Old Vices, New Tricks
by Politic X
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Miranda / Andrea
Disclaimer: The Devil Wears Prada is not owned by me; I'm not making money.
Summary: A short-short, in response to A Pile of Stuff: DWP Comment Ficathon , and chilly_flame's request in particular: Andy/Miranda, secret vice/s
Thanks to my beta: sheknowsnofear, not only for the editing, but for convincing me to post.
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"I have a scarf that will be lovely with your dress," Miranda said, and reached for the Hermès bag she had dropped to the floor inside the doorway, alongside a few other parcels.
The rather large piece of silk was cerise and eggplant, with a decidedly bold alizarin crimson pattern. She would never have purchased it for herself, but it was perfect for Andrea in this Dior. The scarf brought the dress to the current era, as did her Blahniks, even though they weren't the right shoes for it.
"You're tying that around my neck," Andrea murmured in her ear. "When you know you want to tie it around my wrists."
Miranda's breath hitched.
"You and your vices." Andrea said, and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Mmmm."
Miranda's pulse was racing as she slowly pulled the scarf away from Andrea's neck and let it dangle between them. The townhouse was utterly empty and they had all day to explore this newly discovered pleasure. "I have no vices, Andrea, I'm quite pleased to say."
Andrea chuckled, tried waggling her eyebrows, but she was laughing too hard. "You have tons of vices, and you know it." She held her wrists out before her. "Like scarves and furs and steak and assistants who'd do anything for you…"
Miranda's eyes narrowed. "There's not a bit of truth in that-"
"But this is my favorite. Oh, no, wait." Andrea turned, holding her arms behind her, wrists together. "Tie me."
Miranda did, loosely, and with trembling hands. She'd always been fond of scarves, and had quite a collection of them. It took Andrea to show her this new way of using them. It was Andrea's vice, not hers. She could do without tying the girl up – although she didn't mind it, not one bit.
Andrea turned and faced her and nodded to the largest bag on the floor. "Tell me why you went to a sex shop and bought toys when I could have done it for you." She began walking up the stairs, her wrists tied behind her, the oversized Hermès trailing down.
Miranda stood and took it in for a moment – this sexuality in her austere home. Then she cleared her throat, grabbed all of her bags, and followed her young lover. "You didn't know what I wanted," she said. "And you're not my assistant."
Andrea stopped and looked down at Miranda, who was on the stairs below her. "I could've been your assistant," she said. Her voice teased, but her eyes didn't. Her eyes were quite serious.
"Don't be ridiculous." The girl never would have lasted. "I hired you for the position that most suited you."
Andrea studied Miranda's expression, and then she turned very pink. "Just because I'm not your assistant… it doesn't mean I can't do stuff for you. You could have been recognized today, Miranda. In a sex shop. With a huge bag of sex toys that you put on your credit card. You'll be all up in the headlines tomorrow," she chastised.
"The young woman in the shop didn't recognize me, took very good care that I got exactly what was needed, and I paid with cash," Miranda said. She gave Andrea a wide smile. "She was extraordinarily helpful."
Andrea's eyes cut over her. "I bet she was."
"If you provide people with the proper information, they can go beyond the ordinary in their assistance. You need to remember that. You'll have assistants of your own one day."
Andrea stared holes through her. "No kidding." She rubbed her tongue over her lips, looked away and back again. "What did you tell this young woman? I'm sure she recognized you, Miranda. You're famous, you have that signature look, that iconic hair and –"
"Not everyone recognizes me; I'm not universally known. I'm not Madonna." Miranda's gaze became tender. Andrea kept her on a pedestal, even through the daily grind. "The most important people in the world don't recognize me, you know. Presidents, anti-terrorists, young graduates of Northwestern… I'm small time."
Andrea's gaze back at her was equally tender. "There is nothing small time about you, and you know it."
Miranda's heart skipped a beat for other reasons now. She was dancing that very thin line already, with this affair. Unable to do without the girl at work, unable to do without her after work. It was crazy enough, without falling in love. Best not to.
But she had never felt so cherished. Her heart lifted. "The shop attendant was covered in tattoos and piercings, had a shaved head, and wore a very questionable grade of leather. To say that she knew me or Runway would be to suggest that she understood the concept of fashion. I told her that I had a girl who needed to be punished, and she took quite a bit of time helping me to decide on the proper equipment."
Andrea stared at her, open-mouthed.
Miranda tapped her foot. "By all means, Andrea, decelerate even more, why don't you? Perhaps we could prolong the journey to the bedroom by walking backwards."
"You're going to have to tell me about this in great detail," Andrea said. She finally began moving towards the bedroom again. "You weren't mean to her, were you? I mean, you didn't give her that once-over you give everyone? Some people like what they wear, you know."
Miranda's lips twitched in amusement. "I think Misty would tell you I was not mean to her in the least. And I didn't scrutinize her clothing – I was just reporting to you, as you seemed inordinately frantic that I might be seen in a below-brow establishment, as it were. I found her to be quite charming. She gave me her card, with her cell phone and her email address, should we need more equipment."
Andrea was still slack jawed. "And you told her you had a girl that needed punishing."
Miranda tossed her bags on the bed and began rummaging through them. She looked at Andrea, her hands tied behind her back with the scarf dangling down vibrantly. "Yes. You are my girl, aren't you?"
Andrea said: "Oh, Jesus God," and swallowed and licked her lips.
Miranda raised her eyebrows.
"Yes," Andrea breathed. "Oh God, you don't know what that did to me. "
Miranda had a very good idea what it did to Andrea. She turned to her, a thin strap of leather in her hand.
Andrea eyed it, and gave a little shudder of desire. She leaned close. "I would have made a great girl," she said quietly.
"Andrea-"
"Miranda, I have Patrick on the line," she said with a winsome smile and lilting voice. "Miranda, here's your mail. Miranda, would you like me to pick up your lunch? Miranda, can I take your coat? Oh, Miranda, you look so beautiful today." She batted her lashes.
Cheeky girl. "That's not how it goes," Miranda growled.
"No?" Andrea leaned closer, her hands tied behind her, Dior stretched tight across her chest. She put her mouth to her lover's ear. "How does it go, then?"
Miranda clenched her jaw.
"Miranda, can I type a letter for you? Miranda, the dresses from Valentino are here. Miranda, I've rescheduled your afternoon appointments because no one's ready to meet with you," Andrea breathed. "Miranda, can I make reservations for you and me at that place you like?"
Miranda turned her head.
Andrea followed her movement, her lips close to her ear. "Miranda, is your coffee hot enough?"
"No," Miranda snapped. "It's never hot enough, which you would know if you were my assistant. It's a small thing to ask. Can no one get it right?"
Andrea looked surprised, but only for a moment. A quick study, she faked a panicked look. "Oh, it's…it's not hot enough?" And licked her lips, as if nervous.
Miranda stared at her.
"I'll get another one for you." She swallowed.
Andrea was quite good at pretending. "I think you've just proven that you wouldn't have made a very good assistant, despite your repeated attempts to convince me otherwise."
The girl frowned. "I would, too. I'd bust my ass for you. I'd give you my best; I already do."
"But perhaps," Miranda said, and lifted the leather strap to the girl's cheek. She softly stroked it. "Your best wouldn't have been good enough."
"Oh," Andrea moaned, and her lashes fluttered. "God. How do you know what to say? You always know."
"Why does it arouse you to think of disappointing me?"
Andrea frowned. "No. Not disappointing you. You always make me want to be better."
Miranda considered this. "Or perhaps you enjoy being punished."
Andrea gasped.
"On your knees," Miranda said. "Careful of the dress."
/end