DISCLAIMER: The Devil Wears Prada and its characters belong to Lauren Weisberger and 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was just listening to some music and this crawled across my mind. While I was writing something else, no less. So here we go then. It took about an hour to finish...
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
By The Raven
Miranda looked up as her assistant walked in her office. Taking in the clothes that the younger woman wore, Miranda found herself approving. Then, she found herself imagining what it would be like to remove them, piece by piece, from that luscious body.
What would Andrea's skin look like? Was it smooth and pale? What did it taste like?
The questions clamoured for Miranda's attention, distracting her, making her shift minutely in her seat. It was even more infuriating that she had no answers. Would not get any answers...
When Andrea looked up into Miranda's eyes, ready to take notes, to ask questions. To do anything for her, Miranda felt herself momentarily paralysed by them. She found herself wanting to do little else except for watch the light flicker through the many shades of brown that they possessed.
It seemed everything from burnished gold, almost like the sun, to a dark colour that was almost black, like rich mahogany, was in those eyes. They sparkled with life, intelligence, good humour even.
What colour were they then Andrea was aroused? Did they become black? Or were they like tiger's eye, flickering through a rainbow of molten brown and gold colours? Would they sparkle?
More questions, still no answers...
Miranda glanced at her assistant's hands. Smooth and graceful, they held their burden of a pencil and a notepad like they were designed to do that.
She suspected that Andrea could hold a cello, or a sabre, or a baby, and look like she was born to do that. A shiver made its way up Miranda's spine when she thought about it.
How would those hands touch, grasp, caress? They were expressive hands, beautiful hands. Miranda found that she longed to know what they felt like. In her own hands, on her own skin, in her body. A drop of sweat started to measure her spine as she thought about it, its tickling path making Miranda want to squirm in her seat.
Andrea kept her nails short, but Miranda was certain that should the other woman want to, she could leave her mark.
Miranda also conceded that though Andrea had never, or barely ever, touched her; she had already left an indelible mark on Miranda. Would it ever wash away?
And even more questions...
Andrea licked her lips, wetting them before she spoke, and the action drew Miranda's attention to that beautiful, wicked, delicious mouth. Miranda sometimes wondered how those lips could be so full, so kissable. Sometimes she wondered this to the point of distraction...
Miranda saw a flash of teeth when Andrea moved her lips and her thoughts coalesced to thinking about teeth. Specifically, Andrea's teeth. They were white and even, fitting that luscious mouth very well. They also looked sharp.
The drop of sweat that was measuring Miranda's spine had reached the small of her back by now. Goose flesh rose in its wake and Miranda wondered if she was blushing.
How could she stop herself? That mouth needed to be on her skin, her body. Those teeth needed to be tormenting her, driving her to inanity and saving her at the same time.
When had it become this? When had she been reduced to this? Or was she reduced to this? Maybe she had been elevated?
Now Andrea sat down, as had become her custom when Miranda was going to do more than simply give her some instructions. Miranda did not mind, she rather enjoyed the relaxed nature of it, but it brought other problems.
When Andrea's skirt rode up, exposing her thigh, Miranda felt more sweat erupt on her back. Andrea had fit thighs, like a runner's, or those of a dancer's.
Did Andrea dance? Or go for runs?
What did it feel like to have those strong legs wrapped around her? Did they shake when Andrea came? What would they feel like under Miranda's lips? Under her hands?
Miranda followed a strong thigh down its elegant length with her eyes, admiring Andrea's calf, her ankle, the top of her foot. It made Miranda's mouth water to think about those legs, free of stockings or pantyhose. Naked under her touch, under her will.
What would it be like?
Questions. Still more questions...
Looking up before Andrea could catch her staring, Miranda could not stop her eyes pausing at the buttons that held Andrea's blouse together. Hidden shadows behind those buttons hinted at things that Miranda wanted to see, to know. To taste, touch and caress.
Andrea had fine breasts. Miranda's expertise in fashion and the female form allowed her to more than speculate about Andrea's measurements. How her clothes hugged at her body was significant, telling. Mouthwatering...
Miranda wanted to reach over and open a few more buttons. She wanted to see. To feast with her eyes. Miranda wanted. But what could she do about it?
Her position meant that even thinking about this was terribly inappropriate. But the elegant curve of Andrea's body, how her collarbones met at her throat, forbade Miranda from not thinking about it. How could she not?
Desire burned hotly in Miranda as she did her best to arrange her features. As she schooled her libido into submission. And when she failed to do both, Miranda felt a frisson of panic start in her belly.
What if Andrea realised what was going on?
Could she see?
Did she know?
The questions started to burn in tandem with Miranda's desire...
"Miranda." Andrea spoke her name.
It curled its way around Miranda's body, scalding her. Binding her, blinding her. Miranda thought that if it ever came to pass that she did not hear that voice, part of her would die.
What did Andrea's voice sound like in the morning?
Just after she had an orgasm?
The questions were endless. Miranda tried to imagine that voice whispering in her ear, promising her things. Making her come, making her scream. Making her beg.
She shivered slightly. She would go mad if she did not find out, but she was certain that it would drive her mad if she ever did find out...
How was this even possible?
Idly, Miranda felt her mind wander towards singing. Did Andrea sing? Could she sing? Probably. She had a rich voice and she knew how to control it well.
So many questions Miranda still had. Would she ever get to ask even one of them?
By the time Miranda returned her focus to Andrea's face she realised several things in a row. One of those things was that she was going to find answers to some, if not all of her questions.
The other was that she was going to have to work out how to do achieve this goal. Andrea was not a stupid woman; in fact she was one of the smartest people Miranda had met in a very long time.
So how would she do this?
How could she know what those lips tasted like? Those hands felt like? If that skin was soft? What that voice was like, and if those eyes sparkled when Andrea was aroused?
Miranda's hands itched to reach across her desk, to release buttons, to touch. To feel.
To be free.
Was it possible?
It had to be...
"Do you have plans this evening?" Miranda asked. Andrea looked startled, shocked even. But she covered it instantly, her inquisitive eyes looked directly into Miranda's.
Miranda resisted the urge to lick her own lips.
"No?" Andrea replied, her voice full of questions, full of answers. Miranda felt something inside of herself relax and let go.
She could do this. She wanted it, more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life. And that was saying a lot. A strand of Andrea's hair fell across her face, seeming to taunt Miranda with its exquisite length and shine.
Miranda knew that Andrea's hair would feel divine on her bare skin. She knew it would be like silk between her fingers. Miranda knew that she would want to wind it around her hands, her body, her soul.
She knew some answers, at least...
But there were still so many questions, so many. Could they be answered?
"Would you..." Miranda started to say, only to be interrupted. "I'd love to." Andrea said softly.
"But you don't know what I was going to ask." Miranda said primly. Inwardly however, she was ecstatic.
"I don't need to know. I know I want to." The words tumbled from Andrea's mouth and into Miranda making her breathless.
Making her hungry...
"You're sure?" Miranda asked. Of course Andrea was sure. She was not a wallflower.
"Yes." Andrea said, putting down her pencil and pad and leaning her elbows on Miranda's desk. Anyone watching would have seen only two people talking and one leaning closer to catch what was going on.
Miranda knew however that Andrea was letting her closer. Letting her see. It made her feel powerful, but humbled. The former was a familiar emotion, the later, not so much.
"Alright then." Miranda said, locking eyes with Andrea and smiling a genuine smile.
She suddenly decided that she liked questions after all...
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