldorf, live a little."
"No," she said again, struggling to maintain her composure as his arms wrapped around her waist.
"We can spend all afternoon in bed," he crooned into her ear, delighting in the shiver that spread through her body.
"Bass," she gasped as his hands wandered down her back, stopping just short of cupping her bottom. "No."
But he started kissing her then, and her lips slackened as his tongue plundered her mouth. She moaned into him as she ran her hands through his disheveled hair, as she had wanted to do before. One of his hands wrapped in her curls, tangling them impossibly.
Needless to say, when Blair Waldorf showed up at school two hours late, her hair was in uncharacteristic disarray, the purple silk headband doing nothing to take away from the obvious tangles in her hair.
When Serena questioned her best friend's current state of hair and inquired about her absence (according to Serena, Ms. Ollivmer had nearly fallen out of her chair in shock when there had been no prompt 'here' when 'Blair Waldorf' was called) Blair silently cursed morning afters. But as she thought back on the hours spent in bed-she allowed herself a small, self-satisfactory smirk that went unnoticed by Serena.
The messy, just-rolled-out-of-bed-hairdo was a small price to pay for a morning spent in utter bliss.
She had missed this.
During the brief period in which they had snuck around, Blair had been prone to waking up moments before Chuck. Fleeting moments in which she would watch him sleep, and let herself fall into the fantasies her mind concocted without permission from her more conscious side.
She would wonder, what it could be like if this were the rest of her life. Chuck's arm wrapped securely around her, Blair didn't think it would be that bad. Waking up every morning with a few stolen moments to watch him, expressions devoid of the smirk she had been so used to.
Blair had missed those appropriated seconds of Chuck where she saw Chuck Bass, and not the smirking front everyone else was privy to.
And now, months later, his face was inches from hers, his arm curled around her back, and her leg hitched over his hip.
She reveled in the warmth that stemmed from his hand on her back, let her gaze linger on his open, sleeping, face.
Blair kept her movements to a minimum, slowing down her rapid breaths until she was sure she wouldn't wake him up.
Because in the back of her mind, a place she hardly dared encroach at the present time, she knew what would have to be done once he woke up.
It was always this way with them, this push-and-pull, tug-of-war that was both exciting and tiring, but breaking the cycle meant taking a chance. A chance that they could be hurt.
It was easier this way, Blair knew, and she let another fantasy go with a hushed sigh. Though it was apparent that Chuck had heard her, for his lips twitched ever so slightly, and his eyelids started to flutter.
And Blair knew that her few cherished moments were gone once more.
So she did what came with the territory of being Blair Waldorf.
Sitting up in mock surprise, she took one last look at the innocent expression that had encompassed the devil's face, and reached back, slapping his hand away.
Gasping loudly, Blair proceeded to slide off the bed, the feeling of his hand on her waist still very much present.
"Who, what, when, where, why?"
Chuck had flipped over onto his back, his hair tousled as Blair resisted the urge to fall back into bed with him.
"We were up late plotting against Georgina. We must have dozed off."
"And you were on the floor." Blair shot back, attempting to rearrange her dress.
"I didn't want to hurt my back," Chuck reasoned.
"Why? It's not like you ever do anything athletic," she sneered, though she knew the statement wasn't exactly truth, considering—
"Well," Chuck said, smirking as he sat up. "That's not entirely true now, is it?"
"Fine," she acquiesced in frustration. "Nothing that requires you removing your scarf."
"That was one time. It was chilly."
Grappling for words, Blair couldn't help but notice that morning afters suited Chuck quite well. Because despite the fact that his shirt was wrinkled and his hair was in disarray, Blair couldn't help but think that perhaps, just perhaps…
No. "Before you landed in my bed, we actually landed on a good idea," she said instead, following him slightly as Chuck hopped of the bed and grabbed his blazer.
"Well I trust you can take it from here," he said, shrugging into his blazer with alarming speed. "I have a best man's speech to write, and no time to write it."
"Don't worry, I can be bitch enough for the both of us."
"I still have the scars on my back to prove it," Chuck said, leaning closer. Bracing her hands against his chest, Blair began pushing him in the direction of her door, scowling at him all the while.
"You know, they say if you love something you should set it free."
"Ugh," she said, pushing him across the threshold with a flourish.
"They say when you hate something you should slam the door in its face."
"I love it when you talk—"
The door closed between them, Blair rolling her eyes as she turned around, her expression reading of disgust.
But as footsteps echoed down the stairs, Blair couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips.
Blair fumed as she stood half-naked outside Chuck's door, knowing the Mother Chucker was pretending to be unable to hear her. If his low chuckles were anything to go by, he could hear her just fine.
And that meant she was being ignored.
(Blair Waldorf did not like being ignored.)
"Chuck!" she tried once more, her voice verging on desperate. The Harriets' brunch was in a mere hour, and she was still half-dressed, her previous night's makeup smeared, and her hair impossibly tangled.
Cursing under her breath, she turned on her heel and exited the room, hoping Serena wouldn't mind if Blair used her shower.
She was so consumed in her own thoughts of murdering the Bass-tard that she didn't notice a certain someone also consumed in his own thoughts (or rather, Blackberry).
It wasn't until she crashed into someone did Blair look up, meeting the surprised ice-blue eyes of one Bart Bass, who had, by the looks of the suitcase he clutched, just returned from his honeymoon.
Blair's eyes widened considerably, and Bart's face colored instantly as he took in her state of dress, which currently considered of nothing other than a pair of La Perlas and one of Chuck's shirts, which (thank God) covered most of her petite frame.
From the astonished look in Bart's eyes, Blair guessed that the elder Bass had not known about Blair's presence in the penthouse-or Chuck's room, for that matter.
"Good morning Mr. Bass," she said cheerily, attempting to pull Chuck's shirt farther down her legs as she edged around Bart, who seemed to be rooted to the spot in shock.
"Blair," he managed, his face still uncharacteristically bright red. "I didn't know you were….er-staying over."
"Yes, well." Blair attempted her best society smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. "I'm-"
"You and Chuck," Bart mused, cutting her off completely. "I hope you both are using..."
He trailed off, his voice nervous-an emotion not befitting the great Bart Bass. Blair blushed furiously as she nodded, finally edging away towards Serena's bedroom. "Of course," she said, refusing to meet his eyes as she hurried away.
She spotted Serena's telltale head of blonde hair as she snuck past her sleeping best friend, breathing a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.
She really should stop staying over at Chuck's.
The morning sun threw shadows across the floors, alighting upon the two (very naked) entwined figures on the bed. They wore matching smiles of contentment, the very picture of simplistic bliss.
Until, of course, the alarm beeped. Slowly at first, the beeping grew both in pitch and fervor, as it remained ignored.
Blair groaned at the noise, attempting to reach out and hit the 'sleep' button. The heavy arm thrown over her stomach stilled her movements, and she realized that there was a warm body covering hers.
"Chuck," she whispered, attempting to disentangle her legs from hers. Chuck had always slept heavily, mostly due to the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, but in general, you were hard pressed to wake Chuck Bass up.
"Chuck," she said louder, pushing against his chest. "Chuck, we have to wake up."
He opened an eye sleepily as she continued pushing against his chest, smiling lazily and pulling her closer.
"Good morning," he whispered against her hair, and Blair had to smile slightly at his odd romantic tendencies in the mornings.
"We have to get up," she protested as his hand wandered down her back, eliciting shivers from her in return.
"Why?" he asked, a smirk gracing his features as his fingers wandered even lower.
"My mother's—" but he cut her off with a searching kiss, and she found herself losing her train of thought momentarily.
"Bass," she said breathlessly when they finally broke apart. "My mother's brunch is today. And she's probably going to come up here any moment now—"
Groaning, Chuck pulled back, the prospect of Eleanor walking in on them a risk he wasn't prepared to take.
Even if Blair was only wearing the flimsiest of pale pink slips.
But as she stretched her arms above her head, luxuriating in the warmth that spread from the tips of her fingers to her toes, Chuck found that there wasn't really a risk he wouldn't take.
Rolling her under him, Chuck smirked as he played with the strap of her slip, and Blair frowned in return.
"Bass," she said with a groan, attempting to push him off.
"This'll only take a moment," he said, placing a kiss on her collarbone as he trailed his fingers down her side.
But he cut her off with another kiss, and Blair knew it was futile to resist him when a familiar heat began to pool between her thighs. And so she found herself kissing him back, twining her hands through his hair.
Later that morning, or rather, afternoon, the two sat innocently as Eleanor scrutinized her daughter over croissants and berries.
"Blair," she hissed, so as to not be heard by their numerous guests. "Couldn't you have been bothered to brush your hair?"
Blair frowned slightly, and Chuck attempted to hide a smirk as Serena and Eric shot each other knowing looks. All of which went unnoticed by Eleanor, who wore an expression of utter perplexity.
Up Next: Tattoos have always been verboten in the Upper East Side. Alcohol induced mistakes quickly covered up by heavy makeup before a dermatologist wielding a laser could be called upon. Blair Waldorf's never liked tattoos anyway, who would want an ugly black scar marring their skin? Trust Chuck Bass to change that.