Always Someone Else
Molly Lansing/Spencer Cassadine, Molly Lansing/Jake Spencer

Happy Incest Day Everybody. No, seriously, check your calendar. (Really, I'm going to be honest, when I first wrote this Molly was with Morgan Corinthos. And it sounded a lot better.)
Un-betaed little thing. Please point out any mistakes!


She loves him. Really, she does. Jake is all quiet smiles and kind eyes, understanding that thrums against the beat of his family. He's different from his mother, from his father, so so different from his brother, and Molly has been in love with him since that first day he kissed the palm of her hand, soft and sweet, and asked if she would please consider going out to dinner with him sometime. Jake Spencer is romantic and sweet and loyal and the most perfect man a girl could dream of, and he is in love with Molly Lansing.

She sleeps with Spencer anyway. Yes, that Spencer--dark hair and dark eyes, sculpted lips with a proclivity for cruel words. Not cruel to her, of course not, but she's seen first hand the way he glowered and glared and snarled like a seething dog to keep the citizens of Port Charles away, just like his father when that infamous madness consumed him. She's watched him pace Wyndemere like a caged animal, in a cage built by his own devices, hating the world and hating himself and, most of all, hating his father for not caring more-and there's just something to it. To him. Something forbidden and far away and tempting and wrong. Molly has always been more like her mother than was good for her.

Spencer doesn't really have anything to do with it. The initialization, that is. Spencer is so solemn and brooding and serious, Molly doubted the thought had ever come close to his mind. He's all about business, business, and more business and although he's never turned her away when she felt the need to talk about Jake, or Cameron, he's never had much of a personal life himself. That's why it shocks her when he kisses her back, strong and firm and sinful. Right there, in that office—the same place his father had slowly lost his mind, the same place her mother had pleaded for his sanity, the same place they'd sat together as children and colored and played and been a family—she kissed him after relaying some news about something inane in the city; something about civilization and the world that went on right beneath his feet that he cared nothing for. She kissed him suddenly, swiftly, and it surprised her almost as much has it surprised him. Of course she'd had some guilty fantasies-she was only women, only human-but she'd never really ,really intended to—except she did it anyway. Then he kissed her back and that was it. No stopping, no take backs.

Jake is planning to marry her. He has a beautiful ring in a little velvet box, tucked safely in his sock drawer. He doesn't know that Molly knows, but she does—because he made the mistake of telling Kristina and Kristina can't keep her mouth shut about those sort of things if her life depended on it. And Molly was planning on saying yes, of course, god who wouldn't want to spend the rest of their life with Jacob Martin? She sleeps with Spencer anyway.

There's paperwork, color coded files and paper clipped bills, a million little scraps of paper that are probably worth more than half the city and they crinkle beneath Molly's weight. Spencer is a Cassadine male, a prince, and he lifts her off her feet like nothing. Jake's done it a dozen times, swept her up and twirled her around with a strength almost to par with his father, but it's not quite the same. Her arms on his shoulders, his hands on her waist, their mouths in a fierce union—familiar motions that are completely new and different and thrilling, because….because this is Spencer. Because soon, maybe in a week, maybe in a month, maybe even at dinner, Jake will propose to her and she'll say yes and they'll live happily ever after or something close. Because Spencer is bitter and hopeless and real and when he presses his lips to her neck, Molly doesn't think of white gowns or floral arrangements or that shy, boyish smile that's made her heart warm for years.

She regrets it. Hair damp against her forehead, eyes fluttering as she stared up at the dark ceiling of this Cassadine castle. Oh, if Jake ever found out—if her mother ever found out—and yet, when Spencer pulls away, skin sticky and sliding uncomfortably against her own, Molly pulls him back down for a kiss. And another, and another, and even though Molly can feel her perfectly built life falling away from under her, she kisses him again.