Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, the characters belong to Ryan Murphy
A/N: Nooooooo commmmmment. I feel like this is one of the less coherent pieces. It's one I wouldn't mind if people picked it apart *hint hint* please free Beta me *cough hint*
Prompt: "I once dated a first grade teacher. She put gold stars all over my body. That was hot."
Reading was Sam's favorite form of escapism. A close second was writing. The worst thing about her move to the McQueen McMansion was the endless writer's block that came with it. Her family home had been cozy, familiar, comfortable. She had found the most creative nooks and crannies. Most importantly, there was a pleasant little park a few minutes' walk from there, where Sam had sat beneath a tree, letting the sun and inspiration soak in. But the move had torn her away from the park and the tree, and the years of nostalgia grown in with its bark. Now that it was a good 45 minute walk away, finding the time to simply write was near impossible.
She could still write articles for school, no brutal injustice was going to slip from her eye just because of some silly writer's block. But the stories, the worlds that had once so effortlessly flowed had gotten jammed up in her pen, lost in four letter words and unfamiliar settings. She supposed it was actually a boon; she was maturing into her craft. Articles and essays were just as important as poems and prose. But in sifting through old journals, she couldn't help but burn with some bittersweet longing for the creative outpour of her younger days.
Then one day, Brooke smiled at her. Singled her out, walked over, and smiled. Their shoulders had even brushed a little bit. She considered Sam a friend, the most familiar face in a room full of people they had spent their lives with. Sam was breathless.
And suddenly, Sam's writer's block was gone. As fast as it came, Brooke's driver's license came faster. While most of the mileage on the car was made in trips to shopping malls and Nicole's house, Brooke had taken to driving around with Sam on lazy Sunday afternoons. Somewhere in their tentative friendship, Brooke had discovered some comfort in Sam. For how hell bent they had once been on destroying each other, Brooke found herself taking shelter in Sam's gaze. Whatever judgment she had feared was gone from the brunette's eyes, replaced by some mild appreciation- something that was slowly being cultivated into adoration. It was under this rare, affectionate spotlight that Brooke began to feel energized. It was something hereto nameless, but it had stretched and molded its way into the cytoplasm of every cell of her body, releasing serotonin with every glance. The massive rerouting of her neurotransmitters had pulled Brooke into the task of getting to know Sam. It wasn't very difficult- something about winding through suburban neighborhoods garnered trust like nothing short of bribery could.
And so, in a burst of whimsy, Sam navigated them back to her old neighborhood, to the little park that had housed so many fantasies in years before.
"I think that I shall never see/ a poem as lovely as a tree." She had carved that into a small piece of wood and buried it beneath this tree about 10 years ago. Though her teacher (conservative old biddy she was), had protested her recitation of the poem (namely the words "breast" and "bosom") in the third grade, Sam had been enamored by Kilmer's linguistic triumph for a time, spurred on by enthusiastic recitations by her father. Sam leaned back into the tree, feeling like she was getting a hug from her childhood. Without so much as a second's hesitation, she flipped open her journal and was drawing out poems and prose like a beast.
Brooke concluded her bout of ambling, and walked over and sat down right next to Sam.
Sam's face screwed into a pout as she pulled her journal to her chest. "No, this is my tree."
"Your tree? Pretty sure it's the park's tree."
Sam frowned, searching for reason to be defensive, but was interrupted by the wind knocking some loose papers from her hands, stealing it away across the park. The scattered paper was followed by a muttered expletive as Sam ran after them, relinquishing her spot to Brooke. The blonde watched as Sam dodged an elderly couple on rollerblades, vaguely wondering if she should help, before shifting back into the trunk.
No sooner had her head lolled back into the shade than a little glimmer of metal around the other side of the tree caught Brooke's eye. She crawled over, leaning close to the faded shine. Her fingers skirted over top, gently brushing away some leaves and dirt. When that action wasn't revealing enough, she dug down into the cool earth, pulling away layers of time and grime to reveal an old plaque. Squinting, she was able to make out the engraving, "This oak tree dedicated to Joe McPherson- husband and father, who planted the seeds of many incredible journeys."
The moment she finished reading, she jumped back, startled by Sam's timely re-arrival.
"I… I'm sorry. I guess it really is your tree." Brooke was sullen in her embarrassment, but Sam's effortless smile swept away all the worry.
"Nah... It's fine. I overreacted. But I'm charging you for the air you breathe while you're here."
"Your generosity astounds me." Sam decided that the way Brooke's face scrunched when she smiled was as inspired a masterpiece as the sum of her childhood imagination. She reclaimed her spot against the trunk and slid down, laying flat against the earth, journal and pen in the air above her head.
Brooke's eyes swept Sam's stretched out body, and she couldn't resist. She flipped onto her back and laid her head on Sam's stomach, feeling the rise and fall of Sam's breath, every heart beat issuing declarations of life. She tried to focus on the clouds, so brilliantly framed by the vibrant waves of the sky, but in seconds they all faded into white obscurity- meaningless relics of a world outside of Sam. The only things left in Brooke's world were Sam and the smile on her own face.
"Remember when they would give us gold stickers for sharing?" Brooke dug around in her purse, intent on some mysterious prize.
"You earned this." She smiled and pressed her finger to Sam's forehead, then pulled back, leaving a small, five pointed shimmer attached to Sam's skin. She beamed at Sam, but quickly scrunched her face in displeasure. Before the brunette could say anything, Brooke leaned in and affixed the star with a kiss. When she pulled back she was greeted by the most adorably confused expression on Sam's face. Her eyes were a swirling fight for dominance between the confusion and the affection that normally resided there. The words resulting from the internal battle were equally unsure.
"Are you drunk?"
"Only on the summer sun!"
Sam raised her eyebrows, skeptical of Brooke's unprompted joy. What most concerned her was how utterly infectious Brooke's smile was. She could feel it clawing at the inside of her lips, pushing at the muscles in her cheeks.
It was right as Brooke lowered herself back to the soft grass that Sam slipped and smirked, but it didn't matter much because the rest of the frenetic energy was pushed into her fingers as she swiped the pad of gold stars from Brooke's hands, deftly plucking three choice stickers, and pressing them to Brooke's nose, cheek, and chin. Mimicking Brooke's seal, she followed up with three quick kisses, taking exact care not to miss the stars. The energy fizzled out as she parted with the last star, drawing Sam into a lingering retreat. She slowed to an absolute halt at eye level, transfixed by Brooke's smiling eyes.
A mild breeze teased at Sam's hair, but they had reached a stalemate. Sam refused to move, instantly timid. Brooke was pretty darn comfy, cradled by soft grass and the warmth of Sam's body, looking into the majestic skies set in Sam's starry eyes. She was tempted so much to call these moments forever and bask in them for their namesake, but positions like this called for action.
So with childlike, deliberate movements Brooke fumbled for the sheet of stars, peeled one off, and tried to suppress a giggle as she left it shining on Sam's lower lip. Sam barely had time to look surprised before Brooke's smile was pressed against hers, pulling lightly until Sam got her bearings and responded in kind.
Some undocumented amount of time passed before Sam's back twitched some disagreement about being hunched over for so long, even though her head felt like it had been filled with helium. That would have explained why her voice was a little bit squeaky as it recovered in gasping breaths.
"That was... unexpected."
Brooke cocked an eyebrow, raising herself from the ground, face a masterpiece of effortless smugness. "For you, maybe."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam was still a little bit flustered, but Brooke had laced their arms together, all the way down to their fingers
Brooke's reply was an oddly peaceful sigh, "Sam, honey, I'm Brooke McQueen. I know everything."
The tree rustled its approval, an otherworldly nod of agreement. Sam fingered the edge of her journal. Moving on was fine. Her other hand traced some absentminded paragraph across Brooke's arm. If this was how her writing style was planning to mature, she could bank that she'd never have writer's block again.