DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is for the 2009 Secret Santa DWP thing. My recipient/victim is, chilly_flame. (And the crowd went wild!) Her prompts were unique, I chose the following from the list she provided: Mirandy fic only please - Something funny, madcap, screwball comedy like. With sex. Or not. But maybe! (I had help with this btw, thanks for that.)
By The Raven
Why did they serve food at these events?
Andy mused this as she eyed the array of food hungrily. She did not dare eat, though. Not only was she wearing a dress that was fitted snuggly enough to show the creases of her areolas, Miranda would kill her if she saw it happen.
Miranda would kill her even if she did not witness it. Andy was becoming convinced that her boss had a supernatural ability to detect everything and anything that happened around her. That, or everyone was reporting back to her as to whether her assistant, Andy Sachs, was getting ready to eat some crab cakes at a function where no woman would be caught dead eating, even if it killed them.
Andy's war with the crab cakes ended when she was interrupted by the arrival of Christian Thompson. Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Andy tried to be as polite as possible while still blatantly communicating her utter disinterest.
The man seemed incapable of taking a hint, or hundreds of hints for that matter. Andy wondered if it had something to do with the fact that she was Miranda's assistant, or was it simply because she was rejecting him that his ego insisted that he keep trying.
Either way, it was annoying and it was getting in the way of her job, never mind her crab cakes. Now she would never have the time to sneak a bite of them.
Where was Miranda?
Andy's mind was suddenly consumed by this thought. At least ten minutes had passed since Andy had last seen or heard her boss. Ten minutes was an eternity in Miranda time. Anything could be happening and Andy did not like the idea of what that anything could be.
Sometimes she wondered just why she was so incredibly loyal to a woman who would undoubtedly dismiss her offhand at the first opportunity or fuck up.
Andy did have the time or the luxury to spend on dwelling too much. She also did not have the time to deal with Christian Thompson tonight, so without too much of a goodbye, she disengaged herself and started to scan all the available space around her for Miranda.
Where was she?
It took Andy about five minutes to find Miranda. In those five minutes every scenario from death, to chipped nail polish flittered across Andy's brain as possible reasons as to why on earth Miranda had disappeared from the party. The errant and obsessive thoughts worked Andy up into quite a lather by the time she did find Miranda.
Also, when Andy found Miranda, she realised that it was actually possible to not think of everything, no matter how unlikely it may have seemed.
"Miranda?" Andy hedged, trying to understand what she was seeing.
There was no reaction from Miranda, so Andy, being the good assistant that she was hesitantly approached her boss.
For all intents and purposes it seemed that Miranda was unaware of Andy's approach, which perplexed Andy even more than what she was apparently witnessing.
Eventually Andy came to a stop within about a foot of Miranda. And yes, there was no disputing what she was seeing. Miranda was sitting in an overstuffed, very pretentious looking chair, with a large tumbler of amber liquid in her hand and there was a half finished decanter beside her on an ornate table that looked like it would not be large enough to serve tea to Lilliputians on.
Andy swatted aside her errant thoughts as she took a deep breath and attempted to formulate possible needed words or actions to deal with this new situation.
"Andrea." Miranda slurred, removing the need for Andy to think of something to say.
"Annnnndrreaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh..." Miranda intoned again, rising her bleary eyes to look at Andy as she did.
For once, Andy felt truly at a loss for words. Miranda was drunk. Every conceivable person who was anything and anyone in fashion was waiting just outside to witness this and outside on the street, there was a cadre of reporters and groupies who would be ready with cameras and by tomorrow, Miranda could be ruined.
Andy would also be fired.
Why was Miranda drunk?
Andy was asking herself this when Miranda threw her head back and downed whatever she was drinking like a pro. Not even the barest of flinches crossed the patrician face of her boss. Andy idly speculated that perhaps even booze cowered in the presence of the formidable Miranda Priestly.
When a perfectly manicured hand reached for the heavy decanter in order to pour more of the viscous liquid into the now empty tumbler, Andy decided that she needed to act. If there was going to be any hope of her getting Miranda out of here without a scandal, the older woman needed to be able to walk under her own power, at least somewhat.
"I think you have had enough now, Miranda." Andy said and moved the decanter out of reach.
They needed to get out of here. Depending on how much alcohol Miranda had consumed and how quickly, would depend on how drunk she would become over the next little while.
Andy needed Roy, and she needed an alternate exit, someplace away from the photographers who were camped out at the front of the building.
As Miranda stared at her with deadly, drunken eyes, Andy hit the speed dial on her phone, hoping against hope that Roy was somewhere close by. Andy estimated that she had maybe ten or fifteen minutes before she would have to practically carry Miranda out of here, and there would be almost no way of concealing that from prying eyes.
"Roy, I need you at the back entrance ASAP. This is an emergency." Andy said as soon as she heard Roy pick up the phone.
"Andy?" A feeble sounding voice said into the phone.
"Roy?" Andy said, completely forgetting whatever it was she was supposed to be doing for the moment.
"Andy. I can't. Food poisoning, I am on a drip in the ER." Roy gasped out, sounding utterly miserable.
So miserable in fact that Andy did not have the heart to be mad at him. She would find another way. They had cabs in New York City. Queen Miranda would just have to deal with one, as right now there was not time to call any other car hire company and hope to have it here in time before the full impact of whatever Miranda had managed to drink hit.
Slipping her phone into her pocket, Andy turned back to Miranda.
"Time to go, Miranda." Andy said firmly after a pause.
She somehow knew this was not going to be as easy as all that though.
"Go where, Andrea?" Miranda mumbled, looking almost petulant.
Andy might have been tempted to laugh, had the situation not been so potentially serious.
"Home, Miranda." Andy said, reaching for her boss and mentally calculating the most efficient way to get out of the building.
Things had gone somewhat smoothly up to a point. Miranda had cooperated, albeit in a somewhat wobbly fashion to Andy coaxing her to her feet and they had made it to the door main room in a somewhat sober seeming fashion.
It was then that Andy remembered that Miranda never failed to be noticed. The surge of people making their way over to them was a guaranteed recipe for disaster and as the distance between them and a number of very high powered fashion moguls decreased, Andy scrambled to figure out just what the hell she should do next.
A microsecond passed and Andy made her decision.
While it may be that it would be a disaster for Miranda to be seen as drunk in public, there was no such disaster for Andy. At most people would be amused by Miranda escorting a drunken assistant someplace, and perhaps they would also be titillated by Miranda's seeming benevolence.
Miranda was far from sober though, so Andy was going to need to seem very drunk in order for that to be overlooked. Andy sent a brief prayer out to the gods, hoping that Newton's Law of Gravity would not ruin this flawed plan and then called upon some of her wilder college days in an attempt to pull off what might be an Oscar winning performance in order to save the dignity of her boss.
"Miranda!" The shrill voice of the closest fashion vulture said.
Andy sagged against Miranda and broke into song, making sure her voice slurred a little, but also making sure that she was belting out the words . She'd only have one shot to pull this off, and it needed to work.
"What shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, what shall we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning!
Shave her legs with a rusty razor, shave her legs with a rusty razor, shave her legs with a rusty razor, early in the morning!" Andy sang and leaned heavily against Miranda.
Barely suppressing hysterical laughter at the expressions on the faces of the closest of her audience, Andy continued.
"Yay-hey and up she rises, yay-hey and up she rises, yay-hey and up she rises early in the morning!" Andy sang as she pushed harder on Miranda and together they staggered down the hallway towards the back entrance of the place, leaving the gathered crowd behind.
Almost sagging in relief, Andy zeroed in on the brightly lit exit sign and hoped that the coast would remain clear.
"You should have passed around a hat." Miranda slurred as Andy experimentally pushed on the door leading out.
"What?" Andy said, startled.
"You have a good singing voice, you should have passed around a hat." Miranda said again, and Andy could have sworn that her boss was completely serious.
"Time to go, Miranda." Andy said by way of reply and pushed the door open, guiding Miranda through it and for the moment, she felt like they might just get away with this.
It was either blind luck, or divine provenance, but there was a cab on the street as Andy half dragged, half carried Miranda from the back entrance of the venue. Perhaps they would get away with this after all?
"You want me to get into a taxi?" Miranda sniffed, sounding more like her old self, versus her drunk self.
"Yep!" Andy replied, and yanked open the door and all but shoving Miranda into the musty, dank cab.
Sliding in after the other woman, Andy slammed the door shot and then glanced at the cab driver. He looked sane enough. Thank God. The last thing they needed was some crazy cab driver who would just add some more complications to this evening.
Andy felt the beginnings of a headache start to form.
"Where to?" The man asked.
Andy quickly gave him Miranda's address and then turned to look at her boss who was currently leaning back against the seat and seemed half asleep. Andy was not fooled for a moment. Miranda was awake and whatever was going on in her brain had only moments before it spilled out.
Hopefully they would get to the townhouse in short order.
"Hey, is that Miranda Priestly?" The cab driver asked as he pulled into traffic.
Was Miranda really so damn famous that a random guy in New York knew who she was?
"Yes." Andy finally replied.
The man's eyes got big in the mirror. "My wife's never gonna believe this." He muttered as he broke a traffic law or five and the journey continued.
Despite herself, Andy could not help asking. "Believe what?" Her voice sounded tired to herself. Hopefully this would not take too long and she could go home and rest soon.
"She's always on my case to make sure I keep her subscription to Runway magazine up to date. She reads every article. Miranda Priestly is her icon." The man said after a beat.
"It's: Way hay and up she rises, not yay-hey and up she rises, Andrea." Miranda said at just that moment, and the non sequitur totally threw Andy off her game.
"What?" Andy blurted out.
Miranda did not reply, however the cab driver's eyebrows were disappearing into his hairline.
"She's feeling a little under the weather." Andy demurred, hoping against hope that the explanation would be adequate.
"Put her in the hold with the big bad editor, put her in the hold with the big bad editor, put her in the hold with the big bad editor, early in the morning..." Miranda sang under her breath before she broke out into a fit of giggles.
Great. Just great.
Andy could feel a full blown headache start to form in her head. How could this evening possibly get any worse?
"Come on, Miranda." Andy urged as she slammed the door of the cab and glanced at Miranda's front steps.
They seemed to be a thousand miles away, and at least a mile high, seeing as how Andy was half-carrying the now very inebriated Miranda draped around her body and Miranda was really not being helpful at all.
Thankfully there did not seem to be any press or photographers around to witness this. There were no guarantees of course, tomorrow's rags would show the real truth, but for now, Andy was concerned with other things.
Such as getting Miranda safely into the townhouse and then deciding what on earth to do with her. Miranda was dangerously drunk, Andy had resigned herself to staying with her boss at least for the night. Miranda would kill her if she choked on her own vomit during the night or something.
All in all, this seemed to be very absurd and Andy was not at all amused, but, she was Andy Sachs, the almost-first assistant to Miranda Priestly, and time had shown that she was pretty much capable of doing anything, and that she was also indispensable.
Now, to get Miranda up those stairs in one piece...
"You're pretty." Miranda said as Andy was considering her next obstacle.
Well, what Miranda has really said was: Youbretty,
The booze had taken effect. However, Andy could only stare at Miranda for a long moment at the slurred word, as she was quite certain that Miranda had never said anything even approximating that, even to the models that she regularly dealt with.
"This is not helpful, Miranda. I need to get you up those stairs and I can't carry you." Andy said after a beat and started to half carry, half drag Miranda towards the steps.
It was late, so maybe no neighbours would be witness to this either. At this point, however, Andy was running short on sympathy about the possible fact that Miranda's reputation may or may not be ruined by a drunken staggering up her front steps.
Andy's back hurt, her feet hurt, and Miranda was presently doing something that felt distinctly like she was groping Andy's ass.
Or at least that is what Andy told herself. In reality, having an armful of warm, soft, good smelling Miranda, who seemed to be intent on feeling her up, was not all bad.
It would be better, however, within the privacy of Miranda's home, however.
Andy tightened her grip on Miranda and willed her boss to be able to navigate the stairs. Thankfully Miranda seemed to be so preoccupied with trying to grope Andy that she followed along nicely. A brief, slightly hysterical struggle with the front door, and Andy finally had the door and therefore the nosy, potentially reputation destroying public safely on the other side.
Thankfully, the twins were visiting their father. Andy did not really fancy the idea of having to deal with that complication on top of everything else.
Now, however, Andy needed to get Miranda to her bedroom before the book was due to be delivered. That was a whole lot of stairs to manage, but at least no one would be witnessing it and there was a carpet to cushion possible falls and a handrail to hang on to if need be.
Miranda seemed to be falling asleep while leaning against the wall in the hallway, so Andy figured that she need to get on with business as soon as possible. Or she might actually be forced to find a blanket and let Miranda sleep it off in the entryway of her home.
It had been a Herculean Effort, but somehow Andy has managed to get Miranda to her room, and only one heel bad been broken in the process. Andy found that she was beyond caring if Miranda cared about her precious shoes anyway. It's not like she ever paid for the damn things, and it was not a glass slipper after all.
Unless somehow, Andy was some sort of convoluted Prince Charming. Andy reflected on this as she stumbled over Miranda discarded shoes and considered the fact that her boss would not be happy to sleep in her Valentino dress, and that there was probably a corset or bodice of some sort under the expensive garment.
Miranda would kill her if she fell asleep in the clothes, but chances were that Miranda would also kill her if Andy attempted to undress her. Andy stepped out of her shoes and absently rubbed her feet, feeling the edges of her temper begin to flare.
This deserved overtime, not that Miranda would ever pay overtime for anything, let alone this. A brief snore interrupted Andy's musings and she glanced over at Miranda startled. The woman was slumped over herself on the bed and Andy was at once incensed and touched. Stamping down on a long held crush that she harboured for her boss, Andy moved closer and brazenly reached for some of the ties on Miranda's clothes.
Blue, blue eyes opened abruptly. "Andreaaaa, what are you doing?" Miranda asked, her voice only slightly slurred.
"You need to go to bed, Miranda. You can't sleep in this, it needs to come off." Andy said simply, and continued her ministrations.
"I smell of booze, smoke, and a New York City taxi, Andreaaaaaaaaa, I need a shower." Miranda clipped, her eyes becoming cold and hard.
Andy stood up and glared down at her boss. The incongruity of their positions was not lost on her. Andy was standing between Miranda's legs and they were both in various states of undress. But now, well now Andy was angry.
"Now you listen. I just saved your ass from press that even you would have a hard time dealing with. I carried you up the stairs and I am still trying to help you, and all I want to do is go to bed and forget tonight. And you have the nerve to be rude to me?" Andy said, her fingers working on the necklace that Miranda was wearing.
Her hands were extremely gentle, in contrast to her tone.
"And I am to be grateful just because you are doing the job you are paid to do?" Miranda almost sneered.
Something snapped in Andy, and without a word she grabbed Miranda and pulled her to her feet. "You want a shower, Miranda? You're going to get one." Andy gritted out and walked Miranda to the bathroom.
Blindly, Andy slipped on the lights and then hauled Miranda towards the shower, reaching to turn the water on and putting it to a cold temperature. "Come on, Miranda." Andy said viciously and pushed her boss under the freezing cold stream of water fully dressed.
Miranda shrieked and thrashed. Andy doubled over laughing as she struggled to hold the door clothed. In her efforts to multitask the shower door was ripped from her fingers and a moment later, Andy felt herself being pulled into the cold shower.
"Oh my God!" Andy wailed and attempted to get away.
"Oh no you don't, Andrea." Miranda said primly and grabbed Andrea, pressing her against the shower wall and sounding remarkably sober.
A moment later, Andy's brain came to a complete halt when she felt Miranda's cold lips descend onto her own. Miranda tasted of scotch, and of smoke. She also tasted of lust, and of want and of honey.
Andy was lost, forgetting everything she was supposed to be doing, forgetting about the cold water. Forgetting about all other things and her whole being focused in on the moment, on this. On Miranda kissing her in a cold shower, on tonight of all nights.
Oh my God, Miranda was kissing her!
Andy came to her senses and struggled to push Miranda away. Her boss was drunk, they were both clothed in soaking wet, possibly ruined couture and they were in the shower together. Andy was dead. There is no way that Miranda would let her live after this.
As she pushed Miranda away, Andy could feel the heat coiled in her belly and could feel the slick of arousal that accompanied it. Not good. Now that she had tasted the forbidden fruit, she would need to spend the rest of her life trying to figure out how to live with not being able to taste it again.
Andy scrambled to get out of the shower. She needed to get out of the house, out of Miranda's life. Out of her mind?
"Andreaaaaa." Miranda drawled, sounding remarkably sober, all things considered.
"What?" Andy said rather testily, not bothering to turn around to look at her boss.
"You kissed me back." Miranda said softly as she reached over to turn off the water and somewhat steadily stepped out of the shower after Andy.
Absently, Andy handed Miranda a luxurious feeling bath towel and wondered what they would do now.
"Yes, I did." Andy finally conceded.
Miranda said nothing, instead she began to roll down her stockings and struggle out of her soaking clothes. Miranda was undressing in front of her. Andy's brain ground to a total halt. "Miranda?" Andy said and asked with that one word.
"Take your wet clothes off, Andrea. Before you catch chill." Miranda suggested as she absently cast aside her soaking clothes and stood in the bathroom clad in lingerie that would make a Bishop get down and beg for mercy.
Or perhaps it was simply that Miranda was wearing the lingerie that did it.
When Andy did not react to Miranda's suggestion, the other woman moved closer and before Andy could protest, deft fingers began to work on removing them for her. Andy decided that she must be dreaming.
A strange, fever dream that made no sense at all...
Realising that Miranda would not be stopped, and also knowing that she really did need to get out of the wet clothes, Andy lent her own hands to the effort of removing the clothes that she wore and soon she too was standing in her underwear in Miranda's expansive bathroom.
Andy was pretty sure she had never been so aroused, confused and infuriated in her entire life. Only Miranda had this power over her. Only Miranda could do this to her.
Lost in her own musings, Andy failed to notice that Miranda had moved closer until the woman in question touched her bare skin, making Andy jump at least a foot in the air.
"I'm going to kiss you again." Miranda stated simply and the hands that had been touching her, grabbed her face and pulled her unresisting, closer.
Andy hissed in reaction as their most bare bodies touched and when Miranda's soft lips did indeed descend again to kiss her, Andy knew that she was lost.
Miranda did not seem overly drunk anymore, so either she had a super fast metabolism, or she had simply not been as drunk as Andy had presumed. Maybe Miranda had been allowing a slight tipsiness to lower her inhibitions, but now that she had something she wanted and to focus on again, she was once more concentrating on that.
Not on whatever self pity had caused her to get half-drunk in the first place.
A second passed and the kiss deepened and Andy simply stopped caring. All that she cared about was Miranda and the fact that Miranda was kissing her. Fire licked through Andy's veins as Miranda ravished her.
When Miranda's tongue made its way into Andy's mouth, sanity fled. Maybe in the morning Andy would regret, or be fired, but right now she just did not care. She wanted this and she wanted this more than she cared about whatever consequences may be.
Andy stirred in the bed she was laying in. Her internal alarm clock told her that she needed to get up. There was no telling what Miranda would want today and she needed to be ready regardless. The bed felt odd around her, but Andy was just too sleepy and comfortable to react to the change right now. She was willing to take comfort for a few minutes more.
As consciousness gradually returned, Andy felt her brain kick into gear. Alarm began to infuse its way into her mind. This was not her bed. She was naked. There was someone in bed with her. Andy shifted and felt the telltale ache and slipperiness of a long night of pleasure, and she opened her eyes.
Oh. My. God.
A tendril of panic began to make its way through Andy. She easily remembered the night before, after all, she had not been drinking. Miranda had proven to be voracious, skilled and demanding as a lover and Andy was suddenly sure that if she tried to get up and walk, she would have a hitch in her step that Miranda put there.
Andy quite literally could not remember the last time, or if ever, that she had been fucked this well.
Oh. My. God.
She needed to get out of here. Maybe Miranda would just forget the whole night, or simply not remember it, and they could go along as they had been. Andy began the process of extricating herself from Miranda and from her bed.
The problem was that Andy was never going to forget last night. It was time to spruce up her resume. There is no way that she could stay working for Miranda now. No way that she would be able to put herself through the torture of wanting to throw Miranda across her desk, push her against the wall, and fuck her. And suck her. And make her come.
Andy was not going to be able to resist this impulse and it was going to be torture.
Feeling the luxurious carpet under her feet at last, Andy was thinking about standing up when a slender arm made its way around her waist.
"Where are you going?" An imperious voice asked from the bed behind her.
"Miranda. I am, need to go home and shower and change. Um." Andy hedges, wondering if her sanity would survive the dual emotions of wanting to let Miranda pull her back into the bed, and wanting to flee at the same time.
"I'm not done with you, Andrea. In fact, I have only just begun." Miranda said after a beat and pulled an only mildly resisting Andy back into the bed.
"But..." Andy spluttered, confused beyond measure as Miranda pulled her into a tight embrace.
"No buts. Kiss me, Andrea." Miranda said and Andy's mind blinked off as those coveted, delicious, beautiful lips descended once more to kiss Andy's already kiss-bruised lips.
Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound.
Andy stopped resisting, and stopped thinking and kissed Miranda back. She felt her body ignite at once, and as the heat of desire poured through her bones and her blood, Andy reasoned that she could figure out what the hell would happen next, just as soon as she had kissed Miranda just one more time. Just as soon as they were done.
Slapping her thoughts aside, Andy focused on the sensation of Miranda's hand trailing down her body, seeking. Searching. Andy was sure that Miranda would indeed find her goal and she also knew that it would be delicious.
Miranda had proven to be the most attentive, borderline psychic lover's that she had ever had. Not that Andy had a lot of experience in the matter, but she had enough to make this conclusion. And from the look on her face and the red bite marks on her shoulders, Miranda was pretty darned pleased herself.
What to do with a drunken sailor, indeed.
"Stop thinking, Andrea." Miranda said just before she leaned down to wrap her lips around Andy's breast.
Sensation flared in Andy's body and at just that moment, long, slender, demanding fingers found Andy's wetness and slid through into her body.
"Oh." Andy said, despite herself.
Lost in sensation, she held on for dear life as Miranda worked her mouth and her fingers in tandem to drive Andy out of her mind. It was too good. Just too good and Andy could already feel herself begin to peak as she gasped and writhed in Miranda's grip and on her thousand dollar sheets.
As her orgasm began to wash over her, Andy decided that if this was madness, she did not want to be sane. It was the last thought that she was able to formulate before her mind and body was filled with heat, noise and pleasure.
Oh. My. God.