White Collar Fic - Cheekbone City
Apr. 18th, 2012 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Cheekbone City
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey (P/E/N), June Ellington, Cindy the Granddaughter
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Full Highland Formal Dress, The Dior New Look
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Peter and Neal make a bet and they both rise to the occasion. Consider this part of my Vinegar Hill Continuum, definitely post-anklet.
A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Written for the delightfuldaria234, for her prompt on my meme. Title from the Oysterband song of the same name. Additional notes at the end of the story.
__________________
How do I let myself get drawn into these things? Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. The answer was obvious. Neal, of course.
Elizabeth was deep in the closet – no, not that closet – the one in the guest room, rooting around for … damn, his brain shied away from the whole idea. His formal Highland dress. There – he let himself think of it: the tartan kilt, the Prince Charlie jacket and vest, the sporran, those damn uncomfortable ghillie brogues and white knee-high socks.
It was too much to hope that he didn’t fit into it anymore, but that was unlikely. He was in better shape now than the last time he wore it, at his cousin Jeanne’s wedding two years ago. Where he got way too drunk on some extremely smooth single malt and did a Highland fling with a half-dozen of his Muir cousins. At least it wasn’t a sword dance…
“Here it is, hon.” El practically floated into the room, carrying a garment bag. “Good thing I had it cleaned after the last time – you got a little carried away that night.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Too much Glenmuir and bagpipes.” His head throbbed in sympathetic memory.
El hung the bag up, and unzipped it, displaying the formal elegance of the short black jacket and vest with their silver buttons. The blue and green Muir tartan kilt, with its gold and red weave, was hidden behind it. “Just one question, hon.”
Peter looked up from his struggles with his shirt studs. The dry cleaner had overstarched the placket of his dress shirt. “What?”
“Are you going traditional or modern tonight?”
Peter felt the hot flush from his belly to his forehead. “Will there be dancing tonight?”
El grinned. “Nothing terribly vigorous, if that’s your concern.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Tighter, pull it tighter.” June commanded and Cindy obeyed. Neal all but fainted from the lack of oxygen.
June took out a tape measure, wrapped it around his corseted waist and told Cindy to pull again. “Just a little more and you’ll have it.”
“Remind me again, June, why am I doing this?” Neal’s voice was breathy and light. Probably because he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“Because you made that bet with Peter. And you’re way too competitive.”
Neal would have laughed, if laughter didn’t require actually breathing. Cindy yanked again, and he squeaked. June took one more measurement and told her granddaughter to tie it off.
“Come, look at yourself.”
Neal walked over to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in June’s dressing room. He looked … strange. Different. Transformed. He had always been slim, but definitely masculine. The six-pack had been hard-earned and diligently maintained, but now – it didn’t matter. The corset, a modern contraption with spring steel boning, lined in velvet and sheathed in satin, was an exquisite torture made just for him.
June gave him a peck on the cheek and sat him down at her dressing table. “You’re going to be gorgeous.” She turned to her granddaughter. “Now, get to work.”
“Don’t overdo it, all right? I’m not supposed to be a drag queen.”
Cindy just smiled. “Trust me, okay?”
Neal forced himself to relax, at least as much as the corset would let him. And to be honest, it was actually kind of nice to have someone make him up. He tried to keep still as Cindy applied mascara and eyeliner, following her instructions to look up, not at her, so he wouldn’t flinch. She didn’t let him look until she was done – and if he thought that the corset transformed him, the makeup completely altered him. Neal Caffrey was barely there – replaced by this strong, sensual creature.
June and Cindy stepped out and he stripped off his pants, slipped on the hosiery, a full, multilayer petticoat and most of the rest of the lingerie demanded by the fashion, calling them back to help him with the final step.
On loan from June (it had actually been her mother’s), the dress was black velvet, a classic Dior New Look evening gown with a plunging neckline, wasp waist (hence the corset) and a full skirt. He couldn’t take his eyes off himself. It was him, his hair – no wig, his eyes, his chin. He wasn’t so much a man dressing up as a woman, but an amalgam of two sexes.
Then the shoes, custom ordered for his size 13 feet. He had practiced walking in them for hours, and he was fairly confident he’d make it through the evening without landing on his face. They weren’t comfortable, in fact, they hurt like hell and he anticipated a decent foot rub at the end of the evening. At the very least.
Neal tugged on the black elbow length evening gloves and picked up a broad-brimmed hat. “I think I’m all set.” He held out his arms, did a little turn, sending the skirts a-whirl. It sounded like two women whispering.
“One more thing and you’re ready.” June made him duck his head and she clasped a pearl necklace around his throat. “Perfection!”
He stood up, June at his side, as Cindy pulled out her cell phone. “Say cheese.” The camera made its little electronic clicking sound and the flash went off. He was preserved for digital posterity.
Neal turned to his former landlady and still dearest friend. “I’ll have this back to you by the end of the week, is that okay?”
“Don’t worry about it.” June laughed a little. “You manage to do justice to my husband’s wardrobe and my mother’s.”
The waiting Rolls Royce was a little too Cinderella on her way to the ball, but at least it wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.
Neal leaned back against the butter-soft leather and thought he had this one in the bag. There was nothing Peter could wear that would top this.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth looked around the Grand Ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria and smiled in satisfaction. This was the pinnacle of her career as an event planner; the annual fancy dress ball was the premier fundraising event for the New York Heritage Society. Guests could come in evening wear – ball gowns and tuxedos – or in elegant costumes. With a grand prize for the best dressed, it was not surprising that most guests chose to come in costume.
Tickets to the event were hard to come by, even at five thousand per person, but June, bless her, was a regular subscriber, and had not only recommended El for the job (after last year’s debacle), she gave her tickets to Peter and Neal. At some point in the discussion of whether or not to attend, Neal challenged Peter to a dress-off.
Peter agreed, albeit reluctantly, and probably only because he had a hidden weapon. Neal, however, refused to tell her what he was wearing, and El didn’t think it was going to be only of Byron’s classic tuxedos. It was certainly going to be interesting to see.
Peter handed her a glass of champagne and kept scanning the crowd, looking for Neal. She did the same, although it was hard without the advantage of height. A tall woman in a vintage gown approached, and she blinked. No – it couldn’t be. But the smile was unmistakable, it was pure Caffrey Triumphant. He shook his head and El didn’t say anything to Peter as he came close.
It was difficult, but she kept her eyes on Peter’s face, wanting to catch his reaction.
“Hey, Peter.” Neal’s voice was breathy.
The look on her husband’s face was priceless. He blinked, the blinked again. While his jaw didn’t quite hit the floor, it stopped just short of his sporran.
And yet Neal’s reaction was just as gratifying. He stood there, eating Peter up with his mascara’d eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have fabulous legs?”
Peter clenched his jaw and crossed his legs, and it was clear he was having a hard time controlling himself. Neal shifted, his skirts rustling and he clasped his hands in front of himself. Elizabeth figured he was having the same problem as Peter.
Oh, boys – how I love you both. She kissed them, and as a parting shot before leaving them to enjoy their date night, El ask, “Am I the only one wearing underpants tonight?”
FIN
Author’s Notes:
Sadly, there is no “Clan Burke” tartan plaid, so I decided that Peter’s maternal grandmother was a Muir.
When I first got into fandom, even before we became friends, the lovelyhoosierbitch had asked about what fashion would Neal wear if he were cross dressing and needed a corset. I had suggested the Dior New Look.
The bet that Peter and Neal made? If Neal rendered Peter speechless, Peter had to take him to a Friday night poker game. If Peter made Neal’s jaw drop, Neal had to go with him to a Yankees game and eat at least one hot dog with mustard and kraut. I couldn’t quite work that into my fic.
And the story continues in Apres, where Peter and Neal have to leave the ballroom before they thoroughly embarrass themselves.
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey (P/E/N), June Ellington, Cindy the Granddaughter
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Full Highland Formal Dress, The Dior New Look
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Peter and Neal make a bet and they both rise to the occasion. Consider this part of my Vinegar Hill Continuum, definitely post-anklet.
A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Written for the delightful
daria234, for her prompt on my meme. Title from the Oysterband song of the same name. Additional notes at the end of the story.How do I let myself get drawn into these things? Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. The answer was obvious. Neal, of course.
Elizabeth was deep in the closet – no, not that closet – the one in the guest room, rooting around for … damn, his brain shied away from the whole idea. His formal Highland dress. There – he let himself think of it: the tartan kilt, the Prince Charlie jacket and vest, the sporran, those damn uncomfortable ghillie brogues and white knee-high socks.
It was too much to hope that he didn’t fit into it anymore, but that was unlikely. He was in better shape now than the last time he wore it, at his cousin Jeanne’s wedding two years ago. Where he got way too drunk on some extremely smooth single malt and did a Highland fling with a half-dozen of his Muir cousins. At least it wasn’t a sword dance…
“Here it is, hon.” El practically floated into the room, carrying a garment bag. “Good thing I had it cleaned after the last time – you got a little carried away that night.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Too much Glenmuir and bagpipes.” His head throbbed in sympathetic memory.
El hung the bag up, and unzipped it, displaying the formal elegance of the short black jacket and vest with their silver buttons. The blue and green Muir tartan kilt, with its gold and red weave, was hidden behind it. “Just one question, hon.”
Peter looked up from his struggles with his shirt studs. The dry cleaner had overstarched the placket of his dress shirt. “What?”
“Are you going traditional or modern tonight?”
Peter felt the hot flush from his belly to his forehead. “Will there be dancing tonight?”
El grinned. “Nothing terribly vigorous, if that’s your concern.”
“Tighter, pull it tighter.” June commanded and Cindy obeyed. Neal all but fainted from the lack of oxygen.
June took out a tape measure, wrapped it around his corseted waist and told Cindy to pull again. “Just a little more and you’ll have it.”
“Remind me again, June, why am I doing this?” Neal’s voice was breathy and light. Probably because he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs.
“Because you made that bet with Peter. And you’re way too competitive.”
Neal would have laughed, if laughter didn’t require actually breathing. Cindy yanked again, and he squeaked. June took one more measurement and told her granddaughter to tie it off.
“Come, look at yourself.”
Neal walked over to the floor-to-ceiling mirror in June’s dressing room. He looked … strange. Different. Transformed. He had always been slim, but definitely masculine. The six-pack had been hard-earned and diligently maintained, but now – it didn’t matter. The corset, a modern contraption with spring steel boning, lined in velvet and sheathed in satin, was an exquisite torture made just for him.
June gave him a peck on the cheek and sat him down at her dressing table. “You’re going to be gorgeous.” She turned to her granddaughter. “Now, get to work.”
“Don’t overdo it, all right? I’m not supposed to be a drag queen.”
Cindy just smiled. “Trust me, okay?”
Neal forced himself to relax, at least as much as the corset would let him. And to be honest, it was actually kind of nice to have someone make him up. He tried to keep still as Cindy applied mascara and eyeliner, following her instructions to look up, not at her, so he wouldn’t flinch. She didn’t let him look until she was done – and if he thought that the corset transformed him, the makeup completely altered him. Neal Caffrey was barely there – replaced by this strong, sensual creature.
June and Cindy stepped out and he stripped off his pants, slipped on the hosiery, a full, multilayer petticoat and most of the rest of the lingerie demanded by the fashion, calling them back to help him with the final step.
On loan from June (it had actually been her mother’s), the dress was black velvet, a classic Dior New Look evening gown with a plunging neckline, wasp waist (hence the corset) and a full skirt. He couldn’t take his eyes off himself. It was him, his hair – no wig, his eyes, his chin. He wasn’t so much a man dressing up as a woman, but an amalgam of two sexes.
Then the shoes, custom ordered for his size 13 feet. He had practiced walking in them for hours, and he was fairly confident he’d make it through the evening without landing on his face. They weren’t comfortable, in fact, they hurt like hell and he anticipated a decent foot rub at the end of the evening. At the very least.
Neal tugged on the black elbow length evening gloves and picked up a broad-brimmed hat. “I think I’m all set.” He held out his arms, did a little turn, sending the skirts a-whirl. It sounded like two women whispering.
“One more thing and you’re ready.” June made him duck his head and she clasped a pearl necklace around his throat. “Perfection!”
He stood up, June at his side, as Cindy pulled out her cell phone. “Say cheese.” The camera made its little electronic clicking sound and the flash went off. He was preserved for digital posterity.
Neal turned to his former landlady and still dearest friend. “I’ll have this back to you by the end of the week, is that okay?”
“Don’t worry about it.” June laughed a little. “You manage to do justice to my husband’s wardrobe and my mother’s.”
The waiting Rolls Royce was a little too Cinderella on her way to the ball, but at least it wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.
Neal leaned back against the butter-soft leather and thought he had this one in the bag. There was nothing Peter could wear that would top this.
Elizabeth looked around the Grand Ballroom at the Waldorf-Astoria and smiled in satisfaction. This was the pinnacle of her career as an event planner; the annual fancy dress ball was the premier fundraising event for the New York Heritage Society. Guests could come in evening wear – ball gowns and tuxedos – or in elegant costumes. With a grand prize for the best dressed, it was not surprising that most guests chose to come in costume.
Tickets to the event were hard to come by, even at five thousand per person, but June, bless her, was a regular subscriber, and had not only recommended El for the job (after last year’s debacle), she gave her tickets to Peter and Neal. At some point in the discussion of whether or not to attend, Neal challenged Peter to a dress-off.
Peter agreed, albeit reluctantly, and probably only because he had a hidden weapon. Neal, however, refused to tell her what he was wearing, and El didn’t think it was going to be only of Byron’s classic tuxedos. It was certainly going to be interesting to see.
Peter handed her a glass of champagne and kept scanning the crowd, looking for Neal. She did the same, although it was hard without the advantage of height. A tall woman in a vintage gown approached, and she blinked. No – it couldn’t be. But the smile was unmistakable, it was pure Caffrey Triumphant. He shook his head and El didn’t say anything to Peter as he came close.
It was difficult, but she kept her eyes on Peter’s face, wanting to catch his reaction.
“Hey, Peter.” Neal’s voice was breathy.
The look on her husband’s face was priceless. He blinked, the blinked again. While his jaw didn’t quite hit the floor, it stopped just short of his sporran.
And yet Neal’s reaction was just as gratifying. He stood there, eating Peter up with his mascara’d eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have fabulous legs?”
Peter clenched his jaw and crossed his legs, and it was clear he was having a hard time controlling himself. Neal shifted, his skirts rustling and he clasped his hands in front of himself. Elizabeth figured he was having the same problem as Peter.
Oh, boys – how I love you both. She kissed them, and as a parting shot before leaving them to enjoy their date night, El ask, “Am I the only one wearing underpants tonight?”
Author’s Notes:
Sadly, there is no “Clan Burke” tartan plaid, so I decided that Peter’s maternal grandmother was a Muir.
When I first got into fandom, even before we became friends, the lovely
hoosierbitch had asked about what fashion would Neal wear if he were cross dressing and needed a corset. I had suggested the Dior New Look. The bet that Peter and Neal made? If Neal rendered Peter speechless, Peter had to take him to a Friday night poker game. If Peter made Neal’s jaw drop, Neal had to go with him to a Yankees game and eat at least one hot dog with mustard and kraut. I couldn’t quite work that into my fic.
And the story continues in Apres, where Peter and Neal have to leave the ballroom before they thoroughly embarrass themselves.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-20 12:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 07:23 am (UTC)I'd actually love to see Neal in a great-kilt, and may eventually hatch a historical-AU PlotBunny where Neal's a Highland rebel (though half-Irish) and Peter's a Redcoat... El's a relative of Neal's from the Irish side of his family, and after many misadventures they all three run off to America together... but I digress...
::leaves PlotBunny on Elrhiarhodan's doorstep in a basket with a "Please Look After This B/e/a/r/ Bunny" label tied to the handle::
no subject
Date: 2012-04-20 12:45 pm (UTC)Thank you for the plot bunny and the feedback!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-21 12:37 am (UTC)Ooooh! *Grow*, little Bunny, GROW!
If you *do* write something, I'd love a chance to beta...
::feeds PlotBunny some high-quality Bunny Chow::
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 05:32 pm (UTC)This is NOT PG.
This is NC-17.
I'm hard over here.
============:-o
OMFG. That is so. unbelievably. HOT.
Now I want the sequel, wherein Peter and Neal find a secluded place out in some vast garden and Peter turns Neal around, pulls up his skirt and Neal's dress, and just gives it to him.
This was...gdgrsgg h;iugsdfgdgglhj!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 12:09 am (UTC)I'll die.
P.S. I'm sorry, Peter, for calling your kilt a skirt. I was in the severe heat of the moment!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 12:14 am (UTC);-)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 09:07 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 08:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 09:11 pm (UTC)The sequel should be posted tonight.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 09:21 pm (UTC):D
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 11:19 pm (UTC)Okay, I was secretly hoping you would put Neal in a corset :) But I actually love men in kilts even more. LOVE THEM. Wow. Hot images. Also love that Neal likes being taken care of and primped by Cindy and June.
This is so great and yummy.
TY!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 11:45 pm (UTC)So glad I met not one but two secret kinks...and I am working/thinking about a bonus ficlet. Because, you know - I can't just leave them there. Like that.
Sporting public wood.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 03:44 am (UTC)Breathly, corrested Neal x kilted, commando Peter = Seriously Delicious Delight.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 09:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 03:43 pm (UTC)Um.
I'll be in my bunk.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 11:39 pm (UTC)Also? "Am I the only one wearing underpants tonight?" Elizabeth is made of awesome.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 11:43 pm (UTC)BTW - the sequel's up: Après.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-20 03:34 am (UTC)Of course, El gets the best line of the evening. :-)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-20 02:33 pm (UTC)But Peter in a kilt - GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!
FWIW - I sort of built that fic with El's line at the end.
no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 04:33 pm (UTC)But then Neal shows up. In a classic Dior. I just... *brain iz breaked* I'm usually not one for crossdressing, but this was hotter than hell! Neal would make sure a pretty lady! *goes glassy-eyed*
And seriously, this is exactly the kind of thing the boys would do. *pets them* Lucky El is lucky.
*runs off to read the sequel*
no subject
Date: 2014-04-07 04:37 pm (UTC)But the idea of Neal getting dressed up like this just struck me hard, and then PETER IN A KILT hit me, well, even harder.
What can I say?