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 4: Friends? Right

Something was building up inside of her. She couldn't describe it because in all honesty she'd never felt it before. She did know one thing – it was good. Rory wanted whatever she was on the edge of feeling to hurry the hell up and happen before she lost her mind. One more flick of Tristan's thumb and Rory shuddered to an earth-shaking halt, and a warm cramping spread through her stomach all the way to the furthest reaches of her body. She didn't know exactly why she couldn't move, but ultimately that was irrelevant; she couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't speak, and she didn't want to. Before she also couldn't hear from all the blood rushing to her ears, a certain familiar voice carried itself in a muffled fashion through her closed front door, and she vaguely remembered a knocking sound as well.

Rory found that Tristan was kissing her again. Her senses having been returned, she realized it must have been because she was moaning like an idiot and the racket could've been heard through an air-tight titanium safe twelve feet thick. The kissing slowed, and Rory pulled away, pressing her forehead against Tristan's so she might know what it was like to breathe again. Eventually, she worked up the nerve to look him in the eye, and what she noticed there almost made her lose the breath she was trying to take; a striking cobalt blue, turned smoky with desire and want, somewhat thrown off by a rim of innocently curled lashes. He had the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen.

Knowing he'd brought Rory to a place where she could totally release herself and not be ashamed gave Tristan the best feeling of assurance he could ever feel. Seeing and hearing what he'd done to her, and realizing it was really him who'd done it was even better than feeling it himself. It was also an added bonus that he had to kiss her so soundly so that everyone else in the whole town didn't know what he was doing to her as well, especially the unwelcome visitor at the door who wasn't taking the hint that they didn't want to be bothered. The moment passed, and the kissing became less urgent and desperate. Rory's head cleared from its lethargic state, and her sanity returned, but she was still there. She hadn't pushed him on the floor and yelled at him for being so forceful or presumptuous, and she certainly hadn't made any moves to answer the door, so he figured he was pretty safe for a few more minutes.

Why oh why did she have to open her eyes and look at him? If Tristan had one weakness as a human being, it was Rory's eyes and what they did to him; everything about them — the color, the expressiveness, the size — everything, turned him into a fumbling, bumbling imbecile. She, without a doubt, had the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. Plus the way she was looking at him did nothing for his self-control either.

Rory's sheepish grin crept up the corners of her mouth, and she briefly looked down, all of a sudden feeling very shy and embarrassed. Tristan kept her head from ducking all the way by catching her mouth in a kiss – chaste in the most pure sense, and yet affectionate all at the same time. She wondered what it would be like to feel this way for the rest of her life.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Unfortunately, such dreams and fantasies could not be entertained at the present time.

"Rory! Are you okay?! Rory, answer the door please!"

Uh oh. She had a boyfriend. And he was standing on her porch. Right now. And he was not the god-like creature hovering above her with his hand shoved down her pants.

"Oh no oh no oh no oh no, no, nono no no no no," she mumbled, shooting up on the couch and straightening out her clothing.

"Rory—" Tristan began, but Rory silenced him with her hand clamped over his mouth.

"No talking. You must not say a word about this, okay?"

Her urgent whisper and terrified countenance were enough instruction for him, so he merely nodded and allowed her to get up. Rory had overestimated her strength, however, and felt her knees bobble beneath her. Tristan, seeing her unsteadiness, was there immediately to save her from a rather clumsy and hazardous fall, trying his darnedest not to laugh.

"Walk much?" he teased softly in her ear, chuckling at the glare he received in return, followed by what he was sure was a smile.

She leaned her back against the front of his torso to get good leverage and managed to push herself onto her own feet, but she held onto his hands just to be safe. He didn't mind.

"You okay?"

Nodding, she braved her way to the door, stumbling and wobbling every now and then like she'd never walked before in her life. Tristan, again, tried not to laugh. Opening it, she found a very disturbed and irate Dean, smoke seeming to wisp from his ears.

"Dean. Hi."

He didn't look pleased to see her, what with a shirtless asshole standing behind her with a smug grin on his face.

"Rory, where the hell did you go?! One minute I was talking to you and then nothing! Then I hear you talking to this —" Rory gave him a warning look, and he refrained from any derogatory comments. He then gave Tristan a good once-over and became even more pissed off. "And why the hell doesn't he have a shirt on?!"

Tristan's grin increased by a smug factor of infinity, only causing to make Dean more irate, which ultimately was its goal anyway. Rory fidgeted nervously for an answer that would pacify the situation.

"He... Well, his clothes were wet, because of the…of the storm, and he didn't have any other clothes to wear besides some old sweats from the Clothes Drive, but that's all there was, there weren't any shirts that would fit him. So he couldn't wear one. So that's why…he doesn't have one…on…"

"Now Rory, don't be modest. We both know you couldn't stand the fact that I had a shirt on so you ripped it off in a torrent of blind passion. Dean deserves to know the truth," Tristan confessed falsely.

To him and in this circumstance, lying was bunches more fun than anything because angering Dean was Priority #1. He slightly changed his mind when Rory sent daggers from her eyes to right between his forehead for his tall tale. Shut up, she mouthed harshly and turned back to a fuming Dean.

"Dean, that is not even remotely," she said, elbowing Tristan behind her for trying to get her in trouble and feeling better when she heard him groan in mild agony.

"Whatever it doesn't matter! Seriously Rory, you had me worried, I thought someone," a pointed look at Tristan, "had broken in and was mugging you or something awful like that, you scared the shit out of me!"

"First of all, I wouldn't mug her, cavejerk, and second she invited me in here!"

This triggered another death glare from Rory directed at Tristan, who merely smiled in his innocent way like he hadn't said anything.

"You invited him?! I thought you guys hated each other! No, check that, I thought you hated him!"

Tristan involuntarily tensed at remembering Rory's previous words, and he immediately wanted to smash Dean's floppy head into the nearest wall as soon as humanly possible.

Rory saw him about to take action and stopped him then turned to Dean. "Dean, can I talk to Tristan for a few minutes — alone?"

Dean's face got a million shades redder at her request. "You've got to be joking!"

"Nothing about this is a joke, Dean... Please, I just need a few minutes. It'll be quick."

He looked back and forth between Tristan and Rory, not entirely sold on the idea, but then his eyes went back to Rory, and she was doing that pleading thing she did so well, he had to give in.

"Okay, fine. But I'll be right outside," he told her, heading for the door.

"Yeah, like that helped you a whole lot earlier," Tristan mumbled rather loudly, sending Dean a few inches from his face.

"Tristan, stop it! Dean — outside, please."

The only thing that kept the brawl from ensuing was Rory dragging Dean to the door and slamming it his face. She turned to glower at Tristan, who wasn't exactly dancing on tabletops himself. It was very easy to feel sorry for him then; he looked so dejected, and she knew she should say something about what she had said to him earlier, since they had, after all, just skipped the insults and gotten right to the foreplay. The hole he was burning into the ground with his blank stare started to make Rory uneasy, and she needed to speak up.

"Why do you have to be such a jerk around him? I know you're not like that."

He shrugged, continuing to look at the floor. "Reflex."

She nodded, wondering when the situation had gotten so awkward. Oh yeah, back when Dean reminded her that she'd said she hated Tristan — again.

"Well, I guess I should get going, seeing as how my very presence causes you to hate me even more," Tristan said bitterly, making his way to the laundry room to get his dried clothes.

"Th-that's not true. I don't hate you."

"Lame, Rory. Try harder next time to sound less sincere," he snapped, snatching out his shirt and pants.

"I don't hate you, Tristan, I don't. I just said that before because…because I was upset, and I was having a bad day, but I don't hate you. After this afternoon, I hope you would notice that," she hinted, shyly glancing around at the hidden reference.

His face slowly warmed into a smile, and he stopped shuffling through the laundry to look at her. "So you don't hate me?"

She rolled her eyes, grinning bashfully in spite of herself. "No."

Leaning against the door frame, he laughed to himself. Knowing that piece of information would've made these past few days a whole lot easier on him, seeing as how he'd been racking his brain trying to figure out how he was going to live knowing the one girl he ever felt like he could potentially really care about hated him.

"Well that's…good," he concluded, crossing his arms over his currently-unclothed chest.

There he goes again, licking his lips and doing that smoldering stare thing. Does he plan this? Rory glanced away, scrambling for a distraction.

"So. What is going on with us…exactly?"

His question refocused her attention, and she found out she actually had to give him an answer. "I think we should be friends," she spat without thinking.

"Really?" He didn't say it in a tone that entailed he was pleased with her decision, and it was very obvious.

"Yeah."

"Just friends."

"I guess that doesn't meet your expectations."

"No I just...tend not to like that phrase 'I think we should be friends', it never ends well for the other person hearing it."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Maybe not for you, but it is for me."

She tried not to look hurt by his comment.

"That came out wrong. That's not what I meant. Look. All I'm saying is…maybe it's easy for you to just forget what happened today or pretend like it didn't matter, but, I can't do that."

She strategically sidestepped any acknowledgment that he was telling the truth and pressed her point forward. "God, Tristan. I'm not asking you to sign your life away. I just think we should try being friends, seeing as how we never have been before."

"That's not true."

"I happen to disagree with you on that, because I think it is."

"L— that's beside the point. Friends don't act like we acted, Rory okay, friends don't do…that stuff. Why is it that you can't see that?"

"Well I'm sorry for trying to make this situation a little less awkward. Obviously you don't want to be my friend so forget I brought it up!"

"Were you not just listening to me a couple seconds ago? Y'know, when my mouth was moving and sounds were coming out? That was me actually talking to you."

"Don't be a smartass, you're the one who thinks it's this bad thing for us to be friends."

"I don't think it's a bad thing, it's just not realistic. Believe me, nothing sounds more enticing than me and you actually being able to exist together without fighting or killing each other, but I don't think it's that simple. Especially when you take into account the fact that I can't handle just being friends with you, Rory, it doesn't work like that!"

"Why not?!"

"Because I —" Tristan tightened his jaw, first because he hoped his voice wouldn't crack like that ever again, and second because he was debating whether or not to put himself out there with her, and he could've sworn he heard her stop breathing. Deciding against it, he swallowed and looked away.

Rory saw how his eyes glazed over with pain, and she felt terrible once again for hurting him. Although, she wasn't sure exactly of what she'd done this time, or maybe she knew subconsciously and wasn't prepared to face the outcome. One thing she did know was that she didn't want him to look like that — all sad and pitiful. It was heart-breaking.

"I should go," he said finally, pushing off the door and heading back in the laundry room to get his clothes.

"Tristan…"

How many times is she going to call my name like that, honestly? He didn't answer, still snatching things out of the dryer.

"What were you going to say?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter," he retorted icily.

"Yes it does."

"No, Rory, it doesn't. Just drop it, alright?"

"It does to me."

This made him pause from his task, looking at her in disbelief. "Is that a fact?"

Hiding her gulp, she all but squared her shoulders in preparation. "Yes."

It was then that he made eye contact with her, walking right up to hover in her personal space, and she had to fight to remember what it was she asked him to begin with.

"What would you say if I were to tell you that just being in the same room with you makes my blood run through my entire body to places that don't include my brain and all I can do is pray I don't do something stupid, like throw you on the couch over there and do very ungodly things that I will not and cannot say, because then that would mean I'd actually act on them, and I don't think you're ready for that. I'm hanging by a thread here, Rory, and I swear I am this fucking close t—"

Silence briefly crept into his monologue, and she waited.

"You do not want to know what I was going to say."

Rory's mind didn't tell her eyes to blink or her lungs to inflate with oxygen the entire time he was talking, but she was pretty sure she wouldn't have responded anyway. The fact that all he was doing was talking and she couldn't look away said something, but she wasn't ready to face just what that was. Before she knew what was happening, he had already gathered his things and was heading to the front door.

"I'll give you your sweatpants back tomorrow," he called over his shoulder, and walked out.

Dean, who had been standing at the bottom of the porch while they were talking, turned when he heard the door open and shut almost simultaneously. His inquisitive stare became dark with jealousy when he saw who came out.

Tristan paused momentarily upon seeing Dean waiting just like he said he would be, and yet he denied himself the pleasure of saying something snide, trudging down the steps barefoot and making a direct path for his car.

"If you so much as touched her, you'd better believe you'll regret it."

Oh, so he wanted to go there, Tristan mused inwardly, pivoting on his heel to face the subtextual challenge head on.

"Too late, man," he said, adding a commiserating smirk to the mix then leaving Dean to fume for a bit before going inside to ask Rory what exactly he meant by that.