said adieu to love
Blair/Nate. PG. 527 words.
Summary: Nate kisses Blair on a Tuesday, tasting like the cappuccino he's holding.
Note: I am super bored and irritatingly sick and cannot seem to nap, sooo have some fic. This is set in some imaginary s3/s4 world where Nate is not a shitty friend.
Nate kisses Blair on a Tuesday, tasting like the cappuccino he's holding.
"Don't." She clutches her own cup more tightly. Don’t do it if you just miss Serena. Don't do it because you feel bad. Don't do it unless you mean it.
"I want to," he insists, determination looking like confusion on his face. "Blair – "
"Don't," she says again. "Don't pity me, Nate."
She supposes there's something about a boy who's seen you broken down and still wants to kiss you anyway.
Nate walks her to class, her textbooks tucked under his arm. Blair's flushed, she feels like it's middle school all over again.
"Are you going to start calling me sweetheart again?" she asks, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
He gives her a sidelong look. "If you want me to."
"I don't," she lies. "I mean, we're hardly little kids anymore."
"I can still call you that, though." They pause at the door to her room. Nate gives her her books, kisses her cheek, and says into her ear, "Goodbye, sweetheart."
Dan and Nate make Blair go to a godforsaken bar with them. People are drinking cheap beer and eating greasy pizza off paper plates.
"I'm not Serena," she reminds them, arms crossed over her sweater.
"Really, I never would have noticed," Dan says dryly. Nate has one eye on the game and doesn't seem to be able to split his focus enough to respond.
She nudges a crumpled napkin on the floor with the toe of her pump. She half expects it to explode in disease.
Nate pushes a beer toward her. She stares at it. He stares at her.
"Drink," he urges.
Dan takes a napkin and wipes the rim of her glass. "There, drink." There's a touch of amused condescension in his expression. Lips pursed, Blair takes a defiant sip.
Nate smiles. "See? Not bad."
"Debatable." Still, she takes another sip.
She kisses Nate on a Saturday. Humphrey has brought them to a farmer's market (the less said about that, the better) and Nate bought her a tiny bunch of pink flowers, grinning proudly. She tiptoes up and kisses him almost on instinct.
"Thank you," she says, blushing.
His smile widens. "You're welcome."
"Selfish," he mumbles, hoisting her legs over his hips, hands under her thighs, "I'll show you selfish."
Blair giggles into his mouth and it feels – it's different, Nate is different and she's different, they've got tricks from however many other partners up their sleeves, but it's still her and it's still Nate.
After, she reminds him, "It's not as easy as all this."
Nate runs fingertips up and down her thigh, over the crease of her hip and back down. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Blair says, impatiently, "we can't just fall into bed and have everything be fine."
Brow crinkled and hair mussed, he's rather unfairly adorable. "Why not? It's just sex, Blair."
"It's not, that's my point," she says. "Not when it's you and me. There's history."
"History," he echoes distastefully. "That." Unexpectedly, he tips her back against the sheets and rolls on top of her, mouth a minute from hers. Quietly, he says, "Fuck history."
Blair/Nate. PG. 527 words.
Summary: Nate kisses Blair on a Tuesday, tasting like the cappuccino he's holding.
Note: I am super bored and irritatingly sick and cannot seem to nap, sooo have some fic. This is set in some imaginary s3/s4 world where Nate is not a shitty friend.
Nate kisses Blair on a Tuesday, tasting like the cappuccino he's holding.
"Don't." She clutches her own cup more tightly. Don’t do it if you just miss Serena. Don't do it because you feel bad. Don't do it unless you mean it.
"I want to," he insists, determination looking like confusion on his face. "Blair – "
"Don't," she says again. "Don't pity me, Nate."
She supposes there's something about a boy who's seen you broken down and still wants to kiss you anyway.
Nate walks her to class, her textbooks tucked under his arm. Blair's flushed, she feels like it's middle school all over again.
"Are you going to start calling me sweetheart again?" she asks, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
He gives her a sidelong look. "If you want me to."
"I don't," she lies. "I mean, we're hardly little kids anymore."
"I can still call you that, though." They pause at the door to her room. Nate gives her her books, kisses her cheek, and says into her ear, "Goodbye, sweetheart."
Dan and Nate make Blair go to a godforsaken bar with them. People are drinking cheap beer and eating greasy pizza off paper plates.
"I'm not Serena," she reminds them, arms crossed over her sweater.
"Really, I never would have noticed," Dan says dryly. Nate has one eye on the game and doesn't seem to be able to split his focus enough to respond.
She nudges a crumpled napkin on the floor with the toe of her pump. She half expects it to explode in disease.
Nate pushes a beer toward her. She stares at it. He stares at her.
"Drink," he urges.
Dan takes a napkin and wipes the rim of her glass. "There, drink." There's a touch of amused condescension in his expression. Lips pursed, Blair takes a defiant sip.
Nate smiles. "See? Not bad."
"Debatable." Still, she takes another sip.
She kisses Nate on a Saturday. Humphrey has brought them to a farmer's market (the less said about that, the better) and Nate bought her a tiny bunch of pink flowers, grinning proudly. She tiptoes up and kisses him almost on instinct.
"Thank you," she says, blushing.
His smile widens. "You're welcome."
"Selfish," he mumbles, hoisting her legs over his hips, hands under her thighs, "I'll show you selfish."
Blair giggles into his mouth and it feels – it's different, Nate is different and she's different, they've got tricks from however many other partners up their sleeves, but it's still her and it's still Nate.
After, she reminds him, "It's not as easy as all this."
Nate runs fingertips up and down her thigh, over the crease of her hip and back down. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Blair says, impatiently, "we can't just fall into bed and have everything be fine."
Brow crinkled and hair mussed, he's rather unfairly adorable. "Why not? It's just sex, Blair."
"It's not, that's my point," she says. "Not when it's you and me. There's history."
"History," he echoes distastefully. "That." Unexpectedly, he tips her back against the sheets and rolls on top of her, mouth a minute from hers. Quietly, he says, "Fuck history."