Title: Heat

Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm sorry for what I'm doing to Rory. Sort of.

Pairing: R/T

Rating: NC-17

Author's Note: If you’re under 17, please read something else. Probably complete. Thanks to Rianna, for not attacking me with seafood.

*****

She shifted her weight, trying to gain leverage. There was no room to maneuver; her head was jammed against the windscreen, the steering wheel digging uncomfortably into her back.

"Turn on the heat."

His reply was muffled by her flesh.

"I'm cold, Tristan."

"Not for long."

Her fingers tightened in his hair in a half-hearted attempt to pull his head back. "Not if I put my shirt back on, no."

"But we'll be here for hours."

"What sort of insurance do you have, anyway? Maybe I should call my mo--"

Her teasing threat ended in a pant as he peeled the wet cotton away from her breasts. Her nipples tightened painfully in the frigid air, and she groped behind her for the switch that would drive away the coldness.

He curled his hand around her wrist, trapping her fist under his chin. "Shh... it's okay. I'll take care of it." His mouth lowered again; his soft, warm tongue swirled around the puckered skin, soothing the ache. She could feel his throat work against her knuckles as he swallowed. There was a wet, popping sound as she pulled away from him, sliding to the side, lifting her other breast to his searching mouth.

She heard a car speed by, and pushed herself forward frantically, her weight bearing him down into his seat.

He didn't pause, tilting his head up to meet her neck, moving his suddenly free hands to her breasts. She tried to think of the bruise she was sure he would leave, the questions she would have to answer, but the pleasure was radiating outwards, spreading heat downwards, fogging her brain. As another car passed, she dragged her mind back to more immediate concerns.

"Tristan." He began sucking at her lips, hoping to quiet her protests. "Anyone could see... anyone going past could see us."

"Nobody goes past here." She opened her mouth, clumsily pushing her tongue forward to meet his.

"If we turned on the heat, the windows would fog up, and nobody could see."

"But if a cop sees fogged up windows...."

She managed to get away this time. "But you just said--"

He reached down and yanked at something; the seat fell back with a jerk, taking them with it. Her breasts brushed the crisp, cold material covering his chest. "There. Happy now?"

She leaned down uncertainly, exploring the triangle of skin exposed by his shirt with her lips. She hesitated over the buttons, playing with them nervously. "Maybe we shouldn't--"

His hands slid up the front of her thighs, under her skirt. "We don't have to. I could call a cab for you."

She didn't want to leave. They couldn't meet again this week. She fumbled with the buttons, ceding to his steadier hands halfway down. Before he finished, she had the skin of his throat between her teeth, but she waited until his hands settled on her hips before she bit down. He hissed, and the skin stretched tight as he threw his head back, but she tightened her hold, sucking harder. She wanted her mark to last until she would see him again.

When she thought the bruise would be dark enough she released him, letting her hands drift slowly up to his chest, raking her nails over his stiff nubs. He always said he hated that, but he hardened against her stomach, gasping her name. She smiled, stroking the abused skin gently, moving the pads of her fingers across it in a gentle caress.

He began to tug at her skirt, unsuccessfully attempting to unfasten it. He gave up, dragging her up his body, trying to guide her hands to her waist. She squirmed away from him, grinning, reaching instead for his. She couldn't get the trousers down past his knees, but he wasn't going to be moving his legs.

He stopped her before she could reach for him, abandoning the idea of removing the skirt and trailing his hands back up underneath it. He paused before going straight for her panties, pulling them partly down before she had to take over, lifting her knees in turn, flinging them into a corner, forgotten. Not by him, though. His eyes gleamed, following their path. They were dotted with purple flowers, and didn't match her bra. He liked it when he caught her unexpectedly, and she hadn't prepared for him; she knew it, because he had told her, but she couldn't fathom why.

His hands went further this time, tangling in her curls as they had tangled in her hair earlier that afternoon. One finger jumped backwards, slipping over her slick skin. Her body loosened as it slid inside her, pulling out quickly, pushing carefully back in. The thick wool was rough against her skin as she swayed against his hand. She reached down, pulling it up, repositioning his fingers, beginning to move faster. He knew her now; knew to do what she asked, not to try to tease. He moved his thumb rapidly around her clitoris, adding another finger; she began to rock harder. She clutched the pleated fabric in her fist, out of frustration and because she knew he liked to watch. The movement of his hands didn't alter, it grew faster, harder, and she might have been slamming down onto his fingers, she couldn't tell.

Suddenly, she couldn't feel anything anymore; her body jerked, and became liquid, consumed by heat. She couldn't tell where she ended and he began, couldn't think, couldn't feel anything but the pulsing that surrounded her.

When she was aware again, his fingers were still active inside her, working her up again. She leant over to touch him, and he didn't stop her this time. His cock was deceptively soft under her fingers, the downy hair ruffling as she stroked against the grain. His hand lost its rhythm as hers grew more assured. He moved up to cup her breast again, his caresses becoming frantic.

She was ready; it was always easier the second time. She moved over him, letting the plaid skirt drop. He wasn't coherent enough to notice. Bracing herself on the back of the seat, she lowered herself until she was grazing the tip of his cock, refusing to satisfy them yet. She watched his face as he strained upwards, anxiety, need, twisting his features. He grabbed her hips unceremoniously, slamming her down. She buried her face in his neck, her body clenched in pleasure, waiting for control to return. He was patient now, relaxed.

She began to roll her hips, slowly working up to deep thrusts. He was undulating beneath her, supporting her weight, but letting her have all the power. She needed the power, had to take control. She couldn't be out of control here, couldn't be coming back to him again and again because she couldn't help herself. She didn't need him; she could leave anytime she chose to.

His hands tightened, changing the angle of her hips; she lost control, bucking wildly. As she began to clench, his body inside hers seemed invasive, but the heat, the sensations, were overpowering, allowing only pleasure to register. It was just out of reach, so large--

Whiteness exploded behind her eyes, her body released, her skin dissolved into throbbing waves of warmth.

When she was whole again, small tremors were running through her; she felt feverish in the freezing car. Tristan was slack, shaking, struggling for breath. He pulled her down to him, rubbing her back, playing with her hair.

"I should go."

"Soon."

"I was supposed to be home an hour ago."

"Not yet."

Sighing, she relaxed against him, willing the world away again for just a little while.

Gilmore Girls