Title: The Road Goes On Forever and the Party Never Ends…
Rating: NC-17. I can’t seem to write anything but smut. I sit down with the best intentions, and it all goes to hell from there. Oh, and some bad language is thrown in for good measure, though not too incredibly much.
Disclaimer: I, of course, don’t own any of these characters. I can’t even really tell you who does own these characters, though I can say, with some measure of certainty, that its someone who is in some way connected with the WB. Or, maybe I’m wrong about that. Anyway, its not that important in the great big scheme of things.
Author’s Notes: I always liked Popular, though I didn’t get to watch it as often as I would have liked, so I can guarantee that not all of the characterizations will be as you die-hard fans wish them to be. I’ve also thrown random bits of plot together without any real regard for continuity, so please don’t bash me over the head with the fact that things didn’t happen the way they seem to be happening in my story. I’m merely a fanfic lover who wished to offer something of my own. This is a character given piece, actually, without much of an outside plot, and the other characters don’t make much of an appearance, besides a supporting actress cameo for Lily.
Feedback is always appreciated. Kind, not so kind, whatever… I do hope you enjoy this little offering, though. Oh, and before I forget – no one beta’d this for me, so I can’t guarantee that it’s a stunning piece of literature. I have a horrible propensity for long sentences without a tempering voice to guide me. Sorry…
It was, Sam decided with a long-suffering sigh, not a good day. Nothing cataclysmic had happened. Or, rather, something had happened, but the ramifications were only in her mind, and if she had anything to say about it, that’s where they’d stay.
Looking at the entire situation objectively, she came to the conclusion that it was all rather cliché. Not wanting to find herself a new follower of Freud, she had nonetheless been forced to recognize that her dreams were subconsciously trying to alert her to something that she had consciously been trying to avoid. She’d always been a vivid dreamer. Touch, taste, and smell were as normal in her nocturnal landscape as were sight and sound, blurring the line between her dream world and her reality. It wasn’t something that she had ever been overly concerned about, even as she realized that it was slightly different, that most people didn’t have the same experiences that she did when it came to nighttime musings. She’d attributed it to her creativity and enjoyed it for what it was – a gift.
Until lately, that is. For the past few weeks, people had populated her dreamscape in capacities where she didn’t feel they really belonged. Or, to be brutally honest, a single someone had trespassed, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. At first it had all been innocent… friendly conversations, a touch that lasted a little longer than usual, a glance that seemed a little more heated. But then her dreams had seemed to accelerate, bringing kisses and more illicit touches and finally, lovemaking. And, it was when she had awoken, with considerable dismay, from the force of a dream-induced climax that she finally decided that she was going to have to deal with this little problem that she seemed to be having.
Unfortunately, that decision didn’t help much with the actual implementation of any plan. It was bad enough that her sexuality seemed to be suddenly called into question, but coming to grips with the fact that the subject of her erotic fantasies was her soon-to-be stepsister was, well, more than disconcerting.
Watching her munch on an apple before they left for school, and remembering, with startling clarity, the way those hands and lips had felt as they caressed her in her dreams no more than a few hours ago was almost more than she could stand. Her agitation was palpable and she found herself snapping at everyone she came in contact with, her disposition sour and a permanent scowl seemingly affixed to her face.
It had taken most of the morning, but she had finally decided that something must be done about it all. And so, her logical journalistic mind had come up with a plan, a two pronged approach to figuring out just exactly what all of this meant. First things first, she needed to discover if this was all just simply a state of dream induced lunacy. There were ways she could test this, methods that, while not entirely scientific in nature, would no doubt help her decide. Her two major weapons in this endeavor were television and the Internet, and if those couldn’t help her, then nothing could. Secondly, she had to work on smoothing out her relationship with Brooke. It could just be that the passion that now worked its way out in anger between them had somehow managed to be transmuted to lust by a very confused brain, and that confusion worked itself out while she was sleeping. If she took away that passion, maybe she’d take away what was slowly starting to form into an obsession, and then the whole thing wouldn’t matter any more. All crises would be averted, and she could put off the soul-searching and introspection for another day.
Rejoining the land of the living, certain that her plan was solid, Sam smiled. Things were going to work out. She was sure of it.
Okay, a week had passed, and she had discovered two things. Scientific inquiry indicated that this wasn’t a phase. The movie test had been only mildly conclusive. As her hetero selection of the night, she’d chosen an old favorite. “The Big Easy” might have been almost fifteen years old, but in her mind, there was an ageless quality to the charm of Remy McSwain. He was beautiful, he was enticing, and he had her wishing that she could be his gator more than anything in the world. Ah, but that man had nice definition, his torso a collection of lines and sharp planes and silky skin, and the twang of Cajun in his voice made her want to melt into a puddle at the base of the television. Satisfied that she was about to lay her fears to rest with the little movie challenge, she had popped in the only lesbian film that she knew of… “Bound”. And, sadly, Remy was thrown by the wayside.
She didn’t especially care about the plot, couldn’t remember the characters’ names for the life of her, and she wasn’t really sure she could tell you how the movie ended. What she could tell you, however, was every nuance of the love scene in the ex-con’s apartment. In fact, she’d watched it approximately 22 times, rewinding the tape over and over, staring almost transfixed at the screen. She’d thought Remy McSwain’s seduction was enticing, but this one blew her away. And so she’d turned to the second variable in this little experiment, the Internet.
While she wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, she did know that it quickly became an obsession. Her life suddenly revolved around one thing – fanfic. It came in all variations, but the ones that she had found she enjoyed the most were the slash and alt ones, the kind featuring lots and lots of the action that she had glimpsed in the movie. She read constantly, shutting herself in her room for hours at a time, staying up when everyone had gone to bed, her eyes scrolling down lines of text until they were bloodshot and weary, her back aching from having stayed in one place too long. Some of the writers were talented, some not, but she found that no matter what show was being discussed, she liked it better when there was a little girl on girl action.
So, taking all of her newly acquired information, she thought. And thought, and thought, and thought. Even her friends noticed that she was slightly distanced, that she seemed to be living more in her head than she was in the real world, but Sam had a few things to straighten out, and so despite their concerned glances, she resolutely stayed lost in her thoughts.
Apparently, she liked girls a lot more than she liked guys. The revelation was vaguely upsetting, because it meant a definite restructuring of her life, yet still somehow intriguing. She could list all of the things that popped to mind when she wondered why. There was just some ephemeral quality to it all, a softness, a calming comfort, a knowledge that she had finally figured it all out. Hard lines and unyielding planes no longer seemed attractive. Soft curves and velvety soft skin did, and she wondered exactly how it was that she hadn’t noticed this before. Despite all of the possible consequences this revelation could have on her life, she felt distinctly more comfortable in her own skin for its realization. This was the way things were going to be, and it would all work out.
Of course, all this introspection and self-realization didn’t really help her out with the more immediate problem she was now forced to confront. All those stories hadn’t decreased the nocturnal visits of her dream lover. If anything, they simply became more vivid, more real, more imaginative. Waking up mornings to find herself wallowing in her own arousal soon became less than pleasant, especially when the object of her unrequited lust stumbled half-awake into the bathroom when she was brushing her teeth.
The campaign to call a truce of sorts between them was progressing admirably, though she’d had to overcome a substantial amount of wariness on Brooke’s part. Unfortunately, it had forced her to admit to two things. One, a decrease in hostility didn’t equal a decrease in her desire, and two, nothing could ever come of it. The cheerleader was, in her opinion, hopelessly and completely straight, and not at all inclined to look at the brunette in the particular way that said brunette was hoping for.
Not that it wasn’t probably for the best. After all, soon-to-be stepsisters just didn’t need those kinds of complications.
Brooke sighed, running her fingers through soft golden hair, looking rather despondently out at the now empty football field. She had managed to herd the rest of the girls off, needing to be alone with her thoughts, and now took comfort in the soothingly familiar sight. Things at home were rather confusing lately. Sam had called a truce, and for all intents and purposes, it seemed to be legit. There had been no back-stabbing, no petty arguing, and no icy silences. It was driving her crazy. Top that off with the strange looks that the would-be journalist had been shooting her way, and Brooke McQueen found herself seriously confused.
The fighting had been a very healthy thing. When they were fighting, she could forget the fact that she found Sam extremely attractive, forget the fact that she had far from sisterly thoughts about her soon-to-be stepsister, and simply lose herself in a fury of hate and anger.
It wasn’t the fact that Sam was a girl that bothered her. It was the fact that Sam was Sam. The girl thing hadn’t been a shock, and indeed had been something that she had quietly come to recognize long ago. She never watched Law and Order reruns when one of the ADA’s wasn’t a woman, and her longstanding date with the series had less to do with an interest in the criminal justice system and more to do with an interest in ADA Abby Carmichael, though she’d never admit to it. Nicole and Mary Cherry might drool over the latest issue of Playgirl, but not her. In fact, she had a few issues of Josh’s Playboy hidden under her mattress at home.
Josh. Just the thought of him made her wince. It had been her one last ditch effort at “normalcy”, and an unqualified disaster. A far from satisfactory introduction to sexual relations, a pregnancy scare, and the guilt that she had put a really nice guy through the wringer just so she could make sure that she couldn’t be happy living a hetero lifestyle all combined to make the memory rather painful.
The rather morose side-trip down memory lane didn’t do a thing to help her current situation either. A Brooke/Sam combo was just not feasible. For one thing, they simply didn’t travel in the same circles. Sam held her, and her lifestyle, in contempt, and even if the whole issue of the brunette’s sexuality didn’t stand in their way, it was highly doubtful that she’d be able to persuade her into some torrid affair. Consorting with the undeniable queen of popularity would probably be seen as a breach of her personal standards. Sure they were civil now, but that could change at the drop of a hat, and indeed, had before. Then, of course, add to that the fact that she didn’t believe that Sam was a card carrying member of the Sapphic sisterhood, and you had a pretty bleak situation.
But Sam kept giving her those looks, another part of Brooke’s brain insisted, and a small scowl descended on what was normally an otherwise unperturbed brow. She couldn’t ignore the little voice that reminded her of all the times when she thought she had caught the brunette looking at her in a decidedly un-sisterly way. Just little glances, sometimes of wonder and sometimes of what could arguably be called unconcealed lust, that occurred with increasing frequency.
Frustrated, confused, and not a little irritated, Brooke pushed herself away from the bleacher she had been occupying, resolutely pushing it out of her mind.
Four months. She’d been dealing with these issues for four months now and there didn’t seem to be a light at the end of this particular tunnel. The dreams, thankfully, didn’t occur as frequently now, but when they did come to her, they left her a puddle of steaming, raw nerves for at least a couple of days. The truce had mysteriously vanished, and the tension between Brooke and herself had grown until they were almost constantly at each other’s throats. Sadly, she was pretty sure that almost all of the blame for that could be docked squarely at her feet. The fact that they were both going to have a half-brother or sister soon didn’t seem to be helping the situation along at all; things were at a breaking point.
If it had been one of the stories that she still read obsessively, Sam would have known how it was going to end up. There would be a cave and a thunderstorm, or a diary entry read, or an erotic dream accidentally interrupted by the object of her desires, or a good old-fashioned drunken confession, and everything would be out in the clear and the heroines, in this case Brooke and herself, would find themselves happily sated and perhaps slightly bruised in the morning. This was real life, however, and not one of those stories, so none of those happy, though cliched, endings was plausible. Or, she thought with a slight smile, were they?
Mike and her mom were gone to yet another meeting somewhere that took them out of the state, Brooke had decided to spend the evening at home for some reason, and she knew where the parents kept the liquor. With a stealthy grin, completely ignoring the tendrils of uneasiness spreading across her stomach, she gathered together two shot glasses, a bottle of Cuervo Gold, some salt and a lime. Taking her bounty back upstairs, she knocked tentatively on the door separating her from the object of her desire and waited.
“What?” was the rather cross reply, and Sam found herself reconsidering the rather hastily thought up, and no doubt unwise, plan that had lead her there.
“Can I come in?” she replied, pushing all doubts to the side. The shot that she’d indulged in before wandering up the stairs helped fortify her courage a bit, and she pushed open the door and walked in, ignoring the fierce scowl directed her way.
“What do you want?” Brooke asked scathingly. She’d only barely been able to stuff this month’s issue of Playboy under the mattress before Sam had barged in, and she was none too pleased with the near miss.
“I thought that we could try to work things out,” Sam offered by way of explanation, slowly laying her bounty on the floor.
“We tried that before. I believe the term I’m looking for here is unqualified disaster,” the blonde reminded her, eyeing the bottle of Cuervo with unease.
“I know. But this time, I brought fortifications,” Sam said with a grin, settling herself onto the floor and arranging the items that she had brought into a neat little set-up.
“I see that. And just what do you suggest?” Brooke was intrigued, almost in spite of herself. An empty house, a bottle of Cuervo, the left over hormonal surges of a good dose of porn, and Sam sitting on her floor, dark hair pushed inviting behind her ears… things could be worse.
“Truth or dare,” the other girl said, grinning wolfishly. “You know, a little sisterly bonding.”
“And the Cuervo?”
“Dutch courage. Now, are you in or are you out?” she asked, looking at the blonde speculatively. Loaded question there, isn’t it Sammy, she smirked to herself.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Brooke slid off the bed, sitting neatly in front of Sam.
The object was bonding, not falling into an alcohol-induced coma, but Sam knew that if they didn’t put the bottle of Cuervo away pretty soon, that was going to be what happened. They didn’t fill the shot-glass full with each shot, both somewhat leery of what would happen if they did that, but still, after a while, those shot glasses filled one-quarter of the way full started to add up, and the end result was a rather pleasant intoxication, the kind that makes you feel at peace with your surroundings and what you’re doing and gives the room that amusing little spin.
Truth or Dare hadn’t been very exciting at first, and to be honest, there hadn’t been any dares yet. Before asking a question, the asker had to do one of the little mini-shots, though, which luckily had the end result of taking the game a little beyond the opening forays of “What’s your favorite color?”
“So wait,” Brooke was slurring, having slumped down on the floor in a rather sanguine position, legs outstretched, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, “you’re telling me that there was no sex there?”
“Nope. I mean, we fooled around a little, but never did go all the way,” Sam replied with a shrug. Ah, poor George. He hadn’t understood why his advances kept getting rebuffed and to be honest, until recently, Sam hadn’t understood why she kept rebuffing them.
“I could have sworn that you two had,” the blonde muttered, slightly befuddled.
“Nope, didn’t happen. Now, my turn.” There was a slightly maniacal gleam in the brunette’s eyes, and if Brooke had been sober, she probably would have noticed it. She looked around for the tequila, ready to pour the requisite shot required before asking a question, but it was nowhere to be found. Suppressing a smirk, having moved it out of the way while the other girl was lost in the contemplation that she hadn’t slept with her ex-boyfriend, Sam turned glittering dark eyes on her companion.
“Truth or dare?” she challenged, though she already knew the answer to the question.
“Truth,” Brooke replied, trying desperately not to give in to the temptation to flop onto her back. She wanted to maintain eye contact, and she couldn’t do that if she was staring at the ceiling.
“Okay,” Sam said, pausing for a minute while gathering up courage, “have you ever fantasized about another girl?”
There, it was out, flopping around like a great big sea bass struggling for air, and there was nothing she could do to take it back. Brooke narrowed her eyes, wondering for a second if she’d heard what she thought she’d heard, and decided from the slightly panicked look chasing its way across Sam’s face that she had. Not quite sure how to answer that question, but lacking a great deal of her good sense, having giving it away to Jose for safekeeping at the moment, she answered the only way she could fathom. Truthfully.
“Yes,” she said simply, the word coming out more as a whisper than a declaration. “Truth or dare?”
Sam gulped. Ah, the game was layered with so much more meaning now, and even though she had spent the entire previous hour working up to it, she wasn’t sure what to do with her newly acquired information.
“Truth,” she replied, her voice low and scratchy.
“Have you?” Brooke asked simply, and though she wanted to ask for clarification, wanted to stall for time, Sam didn’t. Instead she dropped her head, the quiet affirmation passing her lips even as she wondered, momentarily, about her sanity.
“Truth or dare?” she asked, feeling the momentum gather behind her. They’d both admitted to it, but that didn’t really prove anything. Fantasy was far from reality, and that was the next thing that Sam intended to tackle.
“Truth,” Brooke replied, and she wondered if Sam could hear the soft honeyed difference that she hadn’t meant to inject.
“Would you actually do it? Be involved with another woman, I mean?” Sam asked breathlessly, her eyes focused rather intently on the blonde, caught in the hot gaze trained her way from under hooded lashes.
“It if were the right girl,” Brooke replied, and it was the truth. Sam hadn’t asked for a definitive statement on her sexuality, so she was only giving as much as she had to. Yes, she’d certainly be involved with another woman. In fact, it was really the only thing she could imagine now, after her failed relationship with poor Josh. But, Sam hadn’t asked about that, and she wasn’t going to volunteer more than she had to until she knew the complete nature of this little game. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” was the whispered reply, Sam afraid to speak up, to shatter the charged atmosphere that seemed to surround them now.
“Who have you fantasized about?” Brooke asked, watching with interest as Sam’s tongue peeked out nervously, tracing over glistening lips.
“I changed my mind. Dare,” was her only reply, the words sounding slightly panicky. Now that the moment was upon her, Sam found that even her Dutch courage didn’t seem to be enough. There was a lot of difference between thinking about something like this and actually doing it, and she wasn’t sure that she had the gumption to go through with it. Actually, she knew that she didn’t have the gumption to go through with it.
Brooke smiled triumphantly. This was an unexpected bonus, but one that she certainly wasn’t going to turn down.
“Dare, hmmm. Okay, I dare you to kiss me,” she said strongly, anticipation tingeing her words.
“What?” Sam gasped, slightly surprised and not a little turned on that she had actually heard those words coming out of the mouth that she had been dreaming about for months.
“I said, I dare you to kiss me. You said that you’ve fantasized about it. I don’t think you’d ever have the guts to actually do something, though, so you won’t do it. I’ll win and you’ll lose,” Brooke teased, the ploy as calculated as her inebriated mind could make it.
Sam was offended. She didn’t have the guts? She was the one who had come in here with the bottle of tequila and the idea that started this whole mess. She was the one who never failed in her relentless pursuit for justice, printing the truth and nothing but despite any consequences that it might have on her personally. She embodied courage. She was no shrinking violet, not one to be cowed in the face of uncertainty and opposition. And now, she had, in effect, been called gutless, a coward. Putting aside her own musings that declared her as such not seconds before, she leaned forward with determination.
“Okay,” was all she said, and before she knew it, Brooke’s soft lips were pressed up against her own and her tongue was tracing the outlines of a mouth that had haunted her dreams. How she managed to maneuver herself so that she was practically on top of the blonde, supporting herself on her elbows while their mouths met, clashed, tongues seeking and obtaining entry, was a mystery to her.
It wasn’t until an overwhelming need for oxygen registered with her that she pulled away, softly unfocused eyes tracing the beautiful features beneath her, warm breath mingling in soft pants between them. She was acutely aware of the surprisingly soft body beneath hers, of the soft mounds of Brooke’s breasts and the hard points of her aroused nipples.
“Didn’t think I’d do it, hmmm,” she said somewhat triumphantly, not leaving her perch just yet. She didn’t wait for a reply, the satisfied smirk not leaving her face as she looked down upon the countenance below her. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” came the ragged reply, hazel eyes focused on softly curling lips with something akin to wonder in their expression.
“Who do you fantasize about?” Sam asked, and there was a bit of a taunt in her voice, daring the other girl.
“You,” was the whipsered reply, and Sam jerked, feeling surprise course through her body. Even if it was true, she hadn’t honestly expected Brooke to admit it. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” came the ragged reply.
“Are you going to kiss me again?”
Sam was lost. It was a dream, it had to be, because if she was really awake, then she wouldn’t be here, her body pressed intimately against the lanky length beneath her, hearing Brooke admit that she had fantasized about her, that Brooke wanted to kiss her. And if she was awake, then she wouldn’t be feeling the tentative pressure of lips on hers, the gradual increase in intensity that brought with it a deeper intimacy. Long fingers wouldn’t be winding their way through her hair, pulling her closer, if she were awake. If she were awake, she wouldn’t feel the tensing of strong thighs beneath her own, the gentle undulation of hips pressing against her, hear the sound of low moans and ragged breaths filling her ears in an erotic symphony.
Brooke’s lips were trailing their way down her neck now, teeth nipping at sensitive skin just before the warm rasp of her tongue soothed it. Soft hands had worked their way beneath her shirt, trailing softly up her sides, and Sam thought that she might just pass out. Breathing was becoming increasingly harder, as was thinking as all blood departed her brain for much more interesting places due south, and with the last bit of her strength, she put her hands on Brooke’s shoulders, pushing her almost violently away.
“What?” the blonde asked, confused. She looked so enticing, having rolled up so that she was propped on her elbows, staring out at Sam through half-lidded eyes alight with passion, her hair casually rumpled, her lips swollen and red, nostrils flaring around sharply indrawn breaths.
“Not here,” was all Sam managed to croak, the words not at all what she was planning on saying. But then she was standing, offering her hand to the girl on the floor, pulling her up and leading her over to the bed, and it didn’t matter what she had planned on saying because this seemed to be the only correct answer.
She was startled when Brooke pushed her almost roughly onto the bed but didn’t follow. Rolling to her side, Sam was unable to stop the jolt of desire that ran through her as she caught sight of the vision before her. The blonde was running a long fingered hand up her torso, pushing her shirt up as she went, baring the toned, golden expanse of her belly. She teased when the cloth reached her breasts, letting it drop a few inches and earning a frustrated moan from the brunette on the bed before finally tugging the thing free, exposing her lace-enclosed breasts. The shorts she had been wearing followed in a move that made Sam wonder if she should have brought dollar bills with her. Brooke bent at the waist, leaving her legs straight as she tugged the shorts down, forming an almost impossible angle as her cleavage pressed forward, barely constrained by the confines of the lacy bra. Hazel eyes never left Sam’s face as she moved, delighting in the expression of unrestrained lust that crossed the other girl’s countenance. Thank you Josh, she thought for a minute, silently giving appreciation to the benefactor of all her stolen Playboys. Apparently that move really did work.
Her bra followed, and as it drifted slowly to the floor, Sam found her eyes drawn to the beautiful breasts that had been exposed. They weren’t extremely large, but did have the most beautiful curve, sloping down gently to rest on full bottoms, rosy nipples hardening instantly, almost as if they could physically feel her gaze. And then those long-fingered hands were slipping into the waistband of the scrap of white silk covering the other girl’s mound, and she could almost feel herself salivating in anticipation.
Brooke teased for a moment, seeing the way Sam shifted closer and smiling in satisfaction. She let her fingertips brush at the waistband of her panties, not moving them and certainly not removing them yet. It wasn’t in the game plan.
“If you want them off,” she husked, surprised at the almost growling quality of her voice, “you have to take them off yourself.”
Sam actually whimpered, though she was quite unaware of it. She moved to sit, letting her legs dangle over the side of the bed as she reached out, pulling the lithe figure in front of her closer, the palms of her hands itching with desire as they came into contact with soft skin. She pulled the blonde between her outspread thighs, her face immediately nuzzling the warm valley between the other girl’s breasts, her hands slipping around her back, stroking the soft flesh she found there. Unable to stop herself, she flicked out her tongue, drawing it along Brooke’s slightly salty flesh, pulling the taste of her into her mouth. Soft mounds beckoned, and she moved her mouth to the side, kissing and licking her way across skin until she felt the hard tip of a nipple teasing her soft lips. As she drew it into the warm cavern of her mouth, her jaw working as she sucked the sensitive skin, her hands dipped down, sliding across smooth buttocks and teasing the tender flesh of inner thighs. Brooke jumped, startled by the twin attacks. The hot mouth on her breasts, the soft sandpaper quality of a tongue teasing her nipple combined with the feather-soft tease of the back of Sam’s fingers across her heated flesh pushed her farther into the unknown, and she reacted almost violently. Her hands went to the brunette’s shoulders, roughly gathering the cloth of her shirt in her fists before tugging upwards, dislodging both hands and mouth as she ripped the garment away. The bra followed, its removal equally graceless, and then Brooke had dropped to her knees beside the bed, tugging relentlessly against the waistband of her companion’s shorts, baring her body quickly.
When Sam was finally disrobed, Brooke took a moment to look at her, hazel eyes tracing the line of strong thighs up to a patch of curly dark hair, now glistening with moisture before moving even further upward to more than ample breasts. Sam’s skin was pale, like pure ivory, unblemished and smooth. The flesh around her nipples was so pale of a pink as to be almost not visible at all, and Brooke found herself entranced, wanting nothing more than to feel that skin against her own. Accordingly, she moved, almost climbing up the other girl’s body until their skin was plastered together, their mouths meeting fiercely once more. The contact didn’t last long, because Brooke had other areas that she desperately wanted to explore, and so she pulled away, leaving a warm, wet trail down the other girl’s neck until she found herself at eye level with soft breasts.
She pulled away slightly, more interested in studying them for a moment than she was in tasting them. Her hands weighed them, cupping them, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh as hard nipples prodded her palm. Thumbs and fingers tested the resiliency of those hard tips, pinching them, pulling them, a cacophony of gasps and moans from above encouraging her explorations. Finally, she tasted them, her tongue tracing almost randomly over sweet skin until her lips closed over one peak, pulling it deeply into her mouth, the sharp edge of teeth scoring the flesh gently. She listened to the responses Sam provided to each action, the sharp hissing intake of breath that accompanied a harder pressure and the tease of teeth, and the barely audible whimper that went along with a soft sucking.
Symmetry had always been soothing to Brooke, and as such she was unable to progress farther without providing the other peak with the same treatment, lips and tongue and teeth once again working their magic. Unable to hold her curiosity back any longer, however, she moved downwards, positioning herself eagerly between Sam’s spread thighs, hazel eyes made almost black by passion as they settled onto the soaked curls beneath her.
Long fingers slid through her wetness, and Sam thought that she was going to die. The entire experience had been far more than she had ever expected it to be, and the knowledge that she might soon explode if Brooke didn’t do something soon was followed with the acknowledgement that she’d probably explode anyway. Reality was nothing in comparison to her dreams, and Sam knew that she would never find a sight more erotic than the one of barely open hazel eyes watching her face intently over a patch of dark curls. The fingers teasing her had become more inquisitive, slipping easily through the copious wetness they found, brushing past the hard bundle of nerves at the apex of her slit.
Then one of those long fingers was moving slowly within her, pressing into her sensitive flesh, and she bucked against the invasion, wanting more. Brooke looked at her hesitantly, not wanting to cause any pain, but from the look of absolute desire sketched across Sam’s face, she didn’t think that was going to be a problem. Slowly she began to thrust, working her finger back and forth until she was buried as deeply as she could go. A second finger joined the first, and Sam hissed at the increase in friction, the sound one of pleasure, her back arched as her hips pressed higher, seeking more contact. Brooke watched, almost transfixed, as her fingers disappeared over and over into the soaked flesh, and suddenly it wasn’t enough. Pulling her fingers free, she used them to part the tender flesh. Her head swooped down and she finally tasted Sam fully, her tongue tracing a hungry path upwards. She pressed forward as hard as she could, feeling the hot wetness on her chin, her cheeks, coating her lips, and if she had had any doubts before that this was what she wanted in life, then they were gone. Nothing tasted so sweet as another woman’s pleasure, and she eagerly gave herself over to the sensation.
Sam thought that she was going to die. One hand had a death grip on the sheets beneath them, and she felt the rising tension in her body seeming to overtake her limbs, stealing from her all semblance of coordination as she bucked and shivered against the sensual onslaught. She could feel Brooke’s lips against her clit, the hard rasp of a tongue sending shockwaves through the tiny bundle of flesh. Unable to stop herself, she moved one hand down, tangling her fingers through the silk of Brooke’s hair, pressing her closer. Brooke felt that pressure, the rough tug on her hair, the hard press of muscles that were exerting more strength than they knew, and she almost climaxed herself. There was something so incredibly erotic about the feeling, and knowing that she had driven Sam to the point where she no longer really knew what she was doing was rather heady. A quick glance up past rapidly heaving breasts told her that Sam’s eyes were closed tightly, that she was biting down on her bottom lip in a futile attempt to stop the moans that were now flowing almost constantly out of her throat. She could see from the writhing of the body below her, from the almost uncontrollable motion of the hips beneath her mouth that the other girl was close, and as she worked her fingers back inside, thrusting with enough strength to fill her ears with the sloppy wet sounds of flesh on flesh, she felt Sam explode. Her fingers were caught suddenly in an impossibly tight grip, held steady as a low keening moan erupted from the brunette’s lips. Sam went almost completely rigid beneath her before suddenly collapsing in a shivering heap of boneless flesh.
Moving quickly up the other girl’s frame, Brooke gathered her in her arms, whispering words that made no sense, tracing kisses over her face, her still closed eyes. Her body was on fire, but before she would be granted relief, she knew that she was going to have to ease Sam back into the land of the living. Finally, the other girl’s breathing seemed to slow, and obsidian eyes flashed open, astonishment clearly filling their dark depths.
“I had no idea,” Sam whispered, looking at Brooke with something akin to awe. Somehow, she knew that had this happened with George, things wouldn’t have turned out like this at all. She leaned over, kissing the blonde softly, becoming instantly aware of her own flavor coating the other girl’s lips. Pressing Brooke back softly, she covered her body, stretching sinuously, delighting in the feel of warm skin sliding over warm skin.
Brooke’s breasts were fascinating, and she imagined that she could spend hours mapping the soft terrain. Her mouth alternated between the two hard peaks, teeth nipping and pulling as her tongue teased. The feel of a strong hand against the back of her neck, nails lightly scoring the flesh as fingers wound their way into the hair at her nape, tugging her downwards impatiently, let her know that the blonde didn’t want to wait anymore, and with a last long lick, she traced her way down the golden skin of a flat belly.
She could smell Brooke’s arousal, the heady scent rushing up to meet her nose as crinkly hair teased her chin. She didn’t hesitate, moving down to taste the other girl, surprised at the warm rush of liquid that flooded her tongue. Brooke jerked at the touch, unable to stop herself, so completely on edge from the combination of her seduction of Sam and the feel of the brunette’s exploration of her body that she knew it wouldn’t take much for her to climax. And indeed, it didn’t. Moments later Brooke’s nails raked up the other girl’s back as Sam rhythmically sucked the hard nub of her clit into her mouth. A hoarse shout and the stiffening of her body signaled her orgasm, and a hard tug to Sam’s hair brought the other girl up from her perch. Burying her head in the warm, moist crook of the brunette’s shoulder, Brooke drifted off to sleep almost immediately, the combination of liquor and sex too much.
Sam sat alone in the newspaper office, her fingers rubbing lightly against the grooves in her flesh currently hidden beneath the collar of her button-up shirt. It had been two months since that first fateful night, and she was more confused about her life now than she ever had been before. The morning after had found them still wrapped around one another, flesh plastered together with a combination of sweat and mixed juices. Both had felt like hell, and that was probably why things had turned out the way they had. Instead of talking about what had happened, they had retreated to nurse their individual hangovers in silence, not talking at all. Of course, there was no way to deny that the previous night had happened. Sam had tasted the other girl on her lips until she scrubbed the flavor away, taking with it the stale cottony after-effects of too much tequila. Her insides felt like someone had scoured them with a metal pad, and she had aches in places that she didn’t know existed. A patchwork of tiny red bitemarks and small bluish bruises covered her torso, stark reminders of the night before. As if she could ever forget it anyway. It had been one of the most wonderful, and certainly one of the most memorable, events of her young life. She wondered if Brooke had realized yet that she’d taken Sam’s virginity, or if it even mattered.
She never found out if Brooke realized that she had been her first, because they quite simply didn’t talk about it. Relations returned to the way they had been before, with tempers perhaps even more sharp now than they had been. With one major difference, that was. Almost every night since that first found them in each other’s arms once again. It was odd, the way that by unspoken agreement they continued to explore their relationship between the sheets while the one they had elsewhere disintegrated even further. The lovemaking was something that seemed completely separate, sometimes heartbreakingly gentle in the face of what they did and said to one another during the day.
That was, unless one of them pushed the boundaries a little too far. And then, the sessions were more heated, almost violent. If there was one thing that Sam had learned, it was that Brooke could be almost feral in her passion, dominating the surprised brunette in ways that Sam had never thought would be possible.
Like last night, for instance. Granted, the fight that day had been all Sam’s fault. She knew it was a sore spot with Brooke, and so when she’d called her “a self-starving Karen Carpenter wannabe” she’d instantly wanted to apologize. It had been a horrible thing to say, not only in the way that it played with the misery of someone else, but the way that it taunted Brooke. The blonde had worked through those issues, though it had taken a lot of time and effort on her part, and so the jibe had been designed deliberately to hurt. Perhaps that was why, later that night, Brooke had done the same, but in her own way.
Sam had been expecting her, though she hadn’t necessarily been expecting all that had happened. Brooke had waited until late to come to her, sneaking into her room with the stealth of a predator. She hadn’t turned on the light, letting the faint illumination provided by the moon be her only guide.
“Get up,” she’d rasped, and despite her desire to stay where she was, Sam had obeyed. Brooke had circled her, almost as if she was sizing her up, enjoying the way that the brunette started to fidget under her gaze.
“Take them off,” she’d commanded, and with a quiet gulp, Sam had complied, pulling away the tee-shirt and pushing down the panties that comprised her outfit. She didn’t really know why she wasn’t protesting, why she wasn’t refusing to do what was asked of her. It was in her power to do so. Despite the tension palpable in the room at the moment, she knew that Brooke would stop if she asked her to. But, she didn’t want her to, didn’t want to put a stop to the encounter before she knew what it would hold. There was something different about the blonde. She’d been slightly rough in their lovemaking before, but then again, on occasion, so had Sam. None of those times, however, had she been cloaked in the air of menace that seemed to almost envelope the room.
Strong hands on her shoulders had pulled her from her reverie, and she’d sank down to the floor as silently instructed, dark eyes looking questioningly up, trying to discern what was happening. But, Brooke had moved around behind her, and she could no longer study the blonde’s face, no longer try to divine her fate for the night. She felt her calves nudged apart roughly, the move not designed to cause pain but to show who was in control, and despite herself felt a hot, wet jolt of arousal at the action.
“Spread your legs wider,” she was commanded, and she did so, trying to forget for a moment what she must look like, kneeling on the floor like she was, breasts heaving, legs spread wide.
“Very good,” Brooke had purred, and Sam found herself wanting to arch into the approval of that voice. Then she felt the blonde settle down behind her, the warm length of their calves pressed together, the burning hot points of nipples searing into her back. Long-fingered hands came around to cup her breasts, squeezing so tightly that her flesh spilled out between the splayed digits. A harsh thumb and forefinger found each nipple, pinching, pulling, tugging. The fingers were rough, the line between pleasure and pain growing perilously thin, and unable to stop herself, she had arched into those hands, a low whimper broadcasting her enjoyment.
Brooke’s mouth lowered itself to her ear, hot, wet air blowing across the sensitive flesh as she spoke in low tones about what she was going to do to Sam, about how much Sam was going to like it. She talked about her body, what she liked about it, her terms crude, her voice hoarse. And though she thought objectively that she should be appalled, that she shouldn’t let Brooke talk to her that way, Sam gave herself over to the voice, to the fingers that moved down to her wetness, parting the folds. One hand buried three fingers in her instantly, thrusting forcefully as the other rubbed almost viciously over her throbbing clit.
She’d sobbed out her pleasure, unable to keep the harsh, rasping breaths inside.
And then the blonde had whispered to Sam words of possession, words of ownership, telling her in harsh terms how her body belonged to Brooke, how Brooke controlled her pleasure, and she’d thought she was going to explode. When that mouth had moved down to the juncture where her shoulder met her neck, and strong, even teeth had sank into her flesh, nearly piercing the skin as Brooke sucked hard on the bit of flesh, she did explode, barely holding back a scream. She’d fallen, resting on her hands and knees, panting from the ferocity of the climax, vaguely aware of the sounds of the other girl leaving. When she’d come to her senses, she’d been alone, and sleep had been a long time in coming.
Brooke was already gone when she had awoken the next morning, and a quick glance in the mirror quickly identified the near perfect set of teethmarks, the purpling of the bruise. She’d put on a button up shirt with a high, crisp collar, not wanting anyone to notice the mark but unable to don a turtleneck which would have protected her completely. It wasn’t nearly cold enough for one of those yet, and to wear one when one wasn’t appropriate was only to invite suspicion.
Luckily, she didn’t have to see Brooke too much that day, just a few classes, and she’d found that the blonde seemed as reluctant to make eye contact as Sam was. Every time she saw her, memories of the night before would spring to mind and she would hear the harsh rasp of Brooke’s voice in her ear.
“You belong to me. This is mine,” she had said, fingers cupping Sam’s wet mound possessively. Just the memory made her shiver in arousal.
After school, she hadn’t wanted to go home, even though she knew that Brooke would have cheerleading practice and wouldn’t be there for quite some time. She didn’t really want to encounter the blonde right now, didn’t want to have to be faced with reminders of her until she sorted a few things out in her mind. This relationship, if it could even be called that, needed some serious reevaluation, as did Sam herself. The night before had culminated in a desire for self-introspection, if only because of the rather shocking fact that she had enjoyed it, every single minute. Brooke’s almost overwhelming control of the situation, the harsh words of possession, all still sent a guilty thrill down Sam’s spine, and as she sat, feet propped up on the desk, fingers absent-minded tracing the indentions left in her skin, she couldn’t help imagining herself as the one in control of the scenario, whispering in Brooke’s ear the same phrases that had been whispered in hers.
This couldn’t be healthy, she mused. People didn’t go around acting like the other was evil incarnate during the day and then spontaneously combusting at night. They couldn’t go on living this double life. Something was going to have to give.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Sam was so caught up in her thoughts that she almost jumped out of her chair at the words, feet landing on the floor loudly as they fell from their perch. Pulling her hand almost guiltily out of the vee of her shirt, Sam tried to calm her breathing, to get herself under control.
“They’re not even worth that much,” she said lightly, turning to look at the person who had intruded upon her reflection. It was Lily, and while Sam normally would enjoy spending some time alone with a friend that she was getting to see increasingly less, today was not the day.
“From your reaction, I somehow doubt that’s true,” the other girl observed, settling down into a chair.
Not sure what to say, and deciding that she couldn’t incriminate herself unless she opened her mouth, Sam stayed resolutely silent, dark eyes fixed steadily on a point above and to the left of Lily’s head.
“Something’s bothering you,” the other girl began cautiously, aware that whatever it was, Sam didn’t want to talk about it. “You’ve been different for awhile now, though no one would really notice it unless they were paying a lot of attention. I don’t know what’s going on with you, though I’m pretty sure that whatever it is has something to do with that pretty impressive bitemark that you’ve been trying to hide all day.”
Sam gasped, surprise bringing her eyes squarely back to Lily’s. Caution was overruled by fear, and she gasped out, “You don’t think that anyone else saw it, do you?”
Lily was slightly shocked by the urgency in her friend’s voice, by the widening of her eyes, but she remained calm. She had put up with all that Bio Glass had thrown her way, and so whatever secret that Sam was hiding would be something that she could handle. Hopefully.
“I don’t think so,” she said placatingly, aware that Sam’s fingers returned once more to trace over the area now that it was brought to her attention. “Do you want to tell me how it got there?”
“No,” Sam said sharply, and then, with more than a little hesitation, “I’m so confused.”
Lily looked concerned, and eager to help, and Sam wanted more than anything in the world to tell someone else what had been going on, to get another opinion of the situation, but she was afraid. Exactly how did one go about telling one’s friends that you had been screwing your soon-to-be sister-in-law for the past two months, and that you had been so turned on by what she had done the night before that you didn’t even really feel the pain of the little love bite that she had left until much, much later?
“Sam, I know that we haven’t talked as much lately as before, but you know that I’m your friend, that I’m here for you, and that no matter what, I’m going to support you. Its clear that you’re involved in something that you aren’t quite sure how to handle, and I’d like to help.” And she did sound so damn sincere that Sam found herself starting, slowly, to explain everything that had happened, starting at the very beginning, with her dreams and her subsequent quest to find out exactly what was driving them, and not leaving out a single painful detail, though she did edit some of them, until everything including the interaction of the night before was laid bare on the table. After getting it all off of her chest, Sam found that she did feel monumentally better, though she was a little worried at the state of shock that Lily seemed to be stuck in.
“Lily?” she said finally after watching her friend stare sightlessly out the window for a full minute. “Are you okay?”
The words seemed to pull the other girl out of her trance, and she looked at Sam’s expectant face with trepidation.
“Well, you’ve clearly got yourself a problem here,” was all she could think to say. The information had overwhelmed her, short-circuiting all of the pathways in her brain. Sam and Brooke, together, for the last two months. No one had known about it, and if anything, their behavior towards one another had gotten worse. They were almost vicious at school, and sometimes, apparently, judging by the mark on Sam’s neck, at home as well. There was no talk of love or a relationship or anything more than sex and, as of last night, possession. This might just be more than she could handle.
“I had managed to come to that startling conclusion by myself,” Sam muttered, now not so sure about telling Lily in the first place.
“Then I’m sure that you already know what I’m going to say. First of all, you’ve got to figure out what you’re getting, aside from the obvious, out of this relationship. Is it just sex, or is it something more? What are you going to do when its over? How do you really feel about Brooke? Once you figure out what’s going on with you, you’ve got to talk to her. Obviously you’re upset about this, but she’s not going to know that unless you can manage to have a conversation without screaming at one another. Maybe someplace neutral, someplace where you couldn’t just forget about talking and move on to other things if it becomes too hard,” Lily mused, growing increasingly excited as she began to formulate her plan.
“I don’t know if I could stop,” Sam whispered raggedly. “She’s like a drug. No matter how angry I get with her, no matter how much I tell myself that I hate her, at night, when she touches me, I just melt. I don’t want to talk about it with her Lily. What if she leaves me? What if I lose her? I’m not sure if I could make it, looking at her every day, knowing that she’s sleeping just a few feet away, laying on sheets that smell like her but not able to have her.”
“Sam,” Lily protested weakly, already possessed of more information than she thought was right for friends to know about one another, but somehow sure that she was about to find out even more.
“Do you know what that’s like, Lily? Do you know how soft her skin is, how it just seems to glide over mine like silk? And her hands, they’re so strong even though they don’t look it, and she can tear me inside out with them, leave all the nerve endings on the outside until I’m so raw that I just know that if she touches me again that I’ll die, that I’ll shatter into a million pieces, not able to take it anymore. The soft rasp of her tongue drives me crazy, and some nights it feels like she tastes every inch of my flesh, that she knows all of me and keeps it hidden in every tastebud. And her mouth, well all of her really, tastes so sweet that I sometimes think that I don’t need anything else to sustain me, that I could go through life living on that sweetness alone. She said that she owned me, and I should have protested, should have told her no, but it was the truth. I don’t even want to think of the possibility that she’d leave me. The thought alone takes my breath away, makes the sun a little dimmer, the future a little harder to bear. So you see, Lily, I don’t know what I want at all.”
“I think you know exactly what you want, Sam. And I think that I’m going to go now, and let you accept what that is,” Lily said, trying desperately to keep herself from running from the room. Suddenly, she really, really needed to see Josh.
|Section 2||Harper||Popular||Main Index|