A/N: Oh dear. It's about damn time Nadine got some action. TBH, I really thought the episode was going to be all about Daisy and Matt thanks to a few spoilers I read before the episode. I'm SO glad the writers didn't go that route, particularly because I don't think anyone particularly misses that relationship …. Right? . Also my Matt/Nadine ship has sailed faster than the Titanic since IMO he acted like a teenager in 3.08. Even before I knew about Nadine and Mike B, I was so over Matt and his childish ways. So when it was Mike B that rolled out of the bed next to Nadine, I screamed at my TV and jumped onboard that ship immediately.
A few things about the alcohol-soaked evening – I thought it would be OOC for Nadine to be completely blacked out like Matt was. Sure, I think she drank more than normal, but she wasn't hungover the next day (at least that's not the vibe I got), and I don't think Nadine would have just gotten sloshed, since she's like the mother hen of the team. Also, many of the aspects of this story were driven by Mike B in the office scene. Sure he can be a big jerk, but notice how nervous/slightly insecure he was when talking to Nadine. AMAZING job by Kevin Rahm there. Totally awkward, but adorable. Plus, the fact that he suggested dinner/calling her was SO unlike his regular self, so I think something special happened with them besides just the regular roll in the hay. This is definitely smutty, so if you're not into that kind of thing, pause. I don't really write smut at all, so be nice.
Here's to more Nadine and Mike B, and to more post sex morning waffles.
Waffles
Had someone said that her night would have ended the way it did, she would have laughed in their face.
When the first reports came in with Dalton as the winner for Ohio, the Brickmoore erupted in cheers and a few boos from its mainly political clientele. Many satisfied government staffers ordered more rounds, cheerfully taking shots and toasting to an unprecedented election night that they very well may never see again in their lifetime. She had to admit, it was exciting for any political nerd, especially herself.
He'd ordered them another round "to celebrate." Not that either of them needed more alcohol.
"Russell Jackson is probably giving some shitty motivational speech at this very moment with that goddamn board of his," Mike clinks his glass of whiskey against her scotch, winking when he catches her smirk. She leans against the wall and sips thoughtfully, the buzz going to her head. It's been over two hours since she left Matt standing with Win Barrington, and they've been talking ever since. At first, their conversation was strictly political, ranging from his new work with marijuana to a few loose bits of information regarding state department affairs. They'd bantered back and forth over drinks, and less than an hour in, the chemistry between them was undeniable.
People have been trickling out of the Brickmoore for the last hour. The election is essentially over, for the time being, now that all of the returns have come in and it's just the analysts and newscasters flooding the televisions. Since most of the bar patrons are government employees and have to be functioning humans in just a few hours, most have the semblance of mind to get some rest.
Rest is the furthest thing on her mind right now. Their conversation has drifted further away from politics and is starting to head in a direction she'd never have predicted a few hours ago. There's no denying the building attraction between them both. Even with the alcohol blurring her senses, she's keenly aware of his hand resting deliberately on the small of her back, burning through the silky black blouse she'd been wearing since 6:30 AM that morning. The gap between them is diminishing with each sip of alcohol. He's standing so close that she can feel his breath on the shell of her upper ear, and the cologne still on his neck.
"Another round?" Mike sets his empty glass on a nearby serving tray, ready to summon their haggard looking waitress who has brought them at least 3 rounds in the last ninety minutes. Nadine suddenly notices the gentle brush of his fingertips against her knuckles when he takes her glass. What surprises her even more is the shiver that trails up and down her spine when their hands linger on each other. "Or what do you say we get out of here?"
She knows where this is going... It's been a long time – years even – since she went home with someone from a bar. It's been a long time since she's even been with anyone, period. Longer than she'd care to admit. It's a tempting offer, and she's not sure she can say no.
"Let's get out of here."
"Come on," He guides her out of the bar, his hand still not leaving her back. He calls them an Uber, which probably will cost him a fortune in surcharge tonight. Luckily, it doesn't take too long to arrive, and they're quickly settled into a black Navigator that says it'll be a twenty-minute drive back to his place.
They sit in silence in the sleek dark car, which inches down the crowded DC streets. Her phone buzzes a few times, but she ignores it, instead stares straight ahead, wringing her hands in her lap. She's glad he can't see her, but somehow he must sense her nerves because he reaches for her hand, their fingers curling together on the middle seat.
After another fifteen minutes, the car pulls in front of an exquisite Georgetown townhouse off M Street, tucked away on the corner. He lives in a very expensive part of town. "We're here," Mike says, his voice low. He holds the cab door open for her, and when she stands up, she sways on her feet a little bit. "Careful," Mike wraps his arm around her waist, keeping her steady as they approach the house.
He unlocks the front door with ease, barely struggling with the keys despite how much they've had to drink. The door swings open, a security alarm starts whirring and the dog starts barking at their sudden entrance.
Mike quickly disarms the security system and affectionately greets the dog, who she remembers is called Gordon. It's almost surreal to see him – someone whose presence she's loathed, - doing something as common as greeting their dog. It's too human. Too normal. All of a sudden, she's nervous. Swallowing hard, she sidesteps Gordon, who sniffs her coat and tramples her foot, circling her excitedly, barking and squealing.
"Gordon, stop." At the sound of his master's voice, the dog instantly trots back to his spot by the leather sofa, settling in with a chew toy, oblivious to their presence. "Sorry. Gordon likes to flirt. "Nightcap?"
He gestures to a well stocked marble bar cart near the impressive fireplace, picking up a bottle of Moet and Chandon along with two flutes. Turning, Mike's eyes widen just a bit when he sees her still standing in the doorway. "Nadine, I don't bite, you know. Unless that's something you're into. In that case, I'd be more than willing to oblige." His eyes light up wickedly.
Nadine laughs, trying to ignore the tug in her stomach, heat spreading across her cheeks at the the image.
She accepts the champagne, watching fizzy bubbles dance in the glass. She sips it, admiring his living room. His house is exactly what she expected it to be. Pristine. Tasteful. Worldly. Full of art. A grand piano. Bookshelves that hold not just books, but artifacts from his travels, old records, bits and pieces of who he is. Truth be told, it's very similar to hers in the sense that it's unique. She can appreciate a well decorated home.
"This is beautiful." She stops in front of the piano, running her finger along the black and white keys.
"One of my hidden talents," He comes to stand behind her, his hand covering hers on the keys. She feels her heart nearly stop as his body presses against hers. "Remind me to serenade you sometime."
"In your dreams, Barnow." Her heart is now pounding as he spins her around to face him, wrapping his arm around her narrow waist.
It takes him eleven seconds to bring his mouth to hers.
His lips taste like whiskey; his cologne still faint on his pulse points. He pecks her lips a few times before deepening their kiss, tongue grazing her teeth as he shifts her backward, covering her body with his own, pinning her against the wall. He uses one hand to hold her hands above her head, giving him access to her neck and throat.
She's kissing Mike B. Mike B of all damn people. The Dark Prince of K Street himself. The one who almost got her fired during the congressional hearing disaster a few years ago. Mike B. One of the most feared, revered people in Washington DC. And she's in his house, kissing him behind closed doors. This is not how her night was supposed to go. But god damnit, it's good, and she doesn't want it to end.
"I want you, Nadine," He whispers into her ear, darkly. "I want to take you upstairs and fuck you."
"What are you waiting for?" Her heart does a back flip in her chest.
She can't even believe herself.
…
Nadine's not surprised in the slightest that he has a king sized bed. The bedroom is just as tastefully decorated as the rest of his house, if not more so. She's also surprised Gordon hasn't followed them upstairs.
He can't keep his hands off her. Her silk blouse goes flying, abandoned in a heap by the door. Emboldened by the alcohol, she quickly unbuttons each of the buttons on his dress shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor. His belt goes next, followed by her jewelry, dumped on the nightstand next to a very expensive looking lamp.
Mike pushes her onto his bed, toppling next to her as he throws a few wayward pillows out of the way. He's an intense kisser, practically bruising her lips with his own. His tongue finds hers, their teeth collide as he tangles his hands through her dark hair. He leaves no part of her neck untouched, the delicate skin there already starting to burn. "Sit up," he commands.
With one hand, he unfastens her red lace bra, practically flinging it across the room before quickly undoing the clasp of her pants too, sliding them down her long legs. He whistles appreciatively when he finally sees her, as if admiring every dip, swell, and curve. She's never been self conscious, but when he looks at her, eyes trailing over her chest, tips of his fingers grazing over her breast, she shudders and closes her eyes. He presses his knee between her legs, and she throws her head against the pillows.
"You like that?" He grins at her wickedly, knowing exactly what he's doing.
She moans appreciatively, words lost on her lips.
"What was that?" He's well aware what she wants, but it doesn't stop him. "Say it again," He coaxes, gently moving his knee against her, eliciting a sharp inhale from her at the pressure. He continues until the words roll off her tongue.
"More," she manages, straining against his leg, circling her hips against his knee, moaning at the pressure she needs to relieve.
"Good girl." He stands up, shucking his pants and leaving them in a pile on the floor before turning back to her. "Red's a good color on you," his finger toys with the hem of the matching red lace resting against her pale skin just below her hipbones. She's not sure how much more of this she can stand. She inhales sharply when his hand dips further down until he meets her warmth, and when his fingers find their destination, a soft "oh my god" escapes from her lips.
He strokes her in circles, back and forth, his touch feather light against her. Her legs tremble as he continues, his other hand caressing her breast while dropping kisses all over her stomach. Her hips nearly thrash right off the bed. Her back arches high off the mattress as her orgasm builds. He expertly moves faster, until she starts to shake, then gently holds her hips down into the bed as she comes on his hand.
Oh, my god. She's still breathing heavily, panting almost, as Mike settles back next to her, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
Her entire body burns with want. This is the definition of a bad idea, and they both know better. They're not necessarily friends, but colleagues. The run in the same circles; they know the same people. Secrets never stay secrets long in Washington DC. Not like she'll ever be able to look him in the eye again.
But, she wants him, wants him to fuck her, and judging by how hard he is, he's about to. He's ridiculously hard, actually, it almost looks painful. "Hold on," he says.
Mike rolls over, fumbling through the nightstand before turning back to face her. Flipping the shiny foil packet between his fingers, he winks at her before pulling the sheets away. She reaches for him, her smaller hand wrapping around him. His eyes close briefly as she moves her hand over him, but his fingers clamp down on her wrist, pulling her hand away before she can continue.
He kisses her again, still holding her wrist. "Nadine," he starts, voice dangerously low. "It might not always seem like I give a shit about people, based on what I do for a living. But one thing you may not know about me is I always aim to please. Tonight is about you, and what you need."
Any coherent thought evaporates from her mind, and words are lost on her.
He rolls the condom down, pumping himself twice before tenderly pulling her knees apart and settling between her still trembling legs. He kisses his way across her chest, up her neck, until locking her lips with his once again. He probes her first, gently, making sure she's ready for him. She is, and gasps at the initial sensation of him inside her. He remains completely still for a few moments, watching her intently.
"You are beautiful, Nadine." He smooths her wayward hair from her face. "I've always thought so." He shifts his hips forward, fully sheathed within her now. He's watching her face for any signs of discomfort, hands on either side of her head as she adjusts to the thickness of him. He kisses her forehead as her muscles flex around him, holding still even though all he wants to do is pound into her. He kisses her lips, her cheeks, her nose, over her eyes as she trails her manicured fingers over his shoulders, nails scraping into his back. Her entire body is on fire at this point.
A small sigh escapes from her as he starts to move within her, slowly at first. His his movements are deliberate and well timed, each more intense than the previous. His eyes never leave hers as he rolls his hips against her, thrusting into her body. "Relax," he murmurs into her ear, snaking his arm beneath her to support her against him. "You feel amazing. My god, you feel so fucking good."
He pauses for a moment, maneuvering so that now she is on top of him. She straddles his waist, bracing her hands on his chest as she rocks back and forth over him. He has an incredible view of her from this angle, and he pinches her nipples between his fingers as she rides him. His hand slides down between them, stroking her like he had earlier. She moans at the feeling of his fingers, body undulating to their movements.
"God I didn't know how badly I needed you," he watches her eyes close as the tension in her body builds, her muscles starting to tense. He begins to fuck her faster, holding her hips down tightly as she begins to unravel around him. "Let go. I want to hear you come."
"Mike I'm – Fuck." She cries out, her entire body starting to shake with release as he feels her let go around him. She falls against his chest when her arms give out, exhausted.
The expletive on her lips is all he needs to lose himself. Mike easily flips their bodies, pinning her beneath him into the mattress once again. He thrusts into her twice more before feeling his own orgasm rip through him. "Fuck," He growls into her neck, biting down onto her shoulder as collapses against her. Her heart is pounding, he's breathing hard. They're both sweating, tangled together against the fluffy pillows.
"Holy shit," He rolls off of her, depositing the used condom in the trash can beside the bed. "That was great."
She's asleep even before he gets back in the bed. She doesn't notice the kiss he presses to her forehead before his own eyes close.
…
She's sleeping soundly, but she instinctively hears her phone when it buzzes beside her. Only a handful of people ever call her on that line, and considering the hour, she has a pretty good idea of who it will be even before she answers.
"Good morning, Madam Secretary." Eyes barely open, she rolls back into the bed much more comfortable than her own.
She barely processes her boss's request of getting Walter Nowack into the office, considering the pounding in her head. She's not even sure she hears half of the conversation. Her mouth is dry, her body strangely sore.
"Yes ma'am I'll get right on it," she says, which clearly won't happen for at least another hour considering she's still half asleep. For a moment, she's completely oblivious to Gordon, who has jumped on the bed, barking loudly.
"Did you get a dog?" Elizabeth inquires, clearly noticing something amiss on the other end of the phone. Doing a double take, everything floods back to her. Oh my god. Gordon. Mike B. Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Her heart skips a beat, searching for an answer that will appease her boss for the time being. "Uh no ma'am, I'm pet sitting. Okay, bye now." She immediately ends the call.
Oh. My. God. The gravity of the situation, along with Gordon's incessant barking, wakes her instantly. Flinging herself back against the pillows, she feels him move beside her, coming back to life. Mike appears from underneath a tangle of sheets, looking ridiculously disheveled, dazed, and confused. Not surprising, considering their activities from the night before. "So. Waffles?"
She scoffs at him, flinging her arm over her eyes. She reaches for her phone again, looking at the time. 7:01 AM. Damnit. Half chucking it on the crowded nightstand, she inhales deeply, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. "Oh my god," she mutters,
"You were saying that a few hours ago with much more gusto," He quips. She slaps a pillow toward him, ignoring him. Mike is greeting Gordon while checking his own phone, most likely blowing up with phone calls and emails regarding the election results. "Damn," he murmurs, reading through a few of the messages he's missed. "You gonna make it over there?"
"I'll live," she croaks, already mentally drained by the prospect of going to work. This certainly isn't her first election, and the morning after election night is never pretty, regardless of whose bed you wake up in.
"First election night sex?" Mike B rolls over to face her, propping himself up on his elbow. He traces her arm with his fingertips, grazing over her collarbones, sending chills up her spine. For someone who matched her drink for drink the night before, he looks pretty chipper despite some crazy bed head.
Election night sex. What an elusive club to finally be apart of.
"You know, you're much more attractive when you don't talk."
"You're calling me attractive?"
"No. I'm telling you to be quiet. You're giving me a headache."
"Pretty sure it was the scotch that did that, sweetheart. I just gave you a few orgasms instead. I'm going to go start the waffles. Shower is that way." He gestures toward the door adjacent to his closet. "Towels too. Let me know if you want company." He whistles as he strides down the hallway with Gordon on his heels, leaving her completely flabbergasted in the bed.
…
She's got to pull herself together. Fast.
Her muscles ache, her body is stiff. She's not surprised, considering the events of mere hours ago. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she assesses the number he did to her body. There are fingerprint marks on her hips from his hands. She knows those marks will turn into bruises by the end of the day, and makes a note to pick up some more vitamin K cream. Her makeup is smeared, eyes bloodshot and puffy. He'd left marks on her neck and shoulders; some of those could be covered by a strategically placed shirt, some she would have to be a tad more creative in hiding.
A gentle knock on the door shocks her out of her reverie. She stares at the locked bathroom door, blushing as if he can see her. "Just a minute!" She reaches for a fluffy towel hanging perfectly even on a shiny towel bar.
"You all right in there?"
"I'm fine," she tightens the towel around her, chastising herself for being so insecure, even though a thick door separates them from each other. Not like he hasn't already seen it all. Stop it, Nadine. Get a grip on yourself.
"There's water and Advil on the nightstand. Make sure you take both. I'll be in the kitchen."
…
She has to admit, she feels much better after rinsing off in his massive marble tiled, double head shower, and maybe partly because of the Advil and water. She only has the clothes from the previous evening, which she pulls on once again. She'll have to make a stop home to change before heading into the office. She finds him in the kitchen, where he's tending to an impressive looking waffle iron. The kitchen smells like coffee and syrup; Gordon lays contentedly at his master's feet, but perks up when he senses her movements. He paws over to her and sniffs appreciatively, waiting for a reciprocated greeting.
"Morning, sunshine!"
"Good morning." She rolls her eyes at him,
"Did you take the Advil and water?"
"Yes, thank you." She looks at the mess he's created in the kitchen. A few mixing bowls, various baking ingredients, and spilled batter litter the counter. "You were actually serious about the waffles."
"I don't mess around when it comes to breakfast food." Mike turns the waffle iron, and it hisses as steam rises from the top.
"Apparently not." She pulls one of the clearly expensive bar stools out from behind the counter, ignoring the soreness in her hips when she sits down. She can already tell she's going to be sore for days.
"Drink this," he hands her another glass of water. "Hydration is important. Waffles are almost done."
"Do you make waffles for all your… women?"
Mike looks amused. "Sometimes I make pancakes. Other times I make French toast. I only make waffles when the sex is really good." His voice is completely serious but he winks at her before taking two plates out of a cabinet.
Her face twists into a semi-amused grin, and he catches the blush that rises in her cheeks. "You are so arrogant sometimes."
"A sense of humor and arrogance are two very different things." Mike B expertly transfers the waffle from a spatula to the plate, topping it with powdered sugar. Her stomach is roiling, head pounding, but a waffle does sound pretty good right now.
"I'm telling you. There's magical healing powers in these waffles," he slides the plate in front of her along with a cup of tea. "I know you'd prefer this to coffee. Hope you don't mind raspberry." He loads up his own plate with waffles. "On a more serious note, to be clear, I don't typically make waffles for beautiful women because there aren't a whole lot of women coming around in general. Gordon's pretty picky with who I bring home." He douses his waffle with powdered sugar. "He seems to like you, though."
"He's a dog."
"But he's popular with the ladies. Gordon has good taste. He's a good wingman too."
"That's why he follows you everywhere." She takes a bite of the waffle. He's right, it is pretty damn good, and with each bite her headache seems to dissipate. "How'd you know I don't drink coffee?"
"Your entire team guzzles coffee every day. I noticed you only ever drank tea. It wasn't rocket science."
"Good eye," she murmurs.
They eat in silence, while Mike feeds Gordon bits of waffle under the counter. They watch the news, which is swarming with post election updates. It's almost amusing to watch the coverage with someone who gets it like she does. It's been a long time since she watched morning news with someone, over breakfast. It's a little after 8:15 when they finish eating, and her phone is exploding by now.
"Let me take you to work," he says, putting their plates in the sink.
She shakes her head. "I don't think that's necessary. I can get there myself. It's really not that far." The last thing she'd want is for someone at the State Department to see them together on the morning after Election Day. Enough people had seen them in the Brickmoore; someone had to have seen them leaving together. Rumors were bound to fly.
That would be the last thing she wanted.
But no one was going to find out, because what happens on election night stays on election night, right?
Fin.
Tee hee.