Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they're Ryan Murphy's.
A/N: An ongoing fic.
Warning: Occasional mention of Brooke's eating disorder, possibly triggering. And, well, all that marijuana, yeah? Don't tell your parents about this one.
Summary: Sam McPherson is high on life. Brooke McQueen is high on... various other things. They're both trying to escape from the same old unspoken secret, but separate states of consciousness aren't far enough to hide.
"Sam? Sam! SAM!" On the third attempt, Jane's voice finally made its way through Sam's headphones to her ear canals, and succeeded in grabbing her attention. "Could you take this to Brooke? She's at that Mary Cherry's house."
The brunette warily eyed the bundle of clothes in her mother's hands, rolling her apathy over her tongue before letting it drop from her mouth, "What makes you think I even know where she lives?"
"Because you've been there before. For that study group last week." Sam set her face into a frown.
"Right. Fine. How much are you paying me for this?"
"Nothing, you'll do it out of your own good nature." Clearly, Jane was not very good at persuasion. She did, however, manage to correct herself just before her daughter slipped her headphones back on. "And, I'll let you use the car for the next week."
Sam was out the door before Jane could say "drive safe".
It was a longer than necessary route to her final destination, a twisting, winding drive through an extra four or five songs, her thoughts riding shotgun. In all honesty, she wouldn't have minded taking a shotgun to them, those pesky waking thoughts. But, intangible beings as they are, she had no option but to let them sit there and expose themselves to her, yelling over the music about how deeply she was crushing on a certain someone. A certain someone with blonde hair and the most enticing hazel eyes. A certain female someone named Brooke McQueen. And this someone, oh boy did this someone drive her crazy. Especially as of late. They had both been all smiles and small talk and hanging out and accidental touches, and Sam's instincts were battling it out with every other fiber of her body for some control. The ultimately wise, blindly intuitive pit of her stomach flipped and leapt with joy for every minute indication of affection. The rest of her cells were stuck in some misogynistic denial of the presence (never mind the urgency) of any tension between them.
At present, her body was so involved in this civil war that it was considering ignoring the task at hand for a good long, clarifying drive. If it were just a matter of seeing Brooke, there would be no contest. But Nicole and Mary Cherry's presence was guaranteed, and Sam loathed them. And Brooke was different around them. Everything was about skin care and fashion and attractive movie stars, and it just wasn't a place where Sam was comfortable, even if just for the time it took to drop clothes off.
Still, it was only a moment with popular-Brooke, and all parts of Brooke were Brooke. Sam had to learn to appreciate everything if she was going to be in love with- Goddammit, I'll just drop off the clothes.
The mansion was mostly dark, and at least one of the cars was missing from the driveway. Sam parked and made her way to the door, figuring she would leave the bag of clothes at the door with a note if no one answered. A knock on the door only coaxed it mysteriously open. Sam couldn't see or hear anyone inside, but the door drifted further, luring Sam into the inky depths of the Cherry household. The fact that Mary Cherry lived there flickered through Sam's mind as a reason she shouldn't continue. But something- a light at the end of a hallway- urged her forward. She could practically hear the string quartet horror movie soundtrack playing in the background as she made her way into the murky hall. Halfway to the lighted doorway, she heard muted laughter- Brooke. She sounded ok. It wasn't maniacal or pained or anything. It was… lengthy, though.
Sam maneuvered to the doorway to find herself at the top of some carpeted stairs. She swallowed her nerves and ducked into the room below. There she was greeted by a blast of light, a still laughing Brooke laying flatly on a couch, and a very distinctive smell.
"Sammie! I was just thinking about you!" Brooke had been taken over by giggles and a childish grin, a state of mind explained by a combination of the scent, a pack of scattered rolling papers, and a small tuft of greenery sticking out of a small bag on the coffee table in front of the couch.
Sam's detective powers had been rendered null by shock, however, and she darkened, confusion and mild anger seeking an answer, "Brooke…? What the hell is this?"
The response came hazily, lolling off Brooke's lips, just a tiny bit slower than normal, "Oh! No, Sammie, don't get angry! You killin' my buzz. Buzz buzz…"
Sam's response was cut off by a Southern drawl announcing the timely arrival of Brooke's blonde buddies, "Well, well, well, if it isn't trailer trash's favorite canned meat. What are you doin' breakin' into mah house?"
"Buzzzzzzzzz…"
The explanation was surprisingly pathetic, "I was… uh… dropping off some clothes for Brooke… she forgot…"
"Save the sputtering, Spam. Do the only thing I can stand watching you do, and get the hell out of here."
Brooke cut off her buzzing and defended her brunette friend, "Oh, Nicole, that's mean. She should stay anyway because she's here and she'll be nice."
"Oh, Brookie…" Nicole broke into a smile of pure amusement at her baked blonde friend. She turned to Mary Cherry, "She's already pretty far gone. Strong stuff."
"Oh, yes, Sebastian only carries the finest. He's the only one I trust for my psychoactive needs. If you're ever in need of bovine tranquilizers in a pinch, he's your man!" Mary Cherry's over enthusiastic endorsement was coupled with a smile that could only look creepier on a sad clown.
Nicole's reaction was amused, at best. "I'll keep that in mind. Back to our rat's nest infestation."
"Just let me go. There's no way I'm spending my night with you three all drugged up and... being you."
"Nnnn… As much as I want you gone, B has a point. There's absolutely no way I trust you not to be a total narc. You're going to stay here, and tomorrow when you leave- when we all leave- you will stay absolutely silent about this whole incident."
Challenge flushed through Sam's face, "Or what?"
"Or I plant every ounce of incriminating evidence in this room directly on you. Besides, I'm sure you already smell pretty incriminating, so it's in your best interests to keep mum." Sam's face turned downwards in an obstinate frown. "Phone's in the kitchen. Let mommy know your attempted break-in is now a sleepover."
Sam bit her lip and obeyed, thoughts racing as she climbed the stairs. It was just weed, but still. What if the school's scare tactics were true, and Mary Jane really was a gateway drug? What if they were going to tie Sam up and shoot her up with heroin and make her smoke crack cocaine and acid and then sell her drugged up body for more blow? They were in Mary Cherry's house for godsakes! Anything could happen. Anything.
But the lie flowed easily out of her mouth into the phone receiver, and she was slated to stay the night.
She was still considering the possibility of human trafficking as she came back down the stairs, where Nicole had joined Brooke's couch sprawl, vodka in hand, and was halfway through a conversation with Mary Cherry.
The short haired diva kept an air of superiority floating though her voice as she cocked her head at the arrival of their addition. "Well, it's not all a loss. Half an hour, and our hot boy toys will be here."
Brooke's protest was entire and immediate. "Nooooo! I don't want booooys." She looked at Sam, then Nicole with a pleading look in her eye. Suddenly, she stood up, determination flaring.
"I don't want boys. And neither does Sam." She grabbed Sam by the wrists and dragged her towards the stairs.
Nicole cocked an eyebrow as Brooke stamped past her. "Watch out, Spam, Brooke's a cuddler."
As Brooke dragged Sam back up the stairs to god-knows-where, Nicole called out, "And, Spam, if I found out you took advantage of my poor, sweet innocent Brooke, there will be plenty to pay, and you can bet the only accepted tender will be your suffering."
"C'mon!" Brooke was unaware that any threats had transgressed, so occupied was she in her task of getting Sam upstairs. The brunette was utterly helpless against the unfettered will of the blonde, and as quickly as she could blink, they had made their way to an empty bedroom.
"Yeah! Party's all on us now!" Brooke pulled Sam into the room, hips swaying to some invisible music. 20 seconds of their hardcore bopping proved exhausting, and Brooke collapsed onto the bed, yanking Sam down with her. It took a few minutes for the laughter to subside, and Sam to situate herself not-on-top-of-Brooke before she could speak.
"Brooke, I can't believe this…"
" Oh, Sammie, you should try it. It just goes in here." Brooke reached out and tapped Sam's lips in demonstration. Her fingers fell heavy on the last tap, and followed the promised path down. "Then goes down here..." The digits kept a firm track down the pulsing sides of Sam's throat. "And gets right in here." She was passed the neckline of Sam's shirt, making swirls over where she guessed Sam's lungs (which were practically drawing in gasps by now) were.
Brooke was very close now. Very, hot-breath-on-Sam's-neck, whispers-are-too-loud close. Her fingers curled around Sam's shoulders, pulling Sam's chin and the world right up to her lips. "And then I don't know where it goes, but it feels goooooooood." Brooke tossed her head back and laughed, releasing herself and falling back on the bed in a vicious giggling fit.
"Don't be a sourface. Come down here!" Brooke stretched out her arms like a child demanding candy, the goofiest grin plastered over face. Sam considered for a moment her dilemma, pausing until that moment became one of clarity- seducing someone who was high wasn't kosher; giving in to their pleas for snuggling was the honorable thing to do.
And honorable, Sam could do.
Respectable as she was being, she couldn't keep a devilish smirk from dancing over her cheeks as she slid down into Brooke's waiting arms. Brooke's fingers played and scratched across Sam's back lightly. Sam's hands, however, were busy drawing out long, smoothing strokes down Brooke. The low "mmm" vibrating from Brooke kept Sam in rhythm. Every now and then, Sam would catch some of Brooke's hair, and the blonde would roll her head back and look like she had left for paradise, her eyes vacant of anything but pleasure. Actions like this urged Sam's concentration into more daring movements, long digits tracing ribs and the small muscles on her neck, up through her hair over her ears, and back down in a consuming, wonderful pattern. Practical hours passed before Brooke shrugged her way up to eye level with Sam, and broke their mutual trance with some purposeful gaze.
The few inches of air between them seemed as soft as Brooke's lips looked.
And those lips- oh, how they began to move, in depth unfamiliar, but expected, "Sammie, do you know what love feels like?"
Clearly, Brooke was trying to short Sam's brain out. "I… I'm not sure I can say. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was just thinking, I bet that there's some destiny out there, that puts people together in hugs like this, and it just feels so pure, and so right, no matter what. And I feel like this." She cuddled back down into a full embrace to punctuate her sentence.
"I… you're rambling." Sam was running on empty. Nothing she wanted to say was daring to make an appearance on her lips.
Brooke's rebuttal was drawn out, but carried a hint of the total dominance that any of her regular repartee owned, "Truth hides most in the nonsense of the language. It's shy and likes to avoid confrontation."
"How… poetic."
"Just like you." Brooke was caught in Sam's overworked heartbeat, her thoughts breaking and reforming with every thump. It took minutes of hard focusing to remember how grammar and syntax and her tongue worked. "I do admire you, Sam. Your words… and your eyes… They're always just right."
"Are you sure you're not just looking in a mirror?" And of course I'm going to ruin the moment with my insecurities…
Brooke was straddling the extremes of facial expressions. Contentment turned to pouting and back again with the grace of a three legged turtle climbing Mount Everest. "Noooooo I'm being serious."
"And so am I. Why should I believe that someone so entirely perfect seriously admires something about me?"
"But I'm not. I think- I don't want people to know I'm flawed. But I can't handle that you think I'm perfect." Brooke's expression was even and serious. "Does that get in your mind right?"
Sam could smile now. Brooke wasn't even thinking straight. She didn't know what she was saying, Sam wouldn't have to deal with a confession or life-changing speeches right now. "I think you're a little bit sleepy, Brooke."
Brooke's lip lifted into a pout. "Do you?" Her brows furrowed as she stared at Sam's collarbone. A minute passed before she nodded in agree. "Well, you are really intelligent, too. Maybe I should listen this time." Brooke's head rested just under Sam's chin, carried off by Sam's hands working their nerves off in a gentle circles across her back. Brooke's words were barely breaths against Sam's collarbone, "Smartness. That's something else… I love about you."
Despite her excuses to not take Brooke's hallucinogen-induced words seriously, Sam was relegated to one or two bewildered blinks of sleep that night.