A.N: Really, the reviews are making me smile. Thank you. I'm still a little 'Eh' about this chapter but I doubt that staring at it another day will do any good. For now, this is it. ;-)



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Perfect
by inmyeyes
03: Overwhelmed

Groaning, Rory clamped her eyes shut against the intrusive stream of sunlight that filtered through the partly-drawn curtains. She threw an arm over her face and snuggled deeper into the warmth behind her. There was an answering moan that sounded close to her ear and simultaneously, the strong male arm that she didn't realize was slung across her waist tightened, bringing her into close to a sleep-warmed body. And suddenly, the sleepy haze that she had been caught in evaporated.

Oh God.

The feel of soft cotton sheets against her skin told her that she was certainly naked, and since she couldn't mistake his nudity, she was pretty damn sure of what had happened. Hell, she didn't even have to think hard to remember exactly what had transpired. It was all clearly emblazoned in her mind, in sordid detail and technicolour glory.

Damn her flawless memory.

An iron-clad will ensured that her body remained relaxed and pliant to his touch; the last thing she needed was for him to be aware that she was freaking out. Of course, even while she was trying to think rationally, her body was awash with the feel of his body cuddled to hers… and she couldn't ignore the shiver that shot through her when his lips unerringly found that spot behind her ear that never failed to turn her into a puddle of goo. And when his lips travelled to his earlobe and tugged lightly, she favoured the heady oblivion that he offered over the machinations of her mind.

The hand that had been innocently lying on her waist slowly crept up her torso, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She caught his fingers with hers, bringing them up to her lips and lightly kissing them. She felt the chuckle pass through him and yelped as he gave her a playful nip on the shoulder.

With a bright grin, she turned in his arms, all earlier thoughts gone from her mind. All of her focus was on him: the sleepy look in his sky-blue eyes, the messy blonde hair sticking up in spikes and the smile that curved his lips.

When he spoke, his voice was little more than a husky whisper. "Good morning, Rory," He tugged her closer until she was almost half-sprawled on top of him. "Did you sleep well?"

She drew back so that she could see him and rolled her eyes when she saw the mischievous look in his eyes. "I would have," she answered, trying to keep from smiling, "but someone's snoring kept me awake most of the night."

His jaw dropped. "I do not snore," he protested. In a quick move, he rolled her over so that she was on her back and her hands were trapped in his. He leaned closer, ignoring her laughter and her wriggling attempts to get free. "And you know damn well that it wasn't my snoring that kept you awake."

Her grin was all the answer she gave. After giving him a quick kiss, she wriggled her away from under him and got off the bed, wrapping the sheet around her body as she did so. Her not-so-quick reflexes resulted in her stumbling as he pulled on the other end of the sheet. She shot him a murderous look through the curtain of brown hair that hung over that face.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"No, just trying to stop you from getting any further away from me."

She raised her brow and couldn't help smiling. "Oh, really?" Before he could say anything, she loosened her grip on the sheet and allowed it to flutter down until it lay in a rumpled heap on the parquet floor. Her grin was triumphant as she made her way to the attached bathroom, heedless of her nudity. He's already seen everything anyway, she reasoned, inwardly giggling at her boldness.

But just as she reached the bathroom door, a pair of hands clamped around her waist and lifted her off the ground.

"Tristan!"

She squirmed in his firm grip and demanded to be let down and he finally complied when they were both in the shower. When she opened her mouth to speak, the spray of warm water from overhead spilled into her mouth and in the next instance, his lips were on hers and whatever she had wanted to say was lost forever.

* * * * *

Closing her front door behind her, Rory leaned against it, closed her eyes and let out a breathy sigh.

"That must have been some date."

Her eyes snapped open and she saw Lorelai lounging on her couch with a cup of coffee in her hand, looking very amused. She wiped the dreamy smile off her face and busied herself by taking off her jacket. "Hi Mom."

"I was up until about 3am, waiting for your call. So I got a little worried." Lorelai lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "What if Gorgeous Man was actually some kind of murderer? What if you got in an accident and they didn't know how to contact me?"

Delaying the inevitable interrogation that she knew her mother would put her through, Rory went to the kitchen to get herself a cup of coffee.

"Of course," Lorelai's voice rang throughout the apartment, "The one thought that didn't cross my mind was, 'What if Rory succumbed to Gorgeous Man's seductions?'. I mean, I did consider for like a second but then I remembered that you're you and you're not me."

Sitting down in her favourite armchair, Rory asked, "What do you mean 'I'm me and I'm not you'?"

"I thought that you didn't put out on the first date." Lorelai grinned teasingly. "I guess I was wrong."

She laughed, knowing that the flush that pinked her cheeks was telling.

Lorelai waited, but no information came from her daughter. "You know, this is when you tell me that you're still a virgin and how it was all innocent; that there was some freak rainstorm that made the roads inaccessible and so you had to stay over at his place."

Rory shook her head, grinning at her words. "Mom!"

"Okay, okay," Lorelai conceded. "The virgin part is obviously untrue; but at least tell me that there was a rainstorm."

"It was a lot more interesting than that, believe me."

Immediately she covered her ears, "Please, no details!" After a moment of consideration, Lorelai lowered her hands. "On second thought, maybe-"

"Mom!"

Lorelai smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "Tell me all. Okay, maybe not all."

Rory curled her legs under her and leaned back against the soft cushions. "Well, he flew us to New York…"

* * * * *

Curled up in her armchair with a knitted afghan over her shoulders, Rory absent-mindedly nibbled at the end of her ball-point pen as a mental picture of her character floated in her mind. She glanced down at her spiral notebook, perusing the list of character traits she had agonized over before starting her manuscript. The name 'Julian' headed the list and the first thing written down was 'blonde'.

The image in her mind quickly morphed into one of Tristan. She felt warmth infuse her body at the lingering memory of their love-making… and the furious writing that had ensued once she had been able to sit down at her computer to write. Thinking of the chapters that she had churned widened her smile. She was extremely pleased with the way the story was developing… and she couldn't deny that Tristan was the catalyst that seemed to make her creative juices flow.

Looking down the page again, Rory laughed as she noticed that many of the qualities she had imbued into Julian were characteristics that she saw in Tristan- or, most accurately, characteristics that she thought he displayed.

As a writer, she learnt through experience that often, the best way to glean information was through observation. Armed with her perceptiveness, Rory felt that she was a relatively good judge of character. It was her job as a writer to listen and to notice the little things and she had certainly done that with Tristan. And all the good things she saw in him, she put into Julian.

Closing the notebook, she leaned back and let her mind wander. A few minutes later, with a smile etched on her face, she made her way into the study and sat down to write.

* * * * *

"What was so important that you had to see me?"

"I got a phone call yesterday," was Paris' mysterious answer.

Rory took a bite of her cheesecake as she examined the excited look in her friend's eyes. "And?"

Paris paused dramatically before announcing, "You're a RITA finalist!"

She almost choked on her vanilla latte. "Excuse me?"

"'Special Kind of Something' is a finalist for 'Best Long Historical Romance'," Paris clarified, smiling broadly.

"Oh my God."

"I know! This is big." Paris swung her arms about, "This is really big."

"Oh my God."

Paris' excitement dimmed when she noticed Rory's lingering shocked expression. "Rory, are you okay?"

Still in a daze, Rory nodded. "Yes, I'm just… wow." She smiled as she said, "I remember that when you first read it, you told me that that book would be it."

"Paris Gellar is never wrong."

Rory's smile widened as she let up her cup in a salute. "Yes, you never are. Fortunately."

They had known each other for far too long; Paris knew that Rory was talking about more than just about her professional success as an editor. "What else am I right about?"

Rory cradled her cup in her hands. "Tristan. You were right about Tristan. He's perfect. The date was perfect. And the sex was pretty damn good too."

Paris' interest was piqued. "Perfect?"

She took a moment to reminisce about their date and felt a tiny flutter in her stomach at the thought of him. "He's the quintessential leading man."

Paris took a sip of her own coffee and gave Rory a pointed look. "You didn't tell that you're dating him. I see you took my advice."

"We're not dating. We had a date- our first and only- last Saturday."

This is turning out to be very interesting. "And there was sex involved?"

"If you had been on that date with him," Rory remarked, "you would understand why." She grinned. "Besides, I distinctly remember you telling me to be seducible."

"I suppose his charm has only increased through the years."

Rory laughed. "It makes me thankful that I resisted him back in high school. I would have been way over my head with him."

"If you had any inkling at all, you would have run the other way as fast as you could."

"True."

"Why him?"

Rory didn't quite understand why Paris was asking. "What do you mean?"

"You've been out with good-looking men before, Rory, but you always shot them down. Why him?"

"I don't know."

Paris groaned. "Please don't give me that whole he's-fascinating spiel again!"

She became serious, hoping to get Paris to understand. "He swept me off my feet, Paris. He really did. He made me feel like I was stuck in a romantic movie. He was like the Johnny to my Baby."

Laughing, Paris deepened her voice and said, "Nobody puts Baby in a corner!"

Ignoring the dig, Rory went on. "It was-"

She knew that once Rory really got going, it was difficult for her to stop, a Gilmore trait she inherited from her mother. "Can you give me the Cliff Notes' version?"

Rory gave her an impatient look but answered a simple way that she knew Paris would appreciate. "I wanted him; it was as easy as that."

"As easy as that?"

"It seemed so."

* * * * *


Drumming her fingers on her keyboard, Rory tore her eyes away from the blinking cursor on the screen and sighed. Using her feet, she pushed herself away from the table and proceeded to swirl her chair around slowly. As the chair turned in a complete circle and she caught sight of the wall behind her computer screen.

Thanks to Lorelai, who was of the belief that good-looking men could provide her with inspiration (and eye candy whenever she was sick of staring at the computer), posters of stars like Brad Pitt, Paul Walker, Hugh Jackman and Shane West lined the wall. And, at Lorelai's insistence, the posters had to be half-naked posters, "for optimal viewing". Paris had burst out laughing the first time she saw the wall. After that, she made sure that the door to her study was closed whenever she had guests (which, admittedly, wasn't very often).

Lorelai had been immensely supportive of her choice to be a novelist; she had been surprised when she found out what genre of novel Rory wanted to write but she never once wavered in her support. Telling her grandparents was a slightly trickier affair; Richard had been somewhat amused and Emily was dismayed and it took time for them to get used to the idea. Of course, once Rory's first book was released and after it landed in the top ten best-selling list, they had been completely won over.

The low rumble of her stomach reminded her that she had missed lunch in favour of writing. Standing up, Rory took a moment to stretch her cramped muscles before going to the kitchen in search of food.

The search proved unfruitful; Rory groaned as she realized that the last time she went grocery shopping was almost two weeks ago. There was nothing left except expired pop-tarts and old soured milk. She would have to go to the store and stock up on food; she slumped against the refrigerator at the thought.

The sound of the doorbell shook her out of her little pity-party. She was hoping that it was Lorelai at the door, bearing food.

It turned out that the person did bring food, but it wasn't Lorelai.

* * * * *

When the door swung open, he had a ready smile on his face; a smile that widened at the sight of Rory. His eyes immediately gravitated to her long, shapely legs that were topped by a pair of denim shorts. It was matched with a rainbow-coloured t-shirt with sleeves that hung over her hands. She looked more like a carefree teenager but the slump of her shoulders and her messy ponytail spoke of her tiredness.

"Tristan?"

Sheepishly, he grinned. "Hi." He held up the box of pizza in his hands. "I come bearing food."

"You're a lifesaver," she gushed, opening the door wider and inviting him in.

"Sorry for just dropping in like this," he apologized as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the peg near the door. "I was driving home from work and I just decided to come over in the spur of a moment."

It was true; it was an impulsive decision and he rarely give in to his impulses but the constant thoughts of her whirring in his mind ever since their date pushed him into giving in.

"Believe me," Rory's muffled voice sounded from the kitchen, "you have impeccable timing." She emerged with napkins and plates and set them on the living room table with the pizza. "You saved me a trip to the store. What drink can I get you?"

"Whatever you have is fine."

She grinned, pushing a loose strand of hair back from her face. "Okay, soda it is."

He watched her departing figure, his eyes unabashedly focusing on her swaying hips. Shaking his head at his one-track mind, he turned his attention elsewhere and surveyed the room.

The apartment was suitably spacious; the living room was large and airy with furniture that was chosen more for comfort than aesthetic value. The living room opened up into the kitchen and to another hallway that he presumed led to the bedrooms.

A wall of framed photographs gained his attention and when he examined them, he saw that they were moments caught in time of Rory and the various people in her life. A particular one stood out to him- one of Rory and a smiling blonde girl in what looked to be a university campus- and when he searched his mind, he realized that the blonde was not other than Paris Gellar.

"My mom was the one who put up all those pictures," said the voice from behind him. He turned slightly to see Rory's eyes roaming the display and a small smile playing about her lips. "She said that if I ever felt alone, I could see this and know that I'm loved."

He watched as her eyes misted over and felt an answering tug in his stomach. He laid a hand on her shoulder and waited until she looked at him before speaking. "Your mom sounds wonderful."

"She is," she said simply. Just as quickly her pensive mood evaporated and the Rory that he had come to know in their few meetings was back when her lips curved into a cheery smile. "Enough of that, I'm famished. Let's eat."

Silence reigned; Rory was busy savouring the hot pizza which tasted like heaven after a day of self-imposed hunger whereas Tristan feigned interest in his, not really knowing what to say.

Rory licked her fingers after having her second piece, satisfied now that the gnawing in her tummy was silenced. Looking back, she was taken aback to see Tristan's eyes watching her intently.

Her self-conscious "What?" made him laugh.

"Do you know freaky it is that you were watching me eat?"

He shrugged, but his smirk spoke of his amusement. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," she retorted. "You enjoy making me feel uncomfortable."

"I do not." He hurried on before she could interrupt. "Seeing a little thing like you practically inhale that slice was surprising."

"I'm not a 'little thing'," she protested, "and I'd have you know that I'm capable of much more than that." Grinning, she said, "I've had some interesting eating contests with my mom."

He matched her grin but decided to steer the conversation into another direction. "I see you got my flowers," he said, pointing to the tulips that were sitting in a vase on the side-table.

Smiling into Tristan's eyes, she answered, "They're beautiful, thank you."

He didn't look away. She didn't look away… and very quickly, the casualness of the atmosphere dissipated into something a lot more awkward.

He wanted to kiss her- that was the one thing he had wanted to do the moment she opened the door. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have thought twice about just doing it but something about her made him doubt himself.

Maybe it was the way she seemed to want to keep a distance between them. That didn't make much sense in his head since they had already slept together, but he still sensed her aloofness, probably because he was so adept at it himself if he chose to be. She wanted him- that much he knew for sure- but any of her feelings beyond lust was a mystery to him.

The tension got to him first and he caved in by asking, "I saw the photo of you with Paris Gellar. You still keep in touch with her?"

"I have to," she laughed. "We work together. And we're great friends."

"You two work together?"

"She's my editor," Rory answered. "I remember you told me that you were working in London but you never did tell me exactly what you do."

He let her turn the conversation to him, sensing her veiled reluctance to talk about herself. "I'll be taking over the family business eventually… and London was basically a training ground."

"How did you like it there?"

"I wasn't too keen on the weather and driving on the other side was hell at first," Tristan laughed. "But it's a beautiful city and it's just so lively and vibrant."

Rory sighed. "Next time I go on holiday, I'm going to Britain. I've always wanted to go; the history is fascinating. I love the Regency era."

"I'm partial to the Elizabethan era myself."

"That was a great period for literature and music. But, as a writer, I'm just completely captivated by the high society in Regency England."

Quirking his eyebrow, "You're a writer?"

Rory shook her head. "I thought you would have figured out that much by now."

"So, those times when you were off in la-la land, that wasn't because I was boring you?" Tristan gave a loud overdramatic sigh as he jokingly wiped his forehead. "Phew. You had me worried for a second there."

She laughed at his antics. "I dunno… you did lose me when you were talking about the mechanics of flying a plane."

Putting on a rather credible English accent, he promised, "I'll endeavour to keep you interested next time, m'lady."

"Another reason for me to go to England, the accent just kills me," Rory sighed. "Did you use to watch Buffy? I always thought that Spike's accent was iffy… but Mr. Sark, now that's a man who had a sexy British accent."

"Should I be wary of this Mr. Sark?" was Tristan's oblivious and semi-confused question.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You've never watched Alias?"

Tristan shrugged. "Never watched Buffy either."

Rory's exclamation was full of disbelief. "Did you not watch tv at all during your teenage years?"

"Of course I did."

"Please don't tell me that you watched Baywatch," she begged, rolling her eyes slightly.

"No." He smirked as he said, "I watched Baywatch: Hawaii." Laughing, he dodged the cushion that Rory threw. "Seriously though, I did like C.S.I. I remember that, for a little while, I actually considered going into forensic science. Then I realized that Chemistry wasn't my strongest suit."

"I don't think that Chemistry was anyone's strongest suit. Except maybe Paris'. She was- is- good at everything."

He nodded his assent, recalling that Paris had been valedictorian. "So now you know that I'm less than perfect. What's your one failing?"

"Am I allowed only one?" she joked. It seemed like her mouth worked faster than her mind because her answer popped out with candor. "Relationships."

"Relationships?"

Mentally berating herself for letting that one slip, Rory gave a casual shrug. "I suck at them. And I suck at meeting new people."

"You didn't do too badly with me," he smiled.

"That's because you're decidedly skilful when it comes to stuff like that." Her lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile. "Believe me, it is painful when both parties suck at it."

"Okay, let's give this a go." He pasted an overly bright smile on his face. "Hello, I'm Tristan."

There was a half-baffled, half-amused look on her face, but she played along. "Hi, I'm not interested."

Something about her teasing smile made his stomach tie into knots and that urge that he had tried to bury resurfaced. He reached out to cup her cheek, the motion quickly sobering her but she didn't draw back. Instead, she let her eyes rest on his and that familiar blaze that had taken them under on their date sparked into life.

Her lips were the same- soft, lush, inviting… and this time, with a hint of the soda she had been drinking. Eager for more, he leaned forward, trapping her body against the armrest and deepening the kiss as his hand pulled the elastic off her ponytail and buried itself into its luxuriant mass. In response, her hand snaked underneath his shirt, rubbing circles against his warm skin and slowly pushing him further into oblivion- an oblivion that he welcomed with open arms.

Moments passed as lips and mouths reacquainted with each other and hands relearned the places that drove the other wild. Feeling usurped whatever rational thought each had. Once alive, the fire could not be doused and the couple let themselves drown in the unrelenting sea of passion.

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