Fic: "Brick and Mortar" TGW, Cary/Kalinda, R.
Title: “Brick and Mortar” 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: The Good Wife
Rating/Pairing: R, Cary/Kalinda, general show spoilers.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not making a profit from their use.
Summary: 375 words. Written for Porn Battle XIII, for the prompt “wall.”
There’s a wall at his back and a wall between them.
Do you want this, Cary? Just ask..
Fuck. Yes. I’ve always wanted this.
Her lips are cool, dispassionate --almost patronizing-- against his, as she shoves his jacket down his arms and unknots his tie. He keeps his palms flat on the cinderblocks, as if giving in to the temptation to touch her, undress her, will make this all disappear. (It will. It’ll vanish. Like the subtle scent of her perfume, which is never the same, because, God forbid, someone identifies her with anything but mystery.) She has him locked in, trapped, unable to do anything but accept what’s being offered. It’s not how he imagined it. No, he takes that back, it’s exactly how he imagined it would be.
Kalinda, why are you doing this? Why now?
Because I can.
She hikes up her skirt, undoes his fly, all in a series of clinical motions, and Cary should not be turned on. He should be insulted, revolted and heartbroken that she’s not coming to him out of love. But he is aroused. Exhilarated. He’s hard and breathless and determined to knock aside the bricks she’s laying down with every icy caress.
He kisses every part of her that he can reach while caught in a cage of clothing and charity. The top of her head, her tightly-bound hair, her temple, her needle-sharp eyebrow, her cheek, her jaw. He whispers things in her ear, as if words like “I want you” and “You’re so beautiful” and “Please” are a hammer and chisel. But she doesn’t chip. She doesn’t break. Not even when he’s rocking into her, sheathed in latex, coiled with heat. This close, her irises are nearly black, her pupils like volcanic glass, reflecting his image back at him. He’d think she’s just tolerating him, magnanimously martyring herself on his cock, except for her tiny, private gasps and the way her teeth catch his lower lip.
Jesus. Why do you even let me care about you?
Because I can’t.
There’s a wall at his back and a wall between them. One’s inconsequential, the other damn near impenetrable.
Cary has never walked away from a challenge… and Kalinda knows he’ll never walk away from her.
--end--
February 9, 2012
Author: monimala
Fandom: The Good Wife
Rating/Pairing: R, Cary/Kalinda, general show spoilers.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not making a profit from their use.
Summary: 375 words. Written for Porn Battle XIII, for the prompt “wall.”
There’s a wall at his back and a wall between them.
Do you want this, Cary? Just ask..
Fuck. Yes. I’ve always wanted this.
Her lips are cool, dispassionate --almost patronizing-- against his, as she shoves his jacket down his arms and unknots his tie. He keeps his palms flat on the cinderblocks, as if giving in to the temptation to touch her, undress her, will make this all disappear. (It will. It’ll vanish. Like the subtle scent of her perfume, which is never the same, because, God forbid, someone identifies her with anything but mystery.) She has him locked in, trapped, unable to do anything but accept what’s being offered. It’s not how he imagined it. No, he takes that back, it’s exactly how he imagined it would be.
Kalinda, why are you doing this? Why now?
Because I can.
She hikes up her skirt, undoes his fly, all in a series of clinical motions, and Cary should not be turned on. He should be insulted, revolted and heartbroken that she’s not coming to him out of love. But he is aroused. Exhilarated. He’s hard and breathless and determined to knock aside the bricks she’s laying down with every icy caress.
He kisses every part of her that he can reach while caught in a cage of clothing and charity. The top of her head, her tightly-bound hair, her temple, her needle-sharp eyebrow, her cheek, her jaw. He whispers things in her ear, as if words like “I want you” and “You’re so beautiful” and “Please” are a hammer and chisel. But she doesn’t chip. She doesn’t break. Not even when he’s rocking into her, sheathed in latex, coiled with heat. This close, her irises are nearly black, her pupils like volcanic glass, reflecting his image back at him. He’d think she’s just tolerating him, magnanimously martyring herself on his cock, except for her tiny, private gasps and the way her teeth catch his lower lip.
Jesus. Why do you even let me care about you?
Because I can’t.
There’s a wall at his back and a wall between them. One’s inconsequential, the other damn near impenetrable.
Cary has never walked away from a challenge… and Kalinda knows he’ll never walk away from her.
--end--
February 9, 2012