Thread: You Again? (rpfiend_123 & AnnaBeth Belle)

So gentle was Mike's touch that Brooke didn't feel his fingers take up the tiny tab of the zipper and the sound it made was how she knew it was being unzipped at all. Even when he'd had to touch Brooke where it hurt the most, Mr. Stevenson was never careless about it and worked to do what had to be done but in the most soothing, gentle manner possible without drawing it out. The waver in his voice might have meant he was worried about what was coming in getting Brooke's top off, but she raised her arms without hesitation. Mike's hands moved to the inside of her top, holding it away from her back as he lifted it up and off. It still hurt enough to make Brooke's breath hitch as she exhaled and her fingers to clench into absurd little fists with the thumb sticking out. As the top lifted, it took her hair along, momentarily removing the weight of it from Brook's head and then it slipped back down in ragged waves as it was freed. The towel tried to go with the top but Brooke nudged it back in place while her blouse was in front of Mr. Stevenson's face and the moment her arms were free she arranged it properly, holding it on the top of her bra's cups . The straps with their heavy embroidered lace accents and the mesh back were still visible to Mr. Stevenson. Brooke felt absurdly self conscious about it all. Even though her bra covered as much or more than a swimsuit, and the cups were as heavily padded, this was her bra and he wasn't supposed to see it. A swimsuit was meant to be seen, so it was okay, but the taboo of being in her underwear still made her tummy feel hot and tight. The thought of Sammy, that Mike had a daughter and a wife and had likely seen all of this before brought the young redhead some comfort. Hang on, Brooke stopped Mr. Stevenson from applying the aloe. It'll ruin this too. Just...give me a second. I'm so sorry, Mr. Stevenson. I'm so sorry. Brooke contorted, trying to get to the hooks in the back, but was having a hard time of it due to the pain of the sunburn and the necessity of keeping the towel in place. Finally she managed to undo it and the stretchy fabric came free, leaving slight indentations and marks that would soon fade even on her pale skin. First one arm and then the other slid free of the narrow straps and Brooke let them dangle on either side of the towel. If you could just finish my back and shoulders and the top of my arms I'll be okay. I got my legs all the way around before you came in. The room smelled of aloe vera, a young woman just at the threshold of her innocence who was hurting and was being calmed, cared for, protected by a virile older man who had not yet passed his prime of life. Pine scented soap and Brooke's citrus based perfume dance in their noses, one strong and overwhelming, the other beautiful and elusive. Again Brooke felt the hot, tight feeling in her lower stomach that made her slightly queasy. It's just the sun fever, she said, lying to herself when she knew full well it was the thrill, the shameful but heady thrill, she felt being vulnerable and revealed under Mike's eyes and hands. He was her best friend's dad, her assistant principal, that guy who made the You Again joke with her but his fingers and the gel made him something else. Something Brooke was afraid of and wanting more of. Like that day at the pool when she'd been watching him. It was the same feeling, only more intense now. Under the cover of the towel, she pulled the cups of the bra away from her small, youthful breasts and sat it on the desk next to the towel he'd have to pick up to rub the aloe off his hands. It was a silent expression, a probing, and Brooke didn't know if she wanted to know how he'd take it. That's so much better, Mr. Stevenson. I'll, I'm going to go into the bathroom and put on a big sleepshirt and I want to lay down for a little bit. I always get sleepy after this and sometimes a little feverish. She stood up, hands holding the towel on her front but her back bare down to the top of her high-waisted skirt and turned her head to look at him. Thank you, she said in a voice that quavered at the end. Brooke's eyes were liquid filled, but those were just tears of discomfort, right? One last haunted look and she went into Samantha's bathroom and closed the door. The lock being twisted made the outside handle rotate slightly and Mr. Stevenson was left alone in his daughter's bedroom, Brooke's top on the bed, her bra on the damp towel.