When he'd stormed out to his campaign trailer, the last thing Peter Florrick had expected was to see his wife. They'd talked earlier about the possibility of a chat if she had a break, but for her to be here in the flesh was a truly pleasant surprise. She was on the phone as he entered, holding up a "just a minute" finger and flashing him a smile as she concluded her phone call. She slinked towards him (his straight-laced, button-down bride was slinking like a man-trapping vamp in an old movie) and as they chatted amicably about nothing in particular, he couldn't help hearing Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress begin to play in his mind. But so she was, this cool enigmatic siren who had emerged in his wife's guise, wearing a black jersey sheath that hugged every curve.

Fighting for composure and trying to stop the lurid fantasies in his mind involving Alicia suddenly sporting librarian glasses and perching on a desk, he asked if she had time for a bite. Oooh, the heated look that flared in her eyes at that; he felt his blood race and his skin prickle as she said "sure" and devoured him with her gaze. For a second, she almost looked embarrassed by her boldness, and he caught a glimpse of the old Alicia, who would've blushed and pressed a kiss to his cheek before letting him take her to dinner. Then she looked into his eyes and he watched the Other Alicia return, watched her wine colored mouth quirk and pucker and smile and saw the bite to the edge of her bottom lip that made her pupils darken in the soft light.

What was that French song about no regrets? Peter pondered in the instant before Alicia molded her body to his and pulled his mouth in for a kiss. Her fingers slid into his hair in a possessive grip, but her pinky traced those maddening little circles under his hairline that always made him shiver. His hands gripping at her shoulders in an almost massage before feeling the ridges of her spine beneath his fingertips, his thumbs tickling the sides of her ribcage before his hands found the flare of her hips. Sliding down even more to grip her bottom, tracing the telltale edge of a... thong? Peter's mind halted at the realization, because he'd distinctly noticed the subtle sheen of hosiery highlighting his wife's legs as she'd walked his way, and the only way he could be feeling what he was feeling was... No.

Alicia's fingers were nimbly undoing his belt and fly while her mouth was working that impossibly sensitive spot behind his left ear, and so was suitably distracted when Peter slid one hand down to her hemline and ghosted a palm up her thigh. The silky stocking came to a sudden whispered stop and his fingers grazed supple skin as his head pulled back to meet her delighted gaze. "Surprise," she stated in a throaty murmur. Winding her arms around his neck and closing the minute gap between them, she breathed into his ear, "I wore them just for you." It was all Peter needed to hear. In the space of two heartbeats (he'd felt them pound inside his chest), he had his wife against the carpeted cabinet wall and was easing inside her in the space of two more.

Her stilettos boosted her to the perfect height to receive him, and she balanced on tiptoes as he lovingly fucked her. His fingers gently kneaded her hips as he thrust slowly, softly, and her hands gripped his shoulders, spanning his back, pulling him subtly closer as she clung to him for stability. The soft rustle of fabric was intoxicating, the feel of his Armani suit jacket under her palms inexplicably getting her hot, highlighting the illicit spontaneity of making love with her husband out of simple devastating need. Even her brief affair with Will had not felt this amazing, so different yet so thrillingly right. It was a tender erotic bonding experience... and she could feel herself approaching the brink, despite the lack of a frenzied pace, when-

The fusillade of knocks on the trailer door was like a splash of ice water. Peter tried to ignore it, debating the likelihood of his campaign manager giving up if he thought his candidate were elsewhere. Eli's loud appeals derailed that hopeful train of thought, and Alicia let out a silent groan when Peter ceased moving. His eyes telegraphed a brief apology before he replied, "I just need a minute" in a voice he hoped was more controlled than he felt.

Alicia's lids were lowered, gaze focused on his mouth as she commented in a husky tone, "Just a minute?" before pinning him with a naughty smirk. Dear Lord, who was this woman? They'd nearly been caught in flagrante like two horny teenagers, and his wife was making feisty remarks? It made no sense but he loved it. His hands moved to the small of her back, caressing for a moment as he smiled back at her and replied in a whisper, "A campaign minute, sweetheart" before thrusting deep enough to make her swoon against the door and close her eyes like a contented cat. He nibbled a path up her jawline, pausing to Eskimo kiss the side of her neck before latching onto her earlobe in that way that had her clinging to him like a lifeline in a storm. The exhibitionist thrill of knowing Eli could hear them, the effect he was having on her, and vice versa, made him brace his palms against the wall as he set a more vigorous pace.

Their breath was mingling in short pants, eyes boring into each another, and Alicia's leg was curling around his like a vine, drawing him deeper... His hands came off the wall and slid beneath her thighs, bracing her against the wall and wrapping her legs around his hips as he continued to drive home. The tell tale quivers told him she was getting close. "Oh, god... Peter... Peter... oh g- YES!" He found his own release a few thrusts later, holding her tight as he poured himself into her, keeping her close as their pulses slowed and their breathing normalized. He gently lowered her back to earth, desperately wanting to stay in her arms for a while, but he wasn't able to ignore the subtle force she was exuding on his shoulders to let her go. Peter missed the intimacy of simply being with her sometimes. He and the old Alicia had fallen asleep in each other's embraces countless times in the past; apparently this Other Alicia didn't like to snuggle.


Eli had hastened to the trailer after a brief pissing match with Jordan, hoping for a short strategizing session before his next speaking engagement. Peter's voice had seemed tense when he'd asked for a minute, and he hated to think of his candidate brooding away or wallowing in self-pi... What was that noise? That noise was distinctive. Eli knew that noise from his... fishing trips the year before. No way. There was no way on God's green earth Peter was having sex with some random female in his campaign trailer right now. Eli paced for a few minutes, plotting various courses of action. Resume his pounding on the door to make them stop? He was Peter's fixer, not his father... and he didn't want to risk hurting his hand. Burst in and throw the girl out? He didn't have a portable printer to dash off a gag order. Call his contact at the Sun-Times? Peter would force feed him his Blackberry. Call Alicia and warn her Peter had fallen off the fidelity wagon again? He hated the idea of her in pain, and besides, Peter would have him hung by his toes from the Centennial Column for involving her.

He broke off his internal debate when he heard muffled voices inside. Okay. Let the girl come out, browbeat her into not talking, then go in and read Peter the riot act without giving in to the urge to beat the Alicia-loving shit out of him. Straight, simple, easy to remember.

His mouth opened to speak just as the trailer door flung open, but Eli felt his jaw hit the asphalt when Alicia Florrick descended the metal steps, looking like a sexy 60s spy in a cherry red wool trench over a black boatneck dress. He fleetingly understood men betraying their countries for the promise of a woman who looked the way she did. The flippant comment to not worry about his candidate simply screwing his wife, the cheeky smile she flashed him, the little touch on the shoulder as she passed... now he knew what JFK's handlers must've gone through. Had any of the boys back then worried so much about "just the wife"? Jackie O and Alicia F had a lot in common: charm, poise, intellect, keen fashion sense, classic understated beauty, stunning sable hair... and the ability to deal with philandering husbands with grace and aplomb.

And no doubt others along the way had been stupid enough to get their heart broken by falling for these superwomen, knowing they would forever be out of reach... in someone else's arms.

Author's Note: Peter got something he really wanted, but not everything. By the end of it, both he and Eli looked like they needed a hug.
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