A/N: So, a reviewer (watram) suggested making this into a multi-chap, and quite honestly as I neared the end of it the other day, I was getting a sense that it just wasn't quite done. There were a lot of different ways it could go, and it didn't feel as done as most oneshots do for me. Figured I'd wait and see how reviews went, and they went well. Thank you all, by the way. Enjoy!

Forget the Rest

The taste of sweet sugar was beginning to nauseate him. In fact, it was beyond nauseating at this point, as her tongue had barely left his mouth since that afternoon at the tree. They separated for air every now and then, but Shane was a fairly welcome distraction.

Although she was becoming less of a distraction and more of an annoyance as of late.

No matter how much he tried to focus on the physical, the lack of stimulation (other than chemical) from the blond was proving to be a problem for him. He found himself pressed against Shane, imagining the soft slopes of her, the timid, but searching lips of her.

And it made him want to be around Shane less and less.

But when he was alone, it was only worse. The pictures were a blur, but as clear as the sunlight on a summer day; the words were hushed and ran together like white noise, but still so articulate. It was the most dreadful form of torture, but some masochistic part of him welcomed it – because it was the only way he saw her these days, the only way he heard the soft, smooth tone of her voice.

She'd been avoiding him.

It's only Lorelai that comes to the diner in the mornings now. Luke, being his normal dense self, hadn't noticed. But that first day after it happened, Jess noticed the lack of tension in the room, and soon after realized it was because the diner was Rory-less.

It relaxed him at first – finally, he didn't have to be around Shane absolutely constantly. It allowed his brain to gel back into conversations that were up-to-par with the average human mind. It allowed him to actually relax for a bit, his mind lacking the deadly sounds and pictures of her that the summer had created.

But after about the first week or so, he started to feel something in his chest – like little furry animals were burrowing into it, and digging hard. It was near his lung and initially he'd attributed it to him smoking an entire pack of cigarettes for the first time in about a month and a half.

And then one day, he felt about to burst. Staring at Lorelai in the diner as she talked with Luke made him want to punch a goddamn wall.

Because she looked exactly like Rory.

No blond bimbo would ever get him to remove the picture of her from his mind.

That was how it started again.

The flashes began slowly, but surely. He went to bed each night, and the last thought on his mind was her name – barely a whisper in the deep caves of his head. But then it got louder and louder until he felt like he should be committed.

And that was how he got to where he was today – always on edge, ready to snap like a taught rubber band if someone even hinted at anything that vaguely resembled Rory. He heard her name everywhere, saw evidence of her presence everywhere.

But ever since that day, she had always made sure that they weren't in the same place at the same time. It was obvious that she was studiously and fastidiously staying away from him.

She continued to avoid the heat between them, the stimulating currents which so easily flowed when they were near one another.

He knew why. It was because she was scared. She only knew the comfort of that freaking Dean – he thought the name with a level of jealousy previously unknown to his emotional capacity – and refused to see anything beyond it. Every time they got close, she balked. She ran away from it.

Jess wanted to run too, but with every minute he was away from her, his ability to do so only diminished further and further. Damn her for doing this to him, for breaking him. She did it, and left him out in the cold, ignoring him.

He hated the fact that it was affecting him like this, that she was. He wanted his old self back, dammit. She'd stolen him, turned him into this unrecognizable...idiot.

Not seeing her was taking its toll on him, in the worst way imaginable.

Until suddenly, she came back.

Though, that was not without its repercussions, either.

He'd stormed down the stairs from the apartment to the diner one morning, just as he'd been doing all summer – keeping up that normal front of town scoundrel. And as he yanked the apron off of its hook in the storage room and went out to the counter, ready to glare indiscriminately at all the sickening people of Stars Hollow, something swept other him.

The feel of her eyes.

It was unmistakable – that same slight pinch that he'd felt that day at the tree, with Shane. He knew she was looking at him with the smallest hint of fear behind her eyes, but mostly trying to read him, to understand how she'd left him.

Jess turned around to the kitchen, ignoring her, but still half-listening as she and her mother shared a conversation about school starting back up again. The door of the diner swung open with a jingle and Jess glanced over his shoulder only to see a certain tall, dark classmate of his stride in and plop down next to Rory.

She grinned up at him, and only Jess could see that her heart wasn't in it. He knew she was thinking about him, he could see the gears turning in her mind. Just how can I do this to drive the knife in a little further, he sarcastically mocked her, knowing full-well that a thought like that would never cross her pure mind.

Her pure mind that he only wanted to corrupt, just to show her what it was like on the other side.

Jess heard the sound of his lips on hers and clenched his fist on the coffee pot in an effort to stop the onslaught of images of her lips which were filed away deep in his mind. He swallowed and gritted his teeth, turning around to face them.

Her eyes met his instantly, despite the fact that Dean's lips were attached to her own. She immediately pulled away from him and looked down at the counter. Jess continued to scowl in their direction until Dean looked up at him expectantly.

"You keep your face like that, it's gonna freeze, buddy."

"You keep your neck like that, and you'll start hunching. Oh wait..." Jess snarked back at him, a sparkle of devilish mischief in his eyes.

Dean cowered slightly, squinting at Jess.

"You need some glasses, man? Or maybe your girlfriend can read you the menu. Oh, golly, wouldn't that be the sweetest thing!" His head bounced lightly as he snapped at them, his eyes flitting to Rory for a moment. He noticed that her gaze had begun to be intent on him. She didn't watch Dean's expression, only stayed focused on Jess's.

He decided to stop for now. It was getting a bit boring, the whole sarcastic flinging of words with Dean. Especially since his sparring opponent lacked sufficient vocabulary skills.

"What can I get you, side of bacon to go with that face your sucking?" He couldn't resist the final dig, and watched with almost the slightest bit of amusement as Rory blushed at his comment.

Dean merely glowered back at him, and he walked away, grabbing the pot to refill some mugs at other tables. Tables that were far away from the counter.

After about twenty minutes of quiet small-talk, he felt the air in the room change as Rory and Dean left. He watched as she walked the opposite way of him, but not without a parting kiss. Jess wondered for a moment if she imagined his lips the way he did hers. If she thought about his own hands running along the side of her face gently when Dean only grabbed at her her hips possessively.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his book, but not before watching Rory walk down the street, her head hung down a bit more than it normally was. The words blurred before his eyes as thoughts of her looks from this morning flooded his mind again.

He remembered the tingling he'd got, though hadn't admitted at the time, when their eyes met. It was reminiscent of the day at Sookie's wedding, when it seemed like it had been ages since he'd seen her last, and the very presence of her made him want to just touch her skin, to make her feel even half the fire that was beginning to burn beneath his skin.

"Dammit," he swore under his breath, shooting a glance back into the kitchen, where Luke was busy with a frying pan and some sausage links. He jerked the back of his apron off and tossed it back into the store room, coming back to the counter to shout to Luke that he was going on break.

Jess tromped on up the stairs and opened the door. He headed over to the couch and sat down, thrusting his face into his hands and letting out a breath that he was pretty sure had been held in since he figured out Rory had walked into the diner.

He stood up suddenly, striding over to his bed and flopping down on it. As he stared at the ceiling, thoughts wandered. He payed no attention to the slowly darkening room as afternoon light gave way sunset, and only thought of her.

He didn't chide himself, didn't mentally yell a "fuck you, Rory Gilmore", he just let them come. A truly unhealthy part of him welcomed them – because as with all the other times he'd attempted to fight off the memories and the things his mind conjured up, his resistance was futile. And as with all the other times, it was the only way he saw her anymore.

He'd take what he could get.

The way her nose barely curved upwards at the end, but still managed to slope up just a bit, the way she held her coffee pot, the way her eyes sparkled when they got into a particularly heated debate about books.

He wondered how her eyes would sparkle beneath him, under his lips, his hands, under his soul.

He wondered how that nose would feel nuzzling into his neck.

Jess resisted the urge to mentally gag himself. Even though he wasn't pushing the thoughts away, he still didn't relish the thought that these things that he was thinking, and...feeling (he thought the word with a pinch of disgust) were taking him over. He should at least be able to limit them somehow.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. So he lay there, in the darkness of the apartment, briefly wondering where the hell Luke had gone, why he hadn't come up here to make sure Jess wasn't lighting up in the apartment or somehow vandalizing his uncle's property.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he puttered down to the counter in the now-dark, closed-down restaurant. His eyes flicked over a note that Luke had written, giving him some bullshit line about going out to meet a supplier. At 9:00 at night? Jess thought to himself, smirking and shaking his head.

He didn't hear it at first. But just as Jess was about to grab a slice of pie from the secret hiding place Luke was unaware he knew about, his ears perked up at a hesitant, light tap at the door. It was only one finger, and it sounded unsure, fearful.

He knew the tap before he saw the face.

And when he looked up at her, she met his eyes willingly – they betrayed the opposite of what her gentle knock did. She seemed determined, as if she knew what she'd come here for, and she planned on getting it. She nodded at the staircase that led to the apartment, and he wondered momentarily if this was some kind of dream. He searched for the fog that usually accompanied dreams like this.

The confidence and self-assurance of her look threw him for a moment, since she normally hid behind her shy, stuttering facade. He walked slowly over to the door, keeping his eyes locked on hers and tilting his head to the side a bit when he opened and she came in.

They didn't speak when she took a few steps to get inside. She just gave him a smile that held secrets behind her eyes – secrets that for once, he couldn't quite decipher. He smirked at her in return and gestured to the stairs with his arm. As she walked up silently without another look at him, he merely watched her. Rubbing the back of his neck and heaving a sigh, he went upstairs after her.

"Want something to drink?" he asked her casually, shutting the door behind him.

"Nope," she replied, jitters making their way back into her demeanor. Her eyes seemed less focused, and her hands seemed distracted as they wrung themselves a bit behind her back.

"Okay..." Jess said unnecessarily, pacing around the kitchen before finally settling on gripping the counter and looking out the kitchen window.

"Jess...I -" He stopped her before she could begin.

"Why'd you come here, Rory?" Whirling around to face her, he waited for her response, ready for anything at this point.

"I..." all traces of self-confidence from before have vanished, and only her shy, reserved self is bared for him to see. He longs to untangle her again, just so he can feel that heat from the other day, so he can feel the sweltering suffocation of his Rory. "I don't..."

"What, Rory," he bit out, impatient and frustrated as he swallowed against the waves beginning to swirl inside of him.

"I don't know, okay?" She threw up her arms and scrunched up her face in exasperated confusion.

Ah, there it was – she was coming undone, before his eyes.

He sighed and looked away from her, at the door. For a fleeting second the thought crossed his mind that Luke could walk in at any second.

But then she was there. Right there, in front of him. And the heat, the fire, it was back – in full force.

He didn't know when she'd closed the space between them; only knew what was in the present, what was right then, at that moment, her hand, inching closer to his own, closer, so close, but not close enough.

And then yanked away by a string that he was sure Dean controlled.

"Jesus, stop doing that," he mutters, agitated.

"Sorry," she murmurs back.

"Why are you here?"

"Haven't we already established this?" She asked him, a small almost sympathetic smile on her lips – those lips that he wanted to be on his, that he wanted to feel on his neck, his jaw, his chest, lower, lower...

"Where's your mom?" He mumbled, trying to distract himself from the thoughts that flooded his entire being.

There was a pause as she took in the weight of what he was saying. He could see the gears working in her mind – he could tell she was trying to figure out what his plans were, what he wanted with her, of her. The truth was though, he himself didn't know.

"She's working...or at least that was what she said. We had a bit of a fight," She shrugged non-commitally and despite the fact that he wanted to press further (for some reason), he let it go.

"Where's...uh..." Rory gestured rather blindly about the room and Jess followed her thought trail.

"Luke?"

"Yeah..."

"Meeting with some delivery guy..." he wouldn't let her off so easily. "Your mom know you're here?" She bit her lip, coming back up to meet his eyes once more.

"I...left her a note." They'd gotten closer once more, the current began to run tantalizingly in the very small space between them.

Jess really didn't understand how that always happened. Maybe they needed weights put on them when they were in the same room. Because this was pure hell, being so near to her and not tearing at her skin, trying to meld his blazing skin to her own permanently.

"Saying?" He didn't know how he was managing to keep a clear head when she was so close to him, close enough that he could practically feel her heart beating. He steeled his hands at his sides, despite the overwhelming urge to reach out at her. Just an inch, maybe two at the most, and...

No.

"Saying that..." she trailed off and looked at the floor; he knew what was coming, "...I was with Dean."

That was it.

He stormed over to the tiny little linen closet in the corner near the door and yanked out a meter stick before coming back to stand before her.

"Jess...what..." Her voice was cautious, her eyes betraying the slightest of fears.

He held up the large wood stick next to the silhouette of himself, marking where his head stopped. He shoved it in her face.

"That's not Dean," he told her in a low growl. "If I remember right, he's about, oh, yea high, right?" He thrust his arm up into the air, gesturing to the top of the ceiling.

"Now, do I just bear that uncanny of a resemblance to him, and you're blind, or are you purposely here after having lied to your mom about it?"

"I'm...well, I -"

"Rory, it's a yes or no answer."

"Yes."

"You could've just said 'I'm going out', but no, that would've been too easy..." he muttered under his breath, running his hand roughly through his hair as he turned towards the window once more. He heard the soft patter of her feet against the floor of the apartment, and didn't stay away from her this time.

Her hand touched his shoulder carefully, softly, and he waited a moment before turning around to face her. Their eyes met and his demeanor relaxed as he let the warmth rush through him – no longer was it a threatening fire, but instead a welcome simmer.

He wanted so badly to be mad at her. Didn't want to give in so easily – it didn't work like that, not when she was still with...him.

But apparently his hand didn't get that message, because of its own accord, it reached out and grasped hers lightly. She didn't pull away, and he felt small zapping lightning bolts go off at the tips of his fingers. His eyes clouded ever-so-slightly as he watched her take in her lip, not fully biting it, but just worrying it a very little bit.

Did she know what a tease she was?

She let out a small sigh when the pad of his thumb darted around the top of her hand – it was an exact repeat of the gesture in the clearing, but this time, he sensed no hesitation on her part. If anything, she was perhaps a bit more willing than he. He suddenly wondered where this unabashed side of her had come from. Did he bring it out, just like that precise, articulate anger?

He noticed the look in her eyes – it was confused, and once again, he saw the gears turning in her mind before she launched at him, in a tantalizing slow motion, grasping at the back of his hair and pulling on it when her lips softly met his.

Her hands' ministrations contrasted that of her lips' and he was left dazed, just as he had been the first time this had happened, nearly five months ago. Her fingers plucked, searching, while her mouth grazed and brushed, familiarizing herself. Their bodies moved together as he finally came back to his sense of mind and ran his hands down her side to rest at her waist.

She fell into him before he could even pull her, and they stumbled a bit, breaking apart with heavy lids and rushed breaths. Her eyes widened as she met his own, and he got a sudden feeling of déjà vu at the look behind them – shock, astonishment at her forward attitude.

But she didn't fall backwards, away from him, right away. They stayed planted in the moment, relishing it together, and he thought painfully about how this would affect his thoughts, his dreams, for god knew how long until the next time. Pushing the thought away, he brought his hands up to brush the sides of her soft, pink cheeks as he brushed her lips once more, lingering on the top one before pulling away.

The loss he felt when she took a step back, breaking all possible contact, was indescribable. Instinctively, he reached out for her again. She pulled back and put more distance between them.

"Rory," he said softly. His words lost the support of breath and he licked his lips, blinking.

"I don't...understand..." she struggled before continuing, "who I become around you." She finished her thought with words that were concise, even in the soft tone with which they fell from her pink, plump lips. Plump from his own lips...her cheeks red from his very own hands on her, oh how good it felt to say that and not be dreaming.

"You don't...become anyone," he offered up quietly, shrugging a bit. "You're you, always you," his voice was still soft and low and he met her eyes with a soft, understanding gaze.

Rory looked confused once more as her brow wrinkled.

"How can you say that? You don't...we don't..." She sighed heavily. "I don't." She raised a hand, gesturing at nothing in particular in the space between them.

He closed the space between them again, reaching out and feeling triumphant when he grabbed her limp hands from her sides. They became full of life contained within the coarse warmth of his own fingers and he massaged them slightly.

"You're not making sense, Rory," he murmured softly, leaning forward to put his forehead against hers. She nodded slightly, her eyes sparkling when they gazed up at him once again.

He knew he should ask about Dean – he did not want that freak of nature lying in wait for him, lurking, ready to pounce if and when he found out about all of this – but something stopped him.

The all-consuming desire to touch her and to feel her, all of her. Her words, her apprehension, her lips, her hands, her desires – he wanted to absorb them with his eyes, soothe with his touch, swallow with kisses, take her in with the sheer human contact that would wind them up and then slow it all down down with the pleasure of every little thing in the world.

Jess stayed in this moment for once – but just this once, he swore – and kissed her, letting them fall back onto the soft cushions of the couch and tangle together in warmth, in lips, in hands and limbs; he let their bodies mold together and it was there that they forget all the rest of it.

A/N: Goodness. I don't know if that rambled at all. Often, when something that I intended to be pretty short ends up being...well, way long, I worry about having rambled. Anyway, please leave a review, it would be positively delightful (: