Alright, it's been good writing for ya'll. Here's the ending to my lengthy drama, forgive me. Hope you like it, and take a minute to tell me what you thought of the whole bit. Here's your long awaited conclusion, you're the best readers in the world and I hope I did you justice.
luce
It had been five months.
Five months since their mysterious disappearance, the mad days spent in the confusion of the city of the sugar cane traders, the poets and artist, the vampires and voodoo women, of the Cajuns. Five months since she had reached out gently with her fingertips and lightly pulled his shirt off, kissing the raw, painful slash; five months since he had felt her listless sleep-warm mouth in the morning secretly, while shadowy morning dreams fluttered underneath her closed eyelids.
Five long months.
They had promised, promised to never tell anyone; he had made her promise to never attempt something as stupid, ever again. She had thrown away the pills, taken a break from coffee, straightened her workload out and put in extra effort. Her eyes were bright and electric again, the blue depths simmering with the passion for life that had so captivated him. Five months since they had ever come that close to giving in..........
He was tired. Weary of the life he had built around himself that had turned into a cage; tired of the social engagements, the mad vacations on the Seine and to Naples and Milan, tired of the yachts and the blue jewels and the blue blood. All he wanted was peace, but it was nowhere to be found. The nightmares had come very rarely, but now, were at least once a week; the workload was heavy, the pressure was great, the girls were too easy and left him warm and dirty and careless. She didn't know, he never told her of the stilted table conversations, the cool clink of his mother's Bulova watch against her champagne glass, the smoke that curled up in silent clouds around his father's head as he sat in his study reading the paper. He was alone, so alone, and only she was there to stave off eminent disaster. He drew as much as he could from her without alerting her. He wasn't ready, wasn't completely changed yet. A miracle was yet in coming.
Sometimes, when they'd talk and cuddle up on a couch, she noticed a listless silence in his demeanor that crept into his words; knowing him to be as moody and fickle as the weather, she tried to decipher it, and then put it aside. They'd tuck their toes under the couch cushions to keep warm, laugh over the day's events, and play tug of war with the blanket they were supposed to share. Laughing at infomercials and talk shows, making coffee, doing homework.........those days went by fast, fading into winter, and in his head, winter set also, gray and cold and devoid of life and warmth.
The sky was dull and thick like a gray, dirty wool blanket; it hung low and close to the ground, suffocating Rory as she walked out of the school towards the parking lot. The gargoyles stared at her with an animosity she imagined; scared, her body buzzing with a feeling, she picked up the pace. Around her, the black, skinny, bare-boned branches of the frozen trees reached up into the pale gray like dying fingers. A strange luminescence shone behind the dull, dirty gray; a pale winter's chill shone in the air, freezing her breath inside her mouth. Shivering, she walked quickly towards her car, an odd feeling assaulting her senses. She knew something was wrong.
And there he was.
He was leaning against his Ferrari, his latest toy. It was cold outside, but he had his blazer off, his shirtsleeves rolled up. The tie was loose around his neck, his shirt tails hanging out with a cocky air of careless prep boy arrogance that Rory would have found alluring if it wasn't so disturbing. He was smoking; his eyes were distant and cool like flat rocks under a river. His hair was a softly tousled mess, and he had the tiniest bit of blond stubble coming in around the edges of his jaw. Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he turned his winter eyes towards her and nodded at her politely.
"Rory."
Baffled and worried, she walked towards him quickly, her eyes speeding along the length of him, frightened.
"Tristan, what the hell are you doing? In case your mind's completely shut down and you haven't noticed, it's winter outside; but then I never gave your intelligence much credit.." she spoke quickly as she snatched the cigarette from his fingers and quickly felt his hands. They were cold as ice.
"Put your jacket on and get inside my car quick before your fingers fall off. Schoolwork at Chilton's hard enough as it is, you might need those. Tristan, say something. You look like a corpse. You look like Paris. Hey, an Englishman, a Yankee and a Cowboy walk into a bar.....ok, shit, this is not working. Get in."
Frightened at his lack of responsiveness, she unlocked the car and turned the engine on, putting the heat at full blast. Tristan climbed in, shutting the door, leaning back on the headrest. She looked at him curiously.
He let out a sigh, the vacancy in his eyes sending a shiver through her.
"I wanna go, Rory."
The words were familiarly spine tingling, and Rory recognized them in an instant. They had been her very words.
Mystified, she replied slowly, with the fated answer.
"Where?" she whispered numbly.
"Anywhere," he answered, looking at her straight in the eyes.
His eyes said desperation, behind the blank mask. Knowing what she had to do, Rory took a deep breath, and pulled all the courage insider her out to do it.
"I trust you'll take care of the financial."
"Always."
The little transaction of words felt so devoid of emotion, that they unsettled her. Revving the engine, she pulled out of the parking lot, and speeded down the freeway.
Chandeliers sparkled like a million teardrops above their heads, lush carpets rolled out beneath them. Golden elevators ascended and descended like waterfalls flowing smoothly over the glass walls of the interior lobby. Opulence shone from everywhere like expensive perfume; Rory couldn't help stare a little, amazed at the quiet, smooth flow of people around her, the delicacy of the glass umbrellas inside the lounge that rested over every table amidst a flowery grill of wrought iron surrounding the walls. Huge fountains twinkles and sparkled and laughed, peacefully whispering lush secrets in their taffeta rustle of flowing water. Exotic flowers dangled from the lacy iron, the cool marble and granite underneath it carved in curious shapes; polished, dark cherry wood chairs were scattered about.
"The Chalet Lounge," said Tristan absently, leading her towards the elevators.
They passed many floors, on some, the glistening silverware throwing gleams off the snow white tables; on others, endless dimly lighted golden hallways stretching out towards huge French windows. On one level, a huge, blue, empty pools glistened quietly in the warm yellow light of the brass lamps that bobbed around it like fireflies; the next level was theirs.
They stepped off the elevator and walked towards the end of the hallway. Rory took one moment to look outside the crystal windows, and gasped.
Below them, forest and pure banks of glittering snow stretched out; around them, the moody and mysterious mountains hid in blue and purple, their visages shimmering through the clear winter air. Twinkling lights that reminded her of Stars Hollow were everywhere over the beautiful town that surrounded them, the quaint shops and tiny hamlets on the hillside all decorated. Rory could see range upon range in the distance, powerful, majestic, with silver peaks and glimmering moonlit slopes reflecting lavender in the dimming twilight. It was breathtaking, discreet, and more marvelous than anything she'd ever seen before.
She felt so small surrounded by those beautiful, close, mysterious mountains, so small, yet enveloped in the golden crystal lit cocoon with huge windows that allowed her to stare at the natural beauty that surrounded her. She let out a small, appreciative gasp.
"It's so....beautiful..." she said, lost for words.
Tristan joined her silently at the window, looking out at the vast picture colored in moody blacks, purples, and silver.
"I loved it when I was little. Standing inside this golden, warm, gleaming stronghold and looking out the endless mystery around me, so huge....so distant...yet so close...." he said quietly, surprising her with the depth of his words.
"My parents didn't like it. I guess it reminded them that there were things larger and more important than them and their lifestyle. Those mountains are rich in buried history and stories they don't tell anyone, so majestic in their quiet splendor. So unlike humans...." he continued, and she felt herself dancing amazed at his words inside.
"That's what I was just thinking," she breathed, taking one last look at the huge vista.
The two went inside, were Rory was stunned to find the room was a corner suite. It had two beds, and the whole corner was just one massive French window, made out of glass that stretched over where one wall of the room should have been. The picture looked even bigger and more beautiful, and Rory stepped close to the edge, trying to peer down.
"Not afraid of heights, are we," grinned Tristan, joining her.
"Nope," she laughed, looking down. "If you stand with your toes to the glass and look down, it looks like you're going to fall."
"Makes ya a little dizzy," replied Tristan, stepping back. "But it's beautiful."
The suite was richly ornamented in white and gold, beautiful, fragrant flowers tastefully adorning it. They turned on a light, turning the huge purple picture outside into darkness.
"Funny how turning on a light makes the darkness seem threatening," commented Rory, noticing the change. She examined the bathroom and closets like a kid, delighted at each new little accessory and amenity. He was used to it.
She jumped up on the bed with him and they lay there, staring at the ceiling, wandering, lost inside their thoughts. She turned her head and looked at him, eyes shimmering.
"Welcome to the French Alps, Mary," he said quietly, breaking the silence. They lay there, and shortly turned out the light, just thinking some more.
She squinted in the morning light for a second; in another second she remembered where she was, and it took only a few more to smile.
It was morning.
She faintly recalled leaving a message for her mom explaining all. Lorelai would understand now, having watched Tristan and come to like him. Only a mother could see Tristan as the lonely child he really was, and Lorelai took special care to make him feel at home whenever he had come over. She pulled him into their circle of warmth, a place so remote from the world around them, so far away that he could never have found it by himself.
Sleepy and hazy eyed, Rory wandered into the bathroom only to be surprised, and not unpleasantly at that. She shook her head as though to shake the sleep out of her eyes, and stared in amazement.
Tristan was standing there in a towel, casually shaving; she could smell his clean shower scent and the light fragrance of the foam. Smiling silently, she leaned against the wall, watching him meticulously wield the razor. With a few swift movements he had eliminated all foam off his face, and he turned on the water and swashed his face. Leaning in close to the mirror, he examined it carefully, and then ran his hand over it. Taking a bit of aftershave, he splashed it over his jaw and neck, and then smiled in satisfaction at the job.
Rory giggled, and he turned around, surprised.
"Morning. Didn't see you come in." he said, watching her with a smirk. "Is this "walking in on each other in the bathroom" bit going to be accidental? Cause I'd like my turn."
Rory laughed.
"I doubt you'd want to see me shave," she grinned, curiously meandering over to examine the tools of the trade. "I've never seen anyone shave before, except when my mom runs around the house trying to find her purse and shave her legs at the same time with the electric razor when she wakes up late, but that doesn't really count. I meant a guy."
He smiled, and felt it reach his eyes.
"Did you find the experience enjoyable?" he whispered low in her ear as he passed.
Five months ago she would have blushed, or maybe been at lack for words. But time in the company of Tristan had taught her to be resilient and to ignore his blatantly flirtatious behavior.
"I'd find it more enjoyable if I got something out of it," she said calmly, stifling a laugh at the look he always got when she responded in his manner.
"Trust me baby, if it involves me, you get something out of it," he said suavely.
"You should probably get your ego in check before it gets so big it starts buying stocks." Rory countered, eyeing him sorely.
"Una problema," said Tristan, suddenly appearing from the closet. "We don't exactly have clothes this time."
Rory furrowed her brow and sighed.
"Damn, I forgot about that. What to do?" she wondered, scanning her mind for options.
"Put on yesterday's and go shopping with me. Or we could stay here and walk around in towels. Or naked, if that suits you better."
"I'm sure that would only suit you better," Rory snorted in amusement. "Breakfast?"
"On the way up," answered Tristan, appearing yet again in his towel.
"I dare you to answer the door butt naked." grinned Rory, watching his stunned reply.
"Hmmm, ....what'll you give me?" queried Tristan with an amused smile.
"My deepest respect. Double dare you."
"Ooohh, can't back down from that one. You really want to see me naked, don't you."
Even though the idea unsettled Rory more than she would have liked to admit, it was too late to back down.
"If I wanted to see you naked, you would have been naked by now." she responded dryly.
"Oh, you think I'd do that for just about anyone?" he said with an injured air.
"Chilton polls say ...... all the pretty girls count as anyone..." she quipped, the words stinging her a little.
"Chilton polls are wrong," he replied shortly and disappeared back into the bathroom.
There was quiet for a few moments, before Rory got bored again.
"Whatcha doin in there?" she called out from her haphazard position on the bed.
"Waxing my chest," came the reply in an affected feminine voice.
This sent Rory into a fit of giggles, and she hopped off the bed and peeked around the bathroom door.
He was successfully styling his hair with water and a tiny can of complementary hair spray.
"Oh God! Desacration! What happened to your ten gallon can of gel?" mocked Rory.
"Oh, you got jokes. If you really care to know, I don't use that much gel really. I like my hair touchable." said Tristan with an effeminate flair.
"Eww, Tristan, it scares me how well you do that. Let me test it for touchability," she grinned, and reached up.
His hair was soft, surprisingly soft; she found herself confused and lost for a second as her fingers traveled up through his hair, running over his head.
"It's like duck fluff," she managed, without sarcasm.
They were too close for comfort; she faintly smell the aftershave, the soft smell of his skin near his neck, and all of a sudden she felt hungry to taste his mouth....empty.....
He felt a tiny pang of anticipation run through him, his body knowing him better than he knew himself.
"You like?" he whispered, and his mouth was dry, left open and empty for great things to fill.
She was so close he could have bent down and kissed her, but instead, he held still, as though afraid she would disappear if he attempted to make sure she was real.
She was dazed, appalled by her weakness, memories flooding back into her veins, sweet like poison; the house, the vines on the iron, the flower cascades; blues and jazz, a cold bathroom and his warm skin, the eyes in the dark that glimmered with pain and honesty........the softly whispered words of his song.....
There was a knock on the door.
Tristan mentally cursed, Rory stepped away confused and embarrassed, and the two stared for a moment.
"I'll get it," offered Rory awkwardly, noticing Tristan's state of less dress.
He helped her with the breakfast trays, setting them down on the table, and the two pulled up chairs and ate while looking at the dazzling vista outside their massive glass wall. The slopes glittered like pure sugar in the sun, the sky blue as the bluest eye; richly foliaged pine trees dotted the landscape and then stretched out into forests further into the mountains.
The two ate in silence, rehashing and remembering everything that had happened five months ago. It was not even half-year, but it seemed a life time. Since then, they had been just friends....but any close contact and the restless truce was in serious danger of being broken. It had been Rory then. Now she knew it was Tristan, but she didn't know why and how, and she knew she had to find out before things got too expensive and serious.
The two dressed and descended into the quaint, picturesque French-Swiss hamlet, laughing and joking through the remainder of the afternoon as they selected a few clothes and sampled everything they could. Underneath it all lay the real problem, and it brooded as large, distant and ominous as the hidden mountains in the distance.
They hadn't talked yet.
The whole day had passed, and another night, but he had said nothing yet; Rory waited, not wanting to push, afraid of what might come out of his mouth. But he was silent, offering no clue to his sudden spontaneous escape, and the reason he had brought her here.
Until the second evening.
He slid into the silk shirt easily, the smooth material fitting over his broad shoulders and smooth, muscled frame easily; tying the tie with a few deft movements, he tightened it and admired the effect. Slipping into the suit coat, he turned to admire the handsome, tall figure in the mirror. He ran a hand through the thick, soft blond hair and smirked suavely at the mirror. Nice, nice indeed. No one in that dining room could hold a candle to him and Rory tonight.
He swaggered out of the bathroom, and stopped still at seeing the figure at the window.
The room was dark, and the stars shone outside the huge glass window fiercely; he could see her slender silhouette by the window. The long, shapely legs ascended into a knee-length well tailored cloud of tulle netting under a satin skirt that shifted to wherever she swung her hips. Above it rose a tiny waist and graceful arms that rested slim fingers on the window. Breathless, he watched as her eyes glimmered blue and purple from the light outside. She didn't see him. She was completely lost in the scenery.
He came up quietly behind her, drinking her in, the shapes and angles and planes of her body, the flutter of her features in the darkness. Breathing in deep, he tasted her scent, and then put out two hesitant hands. They floated over her shoulders, slipping in a quick movement down her arms.
Startled, she turned with a good natured smile that faded quickly when she saw his face. Shocked, for a moment, she realized what it was; his guard was down. The unbelievably cocky and self confident player was slightly lost for words as he studied her barely open lips. His whole defense was gone.
"You look beautiful," he finally managed, and softly, in the evening gloom, she read his smile.
"Thank you," she responded calmly and elegantly, giving him a gorgeous smile that shook him.
"Would you dance?" he asked, out of nowhere. Slightly bewildered, but bemused, Rory grinned.
"Sure, why not. What's playing?" she asked, taking a step towards him.
"Hmm....Cole Porter. Or maybe, some low swing New Orleans style blues." he whispered, drawing her in.
Both were skilled, thanks to Miss Patty for Rory and thanks to millions of social engagements for Tristan. With an easy grace they floated around the room, bathed in the starlight. He held her delicately in his arms, the only sounds in the room were their soft breathing and the barely audible footsteps on the carpet. She treaded lightly on slim heeled gold slippers, eyes partially closed, the song playing in her head. She started humming a bit, a sweet, clear contralto.
He watched the starlight dance into shadows on her face as they stepped gracefully to the unheard rhythm; drawing her in a little closer, he bent his head into the nape of her neck the tiniest bit, aching to taste her perfume. Slowly, almost unconsciously, she brought her face closer, until they were cheek to cheek. He spread his hand on the small of her back, guiding her body carefully; she draped one arm around his neck, her fingers absently toying with the hair on the back of his neck.
It took one tiny snag.
In a split second, her heel had caught in the carpet; it was only a tiny trip, a small disruption, but if woke both of them up instantly. She realized with a certain rush of nervousness that his face was so close that she could hear him breathe close to her ear. He realized in one split second a decision would be made. But he was trained well. He didn't hesitate.
"Wouldn't it be nice," he whispered, distracting her from the terrifying moment, "you and me always doing this, flying around the world to golden hotels and listening to Cole Porter and dancing in the dark, wouldn't it be nice....always young, rich, and beautiful, you and me. We'd be immortal."
The words played in her ears like magic, and she couldn't helps smile at them. They resumed a slow sway, her arms wrapped around his neck and his pulling her closer as he whispered all kinds of daydreams.
"We'd go to Paris, and then, I want to take you on a yacht to Greece. Then we'd go to Hong Kong and see the orchid gardens. I'd take you to Colombia and we could have fresh coffee. I mean fresh. Then, maybe we'll sail on a huge cruise boat to Alaska and see the Aurora, northern lights. We'd never think about anything else..."
"At least until your pocket book runs out," smiled Rory as they swayed.
"Then we'd head home and get another load from my safe. Trust me, there's enough to go around."
"I bet," murmured Rory, lost inside the softly rocking moonlight world. "Why me? I'm that good of a friend?" she said jokingly, quietly.
He hesitated for a moment, and then drunk with the stars, opened his mouth.
"Because I love you," he said so softly that it shook her like an electric current.
Frozen inside his embrace, she didn't move. She couldn't. The words flowed through her veins like fire; she wanted to scream, wanted to escape, wanted to crush his mouth with fierce kisses. She did none. She just stood.
He noticed she'd stopped moving, and dread overtook him. Almost instinctively, he tightened his grip on her, drawing his head back; he knew this was it.
Her eyes were lost; they wandered all over his face, not wanting to lock in on his. She was dizzy. He could hear her short, erratic breath and the way her lips fell a little bit open, as though struggling to say something. Hope sped through him like a poisoned bullet, and he waited desperately for something, anything.
She said nothing.
Heart gone still and cold, he slowly pressed her to him, and laid his head on her shoulder. She held on fiercely, a small tear forming.
"I'm sorry," she heard him whisper. "I didn't mean to. It just came out. I swear."
She interrupted his dizzy apology, putting her finger up to his mouth and whispering, "shhh" in a painful way. Closing her eyes, she struggled to hold back the emotions.
He released her and took a step back. This was it. He shouldn't have said it. Turning his back, he headed towards the door, unsure of where to go.
"Tristan."
It was only one word, but he read Rory's voice like an open book full of nuances. Frozen, he didn't dare turn his head.
When he heard the footsteps behind him, he spun around just in time to catch her mouth. She kissed him passionately, her arms pulling him in, her mouth numb with sudden emotion and joy and confusion; he felt a slow grin overtake his features, and he had to pull away for a second to smile and breathe. The stood there, bathed in the pale evening light, just breathing and grinning.
This time, he leaned in and kissed her agonizingly slow, teasing her, pulling her in one inch at a time; his lips barely touched down and then pulled back, finally landing softly on hers. The pressure increased as her fingers crept up to his face, tracing the chiseled lines of his jaw and his partly open lips, a tiny fingertip landing between them, and exiting, moist.
Driven mad, he fully took control and entered her lips forcefully, and she fought back; a soft moan emerged from her throat as the tip of his tongue traced the opening between her lips. Soft and warm, he quested, not forced; she allowed him to invade, to take over, leaving her weak in the knees.
She took a step back, and another, and the two fell onto the bed, crawling back wards a few feet. His hands carefully traced her, as thought to make sure she was real.
"You're crushing the dress," whispered Rory breathlessly, in a tiny break for air.
"I don't think I really care, unless you do," Tristan said, claiming her lips once again.
She could feel the length of his body, muscle and sinew and bone tightly wound together, shifting like heavy, velvet covered iron, but not too heavy. Gently, he made sure he wasn't hurting her. Warmth spread over her from his body, and she was lost in the feeling of being overpowered, weak from his lips, his hands.
"Tristan, don't......start...." she struggled between kisses, her own words refusing to leave her mouth... "something....we can't finish," she managed to gasp out, almost crazy from the shivers running up her thighs.
Instantly, he quickly rolled off, and sat up beside her. The strain showed on his features, but he bit his lip hard and struggled quietly for a few seconds. She lay beside him, her body screaming out for her to reach up and pull him back down. But her mind reminded her otherwise, and flooded with regret and a sudden tightness, she sat up also and looked ruefully at the dress for a second. She refused to look at him, knowing if she did she would lose all control.
Tristan sat quietly with his back against the wall, a slow smile spreading across his features. His eyes were full; they sparkled in the cool light brightly, silently. He'd known it all along, waited for her patiently, waited and wondered, and now he knew.
She wanted him too.
His smile showed the arrogance, the cockiness, the self confidence of a man who had it so together that nothing short of a catastrophe could take it apart. He was a player, a thief, a con man in his own sense; he stole hearts, he stole smiles, he stole impressions and could lie through anything. Nothing could take him apart. Nothing except a beautiful woman.
That certain woman's been the downfall of many a man such as this. Tristan DuGrey was the self made prep school boy who definitely had it all. Nothing could melt the outer exterior, the cool, uncomplicated but mischievously smiling self. The boy was out for trouble the day he was born, and he'd been getting away with ever since.
But now, in the severity of the situation, his life cool and distanced around him, and the beautiful woman who was the given downfall practically in his arms, things were not like he'd imagined them to be. There was too much emotion. Too much pain. Too much want.
She had won. She had brought him down.
But he didn't care. The walls shimmered and trembled with emotion around them, silent witness to the crime. She buried her face in her hands and they sat there on the bed, sorting everything out, separating everything in their heads and organizing it. This went here. That went there. And the emotion, they could not find a place for, a reason for, an explanation. So they pushed it from between them, and crawled next to each other, looking out at it. She laid her head on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing the cool silk of his shirt. Her cheeks were flushed and his breath was warm on his head. They sat there for a while, just thinking.
"It's so cold. No one understands. That's why I didn't want to tell you." he said, voice a little unsteady.
"I do. C'mere," she motioned, and he laid his head down in her lap as she stroked his head, running her hands through his hair. "You'll find a way to manage. You always do. You always land on your feet," she whispered, desperately wanting to believe her own words.
"I don't know. It's like I live by myself, and no one's around. I'm tired of being rich. I know you don't feel sorry for me, don't. But I swear to god, I don't need a psychiatrist or anything. I don't know what I need."
"I don't either," she said, smiling sadly. "As much as your Holden Caulfield-esque situation draws me, I can't seem to be able to get to the middle of it. What do I do with you, Tristan?" she asked plaintively.
"Hold me and make it go away," he whispered, and she bent down and placed a warm, lingering kiss onto his lips.
He crawled into her arms like a lost little boy, and she let him burrow into her like he was dying of cold and she was his only blanket. Burying his head into the nape of her neck, he whispered out what had happened, his dreams, and told her things he'd never told her before. Things he'd never told anyone. Told her about his house, the first girl he was ever in love with and what had happened, told her about his parent's affairs and their cold hearted regret at having a child to hamper them. Everything poured out, and she cried for him, because he couldn't cry. He tried, but he couldn't remember how to.
The sunlight tasted clear and sweet on her lips when she woke up in the morning. Opening huge, sleep hazy eyes, she gasped when she saw who was in her arms, remembered the night before, and relaxed. Looking sadly at the decidedly pathetic crumpled dress, she smiled softly. Rory ran a hand through his soft hair, looking at his peaceful face as he slept. Running a finger across his lips, she headed for the shower.
When she got out, he went in. She dressed, and ordered a light breakfast. Quietly picking up any articles they had, she carefully packed them, and set everything by the beds. When he came out, he noticed. The two ate breakfast and didn't say much.
"I take it you want to leave," he finally said, and she looked up quickly.
"Tomorrow is a school day," she said carefully. "I want you to take a break. We have two more days of school, and then the weekend. This weekend, you're staying with me and my mom in Stars Hollow."
His eyes widened, one eyebrow cocked. He took a careful bite of French Toast.
"How do you think she'll react when you get home and to top it, tell her that?"
"We'll figure it out. Go to school these next two days, and I'll take care of you. By Monday, we'll have something figured out. I can't keep running away, we can't keep running. First me, than you, next what? We'll figure something out, there'll be a way to fix all this. But I need help. I need my mom. And I need you. Don't lose me again, ok?"
He took one look at her worried face, and felt a small warmth spread through him.
"I thought we already figured something out," he said quietly, and watched carefully for her response.
"And what might that be, Mr. DuGrey?" she answered playfully.
Suddenly leaning in, he placed a powdered sugar sticky kiss on her lips that she hungrily answered to.
"Besides that," she said, blushing a little.
"Nothing else besides that. I'm ready to go home. Er, to my house. How bout you?"
"Can't wait. Let's catch the first plane out."
The two pushed aside the breakfast plates, and stood up, heading for the doorway. Tristan couldn't resist.
"You sure you wanna leave before we do something you probably couldn't do at home? We're in a locked hotel room on another continent. I'd take advantage of this if I were you." he said, leaning close, with a terrifyingly seductive smile that unnerved her and almost made her loose her cool. Two can play that game, she remembered with a sly smile.
She reached out and put her lips close to his ear, kissing his neck before whispering into his hair.
"When I want to take advantage of you, it won't matter where we are." Rory purred, and headed for the door.
Stunned and literally weak in the knees, he watched her hips as they departed. Struggling to regain control, he shook his head in amazement.
"Damn," he muttered, and followed her out. "Let the games begin."
4 Months Later.
Rory and Tristan curled up in the porch swing, rocking back and forth lazily. Her head rested on his shoulder, and he draped his arm around her lazily.
"Glad you decided to stick it out till the year was over. You know, we're about to be done with this school forever. Are we supposed to be feeling bad?" she said, snuggling into his shoulder.
"Oh trust me, I'm definitely not joining any alumni organizations. Wanna get in on my plans to bomb the place after we graduate?"
"No thanks, Harvard might have a teeny problem with my indictment. I'm pretty sure admissions frowns on that kinds of thing." grinned Rory.
"Fine," grumbled Tristan. "You'll have to get a fire escape ladder so I can sneak into your dorm room. I'll be just across the lawn in the men's dorms......."
"Why can't you walk in the front door like everyone else?" giggled Rory.
"What kind of story to tell your grandkids would that be?" grinned Tristan mischievously. "Plus, I mean to be there long after visiting hours."
"Why would you want to do that?" said Rory, cocking an eyebrow with a sly smile.
"So we can get down and dirty."
"Tristan!"
"What?! I've stopped throwing innuendoes at you. Now I'm just being flat out honest." he protested, a gleam in his eye. "You weren't picking up too well on the hints, I thought I'd try the straightforward way."
"Either way, don't expect much," scolded Rory dryly. Instantly she blushed, as he gave her an incredulous look, reminding her of how utterly ridiculous and false that statement would be. Quietly, they laughed together. Stopping to look into the huge blue eyes, the boy felt a wave of love wash through him.
"I didn't the first day we stepped off that plane in New Orleans. Things have been a little different since," he said quietly.
"Mmmm," she murmured, reaching up and placing a lazy kiss on his lips.
"Hey, isn't this about the time we went last year?" she said, a gleam in her eyes.
"Yeah, it kinda is," he said slowly, catching the look creeping over her face. "Oh god, you're insane. Please don't say it. Don't....okay...do..."
"I wanna go," she whispered, and stood up.
"Oh God!" he yelled after her, but she wasn't listening. She raced inside the house.
"I'm packing! Get the keys!" she yelled back from another room, and he could hear her laughter. He took a deep breath, and followed her in.
Alright, that was it! Liked it, hated it, drop me a line. Also, if you want a sequel, lemme know because I was seriously thinking of starting one. It won't be as long as the first but it'll still probably be during senior year at Chilton. Thanks for the support, it's been good, but I think I'm reverting to the dark side (jess and rory) which, I know, is seriously scary, but if I do, come and check it out. you might even (gasp) like it. lol, whatever, and adios.
luce
