Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I own Gilmore Girls. This is strictly non-profit.
Author's Notes: Things I like in no particular order: cuddles, horizontal surfaces, waking someone up by kissing them and indulging in fantasies about Luke and Lorelai's early days (and nights, obviously) as a couple. This has a little bit of all of that, mixed up in 1,500 or something words.
P.S. I'm not actually sure no man ever spent the night in Lorelai's bed before Luke but hey! Artistic liberties and whatnot. Hope you'll enjoy!
She moves her fingertips gently, light as a feather over his body. From shoulders to chest to stomach to hip bones to as far as she can reach down his legs and then up again. She traces the outlines of his well-defined muscles with her fingernail, drawing an invisible road binding biceps together with triceps and other body parts within her reach. She's following her fingers' movements with her eyes, enchanted by his presence in her bed.
This is the first time she's ever let a man sleep in her sheets and at the same time get tangled up in her home, her life, maybe even her heart. For the very first time she revels in this knowledge; she notes with a crooked smile how well he already fits. It's technically only been one night (untechnically it's been eight years, one kiss at the porch of a brand new Dragonfly Inn, seven weeks of distance and phone calls, a few more stolen kisses, a date at Sniffy's, a night in his bed and now: a second date which ended in her bedroom) but it's still a fact: he fits.
The thought doesn't scare her as much as she thought it would.
She moves her eyes from muscles and warm skin to his face, calm and secure, peaceful in his sleep. His eyelashes are dark and long, his mouth slightly open, face muscles completely relaxed. He's got faint lines around his mouth and eyes, a stubble, dark curls at the nape of his neck. Lorelai is mystified by how this has passed her by over the years, what she now understands as a concept she will most likely never grow tired of: the delicious feeling of having all of this beauty in her bed, all to herself. She's always thought of Luke as an attractive man; it's not something she longer denies. But somehow the confirmed knowledge that he wants to be with her despite having seen her at her worst has made her allow herself to embrace the width of her emotions. And attraction.
(It may also have had something to do with a waltz.)
And it feels.
Right.
Having Luke Danes in her bed is suddenly the very definition of right.
Outside, the night is still dark. Lorelai woke barely an hour after they whispered good night, all wrapped up in each other, because regardless of how right it feels to have Luke in her bed, sharing her sleeping space is not something she's yet used to. The surreal (but oh-so-wonderful) fact that she woke up to him then prevented her from any further urges of wanting to go back to sleep. The surreal (but oh-so-wonderful) fact that he was there inspired completely other activities.
Like mapping out every reachable cells of his body.
Like indulging in feelings of closeness and body heat and butterflies - something Lorelai finds a zillion more times delicious when she's awake.
Sleep is clearly overrated, anyway.
She puts her head in the palm of her hand to be able to look down on him from above and no longer from her side, studying him from another angle. She gently touches his curls, continues down towards his cheek, feels his scruff beneath her fingertips. She gets a sudden impulse to kiss him because well, hello. She can. After all this time, she has the power to kiss him any time she wants.
Any time he's in her bed.
Which he is.
Which in itself is astonishing.
Like the feeling of his lips against hers.
She bends down slightly, meeting his lips lightly, fleetingly. She looks at him, studying his still sleeping face. She touches his chest; it grows and sinks with every sleepy breath.
"Luke", she whispers when she suddenly realizes she's wasting precious time, being awake by herself. She's got a naked man in her bed, damn it. She's been waiting seven weeks (give or take a few years) for this, damn it. "Luke, wake up."
He grunts as a response, still asleep.
She shoves at him lightly, confident in her abilities to get what she desires. She kisses him again, this time with more force.
"Mmm." Luke makes a humming sound at the back of his throat.
"Wake up," Lorelai whispers, still hovering close to his face. She strokes the side of his laugh lines at his right eye with her thumb, up and down, up and down, in an attempt to pull him from his dreams. He finally blinks awake, slowly opening his eyes. Blue meets blue and Lorelai kisses him again.
A drowsy Luke mumbles against her lips. "Why do you only kiss me when I'm sleeping?" His voice is hoarse from sleep but teasing all at the same time.
"Mmm," Lorelai says. "I've recently made the discovery that it's a known and sure way to get you up." Kiss. "Never," Kiss. "Fails."
Luke responds to Lorelai's affectionate ways by moving his hands to her hair. He effectively tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, puts his elbows on either side of her head, rolls above her in a simple movement: awake, smooth, enamoured.
"Must be my irresistible ways," she teases.
"Must be," he agrees and puts his head on the pillow beside hers, his face against her ear. "Why are you still up?" he wants to know. He nibbles on her earlobe, his breath tickling, his voice raspy with sleep. "Thought I'd worn you out, before."
Lorelai sighs with pleasure, closes her eyes, drenched in emotions.
Infinitely better when we're both are awake, she thinks but doesn't say.
Luke continues his demonstrations against her skin, presses his lips against her throat. Kisses her there. Once, twice, three and four times and a few more. When he notices her lack of answer, he slows down until his mouth simply hovers above her skin. Lorelai gently entangles her from his grasp and moves so that they're both laying on their sides, turned against each other. She looks at him, he looks at her. She wonders if he understands the magnitude of this moment, of what they've got going on, of what their evolving relationship means to her.
"What?", he asks when her uncharacteristically silence puzzles him.
"I've got a man in my bed", Lorelai states.
"You do," Luke agrees without really getting it.
"I've never had a man in my bed before", she quietly admits.
"Never?" he asks.
"No," she answers. "I mean, not really." She drops her eyes from his and starts running her fingers through the patches of hair on his chest. "Does that surprise you?"
"Well, sure," he admits. "I mean…"
Her response is quick, her impulsive admission catching up to her. "You mean?"
"I just… I know there's been other guys." Even at his sleepy state, Luke is mindful to tread the subject carefully. The last thing he wants is to do something to mess this up, especially when she's here: warm, open, vulnerable, sharing.
"Mm", she agrees because she can't not. There's been other guys, alright. "Never here, sleeping through the night, though," she says. "Rory and I set up these rules, you know. No boys in the house." Pause. "You're the only one who's made the cut."
Luke wants to ask about Jason because hell, didn't she just go out with him? Didn't they ever sleep together in her very real, very empty house? He wants to ask about Christopher because surely he would've thought she let him share her bed at some point. He wants to ask a lot of things but stops himself, isn't sure he wants answers.
He's here. He made the cut. The rest shouldn't matter. Right?
He decides on another question entirely. "What's different this time?" he wants to know.
She locks her gaze with his, strengthened by his gentle look, brave in the dark of the night that is covering them both. "Luke", she says. Softly. "Everything's different this time."
They both feel the weight of this moment; feel the shift in their relationship while it's happening.
It's Lorelai who breaks the silence with a smile, almost blinding. Happiness encircles her, she can feel it in his touch.
"Thanks for a pretty great second date", she says and he answers by moving his fingertips gently, light as a feather against her skin, against her face. From forehead to cheek to mouth to chin and then up again.
His fingers finally lands on her lips; they are soon replaced with his mouth.