Disclaimer: Don't own them.

Author's Note: In keeping with the spirit of Halloween, here's a treat. And, I promise, no tricks. ;) To those of you who felt I rushed the last chapter, my apologies. Remember, though, that this *is* an Alternant Universe fic, and it is mainly pure fluff. Therefore, the characters' actions can be taken out of context. It's short, sweet and to the point. Rory and Tristan couldn't have kept their hands off each other for much longer, anyway. ;)

As always, many thank you's to all who reviewed. Feedback is a fan fiction writer's pay.

She sat tensely on the front steps of her house, waiting for him. The wooden splinters picked at the material of her jeans as she shifted position, propping her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes against the chilly breeze. She took a deep, but still not calming, breath, the bitter sweetness of wood smoke stinging her lungs. Even in late October one of the neighbors had already built a fire. That was Connecticut weather for you. And she wouldn't have had it any other way.

The sky was overcast, no rays of bright sunshine breaking the blanket of grey. The dying leaves of auburn, chestnut, ginger, and burnt sienna were the only vibrant colors as they tumbled from skeletal limbs. They had been gathered into heaps around the lawn, yet to be bagged and tossed away, and the whispering wind taunted their hard work by twisting at the tops of the tiny mountains, cutting them in half. The newly freed leaves performed a hypnotic dance, swirling among Babette's gnomes and bumping into the small statues. Her mind exhausted, she was entranced by these simple occurrences, relieved that they could pose some form of a distraction from the obvious.

Grey limbs. All knobby and bare. Grey sky. Blank and unknowing.

Unaware. Very much unlike her.

The harsh slam of a car door echoed from the street, but she didn't turn her head. She didn't have to. Shoes scuffled on stone, one step after another before the movement stopped, inches from her. Through the grey fog, she gazed upward.

And there was blue.

A deep, oceanic hue not common in nature. Delicately piercing and penetrating as it slowly leaked into her, rivers of it languidly floating over her frame and filling her not with icy cold, but pure undulating warmth.

"Hey, Rory." The last syllable ended on a up note, an unspoken question. Curious as to why she had asked him to meet her and afraid to voice his suspicions in actual words for speaking might make them true.

Her own carefully prepared speech drifted into nothingness. He was clad in khakis and a navy shirt, the open collar offering a view of the lightly tanned skin at the base of his throat. His hands were casually shoved in his pockets as he gazed down at her, left jaw alternately clenching and releasing. Eyes never leaving hers.

He now knew the true definition of chemistry. Not those silly, frustrating equations consisting of oxygen and hydrogen. Though, at the moment, he was certainly lacking the former. No, it was a gut-wrenching want, always needing to be closer. To hold, to touch. To just be with her and only her. This feeling was unusual for him but persistent, and he was willing. More than willing.

She stood to greet him, hastily brushing imaginary dirt from her jeans. Her hair, somewhat tangled from the gusts of wind, brushed against her face, cheeks as flushed as fresh strawberries dipped in whipped cream. Her beauty continued to dazzle, never ceasing to stop his heart.

He hadn't known it was possible for someone to make him fall just by simply existing.

"Hi." She rocked back and forth, from the tips of her toes to her heels, incapable of remaining in one spot.

"So…" He raised an eyebrow, entertained by her antics. "What's up?"

"We need to talk."

"Cue the ominous music."

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she motioned for him to follow her, leading him to the backyard. Here they could have some semblance of privacy without the whole town of Stars Hollow driving by, necks craning for the tiniest bit of gossip.

This action didn't go unnoticed by him, and he lowered his voice in an exaggerated whisper. "Are we having a romantic interlude?" She flushed scarlet. "Well, that tells me we are." He sauntered over to her, head bent close to her ear as if he were going to unveil an earth shattering secret. "I'm not used to hard ground and bits of dried leaves, but I can adjust. Of course, you'll be the one in closest proximity to those elements." He grinned, a stunning combination of white teeth and sparkling sapphire. "Hey, are your neighbors home?"

"No, why?"

"I don't think they would appreciate their lovely, innocent Rory Gilmore hooking up with a strange, yet stunningly handsome, guy in the middle of her backyard." A beat. "Are you sure that gnome isn't sporting the latest in surveillance equipment?"

"You're paranoid."

"It's staring at me." A rough chuckle. "See, even furry garden creatures find me attractive."

"They're inanimate objects. They can't help themselves."

"Homosexual gnomes." Now he was humming the theme from "Smurfs," punctuating each "la" with a gentle poke in her shoulder.

"Don't develop a sudden fascination with blue paint, okay?"

"Not even little white hats?"

"Not even the pants."

He feigned a gasp. "Then they'd be naked!"

"Better them than you."

"Oh, but they wouldn't be as detailed."

"I'll rely on an Anatomy text, thanks." She crossed and uncrossed her arms, finally letting them hang limply at her sides like they were two dead weights. Her mouth felt like cotton and sandpaper, a softness mingled with a rough longing. A thirst that only he could quench. It frightened the hell out of her. She searched for something, anything to break the dizzying silence. "Tristan… I don't want things to be different between us."

He chuckled, almost sarcastically. "Things have always been different between us, Rory." Then suddenly serious. "It's just that you've never stopped to question why. Until now."

"You kissed me," she pointed out, unnecessarily.

"Two times. Soon to be three."

She either didn't hear him or pretended to ignore that declaration delivered with such confidence and sincerity. "The only reason you kissed me was to soothe your ever growing ego… to know you were the first." It was a weak and pitiful protest. Even as she spoke those words, she knew they weren't true.

"I didn't need a reason then, and I certainly don't need one now." Ever closer.

She bit her lip, anxiously, the habitual action killing him. She didn't miss the darkening intensity clouding his eyes and felt every nerve ending spark in response. "I never expected to feel this way… about you."

"You surprised me, too." There were still underlying tones of awe.

"When you kissed me, it should have felt wrong."

"And, yet, nothing has felt more right."

"You'll regret it."

"Only that I didn't do it sooner."

"I…" Her voiced wavered, cracking into a thousand sensitively shattered pieces. "Can't."

"God, Rory, why do you keep making excuses?" He was exasperated, wanting nothing more at this point than to devour her until she was completely senseless.

"I don't know!" She flung her hands in the air, frustrated. Frustrated at him and the way he made her feel. Hopelessly wanting him. "Why did you do it, Tristan?"

He merely raised his eyebrows, his calm infuriating her to boiling.

"You said you didn't need a reason. Well, there's always a reason." Damn, she was stubborn.

"I found myself thinking of you. A lot. More than I should have been. I had to do something to see… to know if I was right about us."

"And?" Her heart quivered.

"I was." An evocative glance, savoring the beginning of her tiny smile. "But, if I accomplished nothing else, at least I know from now on you'll compare every guy you lock lips with to me," he quipped, self-assured.

"Ha!" She glared playful daggers at him, wanting to hate but forgetting how, shoving him lightly.

He took an unaffected step backwards, hands raised in mock surrender. "They'll never measure up," he added coolly, confident smirk making its presence known.

She did push him with all the strength she could muster then, and he stumbled, but not before grasping her hand in his as they both plummeted into a lonely pile of crimson and russet. In an expert, seemingly effortless move, he flipped them over so he was now lying on top of her, his hand coming to rest at her waist. Her sweater had ridden up her small frame, baring an expanse of her stomach as his thumb came into contact with the milky skin of her hip. Her eyes widened, dark innocence, as his own gaze wrenched to this unexplored territory.

And in a move that shocked even him, he curled his fingers around the soft wool, pulling the sweater back down over her jeans. His eyes meet hers again, stunning with their suppressed hunger, liquefying her. "The problem is, I don't like to share."

"I could kiss another guy tomorrow, you know."

"Yeah, but you won't."

"You don't think so, huh?" Affectionately teasing.

"Because you like me."

"Too much," was her heart-stopping addendum.

He treated her to a delicate nibbling at the hollow of her neck, and she purred in contentment. She lifted her hand to his face, the supple pads of her fingers exploring his striking features. Eyelashes so long and dark they would make any girl jealous, as they fluttered half-closed over those beautiful, expressive irises. High cheekbones curving like chiseled stone. Full lips that had so quickly shown her how to fall. Coiling her arm around his neck, she brought his face to hers, raising her own to meet his, mouth treasuring those precious eyes. He stifled a moan, but still she heard it. "Is this killing you?" She giggled, almost triumphantly, thrilled she was the one who made him feel this way.

His cheek caressed hers with each breath. "I'm already dead," he muttered with effort.

"Then is it my turn?"

"For what?"

"To show you what I've learned."

"Please do."

"It sounds like you're begging."

"And you're teasing."

"I don't tease." Even as her lithe hands skimmed over the back of his neck, fingers threading through gold, lightly tickling his skin.

"That…" His grip tightened around her waist, lifting her hips closer to his. "Is teasing."

"Oh," she breathed. Her lips brushed over his nose. "If it bothers you I can stop."

"Don't." His whisper was husky and deep. Deeper than it had ever been. Sensual.

He cushioned her neck in the crook of his free arm, as she guided his face towards hers. This time, she wasn't scared.

Her mouth closed over his, a mere brush of butterfly wings, and it appeared that she would simply pull away. Then he felt the gentle, tiny pull as her teeth tugged at his bottom lip. His widened eyes met her own, and flustered, she ducked away. "Sorry." She was chewing on her own lip again, apprehensive.

If she only knew what that simple gesture did to him. He had always been in control, always smooth. Always immune. Now, he was very close to losing it. When she blinked quickly, smiling almost shyly, he did. "Trust me." He dusted a kiss over the corner of her mouth. "That was okay."

"It didn't hurt?"

"Like hell…"

"Oh! I'm sorry."

"Not in the way you're thinking."

"Oh…"

He chuckled softly at her admission of wonderment. "You seem surprised."

"I… just… never knew I could do that… to anyone."

"Everyone can."

"Really?" She inquired, her expression relatively indignant.

"But not to me." His lips danced over her right cheek, no feature ignored. "Just you."

She melted into him, feeling his heart skip a beat against hers. "Me." She relished it, his words rolling over and over in her mind. "There have been so many girls in your life, Tristan…"

"Yes." His mouth delicately sampled hers now. One soft, fleeting caress. And another, firmer, a second longer. "But, now there's only you."

A diminutive noise of pleasure escaped her throat. "I believe you." It would be impossible not to do so.

"Well, if there was ever any doubt…" His lips captured hers, and she opened herself to him, surrendering completely. Deliberately and unhurried, he tasted her, his tongue skimming against hers as he felt her respond in kind. She was so sweet, so perfect. So his.

If the rest of the world knew what he was capable of, this glorious assault would be illegal. God, he was a good kisser. Exceptional, even. Not that she had anyone to compare him to, but she knew. It felt as if it were the first time all over again, from the tingling in her hands to the disoriented haze clouding her head.

But, this time it was different. He knew her and what made her feel. Every touch, every movement of his lips was skillfully adapted to her. His well of need for her would never run dry.

And he was rewarded as she whimpered into his mouth, her hands clutching his sweater. He easily and gradually increased the pressure, turning the quiet embrace into a tender devouring. Never taking too much, but giving everything. It was a dueling waltz, and he lost all feeling of where he ended and she began. Lifting him up and above. Far, far away from reality.

Where was he? A flash of dark hair. The familiar scent of vanilla and apples, with a dash of cinnamon.

Rory. He was kissing Rory.

And he fell. For the hundredth time in the span of two days.

The feverish pace eased, his tongue grazing the tip of hers as his lips curved against her own.

He was smiling.

And still he kissed her, reverently savoring. From a frantic release to a beautiful seduction. Only he could execute this transition and make it feel so right.

To her dismay he eventually pulled away, but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to drink her in. His ragged breathing increased ten-fold at the look in her eyes as they sparkled with feeling. Her cheeks glowed a rosy red, her lips chapped and swollen. He cocked his head slightly, studying her. Not arrogantly so. Not this time.

It felt as if she were the only one in the world to him as his intense gaze burned into her. His eyes lingered over every feature as if he were cataloging them off one by one. As if he were seeing her for the first time.

"What?" She giggled, surprised that she didn't feel self-conscious.

His eye contact was steady and untiring. "You're pretty."

He wasn't grinning or smirking, and she couldn't determine if was serious. "I have dead leaves in my hair." The stem of one dangled in the corner of her eye.

He did smirk then, his lips sliding into the familiar curve that she didn't hate quite so much anymore. "Okay, dirty…" She slapped his shoulder playfully. "But still pretty."

She colored a vague shade of pink. "You have grass stains on your pants."

He could have cared less. "A small price to pay for this…"

Another inevitable kiss. Seconds, then minutes passed. "How long are we going to…" Her voice was muffled against his mouth.

"Forever." He nibbled her bottom lip.

"Oh, um…" Now he was showing his appreciation for the graceful arc of her collarbone. "In the span of forever we'll both be shriveled."

She felt the bob of his head as he laughed against her shoulder. "Trying to ruin the moment, are you?"

"No, but for my mother or Luke to find us sprawled in the yard…"

"Point taken." He paused, as if considering a dire alternative. "Then, until I get tired."

"And that would be when?"

"Never." His tongue flicked over the hollow of her throat, and she moaned. "Besides, I don't think you mind."

"I do if your body is scattered in a million different pieces."

"The horror."

Her hands gripped his waist, unconsciously slipping under the material of his sweater. Once she recognized the firm muscles of his back, her fingers slid up his spine. "We couldn't do this…" She placed a kiss at the base of his neck, breathing in the spicy scent of his aftershave.

"Finally, a fate worse than death."

She lost count of how many times he kissed her then, her body responding in ways she never knew possible. Overpowering but never frightening. He pressed his lips to her forehead as she whispered into his ear. "Pure pleasure, huh?" She teased, echoing his words from the day before.

"Well, not quite… His eyes skimmed what they could of her body, as he was still lying on top of her. "You still have a few things to learn."

"And who could I ever find to teach me?" She questioned nonchalantly, faking an expression of extreme consternation.

"No idea." He smirked, pretending to be truly puzzled.

Her hand cupped his cheek as her thumb caressed the strong line of his jaw. "I was hoping it would be you."

"Naturally."

"Good." She smiled, almost boldly.

"I mean, who else would be so worthy?"

She poked gently at his chest. "Now who's ruining the moment?"

"There'll be more moments." He played with a silky strand of her hair, running it through his fingers before tenderly tucking it behind the curve of her ear.

"I know." She took his hand in her own, bringing it to her lips and kissing each knuckle individually. Her eyes never left his. "And I'm glad."

Sky blue darkened to a fiery sapphire at her touch. "Are you…" A breathless gasp. "Ready for that lesson now? 'Cause, you know… I'm free," he tantalized, cocky smirk mingling with a hopeful grin.

"Not now." A sweet, heart-felt smile. "But maybe sometime.

"Maybe?"

"Yes."

"Just a maybe?" It was mischievous goading.

"Okay, more than a maybe," she conceded.

"Soon, then?" He grinned devilishly.

"I don't know when." She paused, her eyes searching his. "If you can wait…"

"For you?" A heavy, self-mocking sigh. He would wait forever. "I'll manage. As long as there's plenty…" His lips met hers, falling into perfect unison. "Of that."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."