DISCLAIMER: Though our girls have been bounced around networks and writers, Amy Sherman Palladino, the WB/CW, and the writers (as juvenile as they may be turning out to be
) have the real control over the characters. And rather than just sit back and watch Rory and Paris go about their usual boring storylines, I've let them out to play. And play they do ;)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Threesomes. Lesbian sex. It's all in here so if you're squeamish, conservative, or homophobic, you're better off watching The N and leaving my story alone. Still going to read it, are you? Well, you've been warned. And now for the part where I thank people. A big thanks to Nate for motivating my lazy, stressed, overwhelmed ass to finish this! Without his help, encouragement, and nagging for a new fic, this would likely be sitting on my hard drive with the dozens of other unfinished stories. Also, thanks for being a much better Title-Giver than I! I'd also like to thank Monica Bellucci for being such motivating eye candy. And last but not least, I'd like to thank Paris and Rory for their delicious subtext powering my naughty mind to crank out story after story of varying sexual situations in which they can play. If only we could get Alexis and Liza over here to act it out
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Invitation to Realization
I sit and stare at the wall, completely in a daze after the conversation that I just had with Rory. Doyle is out, thank God; I've got some peace and quiet to reflect without having to deal with his reaction. I'm too floored by my own reaction.
I pinch myself and as the pain prickles my skin and the area turns white and then morphs slowly into pink, I know I can't be dreaming. I marvel at my body's reaction to all of this; it's amazing how all at once my senses are charged and on overdrive in their eagerness for tomorrow night, and yet at the same time I still feel numb with shock.
Have I piqued your curiosity yet?
I just asked Rory Gilmore if she would join myself and Doyle in a threesome tomorrow night.
And she said yes.
How did I get to this point? Let's look back
I'd say things began about a week ago. Doyle and I haven't been anything spectacular between the sheets. In fact, he's down right beginning to bore me. Yes, positions are changed up frequently and he is eager to tend to all of my needs, but it's still always the same thing. Still the same feeling as he thrusts inside of me, still the same grunts when he climaxes, still the same questions when he checks to see if I've gotten off too. I crave for something different to happen, but I doubt the man has it in him. I'd love to see some of the vigor he put into his work at the Daily News, but it's absent. He's siphoning every bit of his creativity into his writing, which I absolutely respect, but that creative spark that I was once attracted to is gone.
Or so I thought.
Out of nowhere last Sunday night, he asked me if we should invite someone into our bed. I nearly choked on the raspberries I was snacking on and had to ask him to repeat himself twice. Oh no, he was serious. I asked whom he had in mind, and he looked at me as if I should already know.
"Come on, Paris. Who else?"
"Spit it out, Doyle, before I come to my senses and have you committed."
"Rory, of course."
I was lucky to have not put another piece of fruit into my mouth. My eyes widened in shock and I stared at him.
"It only makes sense, Paris. She's our good friend; we wouldn't want some stranger carrying an unknown sexual history and we wouldn't want someone that would get too attached. We can trust her."
"How long have you wanted to sleep with her?" I asked, jealousy slightly flaring. I had to stop and wonder though: was I jealous because he was thinking about someone else, or was I jealous because that someone else was Rory?
"Don't put it like that; you're twisting what I'm saying. It would be perfect; I can sense that you aren't entirely happy with our lovemaking recently, and I think it's safe to say we should try to exhaust all possible sexual experimenting before we should become alarmed."
I sucked on a raspberry, rolling it around my mouth with my tongue, and then asked with a smirk: "What makes you so sure that she'll say yes?"
"Well, for one, I think she's lonely."
"With Logan out of the picture, she has no one to make her feel like a woman. She needs that physical intimacy, and she's been deprived of that. Need I repeat that she was with Logan?"
I laugh, his mentioning of the Huntzberger golden child enough of an indication why Rory might be particularly needy right now. "Thank you, Dr. Laura. That still doesn't explain why she would want to be in a threesome with you and me."
"To be honest, Paris, I think she's attracted to us."
"Do you? And by what deductive measures have you come to this conclusion?"
"Well, let's see. You've been friends for years, so you've got a very strong connection. She compliments you all the time on your appearance, and finds excuses to touch you, and she smiles at us all the time." He sighed. "It's so obvious, Paris."
To me, it sounded like he had a stronger case for Rory being attracted to me than to him, but I wasn't about to burst his bubble. With his point asserted, he raised his hand to stop me from retorting.
"Just think about it, Paris. You may think I'm crazy, but this may be one of the best ideas I've come up with in a long time." And with that, Doyle turned his back to me and returned his focus to his computer.
I had sat there with that bowl of raspberries and considered his idea. Doyle, Rory, and Paris, all of us three, f-u-c-k-i-n-g. I had to admit that the thought wasn't entirely unpleasant. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I wanted it. But, in true Paris Gellar form, I passed the idea off as completely absurd and returned to my fruit.
Monday was an interesting night. I sat in the living room, indulging in a little post-homework news watching, when Rory came in and sat beside me. We chatted about the days we had, and soon the two of us sat quietly side by side, watching the stuffy men and women droning about the current state of the political climate. Out of nowhere, I felt her fingers in my hair. I knew I tensed up, but I refrained from saying anything. I couldn't help but consider what Doyle had said about Rory touching me. She seemed to be acting innocently enough, and immediately set to braiding my blonde locks. After the braid was finished, her hands returned to her lap, and there they stayed.
Until Tuesday night. I was sitting at the desk in the hallway, my bowl of raspberries perched beside the paper I was proofing, when Rory came up behind me and stuck her hand into the bowl. I hadn't realized it by that point, and reached in and grabbed a handful of Rory. I had apologized and she brushed it off as nothing, but she managed to caress my fingers as she withdrew with a few raspberries. I tried not to focus on her close proximity, but I continued to feel her breath on my neck. My thoughts unceremoniously jumped to the fruit in her mouth, imagining her tongue squeezing the juices free from the flesh. And, to make matters worse, she spotted a flaw that I had somehow missed, and on her way to point it out on the paper, she brushed her arm against mine. The shivers coursed throughout my body long after she had gone.
Wednesday was a Rory-free night, as she went to visit Lorelai, but because of that I was left with my own thoughts. What was going on here? Yes, Doyle had brought up some interesting issues, but why was I becoming so interested?
It doesn't bother me that Rory's a girl. I personally believe that everyone is a little bit bisexual, though my fantasies tend to stray more to the Sapphic realm of the bisexuality continuum. I'd considered Rory before, but she always came off as being more white-bred small-town heterosexual than experimental. And it wasn't like she's never made an appearance in my fantasies or dreams, because believe me, she has. And those dreams have always resulted in a fulfilling orgasm.
The more I pondered the idea, the more it overtook my mind. Everything made me think of Rory. I spent the night imagining us entangled on the couch or pressed against the wall or wrapped in her bed sheets. That night, when Doyle and I had sex, visions of Rory filled my head. I tried so hard to think of the man positioned above me, but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, I closed my eyes and envisioned Rory was above me, driving her fingers into me, kissing me.
Afterwards, he seemed pleased with my orgasm, as if he had something to do with it. I attribute it solely to Rory and the thoughts I had of her licking raspberry syrup off of my body.
You would think that Wednesday night would've helped to make up my mind. You're wrong.
It was Rory herself early Thursday morning that sealed the deal.
It was somewhere around 3 in the morning. I woke up in a daze, noting that I had to use the bathroom. I hate having to get up in the middle of the night, especially in the new apartment. It makes me uneasy. But I got up and trudged my way in the dark. As I blindly reached for the handle of the bathroom door, I heard something in Rory's room. I stopped and listened.
Some may consider that a mistake. I call it one of the best things I could've done.
Behind the door to Rory's room, I heard subtle moans. However, they weren't so subtle that I couldn't figure out what was going on behind that door. A gulp caught in my throat and a furious blush coated my skin and I backed up towards my room. My first thoughts were to retreat to the safety of my room and leave Rory to privately finish whatever she was doing. But, I stopped dead in my tracks despite being so close to my room. Rory's coming. Her moans came quicker and faster, followed by yeses and oh Gods and every possible sweet noise that could come out of her mouth. And there I stood, transfixed, on the verge of coming myself.
I attempt to swallow once more and slowly began to back up into my room. However, once I reached the door, hers flew open and she gasped.
"Paris! You scared me!"
I managed to stammer out an apology.
"Did you need to use the bathroom?" she asked, not giving anything away to alert me to what she had just been doing. I was almost convinced that it had just been my imagination based on her calm and collected disposition, but then I saw her right hand. Glistening with moisture. And even worse, her rock hard nipples pressing through the fabric of her extremely see-through tank top.
I quickly motioned for her to use the bathroom and she smiled, said goodnight, and disappeared behind the bathroom door. I, on the other hand, completely forgot that I had to pee and returned to my bed. My last thoughts before falling back to sleep were of Rory's potential reaction when I asked her to have sex with us.
And that brings me to what occurred an hour ago. I still can't believe that this happened, that this is going to happen.
I had spent all day thinking about the conversation that I would have with her and knew it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible. Imagine me, if you can, at a loss for words. Add to that a painful stutter as I practiced in front of the mirror, and you'll have a sense of the struggle I was having. How does one actually ask someone if they'll have a threesome with them? "Hey, Rory. Nice shoes. By the way, Doyle and I were wondering if you'd like to hop in the sack with us?" Somehow, I had the feeling that my brunette friend may run screaming for the safety of Stars Hollow.
Without any idea of what I'd say, I ventured out into the living room, where she was sitting on the couch, remote in hand. I could tell by the steady rhythm her thumb had upon the "up" button that she had been surfing for a while, paying no attention to the images on the screen.
"You're gonna wear it down at that rate," I said, taking a seat beside her. I leaned back against the arm of the sofa, curling my feet up in front of me.
It took several moments for Rory's head to slowly swivel towards me. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Is everything okay? You seem to be in a bit of a daze."
"Everything's fine. Just reminiscing."
"Mustn't be very good memories, then, if your frown is any indication."
I nodded and watched as her cheeks colored slightly. The rosy hue was a good look on her, and somehow prompted my mind to indulge in thoughts of what the rest of her body would look like with that same glow. I licked my lips and banished the thoughts.
"Not bad memories at all. I was thinking about high school, actually."
I rolled my eyes and chuckled lightly. Oh Chilton, bearer of blissful pre-Doyle and threesome-free days. "What about it?"
"Everything." She looked down at her hand on the remote and turned the television off. As she placed the remote on the coffee table she swung her legs up onto the sofa, her toes touching mine.
"Gilmore, you are not one for vagueness. Spill it."
"I'm just thinking about life with Dean and how uncomplicated he was, well, most of the time. And things with Jess and how it's changed. Look at me now: I've ended up alone and living with my best friend and her boyfriend. It's not how I expected it to be at this age. I always sort of thought I'd be living on my own and supporting a healthy relationship with someone who respected me and loved me despite my flaws."
She paused, but I think she noticed the puzzled look on my face and promptly continued after her tongue swiped along her bottom lip. "That's not to say that I feel like I need someone in my life. I'm certainly not relying on anyone but myself for my own happiness, but it feels so odd to be alone. I'm not used to this. It's been so long since I've been single that I forgot what it's like not to have someone touching me all the time. I miss how a hand feels at the curve of my waist, and how it feels to have fingertips brush against my neck and cheek. I don't know I guess my body and I just miss what it feels like to have intimacy as a part of everyday life."
I had no idea what to say to this, so I tilted my head slightly and chose the safe questioning route. "Are you thinking about getting back together with Logan?"
She paused for a moment, playing with her hair before sweeping it back into a ponytail. "I don't think so. I mean, I miss him, but I don't think I'd want to give any more than I already have to him. And besides, since becoming you know active I think part of me wants someone who can actually give me what I need."
I had definitely caught on to the fact that she was not specifying a gender when referring to this unknown person, and I wondered where it would be okay to step in without freaking her out. "And you need ?"
She blushed again and looked away. "Everything that you seem to be getting from Doyle."
Had I had a raspberry in my mouth I certainly would have sucked it down a windpipe. I jumped a little in my seat. "What does that mean?"
"Well, the walls are thin and it certainly sounds like the two of you are doing quite well for a young couple in a committed relationship."
"You must be hearing Doyle then. I hope the sound doesn't keep you awake."
She laughed and said, "Actually, sometimes it makes me laugh. He sort of sounds like the little engine that could."
"Well thanks for that, Rory!" I said, laughing and playfully hitting her leg. "I'm not going to be able to get that image out of my head the next time we're in bed together! And besides, he's the medium-sized engine that sometimes couldn't."
"It's not like he's terrible. We just don't always have the most exciting sex. We're actually looking into spicing things up."
She straightened her back a little and arched her neck forward, eyes widening as she repeated, "Really?"
"How so? Position changes?"
"Been there, done that. I've got a copy of Kama Sutra under my bed. Doyle's not that flexible and some positions are just not all that they're cracked up to be."
Rory laughed, her blush persisting. "Logan and I didn't vary too much, either. It was disappointing." She sighed. "So how else may you be experimenting in bed? A little light bondage?"
I wrinkled my nose in response.
"Logan tried to tie my hands to the bedposts once I hated it. I'm not sure how much I enjoyed being dominated by a man. It seems so patriarchal to me. I tried to tie him up and he freaked wouldn't let me near him!"
"There's a surprise Alpha Logan didn't want to reverse the domination. He's a control freak."
"That he is. I think if I were to experiment with bondage again it would need to be with a woman."
"A woman, eh?" I said, cocking an eyebrow.
She blushed furiously. "I'd feel more on the same level with a woman. I wouldn't feel like it was about power. Well, I guess it might be, to an extent. But I think it would be more about furthering sexual intimacy and trust to the highest possible point." She pulled her legs tight to her chest. "Have you, then?"
"Have I what? Played Bettie Page with a woman?"
She laughed. "No. Gone all dominatrix on Doyle."
"No, no. I think he thinks I'm enough of a verbal dominatrix for him. Though I wouldn't mind wielding a riding crop." I pursed my lips and gave the appearance of deep thought on the subject, which elicited a laugh from Rory. "But I'm interested in something you said earlier."
"About being with a woman."
"I never have been, if that's what you're curious about."
"Neither have I. But would you?"
"It would depend on the woman, I think. Logan would talk about having a threesome with this redheaded temp from his father's office, but I always told him I'd only have a threesome if it was with two men."
That certainly conjured an image I didn't want. "So you would never have a threesome with another woman?"
"I didn't say that. I just wouldn't with some cheap floozy that he'd see everyday and fantasize about. If it was someone else I actually knew, well, I'd consider it. And besides, two men? That's way too much testosterone and hard appendages to deal with all at once."
I forced a smile. By now, as you can surely imagine, I was completely on edge and felt as if I'd either throw up or combust. "Yea two men at once would be too much. Doyle is enough of a handful and he's a rare breed. I couldn't even think of another guy I respect enough to want to talk to at length, much less have sex with. I'd agree a threesome would definitely have to be with another woman."
Rory giggled. "Okay, be honest now who would you invite if you were going to have one?"
I could tell by the warmth in my face that I was blushing and decided that if I was waiting for the right moment to present itself, it had just come and flashed me. "It's funny you should ask that, Rory. Because, if you retrace the thread of this conversation, you'll recall that it diverged at the discussion of how Doyle and I might be spicing up our bedroom activities."
Her eyes widened, and I wondered if she was putting the pieces together. "So you're having oh, wow. And who's the lucky gal?"
"Well, I haven't asked her yet. I'm afraid of how she might react."
"Doyle left you with the task? How kind of him!"
"Well, I know her better than he does. We have a history, she and I."
"So she must be someone I know then."
Either Rory transformed into her old Mary self, or was having me on. Either way, it was time I spelled it out for her. "What are you doing tomorrow night, Rory?"
She looked at me in confusion. "What? Why?"
"Because Doyle and I would like to invite you to join us. When the topic was broached, you were the most obvious choice for a third partner. And I know you must be thinking I'm out of my mind or that it'll be too weird, but you can say no and you can think what you want and we won't ever have to talk about it again. Ever."
I looked at the slightly shocked brunette sitting across from me and held my breath as she stood.
"I just remembered I told my mom I'd meet her tonight for a movie. I should get going so I'm not too late." She absent-mindedly searched for her keys, stopping twice to scan the room, her knuckle jammed into her mouth. Watching the nervous habit made me want to pull her hand away before she gnawed through to the bone. I tapped my foot on the floor, anxiously observing Rory's completely out-of-character treasure hunt for her keys. I glanced over at the desk, eye-spying the keys immediately. Rory sighed and half-smiled as she found them. "I don't know where my head goes sometimes " she offered quietly, slipping her feet into the brown boots by the door. "I'm so used to things being buried at Mom's that I'm not quite used to them being in plain view."
I smiled half-heartedly at her feeble attempts at small talk and felt completely horrified with myself. Why the hell did I have to ask her? Why would I take Doyle's idiotic advice and ask her to bone us tomorrow night? I wished I could go all Men In Black on myself and erase her memory, and then mine, but seeing as we were a few decades off on that technological advancement, I'd have to settle for continuous waves of humiliation.
"So um, I'll be back around ten. Or eleven. Well, maybe I'll sleep over. I'm sure I have clothes there still; unless they all reek of some baked good that Sookie could be experimenting with, mass-producing, and storing in my room. But I'm sure I'll figure something out. I always do. So um, you and Doyle have a fun night. Well, don't have too much fun. Or do have too much fun that's what young, amorous couples should do." She paused her rambling and looked at me, my deer in the headlights look frozen on my face. "Okay, really going now."
She grabbed her light jacket hanging by the door and moved to slip an arm through the sleeve. She missed, twice, and finally got the jacket on.
I mumbled out a goodbye and pinched the bridge of my nose as she turned for the doorknob. I closed my eyes, hearing the knob turn, but opened them when I didn't hear the creak of the door.
"Oh, and I'll see you tomorrow night," she said, and promptly bolted out the door.
I somehow managed to make it back here to my bedroom, and have been sitting in a state of shock for a few minutes now.
I can only imagine what will happen tomorrow. The thought of exploring this new side of my sexuality was incredibly erotic to me and, though I wondered where Doyle would come into the picture, I couldn't wait to begin that exploration with Rory.
This is neurotic. I need to stop.
I've gone through twelve outfits in my attempts to find the perfect ensemble to wear this evening. But honestly, what the bloody hell is appropriate to wear to a threesome? The silky pajamas looked a little too "night at Grandma's." The low cut tank top gave the appearance that I was a Britney wannabe. My so-called "sexy jeans" won't zip, and the lacy-teddy thing that Doyle bought me screamed "Thousand Oaks-set Skin-emax flick".
No matter what I've chosen, I just haven't felt sexy. It made me feel dirty like I'm doing something that I should be ashamed of. But what's wrong with having a threesome? Plenty of women my age experiment sexually, so why should I be any different?
I, Paris Gellar, deserve to enjoy the ambiguities of my sexuality, especially if they may turn out to be more to my liking than my supposed compulsory, learned heterosexuality. Why hold myself back from what I want when every inch of my body knows it wants Rory between my thighs?
I've opted for a comfortable maroon sweater and a pair of jeans, the ultimate Paris Gellar "comfort mode" look. I look more laid back and relaxed than I actually feel, which I suppose is what I'm going for. The look speaks nothing to the octopus in my stomach.
Doyle has been exceptionally quiet, spending the better part of the evening hunched over his computer, anxiously plucking away at keys. I can hear that he's been favoring his backspace hey. I suppose I can't be annoyed with the sound; he must be cringing as I rapidly flip through pages of my Anatomy textbook, only catching glimpses of the cleft-lip and lupus and hermaphroditic images, ignoring the text that my mind should normally be absorbing.
I constantly focus in and out of the pages before me, chewing on my lips and tapping my fingers. I can't stop thinking about what it'll be like to kiss her to touch her Just the though causes me to squirm. I glance at the clock for the nth time 7:52 p.m. Where is she?
I bet she's hiding out back at the Hollow, having told her mom that RoboParis has developed an angry libido. Or maybe she's met up with one of her macho he-man ex-boyfriends and is satiating her lust with them. Or perhaps she's apartment hunting, horrified to live with me for fear that I'll jump her bones while she sleeps.
Naturally I assume the worst, but man oh man do I ache for her. It's been a long time since my entire body has been so on edge, so anxious for physical intimacy. I'm sure even Doyle could make me come tonight, but somehow the image is so unappealing. I close my eyes, filling my head with images of Ms. Gilmore lying wanton in my bed. As I visualize Rory throwing her head back to bare her throat to my watering lips, I hear the lock click, signaling her entrance into the apartment.
Doyle and I both look at each other, anxiety clearly splashed on our faces. We must look terrified, the pair of us. An attractive woman shows interest in hitting the sheets with us and we naturally panic. We listen sharply at the shuffling outside our bedroom, and I wonder what we're supposed to do. What is the standard protocol for a ménage-a-trois? Do I stand at the doorway, holding a silver tray of varying lubricants, toys, and condoms? Does Doyle turn the bed down? How the fuck am I supposed to initiate this?
I hear the sound of Rory's shoes dropping on the floor and the light padding of her feet as she crosses the living room and heads toward the bedroom. I take my gaze from Doyle's face and turn to face the door. And she's there. Oh boy is she there.
Despite my loathing of any movie with the following type of scene, the next moment happens as if in slow motion. My eyes glance towards her feet, crossed at the ankle, clad in black stockings. My eyes sweep higher, catching the dark gray tweed skirt that falls to her knees. Higher still is the light pink button-up top, hair cascading over her shoulders in soft curls, lips painted red and slightly puckered. She looks gorgeous, and I've lost my breath.
"Hey," is all she says.
I lick my lips, hoping to gather a little moisture in my now dry mouth, and Doyle beats me to a response.
"Hi there, Rory. You look lovely today."
What a stupid thing to say. Had I gotten to speak first, I'd have told her she looked gorgeous. Ravishing. Oh yes, ravishing indeed.
She blushes at his compliment and looks down at her hands. "Thank you, Doyle," she responds softly. "I went out to lunch with Grandma today."
"Why don't you come in, Rory, and make yourself comfortable?" he says, standing, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
She comes in, closing the door behind her, as if to shut out the world's negative opinions regarding what is about to happen. She takes a seat beside me.
"You ladies both look a little tense," he says, his voice wavering slightly. I respect him for taking the lead here, especially knowing he's as edgy as I am. I watch him as he sits down beside me. He places a palm upon my thigh. It's hot and dampens the denim. He's sweating like a teenage boy who was just caught looking at porn by his prude of a mother. I stare at his hand there, so foreign on my body, and feel his breath upon my neck. Oh God. He's going to kiss me. It's all I can do to resist the urge to cringe and turn my head to face him.
What the fuck is going on here? Since when did Doyle become cringe-worthy? It's not as if he repulses me. No, I find him an attractive, charming man. He'd make any woman happy, fulfilled. But, what if I'm not any woman?
His lips touch mine. He's going the soft, slow route. Okay, this I can handle. I keep my eyes open, watching his eyelashes twitch as he kisses me. Beside me, I can feel Rory's eyes burning into the back of my skull. If she wanted to, she could lean forward a bit and actually see the kiss, but something tells me she doesn't actually want to see it.
Doyle pulls away, but stays close. "Rory. May I kiss you?"
I'm holding my breath. This is completely insane. I stare at my hands, which are tapping anxiously on my knees. Rory's response is so soft I barely hear it.
She leans forward and presents a cheek to pursed lips. He lingers, and she turns her head and softly pecks his lips. This scene is taking place inches from my face, and I can barely stand to look at it. It's over almost as soon as it's begun, and I'm slightly shocked. It would appear that Doyle's observation about her attraction to him is more or less grounded in wishful thinking. Rory stays close, and Doyle's knee nudges mine.
Oh my God.
I take a deep breath and look into Rory's eyes, the first brave move that I've been able to make since I asked her to participate in this fiasco. Her blue eyes are clear, though breeding uncertainty, and in them I can see specks of light green. I feel as though I'm seeing deeper than what's immediately present, like I'm looking into her mind and getting a green light to continue. Of course, I question the hint I'm getting from her, and her faint nod confirms that she's okay with me kissing her.
Here we go.
I all but forget Doyle's presence beside me as I slowly close the gap between our faces. The last time I was this close was Spring Break when I kissed her on impulse, fueled by insecurity over my relationship with Asher. I can't believe I haven't thought of that moment at all, especially in my recent thoughts regarding Rory as more than a friend. Looking back, I hadn't ever considered Rory as anything more than a friend and roommate. As I press my lips against hers now, I can enjoy the action rather than seek assessment for a man. This time, it's for me.
The kiss is awkward. We are both unsure of how to proceed and are careful not to offend. My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest that it must be deafening to her. Though, as I slowly close my eyes, I realize she must be having a similar reaction.
So far so good. Small, closed mouth kisses. These types of kisses with Doyle are usually the sign of comfort and safety within our relationship, never conjuring feelings of arousal. However, now, with Rory, my entire body feels as if its been charged with a hard shock.
I'm not sure who initiates the open-mouthed kissing, but it's a brilliant idea. As my tongue tentatively grazes her lower lip I can feel my entire lower abdomen jump in response. My hand cups her cheek, my fingertips pulling her in closer. She whimpers softly, the hum sending vibrations against my lips. As her tongue brushes against mine, her hands move from their stationary position in her lap. One comes behind my back, resting casually on my waist, the other burning into my thigh.
As our kissing slowly becomes more insistent, I realize my body has reached a heightened disconnect. Part of me desperately wants to push her back onto the bed, straddle her, and fuck her until she sees stars. The other maintainable libido-driven part wants to savor every kiss and caress, for who knows if and when this will ever happen again.
As our tongues lazily dance within our joined mouths, I'm reminded of Doyle's presence. He shifts closer in an effort to be more involved, I suppose. He starts to kiss my neck, cold, wet kisses. Almost involuntarily I break the kiss for just a moment, enough time to tilt my head to the other side and attack her mouth at a new angle. No, not attack. Savor, maybe, or worship. Her mouth is soft and sweet; as my tongue teases alongside hers, I feel myself slip more and more under her spell. It's only with Doyle's sharp exhalation that I realize my move had thrown my hair into his face, excluding his participation in that way. As guilt wells up within my throat, burning like acid, Rory's pearl-like teeth nipping at my bottom lip is enough to send my body into fierce shivers, a feat my man has not be able to accomplish in months.
He shifts a little closer to me as a means of subtly vying for my attention. When I ignore him, he takes a more direct approach. With three fingers stationed stiffly at my chin, he pulls my mouth away from hers and replaces it with his own.
No. I don't want this. I don't. I don't! That guilt wells up again as I force myself to appear engaged in his kiss. To my surprise, Rory sidles up closely beside me rather than remain motionless and places her hands on either side of my waist. Even through my sweater her presence electrifies me. I place a hand on her knee, grasping lightly as her hands play at the edge of my sweater, fingertips teasing along the seam of my jeans and my bare skin.
My God that feels good. She places faint kisses along my neck and I immediately tilt my head to give her better access, moaning a little into Doyle's mouth. I long to guide her hands up to my breasts, where I desperately want them to be, but I don't want to rush her.
Damn, she's good at this. She drags her tongue along my elongated neck, alternating between nipping with her teeth and sucking. She makes her way to that spot behind my ear yes, that one, and I moan loudly. Desire rushes to the apex of my thighs and I throb for more. I place my hands over hers, guiding them under my sweater to rest on goose-pimpled flesh. Her nails rake over my skin as she explores this new expanse of bare skin and I whimper once more, Doyle's mouth catching the guttural sound. I barely notice that his kissing has become less insistent.
When he breaks away, I take the opportunity to throw my head back onto Rory's shoulder and arch my back against her. Her hands have not yet reached my breasts, but as they inch closer to the lace-encased mounds my breath catches and it's all I can do not to beg.
I open my eyes and look at Doyle, feeling his eyes on me. He is watching intensely and I can't read his expression. He doesn't have the look that I'd expect a man who is watching two women get it on to have. He almost looks upset, disappointed. Before I can question him, Rory's hands have found my breasts.
The silence of the room is broken by a loud, deep moan. It echoes and comes back to me, almost sounding like a stranger.
Is this seriously happening? I can't question the surrealism of this occasion now; my senses are too heightened for it to be a dream. Doyle's back to participating again, kissing the other side of my neck and getting his hands under my sweater. In a wonderful show of teamwork, certainly perfected thanks to the YDN, the pair of them manages to pull my sweater over my head. I feel as though I should feel exposed, sitting there with four hands caressing my breasts, which are covered by a lacy black bra. This bra was the only intentionally stylistic clothing choice that I made: as far as comfort, it's hell, but it makes my breasts look amazing. Doyle loves it (or loved it, since I haven't worn it for him in ages) and I guess a big part of me wondered if Rory would like it. That is not to say that in Rory's first Sapphic adventure I assume her to be a breast woman but, since they're two of my best assets, why not show them off?
I entangle my fingers in Rory's hair, scratching my nails against her scalp. I whisper her name softly as her thumbs brush over my sensitized nipples, the rough lace adding a delicious texture that could make me come with enough repetition.
Once again I notice Doyle's participation has stalled, and I find irritation begin to replace the guilt. It would be one thing if he were acting like a hormonal teenage boy, overwhelmed at the sight of two women in a sexual situation. But I know him too well: something's going on in that mind of his, something I am not in the mood to want to figure out. Is he upset that I'm the one who is being doted upon, rather than Rory? I guess I've always had the image that threesomes would involve the couple performing sexual acts on the guest. Perhaps Doyle is disappointed that his opportunity to experiment with another women is being wasted on me. Whatever the reason may be, my mind's preoccupation is irritating me. I don't want to be playing mind games with him. I want to be savoring every single minute with Rory.
In an attempt to put bodily sensations before overanalyzing my boyfriend's thought processes, I turn my head to pull Rory's lips into another kiss. God she tastes good. Like spearmint and wine. Must've had a glass with Emily at lunch today. Before my mind can take the trek to wondering what she ate for lunch (and what she may be eating for dessert), I feel the weight on the bed shift. Doyle's stood up.
Part of me wants to imagine that the reason he is no longer sitting is because he is divesting an article of clothing, but I hear no shuffling. I reluctantly break the kiss and look at Doyle. Or, rather, Doyle's back as it heads towards the door.
"Doyle? What's wrong, are you sick?" I ask. My voice catches slightly in my throat. I clear it and wait for a response. Rory's hands are immediately back in her lap.
He opens the door and, after running a hand through unkempt brown hair and supplanting a sad, "I give up" look on his face, walks out.
I sit there for a moment, dumbfounded and on sensory overload. I need to go after him. I'm his girlfriend, right? He sure picked a great time to play Mr. Sensitivity the power of her kiss has reduced my legs to the consistency of custard and my heart has pounded its way out of my chest and into a cold shower. Awkwardly I reach for my sweater and stand.
"I, uh, better go after him." I start after Doyle without looking at her, but I pause as I reach the door. I look back at her swollen lips, her slightly askew hair, her lust-filled eyes. As I register that those cloudy blues are still mirroring the same excitement as mine, I exhale a little. "Rory." Wow, what's happening to my voice? It's not sounding platonic towards her it's more intimate. "Are you okay?"
She smiles a little and nods. "Hurry back, Par. Well, I mean, take your time, but well, you know."
I smile and hug my sweater to my chest. "You'll never know I'm gone."
"I doubt that."
I blush a little and leave the room. I scan the darkened living room and notice Doyle's form in the kitchen. Somehow it seems wrong to approach him seriously without my top on, so I quickly pull it over my head as I make my way to the kitchen.
He's facing the small window, his back to me. As I come up behind him, his voice interrupts the silence. "Took you long enough."
"I guess I needed to be certain I understand now."
"Understand what, Doyle? It's not a difficult equation. You plus me plus Rory equals threesome, an activity, I may add, that was your idea in the first place."
He turns to face me, looking dejected and melancholy. "It was, and intended to be the group activity it's designed to be. But somehow I ended up cut from the program."
"Doyle " I don't know what to say to him. I can't lie to him, but the truth seems so harsh. Sorry to blue ball you, honey, but my inner lesbian is about ready to put up the "No Boys Allowed" sign?
"I know that this is new for you and you're caught up in it, but I didn't expect I would barely be a participant."
"Are you upset that you're not getting enough of a hands on experience?"
"Paris, you should know better than to just assume I am only thinking about sex here. Just you saying that alone is enough of an indicator."
"An indicator of what? We're not CIA, Doyle; there's no need to speak in code."
"It's obvious that she's giving you something I can't. It's no secret that we've been having problems hence this little experiment. I don't have to be a scientist to know that my theory's been confirmed."
"That you're attracted to women, Paris."
"Doyle it's really not your place to label me."
"I'm not labeling. I didn't call you a lesbian, and I'm not saying you don't have feelings for men. It's an observation. With eyes wide open I observed a lot in that bedroom. You want Rory, not me."
I'm silent as I lean against the counter. I'm rendered speechless once more, and he soothingly touches my arm.
"I know you don't want to hurt me, Par. And I'm not hurt I was just optimistic, I suppose. I had half hoped that Rory would say no, or that you wouldn't actually go through with asking her. But I need to be realistic: I'm not giving you what you need, and I know as well as anyone that if there's something that Paris Gellar wants, she gets it. I'm not going to stand in your way."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you belong in that room, not trying to play house with me and pretend that things are better than they are. We made an admirable attempt and we just don't fit."
I blink and stare at him. I never thought that Doyle would be the one to break up with me, and especially not in such a calm, rational way. Break ups aren't supposed to happen like this, but then again, what do I know? I avoided Jamie to be with Asher and yelled at the guy as if it were his own fault he's as boring as cork. Asher and I would likely have been together for ages had it not been for well, you know. And now Doyle, doing the deed himself.
I expected yelling. I expected tears. I feel guilt well up within me for my lack of participation in this conversation. He's making this so simple, practically encouraging me to walk away, and the best I can do is stare at him like Louise shopping for a drill at Home Depot.
"I don't know what to say, Doyle"
"That's a first." He forces a half smile.
"It seems so simple for you to be able to end our relationship so easily. I agree that we shouldn't force ourselves to stay together when we're unhappy, but are you sure this is what you want? You seem so detached."
"It's not like it's easy for me, Paris. I can't just wash my hands of you completely. You've meant a lot to me during our time together, and of course that ounce of male dignity is bruised in your unconsciously choosing a woman over me, but we have no business being together. I'm preoccupied with my book I need time to devote to that and then eventually on a woman who actually wants what I have to offer."
"I I'm sorry, Doyle."
"For what? For wanting something you have no control over? Don't be. Now get back in there. I'll stay at a friend's tonight."
This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I never realized until this moment how amazing of a man he is. He's going to make someone happy someday but it can't be me. I envelop him in a hug and, after kissing his cheek, I make my way back to my room. "Thank you, Doyle," I say, pausing at the door.
He nods resolutely and utters a barely audible "goodbye."
As guilt continues to poke and prod at my insides, my brunette calming agent assails my senses. She's still in the same spot where I left her, but I have the feeling she's been pacing.
"Doyle's not sick, is he?" Rory asks, looking concerned.
"Why, was he the deciding factor in your being here?"
"No I was just curious. I'm just surprised I would have expected that he, along with the entire male species, would have to be ill to pass up the chance to be with two gorgeous women."
I blush slightly and slowly make my way back to the bed. I hop on, sitting cross-legged at the center of the mattress. "You think I'm gorgeous?"
It's her turn to blush. "Aside from my declaration of narcissism, I can't deny that part of my statement." She looks down at her hands, and then directly at me. "You're gorgeous, Paris."
"You're not half bad yourself, Gilmore."
She smiles and tilts her head slightly, a lock of hair falling across her brow. "Am I correct in assuming that this threesome has become a twosome?"
I nod. "John Ritter has made his exit."
"Three's a crowd," she mumbles.
We sit there in silence for several beats. "How's Emily?"
"Oh, you know she's good, saving the world one DAR function at a time. She and Grandpa are both out of town."
"I thought you had lunch with her today?"
"Not exactly. I did stop by the estate. But I took the opportunity of the empty house to do some research."
"Don't laugh, okay?"
"Okay. Spill it, Gilmore."
"I was doing research on threesomes. Only I was too intimidated to go into the Adult section of the video store, so I had to resort to mainstream films."
"Did you find a good selection?" I ask, slightly turned on at the thought of Rory watching sex scenes with a glass of wine in her grandparents' home. I shift slightly, the heel of my foot pressing against the apex of my thighs.
"A few. Sex Monster, Laurel Canyon, which actually didn't get into a lot of depth the three different Wild Things and its two straight-to-DVD sequels. Very eye-opening stuff I learned."
I laugh a little. "Did the wine help ease the nerves?"
"How did yoOh, never mind." She smiles. "Yes, it did."
"I was tempted to have a glass myself but I didn't want to numb my senses at all. But that's not to say that you needed alcohol to get you through this...I don't mean to sound as if that is what I am implying."
She smiles. "Well, I needed something to calm my nerves, but not to motivate me to be a part of this. It's all I've been thinking about."
I issue a sigh of relief. "So have I." I laugh. "Who would have thought that we would be in this situation?"
She laughs and stands, pacing to control her nervousness. "I certainly never expected that this would happen, but "
"Well, though I can't say I imagined us being in this exact situation, I have thought about it."
My God. Rory's thought about me. In a sexual way. I stand, feeling awkward sitting while she is roaming around my bedroom. "When have you thought about it?"
She blushes slightly and fidgets with a book on my desk. "All the time. I I've thought about it in high school there were certain times when I found you incredibly attractive I never said anything because there was Dean, and Jess and how do you say something like that to your friend, anyway? Oh hey, great debate in class today, and by the way, I'm really attracted to you? And since then, it's come up a lot, especially since I've been living with you."
Her revelation leaves me breathless. To know that I have been on her mind for so long is incredible to me. Her attraction has been building over the years, caging back pent up frustration and desires for something she felt she couldn't have. Now that she can have me, I'm going to make damn sure she gets everything she's ever fantasized about. And more.
I saunter up behind her slowly, trying to ease her back into the sexual situation from which we were distracted. As much as I would love to hear that sweet, angelic voice of hers describe in detail exactly what she's thought of me throughout the years, I'd rather have her show me what she's thinking about me now.
"Lucky for us, a bizarre sequence of turbulent romances and wild suggestions has made those thoughts a reality." I stand close behind her, my body nearly touching hers, and place a hand on her waist. She reacts to the touch, her back straightening a little. I place my other hand on the other side of her waist and take another step toward her, pressing the length of my body against hers. I take in her fragrance, growing lightheaded at her flowery aroma.
Rather than search for the right words to describe my wanting of her, I instead speak through my body. I slide my hands to the front of her abdomen, feeling an expanse of soft cotton beneath my fingertips. I start at the bottom of her shirt and slowly begin to undo each of the tiny buttons, my fingers setting a slow and agonizing pace. I long to rip the blouse and take her in my arms as buttons fly about the room, but I muster up every ounce of self control I have to take it slow. She seems to be thinking along the same lines: her breathing has quickened and her fingers are clutching the back of my desk chair. Her hips rock subtly against mine, and mine uncontrollably mimic her action. As I reach the buttons by her breasts, I can feel the hardened nubs of her nipples graze against my wrists. I bite my lip. My name crawls out of her throat in a whispered moan. Her voice is laced with arousal, and the very sound increases the pounding between my legs.
I reach the last button and part the two halves of her shirt. Lucky desk, must be getting quite the view. I return to her stomach and splay my fingers across her taut abdomen, skin so smooth that my fingers glide with ease. I rake my fingernails in a random pattern as I climb the ladder of her ribs and creep ever so close to her bra. I tease my fingertips along the bottom edge of her bra, occasionally dipping a finger beneath to feel the swelling of her breast.
Rory whispers my name, her insistency clearly pleading for more than just a naughty tease. As exquisite as the sound is, I can't bear to frustrate her any longer. I also don't think I can keep my hands away from her breasts. I cup her breasts, mimicking her actions from earlier on the bed. My heart pounds as my hands explore this uncharted territory, an exploration I'm anxious to further uncover. I step back and slip her shirt off her shoulders, tossing it to the side. As my eyes pass over the sight before me, I can barely catch my breath. Rory Gilmore, braced against the chair of my desk, brown hair in a mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders and back, shirt off and a tan bra covering her nudity from eager eyes. I'll never be able to do my homework at this desk again without this image assailing my mind. I step forward once more and tease my fingers along the ridges of her spine, placing wet kisses along her shoulder blades. My hands roam her back, scratching lightly before stopping at her neck. I push her hair to one side to allow me to have an unobstructed view of her face. She is flushed, eyes closed, and biting her lip.
As I begin a slow, sultry assault of her neck with my mouth, my fingers fumble with the back clasp of her bra. It takes several attempts but I finally manage to get it off of her and it is only seconds before it joins her shirt on my floor.
Oh God. Rory Gilmore is leaning against my desk, completely topless.
I manage to choke back a whimper as I unclasp the side fastening of her skirt. Before I can attempt the zipper, Rory's hands are on mine, guiding them to her breasts. We both gasp as my fingers reach her incredible breasts, cupped perfectly in my hands. It's almost too much. I stifle a moan as my fingers trace circles around her nipples before playing with and pinching the hardened nubs. I feel them tighten further at my touch and she whimpers.
I feel as though I should be at a loss for what to do. After all, I've never touched another woman in this manner before. I feed off of what I like to be done to me, imitating those actions and hoping to execute well. If her moans are anything to go from, she's certainly not complaining.
My mouth alternates between biting and sucking on her shoulder, my fingers caressing and scratching over her puckered nipples. Her hips buck against mine and I know this dance cannot continue in this manner for much longer. My knees are going to give and it won't be long before I'm kneeling before this goddess.
I slide a hand down her stomach. I reach her skirt and rather than return to her zipper, I continue to travel lower before finally cupping her through skirt and whatever lies beneath. Heat radiates from her and as I tighten my fingers against the apex of her thighs, she moans loudly.
She pushes me back, turning swiftly to face me. My hands fall dumbly to my face as my eyes take in the sight before me. I glance from her flushed, aroused face to her taut, pink nipples and round, full breasts. God, is she beautiful.
Rory grasps the back of my neck, pulling me in for a hard kiss. Her tongue strokes roughly against mine, her lips pressing urgently against mine. As her hand begins to seek flesh beneath my sweater, I back away long enough to rip my sweater over my head. She smoothes my hair out of my face and pulls me in for another kiss. Her teeth nip at my bottom lip, her tongue then caressing along the swollen flesh as her hands settle upon the hook of my heaving and stressed bra that digs uncomfortably at my back. In one deft move the garment loosens and she pushes the offending material off of my body.
Our kiss pauses for a moment as we both look down at our enjoined bodies. Our bare breasts touch, the very sight of my heavy breasts pressed against her smaller, perfect ones causes me to whimper. As our chests rise and fall with each sharp intake of breath, everything slows as I acknowledge how incredibly surreal it is that I am here, topless, with my high school rival-turned-best friend.
The unrelenting throb in my panties brings things back to normal speed. I savagely kiss her mouth, my hands once more at the zipper of her skirt. I tug it down, the sound of grinding teeth urging me further. Once it reaches the end, I push the skirt down over her round hips, listening as the fabric pools at her feet. I blindly feel my way across her hips, my mind attempting to conjure an image of her panties. My hands follow small strips of fabric down her thighs until I realize that she is wearing a garter belt. I continue my sightless exploration, my fingertips brushing against a patch of soft curls.
Fuck. Rory's not wearing panties.
I break the kiss and look into her eyes. Those wild blues stare back at me, a naughty glint eliciting a smirk from me. This woman is full of surprises.
I place an abrupt kiss on her lips before moving to her throat. That long, exquisite throat leaves ample space for my hungry lips. I alternate kissing, sucking, biting, licking, teasing. The combination leaves Rory panting for more.
I leave a little love bite near the hollow of her throat before continuing my downward path. As my head becomes level with her beautiful breasts, I ease my tongue around one moderately sized mound, teasing the area around her areola before my mouth begins a hurried assault of the puckered peak. Her fingers tangle in my hair, short, clipped gasps escaping her mouth. I switch to the other breast, repeating my ministrations and drawing further moans from her mouth. Her body shakes slightly; I can tell that she is drawing closer and closer to teetering on the edge. I continue lower.
I place several kisses on her stomach, to which she responds with a nervous giggle. Aah, so Rory's ticklish. I'll have to save that little tidbit for a later time. I'm kneeling completely on the floor now, my knees landing on the hardwood with a thud, my face even with her dripping sex. I can smell her heady aroma; I lick my lips as I pan my eyes up her body. I've never seen a more arousing sight: Rory Gilmore, clad only in black stockings and garter belt, leaning against my desk, fingers gripping the edge for security, legs spread, and Paris Gellar about to eat her out. She bites her lip, nodding slightly to give permission to my impending action. I nudge her legs further apart to get full access, and I begin.
I kiss along her thighs, licking through her stockings in hopes that I give her a pleasant sensation. The closer I get to unclothed flesh, the more I happen upon evidence of her arousal. Her thighs are wet with her own juices, and I lap them eagerly. It's a perfect mixture of sweet and bitter. My palate is pleased.
My fingers part her folds and I stroke my tongue teasingly across her clit. Her hips buck out and she cries sharply at the sensation.
"Oh God, Paris, what are you doing to me?"
I take that as another phrase for "continue" and I do just that. Though I am nervous that I won't do this correctly, I take my chances. I issue a long stroke of my tongue along her clit, my own moan causing subtle vibrations of my mouth against her. Her fingers tangle in my hair once more, pulling slightly in her desperate arousal.
I begin a steady rhythm of sucking and stroking, starting out slowly and gradually picking up a quicker pace. Her hips rock against my face, her moans becoming louder and more insistent.
I've only just begun to ravish this incredible bud before she is climaxing, her body riding the crescendo with moans and quivers. I can feel my own orgasm threatening to burst but I manage to continue to teeter on the edge as I sit back on my heels and watch Rory come. Her body is covered in a fine coating of sweat, glistening in the light of the room. Her head is thrown back, her eyes tightly shut, her knuckles white as they grip the desk. I lick my lips, savoring the essence of Rory, and wait for the waves to subside.
Rory blinks lazily as she shifts her body, her eyes sweeping over my half-nude form. She licks her lips as if to ready her mouth for speech, but presents me only with a wide grin. She holds out a hand to me, which I take, and she pulls me to my feet.
"Debate club has exercised that mouth well, Ms. Gellar. You're, uh," another smile, "incredible."
I blush at the compliment and shift my legs. The friction of my jeans rubbing against my heated core reminds me that I am nearly on the verge of this post-coital euphoria as well.
Rory kisses my lips, soft, small kisses, gathering remnants of her own arousal on her mouth. Her long fingers touch and caress my throat, my shoulders, my back, my waist, my abdomen. I suck in a breath as she reaches my breasts, her nimble digits tantalizingly stroking my heavy mounds. I murmur her name against her lips. I can almost taste the smirk on her mouth; it's her turn to tease now.
She guides me towards the bed, a convenient piece of furniture that I all but forgot I had. As we begin our slow dance to the queen sized bed behind me her hands reach the snap of my jeans. She undoes the button and cranks the zipper down, the sound reverberating right to my core. As she begins to pull my jeans down over my hips, I remove the garter belt, deciding that I want her completely naked. Because it is her turn to take control, I pause my hands to allow her to tend to my clothes. She hooks her fingers into both my jeans and panties and slowly drags them over my hips, kneeling momentarily to help me step out of them. She looks at me, such desire in her eyes, and it overwhelms me. I help her up, now taking my time in removing her garter. I unbutton the clasp holding her the nylon in place, taking great care to brush against her smooth skin as much as possible. I tenderly slide each garment off, taking care to kiss each of her feet before standing to meet her gaze.
She looks me over, her eyes focusing on certain places for what feels like hours. I'm normally self-conscious in my birthday suit, but not with Rory. As my eyes sweep over her orgasm-kissed body, she steps closer, pushing me back onto the bed.
I reposition so that I am lying in the center of the mattress and watch with wide eyes as this gorgeous brunette begins to crawl over my body. She places kisses on my thighs, my pelvis, the tuft of blonde hair leading way to my core, my stomach. She pauses at my breasts, her tongue snaking out around each nipple in turn, burning my body with a fiery need.
Each stroke of her tongue against my nipple draws a long, throaty moan from my mouth. Tension is building within me and I know I don't have much time before my body tumbles into an erotic euphoria. She surprises me by biting softly on one nipple and my inner walls contract: a warning that my teetering is nearly over.
"Rory," I whisper, attempting to call her attention to my current state.
She sucks harshly on the side of my breast, a delicious combination of discomfort and pleasure searing throughout me as she uses her body to roll us so that I am on top of her. I straddle her, my dripping core pressing against her pelvis as I claim her lips with my own. She is not done with our repositioning, and slides out from under me long enough to sit cross-legged before me. She pulls my arms, welcoming me to straddle her legs. Ooh. I like this position.
We kiss again, our tongues maneuvering within the contours of each other's mouths as her hands massage my legs. She begins a pattern, her fingers swirling in hypnotic circles around my inner thighs. She rakes her nails along the sensitive skin, a sensation that would normally have me in a fit of giggles. As she gets closer to my throbbing sex, her eyes open to look at me. They're so dark, full of lust and hunger. I clench again uncontrollably as I feel fingertips applying the slightest amount of pressure to my lower lips, tickling along the swollen, sopping folds. I match her gaze and bite my lip, signaling total surrender, and she thrusts two fingers deep within me.
"Uuunnhh, Fuck! Oh God, Rory!" These words and noises coming out of my mouth sound so distant and foreign and all comprehension of speech is lost save for my begging of her to fuck me. She strokes her fingers within me and I rock my hips in unison with her fingers, my hips undulating upon her hand.
I'm getting so close, my body tensing so tightly as I raise and lower my hips upon her long, nimble fingers. I rotate my hips, my clit grazing against her thumb. Another gasp. I tip my head back as I ride her fingers, my exposed throat becoming assailed by her greedy mouth.
As she inserts a third finger and begins to stroke my inner walls, I wrap my arms around her neck and rock my hips faster. I cry out as my clit harshly grazes her hand, and I whisper her name as fast, quick convulsions wrack my body.
She wraps her free arm around my waist to brace my climaxing body, her fingers still as I clench around them. A few whispered gasps and cries escape my mouth, my climax resorting to its usual hushed tones.
As my body calms and my heart rate slows, I tilt my head back to face her. I feel so weak and exhausted that I just end up leaning my forehead against hers. She slides her fingers out of me and her arm joins the other around my waist, pulling me in for a close embrace. I kiss her forehead as we sit like this for a few moments, our bodies fitting comfortably. I could fall asleep here in her arms. I like it here. To be honest, I'm not quite sure I ever want to leave.
We sit in silence for several moments, each of us caressing the other in an intimate manner. I run my fingers through mussed brown curls, while hers trace invisible patterns on my lower back. I become so content just sitting here that her voice breaking the silence causes me to jump a little. Rory mumbles something about her legs falling asleep and I begrudgingly swing a leg over her and kneel at her side. I look up at her, a loose strand of hair falling over my face. Though it tickles my nose I am lost looking at her, looking at the serenity that has befallen that beautiful face of hers. She smiles and blushes at my staring and brushes the hair aside, tucking it behind my ear. She leaves her hand on the side of my face, her thumb caressing my cheekbone.
"No regrets?" I ask, worry evident in my voice. Though we've just shared an amazing, erotic encounter, I can't help but worry that things will be forever changed. Well, I suppose that's a given, but the thought of this sexcapade ruining our friendship scares me to death. I'd hate myself for allowing an angry libido to tear us apart. But then again, I'd hate myself if I never explored this other side of myself. Turning my back on who I am, what I feel that's not the Paris Gellar way.
"Only one," she says, still smiling. I exhale a little, knowing the answer can't be a bad one. "That I wasn't honest with you ages ago. We could have avoided a whole lot of bad relationships and awkward sexual situations." She looks down, a frown settling. "What'll happen with Doyle?"
"We're over. I mean, we both knew it was bound to happen. He'll be back sometime tomorrow; we'll have to talk about things, figure out living arrangements."
"Oh no! Someone's going to be homeless!"
"I wouldn't feel right kicking him out of the apartment. The three of us could work something out, but I'll at least give him the room we shared until he finds a new place. So it looks like I'll be the vagabond."
"You poor nomadic soul! You know, I liken myself to being a true Samaritan, and it would just be terribly ill of me to turn my back on a poor, helpless soul. I'm just a small girl sleeping in that big bed all by my lonesome there's plenty of room for two."
I laugh. "Rory, you have a twin sized bed."
"It'll be cozy!"
"Rory Gilmore, are you asking me to move in with you?"
She smiles. "Since we already technically live together, I'm proposing that we share a room, like the early Yale years. That would make us roommates again. But I'm also proposing that we share a bed. That would make us "
She nods, and then looks me in the eye. "Paris? You didn't sleep with me to get this girl-on-girl thing out of your system, did you?"
"No! I mean I partially agreed to Doyle's suggestion because I was curious about exploring my attraction to women. But, more than that, I wanted to explore my attraction to you."
"I'm sold. I've explored uncharted territory and I want to set up camp, right here in Roryville."
"You're cute, ya know that?"
"Flattery will get you everywhere." I kiss her, a smile still plastered to my face.
"Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow night?"
I grin. "I would love to."
She smiles and pulls me back so that we are lying on the bed, her body spooned around mine. "Now what do we have to eat?"
I laugh. "That stomach of yours is never satiated, is it?"
"Not after I've just burned off everything I've eaten in the last three days!"
I smile and kiss her again, this time lingering on her soft lips. "We've got raspberries in the fridge." I slide in a quick tongue brush against hers as I give her another detail. "I think I also saw a can of whipped cream buried towards the back too."
"Oooh, a little raspberry dessert tray sounds delicious!"
I kiss her. "I'll get our snack you turn down the bed and be ready for me!"
I get up, taking my time to slip into the bathrobe that hangs on the back of my door. I blush, knowing Rory is watching me. I look at her lying there, unabashed with her nakedness, and smile in wonderment at tonight's events. I feel so complete right now, so at ease. Why? Aside from the obvious reason being that I just had an incredibly satisfying orgasm, for the first time I feel completely comfortable with my lover and my decisions. This whole listening to yourself thing feels damn good, and for once I can say that I am 100% happy with where I'm at based on the decisions I've made.
I wink at Rory and reach for the doorknob.
"You're going to be the dessert tray."
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