elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2013-03-30 07:36 pm
elrhiarhodan) wrote2013-03-30 07:36 pm
White Collar Fic - The Moon in its Flight
Title: The Moon in its Flight
Author: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: ~2200
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me
Summary: Neal dreams of flight, of Peter and Elizabeth in the wind with him. He learns that his dreams are not impossible.
A continuation of the story that was started in The Place Where Wings Unfurl, and continued in Against the Wind. This is the fill for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
frith_in_thorns prompt "Flying" for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
run_the_con. It's also a thank-you story for doctor_fangeek, who helped me out with some factual questions in a recent fic.
__________________
In prison, Neal dreamed of flight. Of letting his wings unfurl and the rising thermals taking him out to sea.
In a prison of another sort, one defined by love and affection and respect, Neal still dreamed of flight. Of letting his wings unfurl and soaring out over the canyons of New York City. But in those dreams, he wasn't alone.
As his term came to an end, he discovered the truth of his prison - it was of his own making.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter was twelve when he made his first solo flight. It was a rite of passage to sneak out after the moon rose, hot and gold, early in the summer night. A time-honored act of defiance, albeit one done with a nod and a wink from the elders. Peter knew that his father was hovering on the cliffs below, waiting to catch him if he fell.
He spread his wings, the span was bigger than many in his clan, even those on men grown, and closed his eyes, waiting for the perfect thermal. The heat stored in the white cliff face rose and his feathers ruffled in the breeze. He took a step into the air, his wings snapped out and he soared.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth was the one to realize that Neal was like them, one of the wingfolk living in the grounded world. She knew from the first moment she met him, and had been vastly amused that Peter - her brilliant husband - had chased Neal Caffrey for three years and never saw it.
It was the wildness in his eyes, the same wildness that she recognized in Peter’s the day he busted her boss at the art gallery for fraud.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Peter didn’t see that Neal was one of them. He hadn’t seen it in her either. Not until the morning after the first time they woke up together. He had rolled over and looked at her, half-asleep and full of wonder, and said, “Your wings must be magnificent."
She'd kissed his nose and thought That took you long enough, but just said "And so must be yours."
El didn't keep Neal's secret a secret. That first morning, after Peter had told Neal to go wait outside, she'd kissed her husband and whispered, "He's like us."
Peter had looked at her like she was crazy, and then - not. A thoughtful look dawned on his face, then a small, wicked smile. She'd almost felt sorry for Neal Caffrey, but knowing what was in store for him, she really couldn't.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
That first morning, it had taken all of his will not to tell Neal that he knew what he was. Neal standing on the altar, showing him the hidden signature in the mosaic, Peter could smell his musk. It was a heady combination of feathers and Champagne and juniper wood. He wondered if Neal had spent his first night perched on that terrace, wings spread, trying not to take flight.
He admired Neal's restraint, how he was honoring his commitment. The tracking device was of little use to their kind. He could cut it and be in the wind and gone forever before the Marshals realized it. Or maybe not. Four years in prison must have weakened Neal, maybe he couldn't fly. Maybe he didn't have the strength to escape.
Then there was Kate. He'd stay in New York if Kate were here, too.
The years passed - Kate died, Neal went back to prison. The hunt for her killer ended with a submarine filled with art looted by the Nazis and a man dead by a bullet from Peter's own gun.
And Neal still didn't leave. Peter waited and waited for the call from the Marshals that Neal had cut his anklet. It never came. Despite the anger between them, despite the mistrust and the lies and everything else, Neal still didn't take wing and fly away.
It was hard not to go to him and tell him that he knew. His heart ached with the need to tell Neal that he didn't have to be so alone. But he said nothing and cursed himself for it.
"Go, go to him," El urged, night after night, year after year. He couldn't, not while his human responsibilities trumped those of his heart.
The day finally came when he could hold back no longer. The winds were changing, there were just a few months left before Neal would no longer be bound to him and Peter couldn't bear the thought of a life without him.
The night was thick with light - the moon was a beacon, the skyline lit up like thousand girls in diamond dresses. It was a night made for flying.
Peter let himself into Neal's apartment. It was a daring thing - there was no guarantee that Neal would be alone, or that he'd welcome the intrusion. He often came over without calling, but never this late. They were close as two friends could be, but coming over at two AM, bursting into the apartment without so much as a knock was testing the bonds of that friendship.
Neal was on the balcony, his wings extended, the scent of champagne and fresh cut juniper drifting back through the apartment. The moonlight gilded the dark feathers, turning the silver ones to purest platinum. Peter never saw wings as magnificent. They were perfectly proportioned to Neal's frame, broad and strong - capable of flying forever.
He must have made a sound - Neal spun around, shock and horror on his face at Peter's discovery. But Peter just laughed. This moment was just … perfect. No explanations were needed. He striped of his shirt and tie and just let his own wings unfurl.
He laughed again, and asked Neal if he'd like to go flying, there was only one answer Neal needed to give. He just extended his left foot. Peter knelt and removed the tracker.
That first flight was too short, but it was perfect. Neal's delight was infectious and they flew wingtip to wingtip, low enough to avoid any manmade flying machines and high enough to avoid prying eyes.
Peter was sorry when they needed to turn back, but he could see that Neal was beginning to falter. It occurred to him that it was probably close to a decade since Neal had flown, and those muscles needed to be strengthened.
But he wasn't sorry when the landed on the terrace and he took Neal into his arms. They were both rock hard and aching. They fucked there, on the terrace, Peter's wings cocooning them, protecting them from the dangers waiting for the night to end.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Elizabeth knew what was happening between Neal and her husband. She knew and was content. Maybe her younger self wouldn’t have been so willing to share, but there was truth in the saying that age (ahem, maturity) brought wisdom.
Her husband’s heart was loyal and loving and infinitely large. It was also so susceptible to the magic of their kind. Neal was so terribly lonesome that it was inevitable that Peter would fall hard. That he was smart and clever and beautiful didn’t hurt, either.
She just hoped Peter would handle Neal with care, make him understand that this was not something to be hidden, to be ashamed of. As the days grew shorter and the nights got colder, it was clear that Peter was oblivious to Neal’s emotional needs. El had seen Neal a few times during the past few weeks. Once - most memorably - at the office, when Neal all but hid in the mens’ room until Clinton had gone in to see if he was all right. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and his smile was so fake it hurt to look at.
There was guilt there, and shame, too. He was so afraid he was taking something from her, he was stealing Peter away.
Neal would learn; though, that you couldn't steal what was freely given.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“Are you strong enough?” Peter’s whispered question sent a thrill through Neal. His body’s reaction - ruffled feathers and nipples hardening to painfully tight points - had nothing to do with the breeze and everything to do with desire.
Elizabeth was waiting for him, standing on the balustrade, between the two stone merlons, her feathers glowing white and gold in the moonlight. Neal couldn’t keep his eyes off them, and off her magnificent breasts, capped with dark nipples - as tightly furled as his own. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Elizabeth's breasts, but it was the first time in the open air, kissed by the moon.
“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” Peter was still whispering in his ear, the voice of the devil to torment him like this.
Peter ran his hands down Neal’s back and called the magic in his blood. Neal arched his back against the delicious pull and let his wings unfurl.
It had been more than half a year since the tracker came off and Peter brought him into his home. It had been a moment he had longed for - to be acknowledged as Peter’s wingmate. And a moment he dreaded to - because if he truly was Peter’s wingmate, then he was coming between Elizabeth and her husband.
It was a miracle though - Elizabeth knew what he was. After the high drama that night, she handed him a glass of wine and took one for herself and leaned against him, rubbing her cheek against his bare chest like a cat. Peter sat across from them, smiling.
That was when she told him than she had always known what he was. From the first time they met. He could hide it from Peter, from the rest of the world, but not from her.
Neal spent the next six months in a state of joyful panic. He and Peter flew almost every night - the journey from the rooftop terrace to the roof of the Burkes' house on Warren Street was a homecoming in so many ways. He was part of their lives - he could call their wings at will and their touch on him was equally potent.
This afternoon, they were discussing some case and for the life of him, Neal couldn't remember what it was about. Peter leaned over and Neal breathed deeply, his lungs filling with the essence of Peter Burke - the finest whiskey and the sharp sweetness of cherries. If that wasn't enough to distract him, Peter wrecked his concentration when he whispered, "Tonight. We all fly together, tonight."
Which was why he was here, half naked and ready for everything. He leaped up onto the balustrade, his balance perfect. The city streets were releasing the heat from the day and the warm updrafts caught him under the curve of his wings.
Elizabeth looked over to him and grinned. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be." He stepped out over the edge wings beating, heart pounding. Elizabeth was next to him and they soared.
Elizabeth banked left, towards the open space of Riverside Park, her wings beating lazily, tempting him. He kept up with her easily and somewhere north of the park, over the darkness of the river, she let him catch her.
Taking Elizabeth, making love to Elizabeth on the wind was the most sublimely beautiful thing Neal had ever experienced. There was danger, it was too easy to get caught up in the ecstasy, to forget about flying, to plunge to the ground. But Peter was close by, Neal could feel him urging them both on. He would keep them safe - he wouldn't let them fall.
Neal screamed as Elizabeth's body clenched in her pleasure, and his followed right behind. Even as his wings faltered then tangled with Elizabeth's, Peter was there, catching them both, flying for all of them until Neal was able to fly on his own, until Elizabeth's wings pulled her free and she turned back to land.
The three of them landed in an ungainly heap, a tangled pile of feathers and limbs and laughter. Peter pulled himself free and picked Elizabeth up, their wings disappearing in a sudden rush of magic. Neal just laid there, resting on a pile of his own feathers, buoyant with happiness.
It was Elizabeth who held out a hand to him, and her words made him complete.
"Do you have any doubts now, you are our wingmate? We will be with you, wherever you go, and you will always be a part of us."
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: ~2200
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4meSummary: Neal dreams of flight, of Peter and Elizabeth in the wind with him. He learns that his dreams are not impossible.
A continuation of the story that was started in The Place Where Wings Unfurl, and continued in Against the Wind. This is the fill for
frith_in_thorns prompt "Flying" for run_the_con. It's also a thank-you story for doctor_fangeek, who helped me out with some factual questions in a recent fic.In prison, Neal dreamed of flight. Of letting his wings unfurl and the rising thermals taking him out to sea.
In a prison of another sort, one defined by love and affection and respect, Neal still dreamed of flight. Of letting his wings unfurl and soaring out over the canyons of New York City. But in those dreams, he wasn't alone.
As his term came to an end, he discovered the truth of his prison - it was of his own making.
Peter was twelve when he made his first solo flight. It was a rite of passage to sneak out after the moon rose, hot and gold, early in the summer night. A time-honored act of defiance, albeit one done with a nod and a wink from the elders. Peter knew that his father was hovering on the cliffs below, waiting to catch him if he fell.
He spread his wings, the span was bigger than many in his clan, even those on men grown, and closed his eyes, waiting for the perfect thermal. The heat stored in the white cliff face rose and his feathers ruffled in the breeze. He took a step into the air, his wings snapped out and he soared.
Elizabeth was the one to realize that Neal was like them, one of the wingfolk living in the grounded world. She knew from the first moment she met him, and had been vastly amused that Peter - her brilliant husband - had chased Neal Caffrey for three years and never saw it.
It was the wildness in his eyes, the same wildness that she recognized in Peter’s the day he busted her boss at the art gallery for fraud.
She shouldn’t have been surprised that Peter didn’t see that Neal was one of them. He hadn’t seen it in her either. Not until the morning after the first time they woke up together. He had rolled over and looked at her, half-asleep and full of wonder, and said, “Your wings must be magnificent."
She'd kissed his nose and thought That took you long enough, but just said "And so must be yours."
El didn't keep Neal's secret a secret. That first morning, after Peter had told Neal to go wait outside, she'd kissed her husband and whispered, "He's like us."
Peter had looked at her like she was crazy, and then - not. A thoughtful look dawned on his face, then a small, wicked smile. She'd almost felt sorry for Neal Caffrey, but knowing what was in store for him, she really couldn't.
That first morning, it had taken all of his will not to tell Neal that he knew what he was. Neal standing on the altar, showing him the hidden signature in the mosaic, Peter could smell his musk. It was a heady combination of feathers and Champagne and juniper wood. He wondered if Neal had spent his first night perched on that terrace, wings spread, trying not to take flight.
He admired Neal's restraint, how he was honoring his commitment. The tracking device was of little use to their kind. He could cut it and be in the wind and gone forever before the Marshals realized it. Or maybe not. Four years in prison must have weakened Neal, maybe he couldn't fly. Maybe he didn't have the strength to escape.
Then there was Kate. He'd stay in New York if Kate were here, too.
The years passed - Kate died, Neal went back to prison. The hunt for her killer ended with a submarine filled with art looted by the Nazis and a man dead by a bullet from Peter's own gun.
And Neal still didn't leave. Peter waited and waited for the call from the Marshals that Neal had cut his anklet. It never came. Despite the anger between them, despite the mistrust and the lies and everything else, Neal still didn't take wing and fly away.
It was hard not to go to him and tell him that he knew. His heart ached with the need to tell Neal that he didn't have to be so alone. But he said nothing and cursed himself for it.
"Go, go to him," El urged, night after night, year after year. He couldn't, not while his human responsibilities trumped those of his heart.
The day finally came when he could hold back no longer. The winds were changing, there were just a few months left before Neal would no longer be bound to him and Peter couldn't bear the thought of a life without him.
The night was thick with light - the moon was a beacon, the skyline lit up like thousand girls in diamond dresses. It was a night made for flying.
Peter let himself into Neal's apartment. It was a daring thing - there was no guarantee that Neal would be alone, or that he'd welcome the intrusion. He often came over without calling, but never this late. They were close as two friends could be, but coming over at two AM, bursting into the apartment without so much as a knock was testing the bonds of that friendship.
Neal was on the balcony, his wings extended, the scent of champagne and fresh cut juniper drifting back through the apartment. The moonlight gilded the dark feathers, turning the silver ones to purest platinum. Peter never saw wings as magnificent. They were perfectly proportioned to Neal's frame, broad and strong - capable of flying forever.
He must have made a sound - Neal spun around, shock and horror on his face at Peter's discovery. But Peter just laughed. This moment was just … perfect. No explanations were needed. He striped of his shirt and tie and just let his own wings unfurl.
He laughed again, and asked Neal if he'd like to go flying, there was only one answer Neal needed to give. He just extended his left foot. Peter knelt and removed the tracker.
That first flight was too short, but it was perfect. Neal's delight was infectious and they flew wingtip to wingtip, low enough to avoid any manmade flying machines and high enough to avoid prying eyes.
Peter was sorry when they needed to turn back, but he could see that Neal was beginning to falter. It occurred to him that it was probably close to a decade since Neal had flown, and those muscles needed to be strengthened.
But he wasn't sorry when the landed on the terrace and he took Neal into his arms. They were both rock hard and aching. They fucked there, on the terrace, Peter's wings cocooning them, protecting them from the dangers waiting for the night to end.
Elizabeth knew what was happening between Neal and her husband. She knew and was content. Maybe her younger self wouldn’t have been so willing to share, but there was truth in the saying that age (ahem, maturity) brought wisdom.
Her husband’s heart was loyal and loving and infinitely large. It was also so susceptible to the magic of their kind. Neal was so terribly lonesome that it was inevitable that Peter would fall hard. That he was smart and clever and beautiful didn’t hurt, either.
She just hoped Peter would handle Neal with care, make him understand that this was not something to be hidden, to be ashamed of. As the days grew shorter and the nights got colder, it was clear that Peter was oblivious to Neal’s emotional needs. El had seen Neal a few times during the past few weeks. Once - most memorably - at the office, when Neal all but hid in the mens’ room until Clinton had gone in to see if he was all right. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and his smile was so fake it hurt to look at.
There was guilt there, and shame, too. He was so afraid he was taking something from her, he was stealing Peter away.
Neal would learn; though, that you couldn't steal what was freely given.
“Are you strong enough?” Peter’s whispered question sent a thrill through Neal. His body’s reaction - ruffled feathers and nipples hardening to painfully tight points - had nothing to do with the breeze and everything to do with desire.
Elizabeth was waiting for him, standing on the balustrade, between the two stone merlons, her feathers glowing white and gold in the moonlight. Neal couldn’t keep his eyes off them, and off her magnificent breasts, capped with dark nipples - as tightly furled as his own. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Elizabeth's breasts, but it was the first time in the open air, kissed by the moon.
“They are magnificent, aren’t they?” Peter was still whispering in his ear, the voice of the devil to torment him like this.
Peter ran his hands down Neal’s back and called the magic in his blood. Neal arched his back against the delicious pull and let his wings unfurl.
It had been more than half a year since the tracker came off and Peter brought him into his home. It had been a moment he had longed for - to be acknowledged as Peter’s wingmate. And a moment he dreaded to - because if he truly was Peter’s wingmate, then he was coming between Elizabeth and her husband.
It was a miracle though - Elizabeth knew what he was. After the high drama that night, she handed him a glass of wine and took one for herself and leaned against him, rubbing her cheek against his bare chest like a cat. Peter sat across from them, smiling.
That was when she told him than she had always known what he was. From the first time they met. He could hide it from Peter, from the rest of the world, but not from her.
Neal spent the next six months in a state of joyful panic. He and Peter flew almost every night - the journey from the rooftop terrace to the roof of the Burkes' house on Warren Street was a homecoming in so many ways. He was part of their lives - he could call their wings at will and their touch on him was equally potent.
This afternoon, they were discussing some case and for the life of him, Neal couldn't remember what it was about. Peter leaned over and Neal breathed deeply, his lungs filling with the essence of Peter Burke - the finest whiskey and the sharp sweetness of cherries. If that wasn't enough to distract him, Peter wrecked his concentration when he whispered, "Tonight. We all fly together, tonight."
Which was why he was here, half naked and ready for everything. He leaped up onto the balustrade, his balance perfect. The city streets were releasing the heat from the day and the warm updrafts caught him under the curve of his wings.
Elizabeth looked over to him and grinned. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be." He stepped out over the edge wings beating, heart pounding. Elizabeth was next to him and they soared.
Elizabeth banked left, towards the open space of Riverside Park, her wings beating lazily, tempting him. He kept up with her easily and somewhere north of the park, over the darkness of the river, she let him catch her.
Taking Elizabeth, making love to Elizabeth on the wind was the most sublimely beautiful thing Neal had ever experienced. There was danger, it was too easy to get caught up in the ecstasy, to forget about flying, to plunge to the ground. But Peter was close by, Neal could feel him urging them both on. He would keep them safe - he wouldn't let them fall.
Neal screamed as Elizabeth's body clenched in her pleasure, and his followed right behind. Even as his wings faltered then tangled with Elizabeth's, Peter was there, catching them both, flying for all of them until Neal was able to fly on his own, until Elizabeth's wings pulled her free and she turned back to land.
The three of them landed in an ungainly heap, a tangled pile of feathers and limbs and laughter. Peter pulled himself free and picked Elizabeth up, their wings disappearing in a sudden rush of magic. Neal just laid there, resting on a pile of his own feathers, buoyant with happiness.
It was Elizabeth who held out a hand to him, and her words made him complete.
"Do you have any doubts now, you are our wingmate? We will be with you, wherever you go, and you will always be a part of us."
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So many wonderful things about it \o/ The ending, something Neal's been waiting for ever since that first flight with Peter :D And then El who immediately figured out Neal's secret while Peter, the Neal expert, was oblivious :D
They fit together perfectly ♥ And Neal is finally home where he belongs :D
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Thank you so very much!
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I particularly liked the moment in this one when we get Peter's POV when he finds Neal on the balcony, wings spread. And awwww, Neal at the end. :-)
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I am so glad you liked this - it was such a pleasure to have the chance to write this for you.
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Loved the image of Neal, wings unfurled, on the balcony. *happy sigh* And the end, with the three of them together, finally united the way they should be... Beautiful, just beautiful!
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♥
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