Pairing: Miranda/Andrea and the last remnants of unhappy Miranda/Stephen and Andrea/Nate
Rating: Mature (M)
Summary: A mischievous character from a different fandom makes an appearance and things happen! :P
Genre: Slightly angsty at first, humour, smutty fluff, crossover
Warnings: Mention of man-parts, some hetero things and very subtextual m/m. Oh and fluff. Beware the fluff!
Beta faeries: My boos Jiggles and Susi! I heart you guys!
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing related to the Devil Wears Prada or the Star Trek universe, I just like to be silly and play around.
A/N: This started out as a crack idea, and I attempted to sort of craft a story around it. I don't know whether it works, but I hope it's still entertaining enough. I have absolutely no man-related experience so I made it all up as I went along. :P Some of it may sound unrealistic, but heck, what do I know? :P
Priestly/Tomlinson residence, Wednesday night.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Miranda sighed and removed her reading glasses.
"Come in," fell from her lips without much conviction. Might as well get it over with, she thought to herself.
Just like every Wednesday night, her husband's slippers squeaked across the wooden floor as he stepped into the room, locking the door behind him before making his way to her bed.
Miranda put away the Book and her glasses as she fought the instinct of flight at the dipping of the mattress. Stephen had spent all evening on his computer, no doubt watching porn, so maybe it would be quick. His hands were rough when they pulled her on top of him, and without making eye contact, Miranda straddled his abdomen, her legs carrying her weight as she tried to avoid full contact for as long as possible. He was wearing silk boxers and the fabric was cool and smooth against her thighs.
"Off," he said quietly, tugging at the hem of her nightgown.
As she pulled the garment over her head, Miranda revelled in the feel of the satin brushing her cheeks. She longed for that kind of softness, a caress so tender and soothing that it rivalled even the most exquisite of fabrics. As the chilly night air brushed her skin, she imagined that flittering, loving touch by the fingertip of someone else, finding comfort in her brief little fantasy.
Stephen tugged at her hips and pulled her down on top of him, forcing her back to reality. His warm palms slid over her thighs and towards the edge of her panties, and Miranda exhaled slowly, calming herself as she felt his bulge pressing against her. She loved a stable home and having a partner to return to after a tiring workday. The physical aspects of marriage, however, had never much appealed to her, often feeling more like a chore than an act of pleasure. Especially once the initial excitement and affection had worn off and all that remained were scheduled quickies to keep her husbands from leaving.
When they had still desired her it was a lot easier to play along, but after a while her devotion to work, and the often ruthless way she dealt with people had always caught up, leaving the men in her life bitter and whiny. Stephen was attempt number three, and after only two and a half years, things between them had cooled almost entirely. The weekly sex was a trade-off for keeping things stable on the home front, even if it left Miranda feeling empty and more alone than ever.
She closed her eyes and began moving her hips, grinding against him as he grabbed her breasts. His hands were rough when he pinched her nipples. The position gave her at least some control over the pace, and not having to feel Stephen's hairy chest was an added bonus. In the beginning of their relationship he had still shaved for her, but that, along with any other caring gesture, had quickly disappeared as his love for scotch had grown.
Ignoring his low grunts as he rubbed against her, Miranda's mind drifted off in what had become her ritual during these Wednesday nights. She pictured chestnut hair that cascaded down a slender throat and over milky white shoulders. Full lips stretching into a gentle smile, and the ghosts of soft fingers tenderly stroking away the uncomfortable pull on her breasts. The imagined scent of cheap strawberry body wash soothed her with its familiarity, and from a distance the kind voice of her young assistant whispered words of love, making Miranda feel safe, even as she felt Stephen's erection through his underwear.
Cooper/Sachs apartment, Wednesday night.
Andy turned off the bathroom light, and padded over to the bed, exhaustion burning through her entire body. She used the last of her strength to fling herself onto the mattress, before burying her face in her pillow. The bedding was anything but fresh, but working sixteen-hour days left little room for domestic cleanliness. Of course Nate could have changed the sheets, but he had spent his day off playing poker with his friends.
"Hey Andy," he said as he turned around expectantly, his movement shaking the bed.
"Ugh, Nate, I'm tired," Andy replied. It was the truth. Working for Miranda Priestly was akin to running a marathon every single day. Even after eight months, Andy had still not gotten used to the physical exhaustion. She didn't hate her job, though. She loved working at Runway, and she loved working for Miranda.
The pillow hid her smile as she remembered the approving nod she had received from her boss when she had dropped off the Book earlier that evening. They had gone over the schedule for the coming week, and Andy's ever growing skill in planning and anticipating last minute changes had once again seemed to impress Miranda. She had averted another disaster, earning her bonus points with the editor who had become increasingly important to her.
"Come on, Andy," Nate's whiny voice broke through her sense of accomplishment. "We haven't had sex in weeks. I'm tired of jerking off in the shower."
"Fine," she grumbled, pressing her palms into the bed to sluggishly push herself up. "But you will have to do all the work."
He grinned and kicked off the sheets to crawl over to her. He was naked, and as she watched him in the dim light she wondered how she had ever thought his excessive amount of body hair was charming. Back in college she had called him her "teddy bear", finding his scruffy appearance adorable. Now, however, the scratching felt irritating and almost intrusive.
Quickly his hands were on her chest, palming her breasts through her sweatshirt as he straddled her, his manhood resting on her clothed belly. Some evenings she would just give him a handjob to cut down time by not having to shower again in the morning, but tonight she was far too tired for even that. Instead she just lay there and closed her eyes as he continued to fondle her breasts. Her nipples were usually rather sensitive, and caressing them was often the only foreplay she needed to be ready. So Nate kept going, oblivious to the fact that recently it wasn't his touch as much as her vivid imagination that got her excited.
The first time Andy's mind had failed to block out her job during sex had been three months ago. And whereas that was perfectly normal for someone who worked as many hours as she did, seeing an image of Miranda as Nate had fucked her had caused a spectacular surprise orgasm which had shocked Andy to the core. In the weeks that had followed she had half-heartedly tried to fight those thoughts, unsettled by what they could possibly imply, but since then her beautiful boss had been on her mind whenever she and Nate had been intimate. Granted, those occasions had grown rare, but with every time Andy's imagination had become more realistic and almost overwhelming.
She moved her arm, pressing her face into the crook of her elbow. The familiar perfume in the fabric of her sweatshirt got her heart racing, and she instantly felt less bad for having spent so much money on a small bottle of Miranda's standard fragrance. It carried her away from the bed and into a fantasy world where Miranda wasn't her boss, but where they were equals. Lovers. She knew she should feel guilty, and that these thoughts were unfair to Nate, but she also knew that in the end nothing would ever come of her infatuation with the older woman. Miranda would never regard her as anything other than an assistant. And if fantasising about someone else made her feel better and enabled her to keep hers and Nate's relationship going, it couldn't do any real harm, could it?
"You ready?" Nate asked, and Andy looked at him from under her arm, watching apathetically as he reached for her underwear.
She could not answer. The 'yes' that felt so obligatory had gotten stuck in her throat. With a deep breath she readied herself, closing her eyes and picturing Miranda.
Priestly/Tomlinson residence, Wednesday night.
In complete silence, Stephen took off Miranda's panties, and she gazed up at the ceiling as his hands brushed her skin. Returning her knees to either side of his groin, she kept her hips raised as he reached into his boxers to pull out his stiff dick. This was always the part that was difficult to block out, and she nervously bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes again. She arched back, curled her fingers into the sheets behind her and thought of Andrea.
Suddenly there was a shift in the air and a vague sound, almost as if someone far away had snapped their finger. At the same time Stephen's hand fell away, and when Miranda lowered herself again she did not meet his offered manhood, but rather felt herself settle down atop narrow hips and smooth skin. Her eyes shot open, quickly focusing on someone who was most certainly not Stephen.
The face was covered by the sleeve of an oversized, purple sweatshirt, but it was definitely a woman. Her ample chest rose and fell with shallow breathing, and for a moment Miranda just stared in confusion at the lettering on the cotton, which read 'Northwestern University'.
She must have lost her mind. That was the only logical explanation. Her frequent escapes into a fantasy world must have damaged her brain and now she was truly hallucinating. Miranda held her breath. The heat from the other woman's bare thighs made it all seem so incredibly real, and Miranda became very aware of the fact that she was sitting on top of her naked. Her heart hammered violently when the woman stopped moving as well and after a moment of hesitation quietly asked, "Nate?"
"Andrea?" Miranda croaked, utterly baffled by how life-like her fantasy was. She could feel the other woman's pulse through the thin fabric of her panties.
Ever so slowly Andrea lifted her arm, and deep brown eyes peeked at Miranda from under the sweater.
Cooper/Sachs apartment, Wednesday night.
Meanwhile, the tenants of Andy's building were startled awake by a blood-curdling scream that had its origins in apartment 5A.
Nate Cooper struggled to scramble backwards across the carpet he had fallen onto. His eyes, wide with terror, remained glued to the equally shocked man who was lying perched on his back in the very spot where only seconds before Andy had been. The fact that the man was naked except for his boxers and he was holding onto his erect penis, certainly did not help what Nate instantly knew was a trauma he would never forget.
"What the fuck?" He squeaked as his back collided with the wall.
There had been contact, he was sure. He had felt it.
"Who the hell are you?" The man asked as he stuffed his manhood back into his boxers.
"Who the hell am I?" Nate felt like crying as he covered his groin with his hands. Yup, their family jewels had most definitely touched. He felt sick. "Who the hell am I? Dude, this is my apartment!"
The man sat up and looked around.
"Then maybe you don't mind telling me why the fuck I suddenly find myself at this dump instead of in bed with my wife?"
Nate could see veins popping at the man's temple and for a brief moment he felt sorry for the wife, whoever she might be.
"And I was just about to fuck my girlfriend when you," he gestured wildly with his hands before he realised he had exposed himself again, "popped out of nowhere."
He grabbed a towel from the nearby chair and wrapped it tightly around his middle.
"I mean, where the fuck is Andy?" This was utterly surreal. Was this a dream? A really freaky and disturbing dream? "What the hell did you do to my girlfriend?" He balled his fists.
The man stood, and with a gulp Nate realised how tall he was. Granted he had grey hair, but he looked fit enough to become a real problem.
"Listen kid, I have no fucking clue what the hell you're talking about." He stepped closer, and Nate wished away his still persisting erection. The sudden adrenaline was not helping. "I might as well ask you what you've done to my wife!"
"You think this is my fault?" Anger was taking the upper hand, one primal instinct trumping another. "Do I look like a fucking magician to you?"
The man moved even closer, and Nate could smell his sweat. He was sure fists would fly any minute now. Both of them were worked up and had been thrown into a situation that was completely out of control.
"Now, now, now," a voice suddenly came from the doorway. "Gentlemen, this is no reason to become hostile." A man with short, black hair and rather satisfied grin stepped into the bedroom. "After all, you two have quite a lot in common."
Priestly/Tomlinson residence, Wednesday night.
Oh great, Andy thought. I've fallen asleep in the middle of sex, and now I'm dreaming of a gloriously naked Miranda.
She pulled down her arm and stared at the vision above, her cheeks burning as her eyes trailed over all the beautiful skin she had fantasised about for so long. It was so life-like it took her breath away. Emboldened by the knowledge that this was still merely a fantasy, Andy slowly moved her hands to where Miranda's knees rested on the mattress and carefully began stroking up Miranda's thighs.
Goosebumps appeared where her fingertips touched, and Miranda shuddered and sighed, her eyes shining down at Andy with unfamiliar warmth.
"Andrea," Miranda whispered, tentatively resting her palms on Andy's hips. Her thumbs slipped under the hem of the sweatshirt and began to lightly brush over Andy's hipbones. Andy bit her lower lip as her body reacted to the gentle caress, but she fought the urge to close her eyes. What if she lost this moment, this beautiful dream, as soon as her lids were lowered? Watching Miranda lean forward, and feeling those delicate hands slowly slide over her belly, Andy knew she would wake up utterly devastated.
"Miranda," she sighed, the back of her fingers trailing up soft curves until they reached the swells of Miranda's breasts.
Head tipping back at the contact, Miranda closed her eyes and inhaled sharply through her nose. When she looked back down at Andy her eyes were mere slits and a light blush covered her elegant cheekbones. She sighed and leaned forward, palms sliding over Andy's ribs until they carefully cupped her breasts under the sweatshirt.
"Oh," Andy gasped, and this time her eyes did close. Her heart fluttered with panic, but the tender touch prevailed. Hopeful, she dared to look again and found an expression of utter wonder on Miranda's face, which slowly gave way to a smile that went straight to Andy's heart.
"You're so beautiful," Andy said, and she tenderly touched the breasts that were invitingly swaying just above.
She was not prepared for the sensation of hardened nipples brushing the inside of her palms. It was one of the most intimate things she had ever felt, and she couldn't help but moan when Miranda mirroring her movements intensified the experience.
"How can this feel so incredibly real?" Andy whispered, almost delirious.
The heat from where Miranda's thighs pressed against her almost burned Andy's sides, and the patch of coarse hairs tickled at the waistband of her panties. She could even smell Miranda's scent, not just the few drops of perfume she had put on her sweatshirt, but the entire palette of fragrances she had become so addicted to.
As if on auto pilot, Andy's hands moved to Miranda's face, and she stroked her fingers over flushed cheeks.
"I wish this were real," she swallowed back the lump in her throat and added quietly, "so, so much."
Miranda's fingers paused, and she looked at Andy with sudden sadness.
"So do I, my darling."
There was something so desperate about that moment that Andy's chest hurt from the tension. She did not want this dream to end. Aware of anxiety rearing its ugly head at the back of her mind, she quickly reached up and pulled Miranda down to her lips.
Cooper/Sachs apartment, Wednesday night.
"What do you mean, 'we have a lot in common?'" Nate asked as he pulled a dirty shirt over his head and sat on the bed with a grunt. "I don't even know who that guy is."
"And I have never seen this kid before in my life," the grey-haired man agreed.
"Ah. Humans," the other stranger said with a chuckle. "Always so quick to judge."
"What the hell does that mean?" Nate was growing more and more furious. He zipped up his pants and threw the towel into a corner. Not quite sure yet whether he was dreaming or being pranked, he crossed his arms and waited for an explanation.
"And would you tell me who the hell you are?" He added with a growl that came out rather whiny.
"And who are you?" The older man countered, appearing to honestly be equally confused and agitated at the whole situation.
"I'm Nate and this is my apartment." He looked between the two men and continued, "which makes you intruders."
"Well, my name is Stephen," he crossed his arms in front of his hairy chest and leaned against the wall, "and up until a few minutes ago I was in my wife's bed."
Nate snorted. "Your wife has her own bed?"
Stephen raised his eyebrows and sighed. "Kiddo, if you knew whom I am married to you'd understand why. I can't stay in the same room with her for longer than five minutes."
He looked at the floor for a few quiet seconds, before directing his expectant gaze to the third man.
"Oh, yes. I am Q," he said cheerfully, his palms facing up as if that one letter was supposed to sound familiar to the others. "And I'm sorry if my little scenario here has crossed your plans for the night," he grinned and pulled up his shoulders, "but with so much love in the air, I simply could not help myself."
"'Love in the air?'" Nate squeaked and quickly looked at Stephen in horror, his hands protectively flying to his still bulgy groin. "Dude, I'm not gay!"
"Oh don't be silly," Q said with a wave of his hand. "This isn't about either of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Stephen asked as he angrily pushed off the wall.
"Human sexuality is such a fascinating thing," Q continued, seemingly oblivious to the other two men's agitation. "You force yourselves to have physical relations with people who don't matter," he sounded positively excited about the subject, "but you deny yourselves to be close with those whom you desire the most."
He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulders, rocking on his heels as if extremely proud of his observations.
"What the hell are you talking about?" In the vast shadows of Nate's mind there was a nagging whisper that this was about Andy.
"Well," Q said enthusiastically, "your girlfriend," he pointed at Nate, "and your wife," he looked at Stephen, "have been dancing around each other for months. Their feelings and their, what you humans call 'unresolved sexual tension', were so intense that they caused actual ripples in the time-space continuum. So I studied them for a while. They are two quite remarkable specimen." He chuckled. "Or should I say 'speciwomen'?"
"Is this some kind of joke?" Nate was enraged. "Am I being pranked? Who set this up?"
Stephen remained calm, but his shoulders slumped when he asked, "You said your girlfriend's name was Andy. Is that short for Andrea?"
The way he pronounced the name was strange. It sounded European, the emphasis on the second syllable instead the first.
"Ugh, yeah." Nate suddenly felt very uncomfortable, chills running down his spine. He gulped. "Why?"
"Because she works for my wife," Stephen explained, sounding defeated.
It felt as if a thick wall of ice collided with Nate's entire body. It drained him and formed a freezing lump in the pit of his stomach.
"My wife mentions her uncharacteristically often," Stephen continued. "And when we have sex she is distant. Cold." He snorted sarcastically and scratched his short, grey hair. "Well, she never was exactly warm to begin with."
"Y-your wife is Miranda Priestly?" Nate stuttered. The truth suddenly rushed in, almost suffocating him.
"Well, I guess not for much longer," Stephen crossed his arms again and leaned back against the wall, deflated. He looked at Q, who had been eagerly watching their exchange.
"But that can't be. Andy isn't a lesbian." Nate was furious.
"You humans and your need to label everything." Q shook his head. "It really restricts your already so limited existence."
"And what's with the 'you humans' crap?" Nate pushed off the bed and approached Q. "How did you get Andy out and this guy in anyway? Is this some kind of hidden camera TV show?" He looked around, searching for recording devices. "I'm not buying it."
"Well," Q just smirked, "let me demonstrate in ways your tiny brain can comprehend."
He snapped his fingers, and all of a sudden Nate's naked feet touched wet gravel and a cold wind raised the hairs on his arms. He was standing on the roof of his building.
Priestly/Tomlinson residence, Wednesday night.
Miranda's fingers curled into dark, silken tresses as her tongue stroked, caressed and explored the most exquisite mouth she had ever tasted. Andrea was so responsive, so soft and warm. For a long moment they just kissed, slowly, allowing for Miranda to get acquainted with the sweet lips she had desired for so long. Andrea's hands had begun to stroke up and down her spine, sliding into her hair and tenderly massaging her scalp, and Miranda felt safe and happy, never wanting this dream to end.
But it had to end at some point, didn't it? The thought hurt, and her grip hardened, causing Andrea to gasp. Warm palms soothed the tension in her shoulders, but she couldn't help the shudder that was forced by her fear of loss.
"Andrea, don't leave me," she whispered against the younger woman's lips, and immediately lanky arms clung to her, holding her tightly. Not for the first time Miranda wondered how this dream could feel so realistic. Granted, she had a lot of experience with imagining herself making love to Andrea, but still, something made this fantasy especially lifelike. She could not put her finger on it.
The bunched-up fabric from Andrea's sweatshirt between them was distracting and close to painful, so Miranda impatiently tugged at the piece of clothing.
"Get this off," she husked and rose a few inches to make room.
Breathing heavily, Andrea obeyed and pulled the garment over her head. The cotton left her hair slightly static and sticking up in all directions. Miranda was overwhelmed by affection, and she gently smoothed the unruly strands while carefully lowering her torso again. Andrea smiled at her, the tips of her fingers playing with the defiant lock on Miranda's forehead and gently brushing it behind her ear.
"Better?" She asked, gazing up through lowered lashes.
"Much," Miranda whispered, and she fully pressed herself against Andrea. Feeling soft breasts touch her own so deliciously was one thing, but it was the rapid flutter of another's heartbeat against her ribs that took Miranda's breath away. Feeling Andrea's pulse, hearing her ragged breaths and looking down into eyes that were so very alive made it incredibly difficult to believe that all of this would disappear again as soon as she woke the next morning, cold and alone. She would need to make the most of this fantasy while it lasted.
Determined, she sought out Andrea's lips again, communicating her urgency through her tongue, and to her relief Andrea's response was equally intense. Their teeth clashed and their noses rubbed together in what quickly became a ravishing kiss. Fingers grabbed at her shoulders, pulling her down as Andrea's hips slowly ground against her. Then suddenly one of Andrea's hands trailed down to the small of her back and began to languidly massage her left buttock. Miranda shuddered and the movement caused her right leg to slip between Andrea's thighs.
"Oh!" They both gasped.
When the warm leg pressed against her, Miranda finally became aware of how aroused she was. Had this not been a dream she might have been utterly embarrassed by the amount of wetness. Instead, she shamelessly ground down and moaned into Andrea's mouth while sliding her tongue back inside. Both of Andrea's hands were now on her ass and she raised her leg to increase pressure against Miranda's slick sex.
Miranda felt hungry, starved, insatiable and she quickly found a rhythm, rubbing herself against the younger woman as hard as she could. The flexing palms on her butt guided her, keeping her steady and increasing the strength of her movements. It did not take long, and soon Miranda felt overcome by a fire that rose from her very core and incinerated all the tension, fear, and sadness she had kept bundled up inside her body for so long. She held tightly to Andrea as her hips jerked uncontrollably, a slave to the intensity of her release. She hid her face in the crook of the Andrea's neck where she hummed quietly as the tremors slowly dissipated.
Andrea hugged her close, her hands stroking up and down Miranda's sweaty back as she carefully lowered her leg. Gentle fingers brushed through her hair, causing Miranda to almost purr in contentment. Lips touched her forehead in a sweet kiss before Andrea nuzzled her ear and whispered words that wrapped Miranda's heart in unguarded happiness.
"Miranda," she sighed. "I love you so much."
Cooper/Sachs apartment building roof, Wednesday night.
"What the hell did you do?" Nate squeaked as he stared at the sleepy streets below.
"I took you to the roof. Isn't that obvious?" Q said smugly.
"Did you have to bring me too?" Stephen complained as he hugged his naked chest. "It's not exactly warm out here."
"Shouldn't you be used to that, being married to the Snow Queen and all?" Nate shot back.
"You should watch your mouth, boy. I know where you live." Stephen replied, his voice low and steady.
Nate threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine. Whatever." He scratched his head and addressed Q. "So, what's with this hocus pocus shit? What are you? The tooth fairy or something?"
Q chuckled. "Am I a wizard? Am I an alien? Am I possibly a god?"
"Are you?" Stephen asked. His shoulders were shaking from the cold, and his lips had turned blue. "A god?"
"Does it matter?" Q turned to Nate. "I'm just having a bit of fun while studying you silly humans."
"So this is all a joke to you?" Nate spat. "Breaking into my apartment, kidnapping my girlfriend and telling me horror stories about her having feelings for that disgusting...," he clenched his fists , "Dragon Lady."
"Hey! Stop insulting my wife."
"Why? You said yourself that it wouldn't be for much longer."
"That's completely beside the point," Stephen said, his teeth chattering. "She's still my wife now."
"Ugh!" Nate squatted down and grasped his hair with both hands in frustration. He knew he had to accept what he subconsciously knew as truth. Andy had been obsessed with Miranda Priestly for a long time.
In the beginning they had still made fun of the fashion industry together, cracking jokes at Andy's eager colleagues, their shallow view on beauty and the elitist attitudes of the rich and famous. Somewhere during the summer that had changed, and Andy had become one of them. Of course he had resented the changes, and he had always blamed Miranda. How could he not, when that woman was all Andy could talk about? It was constantly 'Miranda this, Miranda that'. It did not help that Andy always answered Miranda's phone calls, even in the middle of the night.
Andy even mumbled about her in her sleep, and he recalled one time where she had called out Miranda's name during sex.
Nate had put it down to stress, giving Andy an extra hard time about her long working days and jokingly calling Andy 'Miranda's slave'. Now, as he slowly allowed himself to face reality, he knew that the signs had been there for weeks, if not months.
"Fuck!" He yelled, his fists punching hard into the gravel. He had lost Andy. Not tonight, but the very moment she had set foot into the offices of Runway.
At the snap of Q's fingers he found himself back in his apartment. He gazed at the messy bed and felt a wave of disgust flood over him.
"How long have they been sleeping together?" He asked through clenched teeth.
Q looked pointedly at his bare wrist and answered, "exactly twenty-seven minutes and two seconds." With way too much excitement he added, "they're still at it."
"So, only since your little trick tonight?" Nate's voice broke. He could have gone without knowing that Andy and that old bitch were doing it right that moment.
"You shouldn't have asked," Stephen sighed.
"Shut up, rich guy. If you were a proper man maybe your wife wouldn't go around stealing other men's girlfriends."
"Look who's talking," Q laughed, and Nate growled.
Stephen just shrugged. "I make my wife miserable. All her previous husbands have as well, I think." He scratched the back of his head. "There is such a big part of her that she has never shared with me. I never had a real grip on her."
It stung, but Nate realised that the same was true for Andy. She had never truly changed into a different person. She had just grown, and she had done so without him, leaving him behind to reach into nothingness.
"This is so fucked up!" He rubbed his face and groaned, feeling overwhelmed and helpless. There was still a lot of anger inside him, but the part of him that had slowly come to accept reality filled with sadness.
"Hey," Stephen said, stepping closer and placing a hand on Nate's shoulder. "If Q-man over there can snap me some clothes and my credit card, I'll take you out for a drink. I think we both need it."
Nate was reluctant, as he was resentful to Stephen by sheer association with the woman who had destroyed his life. But he knew he needed to think and get out of the home he had shared with Andy for almost a year. He might as well get free alcohol out of it.
"Sounds like a plan," he said to a suddenly fully dressed Stephen. "Let me get my shoes."
Priestly/Tomlinson residence, Wednesday night.
Andy's body tingled all over-a wonderfully delicious feeling that had her sigh in delight. Miranda lay sprawled on top of her, her breathing slowly returning to normal as Andy kept nuzzling her cheeks, kissing her hair and holding her as close as physically possible. As much as the writer in Andy tried, she could not find the words to describe how mind-blowing it had been to feel Miranda climax in her arms, to feel her body tense up with pleasure and then relax into such beautiful, almost feline placidity.
"Hmmm," Miranda sighed, and she squeezed Andy tightly before kissing her shoulder. Her lips then followed the curve of muscles to the side of Andy's throat where Miranda's tongue gave a lick before she carefully bit down. Soft lips then soothed her skin before Miranda began to gently suck. Andy was beside herself, the sensation so intense that she held her breath. The smacking sounds sent shivers to the area between her legs, and she moaned, causing Miranda to intensify her ministrations. When she felt tiny pricks of pain she shakily asked, "Miranda... what are you doing?"
Miranda gave another flick of her tongue and then kissed the now sensitive skin. She lifted her head, and her eyes were dark and full of something alive and real when she gazed down at Andy.
"You are mine" she purred. "So I marked you."
"Oh god," Andy groaned, and she tugged at the back of Miranda's neck, needing that wicked mouth upon her own.
The kiss that followed made Andy feel as if she was being devoured. Miranda pressed against her without restraint, pushing her hard into the mattress while her tongue plundered Andy's mouth like a pirate on a hunt for gold. Andy could only hold on, tangling her fingers in the short strands of hair at the back of Miranda's head, causing the older women to moan in response. Hands possessively slid up and down her sides, massaging her hips and thighs before returning to her breasts in more gentle caresses.
The desire Miranda communicated through her touches and kisses was utterly overpowering, and assured by the knowledge that this was merely a fantasy, Andy allowed herself to let go and be swept away. She barely noticed her panties being removed, until sure fingers coaxed her thighs apart, and the sudden exposure to the cool night air had her shiver with anticipation. Miranda broke the kiss and sat up, looking at Andy with unmasked hunger and what Andy in her delirious mind could only describe as adoration. Miranda's cheeks were flushed, and a sheen of sweat covered the beautiful skin of her chest which rose and fell in quick succession. A wondrous smile played on her lips, and Andy knew she had never seen anyone more beautiful.
"Miranda," Andy whispered, her voice no more than a breath.
She was unable to fully verbalise the depth of her emotions, so she just clung to that name, repeating it like an invocation, pleading for something she could not quite grasp.
"Miranda," she almost sobbed.
"Shh, my love," Miranda replied softly, and then her palms cupped behind Andy's knees. Keeping their gazes locked, she guided Andy's legs until they were up in the air and spread wide open. Andy felt exposed and vulnerable; completely at Miranda's mercy, which, combined with the unconditional trust she felt for this dream apparition, caused her heart to race and her clit to pulsate.
Her impatient hands reached for Miranda, desperate to feel her lover's body press against her. However, Miranda just knelt in front of her, licking her lips as her eyes were inevitably drawn to Andy's centre.
"Hold your legs for me, darling," she said hoarsely, and Andy readily complied and grasped her shins.
And then Miranda touched her. She used only the pad of her thumb to slowly slide between her folds, moving up and down and spreading abundant moisture along the way. The slippery sounds caused Andy's cheeks to burn with embarrassment, and she tried to hide her face.
"No, no," Miranda admonished with amusement. "Look at me."
Andy did, and she found an anchor in Miranda's eyes, a lifeline that would keep her from drowning.
When Miranda's thumb began to gently stroke her clit, Andy bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood, but she did not look away. Miranda smirked and lessened the pressure to almost a tickle, caressing her so tenderly that Andy thought her chest might explode from the love that resonated inside her heart. She held on, fingers digging into the skin just below her knee caps as Miranda finally crawled forward and carefully lowered herself between Andy's legs.
"Oh," Andy gasped when she felt trimmed hairs brush against her wetness.
Miranda placed small kisses along her jawline before her hips began a sensual dance, her sex rubbing against Andy's in slow but deliberate circles.
Andy moaned. "Miranda!"
Out of reflex she crossed her ankles behind Miranda's back and her arms locked tightly around her neck, pulling Miranda's face against her throat. It was slightly bizarre how protected she felt when Miranda hugged her tightly in return, since Miranda wasn't exactly known to make people feel safe. Then again, it was just a dream, a fantasy in which Miranda was perfect. In which she loved her and would guard Andy's heart with her life.
Her arms and legs gripped harder, and Andy pressed her lips to Miranda's cheek, tasting and inhaling as their hips moved together faster and faster. The pressure on her clit increased and she met Miranda's thrusts almost desperately, all of her focus drawn to that one area where they so intimately touched.
Soon Andy's body surrendered to chaos, shaking uncontrollably, as waves of heat pulsed through her veins. She was quiet, her body too tense to release any sounds other than silent gasping. She simply held on while Miranda carried her through the climax with whispers of encouragement and love. When aftershocks had Andy trembling Miranda hugged her close, and sweetly stroked through her hair.
"Shh, I've got you, darling."
Slowly, Andy loosened her grip, and she carefully lowered her feet to the mattress. Her chest burned from exertion, but her heart was at peace. In the back of her mind she knew that things would have to change in her life, that come morning she would need to make decisions. For now, however, she succumbed to the blissful feeling of serenity that washed over her when Miranda gracefully stretched out beside her and purred. Together they reached for the covers, smiling shyly at one another when they snuggled into wonderful warmth.
"I love you, M'randa," Andy whispered groggily against Miranda's throat, and the arms that held her briefly tightened, before Miranda kissed the top of her head and replied, "I love you too." There was a sniffling sound, but Andy was far too tired to check if Miranda was crying. She only managed to tenderly press her lips to Miranda's skin, before closing her eyes and finally succumbing to darkness.
Priestly/Tomlinson residence, Thursday morning.
Miranda woke to the unfamiliar feeling of a warm body pressing into her side. Her first thought was that Stephen must have fallen asleep in her bed, and she reached out to push him away. She was incredibly annoyed by his unwelcome presence when her mind was still clinging to the sweetness of her dream. However, her fingertips came into contact with skin that was much too soft to belong to her husband, and as her palm brushed over gentle curves a lanky arm curled around her middle, pulling her close.
She held her breath, suddenly wide awake. Her heart hammered against her chest as she took stock of the situation. Smooth legs were tangled with her own, the scent of strawberries, vanilla and femininity hung in the air, and her body felt sticky and sated. Careful to not rouse the peacefully snoring creature at her side, she slowly turned her head to gaze upon beautiful cheekbones and long, dark lashes. The morning sun, obscured by the gently swaying curtains, cast shadows over a face that was achingly familiar.
How was this possible? Of course, the only logical explanation would be that she was still dreaming, but Miranda felt alive and fully conscious, which confused her even more.
"Interesting," a silky voice suddenly spoke from the corner of the room, startling Miranda.
Out of reflex she pulled Andrea closer, shielding her with her own body before turning to face the intruder. A woman with long, auburn hair was leaning against the far wall, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her face stern, but not exactly threatening.
"Who are you and how did you get into my home?" Miranda asked, her thoughts immediately racing to her daughters' bedrooms which were thankfully empty for the week.
"I am Q," the woman replied haughtily, as if Miranda was supposed to know what the hell that meant.
When she stepped closer, Miranda immediately tightened her grip on Andrea, which did not go unnoticed.
"Hmmm," the woman murmured. "He was right."
"I beg your pardon?" Miranda hissed. Dream or not, she would not have a stranger speak to her in riddles.
"The Q who is responsible for this mess," the woman waved her hand around, "insisted that there was something remarkable about the two of you." She cocked her head as she regarded Miranda and Andrea.
Miranda squared her jaw and spoke quietly through clenched teeth, "you better explain yourself."
The 'Q' tapped her chin in contemplation as she continued her perusal of them.
"I was going to just send her back and alter both your memories, but I think I'll leave them be for a change." She looked genuinely surprised at herself. "For some reason the connection between the two of you is so strong that it creates a marker within time itself. I can see why Q called me here to evaluate his latest playthings."
The 'Q' woman sighed. "We had a falling out over our son's behaviour that involved your species in the future, and ever since that he's been trying to convince me that humans have some kind of purpose after all." She sounded denigrating, as if mankind was completely inferior. Miranda felt insulted.
"Now," the Q suddenly nodded at Andrea, "I will just send her back and then be on my way."
"What?" Miranda gripped the still sleeping body in her arms even tighter. "No. Wait!"
"Don't get your quarks in a twist," the woman rolled her eyes. "She won't disappear. I'll send her back home where she'll wake up and go about her puny, terrestrial business as usual."
"So," Miranda swallowed hard. The question that was burning inside her was stronger than her urge to counter the insults. "What happened between Andrea and I... it was all real?"
"I see you're finally catching on."
Miranda looked at Andrea and her cheeks burned as she remembered the details of their night together.
"Andrea said she believed it to only be a dream as well," she whispered in awe. "But since I was convinced that it was all in my head I thought that I was simply reflecting my own fears onto my creation of her." She tenderly stroked through Andrea's hair.
"You humans are so obtuse," the Q said impatiently.
Miranda ignored her and sweetly kissed Andrea's forehead.
"I will see you at work, my darling," she whispered with a final squeeze, and Andrea stirred in her sleep and weakly hugged her back.
"How touching," the Q mocked. Then she snapped her fingers, and her and Andrea disappeared.
The loss was so sudden that it hurt, and for a few minutes Miranda just sat in bed and held onto the pillow that still carried Andrea's scent. Her mind was racing; doubt, denial and disbelief dancing around each other in one big ball of confusion. She contemplated phoning Andrea, to make sure she was alright and to ask her if she remembered anything. But if all of this had just been an illusion she would look like a fool.
Deciding that no good could come from idly lounging in bed, Miranda got up and slipped on her dressing gown. Stephen should know what had transpired the previous night, and he would have an explanation for why she did not recall anything past their impersonal "foreplay". She shuddered and firmly tied the knot of her gown. It did not matter whether she had been having delusions or whether Andrea had really been here. The pathetic attempts to save her marriage would have to stop, and she and Stephen would finally need to get divorced.
When she arrived at the door she found it still locked from the inside. She frowned. Could it really be?
Her body tensed as she padded across the hallway and knocked on Stephen's bedroom door, muscles tightening in anticipation of some answers. After a few silent moments she knocked again, but the house remained quiet. She carefully opened the door only to find the room dark and empty, the bed made up and untouched.
Miranda's heart beat so fast she was afraid it would climb up through her throat. She pressed a palm to her forehead and took a deep breath.
"I'm losing my mind," she stifled a laugh and rolled her eyes, before closing the door and walking towards the stairs.
It would not be the first night Stephen had spent out drinking. Maybe he had not even come home, and the entire evening had been nothing but a dream. The thought made Miranda feel sad, and she realised how badly she needed it to be real.
When she solemnly descended the back staircase to the kitchen for much needed coffee, she heard the front door open and the alarm be reset. It took a lot of restraint not to run the last few steps, but she managed to get downstairs without falling. Holding her breath, she swiftly rounded the last corner into the library.
As soon as she saw Stephen standing in the entrance hall she knew. She knew that as crazy as it sounded, her dream had been real. Her husband's face spoke volumes, and Miranda felt torn between elation and tremendous guilt.
Stephen gently placed his keys on the hallway table, and looked at her with defeat and... kindness?
Miranda gripped the collar of her dressing gown and swallowed hard. So this was it.
"We should talk."
Elias-Clarke building, Thursday morning.
Andy almost fell over her own feet as she stumbled through the revolving glass doors, the tray of coffee in her hand coming dangerously close to spilling its searing contents all over her arm. She cursed under her breath and raced across the marble floors, beaming a brief smile at the doorman as she hurried past the gates and into a waiting elevator.
She was so screwed.
For the first time in over five months she was late for work, and Miranda had phoned her twice along the way, demanding to know where she was. It did not help that Andy's body was still humming with leftover pleasure from the most vivid and erotic dream she had ever had, and she had rushed through her morning routine in a daze, forgetting half her make-up and leaving her hair a mess.
With a frown, she looked in the elevator mirror and attempted to arrange her fringe, when she spotted a large purple mark on the side of her throat.
"Shit, shit, shit!" She hissed. How had she not seen this? Where the hell did that even come from?
As she frantically rubbed at the bruise she conceded that Nate must have left it there when she had fallen asleep during sex. He must have been really angry with her, which would explain his absence this morning and the hastily scribbled note on the kitchen table. She groaned, realising that she had no time to slip into the nearest restroom and touch up the huge hickey. The chime of the elevator was painful, heralding her doom, as Andy began her journey, limbs heavy with dread, through the labyrinth of hallways towards her likely demise.
She spied Miranda sitting at her desk from two glass doors away, and she steered her gaze to the floor as a different sensation joined the fear within her heart. Incredible longing rippled through her, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat at the imagined memory of Miranda's naked body against hers. How would she cope with being reprimanded, and possibly fired by Miranda after finally accepting the depth of her feelings for the older woman? It was a bittersweet irony that the dream which had woken a sense of finality and truth within her, had also caused her to oversleep, most likely resulting in the loss of Miranda's presence in her life. Her throat felt as if it was being squeezed, and she swallowed hard against the constriction.
"What took you so long?" Emily hissed under her breath as soon as Andy entered the outer office. "She's livid."
"I... I overslept," Andy replied. She quickly set down the coffee on her desk to take off her coat while ignoring the great pull of Miranda's presence just outside her peripheral vision.
"You did what?" Emily whispered so loudly that Andy knew Miranda would hear.
"And what in the bloody hell is that?" She pointed at the bruising on her throat, and Andy covered the mark with her palm as she grabbed the tray of coffee and made for their boss' office. "Don't let her see that."
As if Andy could keep anything from Miranda.
With muscles alternating states between jittery jelly and rock hard tension, she stepped into Miranda's inner sanctum. She was torn between the burning need to look at Miranda, and the terror of being drilled by the scathing, disappointed glare that was no doubt directed at her.
"Andrea," Miranda said, and it was so very hard not to imagine a sweetness within the tone that could not possibly be there. Andy felt her pulse race where her clammy hand pressed against her neck. She thought up a dozen different apologies in her mind, but before she could open her mouth in a futile attempt to excuse her tardiness, Miranda stood from her chair and said, "close the door."
Andy complied out of reflex, and she reached out with her empty hand and pulled the double doors closed. At Miranda's gasp, she suddenly realised that she had inadvertently exposed her throat, but before she could turn around and fumble for possible explanations Miranda was upon her. She took the coffee tray from Andy's hands and set it on the nearby trolley, and then grabbed Andy by the elbows and forced her around.
"Oh dear god," Miranda breathed, and Andy closed her eyes in embarrassment.
What would Miranda think of her, coming to work with such a huge, blatant hickey? Andy felt like a high-school student about to receive detention.
Then suddenly fingertips fluttered against the skin surrounding the bruise and another hand gently cupped her cheek.
"Does it hurt?" Came a whisper that sounded surprisingly guilty, and Andy blinked her eyes open in confusion, finally looking at Miranda's face.
It was like a homecoming. Andy could not restrain the well of emotions that bubbled up as she gazed down at flushed cheeks and glassy eyes she knew so well from her dream. Gone was her fear of the stern editor-in-chief, and it was replaced by love and a distinct sense of familiarity that Andy knew she had no rational right to feel. But it was there, and it engulfed her as Miranda touched her so tenderly that Andy ached from the need to touch her in return.
"Miranda," she whispered, and her voice was raw.
The older woman looked up, and when their eyes met Andy knew that something was different. That something was right. She just could not grasp at what it was. The question must have been written on her face, because Miranda stroked her cheek and, incredible as it was, began to smile.
"We have a lot to talk about," she said, and sheer, unadulterated joy caused her eyes to sparkle. "But not here, and not now."
Miranda's fingers briefly brushed against Andy's lips before she stepped away and walked back around her desk. Andy watched in a trance how Miranda pulled a few Hermès scarves from a drawer and then returned, still with that sweet smile in place.
"Hmmm, the green, I think," she murmured while holding the patterned silk fabric against Andy's throat.
Andy felt her ears burn as she remembered dream Miranda marking her. She had no idea why the real Miranda was suddenly so affectionate, but she did not want it to end. So she stood patiently as the older woman tied the silk scarf around her neck, and she focused on keeping her breaths as even as possible.
"There," Miranda whispered softly when she was done, and for a second Andy thought she would kiss her, their faces hovering mere inches apart.
Of course that idea was absurd, and Andy swallowed and averted her gaze, attempting to keep her desire in check.
"Uhm," she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry I was late, Miranda."
Miranda smirked and she gently tugged at the scarf again in a final, superfluous adjustment, causing the love in Andy's heart to roar up and make her swoon.
"Just make sure it does not happen again," Miranda whispered and she took a determined step back and crossed her arms, almost as if she had to restrain herself from something.
"I promise it won't," Andy replied, and she was unsure of why they were whispering.
After a few intense seconds of staring at one another, Miranda took a deep breath and said with a soft smile, "that's all."
When Andy left the inner office and walked past Emily, it was difficult to keep the spring from her step.
"What are you grinning about?" The redhead complained, but Andy ignored her and cheerfully slid into her office chair.
She was not fired, and on top of that Miranda was being incredibly nice to her. The cheek she had touched still tingled, and Andy felt her chest swell with happiness. The older woman had become increasingly civil, almost friendly, over the past few weeks, Andy knew that. But nothing could beat the sweetness in her gaze just moments ago. Giddiness filled Andy's entire body as she browsed through her emails, and when her phone rang she answered it in stride.
"Hey." It was Nate, and the sound of his voice dropped a thick blanket of guilt over Andy's euphoria.
"Uhm, hi." Andy had no idea what to say. She was aware what needed to be said, but she also knew that the office wasn't the place.
"Listen, I'll make this quick," he said with a sigh, and Andy pictured him scratching his head as he thought of the words. "I'm staying with this guy from work until I find something in Boston. I decided to take the job there after all." He was silent for a while before he softly continued, "I guess... we have to talk. At some point."
"Huh," was all Andy managed to say.
She was confused, but more so by her own lack of reaction than by what Nate was actually implying. So they were breaking up because she had fallen asleep during sex. Maybe she had moaned Miranda's name in her sleep again? It had happened before, and although she felt rather guilty, Andy wasn't exactly sad.
It wasn't much of a surprise either. They had grown apart, and her feelings for Miranda had driven a wedge between them that had done irreparable damage. As much as Andy had talked herself into believing that it was fine, and her feelings would pass, that evidently wasn't the case. She thought of Miranda, and the resulting flutter in her stomach confirmed that this was the right thing to do.
"Okay," she finally said.
Nate sighed again, sounding utterly defeated. "I'll call you." And with that he hung up.
Andy stared at the phone, hesitant to accept the relief that slowly engulfed her.
"Aw, bad news?" Emily mocked from across the room, and Andy looked up, reality sinking in.
"No." She blinked, still slightly surprised. "Actually, I think in a weird way it was good news. It appears that I am now single." For some reason she felt the need to stress the last part a bit more loudly.
"Whatever," Emily replied and turned back to her computer screen.
"Emily," Miranda called from where she had suddenly appeared in the door. "Did my lawyers fax the divorce papers yet?"
"Uhm," the redhead mumbled, startled. She had clearly been listening too intently to Andy's phone conversation and had not heard her boss walk up. "No. I'll phone them again."
Miranda rolled her eyes and then turned to look at Andy. Her face changed immediately, and Andy found herself at the receiving end of another breathtaking smile.
"Andrea," she said, her silken voice causing pleasant shivers to glide down Andy's neck. "Pick a restaurant you like and book a two person table for eight-thirty tonight." She briefly smirked at Andy's apparent shock and then began fidgeting with the leather-bound agenda in her hands as she continued. "Reschedule the meeting with Nigel for tomorrow at ten, and let me know when the provisional March layout is done."
Andy nodded slowly. Her mind was still stuck at the news that Miranda was getting divorced.
The older woman then walked off to go and attend a scheduled editorial meeting, but at the glass doors to the hallway she turned around one more time and said with a smirk, "have Emily deliver the book tonight. Dinner will take a while."
And with that she pushed through the doors and walked away. Andy ignored the cloud of hatred that rolled in from Emily's desk, and she stared after Miranda, utterly mesmerised by the sway of that perfect ass when suddenly Miranda's words sunk in.