For sweetjamielee's The "Plan B" 2013 Summer Ficathon

TITLE: When Listening Becomes More Than an Affair of the Ear

PROMPT: Make - up sex

A/N: I do not own them, yes. I am borrowing them to gift a wonderful person, with what I hope to be a passable…erotica. :) Hotladykisses – this is for you!

And to all other Kalicia shippers, I hope I provided a… release.

The body talks, only if you are willing to listen.

Alicia's has been the most…vocal. Talkative, even. What she keeps stuck in her throat, words she won't cough out, she writes with her body. The air around her is always colorful with mixed graffiti of anger, passion, propriety. The one I like best is desire. It starts with a powdery shade of pink, blushes and deepens; the edges soften, solid lines become pliant. She bends where my stare heats her pores, curves where my finger grazes.

Sings where my lips press.

But of course, I have heard it talk so many times. I have learned to eavesdrop even when the actions were not spoken to me. Like when one of her eyebrows twitches, raises infinitesimally, it means, "Don't try that one on me, jerk." On the other hand, if the eyebrow movement is partnered with a lip quiver, it says, "That's funny, but it's not appropriate for me to laugh, so I'll hold it in." Now, if it becomes an orchestra of movements, the duet of eyebrows and lips joined by the nose flaring, the eyes narrowing, you know you have just been given the middle finger.

It was almost the same look she has given me today.

The look I promised myself to erase before the day's over.

And oftentimes, it isn't easy to erase that look. It takes days for it to be over – days that I use to show the consistency in my actions, so she believes that I am capable of change.

But today, the look that was given to me when a certain massage therapist whispered something in my ear was quite new. The symphony started playing when she entered the room.

I met her eyes.

Unfortunately, there were times when she becomes deaf to the words my eyes speak.

I knew I told her that this was necessary for the case. When Miss Massage Therapist leaned into my ears, I saw her jaw clench for the first time – like the triangle's pling at the end of a concert. Or a gong.

The bong of a gong.

Surprisingly, she walked up to me, face frozen in silence, revealing nothing, just like the static-y silence at the end of a record. It looped and leaped at my ears, grating the insides.

She touched my shoulders and gave me the longest kiss of my life. The longest kiss on the cheek.

Miss Massage Therapist took the hint, nodded and walked away.

I happily declared to Alicia that we finally had a break on the case, and that our client was seen by Miss Massage Therapist on the night in question. Even that wasn't heard. She looked at me like she was ready to turn me into stone, and just when my feet started feeling numb, she turned away and left me behind.

I chased her, naturally.

My fingers closed down on her wrist, light as a feather.

Light as though I was touching crystal.

She shook them away, threw it; my hand bounced off with her anger.

I held her again, this time I knew the crystal wouldn't break and I guided her, pulled her into my SUV. She looked at me, her lashes darkening, still as bamboos in a windless night. Her eyes were wet with hurt.

I did the leading that night. I had to.

I led her to my house, to my room, to hugging me, to finally, letting me in.

She was stiff, anger gluing her joints to place. She continued to stare at me, the hurt still frozen in place.

I tried melting it with my breath – my face automatically made a beeline at her neck, planting the softest kisses at them. I moved up and whispered something. Something she hasn't heard from me for the whole month we have been (unofficially) dating. Of course now, things would start becoming different, there's no longer anything unofficial about us.

I ran my tongue at the shell of her ears, tasting the ocean, the sand, her scent.

I saw her chest rising, but not falling immediately, heard the rush and hitch in her breath.

I knew I was on the right track. I moved to kiss her cheeks lightly. Her nose. I could still see her eyebrows tensing, meeting in the middle, maybe to plan for a revolt against my touch. I appeased them with my lips, my hands slowly starting to caress her arms.

I pulled back to look at her, to see her, watch her. I could see the plan for revolution dissolving in her dark eyebrows. Her lips started to twitch, and her eyes began to produce rain.

I kissed her. On the lips. Quickly. It was pursed at first, unwilling to yield. When the pressure from mine lightened, she bit me. It was between playful and painful. She pulled away to give me a look, her lashes seeing the sun, but still hiding behind the shadow of hurt. I kissed her again, and this time, felt her returning it. It opened slightly when I pressed my lips. I knew she was asking why I was flirting with another woman.

The pressure of my answer was a categorical no. It was all business, said my tongue brushing against her lower lip. Her breath escaped from her mouth, warming and surrendering, but still questioning, mistrustful. Do you like her, said her mouth parting. I sucked at her bottom lip, to clearly say no.

I kissed her tenderly, properly, passionately until I felt her knees giving out, and her breathing starting to become uneven.

I looked at her before laying her on the bed, her heavy-lidded eyes fighting desire, asking if I wanted someone else. I groaned at the expression.

No.

Roared.

I almost pounced at her, planted open-mouthed kisses on her thighs, parted them a little forcefully. I bit the doubt resting on her inner thigh. She moved down, and thrust her hips up, asking for assurance.

I didn't know where the doubt was coming from, but I climbed up and opened the buttons to her shirt, one slow pop at a time. She was squirming at the time, but the only answer she got was a nip at her collarbone. When the last button was released, she bolted up, crashed her lips onto mine, demanding to swear faithfulness.

I slowed her down, reminding her, making her understand that there would never be anyone else.

Alicia, when angry, pulls, tugs, and bites. She pulled, tugged and bit at places she could reach, trying to get closer to me and away from her feelings. Her kisses became soft once more, her tongue tasting the oath from my own – but her body was still saying otherwise. Her belly still jumped when my fingertips walked on them, her waist edged away from my caress.

I trailed my tongue on her belly, my promises dripping down her pores. Her navel mouthed the question once more, and as I licked it to stop suspicions from seeping, I smelled it.

Smelled her.

My triumph was imminent, as beads of sweat swelled from her pores, smelling like sweet raindrops. I moved down. Down to where my olfactory sense was being pulled, where Alicia's own desires pooled.

Her breathing became more ragged, more primal. I thought I even heard a growl.

As I've mentioned, angry Alicia is more attuned to her feral inclinations. Her hips grounded more forcefully, her body thrashed a little more enthusiastically. But I, blinded by the need to tame her, continued my assault – my hands stroked and squeezed, my tongue tasted and twirled. And I bit her too. I bit her in places inflamed by insecurity.

I love her. I say it to you now.

I have said it to her so many times before. With my eyes when she stumbles over an opening statement; with my touch when she tenses during cross-examinations; with my attention.

I removed her underwear, and even she was rabid down there.

Foaming to the brim with yeses and nos, with love and anger.

I took the smallest taste and her hips whispered more. She was sweet with anticipation. I knew from then that her anger had dissolved in my fingers and mouth. I took generous laps, tasting her juices, sweetening with each finger thrust. I could never get enough of her, and I just drank, nourished and rewarded myself until I, myself, was drowning and she was tossing against the sea of desire.

I could have climaxed right there and then.

And then there was calm. I could feel the undercurrents of her satisfaction massaging my fingers. She became soft once more, yielding, and filled with love.

This real silence is when Alicia speaks the loudest to me. When her body was quiet, tumbled over mine in a heap, breathing me in as I take her in – it is when the world walls around us and we both surrender to love.

As her face nuzzles my neck, I know the storm had passed and I was finally forgiven.