SUMMARY - Rory and Tristan's relationship reaches a new level when they make an important decision.
CONTENT - the whole fic is about their decision to have sex, and i think it's a mature topic.
DISCLAIMER - Disclaimer- I do not own any of the characters created for the WB's Gilmore Girls. This work is purely fictional and I'd appreciate any constructive feedback at xnsyncsweetiex@aol.com. This is the first fanfic that I have posted anywhere, and I'd really appreciate any comments. thanks!

Let Love Lead The Way

by Lenny

Rory hadn't been planning it or anything. It wasn't marked with a big red circle on her calendar. The realization just came to her as she and Tristan were sitting there in the candlelight.

She was ready.

He hadn't been pressuring her. In fact, he had made it perfectly clear that even he didn't think they were ready.

Rory turned this idea over and over in her head until it began to settle. Yes, tonight was the night. She reached across the table and placed her hand over Tristan's comparatively larger one.

"Tristan, baby." Her calm tone and demeanor automatically tore his gaze away from the menu. He met her brown eyes with his blue, and without a word being spoken a consensus was made.

"Rory, are you sure?"

She bit her lip, careful not to smudge her lipstick, which was a new practice. Carefully picking up her water glass and taking a sip, she nodded.

Turning his hand over and placing hers in his palm, he studied her long fingers. "I'm sure," she reaffirmed, tracing his palm.

After a long and painfully distracted dinner, they found themselves at the front door of the Dugray's abandoned mansion. As Tristan fumbled with locks and keys and doorknobs with one hand, the other stayed calmly intertwined with Rory's. He felt a light tug, and giving up on the keys, turned his attention to Rory.

She slowly shook her head. He slowly understood. This wasn't the right place. Not in this cold, unforgiving, unemotional hellhole of a place that Tristan called home.

A set of keys bounced noisily to the doormat as they wordlessly walked across the lawn.

Within minutes, glowing yellows and oranges filled the guesthouse where Tristan had spent so many happy times with his grandfather.

Tristan set the matchbook back on the hearth, feeling more warmth radiating from Rory's smile than from the blazing embers in the fireplace.

She stood and embraced him. "Are you sure about this?" Rory sighed into his chest. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

He found himself once more being gently led, this time to the bedroom. But as blissfully happy as he was, there was still one thing wrong.

As they approached the bed, Tristan stopped dead in his tracks. Rory turned to him, a concerned look on her delicate face. She didn't have to say anything. The question was painted on her features. The raised eyebrows, the soft, forgiving eyes. What's wrong?

"Rory…" he trailed off, raising a finger to trail her cheekbone. "Rory, I'm a virgin."

There. He had admitted it. That this whole act was completely alien to him and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

But it was so right.

She smiled. "We'll let love lead the way." Six words from Rory were all it took. She began unbuttoning Tristan's perfectly pressed shirt, her gaze never leaving his. Finally, the last button was reached, and she slid his shirt off easily, the rough fabric against his smooth skin.

Rory began to explore this foreign territory, taking in every sensual aspect of it. The way he had a little bit of hair trailing down his tummy, all the way to his belly button, leading to a forbidden place of no return. Every nook and cranny. Every curve and muscle.

In turn, they each undressed the other, exploring, discovering, learning. In time, they found each other baring their soul and their body to their lover.

Oddly enough, Tristan didn't feel uncomfortable. Even after all the ogling by spoiled, glittered, vacuous girls, here he was, naked in every sense of the word, thrusting his heart out for his one true love to see, and all he felt was calm.

Their lips met for what seemed like the first time in hours, days, weeks, years. Only this time, passion replaced the usually tender touch. Tristan wanted nothing more than to ravish this girl with whom he was so intoxicated by, this mystery who had floated into his life and stripped him bare. Rory wanted nothing more than to oblige.

Fumbling towards the bed, legs entwined with legs, grasping for as much of the other as possible, desiring to be one, the two found Tristan on top of Rory.

"I love you." Rory had never seen his eyes that clear of blue. That unclouded. That undeniably happy.

She grasped for his hand in the dark with him hovering over her. Intertwining her fingers with his, she prepared to make his intoxicating scent her own, their two bodies one, to give herself to him. The union was inevitable. Hanging there in the air all along.

"I love you, too."

With one last look into those untroubled blue eyes, they became whole.