For chainofclover's Quick and Dirty DWP Comment Fic Free-for-All at the DWP LJ page.
Prompt: Miranda/Andy- Andy is a barista, Miranda is the incognito famous novelist writing her novel in Andy's coffee shop. Submitted by damelola
Andy watched from the corner of her eye as the silver-haired woman wrote in her notebook—and she knew the hair was silver even though a hat covered it since she had witnessed a rebellious lock peeking out from its hiding place two nights ago—seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. Andy had a hunch that wasn't true, though. She had a hunch that the mysterious woman heard every word and noticed every movement that occurred in the small coffee shop. Holding back a sigh, Andy wiped down the counter and threw out a straw wrapper. Glancing at the teak wooden clock on the far wall, Andy wondered where the time had gone. Only twenty more minutes until it was time to close for the night. Twenty more minutes of surreptitiously observing a woman who fascinated her even though they had barely exchanged more than orders—on the woman's part—and pleasantries—on Andy's part—for the past two months. She couldn't help but believe that any attempts to engage her into a conversation would be met with an icy stare, and more troubling, the end of her visits to Andy's store. After having the woman around nearly every night for hours on end, Andy felt a fierce attraction toward the older woman.
Finishing the nightly chores necessary to close, Andy felt a tenuous connection with the successful writer—and Andy was certain she was a writer of some sort since not only was that all she did for hours but she looked too good, too meticulous, too confident to be anything less than a successful writer. Andy liked to muse on the possible subject matter of those notes—perhaps they were biographical or historical—oh, oh, maybe it was a bodice ripper. Raising her eyebrows, Andy thought she might be on to something. She could well imagine, with her aristocratic features and regal bearing, that the woman was a heartbreaker. She probably knew a thing or two when it came to finding her way around a body.
Andy wouldn't mind her body being explored by the attractive woman—she'd even provide a treasure map with an "X" marks the spot on it. Smiling at her silliness, Andy looked up from the register and froze. Ice-blue eyes stared at her, so forcefully that Andy lost her breath. Had she said something out loud? Had she made a noise? She didn't read minds, did she? Andy gulped as the woman smoothly rose from her seat and approached the counter.
Trying not to react in an entirely inappropriate way, Andy forced a smile onto her face as she watched. The woman was entirely too sexy, and she knew it. She swung her hips provocatively, jutting out her pelvis just a bit and leaning back as she walked—swaggered, really—toward Andy. Andy felt caught in place, unable to rip her gaze away from that body, those eyes, and the subtle uplift of thin, kissable lips.
"I have some research I'd like to conduct. Will you help me?" a cultured voice oozing sensuality asked.
"Yes. I'd love to help," Andy answered, not quite succeeding in keeping the excitement out of her voice.
An amused quirk of her lips translated the writer's appreciation for Andy's quick response. "You don't even know what the research entails," she drawled while allowing her eyes to wander over Andy's body.
Andy felt heat engulf her as she closed down the register. Jesus, she thought. Maybe she had heard Andy's thoughts after all. Maybe she needed to conduct some research on the best sexual positions for two females. Maybe she wanted to find out what a one-night stand felt like, or better yet, what it felt like to have a sex slave…or, "What?" Andy stuttered. She had been so focused on the possibilities that she had totally missed what the object of her fantasies had said.
"I said, my name is Miranda," the woman said, a slight edge to her voice.
"Oh! I'm sorry. I—yeah. I'm Andy. Well, Andrea, but everyone calls me Andy."
"Very well, Andrea, whenever you are ready, we can leave." Taking the hint, Andy moved to the back door to lock it before turning off the lights, setting the alarm, and ushering them through the front door.
"This way," Miranda said and strode up the street to a parking garage. Andy nearly walked into Miranda's back when she stopped in front of a red Porsche Roadster.
They got in silently, Andy unwilling to ask where she was being taken. The car purred to life and soon they were headed uptown.
"I've been watching you, Andrea," Miranda said in a soft voice. "So eager to please, so pleasant, so efficient, but you are not just a mindless drone. Oh, no. You have intelligence glimmering behind those doe eyes. You own the store, don't you?" Andy nodded when Miranda cocked her head in question. "And although I've seen you interact with friends, I have not seen any love interests, have I?" Andy shook her head mutely. "No. Well, that's not entirely true, now is it?" she said softly with a chuckle that traveled up Andy's spine. "You are interested in one person, aren't you? And not because of who I am or my profession. I find that intriguing, and in many ways, freeing."
Andy sat as still as possible as Miranda laid Andy's feelings out plainly. She could not deny them, and although heat suffused her cheeks and she trembled from their proximity, Andy could not help but feel aroused by this powerful woman who could read her so well.
They pulled into a garage and got out, walking out to the sidewalk without another word exchanged. After a half a block Miranda turned into a walkway for one of the townhouses. Andy followed.
She followed Miranda up the stairs, into the house, up two more flights of stairs, and into a luxurious bedroom. Andy had hardly a moment to register where they were before she was pulled forward into a hungry kiss. With a moan, Andy closed her eyes and surrendered.
Two hours later Andy sighed, lethargic limbs splayed on top of a wrinkled bed sheet. She didn't want to move. She watched through her eyelashes as that silver head traveled slowly over her belly and up her sternum, stalling over her left breast. Andy arched as hot breath puckered her nipple and hovering lips connected, sucking leisurely. A talented tongue flicked out, caused Andy to moan wantonly. She couldn't seem to get enough of this woman. No matter how tired and sated she felt, her body continued to react forcefully to Miranda's single-minded attention.
Hearing a pleased humming, Andy opened her eyes and looked down into glowing, sparkling ones. An elegant hand pushed back Andy's bangs before trailing down her face and neck, coming to a rest on Andy's collarbone. "I'd like to see you again, Andrea," she said as she nipped at the slope of Andy's breast.
"You, you would?" Seeing a raised eyebrow, Andy answered, "I'd like to see you, too. Maybe help you more with that research for your book," Andy leered suggestively.
Miranda laughed, her head thrown back in mirth. "Just what type of book do you think I'm writing?" she asked, humor lacing her words.
"I, I don't know, really. But you did ask me here to help you," Andy said with a smile.
Leaning on her elbow, Miranda said, "Andrea, I write legal thrillers." She stared at Andy, her face softening with affection. "Do you really think I would lure you into my bed just to write a sex scene?"
"Well, I hoped, anyway," Andy said, feeling a bit ridiculous.
"Hmm. Well, if I were to write a sex scene, I would have to make sure I knew all the ins and outs so that it would sound believable," Miranda said as she bent over Andy and claimed her with a thorough kiss.
Feeling a skilled hand cup her between the legs, Andy groaned. A thought struck her, and she broke the kiss to exclaim, "Wait! You're Miranda Priestly, the famous novelist?" Mortified that she hadn't figured it out earlier, Andy began to apologize. "I am so sorry. I feel like a real moron!"
"Yes, yes," Miranda dismissed. "You can make it up to me later if you feel the need. I have more important matters on my mind presently. Like those ins and outs."
Andy soon forgot what they were talking about when two fingers entered her and began pumping in a demanding rhythm. Ah, yes. "X" marks the spot, indeed.