Pairing: Miranda/Andy The Devil Wears Prada
Author's Notes: This was for the 2010 IDF (International Day of Femslash) Drabble challenge on Live Journal's Passion Perfect page
Word Count: 500 words, exactly
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are found in The Devil Wears Prada film or the book. Nor do I own Runway. I am not making a profit from this story. It is purely created for its free entertainment value. Blah, blah, blah—why are you still reading this?
Rating: A nice, tame R—nothing too graphic. It's only 500 words—you know?
"No. We can't—I"
"No? Really, Andrea. We both know you cannot resist," I purr as I gently pull her hair back, revealing to my greedy eyes her feline neck. I quickly slide my lips over her throat feeling the vibration of her helpless whimper.
"I have resisted before," she argues feebly. Yes, of course she has. She walked away from me once. Paris is long ago, though. I tracked her down soon after she settled into her present job, the one I helped her get.
She could not refuse me then. She will not refuse me now.
Pulling her supple body flush against mine, I possessively knead her buttocks with one hand while I cradle her head with the other. Licking up her neck, I capture her moan in my mouth.
To think I have not tasted her sweet breath in a month. A month! I will not allow such a long separation to occur again.
Perhaps that is the root of the problem, the reason why Andrea is so skittish. How can she not realize how essential she is to me? Does she think I show up at all my former assistants' doors and throw myself at them? Does she suppose I have so little dignity? Does she believe my arrogance extends to the belief that no one will dare refuse me—that others roll over easily, offering their tender bellies to me with the hope I will not destroy them as I satisfy my carnal needs?
Of course, it is absurd. I have never shown up at anyone's door before. Andrea would be quite surprised to learn how my heart had hammered as I had waited those few moments between knocking and seeing Andrea's shocked countenance once the door opened. It was worth the risk, though. Her eyes had told me all I needed to know. I had pushed her into the apartment without a word and made her mine.
Just as I will tonight.
Kicking her door shut with my trusty Prada heel, I direct her yielding body toward her bedroom. "Miranda," she moans. I do not know whether she means to object or consent, but I am committed to this course of action, and I will not give her time to mount a defense.
"Andrea," I whisper. "I realize you fear my motivations. Rest assured, once I choose a direction, I never second guess that choice." I lay her down on the bed gently as she gazes at me with hope in her eyes. "I knew once I appeared at your door that I would find my way here again and again." I kiss her reverently, for I feel blessed each time I hold her in my arms. "That will not change, love."
In the past I've pleasured her so well that her glowing eyes have reflected passion and felicity. Tonight I will raise the stakes by seeking love in those expressive eyes. And I will find it.
She cannot resist. Just as I cannot.