for one moment (1/1)
TITLE: for one moment
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS: Chuck/Serena, Nate/Serena
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of the Gossip Girl world. Written for challenge 004 at burnthe_city.
SUMMARY: 1x01. It was just sex. But it had the potential to be more.
for one moment
“Let’s conspire to reignite
All the souls that would die just to feel alive”
-Starlight, Muse
Trademark smirk to long legs.
It’s a battle of the sexes that turns into more, turns into friends, turns into more-than-friends, turns into two people who understand each other (are similar enough to).
I love you, B.
But those sentiments are never spoken.
It’s a movie marathon and the four of them in twos, with the couple in the middle and the singles on the fringes, just as they are in society, just as they are in general.
A look is shared, perhaps a secret smile. But then a voice speaks out and all is forgotten.
There’s a high-end hotel room, with silk sheets and strawberries and champagne, little chocolates on the pillow, room untouched.
She enters the suite above. The one she passes (racing up the stairs, dizzy with alcohol) is reserved for her sister and her other half, the golden.
The high-end remains the same, but for the ruffled silk sheets and half-eaten strawberries and empty bottle of champagne, little chocolates crushed, the smell of another woman’s perfume.
Tainted.
I still can’t believe you slept with him!
It’s not that much of a big deal-and don’t announce it, I don’t want anyone to know.
I’m not surprised, I mean, it is Chuck... Oh, S, how could you?
B, please, come on, you’re talking about him like he’s got some kind of disease.
It’s Chuck, anything’s possible. But I’ll stop.
Thank you. Let’s talk about something else.
...have you been to a check-up centre?
Blair!
She wonders if it’s such a good idea once she’s in the room, but nothing is started. Casual teasing, the usual flirting, drunken laughs from both sides.
Both feel surprisingly sober.
She leans back against the pillows and her finger brushes his.
Summer is her season. Sun, sea, sand, shopping, sex...all of her favourite things. And there is of course her birthday-Blair plans (like going to Harvard and marrying Nate and telling Serena that they’ll always be friends, of course) while Serena mills along, surrounded by chance and circumstance and coincidence (hanging onto that of course and the promises B makes).
One summer is spent in the snow. Her hair catches the light in the ice. She trembles in the cold.
This is not summer.
It takes one golden phone call to warm her up. Then she shivers.
It’s forbidden.
It’s crossed both minds before, but that’s one thought they’ve never acted upon, neither quite willing to destroy the comfortable balance they have now.
The quiet meetings, abundance of scotch, sharing of darkest thoughts and deepest secrets.
Except one.
The line is drawn.
He’s my brother.
Some things are better left unsaid.
There is no chaste beginning. Lips crash, tongues brush instantly, a battle for dominance between two people used to being on top.
Finger thread through her hair; she returns the favour, hard, feels him moan into her mouth.
She undoes the buttons on his shirt, loses patience and rips one off.
His lips leave hers, eye her neck, breathing heavily.
That’s Armani.
She leans forward, a spot of pressure on her neck, feels his reaction to her approval.
Another button’s ripped off.
His fingers find the back of her dress and she turns to give him access, relishing the air. They work quickly, finding her bra, where they fumble.
She tries not to laugh, truly, but it slips out, a giggle that becomes more.
Who knew Chuck Bass would be thwarted by a bra strap.
She turns back, own fingers having no trouble, sees his blush. Stops.
Why is it that she knows when not to go too far?
They sit for a while, top-to-tail, modesty forgotten (or perhaps it never existed).
What was your first time like?
You say it like such a girl, S. I expect more from you.
Just answer the question, Chuck.
It was with Georgina Sparks, what do you think?
Hey, she’s my friend!
Again, I expect more from you.
Maybe you just weren’t up to her standards.
...she has standards?
Shut up, Chuck.
Fine, I’ll return the favour. How was your first fuck, Serena?
Chuck! Less of the vulgar!
You didn’t answer the question.
It was fine.
Fine? Hah. I can do more than just fine.
What? Are you going to show me, then?
He touches her. It begins again.
It’s not painful, hasn’t been since she was fourteen, but it takes her a second, and then her last thought is that he really is as good as he claims.
Then there’s just pleasure.
Harder. Faster.
Yes!
She’s spent. His hand cups her cheek.
For a moment, they have a connection. Not fireworks, nor a sparkle, something far darker (less golden). Her eyes meet his.
Some things are better left unsaid.
She rolls over.
I’m not surprised you left, S.
Why not?
Everyone always leaves me.
Chuck? Are you drunk?
You’re a slut.
You’re a jerk!
I’m not the one who broke the rules.
Are you coming back?
Don’t know.
Do you still think about that night?
Should I?
No. It meant nothing.
Of course not. And it’ll never happen again.
It’s a kitchen this time, the last of a gorgeous grilled-cheese sandwich in her hands, the option of a second martini. His hand finds her waist.
His touch is familiar. She feels its betrayal. It taints her.
This time will be different, Eric, I promise. I’m going to change.
The other trails up arm, tickles her shoulder.
Stop. No.
You didn’t complain before.
There was a flash a blue when her eye’s met his, a familiar shade, glaring into her.
The momentum stopped. She lost the rush.
She still sees the blue everywhere, hallucinates, can’t get rid of his presence, of his downcast, hopeless eyes.
S, wait.
She sees the same blue now.
We promised. Never again.
His lips brush her ear. (His lips brushed her ear.)
That never happens to me.
It’s okay. You’re still a man in my eyes.
Her hand finds his shirt. (Her hand found his shirt.)
Come here.
Look at you, you’re a mess.
He kisses her jaw. (He kissed her jaw.)
So are you.
Her knee swings out, surprises him. She feels a stab of remorse as he bends over.
He looks up just before she turns; his eyes flicker with understanding.
She runs. He doesn’t follow.
Was it romantic? I mean, I’d never usually use the words Chuck and romantic in the same sentence, but...
It didn’t need to be. It wasn’t special.
You deserve it to be, S. You should find that special someone.
Like you and Nate?
Nate and I love each other, and when it finally happens, it’ll be with someone who cares, you know?
Hmm...
I just thought you and Chuck had a connection, that’s all.
Me and Chuck? Really?
Do you love him?
Oh, B. If only you knew.
Chuck! Of course not.
Some things are better left unsaid.