A/N:
I don't own the characters, I just play with them. No copyright infringement intended.
Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to my reviewers! You always make my day! :D
21. Of Thoughts And Forsaking Them
The room is just the right size, not too big and not too small; the walls are painted a light green and Rory likes the color. There is a small desk with a chair against one wall, a closet against another, and a tv is mounted on the wall across the bed; a sliding glass door opens onto a small balcony with a table and two chairs – all in all, not a bad place to spend a few days, she thinks as she turns on a lamp that sits on the nightstand, and turns to Jess. He's unloading their luggage on the floor; to say he's soaked would be an understatement, but when he looks up and smiles at her under the wet hair, the room suddenly seems to grow a few degrees warmer and she loses her trail of thought for a moment and just stares at him.
"So, I think I'll take a shower," he smirks, moving the hair away from his face and peeling the wet shirt off, apparently oblivious to her brain freeze.
Rory nods, smiling, but can't really form a reply, so she just watches him dig through his backpack and disappear into the bathroom. Once he's out of sight, she regains control of her senses again - the main light is too bright and so she flips the switch and turns on the other small lamp instead. The shower starts in the bathroom and simultaneously, her heart starts to beat faster and suddenly she feels nervous; she takes a breath and sternly tells herself she's being ridiculous. She takes her jacket off, then steps out on the balcony, squinting to make out the view, but there's nothing to be seen except darkness and rain. The view, if there is one, will have to wait until tomorrow, and she returns inside. She feels kind of hungry, which is not a good thing because it's late and pouring out and finding something to eat might prove to be a challenge, but then she remembers seeing several vending machines in the lobby. She finds a piece of paper and scribbles a note, then heads down to the lobby.
She finds the vending machines offer quite a wide selection, and she chooses some sandwiches and soft drinks. She peeks into the dining room but it's dark. The whole place is pretty much deserted except for an old couple sitting in the lobby, hunched over a table; when she steps closer, she can see they're playing dominoes; the scene is overwhelmingly endearing and she can't help smiling and wishing to be just like them, with someone, someday.
She starts back to the room, and as her thoughts return to Jess, the erratic heartbeat returns with them, and she suddenly realizes she's not just nervous, she's also scared, although it's not the same kind of fear she'd experienced when she was younger - she's not scared of her feelings anymore, she's scared of the unknown, she's scared of this new level they're about to step into. Sex is an unpredictable, impetuous thing, it deals in passion and instinct, it brings abandon and abdication of all control; it has an enormous capacity to elicit change and just how it may change them worries her. This thing between them has just somehow been so smooth and effortless since it began again that it's easy to forget just how new and recent it actually is, and it somehow seems too easy, too simple, too uncomplicated to believe, and she can't help feeling it's just too good to be true.
On a whole different level of anxiety, she's never really thought of herself as being very good at sex, and she knows he is, because as dismissive as he is about his experiences, the fact remains they existed, and practice makes perfect – perfect enough to make her forget herself to the point that she didn't care about Matt sleeping in the same room. This in itself is an unbelievable thing, a thing that would never have happened with anybody else because nobody else has ever made her feel the way she felt that night. It was like she had completely stepped out of herself, completely foregone her brain and only feelings existed, there were just senses and instinct and incredible freedom that came with them.
She reaches the door and stops in front of it; she stares at it for a moment, then leans against the wall across, wishing there had been a vending machine stocked with alcohol. She takes a few deep breaths, and pushes the door open, half-scared she'll walk into another delicious scene that will make her brain stall again. She doesn't; she finds Jess has set up his laptop on the desk and is sitting in front of it, his hair still wet but the rest of him dry and mercifully hidden under a shirt and pajamas. He looks up at her and smirks at the collection in her arms.
"I see you've found food," he says with a smile.
She looks down at the sandwiches and suddenly realizes she's not hungry anymore; she puts it all down on the desk next to the laptop. "What are you doing?" she asks. "Writing?"
He shakes his head. "No, just checking e-mail. Matt says hi."
She smiles and kicks off her shoes. "Is he going to stop by again on his way back?"
He shrugs. "I don't know, he didn't say." He laughs. "He never does."
She smiles wider and nods to the bathroom. "How was the shower?"
"A religious experience," he smirks.
She laughs. "I think I could use one of those," she says and opens her bag in search of pajamas; as soon as she does, a new dilemma presents itself and panic washes over her. Should she wear pajamas? She has to wear something, she can't just walk out of there stark naked - well, she could, but she's knows she's just not cool enough to pull it of properly . He's wearing pajamas, but then, guys don't usually dress up for this kind of thing. For a moment, she can't believe she didn't think this through more thoroughly, it's not like she didn't know what would happen here; she knew, she knew when she'd called him and asked if he wanted to come along, but it didn't seem like such a big thing back then and she briefly wonders when exactly it developed into one. She steals a glance at him but he's looking at the laptop; she quickly grabs the entire bag and moves towards the bathroom.
"You want to take my backpack as well?" Jess's voice sounds behind her; she turns around and finds him smiling at her. It's not a smirk, it's a smile, and there's a little too much understanding in it.
"I don't know what I might need," she says defensively.
He smiles wider. "I'm thinking, pajamas and a toothbrush," he says softly. "You really don't need anything else."
She smiles but takes the whole bag nonetheless; Jess watches the door close then goes back to the laptop and shuts it off. He gets up and looks for his jacket; once he finds it, he pulls out his cigarettes and moves out into the balcony. There's an ashtray out here and he sits down, lights a cigarette and looks out over the railing. It's still raining, but it's not pouring anymore - now it's just a soft drizzle that beats gently against the leaves.
Here they are, together, alone, and curiously, it feels completely right and natural. There's no apprehension, no fear, no anxiety, there's just a comfortable calmness, serenity and peace and it's this feeling of peace that finally really convinces him that it wasn't a mistake to do this again, no matter how it turns out in the end. Maybe it even turns out like it did for the grandma and grandpa he passed earlier down in the lobby, sitting together at the little table, although the thought seems too sentimental somehow and he dismisses it quickly. He tries to remember when he last felt this peaceful, but the feeling is somewhere so far in the past that he can't really recall it.
As natural and peaceful as the situation feels on the whole, some particulars of it are much less such. There's nothing calm and serene about the physical aspect of it – that part is more crazed and intense than anything he experienced before. Sex had always been just sex, and no matter how good it may have been on some occasions, he could always maintain a firm grip of himself. With her, it's different; all sense and reason disappears within a few seconds of touching her, and things spiral out of control much too fast, so fast that even Matt's presence becomes meaningless. It's something he has no control over, this desire he has for her, he wants her like he never wanted anything in his life; he doesn't think he ever really wanted anything but her. It's always been here, this craving - sometimes more, sometimes less pronounced, but always present.
And now, here they are, together, alone, and he suddenly wishes it was less demanding and less urgent, this craving; he wishes it was less charged and not so long overdue because it's not just about him this time – and it would be so much easier if it was. You should always lock yourself in the bathroom and invest a few minutes to take the edge off before a big date, Matt had said once, and Jess had laughed his head off at the time; but right now, it sounds like a brilliant piece of advice and he wishes he'd remembered it sooner.
The cigarette has gone up in smoke, and he had barely touched it; he puts it out and listens for the shower. It's not running anymore, and he looks out into the rain again and returns inside. He barely sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the remote when the bathroom door opens and Rory emerges, wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top, her hair wet and piled on top of her head. Jess takes in the long legs and the tight shirt, and once again represses the crazy impulse to pounce.
"The hairdryer doesn't work," she says with a small smile.
"Thank god for that," he replies with a smirk, although in a somewhat croaked voice.
She smiles wider and walks over to the chair where she deposits her clothes before she turns around and faces him. "You're staring," she points out.
The smirk grows. "I know."
She folds her arms on her chest and leans against the wall across from him. "Could you not stare?"
"No, sorry," he grins and looks up but her eyes dart around the room, avoiding him. "Nervous?" he asks gently.
She slowly slides down the wall until she's sitting on the floor; their toes touch and she stares at them for a moment before she finally looks at him. "Scared shitless," she blurts out, and he can't help a smile.
"Did you just curse?" he grins.
She shakes her head. "That's what you choose to focus on?"
"Sorry," he smirks. "So, scared shitless. Why is that?"
She shrugs. "I don't know," she looks at him anxiously. " You, me, sex."
"For now, it's just you, me, talking," he points out with a smile. "The sex comes later, hopefully."
She shakes her head and sighs. "A lot of things could go wrong here," she says quietly.
He laughs softly. "How is that? We both know where everything is, what it does and where it goes."
She tries to frown, but a smile escapes instead. "That's not what I meant." His eyebrows lift and she takes a breath. "It could change things," she says softly.
He chuckles. "Yeah, they could go from good to great. What a disaster that would be…"
"Or the other way around," she points out quietly, ignoring the last bit. Again, he looks confused. "It's you and me, we're perfectly capable of messing this up," she explains.
He leans forward and looks at her seriously. "Rory, do you not want to do this?"
"No, it's not that, I want to," she replies quickly, "and I think that's painfully obvious, given my performance the other night" she adds, blushing slightly. "I just… love this thing that is happening, it's great and it's easy and amazing, I never thought it could be so simple and so normal again, and I don't want to screw it up, but I keep thinking – it's us, and we're bound to make a mess of it somehow, and, you know - maybe this is how we do it."
"And how exactly do you see that happening?" he asks, smirking again.
"I don't know," she mumbles to their toes. "I haven't gotten that far yet."
He can't help a laugh this time, and she shrugs and looks up at him with a small smile. "I know it sounds stupid."
He shakes his head and takes hold of her hands, pulling her up gently until she's kneeling in front of him and their faces are level. "You're thinking too much," he says quietly and removes her hair clip, letting the mass of hair tumble down. He gently pushes it back over her shoulders and slowly runs his hands up and down her arms. "You always think too much," he whispers against her face, and Rory's heart jumps into her throat; her eyes close and suddenly, nothing in the world exists except his breath that dances across her lips.
A/N:
All writers love reviews, good or bad. They are precious insights into our reader's minds. They usually make us try harder. They often make us get better at what we do. They always motivate us to keep going. They show us what we've done well, what we've done badly and what we could have done differently. Ultimately, they make us happy.
Just something to think about :)