Making love to her was something that never ceased to amaze him.
Every time he thought he'd mastered her, knew every little touch to make her gasp and pause and writhe and burst and cling to him, every time he thought he'd know just how to make her quiver and lose it giving all to him, but each and every time his control would falter, his senses getting too absorbed in her scent and sounds, his own body betraying him as his every part seemed to numb with pleasure as he moved inside her.
She would move ever so lightly, or moan into his ear and his control would be lost, his sight blacked out, his chest heaving for air as he pushed into her for release, not able to restrain or guide his own movements anymore.
And the way she would come in his arms was his undoing. She would shiver, gasping for breath as goosebumps formed on her skin. Her eyes would squeeze tightly and she would pant out once, twice, three times, before moaning his name as her body would spasm and release, her sex the center of her convulsions, making him loose all focus.
He willed himself to keep his eyes open as he panted hard. His reward was the couple of seconds of her high dissolving that he could study from close proximity as he held himself still above her. Her face would relax, her slow, uneven breaths helping her whole body release the last joint effort with which it fell over the edge.
He studied the lines of her face slowly disappearing, and her lips curl into a blissful smile as she released one long breath.
Her eyes fluttered open and she blushed self conscious, as his eyes still studied her every movement.
"What are you doing?" she whispered shyly, her voice still shaking.
"Uhm... I think I just fucked you" he replied, his voice deep and raspy from exertion, his smugness earning him a slap on the arm.
"No" she laughed "why are you staring?"
He smiled, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal as he relaxed on top of her, not feeling any motivation to extricate himself from her hold.
"Because you are beautiful" he replied, his face becoming more serious.
He watched as she blushed again, the thin layer of perspiration making her chest shine in the low light of their room.
"God" she groaned, covering her face with her hands.
He snickered, rolling off of her.
He climbed out of bed, not bothering to put anything on as he headed toward the door.
"Look, who's talking" she teased and he turned back to see her on her side, her eyes roaming his naked body, her face still slightly alight.
He smirked noting that she couldn't even flirt with him without blushing. He walked out to the kitchen, getting a bottle of water from the fridge, immediately drinking up half of it, before heading back towards the bedroom, taking the rest of the water back to share with her.
He froze in the middle of the living room, his eyes caught on something. He moved to the table taking the opened letter into his hands. His brows furrowed as he skimmed over the lines and sighed.
He returned to the bedroom, finding her still in bed, her face in a satisfied smile. He walked up to the bed, sitting down on the edge.
Her expression turned annoyed when she saw the letter he was holding.
"Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked concerned.
She sighed, snatching the letter from his hands and dropping it on the nightstand.
"I stopped telling you about rejections after the 25th" she replied, turning back to him.
He watched her, studying her expression.
"I'm sorry" he whispered, not knowing what else to say.
She shook her head, forcing out a smile.
"Don't worry about it. I don't know what I was thinking" she shrugged.
"Rory" he stopped her, but she took a deep breath to continue.
"No, Tristan, it's fine. Do you know how many writers are out there? I don't know why I thought I'd write a book and literary agents would fall over themselves to publish it" she scoffed.
"Rory, it's just a couple of rejections" he tried to sooth her.
"47 rejections" she pointed out, falling back into the bed, exhaling "I guess it's not as good as I thought" she mumbled.
"It is good, Rory" he said, laying down next to her, pulling her close "I loved it."
"That's cause you get to have sex with me" she joked, her face brightening up with a small smile.
He sighed, knowing she was diverting, but he didn't have the heart to push for anything more.
"Maybe we could get the publishers to put a coupon in there" he wondered out aloud.
She giggled, burying her face into his chest.
"You think I should offer sex with a copy of my book?" she laughed.
"It would sell like candy" he replied in mock seriousness.
She laughed wholeheartedly.
"And you wouldn't mind that?" she asked amused.
"Hey, everything for art" he shrugged.
She resumed her laughter and he could feel her body relax in his hold.
He sighed pulling her closer to him.
"Rory" he started to whisper, his voice thick with concern and worry.
"It's alright, let's just forget about it" she cut him off immediately and he saw her force a smile onto her face, her beautiful blue eyes shining with determination.
"Okay" he whispered, giving in.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
He walked into the great hall of the library, balancing the two cups of coffee that were still scorching enough to burn through his mittens.
His eyes searched around and found her, standing by one of the desks. She was on her feet, packing away notes and she was explaining something, features animated, expression overexcited, to the last person still present of her class.
He looked at the teenager with interest, as he leaned against the wall of the room, content to be out of sight as he watched her in this new role that she seemed to really enjoy.
She talked with such passion, such conviction that he couldn't suppress his urge to smile. He was out of hearing range, but he could imagine she was talking about the wonders of whatever book they were currently discussing in class. He loved her intensity, loved her dedication. Loved that she never did anything halfheartedly.
His eyes drifted to the boy listening to Rory intently and his lips curled up in a smile.
Wow.
He hadn't seen that look in a while.
Then again, he was certainly not shocked.
The teenager stared at Rory, with apparent awe, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the seams of his backpack as he watched her speak, watched her every move.
Tristan could tell she wasn't aware of the affect she had on this kid. God, was she ever.
For a second he felt sorry for the poor kid, knowing exactly what it felt to be unreciprocatedly infatuated with Rory Gilmore when you were a horny teenager.
Suddenly all his compassion seemed to vanish at that thought and he pushed himself off the wall, walking up to them in long strides.
Her eyes lit up when she met his eyes.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asked, turning to him as the boy looked at Tristan with an obvious disappointment in his eyes.
He leaned in, kissing her swiftly, pointedly before handing her a cup of coffee.
"Thought I'd bring you some coffee" he replied easily.
He watched as Rory blushed slightly, no doubt horrified by the fact that one of her students just witnessed her kissing Tristan.
The kid seemed to catch the drift though and he shuffled to move away from them.
"Thanks Miss Gilmore, I'll see you next week" he said, heading out towards the exit.
"Alright, Pete, good job" she replied.
Tristan watched him depart with a sense of guilt but also content.
"Miss Gilmore" he repeated, his voice a raspy whisper as he tasted the sound.
She chuckled, dropping into a chair in exhaustion. She took the cup of coffee in her hand, inhaling deep before taking a sip.
"Mmmmm" she hummed, joy spreading throughout all her features and he laughed quietly as he took a chair across from her.
"You are a life saver" she hummed, looking up at him.
"You are totally giving that guy wet dreams" he replied without missing a beat.
She choked on her coffee, coughing violently as she gasped for air.
"What?" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down, taking note of the angry stares that were hitting them thanks to her sudden coughing fit.
He smiled.
"Rory, he was practically drooling" Tristan pointed out.
"What?" she asked again "No, that's not... no" she said shaking her head.
"You are so ridiculous" she brushed him off.
"You are so dense" he replied, a smile threatening to erupt on his face.
She gave him a look before taking a deep breath to launch into an explanation.
"He handed in this paper on the book we were reading and I was telling him what a great job he did. He... he had this incredible theory, I never even thought of it before from that perspective..." she ranted, her look suddenly drifting off as she no doubt recalled the points of the lucky kid's essay.
"He is really good" she went on, her voice suddenly serious, contemplative "I think he has an actual gift, he is so good with words" she went on.
"But then again, what do I know" she murmured, barely audible as she stood to finish her packing.
"Hey" he reached out, grabbing her hand to command her attention.
"Rory" he said, his tone slightly surprised.
She sighed, closing her eyes.
"I know, self pity, so ridiculous" she scoffed.
"Hey" he tried again, standing up to walk over to her side of the desk, "Rory, look, things are gonna turn around, okay? We'll send out new copies, and surely someone will be in their right mind..."
"Tristan" she stopped him, releasing a frustrated sigh "I don't want to do that anymore."
"What?" he asked, not sure he knew what she meant.
"Look, it was a nice experience, writing that... and I don't think it's bad per say..." she faltered, collecting her thoughts "but maybe I was too obsessed with the whole process and I didn't see it for what it was" she finished, seemingly struggling the right words to express herself.
"For what it was?" he repeated her words, his voice insecure as he felt the whole mood change.
He felt as though he was suddenly on dangerous ground.
"Yes. It was..." she searched for the right word "therapeutic. And a relief even, to be writing again."
"If you're going to say 'but maybe that's not what I'm supposed to be doing' I am going to spill coffee on the Hemingway section" he warned, his body tense as he watched her chuckle.
"I wasn't going to say that" she said rolling her eyes.
He looked at her wearily.
"I know I am supposed to write. I know that it's what makes me happy and I just need to find the right... form" she shrugged.
"So what if that stupid novel wasn't the right form?" she asked looking at him smiling.
"It doesn't matter. That novel doesn't matter. All that matters is that I am not going to do something that doesn't make me happy anymore and I am not going to let that influence me and my life, and destroy the things that do make me happy, okay?" she asked, her voice exhilarated.
He sighed, knowing she was determined.
"That's great Rory" he said, hating to drag her mind back to obsessing again "but that novel is good" he said "and you shouldn't give up on it, just because the first couple of agents failed to realize that."
She sighed, obviously annoyed by his persistence. She put on her coat and grabbed her bag.
"Well, it's out there" she stated simply as she walked towards the exit, forcing him to follow her "It's on a table in every single publishing company in this country, or dark room, or pile of work to be read, or where ever they keep books no one gives a shit about and if someday someone ever reads it and finds it interesting in the least bit, they have my contact" she said reaching the door and turning back to smile at him brilliantly "and if not, then that's fine too" she added before walking out into the street.
He stood behind, staring at the swinging door, sighing wearily as he found the strength to follow her.
xxxxxxxxxxx
He was standing in the doorway of her study.
Practically, it was still his study, in his apartment, but he had not set foot in there since she started writing again.
This was her territory, her sanctuary and he wasn't even sure he would feel familiar with the walls and windows and bookcases inside.
He leaned against the door frame, staring at the lone desk, with her laptop on it.
Their evening discussion replayed in his head and he felt anxiety, a kind of pressure he had not felt in a long while.
Her words made sense and she certainly seemed to have made peace with the situation, but he couldn't help feeling cheated. Feeling like it was wrong to let this go, to give this up.
He remembered the day she placed the manuscript in his hand, before he left for the office. He remembered her face in a slight flush and how she purposely chose the moment before he was about to walk out of to door, heading toward the office. Knowing that he wouldn't have a chance to question or to stay and talk if he did not want to be late.
He was half an hour late that morning.
He smiled as he recalled the memory of that morning, first the immense pride he felt, holding the collection of paper in his hand. Then the extreme gratitude when he realized he was the first person to do so, besides her.
His fingers nearly trembled as he flipped through the pages and even though he recognized the pattern of the pharagraps, recognized the words, having read most of her work while it was still in progress, he still felt and incredible urge to drop everything and start reading right in the hallway of the apartment. She had to use actual force to convince him not too, distracting him with her body fresh out of the shower.
He spent most of the day reading the manuscript in the end anyway, blowing off several meetings and almost being late from court. And then he spent most of the night making love to her, not having another way to express his gratitude, admiration and awe for her.
The book enchanted him, talked to him, made her more real and understandable than any conversation ever could. Her stories of life and growing up and finding truths and becoming were dancing in his head for hours and days and weeks. There never was a doubt in his mind that her book wasn't anything less than incredible. The fact that he felt his shortcoming when it came to expressing that and conveying his feelings about it to her didn't change that. He knew, even if he wasn't an expert on literature or art, that her voice was unique, that her words were captivating, and he knew that it wasn't just because he adored her and every part of her. It was because she had talent, she had real and actual talent.
He took a deep breath, taking a determined step inside the study, walking up to the desk. He knew were the manuscript was, second drawer from the bottom.
He pulled the drawer out as he sat on the chair in front of the desk and sure enough it was there, sitting in perfect stillness in the dark confinement of the drawer.
He closed it, letting out a long breath, half relieved, half burdened and he stared up, out the window as his thoughts raced in his head.
Anxiety was always a force of drive for him. And even now he was trying to find the way where it was guiding him.
He knew she meant her words. Knew she'd come to terms with rejection. Come to terms with the fact that life didn't always magically work itself out. That sometimes you would have dreams that crumbled, that turned out to be not quite what you expected. She seemed to have had a number of those experiences in the not so distant past. But he wasn't sure that acceptance was the way to go. He wasn't sure that this was her path. Everything always worked for her if she took matters into her own hand and found a way. But what if she didn't have the determination to fight this one? Had she really tried all her options? Or were there things holding her back? What were those reasons? Were they legitimate? Or were they just all a result of not having enough courage?
As the plan materialized in his head, his heartbeat sped up. He was certain that it was what he had to do, what he was going to do, but he was not sure how it would end.
He got up, walking back to the bedroom through the dark apartment, feeling thankful for the warmth he felt as he stepped inside. Her sleeping form on the bed seemed to call to him and he moved slowly, quietly, climbing in the bed with careful movements as to not to disturb her.
She stirred anyway, unconsciously moving to feel the warmth of his own body and he froze instinctively as her softness met his contours. He felt another wave, the anxiety in his chest gripping harder and he pulled her closer as a reflex, not bothering to be careful enough not to wake her.
She moaned a small moan and stretched in his arms, blinking to awareness as he studied her face.
"Where were you?" she murmured.
"Bathroom" he lied, the sound of her voice slightly quieting the waves inside his chest.
"What time is it?" she groaned and he looked over her should to catch the numbers on her clock.
"2:24" he replied with a sigh.
"Why are you so awake?" she furrowed her brows as her eyes seemingly adjusted to the dark.
"I don't know" he sighed.
"Is this about work?" she asked, her voice suddenly concerned, her whole body instantly more awake as she turned onto her side to face him.
His hand moved to caress her face and he smiled.
"No, everything is fine. Must be a warm front coming" he shrugged.
"What are you, 72?" she chuckled.
"Not quite" he smirked moving over her in one quick motion.
The rest of the anxiety in his chest finally disappeared as his lips moved to her neck and she giggled in response, wriggling under him slightly.
"You wake me up for this, DuGray?" she chuckled.
"You mind?" he retorted, his hand finding its way under her nightgown to caress her sex.
Her eyes closed immediately, her breathing hitching.
"No" she murmured and he smirked.
"I thought so."
xxxxxxxx
"I hate that you have to go so out of the blue" she said, trying to keep her voice composed, but he knew it was hard for her.
He felt a pang of guilt watching her forcing a smile on her face.
"It's just two days" he said quietly, "I'll be back on Wednesday."
"Yeah, I know, I just wish I knew beforehand" she shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant.
"The client requested a consultation, it's urgent" he mumbled taking a deep breath as the lie tasted sour in his mouth.
"Yeah, I understand, just..." she sighed "hurry back, okay?" she smiled.
He nodded.
"And don't have too much fun in LA, okay?" she added.
He cringed slightly, remembering he lied about the destination too, not wanting to raise suspicion.
"I'll be in an office for two days straight Rory, I doubt I'll come back with a tan" he said, speaking so low he wasn't sure she would hear over the traffic noise on the busy sidewalk.
"You about done saying goodbye?" the cab driver called out impatiently and he turned around to shoot him a look, before turning back to pull Rory into his arms.
"Go back inside, I don't want you catching a cold" he said as he felt her cold body clad in only a thin sweater. She had walked him down without grabbing her coat and he felt guilty even for that.
"Alright" she nodded, rising onto her toes to give him a quick kiss before backing away from him and the car.
"Call me when you land?" she asked, a smile spreading on her face.
He pulled her back instinctively before she could get out of reach, his lips finding hers again. He felt her gasp as he kissed her with a sudden intensity, his whole body yearning for the feeling he was worried he might not feel again after what he was planning on doing. He kissed her with a desperate passion, his whole body electric with want as she melted into his hold.
He finally let her go, feeling her shiver lightly, the anxiety instantly stronger in his chest as her body distanced from his.
"Wow" she smiled a silly grin "hurry back."
He got in the cab, his chest feeling heavy.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"JFK" he replied watching Rory hug herself for warmth on the sidewalk.
The cab moved away and he turned to keep her in his sight, feeling even more guilty as he knew she wouldn't leave her spot despite the cold until the cab got out of her sight.
"That's a nice girl you got there" the cab driver pointed out.
He gave him another warning look in the rear view mirror and the guy seemed to catch his drift, because he dropped the subject.
"Where are you flying to?" he asked as he turned the corner.
Tristan sighed.
"Philadelphia."
"City of brotherly love, huh?" the cabbie countered.
He scoffed at the notion.
"Yeah, we'll see."