("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: giltrob.txt (MF, affair, 1st, parody) Authors name: Laura (luke_n_lorelai@yahoo.com) Story title : Gilmore Girls: The Trouble With Me -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2004. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Gilmore Girls: The Trouble With Me by Laura (luke_n_lorelai@yahoo.com) *** Tristan and Rory meet after a long time only to become entwined in a relationship that probably should have happened. (MF, affair, 1st, parody) *** "Darling, there are only so many beautiful men out there, you know. You can't keep just throwing the perfectly good ones away. They're in short supply." "I'm not throwing anything away..." "Oh come on, honey, you know all the *really* pretty ones are gay...and to find someone as picture perfect as that who *doesn't* check out the same guys you do? It was a once in a lifetime chance!" Jeffrey exclaims, grabbing Rory's hands dramatically and looking at his friend pleadingly. "Jeff, I didn't like him. You don't date someone if you don't really like them. Unless you're Anna Nicole Smith. In which case you don't only date them, you marry them. I'm not about to become Anna Nicole Smith." "Not unless you have a serious boob job," Paris cuts in bluntly. "And by the way, some of us are more interested in studying than debating the merits of Peter's pecs or Sam's smile." "What about Billy's butt?" Jeff retorts, sticking his tongue out at his housemate. Paris rolls her eyes. "It's like you live to annoy me. You do, don't you?" "It's an exceptionally nice ass. And don't try to tell me you haven't looked. I caught you checking him out yesterday in Media Studies." Paris shoots him a deathly glare and returns her attention to the business ethics journal laying in front of her on the bed. Rory turns around in her desk chair, pulling her long dark hair into a loose ponytail. "I'm just not really looking for someone right now, Jeff. Where is it written that a girl must always have a boyfriend, or be looking for one? I'm really, honestly, quite happy without one at the moment. Really." "I almost believed you until the second really. You almost had me. But I see through you." Jeff stands up from his seat on the floor, putting his hands on Rory's shoulders. "It's okay to want a guy. It doesn't make you any less a feminist or whatever it is you two are calling yourselves these days." "We don't call ourselves anything," Paris says, cuttingly. "And if Rory says she doesn't want a boyfriend, she doesn't want one. Can we get back to studying? I have things to learn here and you two aren't helping." "Hey, I'm trying to study," Rory replies defensively. "It's Jeff here that seems to have a problem focusing." "It's not my fault. You're the one who went out with Will Harrington and was home by ten o'clock. I think that might be the record for the shortest date ever," Jeff sighs, flopping himself onto the bed next to Paris. He ruffles her papers and her glare returns. "Paris, nun that you are, you still have to agree with me here. Do you understand what Rory is doing?" "Insulting me and then asking me to be on your side is not the best tactic, just for future reference...but seeing as how it looks like we're not going to start on our work until we beat this dead horse into oblivion....I'll concede that you do have a point." "What point is that?" Rory inquires, snapping her textbook shut and rising from her chair. "Whenever you go out with someone, you barely give him a chance. It's like you're looking to find their faults. Now, I agree that it's important to fully evaluate a future partner and keep a checklist of pros and cons in your head while deciding whether or not to proceed onward to a second date. But even I wouldn't scratch someone in the event of their very first demerit. I'd wait until at least the second or the third," Paris pauses for a moment, looking at Rory thoughtfully. "You know, I never thought I'd say this, Rory, but it seems like you're an even harsher critic than I am." Jeff stares at Paris, dumbfounded. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I pity the man who ends up with you, sweetie, I really do," his voice particularly dry and droll. "Thanks." "I'm not *harsh*...I'm realistic. I know if something's going to work or not. It's obvious right off the bat. It just wasn't right with Will. He was handsome and polite, and intelligent and witty-" "Oh god, stop, stop! The horror, the horror! How could you have put up with it?" Jeff cries out, putting his head in his hands. "Oh shut up," Rory laughs, reaching over and slapping him hard in the arm. "You're impossible. My point was that despite all of these good qualities, we didn't click." "He's not a remote control. Is he supposed to click?" "You know what I mean. It wasn't there between us." "And you knew that from a mere cup of coffee." "Yes, I did. It was a particularly informative cup o' joe." "So then I assume that it didn't click with Tom Finlon. Or Jordon Grant. Or Grant Schyler, for that matter! Or-" "No, it didn't," Rory stops him, knowing he'd continue the list on and on. "And Paris is right. We should be studying, not dissecting my love life." "Or lack thereof," Jeff points out. "I'm seriously going to take you down if you don't stop," Paris snipes at him. "Now open up to page 67 and settle down." "Paris. Have you ever considered being a teacher? Or a dominatrix?" "No and no." "You should consider it. You can make good money as a dominatrix," Jeff informs her, finally cracking open his textbook. "I'll keep it in mind," Paris laughs despite herself. "Now can we get to work?" "If we must," Jeff begins to read, but one glimpse at his watch and all is lost. "It's 12 already? I'm supposed to meet Sonny to go dancing, and I've not even begun to beautify. Gotta run, loves. See you tomorrow for breakfast?" "You're such a pain," Rory mutters, affectionately annoyed, as he kisses her on the cheek. He bounces over to Paris and then flies out of the room, grabbing his black Calvin Klein jacket and messenger bag and giving the pair a quick wave goodbye. As the door shuts, Paris lets out a sigh of exasperation. "Please remind me why we chose to live with him again? Please? Before I pack up his stuff and put it on the curb?" "Because he cooks pasta with vodka sauce and we can barely make mac and cheese?" "Ah, yes. But you know, we could just hire a cook," Paris suggests. "Paris. College student. Try to think like a normal one." "Right. So...what do you want to tackle first? Ethics or-" "He's not right, is he? I mean, you'd tell me, wouldn't you? If he was?" "Rory, there is nothing wrong with wanting to be alone. Our culture has programmed us to want a guy. It's everywhere. On the radio, in the movies, in magazines...I think it's good that you've learned to be independent. Who needs a man?" "You have one." "I have one. Don't need him." "You lie," Rory smirks, and Paris blushes. "That doesn't mean that you have to have one too," Paris remarks. She pauses, eyeing Rory as she flips through the pages of her notebook absentmindedly. "But it is okay to want a boyfriend, if you do." "Excuse me?" "I'm just saying...if you did...that's okay too. I know....I know that you've been...different since what Jess did...and-" "I'm not different," Rory cuts Paris off, looking hurt. "How am I different?" "I didn't mean it like that, I just mean that...Jess changed you. After senior year. These past two years...you've barely let any guy get close to you." "What are you talking about? Jeff is one of my best-" "A straight guy, Rory. One who would actually be romantically interested in you." "I've been focused on my work. You have too. It's important. School comes first. And there was my mom and Luke, and the whole thing with Dave and Lane, and... when would I really have had time for a boyfriend?" Rory asks, her mind backtracking over the past two years. First Sookie had had her baby, and the Luke and her mom had dated and gotten engaged in a whirlwind...the wedding had taken place last year. Dave and Lane had gotten engaged, broken up after Lane's family threw a fit, then gotten back together during their band's small tour of NYC and renewed their engagement. Last month, her mom had called to tell her that she had a "half-sister in the oven" and that Sookie had "her second course cooking" too. They were even expecting around the same date. As for Jess...she hadn't heard a word from him in a year and a half. After one exceptionally awkward and misguided phone call that came out of the blue freshman year, communication was silent. It was just as well. "I've made time for Joon," Paris points out. Ironically, it is Paris who is dating the Korean future doctor. Mrs. Kim still fumes over the missed opportunity for Lane. Whenever she sees the engagement ring on her daughter's finger, she just sighs and says "And to think you could have been Mrs. Joon Yung," in her clipped, disappointed tone. Lane finally learned to laugh it off after the third straight month of hearing it. "It's not impossible to have a guy in your life if you're busy. I just don't think you've opened yourself up to it. You're afraid that you're going to get crushed again. But if you don't at least try someone out, you're going to end up all alone in a small house with 100 cats and an unmowed lawn." "Don't sugarcoat it or anything," Rory remarks. "The neighborhood children will be frightened of you." "Thanks for that." "They'll dare each other to go to your house on Halloween, convinced that little Bobby who used to live down the street ten years ago tried to go in there once and never came back. Even though what really happened is that his dad was sleeping with his secretary so one night his mother took him and up and left." "I thought you wanted to study, Paris?" "I'm just trying to make a point." "Point made. And I assure you, I'm not hiding some secret desire to be partnered off. I'm really content being by myself right now." "If you say so." "I do say so." "Joon's coming up this weekend," Paris states, and Rory sighs, thinking they had finally reached the end of their discussion. "That's nice," Rory takes a sip from her mug, eyeing the door. She would give anything in the world if Paris decided to go back to her own room to study. Paris is quiet for a moment, playing with the corner of a page in her book. Lightly coughing first, she looks at Rory. "Tristans coming too, by the way." Rory almost chokes on her coffee, and swallows fast. "Ow, I swallowed the wrong way, that killed," Rory covers, wincing. "So, Tristans coming? That's great. We haven't seem him since...the beginning of last summer, right?" "Yeah, when he helped us move our stuff in. I talked to him last week, he was over at Joon's. It sounds like he's doing really well." "Oh...good. Good. It'll be nice to see him. It's been too long." "Yeah, it has. I hate to say it, but I miss him. I almost wish he went here instead of Harvard. Don't you?" Paris inquires, her voice too pointed to escape Rory's attention. "I still think it's ironic that of all of us, *he's* the one that ended up at Harvard," Rory states, getting up and walking toward the door, her coffee cup in hand. "Well, he may have been an idiot but he was never stupid," Paris responds. "And if Tristan hadn't gone to Harvard, you never would've met Joon," Rory points out. "True," Paris concedes. Tristan and Paris had taken up together the summer after high school when Tristan returned from military school. Somehow graduating had mellowed Paris slightly and caused Tristan to mature, like a strange inverse relationship. His grandfather's death may have played a part in their renewed friendship and in Tristan's maturity as well, but neither Paris or Tristan ever seemed to want to discuss it. Rory left the subject alone. "I'm going to go get more coffee, you want some?" Rory asks, her cup held tightly in her hand. "No thanks," Paris responds, fully aware that Rory's cup is still quite full, sloshing with liquid. "I'm going to start on Chapter 7." Paris turns her face downward toward her book, but steals a glance up at Rory as she walks away. A small, knowing smile creeps onto Paris' face. ******* Rory watches as the brown liquid swirls down the drain, steam rising from the stainless steel sink as hot hit cold. Rory closes her eyes, trying to force the panic from her mind. She hadn't spoken to Tristan in months. Every time he called, which had been less and less often, she had passed the phone off to Paris with as much as haste as possible. She leans against the counter, staring across the kitchen into their big, messy living room. She hadn't meant for it to happen. It just had. And it had ruined everything between them. The glow of the television casts a flickering blue light on the entire room; Rory can't see what he is watching, but from the sound of it, it seems to be a Law and Order repeat. Straightening out her tank top, which is twisted from all of her tossing and turning, she approaches the couch. His familiar blonde head twists toward hers, a surprised and semi-sleepy smile greeting her. "Hey..." "Hey." Rory circles the couch, smiling faintly at him. Her pulse quickens as his eyes meet hers; part of her knew then that she hadn't really come out of her bedroom for a glass of water. "What are you doing up?" Tristan asks quietly, moving the blanket to make room for her next to him. "I thought you had gone to bed hours ago." "I couldn't sleep," Rory explains, sitting down. The couch cushions sink below her, the springs of the beaten couch weak and old. "Nice pants," Tristan gestures to her pajama bottoms. They are covered in cartoon sheep wearing sunglasses. "My mom thinks that farm animals wearing shades are endlessly amusing." "They are," Tristan puts his finger on one of the sheep on her thigh. His hand moves gently against her leg. Touching him...having him touch her...it happens more often now. In fact, it happens whenever it possibly can. Rory didn't know if he noticed. She had. "Why couldn't you sleep?" "I don't know. A lot on my mind, I guess," Rory shrugs, looking at him. He was looking right back. "Yeah, what do you have on your mind?" He asks softly, moving the blanket over her legs. She moves closer to Tristan automatically, her hand brushing against his bare leg, reminding her that Tristan only has his boxers on as sleepwear. He runs his hand through her long brown hair as he waits for her response patiently. Rory knows he means it to be comforting, but it is the opposite. His caring touch is erotic, his understanding gaze electric. God, she wants him. She shouldn't want him. "It doesn't matter," Rory pulls away from him, not liking the feeling he's creating within her. Or maybe it was that she liked it too much. Anxiously, her own fingers play with the edge of the blanket. "It's just school stuff. Work stuff. Nothing important." "If it's bothering you, it's important," Tristan tells her, his hands reaching down to stop hers from fidgeting. Rory freezes, his skin burning against her skin. "What is it?" "It's..." Rory trails off, her eyes settling on Tristan's pale pink, full lips. His tongue unconsciously darts out to wet them, and Rory can't help herself. Her lips seek out his in the dim, flickering light and Tristan more than willingly accepts her kiss. He pulls her to him tightly, the blanket sliding off the couch and onto the floor. Within minutes, they have already begun undressing one another, clothes joining the blanket in its resting place. "Where are Paris and Joon?" Tristan asks breathlessly as Rory's hands tug at the hem of his loose t-shirt. She lifts it over his head and lets it fall to the ground. Tristan quickly takes her back in his arms. "They went to a hotel for the night.remember? You know how Paris is...about privacy..." Rory murmurs, letting Tristan press her back onto the couch. "Hmm-hmmm," Tristan mumbles back. Not that it mattered. Paris and Joon could've come barging in and Rory would've been lost to them. At that moment, Tristan is everything. And that's how the delicate and chaste Rory Gilmore had lost her virginity. On a lumpy couch in the middle of the night with her high school enemy Tristan DuGrey; Chris Noth interrogating a suspect about killing his business partner playing in the background and stacks of yet-unpacked boxes of kitchen supplies around them. It certainly wasn't what she had ever imagined, making love amongst criminals and cookery. Yet when it was happening, it felt perfect. Amazing, wonderful...he had made her forget all of her worries for a few hours. In the morning, waking up in his arms, her worries all came crashing back down. And that was that. She had pried herself from his embrace and snuck back to her bedroom, leaving him to wake up alone and confused. She avoided him for the remainder of his visit, carefully managing to never be alone in the same room with him so she would have to confront what she had done. He had gotten the point all too well. After two days of Rory shutting him out at every turn, he had left for Harvard, to move into his own apartment. Paris had gone to visit him and Joon that summer and Rory had made up some stupid excuse not to go. Paris came back to New Haven glowing, positive that Rory missed out on the trip of a lifetime by not coming. Rory almost regretted it. Would it have been so bad to visit him? To have a boyfriend at Harvard to go and stay with? Someone to think about at night before going to bed? But she had thrown that all away that June morning. Or perhaps she had even thrown it away the night before, when she had slept with Tristan in the first place. Thinking about it could drive her mad. Rory slams her empty cup onto the counter, getting angrier with herself by the minute. She didn't understand why she had done what she had done. It wasn't because of Jess. Not only because of Jess, anyway. "Rory, are you going all the way to Columbia to get that coffee?" Paris' voice comes from the bedroom, shaking Rory from her intense introspection. "Coming!" Rory quickly pours herself a fresh cup of coffee and heads back to her room, a long battle of wills ahead of her. Focusing on studying would prove to be nearly impossible. ******* He stares out the car window, watching the streetlights go by, burnt-out yellow against the black night sky. Not a star could be seen. Just straight, hopeless black. That probably wasn't a good sign. He doesn't know why he let Paris talk him into this. Why is he doing this? His hand slips down to the door handle, thinking how easy it would be to just open the door and escape. Sure, he'd get a few cuts and bruises as he hit the pavement, but Joon is going slow enough now to keep him from any serious injury. He'd certainly be less injured than if he saw Rory Gilmore, that's for sure. Realizing that throwing himself out of the car would perhaps not be the best solution, Tristan opts to roll down his window instead. Joon gives him a strange look, reaching over and turning up the heat. "It's 30 degrees out there, man. What are you doing?" Joon asks. Tristan doesn't respond, instead leaning his head out the window to feel the wind on his face. It stings. The pain feels nice. Distracting. The winter air is crisp and fresh, the kind of air that seems to freeze your lungs as you breathe it in, sending icicles shooting through your veins. Sighing, he ducks his head back inside and rolls up his window before Joon throws a fit. He pushes a windblown piece of his chin length blonde hair out of his face and looks to Joon, who is alternately glancing at him questioningly and looking back to the road ahead. "Sorry. Needed some fresh air," Tristan mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest. "Are you feeling all right?" Joon inquires, concerned. He turns down the radio. "You look like you're about to throw up." They pass the sign welcoming them to Connecticut as Tristan opens his eyes to respond. He quickly shuts them again. "I think I just might," he mutters, bringing his hands to his face. The last time he saw Rory, she had been sitting in her bedroom, unpacking books from the boxes stacked around her small bedroom. He had said good-bye and she had looked at him like a deer caught in headlights. He waited for her to respond and only received a meek, cracked good- bye as a result. He remembers quite clearly staring at her, not able to fathom how two nights ago they had shared such intimacy. He had been closer to her than he had ever been to anyone. Rory had always been able to cut him deeply. Only she had that power to knife him right in the gut. And with that detached, awful good-bye, she had left him there to bleed. "What are you still doing up?" Tristan asks, watching her enter the living room and circle the couch, coming to a stop next to him. He moves the heavy blue velour blanket from that is spread across the couch and his lap, gesturing for her to sit down. "I thought you went to bed hours ago." Rory sinks down next to him. He tucks the blanket over her, breathing in her distinctly Rory scent of faint vanilla and soft shampoo. "I couldn't sleep," she explains, snuggling her body close to his. Her proximity doesn't go unnoticed. "Nice pants," he teases, putting his finger on one of the white fluffy sheep wearing hot pink rimmed sunglasses that don Rory's flannel pajama pants. Rory laughs lightly. "My mom thinks that farm animals wearing shades are endlessly amusing." "They are," he replies. Not quite sure what he's doing, he begins moving his hand in tiny circles across Rory's thigh, tracing the patterns of sheep. He's sure Rory will swat him away, but she doesn't. She had been allowing him to touch her more lately, and likewise, her hands were wandering. He didn't know what that meant. He didn't even know if she knew the change had taken place. "Why couldn't you sleep?" "I don't know. A lot of things on my mind, I guess..." She sighs, looking up at him. Her eyes meet his and for a brief moment he thinks that he sees desire. Want. Just something different that immediately set him on fire. She moves closer to him as he tucks the blanket around her legs, her hand brushing up against his thigh. It sends a jolt through his body like a bolt of lightning. "Yeah, what do you have on your mind?" He manages to ask, gently, letting his hand drift through her soft hair. He has to resist the urge to close his eyes and breathe her in, the warm, intoxicating smell of her long brown hair wafting toward him. Instead he dips his head to catch her eyes. Rory averts her gaze and pulls away. "It doesn't matter," she mumbles. Tristan recoils slightly, wondering what exactly he had done to cause her reaction. "It's just school stuff, work stuff....nothing important." "If it's bothering you, it's important," He replies, reaching down and taking her hands in his. She has been fidgeting with the blanket; it is making him nervous. He wants her to look at him again. He wants to see if what he saw moments before was for real. "What is it?" "It's..." Rory starts to speak, her eyes almost coming up to meet his. She stops short, her gaze focusing off into nowhere. Tristan waits for a moment, wondering if she's going to finish her sentence, but she doesn't. He opens his mouth to say something when suddenly her lips are on his, her tongue sliding into his open mouth and begging him to respond. He hesitates in surprise for a second, then does what he has always wanted to do. Shoving the blanket onto the floor, he draws Rory into his lap, pulling her close. His mind is a fog; the long-repressed desire to have Rory as his own explodes to the surface. It had been simmering underneath his skin from the second he had seen her sitting on her bed in Paris and Rory's freshmen dorm room. He had come to see Paris and gotten there too early. And there was Rory, just as beautiful as he had left her the night of Romeo & Juliet. He had wanted her right then. But she had acted cordial, but distant. As if she barely knew him, barely remembered him. It had taken two years to get to this point, though he didn't know exactly what point this is. He presses her back onto the couch, bare chest to bare chest, their kisses growing more passionate and desperate by the second. He knew that he shouldn't do what was to come next, he knew that Rory didn't really want to do this, but the feel of warm flesh, Rory's warm flesh was over powering. Almost as if in a daze his hand dips into the waistband of her pajamas, his heart beating faster as he realizes that she still isn't trying to stop him. Then he rolls on top of Rory's unresisting body and fumbles with the fly of his pants; it takes only a moment, but the moment seems like forever as Tristan fumbles with his throbbing erection. It's seems like an eternity to the young man as he positions himself at Rory's slit. Amazingly, Tristan slips into her without further effort on his part. Rory's dripping wet, her lubrication allows him to slip in as deep as he could go and the feeling was heavenly. Warm, wet and tight with the pulse of her heartbeat. Then there was no world, no light surrounding them, only two bodies as one and Tristan began to pull out and push in, faster and faster as if gliding on clouds. They bodies became one, arms wrapped around backs, fingers played over hot flesh as if they were virtuoso's playing an instrument. Everything was perfect, everything was right. Then Tristan's body tensed and his gasped as he filled Rory with his cum, as his body bucked, then bucked again above her, Rory could only hug him and lie there as his passion crashed over her. Her feelings were in turmoil, her body aflame, but guilt and shame fired her thoughts as Tristan finally quieted. Then there was nothing but the sound of two people panting for breath and the moistness of shared perspiration and cooling lubrication were their sexual organs met. Finally Tristan pulled out and lay beside Rory's prostrate body. ** When he awoke the next morning, she was nowhere to be found. He had gotten dressed and made her breakfast, hoping that maybe she had just gone out for a morning paper, but she didn't emerge from behind her locked bedroom door until Paris and Joon arrived home, well into the afternoon. Her breakfast was long gone by then, forgotten in the garbage can. The next two days were utter hell. She would barely talk to him. It was as if he had done something horribly wrong. But she had kissed him, not the other way around. He'd waited so long for her to make the move. She had initiated it all, and during the night she had shown no signs of wanting to stop, or of having second thoughts. Yet she would barely acknowledge him, let alone the fact it happened. It had been over half a year since that night, and apart from stilted, awkward greetings over the telephone, Tristan hadn't heard more than two words from Rory Gilmore. Why he let Joon talk him into this weekend visit, he did not know. "Would you slow down? What's the big hurry?" Tristan suddenly snaps at his friend. Joon looks perplexed, glancing down at the speedometer. "Tristan, I'm going five miles under the speed limit. How much slower do you want me to go?" "Well... it's icy," Tristan mutters, feeling like an idiot. "Do you want me to pull over? You really look like you're going to be sick." "I'll be fine. I just have a headache," he mumbles, closing his eyes once more. "Wake me up if you want me to drive." ******* Rory stumbles into the kitchen, almost tripping over her bunny slippers and sliding on the slippery linoleum. She winces as Paris bangs two pans together accidentally, then sets them both on the stove. "That one has to go on the other burner," Rory mumbles through sleep. "I think...Where's Jeff? What are you doing up so early?" "Jeff must've met up with Morgan last night because Morgan's shoes are by the door and Jeff's not up yet. And I'm up to make breakfast for Joon and Tristan when they get here. They left super early so they could be here the whole day today." "Oh..." Rory replies, blindly feeling her way toward the coffeemaker. Paris puts a mug into her outstretched hands. "Drink and go get dressed. We're going to do a lot of stuff today. I plan to make the most out of this weekend." "Why do I have to get dressed? Joon's not my boyfriend..." Rory snorts, nevertheless heading back to her bedroom. Downing her entire cup of coffee, Rory then throws on a pair of comfortable, worn jeans and a plain white long sleeved shirt. She pulls over a faded old Clash t-shirt with the cover of London Calling on the front, an item she had liberated from Lorelai. Running a brush haphazardly through her hair, she frowns at her reflection. She has a feeling it's going to be a very long day. The doorbell buzzes and she can hear Paris mutter an expletive. Knowing Paris only swore when matters were dire, Rory hurries into the kitchen, assuming her domestically challenged friend had alighted the kitchen in flame. Instead of a fiery blaze, Rory finds Paris running around from the fridge to the stove, in a blind panic. "They're early, Rory. Breakfast is barely started. I wanted this to be perfect!" "Paris, calm down. I'm sure Joon won't mind waiting a few minutes to eat. It's not a big deal," Rory assures her. "You work, I'll get the door." "Thanks," Paris says gratefully, turning back to the stove just in time to see her hash browns start to smoke horribly. "Arrrrghhh!" She lets out a yell of frustration, turning off the burner and grabbing the pan away. Rory shakes her head in dismay and heads toward the front door. "You guys better have a good excuse why you're early, because Paris is currently having an aneurysm in the kitchen," Rory calls through the wall as she walks through the living room. "It's not a pretty picture and I have to say, not a very nice thing to do to you girlfriend, Joo-" Rory opens the door, expecting to see Joon and Tristan standing there, bags in hand. Instead, she finds the last person on earth she wants to see. "Jess," she finishes, her face falling. "Rory," Jess says quietly, trying to gauge her reaction. Rory stares at him, not able to find her voice. He looks exactly the same and totally different. Similar clothes - new leather jacket. Same beat up bag - but with different band patches all over it. New haircut - same beautiful eyes. He isn't smirking now, but Rory somehow knows that it's surely exactly the same. "Is this a bad time?" Jess asks finally, after Rory remains dumbfounded in her doorway. "Curtains on fire! The curtains are on fire! Emergency! Rory!" Paris shrieks from the kitchen. Sounds of pans hitting the floor and water running echo into the foyer. "Yes," Rory responds. Jess opens his mouth to say he'll come back later but Rory cuts him off. "But no time is really good, Jess. Not for this." Rory closes the door on his surprised face and hurries to go save their house from burning to the ground. On the front porch, Jess stands in front of the shut door for a minute, gazing at the engraved oak panels. He is stunned, though this is what he thought would happen. Paradoxical. This reaction is what he deserves and he would've expected it from anyone else. But somehow a small part of him had thought Rory was far too.Rory to not let him in. Rory had apparently changed in two years. Fancy that. Sighing, he turns and walks down the front steps. He stops and turns back, raising his hand to knock on the door again. Jess hesitates, his fist poised, then he drops his hand to his side. "Forget it," he mutters, shaking his head and walking away. He heads down the front walk, slowing as two other men get out of a black BMW parked on the curb and come in his direction. Jess pauses to appraise them; one is a tall Asian man who seems to radiate intelligence, the kind of person you just know is part of some think tank somewhere. The other is a tall blonde who probably could be an obnoxious model for those annoying trendy stores if not for the forlorn look on his face and slouched posture. His judgment passed, Jess continues on his way. The two men pass him and walk up the path to Rory's front door. Jess glances back, his interest piqued. The front door is thrown open by an annoyed looking Rory. Her sour expression melts into happiness and she throws her arms around the Asian man first, kissing him on the cheek and then stepping aside to let him enter. She's left to face the other man. After a moment's hesitation she wraps her arms around him as well, her arms circling his neck as he pulls her close. It is the kind of hug you give someone you used to hug all the time, but you don't anymore. The kind of hug you give someone when you're not quite sure if you should be hugging at all. Rory pulls away and says something to the man, taking his bag from him and leading him inside. The door falls closed. Jess stares at the house, feeling envious of those two, whoever they might be. Rory is inside, with them. He's outside, alone. He had done it to himself, by choice. But he isn't planning on leaving New Haven until Rory Gilmore invited him inside with the same warm smile that made him fall in love with her. He isn't leaving until she's willing to give him a second chance. To Be Continued. Send comments to: luke_n_lorelai@yahoo.com * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 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