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Sticks and Stones

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There was the dip of the bed as she got up, but it barely phased him; Lorelai got out of bed every morning at four thirty to pee. It was a habit began because he got out of bed every morning at four thirty to open the diner, and he always woke her up, and so she did what she always did: she adapted.


Of course, he hadn't been opening the diner for the past three months; he passed the torch to Lane, who really needed the extra hours, and was still up from a gig the night before. She was bright-eyed until eight, when Luke would arrive to relieve her, and she would go home and happily collapse until mid-afternoon and rehearsal. This had been Lorelai's idea, because she was sick of being woken up so early; not getting up, because God knew she went back to sleep as soon as he left the house, but she resented having her sleep interrupted.


For the first few months, Luke had still woken up early, an internal alarm going off. Lorelai (and Rory, on weekends) took to keeping him up later and later into the night so he'd be too exhausted to wake up much before seven. When Rory wasn't home, Lorelai came up with a few more creative ways to keep him awake.


There was another dip of the bed, and he realized he'd been drifting for awhile. He rolled over to ask her where she'd been, and was pleasantly surprised to discover her mouth on his. There were few more enjoyable ways to wake up than with the full length of Lorelai's body wrapped around yours, but the added perk of her tongue flicking against your lips could send a man into sensory overload.


Lorelai was all boundless energy and tactile sensation. Her body was a giant live wire and it attracted Luke (and most men that met her, he thought grumpily) like a magnet. He had wanted her long before he liked her, and back then it had irritated him how goddamned sexy she was. Moms weren't supposed to be sexy, especially caffeine-addicted junk food consuming ones, but Lorelai Gilmore had broken the mold and skipped off without sweeping up the mess left in her wake.


This morning, she was in a playful mood; there were very few times of day when she wasn't in a playful mood, but those times usually occurred in the morning when she preferred to remain dead to the world. There were only two reasons she liked to be woken up before eight: sex, and Rory.


Sometimes, Rory was negotiable.


Luke was not a morning person. He wasn't really an afternoon or night person, either. He was who he was regardless of time of day. If he had to be up in the morning, he got up in the morning, and it had never really mattered to him one way or the other. Lorelai had started to change that about him. He disliked mornings just the slightest bit because she did, and he enjoyed sleeping next to her for a few extra hours more than was entirely healthy. Lorelai gave him a reason to close the diner early when there was no after dinner rush, and she inspired him to hire more help so he could take alternate Saturdays off to spend with her and Rory.


At the moment, she was inspiring him to rip the tiny, useless little nightgown she was wearing right off of her.


"Mmm," she murmured against his ear, doing obscene things to it with her tongue.


The nightgown was gone a second later, and she giggled at his exuberance. He was a very patient man, but she shredded that patience like nobody ever had. His hands took liberal passes over her skin, pausing for an eternity over her breasts, her hips, the curve of her ass. Lorelai had beautiful hands, strong, capable hands, and he kissed their palms as she used them to bring his head down to hers for one of those desperate kisses he'd grown addicted to since the first night he got up the courage to just try, damn it.


Her legs were as multi-talented as the rest of her, and she slid them up his hips until her toes curled into the waist at his sweat pants. This was a trick of hers she'd shown off not long after they'd fallen into bed together, and he had to admit, it never failed to impress. He was naked in a matter of seconds, and her hands never left the tight grip they had on his hair, keeping their mouths pressed together.


There was the bed dipping all over now as they moved beyond lazy morning lovemaking and arrived at something a little more desperate. Lorelai seemed determine to pull him all the way inside her and keep him there, and he wasn't in an objecting state of mind. Her nails raked down his back until they found just the right spot to hang on for dear life at, and then he was inside her. That moment, that first moment when they held their breaths and looked at each other and smiled and sighed was always perfect, whatever came before or whatever came after. It had been from the first time, and, their luck holding out, it would always be.


She gave in first, the stillness giving way to urgency as her hips shifted then twitched against his. His hands took another pilgrimage along her body until they found harbor at her thighs. A good tug was all it took, and her knees were bent, legs hooked over his forearms, and they were off and running.


Another thing he loved about Lorelai: she laughed during sex. More earth shattering than that: she got him to laugh during sex. Luke hadn't laughed a lot in his life, but Lorelai had been determinedly raising his average, and this was one of her strategies: get him while his guard was down. If he grunted in exertion, she'd grunt right back, but she'd grunt exactly as he had, and he'd have to laugh, and she'd join him, and all that laughter was the kind of turn-on, the kind of contentment he'd never imagined.


Lorelai was giggling now, and in-between giggles she kissed him until he couldn't stand it any more.


"What," he panted, "is so goddamned funny?"


She laughed some more and ran her hands up and down his back. "I'm giving up coffee," she answered, then giggled like a lunatic. Then she moaned, because their hips switched positions rather dramatically when he snapped his head up to look at her.


"You're what?" he asked, and he thought it was really bizarre, having a conversation in the middle of sex. Yet another thing you learned to do with Lorelai: talk during anything.


"Ah," she whispered, "wait, wait, right there -- ah! Yes! Luke, yes!"


Not so funny now, is it, he thought, but wisely kept it to himself. A few more moments, and he lost the power of thought and coherent speech and collapsed beside her on the bed. She flailed about with her left arm until her palm met his and she twined their fingers together. He smiled, amused at her display; Lorelai put on shows for people, and most of the time, they didn't even realize she was doing it for their benefit. He liked that she rarely did it for him anymore, unless she was nervous about something.


The arm gag meant she was nervous about something.


"I've been telling you to give up coffee for years now," he noted. "What happened this morning?"


She sighed. "Darn it all, the stick turned blue."


It took him a moment, but when it hit him, his eyes bulged. "The what turned what?"


"Well," she conceded, "it didn't actually turn blue, there was a little plus sign, because that's how they do it now, but that doesn't really have the same oomph, does it? 'Honey, we're plus!'"


"There was a stick?" he asked helplessly.


"There was a stick. I bought the stick yesterday when I realized I was late. I've been psychotic about my menstrual cycle for twenty years, and six months married to you and I don't have a care in the world. You're bad for business, buddy."


At least, he thought that was what she said. He'd been trying hard not to listen when he realized she was discussing -- that.


"You're really giving up coffee?"


"I'm really giving up coffee," she said.


"We're having a kid," he said, and it really hit him just then. He figured she did the coffee thing on purpose, to ease him into a big shock with a bigger one. "We're having a kid."


"Well, it ain't a great white shark," she said.


"We've gotta get a bigger house."


"Reference nicely played."


"Thank you."