Hardest Hue To Hold

Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Spoiler: 5.15

Rating: M

Summary: His rich blond hair and stark blue eyes are the antithesis to her chocolate locks and dark hazel eyes, but they fit nicely, almost too nicely.

A/N: Title comes from Robert Frost's "Nothing Gold Stays" poem.

Song: "Shattered" by OAR.


She wakes up sometime during the middle of the night to find that Angie is peacefully asleep in a crib that no doubt once belonged to a Scott baby. In the process of stretching, she accidentally nudges the blond besides her, but thankfully he doesn't awake. Instead, Lucas is heavily asleep, his chest rising methodically with his breaths, but she frowns when she notices that he's still reclined against the couch and his head is hanging off of it. She knows it's going to be painful for him the next morning and feels instantly guilty for barging in on him the night before.

However, she reasons, he had asked her to stay, and usually when Lucas asks something of her, she can't say no. She realizes that she's wide awake and reenergized, instead of being in a sleep filled haze. Ideas for sketches start circling in her head and she realizes her muse is awake too.

Between the new baby and the store, she'd had barely any time to finish sketching anything so she figures inspiration comes so rarely, she's going to take it and rises from Lucas's lap, grabs her sketchpad, and tiptoes into the kitchen.

Coffee is her main incentive, because she knows somewhere Lucas has a small jar of instant French vanilla that she loves and she begins opening several cupboards but comes up with nothing. Frowning, she thinks maybe it's on top of the fridge and sure enough, there's that little jar of instant coffee that calls to her like salvation.

Licking her lips, she reaches up on her tiptoes, but comes up empty. She's too damn short.

She's standing in front of the refrigerator, hands on her hips, thinking if she should use a broom to reach the jar, when suddenly a warm body presses itself against her back and reaches for the jar effortlessly.

She gasps both from shock and from the mere fact that it's been far too long since a warm body was in such close proximity to hers, a masculine body to be more precise, and in the middle of the night no less.

She turns around and finds him smirking, his form still close enough to hers that she can detect a hint of his cologne and the crease in his shirt.

"Looking for this?" He asks teasingly and she lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Yes, thanks." She murmurs and forces herself to move away from him. He doesn't say anything as she familiarizes herself with the kitchen that once used to be a part of her home away from home.

Instead while she's pouring water into the kettle and setting it on the stove, he finds himself thinking how natural this all feels; how it doesn't feel awkward with her being here and using his appliances with such a familiarity, knowing exactly where the cups are, where he keeps the sugar, where he keeps the spoons.

It makes him smile in a strange way, in a way that it shouldn't but does.

In a way, I need a change
From this burnout scene

His mind is entirely elsewhere, she notes, so she doesn't disrupt his brooding until the kettle whistles and she turns it off quickly, so as not to wake Angie up.

Taking a sip of the hot liquid, she inhales the comforting aroma and smiles, "Uh, perfection."

He looks up then, from his position leaning against the doorway, and smirks, "Coffee at 3 in the morning? Only you Davis."

Brooke finds herself blushing and is thankful for the dimness of the moonlight, "What can I say? I must be crazy. For the first time in two weeks, all I hear is silence and I can't sleep."

She chuckles lightly, and adds, "How ironic is that?"

Lucas merely nods and watches her sip her coffee methodically, "It's no big deal." He murmurs, "When Lilly was born, I got so used to her screaming at night, I couldn't fall asleep unless I heard her cry."

They share a knowing laugh, as if they're swapping parenting anecdotes, and in a way they are, because while Angie is not Brooke's biological daughter, she certainly feels like a mother. And she also knows that Lucas will forever feel like Lilly's father figure, never mind that she has Andy for that now.

"Look at us; we're 22 year olds commiserating about our inability to sleep while our kids are behaving. God, we are so old."

Lucas laughs again, but realizes that what she says is partially true.

He does feel old.

He feels like he's lived 100 years in his short life. He feels like every year brought with it new heartache, anxiety, or loss, and suddenly his heart constricts in such a painful way, he feels like he needs to do something about this. He needs to get out of this rut he's in, because if he doesn't, he'll regret it.

Cautiously he approaches her, his movements lithe and Brooke almost doesn't realize he's moving toward her until he's standing just a couple inches away from her.

"I need to ask you something." He says and she wonders why he has to say it from so close by. Why can't he say what he needs to from over by the doorway? That would definitely be better for her mental health, because when he's this close, she can't concentrate on anything else but his eyes, his lips, his smell, god even his upturned nose distracts her.

Another time, another town
Another everything
But it's always back to you

"W-what do you want?" She asks lamely and he watches her gaze, her discomfort building, and he has the faintest urge to cower away, to stop whatever he is doing, before it's too late, before he hurts not only himself but her as well.

He isn't sure what he's doing really. He doesn't understand what's changed between the night before and now. He fell asleep with Angie in his arms and Brooke by his side, but his mind was on Lindsay and how badly he wanted her back.

Then his mind was suddenly on Peyton, their history fleeting through his dreams. It was only when he felt Angie stir, that he realized he was sleeping not next to the two women he'd been dreaming about, but next to a woman who was real, who had connected to him on a level that did not need to be defined by dreams or longing.

It felt solid.

It is then that he realizes what's changed.

He suddenly understands all over again why Brooke Davis has unconsciously become such a huge part of his life. He never had to dream about her or pine after her, because she always opened herself up to him.

He took it for granted in high school, which made her shy away from him temporarily, and once again he took advantage of her vulnerability and kindness when he saw her in New York the night of his book party.

However, knowing how badly he'd damaged the girl in front of him doesn't stop him from standing close enough to her that he can feel the warmth of her body, the vanilla on her breath, and the lavender of her perfume.

As much as she's always been real to him, she's always been as equally desirable.

Not much is changed now, he notes, resisting the urge to run his hands through her cropped, brown locks.

"Luke…" Her raspy voice stretches out his name in the darkness and he swallows harder, he isn't sure if it's okay for him to ask her this, but he does so anyway.

"Why did you come here tonight?"

Her face is a mixture of confusion, shyness, and a smidgen of guilt. It's as if she's been figured out and it worries him that she has something to be embarrassed about; because that would mean she came with ulterior motive, which would then justify his curiosity.

"What do you mean?" She asks voice rising and defensive, "I came, because I needed a friend Luke and I thought you needed a friend too." Her coffee cup is now discarded and her hands are wrapped possessively over her chest, but she doesn't move away from him.

Her resolve is weakening already and he smiles in spite of the sinking feeling in his chest.

He should be worried about her well being, about everything that's going on in her life right now, about how they're both going to be able to recover after this, but he's too far gone to care.

"I don't need friends Brooke. I have enough of those." He says somewhat cynically, emphasizing the word friend as if it's the most hateful thing to have in the world.

Stumble out, in the night
From the pouring rain
Made the block, sat and thought

She wonders where his tone is coming from, but she's not stupid and knows exactly why he's so bitter about everything. She's watched from a distance as every person imaginable has given him advice on his love life ever since Lindsay walked away from him.

She knows he's irritated, because everyone around him keeps telling him to take his head out of his ass and go after what he wants, which presumably means her best friend. At the thought of Peyton, Brooke tenses immediately. She shouldn't be here, she knows that, but she can't move. She's paralyzed by the magnetizing cobalt gaze watching her every action.

"So Lucas, what do you want then?" She asks, half expecting him to smirk and walk away or go into a long winded explanation that he needs to get away from everyone's judgment.

Instead, he kisses her and she's so caught off guard, she freezes in her place, the counter digging into her lower back as she contemplates pushing him off.

The kiss is tentative, almost as if he's beginning her to do just that, push him off, slap him, do something to wake him up from this aroused haze he's in. But she doesn't, because they both know that despite her being brilliant, beautiful, and brave, she's never been strong enough to resist his kisses.

So instead of pushing him off, she pulls him in closer, meshing their mouths together, bringing their bodies closer. His hands grip her hips and she wraps her arms around his neck, granting him access to her mouth.

His tongue slips in effortlessly, as if the last time they'd kissed, truly kissed was five minutes ago, not almost six, like it really was.

Despite the time apart, his lips have never felt more familiar dueling with hers, his hands feel as if they're meant to be holding her, and all rational thoughts fly out the window.

She realizes that as much as he wants her, she wants him just as badly, and through her arousal, so prevalent from the ache forming in between her thighs and the familiar tension rising in the pit of her stomach; she can't think of any reason at all why she shouldn't be doing this.

There's more I need
It's always back to you

Lucas seems to think the same way, because before she knows it, he's hoisted her up on the counter and her legs are firmly wrapped around his waist. When he leans in even closer, she arches her back at the feeling of his arousal against her and suddenly every nerve in her body is awake and humming.

As he runs his hands against the softness of her back, under her tank top, she shudders at the coolness of his fingers and the slight callousness of his skin against her smoothness.

In turn, Lucas pulls away from her and kisses down her jaw, across her neck, and down her collarbone. He pauses then momentarily, only to catch sight of her head thrown back, her hands on his shoulders, and her mouth slightly parted, breathing heavily.

And he thinks he's never in his 22 years seen anything quite as erotic as the sight before him.

It's not generic enough to be described as beautiful, neither is it romantic enough to be gorgeous, instead the only word he can come up with is breathtakingly sexy and doesn't even think that perhaps that's the trouble of it.

That he doesn't think of her as beautiful, but seductive, mind blowing, sexy…

That should be more incentive for him to stop, but he can't, because she's already snaking her nimble hands down his front and unbuttoning his shirt, because her thighs hold him in place like a vice and because he hasn't felt this alive in months.

Not to be outdone, he anxiously pulls the straps of her pink tank top down, her bra follows ,and pretty soon she's exposed to him completely.

The ample swell of her breasts is accentuated by the moonlight streaming in through the window and he groans involuntarily as he leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, circling it with his tongue until he hears that incredibly raspy voice of hers tell him how good it feels. He smiles against her skin and runs his hand up to her chest, rolling the other nipple between his fingers. Her back arches, hands supporting her weight on the counter, as she thrusts against him, creating friction that makes his knees weak.

He thinks if he doesn't stop her erratic movements, he might come right in the middle of his kitchen, without even being inside of her; and at this point that's not the release he wants, the release he didn't know he craved until he followed her in here at 3am.

He pulls back and she lets out a displeasured groan, which causes him to smirk. He drinks in the sight of her, breathing incredibly haggard, her tank top pooled at her waist, breasts exposed and unabashedly moving with the heave of her chest. However, she doesn't let him appreciate the sight for much longer, because her hand disappears inside his unzipped jeans and he suddenly has to lean his hands on the counter, so as not to collapse.

He shuts his eyes while she expertly strokes him, quickly imagining what it would be like if she took him into her mouth, his ruby red lips wrapped around him, tongue lathing sensitive skin.

But I'm good without ya
Yeah, I'm good without you
Yeah, yeah, yeah

Her sensual voice forces him to open his eyes, "Luke, what do you want?" She asks again, echoing her unanswered question, though now in a different context.

"Don't stop." He grits through his teeth, delicious pressure building, but when he sees her smirk, he thinks that perhaps he doesn't have to be the only one in such a compromising position.

He gathers the least bit of strength and roughly disposes of her jeans. Brooke gasps as the marble counter touches her heated skin, but Lucas doesn't give her time to adjust, instead he moves his hand between her thighs and slips it inside her thong, running a finger against her.

She gasps from the shock and pleasure of it all, and her grip on him instantly loosens. Lucas feels accomplished and gently removes her hand from his pants, kissing her knuckles softly while the other begins moving somewhat rhythmically inside her.

He slides another finger inside her and gently presses his thumb to her clit, remembering from what seems like so many lifetimes ago, how much that used to get her off. It seems to have the desired affect, because pretty soon she's writhing on the counter, trying to grip onto anything that could steady her movements, her breath becomes even shallower, and soft pink spots appear on her cheeks and neck.

He knows she's close even without her saying so, that's how attuned he is to her body, to her needs, to her desires. She clenches around his fingers and he wraps his other hand around her breast, massaging gently, stimulating her until she's biting her lip so hard to keep from screaming that he thinks it might bleed.

He takes his hand off her breast and pulls her head closer to him, tracing her earlobe with his tongue, "What do you want Brooke?" He asks huskily, pent up lust and genuine affection clouding his voice.

Through her moans, she manages to reply, "I want to come."

Her words, though incredibly simple, and timid compared to some of the erotic things she used to whisper to him in bed, still make him groan out in frustration, and he leans back in and whispers, "Then come darling, come for me."

And she does, her moans muffled by his lips, as she clenches around him over and over again, bucking wildly against his hand, and not making any apologies.

Seeing her like this, feeling her wetness, knowing he drove her to this state, makes Lucas want her even more, so without thinking, he pulls her thong off, discards his jeans and boxers, which somehow had fallen to his ankles already, and slams into her without warning.

How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around

Her eyes snap open and she bites his shoulder in response. Reeling from her first orgasm, it doesn't take long for her to come again, and with her head on his shoulder, Brooke whimpers as her body gives way to another wave of pleasure.

He feels her tighten around him, her muscles clenching him, and he grasps her hips and pulls her slightly off the counter so he could thrust deeper. Even though she feels exhausted from the aftershocks, she wraps her legs tighter around him, grasps his back closer to her.

His skin grinds into her clit and a new wave of sensations spread all over her body, causing her to meet his thrusts more eagerly.

"Fuck…" He murmurs against her shoulder, "God you feel so good."

Brooke doesn't say anything; instead she pulls him into a sloppy kiss. Both are too lost in the sensation they're experiencing to meet their lips properly and if she wasn't in the middle of this passion filled haze, she would realize that what they're doing isn't even love making, it's sex, it's unadulterated, uncensored, and definitely unplanned sex.

This should depress her, but it doesn't.

Instead it empowers her, because she doesn't feel anything, no regret, no loss, no guilt. For the first time, sex with Lucas isn't about heartbreak, good bye, or anxiety.

It's just them getting what they need and as she pulls herself away from his mouth, long enough to watch his face contort in pleasure as he comes, she realizes she wouldn't have this happen any other way.


Eventually he pulls out of her and carries her to his bedroom. She should protest, but doesn't have the energy to, because the lack of sleep is finally catching up with her.

He pulls the covers over her and returns a moment later with a baby monitor. She doesn't even blink as he slides in besides her and spoons her, so naked and hot against her back.

They don't speak, they just kind of lie there in silence, thinking about god knows what.

Her mind is certainly in disarray and suddenly everything she thought wouldn't bother her when they were in the kitchen does.

She falls asleep thinking much of an idiot she is for letting him take advantage and he falls asleep thinking that this isn't how he'd wanted his friendship with Brooke to end.

Give me a break let me make my own pattern
All that it takes is some time but I'm shattered
I always turn the car around


He wakes up about an hour and a half later to an empty bed and panics impulsively, except then he realizes he isn't allowed to think that way anymore.

They're not in a relationship, hell before tonight they hadn't been lovers for five years, and he has no technical claim over her.

He rubs his eyes and notices the bathroom light is on and the door is slightly ajar. He doesn't bother searching for underwear, instead walks straight into the bathroom.

He finds her hunched over the sink, gripping the porcelain basin, and staring in the mirror.

"Brooke." He whispers almost, and she turns her head.

He's momentarily relieved to find no trace of tears and only a slightly pained look in her eye.

"What are you doing?" He asks and walks over to stand behind her, unconsciously trapping her for the second time that night.

She doesn't say anything for a while; instead she looks at him through the mirror, and secretly admires how their looks compliment each other.

His rich blond hair and stark blue eyes are the antithesis to her chocolate locks and dark hazel eyes, but they fit nicely, almost too nicely.

"We always looked good together, didn't we Broody?" She gives his reflection a half smirk and he nods in agreement, his finger delicately tracing her shoulder through the cotton of the button down she pulled out of his closet.

He watches her suck in her breath as he traces her naked hip and doesn't resist the urge to say something that'll probably earn him a slap,

"We still do." He murmurs against her ear and she finds herself growing aroused by the second. Perhaps it's the fact that what they're doing is so sinister, so raw, so spontaneous, or it could be that she can see his face in the mirror as he continues to seduce her.

I had no idea that the night
Would take so damn long
Took it out, on the street

Either way, she knows she can't stop it now, because within hours of them being together, she wants him again with even more vigor.

She doesn't respond to his comment, simply because it implies way too many serious things for her to want to think about it in the moment. Instead she concentrates on his light touches all over her body, especially those that come close to where she wants them.

He's always been a tease, she notes in a half humorous way, and she used to find it adorable, but now her need has been amplified, and she's done playing games.

"Luke." She says quietly but sternly, not a hint of nerves in her voice, probably because it's too late for hesitation now.

"Yeah?" He breathes against her neck, pulling back the flannel collar to kiss her shoulder, "You know how you asked earlier what I wanted?"

He catches her gaze in the mirror and nods.

"Well I want you." She declares, hands gripping the sink as she leans back into his arousal.

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw as he feels her skin brush against his already hardening length, "You have me Brooke." He replies, pressing himself into her as proof.

"No." She says, "I want you here. I want to see you." She explains and suddenly he understands and with a brief 'okay', he grasps her hips, pulls her back against him, and groans as he slips inside of her with no resistance.

Brooke gasps as he penetrates her, delving slowly inside of her. Seeing his face contort with pleasure once again, she feels her stomach tighten and she grips the sink harder as he begins to thrust.

Lucas can't contain himself and leans his forehead against her shoulder, biting her pale skin lightly, to control the groan that escapes his lips; his hands snake down around her waist and brush against her wetness. She arches against him and he looks up suddenly, wanting to see her reaction, wanting to see how good he's making her feel.

When he sees her looking back at him, her cheeks flushed, eyes wild with lust, and mouth parted, he understands why she wanted this, because the sensuality of it all threatens to undo him before they've begun.

They watch each other as their movements intensify and his hand continues to rub her heated skin in sensual circles. Every so often she'll murmur an obscenity and he feels himself grow hard to the point of aching inside of her.

While the rain still falls
Push me back to you

He keeps his eyes on her the whole time, but when he brushes her sweat soaked hair from her nape and kisses her neck, her body can't take the overload of stimulation and she shutters in his arms, her orgasm overtaking her entirely. She's shaking from within her core and the tidal wave that threatens her footing suddenly reverberates through him and he finds himself holding her tightly against him while he empties inside of her.

Then the room becomes silent.

She's mutely leaning against him, trying to control her breathing as she feels his heart beat frantically against her back, matching hers in speed no doubt.

They don't avert their eyes from the mirror. There's no shyness there, no embarrassment, just calm, and he turns her around in his arms, presses her flushed body against his for the last time, before pulling away and saying,

"Let's get you to bed. Angie will be up soon."

She nods, looking down and lets him lead her to the bed. She crawls under the covers, wrapping the large flannel shirt around her, and he follows suit, but not before pulling on a pair of drawstring pants.


In the morning, she wakes up alone; however, the bed besides her doesn't feel cold and she doesn't feel lonely.

Instead, she feels cozy, rested, and despite the stickiness between her thighs, she feels refreshed and ready to tackle the day.

She decides to check on Angie before grabbing a shower and heading home, so she buttons up Lucas's favorite flannel and walks quietly into the living room.

What she finds there should make her heart melt, but instead freezes her in place. With a half smile, she watches from the hallway as Lucas feeds Angie from the bottle, shirtless no less.

She finds herself appreciating his form in the daylight; the elegance with which his muscles move beneath his skin, his toned chest, and the broadness of his shoulders.

She doesn't even notice him watching her until he smirks and says, "Like what you see Davis?"

Brooke looks up and encounters his sleepy, blue eyes. Suddenly, she feels bad for showing up the night before and ironically not because she just fucked her ex-boyfriend while he's conflicted over two other women, one of whom happens to be her best friend, but because she put him on baby duty.

"Definitely." She replies back cheekily, before making her way over to the baby.

How many times can I break till I shatter?
Over the line can't define what I'm after
I always turn the car around

Angie immediately recognizes Brooke's presence and reaches out her chubby hands to the brunette.

"Hey there baby girl." Brooke coos, as Lucas admires with gentle awe while her mothering side comes out.

He finds that almost as sexy as the swell of her breast exposed through a broken button on his flannel.

There's a large mirror on his bedroom door, which captures the three of them in the living room, and Lucas swears that if someone took a photograph of this moment, they'd think they were the perfect family.

Suddenly, there's nothing more that he wants except for that.

"Brooke." He says softly, catching her attention as she diverts her gaze from Angie.


"I was thinking." He begins, and Brooke replies lightheartedly, "Uh oh."

He rolls his eyes, but smiles. He's about to speak but Angie burps a little and Brooke immediately takes her out of his embrace, "Oh dear, we'd better get you home darling, we wouldn't want you to ruin Luke's carpet would we?" She blows a raspberry on Angie's tummy and settles the baby against her hip.

"What were you saying?" She asks blushingly, realizing she'd cut him off with her baby talk.

"Why don't you stay?" He asks quietly and at first Brooke thinks he means for the day, but then he gives her his signature squinty gaze and she almost wants to laugh out loud.

Instead, her expression softens and she replies, "Luke, you know I can't."

"Why not?" He asks, as if he's a five year old boy, whose mother denied him the new Lego set.

"Because," Brooke sighs and places Angie in her car seat, "Because you and I have been over for years. There's no point in rehashing the past is there?"

Her reply is so calm, Lucas grows angry, "So what? Was this just sex for you?" He spits out irritatingly.

Brooke looks at him for a moment, hands draped over her front, and expression pensive. He thinks she is about to change her mind, but what she says catches both of them off guard.

"It's never just sex between us Luke, but it's never anything more either."

All that I feel is the realness I'm faking
Taking my time but it's time that I'm wasting
Always turn the car around

"What the hell is that supposed to mean Brooke?" He asks accusingly, and feels almost ridiculously childish getting so frustrated over something that happened spontaneously and something that held no promises.

Brooke pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation and walks over to him slowly, "It means you'll get your happy ending Luke." She lays her hand on his arm. He looks at her with such desperation, she almost wants to abandon her train of thought, hug him tightly, and protect him from the demons in the big, bad world. But she knows she won't do it, because Lucas Scott is one of the strongest people she knows, and he'll find his way again.

"Your heart may be flawed physically, but it will heal." She says softly, running her hand over his chest,

"You're strong and you'll find your way." She assures him.

"Yeah," He murmurs dejectedly, "It just won't be with you huh?"

She doesn't answer him, because Angie gets antsy and begins crying, or maybe she just doesn't answer, because she doesn't want to. Either way she moves back into the kitchen to collect her clothes, and doesn't expect him to follow her, because she knows he's an intelligent man and knows deep down that what she's saying is true.

This is why a couple weeks later, when Angie is happy, healthy, and back home, when she's left all alone in her big, empty house, when she receives the fateful call from her best friend, telling her she's in LA with Lucas, about to get married, Brooke is not surprised.

And if it wasn't for the attack the night before, she would be ecstatic, because she's truly happy that the epic love struggle that is Lucas and Peyton has a happy ending. She's not bitter, regretful, or sad, because after all she reasons, you can't really miss something that wasn't yours in the first place…

Don't wanna turn that car around
I gotta turn this thing around