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elrhiarhodanTitle: Someone To Watch Over
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Queen Elizabeth I, Lord Francis Walsingham, Lord William Cecil
Spoilers: None - this is an Elizabethan A/U - what possible spoilers could there be?
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~2100
Beta Credit:jrosemary
Summary: A continuation of Gloriana’verse, my Elizabethan/White Collar A/U. Peter Burke (together with his indentured servant, Neal Caffrey), in the employ of Lord Francis Walsingham, was instrumental in foiling the Ridolfi Plot to murder Queen Elizabeth. He is being justly rewarded for his efforts. But that’s all backstory.
This is mostly porn.
A/N: Written for my bestie,coffeethyme4me, who asked for “Watching Someone Sleep - Peter/Neal in the Gloriana ‘verse” as Day Two of Fic-Can-Ukah.
__________________
Peter knew that when he fell, he was going to fall hard. And last night, he did.
He could blame the mead or the wine, the conflicting feelings of triumph and sadness. He could blame it on his wife, Elizabeth: talking with her, coming to a last, final, and too-bitter understanding. And there was the other Elizabeth, his queen.
Elizabeth Regina.
Today, he knelt before her, felt the tap of the royal blade against his shoulder, heard the words, “Rise, Sir Peter Burke, Knight of the Realm.” He achieved something great and lost his dreams in the span of a single candle mark.
But truth was he knew what he was doing and why he did it. And the greater truth was that he wanted this fall, he wanted it like he wanted little else in his life.
Today was a day, bright and dark, that he’d remember always.
His employer, Walsingham was there, looking particularly pleased with himself. So was William Cecil, who wore an equally satisfied look. Peter had to wonder why these two men, Her Majesty’s chief counselors, were so happy. Well, other than the fact that he had saved the Queen’s life, but that was months - a lifetime ago. The traitorous Duke of Norfolk had been tried and sentenced; his head was rotting on a pike at Tower Gate.
Neal Caffrey, his indentured servant - a former thief and artist and all-around agent of chaos - was at his investiture too. Dressed in black velvet and silk hosiery, clothing as fine as his master’s, he was a quiet presence with his downcast eyes and shy smile. That was simply Neal’s mask, the one he wore when pretending to be Peter’s obedient servant.
Peter knew better than to trust that look; Neal was no more obedient than a house cat. Like a cat, Neal only did what he was supposed to do when it suited him. At least since he took Neal out of the Fleet and paid his debts, no fabulous set of jewels had gone missing, nor were the court artisans complaining that their works had been copied. It was only a matter of time, though, until Neal would cause more trouble than he was worth.
Except that the Queen and her ministers and Sir Peter Burke knew that without Neal Caffrey’s special contacts, his friends in low places, Norfolk’s treason, the plot to kill Elizabeth Tudor and put Mary of Scotland on the throne, might have succeeded. Peter may have been given the honors, but it was Neal who had earned them. His worth was incalculable now.
That made Neal dangerous - not to Queen and Country - but to Peter’s sanity. The man would take all kinds of crazy risks, play spy and counterspy, and constantly put his life in danger. Walsingham, of course, would encourage this. Neal wasn’t a freeman, he cost the Crown nothing, and whatever messes created by Neal would become Peter’s responsibility.
Peter wasn’t worried about damage that Neal could cause. He was worried about the hurt that could fall upon that beautiful head. Angry wives, angrier husbands - for surely there wasn’t a man born who flirted like Neal Caffrey.
Which was why Peter did what he did, to keep Neal close, to keep him safe. Oh, fuck God and all his Saints in heaven. Lies like that were sheer foolishness.
No, he did what he did because he wanted to. And now, in the quiet of the night, in this room, behind the closed doors and drawn curtains, he stopped lying to himself. He took Neal Caffrey to his bed because he wanted him.
Looking down at the man asleep next to him, Peter had to admit that it was so much more than lust. He was a fool, he knew, but he loved Neal Caffrey with all the stupid, reckless heartache he once reserved for his wife. Maybe he was fated to love badly, for it was certain that Neal would be gone once his indenture was up. He’d stay in London, part of the glittering throng, or maybe head out to the New World to make a fortune. But whatever Neal chose to do, it wouldn’t be to remain with him.
No one did.
Peter shook his head. Now he was being maudlin. His marriage to Elizabeth had been wonderful and terrible and he really couldn’t blame her for leaving him. She wasn’t made for poverty. Even though his knighthood came with a generous stipend, enough to make his quarterly allowance from her father unnecessary, it was never going to be enough to give her the life she deserved. When she kissed him this morning, in that pool of sunlight just outside the chapel doors, it was a kiss of respect, of farewell. She’d keep her honor and his.
Their lives would go on, just separately.
Neal let out a soft moan, turned and snuffled against the pillow. He slept, despite the intensity of Peter’s gaze.
Neal Caffrey was so stupendously beautiful. After months of daily contact, Peter thought he’d become immune to it, but he hadn’t. Every morning, when Neal brought him his breakfast, Peter thought his heart would stop from sheer joy. The old man, Hughes, just smirked. He knew what was going on, what was going to happen.
Peter had long stopped worrying about his staff's loyalties. Hughes and Clinton were probably reporting on his activities to his wife's father and grandfather, but he had nothing to fear. Their relationship was over and he rode high on the Queen's favor.
He was going to enjoy this taste of the forbidden. He was going to revel it in, in the sharp, sad and secret love he had for Neal, reciprocated or not. Neal was here, in his arms, in his bed and for however long it lasted, it was where he belonged.
Peter slid lower under the covers and rested his head against the pillow, burying his nose in Neal's curls, drowning in the scent of the man. He fell asleep to the rhythm of the heartbeat under his hand.
At this moment, Peter Burke was happy.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal smiled in contentment, watching Peter as he slept. So strong and beautiful and everything that he ever wanted.
Peter - Sir Peter - didn't know it, but Neal loved him, not just with all the reckless longing for the forbidden - like characters out of one of Master Shakespeare's play - but with a deep, eternal passion that was going to last through this world and the next.
Certainly, come morning, Peter would be all embarrassed blushes and stammer, telling him that their congress last night was a mistake.
It was no mistake. Neal had been waiting for Peter to kiss him for so long. Since the first time they worked together, before the Fleet, Neal wanted Peter. He wasn't accustomed to restraining himself, to waiting.
What a long wait it had been, too. A year and more. Neal had thought for certain that Master Burke would take what he wanted (and it was clear what he wanted after the session with the whores and their razors) once he had signed the Articles of Indenture. But Peter was a man of honor, and he wouldn't casually take advantage of his servants. Neal almost feared he'd have to wait the full four years before Peter took him to his bed.
But yesterday - last night - after the investiture, something was different. His triumph was colored with sadness and it didn't take a wizard to see what happened. Mistress Elizabeth Burke, Lady Burke now, had been waiting for Peter at the chapel and they spoke. Neal had writhed with jealousy as he watched them kiss, but she didn't stay. Elizabeth held her husband's hands, pressed them to her forehead, and left before witnessing the Queen honor her husband's bravery and service to the Crown.
Peter wasn't drunk when he kissed him, although Neal could taste the honeyed mead on his lips. No, Peter wasn't drunk, but he wasn't quite sober either and for that, Neal felt just the slightest twinge of guilt. He had reveled in that kiss, it was better than his dreams. Peter was a master in this, as he was in all things and when the kiss ended, Neal didn't need to think.
He dropped to his knees and worked open Peter's hose and codpiece, his nimble fingers making quick work of the laces. He freed that massive cock, big and hard and angry red, and looked up into Peter's face. There was lust and something else. Neal hoped it was love, but was willing to wait for that. He had learned patience.
Peter didn't stop him, didn't say the words, didn't push him away. Instead, he leaned back against the chair, let his thighs drift apart and buried his fingers in Neal's curls. His master's hands, his strong fingers massaging his scalp was an almost unbearable distraction. Neal breathed deep, inhaling Peter’s scent like it was a tangible thing. He had never stopped wondering what Peter’s cock was like; he knew it was huge but he didn’t know if it was long and straight or thick and blunt. In truth, Peter was built better than his imaginings - thick enough to terrify him in the most utterly delightful ways.
Neal took his time, learning what Peter liked, learning just how much he, himself, could take, ’though his master seemed to enjoy it when he gagged. He worked, even if such a pleasurable act could be called work, until Peter commanded him to stop.
His master pulled him up, off his knees and kissed him again, licking his own taste, biting at his lips in kisses meant to punish as well as reward. Somehow, without realizing it, they were in Neal’s bedroom, and Peter was stripping him, his hot, hard hands were all over his body. Neal could remember whimpering and begging as Peter pinched his nipples, rolling them hard between his blunt, calloused fingers before taking first one and then the other in his mouth.
He had thrashed about, but Peter was strong and held his hands above his head, pinning him on the mattress as he took his pleasure. His master’s mouth was everywhere; his hands were everywhere - both hands - because Peter had used a discarded sash to tie his hands to the bed post. Neal didn’t fight, he was too crazed with arousal. He had wanted this for so damn long.
His body chilled for a moment, Peter had stepped away and was rummaging at his bureau for something. Neal heard a cork come loose and the scent of precious lavender and cloves filled the air. It was the last of the sweet oil that Peter given him to rub into his skin after the whores had shaved him. Peter warmed it between his palms before spreading it between his arse cheeks, teasing the rim of his hole.
Neal was glad that Peter knew what to do. He’d been prepared, in his head and his heart, to accept a little pain - or possibly a whole lot of pain given the size of his master’s prick - but he didn’t have to. Peter’s fingers were still teasing his hole, flirting with it, one going in up to the first knuckle, then a little deeper. Neal heard his own voice, so needy, so desperate. Peter was being such a bastard, keeping him on this edge, making him want it more and more and more until he almost came.
“You want me to fuck you, boy?”
Neal thought he actually whimpered. But he did answer; a mad, reckless admission. “Yes, master - Master Peter - please, please fuck me.”
And Peter did as he asked. But he didn’t drive into him like a plow into the earth, cutting through without a care for what rested beneath. No, Peter took his time, coaxing his prick into Neal’s ass, until it simply glided in with impossible pleasure.
He came almost at once and Peter chuckled, “Eager, much?”
Whatever embarrassment Neal felt over his loss of control vanished as his master stroked in and out with casual grace. He found himself wishing for a mirror, to see Peter’s expression as he took what he wanted and gave Neal so very much at the same time.
His own pleasure built again as Peter’s sped up, all that careful treatment forgotten as his lust became paramount. Neal’s cock pistoned in Peter’s fist. He felt like a bitch in heat being serviced in the kennel as they both came.
It was wrong and dirty and if anyone found out, they’d both suffer. But he didn’t care - he’d kneel before Peter, he’d give his body into his master’s keeping and count the world well lost for it.
Peter rolled over and reached for Neal, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face against his shoulder. He muttered, still mostly asleep, “Mmm, you’re here, right where I want you.”
Neal hoped that Peter wasn’t dreaming that he was in bed with his wife. That would hurt too much. But Peter seemed to know it was him; his hand drifted down his belly, came to rest on his cock and he let out another sigh of satisfaction.
Neal couldn’t help but think, You said I was yours for the next four years. Well, Sir Peter Burke, Master Burke, you’re mine forever.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Queen Elizabeth I, Lord Francis Walsingham, Lord William Cecil
Spoilers: None - this is an Elizabethan A/U - what possible spoilers could there be?
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~2100
Beta Credit:
jrosemary Summary: A continuation of Gloriana’verse, my Elizabethan/White Collar A/U. Peter Burke (together with his indentured servant, Neal Caffrey), in the employ of Lord Francis Walsingham, was instrumental in foiling the Ridolfi Plot to murder Queen Elizabeth. He is being justly rewarded for his efforts. But that’s all backstory.
This is mostly porn.
A/N: Written for my bestie,
coffeethyme4me, who asked for “Watching Someone Sleep - Peter/Neal in the Gloriana ‘verse” as Day Two of Fic-Can-Ukah.Peter knew that when he fell, he was going to fall hard. And last night, he did.
He could blame the mead or the wine, the conflicting feelings of triumph and sadness. He could blame it on his wife, Elizabeth: talking with her, coming to a last, final, and too-bitter understanding. And there was the other Elizabeth, his queen.
Elizabeth Regina.
Today, he knelt before her, felt the tap of the royal blade against his shoulder, heard the words, “Rise, Sir Peter Burke, Knight of the Realm.” He achieved something great and lost his dreams in the span of a single candle mark.
But truth was he knew what he was doing and why he did it. And the greater truth was that he wanted this fall, he wanted it like he wanted little else in his life.
Today was a day, bright and dark, that he’d remember always.
His employer, Walsingham was there, looking particularly pleased with himself. So was William Cecil, who wore an equally satisfied look. Peter had to wonder why these two men, Her Majesty’s chief counselors, were so happy. Well, other than the fact that he had saved the Queen’s life, but that was months - a lifetime ago. The traitorous Duke of Norfolk had been tried and sentenced; his head was rotting on a pike at Tower Gate.
Neal Caffrey, his indentured servant - a former thief and artist and all-around agent of chaos - was at his investiture too. Dressed in black velvet and silk hosiery, clothing as fine as his master’s, he was a quiet presence with his downcast eyes and shy smile. That was simply Neal’s mask, the one he wore when pretending to be Peter’s obedient servant.
Peter knew better than to trust that look; Neal was no more obedient than a house cat. Like a cat, Neal only did what he was supposed to do when it suited him. At least since he took Neal out of the Fleet and paid his debts, no fabulous set of jewels had gone missing, nor were the court artisans complaining that their works had been copied. It was only a matter of time, though, until Neal would cause more trouble than he was worth.
Except that the Queen and her ministers and Sir Peter Burke knew that without Neal Caffrey’s special contacts, his friends in low places, Norfolk’s treason, the plot to kill Elizabeth Tudor and put Mary of Scotland on the throne, might have succeeded. Peter may have been given the honors, but it was Neal who had earned them. His worth was incalculable now.
That made Neal dangerous - not to Queen and Country - but to Peter’s sanity. The man would take all kinds of crazy risks, play spy and counterspy, and constantly put his life in danger. Walsingham, of course, would encourage this. Neal wasn’t a freeman, he cost the Crown nothing, and whatever messes created by Neal would become Peter’s responsibility.
Peter wasn’t worried about damage that Neal could cause. He was worried about the hurt that could fall upon that beautiful head. Angry wives, angrier husbands - for surely there wasn’t a man born who flirted like Neal Caffrey.
Which was why Peter did what he did, to keep Neal close, to keep him safe. Oh, fuck God and all his Saints in heaven. Lies like that were sheer foolishness.
No, he did what he did because he wanted to. And now, in the quiet of the night, in this room, behind the closed doors and drawn curtains, he stopped lying to himself. He took Neal Caffrey to his bed because he wanted him.
Looking down at the man asleep next to him, Peter had to admit that it was so much more than lust. He was a fool, he knew, but he loved Neal Caffrey with all the stupid, reckless heartache he once reserved for his wife. Maybe he was fated to love badly, for it was certain that Neal would be gone once his indenture was up. He’d stay in London, part of the glittering throng, or maybe head out to the New World to make a fortune. But whatever Neal chose to do, it wouldn’t be to remain with him.
No one did.
Peter shook his head. Now he was being maudlin. His marriage to Elizabeth had been wonderful and terrible and he really couldn’t blame her for leaving him. She wasn’t made for poverty. Even though his knighthood came with a generous stipend, enough to make his quarterly allowance from her father unnecessary, it was never going to be enough to give her the life she deserved. When she kissed him this morning, in that pool of sunlight just outside the chapel doors, it was a kiss of respect, of farewell. She’d keep her honor and his.
Their lives would go on, just separately.
Neal let out a soft moan, turned and snuffled against the pillow. He slept, despite the intensity of Peter’s gaze.
Neal Caffrey was so stupendously beautiful. After months of daily contact, Peter thought he’d become immune to it, but he hadn’t. Every morning, when Neal brought him his breakfast, Peter thought his heart would stop from sheer joy. The old man, Hughes, just smirked. He knew what was going on, what was going to happen.
Peter had long stopped worrying about his staff's loyalties. Hughes and Clinton were probably reporting on his activities to his wife's father and grandfather, but he had nothing to fear. Their relationship was over and he rode high on the Queen's favor.
He was going to enjoy this taste of the forbidden. He was going to revel it in, in the sharp, sad and secret love he had for Neal, reciprocated or not. Neal was here, in his arms, in his bed and for however long it lasted, it was where he belonged.
Peter slid lower under the covers and rested his head against the pillow, burying his nose in Neal's curls, drowning in the scent of the man. He fell asleep to the rhythm of the heartbeat under his hand.
At this moment, Peter Burke was happy.
Neal smiled in contentment, watching Peter as he slept. So strong and beautiful and everything that he ever wanted.
Peter - Sir Peter - didn't know it, but Neal loved him, not just with all the reckless longing for the forbidden - like characters out of one of Master Shakespeare's play - but with a deep, eternal passion that was going to last through this world and the next.
Certainly, come morning, Peter would be all embarrassed blushes and stammer, telling him that their congress last night was a mistake.
It was no mistake. Neal had been waiting for Peter to kiss him for so long. Since the first time they worked together, before the Fleet, Neal wanted Peter. He wasn't accustomed to restraining himself, to waiting.
What a long wait it had been, too. A year and more. Neal had thought for certain that Master Burke would take what he wanted (and it was clear what he wanted after the session with the whores and their razors) once he had signed the Articles of Indenture. But Peter was a man of honor, and he wouldn't casually take advantage of his servants. Neal almost feared he'd have to wait the full four years before Peter took him to his bed.
But yesterday - last night - after the investiture, something was different. His triumph was colored with sadness and it didn't take a wizard to see what happened. Mistress Elizabeth Burke, Lady Burke now, had been waiting for Peter at the chapel and they spoke. Neal had writhed with jealousy as he watched them kiss, but she didn't stay. Elizabeth held her husband's hands, pressed them to her forehead, and left before witnessing the Queen honor her husband's bravery and service to the Crown.
Peter wasn't drunk when he kissed him, although Neal could taste the honeyed mead on his lips. No, Peter wasn't drunk, but he wasn't quite sober either and for that, Neal felt just the slightest twinge of guilt. He had reveled in that kiss, it was better than his dreams. Peter was a master in this, as he was in all things and when the kiss ended, Neal didn't need to think.
He dropped to his knees and worked open Peter's hose and codpiece, his nimble fingers making quick work of the laces. He freed that massive cock, big and hard and angry red, and looked up into Peter's face. There was lust and something else. Neal hoped it was love, but was willing to wait for that. He had learned patience.
Peter didn't stop him, didn't say the words, didn't push him away. Instead, he leaned back against the chair, let his thighs drift apart and buried his fingers in Neal's curls. His master's hands, his strong fingers massaging his scalp was an almost unbearable distraction. Neal breathed deep, inhaling Peter’s scent like it was a tangible thing. He had never stopped wondering what Peter’s cock was like; he knew it was huge but he didn’t know if it was long and straight or thick and blunt. In truth, Peter was built better than his imaginings - thick enough to terrify him in the most utterly delightful ways.
Neal took his time, learning what Peter liked, learning just how much he, himself, could take, ’though his master seemed to enjoy it when he gagged. He worked, even if such a pleasurable act could be called work, until Peter commanded him to stop.
His master pulled him up, off his knees and kissed him again, licking his own taste, biting at his lips in kisses meant to punish as well as reward. Somehow, without realizing it, they were in Neal’s bedroom, and Peter was stripping him, his hot, hard hands were all over his body. Neal could remember whimpering and begging as Peter pinched his nipples, rolling them hard between his blunt, calloused fingers before taking first one and then the other in his mouth.
He had thrashed about, but Peter was strong and held his hands above his head, pinning him on the mattress as he took his pleasure. His master’s mouth was everywhere; his hands were everywhere - both hands - because Peter had used a discarded sash to tie his hands to the bed post. Neal didn’t fight, he was too crazed with arousal. He had wanted this for so damn long.
His body chilled for a moment, Peter had stepped away and was rummaging at his bureau for something. Neal heard a cork come loose and the scent of precious lavender and cloves filled the air. It was the last of the sweet oil that Peter given him to rub into his skin after the whores had shaved him. Peter warmed it between his palms before spreading it between his arse cheeks, teasing the rim of his hole.
Neal was glad that Peter knew what to do. He’d been prepared, in his head and his heart, to accept a little pain - or possibly a whole lot of pain given the size of his master’s prick - but he didn’t have to. Peter’s fingers were still teasing his hole, flirting with it, one going in up to the first knuckle, then a little deeper. Neal heard his own voice, so needy, so desperate. Peter was being such a bastard, keeping him on this edge, making him want it more and more and more until he almost came.
“You want me to fuck you, boy?”
Neal thought he actually whimpered. But he did answer; a mad, reckless admission. “Yes, master - Master Peter - please, please fuck me.”
And Peter did as he asked. But he didn’t drive into him like a plow into the earth, cutting through without a care for what rested beneath. No, Peter took his time, coaxing his prick into Neal’s ass, until it simply glided in with impossible pleasure.
He came almost at once and Peter chuckled, “Eager, much?”
Whatever embarrassment Neal felt over his loss of control vanished as his master stroked in and out with casual grace. He found himself wishing for a mirror, to see Peter’s expression as he took what he wanted and gave Neal so very much at the same time.
His own pleasure built again as Peter’s sped up, all that careful treatment forgotten as his lust became paramount. Neal’s cock pistoned in Peter’s fist. He felt like a bitch in heat being serviced in the kennel as they both came.
It was wrong and dirty and if anyone found out, they’d both suffer. But he didn’t care - he’d kneel before Peter, he’d give his body into his master’s keeping and count the world well lost for it.
Peter rolled over and reached for Neal, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face against his shoulder. He muttered, still mostly asleep, “Mmm, you’re here, right where I want you.”
Neal hoped that Peter wasn’t dreaming that he was in bed with his wife. That would hurt too much. But Peter seemed to know it was him; his hand drifted down his belly, came to rest on his cock and he let out another sigh of satisfaction.
Neal couldn’t help but think, You said I was yours for the next four years. Well, Sir Peter Burke, Master Burke, you’re mine forever.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-12-09 11:09 pm (UTC)OH!!! I think I have three favorite parts:
"But he didn’t drive into him like a plow into the earth, cutting through without a care for what rested beneath. No, Peter took his time, coaxing his prick into Neal’s ass, until it simply glided in with impossible pleasure."
That last phrase. There's something so sensual about it and so arousing and, wow.
Then of course (who couldn't guess?):
"...all that careful treatment forgotten as his lust became paramount. Neal’s cock pistoned in Peter’s fist. He felt like a bitch in heat being serviced in the kennel as they both came."
GUH! UNF! JESUS!
And:
"Neal couldn’t help but think, You said I was yours for the next four years. Well, Sir Peter Burke, Master Burke, you’re mine forever."
With Peter's hand resting on Neal's cock as Peter sleeps.
OMG, dude.
THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-09 11:12 pm (UTC)You liked it!!!!
(runs around the room, waving her hands in the air!!!!!)
Thank you for giving me your favorite bits.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-09 11:09 pm (UTC)Two of them watching each other, secretly loving each other - awwww. And Neal's declaration at the end, that Peter is his forever - perfect!
Now I can hit the sack with a smile on my face \o/ Thank you :D
no subject
Date: 2012-12-09 11:13 pm (UTC)And thank you so very, very much. Have a wonderful night's sleep.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 11:03 pm (UTC)With Peter and Neal it just works. Knights, cowboys, savage settlers - they're beyond time and space :D If they were stardust atoms, they would have sparkled a new solar system \o/
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 08:24 pm (UTC)I did not realize how many people wanted more of this 'verse.
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 08:25 pm (UTC)And then THE PORN!!!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 06:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 08:26 pm (UTC)And yet another person tells me how much they love this 'verse - I didn't have a clue!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-11 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 08:26 pm (UTC)Always happy to bring the smut!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 06:54 pm (UTC)This was awesome and hot and...GUH!
...and damn it, now I have to hunt down this 'verse of yours and read the rest of it! *flails* (Because, really? Elizabethan AU?! Where have you been all my life?!)
no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-10 09:25 pm (UTC)I love that! I love way Neal's feelings are so different from what Peter can possibly allow himself to hope. I love how completely and whole-heartedly Neal gives himself to Peter because of those feelings.
And that very last line--oh Peter, you are truly captured, whether you know it or not!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-11 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-11 05:45 am (UTC)I have never read the rest of the 'verse! Project, woot!
no subject
Date: 2012-12-11 09:53 pm (UTC)The link to the other two chapters is in the heading, if you're so inclined.
no subject
Date: 2013-07-19 07:58 pm (UTC)I'm feeling a little sad that this was the penultimate chapter. Dare I more on, only to have it finish? Now that Peter and Neal are on the cusp of mutual understanding, poor El is still out there and her relationship with Peter unresolved and Mozzie appears to be lingering in Fleet. I cannot bear to move on incase those threads remain unresolved!
You're a wicked, wicked woman!