White Collar ficlet (for afiawri's birthday)
Happy Birthday Afiawri! I may be busy on your actual b-day, so I am posting now. I did not have time to do as long (or as wonderful!) a fic as you and Ash got me for my birthday, but I hope you like this. I wasn't sure what to write at first so I took inspiration from your 5 acts meme.
Title: 3 Times Someone Noticed a Mark that Peter Left.
Pairings: Peter/Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal/Alex, Peter/Mozzie
1. The first time Neal joined El and Peter, there was candlelight and music playing and everyone did their best to make it special.
It was... okay.
They were all gentle with each other, emotionally and otherwise, and they all did their best to act like the awkwardness wasn't there, or that it didn't matter.
It wasn't until morning that Neal got a look at El's ass, as she slept on her side next to him.
Sweet, peach-shaped, and just plump enough. With three thin horizontal stripes, lovely and pink and exactly parallel.
Peter caught him staring and just shrugged. "We played a little yesterday morning," he said, with that innocent Peter Burke face that made you believe that as long as you weren't ashamed of yourself then it would never even occur to you to be embarrassed in front of others.
Neal just kept staring.
El started to awake at the conversation and asked, "What's going on?" drowsily.
"Neal apparently is obsessed with your ass," Peter grinned.
She opened her eyes all the way and peered back at Neal. "No," she asserted after a pause, "Neal likes those marks you left. Maybe he wants some of his own."
Peter raised an eyebrow, smiling at Neal. Sweet, innocent smile.
A smile that could be on the face of an earnest village farmer in some overly nostalgiac etching.
Such a very, very virtuous smile. Asking Neal if he wanted a cane taken to his ass.
Neal assumed it was a cane, anyway, based on what he had seen in pornographic films (and of course Eighteenth Century obscene pamphlets). Possession, dominance, pain -- these were the things Neal had always been afraid to ask for, the things that he didn't want anyone to know.
But then... what did he really expect from starting an affair with his keeper?
Neal swallowed thickly and said, "Maybe... sometime." It must have seemed non-commital, but for Neal, it was an unprecedented act of boldness just to say maybe.
"We would talk about it first," El assured him, "A lot."
"I don't think I'll want that... level of pain," Neal said, gauging their reaction.
Peter smiled. "Then let's brainstorm all the other ways I can mark your ass as mine," he grinned, teasing.
El rolled her eyes. "Peter, sweetie, nobody wants to be dominated by a cocky jerk."
"I wouldn't say nobody," Neal said without thinking, and then froze, astounded by his own stupidity for saying that.
But then El laughed, and then Peter and Neal did too. And El suggested they talk about their fantasies over breakfast, and she made it sound so eminently practical and normal that Neal suddenly didn't feel that anything was unspeakable.
o~o~o~o~o
2. The morning after the first time Alex joined Neal and Peter, Peter had to go in to the office, and so Neal and Alex had a delightful brunch at a small cafe near the park. Neal spent much of the morning arguing that the latest Campion film was magnificent; Alex, of course, was responding that it (he) was overly sentimental (and really, wasn't that what most of their arguments boiled down to?). But they were relaxed, amid the gentle clink of mimosa glasses and jazz, as they ate their smoked salmon omelets and bickered flirtatiously. Then Alex decided to treat herself to a side order of blueberry-pecan waffles, doused in maple, and she held out a forkful to Neal's lips, which he leaned over to eat.
It was just then that the server came by to refull their glasses; he smiled at them, at their romanticism.
And then the server, professional that he was, almost managed to hide his double take at their matching hickeys, and then almost managed to hide the knowing (approving) smirk that came after.
Alex, without thinking, moved her hand to the mark. A defensive gesture, or maybe one of pride. Like Neal's, hers was on her collarbone, below and a bit to the left of the throat, a dark spot the size of a man's lips. Alex and Neal glanced each other as they noticed the server's smile, and then Alex ran her finger lightly over the mark on her collarbone as she stared at the same place on Neal's chest. Their clothes did little to hide the marks; if anything, their clothes put the marks on display, in simple and elegant frames -- Alex was wearing a white silk blouse, the top two buttons undone so the V of the fine fabric dipped below the hickey, and Neal's was shown off by the undone top buttons of his pale blue dress shirt, which was, uncharacteristically, without a tie.
As Peter instructed, they were both showing their marks.
Alex took "brazen" as the highest compliment, and Neal, having been with Peter for a while now, had fewer and fewer inhibitions. So really, they didn't think they would be at all fazed by showing off a hickey. If anyone even noticed.
But the waiter's look of recognition, turning into a smile and a colluding look, made them shift uncomfortably, embarrassed, as they looked at each other first in the eye, and then glanced down again to each other's necks, at the matching marks moving up and down with their chests as they breathed. Obviously, the waiter thought they were a couple, that they had given each other those marks. He probably even had a passing thought of what they looked like, the two of them entangled on a bed, sucking the same place on each other's collarbone.
A symmetry of ardor and desire for a newly infatuated couple.
The waiter's false assumption, subtle as it was, however, was such a contrast to what had happened that it brought them back into that moment. They remembered, almost relived it, as they stared at each other across their cafe table. Alex licking her lips as she watched Peter smile over Neal, pleased to have marked him. Alex insisting on getting one in the exact same place, and Neal making a joke about how competitive she was.
Peter agreeing to put his mouth on her on the condition that neither of them would be allowed to hide their marks the next day.
Peter, careful but forceful, holding Alex's hands above her head as he sucked a bruise into her, as he hurt her just enough to claim her as his, while Neal started to stroke himself to the sound of her moan.
There was no logical reason for them to feel so exposed by a couple of little marks on the neck.
But somehow, the fact that they were together, that they were showing off what Peter's mouth had pressed into their flesh, that they were marked as a set ... it made them feel like Peter had ordered them to walk down the street naked.
They both liked it. As soon as the server left, they called Peter and asked him to meet them at Neal's place. Soon.
o~o~o~o~o
3. Moz didn't trust easily. And Neal felt for him - he understood.
And despite Moz's occasional bouts of overboard romanticism (again, Neal understood), Moz basically just wanted someone he could really trust, who wouldn't ask for more in a relationship than Moz could give, and who would accept Moz as he was. Someone Moz could count on, but who would still be willing to go into it with no strings attached.
And, of course, who could get past Moz's wall of paranoia to get into a relationship in the first place.
It was that last one, Neal knew, that would be tricky.
And it's not like Neal was about to offer - that ship had long sailed, and it was better for everyone not to bring it back again.
But Neal was regularly with Peter and Elizabeth (mostly just Peter but sometimes both or even, once in a while, just El). And when Alex came to town, she joined them. So it was all this companionship that Neal had and Mozzie didn't, and with Peter in particular, Neal never had to worry about having someone he could trust (and definitely never had to worry any more about the sex being too vanilla. And Neal thought it was kind of unfair, because Moz deserved to have something great in his life too.
He mentioned this to Peter several times before Elizabeth finally gave Peter a clue as to what Neal was asking Peter to do.
Peter frowned and said, "Mozzie doesn't want me. He thinks I'm a philistine. And working for dark suspicious forces."
"He thinks that about everyone," Neal pointed out.
"He is pretty adorable. And smart," El pointed out to Peter, winking at Neal. She was so on board, Neal realized with satisfaction. Which meant that the argument was all but won.
"He is smart," Peter admitted, looking contemplative.
Neal wanted to say something else, but El gave him a look that told him to let Peter think about it for a while. So Neal didn't mention it again.
A few days later, Neal noticed black ink peeking out from Moz's sleeve.
Tattoos were not his style. Neal pulled lightly at the sleeve, and managed to see it before Moz swatted him away in annoyance.
Peter had written in felt-tip pen: " 'Dante Havisham looks sexy in glasses.' - Peter Burke."
Neal smiled. "Peter got sick of you quoting people during foreplay, didn't he?"
"That is neither here nor there."
"See, I told you Peter's a good man. You even trusted him to write on you."
"Pffttt. That's what suits are good at. Inscribing their labels onto people."
"Well, apparently his label for you is 'sexy'."
"I know, I'm really on a roll lately. First, I start dating Sara, then Alex came to visit me before she went over to see you and Peter, and then Gina starting seeing me whenever she visits New York, and now Peter too," Mozzie said, suddenly realizing what a hot streak he had been on.
Neal paused. "I ... had no idea about Alex. Or Gina. Or Sara. Seriously?"
"Ha! You think your stereotypically gorgeous looks are the only way to attract someone? You have totally bought into the Man's philosophy of sexuality, mon frere."
Neal smiled. "You're right, Mozzie. I'm just glad you're happy."
"Happy? Maybe. But let's just say I'm... satisfied."
-
Title: 3 Times Someone Noticed a Mark that Peter Left.
Pairings: Peter/Neal/Elizabeth, Peter/Neal/Alex, Peter/Mozzie
1. The first time Neal joined El and Peter, there was candlelight and music playing and everyone did their best to make it special.
It was... okay.
They were all gentle with each other, emotionally and otherwise, and they all did their best to act like the awkwardness wasn't there, or that it didn't matter.
It wasn't until morning that Neal got a look at El's ass, as she slept on her side next to him.
Sweet, peach-shaped, and just plump enough. With three thin horizontal stripes, lovely and pink and exactly parallel.
Peter caught him staring and just shrugged. "We played a little yesterday morning," he said, with that innocent Peter Burke face that made you believe that as long as you weren't ashamed of yourself then it would never even occur to you to be embarrassed in front of others.
Neal just kept staring.
El started to awake at the conversation and asked, "What's going on?" drowsily.
"Neal apparently is obsessed with your ass," Peter grinned.
She opened her eyes all the way and peered back at Neal. "No," she asserted after a pause, "Neal likes those marks you left. Maybe he wants some of his own."
Peter raised an eyebrow, smiling at Neal. Sweet, innocent smile.
A smile that could be on the face of an earnest village farmer in some overly nostalgiac etching.
Such a very, very virtuous smile. Asking Neal if he wanted a cane taken to his ass.
Neal assumed it was a cane, anyway, based on what he had seen in pornographic films (and of course Eighteenth Century obscene pamphlets). Possession, dominance, pain -- these were the things Neal had always been afraid to ask for, the things that he didn't want anyone to know.
But then... what did he really expect from starting an affair with his keeper?
Neal swallowed thickly and said, "Maybe... sometime." It must have seemed non-commital, but for Neal, it was an unprecedented act of boldness just to say maybe.
"We would talk about it first," El assured him, "A lot."
"I don't think I'll want that... level of pain," Neal said, gauging their reaction.
Peter smiled. "Then let's brainstorm all the other ways I can mark your ass as mine," he grinned, teasing.
El rolled her eyes. "Peter, sweetie, nobody wants to be dominated by a cocky jerk."
"I wouldn't say nobody," Neal said without thinking, and then froze, astounded by his own stupidity for saying that.
But then El laughed, and then Peter and Neal did too. And El suggested they talk about their fantasies over breakfast, and she made it sound so eminently practical and normal that Neal suddenly didn't feel that anything was unspeakable.
o~o~o~o~o
2. The morning after the first time Alex joined Neal and Peter, Peter had to go in to the office, and so Neal and Alex had a delightful brunch at a small cafe near the park. Neal spent much of the morning arguing that the latest Campion film was magnificent; Alex, of course, was responding that it (he) was overly sentimental (and really, wasn't that what most of their arguments boiled down to?). But they were relaxed, amid the gentle clink of mimosa glasses and jazz, as they ate their smoked salmon omelets and bickered flirtatiously. Then Alex decided to treat herself to a side order of blueberry-pecan waffles, doused in maple, and she held out a forkful to Neal's lips, which he leaned over to eat.
It was just then that the server came by to refull their glasses; he smiled at them, at their romanticism.
And then the server, professional that he was, almost managed to hide his double take at their matching hickeys, and then almost managed to hide the knowing (approving) smirk that came after.
Alex, without thinking, moved her hand to the mark. A defensive gesture, or maybe one of pride. Like Neal's, hers was on her collarbone, below and a bit to the left of the throat, a dark spot the size of a man's lips. Alex and Neal glanced each other as they noticed the server's smile, and then Alex ran her finger lightly over the mark on her collarbone as she stared at the same place on Neal's chest. Their clothes did little to hide the marks; if anything, their clothes put the marks on display, in simple and elegant frames -- Alex was wearing a white silk blouse, the top two buttons undone so the V of the fine fabric dipped below the hickey, and Neal's was shown off by the undone top buttons of his pale blue dress shirt, which was, uncharacteristically, without a tie.
As Peter instructed, they were both showing their marks.
Alex took "brazen" as the highest compliment, and Neal, having been with Peter for a while now, had fewer and fewer inhibitions. So really, they didn't think they would be at all fazed by showing off a hickey. If anyone even noticed.
But the waiter's look of recognition, turning into a smile and a colluding look, made them shift uncomfortably, embarrassed, as they looked at each other first in the eye, and then glanced down again to each other's necks, at the matching marks moving up and down with their chests as they breathed. Obviously, the waiter thought they were a couple, that they had given each other those marks. He probably even had a passing thought of what they looked like, the two of them entangled on a bed, sucking the same place on each other's collarbone.
A symmetry of ardor and desire for a newly infatuated couple.
The waiter's false assumption, subtle as it was, however, was such a contrast to what had happened that it brought them back into that moment. They remembered, almost relived it, as they stared at each other across their cafe table. Alex licking her lips as she watched Peter smile over Neal, pleased to have marked him. Alex insisting on getting one in the exact same place, and Neal making a joke about how competitive she was.
Peter agreeing to put his mouth on her on the condition that neither of them would be allowed to hide their marks the next day.
Peter, careful but forceful, holding Alex's hands above her head as he sucked a bruise into her, as he hurt her just enough to claim her as his, while Neal started to stroke himself to the sound of her moan.
There was no logical reason for them to feel so exposed by a couple of little marks on the neck.
But somehow, the fact that they were together, that they were showing off what Peter's mouth had pressed into their flesh, that they were marked as a set ... it made them feel like Peter had ordered them to walk down the street naked.
They both liked it. As soon as the server left, they called Peter and asked him to meet them at Neal's place. Soon.
o~o~o~o~o
3. Moz didn't trust easily. And Neal felt for him - he understood.
And despite Moz's occasional bouts of overboard romanticism (again, Neal understood), Moz basically just wanted someone he could really trust, who wouldn't ask for more in a relationship than Moz could give, and who would accept Moz as he was. Someone Moz could count on, but who would still be willing to go into it with no strings attached.
And, of course, who could get past Moz's wall of paranoia to get into a relationship in the first place.
It was that last one, Neal knew, that would be tricky.
And it's not like Neal was about to offer - that ship had long sailed, and it was better for everyone not to bring it back again.
But Neal was regularly with Peter and Elizabeth (mostly just Peter but sometimes both or even, once in a while, just El). And when Alex came to town, she joined them. So it was all this companionship that Neal had and Mozzie didn't, and with Peter in particular, Neal never had to worry about having someone he could trust (and definitely never had to worry any more about the sex being too vanilla. And Neal thought it was kind of unfair, because Moz deserved to have something great in his life too.
He mentioned this to Peter several times before Elizabeth finally gave Peter a clue as to what Neal was asking Peter to do.
Peter frowned and said, "Mozzie doesn't want me. He thinks I'm a philistine. And working for dark suspicious forces."
"He thinks that about everyone," Neal pointed out.
"He is pretty adorable. And smart," El pointed out to Peter, winking at Neal. She was so on board, Neal realized with satisfaction. Which meant that the argument was all but won.
"He is smart," Peter admitted, looking contemplative.
Neal wanted to say something else, but El gave him a look that told him to let Peter think about it for a while. So Neal didn't mention it again.
A few days later, Neal noticed black ink peeking out from Moz's sleeve.
Tattoos were not his style. Neal pulled lightly at the sleeve, and managed to see it before Moz swatted him away in annoyance.
Peter had written in felt-tip pen: " 'Dante Havisham looks sexy in glasses.' - Peter Burke."
Neal smiled. "Peter got sick of you quoting people during foreplay, didn't he?"
"That is neither here nor there."
"See, I told you Peter's a good man. You even trusted him to write on you."
"Pffttt. That's what suits are good at. Inscribing their labels onto people."
"Well, apparently his label for you is 'sexy'."
"I know, I'm really on a roll lately. First, I start dating Sara, then Alex came to visit me before she went over to see you and Peter, and then Gina starting seeing me whenever she visits New York, and now Peter too," Mozzie said, suddenly realizing what a hot streak he had been on.
Neal paused. "I ... had no idea about Alex. Or Gina. Or Sara. Seriously?"
"Ha! You think your stereotypically gorgeous looks are the only way to attract someone? You have totally bought into the Man's philosophy of sexuality, mon frere."
Neal smiled. "You're right, Mozzie. I'm just glad you're happy."
"Happy? Maybe. But let's just say I'm... satisfied."
-