Dare You To Move
By: aspdstra
RATING: M
PAIRING: R/T
SUMMARY: Rory has a bad day, and Tristan gives her a ride home.
DISCLAIMER: No. I wouldn't even go there. So don't you.
Chapter 3: Those Goshdarn Primal Instincts
Tristan and Rory sat in her driveway, not quite sure what to say. It had been a strange day after all. Yelling, name-calling, more yelling, ditching, crying, and then some kissing, and some more kissing, to simplify a little. Now they just sat there.
"You want me to walk you up? Carry your bag or something?"
"No that's okay," she refused pleasantly, and they shared a good-natured grin.
Slowly, she rummaged through the back seat for her soaking-wet backpack, and Tristan swallowed the lump lodged in his throat at the thought of her leaving. She took notice of his sudden withdrawal and paused with her luggage sitting on her lap. "Do you want to come in?"
Seeing as how he'd been staring off into the abyss, her question didn't seem like a question — think the adults' voices on Charlie Brown. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, blinking his eyes to get back in touch with reality.
"I was just wondering if you wanted to come in..." No sort of comprehension from him took place. "To my house?"
Tristan furrowed his brow while grinning at the absurdity of her offer, pointing to the place being discussed. "Your house."
"Yes."
"You want me to come into your house."
"Well… I mean yeah. Look at you, you're sopping wet, you shouldn't drive all the way to Hartford in sopping wet clothes."
"I have heat, Rory," he reminded with a grin.
"That's not the point. The last thing you need is air blowing on you while the sickness sets into your pores. You need to dry off," she warned in a motherly tone.
"I'll be fine, really," he assured her, nodding and never breaking eye contact.
When the staring began to get ominous, Rory chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating her next actions. She figured it was the only way to get him to agree, so she made her move, snatching his keys out of the ignition and hauling ass to her front door.
In his lazy state, it took a moment to process what she'd done, but he was not far behind. The next time he saw her, she was standing on her porch, dangling his precious keys in triumph with a satisfied and wily grin on her face.
He chuckled, getting out of the car and walking around to stand in front of her, leaning on the hood, amused beyond reason. "Rory, what're you doing?"
"Stealing your keys so you can't go home."
"And why are you doing that?" he inquired, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Because y — you're wet and you're gonna get sick. The sickness will set in." His raised eyebrows and commiserating smirk told her she was full of crap.
"I'm not giving them back. Not until you come inside and let me take off your clothes." The smirk widened. "So they can be dried," she added, thoroughly embarrassed and already red, then turning to open the door with her keys and walk in. Trying to busy herself, she headed to her room to put her belongings away then came back to the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine.
"I don't know why you're doing this. Besides the fact that you want me and can't stand to see me as anything else but naked in your bedroom," she heard his taunting, realizing he'd complied and come in after all.
"This is not about sex," Rory clarified, walking into the foyer and pointing a vindictive finger in his face.
He tilted his head a little with an amused grin on his face, took hold of her hand, and ran his tongue up the length of the vindictive finger with a smoldering look in his eyes. All her concentration skills were fixed on what he was doing, and she froze. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mary."
Something so illicit should have perturbed her, especially coming from him, but Rory had apparently forgotten how to be perturbed right then. Her throat was very dry all of a sudden, and she swallowed to make sure she hadn't lost all her saliva-producing capabilities. When he dropped her hand by her side and habitually shoved his hands in his pockets, she managed to snap out of the daze that had arrested her, glare now firmly returned.
"Shoes and socks by the door, jacket on the rack, and the laundry room is that way. Don't touch anything," she droned while walking back into the kitchen to check on the coffee.
His smile indicated he was reveling in the effect he was having on her, and he did as he was told.
Meanwhile, she took advantage of this time to get out of her wet clothes and put on a pair of thick Powerpuff Girls socks, a white tank, and some plaid flannel pajama bottoms that Luke had got her for Christmas. It wasn't warm enough, so she added on a grey Harvard sweatshirt. Seeing the eyesore she had come to know as her hair, she took it out, brushed it, put it back up into a messy bun before heading to the laundry to see what Tristan had tampered with. She found him, unsurprisingly leaning against the closed door, trying to appear innocent.
"Why haven't you taken off your clothes?" she demanded. World Premiere of 'The Lazy Grin', directed by, produced by and starring Tristan Dugray, complete with red carpet and venomous paparazzi. Damnit, she'd encouraged him. "You're just standing there. The door's not locked."
"Perhaps not, but it was you who said for me not to touch anything. I assumed anything meant both my clothes and your house, so I obeyed and decided to wait here for further instruction."
Infuriating. Simply infuriating. "Fine, I give you permission to remove your own clothes and enter my laundry room to put them in my dryer. Was that monosyllabic enough for you?"
"Completely. Although, the idea of reversing everything you just said and having you doing the taking off of the clothes and then you putting them in your dryer sounds a hell of a lot more intriguing," he babbled, doing that smoldering stare thing again.
Thankfully, the effect hadn't worked its magic just yet, and she was able to hear the phone ringing off in the distance. Well not that far, it was hidden between the seat cushions on the couch. She retrieved it, glowering at Tristan to silence him then dragging him into the laundry room, pressing 'Talk' and going to work on his tie.
"Hello?"
"I thought the whole tea and crumpets thing was an English myth or a legend or a tall tale or a device of Hollywood movies, did you know that they actually not only make crumpets, but they eat them, at tea time, 4:00 on the dot?"
Rory grinned into the shouldered portable phone. "Hi Mom."
"Hello my beloved. How's everything? School good, Dean good, Luke good, break anything, have any major life-altering parties where the whole school's invited and you didn't even know it, or maybe do some mad-scientist experiment that could potentially destroy our home, because I fully expect that."
"What's in those crumpets, Mom?"
Tristan grinned, first because she'd just removed his tie, and second because he was able to hear their entire conversation due to Lorelai's ignorance concerning decibel levels.
"I don't know, maybe it's the yeast, or maybe the flour, or maybe the flour is really coke, who can say. All I know is I'm giddy!"
"Yeah well I'm not," she struggled briefly with his shirt button but pressed on, "I plan to personally hunt down every member of the College Board and scalp them for scheduling the SAT's for the one weekend this year I could have gone to London."
He adjusted his stance while she tugged the uniform shirt out of his pants and off of his body. Well this was pleasant, being undressed by Rory. Wholly unexpected but definitely a 'could get used to it' kind of thing. Of course, he knew she was just humoring him because it was easier than wasting time arguing back and forth like they so often tended to do. Whatever. He still counted it as a win.
"They're in cahoots with all the other government conspiracies," Lorelai quipped. "Like Blockbuster, and McDonald's with their mystery meat. Oh and those people who sponsor and star in the Infomercials on Saturday mornings. Pure evil."
"McDonald's and their mystery meat," Rory repeated, undoing Tristan's belt and purposely ignoring the grin he was wearing while focusing on the clothes he was not.
"Please, have you seen their nuggets? Last time I checked, spongy chicken was not healthy or even remotely edible. And the 'frozen beef patties'? Speak for themselves."
"This is true. When are you guys coming back again?"
Smirk effectively ignored. Off came the belt, on to the wife beater.
"Sunday. I can come back earlier if you're…lonely…" Lorelai offered, purring the last word like she was a phone sex operator.
"If I was I'm not anymore," Rory retorted, scarred for life and enjoying the view Tristan's shirtless body brought with it. As if she had seen so many shirtless guys in her time, or that they had all magically found their way into her house. Frankly it annoyed her that she wasn't more bothered by what was happening. She was normally quick to counter anything he had to throw at her but today, for some reason, he had found a way to wear her down. Did she mention it was really annoying? Completely annoying.
Shock of all shocks, he enjoyed her enjoying of the view as well as the fact that she was undoing his pants and having a hard time being successful. Jerking and tugging and maneuvering of all kinds resulted in a flustered Rory and an aroused Tristan fighting to remain calm.
"Meanie. But seriously, babe, these roaming charges on the cell are going to be horrendous if I don't get off and call you later during Happy Hour."
"Happy hour," she half-grunted, still struggling with yet another of his buttons. How did he do this every day?
"Yes, also known as dinner at Grandma Lorelai's, full of fun, bonding, and derogatory comments about my troubled youth, during which I will make my escape from the table and go hide in the closet or the bathroom or some place safe from the madness and chaos so I can call you and fill you in on my pending misery. Sound good?"
Fed up with the offending button, Rory pointed to it as if to order Tristan to take it off himself and turned away to give him privacy. Seconds later, she heard a beep, signaling an incoming call. "Yeah Mom, okay. I'm getting a call anyways. I'll talk to you soon."
"Definitely. Love you." Lorelai proceeded to pepper the voice receiver with loud kissing noises, which made Tristan look up briefly and grin at the sound while he removed his pants.
"Love you too. Tell Grandma and Grandpa and Great-Grandma I said hi and I love them too."
"Alrighty, will do. Bye, my little Oompa-loompa."
Rory rolled her eyes and smiled. "Bye Mom." The talk button was pressed and she then transferred to the call waiting on the other end. "Hello?"
"Rory."
Her eyes went from rolling to wide as saucers. "Dean."
Tristan, left in his grey boxer briefs, sensed an evil smirk grace his countenance, and he moved closer to an unsuspecting Rory.
"Hey."
"H-hey," she greeted shakily, feeling Tristan's arms snake around her waist from behind her and move under her sweatshirt, coinciding with light, feathery kisses on her neck. She whirled around, caught in his embrace, violently shaking her head and waving her free hand simultaneously to ward him off. His smirk only got Grinch-ier in response.
"How are you?"
"Fine," her answer coming out as a squeak when Tristan had ignored her and decided to seek out the sensitive spot behind her ear and claim it with his mouth.
"Um. That's good. You sound a little hoarse..."
Tristan trailed the kiss from behind her ear to her neck, then her jaw line, then her cheek, laving his tongue against her lips before snagging the bottom one gently between his teeth and releasing it.
"I'm…" she took the opportunity to clear her throat some, which didn't ultimately help, "…a little thirsty, but it's okay, really." Rory did her best to reassure Dean, clamping a hand over Tristan's mouth when he went to actually kiss her. She could feel his grin in her palm and narrowed her eyes.
This was, of course, before she finally noticed that he was wearing no pants, just his damp unmentionables and a solid, sculpted expanse of muscle and skin. At this, she panicked and scurried away from him to the trash bags of clothes, leftover from the last town Clothes Drive, which was only a week ago.
Tristan and his smirk got themselves comfortable as he sat on the dryer to enjoy a generous view of Rory's backside without her knowing.
"Uh…so how have you been?" she asked to stay engaged in the conversation in the midst of rummaging through the Hefty bags.
"I've been thinking about you. I miss you, Ror."
She shot up, having found a pair of dark grey sweatpants she thought would fit him and a lighter t-shirt of equal promise.
"I miss you too, Dean."
The pieces of clothing flew from Rory's hands dead smack into Tristan's head, considering she'd thrown them when he was distracted. She concealed a laugh at the sight but covered the phone just the same.
"And that fight we had, about the college thing, was so stupid. I don't even know how it got that far."
Tristan made a 'that's so funny' face at her antics and hopped off the dryer to put on his new set of clothes.
"Oh I know," she absent-mindedly agreed, preoccupied with Tristan putting on dry clothes on top of his wet boxers. Covering the phone receiver, she reprimanded him. "You can't keep those on."
He stopped at her loud whisper, raising an eyebrow. "What?" he whispered back.
"Your…" she pointed at his boxers, "…are wet, you have to take them off." Realizing what she'd just said, she rushed out of the laundry room and shut the door, just in time to muffle Tristan's laugh.
"Rory?"
Oh right, Dean was on the phone. "Here. Just got a little... Um. That fight was stupid, huh?"
"Yeah, it really was. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"No! No, noooo, no no no nono. Not a bad time for me, not at all."
"Okay. It's just, I felt really bad after the…y'know, and I didn't know how to tell you. I thought about coming back but I figured you'd be plenty mad, so..."
"I wish you had. My day could've gone a whole lot better, I guarantee it."
"That bad huh?"
Rory heard the door open and turned to find a shirt in her face for a greeting.
"A little small," Tristan mouthed quietly once her face reappeared to see him clad in only the pants, and... What was that he was holding his hand? Ah the boxers.
"Yes, really that bad." She snatched them away from him as well as the shirt still clinging to her head and went into the laundry room yet again.
"Sorry 'bout that," Dean apologized, bringing a genuine smile to her face.
Loading the wet clothes into the dryer, she set it for an hour and pressed start. And there was a Tristan waiting for her when she made a move for the door, very much invading her personal space and leaning in for a hot but solitary open-mouthed kiss. Hadn't Dean just said something? Tristan's blessed tongue had made her forget.
"That's okay," she said as she came up for air, trying to stop the inevitable kiss that came afterward.
"I can't believe I was so insensitive. I mean who cares where you go for college, that's completely your decision, it has nothing to do with me...and then I made it seem like you were supposed just drop everything for our relationship, how stupid is that? I can't believe you didn't slap me when I said that..."
No more of Dean's words reached Rory's ear as she was too enthralled with the kissing thing she and Tristan were engaging in currently, and the phone slipped from her grasp, thankfully landing in another soft pile of clothing on the floor.
Dean kept talking.
Tristan and Rory kept kissing, his hands moving from cradling her face to running down her body so she in turn could wrap her arms around his neck while he grabbed her ass and lifted her off the ground to carry her a couple steps to the dryer, where he set her down and leaned into the open space her splayed legs provided.
Dean kept talking.
He trailed his hand along her thigh and locked it in behind her knee, bringing her closer and receiving a grateful moan from her amidst all the kissing and tongue action. She in turn rested her knees on his hips and locked her feet around his lower back to maintain the contact. Their new closeness allowed him to move his hands underneath her sweatshirt to roam as they pleased, brushing up her stomach to the underside of her breasts; but a big bulky cotton sweatshirt didn't allow such free movements, and he eventually pulled it off, tossing it into oblivion and revealing a tiny white tank top, then the kissing continued.
Dean still kept talking.
As far as she was concerned, anything Tristan's hands chose to do was phenomenal. Whether it be caressing her back or her stomach, or running up and down her thigh, or gently cupping her chest and circling his thumb around her nipple, exciting delicious moans from her otherwise-occupied mouth. It was almost too much.
We all know what Dean was doing.
Then Tristan saw fit to lift her off the dryer and carry her into the living room, never breaking contact with some part of her body, her lips, her neck, her ear, her lips again, didn't matter. All he knew was there was a nice big couch, and he was going to put her on it. He didn't mean to drop her so roughly, but she didn't fall off or seem to mind, so he joined her, lowering himself on top between her legs again, groaning into her open mouth at the feeling of her body pressed so closely against his. She pushed up against him, letting him know she appreciated it too, resulting in another groan and Tristan biting his bottom lip to retain sanity.
Dean, you should just give up.
Since when had Rory become a sex-crazed maniac? Wasn't she Ms. 'Wait Til The Right Time' and 'Make Sure You're in Love'? She thought sure she was, but somehow this boy — check that, there was nothing boyish about him except his age, and she meant nothing — this man had managed to change all that and stir up such lurid desires in her that she didn't even think were human, only primal. His mouth once again moved from Rory's and made a trail down her neck, across her collarbone, between her breasts and settling on her stomach. He only stayed there briefly, moving back up her torso and taking the hem of her tank with him; she tried not to sound like a dog as she panted in anticipation, shutting her eyes like this was all some wonderful fantasy. Then she felt the heat of his mouth latching onto her right nipple, sucking lightly and pulling it back through his teeth as he went to switch sides.
"Tristan," she cried hoarsely, shuddering at the contact and arching her back to be closer to him. Where on God's green earth had he learned to do that?
Dean Dean Dean...
Wait a second, did she say Tristan? Dean stopped his ranting and became frantic.
"Rory? Rory, are you there? Rory!"
Did she hear him? Oh no, no she did not. All she could concentrate on was Tristan and his ministrations and how his hand was sliding down her stomach and under her pajama bottoms, under her light blue underwear that didn't match the bra she'd had on earlier.
His finger slid between her folds, and he thought he was gonna die, not only at how hot and wet she was for him already, but also at how her hips shot off the couch just barely as he touched a particularly sensitive area. He took that opportunity to slide his finger inside her, testing her boundaries, then breaking his mouth away from her breast to mark her neck with his teeth and tongue, relishing her responses. Seeing it could only get better from here, he slid another finger in, and she dug her nails into his back.
"Fuck you're tight," he stopped kissing her long enough to whisper in her ear.
She honestly didn't think real people actually talked like that ever and now she honestly wondered why. Her breathing became more erratic, and her moans became more frequent. Tristan could tell she was close, and he teased her opening with his thumb while continuing the movement.
"Oh God," she choked out, desperate to get closer to him.
This was it. The end was in sight. He kissed her just because he could, their tongues dueling as he swallowed her screams. It would've been a wonderful moment, really... But then there had to be a knock at the door.
"Rory?! Rory, are you in there, are you okay?!"
Dean. There you are.