Title: "Love In The Time of Cauliflower"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "Gilmore Girls"
Rating/Classification: 'R', L/D, humor, adult situations, language.
Disclaimer: Amy Sherman Palladino owns some version of these characters that bear no resemblance to the ones depicted here. Hee.
Summary: I was only JOKING about writing this fic. And, somehow, it came to fruition. I blame Connecticut Junkie and Saff. You're evil, evil, people. This borders on badfic.
He needs to tell Taylor that the few heads of cauliflower left over from last week's shipment are starting to develop a strange fuzzy texture and that they won't sell. But, somehow, that's the last thing on his mind as he crashes against the freezer doors that host a small collection of Jeno's pizza rolls and Jose Ole products and finds himself caught between a Lorelai and a hard, cold, place.
"We...have...to...stop...doing...this..." he says against her mouth just because it's what he says every time. They both know he doesn't mean it. That he has no intention of stopping.
"Then YOU need to take away my key," she whispers back, coyly, tugging his t-shirt out of his cords. "You're such a bad employee. You should be docked. Like a boat."
He laughs, raggedly, hands sliding underneath her faded Duran Duran t-shirt and coming into victorious contact with bare Lorelai boobs. "And where do you suggest I dock, huh?"
"Ahoy, Matey," she chirps and he has no idea how she's limber enough to have gotten out of her jeans without him noticing but within seconds, he really doesn't care about anything except inappropriate sex with his ex-girlfriend's mother in a grocery after hours.
They've been doing this for almost a year. Maybe longer. He can't remember, but the first time may have been in the car he built for Rory. In the back seat. Or maybe he just thinks that because Lorelai was purring "Vroom, vroom, Tiger!" in his ear while she propelled him inside her with a forceful hand on his ass. He called her "Mrs. Robinson" and she cheekily reminded him that her last name was "Gilmore" and that he wasn't to go pounding on church windows shouting "Elaine! Elaaaaaine!" any time soon.
The only thing he pounded on...er, IN...was her...and the only thing he shouted was "Holy motherfucker!"
Lorelai says she likes him because he's so gosh-darned literal.
He likes her because she's really, really, good in the sack. Not that they've ever done it in a sack. But he wouldn't put it past her to suggest it. And also because she's funny, has good taste in movies, and she doesn't run off with smart-mouthed punks when he tells her he loves her and that he'll never hurt her. She just pats him on the head and asks for double bagging on her Edy's Thin Mint ice cream. It's like code. She likes secret codes. So, he puts an extra box of condoms aside knowing she'll show up like this on the nights he's closing...
She asked him, last week, if he could get her water bill from This-Week-He's-A-Mailman Kirk and it was patently obvious to him, as she walked away and he pretended not to stare at her butt, that what she really meant was, "Grab some lube, too."
Taylor has not noticed that the accounts for Durex and Astroglide keep coming up short. Or if he HAS noticed, he's not saying a word. Maybe he thinks Kirk is shoplifting the difference and, Lord knows, NOBODY wants to think about Kirk's sex life. In fact, the words "sex life" and "Kirk" should never be uttered in the same sentence.
"Hey...Sailor...do you need some Viagra or what? I'm dying here." Lorelai nudges him with her entire body, jerking him out of the amazingly unerotic place and back to the amazingly fucktastic one.
"Kirk," he says, by way of explanation, shuddering as he whips her around so now it's HER bare back pressed to the steamed-up freezer doors.
She tangles her fingers in his hair...which she refuses to let him cut because she says it makes him look like Leif Garrett. And he has no idea what Vikings have to do with his personal hygiene, but he humors her. "Dean...if you're thinking about Kirk," she murmurs, "We have to seriously rethink our illicit 'Red Shoe Diaries' encounters."
"No rethinking..." he assures, as her legs tighten around his hips. "Uh uh. It's just you and me in here. No Kirk. I promise."
"Kirk's not your type? He gets no luuuuuv? Shame on you." She clicks her tongue before she kisses him hard and shoots off into orgasm-land. "How about Jess? Wanna invite him along?" she purrs against his neck as her body goes deliciously limp against him. "I bet Jess has lots and lots of stamina. Like a bull. Although I have no idea who figured out that bulls are good in the sack. Say, Dean...would you consider doing it in a sack...?"
And, damn her, she knows there are two things that trigger him into coming right after her. One is a finger in his...ahem...but the other...? The other is any mention of the ubiquitous smart-mouthed little punk that started this whole thing in the first place.
"Lorelai...Jesus fuck, Lorelai...you're...you're insane...oh God."
She tested the theory once. Kirk makes him shrivel, Jess makes him hard. Kirk makes him shrivel, Jess makes him hard. "Thank you for donating your body to science!" Yeah, and he's, clearly, donated his sanity to Lorelai since she seems to be in short supply these days.
"We...really...have to...stop... doing this," she tells him as he steadies them both against the freezers with one arm and cradles her with the other. Her eyes are bright, bright, post-coital blue and so very false-sincere.
"Mmmhmmm....sure...this is the last time."
Of course, stopping is the last thing on his mind.
Well, next to the cauliflower fuzz.
--end--
February 26, 2003.
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "Gilmore Girls"
Rating/Classification: 'R', L/D, humor, adult situations, language.
Disclaimer: Amy Sherman Palladino owns some version of these characters that bear no resemblance to the ones depicted here. Hee.
Summary: I was only JOKING about writing this fic. And, somehow, it came to fruition. I blame Connecticut Junkie and Saff. You're evil, evil, people. This borders on badfic.
He needs to tell Taylor that the few heads of cauliflower left over from last week's shipment are starting to develop a strange fuzzy texture and that they won't sell. But, somehow, that's the last thing on his mind as he crashes against the freezer doors that host a small collection of Jeno's pizza rolls and Jose Ole products and finds himself caught between a Lorelai and a hard, cold, place.
"We...have...to...stop...doing...this..." he says against her mouth just because it's what he says every time. They both know he doesn't mean it. That he has no intention of stopping.
"Then YOU need to take away my key," she whispers back, coyly, tugging his t-shirt out of his cords. "You're such a bad employee. You should be docked. Like a boat."
He laughs, raggedly, hands sliding underneath her faded Duran Duran t-shirt and coming into victorious contact with bare Lorelai boobs. "And where do you suggest I dock, huh?"
"Ahoy, Matey," she chirps and he has no idea how she's limber enough to have gotten out of her jeans without him noticing but within seconds, he really doesn't care about anything except inappropriate sex with his ex-girlfriend's mother in a grocery after hours.
They've been doing this for almost a year. Maybe longer. He can't remember, but the first time may have been in the car he built for Rory. In the back seat. Or maybe he just thinks that because Lorelai was purring "Vroom, vroom, Tiger!" in his ear while she propelled him inside her with a forceful hand on his ass. He called her "Mrs. Robinson" and she cheekily reminded him that her last name was "Gilmore" and that he wasn't to go pounding on church windows shouting "Elaine! Elaaaaaine!" any time soon.
The only thing he pounded on...er, IN...was her...and the only thing he shouted was "Holy motherfucker!"
Lorelai says she likes him because he's so gosh-darned literal.
He likes her because she's really, really, good in the sack. Not that they've ever done it in a sack. But he wouldn't put it past her to suggest it. And also because she's funny, has good taste in movies, and she doesn't run off with smart-mouthed punks when he tells her he loves her and that he'll never hurt her. She just pats him on the head and asks for double bagging on her Edy's Thin Mint ice cream. It's like code. She likes secret codes. So, he puts an extra box of condoms aside knowing she'll show up like this on the nights he's closing...
She asked him, last week, if he could get her water bill from This-Week-He's-A-Mailman Kirk and it was patently obvious to him, as she walked away and he pretended not to stare at her butt, that what she really meant was, "Grab some lube, too."
Taylor has not noticed that the accounts for Durex and Astroglide keep coming up short. Or if he HAS noticed, he's not saying a word. Maybe he thinks Kirk is shoplifting the difference and, Lord knows, NOBODY wants to think about Kirk's sex life. In fact, the words "sex life" and "Kirk" should never be uttered in the same sentence.
"Hey...Sailor...do you need some Viagra or what? I'm dying here." Lorelai nudges him with her entire body, jerking him out of the amazingly unerotic place and back to the amazingly fucktastic one.
"Kirk," he says, by way of explanation, shuddering as he whips her around so now it's HER bare back pressed to the steamed-up freezer doors.
She tangles her fingers in his hair...which she refuses to let him cut because she says it makes him look like Leif Garrett. And he has no idea what Vikings have to do with his personal hygiene, but he humors her. "Dean...if you're thinking about Kirk," she murmurs, "We have to seriously rethink our illicit 'Red Shoe Diaries' encounters."
"No rethinking..." he assures, as her legs tighten around his hips. "Uh uh. It's just you and me in here. No Kirk. I promise."
"Kirk's not your type? He gets no luuuuuv? Shame on you." She clicks her tongue before she kisses him hard and shoots off into orgasm-land. "How about Jess? Wanna invite him along?" she purrs against his neck as her body goes deliciously limp against him. "I bet Jess has lots and lots of stamina. Like a bull. Although I have no idea who figured out that bulls are good in the sack. Say, Dean...would you consider doing it in a sack...?"
And, damn her, she knows there are two things that trigger him into coming right after her. One is a finger in his...ahem...but the other...? The other is any mention of the ubiquitous smart-mouthed little punk that started this whole thing in the first place.
"Lorelai...Jesus fuck, Lorelai...you're...you're insane...oh God."
She tested the theory once. Kirk makes him shrivel, Jess makes him hard. Kirk makes him shrivel, Jess makes him hard. "Thank you for donating your body to science!" Yeah, and he's, clearly, donated his sanity to Lorelai since she seems to be in short supply these days.
"We...really...have to...stop... doing this," she tells him as he steadies them both against the freezers with one arm and cradles her with the other. Her eyes are bright, bright, post-coital blue and so very false-sincere.
"Mmmhmmm....sure...this is the last time."
Of course, stopping is the last thing on his mind.
Well, next to the cauliflower fuzz.
--end--
February 26, 2003.