"Damn it!" Logan Huntzberger cursed under his breath. "Damn it to hell!" He slams his fist against the walls of the elevator, as he fought back the tears that burned his throat. Rory's melancholic blue eyes, her hesitant hand waving goodbye, were images he couldn't erase from his mind. He felt spineless, helpless.
He punches the red emergency stop button.
He needed to breathe.
1. Last Night
Colin and Finn staggered into the elevator with last threats of impromptu crashes in Logan's London flat, "British birds beware!", and a final "To the Queen!", empty fists raised in salute to a now sleepy Rory.
"I thought we'd have to bring out our Batman and Robin spare pajamas," Rory half-smiled, shaking her head as Logan steered her back into their apartment. She had grown fond of Colin and Finn, and the thought of seeing less of them with Logan away gave her cause for more sadness.
Once inside, Logan started picking up empty paper cups and beer bottles, décor fallen from walls, assorted masks of Thatcher and Blair, Union Jack flags, all remnants of a farewell party that–by the looks of their apartment–had been a blast, but had also seemingly passed him by.
Rory watched him, his body restless even as he had to hobble with a cane. She knew by now that when Logan had a lot on his mind, he had to do something. Take a walk. Fly a plane. Right now, he looked like he would jump off a cliff if they were on one.
So she intercepted him on his way to the kitchen, removing the things he held in his hands and putting them on the counter. "Hey," she gently said, "I'll take care of that tomorrow. Let's get you to bed because you have a long day tomorrow."
Tomorrow. The word hung heavily over them. Tomorrow he is leaving.
"Ace." Looking a little desperate, Logan took hold of Rory's face and kissed her. Deep and longing, their mouths opening for each other, breathing into each other. Slowly they walked back to their bed, still in each other's kiss. They broke apart long enough for Rory to remove her blonde wig and shake her brown tresses loose. They lay down as Logan buried his face in her hair.
Knowing that this would be their last time in a while, Logan and Rory took an eternity to make love. Blouse, shirt, pants, skirt were swept aside and bare skin discovered as if for the first time. Sober at the party, Logan felt drunk at the sight and smell and taste of Rory. He kissed, nipped, sucked at her neck and shoulders, before finally dipping down to her breasts. Rory's fingers twined through his hair, her legs tangled with his, as he took his time doing what he knew she loved, sucking and laving her breasts with his tongue. His hand, meanwhile, grazed her legs, still clad in her thigh-high stockings, to caress her center now hot and moist with his ministrations.
Rory was spiraling out of her senses, her hands caressing Logan's hard chest and back, kissing his hair and whispering words of love. Logan's head started moving lower, and her back arched in anticipation of what she knew was coming. Shy in the beginning, she now welcomed his mouth on her and his hands at her buttocks, and Logan reveled in the intimacy that she so willingly shared with him. Her hands still in his hair, guiding him, Rory's nerve endings tingled and sparked as she felt Logan's tongue stroking her. She felt consumed by flames. Logan began to feel Rory tighten and buck under his mouth and knew she was coming soon. He reached up to caress her breasts, and Rory started to moan and pant at the double assault.
"Please, Logan," she moaned, wanting him inside her. "Please, love," tugging at his hair, trying to get him to move up and into her. But Logan wouldn't, couldn't stop, he needed to give her this, to make his sensible Rory utterly and completely senseless and out of control for him. And indeed she was. She bucked, and moaned, and cried out his name, until she became boneless in his arms.
He stared at Rory, now gathered in his embrace, her hair spread out and eyes closed, body flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath. All his anger and frustration at his father and his future couldn't measure up to the desperate desire he felt to stay with her here, right at this moment. He needed her. That he can feel so vulnerable was such a surprise.
He could hardly believe that Rory stayed with him through his recuperation from his fall. That was when he realized the lengths she would go through for him, wading through her hurt, because she loved him. No one else has. Because he was and can be such an ass, he knew. He sometimes still wondered if she had totally forgiven him. Perhaps not, but he knew he would spend the rest of his life making himself worthy of her love. He was like a boat that had lost its moorings, Rory the anchor that held onto him and kept him afloat and from becoming totally lost to sea. He smiled inwardly at his use of the boat as metaphor, seeing that it figured prominently in many a mishap in his reckless pre-Rory life. How can he be without her?
Rory looked up at Logan, who was now staring into space, brown eyes deep the color of chocolate, his hands distractedly pulling at her hair. He hadn't spoken since the party ended and Colin and Finn bade their drunken goodbyes. She dare not ask what he was thinking. If he asks her again to tell him not to go, she would answer without hesitation, "Don't go." Yet she knew–they both knew–that he had to. So she didn't ask him what he was thinking.
Instead, she simply wanted to love him the same way he did her. "My turn," she said softly, turning to him and kissing him. Logan's arms automatically went around her as she moved on top of him, both gasping at the sensation of Rory's breasts on his chest, her heat against his pelvis, her stockinged legs moving across his bare ones. She moved herself in agonizing slowness against him, pressing herself into him, caressing the length of his torso with her face, until she took him in inside her mouth. Now it was Logan's hands tangled in her hair, now it was him who was mindless and hushed as her practiced mouth and tongue moved on him. She felt herself heating up again as he groaned in pleasure; he taught her well.
Logan insistently pulled her up and they kissed frantically, as Rory straddled him and he finally entered her. Breathing into each other, Rory moved in cadence to Logan's thrusts, his hands at her hips, her hands locked around his neck. Until they both came to oblivion, where nothing and no one existed but themselves, and where their breaths were the only sounds.
They fell asleep without further conversation, enveloped in each other's arms and unspoken emotions. Neither wanted to disturb the moment that seemed to protect them so tenuously against the inevitable tomorrow. Neither knew if they should say what they both wanted to say.
Just tell me not to go.