A/N: I originally thought I was going to have at least five chapters, but I think I'm only going to submit one more. This is an obvious referrence to Hi, Society. Hope you enjoy.

Summary: Love was in an ivory dress on the arm of a perfect man. Love was brunette with the deepest dark eyes that he had ever seen. Lively eyes that were livid one moment and ecstatic the next.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Gossip Girl

He straightened his white bow tie, looking throughout the crowd. He didn't have to look far. She is was the throng of it all, a vision of perfection, dressed in the uniform pristine white dress. He sighed as he watched his blonde counterpart with his gleaming white teeth and tie, his arm around her. With that picture, he couldn't help but smirking. He would right everything tonight. He couldn't break his gaze as they announced her name, along with her escort.

Manhattan, New York, 1899

Debutante Season

She ignored his leers all night. She tried to convince herself that it was embarassing. He was being so obvious. But really, all she could feel was flattered as his slanting, dark, exotic eyes appraised her.

She took a few deep breaths and continued smiling as her name was announced, as well as her escort. Her perfect escort. Technically she was with him... so why was a certain playboy still looking at her with desire in his eyes? That would have to stop. She had a reputation to protect.

"I'll be right back," her partner said.

"The dance isn't over," she warned. She wasn't going to be left in the middle of the dance floor, alone.

"Don't worry," he said with his usual oblivious smile. "Someone wants to dance with you." She was about to ask who when she found herself in the arms of that dangerous brunette who she couldn't seem to get rid of.

"Here I am," he said with a lecherous smile. She just rolled her eyes, not looking into the gaze that he wanted to trap her in. She let herself be guided around the floor with his expert foot work but she really shouldn't condone behavior such as this. She was supposed to be getting rid of him. But here in Manhattan, nothing really ever went according to plan.

"You don't seem so happy to see me," he teased. She didn't like the casual tone he was taking with her, like they were actually acquaintences. Even male friends didn't treat you with such nonchalance. But really, those didn't exist. Women didn't have male friends. They were either suitors or they weren't. He was very much not a suitor. He was dangerous. In reality, their relationship was much more complicated than that.

"Very perceptive tonight," she snapped, still not reaching his gaze. She was very aware of his palm pressed to her back. She tried not to breathe too deeply as to inhale his intoxicating scent which she still couldn't get out of her dreams.

"Well, I would have assumed that you would be ecstatic to see me again." She ignore his obvious allusion to the other night. She couldn't think about how she was marked as his now. She couldn't think about how she wanted it that way.

"And why would I be?" she sneered. "Your confidence is more like self absorption."

"There's only one thing I can assume that you're alluding to"-- she winced at how he seemed to read the phrases in her mind-- "but I was actually talking about how your escort has departed," he nodded his head towards his best friend. "Luckily I was here to save the day."

"Please," she scoffed. "I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I am more than aware of that," he smirked. "It's part of your charm." She didn't respond. She didn't want to provoke him. Last week she had been convinced he would treat her like the rest of them.

He was the self proclaimed playboy of Manhattan. His reputation thrived on bedding debutantes. Insipiant ditzes, all of them. They all wondered why he used them and split. That was just him. They used to enjoy each other's company. She used to take pride in the fact that their relationship wasn't based on sex and repuatations. They would scheme together, watch socialites fall so she was on top. He loved her pristine exterior when he was the only one who could see the reality underneath.

Things changed drastically that night. She didn't know what possessed her to kiss him, but she did. He seemed to awaken something in her. Something that should have stayed dormant.

She didn't like how he could see her. It made her feel vulnerable. But he was there. He was always there. She used to take pride in the fact that she was the only woman he had ever cared about. He didn't use and abuse her. They were actually... friends.

She had ruined that when she came to him. She knew he would understand her. He was the only one who did. She saw how her facade really masked the pain underneath. The pain that he knew all too well and masked with his own indifferent facade.

When she had gone there that night, she had just meant for him to comfort her, like he normally did when her mother critisized her and everyone noticed her blonde best friend and not the cold uppercrust bitch that she was. He always seemed to know what she was thinking with just one look. She could say the same about him. She wondered why everyone thought he was a jerk and master player. She found him easy to read. Maybe because what he was thinking usually the same thing she was.

She didn't know what had been different about that night. Things just... escalated. One minute he had pulled her into his usual comforting embrace that no one else could see. He only ever showed his true colors around her and she was only just beginning to wonder why that was.

The next minute, they were in the depths of a desperate lip lock that had spiked her adrenaline. She didn't know where this sort of behavior came from. Probably the bad influence of Manhattan's resident bad boy. He hadn't wanted to ruin her. That was the thing that was frightening her. He stopped. He knew everything depended on her reputation. But she wanted it.

Now, she was cursing herself for her reckless actions. It was because he knew her better than anyone. He was the only one who saw her for who she truly was and not the cold and unfeeling illusion that she projected. She saw the same in him. He wasn't just a leering sex obsessed fiend. He wanted the same things as she did. He wanted recognition from his father. He didn't want to be neglected.

He had been sweet to her. Sweet to her in his own way. He made her feel beautiful when she felt the whole world was against her. But she knew what she wanted could never come to pass. She knew as soon as it was over, he would go back to his old ways. Boozing and womaninzing. She was just another conquest.

She knew the mistakes she had made had put her reputation in serious danger. He promised he wouldn't say anything. She believed him. She believed him because they were friends. But that was before she ruined it. Now things were complicated.

If she were to trust anyone with a secret, it would be him. He would only use it when it was to his advantage. She didn't expect him to use it against her, but then again, she expected him to go on his merry way. So why was he holding her with such closeness as he had before?

She had to go back to her old ways. She had to be perfect as everyone preceived. She couldn't let some indiscrection take her down. He wouldn't tell anyone, why would anyone have to know?

But he wasn't leaving like she assumed he would. He seemed to be growing fond of her. He was with his best friend's partner. He wasn't even with his own. That didn't make any sense at all. She told him that it never happened. She thought that's what he wanted. He wouldn't want anyone to know that he had succumbed the ultimate betrayal to his best friend.

They weren't together or anything, but she was here with him. That just wasn't allowed. She tried desperately to ignore her own urges that seemed to have intensified. There was no future for them, even if he did want her again. He was just playing with her. That had to be it. But he wasn't leaving. That's what she was stuck on.

They just spun around the dancefloor, their movements in perfect coordination, like they were two halves of one whole. She didn't like that one bit.

"You must be thinking about the same thing that I am," he whispered seductively.

"And what's that?" She wished she hadn't asked.

"The thing I haven't been able to forget about," he whispered huskily into her ear.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responded flippantly.

"Oh?" he questioned. "Because I remember distinctly the... " he paused with a smirk, "indisrections we shared which you seemed... very pleased about."

"Okay," she snapped, looking straight into his eyes with her livid ones. "We both agreed that that night never happened. So you're not going to mention it again."

"No," he disagreed. "You said it never happened. I still strongly support how I was the first man to ever touch you." She had the strong urge to slap him across the face. If they weren't in the middle of the crowded dance floor, she would have. But her reputation couldn't take a hit like that.

He felt her stiffen in her arms. He smirked again. That expression was very common tonight. Beneath that cold and unfeeling facade was a beautiful spit fire that he knew only he had seen. And only he could coax to come out.

"I am a lady," she snapped. He smirked. He was finally seeing that fire that he fell for in the first place. "My entire life is based on my reputation. What would happen to me if what you're hinting at ever happens again?"

"So you've thought about it." He couldn't deny it.

He had been fantasizing about it every night since it happened. He was no longer intrigued by the prostitutes that had such good business from him. He no longer enjoyed the loose women who threw themselves at him. He was facsinated by the dark haired beauty with ruby lips.

He loved how she stuck verbal barbs in him that most women weren't intelligent enough to come up with. She was outspoken and manipulative. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She couldn't admit to herself that she thought about it constantly, let alone the dark and appealing heir to half of New York. She couldn't help but remember how their lips had whispered together, their bodies completely in tune with each other. It seemed perfect. But as soon as that was over, she knew she couldn't ever see him again, no matter how much she longed for it.

"No," she finally said. "I haven't."

"You're lying," he said immediately. He didn't say it with angst, he could just tell.

"I am not," she said edgily. She didn't like how he could completely and unrepentantly read her.

"Your eyes are doing that thing where they don't match your mouth." He couldn't look away from it.

"Maybe you should stop watching me and go back to your debutante," she snapped.

She sneered at the word "debutante." Everyone knew who he was escorting. She had as much a reputation as he did. Everyone knew that dark hair and azure eyes were the face of the devil. Not to mention a complete harlot.

"I'd rather be here with you," he shrugged, expertly twirling her around. As she spun, she couldn't help but meet the gaze of the slut in question. She was glaring at her with intensity. It didn't intimidate her. Everyone knew that demon was slightly psychotic. Everyone knew she was that way after she was deflowered. By present company.

"She doesn't feel the same way," she mused. She watched his gaze follow hers to the girl in question. If you could call her that.

"Why?" he asked with a smirk. "Are you jealous?" She immediately scoffed.

"Yes, I am jealous of the loosest socialite in Manhattan."

"I know you have more class than she does," he said.

"Flattery does not become you," she warned. "So why are you here with me? You seem the perfect match. When's the wedding?" She watched his eyes flash in anger with satisfaction. She knew that would draw a reaction from him.

"If I knew she was insane and would feel attached to me, I never would have..." he trailed off.

"Taken her for your own?" She tried to put it in the most delicate phrasing as possible. "You seem to do that with most of the socialites. Soon there won't be any more society girls in Manhattan."

"I would hardly call you a girl," he said suggestively. "You're much more than that."

"If you're so opposed to girls who's virtue you've stolen, why are you here with me?" she asked in exasperation.

"I definitely didn't steal anything from you," he grinned. "You gave it up willingly... In that back of my coach, no less."

"Don't remind me," she said, rolling her eyes at her naivity.

"Why not?" he asked, confident leer still on his face. "I haven't been able to think about anything else. And you're hardly like all those other society waifs." She knew that he was aware of what he was doing. He was pulling her in. She always had a constant need to be validated.

"How so?" she relented. There was a pause. He drank in his victory. He could see the win in his sights. She would be his and he didn't want anything else.

"You're intelligent. You're coniving. You are the most manipulative person I have ever met. As scheming as I am. My perfect match." She was about to interrupt but he spoke over her. "All those other girls are worried about getting a society marriage. I know you're different. You have an essence about you that is utterly unique. You have a fire that cannot be manufactured. You make me feel alive, for the first time in my life. You make this life worth it."

He didn't look at her. He didn't want to know her reaction. He didn't want to be rejected once again. She spoke his name softly. He looked deep into her wide brown doe eyes.

"Thanks, man." He started at his best friend's familiar voice. Damn. He knew he had to let her go now, but he couldn't find it in himself to do it.

"You got here just in time," she told his blonde rival in a light voice. "He was trying to have his way with me." His eyes snapped incredulously to her face. He saw something there that made his heart hammer in his ears. She wasn't selling him out. She was sharing a private joke with him. He saw that her gaurd was finally down. He could have had her, only his best friend had the worst timing.

"Oh really?" he escort asked with a laugh. He looked at his unassuming face. He really had no idea. He had no idea how lonely and broken his brunette beauty had been, falling directly into the arms of those who had least excepted it. What he hadn't expected as well, was him falling in turn.

"Don't worry about him." He was still talking. "He's too loyal, no matter the stories you've heard."

He watched her be lead away by her escort. He ignored the penetrating blue eyes that tried to catch his gaze. It had been years ago that he took her virginity. He knew that she was deperately in love with him. At the time, he had no idea what that meant. He just found out.

Love was in an ivory dress on the arm of a perfect man. Love was brunette with the deepest dark eyes that he had ever seen. Lively eyes that were livid one moment and ecstatic the next. Eyes that were looking back in an expression that he couldn't see. Eyes that looked at him reluctantly.

As she looked back at him, being lead away by the seemingly perfect date, she couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety. She didn't like how he was walking away from her. She didn't like how she wasn't sure when she would see him again. She didn't like how that harlot was staring at him.

She looked into the blue eyes of who would probably one day be her fiance. She found herself wanting his cheek bones to elongate, his eyes to slant, a smirk to cross his lips. She found herself wanting all the things that she shouldn't.

That was how she found herself in a deserted hallway of the hotel in a familiar passionate embrace with him. He wasn't blonde or blue eyed. He wasn't a gentleman. But he loved her. He pulled away, his exotic dark eyes searching hers.

"It won't always be like this," he confided in her.

"What won't be?" she asked a breathless curiosity.

"One day," he promised her, "we can actually be together. We won't be hiding around corners."

"When will that be?" she asked.

"I can't say," he admitted. "Maybe in another life," he grinned. "We'll find each other again. I swear it." She smiled pulling him closer.

"I trust you," she said. She knew he wouldn't lead her astray. She knew he was right. They would be able to actually openingly be together. They would find each other again.

Its that time of year again. When the mere act of descending a staircase means you're a woman. That's right. Débutante season.

-Hi, Society

--Gossip Girl