Ficlets - WC, Leverage, SPN, Burn Notice, Firefly
Some fics I found that I realized I had not posted. Most are for comment_fic or when 5 Acts was going around. I thought I would round them up for Valentine's day, since a couple are schmoopy and all are slashy or OT3-y.
Ficlets include:
WC OT3
WC/Leverage crack, Parker and Neal friendship (and why Peter doesn't like it)
Burn Notice, Michael/Victor kink ficlet
Leverage, Parker/Hardison/Eliot, cracky schmoopy story about Parker and Hardison wooing Eliot
Supernatural, cracky Dean/Cas Valentine's fic (mostly they bicker)
Firefly, Mal/Simon with a hurt/comfort vibe
I also just did a fill for Elr's fest here, and there are many great fills from people there - it's all about imagining White Collar characters writing slash :D http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/120215.html
Fics:
White Collar, for the prompt Neal/El/Peter, I see you, I hear you, I touch you
Neal's eyes, so startling blue that it's hard to look away. They're so stark and beautiful that it's easy to forget those eyes have a way of seeing what others don't. It's easy to forget they observe anything a con artist might need to know - fears, desires, needs. They trust him, now, to use those eyes to see the good in them, to see chances to build a future with them. But they try to be careful, to make sure he isn't left out when they share some comfortable private joke, or when their affection comes just a little bit easier with each other than with him. They are careful, because they know he notices everything, they know those eyes are always taking in more information.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes, Neal nibbles on Elizabeth's earlobes, softly, with his lips covering his teeth, just as he has seen Peter do so many times before.
She hums a light smile and he wants to whisper things in her ear, wants to tell her that she's so beautiful he's sometimes scared to touch her, wants to tell her that if he can stop himself from running then he wants to sleep on her breasts forever. Instead, he whispers, "Want to stay in tonight?"
She looks up at him, eyes narrowed, and Neal suddenly remembers that Elizabeth hears everything. She hears the unspoken words, in every pause, in every distraction, Elizabeth hears the truth that people mean to speak but can't.
Neal swallows, terrified - irrationally he know.
But she smiles and says, "I think we can manage that," just a hint of gentle tease to her voice.
Neal smiles back, small and honest and relieved. He tells himself to remember to be more careful next time. Even as some small part of him is grateful - entirely, burstingly grateful - for what she can hear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peter's hands are Neal's favorite part of his body.
Okay, second favorite.
Fine, a close third.
The point is, Peter's hands are everything Neal loves in a man's hands. Strong and large but not overly so. Neal kisses them sometimes, as Peter sleeps, lips to each fingertip. Sometimes, he asks Peter to cover his mouth during sex, so Neal can suck on Peter's palm as he feels Peter move inside him.
They wouldn't have gotten together without Peter's hands. They revealed a side to Peter that Neal didn't even imagine was there, a suave and knowing delicacy directing all that power and vitality and intelligence, softening it just the right amount. Neal thought El was terrific, and of course he always had some unrequited lust for Peter, but it wasn't until he saw Peter say good bye to El one morning, Peter's hands moving up the curve of Elizabeth's hip, El letting out a soft moan against her will, that Neal knew he wanted them. Wanted them badly enough to risk anything to be with them.
Of course, even as those hands enticed him, they also scared the hell out of him. Those hands seemed to know things about Neal's body that Neal didn't even know himself, and when Peter was lost in the moment, when Peter was just letting his hands wander wherever they wanted over Neal's naked body, they always seemed to know exactly where to go, exactly what to do. They would survey Neal's back, sweeping across, pausing knowingly whenever Neal tensed up, even a little. And Neal Caffrey, con extraordinaire, was good at making his feelings, his reactions, imperceptible, but none of his defenses were designed to resist the investigations of Peter's hands on his skin, feeling every motion, every goosebump, every hint of sweat or fear or want, every memory his body revealed that his words would never tell. Peter touched him, and Neal's body revealed its secrets.
Even more than what Elizabeth could hear, this scared him.
But as he figured out long ago, there's nothing he wouldn't risk.
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Cracky Leverage/White Collar ficlet: Neal and Parker are old friends, written for comment_fic.
Peter groaned. Neal's old friends were always good at things that one had no legal reason to be good at.
Also, they were strange.
This one, more than most, it seemed.
Even Neal gave him a little apologetic shrug when Parker heard Neal was a consultant and squealed, "Cool! I pretend to be an FBI agent all the time!! Do you know McSweetin?"
Not to mention the way they smirked when they talked about the "totally, real, still there and completely authentic" Ruby Crown at the Met that Parker found "not as heavy as I assumed."
And Peter about had a heart attack when they started casually discussing the most "fun" ways of jumping off a roof.
And then of course there was the fact that Neal let her try on the hat. Neal doesn't let anyone try the hat.
The whole thing was just... weird.
Like looking at a Neal-twin, who was female and blonde and worse at social contact than Mozzie.
It was disturbing. It was dangerous.
It meant nothing good.
Peter explains all this to Elizabeth as they set the table for four, as they can hear Neal in the next room, convincing Parker that Satchmo isn't scary and most definitely has never eaten an aardvark, and Peter really, really didn't want to know where that question came from.
Elizabeth smiled, just a hair too kind to be considered mockery, and asked, "And where in all this panic did you invite her over?"
Peter mumbled, "You know how it is with Neal..."
El laughed and folded her arms. "No, tell me."
Peter shrugged. "Neal asked if she could come to dinner too, and Parker just sort of ... lit up. And she said that she's never been invited to dinner by someone who wasn't a criminal before."
El laughed again. "So you're going to reform her with manicotti and Caesar salad?"
"No, I just - it's like if Neal were awful - truly awful - at conning, and ... El, it's not funny."
"You think they're adorable!" she grinned.
"No, I think they're thieves. And Neal is impossible! And Parker is just... weird! And -- they're both--"
El raised an eyebrow.
"Fine. They're adorable."
El smiled and said, "I think so too," and then called out that the table was ready.
As they walked in, Parker handed Elizabeth her earrings back. "I didn't mean to take them, it was just practice," she said nervously.
"I didn't even realize they fell out," El said, smiling to put Parker at ease.
"Fell out," Parker snorted and then handed Peter his wallet.
"Isn't she charming?" Neal grinned.
"Yes, very," El and Peter said at the same time. El's response, Peter noted with chagrin, wasn't sarcastic.
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Burn Notice, Michael/Victor pwp, for the prompt of hands tied behind ones back + "surrender"
Victor's torso moved quickly, up and down as he gasped for breath. He was bent over Michael's bed, hands bound behind him.
Michael had found him like that. Found him bound, saved his life, then decided it would be fun to let Victor ride all the way home with his arms behind his back, long black cords woven from his hands up to his elbows.
Michael loved control.
It wasn't news to Victor, but somehow Michael always found a way to surprise him. With how much he liked being in control. And how badly he wanted to see Victor lose control.
Michael was working him, using his hands, his fingers in ways that showed how well he had been paying attention to every moan Victor had ever let pass his lips. He was playing with Victor, playing his body, getting him closer and closer and then denying him that last move that would set him off. He did this again and again and again.
And all Victor could do (wanted to do) was let him. All he could (wanted) to do was bend over Michael's bed and feel the strain of his arms behind his back and feel the sensations of Michael's hands on him, building and building until Victor wanted nothing more than to give Michael everything, to beg and plead and to barely even know whether he was begging for Michael to stop or begging for Michael to do more.
On the job, it was always Michael who was willing to engage in a strategic surrender. It was always Victor who preferred to push and push the limits and never mind the consequences.
When they were alone, though, just Michael's hands and Victor's moans, it was different. In those moments, it was Michael who rushed in, it was Michael who pushed and pushed and pushed some more. And it was Victor who savored the lushness, the desperate white heat, of surrender.
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Leverage Parker/Hardison/Eliot, for the prompt "wooing". This is VERY cracky and schmoopy both
It started when Eliot woke up to a giant pink heart-shaped diamond on his nightstand.
He wasn't sure what made him angriest: the fact that someone broke into his place, the fact that he didn't wake up, the fact that he had some weird secret admirer, the fact that said secret admirer seemed to think he could buy Eliot's ass with jewels, or the fact that the diamond was pink. After realizing the last reason was stupid, Eliot decided to focus his rage on the first four.
This had happened before. Some rich dangerous man who hired Eliot decided that they liked the way Eliot said "Yes, sir," or they liked the way he handled himself in hand-to-hand, and soon it was expensive gifts everywhere he turned. As if a man like Eliot could be turned into a kept boy.
This must be from some old contact, Eliot decided. But the fact that they found his home address, could break in without detection - that wasn't good.
They weren't working a job, so Eliot showed up at Hardison's place, swore him to secrecy, and asked him if he could hack into some traffic cams to see who broke into his place last night. When Hardison looked worried (after all, what scared Eliot?) Eliot had to come clean and explain that it was just a misguided suitor that Eliot would have to set straight.
He showed Hardison the diamond to prove his point.
Hardison started laughing.
"Dude, if you say one word about it being pink-"
"Eliot, you think I'm laughing because of the color?"
"What's so funny then" Eliot grumbled.
"Nothing. Just, you know what? I will look into this. You just keep track of everything these people send you, and we'll all figure it out. Promise."
Eliot growled something that was almost like a thank you and headed home.
He found the latest videogame system in his living room waiting for him.
He called Hardison and bitched for half an hour that some stalker not only broke in AGAIN but thought he was some kind of geek.
"But you like some videogames, El," Hardison said.
"Not the point! Some ass I hardly know doesn't know that about me! He's probably some dick who thinks that just because he's a warlord, no one ever gets to say no to him."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's it. Listen, I'm on top of this. So just enjoy your present and we'll figure it out."
Eliot hung up angrily. But he did enjoy playing his new games.
That night he didn't sleep, just pretended to, waiting to see if someone would break in. In the morning, he was pleased that he had heard nothing all night. But when he went to get his coffee, the coffee bag had a roll of hundreds in it.
He called Hardison but Hardison didn't answer. Probably playing on the computer or being all lovey dovey with his insane girlfriend, Eliot thought. Not that he felt left out when they were like that. Why would he?
But he went over to Hardison's place anyway. What kind of expert operator could break in while Eliot was AWAKE and not be noticed?
But when he got to his car... it was... not his car.
It was some wierd environmentally sound vehicle that was considerably more expensive and considerably less cool looking than his classic Mustang.
When he looked down at his keys, he realized that the key on the keychain had been replaced.
They broke in and changed his key, Eliot realized. His keychain was in his BEDROOM.
He called Hardison again, and as he was about to leave a very angry obscenity-laden message, the hacker finally answered.
"El, what's up?"
"What's up? You're asking me what's up? I got a car, Hardison! Some douchebag left me a car! And money in my coffee!"
"But you've been saying you wanted a car that uses less gas."
"I didn't mean it! Besides, how would this douchebag know that?"
"Good question. Do you like the color, by the way?"
"Yeah, the color's fine but - " Eliot stopped when he heard Parker giggling in the background.
Why would she be laughing?
And was that... Hardison trying to cover up his own laughs?
Why would -
"HARDISON!!! PARKER!!! DID YOU DO THIS!????"
"No," said Parker, grabbing the phone, "Obviously it's some mercenary king who wants your hot ass!"
"I have been trying to find out who was compromising the security of my home and you've pretended to-"
"Like I said, El, we figured it out eventually. Took you long enough, though."
Eliot stopped fuming long enough to ask, "Why? Why would you pretend to be seducing me? WHY?"
Parker's voice sounded small suddenly as he heard her ask Hardison, sadly, "Eliot thinks we were just pretending? He didn't like the gifts?"
"Dude, if you don't like them-"
"I like them," Eliot said, even as he HATED himself for giving in so quickly. He sighed. "I like the gifts. I just didn't think -- I mean, I assumed you were happy together."
"We are. We're actually pretty good at this relationship thing," Parker said.
"Much to our surprise," Alec added.
"Everyone's surprise," Eliot mumbled.
"That's why we think you should join us," Parker continued, "So you can be happy too."
"I AM happy," Eliot growled.
"No, seriously," Parker said, and Hardison laughed.
"So maybe we're not the best at seduction," he said.
Eliot thought back to the gifts. "I guess you're not THAT bad."
"So you like them?" Parker asked.
"They're okay," Eliot mumbled.
"The pink diamond is for you to wear in your hair," Parker said.
"Not happening."
Parker ignored him and said, "And the money is to roll around in during sex."
Eliot paused.
"I don't hear a no," Hardions teased.
"Fine, fine, but I want my old car back."
"As long as you keep the new one."
"Fine."
"And you play videogames once a month," Alec added.
"Fine."
"And we keep our lines of communication open and we all try to make one another feel secure in what we have," Alec continued.
"Fine," Eliot growled.
"And we get to spank you," Parker added, before Hardison quickly, said, "Ah, Parker, that's one of the things we can talk about later."
"So are you coming over Eliot? Or do we have to get you more stuff?" Parker asked.
Eliot sighed. "I don't need gifts," he said. He wanted to get that clear right away.
"Good, see you soon then," Parker said and hung up.
Eliot was confused for a second. He was pretty sure he hadn't actually said yes.
But, honestly, he probably would have.
If only stop those morons from breaking into his house again.
Though, actually, now that he thought of it, probably the only that could stop a team made up of Hardison and Parker from breaking in where they wanted to would be to keep an eye on them. To sleep with one of them in each arm was probably going to be the only way to maintain the security of his home.
He got in his new doucebaggy car and figured it out as quickly as he could. He had people waiting for him.
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Supernatural, Dean/Cas. SUPER CRACKY Dean/Cas Valentine's fic (I actually wrote it a month ago though). Really, really cracky. For the prompt "the stupidest argument they ever had."
"It went like this:
Dean asked Cas what he wanted to do for Valentine's Day, and Cas started talking about how holidays are all secularized. And Dean was all, 'Fine, ruin Valentine's Day. But you'd better not get me candy hearts that taste like chalk.'
Cas was all, 'Why would you eat chalk?'
And Dean was all, 'You know, those candy hearts, that say things like "U R Cool" with the letters U and R.'
'So these are candy hearts that text message you?' Cas said.
'No, they're little candy hearts that kids give to - never mind.'
'Dean I do not understand why you persist in making references I could not possibly understand.'
'Sorry, but it's frustrating.'
'Yes, you are very frustrating but that does not answer the question.'
'No, it's frustrating that you don't know human stuff.'
'I have known love and anger and despair and weakness and mortality and I should think that is more important than chalky hearts.'
'Fine, sorry Cas, no need to get your panties in a twist.'
'I am not wearing panties. I no longer have the power to make panties immediately appear after your request, Dean. If you want me to wear panties then you will need to make a request in a timely matter so provisions can be made.'
'Provisions? What kind of provisions?'
'The obtainment of funds and the selection and purchase -"
'Fine, whatever. I didn't mean- that's not the point. It's just you don't seem to care very much about learning human ways.'
'I have researched many of the things you call 'human ways,' Dean, and have found that only a very small percentage of people think that the music of AC/DC is a fundamental part of the human condition. Granted, there is a much larger portion who think that Star Wars is, but it is still small in number and very much based on location and generation.'
'So? AC/DC rocks. So does Star Wars.'
'No, Dean. I have researched them on the Internet and have concluded that they both, to some degree, suck balls. Which, apparently, is considered a way of expressing negativity. Why exactly would people on the Internet think that it's a bad thing to have one's balls sucked?'
'It's an expression, Cas, okay? Wait, did you just say that my music and movies suck balls?'
'If that means that I do not understand their appeal, then yes. But why do I need to understand any of this to be human? Why do I need to know about your music and your candy shaped like livers and hearts?' Cas sighed in frustration.
'Excuse me for wanting us to do something romantic for Valentine's Day. I assumed YOU would want to.'
'Why? I don't understand romance.'
'What do you mean you don't understand romance?'
'From what I can see, romance is just pretending that one is trying to seduce someone even though a sexual relationship has already been established.'
'So what, you think I'm a sure thing? Just because we've been dated for a while?' Dean asked, seeming to be genuinely offended.
'Dean, I believe you have always been a "sure thing" for everyone who has offered sexual relations with you.'
'Did you just call me a man-slut?'
'What is a man-slut?' Cas asked.
'A guy who humps everything.'
'Everything in the universe?'
'No, just a guy who humps all the time.'
'Oh. Yes, you are a man-slut. Is it really necessary for me to know this term?'
'You shouldn't call me that at all!'
'I didn't. You did. Why are you upset?' Cas asked.
'You can't just say things like that to people!!!'
'Oh. Is this one of those "man" things? Like I'm not allowed to say "You cry a lot," or "Sometimes I imagine your penis is larger?" or "Your cum tastes terrible"?'
'YOU GUYS HAVE GOT TO START HAVING THESE ARGUMENTS IN PRIVATE!!!! I CAN'T LISTEN TO THIS!!!!' Sam finally yelled, covering his ears and running out.
'Why is Sam acting like such a little bitch?' Cas asked.
'That's exactly what I was about to say,' Dean said.
And then they grinned. And just like that, they forgot why they ever argued in the first place and had make-up sex in Sam's bed while he was out. But all in all, that was probably the stupidest argument they ever had."
Chuck smiled as he looked at the crowd at the Supernatural convention. The woman who had asked the question then repeated, "But my question was, how do they celebrate Valentine's Day."
"Oh. They went out to dinner and then watched some porn," Chuck said.
"Thank you," she said, and sat back down, whispering to the person next to her, "The author is not at all what I expected."
At the back of the room, Sam glared at Dean and Cas. "I KNEW those were different sheets than when I left," Sam grumbled.
"That was very interesting to hear from a third party how antagonistic you are," Cas observed.
"Me? What about you? You're like the Energizer Bunny of saying horrible things," Dean said.
"Well, you are the Jenna Jamison of rubbing cum all over your stomach," Cas said.
"That's not how analogies work," Dean said.
"I need to go wash out my ears," Sam mumbled, as Chuck continued to ramble to a crowd of strangers about their innermost secrets, while his brother and his brother's angelboyfriend bickered about pop culture while talking explicitly about their sex life.
Sam was beginning to miss the Pit.
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Firefly, Mal/Simon, hurt/comfort, post-bdm
Mal knew, after everything, they would leave. The life he led, no roots, not nothing, wasn't the life that kept people. Kaylee found a great life on some planet with soil that grew strawberries like they were weeds; she ran an engineering school with her husband and kids. When Zoe and Inara found each other, Mal had ordered them to leave the ship and make a better life for themselves. Inara thought he was being a gracious ex, but truth is, Mal did it for Zoe. She was too loyal to leave Serenity but too good a soldier to refuse and order, so if Zoe was going to get a chance at happiness after Wash, then Mal was making damn sure she took it.
So for the longest time, it was River, Jayne, Simon, and him. But when the girl decided that she needed to spread her wings, not rot on a rickety ship under the constant watch of big brother, she made a fortune gambling and bought her own ship. She hired Jayne to be her head of security with a big sack of gold coin, and as she left, she winked at the now two-man crew of Serenity, and said, "You boys enjoy yourselves."
Mal knew that his crew would dwindle down to almost nothing. He was grateful that is was mostly with leavings and not killings, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before his ship got emptier and emptier. There's only so much a hollow hunk of metal can do to keep people together, especially people that got better options.
Which is why Mal in a million years would never have guessed that it would come down to him and Simon.
Mal told him once to leave. Simon answered that if Mal found a crew that stuck around for six months, then he would get out of Mal's hair. They both knew that Mal wouldn't settle for anyone less than his old crew, though, so that was as good as telling Mal to go rut himself, since Simon didn't intend on going anywhere.
Mal wasn't sure why the doctor was there. The man had taken to providing free medical treatment to the planets they did business on. But he seemed to like not having to make long term commitments to anything other than the ship. Didn't seem interested in setting up some profitable practice somewhere.
That's what Mal figured, anyway.
Or maybe, Mal sometimes thought when he heard the nightmares Simon woke from (since Mal was awake from his own anyway), Simon wasn't ready to join the world yet. Maybe the two of them were just in retreat. They were strong when they had to be, but now the battle was over, they wanted to curl up in a place no one knew they were.
They wanted to be no one. Just two tiny bodies floating around in an old ship.
It worked, for them. Mal kept waiting for Simon to figure out he wanted to leave. Instead, Simon read books on ships mechanics and learned how to pilot. Turned out, Serenity did okay with a two-man crew (the money River sent Simon from her new businesses helped too).
So they took jobs but not the riskiest ones. And they travelled.
And they didn't say much to each other, never really talked about matters of import. Just got used to each other as the only company. Empty men, empty ship, empty black, empty conversations.
One trip, planetside on some lush green globe, they got caught in the rain in the middle of a field they were walking (smuggling) through.
A sudden storm, and they were soaking wet, running in the wet dirt to the nearest dry spot under some trees.
As they huddled to stay out of the wash of pouring water, Mal noticed Simon shivering in his soaking clothes, nice shirt and jacket sopping against the outline of his muscles. Without thinking, he leaned in and grabbed Simon's face, kissed his lips.
Simon kissed back, a point of heat on his mouth amid the cold skin dripping with the rain still dripping from their hair.
Simon pushed away, looked up at him. "This won't fix us, you know," he said, and he seemed old, suddenly, so much older than the smug boy Mal let on his ship years ago.
"Don't care," Mal mumbled and kissed him again, urgent. This time, Simon moved his hand up to Mal's head, ran his fingers through the back of Mal's hair, and grasped tight.
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Ficlets include:
WC OT3
WC/Leverage crack, Parker and Neal friendship (and why Peter doesn't like it)
Burn Notice, Michael/Victor kink ficlet
Leverage, Parker/Hardison/Eliot, cracky schmoopy story about Parker and Hardison wooing Eliot
Supernatural, cracky Dean/Cas Valentine's fic (mostly they bicker)
Firefly, Mal/Simon with a hurt/comfort vibe
I also just did a fill for Elr's fest here, and there are many great fills from people there - it's all about imagining White Collar characters writing slash :D http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/120215.html
Fics:
White Collar, for the prompt Neal/El/Peter, I see you, I hear you, I touch you
Neal's eyes, so startling blue that it's hard to look away. They're so stark and beautiful that it's easy to forget those eyes have a way of seeing what others don't. It's easy to forget they observe anything a con artist might need to know - fears, desires, needs. They trust him, now, to use those eyes to see the good in them, to see chances to build a future with them. But they try to be careful, to make sure he isn't left out when they share some comfortable private joke, or when their affection comes just a little bit easier with each other than with him. They are careful, because they know he notices everything, they know those eyes are always taking in more information.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes, Neal nibbles on Elizabeth's earlobes, softly, with his lips covering his teeth, just as he has seen Peter do so many times before.
She hums a light smile and he wants to whisper things in her ear, wants to tell her that she's so beautiful he's sometimes scared to touch her, wants to tell her that if he can stop himself from running then he wants to sleep on her breasts forever. Instead, he whispers, "Want to stay in tonight?"
She looks up at him, eyes narrowed, and Neal suddenly remembers that Elizabeth hears everything. She hears the unspoken words, in every pause, in every distraction, Elizabeth hears the truth that people mean to speak but can't.
Neal swallows, terrified - irrationally he know.
But she smiles and says, "I think we can manage that," just a hint of gentle tease to her voice.
Neal smiles back, small and honest and relieved. He tells himself to remember to be more careful next time. Even as some small part of him is grateful - entirely, burstingly grateful - for what she can hear.
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Peter's hands are Neal's favorite part of his body.
Okay, second favorite.
Fine, a close third.
The point is, Peter's hands are everything Neal loves in a man's hands. Strong and large but not overly so. Neal kisses them sometimes, as Peter sleeps, lips to each fingertip. Sometimes, he asks Peter to cover his mouth during sex, so Neal can suck on Peter's palm as he feels Peter move inside him.
They wouldn't have gotten together without Peter's hands. They revealed a side to Peter that Neal didn't even imagine was there, a suave and knowing delicacy directing all that power and vitality and intelligence, softening it just the right amount. Neal thought El was terrific, and of course he always had some unrequited lust for Peter, but it wasn't until he saw Peter say good bye to El one morning, Peter's hands moving up the curve of Elizabeth's hip, El letting out a soft moan against her will, that Neal knew he wanted them. Wanted them badly enough to risk anything to be with them.
Of course, even as those hands enticed him, they also scared the hell out of him. Those hands seemed to know things about Neal's body that Neal didn't even know himself, and when Peter was lost in the moment, when Peter was just letting his hands wander wherever they wanted over Neal's naked body, they always seemed to know exactly where to go, exactly what to do. They would survey Neal's back, sweeping across, pausing knowingly whenever Neal tensed up, even a little. And Neal Caffrey, con extraordinaire, was good at making his feelings, his reactions, imperceptible, but none of his defenses were designed to resist the investigations of Peter's hands on his skin, feeling every motion, every goosebump, every hint of sweat or fear or want, every memory his body revealed that his words would never tell. Peter touched him, and Neal's body revealed its secrets.
Even more than what Elizabeth could hear, this scared him.
But as he figured out long ago, there's nothing he wouldn't risk.
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Cracky Leverage/White Collar ficlet: Neal and Parker are old friends, written for comment_fic.
Peter groaned. Neal's old friends were always good at things that one had no legal reason to be good at.
Also, they were strange.
This one, more than most, it seemed.
Even Neal gave him a little apologetic shrug when Parker heard Neal was a consultant and squealed, "Cool! I pretend to be an FBI agent all the time!! Do you know McSweetin?"
Not to mention the way they smirked when they talked about the "totally, real, still there and completely authentic" Ruby Crown at the Met that Parker found "not as heavy as I assumed."
And Peter about had a heart attack when they started casually discussing the most "fun" ways of jumping off a roof.
And then of course there was the fact that Neal let her try on the hat. Neal doesn't let anyone try the hat.
The whole thing was just... weird.
Like looking at a Neal-twin, who was female and blonde and worse at social contact than Mozzie.
It was disturbing. It was dangerous.
It meant nothing good.
Peter explains all this to Elizabeth as they set the table for four, as they can hear Neal in the next room, convincing Parker that Satchmo isn't scary and most definitely has never eaten an aardvark, and Peter really, really didn't want to know where that question came from.
Elizabeth smiled, just a hair too kind to be considered mockery, and asked, "And where in all this panic did you invite her over?"
Peter mumbled, "You know how it is with Neal..."
El laughed and folded her arms. "No, tell me."
Peter shrugged. "Neal asked if she could come to dinner too, and Parker just sort of ... lit up. And she said that she's never been invited to dinner by someone who wasn't a criminal before."
El laughed again. "So you're going to reform her with manicotti and Caesar salad?"
"No, I just - it's like if Neal were awful - truly awful - at conning, and ... El, it's not funny."
"You think they're adorable!" she grinned.
"No, I think they're thieves. And Neal is impossible! And Parker is just... weird! And -- they're both--"
El raised an eyebrow.
"Fine. They're adorable."
El smiled and said, "I think so too," and then called out that the table was ready.
As they walked in, Parker handed Elizabeth her earrings back. "I didn't mean to take them, it was just practice," she said nervously.
"I didn't even realize they fell out," El said, smiling to put Parker at ease.
"Fell out," Parker snorted and then handed Peter his wallet.
"Isn't she charming?" Neal grinned.
"Yes, very," El and Peter said at the same time. El's response, Peter noted with chagrin, wasn't sarcastic.
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Burn Notice, Michael/Victor pwp, for the prompt of hands tied behind ones back + "surrender"
Victor's torso moved quickly, up and down as he gasped for breath. He was bent over Michael's bed, hands bound behind him.
Michael had found him like that. Found him bound, saved his life, then decided it would be fun to let Victor ride all the way home with his arms behind his back, long black cords woven from his hands up to his elbows.
Michael loved control.
It wasn't news to Victor, but somehow Michael always found a way to surprise him. With how much he liked being in control. And how badly he wanted to see Victor lose control.
Michael was working him, using his hands, his fingers in ways that showed how well he had been paying attention to every moan Victor had ever let pass his lips. He was playing with Victor, playing his body, getting him closer and closer and then denying him that last move that would set him off. He did this again and again and again.
And all Victor could do (wanted to do) was let him. All he could (wanted) to do was bend over Michael's bed and feel the strain of his arms behind his back and feel the sensations of Michael's hands on him, building and building until Victor wanted nothing more than to give Michael everything, to beg and plead and to barely even know whether he was begging for Michael to stop or begging for Michael to do more.
On the job, it was always Michael who was willing to engage in a strategic surrender. It was always Victor who preferred to push and push the limits and never mind the consequences.
When they were alone, though, just Michael's hands and Victor's moans, it was different. In those moments, it was Michael who rushed in, it was Michael who pushed and pushed and pushed some more. And it was Victor who savored the lushness, the desperate white heat, of surrender.
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Leverage Parker/Hardison/Eliot, for the prompt "wooing". This is VERY cracky and schmoopy both
It started when Eliot woke up to a giant pink heart-shaped diamond on his nightstand.
He wasn't sure what made him angriest: the fact that someone broke into his place, the fact that he didn't wake up, the fact that he had some weird secret admirer, the fact that said secret admirer seemed to think he could buy Eliot's ass with jewels, or the fact that the diamond was pink. After realizing the last reason was stupid, Eliot decided to focus his rage on the first four.
This had happened before. Some rich dangerous man who hired Eliot decided that they liked the way Eliot said "Yes, sir," or they liked the way he handled himself in hand-to-hand, and soon it was expensive gifts everywhere he turned. As if a man like Eliot could be turned into a kept boy.
This must be from some old contact, Eliot decided. But the fact that they found his home address, could break in without detection - that wasn't good.
They weren't working a job, so Eliot showed up at Hardison's place, swore him to secrecy, and asked him if he could hack into some traffic cams to see who broke into his place last night. When Hardison looked worried (after all, what scared Eliot?) Eliot had to come clean and explain that it was just a misguided suitor that Eliot would have to set straight.
He showed Hardison the diamond to prove his point.
Hardison started laughing.
"Dude, if you say one word about it being pink-"
"Eliot, you think I'm laughing because of the color?"
"What's so funny then" Eliot grumbled.
"Nothing. Just, you know what? I will look into this. You just keep track of everything these people send you, and we'll all figure it out. Promise."
Eliot growled something that was almost like a thank you and headed home.
He found the latest videogame system in his living room waiting for him.
He called Hardison and bitched for half an hour that some stalker not only broke in AGAIN but thought he was some kind of geek.
"But you like some videogames, El," Hardison said.
"Not the point! Some ass I hardly know doesn't know that about me! He's probably some dick who thinks that just because he's a warlord, no one ever gets to say no to him."
"Yeah, I'm sure that's it. Listen, I'm on top of this. So just enjoy your present and we'll figure it out."
Eliot hung up angrily. But he did enjoy playing his new games.
That night he didn't sleep, just pretended to, waiting to see if someone would break in. In the morning, he was pleased that he had heard nothing all night. But when he went to get his coffee, the coffee bag had a roll of hundreds in it.
He called Hardison but Hardison didn't answer. Probably playing on the computer or being all lovey dovey with his insane girlfriend, Eliot thought. Not that he felt left out when they were like that. Why would he?
But he went over to Hardison's place anyway. What kind of expert operator could break in while Eliot was AWAKE and not be noticed?
But when he got to his car... it was... not his car.
It was some wierd environmentally sound vehicle that was considerably more expensive and considerably less cool looking than his classic Mustang.
When he looked down at his keys, he realized that the key on the keychain had been replaced.
They broke in and changed his key, Eliot realized. His keychain was in his BEDROOM.
He called Hardison again, and as he was about to leave a very angry obscenity-laden message, the hacker finally answered.
"El, what's up?"
"What's up? You're asking me what's up? I got a car, Hardison! Some douchebag left me a car! And money in my coffee!"
"But you've been saying you wanted a car that uses less gas."
"I didn't mean it! Besides, how would this douchebag know that?"
"Good question. Do you like the color, by the way?"
"Yeah, the color's fine but - " Eliot stopped when he heard Parker giggling in the background.
Why would she be laughing?
And was that... Hardison trying to cover up his own laughs?
Why would -
"HARDISON!!! PARKER!!! DID YOU DO THIS!????"
"No," said Parker, grabbing the phone, "Obviously it's some mercenary king who wants your hot ass!"
"I have been trying to find out who was compromising the security of my home and you've pretended to-"
"Like I said, El, we figured it out eventually. Took you long enough, though."
Eliot stopped fuming long enough to ask, "Why? Why would you pretend to be seducing me? WHY?"
Parker's voice sounded small suddenly as he heard her ask Hardison, sadly, "Eliot thinks we were just pretending? He didn't like the gifts?"
"Dude, if you don't like them-"
"I like them," Eliot said, even as he HATED himself for giving in so quickly. He sighed. "I like the gifts. I just didn't think -- I mean, I assumed you were happy together."
"We are. We're actually pretty good at this relationship thing," Parker said.
"Much to our surprise," Alec added.
"Everyone's surprise," Eliot mumbled.
"That's why we think you should join us," Parker continued, "So you can be happy too."
"I AM happy," Eliot growled.
"No, seriously," Parker said, and Hardison laughed.
"So maybe we're not the best at seduction," he said.
Eliot thought back to the gifts. "I guess you're not THAT bad."
"So you like them?" Parker asked.
"They're okay," Eliot mumbled.
"The pink diamond is for you to wear in your hair," Parker said.
"Not happening."
Parker ignored him and said, "And the money is to roll around in during sex."
Eliot paused.
"I don't hear a no," Hardions teased.
"Fine, fine, but I want my old car back."
"As long as you keep the new one."
"Fine."
"And you play videogames once a month," Alec added.
"Fine."
"And we keep our lines of communication open and we all try to make one another feel secure in what we have," Alec continued.
"Fine," Eliot growled.
"And we get to spank you," Parker added, before Hardison quickly, said, "Ah, Parker, that's one of the things we can talk about later."
"So are you coming over Eliot? Or do we have to get you more stuff?" Parker asked.
Eliot sighed. "I don't need gifts," he said. He wanted to get that clear right away.
"Good, see you soon then," Parker said and hung up.
Eliot was confused for a second. He was pretty sure he hadn't actually said yes.
But, honestly, he probably would have.
If only stop those morons from breaking into his house again.
Though, actually, now that he thought of it, probably the only that could stop a team made up of Hardison and Parker from breaking in where they wanted to would be to keep an eye on them. To sleep with one of them in each arm was probably going to be the only way to maintain the security of his home.
He got in his new doucebaggy car and figured it out as quickly as he could. He had people waiting for him.
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Supernatural, Dean/Cas. SUPER CRACKY Dean/Cas Valentine's fic (I actually wrote it a month ago though). Really, really cracky. For the prompt "the stupidest argument they ever had."
"It went like this:
Dean asked Cas what he wanted to do for Valentine's Day, and Cas started talking about how holidays are all secularized. And Dean was all, 'Fine, ruin Valentine's Day. But you'd better not get me candy hearts that taste like chalk.'
Cas was all, 'Why would you eat chalk?'
And Dean was all, 'You know, those candy hearts, that say things like "U R Cool" with the letters U and R.'
'So these are candy hearts that text message you?' Cas said.
'No, they're little candy hearts that kids give to - never mind.'
'Dean I do not understand why you persist in making references I could not possibly understand.'
'Sorry, but it's frustrating.'
'Yes, you are very frustrating but that does not answer the question.'
'No, it's frustrating that you don't know human stuff.'
'I have known love and anger and despair and weakness and mortality and I should think that is more important than chalky hearts.'
'Fine, sorry Cas, no need to get your panties in a twist.'
'I am not wearing panties. I no longer have the power to make panties immediately appear after your request, Dean. If you want me to wear panties then you will need to make a request in a timely matter so provisions can be made.'
'Provisions? What kind of provisions?'
'The obtainment of funds and the selection and purchase -"
'Fine, whatever. I didn't mean- that's not the point. It's just you don't seem to care very much about learning human ways.'
'I have researched many of the things you call 'human ways,' Dean, and have found that only a very small percentage of people think that the music of AC/DC is a fundamental part of the human condition. Granted, there is a much larger portion who think that Star Wars is, but it is still small in number and very much based on location and generation.'
'So? AC/DC rocks. So does Star Wars.'
'No, Dean. I have researched them on the Internet and have concluded that they both, to some degree, suck balls. Which, apparently, is considered a way of expressing negativity. Why exactly would people on the Internet think that it's a bad thing to have one's balls sucked?'
'It's an expression, Cas, okay? Wait, did you just say that my music and movies suck balls?'
'If that means that I do not understand their appeal, then yes. But why do I need to understand any of this to be human? Why do I need to know about your music and your candy shaped like livers and hearts?' Cas sighed in frustration.
'Excuse me for wanting us to do something romantic for Valentine's Day. I assumed YOU would want to.'
'Why? I don't understand romance.'
'What do you mean you don't understand romance?'
'From what I can see, romance is just pretending that one is trying to seduce someone even though a sexual relationship has already been established.'
'So what, you think I'm a sure thing? Just because we've been dated for a while?' Dean asked, seeming to be genuinely offended.
'Dean, I believe you have always been a "sure thing" for everyone who has offered sexual relations with you.'
'Did you just call me a man-slut?'
'What is a man-slut?' Cas asked.
'A guy who humps everything.'
'Everything in the universe?'
'No, just a guy who humps all the time.'
'Oh. Yes, you are a man-slut. Is it really necessary for me to know this term?'
'You shouldn't call me that at all!'
'I didn't. You did. Why are you upset?' Cas asked.
'You can't just say things like that to people!!!'
'Oh. Is this one of those "man" things? Like I'm not allowed to say "You cry a lot," or "Sometimes I imagine your penis is larger?" or "Your cum tastes terrible"?'
'YOU GUYS HAVE GOT TO START HAVING THESE ARGUMENTS IN PRIVATE!!!! I CAN'T LISTEN TO THIS!!!!' Sam finally yelled, covering his ears and running out.
'Why is Sam acting like such a little bitch?' Cas asked.
'That's exactly what I was about to say,' Dean said.
And then they grinned. And just like that, they forgot why they ever argued in the first place and had make-up sex in Sam's bed while he was out. But all in all, that was probably the stupidest argument they ever had."
Chuck smiled as he looked at the crowd at the Supernatural convention. The woman who had asked the question then repeated, "But my question was, how do they celebrate Valentine's Day."
"Oh. They went out to dinner and then watched some porn," Chuck said.
"Thank you," she said, and sat back down, whispering to the person next to her, "The author is not at all what I expected."
At the back of the room, Sam glared at Dean and Cas. "I KNEW those were different sheets than when I left," Sam grumbled.
"That was very interesting to hear from a third party how antagonistic you are," Cas observed.
"Me? What about you? You're like the Energizer Bunny of saying horrible things," Dean said.
"Well, you are the Jenna Jamison of rubbing cum all over your stomach," Cas said.
"That's not how analogies work," Dean said.
"I need to go wash out my ears," Sam mumbled, as Chuck continued to ramble to a crowd of strangers about their innermost secrets, while his brother and his brother's angelboyfriend bickered about pop culture while talking explicitly about their sex life.
Sam was beginning to miss the Pit.
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Firefly, Mal/Simon, hurt/comfort, post-bdm
Mal knew, after everything, they would leave. The life he led, no roots, not nothing, wasn't the life that kept people. Kaylee found a great life on some planet with soil that grew strawberries like they were weeds; she ran an engineering school with her husband and kids. When Zoe and Inara found each other, Mal had ordered them to leave the ship and make a better life for themselves. Inara thought he was being a gracious ex, but truth is, Mal did it for Zoe. She was too loyal to leave Serenity but too good a soldier to refuse and order, so if Zoe was going to get a chance at happiness after Wash, then Mal was making damn sure she took it.
So for the longest time, it was River, Jayne, Simon, and him. But when the girl decided that she needed to spread her wings, not rot on a rickety ship under the constant watch of big brother, she made a fortune gambling and bought her own ship. She hired Jayne to be her head of security with a big sack of gold coin, and as she left, she winked at the now two-man crew of Serenity, and said, "You boys enjoy yourselves."
Mal knew that his crew would dwindle down to almost nothing. He was grateful that is was mostly with leavings and not killings, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before his ship got emptier and emptier. There's only so much a hollow hunk of metal can do to keep people together, especially people that got better options.
Which is why Mal in a million years would never have guessed that it would come down to him and Simon.
Mal told him once to leave. Simon answered that if Mal found a crew that stuck around for six months, then he would get out of Mal's hair. They both knew that Mal wouldn't settle for anyone less than his old crew, though, so that was as good as telling Mal to go rut himself, since Simon didn't intend on going anywhere.
Mal wasn't sure why the doctor was there. The man had taken to providing free medical treatment to the planets they did business on. But he seemed to like not having to make long term commitments to anything other than the ship. Didn't seem interested in setting up some profitable practice somewhere.
That's what Mal figured, anyway.
Or maybe, Mal sometimes thought when he heard the nightmares Simon woke from (since Mal was awake from his own anyway), Simon wasn't ready to join the world yet. Maybe the two of them were just in retreat. They were strong when they had to be, but now the battle was over, they wanted to curl up in a place no one knew they were.
They wanted to be no one. Just two tiny bodies floating around in an old ship.
It worked, for them. Mal kept waiting for Simon to figure out he wanted to leave. Instead, Simon read books on ships mechanics and learned how to pilot. Turned out, Serenity did okay with a two-man crew (the money River sent Simon from her new businesses helped too).
So they took jobs but not the riskiest ones. And they travelled.
And they didn't say much to each other, never really talked about matters of import. Just got used to each other as the only company. Empty men, empty ship, empty black, empty conversations.
One trip, planetside on some lush green globe, they got caught in the rain in the middle of a field they were walking (smuggling) through.
A sudden storm, and they were soaking wet, running in the wet dirt to the nearest dry spot under some trees.
As they huddled to stay out of the wash of pouring water, Mal noticed Simon shivering in his soaking clothes, nice shirt and jacket sopping against the outline of his muscles. Without thinking, he leaned in and grabbed Simon's face, kissed his lips.
Simon kissed back, a point of heat on his mouth amid the cold skin dripping with the rain still dripping from their hair.
Simon pushed away, looked up at him. "This won't fix us, you know," he said, and he seemed old, suddenly, so much older than the smug boy Mal let on his ship years ago.
"Don't care," Mal mumbled and kissed him again, urgent. This time, Simon moved his hand up to Mal's head, ran his fingers through the back of Mal's hair, and grasped tight.
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