Best Friends With Benefits

Peyton had checked the time when she finally made it home. The glowing numbers of the digital clock in her bedroom claimed it was only 2:43 in the morning, but Peyton had felt every minute drag by like eternity. She allowed a bitter thought for where Brooke was right now -- but quickly stomped on it. Disgusted at herself, at her life and the entire situation, Peyton resolved to put the night behind her. She peeled her rumpled dress off of her and stepped into the shower, hoping the excruciatingly hot water would scrub away some of the filth.

Brooke had made better time, being marginally less intoxicated than Peyton, and she was surprised to find the girl already at home. Brooke had expected her to be out partying -- though she wasn’t as avid a one as Brooke, Peyton still liked to have fun, and it was relatively early for a Saturday night. Brooke had wanted to wash the pain and shame away before Peyton had a chance to realize how awful the experience was for Brooke. But she decided it was good that Peyton was here. Brooke needed her friend, needed to explain it to somebody who could make sense of it for her.

She thought nothing of stepping out of her clothes and pushing the bathroom door open. The steam nearly choked her, it was so thick and muggy. Brooke pushed the curtain aside and deftly stepped in behind the blonde.

Peyton jerked violently at the presence of arms around her waist, and she screamed a single, high-pitched yelp that resounded in the tiled room. Her heart was pounding wildly, her legs were weak from terror, before relief finally sunk in. “Oh my god, Brooke!” Peyton’s breathing was strangled. “You scared the crap out of me.”

Brooke smiled into Peyton’s shoulder, hugging the girl even tighter against her. Brooke needed the closeness of Peyton, needed to feel the reassurance of her body, though it was slick from water and soap. Brooke had been afraid that her sudden entrance to the shower would make Peyton fall -- amusing, perhaps, but potentially painful. So she just held on, pressing every curve against Peyton’s back, allowing the water to slosh over her as well.

Now Peyton’s breathing was labored for a different reason. She felt every inch of the brunette like a brand, scoring into her flesh, the soft bump of her breasts against her shoulders, the mysterious gathering of hair against her backside. Not to mention the arms that gripped her like vices around the middle, just below her own breasts, the hands resting comfortably against her stomach. Peyton’s heart was still pounding madly, and she was getting that light-headed, dizzy feeling she got anytime Brooke was this close to her. The pulse pounded violently in her neck, and Brooke thought nothing of leaning over casually and pressing a kiss there. Peyton didn’t even try to repress her moan.

“Brooke..” Peyton’s heads were shaky, but she succeeded in dislodging the brunette from her hold. “What are you doing?” Peyton’s voice was strained. She turned around to face the other girl, trying hard to look at her eyes and not her glorious, naked body.

Brooke just smiled in response, her hand reaching out to trace lazy designs on Peyton’s stomach. The soft, intimate touch made Peyton swallow hard and grapple with the walls of the shower, sure that soon her legs would give out. Something was wrong, though -- Peyton wanted Brooke, that was sure, wanted Brooke’s skilled mouth and soft skin and firm touches. But she knew there was something off about Brooke. There was something missing, something different about her, and Peyton couldn’t put her finger on it.

Brooke could sense Peyton’s hesitance, and she struggled to overcome it. She hadn’t come here intending to have sex with Peyton again -- she desperately wanted Peyton to make sense of what had happened with Julian, needed her best friend to assuage the confusion and emptiness that Brooke now felt -- but Brooke could sense how badly Peyton wanted her. It wasn’t like the insistent, mindless lust of boys; this was Peyton, someone she knew and loved and who loved her, and Brooke couldn’t resist the girl’s strained breathing or pounding heart.

“No.” The word came out more like a plea, when Brooke began rubbing the nails of one hand against the soft skin of her inner thigh, the other caressing a single nipple, teasing it with quick little pinches and scrapes. “Brooke, no.”

Brooke studied the blonde, searching for the reason behind the refusal. She knew Peyton was keyed up -- it wasn’t a matter of not wanting it. The brunette knew she could ignore Peyton’s words and continue doing what she was doing, and would probably get little to no resistance. The fact was, Brooke didn’t want to stop -- she was submerged in the heady rush of playing Peyton’s body like an instrument, each stroke of a delicate finger bringing a different response. It was a symphony of sound and touches and need, mindless need, and Brooke desperately needed to be mindless. Needed to forget everything else about this night.

She leaned her head into Peyton’s neck and pressed a kiss there, tongue licking out over the slick flesh. Peyton’s body tightened like a harp string, thrumming with the intensity of her arousal, the other girl’s hands coming up to Brooke’s shoulders and hanging on. “Please, Peyton,” Brooke murmured into the tortured spot, which was quickly turning red and darkening. The words were hot and needy against Peyton’s neck, her fingers taunting a nipple and tracing lines into Peyton’s thigh.

Peyton’s mind was blank except for the dizzying bank of desire that was rising. She heard Brooke’s words and nearly bucked against the play of her fingers, each hand driving Peyton to new heights of insanity. Peyton dug her nails into Brooke’s shoulders, unable to do anything else, when Brooke bit her neck again, the bite fierce and painful, but so, so sweet. Her clit was throbbing in time with Brooke’s scorching little sucks, her hips trusting towards Brooke’s teasing fingers madly. It drove her to the brink, the contrast of Brooke’s brutal mouth torturing her neck and collar bone, while her fingers remained elusive, toying, tantalizing. It was nearly more than Peyton could bare.

“Brooke,” Peyton moaned, nails scoring crescent-shaped wounds into the other girl’s shoulders. The name was enough of a permission for the other girl, who finally, finally snuck a finger inside those swollen, sensitive lips. Peyton’s chest heaved her breath raggedly, head resting against the shower wall, oblivious to the hot water pounding over her. She bit her lip in an attempt to keep the whimpers in, but Brooke’s finger teased them out, first brushing lightly against her clit, and then pinching it savagely. Peyton’s hips thrashed and she cried out, her hole quaking with need, heart pounding madly. Brooke crushed her mouth against Peyton’s, swallowing her cry of pleasure when finally that finger found its mark and plunged inside of her.

Peyton rode the wave of ecstasy that followed, her mind blank, senses full of Brooke. She slumped weakly against the wall of the shower, shivers wracking her body in the aftermath, legs having given out completely beneath her. Brooke was supporting her around her waist, and Peyton’s arms were around her neck. She rested her forehead against the other girl’s shoulder, breathing ragged, shallow breaths, trying futilely to make sense of what had just happened.

Brooke sighed quietly, her arms cradling Peyton’s scant weight easily. Though the blonde was a bit taller than Brooke, she was definitely scrawny and Brooke had no problem supporting her until she gained her footing. Besides, it made her feel a little smug to know she had had this kind of effect on the girl. Brooke’s fingers were stroking lazily up and down Peyton’s back, her head resting contentedly on top of the other girl’s. The only sounds in the bathroom were those of the water spattering the tub and gurgling down the drain.

“You okay?” Brooke finally asked, nuzzling Peyton a little. She roused, a bit groggy, lifting her head to stare blankly at Brooke. It was cute enough to make Brooke smile, the dazed look in Peyton’s eyes, her mouth slightly slack, face flushed and damp. She leaned down to kiss Peyton affectionately.

“Mm. Yeah.” For the first time, Peyton smiled, touched by the simple act of warmth. She decided to put trying to analyze this out of her mind, at least until tomorrow. She shifted a bit, ready at last to stand, and gave Brooke’s hand a squeeze when the other girl moved away. They finished their shower in silence, Peyton doing a pretty good job of not staring at Brooke’s naked, wet body. After all -- it had been a while since she had seen the girl completely naked. It turned Peyton on in a slightly disturbing kind of way.

Peyton couldn’t help but to wonder about her own sexuality. For a long time she simply ignored it -- Peyton was comfortable with the idea of being in love with Brooke. There was something innately romantic, clichéd but still appropriate, with falling in love with your best friend. It was generally considered an ‘okay’ thing to do, even if it was two girls. But was she gay? Peyton had never thought so before. Neither had she really thought much about being straight. Before now, she had always assumed she was normal and would end up married to a man and raising a family. But was she really? Peyton couldn’t really envision her life as a lesbian. It was harder for her to do, difficult to think about.

Yet she couldn’t deny the very real and strong attraction she felt for Brooke. While they were getting dressed in pajamas, Peyton kept sneaking looks at her best friend. She was beautiful, breathtaking even. Her smile always brought a matching one to Peyton’s face, no matter what. Peyton couldn’t stand it when Brooke was upset. Peyton had a hard time separating her emotional attachment to Brooke from her physical attraction. If she were gay, wouldn’t that mean she’d be attracted to girls she had absolutely no emotional connection to? Peyton resigned to think more on this.

Brooke thought of almost nothing as she bathed and dressed, struggling to keep the emptiness she was feeling out of her face. Peyton was naturally intuitive and could always pick up on when things were bothering Brooke. But Brooke decided she didn’t want to talk about it -- not with Peyton so relaxed and content. She thought she would leave it alone until tomorrow, after sleep and time had distanced her from the experience. She might not even tell Peyton about it after all. Maybe it would just go away if she ignored it.

They climbed into bed together, facing each other, and for a while simply looked. Brooke did feel better after being with Peyton, and the other girl’s face was familiar and soothing. Brooke’s hand searched for Peyton’s under the blankets and found it, holding it gently. It was an act that defined their bond: when Brooke reached out, Peyton was always there. They fell asleep like that, palm to palm.

Brooke jumped at the sound of Peyton’s cell phone buzzing madly on the table beside her bed. Groggily she reached over to silence it, glaring at the bright daylight that intruded into the room. It was still early in Brooke’s opinion -- before noon. She groaned discontentedly, flipping the blonde’s phone open. There were several text messages and one missed call.

Somewhat more awake now, Brooke scrolled through the messages, surprised to see they were from Nathan. Nathan Scott? Brooke didn’t know Peyton even knew him, much less had his number. The other girl shifted in her sleep, rolling closer to Brooke, who was propped up on an elbow, frowning at each new message she read.

“Peyton!” Her voice rang out over the silence. “Peyton! Wake up!” Brooke turned towards the blonde, shoving her none-too-gently on the shoulder.

“Hmph! Ow! Brooke!” Peyton’s eyes snapped open, still groggy from sleep, her face screwed up in indignation. Her body was still not reconciled with the amount of alcohol she had consumed the night before and the room swam a little. She pressed a hand to her forehead and rubbed the fingers of the other into her eyes, trying to relieve the ache that was building there.

“What is this?” Brooke demanded, waving the cell phone in front of Peyton’s face.

“What? I don’t know!” Peyton said impatiently. “Let me see it.”

“It’s text messages from Nathan Scott! Saying how good you were last night! And can you do it again sometime!” Brooke snatched the phone away from Peyton before she could fully register the words. “Since when are you and Nathan Scott together?! Did you sleep with him?”

Peyton sat up slowly, squinting against the daylight. “Yeah, I did,” She said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I guess he’s sort of my boyfriend now.”

“Peyton!” Brooke’s voice was a mixture of indignation and anger. “I can’t believe you!”

“What?” Peyton was genuinely confused. She wasn’t fully awake yet and her thought processes were running a little slow. Peyton figured Brooke would congratulate her on the score, not admonish her. What was up with her? The fog finally cleared enough for Peyton to think about the night before. Brooke had come home acting all strange, and after months of avoided physical contact and awkward pauses, suddenly decided it would be fine to hop in the shower for a quick fuck. Peyton found herself turning around to stare at Brooke, her brows furrowed. Things just weren’t adding up.

“I just.. Ugh! That isn’t you, P. Sawyer,” Brooke said testily, jumping out of the bed and pacing agitatedly across the floor. “I hope you aren’t going to see him again.”

Peyton stood up, too, facing the brunette across the span of her bed. Her temper was flaring at the way Brooke was acting -- as if she hadn’t done the exact same thing with Julian Jeffries! “Are you being serious?” Her tone was incredulous.

“Yes! Peyton!” Brooke scoffed, gesturing to the room at large. “It isn’t right!”

“Brooke!” Peyton’s tone had risen in anger. “Are you listening to yourself? What, are you my mother now?” She forced a laugh. “You’re telling me not to see a boy I had sex with because it ‘isn’t right’? Didn’t you fuck Julian last night?”

Brooke’s eyes flashed angrily at Peyton, her hands curling into fists. “That’s different!”

“What, you expect me to just sit here, pining after you, while you go off and screw half the basketball team, is that it?” Peyton’s tone was nasty. “That’s not how this works, Brooke! I can see whoever I want! I can fuck whoever I want!”

Brooke knew Peyton’s words made sense, but it didn’t stop the uneasy feeling from pooling in her gut whenever Brooke thought about Peyton with some guy. The image of Peyton kissing Nathan Scott made Brooke clench her teeth tight in fury, and she wouldn’t let the idea of them having sex occur to her just then. It was a dual sting -- of hurt, unexplainable, and fury, equally mysterious. The thought of losing Peyton to Nathan made panic rise up like nausea. She couldn’t think. She just felt, and she felt almost like Peyton was rejecting her by accepting Nathan’s touch instead of holding out for her own.

It wasn’t rational thought that spurred her towards Peyton, more an instinct, a desire to be near Peyton and make her see how much Brooke needed her. Peyton’s startled gasp quickly disappeared into a helpless moan when Brooke crushed their mouths together, her tongue possessing Peyton’s hungrily, hands fisting in the wild tangle of Peyton’s hair. With lips and teeth and tongue Brooke savaged Peyton’s mouth, swallowing every little whimper, breaking apart only to begin attacking her neck. Peyton’s head fell back in surrender, her hands reaching up to hold onto Brooke’s waist, careless of the bruises Brooke was leaving, her pulse raging, arousal a sudden and vicious punch to her system.

It was as if Brooke couldn’t get enough of touching Peyton, and her hands were everywhere, caressing the curve of Peyton’s ear, rubbing down her arms, running her nails across the flat of Peyton’s stomach, stroking back up to cradle soft, supple breasts. Peyton gasped when Brooke ruthlessly pinched her nipples, tweaking and pulling on them, her mouth busily sucking dark purple marks on the curve of her neck.

Peyton was helpless in Brooke’s embrace, as if all cognizance had fled with the nearness of Brooke’s body. It was like an assault -- every nerve was on edge, hypersensitive and electric, her pulse pounding and head light from need. Her panties were soaked and her pussy ached with unfulfilled desire, and every touch of pain was mirrored by an even more excruciating pleasure. Peyton hadn’t known Brooke had this urgency in her -- this brutal speed that was driving her over the edge more quickly and intensely than ever before.

It didn’t take long for Peyton to beg, feeling the drag of sharp nails across responsive skin, belly jumping and quivering with every slight touch, hips thrusting against Brooke’s pelvis in a silent but insistent plea. The whimpers in her throat grew more persistent with every tantalizing touch, with every new peak of pleasure, her breath heaving in jagged gasps from her lungs.

“Brooke,” Peyton moaned the word like it was salvation. She opened her eyes and searched for Brooke’s, overwhelmed, needy, wanton; she could see an intensity in her best friend that she hadn’t known existed. Peyton was eager and delighted when Brooke pushed her down on the bed, nerves going haywire from building tension.

Brooke was still possessed by a craze that made thinking straight impossible; she had to fill her hands with Peyton’s flesh, had to plant her mouth on every inch of what she considered hers. Brooke recoiled at the thought of another person being intimate with her Peyton, though she had never thought of her like that before. It was a hunger in Brooke to reclaim everything, every part of her he violated. She found a sort of savage satisfaction in the way Peyton was writhing mindlessly on the bed, her fists digging holes in the blankets, legs thrashing wildly with need. Brooke pushed Peyton’s nightshirt up and lowered her mouth to Peyton’s nipple, taking it in her teeth and sucking harshly, lavving her tongue over the abraised flesh and then kissing it softly, blowing. Peyton was going wild under her; rolling her hips instinctively into Brooke, breath exploding in quick, needy whimpers.

Brooke watched Peyton now, fascinated by her face, intrigued by the way her body responded to even the subtlest of touches. She dragged a finger delicately down the crease in Peyton’s breasts, teasing the muscles that played beneath the skin in her stomach, before stopping right at the hem of Peyton’s shorts. The other girl was in a frenzy, squirming desperately to find some friction for her poor, neglected center, almost tortured more by these teasing touches than by the bruising embrace of earlier.

“Brooke,” Peyton whimpered again, pleading, “Please, Brooke, please,”

Brooke smiled, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Peyton’s forehead, which only produced another whine. She was so tense and taut -- so ready, wound up with no release. Brooke only ran the pad of one finger along that line, over and over, delighted by the way Peyton grinded her hips into nothing at all, crazily searching for contact. Brooke gave in and cupped her through her panties, which were soaked completely through, that simple contact of palm on center causing Peyton to groan with relief, rubbing in quick, frantic strokes. Brooke kept the pressure light, though, teasing, denying the girl the release she so desperately, madly wanted.

Peyton was going insane, her whole body was on fire, there was a tension coiled in her groin that was building and building and she thought she was going to explode or die if Brooke didn’t just touch her and relieve it, anything, Peyton was past caring, past thinking, all she could do was feel and need and want. The teasing was sweet agony -- but Peyton was getting frantic, her heart was beating so fast, her muscles were tight and coiled.

“Please, please, touch me, fuck me,” Peyton begged Brooke, her voice whiny and desperate, the ache apparent in her tone.

“Does he make you feel like this?” Brooke asked, her tone light and pondering, and she ran her finger up and down the slit of Peyton’s lips through her underwear. “Do you want him like this?”

“Uhh! No!” Peyton bit her lip to keep from crying, the need was so great, the desire so potent. “I need you to fuck me, Brooke!” She couldn’t think. She didn’t know what else to do -- couldn’t understand why Brooke wouldn’t give her what she needed.

Brooke’s smile was cold and ruthless. She dipped a finger beneath the panties, just between the lips, applying pressure to the quaking, hungry hole but just avoided inserting it. She gave it a few quick, teasing little strokes, causing Peyton to erupt into a fury of thrashing and moaning, the sweat beading on her forehead, heat coming off of her in waves. “Just me? Nobody else?” Brooke asked, leaning her lips close to Peyton’s mouth, hovering, the touch just as light and maddening.

“Yes! Brooke! Please! Now!” Peyton was thrusting her hips wildly into Brooke, searching for that finger, her lips burned and tingled from the denied friction, it was too much, Peyton was too wound up, couldn’t think, only needed, needed Brooke, only Brooke.

Brooke shoved three fingers deep inside Peyton, hard, fucking the girl mercilessly, crushing her mouth into Peyton’s and muffling her scream. Peyton came almost immediately -- hole quaking, sucking, clenching around Brooke’s digits, her whole body cresting, shaking. Brooke didn’t allow Peyton to recover before she was harshly drove her up again, her other hand pinching a nipple, fingers pumping in and out in a furious rhythm. Peyton came savagely, her hands fisted so tightly they hurt, and finally she went limp lied there, every sound silenced except her own heartbeat, her mind blank but for a white buzzing.

Brooke kept kissing her, even though she was beyond responding, her touches gentler now, more careful, though both their lips were bruised and swollen. She broke the contact to peer down at Peyton, then to place a small kiss where the pulse jabbed violently at her neck. She slowly, slowly removed her fingers from Peyton’s core, delighted at the way her body still shivered even though she was incapable of doing much else.

Peyton opened her eyes, her mind still muzzy, and did managed what she thought was a smile at Brooke. “I love you.”

Brooke stroked Peyton’s hair absently, studying her face, her neck, her arms. Brooke wanted to remove every taint that that boy had left on her, appalled that he might have done exactly the same thing she was doing now. It was intolerable. “You’re mine,” Brooke muttered quietly, too soft for Peyton to hear.