Title: "Forbidden Fruit"
Author: monimala
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: SAC, Dillon/Faith, GQ-ish,
Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own them.
Summary: It's just an alibi...right?

Women in the movies like her...they're the vamps. The ones in the tight dresses with the slits up the side...maybe a veil...one of those long, thin, cigarettes in an ivory-tipped holder.

You tell yourself you're not into that.

That you spent most of the night trying to catch some shut-eye... not staring at the way the red satin clung to every curve of her body.

You tell Georgie that she made you lie.

Even though the smart guy, the hero, in the movies always plays it close and doesn't reveal his hand to the woman he loves if he wants to keep her safe.

Maybe you're not so smart.

You were struggling when she started rubbing her foot into your lap. You were even worse off when she climbed onto you and leaned in and you could smell the apple scent of her perfume. Vamps, you think, should always smell like apples...like Eve and Snow White's wicked stepmother. She said she was a walking, talking, breathing, adolescent fantasy and she was right.

No matter how much you bluff, your body sucks at lying.

You still get hard thinking about her. You're not sure what that means for you and Georgie. Or for your sanity.

Because, maybe, from now on, impending death and an erection are always going to go hand-in-hand. Maybe you'll die seeing Faith Roscoe barely dressed in red satin.

Maybe she'll grab you again and threaten to kill your girlfriend and she'll make you sleep with her and...really...she won't be forcing you one bit.

No...no, you're not so smart at all.

***

When they're that young and fresh, even their sweat tastes sweet. And, oh, you had him sweating...shifting beneath you as you teased the tight crotch of his pants with your toes...as you leaned in and nipped at his jaw. So tense. So beautifully tense.

He thinks you don't know the real him... that you're delusional... dangerous. He's only right about the last thing.

You know exactly who he is. Puffed up on midnight showings of "The Godfather". He acts first and thinks never. He was gasping... setting his jaw...trying to pretend he wasn't hard for you. Of course you knew. You saw right through him.

You knew he was going to tell the little virgin everything, too.

You hoped he wouldn't, but you always have a back-up plan when your hopes get dashed.

So, they'll say you have a history of threatening young, helpless, women. They'll say that you've slipped so far in your obsession with Ric Lansing that you're now coercing teenagers to do your bidding.

They'll say you're crazy. And sick. Temporarily insane.

Just like they did when they arrested Ric.

And where is Ric now?

Free.

Soon enough, you'll join him. Make him pay for breaking your heart over and over again. Make him beg and crawl to get back in your bed.

But maybe you'll stop...take a detour first...

Dillon tasted like peaches. And you want another bite.

--end--

September 10, 2003.



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