The moment lengthens, spinning out between them, before Lorelai starts to smile.
She isn't one for public displays of affection, but if she doesn't kiss him immediately, she'll explode like... some explode-y thing, and, wow, she's too smitten to even come up with a good metaphor. The things he does to her without even trying.
His eyes widen as she scoots over, reaching up for his jaw, leaning closer. She presses her lips to his softly, once, twice, then leans back just far enough to meet his gaze. "I'm not scared."
She knows as she says the words that it's absolutely true. This realization should surprise her, but it doesn't, and she's kissing him again, right there in Sniffy's Tavern, former whorehouse and Luke's Luke's. He'd saved the horoscope, even though she'd only been an obnoxious stranger who pestered him mercilessly in his own diner. He'd carried it around with him, which shows Lorelai that he's always seen her, and that makes it easier to finally admit just how much she wants him.
His palm lands warm and heavy on her thigh, just above her knee, and she gasps. They've kissed before, but somehow this touch is more intimate, more suggestive, and it's Luke's hands touching her this way, Luke's fingers shifting slowly against the thin material of her pants. God, why didn't she wear a skirt so she could feel his fingers on her skin?
Luke pulls back, breathing a little unsteadily. Those beautiful blue eyes capture her, and she's shocked by the combination of adoration and lust in them. "Lorelai?"
She has no idea what he's asking, no idea how to string words together at the moment, but then there's someone talking to them and lucky for Lorelai, she doesn't have to form a sentence just yet.
"Oh, you two," Maisie admonishes, but she's grinning. She's standing beside their table holding salads, and Lorelai has no idea how long she's been there. "You're going to run out of here without eating, aren't you?"
Lorelai laughs, feeling a slight blush across her cheeks. Beneath the table, Luke snatches his hand from her thigh. She glances at him, but he ducks his chin like a schoolboy caught cheating. "We wouldn't dream of it," Lorelai assures Maisie.
"Good." Maisie places their salads in front of them, then winks at Lorelai. "You'll need the energy later."
"Maisie," Luke splutters, keeping his gaze carefully focused on the table, and it's all Lorelai can do to stop from laughing. Maisie retreats, and Luke looks like he'd like to crawl under the tablecloth and hide. "Sorry," he mutters.
But Lorelai leans in again, pressing a kiss to the edge of his mouth as he turns toward her, his stubble rasping against her lips. "She's right," Lorelai murmurs, raising an eyebrow at the pole-axed look he gives her. It's her turn to slide her hand up his thigh, and she gives his leg -- his nicely muscled leg -- a squeeze. "Now be a good boy and eat your vegetables."
He chokes, just a little, and recovers only when she removes her hand. Lorelai should be shocked at herself. After all, this is Luke; she thought awkwardness would linger around them, tainting every first -- first kiss, first touch, first item of clothing removed -- with the weight of expectation.
She's so relieved it's not like that. Instead, it feels normal and right and damn near perfect to make throaty promises to Luke about what will come later. And when she thinks about his lips on her body, when she thinks about unbuttoning his shirt, a fluttery tension shivers through her muscles, making her shift restlessly in her seat.
Beside her, Luke is eating obediently, his gaze sliding from her face to her cleavage to his plate and back. Lorelai figures he has no idea what to say to her right now. How strange that she seems to be the one who's handling this new facet of their relationship better. She would've sworn it would be precisely the opposite, and she wonders if that's why he's so thrown. He probably expected her to flip out or run away or do any of the hundred things he's seen her do with other guys.
Except he's not other guys, he's Luke, and maybe that's why this is easy. Chuckling a little, Lorelai taps his knee with her fingertips. "Am I scaring you?"
When Luke looks up at her, he's grinning wryly. "I wouldn't say you're scaring me, no." His hand is on her thigh again, his thumb moving in slow arcs, and she shivers. He leans closer, lifting his eyebrows at her. "This definitely isn't fear."
"Ah," she counters, lifting her eyebrows right back at him, "so you're not scared of my voracious appetite."
His fingers tighten on her leg. "I've always appreciated your appetite, Lorelai," he tells her, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Bet I have more of an appetite than you," Lorelai answers, grinning madly now. This is their regular banter, times ten, with a heaping spoonful of sexual innuendo thrown in. It's delicious, and she crosses her legs toward him, trapping his hand and letting her heel oh-so-innocently brush up against his pants leg.
"I really doubt that," Luke answers with considerable feeling. His hand slides free inch by torturous inch, then slips up to top her leg, leaving her squirming a little in reaction. Even through the fabric of her pants, his touch enflames her.
She has to concentrate to keep breathing normally, and the best conversational gambit she can come up with is, "Are you enjoying your salad?"
"Sure," he answers with a shrug, the edge of his mouth quirking in amusement, like he knows what he's doing to her. His self-assurance just ramps up her anticipation, as it starts her thinking about what else he's planning to do to her later. His fingers travel down her thigh toward her knee, and all the while he's nonchalantly eating forkfuls of salad with his free hand. "But I don't think the salad's going to be my favorite part of this evening."
Lorelai drops her hand to her lap, tangling her fingers with his. "Mine, either," she tells him with a soft smile. Leaning back a little, she gives him her best bedroom eyes, lowers her voice to a sultry tone, and says, "So tell me more about the Faire circuit."
Luke groans, his shoulders slumping a bit. "You really can kill a mood, you know that?"
Laughing, Lorelai wheedles, "C'mon, Luke. Help a girl out. Did you do anything manly? Like chopping wood? Ooooh, tell me you chopped wood!"
"I did not chop wood," Luke answers in his trademark grumpy tone, but he can't quite stifle his smile.
"Well, what good are you, then?" Lorelai scoffs, savoring this delicious feeling, even if she can't put a name to it. "You're ruining my perfectly good mental image of you, shirtless, chopping wood, the sun beating down on your hot, sweaty--"
"Okay," Luke interrupts hastily, "that's enough of that."
"Seriously," Lorelai presses, unable to repress her grin, "did you wear those little pants to show off your shapely calves?"
"Shapely calves?" Luke echoes, his nose crinkling in distaste.
"Sure," she answers. "Nice thighs, too, by the way."
"Right back at ya," Luke murmurs, just as Maisie appears with their dinners.
The conversation never falters. They eat as quickly as they can without appearing desperate to leave. Lorelai pesters Luke for descriptions of Liz's booth, crazy Renaissance Faire patrons arriving in period costumes, and the crappy motel by the interstate that he called home for nearly six weeks. She craves details, she needs to know every single thing he did while she sat in Stars Hollow, pining for him. Pining! She doesn't pine. She's not that woman, but she spent at least half of her mental energy the past few weeks mooning over Luke and his repeatedly pushed-back return.
From Luke's distracted answers to her questions, he couldn't care less about Maine; instead, he emphasizes how much he'd wanted to return to Stars Hollow -- to her, though he leaves that part unsaid -- all summer. By the time Lorelai pushes her plate away, she's shivering with anticipation, and Luke's hands are shaking.
It's this physical proof of his expectation, of his reaction to her, that breaks the last of her reserve. Lorelai leans closer and lowers her voice, her hand landing firmly on his thigh. "Take me home."
* * *
The tension on the drive back to Stars Hollow is nearly unbearable. Lorelai bites back a dozen suggestions that they just park the damn truck in the woods and get down to business. Because she needs to feel his hands on her immediately, if not sooner, and he keeps throwing her those heated glances and she thinks she might actually explode. Just from the way he's looking at her.
He glances over again, and she wriggles out of her seat belt to slide closer on the bench seat. Luke's arm stretches out, barring her way. "Quit it," he grits out.
"What?" she asks, feigning innocence. She crosses her legs, turning so they're in his peripheral vision. He alluded to her legs more than once during dinner -- and what the hell was she thinking not wearing a skirt? -- she's not above using every weapon in her arsenal to crack his damn resolve.
"We're not getting into an accident tonight," he vows, carefully not looking in her direction. "No way in hell I'm gonna take that chance. We are going home and we are going to--" He sucks in a breath when she laces her fingers through his, trapping his arm and pulling it against her rib cage. "Lorelai," he groans.
Relenting slightly, she lifts his hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, inhaling his scent. How could she have gone eight years without the feel of his skin against hers? Her need ratchets up another notch, and she turns his hand over to kiss his palm.
Luke brakes suddenly, pulling the truck to the shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt. "C'mere," he says, shifting into neutral and kicking on the emergency brake even as he lunges for her. She meets him halfway, eager for more, more, more of him. Her arms slide around his ribcage, her fingers dig into his shoulder blades as she pulls him closer.
The kiss deepens, intensifies, and his hand is inching up her shirt when a car whizzes past, jarring them from oblivion.
Luke's fingers clutch at her thigh, then he pulls away, carefully placing both hands on the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. "God," he mutters, his knuckles white. "No more touching," he warns, breathing hard. "Not until we get home, or I won't be responsible for my actions."
Lorelai is still inhaling in little gasps. She's never been good with self-control and she really wants him right now. More than that, she wants to see what happens when Luke loses control. The mere thought makes her tremble. "Maybe--"
"Lorelai," he interrupts, glancing at her for a half-second. She knows the last thing he wants is for their first time to be a heated, feverish, cramped coupling on the bench seat of his truck, but honestly, she couldn't care less at this point. She just wants him; she's not picky about the details.
Still, she smoothes down her shirt and tells herself she's an adult and she can wait fifteen minutes to jump his bones. Really, she can. "No more touching," she agrees, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
"Buckle your seatbelt," he orders gruffly.
She can't help but grin at his profile. "Yes, sir," she cracks, dutifully buckling up. She lays one hand on the bench seat between them, scratching the vinyl with her fingernail until he glances down at her fingers. "Luke?"
He looks up, their gazes connecting with a jolt of electricity. She can feel the heat of it buzzing along her spine as his hunger shines out at her. "What?" he manages, his voice husky.
Her lips quirk. "Drive faster."
Chuckling, Luke releases the brake and puts the truck in first gear. "You got it."
* * *
He keeps his promise, driving far more recklessly than she ever imagined he would, and his eagerness just feeds the fire burning in her veins. There's always been a spark between them, but this -- this is a conflagration. She can't believe she missed it for so long.
Luke parks haphazardly in his customary space behind the diner, then gives her a sheepish look. "I just thought..." he says, gesturing toward the diner.
Lorelai unbuckles her seat belt and reaches for the door handle. "Good thinking," she tells him. He knows her well enough to know her house is hers and Rory's, and she appreciates that he didn't presume anything. At the same time, she's a little surprised to realize that she wants him in her bed, in her home. She's never felt that before, and the realization gives her pause.
The uncertainty in his voice catches her attention, and she turns back, curious. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answers, pulling the keys from the ignition, but making no move to exit the truck. "I just -- I don't want to pressure you into--"
Lorelai snorts. "Please, Luke." She reaches for the collar of his shirt and yanks him closer, kissing him with all the passion and desperation she's feeling. When she pulls back, she's grinning. "Now get your chivalrous and, if I may say so, very nice ass upstairs."
Laughing, Luke steps out of the truck. "My dad told me never to refuse a beautiful woman," he comments, unlocking the back door and ushering her inside. They are in shadows, penetrated only by what little light sneaks around the curtain separating the hallway from the diner. She can her the low rumble of the diner patrons chatting, silverware clanking against plates.
Lorelai pauses just inside the door, not a dozen feet from the curtained entrance to the diner, and turns toward him. "Kiss me," she orders, looping her arms around his neck. She expects him to refuse despite his dad's advice. She expects him to be Mr. Practical and point out that there are customers in his diner and he doesn't want DIRTY DINER DEEDS to be above the fold in this week's Stars Hollow Gazette.
Instead, he backs her up against the wall, his hand low on her waist, pulling her hips flush against his. Her arousal bumps up about seven levels when his fingers tangle through her hair and tilt her head for better access. He kisses her like a starving man, desperate and insistent and grateful and just a little bit out of control. Lorelai lifts up on her tiptoes, needing to be as close as possible to him, needing to crawl inside of him--
"Caesar!" Taylor complains from just beyond the curtain. "This BLT is missing the tomatoes!" Groaning, Luke breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against the wall beside Lorelai's ear as Taylor prattles on about the importance of the tomato to a so-called BLT. Lorelai laughs ruefully, dropping her forehead to his shoulder.
Luke breathes against her neck, and she shifts closer to him. "Can I go kick his ass?" Luke asks, only half-kidding.
"Why waste time on that when you can just take me upstairs and, well, take me?" Lorelai wonders, letting her hands roam his back and his backside. Wow, she thinks, someone's been hiding his light under a flannel all these years. He's always been attractive in a rough, lumberjack-y kind of way, but Lorelai is pleasantly surprised that every part of him she touches is corded muscle.
Luke moans, pressing kisses to the column of her throat even as he pushes his hips against hers. "Not sure I can walk right now," he admits.
"Taylor," Lorelai says, grinning madly. Because her old favorite flavor of Luke is exasperated (her new favorite goes without saying) and she recites a list of the most unsexy things she can think of: "TJ's air tights. Babbette's robe slipping open. Oh! I got it! Kirk's naked butt--"
"Lorelai!" Luke exclaims, jerking away from her, his mouth twisted in distaste. It's the same look he's given her thousands of times over the years, and she loves it even more up close. His lips turn down at the corners, his nose wrinkles a bit, and he's glaring at her with those intense eyes of his, and, damn, he really is a good-looking man.
"Ssssshhh!" Lorelai warns him in an exaggerated stage whisper, following up her warning with a quick kiss. Just because. "There are people in the diner!" But she doesn't care about that right now. She wouldn't care if Taylor and Kirk and Miss Patty yanked open the curtain and started taking pictures -- she'd smile and wave and then keep right on kissing Luke. She's that giddy. And that turned on.
"What," he whispers, leaning in so his hot breath puffs against the column of her throat, "are you doing bringing up Kirk's naked--" He pulls away and waves a hand around in the air-- "Bringing up Kirk right now?"
Lorelai glances down pointedly. "Bet you can walk up the stairs now, can't you?"
He tilts his head and glares at her, his hands landing on his hips. "That's not very nice, Lorelai."
She opens her eyes wide, tilting her head coquettishly. "I'm just being helpful. Besides," she says, running her fingers down his chest. "You can punish me later." With a grin, she turns and starts up the stairs, not letting herself laugh aloud when she hears the heavy thump of his boots right behind her.
As she reaches the top step, his hands land on her hips, his fingers resting against her hipbones as he walks right behind her. Her breath stutters, and she stops in front of his door. Luke's left hand slides across her abdomen, and he moves closer until he's plastered against her back while he unlocks the door.
Lorelai's palms land flat against the frosted glass, her head tilted to one side when he leaves the keys dangling in the lock to brush her hair back, baring her neck to his lips. She reaches back with one hand, her palm landing high on his leg to pull him closer until she can feel his hardness pressing against her back. She lets her head fall backwards, moaning as his thumb brushes back and forth against her ribcage, teasing the curve of her breast.
"Lorelai," he murmurs, sliding his hand up to cup her fully, his thumb brushing her nipple.
Her back arches, pressing her breast more firmly into his palm, and his free hand rubs the sensitive spot on her hip until she's making wordless noises of need, of want, of lust. And, God, he hasn't even taken a single article of her clothing off yet.
"Inside," she manages. "Luke, please, let's go inside."
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice low and rough. He reaches past her and practically throws open the door.
* * *
Lorelai is a half-step ahead of Luke, and one of his hands is still low on her back, ushering her farther into the apartment. She stops, not really seeing her surroundings, not noticing the flannel he'd had on earlier dangling off of a chair -- none of it registers. All of her attention is focused on Luke and the tension searing the air.
Closing the distance between them, Luke embraces her from behind, pulling her tight against his body, his arms wrapped around her ribcage. She leans her head back against his shoulder, her arms landing atop his, and just lets herself savor this moment. Anticipation and desire and happiness and humor.
"We don't have to..." Luke murmurs into her ear.
Lorelai stifles a frustrated sigh, although she does appreciate his thoughtfulness. She reaches for his arm, molding her palm to the back of his hand and dragging it under her jacket to cup her breast. "Unless you want me to die of sexual frustration," she answers, arching a little as he caresses her, "we really do have to -- hey, what'd they call it at the Faire?" she wonders aloud.
Luke drops his forehead to her shoulder and sighs. "Lorelai, can we please not talk about the damn Faire?"
She twists around in his embrace and loops her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. He feels so solid and warm and his eyes are so incredibly blue this close up. "But you get the most adorable look on your face whenever we talk about the Faire," she tells him. "And you're the one who was there forever."
"For seven weeks," he corrects her automatically.
She ignores his point and demands, "What'd they call it?"
"How should I know?" Luke asks, his fingers shifting against her spine until she shivers.
"Well, *somebody* must've told you that Grog Booth Annie climbed into a tent with the Fruit Ice Guy," Lorelai explains, tracing the line of his jaw with one finger, enjoying the way his stubble scrapes against her fingertip, imaging the way it will feel against her skin. "What'd they say exactly?"
"Liz said, 'Hey, Luke, did you know that Grog Booth Annie climbed into a tent with the Fruit Ice Guy'," he answers flatly.
"Huzzah," Lorelai says with a smirk, just because she knows it will drive him batty.
"Lorelai," he grumbles, his hands urging her closer, all the while looking like he can't decide whether to kiss her or strangle her. It's the same look he's been giving her for years, but she only ever acknowledged the "strangle" half of the equation before tonight.
"What?" she asks innocently, inching closer to Luke. "Am I using it wrong?"
"How the hell should I know?" Luke shoots back. "They said all kinds of crazy things." He kisses her before she can insist that he elaborate.
His arms slide around her, one dipping low into the small of her back, the other moving up to tangle in her hair and hold her close. The kiss lengthens and deepens and, wow, she thinks, he is really, really, really good at this. Screw his track trophies, he should have a kissing trophy. Multiple kissing trophies. He should've lettered in kissing.
Lorelai pulls back, breathing hard, and grins brightly. "Snogging," she says, her hands resting on his chest. She's distracted for a moment, her gaze dropping to where her fingers are exploring the dimensions of his body. Again -- wow.
Luke blinks, his chest rising rapidly beneath her hands. "Excuse me?"
"That's snogging," she explains, shrugging out of her jacket and leaving it where it falls. "What we were just doing. At least it is in England now. Not sure about medieval times, but--"
Groaning, Luke drops his hand to her ass and yanks her back against him, shutting her up with another one of those really great kisses. She doesn't mind at all. In fact, she kind of likes Luke's new method of changing the subject -- effective *and* enjoyable. Reaching up, Lorelai shoves at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders.
Luke lets go of her just long enough to lose his jacket, and he makes a really hot exasperated noise when he does it. Lorelai has always suspected Luke possessed the ability to communicate solely in grunts, but she never quite expected this particular context. Or the arousing effect his grunts would have on her.
"Oh," she yelps, pushing him a couple inches away. "Shagging!" She would clap her hands in excitement if they weren't so pleasantly occupied unbuttoning his grey shirt.
"What?" Luke demands, his brow furrowed. He looks a little distracted. Probably because his hand is slipping under her shirt so his warm palm can land on her lower back and anchor her against him.
Lorelai grins at him, quite proud of herself for being able to come up with vaguely British synonyms for sex. "It's a euphemism for--"
"I know what it's a euphemism for, Lorelai," Luke grumbles.
"Oh!" She bounces a little in place. "Beast with two backs."
"A roll in the hay," she adds, grinning. "Except there's no hay here," she adds, glancing around his apartment. "We have hay at the inn--"
But Luke cuts her off with another blistering kiss, knocking her slightly off balance. He slides a thigh between her legs and Lorelai moans into his mouth. Without warning, he pulls back a little and says, "I don't understand why you're playing some sort of word game while we're--" He stops abruptly, letting go of her to wave a hand in the small space between them. "Doing this!"
"Okay, first of all, I'm not playing a word game," she tells him, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. She's distracted by his stubble and kisses him again, letting her tongue sneak out to scrape across his jawline.
"Lorelai," he groans, his hands pushing her shirt up and his palms spanning her ribcage. He turns his head and captures her lips for a deep kiss. When he pulls back, his fingers are digging into her flesh and he leans in to nibble at her neck. "Should've known you wouldn't shut up, even now," he mumbles into her skin.
Laughing, Lorelai agrees, "Yeah, you really should have known that." She yanks the last button free from his shirt, and separates the edges, reaching up to push it off of his shoulders. She pauses, stepping back to make sure she's got his attention as she slides his shirt down his arms, leaving him in his dress pants and a black undershirt.
He's quite a sight, all in black and breathing hard, his gaze fixated on her as she strips him. "Up," she orders, tugging his undershirt from his pants. "And if you're worried about me splitting my attention," she continues, but when he's shirtless, she nearly loses her train of thought -- because, wow. She steps forward to trace the tattoo on his shoulder as she says, "Make me pay attention."
She meant it as a taunt or a challenge, but it sounds almost like a plea.
Without warning, Luke drops to his knees in front of her, leaving her slightly off balance and more than a little surprised. When she looks down, his bare skin glows in the dimly lit apartment, and he's pushing her shirt out of the way so he can press kisses to her abdomen, and she's pretty sure that sight alone could push her over the edge. Oh, yeah, she's paying quite a bit of attention now. So much attention, in fact, that she's afraid she doesn't have enough left over for pesky things like balance and remaining upright.
Lorelai shudders as his scruff slides across her sensitive skin, offering a rough counterpoint to the slick warmth of his lips and tongue. "Luke," she moans, her hands landing on his shoulders for balance. He doesn't answer in words, but he deftly unbuttons and unzips her pants, letting them slip down her hips, down her legs. Lorelai steps out of her heels, too, and shivers when her bare feet touch the cool hardwood floor.
He's rising now, lifting her shirt as he goes. He gives her a challenging look and a rough-voiced command, "Up." She obeys, lifting her arms for him, and then she's standing before him in her bra and panties, and his mouth drops to her collarbone. Her fingers clutch at his back, at his shoulder blades.
Between the press of his lips on her skin and the feel of his muscles moving beneath her fingers, she's overwhelmed, full to bursting with a feeling that she can't quite name. She just knows that she doesn't want him to stop. Ever, if possible. Luke pauses for a moment with his fingers working the clasp of her bra, meeting her eyes to ask the question. "God, please," Lorelai answers, fumbling for the front of his pants.
"You're beautiful," Luke mutters, just before he dips his head and licks her nipple, and Lorelai can't summon the words to reply. She can't seem to undo his pants, either, because her hands are shaking and for a pretty quiet guy, he's quite talented with his mouth. She glances rather desperately around the apartment, spots the bed, and reaches for his face.
"Luke," she mutters, pulling him up for a kiss as she begins to back toward the bed. Luke stumbles along with her, one of his hands skimming along the edge of her panties.
Her legs hit the edge of the bed, and Lorelai loses her balance, falling onto the mattress with a yelp. And then she's laughing, reaching one hand up for Luke, who's grinning himself as he stands beside the bed showing off that chest of his.
"Very graceful," he remarks, looking way too pleased with himself.
"Your fault," she shoots back, sliding into a more comfortable position, leaning back on one arm and smirking when his gaze drops inevitably to her breasts. "You distracted me."
"You told me to," Luke points out, his breathing uneven as his gaze slides down her body. "God, you're gorgeous, Lorelai."
"I can't believe you," she shoots back, waving her free hand in the general direction of his chest. "Look at all of that hotness that you've been hiding from me!"
Luke shifts his weight, looking a little uncomfortable. "Yeah, well," he says with a shrug. He adds a groan when she reaches her free hand to her panties and hooks her thumb into the material, just to see if she can make him sweat.
Lorelai smirks some more, giving him a Diana Ross hand when he moves to join her. "Not so fast, buster."
His eyebrows jump up. "Excuse me?"
"Lose the pants, kind sir," she orders, "and let's see what else you've been hiding all these years."
Luke rolls his eyes. "Don't call me that."
"Kind sir?" she asks, dropping down to her elbow to get comfortable while they argue. She twists her hips and bats her eyelashes at him. "Pray thee, good man, what hath--"
"Quit it," Luke orders, making quick work of his pants, no doubt in order to shut her up. He kicks off his boots, then steps out of his pants and pauses, hands on his hips. "Happy?" he asks, sounding thoroughly exasperated.
"Oh, yeah." He's beautiful, and bashful enough to have left his boxers on, and Lorelai can't seem to stop smiling. "You really should reconsider your no-tights rule," she tells him. "Great gams, babe."
With that, Luke all but tackles her. She's not entirely sure how he managed it, but she's pinned to the mattress by his weight, and he's got a thigh between her legs, and this is too much fun. She's got about fourteen jokes she wants to make about wasting his high school athletic career on track when clearly he should've been wrestling, but at first she can't stop laughing and then he's kissing her senseless.
The feeling of Luke's warm skin against hers is making her crazy, and she shifts impatiently beneath him. The rough hair on his chest rubs against her nipples. Her fingers are clutching at his back, sliding down to his ass, and she wraps her leg around his hip, urging him closer, closer, closer.
Luke groans into her mouth, and then moves, feasting on her neck, palming her breast, pressing his erection against her. He slips down her body, tonguing her breasts, slipping one hand down to tug at her panties. She hates that Luke has to move to accomplish his goal, but she obediently lifts her hips so he can slide her panties off.
Propped on his elbow, Luke stares down at her body, and the heat of his gaze is enough to leave her shifting restlessly. "Luke," she urges, tugging at his shoulder, but he resists. Instead of lying back beside her, his palm lands heavy on the inside of her knee, sliding up her thigh, and Lorelai can't stop the wordless noises she's making even before his fingers reach her center.
"God," Luke mutters, wonder in his voice. "Lorelai."
The way he says her name snaps the last of her control, and she's yanking impatiently at his boxers, reaching inside to wrap her hand around him. His fingers jerk against her in reaction, and she uses her free hand to tug his head back down so she can kiss him, since she's pretty much beyond words at this point.
When Luke pulls away, he starts to slide back down her body, and even the thought of his stubble scratching her thighs, of his tongue on her clit, is nearly too much at this point. She grabs his arm and holds him still. "Luke, please--" She breaks off, shaking her head, unable to voice her thoughts. Instead she squeezes him gently and says, "Boxers off."
He complies eagerly, and takes a moment to grab a condom from his nightstand. He doesn't ask about the pill or diseases or anything, just rips open the package and takes care of it. It's so responsible and so perfectly Luke that it brings tears to her eyes. And it has to be the first time in her entire life that practical birth control concerns have increased her desire.
"Hey," he yelps, no doubt startled that she's tackled him this time, landing half on his chest.
"You're pretty," she tells him with a grin, wiggling against him just to feel his warm, naked skin against hers.
Just as she intended, Luke rolls his eyes at her. "I am not pretty," he grumbles, even as his hands clutch at her skin.
Lorelai moves quickly, sitting up and slinging a leg over both of his so she's straddling his thighs. "You are," she tells him, leaning over to hover above his chest, bracing her palms against the mattress beside his shoulders. Luke reaches up, running his hands along her sides. "Look at this chest," she says, pressing kisses to that very nice part of his body. "Very nice," she tells his collarbone, drifting to one side to pay some attention to his shoulder. "Great arms, too."
To her satisfaction, Luke is shifting beneath her, his hips lifting, his cock brushing against her stomach. Lorelai pushes herself upright and grins down at him.
He looks tortured and awed and really, really hot, lying there naked beneath her. "You're beautiful," he manages, his voice rough.
She can't resist. "Why thank you, kind sir," she says, grinning as she wraps her hand around his erection.
Luke is laughing and groaning all at once, and she decides it's the perfect time to lift herself up and impale herself on his hardness. She sits still, eyes wide, letting her body adjust to him, even as Luke grips her hips and lifts himself up to kiss her.
It's familiar and brand new and it's Luke and Lorelai needs to say something, needs an outlet for all the words swirling around in her head. When she breaks the kiss and looks at him, she smiles wide and says, "Huzzah."
He's laughing again, even as he pulls her flat against his chest and kisses her. His free hand slides down her back and settles on her hips, and then he thrusts up into her. While she's distracted by all of that tantalizing goodness, he moves, rolling her beneath him.
Lorelai reaches up and brushes her hair out of her face, then gives him a grin. "Sexist pig." She wiggles a little, pushing the pillow out from beneath her head so she can look straight up at him.
"Excuse me?" Luke demands, eyebrows lifting.
"You just had to be on top," she says, and she's still smiling, and she's not entirely sure she'll ever stop, not with how damn good this feels. How damn good he feels inside her. She circles her hips once, slowly, and his mouth drops open, the muscles of his arms cording as he tenses.
"You weren't moving," he points out, and his voice is tinged with a little bit of desperation. Lorelai can sympathize, since she's been waiting for this since the truck interlude. Or really since dinner. Hell, she's been waiting for this since he kissed her on the porch of the Dragonfly seven weeks ago.
A long damn time, and it's finally here and -- "Then why aren't you moving?" she asks, pulling her legs higher around his hips. They both moan as he sinks in further, and then he's pulling back, and thrusting again.
"Better?" he asks, pausing briefly when he's all the way inside her.
"Harder," she orders, her fingers threading through his hair. She leans up and kisses him, sucking his tongue into her mouth when he thrusts more forcefully. First times are usually awkward and unsatisfying, but somehow she and Luke seem to be beating the odds.
She shifts beneath him, raking her fingernails lightly down his chest. There's sweat on his forehead, and he's staring down at her, and he's hitting her just right, and, damn, she's really, really close to orgasm already. "Luke," she moans, her hand sliding around to the slick skin of his lower back.
"Good?" he asks, sweat beading on his skin.
She nods, her hand slipping down to cup his ass, feeling his muscles clench as he thrusts into her. "Luke," she says again, her free hand clutching at the bedspread.
"Already?" he asks, and she'd laugh if she weren't so far gone.
"Thank God," he breathes, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. Luke increases his pace, dropping down closer to her, so his chest slides against her breasts with every thrust. Just that little extra bit of stimulation is enough.
Lorelai looks up at him, holding his gaze, letting him see her until she breaks apart, shuddering beneath him. Her eyes slide shut and she's saying something, but she doesn't know what, and her entire body is on fire, but in a good way, and then Luke is gasping in her ear and shaking. She opens her eyes to watch, his taut arms holding him above her, his eyes shut in ecstasy.
"Lorelai," he says, very softly, just before he collapses onto his elbows, dropping his head into the crook of her neck.
She's still breathing hard, still tingling all the way to her fingertips, as she wraps her arms and legs around him, selfishly keeping him as close as possible. His chest heaves against her, and his back is slick with sweat. She licks his shoulder and kisses his neck and then asks, "Now do you get the huzzah thing?"
And then they're both laughing, their bodies shaking against each other again, and Luke lifts his head to say, "You're impossible, you know that?"
"It's part of my charm," she counters, settling closer against him.
* * *
Luke pauses, aforementioned sheets exposed as he holds the blanket and top sheet up for her to climb into bed. "They're sheets," he answers with a shrug.
"But they're... plaid," she answers, biting the inside of her cheek.
His eyes narrow. "Yeah? And?"
"Are they flannel?" she manages, as giggles begin to escape. She tries to hide it, letting her hair shadow her face as she slides into his bed.
"No," Luke answers with an impressive glower. "They are not flannel."
But Lorelai is lost now, both hands pressed to her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. Because it looks like Luke set his old flannel shirts out to pasture by turning them into sheets. She turns her face into the pillow and laughs harder, stealing glances at him every time she thinks she might be regaining control.
Fastidiously, Luke finishes turning down the bed, then stands there, hands on his hips, and glares at her. It's the exasperated look she's seen from him a million times before, but this time he's naked and standing there beside his plaid sheets, and the absurdity of the situation just sends Lorelai over the edge into borderline hysteria. She pulls the orange plaid sheet up over her body, examining it as closely as she can while laughing so hard there are tears in her eyes.
"Lorelai," Luke sighs.
She tries, she really does, even going so far as to reach a hand out for him, but she cannot possibly stop laughing. She might never stop.
Grumbling, Luke climbs stiffly into bed, shooting her annoyed looks as he settles beside her.
"Oh, Luke," she manages, tears streaming down her cheeks as she rolls closer to him, pressing herself against his side. "I love your sheets."
"You're mocking my sheets," he argues, arms crossed as he refuses to look at her.
"I love them," she tells him, reaching her hand up to wipe her cheeks. "It's just -- I never really pictured what kind of sheets you'd have, but these?" She lifts the orange plaid fabric from his chest, waggling it in his line of vision. "These are so perfectly Luke."
"Is that so?" he says, still miffed by her laughter.
"Definitely," she answers, pressing small kisses to his chest. "Seriously, Luke, I always wondered where your old flannel shirts went to die."
"If you really hate these sheets," Luke begins after a moment, "I have others--"
"Seriously, Luke, I mock because I love." She leans up and kisses him, forgetting all the plaid jokes she'd been meaning to make when his hand cups the back of her head and he deepens the kiss.
Luke shifts, his arm settling around her. "Good."
Her hand lands on his chest, tracing small patterns in his warm skin, and she tries, but she can't resist adding, "Just promise me you won't ever buy a flannel shirt that looks like this."
"Okay," Luke starts, sounding positively rant-y, "now--"
"Really," she interrupts, slinging a thigh across his to hold him in place, "I don't think orange plaid would be a good look for you. You need the blues and greens to bring out your eyes."
Luke frowns at her. "Now you're mocking me."
Lorelai tightens her arms around his chest and beams at him. "Yeah," she answers happily. "I am."
Luke stares at her for a moment, his frown fading, replaced eventually by a small grin. He lets out a long, slow, relieved breath, holding her tightly against him as he answers in a soft, gruff voice, "Me, too."
They lie there in silence for a moment, snug and warm and sated beneath Luke's silly plaid sheets. Lorelai can feel happiness bubbling inside her, filling every last bit of her with contentment. She presses a kiss to his chest and says, "Best first date ever."