A/N: Huge thanks to sosmitten for the beta!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of anything associated with 'Gilmore Girls'.
Summary: Takes place after "Afterboom" at the end of season 4. An alternate way of Luke and Lorelai getting together.
It had been a long time since she'd done this—just sat still on the swing on her front porch, pondering her life as the evening sun set below the clouds and the vibrant colors of the sky faded out to the yellow of her shining porchlight. It had been an eternity since she had wondered, truly wondered if she were doing the right things in life as far as relationships were concerned. But when she had looked at Luke tonight, something clicked. She could see things in the far off corners of her mind that she thought she had forgotten. It was like a whoosh—a blustery rush of sounds and lights and emotions that overwhelmed her, and made her stutter. It filled her with a thrill she hadn't felt in a long time, but also filled her with a fear. Fear that she was doing the wrong thing with her life, always getting close to the Jasons and the Maxs and the Christophers. While all along, the truth is, and always has been, that there's always been that special bond between Luke and Lorelai, that undeniable spark, and that if she didn't do something about it soon, then she might lose her chance. This fear had risen up into her throat, choking off her voice, and she was barely able to squeak out the "see you tomorrow" as she had turned and almost stumbled out the diner door.
Now here she is, sitting and pondering, swinging slightly now, porch swing squeaking with each pass. So deep in thought that she doesn't hear the footfalls on the wooden porch steps until a deep, tentative voice is hovering over her, saying her name. A voice that she is so familiar with; that she hears every day as he stands behind the counter serving her coffee, and pie, and burgers. The voice that makes the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up when it takes on the soft, soothing tone on those late nights in the diner after Friday Night Dinners, or when she just needs someone to talk to. And she realizes that the gentleness with which he regards her name is the same gentleness with which he regards her.
She looks up nervously, blue eyes meeting blue eyes, and it's back again—that rush of realization, and Lorelai can't help the small, audible gasp that escapes her mouth. Looking at his concerned face, she hopes he hasn't heard the short rush of air that left her, the quiet exclamation of things bubbling beneath the surface of her mind and skin. Before she can find her voice, or flash a fake "everything's fine" smile, he's sitting next to her, his body heat radiating into her as the left side of his body slightly comes into sweet contact with the right side of her body, and suddenly, she can't think. She hears him asking her if she's alright—that he was concerned at the way she nearly tripped over her own feet as she hurried out of his diner, but it sounds far away, and crackly, with a strange sort of echo, like a bad microphone standing too close to a speaker. She can't quite comprehend what he's saying to her with him sitting so close to her, his heat so tangible between them, and she wishes that he'd leave and let her think. Let her roll over her thoughts in her mind until she's figured it all out. Yet, she desperately wants him to stay, to never take away his warmth and gentleness from her side. She wants to create a blanket out of this feeling he's providing, to curl up in at night and go to sleep with it.
And apparently, it's been much too long since he'd asked his question and gotten no answer, because he's shifted so that he's angled towards her now, his left hand resting on her shoulder, his thumb softly stroking her neck just below her ear, as if he knows that's one of the most sensitive places on her body. Goosebumps pop up all over her skin as he moves his thumb slowly back and forth. With a shaky voice, trying to speak up over the swarming butterflies in her belly, she tells him she's fine, and attempts to sound calm. Tries to tear her gaze away from his until she realizes that it's futile. She cannot shy her eyes away from the gentleness, concern, and even love that she sees in his eyes, and she does the only thing that she can think of to do to ease the tension in her throat and in her stomach, and to hide the wetness of her eyes—she leans forward and places her lips over his, relishes in the softness she finds there, and waits for a sign from him. Hopes to feel a movement of his mouth to prove that she hasn't made a mistake-- that everything she had seen in his eyes was directed at her.
And then she senses it—a slight tremor in his lips. She feels them slowly press a little more firmly against hers before parting slightly, and capturing hers in his own. Her skin comes alive as his left hand slides from the side of her neck to the back, his fingers creating tiny electrical sparks as they caress the little downy hairs at her hairline.
The yellow of the porchlight, and the blue of the moonlit sky are fading fast for Lorelai as their lips dance delicately across each other's, soft whimpers escaping her throat as the pressure slowly increases. She can't stop now. Can't stop kissing him, as his lips and his fingers and the sweet way he is holding her has weaved a web so strong, that she can't get out, nor does she want to. His kisses have spoken to her and told her that this is what she needed all along; they've told her what the porch swing, and the yellow light, and the sunset, and running away from his diner couldn't. They told her that all of the moments they've shared over the past few months, the almosts, and the gazes that lasted a beat too long, and the jealousies about each others' love lives all led up to this. She realizes that her breakup with Jason wasn't just about her parents. It was also about that little voice in the back of her mind telling her that Luke is divorced now, and available again, and that this is her chance. Her kisses became more fervent, more desperate at this realization, needing to show him how she feels without using words.
Suddenly, his lips are gone, replaced by his thumb and a sense of panic sharp in her gut, and opening her eyes, she sees his eyes looking back into her own, regarding her, seeming to ask her if she meant to do that; if she meant to kiss him. His thumb is lightly stroking her bottom lip as if trying to prove to himself that it is real—that she is real and not some hologram created by his mind. And in the yellow glow of the porchlight, her panic fades to calm elation, growing with her smile as she can see that he's wanted this as much as she just realized that she does, and that it is only the beginning of something truly real and at the same time, truly magical.