She rubbed her face against the side of his chest, like a child making sure a beloved toy was real. Even after more than a year, part of her still couldn't believe that she was regularly enjoying the experience of lying naked in bed with her coffee purveyor.
She slowly raised her head. Looking up at the ceiling, Lorelai realized with a start that they weren't at their house, but in the apartment above the diner. It was just as well, she thought--THIS bed was so very comfortable.
And then she remembered. The fight. The mortified look on Sookie's face, Sookie's quick, reassuring squeeze of her arm, Jackson and Sookie's quick retreat after Luke stormed out, Sookie's phone call reassuring her that fights were normal and everything would be all right.
But then her thoughts quickly turned to Luke's whereabouts after the fight. It didn't take a genius to figure out where Luke had gone. She first checked the garage, because he often retreated to the boat when things were bothering him. Not finding him there, she quickly fixed a plate with some veggies and one of the turkey burgers Luke had prepared for himself, and headed for the diner.
-------
Thank goodness it was after closing. She reached for the spare key, let herself in, and noticed that a light had been left on (for her?) behind the counter. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs; this was their first substantive fight after all. But she knew she had to set the tone and let Luke know that he was not in this all alone. Nevertheless, she was glad she had the food to use as a cover...
That food never did get eaten, she remembered.
Luke had other things on his mind.
"C'mere," he'd said in the low voice he reserved only for her, and only used in their most private moments. She'd scooted over onto his lap, realizing he had forgiven her. She remembered how Luke, with face upturned to her, silently asked for, and received, her forgiveness. They'd kissed for quite a while, until he excused himself and rose to place the beer he'd been drinking when she came to the apartment on the kitchen counter.
"Lorelai," he'd said, beckoning her to him.
She didn't think she could get over there fast enough. She didn't care that she looked needy or overeager; she only wanted to feel his body pressed flush against hers.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter as she wrapped herself tightly around him. She ran her hands up and down the length of his back, lightly, just barely, scratching. It was something he really liked.
"I'm sorry about Chri..." she began.
"Shh," he replied, kissing her. One hand moved in figure eights through her hair. Starting at the skull, drawing a handful of hair through his fingers like a precious silken skein. Reaching the end, his hand would move to another section of her head, and repeat. The other hand explored her back with equal deliberation, from left to right, top to bottom.
Sometimes, at the diner, she would watch him wipe down the counter. Not because of any sort of cleanliness-fetish, but because she loved watching how intensely he focused as he moved the rag over the counter, slowly, in circles, over and over. Before they were together, she occasionally would wonder what it would feel like to have his hands move over her body in that same way. Slowly, methodically, carefully, and most of all thoroughly, with nothing to distract him from his task. And all the while, he'd be looking at her.
During the night after their first meal at Sniffy's, she found out what that was like. And promptly became addicted to his touch.
She moved her hands to his head, wriggling her fingers under the edge of his blue cap, behind each ear, slowly tracing the same circles he was tracing on her back, on his scalp. Her circles were slow and tightly constructed, fingers moving up towards the crown of his head, under the cap. And then she slowly removed the cap.
The removal of the cap had become a signal of sorts for them. She had so many favorite cap-removal moments. Wild flinging, gentle removal, and all kinds in-between. Whereas some couples had secret cues for when they wanted sex--like watching some late-night show--Luke always knew that she was the initiator when she removed his cap. In slow motion, as her hands reached the top of his head, Luke's cap popped off and fell to the kitchen counter behind them. Running her fingers through his hair, Lorelai pulled Luke's face towards hers and rested her smooth cheek against his two-days' growth. Gently, she nuzzled him, so as not to irritate her skin. She idly let one hand trail back down over his shoulder, his arm, his side and down to his thigh.
They were extremely tender and gentle with each other, as if each could not believe that the other was there after the visceral verbal vehemence of their fight. Before long, both were panting. She could feel his smile against each place that his mouth pressed kisses. By the time her hand made its way back up his side and back, both were urgently moving their hips, and Lorelai could no longer hold back the moan his name turned into.
Hearing this, Luke gently tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. She quivered as she tried to stand still.
Who decided to move towards the bed, or when, did not matter. If she thought about it, she had no recollection. She only recalled moving along with him, backwards, towards the bed. And she remembers whispering "I'm sorry, Luke."
His response, this time? A whispered "Show me."
Since the proposal, Lorelai had a newfound confidence, born of the fact that this man really did want her, forever. It was no longer a matter of waiting for Luke to get her to stay still so he could kiss her. It didn't matter that she had long-ago found Luke attractive. For years, try though she might, she couldn't help but measure every romantic interest against the one man she couldn't have and mostly didn't know she wanted. Complications, fear and anxiety: and the irony of it all was that she did not even know it. Max, Alex, Jason, even Chris--none had a chance. Inevitably, one wouldn't listen to her with Luke's intensity and concern. Another wouldn't look at her with understanding, piercing blue eyes flecked with humor and understanding. Yet another wouldn't honor her relationship with her daughter the way Luke did. None of them was Luke. And it wasn't until he got her to stand still that she herself saw it clearly.
He had seen her at her best and at her worst, experienced both her best and her worst, but was still here. Was this what it meant to have the whole package?
When they reached the bed, Luke turned and sat at the edge of the foot of the bed, kicking off his shoes. Lorelai sank to the floor, pulled off his socks, then stood and leaned over him to loosen his belt. Pulling it through the loops, she then reached behind him and piled the pillows, and kissed him. As they kissed, he lost his balance and sank down against the pillows.
Just like the time that she couldn't wait to show him how great a girlfriend she could be, she now couldn't wait to show him what he asked for. She wanted so badly to make love with him, to show him that there was room for only one man in her life, the one underneath her. If she had to show him a thousand times over, she would.
Only the most interfering of garments were removed. She looked down at Luke, whose eyes, heavy-lidded, were almost closed as his head lolled back onto the pillows. Knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, she lowered herself onto him, when he suddenly grabbed her hips and stopped her. His eyes flew open, wide with concern; she knew why he was concerned. It was not like them to not use protection.
"Kids would be nice," she answered, and he smiled the smile of a condemned soul returned to life, and sank back into the pillows even as she sank onto him. Tears filled her eyes, just seeing the desire, love, and gratitude in his. At that moment, there was nothing she would not do, would not be, for him.
Languorously, she moved in figure eights; slowly, her hands entwined with his, supporting her. Her movement was steady and rhythmic; all she could focus on was how so very good they were together. Her body moved effortlessly over his, rising and falling, circling one way then the other.
And then his hands crept up her forearms, as he hoarsely asked her to stop. He gently lifted her and deftly flipped her over.
"Luke?" she asked.
"Actions. More. Than words," he managed to utter against her back.
With that, he rubbed his cheek up and down her back, and over her buttocks.
"Luke...please..." she begged him to continue where they'd left off. She wanted him to apologize all night long.
Lifting his head, Luke obliged, firmly holding onto her hips. Slipping back inside, he lifted her slightly to him and began moving in and out of her. Lorelai's reaction was immediate; she held onto the pillows in front of her, clutching them to herself, biting into them lest she wake Luke's neighbors. She moaned his name as he stiffened and clasped her even tighter against himself. He finally gasped out her name once, then twice, before collapsing onto his side and taking her with him.
For a while, they lay on the bed in each other's arms, legs entwined, each softly kissing whatever lips could reach. Luke's hand made its way to her abdomen, stroking it softly.
"Luke?"
"Hmmm?"
"I meant it. About the kids."
"Sure you don't want to...mull...it over?" Luke replied.
"Sure. You can give away that Costco crate of Trojans to Kirk...you won't be needing them for a long time."
She felt his smile against the nape of her neck.
Then post-coital exhaustion took its toll.
------
It wasn't morning yet, but Lorelai was pretty sure they'd both said they were sorry. Naked and chilled, she tugged the sheet up a fraction of an inch, 'til she reached Luke's arm, protectively slung across her abdomen. Lorelai placed her hand on top of his arm and pressed it closer, nestling contentedly into his side.
His grandmother's bedroom set definitely would have to go. After all, it would soon be way too small for them, she thought as she patted her abdomen, thoughts of apples dancing in her mind.