Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls…or 'When a man loves a woman' by Michael Bubble.

A/N: Okay, so…I've finally decided to put up the first chapter of my new story. I'm definitely nervous; it's a very…different story for me to write. You'll know what I'm talking about after the first chapter…and second.

This idea was inspired by Scary-Girly, thanks so much for the idea and trusting me with it! I hope I don't let you down!

Just a note, this story takes place in the sixth season and everything before and including 'The Perfect Dress' has happened. Also, Luke already postponed the wedding and Lorelai knows about April. Logan and Rory were living together but were not all happy go lucky as you'll see soon enough.

I think that's all…But if you haven't noticed this story is rated M for Mature Sexual Situations! And…it's a TRORY! Not really Logan friendly…And there will be major flashbacks throughout the story!

Enjoy and please send feedback!

- - -

Never Say Goodbye Again

The plush red velvet brushed softly against her bare shoulders. Her dress, mint green and tight to her frame, helped cool her heated skin. She relaxed into the lush booth; legs crossed elegantly, one hand pressed against her thigh and the other rocking a glass back and forth.

Her lips, painted into a pink pout, curved upwards at the melody playing from a large set of speakers, mounted high on the wall. She titled her head to the side, closing her black rimmed eyes, humming along with the romantic tune.

When a man loves a woman
Can't keep his mind on nothin' else
He'd trade the world
For a good thing he's found

A smile graced her face, disappearing behind her glass as she sipped the last of her drink, the smooth taste of Baileys coating her throat. She placed the glass on the table in front of her, fingernails tapping against its rim.

A moment later she was standing up, one hand grasping the trailing fabric of her dress and the other gripping the booth, not wanting to trip. Flimsy, silver heels adorned her feet, secured around her ankle with a tight ribbon.

The room around her was almost empty, save for the bartender and an older man sitting at the bar. He'd been there since she'd arrived, nursing glass after glass of scotch neat.

His drink.

Her smile faded, a frown wrinkling the corners of her eyes. She straightened herself out, no longer leaning onto the booth. She wasn't intoxicated, not even tipsy, and yet she couldn't trust her legs to hold her up. Her mind was foggy, her throat raw.

She felt intoxicated.

She wanted to drown herself at the bottom of an empty glass. Wanted to forget everything that had happened. But she couldn't bring herself to order another drink. She wasn't that kind of girl, the girl who gave up on everything the second her relationship gave up on her.

And so she walked over to the middle of the bar, eyes closed and face drawn. She vaguely felt her body sway from side to side. Her hair brushed against her shoulders, hardened from the ever present hairspray. Her dress restricted much movement, but she danced anyway.

If she is bad, he can't see it
She can do no wrong
Turn his back on his best friend
If he puts her down

The sharp sound of a door opening and then being slammed shut greets Rory as she sways on the spot. She is determined not to let anything distract her. Her eyes stay shut, one hand combing through her hair. She waits to hear the person order something, waits to hear the bartender greet his new customer.


Her rocking falters as a thick silence settles over the bar, only the smooth voice of Michael Bolton filling the room. She fights not to let her shoulders tense, she doesn't want to acknowledge the person standing behind her. Because that means someone's watching her, seeing her dancing by herself and she only wants to disappear.

Rory leans her head back, sighing out through her lips, slowly relaxing every muscle in her body. It's impossible to overcome the tension sinking deep into her bones but she still tries. She can feel her skin break out into goose flesh as she exposes her open neck to the circulating fan above.

Her body used to react like that when he'd touch her. Goose bumps would pepper her skin even as his body burned up under her touch and when he'd brush up against her it resulted in flames. Licking their way every so slowly across her flesh…

Icy hands trailing down her bare arms….

Long fingers locking tightly with her own….

Rory gasped as her eyes snapped open, becoming shockingly aware of the body pressed intimately against her back. She could feel the harsh cotton of his jacket, the buttons pushing into her spine. Her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily, a sigh escaping past her lips, her flushed body melting into his icy embrace.

When a man loves a woman
Spend his very last dime
Trying to hold on to what he needs
He'd give up all his comforts
And sleep out in the rain
If she said that's the way
It ought to be

She struggles to open her eyes, tilting her head down, surprised to find her own arms crossed, pulled tight to her abdomen. She watches his hands; they tease the porcelain skin of her wrists, fingers tracing the bluish veins. Sparks erupt from his touch, racing through her body, her stomach plummeting and her heart clenching almost painfully.

She feels him bend down, his breath hot against the back of her neck. He'd pulled her hair to the side, piled it on top of her shoulder, and she didn't even notice. His nose presses against the base of her neck, trailing up till he's at the soft spot behind her ear.

He never found that spot and Rory shudders in pleasure.

Finally, she's drowning. Loosing herself at the bottom of a black, sinful spiral. She feels like she's disappearing, ever so slightly, melting into the man behind her, burning up under his frozen hands.

He's intoxicating her.

When a man loves a woman
I give you everything I got (yeah)
Trying to hold on
To your precious love
Baby please don't treat me bad

Slowly, she starts the motion of her hips again, swaying within in the confines of his steel arms. Dancing with him, enraptured by the warmth flowing through her veins. A volcano of heat being born in her stomach.

Her legs bend, her ankle turning inwards, brushing against his leg. She's hyperaware, her body merely responding to everything he can give her. His pants catch her dress, pulling it up her leg, the satin fabric sending chills shooting throughout her system.

From behind her eyelids she can sense a sudden darkness. Her eyes peel open; the lights aren't off but dimmed. Out of the corner of her eye she watches the bartender as he winks, hand poised on the light switch.

Second by second the room descends into darkness. The only light coming from a single, fluorescent spotlight above the bar. She watches the oily bartender disappear into the back and she's alone with the man holding her. The drunk sitting at the bar earlier was no longer there, she hadn't heard him leave.

Her eyes stay open, she can't see anyway. But she can feel him, more than before. She can feel the rough skin of his hands sliding over hers, calloused and dry. She can feel his heart beating against her back, his breath blowing stray hairs around her neck, tickling her. He has a watch on his wrist; it knocks her hips on every backwards shift. His jacket and shirt are rolled up, cuffed at his elbow, and she lets her fingers trace over the subtle hair on his arm.

When a man loves a woman
Deep down in his soul
She can bring him such misery
If she is playing him for a fool
He's the last one to know
Loving eyes can never see

A deep breath fills up her lungs as she turns in his embrace. His hands relax their grip, letting her go completely so she can uncross her arms. Rory fights to keep her head straight, but she finds herself level with his neck and breathes a sigh of relief. She's still not ready to see him, scared that could put an end to this feeling coursing through her.

The single light from the bar is skimming his chest, barely shedding enough light for her to make out his unbuttoned shirt and rumpled jacket. He's not wearing a tie, she notices, as she has an uninterrupted view of his chest. The soft light bounces off a chain that lies around his neck, a cross hanging off of it along with a gold band.

She tilts her head up further, studying the shadows playing across his jaw. Her heart plays an erratic rhythm in her chest as she finally looks up at him. His face is dark, the light not reaching those sharp contours. She can see his blonde hair though, short and spiky, brushing around his ears.

Rory swallows past the lump in her throat. She brings her hands to his chest, pushing him back one step at a time. He looks too much like him. The suit, the blonde hair, the obvious well-to-do aura surrounding him.

She blinks as the light hits her eyes, squinting for a moment before taking in his lit up face. And suddenly her whole world fell away underneath her. There was no bar surrounding them, no music playing out in the background, nothing.

He looked like he always did. His face was more mature though, his jaw more defined. But his smirk was ever present, stretching wide across his lips and showing two rows of perfect white teeth. His skin was tanned, slightly darker than she remembered it. But it was his eyes that drew her in.

A blue so deep, so dark, they made her step closer to him. They were boring into her, alive with lust and desire. She trembled under his intense gaze.

Yes when a man loves a woman
I know exactly how he feels

'cause baby, baby, baby
I am a man
When a man loves a woman

"Mary," he breathed against her lips, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

Rory felt her eyes close, she felt naked before him. He reminded her so much of him, reminded her so much that she could feel the tears stinging at her eyes.

But it wasn't him.

His arms around her felt like ice, dousing her body in a cold shower that awakened her every nerve. She was used to the fire that surrounded her when she was with him but this was something so completely different.

Something about him, so familiar and yet like nothing she'd ever experienced. And Rory welcomed it, she yearned to feel his cold hands trace over every inch of her body. She felt like she needed him, like she'd never needed anything before.

"Tristan," she echoed his greeting, her eyes fluttering open, mirroring his same desire.

And before she knew it his lips were claiming hers, kissing her passionately and without rest. He swept her up into his arms, his hands digging into her dress in a bruising hold. Rory kissed him back, opening her mouth to his searching tongue, moaning with relief.

A fire was burning itself inside her, an inferno of heat that only his hands could soothe. She pushed herself closer to him, her arms snaking around his neck and fingers delving into his hair.

Her mouth separated from his, feeling his lips kiss a path down her cheek, onto her neck. His tongue soothed at her skin, easing the flames left behind from his burning lips.

And Rory surrendered herself to him.

- - -

His apartment wasn't something she'd expect. There was no pool table, no over the top plasma screen TV. But there was leather.

Rory shuddered as she let herself fall into one of his chairs, at least two times her size. She curled her legs underneath her, trying to find warmth. Her legs were naked; his wrinkled dress shirt fell to mid-thigh.

She tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, looking around his large loft apartment. All the furniture was painted slate grey, even the cabinets that lined the kitchen. Every room flowed into the next, effortlessly copying some design found on the page of House and Home.

Straight across from her was a huge pane glass window. Rory worried her bottom lip as she watched the early morning sun rise over the buildings of downtown New Haven. The city, however small it was, was already lit up, even at this time of day.

She felt almost comfortable, as she let herself be swallowed by his immense leather chair. His apartment was definitely more welcoming than she would have ever imagined. It scared her to realize she felt more at home here than at…

"Stupid," she whispered into the silent loft, cursing herself for once again thinking of him.

She'd accomplished the impossible with Tristan; she'd managed to forget everything. Forget the scent that hung off him, forget the grin that would light up his face. She'd replaced the fire that burned her skin when he'd touch her with ice.

He fumbled with his keys, half-heartedly trying to open his door. She was more than sure he'd gladly take her right there in the hallway.

She finally felt the door give in behind her, making her trip into his dark apartment. But then his arms were wrapped possessively around her waist, holding her against him. She pushed him up against his door, slamming it shut, the loud bang echoing throughout the room.

His jacket was the first thing to go. She pushed it off his broad shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and pile around his feet. She could feel his hands sliding over her dress, her back, her arms…his hand were everywhere, slowly rendering her mind numb with pleasure.

Her hands went to his already half unbuttoned shirt, discarding him of the material and pushing it to the ground. For a moment, she let her gaze sweep over him, admiring the sharp lines of his abs and the exposed planes of his chest.

But his need was obvious and he brought his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks and bringing her forward to meet his lips. Their kiss was fervent, deepening without hesitancy. His tongue fought for dominance, sweeping into the sweet recesses of her mouth and she allowed herself to do the same. He tasted like the smooth Baileys she'd drank before, as well as the bitter tang of the whiskey he must have had.

She pushed herself up, elbows planted on top of his shoulders, her body welded to his. She savoured the deep noise that echoed in his throat, the way his touch became almost wild. His hands caught the zipper of her dress, tugging it once, twice. He was suddenly hesitant.

She pulled away from him, his eyes stared back at her, black with lust. A question still lingered it their depths. A promise that came to her silently and Rory felt her heart flutter involuntarily.

He would stop.

It was that second that she knew she wanted this more than anything. Maybe it wasn't even about forgetting anymore? Maybe she wasn't using him to drown herself in something other than heartbreak and alcohol?

But she knew she wanted him.