Author's Note: Another day, another quote from a romance novel courtesy of failbox. Actually, there are two in this one – both are from Stephanie Laurens' The Lady Chosen – and this story draws heavily from a scene from her novel. A short, little oneshot that is AU, of course, and set post-"Seventeen Candles".

His quirked eyebrow, his smirk are the calls of a siren and, unlike Odyssey, she is not chained to the mast, not prevented from ducking out the party and answering his call. Serena has abandoned her, probably sneaking off to go on a terrible date with Dan Humphrey, and none of her other minions are strong enough to stand up to the Queen.

She stalks past him without a glance, without offering him a verbal invitation. But the sway of her hips, the way she purposely ignores him is more than enough of a summons for him. He follows her towards the door without Nate even questioning his departure. Too much weed and alcohol on Nate's part; not enough cares on his. She's about to lead him into an empty room – bedroom, bathroom, she doesn't care – but she pauses when she feels his hand close about hers.

Possessively.

She halts just before they can escape the party, looks down at her fingers swallowed in his palm, and glares at the sight.

"No," she chastises, yanking him into the nearest room and shutting the door behind them. "You cannot go around grabbing my hand, seizing me as if I in some way belonged to you –"

"You do."

She looks up at him, blinks in surprise.

"What?" She decries indignantly. Chuck gives her an odd smile. He isn't averse to explaining, isn't opposed to telling her on how this works.

"You belong to me," he lays out succinctly. It feels good to state, feels good to affirm the reality that exists between them. Her eyes widen at his words, but he is undeterred by her response and continues.

"You gave yourself to me, offered yourself to me. I accepted. Now you're mine."

Her lips pull into a thin line; her eyes flash as she assesses the flag he has staked through her like undiscovered land claimed for a king. She is not a property, not something anyone owns.

"That is not what happened, and you know it. You're deliberately misconstruing what happened between us."

"You're going to have to work a lot harder to convince me that having you naked beneath me in the back of my limo on the eve of your birthday was a figment of my imagination. That what happened in that same limo just two hours ago was just a dream."

He watches her swell with anger, watches her jaw clinch. Even so, she cannot deny what happened between them. The image is seared on his brain, her torn La Perlas are tucked into the pocket of his pants, and he can still taste her sweetness on his tongue.

"Misconstruing," she corrects. "Not imagining."

"Ah," he tuts. "So you don't deny what happened between –"

"What happened," she interrupts, "is that I temporarily lost –"

"Oh, you lost something alright," he replies with a smirk. "Although, as I recall, you begged me to take –"

"Enough."

She turns away from him, tries to walk away and rejoin the party ragging on the other side of the door. Their hands are still locked together, and all it takes is a gentle tug from him to pull her right back towards him. Her eyes flash in anger – or, maybe its annoyance – and he braces himself for a bitchy, stinging comeback from the Queen.

"Listen, Bass," she snaps, "What happened was..."

"Fireworks," he interjects, offering the only word he can think of to describe this to her. She glares at him, begins to reject the adjective he used to describe what happened between them when he cuts her off sharply. "You can't deny the attraction between us."

She starts to deny it, but the way his thumb rub circles on the inside of her wrist is melting her resolve. One touch. One touch and she is puddle at his feet, ready to offer up anything. The worst part is that he knows it too. Knows it as his fingers play her body, as he pulls her close and melds their mouths together so tightly that she has no idea where she ends and he begins.

"No," she agrees when he finally breaks away from her, when she finally retches her hand away from his. "But it will fade. You know it…"

She trails off when she sees how emphatically he is shaking his head no. He rejects her assessment, tells her such as a cynical smile creeps onto his face. She matches his expression with wary irritation.

"Maybe not yet, but Chuck Bass does not remain attracted to one woman for long," she reminds him. She bites her tongue, prevents herself for adding a comment about how his womanizing ways won't even been quelled by the formidable Blair Waldorf. "You'll move on."

He lets the moment stretch out in silence while assessing his options before eventually asking, "And if I don't?"

Her eyes narrow as she opens her mouth to reiterate that he would, but he cuts her off by stepping closer to her, crowding her against the wall. Immediately, the heat between them beckons and entices them both into its embrace. Her eyes flare; her breath catches.

"Our attraction, our mutual attraction hasn't faded in the least," he corrects her. "It's grown stronger."

The words are breathed into her face, and she finds her knees weakening at his response. He isn't touching her or holding her; other than his nearness, there is no reason physical connection between them.

"You say it'll fade; I say it won't. I'm sure I'm right; you're sure you are. You want to address the matter; I'm willing to reach an agreement."

His words are dark and forceful; tugging at the part of her that loves a game, a scheme. His lips touch light to her temple; his breath fans her cheek. She drags in a tight breath of air.

"What agreement?"

"If the attraction fades, I'll leave you alone," he barters. A shiver slithers down her spine; the attraction of the game and tone of his voice affecting her so "Until it does, you're mine."

"Yours?" She questions, and she feels his lips curve into a smile against her cheek.

"Exactly what you're thinking. We've been lovers, are lovers." His lips drifts lower to caress her jaw. "We remain so while the attraction lasts. If it continues beyond a month, as I'm sure it will, you stay mine."

"A month?" His nearness saps her wits, leaving her dizzy.

"I'm willing to indulge you for a month, but not a day more."

She struggles to concentrate. "And if the attraction fades – even if it doesn't completely die – you'll leave me alone?"

He nods, verbally agrees that he will do so as he skims his lips over hers. She tries to press her lips deeper into his but he pulls away.

"Do you agree?"

She hesitates, recognizing that she is making a deal with the devil. That she is surely playing with fire. But the fire feels good, warming her chilled skin and taunting her to step closer to the flame. She relents, agrees, and is rewarded with his lips finally coming down on hers.

She mentally sighs with pleasure, wallowing in the delight of the feeling of his lips against hers. She winds her arms about his neck and parts her lips, invites him closer as the fire between them burns brighter. It will fade; she knows it beyond a doubt. It is strong now simply because it is so new, but its power will inevitably wane.