She looks like a princess, just like she's always dreamed.
And yet…there's a sort of insistent ticking in her stomach, like there's something she needs to do, something she definitely needs to take care of.
It is because of this that she doesn't smile at her lovely reflection: smooth, flawless shoulders and delicate bird-wing collar bones, an elegant neck, shiny hair swept up, pretty face with pink cheeks and wide, long-lashed brown eyes.
Yes, it is perfect, and she is perfect. But if that's true…why is she staring with a furrowed brow and wet eyes?
She sees him in the mirror, and watches him (she doesn't see how her expression opens just because he appears, but she does feel the ticking in her stomach speed up to a hummingbird pace).
"Humphrey," Blair says, putting down the makeup case and turning to him, head held high.
She pretends not to notice when he takes her in, head to toe, with his all-too-knowing gaze.
"You look good in pink," he says, hands shoved in his pockets.
"I know. I always do."
He cleans up rather nicely (especially with the smirk on his face that appeared after her answer) but she's not about to tell him that.
The tux fits him well, despite his Brooklyn upbringing. His hair, of course, is a disaster as usual, a curl hanging in his line of vision. Then again, if it was combed back it wouldn't be…him. He looks to be an odd mix of dapper and disheveled.
Of course, it's not a new thing that she's noticed him. She's always known he was physically attractive, though she's found him to be somewhat repellant personality-wise, in the past. He cleaned up well when he asked her to dance, too, and told her she "wasn't a bad person" (which, of course, does not necessarily mean she's a "good person", either).
But whenever she noticed, she just reminded herself that she, of course, was Chuck's, and that he was Serena's (or Vanessa's- ugh) and that that was that, despite how they always seemed to collide, despite the ridiculous draw that (for a few years, if she's being honest) existed between them.
"Shall I take you downstairs?" he asks, in a somehow ironic tone.
"Why would you do that?" she asks shakily.
Blair hates it that he has this affect on her, but he's so disarming. He's just so different from all the boys and men she's been with (well…she is not with Humphrey, obviously. All the males she's attached her lips to, then). Nate was sweet, but he let her walk all over him. Chuck always had to dominate- in every aspect. Her friendship (or whatever) with Dan, though…they had a distinct give and take, pull and pull back. It was equal, except that when he did something for her (like the blog) he never expected anything back (unlike Chuck).
She's never been stupid, and she's not stupid enough to believe that that give and take friendship would translate into a give and take…something more.
Nothing is ever that simple.
Not for her, anyway.
"Because…"
He licks his lips and looks at hers.
"You know why, Blair."
"Fine."
She holds out a hand to him and turns it over, in an almost sassy manner.
He raises his eyebrows, then gently takes it and clasps it with his warm, (ridiculously) large hand (maybe it's a "writer" thing, a genetic something or other).
She expects him to simply walk with her, but instead he pulls her, away from the mirror, towards her bed (he doesn't pull very strongly, and she doesn't protest, either by pulling in the opposite direction or with any words).
She sits down on it, primly smoothing her hands over the wide skirt of her gown.
He sits down next to her.
Their hands are still entwined.
"So," he says, "I think that we should talk about-"
She leans in and covers his mouth with hers (just to shut him up, of course, because she doesn't want to talk about it, because if they talk about it they might ruin it, and she doesn't want to ruin it, she just wants to feel it, damn it, this indefinable…compulsion), and then (just in case he has any doubts), she pulls at his collar. His response is to flip her over, down to the plush luxury of the King-sized bed she's had since she was sixteen.
He nips at her lips, tongue melting against hers, as he puts one knee (it's probably difficult for him to, since there's so much of the skirt, but he can figure it out) between her legs, and then flips her over to the side and works with that.
She begins to appreciate the span of his hands when she feels them sliding over her ribs and pulling her close.
Again, they switch positions, as she pushes his shoulder till he's on his back and positions herself on top of him, the soft pink material fanning over his long legs….
"Blair? Are you ready?"
Blair deepens, then softens the (9th? 10th? Does it really matter?) kiss before pulling away.
Her gaze never leaves his as she answers.
"Yes, I'm ready."