Fic: I'll Let You Know (If You Have to Come and Choose a Name), Miranda/Andy/Nigel, NC17
Title: I'll Let You Know (If You Have to Come and Choose a Name)
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy/Nigel, Miranda/Andy
Rating: NC17
Summary: written for the prompt 'accidental pregnancy' for this specific threesome. Set after the movie.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century FOX are the people in charge here. I'm just borrowing, and making no profit. Also, I have no idea what possessed me to fill this prompt, but there you go.
It’s Nigel who starts it.
Damn him.
*
She misses you, Six. Andy thinks he’s letting the third Cosmo go straight to his head. (Cosmos are ironic now, having recovered from their Sex and the City association. Andy just wants booze, and doesn’t really care if an article has been written about Jack and Coke lately).
How can she miss me if she didn’t want me there in the first place?
Even Nigel can’t make up a convincing lie to answer that.
*
I told her we have drinks now and then Nigel confesses as he waves at the impossibly hot bartender. Andy really loves gay bars, she thinks to herself. You should have seen her face.
For a gay guy, you spend a lot of time talking about a woman and her face Andy shoots back, only to be surprised by a pink flush creeping across Nigel’s face.
Interesting. Very, very interesting.
*
Okay. So maybe Andy is the one who suggests that, after the wine tasting (during which they spit out exactly none of the wine as they should), they should go and tell Miranda that she’s a bitch.
Admittedly, a really, really hot bitch. She’s apparently the one woman Nigel would cash in his gay card for (you come pretty close Six, but those hips are just too child-bearing for comfort) and Andy’s ‘gun to my head’ woman she’d sleep with (celebrities don’t count, Nigel’s rules, so tough luck Angelina).
None of which is any justification for showing up, quite drunk, on the steps of Miranda’s townhouse. Andy is shivering under her too-thin denim jacket, and Nigel won’t give her his Armani blazer because he’s cold too. So much for chivalry. They’re still arguing about Nigel’s sartorial selfishness when the huge front door finally opens a crack.
Nigel says you miss me Andy blurts out, and that’s not even close to being her last mistake.
*
Andy’s dreamt for months now of telling Miranda Priestly exactly what she thinks of her. The only problem is that, faced with the opportunity as they all sit in Miranda’s second floor sitting room, all Andy really wants to tell her is damn, you look good.
So she does.
*
Nigel keeps quiet, the lousy rat. His self-preservation instinct kicked in somewhere between the front stoop and the insanely comfortable sofa, and so Andy is left to make enough of a fool of herself for both of them.
That Miranda, who thinks compassion is some kind of unfortunate mental illness, should be the one to take pity on Andy is pretty freaking neat. It’s even neater that she shuts up the babbling by crossing the small space between them and planting a stunning kiss right on Andy’s lips.
While Andy catches her breath, because damn Miranda can kiss, Miranda turns to look at Nigel, her fingers still stroking Andy’s face.
You’ll be joining us, I assume?
Nigel doesn’t faint, but it looks pretty likely for a moment or two. Then Miranda kisses Andy again, and everything seems to be just fine.
*
Miranda has rules of course. Well, she is Miranda.
It’s all about her, of course. At first, anyway. This is a form of worship, one that she’s so generously allowing. Andy doesn’t want to contemplate if Miranda has ever had sex with anyone wearing a t-shirt from the Gap, but when Miranda tugs it up and over Andy’s head, it doesn’t seem particularly important anymore.
Nigel doesn’t look intimidated now, not as he kneels behind Miranda on her ridiculous Queen-sized bed and palms her breasts with something approaching reverence. Andy is enjoying the view, but she enjoys kissing the elegant line of Miranda’s throat more, so there’s really no contest.
Miranda sheds her thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing so easily, and Andy has to stop herself from being greedy and grabbing or tearing like she wants to. Something has to distract her from this ache between her thighs, but stroking and kissing each newly exposed area of skin will have to do.
It does very, very nicely indeed.
*
That Andy should be the one to bring Miranda to her first orgasm is kind of a treat. Andy hasn’t gone down on a woman before, but it’s not exactly rocket science, and Miranda isn’t remotely shy in directing things to go exactly how she wants them to.
Andy likes to kiss, and so she does when Miranda has recovered. Miranda seems to like tasting herself on Andy’s mouth, and Nigel takes advantage of the distraction to let his own curious fingers wander. Andy and Nigel kiss for the first time with Miranda groaning beneath them, their hands at her breasts and between her legs until she’s almost begging them to stop.
It seems logical that when it comes to Nigel’s turn to fuck that he’d be doing it to Miranda, but she shakes her head with a tiny smile. Andy wonders if that’s a gesture to their long-standing friendship, but right now she’s so horny she could scream, and so she’s hardly going to protest when Nigel turns to her instead.
He takes her from behind, naturally, because reality can only be stretched so far. But he’s hard, and he keeps a good rhythm, and Andy finds herself getting into it. It doesn’t hurt that Miranda’s watching like Andy is a decadent dessert she’s just waiting to devour. In fact she doesn’t wait long at all, crawling across the very mussed sheets to fondle Andy’s breasts while Nigel thrusts harder and faster.
Miranda’s fingers on Andy’s clit is enough to send her crashing over the edge, Nigel following suit with a strangled cry. They collapse in a tangle of sweaty, sated limbs, and Andy feels a tear escaping when Miranda seeks her out for some post-coital snuggling.
*
In the morning, when the steel drums lodged in Andy’s skull wake her, Nigel is nowhere to be seen. But for a discarded silk hanky on the floor and a pleasant burn between her legs, Andy might not have known he was there at all. She’s gulping desperately at water from Miranda’s bathroom tap when the woman herself appears behind Andy.
Nigel is quite the matchmaker, don’t you think? Andy nods, watching Miranda in the mirror because that’s the only way to avoid being turned to stone.
You want to do this again? Andy splutters, trying very hard to ignore the tightening of her nipples at the very suggestion.
Yes. Preferably now. And preferably just the two of us.
Andy always did take instruction well. There’s a perfectly massive shower right there, after all.
*
Three months is a record, Miranda confesses, her face still smushed into an Egyptian cotton pillowcase. Three months without a screaming fight, in fact scarcely an argument at all until Miranda had rather unkindly poked Andy in the stomach and made a flippant remark about too much pizza.
Thankfully, Miranda is better at apologizing (okay, without words, but still) than she is at being tactful in the first place. Sure, there’ll probably be a stain on the kitchen wall from the slice of pepperoni that Andy threw at it, but otherwise the damage is pretty limited.
It’s already past midnight, and Andy should really be getting ready to pick up her clothes and sneak out while the neighbors can’t see, but she’s come twice already and is distinctly in the mood for more. Miranda doesn’t object when Andy rolls over and strokes her hipbone as a sign of intent.
*
It’s Lily who bursts the dam wide open. After exhausting her entire collection of lesbian jokes, she finally starts talking to Andy about the relationship in more serious terms.
Isn’t it weird banging someone your mom’s age, though? Andy knows that if this thing with Miranda lasts, she’s going to be hearing that question over and over again, although possibly asked more delicately.
I honestly don’t think about it, Andy says, reaching for her newly arrived bottle of beer.
Well, she must be through menopause by now - so no double PMT nightmares, am I right? Lily is checking out the cute waiter serving the next table, so it buys Andy a few precious seconds to rearrange her expression after the realization dawns.
*
She can’t finish the beer, but Lily doesn’t notice. When Andy cuts out early--not even waiting for dessert--Lily teases her about making a booty call. Which, quite frankly, is the last thing on Andy’s mind.
As she blushes and stammers her way through the trip to the drugstore Andy is mentally cursing up a storm the whole time. Surely one of the major upsides to dating a woman should be avoiding pregnancy scares? Which means… oh God, Andy does not need to think about what this means. She’s just going to pee on the damn stick, and try not to think about what her mom would have to say about this. Four mortifying years of safe sex talks, and Andy now finds herself potentially knocked up by her sassy gay friend. She’s a sitcom waiting to happen (and get cancelled).
And yeah, maybe a piece of plastic can’t mock her, exactly, but there is definitely something smug about the way that the little display says ‘pregnant’.
*
Given the choice between telling Nigel (who she’s seen exactly once since that night, and yup, gave a whole new definition to ‘awkward) and telling Miranda, Andy prefers Secret Option Three: flee the state and never tell anyone, ever.
She considers a termination, of course. Andy isn’t opposed to the procedure, and yet when it comes to booking the appointment, something makes her hold back. A scan confirms she’s fourteen weeks along, which anyone with a calendar could have worked out, but the official confirmation makes it more real somehow.
Miranda gets suspicious when two weeks elapse without a single date, and even the phone conversations are short and sweet, because an irrational part of Andy thinks there might be some weird Mommy Sense that will out her. When they’re at risk of a full-blown argument, she relents and invites Miranda round for dinner. It’s testament to how much Miranda wants to see Andy that she consents to the schlep down to Brooklyn.
*
When the knock on her apartment door jolts Andy from distractedly staring at the muted television, she toys with the idea of not answering. It’s only seconds before the famously impatient Miranda knocks again though, and Andy’s resolve weakens.
Well, Andy thinks as she opens the door. This is it.
PART TWO --->
Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy/Nigel, Miranda/Andy
Rating: NC17
Summary: written for the prompt 'accidental pregnancy' for this specific threesome. Set after the movie.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century FOX are the people in charge here. I'm just borrowing, and making no profit. Also, I have no idea what possessed me to fill this prompt, but there you go.
It’s Nigel who starts it.
Damn him.
*
She misses you, Six. Andy thinks he’s letting the third Cosmo go straight to his head. (Cosmos are ironic now, having recovered from their Sex and the City association. Andy just wants booze, and doesn’t really care if an article has been written about Jack and Coke lately).
How can she miss me if she didn’t want me there in the first place?
Even Nigel can’t make up a convincing lie to answer that.
*
I told her we have drinks now and then Nigel confesses as he waves at the impossibly hot bartender. Andy really loves gay bars, she thinks to herself. You should have seen her face.
For a gay guy, you spend a lot of time talking about a woman and her face Andy shoots back, only to be surprised by a pink flush creeping across Nigel’s face.
Interesting. Very, very interesting.
*
Okay. So maybe Andy is the one who suggests that, after the wine tasting (during which they spit out exactly none of the wine as they should), they should go and tell Miranda that she’s a bitch.
Admittedly, a really, really hot bitch. She’s apparently the one woman Nigel would cash in his gay card for (you come pretty close Six, but those hips are just too child-bearing for comfort) and Andy’s ‘gun to my head’ woman she’d sleep with (celebrities don’t count, Nigel’s rules, so tough luck Angelina).
None of which is any justification for showing up, quite drunk, on the steps of Miranda’s townhouse. Andy is shivering under her too-thin denim jacket, and Nigel won’t give her his Armani blazer because he’s cold too. So much for chivalry. They’re still arguing about Nigel’s sartorial selfishness when the huge front door finally opens a crack.
Nigel says you miss me Andy blurts out, and that’s not even close to being her last mistake.
*
Andy’s dreamt for months now of telling Miranda Priestly exactly what she thinks of her. The only problem is that, faced with the opportunity as they all sit in Miranda’s second floor sitting room, all Andy really wants to tell her is damn, you look good.
So she does.
*
Nigel keeps quiet, the lousy rat. His self-preservation instinct kicked in somewhere between the front stoop and the insanely comfortable sofa, and so Andy is left to make enough of a fool of herself for both of them.
That Miranda, who thinks compassion is some kind of unfortunate mental illness, should be the one to take pity on Andy is pretty freaking neat. It’s even neater that she shuts up the babbling by crossing the small space between them and planting a stunning kiss right on Andy’s lips.
While Andy catches her breath, because damn Miranda can kiss, Miranda turns to look at Nigel, her fingers still stroking Andy’s face.
You’ll be joining us, I assume?
Nigel doesn’t faint, but it looks pretty likely for a moment or two. Then Miranda kisses Andy again, and everything seems to be just fine.
*
Miranda has rules of course. Well, she is Miranda.
It’s all about her, of course. At first, anyway. This is a form of worship, one that she’s so generously allowing. Andy doesn’t want to contemplate if Miranda has ever had sex with anyone wearing a t-shirt from the Gap, but when Miranda tugs it up and over Andy’s head, it doesn’t seem particularly important anymore.
Nigel doesn’t look intimidated now, not as he kneels behind Miranda on her ridiculous Queen-sized bed and palms her breasts with something approaching reverence. Andy is enjoying the view, but she enjoys kissing the elegant line of Miranda’s throat more, so there’s really no contest.
Miranda sheds her thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing so easily, and Andy has to stop herself from being greedy and grabbing or tearing like she wants to. Something has to distract her from this ache between her thighs, but stroking and kissing each newly exposed area of skin will have to do.
It does very, very nicely indeed.
*
That Andy should be the one to bring Miranda to her first orgasm is kind of a treat. Andy hasn’t gone down on a woman before, but it’s not exactly rocket science, and Miranda isn’t remotely shy in directing things to go exactly how she wants them to.
Andy likes to kiss, and so she does when Miranda has recovered. Miranda seems to like tasting herself on Andy’s mouth, and Nigel takes advantage of the distraction to let his own curious fingers wander. Andy and Nigel kiss for the first time with Miranda groaning beneath them, their hands at her breasts and between her legs until she’s almost begging them to stop.
It seems logical that when it comes to Nigel’s turn to fuck that he’d be doing it to Miranda, but she shakes her head with a tiny smile. Andy wonders if that’s a gesture to their long-standing friendship, but right now she’s so horny she could scream, and so she’s hardly going to protest when Nigel turns to her instead.
He takes her from behind, naturally, because reality can only be stretched so far. But he’s hard, and he keeps a good rhythm, and Andy finds herself getting into it. It doesn’t hurt that Miranda’s watching like Andy is a decadent dessert she’s just waiting to devour. In fact she doesn’t wait long at all, crawling across the very mussed sheets to fondle Andy’s breasts while Nigel thrusts harder and faster.
Miranda’s fingers on Andy’s clit is enough to send her crashing over the edge, Nigel following suit with a strangled cry. They collapse in a tangle of sweaty, sated limbs, and Andy feels a tear escaping when Miranda seeks her out for some post-coital snuggling.
*
In the morning, when the steel drums lodged in Andy’s skull wake her, Nigel is nowhere to be seen. But for a discarded silk hanky on the floor and a pleasant burn between her legs, Andy might not have known he was there at all. She’s gulping desperately at water from Miranda’s bathroom tap when the woman herself appears behind Andy.
Nigel is quite the matchmaker, don’t you think? Andy nods, watching Miranda in the mirror because that’s the only way to avoid being turned to stone.
You want to do this again? Andy splutters, trying very hard to ignore the tightening of her nipples at the very suggestion.
Yes. Preferably now. And preferably just the two of us.
Andy always did take instruction well. There’s a perfectly massive shower right there, after all.
*
Three months is a record, Miranda confesses, her face still smushed into an Egyptian cotton pillowcase. Three months without a screaming fight, in fact scarcely an argument at all until Miranda had rather unkindly poked Andy in the stomach and made a flippant remark about too much pizza.
Thankfully, Miranda is better at apologizing (okay, without words, but still) than she is at being tactful in the first place. Sure, there’ll probably be a stain on the kitchen wall from the slice of pepperoni that Andy threw at it, but otherwise the damage is pretty limited.
It’s already past midnight, and Andy should really be getting ready to pick up her clothes and sneak out while the neighbors can’t see, but she’s come twice already and is distinctly in the mood for more. Miranda doesn’t object when Andy rolls over and strokes her hipbone as a sign of intent.
*
It’s Lily who bursts the dam wide open. After exhausting her entire collection of lesbian jokes, she finally starts talking to Andy about the relationship in more serious terms.
Isn’t it weird banging someone your mom’s age, though? Andy knows that if this thing with Miranda lasts, she’s going to be hearing that question over and over again, although possibly asked more delicately.
I honestly don’t think about it, Andy says, reaching for her newly arrived bottle of beer.
Well, she must be through menopause by now - so no double PMT nightmares, am I right? Lily is checking out the cute waiter serving the next table, so it buys Andy a few precious seconds to rearrange her expression after the realization dawns.
*
She can’t finish the beer, but Lily doesn’t notice. When Andy cuts out early--not even waiting for dessert--Lily teases her about making a booty call. Which, quite frankly, is the last thing on Andy’s mind.
As she blushes and stammers her way through the trip to the drugstore Andy is mentally cursing up a storm the whole time. Surely one of the major upsides to dating a woman should be avoiding pregnancy scares? Which means… oh God, Andy does not need to think about what this means. She’s just going to pee on the damn stick, and try not to think about what her mom would have to say about this. Four mortifying years of safe sex talks, and Andy now finds herself potentially knocked up by her sassy gay friend. She’s a sitcom waiting to happen (and get cancelled).
And yeah, maybe a piece of plastic can’t mock her, exactly, but there is definitely something smug about the way that the little display says ‘pregnant’.
*
Given the choice between telling Nigel (who she’s seen exactly once since that night, and yup, gave a whole new definition to ‘awkward) and telling Miranda, Andy prefers Secret Option Three: flee the state and never tell anyone, ever.
She considers a termination, of course. Andy isn’t opposed to the procedure, and yet when it comes to booking the appointment, something makes her hold back. A scan confirms she’s fourteen weeks along, which anyone with a calendar could have worked out, but the official confirmation makes it more real somehow.
Miranda gets suspicious when two weeks elapse without a single date, and even the phone conversations are short and sweet, because an irrational part of Andy thinks there might be some weird Mommy Sense that will out her. When they’re at risk of a full-blown argument, she relents and invites Miranda round for dinner. It’s testament to how much Miranda wants to see Andy that she consents to the schlep down to Brooklyn.
*
When the knock on her apartment door jolts Andy from distractedly staring at the muted television, she toys with the idea of not answering. It’s only seconds before the famously impatient Miranda knocks again though, and Andy’s resolve weakens.
Well, Andy thinks as she opens the door. This is it.
PART TWO --->