A/N: My obsession with pairing Rolling Stones and Chair never ceases. This is about the Louis SL. I wrote it ages ago, but I have to submit this now since the canon is going in a vastly different direction.
Summary: He knew that he wasn't the only one. He knew that with a simple look, he could resort her to tears. He knew she was his as much as he was hers. And it wasn't fair how much control they held over each other.
Disclaimer: Lyrics are all attributed to The Rolling Stones. Subject matter is all GG. Thanks to comewhatmay.x who beta-ed this like a zillion years ago.
Laughter, joy, and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex
Look at me, I'm in tatters
This town's been wearing tatters
Work and work for love and sex
Ain't you hungry for success, success, success, success
Does it matter? Does it matter?
The night before, he should have known. When it came to her, he always had plenty of precursory warnings that he always ignored. Before, it was something he could always get past. Something that they could get past. Because they still loved each other and that was all that mattered.
He never considered that she had given up hope.
The night before, he had a dream. A dream that should have prophesized the nuclear wasteland that they were about to become, because the dream that he had was perfect.
Just like her.
To be succinct, he woke up with a start in a pool of his own sweat, not to mention other bodily discharges.
He should have known.
The way her silvery slip slid over her thighs, her nails breaking the flesh on his back, how she was so hot and tight around him.
He should have known.
He should have known how they had been so sweet with each other, and how she had made his eyes rolled back so purely. He should have known it was just foreshadowing the horrible end.
It was just the beginning of the end.
From the center of an empty penthouse, a heart broke inexplicably.
"They make a lovely couple."
"She's fluent in French, you know."
"No diamond could suit her better."
His head was an explosion of grating white, and he knew no hangover could compare to this pain. He felt wind-tossed, walking into the hotel's ballroom, unsure as to where he was or what he was doing there.
Words blurred together and the only voices he could hear further added to his confusion and something he hadn't let himself feel in a very long time.
The room was grand and so completely Blair Waldorf that he could just taste her in the air. She was in his proximity, but his thrashing mind wouldn't let him rest for a minute. It was only after the first gulp of alcohol did he realize it was exactly what he didn't need.
The white noise and static of the party was causing the painful throbbing in his head to intensify and all he could do was sit down. It was a rest that he needed, but for only a moment, because there his answers were standing, in a tight group that he no longer seemed to be a part of.
"Nathaniel," Chuck said, his throat already sensitive to words as he approached the only people he could consider family anymore.
And Dan Humphrey.
Serena looked like she was about to choke on her own drink as her eyes fell laid on her surrogate brother. "Chuck."
"Hey, man," Nate said with equal surprise, and even though he was slightly more tactful than Serena, Chuck knew he hadn't been expected to show. "What are you doing here?"
"What is this?"
"Chuck," Serena said again softly.
"What is this?" Chuck growled lowly.
There was a pregnant pause, and Humphrey seemed to be the only one daring enough to look him in the face. There was something he never expected to see from those judgmental eyes.
Chuck laughed harshly.
"Are you alright?" Nate sighed, and that was all the answer that Chuck needed. "I mean... what are you-"
"I am..." Chuck drawled, "alarmed."
"Well you shouldn't be," Humphrey muttered. Chuck cast him a cutting glare before deciding that it wasn't even worth it.
"No one told me," Chuck continued.
"We figured you knew," Nate said.
"We hadn't heard from you," Serena added. "We just thought..."
Quite frankly, Chuck didn't care what they thought, even though he knew what it was. They thought he had been drowning his sorrows like he usually did. When he was heartbroken and left. But to be honest, he only ever did that with her. When he was left by anyone else, he channeled his frustration into other mediums.
Revenge, to be specific.
Blair Waldorf had always been different.
It was what was the most humiliating about stumbling upon an engagement party for the woman he had bought a diamond for.
And it wasn't even his engagement party.
The most humiliating thing about it was that he hadn't even suspected it. He was so thrown so completely off guard, and that he hadn't even considered the option that while he was out living his life, Blair was doing the same.
And inside himself, he felt something very crucial break.
"I can honestly say that I didn't expect to see you here."
Her voice wasn't broken. She didn't sound lonely or needy at all. She was standing in front of him, looking so haughty and so fucking perfect that he had to hate her for it. She wasn't missing him at all. And he hadn't even realized that all along, he was missing her.
"Thanks for the invitation," Chuck responded, because if there was one thing that he was good at, it was provoking Blair Waldorf.
Soon to be...
He didn't even know.
"Forgive my confusion," Blair answered with dull mockery, "but I didn't expect to see you here. Or ever again."
"Charming," Chuck sneered, never able to admit how much those familiar words cut. "But I don't even know who he is."
"Yes, you do," Blair smiled that cold calculating smile that he used to find so alluring. Now, he didn't know what to do with himself. "His name is Louis Grimaldi."
Chuck paused a moment to gather his bearings.
"Not this time," Blair said quietly, shaking her head.
"You really expect me to believe that you're getting married off to a Prince?" Chuck asked. "Isn't that a little 'been there, done that?'"
"Marcus was a lord," Blair said. "There's a difference. And Louis is just a cousin."
"How shameful," Chuck sneered. "I suppose at the family compound you'll just prostitute yourself out to the real Prince."
"You would know," Blair answered. "If memory serves, you do have a penchant for prostitutes."
"Not as much as I have for calculating, scheming bitches," Chuck retorted.
"Well there are plenty of those running around New York," Blair answered. "You found one, if I recall."
"She abhorred the scheming," Chuck answered. "It wouldn't have worked out."
"Tragic. And don't try it."
Chuck hadn't even realized that his feet were carrying him to her one by one.
But he knew.
Always so astute.
"Can you blame me?" he smirked.
It was all he could think about when he was close enough to smell her.
"This isn't like before, Chuck," Blair warned. "I'm at my own engagement party. And it isn't ours. It isn't to you."
"You weren't engaged to me at your birthday," Chuck reminded her, now not caring that he was nearing her proximity so closely. "And I can honestly say that it's going to be the memory of your hand beneath my belt that I'll remember on my deathbed."
"This isn't like before," Blair said again.
"I can understand your reluctance," Chuck said. "There isn't a piano close to anywhere appropriate. It wouldn't be nearly as good."
"Be still my heart," Blair said dryly.
"You have to know," Chuck said, relieved as she let him lace his fingers through her hair like he had that night before the world as he knew it burst into flames. "I'll never have it as good as you."
As he looked into her eyes, he could see that glimmer of hope. But she blinked, and just as quickly, it was gone.
"You always did have a way with words," Blair answered, gingerly peeling his fingers from the back of her head. Her heels clicked decisively across the tile as she began to make her way back to the party.
"He can't know you," Chuck announced. "Not the way I do."
"You mean the way she understood you?" Blair asked coldly.
"There's no comparison, and you know it," Chuck said. "I won't say that he'll bore you. You've heard that before and you know it's true. But he can't understand your thirst. He can't understand that dark fragment of you that only I can. How you hunger for satiation that only I can provide."
"I've worked to be where I am," Blair said, "without your help. And I don't regret a second of it. Even though I had to watch you fall in love without me. But now I have the security of never feeling that heartbroken again."
"Security," Chuck laughed. "The fact that you're even considering the possibility that I could ever love anyone with the all-consuming passion that I do with you, just proves my point. You let me hurt you because you love me that much. And you can never love your Prince the way you love me."
"We've talked about this," Blair answered. "And it doesn't matter."
"It doesn't matter," Chuck said thoughtfully to himself, more for her benefit that anyone else's. Because he was seeing red, and the pain in his chest that he had attributed to her treachery before seemed wholly different now.
Now he was angry.
"Do I amuse you?" Chuck husked dangerously.
When it came down to it, he knew in his bones that Blair Waldorf was his mate. He knew that his head often got in the way but she was acting instinctually towards him the way he did with her.
Because he hadn't realized her body had slammed into the opposite wall until her body stiffened beneath him with the same instinct.
"Answer me," Chuck demanded, pressing harder into her body. "Is this your entertainment for the night? Do you laugh and purr at the thought of me panting and driving myself insane for you? Does it turn you on to know your possession and dominance over me?"
"You hide it well," Blair said with difficulty. Their harsh breaths were mingling and he knew that he wasn't the only one who was thrashing.
He knew that he wasn't the only one. He knew that with a simple look, he could resort her to tears. He knew she was his as much as he was hers. And it wasn't fair how much control they held over each other.
But that was why it was so right to be this close to her again. Her chest was heaving and he knew that her flesh would bear the evidence of his mark the following day and he wanted to feel remorse.
But anger was making his blood simmer, and by the look in her eyes, he knew the heat of her flesh wasn't due to the temperature.
"You bitch," Chuck said in defensive fury, his fingers tightening around her wrists. "You make me feel for you. You push me away, and then punish me for doing what you asked."
"You make me want to die," Blair spat back.
Usually he would take it is a victory, but her tongue was suddenly down his throat, and her tongue tasted so much like salt, that all he could think of was to kiss her back.
His hands slid down her body to pull her silk-wrapped waist against his, wondering if maybe his dreams were prophetic after all. Her fingers braced against her face, and he relished in the feel of her darkly painted fingernails making crescent shaped marks there.
But his heart dropped as he felt himself being pushed away. Blair wiped her mouth and he didn't know that she was actually crying so much until she spoke.
"That won't ever happen again," she said, her voice choked in the darkness. "I hope you relished it."
Chuck stood there, stunned, watching her walk away for a second time. "You're really going to marry him."
His voice was full of astonishment and he hated how it didn't sound like a hopeful question at all.
She paused, but this time, she didn't turn around.
He made her.
His hand caught her, whirling her around. She looked so pliant and warm as she let him look at her vulnerable face that still must taste like his scotch-coated tongue.
"You know I was going to ask you," Chuck said. "You know there's that diamond laying in my safe and you know that I was going to use it."
"But you never did."
It was the first time he heard remorse on her words, and this time, he felt his weakness overcome him. He felt how he was when he was a teenager. A coward, letting the woman he loved walk away from him, into a red sports car, letting her think that he didn't.
She slipped out of his grasp again, black clinging to her, where white used to be.
"This isn't over," he vowed darkly, "not by a long-shot."
She didn't stop and it gave him hope. Apathy was the opposite of love and she was anything but indifferent to him. She was dark and she was beautiful and he knew her. He knew his neurosis wouldn't let him quit her, just like she had an inability to quit him.
So he sagged against the wall, letting the throbbing and bleeding fragments of his heart cut him to pieces.
He let himself shatter.
You got rats on the west side
Bed bugs uptown
What a mess this town's in tatters I've been shattered
My brain's been battered, splattered all over Manhattan