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Miranda had barely slept three hours, but strangely enough, she wasn’t feeling grumpy. Her muscles were relaxed enough, and she found herself in need of a good, long breakfast, and mostly of her wife. There was nothing to do, even after five years of marriage, the attraction was, sometimes, hard to master. She wanted her all the time. Always. Every day. It didn’t matter how hard the day was, how tired or in a bad mood she was, she always, always wanted her wife. Having sex with Allison, feeling Allison close, being able to smell the thin layer of sweat on her neck, running her fingers up and down the skin of her thighs…
She was laying on top of her, at that very moment, exactly where she wanted to be, her hands groping forcefully the side of Allison’s naked hip, her nails sinking in tender flesh. She would leave angry red marks. She knew she would, but it wasn’t that much of a news: Allison always had red marks, scratches, bite marks or hickeys, after they had sex.
Slowly and forcefully at the same time, Miranda was devouring Allison’s neck, but for once, the redhead wasn’t complaining: she had probably made peace with the fact that she had to answer to her Timmy’s confused questions about her numerous ouchies, let alone try not to blush when Lara giggled intentionally.
Her lips slid up and down Allison’s skin, tasting and smelling her perfume, tracing with lips and teeth the pale column of her neck. The hand who wasn’t handling her hip was buried in the rich mane of red curls. When Allison whined under her, Miranda smiled, feeling as smug as ever.
“Miranda…” Allison groaned at some point, clearly annoyed. Miranda felt her warm hand slide up the side of her torso and smiled against the skin of her neck. “What, sweetie?” she asked, grinning as she always did when she mocked her with that nickname.
“C’mon.”
“No, no,” she grinned, starting in an agonizingly slow motion to move from her neck down toward her torso. “I want to take my time.”
“We can’t,” Allison stressed, hugging Miranda’s slender hips with her thigh. “Timmy and Lara will be up soon. It’s a matter of minutes, now. And excuse me if I this time I want to get off!”
“Shut up and stay still,” Miranda groaned once again, pressing her mouth against Allison’s neck. Unexpectedly, the redhead’s hand went to cup the nape of Miranda’s neck, and she reminded her: “I’m still on my period.”
“Even better,” Miranda groaned again, and this time, it wasn’t a groan of annoyance, but one of deep desire.
They had started, the night before. Languid, slow kisses, like they always did at night, when they knew they had time. Miranda loved to strip her down slowly, looking at her in every detail, almost as if she rarely got to see her naked. When they had been so worked up it had been almost impossible to wait any longer, Allison had got up to get a few sex toys… and Lara had called screaming from her room, because she had a terrible stomachache. A pain she had never experienced, or so the girl had told them. If any of their kids had any midnight crisis, it was mostly Timmy, but that night, Lara had been complaining for hours and then had asked them if she could sleep in their bed. She had fallen asleep a couple of hours later, hugging Miranda’s back, her legs curled against her mother’s.
Those moments reminded Allison one of her most deeply rooted beliefs: children don’t belong to who make them. They belong to who love them, cherish them, raise them. Most certainly, Lara wasn’t their daughter, in the biological sense. She had caramel skin where Miranda’s was pale white; her eyes were big and dark, her lips heart-shaped. Nothing to do with Miranda’s big, blue eyes, or her thin lips. Let alone Allison’s colors - a redhead with big, green eyes that sometimes were blue, sometimes grey, perfectly milky skin and cinnamon freckles.
And yet, in some different, some radical, some perfect sense, Lara was theirs. And mostly, she was Miranda’s. She had been with them for three years, now, and they slept in the exact same positions, and most of them required them to sleep on their belly, legs and arms sprawled open.
Adorable to watch. But of course, that meant there was no room for Allison, no matter her ability to sleep curled in a corner. Just sleeping with Miranda alone was hard enough.
Sighing, she had given up as she went to sleep in Lara’s bed. She wasn’t really used to sleep alone, in a twin bed, without Miranda, but she had managed a couple of hours, until her daughter had woken up, telling her that they needed to swap places. Mama’s orders.
There was no way she was going to sleep more. She knew it. And as she walked the short distance between the two rooms and the first drops of a liquid arousal filled her belly, she couldn’t help but feeling a bit annoyed at her voracious wife: she was tired.
“Perfect, and I’ll spend those minutes between your thighs. Now shush and enjoy,” she told her again.
It was Allison’s turn to groan, but in a matter of seconds the groan of annoyance became one of pleasure when Miranda’s lips closed around one of her nipples.
Content, Allison brought her hand to the back of Miranda’s head and scratched her scalp.
“If you could purr, I bet you would,” the brunette grinned between herself, swirling her tongue around the redhead’s nipple, pert and moist.
Allison probably couldn’t purr, but she definitely could moan, and rewarded her eager wife with a loud one.
Miranda softly bit the side of her breast, mumbling a handful of “beautiful” with her lips pressed so closely against her ribcage, Allison barely heard her.
The brunette’s hand was sliding down her wife’s belly, aiming to the main goal, when someone knocked loudly at their door, and Timmy’s voice called: “Mommy! Mommy!”
Allison stopped moving, and gently started to push Miranda away.
“Hey! I’m not done here!” she protested, trying to wrap her arms around Allison’s naked waist as she quickly started to scan the room with her eyes, wondering where the hell her top had ended up.
“Yes, I’ll let you explain the whole thing to our kid,” Allison tried to push her away once more, while Miranda stubbornly placed kisses all over her shoulders.
“Carr!” Miranda spat when Allison finally escaped her, and clad in a maxi tee and her panties, opened her door and kneeled down to receive Timmy in their room and - obviously - in her arms.
“Good morning little man!” she cooed, hugging the little boy. “You got up all alone without your Mommy? Like a big boy, uhm?”
“Allison, for God’s sake, he’s almost an adult,” groaned Miranda from the bed. And then, since after all, the kid was awake and she apparently wasn’t going to bang her wife until that night: “Hey baby Republican, wanna snuggle up with Mama for a bit?”
Grateful to have Miranda proposing something to Timmy, Allison gently pushed the boy in the bed’s direction, but he shook his head: “Nu-uh, Mama. I have to go to Lari. She’s in the bathroom with blood!” he announced, and after giving his Mommy’s neck another squeeze, he fled out of the door.
After a second of hesitation, Miranda glanced at her wife from the mess of pillows and sheets their bed actually was.
“What - what does he mean, blood?!”
Miranda jumped off the bed and they ran to the bathroom, where they found Lara sitting uncomfortably on the toilet, panties a pool of cloth at her feet, while Timmy was going through his sister’s things.
“You’ve got no ‘pons,” he announced, shrugging.
“You have to go look in the other bathroom. The tampons are in their bathroom.”
From the way she was holding her belly, it was clear that the girl was still suffering. That, with the conversation about tampons, and the mention of blood, gave back a pretty clear picture of what was going on.
“Mommy’s?” Timmy asked, puzzled.
“Like that’s not my bathroom too,” Miranda groaned under her breath, while Allison asked: “What’s happening?”
"Why don’t you try and guess, Carr?” Miranda spat. “If I recall correctly, you were CIA, too.”
Allison wisely ignored her compliment and changed the topic: “Okay, we’re not going to spend the whole morning here. Mira, go get her some tampons —“
“Which kind?” she asked, clearly still annoyed and - Allison noticed - a bit uncertain. “My kind or yours?”
Allison was the queen of sustainable and eco-friendly, and alternated the menstrual cup with reusable tampons. Sometimes she gave in to Tampax, if they went (rarely) on a holiday. Miranda, on the other side, used just Tampax (and was very used to Allison constantly scolding her for polluting the planet).
“Do you really want to teach our daughter how to put in a Tampax on her first period?” Allison retorted, raising an eyebrow, her hand immediately going to rest on her hip.
For the first time, Lara spoke, and with a weak voice she just repeated after her mother: “In?”
“Don’t you worry, darling,” Allison smiled, and then looked at her wife: “The reusable. There’s a new pack. Pick that.”
In a couple of minutes, Miranda did the task, and Allison placed it next to the girl. “This is what I use for extra comfort, but this is a matter of find out what works best for you. It’s soft and comfy, you shouldn’t have problems. This pack can be yours —“
“How often do I need to change it?” Lara asked, awkwardly securing the cloth to a new pair of panties Timmy had run to choose for her, despite the whole family looking at her like she had grown a third head.
“This is much more absorbent than the regular one. Not too often. Now, take a hot shower and then come downstairs, I’m going to make your favorite breakfast.”
Granting the girl some privacy, Miranda, Allison and Timmy moved downstairs.
“Mommy can I come up?” Timmy asked, looking at his mother with crushingly loving eyes.
“Baby, Mommy’s cooking,” Allison said, apologetically. “Do you mind waiting for a bit? I promise you, lot of cuddles after breakfast!”
“Don’t believe her,” Miranda muttered as she set the table. “She promised me cuddles as well when we woke up, but -“
“Miranda!” Allison groaned. “Don’t. Not to my baby boy!”
“Mommy loves me more,” Timmy shrugged, flashing his mother a smug smile, and climbing onto his favorite chair.
“And that was pretty clear,” Miranda sighed, sitting next to him.
“No, don’t worry love, I don’t need help,” Allison mumbled. “I’m just making two different meals.”
Pancakes for the kids, but she had promised Miranda avocado toasts, and to be honest, she was in the mood herself. She was spreading avocado on two slices of crunchy bread, when Lara showed up, the face of someone who hadn’t slept, and her hand resting on her belly.
“Oh, sweetie,” Allison smiled. “How are you feeling?”
“Strange,” Lara grimaced, sitting down. “I have pain in body parts I didn’t know I have.”
“That’s normal,” Allison laughed. “Breakfast, ibuprofen and then couch and movie. What do you say?”
“I wanna watch Nemo!” Timmy exclaimed.
“It’s Lara’s choice, love,” Allison smiled. “It’s her day.”
“But why?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Because she’s a woman, starting from today,” Allison explained, all smiles, bringing the plates on the table. “Miranda, do you mind getting the coffee?”
Miranda didn’t say anything, she just got up and helped Allison with the two cups of steaming coffee and the chocolate milk for the kids. She was upset, and that much, was clear. Not even the picture of domestic bliss they made at that moment helped: she did not smile or try to engage Allison in dirty jokes. She just sat there, in a corner of the table, sipping her coffee.
She kept quiet the whole breakfast, and Allison had to ask twice to her to pass the sugar, or the maple syrup.
“Miranda, are you even on this planet?” Allison snapped at some point.
Miranda looked at her wife, startled: “Calm down, Foinne, I’m just thinking,” she complained.
Damn Allison, damn fiery redheads.
“Mama?” Lara’s voice broke in. If was weak, and uncertain. Miranda looked at her, surprised. It was unusual for Lara to speak in such an uncertain tone.
“Yes?”
“Are you… mad at me?”
“What?” Miranda gasped, while Allison sighed a heartfelt “Oh, darling,” and wrapped one arm around the girl, sitting next to her.
Now, up until motherhood, Miranda Croft had never understood guilty conscience. Not even when she had met Allison Carr and she had faced the mix of absurd, strange, foreign feelings she had started to experience. Guilty conscience wholly belonged to their children - partially because of what they had experienced before they all found one another, partially because their big, pleading eyes were constantly making her doubt that she was actually doing any good in raising them the way they were. Not that she was willing to admit it to another living soul. Not even to Allison, whom she loved deeply (and whom she wasn’t denying to love anymore). It was pretty hilarious: Allison, in Miranda’s eyes, but also in Timmy and Lara’s, was effortlessly world’s best mother; they showed it to her on a daily basis (even if this they includes the kids and takes Miranda off the picture, because one thing was thinking it, another was showing it), and despite that, Allison was devoured by guilty conscience constantly. For Miranda, it happened occasionally, but when it did… boy, it hurt. Especially when Lara looked at her like that.
“No,” she replied, trying to keep calm. “Why should I be? You haven’t done anything. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You haven’t,” Allison confirmed, bending to kiss Lara’s head, and eliciting a frustrated: “Mommy! Kiss me!” from Timmy that made Lara and Miranda chuckle. Of course, Allison bent across the table to shower Timmy with kisses. The movement caused the hem of Allison’s top to lower considerably, and Miranda’s eyes hungrily took the view in. Okay that she was worried about Lara, but not that much.
After breakfast, Lara followed Allison’s advice and decided to camp on the couch for the rest of the morning and of course, there was no way they could convince Timmy to go to school when the rest of the family was at home.
They fell asleep rather quickly, Lara worn out by the troubled night, and Timmy… well, Timmy because deep inside he was a dormouse. They looked adorable, curled around one another on the couch.
She winced, and pressed one hand on her own belly: with all of that going on about Lara getting her first period, she had forgotten that she was going through the same. She rolled her eyes: Lara didn’t know what she was about to experience. She got to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea and grab some heating pads and her book. She felt too nauseous to consider smoking. She stepped outside, on their porch, and sighed: it was perfectly warm but slightly cloudy. Perfect. She grabbed the sunblock cream from their front table and walked to the back, trying to find her wife, even if she knew perfectly well where she might be.
And in fact, Miranda was swimming. Allison could just catch a glimpse of her ass and legs before they disappeared underwater.
“Mira, come on,” she sighed, sitting down, paying attention to be close enough to water but not too close to the water, which she didn’t like, especially when she felt so bothered.
Why they had to be in that same spot every time they had something to discuss.
“Miranda!” she called, and a head of chocolate hair emerged, followed by Miranda’s frowning face. When she saw her wife, she arranged a small smile: “Hi, Foinne. What do you want?”
“I want you to admit that Lara’s period is bothering you,” Allison smirked, quickly swallowing a couple ibuprofens, and then taking off the maxi shirt she had slept in to apply the heating pad and some sunblock. “I suppose you need some help,” Miranda immediately commented when she saw that Allison wasn’t wearing a bra. She quickly got out of the water and in two steps, she was sitting behind Allison, massaging her shoulders and busying herself with kissing her neck.
“Don’t distract me,” Allison scolded her, and freed herself from the hug, because sticky skin was a big no when she felt like that. “Even if I know how much you love me when I am on my period, am I wrong?” And she winked at her wife.
“You know I love blood on you, Foinne.”
“So why are you so bothered by it when Lara’s the one experiencing it?”
Miranda, as Allison was expecting, frowned. “It’s hardly the same thing.”
“I know it is,” Allison shrugged. “But still… why don’t you admit that it bothers you, the fact that she’s growing up?”
“It doesn’t,” Miranda denied, and she was about to jump back in the water, but Allison quickly grabbed one of her ankles. “You’re not walking away on me.”
“I could if I would,” Miranda smirked. “You’re naked and in pain, not to mention how afraid you are of water.” She knelt before Allison: “Let me see if I recall another situation in which you were in pain, scantily clothed, and unable to get away from me…”
Allison smiled. She couldn’t help it. She smiled and Miranda leaned over, pressing her lips on hers. “My pretty little pet,” she commented, sucking on the corner of her mouth while she cupped one of her breasts.
“Miranda, we have kids in the house,” Allison pointed out, torn between the uncomfortable situation she found herself in, and the fact that Miranda’s touch was always arousing, especially when they had attempted to have sex twice in the last twelve hours, without succeeding.
“We always have kids in the house,” Miranda pointed out, while she kept kissing her, slow and sexy.
“And one of them has her period,” Allison added. She loved messing with her when she was this frustrated, and laughed out loud when Miranda groaned (not in the expected way) and dropped her hand from her breast.
“I am not bothered by it,” Miranda swore, but she took a step back from Allison.
“She’s growing up,” the redhead added, and the mischievous light in her eyes was so sexy, Miranda would already have screwed the living daylight out of her, if she hadn’t been talking about that. She took another step back.
“I don’t care.”
“Think about when she’ll come home with a boyfriend.”
“Ah, fuck you, Carr!” Miranda groaned and dived in the water, the splashing sounds covering Allison’s laughter.
When she realized that Miranda was swimming a bit far from the porch, she neared the water and spoke, hoping that Miranda would listen.
“I know it’s scary,” she started. Ah, she hated that she always had to do Miranda’s emotional labor. She hated it. “I’m scared too. We’ve barely had her for five minutes and she’s like… she’s changing under our very eyes. They both are. Every minute they’re doing something different and I am constantly asking myself if we’re doing the right thing, you know?” She stopped for a second because her fucking period was making her fucking emotional, and even if she fancied herself more balanced than Miranda, she didn’t like to overshare.
(Unless Timmy was involved, but hey, he’s her little boy. Her baby.)
“This is the thing with children, I think. We can’t do anything about this, but you know what’s the other side of it? No one is going to take her away from us. Enjoy this, for fuck’s sake!”
She knew that Miranda had heard her. She knew she had listened. She also knew she was going to pay for that, and namely, Miranda spent her night chatting and reading with their daughter, and when she finally came to bed, Allison was already sleeping. She didn’t care - she knew they were going to make up for it. After all, what she’d told her was true not only but the kids, but about them as well: they had time. No one was going to take the other away.