Title: "Static"
Author: monimala
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: R, Carly/Lorenzo, language, adult situations.
Disclaimer: Nope...don't own them! Like this would happen on the Sonny and Carly Show? Shyeah right!
Summary: Captivity and pregnancy make you do crazy things. *Feel* crazy things. A loose sequel to "Land of Fire."

Caroline was a slutty little bitch who spread her legs for a football player in ninth grade...lost her cherry in the back seat of a 70's model Camaro that could've been green and might've been blue.

Carly hasn't slept with a man besides her husband in years.

Even if she nit-picks and remembers that she slept with Sonny while technically with AJ...one was her husband, regrettably, at the time, and the other is her husband, her soulmate, now. Now and forever.

And she's still a slutty little bitch. Because she'll give it up for Sonny any time and any place. In the back of the limo, in the office at the Cellar, and, of course, always, in their bedroom. She'll peel off her clothes for him to some slow, seductive song, and he'll look at her like he's hungry for her... like he can't live without her.

Except that he has. And she has. For months now.

And she tells herself it's the hormones...that insane surge of pregnancy hormones...that is making her crazy. She tells herself it is the water lapping against the sides of the damn yacht, making her seasick and delusional. She tells herself that it is the weeks and weeks of captivity and chains--both real and imagined--making her restless.

Making her dream of other men.

She'd be lying to herself if she said she hasn't at least *thought* of other guys in the span of her three weddings to Sonny.

There was that whole year where he wouldn't see her, wouldn't acknowledge her, called her a "liar" and "faithless" and she watched the way the light from Club 101 played on the gold of Jax's hair. And all those pool games with Zander...how stupid that had been...crawling into his room, wounded and lashing out...throwing herself at him.

Then, there was the one night where she and Courtney had too many blender margaritas while the boys were out on Business With a Capital 'B' and they went over which of the bodyguards they wouldn't kick out of bed for eating crackers.

Johnny won, hands down...and pants off. At least in their heads.

And, of course, there's Jase.

Her Jase.

He'll always be her first real love...and sometimes in the dark, she still feels his hands on her body...but it isn't betrayal because Sonny loves him, too.

Lorenzo says she's working him.

He's right. She's playing him and scamming him for all he's worth. Caroline would be proud. Watching his eyes go soft and dark when she says the name "Sophie Germaine"...watching his jaw tighten when she hits a nerve...asking him about stupid crap like World War II and the Bolsheviks and other stuff she picked up from surfing past the History channel on her way to cartoons for Michael. And backgammon...all those games of backgammon. The most boring game in the world but she'll win that, too, if it's what it takes to get the Hell out of here.

But he's working her, too.

At night...when the lights in the cabin are low and the fan from the A/C is blowing so loud she can't think...and she remembers his hand brushing hers as she pulled a stack of bills and a photo from his fingers. Cool. Dry. Static. The baby moves and kicks and she winces underneath the Egyptian cotton sheets, pushing them off so she can feel the air on her bare skin. Cool. Dry. Static.

Caroline would've seen that young, high-and-mighty, grad student from fancy-pants Oxford and won him over. Fucked his brains out while he called her "senorita" and forgot history in favor of the here and now.

But it's Carly who is forgetting history. Who wants the here and now of her door unlocking and a shadow creeping across the floor thanks to the light in the corridor.

And she tells herself it's the hormones...that insane surge of pregnancy hormones...that is making her crazy. She tells herself it is the water lapping against the sides of the damn yacht, making her seasick and delusional. She tells herself that it is the weeks and weeks of captivity and chains--both real and imagined--making her restless.

She's scamming herself, too.

And he's working her.

With the pads of his thumbs in the crevices of her thighs...new, sensitive, places that her husband hasn't even touched yet...and his rough beard scraping the underside of her breast...his lips tracing the taut, swollen, skin from her navel and lower. With his rough chuckle against the baby's little, insistent, foot. The rough chuckle that turns choked and full of wonder...hushed with her name.

Carly hasn't slept with a man besides her husband in years.

Until now.

She's still a slutty little bitch.

Giving it up for Lorenzo Alcazar in her dreams.

--end--

July 29, 2003.



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