[fic] What You Can't Afford (The Good Wife; Cary/Kalinda)
Title: What You Can't Afford
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairings: Kalinda POV; Cary/Kalinda
Word Count: ~600
Rating/Warnings: R
Spoilers: Everything through 4x16 "Runnin' With the Devil." Because, I'm sorry, if you don't read post-episode reviews, how would you even know this happened?
Summary: Kalinda's problem is that Cary has always seemed pure to her. She'd hate to corrupt him.
Author's notes: So, um, SCARIEST THING EVAH: writing Kalinda Sharma. If it sucks, just remember, we didn't get to see the sexy_tiems. Kinda, sorta for youcallitwinter, though it would have happened anyway, I'm sure. You just got me to watch it sooner, is all ;-)
Kalinda's problem is that Cary has always seemed pure to her.
She'd hate to corrupt him.
But, he's got that look. The one he never really had before. She put it there, knows she did. It's her own fault, showing her loyalty to him over Lockhart Gardner. Of course, they got her on a bad day; she remembers all too well everything she went through with Blake (lucky, how Nick'd prepared her for that), and having someone new possibly invading her territory was just enough to piss her off.
But then Cary seems to be having growing pains, too, and why the hell not? Weren't they all supposed to get a partnership? It's not like she blames him for looking around; hell, she'd probably go with him if he asked.
(He won't ask.)
(Because he wants to sleep with her.)
(Because he fancies himself in love with her.)
He wouldn't love her, not if he knew all of it. And he can't love her, not really, when he doesn't know all of it. And she'll never let him know all of it. Because he doesn't live in that place. He's never been there. He's the one slumming it, coming down to her level.
(He thinks she's an exotic bird, and he's never had that flavor before.)
(Her flavor stems from all the depths of depravity she's gone to, not some beautiful origin story that she's sure he's imagined in his masturbatory hours.)
It's actually commendable, how long she's waited. (Her own masturbatory hours had had blonde hair between legs and warm dark eyes that didn't judge. And a penis, there was always a penis, even when sometimes there were just fingers. She could close her eyes and it didn't matter who was there instead. Except Nick. She never let Cary replace Nick, because there wasn't enough head space for that.)
Because her other problem? She wants Cary. She wants his purity, and his intensity, and his sense of justice. She wants his name-on-the-door work ethic and his I-can't-be-smooth-with-you-because-you're-Kalinda schtick.
She wants him flushed and aching beneath her. She wants him filling her up, because it doesn't feel dirty and wrong with him. He's not dark, he's light with bedroom eyes, would never hurt her, and wouldn't know what to do if she decked him.
Cary makes love just like he does everything else: with single-minded determination, but then he takes a left turn at sensual, and his fingers are clever and his mouth is wide open and he isn't in it for what she's gonna give him.
Which is what really kills her; it's what forces her close her eyes as he's on top of her, as sweat drips down his forehead into the hollow of her throat. He groans her name, and jerks her left leg up over the crook of his elbow, stretching her, forcing her to let him in even more.
(That's really why she closes her eyes. She can only let him in one way at a time.)
She clenches, and he swears, a little prayer against her collarbone.
It's after, though, when he's just resting against her, and he starts giggling, that she can feel his triumph.
She lets him have it. There's so little she can really give.
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: The Good Wife
Pairings: Kalinda POV; Cary/Kalinda
Word Count: ~600
Rating/Warnings: R
Spoilers: Everything through 4x16 "Runnin' With the Devil." Because, I'm sorry, if you don't read post-episode reviews, how would you even know this happened?
Summary: Kalinda's problem is that Cary has always seemed pure to her. She'd hate to corrupt him.
Author's notes: So, um, SCARIEST THING EVAH: writing Kalinda Sharma. If it sucks, just remember, we didn't get to see the sexy_tiems. Kinda, sorta for youcallitwinter, though it would have happened anyway, I'm sure. You just got me to watch it sooner, is all ;-)
Kalinda's problem is that Cary has always seemed pure to her.
She'd hate to corrupt him.
But, he's got that look. The one he never really had before. She put it there, knows she did. It's her own fault, showing her loyalty to him over Lockhart Gardner. Of course, they got her on a bad day; she remembers all too well everything she went through with Blake (lucky, how Nick'd prepared her for that), and having someone new possibly invading her territory was just enough to piss her off.
But then Cary seems to be having growing pains, too, and why the hell not? Weren't they all supposed to get a partnership? It's not like she blames him for looking around; hell, she'd probably go with him if he asked.
(He won't ask.)
(Because he wants to sleep with her.)
(Because he fancies himself in love with her.)
He wouldn't love her, not if he knew all of it. And he can't love her, not really, when he doesn't know all of it. And she'll never let him know all of it. Because he doesn't live in that place. He's never been there. He's the one slumming it, coming down to her level.
(He thinks she's an exotic bird, and he's never had that flavor before.)
(Her flavor stems from all the depths of depravity she's gone to, not some beautiful origin story that she's sure he's imagined in his masturbatory hours.)
It's actually commendable, how long she's waited. (Her own masturbatory hours had had blonde hair between legs and warm dark eyes that didn't judge. And a penis, there was always a penis, even when sometimes there were just fingers. She could close her eyes and it didn't matter who was there instead. Except Nick. She never let Cary replace Nick, because there wasn't enough head space for that.)
Because her other problem? She wants Cary. She wants his purity, and his intensity, and his sense of justice. She wants his name-on-the-door work ethic and his I-can't-be-smooth-with-you-because-you're-Kalinda schtick.
She wants him flushed and aching beneath her. She wants him filling her up, because it doesn't feel dirty and wrong with him. He's not dark, he's light with bedroom eyes, would never hurt her, and wouldn't know what to do if she decked him.
Cary makes love just like he does everything else: with single-minded determination, but then he takes a left turn at sensual, and his fingers are clever and his mouth is wide open and he isn't in it for what she's gonna give him.
Which is what really kills her; it's what forces her close her eyes as he's on top of her, as sweat drips down his forehead into the hollow of her throat. He groans her name, and jerks her left leg up over the crook of his elbow, stretching her, forcing her to let him in even more.
(That's really why she closes her eyes. She can only let him in one way at a time.)
She clenches, and he swears, a little prayer against her collarbone.
It's after, though, when he's just resting against her, and he starts giggling, that she can feel his triumph.
She lets him have it. There's so little she can really give.