Degrees of Naked, Two.
Title: Degrees of Naked
Author: ficburd
Rating: Smut alert! Definitely NC-17.
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: What if Miranda had some really old-fashioned ideas when it comes to dating? Andy's finding it difficult.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the movie the Devil Wears Prada; sadly, they belong to someone else. I make no money out of writing this story and therefore there's absolutely no reason to sue me.
Beta: wiser_dachshund
A/N: I know it's shameless smut, but there is a plot...kinda ^^
One.
Degrees of Naked
Two.
“Andrea, what are you doing?” Miranda whimpered helplessly as she was pushed against a door and trapped there with a hot, female body.
“Showing you what I think about you flirting with that Goulart skank,” Andy shot back hotly and cupped the editor's breasts in her hands possessively through her black Calvin Klein dress.
“I was not-- Ahh!-- not flirting with her. We were merely discussing her upcoming cover shoot.”
“I don't believe you,” Andy fired back. “You couldn't get your eyes off her ass when she turned to speak with Galliano.” To make sure Miranda understood which body part they were discussing, the journalist then moved her hands down to grab onto Miranda's ass and subsequently jerked her closer to her own desperately aroused body. A low, keening sound escaped the editor's lips, and her hands, by automatic response, found their way around Andy's waist.
While she waited for the older woman to reply, Andy allowed her tongue to roam freely across Miranda's neck and all the way down to suck on one clavicle bone that was deliciously exposed by the elegant cocktail dress her lover was wearing. It really was very considerate of the older woman to always wear the kind of evening wear which provided easy access to Andy's worshiping tongue and hands.
“If you must know,” Miranda finally began her reply, “I was only assessing how much airbrushing is going to be needed to make her look passable in the photo.” Obviously the editor was going for her usual hauteur, but came off sounding decidedly unlike herself due to the heavy breathing accompanying the sentence. Her head was already lolling uncontrollably from left to right, and every now and then her ass would thump against the bathroom door as she moved her hips against those of the younger woman in an age-old rhythm.
Andrea hummed appreciatively. She loved how responsive the editor's body was. Miranda, on the other hand, found it exceedingly annoying that Andy could turn her on so easily whenever and wherever she chose. They'd had words over the issue at least a dozen times already.
“And you promise you will never flirt with another woman, ever again?” Andy insisted, greedily sucking an earlobe into her mouth.
Miranda tightened her hold on the reporter's waist. “I wouldn't,” she husked.
“Wouldn't what?” Andy demanded darkly. “Flirt with women or promise me you won't flirt with them?”
“Flirt,” Miranda managed to get out weakly. She was quickly losing her ability to keep up with the conversation, and was hoping Andrea would not come up with any more complicated questions.
“Good,” Andy purred, satisfied with the answer. Now that she deemed the case closed, there was no reason to continue talking. Attacking Miranda's lips with her own, she started to non-verbally convey to her lover just how little she would be needing to seek the allures of other women. Her right hand slid down the hem of the black dress and then disappeared underneath it. The editor's whole body shivered violently as Andy's hand made contact with her wet underwear. Ripping the lace off with one forceful pull, the brunette wasted no time in plunging two of her fingers into her lover.
This time it was Miranda's head that made the thumping sound. And it was no little sound either. There would most definitely be a bump on the back of her head the next day.
“Andrea, they will all know,” Miranda tried saying, her brain pitifully clinging onto the last thread of reason, even as her body had already betrayed her. She was currently lifting up on her toes to be better able to climb onto the hand doing devilish things between her legs.
“I want them to know,” Andy panted into the editor's ear, relentlessly pumping her fingers in and out of her lover, encouraged by the continuous flow of little moans and whimpers that her actions were eliciting.
There was nothing in the world Andy loved doing more than she loved doing this. It was like a drug to her, and she couldn't get enough. Sometimes it could be a little scary too, for she could be in the middle of work and suddenly get a desperate urge in her body to be close to Miranda. Preferably altogether free of clothes (which they still hadn't been). And doing exactly this.
“You're mine,” she boldly claimed. “And I - I am yours,” this second part of the proclamation was punctuated by her left hand going behind her own back and grabbing onto one of Miranda's hands. She then brought their joined hands between their bodies and pressed her lover's palm tightly against her own aching mound.
The editor groaned loudly as yet another gush of wetness made its way down her thighs. “Andrea,” she wailed, because frankly, by this point, it was the only word left in her vocabulary.
In no time at all, the zipper of black dress pants was lowered, and Miranda was no longer the only one with fingers buried deep inside of her body. The bathroom was filled with passionate sounds. Bodies glided against each other in frantic movements and tongues battled over which one could delve in deeper into the other's mouth.
At some point, Miranda wrapped her left leg around the younger woman's back in order to get even closer. “Please,” she whimpered powerlessly. Andy, immediately understanding the plea, increased the tempo of their lovemaking and even thrust a third finger inside the silver-haired woman. Less than thirty seconds later she felt the telltale tightening of muscles starting to clamp down onto her fingers. Not wanting to miss a chance of experiencing the wonderful feeling of ecstasy that came from orgasming at the same time with her lover, Andy gave two last, deep pushes with her hips. That move made also Miranda's fingers go deeper, and suddenly they were both right there on the brink.
And then over it.
The feeling of that overwhelming joy and satisfaction was something neither of them would ever get used to. They clung to it for as long as they could. But alas, nothing that divine could last forever, so naturally their bodies had to come down at some point.
Soundlessly, Andy slumped onto Miranda who immediately encircled her lover once again in her arms. With eyes closed and a sated smile on her lips, the editor whispered a soft, “I love you.”
Andy almost gave her neck a crick; that's how quickly she lifted her head at hearing the words spoken. “You do?” she asked breathlessly and stared into serene orbs of grayish blue. In the four months that they'd been together, the three words had never been uttered aloud before.
“I do,” Miranda confirmed, gently dragging her thumb over Andrea's kiss-swollen lips.
“Um, that's g-good,” Andy stammered. “And you know that I-- that I--”
“By all means, speak at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me,” Miranda put in quickly, the corner of her mouth twitching against a smile.
A giggle burst free from the journalist's lips. Finally, with a goofy smile on her face, she managed to return the words that she'd been yearning to say for months now.
“I love you too, Miranda.”
For a moment they stood there smiling tenderly at each other. Then, in a true Miranda Priestly fashion, the editor broke the bubble by saying, “Well. You have ruined my panties, Andrea. And I'm sure my hair looks a fright right now. We are standing in the bathroom of one of the world's most famous fashion designers, and outside this room the cream of New York's elite is celebrating said fashion designer's 50th birthday. What do you suggest we do to get out of this with at least some part of our dignity in tact?”
Andrea was dividing her facial expressions between looking partially guilty and incredibly smug. Miranda huffed in irritation. “You are impossible.” Andy only grinned harder.
Their rising feud was cut off by somebody knocking on the door.
“Miranda? Six? Are you in there?”
The fashion editor buried her face into her hands and let out a mortified groan.
“Yeah, we're in here, Nige,” Andy shouted back through the door. “Just fixing up our makeup a little. You know, like girls do.”
“I wasn't aware it takes over fifteen minutes to do that.” There was definitely amusement in his voice.
Andy tried stopping another giggle from escaping, and was unsuccessful.
“Okay then,” Nigel drawled knowingly. “Just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for home already. I'll take a taxi. And Miranda? Thank you again for dragging me to this do. I must say, it has been a most entertaining night.”
“Bye Nigel,” Andy replied on both her and Miranda's behalf. The thunder cloud hanging over the silver head did not promise good things for the man if he didn't stop in good time.
“Bye,” Nigel called out happily. The two women on the other side of the door could hear sounds of steps start going further away from them. Before he was completely out of hearing range though, they could hear him voicing a cheerful, “I wouldn't go there. The toilet is jammed and doesn't flush.”
Miranda's murderous glare would have made even the toughest of men cower, but Andy only felt warmth filling up every corner of her soul when that look was pointed her way.
Fin.
Author: ficburd
Rating: Smut alert! Definitely NC-17.
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Summary: What if Miranda had some really old-fashioned ideas when it comes to dating? Andy's finding it difficult.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the movie the Devil Wears Prada; sadly, they belong to someone else. I make no money out of writing this story and therefore there's absolutely no reason to sue me.
Beta: wiser_dachshund
A/N: I know it's shameless smut, but there is a plot...kinda ^^
One.
Degrees of Naked
Two.
“Andrea, what are you doing?” Miranda whimpered helplessly as she was pushed against a door and trapped there with a hot, female body.
“Showing you what I think about you flirting with that Goulart skank,” Andy shot back hotly and cupped the editor's breasts in her hands possessively through her black Calvin Klein dress.
“I was not-- Ahh!-- not flirting with her. We were merely discussing her upcoming cover shoot.”
“I don't believe you,” Andy fired back. “You couldn't get your eyes off her ass when she turned to speak with Galliano.” To make sure Miranda understood which body part they were discussing, the journalist then moved her hands down to grab onto Miranda's ass and subsequently jerked her closer to her own desperately aroused body. A low, keening sound escaped the editor's lips, and her hands, by automatic response, found their way around Andy's waist.
While she waited for the older woman to reply, Andy allowed her tongue to roam freely across Miranda's neck and all the way down to suck on one clavicle bone that was deliciously exposed by the elegant cocktail dress her lover was wearing. It really was very considerate of the older woman to always wear the kind of evening wear which provided easy access to Andy's worshiping tongue and hands.
“If you must know,” Miranda finally began her reply, “I was only assessing how much airbrushing is going to be needed to make her look passable in the photo.” Obviously the editor was going for her usual hauteur, but came off sounding decidedly unlike herself due to the heavy breathing accompanying the sentence. Her head was already lolling uncontrollably from left to right, and every now and then her ass would thump against the bathroom door as she moved her hips against those of the younger woman in an age-old rhythm.
Andrea hummed appreciatively. She loved how responsive the editor's body was. Miranda, on the other hand, found it exceedingly annoying that Andy could turn her on so easily whenever and wherever she chose. They'd had words over the issue at least a dozen times already.
“And you promise you will never flirt with another woman, ever again?” Andy insisted, greedily sucking an earlobe into her mouth.
Miranda tightened her hold on the reporter's waist. “I wouldn't,” she husked.
“Wouldn't what?” Andy demanded darkly. “Flirt with women or promise me you won't flirt with them?”
“Flirt,” Miranda managed to get out weakly. She was quickly losing her ability to keep up with the conversation, and was hoping Andrea would not come up with any more complicated questions.
“Good,” Andy purred, satisfied with the answer. Now that she deemed the case closed, there was no reason to continue talking. Attacking Miranda's lips with her own, she started to non-verbally convey to her lover just how little she would be needing to seek the allures of other women. Her right hand slid down the hem of the black dress and then disappeared underneath it. The editor's whole body shivered violently as Andy's hand made contact with her wet underwear. Ripping the lace off with one forceful pull, the brunette wasted no time in plunging two of her fingers into her lover.
This time it was Miranda's head that made the thumping sound. And it was no little sound either. There would most definitely be a bump on the back of her head the next day.
“Andrea, they will all know,” Miranda tried saying, her brain pitifully clinging onto the last thread of reason, even as her body had already betrayed her. She was currently lifting up on her toes to be better able to climb onto the hand doing devilish things between her legs.
“I want them to know,” Andy panted into the editor's ear, relentlessly pumping her fingers in and out of her lover, encouraged by the continuous flow of little moans and whimpers that her actions were eliciting.
There was nothing in the world Andy loved doing more than she loved doing this. It was like a drug to her, and she couldn't get enough. Sometimes it could be a little scary too, for she could be in the middle of work and suddenly get a desperate urge in her body to be close to Miranda. Preferably altogether free of clothes (which they still hadn't been). And doing exactly this.
“You're mine,” she boldly claimed. “And I - I am yours,” this second part of the proclamation was punctuated by her left hand going behind her own back and grabbing onto one of Miranda's hands. She then brought their joined hands between their bodies and pressed her lover's palm tightly against her own aching mound.
The editor groaned loudly as yet another gush of wetness made its way down her thighs. “Andrea,” she wailed, because frankly, by this point, it was the only word left in her vocabulary.
In no time at all, the zipper of black dress pants was lowered, and Miranda was no longer the only one with fingers buried deep inside of her body. The bathroom was filled with passionate sounds. Bodies glided against each other in frantic movements and tongues battled over which one could delve in deeper into the other's mouth.
At some point, Miranda wrapped her left leg around the younger woman's back in order to get even closer. “Please,” she whimpered powerlessly. Andy, immediately understanding the plea, increased the tempo of their lovemaking and even thrust a third finger inside the silver-haired woman. Less than thirty seconds later she felt the telltale tightening of muscles starting to clamp down onto her fingers. Not wanting to miss a chance of experiencing the wonderful feeling of ecstasy that came from orgasming at the same time with her lover, Andy gave two last, deep pushes with her hips. That move made also Miranda's fingers go deeper, and suddenly they were both right there on the brink.
And then over it.
The feeling of that overwhelming joy and satisfaction was something neither of them would ever get used to. They clung to it for as long as they could. But alas, nothing that divine could last forever, so naturally their bodies had to come down at some point.
Soundlessly, Andy slumped onto Miranda who immediately encircled her lover once again in her arms. With eyes closed and a sated smile on her lips, the editor whispered a soft, “I love you.”
Andy almost gave her neck a crick; that's how quickly she lifted her head at hearing the words spoken. “You do?” she asked breathlessly and stared into serene orbs of grayish blue. In the four months that they'd been together, the three words had never been uttered aloud before.
“I do,” Miranda confirmed, gently dragging her thumb over Andrea's kiss-swollen lips.
“Um, that's g-good,” Andy stammered. “And you know that I-- that I--”
“By all means, speak at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me,” Miranda put in quickly, the corner of her mouth twitching against a smile.
A giggle burst free from the journalist's lips. Finally, with a goofy smile on her face, she managed to return the words that she'd been yearning to say for months now.
“I love you too, Miranda.”
For a moment they stood there smiling tenderly at each other. Then, in a true Miranda Priestly fashion, the editor broke the bubble by saying, “Well. You have ruined my panties, Andrea. And I'm sure my hair looks a fright right now. We are standing in the bathroom of one of the world's most famous fashion designers, and outside this room the cream of New York's elite is celebrating said fashion designer's 50th birthday. What do you suggest we do to get out of this with at least some part of our dignity in tact?”
Andrea was dividing her facial expressions between looking partially guilty and incredibly smug. Miranda huffed in irritation. “You are impossible.” Andy only grinned harder.
Their rising feud was cut off by somebody knocking on the door.
“Miranda? Six? Are you in there?”
The fashion editor buried her face into her hands and let out a mortified groan.
“Yeah, we're in here, Nige,” Andy shouted back through the door. “Just fixing up our makeup a little. You know, like girls do.”
“I wasn't aware it takes over fifteen minutes to do that.” There was definitely amusement in his voice.
Andy tried stopping another giggle from escaping, and was unsuccessful.
“Okay then,” Nigel drawled knowingly. “Just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving for home already. I'll take a taxi. And Miranda? Thank you again for dragging me to this do. I must say, it has been a most entertaining night.”
“Bye Nigel,” Andy replied on both her and Miranda's behalf. The thunder cloud hanging over the silver head did not promise good things for the man if he didn't stop in good time.
“Bye,” Nigel called out happily. The two women on the other side of the door could hear sounds of steps start going further away from them. Before he was completely out of hearing range though, they could hear him voicing a cheerful, “I wouldn't go there. The toilet is jammed and doesn't flush.”
Miranda's murderous glare would have made even the toughest of men cower, but Andy only felt warmth filling up every corner of her soul when that look was pointed her way.
Fin.