Fic: If You'd Only Let Yourself Believe, NC17, The Devil Wears Prada, (Miranda/Andy)
Title: If You'd Only Let Yourself Believe
Author: UbiquitousMixie
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Disclaimer: Miranda and Andy belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox.
Summary: "I pull you from your tower, I take away your pain, and show you all the beauty you possess if you'd only let yourself believe."
Author's Note: I know, I know. I should be working on my paper (which, incidentally, is my sister's paper as I am a college graduate…) or I should be working on my Secret Santa gift (which is coming along nicely, thankyouverymuch). But…I had this idea and I just had to write it and I didn't think you would mind too much. Special thanks to Emma and Sarah McLachlan for the title! Please please please comment…and enjoy! :D
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Miranda glanced over the frames of her glasses, settling upon the form of her lover. Andrea stood in front of the mirror, frowning at her reflection as she straightened her spine and sucked her stomach into an uncomfortable concave. She turned to the side and repeated the exercise, smoothing down the folds of the stolen gray bathrobe to subtract any unnecessary thickness from her frame. A disgusted sigh escaped Andrea's lips as she glanced over her shoulder at her backside.
"Never. Eating. Again," Andrea mumbled as she stalked away from the full-length mirror, heading for the bureau. She freed her hair from the elastic band and opened a drawer with a huff.
"Nonsense," Miranda retorted, casting her eyes downward once more upon The Book.
"Nope. I'm serious this time. I'm a whale. I love your cook but I no longer require her services."
Miranda furrowed her brow, looking across at Andrea. Attacks of low self-esteem rarely seemed to plague her; Andrea had always been above such displays of weakness.
As if peering into the past, her own words echoed in her mind. "…Hire the smart, fat girl…" Andrea's crestfallen face and prompt makeover had thrilled Miranda at the time, reinforcing her power and ability to craft an image by the sheer force of her words.
The possibility of having personally instilled such negative physical expectations gnawed at her gut. Acid pooled within her, corroding the carefully constructed confidence with which she considered the proof of her attractions to the young journalist. She had assumed it to be unwaveringly solid.
Perhaps Andrea was in need of reminding.
Miranda placed The Book and her glasses on the nightstand and stood, setting a chair in front of the mirror.
"Come here," Miranda said, seating herself in the chair.
Hanging her head over her shoulders, Andrea walked heavily across the room and stood beside Miranda, staring quizzically with her large doe eyes.
"Sit."
Andrea cocked her head similarly to the way Patricia did when she willfully misunderstood an order. Impatience flared in Miranda's chest but she released it with a deep exhalation. She held out her hand, which Andrea took. Miranda tugged the younger woman into her lap. When she attempted to turn to face her, Miranda pulled her back against her chest.
"Look at yourself," Miranda instructed, brushing the loose strands of Andrea's hair out of her face. She rested her chin upon Andrea's shoulder. With a sigh, Andrea peered at her reflection.
"What am I looking at?" she asked, her voice clearly betraying her impatience.
Miranda knew that she was a difficult woman. She did not apologize for this. It was simply a fact of life. She loved Andrea for understanding this element of her character and for humoring her even when her intentions were unknown.
"You are beautiful, Andrea."
"I know you think so."
"Do you?"
Andrea met Miranda's eyes in the mirror. "Of course I do. You made a career out of assessing what's beautiful. I trust your judgment."
"I don't think you understand how exquisite you are." Miranda pulled at the tie of the bathrobe. She held her eyes on Andrea's as she parted the halves of the robe, revealing Andrea's nudity. "I could never recreate your loveliness."
Miranda placed Andrea's arms on the chair before sliding her hands along Andrea's bare stomach. "So gorgeous," Miranda whispered, circling her fingers around her navel. She traced a misshapen star of freckles, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind.
"I manufacture beauty en masse." Miranda's hands swiped beneath the large swells of Andrea's breasts. "I create trends that are replicated by millions." She palmed the heavy mounds, stroking her thumbs against impossibly smooth flesh. "Yours is a beauty that surpasses everything I have constructed."
"Why?" Andrea breathed, her chocolate irises darkening as her nipples pulled into dusky, puckered peaks. Miranda choked back a moan; she hadn't yet touched them.
"You are real. You cannot be copied." Miranda brushed her knuckles over Andrea's nipples. The younger woman's eyes fluttered closed. "Watch."
Andrea opened her eyes, fixing them on Miranda's wandering hands. "You called me fat once."
Miranda pursed her lips. "I believed it at the time." Her fingers twisted around Andrea's nipples. The younger woman gasped.
"And now?"
"Now I believe you to be perfect." Miranda rolled Andrea's breasts in her palms, squeezing gently before releasing them and sliding her hands down her stomach. Hooking her feet around Andrea's ankles, Miranda parted their legs slowly.
Andrea squirmed, looking away. Miranda stroked her hands along her lover's thighs, soothing away her discomfort. "Watch," she repeated. "Look at your beauty."
Two sets of eyes watched as two sets of legs opened, revealing Andrea's sex. Even now Andrea's nether lips wept her arousal, the moisture glistening in the light. "Look how you unfold." Miranda slid her knees out, further propping Andrea's legs wide apart.
"You're one of a kind," Miranda hissed, teasing her fingers at Andrea's wetness. "A vision."
Miranda parted her, exposing pink folds and rivers of want. "I see you every day. All day. Looking at you is a religious experience." She grazed her fingers over her clit.
Andrea pressed her back into Miranda's chest, no doubt able to feel the pebbling of Miranda's own hardened nipples. A pink flush spread over her cheeks and down her torso, staining her alabaster skin with the glow of wanton hunger. Miranda's eyes flashed, devouring the sight.
"The sight of you is mine. All mine. The rest of the pathetic world is starved for beauty, and I possess the source of all the beauty in the world."
One of Miranda's hands spread Andrea's lips, the other stroking against satiny flesh. Without preamble, three fingers flattened against her, sliding against wet warmth. Andrea whimpered, shifting her hips into Miranda's hand.
"Do you see how lovely you are?"
Andrea nodded, biting her lip as her eyes fixed on the sight of her own clit appearing and disappearing between Miranda's slick fingers. Miranda's eyes feasted upon Andrea gyrating against her hand, her knuckles white as they grasped the arms of the chair.
"Tell me you believe me," Miranda said, biting at Andrea's exposed shoulder as her bathrobe slipped. "Believe that the sight of you is all I n-need." Miranda's stutter surprised them both. She lifted her hips, meeting Andrea's thrusting backside. They moaned in unison, Andrea at the fast strokes of Miranda's fingers, Miranda at the remembrance of fingers and tongue against her own sex.
There was no direct pressure at Miranda's clit; she'd require a different angle, but found she didn't need it. She sight of Andrea was enough. The vision of her filled her with light, with branches of pleasure endlessly reaching into every corner of her body and soul. It criss-crossed around her heart, tugging at places that had simply not existed until Andrea created them.
Andrea's breath heaved heavily, raggedly, in her chest, her breasts undulating in waves. The rise and fall of them hypnotically pulled Miranda's clouded eyes into focus, her tongue flicking dryly against her parched lips.
"I believe yo--ooh," Andrea cried, arching her back as she came, a surge of moisture flooding Miranda's hand. Andrea's thick, full lips parted in a wide "O" as she cried out, her moans a mixture of release and surprise. Miranda held her breath, shaking as she stared. Andrea's thighs twitched, her knees shook, her head thrashed on her shoulder.
As Andrea's body began to relax and her breath leveled, Miranda jutted her hips forward, holding Andrea against her as she climaxed herself. Colors and lights flashed behind her eyelids, each starburst forming the images of Andrea as she had been in every moment that had passed between them - Andrea at her interview, Andrea at the benefit, Andrea walking away, Andrea coming home. Miranda sobbed, drowning in the unspeakable beauty that graced her every day.
As Miranda's heart pounded harshly against her ribcage, Andrea turned on her lap, nestling her knees against Miranda's hips.
"Come back," Andrea whispered, and Miranda did.
Miranda wrapped her arms around her lover's waist, crushing their bodies together in a tight embrace. "You are so precious to me," Miranda said in a quiet voice.
"As you are to me," Andrea added, pressing a lingering kiss to Miranda's lips. "And you are very good for the self-esteem. I don't think I'll ever feel ugly again." Andrea chuckled and, noting Miranda's serious expression, paused.
How could Miranda express the magnitude of her honesty? Looking Andrea in the eye, she brushed her thumb across her lower lip. "Good."
Andrea kissed her with such sincere belief that Miranda's former venomous judgment, once upon a time filled with vitriol and a need to control, no longer carried the weight that it once did. Miranda believed that Andrea was beautiful.
But most importantly, so did Andrea.
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