Summary: Trory. Set Season One Post-TBP2 and Pre-LDAT. The Kiss at Madeline's Party never happened for the purposes of this fic.

Disclaimer: I own no rights to anything that is mentioned in my stories, including the main characters that I've borrowed for my plot manipulations.

Rating: M

Story Title: Untouched

Chapter Title: Part Ten

She had always believed that the mind could overcome the body.

If you put your mind to something, they say, then you can accomplish anything. This didn't just apply to her studies and career aspirations—it was the key to keeping her emotions in check most of the time. Sure, sometimes she erupted at her mother out of frustration of not understanding why her parents couldn't be together, and she'd definitely lost it when she was denied entrance to her first exam for being ten minutes late at Chilton. She could chalk those up to foolish childhood ideals and sleep deprivation, respectively. But for the most part, she only let through what she wished to portray herself as: calm, cool, and collected.

None of which could she count among the feelings she was currently experiencing.

He was standing there, so intimately near that she could feel him even before his hand started its gentle, yet intentional, fondling of her leg. Her leg, that's all she could feel at the current moment. She'd never considered her knee or calf to be particularly erogenous zones—in fact she had trouble believing in the past that there were in fact seven main erogenous zones located on the body. She figured that perhaps she was just malformed because, try as she might, all she'd ever seemed to be able to count was a total of three—maybe four, but she hadn't had enough exposure to the passing graze that Dean had accidentally performed before returning his hands back to her waist like a good boy does.

She knew she was babbling; confessing, stalling, trying to focus. The last word she spoke seemed to hang in the air, hovering, threatening to cover them with its remaining presence. Untouched. It occurred to her that despite her constant desire to touch him, she'd done nothing to convey that to him. Nothing to let him know how much she wanted to touch him, or how much she loved it when he even just accidentally grazed against her. Though the looks he exchanged with her on those instances left her feeling that nothing he did was accidental.

His hand rounded over the top of her knee, his fingers sliding up under the edge of the hem of her skirt. Her mouth was far from dry, as she often got with fear; instead she was overwhelmed with the need to swallow down the anticipation, she wasn't afraid of him. She wanted to be right here, right like this with him.

All she had to do was show him that.

One hand reached out to smooth her fingertips over the angular edge of his jaw. His eyes remained trained on hers, despite the surprise in them. She might have thought that no one had ever touched him like that, with tenderness, but she found that a hard pill to swallow. Surely some girl before her had wanted to crack his outer exterior. Then it hit her.

Maybe she was the first one he'd allowed to do so.

He leaned into her touch, almost forcing her to increase her pressure against the scratchy stubble that was just making its way through his skin. She slid her hand down, past the rough expanse of his jaw down the thin skin over his neck, stopping when she felt his heartbeat throbbing under her hand at his pulse point. It was expediting, mimicking the fluttering she felt in her own chest.

Surely he wouldn't deny her now. If she'd had any doubts as to his wanting this as much as she did in the past, there was no hesitation now.

"Kiss me," she implored softly, willing the tempo of the blood pounding through his veins to continue to skyrocket along with hers.

He pulled himself into her, nestling between her legs. The hand that had been driving her to distraction was now anchored under her leg, his warm touch helping the heat that seemed to be racing all over her body in no uncertain direction, just consuming her. His other hand now wrapped around her waist, bracing her just as his lips came into initial contact. As much as she knew it was coming, and had asked for it even, it was still unearthly to have this boy so close, so vulnerable, so accessible. It took her a moment to catch her bearings and continue to ask for more of what she wanted.

She'd heard her mother speak of the importance of first kisses. They could predict the future if you paid heed to the messages they held. As their lips parted and their silent explorations continued on, she envisioned only increasingly heated encounters, overwhelmed senses, and the growing incapacity of words to capture the passion that this boy was stirring up in her.

He pulled back slightly—not enough to make her think that he was finished with her—and she could only ingest the vision of him wanting her. Everything caught in her throat; her words, her longing, her breath. Surely there were words that could encapsulate this moment, that were necessary at a time like this. Words had always been her forte, but none seemed worthy of how he was able to make her feel. Or how incredible it was to know that he was reeling her back in, ready for more of the same in this very instant.

He was taking away her only form of defense.

It would be impossible to argue her way out of this, even mentally to convince herself, if no words would come. She was at his mercy, and the mercy of her own hormones, as he cradled her against him, leaving only enough space between them to grip at her. He seemed to graze for just the briefest of moments before needing to hang on for dear life, as if he might fall off the balcony without having her to cling to. She smiled into the kiss at the thought that he might be just as out of control as she was.

Like mother, like daughter, in deed.

She pulled back the next time. She gave a half smile, still too close to him to be able to properly focus on his features, but finding that she couldn't escape the intent imploring of his eyes.

"You okay?" he inquired.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I just, that wasn't like anything I've ever," she trailed off, figuring he had probably surmised so much about her before this moment of admission.

"That was nothing," he informed her, which didn't sit well with her at all. She pulled back farther out of his touch, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Fine, it was different for me, then," she looked past his shoulder, trying her best to shirk out of his reinforced attempts to pull her in closer against his chest.

"I just meant that in comparison to what's going to happen, if even a simple kiss gets to both of us like that," he said slowly, to increase her understanding, "that it will seem like nothing."

"Oh," she could feel the blush creep up her cheeks. "I still don't agree with you," she relaxed into his arms, despite her indignant tone.

"Now, there's a shocker," he teased.

"I just think that in a year from now, no matter what has or hasn't happened between us," she bit her lip as images of being in his bedroom, in his bed, covered by only him flashed through her mind, "that if I walked up to you and did this," she leaned up to kiss him again. He tangled one hand up into the back of her hair, stroking her scalp with his fingers and using it as leverage to tilt her head back slightly. She met the new angle with fervor, increasing the pressure of the kiss and pulling his bottom lip into her mouth. He groaned into her, as she relished the new taste of him that she couldn't quite seem to get enough of. "That it'd still feel as amazing as it does right now, when it's new," she finished her thought after she eased his lip out of her mouth, scraping along it with her teeth. She noticed how the blood had gathered to color the spot she'd worn with her attentions. "It would never feel like nothing."

"You should join the debate team," he cupped her face now in his hands. "You're quite convincing with your arguments, when you put your mind to it."

"I know," she smirked at him, causing him to laugh.

"So, are we quarantined out here, or can we go inside, where it's more comfortable?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, that's not a good idea. In fact, you probably shouldn't even still be here," she looked to the window that she'd climbed out of minutes earlier.

"Why?"

"I'm spending the night here tonight, and my grandma almost never leaves me alone for long when I'm here. She's always trying to hang out with me, like Mom does, trying to be more of a girlfriend, I guess," she shrugged.

"You're spending the night here?"

She nodded. "Mom went out of town, and she thought that," she began but stopped. "Anyhow, I'm here for the weekend."

"So, I can come back tomorrow evening?"

Her eyes filled up with hope at his words. His hands were warm against her back, and his body blocked her from the chilled breeze that reached them even through the trees. She never wanted to leave this spot, hating the fact she'd even told him he should go soon. It didn't matter that Emily could come looking for her at anytime to watch old movies or go through photo albums and find her out here, locked in what she would consider a passionate embrace. And it was. There was nothing but ardor on this balcony. She licked her lips and nodded.

"But don't come up here."

He frowned. "You want me to ring the doorbell and take up our rendezvous on your grandparents' couch? I'm sure they'd love that," he teased.

She smiled and shook her head, pushing him back slightly to allow herself the room to slide off the balcony's ledge. She turned to point out to the outbuilding in the back of the house.

"See that?"

"Pool house?" he inquired.

"Yeah. Meet me there, same time tomorrow?"

"Rory?" came the haughty voice from inside, clearly in pursuit already.

She looked up at him insistently, and he leaned down to place a quick kiss on her lips in promise. She held onto him, her hands around the back of his head to elongate the last moment that would carry her through the night.

"Tomorrow," he whispered as he climbed back over the side of the balcony. She leaned over, watching him, finally feeling the Shakespeare reference he'd made earlier.

"I'm glad you came," she whispered after him, before turning in to greet her grandmother and explain her need for some fresh air, and agree that it was a beautiful spring night, as her grandmother would go on to suggest. And she'd think to herself that Emily just simply had no idea how lovely it all was.

--&--

She slid into the warm water, thankful for the luxury of the life that her grandparents lived on this evening. It had been getting warm enough for a swim in the heat of the sun's rays during the day, but the constant winds of change that spring was filled with were much more noticeable after nightfall. Her grandparents had a heated pool, despite their near-total disuse of the addition to their grounds. It was a place for them to host summer cocktail parties, and that was all. A measure of wealthy living that was expected of them, not desired. She dipped her head under water, eager to feel covered in warmth like she had last night while still in his arms as she continued to wait for him.

She wondered what her mother was up to at this moment. She knew that her teacher had arranged for some remote accommodations out in the middle of the mountains for them, as they weren't eager to spread the knowledge of their budding-yet-again romance to the world. It'd almost cost him his job earlier in the year, Lorelai her heart, and Rory had suffered extreme embarrassment at the hands of her classmates when it had been discovered that her mother and teacher were something of an item. Since their break-up, life had gotten back to what Rory could consider normal, both at school and home.

At least, until recently. Suddenly out of nowhere, Lorelai and Max were together all the time, he'd slept over at their house, and her mother was glowy and humming to herself most all the time. If Rory hadn't been busy developing her own very intimate secrets, she might have been hurt that Lorelai was keeping her from all the details. She should just be glad her mother was happy, she supposed. She'd never seen her so happy, only when her father first shows up of an unplanned visit—the hope that maybe this time it's all different is a very powerful drug. Neither of them was immune to its effects.

"Thinking about me?" his voice caused her to whip around in the water, creating waves that lapped around her shoulders.

"You came."

"I promised I would, didn't I?" he stripped off his shirt and threw it onto a lounge chair with the towels she'd had the foresight to bring with her. He opted to ease himself into the pool from the side, rather than dive in and make excess noise. He dipped his head under, pushing off the side in one fluid motion, coming to rest at her side only moments later. His eyes popped open and he let some water out of his ears, now smiling as his focus fell on her.

"I've been waiting," she chastised him.

"I had to park down the block, and cut back through a couple of backyards. There is a not so friendly Doberman two yards over," he informed her.

She giggled. "Aw, you did all that for me?" she put her hand to his chest.

"Yeah," he put his hand over hers, holding it against him. She forgot to smile as she sought out his lips for the first time this evening. She supposed it was the water that had coated them in a chlorinated gleam, but there was a different quality to this meeting that made her unable not to taste the difference of the chemicals as they mixed with the taste of his lips, to feel how her hands slid over his moistened skin, to test the tightening in her stomach in the buoyant water versus being amid normal gravitational forces.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he confessed into her ear, "how you'd be waiting here for me, the way the bikini would cling to your skin in the water," he ran his teeth along the outer edge of her ear. "Did you think about me?"

She nodded into his neck, her skin feeling too tight over her body. She wanted him to do whatever it was that he must know how to do, to let her release all this energy that she couldn't contain much longer. Certainly not if he continued to talk about her like that, in that husky, demanding whisper he had. She felt his hands on her spandex-covered bottom, and he lifted her with ease through the water, so her center of gravity was met against his. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist in efforts to secure her where he wished her to remain. She blushed, wondering if he could feel the heat that had pooled between her legs as she pressed into his torso.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

It wasn't the first time he had expressed this to her, but it was the first time she accepted his sentiments without arguing the merits or his reasons for saying such things. Instead she thanked him wordlessly, her mouth now level with his, making it much easier to be in command of the action. She continued to kiss him, unraveling her cares and concerns about being outdoors in such a compromising position. She felt his fingers skim along the string that held her top in place, stroking them so that if he actually took hold as he moved along the length, he'd leave her bared to him.

"Tristan," she pulled back in a frenzy of uncertainty.

"Relax," he assured her with another kiss. His palms covered the still tied fabric, pressing it into her skin. She tried, but despite her reluctance to go much further than kissing, she couldn't deny the inclination to follow the sensations that consumed her body upward, disappearing (she could only imagine) into the clouds.

"More," she whispered, kissing his earlobe before taking it between her teeth, making him, she hoped, see the same kind of stars that the action evoked in her.

"Rory," he warned. "We don't have to rush this," he assured her.

"Just a little. Something, please," she looked into his eyes. Her make-up had long since washed off, and her eyes looked bluer in contrast to the water that danced around them. She could see his inability to fend her off, to deny her wishes. He kissed her hard all of a sudden, taking her off-guard and causing her legs to wrap tighter around his waist as he carried her against the side of the pool. He groaned at her vise grip, but didn't slow his motions. His lips seemed to be everywhere, all over her skin, as he moved his way from her mouth down her neck. Before she knew it, his lips were showering her collarbone, traveling down to follow the line of fabric that covered her breasts. She was aware of the tightening of her skin that had occurred; partially from the cooler night air, partially from the proximity to him. With her back held up by the sidewall, he brought one hand around to trace the edge of her top at first, going around the outside of the fabric, his skin on hers. She tilted her wet head back over the side of the pool at the sensations, wondering how far he was going to let her go this evening.

His fingers followed the outline twice more before moving inland, scraping over the drying fabric and across much more sensitive areas. She arched her back a bit, moving into his touch. He placed more kisses over her skin, just between her breasts, before moving over the fabric now with his mouth, placing chaste kisses over her nipple. Her hands were in his hair, threading and fisting, willing him to go on just a bit further. Take her a little bit more along the ride. His thumb brushed over the other breast as his lips continued to lavish attention on her through her top, and she let out a moan of appreciation. He continued on for a few more moments, they seemed to be over too quickly, but there was no real sense of time out in the middle of the water as he began to override every sense she had (until he showed up) been in command of. At long last, he rested his head into her chest, his hands firmly at her waist.

She could hear his labored breath. She ran a hand over his cheek and urged him up to meet her lips again.

"Thank you," she whispered, knowing that what he'd just done for her had cost him something, even if she wasn't quite sure of the restraint it had required or his trepidation of going too far at her insistence of 'just a little more'. Their scales of too much might never be on an even keel.

"Rory," he began, but met her lips instead. He kissed her thoroughly; leaving no doubt in her mind that this encounter would be picked up at a later date. They couldn't risk much more time tonight.

She watched him towel off and depart; leaning down once more for a kiss as she herself exited the pool and wrapped a towel around her now shivering body, with nothing else to keep her warm now.

She knew without a doubt that his body had overcome her mind.