Fic: Ground Floor, White Collar Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
So! Remember that time I was drunk? This may have happened.
Unbeta'd, so there's no one to blame but me. Or maybe kanzenhanzai. This was originally going to be a comment drabble for her, and then it sprouted another thousand words. idk, you guys, I am really rather attached to the idea of this OT3.
Ground Floor
PG-13
White Collar, Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
~1400 words
Warnings: none
Elizabeth isn't a jealous woman. She's been married to Peter for 10 years, and there's no doubt in her mind that he loves her just as much as he did on the night he proposed - nervous and sweating and with such a distinct lack of subtlety that she started laughing halfway through the second course at the fancy French (French) restaurant and told him to just ask her before he fainted. So whenever he has another late night at the office, she feeds the dinner she spent an hour cooking to the dog and makes a mental note while she's loading the dishwasher that he owes her. Flowers, maybe. A week of dog-walking duty. Sexual favors.
It would have been easy to be jealous of Neal Caffrey. Caffrey was smart and daring and - when they finally met after years of him keeping her husband clacking away at a keyboard and peering through files at night instead of in bed with her - improbably pretty and charming.
She likes him. And Peter, bless his oblivious little heart, has had a crush on him almost from the very beginning. Elizabeth has seen Peter's usual catch-the-elusive-criminal MO, and this is not it. So the decision she makes, sitting there talking with Neal on the sofa like that first day when Peter came rushing down the stairs with his phone pressed to his ear, is as much for Peter as it is for herself.
"Want to give him a show he'll never forget?" she asks when she hears Peter’s car pull into the driveway. A devious little smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“What?” he asks, shoulders stiffening in surprise as his posture becomes abruptly very upright; but it’s rhetorical. Neal doesn’t mistake her meaning. "Are you sure? He won't...?" He trails off, searching her face with concern. He has a lot to lose if this goes wrong, Elizabeth knows, but there’s no refusal in his words.
It won’t go wrong, and her smile comes out in full force. "Trust me," she says. And then she kisses him just as Peter walks through the doorway. Peter had been rambling something about missing his Probie. "More brains than all of Harvard put together," Elizabeth catches before he stops dead in his tracks, keys and shoulder holster dangling from his hand, staring at the two of them. He looks stunned for the couple of seconds it takes her to catch his eye. Elizabeth looks at him as she kisses Neal, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair as she deepens it, inviting him to lick into her mouth and never letting her gaze drop. Peter will get it, she knows he will.
He’s still absolutely gobsmacked and it's all she can do not to chuckle against Neal's mouth. The laughter must show in her eyes, though, because Peter quirks a rueful little smile at her even as a flush creeps up his neck.
Neal’s lips are wet, shiny and red, when he pulls away from her. He turns his head to look at Peter slowly, a hand that somehow made its way onto Elizabeth's thigh tightening a bit. Nerves, she thinks. It’s more than a little amazing that a man who spent years in prison after racking up an impressive rap sheet can still have so much wide-eyed innocence left in him.
Peter's attention goes to Neal's mouth almost immediately, drawn without his even seeming to realize it, and in her head she triumphantly punches the air as her heartbeat speeds up.
The shoulder Peter had braced against the doorframe when he first came in, catching himself as he swayed backward a little, now pushes off and propels him a step toward them. He pauses to toss his keys and holster across a table. They fall to the floor with a clatter and a jingle; but for once he doesn't pause to pick them up.
Instead, he moves over to the coffee table like it has some inexorable pull over him and sits down on the far side of it, still watching. His breath stutters a little as Elizabeth shifts one hand to Neal's cheek and turns him back to her, kisses him again. This time she lets herself get lost in the catch and slide of their mouths, nips at his bottom lip and shivers when he returns the bite only to soothe it with his tongue. By the time they stop, quick warm presses of lips turning back into something that's gentle if now too familiar to be chaste, she can't quite catch her breath; Peter is leaning forward, one knee bent up to rest on the table.
A flicker of apprehension crosses his face when she reaches out to him, but he takes her hand nevertheless. She tugs gently, and he swings the rest of the way over the narrow table, his legs coming to rest between their knees. Peter's hand is warm in hers and trembling slightly. He opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is never quite makes it out. After this many years, they don't really need words. His eyes widen and shift in Neal's direction; she nods, a few slight motions of her head. That's all it takes.
If she were still at all in a laughing mood, Neal's face would probably be hilarious. It's strikingly reminiscent of the stunned fish look Peter had been sporting just a few minutes ago. It passes quickly, though. He cocks his head to the side a bit, considering, and then hesitantly reaches out and and pulls Peter to him with one hand at the back of his neck, much like Elizabeth had done to him in what feels like the far distant start of all this.
When they kiss the first time it's fast and fleeting, the magnetism that had drawn the three of them together reversing polarity for one brief instant. Then Neal’s eyes flutter closed and they move back together again, more lingering. The third time, and it's intense enough that Elizabeth's knees shake and she's fairly certain this is the best idea she's had since she agreed to go on that first date more than a decade ago. It would be easy, so easy, to be jealous of Neal Caffrey when her husband's mouth opens under his and he shifts as close as his knees and the couch will allow; when one of them gasps, a quick quiet inhalation. But it's her hand he's still holding, her fingers his tighten around as the air thickens and heats.
The blare of Peter's work cell cuts through the fog like a ray of Mariachi sunshine. Neal had confided to her earlier that evening as they waited together that sometimes he got bored and stealing Peter’s phone was fun. He was on a stealth campaign to change the ringtone slight variation by slight variation, just to see how long it would take Peter to notice.
It takes Peter a moment to disentangle himself enough to pull the phone from his pocket. He clears his throat a couple of times before he answers it. As soon as the person on the other end of the line gets a single sentence out she can tell through long experience that he'll have to head back to the office. Things won't be going any further tonight. She can't decide if she's disappointed or relieved when Neal takes the opportunity to stand, tugging his white shirt back into place and making his murmured goodbyes before grabbing his jacket off the stand and flipping his hat onto his head with a smooth practiced motion. He makes a ridiculous, flourished bow at her and slips out the door.
Peter snaps his phone shut a few moments later. "I have to..." he begins.
Elizabeth waves him off. "I know, I know. Go on. But don't expect me to wait up." She tilts her face up and when he kisses her she can still taste Neal there.
"We'll talk about this tomorrow?" He sounds unsure, like he does whenever she surprises him with lunch and he can’t quite decide if it’s just time together down at the waterfront or if he should brace himself for sleeping on the couch.
"Tomorrow," she agrees and lets a hint of promise creep into her voice.
Tomorrow. For now, imagining the awkward silence that’s going to reign in that car is entertainment enough for her.
Unbeta'd, so there's no one to blame but me. Or maybe kanzenhanzai. This was originally going to be a comment drabble for her, and then it sprouted another thousand words. idk, you guys, I am really rather attached to the idea of this OT3.
Ground Floor
PG-13
White Collar, Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
~1400 words
Warnings: none
Elizabeth isn't a jealous woman. She's been married to Peter for 10 years, and there's no doubt in her mind that he loves her just as much as he did on the night he proposed - nervous and sweating and with such a distinct lack of subtlety that she started laughing halfway through the second course at the fancy French (French) restaurant and told him to just ask her before he fainted. So whenever he has another late night at the office, she feeds the dinner she spent an hour cooking to the dog and makes a mental note while she's loading the dishwasher that he owes her. Flowers, maybe. A week of dog-walking duty. Sexual favors.
It would have been easy to be jealous of Neal Caffrey. Caffrey was smart and daring and - when they finally met after years of him keeping her husband clacking away at a keyboard and peering through files at night instead of in bed with her - improbably pretty and charming.
She likes him. And Peter, bless his oblivious little heart, has had a crush on him almost from the very beginning. Elizabeth has seen Peter's usual catch-the-elusive-criminal MO, and this is not it. So the decision she makes, sitting there talking with Neal on the sofa like that first day when Peter came rushing down the stairs with his phone pressed to his ear, is as much for Peter as it is for herself.
"Want to give him a show he'll never forget?" she asks when she hears Peter’s car pull into the driveway. A devious little smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“What?” he asks, shoulders stiffening in surprise as his posture becomes abruptly very upright; but it’s rhetorical. Neal doesn’t mistake her meaning. "Are you sure? He won't...?" He trails off, searching her face with concern. He has a lot to lose if this goes wrong, Elizabeth knows, but there’s no refusal in his words.
It won’t go wrong, and her smile comes out in full force. "Trust me," she says. And then she kisses him just as Peter walks through the doorway. Peter had been rambling something about missing his Probie. "More brains than all of Harvard put together," Elizabeth catches before he stops dead in his tracks, keys and shoulder holster dangling from his hand, staring at the two of them. He looks stunned for the couple of seconds it takes her to catch his eye. Elizabeth looks at him as she kisses Neal, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair as she deepens it, inviting him to lick into her mouth and never letting her gaze drop. Peter will get it, she knows he will.
He’s still absolutely gobsmacked and it's all she can do not to chuckle against Neal's mouth. The laughter must show in her eyes, though, because Peter quirks a rueful little smile at her even as a flush creeps up his neck.
Neal’s lips are wet, shiny and red, when he pulls away from her. He turns his head to look at Peter slowly, a hand that somehow made its way onto Elizabeth's thigh tightening a bit. Nerves, she thinks. It’s more than a little amazing that a man who spent years in prison after racking up an impressive rap sheet can still have so much wide-eyed innocence left in him.
Peter's attention goes to Neal's mouth almost immediately, drawn without his even seeming to realize it, and in her head she triumphantly punches the air as her heartbeat speeds up.
The shoulder Peter had braced against the doorframe when he first came in, catching himself as he swayed backward a little, now pushes off and propels him a step toward them. He pauses to toss his keys and holster across a table. They fall to the floor with a clatter and a jingle; but for once he doesn't pause to pick them up.
Instead, he moves over to the coffee table like it has some inexorable pull over him and sits down on the far side of it, still watching. His breath stutters a little as Elizabeth shifts one hand to Neal's cheek and turns him back to her, kisses him again. This time she lets herself get lost in the catch and slide of their mouths, nips at his bottom lip and shivers when he returns the bite only to soothe it with his tongue. By the time they stop, quick warm presses of lips turning back into something that's gentle if now too familiar to be chaste, she can't quite catch her breath; Peter is leaning forward, one knee bent up to rest on the table.
A flicker of apprehension crosses his face when she reaches out to him, but he takes her hand nevertheless. She tugs gently, and he swings the rest of the way over the narrow table, his legs coming to rest between their knees. Peter's hand is warm in hers and trembling slightly. He opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it is never quite makes it out. After this many years, they don't really need words. His eyes widen and shift in Neal's direction; she nods, a few slight motions of her head. That's all it takes.
If she were still at all in a laughing mood, Neal's face would probably be hilarious. It's strikingly reminiscent of the stunned fish look Peter had been sporting just a few minutes ago. It passes quickly, though. He cocks his head to the side a bit, considering, and then hesitantly reaches out and and pulls Peter to him with one hand at the back of his neck, much like Elizabeth had done to him in what feels like the far distant start of all this.
When they kiss the first time it's fast and fleeting, the magnetism that had drawn the three of them together reversing polarity for one brief instant. Then Neal’s eyes flutter closed and they move back together again, more lingering. The third time, and it's intense enough that Elizabeth's knees shake and she's fairly certain this is the best idea she's had since she agreed to go on that first date more than a decade ago. It would be easy, so easy, to be jealous of Neal Caffrey when her husband's mouth opens under his and he shifts as close as his knees and the couch will allow; when one of them gasps, a quick quiet inhalation. But it's her hand he's still holding, her fingers his tighten around as the air thickens and heats.
The blare of Peter's work cell cuts through the fog like a ray of Mariachi sunshine. Neal had confided to her earlier that evening as they waited together that sometimes he got bored and stealing Peter’s phone was fun. He was on a stealth campaign to change the ringtone slight variation by slight variation, just to see how long it would take Peter to notice.
It takes Peter a moment to disentangle himself enough to pull the phone from his pocket. He clears his throat a couple of times before he answers it. As soon as the person on the other end of the line gets a single sentence out she can tell through long experience that he'll have to head back to the office. Things won't be going any further tonight. She can't decide if she's disappointed or relieved when Neal takes the opportunity to stand, tugging his white shirt back into place and making his murmured goodbyes before grabbing his jacket off the stand and flipping his hat onto his head with a smooth practiced motion. He makes a ridiculous, flourished bow at her and slips out the door.
Peter snaps his phone shut a few moments later. "I have to..." he begins.
Elizabeth waves him off. "I know, I know. Go on. But don't expect me to wait up." She tilts her face up and when he kisses her she can still taste Neal there.
"We'll talk about this tomorrow?" He sounds unsure, like he does whenever she surprises him with lunch and he can’t quite decide if it’s just time together down at the waterfront or if he should brace himself for sleeping on the couch.
"Tomorrow," she agrees and lets a hint of promise creep into her voice.
Tomorrow. For now, imagining the awkward silence that’s going to reign in that car is entertainment enough for her.