Title: "Nirvana"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Distribution: ttk, ghadultfanfic.
Fandom: "General Hospital", 2/14/01 episode.
Rating/Classification: 'R', Nik/Gia, nongraphic smut, angst.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Blah bliddy blah.
Summary: A sappy, contemplative, filler scene that ties up the end of Nikolas and Gia's Valentine's Day passion.

"And, you know, the most obnoxious part about it is how these couples make you feel...like...like they're superior, like they've discovered nirvana and--and anyone who chooses to be independent has some sort of, I don't know, spiritual deficiency or something! But, you know, I've got news: some of us like being on our own!"
--Gia Campbell on Valentine's Day.

Her impossibly long legs wrapping around his hips. Her red-tipped fingernails digging into his shoulders. Her lush, kiss-savaged mouth opening under his. Again and again.

He remembers what it's like to drown and to burn at the same time.

He'd forgotten.

He'd forgotten what it was like to make love.

To be this close to another person. To feel their heartbeat against his skin. To taste their sweat and their tears and their sighs.

He knows he'll never forget again.

In the firelight, her skin glows like polished amber. Her limbs are loose and languid as she recovers from their most recent bout of lovemaking and he's hypnotized by contrast of the pulse beating wildly at her throat. She stares up at him with heavy-lidded silver-gray eyes that are sparkling with wonder and innocence. Two things he'd once thought her incapable of.

But she is capable of those things and so much more.

Of making Valentine's Day mean something despite all her brash declarations about it's commercialism.

Of flying him higher than he's ever been and not letting him fall.

Of taking him so deep within her, he can't find his way out.

Of setting his whole existence aflame.

Of arousing him faster than any woman he has ever known.

His temper, his humor, his passion. All of it.

It belongs to her. To this blackmailer. This Columbia dropout. His roommate. Miss Thang. Miss Future Supermodel. Sparky. Gia.

Spiritually deficient? Her? Ha. She is the most spirited woman he's ever met. If at all possible, she suffers from an *excess* of spirit.

*Gia.*

Even her name, three letters and two glorious syllables, is erotic, exotic, and maddening. Conjuring up images of perfumed boudoirs and a collection of whips and handcuffs. Conflicting images of romance and powerplays that don't conflict when he's with her. When he's inside her. When he's listening to her whisper his name like he's under her skin, in her blood, and touching her most secret self.

He belongs to her.

To this blackmailer. This Columbia dropout. His roommate. Miss Thang. Miss Future Supermodel. Sparky. Gia.

"What are you thinking?" she asks as he kisses the chip on each of her proud shoulders...as he strokes her cheek with his fingertips. She curls into the touches like a sated tigress and he wonders, for a split second, who taught her to crave this. Who taught her to be so wild, so wanting...so willing to fight for him...so open in his arms...and so closed to her own secret needs and weaknesses?

He swallows back the flicker of jealousy...the questions.

He has her now. Right this minute. And that is what counts.

"I'm thinking that you're beautiful."

"You all ready said that."

Her lower lip juts out just a tiny bit...the beginning of a pout...and he leans down, catches it between his teeth and tugs gently.

"Can't I say it again?" he murmurs into a playful kiss.

Rueful ego fills her husky voice. "You can say it as many times as you want." Her arms link loosely around his neck, pulling him more securely into the soft, beckoning valley of her breasts.

"You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself," she gasps as her head falls back, as her hips rise to meet his one more time.

He thinks he could die right here, cradled in her ripe, firm, curves.

He wishes he could.

Because, tomorrow, they will wake up from this Valentine fantasy, from this mutual surrender. They will wake up and she'll push him away. She'll deny that he touched something deep and sacred inside her. She'll pretend it meant nothing, that he can't hurt her and she can't let herself be challenged...or loved. She'll pretend she's "choosing to be independent." And he'll have to play along because her walls will cover her more completely than her clothes.

But he'll remember what she looked like without them.

Completely bare. Naked to his gaze in every way.

Her impossibly long legs wrapping around his hips. Her red-tipped fingernails digging into his shoulders. Her lush, kiss-savaged mouth opening under his. Again and again.

Miles and miles of golden brown skin that he has memorized with his hands and his lips. Throaty cries of passion that are his new favorite song. Wide gray eyes filled with the realization of something good and real and true...the realization that he, himself, can't deny any longer.

He'll remember what it's like to drown and to burn at the same time.

To be this close to another person. To feel her heartbeat against his skin. To taste her sweat and her tears and her sighs.

He knows he'll never forget again.

He can't.

Because Gia is singular, unique, and unforgettable.

And he's discovered nirvana.

--end--

February 14, 2001.



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