Posted: July 2004
Title: Clues
Author: Miranda Bell
Fandom: Real Person Fiction
Type: RPHet
Characters: Karl Urban/Miranda Otto
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This is all fiction, it does not claim to hold any truth about the lives of the real people mentioned therein; Karl and Miranda belong to themselves, the work belongs to me
Beta: the lovely do
Timeline: late 2002 during promotion for The Two Towers
Notes: This fic came about from viewing video + screencaps of a Karl/Miranda TTT promo interview at http://www.humina.com/kurban/articles/earlyshow/index.html
I sent the link to my beta do with the question: "ahem, do you think Karl might be packing some heat those trousers?" and she wrote back and said "ahem, I think he's packing a *boner* in those trousers!"... at which point a bunny started chomping on me ferociously ;)

Summary: Karl wants Miranda... quite embarrassingly so.

*****

Karl stumbled into the The Early Show's green-room from make-up, where she'd been before him, and she hailed him with her customary grin.

He just managed not to gape at her. Sweet Christ, what was she doing in that dress? Cherry red, lots of cleavage. Well, not cleavage exactly, she didn't have a lot of what you'd call cleavage. But the dress dipped down between the breasts he had been thinking about for... god only knew how long now... all that creamy skin exposed to his gaze. His ache. Her beautiful copper curls were caught up behind her head to keep them off her face for the camera but tumbled errantly over her shoulders and down her back, and they'd made up her cat's eyes flawlessly. The damned dress was none too long either, and OK maybe the sleeves were kind of drapey but otherwise it clung to every curve. He supposed it couldn't really be faulted as attire for a breakfast TV promo spot, she was still on the right side of decorous, and eminently stylish. It's just that he wanted to eat her up right there. Wolf her down in a few feral bites, so he wouldn't have to be hungry anymore.

Hungry, famished, starving.

For her.

"Hi Miranda," he mustered feebly. "You look great."

She looked at him sympathetically, clearly equating his tone with the hideous hour of the morning.

"Need a heart-starter?" she said, waving her hand over the refreshments table.

Sweet lord, she didn't know the half of it.

"There's espresso," she said helpfully. "And muffins the size of a small planet. God, I love America."

"Thanks, babe." He could call her babe, that was OK. She seemed to rather like it, and on a good day it made up for all the other things he couldn't call her. Say to her. Fall at her feet and confess to her.

She looked him over as he grabbed himself a coffee cup.

"Karl, did you sleep in that suit?"

No, Miranda, he answered silently, I slept in you. Beside you, inside you, my arms around you. Don't you know that? No, of course you don't. And I'm not going to wreck this friendship by telling you.

He shrugged. "The rumpled look is in."

She laughed. "Lucky for you you can carry it off. But why don't you go out on a limb tonight with the suit and, ooh, I don't know - hang it up?"

"OK, mum... sis... whatever you are..."

"Big bossy pain in the arse?"

"Yeah, that too. Look, I plead jet-lag and being a bloke. Anyway, why the hell do they call it a suitcase if you can't leave your suits in it?"

"Hardy har har." But she was smiling. She always smiled at his jokes, even his lamer efforts like that one. And sometimes she laughed uproariously, and then he felt like the god of comedy. But this morning, halfway through the frenzied media junket for The Two Towers with this woman he worshipped and couldn't have, Karl pretty much only felt like the god of three different piles of shit. He sipped his coffee and tried not to look at that vee of soft skin between her breasts.

"Ms. Otto, Mr. Urban, we're ready for you now."

A harried looking assistant in a headset was framed in the doorway, looking expectant.

"Coming," said Miranda, beaming winsomely. She threw an innocent look at Karl as he drained the last mouthful of his coffee. "Don't spill it on your suit now, K."

He set the cup down with a thunk and offered her his arm. "Don't trip in those heels, babe."

She tossed her curls at him and they headed down the corridor behind the assistant. Ah, jokes and laughs, shits and giggles, Karl thought, yes, they had a grand time knocking around together, teasing each other. Just like Eomer and Eowyn before the horse-dung hit the fan in Rohan, no doubt. Just grand. Just platonically, family-style grand.

"Karl, you've got an eyelash."

"What?"

"Eyelash. On your cheek, just there."

He rubbed a finger over where Miranda was pointing.

"No. Wait, I'll get it."

They stopped and she leant up and lifted it away with a slim fingernail, waving it at him with a smile.

"It's one of those funny old wives' tales isn't it, that - *ohh*!"

"Sorry, so sorry!" Some station minion loaded up with a huge cardboard box who hadn't seen the obstacle the two of them made in the corridor had knocked Miranda unceremoniously right into Karl. He caught and held her without conscious thought, and then suddenly there it was.

A moment.

Miranda banged up against him, her sweet face only inches away from his own, warm against his chest, snug in his arms, their eyes dilated and their breathing seeming just a little too rapid to be justified by the slight surprise of the event.

Surely, surely a moment.

But then again, Karl reasoned bitterly, if all the moments that had felt like moments with her had really been moments they'd be raising kids behind a white picket fence by now. Or at least fucking like rabbits. So clearly his moments-radar was shot to crap. However it appeared other parts of his body were in treacherously perfect condition to perform their natural function, because -

"Ms. Otto?"

The harried assistant again, back to wrangle the tardy talent.

"Still coming," said Miranda, extracting herself from Karl's arms. "We got kind of bumped by a guy with a box."

"Sorry, it can be chaos around here."

The three of them continued down the corridor.

"What were you going to say, Miranda?" asked Karl. Because, hell, maybe talking might help him at this point, since a cold shower was out of the question.

She smiled. "Oh, just that an eyelash coming out is meant to be lucky."

They'd hit the studio floor now and were being ushered towards the set.

Lucky? thought Karl. Not bloody likely. Because it hardly qualified as good luck to have a ginormous freaking hard-on stuffed in your trousers a minute and a half before going live coast-to-coast on American breakfast television, did it now? Or was he missing something?

****

It went surprisingly well, considering. In fact, bloody well for the most part. Harry Smith was an enthusiastic interviewer for a start, which generally helped. And it turned out that when a man was fretting over fronting a woody to millions of TV viewers (depending on how observant they were at such an ungodly hour of the day), while the woman who had caused it was sitting fetchingly at his side, the things that normally fazed him were a comparative breeze. So for Karl all his usual trying - trying to talk up the movie for the umpteenth time with freshness and enthusiasm, trying not to come over like a prat as he was always worried he might, trying to dodge with a little dignity the "new hottie on the block" tag and the waving of the People magazine with his "Sexiest Men Alive" inclusion under his nose, just basically trying not to be overwhelmed by the whole media circus - this trying became, quite surprisingly, succeeding. Well, who'd have thought?

There was just that little bit in the middle where it all went pear-shaped.

They were running the clip of Miranda and Viggo. And Karl was watching it intently. Partly because he enjoyed watching Miranda onscreen almost as much as he enjoyed watching her in real life and Viggo's craft never failed to impress him even after the millionth viewing, and partly because it was another welcome distraction from Mr. Happy.

As the clip was coming to an end he looked at Miranda. Which was fine, it was not like he'd been avoiding looking at her. No, he'd been determinedly forging ahead as if everything was completely normal. They were acting compadres discussing their grand adventure for the peeps so it was perfectly natural that he should be looking at her while they talked, right?

But it turned out at this particular moment Miranda was already looking at him, and it also turned out that as their eyes locked her gaze was drifting up to his face from where she'd been staring at his groin. The break for the clip must have given her just enough idle time to notice exactly what had been going on inside his rumpled suit, and the look was a question. A big, big question.

And the look he gave her in return was the wrong answer.

Because the right answer would have conveyed something like "Yikes! Who'd be a guy, right? These things have minds of their own. Still, it'll make a great story over a beer won't it, hon?"

The right answer would have assured her that the rampant state of his trousers had nothing to do with her being pressed up against him in the corridor. Nothing at all to do with all the other moments of closeness and tenderness and togetherness that they'd shared during filming, then beyond that through phonecalls and texts and emails and making sure to catch up for dinner whenever they were in the same city, to now being thrown together to hawk Rings to the world.

But that wasn't the answer his look gave her. Not by a long chalk.

Not even close.

The slight widening of Miranda's eyes and tiny breath inwards she took showed him she knew exactly what his look was saying, and then Harry the host was talking again and Miranda was back into being charming and chatty and doing what they were being paid to do, selling their movie.

The one that right now he was wishing he'd never been cast in.

****

Karl did the only thing he felt capable of after the show had gone to commercial and they'd spent their obligatory thirty seconds chatting amiably with Harry off-camera before he had to prepare for the next segment. He bolted.

"See you in a mo', Miranda."

"Karl - "

"In a minute," he mumbled, "sorry..."

And fairly fled to the green-room. Which wasn't very useful, since she'd be there any second, but he didn't know his way out of this rabbit warren of a joint without a guide. Still, there was a bathroom, right?

He slammed the door and popped the lock. Gripped the basin with both hands and took some deep, steadying breaths. At least that was the idea. It felt more like hyperventilating for awhile there but eventually he calmed down enough to splash some water on his face, grimace at his reflection, pull off his suit coat and throw it over the shower door, drop the lid on the toilet and sit on it tugging his hands through his hair and taking stock.

Nice one, Urban, he snarled at himself. Sizzling around in the frying-pan on national TV not good enough for you? Just had to fling yourself into the fire then? You idiot, you fucking, fucking idiot. You had a great friendship. OK, it was a friendship that existed within the parameters of wanting her so badly you sometimes thought it might kill you. But you had it, you worked hard to have it, and it was worth all the pain to have it. And you've just destroyed it.

He looked murderously down at the cock still determinedly hard in his pants. Actually, *you* ruined it, buddy, and if I could let you know just what I think of that without massive blood loss you can be sure I would. Haven't we discussed this? Don't you know the drill by now? Never when she's near you. Preferably never when she's in the room. I thought we had a freakin' agreement.

There was a gentle knock at the door.

"Karl," called Miranda softly. "Karl, are you going to come out?"

"In a minute," he said. Minute being a loose term for between now and maybe nightfall.

It was probably more like five minutes in the end. Five minutes alternating between numbness and thinking if he just concentrated hard enough maybe he could turn back time.

"Karl." Miranda through the door again. "Karl, I think you should know I've got a butter knife in my hand and I'm not afraid to use it. This lock doesn't need a key, hon, all I have to do is twist the knife around to flick it back. So why don't you just open up?"

Her threat was neither here nor there if push came to shove. He was nearly twice her size, he could hold the door against her 'til the cows came home. But he couldn't stay in here forever.

"Miranda..."

"Everything's going to be OK, Karl. Please just open the door."

Why put off the inevitable any longer? With vaguely shaking fingers he slid the lock back and turned the knob. Miranda was standing there and she actually did have a butter knife in her hand. They looked at each other, his face stricken and hers unreadable, then she cocked her head down the short passage that led back into the green-room proper.

"There's a woman and the German Shepherd who saved her life out there," she whispered. "She's very nice, but can I come in please?"

He opened the door wide enough to let her through, then she closed it and locked it again and set the knife down on the side of the basin. They stood facing each other silently for a moment then she simply stepped against him and put her arms around him.

"Karl..."

"I'm so sorry, Miranda, I'm so sorry."

"Stop it."

She pressed a soft kiss against his collarbone, then stood on tiptoe - she'd taken off those fuck-me shoes and was back to her normal height again - and pressed another kiss against the side of his mouth.

They'd kissed their hello/goodbye kisses a thousand times, thought Karl, so why did this one make him shake?

She pressed her slender hands against his chest and pushed him backwards towards the toilet. Unresisting, he let her sit him down on it and then she knelt on the immaculate tiles in front of him and put her elbows on his knees.

"How long, Karl?"

Well, here it was, ready or not. Just flush me down this loo when we're done here, babe, he thought, there won't be much left of me. He took a breath. A good deep one down in the belly with the back braced and the ribs expanding just like they teach you in acting class, to give all you need to get you through what you have to deliver.

"I don't know," he began softly. "Sometimes you've got the vibe for someone from the start, haven't you, or you can pick the moment it starts to change. But sometimes you just innocently wake up one morning, and you see that person just like you normally do, but you suddenly realise how you actually feel about them, and that you must have felt that way for days, weeks maybe, only you just didn't get it. And now that you get it, you'd better start dealing. Sometimes it's OK, because you just know they feel the same way about you too. Or they let you know. But sometimes you just stumble around in the dark, looking for clues. Longing for clues. Making every little thing you can into a clue."

"Clues?" asked Miranda with a slight edge of incredulousness. "Are you saying clues to me, Urban? Haven't women been laying themselves out for you like carpet since the moment you hit puberty?"

He grimaced. "Not the ones who've meant something."

Miranda seemed to contemplate this quite seriously for awhile, for reasons Karl couldn't fathom.

"So, in answer to your question," he finished, "I can't really tell you, Miranda. But since quite early in filming. Long enough."

Miranda looked up from Karl's knees.

"But you never..."

"Because you never..."

"So all this time..."

Karl inferred pity. "All this time nothing, Miranda. Or at least, all this time nothing but good things. You're one of the best friends I've ever had. The rest is irrelevant."

Miranda's expression was gentle. She took his hands and held them in both of hers, but she said nothing, and Karl couldn't bear it.

"Please tell me I haven't totally ruined things, Miranda. Please tell me."

Miranda lifted his hands, kissed each one softly, then laid them against her cheek for a moment before looking up at him.

"I'm going to tell you a little something about me first, Karl, and then maybe you can be the judge of whether things are ruined or not."

Well, what the hell, Karl thought. A little feminine sharing, a little illusion of closeness before he started coping with the truth that things might not be ruined but they were never, ever, going to be the same between them. Sure, why not?

"You have to realise," said Miranda gently, "that for a chick coming in to Rings it was like a trip to boy-land. I mean, sure, there's female energy on this project from Fran and Philippa downwards and it's all woven beautifully into the mix, but on-set it was testosterone city, we all know that, Karl."

Sure, they all knew. One fart joke to rule them all; one football match to find them; one porn DVD to bring them all, and in the lager bind them. No one was going to dispute that.

"And I was in the thick of all that as a single gal, hon. Cate and Liv have their beautiful sterling guys, they were never going to be in any danger. They could buddy around, and be adored, and be perfectly safe. But I was afraid I might manage to make a total arse of myself. And if I did, if I got involved with a guy and it fucked up, it was going to be in front of fifty million other guys looking on and for some reason I still haven't quite worked out yet that really bothered me. So I just resolved to focus on the challenge of the work, have a ball, and make some fabulous friends. And I did."

She reached up a hand and stroked her fingers through the wayward forelock of his dark, glossy hair. "And you're the best of them, Karl. The absolute best."

Karl closed his eyes and bit down on the inside of his lower lip to stop it quivering like a baby's. The last thing he needed was her stroking his hair and telling him what good friends they were. Sure, he'd just told her the same thing, but he hadn't been touching her softly and intimately. Soft and intimate touching was for more than best friends. Or less. Whichever way, it just bloody confused the issue.

"I've had such terrible cast crush experiences, K," he realised Miranda was continuing. "You know about some of them, and some of them I've been too embarrassed to even tell you yet. And yes it's the nature of the beast we work with that stuff like that's going to happen, but god I'm a disaster zone. I'll mistake flirting for true love and a womanising sleaze for Mr. Right and a wrap party bonk for the beginning of a relationship, I'm hopeless. So with Rings I just thought, no more jumping the gun, no more seeing things that aren't there, I'm not even going to be looking for anything - but if by chance some guy's interested in me then I want proof positive, I want it to to be him out on a limb for once instead of me."

Her fingers were tracing gently over his brow now, his cheek, the down of his goatee. Someone really needed to tell her about the touching thing.

"So," Miranda breathed, "if anyone had liked me, I was pretty much only going to believe it if he turned up at my trailer at midnight naked with a single red rose and a hard-on... I suppose that's why I never twigged, Karl."

OK, so now he had a little clearer picture of her mind-set during filming, so what? None of that stuff, that self-help, self-counselling, self-imposed bullshit we all do to ourselves makes a squat of difference when two people dig each other. She didn't want him and that was that. He didn't need her justifications.

He was looking away when he felt her squeeze his hands tighter and heard her swallow. Uh-oh, here it came, the "I'm very flattered, you're a lovely person and we can still be friends" speech. Ah well, hell, the least he could do was take it like a man. He braced himself and looked her in the face. Oh Christ, she was beautiful.

"So, K," Miranda began shyly - shyly? what was that about? - "umm... you seem to have come through with the hard-on part. Maybe we could take that as a starting point and work on the rest later."

"What?" For a few moments he genuinely had no idea what she was talking about, and then he thought he maybe did, but then if he did wouldn't that mean - "Miranda... ??..."

She was doing the touching again. Warm teasing fingers at the back of his neck, winding into his hair, stroking his scalp.

"Are you still looking for clues, Karl?"

Holy shit, where had she pulled that voice from? That low, caressing voice. And by caressing he didn't mean caressing his ears, although he guessed it did that too. More like caressing his cock, which had actually, believe it or not, been on the verge of de-tumescing this last five minutes. Not a chance in hell of that now. If any of America's TV viewers were still interested, things were definitely back in business in the trouser department.

"Because I've got a few clues that might be helpful," Miranda whispered. "I hope so anyway."

And then she was kissing him. Miranda was bloody kissing him. Just softly, just gently. But it wasn't the best friends hello/goodbye kind of kissing. It was the top-shelf A-1 kind where everything's moist and soft and sensuous and the other person's tongue is tracing along your lips and asking to come in and make itself at home inside your mouth and that's OK there's nothing else you'd rather have their tongue do right now so you let them and actually as it turns out your tongue's got a few suggestions of its own and you're getting chills down your spine and an ache in your groin and suddenly you're pulling the other person up off the floor and you can do that because you're a strong guy and the other person's just a light slip of utterly desirable woman and you're settling them on your lap and running your hands up and down their back and into their hair oh my god that soft beautiful hair and you're holding them tighter and tighter against you and you're running out of air but you're still trying to devour them, get them inside you and keep them there so they can't run away and have this kiss not be true after all... *that* kind of kissing... the kind you don't want to -

"Karl, Karl, stop a moment..." Miranda was laughing helplessly, breathlessly, and he found he was cradled against her shoulder and she was stroking his hair again. "I'm not going anywhere, hon... well, except in about two hours to another interview, but you're meant to be coming with me."

He lifted his head and looked at her. He'd kissed most of the lipstick off her, but her eyes still looked fantastic. *She* looked fantastic. She *was* fantastic. She always had been. And she wanted him. He wanted her and she wanted him back.

"You want me back," he said dopily.

"Of course I do, you idiot," she said, and dropped a tiny kiss on his mouth. "In the worst way."

"How long, Miranda?"

She had needed to know. Now he needed to.

She took a breath, seemed to be considering something, then spoke. "Since the first day I met you. Probably since the first minute."

For a second or two it didn't even sink in, but when it did Karl's jaw dropped. "Shit. Shit. I mean shit, Miranda, what the fuck? All I needed was the slightest bit of encouragement."

"Karl, I told you how things were for me..."

"No." He shook his head vehemently. "No. That doesn't cover it. That doesn't cut it. Seriously, Miranda."

She brushed her fingertips against his face and gave a sigh laced with wistfulness and almost a kind of pain.

"You're so very beautiful, Karl..."

He knew he was glaring the Urban glare at her but he couldn't help it. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"Karl - "

"Because what you'll see there has been driving me crazy for months. Don't talk to me about beautiful."

Miranda sighed.

"All I mean is, I imagine a lot of women think they've fallen in love with you the moment they meet you. I just had to take it with a bit of a grain of salt."

"And keep taking it through the rest of our friendship to date? That's a crapload of salt, Miranda. That's a whole salt mine."

Her fingers softly traced over his lips.

"Do you think we've wasted all this time then?"

Karl thought about everything that had been theirs, the amazing experience of Rings and their part in it of course, but since then the connection they'd maintained, the laughter and warmth, the late nights mulling about the universe over a beer or a good red, the support they'd given each other in moments of acting paranoia, the little things like looking at a perfect moon together or nursing a shared hangover or arguing about a movie they'd seen, all the strands of Miranda that had woven into his life and given it a colour that was brighter than the one it had had before he met her. He knew her better and cared for her more than most of the women he'd been out with. He deeply, darkly, desperately wanted to lay her down, cover her with himself, lose himself inside her and give her everything his body had to give - but even if that happened he wouldn't love her any more than he did right now.

"No, I don't think we've wasted any time, Miranda, how could I?" He pressed his lips against her ear. "But just in case I'm wrong, let's not waste any more. What do you think?"

"I don't want to waste it anymore either, Karl," Miranda whispered and she turned her head to find his mouth.

God, she felt and tasted so perfect. He didn't let her lips leave him all the time she felt for the buttons of his shirt and undid them, and then her hands were pulling it from him and she was kneading his back and shoulders while her mouth roamed his broad chest, kissing, licking, nipping, tasting. When she came up for air he gently pulled the hand he had tangled in her hair so her head dropped back and he could claim the soft white column of her throat and the vee of skin outlined by her dress that had been frying his senses all morning.

She took his other hand and placed it over her breasts, rubbing her cheek against the top of his head.

"Touch me, Karl, please touch me."

He didn't need to be asked twice, rubbing his palm gently over her, pressing, kneading, seeking out her hardening nipples with his thumb. Oh god, at last... at last... no more dreams...

But to touch Miranda's breasts through her clothes was to want to touch all of her, soft and bare beneath his fingers, and soon Karl was fervently seeking out the hem of her dress. He pushed it up onto her thighs, and she wriggled her bottom delightfully so he could pull the soft fabric over her body and arms and then off onto the floor. The sight of her porcelain beauty adorned in the tiny silky scraps of matching cherry-coloured lace that were her underwear rendered Karl so awestruck he went back to kissing her gorgeous mouth again until he worked up the courage to run his hands up her back and unfasten her bra, exposing those small perfect breasts to his hungry gaze and even hungrier mouth. Miranda made little mewling noises as he traced her nipples with tongue and teeth, teasing them into pert pink buds that he circled with his thumbs while he cupped her breasts in his palms and kissed her again.

When he ran a hand down over her velvety belly to her underwear Miranda stood up to grant him better access and Karl pressed his face into her groin, pulling one of her legs up onto his thighs so he could run his tongue over her mound and into the crease beneath. The silk was already damp and the smell of her musk in his nostrils was like siren call to his maleness. Miranda pulled his head back and kissed him fiercely.

"Get up, Karl," she whispered, "get up. I want you naked."

While he kicked off his shoes and fumbled with his socks Miranda lifted two large bathsheets from the railings and spread them out on the tiled floor. Then she knelt and unzipped Karl's trousers and when he had stepped out of them she pressed her lips against his boxer-clad erection.

"Oh Christ, Miranda..."

She kneaded his arse through dark silk then gently hooked her hands into the material to slide it down his legs. His cock snagged the band at the front and she had to lift it away and let him spring free before she could get his underwear all the way down and off him. And then there it was, Karl's cock jutting before her, hard and proud and veined, engorged and glistening at its tip.

"Did someone say oh Christ?" Miranda breathed.

She leant in to him, her tongue darting out to lap up his moisture. She ghosted her lips over his head and began to slide her tongue around him. Karl groaned in pleasure but then his hands were in her hair, pulling her gently from him.

"Miranda..."

"K, you've been hard for ages, let me, you need this."

"Need it like you wouldn't believe, babe, but it can wait. I want it to wait. I want to taste you, I want to make you come."

He dropped to his knees beside her. "Please, Miranda."

She smiled and kissed his full mouth.

"Like I'm going to say no."

She let him lay her back upon the towels and they kissed again, revelling in each other. Then Karl lifted himself over her and she held his hard chest against her, kneading his broad back while he slid a hand inside her underwear, teasing her clit and her labia all slick with her juices. As he moved his mouth to her breasts he slowly pressed one finger inside her, then a second, while she moaned and moved against him... oh god, heaven to be feeling her heat, her wetness, her flesh tightening around him as he explored her. His cocked twitched against her thighs, aching to be where his fingers led. Not a chance, buddy, he told it ruefully, not on this bathroom floor and not without some rubber at least to start off with. But ah, just the pleasure of watching her buck beneath him, lost to him...

Miranda's soft cries were escalating but Karl wanted to be right where the action was when she dropped over the edge. He gently rubbed her belly with his free hand and pulled out of her to a little cry of protest.

"Karl..." she said fretfully.

He smiled. "It's alright, babe..."

"Please, Karl..."

Oh, to hear her beg for him.

He gently rolled her lacy underwear down her thighs, revealing the sweet dusting of springy ginger hair over her pussy, then sat up to slide the little slip of material over her slender calves.

He leant down and kissed her. "We are now officially naked in each other's company."

Miranda smiled. "Good for us."

Karl knelt beside her and went back to pleasuring her, adding his tongue to her clit and then sliding it into her along with his fingers. Miranda writhed and laughed and giggled that his beard tickled but when he offered to stop she whispered god no and he dropped his mouth back to her until her cries had built to they were before. Then pulling out again he grabbed her hips and lifted her onto his knees, bent her thighs back over her body so her calves draped over his shoulders, dropped his full lips to her pussy and proceeded to feast on her as though both their lives depended on it. She was thrusting rhythmically against his tongue now, and he cupped her arse and pulled her hips against him in time with her movements, deepening his access and making her groan at the strength of him. When finally her gasping cries let him know she was moments away from climax he pulled her thighs wide apart, grasping one from underneath and pressing the other from above so that she still felt the force of him but so that that hand could still reach her wetness. He growled and bit at her soft inner thighs before beginning his last assault, his hand against her pubic bone mercilessly thumbing her clit and his tongue thrusting like a mad thing until she gave it up for him, her hands gripping his hair by the roots, and her body spasming uncontrollably as his name fell from her lips helplessly over and over.

And then she was all done and boneless and stroking Karl's head weakly as he lay upon her thighs, both their bodies heaving as their breathing fought to return to normal. Who needs penetration? Karl asked his rigid cock. I feel like we've been inside her, I feel like we've come. It's true Karl's cock wasn't entirely sure about this but Karl had better things to do than argue with it, like lifting his face all shiny with Miranda's juices from between her legs and smiling hazily at her.

"Oh, Karl," she breathed, stroking his sweaty forelock. "Oh, hon…"

"Good, babe?"

"You know it. You're a beast. An absolute goddamn beast."

She'd found that voice again, the one that caressed his cock, and Karl was all for that. He levered himself up and kissed his way gently along her body until he reached her mouth, then he shamelessly rubbed his face all wet with her across her lips and licked them before parting them for a deep kiss. Then he gathered her to his chest and cradled her against him, hooking one leg possessively over her to keep them connected all the way along their bodies.

"Oh my god, K," Miranda sighed, "why don't you just have a card to give out that says 'By the way, ladies, I give killer head'? Then maybe I wouldn't have held out on you so long."

Karl grinned and ran his hands into her copper tresses. "Miranda, you're talking bollocks."

She laughed weakly. "Yes I am. Cut me some slack, most of my brain-cells have just been obliterated."

They rested in silence awhile, then Miranda ran a soft hand down Karl's belly. She caressed the wiry hair between navel and groin then gently pushed his leg back over again.

"Speaking of bollocks..."

She pressed gentle, teasing fingers to Karl's ample pouch then slid beneath to cup its heaviness in her palm while her thumb traced over his balls.

"Mmnn..." murmured Karl. Miranda smiled and let him go, moving to stroke his shaft leisurely and admiringly.

"Fuck that's some nice handiwork, K."

Karl tried not to let his male pride plaster a goofy grin all over his face. "Well, I can't claim to have made it myself."

"Remind me to thank your folks."

Miranda now took a good grip and began to stroke him firmly. When his low moans started to strengthen she pressed him over onto his back and slid down his body to run her lips and tongue gently over his cock. She couldn't resist pressing her nose into his pubic hair and rubbing against his skin.

"Mmmn," she murmured appreciatively, "you smell like a boy."

Karl traced one of her delicate ears with his fingertips. "Yeah? How's that?"

"Animal," said Miranda in that voice again. "Yummy. Want to eat you all up."

"Lady, don't let me stop you."

Karl couldn't resist coming up on to his elbows so he could watch as Miranda set herself to licking his shaft all over. God, so warm and wet. In fact, really quite generously wet, and he was wondering why when Miranda lowered herself against him and started to rub her sweet soft breasts with their taut nipples against his very-wet cock. Holy lord, that was why. She lifted her head towards his face and her cat's eyes caressed him.

"Fuck, Miranda," Karl breathed, "you're illegal. I could get arrested just looking at you."

"Then don't look, hon, lie down. I want you down now anyway so I can work on you better."

As Karl did her bidding the last thing he saw was Miranda's mouth stretched into a sultry smile that promised... well, it promised exactly what it did next, which was to go down on him like there was no tomorrow. Slowly at first, it's true. In fact she started off by just lapping softly all over his balls, then she licked her palm and settled it against them, squeezing them gently, mmn so sweetly and gently. But after that it was his cock's turn, and she grasped him at the root and began taking him in inch by inch and exploring him with her tongue, sucking him gently further and further back into her mouth until she had relinquished her grip on him and her lips had him fully sheathed. Then with her hands upon his balls and his belly, her tongue began a beautiful languorous dance upon his shaft and her mouth began some brain-melting suction and now it was moving up and down upon him so that one moment he was slipping out of her and next moment he was sliding into the back of her throat and oh fuck Miranda oh babe one of his arms thrown to the side palm flat on the floor to brace his body better as his hips started to thrust his cock into her glorious mouth and his other hand wrapped in her hair because really there's no finer place for at least one of a man's hands to be when a woman is giving him outlaw head and oh jesus she's picking up the pace and those little moans she's making are so delicious and what's that other noise like someone's dying oh fuck that's me shit Urban very classy I can't help it I can't help it rhythmically pumping into her mouth but she's taking it more than that she's building it squeezing his balls and twisting his belly hair ouch hurts so good her tongue madly swirling around him and her mouth like a velvety vice and her throat pulsing and oh Miranda oh Miranda just can't just have to oh god oh fuck Miranda body rigid cock rigid balls bursting explosion of howling pleasure light pulsing behind his eyeballs hot spurting semen in her mouth being swallowed being swallowed still swallowed god lady tongue still darting slickly over his spasming softening cock then she's laughing softly Miranda against his thighs all weak like he is like he was when he went down on her oh Miranda oh babe you goddess Miranda thank Christ this is us at last together breathe now you can breathe Urban breathe...

For the longest time Miranda seemed content to lie there while he recovered, then she gently kissed his spent cock and nipped his belly, slid up his chest and curled herself into his arms. She lifted her face to his and he kissed her with something like reverence, not just because of what she'd just done to him but because she was Miranda, and beautiful, and, fuck only knew how, his.

"Thank you," he said softly. "That's not very adequate, but then I'm not sure any words have been invented that are adequate."

"It's my pleasure, K," she smiled. "I hope I'm measuring up alright against your fantasies."

"Fantasies?" Karl feigned confusion with a sly grin. "I'm sorry, what fantasies?"

Miranda poked him.

"Oh right, *those* fantasies. Well, things are pretty ace so far... but of course I haven't fucked you 'til you scream yet..."

"Ooh..."

"...or taken you from behind..."

"Stop it," said Miranda, wriggling against him.

"Or had you ride me like a wild woman... shall I go on?"

"Better not," she said, nuzzling his ear. "We're meant to be getting out of here not staying for another round."

Karl nodded regretfully. "Anyway, just a small sample of what I'd like to do with you if you'll let me."

"Let you?" Miranda purred. "I'm going to make you, Urban."

"Amen to that."

They grinned foolishly at each other, then Miranda's expression turned a little bashful.

"You know how I know about your fantasies, don't you, K?"

Karl was pretty sure he did but he just wanted to hear her say it.

"Female intuition?"

She drew his head down to breathe against his mouth. "Female rampantness. I've been having them too."

Karl pictured Miranda alone in her bed at night, soft hands tracing over her body, thinking about him the way he'd thought about her, wanting him the way he'd wanted her, and doing the things he'd done to ease the ache of the wanting. Which was such a deeply, deeply horny image he could only pull her against him with a growl.

"Everything's real from now on, babe. You want me, you've got me."

Their breathing rose and fell against each other's skin, her soft breasts against his hard chest. Miranda's fingers gently roamed Karl's cheek and way she looked at him made his belly lurch.

"I want you, Karl. I want you."

Then she drew his full mouth down to hers and they kissed what they knew had to be their last kiss on this bathroom floor, because Rings promotion waited for no man, or woman, even a man and woman who'd finally figured out that they were in love with each other. After that they got up and gathered their strewn clothing and dressed, helping each other and stealing little kisses along the way, and when they were done apart from Miranda's disappeared lipstick and tumbled-down hair they looked pretty much the same in their clothes as they had before, but they smiled at each other, because they had tasted everything beneath now, and life had completely, utterly, irrevocably and wonderfully changed from what it was when they had put these clothes on this morning.

"I figure we've got just enough time to get back to the hotel and find something fresh to change into before our next interview," said Miranda, "and then once we're done it's about three hours until the one after that."

"Mmmn," Karl rumbled softly in his throat, "that sounds like just enough time for - "

"Lunch," put in Miranda helpfully.

"Oh yes, lunch. We need to keep our strength up, certainly. But maybe after lunch - "

"Some hardcore shagging?" suggested Miranda sultrily.

"My thoughts exactly."

"And after that last interview it's straight on to dinner with those studio execs."

"Hmmn, and after that?"

"Well, Mr. Urban," said Miranda, "I wouldn't mind taking you out on the town for some dancing tonight. I think I might appreciate your moves even more than I usually do, knowing you're my lover."

Their eyes sparkled softly at each other.

"You've got it, babe," said Karl. "And after that?"

Miranda ran a hand down his blue shirt and over his grey trousers to give his cock the tiniest of squeezes.

"What would you say if I said more hardcore shagging?"

Karl pulled her in against him and kissed her neck.

"I'd say it sounds like the perfect day."

*****

When they came out of the bathroom the woman with the German Shepherd was nowhere to be seen. She'd probably done her spot and gone home long ago. In fact it probably wasn't even the breakfast show anymore. The green-room was now occupied by a well-dressed pair of men. They all greeted each other with as much nonchalance as could be mustered when Karl and Miranda had clearly been in the bathroom for ages and had come out smelling of sex.

Miranda slipped her shoes back on and gathered her bag and the travelling cover that her dress had hung in and she and Karl were heading for the door when the older of the two men called them back with -

"Hey look, pardon me, but you guys are from Lord of the Rings aren't you?"

They smiled politely.

"Yes."

"Look, you wouldn't be able to sign some autographs for my kids, would you? They're huge fans, they'd be totally thrilled."

Karl and Miranda were gracious and professional, used to this even before they had climbed aboard the Tolkien juggernaut. And their publicist, laid up at the hotel with a migraine this morning, had made sure they'd still taken promotional material with them they could use for such things. Miranda rifled a couple of markers and some Two Towers paraphernalia out of her bag and they wrote their friendly messages to the names the man gave them and signed underneath, chatting with him a little as they did so and finding out he was a political analyst about to appear on the morning current affairs programme, and the younger man was his personal assistant. As he went to slip the autographed pages into his briefcase he looked at Karl and Miranda's photos amongst those of the cast.

"You guys are the brother and the sister, right?"

"That's who we play in the movie," said Karl.

"Yes, in the movie." Miranda smiled a secret smile just for Karl.

"Well, so long then."

"Bye."

They would have to find an assistant to help dial their limo and get them out to where it would pick them up.

In the corridor, Karl pressed Miranda up against a wall and kissed her soundly.

"Only in the movie," he whispered against her ear.

They grinned at each other then he took her hand as they continued down the corridor. Which made them both feel kind of shy and proud and happy all at the same time.

"Hey, Miranda."

"Yes, K."

"Looks like that eyelash was lucky after all."

"You might be right, hon."

And the beaming smile she gave him only served to confirm his view.

*****

THE END

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