Fic (White Collar): Like Gold
Title: Like Gold
Author: cookielaura
Pairing: Peter/Neal/El
Word Count: 1323
Rating: PG-13 at most
Warnings: None really, though there's a small, vague reference to mental health issues of a minor offscreen OFC.
Notes: For the collarkink prompt "Neal plays hairdresser for El. Maybe a big event, maybe just for Peter/himself. E/P or P/E/N please." I wrote this earlier in the year and then a lovely comment today reminded me I hadn't put it on my LJ. It was written very quickly (by my usual standards, so normal time for normal people!) and there's a lot of, err, hair!
‘What are you wearing tonight?’ Neal asks as he watches Elizabeth check a few last minute details for this evening’s event on her laptop. Peter is at the table beside her, flicking through a case file he’s brought home even though it’s a Friday night, and Neal is content to sip his wine and bathe in the quiet familiarity.
El looks up and gives him that special amused smile she uses when he asks her the type of question she’s not used to hearing from Peter. ‘The blue Chloe shift,’ she says, and Neal can see the dress in his mind as she mentions it, can remember how beautifully it skims over her curves, the fabric shimmering and changing colour in the light. He smiles.
‘Perfect.’
Apparently Peter agrees, because he looks up from his file and pulls El in close to his side, squeezing her tight for a moment. ‘You’ll be stunning,’ he says.
‘Hair?’ Neal asks, and gets a bemused look from Peter, but El knows what he means.
‘Up, I think, probably just a simple twist though. A French braid would look good with the dress, but I can never get them right when I’m doing them on myself.’
‘I know how to do them,’ Neal says without hesitation, and this time the look from Peter is even stranger.
‘You can do French braids?’ he asks, as though Neal’s just told him he’s an expert in mushroom farming, or something equally bizarre.
‘I’m a man of many talents, Peter,’ Neal replies enigmatically, and can’t help smirking a little. It’s always fun to remind Peter of his endless supply of hidden skills, and he knows Peter loves it, finds it a turn on to think there’s nothing Neal can’t do. Peter pretends otherwise of course, and rolls his eyes now as he returns to his file, but Neal still knows.
‘Will you do one for me tonight?’ El asks, and Neal’s getting up before she’s finished the sentence.
‘We should start now if you’re leaving at eight,’ he says. Then he turns to Peter, cocks his head to the side and looks at him through his lashes. ‘Wanna watch?’
Peter glances up, surprised, and then grins. ‘Absolutely.’
---
Neal stands behind El as she sits at the dressing table, and moves his hands to her shoulders, massaging gently whilst she takes the clip out of her hair and shakes her head. The hair falls down her back and across her shoulders, flowing over his hands like silk.
She smiles at him in the mirror.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he says, because she is, and he doesn’t say it enough, still doesn’t dare to say it too much.
‘You’re both beautiful,’ Peter says from his place on the bed, propped up against the headboard with his file, and Neal ducks his head for a moment, looking down at El so that he doesn’t have to watch the slight blush spread across his face in the mirror. He’s not sure Peter’s ever used that particular word for him before.
El tips her head back to look Neal in the eye, upside down. ‘He’s right,’ she confirms, and Neal wonders whether he’ll ever stop smiling.
‘Face front,’ he admonishes jokingly, and El tilts her head upright again. She’d washed her hair earlier and ran it over with the straighteners, so it only takes a minute for Neal to comb it through and smooth it out. Setting the comb aside, he pushes his fingers into her hair and presses his fingertips into her scalp, making tiny circular movements until he sees her eyes close and her face relax. He sifts through her hair for a moment more, enjoying its soft heaviness, then separates a section from the top of her head and pulls it back carefully.
‘When did you learn to do French braids?’ Peter asks idly.
Neal pauses, considers deflecting the question, then decides to cowboy up.
‘I used to do it for my mom,’ he says, knowing that’s probably not what Peter was expecting to hear. ‘She had bad days sometimes - a lot of times - and she didn’t feel up to getting dressed or looking after herself. I think it made her feel better to have someone do her hair up fancy.’
In retrospect, Neal’s not sure which one of them the ritual had been for.
As he finishes speaking, El pushes her head back into his hands a little, a silent comfort, and he brushes his thumb down the side of her head in thanks. He glances back into the mirror and Peter catches his eye, giving him that special Peter look that says he’s there, listening and understanding, appreciating and committing to memory every little piece of Neal that Neal will give him. Neal tries to give him his own special look back, which just says thank you.
He returns his focus to El, and holds the top section of hair firmly in one hand whilst using his other to separate it into three thick strands. The soft bedroom lighting picks up the different shades of brown as Neal starts to lace the hair together, and certain threads shine like gold between his fingers.
‘Do you want the plait going straight down?’ he asks quietly, so as not to jolt El from her reverie.
She keeps her eyes closed. ‘Can you curve it to the left, so it comes down over my shoulder?’
‘Your wish is my command.’ Neal begins gathering up extra locks from the hair that hasn’t been separated out, entwining them with the main braid so that a complex woven pattern starts to emerge across the back of El’s head. He works carefully, slowly, and a few minutes later there’s a perfectly smooth, glossy braid twisting down and falling over El’s left shoulder. The end of the braid curls softly under the band he fastens it with. He moves his fingers slowly back up the plait, tugging gently to loosen the weave a little, until it looks softer and fuller.
‘Gorgeous,’ Peter proclaims.
El opens her eyes and Neal holds the hand mirror up so she can see the back. She gives a happy sigh of approval. ‘It’s perfect baby, thank you.’
Neal glows with satisfaction, with the sort of warmth that doesn’t come when he finishes a painting; none of the artworks he’s forged could hold a candle to the way El looks right now - or to the way El looks every day.
He doesn’t get much more chance to contemplate it though, because El’s fingers are curling in his shirt, pulling him down for a swift kiss, sweet and firm. He hears Peter move from the bed and then feels him by his side, hand on Neal’s back as he bends down to steal a kiss from El too. Neal would be more than happy if El blew off the event and nobody other than he and Peter ever got to see his hard work, but now El is giggling and pushing them gently away so that neither of them ruin her hairstyle.
Neal backs off, lies back with Peter on the bed, and watches El change into her dress. She freshens her eyeliner and then kisses them once each, lingeringly.
‘Don’t wait up,’ she tells them both, even though she knows at least one of them will.
She’s gone in a flash of blue silk and Neal glances at Peter, who’s watching her leave with that expression he gets sometimes, like he can’t really believe he lucked out like this. Then he turns the exact same look on Neal and Neal feels his breath catch in his throat.
He’ll never get used to that.
Peter pulls him closer. ‘So,’ he says, sliding a hand firmly around the back of Neal’s neck. ‘Are there any other hidden skills you think you’ll feel like showing us this weekend?’
Neal grins. He thinks he can probably come up with something.