A/N: Drabble response to a prompt by mocca_fix_gold :"Blair/Tripp: The kind of love affair which every respectable building must keep as a legend / Slowly festering through an innocent "By the way..." or "Have you heard?""

A Brief Encounter

It all comes back when her hand brushes against his and he feels the shock straighten his spine and fatten his tongue. The recently divorced Mr. Tripp Vanderbilt slows the pace of his long legs to linger in the presence of the recently single Ms. Blair Waldorf and his eyes drink in the very sight of her.

All the skinny jeans and fedoras the NYU crowd has to offer couldn't change her, it seems. She still drifts through the Vanderbilt halls like it's her birthright and dallies with her ladies in waiting while the maids bustle around them to prepare for the annual charity ball that evening.

She complains about a crooked banner and he swears she's looking at him too. Maybe. Just a little out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps remembering the prior night, and the night before that.

He blushes and curses at himself for acting like a blushing virgin (he's 29, for fuck's sake). But he could hardly fault himself. She has that smile that she carries when she comes to him after the entire estate has gone to sleep and she pushes him past his threshold before closing the door behind her.

Yes, she looks like the kitten who caught the mouse.

He turns the corner and unwillingly escapes her (they wouldn't understand) and stuffs his hands in his pocket, the feel of her skin still etched in his pores. The way the back of her hand slid against his as she walked by, arms swinging authoritatively.

Something cold and unfamiliar brushes his fingertips and he pulls out the stealthy little thing.

A key.

And he hears everything she can't say and walks a little straighter, a little taller.