AN: Ah, so, the latter part of this chappy gets sort of steamy—not blatant or vulgar—just steamy. Ahem. 'Nuff said. Enjoy!
They'd been driving in the English countryside for nearly an hour, and she was honestly just enjoying the view. It was like she was at last witnessing scenes out of great literature that she'd loved so much and seen only in her imagination for years on end. Now it was just out her window. The car pulled off the main road, and she realized they were winding up a narrow path that led to what looked like a residence. Once the car stopped outside of a large house, he helped her out of the car and she stood, looking around the grounds.
"Where are we?"
"This is my family's summer cottage," he said simply.
"Tristan, this isn't a cottage—this is an estate."
"It's smaller than the digs in Hartford, so that's what the old man calls it."
"Well, he needs to be corrected. A cottage is a small shack-like structure that may or may not have access to running water, on the edge of a lake or something. This, I'm assuming has indoor plumbing?"
"At least since the 19th century," he smiled at her rant.
"This is amazing. And it's just for your family to summer in?"
"It is. Though they don't just come here all summer. They have several summer homes, all over the world. The 'rents are actually in Italy right now," he assured her.
"So, you just wanted a secluded spot to bring me to?"
"I thought you'd like to see the other side of England. I mean, you've seen the busy city life. This is much more serene and relaxing."
"That it is. What on earth did you ever do here to entertain yourself?"
"Hitched rides to London," he laughed.
"I should have known."
"I did spend a lot of time here, though. See that there," he pointed to a high wall out the side of the property.
"Yeah," she nodded.
"It's a garden, I used to hide out there for hours."
"A walled-off garden—like the book!"
He nodded. "But that's not all I wanted to show you," he promised, and took her hand to lead her into the house.
"So, there's no one here?"
"That's right."
"So, are you going to cook for me? 'Cause I tend to get sort of cranky if not fed," she warned.
"I paid one of the staff to come in and fix that before we got here. And then to leave," he added.
"Really?" she turned in to face him.
"Really," he looked down into her eyes. She smiled knowingly, and he cleared his throat. "So, you ready to eat?"
"Yeah, I'm starved. I didn't get lunch, they don't give us interns much of a lunch break."
"How's that going?" he asked as they sat down at the pre-laid out dinner spread. He lit a couple of candles to provide light, as the sun had begun to set outside.
"It's grueling. There's six of us, running around the offices delivering copy and making coffee and checking facts. Oh, and you'll never guess what I got to do today," she said proudly.
"What's that?" he smiled at her glee.
"I got to hold cue-cards."
"Very impressive," he mocked.
"It is—only the best interns get a shot. It's a very important job," she insisted.
"You're so funny," he commented.
"I know it probably sounds stupid to you," she backed off of her elated high.
"No, it's not like that. I just mean that most girls wouldn't get so excited about holding a piece of poster board. You really enjoy the whole process. Most people would be complaining about having to make coffee and not being able to eat—but not you."
"I'm paying my dues—and that's going to get me where I want to be. How could I complain about that?"
"And soon you'll be the one reading the cue-cards."
She nodded, her elation seeping back into her features. "And I'm tipping the cue-card person when I do. Those don't look heavy, but try holding your arms up like this," she demonstrated for him, "for an hour!"
"Aw, you need a massage?" he laughed.
"Well, it would be nice," she looked down at her plate before looking back up at him. "It would score you some major points."
He settled back into his chair, and put his utensils down. "Ah, now we get down to it. The Rory Gilmore points list. Let me have it."
"What?" she giggled.
"The list of what to do to get into your good graces. All girls have some screwed up list of demands," he informed her.
"I don't have demands."
"Perhaps I used the wrong words. A list of that they're looking for in a guy," he tried again.
"I don't have a list," she assured him, to which he raised an eyebrow. He clearly didn't believe her.
"I just want someone who treats me well, who respects my goals and aspirations, and makes me laugh," she appeased him.
"And you've had difficulty with this in the past?" he asked in wonder. Who couldn't grant her such simple things?
"Like you wouldn't believe," she said, continuing to eat her food.
"So, you're telling me that whisking you off to estates in the English countryside or shopping in Paris doesn't set me apart from the crowd?" he joked.
Her face got somber, and she put her own fork down. "Spending money on me isn't necessarily treating me well or respecting what I want."
"Hey," he reached out and put his hand over hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not. What is it?"
She sighed. She didn't want to get into this here, now, or with him. He'd done nothing wrong, and she wanted to enjoy this evening. "Let's just say the last guy I dated, he did the whisk me off my feet with his influence and money thing—but when it came down to it, what I wanted didn't matter."
Tristan nodded. "I wouldn't do that."
"I know. I don't really want to talk about that anymore," she shook her head. "I want to enjoy being here with you."
"Good," he smiled, showing her that the subject was dropped.
"Though there is one very important matter I need to discuss with you," she said, her tone growing serious.
"What's that?"
"Well, before we left, I was talking with Dan, and I learned something very disturbing."
"Well, it is Dan," he interjected.
"Elisa was hanging out in his room, and your date from a few nights ago is quite miffed that you haven't called her. She was planning on staking out your room this evening, and ambushing you, while wearing very little," Rory informed him.
"You're kidding," the color drained from his face. This girl wasn't right. How much of a clear signal could he give than not calling the girl?
"Nope," she giggled. "I begged them to let me be the one to tell you. Sounds like you have a stalker."
"Wouldn't be the first time," he muttered.
"Shut up!" she howled in delight and disbelief.
"I'm serious. Some of the girls I've, uh, 'dated,' they don't get what a one-night stand is."
"You have a lot of those?" she asked, only half concerned.
"I've had enough," he said, though she wasn't quite sure what he meant by the comment. "You've never had one, I expect?"
"I've tried," she admitted.
"Tried? What, you had stalkers, too?" he teased.
"No, it's just that it always seems to turn into more."
"Well, I can see why. A guy sleeps with you, he's been entranced. He's stuck in your web."
She blushed, and smiled at him. "Oh, really, and just how would you know this?"
"You've done so much to me, and without the pleasure of your naked body pressed against mine."
"What did it take you get you so entranced?" she asked feeling the heat rush through her at his imagery, and he stood up, moving towards her. She watched as he came to rest next to her, and offered his hand. She put hers in his, and he pulled her up to stand in front of him.
"I believe you walked into my classroom," he looked into her eyes, and she felt her heart swell against her breastbone. She trailed one hand down his cheek, and he pulled her closer against him.
"Of all the gin joints," she murmured.
He nodded, and she raised up to grant him access to her lips. He'd warned her that he wouldn't hold back as of tonight onward, and he wasn't kidding. He took possession of her mouth, and he felt her give way instead of trying to hold onto some semblance of order. He felt the sweet pressure of her hands digging into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. All of this and they'd not yet made it away from the dinner table.
"Come with me," he said, moving to take her hand in his and leading her through the mostly darkened house. It was almost eerie, being in such an old house at twilight. She expected to see ghosts of times past, but all she saw were shadows in darkened corners of the house. She followed him up a grand staircase, and then down the runner of the hallway. She expected him to lead her into a bedroom—his perhaps, or which ever had the biggest bed. Instead, he opened the door to a room filled with built in bookcases, the entire thing maxed to capacity with leather bound volumes. It smelled of old books and worn leather, and her mouth dropped open.
"This is what I thought you'd like about the house," he said softly.
"Oh, my," she whispered, moving away from him. "This is amazing."
"My grandfather's something of a bibliophile," he mused. "It's the thing about you that intrigued me most when I met you."
She turned to look at him. "Really?" She'd known he'd obviously taken notice of her as soon as she set foot in the school—but she'd figured he'd just wanted to lay the new girl.
"You brought three extra pleasure books with you to school, on top of the mountain of catch-up work you had to do. You would be sitting in the cafeteria, lost in the pages before you, and looking like you were having the time of your life."
"And here I thought you were just staring at my legs," she teased.
"Don't think I didn't notice those, too," he smiled, stepping back closer to her, putting a hand on either side of her body, resting his hands on the shelves. "Or those eyes."
"You like my eyes?" she unconsciously flashed them at him, as he stood just close enough to stare directly into them.
"You can see your curiosity and your knowledge all at the same time—it's mesmerizing."
"Tristan," she felt the longing come up through her and out with her single utterance. She didn't want to hide it from him, and she intended on holding him to his promise this evening. She moved against him again, encased in the prison of his arms, and he eagerly responded to her actions. He moved his hands from the bookcases to her back, pulling her up and forward, meshing into his body. He backed up, her following him seamlessly, not breaking contact, continuously keeping the heat of his body in reach. He found the door that led into the next bedroom on the side wall, and maneuvered them through it. She barely noticed the change of venue, too focused on his lips now against her neck. By the time he sucked the skin over her collarbone, they were crashing into the bed.
He didn't need further permission to do whatever he willed to her—it would have been redundant as she was currently making short work of the zipper on his pants. He felt her seeking hands sink lower on his body, and he allowed her a few moments' discovery before pulling her hands up over her head, intertwining her fingers in his.
She smiled, knowing they'd passed the point of no return long ago. There was no going back to being oblivious friends. No more would they argue themselves into a corner without the sweet release of his body shifting her from frustrated to the depths of oblivion.
He kept his eyes on hers, wanting her to see how much he wanted this, how much he wanted her. The only time they strayed from her line of sight was when his head dipped down to sweetly sample and worship her body with every imaginable facet of his body. She ached as he took his time, tuning her up until she could feel her whole body humming. She tossed her head restlessly from side to side on the pillow, her eyes closing with pleasure. He made his way up, to regain her focus on him.
She watched as he shuddered, his eyes half closing as he let her engulf him. His head pressed down into her chest, searching for control. She loved to see him like this—at her utter mercy, vulnerable in the most basic of ways. Their whole world was an eight by eight foot square, not even a postage stamp of space in the grand scheme of things, but it felt bigger than the entire universe. Her amazement at everything—the factors that occurred to bring them together in the moment in time—faded as they came together to find what could happen as they fell off the face of the earth clinging to one another.
She couldn't have imagined such feelings opening up for her at this time in her life. She'd come here to find her future, and as she fell back into her body at his searing kisses that began round two of the burning need in her core, she wondered how much of her future she'd just found.
XXXX
It had to be the middle of the night, though there was nothing resembling a time piece in the whole of the room. Moonlight streamed through the bedroom window, its pale light only allowing her to make out forms and shapes in the foreign space. His nose was burrowed into her shoulder, his head bent down as far as it would reach. His breath was even and warming against her bare arm. She reached around with the colder limb, and stroked his hair silently, feeling the short, thick hair between her fingers. She wondered if he were dreaming of her right this moment, or if he were too exhausted to allow his mind to generate thought.
"Rory?" he murmured, as she felt his voice vibrate against her skin more than she heard the vocalization.
"Shh, I didn't mean to wake you," she promised, as his eyelids lifted heavily.
"You need something?"
"Nope, I'm perfect. Go back to sleep," she coaxed, settling back down with him.
He gave a half nod, falling back into the sleep that still had a grasp on his body. His arms tightened around her and she kissed his face as she closed her eyes in efforts to let herself believe that this feeling would never go away.
AN2: Sorry for the extra rambling. I was just thinking that I didn't get Lorelai in this chapter, which I've been tending to do. I wanted to focus on the set up and sealing of the Trory relationship. They'll get back to the 'real' world soon enough, with all other characters intervening. Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed, please leave me a note …
