Work Text:
The Way You Look At Me
Set after Sleight of Hand and Twist of Fate and A Bed of Nails
“Mama?”
Lara entered their kitchen and let the school bag drop on one of the kitchen chairs. Even if it was lunchtime, the house was uncharacteristically silent, and just Miranda was there, sitting at the wooden table with a magazine and an espresso.
She raised her face to smile at her daughter, and Lara bent to kiss her cheek. She looked tired as if she was just starting the day. In fact, now that she recalled it, she had been asleep when Allison had gotten Lara and her brother ready for school…
“Hello, you. How was school?”
“Okay,” Lara nodded, sliding in the chair next to Miranda’s. “What’s up? You seem sleepy.”
“I am,” her mother nodded, and as if she needed to prove her point, she dramatically yawned. “Your mother’s fault. She kept me awake —“
“Too much information!” Lara interrupted her, bringing her hands to cover her ear. Her mother tended to be disturbingly graphic about details about her sex life, and even if Lara liked to think that she wasn’t naive, it was still her parents. And God helps her, she had seen (and heard and figured) more than she had wanted to.
Miranda laughed and grabbed one of Lara’s wrists, freeing her ears. “No, not with that! With stupid chatting about Timmy’s daycare.”
“Where are they?” Lara asked, grateful that the conversation had abandoned the sex topic. “And when are we eating?”
“They’re getting groceries. Your mother promised to bring back pizza for lunch.”
Lara grinned at that news, and nervously looked out of the window, trying to see if they were back, yet.
Yes, she was hungry.
Miranda had gone back to lazily browse her magazine when Lara spotted something under it. She reached for a tick red card with hearts sketched by someone who clearly was a kid and grinned: “Timmy?”
“Yes,” Miranda rolled her eyes. “For his mommy for Valentine’s day, I think,” she grimaced.
“Well, yes, it’s tomorrow,” Lara pointed out.
"Yes?"
“February 14th? The mall is full of heart balloons.”
“It is?” Miranda grimaced. “Never understood the meaning of the celebration. It’s for subs and creepy couples.”
Lara rolled her eyes: “I don’t like cheesiness either,” she pointed out, specifically ignoring the two words her mother had used. “But… are you telling me you never got Mom roses for Valentine’s Day? Or better, a designed purse or a bookstore gift card?”
Miranda’s eyes, naturally big, got disturbingly big. “Roses! Lara, do you remember who you are talking to?”
“I do,” the girl shrugged. “That’s why I’m suggesting. Everybody else won’t need their daughter to remind them to buy Valentine’s crap. Oh, I said a bad word.”
Miranda shrugged: “Your mom’s not here. Bad words are fine. But I refuse. I won’t go around buying disturbingly red flowers.”
Lara sighed. “I tried.”
Damn Lara. Damn smart, practical daughters.
She had never given Valentine’s Day a thought before, she realized that afternoon.
She had agreed to go to the beach, and now, she was pacing in front of the kiosk, obsessed over Valentine’s Day after a long queue for ice cream for the kids and beers for her and Allison.
They had never celebrated anything. They celebrated stuff with sex. They barely celebrated their wedding anniversary. Except, recently Miranda had spent a lot of time thinking about her relationship with Allison. They had recently told each other I love you for the first (and only!) time, and Miranda had started fearing that the zero effort she put into their wedding could, soon or later, end up with Allison leaving her. Even if she was in love with her, and even if she had sworn to her it was just an irrational fear, because between them everything was great.
Expect, Allison had given up everything for her. She had given up Europe and America for a fucking island in the middle of fucking Pacific Ocean. And she had given up men, and as much as Miranda wanted to vomit at the thought (of both she and Allison with men) she understood she must have enjoyed straight intercourse, so… well, she was the only woman she had had sex with, without being attracted to them specifically, so yes, she needed to be enough. Even if that meant buying sickeningly red roses or chocolate or - God forbid - teddy bears.
She wasn’t like that. She had never been like that. But probably Mike was, and recently, Miranda had connected to him every singular failure she thought she had in that relationship. And Allison was worth everything.
So, Valentine’s Day it was.
The following day, she offered to drive the kids to school.
“I don’t wanna!” Timmy protested, hugging Allison’s legs as she cleaned the kitchen after breakfast. “I wanna go with Mommy!”
“Mira, if you want…”
“No, wait.”
Miranda kneeled down next to Timmy and whispered to the little boy: “I need to tell you a secret.”
That, apparently, got his attention. He still won’t let go of Allison’s leg, but he nodded, big eyes focused on Miranda. “Mommy can’t know,” she whispered. “It’s a surprise.”
He looked at her, confused but clearly interested. Then, he nodded. “Okay.” He turned to Allison and hugged her legs more forcefully, rubbing his face against her mother’s thighs. “But I wanna cuddle a lot this afternoon, Mommy!”
Allison bent and picked him up, showering his face with kisses. “Of course, my darling. Cuddles and ice cream for my baby prince, yes!”
“Allison, he’s not one anymore,” Miranda pointed out and got closer to steal Timmy from her arms. “Let’s go, buddy! School!”
Despite his initial disbelief, sitting in the backseat with a donut, next to his sister, Timmy looked pretty content.
“So, Mama? What did you want to tell us?”
“I’ve thought about what you told me and I’ve decided to get your mother something for that ridiculous celebration.”
“Oh, good! Good job, Mama!” Lara grinned, and Timmy tugged at Lara’s sleeve.
“What?”
“What are you talking about! What celebration?”
“Valentine’s Day,” Lara smiled widely.
“Oh, yes! I got Mommy a card and she was super happy!”
“Yes, buddy, we know you’re her favorite,” Miranda rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I need to buy her something and this is why you guys are not going to school today.”
If she had been expecting cheers or enthusiastic cries, that wasn’t the case.
Lara groaned: “But mom! Today is my favorite day of the week!”
And Timmy just frowned: “Mommy won’t like it.”
“Why the hell did I got punished with such strange kids?” she groaned to herself. Normal kids couldn’t wait for the opportunity to skip a day of school, but her daughter liked it, and his son was afraid of lying to his mother. And of course, it didn’t matter that she was the other parent. Unbelievable.
“Lara, one day off won’t affect your education, I promise you. And Timmy, don’t worry, we won’t tell Mommy.”
“But I don’t lie to Mommy,” Timmy complained, and while Miranda considered what she could tell Allison if she abandoned him on the road, Lara told him: “Come on, Tim, it’s a surprise for Mommy! We’re gonna buy her a present from Mama, she needs us to pick the best one!”
Of course, the idea of making his Mommy happy did the trick.
“‘Key,” he sighed. Then, mumbled: “I know what my Mommy likes.”
Miranda didn’t say anything back, she just turned in the mall’s parking lot. As difficult as her kids were, she wasn’t going to handle teddy bears or fucking heart-shaped balloons. She needed them.
“So? What do we need to get?” she asked once inside, looking around, feeling nothing short but terrified. Lara was walking next to her, her arm crossed with Miranda’s, while Timmy looked the world top-to-bottom, sitting on his Mama’s shoulders like he always did when they went places.
“Oh, look at that big teddy, Mama!” he exclaimed, pointing to one enormous teddy bear, hugging a red heart which said Be Mine!
“That is super cute,” Lara grinned, and Miranda stopped. “You’re joking, right? I’m not going to go home to my wife with a fucking animal bigger than me.”
“Bad word!” Timmy pointed out, but both his mother and his sister ignored him.
“Well, but that’s the whole point of Valentine’s Day,” Lara grinned widely. “Isn’t it?”
“Okay, this is the point,” Miranda sighed deeply. “What’s the whole point of this?” she asked, realizing just then that she didn’t know it.
“Love!” Timmy exclaimed. “My teacher told me. It’s a day to celebrate our…” he stopped a second, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Loved one?” Lara suggested.
“Yes but love between mommies and daddies!” he explained. “But we don’t have a daddy so our mommies.”
Miranda smirked. The little guy was smart, after all. She decided to help out the poor kid: “So you mean loved ones? Spouses?”
“Yes!” Timmy exclaimed. “You never help me with my words, Mama, but you good too!”
“I never get the chance where there’s Mommy around,” Miranda sighed. “Okay, back to the… stuffed animals. The point is celebrating love. Okay. On a set day? The whole fucking marriage means celebrating the other person?”
“Which you don’t normally do, right?” Lara guessed, raising one eyebrow. “Just buy her something, get her flowers and tell her you love her, and it’s going to be over.”
Miranda was looking at her as if she’d suddenly grown a third head.
“I need to —“
“Oh, come one, Mama!” Lara groaned. “It shouldn’t be so hard! We see how you look at her!”
“Again with this,” Miranda groaned. “Let’s make it quick, all this red and pink is making me want to vomit.”
“Well, we can do another color,” Lara proposed, affectionately wrapping one arm around her mother’s waist. Miranda grinned between herself and ran a hand down the girl’s long hair in a quick but sweet gesture. “We can?”
“Sure. Roses come in almost every color, and balloons too…”
“Are balloons really necessary?” Miranda led them away from the shop and they approached one of the multiple cafes facing the ocean. They sat down and when a waitress approached, smiling widely at Timmy, Miranda got Timmy some foamed milk, orange juice for Lara, and a gin and tonic for herself.
“Mama, don’t you think it’s a bit early for gin?” Lara asked, eyes wide. “Mom won’t be happy.”
“Your mother would have some herself if she were here, I assure you. What were we saying?”
She looked at Lara expectantly, but then Timmy surprised her: he slid off from his chair and approached Miranda, opening his arms to her.
“What, buddy?” she asked, distracted.
“Up?” he asked, and she was so surprised, she looked at Lara, and the girl was grinning, her smiling face hidden behind her orange juice glass.
“Oh! Sure!” she assured, picking him up and sitting him on her lap, where he immediately reached for his milk and then rested his head comfortingly against Miranda’s breasts.
“I miss Mommy,” he sighed.
“I know. We’ll be home soon,” she assured him, but she stayed there, watching the top of his head, amazed and in disbelief like every time he spontaneously showed her affection. Tentatively, she wrapped an arm around his waist.
“You’re more soft than Mommy.”
“Yes, I know,” she chuckled, and then looked at Lara: “What were you saying about flowers and colors?”
“That we can do something different than red or pink. Even if Mom’s favorite color is red… But yours is black!” she exclaimed. “You can give her something which is your favorite color.”
“But I don’t like black balloons!” Timmy pouted.
“Again, are balloons really necessary?"
“Yes!” Timmy gasped. “But no black.”
“And rose petals,” Lara added. “Mandatory.”
“No. No rose petals. No balloons. You guys are crazy!”
Of course, Miranda didn’t really have an opinion, on the matter. The kids forced her to go blue (Timmy decided on the color and he was inflexible) and so she got: rose petals, a massive box of chocolate, and a bouquet of twenty-four blue roses. Timmy had suggested a teddy bear as well, but on that, Miranda had been adamant: no stuffed animals.
“Is this enough or I should have gotten her a real present too?” she asked Lara later, as they fixed the flowers and the chocolate on Allison’s nightstand and the petals on the bed.
“No. Write her a card, that, you have to do.”
“A card?!” Miranda couldn’t believe her ears. “No. I’m not in kindergarten. Timmy did, and that’s everything she’ll get.”
Lara laughed softly, then stopped dead in front of Miranda.
“Ma?” she started.
“Aye,” Miranda sighed, stopping and turning toward Lara. “Tell me.”
“I didn’t write you a card because I thought you had enough creepiness going on but…” she shrugged, a small, adorable gesture. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Mama.”
Miranda smile widely and hugged her: “Happy Valentine’s, nighean gaoil,” she whispered.
When Allison stepped into their bedroom, that night, she really thought she had entered the wrong house.
For a second, she tried to recall very quickly if she had forgotten about some kind of celebration, but the idea immediately seemed absurd: she was the one in charge of every celebration (even if minimal) they did. And she was absolutely certain —
At that moment, Miranda emerged from their ensuite bathroom, wearing her usual night outfit (shorts and ratty old tee), acting like Cupid hadn’t thrown up in their bedroom.
“Ohi,” Miranda smirked at her, and then, her eyes slid down the length of her body, and she frowned.
“What?” Allison asked, resisting the urge to roll her eyes - like the frown on her wife’s face was the only weird thing going on.
“Why aren’t you naked?”
“Why should I be?”
This time, it was Allison’s turn to frown.
“Don’t you get all excited because of this —“ and she gestured to their bedroom with her hand. “And with the sudden urge to say thank you on your knees like a good girl?”
It was Allison’s turn to smirk: “You know, if you want me on my knees, you only have to ask,” and she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that she knew made Miranda lose her mind. And in fact, the brunette seemed to forget everything about balloons and flowers, and the effort she probably went through: she grabbed Allison’s waist and roughly pulled her close, fisting a handful of red locks, so she was forced to tilt her head back. She immediately attacked her neck, sucking a random spot on Allison’s throat and cupping her buttocks in a way that made it hard to think, let alone to speak. But as much as she wanted to let herself go, she was curious. Ignoring the little moan that Miranda let out every time she sucked on her skin, and the promising wetness forming between her legs (immediate and welcome every time she found herself in Miranda’s capable hands), she pressed her hands on the brunette’s shoulders and pushed her away, gaining the space to meet Miranda’s eyes.
Allison had expected her to let go of her hair, but the brunette flexed her wrist a bit and the redhead’s head fell back, exposing her neck even more.
“It should be something important if you’re stopping me,” Miranda started, looking at her as if she was a delicious meal. “Or it’s a nice way to tell me I’m losing my touch?”
Allison let out a strangled giggled: “I was just wondering what has happened to our bedroom. Flowers, balloons…?”
“And you missed the big box of chocolate.”
At the mention of chocolate, the green in Allison’s eyes lit up. “Chocolate?” she beamed. “And it’s mine?”
“Yes,” Miranda rolled her eyes, running her finger down the line of Allison’s jaw. “Of course it’s yours. And the balloons. And the roses, of course.”
“Oh,” Allison just said, wrapping an arm around Miranda’s waist. “May I ask why?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Miranda stated, eyes widening. “Didn’t… weren’t you expecting anything? I know we don’t usually celebrate it, but Lara said… and then I thought…”
The hold on her hair softened and Allison could finally move her head and draw her wife closer. “Then what? What changed?”
She moved until the back of her knees touched the bed and she sat down, Miranda sitting next to her. The brunette didn’t say anything, she just shrugged, like she did every time she didn’t want to talk about something, and that something usually involved feelings. When Miranda still looked around, avoiding looking at Allison, the redhead sighed softly and tried to guess: “Is this again about Mike?”
“Don’t —“
“Oh fuck, Croft, not this again. What’s he got to do with it?”
“I just thought you may be the kind of guy that bought roses on Valentine’s Day,” she reasoned. “Plus, Lara said that I had to do something for you…”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Allison assured her, cupping the side of Miranda’s face in a gesture that in any there situation would have been too intimate and sweet for the brunette’s liking. “You don’t have to do anything,” she repeated, hoping the idea would sink in. “I know who I married. And in four years, we never celebrated anything of the sort. You don’t have to do it just because you think I might expect it. I know you can’t stand it.”
“The fake petals were a bit too much,” Miranda said, scrunching her nose. “But you really won’t like some more romance?”
“I know who I married,” Allison said once more, offering Miranda a tentative smile. “I don’t mind flowers and I love chocolate, and I love that you went through all of this,” she explained, and her hand slid down, cupping the sides of the brunette’s neck. “I married you. Okay? Get me flowers and cover me in chocolate if you want, but - if you want it. Not because you think you have to. Besides... it's all there. In the way you look at me.”
Miranda rolled her eyes: "How daughter said so too."
"We have a smart daughter."
She caught a peculiar spark in Miranda’s eyes, and immediately she drew Allison close, seizing her mouth with her own and kissing her with everything she had. The redhead didn’t know how, but she ended up on her back, Miranda on top of her, her strong thigh between her own legs, their mouths devouring the other. Miranda’s hands furiously tugged at her top, and with clumsy movements, Allison was left bare under her wife’s hungry eyes. But unlike she always did, she didn’t touch nor look or kiss Allison’s bare breasts. A warm hand cupped the side of her ribcage, a thumb stroking her skin softly. Miranda’s blue eyes never left her face, and in all they had shared together, Allison had never, ever seen that look on her. Her blue eyes were looking at her in such a brazen way, that she looked like she wanted to see right in Allison’s soul.
“I don’t do this romantic shit,” she declared, and Allison let out a chuckle, because of course she didn’t. Miranda’s hand moved from Allison’s side to her belly, the tip of her fingers slipping under the hem of her panties. The redhead shivered, more wetness pooling between her thighs. “But,” Miranda continued. “If I did do, this crap, I mean, I would be really glad to have a day that celebrates finding you in this life, Foinne.”
“Miranda!” she exclaimed; an excitement Miranda didn’t know she possessed. “Look over there!” she demanded, but the excitement died on her face and she turned abruptly mid-pier, sneakers in her hand, and looked at the brunette, eyes two pools of indefinite feelings.
“What?” Miranda asked, and she couldn’t help but get closer, the need she was feeling for that American woman something she had never experienced before. “Is everything okay? The lady doesn’t like the house?”
“They won’t find us,” Allison stated. Then, a doubt: “Right?”
“They won’t,” Miranda assured, a voice so sure and confident, it was impossible not to believe her. “I promise.”
“You kidnapped me and I followed you literally to the other side of the world, I don’t absolutely know what your plan is, and yet…” she stopped and sighed deeply, inhaling the scent of the ocean. “I trust you. Let’s go inside.”
“Me too, Mira,” Allison nodded. “Me too.”
Miranda’s mouth landed on hers once again, and they started kissing again, forgetting everything, but not them, right there, in their bed. She sucked on Miranda’s mouth while her tongue licked the inside of hers with more passion, more transport than before. The hand that wasn’t fighting to pull Allison’s panties down traveled up, and she let out a sigh in her mouth when she finally cupped the redhead’s breast. The sigh became a smirk on Allison’s lips when she pulled at her nipple and the redhead cried out.
“Shut up, baby girl, or you’ll wake up the whole house.”
Laughing gently, Miranda bit her bottom lip when she finally got rid of her panties, and finally, she traced her entrance with a couple of fingers, gathering some wetness before heading to her clit. Allison let out a strangled moan, her own hands fumbling to take off Miranda’s top and stroke her breasts.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Miranda groaned, leaving her mouth and leaving rough, arousing bites down her jaw and neck. The praise beautiful was something rather new, and like every time Miranda used it, Allison’s heart fluttered in her chest. She won’t admit it, not even under torture, but she was so ardently in love with that sarcastic, crazy bitch. The idea of her in a mall, choosing flowers or balloons for her…
Allison’s hand finally cupped Miranda’s sex when the brunette slid two fingers inside of her.
She let out a strangled cry, then panted: “No strap today?”
“No,” Miranda snarled, biting her neck with such passion, Allison thought she wanted to swallow her whole. “I want you like this. Close.”
Another pleasant change. Not only the petals, the balloons, and all the rest, but this strange need her wife seemed to have her close.
She penetrated Miranda as well, her fingers enveloped in hot, warm smoothness, and she realized she had never done that. They had never done that, fucking each other like that, mouth on mouth, breasts against breasts, hands holding tightly on hips or thighs, fingers searching blindly for bliss in sweet wetness.
A night of firsts.
Allison loved that.
They slept very little, that night.
After that first round, the strap made its appearance and her the stage for two rounds, one each. When the first lights of dawn appeared, and the sun rose from the ocean, they were in their bed, naked and wet from a later shower, hair drying in curls, feeding each other chocolate.