Gilmore Girls Jade

Disclaimer: I don't own Tristan DuGrey and Rory Gilmore.

Pairing: Trory.

Rating: I'm not sure. But I just put R for precaution.

Summary: A very frustrating day in the life of Tristan DuGrey.

AN: I'm very good at grammatical mistakes and I don't have any beta. So this is as good as it gets.

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**Jade**

Ugly.

Is what this is when Rory finds out.

With head half spinning and throat in dire need of water, Tristan DuGrey manages to open his eyes to the twirling image of his bedroom ceiling. Fuck. He clutches his head desperately trying to stop the agonizing headache he obviously is sporting. Groaning, he falls back to bed.

Hangover is really a bitch.

Not as bitchy as someone would be when she sees you. A small but deafening voice quips inside his head.

Honestly, he is lucky only to wake up with crazy hangover instead of crazy hangover _and_ another body in his bed. Tristan would be six feet under the ground if that's the case. And dead would be the easy option too. First, he would have to go through hell Rory puts him. _Then, _she would probably take mercy and let him die.

Whoever says Rory Gilmore is kindhearted is positively insane. She's grown up to be one hell of a bitch. Constantly demanding where he is, what he is doing, who he with is. Asking him to pick her up, bring her some coffee, play inane yet obscene games with her, cook her this and that, and even read to her.

What happens to the adorable, witty, blushing girl in high school?

Oh she's still witty all right. That hasn't dulled in all these years. Always sharp in mocking, criticizing, and insulting him.

He realizes now that he got more than what he bargained for.

Ugh, enough about that. He needs energy to regain his strength when she comes visit him this afternoon. Not that they will be doing anything exhausting, he thinks bitterly. Just arguing with her needs a lot more of energy than most people assumes.

Which reminds him, what time is it?

He turns his head and goes face to face with 11.18 AM. She's coming in about an hour. Going into a panic mode, he immediately barges in to the bathroom and takes a fumbling shower. Inwardly he curses her. Tristan's not used to take a quick shower. He needs time in the bathroom. There are many activities he has to do in there. There's bathing, of course. Brushing teeth, peeing, shaving, shampooing, and his routine jack off. There is no way he is going to cut out any one of these just to be punctual with little miss prissy.

Tristan DuGrey, in fact every DuGrey man, takes their bath very seriously. They would not care if there is a war going on outside their bathroom window; they still have to take a bath for at _least_ thirty minutes. It just won't do to have an unplanned stubbly beard when kissing a beautiful woman. Nor will it do to smell bad when sweating from fucking a similarly beautiful woman. He shakes his head at the torrid image. He imagines his partner curling her nose in disgust at his bodily odor. It feels horrible to him to let down beautiful creatures like them. So, maybe he wouldn't feel that bad if it's some old hag.

Oh, but beautiful women are compulsory in DuGrey debauchery. It will be going against nature if they ever have interest in mediocre looking woman. There never was a history of it. And no one intends to create one.

Presently though, Tristan is almost done shaving. Clothed in a white shirt and a pair of jeans he looks nearly fresh. Nearly being the keyword. The bags under his eyes and a seemingly permanent frown upon his face are like a black stain over the apparently delicious appearance.

Done with physical hygiene, another important matter arises. Tristan still needs to take care of his digesting system. Having eaten nothing apart from the numerous amount of beer he chugged down last night, Tristan is famished. He isn't normally that hungry, but since he is in the parents' house and the foods are always to die for, why not take full advantage of it before he goes back to eating ordered Chinese and Pizzas? Trudging down to the kitchen, he is greeted by his long time cook, Mrs. Turner who in turn, raises her eyebrow at his arrival.

"Isn't Rory coming?" He sighs audibly.

"Yes." Deciding it isn't any of his cook business, he changes the subject. "Have you got any breakfast?" Mrs. Turner shrugs and goes to fix him a meal while he busies himself with drowning the milk left in the carton. "And can you please get me some coffee and that weird drink which is supposed to get rid of this hangover?"

"Sure, hun. Why don't you just sit and read the paper? It'll be ready in a minute." She smiles the warm smile that reminds him of her motherly care through the years and he smiles back, feeling both guilty for thinking she isn't worth a part of his life and grateful that she _is_ a part of his life. He bends over the counter and kisses her cheek.

"Thanks, Carol."

As he is reading the morning paper, surely the doorbell rings. He glances at Carol who winks at him as if to say good luck as he lazily fetches the door. And there she is, looking so exquisitely pretty that he wants to moan as if wounded. This is not fair. He can never comprehend why she could make his stomach doing an acrobatic dance by just wearing a knee length strap dress. Even strap dress he _has seen_ her wearing many times before. And not only dress either. Pajamas, his oversized shirts, nothing, and most of all towels. Oh how he loves seeing her wearing _only _towels. But it's really frustrating how she seems to be aware his reaction but still manages to look oblivious just so she could afflict torture for him.

Whoever says Rory Gilmore is innocent is apparently always absent when her inner coy self emerges.

She pushes past him while his eyes still lingers appreciatively on her bosoms. Snapped away from the daze he follows her into the house as she heads straight to the kitchen and seats herself on one of the stools. Without asking, Carol quickly serves her, her usual coffee and excuses herself saying she has to shop for milk. She dashes out of the kitchen in a blink. Carol knows a predicament when she sees it. And Tristan isn't as lucky. He sincerely wishes he can get out of this and continue with his much needed sleep.

Rory turns around in her seat, looking at him like daggers penetrating. He definitely isn't getting out of it.

"You had fun at that stupid party, heh?"

Tristan sighs wearily. He needs energy and he hasn't even eaten the delicious looking bacon on his plate. "Yes, Rory. I did."

"Did you so greedily bring home _some_ of the whores?" He inwardly cringes. Even though Rory is bitchy, she never really talks with bad languages. She would usually replace them with more ameliorative words from her vast vocabularies.

"Rory." He tries to touch her arm but she evades him with a glare. "No, okay? I did not."

"I remember that I was very vivid about not wanting you to go."

"Well, pardon me you highness. But I'm not your dog who obeys you at your every whim." His voice starts to lose its patience as it rises ever so slightly.

"I can't believe you. Don't you have enough from your party last week?" Her eyes flash dangerously. Ladies and gentlemen, Bitchy Rory is here to entertain us. "Damn it, you can't even control yourself."

"I have more ounce of control than you can imagine." He tells her coldly. Rory ignores him.

"Tristan, we can't keep doing this. I'm your fiancée and yet you can't compromise with me. You always do what you want without thinking of what it feels to me." Her voice isn't breaking. But it's sounding very much tired.

"A fiancée wouldn't have sex with me?"

He snaps and Rory is beginning to see why he has been acting so strange this past two weeks. Ouch, if that is the deal she was lucky he could get through his bachelor party and this idiotic party last night without indulging his sexual desire with some cheap hookers. Well, she could only hope he didn't.

However, she's hurt that he can't understand how this is important to her. Sure, they have had sex before. A lot of times. But she really wants the wedding night to be special. That proves it. He could hardly control himself, she thought furiously. Something in her eyes change and her body becomes cold, somehow. Tristan gulps. Rory doesn't get like this if she isn't so outraged. Suddenly he's aware that he has gone way too far this time.

"You've had me for countless times. I was asking _us_ to redeem _ourselves_ only for two months. The wedding is in five days. By Sunday you will have fucked me so much I can't stand straight." He cringes. She very rarely says the F word that he can recall all the times she says it in front of him. "And no, you can't even endure it." She gets off the stool and walks to the door. Tristan quickly grabs her arm and steadies her.

"Rory, please. I'm sorry. I know how it really matters for you. Please, baby." She looks at him unfazed. "I'm so sorry. I was just frustrated… sexually." He saw her mouth thinned at his implying that she frustrates him and abruptly completes his sentence.

He really doesn't need this. He's sexually frustrated and no, before you ask, masturbating doesn't help. He has been masturbating twice the amount he used to be since Rory deprived him any sex. Tight pussy and hot mouth are just not the same as cold, rough palms. Not just that. He's still facing a hangover since the drink Carol provided is forgotten. He slept at dawn last night, so he still craves some sleep. He's very tired because he hasn't slept much. And on top of that he hasn't eaten. Tristan has not eaten because his breakfast, like the drink, is lying stale, also forgotten.

Rory, being in close proximity with him could see his tired and sleepy eyes and the bags under them. Finally she sighs, giving up. She can't really be mad when she sees her love like this. She is aware that she has been abandoning him a bit for the last three months to do planning of their wedding even before she makes him agree to withhold sex. And she _does _know that he sometimes thinks she's too bitchy and demanding and he's not afraid to tell her these. But that's why he's there with her. To make everything balanced in her life, take care of her, and maybe help her reinvent herself. She is often overcome by two things towards him. Annoyance and love. Today she is the latter.

Rory then hold his face in both her hands as she clamped her mouth on his, kissing him passionately. Tristan fights back; relishing in the feel of her lips against his again. It has been two whole days since she kissed him like this not just that peck as a ridiculous excuse for chaste kiss. He slides his hand down to her waist and the other behind her neck, coaxing her to keep going. He bit her lip as he smothers it with his warm tongue after hearing her whimper from the pain. Rory opens her mouth a little wide and let his tongue invade her mouth. Upon entering the hot cavern, he let out an animalistic growl and he pulled her harder against his, making every inch of her flat tight against his body. She could feel his desire for her turning stiff and rigid against her stomach by each nibble of her teeth against his lip. Rory runs her fingers across his hair as she pushes him to the nearest surface and pulls away, gasping for breath.

Before she dives in again to attack his already swollen lips. Don't think for just one second that I'm not as frustrated as you, you cocky jackass, Rory mentally chides Tristan. But every thought is quickly lost on her as he sucks on her tongue ravenously. Not wanting for him to enjoy the pleasure alone, she explores his abdomen beneath his white shirt and slowly, torturously flicks her nail across his nipples and whirl it between her thumb and index finger. He let her tongue go free as a soft pant escapes him. His head is thrown back and she uses the chance to shower wet kisses on his neck, and stopping on his pulse to lavish her attention there. Teeth and tongue compete in a battle to send him to bliss and as she finishes her tasks there, a reddish bruise is slowly forming across his lightly tanned skin and he was very breathless by now. She lovingly plants a soft kiss there, on her pulse point, knowing that it's going to be a fairly heavy bruise.

Tristan put a stop on Rory's ministration. Even though he's very tired, he isn't as selfish as to let her pleasure him and not be pleasured. His hands are roaming everywhere until he reaches her white, creamy breasts and he treats her harsh assault. She moans as his talented fingers work their way, squeezing and massaging her soft, bra-less mounds even through the thin material of her dress. She doesn't feel it when he slips the strap of her dress off her shoulder. She only momentarily feels a cool air hit her right peak before it's enveloped by his scorching mouth. Her eyes roll back and a lustful gasp breaks out of her lips. She couldn't stop herself as she grabs a handful of his hair and pushes him further against her chest.

But Tristan doesn't need encouraging. He knows exactly what she wants. He suckles on her dark bud and Rory arches her hips to his. He grins victoriously as he applies the heavenly use of his tongue on the heated Rory. Her breaths are ragged as he flicks and twirls his tongue languidly on her. And when he grazes his teeth and nips on the hard nipple, she can't any longer contain the words from flowing out.

"Oh god, Tristan….yes, yes please."

He releases her breast with a loud pop. A smirk is etched on his face. But that smirk isn't there for long. Tristan has detached her for too long that now Rory has caught up on her senses and decides to take over the game. She lightly cups his erection through his pants all the while she begins licking her lips as if hungry to taste him herself. Her tongue is still dancing unhurriedly as she takes hold of him. And now, _he's_ the one who loses control. The vixen who pushed him up against the wall continues to caress him heavily despite Tristan's pleas to free his painfully incompliant cock. She looks down, discreetly smiling as she checks her watch. Uh-oh, they have played long enough.

Without warning, she backs away from him effectively ceasing the delectable activity they were just undergoing. Not looking at him, Rory starts fixing her dress, adjusting her strap. She presses her hands over her head to tame her least disorderly hair.

Tristan is left disheveled, shirt unbuttoned, gawking, and still perfectly aroused.

"Come on, we've got to go." Rory smiles an overly sweet smile.

"What?" He almost shrieks desperately.

"We. Have. To. Go." She enunciates every word as if she thinks he doesn't understand. Tristan's face must be disconcerted with distress because then Rory softens a bit into a more serene smile. "Only five more days." And she walks off, swinging her hips mirthfully.

Tristan screams frustratingly. His pants are tight from his straining erection. And it's very much excruciating to walk. Rory is already at his door and he knows she isn't going to wait for him getting release in the bathroom. He could NOT believe this. After more than seven weeks totally cut back from sex and now she's dangling it in front of his nose without actually giving it to him. And worse, after that senseless snog, he isn't even allowed to come.

Bitch.

He thinks, his blood boiling furiously.

Fine. If that's what she wants. He gets up straight, tidies up his appearance and thankfully, his untucked shirt could cover the big bulge between his legs. With an effort, he walks out of the door, locks it, and in his head he plans various mischievous ploys to get back at her on their wedding night. And he is absolutely planning on having a lot of fun doing it.

One thing sure though, he _is_ going to fuck her so much she can barely stand.

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