A/N: Taking a stab at a future one-shot...hopefully a peek of what we may get to see in upcoming season 7. A little caution: this story is mildly M-rated; not full-blown. Lastly, screaming a huge thank you to two ladies for helping me throughout the process of writing this story (you know who you are). Enjoy! :)
The Limo
Her laden head collided against the headrest in a soft thud. Allowing her eyes to slowly flutter close, she relished in this moment of solitude while in the backseat of their limo. The cool jet stream of air filling the interior felt heavenly against her warm skin. Having been enclosed in a room with nearly three hundred people for hours, she practically gasped for air when she exited the building and made a beeline for their awaiting stretched Lincoln parked out front. It had been a long night—a very, very long night. The late evening hours seemed doubly longer after having spent most of the eventide in four-and-a-half-inch heels while pretending they were living in perfect matrimony for yet another campaign. Or was it truly still pretending? That was an answer she was trying to figure out months after she agreed to take the short one-hour and twenty-minute flight that game changing weekend to be with him in Iowa.
It was for an interview and amateur press; just a small event to put his name on the map and let voters know there was a new prospect eyeing the coveted oval office. For them? It was much more than painting the image of an American sacrament. After the interviewer stopped probing, the cameras no longer flashed, her fingers unlinked from his and he gave the expected peck to her cheek, reality rushed back like a memory long forgotten. They left the local studio to have a quaint dinner at an authentic Italian restaurant (Peter's Choice) in Des Moines—the slightly bustling capital, with its own unique charm and eye-catching dazzle. She remembered thinking, while browsing the extensive red wine list, that she couldn't come here again, to Iowa. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something…lacked. At that time, she blamed it on the city after he thanked her repeatedly for her presence and then commented on her glum mood. "It's not Chicago," she remembered mumbling before her lips kissed the brim of her tilted glass and the room temperature ruby-red vintage coated her palate.
"It's not Chicago," he repeated, letting the statement linger on his tongue and process in his mind. "What's in Chicago, besides our daughter, that turns your frown into a smile?"
She swallowed hard. Slowly setting the stemware onto the table, she sat up straighter within the seat and licked her lips. "I have my own firm now. It makes me happy and keeps me very busy. And I have friends…" For some reason, at that very second, she couldn't think of any other excuses which could fill the void he had obviously pin-pointed.
Folding his hands together, Peter leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. "That all makes you happy? Those are the reasons you want to run back to Chicago as soon as you land in Iowa?"
"Peter," she sighed, breaking their gaze and readjusting the dinner cloth in her lap, "what do you want me to say?"
"I want you to be honest."
"I am being honest."
"Okay." He pursed his lips and leaned back in the winged chair, stroking his jaw. "Would I be wrong in saying the real reason you're obviously uncomfortable right now is because you have to deal with me? With us?"
Not a muscle moved on her face. She stared at him, hard. Why was he doing this, especially now?
"Maybe," she finally answered.
"Maybe? We just practically claimed to all of America that we're happily married. But look at us now."
Again, she remained quiet, letting his words float into one ear but sadly not out the other. It bothered and infuriated her that he could still read her so easily. Reaching for the goblet again, she hastily brought it to her mouth and drank a hefty sip.
"Okay," she whispered, setting the glass back down. She couldn't run; he had her cornered. Besides, there weren't enough reasons that she could pull out of thin air to avoid this conversation with him right now. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath before settling her gaze back on him. "Let's talk about us."
A small smile formed across his lips. "You sure you can handle that?"
"I'm sure. But regardless of our chosen solution, we're having shots of tequila after. On you."
He grinned. "Deal."
That night changed it all for them. After dinner, a door opened. A door they had been fighting to keep bolted shut for two years. No matter how bad either wanted to lock it and throw away the key, a warm and civil conversation along with genuine respect allowed that door to slowly creak open without intentions of closing again. They…talked. But not like before. It wasn't brief, or meeting like; as if they were nothing more than strangers in this constrained arrangement. They spoke and listened. Like the old Peter and Alicia. Defenses were down. Resentments were buried deep, the shovel tossed to the side without intent of being covered in their graveyard of unforgiveness. Hearts and minds were open and clear. As Peter noted, it was, "nice." She snorted at his four-letter summation of their long overdue talk about their marriage and where they were going from here.
Even though it all seemed semi-crystal clear that night, the truth is, two months later, she still wasn't sure. Which is why when she lifted her head from the headrest and peered through the tinted windows to finally see her husband exit the Iowa Democratic Party Hall of Fame dinner through the front entrance of the convention center, she exhaled as she remembered their primitive conversation basically ended with her agreeing to support him during this campaign. Again. But that wasn't all that she had signed up for, or so neither thought.
As she watched him descend the fifteen steps and wave to onlookers, her mind filled with reminders of the intimacy that had been established between them the past few months. All of which was not in her plan, and she met each occasion with resistance as much as she could. She blamed the simple truth of being lonely and her weaknesses when it came to him. Two stolen kisses (initiated by him), falling asleep in each others arms after watching a movie one night while Grace had fallen asleep on the adjacent couch, brainstorming and strategizing about his campaign speeches, etc. The list went on and on. And yet, she did not know how that list formed or came about. When she endorsed this role in the spotlight again, she envisioned it to be strict and clear-cut; solely political per their initial agreement two years ago. Her plans were simple: come to Iowa at designated times and look pretty, pose, nod, speak when spoken to, schmooze, then jet back to Chicago. That was it; no vacancy for anything sporadic in between. Especially not dinners, sleepovers or the occasional walks through the capital city and Cedar Rapids after dining—whichever their location. She bit the inside of her lip at that one. Those three night strolls were not supposed to happen. Again, she blamed the wine.
The door of the limo swung open to reveal her still upbeat husband chatting with their limo driver, expressing his gratitude for promptly waiting. She didn't know where he got the energy to still smile and maintain his candor vibe. Regardless of the fact that their personal driver, Frank, had become like a close family friend since the campaign started. That came along with the role she assumed—the life and persona of a high-profile politician. It was ironic that though she remained in the shadows, she was all but exhausted and even more so, confused.
"Sorry about that," said Peter as he broke her reverie by entering the once stealth vehicle. "Eli introduced me to the chapter president of a local union."
She nodded her acknowledgment and slid across the seat to make room for him as he climbed into the car. Frank informed them of a longer than usual ride back to their hotel due to a horrific traffic accident along the interstate, then promptly shut the door. Great. More time to explore the unknown. She watched as he loosened his bow tie and relaxed along the supple leather. He wore a tailored Tom Ford tuxedo—black trousers and a white dinner jacket. It was actually her idea for him to wear a white jacket instead of classic black. She imagined the contrast would have paired nicely against her high crystal-embellished neck, black, Balenciaga floor-length gown. A tasteful slit up the left side added the perfect touch of sass. His endless compliments in her ear about her choice was further solidified by the amorous accolades they received throughout the night about how much of a 'handsome' and 'photogenic pair' they made. In the words of Eli, "You two have practically stolen this room tonight. We're one step closer to stealing the main one of all!"
"Is Eli going back to the hotel?" she asked softly, once the car was shift into drive and began its painstaking, estimated forty-five minute journey back to the hotel.
"No, he's going straight to the airport to hop on a red-eye to California. Some emergency came up with Marissa and her mother."
"Oh…"
She watched as he reached forward and pressed the square black button to raise the blackened private glass, separating them from Frank. Her full and still very burdened head lolled to the side as she watched the passing nightscape, relishing in the numbing relaxation as a result from all the champagne she consumed tonight. The alcohol was proving to be a dangerous mix with her emotions right now. Where the sudden desire for a change of heart came from was unbeknown to her. She played along and allowed their stolen moments while remaining in the land of denial. But tonight, something changed. A shift almost. Stealing a longing glance at him out of the corner of her eye, she quickly forced herself to look away the second lustful fantasies began to brew. Thoughts were running through her mind she believed had vanished to never return. But the way he looked in his tuxedo right now…
"Did you have a good time?" he asked after a moment.
Her head rolled back towards his direction in the darkened car as her eyes floated down to see the outline of his hand covering her own clasped fingers, resting on her thighs. His gentle squeeze followed by a tired smile, led her to crack one as well.
"I did. It was nice." Fully turning her head to face him, she took it a step further and linked their hands together. "Did you?" she asked.
He breathed a tired sigh as he nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. "Just another night of being a fish in a big sea."
"But the most eye-catching fish," she whispered.
At her flirty innuendo, his ears perked as the grasp on his hand slightly tightened. A cheshire smile curved at the corners of his lips as he unloosened his bowtie and pulled it from around his neck with his free hand, then tossed it onto the empty seat across from them.
"Are you flirting with me, Mrs. First Lady?" he asked, his head cocked to the side in intrigue.
"First lady in which context?" she teased.
Peter grinned as he double-checked to make sure the windowpane was indeed up. In the dim light—filtering through the windows courtesy of the street lamps along the expressway—his hungry eyes glazed over her body and lingered on her left thigh. As the car passed under another lamp, he was provided a brief flash of where the slit in her dress started. He had memorized every detail; it fit her like a glove. The perfect glove. He was well aware that most men in the room had been eyeing her tonight. She was the only wife who donned what he would call a daring dress. A dress that was sexy, classy, regal and seducing—all in one. A dress that said she was indeed present and was there to win. It was a battle to keep himself in check throughout the evening, given the current, undetermined state of their marriage, and especially when they slow danced.
"You look beautiful tonight, if I forgot to say so," he whispered in her ear as the band played a rendition of Gladys Knight, "Since I Fell For You."
"You're not so bad yourself."
Smiling, he pulled her tight against his chest as his palm slid an inch lower down her back to rest dangerously above the crescent of her derrière. He noticed how she clung tighter to him at the subtle movement, how she seemed to fit more natural within the curve of his embrace. As the sweet bass serenaded them for a minute longer, he enjoyed the scent of her perfume penetrating his nostrils as he remembered what it was like to have his wife back. To be on one page, and in sync. To selflessly love her again…
"Peter? Is everything okay?"
Shaking his head, he focused his attention on her as he unlinked their hands and rested his palm on her smooth, exposed thigh. With a gentle squeeze to her knee, he nodded, missing the slight widening of her eyes and the sound of a breath hitch in her throat at the contact.
"I'm fine."
His hand remained steadfast on her leg, unbeknown to the feelings coursing through her body. She was certain if he turned on a light, he would see her skin flushed a subtle shade of pink, along with the sight of her struggling to control her breathing. His touch felt as if a surge of fire had shot through her veins. Her heart beat rapidly against the confines of her chest when his fingertips began to make the tiniest and laziest circles on her knee. It had been so long since a man had been in her bed. That was the only explanation she could offer as to why if he said the word, she would be more than willing to pounce.
"Are we okay?" he asked.
His question caused her heart to stop its rapid pace for a millimeter-of-a-second. "What do you mean?"
"Things have been going good for the past three months. Actually, they've been more than good. It's been great."
"I agree," she heard herself say. She wished he would remove his hand. It was becoming terribly difficult to focus.
"What does that mean for us?"
"What do you want it to mean?"
He grinned knowingly. "Are we really going to play the game of twenty-questions tonight?"
"No," she quickly answered.
He removed his hand from her knee and rested it behind her on the seat. A subtle action that opened his body to her, and whatever she had to say.
"Then tell me. What's happening besides…" He stopped himself from blurting, 'obligation'. Their last blow up about their agreement and his use of that word led to them not speaking for a week. "…support?" he tentatively asked.
She shrugged. "We're married. And I suppose…" She searched for the right words within her intoxicated mind. "Feelings. I suppose feelings are happening. We are…trying without realizing it."
He ingested her words, and took them to heart. Floating his hand down, he rested it on her shoulder and brushed his fingertips along the blade. She remembered the first time he had done that. It was a few weeks ago. She was nervous while they attended a black-tie charity soiree. He did it to calm her nerves then. Now, it just made her hot and bothered.
"Is that what you truly want, Alicia? Do you want to try again?" She stared at him and didn't say anything, as he expected. So he continued, "I know you have forgotten the meaning of love, and I'm sure I'm mostly to blame for that. But that night in our kitchen, over a glass of wine, as we pretended to be those people…I meant it. I meant it when I said I never stopped loving you. And I mean it now when I say that I've fallen in love with you again, and that I really want to try us, one more time. Only if that's what you want, too."
The sound of her rapid heartbeat echoed in her ears upon his words. Her mind, body and soul echoed those simple, but truthful confessions. Yet, for some reason, her mouth wouldn't open and allow her to speak.
"W-what if you win?" she stammered out instead.
Peter smirked, not expecting that response. "Then I win. We'll be POTUS and FLOTUS," he joked. She couldn't help but smile.
"What would that mean for us then?"
"I can't predict the future, babe. All that I can promise you now, is that tonight going forward, I want to be the husband that you deserve. And I want our marriage to be given a fair and solid shot again."
She closed her eyes and briefly wondered how they were having this conversation still. Usually by now she would have come up with some excuse that would end it in a heartbeat.
"I want that, too," she heard herself whisper.
"But what?"
She looked back at him, really looked at him. A culmination of twenty-one years of happiness, betrayal, laughter, survival and deceit slapped her in the face. Everything that she had once loved about him, she had grown to hate, then loved again. She had one hundred and one reasons why she could say no to them. No to it all. That once this campaign was over, they would be, too. The fear threatened to overrule her true desire. It caused her toes to itch and think that once the clock struck twelve, she would flee to Chicago and never look back.
But that wasn't reality. And their discussion about their marriage in this limo wasn't some cut scene from a drama movie. It was real, and gripping her heart.
With a heavy sigh and unsteady breath, she mustered as much courage as she could to respond to his proposition. "Promise me one thing, Peter."
He licked his lips and nodded. "Okay."
"Promise me that you will be faithful. Only to me. That you will truly be mine."
He nodded eagerly. "On our children, I promise."
Closing her eyes, she began to second-guess this decision. Her heart screamed yes while her mind said wait. Before the fear nullified her choice, she opened her eyes and stared into his expectant ones. "Okay," she finally answered. "Let's try again."
Peter smiled like a man that had won the most coveted and ultimate prize as he slid towards her, further across the seat. Her breathing quickened its pace from being this close to him again. Only this time, it wasn't an accident. It was on purpose.
"Does this mean living under one roof, trying again?" he asked as he reached into her hair and loosened the chocolate locks from its partial up-do to allow loose curls to cascade around her face. She blinked rapidly, knowing where this was going and what was about to happen. She fully welcomed it. They both needed it. Badly.
"Maybe," she whispered as she craned her neck up towards his lowering mouth.
"Does it also mean…this?" he asked before his lips touched hers. She sighed into his mouth as he cupped her face, kissing her deeper.
They hadn't kissed like this in nearly…two years? And they both eagerly welcomed it, welcomed the familiar passion that was ignited by the strokes of their lips. It was greedy and hungry. Their heavy breaths resounded off the padded walls in the back seat. After what felt like hours, did he end their kiss for need of air, then trailed his lips down her neck while his other hand came to rest back on her thigh. This time, he slid it higher up to disappear beneath the slit of her dress.
She closed her eyes, tilted her neck for him to gain better access, and bit her lower lip as she brought a hand up to wrap around his neck. This was happening. A moment she never dreamed would happen, was happening again. When his inquisitive fingertips finally reached her heated mound, she grinned at the sound of his groan and how he pulled back sharply upon discovery.
"You're not wearing any panties," he practically gasped.
"I know." She pushed his stupefied frame back against the seat and reached down to lift the hem of her dress.
"You've been pantiless all night?" he asked, still shocked.
"It was a last minute decision." Indeed it was. Regardless of what underwear she tried on, every outline showed beneath the gown. Thus, she was advised to go pantiless. It was daring and certainly not a first.
"Were you going to tell me?" he asked in disbelief as he watched her hoist her dress around her thighs, then mount him atop the seat.
"Probably not. What fun would that have been?" she teased as she lowered her mouth back onto his. He followed her lead as he kissed her like it was the last time. His hands were everywhere on her body. From her head down to her sweet bottom. As were hers; as much as she could in the small space.
"God, I've missed you," he whispered once she reached between them and began to speedily unzip his pants.
"I can feel just how much," she joked. Or almost, she felt. He wasn't completely there. It was something she learned to become aware of the last time they were actively married. She had even noticed it in herself, but wouldn't dare admit it. The cruel reality of their ages reared its ugly head in the bedroom. Foreplay became a must, among other sexual preludes. Not that she minded, nor did he. If she had to say so, they had the best sex of their lives then. Knowing each others body for almost two decades, and how to manipulate erogenous zones and what caused either to climax in seconds, all became parlays of memories past as they had to re-learn the others pleasure points. She was sure this third wave of their marriage would require the same tender loving care.
His hand reached between them and grabbed hers. When she began to ask him what was wrong, it was at his gentle, "Shh…" did she understand. He wanted her to stop, for only a moment. As she attempted to gain control of her breathing, he clamped his fingers onto her waist and slowly began to move her hips against his groin. Unsure eyes met his as her mouth dropped open and lower lip quivered at the spine-arching friction. It was then, that she realized, he remembered. He knew. Framing his face, she angled her head down to nip his lips as her body achingly became afire. Recharged. She felt twenty-two again. Confident in every sense of the word, and sexy. Like a wanton woman who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. It nearly seemed like a lifetime ago. Young, free-spirited and in love. When they took all the time in the world to enjoy every aspect in the art of lovemaking. When they enjoyed memorizing which teasings and taunting drove the other to the brink of losing it before being joined as one.
Peter remembered that time accurately. In fact, he remembered everything about his wife, especially when in bed. From what drove her to scream his name, to what position practically made her limp beneath his hands. As his large palms skated up her partially bare back and around the front of her body to rest on her breasts, he lightly massaged her soft mounds as he stared up into her face, wondering if she was thinking of those times as well.
"Remember the first time we had sex in a car?" he mumbled.
She released a deep, throaty laugh and bit her lip. "You took advantage of me, if I recall."
"You climbed on top of me and had your way…just like I feel you're about to now…"
"Is that you want?" she asked, her stealthy hand drifting back down between them. He was ready.
"I'm just following your lead as I did then…as I'll do now."
Smirking at his words, in a matter of seconds, she had freed him from his trousers through the opening of his boxers. He watched her face as she seized possession of his hardened organ. He was completely at her mercy as he watched her stroke him, slowly. He let her play and get reacquainted. For he fully intended to do the same once they got back home in Chicago, in their bed.
"We don't have protection," she noted while lifting her dress higher.
"We don't need it."
Glancing down at his rigid member just breaths away from her dripping sex, as much as she wanted to be reckless, she knew she also had to be realistic.
"Peter. Have you—"
"No. I'm clean. There's nothing for you to worry about." He ran a soothing hand down her arm. "You?"
At one-point, she would have despised him asking her such a question. The fact that he had a liable reason to ask didn't sit well in her stomach.
"No."
"Okay…"
She decided to vault her worry about the practicality of their situation and save it for later.
With a quick kiss to his lips and by his help, she eased down onto his shaft. Gripping the headrest behind him, she rested her head against his as they both stilled. Her cavity snapped around him like a glove, forcing him to breathe through his teeth. She too struggled to control her own breathing while mentally forcing herself to adjust to his endowed length again.
"You alright?" he asked. His palms came to rest on her lower back and began to caress the smooth muscle and tops of her thighs. The instant and natural tension in her body repelled the soothing massage of his fingertips.
"Mhm…it's just…been awhile."
"I can tell," he said with a cocky smile.
Hooking his index finger beneath her chin, he brought her mouth back onto his the second she began to gyrate her hips, slow and steady, letting the gentle lull of the limo aide her movements. Neither knew how far they were from the hotel, only hoped that the car ride lasted long enough for them to enjoy this.
Peter slipped his hands back beneath her dress and glided them up the backs of her thighs to grip her bottom. He squeezed the supple flesh tight as he pushed her slightly harder onto him, causing her to moan and release his mouth. They were both drowning. He was well aware they would reach that plateau swiftly, but unhurried and in sync. And when she grabbed his hands, interlaced them with her own and placed them up behind his head, he knew part two would surely continue once they got back to the hotel.
Neither said another word as they reacquainted themselves in the back seat of this limo. They were once two lovers who were on the brink of becoming strangers, which by some miracle were now reuniting as one body and soul. Their reunion was toe curling, heart stopping, and mind numbing as their bodies soared in paralyzing minutes of ecstasy, then simmered.
Alicia's breathing was rough and ragged as she rested her head against his once more. This wasn't in her plans. Nor was the consuming closeness she felt the longer she straddled his lap with their pelvises still joined. Tonight, she was reminded why she had not completely walked away. He was the yin to her yang, her partner in all things. That philosophy and blatant veracity deserved another chance. Even if she wasn't sure of what the future would bring.
"I still love you, too," she murmured, cradling his face close. Because…I do. I still do love him. Very much.
He slouched lower in the seat and encased her waist. "Promise to prove how much later?"
"Maybe."
At that moment, the limo came to a halt. "Governor and Mrs. Florrick, we have arrived," Frank announced over the intercom system.
Cradling her body to his chest, Peter reached out to press the black button on the wood engrained panel. "Okay, Frank. Give us a minute."
"Sure thing, Mr. Governor."
"We've never had sex in a limo," Alicia said as she climbed off of him.
"Uh…is having sex in different places included in us…trying again?" he asked.
"Don't push it, Peter."
Grinning, he zipped his pants and quickly made himself presentable, as did she before grasping her hand while his other hand reached for the door handle.
She wasn't sure what he was about to say but the serious look in his eyes and contented smile on his face when he turned to face her, told her that she would have never guessed the plain gratitude he was about to express.
"Thank you."
A girlish smile curled at her lips as she watched him open the door and the cool summer breeze washed over her in a wave of reassurance. Gripping his hand tightly, she clutched the hem of her dress and exited the vehicle behind him while replaying his words in her mind. Those two words had a much simpler, but soul clenching meaning. They weren't enough to sum up just how much giving it another shot meant to him. Or her. All eight-letters were soaked in layers of forgiveness, commitment and devotion. But most importantly, love. When he glanced back at her, an equally adoring boyish smile on his face, she also knew that thank you extended beyond everything that was once unattainable and boiled down to one true meaning. Simply, it thanked her for twenty-one years of loving him, and loving him still.
The End.