Author's Note: Thanks again to Moosie MC, SaltyDog and apfelstrudel for taking ganders at this.

Disclaimer: Amy owns 'em, but she doesn't deserve 'em.

Warning: Smut ahead. Don't read it you don't like this kind of stuff.

~*Lucky by outtabreath*~

~Morning~

"They're green."

"They're festive."

"They have shamrocks on them."

"They're four-leaf clovers. For luck."

"I don't need luck."

I would kiss him for that if I weren't trying to win this argument. "They match mine," I persist.

"I noticed," he growls, "shamrocks look good on you." He moves quickly and begins to stroke and caress my new bra and panties.

I gasp his name and thrust my body forward into his hands, then come to my senses and twist away from the magic Luke-fingers. "Four-leaf clovers," I correct, backing away from him. "We can't do this. I've got to get to the inn."

"The inn can wait," he says, his voice low and husky and, damn it all, he's making me lose my focus: boxers, work, Lorelai. Boxers. Work.

"Hey Mr. I Asked Cesar To Open This Morning and Am Now a Lay-about, not everyone can stay in bed and have sex all morning."

"I don't want everyone to have sex all morning," he says, advancing on me again, "just you and me."

If he was wearing any clothes at all, I could've resisted him. If he were wearing a towel or boxers or skin-tight jeans, I would've been at the Dragonfly on schedule.

However, as he is clad only in all that glorious, golden Luke-skin, I am stripped of my new bra and panties and under him within seconds. He is kissing me and running his fingers down my torso; not to be outdone, I am kissing him right back and my hands are copping feel after feel of his arms and back.

This is wonderful and glorious and taking a little too much time, so I up the ante by arching up and capturing my fifth favorite part of Luke (the spot where his earlobe meets his neck) between my lips. His arms start to shake and he starts panting. I suck the sensitive skin further into my mouth and begin to alternate biting gently and licking; he's moaning and pushing my head into him (this is his third favorite place for me to play with) like he's worried I'll stop.

He's moaning my name and I swear I could make him come just by doing this. One day I'll find out for sure, but not today because all of his moaning and all of his skin has me wet and ready and I want him inside me. Now.

I roll over, pushing him with me, not letting go of his neck, and start to move my hips over him. I'm ready, he's ready — but friction is kind of fun and he's still gasping and I really don't want to let go of his neck and I'll have to in order to….

Unless he just takes over and surges up into me on his own.

"Don't stop," he moans, surging upwards with his hips and downwards with his fingers. He's tracing wide circles at the apex of my thighs and I'm meeting him stroke for stroke, keeping up with his punishing pace, recreating the sensation between my legs with my tongue on his neck. He narrows his circles around my clit, pressing harder and we're suddenly climaxing together. He's screaming my name and I finally release his skin to scream his.

I fall into a boneless heap beside him and let the shaking subside and the ringing in my ears fade. When the power of sight returns, I notice the angry red of the area right below his earlobe; I know it's going to bruise and, while I'm happy his unruly hair will cover the worst of it up, I still feel guilty. I kiss it gently and he sighs happily. I don't think he realizes that he's going to have a huge hickey on his neck, or maybe he just doesn't care.

"That's going to bruise," I murmur.

"I don't care."

So, it'd be option two after all. He's starting to pull me closer and I know I need to get out of this bed now or I'll never be able to do it. I smile against his skin, than jump up. He lets out a throaty little cry of disappointment and I bolt to the bathroom.

He's still splayed out in my bed when I get back and he looks so warm and cuddly that it takes every little bit of my incredible willpower to not climb right back in with him. He watches me get dressed, a satiated little smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

When I'm finally ready, I put the boxer shorts carefully by his feet, kiss him, tell him I love him and say, "Just give in and wear 'em Luke. A little holiday spirit won't kill you."

Then I am running down my stairs and out my front door, off to the inn, way too late for a Thursday.