A/N This is a crossover between GG and Vampire Diaries - Chuck/Damon

Warnings: Contains some language, violence, some dub-con (more like 'in denial', actually) and slash. I hate to bring out the clichés but: don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

It's like a drug.

Like something was pushed into his bloodstream instead of sucked out of it. Something that's left him aching and itching and gasping for breath.

He needs more. Hates himself with a passion that almost trumps the overpowering need for even thinking about it.

Almost.

That's how he knows that son of a bitch must have slipped him something, because he has never ached like this for anything, or anyone, before.

He's Chuck Bass for fucks sake.

He lets out a low hiss as he rubs his neck and accidentally touches the still tender wound. Does it again and this time lets the gush of air escape through gritted teeth as he shudders, caught off guard by the sudden tightness in his pants.

The face of his tormentor is there every time he closes his eyes; mocking him, laughing at him. The taste of him still on his tongue no matter how many drinks he downs and the rush - that excruciating, thrilling rush - still ghosts in his veins with every racing heart beat.

The third time he pokes at the gash on the side of his neck he can barely suppress the groan that rumbles in his throat. The sound drags him out of his own thoughts and reality dawns on him; he's in a fucking bar, seconds from slipping a hand down the front of his fucking pants.

What the hell did that smirking bastard slip him?

Later on he barely remembers heading outside, vaguely recalls weaving through the crowd and breathing a sigh of relief as the cold night air filled his lungs.

But he'll remember with perfect clarity suddenly being slammed face first into the wall, both arms locked behind his back and alarm leaving place for a tidal wave of adrenaline and heat.

"Missed me?"

The words are spoken close to his ear and he shudders as a finger runs down his cheek and sets his skin on fire; scowls at the answering chuckle from his captivator.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Get your filthy hands off me." Chuck snarls, struggling in vain to free himself, but his objections are countered with a low moan as the hand stroking his cheek fists in his hair and tugs. Hard.

"Well, well. You really do get off on this, don't you?" The voice sounds both amused and surprised, teeth closing around his earlobe, almost hard enough to draw blood. "Begging for it like a slut. Why is that, princess? Daddy didn't love you enough?"

"Shut up."

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? You're not going to break down and cry, are you?"

Still the same taunting voice before lips close around his earlobe, soothing the marred skin and Chuck needs to get out. Away. Because this is wrong and it shouldn't feel good and he can't want this.

"You wish," he manages to choke out, struggling to free himself and regain some ounce of self-respect.

The words have barely left his mouth before he is turned around abruptly and his head slams into the brick wall behind him.

Head spinning and with stars dancing before his eyes, Chuck barely registers that his wrists are freed, but sucks in a breath as his chin is gripped forcefully instead. His swimming vision clears, and he finds himself staring straight into the pair of grey eyes that's been haunting him for days. To his horror the muscles in his stomach tighten in anticipation.

"Don't make me kill you." The words are offered smilingly but laced in steel. It's not an idle threat and they both know it. "You'll ruin all the fun."

"Fuck you," he manages to choke out, biting his cheek so hard he almost tastes blood to keep from whining like some common whore as a toned leg is pushed between his thighs, pressing against the bulge in his pants.

"No," the low voice quips, a gush of cool breath against his ear, "Fuck you,"

He opens his mouth to speak, but the objection is lost in a bruising kiss that tastes slightly metallic and that he soon finds himself reciprocating, and with vigor. Sliding a hand into dark, short cropped hair.

Cool air hits heated skin as a hand comes up to pull away the expensive silk accessory tied around his neck, and Chuck's eyes fly open in shock in the same second a hand slips inside his expensive designer pants.

His startled groan echoes in the alleyway as one hand wraps firmly around his erection. Stroking him excruciatingly slowly and setting every nerve ending in his body on fire. He fleetingly remembers that he should be doing…something, to stop this. Fight. Kick and scream. But then the hand picks up pace and a twisty kind of stroke rips all sense of reason from his mind.

It doesn't take long after that.

The last thing he remembers - before his entire world comes crashing down around him in blinding, pleasurable heat and agonizing pain – is the whisper against his neck;

"I think I'm going to like this town."

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