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You Shouldn't Worship False Idols

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It wasn’t the wine Andy was drunk on; it was Miranda.  Tonight’s dinner in had been, rather unusually, just the two of them.  Generally, if dinner was at the townhouse, it was in the company of the twins.  Or on one memorable occasion the twin’s father, who on dropping the twins off one evening had known full well he was interrupting but seemed unable to reign in his curiosity at Miranda being quite so relaxed and apparently polite making an offer for him to join them.  From her expression the when he had accepted, it was clear the white-haired woman had neither expected nor wanted him to say yes.  Still, an enjoyable evening was passed all the same, with Miranda content to sit back and let Andy take centre stage, exchanging silent looks of approval with her daughters as the brunette had gone toe to toe with her former husband, never backing down, all the while never being anything but her charming self. 

That had been the first night Miranda had kissed her, standing on the stone steps of the townhouse, blushing all the while.  A stuttered apology had followed, only for Andy to cup the other woman’s face in her hands and kiss her right back.

It wasn’t that affection was an alien concept between the pair.  Even page six was bored of their strolling along holding hands, or of Miranda leaning into the brunette, taking the arm she would often offer, the action as natural to her now as slipping on her coat.  Kisses, however, were different.  Kisses were newsworthy to the press and noteworthy to Miranda and Andy.

They both understood that dating Miranda Priestly was somewhat of a public affair and as much as any couple could, had become used to seeing a camera lens pointer in their direction as they would go out to dinner, the theatre, or on what had become their favourite dates; museum and gallery dates.  Miranda, being who she was, would surprise Andy by getting them into private collections or late night exclusives that worked around their schedules.  Andy, meanwhile, would find smaller exhibitions she knew would most likely not have made their way onto Miranda’s radar.  It was often a chance not only to spend time together, but to learn about each other’s likes and interests.

Tonight, Andy had discovered she rather liked having the freedom to let her hands track Miranda’s slim curves between slow, languorous kisses.  Dinner had evolved into finishing their bottle of wine in the den, which had somehow led to where they currently found themselves, with Miranda practically in Andy’s lap. 

The brunette knew she could so easily get carried away.  She had been granted permission to touch, and she was revelling in it.  With considerable effort, she pulled back from their kiss, watching as Miranda’s eyes finally fluttered open.  The other woman’s touch had her on fire.  Between the hands anchored in her hair and the warm weight of her resting atop her thighs Andy was fighting the urge to flip the other woman over and pin her to the couch. 

Blinking back into focus, Miranda registered the hands that drifted back down to gingerly rest on the flare of her hips as the younger woman pulled back from her.  “Oh.”  It was just as she feared. 

“No,” said Andy immediately, more adept at reading the other woman’s face than most.  She waiting until blue eyes met her own.  “Don’t even think that for a moment.  I want this, Miranda.  I want you.  I just don’t want to rush things.”

“We’ve been dating for weeks.  Months,” huffed the usually formidable Editor in Chief. 

“That’s not something I’m likely to forget, Miranda.”  Especially not with Emily still berating her on a weekly basis at their both being rather obtuse in the beginning and not realising they were dating at all.  Of course they were dating she had all but screeched at Andy one day.  Why on earth was she dealing with the headache of carving out time in Miranda’s schedule for lunches, drinks and dinners otherwise?  And if that wasn’t a giveaway, why in the name of all that was fashion was Miranda Priestly getting her own coffee, if not to spend a few minutes with a junior reporter who just happened to be writing on her laptop in the Starbucks closet to Runway?

“Are you sure?”

Miranda was anything but sure, but her body was reacting far more than she ever thought it would.  She couldn’t quite recall the last time she had felt quite so turned on.  Her body screamed at her not to stop, but she couldn’t quite silence the worry that Andrea might finally realise she was just a foolish old woman when she finally saw beneath the carefully cultivated La Priestly exterior.  But then, she reasoned, hadn’t the previous weeks been spent building this, ensuring they were good for each other, on the same page?  “Yes.”

She squeaked in surprise when Andrea suddenly stood, the hands that had been resting on her hips suddenly gripping her close as she was taken with the brunette, lifted into the air.  She was offered a stuttered apology as she was put back on her feet, the younger woman blushing scarlet.

“See, this is what I mean by a little carried away.  But honestly?  I can’t help it.  The things you do to me with a look are criminal, never mind this,” offered Andy by way of an explanation, gesturing vaguely at the woman before her. 

Her ego suitably bolstered for the moment, Miranda found herself smirking.  “This?  Such an eloquent compliment, Andrea.”

The brunette, groaned, rubbing a hand over her face.  “Seriously?  You’re lucky I’m using words at all with how distracted you have me.”

The other woman took in the flushed face of the woman standing before her, hands fidgeting and breathing still not quite regular.  All because of her.  Wonders would never cease.  “I’ve come to rather enjoy our conversations.  Maybe we should just call it a night if this is the effect taking my shoes off has on you?”

It was a teasing question, but Andy didn’t miss the flash of hesitation in Miranda’s eyes.  She stepped closer, linking her hands at the small of the other woman’s back.  “If I concentrate I’m sure I can just about string a sentence together if it’s pillow talk you’re interested in.”

Miranda paused, painfully aware of just how well the younger woman could read her hesitation.  She reached up, lacing her fingers behind her head and pulling Andrea in for a kiss.  She wanted this, so why was she fighting it?  “To bed then,” she whispered, taking in the grin that curved kiss bruised lips at the words.

Yes, she wanted this.  Turning in the brunette’s embrace, she stepped away, gathering their glasses and now empty wine bottle before heading for the kitchen.  Trading empty glasses for a bottle of water, she turned back to where Andrea was leaning against the doorframe, watching her.  Her grin had softened, but a smile still lingered.  Lacing their fingers together, she led the younger woman to the stairs. 

Andrea had never seen her bedroom, she realised, as she flicked on the lights, pausing a moment to dim them.  She dropped the hand clasped loosely in her own, moving to deposit the bottle of water she had brought with them and light a few candles.  She was stalling, and she knew it.  Taking a deep breath, she placed the lighter down, turning to find Andrea perched on the edge of her bed.  Again, watching her.  Again, with that same soft smile. 

“You know we don’t have to do anything, right?”

“I’m not some teenager,” snarled Miranda.  “I’m well aware I can say no.”  She stopped, dropping her gaze to her feet, embarrassed at snapping.  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice quiet.  “I’m just...nervous.  It’s not a feeling I enjoy.”

“Does it help to know I’m nervous too?”

She looked up.  “A little,” she admitted.

Andy shrugged.  “Look, why don’t we just put on some PJs and get into bed?  If anything does or doesn’t happen after that, well?”

Coming to stand at the foot of the bed Miranda stepped between Andrea’s slightly parted legs.  She was so young, and yet, so full of understanding.  Leaning down, she cupped her cheeks as she kissed her.  Slowly.  Thoroughly. 

It was enough to make Andy’s head spin by the time the older woman finally pulled back with a final peck to her lips before disappearing into the huge walk in closet.  Reappearing a few moments, later, she held out a camisole for the brunette, a pair of silk button up pyjamas clutched in her hand for herself.  If Andy thought the choice unfair, she said nothing of it. 

“Is there another bathroom on this floor?”

Miranda nodded.  “The door at the top of the stairs.  There should be a new toothbrush under the sink and everything you should need.”

Standing, Andy pressed a kiss to the older woman’s cheek.  “Back in a minute.”


Andy toyed with the rather short hem of the camisole she had been given to wear, perched on the edge of Miranda’s huge bed as she waited for the other woman to return from the ensuite that she was sure was probably bigger than the bedroom of her apartment.  She let her eyes drift around the tastefully decorated room as she waited, smiling at the book laying open on the nightstand, resting on its pages, its spine cracked open and a pair of Miranda’s glasses perched over it.  On the vanity, there was a scattering of make-up from a hurried morning routine.  Silly things to notice, perhaps, but they made Andy smile.  Little signs that showed her this was the room of Miranda and not the Editor in Chief.

Trying to be patient, but at the same time concerned at the amount of time the older woman was taking to change, Andy pushed up from the bed and made her way towards the ensuite.  She knew Miranda was capable of full changes of wardrobe and makeup in five minutes flat so fifteen minutes to put on some pyjamas seemed excessive.  Stopping in the doorway, she found Miranda silently scrutinising her reflection in the harsh lighting of the bathroom. 

Her face was not one that approved of what she saw. 

Approaching slowly, Andy moved until she stood behind the other woman, wrapping her arms around her slim waist and enjoying the soft silk that now replaced the rather more structured dress Miranda had worn for dinner.  “Everything okay?”

Turning in the embrace, Miranda looked up at the younger woman, looking younger still without her make-up.  She dropped her gaze to the tiled floor, closing her eyes as a gentle finger was used to lift her chin.  She kept them closed as a gentle kiss was pressed against her lips. 

“Tell me?”

Miranda shook her head.  “I’m being a foolish.”

“No, you’re not,” said Andy, brushing her favourite errant lock from the other woman’s forehead.  “We’re in this together.  I thought we agreed to talk to each other?”

Finally opening her eyes, Miranda looked up.  “What do you see in me?”

“I see the woman I fell in love with,” replied Andy without hesitation.  “She’s fierce, determined, stubborn to a fault, but she’s also kind and protective and beautiful.”  She hated to see the uncertainty still on the other woman’s face.  Again.

It had been there downstairs when she had pulled back, again when Miranda had dimmed the lights, and even moreso now when the woman could barely meet her eyes.  Making her decision, Andy silently manoeuvred her until she was sitting on the edge of the large bathtub.  Moving back to the sink she collected a few cotton pads and Miranda’s make up remover before coming to stand before her once more. 

Miranda lifted a hand to stop her, before dropping it with a sigh.  Tense beneath the gentle touches being bestowed on her, the older woman closed her eyes once more.  A laundry list of all the words that had ever been used to describe her without her make-up running through her head; frumpy, plain, haggard.  Words she had tried to brush off at the time, but that had stuck with her. 

Andy meanwhile, worked slowly and methodically, removing every trace of the war mask the other woman wore on a daily basis, enjoying being allowed to see the woman beneath.  She smiled as a dusting of freckles were revealed, reminding her of the twins.  The laughter lines the older woman often tried to hide, but that Andy loved, became more pronounced.  Leaning forward, the pressed a gentle kiss to slightly parted lips, finishing with a kiss to the frown lines crossing Miranda’s forehead.  “Beautiful.”

Opening her eyes, Miranda looked up at the woman before her, seeing the truth in her eyes.  “You really think that, don’t you?”

“I do,” replied the brunette, the smile never leaving her face.  “Whichever face you happen to have on.”  She gestured to the array of potions and lotions that sat on either side of the sink.  The fact that the bathroom better stocked than most stores came as no surprise.  “So, what’s next?” 

Shyly, the white haired woman shuffled back to the sink, starting her nightly skincare routine.  She was hyper aware of dark eyes on her, the younger woman’s reflection smiling softly at her from the mirror.  It was the soft expression that gave her the confidence to continue.  As she applied her final moisturiser she turned to the brunette.  “This one would work well for your skin.”

“Be a step up from my usual soap and water,” smirked Andy.  She tilted her face as Miranda approached, letting her apply the liquid to her face, saying nothing as gentle fingers lingered over the skin, enjoying how much more at ease she appeared.  Finally, as the older woman linked her hands behind Andy’s neck, she snaked her arms around Miranda’s waist, pulling her close and burying her face against her shoulder.  “Please don’t ever hide from me because you don’t think I’ll want to see you.”

She had barely finished speaking when soft lips pressed against her own in an insistent kiss.  “I don’t deserve you.”

“You say some stupid things sometimes,” smiled Andy.  She pushed herself to her feet.  “Come on.  Bed.”  She led the other woman by the hand, kissing her knuckles before releasing the delicate digits as they both climbed into bed, facing one another among the softest sheets Andy had ever had the privilege of lying in.  Delicate fingers came up to trace the lines of her face once more, as if memorising it by touch.

Miranda, meanwhile, let her mind wander as she traced the soft planes of Andrea’s face.  There were few people who touched her, and even fewer who she chose to touch.  It wasn’t that she disliked physical contact, she was just very selective in who she was comfortable with putting their hands on her.  Andrea’s touch was still new to her.  For the most part, there were gentle, comforting touches; a hand clasping her own, or at the small of her back.  Tonight’s touches in the den, however, were something altogether different.  She felt a shiver run through her at the memory of how Andrea’s hands had felt through her clothes, and what they might feel like -.


Lost in her thoughts, the other woman hummed in response. 

“You’re blushing.”

This brought Miranda abruptly back to the present.  “Am I?”

“You are,” smiled Andy.  “It’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” hissed the older woman.  “Really Andrea?  Adorable?”

The brunette let out a laugh.  “You wanted me to use my words, and right now, that’s the one I’m going with.”

Miranda huffed.  Adorable was not what she was aiming for.  Attractive, yes.  Possibly even alluring.  Certainly not adorable.  She resisted as the younger woman tried to tug her into a closer embrace. 

“Come here.”


Andy shook her head, shifting back across the huge bed, trying not to laugh at the pout being aimed at her.  “Fine, I’ll just be all the way over here going to sleep.  But I bet your morning bed hair is adorable too.”

Surprising them both with the speed of her actions, Miranda found herself pouncing on top of the retreating warmth of the younger woman’s body.  She felt the blush on her cheeks deepen and her chest flush as she looked down at the grinning brunette beneath her.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to be so…physically insistent.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” said Andy, her hands sliding up the toned muscles of the older woman’s back and shoulders, hidden beneath the soft fabric of her pyjamas.  She guided Miranda’s mouth down to meet her own, smiling into the kiss as she let her hands slide into iconic white hair.  Letting her nails scratch lightly against the other woman’s scalp, she hissed as she felt the other woman’s hips move against her where she straddled her waist. 

Pulling back slowly, she cupped Miranda’s face, making sure she was looking at her as she spoke.  “I’m not stopping because I don’t want this.  I’m stopping because of how much I do.  I told you earlier I didn’t want to rush things, but right now I’m sixty seconds away from tearing these pyjamas off and worshipping every inch of you.”

What was any woman meant to say to that?  For the first time in a long time, Miranda found herself speechless.  She took a moment to regulate her breathing, hands searching out those of the woman who had currently rendered her mute.  Holding the brunette’s gaze, she took those same hands and placed them on her waist once more before giving her hips an exaggerated roll against the lithe frame of the woman beneath her. 

Andy hissed at the movement, her fingers gripping Miranda’s slim frame.  “Miranda.”

“Yes, Andrea?”

“That’s not adorable.”

The white-haired woman smirked, her confidence growing as she repeated the action and revelling in the sharp intake of breath it garnered.  “No?”

“I warned you,” breathed Andy, raising an eyebrow.

Miranda’s smirk remained as she rolled her hips once more, bearing down against the younger woman.  The smirk was wiped from her face, however as she was unceremoniously flipped onto her back as Andrea surged upwards, suddenly looming over her, now cradled between her thighs.  The warm weight of the brunette’s body against her own wrought a shuddering breath from her lungs.  “What if I hope your words are more a promise than a warning?”

Andy leant down until her mouth hovered close to the other woman’s ear, a single finger trailing down the buttons on the front of her pyjamas.  “Then these really need to go.  Unless you’ve suddenly decided you’re a fan of a glacial pace?”


Andy smiled in the dim morning light that filtered through a crack in the bedroom curtains.  She had been awake for some time, but hadn’t dared move, less she disturb the scene before her and it proved to be nothing more than a dream.

The warmth of Miranda’s naked body against her own, however, was helpful in convincing her it was very much real, as did the adorably riotous hair tickling her nose.  She hoped she had made good on her promise to worship every inch of the other woman’s body the night before, but just in case she had missed any, she planned to worship at this particular altar often.