An Author's Depressed Post Olympic Ramblings- So, it's all over now. And they were good, too. The Olympics, I mean. Unless you lived under a rock the past two weeks, you know that they've been airing for the past sixteen days. This story is much like Going for the Gold, in fact, it's a sequel to it. It's not imperative that you read that before reading this one, they are both stand alone one shots, that don't need anything else.

Oh, there is one thing. Logan doesn't exist in this fic. Well, there are two things. Paris did get ousted in this fic, like she did on the show, and Rory did get the job, like she did on the show, but in this fic, they still inhabit the same space. Tristan and Rory have been dating since they were Freshman, so that means that in this fic, Dean made no end of season appearance to deflower little miss Gilmore. I think that's all you need to know, other than the fact that for the past sixteen days, I have lived and breathed for the Olympics. And in this fic, so has Rory. And Tristan too, I'd suspect.

Thanks go out to my wonderful beta Amy, who went through this story line by line with me, literally. I don't know what I'd do without her, and frankly, I don't want to know either. I also have to thank M for ceasing the mocking, convincing me not to break Rory and Tristan up. (Like it was actually a possibility in one of my stories!) And to J, because she's fabulous and I love her dearly. Especially for all her great comments on my last blog. She made me giggle every time, despite the circumstances. So I guess I thank all my Ickle Gals, for all the little things you guys do for me!

Enough of my blathering. On with the Trory smut!'

Shooting for Silver

"The closing ceremonies better be good," Rory said, setting a large bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in her boyfriend's apartment. "The opening ones sucked worse than Tom Cruise."

"Let it go, Rory, it's been two weeks." Tristan told her, gesturing for her to join him on the couch. "They're over, there's nothing you can do to change them."

"All I'm saying is that the Italians had four years to come up with a cohesive opener for the Winter Olympics, and it came off as if six drunk people, each of whom took a half an hour segment and planned whatever it was that they wanted."

"It wasn't that bad."

"There were people dressed up as cows, Tristan, you can't just ignore that." Rory reminded him, sitting down on the cushion next to him and plopping her feet in his lap.

"At least the Introduction of Nations was cool."

"The Introductions of Nations was the same as it was in Greece. The only difference was that it happened a few miles north of Athens."

"Then the Lighting of the Torch was fun to watch. You can't deny that."

"Yeah, that was really nifty. I just wish I could figure out what the hell Susan Sarandon was doing there. She's not an Olympian. She never was an Olympian, and she never will be an Olympian."

"She was a mystery. At least Sophia Loren is from Italy. Susan Sarandon is just an American blowhard who likes to hear herself talk. She might be a good actress, but she has to get a grip. She's an actress. Not a politician."

"Amen." Rory leaned back, stretching across the cranberry velvet fabric. "How can they keep doing this?" She asked, gesturing toward the screen. "If that were me, I'd be dying."

"That would never be you, Miss 'I'm allergic to ski poles.'" He chuckled, tickling her bare feet. "And you'd have to be in really great shape in order to do cross-country skiing, especially that long a distance. You have to give it to them, it's gotta be painful."

"And way more strenuous than Curling, which I still contend is not a sport."

"Curling was one of the original sports in the Winter Olympics. It's a tradition."

"Yeah, a tradition made up by drunken men, who were probably trying to get out of cleaning up after themselves."

"And yet, who was the one who watched it every morning last week?"

"It may be retarded, but that doesn't make it any less addictive."

"So that's why you wouldn't let me watch hockey on my own TV?" Tristan chuckled, taking a sip of his Coke. "You were addicted to a boring sport?"

"Exactly."

"Aww!" Rory squealed, sitting up to cheer for the skiers as they finally crossed the finish line. "Now that is the perfect way for Italy to end the Olympic Games!"

"I don't know how he's still standing. I tried to cross-country ski once, and I wanted to fall over. And that wasn't fifty kilometers."

"FIFTY KILOMETERS!" Rory gasped. "Are they insane? Why would they do that?"

"Well, for some of these countries, skis are their mode of transportation. So fifty kilometers isn't all that much in the grand scheme of things."

"You mean to tell me that everyone in Switzerland doesn't have a BMW and a Mercedes?" She teased him. It was common knowledge that Tristan was smitten with his new toys, bought only a few months apart from each other. "Oh. My. God!" She gasped, looking at the screen.

"Is that…." Tristan's jaw dropped, not quite able to believe that he was really seeing what he was seeing.

"Clowns!" Rory confirmed, shocked. "Clowns doing the YMCA!"

"And they aren't even doing the YMCA together! Or on point." Tristan observed. "What were they thinking?"

"That if the vino worked that well on the Opening Ceremonies, that it'd be great on the Closer, too."

"You'd have to be at toasted to think that clowns doing the YMCA were a great idea to end an event like this."

"Canada better not have Mounties doing the Macarena, or I am going to go up to Vancouver and kick some ass." Rory threatened, as though the committee members could actually hear her.

"I don't know if it's a good idea to even put that idea out there in the air. Who knows who might overhear it?"

"True." Rory agreed, refocusing her attention back on the television. "Look! There's Joey Cheek!"

"Will you stop it with him? You've been blathering on about this guy for two weeks."

"I have not. He's a great athlete and a great person and philanthropist. The great United States doesn't choose just anyone to carry the flag in the Closing Ceremonies, you know. They vote on it."

"You and your mother are so transparent. The only reason you like him and Chad Hedrick are those speed skating uniforms."

"He is a serious athlete, who wears the required uniform. And just like Michael Phelps and his Speedo, it's not my fault that it fits like a second skin."

"But that doesn't mean you have to take this much enjoyment in it, either." Tristan complained, not nearly as bent out of shape about her ogling of Joey Cheek and Chad Hedrick as he was about Michael Phelps and Blaine Wilson in the Summer Olympics in Greece a year and a half ago.

"Oh, look, Tristan, here she comes!" Rory giggled, pointing Shizuka Arakawa out in the crowd. "Doesn't she look pretty? So elegant. I can tell why you're so in love with her. She's a beautiful girl."

"I'm not in love with her." He grumbled. "She's a great skater. Her long program was the best of the night, easily."

"Of course you'd think that, Honey, seeing as how you can't take your eyes off her. Now, is it just her, or all Asian women? Should I worry about you leaving me for Lane?"

"First off, Arakawa is from Japan, not Korea, land of the cheaters."

"And you say I never let anything go."

"They're two different countries! They shouldn't get to compete as one! If they're allowed to combine together, when they have two separate ways of life, and two separate systems of government, then we should be allowed to band together with Canada. At least then we'd be guaranteed to win the medal count."

"Let it go. Clearly, I've let it go that my boyfriend is lusting after some beautiful Asian woman with a skater's body."

"All I said was she deserved her Gold. Arakawa skated better than Sasha and Irina did."

"Her program was safe."

"Yeah, but it was clean. All she needed to do was not fall, with Sasha screwing up so badly."

"I'm still shocked that she got the Silver." Rory agreed, watching as Shaun White stopped to talk to a reporter. "Two falls? One, maybe, but two? Sasha Cohen needs to kiss the feet of someone upstairs, because she was definitely being looked out for that night."

"Very true. I just wish that someone was looking out for Kelly Clark too, then that annoying little Hannah Teter wouldn't have gone home with the Gold."

"I hate that girl!" Rory exclaimed for the millionth time since the women's half pipe. "She's so obnoxious! You'd think she'd be a little more gracious or something, not so arrogant."

"I hope she falls flat on her face in her next competition. Maybe that'll help knock some of the hot air out of her head."

"I hope so, too."

"Oh, No!" Rory cried out before hiding her face in Tristan's shoulder. "The clowns! They're back!"

"Why?" Tristan groaned, shielding his eyes. "Oh, great, now they're in tiny little cars!" Oh, the humanity!"

"Are they trying to ruin my Olympic experience?" Rory moaned into his sweater. "Because they are getting really, really close."

"Okay, they're gone." Tristan assured her, after peeking between his fingers to make sure the coast was clear. "I don't know what was worse, the cow people or the clowns."

"The clowns, hands down." Rory answered, clearly still rattled by them.

"I think you're right."

"I can't believe that this is the last night." Rory sighed, leaning into him. "Now I'll have to go back to spending my nights studying while trying to avoid Paris and her wrath."

"She's still giving you flack?" Tristan asked, slipping his arm around her. "It's not your fault she got ousted. And it's not your fault that the others on the senior committee made you editor."

"Tell that to Paris." Rory pouted, snuggling into him. "She's been getting progressively worse as time goes on. I can't escape her at that apartment. And she keeps coming up with more ways to make my life miserable. This morning she blasted Reveille at top volume, knowing it was my only day that I was going to get to sleep in."

"So that's why you showed up here at seven." Finally it clicked into his head. He had been surprised when his girlfriend had appeared at his door so early, with coffee and bagels. He himself was an early riser, but he wasn't even aware that she knew there was a seven in the morning.

"I'm almost scared to find out what she has in store for me when I go back."

"Well…." Tristan began, unsure of whether or not to broach the subject again. "You could always take me up on my offer, and then you wouldn't have to deal with her anymore."

"I can't move in with you, Tristan." Rory said for the fourth time in the past six months. "We'd kill each other."

"But what a way to go."

"You'd make me eat salad." She spat the word out as though it were something foul.

"But if we're going to die young, what does it matter what you eat?"

"You wouldn't be able to climb in my bedroom window for sex anymore."

"Window climbing is bad on the back."

"You'd always be distracting me from studying." She started to repeat the list of reasons why it was a bad idea to move in with him.

"So you can have your very own room to study in."

"Really? Which one?" Rory perked up, curious.

"What does it matter?" Tristan raised an eyebrow. "You can't move in with me, anyway."

"You suck." Rory smacked his chest. "And you wonder why I like Joey Cheek better."

"Oh, shut up." Tristan said, pulling her into his lap, kissing her hard. She gasped, startled, but quickly melted into him. "You need to stop talking so much, then maybe you'd actually give us living together a fighting chance." He peppered kisses against her jaw, down to the pulse point at the base of her neck.

"Mmmmm," she murmured, as his cheeks, rough with stubble brushed against her skin. She circled her arms around his neck possessively, locking them together.

"Now, if you were going to move in here, then I could fuck you on this very couch whenever you wanted. Day or night. Morning or mid-afternoon." He whispered into her ear, slipping a hand under her tee shirt, tracing letters and symbols against her skin, before divesting her of the garment altogether.

She gasped, whether from his words or from his fingers pinching her nipple lightly, Rory didn't know. All she knew was that he was starting to stoke a fire that was much hotter than that eternal flame they were about to put out back in Italy.

"If you were going to move in here, I could push you up against that wall at any moment and make you scream." Tristan continued, watching her fire of lust build in her eyes. In the beginning of their relationship, he'd never thought that dirty talk would ever be an option with her. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that Rory Gilmore had a wild side, and that nothing got her hotter faster than a few naughty words.

Cupping her ass, he lifted her from the couch. With a gasp, she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom. "If you were going to move in here, I could make love to you in our bed, and then wake up the next morning with you still in my arms." He gently laid her down atop the sheets, slipping his own shirt over his head before joining her on the bed.

Nothing got him more in the mood than a night of verbal sparring with her. She could get a rise out of him quicker than anyone else that he'd ever known. Tristan kissed her fervently, almost crazy with desire that had been building up all night long. Her whimper in response to his breath-robbing kiss only served to make him more aroused than he already was.

Tristan smiled at her and brushed the bangs off of her forehead. "I love you, Rory. And I want to be able to tell you that anytime that I want, not whenever I get to see you in between the newspaper work nights and the late-night study sessions." He watched her eyes widen, her defenses obviously crumbling as he traced her cheekbone. "I want you here, with me, all the time."

Rory blushed violently under his scrutiny. Despite all the confidence that she had built up with him over the past three years, Tristan always managed to make her go red whenever he looked at her with such intensity. Grabbing the front of his tee shirt, she pulled him down for a kiss as his need for her throbbed hard and firm against her thigh.

Tugging at her sweatpants, Tristan pulled them down her hips, letting them fall to the floor after they made it past her feet. He looked back at her, lying before him as her eyes glittered with unabashed desire, and couldn't think of any time that he'd ever seen her look more beautiful.

Rory sat up and pushed him down onto the mattress, climbing on top of him. Tristan looked up at her as she sat across his hips in her demi-bra, playing with his belt buckle, content to let her take the lead for awhile. She stared at him for a moment, checking him out, before finally trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down his chest and dipping her tongue into his navel.

Tristan held his breath, anticipating her next move. Slowly, she slid the zipper of his jeans down its track, leaning up so he could kick the denim off. He groaned loudly when she looked up at him, grinned evilly, and continued her path, moving back up north, landing a final kiss on his lips with a smack.

Unable to take any more, Tristan flipped them over. "Are you trying to kill me, Woman?" He asked, as his hands traveled south, slipping beneath her silk panties.

Her reply died on her lips as Tristan removed them from her body, along with her black bra. Rory's hair fanned out against the pillows, and he leaned in to kiss her. The kiss deepened, and she trembled under his seeking fingers.

When Tristan's mouth closed around her nipple, she gasped. When his fingers finally slid inside her, she moaned, arching off the bed, his digits moving in and out of her wet heat. He rubbed her vigorously, responding to her pants, groans, and sighs of pleasure. By the time that he moved down to suck her clit into his mouth, she was already tumbling over the edge.

He stroked her softly as he waited for her to come back down from her climax. "Wouldn't you love to be able to do this any time you wanted?" He asked her impishly when she finally opened her eyes. "If you lived here, with me, we could do this every day, if you wanted."

She smacked him on the shoulder hard. "Jerk." Rory giggled, as he wriggled out of his boxers. "I hate you. Shizuka Arakawa can have you."

"If you think that's the way to get me out of the way so you can go off into the sunset with Joey Cheek, you are sorely mistaken." Tristan replied, nipping at her lips. "You are mine, Rory Gilmore, and no one, not even someone with a gold medal, is going to take you away from me."

"Are you sure?" Rory asked, biting her lip. "Because those gold medals are awfully shiny…."

"Who cares about the Gold?" Tristan smirked, thumbing her nipple lightly. "I'd be shooting for a Silver, myself, it's the 'in' metal this year, according to my little sister."

"Your sister would jump Joey's bones if she had the chance, just like any other American woman with eyes. I doubt she's hold it against him that he got a gold medal."

"Are you trying to torture me?" He groaned, his head falling against her shoulder.

"Yes."

Tristan looked up, his hand on his chin. "Well, at least you're honest."

Rory laughed and brushed a kiss onto his forehead. "Tristan…." She trailed off when he loomed over her once more. The hunger for her was clearly evident in his eyes before he pressed his lips to hers, his insistent tongue filling her mouth, tangling with her own as his hands resumed their previous activities between her legs.

Still sensitive from her earlier climax, it wasn't long before Tristan had her at the brink again. "Tristan," she panted, barely able to control her own voice. "Now."

He needed no more encouragement. Tristan entered her with one swift thrust. His strokes were slow at first, building with intensity as he went on. Rory writhed beneath him, her hips bucking against his every time their bodies met.

Tristan knew he was only seconds away from an orgasm, and that Rory was even closer. She cried out when he stilled within her and flailed about like a fish out of water for a moment, seeking relief, but he held her at bay.

"Say you'll move in with me," he commanded, unmoving. It took all his self control not to pound away in her, but he wasn't about to give up the upper hand so easily. Rory looked up at him, her mouth open in shock. "Say it, Ror."

This was a very underhanded move, even for him. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he'd given her every opportunity to say yes to his request for months. Sometimes, one needed to pull a dirty little trick to get what they wanted, and despite what Sex and the City preached, Tristan could find no better way to make Rory want to move in with him than to show her exactly what she'd be getting as her reward for doing so.

Reaching down between their joined bodies, Tristan pinched her clit lightly to get her attention. When her eyes snapped back up to look at him, he repeated his last request. "Say it."

"Y-Yes." She could barely make the words out, her body was trembling with so much anticipation.

"Yes?" He asked, making sure he heard her right.

"Yes!" She screamed, throwing her head back in frustration.

He had barely restarted his thrusts when he felt her body start to quake. Tristan couldn't help but feel a little guilty for withholding that orgasm from her, though. Her answer had filled him with a feeling of euphoria he rarely ever felt, and soon, he too lost control, collapsing on top of her, sated.

"I hope you know that a verbal agreement is binding in the state of Connecticut." He smirked as he rolled off of her. "You can't back out now."

"I don't have to do anything I don't want to do." She said indignantly, sliding under the covers. "No court would hold me to that one. I was under duress."

"Yeah, but then you'd actually have to go to a court and explain the whole situation to the judge." Tristan reminded her, joining her between the sheets. "You'd have to tell them where my hands were, and where my mouth was, and how hard you came."

"You think you have this all figured out, don't you?" Rory couldn't help but grin up at him. "Well, I'm not as easy a sell as you seem to think I am, Tristan."

"Why? Do you need some more convincing?" He asked her, leering playfully.

"Like I said, I'm a hard sell." She smirked, tracing his jaw with her index finger, the resistance that had existed within her before gone. "I need a few more reasons why I should live here, with the likes of you."

"And what do you suggest?" Tristan cocked his head to the side.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she brought her lips to his ear, whispering her requests in his ear. "Think you can handle that?" He didn't speak, instead choosing to pin her against the bed, ready to do anything she wished him to. Tristan was well aware that he had already won, but he was more than willing to put in a few bonus rounds to seal the deal.

"Tristan?" She breathed, his mouth on her pulse point beginning to make her mind haze over.

"Hmmm?" He mumbled into her neck, not bothering to remove his mouth from her collarbone.

"I don't care what Mom says, you have a way nicer ass than Joey Cheek does." She giggled, unable to keep that dig to herself.

"Why, I oughta…." He narrowed his eyes, ready to retaliate. "You're damn lucky that you're moving in here, or I'd have to rethink my stance on letting Paris go on torturing you."

"Well, then I guess I am lucky." Rory sighed, really believing it. "I guess I am."