this very heart of mine
you can be the boss.
Dan. Blair. R. 1223 words.
Warning: impact play.
Summary: Blair doesn't do things by halves.
Note: Lol idk. Written for this prompt in the safe words ficathon.
"That's what you want?"
Blair presses her lips together and doesn't answer, because she doesn't appreciate the tone of his voice or the look on his face – that half-arched brow, his pursing mouth, that look of Dan Humphrey doubt. Sometimes she just wants to smack it off his face and really – really that's how this started.
"If that's what you want," he continues, "then I'll do it."
Blair meets his eyes, her own wide. Her hands are still carefully folded, her ankles crossed, and her surprise registers only in her eyes. She hadn't expected him to say yes. "What?"
They both know she heard him.
"You really don't have to," Blair says, wistfulness already twisting her voice.
"If I want you to stop," Dan says, "I'll tell you to stop."
Blair already has a riding crop from a childhood passion for horses that she supposedly grew out of, though she really only traded show jumping for high school takedowns. She'd spent half her summers on horses growing up. She has blue ribbons. Blair had her own horse too, one her father bought for her and her mother got rid of post-divorce just to be spiteful. Most of Blair's riding gear is in storage: the breeches, the shiny black boots, the crisply pressed show shirts, the gloves, the helmets, her favorite show coat with the red velvet collar. She didn't really use the crop. She just had it because she had to have everything, because Blair doesn't do things by halves.
It's slim and black and leather, with a little loop at the end that she absently hooks her fingers through. She can't think of it touching Dan's skin, yet. Dan's skin is still summer-warm, darker than hers, and the only marks to mar the surface are freckles.
She wanted something harder, if she's honest, maybe wood. But this will do.
Blair doesn't do anything by halves, so she dresses the part. What she thinks the part should dress like. She wears all black, spike-heeled boots that lace up, stockings with a wide-woven pattern, a corset with metallic clasps. Dan eyes her with some mix of amusement and appreciation. He says, "Just for me?"
"It's for me," Blair snaps. She stands straight-backed, trying to look imperious and certainly succeeding. "Now get undressed."
Dan half-rolls his eyes and pulls his shirt over his head. "You're the boss."
Dan naked in her room is not exactly new but it feels strange and unsettling with her in her little costume, fingers curled around a riding crop. The air feels very still. Dan chose the music because she thought it would comfort him and it's a faint, hazy soundtrack. He puts his hands on the bed and waits.
The only light in the dim room filters in around the curtains and highlights an edge of Dan's cheekbone on the side facing her, curls silvery over his shoulder and down his steady arm. Blair touches the back of his neck, his curls, trails fingertips over his back and presses down so his bend is a little bit deeper. She'd gotten a manicure for this and she admires the polish against his skin, dark red.
Blair steps back. She runs the little looping leather tail down his spine from nape to tailbone. Her heart is in her throat.
She hits him. She does it harder than she means to because she's nervous. Dan tenses and his jaw tightens, like when he's angry; she thinks he's going to yell at her. His fingers fist in the fabric beneath them. Then he takes a breath and loosens his grip, smoothing over the wrinkled duvet. He doesn't move. Blair hits him again.
His shoulders are what she's after but she's still uncertain, wary. She gives him light little taps beneath his shoulder blades, again and again until the skin flushes and she hears Dan make a soft, near inaudible, impatient sound. She pauses. She hadn't thought he might like it.
Blair likes it, more than she'd anticipated; her pulse flutters anxiously, her fingers shake a little. She likes the sound of it, the crop swishing through air and the dull impact. She hits harder as she moves lower, along his sides and down. The only hints Dan gives her are in his breathing, hitching when it's just too hard, trapped when it isn't hard enough. The duvet is balled up under his palms. His jaw is clenched.
She doesn't think it hurts, it couldn't really, but he's embarrassed. Embarrassed to be put in this position, embarrassed that he chose to be in this position, embarrassed to enjoy it. His face is as pink as the skin she's been striking.
"Are you worried that someone will see the marks?" she asks softly, an edge of mocking. "Or maybe ask why you can't sit still? I bet you feel them all tomorrow." Harder, then, to make sure. Maybe her shoulder will be a little bit sore too and she'll think of it when she puts on lipstick or pins up her hair. "Will you tell them you let your girlfriend punish you? That you'd let me do anything to you?"
Even break his heart, she thinks.
His clenched jaw twitches slightly but he doesn't respond. Blair taps the crop lightly against the hollow of his cheek, barely a touch. "Stop frowning," she says. "You don't have to pretend you don't like it, it's not like I can't tell."
He licks his lips. She can only just see the motion from where she's standing.
"Are you playing strong and silent, Brooklyn?" Blair asks. She strikes him right then, on Brooklyn. "Do you secretly like being put in your –"
He turns suddenly, snatches the crop out of her hand and tosses it away before pulling her into his arms and underneath him, pressing her against the bed. Blair wraps her legs around him, letting her heels dig into the flushed marks over his ass and thighs and feels a rush of something like pride at the stuttered, half-formed noise he makes.
"You would, wouldn't you?" she says, breathless as Dan finds that rhythm she likes, bends her knees closer to her chest.
"What are you talking about?" he says, low, gruff, and kisses her without waiting, like he's not really interested in the answer.
"You'd do anything for me," Blair says. It isn't quite right; what she's meant was you'd let me do anything but her thoughts are getting messy and it's close enough.
Dan slows a little, pushes up so he can look down at her. He studies her with a little pucker between his eyebrows that Blair wants to kiss. "Do you have to ask?"
No is on the tip of her tongue but she says, "I want to hear it."
He leans their foreheads together. Blair digs her nails into the tender skin of his back. "You know," he says, quiet. "You know I would."
Blair kisses him then and wraps her arms around his neck, can't breath with her corset on but finds that only helps, feels his skin so hot under her palms. "Say it," she says, wishing she still had the crop but settling for digging her heels in again.
Dan gasps and promises, "Anything."
Next time she really ought to use a cane.
you can be the boss.
Dan. Blair. R. 1223 words.
Warning: impact play.
Summary: Blair doesn't do things by halves.
Note: Lol idk. Written for this prompt in the safe words ficathon.
"That's what you want?"
Blair presses her lips together and doesn't answer, because she doesn't appreciate the tone of his voice or the look on his face – that half-arched brow, his pursing mouth, that look of Dan Humphrey doubt. Sometimes she just wants to smack it off his face and really – really that's how this started.
"If that's what you want," he continues, "then I'll do it."
Blair meets his eyes, her own wide. Her hands are still carefully folded, her ankles crossed, and her surprise registers only in her eyes. She hadn't expected him to say yes. "What?"
They both know she heard him.
"You really don't have to," Blair says, wistfulness already twisting her voice.
"If I want you to stop," Dan says, "I'll tell you to stop."
Blair already has a riding crop from a childhood passion for horses that she supposedly grew out of, though she really only traded show jumping for high school takedowns. She'd spent half her summers on horses growing up. She has blue ribbons. Blair had her own horse too, one her father bought for her and her mother got rid of post-divorce just to be spiteful. Most of Blair's riding gear is in storage: the breeches, the shiny black boots, the crisply pressed show shirts, the gloves, the helmets, her favorite show coat with the red velvet collar. She didn't really use the crop. She just had it because she had to have everything, because Blair doesn't do things by halves.
It's slim and black and leather, with a little loop at the end that she absently hooks her fingers through. She can't think of it touching Dan's skin, yet. Dan's skin is still summer-warm, darker than hers, and the only marks to mar the surface are freckles.
She wanted something harder, if she's honest, maybe wood. But this will do.
Blair doesn't do anything by halves, so she dresses the part. What she thinks the part should dress like. She wears all black, spike-heeled boots that lace up, stockings with a wide-woven pattern, a corset with metallic clasps. Dan eyes her with some mix of amusement and appreciation. He says, "Just for me?"
"It's for me," Blair snaps. She stands straight-backed, trying to look imperious and certainly succeeding. "Now get undressed."
Dan half-rolls his eyes and pulls his shirt over his head. "You're the boss."
Dan naked in her room is not exactly new but it feels strange and unsettling with her in her little costume, fingers curled around a riding crop. The air feels very still. Dan chose the music because she thought it would comfort him and it's a faint, hazy soundtrack. He puts his hands on the bed and waits.
The only light in the dim room filters in around the curtains and highlights an edge of Dan's cheekbone on the side facing her, curls silvery over his shoulder and down his steady arm. Blair touches the back of his neck, his curls, trails fingertips over his back and presses down so his bend is a little bit deeper. She'd gotten a manicure for this and she admires the polish against his skin, dark red.
Blair steps back. She runs the little looping leather tail down his spine from nape to tailbone. Her heart is in her throat.
She hits him. She does it harder than she means to because she's nervous. Dan tenses and his jaw tightens, like when he's angry; she thinks he's going to yell at her. His fingers fist in the fabric beneath them. Then he takes a breath and loosens his grip, smoothing over the wrinkled duvet. He doesn't move. Blair hits him again.
His shoulders are what she's after but she's still uncertain, wary. She gives him light little taps beneath his shoulder blades, again and again until the skin flushes and she hears Dan make a soft, near inaudible, impatient sound. She pauses. She hadn't thought he might like it.
Blair likes it, more than she'd anticipated; her pulse flutters anxiously, her fingers shake a little. She likes the sound of it, the crop swishing through air and the dull impact. She hits harder as she moves lower, along his sides and down. The only hints Dan gives her are in his breathing, hitching when it's just too hard, trapped when it isn't hard enough. The duvet is balled up under his palms. His jaw is clenched.
She doesn't think it hurts, it couldn't really, but he's embarrassed. Embarrassed to be put in this position, embarrassed that he chose to be in this position, embarrassed to enjoy it. His face is as pink as the skin she's been striking.
"Are you worried that someone will see the marks?" she asks softly, an edge of mocking. "Or maybe ask why you can't sit still? I bet you feel them all tomorrow." Harder, then, to make sure. Maybe her shoulder will be a little bit sore too and she'll think of it when she puts on lipstick or pins up her hair. "Will you tell them you let your girlfriend punish you? That you'd let me do anything to you?"
Even break his heart, she thinks.
His clenched jaw twitches slightly but he doesn't respond. Blair taps the crop lightly against the hollow of his cheek, barely a touch. "Stop frowning," she says. "You don't have to pretend you don't like it, it's not like I can't tell."
He licks his lips. She can only just see the motion from where she's standing.
"Are you playing strong and silent, Brooklyn?" Blair asks. She strikes him right then, on Brooklyn. "Do you secretly like being put in your –"
He turns suddenly, snatches the crop out of her hand and tosses it away before pulling her into his arms and underneath him, pressing her against the bed. Blair wraps her legs around him, letting her heels dig into the flushed marks over his ass and thighs and feels a rush of something like pride at the stuttered, half-formed noise he makes.
"You would, wouldn't you?" she says, breathless as Dan finds that rhythm she likes, bends her knees closer to her chest.
"What are you talking about?" he says, low, gruff, and kisses her without waiting, like he's not really interested in the answer.
"You'd do anything for me," Blair says. It isn't quite right; what she's meant was you'd let me do anything but her thoughts are getting messy and it's close enough.
Dan slows a little, pushes up so he can look down at her. He studies her with a little pucker between his eyebrows that Blair wants to kiss. "Do you have to ask?"
No is on the tip of her tongue but she says, "I want to hear it."
He leans their foreheads together. Blair digs her nails into the tender skin of his back. "You know," he says, quiet. "You know I would."
Blair kisses him then and wraps her arms around his neck, can't breath with her corset on but finds that only helps, feels his skin so hot under her palms. "Say it," she says, wishing she still had the crop but settling for digging her heels in again.
Dan gasps and promises, "Anything."
Next time she really ought to use a cane.