The Gift of Possibilities ~ Eleventh
Where is that Jellroll of Trouble, Ruari? Oh, there she is. Is that a--- Is that a cape?
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is neither mine nor CeeLyn's. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. We're just redecorating. When finished, we will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
.............................
Eleventh ~ Ruari’s
Miranda moaned and grabbed at the sheets. “Darling…please…I need…”
“What do you need?” Andy rasped. She nipped at her wife’s breast with sybaritic zeal while her hands roamed freely of favored flesh.
“More!”
Fifteen minutes later found Andy cradling Miranda’s head to her chest, both women trembling slightly. Andy ran a soothing hand up and down her wife’s back and pressed loving kisses to her head, her face, her neck, anywhere she could reach. “I love you, Miranda. How’d I get so lucky?”
Miranda hummed against Andy’s chest. “You gave me the gift of possibilities and an opportunity eleven years ago, that’s how.” She, too, pressed kisses to those portions of Andrea’s anatomy she could easily reach. “And when opportunity knocked…” she mumbled. “I answered.” She mustered the strength to raise herself up to hover over Andrea and buried her hands in thick, dark hair. She leaned in to capture Andy’s lips in a slow, deep kiss that eventually tapered to a series of light touches. “Merry.” *kiss* “Christmas.” *kiss*
Andy beamed up at Miranda then tugged her down into a full-body hug, shackling her arms and legs around the older woman. “Merry Christmas to you, too, my love,” she whispered into Miranda’s shoulder. She rolled them so they ended up on their sides, able to gaze into one another’s eyes; Andy’s watering at the tenderness showing in Miranda’s. Even after all this time, witnessing Miranda Priestly’s love for her never got old. And it had never been more evident than this past year.
Andy pulled back far enough to plant a big wet kiss right on her mouth. “Mmmwah! God, I’m glad you’re home.” Closing the distance for another kiss she caught a glimpse of something in Miranda’s eyes. “What? What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Andrea, dear, we need to talk…”
“Oh, wow. Ok.” Andy’s eyes darkened in worry. “What is it?”
Miranda grabbed one of the journalist’s hands and dragged her over to the sofa. She refused to relinquish the hand after they were both seated and absently began caressing Andy’s long, slender fingers. “Our being apart this Christmas was absolutely intolerable. And I refuse to allow that to ever happen to us again, natural disaster, accident or illness aside.”
Andy frowned and squeezed the hand gripping hers. “Ok, I totally support that. You already know I was miserable without you.”
The editor nodded and raised their joined hands to her lips. “The only way to insure that Runway never again comes between us, as it did this holiday, is for me to retire as editor-in-chief.”
“What!??”
Miranda reached out and gently wiped away a tear on Andrea’s face. “What’s this about?” she asked softly.
Andy shook her head slightly. “Happy.” She hooked a wayward lock of silver-white hair behind Miranda’s ear. “Just remembering a conversation we had 367 days ago.”
Her wife lifted a brow in amusement. “Were you now?”
“Ummhmm.”
“And how do you think it’s working?” Miranda let her hand slide down Andy’s jaw to rest at her neck.
“I think I couldn’t have wished for a more accommodating, supportive, loving wife if I’d designed her myself. Who are you, and what did you do with Miranda?” she teased and stole a quick kiss.
“Hmph.” Miranda crinkled her nose.
Andy thought she was adorable. “Seriously, though, you stepping away from Runway and remaining as a consultant to Nigel was…I have no words.”
“A journalist without words. Novel thought.”
The brunette just smiled. “It was a gift without price, Miranda. But certainly not without value. Do you not see what you really gave me? Gave us?”
Miranda fell into Andy’s deep, brown eyes. She swept a thumb across her wife’s full lower lip. “Please tell me,” she whispered.
“Time, sweetheart. You gave us time.”
“Yes, that is something, isn’t it?” Miranda snuggled in closer to her bride of six years, lover of nine, beloved of eleven.
Andy laughed softly. “Yeah, it’s something. At least now I know you’ll only work eight hours a day, no weekends, and you can take a day off anytime you want without the world imploding. I’m living the high life now!”
“Yes,” Miranda drolly replied. “Call the Miller Brewing Company.”
Andy snorted and leaned in to rest her forehead against Miranda’s. “You do pretty well in the ‘gift’ department, Miranda Priestly. ‘Cause that one was spectacular. You probably won’t be able to beat it this year.”
“Hmmm, am I now destined to suffer every year as you do, Andrea Priestly? Struggling to find a gift worthy of equaling or surpassing one given previously?”
“Oh, come on! Yours was really, really great, but you can’t compare that to the first one I gave you! No way, and you know it.”
Miranda smiled. “Yes, I know. But just like you and I admire your gift daily, so, too, do we admire that gift of time I gave us.”
“Yes, you certainly have a point. We do. But would we have ever gotten to this point without that first one?” Andy dipped her head and nuzzled into the sensitive flesh under her wife’s ear.
Miranda shivered in reaction. “N-I do-I don’t…know. Andrea,” she moaned. “But I did have to resort…ooohhh…to more begging, threats and…mmm… bribery to lure Nigel away…yes, right there…from Men’s Runway.”
“I don’t know, baby. It’s not like you gave me ‘before and after Runway’ family portraits of our lives.”
“No, no, you’re right. I concede. Please don’t stop what you’re doing!”
“I won’t, but the children will be here in an hour.”
“Kiss faster.”
“Yes, Miranda.”
~R
The Twelfth Christmas
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is neither mine nor CeeLyn's. No infringement intended, no money being made. The building belongs to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. We're just redecorating. When finished, we will tear down the new curtains and fancy artwork, but leave the festive paint…
Rating: T
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Mirandy
.............................
Eleventh ~ Ruari’s
Miranda moaned and grabbed at the sheets. “Darling…please…I need…”
“What do you need?” Andy rasped. She nipped at her wife’s breast with sybaritic zeal while her hands roamed freely of favored flesh.
“More!”
Fifteen minutes later found Andy cradling Miranda’s head to her chest, both women trembling slightly. Andy ran a soothing hand up and down her wife’s back and pressed loving kisses to her head, her face, her neck, anywhere she could reach. “I love you, Miranda. How’d I get so lucky?”
Miranda hummed against Andy’s chest. “You gave me the gift of possibilities and an opportunity eleven years ago, that’s how.” She, too, pressed kisses to those portions of Andrea’s anatomy she could easily reach. “And when opportunity knocked…” she mumbled. “I answered.” She mustered the strength to raise herself up to hover over Andrea and buried her hands in thick, dark hair. She leaned in to capture Andy’s lips in a slow, deep kiss that eventually tapered to a series of light touches. “Merry.” *kiss* “Christmas.” *kiss*
Andy beamed up at Miranda then tugged her down into a full-body hug, shackling her arms and legs around the older woman. “Merry Christmas to you, too, my love,” she whispered into Miranda’s shoulder. She rolled them so they ended up on their sides, able to gaze into one another’s eyes; Andy’s watering at the tenderness showing in Miranda’s. Even after all this time, witnessing Miranda Priestly’s love for her never got old. And it had never been more evident than this past year.
Andy pulled back far enough to plant a big wet kiss right on her mouth. “Mmmwah! God, I’m glad you’re home.” Closing the distance for another kiss she caught a glimpse of something in Miranda’s eyes. “What? What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Andrea, dear, we need to talk…”
“Oh, wow. Ok.” Andy’s eyes darkened in worry. “What is it?”
Miranda grabbed one of the journalist’s hands and dragged her over to the sofa. She refused to relinquish the hand after they were both seated and absently began caressing Andy’s long, slender fingers. “Our being apart this Christmas was absolutely intolerable. And I refuse to allow that to ever happen to us again, natural disaster, accident or illness aside.”
Andy frowned and squeezed the hand gripping hers. “Ok, I totally support that. You already know I was miserable without you.”
The editor nodded and raised their joined hands to her lips. “The only way to insure that Runway never again comes between us, as it did this holiday, is for me to retire as editor-in-chief.”
“What!??”
Miranda reached out and gently wiped away a tear on Andrea’s face. “What’s this about?” she asked softly.
Andy shook her head slightly. “Happy.” She hooked a wayward lock of silver-white hair behind Miranda’s ear. “Just remembering a conversation we had 367 days ago.”
Her wife lifted a brow in amusement. “Were you now?”
“Ummhmm.”
“And how do you think it’s working?” Miranda let her hand slide down Andy’s jaw to rest at her neck.
“I think I couldn’t have wished for a more accommodating, supportive, loving wife if I’d designed her myself. Who are you, and what did you do with Miranda?” she teased and stole a quick kiss.
“Hmph.” Miranda crinkled her nose.
Andy thought she was adorable. “Seriously, though, you stepping away from Runway and remaining as a consultant to Nigel was…I have no words.”
“A journalist without words. Novel thought.”
The brunette just smiled. “It was a gift without price, Miranda. But certainly not without value. Do you not see what you really gave me? Gave us?”
Miranda fell into Andy’s deep, brown eyes. She swept a thumb across her wife’s full lower lip. “Please tell me,” she whispered.
“Time, sweetheart. You gave us time.”
“Yes, that is something, isn’t it?” Miranda snuggled in closer to her bride of six years, lover of nine, beloved of eleven.
Andy laughed softly. “Yeah, it’s something. At least now I know you’ll only work eight hours a day, no weekends, and you can take a day off anytime you want without the world imploding. I’m living the high life now!”
“Yes,” Miranda drolly replied. “Call the Miller Brewing Company.”
Andy snorted and leaned in to rest her forehead against Miranda’s. “You do pretty well in the ‘gift’ department, Miranda Priestly. ‘Cause that one was spectacular. You probably won’t be able to beat it this year.”
“Hmmm, am I now destined to suffer every year as you do, Andrea Priestly? Struggling to find a gift worthy of equaling or surpassing one given previously?”
“Oh, come on! Yours was really, really great, but you can’t compare that to the first one I gave you! No way, and you know it.”
Miranda smiled. “Yes, I know. But just like you and I admire your gift daily, so, too, do we admire that gift of time I gave us.”
“Yes, you certainly have a point. We do. But would we have ever gotten to this point without that first one?” Andy dipped her head and nuzzled into the sensitive flesh under her wife’s ear.
Miranda shivered in reaction. “N-I do-I don’t…know. Andrea,” she moaned. “But I did have to resort…ooohhh…to more begging, threats and…mmm… bribery to lure Nigel away…yes, right there…from Men’s Runway.”
“I don’t know, baby. It’s not like you gave me ‘before and after Runway’ family portraits of our lives.”
“No, no, you’re right. I concede. Please don’t stop what you’re doing!”
“I won’t, but the children will be here in an hour.”
“Kiss faster.”
“Yes, Miranda.”
~R
The Twelfth Christmas