Title: "Soft Focus II: Snapshots"
Author: Mala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Distribution: ghadultfanfic, ttk.
Fandom: "General Hospital."
Rating/Classification: 'R', Lucky/Gia-ish, Gia/Nik, angst, physicality.
Disclaimer: If I owned these characters, Liz the GGMF would be locked in a closet and left alone to grow mold and lichens.
Summary: It is Lucky's turn to fall under the spell of his camera...and his brother's girlfriend.
Dedication: To Mere and the captive audience of #roswell, who are always willing to help me out with things perverse. *g* To Elizabeth for wanting a sequel.

She's beautiful.


He knows he will never get tired of staring at her...of cataloging the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the gentle slashes of her dark eyebrows...of capturing the slope of her neck and shoulders in the lens of the camera and holding them there. Perfectly still. Frozen. For him.


She looks like a vision in crimson. And black. And silver. And nothing at all.



He has memorized the exact length of each of her slender arms...the curves of her tight ass and her long legs. He knows he's fascinated by her calves...and totally thrown for her fallen arches and her bright red toenails.


Every time he snaps a picture...he files away another beloved detail. This is religion, he thinks. This is worship. Hearing the shutter go off...watching her lips purse and her eyes flash with joy and passion meant only for him.


This is perfection, he thinks.

*She* is perfection.

Promise. Fire. And ice. Pure. Crystalline. Multi-faceted and unbreakable. He now understands why his father had his own Ice Princess, for he is indeed his father's son. But he craves the light in the center of this human diamond a thousand times more than any gem.


"Be sexy," he urges. "Work it."

But she needs no prodding to be what she is all ready. She throws her curtain of black hair over her golden-brown shoulder, damning him with her silver Sirens' gaze...laughing at him with her impossibly lush, fiery mouth.

Black hair...not brown.

Silver eyes...not hazel.

Golden skin...not cream.

Nikolas'...not his.

Not Elizabeth.

And as the husky mockery echoes all around him...he wakes up...jerks from the dream, whispering her name.


"Wow," he whispers as he stares at her...forgetting everything but the way the red fabric clings to her curves. Forgetting himself and this place and the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses and cell phones.

But, then the subtle elbow to his midsection and the disapproving noise brings him back. And he stares down at Elizabeth, in his arms, remembering to breathe and to smile and to softly reassure her that she is beautiful...that the gray gown brings out her petite loveliness and makes her flawless skin glow.

He reassures her that she is the only girl for him.

But his gaze lingers on the tall, striking, woman on his brother's arm.

*Wow*, he thinks to himself.


The unlocked door swings open and he bounces into the entryway with the words "Hey, anybody home?" poised on the tip of his tongue.

And he freezes.

A ripple of bronze. His half-brother's muscular, naked, back moving rhythmically as long golden fingers clutch his shoulders. There are scratches. He can see them from where he stands. Faint red lines marring the smooth skin and tight sinew.


They didn't hear him come in. How can they? When she is gasping, over and over..."yes yes yes yes"? When Nikolas is staring down with such focus...such soft, gentle, focus and murmuring her name in the same way..?

Haven't they ever heard of a bed?

He can't breathe.

He knows he will never look at the cottage's living room sofa the same way...never be able to sit on it without thinking of the imprint of two bodies. Without thinking of his big brother, the Prince, having sex. With *her*.


All of a sudden she is reaching out to him, waving him close as Nikolas pauses and grins...a royal grin. Completely confident. "You just going to stand there?" he wonders, dark Cassadine eyes frank and curious.

Her smile is daring him...so is the exposed column of her bared throat. Altogether, the image of her caught underneath Nikolas is as exotic and erotic as her passion-glazed eyes. "C'mon, we don't bite, Lucky...c'mere," she murmurs, throatily, even as some sensual activity continues between her and her lover and she arches and shivers.


He shakes his head and backs up, stumbles as he swallows hard and bangs his skull against the doorjamb.


And as the husky invitation echoes all around him...he wakes up...jerks from the dream, whispering her name. Again.

"Wow," he whispers. "Oh, wow."

The cottage's porch is cold and the doorknob is warm beneath his hand. Urging him to turn it. And he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to tempt Fate and lurid dreams he wishes he didn't remember.

"Just knock, Lucky. You can do it. Knock," he tells himself.

But the knob slides under his palm before he can stop it.


The unlocked door swings open and he bounces into the entryway with the words "Hey, anybody home?" poised on the tip of his tongue.

And he freezes.

His brother is sprawled on the couch with an open file folder, his feet propped up on the coffee table...Gia is laying with her feet in his lap, engrossed in a paperback novel. They're fully dressed. It's completely nonsexual.


Such innocent activities for that...erhm...couch.

He breathes a sigh of relief, feeling the weight in the pit of his stomach dislodge. *Thank God.*

Nikolas looks up and grins. A casual grin...welcoming and open. "You just going to stand there?" he wonders, dark Cassadine eyes frank and curious.

He swallows hard.

Gia stretches, curling her toes into the material of her lover's khakis as she gestures with the fanned-out pages of her book. "C'mon, we don't bite, Lucky. C'mere," she murmurs, throatily.

*Now* he can't breathe.

He backs up. He stumbles. He bangs his skull on the doorjamb.

"M-maybe l-later. I...I just remembered something I've gotta do."

And as their puzzled voices echo all around him, he vaults over the porch railing and runs.

"What was THAT about?"

"Absolutely no idea."

"Your brother sure has his quirks, doesn't he?"

"*Tell* me about it."

"Cute, though."

"Runs in the family."

"*Tell* me about it."

"Why, Sparky, are you giving ME a compliment?"

"No, I'm giving HIM a compliment."

"We'll see about that!" Rustle. Pounce. Grapple.


"Wh-what? You don't like me? You don't like this? What I'm doing right now?"

"Yes yes yes yessss."

"Gia Gia Gia Gia".

This time he can't wake up...he can't jerk from the dream.

But he does whisper her name.

He can't help it.

He says it again and again and again.

And then he says another. Plus two words.

"Nikolas...*damn* you."



March 9, 2001.

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