FIC: Apropos of Nothing
Apropos of Nothing
By: bargara-b
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Rating: R
Status: Complete
Disclaimer: Nothing intended.
Summary: It’s what the title suggests. Takes place sometime during the movie. This is unbetaed - my apologies.
A/N: This started out as a single paragraph then it grew a bit.
I’m an addict, Andy decides.
Andy thinks this as she pumps her fingers in and out. The first time she had done this Andy’d known she was forever lost. Her ears had buzzed, her breath had caught, her heart had practically pounded out of her chest, and she had almost come the first time she touched the slick velvet heat of Miranda Priestly. Who would have thought? Andy certainly hadn’t. Had she known - oh, had she only known -- this would have started long before, yes, she would have seduced Miranda Priestly the day she’d met her. So much time lost. Never mind, Andy decides, she’s doing it now, and her ears still buzz, her breath still catches, her heart still pounds, and she still almost comes as she fucks Miranda Priestly. She’s addicted and she loves it.
===
It begins slowly and after Andy starts to deliver the Book. Usually, Miranda is not there, at least not where Andy can see or hear her. When Miranda is there, and makes herself known, Andy just hands over the Book and, most of the time, Miranda says nothing, not even a ‘that’s all’ and Andy feels a little let down because, for some odd reason, Andy has come to almost need those two words.
Then one day . . .
“I need you to call Kate Spade’s,” Miranda sniffs. “Tell them to send more samples. What they sent is nothing short of abysmal,” she huffs. “Surely, they don’t expect Runway to showcase something so pedestrian. Honestly,” Miranda glances up at Andy, “would you carry one of these?” Andy stops writing when she realizes the question is not rhetorical. Miranda has paused and waits for her response. Actually, Andy thinks the bags are cute, maybe a little last year, but still very cute. Miranda continues to wait for Andy with her look that says: well?
“Oh, um.” Dear god, Andy panics, this time she knows her answer and the ‘right’ answer are not one and the same. So, it’s a dilemma. Miranda has been asking Andy her opinion more frequently these days. Thus far, Andy has been lucky since most of the time she agrees with Miranda, or at least is able to give Miranda the answer she’s looking for -- until today. Perhaps it’s the way Miranda has asked the question that differs. For whatever reason, Miranda has changed up the game. Today’s question is personal.
Would Andy carry one of those bags? Well, yes, she would. Does she tell this to Miranda? Does she say: Yes, Miranda, I have no problem with carrying last year’s purse? Miranda still waits. Andy shifts her feet, takes a deep breath, thinks ‘okay’ and looks Miranda in the eye. “Personally, I would.” Miranda’s eyebrows skyrocket. She is clearly not expecting this answer. She inhales through her nose and looks down at the photos again. She is silent for a moment then raises her eyes to Andy’s.
“Why?”
Oh.
“Why? Well, I like it -- this one,” Andy points, “. . . the color is good and I like the shape; it’s flattering and practical.” Miranda looks at Andy and says nothing. Andy continues. “That’s important to me. Practical is good. Versatile, too . . . it’s versatile; I mean you could get away with using it in several different settings . . . I mean, it would be appropriate.” Miranda narrows her eyes and still says nothing. “For someone like me,” Andy adds, now regretting her decision to give her real opinion, not that it hasn’t been her real opinion when given in the past, it just feels different this time probably because she is consciously and openly disagreeing with Miranda.
“Someone like you?” Miranda drawls and Andy briefly wonders how it is that Miranda Priestly is able to look down on someone while looking up at them. Huh.
“Um, yeah, I mean someone who is on the go a lot . . . I mean it’s a useful size and shape and, like I said, really doesn’t . . . wouldn’t look out of place . . . um.” Andy knows she’s repeating herself and feels pretty stupid and, since Miranda continues her visual skewering, Andy decides to say nothing else.
“Hmm,” Miranda seems to consider for a moment, then: “That’s all.”
Miranda says nothing more about the Kate Spade bag and does not include it in the photo shoot. But she gives Andy the sample. It shows up on her desk a few days later and as Miranda passes by on her way out she glances at Andy then the bag and then back at Andy again. She gestures ever so slightly with her chin toward Andy and the bag then disappears down the hall. Andy watches the way she walks away from her, which Andy likes to do whenever she can.
“What the bloody hell makes you so special?” Emily says, she practically trembles with jealously.
Andy is too busy being speechless to give Emily a snappy reply so she just shrugs. She picks up the bag, turns in her chair and smiles as she places it in her drawer.
===
“Make sure the car is here at 7:45 sharp.” Andy again stands in front of Miranda. This happens more often now, where Andy thinks, after handing Miranda the Book, that she is done with her day but Miranda lengthens it by listing off a dozen or so things she wants done that night or by the time she arrives at work in the morning. Andy mentally sighs, continues to take notes and longs for the days when all she had to do was drop off the cleaning and the Book then go home and crash until starting all over again the next day.
“Now,” Miranda is finishing up. Andy knows that when Miranda says ‘now’ it’s usually the last thing on her list. “I want you to try that restaurant on 59th that I like. Order the salad I tried last Thursday,” Miranda says. “That’s all.”
Andy’s pen freezes on her notebook halfway through the word restaurant. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t hear Miranda correctly, does she? She hesitates but Miranda’s attention is fastened on the Book so she’s been dismissed. Um. Okay.
===
“Well?” Miranda doesn’t look up from her work. Andy’s confused: well what? She mentally ticks through her list but it’s been a long day and her feet hurt. It’s hard for her to be efficient when her feet hurt. Miranda glances up and catches Andy looking up at the ceiling, lost in her lists, lips moving. Miranda clears her throat but it sounds more like ‘humph’. Oh god, did she see Andy’s lips moving? Andy blushes then stammers: “Um, well . . .” Andy feels at a loss.
“The restaurant, Andrea,” Miranda snips impatiently and rolls her eyes.
Of course. Andy thinks of smacking her forehead. How could she forget so quickly? It must be her sore feet.
Andy had gone to the restaurant over the weekend with Lily. A girls’ day out she had told Lily. What she didn’t tell Lily was that the ‘Dragon Lady’ had all but commanded Andy to go there. Lily would not have understood and probably wouldn’t have gone with Andy. The salad? The salad had been delicious.
“It was fantastic, Miranda, and the salad was delicious,” Andy enthuses.
Miranda looks Andy up and down, much like she had that day of Andy’s makeover and much the way she has continued to do so with some regularity, with a slight hint of approval - and a little something else -- usually attached to the looks. Miranda appears to make some kind of assessment and nods.
“That’s all.”
Well, gee.
===
“Now . . .”
Andy stops writing and waits. She looks down at Miranda who is utterly engrossed in the Book, so it seems.
“There is an art gallery on the corner across from that gallery I like. I saw a small painting that I --” Miranda hesitates but doesn’t look up, “- I thought --” Miranda stops again, clears her throat then glances up at Andy and blushes. Oh, wow, this is different, Andy thinks. Then Miranda Priestly does (says) the second most unexpected thing in as many seconds.
“Um . . .”
Did Miranda really just say ‘um’? Andy mentally staggers in disbelief. But Miranda quickly recovers and continues in her classic bored tone. “You should see it.”
Andy’s eyes widen and she doesn’t move.
Miranda, still bored, says, “That’s all.”
Andy still doesn’t move.
Miranda finally looks up but never looks directly at Andy. “What is it you don’t understand about ‘That’s all’ Andrea?”
Andy looks at Miranda (who’s still not looking at her) in bewilderment and with a small amount of frustration, “I think there are a number of things I don’t understand Miranda.” And with that Andy turns on her always tired feet and leaves.
===
Andy gazes in disbelief. She had already wandered through gallery twice and was about to start on a third time when she saw it. The first thing that pops into her mind, for some vague reason, is: thank god I didn’t bring Lily. The second thing is: what the fuck. She is not quite sure why she knows this is the painting Miranda wants her to see but she knows it is. And again she thinks: what the fuck. It’s a painting of a sculpture, huh. A nude woman sitting on the floor, legs bent and folded to one side. One arm is wrapped around her back to grasp the other which reaches to the floor; she uses it to hold herself upright. She is featureless, smooth and curved. Her breasts hang heavy and low. Her hips are full and real. Her belly is soft and rounded. She is breathtaking. Andy looks at her for a long time then breaths, “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is. Too bad she’s already taken.”
Startled, Andy turns. A gallery worker is just behind her looking at the painting. “We sold her last week. Fortunately, the buyer didn’t want to take her that day so lucky you. You get to see her.”
Andy glances back at the painting then to the tag: The Lady. The word sold is written in red on a separate tag just below it. Her heart sinks a little. But Andy quickly placates her self by acknowledging she could never have afforded it even if it hadn’t been sold.
Something then catches her attention outside. It’s a dark silver Mercedes just pulling away from the curb. Andy thinks for a moment then utters, “Impossible.”
===
Miranda is in meetings away from the office today. Andy is glad. She has spent the last twenty-four hours stewing over that painting. She has connected the dots, she thinks, but has no idea what they design. It was easier in the third grade when connecting the dots meant a pterodactyl would appear on the page. All Andy can do is to make a list of the dots: the purse, the looks, the salad, more looks, the blush, some lingering gazes, the painting and, finally, the head to toe eye-flick which Miranda bestows daily and lately more than once a day. Andy keeps mulling this over as the day wears on. Nothing that makes any real sense comes to mind. However, the thing that doesn’t make any sense at all keeps popping up in Andy’s thoughts but she dismisses it immediately because it just makes no sense -- at all. Not even a little bit. So, Andy keeps not thinking about that.
Andy delivers the Book just after eleven. She opens the door and walks to the closet, hangs the cleaning then turns to the table. The house is dark and silent. The only light is the one here in the foyer. She places the book on the table and lines it up an inch from the edge, just like silverware, is Andy’s random thought. Something flickers in Andy’s peripheral vision. She gasps and dares a look down the darkened hallway. Nothing’s there. She looks up the staircase but only sees darkness. The hair on the back of her neck starts to stand on end. Her heart begins to race and now Andy wants nothing more than to get out of this house. There’s a click at the end of the hallway. Andy shoots a very nervous look into the darkness as she walks backwards toward the door with one hand already reaching for the door handle. She’s still too many feet from her goal. Another sound. This time it’s definitely a door opening, or that’s how Andy hears it: a slight squeak proceeded by the click of a door latch. But it’s still black at the end of the hallway. Sweat starts to roll down the middle of Andy’s back. Jesus Christ, Andy wonders how far the front door is. Then she hears it. The flick of a switch which comes in tandem with the illumination at the end of the hall, and there stands Miranda Priestly.
“Holy fuck, Miranda!” Andy practically screams. Her heart has forever lost several beats. “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me.”
Miranda says nothing.
“I thought you were out tonight,” Andy says, calming only a tiny bit.
“Andrea, bring the Book with you,” Miranda says as she turns and goes back into the room. Andy briefly wonders if Miranda was ever in that room. Maybe Miranda had been standing at the end of the hallway the whole time, watching and waiting. Okay, now she’s just creeping herself out. But with as on edge Andy’s been over the last day or so is it any wonder?
“Andrea,” Miranda calls.
Andy grabs the Book and walks toward the lighted room.
Miranda is seated in a loveseat perusing a sheaf of photographs. She holds a red marker at the ready. Andy watches her for a few moments enjoying the view which is Miranda Priestly all nicely lit. Miranda’s glance flickers up then immediately back down. Andy’s pretty much stunned by what she sees next and she’s pretty certain it’s a blush creeping up Miranda’s chest and neck and suddenly Andy knows. It’s inexplicable that she knows but she does and Andy feels powerful. She has knowledge.
“You didn’t have meetings outside the office today, did you?” Miranda looks up at this. “You ditched work,” Andy accuses then laughs a short laugh. Andy finally accepts the dots she connected earlier that day. “My god, Miranda, you’re nothing but a big chicken.”
Miranda gives Andy her iciest glare. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Andrea.” Only Miranda can’t hold the gaze. Ha.
Andy puts the Book on the chair opposite Miranda. Miranda can’t seem to look away from it. Andy sits down right next to Miranda . . . on the loveseat. Miranda fidgets.
“I saw the painting,” Andy says.
Their eyes connect and what Andy sees surprises her. Miranda is, in turns, embarrassed, terrified and hopeful.
“Yes,” Miranda says finally.
Andy has no idea she can be so forward as she places her arm up along the seat back so her hand is maybe a quarter inch from Miranda’s shoulder. Andy can feel Miranda’s heat. Miranda is not looking at Andy but is now focused on her lap; she bites her lip. Andy watches. She moves her hand a little closer and her fingers now brush the back of Miranda’s collar. Until this moment it has never occurred to Andy that she can be sexually attracted to a woman. Oh, she knows she’s been ogling Miranda for months but Andy has never attached any specific explanation to it. Consciously, she has put it down to, well, a desperate admiration. But now Andy recognizes all that chemistry between them for what it really is and, wow, it’s about sex. Andy feels a flush creep up her body as she pays special attention to the curve at Miranda’s cleavage. Her eyes move up past Miranda’s neck to her lips.
“So, can I kiss you?” Andy asks even as she leans forward. Her hand moves to the back of Miranda’s neck and Andy gently pulls. Miranda turns and then it is so easy to press her lips to Miranda’s. It’s soft and perfect.
In no time at all they are kissing deeply. Andy’s mind is reeling and Miranda’s kisses become more ardent. She clutches at Miranda’s back and pulls her flush with her own body. The simple pleasure from the soft press of their breasts together takes both of them by surprise, so much so that they stop kissing long enough to look at each other. Andy says, “Wow.” Miranda says, “Quite.”
===
Several days pass. Andy starts to think she dreamed the whole kissing thing with Miranda, because Miranda has been nothing but her regular icy don’t-bring-me-anything-but-scorching-hot-coffee Miranda each day. Andy hasn’t even seen her when she delivers the Book at night. So Andy goes over and over it in her mind reliving every moment and then she goes over it again. Miranda’s lips had been soft and pliant. Her mouth had been hot and moist. Her tongue had been doggedly insistent. She had tasted of wine. She had smelled of spring rain. She had felt utterly fantastic. Andy’s head spins, her palms sweat, her heart pounds. Jesus.
“Are you listening to me Andy?”
Andy plummets back to earth. Oh, fuck.
“Of course I am,” Andy defends.
Emily looks doubtful.
“Fine then. Once you pick up the portfolio you are to take it directly to Miranda’s. Is that clear?”
“Portfolio?” Oops.
Emily huffs an ‘I thought so’.
“From James.”
“Right, um, okay.” Andy looks at the clock. It’s just past seven o’clock. “What about the Book?” Andy asks.
“Good god, Andy, it’s sitting right in front of you.”
Andy looks down at her desk. When did that arrive? It’s early. God she is so out of it. She flashes Emily a sheepish and apologetic look. Emily rolls her eyes.
“Go. Shoo.”
===
Andy looks up at Miranda’s townhouse and wonders what the hell she is thinking. Well, she knows what she is thinking. She’s thinking of having sex with Miranda Priestly. And this is wrong on too many levels to list but in a last ditch effort Andy attempts it anyway: she’s her boss, she’s twice Andy’s age, she’s got kids, she’s not yet divorced, she’s a she, she’s not gay . . . is she? Is Andy? Does it matter? Andy mounts the steps.
Inside, she places the cleaning in the closet then turns to the silent house. This time there’s a light on upstairs. Andy hesitates, then decides. “Miranda?” Andy calls. It comes out less timid than Andy feels at the moment. She leaves the Book and portfolio on the table and climbs the stairs. Miranda appears on the landing and watches Andy finish her ascent. They stare steadily at each other. Neither speaks. Andy does a Miranda up-and-down eye-flick and on her way back up Andy’s eyes stop at Miranda’s neck where she sees Miranda’s pulse race. Andy continues up to Miranda’s eyes. Tonight there is none of the embarrassment or fear but there is that famous Miranda Priestly look that says: well?
Um.
“I refuse to do this standing in the hallway, Andrea.” With that Miranda walks down the hall and Andy follows. What? Were they not going to talk about this at all, Andy wonders? She guesses she shouldn’t be too surprised because they sure as hell didn’t talk about this the other night after having their tongues down each others throat. Miranda had just slowed the kisses and then drew away from Andy and said, “That’s all.” Miranda had then left the room leaving Andy to watch her walk away. Andy had sat with her mouth hanging open and lipstick smeared, stunned.
Andy follows Miranda into the bedroom and closes the door behind her.
“Uh, Miranda, don’t you think we should talk about this?” Andy asks.
Miranda considers Andy for a moment. “What ever do we have to discuss, Andrea?” Miranda sniffs. “We’ve already established our mutual desire, have we not?”
Okay, what the fuck, Andy thinks. Mutual desire? “Miranda,” Andy begins then stops. She’s suddenly figured out this stiff and distant Miranda. Miranda is still a big fat chicken.
“You’re nervous,” Andy reveals.
The next few moments Andy sees a multitude of emotions cross Miranda’s face. They begin with fear they pass through relief and end on passion. There’s the desire Andy’s been looking for.
“Of course, I am,” Miranda looks momentarily helpless then the floodgates open. “I - I don’t, I can’t understand this, Andrea. There’s something about you, even that first day, which makes it impossible for me not to think about you . . . about this.” Miranda wrings her hands together but approaches Andy steadily. “I can’t help it, I’ve tried Andrea I have, but I can’t help wanting this.” Andy holds her breath as Miranda’s gaze goes from bewilderment to blatant lust in seconds and then Miranda is on her. The kiss is hot and white and accusatory. Andy grabs at Miranda’s shoulders for balance then leverage to move them to the bed. Miranda is relentless in her plunder of Andy’s mouth. Andy plunders right back but is losing her grasp on her thoughts. She gives them up for sensation. Clothes disappear and bare skin collides. It’s beyond anything Andy could have dreamed. Miranda’s mouth is delicious, her skin is flawless, her passion is endless and Andy is lost. Andy realizes this as she pumps her fingers in and out. Her ears buzz, her breath catches, her heart pounds out of her chest, and she almost comes as she touches the slick velvet heat of Miranda Priestly. She’s addicted and she loves it.
Fin