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It’s only 8:30pm when Misty starts to get ready for bed. She doesn’t work the next day, but taking care of all of your hostage’s needs after a long day of taking care of all of your patients’ needs is exhausting.
So despite the early hour, Misty starts to shut the house down. She checks to make sure Jessica’s door is locked, checks the front and back door, and says a warm, "Good night, sweet boy!" to Caligula as he preens his feathers and ignores her.
And then she grabs the surveillance tablet streaming Natalie's motel room and heads upstairs.
It's been a relatively boring night for Nat, though Misty has gotten used to extended stretches of her friend lying on her bed and watching TV. And eating so, so much junk food. Misty has offered to take her out for a proper dinner half a dozen times, but so far it hasn't worked. (It’s fine, though; Misty found a great recipe for hidden veggie brownies she plans to bring her the next time they have a detective date.)
So instead, Misty continues to monitor Nat here and there and make sure that everything is as normal as things can be considering, well, everything about them. Right now, Nat is just sitting against the headboard, dressed in black jeans and a shredded dark green muscle tank with some logo Misty hasn’t been able to make out all night.
Misty watches the screen closely as she heads upstairs, feeling a little sad that she had been so distracted from it today. Jessica had been more talkative, and Misty had tried to pull some more information out of her. It wasn’t a slam dunk or anything, but they’re making progress.
On the small screen, Natalie gets up from the bed and heads over to her little kitchen. Misty wrinkles her nose at how disgusting it’s gotten since she cleaned it up while she was over the other night. Nat really does need a full time maid. Misty feels a twinge of regret that between her kidnapper duties and her actual job, she just doesn’t have the time to be as helpful as she wants to be to Natalie.
Nat cuts out of frame as she rustles around near her sink, parallel to the owl camera, and Misty flicks lights off during the brief intermission. She takes the tablet into her bedroom and sets it down on the bed, propped up so she can still glance at it as she moves around the space.
Misty’s kidnapper coveralls have already been left downstairs, so she strips off her scrubs and bra and drops them into the hamper. She goes to her dresser and pulls a simple long-sleeve shirt and drawstring pants out, and drops them on the bed.
Natalie appears back on screen, and there is a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a glass in the other. Misty smiles as she tugs on the sleep shirt; a glass must mean she isn’t planning to overdo it, and chug from the bottle like she usually does.
She pulls on the pants and takes a glance at Natalie crossing her motel room and stepping into the bathroom. The door swings partly shut behind her, and Misty feels her cheeks warm slightly. Better do the same.
Misty peels her eyes from the camera, and continues with her nighttime routine. Her movements feel a little faster than usual, almost urgent, and Misty finds her eyes darting past the bathroom doorway to the tablet on the bed once or twice.
Eventually, she finishes, and she shuts her bathroom light off as she approaches the tablet on the bed. Natalie is exiting her own bathroom, backlit by the bathroom light, and—
Oh.
Misty had been trying to decide all night if Natalie was planning to go out or stay in—after all, a lot of what Misty would deem “indoor” clothes tend to be the ones Natalie likes to wear out—but apparently she was staying in.
Misty’s pretty sure even Natalie wouldn’t leave the house in just her underwear. Well, underwear and fishnets, for some reason.
It’s quite the look, and Misty sure does just that. Nat’s stripped down to a black little bralette, her small breasts covered by two triangles of black fabric, either scallop cut or edged in lace—Misty’s camera can’t quite pick up the detail. The straps are thin, and weak, and Misty’s pretty sure even she could snap them in two with little effort.
Natalie sure could, judging by the long, lean muscle of her arms and torso. Misty’s seen Nat sleeveless plenty, and knew just how round those biceps were, but this is different. There’s something raw and dangerous about Nat’s body like this, bare and hard and soft all at the same time.
Misty had seen Nat’s body before, too, but Kevyn had been blocking most of it. She hadn’t thought she minded so much, but looking at Natalie now, like this, she deeply regrets each moment she was robbed of this view.
Eyes riding down the long line of Nat’s stomach, Misty settles on the band of the fishnets cutting across Nat’s waist. She figures Natalie must have been wearing them under her jeans—Misty has never understood Nat’s sense of fashion, even if she’s always found it effortless and deeply, deeply cool—and apparently chose not to take them off. Misty wishes she could reach out and touch them then, to know—are they soft? Do they feel good on her skin? They must, or she would have taken them off, right?
Misty’s eyes flicker over a few odd patches on the tights—they look so worn that they’re almost translucent. Below Nat’s soft but sculpted belly, she’s wearing small black briefs, almost shorts, covering too much of her from Misty’s eyes.
Natalie walks away from the bathroom door and plants her hands on the bedspread, and Misty’s breath catches. Nat slides her hands across it—Misty’s heart starts pounding—and then flops down at an angle across her entire bed. The bedding is a mess, bunched up in the middle of the mattress, and Nat has to bounce her way across it to get back up to the headboard.
Misty feels a little lightheaded at the casual display, and her cheeks feel flushed. On instinct, she reaches over to the nightstand and turns her lamp off, the bright light feeling so inappropriate in this moment. She rounds her bed and does the same with the other, before scrambling in between the sheets and matching Natalie’s pose, seated up against the headboard.
Dragging the tablet into her lap, Misty gets comfortable and scans the screen greedily to see what she missed in the last five seconds. Natalie is still sitting where she had been, and as Misty watches, she reaches to the nightstand where the bottle and glass were left.
Only, Natalie doesn’t pour the liquor into the glass as Misty’s expecting. Instead, Nat opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She opens the box and holds one between her lips as she lights it.
The camera is too far away, so Misty pulls at the screen until she can see Natalie’s profile more clearly. Nat’s lights are all still on, fortunately, but the poor motel lighting still leaves part of Nat’s face in shadow, and the small flame isn’t enough to help illuminate. Misty purses her lips, frustrated that she’d have a much better view if she could just be there herself.
Nat takes a few puffs to start her cigarette, and then tucks the box and lighter back in the drawer. She reaches for the empty glass with her free hand, and Misty’s eyes drop down to the way Nat’s stomach ripples with the movement. Nat’s hair is limp, and flipped more over the right side of her head, leaving small strands to dance over the shoulder closest to Misty.
It’s seductive, her sitting like this: underwear and fishnets and looking so casually dangerous with the cigarette resting between her fingers, smoke caressing her bare skin. Nat props her right foot on the bed, and now that she’s close up, Misty can see that the fishnets aren’t just worn, they’re worn through. A large hole bares Nat’s inner thigh to the camera, to Misty.
Misty’s breath gets a little shallow and she drags her fingers on the screen without thought, scrolling the close-up over to Natalie’s thigh. Were torn fishnets…a thing? Is this something she wears for men, was she expecting someone? Had she and Kevyn reconnected somehow, without Misty’s knowledge?
She’d never thought about it before, but she can see the appeal. Her mouth feels dry, and she licks her lips. Yes, she could see someone asking to see Natalie like this.
Nat’s right thigh—now taking up a good portion of the screen—falls to the side slightly, bouncing slowly like Nat sometimes does when she’s restless. The camera remains stationary, of course, and Misty realizes she’s staring at the dark fabric over Natalie’s center.
Misty’s face flames, but her lips start to curl up in a greedy smirk.
She lets herself look for a moment, but she doesn’t want to be weird about it. So she pinches the frame to zoom back out as Nat reaches for the liquor bottle, and sets it between her legs, resting against the bent thigh. Bottle settled close, Nat taps her cigarette on the edge of the glass—apparently a makeshift ashtray—and sets it down on the outside of her left knee, stretched out on the bed.
The glass-slash-ashtray shifts a little on the lumpy motel mattress as Natalie holds her cigarette between her lips and unscrews the whiskey, flicking the cap off the side of the bed. The bottle isn’t that close to empty, but certainly contains less liquid than it had two nights ago when Misty had last been there. Her brow furrows, and her lips pinch. Nat had been doing so well, she thought. Her drinking had been constant, but casual.
Nat takes a long drag off of her cigarette before she exhales a slow stream of smoke, and lets her head drop to the side as she watches whatever is flickering on her television. She looks normal. Just a woman, alone, decompressing at the end of the day. But Misty knows her better. Natalie is always coiled, tension holding all her muscles taut even when she seems relaxed. It’s just how Natalie is; Misty doesn’t think she’s seen Natalie truly relax even once in all the years they’ve known each other.
It’s, well, it’s a little heartbreaking. Misty’s face softens, and she lets her thumb caress the side of the tablet, like the movement might help soothe Natalie’s burden. She wants to help her friends, all of her friends, so desperately. Wants to be there for each of them so they will see she’s worth keeping around. But she doesn’t want to help anyone these days as much as she wants to help Natalie.
Nat taps her cigarette against the glass, and Misty can barely make out the tiny pixels of ash floating to the bottom before she sees Nat pick the bottle from between her thighs and take a drink. Misty wonders if the bottle felt cold on Nat’s skin; after all, she’s sitting nearly naked in a drafty motel room in November. She tries to zoom in a little, but knows it would be impossible to see the tiny goosebumps she imagines are growing between the netted fabric.
For a moment, Misty considers putting the tablet away for the night; despite her attire, it doesn’t seem like she’s expecting anyone. Nat will likely just be lounging around. And it’s not that watching her do so isn’t plenty interesting—Natalie’s movements have always had a way of captivating her that she doesn’t fully understand—but Misty really is tired, and she has plenty on her Jessica to-do list for the next day.
Still, Misty finds it difficult to just turn the tablet off. She lingers for a few more moments, and when Natalie starts to take longer, larger drinks of whiskey, Misty starts to grow uncomfortable. Natalie finishes her cigarette and tamps it down into the bottom of the glass, before leaving it there. And then she opens her nightstand drawer and reaches for the pack again.
A growing sense of urgency starts to settle in Misty’s chest. Was that normal? She’s seen Nat smoke plenty, but twice in a row? She should do something, right? Nat’s struggling, and she’s the only one who knows. Who else can step in and help settle Nat back down?
Misty reaches for her phone, and flips open her text thread with Natalie, eyes flickering between her phone and Nat lighting up her fresh cigarette on the tablet.
Hey! How’s it going tonight?
Misty can’t hear the faint ding that would have come, but Nat apparently does, as she sets her whiskey down on the nightstand and reaches across to the other side of the bed, presumably for her phone.
Misty isn’t sure though, because when Natalie rolls to reach, she bares her backside to the camera, and Misty realizes that they’re torn everywhere, including over the curve of Natalie’s ass cheek, now center of the screen.
For a moment, Misty forgets what she’s doing. She’d worn weather-sensible pajamas, but her body is so warm, she starts kicking the blankets off of her lap and down to her feet. It’s a little better, a little more bearable, and she resettles the tablet on her lap as she adjusts her glasses and refocuses on Natalie.
The text, that’s right. Nat smokes her cigarette with her left hand, and thumbs at her phone with her right. She’s too far away for Misty to be able to see exactly what she’s doing, but she’s fairly certain Nat sees her text since she hesitates for a moment.
Misty looks down at her own phone, and sees the read receipt, but no response. She glances back up at the tablet, and Nat tosses her phone down to the mattress, and groans loud enough for Misty to hear. Hmm. Nat rolls her head and rubs at the back of her neck with her right hand, before she stretches it out and hooks it over her bent knee.
She rests her head down on her knee as well, and turns her head enough to take another drag off of her cigarette. When she exhales, she sends the smoke directly against her leg, and it billows down, and into the sheets beneath her. Misty can imagine the smell of those sheets: smokey and warm, and a bit sour—just like Natalie.
Misty watches for a few long minutes, but her message remains ignored.
Brow furrowing, Misty adjusts herself against her headboard, trying to work her internal discomfort out externally. Misty stabilizes the tablet when she’s settled again, and reaches for her phone when she sees Nat sitting back to drink from her whiskey.
Misty pulls up her recent calls and redials Natalie, before she can even stop to think of a reason she’s calling. It doesn’t really matter though, because Nat’s hand freezes over the bottle at the sound of the ringer. Misty can hear this one, and she quickly turns the volume down on the tablet so Nat can’t hear the echo of it.
Nat’s fingers hesitate over her bottle like she can’t decide if she’s going to answer it. “C’mon, c’mon, Natalie,” Misty whispers, pleading for her to make the right choice. Eventually, Nat drops her hand and reaches for the phone again, and Misty bounces on her bed in victory.
Misty’s view is blocked by Nat’s bent knee, but she’s fairly certain Natalie picks up the phone and sees that she’s calling. Panic starts to break through the sense of success, because she hasn’t thought this far ahead. She has no idea what to say.
But the phone rolls over to voicemail, and the ringing presumably stops on Nat’s end, because Nat’s shoulders relax as she lets out a long breath. Misty scrunches her face at the rude reaction, and immediately redials.
There’s a pause as it starts to ring, and Nat’s lips move as she says something Misty can’t hear. Nat takes a deep breath again, and brings the phone over her leg to rest in her palm near her chest. Then, blissfully, the phone stops ringing in her ear as Nat taps at the screen.
For a moment, Misty thinks Nat just hung up on her instead of answering. There’s no noise, and Nat just keeps holding the phone where it is, while she continues to smoke with her left hand.
Misty pulls her phone away, confused, but the seconds are climbing on the answered call. “Hello?” she asks, and watches Natalie slowly lift the phone to her ear.
“What?”
“Hi!” Misty starts, and her voice sounds too loud to her own ears, so she takes a quiet breath and restarts. “How was your day?”
Nat pulls her phone away from her ear at the question, and when Misty zooms in she can see a sneer on Nat’s lip. “Fine,” she finally says, voice flat, and resettles the phone against her ear. “What do you need?”
Misty giggles nervously. “Nothing! I just wanted to check in on you. Everything okay?” Nat rolls her eyes and takes a drag from her cigarette. Misty thinks she can hear the soft inhale, but maybe she’s just imagining that. “I know things were a little rough with Kevyn.”
Nat drops her head back against the headboard and Misty definitely hears the dull thud of it. Misty wishes she could reach out and touch Natalie then, stroke her hair back and massage the ache there.
“What do you think you know?” Nat bites, and she punctuates the last word with a bob of her head she thinks Misty can’t see. She rests left wrist on the top of her head, and stretches her fingers out toward the ceiling to keep the cigarette from her hair. Her arm and side are exposed like this, her left breast lifted higher into view, and the motel light flitters over her angles and curves as she moves.
If Misty wasn’t secretly watching Natalie, she might think that this is all some display to distract her, because it’s working. Natalie looks like a sculpture like this: all lean muscle and bare skin and strategic shadows hiding the most interesting details from Misty’s peeping eyes.
But Nat doesn’t know, not if she’s still talking to Misty. So Misty puts on her most sympathetic voice and says, “Well, just what you told me the other morning.”
“When you just happened to be coming over as he left.” Nat sounds like she buys it even less than she had the first time Misty gave that excuse, but what was done was done.
“Yes! He just mentioned you two had a fight before he pulled out of the parking lot.” Nat scratches her forehead with her left thumb, still careful to keep the cigarette away from her hair, and then drops her arm back down to her left thigh. “It’s so sad that things went wrong between you two! I was really rooting for you guys.” Misty hesitates over her next words before adding, more truthfully, “But you know, if he’s foolish enough to walk away from you, then good riddance, right!”
Nat shifts on her bed, like she’s uncomfortable, but nothing has changed in her space that Misty can see. Maybe there is a draft after all. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
“Well,” Misty’s mouth opens once, twice, as she feels Nat about to shut down their call. That can’t happen—the whiskey is still right there, too much to be good for Nat, and Misty has only made her upset. “Why? Are you busy?”
“Yeah,” Nat says without missing a beat, but she’s still just lounging there in her underwear, smoking lazily.
“Oh,” Misty wishes she could be in the room with Nat then, needling her properly. “Doing what?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Is someone coming over?” Misty wants to bite her tongue, but she needs to know. “Or are you going out?”
“No,” Nat snaps, but then Misty can see her posture relax a little, and she isn’t hanging up, so Misty just watches her and waits. Nat takes one long last drag from the cigarette, and then puts it out in the glass that’s now shifted down the bed to rest against her left thigh. “The fuck does it matter, Misty?” she asks, and sets the glass on the nightstand.
She doesn’t reach for the whiskey, and Misty sinks back against her headboard in relief. Now a little used to Nat’s bare skin, Misty is starting to cool down again. So she wriggles her way down the bed until she’s lying with her head propped up on her pillows, and rests the tablet on her stomach. It wobbles a little, so she drags her knees up to rest behind it.
“I just,” she looks up at the ceiling for a moment before she refocuses on Natalie’s slightly pixelated face. This would be so much better if she was there with Natalie, lying next to her. “I thought we could talk. I don’t want you to be lonely.”
“Lonely?” she scoffs, but Misty watches as she draws her left leg up to match the right. Misty has the brief regret that Nat has effectively covered the long line of her torso, and then the deeper, less comfortable regret for Nat’s discomfort.
“It’s okay,” she rushes out in a breath. “I’m lonely, too.” Misty squeezes her eyes shut, and presses her left palm to her forehead, realizing how stupid it was to say that to Natalie. As if Nat needed one more reason to think of her as pathetic, and needy.
But when her eyes flicker back down to the tablet, Nat looks a little more at ease, her back not quite as stiff pressed against the headboard. Natalie slides her feet away from her body a little, and Misty watches her start to trace the pattern of her fishnets over the tops of her thighs. Nat’s hair has all fallen over her right shoulder now, leaving the left—closest to Misty—bare, but for her bra strap.
“I’m not lonely,” Natalie argues, but her voice is too high and too sweet to be true. “I’m fine.” She starts to pull the phone from her ear like she’s going to hang up.
“Wait!” Misty shouts, and sits up from the bed to grab at the tablet in desperation. Natalie hesitates, hearing Misty’s shout even with the phone pulled away.
For a long moment, Misty holds her breath as she watches to see what Natalie will do. She has no control like this—she can see Natalie, she can talk to her, but if Nat ends that call then Misty is left with nothing but her hollow footage. It’s not a real connection, not like this could be if Nat just chooses to stay with her.
Misty’s palm is sweaty on her phone, her face is flush, and she’s pretty sure her eyes look a little too wide and wild to be attractive. But the only thing in the world that matters right now is Nat’s next move.
Natalie stares at the phone screen, and then looks up at the ceiling and mouths something Misty can’t make out. It seems slower, this time. Misty zooms in, but judging by the irritation on Nat’s face it was nothing flattering.
Misty tries to brace herself. But then Natalie runs her free hand over her face, and slides her feet under her ass so she can slither across the bed on her stomach. Nat rolls onto her right side, almost perfectly facing the camera, and Misty’s breath catches: does Nat know? It seems almost too much of a coincidence she should put herself here, now, but Misty sees no recognition on her face, or performance in her movement.
She just seems like Nat.
Natalie stretches her right arm across to the end of the bed, and rests her ear on her bicep before she raises the left hand with the phone to her ear. “What?” she asks for the second time tonight. This time it’s softer, but not high or breathy. She sounds real, and tired.
“I—” Misty thinks it’s only fair to be real, too. “I just want you to talk to me.”
“Or what? This time you’ll pull my fire alarm?” Nat’s voice is mocking and sweet, and Misty shakes her head, even though Nat can’t see her.
“No! Well. Would that work?” Her question is genuine as she asks, but when Natalie unexpectedly laughs at it, small but rolling and real, she can’t help but laugh at it, too. Hers is just an embarrassed little giggle at first, but it grows as Natalie rolls onto her back, hair fanned out beneath her, sinking into the mattress as her own laughter seems to relax her.
Misty beams at the tablet, and bites her lower lip as she watches Nat sprawl across her bed like a cat in the sun, her head at the foot of the bed and her feet by her pillow. It’s a little harder to see Nat’s face like this, shadowed by the motel lighting and only in profile as she stares up at the ceiling. But the loss is worth it, knowing that she’s helped bring Natalie even a little bit of peace. And especially worth it, knowing Natalie is aware that it was peace at Misty’s hand.
“About what?” Nat asks, holding the phone in her left hand now, on the far side of the camera. Her right rests on her lower stomach, bare but for the band of the fishnets that cuts across her navel, and the tiny diamonds of fabric below.
Misty’s breath catches as Nat’s fingers rub back and forth, back and forth over the band. It’s casual and sensual, and so incredibly private all at once that Misty can’t help but press her thighs together, just a little. “Misty?” Nat pulls her phone away from her ear and looks at it, before bringing it back down. Her right hand stops moving, and Misty curses herself for forgetting to answer.
“Oh! Um, anything, really. I—” like the sound of your voice. No, that’s too much for Natalie right now. “I like talking to you.” Nat scoffs, and Misty flexes her toes into the cool sheets. “I know I do most of the talking, but I really like it when you talk to me, back.”
Nat doesn’t say anything, and Misty zooms in with the fingers of her left hand to try and see Nat’s expression through the dim light. She can see a glint of light in Nat’s eye, the deep curve of her nose, and the small point of her chin. Her lips are parted slightly, but she’s not smiling—not that a frown is ever unexpected on Nat’s mouth.
The shadowed details of Nat’s face don’t give away much, but Natalie starts to play with the band of her fishnets again, and her left foot falls flat on the bed as Natalie slides it up until her knee is the tallest point on her horizontal body.
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m talking to you,” Nat snorts. It’s a nothing comment, just another way for Natalie to deflect, but there’s something about it that makes Misty feel warm, and chosen. This isn’t something Misty has forced her into. Well, not anymore. Natalie could hang up at any moment, but she’s still on the line.
Something about Misty in this moment is enough for Nat to stay.
“Well,” Misty swallows, and tries to slow her breathing. “What a coincidence,” Misty says, flirts, in a voice that is sweet like she uses on men, but deeper. It feels good in her throat, tastes rich on her tongue, and she wants to bite into it as it leaves her lips.
Misty presses her thighs together again, and this time she cannot deny that she’s getting wet. “I like talking to you.”
There’s a pause—both in Nat’s words and in her image on the screen—and then: “You’ve said that.” Natalie shifts the phone to her other hand, blocking her face from the camera. But her left hand drops to her bent leg, and starts to trace the little diamonds Misty wishes she could see much, much better.
“Well, I like it a lot,” she giggles. “I like the sound of your voice.” This time she doesn’t giggle. Instead, she flirts, and then bites her lip, and waits.
Natalie’s fingers still on her leg, and she pulls the phone away from her ear to stare at the screen, wrist resting on her ribcage. Misty imagines running her thumbs over each ridge and dip there, imagines curling her small hands over each side of Natalie’s body as Misty sits astride her. She’s pretty sure her small fingers could slot between each rib just right, like they were meant to be a part of Natalie all along.
Finally, she brings the phone back to her right ear, face blocked from the camera again. “It sounds tired. ‘Cause I’m fucking tired, Misty.”
“It’s early,” she says, like she’s not in bed herself. Nat doesn’t respond, but there is a harsh exhale over the line. Natalie’s irritation is growing, but she’s still on the line. It makes Misty feel bold. “Are you in bed?”
Misty knows Nat is, obviously, but there’s something deeper driving her now. Some sense of urgency, a desire to needle at Natalie more than she ever has before. And there’s something so tempting about doing it like this, with Nat unaware of Misty’s eyes, but too aware of her voice.
“Why does it matter?”
“I just—I just want to know.”
Natalie flexes her toes into the mattress, and digs them under her pillow like she’s hiding part of herself away. Misty smirks; not tonight, she won’t. Misty wants nothing more than to break Nat open and see all of her. “Yes,” she finally answers. “I’m in bed.” The words are slow and deep, and she acts like Misty is dragging each one impossibly out of her, like a string of handkerchiefs.
Misty wants more, of something. “Yeah?” she asks, like she didn’t know. Misty didn’t know what this would be when it started, but one thing keeps bouncing around in her mind, progressively pushing its way to the forefront. “What are you wearing?”
“What did you just—” Nat cuts herself off, and props herself up on her free left elbow.
“It’s supposed to be cold tonight,” she rushes to add, with a giggle.
Natalie stays where she is for a moment, and then slowly lowers herself back down, and rests her left hand heavily on the center of her stomach. “I’ll be fine,” Nat says slowly, voice neutral, and Misty will take it. She exhales silently, and tries to calm her heart, racing at the thought that she had ruined things so quickly.
“Oh, well. That’s good. I just want you to be comfortable. And warm.” Natalie is still on camera, and it’s making her more nervous than it should be. Misty would give anything to be there right now, sitting over her and looking at her entire face. She could soothe those deep wrinkles that never leave Nat’s forehead or lips. Wrinkles that had been seeded long before the wilderness, but had only settled harder and harder into her in the aftermath.
Misty could wipe away the kohl that had undoubtedly started to smudge by now, if it hadn’t hours ago. She could brush Nat’s hair back from her face, and tuck it behind her ears. She could look deeply into those bright hazel eyes, and just look and look and look, until Nat fell in love with her. It was only supposed to take two minutes, if you did it right.
Misty would do it right, if she ever got the chance.
“I’m in bed, too. Kinda chilly here,” she giggles, and Nat stays silent. “I must not have enough on,” she lies, and it’s breathier than she means it to be.
Natalie sighs hard into the phone, but the hand on her stomach starts to slowly shift. Nat’s fingers curl in, and then extend, in slow scratches.
“Let me guess,” Natalie snorts. “You’re in some kind of silk teddy that men just go crazy for,” she scoffs over the last word. But her fingers drift down her belly to tug at the band of her fishnets.
Misty almost lies again and agrees. But Natalie doesn’t sound impressed by the idea, and Misty has no need for what anyone else would go crazy for. “Would you go crazy for that?”
Natalie’s hand starts to slide down between her thighs, to the dark fabric over her mound. Misty can feel her breath catch, and prays it isn’t audible. Nat’s hand stills, hand resting too high on her pelvis to be touching anything truly pleasurable, and Misty grips at the tablet like she can egg her on with enough focus.
“What the fuck are you doing, Misty?” Nat finally asks, and her voice is low, and raspy, and Misty feels it dance all the way over her body, until she spreads her legs apart beneath her blankets.
What is she doing? She wants Nat distracted, and relaxed. She’s trying to look out for her best friend, in any way she figures she can. “I’m helping you relax. Tell me. What would drive you crazy?”
Nat huffs out a breath, that isn’t a laugh or a scoff. It’s something in between, and somehow feels like progress. “You drive me crazy.” Nat’s tone is flat, almost mean, but Misty has heard plenty of actually mean from Nat. This is different. Hesitant.
“Good! I want to. Tell me how, Nat,” she pleads, and on the screen Nat slips her hand lower over her core. Her wrist flexes, and Misty’s eyes widen; she is positive that Natalie is putting pressure directly on her clit.
For her, for Misty. Because of Misty.
“No,” Nat snaps, and her fingers retreat from her panties. Misty’s breath catches in disappointment, and then Nat’s fingers are right back where they were, pressing in and moving this time. “Just—fuck,” she stills her hand again. “Nothing.”
Misty’s eyes are glued to Nat’s hand, to the fine details she would devour her own tongue to be able to see up close like this. Natalie’s words filter through after a moment, and Misty nods, even though Nat can’t see her. “You want me bare?”
Natalie sucks in a breath, the noise deafening against her ear, and it sends a pulse through Misty’s center. She can feel herself growing slicker and slicker, as Natalie’s knees drop to the side, and she lays with her center wide open.
Misty’s face is hot, her body far too warm beneath the sheets and her clothes. She thinks her blood might actually begin boiling. “You want me to get naked, in my bed?”
“Jesus, fuck.” Nat groans, and she jerks her left hand back to shift the phone over. The second it’s gone from her right, she reaches down and tugs at her right bra cup, until her breast pops free. Misty zooms in to see her nipple, distended and small, and Misty wants nothing more than to run her tongue over it.
“That’s not what I meant,” Nat bites out, but she tugs at the left cup of her bra until her left nipple joins its twin, free in the cool air.
So Misty ignores the words, and instead watches, rapt, as Natalie slips her right arm through her bra strap. “I can do that.” She wants to do that. She wants to do whatever she can to thank Natalie for thinking of her like this. “I will do that, just—hold on.”
She sets the tablet to the side and rips her top off and drops it down to the floor. She pushes her sleep pants and underwear down next, eyes never leaving the tablet screen, even as it falls flat against her stomach. Nat is touching herself, holding her right breast and thumbing her own nipple, slowly.
That won’t do. Misty needs Nat to feel as needy as she does. She wants Natalie turned on and panting, so Natalie won’t ever forget that she felt this way about Misty at least once.
“Okay. I’m naked.” Nat’s fingers pinch down on her nipple, as Misty rebalances the tablet against one bent thigh. “Do you want me to touch myself?” She holds her phone in her left hand and doesn’t wait for an answer; just spreads her legs wide as she buries her right hand between her folds, dripping with her slick. The tablet bounces with her quick movements, but stays. She presses her fingers hard over her clit, and bites her lip to keep from making noise until Nat responds.
“...Yes,” Natatlie eventually breathes out, and she abandons her breast to slip her fingers beneath her fishnets and panties and into her folds as well. The urgency is exactly what Misty wants, but she can’t see anything like this.
“I am, Nat, I’m touching myself.”
“Tell me.” Natalie’s fingers are moving fast, and Misty thinks Nat likes it harder with her, like this, than with Kevyn. It had been playful with him, and Nat had been different. Softer, bouncier.
Misty’s fingers slip around and around her clit, and then press in hard, like she imagines Nat likes. “What I’m touching?” She scrambles to think of which words to use; cunt, pussy, folds, vulva. Which one will make Natalie think she’s good at this? Right for her, for more of this. Because Misty wants more and more and more of this.
“Tell me what you feel like.” Nat doesn’t sound playful, or soft, or bouncy. She sounds hard and demanding and in control, and it’s so much better than what she’d had with Kevyn because this is with her.
“I—” Misty breathes out through her nose. She can’t disappoint Nat, not now. “I’m wet. Really, really wet.”
“Yeah,” Nat groans, and her hips start rocking a little on her motel bed, into her hand.
“I’m hot, and slippery, and, oh,” her voice catches as she circles her clit hard enough for a mini tremor to wrack her body. “It feels really good, Natalie.”
There’s a long exhale, and then, “Put your fingers in your mouth. Tell me what you taste like.”
“I—” Misty’s face has never been this hot. She wants to do everything Nat says, everything Nat wants, but she doesn’t know if she can. “I can be there in three minutes,” she offers instead.
“No,” Nat growls, but her fingers move harder, faster, and Misty thinks maybe she really does want that, too. “This is fucking stupid enough. Don’t.”
“But I want to touch you,” Misty whines, because she does. She’s been making do looking at Nat, imagining bits here and there and none of it is real, but it could be. She could smell and touch and taste Natalie in five minutes. Put her tongue on her skin and bite at her nipple and bury her nose deep between Natalie’s folds. “Don’t you want to touch me?”
“No,” Nat rasps, but her fingers are moving even faster below her panties. Misty presses the phone closer to her ear, and tries to imagine that she can hear the slick slapping of Nat’s fingers sliding in and out, circling her clit and pressing hard as she thinks about Misty naked all around her.
“You don’t want your fingers inside me?”
“F–fuck,” Natalie’s face turns sharply to the side, facing the camera straight on, and Misty audibly gasps from how unexpected it is. Nat’s jaw is clenched, the muscles at her throat taut as she fucks herself on her own fingers to Misty’s words.
Misty slides her own fingers down to her entrance, imagining Natalie’s lean fingers and thick knuckles pushing past the ring of muscle as Misty’s core clenches around nothing but the tips of her own fingers.
She wants Nat, needs Nat to say yes. To call her over and do everything they both want her so badly to do. Misty presses two fingers into herself and keeps talking, keeps luring Nat in this way, the only thing that’s ever worked to demand her attention. “You don’t want me spread out beneath you? Naked and wet and shaking as you fuck me?”
Nat lets out a long, low groan this time, and her hips start to rock off of the bed and up into her hand. “Fu—No,” she cuts herself off, and Misty whimpers.
But then Nat’s deepest voice cuts back in. “I want you sitting on my chest. I wanna see my fingers disappear inside of you and just keep them there while you squirm.”
Misty’s chest is heaving, and her curls are plastered against her forehead, her neck, her cheeks. She’s never felt this hot, this turned on in her entire life. “God, Natalie, I want them inside of me.”
“Fuck yourself with yours.”
“Okay,” Misty squeaks, like her fingers aren’t already there, and pushes them in as far as they will go.
“How many can you fit?” Nat asks, and before Misty can answer, says, “Add another.”
“Yes,” Misty agrees, and adds a third finger, eyes fluttering closed for the first time.
“Pretend it’s me.” Misty doesn’t need the directive, but when Nat’s words filter through her lust-addled brain, she realizes how breathy, how small they sound. How lonely Nat sounds.
“It is you,” she says, eyes wide again as she watches Natalie on the tablet. “But it’s not enough,” she says, not meaning for the words to come aloud.
“It is enough,” Nat says through gritted teeth, and Misty thinks she’s close to coming. Misty is, too. “It’s too much already.”
Misty disagrees, and shakes her head on her pillow like Nat could see it. “I—I wish—”
“No,” Nat growls, and holds the phone away from her ear as her hand speeds up faster and faster and faster.
Misty feels lost, drifting away without Nat listening to her, but at the same time Nat is fucking herself, right now just from the memory of Misty’s words and body and their connection.
Her own fingers speed up, slipping from her channel to press too-hard against her clit. It’s hard and aggressive and Natalie, and she starts desperately reaching for her climax when she sees Natalie’s frame tense up. Nat’s body goes taut, the hard muscle of her neck more visible than ever where she is still turned toward the camera, and her back arches up and away from the bed.
Nat still holds the phone in her left hand, and she looks at it for a moment. Her body seems relaxed, the most calm Misty has ever seen her. Misty did that, Misty helped her, helped Natalie do something she never does. The thought is almost enough to send her over the edge, and when Natalie starts to put the phone back to her ear to listen to her again, Misty does break.
Her orgasm is long and hard, like all of her nerves have been wrapped up in one handful and are being pulled out of her at the same time. Her body tries to chase the sensation, her hips floating higher and higher toward that invisible hand, until the tablet finally shifts enough to tumble off of Misty’s body.
It shakes Misty out of her fog enough to refocus, and when she does she flips the tablet back upright. Nat is still lying on the bed, phone to her ear, and in her ear Misty can hear the soft, wet breaths.
“Natalie, I—” she isn’t sure what she’s going to say, but it doesn’t matter.
Nat hangs up. The phone clicks gently, and on the screen Nat drops the phone down to her side, her right hand still buried beneath her panties, pressed against her sticky folds.
Misty could be there in just a few minutes. That’s all it would take. Mentally, she’s halfway dressed and out the door.
But on the screen, Nat’s body is still boneless, melted into the cheap motel sheets. Misty tries to imagine the smell of those sheets now, damp with the hot press of Nat’s body, and the heavy thoughts of Misty there with her.
Nat drags her hand out from her panties slowly, knuckles catching on the fishnets around her hips, and then sets her wet hand on her stomach. Misty wants to be there. Wants to take Nat’s fingers into her mouth and suck and lick and turn her on again and again and again, just because she knows she can.
If she works at it hard enough, Natalie will cave for her. Will touch herself and think of Misty and breathe out and think of Misty and come around her own fingers and think of Misty.
Misty drops her own phone onto her nightstand, and remembers to turn the volume back up on the tablet. It’s quiet, but that’s okay. Good, even.
Nat just lies there for long seconds, until, finally, she starts to crawl up to the head of the bed, where she started. Misty holds her breath, but Natalie just slides her legs under the sheets, and settles down into the bed properly.
“Fucking shit,” Natalie swears loud enough for Misty to hear, before she turns off the bedside light and cuts off most of Misty’s visual.
Misty sighs, in relief and disappointment, and finally closes the tablet, and tucks it beneath her pillow. She takes her glasses off and sets them on her bedside table. No longer in the throes of passion her body is cold, fully exposed, and she tugs the blankets all the way up around her. She ignores her pajamas; after all, Natalie likes her bare.
Coming down from her own orgasm, Misty feels even more tired than before, and as she settles down, she smiles. Tomorrow will be a busy day, between working on Jessica and baking brownies and visiting Nat.
She can’t wait to see how much more relaxed she can make Natalie in person.