Gilmore Girls Fic: and with our red umbrellas
and with our red umbrellas
it’s much later where she plans it. oh, so there was a plan; it’s an adjustment, you know, and gold was never my color. gilmore girls. rory/dean. general spoilers. future fic. 2265 words, nc17.
for ephemerall. who i love and adore and asked for this. sort of, i think. it definitely turned out longer than planned.
It’s much later where she plans it - although for the record, it’s his idea this time around and not hers, the subject breaking somewhere between early runs and breakfast.
Rory flashes a half-yawn, peeking at him between her fingers with her coffee skidding across to the center of the table. He sort of laughs at her, his amusement stretching across his mouth as he presses his lips along her jaw.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
She tilts her head up and leans up, wrinkling her nose as his fingers drift along the arch of her neck.
“You smell.”
He laughs and a flash of gold warms her a little bit, but those are the kinds of things she keeps to herself. Older and wiser, she’s very much the combination of her parents. She stutters. Her communication skills are still thin. All in the matter of defining and moving her relationships - so Mom and Dad.
Lucky for her, she thinks, Dean’s picked up quickly and become some sort of mystifying translator - Mom thinks it’s fantastic, especially during movie night arguments because Dean moves them along. She’s annoyed by it though, a formulated Catch-22 that peels more on bad days than good; not to say that she doesn’t appreciate it and it does make them human on their better days.
But her mind is far from those things - she does that on a circle, daily, reassessing and assessing the pros and cons of her marriage. It’s what she does. It’s what he knows that she does. And, she thinks, as long as there’s a reality check every once in awhile, it stays as a habit that endears from time to time.
“So,” she breathes. Her coffee is untouched. “So, we should - We should talk about, ahum, it.”
He blinks. “We should?”
Rory bites her lip, ducking a little and looking away before she dumps herself in some self-imposed scenario that’s full of ridiculous implication and usually, almost always, gets her into trouble.
“You always want to talking about these things,” she continues, “so I think we should talk about these things. I’ve regulated it. I’ve calendared it. I’ve changed times and appointments and - oh, every Friday should be a special sort of day. Maybe we can have, I don’t, themes?”
“I don’t know.”
He’s kind of taken aback; only yesterday, he was murmuring about how he’s still learning and it made her laugh - It kind of amuses her, nonetheless, that she can still do these things to him and that she’s still somewhat of a mystery. Maybe, she’s worried about excitement. Maybe, maybe not.
Dean swallows. “I-I kind of figured we’d just sort of, um, go?”
“Go?” Her lips curl.
“Shut up.”
It’s not to say they haven’t touched it before. They’ve done it. Pregnancy scares. Hopes. Curls of desires. Her mom says things like oh god, me a grandmother or are there wrinkles yet and laughs because she’s not really expecting the surprise - she’s done everything right. They’ve done everything right.
Her husband smirks at her. “I mean, we can. I have no problem with unplugging the phones and spending the weekend doing -”
“Dean.” She rolls her eyes. A part of her is kind of hoping for the surprise, to have that one, unplanned moment that becomes a grand memory. It’s wishful thinking, she’s not stupid, but the relative course of everything else, the few surprises that she does have, she craves it. At least, at least for this. She’s earned it, she likes to think, she’s earned and it’s time to reap the spoils. And, yes, yes she’s aware that she’s got more lasting qualities of Mom’s.
Dean leans forward, brushing his mouth along her jaw again. She leans into him and his arm presses over her shoulder, weighing lightly. “Hey, you started it.”
“I did not.”
He laughs.
She watches his hand curl around hers, his fingers slipping into hers. He gives her a light tug and she sits up, laughing when he pulls her out of the chair. She yawns and he smirks, his mouth brushing over hers. She flushes a little, still even after the years, and her hand drops his, framing his face.
“We’re so going to have a little girl,” he murmurs against her mouth, “Carbon copy and all. And I’ll make fun of you because she’s going to drive you insane and -”
She slides her tongue along his lip, kissing him again and then again. She feels him smile against her lips. She breathes, “You’re not funny.”
“Hysterical actually.”
Rory pulls back, draping her arms around his shoulders. He smells like sweat, the back of his neck half-sticky, half-dry. But she brings her mouth to his throat, skimming lightly as his hands press tightly against her hips.
“So let’s go,” she murmurs, “Now.”
“Determined, much?” He’s teasing her, his hands then shifting under her t-shirt. His fingers curl lightly and he twists her shirt over her head, grazing his mouth against her shoulder. She’s selfless with a sigh, a half-moan immediate when his mouth moves to her neck.
“To prove you wrong. Mom says that I’m going to have just boys. It’s written in the stars. Grandma had a psychic at the -”
He cuts her off with a large snort, his fingers curling around her hand as he tugs her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Two levels. Too many rooms. One for them and one for the books, he always teases her. He says something to her and she sort of gives a distracted smile, concentrating on pulling his t-shirt over his head.
“Am I funny yet?” He breathes.
Her mouth turns. “Were you supposed to be?”
Dean just laughs and her hips press against his as they drop to the bed. Halfway, his mouth is at her throat again and his teeth over the curve of skin. She breathes a sigh, her fingers combing through his hair. This is it, she thinks, this is it. Maybe, they’ll have that one chance, the luck that sort of morphs into new avenues and new things. She’s too nervous to think of names, distracted, but the thought is warming her. She stops and he looks at her in confusion.
“Are you nervous?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“This is the first time we’ve been really trying,” he murmurs, his fingers splitting against her face. He smiles and opens his mouth against her chin. “I get it. It’s our first time trying.”
Rory laughs, her throat burning a little. Sometimes she wonders where this came in, the story, and their story, ended thin. But it happens that she’s kind of lucky and she’s glad that she’s kind of lucky.
“You’re funny now,” she says softly.
He’s suddenly coy with his hands, not careful like the other times, and faces her hips with them. A soft mew breaks the growing silence as his mouth starts between her breasts, his tongue sliding against her skin. One of his hands starts a rise, her fingers tracing the curve of her breast.
Her lips part and she breathes, shifting closer to him. He sighs against her skin, his mouth sliding to her breast and his tongue slips against her nipple. She sort of gasps, her eyes opening and then closing with her hips pressing into him. There’s a laugh and she growls, pushing another laugh out of him.
“Stop,” she murmurs. “Stop.”
She feels Dean pull away, concern grasping over his mouth and eyes. She shakes her head and leans forward to kiss him, her mouth pressing hard. She turns it fiercely, wanting to push. She doesn’t know how to sort of say it.
She shifts up, causing him to drop and she tries, tries to find the words before they have one of those stupid arguments because of her inability to really convey what she wants to do.
“We shouldn’t be like this,” she breathes. “We shouldn’t - no plans, we should - I -”
Rory just kisses him then, her mouth covering his as her fingers curl around his shirt and her hip jut forward. There’s an awkward laugh and sometimes, a lot of the time they’re back at teenagers, rediscovering steps and things that they skipped over and forced themselves to miss.
She can feel his hands at her hips again, pushing down the sweats and shifting her up so that she’s straddling him completely. She sighs into his mouth when she feels his hand slip between her legs, his palm pressing against her thigh. Rory slides a little closer and bites her lip as his fingers strokes the fabric of her panties. She growls again and he laughs, sliding them underneath the elastic.
“Shh,” he breathes, his thumb rolling against her clit. And then again, “shh” as her hips start to arch and her eye fall close. She feels a little awkward, a little shy, but smiles when his mouth brushes over her chin. He doesn’t rip them off, her panties, although, she sort of wishes him might go for it. Encourage the moment. Carpe Diem. But she’s really thinking too much about this and she doesn’t want to be obvious that she’s thinking too much about this. Her hips rise and he laughs a little, amused because she is that obvious.
Her mouth turns a little and she relaxes, mumbling a shut up into his neck as he peels her panties off. She almost falls but he turns them, grinning and pressing between her legs. She can feel his erection against her thigh, through the mesh of his shorts and she licks her lips, arching to kiss him. Her hand cups his ass, her fingers sliding underneath the elastic of his waistband and trying to pull them down.
“Rory,” he laughs. “I’m obviously not going anywhere.”
There’s a snort and she’s thinking, well, you started it but keeping that to herself at any rate. She doesn’t care how far his shorts go, but moans when she feels his cock really brush against her skin and the tension start to coil inside of her. She flushes at the rush of warmth and moves to kiss him again, her tongue sliding against his lip. The growl from his mouth strokes the inside of hers and he starts to roll his hips, his hand sliding between them.
“Too slow,” she breathes.
“Be patient,” he teases.
Rory gasps as the tip of his cock slides against her clit, slow strokes causing her hips to buck forward and a soft mew to crack out of her mouth. He laughs again, soft against her skin and his mouth brushes over her breast. She half-growls, half-babbles something incoherently when his teeth tug at her nipple and he rolls his tongue against it. She feels the dean slip and sigh out of her mouth, her eyes closing as he guides himself inside of her. Her legs spread wider though and he pushes forward, deeper, and she feels herself tighten.
“Oh,” slips from her mouth, the burn brushing along his shoulder. He doesn’t move yet and their breathing is tight, his palm finding and facing hers. Their fingers link and there’s no profound this is it. But she doesn’t have time to thinking about it, doesn’t care to, and she breaks it by reaching to kiss him.
She might bark a move and he might laugh again, but when he finally starts to shift, his hips rising and falling against hers, she loses all ability to process anything. He feels so good, she thinks, too good and she’s too lucky; self-analysis dries and she crushes her mouth against his, uncaring, because really, in the end, it’s about being this close to him, this necessary.
Her mind filters to the sensations then, the desire to take him deeper as his cock slides in and out of her, the slow brush of skin against skin at each change of movement. His mouth moves over hers and then her throat, her leg curling slowly around his hip. He grunts and her throat tightens and, and -
“God,” she gasps, her fingers tightening around his. Her neck falls back and his name follows, her muscles clenching tightly around his cock.
Dean grunts, his free hand tight around her hip as he follows with his mouth burying against her throat. She’s too flushed to really pay any attention, but his tongue slips along the curl of her throat.
“Are you okay?” He breathes.
Her mouth turns lightly, her leg still locked around his hip. “Uh-huh.”
“Sure?”
She doesn’t want him to move and he laughs when she keeps him pressed against her, inside of her as the sensation slows to a throb. Her mouth skims his shoulder and she nods, her eyes closing.
“Yeah.”
They’re quiet then. She thinks she’s left breakfast in the microwave, old habits and leftovers that will completely gross him out. It’s still very much the promise of an adjustment and she’s okay with that. Her amusement stays quiet and her fingers start to stroke the plane of his back, along his spine as he sighs and kisses her shoulder. He pulls back and she bites back a murmur as he slides out, the tension cracking and she misses him briefly, tipping to her side as he slips an arm around her waist. He smiles and her lips curl as her forehead resting against his.
“So now we’re trying?” He seems unsure and hesitant, wanting to say something but not quite saying it.
It’s not important to press. They have the time, she thinks.
Her lips curl. “We’re trying.”
-
it’s much later where she plans it. oh, so there was a plan; it’s an adjustment, you know, and gold was never my color. gilmore girls. rory/dean. general spoilers. future fic. 2265 words, nc17.
for ephemerall. who i love and adore and asked for this. sort of, i think. it definitely turned out longer than planned.
It’s much later where she plans it - although for the record, it’s his idea this time around and not hers, the subject breaking somewhere between early runs and breakfast.
Rory flashes a half-yawn, peeking at him between her fingers with her coffee skidding across to the center of the table. He sort of laughs at her, his amusement stretching across his mouth as he presses his lips along her jaw.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
She tilts her head up and leans up, wrinkling her nose as his fingers drift along the arch of her neck.
“You smell.”
He laughs and a flash of gold warms her a little bit, but those are the kinds of things she keeps to herself. Older and wiser, she’s very much the combination of her parents. She stutters. Her communication skills are still thin. All in the matter of defining and moving her relationships - so Mom and Dad.
Lucky for her, she thinks, Dean’s picked up quickly and become some sort of mystifying translator - Mom thinks it’s fantastic, especially during movie night arguments because Dean moves them along. She’s annoyed by it though, a formulated Catch-22 that peels more on bad days than good; not to say that she doesn’t appreciate it and it does make them human on their better days.
But her mind is far from those things - she does that on a circle, daily, reassessing and assessing the pros and cons of her marriage. It’s what she does. It’s what he knows that she does. And, she thinks, as long as there’s a reality check every once in awhile, it stays as a habit that endears from time to time.
“So,” she breathes. Her coffee is untouched. “So, we should - We should talk about, ahum, it.”
He blinks. “We should?”
Rory bites her lip, ducking a little and looking away before she dumps herself in some self-imposed scenario that’s full of ridiculous implication and usually, almost always, gets her into trouble.
“You always want to talking about these things,” she continues, “so I think we should talk about these things. I’ve regulated it. I’ve calendared it. I’ve changed times and appointments and - oh, every Friday should be a special sort of day. Maybe we can have, I don’t, themes?”
“I don’t know.”
He’s kind of taken aback; only yesterday, he was murmuring about how he’s still learning and it made her laugh - It kind of amuses her, nonetheless, that she can still do these things to him and that she’s still somewhat of a mystery. Maybe, she’s worried about excitement. Maybe, maybe not.
Dean swallows. “I-I kind of figured we’d just sort of, um, go?”
“Go?” Her lips curl.
“Shut up.”
It’s not to say they haven’t touched it before. They’ve done it. Pregnancy scares. Hopes. Curls of desires. Her mom says things like oh god, me a grandmother or are there wrinkles yet and laughs because she’s not really expecting the surprise - she’s done everything right. They’ve done everything right.
Her husband smirks at her. “I mean, we can. I have no problem with unplugging the phones and spending the weekend doing -”
“Dean.” She rolls her eyes. A part of her is kind of hoping for the surprise, to have that one, unplanned moment that becomes a grand memory. It’s wishful thinking, she’s not stupid, but the relative course of everything else, the few surprises that she does have, she craves it. At least, at least for this. She’s earned it, she likes to think, she’s earned and it’s time to reap the spoils. And, yes, yes she’s aware that she’s got more lasting qualities of Mom’s.
Dean leans forward, brushing his mouth along her jaw again. She leans into him and his arm presses over her shoulder, weighing lightly. “Hey, you started it.”
“I did not.”
He laughs.
She watches his hand curl around hers, his fingers slipping into hers. He gives her a light tug and she sits up, laughing when he pulls her out of the chair. She yawns and he smirks, his mouth brushing over hers. She flushes a little, still even after the years, and her hand drops his, framing his face.
“We’re so going to have a little girl,” he murmurs against her mouth, “Carbon copy and all. And I’ll make fun of you because she’s going to drive you insane and -”
She slides her tongue along his lip, kissing him again and then again. She feels him smile against her lips. She breathes, “You’re not funny.”
“Hysterical actually.”
Rory pulls back, draping her arms around his shoulders. He smells like sweat, the back of his neck half-sticky, half-dry. But she brings her mouth to his throat, skimming lightly as his hands press tightly against her hips.
“So let’s go,” she murmurs, “Now.”
“Determined, much?” He’s teasing her, his hands then shifting under her t-shirt. His fingers curl lightly and he twists her shirt over her head, grazing his mouth against her shoulder. She’s selfless with a sigh, a half-moan immediate when his mouth moves to her neck.
“To prove you wrong. Mom says that I’m going to have just boys. It’s written in the stars. Grandma had a psychic at the -”
He cuts her off with a large snort, his fingers curling around her hand as he tugs her out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Two levels. Too many rooms. One for them and one for the books, he always teases her. He says something to her and she sort of gives a distracted smile, concentrating on pulling his t-shirt over his head.
“Am I funny yet?” He breathes.
Her mouth turns. “Were you supposed to be?”
Dean just laughs and her hips press against his as they drop to the bed. Halfway, his mouth is at her throat again and his teeth over the curve of skin. She breathes a sigh, her fingers combing through his hair. This is it, she thinks, this is it. Maybe, they’ll have that one chance, the luck that sort of morphs into new avenues and new things. She’s too nervous to think of names, distracted, but the thought is warming her. She stops and he looks at her in confusion.
“Are you nervous?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“This is the first time we’ve been really trying,” he murmurs, his fingers splitting against her face. He smiles and opens his mouth against her chin. “I get it. It’s our first time trying.”
Rory laughs, her throat burning a little. Sometimes she wonders where this came in, the story, and their story, ended thin. But it happens that she’s kind of lucky and she’s glad that she’s kind of lucky.
“You’re funny now,” she says softly.
He’s suddenly coy with his hands, not careful like the other times, and faces her hips with them. A soft mew breaks the growing silence as his mouth starts between her breasts, his tongue sliding against her skin. One of his hands starts a rise, her fingers tracing the curve of her breast.
Her lips part and she breathes, shifting closer to him. He sighs against her skin, his mouth sliding to her breast and his tongue slips against her nipple. She sort of gasps, her eyes opening and then closing with her hips pressing into him. There’s a laugh and she growls, pushing another laugh out of him.
“Stop,” she murmurs. “Stop.”
She feels Dean pull away, concern grasping over his mouth and eyes. She shakes her head and leans forward to kiss him, her mouth pressing hard. She turns it fiercely, wanting to push. She doesn’t know how to sort of say it.
She shifts up, causing him to drop and she tries, tries to find the words before they have one of those stupid arguments because of her inability to really convey what she wants to do.
“We shouldn’t be like this,” she breathes. “We shouldn’t - no plans, we should - I -”
Rory just kisses him then, her mouth covering his as her fingers curl around his shirt and her hip jut forward. There’s an awkward laugh and sometimes, a lot of the time they’re back at teenagers, rediscovering steps and things that they skipped over and forced themselves to miss.
She can feel his hands at her hips again, pushing down the sweats and shifting her up so that she’s straddling him completely. She sighs into his mouth when she feels his hand slip between her legs, his palm pressing against her thigh. Rory slides a little closer and bites her lip as his fingers strokes the fabric of her panties. She growls again and he laughs, sliding them underneath the elastic.
“Shh,” he breathes, his thumb rolling against her clit. And then again, “shh” as her hips start to arch and her eye fall close. She feels a little awkward, a little shy, but smiles when his mouth brushes over her chin. He doesn’t rip them off, her panties, although, she sort of wishes him might go for it. Encourage the moment. Carpe Diem. But she’s really thinking too much about this and she doesn’t want to be obvious that she’s thinking too much about this. Her hips rise and he laughs a little, amused because she is that obvious.
Her mouth turns a little and she relaxes, mumbling a shut up into his neck as he peels her panties off. She almost falls but he turns them, grinning and pressing between her legs. She can feel his erection against her thigh, through the mesh of his shorts and she licks her lips, arching to kiss him. Her hand cups his ass, her fingers sliding underneath the elastic of his waistband and trying to pull them down.
“Rory,” he laughs. “I’m obviously not going anywhere.”
There’s a snort and she’s thinking, well, you started it but keeping that to herself at any rate. She doesn’t care how far his shorts go, but moans when she feels his cock really brush against her skin and the tension start to coil inside of her. She flushes at the rush of warmth and moves to kiss him again, her tongue sliding against his lip. The growl from his mouth strokes the inside of hers and he starts to roll his hips, his hand sliding between them.
“Too slow,” she breathes.
“Be patient,” he teases.
Rory gasps as the tip of his cock slides against her clit, slow strokes causing her hips to buck forward and a soft mew to crack out of her mouth. He laughs again, soft against her skin and his mouth brushes over her breast. She half-growls, half-babbles something incoherently when his teeth tug at her nipple and he rolls his tongue against it. She feels the dean slip and sigh out of her mouth, her eyes closing as he guides himself inside of her. Her legs spread wider though and he pushes forward, deeper, and she feels herself tighten.
“Oh,” slips from her mouth, the burn brushing along his shoulder. He doesn’t move yet and their breathing is tight, his palm finding and facing hers. Their fingers link and there’s no profound this is it. But she doesn’t have time to thinking about it, doesn’t care to, and she breaks it by reaching to kiss him.
She might bark a move and he might laugh again, but when he finally starts to shift, his hips rising and falling against hers, she loses all ability to process anything. He feels so good, she thinks, too good and she’s too lucky; self-analysis dries and she crushes her mouth against his, uncaring, because really, in the end, it’s about being this close to him, this necessary.
Her mind filters to the sensations then, the desire to take him deeper as his cock slides in and out of her, the slow brush of skin against skin at each change of movement. His mouth moves over hers and then her throat, her leg curling slowly around his hip. He grunts and her throat tightens and, and -
“God,” she gasps, her fingers tightening around his. Her neck falls back and his name follows, her muscles clenching tightly around his cock.
Dean grunts, his free hand tight around her hip as he follows with his mouth burying against her throat. She’s too flushed to really pay any attention, but his tongue slips along the curl of her throat.
“Are you okay?” He breathes.
Her mouth turns lightly, her leg still locked around his hip. “Uh-huh.”
“Sure?”
She doesn’t want him to move and he laughs when she keeps him pressed against her, inside of her as the sensation slows to a throb. Her mouth skims his shoulder and she nods, her eyes closing.
“Yeah.”
They’re quiet then. She thinks she’s left breakfast in the microwave, old habits and leftovers that will completely gross him out. It’s still very much the promise of an adjustment and she’s okay with that. Her amusement stays quiet and her fingers start to stroke the plane of his back, along his spine as he sighs and kisses her shoulder. He pulls back and she bites back a murmur as he slides out, the tension cracking and she misses him briefly, tipping to her side as he slips an arm around her waist. He smiles and her lips curl as her forehead resting against his.
“So now we’re trying?” He seems unsure and hesitant, wanting to say something but not quite saying it.
It’s not important to press. They have the time, she thinks.
Her lips curl. “We’re trying.”
-