Rating - R, I suppose. But that's just to be safe.
Author's Note - So I was thinking, after I'd seen the clothing scene for the umptieth time: "What if they'd been upstairs, in a more private setting? And what if Rachel took much longer running her errands? Or what if maybe she didn't even exist here?" So I attempted to write that.
Author's Note 2 - All you Dutch people out there, please don't be offended: I'm Dutch myself. And, come on, admit it, we rather often don't make any sense whatsoever! Today, I made no sense all afternoon. It was great fun.
Author's Note 3 (almost done here) - This is my first posted fanfic ever! I guess I'm proud. And, well, reviews would probably be nice.
One big-ass thanks goes out to my beta-reader, Calyn, who had me exercising one hell of a lot of patience. Thanks, hun!
***** BROWN LEATHER *****
Her breath came in quick pants, her chest heaving where it was pressed up against his, providing a sharp contrast with the solid wall her back was pressed up against; his hands, roaming just above the waistband of her jeans, felt cold against her heated skin; she was acutely aware of the pounding of a heartbeat in her ears, but she couldn't quite tell whether it was hers or his or both of their heartbeats combined.
She absent-mindedly wondered if even Lane would be able to dissect the rhythm.
The hairs on his upper arms were soft, softer than she'd ever imagined hair could be. Underneath the layer of skin she could feel the muscles, trained from years of lifting heavy boxes and pouring coffee.
His eyes, usually clear and indecipherable, were clouded over with passion and sheer, wanton need; she imagined her eyes to reflect this same look, but she knew she looked more like a deer caught in the headlights of a ten tonner truck.
His groin burned hot against her upper leg where it was wedged between his legs, and, while she didn't want to admit it, she couldn't ignore the throbbing in her own.
His hands slipped under her shirt.
His lips descended on hers.
As his tongue slid into her mouth and she resigned herself to the fact that, yes, this was what she had been missing all these years and, yes, this was what she wanted right now and for a long time to come, only one thought escaped along with the moan she let out:
It was just a watch.
***** THIRTY MINUTES EARLIER *****
"Lorelai, I look and feel ridiculous!"
Luke stood in the middle of his tiny apartment, surrounded by clothes covering chairs, the kitchen table, and his couch. He himself was dressed in a pair of black dress pants - "excellently cut to accentuate your best assets", Lorelai had said, checking out his ass - and a black turtleneck sweater, which, he had admitted, felt very soft, but constricted him around the throat.
"Don't be a nag, Luke, you look great."
She circled him slowly, drinking in the sight of him. Having already appreciated his behind, she now focused on the way the black cotton of his sweater stretched across every inch of his upper body: his broad back, strong arms and rather pleasing pectorals, not to mention the total absence of anything that could be called a potbelly.
She knew he wasn't a fitness god, but he sure knew how to take care of his body.
It was funny, really. She didn't even know why she was checking him out. Although she'd never been completely unaffected by his pleasing physique, the blatant interest the new clothes picqued in her was surprising.
"I am not being a nag, Lorelai, I just know I look ridiculous!"
She went to stand before him and crossed her arms sternly. "Now you listen to me, mister! I know this isn't exactly your daily garderobe," she put extra stress on the weird French word, "but as they say in the Netherlands, a change in diet makes you eat."
"Huh? That makes no sense."
"I know it makes no sense. When did the Dutch ever make sense? But just consider it: maybe you'll start to like these clothes so much that you'll wear them more often and then maybe some of the females here in Stars Hollow will start noticing you. Because flannel and a backwards baseball cap is almost as effective as a sign saying 'leper'. To women, anyway."
A half-smile crept across his face but was quickly replaced with his trademark scowl. "Well, I'd rather be a leper than feel like a... a...-"
"A blue whale in the Sahara?" supplied Lorelai.
"What?"
"Out of place, you know, in your clothes. You know, because a whale is a sea creature and the Sahara is, uhm, dry. Although it used to be a sea once, probably, according to some scientist anyway, or most, I don't remember-"
"Lorelai, stop it!"
"Well, I was just trying to explain it to you! You asked." She indignantly stomped over to the couch and picked up a scrap of dark blue fabric. "Try this one next."
"No!" barked Luke. "I'm not trying on anymore clothes. I've had enough of feeling ridiculous for the past hour. I'm gonna put on my shirt and old jeans and go back downstairs. You can take these things back tomorrow."
As Lorelai huffed, he started to remove his shirt. Pulling it up from the hem, he lifted it over his body, intent on pulling his head through the whole it was made for.
Lorelai's huff quickly turned into a gasp when his naked torso appeared from underneath the black cotton, revealing nicely toned abs and pectoral muscles sprinkled with exactly the right amount of hair which traveled in a line down to his bellybutton, where it turned darker before disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks.
Lorelai's blatant ogling went unnoticed by Luke who, still with his arms raised and head invisible, seemed to be having some kind of trouble. He made a weird strangling noise and moved his arms about in a distressed fashion.
"Uhm, Lorelai?"
Nothing.
"Lorelai? I... uh... I could use some help here I think."
Finally Lorelai snapped out of her hormone induced daze, but she still didn't quite get it. "What is it?"
"I... uh... I think I'm stuck." He sighed resignedly, dropping his arms. Unfortunately, he was still caught in the sweater and his arms ended up sticking out from his body at an odd angle, restricted by the limited elasticity of the cotton. "Help?"
"Oh, you big oaf!" Lorelai said after recovering from her fit of laughter. Walking over to free him from the harmful piece of garment, she muttered, "You don't even deserve the clothing, with the way you treat it."
"Hey, I told you these clothes weren't me. If only you'd listened before you made me make a fool out of myself, I wouldn't even be in this predicament."
She was sure he was trying to sound indignant, but the muffled quality of his voice only made him sound like Manfred the Mammoth with Scrat's nut stuck up his trunk. Or Mike with a mouthful of Sully's fur. She could never quite decide which movie she liked better.
As she studied the problem of Luke's stuckness, she quickly discovered it: his head was too big. She told him this.
"My head is not too big! My head is fine. Nothing wrong with my head. The hole is just too tiny." He tried to wriggle himself free again, but it only constricted him more. "Gaah!!!" he bellowed, swinging his arms around furiously.
Lorelai quickly stepped back to avoid being conked on the head by one of his flailing extremities. "Okay now, easy there. Don't worry, I'll get you out of this in a second."
She approached him again while he stood still, his arms dutifully raised over his head, and wrapped her fingers around the fabric surrounding his throat. Pulling it away from his skin and upwards, she lifted the sweater right over his head.
His face appeared, bright red, topped with tussled brown hair that stuck up in every direction.
"See? That wasn't so hard?" she asked in a soothing voice as he roughly tossed the murderous sweater to the couch. "Where's my shirt?" he demanded.
"Hang on just a second," Lorelai said, walking over to her purse. "There's one more thing."
"Ah, no Lorelai, no more! I've had it. I've tried on all those clothes, some of them twice, and I just won't-"
"Shut up, silly, this is something different." She had produced from her purse a tiny package wrapped in dark green paper. She shyly approached him.
"I know that you're gonna say that I'm ridiculous and that I've waisted my money, but I saw this and I just couldn't leave without it." At his weak protest at her gift-giving, she interrupted. "This is something I bought, with my money, and it's a present. From me to you. So here," she pushed it out at him, "take it."
He carefully took it from her. "Lorelai, what-" A look from her shut him up. He looked down at the thing in his hands and slowly started to loosen the paper, which revealed a light brown leather box.
He looked up at her and at her nod, opened up the box. In it, cushioned on white velour, lay a watch.
In a round dial with an eggshell white background, a little more than an inch in diameter, two silver pointers lay, one just a bit longer than the other. On the outer perimeter were placed twelve simple, short, silver colored dashes, indicating the numbers.
The watchband itself was made of the finest genuine leather, and it shone in a warm, medium brown. Six holes were meticulously punched into it and the clasp was also made of silver.
Luke gaped at it with his mouth open. Then he looked at Lorelai, down at the watch again, and up again at Lorelai. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times.
"Lorelai, you didn't have to...you...I don't..." Lorelai simply smiled and said, "Look on the back."
He frowned and carefully lifted the watch from the box. Turning it over, he read on the silver surface, where it was printed in square, gleaming letters:
- Luke,
Coffee, please.
Lorelai -
"Oh..."
Lorelai made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "You can thank me when you've read Webster's. Here, gimme." She had taken the watch from him and was now fastening it onto his left wrist. His skin was cool to her touch.
"Webster's?" His voice was rough, and she fleetingly wondered if he was going to cry. She dismissed the thought instantly; Luke didn't cry.
"To regain some sort of hold on your vocabulary. Now, doesn't that look nice?"
The watch sat on his wrist, the leather contrasting slightly with his tanned skin, the glass covering the dial catching some of the rays of sun that shone through the window.
She studied his face, which still carried an expression of utter surprise mixed with apprehension. She studied his dark lashes, the fine lines around his eyes, his long, straight nose and full bottom lip. She guessed the stubble on his cheeks and throat to be approximately three days old and imagined the soft skin underneath.
He spoke.
"Lorelai, you really didn't have to do this. I mean, I have a watch."
She didn't look at him. "I know you have a watch Luke. But it's old and worn and I saw this and it instantly reminded me of you." She dragged a finger over the leather. "I just couldn't... it was meant for you."
"Thank you." So softly spoken, that she almost didn't catch it.
"Don't worry about it. It was my pleasure." He shook his head.
"No. Thank you." And before she could say another word, he'd taken a step towards her and enveloped her in a big hug, wrapping his arms around her upper body and leaning his head on her shoulder. He had to stoop.
With a short gasp at the sudden proximity, Lorelai's arms flew up to hold him around his upper back, her head resting in a position imitating his. A breath escaped her lungs as he squeezed her and held her even closer. She inhaled and smelled all of him: his cologne, his soap, his own, indistinguishable, scent. Even his laundry detergent.
"Nobody has ever done anything like this for me." The vibration of his voice against her skin made a shiver run down her spine. She rubbed her hands across his back, revelling at the play of muscles underneath her fingertips.
"Well, you deserved it."
"I don't deserve anything."
She pulled away from him then, but only slightly so she still remained in his arms. She craned her neck so she could look him in the eye.
"Don't talk like that Luke, you deserve everything you have. And more." At his frown, she continued. "You're a hard worker, a loyal neighbour, a caring friend. I'm pretty sure you were an amazing son, as well. You are wholly deserving. And don't ever let me hear you doubt that again. Ok?"
She felt the chuckle in his chest before it erupted from his mouth. "Ok."
"Ok then." And she leaned back against him, tucking her head in the angle where his neck and shoulder met. "Wholly deserving," she muttered.
They stood like that for a couple of minutes, each content in just holding each other. Luke's thumbs rubbed lazy circles over her back while she ever so often softly dragged her nails over his naked skin, satisfied with the way goosebumps rose and his breath hitched.
At one point, she thought she felt his lips pressed against her neck, but it was with so little pressure that she couldn't be sure. And suddenly she was sure, because he did it again. And he wanted her to notice, she could tell.
He did it again, higher up this time, after having swept away a lock of hair. God, she thought.
She once again pulled away from him, only slightly, and let her hands travel to his shoulders, his neck. Maybe the stubble was four days old.
Love.
Right there. Written all over his face. Not just love that came with gratitude, but love that came with coffee, with fixing her porchrail, with putting up with her incessant chatter. Love that came with knowing her.
God.
His lips were parted, his eyes were dark, clouded.
He kissed her.
God.
Soft, gentle. He applied very little pressure, as if he was asking for permission. She tasted banana.
She kissed him back.
Oh, God.
They pulled apart, let go of each other, took a step back. Regarded each other.
Thoughts were nagging at the back of her head, about friendships, things not working out, coffee. She pushed them away. Irrelevant.
They had circled around each other so their positions were reversed, her back towards the bathroom wall, him facing said wall.
"Lorelai..." Her nostrils flared. He approached her, grabbed her, pushed her.
Her back hit the wall.
~THE END~