Fantasy
"Dean." She says his name without meaning to and she knows that whatever comes next, it's not going to be good. It's going to be bad and messy and wrong and so she shouldn't say anything at all. She should just shrug and tell him to use the door next time he comes to see Rory and that maybe he should see a sleep therapist about the whole narcolepsy thing. That's what she should do. "Why don't you come in for a while?"
"And give you an opportunity to dismember me now that you've put my fears to rest and am unsuspecting?"
"Or have some hot cocoa."
He pauses for a second and she can almost see the thoughts behind his eyes. She's looking for them, looking for the one thing that will make this more of a mistake than it already is and she's scared that she's found it. But he shrugs and smiles and she's not sure anymore. "Cocoa, huh?"
"You can even make it to be sure that I'm not poisoning it or anything."
"Because you can't make cocoa?"
"That too." She smiles and it's light and airy, even though the air's cold and frosty and Christmasy. She should be happy and at her parents' house, eating apple tarts until she's about to burst, but instead she's inviting her daughter's boyfriend into her house when her daughter's not home and there's something wrong and illicit in what she's feeling, but she can't stop herself from looking at him and gesturing in the direction of the door. "So are you coming in through the door or should I help pull you through the window?"
He takes a step in her direction. "The window could be fun."
"The door, Dean."
He rolls his eyes in mock exasperation and heads toward the door. She pulls Rory's window closed and locks it, tugging the shade back down into place. Her stomach is churning, hot and molten and sour and wrong, as she walks toward the front door. Dean's already there, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack, unfazed by the sock monkey or the disarming tilt caused by Rory's bag of books. He turns and watches her as she comes out of the kitchen. "Do you actually have cocoa? Because I don't think I've ever seen you buy any at the store."
"You're not always there when we go shopping. Sometimes we make sure you're not there."
"For those delicate unmentionables?"
She holds his gaze for a second before it drops down, away from her eyes to her mouth. It lingers there and she can feel the blush, the heat, creeping up her neck and face. He's looking at her mouth and her lips feel dry and parched. Her tongue touches the inside of them, pressed against them, wanting to part them, taste them, watch him react to her tongue sliding across her lips. She's saved partially as his gaze drops lower, the air in the room now electric with unspoken emotion. Her nipples tighten in response to his gaze, the long dark lashes hiding his eyes until he lifts them back to hers. "Those. And more embarrassing candy runs."
"There are candy runs more embarrassing than the Willy Wonka one?"
"Not in volume, just in what's purchased."
"Nothing you could purchase would embarrass me, Lorelai."
Her name rolls off his tongue and she wonders if his voice is changing, because he couldn't possibly be talking like this with her, so deep and manly and husky and aroused. Her gaze flits down to his jeans, his too tight to be dating her daughter jeans, and notices the telltale bulge that he makes sno attempt to hide. "Tampons?"
"I have a mother and sisters."
"Condoms?"
"You're a beautiful woman. I wouldn't be surprised at all to find out that you were sleeping with someone."
"Easter peeps?"
"Okay, that might scare me."
"Ah-ha!"
"Do you?"
She's instantly wary, the triumph immediately gone. "What? Have Easter peeps?"
Dean shakes his head and walks up to her, standing too close, not close enough. He lifts his hand and touches her hair, stroking a thick strand between his finger and thumb. "Have condoms."
"I don't see..."
"Don't you?"
"Dean..."
He ignores her softly spoken word, his lips finding hers, his tongue seeking hers between her parted lips. She groans softly as his hand slides against her cheek, holding her as he kisses her, explores the warmth of her mouth, invites her into the warmth of his.
Dean slips his free hand around her waist, pulling her closer, impossibly closer. She whimpers as he moans quietly, his body pressed to hers, his mouth moving from hers, finding the smooth skin of her neck. His teeth graze her skin gently, his tongue and lips moving over the silky flesh. "Dean," she gasps, the sound not shocked or horrified, but aroused and hungry. "You have to stop. Please stop."
He works his way down her neck, his hands slipping in the slight space between them, easing under her shirt to touch her. His kisses burn her skin, brand her. "Don't make me stop," he breathes, putting enough distance between them to lift his hands to her breasts, curving around them.
"Oh God," Lorelai begs, tears blinding her. "Please stop." She backs away, needing space, needing air. "Please, Dean."
He stands still as she moves back, breathing heavily in the warm room. "You don't want me to stop, Lorelai."
"Stop calling me that!"
"What should I call you?" He advances slowly, predatorily. "Ms. Gilmore?"
"No."
"Rory's mom?"
She shakes her head, tears running down her cheeks as she stands still, watching him walk toward her with wary eyes. "No."
"Lorelai?"
"Just don't...don't talk." She grabs his shirt and pulls him forward, tasting the saltiness of her own tears as she finds his lips again, loses herself in his hungry kisses. They shed clothes quickly, her shirt, his sweater. He drops his t-shirt then presses his bare chest against her lace-covered breasts, rubbing her hard nipples through the fabric. He doesn't speak, merely moans hotly as she fumbles with his jeans, her hands brushing his sensitive skin, trailing lightly over his insistent erection.
His fingers find the clasp of her bra, fumbling with it, unhooking it and letting it fall to the floor. She whimpers, her mouth pressed to the hot skin of his chest, her tongue teasing his nervous system as she tastes him. Dean reaches down and lifts her, holding her against him, nearly losing control as she wraps her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, kissing him as he stumbles through the kitchen and presses her against Rory's bedroom door.
"God. No." She pushes at him, shaking her head as his hand moves over the curve of her ass then settles on the doorknob. "Not in there."
"Where?" He slips his arms back around her waist, pulling her against him, his cock grinding into the heat between her parted legs. "Where?"
"Table," she suggests quickly, urging him forward. He complies, backing up then turning at the last minute, stretching her out on the kitchen table. They both push at the pile of books covering the surface, ignoring them as they fall loudly to the floor, Dean's hands busy now with her jeans, unfastening them and easing them off of her as quickly as he can.
His hands shake as he touches her bare skin, fingers moving lightly over the pale flesh. They stop at her knees and he bows his head watching intently as he spreads her legs, his gaze locked on the sheer white fabric that covers the dark hair at the apex of her thighs. "God."
She can barely breath, her body flushing under the heat of his gaze. "Dean..." He shakes his head and slides the material down her legs before removing his hands from her skin, leaving her feeling cold and desperate all at once. She lifts herself up on her hands, barely noticing the sheet of paper clinging to the cool sheen of perspiration on her back. "We shouldn't..."
"You're beautiful." He whispers the words, a reverent prayer falling from his parted lips as his hands fumble with his jeans, shoving them down over his hips, his boxers sliding to the floor along with the denim.
Lorelai bites her lower lip to catch her breath, the sight of him, the complete nakedness of him making the air in the room seem too light, too thin. He's tanned and muscular, thin and compact, his erection straining toward her. His hand shakes as he rests it on his cock, smoothing it along the hard flesh, curling his fingers around it at the base. The only sound in the room is her harsh breathing, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of Dean's chest as he stares at the swollen pink skin between her thighs, the glistening promise of warm flesh surrounding him.
"I want to feel you," he whispers again, the sound loud in the silence. He looks up at her eyes, the shocked expression forcing her to look away. "I dream about you." He moves closer, his thighs brushing the inside of hers, the sprinkling of hair that covers them rough and erotic all at once against her creamy skin. "I don't want to. I try not to." He's talking so softly she can barely hear him even as he moves still closer. "I tell myself every night before I go to sleep that you're not going to visit me at night, that you're not allowed, that you're off limits." He looks at her as the tip of his cock brushing the swollen lips of her labia. "You're off limits."
"Yes," she nods mindlessly, her eyes almost shut as she waits, anticipation warring with desire and self-recriminations. "I am. I'm off limits, Dean." She's still nodding, hating herself as her legs spread wider, her hips arching upwards, inviting.
"But you're still there, the second I close my eyes." He moves forward, the tip penetrating her, stopping just inside her, the heat and sensation coursing through his cock to his spine, curling and coiling inside him, entangling with the desire desperately clawing at his stomach and conscience. "I try to dream about someone else, anyone else, but it's you, Lorelai." He pushes forward slowly, prolonging the moment, filling her with the last ravages of his self-control. "Your hair drifting over my skin, your mouth moving over mine. I wrap my hands around my cock and stroke it, imagining that it's your hand or your mouth or your body, that you're above me, straddling me," he pauses, gasping for breath as he finally enters her completely, his eyes closing as he simply absorbs the overwhelming heat of her. "Oh...Jesus."
"Dean," she shakes her head, her breath hitching, ragged as it passes her lips in soft gasps. "We...we can't."
"We are," he assures her, his hips beginning to move, pulling back, thrusting forward.
Lorelai closes her eyes, attempting to block the image of his face above hers, the feel of his body as her legs close around his, her heels resting on his calves as he moves inside her, his pace slow and steady, his muscles corded with the effort to go slow, take his time. "We can't."
"The minute I met you," he breathes heavily, the effort of the words obvious as they slip past his lips, "I wanted to be inside you. I wanted to taste you and to feel you." He begins moving faster, the tightening of her legs around him spurring him on. "I wanted to slide inside you and feel you around me. I wanted to feel you come around me. I wanted to come inside you."
"Dean..."
He watches her with black eyes as she shakes her head, denying his words even as her body welcomes him, her legs uncurling from around him. She lifts them, resting her heels on the edge of the table, opening herself up more, offering herself up to him. He moves closer, his chest brushing hers, his mouth and breath feathering over her lips. "I wanted you to be the first, Lorelai."
"Oh..." She gasps suddenly, arching off the table. The rush of her orgasm surprises her but not as much as the second wave of it coming hard on the heels of the first, the sudden pressure inside her that explodes around his still thrusting cock. Shudders wrack her body and her nails dig into his shoulders, raking down his arms as she writhes with the remnants of her climax.
Dean's harsh breath decorates her skin as he continues moving, agony written on his face as he fights the need to give in, fights to prolong the pleasure, prolong the moment. Lorelai watched the play of emotions cross his face in fascination, so caught up in his blatant need that didn't notice as her hips began moving again, meeting his, her hands caressing and stroking his arms and chest, touching him with delicate fingers, her nails teasing over his erect nipples, moaning as his whole body quivers and he gasps aloud, groaning her name as he buries himself deeper inside her, his body pushing his orgasm into her until he collapses above her in a fragile heap.
Heavy, oppressive silence fills the room, drowning out the sound of their deep breathing, the air thin with left over desire. He pulls away slowly, the new sensations echoed in his face. He looks down at her body, naked but for the then sheen of sweat that clings to her, her dark hair clinging to her face. Embarrassment shines in his eyes as he tries to look away, avoiding her piercing blue gaze as he helps her to her feet. "I..."
Lorelai shakes her head and presses a finger to his lips, her smile unstable. "You need to go home, Dean."
"But we..."
"Nothing happened." She gathers her clothes and holds them against her, drawing more attention to the exposed areas of her body, bringing his eyes away from her face to the soft curves peeking out from behind the fabric. She reaches out and lifts his chin with her hand, forcing him to look at her. "Nothing happened."
"Something happened, Lorelai. We...I...You..."
"Crazy things happen when there's a full moon. Or a holiday. Or when Rory's not home." She closes her eyes at her daughter's name, sensing his reaction rather than seeing it. "You love Rory, Dean."
"I do."
"And so nothing happened." Lorelai bends down and grabs his shirt, handing it to him without a word. He stares at it for a long moment then takes it, his fingers brushing hers deliberately as it changes hands. She purses her lips together to hold back any sound, any reaction at all. He pulls his shirt on then bends down himself, grabbing his jeans and tugging them up from where they've been wrapped around his ankles. He shifts uncomfortably as his wet flesh clings to the fabric, his eyes now avoiding her as he looks for his sweater.
She waits until he walks into the short hallway from the living room to find it to pull her shirt on, shivering despite the residual heat that fills the room. She manages a haphazard state of dress as he grabs his jacket and looks back at her, his eyes still dark, still promising, still offering.
"Nothing happened."
"And when someday, if Rory and I get this far, and she asks me about my experience? About the women I've been with?"
"You said it yourself, Dean. I'm just a fantasy. Someone who puts you to sleep every night." The words stick in her throat and she can taste them, hates the sour lingering in her mouth. "Go home, Dean. Tomorrow call Rory and in a few days you can come over again and everything will be fine. You and Rory will be fine."
He looks at her and she can't tell if he's only hearing what she's saying or if what isn't being said is just as clear. "And you and I?"
She shakes her head and shivers as he opens the door, the cold air lancing through the room, through her. She wonders if she'll ever be warm again. "Dean," she says softly, her hand holding the edge of the door for support, to close it behind him as he moves onto the porch, "there is no you and I."