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Miranda no longer quite liked a quiet house, not since the days she'd spent alone in it, during which Andrea lay, sick and helpless, in a hospital bed. Those days had been long and grueling, seeming to stretch out to no end, the silence enveloping her in its cold embrace, drawing her deeper into the void of fear and loneliness. She'd preferred, then, the noises of assistants typing rhythmically on their keyboards and heels clacking against the marble floors of Runway, the steady beeping of machines and doctors and nurses issuing orders. Those had been comforting--any noise and any place that wasn't her big, empty house.
That's not to say she suddenly enjoyed noise, but it brought her a sense of... relief to hear the cook working in the kitchen, the nurse arranging Andrea's medications, the television blaring with the latest episode of Jeopardy. Andrea yelling at the television, watching the latest episode of Jeopardy.
She heard none of those now.
Entering the house, she was greeted by that same eerie silence that had followed her into every room all those weeks ago, the sound of her heels on the floor echoing against the tall walls, filling barren spaces. The kitchen was empty, the nurse was nowhere to be found, and the only sound she could pick up on came from Patricia, snoring peacefully in the den.
"Renée?" she called, discarding her coat and bag on the way to the stairs. There was light coming from the third floor, which gave her hope that Andrea was in bed, resting, as she should be. Her check-up with Dr. Reed had been hours ago and Miranda couldn't imagine Renée taking her on a walk this late in the day, and on her trek upstairs, she speculated on which version of Andrea she was about to encounter after two car rides in one day and prayed that there wouldn't be any fires to extinguish and set them back ten steps in this long and arduous recovery.
She banished that thought upon reaching the third floor landing, reminding herself once again of the promise she'd made to herself at the beginning of this entire ordeal: to be there for Andrea in whatever way and capacity she needed. She'd already failed both of them by breaking that promise recently, and she wouldn't again.
"Andrea?" she called, approaching the bedroom's closed door. From inside, she thought she could hear music. "How did the appointment--" Indeed, there was music when she opened the door--soft, silky jazz that cut off her train of thought, as well as red rose petals on the freshly made, white bed and scented candles perched on nightstands and cabinets, casting their warm, honey-golden glow on the otherwise dark room. "...go," she finished distractedly.
To her right, the en suite's door opened, revealing Andrea, not on the verge of a panic attack, not in visible need of rest, but standing, erect and confident, in a black teddy Miranda had carefully picked out for her two years prior. It was hardly the newest addition in their ever-expanding, respective collections of lingerie, but it worked quite nicely still, the lace clinging onto every curve like a second layer of skin, the thin wires at Andrea’s bust pushing her breasts together and up and leaving very little room to imagination. The look was completed by black stockings and a pair of Louboutins, accentuating the defined muscles in Andrea's calves.
"What is this?" Miranda murmured, unable to tear her eyes from Andrea's chest. It had been a while since she'd gotten excited beyond the point of coherency, especially lately with the constant reminders of sickness and horror and suffering hovering in the air, but this seemed to do the job. Deep in her belly, she could feel gentle stirrings and, for once, they had nothing to do with anxiety.
"What do you think?" was Andrea's sassy reply as she began to make her way toward Miranda, who felt rooted to the spot, watching her put a sway in her hips. She removed her gaze from Andrea's breasts and settled on her eyes just in time for Andrea to come to a halt mere inches from her, grab her hip, and pull her almost flush against her, eliciting an involuntary gasp from Miranda. "It's been ages," she husked, the vague implication clear to Miranda.
...who had to get a grip on herself, run her tongue over suddenly dry lips, and remind herself that Andrea was not well, that sex, as wonderful as it could be, was not their top priority at the moment. "Andrea, I--" she began, her voice coming out raspy. Clearing her throat, she avoided Andrea's eyes and tried again, "I don't think it's a good idea."
"Wrong," Andrea disputed her silkily, not missing a beat. Her fingers came up to play with the top button of Miranda's blouse, making it very difficult to concentrate on her next words. "Dr. Reed gave us the green light. He actually said that it's good for me--endorphins and all."
Her fingers lightly tickled Miranda's chest--whether intentionally or not, she wasn't sure--causing Miranda to inhale sharply through her nose. Which turned out to be a bad idea because then she caught a strong whiff of Andrea's floral perfume, making her brain go fuzzy right on cue. Taking a step back, she collected herself enough to insist, "Regardless, I think we should wait longer."
They should. Nothing bad would happen from postponing this another week or two, even if they officially didn't have to, even if they didn't want to, even if Andrea was standing before her, looking like... that.
Andrea took a step forward, coming even closer than before. "But I don't want to wait," she whispered enticingly, her fingers returning to the button and releasing it of its loophole.
Looking down at her garment, Miranda forced her breathing to slow down. "Andrea..."
"Please," Andrea pleaded and then there was less seduction and more Andrea, looking desperate and scared and painfully human. She cupped Miranda's cheeks in her warm, tender hands, thumbs rubbing lightly against each cheekbone. "I wanna feel normal again."
And right then, Miranda's heart ached for her. Her voice was watery and her eyes were wide and imploring and Miranda wanted to give her what she wanted, she really did. But she circled her wrists and said, "I know you do, darling, but we don't have to rush anything--"
"But we're not," Andrea insisted, her voice on the verge of breaking with her desperation. "Dr. Reed said that it's okay."
"Still--" Miranda tried, her chest tight, her eyes darting to the bulging scars on the side of Andrea's head and oh... wrong move.
Like a switch being flicked off, Andrea stepped back, her face hard, her posture stiff. Her eyes grew glassy as she shrugged her shoulder half-heartedly and brokenly whispered, "Am I not attractive anymore?"
Miranda's eyes widened. Oh, no, no, no. This would not do. She tried to think back on their conversation, on where exactly her concern for Andrea and her well-being could have been misinterpreted as her not--
Deciding that actions spoke louder than any words, she surged forward, engulfing Andrea in a tight embrace and claiming her lips in a kiss that was so deep, so thorough, it ignited every cell in her own body. Against her lips, seeming to be on the same page, a strangled moan left Andrea's throat as she kissed back, grasping onto her shoulders. The moan was exchanged for a desperate gasp for air when Miranda pulled away, examining her red, shiny, and kiss-swollen lips with satisfaction. On her shoulders, Andrea's grip tightened, holding her hostage in place as her warm breath tickled Miranda's lips. She had no plans to go anywhere, though. "Don't ever doubt that I want you," she emphasized verbally for good measure, burning with the urgency to set Andrea straight.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Andrea whispered, "Then please..."
Miranda didn't make the mistake of looking at the scars again, but the mental image had already taken permanent residence in her mind as she softly admitted, "I don't want to hurt you." Because she missed Andrea and she missed normal and she wanted, more than anything else, to be close again, to make her feel better than she had all these weeks, but Andrea still looked so fragile, as if she would break at the first touch, and just like the scars, the images of her grey and lifeless in a hospital bed, seizing and jerking uncontrollably, crying in pain and throwing up--those, too, were etched deeply into Miranda's memory, unlikely to ever leave. At the same time, though, her hold on Andrea's hips grew firmer, clinging on to the very physical, very real proof that she was there, she was alive, the worst part was over.
"You won't," Andrea replied, already pulling her toward the bed with little difficulty and little resistance. "You won't, just please..." She didn't finish the sentence, cutting herself off with a hard kiss to Miranda's lips and it was all the incentive Miranda needed to surrender, to kiss back, to wrap her arms tighter around her like Andrea was not the most fragile thing in the world, but the most precious. So she never went away again.
Against her lips, Andrea's own parted and her tongue snuck out to moisten Miranda's lower lip and seek entrance, which Miranda granted helpfully, having needed no prompting. Andrea's mouth was soft and warm, as was her body as she relaxed into the embrace, letting Miranda take the lead. Miranda's hands, releasing their hold just enough to feel and explore, ran up and down the lace at her back, relishing the almost imperceptible shivers Andrea's body gave in response.
"Take this-- take--" Andrea mumbled against her lips while trying to shove Miranda's jacket off her shoulders, her movements almost frantic with her urgent need.
Miranda, in turn, stopped kissing her just long enough to rid herself of the garment, then pressed one more wet kiss to her lips and whispered, "Get on the bed." Her hands patted Andrea's hips urgingly for good measure. Then, in spite of herself, she watched carefully as Andrea lowered herself onto the mattress, disturbing the petals beneath her, as her head settled on her raised pillows and she smiled up at her. Miranda blew out a relieved breath when no visible discomfort was evident on her face and returned to the moment just in time to see Andrea reach for her left, five-inch shod foot and order, "Leave them on."
Smirking, Andrea did as she was told. Then the look on her face was almost reverent as she watched Miranda finish unbuttoning her blouse the rest of the way, pull it out of her trousers, and shrug it off to reveal a lacy, green bra. Andrea licked her lips.
"Come here." She curled a finger at Miranda, her voice just louder than a whisper. Kicking off her shoes and abandoning the rest of her clothes, Miranda came, crawling onto the bed and onto Andrea, hovering just high enough so she didn't inflict any pain or discomfort but still felt the heat emanating from her ready body.
Then Andrea initiated another kiss, stroking her hand up Miranda's cheek and behind her ear and bringing her head down until their lips were pressed together, the weight soft and firm and delightful. Miranda, in the meantime, ran her left hand up and down the delicate fabric at Andrea's ribs, rubbing her thumb over each ridge and bump until Andrea was gasping into her mouth and squirming beneath her.
Deciding to move things further, she left Andrea's lips to kiss down her chin, jaw, and neck. At the base of her throat, she pressed her lips to the hollow spot where she could feel Andrea's steady yet pounding heartbeat and closed her eyes, committing the rhythm to memory as if she might never get to feel it again.
Andrea was here, she was alive, and Miranda was not letting her get away.
She still felt awful about her outburst the previous week, about taking all her fears and frustrations and lashing out at Andrea, again. It had made Andrea feel worse and made Miranda feel like the lowest creature on earth and she hadn't even apologized yet.
So, she apologized now, not with so many words, but with her lips, kissing and mouthing at every inch of skin at Andrea's neck, chest, shoulders, and cleavage. She wanted to touch, touch, touch, feel everything--she couldn't get enough. With one hand, she pulled the cup of the teddy off Andrea's right breast, freeing it for her watering mouth. She took Andrea's mewling sound when her lips closed around the nipple as forgiveness and set to giving her everything she deserved.
Even as Andrea writhed beneath her, impatiently seeking more, she took her time devouring and showing her appreciation to a perfect breast, the nipple pebbling deliciously in her mouth as she licked, sucked, and occasionally bit. Every once in a while, she released it, blowing warm air on the tightly furled peak, and paid as much attention to the rest of the supple mound with her lips, teeth, and tongue before returning to the nipple.
"Miranda..." Andrea begged breathlessly from above and tugged on her hair. In retaliation, Miranda lowered the second cup and released her other breast, repositioning herself so she could grant it the same treatment as its equal, and if Andrea had a problem with that, she'd just have to deal with it because Miranda was going to take it very, very slowly.
By the time she was done with her left breast, it was red and wet and Andrea looked about ready to pass out from her arousal so Miranda decided to take mercy on her and slid the straps of the teddy off her shoulders, dragging the garment painfully slowly down her body and slithering down along with it until she was level with Andrea's abdomen and helping her push it off her feet. One shoe came off in the process, but they were both past the point of caring.
The big, scary, blue-and-purple bruise that Miranda had first encountered at the hospital was nothing more now than a dull yellow color gradually fading from the left side of Andrea's midsection, and very carefully, Miranda lowered her head and peppered the area with feather-light kisses that caused Andrea to squirm and giggle. "That tickles." It was better than the alternative, Miranda mused with a smile, and spread her kisses all over the naked abdomen.
The thought returned to her, for what must have been the millionth time, of how close she'd come to never having this again, and she was overcome with the memory of sitting at Andrea's bedside, waiting and wishing for her to wake up, and feeling the impossible need to hold and touch and never let go. She held and touched and didn't let go now, pressing her lips more firmly, reverently to Andrea's skin, kissing and stroking everywhere she could reach, and if Andrea felt her urgency, she gave no indication besides the incessant gasping and whimpering.
"Please," she panted, pushing her hips further into Miranda's face. "Need you so bad." Beyond the buzzing in her ears and the haze in her mind, Miranda could appreciate her sex drive just as well as her returned appetite, but then she decided to stop being Andrea's nurse for once and fucking go for it, and did, sliding further down her body until she was between two quivering thighs and smelling the heady scent that was proof of how badly Andrea needed her.
At this point, she probably couldn't wait just as much as Andrea and so she skipped preliminaries, at least for the time being, going straight for the main course, so to speak. Andrea was so wet she thought she might drown, but then what a way to go.
At the first lick from perineum to clit, she was already an addict and wondered how she'd survived so long without a hit. Andrea gasped and bucked and, grabbing both of her hips as she settled in comfortably, Miranda's second thought was that the long period of abstinence better not make Andrea go off like a rocket two minutes into the ride because she was going to have a lot of fun eating her tonight.
To that end, she flattened and relaxed her tongue, bobbing her head up and down while, above her, Andrea's breathing already started growing labored and her hand gained a purchase in Miranda's hair.
Humming against her labia--and relishing Andrea's resulting shudder and moan--Miranda moved her arms down, wrapping them around each thigh, as she moved her tongue up and circled it in a languid motion around Andrea's clit before pursing her lips and taking it in her mouth. Andrea's entire body arched off the bed when she sucked and didn't relax back onto the sheets until she released the red and swollen nub and moved back down, listening to Andrea's disappointed groan.
When she inserted her tongue into her, Andrea sobbed, and when she stiffened and curled it to press against the rough patch of flesh inside while rubbing her nose against her clit, her moan bordered on a scream and her fingers pulled so painfully on her hair that she had to retaliate by pressing harder.
"Oh, god... oh... god... please," Andrea begged, although she sounded too delirious to know what she was begging for. Miranda, nevertheless, provided in spades. Replacing her tongue with two fingers that made Andrea buck (Miranda placed one hand on her abdomen to still her hips), she returned her lips to her clit and sucked. Hard.
By the time Andrea stopped coming, Miranda's lips and chin were covered in moisture and her fingers had been squeezed to near numbness. Smug and self-satisfied, she mouthed at the insides of both thighs, bit one, and crawled back up the bed to kiss Andrea's parted, panting lips and give her a taste of herself. She licked the dry skin she found there, pushed her way inside, and hummed in pleasure when Andrea finally reciprocated.
"Thank you," Andrea breathed when they parted for air, and kept repeating it like a mantra against Miranda's lips in-between successing kisses, "thank you, thank you, thank you."
Even as a voice inside her head told her not to, Miranda couldn't stop herself from asking, "How are you feeling?" Because as good as it had felt to love Andrea again, if it resulted in another tragedy, none of it would have been worth it.
But when Andrea broke into a wide, dopey grin against her lips, she knew it had been. It so had been worth it just to see her smile like that again. "You're overdressed," Andrea whispered in lieu of an actual answer, her words vibrating against Miranda's lips, and now that Miranda's fears and misgivings were behind her, she couldn't agree more.
She tossed her bra somewhere in the room and Andrea helped her wriggle out of her trousers and panties and then three of her fingers were inside Miranda while her lips were closed firmly around a nipple and Miranda was rocking her hips and moaning.
"What do you want?" Andrea whispered, her voice reverberating pleasantly against Miranda's breast. Her eyes were large and dark as they stared up at Miranda's face, prepared to give her whatever she wanted.
Miranda gasped, "Anything. Everything."
Planting a kiss right above her nipple, Andrea moved closer, draping one leg in-between Miranda's and using it as leverage to thrust harder, deeper until Miranda could hardly remember how to breathe.
"Open your eyes," Andrea murmured, her voice barely carrying over the music, which Miranda had also forgotten was playing, and up until that point, she also hadn't realized her eyes were closed.
With great difficulty, she did as she was told, and the first thing she saw was Andrea's scars; big and prominent, getting superficially hidden with short hairs, and healing. Whether Andrea caught her line of sight or not, she smiled and didn't pull away and Miranda decided to take charge again and flipped them until Andrea was lying on her back and she was riding her fingers, not caring if she was hurting her wrist because if she'd survived brain surgeries, she could survive this, and Miranda was so close to coming, so close...
The second her fingers reached between her legs, Andrea shoved them away and used her other hand to rub Miranda into oblivion, until the vision at the corner of her eyes greyed and she saw stars behind her eyelids and her whole body was spasming and shaking to the point where she could hardly tell the difference between pleasure and pain.
Sinking into the mattress, she pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the wild racing of her pulse beneath it. "Good?" she heard Andrea's sweet, almost amused voice and it sounded as if it was coming from a great distance and from mere inches away all at once. In reality, when she opened her eyes, Andrea was plastered to her side, her grin even bigger than before.
"I want more," she announced before Miranda had even gotten her breath back and she supposed that they did have a long time to make up for.
"If you can come up here, you're in luck," she said between gasping breaths. "I am way too old to keep up."
She vaguely heard Andrea's snorting laughter before she was on her knees and the worried part of her still wanted to tell her to take it easy, but then each knee was on either side of her chest and Andrea was looking down at her in a way she hadn't seen in a very long time, a way she--like many other things--had taken for granted. Her eyes were gentle and loving and trusting, as if Miranda was the greatest miracle she'd ever witnessed, and she had never been more beautiful--scars or no.
"We're good," Andrea said softly, her words both a reassurance and a promise.
"We're good," Miranda repeated on a breathy whisper. Andrea, then, promptly lowered herself onto her face and she had a very lovely time eating her indeed.
When Andrea plopped onto her pillows some time later, it was late and they were both beyond exhausted--Andrea, Miranda assumed, even more so than her. In the back of her mind, Miranda realized she'd skipped dinner--or, well, actual food; showering, her entire beauty regime, even brushing her teeth. She couldn't find it in herself to care.
"Will you be offended if I fall asleep?" Andrea practically slurred, her voice laden with her fatigue, and Miranda, at that point, only felt slightly bad.
"Yes, I'm a big fan of pillow talk," she stated, receiving a snort from the other side of the bed. The next moment, Andrea's breathing had evened out and she was out like a light.
Turning onto her side, Miranda looked at her naked body, covered in a light layer of sweat, at her messy hair and peaceful face. She stroked her hand up Andrea's arm, across her shoulder, then, for the last time, rested it gently on Andrea's chest and felt the strong heartbeat underneath.
Andrea was beside her, she was well, and they were good.