The Good Wife - Made for Walking
Title: Made for Walking
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Kalinda Sharma, Cary Agos
Category: Um... something between gen and light het?
Rating: PG
Spoilers: A line of dialogue from 1.10 Lifeguard.
Word Count: ~ 330
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Ms. Sharma has a habit of wearing boots...
Author’s Note: Written for rounds_of_kink with the following prompts: bare, clothes fetishization. Many thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta.
He does not have a leather fetish. Nor a clothes or shoes or whatever one, for that matter.
This point being established...
Ms. Sharma has a habit of wearing boots. They are knee high, with solid heels, made out of dark and luxurious leather boots. Boots made for walking and striding, boots made for tasks he’d better not fathom. They give her walk a very special little lilt, brisk and harmonious at the same time, dripping of confidence and a quiet challenge he’d be all too happy to accept. It stirs something inside him.
Maybe it’s not only the boots themselves. Maybe it’s the small strip of flesh he spots between the top of the boots and the edge of the skirt. An appealing nudity he’s not sure he can decipher. Even though he knows better than to check himself, the hollow of her knee seems indecently silky, tender and warm. It might be a dissonance and symbolize a piece of the puzzle Kalinda is for him; or it can mean nothing at all and just be another smokescreen.
I am knowable - just not to you. Right.
As though the usual boots weren’t enough, today there’s the vest, too. It’s snuggling fit and, he’d bet his right hand on it, butter soft. He pays attention to not paying extra-attention to her. She’d eat him alive if she noticed something, anything. It’s not that he’s afraid of her. Retort-wise, he’s as razor-tongued as she is, and he’s almost sure that she’s too classy - or too self-controlled and pleased to be that way - to get physical with him. It’s that it would give her a leeway, an upper-hand in their little not-quite-skirmishes. That is the last thing he wants to happen.
On their next case together, she slips inside his car and into the passenger seat wearing a fluffy sweater, dark jeans and black Converses. She barely bothers arching an eyebrow when he sarcastically asks her if she’s undercover, and she replies, “How did you guess?”
* *
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: Kalinda Sharma, Cary Agos
Category: Um... something between gen and light het?
Rating: PG
Spoilers: A line of dialogue from 1.10 Lifeguard.
Word Count: ~ 330
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Ms. Sharma has a habit of wearing boots...
Author’s Note: Written for rounds_of_kink with the following prompts: bare, clothes fetishization. Many thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta.
He does not have a leather fetish. Nor a clothes or shoes or whatever one, for that matter.
This point being established...
Ms. Sharma has a habit of wearing boots. They are knee high, with solid heels, made out of dark and luxurious leather boots. Boots made for walking and striding, boots made for tasks he’d better not fathom. They give her walk a very special little lilt, brisk and harmonious at the same time, dripping of confidence and a quiet challenge he’d be all too happy to accept. It stirs something inside him.
Maybe it’s not only the boots themselves. Maybe it’s the small strip of flesh he spots between the top of the boots and the edge of the skirt. An appealing nudity he’s not sure he can decipher. Even though he knows better than to check himself, the hollow of her knee seems indecently silky, tender and warm. It might be a dissonance and symbolize a piece of the puzzle Kalinda is for him; or it can mean nothing at all and just be another smokescreen.
I am knowable - just not to you. Right.
As though the usual boots weren’t enough, today there’s the vest, too. It’s snuggling fit and, he’d bet his right hand on it, butter soft. He pays attention to not paying extra-attention to her. She’d eat him alive if she noticed something, anything. It’s not that he’s afraid of her. Retort-wise, he’s as razor-tongued as she is, and he’s almost sure that she’s too classy - or too self-controlled and pleased to be that way - to get physical with him. It’s that it would give her a leeway, an upper-hand in their little not-quite-skirmishes. That is the last thing he wants to happen.
On their next case together, she slips inside his car and into the passenger seat wearing a fluffy sweater, dark jeans and black Converses. She barely bothers arching an eyebrow when he sarcastically asks her if she’s undercover, and she replies, “How did you guess?”
* *