Spider To The Fly
Spider to the Fly
At first, Blair was a little nervous as she walked to school that Friday. But with each click of her heels as she walked up Fifth Avenue, she grew a little more brazen. Her hips swayed and she flipped her hair over her shoulder. No one would know, to look at her… and she found a delicious power in her secret. In class, she even answered more questions than that brat Nelly Yuki. It was a blessed half-day of classes, and though her schedule was still tight- extra music lessons and more committee meetings, her heels were a steady click as she walked to the back of the school library. The last aisle thankfully had a clock, though the light overhead had a damaged ballast- the light shuddered, flickered, sometimes going dark. Blair was ready for the next battle.
Chuck walked with long strides; his need was hot in his blood. When he found Blair, he barely took in the sight of her before his hands were on her, his mouth burning against hers. Momentarily sated, Chuck knew he needed to use his five minutes well. He cupped her hand in his and whispered in her ear, "Show me, Blair," Their hands were under her demure little plaid skirt, "Show me what you do when you think of me, alone, in your bed."
When he placed her hand between her legs, he too, felt her naked skin. He slanted his eyes at her in question. Stepping back, he hitched her skirt up. Years of practiced self-control kept him from groaning, or from taking her on the spot. The black stockings travelled up those slim white legs, strapped up, held in place by the garter belt. And that was all. No thong, no little briefs, just Blair's magnificent sex, cleanly shaven, with a few little wisp's of curls pronouncing her to be a woman and not some little girl.
For a few long moments, Chuck furiously memorized the image before looking back at her face. Blair was smirking at him, the nail of her index finger caught between her teeth like a bad little girl who had gotten caught. He watched as the other hand slipped between her legs, the slight arch of her back as her fingers disappeared into her delicious body, thrusting her breast forward, the tight fabric of her blouse stretching tighter. He watched as what must be every man's wet dream stroked herself with one hand, and licked, sucked, the finger of the other, her pink little tongue and perfectly formed mouth making his already uncomfortable trousers positively unbearable. Sixty seconds. Chuck lasted sixty seconds. Grabbing her hand, he dragged it away from her sex, listening to her mew in protest.
She stared up into his eyes as her fingers were sucked clean by the careful attentions of his mouth and tongue. She heard the metallic rasp of his zipper coming undone as the sound shivered down her spine. The memory flashed behind her eyelids as she blinked slowly; the image of him naked, the dimensions of what she was at last going to feel and taste.
Blair shoved his hand aside. She was smirking again and she herself freed him, taking him in hand. Not wearing underwear made her such a bitch.
Chuck breathed a deep, shuddering breath as the soft skin of her hand clasped around his hardness.
She leaned up towards his ear, whispering as she pulled one long stroke, "You don't want me, Chuck."
His eyes opened, coal black irises burned into her, in defiance of her bold declaration.
Another stroke, "You need me." Her hand held him a little tighter, her fingertips flicked against the warm skin of his balls and he groaned.
"You need me unlike any other, Chuck, don't you?"
Two minutes. Without provocation, Blair dropped to her knees. Chuck's breath caught in his throat, oh, how he had been dreaming of this moment- had jerked off to the thought of her full mouth wrapped around cock. Her tongue moved from base to tip, swirling around him. His head lolled back against the bookcase, his eyes gazed up at the flickering light, unseeing through a veil of pleasure. The light flickered and went black. His fingers wrapped in her silky curls and her head dropped down, her mouth opening. Hot, wet, tight, his fingers pressed her head a little further down. Stars burst behind his closed eyes as the head of his cock rubbed against the soft tightness of the back of her throat. Her head moved slowly back… and forth… the plane of her tongue pressing strongly against him.
Ninety seconds left. Chuck pressed her down, and she took him in even deeper than before. She held there for a delicious moment; his cock flexed, and he cried out a thick moan of pleasure at the feel of her mouth all around him. Blair pulled all the way off of him, her fingers ringing tightly around his base; her tongue reached down to caress his balls. His legs trembled with the effort of standing, and he flexed once more in her hand.
Thirty seconds. He was in her mouth once again; she laid into him for the last few moments of his precious five minutes.
3… she sucked hard 2… her tongue pressed down on his head 1… a rough flick of her tongue lapped against him. God, I need her. The light above flickered back on. Chuck's knuckles were white as he gripped the bookcase for support, and suddenly, Blair was standing once more, smoothing her skirt. Perfectly poised now, only she and Chuck would have ever known what had passed but a moment before. Releasing his support, Chuck repaired his appearance, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head from the strain of his raging hard on. Five minutes of heaven for… how long of hell? Blair reached down to pick up her schoolbag.
"Leaving so… very soon?" Chuck's voice was husky.
"Extra voice lessons. Sorry!" With a flourish, Blair turned to leave him.
She didn't appear half as sorry as Chuck did. He captured her waist with his hands and purred in her ear, "I can make you sing."
In less than a second, as his cock pressed hard into the small of her back, Chuck's hand dropped between her legs and twinned fingers sank into her seeping wet core.
"Oh God… Chuck…" Blair moaned, her legs trembled, and dropping her bag she held tight to the bookcase as she swayed.
"Needs and wants are dangerous things, Waldorf." Chuck's fingers dropped from her.
This time, he offered his fingers to her mouth. She grabbed his hand and he watched as his fingers disappeared more and more, sliding along her tongue and curving down the treacherous precipice of her throat. He groaned, and pulled his fingers free- what was he thinking? He may be Chuck Bass, but even he only had so much self-control, and this virgin was seducing him. His unadulterated hand smacked her ass in retaliation.
"Don't be late." He turned and left before he was further tempted.
Blair took a deep breath before she steadied herself, picking up her bag, and leaving the library. How much longer did she think she could do this?
It was a quiet weekend of study and contemplation for Blair. No hiccups, or distractions, Eleanor was in Paris; Serena was busy with family, and Chuck… she sighed when she thought of Chuck. Her heart fluttered, her skin grew hot, and her mouth became dry. She wondered what he might be doing? But the thought of going to him, without a game or a legitimate excuse, was out of the question. She wanted so much, to walk with him again, dance with him, to touch him, to kiss him until she could not think anymore, she wanted… Blair swallowed hard at the admission, even though it was unspoken. She wanted him in her bed.
Chuck's weekend was a great deal less idyllic and introspective. He paid the prostitutes he hired Friday night extra so he could call them Blair without shame. He spent Saturday buzzed, strung out next to Nate saying nothing of consequence. Sunday… Sunday was bad; Chuck did not want to think about Sunday. Bart returned home on Sunday morning. He began drinking in anticipation of the words that would come from his father's mouth, his disapproving stare. The encounter left him numb, and he passed out in the darkness after brutally fucking more prostitutes 'named' Blair.
Blair focused with rapt attention during class on Monday, but was thoroughly distracted during the in between times. I can talk to him at lunch, or… maybe after classes? Or maybe if I just see him, it would be enough? At lunch, she ate barely a bite, always scanning for a sign of Chuck as Serena watched with slight amusement.
"Looking for something?" Serena popped a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth.
Blair instantly looked sheepish at getting caught, "No, I was just thinking… how many seasons ago are her Prada's?"
Serena looked at the girl in question, "B, you know how many seasons ago those are. You were looking for someone."
Blair, with wide innocent eyes, just shook her head in denial.
"Fine, well, watch my yogurt." Serena went and chatted up one of the St. Jude's boys for a few minutes, all smiles and sunshine.
Sliding back into her seat, she shot Blair a brilliant smile. "Someone isn't at school today. I hope he doesn't fall behind in his course work."
Blair gave Serena a little smile and finally started to eat her lunch properly.
Later that afternoon, Blair was seen leaving school with a little extra course work in hand, and not walking in the direction of her penthouse.
"I'm disappointed, Charles." Bart's voice was its usual cool monotone as he stood center stage in the living room.
"That's not really a surprise, is it?" Chuck commented, staring at the glass of scotch in hand before swallowing a large gulp. This conversation happened at least once per home visit with Bart. Say something different, just once! He wanted to shout. Bart never changed his lecture, and Chuck never had the courage to speak up, only to speak out.
"I expect you to grow up, to apply yourself seriously," Bart lectured on, bored with repeating himself. When would the boy just get it? "Missing class today was not acceptable, Charles."
Chuck still refused to look at his father; simply feeling his overbearing stare was painful enough. He heard the same tone as usual and having to see the same face of disappointment … Chuck was not sure what he would do. He wasn't brave enough to do anything but drink away tears that were never allowed to come.
"Fine. Is there anything else I can do for you, Father?" he mimicked the boredom in his voice.
"Find something more useful to do other than prostitutes. I may come home late, but when I do, I'd rather not be hearing my son crying out 'Blair!' all through the night. Were they really all named Blair?" Bart's blue eyes were steel.
Chuck held his tongue. The last thing he would ever do would be to talk about girls with his father. His father would tell him to get a grip and move on; no one was worth the energy. Way to be a shining example on how to treat a woman, Dad.
"Lay off the scotch. And the women. Do something with yourself, Charles."
It was always the same mantra. Don't do this. Don't do that. But do something.
Tell me what you want from me! He wanted to shout. But, as usual, Chuck remained silent, seething underneath his cool exterior.
"You have so much more than I ever did, take advantage of that opportunity," Bart continued, not a sign of understanding his son's always-hidden thoughts.
Yeah, well, I am taking advantage of it. What more do you want me to do? I'm 15! Am I supposed to already have made my first million in a third of the time it took you? What do you want from me?
Silence. Chuck just stared through the amber liquid to the floor. He was a failure in his father's eyes. Must the man always need to remind him every second of his waking hours?
There was a soft knock on the door of the suite. Before Bart turned to answer it, he shot back a final command mixed with his usual off-handed good-bye, "I expect to hear you went to school tomorrow. I'm leaving for the Middle East in an hour, I'll return next week."
And that's why Chuck finally lost it. He'd been listening to his father for all of five minutes today; listening to Bart reprimand him and then, in the end, Bart gives him a simple: "Later! Be back in a week! At which point I will continue to chew you out! Again!"
Chuck stood up and stalked off to his room, but not before catching his gaunt reflection in the mirror. Fury. His inability to ever stand up to his father. So instead, he did the only thing that would let out the shout of anger.
The glass tumbler shattered, liquid amber and cut glass scarring the wall where the tumbler had met its fate.
"Charles!" It was a command, a scold, and an irritated expression at an excessive show of emotion. He rolled his eyes at the childish behavior. When would the boy just grow up?
With that, Bart pulled the door open. A petite brunette with wide eyes looked up at him.
"Mr. Bass." Blair had seen photos of him in the papers, and suddenly being before him, she understood from where Chuck had inherited his powerful draw.
"May I help you young lady?"
"I'm sorry, I'm Blair Waldorf. I attend school with Chuck. Is he not here?" Blair fought to speak in an even tone, to hold her own under the intimidating gaze of Bart Bass.
"Blair Waldorf?" Bart replied, articulating the syllables of her name, his eyes focusing on the little girl in front of him. Blair.
"Yes, sir. My mother is the designer, Eleanor Waldorf?"
"Of course. Please, come in. I'm afraid I am just leaving, but Charles is in his room."
Blair entered the suite as Bart exited, closing the door behind him.
She saw the glimmer of scotch and bits of shattered glass on the wall as she sat her bag and the papers down. Approaching the door next to the mess, she felt concerned, but her heart beat in her ears, anxious- excited, to see him. She rapped lightly on the door before pushing it open, "Chuck?"
He sat on the edge of his bed; the room shrouded in dark barring the odd scattering of light that escaped from the blinds. He was hunched over, his face hidden in his hands. But she could see it- feel it; the rage was palpable in the air. When he looked up at her, she saw his face was pale, dark circles under eyes of jet-black; his always-perfect hair was jagged and chaotic. He looked positively broken and wild.
Chuck gazed up to see who had intruded on the verge of his explosion and his eyes devoured the sight of Blair in his doorway. Backlight from the living room gave her divine body a sacred glow. Chuck swallowed hard; his eyes were hot as they traced the line of her pristine white stockings, rounded hips, the rise and fall of her pert breasts under the mandatory white blouse. Her chocolate curls were blackened in the dim light, and her eyes. Oh, those wide, innocent eyes. They were worried… they cared. He snapped in his mind… he wanted that. That light, that goodness of being, he wanted to consume it all and try to shine with it.
She watched him stand and walk towards her, his eyes watching her, unblinking. He had backed her up against the door, and she swallowed, nervous from the look in his eyes. Her heart was racing as his hand grasped her neck, travelling down to rest on her collarbone. His head titled down to hers, and her eyes rolled back as she breathed him in. The power of Chuck's presence intoxicated her- seduced her senses, and she ached for him.
"Blair." Barely a hush of a whisper, his hungry mouth found hers. He was already painfully hard and he pinned her soft, pliant body against the door. Her hands were in his hair, his hand slipped under her skirt. Pushing the fine line of her thong aside, he absorbed the feel of her shuddering against him as he shoved two fingers deep inside her dripping cunt. It's always the teases that are the biggest whores.
After a few moments of watching her writhe against him, Chuck grabbed her waist and spun them around, leaning her down onto his bed without breaking their kiss. With expert skill, he loosened his belt and opened his pants to free his aching erection. He felt her shift, to try and move to please him there with her mouth. He pushed down, settling his hips between her legs, pressing against her.
Blair gasped, and pushed against him, pulling her mouth away, panicking. "Chuck!"
He growled at her, "I need you."
"No!" It was part wail, scream, and sob. Though Blair was lying down, she laid a powerful smack across his face. Pushing herself free in his shock, she fled, barely recalling to grab her bag as she fought tears, her mind reeling. Blair managed to make it home, her body numb with shock, before the tears broke free and sobs racked her chest as she curled up on her bed.
Chuck lay abandoned in the darkness, a single tear, perfectly round suspended in one eye. It was the everything that left him with nothing: no. She had cried it because she had trusted him, but no. No longer. Blair would smirk at him no more, or play bad with him in the dark. Her warm hand in his, gentle kisses, furious kisses, the feel of her glorious hair between his fingers. No, the light was gone, and it took his hundreds of shades of gray with it.
AN: Chapter title taken from the name of Noirreigne's fic, which I will unabashedly proclaim as my favorite bit of smut.
Special thanks on this chapter go to Jackie, Blood Red Kiss of Death, for helping me with my first pass at writing Bart. You are amazing chica!