New fic: Four Suites and One Room, Part I
Title: Four Suites and One Room
Author: chilly_flame
Rating: M
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything associated with The Devil Wears Prada. Too bad.
Notes: This story is for corby1970 , who bid for this story and subsequently made an amazing donation tohelp_haiti . This might not be exactly what you asked for, but in any case, thank you, corby1970 , for your generosity. Thanks also to everyone else in the comm who dug deep and made donations of your own, plus of course my appreciation for my ever-present beta, Xander.
Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!
Four Suites and One Room
I. The first time it happened, they were both drunk.
The sun was in Andy’s eyes when she saw the flash of white that made her hand twitch as it held the microphone. Her mind drifted, but the words cascading out of John Varvatos’ mouth about Franz Ferdinand brought Andy back to the moment. She smiled blankly, suddenly sure that she was mistaken about what she’d seen. “Which collection has been the highlight of your week?” she asked.
John smiled and provided a lengthy answer, carved into perfect twenty-second sound bites. He was a pro, with or without Andy’s help. Meanwhile, Andy tried hard to focus on him and not out at the sea of faces drifting around outside the tent.
“Thanks so much for taking the time, Mr. Varvatos. I loved everything this year, particularly those military boots. How about making some of those in my size?” she joked.
“For you, Andrea, I would.”
Andy laughed. “Have a great night,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“You too,” he replied, kissing both her cheeks before giving the camera a wave.
“There you have it--the latest from John Varvatos. Thanks for joining me for LA Connection’s coverage of Mercedes Benz Fashion Week. I’m your host, Andrea Sachs. Drive safe everybody, and see you next week!” She winked at the camera, keeping her smile from wavering even one iota.
Her cameraman gave a nod, and she finally exhaled as he extinguished the key light. The weather was hot and dry, even though it was only March. She had not adjusted to the seasons at all, and hoped that spring would last for more than a week or two. Less than a year in the city had not been enough time for her to get used to its rhythms. “Was it okay?” she asked Mike.
“Yeah, you were great, I think we’re set. You staying or heading home?”
“Um,” Andy said, gazing around. “Probably staying. Why?”
Mike shrugged. “I could give you a ride.”
Andy blinked, and decided not to draw any more attention to the fact that Mike had a crush on her, and had since they’d met three months prior. “Oh, that’s sweet. But I’m only a few blocks away. And I thought I saw someone I knew.” She finally looked Mike in the eye. “From New York, I mean. I want to have a look around.”
His grin was a little sheepish. “Sure, Andrea. I’ll catch you next week, okay? And really, that was an awesome segment.”
“Thanks. You need any help with packing your stuff?”
He shook his sandy hair. “Nah, I’m good. Have a great weekend.”
“You too.” She watched him trudge off, his button down shirt and long shorts fitting in surprisingly well in this relaxed atmosphere. LA’s Fashion week was nothing like New York’s; more casual, less crowded, and not nearly as influential. But that suited Andy fine. She was gainfully employed, and was starting to enjoy her work in front of the camera. After three months of fashion and entertainment segments for a local show, she’d garnered a tiny, if vocal, following online.
But this was just her freelance gig; she spent most of her time as a field reporter for KTLA news. The Mirror had given her great experience in the largest market in the country, but print journalism was a vanishing industry. Around the same time Andy starting to weigh options for the future, Lily decided to take a stab at opening a small west coast gallery. She asked in jest if Andy would come along, and Andy surprised the both of them by taking the idea seriously.
One April evening after a freak snowstorm dumped eight inches on the New York City streets, she checked out Craig’s List for LA apartments. Lily had found gallery space in Culver City, and lo and behold, many apartments in that neighborhood were cheaper than hers by a thousand dollars or more. Twice as big. With parking spots, and refrigerators, and dishwashers and gas fireplaces. Some had balconies. Or yards, with grass and trees and even driveways.
So when Lily packed her stuff, Andy packed hers too, and they’d shipped it all west. Doug flew out to help them move into their new place, and he’d visited a few times since them. But although so much about life seemed easier in Los Angeles, she still missed New York. Desperately. Occasionally she wondered if her longing was less about Manhattan itself and more about what she’d learned there, and the people she’d left behind. But regardless, the city seemed a million miles away now, sparkling in her memory like a beacon.
The brief flash of white hair Andy had seen, or thought she’d seen earlier, reminded Andy of one of the people from that other life. The rush of nostalgia and affection she’d felt at just the thought of Miranda Priestly had been enough to steal her breath. Shaking her head, she laughed. No way was Miranda in LA for its minute version of Fashion Week. It wasn’t worth her time.
She glanced around, nosing her way into the tent and picking up a glass of red wine. Five minutes later, the glass was empty, and she’d snared some tasty hors d’oerves as the servers went to and fro delivering vegetarian delights to the health-conscious party-goers. Another reason Miranda wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t deign to appear at a soiree that didn’t have at least a little red meat on the menu.
Andy snorted delicately, inhaling the last of her tiny vegan treat with a smile. And when she turned around to depart, she came face to face with the one and only Miranda Priestly.
Andy’s hand flew to her heart, and she caught her breath. Unreasonably thrilled, Andy could not prevent her enormous smile. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it! Miranda, what are you doing here?” Miranda narrowed her gaze. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Glancing down at Andy’s empty glass, Miranda asked, “Is that the wine talking?”
Andy grinned, fighting the urge to catch Miranda in a hug. What the hell was wrong with her? “Not a bit. I thought I saw you before, when--”
“Was that John Varvatos you were interviewing?”
Andy blinked. “Well, yes.”
“And Adriano Kouris, earlier?”
Wow. “Yes, do you know her? Miranda, did you see that show?” Andy leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around Miranda’s wrist, holding it firmly. Once she realized she’d done it, it was too late to take it back, so she just barreled on. “It was unreal. My god, did she come out of nowhere or what?”
Miranda’s eyebrows lifted, just a fraction of an inch. “Not nowhere. And yes, I did see it.” Andy thought she probably ought to let go of Miranda’s arm, but she merely loosened her grip, leaving it to Miranda to decide to pull away if she wanted. Apparently, she didn’t want, because her wrist stayed in place. “You enjoyed it?” Miranda asked slowly.
Trying hard not to exhale her wine-soaked breath into Miranda’s face, she replied, “Enjoyed is not the word. I’ve been here every day and it’s the only thing that caught my eye. Completely innovative. Gorgeous, wearable, and those last three dresses?” Andy finally let Miranda’s wrist slip from her grasp, but she stayed close. “Incredible. Did you, um, like it?” Now that she’d gushed, she hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself.
As Miranda watched her silently, Andy instantly felt stupid, and small, and all the things that she used to feel when she worked for this woman. At least until Miranda answered, “I liked it. Very much.”
“Oh,” Andy said, almost light-headed. The urge for another drink came upon her, although she knew she should resist. But a server came to stand next to the pair of them, and when Miranda accepted a glass of red, so did Andy.
Miranda continued, “I came to Los Angeles in part to see what I’d been hearing about. Unannounced, of course. I was… not displeased.” She sipped from the glass. “And the girls are obsessed with some television show about the beach. They begged me to come here, God only knows why, so I left them with my ex-sister-in-law in Laguna Niguel.”
The girls. Of course. Their pleading was probably enough of a motivation to write off the trip as a work expense.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you still work for that newspaper?” Miranda asked.
“No, I live in LA now.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Why?” The word was less a question than an accusation.
“New city, new adventures.” She didn’t think Miranda would be interested in the story of her life, so she left it at that.
“But Los Angeles is so…” The derisive look on Miranda’s face said it all.
“It is that,” she chuckled. “It’s been interesting though, and I’m learning a lot. I work for a news station, and have this other fashion gig on the side. It’s for a syndicated show called LA Connection. Being in front of the camera was a total accident, but it’s kind of fun.” Andy bit her lip to keep from babbling on further with the story of a frantic call from a co-worker who begged her to sub in on some interviews for the tv show. Andy had agreed to it readily, not realizing she’d be on camera. But once she said yes, she couldn’t back out. When they asked her back a week later, she took a chance and went for it.
“Mm.” Miranda looked Andy up and down, which made Andy stand up a little straighter. “Well. I can’t say that I’m shocked.”
“At what?”
“That you’ve gone in front of the camera.”
“I see,” Andy said, although she didn’t. And she didn’t see why Miranda was still standing here talking to her when the place was filled with people who were prettier and wealthier and more connected than Andy. But Miranda didn’t even seem distracted. Her focus was laser sharp, and Andy hid a shiver that raced down her spine at the attention.
She was glad as hell that she hadn’t accepted Mike’s offer of a ride home.
---
Four hours later, Andy sat in the back of Miranda’s limo, staring straight ahead. They were on the 10 headed toward Santa Monica, away from the downtown hotel where many of the other fashion players were staying. She didn’t ask why Miranda eschewed The Standard, which from what Andy had heard was a cool hotel, but probably wasn’t very sophisticated. Miranda was no hipster, after all.
She was, however, sneaking a hand up Andy’s dress, despite the fact that there was no partition between the two of them and the driver. Andy jerked in reaction, and didn’t question what the hell she was doing with a woman twice her age who apparently had every intention of getting into her pants. That was mainly because Andy was drunk. Miranda was drunk too, though she was likely not as far gone as Andy was. They’d put away what Andy suspected was the equivalent of two bottles of wine, which was about twice what Andy could handle and keep her head on straight.
She chuckled to herself. Her head was not on straight tonight. At all.
“The traffic is nothing like what I expected. Is it always this clear?” Miranda breathed heavily near her ear, and her voice was like honey despite the banal conversation.
For ten o’clock on a Friday, it was empty. “Nope.” She couldn’t come up with more words, because at that point Miranda raked her short nails down Andy’s bare thigh. Her head fell back against the seat, and she forced herself not to thrust her hips into the air.
What the fuck am I doing? Andy glanced over to Miranda, lightning-fast. Miranda stared back at her with that same expression she’d worn all night. Total concentration on one thing only: Andy herself. Already she felt swollen and soaked beneath her panties.
Even the memory of Miranda’s proposition turned her on. “Come to my hotel,” Miranda had said, her words slurred only a little. “Will you?”
It was that simple. From Miranda’s heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks, Andy had known exactly what was happening. Not how it was happening, or why, but the message was very clear. Now Andy was about to get some after a long dry spell. She could already tell it was going to be good. She just didn’t know if she’d survive what came after.
Endless minutes later, Andy kept her head down as she followed Miranda into a hotel lobby teeming with people. No one looked twice at either of them. Sometimes it paid to stay at a hotel that was also a popular night spot; everyone was too distracted by their drinks and each other to notice anything suspicious going on. Besides, unless you were an actor or director here, no one really gave a shit.
They rode the elevator together all the way to the top floor. The Presidential Suite was steps away, and Miranda used her key card to open the door. As it swung open, Andy inhaled and held her breath. The place was huge, as expected, and looked like a beach-side apartment. This was no impersonal hotel room, even if not a single thing in it actually belonged to Miranda. Across the living area, the bedroom was dark. It beckoned to Andy, like a hand reaching out to curl a finger in her direction.
She turned around to watch Miranda, who leaned against the suite door. “Thirsty?” Miranda asked.
They could prolong this if Miranda wanted to, but Andy didn’t. She shook her head. “No.” Would Miranda honestly refuse to make the first move after propositioning her?
Looking at her soon-to-be lover, Andy tilted her head in admiration. She had always known Miranda was beautiful, and sexy, and extraordinary. But she’d never considered this scenario even in her wildest fantasies. Miranda was always untouchable. Off-limits in both life and imagination.
If she’d only known how hot under the collar Miranda could make her, she’d have taken advantage in her dreams a thousand times over by now. She strolled in what she hoped was a casual manner toward Miranda and unknotted the scarf fastened around her throat. “I’m not thirsty,” she whispered.
Trembling, Miranda leaned close. “Me neither,” she whispered.
They kissed. Andy held the back of Miranda’s head as their mouths moved together, and those hot tingles she’d felt in the car came rushing back. Two hands wasted no time in cupping her ass, and Miranda licked inside Andy’s mouth, testing the waters. Andy needed no further encouragement, and soon they were panting against one another, each kiss leading into another as they inched across the room. First the white scarf dropped to the floor, then Miranda’s blouse. She worked at the zipper at the side of Miranda’s skirt, relieved when it finally gave way.
When Andy looked up once more, the expression on Miranda’s face was enigmatic. “I’d wondered,” she said in a voice Andy barely recognized, “what your mouth would be like.”
Andy’s legs turned to water as Miranda brushed their lips together, back and forth. Jesus. She grabbed at Miranda then, pushing her down on the elegant, white lace quilt. The room was dark, but she could see what she was doing well enough from the lights in the entryway. She wouldn’t wait anymore, because she could smell Miranda, musky and dark. Yanking her undoubtedly expensive underwear down, she tossed it on the floor and knelt.
“Are you--” Miranda said, until the words vanished, and thighs tightened around Andy’s head. Miranda moaned, pushing up against Andy’s kiss.
Andy licked, keeping it gentle, uncertain what Miranda liked. Until, that is, Miranda’s hand landed on the back of her head and shoved her tight against her. Okay, Andy thought. I can do that. She licked harder, pulling away sporadically with just the faintest suction. That seemed to work, because Miranda’s hips were moving constantly, legs opening wide as Andy’s face grew slick. She kept on, humming and parting Miranda with her fingers so she could get inside and find out what it would be like to fuck a woman, a woman who had been her boss for almost a whole year and never made a move on her. It was tight as she pushed in, strange and otherworldly, and she flattened her tongue and pressed hard against Miranda, back and forth, back and forth.
There was gasping from above, and the legs around her ears closed as Miranda gushed against her chin, throbbing around her in every direction. Andy wanted to come, and badly, but she felt powerless to move until Miranda grabbed at her hair and dragged her up onto the bed. Andy knelt, shaking, surprised when Miranda jerked her closer and slid her head between Andy’s legs. There was no hesitation-Miranda simply grabbed her underwear and moved it aside before pushing her mouth against Andy, her tongue long and nimble. Right away she went for Andy’s clit, flicking so quickly that Andy came fast, which was disappointing but also amazing, because she usually needed at least a little help from her own hand. Not tonight though. Miranda had her crying out for a full fifteen seconds, drawing every last wave of orgasm from her for as long as she could.
Falling over on the bed, Andy closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her blood as it roared in her ears. She was still dressed, still drunk, and completely uncertain of what would come next. Was she about to be thrown out of a hotel room?
But apparently that wasn’t the case. Miranda pulled Andy’s heels off and threw them on the floor. “We’re not finished, of course,” Miranda drawled as she turned on the light next to the bed. “Take off that skirt.” Andy rolled to one side and watched Miranda, whose mascara was smeared beneath her eyes. “How long will I have to wait?” Miranda said when Andy didn’t move, and while the bark was still in her voice, the sex underneath it removed the bite.
Andy gathered the strength to do as she was told, and stripped off her skirt, followed by her blouse since Miranda waved her hand in that general direction too. When she was naked, Miranda put one hand on her chest and pushed her backwards on the bed. “I have you now,” she chuckled. “Right where I want you.”
Her mouth came down over Andy’s, and everything started again.
---
Part II.