Work Text:
The place: Waldorf-Astoria's spacious elevator.
Time: 10:28 P.M.
Andy's emotions: mixed.
She stands steadily on five-inch heels, staring at the changing numbers above, fidgeting with her bracelet. A hand anxiously smooths down her blouse. She isn't wearing a dress--that would have been trying too hard, but pants would have been too casual; she picked a knee-length pencil skirt with a white, crisp blouse whose top two buttons have been left undone: smart and sexy and that's how she feels. Her hair is down, framing her face in silky strands of brown and resting lightly on her shoulder blades. A full, red-painted lip slides beneath a row of white teeth, catching momentarily under their hold before bouncing back into its original plumpness.
The elevator pings and its doors open into a long, silent corridor. Countless, white doors mirror each other on either side, standing tall beneath an arched ceiling. Overhead, chandeliers cast their dim, golden glow on the surroundings, a framed picture's shadow stretching long on the wall, an antique, wooden cabinet shining auburn. Andy exits the elevator, clutching a keycard in her hand. Her heels make no sound as she walks, sinking into the soft, carpeted floor, puncturing the embroidered flowers and interrupting the picture with every new step. Her eyes scan the brass numbers on each door she passes, their blank, common look betraying none of the happenings behind them, each scene unique as it may be.
At the end of the corridor, she stops before her designated door, its four-digit number staring back at her. She flips the card in her hand, strokes her thumb back and forth across its shiny surface, and inserts it into the slit on the silver handle.
The door opens quietly into the suite, the light inside no brighter than the one outside but imperceptibly warmer, beckoning her further into the room. She lets the door click shut behind her and proceeds across the brown carpet, past the entryway, and there by the tall windows she stands, the bright, colorful lights of the city reflecting in her white hair, making her glow against the night sky background. She smiles at Andy, that smile that has always made her weak in the knees, her eyes twinkling with affection and a hint of mirth.
As Andy begins to cross the space between them, she takes notice of her surroundings: the only light coming from the two bedside lamps; the king size bed in-between them, meticulously made with sumptuous sheets and numerous throw pillows; the white curtain softly dancing in the light breeze that blows into the room. Her nerves calm instantly.
"You came," Miranda states when Andy stops before her, her voice no louder than a mere murmur, barely enough to break the silence around them. At her side stands a small, glass table and Andy casts her gaze down to the task Miranda was completing when she came in.
"I did," she replies and accepts the foaming champagne flute Miranda lifts from the glass.
"I'm glad," says Miranda, smiling at her with her eyes, and gently clinks her own glass to Andy's with a satisfying, reverberating sound. Andy smiles back, watches her take the first sip, then brings the flute to her own lips. The liquid fills her mouth with its rich flavor and texture, the bubbles skipping along her tongue, before sliding, cold and luxurious, down her throat. She closes her eyes and sighs in contentment, and only opens them again at the sound of glass hitting glass: Miranda has put down her drink.
Andy puts hers down as well, the bubbles still bouncing enthusiasticly within their confinements, a deep, red mark marring the rim of the glass, but she scarcely notices. Miranda's looking at her and she's no longer smiling; her gaze is meaningful, focused. She runs her eyes over Andy's face, briefly meeting hers before lowering to her lips. Unconsciously, it seems, she lets the tip of her tongue poke out and wet her own lips before retreating back inside, leaving her lips parted and moist. Andy gulps.
She feels Miranda's hand on her side before she even registers its presence, the touch scorching her through the thin material of her blouse, and avidly watches her close the distance between them until one's breath can't be distinguished from the other's.
Then they're kissing. Miranda's lips latch onto Andy's lower one, ever so softly, and Andy responds, reciprocates. She slowly moves her lips against Miranda's, kissing each one individually, sliding smoothly, reveling in their softness. She can feel Miranda's warm breath against her face, feels her sigh into her mouth, and melts. Miranda's hand drags across her back, settling solidly in the center and anchoring her in the moment, while her other arm wraps warmly around Andy's shoulders as the kiss deepens. Miranda's tongue peeks out again, but this time to taste Andy's lips, which she opens in kind for the welcome invasion.
She wraps her own arms around Miranda's body, caressing the decadent velvet of her dress, as Miranda's tongue is granted full access to explore her mouth, run across her teeth, slide over her lips, taste Andy's own tongue. She's as warm and soft as her dress, as the skin of her fingers that press into the back of Andy's neck, short nails delicately scratching before venturing onto the scalp, weaving through thick hair.
Someone moans, a deep, low sound that's muffled by their kiss, and they part momentarily to grant their deprived lungs their air supply. Andy breathes deeply, Miranda's eyes travel, dark, across her face, as if commiting every feature and detail to memory, and she lifts the hand resting on Andy's back to touch three fingers to her cheek, the contact so feathery light it's barely even there, and brings their faces together once more for a renewed embrace.
This kiss is deeper, longer. Whereas the previous one was tentative and exploratory, this one promises of things to come. It ignites an invisible flame that burns deep and bright all the same, drawing them further into each other. When Andy gasps into her mouth, Miranda takes charge: tasting of champagne, she strokes Andy's tongue, firm and long, with her own before capturing her lower lip between her lips and sucking. She slides her hand, once again, onto Andy's hip, but this time the motion isn't meant to hold but to guide, slowly moving her across the floor before halting, by which point the contact breaks again and Andy opens heavy eyes to see that they're no longer standing by the window but at the foot of the bed.
Miranda holds her gaze as she reaches out her hand and places it in the center of Andy's chest, where the blouse is purposely parted to expose the skin that's now blotched pink with heat and arousal. The only thing between Miranda's hand and Andy's body is the golden pendant of Andy's necklace, revealed anew when Miranda's hand lowers into the cleavage and further down onto the first button. Her thumb and forefinger seize it between them, twisting and caressing for a while while Andy's chest rises and sinks below, her skin burning underneath the suddenly suffocating fabric. And as if released from her constraints, her breath leaves her in a whoosh the moment the button is popped open, uncovering the white lace between her breasts.
She watches in anticipation as Miranda proceeds to undo each button on her southward journey, each time revealing new pieces of skin to feast her eyes on. She works as slowly as if she were trying to savor each second, and by her gradually heaving breath, the further darkening of her eyes, maybe she is.
She stops when she reaches the waistband of Andy's skirt, leaving the blouse tucked in, and runs her fingers across the newly exposed skin--against Andy's sides, over her lace-covered breasts, up her chest--parting the blouse further along the way. She completes her exploration at Andy's face, cupping each cheek and kissing her lips so tenderly Andy whimpers before she can stop herself.
While Miranda distracts herself with the feel and taste of her mouth, Andy's own hands travel up her back. She leans in, kisses deeper, and feels the firm press of their breasts, the velvet of Miranda's dress against her bare chest. Her hands culminate their journey up Miranda's back and settle at her shoulders, and without preamble she hooks her fingers into the garment and pulls it down, dragging over the slope of her bones and down her arms, slowly exposing Miranda's upper body. Somewhere along her side, there's a zipper, but before Andy can get to it and free the rest of her body, one of Miranda's hands lets go of her cheek to grab the back of her head, and as she holds her in place and steals the breath from her lungs with the ferocity of her kiss, Andy can do nothing but succumb to the sensations Miranda's ministrations awaken in her body.
She's reminded of her state of undress when a gentle gust of wind sneaks its way through the window and licks her naked skin, vanishing as soon as it appeared and leaving goosebumps in its wake. The chill in her spine, however, has nothing to do with the early autumn breeze and everything to do with the way Miranda's fingers tickle along the column of her neck while her tongue sets fire to Andy's mouth, nearly driving her out of her mind. With a desperate moan, she lets go of Miranda to pull her own blouse out of her skirt and shrug it off her shoulders. It lands soundlessly on the floor, quickly forgotten, and one layer freer, Andy once more wraps her arms around Miranda's waist and presses as close as she can. With a remorseful hum, she detaches from Miranda's lips, but quickly makes up for the loss by attaching hers to Miranda's neck. It's Miranda's turn to whimper then, and caress the skin of Andy's back with the tips of her fingers while her neck is licked and nibbled.
At the same moment her bra clasp is unhooked, Andy's fingers hunt down the zipper on Miranda's dress and tug it and she withdraws to watch the magnificent couture slither down the length of Miranda's body and pool at her feet. A second later, her bra follows, replaced by the warmth of Miranda's palms.
They kiss again, but only as means of reconnection before Miranda's head drops and her hands find their way around Andy's back. Then she's kissing down Andy's chest, making her nipples harden in anticipation. Her kisses are as hot as they were against Andy's mouth, and every time her tongue makes contact with the skin, it marks it with its scalding wetness, making it hardly possible to breathe, let alone think. Andy's body is burning for Miranda's touch, every inch of skin and nerve ending standing at attention, waiting for her next move, and when Miranda's lips finally close around a tightly furled nipple, an involuntary sob erupts from Andy's mouth into the quiet night. She keens and arches, trying to push more of her breast into that wet warmth, and as a reward, Miranda switches sides, taking the released breast in her hand and repeatedly flicking the nipple with her thumb while she does the same on the other one with her tongue. Biting her lip when two sets of sharp teeth close around her nipple and tug, Andy grabs a handful of white hair in her hand and gently urges Miranda's head back up, where she catches swollen lips in her own while walking her backward.
Miranda's back lands on the bed first, and Andy is quick to join her after stepping out of her shoes, stretching herself on top of Miranda's body and leaning in for another taste of her neck. Miranda, for her part, bends her legs at the knees, kicking off her own heels in the process, and gathers the hair away from her lover's face, running her fingers through it, watching Andy as she mouths her way down to her chest. Reaching the black lace encasing her breasts, Andy feels Miranda's fingers slide onto her shoulder, gradually tightening in place the closer she gets to a hidden nipple, and through the fabric she presses the full length of her tongue to the bump she can feel underneath, reveling in the sound she elicits from her companion.
She continues to lick and suck through the bra, the lace coarse and delicate at the same time against her tongue. When nails dig into her shoulder, however, dragging in warning down the length of it, she takes the hint and lowers one cup, revealing a perfect breast for her salivating mouth and promptly lowering her head again to lavish it with her tongue. Miranda moans, squirms, and scratches her again, but this time not in protest.
She hooks one arm underneath Andy's when she lifts her head and before she can grant the other breast the same treatment, she finds herself on her back, head resting against an incredibly soft pillow, hair fanned out everywhere. Miranda, as she hovers above her, stares down at her while reaching behind her back, and in a matter of seconds the bra is gone, tossed haphazardly somewhere unimportant in the room.
She welcomes Miranda's body into her arms, for the first time feeling the suppleness of her breasts against her own, relishing the way they rub together as their bodies move, settling into a comfortable position, legs entwined, lips wandering, breaths mingling. Miranda's index finger tickles Andy's sensitized skin as it moves down her chest, the valley between her breasts, her abdomen, her lips following the path with lingering, worshipful kisses. When she gets to her belly button, she dips her tongue and moves it inside so that Andy doesn't notice she's unzipped her skirt until it's halfway down her legs.
Once only one piece of clothing remains, Miranda kneels by Andy's feet and leans forward, giving Andy a penetrating look that makes her heartbeat accelerate as she grabs the thin wisp of lace and slowly slides it down smooth legs, Andy helping by raising them. She's rewarded for her contribution when, once the panties are off, Miranda strokes the outer sides of both legs from shins to thighs while positioning herself between them, effectively exposing Andy to her hungry eyes.
Andy writhes on the bed, desperate for contact, but her wish is not granted. Instead, Miranda turns her head and presses her lips to a thigh for a long moment that ends in a warm exhale, then repeats the motion a few inches down. Andy, above her, watches through half-lidded eyes, one hand wandering down to encouragingly stroke the hair tickling her skin. She whimpers when Miranda licks and kisses the back of her knee several times, the tingling sensation going straight to her core and making her stomach clench. Miranda repeats the same process with the other leg, going from the back of the knee up the thigh, all the while rubbing her hand up and down the shin, and just when Andy thinks she can't take it anymore, she feels the lightest kiss between her legs and bucks, immediately seeking further stimulation.
Miranda provides, at long last. Apparently equally unable to stay away any longer, she parts Andy's legs wider and lightly blows, sending a shiver that starts there and spreads through Andy's entire body. She does it a couple more times, then Andy's eyes squeeze shut when she finally feels the tip of a tongue, tasting her, teasing her, but never going where she needs it. Miranda steers away from the clit, licking, instead, around the opening, up the slit, even outside the outer lips. Taking Andy's labia between her lips, she sucks, not hard enough to take the edge off, but with enough pressure to make Andy wriggle and arch, at which point one hand shoots out to push against her raised abdomen, bringing her back down and keeping her in place.
She moans, half in pleasure and half in desperation, when Miranda's tongue returns to her entrance, licking around the edges. On either side of her head, Andy's thighs tremble, the ache in her core growing by the second. "Please," she whispers, pushing against that wet, wicked mouth in search of the contact she needs so badly.
And finally, Miranda relents. The first lick to her clit is mild and swift, but Andy jumps nevertheless. Grabbing her side, Miranda licks again, this time a longer swipe that releases a broken moan from Andy's throat. She starts to move her hips, despite Miranda's anchoring grip, in time with the up-and-down motion of Miranda's tongue, chasing that maddening sensation, when all of a sudden Miranda stops, drawing a startled cry from her. She doesn't leave her hanging for long, though, and when her tongue ventures inside, Andy promptly clamps around it, crying again.
Throwing her head back against the pillow, she rocks against Miranda's mouth as she alternates between thrusting inside her, sucking her lips, and licking her clit. And when Andy least expects it, her clit is drawn into Miranda's mouth and she sinks her nails into a pillow when she begins to suck. Then she's eating her in earnest, sucking and licking until Andy can hardly remember how to breathe, barely registering the hand squeezing and massaging her breast in time with the movement down below. Her entire body feels like a tightly coiled spring, muscles contracting and spasming, toes curling, hands desperately seeking objects to grasp. Her legs move aimlessly across the mattress, hips rising and falling, and when it finally happens, it's earth-shattering.
She wants to scream, but instead her mouth gapes and the scream is silent. But her throat works and her eyes squeeze and her blood roars in her ears, and through all the sensations, she can still feel Miranda licking her. These licks are tender, however, lapping up her essence, helping her down from her high. She's been shattered, and she's been put back together.
When she comes down, her throat is dry despite not having produced any sound. Her vision takes several moments to unblur and her breathing takes longer to regulate itself, and while she's waiting for the world to settle around her, Miranda's wet lips draw a trail of kisses back up her body before settling on her lips, easing her way inside, allowing Andy to taste herself. Andy moans, one last happy tingle making its presence known between her thighs, and kisses back, licks at and around Miranda's lips eagerly enough to make Miranda lose her composure.
She winds her still shaky legs around Miranda when she starts to rub against her, and with the toes of one foot tries to force her panties down. With some help from Miranda, the task is complete and their naked bodies move in tandem, a thin sheen of perspiration forming between them.
Miranda continues to kiss Andy even as Andy's hand reaches between their slick bodies. She jerks, then, and loses her concentration when Andy's fingers find the wetness between her legs, and buries her face in the crook of her neck as they begin to move. Cupping the side of her head, Andy urges it back up, making her meet her gaze as Miranda's equilibrium already begins to slip away, her lips parting, her breath coming out in short, quick gasps. But all the same, she looks at Andy, and Andy looks back.
That's when Miranda's own hand drops down to where she's still wet and hot and so incredibly sensitive and Andy falters and jolts, but doesn't look away. She pulls herself back together quickly enough to mirror Miranda's actions and slip first one, then two fingers inside her, all the while clenching around the digits buried in her.
They start moving again, thrusting and rocking against one another, eyes locked in concentration as they work on bringing each other pleasure. Andy bites her lip while Miranda licks hers, then leans down to lick Andy's and nibble on her lower lip before resuming her position. Her thumb, as she watches Andy's eyes cloud over, begins to flick Andy's clit. A sound erupts from Andy's mouth, something that sounds very much like a mewl, and with the heel of her palm she starts rubbing Miranda's clit, pumping her fingers deeper and harder inside her. Miranda's eyes are normally strikingly bright, almost icy, which fits her work façade quite perfectly; her pupils are now so dilated that what's left of the irises is merely a thin, blue frame, and she's beautiful. She's the most breathtakingly beatiful person Andy has ever seen.
Before she knows it, she's coming again, without quite meaning to. She clenches around the fingers inside her, her clit pulsating and throbbing so hotly she thinks she might never need to come again. Miranda notices this, because her movements become more erratic, her skin damper, her eyes far gone. Forgoing her second afterglow, Andy lifts her free arm and hugs Miranda close to her, cups her cheek, moves stray hairs away from her sweaty forehead, brings her face down for one more kiss that leaves Miranda so breathless she starts convulsing in Andy's embrace, shaking uncontrollably, her sounds swallowed by Andy's mouth.
When she's done, she all but collapses on top of Andy, lips sliding off hers until her head drops to the pillow underneath and Andy can feel her heavy breaths blowing warmly against her neck. Her own breathing is labored, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the ceiling, waiting for her heartbeat to calm down. Before it does, Miranda rises, palms the side of her face, and kisses her one last time before rolling onto her back. When Andy moves closer and rests her head on her chest, already missing the connection, she isn't met with an objection. Silently, they lie together in the dark, Miranda's racing heart thumping below Andy's ear, strangely slowing down her own.
"Thank you," she breathes out when she's got enough control back on, at the very least, her vocabulary.
She thinks she really must have worn Miranda out, because her lover doesn't sneer or offer a cutting remark on the inane statement. Instead, she raises a hand to run through her damp hair, strokes Andy's own hair, and replies, "I suppose it doesn't hurt to spice things up every once in a while." She still sounds out of breath.
Andy can't hold back a grin. "So I was right?"
"If it makes you happy to hear that," Miranda murmurs dismissively and Andy's grin grows. She lifts her head off Miranda's chest and beams down at her until Miranda can't help but smile back.
"Happy Anniversary," Andy says sweetly and pecks her lips.
Miranda smiles wider. "Happy Anniversary," she echoes and kisses her again.