Disclaimer: I own nada.
Rating: NC-17/M'ish
Pairing: Andy/Miranda (MirAndy)
Summary: One tent. One cell phone. One annoyed, cold Miranda. One not-so-apologetic Andy. Suddenly two joined sleeping bags.
Author's Note: Written as dialogue only, which is a new format for me. I hope you think it works. I had fun, at least!
Calleth You, Cometh I
A DWP MirAndy short story
By Gun Brooke
"What on earth is that annoying sound?"
"What? What? Oh, that. Just my cell phone, Miranda."
"Who's calling you in the middle of the night? Don't they know you're on assignment?"
"Actually. I was sleeping until you woke me. And nobody's calling me."
"Your phone buzzed or something. The whole air-mattress reverberated. I thought I was having stroke."
"Just Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, LinkedIn, and regular text alerts. Nobody is expecting me to pick up and talk."
"I can't even begin to fathom what you just said. Twitter? What is that? The latest dance moves?"
"Miranda, we've had several articles in Runway about different social media."
"Yes. I know. I have a Facebook account."
"Really? Why haven't you friended me?"
"What? What do you mean? Why would I do that? I see you almost every day at work. This assignment I spend literally time with you twenty-four-seven."
"If we actually slept right now, that would mean less hours for you."
"Cheeky girl. You're loud phone alerts keep me awake. Have you not noticed how the phone buzzes? It makes my whole head throb."
"Miranda, it is what happens when you set your phone to vibrate instead of using the ring signal. It's meant to be considerate to others."
"Andrea, I hate to inform you that it's not working. Your intentions are good, I'm sure, but the execution leaves something to be desired. I don't feel 'considered'."
"Miranda, we're in the middle of nowhere on this wilderness shoot where we had to walk, carrying tons of equipment with a bunch of complaining clackers and models and stylists who've never been outside of Manhattan in their life, and not to mention Nigel, who I singlehandedly guided across a freakin' swamp. We should be lucky that we have connectivity at all."
"Yes, well. Why Nigel wasn't wearing Wellies, I'll never know."
"Wellies?"
"Rubber boots."
"Ah."
"…"
"…"
"Now I can't go back sleep."
"Sorry, Miranda. I've muted my phone now even if it means that I miss out on notification from Runway Italia and Runway Russia."
"They can wait. We need our rest since after this godforsaken shoot, we're going to have to hike back."
"I know pointing this out will probably get me fired, but the wilderness shoot was your idea."
"That may be, but planning it was my staff's job. Why didn't they realize we couldn't even get here on horses?"
"I don't know. Guess horses don't manage swamps very well."
"Oh, my God, something moved against me. Is the tent zipper secure? Can it be a snake?"
"No. Sorry, Miranda. That was probably my hand."
"Your hand?"
"Don't be mad. I know you hate having to share such a small tent with me, but it could be worse."
"And, pray tell, how could it be worse?"
"You could've shared with Nigel. He snores, he dreams vividly, and talks in his sleep."
"I'm afraid to ask, but how do you know this?"
"Serena, Emily, and I spent the night at his place after barhopping together and since Emily and Serena were unconscious on the couch, I took the daybed in his bedroom. I went from sleeping soundly to thinking there was a home invasion going on. Then the snoring started. And finally I learned more about his breakup with Mark than I cared to know."
"Oh, my. You're right. Actually, I do not mind sharing with you, it's just…I'm cold."
"Damn, why didn't you tell me? If you don't think it's too awkward, we can connect our sleeping bags."
"All right. Anything to stay a little warmer. This roughing it…is overrated. I don't know why my girls think it's so great. They go camping every summer with Geoffrey."
"I think the key-word is 'summer', Miranda. We're in late October here. Our sleeping bags can sustain much colder weather than this, but shared bodily warmth is never wrong."
"Then come closer, Andrea."
"Wha—oh, okay."
"There. Better. I like these clothes you found for us to sleep in."
"Yes. Nike sportswear."
"My hands are still cold."
"The proper procedure to warm hands and feet is to stick them into your arm pits. I think you might be more comfortable placing them under my shirt. Oh, my God, Miranda, you weren't joking!"
"Told you."
"Brrr. Yes. You did. I thought you might have exaggerated, but no such luck."
"Why would I do that? I don't exaggerate."
"Hm. True. Sometimes you're prone to express understatements."
"How is that even possible?"
"Calling a level four hurricane a 'drizzle'?"
"Yes. Well."
"An example of your exaggerations is when you called me 'the smart fat girl' when I was a size six."
"I will never call you smart again."
"You can be quite infuriating, Miranda. Why is it that you're even more beautiful than usual when you drive me crazy with saying things like that?"
"I honestly have no clue why you would find me beautiful in the first place. I'm far too old for you—to think that."
"Don't be ridiculous, Miranda. You're stunning."
"Not stunning enough to keep my husband."
"Stephen's a moron."
"The divorce is final as of yesterday. Actually it feels good to be out of reach for the paparazzi and Page Six."
"Then why are you crying, Miranda?"
"…"
"Come here. I promise I won't tell."
"Just…cold."
"No. You're not cold. I mean, yes, your hands are, but you're not the cold hearted Dragon Lady they make you out to be. You go through the motions of acting like one when it's needed at work, but I see something different. Someone I really care about."
"You've come far from the slightly awkward, naïve young woman that had never heard of Runway, or me, more than a year ago. If you truly can see beyond the Dragon Lady, Snow Queen, or Devil in Heels, masks, then you see more than most."
"Odd. I find it quite easy. When you are just yourself, I'm so at ease and just reveling in learning from you, watching you work, and trying to anticipate every need you might have, to make your life a little easier."
"Andrea…"
"…"
"…"
"Oh. Oh, God."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, Andrea. I really am."
"Hey. It's a kiss. And I wanted you to kiss me. I'm sorry you stopped."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…Mm…"
"Yes, Miranda?"
"Have you ever touched another woman's breasts?"
"Hm. No? Am I doing something wrong?"
"On the contrary. I think you show immense talent."
"Could be because I have a pair myself. Hint, hint."
"Now there's a thought."
"…"
"…"
"Oh, fuck, Miranda!"
"Not yet, but keep up being this responsive at a mere touch—"
"Mere touch? You were chewing on my nipple!"
"And you adore it."
"I do. I do…oh, Miranda."
"Ah, a drawstring, how convenient."
"M-M-Miranda?"
"Yes?"
"Remember, we're in a tent. Not exactly soundproof even if we're a bit away from the others."
"I'll keep in in mind."
"Good. Start now."
"…"
"…"
"Oh, yes. Just like so, Andrea."
"I...I have to—"
"What are you doing, Andrea? Oh, my…"
"Evening out the balance."
"I like how you think."
"Good."
"…oh…"
"…right there…yes…"
"…Andrea…"
"…yes?"
"Inside. Please?"
"Oh, God, she says please, that's got to be the sexiest thing you've ever uttered."
"Inside!"
"…"
"Ah!"
"Oh, mother of God, Miranda…so beautiful…oh, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop…"
"So tight. So hot."
"It's hard to whisper…You're going to make me come.
"Come for me, Andrea."
"Ahhh…mhmfffffffff…"
"Shh, shh. Tent, darling. Remember. Not soundproof. Shh."
"…"
"You are amazing, Andrea…so soft and responsive…"
"…"
"I'm not cold anymore."
"intelligible"
"What's that, Andrea? Oh, that's right, I'm still muffling you. I'm sorry."
"Wow, I can breathe. And you."
"Yes?"
"You called me darling, Miranda."
"I dare say I did."
"…Did you mean it?"
"When do I ever say things I don't mean?"
"When you maneuver business contact and manipulate them into doing what you want?"
"I'll rephrase, when have you ever heard me use terms of endearment toward anyone except my daughters? Think, Andrea."
"I…uhm, never?"
"I rest my case."
"So, you call me darling…what shall I call you?"
"Miranda."
"How about baby?"
"Absolutely not. Call me Miranda. That's it. Closer."
"Mm, I like snuggling. How about I call you sweetie?"
"Oh, dear God, no."
"Uhm. Love?"
"What?"
"As in, I like snuggling with you, love."
"Oh, all right. If you must."
"Only once in a while when we're alone."
"You sound like you expect this to be a continuing occurrence, Andrea."
"A girl can hope."
"So can a far too old editor."
"You're not old. You're freakin' amazing, Miranda."
"What happened to 'love'."
"Come here, love."
"Darling…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Mm. So you're warm and toasty now, Miranda?"
"Yes."
"Good. Sleep tight."
"Depends. Is that horrible device of yours muted?"
"Horr—oh, my cell. Yes. Only the ring signal is on, but only one person I know ever calls at all hours, so we're safe from that."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"Uhm, Miranda. You call at all hours."
"Ah."
"And I don't want you to stop doing that."
"I wasn't going to."
"Sleep tight, love."
"You as well."
"…"
"…"
"…"
"Andrea."
"Mm-hm?"
"Just…Andrea."
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The End
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