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Title: Not Exclusively
Author: yueni
Fic I remixed: Fair Enough by Dee
Pairing: Miranda/Karl; Miranda/Viggo; Karl/Viggo

DISCLAIMER: The author makes no claims or inferences to reality or truthfulness. Moreover, this story is based upon the work of another author and recognises their creation.


Miranda opens herself to many people. She's confident and overly brash; above all, she likes men. No, that would be putting it mildly. She loves men. She loves men in all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life. She likes to think that she appreciates their quirks and foibles. Perhaps she does. There are so many different kinds of men, and Miranda loves to experiment, try them out. Sure, she might seem aggressive at times, but this isn't the dark ages when women pined at home for men. Miranda seeks them out in her blithe, happy-go-lucky manner, not minding being turned down. Perhaps that is why she rarely is.

Dave is one of the few who has turned her down. She'd been eyeing him all week long, and had finally cornered him at his housewarming party. He was crawling over the coats strewn on the bed in the guest room. The queen-sized, spare bed. "The coats are a mess," he'd told her as she arched a brow in the doorway.

"What's the big deal?" She'd sauntered into the room, setting her drink on the bedside table, but not lifting a finger to help him straighten out the coats. "They'll end up being more of a mess later on, anyway, when people are digging through the pile looking for theirs at the end of the evening."

"Not if it's organised properly," he'd replied, lifting a corduroy coat and straightening it out over something in dark green. "Just humour me, yeah? I'm anal about things like these."

All it really took was a playful pounce and a strategic wiggle, and there they were in the middle of the bed, on top of the coats, Miranda half sprawled across Dave's lap. "I'll humour you if you'll humour me," she'd said, pressing against him meaningfully, but he'd manfully declined despite the slowly hardening presence against her thigh.

"You're with Karl."

"Not exclusively," she'd replied saucily.

"Ah, but I'm exclusive with my wife, who happens to be downstairs entertaining our delightful colleagues."

They ended up talking about the hobbits and a radio show they'd once done together years ago. Dave was quick with his quips, and Miranda easy with her laugh. Karl found them that way, Miranda still sprawled decadently over Dave's lap, laughing at one of his jokes.

"Looking for my coat," Karl had said, with that what the fuck do I do now look on his face that one gets when you've caught two people in the act and they've seen you.

Miranda had seen that first slight stiffening of his spine. The first twinges of jealousy, she'd thought, and she'd slid off Dave's lap, still chuckling. "You know I'm right," she'd said, bending low to kiss Dave on the cheek before picking up her shoes from the floor where she'd kicked them off. She'd pushed past Karl in the doorway, and accompanied him down the drive without seeming to.

"Dave's a darling, but disgustingly devoted to his wife."

"I'm not jealous," Karl had replied quickly. Maybe too quickly.

He'd stopped halfway up the drive, and Miranda was already almost all the way down. Now she stopped and turned around. "You coming? Or do you want to fuck me here?"

He came.


The hobbits threw a party because they were young and getting pissed seemed to be the order of the day. Miranda arrived with Karl. They'd spent a lazy day together swimming, fucking and loafing around.

Miranda liked Karl. He expected little of her, and sex with him was always easy and fluid. They had an unspoken understanding between them. They were just fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits, whatever the catchphrase of the day was, and Miranda liked that. She wasn't one for complications and long term commitments. No strings attached, that was how she liked things.

At the party, she found Viggo and Orlando in the kitchen downing beers and talking. "Any place for a shieldmaiden to join the warriors?"

"Always." Ever gallant, Orlando pulled out a chair for her.

Orlando had to be the cheapest drunk in all of Wellington. It took just two beers before the effects kicked in, and he was gabbing away a mile a minute about all and sundry. Orlando sober, was gentlemanly and proper. Orlando drunk, was a whole other kettle of fish. Miranda and Viggo spent an enjoyable couple of hours teasing the poor drunk lad, and that was how Karl found them. Miranda was leaning cozily against Viggo while Orlando did something bizarre with beer cans and string.

"I'm getting a lift with Dave."

Miranda detached herself from Viggo, leaning over to bus Karl on the cheek. "You go on. I'll be right."

She ends up at Viggo's that night, where they screw like minks in the cocoon of his sheets. They lie breathless in the aftermath, their linked fingers the only point of contact. They let the cool night breeze waft over them, evaporating the sweat from their bodies. "Would he understand?"

Miranda thinks of Karl, then she tells Viggo, "I think he does intellectually, but I don't think his heart does."

"Emotions are always so troublesome," Viggo notes in that not-quite mumble of his.

Miranda agrees, wondering where her artist lover of the night is taking this observation, but he's already asleep.


Karl walks in on them two days later. Viggo and Miranda had enjoyed a leisurely fuck at her place, christening her new couch, her old dining set, and the kitchen counter. She had steaks grilling and a salad chilling in the fridge. Viggo, ever the opportunist, had been working on christening the kitchen wall when Karl knocks on the door.

Miranda answers the door breathless, lips swollen from Viggo's kisses. Her eyes light up upon seeing Karl, and she invites him in, a lilt in her step. She doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath when he catches sight of Viggo already there, sipping a glass of wine.

"Am I interrupting?" He sounds stilted and uncomfortable.

"Of course not," Viggo's nonchalant and calm.

Miranda places a hand on his arm and smiles reassuringly, "Don't be silly, you're always welcome."

"Actually, I just came past to ask if I could borrow your Crowded House CD."

"An Aussie lending Crowded House to a Kiwi? There's something wrong about that." Miranda throws Viggo a brilliant smile, as if to say See? He's fine. "I'll be right back."

She hurries off to pick up the CD. It's one she knows Karl has; after all, he was the one who gave her that particular album, but she gives him the easy way out. Instead of hurrying back to the living room, she stands in the shadows at the curve of the stairs eavesdropping on their conversation shamelessly. When they fall silent, she peeks around the corner and notices the way they're watching each other. A mischievous smile curves the corners of her lips.

After Karl leaves, Miranda turns to Viggo. "You want him."

Viggo nods, and answers her unspoken question. "I'm working on it."


Miranda and a couple of the techs coordinate lunch on the Meduseld set one day. It's a lot of planning and arguing with the caterers, but she loves a challenge and won't take no for an answer. She passes out sandwiches and drinks merrily, keeping an eye on Viggo and her other on Karl. When she sees them sharing a patch of shade, a pleased smile crosses her face. She proceeds to dab whipped cream on Dave's nose for insulting her idea of potato salad.

Viggo and Karl seem to be getting along swimmingly, and Miranda approves. She snaps up two plates of cake and sweeps over to check up on their progress. "Cake?" she offers, giving them both a winning smile.

Both pieces are taken immediately and she kisses each man on the cheek, declaring them cute as hobbits.

When she calls Karl the following night, he answers in a gravelly drawl. He declines her invitation, "Not tonight. I'm sort of busy."

Her smile is overly smug, and she knows it. "Well," she says. "That's fair enough."

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