ficlet!
Written for ink_stain's 75 Things to be Happy About. I combined the prompts "celebrating self-invented holidays" and "someone dependable, with dimples". They just screamed Dean Forester. <3
Where the Round Cakes Are
GG, Rory/Dean, 542 words.
Abby went down for her nap almost willingly, and Ben practically passed out on the living room carpet after running laps around the house all morning. Rory tucks his blankie around his little diapered butt, the house eerily quiet around them. She tiptoes around strewn toys to get to the kitchen table, where her laptop whirrs placidly amidst paperwork and coloring books, the screensaver drawing idle shapes on the screen.
Rory hits the spacebar as she sits, and stares dumbly at the last paragraph she typed over three hours ago. It's well-written, informative and insightful, but she has no recollection of stringing the words together--and for the space of a breath, she can't even remember what the article is about. Motherhood, Dean likes to tease, has turned her into her mother in ways no one quite expected.
An hour and two cups of coffee later, the kids are still down for the count and Rory's article is well into the home stretch. She pushes back from the table, emerging sluggishly from her writing groove to look at the clock, her fingers curling absently around the handle of her empty mug. Quarter to four; Dean should be home any-
"Hey," his voice rumbles behind her, loud in the quiet of the tiny kitchen. She turns around, smiling, and finds him trying to slide open the patio door with his hands full. She goes to help. He kisses her on the cheek, then on the mouth, smiling.
"What's all this?" she asks once she makes herself break the kiss, which was getting a little dirty, as it often does. "Are these for me?" She reaches for the flowers, leaning her face into the fragrant bouquet.
"Nah, they're for my mistress. You weren't supposed to see those." He winks, and sets several Doose's bags on the counter, along with a white cardboard box from Weston's.
Rory follows him, smiling into her flowers. "They're beautiful, thank you."
"You're welcome," he says, kissing it on top of her head. "I got cake, too. And the makings of a truly spectacular dinner by yours truly."
Rory parks her butt against the counter, hugging her tulips and taking in the loose fit of his work jeans, and the way his t-shirt, damp in the shape of a vee on his back, hugs his thick arms. He smells like fresh sweat and sawdust. "What's the occasion?"
Dean is taking things out of the bags and throws her a sidelong smirk, his cheeks dimpling. She always forgets. "Our anniversary."
"But that was last month."
"Not that one. The other one."
"That was the month before that."
"The other one." The most important one. The one marking the date of their third and final reunion, five years ago today, when Rory came back to Stars Hollow between assignments to find Dean more determined than ever to make things work.
"Ah," Rory smiles, heart thudding girlishly the way it did when she was sixteen. It feels like those ten years went by in a flash, when he looks at her like this.
Their fingers link, his calluses fitting just right in her palm.
"Kids napping?" he whispers, and she nods. He tugs her closer. "Then how 'bout we have ourselves some cake, hm?"
Where the Round Cakes Are
GG, Rory/Dean, 542 words.
Abby went down for her nap almost willingly, and Ben practically passed out on the living room carpet after running laps around the house all morning. Rory tucks his blankie around his little diapered butt, the house eerily quiet around them. She tiptoes around strewn toys to get to the kitchen table, where her laptop whirrs placidly amidst paperwork and coloring books, the screensaver drawing idle shapes on the screen.
Rory hits the spacebar as she sits, and stares dumbly at the last paragraph she typed over three hours ago. It's well-written, informative and insightful, but she has no recollection of stringing the words together--and for the space of a breath, she can't even remember what the article is about. Motherhood, Dean likes to tease, has turned her into her mother in ways no one quite expected.
An hour and two cups of coffee later, the kids are still down for the count and Rory's article is well into the home stretch. She pushes back from the table, emerging sluggishly from her writing groove to look at the clock, her fingers curling absently around the handle of her empty mug. Quarter to four; Dean should be home any-
"Hey," his voice rumbles behind her, loud in the quiet of the tiny kitchen. She turns around, smiling, and finds him trying to slide open the patio door with his hands full. She goes to help. He kisses her on the cheek, then on the mouth, smiling.
"What's all this?" she asks once she makes herself break the kiss, which was getting a little dirty, as it often does. "Are these for me?" She reaches for the flowers, leaning her face into the fragrant bouquet.
"Nah, they're for my mistress. You weren't supposed to see those." He winks, and sets several Doose's bags on the counter, along with a white cardboard box from Weston's.
Rory follows him, smiling into her flowers. "They're beautiful, thank you."
"You're welcome," he says, kissing it on top of her head. "I got cake, too. And the makings of a truly spectacular dinner by yours truly."
Rory parks her butt against the counter, hugging her tulips and taking in the loose fit of his work jeans, and the way his t-shirt, damp in the shape of a vee on his back, hugs his thick arms. He smells like fresh sweat and sawdust. "What's the occasion?"
Dean is taking things out of the bags and throws her a sidelong smirk, his cheeks dimpling. She always forgets. "Our anniversary."
"But that was last month."
"Not that one. The other one."
"That was the month before that."
"The other one." The most important one. The one marking the date of their third and final reunion, five years ago today, when Rory came back to Stars Hollow between assignments to find Dean more determined than ever to make things work.
"Ah," Rory smiles, heart thudding girlishly the way it did when she was sixteen. It feels like those ten years went by in a flash, when he looks at her like this.
Their fingers link, his calluses fitting just right in her palm.
"Kids napping?" he whispers, and she nods. He tugs her closer. "Then how 'bout we have ourselves some cake, hm?"