FIC: Just a Little Insight (8/?) Popular, Sam/Brooke
Just A Little Insight (8/?)
By Misty Flores
Teaser: It was the sharp realization, sitting at that dinner table, as soon as Harrison had chosen her and Sam's eyes welled up with tears, that for all her protestations of sisterly love to the world about Sam, she was incredibly, hopelessly, desperately, IN love with her. There was enough difference in that statement to completely destroy any sense of stability she had.
Series: Popular, Sam/Brooke, Brooke/other, Sam/other
Spoilers: Post SII
Notes: Sorry for the delay! All my time is being stripped away thanks to work! :-)
CHAPTERS
Prologue | Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V| Part VI | Part VII
--
PART EIGHT - Without Granting Innocence
An unrelenting shock slid fearlessly into Brooke, the moment her lips touched Sam's.
It was unexpected; in the wake of the sorrow that had ecompassed her before, it was almost too much. Two extremes, that made her whimper and still crave, as her eyes drifted closed and she felt the slippery velvet of soft flesh, teasing her mouth.
The kiss was barely a flutter, and still, her heart began to pound, because it was Sam.
She could feel moist breath, could taste a hint of raspberry, remnants of Sam's lipgloss, and when Sam pressed forward, just the tiniest bit, she shuddered, fingers rising of their own accord, to skim along her cheekbone, palm the side of Sam's face.
Tilting her head, she took advantage of the new position, and with a breathless whimper, hesitantly skimmed her tongue along Sam's full lower lip.
Sam's reaction was instantaneous. With an audible gasp, Sam broke the kiss, forcing her eyes open to discover a beautiful, started face, still underneath her touch, lips parted and moist.
If she said anything now, it would be the wrong thing. She knew it. Her and Sam never did know how to speak without arguing, and at this moment, this very second, if she lost what she had been given, she couldn't handle it. She wouldn't handle it.
"Brooke-"
Without hesitation, she pressed forward, cutting off Sam's breathless statement before it had even really begun. Hips rolling, Brooke curled closer into the other girl's body, until Sam was essentially trapped, mouth moving furiously against her, leg tented over her own.
The groan Brooke heard, swallowed into her mouth, went deep inside of her, and she whimpered in response, fingers threading into Sam's gorgeous brunette hair and forming a tight, desperate fist.
This time, when her tongue slipped into Sam's mouth, it was demanding, relentless, and mated against Sam's feverishly. Hands came up around her, and Brooke shuddered when the she felt palms sliding along her neck, pulling her down, further into the tight body of the woman she loved.
Fumbling, doing what she could to keep her lips on Sam's, she rolled, until hips aligned with hips, breasts with breasts, and Brooke understood the tantalizing appeal of a woman's body.
She didn't remember much about Abby. What she had, were short bursts of furious passion, flashes of heat and anger and drunken determination. There was nothing to savor, and the memory of the night before brought with it the morning after, something Brooke couldn't ever forget.
But this, this was desire, and it created so much heat inside of her, made her desperate and wanton, because when she paused, breaking free for a sucking in of air, it was Sam underneath her, staring up at her with dark, bottomless eyes.
Oh, God.
Sam's palm slid from her nape to her cheek, and when the pad of her thumb brushed alongside her eye, Brooke realized she was crying.
"Brooke," Sam breathed, a sigh of wonder, bewilderment.
With a choked smile, Brooke could only offered a terrified smile. "I love you," she managed, a whispered confession, sincere in the trembling of her voice, in the way her heart pounded.
It was desperate, heartbreaking, and when Sam just stared at her, she didn't care, because finally, she had been laid bare, with nothing left to hide, to the one person who mattered the most.
Sam's hand still lay on her cheek, and she turned, pressing her lips tenderly against the flesh. Sam gasped audibly, and when she looked back, she saw eyes darker than before, a mouth parted. Sam's hand curled around her again, into her nape, and Brooke felt the pressure before Sam's head lifted and she was pulled into a gentle, soft kiss.
Shuddering, Brooke closed her eyes, and when Sam's arms went around her, she fell into her embrace, face burying into the crook of her neck.
Sam held her, and for Brooke, fragile, frightened, lost and found, the world fell away.
--
A curious buzzing against her hip wasn't what woke her, but rather, Sam shifting against her. Eyes opening blearily, Brooke found herself tangled against her step-sister, arms threaded around her, neck trapping Sam's arm, legs entwined.
Sam looked almost apologetic as she moved, and Brooke, still foggy from sleep, edged over inch by inch, until Sam was able to pull her arm out from under her and dig into her pocket for her phone.
Sweaty from the contact, the loss of it left her feeling curiously cold, as she watched without comment, as Sam stared at the caller ID. After a beat, Sam's mouth pulled into a frown, and she pressed her thumb against the sidekick, silencing the caller.
Elbow pressed into the mattress, Brooke eyed her, determinedly curious as Sam glanced at her and purposely stuffed the phone back into her pocket.
With the silence, came a change. Brooke had never been as naked emotionally as she had been with Sam, and now, in the wake of it, she wasn't sure what to do. Fingers tangled together, and she kept silent, eyes darting over Sam.
She could talk about it, if she wanted to, but Brooke wasn't sure what else she could say. Everything that had happened between them, on this bed, had happened because she had made it happen. Sam had yet to respond verbally to any of it.
"We should go," Sam said suddenly, and looked over her shoulder. Arching her neck, Brooke stared at the alarm clock, discovered it blazing at 10:12PM. "It's getting late."
Sitting next to the clock was the oversized champagne glass that had housed Lil' Bleu. In his place, Lil' Bleu Too flipped his tail lazily.
The sudden hurt was hard on her still raw emotion, and Brooke turned back, eyes closing, as she tried to breathe herself back to control.
A palm against her elbow distracted her, and she glanced up to see Sam's thoughtful gaze.
"Did you want to bring him with you?"
Selfishly, Brooke wanted to say no. There was a part of her that was vindictive and petty, and in that darkness, she wanted to leave the fish to his own devices, or at the hands of her over-eager sorority sisters.
Thankfully, it wasn't all of her, and with a painful smile, she cleared her throat, and blinked away the sudden sting of moisture in her eyes.
"Yeah, I should," she said roughly. "They… um… they didn't mean it."
"Who the hell can't fucking feed a fish?" Sam breathed, irritated expression growing, as she thoughtlessly smoothed her hand up Brooke's arm.
The contact left her breathless, and when she stared at it, until Sam seemed to understand what she was doing, and scooted away, untangling her feet in the process.
For some reason, her private devastation at the act embarrassed her.
Brooke knew it was a lot to ask; to know exactly what Sam's feelings for her were. All she really had were reactions, conjectures from close friends and acquaintances. Sam told her she loved her, but ...
The difference between love and being IN love was significant. Brooke had the experience of understanding that a little too well.
As Sam maneuvered off the bed and went to retrieve her jacket from it's place, thoughtlessly tossed on Brooke's, she glanced back at her.
In the small smile Sam flashed, Brooke found both hope and dread.
--
She and Sam weren't ever good at talking. While she could argue no one knew her better than Sam, she also knew that Sam had seen the ugliest parts of her, that Sam was quick to judge and it had taken her step-sister years to let go of the prejudice that she had been engrained with when it came to Brooke and who she was.
It used to make her so mad, Sam's determination to see her as this shallow, image obsessed villain. She had wanted so badly for Sam, Sam specifically, to see her as a person, and sometimes she had lain in bed and stared up at the ceiling and wondered why on earth she cared so much what Sam thought of her. Sam was judgmental and mean, she had horrible hair, she refused to see beyond her own prejudices and she went through half of their sophomore year parading the 'Brooke is Evil' flag that had ruined Brooke's life on more than one occasion.
What she hated more was the fact that sometimes, she proved Sam right. Sometimes her obsession with what she wanted overrode everything else and people got hurt in the process. Harrison. Carmen. Lily. Josh. Sam. Nicole.
A summer in a coma hadn't changed much, and Brooke knew that there was a part of her that was still that frightened girl trying desperately to be liked, but she also knew that this was different.
Whatever her attraction to Sam was, it was real, and over the years, no matter how much Brooke had tried to change it, morph it, make it something manageable, it had only grown into something more. It was both mature and irrational and miserable and ecstatic and twisted and pure and it made her into a different person than she had ever imagined being.
The 405 freeway was congested, but it wasn't horrible, and Brooke kept her gaze on the road, keenly aware of the presence beside her. Brooke's new fish was in a heavy duty plastic bag, and Sam's digits held it in place in her lap.
Brooke didn't know how to start the conversation she was sure they would have to have, and she kept trying, mouth opening and head turning into Sam's direction, before it clamped shut again and she lost her nerve, and just kept driving.
"That was Rebecca," she heard suddenly, twenty minutes away from their home. Sam looked exhausted, slouched in the seat, and the tone of her voice seemed almost resigned. "Who called me before."
"Oh." Brooke tried so hard to be casual and yet, the word croaked out like it had belonged to a toad.
"She told me before I left that if I came after you she wasn't going to be waiting for me when I got back to school," Sam added, and Brooke's heart flared in both hurt and hope. She swallowed hard, and sucked in her breath, wondering why Sam was telling her this.
"I'm sorry," she managed.
Pursing her lips, Sam frowned, and dark eyes shot a glance at her from across the car. "Are you?"
Breath catching, Brooke kept her eyes on the road. "I’m sorry that your relationship had to end like that," she managed, as honestly as she could. "I'm not sorry it ended."
The statement was followed by a pregnant silence, before she looked at Sam and discovered the other girl's eyes closed, sunken back into the seat.
"She called me," Sam reminded her. "While you were loading the car I checked the voicemail. She wants to talk."
The jealousy inside her was ugly, and Brooke tried not to let it into her voice. Sam was being rational, and Brooke had to ...
God, it would have been so easy to be petty.
"Why are you telling me this, Sam?" she managed thickly.
"I don't know," Sam said, and then laughed, this hurt, hard chuckle. "Because you're my best friend."
"And what do you want me to say?"
"I don't know," Sam answered again. "I'm not sure of anything, right now."
Brooke kept driving. Sam didn't say much after that.
--
Jane had kept two plates covered in plastic wrap in the microwave, with a note tacked on the door to help themselves. She had baked a frozen lasagna, and had left them healthy portions, complete with a dried piece of garlic bread for them both.
With a baby, their parents had learned to go to bed early, and the entire downstairs was eerily dark, with exception to the light left on in the kitchen.
Brooke stared at the note, and ripped it off the machine, crumbling it into a ball.
She wasn't hungry.
Entering the kitchen, Sam had changed into a pair of slim back sweats, an old cotton jersey, standard bedroom attire, hair pulled back into a ponytail, revealing a flushed, fresh face.
Brooke hated herself for being struck by the simpleness of her beauty.
Glancing away, she spoke into her hands. "There's lasagna if you want some."
"Are you going to eat?"
She shook her head mutely. "Don't really feel like it," she said, and poured herself a glass of water instead, hip resting against the counter as Sam opened the microwave door and extracted her plate.
"Was Abby really your first?"
Blinking in surprise, Brooke glanced up, discovered intense dark eyes staring at her. Her heart tightened into her ribcage, and her mouth twitched.
She nodded mutely.
Sam closed the microwave door, a little too quickly. Her eyes were on the numbers she was pressing on the digital menu, when she began again, "Do you like her?"
Brooke's smile was a tired, morbid one. "You mean, as a person?"
"You know what I mean."
Yes, she did. Brooke gulped some of her water, and poured the rest down the drain. "I think you're making more out of Abby and me than there was, Sam."
"You slept with her, Brooke," Sam reminded her, like Brooke had to be reminded of that fact.
"Yeah, I did," she breathed, and turned, fingers curling around the marble of the kitchen island, staring darkly at Sam. "And you've slept with Rebecca hundreds of times, I'm sure. What is your point?"
The look on Sam's face was probing. She wore that expression that Brooke had seen more than once, when Sam was going in for a story - looking for the why, not the how.
"Is that why you did it?" Sam asked finally. "Because of Rebecca and me?"
"What are you talking about?" she asked, suddenly afraid.
"Were you jealous?" Sam enunciated.
Suddenly feeling trapped, Brooke glanced at the corridor leading to the stairs. Sam was blocking the path. Brooke's bare feet felt cold. Her toe curled on the tile.
"Were you jealous of Abby?"
It was a stand-off, and just like every other stand-off they had, Brooke didn't want to give in. She had given in so many times already, and still, she didn't know, she didn't understand, what Sam's position was on this. It left her naked and vulnerable and after the day she had, she wasn't in the mood.
Ten seconds, twenty, and Sam only kept staring at her, with that same Sammy look, and Brooke's own want became painfully apparent.
Her step-sister, her best friend, was beautiful, inside and out, just as tantalizing as she was frustrating, and for Brooke, wanting her was like breathing.
In the kitchen, the appliances buzzed and hummed, and Brooke felt her blood rushing along her veins, in their rhythm.
"I asked you first," came the choked answer.
The bitter smile was automatic, and Brooke wondered how much more she would have to give.
"Yes," she said finally, too tired to care about the response. "Yes, I was jealous of Rebecca. I hated her from the minute I heard about her. And I hated myself because I was too scared to come to terms with what I was and who I wanted, and I hated you for being everything I wanted and everything I couldn't ever have. I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you, you and your horrible hair." Shoulders rose in a bittersweet shrug. "I wanted to be your first, Sam," she finally finished, her voice an emotional squeak.
Chin coming down, Brooke didn't look at Sam as she brushed past her, determined to ignore her step-sister and go to her room and indulge herself in a heavy round of sobbing.
The hand latching onto her fingers, yanking her back, was unexpected, and before Brooke quite knew what had happened, she was suddenly pressed flush against the shorter girl.
Brooke was breathless, incapacitated, as she felt tight breasts heaving up and down against her, looked into a brilliant dark eyes, and discovered a parted, moist mouth, a look of startled amazement, and absolute clarity.
Possessive fingers slid up her body, over her shoulders, and against her nape, and suddenly Brooke was pulled down into a hot, amazing kiss.
A warm mouth, a demanding tongue, and the intoxicating taste of Sam were enough to kick in her instincts, as Brooke let out a soft groan, invaded by the simple pleasure of kissing the woman she loved.
Sam moved against her, pushing closer, and the thrill of the feel of her went straight through her, liquefying her insides, as possessive palms instinctually came around Sam, bringing her as tightly against her as she could.
She stumbled, unsure of what she was doing or where she was going, only aware of the lips moving desperately against hers, as if Sam was trying to swallow her whole.
And she wanted more of it. Breaking free, she sighed raggedly, mouth skimming over lips and against a sensitive jaw, until she found herself breathing against Sam's earlobe. The moan she heard was like a shock to her body, and grabbing a fistful of hair, Brooke lost herself, overtaking the other woman to press her against the counter.
As suddenly as Sam had started it, she ended it, with a push of her palm against Brooke's chest, breaking free.
Eyelids heavy with want, heart racing, Brooke stared at her, wild-eyed, as Sam breathed heavily, chest rising and falling against her own.
"Oh, God," she heard Sam whisper, and then suddenly, her beloved scrambled, pushing at her with both hands until Brooke had no choice but to release her.
It was Sam who ran, away from the kitchen and what she had started, and Brooke, weak-kneed, flustered and turned on beyond belief, didn't have the strength to follow.
--
"I heard about Lil' Bleu," said the normally chirpy voice, in a grave, sad tone. "I'm really sorry, Brooke."
In a fleece jacket, Brooke huddled on her porch, cell phone pressed against her ear, a tired, bitter smile curled onto her lips.
"It's okay," she said, tightly, flatly. "I... um... I guess I understand."
"Maria called me in a panic," Stephanie continued, voice low on the other end. "I guess one of the girls called her, no one knew what to do. It was my idea to get you another one, but I didn't tell them to try and slip it to you."
She shook her eyes in morbid amusement. "I guess it was just a misunderstanding."
"Well, I'm guessing from the way your step-sister let loose on them and kicked them out of your room, they got the message."
Shivering in the cold, Brooke stared up at the sky. "Actually, that wasn't why I was calling."
"What's up?" Stephanie said. "You're still coming back on Monday, right?"
"Yeah, of course," Brooke said, rearranging herself when her butt got a little too cold. "I just um... I needed your help with something. Or your, advice, or whatever."
"Anytime, Brookie. What's up?"
Brooke closed her eyes, sucking in her breath, and let it out slowly. "I've been struggling with something, and um... it all kinda came to a head this week, and in light of it, I don't want to hide it anymore."
"Oh, God, do you have cancer?"
Her eyes flew open. "What? No!"
"Breast cancer? You do not have breast cancer, do you?"
"No!" Brooke said, and laughed in reaction, unable to do much else. "No breast cancer!"
"Are you pregnant? You're pregnant aren't you?"
"I’m not pregnant either!"
"Are you sure? Did you forget to take your pill? Because I forgot once, and then I had this scare - it was the worst day and a half of my life-"
"Stephanie, I'm gay." Like a switch, the other end of the line went completely silent. "Stephanie?"
There was a squeak, and suddenly, she heard a meek, "What?"
"I’m gay," she said again, and felt her insides quiver, hearing her say it out loud. "And I don't want to hide it anymore. I'm telling my Dad before I go home, and ... I want to tell the sorority too. I just... I need to hear what you think they'll say."
"Wait. Like, gay? Like your sister gay? As in you like girls."
"I like girls," Brooke confirmed gravely.
"So like... you umm... you're sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," Brooke answered. Stephanie gave a loud, heavy sigh. Brooke's heart gave a painful thump. "That's not going to be okay, is it?"
"What? No, God, Brooke! Of course it is!" Stephanie seemed to finally come to life. "Seriously, it'll be fine. We'll have a meeting and everything!"
"We'll have a meeting?" Brooke repeated.
"So you're gay! Big deal! And you know what? This is good! Because... um... we were looking for a gay girl! For diversity! And now we don't have to! Because we have you! And you're hot and everything!"
Brooke's eyes rolled heavenwards. "That's true," she said solemnly.
"We have the hottest gay girl on campus! That's going to be awesome! Oooh. OOH! And we can have a GLAAD seminar and PFLAAG - and oh, God, Brooke, you being gay is SO much better than everyone thinking you're frigid!"
"They think I'm frigid?!" she squeaked.
"Hazel might have a problem with it," Stephanie mused. "You know her and her old Methodist 'the gays are going to hell' spiel she was touting, but we can deal with her."
Brooke bit her lip, suddenly afraid. "But a lot of them think like that, don't they? What if she gets the parents involved."
"They won't. Look, Brooke, everyone likes you."
"Yeah, but-"
"Brookie, they killed your fish," Stephanie said firmly. "They owe you tolerance, at the very least."
She closed her eyes in a silent wince.
"So wait... was there like... an actual chick that you... in Florida?"
Brooke bit her lip, and glanced back at the house, to the dark window that was Sam's. "Yeah," she answered, her voice low.
"Oh, my GOD!" Stephanie squeaked. "You have to tell me everything. RIGHT NOW."
It was frivolous and stupid and silly, but Brooke realized, she needed it. "It's a long story."
"Oh, like you have anything better to do?"
Resisting the urge to glance again at Sam's window, Brooke bit her lip. "You're right," she answered tightly. "I don't."
--
It was well past three am when she finally stepped into her bedroom, making her way through it aided only by the bright moonlight that covered the room in streaks and shadows.
Pulling off her shirt, Brooke was exhausted, and she was glad for it, when her eyes went to the bathroom that separated her room from Sam's.
She wanted sleep tonight, an escape from the frustration and the want that came with what had transpired.
Brooke was tired, but she was disciplined, so she went into the bathroom and she washed her face, blearily turning off the bathroom light and stumbling into her bed, burying herself underneath the covers.
It wasn't until she opened her eyes and discovered the figure at the end of the bed that she realized Sam had followed her in.
"Holy FUCK!" she squeaked, scrambling back.
"Sorry!" Sam whispered. "Sorry!"
"What are you doing?!" she breathed, her voice an angry whisper.
It was a valid question, and she wanted the answer, but the problem was, Sam didn't seem to know herself. Confronted, Sam could only stare beseechingly at her, and then her step-sister seemed to make some sort of decision.
Without a word, Sam peeled back her blankets, and crawled underneath Brooke's covers.
Too startled to make much protest, Brooke felt like a fish gasping for water when Sam settled against her, head tucked under her chin, arm spread over her chest, leg curled over her thigh. Suddenly wide awake, Brooke stayed completely still, completely bewildered.
"When you were in the coma," Sam suddenly whispered, into the darkness of the room, "I would visit you, and I would lay with you, like this, and I would pretend that you were just sleeping."
Blinking back sudden tears, Brooke didn't say anything.
"I wanted to be there when you woke up," Sam continued, softly. "I wanted to be the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes."
"Sam," she began thickly.
"I wasn't." The arm slung around her shoulder felt suddenly possessive. "I wanted to be your first, and I wasn't."
Sam's voice was tired and broken, and Brooke didn't know what else to do, what Sam wanted her to do.
Drawing her hands up around her beloved, Brooke held her, as carefully as she could, as Sam shuddered in her arms.
--
end chapter
Hopefully the next one will come sooner. :-D