title: Watercolors of the Past
disclaimer: Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be drastically different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, of course.
notes: This was loosely inspired by the song Watercolors by Janis Ian. And just know that I loathe the term 'making love.' Bleck. But I'm afraid it was the only thing that worked here. ;)
Ubber mucho ginormous thanks to Kat! She does it all, folks. She betas my craptacular fics, she assists me with my PSP inabilities, she puts up with my craziness. :D And for everyone at 'The Thread' (you know who you are!) for continuously feeding my Lit addiction.
chapter.one: You Take What You Want
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He looked over at her, hair splayed out over the pillow like a million spider's legs, creeping up and over the soft slope of the fabric. Her flushed skin acted as a striking contrast to the still-pristine sheets, the only evidence of their indiscretion being their exposed bodies betraying purity of white cotton. Her freckles looked darker against her pink skin, her breath just now slowing to a normal rhythm.
What is normal? Certainly not this.
This had happened three times in the past two hours, how and why still unknown to him.
He had returned to the Gilmore mansion for the third time on impulse. He realized that he hadn't given her the addresses of the bookstores that were housing his 'short novel'. A piss-poor excuse, he knew, but he didn't want to leave things with her as they were. He needed to make sure that they were okay. Well, okay as two doomed not-quite lovers could be.
Okay-ish.
When he pushed his way through the heavy metal gates, an almost guilty look on his face for the second time, he was surprised to see a light on in the pool house. He was even more surprised to see her form hunched over the poolside, heels dangling precariously above the water. The light of the pool illuminated her face in a most ethereal glow, accenting the tears brimming in her eyes. He sat down next to her silently; close, but not too close. (Not close enough).
Close-ish.
"Hi," her voice cracked softly, her eyes refusing to meet his.
"You sound surprised to see me. Again."
"Pleasantly surprised."
"I just realized that I..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. It's kind of stupid."
She shifted next to him, doing her best to discretely wipe away the tracks of her tears as they rolled along the contours of her cheekbones. She offered him a small smile, a sincere smile. A sad smile.
He resisted the urge to touch her arm, to take her hand. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.
"Yeah. Just rethinking my entire life." She tried her best to sound strong, sarcastic, unnerved.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shake things up like that-"
"No, no," she cut him off. "I should be thanking you. I needed a reality check."
"Look, I don't know the whole story, and-"
"No, you were right. This isn't me. I don't know what I'm doing. I just don't...I don't," she flailed her arms, giving up, as a new batch of tears formed behind her eyes.
"Hey. This," he said, gesturing to the looming edifice before them, "This is all fixable."
She shot him a sideways glance, "You think so? 'Cause I'm thinking I'm in too deep."
He shook his head, "No such thing. Not for Rory Gilmore."
"You give me too much credit. I'm not that person anymore."
"Why not?"
"I'm just...not. People change. They grow and...they change."
"Not you."
His comment made her feel flustered. She couldn't remember the last time somone spoke to her so sincerely.
"Yeah, well, I did," she groaned, frustrated. She sighed angrily, and stood quickly, coming too close to doing a swan dive into the pool. Balancing herself in her black Mary Jane's, she caught him looking up at her, an amused look in his eyes. Huffing in a very non-lady-like way, she turned on her heel and stormed (rather wobbly) into the pool house.
Jess raked his left hand through his dark hair, taking a moment to scratch his head. Weighing his options momentarily, he jumped up to follow her.
When she told him the pool house had been turned into storage, she wasn't joking. In fact, she toned down the definition. The place looked like a mausoleum, packed wall to wall with artifacts that no one would ever need.
Dodging a set of ceramic yard swans and an antique-y looking loom, he caught sight of her brown jacket in the kitchenette area.
"Marco?" he offered uncertainly.
He heard a sharp intake of breath, then a quiet, "Polo."
Maneuvering around a rack of old clothes, they were able to make eye contact, and she gave him a small smile.
"Sorry. I'm just...out of sorts tonight."
"S'okay. Can I ask?" he gestured to the gold sequined top before him.
"Those are all of my grandpa's old quartet group uniform...things. Shirts. Outfits? Performance attire? I don't know what they're supposed to be called," she laughed, taking in their absurdity. He chuckled too.
She had missed his laugh.
"So," he began, "I just wanted to make sure that we were okay. That's why I stopped back by here."
"We're okay, Jess. It was really great to see you."
"Well, I'm glad you think so. I was expecting a brush off, at the very least." He took a few steps closer, resting his elbows on the counter.
"You showed up at a good time."
He raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Really?"
"Yeah," she paused before continuing. "I've been missing people lately. My closest friends are fifty-something society wives who incessantly bitch about husband number three and speculate as to when Tori Albinson will begin an affair with her yoga instructor."
"Sounds brutal."
"It's lonely."
Jess reached out to touch her arm reassuringly. "Hey, but it's all temporary, right?"
Rory nodded, uncertainty written across her face. "Right."
He was about to leave. He really was. The next thing he knew, they were kissing. Did he start it? Did she? He didn't know, he couldn't think, he couldn't breath. She was fucking intoxicating, hitting him in a tidal wave, a rush of lust pulsating through his body. Her lips were everywhere, her hands were everywhere, all before he could comprehend the situation. By the time he really started reacting, his shirt was halfway off, her coat discarded on the floor.
They stumbled awkwardly through the jungle of discarded ruins, paving their way to the back of the house. His hands burned trails up to her breasts, sending thunder bolts down her spine. She'd never been touched like this before. (She'd never be touched like this again. Not by anyone but him).
The bedroom was just as overstuffed as the living room, but neither could be bothered to tear their lips away in order to navigate past the door. Instead, they tumbled aimlessly, hitting tables, knocking over lamps, a trial-and-error approach to finding the bed. Luckily, it was storage free.
She definitely took it as a good omen.
All he could see were hands, lips, legs, hair, her long chestnut-turned-auburn locks. The next thing he knew, he was inside of her, pummeling into her over and over.
The first time was fast, needy, longing, four years overdue. After that, once the desperation had passed, they took their time. Slowly, lazily making love on the crisp white sheets till they nearly passed out, exhaustion sweeping over both of them.
She was on the brink of sleep now; he couldn't get her voice out of his head. His name tumbling off her lips over and over again, reverberating through his psyche, a broken record, the sweetest song.
It scared the shit out of him.
She was laying on her stomach with her head turned towards him. The sheets were pooled around the small of her back, and the streetlights reflected off the tiny beads of sweat lining her spine. They weren't touching now, but he could still feel her. He could see the steady rise and fall of her shoulder blades with every breath she took.
He didn't notice when her eyes opened.
She examined him through heavy lashes. "Hi," she cooed.
She looked like a photograph, laying there next to him. A watercolor painting.
"Hi." His voice was hoarse.
She sighed contently, "I can't feel my legs."
He did his best to suppress a smile, but failed miserably. "Well, you're welcome. It's nice to know my services were appreciated."
"Oh, yeah?"
He nodded, "We care enough to send the very best."
She grinned before burying her face in the pillow, embarrassed. He watched in amazement as her childhood innocence returned.
He had noticed the change in her immediately, the second he walked down the driveway earlier that night. This was not the Rory Gilmore he had known. This was not the shy, naive virgin of small town Stars Hollow. She had since seen the world twice over. She had since been touched by other men. (And had touched them).
But that person, thought lost, appeared before him.
She became that girl again. Just for a moment.
Giggling nervously, she looked back at him.
Her face fell.
"I have a boyfriend," she realized softly.
"I met him."
"This was wrong."
"Yeah." He began to sit up. "Sorry."
"This was wrong because I don't regret it." He stopped mid-motion as she continued, "I cheated on my boyfriend and I don't even care. God, what's wrong with me?"
He didn't answer. He didn't know how to. Instead, he laid back down, feeling any and all energy he may have had to hold him up vanish.
"Why did you come here, Jess?" Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as if they still had to hide from outside forces. As if they still weren't safe, not even here.
"To tell you that I-"
"A phone call would've worked," she cut him off. "A letter. Post card."
"A nice fruit basket?" he offered.
"Or smoke signal," she finished.
"I just...I guess part of me wanted to see you. Not that I expected to see all of you," he added, smirking.
She smiled along with him for a moment before asking:
"Are you still in love with me?"
The bluntness of her question shocked him. She threw it out there easily, making it sound almost meaningless. Making it sound like the answer wasn't going to change the rest of their lives. Then again, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe he'd lose her either way.
Maybe none of it mattered.
"I don't know," he said honestly.
She bit her lip in apprehension. "Were you ever?" she tried.
"Yes." The single syllable flew out effortlessly, before he could even think about saying it, before he could weigh the consequences.
"So, you meant it. Last time, when you told me-"
"Of course I did."
She paused, her eyebrows knitting together in deep introspection. "I thought so."
"Did you, now?"
They held eye contact, him waiting for her next question, her trying to decide how far she wanted to take things. Trying to decide if she could handle where they were going.
(She noticed he had beautiful eyes. She made a mental note to tell him that.)
"I still loved you. For a long time," she decided to tell him. He didn't look shocked, or surprised. Just sad that she used the past tense.
"What about now?"
"I told Logan that I loved him." She said it as a statement, but not one of finality. Instead, leaving it open ended. Simply to keep him up to date as to where things stood.
"Did you mean it?" He brought his arm up underneath his head, propping himself up.
(She noticed he had a tattoo on his bicep. She made a mental note to tell him that it was sexy.)
"I thought I did. Now, I'm not sure," she gestured to the two of them, "Obviously."
His hand found its way to the sharp point of her hip bone, tracing a trail down to her belly button. "So, now what?"
"Hmph. Too many questions. Not enough sleep."
"I'm serious, Rory."
Her head lulled to the side, smiling at him. "We could do it again."
"Tempting."
She rolled back over onto her stomach, his hand following the curvature to her back, gentling gliding up to the apex of her shoulders, pulling her close. She sighed, burying her face in the pillows. "Can't we just talk about it in the morning?"
He didn't attempt to mask his surprise. "You want me to stay?"
Looking away, slightly embarrassed, she pushed a curl off of her face. "It is kind of late for you to be driving and all."
"Well, do you want me to go sleep on the couch? Or the floor," he offered.
She shook her head, still grinning. "After what we just did? The worst has already happened."
"Good point."
Rory scooted closer to him, settling into the soft goose-down. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, and had he not been mere centimeters from her, he wouldn't have been able to hear. "This feels right, Jess. For the first time in a long time, I feel right."
He leaned into her, pressing his lips against her forehead. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet."
Her eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in months, she slept soundly.
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notes: Eeeh. Hope you liked. I'm still not sure. This was gonna be a one-shot, but I got to writing it, and now it's looking like it's gonna be at least three chapters. If you want to see more of it, that is. Please leave me your thoughts. Thanks for reading.