A/N: This story is dedicated to my great friend ILoveLukey. She won me in the second Support Stacie Auction – again, making my payment extremely overdue, but good things come to those who wait. Now, originally, this was going to be a holiday-themed story, but it has taken on many shapes and forms since then, and Lukey was kind enough to give me a lot of creative breathing room. Just a heads up: this isn't my traditional happy, quirky, Stars Hollow-y kind of story. I figured I'd push my boundaries a bit and try some angst. If you need a hug after reading, I'd be glad to oblige. Also, this story most definitely falls under the category of immoral, so if you're not a fan, now would be the time to stop reading. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy!

Mags, I shower you with my eternal kisses of gratitude for your invaluable comments and suggestions. Story time starts now…

She never would have known that those nine simple words would change everything.

"I was wondering if we could have dinner tonight."

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Lorelai slumped into the desk chair and sighed, defeated, as she listened to Rory's voice on the answering machine. She hated missing her daughter, and hated even more that their relationship had become so reliant on phone calls – on missed phone calls. She removed her coat, hanging it over the back of the chair, and picked up the receiver, swallowing the lump in her throat as she debated dialing the familiar number. Her eyes closed and she waited for the feeling to pass. The thought of having to leave another message on Rory's voicemail was enough to make her stomach churn. She returned the receiver to its cradle and leaned back, her eyes still closed, her mind wishing the world away.

Then she heard the sound of his feet scuffling across the floor.

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She told him that she'd thought about marriage, about being married. And it wasn't an infrequent thought, as she had let on. When she listed all the things she desired in a partner – someone to pick up the slack; wait for the cable guy; make her coffee in the morning – she didn't disclose the fact that a vision of Luke instantly sprung to mind.

And when he draped his arm around her shoulder as they sat huddled together on the park bench, and his warm breath on her neck sent a chill through her tense, stress-riddled body, she cried. Over money, over pride, and over the man that got away.

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"I made you some coffee," Luke said quietly as he appeared in front of her with a mug of his finest remedy.

She stood up, meeting him halfway as she graciously accepted his offering with a smile. "Thank you." Her fingers gripped the smooth porcelain. "Hot," she said dully.

"Yeah, hot coffee."

Lorelai nodded. "Let's, uh…" she trailed off, nodding to the living room. She transferred her mug to her left hand, and gripped Luke's leather sleeve in her right, leading him to the couch. "You can take your jacket off," she told him as she dropped onto the middle cushion. Luke appeared to hesitate at the invitation and Lorelai rolled her eyes. "You don't have to hang it up. Just… put it on the coffee table. Then it'll be right close by when you're ready to split. I figure one more crying session should send you over the edge."

"Lorelai," Luke protested.

"It's okay, just a little breakdown humour." She patted the cushion next to her.

Luke sighed, stripping off his jacket and laying it flat on the coffee table. He sat next to her on the couch, turning his body to face hers. "I hate seeing you like this," he said stiffly, waiting for her reaction. She didn't react. "This isn't you."

"Well, the other me is on vacation. In Palm Beach. Remind her to thank Gran for letting her crash there."

"Can we talk about things?" he persisted, undeterred by her elusion. "I want to help you."

Lorelai bit her lip as she felt the tears burning behind her eyes again. "I shouldn't need your help. I shouldn't need you," she whispered.

"You don't –"

"But I always do," she sniffed. "I always do. And I hate that I do." A lone tear trickled down her cheek as she slid forward on her cushion, facing away from him.

He could tell from her body language that she wasn't finished speaking, so he waited patiently for her to continue.

"Why can't I do things? Why can't I handle things?" she cried in frustration, her hands curling into upturned claws. "Why can't I be independent?" She took a calming breath and continued in a softer tone, "I was,once upon a time, you know. And then you showed up, and I became this… this needy person. I mean, I'm just so reliant on you, Luke, for everything. How can you stand it?" Her eyes, moist with tears, now blazed into his, almost daring him to agree with her.

"You're not reliant on me, at all," Luke spoke firmly, and with a level of confidence Lorelai could only dream about in her fragile state. "You are the most self-sufficient and capable woman that I know."

"I'm not. Don't say that," she said helplessly.

"You're strong," he insisted.

"I'm pathetic," she fired back.

Luke gripped her arm, forcing her to look at him. "You know, you're not the first person who's ever needed help before. It's okay to struggle sometimes. You're carrying the lion's share of the workload, and you're running yourself into the ground." He released her arm, letting it down gently by her side, and continued sincerely, "It's no secret that it costs a fortune to make renovations, and to hire a contractor, and for them to actually stick to the projected timelines…"

"People do this everyday, Luke! It shouldn't be this hard! Maybe someone with a lot more business sense could have handled it. That obviously isn't me."

"You can handle it; you are handling it," he argued, trying to convince her. "But you need some help. There's no shame in that, Lorelai."

"Explain that to the Gilmores," Lorelai muttered as she fell back against the cushions with a sigh. Her stomach grumbled – a long, deep grumble. She turned to Luke and they both smiled. It was the one thing that confirmed to Luke without question that this was still Lorelai. This was the woman that he knew, and had known, for seven years, and not some deflated, insecure, whisper of her former self.

"You must be starving," Luke said, noticing his own appetite for the first time since meeting her outside the diner.

"Yeah, I'm kinda hungry… or a lot hungry," she realized as her stomach announced itself again.

He nodded knowingly. "Do you have any food here?"

She shrugged. "Not really."

Luke slid to the edge of the cushion and said, "I'll see what I can scrounge up," as he rose to his feet.

"Thank you," Lorelai whispered, following him with her eyes as he trudged into the kitchen for the second time that night. Her coffee sat untouched on the table in front of her, the liquid now tepid. She took a large gulp, sloshing the drink in her mouth before swallowing. She stood then, walking to the foot of the staircase. "I'm just gonna head upstairs for a minute," she called to Luke.

"No problem," Luke replied. "I'll need to perform a small miracle in the meantime," he grumbled quietly, thinking she was out of earshot.

A smile teased her lips as she climbed the stairs, anxious to change out of the brown, clingy dress that was currently suffocating her. As soon as she crossed the threshold to her bedroom, she tugged the dress off in one inelegant motion, and wrapped her arms around her shivering body. She came to a stop in front of her closet, staring intently at the contents. Luke was in her house. Luke had made her coffee, was making her dinner. Or something that resembled it, she hoped. He'd sat next to her on a hard, wooden park bench, and held her close as she cried on his shoulder. It had seemed like hours. And here he was, continuing to take care of her, trying to pick up the pieces of her crumbling composure.

"My rock," Lorelai murmured, smoothing her hand over a snug v-neck sweater that was folded haphazardly on a shelf. "He's my rock." Her eyes remained focused on the sweater, but her hand strayed to the left, making the executive decision for comfort over fashion. "Stupid hand," she griped, removing a blue zip-up hoodie and a loose fitting pair of jeans from their hangers, and tossing the articles onto her bed. She quickly assembled herself, and covered up the tracks of her tears as best she could. Her hair was a lost cause. Emily was right; she was the epitome of the Bird Lady from Mary Poppins. "Sorry birds," she sighed wearily. "I don't have any tuppence to spare."

With one last solemn glance into the mirror, she exited her room and started the trek back downstairs, catching Luke's eye as he carried two plates of food into the living room and placed them on the table. "You cooked," she remarked, meeting him at the couch with a visible smile on her face.

"You changed," Luke returned, gesturing for her to sit. "And I wouldn't call this cooking," he continued. "More like assembling."

"It's all the same to me," Lorelai told him, dropping onto the couch and holding her hands out in front of her in blatant invitation for her plate.

He rolled his eyes and picked up the plates, distributing them accordingly, before sitting on the cushion next to her.

She examined her plate, then turned to Luke with a smirk. "So, sandwiches…"

"Only thing that was mildly edible in your kitchen," he said in his defence.

"Hey, I'm not knockin' it," Lorelai assured him. "I love sandwiches." She removed the top piece of bread to see what lay hidden inside, and her smile grew wider. "Especially peanut butter. Mmm, yummy."

"Just eat your sandwich," he growled, unable to hide his competing smile.

Lorelai took a healthy bite, chewing quietly and swallowing quickly to appease her hunger. "I like eating in the living room," she said after a long silence.

He nodded. "This felt like a living room meal."

"I totally agree," she said, reaching for the accompanying glass of milk on the table. She brought her lips to the rim and paused, turning to Luke. "Sure this is okay?"

"It expires in two days. Should be fine."

"No, that you're here. Is it okay that you're here, or do you need to go?"

"It's fine," Luke answered quickly. "I don't have a curfew tonight."

With a satisfied smile, she tilted her head back and took a fortifying swig. Then she wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve, and replaced her glass on the table, earning a chuckle from Luke.

"Feeling better?" he asked without hesitation, noting her seemingly improved demeanour.

Her frown was instant, as if his words had suddenly reminded her of everything that she was trying to forget. "I just can't get my grandmother's look out of my mind. That inherently Gilmore look of disappointment. I've felt the sting of that so many times in my life."

Luke's jaw flexed as he slid his empty plate onto the coffee table. "I can't believe that they wouldn't offer you any help. That's what family does."

"Oh, they're firm believers in offering help," Lorelai explained. "But the fact that you needed help in the first place is the problem. That just doesn't happen. Gilmores don't fail."

"You're not failing," Luke maintained, moving closer to her, needing her to understand him this time. He took the plate holding her half-eaten sandwich and deposited it on the table, turning her to face him as the tears started to fall.

"I am, Luke. I am failing." She swallowed hard, her lower lip trembling as she fought desperately to hold back the emotion that was threatening to erupt like a geyser.

He shook his head, shifting his position so he could reach into his pants pocket. "I won't let you fail," he told her firmly. Lorelai blinked in surprise at the brusque tone of his voice, watching as he retrieved a folded slip of paper and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "I know this isn't official, but it's real, and it's as official as I can be right now," he said, holding out the piece of paper in request for her to take it.

And the geyser was vanquished by an avalanche of guilt. She knew what was written on the pink Hello Kitty paper from the notepad on her fridge before she even read it. "A promissory note for thirty thousand dollars," she whispered in amazement.

"I'll write you a check first thing in the morning," Luke assured her.

"Luke, I –" she started, trying to return the paper to him.

He held up his hand in refusal. "Take it. Please. Let me do this."

She shook her head. "You can't do this."

"I thought you needed the money."

"I do," she sighed. "But we're right back where we started. Me taking from you. Me needing you. You're always giving; I'm always taking." Another tear fell and she broke apart. "God, stop crying," she berated herself.

Luke immediately closed the gap between them and wrapped her in a protective embrace. "Shh," he whispered soothingly as she rested her head on his chest, sniffling into the soft fibers of his charcoal-grey sweater.

"I'll never be able to thank you enough," she cried, her voice muffled by his solid body, cloaked around hers. "I'm so sorry that it had to come to this. That I had to ask you in the first place. That you feel obligated to help me."

Luke pulled back and clasped her chin, gently raising her face up to his. Her eyes widened at the gesture. "Lorelai, I do feel obligated to help, because that's what friends do. You don't owe me anything for that." His hand drifted to her cheek, his knuckles brushing away her tears.

Lorelai licked her dry lips, her voice cracking nervously as she regurgitated her earlier sentiment, "You're always giving. I want to be able to do something for you, to give something to you, but I never know what you need." She gazed into his eyes intensely. "What do you need, Luke?"

He made the mistake of meeting her eyes. An entire palate of emotions reflected from within their depths. And as if summoned by their gravitational pull, he leaned towards her and covered her mouth with his own. It was so brief that her eyes never even had time to close, but her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. The second that the fog lifted, she recoiled, touching her lips like they'd just been singed.

Luke blinked furiously, completely ashamed and utterly baffled by his own actions. "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." His chest was heaving as he stood up from the couch and began pacing in front of her. "I'm sor- I just… I can't believe –"

"It's okay," Lorelai interrupted. "That's not exactly what I meant by…"

"No, I know."

"But, it's okay. I mean… that was, uh… nice." She cringed. "Wow, I clearly don't know what to say in this kind of situation."

Luke stopped pacing and turned to her. "I'm just relieved that you didn't choose a more violent response."

"Yes, the Bette Davis approach would've left a mark," Lorelai mused, raising her eyebrows. Luke barely cracked a smile. "It's okay, Luke, we can laugh about it. We're both adults."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I just… I never meant to... do that. I only wanted to help." He shook his head. "God, I'm such an idiot. You're crying and upset, and I take advantage of you. I don't do this kind of thing," he appealed to her. "I'm not that guy. I'm so sorry."

"I know," she assured him quietly, reaching out to still his flailing limbs. "I'm not upset."

He nodded uncertainly before stooping in front of her to pick up the slip of paper that had fallen during the exchange. "Here," he said, opening his palm to her. "You dropped this."

"Thank you." Lorelai pressed her hand into his, and instead of taking the paper, she used her grip to propel herself upwards. They stood together, barely a foot of space separating them. With their hands still clasped, she said more sincerely this time, "Thank you." She relaxed her grip, ever so slightly, allowing the paper to slide through the space between her fingers and back to the floor. Then she looked into his eyes and took a step forward, holding her arms out to the side with a lopsided grin on her face. Luke acquiesced, stepping into her arms and smiling as they squeezed him like a vice grip.

Lorelai sighed into his shoulder, relishing the closeness. "We should hug more. I don't think we hug enough. I mean, friends hug, right?" She tilted her head, her warm breath tickling the fine hairs on his neck.

"Lorelai…" Luke said in warning.

"Just hugging," she explained quietly. She pushed her right cheek into his, and then scraped it along his stubbly jaw, her mouth coming into contact with the corner of his. And that's where it stayed, just drinking him in.

Luke stopped breathing for a moment, her oxygen the only thing making it past his lips. "Lorelai," he finally managed to gasp, "we can't do this."

"I know, but you started it," she whispered back, lifting her hand to his neck and teasing the curls that rested at the nape. He covered her hand with his, desperate to cease her ministrations, but that only spurred her on, and in a split second, her lips had a firm hold on his own. This kiss wasn't timid, or unintentional. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, biting it gently and releasing it with a pop. When her tongue soothed the afflicted skin, Luke moaned.

"This isn't a game," he told her earnestly, pulling away. She shook her head. "I can't…" Her thumb traced the curvature of his chin and his knees buckled. "People are affected by this," he choked out. She nodded, bringing that thumb to his mouth and gently pouting his lower lip with it. Lost in a haze of desire, he closed his lips around the invading digit and sucked it deeper into his mouth.

"You're not the only one, you know," she said through closed eyes, her face flushing as the warmth of her arousal sparked a flame through her body. "This affects me, too."

"So you're…" he asked leadingly.

"I'm seeing someone," she confirmed, pushing him onto the couch and moving to straddle him. Somehow, with that simple utterance, he felt less like a savage, and more like a partner in crime. And that, in his present, troubled mind, was a comforting thought. They kissed for seconds, minutes, unable to tear themselves apart. Their tongues found a rhythm that their pelvises soon followed. "You taste like peanut butter," she purred softly.

As she slipped her hands beneath the hem of his sweater, Luke forced through gritted teeth, "Why are we doing this?"

She pushed the fabric up his chest, kissing every inch of skin she exposed, before raising it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Lorelai compelled herself to keep moving – her hands, her lips. If they stopped moving, if she stopped moving, she was afraid of what might happen. What she might feel. What she might not feel. "Because nothing else makes sense right now. This is the only thing that I'm not questioning."

"Lorelai," he whispered, his smouldering gaze betraying his forbidding tone.

"I don't hate needing you, Luke," she told him softly, certainly. "I want to need you. I want you to need me."

"I do need you," he confessed, groaning audibly as she dragged the vulnerable flesh of his earlobe into her mouth and sucked on it greedily.

She raked her fingernails through the fine dusting of hair that shielded his chest, the skin still glistening from her wet kisses, and urged in a commanding voice, "Take me upstairs." When he made no motion of obeying her request, she brought her hand down to the fly of his dress pants. He covered her hand. "It's either here, or there, Luke. Your choice."

"I don't care," he hissed, struggling to control the hand that was now massaging his crotch.

"You do, Luke," she insisted. "You're the only one that cares." Lorelai slid from his lap and stood up, pulling him with her. She began walking backwards, taking large strides, leading him blindly to the staircase, then up, slowly. But she kept talking; they never stopped talking. Silence was a precarious thing. "I'm sorry about my hair," she apologized on the fifth step.

"What's wrong with it?" Luke asked, trailing behind her, as destitute of vision as she was.

"Really?" She shot him a dubious look. "You don't see a problem with it?" When he shook his head, she quickened her pace.

"I guess it's a bit longer than normal, if that's what you mean," he remarked on the ninth step.

Lorelai couldn't hide the grin that spread on her face. She yanked on his belt as they reached the landing, catapulting him into her bedroom. Her nimble fingers flew to the zipper of her sweater, and she swiftly discarded the prohibiting garment, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder. "I'll get it cut," she promised, stripping her t-shirt off in the same breath.

"Soft," Luke murmured, tangling his fingers in her hair as she once again captured his lips.

"Lee Ann gives a great scalp massage. Even better than Cindy," she whispered, molding her curves against his body and teasing his tongue relentlessly. When she started moving them towards her bed, she gasped in surprise as he finally took the initiative, casting the debris that covered the mattress aside, and guiding her into a horizontal position.

He unfastened the clasp of her bra with his teeth, while she adeptly removed his belt with one flick of her wrist. Their pants landed on the floor in sync. Once bereft of all clothing, they sought the protection of the comforter, cloaking themselves from the world.

It wasn't until his mouth touched her bare breast for the first time that she spoke again. "Where is Nicole tonight?" And the line was crossed; the unspoken agreement between them, shattered.

Luke was past the point of no return. Every breathy sigh and intoxicating moan drove him further away from reality. "Boston," he answered deliriously. "Where's…"

"Munich," she groaned, arching her back as he rasped his tongue over her nipple.

He scaled down the peaks and valleys of her body, kissing and nipping the tender flesh of her abdomen, her hipbones, and the inside of her thighs. His mouth floated over the hub of her sexual arsenal, blowing soft air on the hypersensitive nerves. She writhed impatiently beneath him.

"Jason won't sleep in the same bed as me," Lorelai panted as his tongue parted her folds. He plunged recklessly into her heat, swirling and dipping, swallowing every drop of moisture to be found.

Luke lifted his head only to respond with, "I don't think Nicole ever sleeps."

She smiled, raising her hips as he filled her again with his hungry mouth. "I believe that," she said in a lust-filled whisper.

"God, you're so wet," he murmured from between her legs. And there it was. Another line crossed. It was one thing to derive pleasure from the act, but voicing that pleasure in such a palpable way was out of the question. It should have triggered every alarm in her body, but it only served to heighten her arousal. All road blocks were down.

Lorelai felt herself melting, knowing that she was frighteningly close to orgasm. "Luke," she pleaded. "I need you inside me."

He didn't hesitate. He needed her just as badly. With a few strained motions, his lower body aligned with hers. Their eyes closed, intensifying the sensation as he slid slowly into her opening, joining them together, sealing their fate. They were imprisoned in their cocoon of immorality, with no intentions of breaking free.

She stroked his back in encouragement as he began surging into her with a rawness that couldn't be expressed, only felt.

"I've wanted you for so long," he groaned into her neck. She turned her head and kissed him firmly, silencing him from further disclosure.

The divine friction that their bodies created had them teetering on the edge within moments. Every pulsating pass made her ache for release, so she latched onto his lips even harder, using his mouth as her outlet. With one final effort, he hit the deepest part of her being, lingering until he could feel her breaking apart, her walls clenching and trembling from the impact. He lost himself in her kiss, reaching his peak and rocking them gently into a tranquil state.

Not a word was said as he collapsed into her arms, and she ran her hands up and down his spine. When she curled onto her side, he instinctively folded himself around her, pulling her against him. And when she closed her eyes, somehow she knew that he had too. He slept soundly, his soft snores filling the night, and she lay awake, wondering how the warmth of his body could leave her feeling so numb.

I was wondering if we could have dinner tonight.

She never would have known that those nine simple words would change everything.

TBC...