Peyton side-eyes Brooke as they listen to Haley regale a tale of Jamie and Nathan trying, and failing, to make her breakfast.
She seems to be listening intently, inserting comments or questions, and laughing and smiling in all the right spots.
What Haley is unaware of though, is that while Brooke’s left hand is resting on the table, you know, behaving and such, her right hand is…
Being a bit more naughty.
Peyton adjusts and tries to lift Brooke’s hand from her leg. It had been resting innocently on her knee up until a few minutes ago. And then it began to move.
She lifts her hand and moves it to Brooke’s knee only for it to go right back to its previous spot. Brooke squeezes her thigh, and Peyton grabs her drink, taking a long gulp of the sweet tea to try and give herself time to… regulate.
Brooke asks Haley a question. She thinks it might be something about them babysitting, or her getting in her Godmother time with Jamie.
Peyton can’t be sure; she is too busy trying to ignore the fingers that have slowly inched their way up her thigh and dipped underneath the hem of her shorts.
She sips at her tea and then places it on the table. Her hand slides down to Brooke’s, and she squeezes it, getting her to stop.
“…going to LA tomorrow, right?”
Peyton blinks. She realizes Haley had asked her that question, and quickly refocuses on the conversation.
“Sorry, what?”
“Tomorrow? You’re heading to LA?” Haley asks, sipping at her own Sprite.
LA, right. Peyton reminds herself that she has a flight at ten in the morning. She’s going to deal with something. And, unknown to both Haley and Brooke, she will be meeting up with Lindsey.
She hasn’t been in contact with anyone since the disaster of a wedding nearly four months ago. Peyton knows she is worried about everyone hating her. Hopefully seeing her in person, she can convince her that isn’t the case.
“Um… yeah. Yep-” she moves Brooke’s hand again. “-I fly out tomorrow morning.” She adjusts minutely, squeezing her thighs together. Brooke’s barely grazed her, but she feels a distinct ache building.
Haley nods. She looks like she wants to say something and then stops, instead eyeing Peyton in a way that makes it very hard not to squirm.
Peyton sees it but her body is reacting to Brooke’s touch; her fingers scratch her inner thigh. The sensation has her locking her jaw and swallowing roughly.
“Are you staying long?” Haley asks. “I don’t think you said before.”
Shrugging, Peyton fidgets with her fork, pushing her half-eaten pasta around on her plate.
“Probably a couple of weeks. Just depends.” She tries to smile. “I don’t know how long it’ll take to do what I need… depends on how… stubborn… my friend is.”
Peyton takes another gulp of her tea. At this point, she might as well be dying of thirst. She has Brooke’s wrist in vice-grip but it doesn’t seem to deter her in the least bit.
“You okay, Peyt? You seem a little… tense.”
Peyton finally looks sideways to Brooke. She has her head tilted, resting on her hand. False concern shines in her eyes.
She notices Haley perk up attentively.
“What’s wrong?”
Peyton sends Brooke an unimpressed look. She can’t believe she is asking that, drawing attention to them like her fingers aren’t inches away from the edge of her damn panties.
“Nothing. Just a bit tired.” She squeezes Brooke’s wrist and gives her a warning with her eyes.
Brooke picks up her drink, sipping at it. Peyton can see the smirk she is hiding. She also wiggles her fingers, inching closer to her-
Peyton regrets letting her talk her out of wearing jeans.
She turns her attention back to Haley, trying to not let on exactly where Brooke’s unseen hand is… or what her little minx of a girlfriend is up to.
Peyton places both hands on the table and asks Haley a question. She gets her going, attention now on the story she’s telling of what Jamie wants to do this summer.
She uses her right hand to slide her glass towards her, picking it up and sipping it. She stirs it with the straw and slips a thin piece of ice out. She rubs it against her lip, giving the impression that she’s slipped it into her mouth.
She then, casually, stretches her arm behind Brooke, nodding and commenting on what Haley is saying.
Jamie wants to go to LA. He’s begging to see the Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier, Haley had said.
Peyton interjects that it might be too big, but there are also other rides. Or an adult can go on it with him.
As she says this, she notices Brooke flinch from the corner of her eye.
Haley must see it too because she immediately stops mid-sentence. “You okay, Brooke?”
“Uh…” She bends her head back slightly. Peyton bites her tongue. “Yeah, I’m great. Sorry, keep going. Jamie wants to go on the Ferris wheel?”
“Yeah,” Haley rolls her eyes. “I tried to convince him otherwise. The height limit is 42 inches… but then he found out he can still go if an adult is with him.” Haley looks pointedly at the blonde sitting across from her.
Peyton shrugs. “Oops? He asked. Sorry.” Funny how she doesn’t look sorry at all. She casts a quick glance at Brooke. Her fingers have stopped. Though they are now just under the hem of her panties.
She is clearly having to rethink her strategy.
Peyton adjusts her hand. The ice cube leaves a cold, wet trail on the back of Brooke’s neck. She can see her legs. Brooke had them crossed at the ankles and tucked under the booth seat, but Peyton sees her squirming and tightening her grip on her napkin to keep from rubbing her hand on her leg.
“I can’t go with him, but I’m sure Brooke would be happy to,” she continues like she isn’t torturing Brooke to death. “He might not like it, though. It is pretty high.”
Haley agrees with that. She sips at her drink as their waiter walks up, smiling and asking about dessert.
Brooke flinches when he reaches to take her plate. Haley eyes her, and Peyton grins behind her raised cup. She nods when asked about wanting a refill.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Brooke?” Haley had given her plate also, and slides her glass to the side, brows crinkling in clear concern.
Brooke smiles, waving off her worry. “I’m fine, Hales. Really. He just… startled me, is all. “ It’s flimsy but she can’t think straight at the moment. She leans forward, resting her arms on the table. Peyton flicks water from her fingers and then moves her hand to her lap, wiping off the moisture.
Brooke sighs, eyeing her and wondering if the torture will continue. Peyton just smirks and innocently lays her hand on Brooke’s knee.
15 minutes later
The three finish their dessert — a warm fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream — and Haley excuses herself to the restroom while Peyton pays for everything.
Brooke cranes her head and watches her friend disappear in the crowd. As soon as she is out of sight, Brooke smacks Peyton on the arm.
Peyton turns from where she had been figuring the tip percent. She rubs her arm. “Ow.” She deadpans, giving Brooke a look.
“What the hell was that, P. Sawyer?” Brooke hisses under her breath. She scrubs her hand on her leg, still tingling from Peyton’s retaliation.
Peyton raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed by the scolding voice.
“Excuse you.” She leans closer to Brooke’s ear, lowering her voice. “Which one of us had their fingers close enough to touch my cunt?”
She sees Brooke swallow, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table.
“You wanna talk about what the hell that was, huh? You know, Haley probably figured it out.” Brooke’s eyes widen. “She’s not as dumb as you might think.”
Brooke’s eyes dart around. No one pays them an ounce of attention. She laughs, tapping a nail on the table.
“No. She… What? But I- She couldn’t-” Her eyes widen. “Peyton.”
Peyton rolls her eyes. “Brooke, you just had your hand up my shorts, and you’re really going to act like you’re embarrassed now?”
She leans back and watches her eyes narrow.
“You’re not so innocent yourself, you know.” Brooke retorts. Peyton raises an eyebrow, shrugging.
“I didn’t touch you.” And technically, she didn’t. The ice cube did.
“Yes, you did. With-” Brooke waves a hand toward her glass. “-that!” She huffs when Peyton smirks.
“Go on… say it.” She leans forward again, checking out of the corner of her eye to make sure Haley is not on her way back. “You finally admitting it, hm?”
She plucks a half-melted ice cube from her empty cup. Brooke eyes it, leaning away warily.
“Don’t you dare.”
“What? I’m not doing anything. See? Completely… innocent.”
Peyton watches her expression; her eyes are shut and her fingers grip the table. She drags the cold, now mostly melted piece of… evil, as Brooke puts it… from her knee and up her thigh.
Brooke is wearing jeans, but Peyton intends on getting as much teasing in on them as Brooke got on her shorts.
“Say it, and I’ll stop,” Peyton offers, dragging her finger across the seam of Brooke’s zipper and down further.
She lazily leans her elbow on the back of the booth seat, propping her head up. Her knuckle rubs and presses, and Brooke grips the table, trying not to buck into the touch.
She gives her a halfhearted glare.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to dole out what you can’t take?” Peyton hums, leaning forward, rubbing more harshly. She rests her chin on her shoulder. “I think this almost evens us out, wouldn’t you say?”
Brooke breathes out through gritted teeth. “Almost?” She would think they are pretty damn even if you ask her.
Peyton does the eyebrow thing and bites her lip. Brooke’s gaze falls to the motion. She’d really like to wipe that infuriating look off her face.
Peyton moves back suddenly. Brooke lets out her breath, trying to ignore the ache, and goes to ask what’s wrong when she hears Haley ask if they are ready to go.
They gather the leftovers. Brooke sees Peyton grab her to-go cup, but she thinks nothing of it as they walk toward the entrance.
They say goodbye, give out hugs, and wave as Haley pulls out of her spot, three spaces down from the Comet.
Brooke eyes her car, impatiently tapping her finger as she tracks it. Once it is in traffic and she knows they are in the clear, she turns back to Peyton.
“Alright, is there anywhere you wanna go-mm.”
Peyton stumbles half a step, pushed against the Comet. She has a fleeting thought of being thankful that she put her cup on the hood, and then she grips the belt loops on Brooke’s jeans, pulling her closer.
She sinks into the kiss, and when Brooke nibbles on her lip, she moans into her mouth, allowing her to tangle her fingers in her hair.
Peyton pulls back and tries to catch her breath.
“What was that?” She pants, looking over Brooke’s swollen lips and hazy expression. Her girlfriend is usually not the PDA type. She had said she wasn’t ready yet, and Peyton is okay with that.
But she would like a little heads up. Now all she wants to do is spin Brooke around, pin her to the driver’s side door, and get back to “evening them out” for her teasing earlier.
“I just wanted to do it,” Brooke looks sheepish now. Peyton shakes her head at the craziness of her mood swings. One moment she’s being a little minx; the next, she is like a nervous, shy teenager in their first relationship.
Peyton leans in, giving her several short, aching little kisses. She rests her forehead against Brooke’s and sighs.
“We should head home.” Because she’d like to do several things to her girl that are not appropriate for public. Brooke agrees and moves back just enough to open the door and slide inside.
Peyton follows and she’s no sooner closed the door, keys jangling in her hand, when Brooke all but straddles her.
(Or she would, properly, if the steering wheel wasn’t in the way.)
Peyton eagerly returns the affection, transferring her to-go cup behind Brooke and holding it out of the way. She laughs into the kiss when Brooke groans over the awkward bent position that is obviously preventing her from fulfilling her sudden urge.
“It’s not funny,” she grouses, just wanting to feel more of Peyton than she is able at the moment.
Peyton taps her hip and she sighs, all but falling into the passenger seat – crossing her arms and pouting.
Peyton rolls her eyes as she moves a bit so she is no longer directly in front of the steering wheel. She motions for Brooke to resume her previous position – which she does, a bit too enthusiastically, if Peyton’s amused expression is anything to go by.
She straddles one leg, Peyton’s knee hitting nearly perfectly in the center of her jeans, and her lips eagerly attach to Peyton’s neck, and her pulse point. She lets the moan it drags from her go straight to her core.
Peyton groans, leaning her head to the side. It gives her more access. She feels a shiver run through her as Brooke kisses the spot right below her ear… Her hands squeeze on Brooke’s hips, fingers teasing the hem of her T-shirt, begging to get a feel of the warm, smooth skin that she knows will drive her crazy.
“Brooke-”
“Hm?”
She leans back, and Brooke pouts as she stops the attack on her neck.
“What’s wrong?” Brooke tilts her head. Somehow she has managed to look absolutely ravished, despite it being Peyton who’d gotten most of the attention.
She rubs her back lightly and watches her eyes fall closed.
“Nothing…” she kisses her lightly. “But I’m supposed to be getting you back for what you did inside.”
“Who says you weren’t?”
“Me.” Peyton trades the hand for nails, enjoying the sharp intake of air. “Considering it’s my neck that you were… attacking.”
Brooke blinks her eyes open. She almost smirks and almost retorts with a smart-ass remark and almost — almost but not quite — gets Peyton distracted again.
Until the knee that she positioned oh, so perfectly flexes, and she loses all train of thought.
Peyton does it again, and then again, and then, just for the absolute hell of it, makes a back-and-forth motion that Brooke unconsciously copies.
Brooke buries her face in Peyton’s neck, hands gripping the back of the seat. Her breath stutters.
And then Peyton stops. And straightens her leg out. Brooke loses the friction, and whines, whipping her head up to glare.
“Peyton.”
Peyton shrugs. “What?”
“You know what.”
“Hm… do I, really?”
“Yes-” her voice snaps. Peyton smirks. “You do.”
“Whatsamatter, hm?” Peyton trails a finger across her cheek. “You seem a little… frustrated.”
“I hate you.” Brooke deadpans.
Peyton shrugs. “Do you? That’s a shame… I guess that means you don’t want to know what I had planned?”
It’s amazing how such few words can change her mind. Brooke hastily goes to retract the statement but Peyton is already moving on.
She taps her hip again, and Brooke climbs off, settling on her knees next to her.
“Put your hair up.” She waits, raising an eyebrow when Brooke doesn’t do it instantly. “Well?”
As Brooke does as she is told — biting the rubber band on her wrist and quickly gathering her hair in a bun — Peyton grabs her cup from the dashboard.
She slides her straw out, sucking the extra droplets, and tossing it back. She then pops the lid and reaches in to grab a piece of ice.
Brooke watches her with rapt attention. Her eyes follow her hand as she sets the cup back on the dashboard, slips the ice into her mouth, and then meets her eye.
“Want me to show you what I have planned?” Brooke nods, eyes wide. She can’t even be bothered to find the smirk irksome. “Then say it.”
“Say what?”
“You know what.”
“Peyt…”
She moves the ice in her mouth, showing how tiny it’s gotten.
“Better hurry up. Don’t want it to… disappear, do you?”
Peyton’s expression softens to pure adoration as she watches Brooke’s face redden. Her girlfriend looks away; it’s amazing really.
If they had continued what they were doing, Brooke would have reached her climax. They both know it.
Brooke had even wanted to happen.
And yet, here they are. Brooke being too embarrassed to say such a simple sentence.
Peyton grabs another piece of ice. She lays her hand casually on Brooke’s knee. Brooke’s sharp inhale tells her that a little more touch… and she wouldn’t be… on edge any longer.
“So, what do you say?”
Brooke groans. “Okay fine.” She huffs at the fine, what? “You can touch me.”
She should have known it wouldn’t satisfy her.
“Touch you, hm? With what? My hands? My lips? Or this?” She waves the ice cube around. Brooke’s eyes follow it. Peyton leans in closer. “Say it, and I’ll let you do whatever you want.”
“Please touch me with the ice.” Brooke feels a shiver run down her spine in anticipation. Peyton smirks, leans in to kiss her, and swallows the moan as her cold lips and tongue touch Brooke’s.
“Good girl. We’ll do that at home, okay?” And before Brooke can complain, her hand travels down, finding a nice little home right between her legs.
“Now… how about I give you a little helping hand, hm? Would that tide you over?”
They are a good half hour, or longer depending on traffic, from home, after all.
Brooke suddenly decides the ice can wait.
One button unbuttoned and a zipper unzipped later, Peyton’s finger tease Brooke, slipping into her wetness, circling her clit, and then backing out.
“How you doing?” She asks in response to Brooke groaning her name. “Like that?” She wiggles her finger. The jeans make the pressure greater.
She adds a second finger and rubs circles before slipping further down. Brooke groans, sinking into the seat; her legs widen and she grips the edge of the seat.
She lets it go on, dancing on that edge of pleasure, always too far away, the need growing and fading and grasping only to lose it.
“Peyt… please.”
“Please what?”
“I need more… faster. Now. No more teasing-” she sends her a pleading look. “- please.” She lets out a string of curses when Peyton pulls out only to tell her to pull the jeans down.
Brooke quickly yanks them down only stopping at her knees and then slams her mouth against Peyton’s, nipping at her lip, and tugging it… and then Peyton’s fingers slip into her wetness and immediately sink into her, curling and moving and-
And her thumb hits Brooke’s clit; heat coils deep in her belly, tightening into a ball, until she covers Peyton’s hand in her release, and muffles herself in Peyton’s neck.
Peyton slows down, rubbing her back with her other hand and lightly keeping the ministrations until she shudders and catches her breath.
“You okay?”
Brooke nods. “Oh, yeah.” She looks up and smiles lazily. “I love you.” She crinkles her nose when Peyton kisses it. “Let’s go home?”
Peyton nods. “Okay… hand me the wipes.”
The blush is adorable, but she refrains from saying it, taking the small packet of WetOnes Brooke grabbed from the console.
They are on the road ten minutes later, and Brooke eyes the cup still on the dashboard, minutely shifting in her seat as she anticipates the cold touch and the aching need it will bring.