Work Text:
By now, nothing at Runway can surprise Andy.
Months into her time there, she’s come to accept that she’s at least a little competent. Certainly she’s good enough at her job to be known as Andrea and not Emily , which is a change she hasn’t gotten used to yet (she still startles at the sound of her name curled around Miranda’s tongue, soft and pretty and daisy fresh). After weeks of doing the impossible, pulling resolutions for Miranda from thin air and bending backwards to make sure she’s happy, Andy is no longer surprised by anything. No request is too demanding, no question too difficult to answer.
But that morning, the impossible happens. Miranda drops a jacket onto her desk without explanation, and Andy just stares at it. She’s clueless .
Has she missed something? Surely the jacket is one of Miranda’s, judging by the sleek back fur, the turn of the collar, and the grace and wealth radiating from it? Fendi, Andy recognises. She runs a fingertip along the fur absentmindedly, forgetting herself.
“Put it on.” Miranda says, from the doorway. Andy blinks at her, but Miranda’s expression is unreadable. She runs the arm of her glasses against her chin, watching as Andy lifts the jacket and looks at it.
“Um.” Andy says, which she has learned not to do in Miranda’s company. Bumbling irritates Miranda to no end - she prefers Andy smart and quick and snappy. “For me? I’m, ah, I’m already wearing a ja-“
Miranda raises an eyebrow, and Andy cuts herself off. No questions, Andy remembers. Dutifully, she slips out of the jacket Nigel picked for her that morning (a deep red Chanel that Andy thought was actually quite pretty). She hangs it neatly and then returns to her desk to pull on Miranda’s jacket. She's careful, slow, mindful that it's probably more expensive than she could ever afford.
When she slips her arms inside, Andy delights at the feel of it, soft and heavy. She marvels at its weight, how it seems to embrace her shoulders. Miranda always wears the same perfume (her signature scent, made especially by a world-famous perfumer - many had tried to replicate it, with no luck). Andy can smell it on herself now, and its sweetness makes her a little dizzy.
To Miranda’s credit, the black jacket goes nicely with her dark top, and it matches her skin tone better. Andy feels like Miranda herself, elegant and beautiful, and it isn’t a thought born from arrogance but from awe, awe that Miranda’s clothes are against her skin, awe that Miranda would let her even touch them.
She looks up and meets Miranda’s eyes. The woman’s gaze drags over her chest. Then she nods once, and Andy marvels at it. How many designers had craved that nod? How many had sold their souls just for a glimpse of it? Andy can’t help but smile with delight.
“Anything else?” Andy asks, deliberately calm, though she can feel her heartbeat in her ears. Miranda’s gaze lingers on her a moment later, before she turns and walks into her office without a word.
Andy stares after her, and then shrugs. She sits back at her desk, and continues with her day, aware at every moment of the feeling of the fabric against her skin, and aware too of the glances Miranda sends her way, sharp and admiring.
That evening, before she leaves, Andy folds the jacket and lays it neatly on Miranda’s desk. Miranda doesn’t even look up from her reading. She waves a dismissive hand.
“Keep it.” She says, airily, as if it doesn’t matter to her whether Andy does or not.
"I- What?"
Miranda narrows her eyes. She hates repeating herself, Andy knows that, and so she bows her head.
"Sorry." She says. "It's just- I can't possibly keep it."
"And why is that?"
"It's so expensive, and so beautiful -"
"Yes, and?"
Andy holds Miranda's gaze. She opens her mouth to speak, and closes it again. Her mind races, and she wonders if she's dreaming, if she's stepped into an alternate universe where Miranda has been replaced by her very generous doppelgänger.
"Andrea."
"Hm?" Andy asks, hopeful that she's going to get some answer, some explanation for Miranda's odd behaviour.
"Get out." Miranda says. "Now."
"Ah- yes." Andy turns.
"The jacket?"
"Oh." Andy turns back. She gathers it in her arms carefully, and bows her head. "Thank you, Miranda."
Miranda waves her out, irritated, but when Andy wears it a week later, matched with a dark green skirt and black boots, Miranda catches sight of her through her office window and stops talking in the middle of a phone call, her lips still curved around an unspoken word.
One morning there’s a pair of shoes sitting on her desk that Andy, surprisingly, rather likes - they’re deep brown, strappy, with heels small and neat enough to run in without stumbling. She runs a finger along the edge of one of them, and then sends Emily a questioning glance.
“Don’t look at me.” Emily says, without looking at her, her eyes fixed on her computer screen. “Miranda left them there this morning. Sort it out yourself, Andrea.”
“Okay, okay.” Andy mutters.
Curious, she glances into Miranda’s office to find that Miranda is already leaning back in her chair, watching her closely over the rim of her glasses. She raises an eyebrow as if to say, well? and Andy turns back to the shoes quickly.
She pulls off the boots Nigel picked for her from The Closet, and slides on Miranda’s heels instead. Miranda’s eyes flicker to her heels, and then she turns away, spinning around in her chair.
Andy stares at the back of Miranda’s head until Emily makes a choked noise in her throat.
“Sorry.” Emily says. “But did she- Did she give you those? Surely not.”
The envy in her voice is as sharp as a knife.
“I, um,” Andy runs a hand through her hair, glancing shyly at her feet. “I guess so.”
“I’m dreaming.” Emily says. “This isn’t happening.”
“Well, er-“
“Miranda doesn’t- She wouldn’t-“ Emily takes a sharp inhale. “Listen, she wore those three times two years ago. Miranda never wears a pair of shoes more than once! She loves them!”
A silence, then, as the words sink in.
“Oh.” Andy breathes.
She had tried for weeks to understand why Miranda had gifted her the jacket, and had come to the conclusion that Miranda had been so offended by her (and by extension, Nigel’s) sense of style that she had taken pity on her. But this implied it was something more. These shoes are not hand-me-downs. They are beloved.
“Are you blackmailing her?” Emily blurts out. “Like, genuinely - have you got something on her?”
“Got something on who?” Miranda drawls from the doorway, and Emily jumps out of her skin. Pale now, and quivering, she turns quickly back to her computer and falls silent.
Miranda turns to Andy. Her eyes flicker to her feet.
“Why are you just standing there?” Miranda asks. “Haven’t you got a job to do?”
Andy blinks. She hurries to sit down at her desk, and begins dialling a number on her phone. Her eyes flicker back to Miranda, who has tilted her head to look once more at her heels on Andy’s feet.
“Ah- yes, Miranda Priestly’s office.” Andy says, her voice cracking just slightly when Miranda’s eyes flicker from her heels to her face. She holds her gaze as Andy speaks, and Andy, stubborn and curious and more than a little captivated, doesn’t look away. “Yes, I’m just calling about-“
As she speaks, she crosses her legs, and delights in the feel of the heel as it scrapes along the edge of her jeans, and the way Miranda’s eyes flicker back to her legs.
“Yes, that’s perfect.” Andy says, faintly, a curious stir in her stomach that she decides is purely nerves at being so closely observed by Miranda Priestly. “Thank you.”
Miranda gives her another once-over before turning on her heel and striding away. Andy watches her leave, convinced now that she has become some sort of experiment for Miranda, though she can’t imagine what kind. She has only ever seen such appraisal and intensity in Miranda’s eyes when she sees an outfit she particularly likes, or when she knows she’s won.
Whatever her motivations, Miranda has managed to throw Andy completely out of sorts. She stumbles through the rest of her day, dreamy and absentminded.
That evening, she takes the shoes and places them neatly on Miranda’s desk, the way she did with the jacket. This time, it’s more out of curiosity than politeness. Andy wants - needs - to know why Miranda has gifted her something so precious .
Miranda looks up, her hand fluttering to the necklace around her throat.
“They’re for you.” She says plainly.
“Oh, but I-“ Andy stops herself. She looks at the floor. “I couldn’t.”
“Why ever not?” Miranda’s voice takes on a steeliness that almost always precedes her criticism. "We've discussed this."
“Emily mentioned that you…”
“Yes?”
“That you very much liked these shoes.” Andy says, all in a rush. “I couldn’t possibly accept them.”
“Yes, you could.” Miranda says. She waves a hand. “Take them, and shut the door behind you when you leave.”
“But-“
“Andrea.” Miranda bites, losing her patience. “If you don’t want them, I’d be happy to take them back.”
“Oh, no.” Andy says, surprised. She looks up. “No, that’s not what I meant at all.”
Miranda falls silent. Her eyes seem softer than usual in the evening light, and Andy gets the sense that perhaps she shouldn’t push this. For whatever reason, Miranda has gifted her with something precious, and Andy doesn’t want to take that for granted. She holds Miranda’s gaze and picks up the shoes.
“Thank you.” Andy says. Her voice is so warm that Miranda looks away, her jaw twitching. “They’re beautiful.”
“I know.” Miranda says simply. “Is that all?”
No, Andy thinks. She burns with a need to understand Miranda’s motivations, though she knows it would be futile to ask her anything. She swallows all of her questions, and murmurs the words Miranda has said to her so many times before.
“That’s all.”
Miranda turns away, and Andy leaves her office reluctantly, her heart in her throat and a pair of heels dangling between her fingers.
“She must have an ulterior motive,” Nate says, later, with her head in his lap. Andy hums in agreement, her eyes fixed on the shoes in her hands.
“Yeah.” She says. “I just can’t figure out what it is.”
“Either way, she’s a battle horse, Andy. Be careful. Women like her aren’t nice for the sake of it.”
“Women like what?” Andy snaps, sitting up. Nate holds up his hands in surrender.
“I just mean she’s manipulating you somehow, that’s all.” Nate says.
“I don’t know what I could possibly have that Miranda wants.” Andy says, thinking of the glint in Miranda’s eyes, the slow weight of her gaze as it travels over Andy’s body, assessing her, admiring her.
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Nate says. His lips twitch. “Anyway, should I be jealous?”
“Jealous?” Andy splutters.
Nate dangles the shoes in the air.
“I can have a word with her, if you like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Andy snaps again. Something twists in her gut at the sight of Nate handling the heels so carelessly, and she quickly takes them from him. As she sets them down carefully, she wonders why they matter so much to her, why the sight of them fills her with joy. “I can handle her.”
“Sure you can, Andy.” Nate drawls, with that disbelieving lilt in his voice that always irritates her.
Nate shouldn’t doubt her. Sometimes, Andy wonders at the fact Miranda has kept her around so long, despite all her flaws and blunders. She can’t help but think it’s because Miranda likes her, just a little - or perhaps admires her audacity. Either way, she’s tired of people underestimating her ability to deal with Miranda. Andy is certain, by now, that she can handle whatever Miranda throws at her, and she’s determined to do just that.
In The Closet, Nigel darts from rack to rack, pulling clothes out seemingly at random and throwing them to Andy. Andy, who is familiar with this routine by now, catches them with ease, and smiles patiently at the man who she has begun to view as a friend.
"Aha!" Nigel announces suddenly, holding a short, forest green dress with a low cut neck up to the light. It glitters, adorned with sequins, and Andy looks at it sceptically. "Now, I know what you're thinking, it's a little gaudy, but stay with me-"
"Just a little gaudy for a Gala." Andy says, amused. "But go on."
"The perfect jacket can do wonders." Nigel says. He pulls a blazer from her arms, a sleek, dark black, and Andy eyes it curiously. Yes, she can see his vision. The more time she spends with Nigel, watching his thought process, the more her own preferences start to solidify. She never thought she'd find fashion so fascinating.
"I'll try it." Andy decides.
"Trust me."
"Oh, I do." Andy says warmly.
She changes, and then looks at herself in the full-sized mirror. It looks better than she expects. The green brings out her eyes, and the sparkle is more ethereal, than anything. She twirls, and delights in how she glitters as she moves.
A low hum from the doorway makes her stumble and nearly fall. Nigel catches her smoothly, and Andy stands, brushing herself down and turning shyly to the woman in the doorway.
"Ah- Miranda." Andy says.
Miranda strides into The Closet. She says nothing, only walks around Andy slowly and considers her. Andy feels the heat of her gaze, the burn of it, as it rakes over her dress.
She holds up a finger.
"Wait." She says firmly, to both of them, and then strides out of The Closet.
Andy and Nigel turn to each other.
"What was that about?" Nigel hisses.
"I have no idea." Andy says. She bites her lip. "Has she seemed- different to you, recently?"
"Oh, sure. Distracted as hell. I assumed- Well, home's always been a sore subject."
Andy considers this. Could issues with her family - her husband, perhaps - really be the cause of Miranda's strange behaviour? Andy looks at herself in the mirror, wondering what Miranda sees, what makes her watch Andy so closely, so intently.
Miranda returns a few moments later with a forest green belt. It is embroidered with tiny flowers, beautifully detailed, and Andy stares at it, awed. She stands silently as Miranda slips the belt around her waist and buckles it. Her hands are warm, her touch delicate. Andy swallows. She can smell that perfume again, so sweet, so intoxicating .
Once the belt is buckled, Miranda steps back, and admires her. She shakes her head, and then steps closer, and pulls the blazer away from Andy's shoulders slowly and gently. Andy shivers. Miranda cannot stand her personal space to be invaded, and yet here she is, her hands smoothing over Andy's shoulders as she pulls the jacket away.
"Better." Miranda murmurs to herself. This time, when she steps back, she smiles to herself, satisfied. A smile, Andy thinks, amazed. "This will do."
The warmth in Andy's stomach is nervous and fluttering and- She cannot possibly be blushing, she thinks, but she can feel it in her cheeks. Miranda's eyes drift from Andy's face to her neck, which has flushed red too, and something flickers in her gaze, sharp and hot. Andy takes a breath.
"That's all." Miranda says simply, and steps out of The Closet as silently as she walked into it.
For a moment, Andy and Nigel just stare after her.
"What on earth have you done to Miranda Priestly?"
Andy shakes her head.
"I wish I knew." She breathes.
Later, when Nate kisses her, Andy's mind flickers back to that moment. Miranda's hands on her waist, her gaze as it drifted over Andy's face, her neck, her body- The sweet smell of her, the twitch of her smile, her smile, goodness her smile- She gets off on the thought of it, with Nate's hand between her legs, and wonders when Miranda Priestly started to take up so much of her mind.
When Miranda calls her into the office, Andy expects to be admonished.
She's been out of sorts, recently, messing up Miranda's coffee order and dialing the wrong numbers and tripping over herself like a fool. She is hopelessly distracted, and it isn't like her. She's finally good at her job, and here she is, ruining it because she's so preoccupied.
"Look." Andy says, as soon as she's stepped into the office, "I'm sorry. I know I've been distracted, lately, but I swear, I'm going to-"
"Come here." Miranda's voice cuts through her words, soft but firm. Andy swallows and steps towards the desk. "Sit down."
Andy obeys. She slides into the chair opposite Miranda.
"Please don't fire me." She blurts out. "I'll do anything. You know I can. Do anything, I mean."
Miranda holds up a hand.
"May I speak?" She asks, lowly. She's clearly unimpressed, and Andy falls silent. "Or are you going to ramble incessantly until I do fire you?"
Sorry, Andy mouths, which almost makes Miranda smile. Almost. Andy sees the twitch of her brow and delights in it. She always chases those ghosts of a smile, knowing they're rare and precious.
"Now." Miranda says. Her eyes flicker over Andy's outfit, a skirt and blouse combination. "Did Nigel pick that out for you?"
"Actually," Andy says, "I put it together myself."
Miranda raises an eyebrow. If Andy didn't know any better, she'd say Miranda looks impressed.
"I have something." She says, "That matches that exact shade of white."
Miranda opens a drawer in her desk and pulls out a tube of lipstick.
"Oh." Andy says, as Miranda unscrews the top. It's a rich shade of red, deep and pretty. Andy didn't put lipstick on this morning, more because she couldn't find the right shade, than anything. This- This is the perfect shade. As if it's been picked specifically for her... "I see."
She holds out her hand for it, but Miranda shakes her head.
"Let me, Andrea." She says, and Andy has no time to react before Miranda is leaning across the table and brushing the lipstick along her bottom lip. Andy tries hard not to startle, but her heart races, and she grips onto the edge of the table, knuckle-white and trembling at each stroke of the lipstick against her mouth.
Miranda is so very close, so close that Andy can see each of her delicate eyelashes, and every crease on her face. While Miranda is so focused on her lips, Andy watches her face, marvelling at how age has made it so beautifully lined. She notes how Miranda's brow furrows as she concentrates, how her lips are slightly pursed, and suddenly her heart fills with pure affection, because Miranda is so human, after all.
As if sensing her gaze, Miranda looks up, and something in Andy's eyes makes her startle. She smudges lipstick at the side of Andy's mouth, and Andy blinks in surprise. Miranda is always steady, always careful. Every move she makes is smooth and tight and perfect. Never a crease in her clothing, never a crack in her voice, and yet-
Andy loses her train of thought when Miranda brushes her thumb along the edge of her mouth.
"Don't tell any of the beauticians I did that." She says, hushed and quiet. Andy looks up, expecting to see a warning in Miranda's eyes, but finds instead they're crinkled with amusement.
"I wouldn't dare." Andy says, and smiles too.
Miranda holds the lipstick up again, her hand trembling just slightly, and Andy notices. Of course she notices. She spends every day observing Miranda, because she has to be keenly aware of her needs. Has she ever seen Miranda shake ? It's impossible, and wonderful. The moment is a secret, hers to keep. Later she will wonder if it even happened at all. Perhaps she dreamed it, after all.
When she's finished, Miranda screws the cap on the lipstick. She takes one of Andy's hands, her touch warm and sure. She puts the lipstick into her palm, and curls her hand around it, and Andy sees the smudge of lipstick on her thumb and- She cannot hear Miranda's soft voice over the pounding of her heart, and the sheer force of it against her ribcage. She fears it may break through.
"You're welcome." Miranda drawls.
"Ah- Thank you." Andy says, faintly. She runs her tongue along her bottom lip, and Miranda's eyes flicker back to her mouth.
Miranda tilts her head, and then reaches forward, and lifts Andy's chin with her thumb and forefinger. She holds Andy's gaze, and mutters something under her breath, too quiet for Andy to hear. After a pause, she runs her thumb over Andy's chin. Such a light touch, and yet it sends a chill over Andy's spine, and she longs for more of it, Miranda's hand against her cheek, or the pad of her fingers against Andy's bottom lip, sliding into Andy's mouth-
Andy lets out a breath, surprised at the force of her desire, which had been growing so steadily for the past few months but feels entirely too overwhelming now. She wonders if Miranda can sense it, if she has caught the catch in Andy's breathing. Surely she must have. It would be impossible for her not to feel how she's driving Andy completely and utterly mad, with her touch so gentle against Andy's chin, and her eyes so completely fixed on Andy's.
If Andy keeps looking into Miranda's eyes (drowning, darling, disastrous ) she's going to lean over and kiss her, so her gaze flickers to Miranda's chest instead, which, to Andy's surprise, is rising and falling as quickly as her own. As much as Miranda tries to put on a persona, her body cannot always obey her. And here is the proof of it, the evidence of her undoing. It makes Andy hope, and that is more dangerous, because Miranda is her boss and this is her job and she has Nate and yet none of that seems to matter when Miranda is so close to her, touching her and breathing heavily as if- as if-
As if she wants Andy.
Miranda lets go so suddenly that Andy falls backwards against her chair.
"That's all." Miranda says, too shakily to be sharp. Andy doesn't look at her as she stands, can't even breathe as she walks out of the office.
The lipstick is still snug in her palm as she sits down at her desk. It seems to burn a hole into her skin, but Andy doesn't want to let go of it, and grips it so hard it hurts.
That night, while Nate sleeps, Andy takes Miranda's jacket from where it's hung oh so carefully in her wardrobe. She slips it out of the hanger gently, and holds it up, admires it. Then she brings it to her face, and breathes in, and- Oh, the smell of her. Andy grows warm. She cannot help but relive the moments in Miranda's office, the soft brush of Miranda's lipstick against her bottom lip, the flutter of Miranda's eyelashes as she worked.
Andy's desire is a hot, urgent thing. She climbs into bed with it burning in her chest, the pit of her stomach, between her legs, knowing that what she wants is just a fantasy. Completely impossible, she tries to convince herself, and yet-
It feels possible, with Miranda's eyes on her. It feels completely and utterly real, and Andy cannot stand it, cannot bear it, thinks she might explode with the bittersweet longing for one more glance, one more lingering gaze. She sleeps fitfully, and her dreams are all the same.
When Andy delivers The Book, she makes sure to be silent and fast, barely even a shadow.
She places it quickly but carefully on the table with the flowers, and backs away without a sound, her heart pounding. This never gets easier, not since the first time - it always seems like an intrusion, and whenever she leaves Miranda's home she aches with the knowledge that she will never be a part of this place, never be more than a ghost.
Andy does not linger. She turns to a door, but a soft, hesitant voice stops her.
"Andrea." It says. Andy closes her eyes, takes a breath. This isn't part of their dynamic, this is breaking the rules. Nevertheless, when Andy turns, it's with her I'm-ready-for-anything smile.
"Yes?" Andy asks. She meets Miranda's gaze, and freezes at the sight of her. Her bare face glows under the low light, and she has a silk robe pulled around her body. Andy has not seen her so vulnerable, so unguarded, before. It softens Andy completely, and she can't help but smile at Miranda.
Miranda's eyes narrow. She pulls her robe closer around herself.
"Come here." She says, sharply.
Andy sighs, worried she has overstepped, but it was Miranda who crossed a boundary first, Miranda who left the jacket on her desk in the first place. What else is there to do but follow her?
With light footsteps, Miranda climbs the staircase. Andy watches her movements as she follows her, awed by her grace, her elegance, the way she moves as if the world belongs to her - and perhaps it does. Perhaps God would bow their head at the sight of Miranda Priestly. Andy wouldn't be surprised.
She follows Miranda into a walk-in wardrobe. Andy spins, amazed at the sight of it, so tall and colourful and completely full, fabrics spilling over the edges everywhere she looks.
"Here." Miranda says. She holds a dress up to the light. It's a bold, hot crimson, and it's neck dips dangerously. Andy raises her eyebrows at it.
"For me?" She laughs. "Sorry, it's just- I don't think it would suit me."
"You'd be surprised." Miranda says smoothly. "Don't forget who you're talking to, Andrea."
Which- Yes, Andy had been delighted by everything Miranda had chosen for her so far, but surely this is too much.
"It's so... bold." Andy says, uncertainly, taking the dress from her. She notes with surprise that it still has a tag on it. Did Miranda buy it for her? Surely not...
"Aren't you?" Miranda asks.
"Well, I-" Andy hesitates. She thinks of her sheer ignorance on her first day at Runway, her sharp retorts and her questions, the way she tried not to flinch when Miranda met her gaze. At every step she had challenged Miranda, and was that not the very definition of bold?
"Put it on." Miranda says. Trust me, is unspoken, but Andy hears it anyway, and softens.
"Yes, alright." Andy says. "But, I mean- Where did you get it? It still has the price tag on it."
Miranda, to Andy's surprise, averts her gaze.
"You didn't buy it for me, did you?" Andy asks. "Miranda-"
"I'll leave you to it." Miranda cuts in, quick and sharp. She steps out of the walk-in wardrobe, and Andy takes a breath. It's too much, to be invited in here, to be gifted with something yet again, and she doesn't think her heart will handle it. Miranda never lets people into her space, does not allow people to see her vulnerable, but here Andy is, with a gift in her arms.
Andy stares at the space Miranda left behind, and then pulls off her shirt and trousers and slips on the dress instead. It fits perfectly, as if tailored to her size.
When she turns to look at herself in the full-size mirror, Andy inhales sharply. Oh, she thinks. She runs her hands along her sides, marvelling at how the dress makes her look so confident, so sexy, so completely in control. Andy pulls her hair out of her ponytail and shakes her head, delighting in how her hair tumbles around her shoulders and frames her face and the dress so perfectly.
She turns, taking herself in. This is who Miranda makes her. This is the person she wants to be, the type of self-assured woman she'd imagined herself to be as a child. She has a long way to go - certainly she has not reached her dream of being a journalist yet - but looking at herself in the mirror now, Andy can see how much she has grown, and how capable she really is.
Is this... how Miranda sees her?
"Say it." Miranda's voice is heavy and warm from the shadows of the walk-in wardrobe, and Andy could drown in it, that tone, that crackle in Miranda's throat. "I was right. I'm always right."
"Okay." Andy smiles. "You were right."
Miranda comes to stand behind her, and sets her hands on Andy's shoulders. They meet eyes in the mirror, and Andy thinks that she must be imagining the warmth of Miranda's gaze, the softness of it, so unlike her. It's impossible, and yet the heat of Miranda's palms on her shoulders and her soft breath against Andy's neck is so completely real.
"Thank you." Andy says. She raises her hand to cover one of Miranda's with her own. In the mirror, Miranda's eyes flicker away from hers. "I never imagined myself so audacious, but you can see it, can't you? You bring it out of me."
"You look-" Miranda says, and - for the first time since Andy has known her - her voice catches, breaks, and the interruption is so unexpected that Andy cannot help but part her lips in surprise.
"Hm?" Andy asks, softly, chasing the words Miranda was going to say. What would she have said? The longing to hear the unspoken makes Andy ache.
Miranda's throat trembles as she swallows and Andy catches the movement of it, the nervousness of her. It awes her how someone so hard, so unyielding, can soften Andy so completely, melt her until all she wants to do is gather Miranda in her arms. If it is surety that Miranda brings out in Andy then perhaps it is this softness that Andy brings out in her, this impossible sweetness. Andy can hardly believe her luck.
"It's late." Miranda murmurs, into the dark, but it's unconvincing. "Go."
Almost instinctively, Andy goes to step away from Miranda, but then she stops herself. In the dark quiet of the walk-in wardrobe, just the two of them in this small, sacred place, Andy can't smother her desire as easily as usual. It demands her attention, and Andy can't help but want to succumb to it, with Miranda so close and so willing.
" Go, Andrea . " Miranda hisses, but Andy ignores her, and turns in her arms. Miranda's hands fall, and she stands still and quiet as Andy steps into her space,
This close, Andy can hear each of Miranda's breaths, can almost feel the thrum of her pulse. She does not tremble as she cups Miranda's cheek with her hand. She does not tremble even when Miranda's breath catches, even when her eyes flutter shut.
"I can go." Andy can't help but tease, "If you want me to."
She runs her thumb along Miranda's cheek, surprised by how warm she is to the touch, how soft. So much of her seems guarded and yet here she is, held in Andy's hand. But then, here Andy is, in a dress chosen by Miranda - and here Andy is, longing for her so desperately, so completely. Neither of them is free of the other, but neither of them are in complete control, either.
"Very well." Andy smiles.
She tilts her head, and presses her lips to Miranda's, close and warm. At once, Miranda melts beneath her, her hands fluttering to Andy's chest, her lips parting. Andy delights in how she gasps against Andy's mouth, how undone she is.
When Andy's tongue brushes her bottom lip, Miranda makes a delightful noise in her throat. She opens her mouth, and pushes Andy against one of the clothing racks, and Andy (of course, of course ) obeys her, pressing herself against it. Miranda's hands rise to tangle in her hair and Andy loves it, loves the feeling of Miranda tugging on it to pull Andy closer, closer, with her tongue hot and urgent in Miranda's mouth.
Miranda pulls back and looks at her in the dark. Her gaze is heavy and hot and shadowed and when she puts one of her hands beside Andy's head on the clothing rack, Andy feels herself falter. She holds onto the clothing rack for balance, and takes a breath, her eyes flickering over Miranda's flushed face. She lets Miranda look at her, her gaze drifting over Andy's dress, with more intent this time.
As Miranda leans forward, Andy delights in how quickly the roles reverse, how easy it is for Miranda to take her power back. Her kiss is light, teasing, and Andy chases it, pulls Miranda closer by the collar of her robe. Miranda smiles against her mouth, her hands trailing over the sides of Andy's dress, up and over her waist, her sides.
"I chose well." She murmurs, the closest she has come to a compliment. She pulls Andy closer to her by her hips and Andy gasps at the flush of their bodies, the way they fit together so perfectly. "Didn't I?"
"Ah- yes." Andy breathes, knowing every question from Miranda needs an answer.
Miranda tilts her head to kiss Andy's neck, a wonderful reward. The press of her mouth and warmth of her breath makes Andy shiver, and she tilts her neck, allows Miranda's mouth to press deeper, closer. The brush of her tongue makes Andy moan, and Miranda smiles against her throat. So many smiles, all against her skin - Andy's heart swells.
"I love it when you smile." She can't help but say. Miranda's teeth brush her skin, an obvious warning, but it makes Andy moan again. Miranda bites her, lightly, humming with delight at the sound in Andy's throat. Andy presses Miranda closer, hands against her head, and Miranda smiles again, again, and Andy can't help but pull her head up and kiss that smile over and over until it is impossibly bright.
"Stop that." Miranda laughs - laughs ! Andy captures it with her mouth, hers and hers alone.
"I want you." Andy pulls back to breathe, all in a rush, before Miranda can cut her off, "All of you, your wit and your intelligence and your critiques and, yes, before your protest, your smile, and-"
"That's quite enough." Miranda says, but when she leans into kiss Andy she's surprisingly gentle, her thumb rubbing gently over her cheek as if to say I know or, I want you too, and somehow that is enough to make Andy feel warm and wanted.
"If this is what you want." Andy says, "If I am what you want, then I swear I'll do anything for you, anything."
"Anything?" Miranda asks, her head titled and her eyes twinkling, and Andy's smile widens.
"Anything." She agrees.
Miranda delights her with a low chuckle, and then her fingers are trailing over the exposed skin of Andy's throat, fluttering over her chest. She leans in, her breath hot against Andy's ear.
"Prove it." She whispers, and Andy shivers. "Take it off."
Andy swallows. She meets Miranda's eyes, and Miranda raises an eyebrow, as if to say, well? It dawns on Andy that perhaps this is what Miranda has wanted all along, from the moment Andy shrugged her jacket on her shoulders.
"So this is why?" Andy asks, pulling the dress slowly over her shoulders. "All of the clothes, all of the gifts, because you wanted me?"
"I wanted to see them on you." Miranda says.
"Claim me, more like." Andy's lips twitch. She pulls the dress slowly over her chest and delights in how Miranda inhales sharply. "Was it torture, watching me walk around the office in your clothes, unable to touch me?"
" Andrea. " Miranda hisses, a warning. Andy pulls the dress over her stomach.
"Did you imagine me like this?" She asks, her voice hushed now, quiet with desire. She pulls the dress over her legs, throws it to the side, and Miranda's eyes linger on the curve of her breasts, the skin of her thighs.
"Constantly . " Miranda breathes.
Andy closes her eyes as Miranda explores her, her touch warm and reverent , as if it is a delight to do so. She grows impatient at Miranda's slow pace, did not expect her to be so thorough, and yet it should be no surprise. How careful Miranda is with her work, how meticulous. Andy is treated with the same respect as Runway itself, and though that is precious, and really rather sweet, she cannot bear the way Miranda tugs on her nipple so lightly, grazes her hands up Andy's thigh so gently. When Miranda's fingers graze over her silk panties, so light Andy almost doesn’t feel it, she hisses and thinks Miranda may be doing it on purpose.
"Touch me." Andy breathes, and, with the boldness Miranda loves so much, grabs her hand and presses it between her thighs.
Miranda looks up at her, her eyes twinkling, and Andy realises this was the whole point. Damn Miranda, and her games, and her rules, and the way she always, always wins.
"Oh?" Miranda says. She cups between Andy's legs, sudden and hard, and Andy grips onto the clothing rack, gasping. "Better?"
"Ah." Andy closes her eyes. "Miranda-"
"Hm?" Miranda asks, still gripping her so hard, so tight. "What is it?"
"Please." Andy says, pride be damned, and she feels the smile in Miranda's mouth as she kisses her. Her grip loosens, and she runs her fingers over the outside of Andy's panties. Andy knows Miranda can feel that she's wet already, and all she wants is the slick of Miranda's fingers through that wetness, the heat of her-
Miranda's fingers slip beneath her panties and Andy moans. The feeling of Miranda's fingers is better than she imagined, warmer and sweeter, and she bucks when Miranda brushes her clit lightly. Miranda's smile is sharp when she brushes it again, again, so lightly Andy wants to scream.
" Please. " Andy insists desperately.
Miranda likes this - really likes it, judging by the catch in her breath, the redness of her neck. She rewards Andy by circling her clit with more intent, and Andy can hardly hold herself up. She almost collapses against the clothing rack, but Miranda slides an arm beneath her and holds her up easily. Andy is surprised by her sheer strength , and the firmness of her arm.
Miranda's touch is faster now, more urgent, and Andy leans her head back and moans. Pleasure builds in her stomach, warm and demanding already. How undone Miranda makes her, how completely undone.
"Inside of me." Andy gasps.
Miranda puts pressure against her clit, ignoring the request. Andy hisses.
"Please." She says, her voice breaking with a moan. Miranda glances at her, one eyebrow raised. "Please, Miranda."
"Oh, very well." Miranda says. Her fingers slide down, and she circles Andy's entrance until Andy wants to beg for it, does beg for it, breathes please until Miranda takes pity on her and slides a finger inside of her.
She slides in, and out, curling her finger, and Andy cries out at the sensation of it, the feeling of being so full of Miranda, so warm with her touch. She cries out again when Miranda slides another finger inside, and almost collapses again when Miranda's thumb circles her clit at the same time. Still, despite all of it, despite the way Andy had begged, Miranda's movements are fast and frantic and Andy can't help but feel smug at the way Miranda so clearly wants her, so deeply needs to touch her.
The need for release becomes so urgent that Andy presses her face into Miranda's neck. She breathes against her, wanting so desperately to come-
"Not yet." Miranda hisses, and Andy whines.
"Please." She murmurs, pulling back to meet Miranda's eyes. She can hardly bear holding it back. " Please, Miranda."
Miranda's movements do not stop. Her eyes don't give Andy permission.
"Please, Miranda." Andy breathes. " Please. "
Miranda smiles. She presses a kiss to Andy's forehead.
"Very well." She murmurs, and Andy gasps and buries her face again, bucks her hips against Miranda's fingers. Miranda's pace is fast and unyielding and Andy moans and comes, Miranda holding her up as her legs tremble. It has never felt so good, so powerful.
She keeps her face hidden in Miranda's shoulder long after it's over, overcome by the force of her longing and her affection.
Miranda kisses behind her ear, and chuckles lightly.
"Are you alright, Andrea?" She asks, and Andy recovers herself enough to be surprised at her sweetness, the warmth of her hand as it runs softly over Andy's head.
"Yes." Andy laughs. "Yes, perfectly alright, more than alright."
She pulls back and kisses Miranda deeply. Miranda smiles against her mouth.
"Good." She hums, when she pulls away. She tilts her head and loosens her grip on Andy's waist, touching her cheek lightly instead. "I'm... glad."
Andy beams, warm with the tone of Miranda's voice and the knowledge that this - all of it - is what Miranda has wanted all along. She pulls Miranda into her arms, and to her surprise, Miranda doesn't fight it. She runs a hand over Andy's back, light and gentle.
When Andy pulls back, she plays with the collar of Miranda's robe. How beautiful Miranda is, how perfect. Andy wants to see her too, touch her, taste her, feel the press of her body against her own. How magical, that this is hers.
Miranda considers her for a moment. Then she ducks her head, and whispers in Andy's ear, a secret just for her.
"You can have me." She whispers, and Andy has never desired something so strongly. "But preferably, somewhere nicer than this."
"Oh, good enough for me though, wasn't it?"
"You're easy." Miranda says - a joke! Andy thinks, amazed. She grins, pulls on Miranda's collar teasingly.
"Hey!" She says. "Where, then?"
"Come with me." Miranda says, and Andy (of course, of course ) follows her, feeling happier than she ever has before.
In the morning Andy sits by the window, staring thoughtfully out into the garden while Miranda sleeps. For the first time in so long, Andy wants to write until her hands ache and her eyes sting. She has not felt this inspired for such a long time, and it feels good.
It's all owed, of course, to Miranda, who is sleeping sweetly. Andy's eyes flicker to look at her. Her face is more open in sleep, and Andy's gaze lingers on her. It amazes her still that she gets to see this, that she can be here. She can't, won't, let go of it.
After a moment, she decides to find a notebook, and spends an hour just writing, her ideas spilling from her easily now. She's so immersed that she doesn't look up until she feels a soft weight against her shoulders.
Her hand rises to touch it - a silk robe. Miranda' s. It smells like her, and Andy pulls it closer around herself and looks up at Miranda, who is already looking down at her. Her face is closed now, unreadable, but Andy knows better, knows that the robe around her shoulders is proof of her want and her affection.
"Morning." Andy says, warmly.
Miranda considers her for a moment, and then leans down to press a kiss to her forehead.
"Good morning, Andrea." She says, lightly, and then, finally, she smiles. "For once, let me get the coffee."
This makes Andy smile. She's still smiling as Miranda pulls on another robe and disappears from the room, still smiling even when she turns back to her notebook. She could get used to this, she thinks, Suddenly she is dreaming of a new future, a future in which she has both, where she goes home, and breaks up with Nate, and leaves Runway, and has her dream career. In this future she has Miranda, Miranda in the mornings, and Miranda's foot against her leg in a restaurant, and Miranda's eyes twinkling across the room, a secret just for them. Andy wants so badly for it to become a reality.
She pulls Miranda's robe tighter around herself, and prays it will.