Title: Cooling Down
Author: Jules
Rating: PG-13
Improv # 36: languid rose point cold smooth
Pairing: Tristan POV (implied R/T)
Disclaimer: Tristan should come back now! If I owned them he wouldn't have left -- ever. Sadly, I must accept that I am powerless.
Summary: Just a short little reflection drabble. I have little energy to do anything else at the moment, and I wanted an excuse to picture Tristan in as little clothing as possible.
Tristan donned his trunks, pulled his shirt over his head, and dove gracefully beneath the cold surface of the supposedly heated pool. I suppose it is a good thing that it's freezing, he thought to himself, painfully amused. He turned over and began to backstroke slowly, trying to think of anyone but Rory.
It had been a rough day at Chilton, one of the worst, and although Rory currently wasn't speaking to him over 'the Paris thing,' he was grateful that she didn't appear to completely hate him at the moment. He thought he hadn't been doing something awful, maybe not fabulous, but certainly not bad by any means. "Nothing like the car prank or anything," he thought aloud.
At that point, Tristan's body began to sink further below the water, until he was forced to pause and stand upright to fix his concentration. He resumed his languid rhythm, opting for freestyle this time around, as it would be harder to get off track since it required more concentration, or so he thought.
He finally reached the opposite side of the pool lane, and paused to take a break since clearly the swimming wasn't relaxing him nearly as much as it usually did. He rose out of the water and propped himself upon the concrete side with only his calves in the water.
He gazed out at the tranquil surface of the clear blue water, sparkling beneath the bright lights of the pool house. The skewed pattern of the bottom of the pool strangely reminded him of Rory in her Chilton skirt. The more he thought about it, the more he could clearly picture her smooth, milky white legs rising up from her cute sneakers and disappearing under her chaste blue plaid skirt.
"Heh, funny how she's probably the only girl in the whole school besides Paris that wears her skirt at the proper length, and still she can get such a rise out of me," he thought to himself while unconsciously speaking it aloud.
He sat there enraptured in his vision of Rory, recalling how the blue plaid perfectly complemented her pale sky colored eyes, and then thought about how cheesy that was. He then remembered how she wore extra button undone beneath her tie when she came to school, and how he often yearned to reach out and undo another few to get a real glimpse of the rest of her.
Wow, was it getting hotter in here or what? Down boy -- okay, it's time to get back in the water, Tristan.
He stood up and executed a perfect dive, one that would have made his old swimming coach proud, and rolled over in the water while moving forward in order to lie once more on his back. He didn't begin his laps again, rather opting to simply float back to the other side.
He eventually relaxed, becoming reaclimated with the water temperature and able to carefully put his hands behind his head to stare up and the ceiling. He got a good long stare at the rings around the halogen lights, thinking that the radiance reminded him of the glowing aura he associated with Rory. It wasn't safe to travel down that road again, but he couldn't help it. He thought of what she might be doing now.
She's probably home, because it is a Thursday night, and it's rather late -- it had been at least ten o'clock when he'd originally come out into to the backyard -- so she could be in her pajamas already. He could see her as being one of those girls who valued comfort and cuteness at the same level, probably due to the influence of Lorelai. He pictured a spaghetti strap camisole, with a steaming coffee mug, and a set of matching cottom bottoms, her adorable toes poking out from beneath the too-long hem. She probably still had her hair up, but if she'd been working with her homework a long while, then it was probably on its way down.
He snapped out of it, not wanting to get focused on her slender neck and what he'd like to do to it, noticing that he'd reached the side of the pool anyway. He turned over
hoisted himself out of the pool, heading toward the towel he'd hung from the hook on the nearest wall to the door. He finally got close enough to the side of the room to focus on the clock hanging on the wall which read '11:35'.
Hmm, he mused, not nearly as long or effective a swim as I thought. Probably because I got distracted -- again. He pulled his white undershirt back over his head and flipped the light switch on his way out the door, leaving the chlorinated comfort zone behind him. He supposed he'd have to employ alternate means of dealing with his Rory obsession if he wanted to sleep tonight at all. As he though about her again, his body stirred, warming to the touch and the hormone levels spiked and his blood started racing once more.
"So much for a cool down," Tristan thought aloud, and snuck back into the house to seek solace in his room, where he could hopefully take care of his ahem refound physical ailment in peace before finally dozing off dreaming of Rory. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.
The End.