Fic: Untouchable 4/?
Title: Untouchable
Author: Isolde13
Rating: R (will go up)
Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal, Neal/OMC, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth (not shown in this chapter)
Spoilers: None
Warnings: AU. Issues of consent of sexual slavery, but not between Peter and Neal. Nothing on page yet. Memento type timeline
Summary: Peter is in love with someone he can't have. Someone he can't even touch . . .
Notes: Started off as a drabble to throw off writer's block. This was born from the concept in the movie The Mummy, where the Pharaoh's wife cannot be touched by anyone else because of the gold paint covering her body. Timeline is a little funky to make up for the fact that the start of the story was really the middle of the story
Previous chapters here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/907411 . Comments and feedback are always love
In this chapter we have move back in time
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Khan’s palace has many gardens, some grand and ornate and some smaller and more intimate, like the one that Neal sits in now.
This is his favorite, the smallest garden of them all. It’s pretty but not fancy, and it attracts almost no one. For this reason alone it is Neal’s favorite, one of the few places where he can truly be alone, a place where he can feel safe and unguarded.
He’s sitting on the grass, leaning back against a large tree, his sketchbook in his hands. He looks out at the garden, then down to his sketchpad and sighs, not particularly pleased with what he sees.
“Boring. Completely boring,” he mutters. He’s about to rip out the page from the sketchpad and start over when he hears soft footfalls behind him. He tenses, turning to see who’s intruding in his private space.
He relaxes a fraction when he sees that it’s Peter, the visitor to their country, the one that the Khan had told him to treat well. He flips back through his memory, recalling that he’d been told to be gracious and to be on his best behavior. Well, that he can certainly do.
Peter stops, looking startled as if he hadn’t expected anyone to be here His eyes go from Neal’s face to the sketchpad and back up again.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” He begins to turn as if to leave..
“It’s all right. You can stay,” Neal says. “This is a public garden.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”
It’s then that Neal notices where Peter’s eyes have fallen. He is no longer looking at Neal’s face at all, his gaze is lowered, transfixed on the skin of Neal’s bare arm.
Neal sighs. “You’re not allowed to touch but you can still look and you can certainly sit in the same garden and talk to me.”
Peter meets Neal’s eyes. He looks surprised but has the grace to smile as he blushes slightly. He sits down a few feet from Neal, what Neal recognizes as a safe distance, and turns his face to the sun.
After only a few seconds, he turns his head to Neal. “I’m Peter.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Do you?” Peter asks, looking amused.
“I do. I’m Neal.”
“Oh, I remember,” Peter says.
They both chuckle at that and Neal feels the last remaining bit of tension disappearing. They settle into a companiable silence and Neal turns his attention back to his drawing.
After a while he hears Peter say, “You draw very well. That’s lovely.”
Neal looks at the paper with a critical eye. “That’s very nice of you to say but it’s pretty horrible actually. I guess I’m just not feeling very inspired today.”
“No? Well, what usually inspires you?”
Neal shrugs. “I don’t know. Different things at different times. Sometimes people . . .”
He pauses as an idea comes to him. He almost discards it, but in the end he turns to Peter and says, “I could draw you.”
“Me? Oh no. No, I’m not . . .” Peter doesn’t seem to know what to say, ending the sentence in a spluttering mess of words.
Neal looks at him curiously. “Not what?”
“I’m just not the kind of person that people draw, that’s all.”
Ah, Neal gets it now. The smooth, confident negotiator doesn’t believe he’s attractive enough. Neal looks down, putting pencil to paper and begins to sketch. “No? Well, I disagree. I think you have a very interesting face, Peter. Strong. And imminently sketchable.”
“I think you just made that word up,” Peter says.
Neal laughs, enjoying it when Peter joins in.
“But thank you, Neal,” Peter says after they both sober.
“So shouldn’t you and your people be in a meeting with our people right about now?” Neal asks after a while.
“We should be. But we hit an impasse and everyone felt it would be a good time for a break.”
“So where are your cohorts?”
Peter leans back on his elbows and looks up at the sky, giving Neal a perfect view of his profile. Neal can’t help but think that it’s a nice profile.
“They decided to take a nap. I decided to wander,” Peter says.
“And you wandered over here.”
“Wandered to a lot of other places first. I just ended up here.”
Neal nods, moving pencil quickly over the paper as he peers at Peter from the corner of his eye. “Did you see anything you like?” He phrases the question so that it’s flirtatious. It makes him feel powerful, knowing that he can tease and play with men and women both and that nobody can touch him. It’s one of the few advantages of the Khan’s favorite plaything and being marked in this particular way.
But Peter either doesn’t notice or he chooses not to play along. He merely says, in a voice that’s calm and casual, “Many things. The palace is beautiful.”
Feeling a small sense of disappointment with Peter’s answer, Neal puts the finishing touches on his sketch in silence. He’d done it quickly and it’s slightly rough, but he’s happy with it. He turns it around toward Peter. “What do you think?”
Peter sits up and stares at the drawing. “That’s me,” he says, sounding surprised and confused. “You drew me.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
Peter levels a look at him before continuing. “Why would you . . . ?”
“I told you, you have an interesting face.”
“You were barely even looking at me.”
Neal laughs. “I’m a genius with peripheral vision.”
Peter reaches out for it but Neal deftly pulls it back and stands. “Uh huh. This one’s for me.”
And then Peter surprises Neal by saying, “Fine, but I keep the next one.”
“Who says there’s going to be a next one?”
Peter turns his face back up to the sun and closes his eyes. “Who says there isn’t?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later, in his chambers, Neal sits on his chaise and stares down at the picture. The knock at the door barely gains his attention. He knows by the specific count of raps that it’s Moz, his best friend.
“Come in,” he says, loud enough to be heard.
He scoots over and makes room so that Moz can settle in at his side.
“How are the kitchens?” he asks.
“Kitchen-like,” Moz responds. It’s their standard script, what they always say when they greet other, but it never ceases to elicit a smile from Neal.
Moz is far too smart to be toiling away in the kitchens but he claims he prefers it to other, more high profile jobs. He’s fond of saying that at no time should the people in power know what you are truly capable of.
Neal wonders often if Moz isn’t right.
“What do you have there?” Moz asks, peering down at the drawing.
“Something I did in the garden today.”
“Isn’t that the negotiator from Jorun?” Moz asks.
“Yeah.”
“And you kept it?”
Neal lifts his gaze, meeting Moz’s. “Yes.”
“Why?”
It should be an easy question but for some reason it isn’t. He runs his fingers down the lines of the drawing, careful not to smudge.
“I . . . he has a nice face,” Neal finally whispers.
“He has a nice face?” Moz repeats.
“I mean, he has an interesting face,” Neal says, voice growing stronger.
“I’d hide that from the Khan if I were you.”
“Yes,” Neal says. He turns the drawing over, hiding Peter’s face. “The Khan doesn’t have to know everything.”
Author: Isolde13
Rating: R (will go up)
Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal, Neal/OMC, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth (not shown in this chapter)
Spoilers: None
Warnings: AU. Issues of consent of sexual slavery, but not between Peter and Neal. Nothing on page yet. Memento type timeline
Summary: Peter is in love with someone he can't have. Someone he can't even touch . . .
Notes: Started off as a drabble to throw off writer's block. This was born from the concept in the movie The Mummy, where the Pharaoh's wife cannot be touched by anyone else because of the gold paint covering her body. Timeline is a little funky to make up for the fact that the start of the story was really the middle of the story
Previous chapters here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/907411 . Comments and feedback are always love
In this chapter we have move back in time
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Khan’s palace has many gardens, some grand and ornate and some smaller and more intimate, like the one that Neal sits in now.
This is his favorite, the smallest garden of them all. It’s pretty but not fancy, and it attracts almost no one. For this reason alone it is Neal’s favorite, one of the few places where he can truly be alone, a place where he can feel safe and unguarded.
He’s sitting on the grass, leaning back against a large tree, his sketchbook in his hands. He looks out at the garden, then down to his sketchpad and sighs, not particularly pleased with what he sees.
“Boring. Completely boring,” he mutters. He’s about to rip out the page from the sketchpad and start over when he hears soft footfalls behind him. He tenses, turning to see who’s intruding in his private space.
He relaxes a fraction when he sees that it’s Peter, the visitor to their country, the one that the Khan had told him to treat well. He flips back through his memory, recalling that he’d been told to be gracious and to be on his best behavior. Well, that he can certainly do.
Peter stops, looking startled as if he hadn’t expected anyone to be here His eyes go from Neal’s face to the sketchpad and back up again.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” He begins to turn as if to leave..
“It’s all right. You can stay,” Neal says. “This is a public garden.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you.”
It’s then that Neal notices where Peter’s eyes have fallen. He is no longer looking at Neal’s face at all, his gaze is lowered, transfixed on the skin of Neal’s bare arm.
Neal sighs. “You’re not allowed to touch but you can still look and you can certainly sit in the same garden and talk to me.”
Peter meets Neal’s eyes. He looks surprised but has the grace to smile as he blushes slightly. He sits down a few feet from Neal, what Neal recognizes as a safe distance, and turns his face to the sun.
After only a few seconds, he turns his head to Neal. “I’m Peter.”
“Oh, I remember.”
“Do you?” Peter asks, looking amused.
“I do. I’m Neal.”
“Oh, I remember,” Peter says.
They both chuckle at that and Neal feels the last remaining bit of tension disappearing. They settle into a companiable silence and Neal turns his attention back to his drawing.
After a while he hears Peter say, “You draw very well. That’s lovely.”
Neal looks at the paper with a critical eye. “That’s very nice of you to say but it’s pretty horrible actually. I guess I’m just not feeling very inspired today.”
“No? Well, what usually inspires you?”
Neal shrugs. “I don’t know. Different things at different times. Sometimes people . . .”
He pauses as an idea comes to him. He almost discards it, but in the end he turns to Peter and says, “I could draw you.”
“Me? Oh no. No, I’m not . . .” Peter doesn’t seem to know what to say, ending the sentence in a spluttering mess of words.
Neal looks at him curiously. “Not what?”
“I’m just not the kind of person that people draw, that’s all.”
Ah, Neal gets it now. The smooth, confident negotiator doesn’t believe he’s attractive enough. Neal looks down, putting pencil to paper and begins to sketch. “No? Well, I disagree. I think you have a very interesting face, Peter. Strong. And imminently sketchable.”
“I think you just made that word up,” Peter says.
Neal laughs, enjoying it when Peter joins in.
“But thank you, Neal,” Peter says after they both sober.
“So shouldn’t you and your people be in a meeting with our people right about now?” Neal asks after a while.
“We should be. But we hit an impasse and everyone felt it would be a good time for a break.”
“So where are your cohorts?”
Peter leans back on his elbows and looks up at the sky, giving Neal a perfect view of his profile. Neal can’t help but think that it’s a nice profile.
“They decided to take a nap. I decided to wander,” Peter says.
“And you wandered over here.”
“Wandered to a lot of other places first. I just ended up here.”
Neal nods, moving pencil quickly over the paper as he peers at Peter from the corner of his eye. “Did you see anything you like?” He phrases the question so that it’s flirtatious. It makes him feel powerful, knowing that he can tease and play with men and women both and that nobody can touch him. It’s one of the few advantages of the Khan’s favorite plaything and being marked in this particular way.
But Peter either doesn’t notice or he chooses not to play along. He merely says, in a voice that’s calm and casual, “Many things. The palace is beautiful.”
Feeling a small sense of disappointment with Peter’s answer, Neal puts the finishing touches on his sketch in silence. He’d done it quickly and it’s slightly rough, but he’s happy with it. He turns it around toward Peter. “What do you think?”
Peter sits up and stares at the drawing. “That’s me,” he says, sounding surprised and confused. “You drew me.”
“Nothing gets past you, does it?”
Peter levels a look at him before continuing. “Why would you . . . ?”
“I told you, you have an interesting face.”
“You were barely even looking at me.”
Neal laughs. “I’m a genius with peripheral vision.”
Peter reaches out for it but Neal deftly pulls it back and stands. “Uh huh. This one’s for me.”
And then Peter surprises Neal by saying, “Fine, but I keep the next one.”
“Who says there’s going to be a next one?”
Peter turns his face back up to the sun and closes his eyes. “Who says there isn’t?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later, in his chambers, Neal sits on his chaise and stares down at the picture. The knock at the door barely gains his attention. He knows by the specific count of raps that it’s Moz, his best friend.
“Come in,” he says, loud enough to be heard.
He scoots over and makes room so that Moz can settle in at his side.
“How are the kitchens?” he asks.
“Kitchen-like,” Moz responds. It’s their standard script, what they always say when they greet other, but it never ceases to elicit a smile from Neal.
Moz is far too smart to be toiling away in the kitchens but he claims he prefers it to other, more high profile jobs. He’s fond of saying that at no time should the people in power know what you are truly capable of.
Neal wonders often if Moz isn’t right.
“What do you have there?” Moz asks, peering down at the drawing.
“Something I did in the garden today.”
“Isn’t that the negotiator from Jorun?” Moz asks.
“Yeah.”
“And you kept it?”
Neal lifts his gaze, meeting Moz’s. “Yes.”
“Why?”
It should be an easy question but for some reason it isn’t. He runs his fingers down the lines of the drawing, careful not to smudge.
“I . . . he has a nice face,” Neal finally whispers.
“He has a nice face?” Moz repeats.
“I mean, he has an interesting face,” Neal says, voice growing stronger.
“I’d hide that from the Khan if I were you.”
“Yes,” Neal says. He turns the drawing over, hiding Peter’s face. “The Khan doesn’t have to know everything.”