Stiff Kittens

Miranda stalks down the hall towards the elevator, scattering employees in her wake.  The hapless girl who had just gotten on her chosen lift leaps out again, hyperventilating.

Just as the doors are about to close, Andy rushes in.  She isn’t paying attention; is totally absorbed in something she’s doing on her Blackberry.  She looks up frantically to press the ground floor button, only to find that someone else already has.  Then she catches sight of Miranda out of the corner of her eye, and freezes.

“M-m-m,” she manages.  Miranda makes a show of lifting one perfectly sculpted eyebrow—and the elevator lurches.

After a long moment of wide-eyed silence, Andy smiles nervously.  “Um.  Well, that was weird.”  Miranda merely sighs, and opens her mouth to address the fact that her second assistant is in the elevator with her, talking to her, but she is interrupted again.  This time the elevator really makes sure to get its point across, too.  Everything goes dark and after a moment full of shrieking metal and violent motion, Miranda finds herself on the floor in a tangle of limbs, some of which are most certainly not hers.  She hears a little gasp, and Andy scrambles away.

“Andrea,” Miranda says sharply, “call someone.”

She hears an ‘mm-hmm’ of confirmation, most likely accompanied by a quick nod.  Moments later the elevator is illuminated in a ghostly blue light as Andy hits a key on her phone, lighting up the screen so she can see the elevator buttons.  She punches the emergency call button, but gets only silence.

“Um…”  Andy swallows visibly, and looks back at her phone.  “I knew it—there’s never any cell reception in here.”  She grimaces as she delivers the news, as if she expects to be personally blamed.

Miranda just sighs and stands, straightening her clothes.  “Well, we don’t appear to be in any immediate danger.  And I’m sure someone will notice we’re missing soon.”  Their eyes meet for a few long moments—and then the elevator goes dark again, as the screen on Andy’s phone switches off.

“Leave it.  Save the battery.”

“Okay.”  After another moment, Andy attempts to stand, but she stumbles, and her hand lands on Miranda’s arm.  She lingers there, Miranda notices, for just an instant too long before jerking away.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.  Does she sound flustered?

Miranda somehow manages to grab her hand.  “Andrea.  Are you alright?  You didn’t get hurt?”

“Y-yeah.  I’m okay.”  She is definitely sounding strangely breathless.

“Really?”  In the dark, Miranda smiles ever-so-slightly.  “You’re shaking.”  And she strokes the top of Andy’s hand with a thumb; her skin is so soft…

The elevator doors slide shut.  Miranda is quite alone inside, as always.  As it begins its downward descent, she abruptly shakes herself back to reality, grimacing.

She definitely does not need to follow that particular train of thought any further, she tells herself.  It’s ridiculous and unrealistic.  It’s just unfortunate that knowing this doesn’t really do much to help how turned on she is right now.

As she observes the performance that is Andy attempting not to spill any coffee while practically running into her office with that along with several bags of scarves and dresses, Miranda thinks that this must be what it feels like to be going insane.

She is losing all control of her own mind.  Or at least, one very specific part of her mind—namely, the part that apparently wants to have wild sex with Andrea Sachs.  Andy’s hair brushes over Miranda’s hand as she is setting down the coffee, and Miranda has to bite her tongue.  And she wonders…

…she wonders what it would be like, to sweep all the clutter off her desk (coffee and all), and then to grab the girl by the shoulders and throw her down on it.  In her mind, Andy struggles at first, out of shock more than anything else.  But she quickly gives in to desire, moaning into Miranda’s mouth and arching under her fingers…

“That’s all,” Miranda snaps, just a little too forcefully.  Andy gives a moan that is unquestionably not of pleasure, and runs out again.
 

Miranda notes with no small amount of alarm that these fantasies are starting to affect her performance at work.  She is distracted and moody and, oh, all of her employees probably just put it down to her usual determination to keep them on their toes, but she knows.  It’s getting embarrassing.

Take, for instance, this morning in the car.  Miranda is merely watching Andy watch the scenery go by out of the corner of her eye, when all of a sudden—

—all of a sudden, Andy is kissing her.  Miranda gasps in surprise, and Andy attempts to take the opportunity to slip her tongue into Miranda’s mouth—but Miranda grabs her roughly by the shoulders and pushes her away.  At Andy’s questioning look, she allows a tiny smirk to grace her feature, and she hits the button that rolls up the opaque glass window between the driver and the back seat.  Roy politely keeps his eyes locked straight ahead on the road, but still, it only seems proper as Miranda pulls Andy back for a more passionate kiss.  It becomes downright necessary as she slips a hand under the girl’s shirt, dragging her nails up Andy’s side and making her hiss in the most delicious way against her neck…

Andy smiles, all sweetness and naivety, and it is only then that Miranda realizes she’s staring.  “Miranda?  Something wrong?” she asks innocently.

“Nothing,” she practically snarls, looking away sharply.  Andy blanches and looks away too, and Miranda can only hope that her sunglasses and makeup have been enough to hide how undoubtedly flushed she is right now.  This cannot go on.

[[End pt 1]]

Like everyone else, Miranda has dreams.

Mostly her dreams are like the dreams everyone else has, too.  Miranda dreams of flying.  She loves those dreams because she always feels in complete control.  She also dreams of colors, places, food, and sometimes, teeth.

And sometimes—just like everyone else—Miranda dreams of sex.

These dreams haven’t always been about men.  Once, years ago, she dreamed of Jacqueline Follet; they were grappling with each other, and the struggle seemed to shift back and forth without any reason between true violence, and something more sensual, with nails and teeth and hair-pulling.  She also had an odd dream about Emily once.  The girl had darted in and out of her bedroom, each time in a different set of lingerie; she was always so eager to please… Well, Miranda would secretly admit that it was endearing, but not really that terribly attractive.

As a rule, though, when Miranda had ‘those kinds’ of dreams, they were about men.  When she had first met Stephan, she had had such sweet dreams; nonsensical and surreal, but they left her waking up tingly and smiling.

Miranda likes those kinds of dreams.  She wishes she could have a dream like that now—she would even settle for a dream about Stephan, even if it probably wouldn’t be so sweet anymore—because it’s really getting quite distressing, how ever since that day in Paris Andrea Sachs has been invading her subconscious.

Miranda doesn’t like the dreams she’s been having about the girl at all.  Well, if she’s going to be entirely honest, that may not be exactly true… but she doesn’t wake up from them smiling.  She wakes up feeling unsettled, uncomfortable and disturbed.  These dreams are dark and filled with deep-down urgency like nothing she’s dreamed before.  Because she has to tie Andrea down, of course, so she won’t run away again.  She isn’t satisfied until the girl is begging to be allowed to stay, begging her and promising her anything if Miranda will just… give her what she wants…

It is ridiculous that she hasn’t been able to cut Andrea out of her life by now.  And it doesn’t help, Miranda thinks as she peers out her window in the mornings after, that the girl insists on walking past her building every day.

Miranda wonders if Andrea has dreams, too.