DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Ryan Murphy and the WB. No infringement is intended.
CONTINUITY: This is in my Bram!verse and is next after 'Kiss Me I'm Irish' (although this was written two months before it. I can't help it!)
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Red Herrings
By Quatorz
There hadn't been one this bad in months. In fact, things had been hunky dory (maybe a little too hunky dory, if you asked her) for a long time. But this morning...?
She didn't even know what had set if off. "Girls--" Jane tried to intervene.
"I wish you'd never moved in!" Brooke screamed. "I wish I'd never even-even--"
"Wow, Brooke, you sure have a way with word," Sam rebutted. "Not that a rodeo clown needs to talk much!"
Brooke seethed. "Yeah, well I see your great vocabulary hasn't gotten you a date in months," she sneered. "Cause that's what every guy looks for: small tits and a huge vocabulary!"
"Brooke!" Jane scolded. That was uncalled for.
"When was your last date, Brooke?" Sam placed a hand on her chin. "Oh yeah-that's right: the prom. Who did you go with again: Nicole's hood ornament!?"
"SAM!" Jane shouted.
Brooke glared at her. "You are such a bitch!"
"You're an asshole!"
"Brooke! Samantha!" Jane admonished. They'd said terrible things to each other in the past, but this was too much. "Stop it, both of you. I--"
"I'm done!" Brooke announced. "I can't have a conversation with this psychopath!" She stormed out of the kitchen.
Sam watched her go, pulling at her hair. "God, I HATE her!" Shrieking, she left the kitchen.
Jane just sat there, thunderstruck, her breakfast long forgotten.
Sam entered their shared bathroom. Brooke was waiting for her. "Round two?" the reporter challenged.
"Damn right," Brooke answered. "Hood ornament was a new low-even for you."
"You said I had small tits," Sam retorted.
"You called me an asshole," Brooke rebutted.
"I did..." Sam admitted. "Do you think she bought it?"
Brooke kissed her, and felt Sam's smile. "I think so. You were pretty convincing," she grinned.
After almost getting caught on St. Patrick's Day, Brooke thought a little smokescreen was in order.
"You too," Sam chuckled.
Brooke brought their lips together again. "That fight's got me a little wound up," she grinned. "We haven't had one of those in a long time."
"I know," Sam agreed. "I'm all--" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Although I almost lost it when you made that crack about my 'tits'."
"They knew I was kidding, right?" Brooke purred in mock seriousness. "I hope they weren't offended." Brooke slipped her hands under the brunette's T-shirt.
"They are a little--" Sam gasped when Brooke's hands skimmed her slandered bosom, "sensitive...!" she squeaked.
"Then I'd better make it up to them," Brooke grinned. She lifted the brunette's shirt, and bent her head down to aid her hands' manipulations.
Sam's breath came in short pants, and her hands gripped blonde hair as Brooke worked her magic with her lips and tongue.
Later-as they lay sweaty and exhausted in Sam's bed-Brooke exclaimed: "All of those fights, Sammy, and we were missing out on the make-up sex...."
"Those weren't fights," Sam countered. "Those were foreplay." She rolled atop the blonde, finding new reserves of energy from God-knows-where. "Let's make up for wasted opportunities," she said, and kissed her again.
As Sam's lips reignited her fuse, Brooke made a resolution: we may have to fight more often.
The End