AN- OK, so this would be my first attempt at a full-fledged Tory, although, I did write a half Trory, half Rogan a couple weeks ago. This is somewhat similar to a Rogan I post a couple of days ago, at least the over all concept. I originally had the idea as a Trory, but then didn't want to let my loyal Rogan readers down, so I decided to write one like it for each ship. As always, I want to hear what people think. I'm still a die-hard Sophie lover at heart but the Trory ship is slowly growing on me, so, you never know, there could be more where this came from if you guys like it. Anyhow like enough rambling--on with the fic.

My faithful Rogan readers be warned, there is no smidgen of Rogan to be found in this fic--sorry guys.

He brought the edge of his jersey up to his face to wipe at the beads of sweat that were still forming after his rigorous work-out on the basketball court. Rounding the corner, he headed towards the vending machine for a Power-Aid to quench his thirst and his lips turned up into a smirk as he spotted her. She was in her Chilton uniform, but her skirt seemed shorter—almost unbearably so, in fact, just barely covering her deliciously rounded bottom. Her shirt seemed to have shrunk several sizes, fitting her like a second skin, and her blazer had been shed at some time or another, since their last class had ended a couple of hours prior.

Her back was to him, her hands splayed out on the soda machine, her head banging softly against the red and white, plastic front. "Please, please don't do this to me," she begged. "I'm so thirsty, and there's no coffee and if I don't get a least an iota of crappy, carbonated caffeine out of you, I'll have no choice but to cry. You don't want to make me cry, do you?" she pleaded with the inanimate object in front of her, as though it could be convinced to relinquish the beverage it was holding hostage.

Tristan stood there for just a moment, taking in the sight that was somehow cute, endearing, and sexy as hell all at once, before slowly and quietly sneaking up to her. He took the final step up behind her, his body just barely coming into contact with hers as his right hand reached around her, the base of his palm meeting the bottom edge of the cursive "l" in Coca Cola, and his left hand landing on the curve of her hip. The sound of her startled gasp was followed immediately by the "thunking" sound of a Coke landing in the shoot.

"I guess it just required a…special touch," he whispered huskily into her ear.

"Tristan?" she whispered back, dropping her hands to her sides and lifting her head off the soda machine but not making any further movements.

"Yeah, Mary?" he answered, nuzzling his nose further into the thick, chestnut locks that cascaded down around her shoulders and inhaling her scent deeply.

"Get the hell off of me," she hissed, her voice cool and even.

He chuckled softly, not pulling back in the slightest. His right hand was still on the vending machine, leaving her trapped, and his left hand fell from her hip to the smooth, ivory skin that emerged from below the hem of her wool, plaid skirt. "Now is that any way to thank me for rescuing you from this caffeine crisis?"

She scoffed. "Rescue me?" she asked, unbelievingly. "Please, I wouldn't put it passed you to have collaborated with Gaston, here, to keep my soda in his slimy little grasp, just to put me in this position."

He paused for a beat, trying to decide where to go with such a statement. There was the irrational accusation of collaboration with an inert object, the crazy naming of said object, and, of course, the lead in for the perfect innuendo—he decided to go with the later.

"Well, this position certainly is a nice one, but I can think of a few better," he replied suggestively—his hand rising slightly, just barely dipping underneath her skirt teasingly. He felt her body stiffen with anticipation, even though she was still outwardly fighting it. "I could demonstrate them for you, if you were so inclined."

"Like that would ever happen." He could vividly imagine the eye roll that undoubtedly went along with that statement. She shoved off against the soda machine, trying to push him back far enough for her to escape, but he held his ground.

"Oh, but it will," he insisted. His left hand traveled back to her waist and he shifted his hips back just enough to guide her around so she was facing him, still trapped against the vending machine. "I think you know that." He pushed himself further into her, pressing her against the soda machine so hard that the plastic front indented around her. His head came forward until their foreheads touched and he slowly but ardently brought his lips to meet hers. He sucked and her stunned and paralyzed lower lip went resistantlessly into his mouth where he began to nibble lightly on the soft bit of flesh until her body finally responded.

Her hands traveled around his back and up underneath the nylon of his shirt, pawing fervently at his hot, sweaty flesh, trying to pull their already flush bodies even closer. Their tongues dueled and their bodies ground against one another, looking for a little bit of relief from the pressure building inside them, though the actions only had the opposite effect making them more worked up by the second. Finally, the need for oxygen became overwhelming and Tristan pulled back just enough to allow air to flow into his lungs. They were both breathing heavily, staring into the other's lusting eyes.

"See?" he breathed out. "Tell me you didn't love that."

She had no words; all she could do was nod her head in response.

He chuckled. "Wow, it seems as though I've made you speechless, Mary. I do believe this is a first.

She rolled her perfect, blue eyes, finally finding words. "Shut up and kiss me again before I remember what an ass you are and change my mind."

"If you insist." In an instant their lips were reattached, and both of Tristan's hands were on her legs, traveling upwards underneath her skirt. They reached her ass and he traced the outline of her panties teasingly, making her instantly hot. She moaned at the feeling of his hands on her.

"God, Tristan," she moaned, the words getting muffled in their kisses.

His one hand moved to more firmly cover her butt, squeezing roughly and pulling their hips together, hard. His other hand traveled back down, before forcing its way between them and skimming up the inside of her thigh until her reached her crotch, stroking his hand along the outside of her cotton panties. "You're wet for me, baby," he smirked into her mouth. "oh so wonderfully wet."

She groaned her acknowledgement, but it wasn't enough for him. "Say it, baby. Tell me how badly you want me."

She pulled her mouth away from his just a bit, still able to feel his lips barely brushing against hers. "I want you, Tristan. I want you so fucking bad."

His hand slipped to the side, sliding underneath her panties and instantly massaging her clit in reward for hearing her say what he wanted to hear. The hand that had been on her ass moved around her and began deftly undoing the buttons of her blouse from the bottom up, until her shirt gapped open revealing her naked breasts, her nipples hard and taught from arousal. The hand that had unbuttoned her blouse cupped one of her breasts while he brought his mouth down to pleasure the other. He heard the "pop" of the plastic vending machine behind them as Rory's head fell back against it.

Her hands, which had been continuing to explore the skin of his back, moved to his front and dipped low, pausing hesitantly at the waist band of his shorts.

Tristan's hand moved out from between her legs and he placed it over her unsure one. "You've never done this before?" he questioned, pulling his mouth away from her tit.

She shook her head in the negative.

He laughed. "I almost feel bad for the Bag Boy. Key word, 'almost.' Don't worry. I'll show you what to do." He guided her hands into his shorts, down to his hardened cock, closing her hand around him, and giving it a squeeze. "That's right baby," he said, burying his face in the crook of her neck, as he guided her hand along his shaft a few times, before letting her go.

"Is this…OK?" she asked hesitantly after a few moments. He lifted his head to look at her, worrying her lip hesitantly.

"Fuck, Mary, it's so far passed OK, you have no idea."

She smiled triumphantly as she continued to pump his dick in her fist. He couldn't resist leaning in to capture that smile against his own, and he kissed her again. When he finally pulled back, he reached his hand back to hers to still her motions, pulling her hand away from him. After that, he ran both hands back up her legs, until they were at her hips, underneath her skirt. He gently caressed the skin above the waist band of her panties with his thumbs. "You ready for this, Mary?" he questioned.

She bit her lip nervously, but nodded in the affirmative. He leaned in to kiss her as he yanked her underwear down her legs. She followed his lead, and reached out to his hips, pushing his shorts to the floor.

He lifted her leg to his hip, wrapping it around him, then did the same on the other side, pressing her against the soda machine to help hold her up, before pausing and looking her straight in the eye. "This is going to hurt at first," he warned her.

"I know," she admitted.

"Tell me how you want it."

She narrowed her eyes at him questioningly, not sure what he meant.

"Slow and steady? Of hard and fast—get it over with?"

She thought for a minute, before giving him an answer. "Hard and fast."

"You sure?"

She nodded her head. "Like a band-aid."

He smirked. "Like a band-aid." And in and instant, he was inside her.

"Fuck," she screamed loudly as pain ripped through her body, but quickly subsided.

"You OK, baby?" he asked.

She nodded in the affirmative, breathing heavily to calm herself down.

"Good." He gave her another moment to acclimate before pulling out and thrusting into her again. He watched her reaction and saw that it was a good one. "You like that, Mary," he smiled. "Or not so Mary anymore, are we?

"Fuck, Tristan," was all she could say as he thrust again.

"God, Mare, you feel so fucking good," he mumbled, burying his head in her exposed chest as he continued to piston into her, his hands pressed against the coke machine for support.

Their words turned into muffled cries as their hips moved faster and faster, quickly approaching their respective climaxes. In what seemed like no time at all he was coming inside of her and she followed him almost immediately, screaming his name as the ecstasy over took her.


He mumbled unitelligably.

"Tristan," it came again, but the voice sounded strange.

"Mr. Dugrey," his eyes opened wide and his head shot up, taking in his surroundings.

"Sorry to interrupt your nap, Mr. Dugrey, but 'siesta' is a vocabulary word, not an invitation."

"Sorry, Mrs. Cohen," he apologized to his Spanish teacher.

She gave him a stern glare and a detention pass before returning to the front of the class room.

Tristan turned to his right to see Rory glaring at him in annoyance as well.

"What?" he shrugged innocently.

"I'm sure you were having a very interesting dream and all, but some of us are here to learn."

Tristan tried to suppress his laugh. "Oh, Mary. You have no idea."