AN: Sorry about the cliffy. But they're *soooooooo* much fun. I enjoy
watching you all squirm. Besides, you shouldn't complain. I update more
than any other author on here. You should throw a party in my honor, not
whine about one stinking cliffy.
*** "Luke..." she started.
"Lorelai..." he answered. At least it felt like an answer.
"Luke, do you think I'm a b*tch?"
"What?"
"I heard the song b*tch the other day, and it made me think of how I've been treating you lately."
Luke couldn't believe it. At least now he could talk about his thoughts regarding the same song. "Lorelai, you're a child and a mother. You're my hell and my dreams. You're a lot of different people. You're not a b*tch."
It had only been an attempt at small talk, and now the conversation was dead. They were looking into each other's eyes now. Lorelai wet her lips slowly, sucking them part way into her mouth so Luke could only see the very tip of her tongue as it passed across them.
Luke's mind left his body temporarily. When it returned, he had one hand on either side of her head, just behind her ears, and their lips were interlocked.
Lorelai wasn't pulling away from the kiss like he expected her to. Instead, she was leaning in a little, and her lips parted, giving him permission to make the kiss a little deeper.
When they stopped, both were speechless for a moment.
"Wow," Luke said.
"Wow, Lorelai said. She touched her lips, trying to keep the feeling of the kiss from escaping too quickly. "Thank-you," she said, not thinking of anything better to say after the best kiss of her life.
"You're welcome."
Then Lorelai started to laugh. She laughed and laughed. She laughed until tears ran down her face. Luke leaned away a little, not sure how to respond. He thought he felt hurt, but he wasn't sure. Then Lorelai smiled at him.
"Luke, I haven't felt this right, this safe, or this wonderful in a long time. I'm laughing because I just thought of my next poem. I want to write it down before I forget. She looked for a pen and paper, but realized that all she had with her was her keys, clutched tightly in her sweaty right hand. Suddenly she had an Idea. "Luke, do you have your pocket knife on you?"
Luke felt in his pockets and pulled it out, still there from the day before. "What do you want it for?"
"I'm going to off myself, duh," she quipped.
"Well in that case," he opened the knife and handed it over. Lorelai walked around to the other side of the bench and started carving. She carved in silence, using nothing but the light of the streetlamp. When she was done, she closed the knife and handed it back to him calmly.
Of course Luke wanted to read it. He stood up to walk around the bench, but Lorelai grabbed him by the shirt and stopped him. "Kiss me again," she demanded.
He gave her a little peck, and then tried to stand up again. "No!" she shouted. "You can't read it!"
"Lorelai, you just defaced public property with my knife to write a poem inspired by me. I made a serious investment in this crazy endeavor, and I fully intend to read it."
"But if you read it, I'll have to move far away to Africa or South America and become poor and starve, and they'll mail you my thin, half-rotted corpse and you'll bury me and then won't you regret it? I'll be dead and it will be all because you read the stupid poem."
"Were you dropped on your head as a child or something?"
"I wasn't dropped, I jumped. You can read the poem, but walk me home first. I don't want to be here when you read it."
"Fine." Luke stood and offered her his arm. He noticed then that she was wearing pink-fuzzy bunny pajamas, and probably a matching shirt, although she had thrown Rory's Yale sweatshirt on over it. God she was cute.
Luke walked her to her door in silence. But it was a comfortable, pleasant silence. She clung to his arm with both hands, and for a while walked with her head rested on his shoulder. He could tell that she trusted him completely to guide her safely and protect her.
Lorelai felt truly safe and comfortable with Luke—Not needy and horny like she'd been with other men. It felt right when he dropped her at her door step, kissed her briefly on the corner of her mouth, watched to make sure she got inside safely, then left. She watched him through the window, and thought she saw him skip a little.
She fell asleep peacefully, still feeling him on her lips.
Luke nearly skipped to the park bench. He walked behind it and read her poem...
*** "Luke..." she started.
"Lorelai..." he answered. At least it felt like an answer.
"Luke, do you think I'm a b*tch?"
"What?"
"I heard the song b*tch the other day, and it made me think of how I've been treating you lately."
Luke couldn't believe it. At least now he could talk about his thoughts regarding the same song. "Lorelai, you're a child and a mother. You're my hell and my dreams. You're a lot of different people. You're not a b*tch."
It had only been an attempt at small talk, and now the conversation was dead. They were looking into each other's eyes now. Lorelai wet her lips slowly, sucking them part way into her mouth so Luke could only see the very tip of her tongue as it passed across them.
Luke's mind left his body temporarily. When it returned, he had one hand on either side of her head, just behind her ears, and their lips were interlocked.
Lorelai wasn't pulling away from the kiss like he expected her to. Instead, she was leaning in a little, and her lips parted, giving him permission to make the kiss a little deeper.
When they stopped, both were speechless for a moment.
"Wow," Luke said.
"Wow, Lorelai said. She touched her lips, trying to keep the feeling of the kiss from escaping too quickly. "Thank-you," she said, not thinking of anything better to say after the best kiss of her life.
"You're welcome."
Then Lorelai started to laugh. She laughed and laughed. She laughed until tears ran down her face. Luke leaned away a little, not sure how to respond. He thought he felt hurt, but he wasn't sure. Then Lorelai smiled at him.
"Luke, I haven't felt this right, this safe, or this wonderful in a long time. I'm laughing because I just thought of my next poem. I want to write it down before I forget. She looked for a pen and paper, but realized that all she had with her was her keys, clutched tightly in her sweaty right hand. Suddenly she had an Idea. "Luke, do you have your pocket knife on you?"
Luke felt in his pockets and pulled it out, still there from the day before. "What do you want it for?"
"I'm going to off myself, duh," she quipped.
"Well in that case," he opened the knife and handed it over. Lorelai walked around to the other side of the bench and started carving. She carved in silence, using nothing but the light of the streetlamp. When she was done, she closed the knife and handed it back to him calmly.
Of course Luke wanted to read it. He stood up to walk around the bench, but Lorelai grabbed him by the shirt and stopped him. "Kiss me again," she demanded.
He gave her a little peck, and then tried to stand up again. "No!" she shouted. "You can't read it!"
"Lorelai, you just defaced public property with my knife to write a poem inspired by me. I made a serious investment in this crazy endeavor, and I fully intend to read it."
"But if you read it, I'll have to move far away to Africa or South America and become poor and starve, and they'll mail you my thin, half-rotted corpse and you'll bury me and then won't you regret it? I'll be dead and it will be all because you read the stupid poem."
"Were you dropped on your head as a child or something?"
"I wasn't dropped, I jumped. You can read the poem, but walk me home first. I don't want to be here when you read it."
"Fine." Luke stood and offered her his arm. He noticed then that she was wearing pink-fuzzy bunny pajamas, and probably a matching shirt, although she had thrown Rory's Yale sweatshirt on over it. God she was cute.
Luke walked her to her door in silence. But it was a comfortable, pleasant silence. She clung to his arm with both hands, and for a while walked with her head rested on his shoulder. He could tell that she trusted him completely to guide her safely and protect her.
Lorelai felt truly safe and comfortable with Luke—Not needy and horny like she'd been with other men. It felt right when he dropped her at her door step, kissed her briefly on the corner of her mouth, watched to make sure she got inside safely, then left. She watched him through the window, and thought she saw him skip a little.
She fell asleep peacefully, still feeling him on her lips.
Luke nearly skipped to the park bench. He walked behind it and read her poem...