Disclaimer: don't own 'em, so sue me if I'm using 'em. Slow Dancing belongs to U2. Angels with Dirty Faces belongs to Sum 41. The Sun Also Rises belongs to Hemingway. Which, by the way, I still have to read.
Chapter 5: Slow Dancing.
12.30 AM
Sum 41's Angels With Dirty Faces is coming to an end.
"Now it's got a hold on me
the less I do the more it makes no sense."
Sleep eludes Jess and Rory, Morpheus being a teasing lover who slides playfully within reach, only to retreat the very second he feels the grasp beginning to clutch. The couple has grown accostumed to this game and plays along. Probably Sum 41 doesn't help. Tonight music shares, along with books, the lifeline role. Eliminating it would mean amputating a limb to this experience. Less hanging-onto surface, something neither wants. Jess hums something, his eyes roaming Rory's face, her body, up and down, and up again, wanting to take in her tired, a little disheveled beauty.
He thinks he might love her, with her hidden rebellion and the invisible shackles he'll soon promise to help her remove. With her innocence and her well hidden scars. She stands at attention, by the stereo, examining the music selection, and listens to him intently before selecting yet another of Lane Kim's patented mixes.
And this is where l think Lane has too much time on her hands. She is amused by her own thoughts, knowing Lane Kim has been, lately, keeping herself busywith a certain tall, a little dorkish, but sweet guitar player.
"My love is cruel as the night
she steals the sun, and shuts out the light
all of my colors, they turn to blue
win or lose"
Jess throws her a little smile, which simultaneously reaches his eyes and her heart.
I would willingly stop the world to hold this moment a little longer. And finds her breath not easily retrievable.
Not at all put off by Jess's scrutiny, she turns to him, on a crusade to have his touch. A crusade that needs no fighting, for he immediately obliges, giving her access to personal space and warmth by means of a kiss and an embrace.
"She does it slow dancing
slow dancing
she does it slow dancing all night long"
Her blue eyes making like the sea as he ventures in them, his gaze taking a plunge off the deep end for a long underwater swim. Drowning has never been such an excruciating necessity.
Flashback
"So here we are" Lame! Really lame.
"Yup, here we are. Wow, I haven't seen it since you guys redid it." Huh.
"Oh yeah" Huh.
"It's bigger." Right Gilmore, keep at it and win the prize for small talker of the year.
"Ripping a wall down can have that effect on a room " Smooth Mariano, really smooth. Lay off the freaking sarcasm.
"Yeah. That part, over there." Bed. Jess. Jess sleeps there. Me in bed with... Gilmore! Don't you even venture there. Not that it's gonna happen anytime soon, as you seem to have forgotten the basics of kissing. First, you need to be physically able to touch the guy, then you put your lips like this, then he puts his lips like that, then you watch out for your noses, 'cause if they clash it's embarassing, then you open your mouth...
But some part of her is happy for that mental picture. She is unshackled. Gone is the guilt that threatened her sanity, gone the ache that had wrapped her heart in a stranglehold, gone the granite slate crushing her lungs.
"That's mine." Wanna share? What part of the bed do you sleep on? Isn't it a little early for this conversation? We aren't even dating yet. We aren't even touching yet, which is why we're up here in the first place...
And the fight is over, its usefulness forgotten. He relinquishes the anger coiled in his stomach like a snake poised to strike, the all effacing need to hurt her as much as he had felt her hurting him relentlessly since their first kiss.
The moment they willingly stop enforcing distance upon each other, distance chooses to enforce itself upon them.
"Yeah." Ok, I'm moving towards him any second now... yup, any second my feet are gonna move and... Rory can't move, rooted to her spot. The tension in the room is as thick as butter, a knife could easily slice a big hunk out of it, to be spread on their uneasiness, and served with a side of awkwardness. Oh, and would you like a tall glass of embarassment sprinkled with bashfulness? Just to help you along.
"Yeah. You want a soda?" And that is supposed to help the situation? How? This situation is beyond help!
"No, I'm fine." Nervous enough. No more caffeine. For now.
"Okay. You sure you don't want a soda?" She over there, me over here. Not good.
"Yeah, I'm sure." Cut it Jess! I'm not dehydrating! I'm just extremely uncomfortable!
Their goal shall not be attained, or forgone, without a struggle.
"Please let me get you a soda. I gotta do something other than stand here like a moron." Logical thought just left the building. Please prepare yourselves for purple rain, flying pigs, and dancing jellyfish. Jess Mariano lost the attitude. Chaos will ensue.
He's not used to being uncomfortable. But he needs her to know he is, that he isn't used to it. He is the king of being comfortable in uncomfortable situations, his trademark "I don't give a care" stance allows him to go by unabashed, usually untouched by events. He always has the situation under control. More than one situation under control at once, if need be. He's mastered and perfected the art of multy-tasking, but now it doesn't seem to come in handy. He lost all ability in managing coherence and action in the space of a couple of seconds. Two things that until a minute ago went very well together with little or no effort on his part.
Huh.
"Take comfort in the fact that you are not doing it alone" Thank you Dodger...
"Okay, let's just regroup here" Geez. Go stick your head in the freezer. Go read the Webster's. Go buy a vocal. A whole wagonload of vocals and a few consonants while you're at it. Do something! But regroup? Who uses the word regroup?
"Yeah, regroup." Regroup? Regroup? How do we regroup when the tension's so high a spark could blow the room apart?
But the tension can't tear her away from her newfound sense of happyness. She belongs here, with him, in this umcomfortable situation. She does not see another possible outcome for their combined actions. Spoken and unspoken words, gestures performed or witheld, wishes, dreams and thoughts have all been leading up to this awkward, anxiety ridden, exhilaratingly liberating moment. She'd dance, and twirl on herself until ditziness could come and claim her as her own, for all the world to see, were she not concentrating on the matter at hand.
"First of all, we should try to get within, say, a foot of each other" Closeness. We need to get closer. I really don't want to make Plato prouder than he already is. We need to get there, to go ahead.
"Okay. I think that's about a foot." Oh... Closer... Do something, Dodger, or I'll gladly stand here and stare at those chocolate puddles of yours for the rest of my life.
"Huh, that school of yours is really paying off." What was that about sarcasm?
"So, now what?" Well, Gilmore, you can always discuss the political ramifications of the Marshall Plan. He'll go for that.
"Now we should. . . " Your turn, blue eyed beauty. Next move's all yours.
"Well, I think we either need to get a little closer or need to warm up." Take the lead, Dodger. Let me dance with you.
"Okay. Hi" Contact.
Hands holding, fingers twining, foreheads touching, gazes unwaveringly locked, lips almost brushing...
"Hi." Contact.
End of Flashback
"Scarlet eyes and a see through heart
she saw me coming right from the start
she picked me up, but had me down on my knees
just a'beggin'her, beggin'her please"
They share hungry kisses that taste of coffee, sleep, tears, laughter. They share heated embraces given with roaming hands, cajoling caresses meant to tease a little, expecting a little comeback. Tonight, they share the bed housing the cuddles. This is what they give each other, while slowly unpacking their emotional luggage, laying it open for later dissection, problem solving, damage controlling. Later being the key word opening this door. Heavily breathing with racing hearts and boiling blood they pull back from this embrace, flushed faces give them away, but it isn't a new discovery. It isn't even a secret anymore.
Jess lays his head to Rory's stomach, pushing away the fabric so he can feel her wamth. Her hands twirl in his messy hair, and as he mouths the words to this U2 into her skin, he feels rather than hearing her sing along.
"And I don't know a man
search for himself in his lover's eyes
no I don't know why a man
sees the truth but needs the lies"
She understands. He understand. As they move slightly so as to lock gazes, chocolate with sapphire, for the unmpteenth time, while Bono Vox strains
"My love is restless as the wind
she moves like a shadow across my skin"
both of them acknowledge what just transpired without a word. On a night like this, the meaning of the word clichè is lost to all half-slumbering lovers.
"She left with my conscience, I don't want it back
it just gets in the way"
So there. I'll trade mine in for a new copy of The Sun Also Rises. Who knows, maybe it is worth a few first editions... I mean, after all we're talking about a conscience. Morpheus' elusiveness can do this to even the smartest man on Earth. And Jess is a pretty smart guy. Who has the "take all you can get for the least amount of giving" logic down to a second nature.
It does, doesn't it? Then I will gladly give mine to someone who needs yet another hurdle to jump. Me, I'm through jumping. I'll skip. I'll cavort. I'll frolick. But hurdle jumping has been ticked off my list. Combine said elusiveness with a innate ability to ramble, and you've got Rory's jumbled thoughts. Handle with care. Not meant to be analyzed. Useable as knick knacks.
The understanding has come and gone, filed away among the memories in the making. The meaning is there, and they will mull it over in the morning. As the last
"Slow dancing, slow dancing"
rolls off, said moment tangles through their hair, in the sheets, through the rumpled pages of the discarded books, weaving itself through the very texture of the air they breathe. It shrouds them like a blanket.
He has told her he loves her. And he's feeling no regrets.
She has told him she loves him. And she's feeling no fears.
A/N: my author notes are all in my bio. Feel free to go and browse- the fic is for the fic only. Personal business on the bio. M.
