He is spent, completely and utterly exhausted and she alone can bring him to this point. His feet are propped up against the head board because that is just the way they ended up after their last vigorous session of makeup sex. He's thinking that all those ballet lessons Eleanor made her take must have paid off because her stamina matches his, but maybe that's just another one of the elusive threads that tie them together. Her wit matches his, her headbands and his bowties and her full pouty lips on his own firm mouth. They fit together rather seamlessly, rather effortlessly and it never fails to shock him.

It was never meant to be this way. She was marked out for Nate and he, well he was the wandering devil and if a dalliance with the princess was ever in his destiny it was only ever meant as a passing one. He can't pin point exactly when their relationship became more than a secret affair, more than a string of one night stands. Perhaps it's because he respects her, always has really and love isn't a verb he likes to think about but he said it to her once and he thinks it meant something.

It must be love really, because he can't just doze off. The sound of the shower is driving him insane he wants her draped over him again, the remnants of lust still coursing through his veins. So he waits for her to come back to bed, still in the darkness and the painless agony washes over him. He amuses himself with the thought of Blair in a tutu but it doesn't work because he has a very good imagination and the thought only leaves him even more turned on than before.

Another fifteen minutes of surveying the Millais painting hanging above their bed, counting the cherubs carved into the ornate golden frame and the bathroom door swings open. Dark, damp hair is spilling down her shoulders and over the collar of his dress shirt. She's buttoned it all the way to the top and the cuffs too. He grins as she crosses the room to him, ever the seductress with the sway of her hips. She comes to a halt at the foot of the bed, smooth thighs pressing into the mahogany panel.

She bends down to kiss him, her chin pressing into his forehead and he responds eagerly, tilting back his head. The new angle is a novelty and he kisses her deeply because he's missed her all these days apart and his black heart is bursting at the seams as it always is when their lips meet. He can taste the chocolate on her tongue, sweet as sin and she can still smell the Scotch on him.

She nips at his upper lips and they both smirk because it's usually his lower lip that gets nibbled at when she wants his attention. Her fingers run over his chest, her ruby ring catching in the tufts of hair till they come to rest at his chin, skin brushing against the stubble as she pulls apart to look down at him.

"I have a proposition for you," she murmurs and her voice is as sultry as ever but he sees something flash in those dark eyes and the ruby mouth trembles ever so slightly. If he didn't know Blair Waldorf better he'd swear it was nervousness but he does know her better. He knows her better than anyone ever will.

She breaks off her hold on him and flicks a finger in the air, indicating that she wants his full attention. So he complies, flipping onto his stomach to stare her right in the eye.

"Charles Bartholomew Bass," she whispers, her voice hovering between solemnity and merriment. She is poised in her kneeling position, one knee buried in the plush carpet. He recognizes the glint in her eyes this time and his blood rushes to meet it. It's a challenge and a new game and they've barely just finished this one.

"Marry me?"she finishes and his heart stops beating because she's broken every unspoken rule, every cardinal rule with two simple words. Touché Waldorf.