Title: Second Honeymoon

Author: MinervaFan

Fandom: Gilmore Girls

Rating: hard-R (possibly NC-17, if you're sensitive)

Written for the Something Slutty Gilmore Girls' Rare Pair Smut-a-thon on LiveJournal

Pairing: Richard/Emily

Summary: Emily's and Richard's second honeymoon, from Emily's POV.(Hint: this version did not make it to the post cards.)


1. Wall


We were in London when he took me against a wall. In all my forty years with Richard, he never once took me like that, not even when we were young and impetuous and outrageously horny.The act itself was uncomfortable and exciting and daring and frightening all at once.


It was raining that night.We'd just seen a West End show, some ridiculous thing with a former television actress gone legitimate, and we were taking the tube back to our hotel.Richard and I felt safe going by tube in London, whereas we'd never dream of taking a New York subway.Cabs were fine, oh, those lovely old cabs they have in London.But the tube felt exciting, and we were in the mood for excitement.


It was late after we'd had an after-show supper, and the street near the theater was practically deserted.We hurried for shelter under a subway, you know the British ones that cross under the streets, and decided to wait out the downpour in the shelter of the tunnel.


Richard has never been one for public displays of affection.


Richard has never been one to break the rules.


He pulled me into the darkest recesses of the tunnel, deep in the shadows where a strolling cop might have looked for drug dealers or vagrants, and put his hand across my mouth.


I wanted to ask him questions, but he was kissing my neck and throat, pressing his body hard against mine, pushing me against the tunnel wall.It was ridiculously noisy, with the thunder and the rain and the occasional car going overhead, and I knew nobody would ever hear my moans as he lifted my skirt and pulled down my panties.


He pushed me against a wall and made love to me like he couldn't wait another second.My back was cold and my thighs were sore from stretching.Soon enough, he just lifted me, wrapped my legs around his thighs, and carried my entire weight with his lower body.It was hard and didn't last long, and we didn't talk about it afterwards as we hurried to make the tube back to our hotel.We just held hands and discussed the play.


2. Les Folies Bergeres


It surprised me a little, but Richard didn't even seem to notice the scantily clad women dancing about at Les Folies Bergeres>.


I noticed them.I fought the jealousy even as I envied their perfect breasts and endless legs.I fought arousal, something that concerned me, something that frightened me.


I was the one who pressed my mouth against his the moment we entered the hotel suite.I was the one who pulled off his shirt, tugged hard at his belt, practically threw myself on top of him.


I was the pursuer that night, that night of the Folies, and I didn't take no for an answer.I wanted him.I wanted my husband inside me, and I wasn't about to be denied.


Was I reclaiming him?Or was I reclaiming myself?


3. Little Blue Pills


We were in Lucerne when I found the bottle.I was looking for a nail clipper in Richard's bag; I'd broken a nail and couldn't find my own.


The bottle was from a different pharmacy than the one we normally used.I could tell, because Benson's uses the tall, skinny bottles, and this one was short and fat.


I didn't need to read the label.I saw the little blue pills and instinctively knew what they were for.


He found me crying when he came back from the concierge, where he'd been making reservations for our day trip to Bern.Sobbing, actually, feeling old and unattractive and lost.It was a feeling I'd come to know very well in recent years, and one that I didn't expect to encounter on my second honeymoon


I showed him the bottle, asked him why, why did he need them?Was I no longer attractive?Was I no longer sufficient to arouse him?There had never been a problem before.I showed him the date of the prescription, two days before our renewal ceremony.


He held me that night, rocking me sweetly.He told me how worried he'd been, how much he wanted to satisfy me, how frightened he was not being able to perform like he had on our first honeymoon.


Richard made love to me that night, the first real lovemaking we'd shared since arriving in Europe.There had been sex, lots of it, but this was love.This was safety.I asked him not to take the pills anymore.I asked him not to need them.

He told me that he would stop, that he would just keep them on hand in case we had a problem.


He told me I was beautiful, more beautiful than the first time we married.


And I believed him.


4. Gondola


It wasn't the first time he'd taken me for a gondola ride.We tried to have one every time we visited Venice.Iíve always dreamed of being made love to in a gondola.It would be such romance, so beautiful to float along the canals of Venice with the moonlight above and the sound of arias in my ears while being made love to in the shadows.


Richard actually tried this time, but I was too shy.He'd laid me back on the blankets they provided.I guess the Italians know what goes on there, and Richard was feeling very continental that night.His hands wandered purposefully over my body, and I wanted so much to let him, to have this one classic Italian experience of love.


But I couldn't, and I whispered my apologies in his ear as my hand reached lower to unzip his pants.The gondolier was singing "Nessun Dorma" as I stroked Richard to a quick, silent orgasm.


The next day, when we took our day trip to Florence, he bought me diamond earrings and hummed opera almost non-stop.


5. Hartford


The house looks the same.Hartford looks the same.


I'm afraid of The Same, because it was that sameness that broke Richard and I up in the first place.It was that complacency, that sense of the normal and the habitual that had driven us so far from each other.


Europe was beautiful.Europe was exciting and stimulating and passionate.


I longed for a house in Munich, or maybe a condo in Rome.Someplace we could go to on a moment's notice to regain that feeling of difference we'd felt on our second honeymoon.


But we do not have a home in Munich or a condo in Rome.We live in Hartford, in a house too big for two people, complete with memories and ghosts and land mines.


W spent most of the first day back reconnecting with friends and family.Well, friends.Lorelai and Rory were impossible to reach.That night, we had a delicious dinner served by the new maid the service had sent over, Marianne or Marilyn or something like that.


It was business as usual, with Mozart on the Bose system and each of us at our own end of that terribly long table.


I got the unexpected urge to burst into tears.


And then I looked up and realized my husband was staring at me over his Cornish game hen.The look in his eyes was unmistakable.I could feel the coldness of the subway wall against my back, with the thunder and rain and cars driving on the wrong side of the road overhead. I could hear the gondolier singing "Nessun Dorma" while the waters of the canal lapped against the boat.


He raised a single eyebrow at me, and I knew deep in my heart that nothing would ever be the same for us again.


And I was perfectly okay with that.


The End


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