Fic: Trapped, Miranda/Andy, NC1
Title: Trapped
Author: damelola
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Spoilers: set during the movie
Summary: Andy is sent to look for something in Miranda's cellar. That's not exactly a euphemism, but... at the dvlwears_prada ficathon
Word Count: ~3300
Disclaimer: All DWP related things belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox, etc. I'm just borrowing and playing, no profit is being made.
"Andrea?"
Andy shudders at the elongated vowels of her proper name. She scrabbles frantically through another box, cursing Miranda silently for yet another vague instruction.
She can't find the missing antique vase that Miranda has suddenly decided needs to be brought upstairs to the living room. Well, she's found about thirteen so far, but none match the few details Miranda carelessly threw in Andy's direction before dispatching her to the cellar.
It's kind of comforting down here though, despite the shadowy corners and occasional spiderweb. It's proof that even Miranda Priestly's palatial home has something in common with the house Andy grew up in. From the weak light of bare bulbs to the hastily labeled boxes of crap that every family accumulates, Andy feels at home away from the pieces of furniture that cost more than her dad's car.
Shit.
That creak means Miranda has grown impatient enough to come looking for her. Not wanting to waste time, Andy dives into the next box in the pile, sifting through it as carefully as she knows how. There's a blast of warm light from the hallway and then the door closes once more, leaving Miranda to glare from the top of the staircase.
In that moment, just as Andy's mouth goes dry, her hand makes contact with another piece of cool, smooth china. She almost cries out with relief when she pulls it from the packing peanuts and discovers that this is the blue and white one she's been looking for.
"Got it!" She's shouting a little, in her excitement. Andy closes the box again and walks carefully towards the wooden staircase, sure that this trinket in a box is not the kind of thing she wants to drop.
It's not until she's a couple of steps from the top that she notices Miranda hasn't opened the door. In fact, her boss is just staring at the piece of wood like she expects it to open for her. With a sigh, Andy skirts around Miranda and reaches for the handle, hyper-aware of how she's only an inch or two from touching Miranda in the process.
Down, girl she warns the part of her brain that likes to torture her with the dumbest crush in history.
She has bigger problems upon turning the handle though--nothing happens. With a little cough to cover her confusion, and what she hopes is a confident and winning smile, Andy tries again, leaning into the door with her shoulder and giving it a shove.
Turning to Miranda and trying her hardest not to look completely dumb, Andy quirks an eyebrow in question. It's not technically asking Miranda something, but how much longer can Andy fail to acknowledge this very real problem.
Miranda stares at her blankly.
"Uh, Miranda? The door? It's not so much with the opening. Is there some kind of trick to it?"
"How on earth would I know? I never come down here."
Andy sighs, and the sound seems to travel all the way from her toes.
Shit.
A few minutes later, with her shoulder aching, and Miranda and the vase politely relocated to the bottom of the staircase, Andy is forced to admit defeat. She reaches for her cell phone, only to discover that it's still in her jacket, upstairs. Bracing herself, she looks around to ask Miranda for hers.
Her only response is a shrug, which would seem to indicate that Miranda doesn't have hers either. Fabulous.
Not wanting to freak out, Andy stomps back down the stairs and begins looking around for a landline. Although, really, who would install a phone in their cellar? Her brief tour around the room confirms that there are nothing but old, broken phones that should have been put out with the trash.
"Is anyone else home?" Andy tries really hard not to sound desperate.
"Not that I'm aware of. Stephen is working late. The girls are at their father's." Miranda doesn't seem to have grasped that this is actually a pretty big problem. She probably thinks this is some kind of stupidity on Andy's part. And well, maybe it is. Why didn't she check that the door opened from the inside too?
Deep breaths aren't working. Counting to ten isn't working. Andy is claustrophobic, and the walls in here seem to be contracting by the minute. Not to mention that she can't freak out in front of Miranda, she absolutely can't.
That resolution lasts all of thirty seconds. Something in Andy snaps and she bolts back up the stairs. Pounding with her fists she begins yelling Let us out and we're in the cellar! and eventually just random words until she breaks down in sobs of panic. This can't be happening, it just can't. She's looking at the vase by her feet, balanced on the top step, and hates it for getting her into this mess.
She's sobbing so loudly she doesn't hear Miranda's footsteps on the stairs behind her. It's only the subtle scent of floral perfume that alerts Andy to her boss's presence, but before she can react, Miranda has awkwardly placed her arms around Andy's waist. She's actually pulling Andy into some weird backwards hug, and that stops the panic dead in its tracks.
What the hell? Andy thinks. At the same time she's surprised by how strong Miranda's embrace feels, compared to the limp handshakes and floating air kisses she dispenses on a daily basis. Andy doesn't want to let her guard down, but the human contact is calming her very quickly, and she didn't even have to ask.
"Come and sit down, Andrea. We'll hear the front door from here, then we can call out to Stephen." Miranda leads Andy down the stairs, a light touch on her elbow to guide.
Feeling emboldened by the new development, Andy kicks off the four-inch heels that are killing her feet, before taking a seat on a dust-covered dining room chair. She's stunned when Miranda does the same, although she takes considerably more care in sliding off her suede Prada heels.
"I'm sorry, Miranda. I should have checked the door. I didn't think--"
Miranda fixes her with a glare that would suggest that topic is done with. Andy's more relieved than anything, so gratefully shuts up.
"When we get out of here, I need you to rearrange my breakfast meeting. And call Donnatella to remind her that I can't do lunch on Friday. Did Meisel confirm?"
Andy's grateful of the details to fixate on, and wonders fleetingly if Miranda's doing it on purpose. Probably not though, since it's generally all business, all the time with Miranda.
"Yes, Miranda, and Meisel will be ready by noon."
The dust stirred up by her rooting around has left Andy with a dry throat and she thinks longingly of the bottle of Evian currently lodged in her purse upstairs. Before she can prevent it, a coughing fit seizes her, and she's wracked with violent coughs that leave her gasping for air. There's no comfort from Miranda this time, instead she stands and stalks off into the corner, opening a door into which she disappears. Great.
Moments later though, she reappears with a wine bottle and a corkscrew.
"Water would be better, but that's the wine cellar after all. We'll have to make do."
Andy can't help but notice there are no glasses. Miranda dispenses with the cork efficiently and hands the bottle to Andy.
"Go on. Your throat will thank you for it."
The label has some kind of fancy writing, in French no less, and Andy doesn't want to consider how expensive this substitute cough syrup is. She takes a cautious sip from the bottle, trying to appear ladylike, but the relief is too great and she takes a bigger gulp and then another.
If she's been surprised so far, she's downright stunned when Miranda takes the bottle from her and has a hearty drink from it. The problematic crush seems to enjoy the hell out of the sight though, and the flush on Andy's cheeks has very little to do with her coughing.
Placing the bottle on the floor between them, Miranda looks up with a challenge in her eyes.
"So, Andrea. How shall we pass the time?"
The question fills Andy with dread, because she feels like there might not be a correct answer. The last thing she needs right now is Miranda's disappointed expression to rear its head. This night is difficult enough without that.
"Did you have any notes for me?"
Miranda sighs at the mention of work, and Andy refuses to catch her eye just in case.
"Something more entertaining, perhaps?"
Maybe it's the leftover adrenalin, or perhaps Andy is just crazed from the feeling of being trapped, but she makes the suggestion before she can stop herself.
"We could always play Truth or Dare?"
She slaps her hand across her mouth, as if that will somehow turn back time, make the words unsaid. Miranda looks at her in disbelief, before allowing a sliver of a smile to show.
"How very high school. Okay, I'll start."
Andy really wishes there was a sub-basement, and that the ground would open up and let her fall into it. This is going to be mortifying.
"Truth or dare, Andrea?"
Damn, why hadn't Andy suggested something benign like listing the State capitals, or discussing the war in Afghanistan? Swallowing hard, she doesn't want to risk a dare, because Miranda will probably dare her to dig a tunnel out or something.
"Truth, I guess? We don't have to do this, it was a silly--"
"Truth it is."
Miranda's actually smirking now. Andy can't believe just how easy she's made her own torture. Bracing herself for a question about why she can't get down to a size 2, or why she doesn't move back to Ohio, Andy clenches her fists and hopes.
"What do you see in that boyfriend of yours?"
"What?"
Miranda looks back at Andy calmly, as if her noticing the first thing about Andy's life isn't completely unheard of.
"You have his picture on your desk. He looks like he might be descended from poodles."
"Hey! He's a nice guy. Everyone says so."
"Nice?" Somehow Miranda makes that sound like an accusation.
"Most of the time. We're uh, well, he doesn't like my job. He'll probably be pretty pissed when I get home late again tonight."
Damn, that was more than Andy meant to reveal, but the problems with Nate are weighing on her lately, and it just sort of came tumbling out.
"Why put up with that?" Miranda seems genuinely curious.
"You do, too." Andy doesn't even care about biting back the remark. If they're not talking about work, she has no need to grovel to Miranda.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh Stephen, I couldn't get a signal. The shoot ran long."
Uh oh. A step too far, Andy realizes, because Miranda looks like she's been slapped.
"It's different. We're married. You have no obligations to this boy."
"I love him! And he loves me. I think he still does, anyway."
Miranda smirks in that 'see, I'm right' way that she has and Andy groans quietly. She is genuinely worried that any day now Nate will break up with her, because she just doesn't have the energy to keep making up after another day of catering to Miranda's every whim.
"That makes it my turn," Andy pouts, half-expecting Miranda to call the stupid game off. She's fumbling around for an interesting enough question that won't get her fired.
It's a little harder than she thought, but finally inspiration hits.
Shifting a little in her seat, Andy reaches for the wine bottle and a mouthful of courage in the process. She's distracted by a noise upstairs, and doesn't see Miranda doing the same thing. Only when their fingers touch on top of the dark glass does Andy notice, and the unexpected contact makes her jump.
She starts to pull her hand away, but Miranda's hand is on top of hers and holds firm. Andy's heart is pounding in her chest, not sure why Miranda is allowing this, why this is the second time in a few minutes that they've touched. Miranda's hand is surprisingly warm on hers, softer than Andy would have dreamed (and she has dreamed, and maybe that's why Nate is so mad at her some mornings, can he tell?)
Miranda speaks, shattering the silence that's fallen between them.
"I think I'll take another turn."
Swallowing hard, Andy nods. How can she think of words and refusals when Miranda is touching her? How is she supposed to focus on anything but that?
"Another truth, I think." Miranda is looking at Andy, but Andy doesn't dare meet her eye. She sees that infamous head-tilt in her peripheral vision, and wonders why she doesn't have the sense to run.
"Do you want me to kiss you, Andrea?"
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
"I ask, because you're blushing at the very mention. And I catch you, sometimes, looking at me." Miranda pauses, waiting for Andy's reaction. "Looking at me in a way I didn't expect."
Andy summons her courage and looks Miranda in the eye. She can feel the heat on her face, but she forces herself to be brave for just a minute.
"Looking at me just like that."
This has to be a dream, Andy thinks. Maybe she's trapped in the cellar alone and the lack of oxygen is causing her to hallucinate. There's nothing imaginary about Miranda's free hand touching Andy's face though, not when it feels so warm and soft and real.
"Yes," is all that Andy can think to say. "Yes, I want you to."
Miranda, who never wastes time, does exactly that. Andy tries desperately to drink the details of Miranda's face as it draws closer, seemingly in slow-motion. The dove gray of her eyeshadow, blended expertly into the lids, and the pale sheen of gloss faded into her lips. Andy feels her eyes slide closed of their own volition and then it happens, and she wonders why the hell she waited so long.
Because damn, Miranda Priestly can kiss. If they gave out Nobel Prizes for kissing, Miranda would walk it. Andy tries to match the thrilling intensity with her own lips, drunk on the way that Miranda presses lightly then there's just a hint of perfect teeth tugging on Andy's bottom lip. Andy moans softly as the kiss continues, already dizzy.
They don't speak, which Andy is glad about, because she's not sure she can still form words. Desire courses through her in warm waves, making her tingle even in places Miranda's mouth hasn't ventured to yet. Miranda's tongue is dancing insistently with her own, and Andy feels the pace picking up as their hands start to wander.
It's ludicrous, that this should happen in a dusty basement surrounded by unwanted furniture, but Andy wouldn't want to be anywhere else if it means stopping. Miranda, in her take-charge way, is already nuzzling at Andy's neck and edging the zipper of Andy's dress down, inch by tantalizing inch. In her ornate jacket, Miranda appears a little stiff, a little awkward, but she lets Andy slip the jacket from her shoulders and doesn't think to complain when a thousand dollars of fabric lands on the dusty floor.
Miranda is deft in tugging at the simple black dress and in a moment or two, it's being edged down Andy's legs and she's left in lacy black underwear. She's surprised at not feeling self-conscious, not when Miranda's blouse will only take a few buttons to get off, and Miranda certainly has no problem in allowing exactly that.
If Andy has been surprised at the turn of events so far, she's downright stunned when Miranda's next move is to slide down onto her knees in front of Andy. Andy's still drunk on the creamy bra she's just exposed and the tantalizing breasts that it presents, but she snaps back to attention as Miranda leans on Andy's thighs, parting them as she kisses her way down Andy's body.
Teasing Andy's nipples through the faint scratchiness of the black lace, Miranda seems pleased by the very vocal reaction that she's getting. Andy can't contain herself, not with Miranda's hot and insistent mouth teasing her this way. Her nipples harden instantly at Miranda's touch, and it's a bolt of pure pleasure each time that Miranda swipes her tongue, sucks gently, or captures each nipple between her teeth.
Andy is whimpering before long, her hips beginning to buck towards Miranda as she kneels between Andy's thighs. Eventually Miranda's thumbs are hooked in the waistband of Andy's panties and once they're dispatched with, Miranda lets her mouth trail patient kisses and bites along each of Andy's thighs, ghosting just a breath over the tight curls as she switches from one to the other.
Finally, when Andy feels close to grabbing Miranda by her silver hair and begging her to just please touch her clit, Miranda is one step ahead and runs her tongue hard over the pulsing bundle of nerves. Andy cries out, aware that orgasm can't be far away, but Miranda is determined to take her time.
She flicks her tongue through the copious wetness already flowing from Andy, performing a kind of massaging motion in between that leaves Andy panting from the mounting need to come. Only when she's tasted every inch of Andy's wet pussy does Miranda turn her attention back to Andy's clit, but not before slipping two fingers easily inside her.
It doesn't take long, not with the way that Miranda strokes firmly across Andy's g-spot and sucks rhythmically over her clit. The pressure mounts until Andy climaxes so hard that she thinks she might pass out, offering obscene prayers to God and Miranda and whatever else she manages to babble in her delirious state.
Miranda rocks back on her heels, her hair mussed and her face shining with Andy's juices. She looks supremely pleased with herself, not a scrap of modesty as she sits there in now-dusty black pants and her bra. As Andy recovers, she's aware of damp fingers caressing her face and tracing her lips. When she opens her eyes fully, she sees the expectation on Miranda's lips and parts her lips to suck her own wetness from Miranda's fingers.
"You can see why I'm such a fan, Andrea." Miranda is almost playful as she watches Andy's mouth working on her fingers, but there's no mistaking the darkness of arousal in her eyes.
As Andy reaches for her, Miranda shakes her head.
"Not here." Andy gapes in astonishment. Is she supposed to wait until rescue before getting to have her wicked way with Miranda? "My knees," Miranda explains. "They're not going to forgive me for this stone floor any time soon."
Just as Andy decides to smother her disappointment by pressing a kiss to the pulse point on Miranda's wrist, Miranda pulls her to her feet.
"Come with me," she says. Andy follows, wondering if there's a bed hidden somewhere in the shadowy space.
To her amazement, and no little frustration, Miranda leads Andy into the wine cellar. Only when they reach the far side of the racks does Andy notice the tiny black handle in what seems to be an otherwise flat wall.
"Is that a door?"
Miranda nods, sheepish at the silent admission.
"We weren't really trapped at all, were we?"
In reply, Miranda opens the previously concealed door to reveal a dimly lit staircase.
"Will you forgive me?" She asks, genuinely fearful that Andy will be pissed at her.
But Andy, carrying her dress, shoes and underwear, has little room for complaint. Maybe she'll make Miranda pay for the lie later, but right now she has only one thing on her mind.
"So do these stairs lead to somewhere with a bed?"
Laughing, Miranda leads her upstairs.
Author: damelola
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Spoilers: set during the movie
Summary: Andy is sent to look for something in Miranda's cellar. That's not exactly a euphemism, but... at the dvlwears_prada ficathon
Word Count: ~3300
Disclaimer: All DWP related things belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox, etc. I'm just borrowing and playing, no profit is being made.
"Andrea?"
Andy shudders at the elongated vowels of her proper name. She scrabbles frantically through another box, cursing Miranda silently for yet another vague instruction.
She can't find the missing antique vase that Miranda has suddenly decided needs to be brought upstairs to the living room. Well, she's found about thirteen so far, but none match the few details Miranda carelessly threw in Andy's direction before dispatching her to the cellar.
It's kind of comforting down here though, despite the shadowy corners and occasional spiderweb. It's proof that even Miranda Priestly's palatial home has something in common with the house Andy grew up in. From the weak light of bare bulbs to the hastily labeled boxes of crap that every family accumulates, Andy feels at home away from the pieces of furniture that cost more than her dad's car.
Shit.
That creak means Miranda has grown impatient enough to come looking for her. Not wanting to waste time, Andy dives into the next box in the pile, sifting through it as carefully as she knows how. There's a blast of warm light from the hallway and then the door closes once more, leaving Miranda to glare from the top of the staircase.
In that moment, just as Andy's mouth goes dry, her hand makes contact with another piece of cool, smooth china. She almost cries out with relief when she pulls it from the packing peanuts and discovers that this is the blue and white one she's been looking for.
"Got it!" She's shouting a little, in her excitement. Andy closes the box again and walks carefully towards the wooden staircase, sure that this trinket in a box is not the kind of thing she wants to drop.
It's not until she's a couple of steps from the top that she notices Miranda hasn't opened the door. In fact, her boss is just staring at the piece of wood like she expects it to open for her. With a sigh, Andy skirts around Miranda and reaches for the handle, hyper-aware of how she's only an inch or two from touching Miranda in the process.
Down, girl she warns the part of her brain that likes to torture her with the dumbest crush in history.
She has bigger problems upon turning the handle though--nothing happens. With a little cough to cover her confusion, and what she hopes is a confident and winning smile, Andy tries again, leaning into the door with her shoulder and giving it a shove.
Turning to Miranda and trying her hardest not to look completely dumb, Andy quirks an eyebrow in question. It's not technically asking Miranda something, but how much longer can Andy fail to acknowledge this very real problem.
Miranda stares at her blankly.
"Uh, Miranda? The door? It's not so much with the opening. Is there some kind of trick to it?"
"How on earth would I know? I never come down here."
Andy sighs, and the sound seems to travel all the way from her toes.
Shit.
A few minutes later, with her shoulder aching, and Miranda and the vase politely relocated to the bottom of the staircase, Andy is forced to admit defeat. She reaches for her cell phone, only to discover that it's still in her jacket, upstairs. Bracing herself, she looks around to ask Miranda for hers.
Her only response is a shrug, which would seem to indicate that Miranda doesn't have hers either. Fabulous.
Not wanting to freak out, Andy stomps back down the stairs and begins looking around for a landline. Although, really, who would install a phone in their cellar? Her brief tour around the room confirms that there are nothing but old, broken phones that should have been put out with the trash.
"Is anyone else home?" Andy tries really hard not to sound desperate.
"Not that I'm aware of. Stephen is working late. The girls are at their father's." Miranda doesn't seem to have grasped that this is actually a pretty big problem. She probably thinks this is some kind of stupidity on Andy's part. And well, maybe it is. Why didn't she check that the door opened from the inside too?
Deep breaths aren't working. Counting to ten isn't working. Andy is claustrophobic, and the walls in here seem to be contracting by the minute. Not to mention that she can't freak out in front of Miranda, she absolutely can't.
That resolution lasts all of thirty seconds. Something in Andy snaps and she bolts back up the stairs. Pounding with her fists she begins yelling Let us out and we're in the cellar! and eventually just random words until she breaks down in sobs of panic. This can't be happening, it just can't. She's looking at the vase by her feet, balanced on the top step, and hates it for getting her into this mess.
She's sobbing so loudly she doesn't hear Miranda's footsteps on the stairs behind her. It's only the subtle scent of floral perfume that alerts Andy to her boss's presence, but before she can react, Miranda has awkwardly placed her arms around Andy's waist. She's actually pulling Andy into some weird backwards hug, and that stops the panic dead in its tracks.
What the hell? Andy thinks. At the same time she's surprised by how strong Miranda's embrace feels, compared to the limp handshakes and floating air kisses she dispenses on a daily basis. Andy doesn't want to let her guard down, but the human contact is calming her very quickly, and she didn't even have to ask.
"Come and sit down, Andrea. We'll hear the front door from here, then we can call out to Stephen." Miranda leads Andy down the stairs, a light touch on her elbow to guide.
Feeling emboldened by the new development, Andy kicks off the four-inch heels that are killing her feet, before taking a seat on a dust-covered dining room chair. She's stunned when Miranda does the same, although she takes considerably more care in sliding off her suede Prada heels.
"I'm sorry, Miranda. I should have checked the door. I didn't think--"
Miranda fixes her with a glare that would suggest that topic is done with. Andy's more relieved than anything, so gratefully shuts up.
"When we get out of here, I need you to rearrange my breakfast meeting. And call Donnatella to remind her that I can't do lunch on Friday. Did Meisel confirm?"
Andy's grateful of the details to fixate on, and wonders fleetingly if Miranda's doing it on purpose. Probably not though, since it's generally all business, all the time with Miranda.
"Yes, Miranda, and Meisel will be ready by noon."
The dust stirred up by her rooting around has left Andy with a dry throat and she thinks longingly of the bottle of Evian currently lodged in her purse upstairs. Before she can prevent it, a coughing fit seizes her, and she's wracked with violent coughs that leave her gasping for air. There's no comfort from Miranda this time, instead she stands and stalks off into the corner, opening a door into which she disappears. Great.
Moments later though, she reappears with a wine bottle and a corkscrew.
"Water would be better, but that's the wine cellar after all. We'll have to make do."
Andy can't help but notice there are no glasses. Miranda dispenses with the cork efficiently and hands the bottle to Andy.
"Go on. Your throat will thank you for it."
The label has some kind of fancy writing, in French no less, and Andy doesn't want to consider how expensive this substitute cough syrup is. She takes a cautious sip from the bottle, trying to appear ladylike, but the relief is too great and she takes a bigger gulp and then another.
If she's been surprised so far, she's downright stunned when Miranda takes the bottle from her and has a hearty drink from it. The problematic crush seems to enjoy the hell out of the sight though, and the flush on Andy's cheeks has very little to do with her coughing.
Placing the bottle on the floor between them, Miranda looks up with a challenge in her eyes.
"So, Andrea. How shall we pass the time?"
The question fills Andy with dread, because she feels like there might not be a correct answer. The last thing she needs right now is Miranda's disappointed expression to rear its head. This night is difficult enough without that.
"Did you have any notes for me?"
Miranda sighs at the mention of work, and Andy refuses to catch her eye just in case.
"Something more entertaining, perhaps?"
Maybe it's the leftover adrenalin, or perhaps Andy is just crazed from the feeling of being trapped, but she makes the suggestion before she can stop herself.
"We could always play Truth or Dare?"
She slaps her hand across her mouth, as if that will somehow turn back time, make the words unsaid. Miranda looks at her in disbelief, before allowing a sliver of a smile to show.
"How very high school. Okay, I'll start."
Andy really wishes there was a sub-basement, and that the ground would open up and let her fall into it. This is going to be mortifying.
"Truth or dare, Andrea?"
Damn, why hadn't Andy suggested something benign like listing the State capitals, or discussing the war in Afghanistan? Swallowing hard, she doesn't want to risk a dare, because Miranda will probably dare her to dig a tunnel out or something.
"Truth, I guess? We don't have to do this, it was a silly--"
"Truth it is."
Miranda's actually smirking now. Andy can't believe just how easy she's made her own torture. Bracing herself for a question about why she can't get down to a size 2, or why she doesn't move back to Ohio, Andy clenches her fists and hopes.
"What do you see in that boyfriend of yours?"
"What?"
Miranda looks back at Andy calmly, as if her noticing the first thing about Andy's life isn't completely unheard of.
"You have his picture on your desk. He looks like he might be descended from poodles."
"Hey! He's a nice guy. Everyone says so."
"Nice?" Somehow Miranda makes that sound like an accusation.
"Most of the time. We're uh, well, he doesn't like my job. He'll probably be pretty pissed when I get home late again tonight."
Damn, that was more than Andy meant to reveal, but the problems with Nate are weighing on her lately, and it just sort of came tumbling out.
"Why put up with that?" Miranda seems genuinely curious.
"You do, too." Andy doesn't even care about biting back the remark. If they're not talking about work, she has no need to grovel to Miranda.
"Excuse me?"
"Oh Stephen, I couldn't get a signal. The shoot ran long."
Uh oh. A step too far, Andy realizes, because Miranda looks like she's been slapped.
"It's different. We're married. You have no obligations to this boy."
"I love him! And he loves me. I think he still does, anyway."
Miranda smirks in that 'see, I'm right' way that she has and Andy groans quietly. She is genuinely worried that any day now Nate will break up with her, because she just doesn't have the energy to keep making up after another day of catering to Miranda's every whim.
"That makes it my turn," Andy pouts, half-expecting Miranda to call the stupid game off. She's fumbling around for an interesting enough question that won't get her fired.
It's a little harder than she thought, but finally inspiration hits.
Shifting a little in her seat, Andy reaches for the wine bottle and a mouthful of courage in the process. She's distracted by a noise upstairs, and doesn't see Miranda doing the same thing. Only when their fingers touch on top of the dark glass does Andy notice, and the unexpected contact makes her jump.
She starts to pull her hand away, but Miranda's hand is on top of hers and holds firm. Andy's heart is pounding in her chest, not sure why Miranda is allowing this, why this is the second time in a few minutes that they've touched. Miranda's hand is surprisingly warm on hers, softer than Andy would have dreamed (and she has dreamed, and maybe that's why Nate is so mad at her some mornings, can he tell?)
Miranda speaks, shattering the silence that's fallen between them.
"I think I'll take another turn."
Swallowing hard, Andy nods. How can she think of words and refusals when Miranda is touching her? How is she supposed to focus on anything but that?
"Another truth, I think." Miranda is looking at Andy, but Andy doesn't dare meet her eye. She sees that infamous head-tilt in her peripheral vision, and wonders why she doesn't have the sense to run.
"Do you want me to kiss you, Andrea?"
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
"I ask, because you're blushing at the very mention. And I catch you, sometimes, looking at me." Miranda pauses, waiting for Andy's reaction. "Looking at me in a way I didn't expect."
Andy summons her courage and looks Miranda in the eye. She can feel the heat on her face, but she forces herself to be brave for just a minute.
"Looking at me just like that."
This has to be a dream, Andy thinks. Maybe she's trapped in the cellar alone and the lack of oxygen is causing her to hallucinate. There's nothing imaginary about Miranda's free hand touching Andy's face though, not when it feels so warm and soft and real.
"Yes," is all that Andy can think to say. "Yes, I want you to."
Miranda, who never wastes time, does exactly that. Andy tries desperately to drink the details of Miranda's face as it draws closer, seemingly in slow-motion. The dove gray of her eyeshadow, blended expertly into the lids, and the pale sheen of gloss faded into her lips. Andy feels her eyes slide closed of their own volition and then it happens, and she wonders why the hell she waited so long.
Because damn, Miranda Priestly can kiss. If they gave out Nobel Prizes for kissing, Miranda would walk it. Andy tries to match the thrilling intensity with her own lips, drunk on the way that Miranda presses lightly then there's just a hint of perfect teeth tugging on Andy's bottom lip. Andy moans softly as the kiss continues, already dizzy.
They don't speak, which Andy is glad about, because she's not sure she can still form words. Desire courses through her in warm waves, making her tingle even in places Miranda's mouth hasn't ventured to yet. Miranda's tongue is dancing insistently with her own, and Andy feels the pace picking up as their hands start to wander.
It's ludicrous, that this should happen in a dusty basement surrounded by unwanted furniture, but Andy wouldn't want to be anywhere else if it means stopping. Miranda, in her take-charge way, is already nuzzling at Andy's neck and edging the zipper of Andy's dress down, inch by tantalizing inch. In her ornate jacket, Miranda appears a little stiff, a little awkward, but she lets Andy slip the jacket from her shoulders and doesn't think to complain when a thousand dollars of fabric lands on the dusty floor.
Miranda is deft in tugging at the simple black dress and in a moment or two, it's being edged down Andy's legs and she's left in lacy black underwear. She's surprised at not feeling self-conscious, not when Miranda's blouse will only take a few buttons to get off, and Miranda certainly has no problem in allowing exactly that.
If Andy has been surprised at the turn of events so far, she's downright stunned when Miranda's next move is to slide down onto her knees in front of Andy. Andy's still drunk on the creamy bra she's just exposed and the tantalizing breasts that it presents, but she snaps back to attention as Miranda leans on Andy's thighs, parting them as she kisses her way down Andy's body.
Teasing Andy's nipples through the faint scratchiness of the black lace, Miranda seems pleased by the very vocal reaction that she's getting. Andy can't contain herself, not with Miranda's hot and insistent mouth teasing her this way. Her nipples harden instantly at Miranda's touch, and it's a bolt of pure pleasure each time that Miranda swipes her tongue, sucks gently, or captures each nipple between her teeth.
Andy is whimpering before long, her hips beginning to buck towards Miranda as she kneels between Andy's thighs. Eventually Miranda's thumbs are hooked in the waistband of Andy's panties and once they're dispatched with, Miranda lets her mouth trail patient kisses and bites along each of Andy's thighs, ghosting just a breath over the tight curls as she switches from one to the other.
Finally, when Andy feels close to grabbing Miranda by her silver hair and begging her to just please touch her clit, Miranda is one step ahead and runs her tongue hard over the pulsing bundle of nerves. Andy cries out, aware that orgasm can't be far away, but Miranda is determined to take her time.
She flicks her tongue through the copious wetness already flowing from Andy, performing a kind of massaging motion in between that leaves Andy panting from the mounting need to come. Only when she's tasted every inch of Andy's wet pussy does Miranda turn her attention back to Andy's clit, but not before slipping two fingers easily inside her.
It doesn't take long, not with the way that Miranda strokes firmly across Andy's g-spot and sucks rhythmically over her clit. The pressure mounts until Andy climaxes so hard that she thinks she might pass out, offering obscene prayers to God and Miranda and whatever else she manages to babble in her delirious state.
Miranda rocks back on her heels, her hair mussed and her face shining with Andy's juices. She looks supremely pleased with herself, not a scrap of modesty as she sits there in now-dusty black pants and her bra. As Andy recovers, she's aware of damp fingers caressing her face and tracing her lips. When she opens her eyes fully, she sees the expectation on Miranda's lips and parts her lips to suck her own wetness from Miranda's fingers.
"You can see why I'm such a fan, Andrea." Miranda is almost playful as she watches Andy's mouth working on her fingers, but there's no mistaking the darkness of arousal in her eyes.
As Andy reaches for her, Miranda shakes her head.
"Not here." Andy gapes in astonishment. Is she supposed to wait until rescue before getting to have her wicked way with Miranda? "My knees," Miranda explains. "They're not going to forgive me for this stone floor any time soon."
Just as Andy decides to smother her disappointment by pressing a kiss to the pulse point on Miranda's wrist, Miranda pulls her to her feet.
"Come with me," she says. Andy follows, wondering if there's a bed hidden somewhere in the shadowy space.
To her amazement, and no little frustration, Miranda leads Andy into the wine cellar. Only when they reach the far side of the racks does Andy notice the tiny black handle in what seems to be an otherwise flat wall.
"Is that a door?"
Miranda nods, sheepish at the silent admission.
"We weren't really trapped at all, were we?"
In reply, Miranda opens the previously concealed door to reveal a dimly lit staircase.
"Will you forgive me?" She asks, genuinely fearful that Andy will be pissed at her.
But Andy, carrying her dress, shoes and underwear, has little room for complaint. Maybe she'll make Miranda pay for the lie later, but right now she has only one thing on her mind.
"So do these stairs lead to somewhere with a bed?"
Laughing, Miranda leads her upstairs.