if you knew
Blair/Dan. PG13. 1289 words. Set during 5x14.
Summary She knows he'll understand. She hopes, anyway. Dan always does, it's the best and worst part of him.
Note: Originally posted here.
Blair comes out of the bathroom when she hears the door slam shut, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room. "Did you really leave?" she calls.
Silence. Then, exhaustedly, "No," from the other side of the door.
She feels a stupid amount of relief. "Then come back inside."
Another stagnant pause. "I don't have the key, I'm locked out."
Blair rolls her eyes but almost smiles, making sure her lips are pursed in annoyance by the time she gets the door open.
Dan drinks beer from the minibar continuously, whatever's there, but Blair makes him order up a proper red wine for her. Blair gets a little tipsy, especially considering all she's had in her stomach today was champagne and anti-anxiety meds. A little more than tipsy, really, and she gets herself out of her hideous disguise, abandoning the polyblend sweatshirt and t-shirt on the armchair, leaving her briefly in those repulsive leggings and half her wedding lingerie, the white lace bustier she'd had made especially for the occasion.
Dan is looking at her with very wide eyes, his hand frozen halfway raising the bottle to his lips. "Uh," he says.
"Yes, very flattering, thank you," Blair says, snapping her fingers, "Give me your shirt. At least it's a human fabric; polyester gives me a rash."
"Looks good to me," Dan says, but he sets the bottle down and shrugs his tailcoat off, starts in on his buttons.
Blair has given up her glass and is drinking right from the bottle by now. The more Dan unbuttons the more she begins to regret her request, though she does really want the shirt; by the time he's handing it off, wearing only his undershirt, Blair is almost nervous. His collarbones are sharp as his cheekbones, and his arms are…surprisingly nice, shapely shoulders and bony wrists, nice hands.
Blair swallows a large gulp of wine and gives the bottle to him, says, "Don't leave me alone here, Humphrey."
He gives her that half-smile of his and brings the wine to his lips; Blair looks away from his throat as he swallows, doing up buttons on the shirt still warm from him.
Eventually Blair slumps sleepily against the pillows. Dan does his best to tuck her in as she kicks at him tiredly and then he steals a pillow and blanket to sleep on the floor. Blair is disappointed but doesn't offer him anything.
She's too exhausted to be awake but too awake to be asleep and, in the dark of the room, her head can't stop spinning. She keeps seeing Chuck at the back of the church and Louis turn cold in her arms, that despairing feeling blooming in her that she just can't seem to get rid of no matter what she does. Against her will and better judgment she starts crying, embarrassing tears she can't contain or stifle.
She hears Dan get up and wishes he wouldn't, wishes he wasn't so nice to her all the time. The bed dips under his weight, hand sliding over her back, and Blair turns into him immediately, tucking her face into his neck as his arms go around her.
"I'm sorry," she says, sniffling and rubbing at her wet cheeks, "I've been so – so crazy and awful lately and you've –"
"No you haven't," Dan says firmly. He pulls back enough to brush her hair away from her face, where it sticks slightly to her damp skin. "It's you. It couldn't be awful."
Blair stares at him for a moment, breathing shaky, and then she presses a quick kiss to his mouth. Dan is startled still. "Thank you for being my friend," she says. "I don't know what I would have done without you this last month."
Dan is still looking at her, tiniest of creases between his brows. "You don't have to thank me for that.
Blair mirrors his slight frown. "You're too nice."
He shakes his head. "I'm not, really."
She rests her hand on his cheek, rough under her fingertips; he needs to shave already. Her thumb brushes over his mouth. Then she's leaning up and kissing him again, not thankful or friendly, her mouth opening under his.
Dan pulls back first, just barely, caught by her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry," he says, "I shouldn't –"
Her fingers curl tightly in his hair. "I need to not feel awful," she says, "for an hour. Just an hour. And you're really good at making me not feel awful, so can you – can you help me with that?"
Dan searches her face as she runs a touch over his mouth again and finally nods, leaning back in to kiss her again. Blair lets her hand slip over his neck to that sharp collarbone, across to his shoulder and down his arm. She thinks of the last time she kissed Dan, and the time before that, and how his mouth is just the same except she's not pretending to not want it. The blanket is still between them, a safety, as they kiss deeper and deeper, Dan kissing her like he'll never have enough of wanting to.
She reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it up over his head, only letting their lips part for the time it takes to get the shirt off, and then he's leaning over her, his weight leaning on her, and Blair can't remember the last time she wanted this acutely. Her fingers travel over his back, trace the dip of his spine, curl in his belt loops. Dan is so good to her all the time and she wants his goodness now, wants to swallow that feeling and trick herself into thinking she might even deserve it.
They make quick work of her buttons, the hooks of the bustier, the blanket, everything between them pushed aside. Dan turns hesitant like he thinks she's going to kick him out of bed and it only makes Blair hold him closer, tighter, her nails biting into his skin.
"It can't be more than this," she is careful to say, gasping as his teeth find her ribs. "I can't, I –"
"I don't care," Dan says, mouth moving over her stomach now, "I don't care, whatever you give me – I just want you –"
Blair yanks up him sharply by the hair then to shut him up with a kiss because if Dan starts putting words to the look in his eyes she's going to go plumb crazy.
"God," he says, sounding dazed, "You're beautiful."
He makes her feel not-awful a few times over and then falls asleep with his face against her shoulder, arm around her. Blair still can't sleep. The satisfaction starts to settle in her bones as guilt, deep nauseous-making guilt; today she told one man she loved him and slept with another and neither of them were her husband. She can't stop being awful; she can't make up her mind.
She gets up, making sure not to disturb him, and gets dressed in the tourist clothes again, tiptoes downstairs to find Dorota had left her suitcase at the desk. She does a quick change in the bathroom off the lobby and has them hail a cab for her. The ride to the airport is surprisingly quick.
Blair has never been good at running away but the thought of waking up next to Dan terrifies her and she just needs to get out, needs to leave everything behind her in New York. She thinks she understands Serena now in a way she never let herself before.
She knows he'll understand. She hopes, anyway. Dan always does, it's the best and worst part of him.
It's raining outside. How appropriate, Blair thinks.
Blair/Dan. PG13. 1289 words. Set during 5x14.
Summary She knows he'll understand. She hopes, anyway. Dan always does, it's the best and worst part of him.
Note: Originally posted here.
Blair comes out of the bathroom when she hears the door slam shut, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room. "Did you really leave?" she calls.
Silence. Then, exhaustedly, "No," from the other side of the door.
She feels a stupid amount of relief. "Then come back inside."
Another stagnant pause. "I don't have the key, I'm locked out."
Blair rolls her eyes but almost smiles, making sure her lips are pursed in annoyance by the time she gets the door open.
Dan drinks beer from the minibar continuously, whatever's there, but Blair makes him order up a proper red wine for her. Blair gets a little tipsy, especially considering all she's had in her stomach today was champagne and anti-anxiety meds. A little more than tipsy, really, and she gets herself out of her hideous disguise, abandoning the polyblend sweatshirt and t-shirt on the armchair, leaving her briefly in those repulsive leggings and half her wedding lingerie, the white lace bustier she'd had made especially for the occasion.
Dan is looking at her with very wide eyes, his hand frozen halfway raising the bottle to his lips. "Uh," he says.
"Yes, very flattering, thank you," Blair says, snapping her fingers, "Give me your shirt. At least it's a human fabric; polyester gives me a rash."
"Looks good to me," Dan says, but he sets the bottle down and shrugs his tailcoat off, starts in on his buttons.
Blair has given up her glass and is drinking right from the bottle by now. The more Dan unbuttons the more she begins to regret her request, though she does really want the shirt; by the time he's handing it off, wearing only his undershirt, Blair is almost nervous. His collarbones are sharp as his cheekbones, and his arms are…surprisingly nice, shapely shoulders and bony wrists, nice hands.
Blair swallows a large gulp of wine and gives the bottle to him, says, "Don't leave me alone here, Humphrey."
He gives her that half-smile of his and brings the wine to his lips; Blair looks away from his throat as he swallows, doing up buttons on the shirt still warm from him.
Eventually Blair slumps sleepily against the pillows. Dan does his best to tuck her in as she kicks at him tiredly and then he steals a pillow and blanket to sleep on the floor. Blair is disappointed but doesn't offer him anything.
She's too exhausted to be awake but too awake to be asleep and, in the dark of the room, her head can't stop spinning. She keeps seeing Chuck at the back of the church and Louis turn cold in her arms, that despairing feeling blooming in her that she just can't seem to get rid of no matter what she does. Against her will and better judgment she starts crying, embarrassing tears she can't contain or stifle.
She hears Dan get up and wishes he wouldn't, wishes he wasn't so nice to her all the time. The bed dips under his weight, hand sliding over her back, and Blair turns into him immediately, tucking her face into his neck as his arms go around her.
"I'm sorry," she says, sniffling and rubbing at her wet cheeks, "I've been so – so crazy and awful lately and you've –"
"No you haven't," Dan says firmly. He pulls back enough to brush her hair away from her face, where it sticks slightly to her damp skin. "It's you. It couldn't be awful."
Blair stares at him for a moment, breathing shaky, and then she presses a quick kiss to his mouth. Dan is startled still. "Thank you for being my friend," she says. "I don't know what I would have done without you this last month."
Dan is still looking at her, tiniest of creases between his brows. "You don't have to thank me for that.
Blair mirrors his slight frown. "You're too nice."
He shakes his head. "I'm not, really."
She rests her hand on his cheek, rough under her fingertips; he needs to shave already. Her thumb brushes over his mouth. Then she's leaning up and kissing him again, not thankful or friendly, her mouth opening under his.
Dan pulls back first, just barely, caught by her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry," he says, "I shouldn't –"
Her fingers curl tightly in his hair. "I need to not feel awful," she says, "for an hour. Just an hour. And you're really good at making me not feel awful, so can you – can you help me with that?"
Dan searches her face as she runs a touch over his mouth again and finally nods, leaning back in to kiss her again. Blair lets her hand slip over his neck to that sharp collarbone, across to his shoulder and down his arm. She thinks of the last time she kissed Dan, and the time before that, and how his mouth is just the same except she's not pretending to not want it. The blanket is still between them, a safety, as they kiss deeper and deeper, Dan kissing her like he'll never have enough of wanting to.
She reaches for the hem of his shirt to pull it up over his head, only letting their lips part for the time it takes to get the shirt off, and then he's leaning over her, his weight leaning on her, and Blair can't remember the last time she wanted this acutely. Her fingers travel over his back, trace the dip of his spine, curl in his belt loops. Dan is so good to her all the time and she wants his goodness now, wants to swallow that feeling and trick herself into thinking she might even deserve it.
They make quick work of her buttons, the hooks of the bustier, the blanket, everything between them pushed aside. Dan turns hesitant like he thinks she's going to kick him out of bed and it only makes Blair hold him closer, tighter, her nails biting into his skin.
"It can't be more than this," she is careful to say, gasping as his teeth find her ribs. "I can't, I –"
"I don't care," Dan says, mouth moving over her stomach now, "I don't care, whatever you give me – I just want you –"
Blair yanks up him sharply by the hair then to shut him up with a kiss because if Dan starts putting words to the look in his eyes she's going to go plumb crazy.
"God," he says, sounding dazed, "You're beautiful."
He makes her feel not-awful a few times over and then falls asleep with his face against her shoulder, arm around her. Blair still can't sleep. The satisfaction starts to settle in her bones as guilt, deep nauseous-making guilt; today she told one man she loved him and slept with another and neither of them were her husband. She can't stop being awful; she can't make up her mind.
She gets up, making sure not to disturb him, and gets dressed in the tourist clothes again, tiptoes downstairs to find Dorota had left her suitcase at the desk. She does a quick change in the bathroom off the lobby and has them hail a cab for her. The ride to the airport is surprisingly quick.
Blair has never been good at running away but the thought of waking up next to Dan terrifies her and she just needs to get out, needs to leave everything behind her in New York. She thinks she understands Serena now in a way she never let herself before.
She knows he'll understand. She hopes, anyway. Dan always does, it's the best and worst part of him.
It's raining outside. How appropriate, Blair thinks.