Research Fic - Rory/Paris
Title: Research
Author: speakpirate
Prompt: Written for Mosca's Sadie Hawkins Ficathon request, with the prompt from Gertude Stein's "Tender Buttons."
Summary: “Emily Dickinson. Adrienne Rich. Audre Lorde. Sappho. Gertrude Stein.“ She glanced over at Paris, whose eyes appeared to be glued to the finger that Rory had been running over the spines of the books. “It’s a poetry project, then?“ Rory asked tentatively.
Pairing: Rory/Paris
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Set during the Season 3 episode “Happy Birthday, Baby.“ Also contains references to the events of “The Big One,” “I Solemnly Swear” and “Tale of Poes and Fire.”
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. If I did, Paris and Rory would have gotten together several seasons ago. They are actually the property of the CW network. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Paris Gellar was tapping her foot impatiently on the doorstep. Rory smiled instinctively at the sight. Paris showing up unannounced and acting like Rory was hopelessly dense for not expecting her was kind of a ritual by now.
“Paris, what are you doing here?” she asked as she opened the door.
Paris breezed past her into the living room, a tall stack of books balanced in her arms. She strode directly over to the coffee table, where she unceremoniously swept aside four months worth of fashion magazines, a half-started knitting project, and a lone Hello Kitty sock. She set the tower of books down with a determined thunk, and then quickly seated herself on the couch.
Shaking her head, Rory repeated herself. “Paris, what are you doing here?”
“I need your help.” Something about the way that Paris was shifting her gaze around the room and not looking directly at her made Rory suspicious. She actually looked much more together than she had since the whole Harvard rejection turned CSPAN meltdown turned Bell Jar soap opera marathon had happened. She was out of bed, for one thing. And showered, too. She smelled nice when she barged past Rory into the house. Still, her eyes hadn’t completely lost that half-wild gleam that made Rory feel like she probably shouldn’t make any sudden moves around her.
“With what?” Rory asked, feeling like a cautious approach was probably best. She reached over to grab one of the books off the top of Paris’ stack, but stopped short when she noticed that Paris was jiggling her leg with such an intensity that whole coffee table was shaking, and the well-intentioned almost potholder that Lorelai had been knitting was jostling precariously at the edge of the table. There was definitely something weird going on.
“English project,” Paris answered, still not looking directly at Rory.
“But you don’t have an English project,” Rory pointed out. “You finished all your make up work already.”
“Extra-credit,” Paris explained. “That take home work was a joke. Just because our teachers have lowered their standards in the face of the general educational lethargy that’s endemic in America today, that doesn’t mean I have to lower my individual standards, too.”
Rory raised an eyebrow as she cut in, “So this isn’t an actual assignment?”
“Technically, no,” Paris admitted. “If you want to slide into mediocrity with the rest of the lemmings, fine.”
“Listen, Paris,” Rory began, “I am not a lemming, okay? But we talked about this. This is your last day of freedom before your parents come home and you have to go back to school. You were going to go and do something wild and crazy. An unassigned academic project is not wild and crazy. Or, well, maybe it is crazy, but not the celebrate your freedom kind of crazy. What’s really going on?”
“Just because I didn’t rush out to get my nose pierced doesn’t mean something is going on. You’re getting paranoid, Gilmore.”
“I am not paranoid! I am, however, very busy with the construction of the largest pizza in the county for my mom’s birthday, and while I’m very glad to see that you’re out of bed and not watching that terrible Spanish soap opera, I --”
“One hour,” Paris interrupted. “Help me with the research phase for one hour, that’s all I need.”
“Fine,” Rory sighed, not really that exasperated. During the Francie-induced fight, she’d actually kind of missed the impromptu visits from Paris. The pizza could wait.
As she moved over to sit on the couch next to Paris, Rory finally got to look at the stack of books that Paris had brought in. “Emily Dickinson. Adrienne Rich. Audre Lorde. Sappho. Gertrude Stein.“ She glanced over at Paris, whose eyes appeared to be glued to the finger that Rory had been running over the spines of the books. “It’s a poetry project, then?“ Rory asked tentatively.
When Paris didn‘t respond right away, Rory pulled the volume of “Tender Buttons” out and flipped it open. “Hope in gates, hope in spoons, hope in doors, hope in tables, no hope in daintiness and determination. Hope in dates.”
She looked over at Paris again. “Tell me what we’re researching here.”
Paris was looking at her again in the blazingly intense way. Rory felt herself flush a little, but stood her ground.
“I’ve heard you say before that the purpose of great writing is to show you a world that you wouldn’t have otherwise experienced,” she explained.
“Yes, and?”
“And this is something I haven’t experienced,” Paris concluded. She reached for the book in Rory’s hand, and rested her fingers lightly over Rory’s.
Rory was looking down at their hands and thinking about how Paris had really soft skin and her fingers seemed warm and nervous. She didn’t move her hand away.
Paris moved closer to her in a way that was too quick and anxious to be entirely graceful. Almost like a lunge, Rory thought, except that in the next moment Paris was kissing her, and she couldn’t think about anything except the feeling of lips and lips and tongue and the red hot feeling in her stomach that felt like socks tumbling around in the dryer.
Before she knew it, she had a hand tangled in silky blond hair and was pulling Paris closer. It felt nothing like the kisses with Dean or Jess or even Tristan. It had nothing to do with skill, you could sort-of tell that Paris wasn’t all that experienced at kissing, but it felt like watching a sparkler burn in your hand on the Fourth of July. It was heated and wet and was making her want to run her hands up and down Paris’ back, which she did.
When she felt a hand moving slowly up her right side, stroking lightly just inches away from her breast, Rory moaned softly and drew back from the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” Paris gasped. “Was that -- was it, too much?”
Panting slightly, Rory smiled at her best friend. “No, it…I mean, it was good. Very good. Very, very, good. I just…I need…a minute to think about this.”
“Okay,” Paris agreed. “I understand. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.”
“So you developed a master plan to seduce me with imaginary research projects?” Rory grinned.
“Hey,” Paris countered, “you’re the one who told me to go out and do something crazy.”
“Huh,” Rory said as she thought that over. Then she reached over and brushed her lips against Paris’ neck. “Well, don’t forget that you’ve got a good thirty minutes of research time left.”
Author: speakpirate
Prompt: Written for Mosca's Sadie Hawkins Ficathon request, with the prompt from Gertude Stein's "Tender Buttons."
Summary: “Emily Dickinson. Adrienne Rich. Audre Lorde. Sappho. Gertrude Stein.“ She glanced over at Paris, whose eyes appeared to be glued to the finger that Rory had been running over the spines of the books. “It’s a poetry project, then?“ Rory asked tentatively.
Pairing: Rory/Paris
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Set during the Season 3 episode “Happy Birthday, Baby.“ Also contains references to the events of “The Big One,” “I Solemnly Swear” and “Tale of Poes and Fire.”
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. If I did, Paris and Rory would have gotten together several seasons ago. They are actually the property of the CW network. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Paris Gellar was tapping her foot impatiently on the doorstep. Rory smiled instinctively at the sight. Paris showing up unannounced and acting like Rory was hopelessly dense for not expecting her was kind of a ritual by now.
“Paris, what are you doing here?” she asked as she opened the door.
Paris breezed past her into the living room, a tall stack of books balanced in her arms. She strode directly over to the coffee table, where she unceremoniously swept aside four months worth of fashion magazines, a half-started knitting project, and a lone Hello Kitty sock. She set the tower of books down with a determined thunk, and then quickly seated herself on the couch.
Shaking her head, Rory repeated herself. “Paris, what are you doing here?”
“I need your help.” Something about the way that Paris was shifting her gaze around the room and not looking directly at her made Rory suspicious. She actually looked much more together than she had since the whole Harvard rejection turned CSPAN meltdown turned Bell Jar soap opera marathon had happened. She was out of bed, for one thing. And showered, too. She smelled nice when she barged past Rory into the house. Still, her eyes hadn’t completely lost that half-wild gleam that made Rory feel like she probably shouldn’t make any sudden moves around her.
“With what?” Rory asked, feeling like a cautious approach was probably best. She reached over to grab one of the books off the top of Paris’ stack, but stopped short when she noticed that Paris was jiggling her leg with such an intensity that whole coffee table was shaking, and the well-intentioned almost potholder that Lorelai had been knitting was jostling precariously at the edge of the table. There was definitely something weird going on.
“English project,” Paris answered, still not looking directly at Rory.
“But you don’t have an English project,” Rory pointed out. “You finished all your make up work already.”
“Extra-credit,” Paris explained. “That take home work was a joke. Just because our teachers have lowered their standards in the face of the general educational lethargy that’s endemic in America today, that doesn’t mean I have to lower my individual standards, too.”
Rory raised an eyebrow as she cut in, “So this isn’t an actual assignment?”
“Technically, no,” Paris admitted. “If you want to slide into mediocrity with the rest of the lemmings, fine.”
“Listen, Paris,” Rory began, “I am not a lemming, okay? But we talked about this. This is your last day of freedom before your parents come home and you have to go back to school. You were going to go and do something wild and crazy. An unassigned academic project is not wild and crazy. Or, well, maybe it is crazy, but not the celebrate your freedom kind of crazy. What’s really going on?”
“Just because I didn’t rush out to get my nose pierced doesn’t mean something is going on. You’re getting paranoid, Gilmore.”
“I am not paranoid! I am, however, very busy with the construction of the largest pizza in the county for my mom’s birthday, and while I’m very glad to see that you’re out of bed and not watching that terrible Spanish soap opera, I --”
“One hour,” Paris interrupted. “Help me with the research phase for one hour, that’s all I need.”
“Fine,” Rory sighed, not really that exasperated. During the Francie-induced fight, she’d actually kind of missed the impromptu visits from Paris. The pizza could wait.
As she moved over to sit on the couch next to Paris, Rory finally got to look at the stack of books that Paris had brought in. “Emily Dickinson. Adrienne Rich. Audre Lorde. Sappho. Gertrude Stein.“ She glanced over at Paris, whose eyes appeared to be glued to the finger that Rory had been running over the spines of the books. “It’s a poetry project, then?“ Rory asked tentatively.
When Paris didn‘t respond right away, Rory pulled the volume of “Tender Buttons” out and flipped it open. “Hope in gates, hope in spoons, hope in doors, hope in tables, no hope in daintiness and determination. Hope in dates.”
She looked over at Paris again. “Tell me what we’re researching here.”
Paris was looking at her again in the blazingly intense way. Rory felt herself flush a little, but stood her ground.
“I’ve heard you say before that the purpose of great writing is to show you a world that you wouldn’t have otherwise experienced,” she explained.
“Yes, and?”
“And this is something I haven’t experienced,” Paris concluded. She reached for the book in Rory’s hand, and rested her fingers lightly over Rory’s.
Rory was looking down at their hands and thinking about how Paris had really soft skin and her fingers seemed warm and nervous. She didn’t move her hand away.
Paris moved closer to her in a way that was too quick and anxious to be entirely graceful. Almost like a lunge, Rory thought, except that in the next moment Paris was kissing her, and she couldn’t think about anything except the feeling of lips and lips and tongue and the red hot feeling in her stomach that felt like socks tumbling around in the dryer.
Before she knew it, she had a hand tangled in silky blond hair and was pulling Paris closer. It felt nothing like the kisses with Dean or Jess or even Tristan. It had nothing to do with skill, you could sort-of tell that Paris wasn’t all that experienced at kissing, but it felt like watching a sparkler burn in your hand on the Fourth of July. It was heated and wet and was making her want to run her hands up and down Paris’ back, which she did.
When she felt a hand moving slowly up her right side, stroking lightly just inches away from her breast, Rory moaned softly and drew back from the kiss.
“I’m sorry,” Paris gasped. “Was that -- was it, too much?”
Panting slightly, Rory smiled at her best friend. “No, it…I mean, it was good. Very good. Very, very, good. I just…I need…a minute to think about this.”
“Okay,” Paris agreed. “I understand. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.”
“So you developed a master plan to seduce me with imaginary research projects?” Rory grinned.
“Hey,” Paris countered, “you’re the one who told me to go out and do something crazy.”
“Huh,” Rory said as she thought that over. Then she reached over and brushed her lips against Paris’ neck. “Well, don’t forget that you’ve got a good thirty minutes of research time left.”