A/N: Surprise. I guess this was actually a two shot?
The first thing that registers in your brain as you awake, is that you are as naked as the day you were born. The second thing is the feeling of fingertips tracing your hipbone. It becomes apparent that you wouldn't mind waking up this way every day for the rest of your life. You can only hope that Miranda wants the same.
It may just be the fabulous sex talking, but Miranda's bed is unbeatably divine. Compared to your sheets at home that you grabbed from Bed, Bath, and Beyond, Miranda's feel like rose petals against your bare skin. If you had to guess, you would say the thread count was somewhere around, oh, two billion.
You haven't opened your eyes yet, because you just aren't quite ready to let go of the pure feeling that comes from waking up to Miranda. Her lips sporadically land on different patches of your skin, welcoming you to the waking world. Her warm hands caress places of your body that past lovers forgot about entirely. Her movements are not meant to arouse, but to just remind you of her soothing presence.
While there are times that her passion consumes you both, this woman can be surprisingly reverent and gentle. Everything about her nature entices you. Your whole experience with her so far is nothing like you expected, and you couldn't be more grateful. Any person in her romantic history must have been an idiot.
Miranda is everything you could ever want for yourself. She is driven, and impassioned, and incredibly sweet. You would do absolutely anything for her if she asked. She's spent a lifetime in unhappy relationships, and you want to be the one who makes that part of the past.
You take a chance and open your eyes, to have them met with a cloudy shade of ice blue. Miranda is looking at you like she can't decide whether she wants to kiss your forehead or make you come. You will gladly take either. Or both. Both would be nice.
Instead, she opts to kiss your neck, a place that she seems rather fond of, and you are in no position to argue. It's then that you notice the clock on her bedside table, and it's telling you that if you do not hurry on your first day at a new job, you are probably going to be late.
"Fuck!" You dodge Miranda's lips and jerk out of bed. She looks extremely pissed off and extremely adorable. You wonder if there are other people on earth who have left Miranda's bed in such a way, and if they lived to tell the tale. Hopping around in search of your clothes is probably not the best look for you, but for now it will have to do.
Miranda slides up in bed, so her back is resting against the headboard. The covers rest just below her breasts, and with her hair mussed and her eyes focused intently on you, you've never seen anything sexier. She looks slightly more affectionate now, at the sight of you making a fool of yourself, and asks you where on earth are you rushing off to. "I'm gonna be late, Miranda, if I don't hurry!"
You're still jumping around like a crazed animal, and you just tried to stuff both legs into one side of your pants. "Andréa, at least take a shower first." She definitely looks more amused now, but no less sexy. Damn it, how are you supposed to work with that image in your head?
"Right, uh, shower. Yes." For a moment there, you forgot that showers exist, and you are probably in dire need of one. You rush into her bathroom, pulling levers in vain, hoping for some hot water to rush out of the pipes.
You hear a chuckle come from behind you, and then the bathroom doors close. When you turn around you are met with the sight of a bare naked Miranda Priestly. You're reasonably sure that looking that good naked, while wearing that particular smirk has got to be illegal in more than a few countries. She saunters over to you, and for the life of you, you can't pull your gaze away from the swaying lull of her breasts.
She rests a hand on the small of your back, using the leverage to lean into the shower around you, twisting knobs to produce a comfortable water temperature. Steam swirls around the both of you warmly, making you sweat. "Need some help?" she asks innocently, removing your pants without your permission.
Do you really need to answer? You both enjoy one another under the warm spray and scented soap, all while trying to be timely. When you're done, Miranda lets you borrow clothing from her, and sends you out the door with a $20 bill for a cab. Before you can make a joke about prostitution, she tells you that Roy is out on an errand and she refuses to have her clothes ruined by subway grime.
What surprises you most, is that before you can step down a single stair, Miranda pulls you back by your wrist, kissing you enthusiastically on the mouth, hard enough to make the feeling last all day. It wouldn't have made your heart stop, if it weren't for the fact that his scene took place on her doorstep, for all the world to see. It's at this moment that you decide trying to keep the "I just had sex all night with Miranda Fucking Priestly" look off your face will probably be in vain.
Roy managed to come fetch you at a reasonable time after completing the errand you sent him on. He is nothing if not efficient, and you make sure to pay him well for that. In the back seat of the Mercedes, you check your watch and realize that you have about six-and-a-half minutes to find a way to keep the pleased smile off your face. It won't do to have incompetence run rampant throughout your office for the day, all because you can't get a hold of the fact that you spent the night with Andréa Sachs.
Of all the people that you have spent copious amounts of time insulting and ordering around, she was the one who saw right through it all. The harsh things you said to Andréa in the beginning were just to push her towards success, and to see exactly what she was made of. Still, the thoughts of some of your words still make you cringe. You make a mental note to apologize to her later. In bed. Naked.
What were you thinking, hoping to get her out of your head? That notion was futile the moment she stepped into your arms last night.
The Elias-Clarke building swims into view a little ways beyond a stream of traffic. You've got to pull yourself together, fast. But all you can think about is Andréa's hands, and how they felt on your skin, or how her fingers felt inside of you. You can only think about how her eyes look in the dim lamplight, when she faces you on your bed. You can only think about how alive you felt when she moaned your own name into your mouth.
Roy opens your car door, and a rush of cool air smacks you in the face, dragging you away from thoughts of your tantalizing lover. You hope that today your coffee is served to you piping hot, and that the heat will somehow help your focus.
In the elevator, you spend a few quiet moments preparing your face to not smile involuntarily. However, pinched lips, tight cheeks, and a subtle frown are not hard to find when you remember that some new girl will now be sitting at the desk that was previously occupied by Andréa. How pathetic is it that you miss her, and it's barely been an hour?
You walk swiftly and steadily through the corridor leading you to your office. Jessica paces beside you taking notes, while catching the book that you carelessly throw in her direction. You consider being purposefully vague in your instructions, and trying to make her job more complicated in Andréa's wake. But you suppose toying with lesser beings would only slightly improve your mood.
Jessica stops walking beside you when you reach your office and it gives you a moment to toss your coat and bag in the general direction of the desk of the new girl. You immediately and immaturely decide that you won't try to learn her name. She's got some pretty big shoes to fill, and you hope she knows it.
Finally inside your office, you take a sip of your scalding latte, happy that someone has gotten at least one thing right. You are resigned to the fact that without Andréa ten feet away from you at all times, you are in for a lifetime of long, long days.
Although it smells a little like weed and Chinese takeout, you have decided that taking a cab to work is leaps and bounds better than catching the subway. No one is pawing at you, or staring at your ass, or begging you for money. The driver even gets to keep the change from the twenty that Miranda slipped you this morning. Today is a beautiful day.
The New York Mirror has a rustic openness that you have craved since you came to the city. Not to jab at Runway, but your dream had always been Journalism. You head to Greg's office immediately, where he shows you to your very own cubicle and gives you a company laptop. You probably are extremely lame for being so excited. Not to mention, the first piece you are to write is about the average consumption level of alcohol among Manhattanites, not exactly world-saving material. You don't care, and your smile feels warm on your face. You cannot wait to tell Miranda.
Oh. Miranda. It's funny how thoughts of her creep up and make you completely lose your train of thought. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea to be wrapped in nothing but her clothes on your first day at a new job. The thought of her surrounding you in this way is both comforting and exciting. You doubt her seeing you in her clothes slipped past her protective nature. You try not to fidget too much in your lover's fancy underwear, and you try not to let it turn you on.
A happy sigh escapes your lips, and to your new co-workers you probably seem super ditzy. Maybe you'll just baffle them with your talent. You're gonna have to, because the dopey smile on your face isn't going anywhere anytime soon. You crack open your laptop, and slip a pen behind your ear in preparation for doing some research.
In a somewhat self-absorbed way, you'd forgotten that there was life outside of Runway. To most people, fashion is not a world full of life or death choices. Heads will not roll in the realm outside the magazine if someone happens to confuse turquoise and cerulean. Reporting on topics and issues far removed from designer labels will certainly take some getting used to. Perhaps your lifelong dream has had a little change in direction. Maybe you reside somewhere between investigating crises in the Middle East, and reporting on striking new releases among top fashion designers.
Before getting started, you send a quick email that you hope Miranda will read, even if she doesn't have time to respond. It simply reads, Missing you.
The run-through that Nigel and the rest of the creative team put together was not a complete disaster for once. You are pleased that you do not have to give another lecture about coming prepared to a scheduled meeting with fresh ideas. Honestly, you are not reaching for the stars.
Nigel, who lags behind the group when they leave, looks especially sharp today. He dons a vest and tie combination from Armani that complements him soundly. The fitted pants work well for his figure, and you marvel at the fact that you know his measurements so well. The pants' hemline flows serenely to the shiny snakeskin of his matching shoes. Nigel always liked to add a unique flair to his ensembles. It's part of the reason you've kept him around for so long.
There is a spring in his step that makes you smirk. "My, my, Mr. Kipling, who put that lovely ensemble together for you?"
You tease him, but do not smile, blindly hoping he will see through your expression just how grateful you are for his friendly push the day before. You don't have to words to tell him that a tailored suit is just a small token of gratitude for the best night of your life.
Nigel cleans is glasses, sets them back atop his nose, and fixes his gaze in your direction. He answers simply, "You."
You pretend to shuffle the papers on your desk in mock disinterest. "Hmm," you say casually, "it looks nice."
You want him to leave, and for this conversation to be over. Nigel has known you far longer than Andréa has, but you hope that he, too, will display the ability to know when your interaction has reached an end. You are not one for sentimental exchanges.
Unfortunately you know him too well, and as a result you are not startled when he pushes his luck by saying, "that good, huh?"
Curse Nigel and his playful charming smile. He even has the audacity to wink. The most you can to is blush in return and try to hide it behind a sip of coffee.
You sit down your drink with finality, and do not look at him for fear of your mutinous cheeks becoming any redder. "That's all."
You flick your hands casually in an attempt to dismiss him. He chuckles and stays rooted to the spot. This time, you can't help the happy, embarrassed smile he gets when you meet his eyes, still trying to sound put off. "That's all."
Nigel keeps laughing, either at the situation or the fact that you've suddenly become a seventh grader. You wish your pink cheeks and upward turned lips would obey your mind's command to disappear. He takes mercy on you and strolls amusedly from your office.
The smile on your face simply will not do, and you once again fight your facial muscles to secure your typical mask back in place. Now that everyone's left your office you send a response back to your lover. Missing you too, more than words.
It's after 8 o'clock when you find yourself on a familiar doorstep. You initially returned to your apartment, but found that its emptiness only fueled your own feeling of isolation. You called Lily to gab for a little about your first day, and now you feel a little pathetic for wanting to share your excitement with only one person in particular.
So here you are, on Miranda's front porch, hoping that she does not look at you like an idiot for showing up at her door. It seems to take forever, but finally a rush of cool air and perfume hit you, and you are greeted with a true vision. The smile on her face is brilliant, but she says nothing, just steps aside to let you in.
You pause at the entryway, and find that the hours spent away from her felt entirely too long. Miranda feels like coming home. The breaths you take in her presence all feel weightless, like a sigh of relief.
The door closes, letting you lean against it, and you pull Miranda into your body by the thick belt upon her waist. She stumbles, quite gracefully in fact, into your soft middle, letting out a gasp with her smile. The overhead light from the doorway flatters your love wonderfully, making her eyes look impossibly deep and blue.
When Miranda's arms wrap around you neck, you look into those eyes and wonder if she missed you today nearly as much as you missed her. The kiss she graces you with next, however, leaves no doubt in your mind.
You don't even have to think before your hands are massaging Miranda's hips, and her lips are pressing intimately against your own. She offers you one peck, two, and then another, before you feel her tongue seeking your own.
Her warm mouth is wet and enchanting, just how you remembered it. The things the woman does with her tongue make you want to let your eyes roll into the back of your head, but you know Miranda would tease you endlessly. You take a minute to enjoy yourself before slowing things down.
If only all your Runway friends could see the dopey smiles that are the hottest new accessory in the Priestly household. Miranda kisses you one last time on the cheek before releasing words you've been dreaming of hearing since you left her side this morning.
"So tell me, darling. How was your day?"
A/N 2: Thank you so so so much for reading. If you have any comments or suggestions on how I can improve, let me know
A/N 3: This story is forreal done this time I promise, haha.