I do not own the characters. I'm not completely sure I'd want to. I owe a large part of my life to ASP, and am entirely devastated that she will no longer be in this part of my life in this upcoming season.
Takes place RIGHT after season 6 ends. Lorelai is still in Christopher's bed. Will be angsty and dramatic, but hopefully will end better, and will definitely be with Luke.
On with the story...
In all of her experience she had never felt more unattached to a man who had his arm wrapped around her post-coital. She could sense him nuzzling into her from behind, and she knew he was happy doing it, but she felt nothing out of numbness. Her mind wanted to be present to the situation, to allow her body to reciprocate any motion, any affection, but it would not. Instead it was computing, calculating, over-analyzing every single movement that she had already made – that morning, but especially the night before – to the point of complete mental exhaustion where she could no longer think but purely and painfully exist without a single thought, only living inside a deep, penetrating sensation of overwhelming regret and depression. She wanted to cry, but she no longer knew how. She blinked and led her eyes aimlessly around the room.
"Lor," she felt mumbled into her neck. "I'm," a kiss was planted on her skin, "so happy you came over last night."
A hand wove its way under the covers down to her naked left side and began to slowly caress her from her midsection, over her ribs, to the base of her bare breast. She didn't shiver like she knew she should have. There was no excitement in this game, only shame. He didn't seem to notice, though.
"It was so awkward last night at your parents' house, them trying to set me up with that psychologist." He laughed. She wanted to laugh back, or at least radiate a smile that he could be aware of without seeing it, but she couldn't muster it. He continued, "But there you were, saving the day, making everything more and less awkward simultaneously." He moved the arm he was resting on closer to her so his hand was beneath her head. He played with her hair and placed it behind her ear. "You were always so good at that." Her urge to cry welled to yearning to weep as his arm around her waist moved between her breasts laying his hand flatly on her chest. "How did you always manage to save the day?" He asked. "Always."
He subtly moved her body toward him and placed his lips right below her jaw, kissing her with an open mouth and slowly massaging the negative space with his tongue. He was so good at that. It used to be her most particular weakness with him – with or without the involvement of some quality tequila – and now there was nothing. Not a single reaction. Unless not having a reaction was a reaction in itself. She tried to ponder this for more than a moment, but it only took her to, "What am I doing here?" Of course she didn't say this out loud; it was merely a message that moved between neurons from her head to her heart in Morse code and incorrectly dictated as a performance by John Cage.
He turned her onto her back while lying at her side. His head raised slightly to look her in the eyes and he said earnestly, "You've always been my hero, Lorelai. Always brave, always consistent, always loyal." He kissed her unresponsive lips. He pulled back and smiled down at her. "My hero." He bent down to kiss her again. "Have I told you that recently?" She could feel him harden against her pelvis less than gradually, and she unwillingly grew wet in anticipation.
She looked squarely right back at him. "I believe you told me last night."
He grinned and looked away briefly to check his position as he slowly rolled one leg over her thigh.
"I think I could tell you a thousand times and still not have told you enough." He leaned down on her with all his weight and kissed her hard. After a few seconds her lips responded on their own accord. Her body had memorized these actions after a few times practicing, and she became physically engulfed in a theatrical production while remaining an emotional voyeur.
"I bet you use hyperbole on all the girls," she said when he pulled away to catch his breath.
He arranged himself back down on her and smiled at her lips. "Only the girls who know what it is."
He kissed her passionately. Both hands cradled her face and effortlessly opened her mouth from the outside. She could sense him hesitate entering her, waiting to see if she'd move first, but then with obvious want and desire he took her mouth in his forcefully with his tongue. They danced on the bed, beneath the covers, mouths and arms following the lead of an intuitive choreography. He moved entirely on top of her, deepened the kiss into an intricate work of unappreciated art, and changed her want to weep into a need to sob uncontrollably. Why wouldn't she cry? Why was she responding to all of this? Could she not manage her own body anymore?
She was caught off guard when he began to thrust into her. She saw him read shock in her eyes and he pulled most of the way out, his tip barely enveloped by her. She adjusted her legs to squeeze him in between. She closed her eyes in the pain of confusion. She arched her back and he began to pump himself back into her.
What was she doing?
Memories flooded her head.
Berating her daughter for being the other woman.
Luke kicking the shit out of Sockman's car. Picking Luke up from the jail for kicking the shit out of Sockman's car.
Proposing to Luke.
Meeting April for the first time on accident. Finding out that Luke was a father.
Having sex with Christopher on her balcony when she was sixteen. Having sex with Christopher on her balcony when she was thirty-two.
Missing painting the diner with Luke because she had slept with Christopher on her balcony when she was thirty-two.
Luke breaking up with her because of the confrontation with Christopher at her parents' vow renewal.
Not marrying Max after receiving the chuppa.
Luke giving her the chuppa.
Proposing to Luke.
Yelling at Luke to go to hell. Luke yelling, "Right back at ya."
Luke yelling at her for buying his boat back. Luke making up with her and telling her to keep thinking like she thinks.
Luke putting a TV in his bedroom for her to watch.
Luke asking what CDs he needed to buy. Him being cautious over Bowie.
Being asked if she was scared because he was all in.
Luke devising a plan to kidnap Rory and put her back in Yale.
Proposing to Luke.
Luke comparing Rory to Pippi.
Leaving the desperate and hopeless voicemail at his house. Running to retrieve the voicemail tape before he heard it. Finding him at her house when she returned.
Crying for weeks on end.
Luke's return to her while she was watching Judy Garland sing in A Star is Born.
Proposing to Luke.
Plastering his hand with Barbie band-aids while he was drunk and upset.
Finding out she was going to own the Twickham House. Deciding to enlarge her house instead.
Talking about having children.
Her pregnancy scare with the apples.
Talking to the psychiatrist in the back seat of her car.
Begging Luke to elope.
Sex with Christopher the night before.
Proposing to Luke.
She wasn't sure if she had come or not, but she felt Chris fill her. She had never felt so empty.
As he collapsed down she rolled him to one side and came off before he had a chance to pull out. She sat up decisively and walked away from the bed, saying nothing. She pulled her hands to her head and rubbed her face in an attempt to be rid of her melancholic confusion.
"Jesus, Lor, that was abrupt," she heard from a reasonably confused Chris behind her. She walked about the room in a daze trying to find her clothes. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head. "What did I do?" she asked herself out loud, searching for an answer from any source willing to give it to her.
"I believe what we just did was called having sex," Chris half joked.
Lorelai flinched. She raised one hand to her head and the other to her stomach. Her body shook and she knelt to the floor. "What did I do?"
"Lor, what's wrong?" She heard him rustle in the sheets and move to look at her.
She shook her head and looked around the room from her position on the ground. "Why am I here? I shouldn't be here." She stood up, walking around again to look for her clothes. "I need to go home."
"Lor?" Christopher pleaded with her.
"I'm in love with Luke. I asked him to marry me and he said no. Well, no, that's not true, he said yes, but then it got postponed, and then Anna told me to back off, and then I asked again and he said no. Although that's not exactly true either, my bad with the appeal to ignorance. No, he told me he needed time to process and I said no processing, it's now or never and he didn't say anything so I took that as a never.
"God damnit where are my clothes?" She turned around and looked at Chris. There were tears glistening on her eyes wanting to spill onto her skin, but none fell. She was fragile and scared, and they both knew it.
Chris crawled out of bed not saying a word and walked out the door to the living room. She followed him. They picked up the clothes that were sitting nicely folded on the sofa; it was a good thing the maid kept in mind the fact that there was a four year old girl living under the same roof. They dressed in silence.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked as she opened the door leading out of his apartment.
"No," she said, "I just need to go home."
When she got down to her Jeep and shut the door, she let her head hit the steering wheel and wept.
She drove home listening to Metallica, tears spent.