Otalia Fic: Abandon
Title: Abandon
Disclaimer: Guiding Light and its characters are the property of Proctor and Gamble. No infringement intended.
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Mature 15+
Words: 1559
Archiving: Sure just let me know :)
Summary: My first foray into Otalia. Saw a comment by Trancer21 requesting some hate!sex!fic! and though it was a fun idea. This an attempt... Set around the time Olivia bought Natalia's wedding rings. Given the situation by comparison to the current plot, I guess this is an au version of the girls.
I knew you would come here today. Despite the things I do to you, you keep coming back. I know it’s Gus’s heart you’re here for. I just want you to go away and leave me alone.
I tell you as much when you walk through the door, wondering again why I don’t just take your pass card away. I suppose you have a master card for your cleaning duties, so it would be a futile effort.
You glare at me today and I sense something is different. Something is close to the surface and I feel an eyebrow rising in contemplation.
“Have you taken your pills?” you don’t look at me as you ask, instead your eyes shift and move and settle on everything but me. Interesting.
I don’t know when I began to observe you so keenly, but I’ve always found the benefits in the advice ‘know your enemy’ to be valid.
“I’m a big girl,” I tell you and I roll my eyes as you start rifling through the bottles by my bed.
I tell you to stop, more than once but you continue as if I’m not there.
“Hey!”
For some reason your casual indifference to my presence sparks anger. I’m Olivia Spencer, I own this hotel and you work for me. You should at least have the grace to pretend to respect that.
Your eyes flash in anger as they finally meet mine and I’m surprised at how dark they are. I’m intrigued as I sense rage bubbling in there. I didn’t think you were capable of it.
You stare at me for a long time and I swear I can hear the ticking in your head. You’re thinking hard about something, but the stare lasts long enough to make me uncomfortable. Your eyes are so intense, it’s hard to keep my balance when you stare at me like that.
“Get out of here,” I snarl. Hoping that for once you’ll just do it, go away and leave me alone to enjoy my own private hell in peace. Despite the things I’ve taken from you, I still can’t feel him.
That snaps you out of your contemplation and you turn away. For a minute I think you’re actually going to leave, and a traitorous voice that is clearly not up with the plan, is a little disappointed. But you don’t take the five steps to the door, you bow your head and pull your hands in front of you and I wonder if you’re praying. The thought disturbs me. I know you do it, but I don’t want to watch you do it.
“What are you doing?” I ask you and you turn around again, with your shirt unbuttoned. I’m confused, I must have missed the memo that said prayer requires nakedness. It seems more like my religion than yours.
My body betrays me and I lick my suddenly dry lips at the sight of your exposed breasts before I realize I’m doing it.
“What are you doing?” I ask again as you shrug your shirt off and step into my personal space.
I’m stunned and convinced you’ve lost your mind.
“This is a language you understand isn’t it?” you spit at me with enough venom to impress me.
You shove your hand down the front of my pants, but I catch your wrist in outrage.
“But..” I try to speak, to tell you to back off, to put your shirt on and to take your hands off of me. Through suddenly short breath, all I can get out is that inadequate little word.
You mistake my meaning and the hand snaking it’s way down the front of my pants escapes my feeble grasp.
“There’s a piece of my dead husband beating away inside of you,” you tell me, your breath breaking harshly over my lips as you’ve closed all of the distance between us to press the length of your body against mine. The depths of your brown eyes are almost black with rage and desire, and so close to mine.
“It’s enough.” You say, but barely as a whisper. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.
I don’t believe you, but I don’t try to stop you as your fingers probe indelicately where they have no business being. I can see that this will cost you more than it will me and that makes it a win in my book.
-----
As you lay there writhing on the edge of sweet release under my touch, I pause. I am tempted to leave you hanging there, to torture you with the knowledge that you tried to seduce me, but that in the end I won as I always do. I am the seasoned player in this game my sweet, and you are but a novice, playing with weapons you don’t understand. Who am I to stop you from blowing your own foot off?
But then your eyes snap open and you look at me with that curious mix of lust and hatred and my resolve is lost. For nothing else but the pleasure of sending you skittering to hell to join me in the depths of my misery, I taste you again and you shatter under my touch with a soft scream as I did under yours.
----
You dress without looking at me and I take pleasure in the grim set of your jaw. You already feel the ripping talons of guilt in your gut I guess. I learned long ago to tune them out, to ignore them. There’s so much guilt in me, I wouldn’t know how to recognize the pain of it any more.
I look at you. This is one of those rare moments when I find myself really looking at you. As you fumble for a shoe, your vulnerability strikes me. The woman who abandoned herself and her morals to punish me is gone and I see a beautifully wounded creature in front of me now. And I could never deny that you are beautiful. I realize that if it were possible, I would see your soul bleeding out onto my carpet, leaving a stain that would never come out.
It strikes me that it’s your contact with me that has broken down your innocence. Your wholesome goodness, your Mary Poppins-ness. The knowledge just adds to the pool of facts that tell me the truth. I am toxic, capable of twisting everything I touch into a grotesque parody of love.
A twinge in my chest makes me gasp and reflexively my hand goes to the place where it hurts. To rest above the heart that he gave me. The heart that you chose to give me. I still don’t know why you chose that. I don’t think I’ll ever understand.
Your head snaps up at the sound and like shaking an etch a sketch, the rich tapestry of pain in your eyes disappears as your concern for me fills them. You confuse me and bewitch me at the same time. You’re by my side on the bed, still damp from our coupling, before I can tell you not to come too close. Not to touch me, but your hands are sure and steady as you take my pulse. Although your skin is now cool, your touch still burns me.
I say nothing as I let you do you what you have to do to be satisfied I’m not about to die. Although I suppose that would be the last laugh for me. But the thought of wounding you no longer holds the same appeal to me that it did once.
I allow myself an indulgence and stroke the skin of your arm lightly. As is now my habit, I blame Gus for the tender impulse and drop my hand back to the rumpled sheet. A question burns in my brain, but I hesitate in asking it. I don’t know if I really want the answer now. A silence grows between us, but you don’t move away.
You use your super powers of God or whatever though and stare at me with those eyes in a shade that I haven’t yet learnt how to read.
“You want to know why,” you say with no trace of a question in your tone.
“Yes,” I tell you, even though a voice somewhere in the back of my mind screams ‘no leave it be’.
“If I give you what you want, what you really want. Everything that was Gus’s, then I’ll own you. “ you explain “I was Gus’s and now you’ve had me too. There’s nothing else you can take from me.”
The truth of it stabs Gus’s heart with a new pain. One I know has nothing to do with the transplant.
“I need to take care of my son.”
Suddenly I realize as you lean down slowly and softly kiss my forehead that you and I have one thing in common that neither of us will ever acknowledge out loud. We do what we have to do.
My tears fall and quickly grow into sobs as you turn and leave me lying naked in the bed where I thought I had taken something from you. I cry because as much as I lie to myself I still know that you just walked out the door with a piece of me.
Disclaimer: Guiding Light and its characters are the property of Proctor and Gamble. No infringement intended.
Fandom: Guiding Light
Pairing: Olivia/Natalia
Rating: Mature 15+
Words: 1559
Archiving: Sure just let me know :)
Summary: My first foray into Otalia. Saw a comment by Trancer21 requesting some hate!sex!fic! and though it was a fun idea. This an attempt... Set around the time Olivia bought Natalia's wedding rings. Given the situation by comparison to the current plot, I guess this is an au version of the girls.
I knew you would come here today. Despite the things I do to you, you keep coming back. I know it’s Gus’s heart you’re here for. I just want you to go away and leave me alone.
I tell you as much when you walk through the door, wondering again why I don’t just take your pass card away. I suppose you have a master card for your cleaning duties, so it would be a futile effort.
You glare at me today and I sense something is different. Something is close to the surface and I feel an eyebrow rising in contemplation.
“Have you taken your pills?” you don’t look at me as you ask, instead your eyes shift and move and settle on everything but me. Interesting.
I don’t know when I began to observe you so keenly, but I’ve always found the benefits in the advice ‘know your enemy’ to be valid.
“I’m a big girl,” I tell you and I roll my eyes as you start rifling through the bottles by my bed.
I tell you to stop, more than once but you continue as if I’m not there.
“Hey!”
For some reason your casual indifference to my presence sparks anger. I’m Olivia Spencer, I own this hotel and you work for me. You should at least have the grace to pretend to respect that.
Your eyes flash in anger as they finally meet mine and I’m surprised at how dark they are. I’m intrigued as I sense rage bubbling in there. I didn’t think you were capable of it.
You stare at me for a long time and I swear I can hear the ticking in your head. You’re thinking hard about something, but the stare lasts long enough to make me uncomfortable. Your eyes are so intense, it’s hard to keep my balance when you stare at me like that.
“Get out of here,” I snarl. Hoping that for once you’ll just do it, go away and leave me alone to enjoy my own private hell in peace. Despite the things I’ve taken from you, I still can’t feel him.
That snaps you out of your contemplation and you turn away. For a minute I think you’re actually going to leave, and a traitorous voice that is clearly not up with the plan, is a little disappointed. But you don’t take the five steps to the door, you bow your head and pull your hands in front of you and I wonder if you’re praying. The thought disturbs me. I know you do it, but I don’t want to watch you do it.
“What are you doing?” I ask you and you turn around again, with your shirt unbuttoned. I’m confused, I must have missed the memo that said prayer requires nakedness. It seems more like my religion than yours.
My body betrays me and I lick my suddenly dry lips at the sight of your exposed breasts before I realize I’m doing it.
“What are you doing?” I ask again as you shrug your shirt off and step into my personal space.
I’m stunned and convinced you’ve lost your mind.
“This is a language you understand isn’t it?” you spit at me with enough venom to impress me.
You shove your hand down the front of my pants, but I catch your wrist in outrage.
“But..” I try to speak, to tell you to back off, to put your shirt on and to take your hands off of me. Through suddenly short breath, all I can get out is that inadequate little word.
You mistake my meaning and the hand snaking it’s way down the front of my pants escapes my feeble grasp.
“There’s a piece of my dead husband beating away inside of you,” you tell me, your breath breaking harshly over my lips as you’ve closed all of the distance between us to press the length of your body against mine. The depths of your brown eyes are almost black with rage and desire, and so close to mine.
“It’s enough.” You say, but barely as a whisper. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.
I don’t believe you, but I don’t try to stop you as your fingers probe indelicately where they have no business being. I can see that this will cost you more than it will me and that makes it a win in my book.
-----
As you lay there writhing on the edge of sweet release under my touch, I pause. I am tempted to leave you hanging there, to torture you with the knowledge that you tried to seduce me, but that in the end I won as I always do. I am the seasoned player in this game my sweet, and you are but a novice, playing with weapons you don’t understand. Who am I to stop you from blowing your own foot off?
But then your eyes snap open and you look at me with that curious mix of lust and hatred and my resolve is lost. For nothing else but the pleasure of sending you skittering to hell to join me in the depths of my misery, I taste you again and you shatter under my touch with a soft scream as I did under yours.
----
You dress without looking at me and I take pleasure in the grim set of your jaw. You already feel the ripping talons of guilt in your gut I guess. I learned long ago to tune them out, to ignore them. There’s so much guilt in me, I wouldn’t know how to recognize the pain of it any more.
I look at you. This is one of those rare moments when I find myself really looking at you. As you fumble for a shoe, your vulnerability strikes me. The woman who abandoned herself and her morals to punish me is gone and I see a beautifully wounded creature in front of me now. And I could never deny that you are beautiful. I realize that if it were possible, I would see your soul bleeding out onto my carpet, leaving a stain that would never come out.
It strikes me that it’s your contact with me that has broken down your innocence. Your wholesome goodness, your Mary Poppins-ness. The knowledge just adds to the pool of facts that tell me the truth. I am toxic, capable of twisting everything I touch into a grotesque parody of love.
A twinge in my chest makes me gasp and reflexively my hand goes to the place where it hurts. To rest above the heart that he gave me. The heart that you chose to give me. I still don’t know why you chose that. I don’t think I’ll ever understand.
Your head snaps up at the sound and like shaking an etch a sketch, the rich tapestry of pain in your eyes disappears as your concern for me fills them. You confuse me and bewitch me at the same time. You’re by my side on the bed, still damp from our coupling, before I can tell you not to come too close. Not to touch me, but your hands are sure and steady as you take my pulse. Although your skin is now cool, your touch still burns me.
I say nothing as I let you do you what you have to do to be satisfied I’m not about to die. Although I suppose that would be the last laugh for me. But the thought of wounding you no longer holds the same appeal to me that it did once.
I allow myself an indulgence and stroke the skin of your arm lightly. As is now my habit, I blame Gus for the tender impulse and drop my hand back to the rumpled sheet. A question burns in my brain, but I hesitate in asking it. I don’t know if I really want the answer now. A silence grows between us, but you don’t move away.
You use your super powers of God or whatever though and stare at me with those eyes in a shade that I haven’t yet learnt how to read.
“You want to know why,” you say with no trace of a question in your tone.
“Yes,” I tell you, even though a voice somewhere in the back of my mind screams ‘no leave it be’.
“If I give you what you want, what you really want. Everything that was Gus’s, then I’ll own you. “ you explain “I was Gus’s and now you’ve had me too. There’s nothing else you can take from me.”
The truth of it stabs Gus’s heart with a new pain. One I know has nothing to do with the transplant.
“I need to take care of my son.”
Suddenly I realize as you lean down slowly and softly kiss my forehead that you and I have one thing in common that neither of us will ever acknowledge out loud. We do what we have to do.
My tears fall and quickly grow into sobs as you turn and leave me lying naked in the bed where I thought I had taken something from you. I cry because as much as I lie to myself I still know that you just walked out the door with a piece of me.