and when you kiss me
Dan/Blair. Post-series. 1540 words.
w: adultery, mentions of abuse, chuck's existence
written for this prompt
summary: I'm not good at giving in.
Marriage lasted Dan and Serena about a year. One Saturday morning they were doing their usual thing, sitting side-by-side in bed while Dan read and Serena flipped between chipper newscasters and cartoons. The sparse conversation petered out into silence and at some point Dan became aware of Serena looking at him. Later he distinctly remembers the way the soft morning light caught the diamond in her wedding ring.
He meant to ask what was wrong, but neither of them seemed up to talking. Eventually Serena snuggled into his side and they watched three episodes of Adventure Time. A week later Dan moved out. In a few months the papers were finalized.
At twenty-seven Dan was a divorcé, and it was a hard thing for someone like him to stomach. But he couldn't deny that after signing the papers, he expelled the first breath of real relief he'd felt in six years.
After the final signing, they sat side-by-side on a bench outside the lawyers' with their fingers intertwined.
"I just want to know one thing," Serena started cautiously. "I won't be mad, I just want to know."
But Dan knew the question she'd ask and the answer he'd give, so he just kissed her knuckles and said, "We don't have to explain anything to each other anymore," and that closed the door on that.
Blair turned thirty. She spent eighteen years of her life attached to some man or other, been someone's girlfriend since she was twelve and someone's wife since she was twenty. Henry was about to turn eight. Chuck's grip on her has been iron-strong since her seventeenth birthday. Every morning she looked at him across the breakfast table and smiled and thought of all the ways she could gut him with her cutlery. Every morning she woke up wondering just how she got herself here.
Sometimes Blair looked at Henry and wondered just how he got here, where he came from. He was such an exact copy of his father that it was a stark reminder how little Blair had to do with him. The big secret no one knew was that Henry was not Blair's son. The story behind it was a good one because it was practically true: after two miscarriages, it was decided that they'd need a surrogate but before that could go through, Chuck came to her with his head hanging. I made a mistake, he said, but it worked out for him all the same. Henry was made in Chuck's exact image, though every so often an expression would cross his face that must've belonged to his mother, the nameless woman Chuck cheated on her with.
If Blair were a better person, it wouldn't matter. Chuck once offered to love a baby she was going to have with someone else, and the same promise was extracted from her when Henry came to live with them. If she were a good person, she would have loved that baby. After all, it wasn't Henry's fault that his father was Chuck Bass, or Henry's fault that Blair chose Chuck to chase down the aisle.
She didn't know where Henry came from, only that Chuck's pain always came first, his abandonment relived through another woman's baby. Blair would never be allowed to forget being a heartbroken seventeen-year-old girl who promised to stand by him through anything without knowing what that would entail.
Henry called her Mommy and Blair looked at him like a stranger.
It was the night of Blair's thirtieth birthday, a classy and understated affair with no children allowed. Dan was there as Nelly Yuki's date because there was no way in hell he'd make it past Blair Waldorf's (Bass, hissed his unwilling subconscious) door without someone else as a ticket in. He hadn't seen Blair all night, though when he was getting himself a drink at the far end of the room he heard an unmistakable sound, soft and miserable.
Dan followed it, anticipating the source, and found Blair at the end of the hall. She was sitting on the lush white carpeting in her lush silver gown, voluminous fabric puffed up hilariously around her, a small girl in a big dress. Not a girl, though; a woman, just as sad as she was the first time Dan ever found her like this, and that took all the humor right out of it.
He knelt down. He didn't know what to say, having run out of platitudes long before. He knew she wasn't alright so he didn't ask. Finally, when she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, her face thinner than he remembered, Dan said, "So, you wanna dance?"
It was enough of a surprise to make her laugh and she said, "I can't," instead of no.
Chuck said, "I'm sorry," as he slide the velvet box across their bed – and Blair had to give him credit, he never made it sound perfunctory no matter how many times he said it. He didn't even wait for her to answer before kissing her shoulder and moving on with his life, back to the mirror to straighten his tie. It was an emerald necklace for another epic fuck-up and Blair wore it to the Met Ball, feeling strangled.
Dan was in the crowd. Blair always hated seeing him at events, hated the choking sensation that rose in her throat whenever she caught sight of his distinct profile. But that night he was having a none-too-discreet fight with Nelly Yuki and there was vengeful satisfaction in that.
Blair went to the bar later, just happening to happen upon him. "So," she said carefully, picking the cherry out of her old-fashioned, "You want a drink?"
The look on Dan's face was halfway between wary and thoughtful. She thought he might say no, but instead what came out was, "I can't." He tilted his head back towards the crowd where Nelly must be, somewhere. "Thanks, though."
"Of course," Blair said, cheeks reddening in sudden embarrassment. She added, "Your shoes are hideous," but there wasn't a spark of heat in it, and somewhere in the recesses of her mind she could only think how handsome he was, how handsome he'd always been.
Dan measured sections of his life not by accomplishments but by girls he'd been in love with at the time, and he supposed his biggest problem was trying to pretend an era existed after Blair. Or so that seemed to be the takeaway from his last big fight with Nelly, and it had his head spinning enough that he was dialing a number he pretended not to know.
Blair picked up after half a ring, but seemed annoyed. "What?"
"You got time?" Dan asked.
Silence. Then, "I have a window."
Her window was fifteen minutes for drinks in the lobby of a hotel Chuck owned, but she was dressed up enough that Dan read the signs. Fifteen minute drinks turned into an hour in a rented room. Their first time had been in a hotel room. Dan was better this time around; almost ten years, and he hadn't forgotten how to touch her.
Blair bought Chuck a solid gold watch, its black face embedded with a dozen tiny diamonds.
"What's this for?" he asked.
On Blair's wrist glittered a diamond bracelet Chuck bought her after leaving ten fingerprint bruises on her arms. Around her neck was the pendant she got along with Henry.
"You buy me lovely things all the time," Blair said. "I can't return the favor?"
The lingerie she wore for Dan was always new and she kept it all in a suitcase at the top of her closet, a collection of shopping bags hidden away like a suburban shopaholic. She didn't want him to touch any part of her life, and didn't want any part of her life to touch him. It could be just a game of intrigue as long as she left it like this, secret lace underthings and apology gifts to Chuck like a series of private jokes.
Dan said, "You're the best liar I ever knew."
The gap between what Blair did and what Blair said was never so gaping. Dan at least liked to make a show of honesty; he broke up with Nelly after the first night at the hotel and settled back into a waiting game that is almost ten years old by now.
"The only reason you think that is because you're too focused on what I say," Blair said, her voice quiet enough to be almost unheard.
Her dress was on but unzipped, the pale line of her back facing him as she clipped her garters. Hands gentle, Dan reached to slide the zipper up. He kissed her neck.
"That's all I can go on," he said softly. "I can't live my life in code."
Blair stopped fiddling with her clothes to press her face into her hands, a slow sigh escaping her. But before Dan could do anything, she was turning, her arms slipping around his neck. She pressed her face against him like she used to do when they were together and told him, "I'm not good at giving in."
And Dan said all he could say, the truth. "I'll wait."
Dan/Blair. Post-series. 1540 words.
w: adultery, mentions of abuse, chuck's existence
written for this prompt
summary: I'm not good at giving in.
Marriage lasted Dan and Serena about a year. One Saturday morning they were doing their usual thing, sitting side-by-side in bed while Dan read and Serena flipped between chipper newscasters and cartoons. The sparse conversation petered out into silence and at some point Dan became aware of Serena looking at him. Later he distinctly remembers the way the soft morning light caught the diamond in her wedding ring.
He meant to ask what was wrong, but neither of them seemed up to talking. Eventually Serena snuggled into his side and they watched three episodes of Adventure Time. A week later Dan moved out. In a few months the papers were finalized.
At twenty-seven Dan was a divorcé, and it was a hard thing for someone like him to stomach. But he couldn't deny that after signing the papers, he expelled the first breath of real relief he'd felt in six years.
After the final signing, they sat side-by-side on a bench outside the lawyers' with their fingers intertwined.
"I just want to know one thing," Serena started cautiously. "I won't be mad, I just want to know."
But Dan knew the question she'd ask and the answer he'd give, so he just kissed her knuckles and said, "We don't have to explain anything to each other anymore," and that closed the door on that.
Blair turned thirty. She spent eighteen years of her life attached to some man or other, been someone's girlfriend since she was twelve and someone's wife since she was twenty. Henry was about to turn eight. Chuck's grip on her has been iron-strong since her seventeenth birthday. Every morning she looked at him across the breakfast table and smiled and thought of all the ways she could gut him with her cutlery. Every morning she woke up wondering just how she got herself here.
Sometimes Blair looked at Henry and wondered just how he got here, where he came from. He was such an exact copy of his father that it was a stark reminder how little Blair had to do with him. The big secret no one knew was that Henry was not Blair's son. The story behind it was a good one because it was practically true: after two miscarriages, it was decided that they'd need a surrogate but before that could go through, Chuck came to her with his head hanging. I made a mistake, he said, but it worked out for him all the same. Henry was made in Chuck's exact image, though every so often an expression would cross his face that must've belonged to his mother, the nameless woman Chuck cheated on her with.
If Blair were a better person, it wouldn't matter. Chuck once offered to love a baby she was going to have with someone else, and the same promise was extracted from her when Henry came to live with them. If she were a good person, she would have loved that baby. After all, it wasn't Henry's fault that his father was Chuck Bass, or Henry's fault that Blair chose Chuck to chase down the aisle.
She didn't know where Henry came from, only that Chuck's pain always came first, his abandonment relived through another woman's baby. Blair would never be allowed to forget being a heartbroken seventeen-year-old girl who promised to stand by him through anything without knowing what that would entail.
Henry called her Mommy and Blair looked at him like a stranger.
It was the night of Blair's thirtieth birthday, a classy and understated affair with no children allowed. Dan was there as Nelly Yuki's date because there was no way in hell he'd make it past Blair Waldorf's (Bass, hissed his unwilling subconscious) door without someone else as a ticket in. He hadn't seen Blair all night, though when he was getting himself a drink at the far end of the room he heard an unmistakable sound, soft and miserable.
Dan followed it, anticipating the source, and found Blair at the end of the hall. She was sitting on the lush white carpeting in her lush silver gown, voluminous fabric puffed up hilariously around her, a small girl in a big dress. Not a girl, though; a woman, just as sad as she was the first time Dan ever found her like this, and that took all the humor right out of it.
He knelt down. He didn't know what to say, having run out of platitudes long before. He knew she wasn't alright so he didn't ask. Finally, when she looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, her face thinner than he remembered, Dan said, "So, you wanna dance?"
It was enough of a surprise to make her laugh and she said, "I can't," instead of no.
Chuck said, "I'm sorry," as he slide the velvet box across their bed – and Blair had to give him credit, he never made it sound perfunctory no matter how many times he said it. He didn't even wait for her to answer before kissing her shoulder and moving on with his life, back to the mirror to straighten his tie. It was an emerald necklace for another epic fuck-up and Blair wore it to the Met Ball, feeling strangled.
Dan was in the crowd. Blair always hated seeing him at events, hated the choking sensation that rose in her throat whenever she caught sight of his distinct profile. But that night he was having a none-too-discreet fight with Nelly Yuki and there was vengeful satisfaction in that.
Blair went to the bar later, just happening to happen upon him. "So," she said carefully, picking the cherry out of her old-fashioned, "You want a drink?"
The look on Dan's face was halfway between wary and thoughtful. She thought he might say no, but instead what came out was, "I can't." He tilted his head back towards the crowd where Nelly must be, somewhere. "Thanks, though."
"Of course," Blair said, cheeks reddening in sudden embarrassment. She added, "Your shoes are hideous," but there wasn't a spark of heat in it, and somewhere in the recesses of her mind she could only think how handsome he was, how handsome he'd always been.
Dan measured sections of his life not by accomplishments but by girls he'd been in love with at the time, and he supposed his biggest problem was trying to pretend an era existed after Blair. Or so that seemed to be the takeaway from his last big fight with Nelly, and it had his head spinning enough that he was dialing a number he pretended not to know.
Blair picked up after half a ring, but seemed annoyed. "What?"
"You got time?" Dan asked.
Silence. Then, "I have a window."
Her window was fifteen minutes for drinks in the lobby of a hotel Chuck owned, but she was dressed up enough that Dan read the signs. Fifteen minute drinks turned into an hour in a rented room. Their first time had been in a hotel room. Dan was better this time around; almost ten years, and he hadn't forgotten how to touch her.
Blair bought Chuck a solid gold watch, its black face embedded with a dozen tiny diamonds.
"What's this for?" he asked.
On Blair's wrist glittered a diamond bracelet Chuck bought her after leaving ten fingerprint bruises on her arms. Around her neck was the pendant she got along with Henry.
"You buy me lovely things all the time," Blair said. "I can't return the favor?"
The lingerie she wore for Dan was always new and she kept it all in a suitcase at the top of her closet, a collection of shopping bags hidden away like a suburban shopaholic. She didn't want him to touch any part of her life, and didn't want any part of her life to touch him. It could be just a game of intrigue as long as she left it like this, secret lace underthings and apology gifts to Chuck like a series of private jokes.
Dan said, "You're the best liar I ever knew."
The gap between what Blair did and what Blair said was never so gaping. Dan at least liked to make a show of honesty; he broke up with Nelly after the first night at the hotel and settled back into a waiting game that is almost ten years old by now.
"The only reason you think that is because you're too focused on what I say," Blair said, her voice quiet enough to be almost unheard.
Her dress was on but unzipped, the pale line of her back facing him as she clipped her garters. Hands gentle, Dan reached to slide the zipper up. He kissed her neck.
"That's all I can go on," he said softly. "I can't live my life in code."
Blair stopped fiddling with her clothes to press her face into her hands, a slow sigh escaping her. But before Dan could do anything, she was turning, her arms slipping around his neck. She pressed her face against him like she used to do when they were together and told him, "I'm not good at giving in."
And Dan said all he could say, the truth. "I'll wait."