Façade
By: aspdstra
A/N: Well it's been some odd years, hasn't it? I've changed gears as far as fandoms and ships are concerned multiple times but I've always loved GG and I probably always will. And don't worry - my heart still belongs to Trory. This is mostly a fanciful experiment in...fancifulness. Basically Tristan could be paired with a tree and we'd all still love it.
So I started this fic eons ago, it seems, basically on a whim. I had a vision for a hot O/Y pairing that involved Lorelai and someone else, and frankly, neither Dean nor Jess were tickling my fancy, so I went with the obvious alternative. Praise be to the Gilmore Girls DVD sets, otherwise I might never have refound my muse for this storyline.
Couple things: Lorelai has never met Chris, never had Rory, never left her parents' pristine and sheltered existence, and has since married one of Richard's business associates (Jason, but not Digger). Tristan is also on a different path. Hopefully, any confusion will be dealt with as the story progresses.
In the mean time, please do R&R - feedback is a precious commodity, and I live for it. Among other things. Okay rant over.
CHAPTER I: The Glorious Unknown
Did people ever think to practice dancing in front of a mirror before they actually came out in public? Wallflowering in some anonymous corner of a club, Lorelai Gilmore pondered the concept of why it was legal for these misguided socialite-wannabes to move like they were moving. It was like watching a dog jump around on its hind legs – somewhat entertaining but irrevocably wrong.
She needed a drink.
Oh look, a bar. Bars had drinks. And apparently really hot bartenders too.
She connected eyes with the unknown blond who appeared to be busy with quite a few alcoholics at the moment, and she made her way over to the counter, enjoying the smirks she'd receive every time he'd look back at her. It seemed he knew how to dress as well, wearing a simple black, long sleeve shirt with the sleeves scrunched up and what she assumed were matching dark slacks. Nothing fancy, but still reeking of sex just a bit.
Once she was close enough to see what he was doing, she had to admit that she was really impressed – he was something of a fucking magician with his hands, spinning bottles and glasses and filling things then sending the happy little sauceboxes on their way. It was like watching manual Cirque du Soleil, only he didn't have on any spandex or body paint with special glittery patterns and accents.
"Bartender, get me the most priceless, artificial-colorless, proofless, replenishing and healthy beverage you have in that little store area of yours and I will be one satisfied customer."
All the hottie's attention focused on her, he reached into some sublevel crevice and pulled out a water bottle, doing that fancy little twirling thing she'd become so fond of before placing the bottle on the counter for her viewing pleasure.
"Really? That's it? No cranberry juice or anything like that?"
"Too much sugar."
"Not if you get the right kind, who taught you to shop?"
The smirk widened. "Cranberry juice isn't that good anyway – too bitter. It's better when you mix it with stuff."
She eyed him skeptically. "As if you could actually serve me a mixed drink to begin with…"
He feigned offense. "Meaning?"
"I have no doubt you lied on your application."
"Lied about..."
"Your age."
"How old do you think I am?"
"You're asking me to be honest?"
"Ouch."
"No no, I mean most people appreciate being told they look younger than they are, young is in, it's hip, it drives the world in which we live."
"I'm pretty sure that's strictly a female thing."
She hitched her eyebrow with intrigue. "Well how old are you?"
"Over 21."
"Look at that, he bartends as well as he lies."
Oh…so his smile was even hotter than his smirk. She made a careful mental note of it.
"You sure make a lot of assumptions for having met me like forty seconds ago."
"It's better to get them over with in the beginning anyway. People have less time to refute and make excuses," she reasoned.
"So it's like a defense mechanism…"
"I prefer the term 'strategic deductive skill' – it sounds a lot more glamorous."
He'd kept up his routine of smirk-twirl-and-serve while they were talking, which might've been even more impressive than the smirk-twirl-and-serve itself. "I'll keep that in mind."
"You do that and I might even let you make me a Cosmopolitan," she bargained.
"Well I might just have to join you," he invited himself, preparing their drinks, then turning to the guy serving next to him and adding, "Matt, cover for me, will you," before coming out from behind the bar and joining her on a stool.
Lorelai took the glass, wide-eyed. "Ooooo, I'm telling your boss on you, taking unauthorized breaks to fraternize with the natives…and to think I was going to tip you so generously…"
He sipped and managed a throaty laugh. "Actually, you just told my boss on me."
She pointed at him, then around the club, then back at him again. All she got in return was a nod.
"No…"
"Is this the part where you tell me I don't look old enough to own and run my own bar successfully?"
"Well you're a quick thinker, I'll give you that much."
"Credit's gotta start somewhere. So I take it you've been here before then…"
"A few times. But I usually have the ball and chain with me, so I don't notice much."
She almost felt bad for deriving some sort of perverse pleasure from seeing disappointment flit across his face at the mention of her spouse.
"I was about to ask you why you were here alone."
"Ugh, I'm so glad you didn't. It's one of the worst picking-up techniques in the history of picking-up techniques – right up there with 'Is that a mirror in your pocket? 'Cause I can see myself in your pants.'"
"Wow, people have actually used that stuff on you?"
"More times then I like to count, unfortunately."
"Sad. So what's the damage," he asked, hinting at the jewelry on her ring finger. She held out her hand for him to take, and he held it delicately, sizing up the girth. "Good God…are you sure this isn't the ball-and-chain you were talking about? I'm surprised you can lift your arm by yourself."
"It's the Pilates – and I have a great personal trainer."
He looked up at her through his eyelashes, grinning, and returned her hand. "There a reason he's not here?"
"My trainer?"
"Your husband."
"Oh him…he's on a business trip with my father. They're great chums, those two – golf together at least 85,000 times a week," she recounted drolly.
"85? Wow. So he's one of those."
She finished off the last of her drink. "Boring, privileged white males with reproachable taste in hobbies? Why yes, as a matter of fact, he is, how did you know?"
"Well that's not what I was going to say…and I'm a privileged white male."
"Yes, but you run a popular club that plays decent music. Now there's a hobby I'd support. And anyone who can twirl and pour from a bottle of merlot with one hand while shaking a martini with the other is light years from boring."
There went that smirk again. He must've had really strong face muscles to keep it up for so long and not be out of breath. "I didn't realize you noticed…"
"The transcendent perceptive skills come with age, Young Skywalker."
He chuckled in amusement. "Star Wars fan?"
"Not really. I just appreciate some of the character names and references…but the script is downright incriminating. I know it was the '70s, but let's be real, George…"
"You're a handful."
"That's what my cellmates tell me."
They fell into a comfortable silence – she stared while he stared and sipped and stared some more and sipped some more until there was nothing more to sip, then there was just more staring.
She smirked preemptively. "You gonna tell me how beautiful you think my eyes look in this lighting?"
He mirrored her smirk and managed to look hotter doing it. "How smarmy do you think I am?"
"How big's your trust fund?"
He could tell by the way her eyes flitted over his frame and stopped to linger in certain areas that she wasn't talking about his banking situation, but he didn't let on. "Which one?"
"You have more than one?"
"Are we going to keep talking using questions?"
"So you can handle more than one trust fund but not more than one round of question talking, hm…you're easier to read than I thought."
She just didn't quit, did she? "What's your name?"
"Uh-uh, no more questions for you, mister, your question reserve is empty, just like my glass here, *cough*refill*cough*…"
Taking her glass, he made his way back behind the bar and laughed lightly to himself. "Is that your 'strategic' way of saying you won't tell me?"
"Nothing gets past you, Colombo."
"That's alright…there is something oddly glorious about the unknown, don't you agree?"
"Okay, when I said one round of question talking, I meant lightning round, so we can definitely be done now."
Behold, the magnificent smirk-twirl-and-serve, back after its long and painful hiatus. "Whatever you say…" He handed her the refill and returned to his spot, this time leaning against the counter with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
She eyed him carefully, all her attention on how he was licking his lips at that moment. "He concedes. How old did you say you were again?"
"I didn't. I merely eluded to the fact that I was over 21. Very similar tactic to how you refuse to tell me your name."
"Don't sound so embittered, I might think it would actually matter if I did or not."
"And it doesn't…"
"What?"
"Matter."
"You going to tell me yours?"
Ah. By the grin on his face, she could tell she'd stopped him in his tracks.
"I wasn't planning on it, no."
"Well then…now that we've dealt with the conversation part, I say we get right to the kissing."
He didn't expect to be caught off guard by that statement, but judging by how he was choking on his current sip, it seemed he was. "Kissing…"
"Mhm, yeah, you know where two people take their lips and then p –"
"Who said anything about kissing?"
"I did - a few seconds ago, and then you just said it, so that means we both said something about kissing."
"You're married."
She brought out the eyebrow face again. "You don't want to kiss me?"
"Well I don't think that's the point."
"Oh but it is. In fact, it's the pointiest point that ever pointed. If you really didn't want to then you wouldn't be making such a big deal about how it's not the point, which is in fact my point so - your point doesn't count anymore."
"If I just smile and nod, would you be offended?"
"I know what this is…"
"This."
"Indeed, I know what it is."
"It."
"This."
"Oh right this - so you know what it is."
"Mhm, didn't I say that?"
"Of course you did."
"I know I did…anyway, like I was saying, I know what this is."
"You do."
"Yes. You, good sir," she accused, emphasizing the 'you' with a poke from her index finger, "have been discovered, unmasked. I saw through your inner plot and secret intentions, and I cracked the code. You were planning to kiss me all along, but I beat you to it, I called you out. Now you're trying to utilize the easiest method you can to wit-and-banter your way around it, I thought I was the only one who did that…"
He stood there, unsure of what to do or say next. No one had ever seen through him that effectively before, and especially not that quickly. Truth be told, it was probably even more of a turn-on than the fact that she could actually keep up with his high-speed cleverness, if not completely out-do him, and never miss a beat.
Well, when in doubt, always smirk. "You don't belong here, do you?"
"Hm. Depends what you mean."
"Here…with all these people…you're nothing like them."
"I assume that's a good thing."
"Well you actually have a personality and a brain so…it follows that you couldn't be made from the same mold."
"Ah yes, the mold. The creator did break it when he brought me into existence. I'm guessing he got it repaired since people continue to be born."
"Probably. So…"
"So…"
He stared, she stared back. He smirked, she smirked back. Suddenly the phrase 'you've met your match' didn't seem to accurately convey what had happened to him.
"Still waiting for that kissing thing, huh?"
"He's a sharp one, said the two-edged sword."
"Well you're just a barrel of laughs."
"You should see me when I've had more to drink."
Chuckling, he inched closer. "You know, this would be easier if you actually stopped talking."
"What, so you can serve twenty people twenty different drinks and carry on with me at the same time, but you can't talk and kiss? The word 'paradox' seems to come to mind for some reas–"
Thankfully, she didn't have a chance to finish her rant, as his mouth had claimed hers, his left hand placed lightly on her cheek. It was more of an experimental joining of lips than a kiss, since he'd pulled back a few centimeters and waited for her to initiate something – anything. Her eyes closed, she felt herself leaning in until she was kissing him again, adding a slight amount of pressure. Both of them moaned softly as they'd both decided for their tongues to mingle together at the same time, and Lorelai knew at that moment that kissing him had been worth all the tiring banter that led up it.
It was, of course, with a regretful frame of mind that either of them stopped the kissing, but sadly, human beings require oxygen to live, so they both separated reluctantly, making no move out of each other's personal space.
Drawing her lower lip thoughtfully between her teeth, she couldn't help the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was obviously best to wait for the air to work its way through her system before she chanced any sort of dialogue. "Wow..."
The smirk. It needs no introduction. "Yeah..."
Her grin broke into a full-fledged smile as her fingers worked nimbly at the hem of his shirt. "That was nice."
"It was nice."
"I mean really nice."
"It was really nice."
"I mean really really nice."
His smirk took on an amused tone for the umpteenth time that evening. "It was really really nice."
"So you agree?"
"Didn't I say I did?"
"Just a little...barside humor."
"Ah so that's what it looks like. Mental note for next time."
"I thought I made it painfully obvious with my repeated usage of the words 'really' and 'nice'..."
"Well, for all I know, you could have some sort of unhealthy attachment to those words that I might or might not want to get in the middle of."
"Okay, maybe you can help me out with the adjectives here, my mind's still kind of trapped in the recovering stage."
"Right. So you thought it was nice."
She smiled again. "Yes I did."
He looked down and noticed her somewhat fidgety activity involving his shirt hem and returned her smile fondly, his fingertips occasionally brushing against hers in a languid caress. "Any other thoughts you want to add to that?"
"See the mind, it's still trapped...in the...thing-"
"Thoughts without adjectives in them, naturally."
"Um, I think I might need another...sample just to make...sure...th-"
She trailed off when their mouths finally met again, a slow mingling of lips, tongue and something else unnameable. It wasn't until she realized that they called it a sample for a reason, and she ended the kiss with just as much reluctance as before. "Yep...yep you still do that...really well."
Him and his smirk got reacquainted. "The feeling's mutual."
Lorelai paused briefly, assessing the weight of the request she was about to make. The look in his eyes pretty much made her decision for her. "...Think your boss might give you a break any time soon?"
"He might. He's kind of a task master, but I think under all that bristling exterior he's just a big old softie."
"I'm pretty good at begging. Oh and bribery, if it comes to that. Sordid past best left forgotten, that type of thing."
His smirk widened, and he led them away from the bar. "Both very intriguing options, remind me to capitalize later on."
"Well that would be bad tact, but...it's possible something could be arranged." As they walked through the crowd then up some very exclusive looking stairs, their locale began to change and Lorelai became quite curious. "Where're we going?"
"Boss's break room. He's off tonight so I think we might be able to score some privacy."
"Okay see...the thing with us pretending the boss isn't you might only have a gnat's lifespan, so why don't we consider saving up on some material for right now and then come back to it once we miss it enough that we figure out something meaningless to ultimately warrant its return?"
He tossed another smirk over his shoulder and brought them the rest of the way up the stairs then through a door marked 'PRIVATE' before shutting it behind them. "You started it."
"While that may be true, I'm only talking temporary retirement here. Twenty, thirty minutes. Tops."
"Consider the bantering topic shelved. We moving on?"
It was now her turn to smirk again, and she nodded shortly. "Yes, we are moving on."
"Good." He placed his hands around her waist and closed the minimal gap between them, reinitiating the kiss while she took the liberty of resting her arms on his shoulders, her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. Once they started moving, she idly caught notice of an object positioned on the other side of the room and took a brief intermission from the kissing so she could use her mouth to talk.
"What's that?"
He looked over to see what she was referring to then looked back at her. "It's a bed."
"A bed."
"Yes."
"In your office."
"Well...it's actually a lounge area/break room, but-"
"And you need a bed for..."
"Sleeping."
"You sleep here?"
"Sometimes. Long work days, late nights...it happens."
"Don't you have an apartment or a place to live?"
"I do."
"And you didn't plan to use it as maybe somewhere to sleep when you made the purchase. So what does it do, self-clean and throw cocktail parties?"
"Why are we talking right now?"
"Mm good question. We could be sleeping in your weird office bed, I never thought of that. Great idea, though."
Figuring the best way to get her to shut up would be to kiss her again, he did just that. Thankfully it worked. "Have I told you you're a handful?"
Lorelai smirked, rather pleased with herself, and she went to work on the button of his slacks while moving them back toward the bed of much discussion. "Not in the last five minutes."
"You're a handful."
She gasped in an intentionally girly manner. "I bet you say that to all the girls. Then you bring them back to your office with whimsical sleep promises since your place of residence is just not good enough for that type of thing and you wouldn't want to lead them astray into a sleepless existence without a primed opportunity to use the weird office bed on the first date...so considerate."
"I do what I can," he said, though his tone lacked an air of humility.
As Lorelai shoved him into a seated position on the edge of the bed, he made a mental note that it was best to just let her continue on in her rants and go along for the ride rather than make sense of her quirky yet albeit intriguing thought patterns.
"I sure hope so. I'll be sure and give you a rating later on. That way you can assess whether the weird office bed might be better suited for more homely uses. Like Scrabble and Monopoly...maybe some card games. A little Backgammon..."
He groaned involuntarily when she straddled his lap. "Is this something we could possibly discuss later?"
Lorelai made a thinking face before conceding. "I think a postponing can be arranged." Not much talking in the form of coherent conversation occurred after that.