A/N Hey all. Sorry for the delay. Chapters are probably going to be slow for a while- Emera's just started university and has given herself a case of freshers flu! As you can imagine she's a little preoccupied with her life at the minute so your patience would be greatly appreciated! Enjoy.
They find themselves in a routine.
According to the psychiatrists and doctors it's what Jamie needs.
Sleep. Breakfast. Get Jamie to Peyton's. Work. Pick Jamie up. Dinner. Sleep. Breakfast. Get Jamie to Peyton's. Work. Pick Jamie up. Dinner. Sleep.
The regular workday is foreign, demanding and tiresome. It's something he's never had. Not for more than a couple of days at a time. He always manages to screw it up. He's never cared because it's only ever been him. All he's had to think about is himself. Only it's not the same this time. He has got someone else to consider. He doesn't step out of line. His days are automated and robotic. But with the terrifying constraints of this sudden responsibility also comes a sense of stability that's refreshing and safe.
'Do you want to stay?' Peyton asks one day.
He stops stuffing Jamie's sweater into his backpack and looks up.
She's avoiding his stare. She's looking down at some junk mail that's laying on the work surface and for a second he thinks he completely imagined it.
'I mean. I have a habit of over estimating food portions. I've got enough chilli to last me the week' She looks up.
'Er' Dinner. A night without having to put together some meal that would most definitely not compare to what she was offering. A nutritious dinner would be good for Jamie. 'Yeah, well if you're sure' He nods.
She bites her bottom lip and his eyes divert to her mouth.
'I'll get two more plates'
'We're staying?' Jamie's voice sounds in the background.
'Just for a little while longer' Lucas ruffles his hair and the little boy smiles.
The days have turned into weeks. The weeks have turned into months and he's developed a soft spot for his young nephew. Inevitably so.
'I'm going to finish my drawing' Jamie declares excitedly, shrugging his jacket back off and clambering back onto the kitchen chair.
Lucas looks over his shoulder at the piece of paper that's scribbled with an array of brightly coloured crayons.
There's three stick figures. A man. A woman and a boy.
It doesn't take a detective to figure out who they are.
Lucas blinks. He's surprised to find the child's drawing touching him as it does. Things haven't been easy. In all honesty he's sure he would have lost his sanity had it not been for the girl that's dishing up food onto plates. He doesn't do affection or discipline. He doesn't know how to be a parent but he's learning because she's teaching him and she doesn't even know it. She knows what to do when Jamie is upset or angry, she seemingly knows how to deal with every eventuality and although he hates that she's always right he's actually kind of thankful to have her around.
'He's quite the budding artist huh?' Peyton smiles.
Jamie looks up to see his Uncle's response.
'It's good Jamie' His complement is awkwardly delivered. Lucas doesn't know how to be positive. He doesn't know how to be encouraging. But it doesn't matter. His words are enough to make the little boy smile.
'This is you and me and Peyton. Peyton showed me how to do your hair and your eyes and your nose' He enthuses.
'And my ears?' Lucas wonders as he squints down at the two very pointy triangles sticking out from the circular head that imitate that of an elf.
'Nope. I did them all on my own' The five year old informs him proudly.
'Yes you did' Peyton sets three places at the table. 'It looks just like him JimmyJam'
Things have changed between them. Things aren't as strained. Their conversations are to the bare minimum and when they do speak they're overly polite and it's the polar opposite of what it had been. Their lives are separate and yet ultimately entwined.
It's a Friday and the polite charade they've been playing ends.
She's furious and she's done with the façade because this is too much. This is something that she can't just ignore.
'Lucas?' She marches through the large house.
Her cheeks are flushed and she's angry. More than angry, she's livid and she has no clue why she's quite as riled as she is.
He's not answering and her pace quickens as she climbs the stairs.
Maybe he's left. Maybe he's abandoned Jamie.
She storms into his bedroom, eyes making a quick circuit of the empty room.
Her stare finds the adjoining bathroom door.
It's ajar and she's startled to see the back of his figure through the gap.
She'd convinced herself that he'd have been gone. Perhaps that's why she is so mad.
He wasn't gone though. He was right there.
She takes a deep breath and then the blood racing through her veins coaxes her over to the door.
He jumps when she all but bursts into the bathroom.
He'd been deaf to her calls.
'Fuck Peyton!'
She doesn't reprimand him for his language.
She gawps at his face.
There's a reddened splotch running up his cheekbone. He's been hit.
'Have you ever heard of fucking knocking before entering?' He snaps. 'You're like fucking creeping Jesus'
She shakes herself from her wide eyed fixation. 'You've been hit'
He turns away. 'Is Jamie down stairs?'
She shakes her head. 'He's at my parents'
'Why?' He looks back at her questioningly.
'Because'
'Because?'
'Because I wanted to freaking talk' She blurts. 'My Dad rings me and says he had to suspend you Luke! For fighting!' She exclaims.
'What, so you're going to fucking rat me out to social services? You're refusing to let Jamie come back here?' He spits angrily.
'Jamie is with my parents because I wanted to talk. Not because I don't trust you to look after him' She sternly announces. She knows she's given him reason to doubt that she trusts him and she doesn't know how to get it into his head that despite her previous judgements, she in actual fact has grown to care and trust him. He's shown her that in the last twelve weeks. He'e been reliable and responsible and Jamie's little face demonstrates that simple fact. Only perhaps that isn't entirely true, perhaps she doesn't completely trust him because just seconds prior she'd still found herself fearing that today was the day that he'd upped and left.
'Well talk' He leans back against the sink counter top and she suddenly realises that he's wearing nothing but sweat pants.
The bathroom is hot and the mirror is steamed up; he's just got out the shower. His hair is damp and the smell of shampoo and deodorant lingers in the air.
She's suddenly flushed for a whole different reason.
He crosses his arms in front of his naked chest. He's impatient.
'Why on earth were you fighting?'
'One of the guys pissed me off. It's no big deal. Guys fight Peyton'
'Are you saying my Dad over reacted?'
'That's not what I'm saying' He sighs. 'You're Dad did what he had to do and I respect that'
'Lucas what kind of example does that set?' She wavers her hand exasperatedly at his cheek. 'You think an inquisitive five year old isn't going to wonder why your face is bruised?'
He wipes his hand over the foggy mirror and peers at his distorted reflection.
'It's not that bad' He contends.
She shakes her head in disagreement. 'Sit'
He's befuddled but does as ordered, sitting himself on the toilet seat.
She rummages in the medicine cabinet. Haley was safety conscious. There's tones of products for every possible eventuality in every bathroom.
In the next few minutes she silently plays nurse, pressing a cool compress to his cheek.
A slight smile twitches at his lips as he imagines her in a nurses uniform.
She sees but she doesn't find anything about this situation amusing.
'You have to think about Jamie. You can't just go around getting yourself into fights over nothing when you're responsible for someone else. What if this guy presses charges? What then?'
'It was stupid' He grumbles. His smile is gone. Nurse Peyton is gone. Reprimanding Peyton is back.
'Just don't do it again' She pleads. 'Promise'
'I can't promise you that'
She's mad again.
'Promise me Lucas'
'You didn't hear that jackass'
'What could he have possibly said that got you so mad?' Her eyebrow raises on one side.
'Nothing' He mumbles again, he'd successfully managed to avoid going into detail over his fight only he's just dug himself a pretty big hole.
'Nothing? Lucas something must have triggered you to play the macho card. I know you. I know it's not in your nature to just throw your fists at people for a laugh. I know you'
He's pissed off. Her reprimanding is tiresome and her tone is annoying and she does not know him. She doesn't know things he's done. This is nothing in comparison. She doesn't know him and he doesn't know her. Their conversations revolve solely around James Scott.
'You want to know?' He pushes her fussing hands away from his face. 'This guy was saying how he fucked you at some fucking Christmas party last year. He was bragging about what a fucking easy lay you are'
She's stunned into silence. Her eyes well and she wishes that she could stop it but the tears arise despite her willing of them not to. She knows exactly who he's referring too now. She knows who the guy is that he hit. She's the reason he got into a fight. He was defending her and now she feels responsible.
'You should, shouldn't care what people say...it, it doesn't matter' She's wishing she hadn't been so insistent.
'It matters' His eyes are focused on her. She's looking away. Her body's shifted, her side to him. The tough, courageous girl he's always confronted with, is no more. 'So it's true?' He assumes. 'You fucked that guy?'
'I don't think my sex life is any of your business' She musters.
She's right, it is none of his business. Only he really, really wants to know. Her glassy eyes and hunched shoulders give him his answer without a verbal confirmation from her and he wants to hit the guy all over again because no one, let alone good girl Peyton Sawyer should be talked about that way.
She sniffs and inhales and in that single breath she manages to compose herself. She looks back up at him.
'I'm not easy' The words tumble from her mouth. She doesn't get why she's attempting to explain herself to him. 'I'm not, I didn't, I don't usually just sleep with guys. I mean it was a one time thing. I was drunk, I'd just come out of a long relationship and I, I used him, he was just there' She shakes her head.
He doesn't say anything.
'I'm not easy, I'm not a slut' She murmurs again.
He knows that. He knows that because had she been that way he would sure as hell of taken advantage of it by now. He knows just what she's like. He knows by the tears that arose in her eyes just moments before that she isn't that girl.
She's ambitious, smart, kind and generous. She's got morals. She's got integrity.
She's the most beautiful girl he's ever met and she's the very last girl he'd ever go for because the simple fact is, she's better than him. She's the kind of girl that deserves flowers and a relationship and he sure as hell doesn't do relationships. Relationships are messy and fuck things up.
Only he's forgotten all of his rational thoughts in the last thirty seconds because he's stood up and he's edging closer to her.
He still hasn't spoken and when he's moved to stand in the doorway with her she opens her mouth to say it again.
'I'm not easy' It comes out as a whisper. He's standing so close.
'I know'
This is the most meaningful conversation they've had. This is the most personal of topics and in a second everything's changed.
He hesitantly leans toward her.
He's nervous.
He's never nervous when it comes to this.
Only she's different to the girls he'd usually do this with.
She's out of his league.
She's above him. She's got money. She's intellectual, beautiful and kind.
She's everything he's not.
He usually goes for someone that will wake up in the morning knowing that this was just a one night stand and not caring of that simple fact.
He doesn't think Peyton Sawyer is the type of girl to have a one night stand.
She's the type of girl that wants a boyfriend, that deserves someone that will provide for her and one day get down on their knee to propose.
And yet, for a moment he pushes past all that bullshit.
She's looking up at him through long lashes and he sees the longing there. He knows that look.
He kisses her.
He kisses her and he's not surprised by her hasty step back, if anything, it's expected. She doesn't get very far though, the door frame hits her back before she makes a full step.
She doesn't try to make a further escape. She doesn't run.
She stares at him wide eyed.
She wonders if he's testing her. She bets he thinks she's an easy lay despite her declaration that she's not.
He doesn't think that. He doesn't think that in the slightest. The simple truth is that she let her guard down, for a moment she was vulnerable and in that short moment he'd pounced. In that short moment he'd been the superior one and he'd taken full advantage of it.
He'd been tortured by her beauty since that day that seemed so long ago now, the day that she'd opened her front door to him. He'd wanted to do this for so long, though he'd easily been able to repress such desires because of her superiority. She wasn't just a pretty face. She was intelligent, far more than him he was sure. She was higher than him in every way and he wouldn't be humiliated any further.
But all that had sky rocketed from his brain when she'd let her guard down. For a moment she'd been just a girl that was no better than him.
She doesn't run and he closes the small gap she's created and he kisses her again.
Her mind is telling her to be angry and push him away with a resounding slap but she doesn't.
But she doesn't exactly reciprocate either.
He likes that.
The types of girls he usually goes for are easy. They throw themselves at him and he takes what he wants.
She's not throwing herself at him by any means. She's stiff and her hands are slightly behind her, awkwardly gripping the wood of the door frame.
After exactly eleven seconds (he counts) she's kissing him back.
He has complete dominance. He grips her hips to him and groans as her slender figure is pressed completely against him.
She can feel the heat from his naked torso, radiating through her jacket. She wants her jacket rid of.
Lucas can apparently read minds because the article of clothing rushes to the floor.
She's clearly not dressed herself today. He knows she's got a best friend that works in fashion; Larry Sawyer likes to talk about his daughter. Lucas is pretty sure he'd win a pop quiz on Peyton. He can tell when her said friend has interfered with her wardrobe, it's generally more girly and the skirts and dresses are shorter than she'd choose herself. He likes that. Today the fashion obsessed best friend has got her in a high waisted tight floral skirt, with a train of black buttons going down either side. A black strap top is tucked into it and she's wearing a stripy cardigan. The miss match of pattern works and with her model like frame Lucas thinks she looks like she's just walked out of one of those fancy magazines.
Her kisses are more needy and her hesitant hands have finally found their way into his hair.
It all happens so fast. One moment she's standing, jammed between him and the door frame and then she's being pulled and pushed across the room. The stripy cardigan is gone and then she's laying on the bed and she's not quite clear how she got there.
She's not quite clear how this started at all for that matter.
She finds this man infuriating and complicated and at the same time she feels protective and apparently attracted to him too and this is just really really wrong.
Jamie flickers into her mind and she fleetingly wonders if this is wise but then Lucas' hands are back on her and his lips are on her neck and Jamie's gone and she wants this.
They don't speak. Words always fuck things up. Especially with them.
From their first meeting there has been this bubbling of hatred beneath the surface. The circumstance of their meeting had thwarted any chances they had of being on a friend basis from the get go. Their relationship hadn't been a choice. They'd had to learn to be civil to each other. They'd had no choice but to see each other on a regular basis. They'd learnt to communicate without erupting into an argument in the past months.
The frustration and anger has finally broken through their tough exteriors in the form of lust.
He can't help but think that this really was inevitable.
He pulls her strappy top from her skirt and his hands slip beneath the clinging material, her back arching as his fingers work up her ribs.
Having not even so much as hugged one another before, it's electrifying to feel his hands, strong and powerful, moulding over her skin. Feeling. Touching.
Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly open and he can feel her breath flutter over his lips. Again. Again. Again.
She's beautiful. He's never seen her so fucking hot. He wishes she could be like this all the time. He wishes she could learn to keep her fucking mouth shut because even though she's tried her hand at being polite she can be rude and opinionated and sarcastic and just really fucking infuriating.
He unbuttons her skirt. He fumbles So many fucking buttons.
Her eyes are wide now. He's removing garments that haven't been removed by anyone other than herself in a while and what their about to do sinks in.
She's sure she's meant to try and stop him. But instead of being filled with doubt she's fuelled on.
Her skirt is gone and he pulls her languid body up with a mutter of 'Sit up' His voice is deep and thick and doesn't help her to follow through on his demand.
He smirks as she grapples onto his shoulders to keep her balance and her mouth pouts in response to his taunting lips.
He drags her top up her torso and over her head, leaving her clad in her underwear. Her bra is a dark purple colour and she's wearing black lacy boy shorts.
She joins him in looking down at herself. She couldn't remember what undergarments she'd put on this morning but as she checks out the damage she's quick to decide that it could of been a hell of a lot worse. She's not clashing and she's not wearing some cartoon embellished numbers. All in all she's done pretty well.
His hands at her hips push and this time when her back is against the mattress he nudges her legs apart with his knee and then his weight is on her. He's heavy but instead of feeling trapped and claustrophobic she relishes in the feel of him. Her hands map out his back. They delight at the feel of his sculpted torso while his own make quick work of disposing of her underwear and then his mouth is everywhere and she feels completely useless.
He's not gentle or slow and she struggles to keep up and her brain is no longer functioning because it all feels so, so good.
She's literally whimpering and writhing beneath him when his body leaves her and she's instantly disorientated and confused and he hasn't said a word.
She's figuring he's either realised what they were doing wasn't smart or that he's just being malicious enough to tease her before walking away. Or, even worse, perhaps he's realised that I'm just not good at this. But then he reappears, rummaging through his wallet.
She blinks. She's still confused.
He tosses his wallet behind him when he's found what he'd been so desperately looking for.
The square foil packet answers all her questions.
He's not walking away, he's still very much eager to proceed down the road they were headed.
Her breath hitches in her throat as she watches him tear open the wrapper with his teeth.
His sweatpants are then dropped and her eyes are quick to descend.
Lucas' lips twitch into that smirk again as he expertly slides the condom into place and then he's stalking back over to her and her wide eyes are back on his face.
Still no words are spoken and all Peyton can hear is her own heavy breaths.
She's naked. He's naked.
He finds her lack of voice endearing. He's use to crass words being spoken into his ear. He's use to girls asking him to fuck them and he's used to girls telling him exactly what he's making them feel. Peyton's silence is different, it's new and he finds himself listening to her breathing patterns and the quiet little murmurs escaping her mouth to know if he's making her feel good.
She's suddenly nervous as hell. She suddenly feels so very out of her depth.
He clearly knows what he's doing, not that she doesn't know how this works; it's not as though she's never had sex. She just feels completely inexperienced in comparison to him. He radiates confidence and he's in control while she's a shuddering mess. She usually feels superior but that's definitely the last thing she feels right now. He's completely dominant and she's not got a hope in hell.
He's right there, he's pushing against her and the knot in her stomach pulls tight and she needs. She needs him there.
He nudges her thighs further apart and hoists one leg over his hip and then he is there and even though she'd been anticipating it, she'd not quite anticipated his swift stroke and it quite literally knocks the air from her chest.
Her back arches.
Her eyes slam shut.
He groans. Delicious tight warmth.
He doesn't ask her if she's okay. His eyes are burning down on her face. He doesn't look away and regardless of his lack of verbal questioning, his piercing gaze together with his immobile body and soothing hand running circles over her thigh, clearly shows that he innately knows of her discomfort.
She's tempted to tell him that it's been a while but she doesn't want to break their sacred silence.
His head drops into the crook of her neck and his limbs shake with the effort of staying still.
'I'm sorry' He grunts. She never thought she'd hear those words emerge from his mouth and she's not quite sure what he's apologising for. He's sorry because he should have known to treat her with more care, she's not a whore, she's perfection and should be treated gently and lovingly only he doesn't know how to do that and it's too late now.
She shifts beneath him and her lashes flutter open but he kisses her before she can lock eyes. He can't look into those eyes. He doesn't want to feel the guilt because this is a one night stand and it shouldn't matter but it does because she deserves more.
He takes from her. He takes but this is different to his usual partners because he's not just taking. He's giving too. He's striving to please her, he wants to hear her moan that moan again.
He holds her wrists above her head. She's putty in his hands and he tries to memorise every second of it. He tries not to think but he can't not. His mind is buzzing and he's completely consumed by her. He wonders if this is so intense because he's not allowed himself it sooner. He wonders if this would be as fucking good if they were to do it a second time.
There won't be a second time. He knows that. She won't allow it. She'll hate him even more when this is finished.
Her breathing has sped up and her back is arching and his hand is between them and if this is the only time they do this he's glad that he's triumphantly sky rocketed her to outer space. She'll remember this. He's forced her to remember every second. Even if she hates him she won't ever be able to say this was bad.
Her release is a catalyst to his own and he hisses into her ear and then his weight slumps onto her.
He stays there. Their hearts race in union. Her hair is strewn across her face. Just moments ago he would've pushed it away but not now. He moves off of her. The mattress dips beside her as his body drops into the space with a little thump.
He exhales and she shivers.
The silence is no longer welcomed. It's awkward and deafening.
She wonders if she should leave. She feels uncomfortable laying naked beside him only she can't move. Her body is trembling in the aftermath of their coupling and her legs can't seem to function.
She's working up the courage to move.
But she doesn't have to. Because not even a minute later he's sitting up. He's moving away. He's finding his pants. His back is to her as his feet stumble into their respective holes. A cupboard door is opened, a t-shirt is found and tugged on and then he's gone and she's laying there in his bed and she doesn't know what this was or is and her eyes close tight but the tears are relentless because at this very moment she's never felt more used and she can't take this back. She can never take this back.