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elrhiarhodanTitle: An Enviable Distraction – A Wonder(ful) Years Timestamp
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Mitchell, Moz, El/Moz, mention of Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers:
Word Count: ~600
Summary: El and Moz attend their thirtieth high school reunion.
A/N: Okay, I am such a tease! Two stories in the same day, but one doesn't finish the other. Posting becausekanarak13 left me such lovely and inspirational feedback earlier today. And because it's raining where she is.
__________________
“Hon, you going to be ready soon?” El knocked on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be out in a sec.”
She sat down on the bed and resigned herself to waiting. They had plenty of time, but in nearly two decades of cohabitation, she learned to get him ready as early as possible. Her life partner was many things, but punctual was not one of them. He was just too easily distracted.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text and she picked it up. It was from their eldest, Emily.
Mom – is it a problem if Andrew wants to have Cheerios and OJ for dinner?
El sighed. While this was not the first time they’d left the children home overnight, it was the first without some form of adult supervision. Emily had convincingly argued that at seventeen and a few weeks from her high school graduation, she was old enough to watch her ten year old brother by herself. After all, she’d been babysitting for their neighbors’ kids in Cambridge since she was fourteen.
Familiar with and tolerant of her son’s odd eating habits, she replied. He can have breakfast for dinner if he wants.
Another text from Emily arrived.
He wants to put the Cheerios IN the OJ. It seems gross.
It was, but not as disgusting as some of the other combinations he had tried. And since Andrew inherited his father’s problems with dairy, he was always looking for alternatives.
There’s some chocolate Soy Dream in the back of the fridge, but if that’s what he wants to do, no need to make a fuss.
El waited a few seconds for Em’s reply.
Okay. Thx. He’s having the cheerios in the choc. Drinking the OJ.
El smiled. She loved her kids – they were a mix of practical smarts and impractical genius. Much like their parents.
The bathroom door opened and Moz came out, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe. She licked her lips -- he looked good enough to eat. Or to jump. There was something about Moz when he was freshly washed and shaved, his bald head polished and gleaming, full cheeks smoother than a baby’s butt that set her juices flowing.
He walked towards the closet to get his clothes. El tossed her phone on the night table, leaned back against the pillows and undid the sash to her robe.
“Hey, Moz?”
He was rummaging through his luggage and didn’t look up. “Hmmm, what?”
“Mozzie.” El called again in a sing-song voice.
He turned around, briefs in one hand, socks in the other. He blinked and El smiled, shifting so that the robe, a sleek affair made of blue satin, slid open, revealing everything. At 47, her body was not as tight and firm as it used to be, but it was still something she was proud of.
“We’re not meeting Peter and Neal until seven.” A simple statement of fact. “And it’s only five o’clock.”
Moz dropped his smallclothes on top of the dresser. “And your point being, Ms Mitchell?”
“Thought you might want to kill some time.” She rubbed her thighs together, then let them fall opened. There was enough light in the room that Moz should have been able to see the moisture slicking her bare folds.
He stood there and watched as she trailed a hand from breast to belly to cunt, fingering herself. She moaned, turned on by Moz’s intent stare and obvious arousal – the growing bulge in the white terry cloth was as effective as her busy hand.
Moz finally sat down on the bed, leaning over her. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
She grinned. “Is it working?”
“Hmmm, let’s see.” Moz opened his robe, looked down at his massive erection, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s working.”
They arrived at the restaurant a good twenty minutes late; Moz cheerfully announced that this time, it wasn’t his fault.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Mitchell, Moz, El/Moz, mention of Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers:
Word Count: ~600
Summary: El and Moz attend their thirtieth high school reunion.
A/N: Okay, I am such a tease! Two stories in the same day, but one doesn't finish the other. Posting because
kanarak13 left me such lovely and inspirational feedback earlier today. And because it's raining where she is. “Hon, you going to be ready soon?” El knocked on the bathroom door.
“I’ll be out in a sec.”
She sat down on the bed and resigned herself to waiting. They had plenty of time, but in nearly two decades of cohabitation, she learned to get him ready as early as possible. Her life partner was many things, but punctual was not one of them. He was just too easily distracted.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text and she picked it up. It was from their eldest, Emily.
Mom – is it a problem if Andrew wants to have Cheerios and OJ for dinner?
El sighed. While this was not the first time they’d left the children home overnight, it was the first without some form of adult supervision. Emily had convincingly argued that at seventeen and a few weeks from her high school graduation, she was old enough to watch her ten year old brother by herself. After all, she’d been babysitting for their neighbors’ kids in Cambridge since she was fourteen.
Familiar with and tolerant of her son’s odd eating habits, she replied. He can have breakfast for dinner if he wants.
Another text from Emily arrived.
He wants to put the Cheerios IN the OJ. It seems gross.
It was, but not as disgusting as some of the other combinations he had tried. And since Andrew inherited his father’s problems with dairy, he was always looking for alternatives.
There’s some chocolate Soy Dream in the back of the fridge, but if that’s what he wants to do, no need to make a fuss.
El waited a few seconds for Em’s reply.
Okay. Thx. He’s having the cheerios in the choc. Drinking the OJ.
El smiled. She loved her kids – they were a mix of practical smarts and impractical genius. Much like their parents.
The bathroom door opened and Moz came out, wrapped in a hotel bathrobe. She licked her lips -- he looked good enough to eat. Or to jump. There was something about Moz when he was freshly washed and shaved, his bald head polished and gleaming, full cheeks smoother than a baby’s butt that set her juices flowing.
He walked towards the closet to get his clothes. El tossed her phone on the night table, leaned back against the pillows and undid the sash to her robe.
“Hey, Moz?”
He was rummaging through his luggage and didn’t look up. “Hmmm, what?”
“Mozzie.” El called again in a sing-song voice.
He turned around, briefs in one hand, socks in the other. He blinked and El smiled, shifting so that the robe, a sleek affair made of blue satin, slid open, revealing everything. At 47, her body was not as tight and firm as it used to be, but it was still something she was proud of.
“We’re not meeting Peter and Neal until seven.” A simple statement of fact. “And it’s only five o’clock.”
Moz dropped his smallclothes on top of the dresser. “And your point being, Ms Mitchell?”
“Thought you might want to kill some time.” She rubbed her thighs together, then let them fall opened. There was enough light in the room that Moz should have been able to see the moisture slicking her bare folds.
He stood there and watched as she trailed a hand from breast to belly to cunt, fingering herself. She moaned, turned on by Moz’s intent stare and obvious arousal – the growing bulge in the white terry cloth was as effective as her busy hand.
Moz finally sat down on the bed, leaning over her. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
She grinned. “Is it working?”
“Hmmm, let’s see.” Moz opened his robe, looked down at his massive erection, and nodded. “Yeah, it’s working.”
They arrived at the restaurant a good twenty minutes late; Moz cheerfully announced that this time, it wasn’t his fault.
