Hey everyone! I'm back with another chapter, one that i'm pissed about......because I wrote it a while ago, and then I read a story that had a chapter sorta like that, with rory and jess staying at his apartment, and I was like "crap" i hope she doesn't think I'm copying off her! plus hers was so good, and now people will compare it and be like, yeah, luce, you suck. anyway, I can't remember the person who wrote that, but damn, was it a good story and I hope they update soon, again, I apologize for similarities. anyway, to all others, enjoy, and sorry about the big spaces between postings, its the end of the year and schools panic and heap it on trying to educate you as much as they can before you leave. anyway, here ya'll go.....hope you like it......

luce

Night falls soft and slow on the city.

We pull into the bus depot, under the glare of the streetlights. Tired people swirl around us. I hold her hand like a little child's as we descend, helping her down the stairs like a lady. It's a new, strange feeling; any of the girls I used to know would have looked at me like I was an idiot if I held their hand as they came down stairs. For her, it's expected. She alights, and smiles at me. All the world is right.

We make our way through the warm city night, over the crumbling sidewalks and gutters, over the neon-lit pavement and walkways; she's fascinated by the seedy yet beautiful scenery, the dirty magnificence of this vast living, breathing, crawling metropolis. From the subways to the crosswalks, under lighted signs, past restaurants, small, dusty stores and convenience marts, boutiques and foreign groceries she sees everything wide eyed. I try to see it from her view and it suddenly seems astounding. I like how she does that to me.

I pull her past apartments after apartments after street corners till we reach mine. I take a cautious look around to see if any deals are going down, or any shady locals are creeping. It's all clear, so I pull out my keys and quickly make our way upstairs to my old apartment.

I ring the doorbell softly.

Liz, open up.

No sound.

Sighing, I put in the key. Entering the apartment, I suddenly don't want her to see it.

"Wait here," I mutter, and go into the living room. I shove dirty clothes and food wrappings into baskets and trash cans, throwing everything else into a pile in a corner. I brush off the couch, and head to the kitchen, where a huge stack of dishes and general mess greets me. Defeated, I slink back to her.

"I'm sorry you have to see this," I say, and I mean it.

She shrugs.

"You know I don't care," she grins, and her smile is warm.

I nod, hoping she really means it. Her eyes take everything in curiously as she follows me, no judgment reflected in them. She peeks in the few rooms, sidesteps junk on the floor, and ignores the horrible state of the place overall. I wonder what's the last time it was vacuumed. Truthfully, it's not that bad. I just see it as I think she might. Her response is surprising.

"Looks like our house after a bad weekend or on laundry day," she shrugs, not at all shocked. I can't help but smile.

I notice the clock on the wall, as it reminds me of how late it is.

"Rory, it's 1 o'clock at night. Let me get some fresh sheets for you."

She nods, and slips into the bathroom. I go into my old room.

I don't want to turn the light on; it would make it look bleak. I leave everything illuminated dimly through the window.

It looks pretty much the way I left it; most of my stuff is gone, down at Luke's now. A few things on the shelves remain, old stuff that's just memories, and not particularly useful. The streetlights illuminates everything in a light, mysterious mood blue. I sigh, memories flooding back. Wearily, I rub my eyes.

"Jess?" her soft voice calls.

I turn around to see her there, and hold my breath when I see her darkened frame in the doorway. She stuffs her hands awkwardly in her pockets, her long, slim arms at an angle. I have the sudden urge to take them, and spread them out, like wings. I shake my head, flinging all thoughts aside.

She helps me spread the sheets; I'm pretty self sufficient at this stuff. My mom never did anything for me.

I throw a clean pillow on top, and a comforter from the closet that I washed before I left, in case I ever came back. I mentally thank myself for my foresight.

We stand there for a second. She clears her throat.

"Are you......" she flusters.

"My mom's bed......"

"Oh, okay." she nods, kinda embarrassed. I like her for that. I smile.

"Unless......"

"I don't think......"

"Ok."

Gratefully, she smiles, and bites her bottom lip. Suddenly I realize.

"Oh, ok, lemme get out so you can change. Water's in the kitchen, bathroom you've been in, I'll be in my mom's room across the hall if you need anything, alright?"

She grins, and nods, and I back out, closing the door behind me. I lean against it for a second and close my eyes, the picture of her slim frame sliding out of her clothes in the blue streetlight suddenly taking over. I swallow dryly and go change into some striped pajama bottoms and nothing else. Sleeping with a shirt feels weird; plus, I don't expect to see her again.

I'm wrong again.

She joins me by the sink, carefully laying a line of toothpaste on her finger and proceeding to stick it in her mouth and swish it around in semblance of a tooth-brushing. We spit and rinse, and smile at each other. I can feel her eyes traveling over me, and her shy reaction; I love that effect I have on her. Watching her bite her bottom lip and her dance of avoidance with her eyes........secretly pleased at the tiny smile that threatens to come out on her face, I resume toweling off my neck and face and shoulders after splashing some water on them.

I can't deny I had to carefully monitor myself to make sure I didn't stare.

She wore cake pajamas. Yes. Cakes. Big fluffy ones all over the soft pink material cut in unassuming, plain curves that folded and followed her frame just right. Modest, sweet, childish. Her hair brushed back from her face in a ponytail, her lips tinged red from the scrubbing, she dried her eyes and proceeded out of the bathroom, trying hard to pretend she was unfazed.

I follow her down the hall, and at the doors we turn. It's a narrow hallway; more space would be a good thing between us. She tries too hard not to let her eyes wander. I lean against the wall.

"Goodnight," she says uneasily, flicking off the hall light.

Unscrupulously, I use this sudden plunge into darkness as a moment of confusion; she turns uncertainly into me, and my lips skim her neck quickly, her mouth.

"Goodnight," I whisper and slip into my room.

I hear her door creaking; she's left it halfway open.

My blood burns; it was the wrong thing to do. All I ever wanted from her is magnified. I can't believe Rory is in my apartment, sleeping on my bed, in the blue darkness that was my best ally.......she's so close, yet so far away. I want to touch her so bad, to breathe in her fragrance, to feel the soft pink material under my fingertips......the dip in her collarbones, her shallow breathing. I want her.

It's killing me. My throat is dry with illusion. My mind drowns under a flood of her, pictures of her, imagination. I try to limit it, to see her in that innocent light I respect. It only heightens the need. Groaning, I clamp a pillow over my head and toss restlessly.

This is torture.

I'm in his bed.

Elation surges through me. I let out a girlish giggle that would have sent myself into fits of eye rolling had I heard it from anyone else, but I like the way it sounds in the blue darkness.

I wish I could tell my mom, and she could see it like I saw it, the irony, the joke. She's my best friend. But not from now on. This is the big thing between us she'll never understand, never get. The thing she'll always be afraid of. The thing we'll never agree on. Whether I'm in love with him or not, this stopped being debated a long time ago.

I sit up and take inventory of his room. Everything's so different, so strange and fabulous and .....Jess. Scattered books. Posters. Photos. Memories. A stuffed animal in the closet. Yes, I'm looking through his closet.

I can't sleep; I'll never be able to sleep peacefully again after seeing him shirtless. I tried so hard, but it was impossible to ignore. I full well know he did it on purpose to see if he could rattle me, and he won. There's a hardened quality to the lean curves of his torso that pushed a nerve button somewhere that started a whole process, and that's why I can't sleep. I close my eyes, there he is. I can imagine him laying in bed, so close, across the hall. This is how those accidents start.

I need something which I cannot explain, something I've wanted, something I've always hid. Something that never existed. I could stand against a tree kissing Dean for twenty minutes, and not feel really shaken. One look at Jess sends me straight into bigger problems than I'd ever envisioned having. I've read about stuff, I'm not ignorant. But it's never been ignited in me.

Now it is.

Get a hold, Rory. What your body craves is not as significant as the consequences.

My head aches.

I open and door and pad softly to the kitchen, looking for a glass of water and some aspirin.

He's standing by the window, the powerful slope of his shoulders illuminated in the shifting streetlight. I don't think he even hears me come in. I take a deep breath, and my eyes wander over the tight planes of muscle, lanky hips, the way the soft cotton of the pajamas rides low past his hip-bones, slouching around his heels in folds. I try backing away, suddenly hard up for air.

"Need something?" he says calmly, and I shrink back. I don't understand how he knew I was there. He turns around and I get an eyeful of the hard curves and planes of his chest and arms, wiry, deceptively powerful. Steel veins, soft glow of his blue skin in the semi-dark. His eyes glisten.

"Water," I say, my voice equally calm. I am strong. I am determined. I'm drowning.

He takes a few steps towards me, one arm reaching up, taking a glass down from the cabinet. Carefully, deliberately, he fills it from the fridge, and hands it to me. It glows crystal clear blue.

I smile a stressed smile of thanks, and down it in one gulp. He halfway turns, looking out the window.

"I remember when I was a kid," he begins out of nowhere, and I listen attentively. "Standing out here at night when I couldn't sleep. I'd watch stuff go down on the corner. Deals. Sometimes kids like me walking in and out, once a shootout. I always wondered what it'd be like."

"Did you ....?"

He shrugs.

"Couple of times. Weed, nothing big. I don't like getting rich off other people's problems. I was hard up for cash, owed this guy named Gold-Touch six hundred."

I listened, half fascinated, drawn in by this new bed time story.

"So anyway, me and Luis and Tony, two of my boys, made a few easy sales. We were getting the money by that night. We had to take two uptown buses to get to Ripley's, this seedy underground joint......only Luis went with me because it was close to this place where his cousins lived in case we needed quick getaway. We ordered Jose Cuervo for Gold-Touch and gave the waiter the bills to give him. Normally, this waiter plays clean. The bastard must've taken the shit and ran that night; I didn't know till later he'd had a habit, and he was desperate that night."

I'm standing next to him by the sink by now, watching out the window in fascination at the hazy street below.

"Touch's boys were on us. We split and outed a few streets down, I took down two of the ones following me when Touch steps out himself. He's watching me, not saying nothing. He saw me take the two down. He strikes a deal; get a shot at me, I'll give you two days more to get the money again. So out come the knives. He kept me on my toes for 10 minutes straight before I managed a slash on his arm. He gave me the days and I got his ass the money, direct this time. A few days later he called me, I don't know how, and asked me if I wanted to work for him, a guard or something. I would've said yes, but that was the night before I got busted for car theft and sent to goddamn Stars Hollow."

He finished the story simply, as I looked at him with a chill. The light made his handsome features look hard, yet vulnerable. I can't believe it, but I can. I then try to picture Jess in Stars Hollow, and it's so ridiculous I almost laugh. A deep sense of sadness comes over me as I realize why he's the way he there. It's another world to him. A world so foreign from this one that it's a miracle he hasn't gone completely insane yet.

"Why would you have said yes?" I query softly, curious.

He shrugs.

"700 dollars a night. Any more questions?"

"What about now?" I say.

"What about it?"

"Would you?"

His eyes slowly turn away from the street, into mine. They're dark and serious.

"I have other things to live for," he says shortly. I nod, and turn away, suffocating. My hands ache to touch, just to feel.

"Making love to you, for one."

Those last words were uttered so quietly I almost didn't hear it. But almost doesn't count.

My blood froze, then rushed through my body at a dizzy speed.

I know he meant for me to hear it, but he also meant for me to wonder if I was supposed to hear it.

I waste no time leaving. I want to lay in my bed, alone, and think about the vast magnitude of those words. They're burning inside my mouth, on the tip of my tongue. Drunkenly I stumble into my room, repeating them in my mind. I'm numb. Making love to you. I want to cry; he said it so beautifully, almost contemplatively. His voice was quiet, serious, longing.

This is the nightmare your mother feared, my brain keeps screaming. This is how mistakes are made. In moments like these. This is how you were made.

Silence inside my head.

Emotion blocking out reason; nothing is important anymore, nothing except him. Not a thing.

That's why when he comes and sits on the edge of my bed, I lay still, and breathe very quietly. Because the thing he does next, I will be responsible for, and I don't want to be the one at fault.

I know my face is burning; I've never, ever had anyone say it that plainly to me. I've never felt this level of emotion that blanks out everything else. I've never had anyone make me want the inexplicable so much......

"I'm sorry," he says genuinely. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I don't want you to think I'm trying to......use you, corrupt you, mess you up. I want you forever the way you are, so...shy and bookish and sarcastic, so sweet. But I can't help wanting more. You're so beautiful...." his voice trailed, and I felt my throat constrict.

My hand moved on it's own.

It slowly raised up, and placed itself on his cheek, caressing his jawline, his neck, his hair. He leaned into it, kissing it lightly, and I trembled at the touch. He attentively stopped. I shook my head.

I'd never been so scared, so close to anyone I wanted so much. I could taste his skin on the tip of my tongue.

His weight sank slowly beside me. We breathed in the darkness, careful, nervous. He was cautious, restrained. His fingers followed the lines of my face in the dark. They tiptoed from one button down to the next in a straight line to my belly button, leaving them still closed. The gentle pressure of his fingertips over the slope of my stomach, up my ribcage......a shiver slid through me as they traveled towards my shoulders.

My head found it's way onto his chest as he pulled me towards him. I slowly slid into his arms, as he lay sitting against the wall. I cautiously turned, and began an exploration that I felt his body respond to, tensing. With wondering, small movements, I traced the outlines of his chest, skipping down from one ripple to another in his abs, two , four, six..........a shudder. My fingers moved quickly upward again. I had no experience, no special tricks to pull. For now, my curiosity just led me to explore more. My hands slid over each muscle in his arms, tracing the overlapping outlines, the tightened framework as it hardened under my touch and relaxed again. Tentatively, they slid over the broad expanse of his shoulders and back and he leaned forward.

I felt dizzy, with the new knowledge flooding me. I could hardly believe I, Rory Gilmore, was here, doing this. My fingertips brushed over the small brown studs on his chest, and I felt them stand to attention as a shiver went through him and his eyes closed. I twined a hand in the dark hair, and let my mouth fall on his as he slowly kissed me.

Agony. Ecstasy. His fingers brushed the fabric of my collar, we lay breathing erratically in the dark. On him I felt safe, wrapped up inside him, in the steel under the soft skin. His lips, warm, soft, tasting like water, like him. Like rain, falling one after another, kisses like sweet, soft long love. Stronger. Desperate, peaceful again. I trembled under the terrible control he had on me. I'd fallen captive.

He kissed my neck, warm, dry, then, damp; a shudder as I felt the gentle pressure, then the absent thought of a mark. He parted my hair as I turned back forward, and kissed the back of my neck. Stars shot up through my veins like electric tension, fluid metal. I gasped.

I turned back towards him, lost in the senses that buried me. I don't want this to stop, ever, knowing where it will lead. He unbuttons the top button.

I hesitate.

One more.

I suffocate.

The top slides a little left, off the shoulder. I can feel his entire body tense, and he holds back a sound. I like the power I seem to have over him. I look at my bare shoulder curiously.

One more button.

I feel exposed, too nervous. It's too much at once. I can't believe I'm doing this. I want to, I need to so much.

But he understands, and buttons it back up. Then another one, and another one.

I don't understand, then, in a flash, I comprehend. He's waiting, taking it little by little.

"I want to make you feel like nobody else ever will," he whispers, and I'm drunk dizzy. He's the first, the only, the one who'll show me everything I'll ever dream of. I want to do whatever he says, to let him guide me, to learn.

"Promise me," I say, and he reels a little, then, adjusts.

"I promise," he says, pulling me into his arms again. I lay my head down on his chest. " I promise I'll be the one you'll never forget. Not when you're forty and married with three kids, not when you're twenty-five and on your honeymoon, not when you're sixty and reminiscing. I promise I'll make you fall in love like no one else ever will. I promise I'll never hurt you. I don't promise we'll be in love forever or I'll do anything for you or any of those ridiculous promises that lovestruck idiots make. But I always keep my word."

"I could never forget you anyway," I whisper back.

"This is just the beginning," he smiles in the dark, and kisses my neck again. I feel intensely alive.

"You'd better go. I still want you, and I can't sleep," I say boldly, shocked at my own directness.

He laughs quietly.

"You took the words right outta my mouth. Goodnight, princess Rory."

"Goodnight, Dodger," I sigh, feeling empty as he slips away.

He's gone, and the bed is cooling. I grin a huge grin and roll delightedly in the dark, fighting off the urge to laugh out of pure joy, elation. My spine is still tensed, my mouth fresh with his kisses, my fingertips have his scent. I hug a pillow and grin till my face hurts. I can't believe what I did, and I loved it.

I turn over, and attempt to sleep.

Well, that's all folks (for now). I know it was a little pointless, but I promise the plot picks up; it was just a filler fluffy chapter kinda thing, u know? Anyway, much love to all those J/R writers out there: Nez (you're right, it was the Police ~hides head in shame~ good lookout), columbiachica, Angel Grace( can I mention again and again how glad I am you converted?) and many more that I don't remember names of right off......thanks for the read, yall. if you'd like to drop a little review or line.....I'd be ecstatic.... :-}