White Collar Fic - Against the Wind
Dec. 21st, 2012 08:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Against the Wind
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, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: WingFic, Angst
Word Count: ~2500
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me, jrosemary
Summary: It’s now a matter of weeks before Neal’s off the tracker for good. Peter is making it difficult for him to seek the freedom he thought he wanted for so long.
A continuation of the story (you may or may not need to read it) that was started in The Place Where Wings Unfurl, which I wrote fordoctor_fangeek for Fic-Can-Ukah 2011. This is the last of the guaranteed stories for Fic-Can-Ukah 2012, and is for doctor_fangeek, who asked for “In Your Fantasies,” Peter/Elizabeth/Neal.
__________________
They didn’t talk about it, ever.
Not the flight, not what came afterwards, when Peter bent him over the stone balustrade and fucked him with his hot, hard hands and his hotter, harder cock. They didn’t talk about the kisses Peter pressed against his shoulders, across his back, down his spine. They didn’t talk about how, at the moment of their shared climax, Neal’s wings erupted out of his back, beating hard enough to lift them both off the ground.
No, they didn’t talk about that.
Peter had stayed the night, wrapping himself around Neal, holding him almost too tightly. Neal didn’t mind, this was something he had wanted for far too long, something that had only existed in his fantasies.
Maybe that could explain his reluctance to speak of it with Peter in the daytime. Magical thinking about their own personal magic: if they talked about it, maybe it didn’t happen.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The first time they flew, it was two months before his tracker was to come off for good, and after that, at least three times a week. Peter would just open his apartment door sometime after midnight (he never arrived by wing), strip off his shirt, unlock the cuff around Neal’s ankle and jump up on the stone railing, waiting for Neal to follow. His wings remained tightly furled, but they were still larger than those of the merlons that guarded the terrace. He never said a word, just held out a hand for Neal to take, to help him up. The courtly gesture was so unnecessary, but Neal wouldn’t forgo this part of their ritual for anything. They would stand there for a moment, a heartbeat. Peter then spread his wings and took flight.
Neal never failed to follow.
It got to the point that Neal could sense when Peter was going to come over, he could feel their connection as he approached the apartment. It was sometimes that way with their kind – they were becoming wing mates. The thought frightened Neal – he knew that Peter would never accept that type of bond between them. He was already mated to Elizabeth.
If it wasn’t for that one time, their first flight, when Peter told him that he had to build up his strength if he were to take – to fuck - Elizabeth in flight (“On the wind,” Peter told him), Neal would have thought that she was not part of the equation between them.
Their kind was not always monogamous. Those wingfolk who lived in the aeries, the old places, tended to mate for a season or two, have their chicks; watch them take wing and part. Wingfolk who chose to live amongst the humans, to live like the humans, took on humanity’s notions of morality. They would find a groundling and mate for life, or until the pull of the wind was too strong.
Neal knew it was rare for two wingfolk to mate and stayed mated in the groundling world, and rarer still that they had found each other without the help of family and connections - an arrangement between clans. He couldn’t, however; bring himself to ask Peter for details. Elizabeth seemed to him so untouchable, so wholly Peter’s that even thinking that she could be his, if just for a single flight, was a heresy.
And despite Peter’s deep bond with Elizabeth, Neal could feel their own link grow stronger with each flight, with each fuck afterwards. Peter was not a gentle lover, but Neal didn’t want that from him. Neal wanted to be taken, he wanted Peter’s strength and fierceness, he wanted all that power driving into him. He reveled in it.
And still, Peter always gave him gentleness, too. Caring for his body afterwards, holding him through the night. This terrified Neal as much as it elated him. He could become addicted to that gentleness; he could crave it more than he desired his freedom.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
They soared on the rising thermals, wings beating just enough to keep them aloft. The season was changing, though. The nights were growing colder; it was becoming too difficult to reach the open sky from the terrace. Neal was better at gaining height quickly, but Peter, bigger and heavier, with a more expansive wingspan, was struggling. Four stories up wasn’t enough. When the weather turned to winter, they’d need a skyscraper and the powerful updrafts.
They never talked about the practicalities, but the question was always on Neal’s tongue, “How do you manage to take flight from your house in Brooklyn?” It wasn’t that he lacked the courage to ask, it was that he was afraid to break the spell, to ruin the fantasy with such mundane problems of physics.
Tonight was nearly a disaster. Peter struggleed to gain height, almost crashing onto Riverside Drive. Neal saved him, risking his own life in the process, keeping them both aloft just enough to tumble onto an open field in a nearby park, their wings retracting at the very last moment. Grass stained and bruised from chin to torso, Neal took stock of himself - the only thing that was seriously injured was his dignity. He checked on Peter, who had landed on his back.
“You okay?” There was a dog barking in the distance, a car horn sounding its own discontent.
Peter turned his head and looked at him, his smile gleaming in the darkness. “That was fun - let’s do it again.”
Neal looked at his friend, his partner, his lover. His wing mate. “Are you insane?”
“Probably.” Peter got to his feet, looking around, getting his bearings. He started walking back towards June’s. “You coming?”
Neal had no choice but to follow, as he always did.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Something changed after that night. Lying in bed, in the darkness, Neal could tell the instant that Peter crossed from Brooklyn into Manhattan. He could feel Peter’s satisfaction, his anticipation. His desire.
It was too late in the year to fly; despite Peter’s insistence that they could manage, Neal wasn’t prepared to risk his life - Peter’s life - for a few hours of freedom. When he said no, Peter gave him a look filled with some secret knowledge, some satisfaction that he wasn’t yet willing to share.
Although they didn’t go flying, Peter still came to him in the middle of the night. He didn’t fuck him for the raw value of that word. What Peter did to him was not the brutal post-flight copulation that stole Neal’s self-control. Rather, Peter made love to him, seducing him with gentleness, with insistence, with his own unyielding desires. Every touch was a caress, every word, a love poem.
And each time they made love, whether under the cold stars on in his warm bed, Neal felt his long-sought dream of freedom ebb and grow fainter. Peter touched him and he wondered how he would be able to leave once the tracker came off.
Maybe he’d stay through the winter and take off in the spring, when the nights were warmer and there were thermals to ride.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
There was a small ceremony at the office the day that the tracker came off. But Neal was still playing coy. Like always, he could feel Peter’s eyes on him whenever someone would ask about his plans.
“Of course I’ll travel, but New York is home. It’s where my friends are.” He wasn’t going to say more than that.
“It’s also where you know a lot of law enforcement types, the ones with the ‘get out of jail free’ cards.” That was from Jones.
“Hey, hey – after four years with you guys – you have to know that I’m reformed.”
“Reformed, my ass.” That was Diana, but she was grinning from ear to ear.
“Neal’s not going anywhere.” Peter’s hot, heavy hands were suddenly resting on his shoulders; Neal could feel his thumbs making light circles over his shoulder blades, right at the point where his wings would emerge. A touch like that, in such a place, was akin to a public claiming. But no one could see, and the groundlings would never understand what Peter was doing to him was like he was stroking his cock.
Neal felt his control start to slip and he tried to take a step away. Peter squeezed his shoulders and let go. The relief was palpable, but the loss of that touch left him chilled. He turned to look at Peter. “What do you mean, I’m not going anywhere? Isn’t it a little late in the day to tell me?” He shook his ankle – now bare of that hunk of black plastic.
“Oh, that thing’s history.” Peter kicked at his ankle, his smile was as enigmatic as ever. Diana and Clinton looked intrigued. “We’ll discuss this over dinner.” Neal followed helplessly as Peter dragged him out of the office, not giving him a chance to make his somewhat final farewells.
He hadn’t planned to have dinner with Peter tonight. There was a celebratory dinner planned for Friday, the whole White Collar division was invited. The elevator took them to the garage level and Neal kept silent as Peter drove.
That was clearly irking him. “Feel free to fiddle with the buttons.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Four years in the car with you, four years of slapping your hand away and now you decide to behave yourself?”
Neal sat on his hands and shrugged like a sulky teenager. Finally he asked, “Where are we going?”
Peter didn’t bother to give him The Look as he turned onto the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge. They were heading home – to Peter’s home. Neal sat up a little straighter.
They didn’t exchange another word until Peter parked a few doors down the block from his house. In truth, he remained silent as they walked the short distance to Chez Burke, and the silent treatment continued as he let them in, greeted his dog and then Elizabeth. She kissed her husband and came to stand in front of Neal, knowledge and compassion filling her eyes.
“My husband has been an ass.”
Neal blinked and looked over at Peter, who was flushing bright red. “Well, there have been times …”
“You know what I mean, Neal.”
It was easier, as always, to be coy. “I do?”
El shook her head. “There’s no need to play games anymore.” She reached up, took his head between her small, strong hands and kissed him on the lips. It was a kiss filled with sensual promise and for a brief moment, Neal reacted, kissing her back. Until he remember where he was, who she was. And that Peter was watching.
“No.” He pulled away. What went on between him and Peter had no place here, despite Peter’s assertion after that first flight.
Neal backed up, only to be stopped by a big, hard body. Elizabeth stepped close again and he was trapped by the Burkes. He tried to escape, but Peter held him, Elizabeth held him and unless he wanted to struggle, there was nowhere to go.
“What are you afraid of?” Elizabeth touched his cheek.
“You. Hurting you. Hurting you more than I already have.” The words ground out of him.
“Why would you hurt me? I’ve always known.”
“You don’t know about this – you don’t know what I can do to Peter now.” Neal turned to face Peter and in an unintentional moment of mimicry, he cupped the other man’s face and kissed him. He worked Peter’s tie loose, he pulled his jacket and shirt off, and ran his hands down Peter’s back. For the first time, Neal let the magic sing out and in a moment of unconfined need, he clutched at Peter’s shoulders and his wings erupted, there in his living room. “This was what wing mates do to each other.”
Peter didn’t scream, didn’t protest. The sound that came from his mouth was simply a sigh of happiness, of acceptance of their bond.
Neal retreated, confused.
“It’s about time, Neal. Time you recognized what you are to us.” Elizabeth spoke quietly, but her words were like bells.
To us. That didn’t make sense. His head bowed, Neal whispered, “What am I?”
“You’re our wing mate.” She touched his back, and he could feel her palm burning through the wool of his suit jacket. He could feel her called the magic out of him, like he just did to Peter.
Peter stripped him with more care that he’d shown. There was something so devastating about those hands working at his clothing, easing the tie out of his collar, his arms out of his jacket and vest, unbuttoning his shirt. It was such a dangerous thing, Peter’s care.
Although Elizabeth had never touched his bare flesh before, her touch sang in his blood as bright as Peter’s.
“Don’t, please don’t do this.”
Her hands left his skin, he was instantly chilled. “Why not?”
He couldn’t answer, the words were lost in the fear and guilt and shame.
Peter held him, although he struggled. “Shh, shh.”
His world became a cocoon of soft, warm feathers – not only Peter’s bronze, but there was blue-gold, too - Elizabeth. At some later point, he’d marvel at her plumage, but now he couldn’t think, he couldn’t look. And worst of all, he couldn’t escape. He fell to his knees, hands over his head like a frightened child.
“Why, Neal? Why are you fighting us?”
The feathers were gone, Elizabeth was at his side.
“You can’t want me. And I’ll only ruin Peter.” He refused to look at either of them.
“Do you want to go?” Peter’s voice was harsh. “Does your freedom mean that much?”
Neal looked up, startled by the tears in Peter’s eyes. “Haven’t you heard what I said? I’ll ruin you. How many times have I come close to destroying everything in your life?”
“And how many times have you saved it, too?”
Neal closed his eyes, remembering.
He was surrounded by warmth again, not feathers but flesh. “We are wing mates, Neal. You can fly to the ends of the earth, but I’ll always know where you are. Stay or go, I’ll always feel your heartbeat.” Peter’s hot tears scalded his own bare skin.
Neal found Elizabeth’s gaze. There were no recriminations there, no anger, no jealousy. Just warmth and acceptance and a will as strong as the wind.
She asked for just one thing, “Stay with us.”
The skin along his back prickled, he reached out to her and she took his hand. “Yes, I will.”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Elizabeth/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: WingFic, Angst
Word Count: ~2500
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me, jrosemarySummary: It’s now a matter of weeks before Neal’s off the tracker for good. Peter is making it difficult for him to seek the freedom he thought he wanted for so long.
A continuation of the story (you may or may not need to read it) that was started in The Place Where Wings Unfurl, which I wrote for
doctor_fangeek for Fic-Can-Ukah 2011. This is the last of the guaranteed stories for Fic-Can-Ukah 2012, and is for doctor_fangeek, who asked for “In Your Fantasies,” Peter/Elizabeth/Neal.They didn’t talk about it, ever.
Not the flight, not what came afterwards, when Peter bent him over the stone balustrade and fucked him with his hot, hard hands and his hotter, harder cock. They didn’t talk about the kisses Peter pressed against his shoulders, across his back, down his spine. They didn’t talk about how, at the moment of their shared climax, Neal’s wings erupted out of his back, beating hard enough to lift them both off the ground.
No, they didn’t talk about that.
Peter had stayed the night, wrapping himself around Neal, holding him almost too tightly. Neal didn’t mind, this was something he had wanted for far too long, something that had only existed in his fantasies.
Maybe that could explain his reluctance to speak of it with Peter in the daytime. Magical thinking about their own personal magic: if they talked about it, maybe it didn’t happen.
The first time they flew, it was two months before his tracker was to come off for good, and after that, at least three times a week. Peter would just open his apartment door sometime after midnight (he never arrived by wing), strip off his shirt, unlock the cuff around Neal’s ankle and jump up on the stone railing, waiting for Neal to follow. His wings remained tightly furled, but they were still larger than those of the merlons that guarded the terrace. He never said a word, just held out a hand for Neal to take, to help him up. The courtly gesture was so unnecessary, but Neal wouldn’t forgo this part of their ritual for anything. They would stand there for a moment, a heartbeat. Peter then spread his wings and took flight.
Neal never failed to follow.
It got to the point that Neal could sense when Peter was going to come over, he could feel their connection as he approached the apartment. It was sometimes that way with their kind – they were becoming wing mates. The thought frightened Neal – he knew that Peter would never accept that type of bond between them. He was already mated to Elizabeth.
If it wasn’t for that one time, their first flight, when Peter told him that he had to build up his strength if he were to take – to fuck - Elizabeth in flight (“On the wind,” Peter told him), Neal would have thought that she was not part of the equation between them.
Their kind was not always monogamous. Those wingfolk who lived in the aeries, the old places, tended to mate for a season or two, have their chicks; watch them take wing and part. Wingfolk who chose to live amongst the humans, to live like the humans, took on humanity’s notions of morality. They would find a groundling and mate for life, or until the pull of the wind was too strong.
Neal knew it was rare for two wingfolk to mate and stayed mated in the groundling world, and rarer still that they had found each other without the help of family and connections - an arrangement between clans. He couldn’t, however; bring himself to ask Peter for details. Elizabeth seemed to him so untouchable, so wholly Peter’s that even thinking that she could be his, if just for a single flight, was a heresy.
And despite Peter’s deep bond with Elizabeth, Neal could feel their own link grow stronger with each flight, with each fuck afterwards. Peter was not a gentle lover, but Neal didn’t want that from him. Neal wanted to be taken, he wanted Peter’s strength and fierceness, he wanted all that power driving into him. He reveled in it.
And still, Peter always gave him gentleness, too. Caring for his body afterwards, holding him through the night. This terrified Neal as much as it elated him. He could become addicted to that gentleness; he could crave it more than he desired his freedom.
They soared on the rising thermals, wings beating just enough to keep them aloft. The season was changing, though. The nights were growing colder; it was becoming too difficult to reach the open sky from the terrace. Neal was better at gaining height quickly, but Peter, bigger and heavier, with a more expansive wingspan, was struggling. Four stories up wasn’t enough. When the weather turned to winter, they’d need a skyscraper and the powerful updrafts.
They never talked about the practicalities, but the question was always on Neal’s tongue, “How do you manage to take flight from your house in Brooklyn?” It wasn’t that he lacked the courage to ask, it was that he was afraid to break the spell, to ruin the fantasy with such mundane problems of physics.
Tonight was nearly a disaster. Peter struggleed to gain height, almost crashing onto Riverside Drive. Neal saved him, risking his own life in the process, keeping them both aloft just enough to tumble onto an open field in a nearby park, their wings retracting at the very last moment. Grass stained and bruised from chin to torso, Neal took stock of himself - the only thing that was seriously injured was his dignity. He checked on Peter, who had landed on his back.
“You okay?” There was a dog barking in the distance, a car horn sounding its own discontent.
Peter turned his head and looked at him, his smile gleaming in the darkness. “That was fun - let’s do it again.”
Neal looked at his friend, his partner, his lover. His wing mate. “Are you insane?”
“Probably.” Peter got to his feet, looking around, getting his bearings. He started walking back towards June’s. “You coming?”
Neal had no choice but to follow, as he always did.
Something changed after that night. Lying in bed, in the darkness, Neal could tell the instant that Peter crossed from Brooklyn into Manhattan. He could feel Peter’s satisfaction, his anticipation. His desire.
It was too late in the year to fly; despite Peter’s insistence that they could manage, Neal wasn’t prepared to risk his life - Peter’s life - for a few hours of freedom. When he said no, Peter gave him a look filled with some secret knowledge, some satisfaction that he wasn’t yet willing to share.
Although they didn’t go flying, Peter still came to him in the middle of the night. He didn’t fuck him for the raw value of that word. What Peter did to him was not the brutal post-flight copulation that stole Neal’s self-control. Rather, Peter made love to him, seducing him with gentleness, with insistence, with his own unyielding desires. Every touch was a caress, every word, a love poem.
And each time they made love, whether under the cold stars on in his warm bed, Neal felt his long-sought dream of freedom ebb and grow fainter. Peter touched him and he wondered how he would be able to leave once the tracker came off.
Maybe he’d stay through the winter and take off in the spring, when the nights were warmer and there were thermals to ride.
There was a small ceremony at the office the day that the tracker came off. But Neal was still playing coy. Like always, he could feel Peter’s eyes on him whenever someone would ask about his plans.
“Of course I’ll travel, but New York is home. It’s where my friends are.” He wasn’t going to say more than that.
“It’s also where you know a lot of law enforcement types, the ones with the ‘get out of jail free’ cards.” That was from Jones.
“Hey, hey – after four years with you guys – you have to know that I’m reformed.”
“Reformed, my ass.” That was Diana, but she was grinning from ear to ear.
“Neal’s not going anywhere.” Peter’s hot, heavy hands were suddenly resting on his shoulders; Neal could feel his thumbs making light circles over his shoulder blades, right at the point where his wings would emerge. A touch like that, in such a place, was akin to a public claiming. But no one could see, and the groundlings would never understand what Peter was doing to him was like he was stroking his cock.
Neal felt his control start to slip and he tried to take a step away. Peter squeezed his shoulders and let go. The relief was palpable, but the loss of that touch left him chilled. He turned to look at Peter. “What do you mean, I’m not going anywhere? Isn’t it a little late in the day to tell me?” He shook his ankle – now bare of that hunk of black plastic.
“Oh, that thing’s history.” Peter kicked at his ankle, his smile was as enigmatic as ever. Diana and Clinton looked intrigued. “We’ll discuss this over dinner.” Neal followed helplessly as Peter dragged him out of the office, not giving him a chance to make his somewhat final farewells.
He hadn’t planned to have dinner with Peter tonight. There was a celebratory dinner planned for Friday, the whole White Collar division was invited. The elevator took them to the garage level and Neal kept silent as Peter drove.
That was clearly irking him. “Feel free to fiddle with the buttons.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Four years in the car with you, four years of slapping your hand away and now you decide to behave yourself?”
Neal sat on his hands and shrugged like a sulky teenager. Finally he asked, “Where are we going?”
Peter didn’t bother to give him The Look as he turned onto the ramp for the Brooklyn Bridge. They were heading home – to Peter’s home. Neal sat up a little straighter.
They didn’t exchange another word until Peter parked a few doors down the block from his house. In truth, he remained silent as they walked the short distance to Chez Burke, and the silent treatment continued as he let them in, greeted his dog and then Elizabeth. She kissed her husband and came to stand in front of Neal, knowledge and compassion filling her eyes.
“My husband has been an ass.”
Neal blinked and looked over at Peter, who was flushing bright red. “Well, there have been times …”
“You know what I mean, Neal.”
It was easier, as always, to be coy. “I do?”
El shook her head. “There’s no need to play games anymore.” She reached up, took his head between her small, strong hands and kissed him on the lips. It was a kiss filled with sensual promise and for a brief moment, Neal reacted, kissing her back. Until he remember where he was, who she was. And that Peter was watching.
“No.” He pulled away. What went on between him and Peter had no place here, despite Peter’s assertion after that first flight.
Neal backed up, only to be stopped by a big, hard body. Elizabeth stepped close again and he was trapped by the Burkes. He tried to escape, but Peter held him, Elizabeth held him and unless he wanted to struggle, there was nowhere to go.
“What are you afraid of?” Elizabeth touched his cheek.
“You. Hurting you. Hurting you more than I already have.” The words ground out of him.
“Why would you hurt me? I’ve always known.”
“You don’t know about this – you don’t know what I can do to Peter now.” Neal turned to face Peter and in an unintentional moment of mimicry, he cupped the other man’s face and kissed him. He worked Peter’s tie loose, he pulled his jacket and shirt off, and ran his hands down Peter’s back. For the first time, Neal let the magic sing out and in a moment of unconfined need, he clutched at Peter’s shoulders and his wings erupted, there in his living room. “This was what wing mates do to each other.”
Peter didn’t scream, didn’t protest. The sound that came from his mouth was simply a sigh of happiness, of acceptance of their bond.
Neal retreated, confused.
“It’s about time, Neal. Time you recognized what you are to us.” Elizabeth spoke quietly, but her words were like bells.
To us. That didn’t make sense. His head bowed, Neal whispered, “What am I?”
“You’re our wing mate.” She touched his back, and he could feel her palm burning through the wool of his suit jacket. He could feel her called the magic out of him, like he just did to Peter.
Peter stripped him with more care that he’d shown. There was something so devastating about those hands working at his clothing, easing the tie out of his collar, his arms out of his jacket and vest, unbuttoning his shirt. It was such a dangerous thing, Peter’s care.
Although Elizabeth had never touched his bare flesh before, her touch sang in his blood as bright as Peter’s.
“Don’t, please don’t do this.”
Her hands left his skin, he was instantly chilled. “Why not?”
He couldn’t answer, the words were lost in the fear and guilt and shame.
Peter held him, although he struggled. “Shh, shh.”
His world became a cocoon of soft, warm feathers – not only Peter’s bronze, but there was blue-gold, too - Elizabeth. At some later point, he’d marvel at her plumage, but now he couldn’t think, he couldn’t look. And worst of all, he couldn’t escape. He fell to his knees, hands over his head like a frightened child.
“Why, Neal? Why are you fighting us?”
The feathers were gone, Elizabeth was at his side.
“You can’t want me. And I’ll only ruin Peter.” He refused to look at either of them.
“Do you want to go?” Peter’s voice was harsh. “Does your freedom mean that much?”
Neal looked up, startled by the tears in Peter’s eyes. “Haven’t you heard what I said? I’ll ruin you. How many times have I come close to destroying everything in your life?”
“And how many times have you saved it, too?”
Neal closed his eyes, remembering.
He was surrounded by warmth again, not feathers but flesh. “We are wing mates, Neal. You can fly to the ends of the earth, but I’ll always know where you are. Stay or go, I’ll always feel your heartbeat.” Peter’s hot tears scalded his own bare skin.
Neal found Elizabeth’s gaze. There were no recriminations there, no anger, no jealousy. Just warmth and acceptance and a will as strong as the wind.
She asked for just one thing, “Stay with us.”
The skin along his back prickled, he reached out to her and she took his hand. “Yes, I will.”
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- genre: angst,
- genre: ot3,
- genre: post-anklet,
- genre: transformation,
- genre: wing fic,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth,
- pairing: peter/elizabeth/neal,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- wc verse: winged neal,
- white collar,
- written for: fic-can-ukah,
- year: 2012
no subject
Date: 2012-12-22 11:21 pm (UTC)