Fic: Domesticity Is Not A Dirty Word
Title: Domesticity Is Not A Dirty Word
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: El/Neal/Peter
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Neal is put to work, and Peter is well trained.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo for the 'baking cookies' square.
The first thing Elizabeth does is steal Neal's hat; then balance it artistically on the fruit bowl on the table.
"I need another pair of hands," she tells him, and steers him gently but firmly towards the kitchen. Neal doesn't resist. He makes an intrigued noise instead and lets himself be steered.
"Just as long as you don't want to bake them into some sort of pie," he says sensibly.
Elizabeth hides a smile.
"Not with white wine," she says, as if he should know better.
"What are my hands going to be doing then?" Neal asks, like it's a secret, and a good one at that.
Elizabeth brings him to a stop against the kitchen counter.
"They're going to be making cookies," she declares. "Which require the attention of another pair of hands. A very special pair of hands."
It doesn't take any more than that before Neal starts rolling up his sleeves. Elizabeth has no idea how much the nice suit he's wearing cost but she's fairly sure he's about to get flour all over it. She's also fairly sure Neal will make having flour all over his clothes look like the classiest thing she's ever seen.
"I'm sensing some sort of sugar-based compensation here," Neal says from under raised eyebrows.
"But of course," she offers, digging in the cupboard for her other bowl. He pokes at the cookies already on the baking tray while she measures out ingredients.
"Are you paying attention."
"Always," he says. He grins when she pulls a face at him.
He doesn't seem to mind being elbow deep in flour and butter. But then Neal can look like he belongs anywhere. And when he doesn't know what he's doing he's more than capable of faking it. Or charming his way around it.
Though he looks like he's genuinely enjoying the opportunity to get cookie mixture in his no doubt expensive manicure.
He's making his own small battalion of cookies when Peter appears through the door, drifting in with the cold air. He's far too good not to follow the smell all the way to the kitchen.
"El, what did I tell you about stealing Neal for projects."
"I'm just borrowing him," Elizabeth tells him.
"I'm just doing it for the sugared confectionary," Neal stage whispers.
"Fine, I'm buying him with cookies," Elizabeth admits. Then tips her head to the side, Peter slides in close enough to wind an arm round her waist and kiss her on the cheek.
He may or may not have flour in his hair when he steps back.
Neal's mouth goes up at the edge and he tilts his head in exactly the same way.
Elizabeth's trained Peter far too well. Because he doesn't even think, he just does exactly the same thing to Neal. Who looks far too amused at how easy that was.
Peter makes a vaguely horrified noise, then straightens up and shoots them both a wounded look. Like he suspects them both of being responsible for confusing domesticity.
Neal now has flour in his hair too.
Elizabeth's left laughing into her bowl, trying to roll up little balls while Peter pretends that he didn't just do something stupid.
"I could get used to this," Neal decides.
"You, shut up," Peter tells him.
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: El/Neal/Peter
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Neal is put to work, and Peter is well trained.
AN: Written for schmoop_bingo for the 'baking cookies' square.
The first thing Elizabeth does is steal Neal's hat; then balance it artistically on the fruit bowl on the table.
"I need another pair of hands," she tells him, and steers him gently but firmly towards the kitchen. Neal doesn't resist. He makes an intrigued noise instead and lets himself be steered.
"Just as long as you don't want to bake them into some sort of pie," he says sensibly.
Elizabeth hides a smile.
"Not with white wine," she says, as if he should know better.
"What are my hands going to be doing then?" Neal asks, like it's a secret, and a good one at that.
Elizabeth brings him to a stop against the kitchen counter.
"They're going to be making cookies," she declares. "Which require the attention of another pair of hands. A very special pair of hands."
It doesn't take any more than that before Neal starts rolling up his sleeves. Elizabeth has no idea how much the nice suit he's wearing cost but she's fairly sure he's about to get flour all over it. She's also fairly sure Neal will make having flour all over his clothes look like the classiest thing she's ever seen.
"I'm sensing some sort of sugar-based compensation here," Neal says from under raised eyebrows.
"But of course," she offers, digging in the cupboard for her other bowl. He pokes at the cookies already on the baking tray while she measures out ingredients.
"Are you paying attention."
"Always," he says. He grins when she pulls a face at him.
He doesn't seem to mind being elbow deep in flour and butter. But then Neal can look like he belongs anywhere. And when he doesn't know what he's doing he's more than capable of faking it. Or charming his way around it.
Though he looks like he's genuinely enjoying the opportunity to get cookie mixture in his no doubt expensive manicure.
He's making his own small battalion of cookies when Peter appears through the door, drifting in with the cold air. He's far too good not to follow the smell all the way to the kitchen.
"El, what did I tell you about stealing Neal for projects."
"I'm just borrowing him," Elizabeth tells him.
"I'm just doing it for the sugared confectionary," Neal stage whispers.
"Fine, I'm buying him with cookies," Elizabeth admits. Then tips her head to the side, Peter slides in close enough to wind an arm round her waist and kiss her on the cheek.
He may or may not have flour in his hair when he steps back.
Neal's mouth goes up at the edge and he tilts his head in exactly the same way.
Elizabeth's trained Peter far too well. Because he doesn't even think, he just does exactly the same thing to Neal. Who looks far too amused at how easy that was.
Peter makes a vaguely horrified noise, then straightens up and shoots them both a wounded look. Like he suspects them both of being responsible for confusing domesticity.
Neal now has flour in his hair too.
Elizabeth's left laughing into her bowl, trying to roll up little balls while Peter pretends that he didn't just do something stupid.
"I could get used to this," Neal decides.
"You, shut up," Peter tells him.