A/N: Sorry about the long delay! I second-guessed and intensely scrutinized a couple parts of this chapter. I had to ruminate on it.
As she arrived at the grove of deciduous trees two-thirds of the way through the park, she heard footfalls, a quick sequence of dull thumps, as Jess trotted to catch up with her. Before he could reach her, she spun around.
"What do you want, Jess?" she yelled, her flashing eyes focussing on the shrouded figure ambling towards her from the thick darkness.
"You can't walk home. Let me take you home."
"Go away. It's what you're good at."
"Now come on!"
"Well it's true!"
He shrugged and dared to inch his way towards her. "It's not. I suck at it actually."
"Ha!" she laughed hotly. That was rich. "That's right! Now that you mention it, you were right here all along."
The moonlight shone silver-blue and ethereal upon his face as he filled her field of vision. Abruptly his hands clamped down on her upper arms, near her shoulders. With a gasp, she leaned away from him but didn't pull from the strength of his hands nor the sympathetic magnetism of his eyes.
"No," he said softly, honestly. "I know. I wasn't here. Not really. But it was damn hard to stay away. You should know that. I did what I had to do."
Damn it! she thought, cursing her resolve as weak as her knees. She knew he was just trying to calm her, that his hands on her arms meant nothing more than to get her to stop and listen to his calming words. He'd said as much; he didn't want to get back together. Despite herself, however, if he were to kiss her again in that moment, she wouldn't resist.
Damn her and her willingness to forget her mind! Suddenly she longed for the days when she could more easily forget her heart, those days when she could meticulously draft a Pro/Con list and know exactly how to stack the safer option. A fluttering heart was so much safer to forget than a logical mind.
Gone were those days, it seemed.
"I don't want to get back together with you either!" she blurted.
"Of course. And you shouldn't. So please don't be mad. Why are you so mad?"
"Because you're a jerk and I don't need jerks in my life." It wasn't an answer to his question. It was an extension of her previous statement—and a reminder to herself.
"Right. Exactly."
With an uncomfortable catch in her throat, she rambled frenetically, finally answering his question, "Because I love you and I hate you and I desire you and I despise you!" She struggled meekly in his grip, shouting at the glimmer of moonlight in his wide eyes. He swallowed hard.
"And I miss you and I loathe you and I hate myself for being so screwed up and I wanna hit you," she growled, "or shake some sense into you—but I think inflicting violence on you would only hurt me more than you because you're so damn solid!" Her voice ended as a crazy little shriek as she pried his loosening fingers off her arms and twisted away from him.
Inwardly, she cursed her arms which were much too feeble to wreak the kind of havoc upon him and his muscular frame that she so desperately desired. Her wrist already hurt from hitting his car's hood and dashboard that night. She didn't need to further hurt herself on the broad expanse of his chest.
He let her stumble away and for that she was relieved. After a few steps, however, a painful, ridiculous desperation welled up inside of her. She faced him again and yelled at the stars, "And I'm so ridiculous because I want to k—kiss you and I want— I'm mad at myself! I don't understand what the hell I was— I'm such a—I'm such—Idiot!"
But her rant, what little coherence it had, was swallowed up as Jess slowly gathered her again into a sort of hug. Surprised, Rory let it happen. His eyes were sad and full of pity and commiseration. Rory watched and bit back tears as his arms slid around her shoulders, slow, snake-like and bewitching, bringing his biceps to squeeze her coat-laden arms, his palms to seek her spine, and his torso to press against hers.
"Shhh," he said. "You're not. You're not."
His cheek grazed hers and nestled gently into her hair. Though he offered her ample room to breathe, he crushed the breath from her nonetheless.
Though her psyche still ranted at their situation, she did manage to find some comfort in the gesture. Somewhat soothed, she leaned into his arms for a moment, ever so slightly, wrapping her own arms around him.
And when she leaned away and looked back up towards his face, her arms still held him—and he was much, much closer than she'd dully expected. Her heart jumped in her chest. Those beautiful, soulful eyes filled her field of vision, as did that caring face painted with such obvious pain. He was hurting as much as she was, she knew. She didn't want to hurt anymore. Inadvertently she bit her lip and looked to his own.
Suddenly his jaw was slack, his eyes terrified, his entire expression impossibly raw, and Rory got the distinct impression that their actions were surprising him as much as they'd surprised her. His breath, shaky, was warm against her cheek.
It was too much. He was so close. Overwhelmed, her head lolled slightly backwards, her eyelids faltered, her gaze blurred. His nostrils flared.
And there it was. The silky stroke of flesh. His lips found hers with minute motions and delicate, tender, little swirls, taking what they may, as she squeezed solitary tears from her eyes. Her neck swayed vaguely and her chin subtly bobbed, succumbing directly to the motions of those little, tentative circles for one long, luxurious moment, before Rory had a chance to think.
And then she thought. And suddenly Rory found circles of her own, tilting her head opposite his, and applying her own friction as a counterpoint to his. She leaned into the circle of his arms. Gliding... stirring... their lips trespassed. She felt his trepidation dissolve with every gorgeous movement of his body towards hers.
As she raised her arms, his own released her shoulders and slid instead around her waist, pulling her tightly within the bulk of her coat. Her fingers found the curls at the nape of his neck and slid up into them, nestling along the warm roots of his hair as they'd longed to do, and finding leverage. Then began the slow silkiness of crushing, tugging and delving.
An astonished moan escaped her mouth and slammed against his lips. Rory couldn't quite believe it was happening. Despite the prelude in the car mere moments before, it was unreal. Yet a very real hand had trailed upwards to cup her shoulder blade, and another, mid-back, pressed her into his chest. His mouth was warm and insistent and generous with silky caress. His throat hummed his own state of delirium, hitting her eardrums but sending shockwaves much deeper.
Though it should rightfully be a delusion, and it was definitely wrong given the story of their past, It certainly felt real. She felt him more powerfully than a dream could ever be felt.
There was just one thing. He'd broken their first kiss that night, abruptly and forcefully. He'd made his intentions clear; he wanted nothing more to do with her. Any moment now he would tear her heart out and pull away again.
No. She wouldn't let him take the upper hand.
He chased her retreating mouth by inches as she leaned away slightly, still holding his body tightly. She broke the kiss just long enough to seethe under her breath, "Damn you for hurting me. Damn us both."
He gasped. "I'm—" But she never let him finish. She took a great deal of pleasure in pushing him a few steps to her left, so roughly that he stumbled yet, once her lips were on his again, he held tightly to her new kiss. She pushed his back up-against the rough bark of a tall maple, pinning his shoulders and then his waist, and triumphantly wreaking her havoc at last. She caught the incredulous look on his face before kissing the fight right out of him.
Now his breath was coming frenzied and warm against her mouth, no doubt matching her own heightened gasps for air. Ecstatic and agreeing, she wriggled in his arms and hands which pressed so ecstatically, so agreeably, against her, driving across her back and rendering the line of her body askew.
Rory was simultaneously appreciative and dismayed by the barrier her wool coat provided. If her coat hadn't been there, his arm might well have found it's way to the yearning skin of her back. Certainly, by this point, her own hands had sought the interior of his jacket, feeling his obliques through too many layers of sweater, as she kissed him with a necessity which, for a delirious moment that ended far too soon, he reciprocated.
"Rory, stop," he murmured against her mouth but she was sure she heard longing there, proven by his own lips still lingering upon her.
After one more soulful, breathless kiss they each shared responsibility for, she did stop, as the meaning of the single word stop regrettably returned to her conscious mind.
He was retreating again, verbally this time. It was painful all the same. She slowly wrenched herself away from him—the wrenching being against herself rather than against his grip—but he grabbed her elbows to prevent too much separation.
"You kissed me first!" she cried, matching him pant for pant. "Twice! Why do you keep kissing me if you want me to stop?"
"I don't know."
"Dammit, Mariano!"
"Well stop leaning into my space!" he yelled somewhat angrily. "Stop touching my hair! Stop dissecting Tolstoy and King and fluttering those damn eyelashes! Stop telling me you wanna kiss me, dammit!"
"I didn't!"
"You just did!" he cried incredulously. "You said you love me and you loathe me and you wanted to kiss me! That's why I did it!"
"Did I?"
"Yes!" he cried.
"Oh!" she admitted before biting her lip. She'd done that. Of course she had. I guess he's not the only one sending mixed signals. She couldn't decide, however, who should be more confused by her confliction.
After a moment he added, "Damned if I didn't want it also."
"Oh," she repeated, mollified somewhat.
With his hands under her elbows he pressed and pulled, gently rocking her forward and back. Sad, serious eyes stared back at her with urgency. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispered.
Rory pouted and pressed indignant air forcefully through her nose. "Thank you for apologizing." Less obstinately, she added, "I'm sorry I hurt you also."
"Nah." He shook his head dismissively. "You didn't."
"I think I did. When I let you think I was taking Dean's side."
"Oh. That." Jess swallowed hard then inhaled deeply. "Apology accepted."