Fic: Girl Can't Help It
Pinch-hit for nybor4 in Spring Ficathon '09 at bleighton_squee, who wanted a post-GG reconnect in Brooklyn with a letter and sex.
Girl Can't Help It
Blake/Leighton - Gossip Girl RPF
PG-13 | 1,850 words
She's completely oblivious to the effect she has on people.
The thing about Blake, Leighton's come to realize, is she's full of surprises. And not in that generic way one might think of someone who's spontaneous and easily bored. Even though Blake is spontaneous and has the attention span of a four-year-old, seriously. It's that nearly everything she does will take you by surprise, catch you off guard. Leighton's sure Blake doesn't even know she's doing it, she just can't help herself.
Case in point. It's been maybe a year and a half (nineteen months exactly, not that Leighton's counting or anything) since she and Blake have spoken to one another, and longer since they've seen each other. So naturally the first thing Blake does when she sees Leighton sitting alone at a table by the bar, is pounce. Not like, literally, though. She doesn't actually leap or jump anywhere in Leighton's direction because she's like nine feet tall and would probably crush Leighton if she landed wrong. But Blake kind of bounces a little. She saunters over quickly and she's made of huge grins and barely-contained energy all, “Oh my god, hi!” like it's one word.
If it was anyone else, any other person in the whole world, it would be the most irritating greeting Leighton had ever received. It's not, because it's Blake. So maybe Leighton is happy (fucking thrilled) to see her, but she restrains herself. She smiles softly like she wasn't expecting to see her ex-castmate at some random city fundraiser for the Brooklyn's neglected youth. Like she hadn't come because she'd heard Blake would be here. Here, at some sketchy middle school that needs new textbooks and probably metal detectors. Here, Leighton speaks softly, moves gently, because she is nothing if not well-composed.
Blake pulls out the other folding chair at Leighton's table and seats herself noisily, somehow it's gracefully inelegant. Leighton notes mentally that she didn't have to offer an invitation. After half a second Blake grips the seat beneath her and scoots her chair inches closer to Leighton's and smiles so wide Leighton can see her molars.
“It's so good to see you, how are you?” Blake asks, breathless.
“Well, thank you. How've you been?” Leighton listens as Blake recounts the entirety of the time they've spent apart, complete with pantomime and sound effects. Okay, Leighton's half-listening. She's listening and trying not to look down Blake's low-cut top. It's very low-cut. So Leighton is busy with that and she doesn't really notice that Blake has stopped talking until Blake tells her matter-of-factly, “You're staring.”
“I wasn't,” Leighton denies automatically. Blake gives her this look, it's all knowing and smug. It makes a flush burn in Leighton's cheeks. She ducks her head in a transparent attempt to hide it because, really, she was supposed to be over this.
“I missed you, you know?” Blake says. Casual, like she's asking about the weather. Nothing ever phases her, nothing is ever a big deal. Not even this.
“Yeah?” Leighton asks before she can help herself. She winces internally at the note of hopefulness, of incredulity she hears in her own voice. If she can hear it, Blake can.
“Of course,” Blake laughs. There's a band setting up on stage and Blake has to lean closer to be heard above the din. “Why does that surprise you?”
Leighton doesn't answer, isn't sure if the question's rhetorical or not. Blake levels her with this look and Leighton sees something like vulnerability, like fear, flash I her eyes. She might've imagined it, but Leighton's stomach twists all the same. Blake's voice is significantly lower (Leighton wouldn't know what Blake was saying if she wasn't watching her lips move) when she says, uncertain, “Didn't you miss me?”
Leighton wants to make a smart reply because while she isn't drunk, she's been drinking some and she's isn't exactly sober. She isn't coherent enough for conversation this serious. She wants to laugh this off, but Blake is looking at her so intently that it pulls Leighton up short. Surprise, surprise.
“Yes,” Leighton manages finally. “I missed you.” That's when Blake flashes this brilliant smile, all triumphant like she's just won something, and it's like a shock that lands right between Leighton's legs. Leighton's hand is shaking when she reaches for the last of her drink and she jumps about a mile when Blake lays a hand on her knee to stop her.
Blake's eyes are dark like Leighton's never seen before and Leighton has to work to swallow past the lump in her throat. Blake stands and says: “Come on.”
Leighton is going to blame the cheap cocktail (cocktails) she's had for her inhibition; she doesn't even hesitate when Blake holds out her hand. Blake leads and Leighton follows.
Outside the gym, Blake starts running. She refuses to let go of Leighton's hand and pulls Leighton with her. Blake takes a turn so abruptly that Leighton loses her balance and has to grab Blake's waist to keep standing. Blake has stopped them in front of an unmarked door and when she wrenches it open (unlocked, their security really is for shit), Leighton sees that it's a janitor's closet.
“You're not serious.” Leighton sneers her contempt at Blake's after-you gesture because what are they, in high school? But Blake places a firm hand square on Leighton's lower back and gives her a push. Leighton pulls the draw-string on the bare bulb above them and floods the tiny space with wan light as Blake pulls the door shut behind them. “Classy.”
“I do what I can,” Blake smirks, but for all her bravado, she looks like she has no clue what to do next. Leighton is reading apprehension all over Blake's face and, god, this was such a bad idea. Suddenly, “You stopped calling.”
“What?”
Blake repeats, “You stopped calling.”
“You stopped calling.” Blake flinches at her tone. Maybe Leighton said it more accusatory than she meant to, but whatever. It's true.
“I never had to beg for your attention. After--” Blake starts, then she stops herself and looks way down at her shoes. They both know what “after” she's referring to. After the show, after Penn and Sebastian, after whatever else. And it's not like it meant anything, like it mattered at all. Because of it did, then Blake would have said something. Something would have changed. “It was like all of a sudden we weren't friends anymore.”
“It wasn't all of a sudden, Blake,” Leighton thinks it was very gradual, only Blake didn't notice. She was always off in her own little world, completely oblivious of the effect she had on people.
“Felt like it,” Blake mutters. She looks so mulish, Leighton half-expects her to kick the floor.
“Whatever,” Leighton turns to leave, but Blake holds an arm out to block the door opening.
“I can't believe you're mad at me, you're the one who--” Blake scoffs.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, the one who what?”
“The one who fed me all those lines about how much you cared about me, how you wanted me. What a crock of bull. How could you lie like that to me?”
“Oh, fuck you, Blake,” Leighton hissed through clenched teeth. She tried again to get out, but Blake remained where she was. “Get off the fucking door!”
Still Blake didn't move. Leighton could feel her standing there, her body inches from Leighton's own. Leighton's already warm from the alcohol and heated from the argument, Blake doesn't need to stand so fucking close, does she? Leighton keeps her back turned and presses her forehead to the cool wood of the door, suddenly exhausted.
“I wasn't lying.” Leighton remembers that conversation with excruciating detail. She'd barely managed to get the words out, to look Blake in the face when she said them. It's like a knife in the back, Blake thinking she hadn't been completely honest. It's salt in old wounds.
“You weren't?” Blake asks, like she still can't believe it.
“God, Blake, I can't make this shit up.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“Then why didn't you call me?”
Exasperated, Leighton snaps, “Jesus, the phone works both ways.”
Blake takes Leighton's shoulders and turns her forcefully around. She looks Leighton in the face, confused and angry. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I'm not like you, okay? I talk a lot, but I'm not good with words. I don't express myself as well as you do. That's why I wrote you. I know I'm like, all over the place all the time, but I couldn't just like, jump into a gay thing with you. I told you, I had to figure some stuff out--”
Leighton head is spinning and she holds a hand up to halt Blake's babbling. “Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?” Blake just stares at her looking as confused as Leighton feels. Then Blake gets this look on her face. Like, Leighton can literally the “forget this” in Blake's eyes when Blake reaches for her.
Blake grabs Leighton and kisses her hard, and it's sloppy and a bit awkward and fucking perfect. It's a mess of lips and tongues and teeth until Leighton has to pull herself away just to breathe. She's gripping Blake's hips so hard, she can feel her nails leaving marks through Blake's dress. Leighton buries her face in the crook of Blake's neck and just leans against her. Eventually, Leighton finds her voice.
“I still don't know what you were talking about. Wrote me what?”
Blake steps back and cradles Leighton's face between her hands. “You didn't even read my letter?”
“What letter, Blake?”
“I gave Ed a letter for you, the day we wrapped,” now Blake gets shy, her eyes fall away from Leighton's. Still, she laughs at herself, “I was too afraid to talk to you, so I just--”
“You trusted Ed with a letter like that? Ed. Who's blitzed out of his skull like, ninety percent of the time?”
Blake closes her eyes and throws her head back like she's just now realizing her mistake, “I'm such a dumbass, I thought...” Then Blake rolls her eyes and presses a chaste kiss to Leighton's mouth. Before she can pull away, Leighton grabs hold at the back of Blake's neck to keep her there. The kiss gets anything but chaste.
When they separate, Leighton breathes, “We should get out of here.” This time, Blake lets her open the door. On the way out, Leighton laughs a little, the irony of all this happening in a closet not lost on her. Blake smiles and asks her what's so funny. Leighton just shakes her head, asks: “What was in that letter?”
“Doesn't matter,” Blake says. “I think you get it now.”
--
Girl Can't Help It
Blake/Leighton - Gossip Girl RPF
PG-13 | 1,850 words
She's completely oblivious to the effect she has on people.
The thing about Blake, Leighton's come to realize, is she's full of surprises. And not in that generic way one might think of someone who's spontaneous and easily bored. Even though Blake is spontaneous and has the attention span of a four-year-old, seriously. It's that nearly everything she does will take you by surprise, catch you off guard. Leighton's sure Blake doesn't even know she's doing it, she just can't help herself.
Case in point. It's been maybe a year and a half (nineteen months exactly, not that Leighton's counting or anything) since she and Blake have spoken to one another, and longer since they've seen each other. So naturally the first thing Blake does when she sees Leighton sitting alone at a table by the bar, is pounce. Not like, literally, though. She doesn't actually leap or jump anywhere in Leighton's direction because she's like nine feet tall and would probably crush Leighton if she landed wrong. But Blake kind of bounces a little. She saunters over quickly and she's made of huge grins and barely-contained energy all, “Oh my god, hi!” like it's one word.
If it was anyone else, any other person in the whole world, it would be the most irritating greeting Leighton had ever received. It's not, because it's Blake. So maybe Leighton is happy (fucking thrilled) to see her, but she restrains herself. She smiles softly like she wasn't expecting to see her ex-castmate at some random city fundraiser for the Brooklyn's neglected youth. Like she hadn't come because she'd heard Blake would be here. Here, at some sketchy middle school that needs new textbooks and probably metal detectors. Here, Leighton speaks softly, moves gently, because she is nothing if not well-composed.
Blake pulls out the other folding chair at Leighton's table and seats herself noisily, somehow it's gracefully inelegant. Leighton notes mentally that she didn't have to offer an invitation. After half a second Blake grips the seat beneath her and scoots her chair inches closer to Leighton's and smiles so wide Leighton can see her molars.
“It's so good to see you, how are you?” Blake asks, breathless.
“Well, thank you. How've you been?” Leighton listens as Blake recounts the entirety of the time they've spent apart, complete with pantomime and sound effects. Okay, Leighton's half-listening. She's listening and trying not to look down Blake's low-cut top. It's very low-cut. So Leighton is busy with that and she doesn't really notice that Blake has stopped talking until Blake tells her matter-of-factly, “You're staring.”
“I wasn't,” Leighton denies automatically. Blake gives her this look, it's all knowing and smug. It makes a flush burn in Leighton's cheeks. She ducks her head in a transparent attempt to hide it because, really, she was supposed to be over this.
“I missed you, you know?” Blake says. Casual, like she's asking about the weather. Nothing ever phases her, nothing is ever a big deal. Not even this.
“Yeah?” Leighton asks before she can help herself. She winces internally at the note of hopefulness, of incredulity she hears in her own voice. If she can hear it, Blake can.
“Of course,” Blake laughs. There's a band setting up on stage and Blake has to lean closer to be heard above the din. “Why does that surprise you?”
Leighton doesn't answer, isn't sure if the question's rhetorical or not. Blake levels her with this look and Leighton sees something like vulnerability, like fear, flash I her eyes. She might've imagined it, but Leighton's stomach twists all the same. Blake's voice is significantly lower (Leighton wouldn't know what Blake was saying if she wasn't watching her lips move) when she says, uncertain, “Didn't you miss me?”
Leighton wants to make a smart reply because while she isn't drunk, she's been drinking some and she's isn't exactly sober. She isn't coherent enough for conversation this serious. She wants to laugh this off, but Blake is looking at her so intently that it pulls Leighton up short. Surprise, surprise.
“Yes,” Leighton manages finally. “I missed you.” That's when Blake flashes this brilliant smile, all triumphant like she's just won something, and it's like a shock that lands right between Leighton's legs. Leighton's hand is shaking when she reaches for the last of her drink and she jumps about a mile when Blake lays a hand on her knee to stop her.
Blake's eyes are dark like Leighton's never seen before and Leighton has to work to swallow past the lump in her throat. Blake stands and says: “Come on.”
Leighton is going to blame the cheap cocktail (cocktails) she's had for her inhibition; she doesn't even hesitate when Blake holds out her hand. Blake leads and Leighton follows.
Outside the gym, Blake starts running. She refuses to let go of Leighton's hand and pulls Leighton with her. Blake takes a turn so abruptly that Leighton loses her balance and has to grab Blake's waist to keep standing. Blake has stopped them in front of an unmarked door and when she wrenches it open (unlocked, their security really is for shit), Leighton sees that it's a janitor's closet.
“You're not serious.” Leighton sneers her contempt at Blake's after-you gesture because what are they, in high school? But Blake places a firm hand square on Leighton's lower back and gives her a push. Leighton pulls the draw-string on the bare bulb above them and floods the tiny space with wan light as Blake pulls the door shut behind them. “Classy.”
“I do what I can,” Blake smirks, but for all her bravado, she looks like she has no clue what to do next. Leighton is reading apprehension all over Blake's face and, god, this was such a bad idea. Suddenly, “You stopped calling.”
“What?”
Blake repeats, “You stopped calling.”
“You stopped calling.” Blake flinches at her tone. Maybe Leighton said it more accusatory than she meant to, but whatever. It's true.
“I never had to beg for your attention. After--” Blake starts, then she stops herself and looks way down at her shoes. They both know what “after” she's referring to. After the show, after Penn and Sebastian, after whatever else. And it's not like it meant anything, like it mattered at all. Because of it did, then Blake would have said something. Something would have changed. “It was like all of a sudden we weren't friends anymore.”
“It wasn't all of a sudden, Blake,” Leighton thinks it was very gradual, only Blake didn't notice. She was always off in her own little world, completely oblivious of the effect she had on people.
“Felt like it,” Blake mutters. She looks so mulish, Leighton half-expects her to kick the floor.
“Whatever,” Leighton turns to leave, but Blake holds an arm out to block the door opening.
“I can't believe you're mad at me, you're the one who--” Blake scoffs.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, the one who what?”
“The one who fed me all those lines about how much you cared about me, how you wanted me. What a crock of bull. How could you lie like that to me?”
“Oh, fuck you, Blake,” Leighton hissed through clenched teeth. She tried again to get out, but Blake remained where she was. “Get off the fucking door!”
Still Blake didn't move. Leighton could feel her standing there, her body inches from Leighton's own. Leighton's already warm from the alcohol and heated from the argument, Blake doesn't need to stand so fucking close, does she? Leighton keeps her back turned and presses her forehead to the cool wood of the door, suddenly exhausted.
“I wasn't lying.” Leighton remembers that conversation with excruciating detail. She'd barely managed to get the words out, to look Blake in the face when she said them. It's like a knife in the back, Blake thinking she hadn't been completely honest. It's salt in old wounds.
“You weren't?” Blake asks, like she still can't believe it.
“God, Blake, I can't make this shit up.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“Then why didn't you call me?”
Exasperated, Leighton snaps, “Jesus, the phone works both ways.”
Blake takes Leighton's shoulders and turns her forcefully around. She looks Leighton in the face, confused and angry. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I'm not like you, okay? I talk a lot, but I'm not good with words. I don't express myself as well as you do. That's why I wrote you. I know I'm like, all over the place all the time, but I couldn't just like, jump into a gay thing with you. I told you, I had to figure some stuff out--”
Leighton head is spinning and she holds a hand up to halt Blake's babbling. “Seriously, what the fuck are you talking about?” Blake just stares at her looking as confused as Leighton feels. Then Blake gets this look on her face. Like, Leighton can literally the “forget this” in Blake's eyes when Blake reaches for her.
Blake grabs Leighton and kisses her hard, and it's sloppy and a bit awkward and fucking perfect. It's a mess of lips and tongues and teeth until Leighton has to pull herself away just to breathe. She's gripping Blake's hips so hard, she can feel her nails leaving marks through Blake's dress. Leighton buries her face in the crook of Blake's neck and just leans against her. Eventually, Leighton finds her voice.
“I still don't know what you were talking about. Wrote me what?”
Blake steps back and cradles Leighton's face between her hands. “You didn't even read my letter?”
“What letter, Blake?”
“I gave Ed a letter for you, the day we wrapped,” now Blake gets shy, her eyes fall away from Leighton's. Still, she laughs at herself, “I was too afraid to talk to you, so I just--”
“You trusted Ed with a letter like that? Ed. Who's blitzed out of his skull like, ninety percent of the time?”
Blake closes her eyes and throws her head back like she's just now realizing her mistake, “I'm such a dumbass, I thought...” Then Blake rolls her eyes and presses a chaste kiss to Leighton's mouth. Before she can pull away, Leighton grabs hold at the back of Blake's neck to keep her there. The kiss gets anything but chaste.
When they separate, Leighton breathes, “We should get out of here.” This time, Blake lets her open the door. On the way out, Leighton laughs a little, the irony of all this happening in a closet not lost on her. Blake smiles and asks her what's so funny. Leighton just shakes her head, asks: “What was in that letter?”
“Doesn't matter,” Blake says. “I think you get it now.”
--