Well, in true fashion, if you're going to have four defining moments in a relationship, this would probably one of them. The sex question is inevitable but I feel I've handled it delicately and in a non-smutty (weeeeellllllllll……..) way. So here's a little sweet piece…….winter……….
Enjoy,
Luce.
It's winter.
The sidewalks crackle with ice, as the snow falls softly over the little town; tiny, glowing lights illuminate the entire town, turning it into a fairytale land. Personally, he doesn't think much of it. It's rather nauseating to him. She's used to it, having seen it all her life, but she can never get over how beautiful it looks at night. The snow shines pale on the lawns and shrubs and eaves, clinging, softly flying through the air like a giant, quiet aftermath of a pillow fight.
"Remember when you jumped in the sleigh last year?" she smiles, as they saunter down the main street, admiring, or despising, in Jess's case, the display.
"Sure. I asked you what you and Dean talked about. You know, to this day, I'm still curious."
"You used the word pugilistic," she recalls, grinning. "I wouldn't have shown it, but it set off a whole process in my head."
"Non pugilistic. And I knew it did. See, I'm really this evil plotter that's been setting tiny traps for you for a year now. I'm just waiting to reel you in little by little, to your doom," he explains casually, batting at a snowflake. She laughs.
"And what doom would that be?"
"Maybe I'm luring you into the lurid underworld of Stars Hollow," he jokes, loving the way her mouth spreads over the pearly row that tempts him.
"You are the lurid underworld of Stars Hollow, Jess," she groans, with a roll of her eyes. "Although I've had my doubts about Kirk for a while, and you know how Miss Patty gets when she hits the hooch."
"Don't remind me, I was more scared for my life at that party then I've ever been in New York," he mutters, swiping a handful and making a snowball. He searches for a target.
"Better than all my other birthdays, trust me. I don't think I mentioned the arrested clown."
"As much as I'm dying to hear that one......."
She swats him, a handful of powdery snow flying through the air.
His mischievous smile and glittering eye terrify her instantly.
"Nooooo! Jess, I swear if you even-"
But the words are too late. She's off her feet and next to him in a snow bank before she can catch her breath. Snowflakes are caught in her hair and eyelashes and slipping down her neck. She struggles and shrieks, trying to get up. Handfuls of snow fly back and forth as laughter floats into the air like the chime of bells......dancing through the night...........
"You started it," is his only explanation, spoken through gasps and a mouthful of snow.
"Not even!" she retorts, as she builds a snowman around him.
"I'm soaked down to the bone," he groans, rolling into the shoveled sidewalk, abandoning the snow bank of their battle. Her hand pulls him back.
She rolls on top and traps him shyly into a small world of her; her frostbit lips, her snowflake eyes, her cool, scented hair dusting across his cheek lightly. Her mouth is warm on his.
He crushes her into the snow, burying her, body heat seeping, melting. His cold hands meet hers as he guides them inside his jacket, towards the warmth of his chest.
"You're hypothermic," he murmurs, lost inside her, gone.
"Your heart is speeding," she says innocently, her hands buried under the layers. He envelops her in his arms softly as she sprawls next to him in the new snow.
She breaks the spell.
"We should go," she blinks, sitting up suddenly. She shakes the snow out of her hair; he bites his lower lip.
"Where to?"
She looks lost at the question.
"Uh, I mean, my mom's not getting home tonight from Boston; her and dad are settling some stuff about money and Sherry and junk. But since 95 is blocked......"
He waits for her to decide where she's going with it.
"I don't want to .....exactly disobey. My mom trusts me....and......"
"It's alright," he smiles, reassuringly. "Walk you home?"
She's not too particularly proud or happy of her choice. He wouldn't be presumptuous enough to assume she wanted otherwise, but he finds some sort of satisfaction in knowing that Rory Gilmore is not as good as she looks.
They amble towards the house, under the silvery streetlights. Gravel crunches under their feet in the driveway.
They pause on the front porch, looking at the floor, at their hands.
"You wanna come in for a little?" she says, and her voice is so soft he can barely hear it. She avoids his eyes.
"No," he answers, solemnly.
"Bullshit," slides out the corner of her mouth.
"Yeah, I know, I'm just trying to help you out" he says, his grin breaking out as he enters.
Rory closes the door carefully behind her, looking for anyone who might have seen; Babette and Morey's is dark, and the street is deserted. Mentally scolding herself for her paranoia, she kicks off her shoes and proceeds into the living room.
He's standing in the kitchen, setting some water to boil on the stove; a few hot chocolate packets are scattered on the counter.
"I'm gonna...go....put on a dry....some dry stuff. Clothes. Change," she smiles a little apprehensively, and he nods. He's well aware she's nervous, or unsure, or thinking about something; he doesn't exactly know what, but he has a pretty good guess.
She piles her wet clothes on the floor, and calls out through the semi-open door.
"So, what will it be? Pink cakes, blue bunnies, or clouds?"
"I'll take...uh....pink cakes for 200, Alex."
"These are my pajama choices, Jess."
This elicits a laugh from the figure in the kitchen, who's crumbling chocolate pieces in the simmering pot.
"Pink cakes because you're sweet." he replies, delivering with finesse.
"Nice line. So what would clouds be?"
"Because you're fluffy?"
"That's what I thought. I don't even want to know what blue bunnies would come to," says the girl dryly, emerging clad in the little girl pajamas that fold softly under her feet, following the curve of her legs, tied securely at the waist. He peeks surreptitiously at the slim expanse of stomach that comes into view as she raises her arms to secure her damp hair in a ponytail. She pads over the carpet silently towards him, leaning her chin on his shoulder on tiptoes.
"Mmm...death by chocolate. Pour me a cup." she requests, and he complies, wedging a soft piece of chocolate as garnish on the side of the mug.
"Gross," she giggles, and commences to eat it and lick the edge of the mug. He watches her until she realizes he's watching, then abruptly stops.
Silence.
The house is warm and quiet, with a few lamps emanating a peaceful glow among the shadows. Outside, snow drifts placidly in the dark and across the windowsills; the two figures in the darkly lit kitchen stand in beautiful profile. He feels as though he's painted into a picture, a dream.
"Are you still wet?" she breaks in abruptly.
"Just my shirt around the neck, and my socks," he suddenly breathes in relief, understanding that she's trying to break the spell. The tension in the air is palpable; the muted electricity between the two is tangible. He doesn't want this to be so hard, so stressful. It's all he can do to hold back from pinning her to the kitchen counter and sliding his hands under the loose pajama top. She knows this.
"Can I dry some of my stuff?"
"Sure," she cuts suddenly, abruptly breaking off the end of his sentence. "You know where the laundry room is."
He nods, and heads down the hall. He throws his socks in, and sees her shadow then move into the end of the hallway; he peels his shirt off a little slower, out of spite. She stands there, at the end of the hall, the light behind her, holding her mug. She says nothing.
"Should only take a few minutes," he remarks, checking his watch.
He walks past her and into the kitchen, and casually pours himself a mug.
She stands in the hallway, eyes downcast, afraid to turn around and enter the room. His frame is burned into her memory; the broad, sculpted slope of his shoulders, the lean stomach, the curving sinew on his arms. Her cheeks are faintly red, her eyes unseeing. She bites her lip hard.
She likes the way the jeans cradle his narrow hips, low slung barely above the angle of his hip bone, then curve and slouch down to his legs, baggy around the ankles. She likes the way the edge of white elastic with blue lines peeks out from above the belt loops, the words Ralph Lauren distinct in blue when he moves. She likes the way the white material hugs and contrasts the smooth olive skin shifting over the lean curve of his lower back. She follows his spine up to his neck, to the edge of his thick, dark hair standing up in unruly order over his head. It makes her want to kiss his ears.
The phone rings.
She feels an immense relief, freed from the burden of her thoughts for a moment as she races to pick up on the third ring.
"Hey babe," her mother's voice drifts over the line. "How's it going?"
"Mom," she breathes, relieved. "Good. How's Boston?"
"Full of baked beans and bad traffic. You all alone?" quips her mother, but Rory can hear the cautious tone of her voice as she asks the last question.
"Yes," says Rory, Rory Gilmore. Her first official lie of the evening. "Bored to death without you. You know it snowed......"
"No! Without me....." groans Lorelai.
"The weather often manages without you. It's always harder, but, I believe it double crossed you this time. Will you break partnership?"
"Hah. I can't believe it snowed and I wasn't there!"
"Well, there's snow in Boston........" laughs Rory, mind racing ahead worriedly.
"It's the polluted kind and nothing fabulous happened in it. This weekend's turning out....oh, never mind."
"Tell me!"
"Rory, you won't believe this," smiles Lorelai into the phone. "Sherry and your dad are divorcing. She's met another man, and is in love with him, and wants to take the baby and marry him."
Rory lets out a gasp, then, shocked silence.
"I knew you sounded too happy. You got some this weekend, didn't you."
"Not some. A lot. Rory, me and your father came together to discuss some stuff. Instead, I ended up with a lot more than I bargained for."
"Next time, bargain a little wiser and don't settle so quick," says the girl, her voice a little sad.
"What's wrong babe?" her mom's voice crackles over the line.
"Nothing, Mom, I'm glad. I'm just so tired of the confusion with Dad, that's all. It's so up and down......are you coming home tomorrow morning? I miss you," the girl carefully intoned, formulating the right words.
"I'll try by tomorrow afternoon, alright? We have a snowman contest to win. Try to have a ball without me, as hard as I know it will be," the older woman laughed. Her voice suddenly became deadly serious. "Rory?"
"Yes," the girl says fearfully.
"I know Jess will be with you sometime. Please remember everything I told you."
The younger Gilmore shudders at her mom's intuition, and calms herself, her tone light.
"Mom, you don't have to worry," she smiles, a little sick.
"Don't give me reason to," the elder Lorelai says solemnly, her voice static.
"I won't."
"Alright, night babe."
"Night."
She slowly hangs up the phone, her mood slightly quelled by the phone call. As soon as she enters the kitchen, however, it is dead, forgotten, and non existent. The phone was never invented. Her breath sharply stops and resumes at the sight of him, slouching against the counter, drinking his hot chocolate and staring out the dark window at the falling snow.
She navigates cautiously around him, and smiles lightly. Her hands scream out to touch him. Just once. She brushes by him nervously, on her way to the fridge. His arm stops her short, across her stomach, blocking her way. Slowly, he pulls her in. She's looking down and not saying anything; snapping her head up, she looks at the wall behind him, his mouth, his hair, the cabinets, anywhere else but his eyes. Closer and closer he pulls her, and she seems to have lost the will to resist.
He tilts his head and kisses the side of her neck. Her eyes glow iridescent blue in the gold lamplight. They are trapped in a world of a few inches of shadows and skin and hair, eyes fluttering closed.
"Let me kiss you," he whispers, a plea, a command.
"I don't think that would be a good idea," she quickly blurts out, hands clenching into fists, tense.
"I didn't ask if it would be," he counters, patient. "Let me kiss you."
"I can't," she almost wails, but it comes out as a sight instead.
"Why?"
"Because!" she cries softly. "Because."
"I wish you'd expound on that," he sighs, and softly encircles her waist with his arm. His hand slides over the edge of smooth skin and pink fabric, his broad palm flat. He makes a circle around her belly button with his finger, almost playfully.
"Stop," she says, unconvincingly. His finger stops tracing circles.
"Stop what?" he asks, knowing too well. "Rory, look at me. Look at my eyes. Eye contact. C'mon," he pleads gently, turning her face towards him. Reluctantly she complies, eyes still darting.
"Would I ever do anything you wouldn't want me to?" he says softly, and she looks at him with wide eyes. After a second, she shakes her head, side to side, firmly. He smiles, and releases her from his close hold. She looks at the floor fiercely. He picks up the hot chocolate, and takes another drink.
"What if I do something I wouldn't want me to do? How would you know? Here we are, playing around with this. I can't believe it!" she suddenly bursts out, eliciting a shocked look from him.
"What are you talking about?" he asks, his voice strange.
"I want to make love to you, Mariano!" she suddenly explodes, then, clamps her hand over her mouth. Her eyes wide with shock, she stands frozen to the spot. Her legs feel suddenly weak and helpless.
He almost chokes.
Setting down the cup, he stands still and quiet, features completely motionless. For the first time in his life, he feels completely useless. He's stunned, his mind a blank, his emotions white noise. Her hand suddenly drops from her mouth, and she starts backing away slowly.
"Oh God Jess please don't, ignore, ok, alright, forget everything please forget everything I said I don't, didn't mean to say that and I didn't mean to tell you something like that I can't believe-"
"Rory, stop! You're losing it on me. Deep brea-"
"No!" she interrupts, her eyes suddenly shimmering with liquid. "Please just forget it! Blank it out of your mind! Slip on the front stairs and have a concussion so you can't remember anything!"
"I know you didn't mean that."
"Oh, now you can read my mind?"
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Make this a fight." he says quietly, looking away.
"I just told you I want to make love to you and we're still standing here talking," she sighs, now calm, a note of wonderment in her voice.
"Yes," he replies impatiently. "This is our way. We talk about everything, it's the way we do things. It's the way we always did things, the way we are. If you say I want to make love to you, I say, are you sure. And why, and now? And then later, how, but that's another issue," he rambles, unconscious of the small smile creeping onto her lips.
"You're rambling. Are you nervous?" Rory grins, but the grin drops when she sees his face.
"Rory, I don't want to be the first case of mob lynching above the Mason Dixon."
"Are you saying you're scared?" she asks incredulously.
"I'm saying I want you to think this through."
"I haven't been thinking since you took your shirt off," she says demurely.
"Thanks."
"Sure."
"Hey, subject at hand. Can we finish quicker so I can kiss you?" Jess replies impatiently.
"Hey, aren't you the reasonable conversationalist? What's with the kissing stuff?" mocks Rory, frustratedly twisting her hair.
"You're determined to make this hard, aren't you. Look, here we are, and I'm trying to say that this will change things between you and people. I don't care if I get lynched, but I care if you and…..you know……."
"My mom?" she asks softly, amazed. "Since when do you care?"
"Since when I figured out how important it was. How important she is. She's……I….don't know. I want you two to be ok."
"You changed," is her loving accusation, tinged with wonderment. "I never thought you would."
"Don't worry, we still don't like each other. Sometimes."
"Hah."
"Hah what?" he glares at her teasing smile.
"I knew you two would figure it out someday. You're freakin' clones."
"Sure," he says sarcastically, but not disbelieving.
"Hey, were we discussing something else?" Rory suddenly comments, her voice casual.
"Me making love to you. Specifically if it's a good idea. Regardless of whether it's a good idea. I'll never believe you actually said that outloud; you don't know how long I've waited."
"How long?" she says shyly, half teasing.
"Since I met you, in a typical guy way. Since you kissed me at the wedding, even more. But since I told you I love you, differently."
"Different how?" she probes, sensing his lack of words. He stays silent for a little bit.
"I can't explain it. It's more, but it's not the same. I'd do anything for you," he concludes gravely, and looks away. She stands in still silence.
"It's my choice, isn't it," she questions, her mouth still wandering over the words she dared not say outloud.
"I'll wait for as long as you want," he replies, not daring to look at her in the eyes. His heartbeats are measured.
"God." she wails, as she backs away, and turns to flee. He rushes, knowing he has to stop her.
In a split second he has her against the hallway wall, a few tears damp on her cheeks, her mouth, as she furiously matches his hips to her, pressing against the unyielding wall that is his body. He kisses her hard, teeth clashing, lips demanding, desperate, and she matches his frantic need with her own equally frantic want. Mouths open, hands seeking, she travels the soft skin and hard curves of his torso, hungry; her small hands leave tiny fingerprints in the heaving muscles of his back, his skin where she grasps hard, unwilling to let go. His love is finally free, sweetly violet; she moans under the steel that traps her, under the magic of his hands which traverse hurriedly up her sides, finally trespassing too far.
With a gasp, she finally comes to her senses, breaking free from the dizzy spell; she kisses him hard, and pushes him away, his lips still seeking, crushing hers. With one last kiss she manages to wrench herself away. Waking up, Jess draws back quickly, and slams against the opposite wall in the small hallway. Simultaneously, they slide down the floor, sitting against the wall on opposite sides. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, groaning silently. She puts her face in her hands to hide the insane grin that covers it.
"God, I am so sorry," he says after a while, in the silence enveloping them.
"It's my fault." she replies sadly, quietly.
"I knew we'd have to have this conversation one day," he pondered quietly, almost to himself.
"I know it's up to me," the girl explained, and he nodded in agreement. "But so help me God, Jess, if you get me started how can I possibly stop?"
He tries to hide the little smile that wants to come to the surface. She grins a sort of embarrassed but guilty grin, and when their eyes meet, they both stifle the urge to break out in smiles.
"What are you smiling for?" she grimaces, and goes back to studying her pajamas.
"Come here to my side of the hallway and I'll show you." he leers, cocking one eyebrow
"Nice try."
"It was worth it. God, Rory. The things you do to me," he says, his face softening into a disbelieving smile. He sighs, letting his head fall back against the wall.
"What did I do? Did I hurt you?" she asks innocently, and he grins to himself privately, deciding to spare her.
"Oh, maybe just a busted lip," he lies, shifting uncomfortably. He wonders how long he'll have to sit.
He studies her as she curls her knees up to her chest, brown hair softly falling in her face, her pink toenails and small feet tucked innocently into the deep carpeting.
He watches her lovingly as she hangs her head, and he knows she's thinking hard, desperate thoughts. Jess is aware of what he wants, but with a sigh, he hopes she..........well, he doesn't know what he hopes. Her head slowly raises up; her eyes glow dim with love light as she pulls forward on her knees and crawls toward him, between his legs, and leans forward.
The kiss is sweet and long, and they feel the world slipping away from them.
She's made her choice.
They help each other up, and silently head into her room.
He closes the door, although he doesn't know why; he pulls her in, and kisses her softly to distract her, as his fingers undo the buttons on the pajama top, one by one. His kisses are slow, measured, building a searing flame in her stomach, sliding down her legs. He softly presses her against her desk, watching her silent reaction, carefully tuned to her every nervous motion.
"You're good at this. I don't want to know how, but you are," she breathed out between kisses.
"At what?" he smiles.
"This whole seduce the girl thing."
"Hmm," is his only muffled reply, silenced by her lips. The only sound is the rustle of cloth against skin. Her hands explore, tracing him, shyly gliding.
The pajama top falls to the floor as it slides off her arms, and she stands, wordless before him.
He, for the first time, is also left with nothing to say.
"God, Rory" he manages, the words struggling out of his throat dryly. With a movement that seems almost reverent, his hands slide over the shadows on her bare skin. She trembles slightly under his touch, letting him understand this is new territory.
Her hands wander to the edge of his jeans as he presses her against him for the first time. Skin to skin, curves to hard, flat muscle, slender arms around his neck. The electricity runs like melted quicksilver in their veins, their skin prickles and wakes at the tentative contact which becomes deeper. His hands study the arch of her bare back, his mouth laying a kiss on her collarbone as she lets her head tilt back. His kisses fall lower and lower, his hands contouring, redefining, his full attention focused on her torso until her back arches and she lets out a small sound between a sigh and a hum. His teeth place a nip that makes her startle and him smile.
He slowly moves backwards, till standing right by the bed. Sitting down, he pulls her forward, and she moves, unsure. His head rests against her stomach as he kisses the shifting muscles and tickles her bellybutton, eliciting a small giggle. His fingers deftly untie the pajama strings, and he places his hands inside the edges, sliding them down over her hips, letting them fall to the floor. Looking up at her, he notes her slightly intoxicated silence. He bends his head, and kisses the inside of her thigh, parting her legs, bringing her down. Her eyes are full of a soft confusion that wills him to continue. Her lips meet his, demanding. He reacts, stronger.
"Jess," she says softly. He loves the way she makes it sound. Her fingers reach for his jeans, and he guides them. He lays her out, brushing the hair back from her face. She looks a little scared.
"Alright so far?" he asks gently, and she nods, reassured. All he can focus on is the piercing blue of her eyes. Trusting, revealing, open, watching him.
Her small hands land on his hips, almost as though giving permission.
In the hall, the clock chimes midnight.
Outside, the snow is thickly falling.