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elrhiarhodanTitle: Not Quite Cappuccino in the Clouds
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Moz; reference to Peter and Elizabeth Burke (P/E/N)
Spoilers: Oh, certainly not.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Death and consumption of a small urban animal. Part of the Transformation Series. Crack. Mild horror. Wha? Tentacles. Wings. Humor. You’ve been warned.
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Neal and Moz decide what do on such a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
A/N: No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. But if you want to blame someone, it'srabidchild67's fault, and she knows why. And written for my friend byrons_brain, because she's been a little under the weather and really loves this kind of stuff.
__________________
A pigeon landed with a flutter of wings, started cooing, and Neal glanced up in annoyance. Those damn birds were everywhere. They were messy and noisy and unremittingly stupid. He would have thought they’d have learned by now that this rooftop oasis was not a safe place for them.
He casually opened up his vest and shirt and leaned back in the chair. One of his tentacles, the big, long one, emerged from nest in his torso. The bird continued to flutter on the stone merlon, unaware of the danger. The tentacle struck with deadly accuracy, grabbing the pigeon and quickly snapping its neck. As feathers settled everywhere, it dropped the bird on top of the discarded real estate section of the New York Times and withdrew.
The tentacle curled itself back against Neal’s smooth torso, now indistinguishable from the well-defined abdominal muscles. It was only under very bright light that one could make out the faint outlines of dozens of different appendages, some as fine as veins, others thick as a wrist. They arrowed down, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, where more tentacles flourished, including the best and biggest one of all. Peter and Elizabeth had given him the tentacles as a gift to mark the first anniversary of their relationship. On their fifth anniversary, they gave him wings.
Neal buttoned himself up and brushed away the feathers that landed on his shoulders.
“Shit, Neal – I hope that wasn’t Estelle.” Moz, of course, hadn’t knocked.
“No – just some random pigeon. A rat with wings.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call them that.” Moz tried for indignation.
“Why? That’s what they are. Dirty and disgusting. Nothing like the ones you race.”
“There’s nothing wrong with rats or wings. Besides, pigeons make good snacks. You ruin my appetite when you talk about them in such derogatory terms.” Moz settled into the chair opposite and pulled the real estate section in front of him. “This one’s nice and plump.” He poked it with a long, pointed nail.
“Moz – don’t do that here. Please.”
“You’re suddenly squeamish?” He picked the dead bird up by a wing and started plucking out the feathers.
“No – but last time you had a ‘snack’ on the balcony, you left quite a mess.”
“That’s what housekeepers are for.”
Neal looked at his friend in exasperation. “June is a lovely woman, and she’s kind enough to give me lodgings at such a below market rate. But she’s not without limits – and having to have her housekeeper pick up your discarded bones and feathers is a bit too much.”
“Hmmm.” Moz was ignoring him, but at least he was doing his best to eat neatly.
Neal started filling in the crossword – the Sunday one – in pen.
Moz finished and wrapped the bones up neatly. He belched and nearly set the magazine section on fire.
“Hey – watch out!” Neal patted out the burning edges of the paper.
“Sorry.” Moz gave him a sheepish grin. “Those things tend to repeat on me.”
Neal shook his head, having a dragon as a best friend wasn’t without its drawbacks. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Dunno – thought I’d count my hoard. Unless you have a better idea on how to spend a Sunday afternoon?”
“We could count your hoard, or … we could have fun with tourists.” Neal grinned. It was the perfect day for mischief. Buzzing the out-of-towners, playing havoc with air traffic control.
Moz grinned back, delighted with the idea. “Won’t Peter and Elizabeth be annoyed at you?”
Neal began stripping off his clothes, relishing the feel of the sunlight on his back as the feathers began popping out. He chuckled. “I’m counting on it.” His lovers were all but insatiable, and when it came to punishment, they were creative geniuses. He was looking forward to spending the night stuffed with as many of their own tentacles as they could get inside him.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Moz; reference to Peter and Elizabeth Burke (P/E/N)
Spoilers: Oh, certainly not.
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Death and consumption of a small urban animal. Part of the Transformation Series. Crack. Mild horror. Wha? Tentacles. Wings. Humor. You’ve been warned.
Word Count: ~600
Summary: Neal and Moz decide what do on such a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
A/N: No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. But if you want to blame someone, it's
rabidchild67's fault, and she knows why. And written for my friend byrons_brain, because she's been a little under the weather and really loves this kind of stuff.A pigeon landed with a flutter of wings, started cooing, and Neal glanced up in annoyance. Those damn birds were everywhere. They were messy and noisy and unremittingly stupid. He would have thought they’d have learned by now that this rooftop oasis was not a safe place for them.
He casually opened up his vest and shirt and leaned back in the chair. One of his tentacles, the big, long one, emerged from nest in his torso. The bird continued to flutter on the stone merlon, unaware of the danger. The tentacle struck with deadly accuracy, grabbing the pigeon and quickly snapping its neck. As feathers settled everywhere, it dropped the bird on top of the discarded real estate section of the New York Times and withdrew.
The tentacle curled itself back against Neal’s smooth torso, now indistinguishable from the well-defined abdominal muscles. It was only under very bright light that one could make out the faint outlines of dozens of different appendages, some as fine as veins, others thick as a wrist. They arrowed down, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, where more tentacles flourished, including the best and biggest one of all. Peter and Elizabeth had given him the tentacles as a gift to mark the first anniversary of their relationship. On their fifth anniversary, they gave him wings.
Neal buttoned himself up and brushed away the feathers that landed on his shoulders.
“Shit, Neal – I hope that wasn’t Estelle.” Moz, of course, hadn’t knocked.
“No – just some random pigeon. A rat with wings.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call them that.” Moz tried for indignation.
“Why? That’s what they are. Dirty and disgusting. Nothing like the ones you race.”
“There’s nothing wrong with rats or wings. Besides, pigeons make good snacks. You ruin my appetite when you talk about them in such derogatory terms.” Moz settled into the chair opposite and pulled the real estate section in front of him. “This one’s nice and plump.” He poked it with a long, pointed nail.
“Moz – don’t do that here. Please.”
“You’re suddenly squeamish?” He picked the dead bird up by a wing and started plucking out the feathers.
“No – but last time you had a ‘snack’ on the balcony, you left quite a mess.”
“That’s what housekeepers are for.”
Neal looked at his friend in exasperation. “June is a lovely woman, and she’s kind enough to give me lodgings at such a below market rate. But she’s not without limits – and having to have her housekeeper pick up your discarded bones and feathers is a bit too much.”
“Hmmm.” Moz was ignoring him, but at least he was doing his best to eat neatly.
Neal started filling in the crossword – the Sunday one – in pen.
Moz finished and wrapped the bones up neatly. He belched and nearly set the magazine section on fire.
“Hey – watch out!” Neal patted out the burning edges of the paper.
“Sorry.” Moz gave him a sheepish grin. “Those things tend to repeat on me.”
Neal shook his head, having a dragon as a best friend wasn’t without its drawbacks. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Dunno – thought I’d count my hoard. Unless you have a better idea on how to spend a Sunday afternoon?”
“We could count your hoard, or … we could have fun with tourists.” Neal grinned. It was the perfect day for mischief. Buzzing the out-of-towners, playing havoc with air traffic control.
Moz grinned back, delighted with the idea. “Won’t Peter and Elizabeth be annoyed at you?”
Neal began stripping off his clothes, relishing the feel of the sunlight on his back as the feathers began popping out. He chuckled. “I’m counting on it.” His lovers were all but insatiable, and when it came to punishment, they were creative geniuses. He was looking forward to spending the night stuffed with as many of their own tentacles as they could get inside him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-08 11:54 pm (UTC)um....
hee!
I really, really liked talk of Neal's tentacles and stuffing them places and....
also: weird.
LOL
no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 02:48 pm (UTC)But a girl needs a break from all the angst!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-09 02:50 pm (UTC)