I own nothing. This story is written by lvckypeople and paradoxicalconverse from /works/16490045/chapters/38619221
Nicole can only grin when Waverly's contact flashes across her screen, the picture of her in a dress from their date weeks before showing; Nicole blushes just a little bit when she remembers getting her out of it. In the backseat of her car. Behind the restaurant.
That was the last time Nicole had touched her, much less kissed her for anything more than their ritualistic (and oh-so-domestic it made Nicole blush) Have a good day at work, cutie! Waverly had booked herself for a three-week long course through the university and even their digital communication became limited as a result. More often than not, Nicole's breaks and free time run simultaneous to when Waverly had to give a presentation or attend a meeting and she'd get a rundown of her day through a text that always sent before she slept; it kept Nicole updated, and it made her feel better, but it was never quite the same.
Not in the way she needed it to be.
Nicole was more cheery than usual today as pointed out by her personal assistant, Jeremy, upon dropping off her morning coffee. She'd missed Waverly dearly, but her main issue was having to put up with her damn sister on her own without Waverly to mitigate.
Nicole abandons the tabs on her computer without regard and slides the answer widget across, pulling the phone to her ear and being almost deafened by Waverly's screeching.
"Hi, baby!" Nicole winces and turns the volume down enough to hear herself think. "How's work?"
"God, I missed your voice." Nicole grins to herself. "Work is...work. I'm excited to see you tonight more, though. Are you back home?"
"Sure am."
"How was the course?"
"Boring, I missed you too much the whole time to even concentrate on half of what was going on." Waverly hums down the phone, content. "Other than that though, pretty good. Apart from the time Wynonna called me during a seminar and my phone's ringer was on."
"Wynonna never calls unless it's an emergency. Was she okay?"
"She's fine." Months of listening to Waverly means that Nicole knows she's waving her hand in dismissal. "She was drunk at eleven in the morning and wanted to know where I kept my secret whiskey. I might kill her once I see her."
Nicole chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Only Wynonna."
Waverly remains silent for a moment, taking Nicole back. There's hardly a moment when they haven't spoken in a while that she even has time to fit a breath in.
"Waves? You okay?"
"Hmm? Yeah, just tired. Wanted to hear more about your day."
"You don't sound all that tired, baby." Nicole voice drops an octave as her eyes flick over to the report on the table, half-completed and smudged with coffee stains she's loathe to admit are her own.
Had she not been paying a sliver of attention to Waverly whilst digging through her desk for the rest of the report, she would've missed Waverly's moan.
Slight, ever so, but enough that Nicole freezes and her back arches. "Waverly?"
"Still here, baby," Waverly replies, and Nicole is positive that she's not mistaken. There's a hitch in Waverly's voice. "You should tell me all about your day."
"Oh?" Nicole lets her voice adopt a dangerous lilt. "And why's that, princess?" It's the name, the one that she knows makes Waverly's knees unsteady beneath her. There's a small gasp over the phone and an exhalation of air that she's sure Waverly tries to disguise through a cough, and she clears her throat. She lets Waverly collect herself before dropping her voice again. "I asked you a question, babygirl. Answer me."
Waverly's pause lasts longer than the rest of them. When she finally speaks again, Nicole can hear the lower husk threatening to overtake it. Lust, Nicole knows. But resistance, too. Something just beneath the surface that Nicole will have to pry out of her.
And, well. Nicole knows how much Waverly hates it when she takes things from her. Maybe that's why she does it so often.
"I just want to know about your day, baby," Waverly manages. Her voice rasps. It's an odd dichotomy, the sweetness of Waverly paired with the scraping of her words; the telltale signs of the games they play.
And how Nicole has missed these games; the ones where they push and pull and give into each other as if they'll both stop breathing should they not. (Which, perhaps, is the exact reason they do. Because before they were ever intimate they skirted around desire for too long and then when they came together, again and again and again, Waverly grew more confident. Not in saying, but in doing, with Nicole's head between her thighs and her back arched off the mattress.)
"Babygirl." Her voice is stern, steel, cold enough to burn. "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"
Another pause, and then, "No?" squeaked through the other line.
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"Telling," Waverly replies, braver, and Nicole can hear the shift in Waverly's voice. The shift that usually ends up with Waverly's mouth in between her legs and her knees scraping against the carpet. Obeying. Her voice crackles over the phone for a moment and her breathing deepens.
Perhaps Waverly made it too obvious, or it was just that Nicole knew the signs too well. But Waverly knows now, that Nicole has most definitely caught on. But she's also teasing, like she always does. And it sends Waverly reeling .
"Waverly," Nicole warns. Her back arches in the chair, report forgotten and skewed across the desk as she presses the phone closer to her ear. She'd be lying if she hadn't started to miss Waverly, more than just the sleepy good morning kisses and the goofy smiles. No, she misses touching her, feeling her, and instead of doing any of that she's slumped in her desk chair with a half-filed report mocking her and her girlfriend touching herself over the phone. "That desperate, princess?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"So you'd have no idea what I'm talking about if I asked which toy you're using on yourself? Or are you just using fingers? Tell me, baby, I know you miss me, too." Nicole suppresses her own groan as everything clicks."You little brat, is that why you were trying to get me to talk more, huh? Trying to get off to the sound of daddy's voice without thinking I'd know what my babygirl was doing?"
Waverly's silence hangs in between the line for a moment before Nicole clears her throat. "Stop."
Waverly's voice comes, quiet. If Nicole squints, she can hear a hint of desperation bleed through. "What?"
"You heard me." Her voice is hard and unrelenting, and she knows it makes Waverly even wetter. "Stop. Stop touching yourself."
"But Nicole, I—"
"What did you just call me?" God, she's missed this. This power play with Waverly, this complete abdication of power her girl allows her.
Waverly squeaks in response.
"You have thirty minutes to get down to my office." It isn't a question, nor is it something she knows Waverly would ever in her right mind say no to.
"Hmm," Waverly murmurs. That bravery has slipped back between her teeth, the one that's going to get her in the best kind of trouble. "I'll be down there when I'm down there. Until then, I have some more pressing matters to attend to." She blows a kiss over the phone, the line goes dead, and Nicole realizes that she's dug her nails into her palm so hard there's striations.
It's three hours by the time there's a knock on Nicole's door and she's so wound up she thinks she might implode. There's a variety of things she wants to hiss when Waverly flounces in, and a variety of ways in which to go about it.
Instead she clears her throat and shoots Waverly the most pointed smile she can with enough venom to burn as she makes her way in and stays seated behind her desk. "Hi baby!" she says with a little too much enthusiasm for Nicole's liking.
Three fucking hours worth of enthusiasm, to be exact. And Nicole? She's not thrilled about it.
Waverly bounds across the room and to the desk in a matter of seconds, out of breath and a saccharine smile pasted over her lips. Offhandedly, Nicole thinks as her eyes graze over the skirt she's picked for the day, the Mona Lisa doesn't know half the secrets that she could whisper in between Waverly's legs.
(All of which leave Waverly begging, sobbing beneath her, praying Nicole will just fucking take her.)
Usually a greeting like that earns her a soft smile, more often than not a gentle kiss, and always an arm around the waist that's just tight enough to be all sorts of delicious threatening. But this time is different; there's something in Nicole's expression that Waverly recognises, something she hasn't seen since she went away, but God, does she miss it.
Nicole's eyes are dark, somewhat unfocused and entirely fixed on Waverly at the same time, the same way a cat might look at a mouse. At her prey. "You're late," she says, and Waverly gives her a faux-frown that screams disobedience.
"For what?" Waverly cocks her head to the side and her braid slips over a shoulder to drip into a cleave that's only slightly too pronounced. If she's confused as to why Nicole hasn't made a move to stand yet, she doesn't show it.
"You damn well know what, little girl." She pulls herself to her feet and Waverly's eyes drop down to where an inconspicuous bulge sits between her legs, and her eyes go wide in excitement.
"Did you miss me, daddy?" She asks, and her voice drips sugar down the front of her teeth.
"Maybe," Nicole snarls. "But I'm about to be doing a hell of a lot more than that in a moment."
Waverly knows this, she'd been aching for it all day. Her hands droop forwards to lean on her elbows over the desk and smile up at Nicole. "What's that, daddy?"
Nicole keeps her mouth shut, narrows her eyes, waits for any form of resistance from Waverly. Any indication that she should drop the act and welcome her into her arms and pepper her with kisses and questions about her day.
Instead, Waverly winks. And so the game begins.