New fic: Beautiful Things, Part I
Beautiful Things
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: I don’t own Miranda or Andy, or anything remotely related to the Devil or Prada. Alas.
Rating: 18, baby.
Summary: This is a sequel to Small Favors.
Notes: Endless thanks to Xander, as usual, who serves as effervescent cheerleader and beta, and always makes writing in a vacuum easier. And more thanks to our awesome community of writers, for keeping the dream alive.
Part I.
“I don’t want anything expensive,” Andy said.
Miranda frowned. She’d already purchased a new Marc Jacobs handbag, a vintage evening dress, two pairs of Christian Louboutins and two pairs of Yves Saint Laurent shoes, a Cartier necklace and earrings and a new laptop.
It wasn’t much; she’d been conservative. She didn’t get the Audi, after all. She decided instead to buy it for herself, and would ask Andrea to drive it when they visited the Hamptons this summer. Then Andrea might be willing to use the car in the city, though she rarely needed to drive. She would become the owner by default. Miranda congratulated herself in advance on the strategy.
Miranda imagined sitting next to Andrea as they made the trip to the country house. She pictured Andrea in large sunglasses, a scarf around her glorious hair, and a smile on her face as she shifted gears and sped them away from New York. It was a fantasy that she would make real.
Envisioning it was the key. This was how she had achieved all the greatest goals in her life. That included winning Andrea’s heart.
When she had first known Andrea, she did not spend any time thinking about her at all. Beyond looking down her nose at her atrocious fashion sense, and questioning her own sanity for hiring her, that is. And one day, Miranda noticed a well-put-together ensemble, topped off by elegant Chanel boots. Shortly thereafter, she realized that Andrea was more than simply intelligent. She was street-smart, and had a common sense that so many people in the city seemed to lack.
It appealed to her. Not too much, but enough to draw her attention.
And on one of the worst nights of Miranda’s life, she understood that Andrea was far more than just smart and pretty. She offered honest compassion to Miranda in a way that no one else had for many, many years. Stephen had abandoned her, Irv was trying to force her out of Runway, and Miranda had been completely isolated. But Andrea was fearless in her sympathy and asked for nothing in return. Not shoes, or skirts, or the best wine or a seat in first class.
Andrea was kind. And remarkably beautiful, Miranda noticed. Dark eyes, so open and warm, pierced her that night; she saw beneath Miranda’s façade, and did not turn away.
And the very next day, Andrea left without looking back.
Miranda had a single dream about her, a few nights after returning from Paris. In it, they made love on the floor of her hotel suite, and the escapade seemed to last for days. The flesh that had seemed so excessive compared to waif thin models was suddenly a banquet of delight under Miranda’s dreaming mouth. The sweep of soft hair, the curve of her waist, the heat of her skin was vividly real.
When Miranda awoke, she was mortified. It was disgusting, really, to lust after an ungrateful, irresponsible ex-employee. A female one, at that. But the dream had been intense, and it unfortunately made her wonder if there was far more to know about Andrea Sachs than she’d bothered to explore.
The idea embarrassed her so deeply that Miranda ignored it, and pretended she’d never had a single untoward thought about her former assistant. This will not do, she told herself.
So, the months passed, and she saw a number of eligible men for drinks, and a dinner or two. Nothing more, though. Miranda was not interested in sex with them. The onset of menopause a few years before had not changed her habits much, other than the fact that she occasionally had night sweats. And if her moods swung higher or lower, no one said a word. But never had she believed that her sex drive was impacted by age, or anything else, until the months following Andrea’s departure. It was an unpleasant scare.
And then one day, as she walked past a newsstand near Ralph Lauren on Madison, she saw a copy of The Mirror, resting limply next to The Daily News, and The Times. Instead of passing by and getting into the car, she stopped to purchase one.
On page three, a single byline stood out.
Miranda immediately subscribed. For home delivery, of course. No one at the office must know, especially Emily. She read every article Andrea (why on earth she insisted on using the provincial Andy, Miranda would never understand) wrote. One hot summer day, she read the first in a series of articles about New Jersey’s Child Protective Services, and Miranda knew Andrea had turned a corner.
She quietly forwarded the series to a longtime acquaintance, Shannon Bartholemew, at the Livingston Foundation. Miranda had been asked to join that year’s panel six months prior, and had no intention of participating beyond reading entries and making selections. But this time, she made an exception.
Eventually, they met again, at the banquet. The way Miranda’s heart raced within her chest when she saw her former assistant for the first time that night had awakened Miranda to many truths.
One, she was apparently attracted to women.
Two, she was particularly attracted to Andrea. How she had not noticed this fact during the course of an entire year of working with her was astonishing.
Three, she was going to have this girl. Because when Miranda set her mind to something, nothing could stop her.
Miranda’s sex drive came roaring back. But she would not rush; nor would she demand anything Andrea did not want to offer. She found she felt… tender toward her. She wanted to give her things; beautiful, small gifts that others might not appreciate.
And when it started between them, Miranda was swept away by the passion, and surprising sweetness, of their affair. Only one thing unnerved her: that she loved the girl, far more than she’d expected to. More than was seemly. More than was safe. But in this single area of her life, she did not have a choice. Andrea had gained the upper hand without even trying, and Miranda did not realize the truth until it was too late.
Some days, she questioned whether she would have pursued the fantasy had she known Andrea would invade her so completely. But those days were rare. The reality of Andrea, who unerringly gave far more than she took, was enough for Miranda to sacrifice some modicum of control.
But in the case of Andrea’s birthday, Miranda wanted to be in charge.
She would not return the gifts, or keep them for another time. Andrea would accept them, and make Miranda promise to spend less next time. Which would not happen, of course.
“I didn’t get much,” Miranda said. Nine things are not a lot. “But there’s something I’ve been thinking of that would be a gift for the both of us.” She held her breath.
Andrea could hide little from Miranda; her eyes spoke eloquently of her curiosity. “Oh?”
“I want a portrait of you.”
Andrea was surprised. “A portrait?”
“Yes.”
Andrea considered the idea, her mouth twisting. “Okay, I guess. That might be fun.”
Miranda held back a laugh. Fun. “Good.”
“When? And what sort of portrait?”
“I’ve asked Alfonso when he’s free next week.”
Dark brown eyes popped open. “Alfonso?” she squeaked. “Alfonso Huayna Vargas?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god!” Andrea was beside herself, and Miranda enjoyed the moment. Even Andrea could not be immune to the attraction of being photographed by one of the most successful, brilliant artists in the world. But soon, her glee faded, replaced by a look of apprehension. “But, uh, isn’t he, sort of, um... Doesn’t he know everybody?”
In other words, Won’t he tell the world that Miranda Priestly has commissioned a portrait of her much younger, female lover? “He owes me a favor.” Or a thousand, Miranda thought. “He’ll be discreet.” Miranda was also not as concerned as she once had been about their relationship coming to light. She was committed to Andrea, who had installed herself quite firmly in their family. The girls were mad for her, and the feeling appeared to be mutual. “He can come to the townhouse and shoot wherever you like.”
“Wow.” She blinked. “Wow.”
“Think it over. We still have time.” Miranda would not push. It was just a picture, one she couldn’t display on her desk at the office anyway. But she wanted it regardless. Perhaps for the staircase, or their bedroom. Something beautiful, and sensual, like Andrea. Alfonso would do her justice.
“No, I want to.” Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “But I want something in return. My half of the gift.”
“Mm?”
“I want you to pose with me. For at least part of it.”
Miranda closed her mouth. “No.”
“Come on, it will be great! I won’t do it otherwise.”
“You’ve already agreed. You can’t renege.” Miranda wanted to bite her tongue. She sounded like a petulant child.
“I only will if you will,” Andrea said firmly. “That’s the deal.”
Miranda pursed her lips, but Andrea’s expression did not change.
For a moment, she had one of those pangs of regret. Being unable to control this girl was a problem.
“Fine,” she said.
Andrea tackled her to the couch, and smothered her with kisses. Her regret was instantly forgotten.
===
Andy eyed the empty glass of wine on the side table, and wondered how much she would have to ply Miranda with to get her to join her. Later, she thought, and tilted her head back as Alfonso moved above her.
“Beautiful,” he said softly, his Peruvian accent faint and charming. He really was the sweetest man. Something about him relaxed her almost instantly. The glass of wine she’d had before his arrival had helped, as did the one she’d just finished. But Alfonso was the key to the whole thing. Somehow, she wound up wearing far less than she’d started with. And she had made the decision herself to strip down to her underwear.
It didn’t hurt that she’d spent the day before perusing Alfonso’s past work. He made every woman he photographed look beautiful, clothed or not. Soon after they’d begun, he’d told Andy, “Think of Miranda as you look into the camera. See her.”
Not fifteen minutes later, she offered to pose in the first pair of underwear Miranda ever bought her. Her brain couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that she was now lying on the floor of the townhouse, lights illuminating her from multiple directions, posing for an image that her parents would blush to see. She wasn’t showing anything too dramatic, carefully blocking her bare breasts with one arm. But aside from the strip of lace and silk covering her other essentials, she was naked. And enjoying every second of it.
She stroked her neck and thought of Miranda, and Alfonso cooed. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Miranda will be very pleased.”
Andy smiled into the lens as he snapped another picture.
An hour later, Andy was redressed and ready for Miranda’s arrival. She’d insisted that she first work with Alfonso alone, ignoring Miranda’s vociferous protestations. It was her birthday, after all, and she was going to make this as stress-free as possible for herself. Which meant no Miranda.
She heard the key in the lock and leapt up from the sofa in the study, which had been converted into a studio. She had chosen the location herself, with Alfonso’s approval. As much as she’d wanted to pose on the rug, he did take over the art direction, draping the entire space in white. It was unrecognizable now, but Andy knew the significance. So would Miranda.
“She’s here.”
Alfonso nodded, and the makeup artist cleared her throat. Andy had warned her that Miranda might be in a sour mood, or would resist attention. And when Miranda met Andy in the foyer, there was a storm across her face that made Andy’s heart fall. “Let’s make this quick,” she said brusquely, tossing her bag and coat in the direction of the closet. They landed on the floor.
“Wait,” Andy said. “Come with me.” She grabbed Miranda’s arm and dragged her into the kitchen. Before Miranda could complain, Andy stuck a glass of red wine in her hand. “Drink.” Miranda’s mouth tightened. “Please,” Andy said desperately. Miranda complied. Next was an hors d’oeuvre, held directly in front of her mouth. “Eat this.”
Miranda shook her head. “Andrea, I really don’t have time--”
“This is my birthday present. You could at least pretend to enjoy yourself. For me.”
Andy had prepared that line far in advance, anticipating Miranda’s unhappiness. It would be the one thing that might turn the tide in her favor. And slowly, the frown line across Miranda’s forehead became less pronounced, and Miranda opened her mouth. Andy grinned as she fed her the caviar and toast, and exhaled. She fed Miranda two more delicious canapés left by Carina just for this event, and got a half glass of wine down her throat before moving in for a brief kiss. Miranda blanched at first, unwilling to indulge with people so nearby.
“They know, Miranda, and no one looked at me sideways. They’re in fashion. Besides, they’re all gay anyway.”
That much was true. The makeup artist and the two lighting assistants were obviously queer, and they seemed overwhelmed by the idea of being in Miranda Priestly’s house. And they’d noisily conveyed their admiration for Andy’s photos. Andy had not looked at them yet. She didn’t want to know what she looked like, instead imagining herself as a brunette Marilyn Monroe. Regardless, she was certain Alfonso would retouch everything nicely.
“Okay. Ready?”
Miranda sighed through her nose. “All right. But I can’t stay all afternoon. I’m seeing the team from Armani for dinner at La Cirque.”
“It won’t take an hour. You’ll be back at the office by 4.”
Miranda sighed again. “Fine.”
She’d kept Alfonso waiting ten minutes, which was only half the time she’d guessed it would take. Alfonso embraced Miranda, who gave a small smile and only looked uncomfortable rather than completely miserable.
Giving Gina the eye, she motioned with her head toward her lover. Gina stood, holding her case of makeup and supplies, and Miranda held one eyebrow aloft. “You have five minutes,” she said regally.
Gina glowed, and Alfonso nodded in approval. He caught Andy’s eye. Maybe he was surprised by Miranda’s pliancy, but Andy had thought out every contingency in advance. Miranda refusing to pose. Miranda rejecting the art direction. Miranda storming out of the house, or rolling calls before, during and after the shoot. She decided her best defense would be a good offense, which included wine, food and kisses. Thank god it worked.
Andy waited patiently beside Joe, the lighting designer. He nudged her with one leg. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, suppressing a laugh. He was nearly vibrating with excitement. He and Andy had made fast friends, especially after his first comment at her disrobing. “Damn girl, why do you even get dressed in the mornings? You should go to work just like that. You’d make the whole world a better place.”
More than five minutes passed as Gina worked her magic, but Miranda seemed to have developed an atypical level of patience. Andy decided it was her choice of music for the second half of the afternoon: an iTunes mix of Rachmaninoff, Beethoven and Bach. Miranda looked almost relaxed when Gina finished. Perhaps she enjoyed being pampered as much as Andy had.
“Don’t touch the hair,” Alfonso insisted, when Denise, the stylist, moved close. “It’s perfect.”
Miranda preened, and Andy hid her grin.
Andy seated herself next to Miranda on the sofa, uncertain where to begin. But as he had before, Alfonso did all the work. His direction was clear and precise. “Tilt your head. Andy, move in, yes, like that.” They shifted position repeatedly, in small increments, with Andy close enough to kiss Miranda’s pale throat if she wanted. She didn’t though.
Miranda was stiff for a while. She “hmmed” in dissatisfaction for the first few minutes, but Andy was patient. She focused on the lens, expressing everything she felt for Miranda. As Miranda’s gentle perfume surrounded her, love filled her heart, so much so that it hurt. She dipped her head, tucking into Miranda’s neck without direction.
Alfonso whispered, “Yes, lovely.” She nuzzled warm skin, and felt Miranda’s hand come to rest on the back of her head. Finally, Miranda was with her, present in both body and spirit. She looked at the camera, and gave her most blissful smile.
===
Part II.