Author's note: Originally this series was called Not Sex but fanfic-dotnet took it down because of unspecified ratings/content violations. I guess it was the title. It is still called Not Sex elsewhere, such as at AO3.

NOT SEX

Whatever this was, they were not having sex. It doesn't count when it's your assistant. Who's female. And it's just quick and dirty against the wall in your private washroom. It's not like she even went inside. A few fast rubs across her clit and Miranda had gasped and come like a firecracker, shocking them both speechless.

So definitely NOT sex.

Miranda had blushed faintly and been furious at the fact and tried to distract them both by sliding her hand up Andrea's thigh. Because if she was going to be humiliated by coming ten seconds after having not-sex, she would not be alone. Her hand had gotten as far as the elastic on the doubtlessly cheap Hanes pale blue underwear before her assistant managed to deepen her embarrassment by pulling it away with a strangled "No".

Miranda had looked startled into her wide brown eyes, thinking surely she'd misheard, only to see a firm head shake and a bitten lower lip. Regretful.

"I can't," she'd whispered and Miranda frowned. She snapped her hand away as though it had been bitten. Damn this girl. She'd seen Miranda like this and now she'd…

"It's my time of the month," Andrea admitted quietly, like a plea really, and comprehension dawned. Those creamy cheeks reddened.

Miranda blew a silent snort from her nose and wanted to bang her head against the wall. Nothing reminds one of how ridiculous all of this is when the fact of your not-sexual partner's femaleness gets thrust into your face.

She never had this problem with men, of course. And she, herself, had ceased worrying about the so-called curse almost a year ago. So having a female partner – and an apparently fertile one at that – was a charming reminder of why they were not doing this. Well, even more than they already weren't.

Miranda felt a headache coming on.

Andrea was still looking at her, and finally she whispered hopefully: "But maybe you could, um, y'know, over the top?"

She made a vague allusion towards her underwear and Miranda had an absurd urge to laugh. Rubbing her (annoyingly unrepentantly fertile) assistant chastely through her underwear like they were a pair of teens in high school? She wanted to tell her how absurd that notion was for a powerful woman of her standing. She wanted to ask her what was the point, given this was already humiliating enough. Even as she contemplated the most effective manner of denial, she felt a warm hand draw her fingers back up that soft, welcoming thigh to the vee beneath Andrea's skirt. Their fingers entangled and she felt Andrea rub Miranda's fingers against the cotton.

Well this wasn't ridiculous in the slightest, Miranda told herself with a huff, even as she rubbed methodically through the material and bent forward to improve the angle. I mean how on earth …

Andrea gave a strange gasping sound and Miranda's distracted eyes snapped up and she examined her assistant's face. A vulnerable expression of wonder and delight chased all across Andrea's unguarded features and then her head tilted back to thud softly against the wall. Miranda pressed hard with her thumb against the spot she imagined Andrea's clit to be and watched with savage satisfaction as the girl's face screwed up and she came. Extremely hard. Any humiliation Miranda felt evaporated as she saw the long, wanton shudder and then those wide brown eyes fluttered open and focused on Miranda. The pleasure and desire were unmistakeable.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Wow. Um, thank you."

"Yes. Well." Miranda said cleverly. She let her hand drop.

She would have loved to have smelt her but that would have been just as ridiculous as this entire episode. Her mind derailed as she then contemplated tasting her. She skittered ahead a few days and she wondered how long it would be before Andrea would be … she paused, lips pursing … match ready for her.

She almost asked before her brain kicked in, and screeched her traitorous tongue to a stop. Absolutely not.

Instead she nodded curtly at the girl and stepped away, leaving Andrea to recover in her bathroom, closing the door behind her.

No, no, it was better this way. This way, ending it now, they had deniability. Nothing really had happened.

After all, it wasn't sex. No, no, not sex. Not at all.