White Collar Fic: I'm A Man of Means By No Means (King of the Road), Peter/Neal/El, PG-13
OH ALSO, ages ago elrhiarhodan said "Hey, can you write a fic for whitecollarswap?" and I was like, "Yeah!"
And then, you know, Inception blah blah distractions blah blah ANYWAY HERE'S THAT FIC YO.
Title: I'm A Man of Means By No Means (King of the Road)
Pairing: Peter/Neal/El
Rating: PG to PG-13
Summary: In which everyone deserves a vacation, Neal is not the least obnoxious passenger ever, and Slim Jims are decidedly superior to Combos.
"Don't even think about it, Caffrey," is the first thing that comes out of Peter's mouth. Neal raises his eyebrows and puts both hands up.
"I don't even know what I'm not supposed to be thinking about," he says, all innocence. "On the plus side, though, that must mean I'm doing a pretty good job."
Peter doesn't buy a word of it, because Peter never falls for Neal's shit. Even after all these years, Neal can't decide if it's endearing or a character flaw.
"You were reaching for the door handle," Peter says.
"I have to get in somehow. Unless you were planning on strapping me to the roof?"
"Elizabeth gets shotgun," Peter informs him, rolling his eyes. "As she is my wife, and you are a convicted felon."
"Peter, I'm hurt that you think so little of me," Neal says, pouting. "I would never presume to take the front seat from a lady. I just thought I'd get the door for her."
"Oh," Peter says, blinking. Then he says, "Right, okay, get in the back, I've got that," and Neal hides a smile behind his hand just in time for Elizabeth to come outside with her bag.
--
"I still can't believe you're taking me on vacation with you," Neal says, grinning up at the ceiling. They're thirty minutes into the drive and he's stretched across the backseat, head pillowed on his suit jacket. "What am I, the family dog?"
"You certainly do eat our table scraps," Peter mutters, but Elizabeth hits him lightly on the shoulder. She twists in her seat to smile at Neal.
"It just didn't seem fair," she says. "I mean, you've only got another six months on that tracker--why shouldn't you get to see the sights a little bit? And It's only a weekend trip, so it's not like you'll be getting in the way of our fun. Much, anyway."
They share a wicked half-smirk at the way Peter's ears go red.
"This is going to be such a fun trip," he mutters.
"Are we there yet?" Neal asks, pitching his voice in a whine. "Peter, are we there yet? Are we? Huh? Huh? Are we--"
"I am sending you back to prison," Peter growls. "No, you know what, I'm just going to leave you on the side of the road and you can walk to prison."
"Elizabeth wouldn't allow that kind of behavior, would you, El?"
"Neal can stay," Elizabeth says. "After all, he found the hotel."
--
"That's probably not good for your blood pressure," Neal points out, when Peter orders a double cheeseburger in the drive-thru. Peter turns to glare at him in horror.
"You have got to be kidding me," he snaps. "Seriously, Caffrey, my wife is actually in the car, I don't need you to fill that role right now."
"Fine, if you want to be childish about it," Neal sniffs. "El, apparently you have a role to fill."
"That's definitely not good for your blood pressure," Elizabeth says dutifully, and leans across Peter to speak to the attendant herself.
She and Neal both get bacon burgers, and Peter bitches about his chicken sandwich for 25 miles before an agreement to listen to classic rock forces him to let it go.
--
"Peter," Neal says, "I have a confession to make."
"Well, those are the most terrifying words in the English language," Peter says, twisting around in the passenger seat to stare at Neal.
"Worse than 'I need you to taste this caviar?'" El inquires, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.
"Worse than 'Jones made the coffee this morning?'" Neal puts in, grinning. Peter rolls his eyes.
"Out with it, Neal," he says. "What'd you do, siphon our gas?"
"No, no, it's much worse than that." He leans forward, resting his chin on the seat. His lips are about a centimeter from Peter's cheek, his breath ghosting against the soft skin there, and he can see the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He makes it so easy.
"The suspense is killing me," Peter tells him, dry. His self control is admirable, Neal has to admit. "What, then?"
"Your wife," Neal murmurs, in a stage whisper, "is a much better driver than you."
Elizabeth laughs out loud, Peter glares, and Neal settles back against his seat, well out of range of a thrown elbow. Road trips are fun.
--
"I can't believe you're eating that," Elizabeth complains five hours in, back in the passenger seat. "You're supposed to have better taste than that."
"Slim Jims are a guilty pleasure," Neal shoots back. "And you're eating Combos, so you've got no right to judge."
"Combos are so much better than Slim Jims," El protests. "Combos don't give you terrible breath that the rest of us will have to suffer through for hours to come."
"Peter doesn't mind," Neal sings out, smirking. "Do you, Peter?"
"I think we're lost," Peter says, tapping at the nav system on the Taurus. "Slim Jims are not my primary concern at the moment."
Grinning at El, Neal snakes out an arm. He holds his snack to Peter's mouth, letting it brush against his lips, and Peter takes a bite unconsciously.
"Yeah, okay," he says, "that's better than a Combo any day of the week."
"You're a traitor," El says, but she's laughing. Neal raises his eyebrows.
"The man likes deviled ham, El," he says, long-suffering. "What did you expect?"
--
"You might have told me you get carsick," Peter says. "I wouldn't have made you read the map."
"You might have bought a car with a better navigation system," Neal complains, sipping his water. "Or googled the route before we got in the car. And I'm not carsick. I'm--experiencing some discomfort."
"Try not to look at the road signs," Elizabeth advises.
"And don't insult the car," Peter adds. "It never did anything to you."
--
"What?" Neal says, opening his eyes. It's dark, and Peter's grinning down at him, and for a second that's all Neal can register.
Then he places his location--stretched out across the backseat--and realizes Peter's standing outside the car, with the door open next to Neal's head.
"He lives," Peter says, laughing. "We're here, Caffrey, naptime is over."
"We're here?" Neals demands, shocked. "Really? How long was I out?"
"Hour and a half," Peter shrugs. "We're all checked in and everything, I didn't see any reason to wake you. El's already upstairs."
"Oh," Neal says. He tries to shake off that foggy, just-woke-up feeling he always gets when he falls asleep in cars, but it's slow going. "Sorry."
"Are you kidding? It was a welcome break," Peter says. "You're not the least obnoxious passenger ever."
"My charm knows no bounds," Neal agrees, stretching and sitting up. "How's the suite?"
"Extravagant," Peter says, shaking his head. "I knew I shouldn't have let you pick the hotel."
"But I bet the television is exactly up to your standards," Neal says, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. "I went out of my way to find the biggest one, just for you."
"Not likely that I'll be using it much, though, is it?" Peter says. There's a spark in his eyes that Neal really, really doesn't object to. He presses something into Neal's hand as he climbs out out of the car, and grins when Neal furrows his brow in confusion.
"Your keycard," he says, like it's the funniest joke he's heard all week.
"Ah," Neal says, tucking it into his pockets. He chances a sly grin. "Not likely that I'll be using that much either, huh?"
"Appearances are appearances," Peter says. Then he glances around and, apparently satisfied that no one's around, presses Neal against the car. "But no, not if I have anything to say about it."
"And what do you have to say about it?" Neal asks, enthused by the erection he can already feel pressed against his leg.
"This," Peter murmurs, and brings their lips together. Neal's more than a little used to the way Peter kisses by now--forceful, with purpose, like Neal's tongue is guilty of a crime and Peter's going to find out every niggling detail--but it still floors him a little. He sighs into the kiss and angles up into it, nipping at the corner of Peter's mouth, and Peter growls and shifts, pulling back.
"El will kill me if we start without her," he says, giving Neal a once over. "Especially when you're all rumpled up like that."
"Well then," Neal says, shutting the car door, "we'd better get up there, huh?"
"My thoughts exactly," Peter says. He walks away, and Neal follows.
And then, you know, Inception blah blah distractions blah blah ANYWAY HERE'S THAT FIC YO.
Title: I'm A Man of Means By No Means (King of the Road)
Pairing: Peter/Neal/El
Rating: PG to PG-13
Summary: In which everyone deserves a vacation, Neal is not the least obnoxious passenger ever, and Slim Jims are decidedly superior to Combos.
"Don't even think about it, Caffrey," is the first thing that comes out of Peter's mouth. Neal raises his eyebrows and puts both hands up.
"I don't even know what I'm not supposed to be thinking about," he says, all innocence. "On the plus side, though, that must mean I'm doing a pretty good job."
Peter doesn't buy a word of it, because Peter never falls for Neal's shit. Even after all these years, Neal can't decide if it's endearing or a character flaw.
"You were reaching for the door handle," Peter says.
"I have to get in somehow. Unless you were planning on strapping me to the roof?"
"Elizabeth gets shotgun," Peter informs him, rolling his eyes. "As she is my wife, and you are a convicted felon."
"Peter, I'm hurt that you think so little of me," Neal says, pouting. "I would never presume to take the front seat from a lady. I just thought I'd get the door for her."
"Oh," Peter says, blinking. Then he says, "Right, okay, get in the back, I've got that," and Neal hides a smile behind his hand just in time for Elizabeth to come outside with her bag.
--
"I still can't believe you're taking me on vacation with you," Neal says, grinning up at the ceiling. They're thirty minutes into the drive and he's stretched across the backseat, head pillowed on his suit jacket. "What am I, the family dog?"
"You certainly do eat our table scraps," Peter mutters, but Elizabeth hits him lightly on the shoulder. She twists in her seat to smile at Neal.
"It just didn't seem fair," she says. "I mean, you've only got another six months on that tracker--why shouldn't you get to see the sights a little bit? And It's only a weekend trip, so it's not like you'll be getting in the way of our fun. Much, anyway."
They share a wicked half-smirk at the way Peter's ears go red.
"This is going to be such a fun trip," he mutters.
"Are we there yet?" Neal asks, pitching his voice in a whine. "Peter, are we there yet? Are we? Huh? Huh? Are we--"
"I am sending you back to prison," Peter growls. "No, you know what, I'm just going to leave you on the side of the road and you can walk to prison."
"Elizabeth wouldn't allow that kind of behavior, would you, El?"
"Neal can stay," Elizabeth says. "After all, he found the hotel."
--
"That's probably not good for your blood pressure," Neal points out, when Peter orders a double cheeseburger in the drive-thru. Peter turns to glare at him in horror.
"You have got to be kidding me," he snaps. "Seriously, Caffrey, my wife is actually in the car, I don't need you to fill that role right now."
"Fine, if you want to be childish about it," Neal sniffs. "El, apparently you have a role to fill."
"That's definitely not good for your blood pressure," Elizabeth says dutifully, and leans across Peter to speak to the attendant herself.
She and Neal both get bacon burgers, and Peter bitches about his chicken sandwich for 25 miles before an agreement to listen to classic rock forces him to let it go.
--
"Peter," Neal says, "I have a confession to make."
"Well, those are the most terrifying words in the English language," Peter says, twisting around in the passenger seat to stare at Neal.
"Worse than 'I need you to taste this caviar?'" El inquires, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.
"Worse than 'Jones made the coffee this morning?'" Neal puts in, grinning. Peter rolls his eyes.
"Out with it, Neal," he says. "What'd you do, siphon our gas?"
"No, no, it's much worse than that." He leans forward, resting his chin on the seat. His lips are about a centimeter from Peter's cheek, his breath ghosting against the soft skin there, and he can see the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
He makes it so easy.
"The suspense is killing me," Peter tells him, dry. His self control is admirable, Neal has to admit. "What, then?"
"Your wife," Neal murmurs, in a stage whisper, "is a much better driver than you."
Elizabeth laughs out loud, Peter glares, and Neal settles back against his seat, well out of range of a thrown elbow. Road trips are fun.
--
"I can't believe you're eating that," Elizabeth complains five hours in, back in the passenger seat. "You're supposed to have better taste than that."
"Slim Jims are a guilty pleasure," Neal shoots back. "And you're eating Combos, so you've got no right to judge."
"Combos are so much better than Slim Jims," El protests. "Combos don't give you terrible breath that the rest of us will have to suffer through for hours to come."
"Peter doesn't mind," Neal sings out, smirking. "Do you, Peter?"
"I think we're lost," Peter says, tapping at the nav system on the Taurus. "Slim Jims are not my primary concern at the moment."
Grinning at El, Neal snakes out an arm. He holds his snack to Peter's mouth, letting it brush against his lips, and Peter takes a bite unconsciously.
"Yeah, okay," he says, "that's better than a Combo any day of the week."
"You're a traitor," El says, but she's laughing. Neal raises his eyebrows.
"The man likes deviled ham, El," he says, long-suffering. "What did you expect?"
--
"You might have told me you get carsick," Peter says. "I wouldn't have made you read the map."
"You might have bought a car with a better navigation system," Neal complains, sipping his water. "Or googled the route before we got in the car. And I'm not carsick. I'm--experiencing some discomfort."
"Try not to look at the road signs," Elizabeth advises.
"And don't insult the car," Peter adds. "It never did anything to you."
--
"What?" Neal says, opening his eyes. It's dark, and Peter's grinning down at him, and for a second that's all Neal can register.
Then he places his location--stretched out across the backseat--and realizes Peter's standing outside the car, with the door open next to Neal's head.
"He lives," Peter says, laughing. "We're here, Caffrey, naptime is over."
"We're here?" Neals demands, shocked. "Really? How long was I out?"
"Hour and a half," Peter shrugs. "We're all checked in and everything, I didn't see any reason to wake you. El's already upstairs."
"Oh," Neal says. He tries to shake off that foggy, just-woke-up feeling he always gets when he falls asleep in cars, but it's slow going. "Sorry."
"Are you kidding? It was a welcome break," Peter says. "You're not the least obnoxious passenger ever."
"My charm knows no bounds," Neal agrees, stretching and sitting up. "How's the suite?"
"Extravagant," Peter says, shaking his head. "I knew I shouldn't have let you pick the hotel."
"But I bet the television is exactly up to your standards," Neal says, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. "I went out of my way to find the biggest one, just for you."
"Not likely that I'll be using it much, though, is it?" Peter says. There's a spark in his eyes that Neal really, really doesn't object to. He presses something into Neal's hand as he climbs out out of the car, and grins when Neal furrows his brow in confusion.
"Your keycard," he says, like it's the funniest joke he's heard all week.
"Ah," Neal says, tucking it into his pockets. He chances a sly grin. "Not likely that I'll be using that much either, huh?"
"Appearances are appearances," Peter says. Then he glances around and, apparently satisfied that no one's around, presses Neal against the car. "But no, not if I have anything to say about it."
"And what do you have to say about it?" Neal asks, enthused by the erection he can already feel pressed against his leg.
"This," Peter murmurs, and brings their lips together. Neal's more than a little used to the way Peter kisses by now--forceful, with purpose, like Neal's tongue is guilty of a crime and Peter's going to find out every niggling detail--but it still floors him a little. He sighs into the kiss and angles up into it, nipping at the corner of Peter's mouth, and Peter growls and shifts, pulling back.
"El will kill me if we start without her," he says, giving Neal a once over. "Especially when you're all rumpled up like that."
"Well then," Neal says, shutting the car door, "we'd better get up there, huh?"
"My thoughts exactly," Peter says. He walks away, and Neal follows.