A/N: The quotation at the end of this chapter is from Wolfgang Peterson's 1981 movie, 'Das Boot.'
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Lorelai and Luke's lives progressed as usual over the next weeks. Every morning, they awoke, most of the time together in either Luke or Lorelai's bed. Many days, Luke was either out the door or downstairs in the diner by the time Lorelai rose, but she soon learned how to persuade Lane and Cesar to volunteer to open on certain mornings. Her best tactic: slipping 'em some dough, dig? What Luke didn't know, couldn't hurt him, especially since he most definitely enjoyed Lorelai's version of "sleeping in" on those mornings.
Most days, both lovers then went to their respective businesses, Luke none the wiser as to the origin of the big grins on his employees' faces, although the opposite certainly wasn't the case. With frequent telephone contact during the day and more frequent visits from Lorelai to the diner, their lives entwined. Luke could not imagine the diner without Lorelai. For two independent persons, they found it quite easy to commingle their time. Their conversation continued with ease, sparkling and stimulating, and they'd perfected a routine of sorts. And there was never a night where they didn't happily tumble into bed, even if Luke was grumbling: life together was just that good.
And the boots? For one thing, they were not an option at Lorelai's home. Furthermore, as was often the case with important issues between the couple, once Luke's secret was out in the open, it was not spoken of again. But the boots remained at the forefront of Lorelai's mind. She sensed potential. She sensed an opportunity for a little bit of fun, to be augmented by a whole bunch of pleasure.
So Lorelai began to carefully bide her time, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment when Luke lowered his guard, when the chance for victory for her and the boots would be at its peak. Then, and only then, would Lorelai strike. It was difficult for her, though. The thought of those perfect specimens of leather artisanship reposing under Luke's bed haunted her. She longed to feel those babies slip over her feet, hugging her ankles, uplifting her calf muscles just so. Her breath rushed out of her lungs in a proto-orgasmic audible gasp, the thought of the buttery leather leaving her face soft and her eyes gazing dreamily across the room.
Forget the memory of soft flannel against her breasts. Forget the memory of his stubble tickling her body. Forget whatever the hormonal supplement du jour was. Anticipation--of both leather and sex--was Lorelai's best aphrodisiac.
Lorelai was not the only person dreaming about those Jimmy Choos. Luke was also carefully biding his time. At first, he strategized as to how to get Lorelai to spend more nights at his place. He even contemplated buying a second set of the boots she'd mandated, to leave at her house. Hell, he thought, her room was so messy that she'd probably not even notice them. But Luke also was a man, and not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and the prospect of sex with his woman was not something he was about to postpone just because they were at her place. So he too was waiting: waiting until Lorelai's guard was lowered, when his chance to see her in those boots could be realized.
Waiting was not difficult for Luke. A man who had pined for eight years could wait a few more nights for his leather moment. Yet, the thought of those boots under his bed haunted Luke. He longed to slip them over her slim yet strong feet, gently pulling the zipper closed. He exhaled harshly as he thought of how he would then run his hands over the outside of the boots, and then coax Lorelai out of her clothing. When he felt especially self-masochistic, he imagined her then walking across his room, her calf muscles uplifted and defined just so, the staccato of the heels against the hardwood, the way she would invariably mock him while being incredibly sexy at the same time. And then Luke imagined how his hands would capture her wrists, as he would lead her to bed. Once there, while still holding her wrists, he would pin them above her head as he made his move, the other hand resting on one delightful leather boot.
Forget sex. Forget oysters. Forget Spanish Fly. Anticipation--of both leather and sex--was Luke's best aphrodisiac.
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"Need you in the kitchen, Luke!" Cesar barked, breaking Luke's reverie as he watched Lorelai gulp down yet another mug of coffee.
"What's going on back there?" Lorelai asked Lane when Luke didn't come out from the kitchen for a while.
Lane patiently explained the nature of the latest stove problem.
And Lorelai sensed that her opportunity had come. She and Luke had plans to catch a movie at the Black, White and Red that evening, and the boots would go perfectly with her new boot-cut jeans. Lorelai sighed as she thought about how Luke would lean over while they sat on Big Red, and whisper his love of her jeans into her ears, his breath dancing across one of her most sensitive erogenous zones: her ear.
Before she knew it, she'd quietly slipped behind the curtain, run up the stairs, and found herself at the door to the apartment. Pushing the door open, she realized she had no place to hide the booty she was about to score. But Luke, being environmentally conscientious, had a special receptacle for plastic bags from Doose's, and she quickly grabbed two and made her way to the bed. Dropping to her knees, she exhaled in relief when she found that the box was still under Luke's bed. Quickly pulling it out, she opened it and was greeted by a waft of leathery essence.
Breathing deeply, the scent transported Lorelai to places…well to Bergdorf, to Barneys, to any number of emporia. But she could not allow herself to become distracted, and so she quickly stuffed the Jimmy Choos into Doose's plastic bags. Nonetheless, she did allow herself a caress, a touch. Just to make sure they were really Choos, of course. She so hated the thought that Luke might have been defrauded…
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The rest of the afternoon passed in an excruciatingly slow daze for Lorelai. She couldn't concentrate in the office, compulsively sniffing the contents of the bags she'd stuffed into the bottom drawer of her desk, like a crazed internet addict repeatedly hitting the Refresh key on a favorite spoiler site. She left early, as was her prerogative as owner, and carefully prepared for the evening.
Lorelai returned to the diner to meet Luke for their movie date. He might have realized that something was awry when she actually showed up on time (to minimize wear on the boots, she drove her Jeep to the diner.) Walking into the diner, her sway and posture bolstered her self-confidence. Would Luke notice? But as she arrived, Luke was upstairs getting ready, and afraid that he might try to suggest they stay in, and try on the boots, Lorelai chose to sidle up to the counter instead, rather than go upstairs.
Luke was punctual, needing only to change his flannel and run a comb through his hair, but had to attend to some matters at the cash register. This suited Lorelai perfectly. Spotting Taylor at a corner table, she loudly let Luke know that she was heading over to chat with Taylor. The statements "Those jeans are really working for you" and "They're working for me, too" echoed in her mind as she overtly walked over to Taylor.
Luke was on her like a June bug on a windshield on a humid May evening. "How do you do it, Lorelai?" he whispered, almost leaning against her, bringing enough of himself into contact with her that she had no doubt that the jeans and the boots were working for both of them.
And then he took a step backward, and another step backward…and she realized that he'd seen them. She could sense Luke looking at her feet; sense his eyes moving up her legs, to her ass, and then back down again. For a moment, she swayed, imagining his hands following that same path. But their evening awaited them, so she flipped her hair, simultaneously patted Taylor on the arm and complimented him on the latest flavor addition to the Ice Cream Shoppe, and spun around to face Luke.
"See something you like, sailor?" she purred, then whispered in his ear, "Tonight. Boots on the ground."
Her whispered promise caused any thought Luke had of chastising her for taking the boots outside the apartment to flee his brain, as her warm breath made him shiver. The excitement began to flow, from her breath to his ear, into his veins, down to his groin.
Anticipation--of both leather and sex--was their best aphrodisiac.
"Let's go sailor," she cajoled, as Lorelai grabbed his hand and led him out the door.
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How...how…how could walking to the Black, White and Red be a sexual experience? And how could she be so calm? Sashaying over to Big Red, Lorelai pulled Luke down next to her, and looked over at him with a smidgeon of trepidation as the movie started.
She listened to him breathe in harshly, staring ahead at the makeshift screen, as on screen, the Lieutenant said, "They made us all train for this day. 'To be fearless and proud and alone. To need no one, just sacrifice. All for the Fatherland.' Oh God, all just empty words. It's not the way they said it was, is it? I just want someone to be with."
Between the claustrophobia on screen, and the anticipation closing in on them, the movie could not be over soon enough.
TBC