For sweetjamielee's The "Plan B" 2013 Summer Ficathon
TITLE: Rainbow Fun: A Week-Long Seduction of Colors
PROMPT: Glimpses of lingerie
A/N: Told in Kalinda's viewpoint. Oh, and I am just borrowing the characters for more or less 2,500 words.
Sunday
I have pruned up minutes ago. Minutes ago, when I first smelled grapefruit and almond from the shower stall next to me. I made sure I came in later, so that I wouldn't have to wait too long for her to finish bathing, but someone's apparently enjoying it too much. I know she's about to be done because the smell shifted to lemon-basil and lavender. I, on the other hand, am smelling more watered-down, generic gym soap-y by the second. Maybe it is for the better. I never got the hang of bringing my own toiletries when I am away. I know I can either buy them, or I can allow myself to smell generic.
This pruning has to stop soon. I am losing my youth by the second – and all these to avoid seeing her freshly-bathed. Hours ago, the sight of her sweating through her oversized shirt and black leggings was more than enough to give me a work out standing still. I am no Spiderman, but I swear I could see sweat blossoming from her pores, dropping and flowering the surface of her gym mat.
I heard the shower knobs turning, and after a safe few minutes, I walked out, ten years older, my lower body carefully swathed in a generic and hopefully clean towel, undies secured beneath my shirt. I never scuttle, but I swear I had to, for safety. I slipped on my pants quickly, not wanting to spare another second of being within clothes-tearing distance from her. As I was drying off my hair, I saw her locker door closing, and she, appearing from behind, jeans on, shirt slipping slowly down her head.
I was granted, in mock-slow motion, a full view of her creamy torso, her creamy abs (undefined, just the way I like it), her creamy globes barely held by a violet lacy thing. They were pushed so closely together I was afraid that they might be hurting.
"Breakfast?"
How inappropriate for her to say that. I can only think of fruit cups. Watermelons, maybe.
"Huh?"
"Breakfast smoothie, or something."
"U-huh, yeah." I tied my shoes quickly and followed her into the sports bar.
She has ordered a sandwich and some concoction of fruit juices that's supposed to boost the immune system.
Surprisingly, she is quite quick when it comes to other matters outside of bathing.
I stood beside her as she waited for her order.
"What can I get you?" The girl behind the counter asks. Later, Alicia will ask me whether the girl was my type and I will only shrug, barely remembering what the waitress looked like.
Because all I could think about was her creamy skin and that sweet violet thing that broke the milky-whiteness of her skin.
"A taro smoothie please."
Monday
The next day was business as usual. Until she decided to disrupt it with her presence.
It was my first time to see Alicia in a crisply tailored suit. It was all lines. All edges. Sharp as her wit. Or her cheekbones. And her jawline.
Annoying that she has buttoned them, almost all the way up.
Like yesterday, I was scared the globes might be hurting. I felt the anxiety of the white fabric that was hugging and (barely) holding onto the whole thing together. She smiled at me and I winked at her.
Winked.
So unlike me.
Luckily, we were at a very peaceful place and she can just sashay through my discomfort, dump her massive files on my desk and lean over as though I have no privacy to be invaded. (Maybe she's right.) She peers in my computer, her upper body stretching out, her face, inches away from me.
"Is that the case?"
"Yes." I didn't mean my voice to drip all over her white, obviously just-purchased shirt.
"Good. What are we watching?"
"The footage that leaves us with more questions about our client's innocence."
She nodded at me and I tried to meet her gaze. Instead I came face-to-face with the shirt.
Or face-to-breast.
The top button popped and hit me between the eyes.
I saw darkness.
"Ow."
She chuckled. "Sorry." She rubbed the spot that hit the stubborn button.
"Those are deadly. Keep them guarded."
The velvety darkness I saw, like bruised sky, spread like night in the day.
Again I thought of ice creams, whipped creams, and all those I could run my tongue on.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Your buttons."
She laughed as I saw the black fabric rubbing up against each other.
White jello with dark syrup would be a good dessert at this moment.
Tuesday
After the mania of the first day back to work, everything settles. The office looks more peaceful. Or maybe, on this day, I just start getting used to seeing everyone again.
Things are rote at this point that's why later on, I would blankly, innocently walk inside the bathroom where I would see a half-naked Alicia standing by the sink, brush, brushing away.
The day has demanded a second cup of coffee. This tough case for this day deserves a second cup of coffee. Especially if the said case involves my favorite drug dealer and my favorite FBI agent. I was stirring my coffee when Alicia came in, a box of juice in hand.
"Orange?"
"I need to stop drinking coffee," she says exasperatedly. "Juice, at least, is healthier. And it makes me go to the bathroom every 30 minutes, so the walk keeps me awake."
We laughed so hard we both didn't realize the juice box was open. It didn't soak her blouse, but there were enough spots on them for someone to think the fabric was alive and was feeling ill at the moment.
"Whoops! Need help?" I blurted out.
She sighed and shook her head. "Just keep an eye out on my juice."
"Gladly."
I resumed my reading, as my system tickled my kidneys to produce more fluid. Barely ten minutes after the fiasco, my bladder was filled with fluid, enough to cause me discomfort. I stood up quickly and walked to the bathroom.
I opened it forcefully, afraid that my bladder would exert more force and make me look like a fool. I saw her as I turned the corner and nearly peed myself. There she was, hunched over, water pouring into the sink, water gathering at the globes and holding on to them possessively. She was like the beach, white sands of skin and the very bountiful sea cradling twin islands.
"Sorry!" I stumbled into one of the cubicles, afraid to go out.
More afraid to look again.
"It's okay," she lightly chuckled. "I'm almost done. At least my shirt is."
"Sorry to hear that." Water was now pouring from my forehead. In a few minutes, water would rush out of me and I would be embarrassed for life.
"Are you done with some of the files?"
"Yes," I gasped. "On my desk."
"Okay." I heard the door close just when I allowed myself to let go.
To let go and remember a particularly peaceful time I was vacationing on a secluded island.
Wednesday
Because I never truly learn my lesson, the very next day, I allowed myself to go into the court's rest room with her.
Of course I have mulled it over and thought, five minutes before we walked into the threshold, that one, it wasn't our offices and two, we went in together. I knew that it was safe enough. There wouldn't be any stumbling-in-to-see-her-half-naked-form moments. No surprises.
I went in first, and we casually chatted about Zach's apparent disinterest in having another girlfriend, and her alarm about his fixation on politics.
"I don't know. Maybe he is following Peter's footsteps," her voice sounded muffled from where I was.
Her next words were drowned by the water rushing to wipe away the traces of my presence. I had to ask her to repeat what she said.
"I said I am not sure if I wanted him to be like me. My age, and barely getting what most partners are getting, and a long way from what David Lee is getting."
I opened my stall and walked to the sink to wash my hand. "You should not be selling yourself short." I said while I lathered soap onto my hands, I turned around to the stall where she was as though to address her directly.
There was a crack between the door and the frame wide enough for my thoughts to spill through and alert Alicia of my (accidental) voyeurism. I heard the clacking of her heels against the tiles as she shimmied her skirt down, gray covering the bright green bikinis that curved against her hips.
I thought I should go to the mountains. Or perhaps trek in some nearby forest.
I didn't hear most of her words. I just heard her flush the toilet. I turned around violently and slammed my own hips against the tiled counter. It will bruise, I know.
And after being black and blue it will turn into some ugly shade of green.
I heard her scoff and I had to politely ask her why. Or maybe alarmingly ask her – I know my face was hiding the pain effectively, but I have never been confident about letting (and not letting) my expressions show my emotions.
"If lingerie could talk…"
I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I knew I should have just looked at her blankly. But my mouth was ten steps ahead.
"I bet they would."
She smiled and bumped her hips against mine. It should've hurt, but the affection pillowed the blow.
I was sure that bruise would be greener than Alicia's envy.
Thursday
If I had known today was going to be this busy, I would've looked at her longer yesterday. Or I would have convinced her to start a mid-week tradition of drinking something new from the bar list.
I must admit I have become used to her being around again. After that long period of time of not speaking (which I had to get used to), I was again, wearing her presence around like an old shirt. It was comforting.
Today, we have exchanged a handful of nods, a few words to fill in a quarter of medium-sized book's page and a whole lot of looks that begged for Friday to come in sooner.
She was wearing an all-white suit, a strange first time. I thought it suited her well. Everyone complimented her for it. I never had the chance to do so.
Will walked out from her room after quickly handing her a folder. She frowned and quickly stood up, turning around to grab her coat.
I caught a glimpse of yellow from underneath her pants.
I whistled like a bird inwardly. I thought this was my chance to catch up with her and say something that wouldn't have the word "canary" or "yellow" in it, but as soon as she stepped out of her room, Diane caught her and walked with her towards the elevator.
Today wasn't my day.
Friday
The next day felt like a torrential afternoon downpour. It was hard enough to be noticed, but quick enough to seem like it just breezed through. The day ended as soon as it began, and I was thirsty for tequila or that visitor I haven't spoken to since Wednesday. Both would be better.
She finally went to my desk as I was shutting down my computer.
"Tequila night has to happen."
"Of course," I said, closing my current notebook and stuffing it inside my jacket pocket.
"I need to get my bag, and then we'll go."
We would start downing shots an hour later, parched for a moment's relaxation after what was perhaps the busiest week we've ever had. Of course we say that every week.
Of course we drink as hard as we do every week. Today, I was feeling more drunk as this week was an extra challenging one. All I could think about were cream and globes, canaries, taro smoothies, the sea, bruised skies and envy. The sting of tequila chased after my thoughts, barefoot against the rock salt and lime. It was a happy day.
And I used happy very lightly. It's the kind of happiness that bubbles with alcohol.
"Why don't we ever drink anything else?" she asked after making an unusual request from the bartender. She wanted to try out oranges instead of limes, she said.
"We drink wine."
"Ah." She scrunched her face, lines forming deeper to refine her concentration. "Yeah, well, I mean aside from those."
"Like cocktails?"
"Maybe. Or others. Like Scotch."
"Will and Diane love Scotch."
"Hmmmmnnnn… maybe not." Alicia shrugged, her drunkenness (or mine) slowed down her movements (or my perception of it). "Oh, here they are! Two orange wedges."
"You sure about this?"
"Yeah," she widens her eyes as she sprinkled salt on both our wrists. "That's bad!" she sputtered. She hurriedly took a lime wedge to douse the fire the drink had left in her throat.
It really wasn't. It was just strange.
"We'd better go."
She looked at me, surprised, unbelieving. "So soon?"
"We almost finished a bottle."
She frowned.
"We'll continue tomorrow night," I added. I had to. I didn't know why. It was unlike me to comfort her that way. But I had to.
"Deal," her face started to become loopy again. We stood up at the same time, and out slipped my trusty journal. Without a moment's hesitation, she bent over and I saw oranges and cream. I thought about the whole orange hidden behind the counter, and I was tempted to ask the bartender for one whole fruit. Or maybe two. Because when I get home, I will bite onto them, skin and all.
She stood up and handed me my orange journal.
I would pass by a twenty four-hour grocery store after bringing her home.
The two oranges would cost me more than they should, but damn, were they going to be juicy.
Saturday
We agreed to a dinner. A dinner at her house. A dinner she would supposedly (proudly) cook, and all I needed to bring was the alcohol.
"What should I bring?"
"Booze."
"What kind?"
"You'll know."
I raised my eyebrows. With what I have seen during the past week, all my instincts screamed at one particular drink, but I wasn't very confident.
"Okay. One bottle?"
"Up to you."
I bought one bottle to be sure. I knew it was easy to buy another one, if we needed it.
I could smell food from the elevator as it opened. It smelled of roasted meat and spices.
I rang the doorbell. She answered it.
She answered it in a white shirt.
In a short white shirt that started way below her neckline and ended way above her thighs.
The sleeves were tugged to one side, revealing a crimson bra covered with lace. Her hips were jutting out and a thin line of red lace was caressing the curve of her ass.
If she didn't smile the way she did, I would've thought I was early.
Still, I chanced upon a (non) wisecrack, "About to dress up?"
She shook her head, eyes twinkling. She tossed her hair to the side and bit her lip. I didn't know what was going on.
Or maybe I knew. Really, because it was a week stretched by lingerie and colors.
She pulled me inside and quickly slammed the door.
The red of her lips zoomed in and disappeared as I felt their plumpness crashing onto mine.
Cherries.
Strawberries.
I was sucking onto them like they were the juiciest fruits. (They were.) Her tongue darted out, and I thought plums, fleshy plums and peaches.
She tasted of them too.
The bottle slipped from my hand and her shirt slipped away from her body.
The shirt bled of red wine.
The End