Feast | NC17 | The Devil Wears Prada (AU)
Title: Feast
Prompt: Andy Sachs is a creature of radiant violence. Attack came naturally to her…
Fandom: Miranda/Andy, The Devil Wears Prada (AU)
Requested by: dragonwine
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2131
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: *wipes brow* Whew. This prompt was a doozy. I had a laundry list of things to include in this Halloween tale about Vampire!Andy and Miranda, so I hopefully managed to incorporate them all. This is inspired by the True Blood 'verse of vampires. I'm not super educated in vampire lore, so be easy on me. And I know the vampire story has been done many times, but hopefully my offering is a little different. Please let me know what you think! ((Also, all errors are my own...)) Enjoy!
-
Dark brown eyes scan over the banquet hall, flicking over the hundreds of faces that are cast in the golden incandescent glow of chandeliers hanging above. The room is alive with the frenzied energy of fervent adulators and attention-seekers, and Andy Sachs spares little more than a disproving sneer for them all. She has little respect for humans, especially those of the upper crust.
She accepts a glass of champagne from a passing waiter despite her inability to drink it. She fingers the flute glass, twisting the crystal between slender, agile fingers. Passing is key; no need to cause a stir. She can already foresee the mass hysteria at being discovered and the headlines that would make the early editions: Vampire Infiltrates Elite: No One Is Safe.
It amuses her to note how easily she blends in. For a race of humans who so adamantly and intensely support segregation between themselves and the vampire population, they certainly are trusting in assuming that they're safe in their surroundings. Perhaps the designer suits give them a sense of security.
She snorts. Prada won't save them.
She wears her own Prada suit like a second skin, luxuriating in the feel of the finely woven fibers as they press against her heated flesh. The jacket and slacks are black, as are the leather boots that adorn her feet. Beneath the jacket she wears nothing, proudly displaying teasing flashes of the swell of her breasts.
She's the only woman in the room in pants, and she loves it.
She's also the only vampire, and she loves that more.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Andy resumes her visual hunt by casting another glance at the crowd before her.
It's the work of a moment to spot the stoic, silver-haired woman across the room. As soon as Andy recognizes her, her pulse begins to quicken and throb beneath the thin layer of flesh at her throat.
Andy revels in the thrill of spotting her prey in the way she'd react to seducing a lover. It's all she can do not to lick her lips or bare her incisors.
Miranda Priestly is all poise and regal beauty, doting on her admirers like a god. It amuses Andy so much that she presses a finger to her lips to hide her smirk; this woman has no idea that she's been marked.
The ivory column of Miranda's throat is bare. Even from this distance Andy can see the taut sinew of muscle when she turns her head. Andy's eyes dilate, her mouth waters, and her clit throbs between her legs. It's as if she can taste her already, and for a moment Andy wonders if she'd prefer the metallic tang of her blood or the bittersweet musk of her sex.
As if by sheer will, Miranda's eyes leave her companion and catch Andy's. Andy is surprised by what she sees. She had been told to expect sharp ice, not golden embers. She's intrigued. She wonders what other misinformation she's been fed.
The moment that passes between them is decidedly delicious. A mutual understanding is shared -- the hunted spotting the hunter. Andy raises her glass in a silent salute. Cheers, love. Won't drink this, but I will drink you.
There is a flurry of movement and a group of balding men pass by Andy, obstructing her vision of her mark. When they've passed, Miranda is gone.
Andy chuckles to herself, immensely humored at Miranda's obvious attempt at running. She sets down her glass and begins her hunt.
-
Though the building is neither immense nor creative in its construction, it takes Andy a little time before she finds Miranda. She finds her, of all places, in the high-ceilinged conservatory, domed in glass and wrought iron. Miranda is standing at the back, looking past the potted plants to the open deck of the ballroom where drunken men are making passes at women who are not their wives.
Andy watches her for several minutes before moving in. "I'm surprised you hid. Most people run."
"I see no reason to do either," Miranda says, keeping her back to Andy.
Andy chuckles. "You clearly know why I'm here."
Miranda gives a non-committal shrug. "Someone sent you for me. Irv, perhaps. Or my ex-husband."
"Very perceptive." Andy won't admit who her contact is, but Miranda's instinct is incredibly accurate. She waits for Miranda to respond and when she is silent, Andy moves closer.
Standing behind the woman, Andy flares her nostrils as she takes in the exotic scent of Miranda's perfume, co-mingled with her fear, her arousal, her anticipation. She flicks her tongue across her plump lower lip as she takes a step closer and traces her index finger along the hem of Miranda's black dress. It falls off the shoulders and across her shoulder blades, and the heat of her skin burns Andy's finger.
Miranda drags in a breath to feed her lungs, pushing her shoulder blades against the material of her dress. "Why haven't you made your move?"
Andy places her hands on Miranda's hips, stepping closer until her front is pressed against Miranda's back. Their bodies fit so well together and Andy feels momentarily dizzy on the intensity of her want. "I'm torn between which move to make." She feels Miranda tense against her and Andy traces her fingers along the length of Miranda's neck. "I will make someone very, very unhappy if I don't kill you tonight."
Miranda is silent for a moment before saying, "Do you usually make decisions based on the reactions of others?"
Andy lets out a little laugh. "No, but I do make decisions based on how much I've been paid."
Miranda shifts then, turning her body until she is facing Andy. Andy grants her little space. Their hips touch. "Tell me: how much was I worth?"
Andy smirks. "Does it matter?"
Miranda cocks her head, holding Andy's gaze. "It's a matter of pride, I suppose. It also says a great deal about the type of killer you are."
"I won't tell you that," Andy responds, teasing her fingers carefully against her silver tresses. "However…if I get the job done, I'll be set for years. And my, how tempting of a job it is…" Andy tucks her fingers under Miranda's chin and tilts her head back. Miranda sucks in a breath and looks away, exposing her throat. The moonlight filters into the conservatory, illuminating the alabaster flesh in a near-blinding glow. The distended vein beats steadily. Andy groans.
"What kind of a vampire are you?" Miranda asks, tilting her head back into focus. "Anyone with a backbone would have done it already."
Andy's eyes flash. The predator in her jolts at the accusatory jab and she feels her canines begin to elongate. "What kind of woman are you to taunt a vampire?"
"An impatient one."
Andy dips her head in and licks the length of Miranda's neck, pausing to nick her teeth against her skin. Miranda jumps when she feels the cut. "Maybe you just want to give up." She flicks her tongue against the drop of blood that bubbles out of the small wound. She tastes delicious, better than she would have imagined. "Maybe you're looking for an easy way out."
"Do you really think," Miranda begins, shivering beneath Andy's mouth as if against her will, "that I didn't know you were coming for me?"
Andy says nothing. She licks her teeth and waits.
"Did you think I was foolish enough to put myself in a vulnerable position without ensuring that my death would have consequences for everyone involved?"
Andy chuckles again, this time throwing her head back and laughing. "You're a smart woman, Miranda Priestly."
"I know."
"I believe you've made my decision for me."
"I believe you made it before you ever followed me out of the ballroom."
Andy sweeps her tongue over the tiny nick once more, wiping away the blood that prickles to the surface. It's such a shame that she won't be allowed to feast on Miranda. The hunger coils within her but she decides that she will feed later. The night is young, after all.
When their mouths meet, Andy decides that a little hunger is worth this frantic embrace. The kiss is violent, their mouths crushed together in a quest for dominance. Miranda arches against her and clings to her shoulders, working her hands beneath the suit jacket. Deft fingers make easy work of the buttons and suddenly the halves of the jacket part, leaving her bare chest exposed to Miranda's searching hands.
Andy can't remember the last time she's wanted a human so badly. It's so rare to find this level of passion, this urgency. There are not many humans like Miranda Priestly.
She opens her eyes and peers past Miranda's face, catching a glimpse out the window. Something is happening. She does something with her tongue, stroking in a circle around Miranda's, and Miranda groans in response. Andy wants to close her eyes, and then she notices it on the balcony.
The uniform. The badge.
She hates being pressed for time, especially when she wants nothing more than to enjoy the woman in her arms. However, her survival instinct is strong, and she has no intention of getting caught.
Looking at Miranda's face after pulling apart is a pleasant thrill: her lipstick is smeared, her lips swollen. Her eyes burn. They regard each other for a moment before Andy smirks and squats before her. She balances well in her stiletto boots and makes quick work of hiking up Miranda's dress. She'd love to rip it, to tear the delicate silk, but she has more pressing matters at hand.
Using her teeth, Andy tears away the scrap of lace around Miranda's hips and presses her back against the table. Perhaps the film of dust on the wooden surface will mar the back of the dress in a telling way; the thought pleases her. Miranda helpfully widens her stance, her eyes wide and hungry.
Miranda hadn't expected this; that much is clear. She had expected Andy to be captured long before reaching this stage.
Lucky for them both that Andy is quick.
She fastens her mouth to Miranda's cunt in a searing kiss, swiping her tongue in long strokes against the length of her soaking slit. Miranda moans and grips the back of her head, tangling her fingers in Andy's chestnut tresses.
Where Miranda's blood is metal, her arousal is honey. Andy greedily slurps the copious juices, coating her chin and cheeks. She can feel Miranda's legs shake, feel her fingers grip tighter in her hair.
Andy nips at Miranda's clit and Miranda hisses and jerks against her. She revels in the surge of moisture and feels her own clit throbbing between her legs. She aches to come, aches to possess Miranda completely, but time is of the essence. There is no time to linger, much to Andy's disappointment. She begins to fuck Miranda in earnest, stroking her clit hard and fast. Within seconds Miranda is shaking against her, coming with a loud, feral cry. She pulls Andy's hair as her body undulates against her in long, steady waves.
Andy waits until the pulsating subsides before she leans back and wipes her chin, staring up at Miranda with a smug grin. Miranda pants, drawing in wide gasps of air, and presses the back of her hand to her forehead. She licks her lips and exhales.
Miranda's eyes never leave Andy's while she stands up. The smug grin never leaves Andy's face. "Hate to eat and run," Andy says, buttoning her jacket, "but you've made post-coital pleasantries impossible." They hear noise in the hall outside the conservatory door. "You weren't kidding about covering your ass, were you?"
"I never kid."
Andy drags the pad of her thumb across Miranda's face, wiping away the smeared lipstick. "Thanks for the snack, Miranda."
Andy leaves her then, swiftly ducking through the maze of tables before stowing out the back door. She disappears into the cover of the surrounding brush and presses herself against a large oak. She steals a glance at the conservatory, watching as Miranda gestures to a pair of police officers. She relies on her hypersensitive hearing and discovers that Miranda is giving them false information about a male vampire impersonator. She tells them that her tip had been incorrect, that she had only been a little harassed but left unharmed.
The vampire grins and laughs to herself before setting off into the night. She's got half a mil stashed in her loft and a looming contract hanging over her head. She's also got a nagging hunger that she has to deal with.
Irv Ravitz won't taste nearly as sweet as Miranda Priestly, but she'll enjoy the feast just the same.
---
Prompt: Andy Sachs is a creature of radiant violence. Attack came naturally to her…
Fandom: Miranda/Andy, The Devil Wears Prada (AU)
Requested by: dragonwine
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 2131
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: *wipes brow* Whew. This prompt was a doozy. I had a laundry list of things to include in this Halloween tale about Vampire!Andy and Miranda, so I hopefully managed to incorporate them all. This is inspired by the True Blood 'verse of vampires. I'm not super educated in vampire lore, so be easy on me. And I know the vampire story has been done many times, but hopefully my offering is a little different. Please let me know what you think! ((Also, all errors are my own...)) Enjoy!
-
Dark brown eyes scan over the banquet hall, flicking over the hundreds of faces that are cast in the golden incandescent glow of chandeliers hanging above. The room is alive with the frenzied energy of fervent adulators and attention-seekers, and Andy Sachs spares little more than a disproving sneer for them all. She has little respect for humans, especially those of the upper crust.
She accepts a glass of champagne from a passing waiter despite her inability to drink it. She fingers the flute glass, twisting the crystal between slender, agile fingers. Passing is key; no need to cause a stir. She can already foresee the mass hysteria at being discovered and the headlines that would make the early editions: Vampire Infiltrates Elite: No One Is Safe.
It amuses her to note how easily she blends in. For a race of humans who so adamantly and intensely support segregation between themselves and the vampire population, they certainly are trusting in assuming that they're safe in their surroundings. Perhaps the designer suits give them a sense of security.
She snorts. Prada won't save them.
She wears her own Prada suit like a second skin, luxuriating in the feel of the finely woven fibers as they press against her heated flesh. The jacket and slacks are black, as are the leather boots that adorn her feet. Beneath the jacket she wears nothing, proudly displaying teasing flashes of the swell of her breasts.
She's the only woman in the room in pants, and she loves it.
She's also the only vampire, and she loves that more.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Andy resumes her visual hunt by casting another glance at the crowd before her.
It's the work of a moment to spot the stoic, silver-haired woman across the room. As soon as Andy recognizes her, her pulse begins to quicken and throb beneath the thin layer of flesh at her throat.
Andy revels in the thrill of spotting her prey in the way she'd react to seducing a lover. It's all she can do not to lick her lips or bare her incisors.
Miranda Priestly is all poise and regal beauty, doting on her admirers like a god. It amuses Andy so much that she presses a finger to her lips to hide her smirk; this woman has no idea that she's been marked.
The ivory column of Miranda's throat is bare. Even from this distance Andy can see the taut sinew of muscle when she turns her head. Andy's eyes dilate, her mouth waters, and her clit throbs between her legs. It's as if she can taste her already, and for a moment Andy wonders if she'd prefer the metallic tang of her blood or the bittersweet musk of her sex.
As if by sheer will, Miranda's eyes leave her companion and catch Andy's. Andy is surprised by what she sees. She had been told to expect sharp ice, not golden embers. She's intrigued. She wonders what other misinformation she's been fed.
The moment that passes between them is decidedly delicious. A mutual understanding is shared -- the hunted spotting the hunter. Andy raises her glass in a silent salute. Cheers, love. Won't drink this, but I will drink you.
There is a flurry of movement and a group of balding men pass by Andy, obstructing her vision of her mark. When they've passed, Miranda is gone.
Andy chuckles to herself, immensely humored at Miranda's obvious attempt at running. She sets down her glass and begins her hunt.
-
Though the building is neither immense nor creative in its construction, it takes Andy a little time before she finds Miranda. She finds her, of all places, in the high-ceilinged conservatory, domed in glass and wrought iron. Miranda is standing at the back, looking past the potted plants to the open deck of the ballroom where drunken men are making passes at women who are not their wives.
Andy watches her for several minutes before moving in. "I'm surprised you hid. Most people run."
"I see no reason to do either," Miranda says, keeping her back to Andy.
Andy chuckles. "You clearly know why I'm here."
Miranda gives a non-committal shrug. "Someone sent you for me. Irv, perhaps. Or my ex-husband."
"Very perceptive." Andy won't admit who her contact is, but Miranda's instinct is incredibly accurate. She waits for Miranda to respond and when she is silent, Andy moves closer.
Standing behind the woman, Andy flares her nostrils as she takes in the exotic scent of Miranda's perfume, co-mingled with her fear, her arousal, her anticipation. She flicks her tongue across her plump lower lip as she takes a step closer and traces her index finger along the hem of Miranda's black dress. It falls off the shoulders and across her shoulder blades, and the heat of her skin burns Andy's finger.
Miranda drags in a breath to feed her lungs, pushing her shoulder blades against the material of her dress. "Why haven't you made your move?"
Andy places her hands on Miranda's hips, stepping closer until her front is pressed against Miranda's back. Their bodies fit so well together and Andy feels momentarily dizzy on the intensity of her want. "I'm torn between which move to make." She feels Miranda tense against her and Andy traces her fingers along the length of Miranda's neck. "I will make someone very, very unhappy if I don't kill you tonight."
Miranda is silent for a moment before saying, "Do you usually make decisions based on the reactions of others?"
Andy lets out a little laugh. "No, but I do make decisions based on how much I've been paid."
Miranda shifts then, turning her body until she is facing Andy. Andy grants her little space. Their hips touch. "Tell me: how much was I worth?"
Andy smirks. "Does it matter?"
Miranda cocks her head, holding Andy's gaze. "It's a matter of pride, I suppose. It also says a great deal about the type of killer you are."
"I won't tell you that," Andy responds, teasing her fingers carefully against her silver tresses. "However…if I get the job done, I'll be set for years. And my, how tempting of a job it is…" Andy tucks her fingers under Miranda's chin and tilts her head back. Miranda sucks in a breath and looks away, exposing her throat. The moonlight filters into the conservatory, illuminating the alabaster flesh in a near-blinding glow. The distended vein beats steadily. Andy groans.
"What kind of a vampire are you?" Miranda asks, tilting her head back into focus. "Anyone with a backbone would have done it already."
Andy's eyes flash. The predator in her jolts at the accusatory jab and she feels her canines begin to elongate. "What kind of woman are you to taunt a vampire?"
"An impatient one."
Andy dips her head in and licks the length of Miranda's neck, pausing to nick her teeth against her skin. Miranda jumps when she feels the cut. "Maybe you just want to give up." She flicks her tongue against the drop of blood that bubbles out of the small wound. She tastes delicious, better than she would have imagined. "Maybe you're looking for an easy way out."
"Do you really think," Miranda begins, shivering beneath Andy's mouth as if against her will, "that I didn't know you were coming for me?"
Andy says nothing. She licks her teeth and waits.
"Did you think I was foolish enough to put myself in a vulnerable position without ensuring that my death would have consequences for everyone involved?"
Andy chuckles again, this time throwing her head back and laughing. "You're a smart woman, Miranda Priestly."
"I know."
"I believe you've made my decision for me."
"I believe you made it before you ever followed me out of the ballroom."
Andy sweeps her tongue over the tiny nick once more, wiping away the blood that prickles to the surface. It's such a shame that she won't be allowed to feast on Miranda. The hunger coils within her but she decides that she will feed later. The night is young, after all.
When their mouths meet, Andy decides that a little hunger is worth this frantic embrace. The kiss is violent, their mouths crushed together in a quest for dominance. Miranda arches against her and clings to her shoulders, working her hands beneath the suit jacket. Deft fingers make easy work of the buttons and suddenly the halves of the jacket part, leaving her bare chest exposed to Miranda's searching hands.
Andy can't remember the last time she's wanted a human so badly. It's so rare to find this level of passion, this urgency. There are not many humans like Miranda Priestly.
She opens her eyes and peers past Miranda's face, catching a glimpse out the window. Something is happening. She does something with her tongue, stroking in a circle around Miranda's, and Miranda groans in response. Andy wants to close her eyes, and then she notices it on the balcony.
The uniform. The badge.
She hates being pressed for time, especially when she wants nothing more than to enjoy the woman in her arms. However, her survival instinct is strong, and she has no intention of getting caught.
Looking at Miranda's face after pulling apart is a pleasant thrill: her lipstick is smeared, her lips swollen. Her eyes burn. They regard each other for a moment before Andy smirks and squats before her. She balances well in her stiletto boots and makes quick work of hiking up Miranda's dress. She'd love to rip it, to tear the delicate silk, but she has more pressing matters at hand.
Using her teeth, Andy tears away the scrap of lace around Miranda's hips and presses her back against the table. Perhaps the film of dust on the wooden surface will mar the back of the dress in a telling way; the thought pleases her. Miranda helpfully widens her stance, her eyes wide and hungry.
Miranda hadn't expected this; that much is clear. She had expected Andy to be captured long before reaching this stage.
Lucky for them both that Andy is quick.
She fastens her mouth to Miranda's cunt in a searing kiss, swiping her tongue in long strokes against the length of her soaking slit. Miranda moans and grips the back of her head, tangling her fingers in Andy's chestnut tresses.
Where Miranda's blood is metal, her arousal is honey. Andy greedily slurps the copious juices, coating her chin and cheeks. She can feel Miranda's legs shake, feel her fingers grip tighter in her hair.
Andy nips at Miranda's clit and Miranda hisses and jerks against her. She revels in the surge of moisture and feels her own clit throbbing between her legs. She aches to come, aches to possess Miranda completely, but time is of the essence. There is no time to linger, much to Andy's disappointment. She begins to fuck Miranda in earnest, stroking her clit hard and fast. Within seconds Miranda is shaking against her, coming with a loud, feral cry. She pulls Andy's hair as her body undulates against her in long, steady waves.
Andy waits until the pulsating subsides before she leans back and wipes her chin, staring up at Miranda with a smug grin. Miranda pants, drawing in wide gasps of air, and presses the back of her hand to her forehead. She licks her lips and exhales.
Miranda's eyes never leave Andy's while she stands up. The smug grin never leaves Andy's face. "Hate to eat and run," Andy says, buttoning her jacket, "but you've made post-coital pleasantries impossible." They hear noise in the hall outside the conservatory door. "You weren't kidding about covering your ass, were you?"
"I never kid."
Andy drags the pad of her thumb across Miranda's face, wiping away the smeared lipstick. "Thanks for the snack, Miranda."
Andy leaves her then, swiftly ducking through the maze of tables before stowing out the back door. She disappears into the cover of the surrounding brush and presses herself against a large oak. She steals a glance at the conservatory, watching as Miranda gestures to a pair of police officers. She relies on her hypersensitive hearing and discovers that Miranda is giving them false information about a male vampire impersonator. She tells them that her tip had been incorrect, that she had only been a little harassed but left unharmed.
The vampire grins and laughs to herself before setting off into the night. She's got half a mil stashed in her loft and a looming contract hanging over her head. She's also got a nagging hunger that she has to deal with.
Irv Ravitz won't taste nearly as sweet as Miranda Priestly, but she'll enjoy the feast just the same.
---