Written for Porn Battle XV (The Ides of Porn) - hosted by Oxoniensis
Title: In love and War
Prompts: Alicia Florrick/Will Gardner, accustomed, adversaries, anger, bargain, bathroom, confidence, control, elevator, lingerie, loyalty, private, professional, remember, signals, teeth.
In love and war
/
Will Gardner had never been one to ignore or overlook signals. His law-trained mind had taught him to read even the most imperceptible wrinkles in his adversaries' face, to recognize loyalties and betrayals, to keep separate private and professional like nobody else. He could alternate them, switch between the first and the latter with his eyes shut and never mingle them. Courtrooms and beds were definitely his battlefields, speech and manhood his deadly weapons.
Until Alicia Cavanaugh came back into his life under the name of Alicia Florrick, roughly five years ago and all the barriers blurred, all signals became confused and obscure.
There was something in that elegant and refined beauty that always made him ache, made him lose much of his self-control, made his heart writhe both in pleasure and pain. There was something in the way she sometimes bit her garnet-red full lips, in the way she fluttered her doe-eyed lashes when they were alone, in the way she swayed her hips with that sensually calculated naiveté, that made him lose focus and command over his most impetuous hormones.
He used to loosen his tie in need of air, suffocated by her inebriating fragrance. He used to look away from her, his gaze lingering on every piece of furniture with a plain surface where he would eagerly possess her. Desk, double-drawer unit, cupboard. Even the mini-bar.
Alicia would cross her legs, dramatically slow, with a sensual movement, exposing for a fraction of a second just a half-inch of flesh, of her coveted treasure chest, enough for him to swallow, look down, then away. She would smile, discreetly flirtatious, at his glass mosaicked reflection and enjoy the sight of his restive impatience.
And where the office was never safe enough for their ablaze encounters, his private bathroom was tried and true to release the sexual tension when his erection was hard to the point of hurting. Still today, two years later, he closes his eyes and can feel her tongue licking him, up and down his entire length, sucking his saltiness with energy, devouring his most intimate and responding part with famished passion.
The old Alicia Florrick used to seduce him like this.
The old Alicia Florrick loved to turn him on with an innocent, soft brush of her index on his forearm, with a yes sir blown defiantly and teasingly against that oversensitive spot behind his lobe.
It was a game they got accustomed to, day after day, through the unceasing rhythm of weeks, months, seasons. Even after their affair was over. It was over but never really was.
At least until Alicia left and the teams changed; and with that, loyalties and alliances.
Never change a winning team. There is a reason if this saying exists. Changes break the frail balance between friends and foes. But Alicia has never been strong on sports metaphors.
Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer. It's the first rule in war.
And when the enemy is one step too close and passion encounters anger, the result can be unpredictable. It's against nature for those two feelings to coexist. Yet, they do. You can't love and hate someone at the same time. You can't want to love and hurt someone in equal way. Or can you? Will doesn't know it anymore. When his antimatter collides into her matter, he's unsettled by the ungovernable string of fury-love-sadness-rage-disappointment-hurt-rampage-sorrow- revenge-regret.
Will thinks he hates Alicia. He's sure of that. He tries to hurt her in every possible way because she did it first. And because in the end all's fair in love and war.
Included wearing a forbidden dress that was sewn only to be taken off.
Black satin lingerie. Memories. A small round ass that craves to be caressed and begs to be cupped. Flashes of silky ivory skin. Fleeting reminiscences of soft breasts that fill perfectly his hands, of hard dark nipples standing out, calling for his attention. And she smells so good. His nostrils sink into the spellbinding scent of her delicate neck, of her thin stomach, down to her pungent pulsing core.
Breath, Will. Refocus. This is war.
Included sliding a fingertips or two a bit above the hemline of her skirt because when she tells him that he should get over her his mind fantasizes about the myriad of alternative ways he could get over her. Or vice versa. Because the sight of Alicia riding him is an experience he'll never get tired of. And the feeling of her thighs tensing up under his touch, of her knees clenching with violence so he's not allowed to see her wetness first-hand is powerful and unbearable at the same time.
But at the end of the day, when the unvoiced cease-fire reestablishes the peace until the next sunlight, only then, the enemies are allowed to lay down their arms and forget for a while that they are just that; enemies.
It's a bargain for both, winners and losers. Even if Will has a hard time telling who's who.
It's certainly a win for Will when he pins her with brutal urgency against the freight elevator's wall. And it doesn't matter if it's not the comfortable wooden panel of the LG elevators. It doesn't matter if the metal is cold and unfriendly against the palm of his hand.
It's a win for Alicia, when her teeth lock vengefully his lower lip in a rabid bite. Will moans as the taste of his own blood meets the tip of his tongue. It's electrifyingly sweetish and with a pleasurable aftertaste of whisky.
It's a sort of self-indulgence for Will when he pulls that dress up around her waist to the point of lacerating. And there is some evil satisfaction in hearing the ripping sound of the fabric echoing in the metallic silence as he lifts her leg to his ankle with decided arrogance.
It's a sharp cocktail of pleasure and twinge for both of them, lovers and fighters at once, when Alicia's stiletto heels pierce into the firm muscles of his exposed ass and he responds sinking deeply, violently into her in an unconditioned reflex. He can feel her shiver and twitch under his repeated assaults and he doesn't know whether it's for the unpleasantness of the cold metal clashing against her naked butt or if he's hurting her. Physically. Emotionally. It doesn't matter. Isn't that what he wants? Isn't that what she wants, too? But the more he thrusts and rubs in her, the less he seems to remember that they are still enemies. On nighttime armistice, but still enemies.
His battlefields merge into one, his weapons are no more deadly than hers. It's a war neither of them can win or lose without getting hurt in turn.
Teeth clench, muscles tense, nerves jerk in painful pleasure. Is this how it feels to love someone you hate?
He can feel her inner muscles closing in on him. He knows she's almost there. Close but not yet there. For a moment, he remembers her role. He pulls back, a penetrating stare, resolute to impede the fulfillment of her orgasm, to kill her desire for him.
For a moment.
Eyes into eyes, nails anchored and grasping for more skin, bodies gasping for breath and release.
He has time to hate her again tomorrow.
He pushes into her. One more time. Slow. Painfully slow. Astoundingly deep. He leaves her satiated, breathless and spent against his neck.
All's fair in love and war.