Best Friends With Benefits

Disclaimer: I make no money from the writing of this story. The characters are the property of the CW. Their use here is purely fictional.


A/N: Sooo.. I know it’s been a while and I was wanting this to be a oneshot, but, well, this couple just keeps popping up in my mind. I mean, I just keep running the scenarios of what would Tree Hill be like if Peyton and Brooke were together? So I think this is probably pre-s1 and AU altogether, but with definitely parallel aspects. I’m not entirely sure yet, I’m going to let this story run with me.

***

The music was loud, the sound pulsating throughout the entire house which was open to the night. Dozens of dancing, heaving bodies swayed in time to the beat, while others moved in a continuous stream of flesh that was closest thing to sex one could do with their clothes on. A typical Saturday night at the Scott beach house, and anybody who was anybody was there.

Brooke Davis was determined to be somebody. She seemed born with a natural instinct for social etiquette and an innate desire to climb to the top. She couldn’t have described it in exactly those words -- who didn’t want the intense fame and popularity that would come with achieving that status? -- but nevertheless the talent was there. Perhaps it was her parental neglect that drove her to be adored by strangers; perhaps it was simply who she was, no matter what. What she did know was that these parties, hosted by a one Nathan Scott, were the hottest thing this year. Nathan, like Brooke, was a freshman at Tree Hill, but he was a rising basketball player. He had already gotten an invite to join the varsity team next year, which wasn’t a common thing. Brooke had had her eye on him for a while, but decided that he was still too small a fish. There were much more appetizing boys on the menu.

Take Julian Jeffries, the current varsity team captain. He was a senior and would be graduating in May. That made him practically a man -- and Brooke thought that was infinitely better than a scrawny gangly boy who could shoot a ball. Brooke smiled her catty smile, delicate fingers cradling the plastic cup that held the party’s poison as she nudged Peyton with her elbow. The blonde had been mingling just beside Brooke, her head turned to the side to observe something going on across the room.

“What?” Peyton’s green eyes flashed towards Brooke’s brown ones, and just that look -- predatory, feline, seductive was almost enough to take her breath away. Brooke was stunning tonight, in a sleek blue dress with her hair done in a fancy curl. Diamonds glittered at her throat and ears, her lips painted a fierce red. Peyton was always dazzled by Brooke, but never more so than when she was in her prime. Peyton secretly thought of this Brooke as ‘hunting Brooke’ and it was an apt description. Not that Peyton ever told Brooke that -- it was too silly.

“What about him? Julian,” Brooke’s hand casually reached out to the crook of Peyton’s elbow, in order to adjust her line of vision. Now Peyton was standing slightly in front of Brooke, their heads aimed in the same direction. The nearness of her made Peyton’s heart pound, while her vision went a little fuzzy. She had to take several calming breaths before she could respond -- and still it was tight, as if she just couldn’t get her vocal chords to work right. “What about him?”

“You know..” Brooke smiled, the curve of her lips just barely grazing Peyton’s ear. She felt the other girl jolt and repress a shiver, which tickled out a sultry laugh. She squeezed the arm reassuringly and took a step back, giving Peyton the distance she needed to think clearly. “He’s very cute.”

Peyton’s laugh was forced. She knew Brooke thought Peyton overplayed her attraction to Brooke, but the truth was Peyton was badly in lust with the girl. Simple contact was enough to drive her crazy, and that little laugh across the back of her neck had nearly undone her. Peyton’s face was flushed with embarrassment and desire. She quickly took a sip of her drink in order to coat her throat, and then turned to assess the boy Brooke was eyeing.

He was tall and lean, with gleaming muscles and shaggy tawny hair with eyes that were nearly the same shade. He actually had a nice smile and a good voice, things Peyton always admired in men. In another universe -- one in which Peyton was not madly jealous of this boy -- he would be perfect for Brooke, both in the fact that he would probably treat her well and would aid her in her ruthless social climbing. Instead of vocalizing this, though, she merely scrunched up her nose and gave Brooke a ludicrous look. “Are you serious?”

Brook’s face was surprised. “What?!”

“C’mon Brooke.. I mean, he’s graduating. He’ll only be a student for another few months! Go for somebody with long term potential.” Peyton hoped she sounded convincing. It wouldn’t do to let Brooke know exactly how much she hated the idea of her being with Julian. Or any boy. Ever.

“You don’t understand my genius, P. Sawyer,” Brooke said sagely, hooking her arm through her best friend’s and walking casually through the mass of bodies that surrounded them. “See, I don’t want to be tied down to one guy for very long. That limits opportunities.” Brooke smiled bewitchingly at a passing boy. “But there is definitely benefit in sleeping with one of the most popular guys in school. For one, it will make me seem very cool to the other freshmen wannabes,” She drawled a lazy, disparaging look at a gaggle of girls that stood in a corner together. “And very mature to those we want to impress.”

“I.. I didn’t know you wanted to sleep with him,” Peyton said quietly, quietly enough that Brooke had to turn to see her face to make sure she had spoken.

“Sure,” Brooke said, though the catch in her voice admitted to her not being so carefree as she sounded. “I mean, I figure it’s the right time. Can’t hold onto it forever.” She laughed nervously, and took a swig of her drink.

Peyton just looked at her, shock and dread warring within her. It hurt her that Brooke spoke so casually of sleeping with another person, when the only one Peyton had ever been intimate with was Brooke. It was obvious that Brooke expected Peyton to forget that incident -- the pair of them had been determinedly ignoring the fact that they had had sex back in the fall, and had been reconciling their friendship since then. Peyton couldn’t keep herself from caring about Brooke though, perhaps more than as just a friend, even the very best of friends. It was painful that Brooke didn’t feel the same way, and Peyton strangled her feelings so that the two could still be close. It was times like this that it caused Peyton serious grief, and she had to grapple with all the potent emotions within her before she could trust herself to speak.

“I don’t know, Brooke. I just don’t think that’s how it should be done. You should be in love the first time,” Her voice was soft. I was in love the first time, her heart murmured, but the words died before they ever reached her lips.

Brooke scoffed. “Please. Only in books and movies, girlfriend,” Her catty smile was back, and that half-lidded look that meant she was on the prowl, since Julian and his circle had just rotated nearer to where the girls were. “Well, I’ll catch ya later, P. Sawyer.” Brooke gave Peyton’s arm a friendly pat. “Stay out of trouble.” Then Brooke was gone, absorbed into the shuffle of teenage bodies.

Peyton was alone, again, while Brooke was off schmoozing the in crowd. She looked glumly down at the brownish liquid in her cup, and then tossed her head back and gulped it down. Why not, she decided, grabbing another cup. That’s what these parties are for, to get wasted and have sex.

Peyton proceeded to drown out her bitterness towards Brooke in alcohol, and before she knew it was she was completely trashed. It was the first time Peyton had ever been truly drunk -- so much so that the world seemed to be spinning, and she had to sit down on a couch. Her senses were muted, the thudding music drowning out the sounds of human voices.

She barely registered when another person plopped down next to her, certainly just as drunk as she was, though perhaps not so new to the sensation. Groggily, Peyton glanced over and took in the image of Nathan Scott chugging vodka and coke. She vaguely knew him, and because she and Brooke were up and coming elitists they were in the same crowd -- but they had never really talked, and Peyton had always thought he was something of a snot. “Ugh,” She muttered, when he burped loudly and laid his head back on the couch. She was too dizzy to get up and move, though, so she just sat there, inching away from him. He was completely oblivious to her, lost in his own alcohol-induced stupor. That was fine with Peyton.

Across the room, Brooke was making out heavily with Julian Jeffries. He was drunk, perhaps drunker than he had intended, while Brooke was at least mostly sober. She was enjoying this -- the cat calls, the vicious, jealous looks of other girls, the hoots and laughter and attention. It was things like this that Brooke thrived on, the envy of other girls, the lust and desire of the boys. It jazzed her up, it was like flying, a sort of euphoria she didn’t know how to get anywhere else. Julian’s sloppy kisses didn’t turn her on much, but that was fine with her. It was the attention she liked, not necessarily the act.

Before long the comments ranged anywhere from “get a room!” to “do her already!” Brooke wasn’t surprised. She had witnessed enough of these public make out sessions to know what happened next. She broke away from Julian, smiled prettily at him, and stood up holding his hand. He grinned goofily, setting his drink down sloppily and splashing a nearby cheerleader. Her indignant shriek was drowned out by Julian’s teammates’ howls of approval as Brooke led him into a bedroom. She was still soaring on the rush of triumph when the door clicked quietly closed behind her.

Peyton hadn’t meant to watch Brooke, but she was captivated by her. Every movement she made was like a dance -- like a gypsy dancing in flame, like a whirlwind, full of destructive beauty. Peyton’s throat tightened when Brooke stood up, and she had to swallow hard to fight back tears when Brooke and Julian disappeared into a bedroom. The quick stab of pain was followed by a desire to squelch it -- Peyton needed to distract herself from thinking about Brooke, and what Brooke was doing at the moment.

Her gaze chanced upon Nathan, and before the thought was fully formulated, she leaned over and kissed him. His dazed response quickly became eager when Peyton straddled him, her kiss becoming savage and angry. Nathan groaned -- he was drunk and a pretty girl was making out with him unlike anyone else ever had -- and his hard-on was obvious and insistent. Peyton’s lips were bruised and red when she broke the kiss, her eyes almost feral, twin gleams of hurt and rage gleaming wildly in them. If Nathan had been sober he might have realized this was an act of revenge, not love -- but he was a teenage boy full of hormones, and this was one of his potent fantasies come to life.

They hadn’t exchanged a word when they stumbled into yet another bedroom, hands aggressively exploring one another, fingers bruising and tearing, lips feasting on flesh. Peyton moaned, surprised at her own excitement, stunned by the wells of her own desire to be with him. She had been so consumed in Brooke she hadn’t even considered any of the Tree Hill boys, but this feeling was familiar -- and good. Nathan wasn’t practiced, but where his hands touched her body responded, a flood of heat, a flash of pleasure that was close enough to pain. Nathan pinned Peyton against a wall, not bothering with the bed, his erection throbbing and needy. He jerked his jeans down, revealing his engorged member, while his hands lifted underneath her thighs, sliding her dress up and shoving her panties aside.

Peyton cried out, the penetration deep and bordering on brutal, while Nathan was lost to his own haze of passion and furious thrusting. She clung to him, partly out of instinct, but also because her body was thrumming with desire, and before long the pain subsided into a mounting agony of ecstasy, a need, a tightness in her groin and belly. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her head buried into his neck, and her moans and little screams matched his grunting stroke for stroke, until finally she shuddered, spasming around him, encouraging him to release. Stars burst in front of her eyes when Nathan’s jagged motions came to a peak, stabbing her into the wall, until he, too, slumped. When her vision cleared, though, all she could see was Brooke’s face, remember Brooke’s lips and the taste of her kiss.

Nathan’s breathing was ragged, and after a moment he stepped back away from the girl he had just fucked. He took another look at her as he pulled his jeans up and she tugged her dress down -- pretty enough, with riotous blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Skinny legs and arms, but good enough hips and boobs. Not bad for his first time. Hers, too, if he knew anything about girls. He smiled a smile he knew was charming and offered to help steady her. “That was nice,” He said at last.
“Yeah.” Peyton knew it was lame. She already hated herself for this -- it was rash and childish, and it solved nothing. The ache in her center was like the ache in her heart, and she regretted using Nathan to drown her own sorrows. It was against everything Peyton believed in. Not to mention the fact that she was still in love with Brooke. She felt hollow and small, and just wanted to go home.

“So.. I’m Nathan.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, a nervous move he did when everything else failed. He couldn’t quite pin this chick. She was like a wildcat a moment ago, banging him against a wall, but now she was like a cold fish. Her walls had come down and he couldn’t penetrate anything she hid behind those emerald eyes. It both intrigued and annoyed the youth.

“I know.” Peyton’s tone was brisk, her eyes averted. She dreaded this, wanted nothing more than to escape the little bedroom and go back to her house and cry for a while. When he looked at her expectantly she sighed. “My name’s Peyton.”

Nathan smiled, and ran his hand through her hair. He liked the texture -- like spun gold. “We should get together again, Peyton.” He quickly flipped out his cell phone. “What’s your number?”

She told him, but only because she figured it was the quickest way out of this situation. She even obliged in giving him hers, too -- and then she left, dodging any other questions he had and darting through the dispersing crowd of teenagers. Peyton didn’t look for Brooke, or even think about her, she was too caught up in her own thoughts. She began the long walk home to her house, alone.

Brooke was usually confident and outgoing, and had been a moment before. But now that it was just the two of them -- Julian, the senior, star of the basketball team, only months away from graduating and college and his eighteenth birthday -- she was lost for words or deeds. Her eyes, usually full of quick wit and sarcastic remarks, were large with the enormity of what she was about to do. It was easy to talk about, harder to go through with. Fear was a beast that clutched in her stomach and began winding itself into panic as he neared, his large hands cupping her by the waist and dragging her near.

Kissing him was easy, it was something Brooke knew how to do, so she relaxed with the tangle of tongues and teeth. She tried to ignore the hands roaming over her body, squeezing her breasts and rubbing her stomach, rough touches that just brought the fear back. Her breath caught, more in anxiety than desire, when he pressed his erection against her thigh. It seemed to spur him on, and his kiss intensified, until Brooke found herself being pushed back against a bed.

“Julian,” Brooke murmured, panic making everything shaky and bright. “Wait.”

“Shh, baby,” He said, his words slightly slurred. “It’ll be good for you.” He kissed her, then quickly stripped her of her dress and underwear. Brooke swallowed hard when he lifted up to undo his jeans, her arms grasping tightly at her chest, feeling exposed and uncomfortable and scared. Things were going too fast -- Brooke had gotten on a train that she didn’t know how to control or stop. Fear was a copper taste in her throat, making her lungs suck in air and exhale it in great gasps, whooshing out in a sharp sob when Julian thrust his member into her.

Brooke couldn’t move, was stunned and terrified all at once, confused at the pain, confused that it was nothing -- nothing -- like she thought it would be. Julian’s movements were quick and steady, his grunts full throated. His eyes were clenched tightly closed. Brooke didn’t know what to do -- she wanted this to be over, wanted nothing more than for it to have never happened. This boy -- this stranger -- was invading her most intimate self, and though it was at her own invitation, Brooke still felt violated. She stared glassy-eyed and listless at the ceiling, fixing her gaze and forcing herself to go to a better place in her mind. The pain subsided into an irritation, an ache, tolerable but uncomfortable. She knew it would be over soon but didn’t know what to do except lie there.

Before long Julian groaned and slumped on top of Brooke, breathing hard, his chest heaving. It was only a moment, though, before he rolled off of her. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, running a hand through his tangled hair. He barely noticed Brooke -- who had snatched a blanket to cover her nakedness -- and hardly cared. A few minutes later he was dressed and back out at the party, the congratulatory slaps of his teammates welcoming him.

Brooke fought back tears as she eased herself into a sitting position, her palm smoothing her ruffled hair. She couldn’t help the few that leaked down her cheeks, but they were the only ones that escaped. Brooke didn’t know herself why she was crying. This had been something she wanted -- she had even encouraged it. She was baffled at her own emotions, and never having been very self-aware to begin with, it was all the more confusing. She wiped her face and took a deep breath, and slid back into her dress. She was Brooke Davis. She had just lost her virginity to a prime specimen. She should have been euphoric. Instead, she was almost in agony, and couldn’t understand why. Shaking her head to rid it of those thoughts, she slipped out of the room and did her best to avoid everyone. She was through partying for the night. She wanted out.

But whenever Brooke wanted to go home, she always went to Peyton’s. It had been her sanctuary since she was eight, and the loneliness that crept over her was something only Peyton could cure. The balmy night air still held the briskness of winter in it, and she wished for a jacket. Brooke glanced up at the night sky, always wondering what might be out there, or if they cared anything about the significance of human lives. Probably not. But she always wondered. Brooke began the long walk to Peyton’s house from the beach, brushing away the occasional tear as it leaked down