prey, general hospital, carly/johnny
Title: Prey
Rating: R
Pairing: Carly Corinthos Jacks/Johnny Zacchara
Word Count: 1,807
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Author's Note: Spoilers up through Thursday 2/23.
"Any regrets?"
He asks the question lazily, naked underneath one sheet that's attempting the appearance of modesty. His hair is disheveled from heated moments of her fingers twisting in it, lips swollen from her teeth and tongue. He looks thoroughly debauched, even for a mob prince.
She sits on the edge of the bed, buttoning up one of his shirts that she'd stolen from the closet. Her head turns back to look at him, lips pursing into a smirk as she takes in his appearance. "None." She pauses, leaves the shirt half unbuttoned, and crawls back up the bed. One knee hooks over his legs and she's all but in his lap, hovering, teasing, not getting close enough for him to reach her with his mouth. "You?" she bats the question back coyly.
Frustrated by her teasing but too physically spent to do much about it, Johnny reaches out one hand and manages to get his fingers around her hair, curling in the ends thoughtfully like he might yank her forward at any second. He doesn't, but the threat is there, that spark of danger, and it turns her on. "What do you think?" he asks, and she decides to put him out of his misery by sliding down on top of him and letting him have her mouth.
Kissing Johnny reminds her a lot of kissing Sonny, and she knows it probably shouldn't. The similarities are hard to ignore, though. He's nothing like Jason, who was detached and almost reluctant. Nothing like Jax, who was the Prince Charming fantasy that had turned out to be smoke and mirrors. No, the only comparison she could draw was Sonny, a talented mouth that always tasted faintly like danger. At any moment, Carly was expecting Johnny to bite, or to flip her over and slam into her body, just like Sonny had time and time again. Men like Johnny liked power. They liked the chase, and they liked the catch. He was a cat that liked to hold his mouse by the tail, toy with it, play with it, even taunt it with the idea of escape before savagely ripping into it with teeth and claws. Carly was used to playing the role of mouse with men like Johnny, because she was no ordinary prey. She had teeth too; she was a challenge and they knew it.
Moving the sheet aside, Carly lets Johnny's hands bunch the shirt she's wearing a little higher around her waist. Their skin slides together again, and even in a post-coital state, Carly's body immediately reacts. "So soon?" she teases him, words gasped against his mouth as she tries not to let on how eager she actually is for round two.
He chuckles, the sound rich and husky as his mouth takes a detour down her jaw and the side of her neck. "I'm still young, remember?" he murmurs, but the words make her pull away, despite how much she wants to keep feeling the rasp of his facial hair on her skin.
"Are you saying I'm old?" she challenges, eyes flashing, daring him to answer wrong.
Being on top affords her the power, and Johnny drops his head back against the pillow with a defeated laugh. "Carly, what man in his right mind would ever call you old?"
She's Olivia's age, he's Dante's age - there are so many odd comparisons that could be made, and Carly has to admit to herself that she's never really seen herself as much of a cougar. But here he is, naked and beautiful, stretched out underneath her, and all she can do is keep staring at him. "Okay," she finally concedes, her tone as playful as ever because God, he makes her feel young and desirable. "I'm still trying to figure out if you're in your 'right mind' but I'll accept that answer. This time."
He'd said once that she kept him on his toes, and she could see that now. The way they played off one another, two steps forward only to take three steps back. When he sits up and wraps his arms around her, Carly knows she's about to find herself flat on her back, and she doesn't mind. He can have this round.
"Are we done talking yet?" he murmurs, his mouth finding its way back to her neck like she had a magnet there, and all she can do is gasp and arch her back. He chuckles into her neck and unbuttons the shirt the rest of the way, his mouth following his hands all the way down.
Carly had never answered his question from what felt like only a few days before. She'd never told him how long it had been since her last sexual encounter because it was embarrassing. A waste, even, as he'd called it. Now, though, with his hands pushing her thighs apart and his head disappearing between them, all she can think about is how glad she is that she has so much energy saved up to spend on him.
He drives her into the mattress with his mouth and body for the rest of the night, learning everything that makes her moan and using it mercilessly to his advantage. When they finally have to rest, Carly realizes that she's more helpless prey than she originally thought.
- - -
They're in the kitchen when he asks a question that catches her off guard.
"How many times you been in love?"
She can't cook to save her life (in fact, she's pretty sure her cooking could end lives), so she's spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread, her energy depleted and in desperate need of a recharge. She almost drops the knife at the question, brows furrowing as she tosses a glance at him from the side of her eyes. "What kind of question is that?"
He's leaning against the kitchen counter, finally wearing a pair of boxers because it is February in New York, and the sweat has finally dried on their skin. "What, you afraid to answer?" he taunts, and she almost cringes at how that smirk seems to never leave his voice.
"I'm not afraid of anything," she rebuffs, attention back on the bread. She takes her time, not saying another word until the peanut butter is thick, the lid is back on, and the knife is washed. She can hear his impatience because he knows as well as she does that she's just being a pain in the ass by taking so long to answer. "Oh, are you still waiting for an answer?" she asks innocently when she turns around and sees him staring at her.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but closes it after a minute, choosing his words carefully. "If you feel like sharing."
That's better, and she thoughtfully chews on a bite of the snack before answering. "Three times," she says, reconsiders, and adds, "Maybe four."
"Maybe?"
Johnny sounds both confused and amused, and Carly can't help but flash him a smile. "I'm complicated." She doesn't offer much more than that, but he's still watching her. It's unnerving how much that actually gets under her skin, so she sets the food down and decides to open up a little. "Jason was my first love. My first real, grown up love, even though he never really loved me the way I wanted. I wasn't Robin Scorpio-- whatever. That's not important." It's easy for her to get off track, but with a wave of her hand, she gets back to the point. "Then there was Sonny, but that was always so up and down that it didn't leave a lot of room for anyone else. The other obvious love was Jax, and no matter what anyone tries to say now, I loved him. I did." Divorce papers are sitting on the table at home, waiting for her signature, and she sighs a little at the thought.
"That's three. Where's the maybe?"
She wants to snap at him, her immediate defense mechanism warning her to throw up some walls before he gets in. Before she gives away too much about herself, but she guesses it's a little too late for that. "Lorenzo Alcazar," she concedes. "It was a weird time... there was a coma and Stockholm syndrome and trying to piss off Sonny... Like I said, complicated."
"And I thought I was messed up," he says, but his tone isn't mocking despite the words, and Carly watches him move closer until he's got both hands on her waist.
"You are," she whispers. He leans in for a kiss, but she reaches behind herself quickly and swipes her finger in the peanut butter on the bread she's yet to eat. Instead of her mouth, he gets a finger of peanut butter pressed to his lips. He chuckles against her finger but pulls it into his mouth regardless, sucking it clean. "Your turn," she says, wondering if he notices the way her breathing sped up when his tongue slid over her finger.
"A few times," he answers vaguely. "You always think you're in love when you're a kid."
She hums her agreement but doesn't let him off the hook, bribing him with a kiss instead. His mouth tastes like peanut butter and she tugs at his lower lip with her teeth before pulling back. "How many actually count?"
Realizing he's not off the hook and that he was the one to open this line of conversation in the first place, he groans and toys with the hem of the shirt she's once again wearing. "Two."
It doesn't take a rocket scientist for Carly to realize he's talking about Olivia and Lulu, which is a sobering thought. Until then, she hadn't thought about her cousin's role in Johnny's life. "Lulu," she murmurs out loud, wondering what the younger girl would think of this new... relationship? Hookup?
"Ahh. Yeah." Realizing the new awkward territory, Johnny's hands fall away but he doesn't back up. "That too weird for you?"
She thinks it should be. She thinks that it's one factor on a long list that should make her turn around and run screaming from his apartment, but she doesn't. She can't. "Not for me," she answers, arms sliding around his neck. "Are you gonna keep asking me personal questions?"
His smile shows teeth this time, and his arms fit back around her waist like they were made to rest there. "Yeah."
"Why?"
It's another challenge, and he's the one to kiss her first this time, so deeply that she finds herself against the countertop with hands buried in his hair. By the time it breaks, they're both panting and she's already forgotten that she'd asked a question. "That's why," is all he says, and she gets it.
She's still his prey.
Rating: R
Pairing: Carly Corinthos Jacks/Johnny Zacchara
Word Count: 1,807
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Author's Note: Spoilers up through Thursday 2/23.
"Any regrets?"
He asks the question lazily, naked underneath one sheet that's attempting the appearance of modesty. His hair is disheveled from heated moments of her fingers twisting in it, lips swollen from her teeth and tongue. He looks thoroughly debauched, even for a mob prince.
She sits on the edge of the bed, buttoning up one of his shirts that she'd stolen from the closet. Her head turns back to look at him, lips pursing into a smirk as she takes in his appearance. "None." She pauses, leaves the shirt half unbuttoned, and crawls back up the bed. One knee hooks over his legs and she's all but in his lap, hovering, teasing, not getting close enough for him to reach her with his mouth. "You?" she bats the question back coyly.
Frustrated by her teasing but too physically spent to do much about it, Johnny reaches out one hand and manages to get his fingers around her hair, curling in the ends thoughtfully like he might yank her forward at any second. He doesn't, but the threat is there, that spark of danger, and it turns her on. "What do you think?" he asks, and she decides to put him out of his misery by sliding down on top of him and letting him have her mouth.
Kissing Johnny reminds her a lot of kissing Sonny, and she knows it probably shouldn't. The similarities are hard to ignore, though. He's nothing like Jason, who was detached and almost reluctant. Nothing like Jax, who was the Prince Charming fantasy that had turned out to be smoke and mirrors. No, the only comparison she could draw was Sonny, a talented mouth that always tasted faintly like danger. At any moment, Carly was expecting Johnny to bite, or to flip her over and slam into her body, just like Sonny had time and time again. Men like Johnny liked power. They liked the chase, and they liked the catch. He was a cat that liked to hold his mouse by the tail, toy with it, play with it, even taunt it with the idea of escape before savagely ripping into it with teeth and claws. Carly was used to playing the role of mouse with men like Johnny, because she was no ordinary prey. She had teeth too; she was a challenge and they knew it.
Moving the sheet aside, Carly lets Johnny's hands bunch the shirt she's wearing a little higher around her waist. Their skin slides together again, and even in a post-coital state, Carly's body immediately reacts. "So soon?" she teases him, words gasped against his mouth as she tries not to let on how eager she actually is for round two.
He chuckles, the sound rich and husky as his mouth takes a detour down her jaw and the side of her neck. "I'm still young, remember?" he murmurs, but the words make her pull away, despite how much she wants to keep feeling the rasp of his facial hair on her skin.
"Are you saying I'm old?" she challenges, eyes flashing, daring him to answer wrong.
Being on top affords her the power, and Johnny drops his head back against the pillow with a defeated laugh. "Carly, what man in his right mind would ever call you old?"
She's Olivia's age, he's Dante's age - there are so many odd comparisons that could be made, and Carly has to admit to herself that she's never really seen herself as much of a cougar. But here he is, naked and beautiful, stretched out underneath her, and all she can do is keep staring at him. "Okay," she finally concedes, her tone as playful as ever because God, he makes her feel young and desirable. "I'm still trying to figure out if you're in your 'right mind' but I'll accept that answer. This time."
He'd said once that she kept him on his toes, and she could see that now. The way they played off one another, two steps forward only to take three steps back. When he sits up and wraps his arms around her, Carly knows she's about to find herself flat on her back, and she doesn't mind. He can have this round.
"Are we done talking yet?" he murmurs, his mouth finding its way back to her neck like she had a magnet there, and all she can do is gasp and arch her back. He chuckles into her neck and unbuttons the shirt the rest of the way, his mouth following his hands all the way down.
Carly had never answered his question from what felt like only a few days before. She'd never told him how long it had been since her last sexual encounter because it was embarrassing. A waste, even, as he'd called it. Now, though, with his hands pushing her thighs apart and his head disappearing between them, all she can think about is how glad she is that she has so much energy saved up to spend on him.
He drives her into the mattress with his mouth and body for the rest of the night, learning everything that makes her moan and using it mercilessly to his advantage. When they finally have to rest, Carly realizes that she's more helpless prey than she originally thought.
- - -
They're in the kitchen when he asks a question that catches her off guard.
"How many times you been in love?"
She can't cook to save her life (in fact, she's pretty sure her cooking could end lives), so she's spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread, her energy depleted and in desperate need of a recharge. She almost drops the knife at the question, brows furrowing as she tosses a glance at him from the side of her eyes. "What kind of question is that?"
He's leaning against the kitchen counter, finally wearing a pair of boxers because it is February in New York, and the sweat has finally dried on their skin. "What, you afraid to answer?" he taunts, and she almost cringes at how that smirk seems to never leave his voice.
"I'm not afraid of anything," she rebuffs, attention back on the bread. She takes her time, not saying another word until the peanut butter is thick, the lid is back on, and the knife is washed. She can hear his impatience because he knows as well as she does that she's just being a pain in the ass by taking so long to answer. "Oh, are you still waiting for an answer?" she asks innocently when she turns around and sees him staring at her.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but closes it after a minute, choosing his words carefully. "If you feel like sharing."
That's better, and she thoughtfully chews on a bite of the snack before answering. "Three times," she says, reconsiders, and adds, "Maybe four."
"Maybe?"
Johnny sounds both confused and amused, and Carly can't help but flash him a smile. "I'm complicated." She doesn't offer much more than that, but he's still watching her. It's unnerving how much that actually gets under her skin, so she sets the food down and decides to open up a little. "Jason was my first love. My first real, grown up love, even though he never really loved me the way I wanted. I wasn't Robin Scorpio-- whatever. That's not important." It's easy for her to get off track, but with a wave of her hand, she gets back to the point. "Then there was Sonny, but that was always so up and down that it didn't leave a lot of room for anyone else. The other obvious love was Jax, and no matter what anyone tries to say now, I loved him. I did." Divorce papers are sitting on the table at home, waiting for her signature, and she sighs a little at the thought.
"That's three. Where's the maybe?"
She wants to snap at him, her immediate defense mechanism warning her to throw up some walls before he gets in. Before she gives away too much about herself, but she guesses it's a little too late for that. "Lorenzo Alcazar," she concedes. "It was a weird time... there was a coma and Stockholm syndrome and trying to piss off Sonny... Like I said, complicated."
"And I thought I was messed up," he says, but his tone isn't mocking despite the words, and Carly watches him move closer until he's got both hands on her waist.
"You are," she whispers. He leans in for a kiss, but she reaches behind herself quickly and swipes her finger in the peanut butter on the bread she's yet to eat. Instead of her mouth, he gets a finger of peanut butter pressed to his lips. He chuckles against her finger but pulls it into his mouth regardless, sucking it clean. "Your turn," she says, wondering if he notices the way her breathing sped up when his tongue slid over her finger.
"A few times," he answers vaguely. "You always think you're in love when you're a kid."
She hums her agreement but doesn't let him off the hook, bribing him with a kiss instead. His mouth tastes like peanut butter and she tugs at his lower lip with her teeth before pulling back. "How many actually count?"
Realizing he's not off the hook and that he was the one to open this line of conversation in the first place, he groans and toys with the hem of the shirt she's once again wearing. "Two."
It doesn't take a rocket scientist for Carly to realize he's talking about Olivia and Lulu, which is a sobering thought. Until then, she hadn't thought about her cousin's role in Johnny's life. "Lulu," she murmurs out loud, wondering what the younger girl would think of this new... relationship? Hookup?
"Ahh. Yeah." Realizing the new awkward territory, Johnny's hands fall away but he doesn't back up. "That too weird for you?"
She thinks it should be. She thinks that it's one factor on a long list that should make her turn around and run screaming from his apartment, but she doesn't. She can't. "Not for me," she answers, arms sliding around his neck. "Are you gonna keep asking me personal questions?"
His smile shows teeth this time, and his arms fit back around her waist like they were made to rest there. "Yeah."
"Why?"
It's another challenge, and he's the one to kiss her first this time, so deeply that she finds herself against the countertop with hands buried in his hair. By the time it breaks, they're both panting and she's already forgotten that she'd asked a question. "That's why," is all he says, and she gets it.
She's still his prey.