What I Wanna Be (The Devil Wears Prada, Emily/Serena)
Title: What I Wanna Be
Author: mousiebean
Recipient: theagonyofblank
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Emily/Serena, Emily/Andy tension
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1300
Disclaimer: I did not make these people up and therefore do not own them.
Summary: Emily hates the new girl.
“I hate her.”
They were lying naked in bed, legs tangled together carelessly, the scent of sex teasing lightly at the air. Emily’s body was still tingling, and really she’d have preferred to carry on a bit, but as soon as some of the limpness had leached out of her body, Serena had reached for her cell phone. Emily knew she was texting Adrian, the guy she’d blown off tonight -- probably trying to reschedule. Which was fine, of course. Serena was the quintessential New York sophisticate, and sexual multitasking via text message was probably the new black or something. Emily let her gaze slide down Serena’s back, tracing the commas of shadow under each vertebra. God, she was beautiful.
Immersed in her texting, Serena hadn’t yet asked who Emily was talking about. Emily wondered if she’d heard her.
“Really. I can’t stand her.”
Serena sighed and snapped the phone shut. “I know,” she said, slipping a hand to Emily’s hipbone, stroking the skin in an aimless little pattern. “You’ve told me.”
“Oh.” So Serena did know who she was talking about. Emily closed her eyes, giving herself over to the sensation of skin on skin, feeling the thrumming between her legs heat up a little more. She let out a slow exhale, trying to settle down, trying to sweep the rest of the day out of her mind and concentrate fully on Serena. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working that well. Emily looked over and saw that Serena had flipped her phone open with the hand that wasn‘t on Emily‘s hip, presumably to read Adrian’s return text. She fought, and vanquished, the urge to ask Serena what he’d said.
“I just don’t know why she’s still there,” she said instead, hearing the whining note creeping into her voice, but unable to stop herself. “I know Miranda only hired her to make me look bad. I screwed up the hiring before, so she goes ahead and hires this -- this travesty to take the job, all because I said she was completely unsuitable, which she obviously is. I think she buys all her clothing by shoving her way through the clearance racks at TJ Maxx and buying whatever gets stuck to her by static cling.”
“She’s looking good these days,” Serena said neutrally, putting the phone back on the nightstand again.
“She has nothing to do with that! She comes in to work an hour early every day and she and Nigel go over her clothes. Why he goes along with her I’ll never know. Christ, she’s been working for Miranda for months now and she can’t even get herself dressed in the morning! How can --”
“Why do you care?” Serena rolled over to face her. Emily caught a hint of annoyance in her voice and knew it was time to back off, but the answer spilled out of her anyway.
“Because she shouldn’t be there! She doesn’t care about anything, I swear. Do you know she’s a size six? And she doesn’t even diet! She brings this food to her desk -- pasta salad, bagels, bags of chips! -- and she eats it right there, as long as Miranda’s out, of course. And she’s prancing around in these designer clothes Nigel picked out for her and probably let out for her too. It’s like she doesn’t even know that they make those in a size two for a reason! And the worst part --” Emily’s seen Serena’s eyebrows notching up in increments, but she’s on a roll now -- “the worst part is that she got the genetics, she’s pure ectomorph for crying out loud! And she does nothing with it. I’m sitting there starving to death every day and she’s sitting across from me with this bone structure I’d kill for, drinking a Frosty from Wendy’s! And --”
“Christ, not the bone structure thing again, Emily, please.” Serena had let her hand move over Emily’s stomach, was now slipping closer to her thighs, her fingers grazing and teasing along the way. Emily sucked in a breath and shifted her hips, willing Serena to go faster, but Serena seemed content to tease for now. “So what if she’s ruining her body? Forget about her. She‘s nothing.” Her index finger caressed Emily’s clit lightly, making Emily gasp.
Easy for you to say, Emily almost told Serena, watching her draw herself up on her knees over Emily, burnished gold and backlit by the lamp behind her. A shudder ran through Emily as she looked at the perfect lines and planes of Serena’s body, smooth skin pulled taut over six feet of toned muscle and barely-there flesh, her breasts impossibly high and firm. In bed with Serena she could never quite shake her conflicting emotions, almost woozy at the sight of Serena’s body, but never free of an awareness of how much her own body was lacking in comparison -- the squat, square shape of it, pockets of fat and flab hanging down uselessly. There were ribs you couldn’t see. When she lost weight her breasts shrank before her thighs did. Her ass was a horror. She couldn’t blot it out, no matter how much she kept her eyes trained on Serena, no matter how much she tried to remind herself that this gorgeous woman had chosen to take her, Emily, into her bed. And these days there was something else to think of, too, something that stole irrepressibly into her mind even as Serena’s fingers worked her over, sending thunderclaps through her body and ripping helpless cries out of her mouth: Andy’s face, plump cheeks underscored by perfect cheekbones; Andy’s body, the extra pounds collecting on her breasts and distributing themselves evenly across the rest of her, that body that you could take thirty pounds from and then set to walk down the catwalk. Serena had the body Emily would kill to have. (Two of Serena’s fingers slipped inside Emily’s cunt and began corkscrewing deftly; Emily whinnied in pleasure, let her whole body contract around Serena’s fingers, almost came.) Andy had the body Emily ought to have -- she’d take off the thirty pounds, revel in her new bones, take care of the body she should have had from the start, walk around every day and see the turned heads and hear the whispers from people who’d see how beautiful she’d made herself, how she’d forced her body into the perfection they’d never achieve. (Serena had -- oh God -- the tiny finger vibrator, four fingers inside Emily and the vibrator stealing towards Emily’s clit --)
The images exploded across Emily’s vision: Serena’s body nimbused by golden light, Andy’s beautiful fucking unfair face, Serena’s hips shifting as she moved to press her cunt against Emily’s knee, pools of shadow between Andy’s breasts, Serena, Andy, oh, God, beautiful bodies she craved like air --
As Emily climaxed, she saw their bodies and forgot her own. She held onto it as long as she could, thrashing and gasping, bracing her toes against the bedposts, until pinpoints of light danced before her eyes and a shadow began to creep into the edges of her sight, until the words “No -- no more --” were torn from her throat against her will, until her body gave one last convulsion and lay still, Serena’s fingers still inside her.
After a moment she felt the loss as Serena’s fingers pulled away, felt the warmth of Serena’s body aligned full-length with hers. She moved a hand to Serena’s stomach, pulled her close. Then she let herself drift, pretending Serena’s body was hers, and too exhausted to wonder why Andy was still there, floating at the corners of her mind, mocking and alluring and utterly wrong.
Author: mousiebean
Recipient: theagonyofblank
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Emily/Serena, Emily/Andy tension
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1300
Disclaimer: I did not make these people up and therefore do not own them.
Summary: Emily hates the new girl.
“I hate her.”
They were lying naked in bed, legs tangled together carelessly, the scent of sex teasing lightly at the air. Emily’s body was still tingling, and really she’d have preferred to carry on a bit, but as soon as some of the limpness had leached out of her body, Serena had reached for her cell phone. Emily knew she was texting Adrian, the guy she’d blown off tonight -- probably trying to reschedule. Which was fine, of course. Serena was the quintessential New York sophisticate, and sexual multitasking via text message was probably the new black or something. Emily let her gaze slide down Serena’s back, tracing the commas of shadow under each vertebra. God, she was beautiful.
Immersed in her texting, Serena hadn’t yet asked who Emily was talking about. Emily wondered if she’d heard her.
“Really. I can’t stand her.”
Serena sighed and snapped the phone shut. “I know,” she said, slipping a hand to Emily’s hipbone, stroking the skin in an aimless little pattern. “You’ve told me.”
“Oh.” So Serena did know who she was talking about. Emily closed her eyes, giving herself over to the sensation of skin on skin, feeling the thrumming between her legs heat up a little more. She let out a slow exhale, trying to settle down, trying to sweep the rest of the day out of her mind and concentrate fully on Serena. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working that well. Emily looked over and saw that Serena had flipped her phone open with the hand that wasn‘t on Emily‘s hip, presumably to read Adrian’s return text. She fought, and vanquished, the urge to ask Serena what he’d said.
“I just don’t know why she’s still there,” she said instead, hearing the whining note creeping into her voice, but unable to stop herself. “I know Miranda only hired her to make me look bad. I screwed up the hiring before, so she goes ahead and hires this -- this travesty to take the job, all because I said she was completely unsuitable, which she obviously is. I think she buys all her clothing by shoving her way through the clearance racks at TJ Maxx and buying whatever gets stuck to her by static cling.”
“She’s looking good these days,” Serena said neutrally, putting the phone back on the nightstand again.
“She has nothing to do with that! She comes in to work an hour early every day and she and Nigel go over her clothes. Why he goes along with her I’ll never know. Christ, she’s been working for Miranda for months now and she can’t even get herself dressed in the morning! How can --”
“Why do you care?” Serena rolled over to face her. Emily caught a hint of annoyance in her voice and knew it was time to back off, but the answer spilled out of her anyway.
“Because she shouldn’t be there! She doesn’t care about anything, I swear. Do you know she’s a size six? And she doesn’t even diet! She brings this food to her desk -- pasta salad, bagels, bags of chips! -- and she eats it right there, as long as Miranda’s out, of course. And she’s prancing around in these designer clothes Nigel picked out for her and probably let out for her too. It’s like she doesn’t even know that they make those in a size two for a reason! And the worst part --” Emily’s seen Serena’s eyebrows notching up in increments, but she’s on a roll now -- “the worst part is that she got the genetics, she’s pure ectomorph for crying out loud! And she does nothing with it. I’m sitting there starving to death every day and she’s sitting across from me with this bone structure I’d kill for, drinking a Frosty from Wendy’s! And --”
“Christ, not the bone structure thing again, Emily, please.” Serena had let her hand move over Emily’s stomach, was now slipping closer to her thighs, her fingers grazing and teasing along the way. Emily sucked in a breath and shifted her hips, willing Serena to go faster, but Serena seemed content to tease for now. “So what if she’s ruining her body? Forget about her. She‘s nothing.” Her index finger caressed Emily’s clit lightly, making Emily gasp.
Easy for you to say, Emily almost told Serena, watching her draw herself up on her knees over Emily, burnished gold and backlit by the lamp behind her. A shudder ran through Emily as she looked at the perfect lines and planes of Serena’s body, smooth skin pulled taut over six feet of toned muscle and barely-there flesh, her breasts impossibly high and firm. In bed with Serena she could never quite shake her conflicting emotions, almost woozy at the sight of Serena’s body, but never free of an awareness of how much her own body was lacking in comparison -- the squat, square shape of it, pockets of fat and flab hanging down uselessly. There were ribs you couldn’t see. When she lost weight her breasts shrank before her thighs did. Her ass was a horror. She couldn’t blot it out, no matter how much she kept her eyes trained on Serena, no matter how much she tried to remind herself that this gorgeous woman had chosen to take her, Emily, into her bed. And these days there was something else to think of, too, something that stole irrepressibly into her mind even as Serena’s fingers worked her over, sending thunderclaps through her body and ripping helpless cries out of her mouth: Andy’s face, plump cheeks underscored by perfect cheekbones; Andy’s body, the extra pounds collecting on her breasts and distributing themselves evenly across the rest of her, that body that you could take thirty pounds from and then set to walk down the catwalk. Serena had the body Emily would kill to have. (Two of Serena’s fingers slipped inside Emily’s cunt and began corkscrewing deftly; Emily whinnied in pleasure, let her whole body contract around Serena’s fingers, almost came.) Andy had the body Emily ought to have -- she’d take off the thirty pounds, revel in her new bones, take care of the body she should have had from the start, walk around every day and see the turned heads and hear the whispers from people who’d see how beautiful she’d made herself, how she’d forced her body into the perfection they’d never achieve. (Serena had -- oh God -- the tiny finger vibrator, four fingers inside Emily and the vibrator stealing towards Emily’s clit --)
The images exploded across Emily’s vision: Serena’s body nimbused by golden light, Andy’s beautiful fucking unfair face, Serena’s hips shifting as she moved to press her cunt against Emily’s knee, pools of shadow between Andy’s breasts, Serena, Andy, oh, God, beautiful bodies she craved like air --
As Emily climaxed, she saw their bodies and forgot her own. She held onto it as long as she could, thrashing and gasping, bracing her toes against the bedposts, until pinpoints of light danced before her eyes and a shadow began to creep into the edges of her sight, until the words “No -- no more --” were torn from her throat against her will, until her body gave one last convulsion and lay still, Serena’s fingers still inside her.
After a moment she felt the loss as Serena’s fingers pulled away, felt the warmth of Serena’s body aligned full-length with hers. She moved a hand to Serena’s stomach, pulled her close. Then she let herself drift, pretending Serena’s body was hers, and too exhausted to wonder why Andy was still there, floating at the corners of her mind, mocking and alluring and utterly wrong.