it's a god awful small affair | blair/carter | 409 words | R.
Mostly, he doesn't know what to say to her.
But it's not like she's much of a talker, her mouth busy with his mouth, chest, cock. She bites and licks and screams and only talks in the morning, and then only a little.
I hate you, she tells him in the morning.
He kisses her, once, to shut her up.
I don't need you, she tells him, on her way out of his hotel room, standing with one foot out the door, in a practiced pose, leaning on the doorway, hand on her hip in a manner trying to pass as casual.
I don't, I really don't, she repeats, as if he hasn't heard, as if he's not aware she'll be back. But he only gets to have her if he plays along, so naturally, it's what he does.
You don't, he replies. You don't need anyone.
(The worst part is, he means it. And she never does.)
It's all your fault, she says, thinks It's my fault, mine, but never says it. He's not sure what he's being blamed for, but it's ok, it really is. She can take it all out on him, whatever it is.
There's a knock on his door, and the sound of loud (drunk, he would guess) footsteps awakens him.
Blair, he supposes, not bothering to get dressed before opening the door.
She's leaning against the wall, her hair a mess, mascara smudged.
What's wrong, beautiful?
Kiss me. And shut up.
He moves slowly towards her (he learns to always give her what she wants, but also that it's fun to sometimes take his time), takes her arm and guides her into the room, closes the door behind them.
I'm sorry, he tells her.
She chuckles. Kisses him to avoid further conversation.
She's gone in the morning.
The next time he sees her, two years have passed, he's back on the Upper East Side on some charity Lily's hosting, and she's on Chuck's arm again. A decoration, a representation, something to flaunt, he thinks.
You used to be beautiful, he tells her.
She refuses to meet his eyes.
She drags him into the bathroom twenty minutes later.
You missed me, he whispers, bites her ear.
Shut up, Carter. Shut up.
I still hate you, you know? she tells him, because she needs to make sure that he knows.
UGHHH this is so great. So much of what's great between them is Carter's general no fucks given attitude and how that contrasts with how much Blair does care no matter what, and I think you did a good job of showing that.
Mostly, he doesn't know what to say to her.
But it's not like she's much of a talker, her mouth busy with his mouth, chest, cock. She bites and licks and screams and only talks in the morning, and then only a little.
I hate you, she tells him in the morning.
He kisses her, once, to shut her up.
I don't need you, she tells him, on her way out of his hotel room, standing with one foot out the door, in a practiced pose, leaning on the doorway, hand on her hip in a manner trying to pass as casual.
I don't, I really don't, she repeats, as if he hasn't heard, as if he's not aware she'll be back. But he only gets to have her if he plays along, so naturally, it's what he does.
You don't, he replies. You don't need anyone.
(The worst part is, he means it. And she never does.)
It's all your fault, she says, thinks It's my fault, mine, but never says it. He's not sure what he's being blamed for, but it's ok, it really is. She can take it all out on him, whatever it is.
There's a knock on his door, and the sound of loud (drunk, he would guess) footsteps awakens him.
Blair, he supposes, not bothering to get dressed before opening the door.
She's leaning against the wall, her hair a mess, mascara smudged.
What's wrong, beautiful?
Kiss me. And shut up.
He moves slowly towards her (he learns to always give her what she wants, but also that it's fun to sometimes take his time), takes her arm and guides her into the room, closes the door behind them.
I'm sorry, he tells her.
She chuckles. Kisses him to avoid further conversation.
She's gone in the morning.
The next time he sees her, two years have passed, he's back on the Upper East Side on some charity Lily's hosting, and she's on Chuck's arm again. A decoration, a representation, something to flaunt, he thinks.
You used to be beautiful, he tells her.
She refuses to meet his eyes.
She drags him into the bathroom twenty minutes later.
You missed me, he whispers, bites her ear.
Shut up, Carter. Shut up.
I still hate you, you know? she tells him, because she needs to make sure that he knows.
I know, beautiful. I know.
He kisses her. (Mostly) to shut her up.
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