Author's Note: Erm. *cough* I am so sorry. It has been...I don't even
know. Months. Possibly even a full year since I updated this. I
apologize and hope you can forgive me. I began this story waaay back in
season one ( yes, come on, let's all rewind together ) as a sort of
alternate "The Third Lorelai" and it snowballed from there. Among the
multitudes of post-military school Trory fics, this seems very...old. But,
as this chapter has been almost complete for a long time, I decided to
finish it and just see what happened. I'm still not sure whether I'll
complete this fic - the way I originally planned it, I've got at least
three chapters to go and I'm not sure I have the inclination to finish,
particularly with school starting. But I'll think about it and hopefully
reach a decision soon. I would ask for feedback, but I feel so guilty
about the time lapse between chapters that I won't. *grin* But I'll still
accept any and all that you happen to send my way. On to the fic!
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory twisted slightly in her seat to face Tristan. They were about halfway to Hartford, ready to begin the twenty-four hour stretch to be spent at his house. Tristan, unaware of her eyes on him, lifted a hand from the wheel to rub the back of his neck. Rory winced.
"If you'd woken me up, you wouldn't be so stiff."
"If you hadn't looked so comfortable, I'd have woken you up." Tristan countered. He started to rub his neck again, but caught himself and adjusted the rear-view mirror instead. Rory dropped the subject and looked out the window at the passing scenery. She fidgeted for a few minutes before turning back to Tristan. His jaw was tight, she noticed. And he wasn't teasing her half as much as was normal. She was about to open her mouth, but Tristan swore under his breath and spun the steering wheel to the left, emitting a gasp from Rory as the car swerved. In a moment, he had the car straightened out again. Rory saw a white bobtail flipping into the woods to their right.
"Sorry. Deer." Their eyes met and Rory knew they were both remembering another deer, whose bad luck to have run into a car had resulted in Rory missing a Shakespeare test and revealing her temper to her entire English class. They sat in silence for a few minutes, oddly peaceful. Then Rory remembered the question she had wanted to ask him.
"Will your parents be home when we get there?" Tristan shot her a teasing look.
"Why, Mary? Afraid to be alone with me?" Rory rolled her eyes, half- exasperated, half-amused.
"You know what, Tristan? That's definitely it. You found me out. I have a chronic fear of blond, blue-eyed preppies." She looked out the window. The scenery was changing, the woodsy area diminishing to apartement buildings, which in turn gave way to the large, sprawling mansions of Hartford suburbia. Rory was so absorbed in the scenery that she didn't notice Tristan turning onto a private driveway. She looked at him questioningly as he parked.
"We're here." Tristan opened the door and stepped out, pulling his book bag free of the backseat. Rory followed, stepping carefully out of the car, slinging her book bag over one shoulder and folding her Chilton uniform, in its protective plastic bag in her arms. She gazed, awed, at the immense house set well back from the road. Tristan noticed. "Take a picture. Lasts longer." Rory closed her mouth, slightly surprised. The tension in his voice was evident. She followed Tristan up the few steps to the front door and watched, slightly nervous, as he took out his keys and unlocked the front door. He hadn't answered her question about his parents.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Tristan pushed open the front door and held it as Rory walked inside. A quick glance to the left of the door confirmed his thoughts- the coatrack was empty. His parents had apparently gotten an early start on the day at the club. That knowledge alone allowed him to release the breath he had unconciously been holding.
Rory stood a few feet in front of him, her arms crossed over her stomach. She was facing away from him, admiring a portrait on the wall, one of his parents' more recent acquistitions, so Tristan took the oppurtunity to study her. She looked completely relaxed in her jeans and v- necked purple knit shirt with overlong sleeves that almost covered her hands. Her hair was loose, held back from her face with a wide, crocheted headband.
"So this is it, huh?" Tristan shrugged, dropping his small duffel bag next to the table.
"Home, sweet home." He stood with his hands in the pockets of his khakis, watching her with interest as she gazed around the immense house. Finally she spoke again.
"Does it come with a floor plan?" The note of awe in her voice was unmistakable. Tristan smirked.
"No. But you have your very own personal tour guide. And if you're very good, he'll be your very own personal something else, too." Rory rolled her eyes in amusement.
"Lucky me."
"Guest room's upstairs." The words were barely out of his mouth before Rory saw a small blur fly across the room.
"Twistan!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory's mouth dropped open. There was a small, blonde, dark eyed girl clinging to Tristan's legs. He staggered forward a few steps to regain his balance, then turned and mock-glared at the girl, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. She screamed in delight, short, slim arms locked around Tristan's neck. Rory watched, fascinated, as Tristan spun around a few times, making the girl - his sister? - shriek and squeal. After a few moments her put her down, turning her so she faced Rory. Rory could only stare. She had never imagined Tristan doing something so carefree, so relaxed, so...normal. The girl, seeing Rory for the first time, squeaked and hid behind Tristan's legs. Tristan carefully drew her out.
"Uh, Rory, this is my sister Alexandra, Lexie for short. Lexie, this is Rory. She's a friend from school." Rory crouched down to the little girl's level and offered her hand.
"Hi, Lexie. It's nice to meet you." Lexie slowly took Rory's hand and offered a shy smile.
"Hi." Before Rory could say anything else, she had turned and skipped back into the kitchen. Tristan grinned after her and then met Rory's amused gaze.
"What?" Rory shrugged.
"I never pictured you as having a sibling. You always sort of had that only-child thing going on." They started up the staircase to the second floor.
"I actually have three siblings. Chris is the oldest; he's twenty- seven. Then Gordie, who's twenty-three. Then me, then Lexie." Rory lifted an eyebrow.
"And somewhere in between 'my birthday is September ninth' and 'my favorite book is the Mosquito Coast,' you meant to tell me this." Tristan smirked.
"I should probably also mention my six dogs, nine cats, and my parokeet named Horace." Rory froze.
"Tell me you're kidding."
"I'm kidding." Rory resumed climbing the stairs.
"I have bad parokeet memories. There was this one time when I was eight and my mother got into an arguement with Kirk's parokeet, and they began to squawk back and forth at each other so loudly that the neighbors came outside to see what was happening and before long the whole block was squawking at the parokeet or maybe my mother and you can just jump in here any time now." Tristan was staring at her.
"Did you just say all that in one breath?" Rory nodded.
"It's genetic." They stepped off the landing and Rory glanced around, wide-eyed, at the four corridors leading in different directions. Tristan put his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.
"So do you want the that tour now, or do you want to go put your stuff away."
"Room first. Then tour. This thing weighs a ton." She hefted the backpack containing her school supplies and her things for the night. Before she could object, Tristan took it out of her hand and slipped it over his shoulder. She lifted an eyebrow and he looked back at her innocently.
"What, you want it back?" He started down the hall and after a moment, Rory followed him. She held in a gasp when Tristan opened the door to the guest room. The room was bigger than her own, with a queen-sized bed against the wall and a mahagony bureau and dressing table. Across the room she could see a private bathroom. She glanced at Tristan out of the corner of her eye, anticipating a smirk. Instead he was leaning against the doorframe, studying a tiny chip in the plaster. Rory walked into the room and dropped her backpack next to the bed, trying not to stare around the room. She walked back to Tristan.
"Okay, tour please." They started back toward the stairs as Tristan began gesturing into various rooms and rattling off descriptions.
"Guest room, guest room, closet containing miscellaneous towels, sheets, et cetera, master bedroom-" Rory caught a glimpse of an extremely large television and a circular, king-sized bed before Tristan turned left into the next corrider, "Gordie's old room, Chris's old room, Lexie's room- " Rory stopped for a moment, smiling slightly as she looked through the slightly ajar door into a room that seemed to be overflowing with various shades of pink. Pale pink walls, pink carpet, pink furniture, pink curtains, pink canopy over the pink bed. There were porcelain dolls lined up on the windowsill and an ornate dollhouse on the pink table. The room looked like a perfect ad out of a children's magazine, until Rory caught sight of something under the bed. Stepping a little way into the room, she saw what it was- a cardboard box full of grimy My Little Pony dolls, put away with the haphazard look of a forbidden item. Rory jumped when she heard Tristan's voice from over her shoulder.
"She's always forgetting about the ponies." Stepping into the room, Tristan leaned down and pushed the box further under the bed, hiding it from view and restoring the room to its look of perfection. He looked up and met the Rory's confused gaze.
"My mother likes our rooms neat." He turned to leave the room, to find Rory doing the same. Startled, they both backed up. Rory crossed her arms over her stomach self-consciously. "After you." She looked up sharply at Tristan's words. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the smirk on his lips at their once-again 'potential Marx brothers moment.'
"You don't have to look so smug about it." He gave her a wide-eyed, 'who, me?' look. Rory rolled her eyes and went through the door, Tristan right behind her, resuming the tour.
"Down that corrider are the cook's room, the housekeeper's room, and the maid's room." Rory gazed down the hall with interest.
"Wow. You have servants. Do you know their names?" Tristan gave her a strange look.
"I do, actually." Rory nodded approvingly.
"Good. What's down there?" They started down the stairs.
"The dining room, which you saw, the living room, which you saw, the parlor, which isn't worth seeing, as it's in the process of being redecorated, and the kit-" his words were lost in the stream of Spanish that floated out of the kitchen. A heavy-set woman with dark hair severely pulled back in a bun stood in the doorway.
"That's Emanuela, our cook. My mother likes french maids, but Emanuela has been the Dugrey cook for twenty-five years, and my father refused to get rid out her." Tristan said softly to Rory. "Come on. Meet her." Rory stared at him, her eyes still wide with surprise. Instead of giving her time to answer, Tristan took her hand and dragged her over to the cook with all the eagerness of a little kid at Christmas. Before she knew it, Rory was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, being surveyed from head to foot by a pair of forbidding black eyes. She swallowed and linked her hands behind her back.
"Hi. It's nice to meet you." Tristan translated her words into Spanish, producing a shocked look from Rory. The woman said something back, her eyes never leaving Rory, and what ensued was a rapid-fire conversation in fluent Spanish between Tristan and the cook. All of which seemed to be about her. Finally, the woman flapped a hand at Tristan, nodded regally to Rory, and went back to the pot of delicious-smelling something on the stove. Rory caught sight of Lexie seated on a stool at the counter, coloring furiously with crayons. She waved shyly and Rory waved back. She followed Tristan back out to the hall, missing the smile he hid behind a cough.
"You speak Spanish." Tristan gave her an amused look.
"That Chilton education is really paying off." For once, Rory ignored his comment.
"When did you learn to speak Spanish?" Tristan shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.
"I don't know. We all speak it- Chris and Gordie and me. We spent more time with Emanuela than with our nanny. She used to play pool with us." Rory looked at him skeptically.
"Pool, huh?" Tristan gave her a mock-indignant look.
"Yes, pool. We have a table in the basement. Come on." He gently pushed her through a door at the end of the hall and down the stairs into the basement. The room was dark, and Rory instinctivly put her arms out to try and get her bearings. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt Tristan's hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the left. "I just need to find the switch." She stood still, trying not to bump into anything, as Tristan finally flipped the lights.
"Wow." Rory's gaze travelled over the room. In it was a pool table, pin-ball machine, and ping-pong table. There were weights in the corner and posters of cars on the walls. The room had a very masculine feel. "So I'm guessing Lexie doesn't spend a lot of time down here." Tristan put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall, watching her walk slowly around the room.
"She does, actually. I'm teaching her to play pool, and she can already play pin-ball." Rory lifted an eyebrow.
"She's six."
"I was five."
"You have two older brothers."
"She has three."
"Yeah, but yours were living in the same house." Tristan shrugged, conceding that the round went to her. "So what's in there?" Rory nodded toward a closed door at the back of the room. Tristan's face lit up.
"I'll show you." He opened the door and held it as Rory walked through, closing it behind him. He watched in amusement as Rory's mouth dropped open. They had entered the garage. At least eight gleaming cars were parked neatly in rows. Rory walked slowly up the aisle between the rows, hands linked behind her back so as not to be tempted to touch and possibly leave finger-prints on the shining paint. She turned around, meeting Tristan's smile.
"This is amazing." He shrugged.
"My dad collects them. Except for that one in the corner"- he nodded toward a dark purple old-model Volkswagon Beetle. "That was from Gordie's brief stint as a hippie."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"So which one's yours?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, Rory was filled with regret. A small, sardonic grin was forming on Tristan's lips. He nodded toward the left Rory cautiously followed his gaze. There, parked in the shadows where she hadn't looked before, stood a motorcycle. Swallowing, she met Tristan's gaze. He dangled the keys in front of her face. His eyes were laughing.
"So, what do you say, Mary? Wanna go for a ride?"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory swallowed, glancing at the motorcycle. It seemed to be growing bigger and scarier by the moment. Not about to be outdone, she nodded.
"Sure." She watched the shock spread across Tristan's face.
"Did you just say sure?" Rory linked her hands behind her back and gave him a wide-eyed look.
"Why not? I rode my dad's last time he visited." She watched a smirk spread across his face as he tossed her a spare helmet and settled his own on his head. He opened the garage door by remote and straddled the bike, lifting an eyebrow as Rory stood uncertainly, teetering on the brink of backing out. Unable to help herself, she glanced at Tristan. His face said clearly that he didn't expect her to go through with it. That made up her mind. Rory lifted her chin and took quick steps toward him, straddling the bike before she could lose her nerve.
Tristan took a quick breath at the feeling of Rory pressed against his back, her hands tentatively holding the back of his shirt. He reached around and took her hands, bringing them around his sides. Rory felt his stomach muscles flex as her arms settled around his waist. She felt him start the engine as the bike throbbed beneath her, involuntarily burying her face in the back of his jacket, squeezing her eyes shut as he took off out onto the road.
* * * * * * * * * * *
After a few minutes, the motion of the bike smoothed out and Rory opened her eyes. The wind whipped her hair in front of her face, and the road flashed past with dizzying speed. Involuntarily Rory tightened her arms around Tristan's waist, feeling his sharp sigh even through the several layers of clothing. The sun was peeking from behind a cloud, and Rory closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean against Tristan's back and sway to the rhythm of the motorcycle. She was so relaxed that she almost missed the sign at the place where Tristan turned. Hartford Country Club, founded 1956. Rory felt all her unease come flowing back, and from the sudden tension in his body, Tristan felt it also. Rory sat up a little straighter and loosened her grip as Tristan brought the bike to a stop.
Rory jumped off as soon as they came to a halt, almost tripping in her haste to get away from Tristan. She couldn't believe how comfortable she'd felt riding the motorcycle. She looked back at it shakily. Now that she was safe on the ground, it looked twice as big and scary as it had before. Tristan was still sitting on it, his head cocked to the side, expression hidden behind the helmet that he had yet to take off. That was another thing. Not only had she ridden on a motorcycle, she'd ridden on Tristan's motorcycle. With Tristan. She really wished he'd take the helmet off, so she could see his eyes. Almost as if he'd read her mind, Tristan pulled off the helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in spikes.
"You look pale." His sudden remark caught her off guard.
"Charming as ever."
"Ouch. I meant to ask if you're okay. It came out wrong."
"I'm fine. It just looks bigger from the ground."
"You ride like a natural." Rory flushed slightly. Tristan noticed.
"Oh, for God's sake-Rory, it really is difficult for you to accept that not everything that comes out of my mouth is about sex, isn't it?" His exasperated tone made her lash out.
"It's not like you've given me a whole lot of reason to assume otherwise."
"Bullshit. I didn't say one suggestive thing yesterday." Rory lifted an eyebrow.
"'You own something leopard print? Gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you.'"
"You asked for that." Rory flushed with anger.
"Excuse me?" Tristan stepped closer to her. His eyes were bright with a mixture of impatience and frustration.
"What the hell am I supposed to think, Rory? You do stuff like cuddle next to me on piano benches and lean against me on motorcycles, and then you think I'm out of line for making a suggestive remark!" His words hung between them for a moment, the tension at a breaking point. Her face stone, Rory turned, intending to walk away from an infuriating situation which left her with a lot to think about. She got about three steps before she heard a familiar voice.
"Rory, darling!" Emily Gilmore was crossing the lawn.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory felt her face freeze. A hundred wild thoughts ran through her head before she blocked them out and pasted a bright smile on her face. She didn't dare turn to look at Tristan.
"Grandma! What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded weak and strained to her own ears, but Emily didn't seem to notice. She gave Rory a light kiss on the cheek, a perfectly cultured smile on her face.
"I'm here for my Wildlife Conservation meeting, Rory, we always meet at the Club. The restaurant has a full vegetarian menu and they always recycle. Rory, I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend here." Rory's voice, already tenously high-pitched, froze in her throat. Tristan stepped in smoothly.
"Tristan Dugrey. It's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Gilmore. My grandfather speaks highly of your husband." Emily smiled delightedly.
"A Dugrey! Rory, why didn't you tell me you had such esteemed friends? Janlen has told Richard so much about you, Tristan. He says you're the future of the company." Tristan smiled charmingly. Rory, temporarily on the sidelines, watched with shock. Everything was perfect. His smile, his laugh, his expression, the way he held himself. Tristan looked so normal, but just a few moments before she had seen anger and frustration in his eyes. She could barely force out three words, an octave higher than usual, and he already had her grandmother charmed.
-must join us for lunch, Rory, you and Tristan both." Rory blinked, yanked out of her thoughts.
"What?"
"I said that you and Tristan must join us for lunch, Rory, the other ladies will be delighted to see you- Rory? Rory, are you feeling all right?"
"No, no, Grandma, I'm fine. So, lunch, okay," Rory said weakly. Her grandmother smiled.
"Lovely. I'll go tell the other women you'll be joining us. You can meet us in the restaurant in ten minutes." She was already striding purposefully across the lawn. Rory watched her go with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She and Tristan stood is an extremely tense silence for several seconds.
"Rory." Relieved that he had spoken first, Rory turned to look at Tristan. His face was blank, his hands in his back pockets. "We should call a truce for lunch. No mentions of innuendo, motorcycles, pianos, etc." While she was relieved that they wouldn't be silently battling over lunch, Rory didn't miss his implication.
"And what, we finish battling it out after we've finished our tea and crumpets and the ladies are safely out of view?"
"I agree. We'll resolve it at a time where there is no public humiliation involved. Considering this is a fairly personal matter, I assumed you didn't want to argue about it with your grandmother leaning over your shoulder." Rory couldn't read anything in his expression. Her mother got that look sometimes, too. She supposed it was the upper-class training.
"All right. Truce."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lunch passed in a haze of strained smiles, answering question after question from the mostly-well-intended women, and listening to Tristan sounding entirely natural and charming at the other end of the table. Emily had situated them so that Rory was sandwiched in between herself and Mrs. Beaumont, the president of the Wildlife Society. Tristan was at the other end of the table, next to a woman he seemed to know as one of his mother's friends, and across from a an elderly man, husband of one of the ladies, who appeared to be falling asleep in his key lime pie. After what seemed like hours of mind-numbing chitchat, Emily and her fellow society- members excused themselves, and Rory and Tristan were left to what seemed like their hundredth awkward silence. As beautiful as the grounds of the club were, Rory wanted to go back to her room, find a good book, and forget any feelings she ever had toward Tristan Dugrey.
"Maybe we should just go back." Rory looked up, startled. It was like he'd read her mind.
"Um, sure." They walked slowly across the lawn and stopped before the motorcycle. Rory closed her eyes for a moment to stop the sudden resurging memory of her body pressed tightly against Tristan's back. "Is there any way we could get home without the bike?" she asked tensely. Tristan gazed at her for several seconds, and then nodded.
"There's a garage here. We can take my Lexus and I'll pick up the bike tomorrow."
"I think that would be a good idea." Tristan led her quickly behind the main building to the parking lot on the basement level. They wove through rows of cars and Rory noted the presence of more BMWs, Mercedes, and Porsches in this one room than she had ever seen in her life. Tristan stopped beside a low-slung silver convertible and opened the door for Rory. She climbed in and smoothed invisible creases from her jeans. Instead of getting in, however, Tristan leaned in the driver's side window.
"Let me go find someone to move my bike in here and we'll go." He walked off before she could say anything. Rory folded her hands in her lap, nervous about touching any of the electronic devices in front and breaking something. Her hands were clammy and after debating for a moment, she gingerly opened the glove compartiment, half-expecting an alarm to go off. When none did, she opened it all the way and felt inside for a napkin or kleenex. Rather than napkins, her fingers brushed a small cardboard box that fell out as she withdrew her hand, landing on the seat and spilling condoms out onto the floor.
Rory's head snapped up, immediatly looking for Tristan. He wasn't in sight yet, so she leaned over and replaced the small foil-wrapped packages in their box, putting it back in the glove compartiment and returning to her previous state of cold clamminess, this time with a dry throat to go with it. Why did it surprise her so much that Tristan kept an almost-empty box of condoms in his glove compartiment? She'd known his reputation before she'd ever met him- the first bit of gossip she heard as an official Chilton student was that Tristan Dugrey had slept with Angela Price in one of the spare rooms at a party on Saturday night.
Rory closed her eyes and forced her mind blank, mentally reciting the release dates of all of Shakespeare's plays, and then the periodic table. She was somewhere around Cobalt when Tristan finally came back and got into the car, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. They spent the ride in almost total silence, Tristan concentrating on the road and Rory staring blanking out the window. It seemed like hours before they finally reached the Dugrey house. They continued up the driveway in a silence which held until Rory got inside and halfway up the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Rory answered him without stopping or turning around.
"To my room." She heard Tristan's feet coming up the stairs behind her.
"We didn't finish talking." Rory increased her pace.
"I think we did, Tristan." They were at the landing, and Rory started down the hallway. Tristan grabbed her arm.
"Did we, Rory? Why is it so hard to give me a chance?" Rory wrenched her arm out of his grip.
"Because every time I try, you get smug and smirky and infringe on my personal space and I wonder why I even bother trying to be your friend!"
"That's not what I want to be to you, Rory. We're not cut out to be friends." He could see a hint of confusion in her eyes as well as a lot of fear. He could also see one of the maids cleaning a room at the end of the hallway. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her into his father's study and shut the door behind them. When he turned around, Rory was glaring at him.
"Oh, really great, Tristan. Talking wasn't working, so you figured you'd grab me and drag me back to your cave. Way to prove your maturity." Tristan crossed his arms.
"For one thing, it's my father's 'cave', thank you so much, and how was talking supposed to work when you won't give me a chance to have a serious conversation with you?" Rory jerked away from him, eyes flashing.
"I have given you chances, Tristan, but everytime I think we're getting somewhere you say something that makes me supremely uncomfortable and I forget why I thought it was worth the effort!" Tristan advanced on her quickly.
"You know what I think, Rory? I think you don't mind me teasing you half as much as you say you do. I think you're trying to find reasons to push me away, so you don't have to make any decisions about this...this...thing between us!" Rory was backing away just as quickly as he was moving forward, getting angrier by the moment.
"I hardly have to go looking for reasons to push you away! You constantly tease me, you twist the meaning of everything I say, just being seen with you makes people whisper that I'm your latest conquest-" With a slight thud, her back hit the wall and Tristan stopped, a few inches away from her. For a long moment they stared at each other, the scant space between them prickling with electricity. When Tristan spoke, his voice was low.
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I might actually like you? That I might be trying to change, trying to be whatever it is you want me to be? Why is it so hard for you to just give me a chance to make you happy?" His voice dropped a little at the last few words, and a little bit of the tension between them eased. They stood still, almost touching, though Tristan made no move to box her in further. She met his eyes and found that she couldn't look away. Suddenly she thought of Dean, and of how he had never made her feel like this, had never made her so scared or so angry, and a part of her wanted that security back very badly. And yet-
"I can't give you a chance because I don't know how you could make me happy. I don't know what I want!" Tearing her gaze from his eyes, Rory pushed past Tristan's chest, intent on getting through the door and out of this room. She realized suddenly that she didn't have any idea how to get back to her bedroom - it didn't matter, anywhere in the world would be better than here in this room.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"I can't give you a chance because I don't know how you could make me happy. I don't know what I want!" Tristan stared at her, open-mouthed, as she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away, causing him to stumble backwards, off balance. At the last second, idiotically afraid that if she got through the door he would never see her again, Tristan grabbed a handful of her sleeve and pulled her down with him. They landed on his father's deep-seated black leather sofa. Tristan sat sprawled against the arm, and Rory fell forward, landing with one knee on either side of Tristan's hips, hands thrown out to brace herself against the back of the sofa. Tristan's hands came immediately up to steady her, cradling her waist. For a split second, they stayed that way, breath caught in their chests, and then Rory, realizing with a burning face that they were bare inches apart, tried to move away. Tristan's hands on her hips kept her in place.
"What do you think-" she started furiously, but she stopped at the look on his face. His eyes locked with hers, and her breath stopped in her throat.
"Wait." He let go of her hips, trusting her not to move. Not taking his eyes from hers, he took her hand and moved it from the back of the couch, placing a light butterfly kiss on the inside of her wrist.
"What are you doing?" A part of her was screaming for her to pull away, but she was frozen.
"Rory- I'm showing you what you want." The silence of the room was deafening. Rory's eyes darted around, noting the heavy mahogany furniture and rack of expensive pens on the desk. There was a family portrait on the wall, and she looked away before she could pick out Tristan from the three tall, blond figures. She looked back at him, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. In the quiet of the room, she could hear the soft exhale of his breath, and she could almost imagine the beating of his heart. Slowly, trying not to startle her, Tristan leaned forward and brushed his lips over her collar bone. Rory closed her eyes, pushing her thoughts out of her head as Tristan lightly kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. His lips slid up the side of her neck, dropping another kiss just below her ear. Rory tilted her head to the side, letting her hair graze his forehead. Her ears were roaring, her fingertips numb as Tristan brushed a kiss over her chin, and then over each of her cheekbones. Her head swam as she felt the brief burn of his lips on her forehead, and on the tip of her nose, and finally, on each of her closed eyelids. She waited, heart pounding, for the next touch of his mouth, but it didn't come. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Tristan's face was just inches from hers, his breath coming quickly.
"Your move, Rory." Squeezing her eyes shut, and half-heartedly praying that she wasn't making a terrible mistake, Rory leaned forward and lightly touched his mouth with hers.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Tristan forced himself to pull away after dropping a last kiss on her eyelid. He watched, heart thumping, as she opened her eyes and stared at him.
"Your move, Rory." He forced the words out throught a thick throat. Praying that she wouldn't pull away, he stayed perfectly still as her lips gently touched his own. They stayed like that for just a moment, barely touching, before her mouth opened over his and he tugged hard on her hips. Her knees relaxed and she sat down in his lap, sliding forward until she was flush against his chest. Her arms left the sofa and twined around his neck as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip. His hands cradled her hips, sliding around her waist and tracing circles on her back.
Rory could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Kissing Dean had never been like this. Kissing Dean had been sweet and soft and smooth and had left her lightheaded. This was- not soft. Not even sweet so much as it was intoxicating. She tentatively touched Tristan's tongue with her own and felt, more than heard, him gasp. Lungs burning for air, she gently broke away, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He dropped his face into her hair with a slight sigh. Breathing hard, they stayed like that for several minutes, wondering the same thing.
Now what do we do?
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory twisted slightly in her seat to face Tristan. They were about halfway to Hartford, ready to begin the twenty-four hour stretch to be spent at his house. Tristan, unaware of her eyes on him, lifted a hand from the wheel to rub the back of his neck. Rory winced.
"If you'd woken me up, you wouldn't be so stiff."
"If you hadn't looked so comfortable, I'd have woken you up." Tristan countered. He started to rub his neck again, but caught himself and adjusted the rear-view mirror instead. Rory dropped the subject and looked out the window at the passing scenery. She fidgeted for a few minutes before turning back to Tristan. His jaw was tight, she noticed. And he wasn't teasing her half as much as was normal. She was about to open her mouth, but Tristan swore under his breath and spun the steering wheel to the left, emitting a gasp from Rory as the car swerved. In a moment, he had the car straightened out again. Rory saw a white bobtail flipping into the woods to their right.
"Sorry. Deer." Their eyes met and Rory knew they were both remembering another deer, whose bad luck to have run into a car had resulted in Rory missing a Shakespeare test and revealing her temper to her entire English class. They sat in silence for a few minutes, oddly peaceful. Then Rory remembered the question she had wanted to ask him.
"Will your parents be home when we get there?" Tristan shot her a teasing look.
"Why, Mary? Afraid to be alone with me?" Rory rolled her eyes, half- exasperated, half-amused.
"You know what, Tristan? That's definitely it. You found me out. I have a chronic fear of blond, blue-eyed preppies." She looked out the window. The scenery was changing, the woodsy area diminishing to apartement buildings, which in turn gave way to the large, sprawling mansions of Hartford suburbia. Rory was so absorbed in the scenery that she didn't notice Tristan turning onto a private driveway. She looked at him questioningly as he parked.
"We're here." Tristan opened the door and stepped out, pulling his book bag free of the backseat. Rory followed, stepping carefully out of the car, slinging her book bag over one shoulder and folding her Chilton uniform, in its protective plastic bag in her arms. She gazed, awed, at the immense house set well back from the road. Tristan noticed. "Take a picture. Lasts longer." Rory closed her mouth, slightly surprised. The tension in his voice was evident. She followed Tristan up the few steps to the front door and watched, slightly nervous, as he took out his keys and unlocked the front door. He hadn't answered her question about his parents.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Tristan pushed open the front door and held it as Rory walked inside. A quick glance to the left of the door confirmed his thoughts- the coatrack was empty. His parents had apparently gotten an early start on the day at the club. That knowledge alone allowed him to release the breath he had unconciously been holding.
Rory stood a few feet in front of him, her arms crossed over her stomach. She was facing away from him, admiring a portrait on the wall, one of his parents' more recent acquistitions, so Tristan took the oppurtunity to study her. She looked completely relaxed in her jeans and v- necked purple knit shirt with overlong sleeves that almost covered her hands. Her hair was loose, held back from her face with a wide, crocheted headband.
"So this is it, huh?" Tristan shrugged, dropping his small duffel bag next to the table.
"Home, sweet home." He stood with his hands in the pockets of his khakis, watching her with interest as she gazed around the immense house. Finally she spoke again.
"Does it come with a floor plan?" The note of awe in her voice was unmistakable. Tristan smirked.
"No. But you have your very own personal tour guide. And if you're very good, he'll be your very own personal something else, too." Rory rolled her eyes in amusement.
"Lucky me."
"Guest room's upstairs." The words were barely out of his mouth before Rory saw a small blur fly across the room.
"Twistan!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory's mouth dropped open. There was a small, blonde, dark eyed girl clinging to Tristan's legs. He staggered forward a few steps to regain his balance, then turned and mock-glared at the girl, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. She screamed in delight, short, slim arms locked around Tristan's neck. Rory watched, fascinated, as Tristan spun around a few times, making the girl - his sister? - shriek and squeal. After a few moments her put her down, turning her so she faced Rory. Rory could only stare. She had never imagined Tristan doing something so carefree, so relaxed, so...normal. The girl, seeing Rory for the first time, squeaked and hid behind Tristan's legs. Tristan carefully drew her out.
"Uh, Rory, this is my sister Alexandra, Lexie for short. Lexie, this is Rory. She's a friend from school." Rory crouched down to the little girl's level and offered her hand.
"Hi, Lexie. It's nice to meet you." Lexie slowly took Rory's hand and offered a shy smile.
"Hi." Before Rory could say anything else, she had turned and skipped back into the kitchen. Tristan grinned after her and then met Rory's amused gaze.
"What?" Rory shrugged.
"I never pictured you as having a sibling. You always sort of had that only-child thing going on." They started up the staircase to the second floor.
"I actually have three siblings. Chris is the oldest; he's twenty- seven. Then Gordie, who's twenty-three. Then me, then Lexie." Rory lifted an eyebrow.
"And somewhere in between 'my birthday is September ninth' and 'my favorite book is the Mosquito Coast,' you meant to tell me this." Tristan smirked.
"I should probably also mention my six dogs, nine cats, and my parokeet named Horace." Rory froze.
"Tell me you're kidding."
"I'm kidding." Rory resumed climbing the stairs.
"I have bad parokeet memories. There was this one time when I was eight and my mother got into an arguement with Kirk's parokeet, and they began to squawk back and forth at each other so loudly that the neighbors came outside to see what was happening and before long the whole block was squawking at the parokeet or maybe my mother and you can just jump in here any time now." Tristan was staring at her.
"Did you just say all that in one breath?" Rory nodded.
"It's genetic." They stepped off the landing and Rory glanced around, wide-eyed, at the four corridors leading in different directions. Tristan put his hands in his pockets uncomfortably.
"So do you want the that tour now, or do you want to go put your stuff away."
"Room first. Then tour. This thing weighs a ton." She hefted the backpack containing her school supplies and her things for the night. Before she could object, Tristan took it out of her hand and slipped it over his shoulder. She lifted an eyebrow and he looked back at her innocently.
"What, you want it back?" He started down the hall and after a moment, Rory followed him. She held in a gasp when Tristan opened the door to the guest room. The room was bigger than her own, with a queen-sized bed against the wall and a mahagony bureau and dressing table. Across the room she could see a private bathroom. She glanced at Tristan out of the corner of her eye, anticipating a smirk. Instead he was leaning against the doorframe, studying a tiny chip in the plaster. Rory walked into the room and dropped her backpack next to the bed, trying not to stare around the room. She walked back to Tristan.
"Okay, tour please." They started back toward the stairs as Tristan began gesturing into various rooms and rattling off descriptions.
"Guest room, guest room, closet containing miscellaneous towels, sheets, et cetera, master bedroom-" Rory caught a glimpse of an extremely large television and a circular, king-sized bed before Tristan turned left into the next corrider, "Gordie's old room, Chris's old room, Lexie's room- " Rory stopped for a moment, smiling slightly as she looked through the slightly ajar door into a room that seemed to be overflowing with various shades of pink. Pale pink walls, pink carpet, pink furniture, pink curtains, pink canopy over the pink bed. There were porcelain dolls lined up on the windowsill and an ornate dollhouse on the pink table. The room looked like a perfect ad out of a children's magazine, until Rory caught sight of something under the bed. Stepping a little way into the room, she saw what it was- a cardboard box full of grimy My Little Pony dolls, put away with the haphazard look of a forbidden item. Rory jumped when she heard Tristan's voice from over her shoulder.
"She's always forgetting about the ponies." Stepping into the room, Tristan leaned down and pushed the box further under the bed, hiding it from view and restoring the room to its look of perfection. He looked up and met the Rory's confused gaze.
"My mother likes our rooms neat." He turned to leave the room, to find Rory doing the same. Startled, they both backed up. Rory crossed her arms over her stomach self-consciously. "After you." She looked up sharply at Tristan's words. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the smirk on his lips at their once-again 'potential Marx brothers moment.'
"You don't have to look so smug about it." He gave her a wide-eyed, 'who, me?' look. Rory rolled her eyes and went through the door, Tristan right behind her, resuming the tour.
"Down that corrider are the cook's room, the housekeeper's room, and the maid's room." Rory gazed down the hall with interest.
"Wow. You have servants. Do you know their names?" Tristan gave her a strange look.
"I do, actually." Rory nodded approvingly.
"Good. What's down there?" They started down the stairs.
"The dining room, which you saw, the living room, which you saw, the parlor, which isn't worth seeing, as it's in the process of being redecorated, and the kit-" his words were lost in the stream of Spanish that floated out of the kitchen. A heavy-set woman with dark hair severely pulled back in a bun stood in the doorway.
"That's Emanuela, our cook. My mother likes french maids, but Emanuela has been the Dugrey cook for twenty-five years, and my father refused to get rid out her." Tristan said softly to Rory. "Come on. Meet her." Rory stared at him, her eyes still wide with surprise. Instead of giving her time to answer, Tristan took her hand and dragged her over to the cook with all the eagerness of a little kid at Christmas. Before she knew it, Rory was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, being surveyed from head to foot by a pair of forbidding black eyes. She swallowed and linked her hands behind her back.
"Hi. It's nice to meet you." Tristan translated her words into Spanish, producing a shocked look from Rory. The woman said something back, her eyes never leaving Rory, and what ensued was a rapid-fire conversation in fluent Spanish between Tristan and the cook. All of which seemed to be about her. Finally, the woman flapped a hand at Tristan, nodded regally to Rory, and went back to the pot of delicious-smelling something on the stove. Rory caught sight of Lexie seated on a stool at the counter, coloring furiously with crayons. She waved shyly and Rory waved back. She followed Tristan back out to the hall, missing the smile he hid behind a cough.
"You speak Spanish." Tristan gave her an amused look.
"That Chilton education is really paying off." For once, Rory ignored his comment.
"When did you learn to speak Spanish?" Tristan shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.
"I don't know. We all speak it- Chris and Gordie and me. We spent more time with Emanuela than with our nanny. She used to play pool with us." Rory looked at him skeptically.
"Pool, huh?" Tristan gave her a mock-indignant look.
"Yes, pool. We have a table in the basement. Come on." He gently pushed her through a door at the end of the hall and down the stairs into the basement. The room was dark, and Rory instinctivly put her arms out to try and get her bearings. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt Tristan's hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the left. "I just need to find the switch." She stood still, trying not to bump into anything, as Tristan finally flipped the lights.
"Wow." Rory's gaze travelled over the room. In it was a pool table, pin-ball machine, and ping-pong table. There were weights in the corner and posters of cars on the walls. The room had a very masculine feel. "So I'm guessing Lexie doesn't spend a lot of time down here." Tristan put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall, watching her walk slowly around the room.
"She does, actually. I'm teaching her to play pool, and she can already play pin-ball." Rory lifted an eyebrow.
"She's six."
"I was five."
"You have two older brothers."
"She has three."
"Yeah, but yours were living in the same house." Tristan shrugged, conceding that the round went to her. "So what's in there?" Rory nodded toward a closed door at the back of the room. Tristan's face lit up.
"I'll show you." He opened the door and held it as Rory walked through, closing it behind him. He watched in amusement as Rory's mouth dropped open. They had entered the garage. At least eight gleaming cars were parked neatly in rows. Rory walked slowly up the aisle between the rows, hands linked behind her back so as not to be tempted to touch and possibly leave finger-prints on the shining paint. She turned around, meeting Tristan's smile.
"This is amazing." He shrugged.
"My dad collects them. Except for that one in the corner"- he nodded toward a dark purple old-model Volkswagon Beetle. "That was from Gordie's brief stint as a hippie."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"So which one's yours?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, Rory was filled with regret. A small, sardonic grin was forming on Tristan's lips. He nodded toward the left Rory cautiously followed his gaze. There, parked in the shadows where she hadn't looked before, stood a motorcycle. Swallowing, she met Tristan's gaze. He dangled the keys in front of her face. His eyes were laughing.
"So, what do you say, Mary? Wanna go for a ride?"
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory swallowed, glancing at the motorcycle. It seemed to be growing bigger and scarier by the moment. Not about to be outdone, she nodded.
"Sure." She watched the shock spread across Tristan's face.
"Did you just say sure?" Rory linked her hands behind her back and gave him a wide-eyed look.
"Why not? I rode my dad's last time he visited." She watched a smirk spread across his face as he tossed her a spare helmet and settled his own on his head. He opened the garage door by remote and straddled the bike, lifting an eyebrow as Rory stood uncertainly, teetering on the brink of backing out. Unable to help herself, she glanced at Tristan. His face said clearly that he didn't expect her to go through with it. That made up her mind. Rory lifted her chin and took quick steps toward him, straddling the bike before she could lose her nerve.
Tristan took a quick breath at the feeling of Rory pressed against his back, her hands tentatively holding the back of his shirt. He reached around and took her hands, bringing them around his sides. Rory felt his stomach muscles flex as her arms settled around his waist. She felt him start the engine as the bike throbbed beneath her, involuntarily burying her face in the back of his jacket, squeezing her eyes shut as he took off out onto the road.
* * * * * * * * * * *
After a few minutes, the motion of the bike smoothed out and Rory opened her eyes. The wind whipped her hair in front of her face, and the road flashed past with dizzying speed. Involuntarily Rory tightened her arms around Tristan's waist, feeling his sharp sigh even through the several layers of clothing. The sun was peeking from behind a cloud, and Rory closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean against Tristan's back and sway to the rhythm of the motorcycle. She was so relaxed that she almost missed the sign at the place where Tristan turned. Hartford Country Club, founded 1956. Rory felt all her unease come flowing back, and from the sudden tension in his body, Tristan felt it also. Rory sat up a little straighter and loosened her grip as Tristan brought the bike to a stop.
Rory jumped off as soon as they came to a halt, almost tripping in her haste to get away from Tristan. She couldn't believe how comfortable she'd felt riding the motorcycle. She looked back at it shakily. Now that she was safe on the ground, it looked twice as big and scary as it had before. Tristan was still sitting on it, his head cocked to the side, expression hidden behind the helmet that he had yet to take off. That was another thing. Not only had she ridden on a motorcycle, she'd ridden on Tristan's motorcycle. With Tristan. She really wished he'd take the helmet off, so she could see his eyes. Almost as if he'd read her mind, Tristan pulled off the helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up in spikes.
"You look pale." His sudden remark caught her off guard.
"Charming as ever."
"Ouch. I meant to ask if you're okay. It came out wrong."
"I'm fine. It just looks bigger from the ground."
"You ride like a natural." Rory flushed slightly. Tristan noticed.
"Oh, for God's sake-Rory, it really is difficult for you to accept that not everything that comes out of my mouth is about sex, isn't it?" His exasperated tone made her lash out.
"It's not like you've given me a whole lot of reason to assume otherwise."
"Bullshit. I didn't say one suggestive thing yesterday." Rory lifted an eyebrow.
"'You own something leopard print? Gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you.'"
"You asked for that." Rory flushed with anger.
"Excuse me?" Tristan stepped closer to her. His eyes were bright with a mixture of impatience and frustration.
"What the hell am I supposed to think, Rory? You do stuff like cuddle next to me on piano benches and lean against me on motorcycles, and then you think I'm out of line for making a suggestive remark!" His words hung between them for a moment, the tension at a breaking point. Her face stone, Rory turned, intending to walk away from an infuriating situation which left her with a lot to think about. She got about three steps before she heard a familiar voice.
"Rory, darling!" Emily Gilmore was crossing the lawn.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rory felt her face freeze. A hundred wild thoughts ran through her head before she blocked them out and pasted a bright smile on her face. She didn't dare turn to look at Tristan.
"Grandma! What are you doing here?" Her voice sounded weak and strained to her own ears, but Emily didn't seem to notice. She gave Rory a light kiss on the cheek, a perfectly cultured smile on her face.
"I'm here for my Wildlife Conservation meeting, Rory, we always meet at the Club. The restaurant has a full vegetarian menu and they always recycle. Rory, I don't believe you've introduced me to your friend here." Rory's voice, already tenously high-pitched, froze in her throat. Tristan stepped in smoothly.
"Tristan Dugrey. It's wonderful to meet you, Ms. Gilmore. My grandfather speaks highly of your husband." Emily smiled delightedly.
"A Dugrey! Rory, why didn't you tell me you had such esteemed friends? Janlen has told Richard so much about you, Tristan. He says you're the future of the company." Tristan smiled charmingly. Rory, temporarily on the sidelines, watched with shock. Everything was perfect. His smile, his laugh, his expression, the way he held himself. Tristan looked so normal, but just a few moments before she had seen anger and frustration in his eyes. She could barely force out three words, an octave higher than usual, and he already had her grandmother charmed.
-must join us for lunch, Rory, you and Tristan both." Rory blinked, yanked out of her thoughts.
"What?"
"I said that you and Tristan must join us for lunch, Rory, the other ladies will be delighted to see you- Rory? Rory, are you feeling all right?"
"No, no, Grandma, I'm fine. So, lunch, okay," Rory said weakly. Her grandmother smiled.
"Lovely. I'll go tell the other women you'll be joining us. You can meet us in the restaurant in ten minutes." She was already striding purposefully across the lawn. Rory watched her go with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She and Tristan stood is an extremely tense silence for several seconds.
"Rory." Relieved that he had spoken first, Rory turned to look at Tristan. His face was blank, his hands in his back pockets. "We should call a truce for lunch. No mentions of innuendo, motorcycles, pianos, etc." While she was relieved that they wouldn't be silently battling over lunch, Rory didn't miss his implication.
"And what, we finish battling it out after we've finished our tea and crumpets and the ladies are safely out of view?"
"I agree. We'll resolve it at a time where there is no public humiliation involved. Considering this is a fairly personal matter, I assumed you didn't want to argue about it with your grandmother leaning over your shoulder." Rory couldn't read anything in his expression. Her mother got that look sometimes, too. She supposed it was the upper-class training.
"All right. Truce."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lunch passed in a haze of strained smiles, answering question after question from the mostly-well-intended women, and listening to Tristan sounding entirely natural and charming at the other end of the table. Emily had situated them so that Rory was sandwiched in between herself and Mrs. Beaumont, the president of the Wildlife Society. Tristan was at the other end of the table, next to a woman he seemed to know as one of his mother's friends, and across from a an elderly man, husband of one of the ladies, who appeared to be falling asleep in his key lime pie. After what seemed like hours of mind-numbing chitchat, Emily and her fellow society- members excused themselves, and Rory and Tristan were left to what seemed like their hundredth awkward silence. As beautiful as the grounds of the club were, Rory wanted to go back to her room, find a good book, and forget any feelings she ever had toward Tristan Dugrey.
"Maybe we should just go back." Rory looked up, startled. It was like he'd read her mind.
"Um, sure." They walked slowly across the lawn and stopped before the motorcycle. Rory closed her eyes for a moment to stop the sudden resurging memory of her body pressed tightly against Tristan's back. "Is there any way we could get home without the bike?" she asked tensely. Tristan gazed at her for several seconds, and then nodded.
"There's a garage here. We can take my Lexus and I'll pick up the bike tomorrow."
"I think that would be a good idea." Tristan led her quickly behind the main building to the parking lot on the basement level. They wove through rows of cars and Rory noted the presence of more BMWs, Mercedes, and Porsches in this one room than she had ever seen in her life. Tristan stopped beside a low-slung silver convertible and opened the door for Rory. She climbed in and smoothed invisible creases from her jeans. Instead of getting in, however, Tristan leaned in the driver's side window.
"Let me go find someone to move my bike in here and we'll go." He walked off before she could say anything. Rory folded her hands in her lap, nervous about touching any of the electronic devices in front and breaking something. Her hands were clammy and after debating for a moment, she gingerly opened the glove compartiment, half-expecting an alarm to go off. When none did, she opened it all the way and felt inside for a napkin or kleenex. Rather than napkins, her fingers brushed a small cardboard box that fell out as she withdrew her hand, landing on the seat and spilling condoms out onto the floor.
Rory's head snapped up, immediatly looking for Tristan. He wasn't in sight yet, so she leaned over and replaced the small foil-wrapped packages in their box, putting it back in the glove compartiment and returning to her previous state of cold clamminess, this time with a dry throat to go with it. Why did it surprise her so much that Tristan kept an almost-empty box of condoms in his glove compartiment? She'd known his reputation before she'd ever met him- the first bit of gossip she heard as an official Chilton student was that Tristan Dugrey had slept with Angela Price in one of the spare rooms at a party on Saturday night.
Rory closed her eyes and forced her mind blank, mentally reciting the release dates of all of Shakespeare's plays, and then the periodic table. She was somewhere around Cobalt when Tristan finally came back and got into the car, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. They spent the ride in almost total silence, Tristan concentrating on the road and Rory staring blanking out the window. It seemed like hours before they finally reached the Dugrey house. They continued up the driveway in a silence which held until Rory got inside and halfway up the stairs.
"Where are you going?" Rory answered him without stopping or turning around.
"To my room." She heard Tristan's feet coming up the stairs behind her.
"We didn't finish talking." Rory increased her pace.
"I think we did, Tristan." They were at the landing, and Rory started down the hallway. Tristan grabbed her arm.
"Did we, Rory? Why is it so hard to give me a chance?" Rory wrenched her arm out of his grip.
"Because every time I try, you get smug and smirky and infringe on my personal space and I wonder why I even bother trying to be your friend!"
"That's not what I want to be to you, Rory. We're not cut out to be friends." He could see a hint of confusion in her eyes as well as a lot of fear. He could also see one of the maids cleaning a room at the end of the hallway. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her into his father's study and shut the door behind them. When he turned around, Rory was glaring at him.
"Oh, really great, Tristan. Talking wasn't working, so you figured you'd grab me and drag me back to your cave. Way to prove your maturity." Tristan crossed his arms.
"For one thing, it's my father's 'cave', thank you so much, and how was talking supposed to work when you won't give me a chance to have a serious conversation with you?" Rory jerked away from him, eyes flashing.
"I have given you chances, Tristan, but everytime I think we're getting somewhere you say something that makes me supremely uncomfortable and I forget why I thought it was worth the effort!" Tristan advanced on her quickly.
"You know what I think, Rory? I think you don't mind me teasing you half as much as you say you do. I think you're trying to find reasons to push me away, so you don't have to make any decisions about this...this...thing between us!" Rory was backing away just as quickly as he was moving forward, getting angrier by the moment.
"I hardly have to go looking for reasons to push you away! You constantly tease me, you twist the meaning of everything I say, just being seen with you makes people whisper that I'm your latest conquest-" With a slight thud, her back hit the wall and Tristan stopped, a few inches away from her. For a long moment they stared at each other, the scant space between them prickling with electricity. When Tristan spoke, his voice was low.
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I might actually like you? That I might be trying to change, trying to be whatever it is you want me to be? Why is it so hard for you to just give me a chance to make you happy?" His voice dropped a little at the last few words, and a little bit of the tension between them eased. They stood still, almost touching, though Tristan made no move to box her in further. She met his eyes and found that she couldn't look away. Suddenly she thought of Dean, and of how he had never made her feel like this, had never made her so scared or so angry, and a part of her wanted that security back very badly. And yet-
"I can't give you a chance because I don't know how you could make me happy. I don't know what I want!" Tearing her gaze from his eyes, Rory pushed past Tristan's chest, intent on getting through the door and out of this room. She realized suddenly that she didn't have any idea how to get back to her bedroom - it didn't matter, anywhere in the world would be better than here in this room.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"I can't give you a chance because I don't know how you could make me happy. I don't know what I want!" Tristan stared at her, open-mouthed, as she planted a hand on his chest and pushed him away, causing him to stumble backwards, off balance. At the last second, idiotically afraid that if she got through the door he would never see her again, Tristan grabbed a handful of her sleeve and pulled her down with him. They landed on his father's deep-seated black leather sofa. Tristan sat sprawled against the arm, and Rory fell forward, landing with one knee on either side of Tristan's hips, hands thrown out to brace herself against the back of the sofa. Tristan's hands came immediately up to steady her, cradling her waist. For a split second, they stayed that way, breath caught in their chests, and then Rory, realizing with a burning face that they were bare inches apart, tried to move away. Tristan's hands on her hips kept her in place.
"What do you think-" she started furiously, but she stopped at the look on his face. His eyes locked with hers, and her breath stopped in her throat.
"Wait." He let go of her hips, trusting her not to move. Not taking his eyes from hers, he took her hand and moved it from the back of the couch, placing a light butterfly kiss on the inside of her wrist.
"What are you doing?" A part of her was screaming for her to pull away, but she was frozen.
"Rory- I'm showing you what you want." The silence of the room was deafening. Rory's eyes darted around, noting the heavy mahogany furniture and rack of expensive pens on the desk. There was a family portrait on the wall, and she looked away before she could pick out Tristan from the three tall, blond figures. She looked back at him, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist. In the quiet of the room, she could hear the soft exhale of his breath, and she could almost imagine the beating of his heart. Slowly, trying not to startle her, Tristan leaned forward and brushed his lips over her collar bone. Rory closed her eyes, pushing her thoughts out of her head as Tristan lightly kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. His lips slid up the side of her neck, dropping another kiss just below her ear. Rory tilted her head to the side, letting her hair graze his forehead. Her ears were roaring, her fingertips numb as Tristan brushed a kiss over her chin, and then over each of her cheekbones. Her head swam as she felt the brief burn of his lips on her forehead, and on the tip of her nose, and finally, on each of her closed eyelids. She waited, heart pounding, for the next touch of his mouth, but it didn't come. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Tristan's face was just inches from hers, his breath coming quickly.
"Your move, Rory." Squeezing her eyes shut, and half-heartedly praying that she wasn't making a terrible mistake, Rory leaned forward and lightly touched his mouth with hers.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Tristan forced himself to pull away after dropping a last kiss on her eyelid. He watched, heart thumping, as she opened her eyes and stared at him.
"Your move, Rory." He forced the words out throught a thick throat. Praying that she wouldn't pull away, he stayed perfectly still as her lips gently touched his own. They stayed like that for just a moment, barely touching, before her mouth opened over his and he tugged hard on her hips. Her knees relaxed and she sat down in his lap, sliding forward until she was flush against his chest. Her arms left the sofa and twined around his neck as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip. His hands cradled her hips, sliding around her waist and tracing circles on her back.
Rory could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Kissing Dean had never been like this. Kissing Dean had been sweet and soft and smooth and had left her lightheaded. This was- not soft. Not even sweet so much as it was intoxicating. She tentatively touched Tristan's tongue with her own and felt, more than heard, him gasp. Lungs burning for air, she gently broke away, resting her forehead on his shoulder. He dropped his face into her hair with a slight sigh. Breathing hard, they stayed like that for several minutes, wondering the same thing.
Now what do we do?