New fic: Hooked, DWP, 1/1
Title: Hooked
Author: chilly_flame
Rating: R
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with The Devil Wears Prada. Alas.
Notes: As I was writing The Righteous Dead, this one popped into my head. I’ve had very little time to write, but a day off helped! Added notes: one detail inspired by thelastgoodname , and takethisstep read my mind. Thanks to Xander for the read-through.
This is a sequel to Sick Day & The Righteous Dead.
Crossposted to Dreamwidth; feel free to comment there.
Andy keeps her head down, and hopes that the tickle in the back of her throat is just an allergy to something in the air-maybe Jocelyn’s perfume, or the aftershave of that Fed Ex guy she walked by a few minutes ago. But she doesn’t have a lot of hope. She’s pretty sure she’s about to get sick. At least this time, it’s definitely not her fault.
Well, mostly.
She double checks her copy, then checks it a third time before nodding her head. So far she’s been so thorough with her research and quality control that no one has had the opportunity to complain about her promotion to editorial. They seem to like her; she’s fit in well enough, working long hours and complaining about Miranda whenever appropriate. She remains a tiny cog in an enormous wheel, but it’s better than schlepping coffee and carrying skirts. Although the new gig does have its drawbacks.
The biggest one is the location of her desk. As in, she’s no longer ten feet from Miranda at all times.
But there are other perks. She doesn’t report directly to Miranda anymore; there are about three layers of staff between them now. Psychologically, this seems like a good idea, but legally, she’s not sure it matters. At least there are no accusations of favoritism, because Miranda and Andy have such limited contact. On occasion Andy will get a whiff of Miranda’s perfume in the conference room, or she’ll glance into her office on her way out to lunch. Andy has some regrets about not seeing her much in public, but it’s a small price to pay. It was the right move for a zillion reasons, not the least of which is the bump in pay. It’s not huge, but it allows her some breathing room, and a little spending money that she doesn’t usually spend. Someday she’ll want it though, so it goes in a savings account and makes a miniscule amount of interest every month. Nobody can say she’s not responsible.
They could say other things, though, if they knew better. But they don’t, and Andy plans to keep it that way.
“A-choo!” The sneeze surprises her so much that she can’t hold it in, and she glances up and around furtively in case anyone caught her.
Jocelyn chuckles; it was a noisy sneeze. She says, “Bless you.”
“Thanks,” Andy croaks, grabbing a tissue. She tries not to frown.
She sneezes again, then again.
Fuck.
“That’s funny, there must be something going around,” Nigel says as he strolls by.
“Hmm?” Andy says, wiping her nose in the daintiest way possible, even though she’s already snotting up the Kleenex like a champ.
“Miranda just sneezed ten times in a row. We were on a conference call with Ghesquiere and I had to mute the phone. It just went on and on.” He looks thoughtfully at Andy, and his expression puts her on alert. “Maybe you picked something up from her.”
She smiles, aiming for innocence and a dash of bitterness, appropriate for a formerly put-upon assistant. “Well I don’t exactly have to bring her coffee every day anymore, so I doubt it. But you know I did see some sneezy kids when I was out to dinner the other night-“
“Oh, of course. We all know how you love the Olive Garden,” he says with a fey wave of his hand. “I’m sure the all-you-can-eat breadsticks were worth it.”
Andy rolls her eyes, irritated. But a touch of the new-in-town hick act helps now and then as a mode of protection. She’s grown up a lot since she's been in New York, but it’s not so difficult to turn it on. “Fine. I won’t bore you with the details.” She really won’t. Nigel wouldn’t want to hear any of them.
“At least it’s Friday so you can recover in the privacy of your own home,” Nigel drawls. “Not that you’ll be leaving early tonight. We’ll need some blurbs for the Lanvin feature, so you’ll have to get the pricing guides from accessories.”
“On it,” Andy says, happily pushing her chair back from the desk. Anything to get away from potential exposure. As she grabs a fresh tissue, her phone buzzes. She picks it up and glances at it quickly, shielding it from Nigel’s prying gaze.
“Is there a fish on the other end of that hook?” he inquires, a sly smile spreading across his face. It’s friendly, and Andy knows she has to banter back.
“Maybe,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Tell him if he gets bored to come see me. I haven’t had any nibbles for a while.”
Andy opens her mouth to lob a suggestive reply, but reminds herself that he’s more her boss now than he used to be. “No comment,” she says with a grin, and he chuckles.
“Probably the right idea. Get started on those guides after you chat with loverboy, ok? Make it snappy.”
“Yes, sir,” she salutes, and disappears into the white hallway, where she can check the message in privacy.
BR it says in bright red letters. Andy licks her lips. Her breathing gets shallow, and she looks around quickly to see if anyone’s watching. No one is, so she pockets the phone and skitters down the hall.
She exits through the main Runway glass doors and makes a beeline to the stairwell, climbing up. There’s a bathroom on 20 that doesn’t get a lot of traffic because the floor is only half occupied, so now and then, she visits it. And locks the door.
By the time she throws the lock, she’s wet and nervous, aside from feeling slightly feverish. She’s not sure where the fever’s coming from though, which makes her laugh. Even to her own ears, the sound is sexy.
Miranda is waiting, leaning against a stall door, and just the sight of her makes Andy’s breath catch. She looks a little pale, and for a moment Andy wonders if she isn’t going to get lucky. But then Miranda crooks her finger, and Andy’s blood rushes south, and she goes in for a kiss.
It’s a good one, giving Andy chills all the way down her back. Miranda tickles the erogenous place at the base of her spine, and Andy jerks in response. They kiss some more, until Andy starts to ease Miranda’s form-fitting skirt up. As they back into the largest stall, where they’ve had a number of trysts already, Andy yanks at the zipper. She slams the stall door shut, not caring that even if there are cameras in the room, they’d have been caught multiple times. The first time it happened in here, they didn’t make it to a stall, and instead clung to each other fully clothed against the counter for a violently quick, almost simultaneous climax. Granted, they’d only done it once at that point, and three days had gone by before they’d gotten an opportunity to meet again. Andy has very fond memories of that encounter, and the thought of it fuels her now, as she swirls her fingers against Miranda.
“Hey,” she breathes against Miranda’s mouth. “God, you feel good.”
“Mm,” Miranda says, leaning her head back against cool metal. “That’s-oh, yes, there.” Miranda covers Andy’s hand, and her slick fingers drive Andy out of her mind like always. She bites Miranda’s shoulder to keep herself from crying out, all the while rubbing against Miranda’s thigh. Their rhythm is like music, like dancing, and Andy pants her way through it. She loves how Miranda directs her, and as Miranda picks up speed, she tries hard to hold back a sneeze. It doesn’t work, though, and she tilts her head away and lets it out.
“Hach-oo!”
“Ohh-ah-haa,” Miranda chuckles, still close, but distracted, breaking the cadence for a moment. She laughs again, until Andy leans in for a vicious chomp of her neck. Miranda likes to be bitten; Andy thinks the additional risk of the discovery through a mark makes it more exciting. In this way, the bite isn’t a punishment for laughing at Andy, but it does the job, reminding Miranda that she’s there to come, and come hard, which she does very shortly thereafter.
When she’s finished, Miranda holds Andy’s head with both hands, one of which is damp with her own sweat and come. Andy can smell it, and she swoons a bit before Miranda kisses her softly. These are Andy’s favorite kisses; before Miranda comes, she doesn’t like a lot of tongue. Her lips are pliant and delicious, so it’s no great loss. When they first started up, it was kind of a revelation to be so sparing, since most guys she’d been with were messy kissers. But Miranda is all about the lips, so in the opportune moments when her tongue touches Andy’s, it’s as electric as it was that first day.
Now Miranda is looser, and her kisses turn softer, more open. Andy loves it, particularly the way she sucks at Andy’s lower lip like it’s the sweetest lollipop. Their tongues flick against each other, and Andy shivers as Miranda’s hand descends to unzip her loose fitting trousers.
“Oh,” she says, inhaling sharply when Miranda slides right in without pause. “Hachoo!” Andy sneezes breathlessly. “Sorry. Oh yeah, that’s nice,” she gasps, leaning over to make the angle better. “Your fault though.”
“It is not,” Miranda says, even though they both know it is. Cassidy came home with a cold three days ago, and proceeded to give it to Caroline. They are both almost better now, and have departed for their father’s for the weekend. Tomorrow will be the first free Saturday for the two of them to spend together since October, and even if they’re coughing and sneezing all over each other, Andy plans on having as much sex as possible. It’s good for them, at least that’s what she tells herself. It produces oxytocin, or something, which will make their resistance go up.
“Is too, oh,” she whines, thrusting her hips with closed eyes. “Almost there-“
Miranda’s breath catches, and she kisses Andy again, because she loves to kiss while Andy comes. Andy suspects she likes hearing how much Andy loves being fucked by her, so Andy tries to make it as good as it feels. Every sound gets swallowed up by Miranda’s hungry mouth until she feels it starting, and then she comes and comes until she sags against Miranda’s body. She stays there for a minute, trying to slow her heart beat and her breath.
“Come in the back way, tonight,” Miranda murmurs. “I don’t know what time to expect the book.”
“Okay,” Andy sighs. She drifts in the afterglow for all of thirty seconds more, until she remembers where she is, and what she’s supposed to be up to. “Shit, I have to do a thing. I should get back.”
Miranda raises an eyebrow, and her mouth curls seductively. “A thing?”
“Lanvin blurbs. Very dramatic.”
“Every job is important at Runway, darling,” Miranda purrs.
Andy knows she should be happy that Miranda doesn’t look down on her professionally, but all she can hear is the word darling. She kisses Miranda, and holds her tightly.
---
By 7 that night, Andy is well and truly sick; the cold hits hard, just as it did with the girls. Andy is relieved they won’t be home tonight, even though they’ve turned out to be okay kids. Spoiled rotten, sure, and snobby, but Andy’s certain if she’d been raised in their environment, she’d have been just as bad.
Nigel hasn’t given her any more funny looks today, even though he may have been keeping a closer eye on her than usual. He’s particularly interested in her cell phone, which hasn’t vibrated since her little tryst that morning. Miranda won’t be texting her again; she expects Andy to arrive whenever she’s able to, and that’s good enough. Of all people, Miranda understands the demands of her work schedule, which is unpredictable at best. At worst, it’s obscene, but she reminds herself that most of the time that she is working late, Miranda is too, so they wouldn’t be together anyway. It’s a very, very small comfort.
An hour later, her vision is blurred, and she’s gone through half the box of tissues.
“Scoot,” Nigel says, approaching her desk. “You’re done. See you Monday.”
“But I-“
“I don’t want to catch the plague. I hope you’ve touched as little as possible around the office.”
“I did. I’m sure I’ll be better soon.” She takes a chance, and asks, “Did Miranda get worse today?”
Nigel glances over his shoulder almost as an automatic defense mechanism. “No, she seemed perfectly well after her little performance earlier.”
Andy wonders how much of “perfectly well” is an act. Perhaps it really was allergies, but Andy doubts it. She says, “I’m not surprised. I don’t think viruses survive well in icy climates.”
“Ooh, snap,” Nigel croons with a sly grin. “You’re lucky she’s gone. She might have knocked you down a peg or two if she’d heard that one.”
“No doubt,” Andy says, and decides that she’ll listen to Nigel and call it a night. “Thanks, Nigel. See you Monday-have a good one.”
“Better than yours will be, I’m sure,” he says, and heads to his office. She watches him for a few moments, wondering if he really has no idea, even though it doesn’t matter one way or another. If he knows, he hasn’t told anyone, and it’s not like they’re doing anything illegal. Not really. Andy decides it might be worth printing the HR manual just in case, and reminds herself that any sex that’s been had in the Elias-Clarke office building has not been on Runway property. She snorts at the thought, then sneezes three times.
The subway is crowded, so she can’t get a seat. It figures. She leans against a pole and tries not to get germs on anyone, but she does get some dirty looks. She feels like yelling, “It’s not my fault! My girlfriend’s kids are walking petri dishes!” but restrains herself. Barely.
There’s an alley behind Miranda’s fancy townhouse, narrow and dark, that gets very little foot traffic. This is her usual mode of entrance, and though it surprises her, she doesn’t mind being a secret. At first she was sure she would, but it turns out she doesn’t care at all. It’s better this way for both of them. Andy doesn’t have to feel publicly inadequate, and Miranda doesn’t have to explain herself to anyone. This is the best relationship she’s ever had, which is a huge surprise. Even when Miranda clams up about something important, if Andy pries hard enough, everything pours out. This is the most shocking thing Andy has learned about Miranda; she is far softer and more needy than expected.
When Andy thinks about what she and Nate had, she has a few regretful pangs. But when she gets to spend time with Miranda, those regrets dissolve into thin air. Then there’s nothing but Miranda, and the two of them together, and it feels absolutely right.
She unlocks the gate to the garden, then the back door to the house. The kitchen is quiet, but there’s soup simmering on the stove. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Andy to have for dinner. She hopes Miranda doesn’t mind if she eats in bed tonight, because she plans on climbing the steps exactly once. And she’s too lonely to eat down here in the empty kitchen. She fixes herself a bowl with some crackers and starts the long haul up to the third floor. At the top, she turns toward the second door on the left and pushes it open with her foot.
Miranda is in bed, looking as miserable as Andy feels. They stare at each other for a moment, till Miranda groans pitifully. “I’m sick.”
Andy puts her tray down on the nightstand before stripping off her clothes. “I’m sorry, honey. If it’s any consolation, I feel awful too.” Her night clothes are on the back of the door in the bathroom, and she pulls them on. They’re cool against her skin, which is overly sensitive and hot. Back in the bedroom, she puts the tray down on the mattress and climbs into the bed, careful not to spill. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Welcome,” Miranda replies, a wrist against her forehead. She eyes Andy. “I had such plans for tonight,” she says mournfully.
Andy is just as disappointed. She does so love it when Miranda plans ahead. “Maybe we’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Mm,” Miranda says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s a shame, anyhow.”
Andy grins and rubs Miranda’s shoulder lightly. “At least we can suffer together.” She chuckles at Miranda’s eye roll, and glances around the elegant room. “I remember the first time I slept in this room, you know. Last time I was sick.”
This draws out a smile from Miranda. “Ah, yes. Thank goodness I had somewhere to put you. I think you may have melted into a puddle if I’d stayed in Nice one extra day.”
“More like one extra hour,” Andy quips. “You know, that really was one of the nicest things you’ve ever done for me. Still.” She gives Miranda a full-wattage smile, even though she feels like shit, because her heart knows that Miranda cares. It’s all she’s wanted for a long time. “And I had no idea this was your room.”
Miranda gets a snooty look on her face, but Andy can see the humor in it. “Well I wasn’t about to confess my feelings at the time.”
“Feelings?” Andy crows after taking a bite of soup. “You had feelings for me?” she teases. This is a frequent topic of conversation between them; Andy enjoys hearing that she wasn’t alone in her longing back then.
“My god, you are insufferable,” Miranda croaks. “Leave me alone.”
Andy wants to laugh, but she holds it in. “You know I had feelings too.” She glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I’ll always wonder if you promoted me just so you could get in my pants.”
With a snort, Miranda turns on her side. “Usually it’s the other way around, darling,” she replies. “And if you weren’t so obsessed with proper punctuation, you certainly wouldn’t have moved up. I’d have helped you find something somewhere else. It had been more than a year, after all, and that’s all it takes.”
Eyes glazing, Andy recalls how she and Miranda had moved toward one another the night Miranda told her about the promotion. Their first kiss followed, short but intense, with the promise that as soon as Andy moved on, there would be more. A great deal more, but Miranda thought they should wait, so Andy went along with it. She smiles, the memories of her fantasies still potent even after months of excellent sex. By the time they actually got around to the making love, Andy had been with Miranda in a thousand ways in her mind, and the reality matched imagination very nicely indeed.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Miranda says, tucking her hand in the back of Andy’s pajama pants. “I’m thinking about it too. I just can’t do anything.” She huffs in dismay.
“Tomorrow,” Andy reminds her. “Or Sunday.” She finishes the last of her soup and sets the tray down on the floor. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to sleep.” She snuggles under the covers right up to Miranda, tucking her face against a pale throat. It’s a little warm, between their fevers and body heat, but it’s kind of nice too. And she really does think that it’s better that they’re together, even if Miranda snipes at her for kicking her during the night or keeping her awake with her sneezes.
“Did you take anything?”
Andy nods. “Tylenol PM.”
“Good. Now don’t move for the next twelve hours.”
Andy sighs in contentment, and rubs Miranda’s hip. “Yes, ma’am.” She closes her eyes, and looks forward to being better, and to everything that will come after that.
~end
Crossposted to Dreamwidth; feel free to comment there.