Fic: "Thin Lines," Gossip Girl, Chuck/Nate, R
I has not seen the mices, though I'm sure it's around somewhere. Thursday night TV thoughts will appear tomorrow morning. For now, I'm still coasting on Wednesday, so here's some fic!
This is for dkellergrl! Thanks to angel_grace for, as usual, letting me paste it at her in AIM and helping me with the title.
Title: "Thin Lines" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Rating/Classification: R, Chuck/Nate, language, sexual situations, slash.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Nope!
Summary: 605 words. Set somewhere around episode 1.3, "Poison Ivy." The first night, it took a bottle of his father's reserve scotch and a line of coke to make it happen.
There are several fuckable orifices in the half-naked boy across the room. Yes, across the room. This, he thinks, is an utter waste. Especially since said boy seems to be face down in his pillow, hoping to delay the inevitable. "Nathaniel, why are you on the couch again?"
"You know why." He raises his head just enough to keep the words from being muffled. Nate is nothing if not polite… unless he's cheating on Blair, which isn't particularly polite at all. And just the way Chuck prefers him.
"And I also know that in less than ten minutes, you're going to be right here." He pats the empty space next to him, waggling his eyebrows.
It's a fact. Ever since Nate started crashing with him. The first night, it took a bottle of his father's reserve scotch and a line of coke to make it happen, but not so much every night since.
And here's how it goes: Nate protests, Nate hits the couch, Nate leaves the couch and lets Chuck fuck him into the mattress, Nate returns to the couch around 4 AM just in case a stray maid wanders in. Never mind that the only stray maids that ever wander in to Chuck's room are the ones that end up right where he's hoping the blushing virgin over there will.
"Shut up, Chuck." This is muffled. Mostly by Nate's hair. Any longer and people are going to start confusing him with an emo Olsen twin (Chuck has fucked them both and lived to tell about it. MK? Not so good. Ash? Sucks cock like a Hoover. Possibly J. Edgar Hoover.)
"Man up, Archibald." He sighs. Eight minutes tops. This is such a bore. He thumps his head against the headboard, wrapping his hand around his dick so he can at least make the wait interesting.
He thinks about pussy. Specifically Blair's and Serena's and whether or not they're spending tonight crawled up inside each other now that they're BFFs again. Those two have always had a little bit of the Sapphic touch to them (it's got to be the field hockey) and he figures the least they can do is fuel his fantasies. The most they can do involves bondage gear and the added plus of the strapping young lad whose charms they've all sampled.
"Nathaniel?" He checks on the cross-the-room progress, gasping each syllable of the name in time to his strokes.
And when he opens his eyes, half-expecting another grumpy denial, he victoriously finds a sullen pair of baby blues right above him. "I hate you," Nate mutters, as another set of fingers ups the ante on his cock.
"That's what they all say," he chuckles, arching his hips helpfully as Nate settles over his knees. "'I hate Chuck Bass'… and… yet here you are."
"Shut up."
This is muffled. Mostly by his mouth.
**
At 3:58 AM, Nate's arm is slung around his waist and Chuck waits for it to move. For the sheets to rustle and for the sound of footsteps.
But he's surprised (and he's not surprised all that often, especially in bed) when five minutes have gone by and Nate's fingers just curl more firmly against his hip.
He pokes. And then he flicks some hair out of the way and peers into half-closed eyes. "Why the change, Nathaniel?"
Nate is nothing if not polite… unless he's cheating on Blair. Like he's apparently about to again. He leans in, sounding almost (just almost) as arrogant as Chuck himself as he kisses him hard. "You know why."
Yeah, he knows. All too fucking well.
And here's how it goes.
--end--
Oct. 4, 2007
This is for dkellergrl! Thanks to angel_grace for, as usual, letting me paste it at her in AIM and helping me with the title.
Title: "Thin Lines" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Gossip Girl
Rating/Classification: R, Chuck/Nate, language, sexual situations, slash.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Nope!
Summary: 605 words. Set somewhere around episode 1.3, "Poison Ivy." The first night, it took a bottle of his father's reserve scotch and a line of coke to make it happen.
There are several fuckable orifices in the half-naked boy across the room. Yes, across the room. This, he thinks, is an utter waste. Especially since said boy seems to be face down in his pillow, hoping to delay the inevitable. "Nathaniel, why are you on the couch again?"
"You know why." He raises his head just enough to keep the words from being muffled. Nate is nothing if not polite… unless he's cheating on Blair, which isn't particularly polite at all. And just the way Chuck prefers him.
"And I also know that in less than ten minutes, you're going to be right here." He pats the empty space next to him, waggling his eyebrows.
It's a fact. Ever since Nate started crashing with him. The first night, it took a bottle of his father's reserve scotch and a line of coke to make it happen, but not so much every night since.
And here's how it goes: Nate protests, Nate hits the couch, Nate leaves the couch and lets Chuck fuck him into the mattress, Nate returns to the couch around 4 AM just in case a stray maid wanders in. Never mind that the only stray maids that ever wander in to Chuck's room are the ones that end up right where he's hoping the blushing virgin over there will.
"Shut up, Chuck." This is muffled. Mostly by Nate's hair. Any longer and people are going to start confusing him with an emo Olsen twin (Chuck has fucked them both and lived to tell about it. MK? Not so good. Ash? Sucks cock like a Hoover. Possibly J. Edgar Hoover.)
"Man up, Archibald." He sighs. Eight minutes tops. This is such a bore. He thumps his head against the headboard, wrapping his hand around his dick so he can at least make the wait interesting.
He thinks about pussy. Specifically Blair's and Serena's and whether or not they're spending tonight crawled up inside each other now that they're BFFs again. Those two have always had a little bit of the Sapphic touch to them (it's got to be the field hockey) and he figures the least they can do is fuel his fantasies. The most they can do involves bondage gear and the added plus of the strapping young lad whose charms they've all sampled.
"Nathaniel?" He checks on the cross-the-room progress, gasping each syllable of the name in time to his strokes.
And when he opens his eyes, half-expecting another grumpy denial, he victoriously finds a sullen pair of baby blues right above him. "I hate you," Nate mutters, as another set of fingers ups the ante on his cock.
"That's what they all say," he chuckles, arching his hips helpfully as Nate settles over his knees. "'I hate Chuck Bass'… and… yet here you are."
"Shut up."
This is muffled. Mostly by his mouth.
**
At 3:58 AM, Nate's arm is slung around his waist and Chuck waits for it to move. For the sheets to rustle and for the sound of footsteps.
But he's surprised (and he's not surprised all that often, especially in bed) when five minutes have gone by and Nate's fingers just curl more firmly against his hip.
He pokes. And then he flicks some hair out of the way and peers into half-closed eyes. "Why the change, Nathaniel?"
Nate is nothing if not polite… unless he's cheating on Blair. Like he's apparently about to again. He leans in, sounding almost (just almost) as arrogant as Chuck himself as he kisses him hard. "You know why."
Yeah, he knows. All too fucking well.
And here's how it goes.
--end--
Oct. 4, 2007