Fic: Undercurrents
Fandom: DWP
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Rating: M
Summary: It started with a bathing suit and a photo shoot at the river...
“There aren’t enough models,” murmured Miranda, tilting her head slightly to show her discontent. It was mid-July and they were doing a shoot by the river - which river Miranda couldn’t tell you, but they’d driven a few hours in a direction (Miranda couldn’t tell you which direction, either) and now they were here at this lovely river. According to the few who’d chanced it so far, the water was cool but not cold, free of fish save for a few here and there, and the current wasn’t strong at all. A lovely river. Except for the fact that they didn’t have enough models. Whoever’s fault this turned out to be would likely not have a job by the time the crew returned to New York.
“I know. We need more girls in the background,” Nigel was just as peeved about this as she was. “They don’t even have to be particularly good models. We just need bodies really. At this point I’d take thin-ish bodies with not-too-ugly faces.” Nigel scratched his head and Miranda hummed in agreement.
“We have enough dresses and swim suits?” Miranda, it was clear, was formulating a plan.
“Yes, we have more than enough of everything, just not the bodies to fill it all.”
“Who here can do it?”
“Do what?” Nigel gave her a confused look.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Stand in the background and pretend to be a model, of course. We’ll need at least five of them,” she drawled, seemingly already bored.
Nigel picked it up from there without a missed beat, “Janine and Serena from makeup, the redhead who helped with lighting, and our dear Emily certainly fits the bill.”
Miranda sighed heavily. “That’s only four girls, Nigel. I trust you remember how to count?”
“There’s no one else on set, Miranda. I suppose we could search the town…” he glanced over at her to gauge how she was taking it, but Miranda wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. No, her gaze was focused on a certain brunette off in the distance. Holding her cell to her ear with her right hand, her left was free to wave about as she spoke heatedly.
Nigel was about to make a comment about Andy’s gestural affect when Miranda said, “Andréa will do it,” and walked away. As hard as he tried, he really didn’t understand that woman sometimes. Andy would look pasty and paunchy next to the likes of Emily and Serena, never mind the rest of the models. However all Nigel could do was shrug at the nearest rock and go round up the five woman who didn’t yet know the fate that had befallen them. Although he thought Emily might look at this more as the gods smiling down upon her.
Miranda made her way over to the makeup tent where the rest of the models had gathered to get out of the sun and took a seat. As she was waiting she contemplated her decision to make Andréa part of the shoot. It was true, they did need more models than they currently had, and it was easier to pluck women who were already there than to scourge the countryside for respectable-looking girls, however they probably could have gotten away with just four extras. They didn’t absolutely need a fifth, and most people would argue (not to her face, of course) that if Andy Sachs was the only option, then four was the perfect number.
It was primarily a bathing suit shoot, and of course all of the models were sizes 0-2. Miranda knew that Nigel was questioning her decision because he couldn’t see beyond the sizes; to him, at size 4, Andréa would look frumpy and pudgy. But that was why Miranda had this job and he didn’t - because Miranda saw beyond what people thought they knew; she saw beyond the need for skinny girls in skimpy bikinis because she saw Andréa, and soon the rest of them would too.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we get to do this - that we were chosen for this!” Emily’s excited squeal could be heard coming into the tent, and Miranda watched as Janine, Serena, and the redhead followed behind her. But where was Andréa?
“Emily?” She had no need to raise her voice, even through the din of twenty models and makeup artists.
“Yes Miranda?” Emily stood at attention, just as she always had done.
“Where is Andréa?”
“Last I saw her she was speaking with Nigel. She uh...” Emily shifted her eyes away, “she didn’t look very happy.”
Miranda didn’t say anything as she stood and marched out of the tent and over to where Nigel and the young brunette were arguing.
“Miranda! Thank god! She’s refusing to do the shoot!” Nigel let out a loud sigh of frustration.
“Andréa?” Miranda raised an eyebrow.
“Miranda, you can’t be serious about this - I will look ridiculous standing with all those models. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know how to model.” Andrea huffed. Miranda smirked. Andréa had been her assistant for some time now, taking over the first assistant spot when Emily had been promoted, and at some point along the way she’d lost her fear of Miranda, something the older woman loved. Now they had conversations - real ones - about art and literature and anything else they fancied. Andréa wasn’t afraid to ride the elevator with Miranda, or remind her to get home early when she had dinner planned with the girls. And she knew Miranda better than any assistant ever had - the younger woman would bring her Tylenol without her asking when she had a headache, or would know to hold her calls when she’d had a particularly rough budget meeting - a few times she even cancelled all appointments after noon and told Miranda to take the day to herself. If there wasn’t that undercurrent of something that ran between them, it would almost be like they were friends.
“Don’t be silly Andréa, I wouldn’t put you in the shoot if I thought you would ruin it. Now get to the makeup tent before we lose the light.” Andréa gave her a hard look but marched away, her jaw firmly set in displeasure.
“Are you sure about this?”
Miranda didn’t turn around to look at Nigel, but answered quietly, “You’ll see.”
After speaking with the photographer Miranda made her way back to the tents to make sure everything was going smoothly, and to punish anyone who wasn’t helping achieve the goal. Seeing that everything was, in fact, going quite smoothly - as Emily and Serena were already off changing and Janine, the redhead, and Andréa were getting their hair and makeup done - Miranda pulled Esther, the wardrobe assistant, aside.
“Put Andréa in the black ribbed Chanel one-piece. She’ll complain, but make sure she gets into it,” her voice left no room for question, comment, or concern, and with that Miranda walked out to supervise the final set-up. Finally they could get on with this shoot.
Miranda watched as the photographer positioned the models like mannequins in the shallow river, on large boulders, and on the opposite bank. At this point Miranda was convinced that they really did need more models to fill the area, and she watched with satisfaction as four of the five extras were led out of the tents and positioned in the background. Once again they were waiting on Andréa.
Miranda turned her head slightly to signal her impatience to Nigel, however the sight before her caught her eye and her jaw dropped open slightly. There was Andréa, shoulder length hair tousled in a just-been-fucked kind of way, smoky eye makeup, and miles and miles of creamy white skin. Her breasts were practically falling out of the top, the cups not quite big enough to accommodate her; the ribbing on the sides of the suit gave glimpses of her soft stomach and back; the five-inch black heels she’d been forced into made her legs look endless. Miranda was practically drooling.
“My oh my, not a six anymore now are we?” Nigel approached the woman Miranda was sure could only be a goddess. “Although the girls don’t quite fit do they?” Andrea blushed at that and crossed her arms over her chest, only serving to push her cleavage even higher and Miranda was sure she was about to pass out. “Anyway, you look absolutely ravishing.”
“Really?” At this Miranda snapped her head up and marched over.
“Yes, really,” she snapped, and yanked the younger woman’s arms down. “Now…” she took a step back and let her eyes roam over the form in front of her, realizing she must look like she was about to eat the young woman, but not really caring all too much. “Perfectly acceptable,” she choked out when she reclaimed her voice, “And you thought you would look ridiculous.”
When Miranda looked back up she found Andréa’s big brown eyes staring her down. The tension that existed between them surfacing for a moment, they locked eyes, and Miranda felt as though suddenly everything was in its place. The moment was interrupted by Nigel. As usual, thought Miranda.
“No, you don’t look ridiculous at all,” he said it with an air of wonder. “In fact, you exude…” he trailed off, scratching his head, searching for the right way to say what was blatantly obvious to his boss.
“Sex.” Miranda heard herself say. Well, she surmised, it wasn’t so much that she said it, rather that she rasped it. Realizing she was blushing faintly now, Miranda turned around and walked away, issuing a “go stand over there” over her shoulder. Surely the photographer could take over from here.
Miranda watched from afar as the photo shoot finished up. At first she’d stayed close, making sure everything was going according to plan, making sure they were getting good shots - they’d paid the photographer enough to take a good photograph, surely? However after the first few rounds of re-arranging, Miranda had to extract herself from the situation, because it was all she could do to not pounce on Andréa, tear off the little clothing she wore and ravish her gorgeous figure.
She knew she and Nigel weren’t the only ones who’d noticed either. Emily, as soon as she’d seen Andréa, had stopped all movement, stared wide-eyed at her not-quite-friend, and blurted out “Well who would have bloody well thought this was even a possibility?” Some of the other models were visibly stunned that someone who wasn’t starving herself could look so goddamn good in a bathing suit. Or at all, really. What gave Miranda a private, inner warmth, however, was when she overheard the photographer talking about moving Andréa to a more central position. Obviously it could very well turn out that Andréa posed like a spastic flamingo, but she supposed it was the thought that counted.
Taking a sip from her water bottle Miranda tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She had to get control over herself. This was ridiculous. The girl was nearly half her age, worked for her, not to mention Miranda’s daughters, and also… other reasons. Other reasons… there were so many reasons, Miranda knew that, but they all seemed so insignificant when compared to what she felt for the younger woman. Something far beyond lust, although that was certainly present. Miranda cared for her unlike she’d cared for anyone else before. With her daughters she shared a maternal love, and Miranda might think that it was just that, between her and Andréa, but one didn’t feel towards a daughter the way she felt towards Andréa.
She remembered back two months prior when Andréa had caught a particularly nasty strain of the flu. Of course, she’d kept working (even though Miranda had told her to go home), and, as expected (although not by Miranda), Andréa had passed out due to dehydration and exhaustion in the middle of a run-through. She’d been hospitalized, and the doctors had assured Miranda that her assistant would be fine, but in the interim - from the time Andréa collapsed to the time it took the doctor to tell her everything would be okay - Miranda had a sort-of epiphany. She needed Andréa. Miranda Priestly, Ice Queen, Dragon Lady, Bitch in Hells, so desperately needed the doe-eyed, twenty-six year-old woman, that she’d had a breakdown in a bathroom of the hospital. Because she realized that the something that was always between them would never go away. Miranda had no way of knowing this, of course, but she was sure that it wouldn’t fade with time. Sure as she was that the sky was blue, Miranda Priestly was sure that she would love Andréa Sachs until the end of time; death was no barrier, not with this kind of love. Of this she was certain.
Miranda rolled her eyes at herself. Stop being so dramatic, said a voice in her head. To which another voice replied, I’m really not. It’s all true. And so she once again started with the self-chastising because she hadn’t made a single move to further her relationship with Andréa since her revelation. Of course, they had their moments - they would catch each other’s eye when someone said something particularly stupid, they would brush hands when passing papers or coats or bags, they would know when the other was having a bad day, and somehow the shared knowledge made them feel better. Miranda sighed. They should be wrapping up soon - What in the world is taking so long? Are they building a dam?
Walking back over to the set Miranda saw that the crew was starting to pack things up, models were making their way back to dressing rooms, and Emily was trying her very hardest to keep an idiotic grin off her face.
She caught sight of Andréa walking in those particularly sinful heels, chatting with a few other models and sipping at a bottle of water as she made her way back. She watched, then, in slow motion as Andréa’s heel caught against a small stone, her body lurching forward and arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. She was successful to that end, at least, however Miranda saw the thin strap attached to the bodice of the bathing suit unhook itself, and subsequently watched as the whole top half of the bathing suit, now freed from constraint, bunched around Andréa’s waist.
Andréa was quick to notice this, of course, and covered herself back up, but not before Miranda got an eye full of her ample chest. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath through her nose, remembering from not moments before the light pink hue of the younger woman’s nipples. Turning around slowly Miranda made her way to the car, where she would wait until Andréa was ready to leave.
Not long after she watched as Andréa, once again fully clothed, strode to the car, barking into her cell phone about some scheduling error or other. Perhaps it was time to fire the new second assistant. Realizing that Andréa had yet to get into the car, Miranda looked up, only to find that the young woman was standing next to her door. Miranda rolled down the window.
“Yes?” She tried her best to sound one part annoyed, two parts indifferent.
“You’re in the driver’s seat.” Andréa, understandably, was confused.
“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious.”
“It’s a four-hour drive, Miranda.”
“I’m well-aware.” She rolled up the window and watched as Andréa huffed out a breath and stalked over to the passenger side, throwing herself into the seat with little grace.
“If you get tired let me know and we can switch.” Miranda nodded curtly and headed for the highway, hoping this drive would be a silent one, as she wasn’t sure she could hold a conversation without letting slip an “I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
The silence she wished for lasted only an hour and a half, at which point Andréa mentioned an article she’d recently read in The Atlantic, one which, coincidentally, Miranda had read as well. Their discussion of that article lead to one about a recent expose in the Times, that, after having glimpsed Andréa reading it at her desk one evening, Miranda had looked into. Andréa spoke of a free-lance piece she was doing for Vanity Fair, and Miranda mentioned that perhaps she should think of submitting something to Runway. Andréa expressed a sort of shock at this type of opportunity, however Miranda assured her that her writing abilities were far beyond adequate, and that she wouldn’t suggest it if she didn’t mean it. In what Miranda thought was an attempt to change the subject, Andréa exclaimed that she thought the photo shoot went well.
“And you were right,” Andréa grinned sheepishly, “I didn’t even look that ridiculous.”
“Well, not until the very end that is,” and with a pointed look, Miranda’s eyes went straight to Andréa’s chest. Andy blushed hard at that and coughed a little.
“Sorry about that… my heel got caught.”
Miranda smirked, “Don’t be. I’m sure many of those models would kill for your breasts.”
She’d clearly made the girl uncomfortable, as she was now opening and closing her mouth without saying anything. However after a few moments, Miranda heard a quiet “Thank you?” to which she mumbled a reply. The rest of the trip was spent in silence with a heavy blanket of tension surrounding the two women.
****
Andy sighed silently as Miranda pulled up in front of the townhouse. They’d spent the majority of the trip back in silence, Andy offering a few times to take over driving and Miranda shutting her down firmly each time. Whatever. Miranda was getting weird and God knew Andy didn’t need to be caught in her crosshairs again.
Although, Andy had to admit, ever since she and Miranda had started their little - chats? She wasn’t even sure how to describe it - the older woman had been much more pleasant around her. Or to her, really. Miranda was still just as unpleasant with everyone else. Everyone but me. I wonder why that is?
Andy had been surprised the first time Miranda had started talking to her on the way to some function or other - about a protest in Nairobi, of all things - until she realized that Miranda, in her way, was trying to take an interest in Andy’s life by finding out how her freelancing at the Mirror was going. (The fact that when she’d been promoted to first assistant Miranda had sat her down and said, point-blank, that she would be doing some freelance work for the newspaper was in and of itself an unprecedented occurrence, but then Miranda had taken an interest and tried to help wherever she could. Andy tried not to dwell on it too much).
Now, almost every time they were alone together they had very - and Andy had to stress this in her mind - very - normal conversations. Like they were just two people who conversed regularly together. Which Andy supposed they were, and which she also supposed wouldn’t have been so odd but for the fact that Miranda Priestly did not converse with her staff. But she did with Andy.
Which was fine, in the beginning. Well, really it was weird in the beginning, but after a week or so Andy got over that and then it really was fine. After a month or two she considered Miranda a friend, which was also fine. Better than fine, because, much to Andy’s surprise (maybe it shouldn’t have been), Miranda was a fascinating woman. So that was great. It was all great and fine and wonderful and then a few months into their not-as-yet-labeled friendship, Andy realized she was in love with her boss. Her friend. Who was her boss. And Andy knew she should stop, that she should step back from whatever they were doing, but how could she possibly? That had been five months ago.
They’d been working late, again - the print deadline was in two days. Miranda was seated at her desk looking through the layouts while Andy had taken up residence on the sofa in the far corner as she sometimes did when they worked late. She was writing a piece for The New Yorker - it would be her first work of fiction published.
Andy looked up as she noticed Emily shifting around near the doors. Miranda apparently hadn’t noticed (Andy knew she had), and the redhead wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. To interrupt or not to interrupt, that was the eternal question at Runway.
“Miranda?” Emily practically squeaked.
Miranda sighed. “What is it, Emily? Is the sky falling again?”
“What? No, no of course not. It’s just - I have the revised layout for the article on that Senator.” She scurried over to Miranda’s desk and put it down gently.
“That Senator? Really, Emily. Do you even know her name? Do you know what she’s done not only for the state but also to ease tensions in Congress?” Miranda, it would seem, was not amused. Emily, of course, looked terrified. “Well?” Miranda asked, drolly.
“I - I can’t even vote.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “That’s all.”
“Miranda -“
“I said that’s all.”
“Can I do anything -“
“Do not make me repeat myself, Emily.”
Emily left looking like she’d just stared down death. Miranda looked over to Andy. “You’d think they were scared of me,” Miranda smirked. Andy let out a bark of laughter and shook her head. “But you’re not scared of me, are you Andréa?” Miranda looked at her softly, inquisitively.
Andy stared back, and it hit her, not for the first time, just how beautiful the older woman was. “No,” it almost came out as a whisper, but then she added a little more heft. “But that’s only because I know you do it for fun.”
Miranda smiled. “Right you are, darling. Right you are.”
Andy unbuckled her seatbelt as Miranda pulled up to the curb. Roy would take the car to the garage tomorrow. Andy got out and slammed the door with a little more force than was probably necessary. It was late and she was tired. And incredibly uncomfortable, because she’d felt like Miranda had been looking at her the entire trip back, which was insane, because obviously she’d been watching the road. Obviously.
She stood at the bottom of the stoop while Miranda unlocked the front door. “Is there anything else I can do tonight, Miranda?”
Miranda didn’t say anything, but jerked her head in the direction of the entryway, indicating that Andy should follow her. Andy did, and followed the older woman into her study. Miranda dropped her bag onto her desk and moved to the bar in the corner, pouring two glasses of scotch.
Andy stood there like an idiot. That’s what it felt like, at least, especially when Miranda looked over at her, rolled her eyes, and said “Well, go ahead,” and shoved one of the glasses in her hand, moving towards the leather couch. Andy was a fan of the leather couch, she could say with quite a bit of certainty, as she’d spent many an hour there when she and Miranda would have their chats. She mostly liked the couch because it was buttery soft and had fueled quite a few of her Miranda-related fantasies, although Miranda had only sat on it with her a few times, usually preferring to take up residence in an armchair nearby. Tonight, though, they both sat on the couch, and Andy was struggling. She hoped Miranda couldn’t tell.
She doubted it, as she watched the other woman sink into the leather and take a sip of her scotch, tipping her head back and moaning slightly. Andy’s mouth dropped open, and she had to consciously remind herself to close it.
“Have some scotch, Andréa,” she was practically purring.
Andy took a big gulp and Miranda just stared at her. That really intense stare, where she felt like all her secrets were about to come pouring out of her. Sometimes it felt like she would just tell Miranda everything, all at once; a slave to those bluest of blue eyes.
“The shoot went well today, right?” Andy was struggling for conversation, trying to tamper her feelings.
“Hmm,” a small smile graced Miranda’s lips and she closed her eyes briefly. “That swim suit really did flatter you, Andréa.”
“It didn’t really fit.” Andy shifted uncomfortably.
Miranda looked her straight in the eye, then. “No. It didn’t. It was perfect.”
Andy wasn’t quite sure what happened then, but suddenly Miranda was straddling her, her thighs pressing against Andy’s, her fingers tangled in Andy’s hair, her lips all over Andy’s own. And Andy, for her part, decided to give as good as she got. There was some fumbling at first, but no talking. Andy tore off Miranda’s blouse, sucking on perfectly pink nipples while running her hands over the softest skin she’d ever felt. Miranda soon rid Andy of her own blouse and bra, and pushed her over to lie down on the couch, standing quickly to shed both of their skirts.
Andy moaned when she stopped for a second to think about what was about to happen. But then Miranda - gloriously naked Miranda - was kneeling between her legs, their breasts pressing together, moaning in tandem. Miranda nipped her way down Andy’s torso, paying special attention to her breasts, muttering something about being right all along. Andy would have asked for clarification, but then Miranda was kneeling next to the couch, pressing her tongue right where Andy needed it most.
Andy struggled to grab onto something - anything - and settled for silver-white hair. She loved Miranda’s hair. She especially loved the feeling of Miranda eating her. She’d never had sex with another woman, but Andy was pretty sure it didn’t get much better than this, because soon she was making sounds she’d never made during sex before.
And then it hit Andy that really, this wasn’t about sex. Well, it was a little about sex, but really, this was about love. For both of them, she was sure of it. Because how could it not be? How could months of whatever had been not going on between them possibly not be some kind of love?
Tears slipped from Andy’s eyes then, and she was met by a concerned expression from Miranda.
“Andréa?”
Andy smiled, the tears coming faster. “I’m fine.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Andy could tell she was trying to deflate the situation without exposing herself.
Andy sat up, grabbing Miranda’s face with both hands and kissed her hard. Keeping her close, she whispered, “I love you. I do. I really, really do.”
Miranda kissed her again, moving onto the couch. Andy wasn’t waiting for her to say it back, because really, this was Miranda they were talking about. And she had some sex to get to, which was what she was thinking about as she moved Miranda underneath her, running her hands down the lithe body. She wanted at the same time to worship this body and to take it quickly, and decided that there would be time for worshipping later. Now was for getting off, and so she thrust two fingers into a gloriously wet Miranda, the sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of the other woman the only thing she could hear until Miranda started moaning, apparently unable to contain herself at this point. Andy straddled her thigh and rubbed herself in time with the thrust of her fingers, locking eyes with her lover.
They came breathing heavily, silent screams stuck in the backs of their throats. Andy looked down at Miranda, extracting her fingers, and noticed that there were tears in the other woman’s eyes.
“Miranda?” She threw an arm up over her eyes, but Andy could still see the tears making their way slowly down porcelain cheeks. And then Miranda was laughing in that odd, huffy way that Andy found so endearing. “Miranda?”
The older woman brought her arm down, peering at Andy through thick lashes. “Is this love?”
Andy shrugged. “For me, yeah.” She hesitated. But then she figured what the hell, because she was naked and straddling this woman anyway. “For you?”
Miranda just gazed at her in a way Andy had never seen before, but had felt directed towards her many times. “Some kind of love,” she said quietly, her voice soft and slightly gravelly.
“Some kind of love,” Andy repeated, nodding.
Later they stood in front of the fridge, still completely naked. Andy thought maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea, because she was pretty cold now, but if Miranda wanted to stay naked who was she to object?
“You did look lovely in that swim suit, though.”
Andy smirked. “I thought I looked ‘like sex’”
Miranda didn’t look at her, pulling out some expensive-looking brie. “Yes, darling, didn’t I just say that?”
Andy rolled her eyes, her smile matching that of her lover’s, her friend’s, her constantly surprising and completely odd other half’s. Some kind of love, indeed.
Fin.
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Rating: M
Summary: It started with a bathing suit and a photo shoot at the river...
“There aren’t enough models,” murmured Miranda, tilting her head slightly to show her discontent. It was mid-July and they were doing a shoot by the river - which river Miranda couldn’t tell you, but they’d driven a few hours in a direction (Miranda couldn’t tell you which direction, either) and now they were here at this lovely river. According to the few who’d chanced it so far, the water was cool but not cold, free of fish save for a few here and there, and the current wasn’t strong at all. A lovely river. Except for the fact that they didn’t have enough models. Whoever’s fault this turned out to be would likely not have a job by the time the crew returned to New York.
“I know. We need more girls in the background,” Nigel was just as peeved about this as she was. “They don’t even have to be particularly good models. We just need bodies really. At this point I’d take thin-ish bodies with not-too-ugly faces.” Nigel scratched his head and Miranda hummed in agreement.
“We have enough dresses and swim suits?” Miranda, it was clear, was formulating a plan.
“Yes, we have more than enough of everything, just not the bodies to fill it all.”
“Who here can do it?”
“Do what?” Nigel gave her a confused look.
Miranda rolled her eyes. “Stand in the background and pretend to be a model, of course. We’ll need at least five of them,” she drawled, seemingly already bored.
Nigel picked it up from there without a missed beat, “Janine and Serena from makeup, the redhead who helped with lighting, and our dear Emily certainly fits the bill.”
Miranda sighed heavily. “That’s only four girls, Nigel. I trust you remember how to count?”
“There’s no one else on set, Miranda. I suppose we could search the town…” he glanced over at her to gauge how she was taking it, but Miranda wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. No, her gaze was focused on a certain brunette off in the distance. Holding her cell to her ear with her right hand, her left was free to wave about as she spoke heatedly.
Nigel was about to make a comment about Andy’s gestural affect when Miranda said, “Andréa will do it,” and walked away. As hard as he tried, he really didn’t understand that woman sometimes. Andy would look pasty and paunchy next to the likes of Emily and Serena, never mind the rest of the models. However all Nigel could do was shrug at the nearest rock and go round up the five woman who didn’t yet know the fate that had befallen them. Although he thought Emily might look at this more as the gods smiling down upon her.
Miranda made her way over to the makeup tent where the rest of the models had gathered to get out of the sun and took a seat. As she was waiting she contemplated her decision to make Andréa part of the shoot. It was true, they did need more models than they currently had, and it was easier to pluck women who were already there than to scourge the countryside for respectable-looking girls, however they probably could have gotten away with just four extras. They didn’t absolutely need a fifth, and most people would argue (not to her face, of course) that if Andy Sachs was the only option, then four was the perfect number.
It was primarily a bathing suit shoot, and of course all of the models were sizes 0-2. Miranda knew that Nigel was questioning her decision because he couldn’t see beyond the sizes; to him, at size 4, Andréa would look frumpy and pudgy. But that was why Miranda had this job and he didn’t - because Miranda saw beyond what people thought they knew; she saw beyond the need for skinny girls in skimpy bikinis because she saw Andréa, and soon the rest of them would too.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we get to do this - that we were chosen for this!” Emily’s excited squeal could be heard coming into the tent, and Miranda watched as Janine, Serena, and the redhead followed behind her. But where was Andréa?
“Emily?” She had no need to raise her voice, even through the din of twenty models and makeup artists.
“Yes Miranda?” Emily stood at attention, just as she always had done.
“Where is Andréa?”
“Last I saw her she was speaking with Nigel. She uh...” Emily shifted her eyes away, “she didn’t look very happy.”
Miranda didn’t say anything as she stood and marched out of the tent and over to where Nigel and the young brunette were arguing.
“Miranda! Thank god! She’s refusing to do the shoot!” Nigel let out a loud sigh of frustration.
“Andréa?” Miranda raised an eyebrow.
“Miranda, you can’t be serious about this - I will look ridiculous standing with all those models. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know how to model.” Andrea huffed. Miranda smirked. Andréa had been her assistant for some time now, taking over the first assistant spot when Emily had been promoted, and at some point along the way she’d lost her fear of Miranda, something the older woman loved. Now they had conversations - real ones - about art and literature and anything else they fancied. Andréa wasn’t afraid to ride the elevator with Miranda, or remind her to get home early when she had dinner planned with the girls. And she knew Miranda better than any assistant ever had - the younger woman would bring her Tylenol without her asking when she had a headache, or would know to hold her calls when she’d had a particularly rough budget meeting - a few times she even cancelled all appointments after noon and told Miranda to take the day to herself. If there wasn’t that undercurrent of something that ran between them, it would almost be like they were friends.
“Don’t be silly Andréa, I wouldn’t put you in the shoot if I thought you would ruin it. Now get to the makeup tent before we lose the light.” Andréa gave her a hard look but marched away, her jaw firmly set in displeasure.
“Are you sure about this?”
Miranda didn’t turn around to look at Nigel, but answered quietly, “You’ll see.”
After speaking with the photographer Miranda made her way back to the tents to make sure everything was going smoothly, and to punish anyone who wasn’t helping achieve the goal. Seeing that everything was, in fact, going quite smoothly - as Emily and Serena were already off changing and Janine, the redhead, and Andréa were getting their hair and makeup done - Miranda pulled Esther, the wardrobe assistant, aside.
“Put Andréa in the black ribbed Chanel one-piece. She’ll complain, but make sure she gets into it,” her voice left no room for question, comment, or concern, and with that Miranda walked out to supervise the final set-up. Finally they could get on with this shoot.
Miranda watched as the photographer positioned the models like mannequins in the shallow river, on large boulders, and on the opposite bank. At this point Miranda was convinced that they really did need more models to fill the area, and she watched with satisfaction as four of the five extras were led out of the tents and positioned in the background. Once again they were waiting on Andréa.
Miranda turned her head slightly to signal her impatience to Nigel, however the sight before her caught her eye and her jaw dropped open slightly. There was Andréa, shoulder length hair tousled in a just-been-fucked kind of way, smoky eye makeup, and miles and miles of creamy white skin. Her breasts were practically falling out of the top, the cups not quite big enough to accommodate her; the ribbing on the sides of the suit gave glimpses of her soft stomach and back; the five-inch black heels she’d been forced into made her legs look endless. Miranda was practically drooling.
“My oh my, not a six anymore now are we?” Nigel approached the woman Miranda was sure could only be a goddess. “Although the girls don’t quite fit do they?” Andrea blushed at that and crossed her arms over her chest, only serving to push her cleavage even higher and Miranda was sure she was about to pass out. “Anyway, you look absolutely ravishing.”
“Really?” At this Miranda snapped her head up and marched over.
“Yes, really,” she snapped, and yanked the younger woman’s arms down. “Now…” she took a step back and let her eyes roam over the form in front of her, realizing she must look like she was about to eat the young woman, but not really caring all too much. “Perfectly acceptable,” she choked out when she reclaimed her voice, “And you thought you would look ridiculous.”
When Miranda looked back up she found Andréa’s big brown eyes staring her down. The tension that existed between them surfacing for a moment, they locked eyes, and Miranda felt as though suddenly everything was in its place. The moment was interrupted by Nigel. As usual, thought Miranda.
“No, you don’t look ridiculous at all,” he said it with an air of wonder. “In fact, you exude…” he trailed off, scratching his head, searching for the right way to say what was blatantly obvious to his boss.
“Sex.” Miranda heard herself say. Well, she surmised, it wasn’t so much that she said it, rather that she rasped it. Realizing she was blushing faintly now, Miranda turned around and walked away, issuing a “go stand over there” over her shoulder. Surely the photographer could take over from here.
Miranda watched from afar as the photo shoot finished up. At first she’d stayed close, making sure everything was going according to plan, making sure they were getting good shots - they’d paid the photographer enough to take a good photograph, surely? However after the first few rounds of re-arranging, Miranda had to extract herself from the situation, because it was all she could do to not pounce on Andréa, tear off the little clothing she wore and ravish her gorgeous figure.
She knew she and Nigel weren’t the only ones who’d noticed either. Emily, as soon as she’d seen Andréa, had stopped all movement, stared wide-eyed at her not-quite-friend, and blurted out “Well who would have bloody well thought this was even a possibility?” Some of the other models were visibly stunned that someone who wasn’t starving herself could look so goddamn good in a bathing suit. Or at all, really. What gave Miranda a private, inner warmth, however, was when she overheard the photographer talking about moving Andréa to a more central position. Obviously it could very well turn out that Andréa posed like a spastic flamingo, but she supposed it was the thought that counted.
Taking a sip from her water bottle Miranda tipped her head back and closed her eyes. She had to get control over herself. This was ridiculous. The girl was nearly half her age, worked for her, not to mention Miranda’s daughters, and also… other reasons. Other reasons… there were so many reasons, Miranda knew that, but they all seemed so insignificant when compared to what she felt for the younger woman. Something far beyond lust, although that was certainly present. Miranda cared for her unlike she’d cared for anyone else before. With her daughters she shared a maternal love, and Miranda might think that it was just that, between her and Andréa, but one didn’t feel towards a daughter the way she felt towards Andréa.
She remembered back two months prior when Andréa had caught a particularly nasty strain of the flu. Of course, she’d kept working (even though Miranda had told her to go home), and, as expected (although not by Miranda), Andréa had passed out due to dehydration and exhaustion in the middle of a run-through. She’d been hospitalized, and the doctors had assured Miranda that her assistant would be fine, but in the interim - from the time Andréa collapsed to the time it took the doctor to tell her everything would be okay - Miranda had a sort-of epiphany. She needed Andréa. Miranda Priestly, Ice Queen, Dragon Lady, Bitch in Hells, so desperately needed the doe-eyed, twenty-six year-old woman, that she’d had a breakdown in a bathroom of the hospital. Because she realized that the something that was always between them would never go away. Miranda had no way of knowing this, of course, but she was sure that it wouldn’t fade with time. Sure as she was that the sky was blue, Miranda Priestly was sure that she would love Andréa Sachs until the end of time; death was no barrier, not with this kind of love. Of this she was certain.
Miranda rolled her eyes at herself. Stop being so dramatic, said a voice in her head. To which another voice replied, I’m really not. It’s all true. And so she once again started with the self-chastising because she hadn’t made a single move to further her relationship with Andréa since her revelation. Of course, they had their moments - they would catch each other’s eye when someone said something particularly stupid, they would brush hands when passing papers or coats or bags, they would know when the other was having a bad day, and somehow the shared knowledge made them feel better. Miranda sighed. They should be wrapping up soon - What in the world is taking so long? Are they building a dam?
Walking back over to the set Miranda saw that the crew was starting to pack things up, models were making their way back to dressing rooms, and Emily was trying her very hardest to keep an idiotic grin off her face.
She caught sight of Andréa walking in those particularly sinful heels, chatting with a few other models and sipping at a bottle of water as she made her way back. She watched, then, in slow motion as Andréa’s heel caught against a small stone, her body lurching forward and arms flailing as she tried to keep herself upright. She was successful to that end, at least, however Miranda saw the thin strap attached to the bodice of the bathing suit unhook itself, and subsequently watched as the whole top half of the bathing suit, now freed from constraint, bunched around Andréa’s waist.
Andréa was quick to notice this, of course, and covered herself back up, but not before Miranda got an eye full of her ample chest. She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath through her nose, remembering from not moments before the light pink hue of the younger woman’s nipples. Turning around slowly Miranda made her way to the car, where she would wait until Andréa was ready to leave.
Not long after she watched as Andréa, once again fully clothed, strode to the car, barking into her cell phone about some scheduling error or other. Perhaps it was time to fire the new second assistant. Realizing that Andréa had yet to get into the car, Miranda looked up, only to find that the young woman was standing next to her door. Miranda rolled down the window.
“Yes?” She tried her best to sound one part annoyed, two parts indifferent.
“You’re in the driver’s seat.” Andréa, understandably, was confused.
“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious.”
“It’s a four-hour drive, Miranda.”
“I’m well-aware.” She rolled up the window and watched as Andréa huffed out a breath and stalked over to the passenger side, throwing herself into the seat with little grace.
“If you get tired let me know and we can switch.” Miranda nodded curtly and headed for the highway, hoping this drive would be a silent one, as she wasn’t sure she could hold a conversation without letting slip an “I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
The silence she wished for lasted only an hour and a half, at which point Andréa mentioned an article she’d recently read in The Atlantic, one which, coincidentally, Miranda had read as well. Their discussion of that article lead to one about a recent expose in the Times, that, after having glimpsed Andréa reading it at her desk one evening, Miranda had looked into. Andréa spoke of a free-lance piece she was doing for Vanity Fair, and Miranda mentioned that perhaps she should think of submitting something to Runway. Andréa expressed a sort of shock at this type of opportunity, however Miranda assured her that her writing abilities were far beyond adequate, and that she wouldn’t suggest it if she didn’t mean it. In what Miranda thought was an attempt to change the subject, Andréa exclaimed that she thought the photo shoot went well.
“And you were right,” Andréa grinned sheepishly, “I didn’t even look that ridiculous.”
“Well, not until the very end that is,” and with a pointed look, Miranda’s eyes went straight to Andréa’s chest. Andy blushed hard at that and coughed a little.
“Sorry about that… my heel got caught.”
Miranda smirked, “Don’t be. I’m sure many of those models would kill for your breasts.”
She’d clearly made the girl uncomfortable, as she was now opening and closing her mouth without saying anything. However after a few moments, Miranda heard a quiet “Thank you?” to which she mumbled a reply. The rest of the trip was spent in silence with a heavy blanket of tension surrounding the two women.
****
Andy sighed silently as Miranda pulled up in front of the townhouse. They’d spent the majority of the trip back in silence, Andy offering a few times to take over driving and Miranda shutting her down firmly each time. Whatever. Miranda was getting weird and God knew Andy didn’t need to be caught in her crosshairs again.
Although, Andy had to admit, ever since she and Miranda had started their little - chats? She wasn’t even sure how to describe it - the older woman had been much more pleasant around her. Or to her, really. Miranda was still just as unpleasant with everyone else. Everyone but me. I wonder why that is?
Andy had been surprised the first time Miranda had started talking to her on the way to some function or other - about a protest in Nairobi, of all things - until she realized that Miranda, in her way, was trying to take an interest in Andy’s life by finding out how her freelancing at the Mirror was going. (The fact that when she’d been promoted to first assistant Miranda had sat her down and said, point-blank, that she would be doing some freelance work for the newspaper was in and of itself an unprecedented occurrence, but then Miranda had taken an interest and tried to help wherever she could. Andy tried not to dwell on it too much).
Now, almost every time they were alone together they had very - and Andy had to stress this in her mind - very - normal conversations. Like they were just two people who conversed regularly together. Which Andy supposed they were, and which she also supposed wouldn’t have been so odd but for the fact that Miranda Priestly did not converse with her staff. But she did with Andy.
Which was fine, in the beginning. Well, really it was weird in the beginning, but after a week or so Andy got over that and then it really was fine. After a month or two she considered Miranda a friend, which was also fine. Better than fine, because, much to Andy’s surprise (maybe it shouldn’t have been), Miranda was a fascinating woman. So that was great. It was all great and fine and wonderful and then a few months into their not-as-yet-labeled friendship, Andy realized she was in love with her boss. Her friend. Who was her boss. And Andy knew she should stop, that she should step back from whatever they were doing, but how could she possibly? That had been five months ago.
They’d been working late, again - the print deadline was in two days. Miranda was seated at her desk looking through the layouts while Andy had taken up residence on the sofa in the far corner as she sometimes did when they worked late. She was writing a piece for The New Yorker - it would be her first work of fiction published.
Andy looked up as she noticed Emily shifting around near the doors. Miranda apparently hadn’t noticed (Andy knew she had), and the redhead wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself. To interrupt or not to interrupt, that was the eternal question at Runway.
“Miranda?” Emily practically squeaked.
Miranda sighed. “What is it, Emily? Is the sky falling again?”
“What? No, no of course not. It’s just - I have the revised layout for the article on that Senator.” She scurried over to Miranda’s desk and put it down gently.
“That Senator? Really, Emily. Do you even know her name? Do you know what she’s done not only for the state but also to ease tensions in Congress?” Miranda, it would seem, was not amused. Emily, of course, looked terrified. “Well?” Miranda asked, drolly.
“I - I can’t even vote.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “That’s all.”
“Miranda -“
“I said that’s all.”
“Can I do anything -“
“Do not make me repeat myself, Emily.”
Emily left looking like she’d just stared down death. Miranda looked over to Andy. “You’d think they were scared of me,” Miranda smirked. Andy let out a bark of laughter and shook her head. “But you’re not scared of me, are you Andréa?” Miranda looked at her softly, inquisitively.
Andy stared back, and it hit her, not for the first time, just how beautiful the older woman was. “No,” it almost came out as a whisper, but then she added a little more heft. “But that’s only because I know you do it for fun.”
Miranda smiled. “Right you are, darling. Right you are.”
Andy unbuckled her seatbelt as Miranda pulled up to the curb. Roy would take the car to the garage tomorrow. Andy got out and slammed the door with a little more force than was probably necessary. It was late and she was tired. And incredibly uncomfortable, because she’d felt like Miranda had been looking at her the entire trip back, which was insane, because obviously she’d been watching the road. Obviously.
She stood at the bottom of the stoop while Miranda unlocked the front door. “Is there anything else I can do tonight, Miranda?”
Miranda didn’t say anything, but jerked her head in the direction of the entryway, indicating that Andy should follow her. Andy did, and followed the older woman into her study. Miranda dropped her bag onto her desk and moved to the bar in the corner, pouring two glasses of scotch.
Andy stood there like an idiot. That’s what it felt like, at least, especially when Miranda looked over at her, rolled her eyes, and said “Well, go ahead,” and shoved one of the glasses in her hand, moving towards the leather couch. Andy was a fan of the leather couch, she could say with quite a bit of certainty, as she’d spent many an hour there when she and Miranda would have their chats. She mostly liked the couch because it was buttery soft and had fueled quite a few of her Miranda-related fantasies, although Miranda had only sat on it with her a few times, usually preferring to take up residence in an armchair nearby. Tonight, though, they both sat on the couch, and Andy was struggling. She hoped Miranda couldn’t tell.
She doubted it, as she watched the other woman sink into the leather and take a sip of her scotch, tipping her head back and moaning slightly. Andy’s mouth dropped open, and she had to consciously remind herself to close it.
“Have some scotch, Andréa,” she was practically purring.
Andy took a big gulp and Miranda just stared at her. That really intense stare, where she felt like all her secrets were about to come pouring out of her. Sometimes it felt like she would just tell Miranda everything, all at once; a slave to those bluest of blue eyes.
“The shoot went well today, right?” Andy was struggling for conversation, trying to tamper her feelings.
“Hmm,” a small smile graced Miranda’s lips and she closed her eyes briefly. “That swim suit really did flatter you, Andréa.”
“It didn’t really fit.” Andy shifted uncomfortably.
Miranda looked her straight in the eye, then. “No. It didn’t. It was perfect.”
Andy wasn’t quite sure what happened then, but suddenly Miranda was straddling her, her thighs pressing against Andy’s, her fingers tangled in Andy’s hair, her lips all over Andy’s own. And Andy, for her part, decided to give as good as she got. There was some fumbling at first, but no talking. Andy tore off Miranda’s blouse, sucking on perfectly pink nipples while running her hands over the softest skin she’d ever felt. Miranda soon rid Andy of her own blouse and bra, and pushed her over to lie down on the couch, standing quickly to shed both of their skirts.
Andy moaned when she stopped for a second to think about what was about to happen. But then Miranda - gloriously naked Miranda - was kneeling between her legs, their breasts pressing together, moaning in tandem. Miranda nipped her way down Andy’s torso, paying special attention to her breasts, muttering something about being right all along. Andy would have asked for clarification, but then Miranda was kneeling next to the couch, pressing her tongue right where Andy needed it most.
Andy struggled to grab onto something - anything - and settled for silver-white hair. She loved Miranda’s hair. She especially loved the feeling of Miranda eating her. She’d never had sex with another woman, but Andy was pretty sure it didn’t get much better than this, because soon she was making sounds she’d never made during sex before.
And then it hit Andy that really, this wasn’t about sex. Well, it was a little about sex, but really, this was about love. For both of them, she was sure of it. Because how could it not be? How could months of whatever had been not going on between them possibly not be some kind of love?
Tears slipped from Andy’s eyes then, and she was met by a concerned expression from Miranda.
“Andréa?”
Andy smiled, the tears coming faster. “I’m fine.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Andy could tell she was trying to deflate the situation without exposing herself.
Andy sat up, grabbing Miranda’s face with both hands and kissed her hard. Keeping her close, she whispered, “I love you. I do. I really, really do.”
Miranda kissed her again, moving onto the couch. Andy wasn’t waiting for her to say it back, because really, this was Miranda they were talking about. And she had some sex to get to, which was what she was thinking about as she moved Miranda underneath her, running her hands down the lithe body. She wanted at the same time to worship this body and to take it quickly, and decided that there would be time for worshipping later. Now was for getting off, and so she thrust two fingers into a gloriously wet Miranda, the sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of the other woman the only thing she could hear until Miranda started moaning, apparently unable to contain herself at this point. Andy straddled her thigh and rubbed herself in time with the thrust of her fingers, locking eyes with her lover.
They came breathing heavily, silent screams stuck in the backs of their throats. Andy looked down at Miranda, extracting her fingers, and noticed that there were tears in the other woman’s eyes.
“Miranda?” She threw an arm up over her eyes, but Andy could still see the tears making their way slowly down porcelain cheeks. And then Miranda was laughing in that odd, huffy way that Andy found so endearing. “Miranda?”
The older woman brought her arm down, peering at Andy through thick lashes. “Is this love?”
Andy shrugged. “For me, yeah.” She hesitated. But then she figured what the hell, because she was naked and straddling this woman anyway. “For you?”
Miranda just gazed at her in a way Andy had never seen before, but had felt directed towards her many times. “Some kind of love,” she said quietly, her voice soft and slightly gravelly.
“Some kind of love,” Andy repeated, nodding.
Later they stood in front of the fridge, still completely naked. Andy thought maybe this wasn’t the smartest idea, because she was pretty cold now, but if Miranda wanted to stay naked who was she to object?
“You did look lovely in that swim suit, though.”
Andy smirked. “I thought I looked ‘like sex’”
Miranda didn’t look at her, pulling out some expensive-looking brie. “Yes, darling, didn’t I just say that?”
Andy rolled her eyes, her smile matching that of her lover’s, her friend’s, her constantly surprising and completely odd other half’s. Some kind of love, indeed.
Fin.