Work Text:
He’s not mad, per se, annoyed maybe - but not mad. Vanjie on the other hand, she’s mad and she’s doing a damn good job of showing it.
Brookes stressed, not competition stressed (although he always is) but relationship stressed - Vanessa stressed if you will. She hasn’t spoken to him since he picked Nina the day before and honestly he didn't realise how much of an impact she had on him until she was gone. The silence is painful, deafening and empty all at once like a heard of elephants in a desert. He loosely understands where he went wrong, can see the lack of communication that was the tripwire in this trap - he just wishes Vanjie would give him a second, a chance to explain what happened in words that do his choice justice. No 'it was for the competitions', just solid, reasonable logic. He's always been a fan of solid logic.
He takes all of his anxiety about his blossoming relationship and funnels it into the challenge. For a moment he wonders if he should piss Vanessa off every week but realises that its a ridiculous idea and moves along. it pays off though, he's on the top and it feels amazing. It's a strength he didn't realise he had and the power of making people laugh feels a different kind of fantastic. He doesn't know if he made her laugh though, so it doesn't really matter.
He is loved on the mainstage, they praise his every move and he almost feels like his choices paid off and then they get to her and she is panned. They are pulling at straws, grasping at tiny threads to find problems with Vanessa and he hates it. Brooke wants to go up to each and every one of them (except Natasha Lyonne) and tell them exactly how wonderful she is but they're not talking so he shuts his mouth. He watches her lose confidence in herself, the smile drop from her face. He chuckles when she doesn't know what stirrups are and smiles when she makes a joke but she doesn't lose her cool. Not yet.
He has to stop himself going over to Vanjie so many times in Untucked. He's watching her fall apart in real time whilst simultaneously trying to hold herself together enough to prepare for a lipsync and its heartbreaking. He has full confidence that she'll smash it out of the park, loves Plastique but loves Vanessa more and honestly, he's not even worried. He's just terrified.
She comes over, Silky's bug mask on her head, headphones in and shirtless and he almost starts drooling. He laughs, loud and freeing and can't catch himself but god he's not going to melt in untucked - he can do that later. It reminds him that she will be okay, gives him some hope. He needs that.
They get the five-minute call and he watched the smile melt of Vanjies face into a puddle on the floor. She's shaking but he's far too stubborn to do anything. She hates him anyway, what's the point? He watches it from the back, hollers along because she better know he wants her here, can't imagine it without her even though he's been living with that for days. He loves plastique but Vanessa can't go home.
She is safe.
They pile into the van on the way back to the hotel and despite having avoided each other like the plague for forty-eight hours, they end up next to each other. Brooke took too long getting the glitter off his face (for a second he wonders how Vanessa does it every week and then remembers he usually helps her) and he is last in the van. He ends up in the no leg room, too cramped seat next to the one person he really doesn't want to spend half an hour next to and sighs. Vanessa looks up. She quirks her eyebrow a little, maybe confused about the seats maybe curious as to what they can do for the time being and it infuriates Brooke. He's sure he goes a little red but as he makes eye contact, her eyes are dark and suddenly he's a whole different kind of red. He smirks a little, knows his anger has struck a chord with the shorter guy and worries his lip between his teeth. That's the last straw.
With as much power as you can get, strapped into a van seat - she pushes herself onto him. Holding herself there with an arm slung over his leg, she presses her lips onto his. They are soft and warm and the passion she moves them with is unlike anything he's ever felt. He is captivated by her, his eyes only fluttering shut when he cannot concentrate on holding them open. His only focus his the way she is kissing him with such ferocity, tongue burning patterns into his mouth like a poker. When the fire gets too big for their mouths to contain, she trails the flames down his neck, letting them lick at the soft flesh just enough to mar it beneath her lips. He has to remind himself that they are in a van, that he cannot say all the things that are going to slide off his tongue if she doesn't stop.
"Baby," he half groans, hopes it's not enough to alert the other girls to the compromising position they are in. She looks at him, head tilted. "Maybe we should talk about this," he continues. It's the only way for them to move past this and logically he should be all for the conversation but he just wants her mouth, hot and heavy back on his.
"Mhmm, tomorrow," she responds. The lust is gone from her eyes, replaced with deep tiredness that he knows hasn't even scratched the surface. He just smiles as she snuggles into him, lays his head on her and tries to sleep.