gossip girl dan/blair. r. 1200 words He reads her body like a book, the different chapters of Blair Waldorf unravelling in front of him.
notes: yes, i have seen the promo and yes, i do find the idea of the dan/blair: bad!sex storyline just as hilarious as everyone else does but i thought i'd write corrective smut in advance anyway. what is shame.
It always seems to be morning in the loft, even when it is dark outside and the large windows let the night in, the place seems to smell of breakfast foods; cereals and waffles and pancakes and she can smell coffee on Dan's mouth as she leans into him and in the movie they are watching, it is morning and it feels somehow like everything is light, even in these small hours of night.
"Sleepy?" he asks, when she yawns through the credits, finishing the remainder of her drink from the red plastic mug.
"Not really. But you can take me to bed, if you like," she smiles, only half trying to be coy and through the sweep of her eyelashes she watches Dan pauses, watches the planes of his throat constrict and her own breath catches.
"I thought you wanted to wait," he says, raising an eyebrow. In another morning, maybe two, she will be divorced, a free woman; he had thought she wanted to wait till then.
"I'm tired of waiting," she mumbles, crawls onto his legs and digs her knees into the couch on either side of his waist, "I thought I'd maybe give adultery a shot."
"Is that right?" he grins, against her mouth. His fingers thread through her hair, tugging a little to bring her down to him. She is wearing a sweatshirt, one of his and it floats around her small frame, billows as he pushes his hands up underneath and presses them to skin.
"If you don't mind obliging."
"Anything you like, princess," he teases.
His fingers roam over her back, greedy, grasping at handfuls of flesh. They have kissed before and always it has been like this, slow and cunning and always like a prelude. He has to rein in his impatience as she straddles him, presses down against the front of his trousers; his groan reverberates through the both of them.
He almost says, "I can't believe this is finally happening," he almost says, "thank god," - almost he says "I love you" but holds back, bites his tongue, the way he has been holding back his hands this past week when they kissed from roaming up her skirt and between her soft legs. He holds tongues now where he did limbs as he is beginning to understand she needs; either sex or love, never the two together and Blair catches on to his mouth opening and closing as she tugs his shirt away from his pants and purrs appreciatively with her lips in the curve of his neck.
She doesn't say "just fuck me, Humphrey" but he reads it in the way she shoves him down on the couch, in the way her teeth sink into his neck as his fingers push past her underwear and slide inside her. He reads her body like a book, the different chapters of Blair Waldorf unravelling in front of him. It is an awkward angle, Blair on top of him, wet and gasping and both their shirts pushed off their shoulders, arms tangled in a mess of cotton and silk.
It doesn't feel like a fantasy, it feels nothing like he has pictured it, over and over. In his mind, it was always something quick and inconvenient, some grand mistake; he imagined a quiet closet at her wedding, an ex lover's party, he thought drama and drunkeness and the stench of regrets but this is in the loft, on a set of flannel sheets, Blair giggling as he pulls of her skirt and he feels the thump of her blood as he leans into her, the slow jostling of her leg as she kicks the back of his knee, muttering "hurry up, Humphrey," feels a thousand other things he couldn't have written.
Blair is flesh and blood beneath him, all knees and legs as they grapple around each other, wiggling into place till they are comfortable enough to fuck. He ignores the arm of the sofa digging into the back of his neck, she ignored the plastic DVD case that her knee is tucked against and his hands rest finally on the small of her back as he pushes into her. Sex with Blair feels urgent, feels fast but doesn't feel like sex with someone new ought to. It is all anticipation and no trepidation. For all that he loves her and for all the intimidation that brings, he knows things about Blair he wouldn't know about anyone new. He knows, as a result of late night phone calls from Monaco that Blair wants him to kiss the side of her neck, that her breasts are sensitive, that if he touches the back of her knees she will laugh and the mood will be thrown.
She untangles her arms from his, both of their shirts now a mess on the floor beside them, her hips moving on top of him in a way that makes him gasp, gaping mouth, bare teeth and she grins, grins like she's having a good time, like she's pleased with herself, pleased with where she is. He watches the changes in her face, the little smirk, the way her mouth turns when she comes undone against him, the breathless way she kisses him after.
"Bedroom," is a question as she collapses on his chest and they are flesh pressed against flesh. He feels her shake out a refusal, her hair spiralling in curls over his skin.
"I'd like to stay here for a while," she says, tracing shapes into his shoulder with one manicured nails, "Unless I'm crushing you."
"Oh, I'm fine. I'm more than fine," he grins. She smells like lavender and sex now, like sweat mixed into the perfume of her skin. She smells a little bit like him too, from the sweatshirt that is now under his head.
"I thought we were on Dan now," he asks, raising an eyebrow. She lifts her chin up to look at him and his heart stops at the eye-lock, this isn't Blair Waldorf, princess of Monaco or Blair from Constance or Blair from his books, this is Blair who just had sex with him and liked it, his best friend. Blair, who moans breathily like the movies during sex as if she's practised it at home, Blair lying on top of him very naked.
"I'll probably always call you Humphrey sometimes," she clarifies, "Just like I'll probably always complain about your hair."
"Until I cut it."
She perks up.
"Let's do that tomorrow. Let's take you for a hair cut."
She kisses him.
They wake up to the loft filled with sun. In the morning, he finds the ink from his hands imprinted over the skin of her back.