A/N: Hi there. I originally posted this as a chapter in 'Shorts' but realized that was silly because it's too long. So, I moved it here.

Prompt from Tumblr: Can you do a story where Andy has to beg Miranda, super angsty?

UNE.

The first time it happened, it was almost by accident.

She threw her phone into a fountain, but she didn't feel any better as she walked around Paris in uncomfortable heels, rolling her eyes every time she instinctively wanted to check her messages. Later, back at the hotel, after waiting on hold with the airlines for nearly an hour, she flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit," she said. There was no way she could change her ticket. She would be flying back with the Runway team.

Sitting and staring at the wall for a few hours, she realized how stupid she had been. It wasn't about Nigel or Emily or becoming like Miranda—that was just her excuse. She was running because the depth of her feelings for the silver-haired editor was suddenly too much and not enough.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Despite the unexpected turn of events today, her makeup was still intact. Faint gray shadows lingered beneath her eyes, but thinking of how she came to look like this, she couldn't help but smile. She wouldn't have traded her job for anything. Her smile faded as she realized what she had done today and what that might mean for her future.

"Okay," she muttered to herself, taking a deep breath. "It was an emergency, and I had to take care of it. Yeah, that's it." She took another deep breath and knocked on the door to the editor's hotel suite. It was just after nine, so Miranda should have been back in her room. She knocked once more and heard a faint "come in," so she used her keycard and entered the suite, stopping just inside the doorway.

Miranda was sitting in the same corner of the sofa as yesterday. She wore her black wide-leg, high-waisted pants with a white blouse that seemed to be missing buttons. The lace from her black bra was clearly visible. Her hair was messier than usual, but bigger, it seemed. Her legs were crossed, and her red-soled stiletto dangled precariously on her toe.

"Yes, Andrea? Is there something you wish to say to me?" she asked.

"I, um," Andrea fiddled with her hands and wished she had worn a dress with pockets.

"Come closer. You're practically in the hallway over there."

Andrea nodded and stepped into the living room, but still on the other side of the room. "Miranda, about today, you see—"

"Andrea Sachs," Miranda interrupted, "If you plan to lie to me, you may see yourself out. Do not insult me with anything less than the truth."

"No, of course not, Miranda. I want to apologize for my behavior today, and, uh," she fidgeted and looked at the carpet.

"Come here," Miranda said. The young woman took a tentative step forward and Miranda rolled her eyes and gestured with her hand for the young woman to come closer and sit.

Andrea hurried forward, and as she approached the couch, her shoe caught on the carpet and she went flying forward, landing on her hands and knees directly in front of the editor.

Miranda slowly uncrossed her legs, careful not to kick the woman before her. "Andrea," she said, causing the young woman to look upwards with her big brown eyes. "Come here."

Andrea opened her mouth to speak, but immediately thought otherwise. Her eyes widened, realizing she couldn't physically come much closer to the editor.

Then, the editor slowly spread her legs. At first, she thought she was imagining it. But then Miranda said, "Come. Here."

Andrea crawled a few feet closer, until she was kneeling in front of the couch, Miranda's knee on either side of her. She awkwardly held her hands up and found herself once again wishing she had pockets.

Miranda reached for her hands and examined the palms slowly. "You are not injured are you?" she asked.

With the editor's soft hands holding hers, she could hardly think straight. Not trusting her vocabulary, she simply shook her head.

"Good," she said, turning Andrea's hands over and placing them on her thighs. She gently guided her hands up and down the length of her leg. The young woman soon picked up the rhythm.

Andrea wasn't sure what was happening, but she wasn't about to say anything to stop it. Her hands, however, had a mind of their own. Her thumbs gently caressed the woman's inner thigh, and her finger tips reached all the way to the woman's hips. Miranda's face was unreadable, but every time her thumb traced a circle on the inside of her thigh, it seemed like she blinked a few times more than necessary.

As Andrea kept tracing circles on her inner thigh, Miranda sank back into the sofa. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply as she took the young woman's hands and moved them faster, with a bit more pressure than before. She quickly pulled the young woman's hand to her center and held it there. Andrea could feel the heat radiating through the black fabric of her pants and as she moved her thumb back and forth across the seam, the editor's hips twitched.

The next thing she knew, Miranda had one hand balled into a fist and wedged in between her teeth, the other gripping the fabric of the sofa pillow. Her body was on fire under the young woman's touch, and within seconds she was silently riding out her orgasm, fully clothed, her heart beating out of its chest.

She had to grab the young woman's wrist to pull her hand away, otherwise, she may have kept it up all evening. However, when she finally sat up and looked down at the young woman, she felt her pulse begin to race. Andrea was slowly licking her fingers.

Without any hesitation, Miranda grabbed her hand and yanked it towards her own mouth. Because the young woman was still on her knees, Miranda had to lean forward a bit, but she managed to pull the woman's fingers into her mouth. It was the most erotic thing she had ever done. It was like Andrea was fucking her mouth with her hand.

Andrea's mouth went dry when she felt the editor's tongue on her fingertips. She leaned forward and placed her other hand on the woman's hip. When she didn't object, Andrea moved her hand upwards, slowly, until her fingertips reached the underside of her breast.

And then, it was as if Miranda snapped out of a trance. She ungracefully pulled Andrea's fingers from her mouth and reached up to fluff her hair, which was now damp and frizzy.

"Miranda—I-I-I'm s-sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry," she repeated as sobs took over. She turned to crawl away from the couch, but Miranda grabbed her arm firmly and kept her from leaving her place.

"Oh, Andrea," she said. Her speech was crackly, but the tone was soft.

"I'm sorry," the young woman sobbed over and over.

Miranda did not say any more, but allowed the woman to cry in her lap. She, more than anyone, understood that sometimes you couldn't keep your emotions inside. She gently began running her fingers through Andrea's hair.

A short while later, Andrea woke, and it took her a few minutes to get her bearings. She immediately jumped back and eyed Miranda suspiciously.

"Are you better?" Miranda asked. "You were so upset, you fell asleep."

Andrea stared at her incredulously.

"You will need to find a new job, but I can help. Your tenure with Runway ended when you chose not to follow me this afternoon, you must realize that. I can't do anything about that, especially now. Do you understand? This never happened."

Andrea nodded as tears threatened to fall once again. "I am sorry I failed you as an assistant," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "This was, um, nice. Unexpected, but, well, goodbye, Miranda." The young woman let herself out of the suite, knowing she would never see or hear from Miranda again.

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TBC. Reviews greatly appreciated. xx