DISCLAIMER: I'm declaring my independence from copyright laws! From now on, I shall not bow to the corporate tyranny that is Amy Sherman-Palladino/Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone and Warner Brothers Television. Give me liberty or give me... Eh, never mind. The lawyers just told me Interpol is on the phone and threatening treason charges. Fine, it's all their stuff. And as always, all other trademarks mentioned herein are the property of their respective owners.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has literally been two years in the making. I had intended to put this out for the Fourth of July in 2007, but then for some reason or another I abandoned it midway through and never got back to it. In my current run of writing however, this story was begging to be completed, and thus you all get to read it today on the 4th of July in the United States...otherwise known as "Saturday" to the rest of the world. Danielle originally sparked the idea for this story, and it is her I give most of my thanks to, especially since it was her drabble series that convinced me to bring this out of mothballs. I wanted to write one Prory story where emotions and lust drive the story, and this one completely met that threshold. I also thank Patricia for her encouragement in expanding my horizons with her own work, especially the Stop the Presses series and her Hannah Montana fics where she somehow manages to make two simple characters in a shallowly written TV series become passionate, funny and full-formed characters in their own rights. This is also sort of a shameless attempt to ask her to write another Prory story. (Puppy eyes) Please, Patti? Pretty please?
SPOILERS: Right after the end of the series. Looking for Logan? He's gone. So is Doyle. They're never coming back. And unlike some of the other post-series stories, Paris and Rory are responsible young women who use effective birth control and have no buns in the oven in any way.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
The Attraction of Fireworks, The Heat of Young Love
By Nate
Paris had always hated fireworks.
Not for the usual reasons, like the loud bangs they made, or witnessing the 'scared straight' vibes of the televised scary/hilarious fireworks safety demonstrations held on the National Mall by the CPSC every July which resulted in the mangling of innocent department store mannequins.
No, she hated them because she always watched them from a safe and antiseptic location every year; the balcony of the Capitol Hilton, dragged there by the Gellar parents so she could socialize with girls she didn't care about, and guys who just wanted to get into her bra. For eighteen years, that was the place she always watched Hartford's Riverfest fireworks display. And usually she wasn't watching, instead shrugging off the attention of a boy, trying to keep Madeline and Louise from sneaking out, or having to hear again about how one day Francine Jarvis would rule the State House with an iron fist, like she did the Puffs until their disbanding.
The last three years, she missed the 4th because of her soul-searching with her life coach before starting Yale. The next year, she stayed home, trying to hone her future plan for running the Daily News. The holiday before this year's was spent with Doyle at his home just on the fringe of Terre Haute, warding off the McMaster relatives as they told her she was an adorable woman to go with Doyle. Terre Haute had fireworks, yes, but the mosquitoes in Indiana were vicious, and the blonde wasn't wanting to donate her blood against her will to them.
This year, she should have been celebrating Independence Day, her last before starting Harvard Med, in Mumbai, seeing the sights of India and feeling a disconnect as she got used to the idea of being alone in the world for the first time. Without her mother or father. Without Madeline and Louise.
Without Rory.
Instead, she was now laying against Rory's stomach, in the town she once described as a 'left at the cows', on the porch swing of the Gilmore house, which was pointed just right towards the high school athletic field where the town's fireworks would be launched from.
Currently, they were the only ones remaining on the entire block, every one of the denizens of the Connecticut hamlet gathered either at the field or downtown at the gazebo.
In truth, Paris and Rory may not have been here at all if things turned out different. Rory would have been sweltering and withering on her feet in Pella, Iowa, covering Barack Obama as he stumped for caucus votes in a place known more for their "viewed to be the best" windows than anything else. It was Independence Day, yet Rory would have been stuck writing for her online magazine job she took in the desperation to find anything after graduation.
Meanwhile, Paris should have been bickering with some shop keeper in the grey market district that a DVD she bought the day before wasn't of studio quality, and that she could see the heads of the theater crowd in the background. At the same time, she would be burning up phone minutes, angry that her real estate agent in Cambridge was trying to pass off a closet as a 'home office' in an apartment she was interested in.
That was before Logan coldly abandoned Rory when she turned down his proposal, at graduation. Or Doyle found himself quickly rescinding his promise to Paris to follow her to the ends of the earth, for the title of assistant editor-in-chief of the Commercial-Sun in sleepy Vincennes two days after receiving her diploma. It was close to his family, a step up in his dreams.
But a shattering of Paris's heart. She let him go, still feeling friendly for him, wishing the boy luck. But she could not bear to leave the east coast, no matter how good Indiana University's medical school might be.
She would have been alone again, sullen and unhappy, if not for checking the mail one last time when she picked up the security deposit for the New Haven apartment a week after graduation. She had forgotten to get change-of-address forms for both her and Rory, and hoped the doo-wop group hadn't got to the mailbox before her.
If she wouldn't have checked that mailbox, Rory may have never known she had a paid nine month internship for the Boston Globe, which she never considered after the glum period when after she was turned down by the Times. But Paris, wanting to thank Rory for her cooperation in Operation Finish Line, decided to use one of her connections, a former editor of the Daily News who was now a features writer for the Boston paper. She pleaded for them to consider Rory for the fall, but had given up on her contact coming through for her by the time Pomp and Circumstance played.
When she opened the letter and read that Rory had been accepted, she fell down on her knees and cried, thanking God for working a miracle for her and her best friend; she actually had to be calmed down a bit by the doo-wop group, who thought she had lost a family member at first from her reaction. After the arguments of the last week with Doyle and feeling so unsure about herself having to go into Harvard without anyone she ever knew, she thought once again fate had stepped in, like it always did. Since September 2000, Rory had been in her life in one way or another.
And as she booked her Jag up the road to the Hollow, letter in hand, her heart swelled, though a bit pessimistic that Rory would still take her magazine job over Boston.
With that one check of the mail though, she was the new heroine of Stars Hollow. The moment she gave Rory the letter, she knew she had her partner-in-crime, assistant editor, vice president back in her life. The squeal of the 22 year-old brunette as she read the kind words of the HR director of the Globe that she more than qualified for the internship, and the hugs and tears shared between the two girls as Rory thanked Paris profusely for her kindness and gratitude, it was like a shot heard 'round the world. It wasn't five minutes before the young journalist was on the phone to her now-former employer, telling them 'something came up'.
"What? You're a fine writer, what happened?"
Smiling as she looked at the woman who had grown from an awkward girl before her eyes, Rory acknowledged who had saved her from literal grunt work. "Paris happened. She got me a internship at the Globe!" Though the mag chief was disappointed, he was glad to hear that Rory had found something she wanted. As Rory said after hanging up with her future boss when accepting the internship, "it's not the New York Times, but it's a paper owned by them. It's perfect, it's wonderful, it's...it's..." Looking into Paris's tear-filled eyes, she found the woman she always knew was lurking in there. The kind Paris Gellar, who used her insane drive and initiative to push Rory's potential out farther than she could have ever imagined. Without her, she was only half a person.
"We're...we're going to live together...right?" Rory was nervous, hoping that the reason that Paris wanted to get this internship was to give her a home, a familiar face to see every day.
"Of course we are," Paris said softly. "I would rather share an apartment with you than some faceless Izzie Stevens clone."
Rory shook her head, laughing. "You've been watching Grey's Anatomy while you wallowed all week, haven't you?"
"The snark of Addison and Callie can get me through everything." She flushed red, trying not to give Rory hints that she had been thinking of the television doctors in more than friendly terms as a coping and sexual cooling mechanism. "Especially when it comes the gallows humor that will follow me through med school come fall."
"So...thank you." Rory felt herself so thankful to have at least one person she could always depend on. "I...I don't know how I could ever repay you."
"Just be wonderful." Paris pulled her close, taking in the soft vanilla scent of her Dixie Chick. "Just do your best. I don't want you to think you owe me anything. I was telling the truth when I said that I know you'll do great things, Gilmore. That is no longer in any doubt, from this moment on."
Since then, the girls had become inseparable, now able to be kindred without their men in the way. In mid-month, the town celebrated Paris Gellar Day despite her protests to Taylor not to, in honor of the woman who saved their golden hope from having to drift across the Hawkeye state fueled only on IHoP and Kwik Trip coffee hoping she might be able to break a story that 300 other media organizations were following. She didn't give a speech when asked, instead taking her tiara (which she was embarrassed to be presented with) and standing proud while Taylor spun a hyperbole on par with Paul Bunyan about "The Golden Letter from Boston", which would have been fated for the New Haven dead letter office without her intervention. Most everyone had been overjoyed to see Rory close to home, but none more than Lorelai. Instead of a summer spent resparking her flame with Luke alone, she could now have her own best friend back to gush and glow about things, and had three more months of time before she had to let her daughter go, rather than to Iowa, to a nice safe apartment that undoubtedly would be better than the New Haven dive, thanks to Paris finally convincing her trustees to let her tap into her trust fund as of June 25th, when she halved her way officially towards 23.
All that wasn't on the girl's minds right now, however. Paris had been convinced she would be stuck in her mother's tiny apartment for the summer, until Rory suggested she take the couch for the summer. Although not the best of sleeping arrangements, Paris took her up on her generosity and had spent most of the last month in Stars Hollow, falling into the habits of the Gilmores like a horse to water swiftly.
Now, they were on the porch swing, watching rockets light up the sky in a myriad of colors, all alone with each other. Janet and Tanna were memories, Lucy and Olivia probably in Prague at some art show. The future was ahead, and the two women had survived everything thrown at them, together.
"Aren't they beautiful?" Rory asked softly as she looked into the muggy night sky of Central Connecticut, in awe, running her head through Paris's hair. The movement had become another calming device to the girl after Paris had decided to cut off her long locks and go for a shorter, more manageable style. She had been naturally shocked to see Paris, who had long hair since she could grow it as a child, chop it off to above her neck to alter her image considerably, but grew to love her new style within hours, enjoying mussing up Par's hair when she was in a mischievous mood.
"We're not at the finale yet, there's still fifteen minutes to go," Paris grumbled, knowing the fireworks contractors were teasing the town. "We probably have the fifth-string team of the same company here; the other employees are in Bridgeport and Bristol. I wouldn't be surprised if Disney hired one company to do fireworks just for the ESPN campus."
"They get better, I promise." Her fingers fluttered through Par's soft scalp. "I remember when I was smaller, how this was one of the nights I looked forward to most. Getting to play with my friends, watch the sky light up as I ate a Sno-Cone, such wonderful memories."
Paris stayed silent, not wanting to regal Rory of her stories of Fourths past. She felt bitter that she could never celebrate a holiday the way her best friend did, regretting that she wasn't more wanting of fun as a child. Pensively, she watched the show, massaged by her friend. Rory would never understand, she tried to relay to herself, just wanting to enjoy the moment.
Rory continued on with telling Paris the Gilmore's holiday traditions, like the parade downtown, face-painting and the carnival set up down Locust Street, Luke offering free lemonade to anyone coming in.
She reasoned why she loved the holiday so much. "It's such a magical thing this...knowing we live in such a good nation, where I can pursue whatever I want, whenever I want to. I don't need to have someone tell me what to do, so I live for myself. I can be with someone...or no one at all. It's just empowering in that way."
Paris warmed as Rory went on, loving the romantic descriptions that were the way she lived. She envied Rory for being how she was, and although she had her struggles, she remained her own person, never letting anyone define her. She saw that strength in her coping with Logan, having her night to mourn his loss and then go on. Remembering how a few weeks later, they both came upon an angry Honor Huntzberger at the country club, ranting on and on about how Rory had just ruined her life forever by not accepting Logan's ring.
She was however, quickly cut down as Rory stated would never forgive someone who stole her moment for their purposes. Instead of the day she got her diploma, she would forever have to think of the day as when she turned down a Fortune 500 heir's marriage proposal. "I can never get that moment back," she seethed. "I hope you and your brother can live with that for the rest of your life, that you ruined my picture of him..." A pause for dramatics. "Forever. I will never forgive him, ever."
Rory was independent again, but unsure of something else weighing down on her mind, that she had been trying to find the perfect moment to bring up to Paris. She was watching the sky show, but at the same time trying to think of the best way to bring it up. Over the last month, her bond with Paris became ever closer, and she wanted to solidify it.
And in turn, she wanted to make up for the moment stolen by that moment when Logan asked her to marry him. It had been a thought she had in her mind for years and years, but she had never thought to broach due to outside circumstances. She let herself stay silent for minutes more, waiting for the perfect moment to have Paris relaxed in her grasp. Her arms, wrapping around at Paris's waist, bringing the girl in as she close as she could on the porch swing.
Her strength outweighed any doubts she might have. All these years, she had been waiting to tell Paris how she felt. So many missed chances, too few moments with just them before Doyle or Logan inevitably butted their way back in.
Or Dean or Jess. She had made her peace that she was done with them, knowing whatever they had, it was gone. She looked down at Paris, a leg hanging languidly down off the seat of the swing.
She slid her hand across Paris's stomach, beginning the conversation.
"You know," she started, "we have a third chance now." She smiled, watching the show.
"At what?" Paris was puzzled.
"Living together. I mean we've known each other seven years, we would have never thought of ourselves as being buddies back in 2000, much less best friends."
"That I didn't," Paris said softly. "I could have never guessed. It's like, like we have a delayed friendship. We're coming to the usual middle point, where we reach a crossroads. We were on our way towards drifting apart, and then suddenly...wham! Our lanes merge back together."
"It's a big school. I remember those words the first time we talked civilly. We would never meet each other again after Chilton, we were both sure." Rory sighed. "Thank God we met again."
"I could've turned out differently if I hadn't met you," Paris theorized. "Could you imagine me even making it to 22 without long cram sessions with you keeping me sane? Those long nights, so many nights of Indian and Chinese. Literally, we were each other's fuel."
"And we still will be. I can just imagine it already when you come home in Boston. You're all tired out, trying to get your inner Addison on, but instead you had a lecture about bile or stomach parasites. You're so worn out, you get home, kick off your shoes..."
Paris smiled happily, completing the picture. "And there you are, a pizza in hand, telling me dinner's ready. I swear, you know me better than I know myself."
"And then after we were done eating, we kick back on the couch, me with my notebook, you with a body chart, studying together as we drift in and out of whatever countdown is on VH1 at that moment--"
"Except for Thursday nights at 9 on Channel 5. I call the TV for that hour and one minute." Paris giggled, remembering she also had another night to reserve. "Wednesdays too."
"Oh, don't tell me you got into the spin-off!" Rory rolled her eyes.
"Let me tell you, BitTorrent is wonderful. Without it, I wouldn't be caught up, and I wouldn't know the comedic genius that is Kate Walsh."
"Oh, really?" Rory smirked. "I would've thought it was that other guy, the one from that prison show? He seems like someone you'd be attracted to, being all for older men!" The next thing Rory felt was a jab in her ribcage while Paris groaned. "OW! Geeze!"
She rubbed her body as she tried to state her case. "What, you had a little crush on him, I never understood that show, but you couldn't stop watching it."
"Correction, Doyle couldn't stop watching it. I was just plain bored. Besides, I'm not into evil men like that. And he's balding, come on, seriously? Not my type!"
"So he's not your McDreamy?" Rory teased.
"Uh-uh. I don't have a McDreamy."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. God, I sound like Izzie now, I overdosed on that show!" Paris frowned, shaking her head. "It's all your fault, you had it on Lifetime that one night, I got drawn in, and all the sudden I'm at Best Buy getting the first two seasons and iTunes'ing most of the third until my laptop overloaded and I had to get the rest illegally by burning them to DVD!"
"I wasn't even watching!" Rory chuckled, enjoying Paris getting wound up. "You're the one who was all 'Get away from that man-skank McSteamy!' at four in the morning and crying when Meredith almost drowned!"
"Hey, it was either this show or Studio 60. In retrospect, I'm so glad I saw through Sorkin's stupid morality play set in a sketch show. Give me a penis fish anytime over more liberal whines about Afghanistan."
"Penis fish! Va-jay-jay!" Rory let the words roll off her mouth in an exaggerated way. "Seriously, I look up to writers who can make up words and terms like that."
Watching Paris laugh, Rory felt herself enjoying the small blonde's company all summer.
Even if she sucked up all the hot water in the morning for her shower.
"So this third chance." Paris got back to the point. "We have a great apartment I think. It's about fourteen blocks from Harvard Square and convenient to the T. You can commute into town pretty easily."
"How much is rent?"
"They're looking at $900 with oil and power. I'm trying to get them down to $750 though if I can convince them I can handle the shoveling in the winter and taking care of the garden."
"I can do $750."
"I'm on full-bore negotiation with them; there's this girl from Bangor trying to snipe it out from under me. I plan to get it."
"Paris, if we live--"
"I'm not going to live in a hovel like that ever again," the Jewish woman reassured. "It took all I had to get the courts to let me access that trust and reassert my financial security. I'm just glad I put it all back in the bank though. One of my investments was with this Madoff character who promises insane returns. I don't need insane. I need a roof, food, my best friend and limitless books. That's all I need."
Rory looked at her friend, She had in the next month seen what had always been interrupted by Logan. Those deep brown eyes, calm and serene for once, the woman beginning to calm down from the rush she felt towards the end of Operation Finish Line. Long limbs, bared by the atypical sight of Paris not in a long shirt or pants, but in a light purple tank top which rode up her belly in a sensual way and khaki shorts flattering her beautiful legs. Her feet were bare and there was no care to how she looked at all. She was just herself, watching the fireworks with her best friend.
Except that friend had different thoughts now. Having the foresight to look back two months after Logan left her, Rory realized exactly why Paris warned her away from him. Not because of his personality or the way he tried to control her. There was a strong undercurrent of machoness within the Brigade and she had remembered one conversation she shared while drunk where she admitted if she could, she would sleep with Paris.
Which was immediately made fun of. Colin did a horrible imitation of the poor girl, while Logan made a crack about her breasts and having a stick up her rear end.
But what hurt most was hearing Stephanie tell her what she thought was the truth.
"Women like her, they like to have control," she surmised. "She's played your bully for seven years. You need to kick her ass and tell her to fuck off."
She doesn't miss Stephanie very much anymore. Sliding her hand down Paris's back, she takes in the scars and spots upon it. She felt soft sweat-dampened flesh, the marking of her tight bra still indented in the middle. She's not used to feeling this part of Paris's back bare.
That's when she notices something upon the never bared part of her neck. Nothing natural at all, and a reflection of her more spiritual view of Judaism since her and her mother began to fracture apart. She began to not feel bound to the religion's strict customs and in an act of rebellion against her mother for hiring an accountant based on how long he lasted in bed, she decided to also spite her father at the same time.
The result was a tattoo, long hidden and never known. She moved her hand to the back of Paris's scalp and asked what it read. She felt guilty at first, but the eyes of her friend reflected trust that she could seal her secrets with the brunette.
"That's...that is Hebrew, right?" She looked over the characters, perfectly formed, reading right-to-left.
"Passionate and driven," she told her, shuddering as fingers slid across the exposed flesh. "That's what it says."
"How appropriate." Rory's eyes closed a little as she felt that pull she ignored from the day Paris asserted herself in front of her in September 2000. "That's exactly who you are."
"I don't feel that as much as I used to," she admitted quietly.
"Why?"
"What I was at fifteen is not who I am at twenty-three. I was supposed to have the world in my fist. Now I have to grab small parts of it."
"You are a beautiful and driven woman," Rory said, bringing the girl in close for a hug as booming pyrotechnics reflected in their eyes. "That will never change."
"Do you feel that you changed?" Paris felt uncertain about what she was asking. "You were three letters away from ending up in a situation that you didn't earn on merits, but because of the company you kept."
"I have changed. Somewhat not for the better. But both of us preserved through it all and we came out whole." Rory smiled at Paris, while letting her fingers take in the intricate Hebrew lettering of her tattoo upon her neck. "Paris, we survived. We almost changed. But at the end of this, we came out still strong, still independent, and most of all, still with our eyes on the prize."
"Yes, we did." Paris shook her head, her heart filling with doubts. "But we failed at the most important thing." A sigh. "We let love get away."
"We didn't."
"But Ror--"
"Paris." She pecked the girl's cheek softly. "I still love you. Through everything you've put me through, I have never lost my respect or admiration for you at all. Even if you were at your worst, I'd rather be competing with you any day of the week than some peer who stayed out of the way. I love you for challenging me, for making me think I could be more than I am, and for just being there." A pause. Rory felt her heart stirring as she began to feel the confession would not lay fallow any longer.
"Most of all, I love your wit, your heart, your intelligence, and for giving me any piece of your heart to hold onto to." A small tear streaked from Rory's right eye. "Without you, I may have ended up elsewhere entirely." One more silent pause. "I may have...I would have even reconsidered the proposal."
"How about now?" Paris wondered nervously. She felt her body withering in as Rory's touch sent sparks through her spine.
"Never again. We're finished. And thank God, I know for sure." She smiled. "It came a few days ago, right on schedule. That damned sponge you suggested in concert with the condom and the pill? Totally effective."
"So no baby binding you to his loser ass?" She smiled as Rory laughed.
"I didn't even have sex with him the last month before. No way was I risking my life with some last-second fling." Her eyes brightened as she began to wrap her arms around Paris, trying to keep the both of them steady on the porch swing. The woman's fragrance drew her in and she felt the last excuse keeping her bound to love men drifting away. Brown upon blue, she felt that connection she had ignored for so long as booms sounded from all those blocks away. "You to Doyle?"
"He was stuck having text sex with me. That's all I'd give him."
"So we're cool. In the clear."
"Nothing binding them to us." Paris felt that intense gaze and shuddered as she felt both of Rory's hands upon the back of her neck. "Jess?"
Rory scoffed. "No." But then she smiled. "Jamie?"
"I saw him on some Fox News panel the other day. No longer my type." Another challenge. "Dean."
"My infatuation with him is dead." One more name. "Asher?"
Paris smirked and began to close in the distance a little more. "I have no sexual attraction to zombies, I'm afraid."
"So the guys in our lives are just memories."
"They are." Both of them inched closer together, Paris wrapping her arms across Rory's freckled back. "Oh, one more guy. That lunkhead who saw us kiss at spring break."
"Probably castrated from a rake stunt he taped himself doing on YouTube. Damn it, and I would've so done him too." Serious eyes. "It was a good kiss, by the way."
"Was it?" Paris was unsure. "I used too much suction."
"You did none of the sort. Just...caught me by surprise." They were now in a world of their own, their flirting a foreign language to the world at large. "I think we may finally be able to connect on that missed opportunity."
"Do you really love me, Rory?" She was meek asking the question. "I just don't hear you say it, and...and..." Rory pulled down a strap of her tank top and then moved to push her other hand within the waist of her shorts. She was startled.
But also turned on. The heat had caused their hormones to go haywire, and in the last few days, states of undress and regular situations where the women felt that pull they had for so long no longer able to be resisted. Paris felt sinful only minutes earlier for even ogling Rory in her summer dress, a thin and wispy floral article that she was currently wearing without any other support beyond the dress bodice.
"I dream of you all the time," Rory confessed, her voice tinged with deep want. "Of feeling your hips upon mine, breasts hefting within my hands. I smell you in my bed every night, Par." She forced Paris into a laying position upon the swing, their bodies melting with each other. "You got me an internship at the Globe. You were always there for me, even in my worst moment, living with Emily. Mom didn't even do that. Lane could never handle that. You're with me, heart and soul..." Legs intertwined. "And I wish I could have a piece of your heart."
Heated eyes. Tight bodies, unwavering desire and eroticism in the air. Paris could no longer deny the pull she felt for Rory Gilmore.
But still, she knew happiness was always taken away from her. Rory could easily one day jump back to Logan, despite her promises.
So she tried to avert as rockets flared from the town ballfield, casting glows of purples, greens and pinks upon their heated bodies.
"Rory, you don't want me," she said. "I'm damaged, more than Jess ever was. I--"
She felt breath upon her face. A short moment in her young life. The last breath she would share before her seven years of shielding her heart would be undone in one solitary instant.
"We're both damaged, together," Rory said to her. Then with the same suddenness Paris had four years ago, she drew her mouth to that of her best friend.
No quick release, no questioning what they were doing, or the pressure to keep up with the lipstick lesbians. Rory lightly gripped Paris's neck and pulled her in, daring right away to force herself into the blonde's mouth and find that reservoir of pure passion she knew lurked within the harsh woman. Doyle had never been able to tap it despite all of the kinks he shared with Paris.
She went the old fashioned way. Hard and deep kisses, the type that made Paris shudder as her tongue slid against that of the future surgeon's. Her eyes closed she took in her friend's taste and dared her to push it further.
Better than I thought. She felt her body tighten as Paris found herself moving into the kiss. Soon she had her hands in Rory's hair, pulling the girl closer and moaning against her mouth. She felt that glass in her heart breaking, her self-control melting as Rory's hands took in her angular shoulders and soft curves. She felt her body betraying herself, refusing to let her come back in control of the situation.
Paris found out that Rory tasted in that moment of cherry popsicle. Her mouth was coated with the sticky fluid of the melted ice pop and she let her tongue take in everything. It was everything she ever imagined, kissing Rory, really kissing her.
Rory felt incredible strength from her student body president. The lace upon the back of her dress was undone, freeing the flowing floral green fabric and allowing the girl to hike the skirt up to bare as much leg as she could. Her hands upon the back of her thighs she felt Paris desperate to push against her.
Booming in the air. Hammering in her heart. They went as far as they could with the kiss that couldn't be broken on the porch. Paris's tank top straps drooped down, her face flushed hot, throat sliding out sexy sighs and moans as Rory dared her hand lower...lower...lower.
Her hand arrived, curving from the back. Against the khaki shorts, which on Louise would have been indecent, but upon Paris, made Rory's nipples tighten from the thought of what was hidden beneath them. She pulled herself away from the kiss. Her voice, a rushed whisper.
"You're so wet," she told her, while fingers flirted with the covered lips. "So wet for me."
"It's the heat," Paris argued. "Just the heat."
"Not the heat," she scolded. "You are in heat." The fly was button down, allowing the bookish journalist to slide two fingers between each snap.
Blue eyes burned. "Sopping heat." Fingers along her womanhood. Her lower lip dropped down with immediate effect.
She moaned. Sensation across each of her lips, held in by the cotton.
"Ohhhhh fuuuuckk!!"
"Do you wanna cum?" Rory dared. "Is that what you've always wanted from me, Par? To slide into your own bed at night and give you an orgasm so hard you can't walk straight?"
"Ror..." She was shocked. "God, I want this."
"Do you want me to fuck you?" Rory asked, not a hitch in her voice. "Stop denying that there's this spark that we've had for so long and just let it explode and spread...like that rain kind of firework."
"Rory...if we do this..." She panted, pressure applied against her clit. "We...go...all the way. And you will never go back...to the Terrible Trio...ever again."
"So we'll only make love if I commit to you, right now." Rory smiled at the woman, her face heated, while she felt that last defense of her heart from Paris Gellar melt away. They had flirted on and off for seven years, but in the last month it was clear that without outside pressure, the chances of them being a couple were strong. Her dreams were filled with the blonde, in many states.
She knew Paris dreamed of her often. She shared dorms and apartments with her. Sleep-talked sex fantasies with the brunette and 'found' letters filled with dirty deeds that were never sent to the girl during her Yale sabbatical. Plus she never found a man Rory dated that she would stand as a bridesmaid for.
Paris's worst-kept secret was her love of Rory. She knew the girl held a crush on her. But it was never mentioned in public or shown outside the venues of either her bed or within her pen.
Rory knew that Paris would not deny any longer. Neon blue eyes looking into deep dark brown pools.
She never saw that look with anybody but Asher.
But this was much more intense. Along with the pressure against her back.
And Rory's voice had never rung more true but in that moment.
"I'm committed." No hesitation, not a beat.
That was the moment they could not take back. Paris pulled Rory back to her, but before she could, she felt Rory tighten.
And then a simple smirk.
"But not to public fornication." Looking outside at the fireworks raining and booming downtown, Paris remembered where she was.
She took Rory's hand tightly into hers.
"You're right, much better inside." The other hand was taken and she pulled the brunette quickly towards the door, her entire body burning for touch. They ran in the door in record time, and then quickly shut it.
The entire house was dark but for the fluorescent fixture above the sink in the kitchen and the occasional burst of color through the windows.
One moment of pause. Paris had to calm her fears.
"Will they catch us?"
"They're staying at the Dragonfly." She pushed Paris hard against the frosted door, then pinned her while she did up the locks and the chain. No one would be getting in any longer tonight.
The air conditioner was turned off. Both girls didn't care at all. They had each other. Their bodies burned as Rory pushed Paris's head against glass and gave her a deep and searing kiss, removing any doubt about experimentation. Paris as she always promised, caught up quickly, overpowering the brunette.
Undressing while within their passion was next. Paris needed no further distractions. She reached beneath Rory's dress to pull down...
Bare flesh. Her hand grazed the girl's puckered asshole. Rory groaned into the kiss and bit against her tongue lightly. She quickly pulled back.
"Goddamn!" she exclaimed. Her forehead wrinkling. "Did you have this planned?"
The innocent look. Rory was cherubic and cheery. "Laundry day," she sing-songed.
"I'll give you laundry day, you teasing bitch." She moved her hand beneath the dress to Rory's front and immediately pushed her hand against Rory's pussy. Her other hand tugged at the thin straps of the basic dress. It could never be worn again. Rory threw her head back, her eyes glazing over.
She had fingered herself to Paris before. But Paris fingering her? Much better than anything her dirty little mind ever came up with.
"Jesus Christ." Paris gritted her teeth, waiting for the threads to stress and fail.
Finally she went with a hard tug on each side. One tug on the right, one on the left.
The dress was done for, collapsing from the slim journalist's form carelessly, baring her hardened breasts, large areoles ringing around medium-sized nipples out almost near an inch. Paris pulled her hand away to let the dress fall to the floor below. The only thing Rory wore was gone, leaving her nude in front of her friend.
Paris's breath was shallow, her eyes hungry. Drifting up and down in that small moment, purple, yellow and white filtering through the door, along with the loud booms. Her model-like form, there for the intense blonde to touch and pleasure all that she wanted. Pupils drifiting across the sexually alluring knot making up her belly button. Down the wide expanse of skin below it.
Then towards her friend's slit. Framed simply in a slight triangle, drops of arousal reflecting in the light at the bottom of each of her lips. Back up to her face Paris went.
No shyness at all. Only a smile, and love reflected in her eyes. The dress was kicked to the corner, making it to hang off the handle of an umbrella.
Paris shuddered from Rory's intense stare. And then she spoke.
"You're the first to be so blatant. And the way you're looking at me..." She approached to take the neck of Paris's top. "It's making my pussy tingle."
Now Paris knew she was really turned on. Rory never dropped one naughty word in the bedroom with Logan beyond the basics. She was clinical with him.
But with Paris she was raw. She made quick work of the top, ripping it down from the deep and luscious mounds she imagined burying herself between often. Pulling it down quickly to her waist, she made quick work of unbuttoning the drenched khakis.
Beneath, pink boyshorts that ended up being almost transparent. Her mound was completely visible, barely ringed with a thin ring of blonde curls. Along with another surprising thing. The pungent odor of her got Rory immediately hot.
"Can't wait...no teasing tonight." She yanked all three articles down long thick legs, exposing her lover fully for the first time. Her eyes took in her in immediately were jarred to one certain part. Her index and middle fingers moved right to it.
She was in shock. She was in awe.
She felt like cumming from just the sight of it. Simple sliver-colored metal, shaped as a barbell. Something she had never dared think about at all, nor ever associated with the conservative girl.
She touched it lightly, brushing it against the sensitive flesh, taking the woman close against her. Paris's face immediately tightened up and she gasped.
"RORY!!! FUCK!!!" The girl felt as if testing a theory that was successful. She pulled back, still seductively smirking.
"How long?" Her eyes lowered again.
"Four and a half years." She settled down. "The nose? Not so well. Right on the button? I got it right in time for Asher."
"Any pain?"
Paris shook her head. "Would you believe I came just after?"
"You're a very sexual woman." Rory softly giggled. "And I know it now."
"You're the fourth to know."
"Jamie never did?"
Paris shook her head. "My OBGYN is dead if she ever tells Mother."
"Paris Gellar with a pierced hood. Who would have ever thought?" She then felt herself turned around and pushed out of the small foyer and into the living room.
"Stop thinking, Gilmore," she demanded. "Start fucking." Rory found her legs backing into the couch. There was no debate; their first time would not be on the bed Dean took her virtue. She flopped onto it. Paris soon followed above her.
This wasn't slow or exploring. It was animalistic and beautiful, two rivals coming together as lovers. Rory had obviously never learned from her men, taking quick control of Paris and testing the blonde's limits. The deep moans and squeaks from her throat guided her, along with her slick body. Three fingers within her wetness, another making a figure eight around Paris's clit and the piercing stimulating it like it never had before. Paris felt pressure against her tits, Rory laying deep suckles and kisses along the flesh, and then bites. Marking her, making her feel like the revered goddess she never thought she was. Cursing freely, Rory revealed her dark side.
"Love me mashing fingers up your cunt," she intoned. "God, you're so tight, Par. Your hole's been expecting me, hasn't it?"
"Yes...yess....yesss..."
"When you fuck yourself do you like...do you think of me in the uniform?" Paris nodded. "Think of the crotch of my tights rubbing against your pussy? Soaking them in cum? Fucking me at lunch in the darkroom while everybody else was unaware."
"Wrong...too dark..." She screamed. "Conference room table."
"Windows open?"
"Yessss....oh yessss...anyone could see us. We were...visible..."
"Your legs bare but for your socks wrapped around me, skirt hitched into the waist, panties ripped aside...wanting to see your cum face." Fingers in deeper. Her body against Paris's. She felt Paris's fingers cradle her ass while fingers slightly pierced her puckering. "God Par...go deeper, deeper...I want to feel that deeper."
She pushed in at Rory's request, and mashed her leg against Rory's crotch. The harsh sexual scent of the girl was intoxicating. The only sounds between them breath, hearts and booms. Their bodies fit together perfectly, in sync with each explosion outside. Paris heard the 1812 Overture in her mind. She heard the horns, the pounding of the drums, the rushed beat of the song. Each pound of the drum seemingly calibrated with a boom outside.
Rory's strokes became frenzied. Her body tightened up as she felt the pressure build further and further. Paris pushed tight against her digits, her teeth dug in hard against Rory's shoulder. Friction built between them, breasts rubbing against breasts, stomachs against stomachs. Paris noticed the fact that while Rory's bottom was not tanned except for the obvious portions, her top was completely bronzed.
They definitely had more secrets to share after this congress.
More gasps and curses. They were slick against each other, their backs shining with perspiration, foreheads dripping. The smell of cinnamon within the room was replaced of that of two perspiration and sexually charged women. Rory was a loud girl, the complete opposite of how she was with Logan. So was Paris.
They heard Paul Anka howling from next door (Thank GOD Babette took him tonight! Rory thought between spasms), not from their passion, but from pounding fireworks spooking him. He was ignored as the fireworks picked up tenor. They went from ten seconds apart. To five. A second lost with each minute.
Two seconds between each pop. The windows flashed with a light slow, reflecting the nude young women discovering the forbidden. Both of them begging...faster...faster...faster.
Multicolors, audbile booms and pops. Paris heard the drum cannon fire of the Overture with each new deep thrust. Her clit was pleasurably sore and fully erect, pushing right against the the little sphere against it as Rory caressed it with increased speed. Rory's legs were split open, a soft thigh dividing them and pushing against her womanhood. Two fingers pushed within the forbidden, going in halfway and hitting her pelvic wall, adding so much pleasure.
Another boom in Paris's head and outside. She had the rhythm down. Her body was wound tight, the pressure between her legs further building. Her eyes were closed shut as she focused on how tight Rory's rosebud was around her fingers as she stimulated the girl's wall from behind. Driving her in as close as she could she worked the girl off while she pressed her hard against herself.
Faster strokes, more gasps, deep groans and curses. Hard searing kisses and pressure they had never felt before.
The finale blocks over began. They went faster...faster...faster. Rory pushed up her ass to spread it out more, begging for the deepest penetration Paris could offer. She quickly complied, and her reward for hitting Rory's spot dead on was slick skin right against her clit, arousal dripping down from her piercing. She heard the Overture finale in her head. She felt Rory tightening up.
That tingle between her thighs sparked too. It spead throughout her body. The room sparkled with pockets of light as the finale pounded it's final notes. Lots of pops. Paul Anka was going crazy.
Both girls were at their limit. Rory was actually crying from the pleasure filling her being. She screamed loud into the room as fingernail tips and supple skin drove into her on both sides one last time.
Paris quickly followed with a circlular tug upon the barbell which brushed clockwise against her clit. They came, both screaming and harshly, tight against each other, quims spilling out against each other as muscles released and fluids spilled out. Both women could not hold back all of that tension any longer and ruined the cover below them, the little bursts spilling forth across the fabric and their bellies. They stayed tight against each other for that minute, the tension easing as the last pop disappated from the fireworks. Two hot bodies twisted together, Paris finding her even ground again as she felt herself completely exhausted from her cum.
Both women softly kissed in the afterglow, hair sticking upon their heads, the germ-nervous Paris thankful for the foaming sanitizer and Kleenex next to the couch. She then touched Rory's neck and tipped her head back for a long, lingering kiss, both of them exhausted, in love, and definitely wanting of more. Rory was nothing but jelly, melting against the couch. Her lungs were spent, her voice ruined for the evening, along with Paris.
Looking at her lover, Paris sidled up against her, helping her up and encouraging her to make leave to the bedroom.
"I do need to use the bathroom first," she said, rising up and feeling so stiff while her piercing still sent pleasurable vibes through her body. She had to walk slow, afraid to have another cum just on one look from the thoroughly ruined brunette giving her a moony smile. "See you in the bedroom?"
Rory nodded, pulling back her hair behind her head, and also unafraid for her nudity. "Of course, my lover." She bit on her knuckle, and Paris went weak.
That's how she knew Rory loved her. Knuckle-biting was her silent 'I love you' sign. She held back her chest and shook her head, an exhausted smile on her face.
"You know what, Rory?"
"Hmm?" She stretched out, ready to follow her girlfriend. She pushed herself against the naked woman and left a suckled kiss upon the smaller woman's lower lip.
"I really love fireworks." And then she kissed back. "And I really love you."
"Same here, love you too." No hesitation or long courting period. "Thank God the Whalers don't exist anymore. If they won the Cup you'd be insatiable."
"Just wait until the Sox take the Series in October." Paris winked and turned around, leaving her lover to stare at her ass longingly, her mouth dropped in shock.
"Shit. She's gonna kill me for sure. They better have a second-half slump this year." Shaking her head but still with a wide grin playing across her face, Rory made her way to her bedroom, ready to receive her firecracker of a girlfriend (and future roommate) anew all over again.
And resigned to the fate of the Boston Nine taking it. After all, when Paris kissed her that first time, they won it all.
Now she would win the girl, thanks to the crackling heat of the rockets' red glare.
The End