queencher

Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for Dylan. He's mine. And no ladies, he's not single.
Summary: Runway is robbed. Andy loses a Birkin.
Feedback: gives me warm fuzzies

Part 1: http://queencher.livejournal.com/945.html
Part 2: http://queencher.livejournal.com/1155.html
Part3: http://queencher.livejournal.com/1438.html


Andy groaned into the collision of lips and noses and teeth. It was violent, Miranda seemingly still trying to bite her and failing. Then came the thrill of initial tongue to tongue contact and Andy heard the most delicious sound escape from Miranda’s throat. Encouraged by the gravelly moan, Andy explored Miranda’s mouth, finding herself fascinated with Miranda’s sharp little canine teeth, her tongue flicking over their points, enjoying the ever so faint pain as they grazed her.  

What happened next gifted Andy with the most erotic sight she had ever witnessed.

The ice queen pulled away from her mouth, the dark pools of desire illuminating her irises not going amiss.

And then she was on her knees.

Silver hair tickled Andy’s abdomen as Miranda inched towards her wet and waiting centre, the slightly askew nose coming to rest directly above where it was needed.

Andy’s hands tangled themselves in Miranda’s hair as she felt that first tentative touch of probing muscle against her aching clit. She moaned and thanked God for the supporting wall behind her back. She was sure that in its absence she would have fallen to the floor, knees too weak to support her.

Andy felt Miranda’s forearm pin her hips to the wall while her tongue teased her, exploring every crevice, licking and sucking and stroking.

“Miranda...”

It was more effort than she realised to even whisper the woman’s name. But Miranda seemed to have heard.

Andy quivered violently as the editor’s tongue sped up against her flesh, with every touch, moving higher towards the place Andy needed to feel it the most. And then Miranda’s mouth encompassed that tiny little bud.

Andy could feel her fingernails cutting into Miranda’s scalp as she came.

She shrieked as her body convulsed, electric shocks of pleasure rushing through her, Miranda continuously milking each wave with expertise, allowing Andy to come down from her high.

And then her knees gave out and Andy slumped into Miranda’s arms, burying her head against the silk of the editor’s Prada blouse, inhaling the sweet smell she found dancing along the older woman’s neck. Andy could feel Miranda’s pulse against her cheek, erratic and fast.

Andy’s chest heaved as she came down from her orgasm, the muscles in her thighs twitched of their own accord. Andy tried to suck in a deep breath and failed, quick, short sharp inhalations continuing to warm the skin at Miranda’s throat while the editors manicured fingernails tattooed random patterns down her spine.

With some minor difficulty, Andy leaned back and chanced a look into Miranda’s eyes. They were molten. A smirk was curling at the edges of the older woman’s perfect mouth, fire and amusement making their way into her fiery orbs.

“My my,” Andy could hear the delight in Miranda’s voice, “You certainly are responsive Andrea.”

Without hesitating, Andy violently shoved Miranda down to the floor, pinning her wrists at either side of her head. Miranda gasped loudly as her eyes flew to Andy’s in surprise. Andy grinned at the silver-haired tyrant and bared her teeth against that beautiful mouth, silently thanking Hermes and Jane Birkin for their legendary collaboration.

“I bet you are too...”

 

FIN.

Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for Dylan. He's mine. And no ladies, he's not single.
Summary: Runway is robbed. Andy loses a Birkin.
Feedback: gives me warm fuzzies



Part 1: http://queencher.livejournal.com/945.html
Part 2: http://queencher.livejournal.com/1155.html

 

“Definitely a better idea,” Andy whispered to herself as she waited patiently for the elevator.

Nigel had called her that evening and informed her that he had overheard Miranda on the phone making plans to be home by 10 that night. Andy had been very patient and now at 11.15 she felt waves of relief crash over her. Soon she would have her bag and her belongings and she wouldn’t have to face Miranda’s wrath again. She decided to ignore the disappointment she felt in the pit of her stomach at that very thought.

The doors of the elevator parted and Andy found herself ascending to the 7^th floor of the Elias-Clarke building for the second time in six months, in two days. When life bites you in the ass, it really takes a chunk, Andy mused.

Andy felt the lift come to a gentle halt and the quiet pop of the doors signalled that she had arrived at her destination.

Stepping out of the elevator carefully, Andy peered around the dark floor, “Yup, definitely no signs of life,” she smirked, “Perfect.”

Andy took her time feeling her way around the floor, careful hands brushing over desks, chairs and decorations. There was no way she was going to risk lighting up the whole floor. Not with the robbery fiasco fresh on everyone’s minds. Her skin prickled in the dark and goose bumps rose on her arms. She felt strange being in the Runway offices, especially after dark, alone. It was unfamiliar territory. Sure she’d had to wait for the book alone, but the offices had always been brightly lit, beacons of aesthetic excellence. Tonight the darkness seemed to close in on her, holding her body to its breast.

Finally Andy’s fingertips grazed along the edge of a very familiar piece of furniture. Her old, smooth desk felt cool to the touch and stirred feelings of nostalgia in the beautiful brunette. Snapping her hand away, Andy scolded herself for being such a sentimental chit and abandoned the piece of furniture.

“Now where did I drop you...?”

Andy whispered into the black light and felt around the edge of her desk and then Emily’s. Nope. She recalled Miranda’s earlier approach and her unconscious steps backwards into the editor’s office the day before.

“You must be in there.”

Making her way towards Miranda’s closed office door, Andy drew a deep breath and turned the handle. The darkness was somehow thicker in Miranda’s office and Andy pushed the door open fully with some trepidation.

Cautiously she made her way into the room, her nose picking up traces of sandalwood and Givenchy. Unable to see in the complete gloom, Andy held her hands out in front of her, searching for Miranda’s delicate glass desk.

Andy’s fingertips brushed against something soft and she heard an intake of breath.

Her body went rigid and her fingertips froze where they were, terrified of what or who stood in front of her. Had she interrupted the thief attempting a second steal?

“Well this is interesting.”

Andy let out an audible groan. She would recognise that distinct drawl anywhere.

 

**

 

“Miranda?”

“Obviously,” Even in the dark Andy could feel Miranda’s smirk emanating from her lips, “It is my office after all.”

Andy took a step back quickly removing her hands from Miranda’s body. She had touched Miranda Priestly without invitation to do so. Oh no. Dylan was going to love his new T.V.

The young journalist’s whole body stiffened as she felt Miranda move in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat as the editor began to slowly walk in circles around her, close enough that Andy could feel the older woman’s exhalations on her neck, warm and inviting.

“Looking for something Andrea?”

It was then that Andy noticed the hint of bright orange swinging casually from Miranda’s left wrist, illuminated by flash of light outside.

“I...I just came to pick up my bag, I...I didn’t think anyone would...”

Andy froze as she felt a sharp fingernail tentatively touch the pulse point in the side of her neck.

So this is how it would end. Death by fingernail to her carotid artery in her ex-bosses office. Maybe she should have offered Dylan her laptop too.

“Hmm,” Miranda mused, “Are the beating wings I feel against my fingertip fear?” Miranda’s voice took on a sultry hue, “Fear that you were caught trespassing in my office after dark, fear that you won’t get your little Birkin back, or perhaps that butterfly flutter has nothing to do with fear at all.”

Andy gulped. Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly was not this. Miranda sounded almost...aroused? Perhaps that’s how she liked to hunt, seduce her prey into submission and then cut them off at the knees.

The young brunette felt Miranda shuffle and heard a soft thud that was undoubtedly her Birkin being dropped to the floor.

Miranda’s nail left her racing pulse point and scratched a burning path down the side of Andy’s neck before coming to rest at the collar of her shirt. For the first time that night Andy was thankful for the darkness and the way it concealed the blush creeping over her cheekbones.

“I meant what I said Andrea,” Miranda purred against her earlobe, “You really are quite fetching.”

Andy tried to suppress a small moan and it left her mouth in the form of a squeak. She had no idea why her body was betraying her right now. All that would come of it was more cruel humiliation at the hands of her sadistic ex-boss.

“You left Andrea.” Miranda withdrew her hand and took a step away from Andy.

Andy stayed still. She could feel Miranda’s presence behind her but there was no way in hell she was going to turn around, “I had to,” Andy’s voice came out as a whisper, soft and husky.

“You left me.”

For the only time apart from the interlude in her hotel room in Paris, Andy heard real emotion in Miranda’s voice. Andy was willing to bet that Miranda was anything but composed at this minute.

Andy turned around, fear forgotten, “I didn’t leave you Miranda, I left the job.”

As quickly as it had left, Miranda’s snarl returned, “I AM the job.”

The ex assistant boldly took a step forward, reaching out a hand to cup the side of Miranda’s face gently. With lightning quick reflexes, Miranda grabbed Andy’s wrist roughly just as her fingertips grazed a supple cheek.

“Wha...” Andy started with the shock as Miranda roughly spun her around, wrenching her wrists behind her back.

Andy groaned as Miranda pushed her up against the wall, the older woman’s strength forcing her against the unforgiving structure. Taken by surprise, she barely had sufficient time to turn her head and avoid a broken nose.

Miranda slid up against Andy’s body, the heat emanating from her making Andy’s skin ignite beneath her shirt. Andy struggled for a moment against her grip, but Miranda possessed a wiry strength which had her pinned. They grunted and gasped as they fought, before Andy let her body sag against the supporting wall in defeat.

“You left me,” Miranda repeated, pushing her hips against Andy’s lower back for emphasise,  encouraging tender breasts to scrape against the wall in front of her, nipples forming hard peaks against the cold surface.

Andy’s head fell back against Miranda’s shoulder and she moaned quietly into the editor’s ear. Andy had never felt so powerless in her life...so trapped...so wet. Turning her head slightly, the brunette whispered into the delicate ear surrounded by silver locks. She reclaimed her power.

 “You brought it upon yourself.”

A low, deep growl emanated from Miranda’s throat as Andy was spun around. Perhaps she was angry with Andy, but the young reporter had an inkling that Miranda was even angrier with herself.

And then their bodies were flush against one another, Miranda’s thigh slipping between Andy’s whilst her teeth attacked the young woman’s throat, biting and tearing and sucking.

Miranda’s voice hissed against the pale expanse of skin, “Fuck you.”

Andy nearly screamed at the stimulus. She’d never heard Miranda curse. Her nerves hummed with the contact sending electric pulses towards her core, hips rocking gently against the smooth muscle of Miranda’s thigh, hands pinned high above her head with Miranda’s left as her right ripped the buttons from the young woman’s shirt, continuing her path of destruction down that soft, vulnerable column of skin. Andy arched her neck back as far as she could; giving Miranda’s angry teeth access to all the flesh she had to offer.

Andy’s back could have snapped in half from the sudden arching of her spine as Miranda’s delicate fingers grasped a pebbled nipple through her La Perla, and twisted. Andy thrust her hips forward at the contact, relishing the sensations shooting like bullets around her body. She’d always enjoyed rough sex but none of her partners had ever treated her like this, like they owned her.

“Please...” Andy whispered into Miranda’s ear before the editor’s head tore a path across Andy’s chest, unhooking the front clasp of the brunette’s bra with her teeth and taking an aching nipple into her mouth, lavishing it with her tongue, grazing it gently with her teeth. Andy screamed and thrust her chest into Miranda’s face, desperately trying to increase the pressure.

Andy’s hips had sped up to a frantic pace against Miranda’s taught thigh and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, her moans were becoming breathier, sweat blossoming on her smooth skin. The editor seemed to notice that Andy was close. Andy whimpered as Miranda removed her thigh, now very damp from her ministrations. Miranda groaned deep within her throat as her fingers released Andy’s wrists and attacked her Bill Blass pants with wild abandon. Andy’s arms flew around Miranda’s neck, fingers raking at the fabric barrier that kept her nails from reaching the skin of the older woman’s shoulders, as she moved her hips to accommodate slim, adept fingers. The occasional scratch of a sharp, manicured nail nicking her sensitive hips drew whimpers from her throat.

Miranda removed her underwear in the same method as she’d divested of her pants. Slide, hook, yank. Then Andy was completely exposed from the waist down, and had never felt so vulnerable. She stilled Miranda’s hand with a gentle whisper and tipped Miranda’s chin up so that her mouth was mere centimetres away from her own. She could feel the editor’s short, sharp breaths against her lips.

“It didn’t leave to hurt you,” Andy’s breath caressed the soft, pink of Miranda’s lips, “I left so that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Miranda hissed at her, “That’s what they all say.”

And then the ice queen lunged for her mouth, blurring the finest of boundaries between animosity and want.

Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for Dylan. He's mine. And no ladies, he's not single.
Summary: Runway is robbed. Andy loses a Birkin.
Feedback: gives me warm fuzzies

Part 1: http://queencher.livejournal.com/945.html

“Why would she even think that Dylan? That I’d want to ruin her reputation?” Andy sat curled up on her couch a glass of red wine in one hand and a throw pillow snuggled against her chest with the other, “I mean I know we didn’t part on the best of terms but I never hated her!" Although Andy was pretty positive after their confrontation today that Miranda hated her. She dared not mention the heat that those icy blue eyes and that scowl had invited to settle in between her hips.

“Does she know that?” Dylan questioned kindly from his seat on the floor in front of Andy’s feet.

“How could she not, I never did anything that would upset her, I never did or said anything negative to her!” Andy’s voice rose in outrage at the thought of it as she placed her glass on the coffee table.

“Shh,” Dylan soothed, patting her knee, “All I’m saying Andy, is that you left her in Paris, in the middle of the most important week of her life without so much as an explanation.” Andy tried to interject but Dylan carried on, “That’s not the kind of situation that would make a person feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Andy snorted, “Warm and fuzzy. Warm and fuzzy? You really have no concept of Miranda Priestly do you...” Andy chortled on, “The only warm and fuzzy Miranda would ever feel is if she skinned you alive and wore your hairy back as a coat, Dylan!”

Dylan chuckled and Andy followed suit collapsing onto the floor before being swept up by his strong arms and wrestled to the ground.

Breaking into hysterics, Andy kicked out with her bare feet striking Dylan lightly on the chest. It was enough to loosen his grip on her so that she could make a mad dash for the kitchen.

“Come back here you little twerp!” Dylan thundered as he dove for her fleeing form.

“Missed!” Andy shouted triumphantly as she turned to see Dylan crumble in a heap, losing his balance after reaching for her legs.

Giggling like a mad woman, Andy made her way over to her fallen friend, placing her foot on his chest in a dramatic gesture as if she was planting a flag.

“All hail the great conqueror Andy,” Dylan laughed before grabbing her foot and pulling her to the floor beside him, “It’s a shame you can’t slay the real dragon though.”

Andy curled up next to Dylan contentedly and placed her head on his chest, her mood turning solemn. A shame indeed, she thought to herself, an image of Miranda’s Prada-clothed figure invading her thoughts. She wondered if those tempting curves could ever be receptive to her touch or would the dragon lady indeed bite off any exploring fingers that dared to invade her space.

“Do you really think she believes that I hate her?”

Dylan sighed and manoeuvred the both of them into a sitting position, “Listen here kiddo,” he said very gently, “Don’t let that cold-hearted demon of a woman upset you. She’s not worth it.”

Leaning forward he placed a chaste kiss to Andy’s forehead and stood up, grabbing his Sidekick from the coffee table.

“You make sure you get some sleep Andy, I’m serious. Just forget about today, I’ll ring Max first thing in the morning and get him to re-think this theft story. And if he doesn’t, I’ll make sure he sends somebody else to face her next time.”

Andy smiled gratefully at her friend before he headed for her front door, “Goodnight Dylan, give my love to Jill.”

“Will do. Night Andy.”

 

**

 

The next morning passed without incident. Andy had taken Dylan’s advice and refused to let thoughts of Miranda plague her sleep. Thankfully she had enjoyed a night of solid blackness without a dream of immaculate silver hair in sight. Her morning had been particularly relaxing too.

Andy had treated herself to breakfast at Red Flame and arrived at the office before nine feeling bright and cheery. It took all of ten minutes to realise why she had been so relaxed all morning. This same ten minutes was all it took to absolutely ruin the rest of her day as well.

Her blackberry.

Her blackberry had been silent all morning. She hadn’t received a single call from a stressed out Max, a chirpy Dylan, a worried Nigel, an in-love Doug or a busy Lily.

Shit.

Her Birkin.

Her blackberry was in her Birkin.

Her Birkin was...

Shit.

Andy let out a groan and collapsed at her desk, her forehead finding no comfort from the hard oak.

“What’s going on kiddo?” Dylan called out to her from his office, a hint of concern in his voice.

“My bag,” Andy mumbled dejectedly against the polish wood, “My bag is at Runway.”

“Huh? I can’t hear you when you’re muttering.”

Andy rolled her eyes and slowly pulled her body back into an upright position, “I dropped my bag in her office yesterday. Miranda surprised me and I dropped it in shock,” she let her head fall into her hands immediately, “I didn’t even think about it when I stormed out. And then I came here and I was so busy all afternoon. We had drinks at mine straight after and it never even crossed my mind. Until now.” Andy nearly cried in frustration.

“I’ll get it for you.”

Andy exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as Dylan approached her desk.

“It’s not that easy now,” Andy began, “I mean, it never was, but now with the break-in, there’ s no way that security is going to let anybody without the proper credentials up into that office.”

Dylan gave her an inquisitive look, “Then how did you manage it yesterday?”

“Remember how I told you that being nice to people will get you a long way?” Dylan nodded his head in Andy’s direction, “Well I am living proof that it works. Whenever I used to run errands for Miranda I would always bring a coffee or something to eat back for the boys on the desk. I just felt sorry for them you know? Having to sit there all day bored out of their brains. It’s not like there was anyone who needed subduing by security guards for wreaking havoc at Runway on a daily basis.”

Dylan gave Andy a sympathetic smile and patted her on the shoulder, “I guess it’s up to you then Little Miss Lovely. Oh and if you don’t make it back alive, can I have your TV?”

Andy groaned and swatted his hand away. Jumping up and heading for the door Andy called over her shoulder.

“CSI is on at 8.30...”

 

**

 

“Do you know if she has any plans to leave at all this afternoon?”

“I’m sorry Six, she doesn’t have any appointments until tomorrow, she’ll be in her office all day. “ Nigel replied to Andy’s question, “I’ve checked her schedule twice.”

Andy nearly screamed.

“Thanks Nige, I guess I’m just gonna have to face the music,” Andy clenched her fists, “Can you give me a heads up on the mood?”

“Demarchelier pulled out of a huge campaign this morning, the new Emily has been sacked and Caroline failed her History exam.”

Andy slammed the phone down in exasperation and received a glare from Lou behind the desk.

“Sorry,” she muttered and headed back across the marble floor to the sidewalk.

Fuck facing the music.

Part 2: http://queencher.livejournal.com/1155.html
 

Fandom: Devil Wears Prada
Pairing: Andy/Miranda
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for Dylan. He's mine. And no ladies, he's not single.
Summary: Runway is robbed. Andy loses a Birkin.
Feedback: gives me warm fuzzies

 

The shrill ringing of her alarm clock pulled Andy from her slumber as the incessant beeping welcomed in a new day. Andy wearily lifted her head from her pillow and glanced at the red 5.30AM display before bringing a heavy hand down on top of the snooze button.

Rolling onto her back, Andy arched up and stretched her taut muscles, relieving some of the tension her night of broken sleep had caused before relaxing back into the mattress. She could see that the sunlight was beginning to creep in through her thin curtains, illuminating the shadowy corners of the bedroom in her modest and most importantly, affordable apartment. Sure she’d had to downsize following Nate s recent departure, but it wasn’t all that bad... much. Andy was always someone who looked at the glass as being half full and her home was definitely included in this philosophy. Her apartment was only two blocks away from the offices of the Mirror, there was a Starbucks right outside her front door, rent was easily manageable and she had fantastic neighbours. In spite of everything, not such a bad set-up after all, if one could get past the aesthetics of the place.

Andy opened her mouth to yawn and rolled out of bed very unceremoniously before heading in the direction of the shower. Tartan, flannel pyjama bottoms and a Felix the Cat t-shirt fell to the floor like wounded soldiers following her departure.

 

**

 

“Dylan can you get that?” Andy called frantically from her desk as the office phone rang for the tenth time in the last 15 minutes.

Allowing five seconds to pass with no reply from Dylan and a still ringing phone, Andy turned her attention back to the Blackberry in her hand, “Yes Mr Hanson, I’m terribly sorry about the interruption but I’ll have to call you back. Things are bit frantic around here today.”

Clicking shut her phone and muttering under her breath about all the evil things she was going to do to that silly intern later, Andy made a grab for line three.

“Andy Sachs, New York Mirror, how can I help?”

With half of the staff attending a conference at Time Magazine Andy couldn’t help but feel like she was about to spontaneously combust and before 9.30am for god’s sake. She had an article on the recent subway attacks due before her 9pm deadline, a mountain of paperwork to categorize and an interview with Senator Clarke at 2 that afternoon. Answering phones all morning was not what she needed to be currently doing. Where was Dylan anyway?

“Sachs, there’s been a robbery in downtown Manhattan, and by robbery, I mean robbery. Tens of thousands of dollars worth of stuff. Get there now, the corner of West 45^th and 22^nd street. Postpone the subway story until next week,” With a very final tone, Max her boss and editor of the Mirror hung up the phone leaving an open-mouthed Andy too stunned to do the same.

West 45^th and 22^nd. Elias-Clarke. Shit.

The sound of a hinge creaking brought Andy out of her stupor as she gingerly took the phone away from her ear and turned towards the door. Dylan sauntered through the frame with a Cheshire-sized grin on his tanned face and a burrito in either hand.

Andy jumped up as he moved towards her the sound of his leather boots padding softly on the carpet. Andy didn’t even raise her eyes to his as she shovelled her notebook and pens into her orange Birkin.

“Hungry?”

Andy glanced up at Dylan, his true religion jeans and white Berkley jacket enhancing the perfect white teeth that made up his cheeky grin.

“You,” she started, “Man the phones. Do not move until I get back.”

Running past him in her suede Manolos, Andy made for the door. As she reached the entrance to the corridor she turned back to face the head of curly chestnut hair that was taking a seat at her desk.

“Do not eat my burrito.”

 

**

 

It took nearly 20 minutes on the crowded subway to get from the offices of the Mirror to the exterior of the Elias-Clarke building. Those 20 minutes had done nothing to neither calm the butterflies in Andy’s stomach nor relieve her hands of their cold and clammy state. Sure she’d walked past the enigma that was home to the offices of Runway Magazine on numerous occasions over the last six months since her resignation, but she’d never believed she’d be tracing her old footsteps inside, back into that marble lobby.  The sound of her stilettos clicking against the polished stone sent a shiver of anticipation up her spine and a dark puddle of anxiety settled in her lower back.

Andy didn’t need to bother flashing her press pass at Lou the security man as she approached the front desk; he smiled at her warmly and allowed her to head towards the lifts. Andy tried to shake the apprehension from her being as she pushed the button to ascend and stepped inside the spacious carriage. Inhaling a deep, clear breath of air, her trembling fingers reached for the gold circle symbolising the 7^th floor. With trepidation she watched the elevator doors slide shut and felt that familiar jolt as the floors fell away below her. Letting her long dark locks fall from her topknot she sighed, she had been really hoping to avoid such a trip.

Jesus Nigel, how hard is it to lock The Closet.

 

**

 

With a resounding ping, the elevator doors slide open before Andy to reveal the beautiful, polished glass inscribed with the words ‘Runway Magazine’. That glass had welcomed Andy every morning for nearly a year during her tenure at the magazine. It used to represent normality. Today it represented something far more sinister; the wrath of one fuming editor-in-chief.

Andy pushed on out of the elevator and headed towards the main offices. Surprisingly there weren’t any clackers manically rushing around the floor. In fact the offices seemed semi-deserted. Two stick-thin blonde women, the only staff Andy could see, bustled past her in the direction of her abandoned lift.

Heart racing and adrenaline pumping, Andy took the tentative steps forward required to reach her old designated area of the floor. Looking around she noticed that the décor hadn’t drastically changed in her absence, Nigel’s sanctuary was very much the in the same disarray it had been 6 months ago.

Then she heard the raised voices. Andy stilled around the corner from hers and Emily’s desks. Heart racing a mile a minute she recognized the tones of a frantic sounding British red-head and a nervous Nigel Kipling.

“She’ll be back any minute Nigel, how do we explain this?!” Emily sounded like she was heading for a mental breakdown.

“Irv has already been alerted Emily, I’m sure he’s explained everything to her in a dramatic fashion!” Nigel’s voice cracked, “Besides, it wasn’t you who left the Closet unlocked last night!”

Andy’s heart faltered at the idea of Nigel holding back tears and she took one last deep breath.

“She can’t fire you Nigel,” Andy left the safety of her hiding place and trudged into her old office. She was greeted by two faces the epitome of shock horror.

“Andrea?”

“Six?”

Andy released a sigh and nodded at Emily before pulling Nigel into a hug where he promptly broke down into sobs.

“Nige, you’re an important part of this empire,” Andy began, trying to console the distraught man with pats on the back, “Everybody makes mistakes.”

Emily scoffed with disdain, “Mistakes Andrea? Really?” she snorted slightly as she rounded on the girl and Nigel straightened up, “When’s the last time that Miranda Priestly forgave a mistake? Particularly one that is going to send the company thousands of dollars over budget,” The sneer in her voice was evident.

Andy felt spurred on by the courage of her convictions, “She forgave me Em. After Paris. I cost the company a first class airline ticket, three weeks worth of work and four nights of luxury accommodation. She sent a reference to the Mirror for me. A good reference...”

Andy stopped talking as the eyes of Emily and Nigel darted to rest behind her head. And then she felt it. That sudden shifting of the atmosphere, that cold breeze behind her ears. She froze on the spot, her body becoming rigid as she heard the soft approach of Chanel boots. Then that molten voice.

“Exactly how do an adequate reference and a piteous lack of blacklisting lead you to the conclusion that you are forgiven for your misdeeds Ahndraya.”

 

**

 

Andy inwardly groaned. She’d really been hoping to avoid a confrontation with the dragon lady at all costs. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she slowly turned to face Miranda Priestly.

As her body swivelled to a halt Andy jumped back in fright dropping her Birkin accidentally. Miranda was merely inches away from her, her cold, ice blue eyes glaring into Andy’s own demanding an explanation. If Andy had been made out of water she was sure she’d have been frozen into hundreds of ice cubes by now.

“Please do tell everyone exactly why you are here Andrea.” Miranda’s voice was deadly and venomous, “I don’t recall extending an invitation.”

“M...M...Maxwell Sheppard sent me to cover the robbery, I...I didn’t realise I’d be the only member of the press here...”

Andy took a step back, pulse racing, hands shaking as Miranda took a step forward, her eyes glittering with malice and a hint of amusement. She was like a cat toying with a defenceless mouse. A cat who held all the power.

“Well, well, well,” Miranda sneered as Emily and Nigel both tried to make themselves as invisible as possible, “Mr Sheppard sends his lackey to air Runway’s dirty laundry, to spread tales of our embarrassment, to...emphasise my foolishness.”

“No Miranda!” Andy gasped, a hurt look briefly clouding her soft brown eyes, “I would never...I’m just covering the robbery, covering the truth! This story is just a report not an accusation!”

Miranda released a snarl, rounding in on Andy, backing her further into her office.

“Not an accusation,” she sneered, “Eighty thousand dollars of Runway property is lifted from The Closet. The unlocked Closet within the locked offices,” Miranda’s voice dropped an octave, “Just who do you think the press will blame; Joe Public with his lack of access to the building or the person with the only access card that will open the doors after midnight? Don’t pretend you aren’t trying to make this office look bad. Make me look bad.”

Andy’s eyes were like fire. She glared into Miranda’s with an intensity she didn’t know she possessed, a surge of unadulterated anger sped through her veins.

“Fuck you Miranda,” she growled at the woman in front of her. Ignoring the horrified gasps from Nigel and Emily somewhere behind her.  Andy stormed past Miranda, her shoulder brushing against the older editor’s. She did her best to ignore the spark of electricity she felt at the fleeting contact and thundered towards the elevators, her fallen Birkin abandoned as a casualty of war.


Part 2: http://queencher.livejournal.com/1155.html

OK guys, so this is the first and hopefully not the last bit of fanfic i've written for any fandom.

Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Pairing: Amber/Mag
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. I wouldn't mind owning Sarah Brightman...
Rating: NC17 (sex and violence)
Summary: Takes place after Zydrate Anatomy with a twist. Amber has just been injected with the zydrate and Shilo, Graverobber and the addicts have left the picture leaving Amber alone and high in the alleyway. Mag picks a very inopportune time to take a stroll down said alleyway.

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 Mag hit the wall of the alley way with a resounding thump, emitting a gasp as the air left her lungs on impact. Her head flew back from the force of the push and smacked painfully against the bricks behind her sending sharp, shooting pains down her spine in agonising waves. Opening her electric eyes slowly she brought her hands up to drag the dark, stray locks of hair out of her line of vision and slowly pushed off against the wall. She stumbled forward a few steps allowing her brain to filter away the haze that had settled in the back of her head.

She heard a quiet chuckle to the left of her.

"Well Mag, you're certainly keeping to the shadows." The voice was almost child-like but dangerously edged with a mature venom, "Afraid of what waits for you in the light are we?"

Slowly Mag turned around to face the source of that sound.

"Such silly reasoning, I might add," that syrupy voice continued, "When the Repo Man strikes, you'll have an eternity to spend in the dark."

Mag focused her vision on the exact location of the taunts. Amber Sweet sat reclined on the edge of a dumpster, one fishnet and patent leather encased leg streched out and poised on the corner like a dark, grotesque imitation of a ballerina. The dim glow from the street lamp above picked up the light sheen of sweat covering her lithe body. Mag honed her vision a fraction more and happened upon a large pin prick on her inner thigh, slightly swollen around the edges and very fresh. Zydrate. The girl had just shot up. Mag looked into Amber's eyes and then noticed the glassy, narcotized appearance of her pupils.

Amber laughed again, "Having fun Mag? Or is eyeing me up going to take all day?"

"Wha.." Mag started, slowly backing away from the intoxicated beauty before her. She knew that Amber was unpredictable enough as it was, but add zydrate to the equation and she was down right lethal.

Amber lazily lifted her leg and gracefull planted it on the ground, the sharp heel of her stiletto making a clack against the cobblestones. Mag shivered and made a mental note to keep those acuminous points away from her vital organs. Amber arched her leather bodice-clad back in an almost feline manner and slid from the edge of the dumpster to join her planted foot. Mag couldn't help but notice the way the muscles of Amber's thighs tensed with the exertion.

"Come on now Maggie," Amber pouted her enhanced lips and she lazily stepped forward, exposed hips undulating purposefully. With a smirk she purred, "Don't slink off yet, the party's just getting started".

"Amber," Mag started as she realised she was running out of room to back up into. A hint of panic snuck unwanted into her voice as she stared into the malicious gaze, "If this is about singing, you already know that I will be performing my swan song at the Opera."

Amber cackled and lunged towards Mag like a cat capturing its prey. She grasped the older woman by the wrists and threw her once again into the brick wall behind her.

Mag groaned as the already tender backs of her head and shoulder blades were forced roughly against the unforgiving structure.

"Amber what are you doing?" Mag managed breathlessly as Amber yanked her delicate wrists above her head, effectively pinning them to the wall and leaned all of her body weight against the soprano.

"Shhh" Amber pushed forward and breathed against Mag's ear, sending trickles of heat down the singers spine.

Amber hesitated for a second and pulled back, surveying the heaving woman beneath her, "You know it really is a shame Mag. You do have the most beautiful eyes GeneCo has ever produced," then almost wistfully, "It all seems so...tragic." Amber's grip then tightened on Mags wrists and a thigh pushed her two apart as Amber growled into her ear, "But definitely necessary."

Mag's body stiffened at the uninvited intrusion between her legs and unconsciously let out a whimper. Amber's leg teased her own wider apart and settled inches away from the apex of her thighs. Mag could feel the smirk on Amber's lips as they brushed up against her earlobe, and that warm breath once again sent tingles down her back.

"When was the last time somebody touched you Mag," Amber almost purred into Mag's ear.

"I..I.." Mag couldn't manage to utter the remainder of her reply as that svelte thigh lifted slightly and grazed the outside of her clothed crotch.

Mag let out a primal groan and thrust her hips forward wantonly as she tried to increase the pressure.

Amber giggled and moved her thigh away completely as Mag struggled for friction.

"That long huh? Could've fooled me Mag. I thought you'd have had them lining the streets; what with that blood red lipstick and those corsets you're so fond of flaunting. You've definitely made me proud on a few occasions." Amber laughed again, although this time she sounded darker, smoother.

Mag was then caught off guard as Amber spun her around with force she didn't know she had. Amber roughly pushed the older woman's chest against the wall and held her wrists still above her head, her hips pushing against the small of Mag's back, forcing her harder and straighter against the bricks.

Mag cried out in pain as her cheek scraped against a particularly jagged part of the wall and Amber hushed her.

"Without pain there is no pleasure Mag," Amber growled behind her and for emphasis ripped open the ties at the back of Mag's corset, letting the boned piece fall to the ground, "You of all people should know this."

Caught unaware by Amber's actions, Mag bucked her hips against the younger woman and managed to release the hold on her wrists. Spinning around she lashed out at the girl with her sharp talons.

Amber squealed as an old surgery scar beneath her left eye was split open by Mag's sharp crimson fingernails.

Then it was Mag's turn to squeal as Amber quickly regained her power and backhanded the singer across the face once again forcing her back against the wall. Mag bit down on her own tongue in the process

"Don't you ever do something so stupid again you bitch." Amber spoke with fury digging her equally pointed fingernails into the exposed, sensitive skin of Mag's inner wrists.

Mag cried out in agony. "Please Amber. Stop this."

"Tut tut Maggie," Amber crooned and licked the trail of blood leaking from the corner of Mag's mouth, "In a few minutes I'm sure that's the last thing you'll be saying."

Amber released her hold on Mag by one hand and slipped her free digits into the top of her right boot, pulling out a razor blade.

Mag's breath hitched in her throat as her eyes beheld the weapon swinging casually in Amber's grip.

"What are you going to do with that..." Mag asked quietly.

Amber didn't reply.

She raised her arm high in the air and made a long sweeping cut from Mag's collar bone to her navel.

Mag screamed in terror and could only watch as the blade cut through her dress and just grazed her sensitive flesh underneath.

Amber threw the blade onto the ground and using both hands, quickly ripped Mag's clothing in two, pulling the material from her body in one fluid movement.

Mag stood against the wall too shocked to move, her body exposed to the alleyway except for black underwear. Her chest heaved, droplets of moisture running down the valley between her pert breasts. Coral nipples hardened in the cool night air and thin streaks of blood glistened from where the razor blade had sliced her.

Amber tutted approvingly, "As I said before Mag, it really does seem like such shame, the fate that awaits such a beautiful specimen as yourself. And look, I've made such a mess of you."

Amber leaned forward and placed her tongue at the bottom of the bright crimson carvings above Mag's navel and swept her tongue upwards, staining her lips with Mag's blood.

Mag groaned and arched her spine against the wall, head falling back to land gently on the bricks, throat exposed to a rampant Amber Sweet.

Amber grinned against Mag's skin and licked her way towards a diamond-like nipple. She rolled the hard bud around in her mouth, grazing it with her teeth then soothing the bites with her tongue.

Mag had lost all reason as she mewled like a kitten under Amber's ministrations and encouraged her on with breathy moans.

"Amber please..."

"Please what Mag?" Amber crawled up the expanse of throat exposed to her, nibbling and kissing that smooth, porcelain column, "Please stop?"

"Don't.." Mag cried out as Amber's mouth formed a suction around her fluttering pulse point and suckled it beneath her jaw.

"Don't what Mag?" Amber whispered against her ear.

Mag gave in and lifted her hands to Amber's face. Pushing dark strands out of her way, she latched on to the back of the younger woman's neck and pulled her towards her mouth.

"Don't stop." Mag whispered against those blood stained lips as she captured them against her own, crushing their mouths together in a wave of fury and passion.

Mag let out a groan as Amber kissed her back with a vengeance, thrusting into her mouth and duelling with her tongue for dominance. Mag's tongue explored every inch of Amber's mouth, those smooth gums and sharp, white teeth leaving imprints on her memory. She decided that Amber tasted like spiced wine...and blood. It was an intoxicating combination and Mag found herself loosing her grip on reality. It really had been too long since she'd been intimate. A flash of Marni's face popped into the back of Mag's mind accompanied by a stab of guilt and she quickly pushed it away.

Mag rolled her hips against Amber's and was rewarded with a thigh slipped between her legs.

Amber stopped kissing Mag and slid her tongue down that delicate throat, once again capturing a nipple between her teeth. Mag's body trembled as she pushed her chest into Amber's face and rode her thigh desperately, trying to ease the ache.

"Please.." she whimpered.

Amber grinned up at her like a feral animal and complied with the unspoken request.

Amber dropped to her knees infront of Mag and reached out, slowly pulling the sodden underwear down Mag's shapely thighs. Amber was rewarded by the sweet smell of Mag's desire and slipped one finger through her pulsating folds.

Mag screamed at that first contact and arched furthur against the wall, letting her thighs fall open as far as they could.

Amber ran that single digit over Mag's throbbing clit, occasionally letting her nail graze the sensitive bud.

She leant forward slowly, purposefully as Mag watched her from above with hooded eyes, pupils brighter than Amber could ever remember them being, and placed her tongue against Mag.

Mag shuddered and nearly lost her footing while Amber stroked her with that talented tongue, gathering her flesh up into her mouth and sucking it, milking Mag's orgasm from her. Mag's whole body trembled with the beginnings of release and her skin burned like fire, sending jolts of electricity from nerve to nerve.

Amber kept the steady suction of her mouth constant and finally slipped two fingers inside that wet heat. Pumping furiously she found that little spot inside that sent Mag over the edge.

Stars danced behind Mag's eyes as a scream was wrenched from her. Shaking uncontrollably Mag slipped to the ground and collapsed in a heap, chest heaving, skin covered in beads of sweat.

Amber giggled and pushed Mag's soaked hair off of her forehead.

Quietly as Mag regained her strength, Amber slipped her sticky hand over to where the razor blade lay discarded. Picking it up she stood and walked around Mag's heavily breathing form.

Leaning down she placed a chaste kiss against Mag's cheek and slid her hand up the back of Mag's neck, entwining her fingers in those luscious dark locks. Expressionless she gently exposed Mag's constricted throat and like a whip, flashed the blade across that beautiful column.

Mag's eyes flashed in surprise to look into Ambers. Mag's modified pupils showed fear, confusion and betrayal.

Amber leant down and placed a quick kiss against Mag's lips as she gurgled uncontrollably, the blood flowing from her fatal wound the way her voice had flowed from her throat when she sang.

Amber dropped her hold on Mag's hair as the older woman fell to the floor in a heap and slowly bled out.

Amber sighed to herself and pocketing the blade walked away from the dying woman.

She almost felt guilty to eliminate such a beautiful creature.

Almost.