Chapter Text
“So what’s your deal, Spencer Cassadine?”
He’d driven them into one of the more historic towns in the Catskills, fittingly called—Catskill. It was like something out of a storybook. You could feel the history steeped into every redbrick building and, her art history nerd self had been thrilled when she recalled that this was the birthplace of Thomas Cole, the literal father of one of the most significant schools of art in the northeast. They’d even gone to the museum erected in his honour, which had been closed by the time they got there, but still it was nice to see the statuette and dedication on its front entrance. Even better, there’d been a wonderful folk art festival taking place along the town’s Main Street promenade, with stalls outside all the Victorian storefronts, full of beautiful pieces, from beaded jewellery to impressive canvas’ that she’d ooh’ed and aah’ed over to Spencer’s patient smiles.
Eventually, they’d gotten hungry and bought a couple sandwiches from a local eatery so they could head down to a riverside spot, one of the smaller beaches, with its own pier and bright red-and-white lighthouse tilting storeys up in the air to chow down.
Now, seated next to him on the edge of the pier as she cleaned up the remnants of her sandwich, she looked at him curiously. He’d eaten quickly, and had taken to gazing out onto the water. Once again, she couldn’t stop herself from studying him with the eye of an artist. In profile, he was just as pretty as he could be head-on. The firm jaw, the soft tilt of his nose, the ruffled flutter of his hair in the breeze. Her fingers itched to find chalk, charcoal, a pencil, anything to draw him just as he was now in the waning afternoon light.
She forced herself to stop ogling him like a weirdo and instead looked out at the dappling river. If it was warmer, she’d be tempted to jump in or dip her feet. But at this time, even if it was just gone early fall, the temperature dropped quick in the afternoons.
“What’s my deal? I don’t know if I have a deal, Miss Robinson.”
Trina laughed. “Oh, don’t even. Everyone I speak to seems to have something to say about you. If I went by their testimonials, you’d think you were some kind of terribly rude, arrogant, evil thug or the local bogeyman. Instead, I find a pretty nice guy who took me to a historic town in the Catskills, the birthplace of the Hudson School of Art, tolerated me skipping around an arts festival for a couple hours without a single complaint, and hasn’t been anything but a gentleman the entire time we’ve been here.”
“There’s your first mistake, Trina.” She could feel his eyes on her, and like she was drawn by a lodestone, she had to turn to meet them. Those dark brown, almost black, depths shouldn’t have made her entire body break out in gooseflesh or her heart clatter in her chest but they did. “I’m not a ‘nice guy’ or a ‘gentleman’.”
She didn’t know why that denial made her swallow thickly. Shouldn’t it alarm her? Or at least make her cautious. But no, all it did was intrigue her. “But you’re not an ‘evil thug’ or the ‘local bogeyman’ either?”
He shrugged with a bitter laugh and looked at his feet. “I might as well be. It’s not often a Cassadine heir messes up enough to get himself disowned and thrown out of the only home he ever knew. Hell, even sent to jail—most of us tend to have enough connections, influence and money to keep out of Port Charles’ fine carceral system.” He twisted his mouth wryly. “I lost everyone then. My dad. My little brother. All the people who called themselves my friends. If it wasn’t for my Uncle Sonny, and one of my other aunts, I’d probably be on my own.”
There were many questions she could ask right now. Why he’d been disowned. What crime he’d committed to warrant getting sent to jail. How his family could’ve thrown him out. Why he’d become the town pariah. He was so young, surely there was no way whatever he’d done could justify the way people seemed to treat him. But all she could see was the sad, remorseful slant to his mouth and the slump in his shoulders. And that loneliness that she’d clocked the very first time she glimpsed him in the art gallery back in Port Charles. It tugged at something inside her. Some might call her soft for it but she reached out and placed her hand over one of his, resting on his knee. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Spencer.”
At her softly worded comment, Spencer swivelled back to her, a frown folding over his brow. “Aren’t you going to ask what I did?”
Holding his gaze, she said, “I don’t think so. If you’re comfortable enough to tell me then you’ll tell me when the time is right. But it’s not really any of my business.”
The consternation on his face deepened as he scanned her. He looked like he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Like she was a strange, fascinating and decidedly alien creature he couldn’t figure out.
“What if I did something really bad? Terrible, even. Evil.” He waved his hand in the air at the last, belying the ridiculousness of it.
“Did you?”
“Yeah—I guess I did.” He winced and bowed his head, shame lining every part of his demeanour. “It was—is complicated. I made choices. Decisions that resulted in people that were close to me getting hurt. I pissed off a lot of the wrong people, including people I trusted. Family. And realised with how they treated me that they didn’t give as many fucks about the concept as I probably did. So I paid the price.”
“But you did your time, you paid for whatever it is you did, right?”
“Well, yes—.”
“And you feel remorseful for it, don’t you? You wouldn’t do it again?”
“Well, no—.”
“Good. That’s all I need to know.”
“Really? That’s it.”
“Very much it. Besides, your family doesn’t sound too great if they could just discard you like that—it’s not right. And, believe me, I know what it means to forgive family for things, even terrible things.”
An incredulous roll of laughter spilled out from his chest. He grew more sombre, though, as he said, “You should probably stay as far away from me as you possibly can.”
“One thing you should probably know about me is that I don’t really scare easily.”
He shook his head as he kept studying her like she was the most complex puzzle he’d ever encountered. “I think you might be the strangest girl I’ve ever met.”
It didn’t sound like an insult but she did ask, “Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
They smiled at each other then, and she was struck once more by his everything. Most people might think her naive or stupid to go on faith when it came to someone she barely knew. But, if nothing else, Trina had always trusted her own gut. And when it came to Spencer, who seemed troubled and so sad, her instincts told her that there was much more to him than one would assume. He was unexpectedly kind when he wished to be. He could be gentle and funny, and charming. She liked him. She liked the feeling of liking him, too.
It was risky and dangerous. Her more cautious self should be running far and fast. But the other part of her, the one that sought adventure and magic, which she found mainly through artistic expression, wasn’t ready to be anywhere but here with him.
The next few hours whiled away as they talked about everything and nothing. Their favourite colours—his, orange, which was surprising given she’d only ever seen him wear black; hers, blue, every single shade of it. Favourite cookies—for her, peanut butter and chocolate chip because how could you go wrong with that? For him, ginger snaps, a revelation that made her cackle in surprised horror because who even put ginger snaps at the top of their list of favourite cookies? If she was strange, then he was way stranger than she could ever be and she told him so. She shared her favourite artists, especially the feminist guerrilla gang from Phoenix, who'd become her latest obsession. Spencer talked about some of his favourite places he’d traveled to—Paris, Brussels, Rome, Shanghai, Tokyo, Athens, Cairo. He’d been to places she could only ever dream of visiting but, he revealed, slightly bashful, he had a real soft spot for the Catskills, which was why he’d brought her here.
“It’s not your typical holiday spot for Cassadines—we’re more the yachting and skiing in the Alps sort of family. But, there’s something about this part of the country that has a kind of magic, you know? Part-creepy, a little dark. I took a New England literature class in freshman year, and Washington Irving really stuck with me. But it’s also fascinating.”
Trina nodded. She could feel it too. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in-between history or something. We’ll be modern day Rip Van Winkles, and wander off the path, fall asleep somewhere, and come back out twenty years into the future. The whole world will have passed us by.”
It was a conversation that felt silly and random and she loved it.
“At least I’d be with you, that’d make it bearable.”
Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at Spencer, who was watching her with that intentness again. The sun had inched further down in the sky. It would be dark soon. But she didn’t want to move from this spot. Especially when she could see him tilting closer. She leaned towards him, too, until his warm breath tickled her lips. Just a half-inch and they’d be kissing. Finally. Anticipation buzzed in the air around her. It was like the universe had cast some sort of spell on them just like they’d mused on seconds earlier.
Right before they touched—finally—a large droplet of water splashed onto her cheek. She gasped in shock. It was followed by another. Then another. Spencer was similarly agitated before he said loudly, scrambling to his feet. “Rain! We need to get to some shelter.”
He helped her up. Trina used her scarf to protect her hair from the spitting rain—it was likely gonna be a lost cause anyway until she had her helmet back on. “Where will we go?”
“I know a place—there’s a B&B nearby, should have a few rooms to let even with the festival happening. Never actually been to it but it looks nice enough from the outside.”
“Okay, lead the way!”
**
*
All in all, the Catskill’s Pride Inn wasn’t too bad. They’d only had one loft suite to spare and the owners were a sweet, elderly couple, the Edelmans, who assumed that she and Spencer were a newly-married couple and wouldn’t let go of the notion. Trina had put a hand on Spencer’s when he’d piped up to refute the assumption a second time just in case they’d be weird about it. You never knew with strangers of a certain age.
“Well, breakfast starts at seven in the mornings. There’s a little vending machine if you need a snack at night, and the fridge is stocked with water and fixings for tea and coffee if you want, all right?”
“Thank you, Mrs Edelman, we appreciate it,” Trina said as she hooked her arm through Spencer’s, giving off the picture of marital bliss. “What do you say, honey, should we head up to bed?”
“Sounds great, sweetheart.” He shot her a heavy side-eye before pasting on a courteous smile. “Thanks, Mrs Edelman, you have a good night.”
It probably shouldn’t have been this enjoyable pretending to be Spencer’s significant other in this way. But Trina savoured it.
The room was a little shabby but charmingly so. The gingham curtains that matched the counterpane on the bed and the cover of the small two-person couch in the corner, the 70s furniture, well-maintained but still dated, the thick patterned rug that she sank her toes into, the warm wood-panelled walls that lent it a rustic feel—it’d do. Trina wandered over to the window. The storm crackled and roared outside, splatters of leaves from a nearby oak slid along the slippery glass of the window.
“Good thing we made it here before it really started coming down, huh?”
She shivered slightly in her damp clothes. She probably should get out of these or risk catching a cold, which really wouldn’t be fun.
Spencer walked towards her, even wet and a little bedraggled, he filled up the entire room. Just like in the art gallery. He handed a shirt to her, presumably from the little knapsack he’d carried in from his bike. “Here. I initially figured I’d be end up spending the night out here, so I brought a change of clothes just in case. You can take the shirt.”
It was flannel in the universal fashion language of the hipster, but it felt warm and soft, which was really all she needed right about now. She’d wash and blow dry her panties in the bathroom and it shouldn’t be too much trouble. While she had a tank and shorts in her bag, she didn’t bring it up since those weren’t exactly going to be warm. And—she could admit in the privacy of her own mind—she couldn’t deny the strange thrill she already felt at just the thought of wearing Spencer’s clothes. “Thanks, what about you?”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I run hot most of the time anyway and the room’s heating up.”
It was all she could do to refrain from agreeing with him—loudly—about how ‘hot’ he was because, seriously, she was a grown woman and not a weirdo. But she couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking over him. He’d taken off his leather jacket and left it to drip-dry by the coat hanger at the door, leaving him in a soaked t-shirt that did nothing to hide all the hard-packed muscle underneath. She could practically count every one of his abs. With his hair damp and curling at the ends, and just… everything about him… was sexy. Without even trying to be.
That really wasn’t fair, was it?
Down girl, she tried to tell her own wayward brain and body. But it wasn’t easy. Not when he was just walking around like that. She’d never felt this way before with, well, anyone. This kind of fierce, ravenous attraction. It was alarming. After all, she was always the sensible one. In her family, in her friend groups. And yet, the second she’d seen Spencer Cassadine standing in that gallery, he’d had her spinning. Thinking about him obsessively. Sketching him absently in her notebooks. She’d hung out with the guy a grand total of twice now and it already felt like something so much deeper than it had any right to be.
Shaking her head, she took in a deep breath. “I guess I’ll—um go in and take that shower now.”
Something his eyes flared at that. She couldn’t begin to explain what it was. But it made her belly tingle with a mysterious heat.
Okay—it wasn’t that much of a mystery because, the truth of the matter, as her inner conscience helpfully supplied, was—
I want him. I want this man so badly I can’t think straight.
But I don’t know him well enough, a more reasonable voice reminded.
None of that seemed to matter with both of them standing a few inches from each other, arrested in each other’s gazes.
“Y-yeah, um, it should be really… hot in there.” He blinked as if he realised what he’d said, a charming blush smattering his cheeks pink as he ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, you know, uh—because of the geyser. There are hot springs on this property, I saw a sign. In the lobby. So it’ll be nice. For you. Alone.” He visibly cringed in the most adorable way before he took a step back from her. Then another.
Trina couldn’t help but tuck a smile into her chin. Whatever else, at least she wasn’t the only one seemingly affected by this thing between them. That was a relief. Unable to resist teasing him a little as she headed towards the bathroom. “Can’t wait to get all wet—it’ll feel good to be naked under all that … heat.”
The loud choking cough behind her as she shut the door made her chuckle.
**
*
Spencer wasn’t prepared for what it would do to him to see her walking around in his shirt. It was huge on her, hitting her thighs just above the tops of her knees, baring a swathe of smooth, toned leg and her adorable, blue-tipped toes. She’d taken her steaming shower in the bathroom, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the fact that this B&B stocked good soap and produced their own shea butter—whatever that was—and leaving him in a state of strained arousal at the thought that while he was milling around with clammy clothes, she was standing. Naked. Under the hot spray of water. Mere feet away from him. It wouldn’t take more than thirty seconds to strip off and join her under there, and he’d do it in a flash if she invited him to. He’d had to whip his phone out and start scanning his messages to avoid—just barely—imagining all that water slicking up her skin.
But now she was back out here, and unsurprisingly, it was even more difficult to not be a creep and imagine how long it’d take to get under his own damn shirt. Five seconds—top, three if you just rip the buttons, a filthy corner of his brain supplied.
“I’ll go take a shower, too,” he muttered. “I got us some snacks from the vending machine if you’re hungry….” He rubbed at the back of his head. He hadn’t been planning to take her to the Savoy or anything. But a sorry pile of various kinds of candy and soda wasn’t exactly the ideal first date meal with a woman like Trina Robinson. “I’m, uh, sorry it’s not exactly a fancy dinner date.”
“Mhm, as far as first dates go, I think you get lots of points for the awesome bike ride and the art festival and buying me my favourite chocolate,” Trina said before she picked up a Snickers bar and shot him a dimpled grin. “Thank you.”
He forgot to breathe just then. Running a hand through his hair, suddenly bashful, he nodded. “You’re welcome.”
He forced himself to be quick in the shower, stamping down the temptation to linger in the billowing steam. Because if he did that, then his mind would wander, and it’d sprint straight to the woman a few feet away from him in the room beyond, and start imagining things. Dangerous things. He looked down at himself and his stirring manhood. He’d already been in a state of half-arousal most of today but he’d managed to distract himself with things like riding his bike in a straight line and not murdering them on the damn highway. Now he was alone with her and all that want was that much more potent and difficult to ignore.
He took himself in hand, mumbling in irritation, “Down boy.” But that didn’t help. In fact, it made it worse and he couldn’t help fisting himself once or twice, his eyelids growing heavy. He could just take care of this and maybe it’d even help. Cool him down from wanting her so badly. God knew he’d spent many a morning shower in the last few weeks doing the same thing with flitting thoughts of her in his head.
For some reason, doing that while she was a room away with no idea that she was inspiring him to all sorts of debauchery made him feel guilty. He was trying to be the gentleman he’d denied being hours ago. And that included not rubbing one out in the shower, not being a horny dog, and not using the inn owner’s assumptions about their relationship status as an excuse to share a bed with her. No, he’d resolved to sleep on the floor since the room’s couch was a good foot too small for his frame.
None of these musings detracted from his hard-on one bit. Tapping his forehead into the shower’s tiled wall, he let out a stream of colourful curses before flicking the hot water off. He grunted as soon as ice shard cold water hit his back like steel knives. It hurt but at least it distracted him from his situation.
Once he got done with a frigid and truncated shower, he dried himself quickly, and got dressed in his pyjamas for the night—his sweatpants. When he stepped into the bedroom, Trina glanced up from where she was under the covers, thumbing through messages on her phone and her eyes widened noticeably as she looked him head to toe, lingering on his naked chest long enough for him to feel decidedly flattered at the attention. He ignored the prickling in his skin and headed for the other side of the bed to grab a pillow for the night.
“Uh—what are you doing?”
He stilled. “I’m making my bed on the floor—I saw some spare blankets in one of the closets, should be fine for the night.”
Looking at him like he was dumber than a plank of wood, Trina put away her magazine. “Why would you sleep on the floor when there’s a perfectly big bed that we can share?”
“I—I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” She arched her eyebrow. “Or assume that—you and I… you know?” She folded her arms across her chest as if she was waiting for him to make a lick of sense. He promptly gave up. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I don’t mind the floor, seriously.”
All she did was pat mattress and lay down onto her pillows. She shut her eyes in a performance of sleep. When he didn’t immediately hop in, she said, humour shading her voice, “Come on, already. it’s been a long day. I promise not to take advantage of you in the dark. Much.”
He gulped, relieved that she wasn’t looking at him as he clambered in beside her and turned off the lights. Otherwise she might’ve noticed the conspicuous ridge on the front placket of his sweats at just the suggestion of her taking advantage of him in the dark.
**
*
It was both easier and harder in the dim, with only the scant light from outside the window and the bathroom that turned the room into a gradient of shadows. She was so close but not close enough. He could feel the heat of her beside him but he couldn’t reach out to touch her. He should just scent her, a sweet earthy fragrance but all he wanted was to sink his head into her neck or anywhere else so he could breathe her in unimpeded. It was torture on one hand but almost heaven on the other. Almost.
“Spencer?”
He tried not to jerk to attention at the sound of her soft voice. “Yeah?” He hoped she couldn’t hear the dumb breathiness in his voice.
“I just—I wanted to say again, I really had fun today. Thank you for … the date.”
“Uh, you’re welcome. Thank you for coming with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
The silence stretched for a few more moments before he blurted out, “I need to say something to you.”
Christ, why was his voice so damn loud? Or maybe the darkness and stillness in this room, the held breath of expectations that hung in the air, tantalising and a little nervous made everything feel louder. More magnified. Overwhelming.
Trina had sat up from her pillow, her silhouette leaning towards him. “What—what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Inhaling deeply, he reached back to the headboard until his fingers brushed on the small lightswitch for the bedside lamp. He needed to see her. Suddenly, he was desperate just to see her, to look into her dark eyes, and say what was on his chest.
The dark orange glow burnished her face, made it seem like she was made up of the most precious bronze and a slow-burning flame . Her curious eyes lit on him as she smiled gently, waiting for him to say what he’d been wanting to say.
His hands were sweaty. He leaned up on one elbow, bringing him closer to her. Still not close enough. While most of her hair was in a French braid, a few coiled tendrils framed her face and he wanted to reach out and nudge them or curl them around his fingers but he restrained himself. For now. And then he said, without varnish or equivocating, “I just wanted you to know that I really, really like you.”
He held his breath, hoping that it wouldn’t be received badly. Or like he was trying to angle for something shady since they were sharing a bed. He just needed her to know. And even if that was an understatement because, surely, being consumed by thoughts of her, day in and day out, from the second he saw her couldn’t be summarised by the word ‘like.’ But it would have to do.
Trina gaped a bit before her smile widened. “I really, really like you, too.”
Sighing in relief that he wasn’t entirely alone in this, he grinned and caught his lower lip between his teeth, a new excitement fizzling in his veins. She likes me, a dumb voice in his head crowed. He couldn’t even be smug about it, all he felt was happy.
When she touched her fingers to his jaw, his heart stuttered, and he froze. Waiting. Just to see what she’d do. Hopeful, too. Her long lashes fluttered before she leaned in and kissed him. Soft but insistent, her tongue slipping inside his mouth to entwine with his. He’d gotten an idea that Trina was kind of inexperienced. Nothing concrete, it had just been a feeling. But she certainly knew her way around this side of things, and she kissed with the confidence of a siren. Every sensuous pull and push of her mouth against his was like a slow infusion of fire in his bloodstream until he he was burning up. The graze of her teeth along his top lip before she soothed it with her tongue made him grunt. Her fingers sliding into his hair, the sweet little moan she let out between them.
He couldn’t hold back after that, not even if someone paid him too. Slanting his head, he took control of the kiss even as he rolled onto his back and drew her on top of him. She came willingly, her slender legs tangling with his as she used his chest for leverage to keep kissing and kissing and kissing.
He lost track of time. Of reality, really. So caught up in her and her taste and her scent and the feel of her gentle curves notched against his broad chest. His restless hands moved up and down her back, lower on each pass until he cupped her bottom, testing the soft, giving flesh beneath the silky panties. Positioned as she was, she cradled his cock at the juncture of her lithe thighs and it was impossible for him to hide the effect of that—of her—on his physique. He was hard as stone in these sweats. She rocked into it from her perch and a groan tore out of his throat before he tossed his head into the pillow beneath him to suck in much needed oxygen.
She was winded too, a feverish light in her eyes as she stared down at him.
“Hey.” Her voice was ropey. Her lips were swollen and wet from their kisses and the degree to which he wanted her struck him stupid.
He managed only a stilted, “Hi,” before he fell to silence taking her in. Maybe he should press pause on this. He didn’t want her to think he was taking advantage of her. Of having her here with him on this impromptu date that had turned into an overnight stay. She deserved far better than that.
Except, then Trina sat up, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head at the added weight of her form on his groin. They flicked right back open to find her unbuttoning her—his shirt. Slowly. Seductive in an artless way that was somehow more mesmerising than anything he’d ever witnessed. He tracked each snatch of satiny skin as it was revealed, his mouth watering.
Before he knew it, he was stretching upward to press kisses along her sternum. He nosed the material aside to find one lush breast, and a soft peak that he drew into his mouth, greedy. Trina writhed against him, a hushed cry spilling out of her throat as he suckled. Shifting to the other even as he thrust his hips up, he swore he could feel her, wet and warm, through his pants. One of his hands made its way between them to brush at the front of her underwear, just to test it. And once he encountered the soaked material, it galvanised him to action.
He needed her. Right now. Determined, he pulled off from her breasts with a brash pop, and reached for his wallet on the table beside them. He looked inside for a condom and—
Ah, shit.
“I—I don’t have anything on me.” He could’ve cursed himself. What kind of idiot didn’t have even a single condom on him as a matter of course but especially when he was on a date with the woman he’d been dreaming of since the moment he saw her? He usually kept a stash in his bedside drawer but that was several score miles away and not much help.
Trina offered him a sheepish look. “Me neither.”
They caught each other’s crestfallen expressions. Spencer snickered, and Trina put a hand to her mouth to try, ineffectually, to quiet her snort of amusement. Before long, they were both giggling at the absurdity of this situation. Best to do that than give into annoyance fanned by the flames of almost overwhelming desire. Besides, he liked bringing that sparkling smile to her face, and her dimples. He liked that he could sit in a bed with the taste of her on his lips and laugh like an idiot, and it was entirely okay. And allowed.
He’d had a few lovers in his time, not as many as most would expect but he wasn’t exactly a slacker in that department. His first crappy experience had shaped the subsequent encounters into moments that were always guarded and a little tense no matter the woman.
But with Trina, everything just felt good. And right. Perfect, even.
He frowned, suddenly afraid that he was messing things up. Rushing things. This wasn’t just some hook-up. He really didn’t want her to think that was what he was after. This woman, he was only just getting to know but who called to something deep inside his bones, deeper even, she was incandescent. So full of light and kindness, and he couldn't help grasping for her.
She rubbed her hands along his shoulders, bringing his attention back to the moment. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth as a mischievous glint came into her eyes. “So, we might not have come entirely prepared—and I kind of think that’s a good thing since this is technically still our first date and I don’t put out that easily, no matter how hot you are. But… there are other things we can do together without, you know, that.”
And just like that, in the smallest fraction of a blink, his body was on fire again. “Yeah?”
“Mhm-hm. Plenty.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I think—I might like to show you instead.”
He inhaled thickly, even as his hands, clasping the tops of her thighs, flexed in anticipation. “Have at it—I’m yours.” She had no idea, probably, how much he meant that. But he didn’t elaborate. It was too soon for that kind of thing, wasn’t it? Instead, he wound his fingers on the bottom flap of his shirt, and tugged her down towards him, to take her mouth.
There was no way he’d ever get tired of this. Of kissing Trina Robinson. He already knew it. Swiping his tongue against hers, he gripped the plump of her bottom and dragged her against his front where his rigid length welcomed the pressure before he pushed her onto her back so he could get to work on some of these other things.
**
*
“Spencer—don't stop, please.”
He’d long since decided that he liked the way Trina said his name when she was close. Almost as much as he liked how responsive she was. To his mouth on her throat, her earlobe, her breasts. How she kicked and strained upwards when he dug his fingers passed the elastic on her panties and found her wet heat. The way she helped him shove the flimsy cotton down her thighs and off so eagerly, before she splayed her thighs to give him the kind of view that would live in his dreams for the rest of his life. How good she took his fingers. One, then two, and then a third, riding his hand until she exploded, slick and sweet, with his name on her lips accompanied by several profanities.
It was all he could do not to roll over and beg her to just shimmy her way up to sit on his face so he could eat up all that cream. Even now, he brought his hand, slick with her release to his mouth so he could clean all her musky sweetness up. Gluttonous and unabashed with it.
Trina was watching him, eyes languorous, still sprawled beneath him, and she let out a scandalised whimper. “Oh, god, that’s so… you’re so—.”
“Next time,” he said, a gruff demand. “You’re not gonna waste all that on a bedsheet.” There wasn’t any room for refusal.
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his mouth, as though hypnotised before she craned up to kiss him and taste herself on him.
Spencer’s hard length jerked against her hip and he knew she could feel it, because her hand found its way to his lower torso, just shy of where he craved her touch. Without a word, she nudged him over until he was on his back and crawled back onto his lap.
His shirt was a wrinkled mess, still unbuttoned, one sleeve dragging halfway down her elegant shoulder, and baring her pert breasts, which he’d kissed and nipped at so fervently that he could see the imprints he’d left. Something about the sight of those faint bruises he’d put in her silky skin set off a savage, masculine pride in him. He liked having her dotted with his marks. Her hair was a halo of curls, half spilling from her braid, and she was fresh faced and still a little loose from her own orgasm. The word breathtaking wasn’t enough to cover it. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life and he probably never would.
So taken was he with just admiring her, that the feel of her wrapping her fingers around the base of his dick was a shock. He bucked, a strangling moan seeping from his mouth. He wasn’t sure where to look, really. The avid fascination in her gaze as she stroked him, biting on her kiss-plumped lip. Or the sight of her delicate artist’s hands working him over just right. Her grip was exactly how he liked it, firm and this side of too tight, and she twisted her palm over the leaking head every few times, collecting the wetness there to ease her movements.
Thrusting up into her, he couldn’t hold back the growl as his balls tightened up, needy for satisfaction. Fuck. What he wouldn’t do to be buried deep in her tight, fragrant pussy or that plush mouth of hers. But, perhaps it was a blessing, because already she was undoing him with just her hand. She’d drive him to insanity when they got to more.
“I’m gonna come,” he muttered on a wheeze.
Trina sped up. “You should know that you’re the prettiest man I’ve ever met.” Being called pretty probably shouldn’t make him jolt like a sprung teenager, but it did. He was at her mercy. Every word she said, every movement she made, tugging him closer and closer to the edge. She reached out to tweak at his nipples, never breaking her rhythm. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me. Can’t wait to experience every single thing with you.” All the things that everything could encompass were driving him mad—and had been driving him mad from the moment she said it. The promise of it all set him on fire, threw him even closer to the precipice.
She scraped a fingernail across his frenulum, delicately, like she was handling something infinitely priceless and, the next second, he was coming on a broken shout. He splattered come all over her fingers and up his naked torso, ropey white streaks, as his entire body shuddered and shook like he’d been electrocuted.
Trina worked him through it until he had to still her hand, oversensitive and a bit unhinged.
When he looked up at her, his limbs loose as noodles, a sheen of sweat mingling with the mess on his chest and she lifted her hand to her lips to clean her fingers of his release, a vengeful smirk dimpling her cheeks, he knew, right then that he was already falling in love with this girl.
**
*
Sunday brought with it sunlight, and the threat of reality.
But, as if by unspoken agreement, neither of them really talked about last night or what would happen once they got back to Port Charles. They might not be like old Rip, but they could pretend for a while that the real world was a far distant thing, just for now. Instead, they cleaned up in between shy smiles and a few stolen kisses. The memories of the night before, and the things they’d done together, the intimacy that felt all at once like it was too much and not quite enough played in the back of their minds as they headed down for breakfast.
Like everything else, the dining room was rustic and oak-panelled with all the trimmings of a Nordic log cabin. The smells of a fresh brewed medium roast, bacon and pine made the space feel homely and welcoming. The Edelmans were as sweet as ever as they cooked up omelettes and some of the best coffee Trina’d ever tasted.
In between chatting with the older couple, she tried not to stare too openly at Spencer. To at least muzzle the ridiculous fluttering inside her every time he looked at her. And he looked a lot. Just like the first time she met him, it made her shiver and heat up from the inside. He’d been doing that to her ever since, really.
He definitely noticed how easily he flustered her, how his eyes dipping to some spot below her chin and smouldering in that particular way of his had her fidgeting in her seat. None of that made him stop.
And she didn’t want him to. Ever.
What that meant, she wasn’t sure. And maybe wasn’t quite ready to put into words.
“You two travel safely now. I checked the weather report and there shouldn’t be any rain on your way down.” As they checked out, having managed to launder their clothes in the inn’s washer and dryer while they had breakfast, Mr Edelman shot them a twinkling smile. “It warms an old man’s heart to see two young people so deeply in love.”
Love? That’s not—
Trina gulped and shot Spencer a furtive look. He didn’t seem fazed by the comment. Instead, he just smiled and thanked the old guy before he grabbed his helmet and reached out with his free hand. “Ready to go, princess?”
He'd called her that the first night they properly met. One endearment should not make her want to sway into him like an idiot. She looked down at his hand. The same hand that had spent so much time learning the shape of her body and making her moan last night was about as potent a weapon as a loaded gun. And yet, with a bracing breath, she still placed her own in it, and met his gaze. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
With one last wave at their hosts, they left.
The drive to Port Charles felt somehow too quick. And even though she wished it would last forever, they were pulling up onto the PCU campus in what felt like no time.
“We’re here.”
Trina looked around. He’d brought her to another out-of-the-way parking space where like the first time he dropped her off. No doubt trying to protect her from messy rumours if anyone happened to see her hanging around with the likes of him. It was sweet, possibly. But also frustrating. She didn’t care what anyone thought. And she wasn’t interested in hiding anything.
“Oh—great. Thanks, that was a smooth ride.” What an inane comment. She untangled herself from his warm, broad body—reluctantly—and climbed off.
Now what?
Spencer had gotten off, too, and was leaning on the bike’s seat, his hair ruffling in the breeze as he notched his helmet on the handlebars. He reached up to unlatch her helmet and she jumped a little, having forgotten she was still wearing the damn thing. Even just the glancing touch of his fingers under her chin affected. Once he’d gotten it off, she tried to fix what was surely to be a real mess of helmet-hair as she searched for something smart or witty to say.
“So—.”
“I wanted to—.”
They cut off as they spoke at the same time and chuckled awkwardly. Trina half-shrugged, and invited him to speak. “Oh, you go first.”
Spencer opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. He looked exactly how she felt, unsure and self-conscious. He inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I wanted to ask—well, if you’d be interested in… seeing me. Again. On, you know, another date?”
All the tension inside her eased at his slightly-stuttery question. But before she could respond with a very affirmative yes, he rushed on in a ramble of words that got more adorable the longer he went.
How was the city’s most prodigal of sons, sitting in his bad boy get-up, leather jacket included, atop a massive bike stumbling over himself and blushing in an attempt to ask her on another date? The contradiction was kind of… enthralling. Much like everything else about him that she hoped to get to know on the many dates to come—if he’d let her get a word in edgewise.
“I mean—only if you want. I can understand if you don’t given what… well, what everyone would think of us. I’m pretty sure your dad might actually kill me. I don’t want to make this weird between us. But, I want to know you more. And I really had fun yesterday and last night was—yeah….” His voice softened on that last, a crooked smile on his mouth.
Oh, she could very easily fall in love with Spencer Stefan Niklosovich Cassadine, even with his absurd mouthful of a royal name that he'd told her yesterday. In fact, she was halfway there already. She should probably feel some type of way about that but all she could think about was how much more fun it’d be to kiss him. A lot.
“Like I said—I like you, Spencer Cassadine. And yes—I want to see you again. And again.” He reached for her hand, tugged her in between his long legs. His entire face lit up. “And again.” That got her a kiss, his tongue weaving against hers, and the pair of them groaning as they clung to each other until they both had to pull back for air. Not too far, his forehead resting against hers as he kept watching her like she’d hung the moon and every damn star in the sky.
“And, just so you know, I don’t care what anyone says or thinks about us. So no hiding or dropping me off in isolated parking spots or pretending like we don’t know each other in front of other people or whatever.”
She didn’t kiss him again until he nodded, a hesitant curl of his lips, and she didn’t stop until it grew too dark and chilly for them to be making out on his damn bike on the deserted side of campus.
**
*
“Oh great. Convict alert.”
Trina cocked her head up from her laptop at her friend’s snide comment. She noticed Joss glaring at a spot towards the front of the huge lecture auditorium where Monday’s 11AM Intro to Art & Local Perspectives usually took place. The professor was a little late but his TAs had already started to set up the projector while students milled in and settled into their seats with a steady hum of chatter.
Following Joss’ glare, Trina spotted the object of her friend’s disdainful attention and her heart did a literal pirouette.
One day since she’d seen him—in fact, not even a day, since he’d dropped her off nearer to her dorm only last night—and already she felt like she couldn’t stand to be apart too long, and like she could perform a whole damn musical when she saw him again.
He was scanning the room. Looking for her, she knew. She didn’t make a move to catch his attention, simply watched him in his usual all-black ensemble—this time a black dress-shirt and fitted jeans that made those thighs she’d only gotten a taste of over the weekend look even more sinful than usual and a leather jacket. She licked her lips.
Finally, his gaze dropped on her, one thick eyebrow arching slightly. She held her breath. They’d talked about this last night. She didn’t want to hide. She didn’t feel it necessary to do so. And he’d still been worried—for what associating with him might do to her reputation or whatever other crap. This—this moment right here was an unspoken test. All the murmured declarations between them before they’d said goodbye last night. She knew this was moving fast. That these feelings didn’t make sense in some ways and yet made perfect sense in all the ways that mattered.
But his choice right now would be telling.
Spencer stared at her, a storm of emotion in his eyes that would probably scare the average Port Charles citizen but made her fidget in her seat for reasons that were not appropriate at all, before he clenched his jaw and started up the stairs towards her.
“Oh dear god, looks like he’s actually going to attempt to sit amongst the rest of us normal folk,” Joss hissed.
Trina ignored her, trying not to stare too hungrily at all those lithe muscles moving as he strode up the steps without being even vaguely winded.
When he came to a stop by their aisle, and the chair she’d, thoughtfully, kept empty with her coat and bag on the off chance that he’d sit next to her, he just looked at her, his head tilted slightly. A challenge.
Josslyn was spluttering beside her. Trina hardly registered it. The chatter in the room seemed to grow quiet as it seemed like everyone was paying attention to the mini-drama taking place in row-F of the lecture hall even if they were trying to act like they weren’t.
She didn’t care. She stood up, and stepped towards him, her hands gliding up to his lapel so she could bunch it in her fingers and pull him down a little closer to her height in the four-inch boots she was wearing. Right before her lips touched his, she smiled and she could feel him doing the same.