FIC: White Flag (23/40)
Title: White Flag
Rating: NC-17
Couple: Sam/Brooke...Sam/F..
Summary: This is an Futurefic in which Brooke and Sam have already been
together.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but I certainly wish I did. Damn Ryan
Murphy and his unrivaled genius.
A/N: Okay so I can take a hint. You are still out there reading and I'm so grateful for that. I have a lot more of this fic done. I didn't realize I hadn't updated in an very long time. I will be posting a lot within the next few days, just to get this caught up. I also realize I'm behind on commenting on all of your comments. Please forgive me? I will try to do better in the future.
A thank you always to my trusty beta Karen. I don't know where I'd be without her.
Part twenty-four
Only the little light above the stove illuminated the otherwise dark kitchen as Brooke sat drinking her tea. Now that she’d decided to take Mac’s advice, she’d been anxious to talk to Sam. Somehow the journalist had managed to slip past her this morning while she was in the shower and then again later after she’d visited Cara. Now it was almost midnight and Sam was nowhere to be found. Brooke had a suspicion, but she didn’t want to go there. She heard keys in the door and decided to listen quietly, hoping Sam would come into the kitchen instead of heading straight to bed. Sam walked into the dark room, throwing her keys on the counter and walking over to the liquor cabinet. She pulled out an old bottle of scotch and grabbed a glass.
“You’re in late.” Brooke stood from her place at the table.
Sam gasped almost dropping the glass in her hand. “Jesus Christ Brooke, you scared the shit out of me!”
“Yeah well you scared me, you didn’t even call to let anyone know where you were. I’ve been waiting for hours.”
Sam’s lips quirked into a wry smile and she arched a dark eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Brooke. I…uh didn’t realize I had a curfew or a keeper for that matter.” Sam’s voice was cold as she poured herself a half a glass of the amber colored liquid. She winced a little at first drink, but took another one before sitting the glass down.
The brunette hadn’t ever been much of a drinker and the fact that she was drinking scotch was not a good sign. But Brooke pressed forward. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I just…we need to talk.”
Sam finished the rest of her drink and poured another glass. She took another big swig before lazily regarding the blonde. “Oh yeah? What about?”
Brooke let out a frustrated groan. “What do you mean ‘what about?’ About us…about what happened.”
“And…what if I said I didn’t want to talk about it?” Sam downed another half glass and tipped the bottle to pour some more into her glass.
“Sam, we have to talk about it.” Brooke sighed. Why did Sam always have to make things so difficult?
“Now that is where you’re wrong.” Sam finished the glass and was quickly working on a third before Brooke even realized it.
“I am not wrong! Dammit Sam, it happened and nothing you do or no matter how far you run, you can’t change that…”
Sam rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. Her pupils were beginning to dilate and Brooke knew this was going nowhere fast. She ran frustrated hand through her blonde hair, as the brunette poured another glass. “Look Sam, I woke up to find some lame note and you have been avoiding me. We need to talk about this. You owe me that much.”
The glass in the other woman’s hand stopped midair at Brooke’s words. She fixed Brooke with an icy glare and downed the drink before placing the empty glass in the sink. She turned back to the blonde, her expression angry. Brooke was certain there was a big storm coming her way. “Are you done? Because I’d really like to go to bed now,” Sam asked instead, her voice cool.
Brooke was surprised by the question and barely had time to recover before Sam was brushing past her and making her way to the stairs. She hastened after the brunette. “No, I’m not done. Sam, the time for games is over. We’re going to talk about this…now!”
Sam continued up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. “No, we’re not!”
“Yes, we are!” Brooke knew she sounded like a five year old, but Sam was acting like a five year old.
The brunette walked to her room and turned to face the blonde in the doorframe. “Uh no Brooke, we’re not. Now I suggest you go back to your room.” Sam walked completely into the room and began changing for bed.
Brooke followed Sam into the room. “You can’t just dismiss me! I’m not one of your stories that you just can’t get right or one of your friends that have pissed you off! That night didn’t just affect you! It affected me too!”
Sam turned cold, angry brown eyes on her ex-wife. “You don’t think I know that?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Sam. Why don’t you tell me? You’ve been acting like I didn’t even exist. God, when are you going to grow up and stop running from your problems?”
Sam let out a harsh, incredulous laugh as she flung her shirt onto the bed. “When are you going to grow up and realize that you can’t always get what you want when you want it? That Earth doesn’t fucking revolve around the great Brooke McQueen…Did you ever stop to think that maybe there’s a reason I don’t want to talk about this? That maybe tonight just isn't the night? You know you never could just leave things alone for a while. Everything has to be on your terms.”
“Oh you mean like how the other night was on my terms? Like how I came into your room and made a move on you? Is that what you mean, Sammy?” Brooke moved across the room and stood in front of the fuming brunette. “And I’ve got to say Sam, it seems that you’re the one this is all about. You’re the one that changed the rules and now you can’t handle the fallout.”
“I…I can’t handle the fallout?! What the hell do you know about the fallout?! You know what, Brooke? Get the hell out of my room!” Sam roughly shoved Brooke towards the door, not enough to hurt her, but enough to make her move.
The initial push caused Brooke stumble and she managed to regain her footing before Sam had her completely out of the door. She pushed back against the brunette. “What’s the matter, Sammy? Can’t handle the truth?”
Sam rolled her eyes and shoved away from her ex-wife. “Whatever Brooke…fuck you.”
The temptation to cross the line was too strong for Brooke to resist. “You did, Sammy. Remember? The other night…”
She barely had time catch the brunette’s hand before it collided with her cheek. “What’s the matter, Sam? Did I touch a sore subject? Is that the problem? You don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s the first time it’s felt right in three years?”
Sam struggled against her and Brooke caught her other wrist. “Go to hell, Brooke.”
Brooke let out a harsh laugh. “Been there, done that. Why don’t you just admit it, Sammy?” Brooke pushed back against Sam as she struggled, managing to get the brunette’s back against the wall. “Admit that I’m the only one that knows just how to touch you. I’m the only one the knows just how to make you writhe and moan…the only one that makes you scream.” Brooke pushed her body up against Sam’s, kissing her with all the pent up frustration and anger she’d be burying for the last few days. It was hard and rough and the brunette fought her for a moment before she acquiesced. She moaned deep within her throat before she nipped sharply at Brooke’s bottom lip, causing the blonde to gasp. She thrust her tongue deep into Brooke’s mouth and they both whimpered at the contact.
Sam tasted of liquor and something sweet that Brooke couldn’t quite place. It was heady and only fueled the reckless fire building up within the blonde. She groaned as Sam sucked her tongue into her mouth, the little mewing sounds driving her crazy. She let go of the brunette’s wrists and reached around her, unhooking the lacy red bra and peeling it off of the journalist’s lithe form. She wasted no time latching on to one of the rosy, hardened peaks, ruthlessly biting and sucking one and then the other. Sam’s hands found their way into her hair, pulling at it as she moaned beneath the ministrations. Brooke continued to tease and suck each bud as she reached for the button fly of Sam’s pants and undid them. She pushed the black fabric down to the ground followed by red panties that matched the bra. Sam stepped out of them and pushed impatiently at Brooke’s shoulders.
Brooke slid lower, kneeling before the brunette and moving Sam’s legs apart. If she were thinking clearly and this were any other situation, she would have taken her time and worshipped every inch of Sam’s warm skin, but this was anything but rational and her tongue snaked out past soaked curls, tasting, seeking. She flicked her tongue against the hidden bud before sucking and nipping at it. She moved closer, spreading Sam’s thighs wider as she flattened her tongue and slid it the full length of Sam’s sex. Sam moaned loudly, yanking Brooke’s blonde locks roughly. Brooke lapped up the thick sweetness that Sam produced before turning her attention back to the energized bundle of nerves. She employed a technique she’d learned and perfected long ago. Sam rocked against her, her breathing a symphony of gasps and whimpers and moans. When Brooke took the hardened nub gently between her teeth and flicked it with her tongue, Sam’s breath hitched and her body froze before shudders racked her body and she hissed out Brooke’s name.
The blonde wasted no time sliding up the journalist’s body and turning her until she faced the wall. Sam rested her cheek against it as she tried to catch her breath, which proved to be a futile cause as Brooke thrust three fingers in her from behind. Sam cried out at the sudden assault and the blonde nipped at her shoulder. Communication had never been their strong suit, but they’d always been able to express themselves when they stopped talking and let their baser needs take control. Brooke thrust hard and deep and slow, her grunts masked by Sam’s almost constant moaning.
“Brooke…please…”Sam’s voice was hoarse and Brooke smiled a feral grin.
“Please what, Sammy?” She whispered before nibbling on the brunette’s ear.
“I need….I…please” Sam’s words were frustrated and Brooke knew she wouldn’t continue to tease her. She sped up her thrusts, a light slurping sound filling the air as she slid in and out of her ex-wife with ease. She used her free hand to reach around the front and tease a painfully erect nipple. Sam whimpered, undulating her hips against Brooke’s hand. Brooke leaned forward and bit the juncture where Sam’s neck and shoulder met and felt Sam begin to contract around her fingers as she screamed out her second release.
____________________________________________________
Brooke wasn’t sure how long they stayed leaning against the wall with Brooke slumped against Sam. She slowly extracted her fingers, causing little tremors to move through the brunette. Sam whimpered and moved away, grabbing a pink bathrobe that had been discarded earlier that day. She tied her it tightly around her before wrapping her arms around her middle. She refused to look in Brooke's direction.
The blonde looked over at the woman, knowing this wasn’t going to end well. “Sam…?”
Sam began to shake her head. “No…no…” she said through sniffles.
“Sam…” Brooke walked over to the brunette, reaching out for her.
“No Brooke…no…just…leave…”
“But Sam…we need to talk…” the blonde pleaded as tears began to sting her hazel eyes.
“No, we don’t need to talk. I need to stay the hell away from you. Just leave!” Sam moved away from her ex-wife and began to pace.
“Please Sammy…we need to talk about it…”
Sam’s head snapped in her direction, her eyes flashing. “No WE don’t. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“How can you say that?” Brooke whispered in disbelief.
“Because it shouldn’t have.”
“But Sam…that’s not true…It can’t be…Sam, I love you.” Brooke hadn’t planned on saying it, but now that she had, she didn’t want to take it back.
Sam looked over at the blonde in shock. Tears filled her eyes and she looked away. “Brooke, I can’t…do this. I don’t love you anymore. Please leave.” She sniffled.
Tears were streaming down Brooke’s cheeks and she didn’t even bother to hide them. Sam had just crushed the last bit of hope she’d had and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. “Sammy-”
“I said GET OUT! Leave my room and my house! Get out!” Sam’s anger left no room for argument.
Brooke walked out of the room, sobbing. She packed all of her things out of the guestroom and made her way out the house to her car. She allowed her grief to consume her as she sat in the driveway allowing the last of her dreams to die. As she drove away, she promised herself that she would never allow herself to believe in a “happily ever after” again.