Mirandy One Shots

Mustn't by Telanu

Summary

They really shouldn't be doing this. Even more than usual.

__________

"My husband," Miranda gasps.

"So be quiet," Andy whispers, before she silences Miranda with a kiss.

But not for long. "Are you crazy?" Miranda says when Andy pulls away. Her voice is as close
to panicked as Andy has ever heard it. "You've lost your--get out of here!" Andy kisses her
throat. "We can't do this here!" She grabs at Andy's shoulders.

Andy pushes her back down against the bed. "We can't not do this here," she says hoarsely.
"You were looking at me all day--"

"Andrea--"

"--and I was looking right back, oh Christ, Miranda." Andy kisses her harder this time.

"He's right down the hall," Miranda whimpers, winding her arms around Andy's neck,
wrapping a leg around Andy's waist, bare skin against Chanel wool.

"His door's shut. The light's off. I left my shoes downstairs, I tiptoed--" Andy pushes the hem
of Miranda's nightgown up. "Just let me--"

"Not in the bed." But Miranda is already going weak, limp, beneath her. "He'll…or the maid
will know--"

This is true. Andy will almost certainly leave a couple of long brown hairs lying around on
the sheets. "Floor, then." She urges Miranda to sit up, tugs her like a rag doll. "Or your
bathroom. The wall. Anywhere." She grabs Miranda's breast, and Miranda bites her lip and
whines.

Miranda's right. She is crazy. But it's been days, days since they've had this--the office is too
rushed with a big shoot coming up (and no time for hotels), Miranda's car with the privacy
screen is in the shop, Stephen's in town, and Nate's hours at the restaurant are different, so
he's home right when they don't need him to be.

(They don't fuck in the bed there, either. They do it up against the wall--kitchen, bedroom,
bathroom walls--on the table, in the armchair, on the floor, the kitchen counter--anywhere
they can spread their legs into some kind of feasible position without staining anything.)

Andy wasn't lying. They can't not do this anymore.

"Andrea," Miranda says as Andy drags her to the edge of the bed. It's unclear whether it's a
protest or a plea. It might be both. It often is. Then Andy slides her hands up beneath the
nightgown to cup Miranda's ass, and realizes it's bare. She gasps, and her head spins.
Miranda.

"You're not." Andy gulps for air. "You're not wearing…" Has Miranda been going commando
all day? It doesn't seem possible. But the thought turns Andy on so much she can barely breathe.

"I never do," Miranda manages. "I never do at night, I don't like the way it fee--" She pulls
back again. "Stop. We can't…"

"Okay," Andy says as she slides her hand between Miranda's legs. Her eyes widen. Wet
already--and it's not a new development. Miranda's curls are stiff and sticky. At her touch,
Miranda's head falls backwards, like the muscles in her neck just stopped working. "Oh my
God," Andy breathes. She slides a fingertip through Miranda's lips, and Miranda bucks into
her touch. "You've got to let me do this." And now she pulls on Miranda for real, tugs her off
the mattress and down onto the floor. "It won't take long, will it?"