Title: A Very Good Afternoon
Fandom: General Hospital
Characters: Tracy Quartermaine
Prompt: #32 Torn
Word Count: 1,213 words
Rating: R
Summary: It began with a torn stocking…
Author's Notes: LuNacy Lust. Oh, yeah. Somewhat kinky sensuality; no sex.

It began with a torn stocking…

Tracy sat on the wrought-iron bench in her mother's rose garden. The day was warm enough, so she dropped her right shoe off her toes, dangling it for a moment before allowing it to fall onto the cobblestones. She stretched her leg out, noting the ugly gash in the hosiery, a small circle revealing the pale flesh of her ankle through the sheer material tapering into a narrow rip that crept from her ankle half-way to her knee.

She cursed the vine that had caught her as she strolled, mid-day, through the memories. Tracy didn't wear pantyhose. They were vulgar, cheap and uncomfortable. Garters and hose were civilized, a nod to a more cultured age. Besides, they made her feel sexy as hell, even when the only person who saw them was her.

"Damn," she sighed, staring at the rip. She ordered these from Paris, and this particular shade had been on backorder since Lincoln had been in the White House. "Damn." She stretched her toes, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on them.

Tracy looked around. She was alone in the garden, alone on this beautiful sunny afternoon. She reached below her skirt, lifting the hem up until she could reach the clips on the garters. With deft, slender fingers, she unhooked the belt and eased the hose downward. Bending slightly, she rolled the silky fabric down her thigh, over her knee, and then down her calf. Finally, her leg was free of the silk, pale against the dark fabric of her skirt. She smiled, feeling slightly decadent. How long had it been since she'd run barefoot in her mother's garden? She couldn't remember, but it felt wonderful.

She leaned back on the bench, stretching her legs—one covered, one naked—on the seat in front of her. Leaning back, she rested her arms behind her, allowing the sunlight to play on her face, closing her eyes, feeling the difference, feeling the breeze, and the roughness of the wrought iron on her bare skin.

It was delicious, she decided, and wished she could go bare-legged every day. Nice as the silk was, sexy as the garters were, there was something primitive and freeing about this natural feeling. She lay there for a long time, letting the sunlight play over her, enjoying this breather from schedules and schemes and the general dramas that came with being a Quartermaine.

It was only when his shadow fell on her that Tracy noticed her husband standing there. Perhaps she'd fallen asleep. She held her torn stocking in her fist, the length of it trailing in the dust.

He said nothing to her, and she said nothing to him. He was watching her with that look he got sometimes, that mixture of hunger and amusement and arrogance. She caught his glance lingering on her bare leg and had to force herself not to pull back, not to sit up and hide her nakedness from him.

It felt so lewd, more than if she'd been completely undressed, having him stare at her leg that way. She held her breath, barely breathing as he reached down and took the torn stocking from her hand, lifted it to his check, smiled in a knowing way. He moved easily, casually, to where her legs draped over the arm of the bench.

He lowered himself to one knee, taking the foot that still wore the pump in his hands. She refused to let him get to her, swore she wouldn't be affected as he eased the pump off her foot and placed it neatly on the ground next to him. She closed her eyes as he began to massage her foot, his hands strong and warm and confident as they eased away tension she didn't know she had. Before she knew it, his massage had expanded, upwards, to include her entire foot, above her ankles, her calf.

She wasn't going to moan. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

Luke had repositioned himself, giving himself better access to her leg, stroking up her thigh with long, practiced motions until he brushed clips that still held her remaining stocking place.

Tracy caught herself, adjusting her bare leg, not wanting him to feel so comfortable, not wanting him to think he had a right to anything more than she gave him, of her own free will.

He chuckled at her modesty, hooking his finger tips under the top of her stocking, playing against her bare skin, tickling her mercilessly, taunting her with his touch. With a deliberate snap, he unhooked the garter and began rolling the stocking slowly down her leg. She felt her breath catching in her chest at the slow, sensual movements—the feel of the silk against her leg, the increasing warmth of sunlight on her bare skin, his hands warm and rough, commanding and sure, as he lifted her foot onto his shoulder and kissed the inside of her calf once it had been freed of its clothing.

He was too sure of himself. Too damned proud of his ability to arouse her, to taunt her without ever giving her satisfaction. His tongue was playing against her ankle, teeth grazing and nipping at the sensitive skin. He was toying with her, and for the moment, she felt resigned to let him. She was content to relax in the sunlight with a handsome man worshipping her legs, kissing them and stroking them.

But no more than that, she knew. And when he moved, when he pushed for too much, as she knew he would, she stopped him with a bare foot against his chest. They stayed there for an eternity it seemed, although it could have been just a heartbeat. His eyes were dark, wanting, and she knew she could have him in this moment if she wanted to. It was secluded here, and nobody was in the house. How much more would it be to let him ease on top of her, let him continue the agonizing strip-tease he had already started with her clothing?

She considered it, in that heartbeat that lasted a thousand lifetimes. Her body wanted it. Her legs wanted his lips on them again, and other parts of her were definitely interested in getting acquainted with this arrogant Romeo.

She pushed gently on his chest, her decision made. Theirs was far too complicated a relationship already, and she wasn't going to let him gain hotly contested leverage for the price of a quick liaison in the garden on a lazy afternoon, no matter how aroused she was.

He grinned, knowing the moment was gone, knowing he'd get no further with her, and gently gathered her feet together and placed them gently on the bench. Then he took the good stocking and rolled it neatly, handing it to her.

The torn one he folded and tucked into his shirt pocket with a wicked grin.

And then he was gone, and Tracy was alone in the garden, bare-legged and lazy.

She smiled, shaking her head at the thought of him. The sun felt amazing, and she had nothing to do. Closing her eyes, she reflected on stockings and sunshine and the joys of dozing in the garden on a beautiful afternoon.

The End

Written for the LJ 100 Situations ficathon.

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