Author's Note: These one-shots will follow the Bass family through Chuck and Blair's first year of marriage and vary in both rating and length. First up, the honeymoon! (Rating: T)

December 31, 2012 - January 01, 2013

"And then after Waldorf Designs is a resounding success at Fashion Week, we will take some time off. I thought we'd host Thanksgiving in our new apartment before spending Christmas with Daddy and Roman, Mother and Cyrus in Paris. And we'll ring in the New Year in New York at the Empire's New Year's party before returning home for our private celebration of the end of a fabulous two thousand and thirteen."

"Hmm," her husband agrees, tracing tight circles over her naked hipbone. "I didn't realize resolutions dictate where we are for the holidays. Don't you think things could change in twelve months?"

"No," she replies as though he has asked a rather stupid question. She stops playing with the patch of hair on his chest, stills her fingers as she speaks. "Besides, planning our holidays, making sure they are perfect is part of my resolution for the year. I want two thousand and thirteen to be better than two thousand and twelve."

"Why? I thought twenty-twelve was a great year."

"Are you insane, Bass?" Blair replies as she pushes herself up and away from him. Her naked limbs slide against his, and she tugs the sheet slung over them up to cover her exposed breasts. "How could you ever describe two thousand and twelve as a great year?"

He fingers his own wedding band in a silent reply, moves his hand so he can slide the platinum band - his only attire at the moment - across her knee cap under the sheet. She moves her knee away from him, moves to sit on her knees so she can tower over him in her displeasure.

"In two thousand and twelve, I was trapped in a marriage due to an idiotic contract. I mean, a dowry? Really? This is the twenty-first century. And then you set me free and I wasted it on Dan Humphrey. When I finally woke up, you said I was too late."

Chuck winces at the reminder. He had been so angry in the moment, thrown away the only thing he ever loved in a mindless quest to win back his father.

"And then I won you back and we had to stay apart. I thought it was almost over, but," her voice breaks with emotions and she turns her head so she is no longer looking him in the eye. "You left for Moscow and I thought you had – died."

The last word is said in anguish, punctuated with tears that shine in the corner of her eyes.

"Hey," Chuck replies, pulling her back towards him. She resists for a moment, but eventually sinks into his embrace. She presses her face into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around her back and holds her close to his chest. "I'm safe. I was always safe. I just needed you to trust me."

She nods her head meekly against his neck, wills her tears to stop falling as he traces the outline of each vertebra down her back lightly. She will not mention what happened on the rooftop; will not force him to remember any more of the events from that horrible night.

"Do you know why I love twenty-twelve so much?" He asks her softly as he dips his head and places a soft, tender kiss against her exposed left shoulder. "I'm ending the year with you as my wife."

She grins against his neck, presses a kiss against the spot just below his jawline. She loves that term – wife.

"Everything else doesn't matter because I finally have you back in my life, back in my bed," he suggests lewdly with a press of his thigh in the space between her legs. "Back to being mine."

Chuck nibbles the tender skin of her neck in an emphasis of his words. She shifts against him, moves to slide her leg over his hips and straddle him. His hands curl around her hip bones and help guide her to hover over him.

"I was always yours," she replies as she sinks down against him. "Even when I didn't want to admit it.

"Yes," he replies in a straggled hiss as she slides herself back and forth against him. "But now the world knows it, Mrs. Bass."

She moans at the name, moans at the way he feathers kisses against her neckline. He undulates his hips, tries to guide himself inside her, but she raises her hips in the opposite direction and holds herself above him for just a moment.

"Blair," he says sternly as he digs his fingers into her hips and tries to press her down. She lifts her head from his neck and offers his a teasing smile as she runs her right fingers down his left cheek.

"And what are your resolutions?

"I don't have any," he hisses quickly, painfully as his lower half tries to connect with hers. She pats his cheek, tries to get him to focus on her reprimanding glare.

"Now, now," she reminds him. "You know how I feel about directionless, goalless people. No husband of mine will start the New Year without a goal."

"Fine," he huffs. "My resolution is to have another bacchanal with you. Starting now."

She rolls her eyes, huffs in response. She asks him if he has any goals for Bass Industries or for the Empire, frowns when he replies that nothing comes to mind.

"I already accomplished my goals," he replies in a tight voice. "I grew up. I became a man people can respect, a man worthy of your love. And I became your husband. I have no other goals because there is nothing left for me to accomplish."

She presses her lips against his, gasps when he rolls her onto her back and slides inside. For a moment, she is too busy being overwhelmed by feelings and emotions, too busy feeling him move inside her to register what he is saying. But as she comes for him, as the world outside celebrates the dawning of the New Year, she hears him loud and clear.

"I love you, too," she moans in response as he presses his forehead into her slick yet soft neck. He finishes with her proclamation, feels the return of all his senses as she runs her fingers in slow patterns over the healing and fresh places where her nails dug in.

Fireworks erupt outside their hotel window, and she watches the dark sky become splashed and awash in color in a celebration of the past and the future. She can put all the bad of two thousand and twelve behind her, but she can also celebrate the good of the past, enjoy the present, and hope for the future.

"Happy New Year, Chuck."

Chuck lifts his head for a moment to catch her distant gaze, drops it again in a blissful sigh as he shifts in the bed and begins to pepper her naked skin with kisses. She squirms against his ministrations, slides her hands through his dark hair, and marvels at the way her diamond and her simple wedding band catch and reflect the colors.

"Happy New Year, Mrs. Bass."