Shoes
by: raileht
Summary: "Didn't your mama tell you it's rude to stare?"
Disclaimer: The ones you don't know are mine, the ones you do aren't.
Rating: T, to be safe
Spoilers/Timeline:
Note: My usual brand of crap. Written and posted at the Christine Baranski Community on November 29, 2011
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Someone was staring.
And more importantly, someone was staring at her.
That did not sit well with her. Not at all, no sir. Because she was not a woman you stare at for nothing. She understood staring in court, it's part of the whole shebang since it's basically a stage set for who gets what, where, and when for doing this or that. It's a performance. One she reveled at so staring was normal there. You know you're doing something good if they're staring, see?
She also understood people staring at work. Gossip was the lifeblood of the workplace although she wasn't one for thinking that staring only consisted of the need for gossip. Maybe ninety percent of it. The rest was when she's actually commanding attention. She's not naïve enough not to know about office politics and the gossip bosses and underlings alike generate.
No, she was not a gossip, but that did not mean she wasn't aware back when she was younger and still on her way to the top. And yes, that also meant she's still aware now. It paid to be friendly with your assistant.
That, and a good salary plus a few fringe benefits the non-name partner assistants were unaware of. Her and her partner's assistants deserved it anyway, working practically the same hours they did just because they were the ones trotting after them. They might as well be first year associates.
But moreover, what she cannot understand is being stared at for no reason.
She hated that. It was, simply put, unnerving. And it annoyed her. It was an invasion of sorts, though she's not inclined to actually delve into what sort of invasion it was or what it invaded within her personal views, but that's how she felt. It made her feel uncomfortable and she was a woman who happened to like being comfortable, thank-you-very-much.
It doesn't help that she's in her office, on her couch and it's late into the night. Late enough for the place to be empty and the glass walls to make her feel like some kind of animal being gawked at in a zoo of sorts.
She wasn't normally violent, in fact, she's pretty sure she's sane enough to not resort to such measures unless she's physically threatened into doing so, but in this case, she can make an exception.
And that's what sent one of her pens—the cheaper ones since this particular scenario did not call for launching a Mont Blanc she so happens to value—flying some feet away across her couch where she was busy reading a brief. She didn't aim to feel good after launching such an attack but it didn't help that her intended target merely chuckled and a following sound of the offending object clattering sideways in the direction of the coffee table.
Then a somewhat irritating quiet chuckle followed, "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not nice to throw things at people?"
"Didn't your mama ever teach you it's rude to stare?" she rebutted swiftly, making sure to emphasize the preferred endearment he used for his own. She gave him a pointed look over the top of the document she was reading, glasses perched on her nose and sitting across from him with her feet resting on his lap.
"Touché," he said with a grin, "But come on, you can't expect me to sit still here…not when you look like that."
"Like what?" she asked, glancing down at herself, noting her outfit of the day. She hadn't felt like dressing up, deferring to the lack of need for her to appear in any court so she dressed 'down'—or at least what passes for 'dressing down' in her views.
For today she had chosen to wear a straight up neatly pressed long sleeved-white oxford blouse with the exaggerated cuffs and collar, leaving the top two buttons undone for a subtle statement of confidence and sexuality. It was a classic, especially paired up with a basic black skirt then black high heeled Mary Jane shoes. It was a deviation from her usual dressier outfits for the office but her morning had started out rather subdued and so, like most days, it affected her mood while deciding what to wear.
It was simple classic look for the office, a failsafe and she liked it on some days.
Besides, she had reasoned that very morning, if she was needed for court after all, she could just slip on the matching black blazer she wore with the outfit. It was fashionable enough and left options for her. And yes, this was proof that some days HBICs (Head Bitch in Charge)—as her assistant informed her women like her were called that she decided to take as a compliment—had days when some sort of breathing room was required. She chose this day as a respite from navigating the halls of her office adorned in high-end fashion pieces. Not that what she currently wore was in any way cheap unless Armani had slipped down the ranks and nobody bothered to inform her.
"Like what?" she asked again after the quick observation of her outfit. She wouldn't believe if he was complaining about her 'dressing down', considering the man cared little for fashion.
"Like that," he said simply, glowering at her a little and she did not miss the change in the look. He had moved on from simply staring to outright glaring and it just started to irk her even more. He was glaring at her as if she was some errant child being chastised by a parent.
And that would have been fine—if she was eight and he was her parent. But he wasn't, of course he wasn't.
He was her lover and this was not a situation that called for any kind of staring unless he was gearing up for something other than the comfortable silence they'd been sharing up until a moment ago.
But whatever, if he wasn't going to articulate himself well enough for normal conversations, then she wasn't about to put up with it. She had a brief to finish and she made sure she got her message across wordlessly by flipping the page of what she was ripping and promptly ignored him.
Diane Lockhart had been brought up in a world where staring constituted as being rude and unsociable and that was yet another reason why she was severely opposed to being stared at. It brought out all sorts of reactions from her, ranging from panic to anger to being self-conscious. She was not a woman who reveled in any of those feelings.
At the moment, she could not choose between panicked and anger—self-conscious was pushed out of the window because she was not that type of woman, for god's sake—then considered her options as her companion continued to stare at her. He can stare until he's blue in the face, or at least until she launches something else at him, something heavier this time, depending on what she could reach. The Mont Blanc was still out of the question, of course.
She adjusted her glasses, still pointedly ignoring him, then cleared her throat.
Kurt McVeigh simply shrugged then, without warning whatsoever did something equally unexpected and unprecedented as he moved forward, faster than she could react then—
Pulled her hair.
She slapped his hand away forcefully, her folders suddenly dropping from her hold and her lap, but she scarcely noticed as she gave him a look pure surprise and outrage. It was nothing but a tug, but she did not take kindly to such an ambush.
"What the hell?" Diane barked, reacting quite unlike she normally would when surprised. She'd also been raised in an environment where words were put to better use but she blamed this one on being ambushed in the midst of such calm. She glared at him as he settled back, pulling her silk nylon clad feet back onto his lap.
But her lover and offender simply shrugged, unfazed at having such emotion directed at him. He'd seen her angrier at him before and lived through it. Mortally offended was nothing.
Her left foot reared back then sprung into a kick against his thigh, not quite hard but enough to jostle him, "What's gotten into you?"
"I was bored."
"You were bored," she echoed, disbelief clear on her face, "So you pull my hair? What are you, eight?"
"Never pulled hair when I was eight," he shook his head.
"Then that should explain this now, shouldn't it?" she practically hissed.
"Yep," he nodded, feigning sincerity.
"You can be such a child sometimes," she scoffed as she bent sideways to reach for her papers, "Who knew?"
"Ah, ah, ah!" Kurt suddenly said, pushing her feet into the back of the couch and moved to pick up the papers for her. She almost decided to let him off the hook, but then realized his intentions weren't as she assumed when he gathered them and with no hesitation whatsoever, proceeded to toss them onto the far end of the coffee table, well beyond her reach.
"Give me those!"
"No," he said simply.
"Kurt!" her foot shot up again—he really did inspire such violence in her like no other, not even Will Gardner or Jonas Stern—but he was quick to catch the offending foot and held it within his grasp.
"I'm serious," he said, appearing more sober now though he continued to hold on to her foot even when she tried to shake him loose, not at all minding the way her skirt rose high along her thighs. "Come on, time to go home, Diane."
"What—?" she sputtered as she finally gave up trying to get out of his grip. He held her firmly but not to a point where she felt he might hurt her but it was still an odd position, made even more so considering they were in her office, no matter if they were the only ones there.
"It's late, we're the only ones left and yes, I've finished what I brought with me for work and," he shrugged, squeezing her foot gently then grinned when she squirmed and gave him a dirty look. "With you looking like that, you can't blame a guy for wanting to go home at some point 'cause you see, Miss Lockhart," he grinned teasingly, "You look incredibly pretty tonight."
"I don't look any different," she said, trying to maintain the irked state she was in before he got to her. Damn that man, she thought, for knowing what to say to make her forget why she felt like kicking him in the first place. It was an uncanny ability, considering her will was usually much, much stronger than sweet words.
"Yeah, but I've always been a sucker for a pretty girl."
"I have not been a girl for a long time, sir," she rolled her eyes.
"Oh, I disagree," he grinned, "Last time we spent some quality time together," he didn't need to elaborate on what that meant and the faint blush on her cheeks told him that, "You were most definitely a girl. And I can't imagine how you could stop being one in a matter of such short time. Was only gone for a week."
"Creep," she muttered, "Now let go of my foot…"
"Uh-uh, we gotta go," he said, shaking her foot in his hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. "Dinner was nice and all but come on, unless something biblical happens, your office will still be here tomorrow."
She gave him a look, "You are being such a child tonight."
"And you are being obstinate," he sighed, "Are you punishing me? For showing up without telling you? Come on, I didn't know I could get home earlier than I planned. There was a flight available, I took it. Excuse me for wanting to see you sooner."
Diane stared at him for a moment before nodding, "Fine. But for the record, I am not punishing you. You said you had findings to finish and we can stay here and finish work. It was your idea."
"Yeah, well, you already ordered dinner," he muttered.
"And we could have cancelled," she said with a slight grin, "Fine, let's go, but one more thing."
Kurt stopped, giving her a look, "What?"
"You pull my hair again, I won't be held accountable for my actions."
He feigned a shudder, "…scared."
"You should be," she said with an air of superiority before capping her pen. "Come on, you whiner."
"I am not a whiner," he said as he bent forward to the floor, pulling out her shoe and without another word, slipped her foot in it, easily putting the strap back on then tapped it affectionately before doing the same with the other.
Diane watched him, feeling uncharacteristically moved as she watched her lover put her shoes back on for her. It was so uncommon, something that was most definitely a first for her, but she could feel what his actions conveyed, especially while they were alone.
This was how comfortable he was with her, how easy it was for him to perform such intimate actions and it was more intimate than anything she'd experienced with any man that did not involve sex. The intimacy, the way he touched her and the way it made her feel, it was new and somehow, she didn't quite know how to respond to him. Instead, she sat there, watching him with a curious look on her face.
It was sweet—he was a sweet man, really—and to him, what he was doing wasn't anything out of ordinary in his eyes. It was the same as helping her with her coat and opening doors for her, which he did because that was simply how he was raised. Chivalrous actions that always led to her teasing him and tease him she did.
But somehow, in that moment, she did not feel the same tug of desire to react the way she usually did. This was different.
She must have been staring too long because when she felt him shift her feet back onto the ground, he simply asked, "What?"
He almost seemed confused, asking her that and she decided maybe that's why she didn't know how to react now. He really had no idea what he did and how it was affecting her. He was the kind of man who was just naturally sweet, who did things for no reason other than he wanted to. He was, in essence, completely blind to what feelings he was capable of igniting within her with the simplest of gestures. And to her, it made him all the more wonderful and even harder to actually get mad at.
"Nothing," she said finally, shaking her head as she shifted towards him across the couch and he simply watched her until she was close enough to touch him. "Just thinking."
"You never stop, do you?" he teased.
"Nope," she shook her head then leaned forward, placing both hands on his shoulder and let the other one slip to the back of his head and into his hair, "I'm sorry for making you wait tonight."
"It's okay," he shrugged, "I knew I what I was getting into with a workaholic."
"Not the best part of me," she said, smiling self-consciously. She knew what she was and what she wasn't and counted herself lucky he seemed to know as well. God knew her work ethic was often, if not always, the deal breakers in relationships she'd braved in the past.
"Yeah, but its part of you," Kurt said, his hands slipping around her waist and he let the other trail to her lower back with a warm hand. "And I like you so I'm inclined to like all of you, even though you are a workaholic with a tendency towards violence."
She'd begun laughing when he dipped into the mention of violence and, with no thought whatsoever, pressed her lips to his when he was done. The kiss was soft but firm as though a part of her was trying to return the level of ease and intimacy he so easily displayed towards her with her shoes. He deserved as much and she was truly trying, returning his affections and sharing just as much of herself with him as she could. He was a good man, a wonderful man and she was more than willing to reciprocate. He made it easy to want to.
Running her fingers through his hair while her other hand curled into a fist around the fabric of his shirt, she broke away until her body demanded the oxygen it needed, leaving him just as breathless as she was.
His hand dug into her waist, the other pulled her closer towards him, "Now that is a kiss, Miss Lockhart."
She bit her bottom lip, her lips flushed and her cheeks warming into a soft blush and said simply, "You were saying something about getting out of here?"
"Yep," Kurt nodded, his hand leaving her waist and drifted up into the side of her head, fingers slipping through her hair and pulled her in for another kiss, "Better get out of here while we still can…a guy can only take so much before human nature rears its ugly head."
Diane chuckled and allowed him to pull her up. She didn't hesitate when he began to gather her things in no particular order and simply placed them neatly on top of her desk while she stood in her spot. It was better that way—no temptation to stay and finish work or even straighten up and she wasn't too sure she could walk a straight line without bursting into laughter simply because she felt like it.
When he was done, standing behind her and helping her into her coat, he held her from behind, pulling her against him and placed a soft kiss against her temple, "You work too much, honey so you'll forgive me if I feel like taking care of you now and then, alright?"
"Mhm," she hummed, turning around in his hold to wrap her arms around his waist and playfully kissed him on the cheek, "This is just what a girl needs, cowboy."
"What would that be exactly?"
Diane shrugged, "Someone to make coming home the best part of the day."
"I do that for you?"
"Yep," she smiled, "More than you know."
He pulled her in for another kiss, a silent promise of what was to come. After all, the night wasn't over yet and they still had the morning waiting for them.
And as she returned his kiss, Diane Lockhart knew nothing else could make her happier that very moment.