Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the story idea.
A/N: This is the product of too much wine and probably too much imagination. F-bombs will fly. Sex is implied. Angst is imminent. I'll probably delete this tomorrow, but for now, it's here. This is a one-shot from Luke's perspective. Review if you want to. They're always appreciated.
Our skin is as close as skin can get and yet…there's someone between us. Someone I can't stop thinking about…fantasizing about…. But it's too late for that, I tell myself. Be in the moment. Be in the now. Nicole. You're with Nicole. For Christ's sake act like it.
But there's this little nagging thing at the back of my head…even while we're making love and I just can't stop wondering. What would it be like if this were Lorelai? What would she taste like? What would her lips feel like under my index finger? Goddammit, just shut up, I shout at myself. Give it up! It's never gonna happen! She's with that asshole now.
But I can't. Here I am, making love to Nicole and I wish I were doing anything with Lorelai. Making her coffee, fixing her window…Jesus, even doing her laundry. I'm so pathetic. There's a naked woman under me right now and I wish I were doing some other woman's laundry. Fuck that. Fuck Lorelai! She thinks she can just string me along forever. Well, she can't. I'm married now. Off the market. Un-stringable. That's right. Diner-man is officially closed for business.
Except…inwardly I sigh. I know she wants it, too. I can see it in her eyes. Whenever we're left alone for too long. Whenever there's a silence that stretches. I know she wants me too. I know it…but I'm with Nicole. No! No buts! I'm with Nicole. Christ, why isn't that good enough? She's smart, beautiful, funny…shit…is that all? Is that the best I can come up with for my fucking wife? See, if we were talking about Lorelai I would have a number of adjectives at my disposal. Smart, beautiful and funny would only begin to describe her. Abrasive, tender, thoughtful, witty, caring, emotional, strong, gentle, irritating, beautiful…did I say beautiful already?…sorry…but you see my point. Yes, I reply, I see your point. You're in love with a woman who isn't your wife.
Well, maybe this is as good as it gets, I scream back. After eighteen years, I think it's time to move on. With a twinge of guilt I think back to the look on her face when she found out I'd moved in with Nicole. A teeny, tiny part of me actually enjoyed it. I'm partly ashamed, and partly resigned. I enjoyed it because it solidified my suspicions. Well, it's too late. And she's too late. Because I'm a happily married man. Well, a married man, anyway. And that won't change. I need this. I need someone. I'm only human and I can't live another goddamn year in that cramped and lonely apartment alone. If I do I think I'll die.
So here. Here's Nicole. Soft, sweet, conservative Nicole. Unassuming. Unsuspecting. I'm such an asshole. How can I do this to her? But she seems happy, I answer reasonably. Maybe you're her consolation prize, too, I reply with a smirk. Pissed off, I wonder who the asshole is that she must be thinking about right now. But then she murmurs my name and I know that I'm the asshole. She keeps her eyes open and I always close mine.