Show: General Hospital

Title: It takes a real man

Summary: A playful, naughty encounter between an artist and her favourite model.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to General Hospital or anything else much, come to think of it. No profit is being made from this tale so, to whoever does General Hospital etc, don't sue me – I don't even own the computer I wrote this on.

A/N: This popped into my head during the long discussion thread "How to write Smut" over in the WB Forum on a fellow writer's website. It wouldn't leave me alone, so decided to write it down. R&R, please.


It takes a real man, truly secure and confident in his inherent sexuality to let a woman half his size but with twice his imagination, tie him to a bed buck-naked.

"When you said you wanted to paint me, I didn't think you meant literally." Jason Morgan's voice was husky with desire, his glacier-blue eyes riveted to the woman standing at the foot of the bed.

Elizabeth Webber smiled enigmatically, reaching up to unclip the clasp that held her dark hair in place. Rich chocolate strands cascaded over her shoulders in a wild tousled mane that his fingers itched to run through. It shielded her sapphire eyes momentarily before she reached up with one hand and pushed it over one shoulder. "Where's the fun in that?" she asked, her voice equally as affected.

She raised slender alabaster fingers to the pearl buttons of her knit top, quickly unbuttoning and shrugging it off.

"What are you doing?" Jason's voice was rough, barely above a whisper.

Elizabeth lifted a brow. "Stripping," she answered matter-of-fact. She drew her full bottom lip between straight white teeth, nibbling gently before releasing the plump flesh and continuing, "You wouldn't want me to get all dirty, now would you?" She had done the same with her jeans and now stood barefoot before him, clad only in a camisole, her nipples peaked beneath the silk, and lacy bikini underwear.

Jason swallowed hard and strained at his bonds. She had done a good job on the intricacy of the knots, but had not tightened them enough. They both knew that with enough applied pressure, Jason could snap the silk scarves that held him check, and turn the tables on this situation. But they both know that he wouldn't. That wasn't part of her plan – he would see this through because it was what she wanted. And she loved him all the more for it.

"No, I wouldn't want that at all," he replied dryly.

Elizabeth couldn't help the smile that crept up on her face, a smile that widened when she could see the faintest echo reciprocated by her incapacitated lover.

It takes a real man, truly secure and confident in his inherent sexuality to let a woman half his size but with twice his imagination, tie him to a bed buck-naked and still see the humour in the situation.

"Maybe you should get rid of your top, too. I have it on good authority that it's tough to get oil paint out of silk," he added helpfully, recalling several paint-splattered garments in her closets.

"Really?" Elizabeth asked conversationally, even as she did as he suggested. The move brought her small firm breasts tipped with dusky pink nipples into view. Jason's erection visibly flexed. "Where'd you hear that?" she continued, as though the sight of his body's blatant reaction to hers hadn't sent liquid heat pooling low in her stomach.

Jason was so enamored by the sight of her near-nakedness he could barely breathe, much less answer her question. All the blood in his body seemed to be on a one-way journey south, pooling in his groin, short-circuiting his ability to speak.

"You know," the little vixen continued, one hand absentmindedly stroking one firm globe, "It is hard to get oil paint out of anything." Her eyes had dipped momentarily to the array of paints and brushes lined up beside her, but flipped back up to his. "Maybe I should just take these off, too," she said, trailing her hand slowly down the valley of her breasts, along her flat stomach to rest just beneath the elastic waistband of the violet lace bikini panties that rode low on her hips.

Before he could reply, she did just that, bending at the waist and wriggling out of them so that her breasts swayed sensually as she stood fully upright again.

Jesus! She was killing him, and he knew that she was just getting started. Jason squeezed his eyes shut tightly and prayed for control. He couldn't see Elizabeth's satisfied smirk, but he could hear the crackle of fabric. His eyes snapped open to see her slipping what appeared to be a plastic smock over her head.

"What's that?" he asked, settling into his playful role at her mercy.

"My smock," she explained. "It's vinyl – very slippery, you know. Paint just slides right off. I'm trying not to get dirty, remember?"

Right. As if. The little minx.

"You know, I'm not showing the bed linens the same consideration so it probably won't matter if I do get a little dirty, too. All it would take is a nice scrub to get rid of it. After a nice long soak in my tub," Elizabeth finished with a thoughtful smile.

Hah! The paint, maybe. It would take a lot more than soap to cleanse her mind. Nurse Elizabeth was off the clock and Lizzie Webber had come out to play. And Lizzie was a very bad girl.

Her tone was full of false innocence as she added, "I don't need this." She pulled the smock over her head once again and this time, tossed it to the floor beside her other clothes.

Jason swallowed heavily again, his abdomen clenching tightly at the sight of her nude body standing at the foot of the bed. Tempting, and teasing him – and he couldn't, wouldn't, touch her because he knew that wasn't what she wanted.

Goddamn, Lizzie Webber was such an exploitive bitch!

"I already mixed the paint," she continued conversationally, as she made her way to the side of the bed where she had set up her 'supplies'. His eyes followed her every move. Elizabeth picked up her pallet and swirled a hog hair brush in a dollop of cerulean, seemingly engrossed in her task and ignoring the fact that Jason's erection strained just out of her reach. All she had to do to touch would be to bend at the waist and lick the underside of the impressive length of his shaft with her tongue.

Glacier blue eyes narrowed as he stared down at her dark head, wishing fervently that she would do just that, yet knowing that she wouldn't. Sapphire eyes, lit from within by a cobalt fire flicked up to meet his. "Red or blue, Jason?" she asked, indicating a dreamy blue hue and the crimson fire beside it. "You choose."

"Red," he somehow managed to answer in a gruff whisper. Red hot. Like the artist.

"Then red it is. But first I need to prime you. It –"

His brain function cut off at the mere mention of that word falling from her lips. With her imagination, he could only imagine how she intended to 'prime' her canvas.

"Is that really necessary?" he asked, his voice a hairsbreadth from a most unmanly moan.

Elizabeth pretended to seriously contemplate the question. "I don't know," she finally answered, pursing her plump lips. "Lemme see."

She had proposed her desire to paint him on his way out of the shower. He'd agreed after not much coaxing and so had hurriedly dried off and been in the process of pulling on a pair of boxing shorts while she 'set up' when she clarified, "In the nude, Jason."

They both knew he was squeaky clean from his shower, so there would be no physical impurities to mar her 'canvas'. This was all a not-so-subtle excuse to touch him.

Soft, slender finger slid into the strands of his dark-blonde hair, slightly damp from his shower. They applied a slight pressure to his temples and scraped gently at his scalp before sliding over his forehead. They coasted over his brow bone before tracing the length of his straight nose, down over his lips, pillow-soft and serious. He nipped her fingertips gently, catching her by mild surprise, and faint amusement leapt into both pairs of smouldering blue eyes at his unexpectedly playful action.

Her gentle exploration slowly eased into more explicit territory as she substituted the sensitive pads of her fingertips for the friction of her short, yet sharp, fingernails. In a sweeping move, she zigzagged down the length of his sternum, before using both hands to make a sweeping arc around his pectorals. In smaller and smaller concentric circles, she scraped his skin, enjoying the play and jump of the muscle and sinew beneath the smooth golden flesh. But rather than touch his nipples as he expected, her nails spread out once more, ghosting along his sides over each rib, so that he shivered in the wake of her touch.

In all this time, her eyes never left his, keeping his riveted to her so that his body was in control of the feelings. Willingly depriving himself of the additional sense only added to his pleasure.

"Elizabeth," her name fell plaintively from his lips as she traced a path along his pelvis so that they met at his pubic bone. She pressed down gently, and he lifted his hips in response, bringing her closer to the part of him that most blatantly craved her touch. She paused, as if contemplating whether to touch him as he so obviously wanted her to do.

After a pregnant pause, she shook her head slowly in denial and began her manual exploration of his body again. Her clever artist's fingers once again parted, this time sliding from his pubic to his hip bones and down the muscled expanse of his thighs. She moved her body with her hands, settling down on her haunches and dipping her head so that her tousled dark hair trailed cool fire down his abdomen even as her fingernails danced along his calves, ankles and finally the arches of his feet.

By this time, she was between his spread legs at the foot of the bed and she came up on her knees. "Nope, all clean," she announced in an effort to recapture the playful mood that had evaporated. She would have been moderately successful had her voice not cracked at the last, revealing she was not as unaffected she appeared.

Jason couldn't speak. He strained at his bonds and for one indeterminably long second, she thought he would break free. Instead he averted his face and closed his eyes to block out the sight of her naked body, flushed with her own arousal. Jason could hear the bed linens rustle and in his mind he could imagine her moving, slinking closer with all the grace of a predator. He felt her weight settle on him as she slipped a silky thigh over his hip and straddled him so that his arousal, which had been denied her touch all night, pressed against her belly, so close he could feel the heat emanating from her pubis.

Playfulness had gone out the window the second she had begun touching him.

"Look at me," she commanded softly, reaching for the pallet, her brush poised in the air.

With a valiant effort to maintain control and not bring a premature end to the evening, he took a deep calming breath before opening his eyes to meet hers. His pupils were dilated, the barest rim of cerulean surrounding them. She smiled softly in satisfaction and lowered the brush to his skin.

Jason hissed as the cool paint that coated the bristles made contact with his flesh and slid slowly across his clavicle, along his breast bone. In anticipation of the brush's passage, the muscles of his abdomen stood up in sharp relief as she carefully swept the bristles between the deep valley formed by the rigid muscle, stopping just short of the indentation of his navel.

Jason watched her through narrowed eyes, his jaw clenched tightly. Elizabeth appeared completely engrossed in her task, avoiding eye contact. If he didn't know any better, he half expected her to start humming off-key. She dipped her brush in the paint once again before sweeping the brush in a circle around his navel. Whilst on the first pass of her brush she had remained still, this time her hips undulated in a sensual circle that mirrored the brush, causing a helpless moan to escape Jason as he lifted his hips and ground his arousal against her own.

"Mmmm," Elizabeth answered his moan with one of her own, pleasure shooting through her veins as the head of Jason's shaft scraped gently over her clitoris. Knowing it would be so easy to give in, to set her paints aside, untie him and let him have his way with her, Elizabeth scooted back slightly so, rather than press intimately against her centre of pleasure, it reared proudly up before her.

"Jesus!" Jason hissed at the explicit picture she presented. So elemental that even he could understand.

"Something's not quite right," she said softly, nibbling on the end of her paintbrush as she struggled to regain control. "I guess I should change it before it dries."

But rather than reach for the cleaning rag that she kept on hand for emergencies like this, she leaned forward, his arousal scraping along her smooth porcelain skin, and settled on all-fours above him, her hair a silky cocoon that cascaded over them. Sapphire blue eyes flicked up to his and his body seemed to know what was going to happen even before his mind acknowledged it, arching his back helplessly as Elizabeth's slick tongue flicked out and laved gently from his navel back up to his collarbones.

Jason's breath exploded from his lungs as his body trembled under the liquid heat of her tongue. He strained at his bonds, the silk digging into the flesh of his wrists as he struggled to hold himself in check.

"Mmmm…. Cherry," she announced, sitting back up and cleaning off the excess red paint from her fingers in an explicit pantomime of a far less innocent task. Jason's jaw dropped and she took advantage of his shock, slipping her fingers into the heat of his mouth. As the sweet-tart taste of cherries exploded over his taste buds she continued with a hint of mirth in her tone, "By the way, did I mention that this is not oil paint?"

The sound of renting fabric ripped through the air as Jason unceremoniously wrecked his bonds and tackled the woman sitting on his thighs. Elizabeth's bell-like laughter pealed as her paintbrush and pallet flew out of her hand and clattered to the floor while Jason's weight pinned her at the foot of the bed. He pressed her wrists firmly to the mattress, a devilish look in the depths of his blue eyes that promised retribution. Elizabeth spread her thighs to cradle him intimately at her centre and asked saucily "So, does this mean the next time I don't get to finger-paint?"


A/N: Not true smut per se, but a 'fade to black' story. I didn't think I needed to continue for you guys to get the point. But still (wink wink), how much do you hate me?