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 Eleven
AN: There aren't even good enough excuses as to why this took so long. Extreme laziness/tiredness/withdrawal and intrusion of other stories have come into play. It was half done for the last five days. But I did get it done. And there will be more, but I make no promises such as a time frame. As soon as I can, I promise that. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy.
Instant gratification was a tenet of his belief system.
Waiting was for losers who didn't have the status or means to have what they wanted now. To earn the coveted prize, or said prize being made sweeter in the between time were not proverbs spoken in his home. Wants and needs: the line between them was so badly kinked and never tested; he mightn't have known which basic necessities he might die without. Or which of his wants were truly basic necessities.
All he knew was want. But going without her turned his craving for her touch into need. She was his basic necessity.
At first it seemed like a dream. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time he'd postulated such manifestations of his desire for her during a REM cycle. But it was the first time he came away from such a vision with the feel of aroused skin under slippery spandex against his lips. The first time his hands could still almost feel the soft curve of her hip from where he held her against him. The first time he couldn't shake the feeling of loss now that her legs weren't laced around his midsection.
His lack of concentration on anything, save for paling attempts to reenact those brief moments of passion in his mind, was showing readily. His attention had been called out in nearly every single class of the day thus far. His apologies were weak, as his willingness to let her slip out of his mind and for something as meaningless as the Spanish Civil War to occupy where he was happy to let her stay. Though from the daggers she kept shooting him upon the reprimands that kept interrupting her classes, her precious learning time, he could tell that she would be happy if he could just maintain the ability to focus, even for just forty minutes at a time, on anything but her.
She wasn't unaffected by their time together, either. There was something about her, something specific in her gait, something in her eyes that he could clearly tell that something in her life had shifted since she walked around these same halls the Friday before.
He wasn't the only one that paid heed to the difference that she was exuding. A fact that became blaringly obvious to him about halfway through the lunch period.
They'd gone about their own routines, the same as always, him retreating to the crowd he normally surrounded himself with, despite the near chemical draw his body was feeling for the chance to be near her. A fix. He steered his feet in their usual path, knowing he'd get his chance soon enough. She sat alone at the end of a table not so far that he couldn't keep his glance directed her way, but at a distance that wasn't inviting either. Her head phones were in place, her book was open, and she was content to block out the world around her. Himself included.
It was the sound of her startled voice that caught his attention away from whatever Josh had been trying to talk to him into. She never spoke at lunch, and rarely spoke in class unless specifically answering an instructor's question. It was part of her enigma, part of why every other boy in this school held her as some sort of mythic dream girl. But no one ever approached her beside him.
Until now.
"I said, what are you listening to?"
"You've never heard of them," she imparted on the boy that leered too closely over her shoulder.
"Are you sure about that? Because I'm really into music. Try me."
"I don't want to try you. I want to go back to listening and reading in peace."
"How can you even do that? Shouldn't you be focusing on one or the other?"
"I'm sure the one brain cell in your head would probably have trouble multitasking, but I'm all set. Thanks for your concern."
"DuGrey," Josh knocked into his elbow. "Are you in or out? Are you even listening?" his friend tried to bring him back to the table, and out of the build-up of emotion that was about ready to erupt out of his veins. He stood up, not bothering to right his chair against the table, and walked over to where Rory still sat with the leech who was attempting to annoy his way into her life.
"Are you deaf or stupid?" he asked plaintively.
"Tristan," she warned.
"Excuse me, but I don't see how this is your business," the other guy informed him.
"What are you, new? Everything in this school is my business."
"Guess I didn't get that memo. If she's your girl, you shouldn't leave her sitting all alone like this."
"She's not my girl. I just don't see why you can't respect the privacy of someone who clearly doesn't want to be bothered."
"Tristan, thank you, but I can handle this," she glowered at him.
"Obviously," he shot back. "So, you leaving, or am I escorting you away?" he returned his gaze back to the clueless idiot that still stood behind her chair.
"You just said she wasn't your girl," he blinked. "So why would I leave?"
"I have a boyfriend. And I don't think either of you wants to continue this line of conversation, because he really is the only one that he's comfortable with defending my honor. Now, if you'll excuse me, as intriguing as this little skit has been, it doesn't really hold a candle to Neruda or Modest Mouse."
And with that she shot Tristan a look, ignoring the other boy altogether, before turning her Discman back on and opening her book to where she'd left off thanks to the unusual disruption to her day. As Tristan hesitated to watch the other contender walk off first, he moved back over to garner odd looks from his friends. He couldn't count them as confidants, so he ignored their confusion and left the cafeteria altogether, off to put a stop to his inability to focus.
--&--
He'd been waiting back in the stacks, surrounded by long drawers that contained musical scores from everything from great Beethoven symphonies to the score from Titanic. He'd been in the music library before, finding it empty enough to accommodate lunchtime or study hall rendezvous in the past. It was the perfect hideaway; still on school grounds but rarely frequented during school hours. And in the back stacks it was easy to right clothing in the time in between hearing any intruders and being come upon by said interrupters. He was sure she'd never come here before. She had no musical aspirations and she wasn't the kind of girl to give up time that could be spent reading—never mind the fact that she'd never give a thought to allowing him to slide her panties off on school grounds, leaving just the scratchy wool skirt covering her, rubbing her sensitive skin raw as he pressed her back into the metal cabinets, working his hands quickly and effectively over her body to maximize the effect in the brief time that the environment secured for them.
At least, not yet.
When he heard the soft clip of her saddle shoes against the hardwood floors, he moved only his head. He remained leaned back against the drawers, hands shoved in pockets, as he took in her harassed features. She was clearly displeased with having to meet him here in between classes and still attempting to make it to her next lecture on time. She'd no time for this; she wasn't used to trying to squeeze him into her routine.
"You got my note," he nodded.
"What do you want, Tristan, I have class," she informed him.
"Skip it," he now extracted his hands from his pockets and moved closer to her, reaching out to trace the line of her neck.
"I can't do that," she stepped back, just out of his reach again. He wasn't putting up with that now, not after the morning he'd spent in the same torture. In sight and out of grasp. He reached out and gripped her by the hips, spinning them around so she was positioned against the metal filing cabinets. She let out a small sound of surprise, and perhaps protest, but he silenced her with his lips rubbing harshly over hers.
He felt her stiffen at the brashness of his actions, the submissiveness he was subjecting her to, and for a moment considered his instinctual motions as a mistake. Until he felt her give into the ferocity of his want. His need.
She forgot to push against his chest with her hands for a moment, he could tell as she softened her efforts for a moment before balling his shirt up with her fists, pulling him closer to her. He'd have wrinkles there for the rest of the day, a reminder of this interlude. The attack of his lips became a back and forth, a give and take as they rocked each other against and away from the filing cabinet until her grip became solid again, pushing him away as he rocked back away from her, still caught up in the taste of her. Coffee remnants and vanilla lip gloss.
"I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have come here like this," she opened her eyes to reveal a heady look through dark lashes.
"Then why did you come?" he pressed, taking a step away from the other wall that was equally lined with labeled filing bins where her push had sent him.
"You asked me to, you said," she paused as he got dangerously close to her personal space again as his hand reached out for her waistline. The meeting place of cotton and wool, comfort and abrasion.
"I said I needed to talk to you," he nodded; moving just a fraction of an inch closer, willing her to raise her chin, even in defiance. He wanted to see her eyes, full on, to be able to gauge her true reactions.
"So, talk."
"I need to see you," his arms slid around her waist again, relishing in the feel of her breasts as they pressed into his ribcage. It was a wholly different sensation from that night in the pool, but even through his starched shirt and her sweater vest, the desire to be closer to her still held.
"You've seen me all day," she reminded, her tone scathing. "What was that about before? You can't just be doing things like that!"
He lowered his gaze, almost feeling remorseful at his actions. "At lunch?"
"Yes, at lunch, when you ran over to defend my honor in front of the whole school! What were you thinking?"
"I didn't like the way the guy was taking liberties," he informed her, meeting her gaze again.
"I can take care of myself," she said assuredly.
"I don't want you to have to," he said, his grip now tighter, as he held her nearer.
The first bell rang, sounding her need to be released from the confines of his arms, as well as the library. She had class to get to, as he did, but for some reason, she remained in place, burrowed against his torso, hearing him out.
"I need to see you alone," he insisted.
"To work on the project?" she asked, staring at his lips that were in her direct line of view.
"To do whatever it is you want to do," he promised, bending down to kiss her again. Her hands worked up into his hair as she melted into him once more. When they broke the kiss, she stood still in place with his hands supporting her, and he kept his eyes closed as her breath fell against his neck. When she looked up at him again, she bit her lip.
"I'll meet you at the bus stop after school," she promised before grabbing her bag and taking off as the final bell sounded. He was in no hurry, giving himself time to collect his thoughts and control over his emotions before he followed in her harried footsteps.
--&--
She got into his car wordlessly; without coercion or the ruse of a game. No one was around to need convincing, and they both knew why they were there and where they were going. If she hated the music he was pumping over his speakers, loud enough to make the seats vibrate, she made no sign of attempting to change it. He had been blaring Incubus all weekend, since he took leave of her grandparents house still in his swim trunks, feeling more sexual frustration and confusion rushing through him than he thought possible.
He cut the ignition inside his parent's garage and turned to look at her, as she was still lost in whatever world she'd been in since Medina's class. He wasn't even sure if she was aware he'd come into class ten minutes after the bell rang. This was more than her running hot and cold on him.
"Did you get the same riot act that I got in Medina's class?"
"Huh?" she asked, snapping her head to face him.
"You were late, too, right?"
"Oh, yeah, I mean, no, he didn't say anything to me."
Tristan frowned. "You're kidding me, he didn't say anything? He spouted back the fucking Chilton conduct handbook to me, and he said nothing to you?"
"God, what is your problem? You were the reason I was late, and now you're upset that I didn't get into trouble? He didn't give you detention, Tristan, not that he shouldn't, I mean, it's not your first tardy, is it? You've been late, caught up between classes plenty of times before," she shot back.
"What the hell is your problem?" he asked, now just agitated. He couldn't tell if she was upset at the idea of him and other girls, which he'd made no bones about before and wasn't going to deny now, but she had to know that none of those girls meant a damn thing to him. He'd made that as clear as he could up to this point. "If other girls were your problem to begin with, you should have never started down this path, Rory."
"Take me home," she crossed her arms, facing forward in the leather seat.
"Like hell, tell me what you're so upset about," he reached over to grab her arm and turn her to face him, easily accomplished in such close quarters.
"I don't have a problem," she narrowed her eyes. "No, wait, I do have a problem, Tristan. My problem is that this," she pointed between them, "is getting out of hand. I mean, I get the whole not telling people because of whatever reasons, but I didn't sign up for missing class, having what class I do get to on time interrupted because you can't keep your eyes to yourself, and having all my study time obliterated because you can't keep your hands to yourself!"
He was seething. He knew she was blaming him for her inability to keep control of her emotions, and perhaps that was true. She'd never experienced the kind of loss of control that comes along with that strong a pull of physical attraction. Hell, he was having a hard time owning up to his inability to assuage his desires as well. But he'd be damned if she was going to blame him for things that required two to engage in.
He wasn't the drug dealer in this scenario. He was the guy that couldn't stop himself from consuming the drug.
"If you care to remember, you were the one to invite me up on that balcony, where not only could we not study, but you asked me to kiss you. And then you invited me, not the other way around, to come back the next night. You were the one in the fucking string bikini, begging me to go a little farther, wrapping your legs around me tighter, making those sounds where I couldn't tell if I was hurting you or driving you over the edge into ecstasy. Do not," he leaned in to the point that their noses were almost touching, "blame this all on me. And if you want to tell people, fine by me. Tell everyone you know," he dared.
She swallowed, but didn't cower away from him. "We can't do that."
"I didn't think so," he said, softer this time.
"There's a reason he didn't yell at me," she said, in a barely audible tone.
"What?" his tone turned curious, and his hand slipped down from her elbow to her hand.
"Mr. Medina, Max," she said purposefully. "There's a reason he didn't say anything when I came in late."
"Max?" he inquired, wholly confused as to when she began calling teachers by their first name, even outside of school. It wasn't her nature to show a lack of respect for her mentors.
"Do you remember earlier this year, when Paris let it leak that my mom had been dating him?"
He nodded. Even he'd used it as an excuse to tease her, though at the moment he'd approached her, she'd known nothing of the incident that set it all off. As soon as she heard she'd stormed out of the cafeteria, and he'd been able to hear her screaming at her mother from outside the stairwell. Her mother had broken up with him that day, he'd hear her say.
"Well, lately, they've started dating again, secretly, sort of, but seriously. And now, they've decided to get married. He proposed this weekend, on the weekend trip he took her on this past weekend. It's why I was at my grandparents."
"That's," he drew in a breath, "really weird."
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
"Do you not like him, I mean, with your mom?" he asked, knowing she'd always enjoyed his class, if nothing because it was one of her favorite subject areas. Books.
"No, it's fine. It's just," she bit her lip in thought, considering what it was that was unhinging her so much about the whole ordeal. "There've never been guys in the picture. Not ones that threatened to change the outcome, you know?"
"The outcome?"
She nodded and held hold of his hand as a measure of support before continuing. "I'm supposed to not realize boys exist until the second before I'm ready to get married, which is after I graduate from an Ivy League school and start my career in journalism. This is all accomplished while my mother starts her own business and raises me, the brilliant offspring that she had and took care of all by herself, against all odds. Having people, male people especially, come in changes the whole picture. She gets married and suddenly it's not me and her against the world. It's she can't wait 'til I go to college so she can begin her new life."
The tears that filled her eyes as she spoke began falling down her cheek at this point, and she raised their joined hands up slightly off her lap, as if to show him the entwined evidence. "And you, my being around you just decreases my chances for going to college and being something better than what she was able to become," she admitted softly, as if she were ashamed of the very thought.
"How?" he shook his head, again feeling blame and guilt for something that he could not control.
She looked up at him and squeezed his hand. "Because I don't want to say no to you. Because I want you to touch me, and look at me the way you do; I love that you can't focus on anything when I'm around, because I can't either. You knew it, too, that night in the pool, you knew that you could have had anything you wanted from me."
He shook his head in disbelief. There were issues and concerns quelled up in her that he'd never imagined. He reached out and touched her face, causing her eyes to close at the soft pressure he applied as he hooked his fingers around her ear to pull her in to him. He didn't kiss her, he just rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in.
"Why did you?"
"Why did I what?" he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the whole of her confession.
"Why did you hold back, if you knew I wouldn't say no?"
"Because you're worth waiting for. You have been so far."
It was her turn to initiate contact this time, as she kissed him with a fervor he knew she had been holding somewhere inside of her. She had been driving him crazy in parts, unknowingly and unforgivingly up to this point, but now she had a purpose and a drive. She was discovering the kind of hold she had on him, one similar to what he held her enraptured with. He could feel his resolve slipping away each time she unlocked more of that knowledge, and he wasn't sure either of them were ready for the total dissolution yet.
But he did know that his gratification would but complete, if not instant, this time around.