TITLE: Complicated
AUTHOR: empressearwig
PAIRING: Brooke/Julian
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: When did complicated and Julian start meaning the same thing?
SPOILERS: Set immediately after 6x14.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of the One mti kilima belong to their owner. No copyright infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to leobrat for kusoma this first.
Complicated.
One word. Eleven letters. Four syllables.
So many implications that it makes her head spin.
au maybe that's the feeling of Julian's lips on hers, driving all other thoughts, all the rational and careful ones, out of her head.
"This is a terrible idea," she manages, tearing her lips away when the need for oxygen becomes too great.
She can feel him nodding against her skin, as he trails kisses along her neck. "Terrible," he agrees, his hot breath against her skin making shivers run down her spine.
She tugs his mouth back to hers, demanding, controlling, wanting him to be as insane as she is.
When she hears him moan, she smiles in triumph. When she lets out a desperate moan of her own a moment later, she thinks she feels him do the same.
She doesn't care.
Somehow, someway, they tumble backwards to the couch. He settles half on juu of her, the weight of him so thrilling, so right. She pulls him closer, not wanting any space between them.
"You know," he murmurs, as he pulls her sweater off, pressing kisses to her skin as it's revealed. "I don't think I've done this since I was a teenager."
Her hands are busy working their way under his shirt, and her mind is so fogged with lust, with him, that it takes a moment for what he's alisema to penetrate.
"Teenager," she says, her brain trying to regain control from her hormones. Trying hard, because his tongue is doing things to her neck that she hasn't felt in too long, and she doesn't remember them feeling that good.
He nods, hands sliding down her body, tugging one of her legs up and around his. "You know, made out on the couch."
With a supreme act of willpower, she pushes him back, sliding out from underneath him, understanding completely as she hears his groan of disappointment, wanting nothing zaidi than to give into his hands that are trying desperately to pull her back.
"Teenager," she repeats.
His eyes meet hers, filled with lust and confusion. "I don't understand."
"My teenager. Sam."
The confusion lifts, though the lust remains. She thinks she shouldn't be so gratified kwa that. "Oh. Right. Sam." He Scrubs his hands across his face, and then meets her eyes again, this time resignation warring with the lust. "Should I apologize?"
She looks at him blankly, not understanding.
"For not remembering her," he elaborates. "I didn't mean to get so carried away."
She shakes her head. "I think it's fair to say that I didn't remember her either."
A hint of a smile creeps onto his face. "I'd hate to think I was the only one."
She does smile then. "You weren't."
The double meaning of her words hangs in the air, and they sit, smiling rather foolishly at each other, knowing that things might be over for the night, but that they're not over.
Not kwa a long shot.
"I should go," he says finally, standing and gathering his things together.
She nods, rising, inaonyesha him to the door. "This was nice," she says, echoing what he had alisema earlier. Before.
He smirks at that, and she instantly regrets the word choice, but really, it would be foolish at this point to deny that she doesn't want it to happen again.
He bends his head, brushing his lips against hers, once, twice, and then straightening. "Good night, Brooke."
He walks away into the night, and she stares after him, hand raised to her lips.
Complicated.
One word. Eleven letters. Four syllables.
Julian.
She closes the door behind her, and wonders when they started meaning the same thing.
