Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own the beautiful women of The Devil Wears Prada, nor do I make any money from my writing.
Pairing: Not quite Miranda/Andy.
Genre: Smut.
**Het Warning people!** I think this is staying as a one-shot.
"Idiot, idiot, idiot." Andy muttered to herself as she made her way back through the Elias-Clarke barriers.
She'd been almost home when she'd realised her outfit for the next day - courtesy of The Closet - was still hanging up behind her desk. She was already late leaving works it was - when wasn't she? - and made a quick phone call to Nate.
"Great," he complained, "Another evening spent alone."
Andy was exasperated. "But Nate, we're seeing Cavalli and his team first thing in the morning and I won't have a chance to swing by at Runway to pick the clothes up." For some reason, Miranda had instructed Roy to pick Andy up from her apartment and head straight to the meeting. "I need to look good! I know this isn't a big deal for you but it is for me."
There was a long pause. "Okay?"
Nate hung up.
Andy glared at the phone, dead in her hand, as she rode up in the elevator. "For fuck's sake."
The doors slid open and she made her way back into the dark empty corridor, smoothing her wind-swept hair as she went. Almost everyone had scurried home hours ago, but Miranda had still been in her office - barely acknowledging Andy leaving - busy scribbling notes and flicking pages in an attempt to "inject some inspiration into these lifeless attempts at creativity that have been handed to me under the false impression of being anything above inadequate."
Andy knew that if Miranda was indeed in her office, there was no way that she could retrieve her outfit unnoticed, no matter how subtle she tried to be. She just hoped to God that she she didn't look too awful after almost an hour of shuffling between the masses on the subway.
However, when Andy stepped through the doorway, she saw that no light came from Miranda's office other than the pale moonlight which shone through the glass windows. The assistant let out a quiet sigh and visibly relaxed.
Her body tensed again a moment later when she heard a thump from the small staff kitchen to her right.
She held her breath, listening.
There was a definite quiet, but constant, thumping noise coming from the kitchen. She would have known if there was any maintenance work going on - hell, it felt like she had to organise everything around here - so that couldn't be it.
Cautiously, Andy made her way over to the door and pushed it silently ajar. She could hear heavy breathing coming from inside and, putting two and two together, she felt her face redden.
Who would be in here though? Everybody had left hours ago.
Everybody except her.
The brunette's eyes widened at the thought. No. That would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?
The noises loudened, pulling Andy from her thoughts. Walk away Andy, just walk away she told herself, but curiosity got the better of her and she peeked around the door frame.
It took all her will-power not to gasp - or moan - at the sight inside.
A few ceiling lights at the end of the counter lit up the scene. Andy could make out the back of a tall grey-haired man hunched forward, arms wrapped around…
Miranda.
Oh, but not just Miranda.
Andy's mouth went dry.
The editor was shaking, trembling, panting, beneath him. Legs spread, one hand tangled in the man's hair as she pulled him down to kiss her throat, her head flung back in pleasure.
Andy couldn't breathe.
She took in her boss, subconsciously committing the sight to memory.
The older woman's blouse unbuttoned, a dark green lace bra revealed beneath, her pencil skirt shoved up above her thighs. Her eyes tight shut, her chest heaving, she wrapped her legs tightly around the man as he thrust into her frantically.
Something in Miranda snapped. She seized the shoulders of the man in front of her, pulling him in as her back arched towards him almost painfully. Her legs trembled violently as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.
A primal moan broke from her lips as she came.
"ANDREA!"