Archive of Our Own

It’s a long story, really, how Natalie Scatorccio ended up handcuffed to Misty Quigley in the honeymoon suite of the Hop River Inn Bed and Breakfast, out in the middle of Connecticut. But the short version goes like this:

It’d started with an account number, simply enough. Then an address outside of Providence. Which led to a long, irritating drive, some mild breaking and entering, a stand-off with an armed officer and a ‘truly gratuitous’ arrest, according to Misty. This, in turn, led to a road traffic accident involving a logging and firewood timber truck, which resulted in one very dead officer of the law and two fugitives. It was a miracle they both survived unscathed. 

The cop was sweaty with nerves. Maybe it was his first time drawing his weapon. His hands shook as he clipped one cuff over Misty’s wrist. Then he did the calculations, realised the wrist-to-cuff ratio was all off and, in what looked like a panic, clipped the second cuff over Nat’s wrist. Then he lifted his gun again and told them to walk, nice and slow, to the backseat. 

Nat and Misty were both looking out of their respective windows, their hands sitting limp together on the middle seat, when the timber logs came loose. Then there was a screech and a swerve and a smashing sound; all a lot faster than a plane crash. 

In one blink, they were up on the embankment, surrounded by shards of glass and smoke and a wooden spear, like Cupid’s arrow, shot right through the backrest above their bound wrists. The cop’s head had been replaced with a log of dried oak and the timber truck had just kept driving. 

Nat’s first thought was: are you fucking kidding me? And her second, after looking across to see Misty unbuckling her seatbelt and trying her door, already proactive and alert, was: thank fuck. 

“Will your door open?” Misty asked. She was sat behind the driver’s seat and the whole thing had been pushed back by the force of the timber. Apart from the fact that he no longer had a head, the cop looked quite relaxed, reclined there as if taking a midday nap. 

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Nat said but Misty had already crawled out from under the timber plank between them, still just as nimble as she’d always been. She climbed into Nat’s lap, swung the door open and jumped out onto the tarmac. 

“Let’s go,” she said and pulled Nat out by her wrist. 

“What about the fucking cuffs?” 

“We don’t have time.”

“The keys are in his pocket—“

“We have to go, Nat. Do you hear me? Let’s go.”

Misty was dragging her up the empty road, tugging her along like a dog on a leash when the car exploded. They both crouched down and the heat of the blaze licked up Nat’s spine. It looked like a bonfire, the borders of the flames so well defined, it seemed almost intentional.

“Fucking hell.” Nat breathed through her mouth. The ringing in her ears left only the sound of her heartbeat. 

Misty’s eyes were wide with awe, the flames reflected in her crooked glasses. “That was a close one, huh?” She laughed. Then she turned away as if the spectacle had already lost its novelty. “Come on, I saw signs for a motel a few miles that way. Do you have a hairpin?” 

“What? No.” It was hard for Nat to turn away from the fireball behind them as if she owed fate a show of respect for letting them live again. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Are you?” 

“You cut your head,” Nat said and nodded to the red stripe down Misty’s cheek.  

“Oh.” When Misty wiped the blood away, she brought Nat’s arm up alongside her own as if they were doing some strange telepathic dance. “I didn’t feel it. Are you hurt?”

Nat took a moment to count all four limbs: they were all still attached and facing the right direction. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, let me know if anything starts to hurt. Adrenaline is very effective at masking injuries for a short while. Do you still have your phone?”

Nat groped her back pocket, still in some kind of daze and struggling to keep up with Misty. “Yeah. I got it.”

“Good. Let’s hope we get service somewhere up ahead. It’ll be a long hike but we can get some food, get these off.” She lifted her hand and sure enough, Nat’s went with it. “Rest up a little. And then we can call a cab to take us back to my car. Are you wearing a bra?” 

“What?” 

“Mine’s cotton so, no underwire. To pick the lock.”

“Uh, no. Mine’s elastic.”

“Too bad. I’m sure we’ll find something eventually.” Misty smiled. 

The motel, which turned out to be more like an alpine chalet than a Super 8, took two hours to find. It wasn’t an easy journey. Misty had started out chatty and excitable, wired on adrenaline, but her energy had quickly dwindled. Their wrists had knocked together, Misty had complained about Nat walking too fast, and the autumn leaves had turned to muddy sludge on the roadside. The cold air made Nat’s ears hurt and her joints ache; not helped by the fact she’d only been wearing her flannel at the time of her arrest. At this point, her favourite leather jacket would be nothing but ash. 

It was like seeing a watery mirage after travelling through a scorching desert, seeing those twinkling lanterns strung around the Hop River Inn’s property line. Beat up and exhausted, they all but stood and drooled at the promise of a warm room and a hot drink. 

“We should stop and rest for a while,” Misty said. Her voice was thick with dehydration. 

“Bets on them calling the cops as soon as we ask for a bolt cutter?” 

Misty’s eyes narrowed as her plan formed. She checked her hair for twigs and then hid the cut on her head with her fringe. “Hold my hand,” she said and opened her palm face up.

Nat looked at the pale, vulnerable patch of skin as if it were something more than a hand. “Are you serious?” 

“They’re not gonna let us get a room if we look like two fugitives.” She wiggled her fingers. 

Nat felt an odd kind of rush as she took Misty’s hand. It started where their palms touched, warm and clammy, and then swirled up her limb and into her body like an infestation of ants, marching along in an organised line. It made her shiver and want to pull away but she didn’t. It was the first time in at least a few years that Nat had held someone’s hand and had hers held in return. For it to be Misty fucking Quigley’s made no sense at all. 

The Hop River Inn's reception was full of oak logs and tartan blankets and smelled like pine needles. A little too cabin-like to be relaxing. The woman on the check-in desk seemed enamoured by their performance. She kept stealing glances at their entwined fingers, the handcuffs hidden under their sleeves.

“Just the one room?” She asked and nodded knowingly when Misty said yes. 

Misty was hanging off Nat’s arm, resting her head on her shoulder and swinging back and forth like a love-sick teenager. It was a little much, honestly. Nat resisted the urge to jerk her shoulder and knock Misty’s head off. 

The woman typed on her computer for a minute before picking out a key, withholding it for another painstaking moment to earnestly declare: “My daughter recently came out as a lesbian and I just want you to know that the two of you living your life so open and authentically? Well, that is just beautiful to me. That gives me hope. Now, I upgraded your booking to the honeymoon suite. No extra charge. I just want you to keep on being you.” 

Misty put her free hand on her heart and sighed. “Abby, that is just about the nicest thing I’ve ever heard. And we’ll be sure to leave a five-star review on Tripadvisor, won’t we honey?” 

Nat’s cheek almost started to bleed under the pressure of her bite. She dug her fingernails into the back of Misty’s hand but Misty didn’t appear to notice. 

She looked up at Nat with wide, besotted eyes and said, “We’ve travelled to a lot of places together and I don’t think anywhere had been as hospitable as you. It really means a lot.” 

“Yeah.” Nat sucked her teeth. “Thanks. So much.” And grabbed the key off the desk. 

So, that’s how Nat ended up here: pacing around the honeymoon suite, looking for a forgotten hairpin or a paperclip or an underwire. 

Or, trying to. Misty sits on the foot of the bed, stretching her arm out in Nat’s direction as she fumbles through drawers like a goat on a too-short rope. She hasn’t been much use since they checked in. Nat’s pretty sure she’s invested in keeping them handcuffed together for as long as possible. 

“Are you gonna fucking help?” Nat snaps. 

“I just need a second.” She looks tired and pale, looking down at her feet swinging an inch off the carpet. She went relatively quiet for the last leg of their hike, keeping her eyes on the tarmac with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” Nat asks.

“Nothing.” 

“What?” 

“It’s just my ankle. My foot got trapped under that cop’s seat for a minute but it’s probably fine.”

The constant table tennis match of guilt vs. repression in Nat's stomach picks up speed. Misty’s side of the car had taken a much bigger hit than hers. “Take your shoe off.”

“It’s fine, Nat.” 

Nat sinks to her knees on the surprisingly plush beige carpet. It pulls Misty into an awkward hunch as Nat goes to untie her laces. A tight gasp prompts her to move slower, opening the laces as wide as she can before slipping the shoe off.  

Misty balls her hands into fists and holds her breath as Nat pulls off her lilac sock. It’s not fine. Her foot is shocking, electric blue across the left side. 

“You walked for two fucking hours on that?” Guilt starts winning as Nat remembers rolling her eyes at Misty requesting they walk slower. 

“Well, we didn’t have much of a choice.” She frowns as Nat moves towards the phone. “What are you doing?” 

“Ordering champagne. On ice.” 

Misty’s upper body stretches across the bed, the cuffs forcing them to move like a flock of birds, never breaking shape. “Oh, let me do it,” she whispers. 

Nat rolls her eyes but hands over the receiver. 

“Hi, Abby? Us again.” Misty laughs. “You know, we would just love a bottle of whatever you have on ice… Our anniversary… Yep… 25 years… Oh, that is so sweet of you. You don’t look a day over thirty yourself!” 

Nat rubs the frown from her forehead. 

“And I was wondering, do you have any food on hand? Bread and cheese, that sort of thing. Maybe some brie? And maybe some soap and toothpaste. And also two toothbrushes. And some Aspirin, if you have it…Yeah… We packed light.” She laughs again. “Oh, what the hell, who doesn’t like macarons? Okay, great… See you soon!” She hands the phone back to Nat and sighs. “What a nice lady.”

Nat feels a little dumbstruck by the performance. She’s not a total rookie at the art of manipulation but to achieve it so succinctly, with a potentially broken foot, two hours after seeing a man decapitated and then blown up is, well…. “Do you know how fucking creepy you are?” 

Misty frowns and pushes her glasses up her nose. “I’m just getting us what we need, Nat.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure the macarons are gonna get us out of these cuffs.”

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten since lunch.” She huffs. “I don’t know how you expect me to heal on an empty stomach.” 

There’s no point arguing. And food does sound pretty fucking good right now. “Alright.” Nat throws her hands up and it jostles one of Misty’s with along with them. “Fuck,” she mutters at the chain reaction and puts her hand back down. “Fine.”

Nat hasn’t felt this exhausted in a long time. There’s a twinge in her neck and her joints ache and what she wants is to crawl into the plush bed beneath them. Alone. God, she wishes she was alone. She sits down next to Misty and they both look at her sad, blue foot. 

“I have to pee,” Misty mutters. 

“Jesus Christ.” Nat closes her eyes and sighs. “Alright.” She gestures to the bathroom and lets Misty hobble ahead of her. “I’ll wait here,” she says from just inside the doorway. 

Misty glances from her outstretched hand to the button on her jeans. It’s not like pissing in front of each other is a level of intimacy never before ventured — they’ve done far worse — but Nat can’t help noticing how much Misty is enjoying this. Even in what must be a lot of pain, her eyes gleam, set firm on the silver cuffs. 

Nat rolls her eyes and steps in closer. She lets Misty take control of her limb, ignores the way her hand gets uncomfortably close to Misty’s crotch, and stares at the ceiling. 

“Do you wanna take a shower?” Misty asks as she sits. 

“Like this?” She lifts their wrists. “No.” 

“I could stand outside the curtain. Obviously. I don’t mind.”

Nat wonders if this is a plain attempt to catch a glimpse of her naked or if Misty’s perverse desire to be close to her festers in her subconscious. She seems almost hungry for it, looking up at Nat expectantly. Nat almost wants to say yes just to see if the added proximity would force Misty into finally asking for what she wants. But then, maybe she wouldn’t. Sometimes Nat thinks Misty’s most elaborate fantasy would be washing Nat’s hair for her. 

“No,” Nat says again. 

“Okay.” Misty smiles without a trace of disappointment.

It makes Nat feel like she’s the weird one, twisting a genuine offer into some kind of ruse. She rolls her shoulders to stretch out an achy bit. Misty was right about the adrenaline wearing off: with every passing minute, some new body part starts to hurt. 

“Are you done?” She asks impatiently.

The answer is irrelevant when Abby starts knocking on the door. 

“Shoot,” Misty curses, wrestling with the toilet paper before it rolls across the floor.

“Are you fucking TP-ing the place? Come on.”

“I’m not TP-ing—Just a second!!” She calls out as she buttons her jeans.

“What do we do about the fuckin—” 

“—Get behind there,” Misty hisses as she hops across the room. Cuffed wrist hidden along with Nat behind the door, she balances on one foot and puts on her best, slightly manic, smile. “Hi! Wow. This looks incredible, Abb.” 

Nat shakes her head at the friendly nickname. She can’t see what Misty’s looking at but she can hear the food trolly and the ice bucket sloshing. She stares at the pinewood door.

“You girls enjoy,” Abby says and Nat can sense the wink just after. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

Misty looks pretty pleased with herself when the door clicks shut. She hops back over to the bed, dragging Nat along with her. Nat shucks her flannel off her shoulders and lets it sit twisted around the cuffs. When Misty follows suit, pulling her fuzzy sage sweater off over her head, it feels like making a nest of fabric for their stuck hands. She’s wearing a plain white undershirt and Nat tries not to look directly at her cleavage as takes her place on the bed opposite her. 

The food does look good: a cobbled-together selection of deli meats and cheeses with crusty bread and grapes. Nat grabs the champagne bottle by its neck, pulls it from its icy bath and takes a long swig. The fizz makes her eyes water and it feels fucking amazing. 

“Here,” she says, wrapping some of the ice cubes in a cloth napkin and tying it with the hairband off her free wrist. 

Misty stretches her leg out across the bed. Her foot isn’t too swollen yet, just blue and purple. She takes the makeshift ice pack from Nat and drapes it over the front of her ankle. 

“We should leave a thank you note for her when we leave,” Misty says, trying to pull a grape off its stem with only her left hand. “It’s so nice to be made to feel so welcome and safe, you know? Especially these days.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not even gay?” 

“Right. But I could be. And someone like that would make all the difference. If I was.” 

Nat frowns. “…Are you?” 

Misty seems to think about it for a moment. “No. I mean, I would know, right?” She laughs. 

“Are you asking me?” 

“I don’t think so,” she says as if she’s confused herself. 

Nat snorts and pops a chunk of bread into her mouth. “I don’t know, Misty. You don’t really give the impression of being interested in anyone except…” Her eyes flick up as she cuts herself off.

“Except who?” Misty’s head tilts like a curious puppy. 

Nat looks at her for a moment, trying to read her. How the fuck does she not know? “Uh, us. I guess. Like, the team,” she obfuscates. 

Misty gives a confused laugh. “Of course, I’m interested in the team. You guys are my best friends. But that doesn’t mean I want to…” 

“Fuck us?” 

Misty huffs and turns a violent red; the opposite of her foot. It makes Nat feel guilty again. Maybe she really doesn’t know. Maybe Nat’s got it wrong. Maybe Misty’s affection is too complex to be whittled down something as human as sexual desire. 

“I made out with Shauna, once,” Nat offers. She’s not sure why. Talking about herself, especially her younger self, isn’t something she enjoys. But pulling the focus away from Misty feels like a necessary kindness. “Not out there. Before. At a party.” 

Misty looks like someone just told her the Earth is flat. “You did?” 

“And Lottie. And Van. But that was weird.”

“It was weird with Van but not the others?” 

“Van was like kissing my brother or something.” 

Misty doesn’t laugh. “What about Tai? Did you kiss her?” 

“Tai would never have come near me.”

“But you would have? If she did?” 

“I was a horny teenager.” Nat shrugs and wipes her fingers on her knee. “I would’ve hooked up with anyone.” 

“Well, not me.” Misty laughs but it’s tight and forced. Nat can’t tell if this is a woe-is-me schtick in search of a compliment or if she’s being honest. She is right: Nat probably wouldn’t have back then. It would’ve been like feeding a stray dog; Misty never would’ve left her alone. Not that, as it turns out, that could ever have been avoidable. 

Nat narrows her eyes. Her left hand sitting inside Misty’s knee itches to move. She keeps it still anyway. “Thought you were straight.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were all… experimenting without me.”

Nat laughs. “You make it sound like we were all having team orgies behind your back.” 

Misty blushes again and her eyes go a little glassy. They slide over Nat’s chest, crawling across her skin and sliding down her arm to their hands on the bed. Nat feels something shift. Like the woman in front of her just lost her footing. She’s desperate to know what image just popped into Misty’s head. 

“We were kids,” Nat says and clears her throat. “It wasn’t a big deal.” 

“Right,” Misty agrees, her voice a little high. “It’s not a big deal to try things out. When you’re a kid.” She nods as if to reassure herself but she’s stopped eating. She stares at Nat with a confused, almost alarmed expression. 

“What?” Nat asks. 

“Oh, nothing. I’m just going to—” She moves as if to get up but Nat’s hand follows like her shadow. “Oh.” She gives an airy laugh. “Never mind.”

It feels cruel being forced to impede on a private moment. Nat desperately wants to leave her be, give her a moment to process whatever thought just turned her cheeks pink. She’s not used to being the imposter. It makes her feel guilty for ever bringing the topic up. She picks gingerly at a pastrami slice and pours them both glasses of champagne. 

It’s quiet for a minute. They eat. Their hands sit like salt and pepper shakers on the sheet. It feels like holding your palm too close to a hot stove and being unable to pull away. 

“So, do you have sexual relationships with women a lot?” Misty blurts.

Nat licks her teeth to hide her smile. It’s been getting more difficult lately to conceal how funny she thinks Misty is, even unintentionally. It feels too intimate to let her know. And she doesn’t want Misty to start trying to be funny. She just wants her to be herself. “Sometimes.”

Misty nods like she’s in a college lecture and wants to be the best listener in class. “I didn’t realise.” She shifts like she wants to cross her arms over her chest but can’t. “I never have,” she declares. As if that would be a surprise. 

Nat spots the question in Misty’s eyes well before she asks it. She looks at Nat as if the conversation going on inside her head is loud enough to short-circuit her facial expressions: a little dumb without her usual manipulative mask. Nat thinks it’s kind of cute. It takes her a moment to re-contextualise all of Misty’s obsessiveness: the lingering looks, the privacy infringements, her utter devotion to Nat. How the whole time Misty was fumbling around in the dark, just as ignorant of her behaviour as everyone else was. It makes sense, really: if Misty had known she was curious about this, she would’ve gone for it years ago. If how she treated Coach Scott was any indication, Misty isn’t afraid of rejection. Why would she be when she can just disregard it and try again? 

“…Okay,” Nat says evenly and tries to ignore the flutter in her stomach.

“Not that I wouldn’t,” Misty continues, all chatty as if this conversation isn’t heavy with implications. “I suppose it’s more of a lack of opportunity than anything I feel about it.” She searches Nat's face for a cue to latch on to but she’s not good at finding those at the best of times. It’s an open, vulnerable expression. “But I would,” she says. “Like to. Try.”

Nat doesn’t say anything. Her body feels electrified and agitated. She’s not afraid of having to say no or of hurting Misty’s feelings; she’s well-versed in both of those. The hot, excitable panic is because she knows herself well enough to know that if Misty asks, really asks, she’ll say yes. The gift-wrapped excuse for some hedonistic self-destruction is almost too delicious to comprehend. 

They both jump at a knock on the door; the tension breaks with a juddering spark. 

“Yoo-hoo!” Abby calls through the pinewood door. Their heads swivel in unison the same way their hands have been moving all day. “So sorry,” she calls. “I forgot your macarons!”

Misty deflates, her tense shoulders sagging. She gives Nat an apologetic smile before she starts to get up. 

“The fucking macarons,” Nat teases as she moves to slot herself back into her hiding place. 

Only, Misty unlatches the door too soon and, balanced on one foot, can’t do much about Abby swinging it wide and marching on in. 

“I know it’s late but they’re just to die for. Flown in from France, if you can believe it. I’d hate for you to miss out and I didn’t know what time you were planning on checking out tomorrow so I—” 

Nat slides their wrists behind Misty’s back but she knows it’s too late when Abby’s words fall away. Her eyes bug out and then snap up from where the cuffs were to the pained smiles painted across both their faces. 

“We were just—“

“—No, no. That’s my fault.” Abby gives a distraught laugh. “That’s my fault. I’ll leave you girls to it.” She pauses for a moment and looks somewhat wistful. “You know, I’ve always been curious about…” She clears her throat and shakes her head a little. “You girls enjoy your night.” 

Nat bites her tongue to stop herself laughing until she hears the door click shut again. She looks down at Misty, her palm pressed against her lower back, and she’s a lot closer than she’s ever been before. 

“You should get her number when we leave here,” she says. Her eyes flick down to Misty’s lips and then up to the dumb, starstruck look in her eyes. “You two have so much in common.” 

It takes longer than usual for her words to process and then Misty frowns. “I don’t want to try having sex with her.” 

Nat snorts. There’s a flurry of excitement at the implication there’s a different her Misty wants to try having sex with. She suppresses the feeling and moves back to her spot on the bed. 

The tray of six macarons, all in various shades of pastel, looks more like a movie prop than anything edible. The concept of turning food into something pretty before consuming it has always left an odd taste in Nat’s mouth. For them, it was always the other way around. 

“Do you even like these?” Nat asks as she picks up a pink one. “They’re just sugary styrofoam.” 

“I like anything sweet. Or salty. I guess I’m not a fussy eater.” Misty laughs. 

Usually, the allusion to previous meals would make Nat feel sick but their recent conversation gives the words a new connotation. She smirks at Misty and lets her voice drop. “I guess not.”

It’s been a long time since she’s flirted with someone. And that is what she’s doing, she realises to her surprise. It’s been a long time since had to try and felt unsure about the outcome. Misty might say no. She might chicken out, or hate it. She might like it too much. She might say something insane or do something insane. In fact, she probably will. It feels dangerous and intoxicating and it makes her feel young again. 

The half-bitten macaron looks like a pink moon. Nat holds it up to Misty’s lips and watches her eyes dart between it and her. “Try it,” she says. 

Misty looks how she did back that: sitting neatly before Nat, a tray of delicacies at her knees, eating at Nat’s command. She doesn’t take the dessert with frostbitten fingers. This time, she dips her head down and parts her lips, taking the food with her mouth. 

Nat bites back a curse. Her nostrils flare as Misty’s lips and tongue graze against the tips of her fingers. It’s just for a second, but the image makes Nat’s throat tight, her cheeks warm, and her body heavy with desire. She’d thought for a moment that Misty hadn’t read all the cues, that she was naive to Nat’s intentions, but looking at her now, it’s the opposite. Misty looks hungry, open, waiting for Nat’s next command. Then, Nat thinks, maybe she did miss them all but is brazen enough to try this anyway. She wouldn’t put it past her. 

“Good?” 

Misty swallows like she didn’t taste it at all. “HmHm.” She nods and her curls bounce. “I didn’t try the Brie yet,” she says quietly. She doesn’t move to cut herself a slice. She just stares at Nat, a light flush on her cheeks. 

Nat’s stomach swirls at what she’s asking. Misty wants Nat to feed her. And by the looks of it, is getting off on the idea. It gets close to being a sickly parallel to her old role: Misty following her commands, waiting patiently for Nat to provide, for her to nourish and protect. Maybe this is the only way they know how to operate when forced to co-exist so closely. 

Nat picks up the knife, cuts off a slice of the Brie, and is relieved Misty didn’t request any meat. She takes the sticky food between her fingers and holds them up again. 

Misty doesn’t hesitate this time. She swoops down and takes Nat’s fingers into her mouth, pretty much ignoring the food and wrapping her lips around the first knuckle of her thumb and index. Her free hand flies up to hold Nat’s wrist, keeping her still so Misty can clean her index finger with her wriggling tongue.

It’s warm and slick and alive and it makes Nat curl with want; with a need to know what it would feel like elsewhere. Misty’s hallowed cheeks force her to envision what she’d look like sucking something else. She feels herself throb. 

Being the initiator still feels wrong. Despite her calculated tendencies, Nat’s always considered Misty more vulnerable than her. And this being such a new revelation, she wants Misty to take the lead. Or maybe she wants to sit back and watch Misty flail. Two things can be true at once. 

Nat’s finger falls from Misty’s mouth with a wet pop. Her lips are reddish and plump, still parted and waiting for more. Nat looks away before the compulsion to get Misty to taste the inside of her mouth takes over. She looks at the champagne bottle bobbing in the ice bucket just behind Misty. 

“You want another glass?” She asks, trying to sound unaffected. 

Misty blinks. Then nods again. “Yeah.” 

As Nat reaches for the bottle, Misty sweeps forward like a magnet being drawn into Nat’s orbit. She halts herself at the last second, her breath hot on Nat’s face as if she were about to plant a clumsy, awkward kiss on her cheek but then chickened out. 

“Sorry.” Misty laughs and recoils, her face a deep red. “These cuffs,” she says with feigned exasperation as if they have anything to do with their faces being a centimetre apart. 

“Hmm,” Nat plays along, albeit a little sarcastically. “So annoying.” She remains in Misty’s space a second longer, her hand on the icy bottleneck, and looks at Misty’s plump lips, just to see if she’ll try again. 

She doesn’t. She watches Nat lean back and refill their glasses. Then she watches her pick up a grape and eat it, her wide eyes tracking Nat’s hand like a dog begging for scraps. Nat’s tempted to offer her one but she knows if she feels Misty’s tongue against her fingers again, she won’t be able to resist pushing them into her mouth and making her suck until grape juice spills down her chin. 

Fuck. She needs to get up and move. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air. She looks at Misty’s blue foot by her hip on the bed. 

“How is it?” She asks, feeling a little useless. Misty’s managed to solve all but one of their problems today, even while injured. It makes Nat feel like a tag-along to her own investigation. But cared for, too. Some part of her wants to repay the favour. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Misty insists. “I mean, it’s not broken or anything. Just bruised.” 

Nat’s not entirely sure Misty would admit to it being broken even if it was. “Can I do anything?”

Misty’s cheeks are still pink and her eyes are still dark. She looks alert, though. Apprehensive but wild. She hesitates before she answers, shrugging past a shy smile. “Kiss it better?” 

Nat conceals her gasp as a deep inhale through her nose. She’s getting close to her limit concerning how much foreplay disguised as innocent flirting she can tolerate.

How much of Misty’s apparent naivety is an act? Nat saw her manipulation skills on full display with Abby. Is it possible she’s being played too? Maybe Misty’s always known exactly what she wants from Nat and this is just how she’s choosing to play her hand: reclaiming her role as a helpless, chaste teenage girl. Nat’s vaguely concerned that the idea thrills her. Misty’s capacity for deception keeps her vigilant and invigorated. Nobody from the real world has ever made her feel like that. 

She tilts her head to the side, dark hair falling partially across her face, their eye contact unwavering. She smirks as Misty’s bashfulness turns to eager anticipation. 

Nat doesn’t dip down and kiss her foot like an acolyte would. She scoops Misty’s leg up, her calf small enough to fit comfortably in her palm, and inspects the bruise. The dark blue across the bridge fades to grey up her ankle. 

Misty leans back on her free palm, eagerness turned to dark, stormy desire as Nat presses her lips to the bridge of her foot. 

It doesn’t feel like worship or repentance or submission. It feels like giving praise where praise is due. Like placing her palm on the top of her disciple’s head as they knelt before her, to thank them for their loyalty. Like letting them eat. Like keeping them warm. To be queen is to serve, after all. 

Misty’s chest heaves. She looks almost afraid of how much it affects her: her face transfixed by the warm press of Nat’s lips. Just one kiss is all it takes. 

“Better?” Nat’s voice is a deep rasp. She gently lowers Misty’s leg back to where it was. 

Misty nods quickly. She doesn’t smile and laugh. She doesn’t move from her reclined position. Nat’s eyes drift to the angle of her thigh, held open before her like she’s welcoming Nat in. She wonders how close she’d have to get before she could smell her. She wonders if Misty is as wet as she is right now. 

“We should probably sleep,” Nat says. She’s not entirely sure, even in the privacy of her head, whether it’s an attempt to diffuse the situation or exacerbate it. 

There’s a flicker of disappointment on Misty’s face before she looks to the bed and then at their linked wrists and realises what that entails. “Yeah,” she croaks. “I’d let you use the bathroom first but I guess we’ll have to go together.” She smiles. 

Nat grabs the individually wrapped travel toothbrushes Abby left for them on the tray and tugs Misty towards the bathroom. There’s something excruciatingly domestic about the two of them brushing their teeth together. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, Nat’s flannel and Misty’s sweater hanging from the cuffs between them. The boiling tension, turned down to a simmer, prickles to life whenever the bare skin of their arms graze one another’s.

The wilderness gave them a plethora of mundane tasks to complete together but none of them were normal. None of them were laced with a sense of comfortable luxury like this. They all tasted like blood and dirt. This tastes like spearmint and smells like Neroli hand wash. 

Misty catches her eye in the bathroom mirror and gives her a big, toothpaste grin. Her chattiness is tempered by the mood and Nat finds her inexplicably endearing like this. 

“Are you gonna be able to get your jeans off over your foot?” Nat asks after she spits. 

Misty’s holding onto the sink for balance. She looks down at her elevated foot and then at Nat’s leather pants like she’s just realised she’ll be taking them off. “Maybe with a little help,” she garbles around her toothbrush.

Nat smiles and shakes her head a little. Misty’s commitment to skirting around the elephant in the room is equally impressive as it is infuriating. She’s split between pushing Misty to her breaking point and just pushing her up against the sink and kissing her. Either option makes Nat feel wrong. Even if she’d never held sovereignty over Misty, she’d still feel a kind of power imbalance on experience alone. 

But then Misty blinks up at her from under her lashes, a suppressed smile on her lips like she knows exactly what she’s doing. If it weren’t for the bruising, Nat would wonder if she’d made the injury up just so Nat would tend to her. 

“Spit,” Nat says and takes the toothbrush from Misty’s hand, putting it in the cup on the sink. 

Misty does as told, craning down to spit into the bowl. When she stands, Nat reaches forward to undo the fastenings on her jeans for her, bumping her hips back into the sink. Misty gasps at the intimate act. 

“Okay?” Nat asks just to check. When Misty nods, she hooks her thumbs into the denim waistband and starts to tug the fabric down Misty’s thighs. 

Nat’s not sure she’s ever undressed someone without the explicit knowledge that she’s going to fuck them right after. She has to fight the muscle memory insisting the next step in this routine is to stick her hand down the front of Misty’s panties. 

Misty’s feigned helplessness seemingly becomes real as she stands dumbstruck in front of Nat. 

“Sit down,” Nat tells her when the jeans get to her knees. She tries not to stare too much at Misty’s white cotton underwear, dotted with pink flowers. They do a poor job of covering her blonde curls and Nat gets the answer to her previous question: this is how close she’d have to get to be able to smell her. 

Again, Misty follows her orders, sitting on the toilet lid so Nat can gently pull the tight denim off over her injured foot. She gasps once with pain and it’s the first noise she’s made since they moved to that bathroom that feels wholly authentic. 

“Sorry,” Nat mutters.

“It’s okay. You’re very gentle. Thank you,” she says quietly.  

It slips too far from thinly veiled eroticism into genuine care and Nat suddenly feels vulnerable crouched down in front of Misty. She stands up quickly, undoes her pants and slips them off pragmatically. The lack of sensuality in her movements doesn’t stop Misty from ogling her legs as she sits on the toilet lid. 

“Come on,” Nat says, trying not to let her cheeks redden under the attention. “I’m not carrying you to bed.” 

Misty smiles widely. She hops back up onto her good foot and waits for Nat to lead the way. 

Climbing into bed with her, Nat starts to make peace with the fact that Misty probably isn’t going to take this any further. She’s made it as obvious as she can that she’d be reciprocal to an advance but Misty’s stringent subservience leaves them in a stalemate. They lie face to face, heads resting on soft cotton pillows, physically unable to roll away from one another yet seemingly conquered by this last hurdle. 

The room doesn’t get very dark. Even with all the lights off, the street lamp outside their window bathes them in warm orange. Nat can see Misty’s eyes, bare without her glasses, trailing lazily over every inch of Nat’s face, down to exposed sternum and bare arms. 

“I’m glad I got handcuffed to you,” Misty whispers. 

Nat snorts a laugh against her pillow. “What?” 

“I mean, over anyone else, I’m glad it was you,” she clarifies. “I like being close to you.” 

“Yeah?” Nat asks, her voice a lot louder than Misty’s, unsure if this is a vulnerable confession or an attempt at seduction. 

Misty nods. She scoots herself closer to Nat until her face is at the edge of her pillow. Their hands and the clothes twisted around the cuffs are the only things stopping them from touching.

“Is it okay?” She asks quietly and Nat can feel her breath on her lips. “That I like it?”

Nat’s heart hammers in her chest. She would barely have to move her head off the pillow to lean forward and kiss Misty. Her mouth feels dry and this time it’s her turn to nod speechless. 

“Can I…” Misty looks at Nat’s lips and then wets her own. The sight of her pink tongue reminds Nat of how it felt on her fingers. “Can we, um…” 

“What?” Nat asks just as quietly, not wanting to scare her off but overcome with excruciating impatience. 

“Experiment?” Misty asks. 

Nat can’t hold back the fond laugh that bubbles out of her chest. She bites it back when Misty’s eyebrows knit together anxiously. “Yeah. We can do that.” 

Misty exhales whatever apprehension she's holding onto in one breath. “Oh,” she sighs, “Good.” Without any further delay, she kisses Nat. 

Warmth emanates out from their lips across Nat’s skin. It spirals down her spine, makes her heart clench and her organs melt. Misty’s mouth is wet and minty with toothpaste. It’s rare for Nat to kiss someone so clean. It’s instantly addictive. She slips her tongue over Misty’s bottom lip, pulls it gently between her teeth and licks into her mouth. 

Misty gasps and moans in quick succession. They should be grating, the winey, overenthusiastic sounds, but Nat swallows them all. She lifts her head to kiss Misty firmer, pushing her back into the pillow. 

Misty’s free palm settles on her bicep, squeezing and rubbing the relaxed muscle. Her repetitive strokes get longer and stray farther, eventually settling on Nat’s chest, above her breast. 

Unsure if it’s an attempt to push her away, Nat breaks their kiss and looks down at Misty’s awestruck face. “You okay?” She asks, surprised at how breathless she sounds. 

Misty’s lips move as if they’re trying to form words but can’t quite remember how. Instead of talking, she slides her hand down from Nat’s collarbone to cup her breast. Nat smiling is the only encouragement Misty needs to dig her fingers into the soft flesh through the thin fabric of her vest. She does it a few times, seeking out Nat’s nipple with her thumb and sighing when Nat bites her bottom lip. 

“Does that feel good?” Misty asks quietly, not teasing; she really wants to know. 

“Yeah.” Nat sighs. “That makes me fucking wet.” 

Misty looks a little dizzy at that. “I’m… Me too.”

Nat smiles at her. She tilts her head to one side, studying Misty, before she plants a kiss against her sternum. Nat slides one long, bare leg over Misty’s hips to straddle her, keeping her nose pressed between Misty’s breasts as she moves. She smells like sweat and faded perfume. 

The covers fall away as Nat sits up. Before she can make another move, Misty slips her cuffed hand between Nat’s legs, cupping her over black cotton underwear. 

“Fuck, Misty.” The warm pressure of Misty’s palm covering her completely is heady and firm. 

“Is that… Can I do that?” 

“Yeah.” Nat pushes her hips down against the heel of Misty’s hand. “You can do anything.” 

With that, Misty immediately slips her hand down into Nat’s underwear.

“Fuck.” Nat laughs this time. 

“Oh, you are really wet,” Misty observes. Her nimble fingers are scorching hot against Nat’s slick skin, not hesitant at all. Just curious and explorative.

“Shut up.” Nat sighs. 

Misty’s eyes flick up from her hand to Nat’s face. She relaxes once she sees the good-natured smile there.  

Nat drops her head forward to kiss Misty’s chest again, pulling her shirt and bra down out of her way. She licks across Misty’s nipple, grazes her teeth across it and sucks until Misty mewls. 

Misty starts to rub Nat’s clit in smooth circles with a decent amount of pressure. It feels equally as pragmatic as her observation. Like she’s already set on making Nat come in the most efficient way possible. Nat’s hips start to buck against her, her thighs starting to tingle with winding tension. 

The one thing Nat won’t allow is letting Misty make her come first. Especially not so quickly. She’s holding her body weight up above Misty with her right hand and the left is already where it needs to be: tied to Misty’s, down between their bodies. Using her non-dominant hand to fuck her probably isn’t the best methodology but still, Nat slips it under Misty’s panties. 

Her blonde curls are corse on Nat’s palm. Misty gasps and nods her head rapidly to encourage her on. Nat would like to make a snarky comment about how wet Misty is too, the way she coats her fingers, but it’s all too much and her brain feels foggy. All she comes out with is a satisfied grunt. 

It’s hazy for a minute. The world becomes nothing but their soft breaths, the rustling sheets, the clink of the metal cuffs, pounding pulse points and the wet sounds of their hands moving against one another. 

Maybe it’s because it’s Misty and Nat always feels a little regressed in the company of another Yellowjacket but she feels like her teenage self. It feels novel and light, the two of them feeling each other as if finding out for the first time how uncomplicated pleasure can be.  

Misty looks so pretty, losing her focus and then finding it again to stroke Nat firmer, over and over again. It works, too. Nat can feel herself start to peak, her thighs trembling with effort to hold it back. But she’s not ready yet. She pulls her hand away and shuffles down Misty’s short legs. 

“What are you doing?” Misty asks, her tone bordering on irate at the loss of contact. 

Nat feels the comforter fall off the bed behind her as she kisses the round part of Misty’s stomach. She curls her fingers into the elastic at her hips and drags the wet cotton down. 

“Eating you out. Is that okay?” 

“Oh.” Misty looks a bit like naked Dracula, the way she lies all rigid in a straight line. “Yeah. That’s okay… That’s good. I was really close,” she breathes.

Nat smiles as she pushes the knee of Misty’s uninjured leg up and to the side. It makes Misty gasp, the way it parts her, and she balls her fists into the sheets. She looks hot and swollen. The streetlight outside soaks her tulip folds in an amber hue and the slick smudged across her thigh glistens under it. Nat’s mouth waters. 

“What?” Misty asks quietly and tris to bow her knees together. Nat’s eyes flick up to her wide eyes and pink cheeks. “You’re staring,” she adds. 

Nat halts the movement and pushes her knee open again. She lifts Misty’s leg over their linked arms so her foot is flat on the mattress. “I’m looking,” she corrects. 

A few compliments flutter around her head but none seem succinct enough. Instead, she maintains eye contact with Misty as she leans down and washes the flat of her tongue over her. 

“Oh, my…” For the first time all day, Misty’s eyes close. She squeezes them tight and her face scrunches up. She huffs out incoherent noises as Nat maps her out with the tip of her tongue. 

Their linked hands rest next to Misty’s hip and in amongst it all, Misty manages to tangle their fingers together. Her palm feels the same as last time: a rush of something tingles up Nat’s arm and nestles itself in her chest. She squeezes Misty's hand as she dips her tongue inside her. 

It’s been a while since Nat’s done this. She forgot how good it feels to taste someone’s pleasure. Or maybe she never knew. Maybe this is a wholly unique experience. She’s never tasted a girl from the wilderness. Not like this, at least. 

Misty’s scent and taste, the roughness of her hair and her clammy thigh against Nat’s cheek overwhelm her. She reaches around with her free hand to rub her thumb over Misty’s soft, swollen clit and her hips roll up on instinct against Nat’s touch. 

“Nat?” Misty asks in a quietly delirious tone. “Can I…”

It takes Nat a second to realise Misty is asking permission to come. If it was anyone else, Nat would assume this was a gentle invitation for her to take a more dominant role. But then Nat realises, as Misty bites her lip, doing anything to can to hold back her orgasm, that Misty really doesn’t know if she’s allowed to. Nat had pulled away the last time, after all. And Misty has always been the one to wait so diligently for her command. 

“Yeah, Misty,” Nat breathes across her skin. “You can come.” 

It happens almost immediately after that. A few more laps of Nat’s tongue, a few more strokes of her persistent thumb, and Misty’s whole body tenses. 

Her chin lifts towards the ceiling, the pale expanse of her neck bared. A feeble groan gets ripped from her throat. The sound quivers along with Misty’s shuddering limbs as the orgasm tears through her. Her grip gets so tight around Nat’s hand, it almost hurts. 

Nat wonders how long Misty was holding all of this back before she asked for permission. The thought of it, Misty made almost speechless by the ecstasy, trying her best not to indulge, makes Nat’s affection bend towards her. She replaces her tongue with her fingers to feel Misty’s orgasm pulse around her. 

“That’s good, Misty,” she rasps, and it only really feels like a cliche once she’s said it. 

The praise makes her clench down harder as Nat pumps her fingers, drawing out all she can from the spent body beneath her. The firm pulsing ebbs to sporadic twitches and Nat leaves a kiss on Misty’s clit before she pulls away to wipe her chin with the back of her hand. 

Misty is shiny with sweat, a few of her curls stuck to her temple as she finally goes limp. She gives Nat a hazy smile.

“Okay?” Nat asks, trailing her way back up Misty’s flushed body, landing a kiss here and there on her journey: one on her hip, her rib, her breast. 

“That was more than okay, Nat,” she insists. Only Misty would assume Nat was asking if the head was okay instead of asking if she was okay. 

Nat smiles. She kisses Misty’s bitten lip and draws out a hum with the taste of her. 

“Can I do that to you?” Misty asks. 

The thought of Misty’s mouth on her makes Nat shiver. But a part of her, a part she wouldn’t vocalise even if held at gunpoint, would miss Misty’s face. The thing that got her so close earlier wasn’t Misty’s fingers but her focus. Nat hasn’t felt so wholly seen and considered by someone like that since the early days of her relationship with Travis. When they were young and enthralled by each other. 

“Just touch me like before,” she murmurs against Misty’s neck. 

“You liked that?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I thought you didn’t,” Misty says.  

Nat pulls away from Misty’s throat to look at her inquisitive face. “No, I got too close. You were gonna make me come.”

“Oh,” Misty sighs. Her cheeks bloom red again and she swallows thickly. This is what Nat wants: Misty affected, Misty enthralled. She wants to feel like she has an impact. “I thought that was the point?”

“No,” Nat speaks quietly across the shell of Misty’s ear and enjoys the way it makes her shiver. “The point is to have fun. Sometimes you gotta pace yourself.” She bites her earlobe and guides Misty’s hand back down inside her underwear. 

The first pass of Misty’s fingers over her hot skin wakes up every charged nerve ending. Nat hisses at the flickering heat of it. It won’t take long. She’s already halfway there just from Misty’s salty taste still on her lips and her flushed tits on full display.

Nat sits back on her ankles and tugs her underwear down so they stretch around her thighs. Then she pulls her vest and bra off over her head in one movement, rocking her hips down against Misty’s palm. “Put your fingers inside,” she rasps.

“Huh?” Misty eyes flick up from Nat's breasts as she processes her words. “Oh.” 

“Focus, Misty,” Nat teases with a smile. 

Misty flushes but follows her command. Her eyebrows knit together and her jaw slackens as she slips two fingers into Nat’s cunt. It fills Nat, the pads of Misty’s fingers bumping up against the sweet spot inside that makes her legs shake. 

“That’s good,” she breathes, unable to stop the way her hips grind down, faster and faster as she rides Misty’s fingers. 

Sweat prickles down her spine. Everything, the air, her skin, her spread thighs, is moistened with salty brine. It makes the room feel close and muggy with the smell of sex. Misty’s other hand is hot pressed flat against her thigh. Nat moves it up to cup her breast, rubbing Misty’s palm against her hard nipple. 

The pleasure builds and builds, peaking into a volatile crescendo. She’s on the cusp of it. Hot lava is just about to spill down the inside of her thigh when Misty swiftly pulls her hand away. 

“What the fuck—” Nat curses, her hips suddenly bucking against nothing. “What are you doing?” 

Misty looks starstruck, her wet hand held up limply over her stomach. “Pacing?” 

Nat stammers for a second. “Not fucking now.” It might’ve come out angrier if she weren’t so breathless. “Put your hand back.”  

“Oh,” Misty says dumbly. “Sorry.” But does. 

The sudden cut-out and then the quick return put Nat’s body on high alert. She doesn’t have time to fully consider if it was a mistake or mischief. She just needs to come before Misty tries anything else. But then the way Misty’s eyes light up at Nat’s ferocious need answers her question: definitely mischief. 

“Asshole,” she sighs but it’s smothered by a groan. Her hips pick up pace again. She palms Misty’s breast, feels her soft flesh, and lets the unfettered adoration in Misty’s eyes wash over her until she’s coming around her nimble fingers. 

It's better than it has been in a long time: all-encompassing and electric. It makes her scalp prickle and her toes curl. And when it’s over, she collapses forward onto Misty’s chest, trapping Misty’s hand between them. She feels the fire dwindle, Misty’s fingers still flexing inside her, unsure when to stop. 

The room is too hot for cuddling. Not that Nat would do that anyway. She rolls off Misty and exhales a satisfied breath. 

“Was that okay?” Misty asks. And Nat knows she is asking for an evaluation. 

“Yeah.” Her voice is hoarse from heavy breathing. “In the end.” 

Misty smiles as if she’s shy again. Nat doesn’t buy it for a second. “Sorry,” she whispers with coy affectation.

Nat tries her best to give her a withering look but the bizarre fondness she feels ruins it. She shakes her instead. “You tired yet?” 

“Not really. I mean, a little bit but I could stay up. We could talk or watch a movie. Or we could keep… doing this. It’s up to you, really. I don’t mind,” she waffles, half to Nat, half to Nat’s tits. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” Nat gives her a doubtful look. She turns to trace Misty’s chest with the pads of her fingers, moving gently from her collarbone, down her sternum and across her breast. 

Misty takes a sharp breath as Nat absentmindedly strokes her nipple. “Not really,” she confesses quickly. 

Nat leans forward and takes her nipple into the wet warmth of her mouth. She’s not sure they’re ever going to get to sleep at this rate. Misty’s body, as it turns out, is one of the more addictive substances she’s tried. 

She hooks her finger over the band of Misty’s bra, still wrapped awkwardly around her bottom ribs. It’s firm under her finger. Hard, actually. Like metal. It takes Nat a second to process what that means. 

“Misty.” 

Nat’s harsh tone draws Misty out of the stupefied haze her tongue had put her in. “Hmm?”

“Are you wearing a fucking underwire?” 

Misty’s lazy expression falls away, quickly replaced by anxious embarrassment. Caught red-fucking-handed. 

“Oh…Um…” She stutters as she searches for a decent enough lie. 

Nat’s going to fucking kill her. 

Right after she gets out of these cuffs.