Archive of Our Own

He drops that god awful messenger bag onto a chair with a loud clunk, her eyes shooting up.

“You’ve got some nerve showing your face around here.”

Dan turns to look behind him, then back at her, mouth turning up in a smile.

“Did I just walk into a western?”

Blair rolls her eyes, wags her pen at him rapidly like she’s casting a spell.

“Are you lost? Or did you hit the ground hard enough that you have brain damage?”

He’s still smiling, like this is amusing to him, taking the seat opposite her.

“No, I still work here, actually.”

“Explain,” she says, like she doesn’t have time for this, because she doesn’t. 

“One of the girls quit and Epperly called to see if I wanted the job back. I guess she’s desperate.”

“I guess so,” Blair says, smoothing down her skirt, trying to keep her cool. She’s still on probation after their very public spat and is doing her best to prove that she is, in fact, completely stable. “Well, you’ll need to stay a desired ten feet away from me at all times so no one senses that we know each other.”

“Right,” he says, with that stupid little smile. “Or for my own safety, so you don’t put your hands on me again.”

She looks up at him with the coldest glare she can muster, and his hands raise in mock guilt.

She is so utterly annoyed that Dan doesn’t care that she’s trying to hate him, that he doesn’t even register it. 

He still brings her coffee, leaves her little bags of biscotti, calls her from the bagel shop to see if she wants something, then gets her one anyway. He has completely disregarded her ten feet rule, leaning over her shoulder to ask questions, placing a light hand on her back when moving through racks of clothing. 

And now he’s hanging around the office late when it’s only her there - props his feet up on the desk like he was raised in a barn. 

Blair pinches the bridge of her nose, knowing the only things awaiting her at home are piles of homework and Serena’s mayhem. She could use some sleep, or more caffeine, or - she blames her lack of a lot of things for the way her eyes are wandering. Dan must be avoiding something too, to still be holed up here with the likes of her. 

She would ask him if they were still friends. But they’re not - they never were. 

(Blair never had a friend - had anyone like that. Only girls she domineered and friends who thought Barthes was a designer.

And sometimes, he’d turn to her when the lights came up in the theatre, always one empty seat between them, and there’d be something there, in the way he looked at her. She wanted to know what it was. She had wanted to know. She doesn’t anymore. She doesn’t even think about it.)

But - he’s not terrible looking, especially when there’s nothing else to look at. She could see how someone other than herself would find him attractive, underneath the scruff and the polyester blends. He’s got nice hands, his fingers drumming on the top of the desk. The bad lighting in the office casts shadows on his sharp jaw and cheekbones. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and she could understand how that might be appealing. The slope of his shoulders, his arms -

“Eyes on your own work, Waldorf.” He says without looking up. She sits up straight, crosses one leg over the other.  

“It’s hard to focus when I’ve got a migraine from your nauseating cologne.”

Dan laughs, shakes his head. Cute, maybe, if she wasn’t her.

Out of purely scientific curiosity, she turns, undoes the top buttons of her blouse, then turns back and leans over the desk to grab a stapler. 

From the corner of her eye, she sees him bite his lip.

“Oh,” Dan says from the doorway. “I didn’t think anyone was still here.”

She only half-turns, rolling her eyes and going back to the papers she was flipping through. 

“What is that?” He says, coming up behind her. 

“The ten thousand things Epperly wants me to do before the party Saturday.”

He leans over her shoulder, a hand coming around her to trace a line on the paper. 

“She wanted this changed to -“

“Yes, I know.” Blair bites, and he withdraws his hand, takes a step back. “I’m getting to it.”

“You could ask for help.”

She turns to him, eyes narrowed.

“You? Ask for your help?”

“I don’t see anyone else here.”

“The nerve of you, like I need your help. As if I could ever trust you not to sabotage me again.”

“Oh please, like you didn’t spend the entirety of high school sabotaging people, me included.”

“Grow up, Humphrey! That was high school, you committed treason in the real world.”

“I got you the job back! What more do you want?”

“For you to stay out of my way.”

Dan rubs a hand over his face, throws it up in the air in frustration.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

“Good.”

“Good!”

He brings his hand on her cheek suddenly, kissing her, then pulling away just as fast. She’s taken aback at first, tilting her head, the lipgloss spread across his mouth catching the light. He looks terrified. 

“Um,” his eyes go wide, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

She blinks at him.

“What did you mean to do?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, mouth agape. Excitement drums in Blair’s chest. He’s offered himself up for the taking. 

“Are you hot for me, Humphrey?” 

He bites his lip, and she laughs, shrill and a little startled, walking her fingers lightly up his chest, feeling his breathing shallow under her touch. 

“You want me, don’t you?”

He blinks, jaw tense, then nods slowly. 

She keeps her fingers light on his chest, heat rising up her neck, flushing her cheeks. 

“Go ahead,” she says. “Do what you want.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, breathes through his nose. 

“Oh, for crying out loud Humphrey.”

She curls her fists in the fabric of his sweater, pulling him in and kissing him. He responds immediately, bringing a hand into her hair, his fingers getting caught in the pins, tugging at her scalp and positing a moan, low in her throat. He wraps his other arm around her waist, pulls her tight against him, lapping at her mouth hungrily. 

He backs her into the side of the desk, and something that sounds like a cup of pens, hopefully only a cup of pens, clatters to the ground. He grips the back of her thighs, hoisting her up onto the desk rough enough to make her gasp. He’s self-assured, spreads her legs with his hands on her knees and positions himself between them, hands sliding to push up her skirt. She breaks away to catch her breath, and his mouth moves to her throat, fingers fumbling with the buttons on her shirt, open mouthed kisses over the swell of her breasts. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulling up his sweater, getting her nails on the skin of his torso. Something drums in her chest, something that says, You shouldn’t be doing this. But she can’t think of a single reason why not.

She shifts in place to get her stockings, her panties, down around her ankles. She buries her mouth against his neck when he touches her, spreads her open with his fingers and strokes her. You’re already wet, he says, and it sounds more like a question, but he pulls her back up to his mouth before she can answer. She presses her heels into his sides harder, tugging at his pants. He laughs a little into her hair, and she doesn’t have the capacity to think about how horribly embarrassing this is. 

“What is taking so long,” she breathes out, sticking her hands into his boxers and being rewarded with a sharp inhale.

He presses against her, his mouth at her ear.

“You want me, don’t you?” 

“Cut the shit, Dan.” 

He doesn’t laugh then, groans and moves in for a messy kiss as he enters her. She’s aware of the ridiculousness of the noises she makes, the noises the desk makes, like it’s going to snap under the weight of him fucking her, like she’s going to snap. She slings her arms around his shoulders, holding him close, legs wrapped tight around him. She breathes his name out, then again, louder, stretched out. Da-an. He finishes almost immediately, a drawn out moan escaping her when he comes inside her. 

She makes a note of that. 

He works her through her orgasm, kissing her jaw soft, overwhelmingly sweet, too much for her to handle. She shivers against him with aftershocks, pressing her forehead into his neck, slick with sweat. 

“Don’t think this means I’m not still mad at you.”

He laughs, then stops abruptly, swearing under his breath. 

“We didn’t use a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” she shakes her head a little, still not moving, it hitting her now how tired she is. “Unless you have something else you want to tell me.”

He ignores her, tips her head up with a finger under her chin, and kisses her. Humphrey is a good kisser. That is now something she knows.

She pulls away, suddenly very aware of her surroundings. His hands are on her knees, the edge of the desk digging into the back of her thighs. He takes her in for a moment, breathing heavy, then lowers himself, pulling up her stockings.

“Fuck,” he laughs, smoothing out his sweater. “You stretched it.”

She flushes a little, the sound of her moaning out his name desperately still ringing in her ears, like it’s reverberating through the room.

“It’s cheap,” she says plainly, hopping off the desk to fix herself. He brings his arms around her waist, dipping in to kiss her, but she stops him with a hand on his chest. 

“It’s late,” she says. “We should get going.”

He nods, moving around the desk to where miscellaneous supplies had been toppled over onto the ground. He bends down to clean them up, his back to her, and she slips out without saying another word.

The next afternoon, after morning classes and a rather stilted lunch with Serena, she feels him behind her, shifting his weight back and forth between feet. 

“Do you need something?” Blair says, keeping her eyes on the papers in front of her.

“They’re doing a pre-code retrospective at the Forum Friday night.”

Blair taps her pen on the edge of the desk. 

“And?”

“Do you want to go?”

“Just because we saw one - or five movies together doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“I didn’t count on it,” he says, then leans down, voice low so only she can hear. “But I thought what we did last night might.”

Her mouth falls open slightly, and she shuts it just as fast, regains composure. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need to be wined and dined, and if you think either of us are getting out of here before eight on Friday you’re kidding yourself.”

He sighs, nodding, then goes to make his way around the desk. 

“Dan,” she says, once he’s got his back to her, just sweet enough to get under his skin. He stops, tensing. “Can you make twelve copies of this for the 3:00?”

He’s gotten under her skin, too.

His hand on her elbow at the coffee cart, the exposed skin of his stomach when he leans back in his chair and stretches, his mouth as he chews the end of his pen, however thoroughly unsanitary, makes her feel hot all over. She can’t even look at the desk, let alone be near it, without seizing up. Which is proving rather difficult with all the things she needs to get done so the party can run smoothly, not to mention the midterms she’s supposed to be studying for. But the one thing she will not do is ask for help.

So she doesn’t ask - he just gives.

She comes in Friday morning to find half the files on her desk missing - or not missing, but misplaced, on his desk. 

“Divide and conquer,” he says, shoving a cup of coffee in her hand, dropping the little bag of biscotti on top of the papers.

She stops mid-text when she sees him. 

Hair styled, suit tailored slim against him. He smells different - standing a little too close. Woody and warm with something sweet lying underneath. A new cologne. 

“Good?” He says, his smile smug. Her mouth may be hanging open a tad bit. 

“Presentable,” she says, turning her back to him. “You may look like Park Avenue but you’re still Prospect Heights underneath it.”

He hums lowly, takes a step up so he’s next to her. 

“You’ve been scheming.”

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugs. “I can smell it on you.”

She rolls her eyes. The elevator dings open. 

He leans back against the elevator wall, hands in his pockets. She can feel his eyes on her. 

“You haven’t pushed the button.”

She huffs, reaching out.

“I’m amazed we got everything done in time,” he says. “We make a good team.”

“I didn’t need you,” she says. “I could’ve done it myself.”

He hums again, a little amused noise.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “I’m surprised you got anything done with how distracted you’ve been.”

She turns to him abruptly, tries to keep her voice levelled with the way he’s watching her. 

“What exactly are you implying?”

He half-shrugs, close enough to touch but hands still kept to himself.

“I’m not implying,” he says. “I’m saying, it’s a little hard to work with you staring at me.”

She ignores the heat spreading in her cheeks, quirks up a brow.

“Oh, like how you clam up when I say -“ she takes a half-step forward, almost no space between them. “Dan?”.

He shifts forward as she shifts back. The elevator dings. She reaches out, presses the emergency stop button before the door can open.

“I don’t need you,” she says. “I’m sure you can’t say the same.”

“So if I touched you right now, you wouldn’t be wet?”

And - okay, she can’t argue with that. She clears her throat. Humphrey’s a tease. She can work with that.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

He brings his hands to her waist, spins her around and backs her up against the wall. He leans in and she tips her head up, ready for him, but he only smiles, tucks her hair behind her ear. Spread your legs. She swallows, parts her thighs a little. His fingers trail up her skirt, trace over the lace of her panties, pressing up into them. His mouth comes onto her neck, her eyes fluttering shut.

“You were saying?”

“That’s cheating,” she says, and she feels him grin. He pushes past the fabric, runs his fingers over her. He moans, low in his throat, teeth grazing against her neck. Definitely can’t argue now.

“Still don’t need me?”

He’s making it hard for her to continue to be difficult.

“Not particularly,” she breathes out, doing her best to keep still, not buck her hips against his touch. 

“You want me to stop?”

“You want to go out there in your state?” She counters. “It’ll be hard to hide in those tailored pants.”

“People have to use the elevator,” he mumbles. “To get to the party.”

“We’ll need to be quick then,” she says. “I’m sure you’re used to that.”

He pulls his hand away suddenly, kissing her hard. He braces himself, then grips her thighs, picks her up and pins her to the wall. Her legs wrap around him with a gasp, hands on his neck, pulling him closer. It takes some shifting, clothes too restricting for it to really be good, but he leans his forehead against hers, with a lipstick smudged wide tooth grin and a breathy laugh. She laughs too, and it makes her shiver all over. There’s something about him, she thinks, something that’s going to get her in trouble.

She kisses his neck, his chest, anywhere she can reach, hands in his hair, mussing up all that hard work to keep it in place. Blunt nails dig deep into her skin as he comes, his lip sucked between his teeth. She laughs again, brows raised, a crack about arriving early about to escape before he traps it with his tongue. He pulls out, sets her down, and disappointment flickers over her momentarily before his hand goes back up her skirt, the other holding her face, his thumb on her chin dragging her mouth open. He’s insistent, kisses and kisses and works her until she lets out a small, strangled cry, face screwing up, surely creasing her makeup. She keeps her eyes closed. She can feel that stupid smug smile.

He smooths down her skirt, puts her straps back in place. He’s a mess, lipstick smeared across his chin, and she’s sure she’s not any better. He leans against her, a hand braced on the wall above her head. 

“Do we have to go?” He presses a kiss to her cheek, another to her lips. “Can’t we just go back to mine?”

“I’m not going to Brooklyn,” she says, but she kisses him back. “And there’s work to do.”

She jams a finger on the button, the elevator starting back up again. The doors open, the party already in full swing, and she heads straight to the bathroom without looking back. 

Later that night, back in her bedroom, she smells his cologne all over her. 

He drops a ticket on the desk, takes a seat across from her. 

“What’s this?”

“New exhibit at the Met,” he says. “Come with me Sunday.”

She raises her brows. 

“As friends.”

Her eyebrows only inch higher.

“Just take it, Blair.”

She presses her lips together, picks up the ticket and taps a finger on it. 

“Very well, then. I’ll meet you there.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he says. “Fifteen minutes I waited for you.”

“Plausible deniability! If someone sees us, we just ran into each other.” 

“You’re lucky I didn’t leave,” he says, but she only passes him, heels clicking down the corridor. Luck had nothing to do with it. She knew he would wait.

She circles around the statues, the lines and divots of their bodies, the curves of their stone. Something familiar lives in the cracks of their marble. She stops in front of the figure of a woman, crouched, a hand over her chest. 

She looks over at him, his eyes unfocused, lip sucked between his teeth. 

“Don’t tell me this is turning you on,” she teases. “Are you fifteen?”

He shakes his head, rubs at his neck. Self-conscious, she thinks.

“It’s not that.”

She turns to face him full on, bats her lashes purposefully.

“What is it, then?”

He leans in, kissing her soft, like he’s trying it out. She gets away from herself for a moment, presses into him, then pulls away. 

“Are you insane? Someone could see us.”

Dan perks up, looking around the room, his eyes stopping just over her head. 

“Ah, yes,” he raises a hand, gesturing to the only other people in the room, a couple no younger than seventy five, admiring a painting. “Gossip Girl’s stealthiest minions.”

She scoffs, fully intending to walk away, but he slips his hand into hers. Cautiously, at first, and when she doesn’t pull away, he locks their fingers. He takes a few steps back, then pulls her in, the statues blocking them from anyone’s view.

He’s kissing her, hungrier than before, his arms (god, his arms) wrapping tight around her waist. She moans into his mouth, completely against her will, twisting her hands into the collar of his jacket, pulling him in deeper, more insistent, wanting -

“Oh, my,” a voice from behind them says, and they jump apart like an electric shock. Blair’s hand flys to her mouth, shutting her eyes, too afraid to turn around. 

“Look at that detail,” the woman says. “That’s beautiful.”

Dan stifles a laugh, pressing his lips to her forehead, his hand on the small of her back. A flight of shivers washes over her.

“You’re dead,” she says, slamming her phone down in front of him. “Dead, I tell you.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” he says, picking the phone up and squinting at it. “What’s this?”

“They chose your piece over mine.”

“Oh,” he says with a small smile. “Well, maybe mine was better.”

“Maybe yours was...” she rips the phone from his hand, her nails scratching him. He winces a little. “Do not fuck with me, Humphrey,” she says, and then she stops, because, well - 

“Too late for that,” he says, in a voice he must think is sexy, but is definitely not. It might be endearing, if she found him endearing, which she does not. 

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Are you sleeping with Epperly?”

“What? Blair -“

“Because that’s the only way I could see your piece being chosen, when you don’t have the slightest idea what you’re -“

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else,” Dan says, and when her eyebrows shoot up, he sighs, rubs a hand over his face. “Have you ever even read anything I’ve written?”

She pauses, because she hasn’t.

“This isn’t actually a competition. We can both be good at this job.” He leans forward in his chair. “Don’t you think you might be fighting with me to cover up something else?”

She leans in, practically jamming a finger against his chest. 

“Having sex was a two time thing. There is nothing between us.”

His forehead creases, watching her intently. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Waldorf, Humphrey,” Epperly snaps her fingers in the doorway. “Quit flirting and start working.”

Blair jumps back, face scrunching up. 

“We were not - I was certainly not -“

Epperly turns on her heel, beckons Blair to follow suit. She throws a look as sharp as a knife over her shoulder at him. 

Chuck hasn’t looked at her once.

He just kisses and kisses and kisses Raina Thorpe, big hands around her tiny waist, a smile on his face. She can’t even remember the last time he smiled at her.

The ache in her chest is dull, rusted. Something she has to pry open and wallow in herself instead of it being readily available to her. But it’s still there.

Maybe that’s what moving on feels like. She wouldn’t know - moving on wasn’t part of her plan.

“You look cheery,” Dan says, sidling up next to her at the bar. He orders a drink, then throws a look over his shoulder. “Ghosts of Valentine’s past haunting you, too?”

She shrugs, wraps her mouth around the rim of her glass. He’s all done up again, tie and suit and actual product in his hair. And that cologne - the one she didn’t want to wash out of her dress. She hopes this isn’t becoming a regular occurrence. 

“I read your piece,” she mumbles. “It was good.”

“What was that?” Dan says, nudging his elbow into her side.

“You heard me,” she says, swatting him away. “It was sharp. And well observed. Maybe you were right.”

Dan raises his eyebrows.

“This isn’t a competition.”

He nods, brings his glass up to cover a smile. 

“And how about the other thing?”

“What other thing?” Blair says, playing dumb. 

Dan bites his lip, shifting closer. He waits, then brings his hand onto her back, runs his fingers down her spine. Those same shivers overcome her. She’s not liking that those are becoming a regular occurrence. 

He rests his hand on the small of her back, and she lets it sit there, skin prickling with anticipation.

From across the room, she locks eyes with Chuck. Her body tenses, and Dan removes his hand before she even opens her mouth.

“Hands to yourself, Humphrey.” She grins up at him, tight lipped. “I should go see if Epperly needs anything.”

The duvet puffs around her as she searches for her phone, heat from her laptop emanating into her lap. 

“Hey,” Dan says over the line, voice soft. “You ran out of there before I could catch you.”

“I wasn’t feeling in the party mood,” she says. 

“I know how hard it is seeing your ex with someone else,” he says. “But you’re - he only ever brought you down.”

“I appreciate the concern, as uninformed as it may be.”

“I just mean -“ she can imagine his lips pursed, his brows furrowed. She’s glad he can’t see her smile. “You’re really great, Blair.”

“I know,” she says, and then, “Thank you, Humphrey.”

“We were friends,” he says. “Before I screwed up. And I -“

“Don’t say it,” she interrupts, holding up a finger he can’t see. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of Chateau Pomeaux and Rosemary’s Baby.” 

“What part are you at? I’ll watch with you. Forgive me if I’ve memorized some of Ruth Gordon’s dialogue. Okay - all of it.”

She laughs. Trouble, indeed. 

“It just started.”

She walks into the office to find a tall blonde leaning over the desk towards him, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Dan sits back in his chair, does that head-shake half-smile that any girl (that wasn’t her) would find charming. 

“Is he boring you with his annoying drivel?” Blair says, and she feels a slight satisfaction at the way Dan turns to her without hesitation, swivels in his chair so he’s facing her.

“I was just saying that Dan should write a piece on what it’s like to date an It Girl,” Valerie - said tall blonde - says. “He dated Olivia Burke last year, not to mention his relationship with Serena van der Woodsen -“

Blair freezes, her hand gripping the desk.

“Yes, and now he’s her brother, so you can see how well that worked out for him.”

“I think it only makes it more interesting,” Valerie says. “I mean, to know Serena that intimately?” 

“Don’t you know who I am?” Blair snaps before she can help herself, but Valerie only gives her a blank look in return. Blair turns, walking out of the room, and feels Dan follow her, his hand suddenly coming onto her back, steering her into a vacant side office, filled with racks of clothing.

He closes the door behind them. She’s all too aware of the desk in the middle of the room. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“With Val back there?”

“Oh, so she’s Val now?” 

Dan squints at her, shaking his head.

“That bimbo was throwing herself at you and you weren’t doing much to stop it.”

“Val’s gay,” he says. “Which you would know if you listened to her - or anyone.”

She crosses her arms, all but stomps her foot on the ground.

“Blair, you can act like a crazy person around me all you want, but this is an office, with normal people.”

“Because it’s so normal to be fawning all over Serena all the time.”

He tilts his head, taking a step forward.

“Am I missing something here?”

“Do you still want her?” Blair hears herself say, and when Dan only blinks blankly, she hopes she didn’t actually say it out loud. 

“What?” Dan says, so there goes that. “No, I don’t. Not at all.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you did,” she says hurriedly. “Because - well, I mean I don’t think she wants you but -“

“Blair,” he says, his hand coming onto her shoulder. “Stop.”

She does, but only because he’s so close.

“In case it isn’t obvious enough,” his other hand comes onto her hip. She ignores those shivers for the life of her. “I’m trying to be with you.” 

Her mouth opens, ready to rebuttal, but she comes up empty. All she can do is kiss him. He responds with his hands in her hair, and she lets him, even though she spent an excessive amount of time curling it this morning - because this is what she’d been hoping for. 

(“I didn’t actually think we were going to have sex in the office,” Dan said over the phone, long after the movie had ended, and she had proclaimed herself thoroughly drunk. “I mean - I thought about it - but I just hung around late because I liked being around you.”)

When she woke up, after falling asleep with only a few drops left at the bottom of her wine bottle, her phone still pressed to her ear, she’d put on a powder pink set under her outfit, lace and silk she wanted him to take off. She was going to wait until lunch, at least, but - 

“Wait,” she pulls away, hands on his chest. “Lock the door.”

He stalls for a moment like he’s dumbstruck, then does as he’s told. Then he’s back, hands on her neck and tongue in her mouth, lowering her down onto the chair behind the desk. His hands go straight under her skirt, and although she appreciates his enthusiasm, she wishes he would take a second to unbutton her top, take a look at what she’s wearing for him.

She doesn’t know what she expected. Those weren’t thoughts she needed to be having about him, anyway. 

He buries his hand in the fabric of her panties, pulling them aside and groaning.

“All that annoying drivel turns you on, huh?” 

She should smack him, but she’s in no state to, so she twists her fingers in his hair and pulls hard, instead. But he only moans. 

He pushes her chin up, teeth grazing down her throat as he strokes her. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down and off (okay - she can look past the disappointment). With one hand on her knee, the other pressing into her heat, he lowers himself, kisses the tender skin on the inside of her thigh, over and over, soft kisses trailing up until he’s right where she wants him, just hovering. 

“I’ll give you what you want,” he says, and she can feel his breath on her. “You just have to admit that you need me.”

She inhales sharply, his fingers sinking into her and then pulling back out. He does it again, in and out, then runs the pads of his fingers over her folds.

“Blair?”

“What.”

He leans in, flicks his tongue lightly, then pulls away again, resting his cheek on her thigh. 

“Tell me you need me,” he says, running slow circles on her clit, hardly any pressure at all. She doesn’t dare look down at him, but she feels his smile spread on her skin. 

“I’m not going to say it.”

He jerks back suddenly, not all the way, just enough that she can’t feel his warm breath anymore. She groans, swinging her leg up on his shoulder, the heel of her shoe digging into his back, nudging him forward. 

“Fine, fuck,” her lips are swollen and sore from biting them. She mumbles, “I need you.”

“What was that?”

She digs her heel into his shoulder blade, hard enough to bruise.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, a little pained, spreading her open, his tongue finally coming down on her.

She does her best to stifle her sounds, all too aware of the thin walls around them, the people that could fire her for this on the other side. But it’s difficult - Humphrey’s good at this - another thing she now knows that’s making it harder for her to deny how much she wants him. 

He pulls away abruptly, shifting, getting her leg off his shoulder. 

“You’re gonna impale me,” he mutters, and then dips back under her skirt. 

He holds her thighs open until she’s trembling, still strokes her after she’s pushed his face away, out of breath. She grapples for his collar, pulling him back up and he hovers over her, the smugness of his smile hitting her like a ton of bricks. He looks terribly handsome, his lips still glistening. There’s the trouble. She really likes him. She’s going to have to reckon with that. 

She snakes a hand between his legs, applying pressure where he’s already hard. He inhales sharply, grinning. 

“We don’t have time.”

She untucks his shirt hurriedly, works on unbuckling his belt.

“We’ll see about that.”

She doesn’t waste time, pulling his boxers down and getting her hands around him. She bends down, bringing her mouth on him for just a moment, then pulling back off. She looks up at him, his chest heaving, watching her. Without breaking his gaze, she moves down again, taking him back into her mouth, deeper this time, lips sliding up as she opens her throat. His eyes snap shut. She’s always been good at this, the only thing to come out of reducing her gag reflex over time. 

“Blair,” he says, but it comes out as more of a guttural noise, something between Fuck and God. 

He grips onto the desk hard, and she uses her free hand to grab his, guide it onto the back of her neck. He’d had fun denying her, but she was having fun giving it her all, watching him crumble quickly on her tongue. His grip on her neck tightens, and she knows he’s there, but she stays around him as he comes, swallows - if only not to make a mess. 

She stands, smoothing down her skirt, wiping at the corners of her mouth. She’ll need to reapply her lipgloss. Dan tries to fix himself, his hands fumbling, not able to take his eyes off her. She leans in, a hand on his chest.

“You were saying?”

She expects him to roll his eyes, make a comeback. But he doesn’t, just shifts in to kiss her. 

He continues to not pay attention to the lingerie, not that it stops her from putting it on, liking how it makes her stomach flip when his hands tug down the thin material of her La Perlas. She can’t complain, he pulls her into the storage room and cafe bathrooms - always half hard and wanting her. His hand between her legs in the back of a movie theatre on the weekend - the first and last time they do that.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into the Joseph Beuys exhibit after all,” she mutters as they wait for a cab, hidden from the rain under an awning.

“I could talk you into almost anything when you’re in that state,” he says from behind her. She scoffs, crosses her arms.

“I can’t believe I let you in my pants.”

He sticks his lip out, brows furrowed. He looks like he’s going to kiss her - then doesn’t, and she’s glad for it. She doesn’t think she’d be able to stop him if he did.

“You don’t own pants.”

“What did you think about?” She says, curled into her side in bed, phone pressed to her ear. “On Valentine’s day you said you thought about us in the office, what would you think about?”

“I -“ he clears his throat, a small crackle over the line. “I did not think you would remember that. How romantic.”

“Just tell me,” she says, shifting onto her back.

“Uh - well, I’d watch you sitting there and you smell nice - that sounds creepy - I mean, I’m not very good at this over the phone.”

“Dan,” she says softly. “Keep going.”

He lets out a breath.

“I thought about having you in my lap, and what noises you would make when I - when I fucked you - “

She hums, a little exhale of yeah.

“Are you? Okay - right, I thought about messing up your hair, because it always looked perfect and I just wanted to pull on it and bend you over the desk -“

She laughs, a sudden shrill, and he lets out an exasperated sigh.

“See - you’re laughing -“

“No - this is good, I like it. So, bend me over the desk and?” She says, trying and failing to stifle her giggling.

“I’d be better at this if I could see you,” he says. “You won’t be laughing then, trust me.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He throws down his pen, running a hand through his hair.

“I can’t work anymore.”

He leans back in his chair, swivels in it, then grins at her. 

“What are you wearing under that?”

She rolls her eyes, bites back a smile. 

“You don’t even appreciate fine lingerie.”

“I do when it’s on you.”

She sits back in her chair, a little satisfied, hands folded in her lap. 

“Come over here and find out then.”

He smiles sheepishly. 

“I can’t really walk in my condition.”

She raises a brow, peers over the desk. 

“Already? Seriously?”

He half-shrugs, glancing at the door, closed but not locked. 

“I stopped working a while ago.”

She can’t help but laugh, flushing a little. She stands, makes her way around the desk, stopping to lock the door, pull down the blinds. 

She stands in front of him, his hand reaching out to her hip, which she swats away, holding up a finger. She unbuttons her cardigan, taking it slow, lets it hang open to reveal the white lace of her bra. She unzips the back of her skirt, dropping it off and stepping out of it, leaving her in her monogrammed stockings. He palms himself through his pants, watching her, and she picks his hand up, straddles his lap. He runs his fingers over the lace on the swell of her breasts. 

“This is pretty.”

He unhooks the front clasp of her bra, thumbs over her hard nipples. 

“You’re pretty.”

She leans in, backing him hard into the chair. She runs her hands up his shirt, into the coarse hair on his chest. 

“That’s not dirty talk.”

She can feel him, hard and pulsing, underneath her. She grinds her hips down on him, then again, enjoying the way his breath hitches. He pulls her hair away from her neck, bringing his tongue down just below her ear. You’re so pretty when you’re begging me to fuck you. 

He rubs her through her stockings, smiles into a kiss. She’s not wearing anything underneath them. You’re so pretty when you’re wet for me. 

“Okay, okay that’s enough,” he laughs, fingers digging into the waistband of her stockings and peeling them off her. “This is agonizing.”

She pouts, but he only kisses her. 

“I thought you were good at this,“ she says, then sends her hips grinding down again, his face scrunching up in a grimace. 

She sits up a little, hands folding politely over his belt buckle. 

“What’s wrong, Humphrey? You usually can’t shut up.”

He looks thoroughly in pain, lips red and bitten.

“I’m a little incapacitated.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a little,” she smiles, gives him a kiss, pulling away before he can deepen it. She undoes the buckle, pulling the zipper down and shifting up a bit to get his pants around his ankles, his bare legs hot on hers. She brings her hand on him through the fabric of his boxers, palming slowly. And then she gets an idea. 

She moves her hands up from him, presses her fingers against herself and lets out a sigh. His eyes open, his grip on her sides tightening, makes a noise like she’s knocked the wind out of him. He brings his hand up to hers but she pushes it away, tells him to Just watch. His name escapes her in small whimpers as she quickens her pace, trying to keep her eyes open to watch him watch her get herself off. She comes with a shudder, kissing him messy, more of a moan against his mouth. 

“Blair,” he says, breathless. “Come on.”

She laughs, peeling the boxers off him to put him out of his misery. Her head tips back as she settles on him, hips coming up, down, up again, hands gripped tight to the back of the chair to steady herself. He lasts longer than she thought he would, but she’s glad that it’s not that long, her thighs starting to seize up from the uncomfortable position. 

She covers herself with his sweater, leans her back against his chest.

“Maybe now you can get some work done.”

“You seem different,” Serena says over breakfast. Blair takes a loud sip from her disgusting kale juice.

“Different how?”

Serena narrows her eyes. 

“Good. You seem really good.”

Blair avoids her gaze, takes another loud sip.

“I’m on a cleanse.”

“What’s that?” Serena says, gesturing to her neck. Blair had tried to cover it up, but not well enough apparently. “Are you back with Chuck?”

Blair lets out a startled laugh. 

“Absolutely not.”

Serena gives her a disbelieving look.

“Really,” Blair pushes. “I’m not about to be a side piece. Chuck liked getting more than he liked giving, anyway.”

Serena’s brows knit together, then something like realization sets in. 

“Oh,” she says. “It’s Dan.”

Blair shrugs. There’s no use denying it - Gossip Girl had already seen them getting coffee the day before. She doesn’t, however, appreciate the inclination that Serena would know about his weakness for hickeys. But of course she would.

“Are you mad?” She asks, and Serena’s forehead only creases more.

“I don’t get it,” she says. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?” Blair plays dumb. Serena looks at her straight.

“You don’t like him,” Serena says. “You’ve never liked him.”

“Maybe now I do,” Blair says, sipping up the rest of her juice. Serena presses her lips together, and Blair watches her, knowing she’s going to bite.

“I know he’s good but -“

Blair clears her throat. If there was anyone who could play her games just as well as her, it was Serena.

“Fine. It’s been going on for longer than you think. Not the - you know, but - we have a... connection. We’re friends.”

“You didn’t tell me.” It’s a plain statement - no emotion.

“I didn’t want to admit that I’d begun to understand the Humphrey appeal.”

“Does he know?” Serena says. “That you’re waiting to go back to Chuck?”

There’s no edge to it, but it still hits her like a low blow.

“Dan can’t do no strings attached,” Serena continues before Blair can rebuttal. “He might say he can but he can’t.”

“Did I say there were no strings?” Blair says. “And don’t say that like - like Chuck owns me and he’s just lending me out.”

Serena reaches across the table, catches Blair’s hand before she can retract.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Serena says. She sighs, but she doesn’t say sorry. “Dan’s a good boyfriend. If that’s what you want.”

Blair’s afraid that’s exactly what she wants. 

“I’m taking a break,” she announces, receiving a pointed look from him in return. “It’s lunch,” she gestures to the empty office room, “We’re taking a lunch break.”

“You need to study,” Dan says.

“I need encouragement,” she whines. “A girl cannot survive on caffeine and kisses alone.”

He rolls his eyes, leans in and catches her mouth. She hums against him, tastes the bitter coffee on his tongue. Then he pulls away, points at her book with his brows raised. She swivels in her chair and grabs him by the collar, feels vindicated when his hand comes up to her neck. She kisses his jaw, wrinkles her nose.

“Did you shave today?”

“No,” his hand slides up her knee. “You don’t have to kiss me, you could work.”

She guides his hand higher, moves back to his mouth, bites down on his lip.

“B?”

They jump apart, Blair gripping the desk so her chair doesn’t spin, her cup of coffee toppling to the floor.

“Fuck,” Dan bends over to pick it up as Serena and Eric come in, talking over each other. They both stop abruptly when he comes back up.

“Oh,” Serena says. Blair is overtly aware of the lipstick on Dan’s face. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”

“I’m at work.” Blair says. 

“We need your help with a scheme,” Serena says.

“She can’t,” Dan interrupts. “She does have actual work to do.”

“Nonsense,” Blair says, waving a hand at him. “What is it?”

“Chuck and Raina broke up,” Serena says once they’re alone. 

“Oh,” Blair says, avoiding her eyes. “That’s too bad.”

Serena hums, crosses her legs, looks down at her nails.

“You and Dan seem to be having fun.”

“You said you weren’t mad,” Blair says. “You can’t be mad when I’m helping you.”

“I’m not. I just want to know what you’re going to do now.”

Blair turns her back to her, thinks of ten callous insults she could say, doesn’t say any of them.

“I didn’t plan for any of this,” she says. “I planned for Chuck.”

She turns back, takes a quiet seat. Something flickers over Serena’s face, realization, maybe, that Blair needs her best friend.

“So that’s it?” 

Maybe it was too much to hope for.

“You came all the way to Brooklyn for sex?” He says when he opens the door. “I’m that good?”

She rolls her eyes, drops her bag on the ground. I came all the way to Brooklyn for you, she thinks. 

He wraps his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her mouth. 

“What was all the scheming for?”

“You don’t want to know,” she says, feeling his smile spread on her skin. “But I’m all yours now.”

It’s not a lie - it’s just not exactly the truth.

He props her against the arm of the couch, a finger under her chin as he kisses her. 

“Did you miss me?”

“Not really,” she says, but her skin is hot under his touch. 

“Are you sure?” He murmurs into a kiss. “Because you seemed pretty eager to have me this morning.”

“I was avoiding work,” she says. 

“So you don’t want to pick up where we left off?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She picks up his hand, takes two fingers in her mouth and sucks. He watches her under heavy lids, bottom lip between his teeth. She pops them out like a lollipop, guides his hand under her skirt. He twists in her grasp, grabbing onto her wrist and stopping her. He kisses her messy, toppling her over onto her back, straight onto a pillow on the couch. He holds both her wrists in one hand, mouth on her jaw as he uses the other to unbutton her top, pull down her skirt. Then he’s gone, a cold air coming over her, and she opens her eyes to see him hovering over her, staring. 

He takes in a breath, face fully flushed. “We haven’t done it like this.”

Blair blushes, knowing what he means. She liked it, doing it half dressed in almost public. There was something about having him undo her and button her back up. But this is different - open and exposed for him, his touch light all of a sudden. 

She pulls at his sweater, gets it off and over his head. She runs a hand over his chest, his stomach, stopping at the buckle of his jeans. He helps her get it undone, pull them down, her hands over his hips, the hair trailing behind his boxers. He hesitates, then holds up a hand, gets off the couch.

She’s about to ask what the hell he’s doing before he’s standing over her again, a condom packet in hand. 

“I thought we should use it, I was reading earlier about the effectiveness of -“

“Would you just fuck me,” she says, and he lowers down hard onto her, his knee pressing into her side. He rolls the condom on as she squirms underneath him, then he nips at her earlobe. He’s close, she can feel him, her legs spreading almost involuntarily. 

“Please, Dan,” she whines out, foregoing all semblance of composure. He takes her in slow, deep strokes, despite her relentless shifting, the desperate noises she’s making. She comes hard, seizing up all around him, and it feels like it lasts forever, rolling through her stomach and trembling through her legs. 

He collapses on a heap on top of her and she groans, pushes him off and shifts so she can rest against him instead. He moves the hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. There’s something there, in the way he’s looking at her. He’s nervous, she thinks.

“It’s late,” he says. “Have you eaten?”

She shakes her head.

“I can order pizza. You can - you can stay, if you want.”

“I think someone Freaky Friday’ed me,” she says, running a hand through his hair, looking at his swollen lips, red from her bite. “This can’t possibly be my life.”

He swallows, shifting uncomfortably. She smiles a little, her hand on his chest. She can feel just how fast his heart is still beating. 

“I’ll need a change of clothes,” she says, leaning in to kiss him.

Cotton blends do not touch this body, she protests, but once they’re on, worn out t-shirt and old pajama pants soft against her skin, she thinks she can make an exception. The Philadelphia Story plays idly on the laptop screen in front of them and once the credits roll, she’s falling asleep on his shoulder, and he’s prodding her to get into bed.

The bed, of course, is only a vehicle to get them wrapped in each other, his slightly calloused hands on her soft skin. They make out, like a couple of teenagers, for what seems like ages, before his hand slips into her pants - his pants on her. He pushes her shirt - his shirt on her - up past her breasts, bringing his tongue on the sensitive skin. She braces herself on top of him, pulls his own pants down and settles herself on him. She lets out open-mouthed, unabashed noises, and he matches her, groans low in his throat.

There’s no games, no obstacles, no plausible deniability. He’s all around her, the smell of him, old books and fresh laundry. He’s stable underneath her, warm to the touch. Dan is a safety cord when she’s only ever had balancing acts. 

“I can’t believe I’m still hungry,” she says, curling into his side, her eyes fluttering shut on his shoulder. 

“All those orgasms work up an appetite,” he presses a kiss to her forehead. “I can make you breakfast in the morning.”

She’d like that, she thinks as she falls asleep. She’d like that a lot. 

She leaves a note on the pillow before she goes. I forgot I had plans with Serena.

It’s not a lie. It’s just not exactly the truth.

He calls her the next day, and she lets it ring and ring, her eyes shut tight when she finally answers. 

“I saw that Chuck and Raina broke up,” he says, his voice unreadable. There’s a beat, and then, “Is that why you left?”

“No, I heard about the breakup first and then I came to you,” she says. “Are you mad?”

“Of course not, I just - I don’t know what you want, Blair.”

“What do you want?” She says quietly.

“You know what I want,” he says, just as quiet. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

She opens her mouth, ready to brush it off, to say something cold or callous. But nothing comes to her.

“I don’t want that,” she says. “My boyfriends cheat on me and trade me for hotels.”

“I think that’s a problem with the guys you were dating,” he says. “Not you.”

She’s not sure what scares her more - that now he could break her heart, or that he never would.

“I have a lot of homework,” she says suddenly. “If I come over can you help me?”

He does, actually, end up helping her with homework, Comparative Lit more so than Econ. But the work is only a prelude for her getting into his lap, her hands in his hair. 

She falls asleep wrapped up in him. And she lets him make her breakfast in the morning. 

It goes on like that - she ends up in Brooklyn, in his bed, more nights than she’s in her own. She leaves things at his place - facial cleanser and argan oil conditioner and a few outfits, just in case (she purposefully doesn’t bring anything to sleep in, silk slips forgotten for his worn in t-shirts). 

They stay at the penthouse only once, after a late dinner uptown, but the anxiety that Serena can hear them through the bathroom, or worse, walk in on them, is enough to drive Blair back over the bridge.

She only half-watches Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor argue on screen, Dan’s hand on her just previously folded knees, the other smoothing down her just previously pulled hair.

“How did this happen?” She says, more to herself than to him.

He hums, distracted. 

“How did what happen?”

“You and me,” she says.

“You couldn’t resist my charms?” 

She pinches him lightly, nudges into the crook of his neck. 

“This wasn’t a part of my 5 year plan.”

He presses his cheek to the top of her head, voice quiet. 

“I hope you can still squeeze me in.”

“I like you like this,” she says, buttoning up his collar over the bruises she left the night before. “All dressed up.”

“Your trophy husband,” he mumbles, and it’s an unassuming joke, but her fingers still falter on the knot of his tie. She moves to his dresser, picks up the earrings she left behind.

“I got that to seduce you,” he says, gesturing to the bottle of cologne on his dresser. “The lady at Neiman’s recommended it.”

“Dan Humphrey went to Neiman’s for me?”

He shrugs, places a hand on her hip and kisses her. 

“It worked, didn’t it?”

She wipes a thumb across his mouth, holds it up to his face.

“That’s $70 lipgloss you just kissed off.”

His face scrunches up, and she pulls the rectangular black tube out of her bag, makes a show of reapplying it, smacking her lips. 

She trails her eyes down the list, Van Kirks, Hiltons, Basses - or, more accurately - Bass.

“You won’t believe this,” Dan starts, coming up behind her. “William and my dad are both here, and they’re both going to be in the picture, it’s like a trashy reality show over there -“

He stops, follows her sightline to the list of names tacked to the wall.

“He’s not here yet,” he says quietly. “Do you want me to - is there anything I can do?”

“Your job,” she says. “Try not to charm any other socialites while you’re at it.”

She stays stuck to Epperly’s hip for most of the day, picking at outfits and trying to reason with spoiled brats and wrangle people’s dogs. She rounds the corner, arms full of fabric, then stops short when she hears a familiar voice. 

“She hasn’t been herself lately,” a cold tone to match a cold exterior. “My intel indicates she might be seeing someone else.”

“That sounds... scary,” Dan’s voice comes through, making her almost drop the pile of clothing in her hands. “But maybe you just don’t know her as well as you thought you did. With you she was always caught up in schemes and takedowns, but that’s not really her. She’s intelligent. She’s intuitive, she - she weeps when she watches Nights of Cabiria.”

“How do you know that?”

She hears a sigh, thinks about stepping in before Dan can say anything else. 

“The point is, if Blair’s happy, then maybe you should let her be.”

There’s a second of silence before Chuck’s laugh cuts through, sending a different sort of shiver down her spine.

“It’s you,” he says, then laughs again. “Well, my apologies if I find it difficult to believe that she could be happy with you.”

It’s quiet, and Blair should really intervene now, before Dan does something like punch him again. 

“It’s your turn,” Dan says. “Go on and take your picture.”

She waits a moment, then peeks around the corner, sees Dan standing there with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft. “Guess who swooped in when Amanda Hearst had a wardrobe malfunction and impressed the hell out of Epperly?”

He grins at her easy, makes his way over and takes the dresses out of her hands. She tips up suddenly, kisses him quick on the lips then wipes off the evidence. 

“I heard you,” she says, and his smile drops, his cheeks still a little flushed. 

“He started it,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to overstep or -“

“It’s okay. I mean, he didn’t need to know the Nights of Cabiria thing, but -“ she rests her hand on his chest, drums her fingers over his heart. “Let’s go to mine after. I’ll make sure everyone clears out so we can be alone.”

Everyone does not clear out, because Eleanor has awful timing, her monogrammed luggage littered through the foyer as she sits on the couch, types away at her phone.

“Mother!” Blair says tightly as they step out of the elevator, fixing her displaced hair, Dan’s hand retracting from her waist. “What a wonderful surprise!”

Eleanor hardly looks up, waving her hand in what might be a greeting.

“Surprise, indeed,” she sighs. “Where the hell is Dorota?”

“At her home,” Blair says. “Where I sent her.”

“And why would you do that?” Eleanor peers up over her phone. “Hello, Daniel.” Back down. “Serena’s not here either, did you send her away too?”

“I did, actually, yes.”

Eleanor finally sets her phone down, looking up at them. Blair takes in a deep breath.

“I asked everyone to leave so that I could be alone, with my boyfriend.”

Eleanor just stares, nods a little, eyebrows raised. Well?

Dan clears his throat.

“Hi,” he says. “That would be me.”

Eleanor’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. Cyrus comes in with his arms wide open.

“Now what do we have here?” Cyrus says, wrapping Blair up in a hug. He reaches up, claps a hand on Dan’s shoulder. “What a handsome welcome party!”

”They’re dating,” Eleanor says, almost skeptically. She hasn’t stood up, but she’s perched on the edge of her seat. 

Cyrus throws his hands up in the air, pulls Dan into a hug.

“Well,” Blair says, pulling Dan away by the elbow. “If that’s all, we’ll be leaving.”

“Nonsense,” Cyrus says. “Stay for dinner.”

And they do - Blair sitting with her legs crossed, fidgeting with her rings, playing twenty questions over salmon and chardonnay. When did this start? Months ago, Mother. Does Serena know? Yes, Mother. How did this happen? Beats me, Mother.

Blair hardly waits for the plates to be cleared before she’s linking her arm through Dan’s, marching towards the elevator. 

“We’ll take a rain check on dessert,” she calls over her shoulder. As the elevator closes, she lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

“Chuck, Serena, your parents,” Dan says. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

“Nothing ever is,” she mumbles. She pulls him in by the tie, melts right into him, a sugar cube on his tongue. 

He hardly has the door to the loft shut before she’s undoing his tie, throwing it carelessly to the ground and opening up his shirt, running her hands on his chest and her tongue over the bruises on his throat. He steers her clumsily to the bedroom, having to push a pile of laundry off his bed to make room for her.

He hovers over her, touching her through the fabric of her underwear. He presses into her until she hums against his mouth, then rubs slow, firm circles, until she gasps, shuddering against him. 

“Oh,” he says. “That was quick.”

“Just take the compliment and go,” she says, pulling his shirt off and discarding it into the rest of the mess on the floor. He opens the buttons on her shirt, unzips her skirt to reveal a red lace bodysuit, matching belt and garters. 

His breath hitches. “Have you been wearing this all day?”

She nods, has to resist rolling her eyes. When would I have had time to change?

“You came here this morning wearing this,” he says, mouth on her collarbone, fingers fiddling with the garter clips. “And you didn’t let me take you right there?”

She laughs, a small sound lost in breath. 

“It was a surprise,” she says, hooking her heels around his hips, pressing him between her legs. “I wasn’t expecting to wait this long.”

He tugs the straps down, kissing as he goes along, pulls the suit down until she’s bare. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he presses kiss after kiss down her sternum, over her breasts, raising goosebumps in her skin. “I can’t believe you’re - fuck - I love you.”

He pauses, looking up at her with wide eyes. 

“I didn’t - I - I meant, like, I love your - tits.”

“Just keep going,” she shoves a hand into his hair, pushing him down.  “Just shut up and keep going.”

He fumbles with the garter clips, pulling the stockings off a little too rough, everything rushed all of a sudden, his eyes not meeting hers. He gets his belt, pants, briefs off in an awkward stumble, then pats around the bedside table for a condom. Of course, she thinks, of course this would happen. 

She curls a hand through his hair, scratching lightly as he swears under his breath. She pulls him down to her, kisses along his jaw. 

“I love your arms,” she says quietly, grinning against his throat. She feels him swallow hard. “I need you, Dan.”

He kisses her, runs his fingers down her folds then presses into her, feeling if she’s ready for him. She moans, just loud enough to be embarrassing, but it’s the encouragement she knows he needed to snap out of it, to focus. 

She finishes fast again - having waited for it, thought about it all day. She braces her hands on either side of his face, tells him yes, tells him more, tells him how good he makes her feel. 

He collapses on to the new sheets she bought for him, wraps them up around her as she curls into his chest, all the expensive lace she dressed herself in tossed aside, blended in with the laundry on his floor. She listens to his heartbeat blare against his chest, the same pace as a car alarm somewhere on the street. 

The silence stretches on, just their breathing, the beating in her ear, the alarm from outside. Then the alarm stops. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then, “Can it?”

She shifts to look at him, his brows knit together as he stares at the ceiling. He’s holding his breath.

“It could.”

He looks down at her, and she leans up, kisses him soft until she feels him relax under her. 

“That’s not how I wanted to say it,” he says. “I was hoping for less heat of the moment.”

She runs her thumb over his cheek, small marks from her scratches already blooming. She could spend a lot longer than just five years like this.

“You can say it again.”