kiss me hard before you go
Dan/Blair.
PG13. 1028 words.
Sort of a final redo.
Summary: Blair is happy. She doesn't know what to do with that.
Note: Totally self indulgent fix it fic. I'm talking pure wish fulfillment here. Like fluffy nonsense. I'm a little embarrassed, tbh. (A lot embarrassed.) BUT OH WELL.
Blair finds Dan and Serena in a bar off the main party that she vaguely recalls from her first time here almost six years ago, at the wedding. Dan's jacket is off and his white dress shirt is stained burgundy.
"You came," he says brightly, and he weaves a little as he steps towards her, so he must be drunk.
"Not in time to save you from poorly trained waitstaff, I see," she says, clucking disapprovingly as she takes the rag from him to dab at the stain. "I think this is unsalvageable."
Dan doesn't seem to care. He's looking at her with that soft look he reserves for being drunk or sleepy. "I didn't think you'd come."
Serena in the background barely glances at them as she rubs stubbornly at her own stained dress.
Blair leans up to kiss him. "Where else would I be?"
Dan smiles into the kiss and Blair thinks of Chuck, suddenly, the cruel twist of his mouth. She slips her arms around Dan's neck, pressing close to him despite the sticky wine residue, and buries her face in his neck.
"So suddenly affectionate," he teases.
"I don't know why it took me so long," Blair says, shuts her eyes, "to get here."
"It's okay," Dan says. He rests his hands lightly on her lower back. "You're here now."
When she finally lifts her head from Dan's shoulder, Serena is gone.
Once in Rome, they fall into an easy pattern. During the first week, during the day while Dan is at his workshop, Blair searches for internships she can weasel a spot in last minute. She resorts to calling in a favor from her mother, who calls in a favor from someone else, and down through the chain – it ends with Blair promised ten weeks at an Italian fashion magazine. She thinks she didn't pack well enough for that, but she's grateful nonetheless.
She and Dan start their days with coffee together and then part, finding each other again for lunch or dinner, for kissing next to the Trevi Fountain, for shopping he abhors but goes along with anyway. She buys him clothes he swears he'll never wear on principle. She lets him sneak into a dressing room and put his hands under her skirt. Blair is happy. She doesn't know what to do with that.
Once, some time long after midnight, when neither of them can sleep and he's already made her come twice, Dan says, "I really…I was afraid you weren't going to pick me."
"It wasn't much of a choice," Blair says. She can see his brow crease and she knows his mind is going to the worst place. "Because I love you." She leans her forehead against his and adds, "You know that, right?"
Dan smiles and kisses her and says, "I do now."
Blair is finally allowed to dress Dan up for a work function of hers, in vintage Dior she hunted down. "For once I'm grateful you're too skinny," she tells him, fussing with his sweater, pulling at the shoulders so it lies just right.
"Glad to be of service." He keeps trying to distract her, sliding his hands over her hips, ducking to kiss her. Blair is wearing red, a silk skirt that hangs to her ankles. "You look like you did the first time I kissed you."
"We kissed before that," she murmurs, glancing up with a small smile before returning to de-linting him.
"Yeah, but you were always kissing me." He leans in to quickly kiss the curve where neck meets shoulder. "Great job with your denial, by the way."
"I just couldn't accept that I was in love with someone as irritating as you." She gives him a light push away so she can continue her lint brushing. "Almost done."
Dan takes the brush out of her hand, tosses it aside; he slides his arms around her properly and kisses her, tips her back towards the bed. "Tell me you love me again," he instructs. He's already reaching for the hem of her dress, gathering fabric in his hands.
"Dan," she murmurs, "We have to go, we'll be late."
Still, despite herself, she kisses along his jaw, leaves faint red marks behind.
"Tell me," Dan says again. He runs his hands over her thighs, presses fingers between her legs.
Head tipping back, his mouth is on the hollow of her throat, the underside of her jaw, Blair says it again, says it as many times as he wants to hear it.
They're almost two hours late, though Blair refuses to skip out completely. Even then Dan can't stop touching her, a hand on her waist or at her elbow, bending to kiss her neck any time it seems like no one's looking.
"Did you love me then?" she wonders later, back in bed.
"Yes." His head is pillowed on her stomach and she can't keep her fingers out of his curls. "When?"
She smiles a little. What a sap. "The first time you kissed me."
"'Course," Dan says. "Didn't you read the book? I loved you way before I should have."
She tugs a little sharply on his hair. "I only read the parts about me."
"Figures." He kisses the spot next to her bellybutton. "Self-absorbed."
"Deluded," she counters. "You wrote pornography about me before you even knew you liked me."
"Psychic," he corrects. "And it wasn't pornography. It was tastefully written sex."
"It took place on the floor of the foyer," Blair points out dryly.
"Ironically the one place in your home we did not actually have sex."
"There's still time," Blair says.
She could probably find that passage in the novel blindfolded, the spine worn in at just that spot. She'd read it so many times, purposefully oblivious to meaning. He makes love to her there in the foyer, it read, and Blair remembers rolling her eyes, on the tile, and he thinks the only time she's not pretending is when she comes, tensing around him and under his hands. It's the first time he feels like he knows her, really knows her, and Dylan understands it then: she's all he wants.
Dan/Blair.
PG13. 1028 words.
Sort of a final redo.
Summary: Blair is happy. She doesn't know what to do with that.
Note: Totally self indulgent fix it fic. I'm talking pure wish fulfillment here. Like fluffy nonsense. I'm a little embarrassed, tbh. (A lot embarrassed.) BUT OH WELL.
Blair finds Dan and Serena in a bar off the main party that she vaguely recalls from her first time here almost six years ago, at the wedding. Dan's jacket is off and his white dress shirt is stained burgundy.
"You came," he says brightly, and he weaves a little as he steps towards her, so he must be drunk.
"Not in time to save you from poorly trained waitstaff, I see," she says, clucking disapprovingly as she takes the rag from him to dab at the stain. "I think this is unsalvageable."
Dan doesn't seem to care. He's looking at her with that soft look he reserves for being drunk or sleepy. "I didn't think you'd come."
Serena in the background barely glances at them as she rubs stubbornly at her own stained dress.
Blair leans up to kiss him. "Where else would I be?"
Dan smiles into the kiss and Blair thinks of Chuck, suddenly, the cruel twist of his mouth. She slips her arms around Dan's neck, pressing close to him despite the sticky wine residue, and buries her face in his neck.
"So suddenly affectionate," he teases.
"I don't know why it took me so long," Blair says, shuts her eyes, "to get here."
"It's okay," Dan says. He rests his hands lightly on her lower back. "You're here now."
When she finally lifts her head from Dan's shoulder, Serena is gone.
Once in Rome, they fall into an easy pattern. During the first week, during the day while Dan is at his workshop, Blair searches for internships she can weasel a spot in last minute. She resorts to calling in a favor from her mother, who calls in a favor from someone else, and down through the chain – it ends with Blair promised ten weeks at an Italian fashion magazine. She thinks she didn't pack well enough for that, but she's grateful nonetheless.
She and Dan start their days with coffee together and then part, finding each other again for lunch or dinner, for kissing next to the Trevi Fountain, for shopping he abhors but goes along with anyway. She buys him clothes he swears he'll never wear on principle. She lets him sneak into a dressing room and put his hands under her skirt. Blair is happy. She doesn't know what to do with that.
Once, some time long after midnight, when neither of them can sleep and he's already made her come twice, Dan says, "I really…I was afraid you weren't going to pick me."
"It wasn't much of a choice," Blair says. She can see his brow crease and she knows his mind is going to the worst place. "Because I love you." She leans her forehead against his and adds, "You know that, right?"
Dan smiles and kisses her and says, "I do now."
Blair is finally allowed to dress Dan up for a work function of hers, in vintage Dior she hunted down. "For once I'm grateful you're too skinny," she tells him, fussing with his sweater, pulling at the shoulders so it lies just right.
"Glad to be of service." He keeps trying to distract her, sliding his hands over her hips, ducking to kiss her. Blair is wearing red, a silk skirt that hangs to her ankles. "You look like you did the first time I kissed you."
"We kissed before that," she murmurs, glancing up with a small smile before returning to de-linting him.
"Yeah, but you were always kissing me." He leans in to quickly kiss the curve where neck meets shoulder. "Great job with your denial, by the way."
"I just couldn't accept that I was in love with someone as irritating as you." She gives him a light push away so she can continue her lint brushing. "Almost done."
Dan takes the brush out of her hand, tosses it aside; he slides his arms around her properly and kisses her, tips her back towards the bed. "Tell me you love me again," he instructs. He's already reaching for the hem of her dress, gathering fabric in his hands.
"Dan," she murmurs, "We have to go, we'll be late."
Still, despite herself, she kisses along his jaw, leaves faint red marks behind.
"Tell me," Dan says again. He runs his hands over her thighs, presses fingers between her legs.
Head tipping back, his mouth is on the hollow of her throat, the underside of her jaw, Blair says it again, says it as many times as he wants to hear it.
They're almost two hours late, though Blair refuses to skip out completely. Even then Dan can't stop touching her, a hand on her waist or at her elbow, bending to kiss her neck any time it seems like no one's looking.
"Did you love me then?" she wonders later, back in bed.
"Yes." His head is pillowed on her stomach and she can't keep her fingers out of his curls. "When?"
She smiles a little. What a sap. "The first time you kissed me."
"'Course," Dan says. "Didn't you read the book? I loved you way before I should have."
She tugs a little sharply on his hair. "I only read the parts about me."
"Figures." He kisses the spot next to her bellybutton. "Self-absorbed."
"Deluded," she counters. "You wrote pornography about me before you even knew you liked me."
"Psychic," he corrects. "And it wasn't pornography. It was tastefully written sex."
"It took place on the floor of the foyer," Blair points out dryly.
"Ironically the one place in your home we did not actually have sex."
"There's still time," Blair says.
She could probably find that passage in the novel blindfolded, the spine worn in at just that spot. She'd read it so many times, purposefully oblivious to meaning. He makes love to her there in the foyer, it read, and Blair remembers rolling her eyes, on the tile, and he thinks the only time she's not pretending is when she comes, tensing around him and under his hands. It's the first time he feels like he knows her, really knows her, and Dylan understands it then: she's all he wants.