Drabble: Piece of It
Title: Piece of it
Rating: R - The f bomb once! Have I mentioned that I find profanity irresistibly attractive and always essential?
Word Count: 521
Disclaimer: Characters and canon not mine. No one suspected as much, because my name is not Ryan Murphy
Author's Notes: I just downloaded OpenOffice, which is all fine and good and insignificant, but it has this autocomplete feature, so that every time I write "hand", it suggests "handcuffed", and for "most" it suggests "mostly-naked". Makes me want to reexamine my writing style...
Summary: Brooke was amazed, sometimes, at how romantic Sam was. Cake ensues.
Brooke was amazed, sometimes, at how romantic Sam was. She probably shouldn't be surprised- Sam had been writing the sappiest poetry for her friends since childhood- but every time anonymous flowers showed up on her desk, or she found a little note on the back of her work papers, she felt treasured and so utterly loved. Or when Brooke would walk into their bedroom after a long day at work to find Sam on the bed, covered in nothing more than red roses, a portrait of absolute lust. It was inspiring to say the least.
And it was reflection on all of this that had Brooke where she was now. Standing in the kitchen hunched over a bowl, mixing as much profanity into the batter as sugar. Sources said it was “a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake”. Clearly her sources had never met Brooke McQueen. She was more of a books smarts person- theory over application. But still, she swore for every sweet word and unprompted kiss Sam had dropped in the last five years, she would bake this goddamn cake.
“Brooke?” Sam peeked around the corner. She had heard some fumbling and cursing coming from the kitchen when she opened the door. Brooke in the kitchen was seldom a good sign. She rounded the refrigerator to see Brooke staring intently at a bowl of something, surrounded by puffs of flour and chaos. “Put the mixer down before you hurt yourself.”
Brooke was not ready to relinquish her Kitchenaid appliance. “No, Sammie. This is my destiny. I will fulfill it.”
Truth be told, Sam was a little bit scared. Still, she moved forward to stand behind her love, half ready to hold her, half ready to restrain her. “Brooke.”
“I said no. I have to. It's not right.”
Sam's voice softened considerably as she pulled herself against Brooke and tried a comforting murmur from behind. “What's not right?”
Brooke stood straight up, leaning into Sam and just barely letting defeat creep into her voice, “You're always there with flowers and poems and you're so romantic, and I can't even bake a goddamnmotherfucking cake.”
Sam couldn't help pushing a smile into the side of Brooke's neck. “That's what you're worried about? God, Brooke, you're ridiculous.”
The ridiculous blonde in question whipped around, aiming to defend herself, “Ridiculous? I'm trying to do something nice-”
“But you already do.” Sam's expression was set in that half-smirk-but-deadly-serious way and Brooke couldn't speak anymore, so Sam filled in the silence with a low half-whisper, “Every day, I wake up to the most beautiful smile, and these eyes that make me melt, and you lean over and kiss me. And it's a million times more romantic than anything I could ever design.”
Sam watched Brooke's brain explode. She could do nothing more than add another atom bomb as she brought one of Brooke's limp hands up to her mouth and ran her tongue along one batter coated finger, nibbling lightly on the tip.
“Besides, I can think of something I'd much rather eat than cake.”