Fandom: Damages crossover with The Devil Wears Prada
Pairing/s: Patty/Ellen, Miranda/Andrea (mostly implied)
Summary: A fashion accessory, a call between Miranda Priestly & Patty Hewes , and an encounter between Patty and Ellen. Takes place post-DWP film and post-Season 3 of Damages.
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. In my world, it is completely probable for Miranda and Patricia to be related (too many similarities to be coincidence). Beta credits and immense gratitude go to sheknowsnofear. (She rocks.) Errors that remain are my own. Bon appétit~

The Belt

"Patricia, did I acquire a degree in psychiatry that even I'm unaware of?"

"Excuse me?" Patty bit out as she ran her free hand through her hair, tucking a few blonde strands behind her ear. She leaned back where she sat, feet curling up under her on the plush sofa. A look of irritation settled on the too-quickly emptied glass of Scotch on the end table.

"I'm tired of hearing about this Ellen Parsons and the laundry list of reasons for why you can't pursue her. You over-analyze everything. Make a decision on the matter and be done with it."

"And you are a shining example of decisiveness? That's bullshit."

There was a long pause and Patty wondered for a moment if she had gone too far. Miranda's dislike of profanities extended even to her cousin. Nonetheless, the two women were far more open with each other than they were with anyone else in their family – something that had developed slowly over the years, without any clear starting point or desired goal. Patty was about to hang up, thinking Miranda had disconnected, when a snort broke the silence.

She replied, "You didn't make any effort to pursue Andrea. She left you, she came back to you, and she pursued you."

"There is a significant age difference between us. Besides, I met her while I was still married to Stephen. And, she was an employee. I couldn't pursue her."

"It's exactly the same situation between Ellen and I. Which is why I thought you might be able to provide insight. Instead, I get a brilliance equitable to Dr. Phil."

Miranda now leaned back, as Patty had done several minutes before, tucking a leg under her as she resettled in her favorite wingback chair. The cell phone was clasped in her right hand while her left thumb absent-mindedly rubbed against the bare skin at the base of her ring finger.

"You have something in common with couch potatoes who watch pop psychologists: inactivity. Shut up, get over yourself and go after her. How many times must I repeat myself?"

"Did you forget that Ellen pointed a loaded gun at me – which she subsequently fired? And you want me to pursue her?" Patty's already fair complexion paled a little at the memory of that confrontation.

"She obviously has passionate feelings for you. Although her aim left something to be desired." A wry smile graced Miranda's features.

"Well, she is direct. Not like Andrea, slinking away from you in Paris."

"That's striking below the belt."

"I would never do that. Isn't it Andrea's job to go below your belt? And your dress. And your slip. And –" A cough from the other end of the line gave her pause. "You get the idea." Patty's thin lips pulled back in a wicked grin as she pictured the blush that surely would be coloring her cousin's otherwise alabaster cheeks at that moment.

"Mmm. Well, you do have a point. Andrea is delightful…" Miranda trailed off, eyes momentarily unfocused. "Patricia, you and I both follow the beat of our own drummer. Listen to yours for once and stop borrowing mine."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to mimic the actions of a woman with three failed marriages to her name." Patty restlessly toyed with her empty glass, casting a glance towards the small wet bar.

"By the way, I've sent over a few more of those Lagerfeld oxfords you adore. They really do suit you." Miranda shifted in her chair, rubbing her neck.

"The ones with the high collars? Wonderful." Whenever a conversation got too sensitive, one or the other inevitably changed the subject – often to fashion. The line was quiet at both ends for a moment longer.

A gentle knocking sound that echoed through Patty's penthouse unit saved them from trying to think of anything else to discuss. "I have to go. Someone's at the door."

Miranda clicked off the line before Patty could say goodbye. The blonde smiled just a little as she shook her head and placed the cordless phone on the arm of the sofa. With slow steps, she made her way to the front door, silently cursing the tingle in her legs from her earlier sitting position.

"Hey, Patty."

Opening the door wider, she let in her dark-haired protégé, watching the sway of her derrière under a navy blue form-fitting skirt. A white, scoop-neck blouse and a wide, red belt completed Ellen's outfit; her curves and the fit of fine fabric was not lost on Patty's roaming eyes.

"I almost forgot you were coming by again this evening," Patty lied.

"Oh. Would you like me to go?" Inquisitive eyes blinked, long lashes fluttering innocently.

"No. What is that?" Patty gestured to the plastic garment bag crinkling in Ellen's hand.

"Oh. I met the dry cleaning delivery guy downstairs."

The two moved towards the kitchen, Ellen hanging the bag on a closet handle in the entry way as they walked past. She looked on as Patty went about opening a dusty bottle of Merlot sitting on the counter. That it, and two red wine glasses had been sitting there, waiting, caused Ellen to smile – evidence that Patty had remembered she would be by.

The older woman's power suit and strong personality contradicted her pale complexion and compact frame, drawing the younger woman in like a moth to a flame. Despite the age difference and the fact that Patty Hewes was clearly of the same gender, there was no mistaking the hunger in Ellen's gaze as she followed every movement her hostess made.

The cork slid cleanly from the bottle's neck. "It's going to need to breathe a little. What would you like to eat?"

"Is there still some cheese from the other night?"

Ellen beat her to the stainless steel fridge. With a developing familiarity, she opened a bin, pulling out several small plastic containers. As she handed a few to her former employer, their fingers brushed. Patty involuntarily shivered at the contact.

"Are you cold?" Concern laced the brunette's voice as she pulled her head out of the cool white interior to look into the grey eyes just a foot away. Getting no response, verbal or otherwise, Ellen pushed the bin closed, shut the fridge door, and moved in closer to the other woman. Patty's perfume hung in the air between them, mixing with the faint scents of Stilton and Camembert.

Without pausing to consider the possible fallout, Patty clasped Ellen's waist and pulled her in. Ellen stiffened as arms gently slid around her back. Patty mentally chided herself and made to pull away. In that moment of pure panic, she almost didn't notice the shift in her companion. Ellen melted into her, pulling Patty back into the embrace. The two women held each other for several minutes, Patty's hands gently resting at the base of shoulder blades. Ellen pressed one hand against the soft material at Patty's hip, running her opposite palm around to the crest of a buttock.

There was a gentle brush of lips to Ellen's neck, and the younger woman reflexively let her hand fall several inches to cup Patty's ass, pushing their hips together as she tilted her pelvis forward.

Patty responded instantly, biting into a collarbone. The action elicited a small cry of surprise mingled with desire. The older woman's body was suddenly on fire, and it was certainly no hot flash.

Ellen quietly turned Patty around while undoing the wide belt from around her own waist. She used the red material to tie the older woman's hands behind her back, the movements sure, grip firm. Patty's pulse quickened with a mixture of fear and lust. She was spun back around and pressed up against the cool, stainless steel appliance. Her gaze ran up the disheveled countenance before her, taking in everything through widening pupils.

It was the swirl of desire swimming in Ellen's own chestnut-tinted irises that completely undid her, caused her to involuntarily groan. She was rewarded by strong, slender fingers unbuttoning her blouse, followed by the release of bra clasp. Cool fingertips began a slow, tortuous glide up her sides, over her ribs. A palm pressed against the underside of Patty's breast, sliding aside the soft fabric as an erect nipple was pinched between thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God," she rasped.

"No. Ellen," came the mirth-filled voice in her ear. A hand rose, tangled in her hair. She studied the face before her, breathing in the warm air Ellen had just exhaled. Their lips met in a hungry kiss. Patty nipped along the plump lips before tongues tangled in a battle for control. She could feel, somewhere below her navel, the sensation of a building orgasm. A faint tremor building as fingers kneaded her breast and passionate kisses brought her closer and closer to the brink.

Patty pulled back sharply, head almost whacking the surface behind her and surprising Ellen with the sudden motion.

"Shit. Why did you stop?"

"Like the wine, I needed to breathe."

The next morning, Patty sent Miranda a short email. One line, in fact:

'I don't know about Andrea, but Ellen does marvelous things with the belt.'