come nightfall you'll be waltzing through my door (dan/blair) (part 2)
title: come nightfall you'll be waltzing through my door (part 2). link to part 1
fandom: gossip girl
characters: dan humphrey, blair waldorf
pairings: dan/blair, implied chuck/blair, implied serena/dan
wordcount: 2199
rating: R, let's call it an R.
disclaimer: i don't own gossip girl or the title of this fic
warning: i wrote this. it has internal monologues and something masquerading as plot and nothing much ever happens.
for: ever-neutral and vergoldung who wanted adultery. (who doesn't, really)
a/n: PART TWO, WOOHOO. it's been a long time but i finally felt ~inspired enough to look this over and finish it. like 90% of this part was written even before part 1 was published, but it needed to be polished. ENJOY.
She texts him the restaurant address, as she promised. It’s some place he’s never been to and he hasn’t even heard of it, but judging by the address (judging by her) it’ll be some place that’s elegant and not too fashionable: she wouldn’t want to advertise their dinner to the entire world, probably not even to the entire city of Paris, but she won’t give up all her comfort for it. That much he knows about her.
So Dan's stepped out of his apartment already and now he’s locking his apartment door and he starts walking towards his building exit (towards Blair, towards life, towards everything). He's twelve steps away from the building exit when he turns around and instead of carrying on, he hurries back up the stairs, unlocks the door, he thinks he's sweating and his heart’s racing and he’s rummaging through his bedroom closet and then his breathing returns to a normal rhythm when he changes into a white shirt and a dark blue dinner jacket, and decides this is it, this is the outfit he needs. He can go now.
Some days, Dan's 18 again, and he's sure that he's one correct choice of outfit away from getting all that he wants.
He decides to walk to the restaurant. It’s not that hot, and maybe he can find some shortcut, something quiet, to calm himself down a bit. Yes, a walk will do him good.
~*~*~*~
Dan walks into the restaurant and Blair is sitting at an empty table for two and he notices her immediately. She looks like a queen of sorts, cold and warm all at once, he knows. He wants to walk towards her, surprise her, catch her unaware, maybe then he’ll know everything about her and maybe he’ll finally understand everything. (Everything? Her.) He tries, but as he’s about to move closer to tap her shoulder, which is ridiculous, because she’s not his locker room buddy that he exchanges funny stories with, he should not be tapping her shoulder ever, but none of that matters now because before he can do it, she turns around and takes a look at him, gives him the once-over and probably makes a mental note of whatever she finds important or flawed, he doesn’t know really.
Dan, he just stares.
“Took you long enough, Humphrey” she says and there, just like that, they’re back.
It’s like not a day has passed.
He gives himself a moment to take her in again, all of her: she’s wearing a pair of tight black pants and he can’t remember if he’s ever even seen her in pants before tonight, but he’s also not sure if he’s seen her look as good as she looks now. Maybe it’s a Blair Waldorf thing, or a Waldorf thing, maybe as everyone else grows old she just sucks more life force out of everyone else or whatever, and that’s why as years go by, she just keeps looking better. She’s wearing some kind of blouse or other, with frills and probably something else Dan’s never bothered to know the name of, but he knows he likes seeing it on her, and that’s always been enough for him.
He thinks she looks exquisite, he always has.
So Dan sits down next to Blair, and she calls the waiter then and the waiter asks for their orders. Blair orders something for both of them, he wouldn’t know what for sure, his French is far from perfect. And it would’ve helped his hearing probably if he chose to concentrate on her words more than the movement of her lips. French looks good on them, he decides.
The waiter in the restaurant offers them complementary Scotch, “You’re Americans, oui?” and that part Dan catches, and he notices that Blair's hand that's holding her glass of wine shivers for a second, and he hurries to assure the waiter they only want wine. She doesn't have to say anything, Chuck drinks Scotch is a thought that spends the rest of the evening lurking somewhere between her eyes and her lips, and he's known her long enough to know these things even when she doesn't want to say them.
Dan's a writer, a writer first and a writer always and he blames that for the embarrassingly little amount of time and detail it takes for him to form a narrative from the way Blair's glass never quite becomes empty during their dinner. He sees parties when he closes his eyes, luxurious chandeliers and men in suits, holding expensive Scotch. He sees women in dresses that she knows are not as spectacular as hers, and a man on her arm who keeps trying to look at her, but his view keeps finding its way to somewhere that's her but also not really, because he never was good at pinpointing all her edges and the exact locations and angles of all her twists and turns. He sees her sad eyes along with smiling lips that take another sip of something expensive and alcoholic, lips that would seem to be mouthing help to anyone observing closely.
What happens during dinner is a bit of a blur, if he’s being completely honest.
“So, how’s your writing been, Humphrey?” she says, and Dan understands why she does it. His guess is: she doesn’t like silence much these days.
He can tell she also doesn’t like anyone but herself asking questions these days, because all she does during dinner is ask about his work and his writing and about Paris and his apartment and about museums and paintings and books (and never about his marriage and never about Serena) and he guesses she doesn’t want to answer any of the million questions he’s sure can be read clearly on his face.
But he doesn’t force it, he doesn’t push her.
He just keeps pouring wine, which is his first mistake, keeps looking at her, which is another mistake, and in a few moments, after they’ve finished eating, he will invite her over to his place, which will be his third mistake.
After Dan’s just paid the bill, Blair stands up, ready to go, and he hurries to his feet to help her put on her white blazer. She smiles feebly in response and his hand brushes the skin of her neck accidentally while he’s helping her. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, says “After you” to Blair with a smile on his face and he follows her outside, walks a proper distance behind her like a good boy, not like someone thinking of anything but being a gentleman. (He does check out her ass, though.)
She stops outside on the street, leans against a solitary street lamp and looks at him as if she’s trying to defy him or defy something, only he has no idea what it is she’s at war with.
“Do you want to come over? I could make coffee? You, uhm, you do look like you could use some.”
Inviting her to his place, it's a leftover reflex from lifetimes ago, a reflex that he didn't even know he had developed until know. He's not supposed to be doing this now, his apartment's a mess, and even if it wasn't, it wouldn't be the kind of space she would appreciate, and she's married and he's married and he shouldn't be thinking about calling her over to his place, whatever happens or doesn't happens there.
He shouldn't.
(It doesn’t matter. He does it anyway. He always would have done it anyway.)
(There’s moral, a disguised message hidden here somewhere, something potentially useful and insightful, about him or her or both. But maybe if he thinks about it for too long, maybe then he doesn’t invite her over, and more than any insight or grand revelation, he would like to take off her pants and blouse and bra and panties and kiss every inch of her body until there’s not a trace of anyone else on her and until whatever else may be going on elsewhere in the world becomes as irrelevant as it truly is in comparison with touching Blair Waldorf’s skin.)
They’re standing in front of the restaurant in silence now. She scrunches up her nose and a smile appears on her face for a split second before giving place to a frown. She purses her lips and looks down. He thinks he can see her lips tremble, despite it being somewhat dark outside. She bites her lip then, doesn’t look at him, but she nods and starts walking towards a cab and he follows her.
He opens the door for her and they both take a seat in the back of the cab. The driver doesn’t make an attempt at small talk, which Dan is grateful for, because Dan only sees Blair, sees her fidget with her purse and bite her lip again. He would usually feel bad about this, but somehow while they’re driving towards his place and she’s biting her lip and all he wants to do is be the one biting her lip instead of her, well that doesn’t leave much space for regret, does it?
Blair says nothing by the time Dan’s paid the driver and they’ve left the cab. Dan leads the way to his apartment upstairs and Blair follows. They walk up the stairs and they’re in front of his door when Dan thinks for the first time:
Oh. This is actually happening. (Whatever this may be.)
He fusses with his keys for a moment or so. He can (or likes to think) he can hear her breathing a few feet behind him. Likes to think she hasn't run away, but he's too scared to actually look. There’s a downright terrifying storm of ideas going on in his mind right now, thoughts racing and blending into one another and he’s pretty sure if he looked at his hands right now he would see them shaking, so he avoids doing that. He feels like either she manipulated him into coming to his place or he manipulated her or some greater power took control of the universe for a few seconds, because Dan’s dreamed about this, well, years ago, but he has, and the dreams he’s had years ago, it makes no sense for them to be interfering with his reality now.
But as nervous as he feels, he still unlocks the door somehow. Everything’s a mess here, there’s leftover food on the counters in the kitchen, visible through the open door leading into it. His bed’s not made and his papers are everywhere, and all the papers seem to be screaming Blair Waldorf at him and he thinks he’s going to drown or choke any moment now. Blair’s made her way through the open apartment door, around Dan, and now she’s standing in front of him, still so beautiful. He notices her perfume for the first time this evening, it's like a brand new scent or like he has a brand new sense of smell. It's exciting, that's what all of this is.
He's closed the apartment door and now he’s looking at her looking at his things, and he tries to speak, well, he does speak.
He says “Blair” like it's a prayer or a curse, he’s not sure, but it doesn’t matter, does it, when Blair’s already turned around and she’s started walking towards him, he feels like he can’t move, or doesn’t want to, or those two have merged and have somehow become the same, but then in three beats of his heart Blair steps on his toes and in half a beat more she kisses him, lips on lips, tongue to tongue, her teeth on his lower lip, his hands low on her back, her hands in his hair, neck, shoulders and hair again. There’s a note of panic to her movement, a frantic quality to it all, but she’s kissing his neck and trying to unbutton his shirt or maybe tear it apart and, well, fuck it.
Fuck it, he says, it’s directed more at her still having her blouse on than anything else, and Blair takes the hint, looks him in the eyes, takes a deep breath and takes a step back away from him and takes off her pants and doesn’t break eye contact. He's glad she doesn't, he doesn't want her to look away, not now. He feels like he’s immobilized again, wants only to touch her and he’s afraid he shouldn’t. She only breaks eye contact when it’s necessary, when she’s taking off her blouse over her head and then for a few moments after it’s been taken off she holds her blouse in one hand, lowers it slowly and lets the blouse slip
slip
slip
away onto the floor.
She turns her back to him then and she's wearing black lingerie and he always loved it when she wore black lingerie and her naked legs still look as fantastic as they always have when she’s walking away from him. She walks to his room and he follows.
(He shouldn’t.)
(It doesn’t matter. He does it anyway. He was always going to do it anyway.)