Disclaimer: Do you even have to ask?

A/N: I've been dying to do this chapter for awhile now. Let's hope it well-received by you awesome reviewers. Also, Brooke speaks French in this chapter, and if any of you are from France, or Canada, etc, then please feel free to correct it. I know less than nothing about the language. ;) Review!

Chapter 5: Paris, Je T'aime

"Come on," Brooke shouted out as she impatiently patted her foot against the cement floor. "We miss this flight and you won't hear the end of it."

Lucas came stumbling behind her. He was struggling with the four luggage bags he'd been forced to carry. One was his. The other three belonged to his fashionista girlfriend. "I'm here," he said, sounding reasonably exhausted.

They checked in their bags and went through security before wandering through the hectic airport with Brooke leading the way. She stopped suddenly in the middle of a hallway, eyeing the numbers around them.

"This our gate?" Lucas questioned, nodding to the ugly, blue seats in front of them that were lined up in a practical, airport pattern.

Brooke snickered. "Please. Brooke Davis doesn't do coach." She nodded to a secluded corner, where a set of doors read Private First Class Lounge.

Lucas chuckled to himself. Of course. New York's elite was all about the luxury, even if it came at exuberant prices.

He gestured politely to her. "After you." He smiled excitedly as she stalked off in front of him, high heels clicking loudly as she went.

He still couldn't believe that they were leaving the fucking country. He'd never been further than Mexico, and even that trip had taken place years before when he'd still been in college.

There were a ton of perks to dating Brooke Davis, the fabulously rich owner of Clothes Over Bros, but this took the fucking cake.

He was about to leave on an all-expense paid trip to the fashion capital of the world, Paris-fucking-France. And to say he was intensely looking forward to it would be the understatement of the millenia.

Europe would be a magical place, he could feel it. Him and Brooke had already managed to stay together for awhile now, but he somehow felt like this trip would deepen their relationship. Seal their bond or whatever. It was the city of romance, after all.

The anticipation was killing him as he staggered into the lounge behind Brooke. The place smelled like roses and freshly-baked pastries. He sat down opposite her in a squishy, comfortable seat. Two brightly-colored mimosas were instantly brought to them by the staff.

"Think you can relax now, Broody?" Brooke asked as they waited to board. She was goading him, but he'd take the bait anyway.

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "I have fun," he argued.

"Sure, you do." She patted his shoulder. "Lucas, you're like the most serious guy I've ever met."

He took a healthy sip of his mimosa, proving his point that she was wrong in that analyse. "Let's change that." He leaned forward, pulling her chin toward him, and kissed her as hard as physically possible and with a deadly passion.

She pulled away, dazed to the extreme. She smiled blissfully, allowing his hands to wrap all around her in true boyfriend fashion. "I'm going to hold you to that."

The flight sucked major ass. It took over eight hours of in-flight time before they arrived at Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport. They were jet lagged and partially hungover. Not the best start to what should have been an epic vacation.

They took a private car to the hotel, which was actually a five-star castle that Brooke had rented out the entire top level of.

Lucas could barely keep his eyes open as Brooke checked them in. An overly-helpful employee helped them get their bags to the room and offered numerous trip tips about what the young couple should do while there.

The room was beyond Lucas' expectations. It was huge, spacious, but still well-decorated. There were old-fashioned, renaissance-esque tables and closets. There were chandeliers, a balcony, and more windows than Lucas had ever seen before in one place. It was heaven in a hotelroom.

"Merci pour votre aide. Je l'apprécie vraiment," Brooke articulated with a flawless accent to the helper before she sent him on his way with a generous tip. Her words held no proof of any American ties at all.

"Je vous remercie, mademoiselle," the man replied. "Profitez de la journée."

Brooke smiled gratefully. "Vous aussi."

"You speak French?" Lucas questioned as the bellhop left the room.

"I'm fluent actually." She watched as Lucas made an impressed face. It was clear that he hated constantly feeling inferior to her. "Luke, it's not a big thing. It's second nature for high fashion designers to know French. I speak Italian, too."

"I took high school Spanish," was all Lucas offered.

"Oh, well. Te estás divirtiendo?" Are you having fun?

Lucas suddenly felt inadequate with his answer of "Si."

"Luke," she reprimanded at his general lack of enthusiasm. "We're having fun. Remember? No brooding, Broody."

He nodded mutely before plopping down on the canopy-styled bed. "How about we sleep first?"

Brooke giggled. "How about something a little more physical?" She jumped on top of him.

His eyes jerked open. He was awake now.

Brooke pulled a fourth dress over her head and tossed it to the side, groaning audibly. "I brought nothing to wear barhopping," she declared loudly to the unnervingly quiet room.

Lucas' eyes blinked open. He rubbed his forehead as he slowly moved into a sitting position. He looked across the room to see that Brooke was standing in front of a full-body mirror trying on various dresses that all looked equally flattering and sexy on her. It was impossible to look anything but.

"How long did I sleep?" he asked tiredly.

Brooke met his eyes in the mirror. She sucked in a breath, appreciating his naked chest. "Ten hours," she finally told him. "Give or take. It's night now. Time to make the most out of my scarce free time. Starting tomorrow I have to be working on my show."

"More fashion shows," Lucas grumbled.

"You knew the deal," Brooke started. "You and I go on a free trip, but I have to work."

He pulled himself out of bed and walked over to her. His hands slowly encompassed her waist as he stared at their reflection. They looked damn good together. Brunette with blond. Blue eyes with hazel. "Let's make the most out of tonight then. No wasting time picking clothes. I know you have the perfect outfit with you. You did bring three suitcases."

Brooke smiled conspiratorially. "Two for me. The last one's for you."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "I brought my own."

"I know." Brooke clapped her hands together excitedly. "But you needed suits and I was happy to make them." She ran across the room and opened a closet. She pulled out a classic Brooke Davis original tux. "Here you are." She tossed it over to him.

It would easily be the best clothing ensemble he owned, he realized while inspecting it. He quickly changed into it, coming back out to parade it in front of its maker.

Brooke had changed herself. She now wore a stunning red dress that reminded Lucas of the devil. For some reason, he just thought it was missing feathers.

"You look great," he told her honestly.

"Back at you." She grabbed her purse and walked to the door. "I heard about the haughtiest bar that just opened downtown." She saw his skeptic look. "If you get bored, then you can bitch about the other guests." Her eyes glimmered.

He smiled at her, and followed her out to the waiting car below. "You got yourself a deal."

"This is from the man at the end of the bar," the well-dressed bartender announced in a thick accent as he presented a glass of Veuve Clicquot.

Brooke's eyes drifted to the location mentioned, spotting a sexy, scruffy French man. He lifted his own flute in the air and saluted her before bringing it to his lips suggestively.

"Fucking foreigners," Lucas muttered under his breath as he watched the exchange.

Brooke turned back to him, an edge to her stance. "Jealous?" Her tone was accusing but light.

He shook his head. "I just fucking wish we could go out once without you getting hit on."

Her eyes brightened. "So you are jealous." She twisted around again, facing the bartender. She pushed the glass back toward him. "Send it back," she ordered. "I'm off the market."

Lucas was stunned but undeniably thrilled at her response to the stranger. She was off the market. Damn right.

She shrugged at Lucas, noting his obvious approval. "What? He wasn't that impressive." She sounded indifferent.

She felt a tingle up her spine as Lucas placed his hand on her middle back, right in the most sensitive spot.

"Do I impress you, Brooke Davis?" His hand slid lower.

She squirmed slightly. "Hardly."

His hand rested there, while his other hand closed around her hip. He narrowed his eyes sexily, staring into hers. "You want to rethink that answer?"

Brooke scoffed. "'Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another.'"

"Anaïs Nin." Lucas remembered the quote. "You know a lot about French feminist writers?"

"Enough to understand that they knew what they were talking about."

She pulled away from him and saluted the bartender, who immediately brought over an entire bottle of champagne. Brooke grabbed it from him and began to down the alcohol straight from the bottle.

"Slow down there, tiger," Lucas warned in a half-serious, half-joking tone.

She pulled it away from her perfect lips and handed it to him. "Your turn," she ordered happily before hiccupping.

When she noticed Lucas was about to protest, she kissed him, sending the delicious, bubbly taste into his mouth. He'd have no choice but to follow any directions she ever gave him. It went with his basic instincts.

He downed a gulpful and immediately felt its dizzying effects. He shook himself, already feeling more wild.

"Let's dance," Brooke ordered, swaying at the alien beat that was both understated and popping in the background. "Come on, Lukey-Luke." She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the dance floor, and then drank even more.

Lucas danced lamely since he lacked any sense of rhythm, but Brooke was a pro and made them both look good. She danced around him, twirled in his arms, and grinded against him. It didn't take long to catch the attention of every unattached man at the bar, which Lucas unhappily realized was all of them.

Lucas was really reminded of the club in New York. Maybe they could have sex in the bathroom of this place too, he wondered. That would show the damn spectators she was fucking taken.

But for some reason he decided that now would be a good time to lay everything on the table. Lucas took the deepest of deep breaths, building up his courage. "I have to tell you something, Brooke." His expression was unreadable.

Brooke turned expectantly to him, lifting her head from his shoulder, a suspicious glint now obvious within her stunning dark eyes. "What?" she snapped.

"You remember those things I had to do during your last show?" He watched as her expression darkened even more. "It's not what you think," he clarified instantly, knowing she assumed it was much worse than it actually was. "It wasn't just a thing. It was a meeting with a publishing house."

"A job interview?" she inquired, confused at best.

He nodded to confirm. "After I was fired from Putnam & Pratt, I tried calling every other publishing house in all of New York. Only one gave me an interview—"

"And you missed it?" Brooke swallowed angrily, stepping away from him. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."

Luke felt guilty. "I know. I'm sorry. But after what you said—"

His accusing comment pissed her off even more. "I don't deserve to be lied to, Lucas. No matter what."

"I know," he said again. "But, Brooke—"

"You can't fuck this up with all your half-truths—"

"Brooke," Lucas moaned, needing to finish his point. "You called me an unemployed and nearly homeless nobody."

Brooke averted her eyes, ashamed for once. She'd forgotten about that.

"And I know I don't need any more reasons to feel inferior to you," he continued. "You're intelligent. You're gorgeous. You're wealthy. You're famous. You've got your whole life together, and I'm a fucking mess, and even you knew that from the moment you first met me. I just wanted to impress you for once."

Brooke remembered their earlier conversation from that night. Luke hadn't been teasing her when he'd asked her if she was impressed by him. He'd needed to hear it. "You think I have my life together?" she asked him, clearly surprised to hear that. "Luke, I'm twenty-five and I've never been in a healthy, lasting relationship. I haven't spoken to either of my parents in years. My free time is spent partying in clubs by myself, drinking booze, and hooking up with randoms, even at my work place. Does that sound very put together to you?"

Lucas looked surprised to hear her revelations. "Are you saying we're both fuck-ups?"

She nodded. "Complete and irrevocable fuck-ups, but maybe that's why we work together. We have so much baggage and regret and damage, but so far we've stuck this out. Maybe we can get through it all together—all that shit that life throws at us." She sounded shy and nervous, like his next words held an impossible weight in their relationship.

"I already told you." He moved closer to her and pulled her into his arms. "I'm in this relationship, all the way. I want that whole exclusive, mushy, handholding love that sometimes seems impossible, and I want it with you."

Brooke shivered. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

He answered her doubt in the form of a kiss, holding her face to his as if his life depended on their close proximity. "Let's get out of here." He searched her eyes.

She was so lost in his words that she couldn't reply right away. Her breathing was fast as she became more and more turned on. "Let's fucking hurry."

Brooke and Lucas slammed through the doorway of their hotelroom, a mess of limps as they devoured the other with their lips.

He pushed her down to the bed as soon as he could, and happily recalled that this was already their second time having sex just that day, and before the night was over he was determined to go for round three.

Lucas' hands found the hem of her dress. He began to pull it up but the few seconds it was taking to fully remove the article of clothing caused him an impossible amount of sexual frustration. He opted to quicken the entire process when he ripped the dress up the middle.

Brooke made a small noise of complaint that quickly dissipated when she laid in front of him completely naked. He gave her this look that was so demanding, so desperate and immediate that she shivered for a second time that night. She needed him inside of her now.

Her hands found him in the dark and moved to his collar, begging to abolish any obstacle that kept them even a millimeter apart. They were so close now you couldn't tell where Lucas began and Brooke ended. He towered over her, kissing at her bare skin as she made multiple noises of desire.

Lucas groaned loudly when she rolled them over until she was on top. She trailed kisses down his chest to his happy trail before pulling off the pants she'd made especially for him. His boxers went next.

She sank onto him, wincing at first before she began gyrating against him. They kept a constant pattern for a few minutes, building in speed every so often.

But after awhile, Lucas felt that surge of testosterone that demanded control. He grabbed Brooke's perfectly curvy hips, pushing her around until she lay on bottom. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he thrust into her.

They'd had sex before, obviously, but this time felt different. It made them both feel complete as they continued their kissing, never breaking in that touch. This was something deeper—an unforgettable, incomparable physical and emotional connection.

This was love.

They each felt the build up as Lucas went harder and harder until they both reached their releasing climaxes.

Brooke and Lucas both felt limply against the bed, unmoving in their closeness, but Lucas was suddenly nervous about that fact. His mind was in overdrive with worry over their relationship. He needed to make them work now. Brooke deserved someone amazing, and he hoped that was him.

One thing was certain: he fucking loved Paris, but only because he fucking loved Brooke.

One Week Later:

Lucas walked into his apartment. He couldn't believe he now thought of this place as his own.

There was no Clay around to welcome him back. He was fucking lucky.

The rest of the week of their vacation had gone smoothly. Brooke had spent her days working, while Lucas would spend the dayside experiencing the fine arts and museums that only Paris had to offer. And then they would ring in each evening with a dinner, perhaps a drink or two, and ultimately by making love.

In simple terms, it was perfection to every degree.

He'd hated having to part ways at the airport just minutes before, but she had a business meeting and he had to recover from a week spent with the sometimes incorrigible Brooke Davis.

He threw his suitcase down and laid on his bed, desperate for sleep. He almost got it too until his phone began to ring annoyingly loud next to him.

"Yep?" he answered uncaringly.

"Lucas Scott?" a feminine voice demanded.

"That's me," Lucas answered uninterestedly.

"This is Lindsey Strauss from Putnam and Pratt Publishing House. We'd like to offer you your job back."

Lucas pumped his fist in the air, reeling from newfound excitement. Had he heard that correctly? Lindsey Strauss, the daughter of one of the higher ups, was calling him to offer him his job back.

"We're so sorry for the inconvenience we've caused, Mr. Scott."

Mr. Scott? He'd always been referred to as that-one-guy during his brief two months of employment there. What the fuck was going on?

"We'd of course be willing to compensate for any loss of salary and offer a full-range of benefits," she continued.

Fuck yes. How did this happen?

He worked to sound aloof and composed, like this wasn't a huge fucking deal. "I think we can make that work."

"Great." Lindsey sounded relieved. "Please be here early on Monday and we'll work out all the details."

Lucas didn't have to think twice before agreeing. "I'll be there."

"I'm so glad." She actually sounded it. "Please apologize to Miss Davis about this little misunderstanding. We made sure to clear it up as soon as she brought it to our attention."

So that explained it. Brooke had somehow meddled, presumedly using her status, to get him his job back.

"I'll give her the message," he said quietly before hanging up. He grasped the phone tightly in his hand before throwing it against the opposite wall.

Now only one thing was certain: Brooke had intervened and Lucas was fucking infuriated.

A/N: So as promised, there will be repercussions now that may damage our dear Brucas, but stay tuned. And when I said that I wasn't sure what my endgame would be it was because I want to keep ya'll guessing. But rest-assured, this story is ten thousand percent Brucas, and the ending will be, too. Let's just hope it's a happy one. ;) Also, I know I said Rachel would be in this chapter, but I changed my mind on this entire chapter and rewrote it without her. Her debut is coming up, though. Patience, please. Anyway, review, cuties! That's the quickest way to make me update...