TA-DA! The awaited sequel is finally here. Escaping the Inescapable was set junior year, this is senior year, sorry for discrepancies. It's currently late fall, winter.....Tristan and Rory are kind of officially dating, they're best friends first and they don't usually try to get physical, for good reasons. But hey, as fate would have it...things happen...This is the beginning of a slightly shorter series chronicling the first major problem they come across...or problems...let's just say this is the point where Tristan has to fight that battle to finally kill his past urges. It's a big choice....even though it's Rory..he'll be having a hard time. People don't change overnight, ya'll.
Will he? Won't he? Can he help himself?? We'll see. Lots of nice angst in this one for ya'll, and a tease ending.....
Disclaimer: I wrote the story line, that's the only thing that's mine. Props to Dave Matthews for the song/title idea
Enjoy.
Luce
Days drifted into weeks, then months, then years..........lifetimes rolled by......
"Ms. Gilmore?" the harsh voice screeched the dream to a halt.
Rory's head snapped up violently, her mouth opened for words, but none came.
"Yes, no, ..uh.....could you repeat the question?" she stammered, loathing herself for having drifted out like that.
"Have you brought your consent form? For the trip this weekend?" snapped the woman, clearly impatient. "You were aware that all permission waivers were to be collected at the end of class today, were you not?"
Rory desperately searched in her backpack, producing the slip of paper triumphantly, a little flustered.
"Here it is, ma'am," she said nervously, and the teacher snapped it and passed.
Relieved, she leaned back in her seat and grinned.
The bell rang mercifully, and she sprang up from her seat and headed to her locker. Fumbling with the ever-uncooperative lock, she groaned as the locker refused to budge.
"Goddamn you, you'll do as I tell you to or I'll beat you until you do," she muttered towards the sulky locker.
"Alright, alright, I'll make out with you in the hallway, just don't beat me," she heard a smooth voice behind her say, warm and close as two arms firmly planted themselves on either side of them.
"Tristan, hello to you too," she said, rolling her eyes and banging on the locker.
"I knew you were dominatrix by night," he whispered, making her giggle.
"I think the topic was my locker, not you." she said dryly, trying to evade the tiny kisses he was discreetly trying to plant on her ear.
"I could have sworn you were talking about me. You don't get that mad at anyone else." he joked, and stepped back, giving her more room.
"Yes Tristan, I want you. You're incredible. I command you to strip right now and take me, right here. But before that, can you open my locker?"
The boy took a dry swallow and smacked his fist in the side of the locker twice. It sprang open like magic.
"Can I get a reward?" he smiled, lazy and sexy, watching her under those thick fringed lashes.
"Nope. Locker opener comes in the job description. Where's that contract we signed? Only a few months on the job and he already wants a raise....." said Rory, ignoring her own words.
When she saw his clearly wicked smirk, she blushed.
"Whoa, stop that! Get your mind out of the gutter! Everything I say is innocent!" she hissed, heading down the hallway.
"Yeah right. Hey everyone, Rory Gilmore's kinda frisky today. Maintain a safe distance."
"Tristan!"
"Just calling it like I see it." Tristan smirked.
She tried her hardest to be angry, and failed very passively.
"You're .....insane.....irrepressible.....an absolute egomaniac. You're lucky to be in my good graces, I don't see how it happened." Rory sighed, exiting the building.
"That, Mary Mary Quite Contrary, I can't argue with." he said, and abruptly grabbed her arm in a gentle motion.
"What?" she said, swinging around to face him, a bright smile lighting up her face.
He quickly lowered his head and planted a deep, sweet one on her unsuspecting mouth. A little dizzy, she backed away.
"What the...I thought we weren't doing that here!" she whispered furiously, her eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed.
"I might as well apologize. Just letting you know, I'm not really sorry though." Tristan said, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Give me one reason that you would risk my happiness by doing that." she said, angry, marching forward, trying to suppress the huge smile that just wanted to break through her face.
"Well, you see, I was sitting in first block when I saw you in the hallway, and your cheeks were all red from the cold, and your mouth, and I was wondering if you'd taste as cold as you looked, and all of a sudden I really, really, really wanted to kiss you. The thought just kinda followed me the rest of the day. C'mon, don't be mad. I'm not completely trained yet. Here, slap my wrist." whispered Tristan playfully, watching her closely.
She couldn't help but smile anymore, and when it broke through the surface, it was like the sun glistening off the diamond sugar snowbanks.
"What am I going to do with you?" she said, pulling his face close. She gazed into his eyes, so full of life, brimming with energy, with schemes, with a calm, cocky air of true confidence. He was a golden boy, absolutely untouchable, mysterious, handsome, and irresistible; and only she had him, only she was anywhere close to controlling him. He scared her sometimes, and today might have been one of those times.
Slowly, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he smiled a seductive smile that sent chills all the way down her body.
"Ok, bedroom eyes need to be averted away from poor Rory. What is up with you today?" she asked incredulously, happily grinning.
"I feel like I own the world. All except for you, O high and mighty one," he said with mock humbleness, bowing his head towards her.
She lightly smacked it.
"Any reason for that?" Rory asked, as they descended the steps.
"Hmmm....must be the thought of this weekend in Boston with out American History class....and you. Lemme guess, you have this neat little packing list and you check off each thing as you fold it in the suitcase. Rory Gilmore, the queen of all that is precise..." Tristan laughed.
"Actually, I'm packing tonight. Our house is a mess right now, I can't find anything."
"I've never known your house not to be a mess."
"Yeah well, some of us can't hire Dominican maids to clean it."
"Cheap shot." pouted Tristan.
"You questioned a Gilmore way. You deserved that."
"What's my punishment? Are you gonna make me vacuum your house?"
Rory shuddered.
"It would be kinder to incarcerate you for life. That's how long you'll be trying to find the vacuum anyways...."
"Did you want to drive down with me? Since we're seniors now, you know we can drive ourselves and check into the Sheraton at 6 on Friday. It's a pretty long trip.." asked Tristan, flipping his car keys.
"Sure," she smiled brightly. "We've had longer trips." she said, her eyes glowing soft with inside secrets.
He looked at her mutely, and shook his head. A slow and wide smile took over his face as he climbed into his car.
"Hop in. I'll take you home."
"No."
"Oh c'mon, you've let me take you home lots of times before."
"Like when?" countered Rory.
"Well, last year." he said, racking his brain.
"Hey, didn't we end up in Louisiana? That's what I thought. Bus for me." said Rory sarcastically, marching down to her stop.
"I took you home other times! Don't be obstinate. Not like I can't afford the gas." he groaned, glaring.
"Wow, you managed to contradict me, call me a name, and rub your wealth in my face all in one sentence! Congratulations. I'll be seeing you tomorrow."
"Mary," he called out softly, and she stopped short at the sound of his voice.
The name still had the same effect on her as before.
Rory was her name; he had ceased calling her Mary consistently, since she was no longer just Mary to him. But there were memories attached, moment of dark silence in-between breaths, sweet gold sunlight slanting on cream colored sheets in New Orleans mornings, just the soft sound of the syllables. The word came out so intimately alluring, so full of nuances that froze her when she heard them. He knew, and used it sparingly and wisely. There was power in the word. He let her now with a single sound how much he needed her, how much he wanted her, what she did to him.
Quietly, she slipped into the passenger seat.
"Tristan, look, Stars Hollow is out of the way. You don't have to do this everyday. It makes me feel really bad, so just for my sake, can you not?"
Tristan looked at her with disbelief.
"Oh for Chrissake Rory, that was nice bull, but, it was still bull. Deal with it."
The two rode in silence for a moment, a smile creeping over her features.
"You know, I kinda like you," she said, with a fresh and teasing honesty that he breathed in with relief.
"I would hope so," he grinned, and stepped on the pedal, making Rory scream out admonitions as she laughed.
She found something unbelievably sexy in the way he drove. His features were always tensed in concentration, he handsomely sculpted jaw line even more defined, the eyes focused, a tiny grin on his face as he made the motor roar. The sinewy arms flexed, and she could see them where he had rolled his shirtsleeves up as he worked the gears in perfect timing to the car's response. She felt an crazy, happy sensation every time he sped around a curve so fast that the gravity tore her to one side, and left her lightheaded. They flew over the roads, darting in and out of highway traffic with perfect ease, changing lanes in tight spots, speeding unbelievably. She held on tight to the hand rest and begged him to slow down, but he knew she didn't really mean it. She watched the muscles in his neck and chest tighten and relax as he changed gears and squeezed in and out, taking the ramp at a maddening speed. He knew the look in her eyes, and furtively, he smiled a secret smile at her innocence and girlishness and mad, joyful laughter.
Burning rubber into the driveway, he stopped the car with a halt and listened as her crazy, gasping giggle poured through the open door as she lithely emerged from the steel and silver cocoon.
"This is why I don't let you drive me home!" she playfully yelled, grabbing her backpack.
"You're here half an hour early! Don't even deny you liked it."
"I saw my life pass before my eyes." said Rory, rolling her eyes.
"You know you want to again," he said, smiling his secret smile, and suddenly, she knew he had known exactly what she was thinking when she watched him drive.
"I highly doubt you know exactly what I want." she said, a little flushed, slamming his door.
He rolled down the window.
"Maybe, but I know denial when I see it," he yelled after her. She paused for a moment, and looked at him expressionlessly.
Running inside, she slammed the door.
He leaned his head back on the headrest, ran a hand through his hair, and allowed the grin to spread over his face.
"The wheels of progress are turning," he thought to himself absently, his teacher's words in American History that morning. Maybe there was something yet he had learned at school.
"A vacation. Without me. Unfair." muttered Lorelai Gilmore as she screeched into the long, winding driveway before the stone mansion. Impeccably manicured lawns and gardens surrounded them, tall elms and oaks shading the beautiful house.
"Oh cmon, only one weekend, you'll live," grinned Rory good naturedly.
"And you get to spend it with Hot Tristan."
"You want him more than I do, don't you. Freud had a name for this. Well, feel free. Just don't take him across state lines, they'll arrest you for kidnapping a minor," giggled Rory, lightly stepping out of the car. Lorelai rolled her eyes and tossed the Adidas duffel out.
"Begone. Don't do anything I wouldn't do now but probably did at 16, and call me on my cell when you get settled in tonight. Alright?" said Lorelai, giving her a cautionary look.
"Yes sir, petty officer sir, I will report to headquarters at twenty double o sharp."
"That's what I like to hear." grinned Lorelai. "Git. Ah'ma be layte fo' my randey-voo with Lukas at the dinah" she swooned, feinting a lovestruck sickness.
Rory made a face of disgust, picked up her duffel and raced to the front steps. She waved bye as her mom sped out the driveway, and then took a deep breath. Turning around, she rang the doorbell.
She knew something was wrong the minute the door opened; it was the butler. His somber face accosted her, and she smiled uneasily.
"Rory...uh Lorelai...here for Tristan? We're driving to Boston...um.." stammered Rory, nervously watching his reaction. The butler said nothing, just motioned her in. He was used to every excuse under the sun that girls used when they came to the house. Rory felt this and blushed, wondering what he was really thinking.
"Mr. DuGrey is in the solarium," he said haughtily, and pointed her down a richly ornamented hallway.
She followed the expensive Oriental carpet down the spacious hall, gazing at the paintings on the walls curiously; she peeked into rooms surreptitiously, trying to find the right one. She had almost given up hope and declared herself completely lost when she heard a clinking sound.
She entered a spacious room with a huge glass bay window that took up most of one wall; the other walls were stone, with a fireplace as the centerpiece. Huge, soft couches decorated the room as well as a small fountain that twinkled in the semi darkness of the room. There was a built in bar in the wall, and when she peeked over, she saw Tristan's form behind it.
Quietly, she crept into the room, softly calling out his name.
"Tristan....." she whispered, and he whirled around.
An odd sense of fear invaded her as she beheld his face. It was far from calm, turbulent and moody shadows drifting behind the normal facade, his eyes stormy and unsteady. He didn't look well, but he managed to smile, and try.
"Mary, mary. Hey, now that you're in my house, half the work is done. Now just let me liquor you up. What'll you have?" he grinned half heartedly, leaning on the polished mahogany bar counter.
She took a seat at one of the stools, and leaned in confidentially.
"I'm underage, babe. Do I still get that free counseling?"
"At least some cognac. Or maybe a wine cooler. Spritz?" said Tristan, and plunked down a glass with remarkable expertise, pouring from two bottles at the same time, swirling it, and adding some raspberry juice, half frozen.
"I don't drink," she said firmly, feeling the need to down the whole thing in his presence. "But out of curiosity, what exactly did you make me?" she asked, studying him, trying to get a foot hold.
"A DuGrey exclusive. Sleeping Beauty," he whispered, leaning in close, his mouth drawing out each movement of sound. Her legs went limp.
"You're a tease," she whispered back, and picked up the drink, taking a tiny sip and feeling the world spin out from under her. It had nothing to do with the alcohol.
He splashed down some gin on the rocks for himself and went to stand by the window in silence. She studied his boyish, lithe, profile against the evening blueness, and felt the sadness seeping out from inside him. He wore a beige crew neck sweater that followed the powerful outlines of his chest and arms, curving over the tight curves of his rear and ending abruptly over the rough, prepster baggy jeans that followed his legs and folded above his expensive Hilfiger shoes. His posture was stand-offish, and yet defeated; it was cocky and assured as ever, but there was a falseness to the angles of his body that she scrutinized carefully. He swallowed the contents of his glass in one breath and swirled the little that was left along the bottom. Pain shone from his eyes, reflected in the light blue darkness. She desperately wanted to turn on a light.
She let her eyes sweep over the room, noticing the beautiful clock on the wall that was undoubtedly a very old, treasured timepiece bought long ago. It's hands seemed to almost sadly watch him along with Rory, and she sighed.
"Hey, when should we go? Cause it's pretty late and if we wan-"
"I could have known. Even John Kennedy had his affairs, but he should have known she wasn't gonna stay forever."
Rory froze at the chilled tone of his voice; it was full of rage. Tristan turned around to face her, his eyes glinting in the blueness.
"What?" she asked as quietly as possible.
"She was sleeping with the motherfucker right here in this house, up there on that bed where they made me, he was fucking her brains out. How long? Hmm, well we don't know. About two years? One year? Oh c'mon honey, I haven't treated you that bad. Don't go scandalizing, smearing the name. Oh well, too late....everyone will know before long. While my father's in his office in Boston straddling a secretary, she's home alone with Tristan being a damn nuisance. Poor mommy......." hissed Tristan through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as Rory listened in horror.
"Your mom had an affair....she's leaving?" Rory asked numbly, feeling his pain spearing her.
He nodded, struggling, trying to breathe. His voice was harsh and raw with unbidden emotion.
"Dad has his share. But it was always supposed to be that way. Anyone who's rich does. They fuck each other at Garden Parties and Holiday Parties and the Country Club and Dinners; but I always thought she'd stay. She has no right...."
His voice broke into silence over that last syllable. A mess of emotions was twisted and tangling his features; she wanted to cry for him.
"I ....when did you find out.....oh ...Tristan...God!"
She watched in horrified disbelief as his hand shook on the glass; he was cold, furious, confused, desperately sad, maddened. Numbly, she watched the crystal fly through the air, beams of diamond light slicing through it's rainbow reflection.
The glass crashed against the fireplace with a terrifying sharp scream of slivers slicing the air around the stone; Rory gasped breathless, shrinking back.
He stood still, watching the shattered glass on the carpet, the thin liquid seeping in the expensive white Persian rug as though in a horrible nightmare. Groaning, he fell onto the couch, sinking into it, his face in his hands. He felt a hot liquid burning the back of his eyelids, an unfamiliar feeling.
Rory tried to disappear into the wall, her face pale, watching him with eyes wide as the midday sky; the room was cold and sterile, the leather couches cold and unfeeling, the fireplace dead and cool with the memories of a million unlighted fires.
She silently watched Tristan struggling, desperate for a feeling, for anything; not knowing what to do, she acted on some sort of autopilot, creeping towards the fireplace. Numbly, she picked up the shattered glass, feeling a tiny sliver slice through her finger. Too scared to cry out, she confusedly picked up the pieces in her hand, and stared at the translucent shards. Biting back the tears that pooled on the surface of her eyes, she deposited of the glass quickly, and approached the tortured boy on the couch.
With the flutter of slender muscles, she slid in next to him, her hands reaching out towards him in a dance of reluctance; he did not seem to respond, and she felt very old all of a sudden.
"I'm so sad for you," she said, and the words came out simple and clear.
She was not sorry for him.
The words seemed to drift towards him like clean air, and he breathed them in whole.
"Forgive me," he said through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back the emotion.
"It's not hard to do," her pained voice spoke, and her head rested on his shoulder.
A sudden rush of heat swirled inside him, the hurt welling up in his throat, regret pouring into his eyes, closed to hold her back. Reaching out blindly, he buried himself inside her suddenly, and he shook; his mouth sought to form words that she understood and she rocked him. Holding him close, she crawled into his lap and held his head as he shook, whispering jumbled words into her collarbones.
"Shhhh, it's alright, don't say anything," she sobbed out, and his hands painfully wrapped themselves around her, crushing her. They clung to each other in the cold, empty room full of accusing, expensive reminders; she held him as tight as she could, afraid he would disappear if she didn't hold on hard enough.
"I need you," he groaned, and she felt a single burning drop between his eye and her skin, as her tears mingled into his hair, leaving it damp. She kissed the top of his head like a mother would, comforting him, when his face snapped up violently.
His mouth was hot and tasted the salt from her tears, mingled with the bitterness in his blue diamond eyes; it conquered her, desperate, his lips seeking solace. Gaining entry, he left her weak and helpless to his touch, and his tongue licked her upper lip right before clashing.
"Don't cry Mary don't, I can't watch you, stop," he whispered madly, dizzy from the heat of her mouth. In the cold room, he'd never felt so frozen; she was the only thing keeping him warm.
"I'm bleeding," she said, a shaky, half crazy smile on her face as she held up her finger.
"Don't, Mary, stop...." he whispered, his mouth dry, as he took one look at her tearstained face. Gently, he took her hand, the slender fingers lost in his own, and held it up, placing the finger to his lips and kissing the cut gently. "Look what I did," he said almost to himself, strangely.
She was silent.
"I didn't mean to scare you, I don't know what to do," he said in a frightened whisper, and she felt the chill of it in her bones.
"We'll find our way through this one too," said Rory gently, and kissed his forehead.
He needed to be just held, but would not have admitted it in a thousand years; Rory knew it, and brought him in close. He was hurting, he was slipping away from her, and she clung to him in fear, not knowing what to do rescue him.
She felt the nervous brush of his lashes against her cheek; cradling the angular, chiseled lines of his face in her hands, she brought his face down slowly until she felt his shaky breath brush her lips. She waited for the tiny kiss that never came; with a terrifying need, his mouth crashed against her, teeth knocking, tongues intertwining, fiery kisses planted one after the next. Their breath poured out in desperate gasps. Rory died and awoke inside his mouth, his lips that fiercely caressed hers and left her legs weak and useless. He kissed the tears off her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth, her ears, her forehead; her mouth received him, soft and warm and weakened. She moaned against his lips, sending an electric current through him.
He reached out to her, every emotion raw and open, and she leaned back for a moment to look at his face. Her tears had left damp trails down his cheeks; his hair was tousled, his mouth slightly swollen, and his eyes were wild and bright. Closing his eyes shut with pain, he brought her in and kissed her slow and deep.
She was losing her head. Promises filtered out and in like shadows between sunlight, forgotten the moment they disappeared; she tried to gain a hold of her sanity, but her mind was reeling with each new current. Quicksilver flooded her veins, pounding madly, and desperately tried to resist only to find out she didn't want to.....with shock she realized he was driving her completely insane and she wanted it......
Slowly, he rolled on top of her, engulfing her with his body; it was warm, heavy steel, tightly wound to bone, lithe and sinewy. He laid soft kisses on her face in a desperately sad way, on her neck, on her eyelids, soft kiss after kiss, falling like snowflakes on her soft skin. With a vague sensation of shock, she felt his hand slip up her thigh, hesitating as though for approval, before it gently spread her legs apart. Her blood burned wild under her skin, the currents growing, jolting her with their electricity. The want inside her was bigger than she could have ever imagined, and she felt hollow and empty. He crushed her with kisses, her hands wandering the contours of his back, of the athletic framework and hardened shoulders and back as they rippled and moved softly under her fingers; she pressed him closer, as if trying to absorb all the hurt.
"Oh...God...Rory....." was the muffled moan as her hands slipped under his shirt, caressing the vast smooth expanse of his skin that covered steel like silk. Her hands slipped to his stomach, tracing the muscles that flowed in his abdomen. His innocent boyish face, so full of need and hurt burrowed into her neck, and she felt the soft, downy fragrance of his hair brushing her cheek. He breathed her into his mouth, tasting her peppermint and cinnamon smell that paralyzed him.
Rory suddenly came back to her senses as she felt his hand slip up her shirt, softly tracing tiny wandering pathways upward. She reeled back, and Tristan sprang up. The two sat next to each other silently, their breathing labored, fighting not to touch, fighting to regain control.
"I'm sorry," he said, his mouth dry.
She nodded, dazed, realizing where it could have gone in a short matter of time. She was dizzy and left wanting, the sweet desire still coursing under her veins. She felt transparent.
"It was the wrong thing to do at the time....." she managed to reply, and grabbed her head in her hands. There was a terrific headache in the works.
"What now?" he asked numbly, and she turned, to realize that she had left him in a shaken state.
"Oh Tris, I'm so sorry, what the hell was I thinking? It was the last thing you needed right then, I'm such an idiot..please......do-"
"No, no no! Stop, it was the right thing. I just needed to feel....something.....just to make sure I was still alive....." he replied weakly, standing up abruptly. "I'll be...right back. It's too late to leave now. We'll figure it out in the morning. You can take the guest room." said Tristan, leading her up the stairs.
Rory silently unpacked and showered quickly, and slipped into some innocent, pink pajamas. She brushed her hair and dried it, took a deep breath, and quietly exited her room. She walked down the hallway until she saw a partially open door. Hoping against hope, she pushed it open, relieved to find it was his room. She had tendency to get lost in his house.
"Tristan?" she called out uncertainly, looking around.
"Out here," was the reply, and she looked towards the curtains. They fluttered softly, and in that moment she noticed the open space behind them. Surprised, she stepped out on a decorative balcony with iron bars. Probably added as some cute outside deco to the house.....she thought, looking out.
He was sitting on the cement with his back against the bars, looking up at the shimmering stars inside the vast sky. They softly glowed diamond in the inky indigo sky, seeming to tremble in their dazzling brightness. He wore only a wifebeater and soft pajama bottoms, and he was smoking a cigarette. His handsome features were softly profiled in the little light provided. She studied the soft, curious shape of his mouth and the liquid that glimmered in his eyes. He took a deep drag and tilted his head back.
"I wanted to apologize. I'm....not usually.. I mean....." she stammered softly, blushing a little.
"I know. I know you're not usually........that's why I shouldn't have. It was my fault. Don't worry about it. I must say you do seem to have a certain knack for comforting those in pain....I wouldn't go calling Mother Theresa with an application just though yet..." he grinned a little, and she almost cried in relief.
They sat in silence for a little, looking at the sky.
"I wish you wouldn't," Rory said, and he knew what she meant. Taking one last drag, he flicked the cigarette between the iron bars to the ground below.
"Can't help it." he said simply, staring at his fingers.
"It's not a good addiction." she countered, just wanting to talk.
Tristan took a deep breath and looked up to her with a look that left her weak and dizzy, a look so deep and completely unsearchable that she wondered if she could get lost in it. He tilted his head back, his face somber, his eyes glowing deeply in the dark, glimmering in their sapphire radiance.
"I have a lot of bad addictions. Cigarettes. Making trouble. Flirting."
He paused.
"You." he finished, the last word stunning and poignant in it's simplicity. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled at her, and suddenly leaned over to place a rough, hungry kiss on her mouth that she immediately sank into.
They broke.
"Your cigarette mouth tastes disgusting..." she whispered, grinning.
"I think you want me anyway," he said, in a soft, seductive voice, kissing her neck.
"Go brush your teeth, Casanova." grinned Rory.
"I prefer Romeo. It's more...accurate. Delicate." he murmured in her collarbone.
"I do believe he only got lucky once. I don't think you fit the description." she said dryly, giggling at the tiny kisses he placed along her shoulders.
"Hey, you know zilch about my love life. Why do you just assume I'm a whore?" Tristan whined, teasingly nibbling at a bra strap he had uncovered at the top of her shoulder.
"Cause you're really good at this."
"Natural talent," he replied.
"I bet. Like Paris has a natural talent for charm. Is there a reason...oh that tickles!" she laughed, pushing him away. His eyes begged puppy dog sad.
"I'm the picture of innocence," he said, and at the moment, his adorable lips in a pout, his hair tousled and his eyes gleaming mischievously, she almost believed him.
"Off to bed you go. You're not winning any Oscars for that performance right there, so brush your teeth and stop the impressionism, Satan." said Rory.
"Question; why is it you call me that? Is it because I lead you into temptation?" he leered, licking his lips, doing his best to unnerve her.
"And that's my cue. Goodnight Prince of Darkness. We'll meet again at dawn when your powers dispel."
"Oh I see how it is. One little offensive comment and all your comfort and sympathy's gone. Don't ask me to refer you to Mother Theresa. I've changed my mind." Tristan sulked.
"Eh, make a booty call from your little black book, er....huge black archives....is the better word....someone'll come comfort you."
"Rory," he cautioned, and they raised to their feet.
"Adios. Hope the bedbugs bite," grinned Rory, and marched off towards the door.
Tristan watched her for a second, and as she grasped the door handle, his eyes softened, and he called out to her.
"Mary, don't go," he said quietly.
She froze.
"That was a cheap shot, DuGrey," she whispered into the darkness. "Cheap."
"I know," he whispered back, closing the distance between them as she turned around.
His arms wrapped around softly, enveloping her in a safe, warm, and dizzying embrace.
"Just in case I have nightmares?" he murmured softly in her ear, and heard her sigh.
"Are you gonna hog the sheets?" she asked, letting herself relax in his firm hold.
"Never," he whispered in a serious tone that made her let out a tired, tiny laugh.
They crawled into his huge bed, careful to put a little distance in between, all too aware of what could too easily happen.
She reached out a finger, and he linked one of his with it. They faced each other, separated and connected, everything flowing like electricity through that tiny link.
"How come I can't say no when you call me that?" she said quietly, her words losing themselves in the dark.
"Because," he answered, and she already knew. "Got another lullaby for you."
"Oh no."
"No singing. Just words."
"Can I complain?" Rory said sleepily, already feeling her eyelids getting heavy.
"Nope. But you have to c'mere so I can whisper it to you. I only want you to hear it." Tristan said impishly, pulling her close.
Too tired to protest, she rolled over into the warm embrace of his gentle arms.
"You make a mess of me," he whispered, his mouth buried in her soft hair.
"I'll dance a thousand steps for you"
"If you say yes to me..." he continued.....
"I'll be whatever gets you through."
"You make a mess of me...." he smiled softly into her fragrant neck, her hair...
"I'll dance a thousand steps for you..."
"Mmmmm....." murmured Rory into his chest.
"Was I fool to think, am I fool for you,"
Tristan concluded the softly whispered words, watching her lashes fan out on her cheeks, on her sweet child-like face. Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, he let her drift off, thinking about the words. They'd played over in his head since the day he'd seen her. They came back to him tonight.He fell asleep uneasily, awaken by a shrill phonecall at six in the morning.
The caller was insistent; groggy and irritated, he reached over Rory and grabbed the portable.
"H-low?" he mumbled incoherently.
"Hey babe," said the clear voice, and he sat up violently, abruptly, his blood running cold.
"Maggie.....Longbourne-Sheffield...." he said half nervously, half furiously.
"You still remember my voice. Good sign." the low, sultry contralto giggled on the other end. "I'm in town. I want to do you...ooops....see you?"
"I thought we agreed I'd never hear your voice again," said Tristan coolly, watching Rory apprehensively. She just murmured a intelligible phrase and drifted off again.
"Oh, I'm hurt. But still dauntless. I forgot to never call you in the morning; your current bed-fellow might get feisty. But you'll be hearing from lil' Mags again. Ciao," the voice said breezily, and hung up.
Tristan hung up the phone slowly.
He was scared; chilled, unsure. The sound of her voice was murder, her words stabbing him. Rory was in his bed. But Maggie wouldn't understand the fact that they weren't screwing, they were just.....different......
Were they?
He cursed at himself violently. Of course we are. You want her for more than just looks. You're in love with Rory. It's Maggie's fucking games, always confusing you, always messing you up. Bitch. No, no way in hell! Rory was in his bed not because he'd slammed her last night. It was because they were friends. Huge difference.
Breathing a sigh of relief at the fix up of the momentary madness that had come with hearing that voice, he cuddled back under the covers.
But inside, he knew something terrible was going to happen.
Left that hanging.....didn't I......the notorious seducer is back in town. Tristan's not immune to her....can love hold him? Ah, nothing like a rich, beautiful f****d up girl to add some spice to the picture. For all confused, instead of going on the field trip, they're staying at Tristan's house. Not planned ahead of time..but....
Anyway, next chap.'s in the works. I would love it if you let me know what you thought of this one, love it hate it...just drop a little line.
Luce