Okay, friends. I'm back. Definitely lost my mojo for quite a while, but somehow it's back…with a crazy vengeance. Anyway, this was supposed to be posted in April … and it's now May, so OOPS. I know this totally is not canon based on the episode that aired tonight (The Seventh Floor) but after that scene with my favorite duo I just had to post it. Like I said, this totally is NOT CANON but I might try to see what I can come up with after tonight's episode, particularly in relation to that dinner date.
...
It's been eight weeks since Election night, which means it's been eight weeks since she woke up in his bed the morning after, dry mouthed and disheveled with a pounding head and clouded brain. Eight weeks since she'd semi drunkenly thrown caution to the wind and despite her best (and most always calculated) judgment, went home with the notorious Mike B himself.
It'd been eight weeks since she'd gone to work the next morning, her hips sore and her muscles aching, her mind reeling over the events from the previous evening. Luckily for her, there hadn't been too much time to think about the events of the previous night once the day started. The best and worst part of her job was the demand it placed on her, sometimes eliminating the ability to dwell on personal matters for too long. Which, to be honest, is exactly what she did, at first. She forced herself to forget about their evening, chalking it up to election night debauchery, a mistake she wouldn't need to stress about making for another four years.
Except, that didn't quite happen.
...
He called her exactly three days after she'd refused his dinner invitation in the secretary's office, leaving his ego slightly bruised. She ignored that phone call partly because she was still stiff from their rendezvous the previous week. Also, partly because she was too anxious to pick up her phone despite the facade she put up as she'd calmly turned him down and sauntered away without looking back. Anxious because, well, her actions that night were so unlike her, but also because she didn't know what she wanted. She certainly hadn't planned on drinking with him all night let alone go home with, and proceed to sleep with him, but the deed was done.
Of course he'd left a voicemail, which took her an entire day to listen to. A smooth, much more collected Mike B inviting her to a pottery exhibit at a Gallery in Logan Circle, followed with dinner in one of the newer restaurants that surely had insane price tags and exquisite food. She'd kept it in her voice messages, listening to it more than once before finally deleting it, trying to forget it ever existed in the first place.
In true persistent fashion, he'd tried again a few days later on a gloomy, stormy Monday. Except this time her phone didn't ring.
Instead, he'd popped into her office.
Semi-unannounced, which, to be fair, didn't surprise her in the slightest.
His initial appearance at the State Department that morning wasn't on the agenda. As he strutted down the long hallway with Gordon on his heels, Mike B managed to throw zingers and one liners every which way to unsuspecting staffers, making his presence known before he even reached the conference room.
Mike B. looked amused as Nadine's eyebrows rose into her hairline and she nearly dropped her teacup into her lap. The warm liquid splashed onto the table. She hurried to wipe it up, garnering a "look" from Blake as Matt handed her his napkin while looking semi confused. Elizabeth's eyes widened then narrowed, eyes flashing between the two of them as Nadine busied herself with passing out neatly copied briefing notes for their upcoming meeting.
Of course, he sat in the seat directly across from hers, and their eyes met, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth while she glared at him, as if daring him to make a smartass comment in her direction. He didn't, but she did catch the subtle wink he threw her way when everyone else's heads were bent over the ridiculously long briefing notes.
Their meeting was over fairly quickly, and the team dispersed to their individual offices and daily tasks. She quickly retreated to her office, excusing herself immediately thanks to an urgent phone call from a very angry Prime Minister, demanding a meeting with the secretary. Luckily she was able to avert any impending crisis, and when she hung up the phone, she realized over forty-five minutes had passed, which basically eliminated any spare time she thought she'd have before her next scheduled meeting.
"I'm going to assume you're not ignoring me, and that my message got lost in the voicemail abyss," his voice rang from the doorway. She jumped at the noise that shook her from her reverie, and she nervously crossed her legs under her desk, resting her elbows on the desk. He he sat on the couch directly in front of her, and Gordon gave an appreciative bark before jumping onto the couch next to Mike B.
"Mike, really, I don't -" before she can shoot him down again, he interrupts her, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Let me take you out, Nadine. I happen to make very good dinner company, but if you decide you completely loathe me and never want to see me again, I'll bring you home and never bother you again. Except when I'm here on State Department matters, of course."
She laughs, and considers him, eyes flashing between him and Gordon, before letting her mouth soften into a line that wasn't quite a grin, but not a frown either.
"Alright. But I'm holding you to that promise, Mike."
"Friday at 7. I'll pick you up."
"Where?" She asked, twirling a small glass figurine on her desk.
"Oh. That's a secret," he winked, before ushering Gordon out of her office. "Don't bail on me."
...
Mike picked her up at exactly 6:58, and they crawled through the DC traffic before finally arriving at a very familiar place. She smiled when she realized he'd taken her to the Japanese restaurant downtown they'd gone to months before, when things were decidedly much more professional, and a bit less intimate.
"You mean I have to take off my shoes again?" He'd whined good naturedly as she gave him an expectant nod before they sat down, neatly slipping out of her heels, tucking them against the wall. "Oh, stop whining." She'd lightly smacked him on the arm, and he obliged with a mock grimace before they sat down at the same table they'd been at last time.
Despite her nerves (and his too), it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. They'd settled into conversation almost too easily, picking up where they'd left off about Citizens United from Election night, which led to another liquor fueled economics debate. She was shocked at how quickly and naturally the conversation (and light sparring) came between them; as if they'd been doing this forever. And afterward, when he invited her back to his place for another drink after he paid their check, they both knew where this was heading.
They found themselves together, again. It was just as intense as their first encounter - she gasped when he lifted her easily and pinned her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her. And, when it was eventually over, they lay next to each other on the cold hardwood floor of his brownstone, panting, fingers linked, chests heaving, until she pulled him upstairs for round two.
...
But tonight Is not the second time she'd found herself with him.
Or the third, or fourth, or even the eighth.
She's found herself with him too many times to chalk it up to just "once or twice." It's become a ritual, a semi comfortable one that she's come to look forward to. She wouldn't call it casual, because it's not casual. This is a weekly thing, sometimes multiple times a week, depending on their schedule. Sometimes he comes to her, but normally she goes to him, and in some odd way, it works well. They haven't labeled it and it certainly may not be the most conventional "relationship," but ... for now … it works.
Her fingers run through his hair, her knees rest over his toned shoulders, heels dig into his back as his mouth moves over her. His tongue dipping inside of her and against her, in long strokes and short taps and hard circles, as her hands move from his hair to his shoulders to the sheets, searching for something to hold on to. She's right there, but tonight he's taking his time pushing her over the edge.
The first time he'd done this, their third time together, she'd came almost instantly, the sensation of him caressing her so intimately almost too much for her to bear. He'd winked at her when he'd finished, grinning smugly, until she'd returned the favor, which nearly rendered him speechless.
She'd taken him in her mouth, and worked him over pretty well until he'd squeezed her shoulder in a warning that he was close. He'd tangled his hand through her hair as she continued, clearly not about to stop. It didn't take long before he spilled into her mouth, leaving her lipstick smudged and a satisfied smirk on her face.
But by now he's no stranger to her body. Tonight he is purposefully slow in each of his ministrations. His hand rests on her lower abdomen, lightly holding her down while feeling the muscles beneath his hand tighten as he pushes her closer and closer. "Damn it," her words escape her with a moan, and she feels him grin against her as his tongue continue its path, the pressure building inside of her. She knows he'll keep her like this as long as he wants, until she's practically writhing into his mattress.
"Language," he murmurs against her thigh, lips pausing to kiss her smooth skin before returning to their original place, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her. "God, you're beautiful," he says, looking up to meet her gaze. "I love seeing you like this," he continues, his thumb taking the place of his lips as he watches her.
She's currently incapable of formulating sentences, but more unintelligible noises escape from her throat as he replaces his thumb with his mouth again. A few more strokes of his tongue and her legs start to quiver against his back, arching off his bed, her entire body shaking as she comes. He doesn't stop, continuing to lap at her until she stops shaking. She pushes his head away from her, throwing her arm over her forehead. "Oh my god," she murmurs, brushing beads of sweat from her forehead.
Mike is next to her again, adjusting the pillows that had fallen wayside in the last ten minutes. "You just kneed me in the eye." He's rubbing his face, cheeks flushed, but grinning. "Is that the thanks I get?"
She laughs, stretching out her long limbs. "Not my fault," she quips, linking her fingers with his.
"Who knew you were so violent in bed?" Mike B throws the fluffy duvet cover off the bed, planting a kiss to the top of her breast.
"Oh, shut up." She taps the back of his head gently.
He rolls her beneath him and settles on top of her, careful not to rest all of his weight on her. This time it's his turn to swear as her smooth hand closes around him, a few well timed strokes of her hand are all he needs before he's ready.
He's out of condoms (they'd finished the box he'd had in his nightstand two weeks ago), and while they haven't actually discussed exclusivity, they both know they're not sleeping with anyone else, and in some unspoken way, they know the other isn't either. They haven't used them since.
He easily slides into her, holding himself above her while kissing her collarbones, inhaling the perfume that lingers on her neck from so many hours ago. His hips tilt forward, burying himself deeper inside of her, groaning at the feeling of her muscles tightening around him. His blue eyes meet her brown ones, never breaking eye contact, her fingers join with his above her head; his lips find hers. She's gotten used to how intensely he kisses her; her lips feel perpetually swollen now. She doesn't mind, she's come to notice.
"I thought about you all day," his words are soft in her ear, the low tone making them that much more intimate. "During that meeting this morning, I thought about how good you'd feel," he thrusts into her twice to prove his point, bringing one of her legs up over his shoulder to move even deeper within her, fingers loosely wrapped around her ankle. "How hard I wanted to fuck you just like this." He kisses her throat, a soft moan escaping from her.
She runs her fingers down his spine, digging her other heel into his lower back. "That explains why you clearly weren't listening," she laughs, kissing his jawbone as he drives into her, hand still around her ankle for leverage. His forehead presses against hers and they move together. "Then do it," she murmurs into his ear, resting her fingers at the base of his spine, lightly massaging the skin there.
He wants nothing more than to follow through on his thoughts from this morning, but it's too soon. "Not yet sweetheart," he kisses her again. "You feel so good, Nadine," Mike's voice lowers, a sheen of sweat spreading across his shoulders. She smiles into his kiss, bringing her other leg up over his shoulder, enjoying the weight of him against her.
They're in no hurry, unlike the first few times they'd found themselves together. Their first encounters could be described as rough - frantic almost - as if they couldn't get enough of each other. There were ripped suit jackets and broken zippers, shattered wine glasses that had gotten knocked over in their trysts. She'd frequently gone to work the morning after with bruises (willingly obtained) on her hips and arms, her neck and shoulders marked from where his lips and teeth had been. But now that he knows she's not going anywhere, he's much more gentle with her, and she's learned he doesn't like to be rushed through their lovemaking.
Like right now, for instance.
Mike bends her over his bed, one of his arms supporting beneath her, fingertips caressing her breast as he situates himself behind her. His chin rests over her shoulder, his other hand bracing against her waist, his chest firmly against her back. He fills her again, this time from behind, and her legs buckle immediately from the force of his body against hers.
"I got you," His voice fills her ear, her head goes back, his hands run from her chest up to her neck and back to her breast. His legs slam into the backs of hers as Mike moves harder within her, true to his word. He presses his face into her shoulder, breathing in perfume and shampoo and the scents that make her ...her. After a few minutes, he feels her begin to shake, and soon enough, he feels his own climax build, thrusting into her twice more before finally stilling, his weight pressing her into the bed.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs, realizing he half-crushed her into his bed, helping her stand and righting himself on his own shaking legs. He moves her dark hair away from her ear and kisses her cheek before slowly pulling out. He hands her a few tissues from the box next to the lamp. "God, you felt amazing," he spins her to face him, planting a kiss on her swollen lips. They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, neither needing to say anything.
The dog appears, pawing at the floor near his side of the bed. "I need to take him out," Mike says, sitting up and crossing the room in three long strides.
She cocks an eyebrow, looking him up and down, noticing his lack of clothing. "Forgetting something important?"
"Throw me the sweatshirt on the chair." He steps into a pair of sweatpants by the door and pulls the UVA sweatshirt over his head. "Let's go, Gordon.
Nadine settles into the extremely comfortable mattress, body sated and exhausted, but content. She reaches for her phone, and noticing how late it's gotten, her mind wanders. She never expected what happened on election night would have turned into this. This ... ... whatever it is. Over the last eight weeks, she's grown to appreciate his sharp mind, and his snarky insight into many of their politically driven debates. They argue and banter frequently, particularly when he makes appearances in the State Department.
Despite their heated arguments, there's a mutual respect for each other that somehow always remains, and no matter what, there's always really good sex that follows. She realizes that in some way, she's grown to appreciate his company.
She's learned that if she sits back and waits, there's a soft side to him that eventually always appears when it's needed. Whether he brings her tea on the mornings he shows up ungodly early in her office, or when he silently takes her hand and squeezes it when she eventually does open up her heart to him (the first time Roman's name ever comes into their vernacular), there is in fact a softer side to him that she never knew existed. A more human side.
While originally unplanned, the last few months have filled a void for them both, surprisingly. The one caveat is, they have yet to stay the night together, since the first time they'd slept together. It's an intimacy she isn't ready for, one she tells herself she doesn't need.
It's not that she isn't comfortable with him. In fact, she's more comfortable with him than she remembers being with anyone. It's just too ... She's not sure she's ready for the significance of waking up next to someone whose bed she spent so much time in. There's always an excuse to leave - an early Pilates class, an important meeting. An urgent phone call from Elizabeth, stressful email from Blake, a PR nightmare from Daisy. But she's beginning to run out of reasons not to stay, and somewhere deep down inside, she's tired of giving him reasons to leave.
She locates the strewn articles of clothing next to her side of his bed to make her escape smooth. Wrapping the sheet around her, she stands, heading to the bathroom to shower off before they can have an awkward conversation about why she needs to leave.
"You're always leaving me," He's leaning against the doorframe, watching her. "It's like I'm being used for sex or something." She's been with him long enough to know he's kidding, but she knows there is some truth behind his words.
"It's getting late," she murmurs, looking over his shoulder into the dark hallway.
"I'd like it if you stayed," he's staring right at her, eyes so intensely locked with hers it gives her chills. She wraps the sheet around her body a bit tighter.
"I can't...not tonight." She sits down on the edge of the bed, and he sits down beside her, taking her hand.
"Nadine, I want you to stay the night." A smear of her lipstick from earlier stains his cheek and spreads down his neck. "It'll be fun. We can have a grown up sleepover. I'd offer you popcorn but I don't eat in bed. Unless it's you." Only he can sound so serious while cracking innuendos.
She laughs out loud, twisting her bracelet around her wrist.
She's out of excuses and reasons not to stay. Part of her is nervous; for she hasn't soberly agreed to wake up next to someone in a very long time. But it's him, and somewhere in the depths of her mind, she knows she wants the same thing he does.
She sighs. "Fine, but don't get too used to this," She feels a small smile crack over her lips before covering his mouth with hers, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him down onto the bed with her.
Mike kisses her bare shoulder, lips lingering on the delicate bone for a few moments. "We can even split a cab tomorrow morning," he quips. Yanking the sheet off, he smiles at her deviously. "Ready for round three?"
She laughs, shifting to straddle him, dropping her head to kiss him as his hands slide around her hips. "Always."
Fin.
I ship these two way too much.