Fandom/ Pairing: The Good Wife, Will/Alicia
Word Count: 406
Summary: She likes to tease him; she forgot this about herself, or tried to.
Author's Note: Written for the TGW Summer Comment Fixathon.
In the pale light of the bedroom at the Ritz-Carlton, the zipper on her skirt hits a snag.
“Sorry,” Will mutters, a low swear under his breath. Two long fingers slide into her waistband, smoothing the wrinkled fabric, his knuckles cool and rough against her skin. He smells like limes. “I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous?” she asks, smiling a little. “Think how I feel. You did just pay seventy eight hundred bucks to--”
“Stop,” he says (he’s blushing). “Come on. You make it sound like Indecent Proposal. I just-- I mean, I thought if we didn’t...”
“Mm-hmm.” Alicia laughs. She likes to tease him; she forgot this about herself, or tried to. “I knew you were rich,” she says. “I didn’t know you were a gajillionaire.”
“Alicia,” he says softly (God, he is, he’s blushing, just like he used to when--).
“Will,” she tells him. “Come here.”
At Georgetown she sat in the bleachers and watched him, red hands fisted in the autumn cold: his jaw set in concentration, long muscles moving in his back.
(She’d never been much for jocks.)
She’s so wound up she comes even before he slides inside her, hips rising up against the palm of his hand. It’s fast like losing her footing and Alicia gasps, a little embarrassed, his name at the back of her mouth. It usually takes her...longer than that.
“Sorry,” she says, fingers tensing and relaxing on his bare, freckly shoulder. Her forehead rests against his neck. “I...hm.” She laughs once. “Sorry.”
“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and he’s trying (not really) to tamp down a grin. “I could watch you do that all night.”
Her teeth scrape over his rib cage. He stops smiling after that.
There was a cabin, then, his roommate’s or hers, the four of them drinking cheap beer in the hot tub and the steam coming up in clouds. “I could live here,” Will told her, long line of his neck exposed as he peered up into the pine trees--the jut of his Adam’s apple, the tick of his pulse. Alicia made herself look away.
“Nah.” She shook her head (a girlfriend, a girlfriend, a girlfriend, Alicia, the litany inside her brain). “You’d get bored.”
Will shrugged. “You know something?” he asked, and here his leg brushed hers under the water--accidental, she thought, only ankles and calves. “I really don’t think I would.”
In the dark she gets brave, warm mouth wandering, the slick of his skin over hers and the quiet sound he makes when she settles above him (slowly, so slowly; his breath goes low and hoarse). Alicia feels powerful. She gropes until she finds his willing hands.
“Hey,” he says softly, and squeezes. His mutter is an echo in her ear.