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 5: Can't Say It

Tristan gathered Rory's lips in his own sensually before parting them with his tongue, exploring the wet hollow space of her mouth. She wordlessly responded, reciprocating his actions until her mind was hazy with desire and all she could discern as reality was him. Slowly, she felt him enter her opening again, and she was instantly flooded with memories of events not long before.

The first time, they had made love; it was gradual and affectionate yet at the same time completely torrid with lust and emotion. It had hurt like hell, but the pain subsided eventually, evolving into a growing ache for more of – whatever it was. It had lasted a lot longer than she originally thought it was supposed to, but then again, this was Tristan. At first, she was terrified that he wouldn't – um – fit inside, and that something would rip or tear and that would be the end; she found out later on in the process that it was only that much more lovely because of his – girth. Okay, gross – better word – portion … there. And he had been so gentle, so loving, like she would break if he moved too much too fast, and it made her melt.

The second time had been a little more…forceful.

While he'd still been very concerned for her welfare, he made it perfectly clear it was gonna be rough, and she didn't mind that at all. Ultimately there was no real recovery period, so he jumped right in, hooking her legs over his shoulders (which was a feet even she didn't know was possible for her non-athletic body), and slamming the entirety of his manhood against her body until she swore she felt him in the pit of her stomach. She screamed very loudly, shutting her eyes and digging her nails into his forearms at the intensity of him being so close. When he drew himself out then crashed back into her, she convulsed, grabbing the bed sheets for stability, and so it continued – in and out, back and forth, each thrust faster and sharper than the last one, bringing with it another tidal wave of orgasms that flooded to every corner of her senses and shattered her resolve completely. She had reached the point when all she could think to say was 'Oh God Tristan please' – actually, that's all she could say, there was no thinking involved. Her pleas were also accompanied by his low, deep-throated moans or some string of profanity – that was the other thing, Tristan had a foul mouth, and she liked it. In any other setting his language would've seemed crude or inappropriate – but this was the setting: he was fucking her senseless, so, he could say whatever the hell he wanted. After one particularly drawn-out thrusting period where he was determined to have her feel every inch of him penetrating her flesh until it made her crazy, her internal muscles clenched around him, driving him over the edge and taking her along with him. Shortly after he'd de-shouldered her legs, letting them rest around his waist once again while he'd waited for both of their bodies to stop trembling…

Which brings us to Sexual Encounter Numero Trois. How he was still going after all of this was a mystery to her, but she wanted it – even now she still wanted more.

Tristan skillfully tested her boundaries, finishing off the entering with a slow grinding of his hips, and Rory released a shuddering sigh in appreciation. He repeated his actions only half-way, because she stopped him. She received the questioning look as he lay poised above her, waiting.

"I wanna be on top."

Wait, what the hell did she just say?

Wait, what the hell did I just say?

He gulped unconsciously, not fully expecting any sort of bold moves from her their first night of unhinged, animalistic sex.

She encouraged him with a sound, passionate kiss so he would trust her sincerity, then pushed against his torso with hers until they rolled over and Tristan was on his back. They were, however, still joined in certain areas, and once Rory's hips collided with his, she felt the full consequence of her request and actions, and she slapped her hands against Tristan's chest to still any movement while choking out a scream at being impaled in a foreign position. At seeing her discomfort, he almost called the whole thing off, leaning up to withdraw from the union and assess the damage, but again, she stopped him.

"Don't – I – I'm okay," she assured him, trying to readjust so as to be most unperturbed, which did require some – maneuvering on her part.

"Fuck," he swore, he thought, quietly, and she couldn't help but smile, combing her fingers through his damp hair and kissing his mouth and the tip of his nose simultaneously.

She knew he wanted her to be contented in every way possible but it was a little too much to handle. He was a teenage high school boy, these things are unavoidable.

Slowly but surely, her inner walls loosened and gave way and she bit her lip to keep from screaming again but also not knowing it would feel so incredible. Gaining more confidence, she told him to lay back down and placed her hands on his abdominal muscles to maintain the favorable angle at which he entered her. Then she rose slightly and lowered again, repeating the pattern to find a rhythm; at about the fourth time he met her mid-stride … oh this just got better and better. Eventually her movements became more subtle and she let him take over because he knew what he was doing – God did he know what he was doing.

Soon, a very familiar feeling stirred within her core, and she held on to his arms, riding out orgasm after orgasm while his hands rested on her waist – it was one big orgasm, the whole thing. Briefly in the back of her mind, she heard him saying something, words fading in and out.

"Obsequious … synonym…flattery…"

Her head shot up and she cleared out the low drumming in her ears so she could hear him.

"Huh?"

"Obsequiousness…is a synonym…for flattery."

"What?!"

Blinking rapidly, Rory flinched at the feel of wood under her fingers and not Tristan's arms. Wait, wood? She was at a table. A table where? She frantically searched her cloudy surroundings for familiarity. The smoke cleared and revealed bookshelves, lots of them, and some more tables with people sitting at them, people she'd seen before. She looked down at the spot in front of her: a packet of papers that read "SAT Review" piled next to her big red book of "10 Real SAT's" from the College Board. She was at the Chilton SAT study hall in the library.

Oh cheese and rice. It wasn't real.

No wonder she'd enjoyed multi-positional sex and felt no repercussions. The whole thing had been fake, a concoction of her clearly-active imagination, an empty daydream. Well she didn't know about empty, but it certainly was a daydream. God, it seemed so real, like she was there, with Tristan, and they were screwing each others' brains out. Damn. And the cackling face on the clock told her the test started in five minutes, peachy. Now instead of remembering her vocab word cubbies and the S-A-L-L Analogy strategies, she'd be assaulted with images of Tristan in all his beautiful nakedness. His beautiful, muscular, tight-bodied nakedness, his beautiful, muscular ti—

She had to get to class.

Shuffling out of the library in a hasty manner, she made her way down the fairly vacant hallway until she reached her assigned classroom and walked in, praying she wasn't late. Lo-and-behold, who should be sitting in the front row with a pencil tucked behind his ear but Tristan Dugray, and she froze in the doorway. When he made eye contact with her and gave a tentative smirk, she felt the heat creep up her neck and flush her face in embarrassment. This could be a problem.

"Ms. Gilmore — would you care to join us?"

Rory snapped her vision away from Tristan to the teacher's inquiry, realizing she'd been standing in front of everyone for quite a while. Her eyes moved back to Tristan, nodding his head in the direction of the seat next to him as if to hint for her to sit down. Speedily, she took him up on his offer, settling in and getting out all her #2 pencils and necessary materials.

Watching the teacher very closely, Tristan scooted his desk toward Rory, leaning in conspiratorially. "Are you alright?"

"Ahh!" Having been leaning over her backpack in the opposite direction, she shot up too fast at the sound of his voice, bumping into his shoulder and scaring herself. A classically smooth moment for her.

"Hey, h-hey, there. It's just me," he chided.

She looked around nervously, hoping she hadn't caused a scene. Everyone seemed to be going back to their business of test preparation. "I'm fine."

"You just seem a little jumpy, y'know," he illustrated, shaking his hand in a jumpy fashion.

Rory noticed his closeness and gave him an expression that quickly shut him up, because she was of course unconsciously undressing him with her eyes and surprisingly it made him nervous. She might have even heard him gulp just then.

Thankfully, the teacher announced it was time to start and he didn't have to deal with her behavior yet.

[-]||[-]

Leaning against the wall outside the classroom after the exam, Tristan waited for Rory to come out so she could give him some sort of explanation for her actions. Since when did Rory Gilmore look at him like that? How about since never, yeah how about that? It was like he was a giant cup of coffee and she wanted to consume every drop of him. She must be on some of those hard drugs the kids were doing, that would explain it. No more rationalizing took place because she was currently making her way down the hallway to her locker it seemed and was paying him no mind.

"Rory? Hey Rory, wait up."

She halted her fierce gait to face him, glancing around awkwardly. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey."

Awkward silence. Awkward silence.

"So the test was hard," she said, somehow forgetting how to stand normally.

"Yeah. It took me forever to do the Critical Reading, I left a couple blank."

"Yeah." Rory continued her battle of awkwardness with herself and tugged on the long sleeves of her dark blue shirt, pulling them over her hands, then folded her arms across her chest.

"I have your clothes in my, uh, locker," Tristan informed, glancing behind him.

"Oh, okay."

She followed him down the hallway wordlessly, struggling to erase all the memories of his defined, rippling muscles encased with soft tan skin that smoothed every curve of his body. Those memories could get her in trouble — scratch that — got her in trouble. It was very hot again, all of a sudden, and she leaned against the wall, idly scratching her neck and rolling her eyes in hopes that her rising temperature would abate while he entered his combination and opened the door, unaware. Her cooling ritual was interrupted when he handed her a plastic bag and resealed his locker loudly.

"I washed them, don't worry," he assured her with a slight smirk, wondering if that was the reason she was being hesitant.

"Oh. You didn't have to do that. No one at my house really wears them or anything."

"I have cooties. Can't have those lingering around."

She laughed in moderation. "Right, I forgot."

The pausing stretched out, and Rory's resolve became less and less pronounced. God damn it, all he was doing was standing there, and yet she still wanted to jump him. She had to walk away.

"So I guess I'll see you Monday," she assumed hurriedly.

"Uh yeah, okay," Tristan concurred, wondering what the rush was and feeling a little suspicious of her conduct.

When she nodded, turning on her heel and heading off in the opposite direction, he figured that was the end of it. Well, he was wrong.

She changed her mind instantaneously, walking speedily back to the spot she previously occupied in front of him then dropping all her stuff so she could effectively grab his face and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. Of course he was completely caught off guard but there was no room for argument, what with her shoving her tongue forcefully into his mouth without so much as a 'please' or 'thank you' — not that one was need. He soon responded with equal fervor, creeping his hands around her neck and therefore moving hers to around his torso. Every brush of her lips against his, every entanglement of their tongues was more intense than the last, and soon they both got lost in the rhythm of it all, acting without thinking.

Okay, so there was a little thinking. Didn't she just tell him yesterday that she wanted them to be friends? Wasn't that what she said? It was what she had said, right? He could've sworn she said there would be no more of this, well, tonsil hockey going on any time soon or ever. This was wrong. In the most right way, but it was still wrong. Tristan tried to draw his lips away from hers discreetly, wanting an explanation. Rory clenched on to his shirt and bit him in a hopefully-delicate way, judging by the low groan he let out, then pressed even closer to him, not letting him escape. She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want clarity, she did not want to be rational or responsible for her actions. She had to kiss him, and as selfish as that was, it had to happen, plain and simple.

The rate at which her tongue swept against and danced with his was making him dizzy, and soon there would be no going back. She would think she could do whatever she wanted to him and damn his feelings to hell. No, that's not how it was going to be. His second attempt to get away was more successful because he physically wrenched their connection apart by grabbing her shoulders and putting her at arms length — okay maybe not, she was still fighting him — putting her at arms length and stepping back to catch his breath.

She yelped in protest then gnawed on her bottom lip solemnly, finding every spot around and excluding Tristan suddenly fascinating.

"God, Rory…"

"I'm sorry, I jus—"

"What the hell was that?! I mean…God…"

He was angry and aroused and out of breath at the same time, continuously running his hands through his hair while giving her fiery looks. "You are so un-fucking-believable, you know that? For Christ's sake!"

"I was — I — my h — I'm sorry —"

"You can't just do that and not…fuck…" This was getting to be a bit much. He closed his eyes and tightened his jaw, trying to rub the tension out of his neck and letting out a long, arduous breath. "Just tell me why. There has to be a reason so just tell me what it is. Please."

She combed her hair away from her face, still avoiding his gaze while searching for a reasonable answer. Of course, there was the brutally honest approach, where she admitted that she had lurid sex dreams about him that were beyond her control, that she saw his hands and immediately wanted them all over her. Somehow she felt like that dog wouldn't hunt since she would be forced to examine not only the dreams and her apparent insatiable lust but also her feelings about both things. She was so incredibly confused, and she felt her eyes sting with oncoming tears. God, why was she crying? "I…I don't know."

He huffed a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "No no, no, you don't tell me that you want us to try being friends and then the next day give me the single most amazing kiss of my entire life and say you don't know why you did it. That's s—that's…well it's bullshit, basically is what it is. Just good, old-fashioned bullshit, Rory."

His words stung immensely, for whatever reason. Or how about because it was the truth, gosh what was wrong with her? He was not a yo-yo or some alternately meaningless play thing she could toy with, he was a person. A very, very hot person. Oh shut up. She tried to stop the salt water from running out of her eyes and down her reddening face by picking at her nails. "I couldn't help it."

The words cut through his frustration and he was tempted to feel sorry for her, taking a step closer. "But why?" he questioned more softly.

His coaxing tone shattered her composure and she let out a whimpering sob, sniffling and wiping her cheek. Immediately she became upset with herself for being so foolish and rash, and she spoke on impulse. "Because I'm stupid."

Oh, well then. If he felt any hope or light-heartedness or even sorrow with regards to the girl standing in front of him, he didn't anymore, and his expression became motionless and unforgiving.

Horrified, she clamped her hand over her mouth at what she said, sorely regretting it. "No. No Tristan I didn't mean that —"

"Of course you didn't because you're stupid."

"No! I mean I am, but…that's not what I was trying to say."

"Is that what you've been doing this whole time? Trying to say something? Because I sure can't tell."

"I didn't mean it," she pleaded, her voice thick from crying.

"Yes, you did. Don't fucking say you didn't mean it. You always say what you mean, Rory. I know that for a fact. Just leave it," he surrendered, brushing past her.

"Please, Tristan no, wait —" Her hand grabbed onto his, stopping his retreat and making him face her.

This was truly pathetic, that he couldn't just let go, but he couldn't. Not yet. "Rory. Don't."

"I w—"

"Save it," he cut her off, finally able to snatch his hand away and silence her with it.

"Tr — no —"

"RORY?"

Forced into quietness by his warning tone, she bit her lip again, a tear squeezed from her vision and she was resigned to honor his request and try to keep her mouth shut.

"I'm not going through this with you, alright? You go your way and I'll go mine, and that's it. You obviously have no fucking clue what you want, so we have nothing else to talk about."

"Yes I do —"

"No, you don't, because you can't even say it."

He had a point. He was right. She couldn't. The words were lodged in the back of her throat, ready to come out, but she couldn't. Even as he walked away and left her alone to deal with whatever it was she had to deal with, she couldn't. Defeated, she slid down the wall and curled up against her legs, wishing away that God-awful daydream and all the misery it brought along with it.