Rating: NC-17
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: Miranda Otto/Sarah Mcleod
Summary: I like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world - Lord Henry Wotton, in The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
Notes: For everyone who ever thought LOTR RPS was sadly lacking in femslash, to Kate for being a confidante, friend, fellow femslasher and beta, and humbly posted in the name of ORP (http://orp.deep-ice.com/).
~*~
Silly things cross one's mind when presented with an occasion that they had been alternately dreading and hoping for. Miranda, she thought of rumors, what had brought her here in the first place, to be frank.
The rumors were as malicious as her contempt for them. She despised the way the small towns and open spaces had turned people into close-minded hicks, divided them into incestuous cliques with a penchant for gossip.
The hobbits, for instance. They a shared a woman the way they shared a joint, passing her around till she was thoroughly smoked and useless. Or in the make-up trailer, where every bit of news turned into a catfight with the requisite screaming and pulling hair.
Perhaps it was the fact that Miranda was a solitary figure in all of this, a lone weed among the grass, that she found all of it disconcerting at the very best.
There was, however, a flower amidst the grass, and the she longed for the flower as a weed longs for sun.
Her name was Sarah. She was not as gorgeous as some of the women Miranda had previously found companionship with, nor as sophisticated. She hadn't the grace or good nature that Miranda was accustomed to, but still she was beautiful and unique and desirable in some way that no one could put a finger on.
The gossip and Sarah met in some particular stream and became very much spoken in the same breath. Sarah was the scarlet woman of middle earth, of whom everyone thought a whore and tasteless slut; immorally loose, and visionary in her desecration of sanctioned sexuality. All this from the two weeks Sarah'd been there.
Personally, Miranda believed every word of it. Perhaps not the velocity or greatness of her conquests, but certainly the tendency to bed with every man, woman, or in the case of Elijah, child, that caught her eye. This was the main thing that she found so wickedly sensuous about her.
But she had never, as far as Miranda knew, asked anyone to her home.
Miranda was the first to be asked then. It made her feel self-conscious, however flattering the gesture should be. It made her nervous and skittish and unexpectedly sick to her stomach. It never made her consider turning Sarah down, though.
She'd dressed nicely for this occasion. Yes, nicely. Attractive without advertising, not salacious or Sarah would think she was expecting something she wasn't. She had wanted to look sexy without looking like she wanted to look sexy.
She wore her hair in a loose courtesan's bun, strategically placed strands falling complacently across her forehead and draped down her neck. Slim, low-riding wheat colored trousers with a lilac peasant top that just barely missed meeting the waistband of the trousers. Simple, shimmery make-up; it brought out her eyes. Added two small silver hoop earrings, a few silver bangles, and she was set.
Or so she had thought at the time of her dressing. Now, she wasn't as sure. A small part of her urged her to turn away and flee; an entirely different part wanted to break down the door, fling Sarah onto the floor, and ravish her. Both these parts met at a middle ground; she stayed where she was, and knocked.
Sarah opened the door swiftly, causing suspicions that she'd been waiting by the window for Miranda’s arrival. This did nothing to soothe Miranda's nerves.
"Hello, come in..." Sarah beckoned.
Her clothing was not nice. If Miranda had to choose a word, it would be naughty. She had a low cut red top on, from which her bosom burst forth like spring flowers in the snow, and a flounce coal gray skirt that made good show of her shapely legs, well past her knees. Her make-up was naughty too, like always. Red lipstick, familiarly sexual, and gray eye shadow rimming her mascara'd lashes. She smelled lovely as well, like cinnamon. Miranda was slightly peeved that she herself hadn't thought to lightly perfume.
Miranda obeyed, and stepped into a wood paneled hall, dark and golden in lighting. Candles. Sarah led her to the dining room, and indeed there were small candles stowed on the hutch, a long tapered one set on the table.
Oh but the table, this was quite too much.
Across the table lay a lace eyelet table cloth, and on top of that was a sumptuous feast; wine, fruit, cheese, and what looked like a small bird, possibly a quail or malnourished chicken. Miranda smiled at the trouble Sarah had gone through, simply for her.
"It's beautiful," she said breathlessly.
"Thank you," Sarah said, sounding as though she had come to that very same conclusion.
Miranda sat on one of the wooden chairs and Sarah sat across from her at the opposite end. For several tempting moments neither woman said a thing, simply enjoyed the pleasant, dark room, and the aroma of the food. Then Sarah smiled unexpectedly, and closed her eyes briefly. Miranda did the same, assuming it was time for grace.
"Miranda..." Sarah said gently, and Miranda opened her eyes.
"Would you like me to say grace?" she queried, jumping the gun.
"No...I was just...committing your beauty to memory."
"Oh."
She flashed her smile of certain intentions, and Miranda blushed. Sarah took a strawberry from her plate. Her tongue swirled around it before she took it in her mouth and Miranda took a shuddery breath. She'd known what Sarah had asked her here for, but she was still unarmed by the overtures being made.
"Miranda, you just need to relax," Sarah said.
"Oh I'm relaxed," Miranda lied. "By the way, beautiful blouse."
Proving her point quite wrong, she took her wine, moved it up to her lips, then back down.
"Thank you. I got it at...oh one of those shops. They all seem rather alike, don't they?" Sarah's mouth moved in such a postulate way, so primed. The red of her lipstick suited her; it was daemonic without being vulgar. And though Miranda could swear she'd seen the same shade on whores downtown in Brisbane, on Sarah it was abjectly sensual, manifesting the sweet berry of the drink in hand.
"They do," Miranda agreed. "In such a small place, there's never any variety. In shops, at least. I'm sure you've had quite a variety in other...things."
Ah, but that was devilish of her. Sarah nodded her assent, and Miranda took a sip of the wine, waiting for whatever clever response Sarah could come up with.
"Variety isn't everything, however. It is the quality," Sarah continued as though they were speaking about clothing still.
"Oh I must disagree, given past things you've come home with. Quality is certainly something you are not very well versed in," Miranda said, mentally slapping herself after making such a cutting remark.
She took another sip of her wine, and it was the most wonderful explosion, a firework of chilled liquid, tingling the lips with the acidic alcohol, and teasing the tongue with a faint summer sweetness.
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, a wise person once said. So, Miranda, tell me. Are you more interested in my sexual conquests or me?"
Miranda laughed, careful not to spray her wine across the room. Oh, but if Sarah could understand, it was her sexual conquests that made her so interesting in the first place.
"Both," she admitted.
"Well, why don't I show you first hand how my conquests go," Sarah smiled salaciously, and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
Miranda swallowed quickly, nearly choking on her wine. Such presumption she had not seen coming. She liked it.
"Am I being forward?" Sarah asked needlessly, knowing full well she was.
She stood from her chair, traveled the short distance to Miranda, and kneeled beside her. Miranda turned toward Sarah, and really noticed how her eyes looked in the candlelight, violet colored and opalescent.
Sarah smiled faintly before dipping her head slightly to kiss her. Miranda felt the divine lips on her own, so plush and curved, like a stylized seagull in full flight. It nearly hurt to breathe in a scent so intense, to give everything in to the sensation of their dancing tongues caught in the fervor of the moment, all heat and cascading inhibitions.
In a haze Miranda felt herself being lead away from the dark comforts of the candle lit room to a blackened hall, so suddenly cold on her skin.
Then a door was opened and Miranda stepped inside a bedroom, presumably Sarah's, and all her eyes could see was the lavender tones, rich honey autumn red, and blood wine, deep and dark in a complexity she hadn't the head about her to comprehend.
Sarah took her by the waist and pulled her close, undoing the buttons of Miranda's trousers, loosening them around her hips, and pushed Miranda to the bed. It was accented in gold, like little fluttering kisses to the brow, and as she lay back onto the bed, Miranda wondered if this was what it felt like to swoon, in the real Victorian sense of the word.
The bed yielded it seemed, sneaking perfumes into her body , all billowing softness around, and just when Miranda felt she would fall forever on this cloud, Sarah was there again, leaning over her looking both angelic and deadly. The devil himself could not have made a more perfect bride of sin.
"Cinaedus," thought Miranda, and that was her last coherent thought for the time being.
Sarah pulled Miranda's trousers from her body, dropping them to the floor. She coiled her fingers around the straps of her underwear, and bent down to plant a quick, serene kiss on her lips. It was a pure and simple truth, everything that had been said about Sarah, though as Oscar Wilde so famously said, the truth is never simple and rarely ever pure. Yet all Miranda felt was love, pure and simple as truth cannot be.
Gently, avidly, loving her even to the taste of her skin, Miranda placed light supple kisses to Sarah's neck and collarbone. Sarah ran slightly oiled fingers (though from what Miranda didn't know) up Miranda's thighs, and to her stomach, traversing the soft skin before sliding her hands under Miranda's shirt. Miranda lifted from the bed; Sarah pulled the shirt from her, and then her own.
Somehow Sarah got both bras' off without interrupting anything, slid her own skirt down, and kissed Miranda searingly, her tongue flickering forward like wicked wildfire, scorching even. Miranda could have smashed a bottle and eaten the pieces and it would not match this pleasure with pain.
Sarah knew this, and was visibly delighted in it. Her life was a game, not a sport. A flirty little bar game that always ended in the madam's favor.
She slid her hand inside Miranda's underwear unexpectedly, and Miranda gave a start.
"Shhh..." Sarah whispered, soothing voice adopted.
She played out every caress like a careful, mild note on a Welsh harp, melting Miranda's objections, if there had ever been any in the first place. She slid a finger inside her, and Miranda's eyes misted, feeling every bit of the fine ministrations.
Sarah slid another finger in, and ever-so-delicately rocked Miranda from the inside out, until Miranda could barely get a breath in or out and tears of pleasure slipped from her eyes. All the world was in this moment, and modesty be damned, Miranda knew she had everything now.
Miranda hugged Sarah's hips to her, feeling the soft, solid warmth of her body against her own, and they both began to move their bodies together in waves, infernal and Hellenic undulations. Miranda's heart thrummed out the beat to which they swayed.
Miranda moaned throatily, amazed to be held by such beauty, and then felt with every bone inside her body the violent crescendo come. Her body reaching its breaking point, like a violin string wound too tight and finally snapping. She concentrated all her efforts and kissed Sarah at that moment, ravishing the arcane vulgarity of that mouth, so gorgeously wrought by some whore of a god. Sarah joined in the resplendent cry, the sounds muffled by both the fact that they were caught up in a consuming kiss and the blood rushing thunderously through Miranda's ears.
Miranda sighed deeply from within her. It was a thick sated sigh, one that had spent her life in building. Sarah smiled at her, and then laid her head on Miranda's chest, their sweat binding them together.
Soon Sarah was breathing so evenly she couldn't be anything other than asleep, but Miranda fought the urge to close her eyes. She wanted everything that had just transpired to remain clandestine and untouched by sleep, encased in luminescent waking memory for eternity beyond eternity. The heavy touch, the stillness, the weight of Sarah's head on her chest; the scent of Sarah's hair, so recently washed but now smelling of sex and exhaustion and everything mother warned about; the warm feel of the sheets below; and the symphony of crickets outside.
"I love you, Sarah," she admitted to herself and all the other creatures of the night in a hushed whisper, and there was not any greater release anywhere. "I love you, my sweet little mercenary."
end.