White Collar Fic - Sex On The Beach
Apr. 23rd, 2012 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Sex On The Beach - A Wonder(ful) Years Verse Timestamp
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Elizabeth Mitchell; Peter/Neal, Moz/El
Spoilers: It’s a College Age A/U – are spoilers possible?
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Discussion of HIV/AIDS, chest hair
Word Count: ~1700
Beta: The ever-wonderfulcoffeethyme4me
Summary: Neal and Peter, Moz and El meet up in Florida for their Junior year Spring Break, circa 1986.
A/N: A timestamp for my epic A/U – The Wonder(ful) Years, where Peter, Neal, Moz and Elizabeth were friends since elementary school. Written as a fill forladyrose42 for her prompt on my meme.
Also, this is my 1000th post on LiveJournal. Go me.
__________________
Spring Break, Junior Year
Mozzie hadn’t really wanted to go to Florida for Spring Break.
After all, California had terrific beaches and better surfing. But El was going, because Peter and Neal were going. And Mozzie’s middle name might have well been Ruth, because wherever El went, he would have to go.
It probably wouldn’t be too bad. The guys weren’t staying in Daytona or Fort Lauderdale, but in Vero Beach. Something probably to do with the Dodgers and spring training – something Peter was interested in, clearly. Neal said they were renting a house – which was going to be a lot nicer than staying in a seedy motel with a thousand other college kids partying all night long. He had work to do – the kind that shouldn’t be interrupted by beer pong and jello shots and co-eds puking in the hallways.
Neal was actually footing the bill for the trip, which was kind of cool. Actually, he said that Vincent Adler’s money was paying for it, and that made it even better. Regardless of who was paying, it still took Moz way too long to get there from Berkley. By the time the cab dropped Mozzie off at the small beachfront house, he’d been in transit for twelve hours and felt every minute of it.
But Peter and Neal and El were already there, and their welcome made it all worth it.
He was munching on a fresh bagel when Neal sat down next to him. Peter and El were talking about some esoteric baseball thing – the in-field fly rule, maybe.
“So.” Neal grinned at him.
“So, what?”
“How are you doing?” There was a lot of question in those four words.
“Good – pretty good.” It wasn’t his nature to be effusive.
“El tells me you’re spending a lot of time at Stanford these days.”
Moz took another bite of his bagel. It was good – a hell of a lot better than what he got in San Francisco. He chewed, slowly, deliberately and swallowed. “Stanford’s not that far from Berkley. My work takes me all over.”
“All over, including a little house off campus occupied by my boyfriend’s former girlfriend?”
“Look – just ask what you want to know.”
Neal laughed. “Just wanted to make sure that it was okay to put your bags in the bedroom that El’s claimed for the week. If not, there’s a pull-out in the living room.”
Moz flushed bright red. “What did Elizabeth say?”
“Truthfully, she was the one who told us where to put your bags.”
Moz just smiled.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Vero Beach was spared the influx of college kids. It was a quiet town, more retiree than rarin’ to go. The beaches were nice, even if the surf was tame.
Moz stretched out on one of the loungers. Their house rental got them access to a private beach club with a swimming pool and bar service. Elizabeth was next to him, on her belly, her bikini top opened to avoid tan lines.
“You have enough sunblock on?” He was worried for her fair skin.
“Don’t be such an old man, Moz.”
“That’s not what you said to me last night.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She slapped him, momentarily forgetting about the bikini top.
“Careful – you’ll give the geezers an eyeful – they might have heart attacks.”
El wrapped her arms around her chest and sat up. “Can you do me up?”
As he retied the strings, Moz thought of at least a dozen innuendos he could respond with, but decided that he’d rather not sleep on the pullout. He kissed her shoulder and she glanced back at him, all girly and flirty. He was so in love with this woman that it scared him. He hoped that she felt just a tenth of what he felt for her.
Peter and Neal came out of the water, laughing. Their relationship still amazed him. Not that they were lovers – the gay thing was never a problem for him – but that they were as close now as they were in junior high. Except for that stretch of time in their senior year, when Peter was trying to be noble, they hadn’t been apart since seventh grade.
He worried about them – the AIDS and HIV plague erupted during their freshman year and all he could think about was Neal dying too young. And Peter, too. He sent boxes and boxes of condoms and started cultivating all sorts of connections with the pharmaceutical industry. If they got infected, Moz was going to do whatever it took to get them all the help they needed. And then some.
And then he realized he didn’t have to worry, or worry as much. Last year, over winter break, they had flown out to San Francisco. Peter and Neal had divided their time between Berkley and Stanford and it was almost like the good old days. El had made a suggestion about going down to the Castro, but both of the guys nixed the idea. Peter said, in a very grave, too adult voice, that neither of them was particularly interested in the club scene or its consequences. Neal took his hand and smiled at Peter. It was like the rising sun.
Elizabeth blinked in confusion at Peter’s declaration, and Moz had thought she was adorable.
But still, Moz had a few private words with Neal and then with Peter. They were exquisitely monogamous, but Peter was Peter: Mr. Caution, Mr. I’ve-So-Learned-My-Lesson and Neal did what Peter told him to do. They had learned to enjoy a life filled with raincoats.
A waiter came over, tall and very good looking in a preppy sort of way with his Bermuda shorts and pink faux Izod – sort of like a living Ken doll. He smiled flirtatiously at Peter and Neal and Moz wanted to tell him not to bother. The guy brought them beers and wrote something down on a napkin. Peter rather pointedly used it to wipe the condensation off his glass and wadded it up before the waiter walked away.
El, who completely missed that by-play, called the guy over. Moz tried not to look like he was watching them.
“Hi.” Elizabeth sat up and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She fluttered her eyelashes like some ditz.
The Ken doll all but drooled – apparently he was indiscriminate and opportunistic. “What can I get for you, sweetheart?”
It occurred to Moz that El looked a little too much like Princess Leia in her bikini. Or a Boris Vallejo cover from a John Norman novel, which was appropriate, since he was beginning to feel like a caveman.
“I’ll have, um - sex on the beach?” Her voice was breathy, like from some perfume commercial. Moz snapped.
Moz didn’t hear the question in El’s voice. “Oh no you won’t – not with this – this refugee from the Preppy Handbook!” He sprung up from the lounger, fists clenched like a bare-knucked boxer. “You’re not laying a finger on her, you hear?”
The waiter took a huge step back, held his hands up. Moz advanced on him. He might have chased the creep all the way to the ocean except that someone – and from the length of the fingernails it was probably El – grabbed him by his swimming trunks.
“What are you doing, Mozzie?”
He turned around, letting the guy retreat to the safety of the bar area. “I can’t believe you propositioned that jerk. Right in front of me!”
El covered her mouth, but he could tell she was laughing. Peter and Neal came over and they were laughing too. Moz flushed from his navel to his retreating hairline and down his back to the crack of his ass. “What the fuck is so damn funny? My girlfriend just asked a total stranger for sex on the beach!”
Neal swung a companionable arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss against his temple. “Moz - relax. Don’t you know what Sex on the Beach is?”
He could actually now hear the capital letters in the words. “I am guessing that it’s not a request to copulate in the surf.”
“No, it’s just a drink – peach schnapps and other stuff.”
The light dawned. “Ah, a girly drink.”
El pushed Neal out of the way and rested her arms on his shoulders. “I think you’re so sweet – going all macho like that.” She kissed him, and Moz all but melted. “But remember, you don’t own me. And if you get to have sex with your lab groupies, I can want to have sex on the beach with that guy.” Elizabeth kissed him again. “Okay?”
Moz nodded and swallowed hard. As declarations of independence went, this was a good one. “Sorry.”
El pushed him down onto the lounger and snuggled up next to him. She ran her fingers through his chest hair. “Mozzie, you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t subscribe to middle class values and notions of morality.”
“Yeah,” Moz had to agree.
“But…” El drew out the syllable the way she was gently pulling on his chest hair, “If you’ve changed your mind and would be interested in a monogamous relationship, I can work with that.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
Moz weighed his options. On one hand, there were his principles. Living free of The Man and The Man’s Rules and Restrictions. On the other hand, there was Elizabeth. Her sweet, hot body. Her intelligence. Her emotional maturity. That she didn’t care that he was short and going bald at nineteen. She saw him. She was the best thing in his life.
“El?”
“Yeah, Moz.”
“I think, in this case, I can make an exception.”
“Mmm, good. And I still want to have Sex on the Beach.”
“The drink? Or …?”
This time, she gave his chest hair a sharp tug. “What do you think?”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Elizabeth Mitchell; Peter/Neal, Moz/El
Spoilers: It’s a College Age A/U – are spoilers possible?
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Discussion of HIV/AIDS, chest hair
Word Count: ~1700
Beta: The ever-wonderful
coffeethyme4me Summary: Neal and Peter, Moz and El meet up in Florida for their Junior year Spring Break, circa 1986.
A/N: A timestamp for my epic A/U – The Wonder(ful) Years, where Peter, Neal, Moz and Elizabeth were friends since elementary school. Written as a fill for
ladyrose42 for her prompt on my meme. Also, this is my 1000th post on LiveJournal. Go me.
Spring Break, Junior Year
Mozzie hadn’t really wanted to go to Florida for Spring Break.
After all, California had terrific beaches and better surfing. But El was going, because Peter and Neal were going. And Mozzie’s middle name might have well been Ruth, because wherever El went, he would have to go.
It probably wouldn’t be too bad. The guys weren’t staying in Daytona or Fort Lauderdale, but in Vero Beach. Something probably to do with the Dodgers and spring training – something Peter was interested in, clearly. Neal said they were renting a house – which was going to be a lot nicer than staying in a seedy motel with a thousand other college kids partying all night long. He had work to do – the kind that shouldn’t be interrupted by beer pong and jello shots and co-eds puking in the hallways.
Neal was actually footing the bill for the trip, which was kind of cool. Actually, he said that Vincent Adler’s money was paying for it, and that made it even better. Regardless of who was paying, it still took Moz way too long to get there from Berkley. By the time the cab dropped Mozzie off at the small beachfront house, he’d been in transit for twelve hours and felt every minute of it.
But Peter and Neal and El were already there, and their welcome made it all worth it.
He was munching on a fresh bagel when Neal sat down next to him. Peter and El were talking about some esoteric baseball thing – the in-field fly rule, maybe.
“So.” Neal grinned at him.
“So, what?”
“How are you doing?” There was a lot of question in those four words.
“Good – pretty good.” It wasn’t his nature to be effusive.
“El tells me you’re spending a lot of time at Stanford these days.”
Moz took another bite of his bagel. It was good – a hell of a lot better than what he got in San Francisco. He chewed, slowly, deliberately and swallowed. “Stanford’s not that far from Berkley. My work takes me all over.”
“All over, including a little house off campus occupied by my boyfriend’s former girlfriend?”
“Look – just ask what you want to know.”
Neal laughed. “Just wanted to make sure that it was okay to put your bags in the bedroom that El’s claimed for the week. If not, there’s a pull-out in the living room.”
Moz flushed bright red. “What did Elizabeth say?”
“Truthfully, she was the one who told us where to put your bags.”
Moz just smiled.
Vero Beach was spared the influx of college kids. It was a quiet town, more retiree than rarin’ to go. The beaches were nice, even if the surf was tame.
Moz stretched out on one of the loungers. Their house rental got them access to a private beach club with a swimming pool and bar service. Elizabeth was next to him, on her belly, her bikini top opened to avoid tan lines.
“You have enough sunblock on?” He was worried for her fair skin.
“Don’t be such an old man, Moz.”
“That’s not what you said to me last night.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She slapped him, momentarily forgetting about the bikini top.
“Careful – you’ll give the geezers an eyeful – they might have heart attacks.”
El wrapped her arms around her chest and sat up. “Can you do me up?”
As he retied the strings, Moz thought of at least a dozen innuendos he could respond with, but decided that he’d rather not sleep on the pullout. He kissed her shoulder and she glanced back at him, all girly and flirty. He was so in love with this woman that it scared him. He hoped that she felt just a tenth of what he felt for her.
Peter and Neal came out of the water, laughing. Their relationship still amazed him. Not that they were lovers – the gay thing was never a problem for him – but that they were as close now as they were in junior high. Except for that stretch of time in their senior year, when Peter was trying to be noble, they hadn’t been apart since seventh grade.
He worried about them – the AIDS and HIV plague erupted during their freshman year and all he could think about was Neal dying too young. And Peter, too. He sent boxes and boxes of condoms and started cultivating all sorts of connections with the pharmaceutical industry. If they got infected, Moz was going to do whatever it took to get them all the help they needed. And then some.
And then he realized he didn’t have to worry, or worry as much. Last year, over winter break, they had flown out to San Francisco. Peter and Neal had divided their time between Berkley and Stanford and it was almost like the good old days. El had made a suggestion about going down to the Castro, but both of the guys nixed the idea. Peter said, in a very grave, too adult voice, that neither of them was particularly interested in the club scene or its consequences. Neal took his hand and smiled at Peter. It was like the rising sun.
Elizabeth blinked in confusion at Peter’s declaration, and Moz had thought she was adorable.
But still, Moz had a few private words with Neal and then with Peter. They were exquisitely monogamous, but Peter was Peter: Mr. Caution, Mr. I’ve-So-Learned-My-Lesson and Neal did what Peter told him to do. They had learned to enjoy a life filled with raincoats.
A waiter came over, tall and very good looking in a preppy sort of way with his Bermuda shorts and pink faux Izod – sort of like a living Ken doll. He smiled flirtatiously at Peter and Neal and Moz wanted to tell him not to bother. The guy brought them beers and wrote something down on a napkin. Peter rather pointedly used it to wipe the condensation off his glass and wadded it up before the waiter walked away.
El, who completely missed that by-play, called the guy over. Moz tried not to look like he was watching them.
“Hi.” Elizabeth sat up and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She fluttered her eyelashes like some ditz.
The Ken doll all but drooled – apparently he was indiscriminate and opportunistic. “What can I get for you, sweetheart?”
It occurred to Moz that El looked a little too much like Princess Leia in her bikini. Or a Boris Vallejo cover from a John Norman novel, which was appropriate, since he was beginning to feel like a caveman.
“I’ll have, um - sex on the beach?” Her voice was breathy, like from some perfume commercial. Moz snapped.
Moz didn’t hear the question in El’s voice. “Oh no you won’t – not with this – this refugee from the Preppy Handbook!” He sprung up from the lounger, fists clenched like a bare-knucked boxer. “You’re not laying a finger on her, you hear?”
The waiter took a huge step back, held his hands up. Moz advanced on him. He might have chased the creep all the way to the ocean except that someone – and from the length of the fingernails it was probably El – grabbed him by his swimming trunks.
“What are you doing, Mozzie?”
He turned around, letting the guy retreat to the safety of the bar area. “I can’t believe you propositioned that jerk. Right in front of me!”
El covered her mouth, but he could tell she was laughing. Peter and Neal came over and they were laughing too. Moz flushed from his navel to his retreating hairline and down his back to the crack of his ass. “What the fuck is so damn funny? My girlfriend just asked a total stranger for sex on the beach!”
Neal swung a companionable arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss against his temple. “Moz - relax. Don’t you know what Sex on the Beach is?”
He could actually now hear the capital letters in the words. “I am guessing that it’s not a request to copulate in the surf.”
“No, it’s just a drink – peach schnapps and other stuff.”
The light dawned. “Ah, a girly drink.”
El pushed Neal out of the way and rested her arms on his shoulders. “I think you’re so sweet – going all macho like that.” She kissed him, and Moz all but melted. “But remember, you don’t own me. And if you get to have sex with your lab groupies, I can want to have sex on the beach with that guy.” Elizabeth kissed him again. “Okay?”
Moz nodded and swallowed hard. As declarations of independence went, this was a good one. “Sorry.”
El pushed him down onto the lounger and snuggled up next to him. She ran her fingers through his chest hair. “Mozzie, you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t subscribe to middle class values and notions of morality.”
“Yeah,” Moz had to agree.
“But…” El drew out the syllable the way she was gently pulling on his chest hair, “If you’ve changed your mind and would be interested in a monogamous relationship, I can work with that.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
Moz weighed his options. On one hand, there were his principles. Living free of The Man and The Man’s Rules and Restrictions. On the other hand, there was Elizabeth. Her sweet, hot body. Her intelligence. Her emotional maturity. That she didn’t care that he was short and going bald at nineteen. She saw him. She was the best thing in his life.
“El?”
“Yeah, Moz.”
“I think, in this case, I can make an exception.”
“Mmm, good. And I still want to have Sex on the Beach.”
“The drink? Or …?”
This time, she gave his chest hair a sharp tug. “What do you think?”
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