Title: Superstar

Pairing(s): Chuck/Nate

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Early Season 1, Handmaiden's Tale

Warnings: Slash, fisting, a distinct lack of plot.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl or any of its characters. They belong to the CW and other people. I also do not own the Kimberly Cole song for which it is titled. No infringement is intended.

Chuck closed his eyes and leaned into the warm spray of the shower – his second of the day – willing his muscles to unclench and his aches to slip away. Four hours of rough sex was pushing the limits of even the legendary Bass stamina. Suddenly, he felt a blast of cool air parting the steam, licking against his skin, and heard the shower door slam shut.

"Seriously? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Chuck sighed and opened his eyes, facing his very pissed off best friend with the most innocent expression he was capable of mustering. (Not very innocent, then. Everything having to do with Chuck Bass is coated in a layer of dirty.)

"Anyone could have walked in and seen me there, Chuck!" Nate's were flushing at the very thought. Oozing with fake sympathy, Chuck ran a hand through Nate's sweat-soaked locks before sliding his hand back to cup the nape of Nate's neck, drawing him forward into the spray of the shower head.

"Give me a little credit, Nathaniel," Chuck murmured reassuringly. "I'm not going to let just anyone into the suite, and I'm sure as hell not going to let them see what you and I get up to behind closed doors." He leaned in to whisper in Nate's ear "I'm far too possessive," hand sliding down Nate's chest in a most distracting manner. His diversion succeeded in softening Nate's expression as Chuck drew back, Nate's indigence morphing into self-indulgence.

"My arms hurt," Nate pouted, his big blue eyes more pitiful than a lonely puppy's. Chuckling, the sinister brunette slid his arms around the blonde, massaging his shoulders in a rare gesture of sympathy.

"Well," Chuck's voice dripped with amusement as he spoke silkily in Nate's ear. "Maybe now you've learned to behave while we play." Nate sighed and dropped his head to rest on Chuck's shoulder, pressing his hips into Chuck's with a soft whimper.

Seriously? No, that's impossible – Again??? Chuck silently cursed at the sensation of Nate's now half-hard cock rubbing against his inner thigh. How the hell could Nate still want sex after all they'd done already? It was early evening. They'd been fucking since midday. Truthfully, Chuck was unsure whether he should be proud of Nate's new sexual appetite or afraid of it. Chuck had to wonder if Nate's emo hair had finally infiltrated his mind, but his Upper East Side upbringing had him substituting sex for cutting (razor scars don't accessorize well); or if there'd been Viagra in the petit fours at Eleanor's. Chuck's Id, however, prevented from acting upon these concerns, concluding that if Nate's body was looking to put itself through all of this punishment, then Chuck had might as well oblige.

Which is why Nate was now doubled over against the shower door, rattling it as his body shuddered around the four fingers currently rooting around in his ass. Chuck curled his fingers to swipe Nate's prostate again and again, driving Nate to the brink, until, bastard that Chuck was, he spun the faucet, switching the water rapidly from hot to ice cold, the pure shock ripping Nate's orgasm out of him, a tiny stream of cum dribbling weakly from his rapidly flagging erection as his now-empty sac seized with the throes of climax.

Exhausted, Nate slumped forward in a heap, held up only by Chuck's arm about his waist, looking thoroughly debauched. (In case he wasn't already.) With a great heave, Chuck pulled his loopy friend upward, holding him back-to-chest as they stood under the still-cold spray, wiping him down with his left hand as he kept Nate firmly secured to him with his right.

Nate whimpered in chilly protest as he batted dazedly at the faucet handle, trying (and failing) to warm the punishing streams as Chuck shoved his head under, scrubbing efficiently at Nate's hair with his now-soapy left hand. However, the blonde's suffering ended as soon as the water ran clear, and the sleepy boy was dragged from the little glass room to find himself bombarded by fluffy white monster's that yanked at his hair and ran themselves suggestively over his skin with remarkable efficiency before shoving him (naked) into Chuck's room.

Sliding between the sheets, Nate was too tired to be amused when Chuck, cloaked once again in a towel, tucked him in with a kiss to his forehead. Nate's final sight before he fell asleep was of Chuck, standing before his wardrobe in the exact pose he'd held when Nate had arrived that day.