Title: Trouble Is Her Only Friend
Author: heythereanna (Anna)
Pairings: Brooke/Nate, Rachel/Chuck
Rating: MATURE; Language, Adult Content
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, even though I wish I could take Mark Schwahn's position and remake seasons four through eight of One Tree Hill.
Author's Note: Yes, the story has been rewritten to present tense! I was finding it hard to switch between the two styles between this and my other stories. I hope you all enjoy the update!
- - - - x - - - -
Rachel sits at the kitchen table, her head throbbing as she absentmindedly taps away at her laptop. She doesn't quite know what to do with herself on a Sunday morning without Chuck, used to the normal run of things at their own apartment. They'd sit and have coffee in their monogrammed bathrobes, occasionally passing newspapers back and forth while Rachel worked on some project. She'd stretch out in his lap, he'd massage her aching feet until she'd nearly be purring like a content kitten, and they'd get ready to go to Bart and Victoria's for family brunch with his uncle Jack. Then, they'd schmooze through two hours of perfectly cooked food - which Victoria never lays a hand on, thank everything holy - and the bitter tension that is the Bass family.
But today, she's staring at a blank screen with nowhere to go for the first time in nine month's worth of Sunday's. No marketing documents to review, no press releases to go over, no events to plan. Nowhere to go, no one to see, and no boyfriend to rub her aching feet after a week of wearing heels and walking on pavement - and she is not about to ask Archibald to do it for her.
If Archibald had stayed, at least. When Brooke had come back upstairs with her face white as a ghost and had poured herself another glass of pinot noir, mumbling about how Nate had loaded Chuck into a cab and taken him back to the Bass Penthouse at the Empire, she had known that something serious had gone down. It had felt like high school all over again when Rachel had quietly crawled into the king size bed beside the brunette, so used to sleeping beside someone that she just couldn't bear sleeping alone anymore.
Brooke, having never been the morning person out of the two of them, has only been up for an hour or so. Rachel can just barely hear the blow drier running now, which is a good sign. While she no longer has to attend the fabled Bass brunch, she knows that the youngest member of the family has been summoned by the ever lovely Victoria. The Davis-Bass matriarch always has her own little way to make someone's blood boil and freeze with one little snipe, and Brooke's given her enough arsenal to last a lifetime. Dropping out of college, getting in the tabloids with Nate Archibald, moving to New York without so much as a call; she's sure that Vicki's brought them all up once or twice.
Her curiosity peaks as the door to the apartment slowly creaks open, raising an eyebrow as a casually dressed Nate quietly walks into the loft. His hair is cut in his classic prep boy fashion, dolphin gray dress pants hanging carelessly from his hips and a cornflower blue button up loosely tucked in. It brings out his eyes, she muses as he silently grabs a cup of coffee and doesn't even so much as glance her way.
"Is Brooke getting ready?"
"Is he alright?" Her voice is quiet, eyes focused on the copy of the Wall Street Journal she holds in her hands.
Nate turns with the cup of coffee in his hands, sipping it slowly. "His ego's bruised, and he may have broken a knuckle from punching a brick wall when I got him upstairs." He looks over at her as she meets his gaze, nodding. "But he's alright."
Rachel steels her resolve and puts the paper down, folding her arms across her chest. "Do you know why?" Her voice is charred, jagged and coated in shards of glass. "Why he won't tell me the truth about you and him?"
"You know I can't say anything, Red. It's not my place."
"Because of Brooke?" Her words are spiteful, filled with hate and regret. Lashing out is the only thing she's got left in her hungover state because she's using all of her strength to stay pissed at Chuck. Staying mad at the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with is exhausting.
Nate sighs, shaking his head at her once more. "It's not just about her. It's because it's not my place. Because I'm not Chuck."
Rachel nods, biting her lower lip. She wants to cry, wants to scream, but she holds her tongue because he's right. None of this is Nate's fault - or at least, as far as she knows it's not. But they're all muffled and keeping secrets from the women in their lives, so how could she possibly what's fact and what's fiction anymore?
"Brooke's in the bathroom. She should be out in a few minutes." She pauses, looking over at him. "She really likes you, you know."
He looks at her warily, eyeing the bedroom door like he's expecting the peppy brunette to pop out at a moment's notice. "She's different than the other women I've dated. From Serena, from Blair. She's...she's incredible." Nate says with a bemused smile, setting the cup of coffee down. Rachel can just barely see the familiar glimmer of hope in his eyes. It's the one that she used to get when Chuck would walk into the room. "We're enjoying each other. And I know that look in your eye, so I can tell you that you don't need to protect her from me."
But she doesn't buy it, keeping her arms folded across her chest. She's more than protective of Brooke. They're family, with or without Chuck. Without Rachel protecting her in the first place, Brooke would've been expelled. She wouldn't of passed her class, she wouldn't of gotten out of Tree Hill. But through all of that, through Nick and Chase and every other boy that Rachel wound up with, she'd never been able to protect the brunette from Lucas. He's always been Brooke's blind spot, and she's not about to let Nate become another one for her.
"You get that the last guy almost destroyed her, right? And I wasn't able to protect her from him. But I can save her from you and all of your dark and twisty drama before she falls too hard for you, if you back off now." Rachel growls. She's in full mother lion mode, and there's no coming back from it. The claws are out and she's keeping her cub safe because that's all that matters to her right now.
Nate's blue eyes crease into a glare and his fists clench the countertop. There he is, she thinks to herself. There's the man that she knows he is, the one with the quick temper and the rash and impulsive decision making. It's the guy that she's trying to keep Brooke from being hurt by. "I'm not the big bad wolf, Rachel. I'm not looking to fuck her over. I happen to enjoy her. Besides, we're-"
"Casual, no strings, non-exclusive." Rachel mutters as she stands up, filling up her own mug with the jet black brew. "But Brooke once told me that people play hard to get when they just want to know that someone's feelings are real, and then was when she was non-exclusive with Lucas. I'm sure she's told you about him, so I don't have to explain how that all wound up for her."
The door to the bedroom opens, saving them both from the battle that's about to unfold when Brooke waltzes out in her most comfortable Sunday garb. Her hair swept up into a ballerina bun, just a little mascara and lip gloss on her naturally beautiful face. She's dressed simply in last night's knee high boots over black tights, a loose beige cowl neck sweater keeping the warm flush in her cheeks. She looks like she just walked out of Central Park on a brisk autumn day, not even a little hungover as she stands in the doorway, and Rachel can't help but be jealous because she's so hungover that she can barely think straight.
"What...are you two doing?" Brooke says with a raised eyebrow as she walks into the kitchen, her heels clicking sharply against the white tile floor. They look like co-conspirators and she's not sure if she likes it or not. Sure, she wants Nate's to be friendly with Rachel, but there's fine line between friendly and plotting.
"Nothing." They both answer in unison, and Brooke rolls her eyes and goes as far as to take Rachel's coffee.
"I have breakfast with Bart and Victoria. I need my strength." She defends as Rachel prepares to jump on her, and the redhead immediately backs off.
Bart Bass is one thing, but Victoria Davis-Bass is just straight up evil and Brooke can't get away from her with just a break up.
Rachel stands up with a sour huff and grabs Nate's coffee in retaliation, walking towards the guest bedroom as she watches Nate eye Brooke up like she's a hot fudge sundae that he can't wait to lick clean, unable to hide her discord. "Get a room, Archibald, and preferably not mine." She mutters bitterly, shutting the door behind her in an effort to get away from them.
Brooke eyes the closed door warily, sighing lightly. She knows Rachel like the streets of her hometown, every beaten path of the redhead's brash temperament memorized after years of friendship. "You promised you'd behave with her." She scolds Nate teasingly, sipping her coffee with a grin. She's doing her very best to lighten the mood.
After all, he's nowhere near being in the doghouse after last night. Brooke had watched with the utmost pride as Nate had loaded her brother into the back of his car, when he'd kissed her goodbye and told her that he would take care of Chuck. He'd been a dream, a real life prince charming, and she couldn't help falling for him a little bit more as a result.
Nate wastes no time, immediately wrapping his arm around Brooke's waist and tugging her close to his body. "I don't need to tell you how beautiful you look, right?" He says with a grin as he nuzzles into her neck, earning giggles from the brunette in his arms before she silences them with a kiss to his lips.
"No, but it's sweet of you to say anyway." Brooke murmurs between gentle kisses before leaning back with a full fledged grin that could light up the Empire State Building.
It's domestic, the land that they're wandering into as he takes the brunette's coffee from her and takes a few sips, and she can't help but be a little terrified.
"How is he?" Brooke asks cautiously. She's not sure if she's prepared for the answer, if she's ready to hear how Chuck is actually doing. She knows him too well when he's like this, when the only Bass son trapezes between chaotic and unnaturally calm. It's like it's hurricane season when it comes to him. All she can do is wait it out in her bunker, or he'll pull her right down with him. "Is he..."
"He's okay." Nate murmurs, his thumb brushing an eyelash off of her porcelain features. "Really, he's alright. I got him up to his apartment last night, he just needed to sleep it off. I stayed there to make sure he slept okay, that's all."
Brooke raises an eyebrow. She knows he's lying, she can feel it in her gut. Nate may be a master at spinning stories for his newspaper, but she can see right through him. She wonders for a second if that's why he wants her so badly. She doesn't see the bad boy reputation. She just sees him, beautiful and somewhat fractured him. "It won't break me, you know. I won't blame myself if he's not." She murmurs as she leans her head against his chest. He smells like Aqua Pour cologne from Bulgari, and it's almost like she's just taken a dive into a crystal clear sea. If she hadn't been so tense, she probably would've relaxed into him and let it all slip away.
Her blue eyed wonder sighs, his hand slipping to the back of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, his actions soft and sweet. "He's fucked up. There's a lot going on, and he's...he's not dealing with it well. I haven't seen him like this since Blair left for Monaco." Nate's hand massages her neck, and her eyes slip shut. She can hear the worry in his voice, but she lets it go because he's being honest with her and that's more than she can say for Chuck. "He'll come out okay, though. He always does."
Brooke nods, swallowing back the tears that are growing in the back of her throat. She hates to think of her brother in that state, and she knows that if he manages to make it to brunch, it'll be on full display.
Wait, brunch.
"Fuck!" She blurts out as she looks at the clock to find that she's now running late to her family gathering. Bolting out of Nate's arms, she grabs her purse and lets her brows furrow together in worry. "I'm late, and Bitchtoria hates it when I am. There's no way I can make it up to Fifth in Sunday traffic, I'll never get there in time." Brooke mutters to herself as she heads towards the door.
She's all but forgotten the man that's left standing in her kitchen as she heads towards the front door, who finally gets that she's running on fumes of red wine and Chinese food when she reaches for the doorknob.
"Wait, where do you think you're going without me?"
Brooke stops dead in her high heeled tracks, turning to look at Nate with wide eyes and nothing but surprise on her face. He can't possibly be serious, right? No one would be foolish enough to willingly put themselves in the Bass family's cross hairs, not with Victoria at the helm and Bart at her side.
"You're not coming with."
"Yes, I am." Nate insists as he takes a few confident strides toward to her, winding up at her side. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to make you go deal with hungover Chuck alone."
Brooke can't help but feel the same surge of excitement that she'd felt last night rush through her, withholding the bright grin bubbles up from deep within her soul. Nate wants her, she thinks to herself, and wants her enough to deal with her crazy ass family. That's more than she can say about Carter, about Lucas, about anyone in her life because braving the Bass's is no short feat. Strings are coming-a-calling in her heart, and she suppresses the need to rope him in with them because she's terrified that he'll run.
More importantly, she's scared that she'll want to run too.
"While I'm totally loving this whole supportive thing that you've got going on right now..." Brooke says with a smirk, reaching over to him and running her fingers along the strong curve of his jawline. "You're treading on that line again."
Nate raises an eyebrow, his hands landing on her hips. "The line, you say?"
"The boyfriend line."
He laughs, actually laughs and she nearly punches him in the throat. Brooke has to remind herself of how hard she's falling for him, letting her fists clench her sides in response. "There's an actual line?" Nate says between chuckles before leaning down to kiss her.
Brooke holds her hand up in front of her lips, physically hushing him as his eyes go wide with surprise. It's not often - actually, it's never happened - that she won't let him kiss her, but this is an occasion that calls for it. "Yes, there's a freaking line." She tartly responds while glaring at him over her hand.
She can feel him stifling another laugh before he pulls her hand back with his infectious grin. "And does it...upset you that I'm over said line?" He murmurs before dipping his head to Brooke's neck and trailing warm kisses on her skin, a sensation that's becoming a serious addiction. No. She will not cave to him, she tells herself. She will not allow him to overrule her words with kisses.
But when he nips at her earlobe, all reservations go out the window and she has to stifle the moan that threatens to spill from her lips. She pauses as she savors the feeling of his body so close to hers, managing to a whimper out a soft, "...no."
Nate pulls back just enough to let his lips graze over hers with his endearing smile. "Then how about we go deal with Bart and Victoria, and then we can come back here and I'll show you exactly how much I like being over that line...naked."
Oh hell yes. A naked Nate is just the bribe that she needs to get her ass in gear.
Brooke grins from ear to ear like a happy little schoolgirl finally getting the A that she's been working so hard for, lacing her fingers between his. "Lead the way, Mr. Archibald."
- - - - x - - - -
He's dying.
Or at least, that's what Chuck's convinced himself of when he finally manages to crawl out of bed ten minutes before he needs to be at his father's home for the fabled Bass family brunch. Either he's dying right now from alcohol poisoning, or his stepmother is going to murder him when he gets there. Either way, he's dead and he doesn't need to worry about all the things that are clouding his mind. Things like secret children, pissed off ex-girlfriend's, and mothers that have been lying to her child about their true parentage. Things that are a little too big for his britches, which he'll never admit.
Reluctantly, he gets his disheveled body into his walk in tiled shower, having stripped himself of all clothes at some point in the night. He vaguely remembers Nate making sure that he had been in his apartment and on the bed, and then it all goes black. It's probably for the best anyway. He likes himself even less when he's drunk, and he's soberly bordering on malicious self hatred to begin with these days. And so he cranks the jets and the steam up to high and rests his head against the cool tile wall and tries to figure out how the hell he's going to make it through the interrogation that's about the commence.
Liar.
It's for a good cause, he tells himself. It's for an incredibly good cause because the day that Brooke finds out that she's a Humphrey is a day that she loses herself. It's the day that she's no longer a Davis, that she's no longer a Bass. She'll be a Humphrey, a Brooklyn-living hummus eating Humphrey with all their indie rock and their melodramatic sarcasm, and he's not ready for that day yet.
Cheater.
Not on Rachel, he tells himself. Aside from that one little slip up with Blair when she came back from France six months after he'd started casually seeing Rachel, he hasn't slept with anyone else. It's been her and only her, and he can't even imagine his life without her anymore He loves Rachel, for fuck's sake he wants to marry her. He's got a ring and everything, tucked away in the back of his safe right beside the last few artifacts of the late Evelyn Bass. It's the one place that his red headed girlfriend doesn't go into because she knows how particular he is about his mother's things. It had been the only place that he had known that she wouldn't go snooping. He wouldn't cheat on her, because she actually means something to him.
Corrupter.
She makes him better. Rachel makes him better, makes him a human being. She makes him want to be the man that she sees in him. It's more than Blair ever did. Rachel doesn't scheme, doesn't manipulate. She's honest to a fault, brutally fucking honest even when she's spinning his company's mistakes. Rachel's a good person and maybe that's the reason that he hasn't told her about the Brooke catastrophe. He doesn't want to ask her to lie for him because he knows that she will. The only thing above her honesty is her loyalty to those that she loves, and he won't jeopardize her character. He won't do that to her, not after everything they've been through. Not after everything that she's been through to get here.
Unlovable.
He deserves love, he tries to tell himself. Chuck's purpose on this earth now is to be loved by Rachel and to love her, he has to repeat constantly. After everything he's been through, after his mother's death during childbirth and his father being a repugnant excuse for a parental figure, after Blair had left him high and dry and he'd settled into the bottle, he deserves this. He can be loved by this incredible woman that literally makes his world stop on a dime, and he won't run. He won't disappear. He will let himself be loved by this beautiful woman that somehow turns his gray skies turn clear and bright. He will let himself be loved, and he won't push her away. Except he has. He's expertly pushed her away like he has with every other person he's adored on this earth.
Brother.
He doesn't know if he can even call himself that anymore, if he has the right to call Brooke his sister. But she is, she's his baby sister that he'd walk through fire for. He'd murder, steal, commit treason for. He'd turn back the clock if he could, back when they'd have late night phone calls and didn't really talk about their worlds, back when they had been as close as two human beings could be. He can still feel her hand in his palm, the curve of her dimple when he'd cup her cheek and she'd smile like she'd never been hurt. He can feel the happiness that always radiated from her, the way that her soul seems to bring out the very best in everyone around her. He misses her. He misses her so much that it's literally killing him and he has no idea how to fix it.
Traitor.
The word rings in Chuck's mind as the water and steam swallow him whole. He had thought that maybe the warm water would take them away, that if he had it hot enough to the point of scalding that he'd escape all of them. He's praying to just pass out at that point, but nothing comes. It's just him and the voices and the sound of the word that he despises so much that it makes him sick to his stomach. In sheer anger at the world, he slams his fist into the tile in front of him. He slams his fist into it over and over again until the tile nearly gives way beneath his knuckles and the water turns bright red with his own blood.
Fuck it. It's just one more thing he'll have to explain to Bart over brunch anyway.
It's not like the Bass's don't need any more drama in their lives or anything.
- - - - x - - - -
They're standing in the elevator holding hands when she says it, when it just sort of slips out of her mouth like a habit.
"Thank you for being here with me."
The elevator's dinging fills the silence as Brooke stares at the reflective paneling of the elevator, where she can just barely see Nate turn to look down at her. Piercing blue eyes gaze down at her, and when she finally tilts her head to look up at him she finds him with the most amused smile on his lips. His hand squeezes hers gently, and he presses his lips to the side of her head.
"You can reward me with lots of dirty sex later." He murmurs into her hair, and she blushes fifty different shades of red before the door opens and reveals Brooke's second - now first, she supposes - member of the Bass family.
"Uncle Jack!" She squeals in such a fashion that's nowhere near what the usual Brooke Davis would, because the dark haired and blue eyed younger Bass brother is standing in front of her and when she gets swept up into his arms she feels like she's nine years old and she's wearing her new red dress at her Mother's wedding, dancing on Jack Bass's Giuseppe Zanotti black leather loafers without worrying about her scuffing them with her first pair of Jimmy Choo slingback heels.
"Do you think I'm pretty, Jack?" She'd said while he had waltzed her around in her white floor length flower girl dress.
Jack had smiled so deep that he had matching dimples of his own. "I think you're the prettiest girl at this whole damn party."
"Does that mean I get to marry you someday and wear a big white dress like Mother?" Brooke had asked hopefully, a toothy grin on her lips.
He'd brushed back a stray curl and tapped her gently on the nose with nothing short of affection. "Maybe, baby girl. Heaven knows that anyone could fall in love with those dimples of yours."
Brooke's up in the air as soon as she drops Nate's hand, giggles flowing from her lips like rain as she throws her head back against her shoulders. Jack's hands span her slim waist as he spins her around in the air like she's as light as a feather, and he's holding onto her so tight that she swears that she might shatter in his arms if he lets her go because she's just realized how much she's missed him and his wiles and charms.
When he finally sets her back on the ground, there's a toothy grin on his face that makes her feel all warm and fuzzy inside as she smiles back up at him. It's been years since she's seen him, and she leans into his touch when Jack cups her chin and looks her over like the work of art that he's always made her feel like.
"Is that offer to marry you still on the table?" Jack says charmingly as he presses a warm kiss to her cheek, his arm still hooked around her waist like an anchor. "Because I swear you look more beautiful every time I see you, Miss Brooklyn Davis-Bass."
Brooke laughs, taking a step back from his arms and looking over at Nate, who's waiting patiently by the elevator for her to notice that he's still there. "I think certain people may have some objections about that." She says with a wink towards her date - because that's what he is. He's her family brunch date, willing to deal with the Bass's just to be around her. He's her hero is tarnished armor.
Jack turns to look at Nate, who extends his hand with the same sort of professional demeanor that she's sure is how he wound up owning The Spectator. "Been a long time, Nate." Her step-uncle of sorts says as he releases Brooke and shakes the young man's hand. "Since Dubai, I think? I didn't realize you were so fond of my Brooklyn."
Brooke can feel the tension crackle in the air as Jack smirks, looking over at her proudly as he drops Nate's hand. She's not sure how this is going to go, not with Nate being the hot head that he can often be when it comes to her and Jack being even worse. They're both fiercely protective of her, and it's rather ego inflating to watch them go toe to toe.
"Monaco, actually. I was visiting Blair Waldorf. You were on the blackjack table and I was-"
"Heading up to your hotel room with Serena."
The satisfaction in Jack's voice doesn't go unnoticed, and neither does the fact that her sort-of-boyfriend flinches at the intonation of his ex's name. Before she can stop herself, Brooke's hand shoots out and socks Jack in the stomach so hard that he nearly doubles over in her arms.
"The fuck, Brookie?" He chokes out through the pain, his blue eyes watering.
"Play nice, sweetheart."
Bart Bass's ominous voice rings out from the dining room of the penthouse, and Brooke can't help the smile that breaks out on her lips as her stepfather walks across the room to her. He hasn't aged a day, all silver fox looks and blue eyes. His saunter is confident, casual, and even though she'll never admit it, she used to mimic the way he walked when she was little. The day he had proposed to her mother, Bart had proposed to her with a small sapphire pendant that she still keeps for special Bass occasions. Her mother had gotten the Cartier engagement ring, but somehow Brooke had always seen her present as the much more meaningful one.
"Morning, Daddy." Brooke says pleasantly, having always called him by anything but her moniker for him. After her mother had gotten divorced, she had spent summers with Bart and Victoria in the Hamptons and the city. One slipped use, and Bart had quietly asked her to always call him that, even when she was mad at him. She's never called him anything but that since.
"Jack, peel yourself off of my daughter so I can greet her properly." Bart says before he scoops the brunette into his arms and squeezes her tight before reaching over and shaking Nate's hand like the respectful man that her mother has turned him into. "Mr. Archibald, always a pleasure to see you."
Nate smiles tightly and shakes his hand before taking a step closer and boldly placing his arm around Brooke's waist. "It's great to see you, Bart."
She feels like she's in the middle of a gunfight without a weapon, and the frozen and nervous smile on her lips is the indicator as she places her hand on Nate's chest. "Where's Mother?" Brooke chokes out as she glances back and forth between the three men. For the first time in her life she is actually praying for Victoria appear like the very fashionably dressed devil that she is.
But when Jack turns on his heel and heads towards the dining room and she knows that she's in trouble.
Bart sighs, shaking his head. "Your mother...was detained in a charity board meeting in Greenwich Village. She's not going to make it today, so let's just sit and enjoy Marta's cooking since your brother is notably absent..."
Wonderful. The one time she actually needs Victoria and her mother is nowhere to be found.
So fucking typical of her to always be a massive pain in the ass.
- - - - x - - - -
It's unexpected when Rachel's phone rings halfway through her Swedish massage.
She'd taken full advantage of the empty apartment, having called her personal masseuse and asked him to stop by. After the few days she's had, Rachel more than deserves to have Lars rub her back and legs until she's just a relaxed heap of warm and perfectly oiled muscles. She's thoroughly enjoying the soft music, and is even halfway debating on seducing him for kicks because she really is that desperate for some form of human contact.
But then the phone rings from the nightstand, and she groans so loud that it sounds more like a frustrated and wordless yell before picking it up reluctantly.
"For the last time, Chuck, I am not coming home!" She snaps, immediately assuming that it's her now ex-boyfriend pleading with her to come to family brunch. Rachel is generally the buffer between Bart and Chuck, keeping everything nice and tidy.
"I'm sorry to inform you, my dear, but this is most certainly not Charles Bass."
Eleanor Waldorf's melodic voice flows through the line, and Rachel's two parts horrified and one part confused as to how the matriarch could've gotten a hold of her very unlisted number. The embarrassed parts of the Rachel cocktail stops her from asking.
"Miss Waldorf, I'm so terribly sorry. I thought-"
"That I was your boyfriend calling you back to pasture? No, darling. I'm far from it. And before we try to make small talk, let's skip the pleasantries because I simply do not have time to beat around the bush at this point. You may call me Eleanor, if it pleases you."
Rachel stifles a laugh. Eleanor reminds her of the woman that she longs to be: powerful, elegant, and commanding. "Of course, Eleanor. What can I help you with?" She says as Lars digs his elbow into her left pelvic muscles, the sensation oh-so-satisfying as a knot releases beneath her skin.
"Actually, it's what I can do to help you. I'd like you to run my public relations department."
It's not a question. It's nothing short of a demand from the Queen of fashion, and Rachel doesn't even know what to say because she doesn't know if she's going back to Bass Industries. Surely, she couldn't go back to her job there, right? "Eleanor, I..."
"I'm aware that you're working for Charles, but I hear there's blood in the water between you two and I'd like to offer you a way out. Brooke says you're positively brilliant, and she's going to need you when I decide to retire."
Retire? Brooke hasn't so much as hinted that Eleanor would be leaving her company any time soon. Besides, wouldn't Blair take control after she stepped down? It's a family company, after all. She can't imagine that it would go to anyone but the frozen bitch. "You are aware that Blair and I don't exactly get along, correct? I have to assume that she would be in charge after your retirement."
"No, my dear. I plan on placing my dear Brooklyn at the helm of Waldorf Designs, not Blair."
Rachel's jaw drops. She wants to give Brooke a multi-million dollar company, at the tender age of twenty one, and not her fully equipped twenty eight year old daughter. She and Rachel are barely old enough to drink, let alone run corporations. Granted, Brooke could run it without an issue because she could've created her own company if she had wanted to, but this...this will be insult to injury for Blair when it happens, and she can't believe that Eleanor would do that to her precious daughter.
"Which of course, you will not inform Brooke of until the time is right. Think on it, my dear, but not for too long. I plan on retiring sooner rather than later."
With that, the line is dead and Rachel is left in complete disbelief at what's happened. Eleanor wants her to run the PR for Waldorf Designs, but not for her. For Brooke. And she can't tell her because Eleanor Waldorf herself has decided that she can't. Her head drops against the massage table, closing her eyes tight and trying to block it all out.
She could leave Chuck. She could leave him for good and never look back. She could still have a career after him and not be the laughing stock of the Upper East Side.
The real questions isn't if she actually wants to, it's if she'll have the strength for it.
- - - - x - - - -
Brooke's halfway through her four mimosa when he shows up two hours late.
At a round table for six, the four of them almost look out of place - especially without Victoria deciding where everyone would sit. She normally would direct them around like chattel with the siblings beside each other and her between Jack and Bart, because she's always said that having beautiful men on either side of a woman just makes her look even more gorgeous than she already is. Personally, Brooke's always thought it was so Victoria didn't have to come within a foot of her daughter or stepson. Out of everyone she knows, Vicki's always been the queen of alienation.
But Victoria's not here to be their rancher, and so there's a moment of confusion when they all reach the table. They all go diving for the spots closest to the only woman in the room, and Brooke doesn't even say a word when Nate and Jack both take up the spots on either side, the notable scowl on her uncle's lips enough to let her know that he does not approve of her choice to be around such a man. Oh well, she thinks to herself. It's not like anyone else in her life approves of him anyway.
And so she eats and drinks her feelings as Bart and Nate casually talk about The Spectator and his new deal with absorbing Gawker. It's becoming a massive deal, he promises, and The Spectator's wealth should double in size. Despite being a privately held company, it'll do wonders if Nate ever decides to take it public - or so Bart tells him with a firmness to his advice. Her stepfather seems to be alright with her date, and Jack remains firmly at her side like the guard dog that he's made himself out to be.
Jack tries to keep the subject on her, wanting to get away from Nate's accomplishments, and he's just asked her a question about how she likes working for Eleanor when the elevator dings.
She notices the smell of scotch wafting from his pores as Chuck walks slowly into the room and seats himself between Nate and Bart like nothing's the matter, and his father doesn't even stop to acknowledge his presence. His black shirt and pants are wrinkled, his usually styled and shiny brown hair is shaggy and unkempt, and his eyes are so bloodshot that they look a light shade of red in the light. He's all pale and gaunt skin with the guilt saddling him down like a thousand pound weight. His lip is swollen and split from her slap, turning a nasty shade of purple. His right hand is covered in gauze, which she can only assume is from his favorite form of self-hatred, punching the wall until his knuckles would rip through the skin like knives. Chuck's never been one for fist fights unless it's between himself and a wall.
"I really like my job. Eleanor's a fabulous teacher and I really think I'll learn even more from her." Brooke promises her uncle with a smile, trying to make Chuck's transition into breakfast a little less awkward and jagged. Even though she hates him, she still loves him. It'll always be her downfall.
"I keep telling Brooke she should go out on her own, you should see the designs that she's doing for the cotillion ball." Nate says proudly, looking over her with a nod of understanding as he tries to keep the conversation moving while Chuck pours himself a tall Bloody Mary. A little hair of the dog would do him good at this point, Brooke thinks to herself. "Really, Bart, your daughter's got some serious talent. All she needs is the investment and a team and she'll..."
As Nate talks up the work that she's done for Eleanor, she can't keep her eyes off of her stepbrother. Brooke scarcely recognizes him in the light of day and wonders if this is worse than better than he had been last night, and the look on Nate's face tells her that he must have looked even worse. It's not until Marta sets a plate of eggs Benedict with crab cakes in front of him and he weakly nods in gratitude that she can see that he's actually alive and not just a drunk homeless man that someone brought home from the tunnel at Central Park.
Brooke can't even catch his gaze, which focuses solely on his food as she tosses back the rest of her drink. She nearly hugs Marta when she silently places another flute, settling on a quick nod of gratitude. But it's at that moment that she knows that she can't take it anymore, not even with Nate at one side and Jack at the other. She can't watch Chuck circle the drain, not when she feels like she's the cause. After all, she had been the one to tell Rachel to ask Chuck the truth. She had put the whole situation in motion between the two of them and then ripped herself out of the picture. In Brooke's eyes, this is all her fault. She is the catalyst.
She stands up with her new drink in hand, trying to get a second of fresh air since there's another member of the family to torture, taking a few steps from the table before her stepfather calls after her.
"Brooklyn, you haven't even finished your plate. I know how much you adore Marta's creme brûlée french toast." Bart says with a chuckle, moving his steely gaze to Chuck before returning it to her. "Despite the fact that your brother decided to make his entrance so late and his lovely girlfriend didn't even bother to show up, I'd prefer it if you would stay."
She watches as the youngest Bass cringes visibly, and she knows what this is leading to. Bart will berate Chuck about his drinking, Chuck will fire back with a shot about how his wife can't even stand to be around them all, and she'll wind up a casualty in the middle of all of it because she always has to fix everything. But she's not fifteen anymore, which her stepfather seems to forget. She feels obligated to remind him that she's not perfect either.
"Actually, Daddy, I was going to step out to the patio for a cigarette. It appears that none of your children, step or otherwise, do what you'd prefer them to. Excuse me."
She doesn't stay to listen to him give her a lecture, and Bart doesn't try to. She just hears his sigh - the same one he gets when her mother gets a little bitchy for her britches, no surprise - as Brooke turns on her heel and walks out to the patio with her mimosa in hand.
Normally, she wouldn't leave Nate to the wolves, but desperate times call for desperate circumstances.
She's halfway through her cigarette when Chuck actually comes out to join her, the sound of the patio door clinking behind him. He looks terrible, all pale skin and gaunt features. He's hungover, that she knows, but he's dressed in an emotion that she hasn't seen on him in a long time.
He's heartbroken.
"You look like shit." Brooke mutters under her breath, sipping her drink gingerly. Her buzz has settled in, the one that makes her a little dangerous, and there's no stopping her now. "And you still smell like Macallan, despite your best intentions."
Chuck doesn't even look over at her at she pulls in a long drag off of the Marlboro, her pink lip gloss smudging the tip. He doesn't say a word, just takes the cigarette from her fingers and breathes in so deep that she swears his lungs are on fire.
She can feel Bart's eyes on her, glaring through the glass at the two of them. Brooke proudly smirks because for once, she is the rebellious child. Oh, how Victoria would relish it when Bart would tell her that her daughter - because the brunette suddenly became just Victoria's daughter whenever she did anything wrong, rather than Bart's baby girl that he spoke so highly of in the press - had begun smoking.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you." Chuck's voice is just barely loud enough for her to hear as he hands back her cigarette. "Annoying Bart with your little antics."
"I see it more as protecting you."
Brooke smiles, Chuck nods, and it feels like it's a month ago and nothing has changed. But it has changed, she has to remind herself. The entire chess board has been flipped and the game pieces of their entire relationship are scattered everywhere. She's been caught in the crossfire of some unholy war that her brother's smack dab in the middle of, and she can't seem to get out of the cross hairs. Chuck, Bart, Eleanor, Victoria. They all have their own agendas when it comes to her. Control, manipulation, adoration, compassion, love. Brooke just wants an honest answer these days, and she can't seem to get one from any of the people that she cares for.
Brooke flicks the cigarette off of the balcony, watching it fall the dozens of stories all the way to the ground. She wants to chain smoke, wants to rip through the entire pack she has stashed in her purse, but saves the urge for later. She looks over Chuck's shoulder to find Bart and Nate laughing together, Jack holding his ground at the bar, and she feels safe enough to actually say what she's thinking. "You have to tell me what's going on with you, Chuck. I'm your sister."
Chuck laughs, the insufferable and bitter tone seeping out of him like the scotch form his pores. "You threatened to destroy my life."
"You fucked with mine." Her glare is ice, reminiscent of Victoria on her very most wicked of days, but it holds strong. She's tired of him pushing around the people in her life just because he can, and she longs to be three moves ahead of him so she can figure why in the hell he's doing all of this.
Brooke watches as his gaze turns to her, eyes hazy with alcohol as he takes a sip from his glass of scotch. He's nursing himself through the pain with alcohol, at no surprise."What can I say. I'm a Bass. The need to control is practically in my veins."
She laughs because he's right, and Chuck smirks because he doesn't know what else to do at that point. They're so lost and fucked up that it's safe to actually feel something between the two of them other than rage.
Because for a moment, just for a split second, they're right where they're supposed to be.
"I'm glad you showed up." Brooke says softly, tossing back the rest of her mimosa. "Victoria will be pleased."
Chuck smiles weakly, looking over at her. "I've missed you."
"Rachel misses you too." Her heart betrays her brain as she lets it slip out, meeting his gaze. "I don't know what's going on with you, but fix whatever it is. She loves you, Chuck. That's all that matters."
"A relationship's about more than love, Brooke."
"No it's not, and if you think anything otherwise, you're drunker than I thought."
- - - - x - - - -
Chuck waits until Brooke and Nate quietly exit brunch with the excuse of a headache for the former to call Victoria, to tell her that her daughter is gone and that it's safe to come back. He knows that she's intentionally staying away in an effort to push the subject back, to keep her secrets safe. He knows that Bart's aware, maybe even Jack too, but no one's bothered to even give him a timeline on when Brooke can know. They're all keeping it from her and it's destroying his relationship with her in the process.
He sits in his father's study as he hears Jack and Bart bantering about some stock that's on the rise, waiting until he hears the all too familiar click of his stepmother's Mahnolo Blahnik's to look up from the decanter of scotch that he's taking pull after pull from. Why not, he figures. It's not like he's driving.
It's not like he has anyone to go home to.
Victoria sneaks into the study and shuts the doors behind her, the mountains of shopping bags that he's sure that she's purchased out of retail therapy left carelessly at the door. She looks frightened, a sight that he doesn't see all that often. "Did she ask for me?" She murmurs as she walks over to the mini bar and pours herself a glass of something clear and strong. She doesn't look at him, she doesn't say anything but that. She just throws back her drink and pours herself another fifth of what he can smell is Grey Goose.
Chuck shakes a solid no, cradling his drink against his forehead. The cool liquid feels good against his reddened skin, ruddy from the booze and the anger that's pulsating through his veins. "I can't do this anymore, Victoria. I'm sorry, but I won't."
It's breathless and it's fragile but it's there, the confession is laid out at his stepmother's feet like a Persian rug. Exotically weaved and incredibly rare and beautiful, like a fleeting comet that comes once every five hundred years because not only has Chuck Bass given up, but he's apologized for it.
"What exactly does that mean?" She asks him as her grip on the glass she's pulling from tightens dangerously. Victoria's never been one to beat around the bush, not even close, and the familiar glint of villainous intentions stirs within her eyes. She's an ally and an enemy in that moment, one of the only people that had known why he's done everything that he has, why he's gone to such extreme lengths to keep Brooke away from Nate.
But now Nate is an ally, he reminds himself. It had been Nate that had gotten him into his penthouse safe and sound, Nate who had promised that he would carry Chuck's secret to the grave, Nate who had said that being with Brooke had never been about screwing him over.
"I mean that I'm done. I'm done keeping your secrets, so find someone else to do it." Chuck murmurs before downing the rest of his low ball, setting it down on the desk. "She knows that something's going on. She's not foolish, she can tell when I'm lying to her."
"Then get better at it."
Her words are frozen in ice, cold and deceptive at the very heart of them, and Chuck recoils from them like a foul scent has just entered the air. "I won't do it anymore. I won't lie for you and Rufus."
"You're going to tell her? You have no right." Victoria's hiss is violent, vulnerable as she slams the glass down and points at him like he's the one that went and had an adulterous love child. "She's my daughter and-"
"EXACTLY. She's your daughter and you've been lying about who her father is for her entire life!" He roars in defiance, getting up from his chair and stumbling forward. The chair goes flying backwards and he realizes how drunk he is, but he advances on her anyway. "I'm done being your lackey. I'm done lying to her. I won't tell her because I don't want to hurt her, but that's the difference between you and I."
Chuck staggers forward, leaning right beside his now trembling stepmother's ear before he snarls his decree with finality. "I've already lost my girlfriend, and Brooke won't even speak to me now. I have nothing left to lose because I'm not trying to protect myself, I'm trying to protect my sister. My sister who deserves to know who her father is. And if you don't tell her within the next month, I'll make sure that Dan Humphrey does." He leans back in satisfaction, smirking heavily. "They're friends now, you know. Co-workers. All it would take is a few drinks and your daughter would know what a slut her mother is."
Crack.
He rears back as he's slapped for the third time in a week, Victoria's dagger like nails leaving scratches in his skin. He'd have made some sassy remark about how it was typical for an alley cat like her to lash out, but he just shakes his head in response because she's standing there shaking like a tree in the wind. She's afraid, terrified of what the world will think of her when all the dirty laundry is aired and the scandals have settled on the battlefield that is the Upper East Side. Her prim and proper reputation is what's important, and he can't even believe that she holds it in higher regard than she does her own daughter.
Chuck dabs his lip with his fingertips, finding that the split lip that Brooke had delivered has reopened. His grin is malicious, bitter. "Your daughter hits harder than you do, but I'm sure you'll find that out soon." He sneers, walking past her in his fit of rebellion.
He saunters past Bart and Jack, who stop dead in their tracks as Victoria comes barreling out of the office behind him and throws a crystal vase at her stepson, the glass shattering against a nearby wall as the normally calm and cold Bass matriarch screams out her final warning.
"I'll kill you, Charles! I'll rip you limb from limb you insignificant bastard of a human being! I'll squash you like the cockroach that you are and I'll watch you bleed out with nothing short of happiness! You'll never be enough for her, or for Bart, or for anyone!" She shrieks at the top of her lungs until her husband finally intervenes, Bart's frame getting in between the two of them as he tries to stop the fit that his wife has decided to fall into. "Get out, get out, get out! Get out of my house and don't you ever fucking come back!"
"Victoria, that is enough!" Bart shouts formidably in her face, his hands grabbing her arms and she looks up at him helplessly like the weakling that she is.
Jack's chuckling softly in the corner with a scotch in his hand, unable to hold back his amusement at the unhinging of Brooke's mother. Marta's doing her best to clean up the shattered glass from the carpet. Bart's shaking Victoria so hard that her head looks like it's about to snap off of her body as she continues screeching from across the room.
And Chuck?
He smirks, tosses his jacket on over his wrinkled shirt and shakes his uncle's hand before walking to the door, adding one last poke to the fire as he goes. He can't help it, he tells himself. It's just his nature to be an asshole, especially to his stepmother.
"With pleasure, Vicki. I'll make sure to tell the Humphrey's that you said hello."
- - - - x - - - -
It's too quiet when they get back to the loft that afternoon, Brooke notices as she steps inside. Nate's too busy snapping at some poor assistant from the office who's tried to contact him on his weekend off to observe, but she does instantly. She can't hear Rachel chatting away on the phone, can't hear a television on, and so she goes to her room to find that she's nowhere to be found and there's a note left on the bed.
Had to run to a meeting at the office. Sleeping there.
The brunette sighs as she drops the note back onto the bed, reaching up and letting her voluminous waves fall down against her shoulders. She's so tired of all of this, of the running around that never seems to end with her life, and she's praying that she'll get a decent night of sleep tonight to make up for it. Tomorrow holds nothing but more work to be done, as the seamstresses would start working on the cotillion dresses and Brooke has more meeting than she does hours in the day. Damn Eleanor for running off the only person besides her that could have planned this to her specifications.
She steps out of the bedroom to find Nate calmly walking around the kitchen, making a pot of coffee. She can only assume that his assistant hasn't given him the best of news considering that his brow is furrowed once again, the same look on his face that he'd had the night prior when he'd walked out of his office.
"Do you have to go in?" Brooke asks softly as she leans in the doorway to the kitchen, pulling her sleeves over her knuckles in an effort to keep herself protected. She hates it when she leaves. If she had it her way, he never would. They'd just stay in the apartment all day and talk, because that's all they've done. She's wondering when he'll get bored with her, if she's being honest.
Nate gives her a saddened look as he walks over to her, tucking a few stray curls behind her ear affectionately. "For a few hours. There's an issue with the paperwork, they just need me to go through it with them one last time." He sighs, his fingers running down to the back of her neck and tangles in with her curls. She thinks he might just be in love with her for her hair, with the way that he always manages to toy with it. Not that she's complaining, of course. She loves it.
"But you owe me." Brooke pouts, jutting out her bottom lip. "I gave you a front row seat to the Bass brand of crazy."
He laughs, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Nate doesn't say anything until he leans back, looking down at her. His blue eyes make her melt into him, her body pressing into him. "I'm coming back, I promise." He soothes her, his thumb caressing her dimple. "I adore you, you know."
Brooke's lips find his before words can make their way through them, her arms locking around his waist and pulling him close. He adores her, verbatim, and she can't help but feel like she's been waiting her whole life to hear someone say those exact words to her. His hands find their place, one embedded in her curls and the other wrapping around her waist. For the split seconds that they have before Brooke pulls away, lips reddened from his wonderful abuse of them and eyes filled with desire, everything in her life makes sense because she's here, here in Nate's arms with the room spinning around her and nothing else mattering but him.
"I, uh..." He mumbles, his forehead resting against hers as he pants. Nate's lips break out into a wide grin as she remains breathless in his arms. "You're making it very, very hard to do my job Miss Davis."
Game on, she thinks to herself as he lingers there, as if begging her to give him a reason to stay.
Brooke smirks, leaning up and leaving him with another deep, wanton kiss before she takes a step back. "By all means, Mr. Archibald." She says in her most elegant voice as she walks towards the bedroom, her fingers curling around the fabric of her sweater before pulling it over her head and dropping it onto the floor. She looks over her shoulder at him with a seductive grin, winking at him. "You work is obviously the most important thing to be done right now." She sighs dramatically before taking a few more steps into her master bedroom.
He's behind her before she can even turn to see if he's left, Nate's nimble hands grasping her hips and pulling her back to his chest roughly. She loses her breath, her composure, everything when he spins her around and she looks into his eyes.
Desire. Passion. Anger. Fear. Adoration. The emotions are swimming in the glimmering shades of blue before her, and she realizes how terrified Nate is to be this intimate with someone, to trust someone this much. Her finger reach up, trailing the cupid's bow of his lip and she can't even stop the words that fall from her lips.
"I think I'm falling for you."
It's breathless and it's helpless, but the broken prayer rolls off of Brooke's tongue before she can clamp her hand over her mouth. She couldn't have stopped it if she had wanted to, and she can't help but wonder if that's how falling for him feels like. No matter how desperately she had pushed it away, how much she had wanted it to be anyone else, he's always there.
Nate pauses, hovering his lips over hers as he holds her body against his. She can feel his heart jack hammering in his chest, and she suddenly realizes that this might be what pushes him away. This may be the moment that breaks the man that can't handle strings, she's convinced herself. This may all end in a flash of passion and flames and she may just be left in the wreckage.
He licks his lips, and his next inhale is sharp as a knife. It's not until the creases of his eyes soften and the wrinkles between his eyebrows disappear that she feels her heart flutter. And when he smiles gently and runs his thumb over her dimples, it gets a few leaps.
"I think...I'd miss you even if I'd never met you."
Her heart skips a beat.
"...and I think...I've been falling for you since the first night I met you."
Her heart soars.
Nate's lips find hers in a heated embrace, raw emotion pouring from both of them because there's no words left to say. There's no more elegance, there's no more excuses, it's just the two of them because they are finally there. They're finally together the way that she's wanted them to be since she saw him out on the balcony, and Brooke lets herself go because she knows her truth, she knows it and she accepts it.
She's falling in love with him as he kisses her so hard that her lips bruise from his force, the dangerous and delectable force that sends her spinning into the land of uncertainty. Brooke lets her inhibitions go as Nate's hands cup her behind and lifts her up into his arms, falling willingly back against the bed as she reaches for him, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt.
She's falling in love with him as he trails kisses down her bra-clad chest all the way down the curves of her hips, as he unzips her leather boots and pulls them off as delicately as he can, as he rolls down the black wool tights and tosses them across the room, as he hooks his thumbs beneath her lace underwear and tugs them down her legs and kisses her all the way down to her ankles. He doesn't wait any time because they've been through all the pleasantries before, they've done all this. It's the grand finale that they have an issue with.
She's falling in love with him with every swift movement of his deftly capable hands and she suffers deliciously all the while, moaning and writing as she struggles to catch her breath. Her entire body feels like it's ice and his hands are fire, slowly dripping his warmth into every crack and crevice of her soul before she completely melts into him, before they become a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and sex and she can't wait anymore.
"Nate..." Brooke whimpers as his hands run up her curves, and she watches intently as he looks up at her with his half-moon grin. He's torturing her, slowly dismantling every defense that she's built up around her heart.
She's been with other men, but as Nate kneels over her and pulls his button up over his head, she knows that this is different. This isn't fucking, she realizes as he slowly undoes his belt and lets his pants fall to his ankles and reveals the Calvin Klein's that she can't wait to get him out of. This isn't screwing, she finally fathoms as her hands betray her and reach out, freeing his extremely impressive length from his boxers. As Brooke marvels at his naked body and lets her hands wander down his chest, she understand that this is something that she's never experienced, because this is making love, and she has no more tricks up her sleeve to make him think that she knows what she's doing.
He pulls her up to him, running his hands along her back before he undoes her brazier and lays her naked body before him. He's got that same look on his face, the one where he looks at her like she's the Mona Lisa and he's just in awe of her body and all its mystery. It's when his heart betrays his lips and he looks up at her and says the words that she never thought would ever come out of Nate's mouth. "Tell me we won't ruin it." He whispers as he crawls up to her, his hands holding her naked body against his, and she trembles in his arms because she can feel the most intimate part of him shudder against her skin.
Brooke doesn't even have to think as her hands run through his hair and shifts her body upwards, locking her legs around him. She's taking control, she realizes as she leans down and kisses his lips softly, one of her hands remaining in his copper colored locks and tugging his head so he's looking directly into his eyes. "It's me and you, Nate." She murmurs into his ear, pressing her lips to the spot behind his ear.
Completely undoing her restraint, Nate melts into her like ice on a hot day, a muffled groan slipping out as he bites down on his lower lip, and she realizes that she has all the powers as she hovers over his body. He presses his lips to her neck, and it's a silent agreement that they won't destroy what they have with letting themselves have the one thing that they need more than air.
It's the most natural thing in the world when Brooke slides onto his length, her body expanding and contracting to let him fill her center like it had been built just for him. Her eyes slip shut and the moan that she lets out turns into a primal growl, because she has him, she's claiming him and it's the most incredible thing she's every felt in her life when she opens her eyes to find his gaze locked on her.
Nate's hands grip her hips, and Brooke finds herself completely adrift when he begins to move her body for her. She's completely and utterly lost in him as she feels herself pulsate around him, her hips rising to meet him as she pants out his name with each thrust of his body into her. Every part of her is throbbing, threatening to come apart as his touch turns her into some sort of lustful being that she's never known. She needs more of him, she decides as he eases himself into her once more and she throws her head back against her shoulders in pleasure.
"More," Brooke rasps into his ear as she holds onto him so tightly that she fears she might bruise him, sweet anticipation tingling all over her skin. It's like heat lightning is running all over her body and it won't stop until he gives her what she needs, what she craves. "I need...more..."
Nate moans into the curve of her neck, a deep and insatiable sound that she wants to hear every moment of every day. Without any sort of hesitation, his strong body pushes her body back against the mattress, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He leans his body as close to her as he can get, one hand sliding beneath her lower back and the other resting beside her head, never once separating their bodies. She watches as Nate's hips slowly pull his length almost all the way out of her, before he thrusts so deep into her that she can see stars. The sensation is the definition of intense and her eyes nearly roll back into her head when he does it again, and again, and again.
Brooke cries out his name as he continuously repeats this, slowly removing his hardened shaft almost to the brink of her before slamming back into her. The room is spinning and her body is careening so fast to her orgasm that she can't even slow it down when it hits, her body coming apart like an earthquake of massive proportions as her nails dig into his shoulder so deep that they draw blood. Her core explodes around him and she doesn't even realize that she's crying until she feels the tears drip down her cheeks because there are so many emotions crashing together and pulling apart.
She needs him, she knows as she wraps her arms around him and pulls him even deeper into her as he plunges into her with broken words and moans so carnal that she wants him even more.
And when he whispers her name like it's the very salvation he's dying for...
She comes all over again, calling out for his moment of ecstasy as she sends him flying over the edge with her, because coming undone in Nate's arms is her new addiction.
"Fuck, Brooke!" Nate pants out before his climax hits him, and she can feel him filling her as if his body is the medication for her broken and wounded soul.
It's like she's found the missing piece to her puzzle, but she can't get out of the words she wants to say because being one with the man that adores her is all consuming, all destroying, all chaos quieting and serenity inducing. It's never felt like this before for the brunette that lies on the thousand count sheets of her bed, fighting for air. It had never felt this way with Lucas, like she's been ripped apart and put back together by the person that now hovers above her. It's never felt this way with anyone, and she can't help but feel like that means something.
Nate collapses against her chest, their bodies a mess of fragile hearts and fulfilled needs as she runs her fingers through his matted locks, feeling his manhood still within her as his cheek presses to her naked breast. He doesn't pull his still quivering length out of her, doesn't move a muscle. His breaths are jagged and messy and undone, and she doesn't think she's ever felt this vulnerable with him as he finally traces the curve of her hip with his fingers.
He rolls over after a few moments, tugging her spent and exhausted body on top of him and Brooke moans softly from his body shifting inside of her. She can't form words as his fingers run up and down her spine, the two of them in comfortable silence as she listens to the beats of his heart. It's thundering beneath her cheek, lulling her into sleep, and she never wants to move from the position she's currently relaxing in.
"...wow." Brooke finally whispers against his skin, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest.
She can feel him laugh as his free hand moves the messy and damp curls from her face, looking up to find Nate gazing down at her. "You are...incredible." He murmurs with heavily lidded eye and something different in his voice. She can't put her finger on it as he leans in and kisses her in the most unhurried fashion, like he's got all the time in the world.
It's not until he pulls back and the now-familiar dark gaze is in his eyes and she can feel his erection rise within her, when she whimpers for him to take her again and he more than gratefully obliges, that she realizes what it is.
It's happiness.