Are You Happy?
Summary: A small, simple moment in time in Rory & Dean's (third and final) relationship.
Disclaimer: I really, really don't own Gilmore Girls. But I really, really want to hug Dean Forester.
Author's Note: Uhm… this came to me when I was on a college visit and they were talking about visiting hours. shrugs
Word Count: 339
Spoilers: Generally, just the fifth season. "Tippecanoe & Taylor, Too" if you squint. And I mean really really squinting.
Rory didn't have a TV in her room at Yale. She did, however, have a thousand more books than completely necessary and a very old looking heater on the other side but, in all honesty, Dean liked it better that way. He'd rather imagine Rory shrouded in dim light, tucked in with her books, studying and reading, then staring at the TV in the front room, wide eyed and drooling absently out of the corner of her mouth.
He curled up behind her in her small bed, feeling her body respond and curl into him, hands reaching out for the arms she instinctively knew would already be coming around her sides to grasp. Dean snuggled his head into the pillow more, his breath blowing gently into her hair, making it billow around the nape of her neck and lay across her shoulders.
It was quiet, then- maybe four thirty in the afternoon- a small moment of peace to enjoy.
The blankets on her bed were rumpled and strewn haphazardly about them, pooling off the side of Dean's side of the bed, leaving Rory awkwardly half way out in the cold, her other half burning with the heat that Dean gave off. He noticed.
"C'mere," he drawled, pulling her tighter against him. She squeaked as hot fingers brushed against her cold abdomen and drew her inward, further into his heat as he sprawled off the bed and pulled the rest of the blankets from the floor, kicking them straight and wrapped them tight around them.
She sighed and pushed up closer to him, relishing in the moment and the comfort, the love. His lips brushed over her bare shoulder and he rested his cheek there, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, comfortably. "Are you happy?" He whispered, asking her a question of long past.
She cupped his forearm and ran her hand along it, squeezing once before stopping. "I'm very happy," she told him meaningfully, half asleep.
"Good," he said with finality, letting himself drift off to sleep, "me too."