Hey ya'll sorry for takin' so long. Here's your new piece, and this one deserves the rating, as the other chapters have not......at any rate, read for yourself, and enjoy. Thanks to all those who mailed me, I don't deserve it, you're so nice! :-}

luce

disclaimer: ch. 1

The days passed by in a deep flow, uninterrupted; he was now inside each one, mysteriously, sometimes in presence, sometimes in thought. I'd never clarified anything after that night in the snow, when I gave his the paper. I think he understands, in his own way. He understands how frightening he can be. The Jess people see would have used that to his advantage. I would have buckled in a quick second. But the Jess I know, he says nothing, does nothing, and his eyes tell me everything everytime.

He's usually sullen, or expressionless, or quiet and moody; sometimes, he's quick, sharp, intelligent and funny all of a sudden, out of nowhere. It's those moments I love best, next to his special mood.

I don't know exactly what his special mood is. I can't define it. It's a mixture of homesickness and deep thoughts, and he's quietly burning away inside when I see him. He lets everything out, and watches me with his breath held, waiting for me to say something that will make him forget, forget what he's thinking about. It's those brief moments that he just wants to be held, but he reels his emotions back in, locks them up, and waits, and waits. In those moments, I feel torn up and hesitant, blood rushing rusty red and fire through me, cool fingertips; I want to trace the outlines of his face so that I'd know it was him in complete darkness.

Ever since that night, when I kissed him, things have been different. The banter is no longer completely light-hearted; even at it's quippy best, there's always a few innuendoes thrown in, a teasing look, or a silent look that says it all. It's because I finally did something. He had carefully shown me what he wanted, unhesitant, and then, he sat back and waited. And I didn't choose to resist.

Although I promised to be a Bubble boy kind of careful, I don't know how long that resolution will last. This week, my Mom's gone to a spa with Grandma again for two days or so; I'm counting too heavily on Lane to keep me out of trouble.

Jess

She walks into the diner, but she's by herself this morning. I carefully take note, as I do with most things about her. Not in a freakish, stalkerish kind of way, but in a casual habit. I put her regular in front of her without asking, and am rewarded with a smile.

"Morning sunshine," she says wryly, taking note of my tired face. "No beauty sleep last night? Try the cucumber eye gel. I heard it works well," she teases, her huge blue eyes brightening with each caffeine-packed swallow.

"Obviously not for your bags. I'm surprised no one's asked you "paper or plastic" yet...."

"Har har, funny. Were you up reading again last night?" she suddenly asks, delighted.

"By the light of my glow in the dark Darth Vader figure. Luke made me turn out the light around one, he seems to be unable to sleep without one. It's all your damn fault, if it weren't for you I wouldn't have started Franny and Zooey last night."

"Did you like it?" she asks eagerly, and I have an urge to laugh.

"Loved it, got kinda lost around Buddy's letter. Salinger's great but that bananafish thing was kinda weird..." I told her honestly, watching her reaction.

She suddenly laughs, her hair spilling back over her shoulders.

"Funny, I thought the same thing. Next time, borrow a flashlight and pick two cucumber slices out of Luke's salad. I've got to go or I'll be late, but listen; if you're not doing anything tonight, you can come over and watch a movie and maybe help me with this creative writing assignment. I have to write a short story, Faulkner style and it's killing me," she said, and I stopped wiping the counter and looked directly at her.

The offer is a volatile one and we both know it; it's dangerous ground. I don't say anything.

"Or not," she says, a little awkwardly.

"No," I assure her. "I think I'll take you up on it," I say, and keep my expression masked. If she knew what I was thinking........

"So, when..."

"Stop by the diner around 8, when I close tonight. Luke told me to wrap it up early since he has to go into Hartford to shop for some sprouts or something. I'll walk to your house with you," I tell her, and she nods quickly, her eyes rooted to mine. She knows she's treading on quicksand; once you step in, you can't resist getting pulled under.

It's her choice, and she made it.

I watch her retreating back, but not till she's out the door do I allow a tiny smile to break through. I go through the day with it, trying my best to kill it, but it sticks with admirable tenacity.

Rory

Yeah, it was a mistake. Can I really say it wasn't? I'm setting myself up for a fall, or at least, I know that should it come to pass, I wouldn't stop it. Sometimes, just looking at him, my back hurts; strange side effect I don't care to go into detail analyzing. My mom would be all over it.....

It's evening, and the lights are lit and twinkling across the streets; the sky is a deep twilight purple fading fast into night. Outside, the spring breeze is still chilly, and I wrap my arms around myself, shivering a little. Up ahead, the lights are still on in the diner. I step inside, surprised to see it empty......it looks so different, so much bigger, and the lights are dimmer inside it.

"Jess?" I call out uncertainly, approaching the counter. I wander around the room once, and when my eyes turn back to where they were, there he is, standing in the doorway. He's watching me silently for a minute; I wonder how long he's been standing there like that.

"Hey," I swallow, and say brightly.

He's wearing a soft blue shirt that unassumingly accentuates the outlines of a body that promises not to disappoint; rough blue jeans hang securely from his hips, following down his legs..and ....he's smirking at me, and I instantly look at the floor because I know I was staring. Feeling the blood rush past my ears, I swear silently. Get it together, Gilmore; you're making this entirely too hard...or too easy......

"Hey," he says, and his voice sounds almost soft.

"About done?" I ask, taking a deep breath for courage. He nods, pointing to some boxes.

"Gotta finish up here real quick and unload those, and we'll be on our way. Wanna help?"

I nod, and he tosses me a clean dishrag and a spray bottle.

"Wipe down for me," he smiles, and lifts a heavy box with ease. I watch the soft strain of the muscles in his arms as he picks it up, and the way his back bends and powerfully rearranges, and he's gone around the corner.

I quickly finish with the counter, and pick up the last of the mugs; I enter the kitchen, distracted from him for a moment. I'm in forbidden domain-the kitchen. Wandering delightedly between steel machines wiped down meticulously and large, clean metal tables, I poke around curiously.

"Never thought I'd see the day a Gilmore showed some interest in anything related to cooking," came a chuckle from behind me. I responded with a small laugh. Get a hold of yourself.....I cautioned, gathering all my wits.

"How stereotypical of you! I contain multitudes, you know," I say playfully, snapping the dishrag at him. "Plus, who's evah gonna marry me if I don't know how to cook and keep house and raise chillun'?" I say with a lilting Southern accent, fanning myself with my hand delicately. He shakes his head in amusement.

"You're a crackhead, both you and your mother. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing......"

"I'll take that as an insult, thank you. And you?"

"I prefer not to think of myself if I can help it," he says wryly, disappearing to the front, and appearing with a large box again. I followed him into the storeroom. "You tell me."

The storeroom is warm and dimly lit, cozy. Large boxes line the walls, and the shelves are full; I peruse the inventory with a shameless interest.

"You're a low-life with a high potential," I say as honestly as I can, but he doesn't fall for it.

"It's about the smoking again, isn't it," he sighs, and I reluctantly admit and pounce.

"Why do you have to! I mean, I've been on you to give up forever, and its..just... I mean, I don't want to be there when your lungs collapse from your inability to breathe and I have to hoist you onto my back and run with you to the emergency room where you'll die in the arms of a beautiful nurse and I'll be scarred for life," I spit out in one breath, and then cross my arms.

"What activity would we be doing that involved impaired breathing?" he says with a small leer, sending some pink into my cheeks. I shrug innocently.

"Jogging?"

"At least the nurse is beautiful, right," he deadpans, ripping a box open. I follow his movements subconsciously. "Does it offend you that bad? I don't do it around you, unless you don't mind," he says, reaching for his back pocket.

"Yes, I do," I snap, and he shrugs, and goes back to stacking canned tomatoes.

"I have been known to Scope,..." he smiles, and folds an empty box, throwing it onto a stack. He looks at me with a sneaky grin.

"I'll take your word for it," I say, a little shaken. He shakes his head again, a small smile playing on his lips. My eyes suddenly alight on a jar of marshmallow cream, eliciting a squeal that could belong to a second grader.

"Please please please please-"

"Alright already," he grimaces, tossing me the jar. "But I didn't see it," he cautions, continuing to stack.

I curl up on a tall box resting against the wall, and open the jar. Digging one finger in, I scoop out a glob of the fluff, and lick it off, swirling it around my mouth. Some soft, sporadic piano is playing in the background, accompanied by the soft, breathless, impassioned words of a female voice..........

"Tori Amos," I say suddenly, and he grins.

"Good job, you get bonus points," he answers.

I'm surprised a little, but not shocked. I always knew Jess was different; Metallica or Tool might be his first loves, but he would be the one to appreciate something like that. A slow, warm feeling spread through me, and a few quiet thoughts began to invade my mind. All of a sudden, I knew this was it-this is what life was supposed to be like. Just me and this boy who I could be in love with, just a storeroom, and me sitting on a box eating marshmallow creme out of the jar. The soft, wandering, plaintive piano notes twinkles around us, and I leaned my head back against the wall. I felt so safe....so warm.....for no damn reason....letting myself relax, I watched the nice view of his shoulders and arms as they lifted heavy cans onto the tops shelf. 'Nice ass' wandered into my head, and I stuffed down a giggle with a bite of marshmallow creme. I rolled the sweet, sticky taste under my tongue, savoring it. This was it, and I never wanted it to end. I wasn't scared anymore, or nervous, or afraid of what might happen, because it didn't matter anymore as long as this feeling lasted.

He tossed the last empty box onto the pile, and turned around to watch me, leaning against the shelf. I held the jar out to him like a little kid, my fingers full of cream, my smile wide and welcoming. He rolled his eyes and tried to suppress the grin I knew he was holding in; dropping on a box right next to mine, he leaned back against the wall.

"How the hell can you eat that stuff? It's pure sugar," he says, one eyebrow raised in puzzled disgust.

"Have you ever tried it?" I answer cheekily, swirling one finger into the jar. He looks as though he's trying to remember.

"Maybe in s'mores," he finally concedes, with a little more interest.

"I dare you," I grin, digging out a fluffy glob with my forefinger, and holding out the jar towards him. "And by the way, you know I septuple dipped....."

"You didn't have any communicable diseases last time I checked," he grinned. He reaches out.

But not towards the jar.

He takes my hand, and from that moment I'm frozen. Bringing it up to his mouth, he makes burning eye contact; I'm paralyzed, watching him with enormous eyes.

Slowly, and almost contemplatively, he tilts his head, taking my finger into his mouth. The edge of his teeth lightly scrape for a second over the top of my finger, a thin touch that sends tiny nerves in my body suddenly reeling. His mouth is warm and damp as he pulls it out slowly, his lips closed around it softly; he pauses as the top of it for a second, his tongue lightly brushing over my fingertip, removing the last trace of the sticky cream. He lets my hand drop, and I draw it back slowly, looking down, and I can feel my cheeks burning but I know I'm probably pale. Currents run through me, and the air is thick and electric. I'm not sure what to do next.

"Too sweet for my taste," he says complacently after he swallows, as though nothing's happened at all. I dig my finger into the jar and place it in my mouth again. Standing up, I resolutely screw the lid on.

"That phrase doesn't exist in Gilmore vocabulary," I say, and breathe with relief. Quick, get it back to normal, back to-

"Did I scare you?" he says softly, cutting me off. His eyes are bright and dark in the warm, dim light of the storeroom.

He's still sitting on the box, slouched, watching me with an air I can't recognize for a moment. Then, I slowly realize it's that particular mood that has no definition; it's the most dangerous one......

I nod.

"No," I say nervously, still nodding, and he smiles in amused disbelief, probably at my stubbornness.

"My fault," he says easily, and I stand there for a split second. I turn to go, when I feel his hand close in on my wrist. The long fingers easily wrap around it, gently urging me to turn around. My body responds automatically, while my mind screams warnings. I easily ignore them, and they fade into the fog of oblivion. I'm powerless, I have no will.......

He pulls me towards him, till I'm facing him; he's still sitting down, and I'm standing over him as he pulls me closer and closer. His hands go to my waist, and land there gently, undemanding. I'm being played so expertly that each fiber of me responds with a perfectly tuned hum of contentment; he's an expert, building me slowly...slowly......

He rests his head against my stomach, and my fingers subconsciously run themselves through his hair. I'm slowly breathing, almost afraid to, afraid to break the spell.........his hands slowly follow my sides, hesitate, and then slide over my back in a motion I'm quickly grateful for. They start slowly pulling me down, inch by inch, his other hand parting my knees as he pulls me forward, until I'm on his lap, facing him. I feel like I've been shot in the kneecaps; the music's ended and the only sound is breathing, softly melding. A small avalanche of chills find their way down my spine, and everything somehow instinctively tightens. His legs are spread a little, making me more comfortable as he pulls me closer, until I'm next to him. The taut outlines of his chest meld to my torso as he lays his head down on my chest, sighing for a moment; I wrap my arms around him lovingly, feeling some kind of protective instinct for a second, as though he were my child. It disappears as his head tilts slowly upward, planting a soft kiss on my clavicle, then upwards, on my neck. My skin prickles at his touch, leaving small trails of heat in his mouth's wake; the closeness of him, the soft warmth of his lips, his arms around my waist, my legs were too open, too weak............

A tiny jolt ran through me as his finger played at the base of my neck, sending off a chord of dissonant screams in every sensitive cell of my body. His hands were soft and slow and almost careful, his mouth, the soft kiss he planted behind my earlobe that suddenly sent another soft shock through me. He was taking his time, slowly seducing, not jumping into anything with unpracticed haste or thoughtlessness. And he was winning. My fingers lightly followed the strong angles of the lean face, over the cheekbones, and the clean cut jaw, the handsome nose. The skin was soft and warm under my fingertips, golden smooth.

Jess

I didn't plan to anything, I had planned on avoiding this, but I couldn't. She was too close, too beautiful and intoxicating in her innocent, childish seductiveness; she curled up on that box with the jar of marshmallow creme, licking it off her fingers, not like a coquette, but like a five-year old. Everything she did had a sweetness, an honesty to it that was hard to resist. She reeled me in.

I just wanted to hold her, it wouldn't have been so bad if I had let her mother me. But instead, I chose to lick the marshmallow creme off the slender finger, leaving her tensed and suddenly aware. I don't want to ruin her innocence, to corrupt her or make her guilty. I just want to love her, and if I can't do that, I don't know what I'll do. I want to know she wants me like I want her...........so I pulled her closer to me in that instant, resting against her, feeling her enveloping me. She made me warm, swallowed all the cold, made it all go away; I'd kill to have her be mine, to have her do that everyday. But I can't, because I don't belong in her world, I don't belong here, and I don't want to. I'll never reach her. She's the golden girl, the world's sweetheart, surrounded by wealth and love and protected by a whole damn town.

So I take what I can get, unscrupulously, and hope she'll forgive me; maybe, even understand me. In a way I think she does already, but she's too naive and innocent to understand every motive, every emotion that would run through somebody like me. Lorelai was far more right than she suspects, and far more right than Rory believes. But I don't want it to be that way, I don't want to hurt her.

I think I'm doing it right now, but I couldn't stop, not now, not ever.

Her wide blue eyes are filled with a million contrasting emotions; it's easy to see that she's making no effort to resist, no reluctance. She's sinking into me slowly, closer and closer, warmer, deeper, until she'll drown, and then I won't be able to help myself. But it won't be here, not like this. For now, all I can do is make her feel, teach her, leave her tied up tight and weak and useless, wanting. I can't stop.

Her hands are running over my shoulders, my arms, my chest, and through my hair. I know it's time, so I wind my fingers in her hair, and she slowly bends forward, and lands like a butterfly.

She draws a breath in between my lips; I let her linger there for a moment, unsure, just letting the electricity of the touch recede before my lips slowly close in, fitting around her bottom one, just pressing slow and soft until I'm suffocating, going mad. I plunge, reckless, unable to hold back. A soft sound forms in her throat, her fingertips are burning on my skin, and her lips open with a gasp; I dive, her mouth sweet and marshmallow sticky, her lips seeking, struggling against mine. Breath, another breath. A sound emerges, a tiny clink of her teeth against mine, and her mouth is warm and damp, and open......her hips give a small jolt, fitted against mine, as my tongue slides in, rough and soft against hers, running over the inside of her lips, drawing back, plundering again. I can feel the softness of each strand sliding in between my fingers as I hold her head in my palms, sliding them down to her neck, one falling softly down her spine.

Short, irregular breathing between our lips. They touch, and break, hesitate, touch and break again, and then ferociously crush together, fighting, wanting, needing.

She reels back suddenly, her eyes dizzy, her hand over her mouth. Sliding back on my legs, she disentangles herself and backs away, step by step.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and she glues herself against the wall.

"It's my fault too," she chokes, her head in her hands as though it hurts.

I fight to regain control over myself, cursing my weakness silently. I'm hating myself for my lack of self control, for doing this when I had no right; bitterly, I swallow, tasting sweet stickiness.

I stand up, and walk towards her. Unsure, she shrinks back a little.

"I promise I won't again," I say quietly, and hold her gaze. She nods a little, breathing a little bit steadier. We exit the storeroom, and I turn out the lights. With a numb shock, we realize it's already nine.

"I think we should postpone for tonight," she says quickly, not looking at me directly. "I mean, you know, school and everything, .....tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," I say easily, the walls back up again, the mask in place, the former standing reestablished. Everything's back to normal, everything's ok. The princess and the thug. Little red riding hood and the big bad wolf.

She walks out with a small, shy wave, and races down the street, into the evening darkness.

I'm left standing alone, tasting sweet stickiness in my mouth, in my blood, in my head, inside my fingertips.

Grrr, baby. you like? Lemme kno. Next chapter will also be surprising.....some flash sequences, maybe a fight? Or? When Jess walks into the house unexpectedly...............keep watching for the next installment. If out of the goodness of your heart, you wanna tell me your opinion, or send me a line, who am I to protest? :-}

luce