chainofclovers: (dvl)
[personal profile] chainofclovers
Title: Safe
Author: Chainofclovers
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada (film)
Pairing: Miranda/Andy
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the movie.
Note: This one is for the Halloween comment fic-a-thon, in response to [livejournal.com profile] chilly_flame's prompt "Reese's Peanut Butter Cups." It's a weird one, though. Domestic Halloween scene followed by gratuitous sex. Or maybe it's a sex scene preceded by some gratuitous Halloween. Either way, I thought to write a little scene and then it got a bit bigger. Written and posted quickly, in the spirit of the fic-a-thon.

.

It was nearly 9:30 on Halloween night, exactly the time Andy said she'd arrive at Miranda's. As she walked towards the front door of the townhouse, she noticed that Miranda’s street was relatively quiet, certainly quieter than her own would be on this holiday at this time at night. Every few seconds, a shriek or a gale of laughter rang out in the distance, but the cool dark air was mostly hushed.

When she reached the door and knocked, Miranda let her inside. “Hey,” Andy whispered, and Miranda gave her a closemouthed smile. They kissed in the darkened foyer, just briefly, before Miranda led her by the hand to the family room. Out of habit, they dropped hands before crossing the threshold, but even if the twins weren’t wise to their relationship, the gesture wouldn’t have mattered. Caroline the evil witch and Cassidy the good witch sat in the middle of the floor, each flanked by an empty pillowcase and a massive pile of fun-size candy bars. Andy supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by the pillowcases, but as she took in the scene she realized that some small part of her may have been expecting Louis Vuitton pumpkin cases, or something equally ridiculous.

“Hey, Andy,” Caroline said without looking up. She was constructing a sort of bar graph of candy on the carpeted floor, each column containing a different brand. So far, it looked like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups were winning, with nine total. Andy grinned. As a kid, she’d always organized her loot the same way.

“Hey, Caroline,” Andy replied. “Hey Cass. That’s quite a haul.”

“Yep,” Cassidy said happily, speaking through a full mouth.

“Cass, did you get any Almond Joys?” Caroline asked.

“Um,” Cassidy said, still chewing. “I’m not sure yet.” Her candy was lumped into a single pile, the varieties mingling.

“I told you, make a graph!” Caroline said impatiently.

There were a few minutes of quiet, as the adults settled themselves on a sofa. “Do you have any Dots?” Cassidy finally asked.

“Five little boxes,” said Caroline. “You want one?”

Cassidy nodded and moved to tear into the box immediately, but she was intercepted by Miranda’s voice. “That’s enough candy for tonight. Bed time.”

The girls sighed. “Fine,” Caroline said. “But what about this?” She gestured to her graph.

“You may leave it there,” Miranda replied. “Just make sure Patricia can’t get into this room until you've cleaned it up.”

The girls nodded and stood, abandoning their candy for the night. “Are you staying over, Andy?” Cassidy asked, wrapping Andy in a one-armed hug.

“Yep,” Andy replied. “I’ll come say goodnight, okay?” She’d only stayed over a few times when the girls were around, though she and Miranda had tried to be forthcoming. Miranda had explained to them that it wasn’t like a marriage, that Andy was their friend, that Andy wasn’t Stephen. No danger of leaving, because she wasn’t quite there in the first place. At least, not as explained. Not in words.

Andy wanted them to be her family. She loved every person in that room, couldn’t imagine walking away from any of them—ever. For the millionth time, she looked at Miranda and wished they’d waited until they trusted each other to start fucking.

At the time, that had seemed impossible. They fucked their way through the fourteen days after Andy gave her two weeks’ notice at Runway. They celebrated Andy’s first day at the Mirror the same way. When a new issue of Runway hit the stands and Miranda had drunk down whatever drink she was handed and had glowered her way through whatever celebration they’d chosen this month, she went home to Andy in her bed.

They couldn’t help but become friends, too. It wouldn’t have been obvious to an outsider, considering how few real friends each woman had, but they wanted a friend in each other. Sex was better after a movie, before dinner, in the middle of a good conversation.

Months of this. Lovely months, but Andy couldn’t shake the feeling that Miranda didn’t trust her, was waiting for her to walk away despite the loophole that she wasn’t quite there to begin with. Despite the glorious, glorious sex. And the kissing, and cooking, and reading, and daughters. Andy didn’t think she’d ever given Miranda cause to feel distrustful, except for once, in Paris. But that was professional. And she’d come back, worked two more months, only quit because Miranda was feeling her up in the car between meetings and she’d moaned so loudly that Roy made the brakes squeal.

“You made it here,” Miranda remarked pseudo-casually later that night, just as they were crawling into bed. It had taken long time to get the twins settled, considering they were buzzing on friends and costumes and half a dozen little candy bars apiece. At least they’d stopped before the point of sugar headaches. Andy kissed their foreheads anyway, though they were nearly too old. They’d stopped wanting read-alouds a year ago, Miranda said, preferring instead to settle under the covers with novels pulled from their backpacks.

“Of course I did,” Andy said. Normally, when Miranda said this stuff, Andy was patient. But she’d spent the last hour mulling things over, fear knotting in her stomach. “Damn it, Miranda, do you not think I’ll do the things I say I’m going to do?”

“You have other friends,” Miranda pointed out, fake-calm.

“Why do you do this?” Andy asked, because this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “I said I’d be here, and I’m here. I want to be here,” she added.

“Forget I said anything,” Miranda said, and the room was silent but for the central heat kicking on. Naked as they were, they didn’t touch. Lying still on their backs, the room felt chilly, and Miranda pulled the duvet over their bodies.

Andy yanked it back down. “Miranda,” she said softly, and they made eye contact. “What do you want?”

“Sex,” Miranda said. She wasn’t lying, but that wasn’t all of it.

Andy turned so she was lying on her side, and lifted her right hand so her fingers were outstretched and her palm flat. She hovered it about a foot above Miranda’s midsection. “Is this what you want? You’d rather I played hard-to-get? Well, you can’t have it.” Miranda was silent, so she kept going. “I’ve got it; you want it.”

She thought Miranda would laugh at this. Would break the tension, say she was sorry, and maybe—Andy hoped—touch herself until Andy joined in. They’d had this conversation before. But Miranda didn’t move at all. Her eyes focused on Andy’s hand, and filled with tears. "Touch me," she said, frustration and something worse--fearful--in her voice.

“You can’t have it,” Andy said again, though she could tell it was hurting. “I’m here all the time, and you act like it’s a total coincidence.”

Tears ran down the sides of Miranda’s face and onto the pillow. “You’re parenting them,” she finally said. Her voice was impossibly quiet, as if she was afraid the girls would hear even though they were doors and doors away. “You’re good at it.”

“I love them,” Andy said simply. Her hand was becoming ridiculous, not to mention heavy, but she didn’t move it. “Please trust me.” From elbow to fingertips, she burned.

Miranda nodded, and Andy took her in. She absorbed the tired lines around Miranda’s eyes, the creases wet with tears. The tense way she held her shoulders. Her creamy skin, breasts tipped with what Andy had once told Miranda was “medium pink.” Andy let her hand drop, resting it for a moment on the curve of her hip.

“Here,” Andy said, dragging her fingers between Miranda’s legs. She bent down and placed her mouth against Miranda’s breast, and began to slowly make love. “I love you, baby. You can have everything.”

Miranda came and came and came, her orgasms like beads on a string. She hissed her pleasure, beyond words. When Andy pulled out her fingers, Miranda grabbed the hand in her own, and they watched each other for a while. “Do you understand?” Andy asked.

Again, a nod. “We do what we say we’re going to do.”

“That’s right.”

The quiet was peaceful then. They eased the duvet back up, and Miranda ran a single finger up and down Andy’s side. It gave her chills, but those subsided. Miranda replaced the finger with her hand, replaced the hand with her whole body. “Thank you,” she said. Wind howled outside, as if to tell them they were safe.
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