Drabble
It Was You
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.
A/N: A continuation, of sorts, of “ Neither You Nor I” which I wrote ages ago. I will most likely keep adding bits and pieces to this series of drabbles.
Their dalliance evolved. The creature it became was neither an affair nor a relationship, but some misshapen intermediary. It was readily apparent that sex was much easier to maneuver than a relationship. And, infinitely simpler. Fulfilling one another's physical needs came without strings, without attachments, and without emotional turmoil.
Hesitation replaced certainty in their interactions. Where affection was never expected in anything before, now it was awkwardly given and awkwardly received. Surety was traded for insecurity. Where expectation of anything beyond physical was nonexistent before, now there was an unspoken but undeniable expectancy of more. Quid pro quo was muddled and no longer satisfactory. Where flesh was traded for flesh before, now emotion was thrown in and jarred the simplicity of the exchange.
And simple questions like “would you like to meet my daughters?” or “would you like to meet my parents?” became minefields where one wrong step would be deadly.
For all their aplomb in dealing and communicating with others, neither the editor nor the journalist could put into words what each wanted from the other. Neither could set boundaries for what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. As a result, neither was happy.
Andrea looked for a way out, though she didn’t want one. Miranda provided her many, though she tried not to.
“You’re dating.” The accusation landed against Miranda’s ears as heavily as the noise of the Sunday post hitting her breakfast bar.
“We’ve never discussed exclusivity.” The rejoinder was sharp and precise, cutting to the quick, putting fault directly in the other’s hands.
Brown and blue eyes held each other’s gazes across the unbridgeable divide of blame. And, standing on opposite sides of a kitchen that never saw any use, they both knew it was over.
Andrea walked away.
Miranda let her.
And, too late, they realized the thing between them might have been love.
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.
A/N: A continuation, of sorts, of “ Neither You Nor I” which I wrote ages ago. I will most likely keep adding bits and pieces to this series of drabbles.
Their dalliance evolved. The creature it became was neither an affair nor a relationship, but some misshapen intermediary. It was readily apparent that sex was much easier to maneuver than a relationship. And, infinitely simpler. Fulfilling one another's physical needs came without strings, without attachments, and without emotional turmoil.
Hesitation replaced certainty in their interactions. Where affection was never expected in anything before, now it was awkwardly given and awkwardly received. Surety was traded for insecurity. Where expectation of anything beyond physical was nonexistent before, now there was an unspoken but undeniable expectancy of more. Quid pro quo was muddled and no longer satisfactory. Where flesh was traded for flesh before, now emotion was thrown in and jarred the simplicity of the exchange.
And simple questions like “would you like to meet my daughters?” or “would you like to meet my parents?” became minefields where one wrong step would be deadly.
For all their aplomb in dealing and communicating with others, neither the editor nor the journalist could put into words what each wanted from the other. Neither could set boundaries for what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. As a result, neither was happy.
Andrea looked for a way out, though she didn’t want one. Miranda provided her many, though she tried not to.
“You’re dating.” The accusation landed against Miranda’s ears as heavily as the noise of the Sunday post hitting her breakfast bar.
“We’ve never discussed exclusivity.” The rejoinder was sharp and precise, cutting to the quick, putting fault directly in the other’s hands.
Brown and blue eyes held each other’s gazes across the unbridgeable divide of blame. And, standing on opposite sides of a kitchen that never saw any use, they both knew it was over.
Andrea walked away.
Miranda let her.
And, too late, they realized the thing between them might have been love.