Story Title: Razor
Chapter Title: Maybe This Time
Pairing: Lit
Rating: T (for now); some language
Summary: Future Lit; Rory's trying to get a foot in the door in the journalism world and she's dragging Jess along with her against his will. If past performance is the indicator, he wants to avoid any contact with her; professional or otherwise. Story and Chapter titles taken from the Foo Fighter's song, Razor off In Your Honor.
He looked down at her, her bare back reflecting the moonlight that poured in through his fortieth-floor window. The illumination gave the effect that she was glowing, and he wondered if some of that illusion was due to his effect on her.
Jess wasn't sure if he'd worn down her resolve or if she'd wanted this all along-to be here, sharing his bed. He liked to think he held some of the cards in this stacked deck, but honestly this woman had powers over him that he likened to what an open flame did to moths. She shouldn't be lying next to him; she should be in her apartment uptown, waiting for her rich, if not thoughtless, boyfriend to finally come and warm her up.
But in his bed, she was too hot for covers. The sheets were slung haphazardly over their legs, from having been tangled and kicked in the throes of passion. He should probably pull them up over her, though, as he knew the sweat would eventually cause her to chill as she slept. His sleep would wait, however, as he watched the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair cascaded over one shoulder, lapping gently over his waist.
He knew then, as he sat in exhausted silence next to her, that he'd made a mistake that would end him.
Jess was never going to get what he wanted—at least not when it came to this woman. He'd accustomed himself long ago to the idea that when it came to her, he had to take what he could get and run. He didn't look back, he couldn't wonder why, and he for damn sure couldn't let this happen again. He'd caught himself trying to memorize her lines, her shadows, her sounds, and her touch. God, her touch. There was definitely something to be said for not knowing what he was missing. Knowing now; he had no idea how to tackle trying to forget that kind of intimacy.
"Hey," she said softly, causing him to seek out her face in the semi-darkness. "What's wrong?"
"Rory," he breathed. He closed his eyes. Her big blue eyes were piercing him, even in the dark, skewering him to the headboard that supported him.
She gathered the sheet around her torso as she slid up to sit next to him. Her hand slipped onto his thigh, and he took her hand in his and held her at a safe distance.
"You should go."
"Jess. I don't understand," she froze. "I thought," she began, but he put a finger up to quiet her. He pressed his digit against her soft lips, the same lips that had just grazed his body and had the ability to make him forget everything but her name. It all came flooding back then.
"You weren't thinking, Rory. For once, you weren't thinking."
"Shut up, Jess," she said, her voice hard. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
She was full of surprises. He sat back, acquiescing to argue his point of view after she unloaded her own wrath on him. He knew she had a lot of anger built up in her; she'd been too rough, too fierce, just a short while ago. Her kisses weren't just lustful, they were nearly violent. She stole his breath, she bruised his skin, and she was inches away from doing far worse damage, though not physical in nature.
"I've thought about this, Jess. God, you had me thinking about this since I was seventeen years old. Do you know how often, I mean, it's embarrassing—how long after you ran out of my life, not once but twice, I still imagined what it would be like? I don't think I ever wanted anything so much, and I know nothing ever terrified me that much. And now you dare to tell me I had no idea what I was doing, like I'm just some groupie that read your book and wanted a piece of the man of the minute—some mindless idiot that got talked into your bed! I'm here because I wanted," she closed her eyes and shook her head bitterly.
"You wanted what, Rory?" he pressed. No sense in backing off now. They were too deep now. Too mired, too completely past pretending that nothing they had been through meant anything out here in the real world.
"I wanted what you owed me!" she yelled at him.
He cocked his head. "What the hell does that mean? I didn't owe you anything, other than apology for upsetting your delicate sensibilities, maybe," he said, angry at the accusation, though he was interested in her answer.
"Never mind. You're right, I should just go. This was never going to be anything other than a mistake," she said, tears already forming in her eyes. He saw what he guessed was regret, maybe, but there was something else. She wanted him to stop her. He held his muscles still, taut and hard, willing his mind to overcome the rest of his body. It would be so easy, effortless really, to just reach out and touch her. Grab her. Bring her back down to the mattress and erase the next two hours, making her cry out without tears.
"I can't do it, Rory. I'm not going to beg you to stay. Hell, I'm not even going to stay. We're not seventeen anymore. I'm not the screwed up kid that ran away from his whole life. My life is in Philly, and you don't belong there. What are you going to do, tell your heir to the media empire that you fucked me in my hotel room and end your career faster than if you got caught plagiarizing?"
"No. You can't sit there and pretend that I'm the irrational one here. You wrote that book, Jess. Clearly you didn't stop thinking about me once you left town. The way you wrote them, us," she said, looking into his eyes as she sat down on the bed, her knees pressing into his.
"It's fiction, Rory," he managed, causing a look of anger to flash through her stormy blue eyes. "Based on events that happened a long time ago. My book isn't worth destroying your life."
"So you're running away again? You're going back to Philly to live in obscurity, and publish other people's books instead of your own?"
He leaned in, grabbing her arms and pulling her close to him. "I'm not running from anything. Don't make this about me, because it's not. You're mad at your boyfriend and you're freaked out about how you achieved your success. What we did tonight, maybe we could pass it off as closure, but I'm not your solution. All you can get from pursuing this is more problems. Go home, Rory," he said, letting her go and leaning back against the headboard once again.
"Closure," she shook her head bitterly. "That's what this was," she said, her tone off in a way he couldn't place. He met her gaze, but said nothing. He was standing firm.
"You were just curious," she said slowly. "Research, perhaps," she intonated like a lawyer. "You just wanted to see what it was like to finally get the girl?"
"It's not a problem I've ever had," he defended. She knew it, and he knew she knew it. It was something that ate at her in the past, knowing that she'd been different, though he assured her it was in the best of ways. It never got them what they wanted, though, her being special. Sometimes being special was unsatisfying, frustrating—he'd seen it in her eyes as well as experiencing the pain of trying to honor what he felt for her.
"This girl," she reiterated. "Are you sure you have everything you need?" she asked, her tone now teasing. She let the sheet drop from her hand, and it slipped down her body, revealing smooth curves of alabaster skin as it sank to the floor.
He closed his eyes hard, but it was too late. The image of her body had burned in his mind, like he'd stared directly into the sun. He opened his eyes again to see her, now leaning up to crawl over him, her body achingly close. Her open palm rested on his chest.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked.
"I'm not a virgin anymore, Jess. You're right, we're not seventeen. And this isn't about our curiosity, either. What happened between us," she was now face-to-face with him, her nose brushing his cheek, "you can't tell me that wasn't real."
He kissed her, hard, flipping her back onto the mattress. He turned off all the voices that told him that it was a very bad idea to prolong this situation. If she wanted to play this game, he would give her a run for her money. He was only spurred on by her moans, his mouth and hands working in tandem to not just silence her, but to silence the whole world.
"Are you sure," he asked, his words heavy in her ear. His voice wasn't loud, but it was deep and measured.
She reached up and put both hands on his face, her fingers soft at his cheekbones. "Please don't stop now. Even if you don't need this. Please?"
Her words stilled him. He moved his hands up to hers, taking them in his palms, interlacing their fingers, and moving one to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand while looking into her eyes. "Okay," he said at last, not knowing what he was agreeing to. All he knew was that no matter their reasons, despite the fact that both of them knew that on some level it was bound to be disastrous, it was what he had to do. At their very core, that's all they had ever done. All they knew with one another was crashing together or ripping each other apart. He just wished, for once, that they could find a way to do one without the other.
XXXX
Jess tried to ignore the vibrating sound as he listened to the voice coming out of his cell phone. Normally he put the damn thing on speakerphone and half listened while he got real work done, but he didn't have the guts to wake Rory, who was still passed out in his bed. She was completely vulnerable—relaxed, spread out over more than half his bed. He'd had the thought when he woke up, chilled, that he'd always pegged her for a blanket hog. It also unnerved him—it was one of those personal moments that they'd managed to avoid so well over the years. He didn't want to learn anything else about her that he'd have to push out of his mind in order to move on from this night.
As her phone vibrated against the wood table where the rest of her belongs were waiting for the fourth time, he picked it up while his agent continued to speak in his ear. All the display said was Logan, which he assumed was her rich boyfriend. Most likely the other man was wondering where she was, possibly fearing the worst. That she was alone in an alley, a hospital, or a stranger's trunk. Perhaps he wasn't the doomsday type and pictured her instead at work, or her mother's house. Both were typical locations for her to hide, he would assume. The last place this Logan would place her was naked in this hotel room, not caring that her phone was ringing while her body recovered its energy after a long night of pushing itself to its limits.
He was happy to let her sleep, doing his best to keep his answers, when he realized he needed to give them, to one or two words, a trait he'd perfected over the years. It'd never served him so well, as once she woke up, they'd have to face what had really happened last night. Control had been lost. He'd fight her tooth and nail to regain it, but he wasn't sure that he had the energy. While she slept, he hadn't been so lucky. His agent wasn't helping. The only thing keeping his interest was her damn phone, which was ringing again.
"Did you hear me? This is a game changer, Jess. I'm going to need you to speak, preferably in a positive manner, and give me an answer."
"I'm sorry. What?"
"I said, you hit the bestseller lists. You're in a different game now. A book tour is something you need to agree to. I know you didn't think it was worth it before, but now not only do you owe it to your fans—people who will be much more likely to buy your next book, but it will continue to boost your sales. It's win-win."
He glanced at Rory, who stiffened before shifting in her sleep. Her arm reached out, to where his body had been just minutes before. He watched as her hand seemed to search for him before going still once again.
"Yeah. Sure, make the plan. I'm in."
"You won't regret it. I'll contact you with details soon. Later."
Jess ended the call. At least now he had a legitimate out, one she couldn't argue with. He was leaving, if he knew his agent—and he wished sometimes he didn't—for at least a couple of months. He wouldn't be in New York, nor would he be a train-ride away in Philly. He was now as unavailable as she was, physically if not emotionally. She could hate him for taking off-that was nothing new. It was the price of doing business with her. He was about to be miserable at the mercy of his agent anyhow; not that she would appreciate how he was further disrupting his life for her sake.
"Jess?" she sat up, wiping her eyes, smearing the faint remains of her eye makeup from the night before. He moved to sit next to her, where she'd sought him out moments before. Part of him, somewhere deep in his chest, just for a moment, wished he'd been there for her. Not just to cuddle up with in her last moments of sleep, but so many times.
He shook his head. He needed to get some distance. "Your phone is going crazy," he said, as if he was her receptionist instead of her lover. He was putting up that wall, the one that had to be strong. If he didn't… well, he'd seen what she could get him to do.
"Right. Makes sense."
"You should probably get going," he said, as if he was sure he it was what he wanted. After last night, he was really only sure that it wasn't safe to even think about what he wanted when it came to her.
She frowned. "Oh."
"Look, Rory, I don't need to know what last night was about. You don't have to worry about me calling this guy and ratting you out. We're both adults, we got what we wanted. You should go. I need to pack."
"Wait," she shook her head, her loose hair waving around her face. Her hand went up to push some it behind her ear. "You're leaving?"
He nodded, doing his best to keep his face free of emotion. It used to be a lot easier than it had become. "I told you from the beginning, I can't stay. My life isn't here anymore."
Her eyes flashed with realization. He couldn't have stopped the next thing he said if he wanted to. It was another mistake to potentially give her hope of a different future, but the alternative was her thinking that he was running away from her yet again. He knew from experience that even if it was how it had to be, it was the worst part of leaving her—leaving her to think she was the problem. She was never his problem. He just wasn't her solution.
"I have to go on a book tour."
She sat back. "Oh."
"I don't know when I'd be able to be back. I can't make you any promises. This wasn't about that. Right?"
She shook her head. "No. I feel like I should apologize," she said slowly, as if she were slowly coming out of a fog.
He shook his head. "Don't."
"No, I mean, this wasn't fair to you, or … anyone. I don't know what came over me," she said at last.
"Everyone has their secrets. What's one more?" he asked.
She looked up, her eyes cutting into him. He hated it when she did that. He steeled himself for her words that would no doubt have the ability to crumble him to dust. "I never wanted you to be something I had to hide. But that's how it always is with us, isn't it? We have these amazing stories that we either can't tell anyone or have to change the names and places to protect the innocent," she said, referring to his own creative outlet that stemmed from their time together.
She stood up and began pulling on her clothes. He probably should have had the decency to look away, but it was clear that decency wasn't their main concern. She grabbed her phone and scrolled through the screen before shoving it in her clutch purse. "Do me a favor?" she asked as she took the few steps over to where he now stood, wearing only boxers. After she left, he'd take a long shower, letting the hot water pound on his face, then his back, wishing he could wash more than just the sweat off his skin. There were other byproducts of the night before that he would never be rid of, no matter what he did.
"Depends," he said honestly. If nothing else, they could now be honest with one another.
"If you ever figure it out," she said with a soft sigh, "let me know."
"Figure what out?" he asked, a frown creasing his forehead.
She stood inches from his face, looked into his eyes for a moment, and then she kissed him. It was soft, her lips on his, perhaps it could have been sweet, if they were a normal couple and she was just leaving to go to the grocery or work, or anything other than going back to her boyfriend. Instead, it was at best bittersweet, the way she lingered but never moved it further. When she finally leaned back, he was left shell shocked.
"Us," she said simply as she looked at him one last time before she just turned and left.
He sat down hard on the bed as the door clicked shut. He hated knowing that no matter what else changed in their lives, it always came down to this. Someone leaving, both of them left raw. It would be so much easier if either of them could give up on the other.
He grabbed his laptop, sat back down, and started to write.