Thread: You Again? (rpfiend_123 & AnnaBeth Belle)

Hey, she said without straightening up or any sign of alarm. Brooke hadn't heard him come in, didn't expect anyone to be up at this time of morning, but she wasn't startled. A feeling of being slightly dreamy from her excess slumber and the disruption of her body's clock meant Brooke's senses weren't operating fully. Key Lime Pie or Black Cherry? Key Lime Pie seemed too tartly sweet for breakfast so Brooke picked out the Black Cherry yogurt and stood up. The sleep shirt caught on the left side of her panties, a bit of embroidery holding it up so that when she turned around the side of her thigh all the way up to almost the top of her panties but the front panel was obscured, just barely. I need a spoon, she said and yawned without covering her mouth. The refrigerator sighed shut behind her, cutting off the lit and plunging the kitchen into a sharp-shadowed darkness made golden by the older street lights outside. Summers spent at the Stevenson's meant she didn't really need the light to find the silverware drawer and it opened, forks and spoons snicking slightly, next to where Mr. Stevenson stood, offering an additional barrier to sight if he didn't move. Brooke's hand rooted around a bit before coming up with a spoon. A half turn and she hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling but held almost together at the knees. The sleep shirt puddled around the tops of her thighs as she worked on the foil of the yogurt tub. The left side of her face, the one nearest Mike, was lit and the other clothed in shadow. There was a smell, slightly sour and slightly sweet, when she peeled the foil back. Are you going to the gym, Mr. Stevenson? she asked before putting the spoon in and stirring the yogurt slowly from the bottom up. Blood red swirls made black by the light streaked across the creamy white yogurt as she mixed it. Can I go with you? It'll be hours before, she lifted the spoon out and licked it clean and then pointed towards first the master bedroom and then the room she shared with Sammy. Or at least in their general direction. ...before they are awake. And I'm not sleepy. I mean, I am, but I'm not. I just... How could she explain it? Brooke felt restless, like something was inside of her needing to get out but she didn't know what it was but it was bothering her. It's too bad we're not in school, she said suddenly. I could really use a counselor right now to talk to. She ate another spoonful of yogurt and made sure the bowl of the spoon was licked clean before taking it out of her mouth. With the impetuosity of youth she continued on, still not having given Mike an opening to respond. He was oddly quiet this morning she noticed, and moving slow. Why he was still standing where he'd been when she closed the fridge. Why? Brooke looked over and saw he wasn't wearing a shirt. The light was at just the right angle to catch the ridges of his muscles and throw deep shadows beyond them, making them pop out more to her eyes. Eyes that grew wide, the blue almost completely disappearing as her pupils expanded more than the dim light would account for. Mr. Stevenson had, if anything, gotten even more fit than the last time she saw him without a shirt on. Her mouth parted, surprised, and Brooke couldn't keep her eyes from moving from one part of his chest to the other, then lower to where the lines of his abdomen sculpted out a six pack that any boy would be insanely proud of. They also traced the V on either side, an open V that led her eyes downward. It was too dark, the cabinet door too concealing, for Brooke to really notice his bulge or any remnant of arousal but she did note that either Mr. Stevenson was wearing underwear or some really tight shorts, like bicyclists used or she wore sometimes under her tennis skirts. Oh. Umm, oh. I, uh, Brooke stopped and just stared then looked up quickly. I'm sorry, Mr. Stevenson. I guess you didn't know I was in the kitchen. I'm sorry. But even as she protested, Brooke looked down again, and it was either the cold air sighing from the air conditioning vents or pure feminine response to the close proximity of a man but the light cast shadows of its own on her, showing tiny but definite peaks on her chests where her nipples had suddenly become hard. Jesus, she said, a habit picked up from Samantha. I'm so sorry, Mr. Stevenson. This time she was able to drag her eyes, if not her thoughts away. I didn't mean to embarrass you.