Long Time Coming

Luke took Lorelai for a picnic one night a day or two after the inn opened, riding into Hartford to go to Bushnell Park just for the ceremony of it. They ate thick sandwiches and potato salad and fruit and after, they lay on the blanket together, Lorelai resting in the crook of Luke's arm, her head on his chest. It was a calm, clear night; both of them were silent, Lorelai listening intently to the sounds of Luke's body, memorizing his rhythms and the slight catch in his throat each time he took a breath. Luke rested his chin on her hair. Though she hadn't put pen to paper in days, Lorelai made a mental note: Dear Rory, In his heartbeat? I can hear my name.

When it was too cold to stay out, he drove her back to the house, walked her inside, kissed her goodnight as he had done for almost three weeks. Instead of watching him leave, leaning in the doorframe and offering rude commentary on the state of his rear, Lorelai took his hand in hers, tugging him back inside. She led him through the living room and up the stairs to her room. Deliberately, she reached up and lifted his hat off his head. She moved slowly to her dresser, where she placed it among the knots of jewelry and the confusion of bottles collected there. She spent a moment staring at it before she turned to him and looked at him levelly, waiting.

"Are you sure?" he asked at length, needing to find his voice.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

"Should I—" he began. Lorelai turned her head, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "So, you're—?"

"Taken care of," she told him.

Luke ran his hands over his scalp, taking her in. She leaned all her weight on one foot, one shoulder tilted towards the floor. Her hair fell around her face, a dark curtain of curls that prevented her from meeting his eye again. He had never seen this woman shy before. She tucked her hair behind her ears and lifted her chin.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked.

He met her halfway, pulling her roughly toward him. He kissed her as he worked her shirt up over her stomach, over her chest, feeling the seconds she disappeared as it went up over her head far too long. He kissed her as she pushed back the flannel overshirt he wore, as she tugged at his tee shirt, as her hands crept up his chest. Neither laughed when the shirt got stuck on his head, both impatient to yank it off and cast it away. He pulled her so close then that maintaining the kiss was almost difficult and she found herself lifted slightly off her feet to better accommodate it. He held her this way a long time, just kissing her, supporting her whole weight as she leaned against him. She broke from him and leaned forward, hugging him tightly, her chin on his shoulder. After a moment, she stepped back and lowered her head, again avoiding his gaze.

"Lorelai?"

When she looked up, her eyes were tearful. "I'm happy," she said simply, shrugging.

He drew her to him again, kissing her closed eyes, her jaw line, her collarbone. She cradled his head in her hands and he felt the flutter of her pulse as he put his lips to her throat.

They fell onto the bed and took their time there, exploring each other, touching, tasting, breathlessly quiet save for murmured names, pleas, prayers. He did things she had never found particularly enjoyable with others, tangling his hands in her hair, touching her places she had only ever found irritating before—he erased those moments of before. Each touch of his hands, his fingertips, his lips, his teeth, his tongue sent currents of delightfully painful electricity coursing through her. She found herself clinging to him, clutching at his arms and shoulders and chest, wanting him to be closer, to brand her body with his own. He had never experienced anything like the fierceness of her kisses, the insistent, intense, almost ferocious way she pulled him against her, as though she wished to fuse their bodies together, bind them to each other forever. Her breath on his neck, his name on her lips—it was somehow more than anything had ever been. They overwhelmed each other.

After, they lay together, facing each other in the dark, legs entwined, Luke's arm around her, her hand on his face. Lorelai kissed him softly, her eyes closed. He studied her face as he hadn't ever before, adoring every kissable feature, every inch of skin, savoring the picture of her lips swollen with his kisses, her hair and lashes dark against her skin.

"Whatchoo lookin' at, foo'?" she asked.

He kissed the hand that rested on his cheek. "Just you."

Lorelai inched closer and opened her eyes. His face was completely open, soft with feeling. Her skin hummed and she felt tears pricking behind her eyes. She traced the shape of his eyes with her forefinger, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his ear. She mapped his face in her mind, the cheekbones, lips, jaw, stubble. This face, she thought, this perfect face.

"Whatchoo lookin' at, foo'?" he asked.

Her eyes filled. "I am a fool." She buried her face in his neck. "What took us so long?" she asked, her voice muffled against his skin.

He massaged the base of her neck. "I guess we took as long as we needed to. Maybe we weren't really ready for each other before," he said.

Lorelai lifted her head and kissed him again. "Look at me," she said. "You can't go anywhere," she said.

"Where would I go?"

"I don't—you just can't, you have to stay and be with me," she told him. "Promise me?" Though she attempted calm, Luke could hear a slight tremor in her words.

"Hey," he said. "What's this about? Lorelai?"

She bit her lip. "I just—I need you," she said. "Promise, Luke. I need you to promise."

He touched his lips to her forehead. "I promise," he replied. "I promise."

She relaxed, then, breathing a shaky sigh, attempting lightness when she spoke again. "Good. That's settled." She rolled onto her other side and curved her back to spoon against him. "So," she said, "nice job, buddy."

Luke snorted in laughter. "Glad you think so."

"Oh, I do. And I would not object to a repeat performance. Or several, for that matter."

"I'll remember that," he said, planting a kiss on her shoulder.

She tilted her head to look back at him. "Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Content," he told her. Her face blossomed in a smile. "You?"

"Blissful," she replied.

"And?"

"Hungry?" she said tentatively. She peered at him, hopeful.

"Right," he said, throwing back the covers. "Come on."

Lorelai sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Good God, Luke, you were naked underneath that sheet!"

He gave her a withering look as he pulled up his boxers. "You hungry or not?" he asked, throwing a tee shirt at her.

She pulled it over her head, locating a pair of panties and sliding them on as an afterthought. She padded down after him, smiling. He was already at work, pulling things out of the cabinet. Lorelai hoisted herself onto the counter and watched Luke make pancakes.

"I love a man who works with his hands," she said.

Luke gave her an amused look. "I noticed that before," he told her.

He plated a stack and smothered them in syrup. They shared the plate, balanced carefully on Lorelai's thighs as Luke stood between her knees. For a moment, they were quiet. Lorelai leaned down to kiss him, her mouth sticky with syrup.

"God, this is fun," she said.

"What is?"

"Being with you," she said, punctuating it with a kiss.

"You're not so bad either," he said, returning the kiss.

She gently bit his lower lip in response. "Oh, you're hilarious," she drawled. She cut another wedge of pancake, her voice careless as she spoke: "You're just lucky I love you."

Lorelai froze when she realize what she had just said. She looked at him, her eyes wide.

Luke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took a breath. "Yeah, well, I sort of am," he said.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times. "Luke," she began.

He silenced her, brushing his thumb over her lips. Like a child, he then licked off the syrup he had collected there, holding her still startled gaze all the while. "I love you, too," he said.

"But, Luke—"

"Lorelai, would you please shut up?" he asked agreeably, grinning.

After a moment, she gave in, narrowing her eyes and smirking at him. "Make me."

Luke put the plate aside and in one movement pulled her off the counter and hoisted her over his shoulder. "Right," he said, "you got it."

"Nice butt!"

"Do not drum on my butt, Lorelai."

"Heh. Luke said 'butt," she giggled. "Butt."

He rolled his eyes, depositing to her feet at the top of the stairs. "You're lucky I love you," he said.

"Don't I know it," she grinned. She put her arms around his neck. "I meant it," she said.

"I know you did. So did I."

"Kiss me?"

"Done."

After a moment, he was forced to grab her waist to steady himself when she abruptly pulled back, her eyes lit with amusement. "Hey, go back and get the syrup!"

"Ah, geez," he groaned, lifting her off her feet and carrying her the rest of the way to the bedroom.

Lorelai was still giggling when he dropped her on the bed. "Kitchen to bed service, I like it," she said. "But I was serious about the syrup."

"Would you stop with the talking now?"

"Gladly," she said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. "C'mere," she said.

It was all the invitation he needed.