Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

A/N: Wow, bet you never thought you'd be seeing an update here, huh? Me either. I was all prepared to abandon this fic, but nothing inspires like a brand spanking new laptop. So, yeah, updates. I'm gonna try and finish this off as soon as possible before I lose the will to write. Reviews will definitely feed the creative fire. It's un-beta'd so expect some typos. Um, that's about it.

Rating: Maybe like R, or hard R. I wouldn't say NC-17 but someone else might. If the idea of two consenting females engaging in a sexual relationship bothers you, then what the hell are you doing reading this fic? If it's illegal where you live, I'd consider moving. But all that be in here. So here's fair warning.

Peyton

I have no idea how we got here. I mean we were talking a minute ago. About my daughter, no less. How the hell do you go from bragging about your kid to--Oh, my god. She's doing that thing with her knee again. Slow circles between my legs and I'm already wet. How did she get so good at this? There's a press of lips to my throat and I forget how to breathe. Acrylic-nailed fingers tangling in my hair and breathy whispers of "Oh, Peyton..." in my ear. My legs have gotten themselves wrapped around her waist and she's half carrying, half pulling me towards my office and bumping into everything along the way. Office? I think I mumbled something about there being a couch there. Couches are good.

I barely have time to shut the door before she's got me pushed up against it and her lips attached to mine. God, I forgot how good she tastes. I'm back on the couch, Brooke in my lap and frenzied hands moving everywhere trying to remove clothes that have long become unwelcome.There's a tug at the hem of my top and she nearly tears it pulling it over my head. God, I forgot how impatient she is. She stops as soon as the shirts gone and stares. Hard. Well, I know I'm not what I used to be but--

"So beautiful," she breathes. Her lips are back on my throat, a hot tongue tracing invisible patterns as her hands go everywhere. One works dilligently at the clasp of my bra while the other tries to still the hips that can't seem to stop grinding against her thigh. Brooke gets the bra undone and throws it uncerimoniously behind her. I've given up trying to be graceful; grace is impossible when Brooke is all but writhing on top of me trying to take my jeans off and they are just not cooperating. She keeps fumbling with with my belt, her hands moving too quickly too close to my crotch.

I don't know when she found the time to get her clothes off, but she has and she's on top of me, hungry lips attached to my chest and a steady hand making a maddeningly slow trail downward. There's a lick and a curl of fingers and I'm trying so hard not to scream because I'm already coming. As soon as the rest of me remembers how to function, I flip Brooke over, because turnabout is fair play and it's my turn now. I kiss a wet trail down her stomach, headed for places due south and one hand already sliding between those silky smooth legs.

I know what it feels like, of course. I mean, I've been here and done this before. But it's ridiculous how different she feels when there's no alcohol clouding my senses. It's amazing how soft she is, and how easily my fingers slip in, and how loud she's being. Nothing like a cocaphony of moans to boost a girl's ego, so I just go for it. It's not exactly what I remember, but the squirming and breathy half-formed words that are making me wet again definitely make it worthwhile.

I try swirling my tongue and Brooke almost crushes my head with shaking thighs. Note to self: Must do that again. I slide in a second finger to join the first and press up; she jerks when she comes and the heels I didn't know were pushing against my lower back go up and come down so hard I actually think she may have broken something. After a second, her legs fall away and I bring a wet hand up to work the cramp out of my neck. When I look back up, Brooke is still trying to catch her breath, eyes closed, hair delightfully mussed, her body glowing just a little sweat, and she has never looked more beautiful.

If ever there was a doubt about where I should be or what I wanted, it's gone now. Because it's Brooke. And I should've known better because it's always Brooke. I was stupid to ever think otherwise. And as long as we're right here, there's just us and nothing can change it. I crawl back up the couch, which isn't so easy because my arms and legs are still a bit weak, and rest my head inside my crooked elbow. I drag a lazy finger over her face until her eyes open and refocus. Before I can get out those three words that have been waiting on the tip of my tongue for far too long, she gives me one of her little smirks that I've missed way too much and says one word.

Again.