Title: "Elegantly Wasted" 5/?
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa, J/S-ish, slightly slashy.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love? Too far, it seems...
Notes: Thanks MzMocha, Lerdo, Leigh, Laura, Aria! I'm so glad you gave this AU a shot!
She had never slept the day away in a gentleman's company.
So when she awakened, mid-afternoon, in the great four-poster bed in the hotel's most expensive suite, for a moment she forgot where she was...who she was...who she was with. She thought it was some kind of wonderful dream where steaming pots of chocolate were always warm on the bedside table and men reading newspapers in the nearby armchair simply looked up and smiled.
"You won't chide me for letting you rest, will you, Caroline?" he asked, softly, the pages of the paper rustling as he folded it lengthwise across his lap.
"I won't...but Miss Bobbie might," she murmured, ruefully, stretching her arms above her head as she sat upright.
"I sent a messenger to her establishment hours ago. She is aware that she will be compensated for your time." Lorenzo's smile suddenly faltered. His eyes going smoky. "One more night," he said, barely audible. "I asked for one more night."
"Darlin', you can have as many nights as you want," she assured, reaching for his fallen shirt, pulling it on...inhaling his scent as it surrounded her. Tobacco, cologne, man. "You can have them for *free*."
The news didn't seem to please him. If anything, her flirtation seemed to only darken his all ready dour demeanor.
"Remember I asked you what price you pay...?" At her confused nod, he swallowed, hard, and looked away...staring into the now-banked fire. "We all have our price."
She slid from the bed, padding barefoot to where he sat. "Lorenzo...I don't understand..." she began, kneeling beside him and placing her hand on his arm.
"I had a brother. Luis. After the wars... he initiated shipping contracts with several of your southern companies...but his business decisions were not sound." Under her palm, his wrist was solid, so tensed it was fairly throbbing. "He was reckless. *Estupido*. He incurred debts with the wrong man... debts he was never able to repay."
"Where is your brother now?" she asked, gently.
"Dead." A morbid chuckle tinged with grief. "His mistress pushed him from the balcony of our hacienda."
Caroline shivered...but she teased him with her voice, with her most effective charms as she tossed away his ignored newspaper and climbed into his lap. "Are you afraid you'll fall because of me, Senor?"
He threaded his fingers through her hair, thumb caressing her cheek. "Querida...I all ready have..." he murmured against her lips.
Then, there was no more talk of time, of business, of prices. Just the parting of clothes and the heat of him and her nails digging into the plush upholstery of the chair as he rocked into her.
It was only afterwards, as she gasped against his sweat-slick throat and prayed to saints long forgotten, that she realized she had not thought of Michael once...
And that she still didn't know why she'd been given such a gift.
***
"Queen of Angels. Beautiful. Perfect."
As the door clicked shut behind the boy who had brought the message, Michael watched the pale light in his former partner's eyes burn even brighter and paler. Like the swamp fires that had, no doubt, burned vengeance so deeply into his soul.
The house was cold...freezing despite the heat in the air and the depth of Jason's hatred, and he was thankful that Elizabeth had heeded his warning and taken this well-timed trip to see her family. She was so young, so soft and naive and so unused to the ugliness that clung to the underbelly of New Orleans. He did not want his wife in this world... in this place...and he was determined to keep her safe. Alive.
He could not make the same concession for Caroline. Or for himself.
No. Their fates had been written long ago.
When he had first held that tiny baby boy in his arms.
"I won't have Miguel hurt," he murmured, turning towards the windows... towards the street below where carriages ran smoothly over the bricks and no one...no one in their afternoon finery had any clue how black the world could be.
Jason laughed. It was an empty sound... like coins being tossed into a dried-up fountain. "I don't intend to hurt him. Just his mother. Her well-deserved reward. As ye sow, so shall ye reap, isn't it? Do you think she'll like the marshes...? Do you think she'll wake up with no memory of who she was...? Covered in leeches? Crawling through the muck?" The hand on his shoulder made him start...as it always had. "Michael...I know what you think of me now... but don't you remember how it used to be? Before...?"
Of course. Too many cheap drinks. Sleeping in one bunk in the rusty hold of a cargo ship for warmth...and other comforts. Blood. Pain. Stumbling out of whorehouses together and spinning dreams about making it rich.
And he remembered the hand raised in anger. Leaving bruises... breaking ribs...as the baby wailed for its mama from the next room. He remembered the fireplace poker being grabbed, blindly...swung again and again...blood and hair clinging to it.
"I will have my reparation. I have waited too long...I have all the players in place... and you will not fail me again."
He remembered that failure, too. Dragging the limp body down the servants' stairs, through the kitchens, and ignoring the whispers as the horse cart drew up at the back door of the bordello.
"No," he agreed, wrapping his fingers in the gauzy curtains, clutching them so tightly that his knuckles whitened. "I gave you my word. My loyalty is to you now."
Unsmiling lips branded the back of his neck, sent the kiss deep like a knife's blade.
"I know that. But I also know where your heart lies. With Caroline. And my son."
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: R, AU, SnC, LoCa, J/S-ish, slightly slashy.
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them.
Summary: How far would you go for the man you love? Too far, it seems...
Notes: Thanks MzMocha, Lerdo, Leigh, Laura, Aria! I'm so glad you gave this AU a shot!
She had never slept the day away in a gentleman's company.
So when she awakened, mid-afternoon, in the great four-poster bed in the hotel's most expensive suite, for a moment she forgot where she was...who she was...who she was with. She thought it was some kind of wonderful dream where steaming pots of chocolate were always warm on the bedside table and men reading newspapers in the nearby armchair simply looked up and smiled.
"You won't chide me for letting you rest, will you, Caroline?" he asked, softly, the pages of the paper rustling as he folded it lengthwise across his lap.
"I won't...but Miss Bobbie might," she murmured, ruefully, stretching her arms above her head as she sat upright.
"I sent a messenger to her establishment hours ago. She is aware that she will be compensated for your time." Lorenzo's smile suddenly faltered. His eyes going smoky. "One more night," he said, barely audible. "I asked for one more night."
"Darlin', you can have as many nights as you want," she assured, reaching for his fallen shirt, pulling it on...inhaling his scent as it surrounded her. Tobacco, cologne, man. "You can have them for *free*."
The news didn't seem to please him. If anything, her flirtation seemed to only darken his all ready dour demeanor.
"Remember I asked you what price you pay...?" At her confused nod, he swallowed, hard, and looked away...staring into the now-banked fire. "We all have our price."
She slid from the bed, padding barefoot to where he sat. "Lorenzo...I don't understand..." she began, kneeling beside him and placing her hand on his arm.
"I had a brother. Luis. After the wars... he initiated shipping contracts with several of your southern companies...but his business decisions were not sound." Under her palm, his wrist was solid, so tensed it was fairly throbbing. "He was reckless. *Estupido*. He incurred debts with the wrong man... debts he was never able to repay."
"Where is your brother now?" she asked, gently.
"Dead." A morbid chuckle tinged with grief. "His mistress pushed him from the balcony of our hacienda."
Caroline shivered...but she teased him with her voice, with her most effective charms as she tossed away his ignored newspaper and climbed into his lap. "Are you afraid you'll fall because of me, Senor?"
He threaded his fingers through her hair, thumb caressing her cheek. "Querida...I all ready have..." he murmured against her lips.
Then, there was no more talk of time, of business, of prices. Just the parting of clothes and the heat of him and her nails digging into the plush upholstery of the chair as he rocked into her.
It was only afterwards, as she gasped against his sweat-slick throat and prayed to saints long forgotten, that she realized she had not thought of Michael once...
And that she still didn't know why she'd been given such a gift.
***
"Queen of Angels. Beautiful. Perfect."
As the door clicked shut behind the boy who had brought the message, Michael watched the pale light in his former partner's eyes burn even brighter and paler. Like the swamp fires that had, no doubt, burned vengeance so deeply into his soul.
The house was cold...freezing despite the heat in the air and the depth of Jason's hatred, and he was thankful that Elizabeth had heeded his warning and taken this well-timed trip to see her family. She was so young, so soft and naive and so unused to the ugliness that clung to the underbelly of New Orleans. He did not want his wife in this world... in this place...and he was determined to keep her safe. Alive.
He could not make the same concession for Caroline. Or for himself.
No. Their fates had been written long ago.
When he had first held that tiny baby boy in his arms.
"I won't have Miguel hurt," he murmured, turning towards the windows... towards the street below where carriages ran smoothly over the bricks and no one...no one in their afternoon finery had any clue how black the world could be.
Jason laughed. It was an empty sound... like coins being tossed into a dried-up fountain. "I don't intend to hurt him. Just his mother. Her well-deserved reward. As ye sow, so shall ye reap, isn't it? Do you think she'll like the marshes...? Do you think she'll wake up with no memory of who she was...? Covered in leeches? Crawling through the muck?" The hand on his shoulder made him start...as it always had. "Michael...I know what you think of me now... but don't you remember how it used to be? Before...?"
Of course. Too many cheap drinks. Sleeping in one bunk in the rusty hold of a cargo ship for warmth...and other comforts. Blood. Pain. Stumbling out of whorehouses together and spinning dreams about making it rich.
And he remembered the hand raised in anger. Leaving bruises... breaking ribs...as the baby wailed for its mama from the next room. He remembered the fireplace poker being grabbed, blindly...swung again and again...blood and hair clinging to it.
"I will have my reparation. I have waited too long...I have all the players in place... and you will not fail me again."
He remembered that failure, too. Dragging the limp body down the servants' stairs, through the kitchens, and ignoring the whispers as the horse cart drew up at the back door of the bordello.
"No," he agreed, wrapping his fingers in the gauzy curtains, clutching them so tightly that his knuckles whitened. "I gave you my word. My loyalty is to you now."
Unsmiling lips branded the back of his neck, sent the kiss deep like a knife's blade.
"I know that. But I also know where your heart lies. With Caroline. And my son."