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GG: Nicely Please (Luke/Lorelai)

fourteenlines organized the Luke/Lorelai Ficathon. I was assigned daygloparker, who requested "slow courtship/can't keep their hands off each other," and coffee. And Kirk, if possible.

Title: Nicely Please
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Ship: Luke/Lorelai
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: You're just begging me to hold you.
Note: Post-S4

i. you’re going to have to ask

It's halfway through August, Rory's touring Italy "the way it's meant to be done" with Emily, and Lorelai has never been so glad to have the house to herself, because there's no way she can explain the slow, creeping want that she's suffering from, just because she promised her daughter that she would Take It Slow With Luke.

Yes, it actually warranted capital letters. In Roryworld, anyway, and two thirds of the time, Lorelai's pretty sure it warrants capital letters in her world as well, because, well, it's Luke.

Luke, provider of coffee and unwanted nutritional advice, cheeseburgers and danishes. Luke, without whom she and her daughter would probably starve, or perhaps kill Taylor in order to balance the force.

Luke, who she's been dating for an unspecified length of time, because Lorelai refuses to keep a running tally of the months/weeks/days/hours/minutes that she's been officially dating Luke.

Lorelai's vowed that she will not screw things up, vowed it to Rory and to herself, and that (unfortunately) means Taking It Slow. Which, it turns out, is equivalent to Officially Going Insane.

ii. your mouth waters

"So how are things with Lorelai going?" The question is mumbled around a mouthful of BLT. "How long have you been dating, anyway?"

Luke rolls his eyes, tosses a handful of napkins onto the counter. "I don't think that's any of your business, Kirk." He makes another round, filling up coffee cups, clearing off a table, then returns the counter. "Besides, I don't keep track of that sort of thing."

"Come on, Luke." Kirk lowers his chin, smiles oddly in a way Luke realizes is supposed to be a smirk. "We're men. We can share these things." He blinks. "Can't we?"

"No, Kirk, we can't," Luke says, scrubbing the counter with extra ferocity. "First of all, men don't share these things, and second of all, we especially don't share these things."

Kirk blinks again, looking a little hurt. "Oh."

"Fine." Luke sighs. Relents. Gets Kirk another Diet Sprite. "Things are going fine."

He tries not to look at Kirk's beaming smile. It's against his personal beliefs.

And then Lorelai walks in, and he doesn't notice anything else at all.

iii. fingers are trembling

Luke's standing behind the counter with a coffeepot, and he has one of those smiles on his face like it's just barely there, but give it a minute and it'll be like the sun rising. With coffee.

It's number two on Lorelai's list of all-time favorite sights, coming second after the first time she saw Rory sans painkillers. Or maybe it's her number one favorite sight, but on an entirely different list.

It seems like Kirk is trying to have a conversation with Luke, but that's never stopped her from talking to Luke, anyway, so Lorelai brushes past him, back behind the counter (AKA the "Lorelai, you're really not supposed to be back here" zone), and takes the coffeepot carefully from Luke's hand, sliding it back into the coffeemaker with a low coo.

"Lorelai, what are you--"

She cuts him off, slipping her hand over his neck, the other grasping his shoulder.

She loves that slow stutter into silence, seeing the warmth in his eyes blossom, catch like fire. And when it's finally peaked, she dares to speak.


iv. your heart is heavy

"I have to say, Luke, this could be considered bad customer service. To, you know, people who aren't men, who share things as we do."

Kirk's voice cuts into Luke's reverie, halting the gradual lean of Luke's and Lorelai's bodies, pulled together like tectonic plates.

"Dammit, Kirk!" The expletive slips past Luke's lips before he can put together a proper response. "What did I just tell you?"

Kirk blinks.

Lorelai giggles.

Luke sighs.

v. your head is bent back

At the Dragonfly Inn, three in the afternoon is typically a lazy time. Their enterprising guests are usually off touring Connecticut's historic sites or shopping in Hartford. The rest, usually the honeymooning crowd, stay in for purposes best unspecified.

Lorelai leaves Michel to keep an eye on things, kicks her high heels off, and treads barefoot into the field behind the barn, where Luke's waiting with a picnic basket, scowling at Cletus like it's personal.

"What'd that horse ever do to you, mister?" Lorelai asks, grabbing Luke's non-picnic-basket-holding arm with her non-blanket-holding arm and dragging him to a less occupied portion of the meadow.

"I don't trust horses," Luke grumps. "They're more likely to kick you than not."

"I sense a traumatic childhood story," Lorelai teases, then halts under a tree to spread out the blanket. She drops onto the blanket with a quiet oof, then holds her arms out to the basket. "Gimme."

Instead of handing the food over, Luke crouches down beside Lorelai, slides his hand over her shoulder, into her hair. Draws close until their foreheads touch, smiles when her breath catches.

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hey," she whispers. They stay that way for several, long heartbeats, then Lorelai laughs. "Kiss me already."

So he does.

vi. 'till you feel the daylight

For propriety's sake, Luke only comes to the Gilmore home one evening a week.

Other nights, if neither of them has to work, they stroll through one of the many town festivals, or go to movie night at the bookstore, or whatever Stars Hollow has to offer that night.

But one night a week, he comes over to Lorelai's and eats salad while she eats pizza and mocks two incredibly bad movies from the early '90s.

Scratch that.

Luke makes a salad. Lorelai rents two movies and orders pizza. They put the first movie into the DVD player.

And they spend the evening sitting increasingly closer on the sofa, until Lorelai is curled against Luke's side, his arm is slung around her shoulders, and they give up all pretense of having a movie night and kiss, drinking each other in until Lorelai, or sometimes Luke, jerks back and remembers that Babette is probably keeping a close eye on the clock and the Gilmore porch.

Half an hour after that, Lorelai escorts Luke to the door.

vii. in the kitchen

Sometimes, if Luke has to clean up the diner, Lorelai ignores the "Closed" sign, perches on the counter, and makes inappropriate remarks about Luke's mopping skills.

Sometimes, she has a difficult time not making inappropriate jokes about other things, incorporating Nine Inch Nails lyrics, and sometimes she forgets that they're supposed to be jokes.

Because it's the middle of August, Rory's an ocean and a continent away, and she knows for a fact that Babette is visiting a cousin in Philadelphia for two weeks.

And one night, she thinks, To hell with it, grabs the mop out of Luke's hands, flings her arms around him, and kisses him until she feels all his thoughts about berating her disregard for hygiene melt out of his mind.

Several minutes later, she takes a careful, precise step back, hands Luke his mop, and walks out without another word.

viii. this has just begun

Ten minutes later, Lorelai's sitting on her sofa, eating Skittles and watching The Daily Show.

Twenty minutes later, Luke knocks on the door.

Lorelai opens it, doing her best to hold a perfectly serious expression on her face. "Oh, Luke. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you." She smiles politely.

"You are a creature of pure evil."

"Well." She grins, then. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Then he's off the porch and inside the door, and the door might have shut but it might not have, but Lorelai's too busy being swept off her feet, but not quite literally, although swooning might be on the agenda because her hands get trapped between them as Luke kisses her, one of his hands in her hair, the other sliding around her waist and damn but Luke is a good kisser, which she knew already, but it always bears repeating.

When they stop to breathe, Lorelai's sigh is shaped like a "Wow," and it's worth it to see Luke smile that smile again.

"Hey, um," and she's not sure how to proposition Luke without sounding ridiculous, and for some reason she desperately wants to not sound ridiculous. "Have you ever seen upstairs?" Dammit, she thinks.

But Luke smiles again, which puts her knees in perilous danger. "I have fixed most of the hinges in your house, you know. And three windows."

"Right. So." Lorelai licks her lips, watches his eyes drop to her mouth again. "Sorry, was that an answer?"

Luke's still staring at her mouth, and one of his hands is rubbing slow, small circles on her hip. "What was the question?"

"Upstairs?" She punctuates with a quick kiss, followed by a longer one, and then they get sidetracked for a good while longer.

ix. this is where I want to live

Lorelai calls in sick the next morning.

So does Luke.


A/N: Title, summary, and headings taken from Melissa Ferrick's "Drive."

The original post.


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Dec. 11th, 2004 11:20 pm (UTC)
More, please!

(Oh, is that not the kind of comment you want? *g*)
(Deleted comment)
Jun. 21st, 2005 06:23 pm (UTC)
Thanks! I'm glad you liked it.

Feel free to add moodfic to your list--I post all of my fic to this LJ.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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