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DWP Fanfiction - Drives Me Wild

The Monday after vacation, Miranda Priestly is not too pleased to be in the office.


A/N 1: I am the queen of fluff and I don’t know how to change my ways.

Honestly, Miranda was in no mood for such incompetence. She’s only been back in the office for an hour and a half, and already she’s ready to head back to the Mediterranean.

The last two weeks had been absolute bliss. Miranda had taken her first real, non-working vacation in twenty years, mainly because she had finally found someone other than her daughters worth vacationing with. That person just happened to be her former second assistant, Andrea Sachs.

Even though they had been off to a rocky start, there was no way Miranda could deny that her relationship with Andrea was the best and healthiest relationship she’d had in her life. Apparently it made all the difference being with someone who understood your work ethic and knew your coffee order. Not to mention the girl was as brilliant as she was beautiful, which certainly didn’t hurt.

For their one-year anniversary, Miranda whisked her girlfriend away to a private Island somewhere around Mykonos. Andrea was full of complaints about price and opulence, until she experienced that white, sandy beach for the first time. Miranda knew her wealth was a sensitive subject for Andrea, but she also knew that no one could deny the sunset over that horizon line.

So of course, naturally, on her first day back at Runway, when her first assistant has forgotten the skirts Miranda asked to have prepared for her return two weeks ago, she is none too pleased. In fact, she briefly considers just walking out of the office and going back to bed. Aside from the sheer ridiculousness of the idea, one of the only things stopping her, is that her girlfriend will not be there to join her.

Miranda wonders how Andrea is fairing at work today. This morning, she seemed full of well-rested anticipation for her next story. Her boss had called with a new opportunity just this morning, leaving Andrea with bright eyes and a face full of excitement. Or perhaps those were the lingering affects of the orgasm Miranda had just given her. It was a tough call to make, really.

Miranda admittedly feels a little out of her element experiencing this sort of separation anxiety. Before Andrea, there were exactly two people in this world that she could spend an uninterrupted two weeks with and not tire of their company. Those two people were named Cassidy and Caroline. For Miranda to miss her significant other after not even two hours away is a new experience indeed. So she sips her tepid coffee, and tries not to feel like a pathetic old woman.

With her first assistant properly scolded, and sent to do the task Miranda had assigned her two weeks ago, Miranda sits down to read her email and catch up on all the news she missed while lounging around in the sun 4,000 miles away from home. She tries not to let the incompetence of her new assistants stress her out too badly, but it is blatantly apparent that they are no Emily. And they certainly will never be Andrea.

Quickly Miranda gets bored with the written news. According to the Wall Street Journal, the stock market is still the stock market, and according to the Post, she is still a fire-breathing dragon. As always, according to Miranda when looking at the newest issue of Vogue, it will never ever surpass runway. Especially not with that garish typeface on the cover, overlapping the face of the girl pictured there.

Miranda moves onward to her email, starting at the bottom of the queue to sift through the dismal results. There are a few from designers that she answers briefly, and one from Irv that she deletes without even reading, knowing that eventually he will just barge into her office anyway no matter what she replies to his pathetic little email. Just when Miranda is about to close her laptop and abandon hope of correspondence worth reading, a new message pops up.

It is from none other than the girl who has without a doubt captured her heart. Miranda uses years of training to keep her features from melting into a smile.

From: Sachs, Andrea a.sachs@newyorkmirror.com
To: Priestly, Miranda miranda.priestly@eliasclarkpublications.net
Sent: Today, 9:17 a.m.
Subject: I am ruined, and it’s your fault.

How’s the apple of my eye doing on this fine Monday morning?

How Miranda deals with such schmaltz on a daily basis, she will never know.

Not that I don’t hope your day is going well, but I seem to be having a bit of a problem. You see, I know it’s only been a matter of minutes since we met over scrambled eggs, but I miss you, Miranda. Quite terribly in fact.

Hmm. She may be an old woman, but she’s not nearly as pathetic as she originally thought.

It sucks because this morning, I was given an assignment to cover the writer’s strikes, because my boss apparently sees “latent talent in me, just rearing for take off” but all I can seem to think about is your lips. Specifically, how they feel when pressing delicately against my chest, or perhaps how it feels to kiss margarita salt off of them.

I wonder what the rest of New York city would do if they knew that Miranda Priestly enjoys something as plebian as frozen margaritas while lounging on the beach. I don’t plan to share this little gem of information, mostly because it is so near and dear to my heart, but still it is a fun thing to daydream about.

Can you imagine? Think about all of your stick thin models getting brain freeze trying to chug ‘em down, just to be more like you. How dare we spread the word that La Priestly drinks anything below Cristal in a diamond-crusted chalice?

Maybe I should get back to work. I’m getting a little delusional I think. It’s just that every time I try to focus on doing some research or try thinking of a good angle to write from, all that comes to mind is the way you look completely relaxed with your head tilting towards the sun laughing at something, no doubt stupid, that I’ve said, and how the crashing waves were the perfect soundtrack to such a moment. You’re beautiful when you laugh, Miranda. Even more so in a bikini.

Miranda takes a moment to think back on one of the moments in question. On their vacation, she had unintentionally let down every single one of her walls. It was shocking just how easy it was to be with Andrea Sachs. Not only was she pretty and pleasant, but she possesses a particular brand of intelligence that makes her actually funny. Miranda knows that she can be a tough egg to crack, but Andrea broke her walls quite effortlessly.

Before, even with her husbands, Miranda felt like some smiles and laughs were forced just to stroke egos and warm up her façade. But with her girlfriend there is absolutely no need. It’s just one of the many reasons she fell in love.

Miranda checks her watch and notes that the scheduled run through starts in half an hour, but despite herself, she continues to read.

Coffee. Perhaps that’s what I need to reel myself in, and get back on track. But the problem with coffee, my dear, is that it always leads back to you.

Any assistant of yours, any clacker, any ordinary guy in a stale suit within the confines of Elias-Clarke can rattle off your coffee order, Miranda. One tall, vanilla latte, with an extra shot of espresso, hot. If it is any less than scalding, be prepared for the dreaded pursed lips of extreme disappointment. How fucking sexy and powerful are you?

Very.

But what most people will never know about you, is that some mornings you require no coffee at all. In fact if I am recalling correctly, I remember one morning in particular last week that you actually rose first and gave me a wakeup call that was both surprising and pleasant.

I’ve never actually been a fan of morning sex before you. For me at least, it was always kind of awkwardly more about relieving someone’s blue balls and less about quality time.  But with you, like with so many things, making love in the morning is like a dream. It was just so arousing to wake up and look down and see you smirking at me from below the covers. Not to mention you and that tongue of yours are always welcome anywhere on my body.

Miranda chuckles at that, flattered beyond logical reason. There was just something so irresistible about Andrea naked and asleep, especially that morning. Miranda had lain and watched her sleeping lover for a while, sprawled out on her back with an arm above her head, naked but for a bed sheet wound around her hips and torso. But after a few minutes she could barely contain herself. Andrea brought out the side of her that was always eager to please.

She started with sweet little kisses on Andrea’s chest, down her sternum, not yet trying to rouse her completely. But then the dusky pink of her nipples called out to Miranda, and her lips could not resist. By the time Andrea was fully awake, Miranda’s head had reached the juncture of Andy’s thighs and she was wet and ready.

It had been a rather delightful morning, and Andy made sure to pay her lover back, with interest. Miranda lets out a dreamy little sigh before catching herself, and looks up at her assistants to make sure that they didn’t hear. Both keep typing away, probably messaging each other about how strange the Dragon Lady is acting today. Miranda has other things to care about though, namely, what’s in the rest of this email.

The guy next to me at the coffee pot is blathering on about global warming, of all things. I can’t even hate global warming anymore, because it means hotter weather, and more of you in less clothes. This probably makes me a horrible person, but I just can’t feel bad because the world could certainly use more half naked Miranda Priestly.

Of all the things I love about your delicious body, what always catch my eye are your shoulders. You probably think that’s weird. But they’re just so commanding. And so sexy. Especially because I know that underneath that wonderfully fashionable blouse you are rocking today lay hundreds of tiny little sun freckles begging for me to kiss them. Even though we are miles and miles away from Greece, those freckles will always taste, to me, like sun and saltwater and happiness and I will never get enough.

For some reason, at these words Miranda feels her eyes getting a little wet. She’s never been this emotional before, but no one has ever put this much effort into a love letter on her behalf. She’s truly touched, and knows deep down in her heart that Andrea is a keeper.

I guess I should be more upset that the city welcomed us back with a rainy day. I can’t find any real malice in myself though, because strangely enough this weather only makes me remember being with you in that fabulous waterfall shower in our hotel. How did you even find a hotel in Mykonos with a bathroom that is bigger than my entire apartment? I’m not complaining, I’m just curious to know more about this endeavor, if I may say so.

I’m not sure you realize how making love to you in that shower felt holy. There’s no other way to describe that feeling. Giving you that look of pure ecstasy feels like worshipping at your altar, and no other experience will ever come close to it.

By now, Miranda is fighting full-blown tears, and tries to think of what to do about it.

“Emily,” she growls to her first assistant who has never even met the original Emily Charlton before. The girl appears in the doorway as if by magic, pencil and paper in hand. At least she’s learned, by this point, the benefits of being somewhat prepared.

“Postpone the run through 20 minutes,” the girl nods with a “Right away, Miranda,” and does as she’s told.

What Miranda wants to do is go into her bathroom and collect herself for her upcoming meeting, but cannot do so until she’s finished what has got to be the sweetest email she’s ever read.

So my point is, Miranda Priestly, you’ve ruined me. Not only have you spoiled me with lavish vacations that make me feel like royalty, but you’ve also spoiled my heart my mind, and my body for anyone else. No one will ever, ever, compare to you. Not that they’ll get the chance. I plan on holding on to you for no less than forever.

Hopefully that doesn’t freak you out too much, I’d hate to have to hide what’s in my heart.

I’ve become this woman who suddenly cannot live without her girlfriend, and who thinks of nothing but being with her constantly. The most mundane things remind me of you: the ice blue of a sports car that matches the shade of your eyes, a woman walking with her two children, the smell of freshly brewed espresso. Everything is you.

And you’re my everything.

I cannot wait to see you tonight. Hopefully I can wait that long.

Love,
Andrea

Miranda is well and truly crying. She’s shedding more tears now than she probably has within the last few years. She feels so loved, which in turn makes her a casserole of feelings she’s not quite ready feel in the middle of her office.

She’s lucky her bathroom is stocked with all of her cosmetics, just in case of some sort of nuclear emergency, she will still look flawless. After a glance in the mirror and a splash of perfume she is ready to breathe fire again, and is ready for the run through.

It’s not clear whether or not the pieces pulled for the next issue are disappointing because she’s bored, or if she’s bored because everything is disappointing. Still, Miranda gets through the run through with her impatience at an all time high. One o’clock p.m. rolls around before they are done sifting through the unimpressive pile of “stuff.” When she finally feels satisfied with the results, and tasks are doled about among her minions, the meeting is adjourned.

Back at her desk Miranda sits and tries to not think about Andrea. She also tries to think of ten good reasons why she shouldn’t leave now and take her lady out for a late lunch. When she can only think of three really good ones, two of them being, “what if I grope her inappropriately in public,” and “I just saw her this morning,” Miranda decides it’s time for a lunch break.

“Coat, bag,” she says without warning, her second assistant scrambling to retrieve her items.

The elevator ride down twenty-five floors seems endless, but at least Roy is waiting for her at the curb. “Where to, Ms. Priestly?” he says, always so polite.

Miranda tries her best not to smirk or roll her own eyes at herself. “The New York Mirror,” she says while avoiding looking in his direction. She would rather not catch him smirking or trying not to roll his eyes at her too. She spends the ride trying to convince herself that she’s not crazy and pathetic and all of the things she said she would never be.
-0-0----00-0-0
Andy Sachs can swear that the clacking of heels she hears belong to her girlfriend. Who else would have such a regal stride? Also she can feel the change of the air that Miranda’s presence sometimes brings with her. It’s as if no one wants to breathe too loud for fear of alarming the dragon, but can’t resist staring at the same time. Frankly, it’s kind of hot to watch her command that sort of attention. But what in the world is Miranda doing at the Mirror?

Andy is not disappointed when she looks up. Miranda Priestly in the flesh is striding right towards her, that cotton Burberry trench coat flapping in the wind. Perhaps Andy is dreaming, because things like this surely do not happen to her in real life. Not only is her girlfriend inside the building of the New York Mirror, but she’s carrying a bag of what looks to be take-out. For them. To eat. In public.

Her co-workers are split between trying not to gawk at them directly and trying to sneak another peek. Andy straightens in her chair.

Miranda doesn’t look mad, so Andy is almost positive she’s not in trouble. The smile that meets Miranda when she approaches her desk has got to be only a few watts below blinding.

“Miranda,” she says softly, in the way that only she can, “what are you doing here?”

Her girlfriend rolls her eyes, but with a smile that softens the gesture. “Andréa,” she responds, “you’ve ruined me too.”


A/N 2: Very vaguely based on the Tegan and Sara song “Drove Me Wild” without all the underhanded aggression. Fun song though! Give it a listen!
A/N 3: Shout out to the person who asked me to have Miranda bust into Andy’s workplace. I can’t remember who you are, but if you tell me I can give you the proper thanks… haha
A/N 4: As always, you reading this means more to me than you know. Thank you.