Somewhere In The Crowd: COMPLETE
-Somwhere in the Crowd-
A Secret Valentine for i_heart_cuddy
Rating: Most Definitely 'M'
Pairing: Miranda/ Donna
Summary: A triple threat crossover, featuring our lovely Miranda, the seductive Donna, and the killer blackout from Flash Forward
Disclaimer: I don’t own the movie or the book or any of the characters, most depressingly, Miranda is not mine. I play in the Runway universe, and sometimes it is kind to my fantasies. I also hold no royalties over 'Mamma Mia' or 'Flash Forward'.
A/N: THANKYOU to all of you who have kept up with this somewhat EPIC (in length, if not in content) fic. And a MASSIVE shout out to Coco, for gracing me with the prompt for this fic. I would NEVER have thought to do this without you. (Also, the manip gracing the completed writing is entirely HER doing, isn't it GRAND?!)
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 1
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 2
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 3
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 4
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 5
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 6
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 7
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 8
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 9
April 29th, 2010, 10:00:00 pm
With a thrill of girlish excitement, Donna reached out and pressed the door chime. She was vibrating with desire to see her lover.
Inside the house, Miranda Priestly called out to her twin daughters, somewhat frazzled. “I’m up to my elbows in dishwater- can one of you get that?”
Caro and Cass stampeded to the door, peering around the oak frame until they saw Donna, their mother’s girlfriend, on the front stoop, and immediately threw the door open wide, hurling themselves at her.
Donna laughed, pulling the pyjama clad twins close.
“Erg- Donna!” Caroline complained. “You’re squeezing my guts out!”
“Ditto” Cassidy wheezed, wriggling against the woman’s strong grasp.
Donna snorted and jabbed each twin in the ribs. “Where’s your mother?”
“Kitchen” and “Dishes” followed in synchronicity.
“Come sit with us till she’s done,” Cassidy pleaded, putting on her best ‘adorable twin’ smile.
“I should help,” Donna argued, and tried to walk towards the kitchen.
“Nuh-uhn,” Caroline wheedled. “You know we’re going to be banished to bed as soon as she’s done, and we haven’t seen you since last weekend!”
“Sit,” Miranda yelled from the kitchen, all too aware of the dispute taking place in her front hallway.
Donna conceded, and followed the girls into the living room, settling between their affectionately pressing bodies on a plush sofa.
“What’d you do today?” Caroline inquired, twirling the large silver ring on Donna’s left hand.
“I was throwing pots at the studio,” the blond replied, smiling indulgently.
Cassidy smirked. “That would explain the clay in your hair, then.”
The woman sighed, and began picking through the loose strands floating down over her shoulders. Caroline gently slapped her hands away, and began combing through Donna’s golden tresses herself.
“Got it!” the girl exclaimed after several seconds, gently picking the clump of dried mud out from the hair behind Donna’s ear.
“Thanks,” the woman offered softly, pulling a girl under each arm to cuddle them before they were indeed banished for the evening. Since meeting the girls, she’d practically adopted both of them, despite their antics, their never-ending chatter, and entirely because of their genuine kindness and acceptance of her presence in their lives, and their mother’s.
Miranda’s footsteps sounded in the hallway, and each girl planted a sound kiss on Donna‘s cheeks before scampering off, bestowing the same gifts on their mother before clambering noisily up the stairs.
The fashionista sidled up behind Donna, and the blond smelled her perfume before turning on the lounge and pressing her face into the warmth of Miranda’s torso.
“Know what today is?” the blond commented obtusely.
Miranda played oblivious. ‘Fuck- I forgot your birthday, didn’t I?’
Donna swatted her girlfriend playfully on the ass, and in the editor’s distracted state, lifted the front of her blouse to blow an unceremonious raspberry on her stomach.
Miranda squealed despite herself, for yes, as Donna’s lover, she had been making the most incongruous noises of late. Before she spilt them, she set the glasses of wine on a side table.
Donna shushed her lover‘s loud complaint, and Miranda threw her an accusatory glare. Grinning, and looking more than slightly predatory, the blond dragged her girlfriend up three flights of stairs to the master bedroom. With a look that could only be described as lascivious, Miranda locked the door behind them.
Loving had become so easy between them, the months since their unlikely kiss on the Central Park skating rink seemed to flow together, to merge into one long session of embraces, sensual passion, and now, amidst warm kisses and disjointed groping, they undressed each other quickly, both eager to make the future their present.
They were moving all at once, lips pressing, sucking, latching onto aching nipples. Legs entwined, hands grabbed hold of anything they could. Fingers stroked, delved, reached back to mouths to taste. Who was on top, on the bottom- they could scarcely tell the difference.
Miranda was teasing her lover now, sweeping her fingers lightly through folds, and Donna’s hips moved towards the elusive touch; she keened.
As if offering bribery- she eagerly slid a hand between Miranda’s soft thighs and cupped her cunt. Miranda sighed, head lolling forwards.
“Together,” Donna urged, and sunk gratefully onto the revisiting fingers, grinding her clit against the palm of the other woman’s hand.
Miranda whimpered, then. Donna was at it, touching her so fucking right, and they dissolved into a sleek, writhing knot, surging against one another, nipples kissing.
“I’m close baby,” Donna sighed.
“Wait for me-” Miranda murmured, hips twisting, back arching.
Donna could hardly breathe. With a free hand, she pressed into the small of Miranda’s back, crushing her lover closer, their whole bodies fucking each other. Miranda moaned, a sound which began deep in her throat, a purring, desperate growl.
“Come with me,” Donna entreated, nibbling at Miranda’s lower lip, hips surging forwards, begging.
Overwhelmed, Miranda pulled Donna’s face to hers, a handful of soft hair her only purchase until their mouths connected. With a whimper against forgiving, smiling lips, Miranda, for once in her life, did as she was told, and the pair pressed together, a moment fractured, frozen in pleasure.
And then breath came, and slow undulations in the ebb of orgasms passed, and Donna pulled her lover down, to snuggle against her breasts.
“That was-” Miranda began, still gasping.
“Mhmm,” Donna hummed, running lazy fingers through platinum waves.
“Exactly.” The editor sighed, wrapping her hand possessively around the curve of a hip. “How do you do that?”
Donna shifted, and rolled over to face Miranda, tracing a finger down the sweet path of a laugh line. “Last year, a certain underground spring of some repute blew a great big fucking hole in the courtyard of my villa. I was drenched.” Miranda raised an eyebrow, confused. “I’m a walking Aphrodite, baby,” the blond clarified.
“Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” offered the fashionista, smirking.
Donna made an unimpressed face, and poked her lover in the ribs. “Latin, gorgeous? You must have me confused with someone who finished high school.”
“Fine," Miranda continued quixotically, trailing her fingers across her lover‘s spine, under her arm, to rest gently under the swell of her breast. "Uck-fay e-may owly-slay,”
Donna muffled a chuckle behind her hand. “While I am disinclined,” she began, adopting a rather familiar tone, while straddling her lover, “to acquiesce to your request, given the implications of the language shift, I fear I have no choice but to give in to your immodest suggestion.”
Miranda giggled as the gentle fingers traveled down her stomach, inside her thigh.
Donna paused, thoughtful. “What did you say, anyway?”
“What?” Miranda asked, leaning up on her elbows, her silver hair rebelling in about seven directions. “The latin?” Donna nodded, refusing to move her fingers until she was given an answer.
Miranda smiled, quirking an eyebrow. Tenderly, her hand smoothed sweaty, flyaway strands of golden hair, and cradled Donna‘s face in her palm. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”
“Brat,” the blond woman offered fondly, before leaning down and latching her lips around her lover’s still throbbing clit. Miranda sighed blissfully and sunk back into the pillows.
A Secret Valentine for i_heart_cuddy
Rating: Most Definitely 'M'
Pairing: Miranda/ Donna
Summary: A triple threat crossover, featuring our lovely Miranda, the seductive Donna, and the killer blackout from Flash Forward
Disclaimer: I don’t own the movie or the book or any of the characters, most depressingly, Miranda is not mine. I play in the Runway universe, and sometimes it is kind to my fantasies. I also hold no royalties over 'Mamma Mia' or 'Flash Forward'.
A/N: THANKYOU to all of you who have kept up with this somewhat EPIC (in length, if not in content) fic. And a MASSIVE shout out to Coco, for gracing me with the prompt for this fic. I would NEVER have thought to do this without you. (Also, the manip gracing the completed writing is entirely HER doing, isn't it GRAND?!)
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 1
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 2
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 3
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 4
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 5
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 6
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 7
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 8
Somewhere in the Crowd: Part 9
April 29th, 2010, 10:00:00 pm
With a thrill of girlish excitement, Donna reached out and pressed the door chime. She was vibrating with desire to see her lover.
Inside the house, Miranda Priestly called out to her twin daughters, somewhat frazzled. “I’m up to my elbows in dishwater- can one of you get that?”
Caro and Cass stampeded to the door, peering around the oak frame until they saw Donna, their mother’s girlfriend, on the front stoop, and immediately threw the door open wide, hurling themselves at her.
Donna laughed, pulling the pyjama clad twins close.
“Erg- Donna!” Caroline complained. “You’re squeezing my guts out!”
“Ditto” Cassidy wheezed, wriggling against the woman’s strong grasp.
Donna snorted and jabbed each twin in the ribs. “Where’s your mother?”
“Kitchen” and “Dishes” followed in synchronicity.
“Come sit with us till she’s done,” Cassidy pleaded, putting on her best ‘adorable twin’ smile.
“I should help,” Donna argued, and tried to walk towards the kitchen.
“Nuh-uhn,” Caroline wheedled. “You know we’re going to be banished to bed as soon as she’s done, and we haven’t seen you since last weekend!”
“Sit,” Miranda yelled from the kitchen, all too aware of the dispute taking place in her front hallway.
Donna conceded, and followed the girls into the living room, settling between their affectionately pressing bodies on a plush sofa.
“What’d you do today?” Caroline inquired, twirling the large silver ring on Donna’s left hand.
“I was throwing pots at the studio,” the blond replied, smiling indulgently.
Cassidy smirked. “That would explain the clay in your hair, then.”
The woman sighed, and began picking through the loose strands floating down over her shoulders. Caroline gently slapped her hands away, and began combing through Donna’s golden tresses herself.
“Got it!” the girl exclaimed after several seconds, gently picking the clump of dried mud out from the hair behind Donna’s ear.
“Thanks,” the woman offered softly, pulling a girl under each arm to cuddle them before they were indeed banished for the evening. Since meeting the girls, she’d practically adopted both of them, despite their antics, their never-ending chatter, and entirely because of their genuine kindness and acceptance of her presence in their lives, and their mother’s.
Miranda’s footsteps sounded in the hallway, and each girl planted a sound kiss on Donna‘s cheeks before scampering off, bestowing the same gifts on their mother before clambering noisily up the stairs.
The fashionista sidled up behind Donna, and the blond smelled her perfume before turning on the lounge and pressing her face into the warmth of Miranda’s torso.
“Know what today is?” the blond commented obtusely.
Miranda played oblivious. ‘Fuck- I forgot your birthday, didn’t I?’
Donna swatted her girlfriend playfully on the ass, and in the editor’s distracted state, lifted the front of her blouse to blow an unceremonious raspberry on her stomach.
Miranda squealed despite herself, for yes, as Donna’s lover, she had been making the most incongruous noises of late. Before she spilt them, she set the glasses of wine on a side table.
Donna shushed her lover‘s loud complaint, and Miranda threw her an accusatory glare. Grinning, and looking more than slightly predatory, the blond dragged her girlfriend up three flights of stairs to the master bedroom. With a look that could only be described as lascivious, Miranda locked the door behind them.
Loving had become so easy between them, the months since their unlikely kiss on the Central Park skating rink seemed to flow together, to merge into one long session of embraces, sensual passion, and now, amidst warm kisses and disjointed groping, they undressed each other quickly, both eager to make the future their present.
They were moving all at once, lips pressing, sucking, latching onto aching nipples. Legs entwined, hands grabbed hold of anything they could. Fingers stroked, delved, reached back to mouths to taste. Who was on top, on the bottom- they could scarcely tell the difference.
Miranda was teasing her lover now, sweeping her fingers lightly through folds, and Donna’s hips moved towards the elusive touch; she keened.
As if offering bribery- she eagerly slid a hand between Miranda’s soft thighs and cupped her cunt. Miranda sighed, head lolling forwards.
“Together,” Donna urged, and sunk gratefully onto the revisiting fingers, grinding her clit against the palm of the other woman’s hand.
Miranda whimpered, then. Donna was at it, touching her so fucking right, and they dissolved into a sleek, writhing knot, surging against one another, nipples kissing.
“I’m close baby,” Donna sighed.
“Wait for me-” Miranda murmured, hips twisting, back arching.
Donna could hardly breathe. With a free hand, she pressed into the small of Miranda’s back, crushing her lover closer, their whole bodies fucking each other. Miranda moaned, a sound which began deep in her throat, a purring, desperate growl.
“Come with me,” Donna entreated, nibbling at Miranda’s lower lip, hips surging forwards, begging.
Overwhelmed, Miranda pulled Donna’s face to hers, a handful of soft hair her only purchase until their mouths connected. With a whimper against forgiving, smiling lips, Miranda, for once in her life, did as she was told, and the pair pressed together, a moment fractured, frozen in pleasure.
And then breath came, and slow undulations in the ebb of orgasms passed, and Donna pulled her lover down, to snuggle against her breasts.
“That was-” Miranda began, still gasping.
“Mhmm,” Donna hummed, running lazy fingers through platinum waves.
“Exactly.” The editor sighed, wrapping her hand possessively around the curve of a hip. “How do you do that?”
Donna shifted, and rolled over to face Miranda, tracing a finger down the sweet path of a laugh line. “Last year, a certain underground spring of some repute blew a great big fucking hole in the courtyard of my villa. I was drenched.” Miranda raised an eyebrow, confused. “I’m a walking Aphrodite, baby,” the blond clarified.
“Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” offered the fashionista, smirking.
Donna made an unimpressed face, and poked her lover in the ribs. “Latin, gorgeous? You must have me confused with someone who finished high school.”
“Fine," Miranda continued quixotically, trailing her fingers across her lover‘s spine, under her arm, to rest gently under the swell of her breast. "Uck-fay e-may owly-slay,”
Donna muffled a chuckle behind her hand. “While I am disinclined,” she began, adopting a rather familiar tone, while straddling her lover, “to acquiesce to your request, given the implications of the language shift, I fear I have no choice but to give in to your immodest suggestion.”
Miranda giggled as the gentle fingers traveled down her stomach, inside her thigh.
Donna paused, thoughtful. “What did you say, anyway?”
“What?” Miranda asked, leaning up on her elbows, her silver hair rebelling in about seven directions. “The latin?” Donna nodded, refusing to move her fingers until she was given an answer.
Miranda smiled, quirking an eyebrow. Tenderly, her hand smoothed sweaty, flyaway strands of golden hair, and cradled Donna‘s face in her palm. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”
“Brat,” the blond woman offered fondly, before leaning down and latching her lips around her lover’s still throbbing clit. Miranda sighed blissfully and sunk back into the pillows.