A/N: Episode 5x05 is tomorrow night, the episode all of us BLers who have been spoiled are waiting for. Now those of you who haven't read spoilers might be confused by the beginning of the story. Basically, this takes place about a year after graduation, and Lucas has come to New York and spent the evening with Brooke. They go to a bar and he shows her the ring that was meant for Peyton, although Peyton turns down the proposal. The bartender assumes they are engaged so they use the fake engagement ruse to get free drinks around town, and are now in Lucas' hotel room.
Thank you to Leah, who read over a part of this for me. And OF COURSE to Chey, who helped me with the sequence of this story. And lastly, to Lynn, who has been here since the beginning, and has helped me with a bunch of lines and the story as a whole.
Oh, lyrics by Snow Patrol.
I Forgot to Remember to Forget
I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
He's sitting down on the bed, his short hair mussed, with a dark hazy look in his eyes, and to her, he just looks so broken. And it makes her scared, because she's never seen that coming from him before. He used to be her rock – he used to always know what to do.
Things don't seem nearly as lighthearted and silly now that they're off the loud and busy streets of Manhattan at midnight. The hotel room is quiet – the light is dim, and it's now that Brooke realizes she's not as drunk as she should have been to have spent the whole night pretending to be engaged.
The ring feels heavy on her left hand, and all of a sudden she feels an overwhelming guilt come over her. It's not meant for her. It wasn't picked out for her. What started as a joke and a ruse to get free champagne has all of a sudden turned into something much more serious. Because he's looking at her, and for some reason the dark, hazy, lost look in his eyes has disappeared and now all she can see is an out of place hunger that's emitting from his baby-blues.
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done
And I can barely look at you
But every single time I do
Her presence makes her seem younger than she has the entire time he's known her. Even back when she showed up naked in his backseat. He doesn't know what the past year has done to her, but the 19 year old Brooke Davis looks more lost than he's ever seen her. And despite the fact that she looks so confused, but only mildly tipsy, there's some energy in the air that is making her look so sexy to him.
She's standing in the middle of the room in her black dress that extends to her knees, with the yellow fringe and thin straps at the top, and her hair that she's cropped to her shoulders but hangs perfectly straight around her face. And neither of them has said anything since he's sunk onto the bed. But the words come spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them.
"You look so beautiful." They tumble out, and he's slurring a bit and probably sounds like a dumbass, but she looks startled and touched at the same time. And she looks at the ring, and seems to make a decision, because all of a sudden she's walking over to the bed and pushing him backwards.
His head hits the pillow and he feels her stilettos on either side of him as she straddles him. Then she freezes, and he wonders if she's regretting her forward behavior.
Impulsively he sits up a little and leans in. And that's when she curves her head around his, closes her eyes, and lets her lips fall onto his.
There's a pause, and Lucas feels her tense up a little, while keeping her lips attached to his. But then he takes the plunge, slipping his tongue into her mouth.
She instantly responds.
I know we'll make it anywhere
Away from here
It's a whirl of emotion as he groans against her open mouth and the haste and speed at which they're kissing almost scares Brooke. She's not supposed to want him, their journey was supposed to be over in high school. They were both supposed to be just left with the memory of being each other's first loves.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She never wanted to become this girl – the one who betrays her best friend. But, oh god, the feeling of his tongue and lips against hers is too good, and by the way he's responding, she wonders if all thoughts of Peyton have escaped his mind too.
Part of her is kissing him because she wants to take away the pain she saw in his eyes earlier.
She pushes him back once more, and her hands wander to the claps on his shirt. Lucas looks at her with such a shocked expression – as though he hadn't managed it to go so far. Or maybe he's shocked because her hands are shaking and she can't seem to undo one button.
He puts a hand over hers and she's startled by the touch, but the jerky movement of her hands has stopped, and now she's managed to pull open the fabric of his shirt, and her hands come to rest on his chest.
When their lips meet again the kiss is slow, soft, and full. She keeps a hand on his chest and feels warmth radiating from his skin.
And now he starts to touch her.
Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear
Brooke is already straddling him, so the fact that his hands begin to wander up the smooth skin of her legs is almost inevitable. He traces patterns in her porcelain skin, and brings one hand up to savor the curves of her back and hips, from outside the dress.
His other hand slips under the fabric of her dress, and he rubs the soft skin of her inner thigh. It's now that the kiss speeds up, and he feels the heat from her lips as her tongue battles with his for control.
Brooke's hand are already all over his chest, and, taking a chance, he gently slides his hand down the front of her dress, cupping her left breast. She breaks the kiss for a minute, leaving her forehead against his with her eyes closed, and as he kneads her breast in his hand, she exhales hot air in quick breaths.
The next few minutes is a tumult of hands against warm skin, and hot open mouth kisses, and when she finally pulls away, he's shocked to find that he's disappointed. Lucas opens his eyes to look back into her soft hazel ones, and he's surprised to see a glimmer of sadness in them.
She breaks their gaze, and slowly climbs off of him, readjusting her dress as she goes. He sits on the bed, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, chest exposed. Then she turns around, her hair whipping around as she goes, muttering something as she quickly leaves the room.
He stands up and follows her into the foyer of the hotel room. "What?" he asks, his voice hollow and cracked.
She turns to face him, and he's shocked to find that she has a confused blush on her face. "I said I'm sorry," she speaks up more clearly. "That was dumb, and I'm sorry," she repeats again, going in circles, tripping over her words. "Look, Luke, I…" she stares up at him for a minute, and he gets lost in her hazel eyes, before she breaks the gaze. "I should go," she continues, pulling the door open.
"Brooke, wait." He snaps out of his reverie and grabs a hold of her wrist. He feels her tense in his grasp, but she pauses in her determined move out of the door. "You should stay," he chokes out, and her eyes widen and he realizes what that must have sounded like. "I mean, it's late," he continues quickly. "I don't want you alone on the streets this late at night." The excuse is lame, he knows, but he's also shocked to find that she doesn't object, just nods and closes the door softly.
And we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak I understand
Why you can't raise your voice to say
The digital clock reads 3:04, and Brooke pulls the stark sheets closer around her body. The room is bathed in darkness, the only light emitting from under the bathroom door where Lucas is brushing his teeth.
He's only about 10 feet away, but Brooke feels lonely in the empty bed. And this loneliness makes her stomach feel sick, because she's getting that same clingy and attached feeling she used to get whenever she was around him. Which, in her opinion, is what ruined her.
It was only one kiss.
Sure it was hot and lasted 3 ½ minutes, but Brooke's never been one to get worked up over one kiss. And even as he exits the bathroom, and she shuts her eyes tightly so he thinks she's asleep, and as he crawls into bed next to her (not far away, but not too close), even though he is mere inches away from her, she still feels lonely.
To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
It's 3:30 in the morning, and Brooke has drifted off into a blissful sleep. He watches her from his side of the bed. She had declined his invitation to let her wear a t-shirt of his, and the fabric of her dress pools across the bed, and she's already kicked the sheet to her ankles. He's always marveled at how still she sleeps, how steadily her chest rises and falls with her breathing.
There's some dull pain in his chest that's been aching since she pulled away from the kiss. A nausea that he can't describe, because if he were to guess what it was, even he would consider himself crazy, because he could not be falling for Brooke again.
The other day, sitting on the bus home to Tree Hill, ring box in his pocket, it had all seemed so simple. Peyton. Peyton. Peyton. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed goldilocks he had fallen for. The one who understood how upset he was when he couln't get tickets to see Slow Runner. The one who let him sit for hours and watch him draw. The one who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
With her, it was easy. To the rest of the world they were soul mates, and spending the rest of their lives together was inevitable. But he was shocked, when she turned him down, to not find the same irreplaceable numbness that he had experienced when Brooke left him, but a simple sadness that could be fixed with just a few drinks.
And tonight, tonight. Locked in the embrace of a girl he thought he had lost a long time ago. A broken girl who, when she broke the kiss and looked so sad, it made him sad too. An independent girl who had kissed him to make him forget the pain that was so masked by the alcohol that he didn't feel it anymore. A sexy girl that turned him on the instant she crawled on top of him.
He can't explain it, and he doesn't want to. So instead, he reaches out, and begins to touch her again.
At first he lays a hand on the exposed skin of her shoulder, and begins to stroke her arm softly. She rolls over onto her side so she's facing him and lets out a little sigh of contentment in her sleep. He touches her face, the tip of her nose, outlines her mouth and feels her warm breath on his fingertips.
When he drops his hand to her neck, she scoots closer to him and subconsciously lays her hand over his, snuggling up to his arm. He smiles, but he's getting that same aching feeling inside of him that he got when she pulled away. He wants to touch her more.
What is wrong with him?
His hands are already moving up her leg before he is even aware of them, tickling the porcelain skin of her thigh underneath her dress. And as he inches his arm further upward, moving even closer to her as he does so, he sees her eyes flicker under her eyelids and then open.
"Luke?" she sounds confused. "What are you doing?"
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do
She was awake before she opened her eyes, fully aware that someone was touching her, but wasn't really comprehending the situation until she locked her gaze with his.
He pauses in his movements, but still keeps his hand on her thigh. And then she feels his hot breath on her neck, and she completely falls apart on the inside.
Their lips meet in a fast kiss, and she can just barely see the contours of his face from the outside city and moonlight casting a soft shadow across the bed. His mouth is dry when she slips her tongue inside, but the nervousness she had earlier has faded away.
She isn't even drunk now.
His hand is sliding further up her thigh, and when his fingers brush across the lace of her underwear, her breath hitches in her throat. But then he pauses, and she opens her eyes, her hand cupping the back of his neck, and meets his gaze.
She wonders if he feels the same guilt she does – because if they continue now, they can no longer blame it on the alcohol. And in an instant, he pulls her up, and she straddles one of his legs and meets his lips in a new kiss.
He's teasing her, touching her everywhere but where she needs him to, and she has to wonder whether he's just scared to completely let go of his conscience. Or maybe he just doesn't want her.
But then she moves farther up in his lap, and amidst the kissing and the long-suppressed sighs, she can feel him hard against her leg and wonders how long they're going to continue like this.
As soon as his fingers slide along the fabric on the inside of her dress and come to rest on the ink lining of her tattoo, she lets her inhibitions go. She won't play nice anymore.
We don't have time for that
"God, Luke, you still make me so wet."
Her kisses are hard and fast against his mouth, and those words are all the permission he needs. His fingers move aside the fabric of her underwear and he gently begins to stroke her.
When he touches her at first, she lets out a moan, low and raspy, and it drives him crazy. But soon she breaks the kiss, lying her forehead against his. She wasn't lying – she was wet, and he slips a finger into her with ease.
Her breathing is long and steady at first, but as he picks up speed, it becomes shallow and heavy, and her hot breath tickles his face. She runs her fingers through his hair and he extends his other hand to massage her breast through her dress. She presses herself farther down onto his lap, and he can feel his hard-on rubbing against her bare leg through his pants.
He slips another digit into her, and searches every inch of her with those two fingers. He can feel her tightening around him and he opens his eyes and sees that hers are screwed shut. He can feel her sharp nails running across his bare back.
"Luke…" her words are barely audible, but god, it still kills him to hear her say his name.
All I want is to find an easier way
To get out of our little heads
The world is fading away, and all she is aware of is Lucas. His hand in his hair, his lips on hers, his other hand inside of her.
Inside of her. God, all she wants is him, and as the heat pools through her body and his fingers move across her center, something inside of her releases, and he holds onto her tightly as her body shudders and she's reduced to a pool of sighs and moans.
He gently removes his hand and holds onto her body, absorbing her heavy breathing with his strong form. But before she even has time to catch her breath, she's pushed him backwards, and dragged her lips across his once more.
Because now she wants all of him.
Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
He wonders how they got like this. In these quiet moments when she unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants, and all he can feel, taste, see and hear is Brooke. How they ended up like this. Were they two ex-lovers who simply fell into bed together because they were both trying to take away each other's pain?
He likes to think it's more than that. Because after only a minute or two, he's pulled off her dress completely, and she's discarded his shit and pants, and their underwear has disappeared somewhere. And she lies beneath him, her heated body pressed up against his, and there's a moment.
He lays a finger across her cheek, and she closes her eyes, and he can swear he sees a tear slip out of the corner of her eye. It's this sudden silence after minutes of heated kisses and long suppressed touching.
"We don't have to do this, you know," he says, brushing his lips against her ear. He wants her so fucking badly but he was the one who initiated this, and he wants to make sure she won't regret it.
She opens her eyes now, and he sees words being formed at the tip of her tongue as he positions himself over her.
"I missed you," she whispers.
And then he falls into her.
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess
This isn't what she expected, and she realizes, in the midst of her moans and their kisses, that she can't categorize this as a drunk screw.
Because every time he outlines her tattoo with his fingers, and every time he whispers one of a thousand nicknames into her ear, and every time he pressed his lips right above her collarbone where she loves to be kissed, she remembers.
She remembers that they have a history, and she remembers how good it feels to say his name, so she repeats it over and over.
And as he presses himself into her, long and hard, over and over again, as her walls clench around him, as he holds out long enough to bring her over the edge with him, and as he collapses on top of her in a mess of tangled limbs and heaving bodies, she remembers how good it feels to be with him.
Something in his eyes tells her that he remembers too.