Chapter Four: Raise Your Arms

---Gilmore Girls---

Cabana Banana nail polish coated themselves over Rory's nails as she cradled her cell phone between her left shoulder and ear. Sighing into the phone as she listened to the person on the other end, she closed her nail polish, and shook it repeatedly before reopening it and resuming the painting of her nails.

"Cheyenne," she sighed, blinking her eyes, and allowing a yawn to escape her lips, "I'm not really up for the pub tonight."

"How can you possibly not want to scope out the hotties, Ror?"

"I'm tired, for one thing. And another reason not to go is because the pub is not my scene. How long have you known me?" she asked, finishing her second coat of Cabana Banana, "Exactly!" she cut him off, "You know Logan tried repeatedly, and with no avail, to get me into the bar scene. Excuse me if I don't find amusement in slipping on a pair of fishnets, and dancing on table tops."

"You may not find amusement in dancing on tables, but I'm definitely sure the guys would..." He paused thoughtfully, before continuing: "Well… the straight guys, anyway."

"I just really don't feel like going out tonight."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Why?"

"Answer the question, Gilmore."

"Painting my nails."

"Color?"

"Yellow."

"Put on a pair of jeans, and a yellow sweater. I'll be there in fifteen. Bye!"

"Chey!" Rory cried into her cell phone, but only to be greeted with the ever-consistent "erne, erne" of the dial tone. "Ugh, the jackass!" she sniffed, placing her nail polish back into it's rightful place.

Hopping off of her window seat, Rory stretched her arms high over her head as she walked towards her closet, mapping out Cheyenne's murder while she went. She hadn't been to the pub in eons and in some sick, and twisted way; she was teetering on the verge of being happy that Chey had somewhat conned her into going.

"Darling, I've arrived! Hold the applause, hold the applause!" Cheyenne called dramatically, throwing Rory's dorm-suite door open, covering his eyes with his hand to save himself from seeing Rory in a state of undress.

"I'm decent, darling," Rory said maliciously, turning to retrieve her cell phone off of the bench; slide it into her jeans pocket, "I can't believe you're making me go to the pub."

"Why's that?"

"Because he will be there. And he is jerk that I will have to see flirting and groping random girls."

"Then why don't you flirt with random guys with a side dish of groping?"

Rory shot him a disbelieving look, and shook her head, "Because I have the decency not to rub a break up in someone's face."

"Well maybe you should kick your morals out of your pretty mahogany door and get down with your bad self. Bumpa chicka bow wow!"

"I can't believe you just said that!"

"Which part?"

"Both!"

"I thought the enthused porn music fit very nicely into my very recent word formation."

"Well, Chey, you thought wrong." She smiled sweetly at him, reaching up and pinching his cheek with her thumb and index finger. "Let's get going – unless you've changed your mind and you're going to allow me to stay home and read my new copy of War and Peace."

"Not a chance in Hell, honey."

"It was worth a shot," Rory sniffed, following Cheyenne out of her dorm suite.

---Gilmore Girls---

"Why did you decide you wanted to come to the pub, Cheyenne?" Rory asked, clasping her fingers around fabric of his shirt, letting him pull her along so she couldn't lose him in the crowd, "It's so crowded in here – you'd think the Dahlia Lama is making an appearance or something."

Cheyenne clucked his tongue against his teeth, and laughed, "My friend invited me – I've known him for years, and I want you to meet him."

"So basically you're setting me up."

"You catch on quick; here I thought your mother was the last one in your family with intelligence."

"Funny."

"I try, love." He turned his head over his shoulder, and shot her a million watt smile. "I have a feeling you'll love him – I'd love him if he liked boys, but alas, he has a thing for girls."

"Oh the horror, the horror." Rory deadpanned, loosening her grip on his shirt, and stepping into stride with him once the crowd thinned out towards the back of the pub.

"My sentiments exactly," Cheyenne chirped, pulling her up to a table full of guys with girls randomly placed in seats, "Hello boys," he grinned, pulling a chair out for himself and sitting down, "This is my friend, Rory Gilmore—Rory, this is the Yale Soccer team, but I'm sure you already knew that seeing as you just saw them today."

Rory folded her arms self-consciously over her chest, and scanned the table, "Hi," she said weakly, settling her eyes on Tristan. She cleared her throat, and looked away; scanning the crowd inside the pub.

"Won't you sit down, Ms. Gilmore?" Alex asked, pointing towards the empty seat next to Tristan.

"Oh, well---"

"Of course she'll sit down," Tristan said, his eyes burning holes into the side of her face, "won't you, Mary?"

"Cheyenne said her name was Rory, man, get with it," Jake hissed across the table.

"I guess that leaves me with no choice then, does it?" Rory sucked up her bravery and slipped into the seat beside Tristan, carefully avoiding brushing against him.

Slipping into an uneasy conversation, on Rory's part anyhow, was quite possibly the hardest thing she had accomplished yet. Evidently, seeing a guy after five years of no contact out of the blue one day in your junior year of college can throw anyone off a high horse. She had already been feeling uneasy with her recent break-up with Logan, to the fact that her parents had reconciled after years of a hazardous relationship based solely on being Rory's parents – meeting up with Tristan after years apart was one of the most awkward things she'd dealt with yet.

"So, Mary," Tristan breathed into her ear a half hour after she'd entered the pub with Cheyenne, and sat down at their table, "How about we go catch up?"

"Uh… I don't think—"

"Ace?"

"Great," she sighed under her breath, turning slightly in her chair, "Logan… Hi."

"I thought the pub wasn't your scene."

"Yes, well, maybe I've changed my mind since we broke up," she smiled, albeit a very weak one, and stood, swinging her shoulder bag over her shoulder, "Tristan, will you walk me back to my dorm?"

He nodded, and shot Logan a smirk; shrugging his jacket on. "Nice seeing you again, Logan – was that what she called you? Maybe next time we'll be able to sit an chat."

Tristan stood, pushing in both his and Rory's chairs, and placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the pub. "Was that an ex-boyfriend, Mary?"

"Obviously," she crossed her arms over her chest, and sighed.

"So," he said, trying to move onto a lighter subject, "I didn't know you knew Cheyenne."

"I could say the same for you – he's not exactly Duncan and Bowman."

"Military school changes your views on life."

"I guess so," she shrugged, looking up at him. "How've you been?"

It was Tristan's turn to shrug, "I've been alright, I guess. Military school, Stanford, Yale – it's all the same."

"Girlfriends?"

"Have I ever been the type to have a monogamous relationship, Mary?"

She laughed, and shook her head, "No."

"So that Logan character – what happened there?"

"We dated. We became official – I took him off the market, we stole a yacht – badda bing, badda boom, we're over."

"Mary, you stole a yacht? I guess Chilton offered a course in theft after I left?"

"Oh yes, you really missed out on some great pointers."

"Like what?"

"Like making sure the yacht you steal gives you three hundred hours of community service."

"I'll, uh, keep that in mind for the next time I commit grand theft," he smiled, draping his arm around her shoulder as she led the way back to her dorm. "Is this awkward?"

"Just a little bit."

"So I'm not the only one – great," he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"This is my stop," she said pointing to a door with a white board on it: 'Rory' scribbled in blue marker on one side, and 'Paris' scribbled in black on the other.

"You room with Paris?"

"I have for the past three years," she told him, slipping her key into the lock of the door, and pushing it open, "After you left, we set up an unstable friendship – and we've been roommates every year."

"I'm sorry."

"What? Why?"

"You live with Paris—someone needs to show you sympathy and it might as well be me, right? I know Paris better then anyone here—well, besides you… but come on, Paris? Living with the woman can't be all that easy."

"Oh, it's not, let me tell you." Gesturing inside the room, she cocked her head at him, "Would you like to come in, and have a cup of coffee or something? Paris isn't home – she went out with Doyle so there won't be any… uh, awkward moments." Rory mentally berated herself the moment she let the words slip out of her mouth; remembering that only hours before she was flipping out over the fact that Paris had made her face Tristan after years of separation and no contact.

"I have nothing better to do, and I'd rather not go back to the pub," he said, following her inside.

"Will you close the door, please?" she asked as she dropped her purse onto the hook besides the door, and kicked her clogs off. "So, coffee? Hot cocoa? Water? Coke?" she asked him, as she made her way towards the kitchenette.

"Uh, waters fine."

"Great," she called, opening the refrigerator and pulling a water bottle out along with a Coke for herself, "Make yourself comfortable," she told him as she walked back into the common room.

"Thanks," he said, sitting down on the couch. Rory sat next to him willingly and handed him the bottle, "Wow… I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself here."

"Me either."

"So…" Tristan sighed, a few moments later, eyeing the clogs she'd kicked off of her feet minutes before, "Nice shoes, wanna fuck?" he leered, a smirk fully intact on his face.

"Well, I'm a firm believer in at least knowing the birthday before things get taken to the next level," she teased, sipping her soda; crossing her legs. She shot him a mocking, seductive look, and fought to keep a laugh in.

"June 19th, 1984."

"Tristan! I was kidding!"

He shrugged, and grinned, "When's your birthday?"

"October 8th.."

"Year?"

"You know that already."

"I'd like to hear it confirmed, you know? To make sure you're not jail bait."

"1984."

"Great, and your bedroom would be where?"

"Alright, Mister," Rory squeaked, standing quickly, and pointing towards the door, "I think it's time for you to go."

"Aww, but I don't wanna," he pouted, standing also, and glancing around her dorm, "Ooh! Is that room yours?" he asked, moving towards the door that had caught his attention with a pin, feather boa wrapped around the frame.

Her eyes widening, Rory bit her lip, "Uh, no! That's erm… Paris' room. Yes, that's it! It's Paris' room!"

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes… Paris has taken up Cabaret in her spare time," she lied, nodding ferociously as she walked in Tristan's direction.

"Can I see?"

"No!"

Tristan smirked at Rory, and twisted the door knob open to reveal Rory's bedroom, "Is Paris' Cabaret dancing nickname 'Rory'?" he asked, gesturing to her name painted in black, scripted letters above her closet.

"Ugh," Rory sniffed, covering her face with her hands, and slumping down into her window seat. "This is way too… weird, Tristan. Just the thought of sleeping with you makes it weird…"

"Why? I promise that I have a lot of expertise in the bed department."

"Jesus," Rory sighed, "I don't even like you like that. I haven't seen you in five years and all of a sudden, on the same day that we connect again I'm going to sleep with you?"

"Hey, I promise I won't complain." He said, holding his hands up in mock-surrender, "but I do promise to make you moan," he grinned, and moved towards her.

"And here he comes, ladies and gentleman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've turned into your sophomore year self."

"Gee, thanks."

Rory shot him a look, and crossed her legs Indian style. She folded her hands in her lap, and stared up at the ceiling, "It's not that your repulsive, and have a ridiculously long list of innuendos – it's just that I'm not comfortable with you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… I don't see you as more then a friend – and friends sleeping with friends always gets complicated."

Tristan shrugged, taking residence on the seat beside her, "What if we strike up a deal before hand – because let's face it, Rory – we're not sixteen or seventeen, anymore. We're not at Chilton, and we don't have Bag boy around anymore—that I'm aware of, anyway… things are bound to get a lot more than platonic with us being around each other now – we're both friends with Chey, and we're bound to get thrown together more then once."

"So what's this deal?"

"Friends… with benefits."

"Tristan," Rory shook her head, and slid off of her window seat, and glanced around her room, scratching the wrinkles that formed on her forehead as she scrunched her face in thought, "This is like… some horrible teen movie where the two people forming that kind of relationship both like each other in more then a friends kind of way… and we're not like that."

"Uh huh…"

"We're barely friends with an underlying sense of sexual tension."

"Then we'll take our sexual frustrations out on each other – no harm, no foul."

"We'll get attached—"

"If we do, then we do. Don't let get real emotions wrapped up in this… it's easy."

"It sounds complicated."

"Hey—what's life without a little bit of complication, Mary?" Tristan stood; allowing himself to come within a two foot distance of her, "What do you say? Hooking up with no ulterior motives?"

"Ugh, I don't know…"

"Well, let's just try it out – okay?"

"Tristan.."

"I'm going to kiss you, and you won't slap me, okay?" He smirked, closing the space between them slowly, pressing the gentlest of kisses on her lips. He draped his arm around her back, pulling her closer to him as he tried to coax a reaction from her lips.

Stumbling backwards slightly, Rory's back hit the wall beside the open door. She sighed softly, breaking away from Tristan's kiss, allowing her eyes to connect with his, "That wasn't so bad, was it?" he whispered in her ear, slowly, as he reached out and brushed his hand over her cheek.

"No…" she whispered back, not entirely sure why on Earth they were whispering when they were the only ones in the suite, "Close the door."

"With pleasure," he grinned, pressing another kiss against her lips, as he used his hand to push the door closed. It shut with a snap, and as soon as the sound was heard between the two, any second thoughts about the rushed, and not-so-fool-proof deal were thrown out of their minds.

Tristan fused his lips to Rory's as she wrapped her arms around his neck, allowing her fingers to run themselves through the short, blonde hairs on the base of his neck. He ran his tongue over her upper lip, his hands fondling the expanse of skin that her shirt left exposed. She parted her mouth ever so slightly allowing him to devour her mouth whole; which he did in minimal time.

She tasted bittersweet: a combination between undiluted coffee and bubbly coca cola. He met her tongue with his own, coaxing a soft, guttural moan from inside Rory's throat. He pressed her against the wall with a bit more force, allowing himself to take shallow breaths before connecting his mouth with hers again.

Pushing his hips against hers, he groaned lowly, and slid her shirt upwards, allowing it to push over her breasts. "Raise your arms," he lowly commanded, which she quickly obliged to.

Clothes scattered the floor only moments after Tristan quickly carried Rory, whose legs were tightly wrapped around his waist, towards the bed. Dropping her on her back, he quickly covered her with his body, pressing feather light kisses against her collar bone. He moved his hands to her back, unclasping the tan bra that sheathed her breasts.

"Tristan," she sighed lowly, arching her torso into his as she pulled his belt from the belt loops.

He groaned, pressing his erection into her soft spot. He delved his tongue over her breasts, letting his attention settle on her right nipple as he slipped his hand under the waistband of her jeans. He tugged lightly on soft curls as he slipped his hand further into her pants, allowing him to stroke her while he worked his magic with his tongue over her chest.

Her whimper was enough to send him over the edge when he touched her with feather like strokes. Rory unbuttoned his pants with strained grace, and pushed them downwards letting him kick out of his shoes; pants in that exact order. He pulled his hand out of her pants, and kissed down her stomach slowly, unbuttoning the button on her jeans quickly; lowering the zipper before he tugged them down her legs.

Rory groaned as he kissed the inside of her thighs, and pulled her panties down, and off of her legs. "Remember," he whispered, sliding up her body, placing his hands over hers, and bringing them to the waistband of his boxers, "no attachments."

Rory nodded, not trusting her voice as she pushed his boxers down, revealing him in all his excited glory. She reached towards her right, and pulled open the drawer on her nightstand, pulling a wrapped condom out of it's hiding place. She ripped it open easily, and carefully before placing it over his tip. She smirked at him, pressing her lips against his, using her kiss as a distraction as she rolled the condom over his length, giving him soft, and forceful strokes, and rubs as she slid her hand over the slick latex before letting her hands settle on his backside.

Tristan's groans against her mouth filled her bedroom, as he placed his head at her bodily gates, probing into her in one swift motion. Rory's breath hitched in her throat as Tristan stalled, letting his lips skim over the skin on her throat. His breath warmed her skin when he breathed out a soft groan while he started to glide inside of her in a practiced finesse.

It took him only seconds to memorize her walls, and the way she felt against him when he rubbed against her vaginal erogenous zones.

The semi-tightness she encased him with made him teeter over the edge faster then any of the other girls he'd ever slept with. If he kept going until she reached pure, physical bliss, he knew he'd come twice. "Mary," he breathed into her ear, thrusting quicker, and faster inside of her, gripping the sheets in his hands, steadying himself as he shuddered with pleasure, "Oh, God…"

Rory moaned, arching her hips against his, her nails leaving angry, red marks over his back as they made their journey from his behind to his neck, "Harder," she gasped, rolling out from under him quickly, and pinning him down into the bed as she resettled on top of him, her hips rolling in fast, systematic circles.

Moments after the position change, they both reached their climaxes in sync; their bodies dripping with sticky sweat, and buzzing with post-coital enjoyment.

"Friends with benefits…" Rory sighed into Tristan's neck, "sounds nice."

"Mhmm.."

"But…"

"Hmn?"

"I want to keep this a secret.."

"Okay."