The Space Between

Chapter 3
by give_me_back_me

Look at us spinning out in

The madness of a roller coaster

You know you went off like a devil

In a church in the middle of a crowded room

All we can do, my love

Is hope we don't take this ship down

Tristan groans. And if he had kept count throughout the day, probably adds to the thousands by this point. Dropping his bag at the foot of his bed, he falls backwards onto it, arms and legs spread lazily, his muscles cooing with relief.

"What a day," he mutters to himself, recalling his adventures among the sights of Washington D.C. Most of all, he remembers the look Rory had given him when a waitress at the coffeehouse had asked for his number. The look implied disgust, of course, but within those pools of blue was a dimness that dispelled sadness. For whatever reason, she had been sad when she had seen him with the other girl. And he had foolishly gained hope from that.

"Yeah, DuGrey, you're a fool. She's sad about her small-town boyfriend…" he lets his words trail off, considering them useless at this point.

Words.

Suddenly, an idea springs to Tristan's mind, causing him to abruptly sit up, small smirk already in place. Maybe words aren't so useless, he silently considers, as his mind races with plans. Within minutes, he's groomed and running out the door to the lounge area next to the dining hall. His azure eyes flit about the area, in search of brown hair, a flash of blue, a girl with a book in hand.

The moment his eyes rest on her, it's as if a majestic light descends from above, bathing only her in a magnificent beauty. Watching her turn the page of the novel in her lap, his mouth immediately goes dry. Oh god, he thinks in exasperation. Marveling at her beauty, his heart starts pounding loudly within his chest. His entire body begins to hum and he knows it's simply because she's in the room. Only she can do this to me…only her.

"I want only her," he whispers, the delicate words more powerful than the loudest shout. Slowly, he approaches her, his senses suddenly highly sensitive. She seems to sense him because she suddenly looks up, directly meeting his eyes. His insides twist.

"Hey Rory," he says, trying not to appear too eager. He seats himself next to her on the couch, mirroring her crossed legged position. She studies him and he boldly studies her back.

"Hello Tristan," she replies, silently closing her book and setting it aside. She turns slightly towards him, unintentionally making their conversation more intimate. He licks his lips before taking in a deep breath.

"So, before, I made you an offer. You said you might take me up on it," he pauses. "And after watching you mope around our nation's capitol all day I'm suggesting that you take the offer." Her eyebrow quirks upward.

"I did not mope around," she argues, though probably sounding unconvincing even to her self. He gives her a pointed look, his eyes daring. Her stubborn eyes dare back for a moment before she sighs, blinking tired eyes.

"Look Tris-"

"No excuses, Gilmore. Talk to me. Right here, right now."

"But it's not that simple-"

"But it is. Put your pride on the shelf for one conversation." She gives him a look of annoyed astonishment.

"You're such a hypocrite!" she exclaims argumentatively. His eyes narrow.

"You think I'm a hypocrite for coming to you, and offering some much needed help? Gee, one order of proud hypocrite coming right up," he remarks sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Her eyes soften and she chews on her lip. Unable to resist, he watches her pink tongue dart out to wet her now raw lips.

"Well…" she starts but her sentence trails off.

"Well, you're upset over something with Jess, right?" he asks, deciding to start the conversation. She nods quietly.

"Before I left, we got into a fight. As usual, the fight was about how he thinks my mother hates him, which is true, but she's trying. He just doesn't see it, though, and he sometimes makes these remarks about it that makes me so angry. I mean, she's my mother!" Rory explains, the anger edging into her voice. Tristan nods, encouraging her to continue.

"Then I told him I was sick of fighting about it. And that he needed to get over it or things between us would never work. Then he had the nerve to angry with me and threatened to go back to New York and live with his mom." By this point she is shaking with anger. Though hesitant, Tristan rests his hand reassuringly on her arm, giving it a light squeeze. To his surprise, she relaxing, giving him a somewhat grateful look.

"So now I'm worried that when I get home, he'll be gone," she finishes, exhaling a long breath.

"I find that kind of strange, actually. Because if I were in Jess's position, I'd be doing everything in my power to get your mom to like me, rather than just complain about it all the time and making you feel bad." Rory's eyes widen in awe. She remains silent for a moment before laying her hand on top of his, giving him a sincere smile.

"You're sweet, Tristan. Maybe I really don't know you as well as I thought I did." The pressure of her fingers resting lightly atop his sends shivers coursing through him. Every instinctive impulse known to the male specimen screams at him to take advantage of her vulnerability and seduce her with his heavenly charms. But Tristan ignores any impulses and removes his hand, solely focusing on the duty of comforting her.

"You, Gilmore, are in need of some fun. Some real, hard-ass, forget-all-problems, fun," he says with a broad smirk. She returns his smirk with a half smile.

"But we're on a school trip. How do you expect to have that kind of fun here?" she questions timidly, as if almost afraid of what he might suggest. Tristan shoots a quick glance to make sure no teachers are within hearing range.

"What the teachers don't realize is that the students have been planning a big bash since day one. Since we're leaving Monday, it's tonight, in the basement of this place. Apparently we were able to pay off enough of the employees to clean out the space and keep their mouths shut," he explains excitedly. She gapes at him.

"How can you guys expect the teachers not to notice that none of us are in our rooms?" she asks skeptically.

"The old wait until the teachers go to sleep routine. Besides, I think only the people who are told about it get to go. Like you, Gilmore. You're going." Her eyes narrow.

"Thank you, but no," she states simply, uncrossing her legs and stretching them a bit.

"Ah, Mary, come on. Take a risk. It's just one night and nothing's going to happen. Carpe diem."

"First of all, carpe diem means seize the day--it isn't telling me to seize the night. So, nice try. Secondly, this sounds oddly like you're trying to get me in bed." He blanches, practically choking on his own air. At his expression she bursts out laughing, much to his expense. Recovering what little pride remains, he smirks leeringly.

"Well, Mary I'm saving that line for later." He winks at her and she rolls her eyes in response. Picking up her book she begins to stand, but Tristan's hand gently grips her wrist to stop her. Her gaze snaps back to him in surprise.

"Please, Rory. I'd like some company. And I really think it'd do you some good," he says softly, lightly applying more pressure on her wrist to further distinguish his plea. She chews her lip, looking unnerved.

"I don't know…"

"And you can leave whenever you want. So long as you can admit to having at least a little fun beforehand," he adds. She seems to consider this for a moment before letting out a sigh.

"Fine, I'll go." Instantly his face breaks into an excited grin.

"Wonderful. I'll swing by your room tonight then," he says, standing beside her. He finally removes his hand, cramming it into his pocket.

"Alright, it's a date." His face snaps to hers at her choice words and he can see her blush.

"I mean…my room number is 504," she stutters. He nods quickly.

"See you tonight, Rory." He brushes past her, shoulders lightly touching, electricity instantly traveling.

"See you tonight, Tristan," she says quietly, but loud enough for him to hear. Oh how wonderful it sounds to hear his name coming from her lips.

***

Tristan DuGrey is actually nervous. After spending a near hour getting ready, and then proceeding to pace the room back and forth for a half an hour, his nerves are slowly driving him to the breaking point. The very notion of picking up Rory has been gradually gnawing at the pit of his stomach, leaving him aching. And now the ache is so immense he feels on the brink of nausea. It's ironic how the human body reacts to some of the things people like most, he thinks to himself. Snorting at his own thoughts he rolls his shoulders, trying to ease his tension.

"Oh fuck it."

Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he takes one last look in the mirror. Unbuttoning one more button, he quietly makes his way from his room to the elevator. As the elevator ascends through the darkened halls, the aches of anxiety morph into butterflies of excitement. Tonight, he is going to show Rory the time of her life.

When the elevator reaches her floor and he steps out, he hesitates, his gaze darting up and down the halls in search of any people. Gladly finding no one in sight, he creeps his way to room 504, the numbers on the door glittering on the dim lighting of the hall. Just as he's about to knock, the door suddenly swings open. Startled, he steps back, giving Rory room to silently slip out.

"Sorry if I scared you. I was keeping watch," she says, gently closing the door with a quiet click. She turns to face him and Tristan's eyes immediately go wide.

"Wow…" he mumbles, just barely coherent. His gaze travels up from black open toed shoes, past milky smooth calves, beyond a knee length navy skirt, over a plain white three-quarter-length sleeve dress shirt, to lightly painted pink lips and big innocent blue eyes. Her eyes are what capture him the most. They would captivate him forever but she suddenly looks away, sheepishly.

"Um, so I guess we better get going before somebody sees us," she suggests, whispering. He nods mutely, dazed by the awing beauty before him. From years of teaching, he courteously extends his elbow to her. She hesitates, but gently places her hand around it.

Within minutes they reach the basement doors, a melodic thud pounding through it from the inside. Gently removing her hand from his arm he knocks loudly on the door, the sound echoing down the halls. Noticing Rory fidgeting beside him, he gives her a small reassuring smile. The door suddenly swings open, startling both.

"DuGrey you're just in time. The party's just starting to heat up," says a brown-haired boy opening the door.

"Good," Tristan says satisfactorily. Taking a look at a nervous Rory, he extends his hand, silently requesting her to take it. This time she doesn't hesitate, instantly grasping it with her own. Tristan's body immediately reacts to the contact, pulsing with electric exhilaration. With a new sense of indescribable elation, he pulls her through the entrance into the already hot room.

The boy's comments about the party are correct; there are about fifty students crowding the dance floor all at once. Still holding her hand tightly, Tristan guides Rory through the cramped quarters, squeezing through the thick crowd to a more secluded corner of the room where ice coolers are placed.

"Want a soda?" Tristan offers. Tearing her eyes away from the crowd, she looks to him uncomfortably.

"No, I'm okay," she answers, glancing at the coolers somewhat fearfully. She begins to chew on her lip, her nervous eyes again returning to the mass of people in the center of the room.

Tristan takes a soda for himself and settles comfortably next to her against the wall. They listen to the music for a little while, Tristan lightly bobbing his head to the beat. But Rory remains rigid and is in obvious discomfort. Downing the last bit of his soda, he sets the empty can on the floor next to his feet.

"Would you like to dance?" he asks, turning to Rory. If possible, her stature becomes even more rigid, and her eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights.

"No, that's okay," she answers quickly, her eyes darting away from his.

"Aw, come on Rory. You need to loosen up a bit." Tristan extends his hand, lightly touching hers with his own. All of a sudden the lights are dimmed and a slow song starts up. The hyped up crowd calms and begins to sway to the slow, languid beat. Tristan takes a step closer to Rory, looking at her partially shadowed face.

"Please?" His final plea is soft, honest. Seeming to find comfort in the darkened room, Rory's hand links with his and without a word she moves away from the wall. She pulls him to the dance floor and faces him. For a moment they look intensely at each, before stepping closer to one another. Rory's arms link lightly around his neck, and his hands rest gently on her hips. They begin to sway to the music.

Tristan suddenly finds himself surrounded with sensations he has never experienced. The coconut aroma from her hair swirls his senses. The warmth of her body in his hands spreads all the way to his core. The lightest touch of her fingers brush against the hairs on the back of his neck. The intensity with which her eyes gaze into his depths causes his heart to pound.

Without thought, he pulls her closer to him, one hand resting on the small of her back, the other putting gentle pressure on her shoulder blades. Her arms tense slightly, but she almost immediately relaxes, laying her head on his shoulder.

In this very moment, the space between them has become virtually invisible.

Any onlooker can see the intimacy of their embrace. No friends with strictly platonic feelings would ever hold each other in this fashion. Their embrace is that of lovers; yet, the two never reveal any feeling--caught in severe denial…wicked lies.

There is no denying it now.

As all that is she envelopes him, Tristan realizes he wants this moment to extend forever. Rory, in my arms forever. He physically shivers, causing her to look up at him. He smiles genuinely at her, every molecule of his body desiring nothing more than to kiss her. When he licks his dry lips, her eyes flit away from his eyes and focus on his mouth. Her eyes suddenly flash, causing his heart to nearly stop. I know that look…he thinks to himself, startled.

"Tristan?" she asks, her voice quavering a bit.

"Yeah?" His tone is low and husky.

"Can we get some fresh air?" Her eyes slowly return to his.

"Sure," he replies, pulling away from her. They press their way through the crowd once again and shuffle out the door leading to the outside parking lot.

The air, though humid, bathes his flushed skin with its cooling vapors. He wipes his brow, which had become increasingly damp in the cramped room. She too is brushing her hair from her face, inhaling deep breaths of clean air. Stretching a bit as she walks, she moves across the small back lot to the curb where she seats herself. Tristan follows suit, glad to rest his still aching legs.

"It's been a long day," Tristan comments, making conversation. He leans back on his elbows, gazing up through the lighted lot to the clear sky.

"That it has," she replies. She too looks to the sky, squinting her eyes a bit.

"It's too bad we can't see the stars with all the city lights," she continues. "The sky is beautiful at this time of the year." Tristan tears his gaze from the sky and looks to her.

"I've seen more beautiful," he explains, staring at her pointedly. Her head snaps back to the earth. Again, her eyes flash and Tristan's heart skips a beat. Without warning Rory's face is slowly coming closer to his, her gaze locked within his. With only a mere inch separating them she hesitates; but Tristan erases all vestige of space and brushes his lips to hers in a short, sweet kiss. He hears her sudden intake of breath and pulls back just barely. To his surprise her eyes remain closed, her lips slightly parted, her enthralled expression that of near bliss.

"Rory I…" Tristan whispers but his voice is lost when her eyes part open. Her hand slowly reaches up, lightly tracing a path down his cheek with her fingertips.

"Shh." And her lips are instantly on his, melding, meshing. He reacts instantly, tasting her sweetness through a light-headed daze. His world is spinning as the pressure of her lips on his increases. Her hands reach behind his neck, pulling his warm body closer, as if craving his touch. His hands entwine in her hair, his lips continuing to oblige to her ever move.

Opening his mouth slightly, he runs the tip of his tongue across her bottom lip, silently begging them to part. Without hesitation she indulges, meeting his tongue with her own. The depth of their kiss is fast becoming a heated exchange of needed desire and passion.

Finding air necessary, though, Tristan reluctantly breaks the kiss, his chest heaving, her hot breath hitting his face. Their passionate azure gazes remain locked, their eyes at last revealing the emotions no words could describe.

"Come on," Tristan says simply, his voice coarse with desire. He takes her hand, pulling her up onto unsteady legs. On his own legs shaking, he leads her back into the building, past the party, and all the way back to her floor. They pause before her door.

Half expecting her to dash into her room, he is surprised to see her looking him square in the eye. Seeming not in the least disturbed, she reaches out, gripping his hand with her own. The touch becomes a bridge with which their emotions pass to one another. Feeling no uncertainties from her, and none of his own, he takes a step forward, placing his hands on her hips once again.

"Come in," she says. It is less of a request and more of a polite demand. She swipes her card through the lock and pushes the door open. Turning back to him, she gently tugs him through the door and shuts it behind him.

Any awe that he has been feeling suddenly escapes from his body, replaced by his usual masculine confidence. Within a second he has her pressed against the wall, his lips dueling with hers. Her hands frantically clutch at his shirt, unbuttoning the buttons with impressive ease. As his shirt slips away and her hands explore his chest he presses his hips harder against hers, any previous restraint gone with the shirt.

His masterful hands tug her shirt over her head and discard the impending clothing with his own. With hands probing, mouths throbbing, Tristan backs her away from the wall towards the bed. Their lips refusing to disconnect, they fall back onto the bed, Tristan pinning Rory beneath him. When her breasts brush against his chest they groan in unison.

His hands gently caress her breasts through the fabric of her bra, causing her to emit moans in her throat. His already aching groin responds to her throaty noises, stretching to a near painful point. Breaking the connection of their lips, he trails his tongue to the hollow of her throat, dipping his wet tongue into the tiny cavern. As he continues to barrage her neck with licks and kisses his skilled hands slowly unclasp her bra. Before removing it, he pulls away, gazing into her eyes, silently requesting permission.

Her response is a smile.

And this night, two people, that barely consider each other as friends, join one another on a level far beyond that of any friendship…

As lovers.