don't kiss trainwrecks
Dan/Blair. 598 words. PG.
Set pre-s5 and goes from there.
Summary: He should never have kissed her. For the waxing poetic comment ficathon.
"I'd marry you for your money in a minute," she says. "Would you marry me for my money?"
"In a minute," he says.
"I guess it's pretty lucky neither of us is rich, huh?"
In the summertime Dan watches movies. He does not watch any of the ones on his queue. He ignores Blair's emails, ignores her phonecalls, ignores even his own likes and dislikes and spends eight weeks familiarizing himself with Hepburns one and two.
He doesn't know why she likes Audrey Hepburn so much. They're nothing alike. He writes her a whole email telling her as much and deletes it as soon as he's done.
Dan can't think about anything except girls with brown hair and sharp tongues, girls undercut with sweetness he's not sure anyone else knows about, girls who decide to marry men who probably don't deserve them but can offer them a lot more than Dan ever could.
He should never have kissed her.
Blair comes back half the girl he fell for – no, he reminds himself, not fell for, that's not what happened. He just likes certain things about her, her big eyes and the way she'd purse her lips. She comes back slowly disappearing behind a diamond ring. Dan doesn't know what else to do except be there for her; that's all he knows how to do, anyway.
For a girl who kept herself so locked up tight, she opens easily for Dan.
She sits on his couch – in the hospital – in the church – his couch again – the backseat of a car – an airport – a hotel room –
She sits and looks up at him with her big eyes wet with tears and her lips pursed to hold back a sob, maybe, and all Dan can think to tell himself is: don't kiss her. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her.
Blair wipes her tears with the back of her hand and says, "Humphrey, I'm giving up men. One day when we're old and gray – say, when we're thirty – you and I can have one of those sexless marriages like Cole Porter and Linda Lee Thomas."
She's still wearing that ridiculous I heart NY t-shirt, tucked into a corner of the town car, and Dan can't bring himself to pick on her much, especially since he's taking her back to the last place she wants to go.
"Cole Porter was gay," is all he says.
Blair turns dry, clear eyes on him. "Are you trying to tell me something, Humphrey?" The faintest of smiles tilts the corner of her mouth up.
Dan sighs a little, rolls his eyes, doesn't mean it. "Yes, Waldorf. I'm gay. That's what I'm telling you."
She inches across the seat and slips her arm through his, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm only kidding. If you were gay, you wouldn't wear those heinous shoes."
Dan stifles a laugh and shakes his head. Don't kiss her, he thinks. Don't kiss her.
Somewhere between her marriage ending and their relationship beginning, Blair is wearing red, looking up at him with a kind of earnest-eyed curiosity. Don't kiss her, he instructs himself, don't kiss her as he leans in, the last thing you should do right now is kiss her but that's what he does.
She sighs into his mouth, a soft little sigh like she's giving up and giving in, and her fingers tighten in his jacket, pull him that little bit closer.
That's where he went wrong, he thinks later, getting on a plane to Rome alone. He should never have kissed her.
Dan/Blair. 598 words. PG.
Set pre-s5 and goes from there.
Summary: He should never have kissed her. For the waxing poetic comment ficathon.
"I'd marry you for your money in a minute," she says. "Would you marry me for my money?"
"In a minute," he says.
"I guess it's pretty lucky neither of us is rich, huh?"
In the summertime Dan watches movies. He does not watch any of the ones on his queue. He ignores Blair's emails, ignores her phonecalls, ignores even his own likes and dislikes and spends eight weeks familiarizing himself with Hepburns one and two.
He doesn't know why she likes Audrey Hepburn so much. They're nothing alike. He writes her a whole email telling her as much and deletes it as soon as he's done.
Dan can't think about anything except girls with brown hair and sharp tongues, girls undercut with sweetness he's not sure anyone else knows about, girls who decide to marry men who probably don't deserve them but can offer them a lot more than Dan ever could.
He should never have kissed her.
Blair comes back half the girl he fell for – no, he reminds himself, not fell for, that's not what happened. He just likes certain things about her, her big eyes and the way she'd purse her lips. She comes back slowly disappearing behind a diamond ring. Dan doesn't know what else to do except be there for her; that's all he knows how to do, anyway.
For a girl who kept herself so locked up tight, she opens easily for Dan.
She sits on his couch – in the hospital – in the church – his couch again – the backseat of a car – an airport – a hotel room –
She sits and looks up at him with her big eyes wet with tears and her lips pursed to hold back a sob, maybe, and all Dan can think to tell himself is: don't kiss her. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her. Don't kiss her.
Blair wipes her tears with the back of her hand and says, "Humphrey, I'm giving up men. One day when we're old and gray – say, when we're thirty – you and I can have one of those sexless marriages like Cole Porter and Linda Lee Thomas."
She's still wearing that ridiculous I heart NY t-shirt, tucked into a corner of the town car, and Dan can't bring himself to pick on her much, especially since he's taking her back to the last place she wants to go.
"Cole Porter was gay," is all he says.
Blair turns dry, clear eyes on him. "Are you trying to tell me something, Humphrey?" The faintest of smiles tilts the corner of her mouth up.
Dan sighs a little, rolls his eyes, doesn't mean it. "Yes, Waldorf. I'm gay. That's what I'm telling you."
She inches across the seat and slips her arm through his, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm only kidding. If you were gay, you wouldn't wear those heinous shoes."
Dan stifles a laugh and shakes his head. Don't kiss her, he thinks. Don't kiss her.
Somewhere between her marriage ending and their relationship beginning, Blair is wearing red, looking up at him with a kind of earnest-eyed curiosity. Don't kiss her, he instructs himself, don't kiss her as he leans in, the last thing you should do right now is kiss her but that's what he does.
She sighs into his mouth, a soft little sigh like she's giving up and giving in, and her fingers tighten in his jacket, pull him that little bit closer.
That's where he went wrong, he thinks later, getting on a plane to Rome alone. He should never have kissed her.