A/N: To all my beloved readers: I'm a bit shy about adding author notes as a mix of my own shyness and the wish for the work to speak for itself. However, I want to break the silence to apologize for the long time it has taken to publish this update and to thank everyone who is following the story for sticking around. It is true that sometimes life gets in the way, but ultimately, if updates are slow in coming from now on, know that it's because I'm trying to make the best out of the story, which is sometimes hard. A special thank you to everyone who has posted a review – this story is for you.

Not a Lobster

She showered while Jess prepped everything for cooking. She worried for her stability on the wet floor, her legs still shaky from her last orgasm. She felt in a daze. He was… he had… she couldn't even gather her thoughts, the memory of his mouth licking and kissing her center still too bright. It was funny how he could feel so strong and passionate when entering her and then have such a soft hand. He was a gem. What had she been doing all of her sexual active years? It all felt a waste of time. Their first time… what he did when she was already coming… she had never experienced that, it was as if she came from two different places. Where had he learnt that? She felt suddenly jealous of his past and bad at the same time for doing so, as she didn't have the right – she could have stopped that past from happening, in Philadelphia, a long time ago. She forced herself to stop thinking about it. She saw the faucet and pictured Jess fixing the house. The image prompted her to caress her belly, hot water trickling down her body. He made her feel different, but she couldn't really pinpoint what was it about them that was so special, like it wasn't a single thing, but a thousand details. It was not like she hadn't had passionate sex before, but what they had done was different. It felt natural, intimate and feral at the same time, as if all facets of a true relationship had been finally revealed, with nuances that she had never seen or experimented before. She laughed. She had scolded him for slowing down! And it hadn't put him off; on the contrary, he had understood and let her lead. She had felt… liberated, and the feeling was exhilarating. She turned off the water and got out of the shower. She toweled her hair and dried her body, and then grabbed Jess' robe and smelled it, getting sudden butterflies. She had never ever wanted so much before to stay naked and entangled with anyone, oblivious of the outside world. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and brushed her hair, wondering. Were they crazy? Were they going to be consumed by a fiery passion? She felt dizzy. Whatever happened, it didn't matter as long as she didn't hurt him. She could live with the rest. She put on the robe and some thick socks Jess had lent her and went out. He was prepping dinner and turned when she approached him. She stopped six feet away from him. He was wearing a black long sleeved t-shirt and pajama pants, and looked relaxed and happy with his hair tousled and a beaming, crooked grin.

"Was the shower good?" She nodded and smiled. "Are you so scared of kitchens that you don't even approach them? Or is it the chef you want to keep away from?"

She laughed and closed the gap between them, hugging him by the waist. "If only I could."

He kissed her. "I can't believe you've given up control on what we're eating tonight."

She kissed him back. "I trust you."

"My robe suits you. You look amazing."

She smiled. "It feels amazing – very literary and manly."

He untied the robe and put his hands under it, caressing her waist. "You couldn't look less manly." He stroked her belly. "You look like a goddess."

He kissed her softly but it made her burn all the same. If they didn't get away from each other they would soon die of starvation. "Will we ever be able to stop?"

He laughed and kissed her cheek, tying the robe belt again. "Don't worry, Gilmore. I know better than to let you starve."

She scanned the countertop. "This all looks really exotic and professional – what is it?"

"Nothing yet, but it's going to become Thai chicken soup. Grab that." He pointed a plant pot on the kitchen's window sill. She hadn't noticed, but it was full of herbs. She grabbed the one he was pointing at and he cut a leaf for her to smell. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it smells amazing." He grabbed another pot. "That one was Thai basil and this one's coriander. Are you one of those people?"

"Which people?"

"One of those who hate coriander."

She smelled it. "No, I don't think so."

"That's what I thought, since you're so much into Indian food and all. So, do you feel like having the soup?"

"Yeah! Why wouldn't I?"

"I am not sure how the whole craving thing works and wanted you to sample some of the highlights before committing. Thai soup it is, then."

He was so considerate and the situation was so domestic that her heart melt. He motioned her to a stool on the kitchen island and then got busy with the dinner process, doing several things at the same time. He heated a pan while he chopped and danced around the kitchen, getting pots and ingredients out of the cupboards and fridge. He looked like a pro, and seemed to enjoy himself. She was mesmerized.

"I don't know how it will taste but it looks amazing. You do, I mean."

He laughed while opening a can of coconut milk. "Thanks. I like cooking."

"And I like you." He turned and looked at her with a lopsided smirk, and then went back to stir-frying some vegetables. "I don't even want to know what they are."

"Good, because they will feel really bad if they find out you hate them, Gilmore."

He carried on and she delighted on the sight of him. The kitchen started to smell amazing, and her stomach roared. She got up and got some glasses and water, leaving them on the kitchen island. Jess finished what seemed like three independent preparations at the same time and poured everything in two bowls, garnishing everything with the herbs and lime. He got two spoons and brought everything to the island, sitting beside her.

"I hope you like it."

She took a sip and was shocked. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"What?"

"You made this?"

"Well, yeah, as that pile of dirty pots and pans will attest." She stared at him, thunderstruck. She suddenly understood what was so special about them – she loved him. She loved Jess, she still did. She had loved the punk back then and she loved the caring, passionate man he had become, and she could have committed right there to having that Thai soup every day until the end of their lives. She loved him. She fucking loved him. "What? Say something, Ror!"

How was she going to say anything? How was she going to avoid blurting it out at any random moment? It was too soon, she couldn't say it. She struggled to find words. "I… this is the best thing I've ever eaten. Period."

He gleamed. "Really?" She nodded. "Are you blushing? Because you got it all wrong, it should be me blushing. I'm so glad you like it, Ror – you don't know how much."

She smiled and started eating, although she was not hungry anymore – she just needed an excuse to stuff her mouth and not spill the truth out. She was fucked. She suddenly understood why Jess had run away from her and blurted out he loved her when confronted. She wanted to run away, too. She had always known that they were something big, but somehow she had avoided thinking about themselves under those terms – she had wanted to get to know him better, to see how they were together, before even thinking about that, and accepting that she loved him hit her like a ton of bricks. But of course she did. She had been afraid of acknowledging it, it was too scary, especially in her situation. He was eating his soup slowly, looking at her constantly and smiling. He looked amazing. She had always been obsessed with his mouth, with that seeming malfunction of his lip that was sexier than any other quirk she had ever seen. She wanted to lick his whole body. She wanted to water his cute herbs and to forbid him to ever wash his t-shirts. She entertained the idea of a thousand small and big things they could do if they shared a life together, like reading on the couch on lazy Sunday afternoons, browsing bookstores, having breakfast together, fighting over control of the TV. And making love, making love everywhere – on the couch, on a pub's toilet, on bank holidays. She imagined them having kids, his loving gaze on her as she would breastfeed an imaginary baby, enthralled as he had always been thanks to his sensitive writer's heart by the real, important stuff – by her body changing, by growing old, by life. Somewhere, in a warm, cosy corner of her mind, Jess started to read to their kid at night – probably Matilda – and the kid loved it, loved having a real daddy, one that knew what it felt like to have no father and as a result had become the best one. So that's how it felt to recognize the father of one's future children – except that he wasn't. It was all too much. She started to cry. He jumped from his stool and hugged her.

"What's wrong, Rory?"

He was really concerned and she felt really guilty about it. She said the first thing that crossed her mind. "It's the soup! It's so good."

"What? I swear I'm never making it again, I don't want you to cry over soup! Is it the hormones?"

She nodded, glad of the easy way out. "And the soup, don't forget about it."

"How could I? " He kissed the top of her head and then grabbed her face and kissed her softly. "Are you sleepy? Do you want to go to bed?"

She was, but she wasn't ready to finish the day yet, it would mean they would be a day closer to facing the glaring reality of the situation. She shook her head. "Can we play something silly on TV and laugh about it and… just talk?"

He smiled. "I'd love that."

They snuggled on the couch under a blanket. Jess spooned her and started zapping. He stopped from time to time when something bad came on, as if waiting for a cue from her to stay on the channel. She let real housewives and Kardashians pass until deciding on a lousy telefilm. "This looks promising."

She was surrounded by his strong arms and his warmth and slowly relaxed. If a month was everything they were to have together, she would at least make the most of it. She inhaled deeply and let her fears drift away for the moment. She didn't want to burden him yet with love declarations – he didn't want him to feel guilty if he decided in the end that he didn't want to give it a shot, whatever it was they were shooting at.

Jess kissed her neck and readjusted slightly behind her. "I always thought TV films were actually the way channels organized scriptwriter boot camps. Like they just throw the craziest plots at them see if they can come up with an actual script, and then get trainee directors, cinematographers and actors to film the whole thing for peanuts."

She smiled against his hand. "TV films are truly postmodernist. Vonnegut wouldn't have dared to go where this thing is going." He gently squeezed her, as if agreeing with her comment, but said nothing. She loved that they could finally express communicate like that. "Like, who could believe that guy was attacked by a lobster?"

"Ror?"

"Yeah?"

"It was a swan."

"That lobster was a swan? I'm starting to really like this film."

He whispered against her skin. "No, not the film. My black eye. At your grandma's."

She turned and looked at him. "What?"

He seemed embarrassed. "I was beaked by a vicious swan."

"Do you write TV films? Because that sure is unbelievable." She searched his face and saw he was truly ashamed. "You're shitting me."

"I wish."

"You were attacked by a swan?" He nodded shyly. "I'm torn between asking how it happened and why you didn't tell me."

He shrugged. "I was an idiot. All the time. I'm sorry. This answers both questions."

They looked at each other for a long time. Their faces were really close, so close that Rory could see Jess' eyebrows trembling so slightly that she knew he wouldn't know that his body was reacting like that. Was it the closeness, the openness, that was doing that to him? Whatever it was, it was happening to her, too. She realized she had never felt like she could say anything that crossed her mind without fear and it wouldn't matter, it would be welcome as long as it was the truth, same as whatever Jess could say to her. She caressed his neck. "Let's go to bed."

He nodded and both got up. Jess turned off the TV and the lights in the room, and then grabbed Rory by the hand and took her to bed. He undressed and then untied Rory's robe and let it fall on the ground, and then opened the bed and both got in. Jess lay on his back and opened his arms. Rory quickly nestled on his shoulder and he held her close. They lay like that for a long time, just caressing each other softly. Eventually Jess dozed off, but Rory didn't follow him – she still didn't want to end their day together. She didn't want to end anything. Did Jess? Would he have thought already about the fact that she was pregnant with Logan's baby – or was he doing what she had asked him to do, and wasn't thinking about the pregnancy at all for the time being? How could he be there like that if he hated her for it? Jess moved in his sleep but didn't break his embrace, he just hugged her harder. She loved how he felt, she loved being able to have his body so close. She loved him and wanted him all. She hitched her leg and placed it on his crotch while caressing his chest. He squeezed her, still asleep, and she felt him harden against her thigh. She brushed her leg against him, very slowly, so as to see if he minded the intrusion in his sleep.

"Rory…"

He lowered his arm and grabbed her butt while grinding against her, kissing her lazily, still half asleep. She wanted to tell him with her body the things she couldn't say out loud, and so she kissed him back, and caressed him, and straddled him, making love slowly to him, their bodies tangled in a dreamy haze that eventually carried both to release, and gently after that, to sleep.