waltz no. 2
Dan/Blair. 1384 words. R.
I'm never gonna know you now but I'm gonna love you anyhow
Summary: Blair doesn't know how she turns all of her relationships into this, brittle and violent.
Note: Ultra depressing reaction fic to an episode I have not actually watched in full. I'm still feeling pretty wretched about the whole ordeal and this was written in a kind of sleep-deprived haze. Hope it's therapeutic somehow? I have a bunch of other depressing fics in the works as well. Fun!
The first thing Dan says is, "What are you doing here?"
Blair is wearing a blue coat that's too heavy for the weather and a silk scarf, her hair pushed off her face with a plain, serviceable black headband. It seemed important when she was planning to come over here, her outfit. It seemed important to dress correctly for this but now she realizes she's just overdressed like she's always overdressed.
It's raining out but hot, the air thick. Dan's hair is sucking up moisture. Blair wants to make fun of him, a little, but her words are tangled in her throat.
Dan says, again, "What are you doing here?"
Her voice doesn't sound right when it comes out. It sounds small, cloying, obnoxious. "I didn't see you before the summer, so I thought…"
"You thought what?" She's not prepared for how hard his tone is. "That you could finally break up with me three months after the fact and it would be fucking peachy?"
"I'm sorry," Blair says. What is wrong with her voice? "You know you're my best –"
"I don't want to hear it," he says tightly.
But he doesn't slam the door or tell her to leave. Uncertainly, again, Blair says, "I'm sorry," and reaches up nervously to fiddle with her scarf. Dan's gaze follows her hand and she realizes what she did at the same time he realizes that there's a ring on her finger again.
Dan stares at her, disbelief and anger and a kind of blankness.
She steps closer, instinct, and almost touches his arm but he flinches away, looks down. "I loved you so much," Dan says, "and all you did was hurt me."
She lets go of the door and it falls shut behind her. Then it's just the two of them standing silently in this room where she's come to him a million times before, kissed him, touched him, curled up to watch movies and read books, a room where Dan told her he loved her.
"Tell me you love Chuck," Dan says.
"I love Chuck," Blair says.
"Tell me you never loved me."
Blair's eyes fill rapidly, unexpectedly, with tears but she does what he tells her to do, says, "I didn't love you."
Dan studies her again, searches her face. His eyes are so dark and so distant but he seems almost confused that she's upset. "Say it again."
Blair tips her head back just a little, blinks, and the tears don't spill. "I didn't love you," she says again.
It's in one swift movement, catching her off guard, that Dan picks her up and slams her against the door, kisses her so hard their teeth knock together and she thinks she bites his lip by accident. The kiss tastes like metal and salt, coppery like blood. She must've bit his lip. It's nothing like when they made love in the elevator, Dan lifting her with some kind of bizarre drunk steadiness, stumbled, tumbled, pressed her into the wall and moved inside her slowly. He wants to hurt her now and she wants to be hurt.
Blair doesn't know how she turns all of her relationships into this, brittle and violent.
Her bones feel light, hollow. She's been watching her weight again lately.
But it's not like Dan to be cruel. It's not like Dan to hurt her. He pulls back just enough for her to set her feet back on the floor and his hands slip up her spine to soothe any bruising. Blair wants him to be mean to her. She wants him to be so mean.
Blair is the one that initiates the next kiss, runs her tongue over the tiny split in Dan's lip, kisses him again and again until he kisses back. He jerks her coat open, pushes it off her shoulders; she drags his shirt over his head. He turns her, perhaps with intentions of making it to the couch, but they trip over each other and hit the floor instead. Blair lands hard on her elbow, can feel the impact vibrate all the way up the length of her arm.
Dan opens his mouth, maybe to apologize, but his jaw tenses and he doesn't say anything.
He pushes her dress up, tugs her panties down without preamble. She wore ones he liked – pale green, all lace, a tiny pink rose at the front. Why did she do that? Does he notice? Does he care? He tosses them aside without really looking. He presses his fingers inside her as he leans down to kiss her and it's so painfully familiar – almost tender.
He's not supposed to be like this. Not anymore.
"I don't know why I always do this," Blair says. Her voice breaks. "I don't know why I can't stop being a mess –"
Dan interrupts with another kiss and Blair tastes her own tears, salt-sweet. She can't breathe. Everything hurts and Blair can't breathe.
"Dan," she starts, half a sob, and presses her mouth to his, down over his throat, kisses sporadic and shaky.
"I can't keep trying to pick up the pieces," Dan says. "It's too late." For the first time since he opened the door she can hear some trace of her Dan in him, a jagged heartbreak that belongs to her and him alone.
Then Dan is inside her, arms braced on the floor on either side of her. He doesn't touch her, really, but she touches him, runs her fingers over his chest and arms and shoulders and hips, the tense line of his throat, over his unshaven cheeks, into his too-long hair. Every time she feels her throat contract, a choked half-sob, half-swallow, she just kisses him harder. He accepts the kisses without really returning them, his eyes shut tight against the sight of her beneath him.
It's not the way Dan used to be with her, obviously. It's Dan saying goodbye to her because Blair has already said goodbye to him. She doubts it's that good for either of them, but that's the point. And how fitting that the first and last times would be so miserable.
Afterwards they lay uncomfortably side by side on the floor. Bits of dust and grit stick to her bare shoulders. Dan says, "All summer I tried to forget that I ever loved you."
Blair turns her face away quickly, tears slipping over the bridge of her nose and hitting the floor. "Did you?"
Dan doesn't say anything for a very long time, minutes and minutes, as Blair sniffles and tries to get herself under control to no avail.
Finally, unrelated, he says, "I slept with Serena."
"I know," Blair says. "Penelope showed me. The video quality was poor but the sound was surprisingly crisp."
She can hear Dan sit up and feel his eyes on her. "What are you talking about?"
Blair sits up too, her back to him, and slowly rehooks her bra, slips the straps of her dress back up. "There was a video. I saw it."
"When?"
She slides her underwear back on. "The night it happened." Blair stands on slightly shaky legs, steps into her shoes. "My coat –"
Dan picks it up from it's crumpled blue heap, brushing the dust off, and gives it to her.
"Thank you," she says softly.
Dan is still watching her. "I feel like I don't know you at all," he says.
"Maybe you don't," she murmurs.
Dan reaches up and plucks the headband from her hair, throwing it carelessly aside. He smoothes her hair down. He is inscrutable. "Blair," he says, and she's always liked the measured way he says her name, "I don't ever want to see you again."
"I know," Blair says. She really thought she was done crying. Apparently she isn't. "You won't."
"I will," he murmurs. "I don't want to. But I will."
At the door she half-turns, looking at him over his shoulder. Again, she asks, "Did you forget?"
"No," Dan says. "I can't."
Blair studies his face, the shape of his brows and eyes, the set of his jaw. Her body is still shivery with the half-hearted misery-pleasure they wrung from it and her back hurts from the floor. Her mouth tastes like the blood from Dan's lip.
"You should try harder," she says.
Dan/Blair. 1384 words. R.
I'm never gonna know you now but I'm gonna love you anyhow
Summary: Blair doesn't know how she turns all of her relationships into this, brittle and violent.
Note: Ultra depressing reaction fic to an episode I have not actually watched in full. I'm still feeling pretty wretched about the whole ordeal and this was written in a kind of sleep-deprived haze. Hope it's therapeutic somehow? I have a bunch of other depressing fics in the works as well. Fun!
The first thing Dan says is, "What are you doing here?"
Blair is wearing a blue coat that's too heavy for the weather and a silk scarf, her hair pushed off her face with a plain, serviceable black headband. It seemed important when she was planning to come over here, her outfit. It seemed important to dress correctly for this but now she realizes she's just overdressed like she's always overdressed.
It's raining out but hot, the air thick. Dan's hair is sucking up moisture. Blair wants to make fun of him, a little, but her words are tangled in her throat.
Dan says, again, "What are you doing here?"
Her voice doesn't sound right when it comes out. It sounds small, cloying, obnoxious. "I didn't see you before the summer, so I thought…"
"You thought what?" She's not prepared for how hard his tone is. "That you could finally break up with me three months after the fact and it would be fucking peachy?"
"I'm sorry," Blair says. What is wrong with her voice? "You know you're my best –"
"I don't want to hear it," he says tightly.
But he doesn't slam the door or tell her to leave. Uncertainly, again, Blair says, "I'm sorry," and reaches up nervously to fiddle with her scarf. Dan's gaze follows her hand and she realizes what she did at the same time he realizes that there's a ring on her finger again.
Dan stares at her, disbelief and anger and a kind of blankness.
She steps closer, instinct, and almost touches his arm but he flinches away, looks down. "I loved you so much," Dan says, "and all you did was hurt me."
She lets go of the door and it falls shut behind her. Then it's just the two of them standing silently in this room where she's come to him a million times before, kissed him, touched him, curled up to watch movies and read books, a room where Dan told her he loved her.
"Tell me you love Chuck," Dan says.
"I love Chuck," Blair says.
"Tell me you never loved me."
Blair's eyes fill rapidly, unexpectedly, with tears but she does what he tells her to do, says, "I didn't love you."
Dan studies her again, searches her face. His eyes are so dark and so distant but he seems almost confused that she's upset. "Say it again."
Blair tips her head back just a little, blinks, and the tears don't spill. "I didn't love you," she says again.
It's in one swift movement, catching her off guard, that Dan picks her up and slams her against the door, kisses her so hard their teeth knock together and she thinks she bites his lip by accident. The kiss tastes like metal and salt, coppery like blood. She must've bit his lip. It's nothing like when they made love in the elevator, Dan lifting her with some kind of bizarre drunk steadiness, stumbled, tumbled, pressed her into the wall and moved inside her slowly. He wants to hurt her now and she wants to be hurt.
Blair doesn't know how she turns all of her relationships into this, brittle and violent.
Her bones feel light, hollow. She's been watching her weight again lately.
But it's not like Dan to be cruel. It's not like Dan to hurt her. He pulls back just enough for her to set her feet back on the floor and his hands slip up her spine to soothe any bruising. Blair wants him to be mean to her. She wants him to be so mean.
Blair is the one that initiates the next kiss, runs her tongue over the tiny split in Dan's lip, kisses him again and again until he kisses back. He jerks her coat open, pushes it off her shoulders; she drags his shirt over his head. He turns her, perhaps with intentions of making it to the couch, but they trip over each other and hit the floor instead. Blair lands hard on her elbow, can feel the impact vibrate all the way up the length of her arm.
Dan opens his mouth, maybe to apologize, but his jaw tenses and he doesn't say anything.
He pushes her dress up, tugs her panties down without preamble. She wore ones he liked – pale green, all lace, a tiny pink rose at the front. Why did she do that? Does he notice? Does he care? He tosses them aside without really looking. He presses his fingers inside her as he leans down to kiss her and it's so painfully familiar – almost tender.
He's not supposed to be like this. Not anymore.
"I don't know why I always do this," Blair says. Her voice breaks. "I don't know why I can't stop being a mess –"
Dan interrupts with another kiss and Blair tastes her own tears, salt-sweet. She can't breathe. Everything hurts and Blair can't breathe.
"Dan," she starts, half a sob, and presses her mouth to his, down over his throat, kisses sporadic and shaky.
"I can't keep trying to pick up the pieces," Dan says. "It's too late." For the first time since he opened the door she can hear some trace of her Dan in him, a jagged heartbreak that belongs to her and him alone.
Then Dan is inside her, arms braced on the floor on either side of her. He doesn't touch her, really, but she touches him, runs her fingers over his chest and arms and shoulders and hips, the tense line of his throat, over his unshaven cheeks, into his too-long hair. Every time she feels her throat contract, a choked half-sob, half-swallow, she just kisses him harder. He accepts the kisses without really returning them, his eyes shut tight against the sight of her beneath him.
It's not the way Dan used to be with her, obviously. It's Dan saying goodbye to her because Blair has already said goodbye to him. She doubts it's that good for either of them, but that's the point. And how fitting that the first and last times would be so miserable.
Afterwards they lay uncomfortably side by side on the floor. Bits of dust and grit stick to her bare shoulders. Dan says, "All summer I tried to forget that I ever loved you."
Blair turns her face away quickly, tears slipping over the bridge of her nose and hitting the floor. "Did you?"
Dan doesn't say anything for a very long time, minutes and minutes, as Blair sniffles and tries to get herself under control to no avail.
Finally, unrelated, he says, "I slept with Serena."
"I know," Blair says. "Penelope showed me. The video quality was poor but the sound was surprisingly crisp."
She can hear Dan sit up and feel his eyes on her. "What are you talking about?"
Blair sits up too, her back to him, and slowly rehooks her bra, slips the straps of her dress back up. "There was a video. I saw it."
"When?"
She slides her underwear back on. "The night it happened." Blair stands on slightly shaky legs, steps into her shoes. "My coat –"
Dan picks it up from it's crumpled blue heap, brushing the dust off, and gives it to her.
"Thank you," she says softly.
Dan is still watching her. "I feel like I don't know you at all," he says.
"Maybe you don't," she murmurs.
Dan reaches up and plucks the headband from her hair, throwing it carelessly aside. He smoothes her hair down. He is inscrutable. "Blair," he says, and she's always liked the measured way he says her name, "I don't ever want to see you again."
"I know," Blair says. She really thought she was done crying. Apparently she isn't. "You won't."
"I will," he murmurs. "I don't want to. But I will."
At the door she half-turns, looking at him over his shoulder. Again, she asks, "Did you forget?"
"No," Dan says. "I can't."
Blair studies his face, the shape of his brows and eyes, the set of his jaw. Her body is still shivery with the half-hearted misery-pleasure they wrung from it and her back hurts from the floor. Her mouth tastes like the blood from Dan's lip.
"You should try harder," she says.