As soon as Andy steps into Miranda’s bedroom (their bedroom, her mind corrects), she flops onto the bed, probably ruining her expensive dress.
To her surprise, Emily follows suit. Andy frowns, sitting up against the headboard. Her poor sweetheart. After battling off a cold, still heading to work, and a long night of socializing and networking, it’s no wonder Emily is dead on her feet.
“Hey, honey.” Andy pats her lap invitingly. “Come here.”
Emily groans but remains still.
With a great sigh, Emily straddles Andy’s lap, blinking blearily before going right back to dozing.
Andy chuckles, taking off Emily’s earrings and necklace and depositing them on the nightstand. When she rubs the expanse of skin Emily’s daring dress always shows, Emily lets out a hum.
“Here, sweet thing.” Miranda strokes Emily’s cheek, cleaning her face with some makeup wipes and a wet washcloth. She pads away then returns with a fresh set of materials, doing the same for Andy.
When Miranda withdraws, Andy grips her wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of it, grinning at the sharp inhale she hears. She’s so easy sometimes.
Miranda sends Andy a half-hearted glare before she makes her way back to the bathroom. “You’re going to wrinkle your dress, dearest. Might I suggest taking it off?”
One of Andy’s favourite moments in their relationship was the first time she watched Miranda take off her make-up. She was blushing the whole time, sneaking peeks at Andy’s adoring smile in the mirror. Stripped bare in a way Andy had never seen before, Miranda seemed so human. So beautiful.
As their relationship solidified, Miranda’s embarrassment left, but she still exchanged smiles with Andy in the reflection, as she did now. And, as always, Andy would have continued watching if Emily didn’t mumble something.
“What was that, sweetheart? Don’t you want to change?” She presses a kiss to the top of Emily’s head, making sure to keep her voice low.
“Mmph,” is the only reply she got.
Well, that isn’t much to go on.
Andy cracks a smile. “Alright, angel, I’ll be quiet.”
Her heart swells with love as Emily lets out a quiet, happy sigh and nuzzles the side of her neck, leaving gentle kisses. It’s true her Emily has a prickly front, but she just wants to be loved like anyone else. Give her the affection she craves, and she reveals herself to be a softie, exactly like Miranda.
Speak of the devil (no pun intended). Miranda neatly slips into the middle of the bed, gazing expectantly at Andy, then Emily. When no response follows, her mouth twists into something resembling a pout. If Miranda Priestly could do something as infantile as pout. (She could.)
With a quirked eyebrow, Andy observes as Miranda examines her nails. “So. I’m responsible and treat couture the way it deserves. Therefore, I don’t get kisses and, to add insult to injury, no one hugs me. Fine. I see how it is.”
Andy barely manages to stifle her laughter, looking down at Emily instead. “You hear that, Em? Someone’s jealous.”
“Hardly jealous,” Miranda snaps. “Just pointing out the facts, as horrid as they are.”
This time, a chuckle escapes Andy’s mouth. “Come on, angel, let’s get you changed and laying on your side of the bed, so Miranda won’t complain anymore.” She lets her hold on Emily linger a bit more before getting up to change herself.
By the time Andy’s thrown on her favourite set of sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, Miranda is curled around Emily’s body, eyes closed in bliss as Emily scratches her scalp lazily.
“Don’t even mention it, Andrea.”
“Don’t mention how cute you look, Miranda? Thanks for reminding me.”
Miranda opens her eyes to glare, but they both know she can’t bluster her way out of this one. For all her claims of being too warm and trapped, Miranda demands to be in the middle and downright orders Emily and Andy to cuddle her.
(It’s a known fact. One night in July, Emily and Andy rolled on their sides and went to sleep, leaving Miranda to stare at the ceiling and overthink herself into a frenzy. The next morning, over coffee and tea, Miranda quietly asked if she did something wrong. The only indication she was worried was her trembling lip. Andy’s stunned response of “No, of course not, honey. It was just so hot last night. That’s the only reason, I promise.” made all the tension sag out of Miranda’s body. From that moment on, if it was too hot, they held onto her hand or gave her a tender smile.)
“Well? Are you just going to stand there? You do know how moving at a glacial pace thrills me.”
Andy rolls her eyes but shifts close to Miranda, slipping a hand underneath her shirt to rub her back.
“I love you both,” Emily pipes up, “but can you please be quiet? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Of course, my dearest.” Miranda turns her head. “Be quiet, Andrea.”
“All I did was breathe!”
That gets Emily going, and her delightful throaty laugh echoes throughout the room. Andy smugly grins before they all quiet down. However, their joy is still present in the room, lingering in the air. It’s enough to make Andy drift off to sleep, her last thought being: I think I can stay like this forever.
"I'm tired, can't think of anything and want only to lay my face in your lap, feel your hand on my head and remain like that through all eternity." — Franz Kafka