Used To Be

Chapter 1: Perfunctory

Author: Knowhere

Rating: R

Disclaimer: The idea, concept, and other miscellaneous belong to me.

AN: No, I'm not dead. No, I haven't forgotten that I've left two stories unfinished so far. I'm working on it. Promise. I just haven't been in the mood to finish up Lux. But I picked it up and started the fourth version of the last chapter. I've decided to scrap it like the previous three. Something's off. However, I picked up Gradual as well and I'm almost finished with the latest chapter. I hope to have it up soon.

Here's my olive branch to my readers. I wrote this…oh, about two years ago? Something like that. I just never posted it because I never knew how to end it. However, I think it ends fine after the second chapter. Initially, it was a three-parter, but I decided to nix it after two. If this seems not quite...up to par, remember I wrote this years ago.

Enjoy!

Summary: Literati. They're on a plateau, no ups or downs, no excitement or joy. They learn that complacency is not the best position to be in. AU.

"Hey, you awake?" The bed shifted as he looks over at me. I blink several times, adjusting to the low lighting of the room. The streetlamp outside and the alarm clock are the only sources of lights present, but even without them, I know exactly what expression he's wearing.

I know without looking that his eyebrow is cocked. The left one, not the right. Always the same eyebrow with that question. He's raised up on an elbow; peering down at me, smirk in place. He's asking a question to which he already knows to answer to. He knows I'm awake. He knows it, but still asked. I suppose it's out of courtesy. After all these years, he hasn't lost his edge, but has gained a certain amount of courtesy. But he was always fairly polite when we were in the bedroom. He never expected something he knew wasn't to be expected. Never demanded anything. Never asked for something that I wasn't going to give. Always made sure I was comfortable. Never let the overwhelming need shadow the necessity for tenderness or love. He's never made it crass, even if what we did wasn't entirely…clean. He has always been considerate. Much more gentle than one would have expected from the bad boy.

"Yeah, I'm awake."

His smirk widens, as if that were possible. "So…?" He left the question hanging. No need to vocalize it. I know what he meant.

I shrug. "Sure; I guess." Why does he bother asking? I knew this was coming. He had mentioned tonight at dinner that he had a rather rough day at work. Said that nothing went right. He always asks that question when he has a hard day, trouble sleeping, or just some frustration to work off. I can read his moods a mile away now. Used to be unpredictable, unknowing as to what to come, exciting and thrilling. Gone.

"Okay." He starts with a quick peck on the lips. Absent are the days where he'd spend fifteen or even thirty minutes just kissing. I remember when he would just lay next to me and kiss me. He would explore my mouth, and I would do the same for him, seeking and hiding, having a nonverbal conversation. I could shut my eyes and recall every crevice of his mouth, every moan that escaped from him when I would push my tongue up against the sensitive part of his lip. I used to be able to draw up these memories with no effort. Now, I wonder what he would do if I were to run my tongue across his lower lip. What about the upper one? Was it still more sensitive to the touch?

I turn my head to the side as he pauses to push some hair off my shoulders. He lays another quick kiss there, and traces his way down my tank top. His other hand reaches from under the covers to work its way across my stomach. His wandering hand spans the width of my tummy and he pushes the cotton of my top up, across the shallow valley of my breasts. He cups the right one in a cold palm and I squirm away in discomfort. One palm covers the entirety of my breast. I've never been quite endowed in that area, but he's never complained and never made me worry that I was inadequate. He used to assure me that it didn't matter; he could make me climax simply from touching, caressing, and massaging my breasts. But now that I'm no longer doubtful, it seems like he doesn't feel the need to reassure me anymore. It only makes me question more. After all these years.

His mouth works my left breast. Perfunctory. A lazy mouth that does its job of getting me worked up enough for when he does the final act. It doesn't push me over the edge anymore; just tingles enough for me to feel turned on. Cold hands trail their way down my side, gripping my hips, and long fingers dip into my underwear. I shift my hips to help him out and in doing so I bump against the hardness in his boxers. He groans above me. I run my hand through his slightly damp hair, down his broad back, and settling on the backs of his thighs. I just leave them there. Not coaxing him forward, but not pushing him away either. He's pulling off my underwear, it's functional pale yellow cotton, and I lift my hips to help him. He's nuzzling my neck and sighs with a yawn. I turn my head to kiss the tip of his nose and he smiles sleepily at me. His expression is open. Nothing guarded, no hidden secrets. That once thrilled me. Unknown. His unknown. His mystery. Gone.

Tugging at his own boxers, he tosses them off to the side and I watch the landing. It's far away from where my underwear went. He adjusts his position from above me and I spread my legs, waiting for what was to certainly come. I wait patiently as he reaches for a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on himself. I used to do it for him. Loved the contrasting feeling of soft and hard. That used to puzzle me. How something could be hard but velvety soft, not loosing the sensation of either. Now he does it. Quick and efficient. He's reaching a hand between my legs and I let my eyes drift shut feeling searching fingers find that particular spot. He knows what gets me going and how to use it. I suppose that comes from years of being together. My body holds no secrets from him, and his from me. He knows the ending and all the twists and turns in between. We read like menus these days. We know what to order, how we'll get it, and how it'll end up. There are no surprises for us.

I sigh loudly as his hand finds that spot once again. He never misses to find that spot. Feeling another finger, I know he's close. His hands come to hold my hips, lifting them up gently in the air, and with a deep breath, he enters. And stills. If I close my eyes I can recall a time where he would pause right now and give me a grin. And a kiss. And another that would lead to more. Now, there's no grin. He's concentrating on the task at hand. Getting off. Both of us. Even to this day, he's concerned about that. He's not using me and I know it. I know it, and it brings a very small amount of comfort. Very small. Not enough.

Another thrust and he grunts. I tangle my hands into his hair and tug gently to get his attention. He's looking up at me and I wrap my legs around his waist in response. He takes a hold of my knees instead and pulls back to quickly lean forward and enter me again. I raise my head to look at him, and I reach between our bodies to grip him as he retracts. His eyes squeeze shut at the sensation and bucks hard into my firm grip. A couple pumps and he pulls out of my hand. He thrusts once more into me with a shudder and he's done. My body's still tingling and I realize that I'm not done. His heavy forehead drops on my shoulder, "Sorry."

With a kiss on his chin, "It's alright."

"Do you want me to…?" He trails off, but his hands have already made a path down my body. This never used to happen. Sure, he might have come before me, sometimes way before, but never used to ask to follow up. He would just take it upon himself to do so.

But I'm not up for it. "No, it's okay. I'm fine."

Raised eyebrows question me. "You sure?"

I smile in reassurance. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay." He leans in to kiss me and pulls back before either one of us can try to deepen it. Rolling onto his side of the bed, he faces me but doesn't touch. "'Night."

I pull the sheets up to cover my bare breasts, feeling oddly exposed and unclean, and I wrap the covers tighter around my body as if I could make myself whole again. "Goodnight."

"Hey." He greets me from the sink. He's wearing pants but no shirt. My eyes run over his back muscles and I miss that tingling feeling I used to get just seeing him parade around the apartment shirtless. He used to parade. Knew exactly what affect it had on me when he showed off his chest, but now he barely sleeps without a shirt anymore.

I smile in return. Gathering my hair into a bun, I wrap the elastic around, and pull the shower curtain. Hot water tumbles from the pipes and I listen to him brushing his teeth from behind. He rinses and wipes his mouth on his towel. Hanging it back up next to mine, it's all crooked and entirely not how it was last night when I had straightened it. I spy it and glare in his direction. He doesn't notice and uses his gel to finish off his hair. I shake my head and step under the spray of the water. It feels nice against tense muscles and I use my shower puff to lather up and watch the soapy bubbles play against my skin.

"I have to be at work early this morning." I barely hear him over the rattle of the water pipes.

"Okay." I continue to rinse off my body and then reach to undo my bun. Dipping my head back to catch the water, I feel wet hair attach to my back.

"So, I'll just see you tonight for dinner?"

"Can't. I'm going out with someone from work for drinks."

"Alright." The bathroom door closes with a muffled sound behind him. Remember when we couldn't even bear to be apart for a couple hours? Remember those text messages that were full of nonsense? Promising to be back within a certain amount of time? Messages that were full of longing and declarations of love? The only reason I remember those is because I've saved them on my phone. I don't look at them anymore. I know they're there and that's enough.

Finishing up in the shower, I grab my clothes that I've chosen beforehand and I run a brush hastily through my wet hair, letting the droplets fall on my back and cling to my shirt. My shoes are ready next to the clothes, and I slip on the heels as I grab my mascara from the dresser. Walking out into the living room, I see that he's left but had enough time to pour a cup of coffee for me. It's in my travel mug, cream and sugar already in, and it sits next to the muffin he laid out. My bag is on the counter with my breakfast, and I reach for the items. Taking a bite of the muffin, I hold it in my mouth as I lock the door and head down the corridor to the elevator.

"Gin and tonic please."

"So, Rory how's this month's issue coming?"

I look over at Jenny. "It's alright. I need to go over the ad space and review the editorials, but other than that, I think we're pretty much done. How goes the marketing department?"

"Great. Everything's handled. No worries." She takes a sip of her drink. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. I met a guy." She smiles mysteriously and leans closer to tell me as if it's a secret.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's great. Works for a law firm. But not very lawyer-y. Very hot. Dark hair, blue eyes, great build. I could just eat him up with a spoon."

I smile at her description. "Where did you two meet?"

"In line at a Starbucks. They screwed up our orders. Gave my drink to him, and his to me, and we just started talking. He bought me another latte because he had already had some of mine, and wrote his number on the cup. We went out last night. Dinner, movie, walk around the city. And a goodnight kiss that made my toes curl." She giggles.

I force a smile. I haven't been on a date with Jess in ages. Or had a kiss that had my toes curling. "That sounds great."

"Oh, you would love him Rory. He's smart but not showy about it. Can keep up a conversation, but didn't make me talk when there were silences. This could be the beginning of something. I'm sure of it."

I nod, but see out of the corner of my eye two guys approaching us at the bar. Unconsciously my eyes take in the length of one of the guys. Dark pants, dark button down shirt, broad shoulders, intense eyes, and messy hair. My body stirs at the sight. "Excuse me." They're leaning between Jenny and me and the dark one smiles at me. I smile back. "Can we buy you ladies some drinks?"

Jenny smiles her charming smile and nods in response. "Sure. I'm Jenny, this is Rory."

The dark one speaks. "Jim, and this is my friend Travis." Jim shakes my hand, and I flush on contact. He looks very much like Jess. "What can I get for you, Rory?"

I push aside my tonic and smile, "Martini. Dry."

"You got it." He orders and I see over his shoulder that Travis has sat down next to Jenny and her back is turned away from me, as she keeps up the conversation over her second cocktail. Jim takes the empty seat next to me. "One martini." He brandishes the newly ordered drink in front of me.

"Thanks."

"I think I've seen you around. You work a couple streets down? At the building across from that French café?"

I nod. "Yes, I work for a political magazine."

"I always wanted to know what business was done at that building. There are no markings or anything. It's a beautiful building." He smiles. "I have an interest in architecture." His finger reaches out surreptitiously and touches the skin of my elbow. I move just a fraction away from his touch.

"Yeah, it's beautiful. But a bit hidden in the shadows of other buildings downtown."

"Nah, I think hidden is wonderful. Makes a person seek for beauty. I like to look beneath the surface. Obvious isn't my style." He moves closer to me.

I lean back and this time, it's apparent that I've done so. I shouldn't be here. I certainly shouldn't be doing this. "Thanks for the drink. It was nice to meet you Jim. I've got to be going."

He looks up at me in a lurch. "Wait…"

I smile and shrug on my jacket.

"Could I call you sometime?"

Reaching for my purse, I shake my head. "I don't think that's a good idea." I walk the couple steps to Jenny, "I'm going home. See you on Monday."

She looks jarred, but leaves me. "Okay, have a nice weekend then."

I close the door softly behind me and see that he's watching television in the dark. The channels occasionally flip from CNN, to the Cartoon Network, to Nick at Nite. I turn on the lights and he cranes his head over the couch to see the disturbance. "Hey."

I drop my purse on the kitchen counter. "Hey, you." Opening the door to the fridge I grab a box of juice and stick in the straw. Taking a gulp, I make my way to the couch to join him. I flop down and look over at him.

He turns down the volume. "How was your night?"

"Fine." I think about the bar. The modern design of the counter, the metal counter coming into contact with my flushed skin, and the dark, dark eyes of that stranger who approached me. The guy who came and I didn't refuse.

"Lorelai called earlier. I told her you were out and that you'd call her tomorrow." He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.

I'm surprised by the action, something that he hasn't done in a while, and I snuggle into his shoulder. "Okay. Thanks. Did she say anything in particular?"

"Not really. Told me about her newest cravings. Pickles and a fried peanut butter sandwich with bananas. She's going to make that kid crazy when it comes out."

I smile. "That's my little sister you're talking about." I poke his stomach.

"It's a good thing Luke owns a diner. Or else she wouldn't be supplied with a constant stream of food."

I laugh. "Yeah, good thing." I wrap my free arm around his stomach and squeeze. He drops a kiss on the crown of my head and I look up at him. He's being uncommonly affectionate. It's like we've gone back to the beginning of our relationship. "You okay?"

He smiles his lazy carefree smile at me. "Yeah. I'm great." He leans in to kiss me and I tilt my head up as an offering. He's holding me tight against him and the remote falls to the floor with a thud. He must have knocked it over. Hands are moving their way into my hair, and pull their way through the tangles. He's positioning me over him and I straddle his lap as he continues to kiss me. Hot, wet tongue work its way down my neck and he's pausing to suck at my jaw.

I let my head fall to the side and suddenly the guy from the bar's face pops into my vision. I blink away the sight, but he's still there. Gripping tighter to Jess, I sink my fingers down into his clavicle and he turns to give attention to the other side of my neck. Dark hair comes into my line of sight, but I see someone else's face instead. It's Jim's face that I'm picturing, and I pull back abruptly from Jess. "Sorry."

His hair is a horrible mess and he looks concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing." I'm quick to respond. "I'm just…tired."

He leans back onto the couch and runs his hands up my thighs. "You sure?"

Instead of turning me on, he's doing exactly the opposite. And I know it's entirely my fault. My mind is not where it should be, and I can't get it back into the right place. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'm just going to go to bed."

He lets me climb off of him without another word, and as I turn the corner into our bedroom, I turn around. His face is hidden behind his hands and he's leaning back on the couch. I sigh.

He lifts off the covers on his side of the bed, and I glance over, pausing my reading. He looks over at me and studies me. I'm growing uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. "What?" I ask.

"Something happen tonight?"

Shock shuts my mouth. I shake my head. "No, what makes you ask?"

"You just seem…off."

"Nothing's wrong."

His eyebrows hop up and he shrugs. "Okay." Flopping on his back he pushes himself up to a sitting position and grabs his book from under the bed. The turns to his dog-eared page and begins to read.

"Jess?"

He doesn't look up from his reading. "Yeah?"

I loose my nerve. "Nothing."

Not paying much attention to me, he continues reading his latest novel. I mark my place in my book and return it to the nightstand. Looking around the room, I take in the surroundings. It's clean, but I see the hamper's getting full. We'll have to do laundry tomorrow. Picture frames litter the dresser, and I get sad thinking of those happy times. There's one of us from graduation. His graduation. I'm in a flowery dress that flows around my knees and he's grinning in his cap and gown. The picture in the heavy silver frame holds the two of us on the Empire State Building. He's hugging me and I had held out the camera at arm's length to capture the New York skyline behind us. His face is buried in my neck, but dark eyes peek up at the camera. He's not smiling, but his eyes shine. I have a wide grin spreading across my face and I can still remember him teasing me about cutting the side of our faces out of the picture. It had taken me three failed attempts to finally get it right. There's another one of us in our apartment the day we moved in. I'm in overalls and he's in a dirty t-shirt, but we have arms wrapped around each other as we cuddled on the couch. He had set the timer on the camera and placed it on the table. It captured us right as he leaned in for a kiss.

Bringing me out of my daydream, he turns off his side of the light. Adjusting his pillow beneath his head, he turns away from me and draws the covers higher.

"'Night Jess."

He nods in return.

"Did you eat all the leftovers?" I call from the kitchen.

From his place on the couch, he asks, "What?"

I roll my eyes but wait as he turns down the television. "I said, did you eat all the leftovers?"

"You mean the pizza?"

"And that pasta we had the other night."

"Yeah, I ate that." He turns to face me. "Sorry, did you want some?"

"Yeah, I wanted some. There's nothing to eat."

He makes a face at my statement. "There's still some of that chicken that I made last night. You haven't eaten that yet. You were out at that bar." His eyes are hard as he says that last bit, but I choose to gnore it.

I just turn back to the fridge to pull out the plate. Popping it into the microwave, I pour a cup of coffee as I wait for it to finish. The television returns to its normal volume and I shake my head as I grab a fork from the drawer. Sitting down at the table with the plate of food and my cup of coffee, I open the newspaper and flip through the first couple of pages. The phone is ringing. "Can you get it?"

"The phone's not here."

I turn. "What do you mean, it's not here?"

"I mean it's not in its cradle by the couch. Where did you leave it?"

"How should I know? I wasn't the last to use the phone. You were."

"Well, I always put it back into the cradle. So obviously you used it last."

I widen my eyes at that statement, but he can't see me. "Can you just look for it?"

"Why can't you?" His eyes are still trained onto the television screen. "I don't care about who's calling. Probably some telemarketer."

I rub my eyes and pause to listen to the machine as it picks up. The caller hangs up.

"See, told you."

I grit my teeth and return to my food.

"You want a sandwich to take to work?"

I pause as I do the dishes and look at him. "What kind?"

"Roast beef."

"No thanks." I prefer turkey.

"Alright." He goes back to making his sandwich and drops the dirty knife and plate into the soapy water as he bags his lunch for tomorrow.

I grip the plate hard and watch him moving around the kitchen as I clean off the mayo and bits of lettuce from the surface. Scrubbing the dish, I deposit it into the dishwasher and continue onto the skillet that he had used this morning to make us eggs.

"Did we run out of yogurt?"

I ask, "Any in the fridge?"

"No."

I roll my eyes. "Then yes, we ran out."

He kicks the door closed with his foot and turns to me, "Thanks for the clarification."

Ignoring his sarcasm, I turn my attention back to the dishes. He's done with his lunch and walks out into the living room to sit back down on the couch. He turns on the stereo and sounds of The Clash fills our apartment. It's giving me a headache but I don't complain. I just finish up the dishes. Closing the door to the dishwasher, I pass by him on the couch without a glance or word and I step into the bathroom.

Pulling off my clothes, I turn on the taps and watch the water fill the tub. Pouring some bubble bath, it froths and I twist my ponytail higher to keep hair out of my face. Stepping into the hot water, I sink down and bend my knees until they poke up through the surface of the water. I sigh and let my head fall to the side of the tub. Hot water lap at my body, relaxing muscles and I close my eyes to give into the sensation. With eyes closed and distant sounds of The Clash filling my head, I think about the times that we've shared a bath. Not a shower, but a long bath.

The first time had been when I had finals at Yale. He came over to my dorm and stayed the night, but found me out of bed in the middle of the night, pouring over my notes. I had been completely stressed out and he had been unable to coax me back into bed. Suddenly he left and went into the adjoining bathroom where I heard the sound of water running. Curious, I had left my desk to see what he was up to. He had lit a couple of candles and was bare-chested, ready to step into the tub. The bathroom light was out and he stretched a hand out to me. Pulling me close to his body, he tugged my hair out of its ponytail and drew my shirt off my body. He stepped into the bath first and sat me down on top of him. Instead of pushing me into the inevitable, he had just sat there with his arms around my lower back, hands massaging tight muscles. I leaned into his touch and wrapped wet arms around his neck. Licking off the water that had accumulated at his neck, he had groaned so loudly that it practically vibrated off the walls of that bathroom. He had shook his head at his own unexpected response, but I had only continued to suck harder, delighted at his reaction. That night we made love in that tiny tub and had discovered just how hard it was to do so. Most of the water had ended up on the floor and we had left the mess for the morning. We tumbled back into bed, tangled up with arms, legs, and covers. Thoroughly relaxed, I aced my final the next morning.

I hear the stereo being turned off, and I lift up my head as I hear him approaching the bathroom. He knocks.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Okay."

He opens the door and glances quickly over to me. He smiles, but turns to the sink. He's washing his hands and my heart and memories sink as he just looks over at me once. His gaze didn't even linger. There once was a time where he would get all riled up just looking at me fully clothed. Now, even when I'm wet and obviously naked, I can't even be graced with a second look. I sit up in the tub, revealing my chest above the water, and I feel some suds collect at my breasts. Looking over at the sound, his eyes flick over my upper body. I smile inwardly at the small triumph. But just as quickly as I assume that I've won, he looks away again. He's drying his hands on his towel and leaves it all crumpled on the hook. I make a face. Softly shutting the door behind him, I drop back into the tub, defeated and angry.

AN: Read and review. Thanks.