4 ficlets
Titles: Closer, For Bitter or Worse, Nu Vannacht (This Night), S.E.X.
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: Varying from PG to NC-17
Summary: 4 short fics all-based on a song. Sort of like the iTunes challenge, except that I didn't stop writing when the song ended.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
CLOSER
By the Kings of Leon (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XatzX6WQ2ec&feature=related)
Something is happening, something is coming closer, she just doesn’t know what. All she knows is that it’s terrifying and it will cost her everything she holds dear in her life. She will end up alone, without her heart, without her soul.
This place where she is, it’s a ghost town. Dark, abandoned buildings with broken windows like sharp teeth with empty streets like dry rivers running between them. It’s a town that only exists in films, books and imagination, the reason why it is so strange that this feels so real.
The floor beneath her shoulder blades is cold, icy. The black tiles are damp with her sweat, both from physical activity and from fear. She feels constricted, unable to move., but there is nothing that keeps her down, no ropes, no chains, nothing that keeps her immobile.
With a great effort she lifts her head, her gaze fixating on the bed where the sheets lie like a crumpled heap on top of the mattress. She knows that if she were able to touch the bed it would still be warm from where both their bodies were just mere moments ago.
In the corner of her eye she sees the naked body of beautiful woman, her skin perfectly white in the cold moonlight. The woman wraps her body in a supple, black robe and stares out the window for a few second then she turns around. She has been crying.
Suddenly she is unaware of everything, the room, the bed, the cold tiles. It cannot be her. It is impossible. But when she feels soft lips pressing against her own she knows it to be true. She wants to get up, touch her, but still she cannot move. Not even when the woman walks towards the open balcony doors and slowly and controlled steps on the ledges of the wrought iron decoration of the balcony.
“This is goodbye” the woman says. “I loved you, Miranda,” she whispers and steps of the ledge, falling down. Miranda wants to scream, cry, anything, but not until she hears the sickening sound of a body hitting concrete she is able to move. Within seconds she has reached the balcony. But when she looks down, there’s nothing. Just darkness.
With a shock she sits up in her bed. This is her own house in New York. She should feel normal, confident again, but the fear of her dream hasn’t left. The place next to her in bed is empty, but still warm. Even in the dim light she can make a the form of a note on the pillow. She can’t find the courage to pick it up and read it.
Something terrible is going to happen, something she wishes she could prevent, but knows she can’t. Something is going to happen and it’s coming closer.
FOR BITTER OR WORSE
By Anouk (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWMTxyZomt4&ob=av2e)
There they stand, looking into each other’s eyes, blue into brown, brown into blue. Outside a car is waiting, engine running, ready to drive away, tear them apart. An uncomfortable tension has set between them, both ignorant about what to do now.
The silver-haired woman stands tall, unmovable, keeping up the façade while the brunette is stricken with grief, her posture screaming hurt, loss. The fashionista moves towards her but then stops, changing her mind. She can’t do this. The journalist however wraps her arms around the older woman’s shoulders. One last embrace, one last chance to take in the unique scent of the other.
They’ve been here before, the goodbye, the end of their relationship, but this time it seems final. It is final. They both know that there will be no one better than the other, that the other is the one, but somehow it was not meant to be. It hurts like someone is slowly tearing their hearts apart, prolonging their misery just a little bit longer.
The young woman is the first to break away, to definitely end this. Picking up her bag, she walks out of the house towards the cab, towards a life without a partner. The older woman watches her, her arms wrapped around herself, holding on to the last bit of warmth of the brunette, wishing she would walk just a little bit slower, wondering if she will ever be able to let it all go.
Once in the cab, the door closed behind her, she can’t be strong any longer. Tears roll freely down her cheeks, her breath comes in short gasps, a physical pain taking over her body. This hurts more than she could ever have thought. The cabdriver looks at the broken down woman before flicking his eyes towards the woman that stands in the doorway.
Her face is also tear-stained and lined with hurt, the pain showing her true age, her true persona. A woman who has seen too much already, more than anyone will ever know and this moment is another emotional blow to her sorrow. When she sees the journalist almost collapse in the car, she can’t stand it anymore and closes the door, unable to watch her drive away. Her legs are too weak to carry her weight and she sinks down on the floor, shivering, crying.
A whispered address and the cabdriver hesitantly drives away. He knows that this is the hardest thing he ever had to do on the job, finalizing the break-up of a couple that despite an overflow of love failed to make a relationship work. And yet despite everything, for bitter or worse they both know that together they were better than anything else.
NU VANNACHT (THIS NIGHT)
By Sara Kroos (No link found)
The weak streams of moonlight seep into the room, the battlefield of this night. Andy blinks, the movement demanding more effort than usual. Her eyes are still swollen and red-rimmed. For a moment, one glorious moment, her memory is devoid of the happenings of this night. But then when she tries to stretch she finds her body constricted. Lazily she looks down until her eyes meet the sleeping form of her ex-employer, enemy, lover, Miranda Priestly.
Like a wave her recollections of this night come rushing back to her. The unwanted encounter, the unexpected invitation for dinner, the silent meal, the argument about why, the useless fight, the desperate sex, the pain. Everything that happened and maybe shouldn’t have happened, everything that makes her body ache like she’s been hit by an emotional truck.
The silver-haired head that rests on her breast moves a little, making Andy look at the Editor more closely. Now that her eyes have adjusted to the light, she sees that they’re both laying naked on Miranda’s living room floor. Angry red nail marks are drawn on the smooth, white skin of Miranda’s back.
Around them are the shards of a broken vase. In a flash Andy remembers throwing it at Miranda in a moment of rage. It had missed its target by a hair’s breadth, shattering against a bookcase. Miranda hadn’t moved, not an inch, to evade the vase. She just stood there, tall and regal, her face wearing a perfect blank expression except for her eyes. They wore a gleam of disappointment and sorrow. In her anger however Andy had failed to notice this and kept hurling accusations at the fashionista.
Until very simply and infuriatingly Miranda had asked “Is there a point to all this?” Andy had cried out in frustration and turned away from Miranda. A cool hand had been placed on her shoulder, but still furious she had shaken it off, but Miranda persisted and turned her around to face her. In a reckless, desperate act Andy had kissed her. After that it had almost been one fluid movement from fully dressed and angry to naked and on the brink of an orgasm.
Miranda shifts again, her arm wounding tighter around Andy’s waist while her brow is furrowed into a frown. Andy can’t take her eyes off her, wondering if there is a chance of something existing between them and how that something can ever possibly work.
This night was one of destruction, one where they both saw each other at their worst, at their weakest. All the walls and barriers were torn down and it was just them and their resentment, fury and lust. This night everything broke and fell apart and Andy wonders as she leans in and places a soft kiss on Miranda’s forehead if tomorrow they can pick up the pieces and make something better.
S.E.X.
By Nickelback (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHL9iCNPDvA)
The curved yet slim body trembles underneath her touch. Softly she traces the curve of the hip with her fingers and then with her tongue. She gets a tiny whimper in response. She will never say it out loud of course, because it sounds ridiculous just in her head, but she thinks she might be made to do this. Giving the woman that's lying beneath her, the most feared and powerful woman in the fashion industry a mind-blowing orgasm.
***
It's eight o'clock in the evening. The entire office is completely silent. Maybe if one were to listen closely they would hear two separate breathing rhythms full of anticipation.. Andy sits at her desk, trying to focus on the book she is reading, but the words are all one blur to her. She knows why she is still here. The Book has been delivered early this day, but Miranda hasn't left. Andy wonders if she is waiting for her to take the initiative. Which would be rather strange, because it has always been Miranda.
Andy doesn't exactly remember how it started. There suggestive glances between them, then barely noticeable touches, that almost naturally turned into less appropriate touches. Softly brushing against breasts, touching collarbone or neck and even tracing the curve of the waist fingertips.
And then there was the time they were alone in the Closet. Miranda looked at her, the question in her eyes. For Andy there had been no need to ask, because the only right answer for that question is yes. No didn't even cross her mind. At that moment all the sexual tension that had existed between them was released. Hungry kisses, desperate touches and movements, until they finally ended up fucking each other in a tangled heap of fallen clothes.
The nail marks and scratches were on her back, they ruined clothing worth thousands of dollars, making it the most expensive fuck Andy had ever had, but she could care less. She was lying on top of a very naked Miranda who was more relaxed, more content than Andy had ever seen her. After that they sought out as many opportunities as possible to do it again. Tonight is one of those opportunities.
Miranda has been teasing her for the entire day, wearing a blouse that's a little see through, allowing Andy and the rest of Runway to gawk at her lacy bra, her toned stomach, her delicious curves. Or leaning forward whenever she handed Andy something, giving Andy full view of her cleavage or sitting down in a way that granted Andy a glimpse of the edge of her stockings. It had been torture, but now it is Andy's turn.
"Andrea?" Miranda asks as she pokes her head around the corner.
"Yes." Andy doesn't mean it like a question, but as an answer to the question Miranda didn't ask. Desire appears in Miranda's eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, but changes her mind and enters her office. With a smug smile plastered on her face, Andy follows her. Excitement and arousal are coursing through her body. All she wants to do is throw Miranda on her desk and fuck her into unconsciousness.
She finds Miranda looking out the window with her back to Andy. Placing a soft kiss at the base of the smooth neck, Andy starts to caress Miranda's hips and waist. Sighing contently Miranda rolls her head back, resting it on Andy's shoulder. Teasingly Andy slides her hands down Miranda's thighs and then up her skirt, scratching the lace edges of her stockings.
"Don't tease," Miranda whispers when Andy strokes every inch of her thighs, but doesn't come any closer to where she wants her to be. Andy softly bites in her earlobe before dragging her fingers further up. Her eyes widen in shock and surprise when she touches bare flesh where she had expected fabric.
"Now who's a tease?" She finds the thought of Miranda not wearing underwear the entire day exhilarating and makes her want her more, if possible. Miranda turns around in her arms, hungrily claiming a kiss which Andy happily gives her, her hamds sliding down Miranda's back to her ass. Miranda moans and leans in even closer, their bodies pressed together. It seems so strange to Andy that the woman that practically lives on power, scaring the living daylight out of her employees, can be completely at her mercy when it involves sex. Miranda is always the one who starts it, but Andy is in control.
Anything Andy does to her, she subjects to it, revels in it. She doesn't care that Andy tears her blouse and rips the seam of her skirt. She doesn't protest when in one quick movement Andy wipes her entire desk clean, dozens of papers and photographs cluttering to the floor. Willingly she gets on the desk naked just wearing her stockings and heels, her ruined clothes and bra flung in a corner.
Andy kisses the smooth trembling thighs, smelling Miranda's arousal. She loves fucking Miranda on her desk. There's something appealing to seeing Miranda's most submissive side at the place where she reigns her fashion empire. Designers, photographers, models have been made and unmade at this desk. The course of the history of fashion has been decided here for these past fifteen years.
Without teasing or lingering she slides three fingers in Miranda's tight centre. Miranda cries out in surprise, delight or perhaps both. It's just sex and lust between them, nothing more. Andy doesn't love Miranda, she wouldn't know how. She just knows that she simply needs this, the ecstasy, the desire. She lives for the sounds Miranda makes when she comes.
With a newly found energy Andy leans in, teasing, licking, sucking, anything that makes Miranda writhe on her desk, making strangled sounds. She's barely able to breathe. Andy knows that it nearly drives her insane when she uses her tongue.
Suddenly Miranda's body stops trembling, she arches her back in an impossible angle, every muscle in her body is tensed, muffling a sound that would most definitely have been a scream. Andy is always completely amazed by Miranda's orgasms. They've never been anything but strong, leaving Miranda's body weak and vulnerable. In that one moment she is just Miranda, nothing else. Andy suspects that Miranda might do this, the sex, just to be herself for a little while. No baggage, no power, no clothes, just herself and Andy doesn't care. It's just sex. They both get what they want. Andy sees no harm in that. It's sex, that's all.
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: Varying from PG to NC-17
Summary: 4 short fics all-based on a song. Sort of like the iTunes challenge, except that I didn't stop writing when the song ended.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
CLOSER
By the Kings of Leon (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XatzX6WQ2ec&feature=related)
Something is happening, something is coming closer, she just doesn’t know what. All she knows is that it’s terrifying and it will cost her everything she holds dear in her life. She will end up alone, without her heart, without her soul.
This place where she is, it’s a ghost town. Dark, abandoned buildings with broken windows like sharp teeth with empty streets like dry rivers running between them. It’s a town that only exists in films, books and imagination, the reason why it is so strange that this feels so real.
The floor beneath her shoulder blades is cold, icy. The black tiles are damp with her sweat, both from physical activity and from fear. She feels constricted, unable to move., but there is nothing that keeps her down, no ropes, no chains, nothing that keeps her immobile.
With a great effort she lifts her head, her gaze fixating on the bed where the sheets lie like a crumpled heap on top of the mattress. She knows that if she were able to touch the bed it would still be warm from where both their bodies were just mere moments ago.
In the corner of her eye she sees the naked body of beautiful woman, her skin perfectly white in the cold moonlight. The woman wraps her body in a supple, black robe and stares out the window for a few second then she turns around. She has been crying.
Suddenly she is unaware of everything, the room, the bed, the cold tiles. It cannot be her. It is impossible. But when she feels soft lips pressing against her own she knows it to be true. She wants to get up, touch her, but still she cannot move. Not even when the woman walks towards the open balcony doors and slowly and controlled steps on the ledges of the wrought iron decoration of the balcony.
“This is goodbye” the woman says. “I loved you, Miranda,” she whispers and steps of the ledge, falling down. Miranda wants to scream, cry, anything, but not until she hears the sickening sound of a body hitting concrete she is able to move. Within seconds she has reached the balcony. But when she looks down, there’s nothing. Just darkness.
With a shock she sits up in her bed. This is her own house in New York. She should feel normal, confident again, but the fear of her dream hasn’t left. The place next to her in bed is empty, but still warm. Even in the dim light she can make a the form of a note on the pillow. She can’t find the courage to pick it up and read it.
Something terrible is going to happen, something she wishes she could prevent, but knows she can’t. Something is going to happen and it’s coming closer.
FOR BITTER OR WORSE
By Anouk (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWMTxyZomt4&ob=av2e)
There they stand, looking into each other’s eyes, blue into brown, brown into blue. Outside a car is waiting, engine running, ready to drive away, tear them apart. An uncomfortable tension has set between them, both ignorant about what to do now.
The silver-haired woman stands tall, unmovable, keeping up the façade while the brunette is stricken with grief, her posture screaming hurt, loss. The fashionista moves towards her but then stops, changing her mind. She can’t do this. The journalist however wraps her arms around the older woman’s shoulders. One last embrace, one last chance to take in the unique scent of the other.
They’ve been here before, the goodbye, the end of their relationship, but this time it seems final. It is final. They both know that there will be no one better than the other, that the other is the one, but somehow it was not meant to be. It hurts like someone is slowly tearing their hearts apart, prolonging their misery just a little bit longer.
The young woman is the first to break away, to definitely end this. Picking up her bag, she walks out of the house towards the cab, towards a life without a partner. The older woman watches her, her arms wrapped around herself, holding on to the last bit of warmth of the brunette, wishing she would walk just a little bit slower, wondering if she will ever be able to let it all go.
Once in the cab, the door closed behind her, she can’t be strong any longer. Tears roll freely down her cheeks, her breath comes in short gasps, a physical pain taking over her body. This hurts more than she could ever have thought. The cabdriver looks at the broken down woman before flicking his eyes towards the woman that stands in the doorway.
Her face is also tear-stained and lined with hurt, the pain showing her true age, her true persona. A woman who has seen too much already, more than anyone will ever know and this moment is another emotional blow to her sorrow. When she sees the journalist almost collapse in the car, she can’t stand it anymore and closes the door, unable to watch her drive away. Her legs are too weak to carry her weight and she sinks down on the floor, shivering, crying.
A whispered address and the cabdriver hesitantly drives away. He knows that this is the hardest thing he ever had to do on the job, finalizing the break-up of a couple that despite an overflow of love failed to make a relationship work. And yet despite everything, for bitter or worse they both know that together they were better than anything else.
NU VANNACHT (THIS NIGHT)
By Sara Kroos (No link found)
The weak streams of moonlight seep into the room, the battlefield of this night. Andy blinks, the movement demanding more effort than usual. Her eyes are still swollen and red-rimmed. For a moment, one glorious moment, her memory is devoid of the happenings of this night. But then when she tries to stretch she finds her body constricted. Lazily she looks down until her eyes meet the sleeping form of her ex-employer, enemy, lover, Miranda Priestly.
Like a wave her recollections of this night come rushing back to her. The unwanted encounter, the unexpected invitation for dinner, the silent meal, the argument about why, the useless fight, the desperate sex, the pain. Everything that happened and maybe shouldn’t have happened, everything that makes her body ache like she’s been hit by an emotional truck.
The silver-haired head that rests on her breast moves a little, making Andy look at the Editor more closely. Now that her eyes have adjusted to the light, she sees that they’re both laying naked on Miranda’s living room floor. Angry red nail marks are drawn on the smooth, white skin of Miranda’s back.
Around them are the shards of a broken vase. In a flash Andy remembers throwing it at Miranda in a moment of rage. It had missed its target by a hair’s breadth, shattering against a bookcase. Miranda hadn’t moved, not an inch, to evade the vase. She just stood there, tall and regal, her face wearing a perfect blank expression except for her eyes. They wore a gleam of disappointment and sorrow. In her anger however Andy had failed to notice this and kept hurling accusations at the fashionista.
Until very simply and infuriatingly Miranda had asked “Is there a point to all this?” Andy had cried out in frustration and turned away from Miranda. A cool hand had been placed on her shoulder, but still furious she had shaken it off, but Miranda persisted and turned her around to face her. In a reckless, desperate act Andy had kissed her. After that it had almost been one fluid movement from fully dressed and angry to naked and on the brink of an orgasm.
Miranda shifts again, her arm wounding tighter around Andy’s waist while her brow is furrowed into a frown. Andy can’t take her eyes off her, wondering if there is a chance of something existing between them and how that something can ever possibly work.
This night was one of destruction, one where they both saw each other at their worst, at their weakest. All the walls and barriers were torn down and it was just them and their resentment, fury and lust. This night everything broke and fell apart and Andy wonders as she leans in and places a soft kiss on Miranda’s forehead if tomorrow they can pick up the pieces and make something better.
S.E.X.
By Nickelback (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHL9iCNPDvA)
The curved yet slim body trembles underneath her touch. Softly she traces the curve of the hip with her fingers and then with her tongue. She gets a tiny whimper in response. She will never say it out loud of course, because it sounds ridiculous just in her head, but she thinks she might be made to do this. Giving the woman that's lying beneath her, the most feared and powerful woman in the fashion industry a mind-blowing orgasm.
***
It's eight o'clock in the evening. The entire office is completely silent. Maybe if one were to listen closely they would hear two separate breathing rhythms full of anticipation.. Andy sits at her desk, trying to focus on the book she is reading, but the words are all one blur to her. She knows why she is still here. The Book has been delivered early this day, but Miranda hasn't left. Andy wonders if she is waiting for her to take the initiative. Which would be rather strange, because it has always been Miranda.
Andy doesn't exactly remember how it started. There suggestive glances between them, then barely noticeable touches, that almost naturally turned into less appropriate touches. Softly brushing against breasts, touching collarbone or neck and even tracing the curve of the waist fingertips.
And then there was the time they were alone in the Closet. Miranda looked at her, the question in her eyes. For Andy there had been no need to ask, because the only right answer for that question is yes. No didn't even cross her mind. At that moment all the sexual tension that had existed between them was released. Hungry kisses, desperate touches and movements, until they finally ended up fucking each other in a tangled heap of fallen clothes.
The nail marks and scratches were on her back, they ruined clothing worth thousands of dollars, making it the most expensive fuck Andy had ever had, but she could care less. She was lying on top of a very naked Miranda who was more relaxed, more content than Andy had ever seen her. After that they sought out as many opportunities as possible to do it again. Tonight is one of those opportunities.
Miranda has been teasing her for the entire day, wearing a blouse that's a little see through, allowing Andy and the rest of Runway to gawk at her lacy bra, her toned stomach, her delicious curves. Or leaning forward whenever she handed Andy something, giving Andy full view of her cleavage or sitting down in a way that granted Andy a glimpse of the edge of her stockings. It had been torture, but now it is Andy's turn.
"Andrea?" Miranda asks as she pokes her head around the corner.
"Yes." Andy doesn't mean it like a question, but as an answer to the question Miranda didn't ask. Desire appears in Miranda's eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, but changes her mind and enters her office. With a smug smile plastered on her face, Andy follows her. Excitement and arousal are coursing through her body. All she wants to do is throw Miranda on her desk and fuck her into unconsciousness.
She finds Miranda looking out the window with her back to Andy. Placing a soft kiss at the base of the smooth neck, Andy starts to caress Miranda's hips and waist. Sighing contently Miranda rolls her head back, resting it on Andy's shoulder. Teasingly Andy slides her hands down Miranda's thighs and then up her skirt, scratching the lace edges of her stockings.
"Don't tease," Miranda whispers when Andy strokes every inch of her thighs, but doesn't come any closer to where she wants her to be. Andy softly bites in her earlobe before dragging her fingers further up. Her eyes widen in shock and surprise when she touches bare flesh where she had expected fabric.
"Now who's a tease?" She finds the thought of Miranda not wearing underwear the entire day exhilarating and makes her want her more, if possible. Miranda turns around in her arms, hungrily claiming a kiss which Andy happily gives her, her hamds sliding down Miranda's back to her ass. Miranda moans and leans in even closer, their bodies pressed together. It seems so strange to Andy that the woman that practically lives on power, scaring the living daylight out of her employees, can be completely at her mercy when it involves sex. Miranda is always the one who starts it, but Andy is in control.
Anything Andy does to her, she subjects to it, revels in it. She doesn't care that Andy tears her blouse and rips the seam of her skirt. She doesn't protest when in one quick movement Andy wipes her entire desk clean, dozens of papers and photographs cluttering to the floor. Willingly she gets on the desk naked just wearing her stockings and heels, her ruined clothes and bra flung in a corner.
Andy kisses the smooth trembling thighs, smelling Miranda's arousal. She loves fucking Miranda on her desk. There's something appealing to seeing Miranda's most submissive side at the place where she reigns her fashion empire. Designers, photographers, models have been made and unmade at this desk. The course of the history of fashion has been decided here for these past fifteen years.
Without teasing or lingering she slides three fingers in Miranda's tight centre. Miranda cries out in surprise, delight or perhaps both. It's just sex and lust between them, nothing more. Andy doesn't love Miranda, she wouldn't know how. She just knows that she simply needs this, the ecstasy, the desire. She lives for the sounds Miranda makes when she comes.
With a newly found energy Andy leans in, teasing, licking, sucking, anything that makes Miranda writhe on her desk, making strangled sounds. She's barely able to breathe. Andy knows that it nearly drives her insane when she uses her tongue.
Suddenly Miranda's body stops trembling, she arches her back in an impossible angle, every muscle in her body is tensed, muffling a sound that would most definitely have been a scream. Andy is always completely amazed by Miranda's orgasms. They've never been anything but strong, leaving Miranda's body weak and vulnerable. In that one moment she is just Miranda, nothing else. Andy suspects that Miranda might do this, the sex, just to be herself for a little while. No baggage, no power, no clothes, just herself and Andy doesn't care. It's just sex. They both get what they want. Andy sees no harm in that. It's sex, that's all.