FIC- GH: The Next Generation (Lila/Morgan, Lila/Spencer) 1/1
Title: Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want
Rating: r
Word Count: 1,788
Summary: "Don't you ever let a man put his hands on you that way...."
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Part of empressearwig's awesome TNG 'verse. This was written specifically for lapiccolina, and look! Gorgeous icon by hope27! (Points to you if you know what the title came from.)
When Lila Rae Alcazar arrived in Port Charles, seventeen years old, with a body made of the devil’s temptation and a face made of Heaven, she was the ugliest person she knew.
She had been the envy of girls throughout a string of European boarding schools and the object of fancy for more than one lesser royal or oil billionaire’s son. She had been compared to the sunset, golden skin and flaming red hair, with mocha brown eyes flecked with amber. A man could incinerate on the spot, just from touching her, or so she’d been told by her Parisian headmaster when she was fourteen. And then he’d laid his hand on her shoulder, slowly sliding it down as he tried to discuss her current grade in physics and she’d spat in his face and rammed her delicate elbow into his portly midsection. It was not the first time she was expelled…or the last.
But that particular expulsion did have the distinction of her mother coming up from St. Tropez to personally escort her to her new school in Brussels. “Please, Lila Rae, try to make this one stick,” Skye Quartermaine had pleaded with her daughter. “We are nearing the end of our ropes with these schools- soon there won’t be an acceptable place that will have you. Really, that temper of yours is going to get the better of you one of these days.” She stared out the window of their limousine, quiet for a few moments. “But you did the right thing. Don’t you ever let a man put his hands on you that way,” Skye paused again. “Oh, if your father was alive, how that bastard headmaster would pay….” She said the last very softly, and Lila wanted to ask her to continue, but Mother never elaborated on her father.
Mother never elaborated on much, really. Lila supposed between her months (and sometimes year) long vacations from life, she wouldn’t have time to. But a few things Skye made perfectly clear to her daughter. One, that her reckless temper would someday get the better of her. Two, to never let a man put his hands on her like that. And three, that while Skye loved her (and Lila really had no doubt that she did), she also had no use for her in her everyday life.
It was the earliest state she had known, uselessness. When she was a small child, she’d had nannies and governesses to look after her, and now that she was ‘grown’, it was no different except they were called ‘servants’ now. She’d never performed a single act that yielded an actual outcome, she’d never even gotten an A on an exam. And her mother hardly ever paid particular attention to her, unless she was very bad, so for most of her life, Lila strove to be as bad as she could be. In primary school, this meant childish pranks and swearing in front of teachers, but around the time she turned fifteen, she learned she could get in trouble in other ways.
She made it a habit of coming into her dorm rooms just before dawn, and she wasn’t exactly sneaking. People assumed that she was off at glamorous parties with older men, and she did nothing to squash the talk. At cotillions, where young ladies were expected to wear virginal white, she would wear siren’s song red- backless and cut down to there. Before she had ever even had her first awkward kiss, Lila had been called the very ugliest of female labels: whore.
And the funny thing about labels is that they’re quite transforming.
So, by the time seventeen-year-old Lila Alcazar blew into Port Charles with the whispers of Europe’s and Manhattan’s elite at her back, she believed every ugly word that had ever been spoken about her to be true.
For all that it was seriously lacking in style, the Port Charles social scene really had very little difference to the most uppercrust circles she had ever kept. And as per usual, Lila was the walking pariah. The girls loathed her at first sight- especially that snotty Lana Drake. The boys, on the other hand, well…. That was another story.
It was two boys in particular, Morgan Corinthos and Spencer Cassadine. Cousins, both with dark hair and eyes, both sinfully good-looking, both sons of some of the most powerful figures in town (and one was a prince), but that was where the similarities ended. Spencer was like every boy she ever knew, spoiled and arrogant, with a smile that was just a hair too full of danger to be friendly. Except he was worse than any boy she ever knew, the way he seemed to get into her darkest thoughts and read her mind so precisely. It seemed whenever they were in the same room together, the same vicinity, with the same boring people who judged her and despised her, the same as it was no matter where she went, his eyes found hers and she could hear his voice, low and gravely in her head, saying Me too, Princess. Me too. And Lila felt tingles straight down her spine that curled her perfect little toes.
And then….There was Morgan. Morgan, with his coffee brown eyes and cheekbones so sharp, they looked like they could cut glass. When he’d introduced himself, a winning smile with the world’s deepest dimples slashed his face and Lila truly felt she’d seen a god. There could be nothing in the world more beautiful than Morgan Corinthos.
Lila was not used to getting what she wanted. Oh sure, things were very often just given to her, without any asking on her part at all, but nothing that really mattered. Her mother’s pride and affection. A voice of her own. Anything at all to cling to about her father, other than her surname and a hush of a tortured past.
And she had never wanted anything so badly as she wanted Morgan Corinthos. Spencer Cassadine wanted her, that was apparent in the way his eyes followed her, nearly drinking her in, and there was a part of her that couldn’t deny she wanted him to. She wanted to feel a fire as hot as hers and see how quickly they would burn together- a foolish, self-destructive wish that came so easily to her.
But Morgan, no he held the promise of redemption. Morgan was sunlight without scorching, he didn’t look at her and see fire, the way he spoke to her, softly, and the way he touched her (softer yet, and so heartbreakingly gentle) spoke of a reverence that Lila had never even dreamed of. How could someone so beautiful and pure love someone as ugly as she?
And one night, Spencer smashed everything she believed about Morgan to shatters- or he tried to, anyway. It was nearing the end of that first, hot, fateful summer, and she had danced between both cousins for months, chasing after Morgan while trying to keep the flames from Spencer’s fire from licking at her ankles. “He is not, he is not for you!” Spencer had shouted. They were down by the shore of the Quartermaine lake, where they had spent so much time together, talking, fighting, kissing…and more than kissing, though not nearly as much as Spencer would have wished. Lila was not a virgin, but something about being so close to Spencer, giving into all of that heat and want and need was terrifying. “My cousin has a beast in him, worse than any you could ever imagine, and one day the beast will devour you whole! He is worse than your father even!” Spencer was in a wild rage, his black eyes an endless abyss and he gripped her by the shoulders, hard enough to bruise. She had refused him for the last time (so she thought).
My father. His words echoed in her head. It had happened all too often that summer, snide remarks and sidelong glances at her, the name Lorenzo Alcazar whispered as if it were something filthy. How did seemingly everyone in the world know the secrets of her sordid past, everyone but her?
It was hard to believe that about Morgan- that anything ugly could ever have touched him. Sure, she knew that he wasn’t raised by parents, but that wasn’t so unusual. Of course, his family was a little difficult to sort out, that the woman he called his mother was in fact Spencer’s biological great-aunt, and the mother of his half-sister and also his cousin (whom he called his ‘sister’ as well). And the man who raised him…Morgan simply called Ric, though she knew he was his biological uncle (and his half-sister’s uncle and once stepfather, and the biological father of his cousin). And Ric and Alexis were not together, but had once (or twice, was it?) been married, which was when they’d had Molly. Yes, quite difficult to sort out, but Port Charles was full of extraordinary family trees- just look at her own.
It was finally letting go that made Lila decide that she needed to hold on. The morning she woke on the boathouse floor, her head pillowed on Spencer’s chest, her skirt wrinkled and bunched around her waist and her panties somewhere entirely lost (she never found that particular pair again), she had never felt so low in her life. She had given in, because she found she couldn’t outrun this thing, whatever it was that had been chasing her all summer whenever Spencer was around. She had given in, and the fire had been even hotter than she feared it would be- the kind of heat that takes no prisoners and leaves nothing but ash.
She slipped out before he could stir awake and made her way back to the main house, dallying in a lukewarm bath for most of the morning, refusing to come out of the bathroom, even after Alice had left a breakfast and lunch tray outside her door. The rest of the day, she ignored Spencer’s calls and instead wrote a nine-page letter, to Morgan, by hand. The gesture felt old-fashioned and romantic and Lila took pains with it, pouring her heart and soul into each word.
She would not be that girl on the boathouse floor, ever again, she would be Morgan’s.
“Please,” she whispered against the letter, folding and sealing it with a kiss.
Rating: r
Word Count: 1,788
Summary: "Don't you ever let a man put his hands on you that way...."
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Part of empressearwig's awesome TNG 'verse. This was written specifically for lapiccolina, and look! Gorgeous icon by hope27! (Points to you if you know what the title came from.)
When Lila Rae Alcazar arrived in Port Charles, seventeen years old, with a body made of the devil’s temptation and a face made of Heaven, she was the ugliest person she knew.
She had been the envy of girls throughout a string of European boarding schools and the object of fancy for more than one lesser royal or oil billionaire’s son. She had been compared to the sunset, golden skin and flaming red hair, with mocha brown eyes flecked with amber. A man could incinerate on the spot, just from touching her, or so she’d been told by her Parisian headmaster when she was fourteen. And then he’d laid his hand on her shoulder, slowly sliding it down as he tried to discuss her current grade in physics and she’d spat in his face and rammed her delicate elbow into his portly midsection. It was not the first time she was expelled…or the last.
But that particular expulsion did have the distinction of her mother coming up from St. Tropez to personally escort her to her new school in Brussels. “Please, Lila Rae, try to make this one stick,” Skye Quartermaine had pleaded with her daughter. “We are nearing the end of our ropes with these schools- soon there won’t be an acceptable place that will have you. Really, that temper of yours is going to get the better of you one of these days.” She stared out the window of their limousine, quiet for a few moments. “But you did the right thing. Don’t you ever let a man put his hands on you that way,” Skye paused again. “Oh, if your father was alive, how that bastard headmaster would pay….” She said the last very softly, and Lila wanted to ask her to continue, but Mother never elaborated on her father.
Mother never elaborated on much, really. Lila supposed between her months (and sometimes year) long vacations from life, she wouldn’t have time to. But a few things Skye made perfectly clear to her daughter. One, that her reckless temper would someday get the better of her. Two, to never let a man put his hands on her like that. And three, that while Skye loved her (and Lila really had no doubt that she did), she also had no use for her in her everyday life.
It was the earliest state she had known, uselessness. When she was a small child, she’d had nannies and governesses to look after her, and now that she was ‘grown’, it was no different except they were called ‘servants’ now. She’d never performed a single act that yielded an actual outcome, she’d never even gotten an A on an exam. And her mother hardly ever paid particular attention to her, unless she was very bad, so for most of her life, Lila strove to be as bad as she could be. In primary school, this meant childish pranks and swearing in front of teachers, but around the time she turned fifteen, she learned she could get in trouble in other ways.
She made it a habit of coming into her dorm rooms just before dawn, and she wasn’t exactly sneaking. People assumed that she was off at glamorous parties with older men, and she did nothing to squash the talk. At cotillions, where young ladies were expected to wear virginal white, she would wear siren’s song red- backless and cut down to there. Before she had ever even had her first awkward kiss, Lila had been called the very ugliest of female labels: whore.
And the funny thing about labels is that they’re quite transforming.
So, by the time seventeen-year-old Lila Alcazar blew into Port Charles with the whispers of Europe’s and Manhattan’s elite at her back, she believed every ugly word that had ever been spoken about her to be true.
For all that it was seriously lacking in style, the Port Charles social scene really had very little difference to the most uppercrust circles she had ever kept. And as per usual, Lila was the walking pariah. The girls loathed her at first sight- especially that snotty Lana Drake. The boys, on the other hand, well…. That was another story.
It was two boys in particular, Morgan Corinthos and Spencer Cassadine. Cousins, both with dark hair and eyes, both sinfully good-looking, both sons of some of the most powerful figures in town (and one was a prince), but that was where the similarities ended. Spencer was like every boy she ever knew, spoiled and arrogant, with a smile that was just a hair too full of danger to be friendly. Except he was worse than any boy she ever knew, the way he seemed to get into her darkest thoughts and read her mind so precisely. It seemed whenever they were in the same room together, the same vicinity, with the same boring people who judged her and despised her, the same as it was no matter where she went, his eyes found hers and she could hear his voice, low and gravely in her head, saying Me too, Princess. Me too. And Lila felt tingles straight down her spine that curled her perfect little toes.
And then….There was Morgan. Morgan, with his coffee brown eyes and cheekbones so sharp, they looked like they could cut glass. When he’d introduced himself, a winning smile with the world’s deepest dimples slashed his face and Lila truly felt she’d seen a god. There could be nothing in the world more beautiful than Morgan Corinthos.
Lila was not used to getting what she wanted. Oh sure, things were very often just given to her, without any asking on her part at all, but nothing that really mattered. Her mother’s pride and affection. A voice of her own. Anything at all to cling to about her father, other than her surname and a hush of a tortured past.
And she had never wanted anything so badly as she wanted Morgan Corinthos. Spencer Cassadine wanted her, that was apparent in the way his eyes followed her, nearly drinking her in, and there was a part of her that couldn’t deny she wanted him to. She wanted to feel a fire as hot as hers and see how quickly they would burn together- a foolish, self-destructive wish that came so easily to her.
But Morgan, no he held the promise of redemption. Morgan was sunlight without scorching, he didn’t look at her and see fire, the way he spoke to her, softly, and the way he touched her (softer yet, and so heartbreakingly gentle) spoke of a reverence that Lila had never even dreamed of. How could someone so beautiful and pure love someone as ugly as she?
And one night, Spencer smashed everything she believed about Morgan to shatters- or he tried to, anyway. It was nearing the end of that first, hot, fateful summer, and she had danced between both cousins for months, chasing after Morgan while trying to keep the flames from Spencer’s fire from licking at her ankles. “He is not, he is not for you!” Spencer had shouted. They were down by the shore of the Quartermaine lake, where they had spent so much time together, talking, fighting, kissing…and more than kissing, though not nearly as much as Spencer would have wished. Lila was not a virgin, but something about being so close to Spencer, giving into all of that heat and want and need was terrifying. “My cousin has a beast in him, worse than any you could ever imagine, and one day the beast will devour you whole! He is worse than your father even!” Spencer was in a wild rage, his black eyes an endless abyss and he gripped her by the shoulders, hard enough to bruise. She had refused him for the last time (so she thought).
My father. His words echoed in her head. It had happened all too often that summer, snide remarks and sidelong glances at her, the name Lorenzo Alcazar whispered as if it were something filthy. How did seemingly everyone in the world know the secrets of her sordid past, everyone but her?
It was hard to believe that about Morgan- that anything ugly could ever have touched him. Sure, she knew that he wasn’t raised by parents, but that wasn’t so unusual. Of course, his family was a little difficult to sort out, that the woman he called his mother was in fact Spencer’s biological great-aunt, and the mother of his half-sister and also his cousin (whom he called his ‘sister’ as well). And the man who raised him…Morgan simply called Ric, though she knew he was his biological uncle (and his half-sister’s uncle and once stepfather, and the biological father of his cousin). And Ric and Alexis were not together, but had once (or twice, was it?) been married, which was when they’d had Molly. Yes, quite difficult to sort out, but Port Charles was full of extraordinary family trees- just look at her own.
It was finally letting go that made Lila decide that she needed to hold on. The morning she woke on the boathouse floor, her head pillowed on Spencer’s chest, her skirt wrinkled and bunched around her waist and her panties somewhere entirely lost (she never found that particular pair again), she had never felt so low in her life. She had given in, because she found she couldn’t outrun this thing, whatever it was that had been chasing her all summer whenever Spencer was around. She had given in, and the fire had been even hotter than she feared it would be- the kind of heat that takes no prisoners and leaves nothing but ash.
She slipped out before he could stir awake and made her way back to the main house, dallying in a lukewarm bath for most of the morning, refusing to come out of the bathroom, even after Alice had left a breakfast and lunch tray outside her door. The rest of the day, she ignored Spencer’s calls and instead wrote a nine-page letter, to Morgan, by hand. The gesture felt old-fashioned and romantic and Lila took pains with it, pouring her heart and soul into each word.
She would not be that girl on the boathouse floor, ever again, she would be Morgan’s.
“Please,” she whispered against the letter, folding and sealing it with a kiss.