Drabbic for Chilly_Flame
Title: The Quiet Man
Author: Fewthistle
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Words: 683
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.
A/N: My muse has left me for greener climes, so I requested some help from friends to tempt her back. Thanks for this drabbic go to the lovely and talented chilly_flame for the prompt for this and for the marvelous first line. Hope it’s what you wanted, dear! The film referenced in this piece is one of the great classics of American cinema, John Ford’s The Quiet Man, starring Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne, and filmed entirely in the beautiful landscape of Ireland. By turns tender and raucous, it is a fun, fascinating, gorgeous film. Go find it and watch.
Here’s the link for the referenced kiss: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jreYChl7k10\
Unbeta’d, so all mistakes mine.
Miranda hadn't ridden a bicycle in almost thirty years; she wasn't about to start again now. It didn’t matter that it was a bicycle built for two. It didn’t matter that Andrea had offered to ride up front, affording Miranda a lovely view of both the glorious, picturesque Irish landscape, and Andrea’s equally lovely, glorious, picturesque behind. It was a bicycle, a contraption ill-suited to Louboutins, or hand-stitched Chanel linen pants and Miranda refused to even consider anything as appalling as donning jeans and tennis shoes.
Even in the wilds of Ireland, and God knows, she thought, glancing around at the endless fields edged with meandering stone fences, the odd cottage dotting the verdant landscape with a splash of white and red, this definitely qualified as wilderness, she was still Miranda Priestly: Miranda Priestly did not wear jeans or tennis shoes, at least not in public, and she sure as hell didn’t parade around like a woman half her age on the back of a bicycle.
Period.
“Come on, Miranda,” Andrea inveigled, a cheeky grin capering across full lips. “It’ll be fun. Besides, knowing Irish weather, it’ll probably rain before we get back.”
“And the promise of getting drenched in addition to the humiliation of larking about on that death trap is intended to increase the probability of my agreeing to this ridiculous idea in what way, Andrea?” The roll of her eyes actually caused a slight twinge that only served to enhance the expression of disdain currently gracing Miranda’s face.
“Well,” Andrea said softly, sidling closer to Miranda, so that the older woman could feel the warmth of skin through the thin cotton on Andrea’s summer dress, “remember the other night when we were watching The Quiet Man? That sexy kiss in the ruins of the old church, the rain pouring down, soaking their clothes? You said that Maureen O’Hara looked, I think your exact words were, ‘impossibly lovely’?”
“I might recall you watching it while I was trying to go over the Book, constantly interrupting me to watch scene after scene. In fact, I do recall suggesting that you attempt to ape the title a bit more. And I might have mentioned something about her distinctive coloring and the cinematography, although I don’t recall exactly what I said,” Miranda hedged, lips pursing in mock annoyance at the memory, her hand sliding, of its own volition, along the graceful curve of Andrea’s hip as her mind supplied the scene Andrea had described.
“Oh. I guess I was the only one who thought it was incredibly sensuous, standing there in those ruins, the water running down their skin, soaking through their clothes. I picked this dress out because it reminded me of the one she wore in the film. I was kinda hoping for a re-creation, minus John Wayne, of course.” Andrea nodded her head morosely.
“Of course,” Miranda muttered sardonically.
“Although, if anyone could fill the Duke’s shoes, it would be you. Well, if he wore Louboutins, that is,” Andrea stated sagely and a trifle verbosely, the glint of mischief in her brown eyes like sunlight on dark water. “But since you weren’t watching and you didn’t think it was sorta hot, then I guess we don’t need to worry about riding this bike down that road there and following along the river until we come to the ruins of a 13th century church, do we?”
“Get on the bicycle, Andrea. On the back. With your sense of direction, we’ll end up driving off a cliff somewhere. And do try to keep up in the pedaling department. It’s getting quite dark over that way. Definitely looks like rain.” Miranda ordered, sliding onto the seat and hitching her twelve hundred dollar shoes over the edge of the pedals. Barely waiting for Andrea to get settled, she swung the bike onto the cobblestone lane.
As they slowed for the sloping dip in the road, she turned her head, silver hair feathering in the breeze and said firmly, “I think that the Duke would have been much more of a Jimmy Choo sort of man.”
Fin
Author: Fewthistle
Pairing: Miranda/Andrea
Words: 683
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.
A/N: My muse has left me for greener climes, so I requested some help from friends to tempt her back. Thanks for this drabbic go to the lovely and talented chilly_flame for the prompt for this and for the marvelous first line. Hope it’s what you wanted, dear! The film referenced in this piece is one of the great classics of American cinema, John Ford’s The Quiet Man, starring Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne, and filmed entirely in the beautiful landscape of Ireland. By turns tender and raucous, it is a fun, fascinating, gorgeous film. Go find it and watch.
Here’s the link for the referenced kiss: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jreYChl7k10\
Unbeta’d, so all mistakes mine.
Miranda hadn't ridden a bicycle in almost thirty years; she wasn't about to start again now. It didn’t matter that it was a bicycle built for two. It didn’t matter that Andrea had offered to ride up front, affording Miranda a lovely view of both the glorious, picturesque Irish landscape, and Andrea’s equally lovely, glorious, picturesque behind. It was a bicycle, a contraption ill-suited to Louboutins, or hand-stitched Chanel linen pants and Miranda refused to even consider anything as appalling as donning jeans and tennis shoes.
Even in the wilds of Ireland, and God knows, she thought, glancing around at the endless fields edged with meandering stone fences, the odd cottage dotting the verdant landscape with a splash of white and red, this definitely qualified as wilderness, she was still Miranda Priestly: Miranda Priestly did not wear jeans or tennis shoes, at least not in public, and she sure as hell didn’t parade around like a woman half her age on the back of a bicycle.
Period.
“Come on, Miranda,” Andrea inveigled, a cheeky grin capering across full lips. “It’ll be fun. Besides, knowing Irish weather, it’ll probably rain before we get back.”
“And the promise of getting drenched in addition to the humiliation of larking about on that death trap is intended to increase the probability of my agreeing to this ridiculous idea in what way, Andrea?” The roll of her eyes actually caused a slight twinge that only served to enhance the expression of disdain currently gracing Miranda’s face.
“Well,” Andrea said softly, sidling closer to Miranda, so that the older woman could feel the warmth of skin through the thin cotton on Andrea’s summer dress, “remember the other night when we were watching The Quiet Man? That sexy kiss in the ruins of the old church, the rain pouring down, soaking their clothes? You said that Maureen O’Hara looked, I think your exact words were, ‘impossibly lovely’?”
“I might recall you watching it while I was trying to go over the Book, constantly interrupting me to watch scene after scene. In fact, I do recall suggesting that you attempt to ape the title a bit more. And I might have mentioned something about her distinctive coloring and the cinematography, although I don’t recall exactly what I said,” Miranda hedged, lips pursing in mock annoyance at the memory, her hand sliding, of its own volition, along the graceful curve of Andrea’s hip as her mind supplied the scene Andrea had described.
“Oh. I guess I was the only one who thought it was incredibly sensuous, standing there in those ruins, the water running down their skin, soaking through their clothes. I picked this dress out because it reminded me of the one she wore in the film. I was kinda hoping for a re-creation, minus John Wayne, of course.” Andrea nodded her head morosely.
“Of course,” Miranda muttered sardonically.
“Although, if anyone could fill the Duke’s shoes, it would be you. Well, if he wore Louboutins, that is,” Andrea stated sagely and a trifle verbosely, the glint of mischief in her brown eyes like sunlight on dark water. “But since you weren’t watching and you didn’t think it was sorta hot, then I guess we don’t need to worry about riding this bike down that road there and following along the river until we come to the ruins of a 13th century church, do we?”
“Get on the bicycle, Andrea. On the back. With your sense of direction, we’ll end up driving off a cliff somewhere. And do try to keep up in the pedaling department. It’s getting quite dark over that way. Definitely looks like rain.” Miranda ordered, sliding onto the seat and hitching her twelve hundred dollar shoes over the edge of the pedals. Barely waiting for Andrea to get settled, she swung the bike onto the cobblestone lane.
As they slowed for the sloping dip in the road, she turned her head, silver hair feathering in the breeze and said firmly, “I think that the Duke would have been much more of a Jimmy Choo sort of man.”
Fin