bang bang (my baby shot me down)
Blair, Beatrice, Dan. 1411 words. R.
Goes AU around 5x13.
Summary Her eyes meet Blair's in the mirror, her fingers in Blair's curls. "You don't want to be here," Beatrice says, sounding certain. "So let's go."
Note: For![]()
ms_mmelissa!! I'm glad I got an excuse to write this, because I've been wanting to do something like it pretty much since the ~royal wedding debacle aired.
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Beatrice has gray eyes like flint, ready to spark. She's too dark for the pale pink cotton candy confection of a bridesmaid dress Blair had put her in, black hair and black lashes and sharp fuchsia lips.
Her eyes meet Blair's in the mirror, her fingers in Blair's curls. "You don't want to be here," she says, sounding certain. "So let's go."
Blair swallows hard, a million excuses on her tongue, but all she says is, "I have to make a call first."
On the plane, Dan says, "I can't believe I'm stealing a royal bride."
"You're not," Beatrice says, flipping through a gossip rag she'd picked up at the terminal. Blair and Louis are on the cover of it. "I am."
"No one's stealing anyone," Blair hisses. Her heart is still beating too fast, breathing coming too fast; she can't believe she left, can't believe she's on a plane instead of at the end of the aisle.
Dan slides his hand into hers. "You're okay," he tells her softly and Blair takes her first deep breath.
They go to Athens only because Blair has never been, and even Beatrice can see the light of excitement in Dan's eyes under the anxiety.
It's not exactly perfect beach weather but they take the hour trip out to Sounion the first day for that very purpose anyway. It's depressingly overcast; Blair huddles into Dan's tailcoat, dressed in Beatrice's clothes underneath because they only had her suitcases to run with. The sky is like Beatrice's eyes, gray and threatening.
Beatrice unzips her black boots and her blue dress and walks naked into the water. She swims out until all they can see is black hair floating on the surface like seaweed. When Beatrice reemerges dripping wet she's like a mermaid, the kind who brings sailors crashing to their death.
Dan puts his arm around Blair's waist. You're okay, Blair thinks and relaxes into his side.
They get one hotel room with two beds, the girls in one and Dan in the other. Beatrice said something about keeping a low profile but Blair thinks they just want to be close to her in case she flies off the handle or something.
Blair wakes up one night to the sound of stifled moaning, finds the bed empty beside her and the linens cool. If she's surprised, it's only because it wasn't her first.
Dan appears stunned, looking up at Beatrice with his hand on her small breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple intently. Beatrice seems something of a witch, still, with her black hair and her strange eyes, her odd unhappy mouth, and her skin so white it's almost blue.
Seeing Dan like this is…odd, to say the least. Blair doesn't really think of him as a person who has sex, even though she's probably more aware of his sexual history than she'd like to be. She wouldn't have known how to conceptualize of it. She wouldn't have known to picture the way he throws his head back, his eyes shut tight and lip caught by his teeth, his throat a smooth sharp line angling bluntly into collarbone before curving into shoulder. He's almost pretty, really.
It's sudden that he tips Beatrice over onto her back, one arm sliding under her and the other hand hooking her leg higher on his waist. Beatrice is sulky and unresponsive to his kisses even as her hips lift for him, her hand tight in his curls. She opens her eyes and looks right at Blair, a sudden shock like being struck by lightning.
Blair turns over and goes back to sleep, or tries to. Dan's voice, his low voice, is all she hears.
Blair ignores Dan for three days, feeling angry and betrayed. She doesn't know why she's not angry with Beatrice – maybe she just doesn't want to be entirely alone here – but she's not. They walk arm in arm through the streets, both in Beatrice's dresses, and pretend to be sisters; they cut their hair in identical bobs and wear the same shade of lipstick, Beatrice applying it to Blair's mouth with careful intensity. Then she kisses Blair.
"I did it because you would not," she says, "and he would not."
Dan is reading on a bench outside the hotel when they get back. He double-takes when he sees them, says, "That's some disguise, girls."
Blair goes to dinner with Dan, just Dan, wearing a black dress of Beatrice's that cuts so low in front Blair spends the whole night tugging at it in fear of exposure. Dan doesn't mention his night with Beatrice and Blair wonders if he even knows she knows; it wouldn't be the first time she's ignored him seemingly for nothing.
On the way back to the room, the only ones in the dim hallway, Blair adjusts her dress again, impatiently. Dan makes a little sound, frustrated and wanting, and curls his hand around her wrist, pulls her towards him; he kisses her palm first and then the inside of her arm, the bared space between her breasts, her throat, her mouth. Blair is breathless, boneless, can only slump against the wall between two doors and let Dan put his mouth on her, thinking not for the first time of the naked lines of him.
But it's Dan– it's Dan with his hands on her, Dan kissing her desperately, her friend Dan who she treats half like a girlfriend and half like an assistant, Dan her best friend.
"I can't," Blair says, whispered so soft it's like she barely said it. She slides out from under him, rushes down the hall to the room and doesn't look back. She doesn't know she's crying until Beatrice's arms are around her and she's saying, "I'm such a mess, I'm such a stupid mess –"
Beatrice hushes her and kisses her, a series of comforting quick kisses that do little to soothe Blair. You're okay, Blair reminds herself; she's safe. She made the right choice, hurt Louis then so she wouldn't have to hurt him more later. It's better this way. Beatrice had been right; Blair hadn't wanted to be there in that church in that big white dress.
It's still probably a mistake to let Louis' sister kiss her, to kiss back more openly than she'd ever kissed him. Beatrice's hand goes between Blair's legs where she is already wet; she pushes Blair's – her – dress aside to put her mouth on Blair's breast, nip a little too sharply with her teeth. Blair comes in a shivering wave and does not remember the last time that happened, the last time someone else made her come.
Dan comes in much later. He smells like he's been drinking, having a few cigarettes. Beatrice is asleep but Blair is not and she reaches out for him; he drops down next to her and into her arms. "I'm sorry," he says.
Blair's dress is still awkwardly twisted around her and her thighs feel sticky but for some reason she doesn't really care as she presses closer, her leg sliding between his and her hands gripping the back of his shirt.
"Don't be sorry," she breathes.
Blair wakes to Dan still tucked against her, his even breathing warm against her throat. Blair shifts a little to dislodge his sleep-heavy arm and feels his lips brush her skin lightly. Skinnier, more feminine fingers traipse deliberately over Blair's inner thigh and she turns to meet Beatrice's eyes.
"He loves you, you know," Beatrice says.
It's too early for Blair to deal with this so she lets her eyes fall shut again. Beatrice presses light kisses to Blair's cheeks, her eyelids. Two fingers trace Blair through her panties. Blair needs a shower. Dan makes a deep, sleep-satisfied sound but doesn't wake and Blair bites her lip hard as Beatrice's fingers slide into her.
"Of course you know," Beatrice says. It suddenly strikes Blair that Beatrice thinks she is in love with Dan – that she would have every reason to think Blair is in love with Dan. When they left, Dan is all Blair thought to bring with her.
Blair turns towards Dan's sleeping face. He's frowning slightly, brows drawn together, and Blair reaches up to touch his mouth as Beatrice strokes her faster, presses deeper. Blair gasps a little. Dan's lips pull into a soft pout and his eyes open hazy and hesitant.
"Blair," he murmurs softly, questioningly, and Blair's only answer is a moan.
Blair, Beatrice, Dan. 1411 words. R.
Goes AU around 5x13.
Summary Her eyes meet Blair's in the mirror, her fingers in Blair's curls. "You don't want to be here," Beatrice says, sounding certain. "So let's go."
Note: For
ms_mmelissa!! I'm glad I got an excuse to write this, because I've been wanting to do something like it pretty much since the ~royal wedding debacle aired.
Beatrice has gray eyes like flint, ready to spark. She's too dark for the pale pink cotton candy confection of a bridesmaid dress Blair had put her in, black hair and black lashes and sharp fuchsia lips.
Her eyes meet Blair's in the mirror, her fingers in Blair's curls. "You don't want to be here," she says, sounding certain. "So let's go."
Blair swallows hard, a million excuses on her tongue, but all she says is, "I have to make a call first."
On the plane, Dan says, "I can't believe I'm stealing a royal bride."
"You're not," Beatrice says, flipping through a gossip rag she'd picked up at the terminal. Blair and Louis are on the cover of it. "I am."
"No one's stealing anyone," Blair hisses. Her heart is still beating too fast, breathing coming too fast; she can't believe she left, can't believe she's on a plane instead of at the end of the aisle.
Dan slides his hand into hers. "You're okay," he tells her softly and Blair takes her first deep breath.
They go to Athens only because Blair has never been, and even Beatrice can see the light of excitement in Dan's eyes under the anxiety.
It's not exactly perfect beach weather but they take the hour trip out to Sounion the first day for that very purpose anyway. It's depressingly overcast; Blair huddles into Dan's tailcoat, dressed in Beatrice's clothes underneath because they only had her suitcases to run with. The sky is like Beatrice's eyes, gray and threatening.
Beatrice unzips her black boots and her blue dress and walks naked into the water. She swims out until all they can see is black hair floating on the surface like seaweed. When Beatrice reemerges dripping wet she's like a mermaid, the kind who brings sailors crashing to their death.
Dan puts his arm around Blair's waist. You're okay, Blair thinks and relaxes into his side.
They get one hotel room with two beds, the girls in one and Dan in the other. Beatrice said something about keeping a low profile but Blair thinks they just want to be close to her in case she flies off the handle or something.
Blair wakes up one night to the sound of stifled moaning, finds the bed empty beside her and the linens cool. If she's surprised, it's only because it wasn't her first.
Dan appears stunned, looking up at Beatrice with his hand on her small breast, thumb rubbing over her nipple intently. Beatrice seems something of a witch, still, with her black hair and her strange eyes, her odd unhappy mouth, and her skin so white it's almost blue.
Seeing Dan like this is…odd, to say the least. Blair doesn't really think of him as a person who has sex, even though she's probably more aware of his sexual history than she'd like to be. She wouldn't have known how to conceptualize of it. She wouldn't have known to picture the way he throws his head back, his eyes shut tight and lip caught by his teeth, his throat a smooth sharp line angling bluntly into collarbone before curving into shoulder. He's almost pretty, really.
It's sudden that he tips Beatrice over onto her back, one arm sliding under her and the other hand hooking her leg higher on his waist. Beatrice is sulky and unresponsive to his kisses even as her hips lift for him, her hand tight in his curls. She opens her eyes and looks right at Blair, a sudden shock like being struck by lightning.
Blair turns over and goes back to sleep, or tries to. Dan's voice, his low voice, is all she hears.
Blair ignores Dan for three days, feeling angry and betrayed. She doesn't know why she's not angry with Beatrice – maybe she just doesn't want to be entirely alone here – but she's not. They walk arm in arm through the streets, both in Beatrice's dresses, and pretend to be sisters; they cut their hair in identical bobs and wear the same shade of lipstick, Beatrice applying it to Blair's mouth with careful intensity. Then she kisses Blair.
"I did it because you would not," she says, "and he would not."
Dan is reading on a bench outside the hotel when they get back. He double-takes when he sees them, says, "That's some disguise, girls."
Blair goes to dinner with Dan, just Dan, wearing a black dress of Beatrice's that cuts so low in front Blair spends the whole night tugging at it in fear of exposure. Dan doesn't mention his night with Beatrice and Blair wonders if he even knows she knows; it wouldn't be the first time she's ignored him seemingly for nothing.
On the way back to the room, the only ones in the dim hallway, Blair adjusts her dress again, impatiently. Dan makes a little sound, frustrated and wanting, and curls his hand around her wrist, pulls her towards him; he kisses her palm first and then the inside of her arm, the bared space between her breasts, her throat, her mouth. Blair is breathless, boneless, can only slump against the wall between two doors and let Dan put his mouth on her, thinking not for the first time of the naked lines of him.
But it's Dan– it's Dan with his hands on her, Dan kissing her desperately, her friend Dan who she treats half like a girlfriend and half like an assistant, Dan her best friend.
"I can't," Blair says, whispered so soft it's like she barely said it. She slides out from under him, rushes down the hall to the room and doesn't look back. She doesn't know she's crying until Beatrice's arms are around her and she's saying, "I'm such a mess, I'm such a stupid mess –"
Beatrice hushes her and kisses her, a series of comforting quick kisses that do little to soothe Blair. You're okay, Blair reminds herself; she's safe. She made the right choice, hurt Louis then so she wouldn't have to hurt him more later. It's better this way. Beatrice had been right; Blair hadn't wanted to be there in that church in that big white dress.
It's still probably a mistake to let Louis' sister kiss her, to kiss back more openly than she'd ever kissed him. Beatrice's hand goes between Blair's legs where she is already wet; she pushes Blair's – her – dress aside to put her mouth on Blair's breast, nip a little too sharply with her teeth. Blair comes in a shivering wave and does not remember the last time that happened, the last time someone else made her come.
Dan comes in much later. He smells like he's been drinking, having a few cigarettes. Beatrice is asleep but Blair is not and she reaches out for him; he drops down next to her and into her arms. "I'm sorry," he says.
Blair's dress is still awkwardly twisted around her and her thighs feel sticky but for some reason she doesn't really care as she presses closer, her leg sliding between his and her hands gripping the back of his shirt.
"Don't be sorry," she breathes.
Blair wakes to Dan still tucked against her, his even breathing warm against her throat. Blair shifts a little to dislodge his sleep-heavy arm and feels his lips brush her skin lightly. Skinnier, more feminine fingers traipse deliberately over Blair's inner thigh and she turns to meet Beatrice's eyes.
"He loves you, you know," Beatrice says.
It's too early for Blair to deal with this so she lets her eyes fall shut again. Beatrice presses light kisses to Blair's cheeks, her eyelids. Two fingers trace Blair through her panties. Blair needs a shower. Dan makes a deep, sleep-satisfied sound but doesn't wake and Blair bites her lip hard as Beatrice's fingers slide into her.
"Of course you know," Beatrice says. It suddenly strikes Blair that Beatrice thinks she is in love with Dan – that she would have every reason to think Blair is in love with Dan. When they left, Dan is all Blair thought to bring with her.
Blair turns towards Dan's sleeping face. He's frowning slightly, brows drawn together, and Blair reaches up to touch his mouth as Beatrice strokes her faster, presses deeper. Blair gasps a little. Dan's lips pull into a soft pout and his eyes open hazy and hesitant.
"Blair," he murmurs softly, questioningly, and Blair's only answer is a moan.