Paper Cup
By: aspdstra
PAIRING: T/R
RATING: Still a bit M
SUMMARY: Sequel to "Dare You To Move"; Rory and Tristan work out their differences.
DISCLAIMER: No. I don't own any of it.
A/N: Well, ten years later… Hi all! In re-reading and re-thinking the approach to this story, I decided that it was a little bit hardcore, even taking into account what went on in DYTM. So I sort of amended the happenings a little and it'll lead better into the next part in this series, "Need To Be Next To You," which I hope to have in the works soon. Hope everyone still enjoys!
[-]||[-]
"Rory, dear, would you help me put up this sign? I can't seem to get it tacked high enough, let alone straight enough. …Rory?"
At the sound of her name being called, Rory widened her eyes in realization, withdrawing from the hazy funk she found herself trapped in all too often these days. "Oh…yeah, Grandma, of course," she agreed too sullenly, seeming to move in slow motion.
"Thank you."
Rory nodded, picking up her end of the sign which read "Hartford Country Club 1st Annual Cancer Research Fund Raiser" in big bold Gregorian type.
"Are you sure you're feeling alright, Rory? You look a little…crestfallen," Emily said with the utmost concern.
Was she feeling alright. A bit of a loaded question considering the events that had transpired some months ago. Despite seeing him from afar in the halls of Chilton and during their classes together, she hadn't talked to Tristan at all after that day when she'd treated him like some sort of object that she could abuse whenever she felt like it and not care what he thought. Since when was she like that? Rory was a "nice" girl. She was responsible, respectful, dependable, polite. She didn't swear (voluntarily), she didn't smoke or drink, she didn't sleep around, she didn't hurt anybody. Okay wait, yes she did. She had hurt Tristan terribly, she'd seen it in his face. What had possessed her to act like that? Granted, she'd had a very realistic and lurid daydream involving certain things about Tristan that would make for perhaps less-than-pure behavior as a result, but she had no excuse for being so thoughtless, so impulsive — so mean. What she had done was mean, no matter what spin she tried to put on it. You don't treat people like that.
"Rory? Rory, did you just hear what I said?"
"What? Oh, sorry Grandma, I'm just a little tired," she covered lamely.
"You do feel up to doing this, don't you? Because I don't want you to be ill after pushing yourself needlessly…"
"No no no, I — am fine, I just need some coffee, that's all."
"Your mother has truly poisoned you, poor child. To be so utterly dependent upon a beverage, I've never seen anything like it." Rory smiled, straightening her end of the sign and putting up the last tack.
"Well. I think that looks fine, don't you think that looks fine, Rory?"
"It looks perfect, Grandma. It's a great sign."
"It is a great sign, remind me to thank Tristan's mother's event coordinator for the ideas. Well, I'm going to go get the punch bowls out on the tables and start arranging the name plates and silverware bundles. The guests will be arriving shortly, in an hour or so. You should probably get dressed, dear," Emily advised over her shoulder, strutting off to take care of her business.
"Oh, okay. I'll do that," Rory said more to herself than anyone, looking down at her Maroon 5 T-shirt, jeans and Docs.
The mere mention of his name made her heart stop and her skin literally seethe with want. She should get dressed, she decided, after standing around nervously and tugging on the hem of her shirt for a few minutes. She had to distract herself or else she'd become consumed by it all — the feelings, the emotions, the endless unanswered thoughts and questions — very consumable things. She had to ignore them for now, or at least until she saw him, whichever.
[-]||[-]
Damn him for still being infatuated with her. After all the bullshit she had put him through, and there was plenty of it, he couldn't help his attraction to her and it made him sick. In the most helplessly smitten way. It was the eyes. Her eyes, that was his weakness. They were just so big and blue and vibrant, always wide with anticipation or anger or innocence…or even passion. He winced at that thought, because that was what had gotten them in the predicament they were in to begin with, the passion part of it. When she got that expression in her eyes, he couldn't look away. First of all because it was so magnetic, and second because it was being directed at him. He had been able to strategically avoid her for months now, finding different routes to take through Chilton and sitting in virtual Siberia to be as far away from her in class as possible, but tonight would be his first unavoidable point of contact in a really long time. His stomach began to knot up at the mere contemplation of seeing her face again and knowing it was all over the moment their eyes connected.
Frustrated, he ignored his musings and continued to button up his white dress shirt and then roll up the sleeves in trademark Tristan style. He, of course, was forced to be around Rory tonight, seeing as how it was a Chiltonite's obligation to serve at almost all Country Club events, especially charities and the like that benefited medical research. His mother, Veronica, was one of the major contributors to most of the club occasions, so his obligations were mostly familial. He also didn't want to get an earful from both his parents for not participating in something that furthered their social status, so he just did what they wanted and went about his business.
Presently, he heard a knock and glanced in the mirror at the opened door to his room with Veronica standing within the framing.
"You almost ready? The limo will be here soon to pick us up."
He nodded at her reflection, tucking in his shirt and fixing the collar.
"Alright." She stepped more into the space, smoothing a stray hair back into her honey-blonde ornate French twist. "You know, I've been planning the benefit for a couple weeks now and I would really appreciate it if you would indulge me for a couple of hours and not fight with your father. This is an important event tonight, Tristan. I hope you do realize that."
"Well you and Dad have certainly beat it into my head enough, how could I not," he snapped, whirling around to face her. Then he realized he had no reason to be cross. Not with her, not right now. "Sorry."
Veronica stepped closer, briefly touching the side of his face in a rare but secretly-treasured moment of maternal instinct. "What's going on with you? You seem slightly more teenager-y than I'd like. And believe me, I don't do this whole talking and/or bearing of one's soul thing very well."
Tristan shook his head. Well thanks, Mom, for the sympathy vote. "I just have a lot of shit going on right now, it's no big deal…" She quirked an eyebrow. "Look, stuff alright? Stuff," he corrected with a smirk before grabbing his jacket.
"Alright, you don't want to talk about it. I understand. Doesn't surprise me. Just try and not instigate tonight, please. No saloon brawls and acts of manliness until we're home, agreed?"
"Tell that to your husband, he's the one who starts it."
"Hey…"
"Well it's true, he does."
"Tristan?"
"Look, okay. I'll behave, Mom." Veronica gave him an unsure look that he could've sworn he'd invented, complete with a crooked grin. "I promise. Out the door," he said playfully as he clasped her shoulders and guided her in the desired direction.
In occasions few and far between, Tristan found that his mother was the more tolerable of his parental units. She, consequently, had a heart and was therefore able to convey emotion and feeling. That was not so for Alexander, and there were reasons why, but it wasn't worth stewing over. Tristan had given up hope long ago of him and his father ever really becoming anything even slightly resembling close, and he was perfectly fine with that. They were passers-in-the-night, never having too much contact, verbal or otherwise. Sometimes Tristan would make an indentured call home and on accident he might catch his dad at the other end, but that was even more sparse than Alexander actually answering his own phone. Dad had the money, Tristan used it, and that was the way it went. They had an ATM/Consumer bit going that had been all but perfected, and it worked. Except that maybe from an ATM you actually got something to show for your transaction — a receipt.
[-]||[-]
"I can't believe we, the servers, get to wear short black dresses. That is so not a Country Club move," Madeline observed as she filled some glasses with punch.
"We look like we run and work for an escort service," Paris said, rolling her eyes and contributing her trademark sass.
"Given the rapidly escalating percentage of viable specimens tonight, I wouldn't mind that so much," Louise contributed just to get a rise.
"Retract your claws, Louise," Paris quipped. "The pheromone spray doesn't work on the elderly."
"Gross as if, like I'm looking to pull an Anna-Nicole. I was talking about the age-appropriate male servers not attending our little socialite prison, Paris, get a clue."
"Guys, you're causing a scene," Rory finally added. "I think we should just fill the cups with punch like they asked and not draw so much attention to ourselves and then we can all be out of here as soon as possible."
"Speaking of viable male specimens…isn't Tristan supposed to be serving tonight?"
Rory's face got heated at the implications of Louise's inquiry, but she tried to appear unaffected. "Probably."
"I heard his mom organized this whole thing," Madeline informed the group. "The food, the music, the decorations, the bathroom attendants — all of it."
"Of course she did. Veronica Dugray likes to dabble in as many things as she can, whether it be convivial events for the club, or school PTA meetings…or the black arts…"
"Looks like you've got a nice shiny pair of claws yourself there, Paris," Louise countered.
"I can't help it if the woman seizes every opportunity and turns it into a 'Who's the world's most powerful bitch?' competition with a hidden trophy she's already made for herself complete with a golden engraved name plate to satisfy her hurtfully enormous ego."
"You're just mad that your mom hasn't won yet," Madeline said with uncharacteristic wit.
"I'm sorry, Madeline, was that your attempt at sparring with me?" Paris launched back, not missing a beat. "Of course you understand my confusion. It's easy to become disillusioned with all your mindless blathering, I wasn't sure if you were actually making feeble steps toward intellectual superiority."
"Ouch," Louise gasped.
"Yeah, Paris, ouch," Madeline echoed, "You just about took care of the set up for the insult anyway, I thought you were expecting it."
Paris' voice took a rather bland tone as she sought to calm herself. "I'm sorry okay. I didn't mean to be rude, I just hate events like this. I can't stand to be in the same room with the same people my parents have dinner with, and then on top of that to have to stomach more time with the Neanderthals that go to my school, it's nauseating."
"I hope you're talking about the servers at the other table," Rory clarified only to receive a blank look from Paris. Okay, so maybe she wasn't going to argue.
At that moment, Emily swiftly approached the band of waitresses-in-training with her clipboarded checklist in hand. "Girls, would a couple of you mind coming to the kitchen and help with partitioning the appetizers? I believe the guests may be getting hungry in the near future, and sadly hunger equates stinginess, which would stifle the donations expected for tonight a great deal."
"I'll go, Grandma."
"I'll go as well, Mrs. Gilmore. This table seems to be getting a little crowded anyway," Louise jabbed innocently then followed the two Gilmores to the back.
"Melinda, I have your recruits. Just let them keep all their organs and major appendages and I'm sure everything will be fine," Emily stated in a wry manner before hustling off to another location.
Rory and Louise scrutinized the red-headed caterer with a certain amount of curiosity, deciding she wasn't a stuffy lace curtain like a solid number of the attendees there, which was a good thing.
"Well ladies, you don't need aprons, those are specially reserved for the little people. But you do need trays…and food."
With that, she handed them both plastic trays and placed on each a large dish of various ornately-decorated finger foods to satisfy the masses. While Rory started to trail Louise back to the main hall, she caught eyes with Tristan from afar, who seemed to be burdened with the same task next door, and her heart skipped a beat or two — or five. She swallowed to make sure her mouth could still produce saliva, unable to tear her gaze away and almost being run over by an oncoming chef. Tristan, in turn, grinned in moderation at the near-collision and made his way out the opposite kitchen entrance.
"I saw that," Louise interjected without looking at Rory.
"Saw what?"
"Let's not insult my intelligence and assume that we both saw the same thing, okay?"
Rory huffed a laugh quietly to herself, glancing down at the hors d'oeuvre tray. "Okay."
[-]||[-]
Yes, it made perfect sense. Right at the time when Tristan was mad at Rory for a perfectly legitimate reason, she had to be wearing a clingy, sleeveless black dress with a low back and matching heels that exquisitely showed off her legs. This situation also didn't help with the fact that he was supposed to be handling other people's food and drink — with care, mind you — and he couldn't only pay attention to her. Actually, he couldn't pay attention to her at all, because then that meant he didn't pay attention to anything else. Life had cruel ways of kicking him in the ass when he least expected it, seemingly without fail. But the night was almost over. Maybe just maybe he could emerge from the evening's events unscathed, never having seen her close enough for it to matter. Maybe he'd never have to confront his feelings for her at all. Maybe they'd go away. Maybe —
Oh. Of course she was walking up to him. And of course he couldn't exactly go anywhere, or worst yet run away, only losers did stuff like that.
"Hey," she said meekly.
"Hey," he returned.
Suddenly, the leftover complimentary snacks on the table in the kitchen became somewhat intriguing to Tristan compared to staring into an endless abyss of silence.
"Bet you're wondering what I'm doing here, talking to you," Rory proposed.
"Kind of."
"Because they told me to tell everyone that the, uh, servers were done with, y'know, their serving and they could just relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. They being my grandmother and some of the benefit heading up…people, but that doesn't really matter, just that they told me to tell you. And everyone so, that's what I just…did."
"Okay," he acknowledged her prattling on with the patented smirk rarely seen of late.
Rory had to subtly adjust her stance so the sight of said smirk didn't bowl her over. "The turn-out was really good."
"Yeah it was."
She nodded awkwardly. "Your mom did a great job with all the decorations and organizing things, it looks amazing."
"I'll be sure to tell her."
"Good, good."
Rory thought it best to not talk at all lest she reveal herself for the true babbling idiot she'd become in his presence and decided to look out the kitchen door at the dining area. It was very nicely set-up and ornately decorated to heightened sophistication, as was expected, and she had no idea why, but she all of a sudden wanted so badly to join the few brave older couples who were gliding across the dance floor, just for the sake of doing it. But then there was that little problem of having a dance partner, and since she wasn't one to go solo in that kind of setting or anywhere ever in life, she just pushed the thought out of her head and returned to the conversation that she and Tristan were currently not having.
Tristan, on the other hand, was enjoying the fact that Rory was uncomfortable. For the first time in weeks, he was actually leering and feeling a little bit of his sexual innuendo reserve bubble to life. That was a very good thing. He had made sure that all his dialogue with her was as short and terse as possible so he could remain stoic and yet completely relaxed, and she would be forced to become miserably anxious and unsure. Not that she didn't deserve it either. Then he began to notice her longing glances toward and through the kitchen entrance to the dance floor, and all sorts of wonderful ideas popped into his noble head. It couldn't have been more perfect if he'd planned it himself.
"Come on," he beckoned, taking her hand and leading her away from the table of wasted food.
"Wha — where are we going?"
"Well it could've just been my wishful thinking kicking in, but I thought I sensed you wanted to dance. Am I wrong?"
"Oh. Well no. But. Tristan, you don't have to d—"
"Believe me, Rory, I am very aware of that. Doesn't change the fact that you wanna dance, does it?"
"I —"
"Of course it doesn't," he interrupted, presenting her before him and giving a challenging smirk.
"Tristan…"
"Actually, Gilmore, right now would be a good time for you to shut up."
She blushed and abided his request as they stood in the center of the dance floor. Tristan, in turn, took action, folding her hand in his and clutching it to his chest then placing his other hand on the small of her back before pulling her against him so she had no choice but to rest her cheek against his solid frame, just underneath his chin. He felt her body tense against him, but knew automatically that she'd submitted to the hypnotic sway of the music when her hand traveled up his bicep and wrapped around his shoulder.
Rory allowed her lids to drift downward, and she mindlessly fell into step with the low, lulling rhythms of classical jazz, complimented by the heavenly smell that seemed to naturally exude from Tristan on a daily basis. Her state of unadulterated bliss was only heightened when he alternately nuzzled his nose and mouth in the cradle of her neck, just behind her ear. He had to have known that particular area was a weakness of hers, clever little bastard. She could've even convinced herself that they were the only two people that existed at that moment, and all the numerous moments that ticked away as they continued to dance on air. But sadly it was not meant to be, because the song had ended, and they would've looked pretty dumb dancing to nothing. Slowly, they drew back to look at each other.
"Take a walk with me."
It didn't seem like he was really asking, but she didn't mind. "Okay."
Following him soundlessly, he drew her away from the crowd and out onto the large portico outside the country club, and they just stood there, overlooking the view from the balcony railing. Tristan glanced over at Rory, the vision she presented making him think twice to catch his breath. The moon cast an ethereal glow against her porcelain skin, presenting her pouty lips as an even redder shade and causing her light blue eyes to reflect the wispy swirling clouds in the night sky. He was truly gone. Realizing how easily he was falling, he swallowed tightly and glanced out into nothingness.
After a couple minutes of silence and nervous fidgeting, Rory got up the courage to actually start the conversation that she'd had with Tristan in her head for the past three weeks. "Tris, I think we should talk," she managed.
"Wow, we're onto nicknames already. Couldn't you just have waited 'til we were in bed together?" He rejoiced inwardly when he saw her look away to hide the rosy color that tinted her cheeks. Who knew torturing the object of your affection could've been so damn fun. "Okay, we need to talk. So talk."
"W — well, I…I've been thinking, about what happened. With us. And I know that I handled it wrong, and I shouldn't have been so impulsive and…rash and inconsiderate and all those terrible things I was to you."
Tristan chuckled in spite of himself. "Making out with me in the hallway at Chilton isn't what I'd consider terrible, Rory. I just wanted to know why you did it."
"I know. And I should've told you, I should've given you a reason, I jus — it was wrong of me to take advantage of your feelings like that, and once I did…I didn't know how to explain myself, and I know that doesn't make any sense but I don't know what else to say. Except that I'm sorry. You deserve better than that, Tristan. A whole lot better than that."
After pausing to absorb all the meaning in what she had said, he finally got up the nerve to respond."Call me crazy, but that sounded like a compliment."
"That's because it was one," she informed with a smile.
"Well thank you, I appreciate that."
"You're welcome. And I am really sorry."
"I know."
He turned to face her and took a few steps forward so he was hovering in her personal space, and he tilted his head, brushing an errant strand of hair from her forehead. Then, cradling her neck, he leaned in and planted a lingering, knee-buckling, stomach-churning kiss on her mouth, pressing their heads together afterward and leaving her increasingly and unarguably breathless. He took a moment, naturally, to collect himself before talking again.
"I'm leaving Hartford. To go to Venice, for the summer."
"Oh," she answered, her eyes still closed.
"The way I figure it, my parents are gonna make me go anyway. Surprisingly enough, my grandfather actually has an internship open in his company there, so I thought I'd see what the family business is like and all that. Do my part to feed into the monster of global enterprise. And plus, I don't have anything better to do…or any real reason to stay…right?"
All she could do was stare at him blankly. Had she heard him right? Was he really leaving her all alone for the entire three-month summer break? Perhaps the wind had picked up at the exact moment he'd begun talking and drowned out what she thought she'd heard, or something. Whatever the problem, she couldn't find the words to tell him that she didn't want him to leave. Once again, she had nothing to say that would give him any sort of satisfaction.
For his part, he didn't know why he had just told her what he had just told her, and he also didn't know if she was even really listening to him or not. But at that point he really didn't care. He was too caught up in the way she was looking at him. That way, that made him turn into a nervous, bumbling imbecile and forget any and everything else that had nothing to do with her. While he still retained some of his sanity, he thought he should change the subject and speak up.
"You are…so damn beautiful, Rory Gilmore, and it hurts like hell to look at you. But you still have a boyfriend, don't you?"
Rory blinked repeatedly and swallowed, having to break herself out of the daze Tristan had kissed her into so she could intelligently respond. "Sort of," she said, not able to meet his eyes.
Tristan let his hand drift from her neck over her shoulder and down her arm to link his fingers between her own. "Why?" he asked boldly.
Well that was a good question. Why was she still with Dean, or even considering it, for that matter? There was an obvious connection between her and Tristan that refused to be ignored. Not to mention they seemed to have the making-out, acting coupley, being physical with each other thing down, all they had to do was take the plunge and make it official. Oh yeah but she still cared for Dean. Sadly, no amount of Tristan's kisses and other Tristan-y things, though being very incredibly wonderful, would be changing that any time soon. She had just told Dean that she loved him after all. There had to be a good reason for that, didn't there? Now that she was being honest with herself, it was time to be honest with him.
"Because I'm…confused. And I told him that I haven't decided who I really want to be with yet. But I do have feelings for both of you."
This fact brought back Tristan's patented smirk again. An admission of feelings wasn't a complete all the way yes, but it definitely wasn't a no either. "But you like me more, right?"
She flushed for the millionth time, trying to appear incensed at his cocky attitude. "You — are s—"
"It's okay, you can admit it," he teased. "I won't tell him. Wouldn't want him to have any more jealous rage black-outs or anything like that."
"I'm pleading the 5th. That's not a fair question and you know it."
"It seems plenty fair to me."
"Like I said, I haven't decided yet."
He was completely unsatisfied with that answer, of course, but that only made more delicious ideas spring up in his mind and bring a Grinch-like leer to his countenance.
"Well, we can't have you being undecided, now can we?" Tristan resolved in a husky tone, taking their joined hands and running his fingertips teasingly across the area of her stomach below her navel, reveling in the involuntary shudders the action rendered and pretending like he was going to down further, only he never got the chance. Emily had made her way onto the premises.
"Rory, there you are, I've been looking all over this God-forsaken place for — oh hello there, Tristan, it's so good to see you, my how you've grown! Is your father well? I haven't been able to catch him all night."
Tristan put some distance between he and Emily's granddaughter out of respect and smiled graciously. "It's wonderful to see you too, Mrs. Gilmore. He's around here somewhere."
"Yes that's nice. Rory, dear, I'm afraid tonight's events went a little better than I'd originally planned, and there's just so much to clean up I don't know when or how I'm going to finish it all, but I surely don't want you waiting here for needless hours when you could be resting…can you call your mother?"
Rory tried not to look so embarrassed that her grandmother had caught her in such a questionable position then remembered that Lorelai and Sookie were having their Paul Newman movie weekend together at some Hartford hotel and had gone and left her home alone. Great, now she was stranded and aroused in front of her grandmother. Let the mortifying continue, by all means.
"Oh, uh, Grandma? I think Mom's still out with Sookie, remember? She said she'd be back Monday."
"Oh that's right. Lorelai and her daft, nonsensical traditions, I'll never understand them. Would you like me to call you a cab then?"
Rory almost answered, but of course Tristan cut in, seeing the perfect opportunity right in front of him to have Rory all to himself. "I can take her, Mrs. Gilmore. My dad drove by himself from work, I'll just take his car. I'm sure he won't mind." And Tristan was really sure, he'd seen Alexander make many trips to the bar, even with the complementary champagne.
"Well that's splendid, Tristan, very decent of you. That sounds fine, doesn't it, Rory?"
"I —"
"Then it's settled. Now don't forget, Sweetie, I moved your things to the coat room. Can't have you leaving your street clothes around the club, Lord knows how the members would talk. And drive safely, Tristan. This is extremely kind of you, good night," Emily said in a torrent of rushed hugs and kisses and bustled back into the circus of cleaning and takedown going on inside.
And then there were two.
Rory looked over at Tristan, who seemed pretty pleased with himself about something, and she was pretty sure that she was going to like it but she should just pretend she didn't for self-entertainment purposes. "Don't get any ideas. You're just giving me a ride home, that's all," she assured him, walking into the club.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that how all this started in the first place?"
She halted at the entrance and glanced at him over her shoulder then continued in. He merely trailed behind with a satisfied smile. "Thought so."
[-]||[-]
Pulling into Rory's driveway, Tristan's dad's BMW came to a smooth halt and was shut off by the spiky-blond-haired driver, who then turned to its passenger, Rory, and waited for her to say something. Anything.
"So…" he stated after a long pause and wary glances around the car's interior.
"Thanks for giving me a ride. My grandma tends to take a little longer than she should at those kinds of things," Rory confessed.
"Yeah well, I was about to leave anyway. My mom's the same, with the staying and all that. And plus, you're on the way. Sort of."
Rory chuckled and felt the mood lighten instantly. "No I'm not. You live over a half-hour away from me — in the other direction," she told him.
"I do not." She gave him a look at his arguing so he had to recant. "Twenty-five minutes, tops. It's a straight shot from the interstate, believe me, I think I'd know that by now, thank you very much."
"Keep telling yourself that and let me know how it goes, with the denial and all. I've heard it's really big hit with all the self-esteem super-groups circulating nowadays," she quipped dryly.
"Well it seems you have a choice here, Rory. You can be your normal, overly-cynical self and dissect everything I say, or you can just accept the fact that I can be a nice guy who does nice things for nice people."
"Ah yes, but that would leave me to be classified as nice. And we both know fickle girls who toy and tamper with the frail egos of high school teenage boys are nowhere near nice. At all. The entire cast of 7th Heaven holds up garlic, crucifixes and holy water to girls like me. I'm a man-eater, Tristan, country club members hide your male offspring."
Tristan let out a highly-amused laugh at her ability to rant on any given subject at any given time. He really did have to meet her mother. "Okay first of all, if you're a man-eater, then I'm the Marquis de Sade, alright? And just because you crushed me, my feelings for you, and all my self-worth without any hope for repair, it does not make you a bad person," he said with mock-sincerity, placing a comforting hand on her knee.
"Gosh. Thank you, for that — that insight from your sick and twisted mind, I'll treasure it always."
Smirking, he got out of the car and walked around to her door, opening it and waiting for her to follow suit.
"What are you doing?"
"Being a gentleman."
She glared at him playfully, somewhat unsure, but got out of the car just the same so she was standing, trapped between it and her current chauffer. "You're just trying to be all extra butt-kissy so I'll invite you in my house."
He made a deliberating face and eventually nodded. "Basically yes, but who would I be if I didn't at least try? I'd be…normal. Oh God."
"No. Scary thought. We can't have that talk around here."
"I couldn't agree more."
It occurred to her that Tristan was one of only a few guys who had actually seen her house, let alone been close enough to her to be invited in. The thought made her nervous, but she hadn't figured out if it was because she was considering having him come inside or that she considered him as someone close to her. More thinking later please, thinking could go away now.
Chin lifted in mock defiance, she made up her mind. "Okay fine, you can come in for one cup of coffee. Then you're gone, mister. And that's for your own good. If Babette or even Miss Patty saw you, we could have problems. Like missing person report problems…"
Tristan wanted to ask Rory what she meant by that but she had already headed up porch stairs and made her way into the shadowy house to turn on all the lights, leaving him to follow behind, perhaps smirking more than usual and sealing the entrance behind him.
"I didn't know you actually drank coffee," she joshed over her shoulder. "You practically reek of the type of person who delves into those heretical government conspiracies like Starbucks and Seattle's Best."
"Just goes to show how much you know about me, now doesn't it? Sad, really, that you're such a pill. I must be a sadsack glutton for punishment to be so taken with you."
Rory smiled to herself at this, having set her things down and moving into the kitchen. "Why do you even like me? I'm such an über-geek."
"Well that's true, but hey, every family has a Fredo. And honestly the only people who use the word 'über' before anything are usually throwing themselves at me or waving pom-poms in my face."
"Oh you're right. Wow, I must be really tired... Heh, me. Throw myself at you. Oh, the comedy of it all."
"Yeah. Hysterical."
Funnily enough, nothing about his face resembled hilarity of any kind. Oh Lord, he was doing that leering thing again. She really didn't stand a chance. Not to mention the fact that he was walking around the table toward her and cornering her against the sink. She shrunk back into the edge of the counter, feeling like a child who was about to get a very long spanking for having misbehaved, but then she instantly scrapped the image from her mind at the prospect of her father ever looking at her like Tristan currently was. There was just no room for that kind of thinking.
When Tristan raised his hand and intentionally grazed her exposed shoulder, she held her breath and thought he was going to let her have it until his hand traveled past and around her, seizing the coffee tin and walking over to the Mr. Coffee next to the fridge. Teasing was a euphemism for what he was doing to her. He began eyeing different cabinets for the one that he thought looked like it contained what he was looking for.
Glancing at her from over his shoulder, he pointed to the one next to the window. "Mugs, right?"
"Yeah," she confirmed after having found her voice.
He then pulled down two mugs and began preparing the coffee maker so it could prepare the coffee.
"I can do that," Rory insisted, though she still couldn't move from her current spot.
"I'm sure you can. I don't mind," he assured her with a smirk.
"Oh. Okay. I'll just go…get changed."
Tristan immediately rushed in front of her and turned her around, steering her in the general direction of the living room. "No. What you will do is sit here and wait for me to bring you the coffee as it becomes available. Moving from this spot is not an option, know that," he commanded, plopping her down on the couch by her shoulders and going back into the kitchen.
Wait. Who was he to tell her what to do and where to sit? This was her house! He followed her rules. Yeah, she was almost able to convince herself that she had the gumption to go in the kitchen and tell Tristan to shove it before following through with her original plans, but we all know she didn't. So on the couch she remained.
In the kitchen, Tristan was practically cackling to himself at his devilish behavior, which was about to get a whole lot more devilish in his mind. Poor Rory…she was like a debilitated baby fawn, about to be attacked by the rancorous jungle predator, and he found it increasingly amusing. He almost felt bad for wanting to take advantage of her in this state. Note the emphasis on almost. The way he saw it, after all the extra crappy shit she'd previously put him through, she deserved a little torture. Call it due comeuppance, if you will. Just a bit of fun here and there never hurt anyone.
Stealthily, Tristan made his way back into the living room to view an unsuspecting Rory, shooting nervous glances at random objects while picking and chewing on her nails. Aww, how cute, she was uncomfortable. Perfect, simply perfect.
With heightened obnoxiousness, he cleared his throat loudly, inwardly rejoicing at the slight jump he'd rendered, then walked around and fell into the cushions beside her, sprawling out his arms and legs then adjusting his hips in an exaggerated manner. Rory did her best to ignore his attempts to lure her into the Land of the Unholy and instead peeked at Tristan's arm, draped around the back of the couch which was at present against the back of her, and her face became heated again — whether from his closeness or from her own arousal, she had yet to find out. In his peripheral line of sight, he caught Rory looking at him and boldly met her blue stare with his. She, of course, wasn't expecting this and froze, the color instantly draining from her face. No one could put Rory on an emotional roller coaster faster than he could.
"You okay?" he asked with the utmost lack of concern.
She swallowed and tried to answer. Well, gulped is more what she really did. "I'm fine."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Alright." Pregnant pausing ensues. "You just look a little…pale."
This sparked a quippy response inside her, for which she was very grateful, and her smile returned. "I'm always pale. And I think 'translucent' is the word you're looking for when referring to my skin, maybe even 'ghost-like'…"
A laugh bubbled deliciously in his throat, and she swore her stomach flipped inside out then flopped back again. "Actually, that's not the word or words I was looking for, but thank you just the same."
"Oh well, I'm nothing if not helpful."
"I can think of a few other things," he semi-purred, accompanied by a leer.
Even though there was nothing funny about his sex-riddled tone that made her weak in all sorts of places, she suddenly felt the urge to laugh at the situation — and so she did.
"What?"
"Nothing…it's just…you ground me to the couch until coffee's ready, you leave, then you come back again. With no coffee," she explained between bouts of giggling.
"Wow. That is funny," he said blandly with condescending sarcasm and rolled his eyes, earning a playful glare.
"Yes, it is, because if you were really set on 'grounding me to the couch' as some sort of punishment, then you wouldn't come back again to keep me company."
"Maybe I wasn't really intending to give you coffee in the first place. Ever think of that?"
"Not in the least. Were you ever to come between me and my coffee, you would never live to see the light of another day…at least certain parts of you wouldn't," she threatened and cheesed at him sweetly.
Tristan quirked an eyebrow, impressed. "Well…so you do have dirty streak in you. I might've guessed as much. Although, it would be damn near virtually impossible to wound me anymore than you already have."
His manner was playful, but the words still stung. He was right, after all. She felt like the Devil Incarnate when it came to boys' emotions, especially his.
"Tristan…you know how sorry I am, don't you?"
He pulled on the thighs of his pants to loosen them and replaced his arm on the back of the couch, adjusting his pelvic position for what seemed to be the millionth time. She told herself that she was not looking, but it was a lie straight from the fiery pits, obviously.
"Of course I do. Doesn't mean I'm not going to tease you about it though."
"Oh okay. As long as we're clear."
"Inescapably."
"Splendid."
The tension in the room began to build faster than New York puts up apartment complexes, and Rory was dying for a way to escape the heated gaze from Tristan that was about to set her on fire. And she got exactly what she wanted, yet again, in the form of a phone call. This was too many deja vus to be healthy.
"Hello," she prompted once she'd found the ever-illusive portable.
"Oh, so you do answer your phone," Lane's voice said bitterly.
"Lane, hey! And I always answer the phone."
"Um, no you don't, because I've tried calling you these last few days and either you haven't been there or you've chosen to ignore the constant ringing echoing through your empty house. You're lucky I'm on the vacation from hell right now or I'd personally come over there and beat your ass — oh wow, I said that kind of loud didn't I?"
Rory chuckled. "Yes you did."
"Oh well, Momma couldn't have heard. She's out getting trail maps for our hike later on today. Honestly, how many times can you see Old Faithful erupt without thinking of going to the bathroom? It still baffles me that everyone's so obsessed with some waterhole in the middle of an open field. Why did I agree to do this? Why?"
"I have no idea. Yellowstone Park doesn't strike me as a place your mother would like to visit more than once…in a given month."
"She's hoping being at the core of nature will help us find our spiritual centers and get in touch with God. I was only able to repeat that word-for-word because that's all she's said since we've been here."
"That does sound exactly like her."
"It's all the same, I guess. She gets a supernatural getaway, I get community service hours for tour guide training so I can present Yellowstone in all its glory to the woodland masses of Nowheresville, USA. You're jealous aren't you? I can tell."
Rory laughed again, and Tristan leaned into the phone pressed against her left ear, trying to hear the conversation. Elbowing his stomach and taking no small amount of pleasure in his pain-filled groan, she glowered and switched the phone to the other side.
"Very. So what else have you been doing besides trying to communicate with the Almighty," she asked good-humouredly.
Oh. Rory thought she was clever, with her little phone transfer away from his meddling ear. Ha! He'd show her, that was for damn sure, he'd show her all right.
"Absolutely nothing. I have no books, no music, no television, no LIFE! Did I mention I had no music? I'm not sure if I did or not, but just in case I didn't, let me say it again, I have no music — that's not just wrong, it's illegal."
"I would most certainly hav—" Tristan's fingers dancing up and down her forearm made her lose her train of thought. "…have to agree with you there," she finished, ignoring the crack in her voice.
"Yeah, thanks. To say I can't wait to be back in our small town with the nosey, crotchety old neighbors and bad social gatherings would be an understatement… Oh! You'll never guess what I saw yesterday."
"Big Foot," she answered, becoming distracted by Tristan trailing kisses from her shoulder to the cradle of her neck. What was it about him being in her house that made history repeat itself over and over again?
"You know, that was almost funny, but no, it wasn't Big Foot, it was ten times worse than that. Actually, come to think of it, this guy could have very well been mistaken for Big Foot."
Rory's giggle choked off in an very unattractive way when he nipped at her ear lobe with his teeth and allowed his tongue to trace languid, circular patterns behind it. And the hand not around Rory's shoulder began to wander…
"Rory, this guy was hideous, no he was beyond hideous, he was revolting. Nobody should have to see anyone like that with their shirt off, especially not in a rural haven that some people hold as sacred. It's the park rangers' faults for allowing free swim in the lake, God would not be pleased."
Tristan shifted his right arm so that it was now around her lower back, making her body arch slightly away from the couch and allowing him to move closer to a spot on her neck just under her chin that his mouth seemed to have missed. As for the wandering hand, it had previously seen fit to tweak and tease her nipple through the material of her dress for a time, which didn't go unnoticed by her vocal chords and required a certain amount of self-control, but the hand was now content to travel south and draw lazy figures designed to track higher and higher up her inner thigh since the other hand was currently occupied with trying to bunch up the skirt of her dress.
Rory almost reprimanded herself for not being lady-like and crossing her legs minutes ago. "Wo-oow, that's terrible," she managed in spite of the shudders that began to overtake her body. She called herself trying to get Tristan to behave and keep his distance, but clinging to his bicep for dear life didn't convey that message somehow. Very strange.
"Terrible isn't the half of it, Rory. If Momma wanted to see the epitome of sin she need look no further than the bathing suit that he was wearing or lack thereof…the cellulite, the fat-layering, I mean, I'm talking 20, maybe 30,000 pounds here…per thigh! And he actually had a wife!"
Even though Lane's story was thrilling and funny in its own right, Rory couldn't really respond to anything Lane was saying, because her tongue was, shall we say, otherwise engaged with someone else's. She finally figured out what made them get this way whenever he came over. It was the couch.
While Lane continued with horrifying details and descriptions of her encounter with death-by-speedo, Tristan's fingertips drew closer and closer to their desired destination, pausing to graze the lining of her underwear with his blunt nails, then diving inside and "taking hold" of the situation like he'd originally intended. His hard work and beleaguering appeared to have paid off, and he smiled into her mouth haughtily.
At the feeling of his finger about to do a little history-repeating of its own, Rory's eyes flew open, and she let out a muffled moan, pulling her mouth away and sharply slapping his hand. He wasn't supposed to chuckle, damn it, he was supposed to feel bad.
"Uuuh-OH! Oh, look, the coffee's ready," she somewhat-yelled into the phone.
She could've sworn she heard him say, "And apparently you are too," but she figured it was just the wind picking up from the unopened windows…or something.
"What," Lane paused from the tale long enough to question.
"I was making coffee. Coffee. You know — the stuff I drink all the time, that I can't live without? I was making some," she explained, trying to find the quickest way to acquire oxygen without panting like Britney Spears.
"That's great, Rory, but what else is new?"
Tristan, being the perfect gentleman, had decided to leave her underwear and all its close affiliates alone for the time being and instead moved on to the activity of unzipping her dress while continuing to kiss any area of skin available.
"U-um, I — my mom got us a new DVD player."
"Thrilling. Got any DVD's to play on it?"
Rory tried to turn away from Tristan's unzipping hand but only ended up facing the end of the couch and trapping herself in his other arm, exposing the back of her dress more fully to him. She was all over this stopping him from de-garbing her thing, as one could tell. He took the opportunity to brush her hair over her opposite shoulder and cover the expanse of skin with more kisses while succeeding in finishing the task of opening the zipper.
"Not real-ly…"
Damn he worked fast. He'd already snaked his hand inside her outfit and found her bra-encased breast as well as the tip of it in no time flat. Either he took some sort of course as an extracurricular, or he was that fucking good. Judging by the skill of his fingers, she was shooting for the latter.
"Lorelai probably thought it would be cool just to own one."
This made Rory laugh and sound something close to coherent. "She actually only likes the menu that pops up before you put a movie in, she says it - HEY!"
Now he had really crossed the line. You don't snatch people's phones away from them mid-sentence, or at all. "Hello, Lane is it?"
"Who is this," she interrogated sharply.
"Sorry, Rory's kinda busy right now. Why don't you call her back later?"
"B — I — wh—" Lane was no better off than Rory, who was in the process of setting two new world records — how red a face can get, and the amount of sputtering that occurs in thirty seconds.
"Okay great, bye," he finished, hearing a final cry of 'Rory!' before he clicked the talk button and ended the conversation.
Exacerbated beyond all sense of sanity, Rory held her dress against her and turned around to let Tristan have a piece of her mind, and her knee as well for getting so fresh with her on the phone.
"Tristan! What was that?! I was t—"
He didn't really care about what she had to say on the matter of him hanging up on her best friend, so he just decided to kiss her for all intensive shutting-up purposes. Expecting her to lash out at him and injure what he held dearest past any hope of healing, she succumbed to the kiss, even began to invite it by lying down into the corner of the couch arm. From his perspective, the operative words for their predicament would be "What's a Dean?", but he kept it to himself to boost his ego, which was, after all, a mandatory activity. Once he figured she was sufficiently wooed into submission, he regained ownership of his lips and looked at the product of his labor — skin flushed, shortness of breath, pupils dilated, mouth full and decently kissed — he was a god.
"Still worried about that whole undecided thing?"
"Undecided? About what?"
He leered and dove in for another kiss, which Rory all too eagerly reciprocated. "My point exactly."