Rory didn't think the Life and Death Brigade did anything so mundane as sit around playing drinking games, and yet here they are, sprawled around a coffee table in various states of inebriation and undress, engaged in a very revealing round of Never Have I Ever.

Granted, the coffee table is in a beach house somewhere on the coast of Massachusetts, they're drinking what tastes like very old and very expensive whisky, the beach house and the whisky belong to someone's estranged uncle or disowned cousin or some such relative, and they absolutely are not supposed to be in the beach house or drink the whisky without said relative's knowledge or permission. But that's half the fun.

The gathering had started out like all Brigade events tended to, lavish in attitude if nothing else. There had been a dinner party—complete with a serving staff, though Rory had no idea if they belonged to the house or if someone had hired them to come all the way out here—where all the food served was, for whatever reason, a different colour than it was prototypically supposed to be. Purple carrots, blue corn chips, orange tomatoes. No green eggs or ham, but there was a pile of what appeared to be bright green steaks. Rory stayed far away from those.

Dinner was clearly the main event. People started disappearing even before the meal was finished, in pairs or small groups, leaving only a handful of them around the coffee table. Logan is there, of course; he's been by her side the whole night, like he's personally responsible for either her behaviour or her enjoyment, or perhaps both. He's sitting opposite from her now, both of them on the floor leaning against various pieces of furniture, their legs extended in front of them and stretching under the coffee table.

The coffee table, as it happens, is carved from some kind of dark wood, so if Rory's feet are tangled together with Logan's, it's no one's business but theirs.

The game has been going on for a good while, and Rory has discovered, not much to her surprise, that she doesn't have half as many experiences to drink about as Logan, Colin, or Finn do. She does, however, have a decidedly lower tolerance for alcohol, so it balances out, in the end.

Rory could swear it was just her turn a moment ago, but somehow everyone's staring at her again, waiting for her to say something. In the silence, sounds carry from one of the downstairs bedrooms: a squeaky bedspring, a muffled groan. Someone snickers.

"Never have I ever had good sex," Rory declares, raising her goblet in a salute and very pointedly setting it down again without bringing it to her lips.

Finn and Colin clink glasses and down the rest of their drinks in one.

Logan, predictably, drinks, then looks up at Rory. "Would you like to change that, Ace?" He smirks, and Rory wants to wipe that insufferable look off his face, but she sort of also wants to kiss it.

"Someone thinks highly of themselves," she sniffs instead of doing either of those things.

"Well, I don't figure the bar is set very high," he says. "We're talking about your ex, right, with the hair and the pickup truck?"

"Dean," she says, surprising herself with the venom in her voice.

"Wow, tell us how you really feel," Logan says, grinning.

"Dean," she starts again, then loses her train of thought and has to stop for a moment to find it again. "Dean. Everyone kept saying how he was such a good boyfriend, you know? But he wasn't." She says the last word so emphatically that Finn, starting to doze off on Robert's shoulder, startles awake again.

"Rory," Logan starts, concern all over his tone. "He didn't—"

"Hurt me?" Rory asks. "No, he was just… shitty. He was a shitty boyfriend. You know he broke up with me once because he said I love you and I didn't say it back?"

"Damn," Logan says, but Rory is off again before he can say anything else.

"And he was so possessive! And so jealous! And clingy. Just, just—"

"Shitty?"

"Yeah, shitty. And then he got married, and cheated on his wife with me, so he's a shitty husband, as well."

"So the bar isn't set very high in general," Logan says.

"The bar? Oh, yeah, no. Not in general and not specifically either. He was pretty shitty in bed, too."

"That's what I'm saying, I don't need to think all that highly of myself when the bar is practically on the ground."

Suddenly, Rory remembers exactly why they're talking about bars and Dean in the first place. "Hey," she says, nudging Logan's foot with hers to get his attention. "Were you really offering?"

Something darkens in Logan's eyes. "Well, that depends. Are you asking?"

The thought terrifies her, a little, but it's mostly intoxicating, enticing, an all-consuming want. "Yes," Rory says, leaning forward, and promptly losing her balance and falling to the side.

Logan laughs. "Okay, well, I'm going to take that as a sign that we need to revisit this conversation in the morning."

Rory wants to argue, but she knows he's right. She's in no condition to be making decisions like this. "Fine. If you promise not to back out in the morning."

"I won't if you won't, Ace."

She finds him the next morning, eating breakfast in the dining room. The house feels emptier than it did the previous night, quieter, though that might have something to do with the daylight and the lack of alcohol in her blood.

"Hey," Logan says when she sits down opposite him, cradling a cup of coffee. "I was about to come and wake you, Jones says we need to be out of the house pretty soon."

Rory doesn't say anything in response, just nods and nurses her coffee.

A moment later, Logan speaks again. "So how much do you remember from last night?"

Rory looks up, meeting his gaze dead on. "I remember you said you won't back out."

He grins. "Told you, I won't if you won't. So you're still in?"

"I'm still in," Rory confirms, and downs half of her coffee.

They drove up in Logan's car, but he makes Colin drive on the way back to New Haven. Rory doesn't understand why until they're in the backseat of the car, her by the window and Logan in the middle seat, Robert asleep against the window on his other side. Logan rests his hand on her leg, just above her knee, and Rory understands that she is about to have the most frustrating car ride of her life.

The trip back to New Haven is long, and Logan knows how to pace himself. He spends the first half an hour with his hand just where it is, making polite conversation and occasionally moving his fingers a little against the inside of her thigh. As they cross into Connecticut, his hand starts moving higher, so slowly she almost thinks she's imagining it.

He leads over to whisper in her ear, hot breath fanning over her neck and making her shiver. "Still in?"

"Still in," she murmurs, and Logan's hand moves again, ducking under her skirt, his most daring move yet. The edge of his hand is aligned with the crease where her leg meets her hip, his fingertips so close to what she wants, but staying just out of reach. His hand travels slowly, skirting up to her hipbone, across to the other one, and Rory stares out of the window, focusing all of her willpower on keeping her breathing steady and her hips from bucking.

Logan must have a flair for the dramatic, because he keeps it up all the way into New Haven, his touches light and teasing. Only as they're pulling up to his building does he let the heel of his hand meet the wet patch that's been spreading across Rory's underwear for the past hour. She gasps, tries to turn it into a cough to disguise it, but suspects it might be a wasted effort. Logan, for his part, looks delighted.

He must have discussed some kind of plan with the others earlier, because Finn, Colin, and Robert all stay in the car and drive off somewhere, leaving just Logan and Rory on the pavement outside his apartment building.

"So, Ace, want to back out yet?" Logan says, raising an eyebrow. She doesn't answer, just grabs the front of his coat and reaches up to kiss him.

"I'm taking that as a no on the backing out," he breathes in the space between kisses, "but I need verbal confirmation, too."

"Logan," Rory says, hands still twisted in his jacket. "Take me upstairs."

"Gladly," he says, and unlocks the door.

Rory's never been to Logan's apartment before, and she's not exactly there for the grand tour, but even in between kisses, as they make their way to the bedroom with a stop against every wall in their way, she can see that it's huge, expensively decorated, and just a little bit sterile, in the way that fancy expensive apartments sometimes are.

They leave a trail of clothes from the front door to the bedroom. Walking backwards, Rory half sits, half falls on the bed. Logan stands in front of her, between her knees, staring down at her with the most unguarded expression she's ever seen him wear.

"Last chance to back out before we go any further," he says.

She appreciates the sentiment, she really does, but. "Logan, I swear to god, I will tell you if I want to back out, but until I do—" she's interrupted by his lips on hers, his body against hers encouraging her to lie back on the bed. Neither of them are wearing much more than their underwear, at this point, and his skin is warm on hers.

Despite his extensive teasing in the car, Logan is in no rush. He removes her bra and takes his time with her breasts, kissing and caressing. One of his legs is planted between Rory's, and she tries to rub herself against his thigh, desperate for some friction.

"Not yet," Logan laughs, and moves his leg, bracketing Rory's hips with both of his legs now. She whimpers, he takes one of her nipples in his mouth, and the sound turns into a moan.

Logan kisses her sternum, and starts trailing a path downwards. Rory realises where he's going, and tenses before she can stop herself. Logan halts immediately, looking up at her. "You okay there?"

Rory gets up on her elbows so she can see him before she answers. "Yeah, I just—Dean never—"

"Then Dean's an idiot," Logan declares. "But if you don't want me to—"

"No, I do," Rory says. "It's just… new."

"Do you trust me, Ace?" Logan asks.

Rory laughs. "God knows why, but I really do."

"Then trust me," he says, and pulls off her underwear.

Logan's been going slow so far, taking his time, but now he dives right in. His tongue hits her folds, and she has a moment to appreciate how fucking good he looks with his head between her legs before her elbows give out and she flops back onto the pillows, every cell in her body focused on the waves of pleasure crashing through her body.

Rory doesn't think it can get more intense than this, and then one of Logan's long, delicate fingers slides into her, quickly followed by another one. She opens her mouth, and all that comes out is a string of choked-out curses. Logan is clearly excellent at what he's doing, and it's not long before she's unravelling, hands fisted in the sheets and his name tumbling from her lips like a prayer.

Logan flops down on the bed next to her, then props himself up his elbow. "How are you doing, Ace?" he asks.

"Oh my god," Rory says, not quite an answer but the closest she can manage at the moment.

"So Dean never made you—"

"Logan," she interrupts. "Stop talking about Dean." It doesn't take much to convince him, especially since she grabs his shoulder and pulls until he's hovering over her again, tugs him down and kisses the taste of herself off his lips.

There's an urgency to the way he kisses now that wasn't there before, like he was holding himself back and now he's let go. Rory wraps her legs around him, grinding against the very noticeable bulge in the underwear that he's somehow still wearing. Logan groans and untangles himself from her limbs.

"Just a second," he pants, reaching over to fumble with the bedside table. "Condom." Then he's back, but instead of settling above her, he goes all the way over and pulls her onto him. He grabs her hips, holding her steady and guiding her as she lifts herself up and lowers herself onto his waiting dick.

Logan sighs, like this is something he's been waiting a long time for. Rory experiments with moving and finds an angle, one that has her throwing her head back and grabbing Logan's thighs for support. There's something very close to reverence in his voice when he says "god, Ace, you should see how incredible you look right now."

Rory leans forward again, all the way down until her mouth is by his ear and she can whisper, "you're not too bad yourself, you know." It's punctuated by a moan, because Logan chooses that moment to roll his hips and brush her clit, but she thinks he gets the message.

She's not sure which one of them moves first but suddenly she's on her back again, Logan nestled between her legs and pushing into her in long, slow strokes. They're face to face now, and dimly, in the back of her mind, she thinks it should be awkward, just staring at him in close quarters like this, but it isn't. She looks at him like she's seeing his face for the first time, cataloguing all the tiny features that can't be seen except close up like this.

She could stay here forever, she thinks, except for the sensation in her core that keeps building, and then building some more. It's like a spring, coiling tighter and tighter. Rory keeps expecting it to burst, to reach a point where the spring just can't coil any further, but the tension keeps growing.

Until finally, finally, Logan angles his body just right, and the spring explodes into release. Rory feels like her consciousness is catapulted outside of her body. Logan, whose own spring uncoiled with a groan just moments after hers, collapses next to her, half covering her body with his. Her consciousness starts returning piece by piece and she feels boneless, like Logan's weight on her is the only thing tethering her to reality.

"You know how in the movies," she starts to say some moments later, when the power of speech returns to her, "when they cut to right after two people had sex, and one of them is like, wow, and you think, surely it can't be that surprising?"

"Not really," Logan says, amused.

"I just… wow," Rory sighs. "I just always thought, sure, it was good, but there's no way it's so good that it's that surprising."

"That's because you didn't have a whole lot to go off," he says, and kisses her collarbone, the closest thing he can reach.

"That's for sure," she huffs. She turns to Logan. "On a scale of one to ten, how frowned upon is it to just stay in bed all day?"

"Would the answer make a difference to your plans?"

Rory considers for a second. "Depending on who's doing the frowning upon, maybe, but most likely no."

Logan laughs, full and unguarded like she's never heard before. His usual laugh is refined, polished, like the persona he wears like a shield when the world comes knocking. This laugh has real joy in it. Rory hasn't known Logan for long, a couple of months at most, but she knows that this laughing boy is the real Logan as surely as she knows that she isn't the perfect little small-town daughter Stars Hollow thinks she is.

She prefers these versions of them.