As anybody who reads my other stories know, there are few couples that I haven't touched yet lol. Yet this is one of them, for one reason or another. There was a challenge posted on another board to stretch our creative legs and write a couple we never do, so here's my brathan.
Stains in Satin
"What are you doing to yourself, Brooke?"
She can recognize the sigh; feel the eyes boring into her without even turning around. But she's almost drunk to the point where she can't feel anything at all, and she won't let anyone take that from her. No one. Especially not Nathan Scott.
"I'm having fun," she whirls around, wobbling on the pointy heel of her shoe. Her kohl-rimmed green eyes widened for emphasis, a gleeful smile lighting up her face. It was all for show, and they both knew it. She dropped the act as soon as she'd picked it up, knowing it was a battle already lost. "Remember what that's like? You used to have fun." She slurred, eyeing him suggestively over the rim of her red plastic cup. It matched her lipstick almost exactly, the color screaming against the paleness of her skin. "At least, you did until you chopped off your balls and handed them over to Tutor Girl."
"Brooke…" there was a warning in his voice; the semi-amused smile had dropped from his face. Talking louder, she drowned him out.
"On second thought, that can't possibly be true. God knows Tutor Girl's never come anywhere near a dick before. How is the monk life treating you, Natey?" she made to lean forward, looking intrigued. He hadn't seen an expression that faux-interested since the last time his mom was home and made him watch a Barbara Walters special. That had been four years ago.
"Don't talk about Haley like that, Brooke," his jaw clenched, protective feelings surging through him. It flashed in his light blue eyes, clear as day, but she was too far gone to stop. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her sober outside school in weeks.
"Of course not," she scowled, the ugly expression distorting her pretty face. "Don't ever talk about Haley like that. Not dear sweet precious Haley. Haley and Peyton, protected and loved by all, don't you dare talk about either of them." She laughed, but it sounded far away, and it was all far from amusing. "Brooke on the other hand… just kick her around. It doesn't matter. She's just a drunken slut, who gives a shit about her feelings?"
"Don't say that Davis, you know it's not true," he looked mildly annoyed, and she can understand why. They're two of a kind, and the truth makes people like them uncomfortable. They don't like being exposed and real, not when they can have drinking and drugs and parties and sex and money to hide behind. They love their pedestals and their aloofness, never being too vulnerable. He doesn't want to talk about her feelings, but all the vodka she's downed makes her want to do otherwise.
"You should tell that to your brother," Brooke snorted into her cup.
"Don't call him that," his eyes flare, as do his nostrils, and she can feel him gearing up for a fight. She's too wasted to fight with Nathan Scott, but she just can't seem to stop goading him. It's been like that their entire lives. Scary as he could be, there was something irresistible about pushing the chosen Scott's buttons. Their relationship had been antagonistic from the get-go, right from the very moment she'd stomped on his toes in retaliation for his tugging on her dark brown pigtail. Despite that, they were friends. Friends who tormented each other, friends who flirted occasionally, friends with a boatload of history, but friends nonetheless.
"Now who has honesty issues?" she leveled him with a pointed glare, shockingly intense from someone who had drank about as much as a typical frat boy in the time she'd been there.
"Just because we share some DNA doesn't make us brothers," he spat, but the words sounded very rehearsed. It was as if he were spitting back at her the words he told himself each night, the words that his own father had been drilling into his head since their move to Tree Hill.
"If that's your story," she rolled her eyes yet again, before locking them onto his. Even intoxicated, she felt the spark that had always been there. "So question: is jackass a recessive or dominant trait? The Scott men seem to have it in spades."
"Dominant," he answered with a smirk. "Now, which is alcoholic? Because you could've gotten it from either gene pool."
"Oh, fuck you," she responded, no real venom behind the words. In fact, it would be more unusual if a conversation between Brooke Davis and Nathan Scott didn't include one telling the other that. "Anyway, what brings the reformed bad boy to this festive little gathering?" she gestured to the party, waving her hand around aimlessly.
"Things are pretty rough with my parents, so I'm getting trashed and making mistakes," he shrugged honestly. There had never been a reason for pretense when it was just the two of them. There never had been.
"Where is the old ball and chain tonight?"
She peered through the sliding glass doors, into the cavernous living room of Bevin's beach house. The girl was vapid as the day was long, but she could host a killer party. A lesson most learned early freshman year was never let your significant others attended solo. It never ended well.
"Brooke, we're not married," he laughed loudly, drawing stares from those around. A glare from her sent them all back to their own business. "I'm not getting married any time soon."
"You never know. You could get your marriage license along with your driver's license," she shrugged, delighting in the fact that she hadn't thought about Lucas and Peyton, the two blondes she had loved more than anything, who had betrayed her in the worst way, in a few minutes. It was the longest span she'd gone in a few weeks. "You didn't answer my question, by the way."
"We had a fight. She's hanging out with Lucas tonight," he shifted awkwardly, and she could tell that the mention of Luke made him just as uncomfortable as it made her, as did the flaw in his relationship that he had just copped up to.
"That's funny, shouldn't he be making out with the best friend formerly known as mine?"
"I heard Peyton cooled it with him. She didn't want to lose you," he said meaningfully.
"You know when would've been a really good time to cool it with him? How about while we were dating?" she asked mockingly, taking another hefty swing of her drink. After a few moments, he still hadn't spoken, and she looked inquiringly at him. "C'mon Nate, I heard you were Tree Hill's new resident Good Guy now that Luke's become a womanizing ass. Where's your pearl of wisdom?"
"You won't get preaching here. If Haley did to me what they did to you, she'd be fucking insane if she thought she'd get forgiveness. No way," he shook his head vehemently, but she saw some doubt in his eyes.
"Liar," she whispered hoarsely, feeling emotion building within her.
"What?" he looked up, startled by the question.
"You'd take her back if she kissed someone else. You love her," she stated simply, as if this were a matter of public record, but he looked shocked.
"No I don't," he shook his head slowly. It was hard for him to admit feeling anything. Love was a foreign concept to both of them, him especially. While her parents had merely ignored her existence, his had gone out of their way to make his life a nightmare.
"I know you Nathan Scott, and you have feelings for that girl. You would take her back, because she's sweet and innocent tutor girl. You like knowing that she seems something in you, and you want to keep that feeling," she said.
"And what makes you think that?" he asked, fidgeting under her unwavering gaze. Brooke Davis could lose a buzz faster than anyone he'd ever met.
"That's how I felt about Lucas," her voice cracked with emotion, but she refused to let it out. After taking another shot off the deck behind her, she was much smoother. "At least I did, anyway. But he likes fake blondes better, apparently. Go figure."
"So you would take him back?" he asked curiously, eyeing her intently, from the satin green top that left little to the imagination to the denim riding so low the lace of her panties peeked out. The skin didn't quite seem to glow the way it had before, when she was happy, not even with so much of it exposed.
"Oh hell no," she shook her head furiously. "There are stronger things than love."
That was a theory he could get on board with. For their kind, there was no falling in love. That would mean that you left yourself vulnerable with someone for long enough to give them the power to crush you. Brooke and Nathan were people who had always fought for control, losing it at home and gaining it everywhere else to make up for it. Love is equal, love is a partnership. Love is something neither of them could deal with. Love is feared.
"Like what?" he asked, and he took a rebellious step closer to her. He would prove to her that he wasn't "in love". They knew that they were playing with fire as the air around them became charged. She was hurt, he was taken.
"Pride," she nodded. She stepped in even closer, shaking slightly, as she invaded his personal space. Her mouth trailed dangerously close to his ear as she whispered her next word. "Lust."
Her lips trailed along his neck, stopping to suck at random points, kissing at others. Reaching the collar of his white polo, she vaguely registered that this might be wrong. She knew the pain of losing love, why cause it for someone else? But more strongly, she knew the pain of being alone, and if he was willing to assist her in pushing that away for just an hour or two, that was fine by her. And he certainly seemed willing.
"That's going to stain," she giggled slightly, drunkenly, nervously, as she eyed the crimson of her lipstick against the stark white of his shirt. He stared at her, his clear blue eyes darkening to almost black. His large hand reached out, crashing those lips against his own, as her legs latched around his waist. He pressed insistently against her, but she pulled back for just another second, mumbling words before diving back into him.
"This will stain."
She wasn't just referring to the shirt.