Thanks to cmtlshem15 and meme for encouraging me with their reviews to write again. Or rather, guilting me into writing again. I forgot how much I loved these two and how easy it is for me to write them Thanks especially to meme. For you followed me to a different story, in a different fandom, to harass me about continuing. I thank you for your persistance. So here it is, another installment. Please accept my deepest apologies for waiting a whole fucking year. I hope it is somewhat worth it (unlikely).
She is standing at the sink doing the rather large amount of dishes that have piled up over the course of the day and his hands are splayed across her stomach as he rests his chin on her shoulder. She thinks this should feel awkward, but it doesn't. Because, she remembers with a smile, they are adults now and everything is changed.
She leans forward to shut off the water and smiles when he moves forward with her, not willing to let her go for a second. She smiles because this is so different, so new, and so not. He is still Jess. And she is still Rory. But this time, he isn't letting her go. In fact, he is holding her to the point of almost pain. But the pain of his hands on her hips, his fingers making indents on the bones that jut out of her pale skin, is a good kind of pain. Nothing like the pain she felt when he told her he loved her and ran (or drove) or when he yelled and she ran (to someone else).
She sighs (happily) as she dries her hand on the dishtowel and turns around to face him. It makes her smile again when she turns around to see her tiny pink handprint still on his chest and she smiles even wider when his hands don't leave her hips. She meets his gaze and she thinks her mouth just might fall off with the width of her grin because his eyes are sparkling and they remind her of nights at gas stations (come here.) and stolen kisses outside the diner while he (tries) to take out the trash.
It seems to her that his thoughts are in the same direction as hers because he leans forward slowly and catches her lips in his. The room does that thing where it spins quickly and she lets her eyes drift shut as his hand slides up her ribcage and over her shoulder to cup her cheek.
She doesn't have a name for what she and him are yet. She doesn't know what they are together, but then again she doesn't think they ever had a name for what they are. They just…were. Even when her mother (in a fit of anger and not knowing what she was saying. She never knew him. No, not like she did) told her Jess wasn't everything in-
Rory gasped in sudden realization and her mouth opened against his. Jess chuckled quietly before gripping her face with a little bit more force and letting his tongue dart out to meet hers. It isn't what she meant to do, honestly, because what she just thought of is just, awful, and she needs to stop him because he needs to know what she is thinking RIGHT NOW but his tongue just touched hers and, God, she forgot how good it felt when he did that.
She moans slightly and it only spurs him on as he squeezes her hip and pushes his against hers (perfect fit) so that she is squished painfully (wonderfully) between his body and the countertop. Her hands run through his hair as she lightly massages his scalp and his teeth find her bottom lip and tug gently. She lets out another gasp because, Jesus lord almighty, he never did that before. And that was nice. She liked that.
They were young before and while he was experienced, he was awfully impatient. They usually battled for dominance on his Uncle's couch-
She gasps again and this time, her eyes shoot wide open. She knows he notices her tense body (how could he not, all pressed up against her like that) because he stops immediately, his head moving back and looking at her with a quirked eyebrow (always, always the eyebrow).
She puts her hands palm down on his chest and pushes him away slightly. She has to because she is about to look at his face and on her journey up to his face, she just knows her eyes are going to land on his lips and looking at his lips are a dangerous thing. She meets his eyes quickly.
And her heart breaks a bit because she knows what he is thinking. She knows he is thinking that she just realized the enormity of the situation, how big this was, and she didn't want any part of it. She sighs and leans up on her tip toes (even though she doesn't have to) and pecks him on the lips chastely, reassuring.
But he still looks confused and she remembers why she stopped in the first place because what she is thinking IS huge. It is impossibly big and no matter how much she didn't want to stop him with his tongue and his hands and his tongue she just-
"Jess." She pants, her baby blue's growing wide. And he looks terrified at her seriousness and panic. Absolutely terrified. And he should be, she thinks with assurance, because what she is about to say is just going to derail everything.
She takes a deep breath and grabs a bit of his shirt in her hands as she fists the fabric. His eyebrows look like they are going to pop right off his head if he raises them any higher.
"Luke and my mom are married."
His breath comes out in a deep wooshing noise and his eyebrows drop back down, his body completely relaxing. He replaces his hands on her hips with certainty and smirks at her and she just wants to scream and freaking smack him as hard as she can in the head with the pot that is drying behind her because he. Just. Doesn't. Get. It.
She grabs the sides of his face with both of her tiny hands firmly, slightly squishing his features and turning his cocky grin into a grimace of pain. His eyebrows resume their earlier position. She sets her mouth into a firm line and looks him dead in the eye.
"We. Are. Cousins."
His eyes grow a little wider for a second and she lets out a miniscule breath because he (finally) gets it. He knows now. He can become as appalled as she. He can stumble backwards with a look of horror on his face and begin spraying himself with the febreeze that sits unused under the counter (because, god help them, the Gilmore's do NOT clean) and not touch her ever again. No hands. No tongue.
She sighs wistfully.
And he begins to laugh. And not just a chuckle but a full blown guffaw. She drops her hands from his face and narrows her eyes at him but he doesn't see because he almost completely bent in half, his hands holding his abdomen as he laughs loudly in the small kitchen.
And while she is pissed off at him for laughing at her like this and not assessing the gravity of the situation, she thinks its kind of beautiful when he laughs like this because he had missed so much when he denied himself happiness.
But that thought is fleeting and she crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes impossibly further. When he chances a glance up, his laughter finally ceasing, a smile is tugging at his lips (crooked, always crooked), she pouts.
He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on her tiny hips again, his grin spreading so that his lip just down and she can see his teeth. She can't help it when tears well up in her eyes at the possibility of losing everything all over again. And he doesn't even care. She is losing those smiles and his teeth and those chocolate depths and that tongue (the tongue is foremost in her mind) and he doesn't even care.
He sees the tears and the smile falters and his hands cup her face much like hers did seconds earlier.
"Rory." He states plainly and she knows he was going to continue her name with a sentence meant to reassure her but she just can't help herself.
"This is incest!"
And his eyes widen a little bit at her volume and bluntness but she can see the smile threatening to poke through again. She pokes him hard in the chest and he winces a bit and rubs the spot with a small frown. She glares, not even feeling sorry for causing bodily harm.
He rolls his eyes and tugs her forward so that her head is under his chin and his warm palms are running up and down her back soothingly. She glares into her cousin's chest. She winces.
"You know Webster's defines incest as a sexual relationship between two members of an immediate family. You know, blood related."
Her eyes open with shock and she looks at the toaster sitting on the counter, watching his reflection as he stares pensively at the window above the sink.
She sighs and relaxes in his arms and she knows he knows he has won this conversation because his reflection is grinning and she can't bring herself to be mad at him because her fears are abated and she can go back to being giddy about her man using his tongue in her mouth.
"I don't even want to know why you have the Webster's dictionary definition for incest memorized." She grumbles as his hands go back to squeezing her hips. He laughs loudly in the small kitchen and (again) she thinks how beautiful the sound is.