Pairing: Established relationships for L/L and P/J; R/T eventually
Spoilers: May reference any and all episodes from seasons 1 & 2, up to and including Lost and Found.
Rating: R
Summary: Future fic. Seven years after graduating from Chilton, Rory and Paris are business partners. What happens when they strike up a joint venture with Tristan DuGrey?
A/N: This gotten written so quickly because it was more fun than doing my taxes. Contains a P/J sex scene, which I hope doesn't completely suck. And I know you're all begging for Trory action, but please trust me. It will be a while, but it will happen!
This chapter's quote is from A League of Their Own.
Unholy Alliance
by Grace
Part Nine: There's no crying in baseball!
"Tristan, today has been so much fun. I'm so glad I had the chance to really get to know you."
"So am I, Lane." He raised his wine glass in a toast. "Here's to new friendships."
She clinked their glasses in response. "Hear, hear."
"Did you enjoy your dinner?"
Lane grinned, and swept her eyes around the elegant dining room. "It was amazing. I can't believe I'm actually in the Crystal Room of the Tavern on the Green! Thank you so much for getting us in here."
"I told you—all you ever have to do is ask."
She smiled slyly. "Does that mean you'll take me somewhere else for dessert?"
"Of course! Pick your poison."
"Serendipity 3."
He laughed softly. "No problem. You don't even need my special connections to get in there."
"I know. I just thought it would be nice to treat you to some frozen hot chocolate."
"Dr. Kim, you are my kind of woman."
"Now, we both know that's not true. Tell me, what are you going to do about this situation with Rory?"
He drained his glass of wine before replying. "What can I do? Maybe it would be a different story if she was dating someone else, and I could pursue her without too many pangs to my conscience. I can't do that to RJ."
"You seemed pretty upset last night."
Tristan laughed sharply. "That's putting it mildly. I went home, finished off a bottle of Jack Daniels, and destroyed my living room."
Her dark eyes brimmed with sympathy. "Oh, Tristan, you didn't… I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault, Lane."
"Yes it was! At least partly. If I hadn't opened my big fat mouth and made that comment about you and RJ working with Rory and Paris…"
He reached across the table and pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Lane, please don't blame yourself. Any bad blood that Rory and I have between us is entirely my fault. You were just trying to be a friend."
"You know, if it weren't for the fact that you're head-over-heels in love with my best friend, I could fall for you, Tristan DuGrey."
"Well, if it weren't for the fact that I'm head-over-heels in love with your best friend, I could fall for you, too, Lane Kim."
"That's sweet of you to say. Now come on—I need my chocolate fix!"
* * *
Rory was starry-eyed as she and Ryan walked out of the theatre. "That was unbelievable!" she gushed. "I really think I could see that show every single day and never, ever get tired of it."
"Then it's a good thing you bought the cast recording," he teased.
She colored slightly. "I know. I'm such a tourist, aren't I? You should have seen me and Lane today, gawking at all the fancy stores. I'm actually surprised that Tristan didn't die of embarrassment!"
Ryan didn't seem to find amusement in her story. "You know, you never really explained how Tristan ended up going shopping with you guys."
"It was a spur of the moment thing, really. I went over there to apologize for what happened last night, and I ended up inviting him."
"You went to his apartment?" Ryan asked, his eyebrows raised. "I didn't realize you knew where he lived."
"I didn't, actually. It was quite a feat finding his address, let me tell you!"
"You could have just called me and asked for it."
"Huh. I never even thought of that. Wow, I feel really stupid now."
Ryan paused in the middle of the sidewalk they had been walking down, and gently tugged Rory off to the side, out of the main flow of pedestrian traffic. "Lorelai, I'm trying really hard not to act like a jealous, insecure boyfriend, because that's the last thing I want to be. Still, I can't help wondering about the nature of your relationship with Tristan. I mean, he's seen you more than I have this weekend."
Rory reached up and rested her hand against his cheek. "I promise you, Ryan, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to get along with Tristan, that's all. Won't it make your life easier if your girlfriend and your business partner can be friends?"
He visibly relaxed. "You're right. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted." She moved her hand around from the side of his face to the back of his neck, and pulled him downward into a kiss. His lips were warm and soft, and the sultry night air seemed to envelop them in their own private cocoon. Rory offered no resistance when he moved to deepen the kiss, allowing him access to the warm recesses of her mouth. As their tongues mated and dueled, she felt hot threads of passion begin to flow within her, and she seemed to melt in his embrace.
When they finally came up for air, Rory's lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed. He couldn't help smiling at how incredibly gorgeous she looked. "We'll have to continue that later," he murmured, his voice husky.
"Definitely," she agreed. "Right now, though, I'm really hungry."
"Good. I know just the place. It's nothing fancy, but I think you'll really like it."
* * *
Serendipity 3 was crowded, but Lane and Tristan had managed to get a table without too long of a wait.
As she went to take another heavenly taste of frozen hot chocolate, Lane commented, "I've wanted to come here ever since I saw that movie."
He grinned. "You and ten million other people. Are you a big John Cusack fan?"
"Are you kidding me? Not only did he star in High Fidelity, quite possibly the greatest movie ever made about obsessive music freaks, and played the iconic sensitive teen male Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything, he also played a character named Lane in one of my favorite 80s teen comedies, Better Off Dead!"
"I'll take that as a yes. Personally, though, I think one of his best roles was as Buck Weaver in Eight Men Out."
"Are you a baseball fan?"
"Sure. It is the national pastime, after all."
"Here I always assumed it was watching television," Lane joked. "So who do you root for—Yankees, Mets, Red Sox?"
Tristan leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Actually, I'm a Cubs fan."
Lane stared at him incredulously. "Is that even allowed if you live in this city?"
He chuckled. "Not really, no. There's just something about rooting for the underdog, you know?"
"Well, the Cubs certainly qualify in that department, I'll give you that much. How long has it been since they won the World Series?"
"A hundred and two years. But I really think this could be their year!"
"Right… So how did you become a Cubs fan in the first place?"
"When I was about six, my grandfather took me with him on a business trip to Chicago. He only had meetings the first day, but we spent a week in the city. We did everything—saw all the museums, went sailing on Lake Michigan, went up to the top of the Sears Tower, ate ourselves sick at the Taste of Chicago…you name it, we did it. The day before we came home, he took me to a Cubs game. We got bleacher tickets, because he said that was the only proper way to see a Cubs game. It was so incredible, Lane. The grass was so green, it almost didn't seem real, and the ivy growing on the outfield walls was beautiful. They have this giant old manual scoreboard that shows scores from around the league. There's actually a guy inside it, changing the numbers! I got to see Greg Maddux pitch, before he went to Atlanta and won all those Cy Young awards. Ryne Sandberg, Mark Grace, and Andre Dawson were all still playing. It was just a perfect day, and I fell in love with the whole experience. I don't think you've truly seen a baseball game until you've seen one at Wrigley Field. There's so much tradition and history there, it's almost like stepping back into an entirely different era."
"Wow," Lane said in an awed tone. "I don't even like baseball and I want to go see a game there. That's a wonderful story. Your grandfather sounds like a really great guy."
"He was. As the years have gone be, I've been trying really hard to be more like him."
"I'm sure he's very proud of you."
"I hope so."
They settled into a contemplative silence for a few minutes, and then Tristan asked, "Has Serendipity 3 lived up to your expectations?"
"Definitely. About the only thing that could make it better would be for John Cusack to walk through the door."
"I think he's more a Chicago guy, actually. The movie was cute, though, even if it was completely far-fetched."
"You mean you don't believe in fate?"
"Hardly," Tristan scoffed. "The outcome of our lives is dependent on our actions and decisions, not some gigantic mystic destiny."
"Well, what about the idea that two people are meant to be together?"
"As much as I would like to believe that, I just can't. I mean, you can't make yourself love someone just because it's supposedly predetermined by karma. You either love someone or you don't."
"But what about you and Rory?" Lane persisted. "Don't you think it's the slightest bit unusual that you've met up again after all this time? And isn't it just a little strange that she starts dating your business partner, of all people, thereby throwing you together even more?"
"If anything, I'd say that's cosmic evidence that we're not supposed to be together. So unless I get some glaringly obvious, neon-flashing, Vegas-sized sign that screams 'This is more than just a coincidence!' I am not going to start believing. I don't need any more false hope."
"Suit yourself. But if you get struck by lightning on your way home tonight, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Fair enough."
* * *
Back in Hartford, Paris and Jess were just getting home after a romantic evening out. As Jess tried to unlock the door, Paris began to nibble on his neck, causing him to fumble the keys.
"Paris," he growled, "either you're going to have to stop that for a minute, or I'm going to end up ravishing you right here in the hallway."
"And would that really be such a bad thing?" she asked throatily, giving his warm skin one last nip.
He let out a groan of arousal. "As much as I would love to encourage your inner exhibitionist tendencies, I really don't think the neighbors would appreciate it."
"Then I suggest you get that door open now, so that we can have our own private exhibition."
At long last, he managed to engage the key in the lock, and pushed the door open. In their haste, he and Paris practically fell into the apartment. Catching his wife in his arms, Jess used their bodies to shut the door, and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly. When he began to move lower, trailing hot, wet kisses down the v-neck of her blouse, venturing ever closer to the tantalizing mounds of flesh below it, she moaned, "Dance with me, Jess."
Never letting go of her, he guided them into the living room, his lips scorching patterns against her overheated flesh the entire time. As they moved past the stereo, he flicked it on, and Peter Gabriel's voice filled the room.
He moved his sensual ministrations back up to her mouth as they danced. He felt electricity spark between them as Paris began to unbutton his dress shirt, her small hands smoothing over the hard, muscular planes of his chest and abdomen. He released her briefly when she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and onto the floor, and his breath caught in his throat when she dipped her head and grazed his nipple with her small, sharp teeth. At this rate, they were not going to make it into the bedroom.
When she finally lifted her head, Jess moved to return the favor, swiftly tugging her shirt up and over her head. Despite her full figure, Paris had opted not to wear a bra that evening, a fact which had caused him an almost painful erection throughout the majority of dinner. Pulling one aroused peak into his mouth, he fondled the other nipple with his hand as Paris began to moan and arch her head back.
He felt her begin to fumble with his belt buckle, and when his pants fell away, he followed them down to his knees. Reaching behind her, Jess slowly lowered the zipper of her skirt. He planted kisses down her thighs and along the edges of her already damp satin underwear. With a sharp cry, she pulled him upward and over towards the couch. They tumbled onto the soft cushions, kissing frantically, arms and legs tangled together as they moved to become one.
A while later, they lay there together, warm and sated and happy. Paris had spooned up against Jess, her back to his front, and she shifted his hand to settle against her flat stomach. As he began to rub lazy circles there, occasionally dipping lower to encourage her renewed arousal, she sighed and then whispered, "Jess, I'm pregnant."
* * *
"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" Tristan asked Lane.
"Australia, definitely."
"Any particular reason?"
"Not really. I mean, I've been to Korea, and Europe just doesn't seem as appealing. Besides, it's supposed to be really beautiful. What about you?"
"This is going to sound kind of strange, but I would love to go to Venezuela. Mostly, I just want to see Angel Falls, which is the tallest waterfall in the world. Can you imagine taking a helicopter up there at sunrise…"
As Tristan began to ramble, Lane's subconscious noted the jingle of the bell above the door of the restaurant. She glanced up, and her face drained of color.
She was vaguely aware of Tristan's voice trailing off, and then asking, "Lane? What's wrong?"
Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. "Remember that sign you were talking about? I think you'd better start believing."
Turning his head, he immediately locked eyes with Rory, who had just walked in with Ryan. All he managed to choke out was, "Holy shit."
To be continued…