Summary: TV. Future fic. Maybe she is in love with him. At the end of the day, it still means nothing. Dan and Blair. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Ashley prompted me with When it all comes down you're cycling trivialities and Dan/Blair. Feedback, please?


Dan Humphrey has incredibly soft hands. In fact, she is so fixated on the feeling of his palms against her skin that she will do almost anything to get the two of them alone, clothes on the floor, her back against the bed with his chest pressed to hers. Most days, he lets her, laughing against her mouth in syllables that are too long and too snake-like to be her name.

Blair chooses not to think about their relationship in terms of together forever and savior and loveofmylife, not only because he is still in love with her best friend, years after the fact, but because she has no time for commitments and romantic feelings anymore.

"Stop teasing me," he groans, sliding his hands under her blouse as she rotates her hips. She grins against his jaw and kisses his chin gently, stroking her fingertips under his waistband and tugging at the denim.

"Stop wearing so many clothes," she counters, kissing him soundly as she slips her hand beneath his boxers and wraps her fingers around him firmly. Dan bucks against her hand and she swallows his moan, running her tongue along the roof of his mouth.

Almost instantly, he is scrambling to get out of his jeans, his boxers, and she is laughing as she slides her fingers up and down his cock, running her tongue along his neck and tasting salt from his sweat.

"Bed," he grunts. "Now."

Soft hands tug her blouse up her torso and away from her body, and then she falls on top of him on the bed and she is so lost in her own incoherency that she cannot even revel in bringing him to his knees this time.


"Dan!" she calls, running to catch up with him. He turns and smiles when he sees her, causing her heart to skip a beat. Blair resolutely ignores the sensation and throws her arms around his neck in a slightly-more-than-friendly hug, laughing as he lifts her up and spins her around. "What are you doing here?"

He sets her down and pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, locking eyes with her as he shrugs. "Taking a small break from school, thought I'd come see you."

Something in his voice is off; while he has never lied to her, she does suspect a half-truth is stuck somewhere in the words, struggling to meet its soulmate and come to light. "A small break? What does that mean, exactly?"

Another shrug. "Does it matter?"

The words sting. But they are truer than any of the other ridiculous promises the two of them have made to each other, so she cannot condemn him. "I guess not," she replies. Dan offers her a small smile and takes a step forward, catching her mouth softly with his own.

She sighs, fingers fluttering to catch the edges of his jacket, and she ignores the catcalls of the upperclassmen as she kisses her pseudo-boyfriend in a courtyard at Yale University.


Dan never talks about Serena; not even when she calls Blair in the middle of a crisis, demanding an hour of her time twenty minutes before her Tuesday morning lecture. Blair does her best to soothe her best friend, gathering her books and her purse and trying to explain that she cannot miss class, but Serena refuses to hear it and continues to sob into the phone.

She has opened up since high school, and Blair thinks that has something to do with the fact that her lies and omissions lost her the greatest guy in the world. The thought brings her back to her apartment abruptly, and she stops dead in the middle of her bedroom and grins at the sight of Dan Humphrey spread out on his stomach, taking up much more than his share of the queen-sized mattress.

"Serena, I really have to go. I'll call you tonight, okay, sweetie?"

Her phone clenched tightly in her hand, she disconnects the call and leans over the bed, pressing her mouth gently to his shoulder blade. He mumbles something in his sleep and shifts slightly, the muscles of his lower back rippling under her free hand. Blair inhales carefully and trails kisses up the back of his neck, sliding her fingers through his messy hair.

"You should be in class," he scolds sleepily. Dan rolls over swiftly and catches her hand, pressing his lips to the creases of her knuckles. She tilts her head and smiles playfully.

"I have fifteen minutes."

"Don't tempt me," he whispers, closing his eyes again and letting go of her hand. The loss of his softness, his warmth, makes her pause. She has not felt this rejected in a long time.

"Dan," she murmurs, dropping her books, bag, and cell phone on the floor. He does not move, and she carefully crawls up his body. "Dan," she repeats, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. He kisses her gently and she smiles into his mouth.

"I'll be here when you get back," he promises.


"Dan," she pleads, moaning brokenly against his neck. He slides his hands across her hips, carefully peeling the lacey material of her boy shorts from her body. Blair arches into him and kicks off the underwear as soon as they are past her knees. Dan laughs as she grabs his hands, tangling their fingers together and pulling them above her head.

He settles carefully on top of her, resting his hips in the cradle of her thighs, and she hisses out a breath when he slides into her. Panting against his open mouth, she closes her eyes and rocks against him, dragging him down with her, attempting to share this feeling of ecstasy that she cannot, does not want to escape.

When he climaxes, he moans her name, and she gasps tightly, writhing beneath him to reach completion. Her hand slips between them, stroking herself as he jerks his hips once, twice, and then three times. Dan pulls out of her and bats her hand away, pressing three fingers inside of her and stroking her clit with his thumb.

She comes with a whine, arching her hips and muttering his name over and over like a prayer. He crawls up her body and kisses her gently, running sticky fingers along her waist.

"Fuck," she groans.

He laughs against her mouth in syllables that are too long and too perfect to be her name. Blair feels oxygen hitch in her throat like acid and she wants to cry. This relationship is not serious.

There is no way that it can be.


Dan asks her what she wants from him, other than sex and friendship and pretty words, and she does not know what to say. He sits on her couch, his elbows on his knees, and Blair is struck dumb with realization.

"What am I to you?" he asks. She wants to tell him; wants to watch his eyes widen and his cheeks flush at the words she uses to describe him in her mind. But the whole thing feels so trivial. So practiced.

"Does it matter?" she replies.

He tells her that he loves her. It feels like a half-truth.