Subject: lasha
Date: Tue, 04 May 1999 01:13:38 -0700
From: Trixie <trixie@wgn.net>
To: trixie@wgn.net

I watch him walk to the table and pour himself a brandy. Pig. Evil cruel
mean son of a bitch pig. I feel the bile rising in my throat once again
at the thought of him touching me tonight. Again. Not tonight. His hands
on my body, his drunken breath on my skin… Dear God please not tonight.
I will suffer through the endless torture of his ‘love making’ - that
name applied to what he does to me causes me to cringe - again tomorrow.
But not tonight. Not when my news, my joy is so fresh in my mind. For I
have a secret. I am pregnant. And no one knows. No one but Stefan. And
no one will know. No one but Stefan.

At least until tomorrow.

Then they will all be allowed to know, because there’s no way I can keep
it hidden forever. But I can have tonight. I can horde tonight away, and
make sure no one and nothing can destroy this feeling of peace that had
finally after long torturous months on this island settled over me.
Stavros turns and walks toward me. He reaches a hand out and cups my
cheek. I tense my entire body to keep myself from pulling away from his
touch.

God, Luke, where are you when I need you?

Dead. He’s dead. The man I have loved with everything, with my soul, my
body, my mind, is dead. He died in an avalanche. And I entered into a
pact with the devil. This devil. This man before me whose touch on my
cheek makes me want to wretch. I married him to gain a modicum of
freedom that would’ve otherwise most certainly been denied me. And now,
because of a bargain of my own making, I am forced to live with him.
Forced to suffer the humiliation and degradation of his touch, the
feeling of him moving over me, inside me as I close my eyes and
desperately try to pretend he is someone else. I used to think of Luke
in these moments when Stavros would use me as his whore. I would close
my eyes and try to pretend the drunken groping hands were the hands of
the man I loved and desired, tried to pretend it was his voice
whispering my name. Laura. Never Lasha. Laura. His Laura. But I am not
his Laura anymore. I ceased to be Laura Spencer the day he died. I am
Lasha Cassadine now. And as I watch my husband’s eyes darken with an
animalistic need, I wish more then anything for this child I’m carrying
to be Stefan’s. Not Stavros’. Because it is the only just thing for any
sane God to do to this child.

Since when has the God who governs over my life been sane? I’ve been
lost in hell and madness so long I cannot remember.

“Lasha I have just returned from a tedious business arrangement. I truly
have no desire to leave the island again so soon,” Stavros declares in
that damned imperious tone of his.

I hunch my shoulders and place my most subservient and vulnerable
expression on my face. “I know you’re weary after your long business
trip,” I begin meekly. “But I want - I need more of that very special
chocolate you brought me from Italy. Please.” I beg him with my eyes,
ashamed of myself for it.

I watch as he considers me. “If I were to bring you this chocolate -
what would you do for me, Lasha?”

I cringe inwardly at the name, but offer him what I hope to be a coy
smile. “Whatever you desire, Husband.” I control the urge to choke on
the word, obscenely proud of myself when it emerges in an almost
endearing tone.

He smiles that cold, cruel smile at me. “Very well then. I will leave in
one hour. I will return tomorrow.” He moves forward, bringing his hands
up to hold my face still between them. “Be ready for me, Lasha.”

I hide the fear and revulsion behind my eyes where he cannot touch it. I
swallow once, preparing myself to give him the answer he desires. But he
spares me from it. He releases his hold on my face and walks quickly
from the room. I touch my cheeks, wishing more then anything to erase
his touch from my memory. But even a I wish it, I know it is an
impossibility. This is my life now. And I can do nothing to change it.
But I can have tonight.

~

He is still there when I arrive. Stavros had left just after our last
encounter. I had checked to make sure no one was watching, then I’d fled
from the house, hurrying to the one place I could find a modicum of
peace. To the cove, where I knew - Somehow just knew - Stefan would
still be waiting for me. I’d delivered my news to him earlier. That I
was going to have a baby. And he’d sworn his loyalty to my child. He’d
known there was a possibility it was his child, as well. Yet he’d never
spoken it aloud. Never even allowed it to become a conscious thought
between us. Part of me was angry at this. Part of me raged against him
not leaping from the rooftops to proclaim this child is not his
brother’s - it is his child, and he would demand I become his wife, and
not Stavros’… And this is what I want more then my next breath. I could
live so happily if it were Stefan who I’d married. Yet there is another
part of me that realizes why he doesn’t leap from the rooftops. He
realizes if he did, Nikolas would be given disadvantages, and possibly
taken away from them both by that evil witch who called herself
‘Mother’. He would never know his life as a Prince, the Cassadine
heritage ending, then and there. And I would be killed for my. .. .
indiscretion with my husband’s brother.

“Lasha?” His voice breaks into my private thoughts, causing my head to
snap up, our eyes to meet. He is so handsome. The only friend I have in
this world. The only one I have left. I hurry to him, wanting to throw
myself in his arms. But I stop myself inches from him. We cannot hold
one another here. She has spies everywhere. I know nothing would please
her more then finding us together, finally causing Stavros to realize
she was nothing but a whore. His brother’s whore. I realize something
inside me must have become twisted, must have warped over my time here.
For the thought of being Stefan’s whore doesn’t repulse me. In fact, the
thought lightens my heart, gives me something to hope for. I would
rather be Stefan’s whore, then Stavros’ wife.

“Was the vow you offered me sincere?” My voice shakes with emotion as I
ask the question. I refer of course to the conversation we’d had in this
very spot earlier today. I had told him I was pregnant, and he’d sworn
his loyalty to me and my child. How I’d longed to let him hold me as I’d
known he wanted to. We were both forced to be satisfied with his vice
like grip on my hands, squeezing, believing when my eyes told him what
my voice could not. It’s all right. This child will always know our
love. They won’t touch him as long as we’re here.

“Of course.” His voice is rough and I can feel the emotion behind his
words. He has meant what he said. He will always see that his
protection, his affection and his care is bestowed on me and my child.
Our child.

“Then meet me tonight,” I whisper, blinking back tears. I turn from him
quickly, walking back down the cliff, afraid to look back, knowing that
if I saw his eyes now I would be unable to walk away. And walking away
was the only way to guarantee our safety. I will meet him tonight.

~

Hours have passed since I walked away from him. I lay on his bed,
feeling the silk sheets beneath me, my eyes fixated on the quickly
burning candle on the table beside me. I had arrived under the cover of
darkness, slipping from my room to his without being detected. I had
crawled into his bed, feeling his presence everywhere in this room,
smelling him everywhere. I remember back to our first night together
almost six weeks ago. It had not been planned, nor had it been
spontaneous. It was something we’d both known had to happen at some
point. We needed one another, needed strength, comfort, shelter. I
remember a night locked in Wyndam’s with Luke, remember all the nights
we’ve spent together. Yet even as alive ,as passionate I’ve felt with
him, I had never known the feeling of peace. True peace, and safety.

 I know that with Stefan.

When I am with him, the rest of the horrors of my life fade away, and it
is just the two of us, united against the hardships. I am pulled from my
reverie by the door opening, then shutting softly. I keep my eyes
closed, lying on my back. I feel the bed dip, indicating he has joined
me. His hand touches my shoulder gently, as though to wake me from a
slumber. He believed I was sleeping. A smile tugs at my lips. I had
actually appeared peaceful enough to be sleeping. The next sensation I
feel is his lips on my eyelids. Gentle caressing of first the left, then
the right. His lips move down my cheeks, to my nose, my chin, then
finally my mouth. His hands meanwhile gently strip my nightgown down my
arms, pulling me up to shove it down my upper half entirely. I lift my
body for him, the feel of his hands on my shoulder blades causing a
shudder to run through my body.

Stefan pulls away from me, smiling into my eyes softly. “I was afraid
you might not be here,” he whispers, his eyes traveling down my body,
then back to my face.

I return his smile, sitting up on my knees and letting my gown fall to
the bed. I move away from it, shoving it to the floor. I walk on my
knees until they touch his, placing my hands on his shoulders, pressing
my body against his. “Were it my choice, I would never leave here,” I
promise him truthfully, placing my mouth over his, letting him kiss me
at his leisure.

His smile is peaceful this time, slightly awe filled. I feel he wants to
ask me something, that he wants to tell me something, but he does not.
Instead he leans forward and kisses me, kissing me harder, cradling my
head against his when I would ask what was on his mind. So instead of
talking - knowing there will be hours, and days, and years for that in
the future - I run my hands down his chest to the buttons of his vest,
undoing them quickly and pulling it from his body. I toss it atop my
gown, moving closer to him, wrapping my arms around his back and holding
him to me tightly. His tongue slips into my mouth and I moan against
him, wanting more from him, wanting things I’m afraid to vocalize, but
desperately need to, nonetheless. He murmurs my name against my skin,
running his lips down my jaw to my throat. Not Lasha. Laura. Tears come
to my eyes and I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling his head
back to look me in the eye.

“You didn’t call me Lasha.” My voice trembles only slightly.

“It is not your name.” His eyes are angry - angry on my behalf. But they
are also sad, for he knows that it is my name. Lasha *is* my name now,
who I am, the only way I can survive.

“It isn’t when he says it,” I spit violently. At the almost wounded look
on his face I close my eyes and take a few deep, calming breaths. My
lids flutter open as I bring my hands to his face, cupping his cheeks in
my hands. “The name feels like a taunt when Stavros or Helena say it.
When you say it, it feels like an endearment, something that belongs to
me, more familiar then Laura.” I lean forward and kiss his mouth gently,
running my hands back from his face to his hair, tangling in it,
tightening my hold to pull his head closer to mine.

“Lasha,” he whispers against me, his hands moving from my shoulders to
my lower back. “My beautiful Lasha.”

His. I would kill my husband to be his.

Thoughts like this are dangerous, and I push them away vehemently,
laying back on the bed and pulling him with me, on top of him. I spread
my legs, wrapping one around his leg, urging him to lie between them. He
does so, releasing my mouth and running his lips to my breasts, kissing
each one in turn, pulling one of my nipples into his mouth and sucking
gently. I let out a gasp, then a slightly louder cry as he nibbles on it
gently. He releases my mouth and moves his head up, placing two fingers
over my mouth softly. “Shh,” he motions silently, reminding me we must
be quiet. If Helena were to hear us. . . .

His mouth returns to my breast and I chastise myself for letting
thoughts of *her* interrupt our time. It is so rare and precious.  . .
.Stavros will return tomorrow, and I refuse to let either of them have
this. It’s ours, and no one else can touch it. Can touch us. I feel
Stefan’s lips brush over my stomach and I shut my eyes. His hand joins
his mouth, his palm curving over my already swelling abdomen. I hadn’t
thought I would start showing this soon, but I have. My breasts are
tender and I’m already having problems tying and zipping the tightest of
my dresses.  He places a series of soft, biting kisses around my navel,
running his tongue over the skin. He moves his mouth reverently,
worshipfully over me and my fingers find their way to his hair again,
holding him against me gently, biting my lower lip to keep from letting
the sounds I long to from my mouth.

Stefan moves his head lower, his hands running under my hips, spreading
my legs further and placing a soft kiss against the skin of my inner
thigh. His beard scratches against my skin and a giggle leaves my mouth.
He raises his head, a single, questioning, amused eyebrow quirking in
response. I giggle again, giving him an ‘I’m sorry, but what can I do?’
look. “I’m ticklish,” I whisper, giggling again.

“And here I thought I was beginning to lose my touch,” he murmurs,
lowering his head again, his beard scraping my thigh once more.

Another giggle leaves my mouth, turning to a low moan as he places his
lips around my clit, his tongue flicking over it. I quickly tuck my lip
between my teeth again, holding in sounds desperately wanting free. One
of his hands rests over my stomach lightly, tenderly caressing it. His
other hand runs over one of my breasts, flicking the nipple with his
thumb in time with the flicks of his tongue. I bite my lip to contain a
scream, drawing blood. His lips move from my clit, down, his tongue
snaking out to dart inside my briefly, then back out, licking back to my
clit and taking it into his mouth, sucking. I tighten my fingers in his
hair, arching my neck backwards. His teeth graze my clit at the same
moment his thumb and forefinger close around my nipple and I come, hard
against his mouth, my hips arching off the bed and a low sound coming
from the back of my throat I am powerless to contain.

Stefan raises his head, moving back up my body, taking his weight on his
elbows. His lips brush my throat and his nose nuzzles my ear gently
before I feel his breath against it. “Have I lost my touch?” he asks in
a teasing voice, one I don’t hear nearly enough from him.

In response, I lift my legs to his sides, my toes curling under the
waist band of his pants and pushing them down his hips, down his thighs
until he can kick them away. My hands move from his head to his back, my
nails gently scraping down his skin. “No. You’ve simply mastered it,” I
whisper against his ear. I close my eyes again as his hands run from my
ribs to my hips, then back again, his fingertips tickling over my skin.
I giggle softly in his ear, then gasp when he squeezes my breasts,
placing his weight on top of me. “Make love to me Stefan,” I whisper
hoarsely into his ear. “Make me forget everything but you.”

Something flickers across his face for a moment, some emotion I’m
terrified to name. It’s gone before I can fully process it, and he
kisses me deeply, his hands lifting my hips as he slips the tip of his
erection inside me. I gasp against his mouth, arching my hips, trying to
pull him the rest of the way inside me. He runs his tongue over my lower
lip, frowning as he tastes blood. He pulls back only slightly, pulling
my lip into his mouth and running his tongue over it, soothing it until
it stops bleeding. He pulls on my hips, pushing with his own at the same
time and slipping the rest of the way inside me. I wrap my legs around
his hips tightly, pulling him inside me, my hands holding his back,
urging him to lay his full weight on top of me.

Giving up, Stefan runs his hands from my breasts to my hips, laying his
upper body full against mine. He pulls almost completely out of me, then
thrusts slowly, hard back inside. A small whimper leaves my mouth and he
places his over mine again, silencing my sounds. I wrap my arms around
his back, clutching at him with my nails, scraping them against his
skin. He moves his hips against mine a little faster, increasing the
pace with every thrust. I pull my upper body off the bed, clinging to
him as his hands come down on the mattress on either side of my head
again. I fall back again, arching my back, my head burrowing into the
pillow as far as I can get it. His follows me, his mouth never leaving
mine as he thrusts harder, faster. One of his hands runs down my
stomach, between my legs, his thumb rubbing over my clit in time with
his thrusts. My entire body tenses as my eyes shut tightly. I let out a
series of moans into his mouth as I come, hard, my legs tightening
around his waist. “Stefan,” I whisper against his ear, tearing my mouth
from his. “Stefan.”

I feel his body tighten, feel him move inside me faster. I keep myself
wrapped around my tightly, my fingers stroking through his hair, running
up and down his back as I hold him to me.  He collapses against me,
spent, and I move my legs from around him, slipping one over the back of
his thigh, my foot running over his calf. My hands stroke his hair
gently where his head lies against my shoulder, his face buried in the
crook of my neck where he’d muffled his own cry. Our breathing evens
out, coming together, breathing together. He lifts his head and rolls
his body off mine, curling himself around my side. I lick my lips,
moving to get up, knowing I should get back to my room. His hand around
my waist stops me. I look into his eyes, seeing the look in them.
‘Stay,’ he silently begs. ‘Just for awhile.’

Smiling gently, I pull the ancient quilt up to my waist, feeling no
modesty, no shame with him. I have never felt shame with him. I pull at
him until he lies his head below my breasts, not quite touching my
stomach. His arm drapes across my hips, his fingers gently playing with
my skin. My fingers find his hair again and I stroke it softly, closing
my eyes and letting myself drift to sleep, feeling safe with him,
treasuring this time.

The only time in my life I have known true peace.

~

She is breathing beneath me. I close my eyes and treasure the sound. She
is sleeping. I know that she is by the stillness in her body. She is
rarely still when she is awake. She is usually too afraid.

I shut my eyes, rubbing my cheek against her stomach, banishing the
images that haunt my every waking moment. I have heard her screams at
night. I have seen the bruises that mar her beautiful face. I pretend
that I don’t. I close my eyes to it, and never taint our time together
by asking her if she is well, if he made her bleed, if he’d finally
killed that last piece of light behind her eyes. He has made her
subservient, more so then I’d ever thought possible of her. But I saw
light blaze in her eyes again. When she told me of her pregnancy. I
smile, brushing my lips over her abdomen where our child is just
beginning to grow.

Our child.

She is carrying my son, or daughter. Future heir to the Cassadine
fortune only because the rest of them will believe that child belongs to
my brother. My eyes open. I have never wanted it. The fortune, the
title, the power. Stavros hungers for it, but the only thing I’ve ever
hungered for is lying beneath me. I want her. I love her. I wish to be
consumed by her. I live for the knowledge that I have given her things
my brother could not - a child, a choice, my heart, my devotion, my
loyalty. I wonder if she knows that I love her. I swear she does
sometimes, the looks she gives me. In my more bold moments I let myself
believe she loves me back. At least a little. Closing my eyes, I feel
myself tire too much to keep them open any longer. I imagine her hands
in my hair. I imagine her soothing me to sleep, whispering my name,
endearments.

Whispering that she loves me.

I am too close to sleep to know if her voice is real or imagined. And do
not care at this moment. I choose to believe this, even if it is a lie.
For it’s a lie that keeps my heart beating in my chest.

The hope that my Lasha loves me back.

~

END