White Collar Fic - Out to Pasture
Feb. 23rd, 2013 08:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Out to Pasture
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R (or possibly NC-17)
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Neal, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie Havisham, Diana Berrigan, Reese Hughes
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Alternative Universe (which is, in this case, a warning)
Word Count: ~3500
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me and jrosemary
Summary: Elizabeth decides that it’s time for Peter and Neal to retire. This is not going to be what you expect.
__________________
Elizabeth pulled up to the gates of the Havisham Apple Farm. She sat in her truck, letting it idle. It wasn’t too late to turn back; to just drive on, the boys would understand. Hell, they'd never really know.
But instead of turning around, El pulled through the open gate and slowly drove up the tree-lined road. It was a beautiful place, she had to admit, particularly now, in mid-April when the orchards were in bloom and the sweet scent of apple blossoms was almost overpowering. The truck dipped and bounced on the rutted driveway, its suspension groaning at the abuse. El hoped the boys weren’t too uncomfortable back there. This wasn’t the type of travel they were accustomed to.
The road ended at a small paved courtyard in front of white clapboard house with tubs of flowers on the curving pathway to the front door and wind chimes singing in the breeze. There was a large red barn to the left and a lush, fenced-in pasture to the right. Beyond that, more apple trees in bloom. Verdant hills ringed the farm and Elizabeth felt like she was in another world – someplace that modern life couldn’t touch.
A small man with thick glasses and no hair came out of the house.
“Elizabeth Burke?”
“Yes, you’re Mr. Havisham?”
The man nodded. “Call me Moz or Mozzie, if you prefer. You didn’t have any trouble finding the place, did you? We’re not on any of the satellite maps.”
She had figured that out when she went to Google, and wondered how that was possible. “No, your directions were perfect, I found the place just fine.”
Moz grinned as if she’d just given him a priceless gift.
“They’re going to be all rightf, won’t they?” Despite the idyllic setting, Elizabeth was still worried; they were so dear to her.
“They’ll be fine. They’ll have a long and happy life here at Havisham’s, they’ll live out their days in apple-filled luxury, free to do whatever they please. Even if it’s nothing at all.
“Neal’s adaptable, but I worry about Peter. Sometimes, he'll get grumpy if his routine is altered.”
“He’s at that age?”
“I don’t know if it’s age or hormones or just being so accustomed to ruling the roost, so to speak. He’s been acting out lately, taking it out on Neal a little too much. I’ve had to get firm with him.”
“Nothing wrong with a little discipline.”
El shrugged. “Except that Peter enjoys it a little too much.”
Moz was a little taken aback. “Umm, you know that’s not part of the services I offer – though if you want to pay extra, I can probably outsource…”
“Let’s let the boys get settled in and then we can talk about the extras.” With heavy footsteps and a heavier heart, Elizabeth walked around her truck to the trailer. Two heads hung out, cheek to cheek as they always were in such close confines, but hanging low, as if they understood what was about to happen.
Peter perked up when he saw her, nodding enthusiastically. Neal, too, got excited, nudging at Peter, then reaching out for her.
"Hey, guys."
Peter snorted back his usual greeting and El scratched his forehead. Peter's dark liquid eyes closed in equine ecstasy. Neal, slightly jealous, tucked his head under her other hand, begging for a similar caress and she didn't withhold. These ponies had been her life, her partners for nearly a decade and she loved them like husbands.
Well, not quite like that.
But she loved them and she wanted only what was best for them. And Havisham Apple Farm was it - a place to retire and enjoy their remaining years. Peter, the elder of the two ponies, was getting too old to trot out and perform every day and twice on Sundays. As she told Moz, he became recalcitrant at times and started nipping at the circus handlers. There were days - far too often - when he wouldn't let anyone but El curry and groom him. More telling, Peter became restless if he was parted from Neal for more than a few minutes, banging on his stall, refusing to calm down, crying out until the other pony was returned to the stall.
And then there was Neal, intelligent, quick to learn (sometimes too quick) and an inveterate troublemaker. He’d been criminally mishandled by his first owner, abused and neglected so badly that he was almost put down as an act of mercy. El had seen something in the pony, a spark of intelligence in the blue eyes that were too sad and weary for such a young animal.
She bought him for a single dollar.
Everyone, from her manager to her accountant to the handlers who kept her circus running smoothly, told her the best thing for her and this sad, sick pony was a single bullet. She wouldn’t hear of that and devoted the entire off-season to bringing Neal back to health.
By all rights, he should have been vicious and difficult after such a terrible upbringing, but there was nothing but sweetness and an exasperating ability to get into impossible tangles. It was obvious, after Neal recovered his health, that the only thing that kept Neal in check was Peter.
Peter had been part of her stable of performing ponies for years before she bought Neal – he was her first pony. She had raised him from a colt and their own bond of trust was absolute. From the moment she brought Neal into the stable, as weak as a newborn foal, Peter took it upon himself to watch out for Neal, to make sure that the other pony ate and drank and rested. He and Neal formed their own unbreakable bond. They shared a single stall, no matter how small it was. If anyone tried to keep them separated at night, there was hell to pay in the morning. Neal was a clever pony, and he’d open every stall looking for Peter - if Peter hadn’t kicked his way out trying to find Neal.
It took months of care and nurturing, but Neal’s coat finally turned from a coarse dark gray to a smooth, glossy black, and his eyes, a clear – almost startling – blue, became filled with mischief, not weary sadness.
When El first bought Neal, she’d been shock to discover that his owner hadn’t had him gelded. The vet, once he believed that the pony would survive, strongly suggested that she have the procedure done. She already had one stallion – Peter – in her stables. A second one would only cause trouble. El reasoned differently – Peter was already committed to Neal, it didn’t matter that he was a biological rival. Neal had too much trauma in his short life to have to suffer another loss.
And it never seemed to matter. Her mares came into heat and Neal had little interest in them. Elizabeth was surprised that Peter, who’d always enjoyed stud duty, no longer showed any desire in covering her ladies anymore. She had been around horses all her life, she’d seen them mate, she’d even “helped” a stallion do his job. But she’d never seen an animal that deserved the appellation “hung like a horse” more than her very own Peter.
She attributed his sudden lack of interest to his care for Neal, but she didn’t realize how true that was until one late summer day when she let them out of their trailer for a romp. Most of the circus people were at dinner – El’s nose twitched at the tasty scents coming from the cook tent – but the boys had been restless and she wanted them to work that out before nightfall.
Neal pranced around the paddock, showing off like he was high-stepping in a dressage ring, his dark tail raised high. Peter followed at a trot. Every once and a while, Neal would stop, look over his shoulder and whinny. Peter would stop, whinny back, and the odd little chase would continue. They rounded the near side of the paddock and Elizabeth got an eyeful. Both ponies were in a state of sexual arousal, sporting massive, dripping erections.
Neal came to a stop, did that little whinny and flicked his tail. This time, Peter didn’t stop; he sniffed at Neal like he was a mare in heat and mounted him. And penetrated him.
It shouldn’t have worked, Neal should have been screaming out in pain instead of reacting like he was in heat, backing up to Peter, dropping his head, letting Peter cover him.
El had stood there, mouth open, not quite sure that she actually saw what she saw. Her chief wrangler, Hughes, who’d been with the circus since her daddy’s time, had seen the whole thing, too.
“Hmm, figured as much. That Peter – the minute you brought Neal in – he was smitten. You’ll never be able to separate them now, you know.”
She released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Hughes shrugged. “Nah. How many ponies do we need? Been getting hard to find places for all the foals. This is better. Thought that that pony was going to die the first week – but between you and Peter, he’s grown into a good beast. He’ll be one of your best for decades, and Peter will be a better pony, too.”
Hughes was right. By the time the new season opened, she had two ponies that would do anything and everything for her. They’d dance, they’d prance, they’d carry tigers on their backs and jump through rings of fire. They were her best performers for more than twelve years, her favorites of all her animals.
It wasn’t until this past winter that she noticed that Peter was slowing down, his steps weren’t as quick and he faltered enough times that she became worried. The vet said that Peter was as healthy as twenty year-old pony could be, but he was still twenty years old and maybe it was time that he earned some rest. Circus life was hard on the ponies.
That meant that Neal had to retire, too. Because as attached to Neal as Peter was, Neal was just as needful of Peter. Peter might get difficult if he was apart from Neal for too long, but Neal separated from Peter was almost too painful to behold. He’d first vocalize his distress, and in all the years Elizabeth had been working with horses, she’d never known that one could make such a sound – like he was actually screaming “PE-TER - PE-TER”. Even once he settled down, Neal would refuse to do anything but hang his head over the stall door and watch for his mate. He’d get this terrible, hopeful look in those huge blue eyes when the barn door would open, only to fall back into a black depression when Peter didn’t appear.
Thankfully - for her heart and her sanity - she rarely had to separate the boys.
Following her vet’s recommendation, Elizabeth started researching for places that would take her ponies and care for them, but without much success. None of the reputable farms, it seemed, were willing to take two stallions and keep them together, and there was no way she’d ever have either of them gelded.
Elizabeth was resigned to keeping Peter and Neal with the circus, but not having them as performers. It wasn’t the optimal solution, but it was better than splitting them up or mutilating them. About six months after taking the pair out of the show, her old friend, Diana, came to visit.
“So, how are your boys?”
Diana had always been amused by Peter and Neal’s relationship. The first time she saw the two of them together, she told El that someone should send a video of their sex play to Anita Bryant. El had laughed, but was serious when she replied, “What Peter and Neal do in the privacy of their paddock and their stall is no one else’s business. I don’t want anyone using my obscene circus ponies to promote an agenda.”
Now, she told Diana how Peter was too old to reliably perform, that they were retired from circus life.
“You’re going to keep them with you? That doesn’t sound like it’s good for them or for the circus.”
“Have no choice, no place will take two stallions. I’d love to place them somewhere where they could run free, not have to deal with the stress of a life on the road.”
Diana gave her a thoughtful look. “I might know someone. He’s a little, well, odd. Owns an apple farm upstate and has taken in a few of my older horses. He’s sort of off the grid. Want me to reach out to him?” She pulled out her phone, ready to make the call.
“If he’s off the grid, then how …?”
Diana shrugged. “Burner phones, dunno. But I can always reach him if I have to, I just have to make sure it’s for a good reason. He took care of Christie until the very end.”
El reached out and rested a sympathetic hand on Diana’s wrist. Christie had been her friend’s best show horse for half a lifetime. “If you trusted this guy with your lady, then I guess I can trust him, too.”
It took a lot more than a single phone call to set everything up. Mr. Havisham wanted health records, photographs, testimonials about the ponies’ temperaments, plus bona fides on Elizabeth, the Burke Family Circus, reports from animal welfare agencies, health inspectors, financials, everything but her DNA it seemed like.
Eventually, Havisham agreed to send video and photographs of the Apple Farm, the pastures and paddocks, the horse barn and the stall that Peter and Neal might eventually call home. El got reports of her own from local veterinarians and health inspectors, the monitoring status of the fire alarms and fire suppression systems, up-to-date background checks on all of the staff at the farm - everyone except for Havisham himself. She was linked into a set of live webcams covering the barn, the stall and some of the outside facilities twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
The financial negotiations were remarkably easy. Mr. Havisham gave her an all-inclusive monthly rate, paid annually up-front. Either she agreed to it or she found someplace else for her ponies.
Elizabeth agreed.
The directions to Havisham Apple Farm came via private courier, the envelope inside the package sealed with a variety of postage from countries that no longer existed and a blob of red wax. El hitched a small horse trailer to her ancient 4x4 and started out on what was sure to be the longest, saddest journey of her life.
And so here she was, with Peter and Neal and a strange little man in a valley that smelled like heaven. The sky was the brilliant blue of a perfect spring day and her heart was breaking.
Stepping back from her ponies, El took a deep breath and opened the trailer door. The ponies were patient and waited for her to pull out the ramp. Peter nudged Neal to precede him, but he kept his nose against the other pony’s hip as he walked out. Once they were both standing on the driveway, Peter still kept a protective stance next to Neal while scanning the horizon for any threats.
“The photos don’t do them justice,” Moz commented. “They are real beauties.”
El swallowed against her tears. “That they are.” She went to put halters on both ponies and was struck at the thought that she’d done this thousands of times and this was the last time. Her hands faltered and Moz took over.
“Let me.”
Perhaps it was for the best. El stepped aside and allowed the little man to put the headgear on Peter, then on Neal. She waited for the ponies to protest the stranger’s touch, but both animals remained calm, relaxed enough that Peter was on three, not four hooves.
Moz made a clicking sound and started leading the ponies down the path to horse barn. El followed, trying not to count off the hoofbeats.
The stables were just as the photographs and videos and webcams depicted. Spotlessly clean, spacious and bright. There were sprinklers overhead, access doors every twenty feet and webcams over all of the stalls, most of which were empty.
This pleased El. There were three other horses in the barn, another two in the adjacent paddock - enough equine company for two ponies used to others, but not so many that they’d lack for specialized attention.
“Here we go, boys.” Moz opened the door to a large stall, more than big enough for both of the ponies. He led them in, removed the halters and closed the door.
Neal circled the stall, sniffing at the corner, pawing his hoofs at the fresh bedding, nodding all the while, as if to give his approval. Peter just stood there, vigilant, even a little wary.
El had to smile. This was typical Peter - especially these days - so suspicious of anything new. She was about to go to them, to make her goodbyes, when Neal gave that particular whinny. A hot blush climbed her cheeks. Oh, lord. Not now.
Peter whinnied back and the two horses started their prancing around the suddenly too-small space.
Moz didn’t say anything as Peter sniffed under Neal’s raised tail, he said nothing as Peter climbed on Neal’s back, his massively erect cock prodding at Neal’s anus. He said absolutely nothing as the two animals rutted noisily. He just stood there, patiently waiting for the ponies to uncouple.
“Well, now I see why you said that they wouldn’t bother any of the mares.” Moz gave her a knowing grin.
El smiled back, relieved. “I was going to tell you, you know - before we signed the papers. If I had the least inkling that you’d have difficulty with their relationship, I would have taken them back with me.”
“Nah. It’s all good. I’ve read Bagemihl’s Biological Exuberance. Besides, live and let live is what I say. Horses, humans, butterflies, or big-horn sheep - every creature should be able to love where they want without anyone saying otherwise.”
Peter and Neal were now hanging their heads out of the stall, watching her. El chuckled at them. “You guys done with the free show?”
Neal, full of sass, tossed his mane and whickered, laughing back at her. Peter just nodded. She stroked their velvety soft muzzles; when they lowered their heads, she scratched their foreheads, sweeping aside their forelocks. Their manes were thick and coarse and as familiar as anything she ever held and her heart felt like it was breaking. How could she let them go?
El let go, she had to. This was for the best, for them and for her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to miss them. She unclipped the multitool she always carried on her belt, opened the knife and sheared off a hunk of mane from each pony, looping the hair into a loose knot before shoving it in her pocket.
She didn’t say anything else to Moz as she turned and left the stable. This time she didn’t stop the tears from falling. The sunlight hurt and she wanted to leave.
A gentle hand guided Elizabeth up to the house and she found herself sitting at a well-worn kitchen table, sobbing. As she regained control of herself, a damp cloth wiped her face like she was a child. The tears dried and her breathing steadied out. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You’ll miss them.”
“Tell me that they’ll be all right here. That they’ll be happy, they’ll be safe. You’ll protect them.”
“Yes, to all of that.” Moz put a large glass of cold cider in front of her and El drank it all, grateful for the tart sweetness, for everything.
It didn’t take long to finish their business. El wrote a huge check and tried not to think of the trip home. Finally, it was time. There was no need to linger.
“Thank you, Moz. Thank you for everything.”
He walked with her back to her truck, and to her surprise, Peter and Neal were outside, in the near paddock. They were prancing two-by-two, as if they were performing. She raised a hand, to give them the final command and they rose in a perfect levade. As her hand dropped, Peter and Neal dropped to their four hooves, remaining perfectly still for a few seconds. El nodded and the ponies trotted off, free and happy.
She whispered, “Goodbye, my obscene circus ponies.”
FIN
Notes: This story marks the retirement of my too-oft-used expression “like obscene circus ponies.” My dearest bestie,coffeethyme4me had gently suggested that it was time to think about putting this metaphor out to pasture, and I was bitten by the story bunny. I thought it would end up as pure crack surrounding a gooey and very wrong pornographic center. To my utter surprise, it’s really kind of sad - I made myself cry and maybe I made you cry, too.
So yes, it’s well past the time to retire the ponies, real and metaphorical. I’m going to need a new tag line for my journal. Any ideas? ETA: Even though the ponies are retired, the tag line will live on, viva Obscene Circus Ponies, viva!
The book that Moz referred to is Biological Exuberance: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity, by Bruce Bagemihl, a Canadian biologist and linguist. This is one of the first non-sensationalized and scientific examinations of homosexual behavior among non-human animals, and an excellent read for the scientifically minded lay-person.
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R (or possibly NC-17)
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Neal, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie Havisham, Diana Berrigan, Reese Hughes
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Alternative Universe (which is, in this case, a warning)
Word Count: ~3500
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me and jrosemarySummary: Elizabeth decides that it’s time for Peter and Neal to retire. This is not going to be what you expect.
Elizabeth pulled up to the gates of the Havisham Apple Farm. She sat in her truck, letting it idle. It wasn’t too late to turn back; to just drive on, the boys would understand. Hell, they'd never really know.
But instead of turning around, El pulled through the open gate and slowly drove up the tree-lined road. It was a beautiful place, she had to admit, particularly now, in mid-April when the orchards were in bloom and the sweet scent of apple blossoms was almost overpowering. The truck dipped and bounced on the rutted driveway, its suspension groaning at the abuse. El hoped the boys weren’t too uncomfortable back there. This wasn’t the type of travel they were accustomed to.
The road ended at a small paved courtyard in front of white clapboard house with tubs of flowers on the curving pathway to the front door and wind chimes singing in the breeze. There was a large red barn to the left and a lush, fenced-in pasture to the right. Beyond that, more apple trees in bloom. Verdant hills ringed the farm and Elizabeth felt like she was in another world – someplace that modern life couldn’t touch.
A small man with thick glasses and no hair came out of the house.
“Elizabeth Burke?”
“Yes, you’re Mr. Havisham?”
The man nodded. “Call me Moz or Mozzie, if you prefer. You didn’t have any trouble finding the place, did you? We’re not on any of the satellite maps.”
She had figured that out when she went to Google, and wondered how that was possible. “No, your directions were perfect, I found the place just fine.”
Moz grinned as if she’d just given him a priceless gift.
“They’re going to be all rightf, won’t they?” Despite the idyllic setting, Elizabeth was still worried; they were so dear to her.
“They’ll be fine. They’ll have a long and happy life here at Havisham’s, they’ll live out their days in apple-filled luxury, free to do whatever they please. Even if it’s nothing at all.
“Neal’s adaptable, but I worry about Peter. Sometimes, he'll get grumpy if his routine is altered.”
“He’s at that age?”
“I don’t know if it’s age or hormones or just being so accustomed to ruling the roost, so to speak. He’s been acting out lately, taking it out on Neal a little too much. I’ve had to get firm with him.”
“Nothing wrong with a little discipline.”
El shrugged. “Except that Peter enjoys it a little too much.”
Moz was a little taken aback. “Umm, you know that’s not part of the services I offer – though if you want to pay extra, I can probably outsource…”
“Let’s let the boys get settled in and then we can talk about the extras.” With heavy footsteps and a heavier heart, Elizabeth walked around her truck to the trailer. Two heads hung out, cheek to cheek as they always were in such close confines, but hanging low, as if they understood what was about to happen.
Peter perked up when he saw her, nodding enthusiastically. Neal, too, got excited, nudging at Peter, then reaching out for her.
"Hey, guys."
Peter snorted back his usual greeting and El scratched his forehead. Peter's dark liquid eyes closed in equine ecstasy. Neal, slightly jealous, tucked his head under her other hand, begging for a similar caress and she didn't withhold. These ponies had been her life, her partners for nearly a decade and she loved them like husbands.
Well, not quite like that.
But she loved them and she wanted only what was best for them. And Havisham Apple Farm was it - a place to retire and enjoy their remaining years. Peter, the elder of the two ponies, was getting too old to trot out and perform every day and twice on Sundays. As she told Moz, he became recalcitrant at times and started nipping at the circus handlers. There were days - far too often - when he wouldn't let anyone but El curry and groom him. More telling, Peter became restless if he was parted from Neal for more than a few minutes, banging on his stall, refusing to calm down, crying out until the other pony was returned to the stall.
And then there was Neal, intelligent, quick to learn (sometimes too quick) and an inveterate troublemaker. He’d been criminally mishandled by his first owner, abused and neglected so badly that he was almost put down as an act of mercy. El had seen something in the pony, a spark of intelligence in the blue eyes that were too sad and weary for such a young animal.
She bought him for a single dollar.
Everyone, from her manager to her accountant to the handlers who kept her circus running smoothly, told her the best thing for her and this sad, sick pony was a single bullet. She wouldn’t hear of that and devoted the entire off-season to bringing Neal back to health.
By all rights, he should have been vicious and difficult after such a terrible upbringing, but there was nothing but sweetness and an exasperating ability to get into impossible tangles. It was obvious, after Neal recovered his health, that the only thing that kept Neal in check was Peter.
Peter had been part of her stable of performing ponies for years before she bought Neal – he was her first pony. She had raised him from a colt and their own bond of trust was absolute. From the moment she brought Neal into the stable, as weak as a newborn foal, Peter took it upon himself to watch out for Neal, to make sure that the other pony ate and drank and rested. He and Neal formed their own unbreakable bond. They shared a single stall, no matter how small it was. If anyone tried to keep them separated at night, there was hell to pay in the morning. Neal was a clever pony, and he’d open every stall looking for Peter - if Peter hadn’t kicked his way out trying to find Neal.
It took months of care and nurturing, but Neal’s coat finally turned from a coarse dark gray to a smooth, glossy black, and his eyes, a clear – almost startling – blue, became filled with mischief, not weary sadness.
When El first bought Neal, she’d been shock to discover that his owner hadn’t had him gelded. The vet, once he believed that the pony would survive, strongly suggested that she have the procedure done. She already had one stallion – Peter – in her stables. A second one would only cause trouble. El reasoned differently – Peter was already committed to Neal, it didn’t matter that he was a biological rival. Neal had too much trauma in his short life to have to suffer another loss.
And it never seemed to matter. Her mares came into heat and Neal had little interest in them. Elizabeth was surprised that Peter, who’d always enjoyed stud duty, no longer showed any desire in covering her ladies anymore. She had been around horses all her life, she’d seen them mate, she’d even “helped” a stallion do his job. But she’d never seen an animal that deserved the appellation “hung like a horse” more than her very own Peter.
She attributed his sudden lack of interest to his care for Neal, but she didn’t realize how true that was until one late summer day when she let them out of their trailer for a romp. Most of the circus people were at dinner – El’s nose twitched at the tasty scents coming from the cook tent – but the boys had been restless and she wanted them to work that out before nightfall.
Neal pranced around the paddock, showing off like he was high-stepping in a dressage ring, his dark tail raised high. Peter followed at a trot. Every once and a while, Neal would stop, look over his shoulder and whinny. Peter would stop, whinny back, and the odd little chase would continue. They rounded the near side of the paddock and Elizabeth got an eyeful. Both ponies were in a state of sexual arousal, sporting massive, dripping erections.
Neal came to a stop, did that little whinny and flicked his tail. This time, Peter didn’t stop; he sniffed at Neal like he was a mare in heat and mounted him. And penetrated him.
It shouldn’t have worked, Neal should have been screaming out in pain instead of reacting like he was in heat, backing up to Peter, dropping his head, letting Peter cover him.
El had stood there, mouth open, not quite sure that she actually saw what she saw. Her chief wrangler, Hughes, who’d been with the circus since her daddy’s time, had seen the whole thing, too.
“Hmm, figured as much. That Peter – the minute you brought Neal in – he was smitten. You’ll never be able to separate them now, you know.”
She released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Hughes shrugged. “Nah. How many ponies do we need? Been getting hard to find places for all the foals. This is better. Thought that that pony was going to die the first week – but between you and Peter, he’s grown into a good beast. He’ll be one of your best for decades, and Peter will be a better pony, too.”
Hughes was right. By the time the new season opened, she had two ponies that would do anything and everything for her. They’d dance, they’d prance, they’d carry tigers on their backs and jump through rings of fire. They were her best performers for more than twelve years, her favorites of all her animals.
It wasn’t until this past winter that she noticed that Peter was slowing down, his steps weren’t as quick and he faltered enough times that she became worried. The vet said that Peter was as healthy as twenty year-old pony could be, but he was still twenty years old and maybe it was time that he earned some rest. Circus life was hard on the ponies.
That meant that Neal had to retire, too. Because as attached to Neal as Peter was, Neal was just as needful of Peter. Peter might get difficult if he was apart from Neal for too long, but Neal separated from Peter was almost too painful to behold. He’d first vocalize his distress, and in all the years Elizabeth had been working with horses, she’d never known that one could make such a sound – like he was actually screaming “PE-TER - PE-TER”. Even once he settled down, Neal would refuse to do anything but hang his head over the stall door and watch for his mate. He’d get this terrible, hopeful look in those huge blue eyes when the barn door would open, only to fall back into a black depression when Peter didn’t appear.
Thankfully - for her heart and her sanity - she rarely had to separate the boys.
Following her vet’s recommendation, Elizabeth started researching for places that would take her ponies and care for them, but without much success. None of the reputable farms, it seemed, were willing to take two stallions and keep them together, and there was no way she’d ever have either of them gelded.
Elizabeth was resigned to keeping Peter and Neal with the circus, but not having them as performers. It wasn’t the optimal solution, but it was better than splitting them up or mutilating them. About six months after taking the pair out of the show, her old friend, Diana, came to visit.
“So, how are your boys?”
Diana had always been amused by Peter and Neal’s relationship. The first time she saw the two of them together, she told El that someone should send a video of their sex play to Anita Bryant. El had laughed, but was serious when she replied, “What Peter and Neal do in the privacy of their paddock and their stall is no one else’s business. I don’t want anyone using my obscene circus ponies to promote an agenda.”
Now, she told Diana how Peter was too old to reliably perform, that they were retired from circus life.
“You’re going to keep them with you? That doesn’t sound like it’s good for them or for the circus.”
“Have no choice, no place will take two stallions. I’d love to place them somewhere where they could run free, not have to deal with the stress of a life on the road.”
Diana gave her a thoughtful look. “I might know someone. He’s a little, well, odd. Owns an apple farm upstate and has taken in a few of my older horses. He’s sort of off the grid. Want me to reach out to him?” She pulled out her phone, ready to make the call.
“If he’s off the grid, then how …?”
Diana shrugged. “Burner phones, dunno. But I can always reach him if I have to, I just have to make sure it’s for a good reason. He took care of Christie until the very end.”
El reached out and rested a sympathetic hand on Diana’s wrist. Christie had been her friend’s best show horse for half a lifetime. “If you trusted this guy with your lady, then I guess I can trust him, too.”
It took a lot more than a single phone call to set everything up. Mr. Havisham wanted health records, photographs, testimonials about the ponies’ temperaments, plus bona fides on Elizabeth, the Burke Family Circus, reports from animal welfare agencies, health inspectors, financials, everything but her DNA it seemed like.
Eventually, Havisham agreed to send video and photographs of the Apple Farm, the pastures and paddocks, the horse barn and the stall that Peter and Neal might eventually call home. El got reports of her own from local veterinarians and health inspectors, the monitoring status of the fire alarms and fire suppression systems, up-to-date background checks on all of the staff at the farm - everyone except for Havisham himself. She was linked into a set of live webcams covering the barn, the stall and some of the outside facilities twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
The financial negotiations were remarkably easy. Mr. Havisham gave her an all-inclusive monthly rate, paid annually up-front. Either she agreed to it or she found someplace else for her ponies.
Elizabeth agreed.
The directions to Havisham Apple Farm came via private courier, the envelope inside the package sealed with a variety of postage from countries that no longer existed and a blob of red wax. El hitched a small horse trailer to her ancient 4x4 and started out on what was sure to be the longest, saddest journey of her life.
And so here she was, with Peter and Neal and a strange little man in a valley that smelled like heaven. The sky was the brilliant blue of a perfect spring day and her heart was breaking.
Stepping back from her ponies, El took a deep breath and opened the trailer door. The ponies were patient and waited for her to pull out the ramp. Peter nudged Neal to precede him, but he kept his nose against the other pony’s hip as he walked out. Once they were both standing on the driveway, Peter still kept a protective stance next to Neal while scanning the horizon for any threats.
“The photos don’t do them justice,” Moz commented. “They are real beauties.”
El swallowed against her tears. “That they are.” She went to put halters on both ponies and was struck at the thought that she’d done this thousands of times and this was the last time. Her hands faltered and Moz took over.
“Let me.”
Perhaps it was for the best. El stepped aside and allowed the little man to put the headgear on Peter, then on Neal. She waited for the ponies to protest the stranger’s touch, but both animals remained calm, relaxed enough that Peter was on three, not four hooves.
Moz made a clicking sound and started leading the ponies down the path to horse barn. El followed, trying not to count off the hoofbeats.
The stables were just as the photographs and videos and webcams depicted. Spotlessly clean, spacious and bright. There were sprinklers overhead, access doors every twenty feet and webcams over all of the stalls, most of which were empty.
This pleased El. There were three other horses in the barn, another two in the adjacent paddock - enough equine company for two ponies used to others, but not so many that they’d lack for specialized attention.
“Here we go, boys.” Moz opened the door to a large stall, more than big enough for both of the ponies. He led them in, removed the halters and closed the door.
Neal circled the stall, sniffing at the corner, pawing his hoofs at the fresh bedding, nodding all the while, as if to give his approval. Peter just stood there, vigilant, even a little wary.
El had to smile. This was typical Peter - especially these days - so suspicious of anything new. She was about to go to them, to make her goodbyes, when Neal gave that particular whinny. A hot blush climbed her cheeks. Oh, lord. Not now.
Peter whinnied back and the two horses started their prancing around the suddenly too-small space.
Moz didn’t say anything as Peter sniffed under Neal’s raised tail, he said nothing as Peter climbed on Neal’s back, his massively erect cock prodding at Neal’s anus. He said absolutely nothing as the two animals rutted noisily. He just stood there, patiently waiting for the ponies to uncouple.
“Well, now I see why you said that they wouldn’t bother any of the mares.” Moz gave her a knowing grin.
El smiled back, relieved. “I was going to tell you, you know - before we signed the papers. If I had the least inkling that you’d have difficulty with their relationship, I would have taken them back with me.”
“Nah. It’s all good. I’ve read Bagemihl’s Biological Exuberance. Besides, live and let live is what I say. Horses, humans, butterflies, or big-horn sheep - every creature should be able to love where they want without anyone saying otherwise.”
Peter and Neal were now hanging their heads out of the stall, watching her. El chuckled at them. “You guys done with the free show?”
Neal, full of sass, tossed his mane and whickered, laughing back at her. Peter just nodded. She stroked their velvety soft muzzles; when they lowered their heads, she scratched their foreheads, sweeping aside their forelocks. Their manes were thick and coarse and as familiar as anything she ever held and her heart felt like it was breaking. How could she let them go?
El let go, she had to. This was for the best, for them and for her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to miss them. She unclipped the multitool she always carried on her belt, opened the knife and sheared off a hunk of mane from each pony, looping the hair into a loose knot before shoving it in her pocket.
She didn’t say anything else to Moz as she turned and left the stable. This time she didn’t stop the tears from falling. The sunlight hurt and she wanted to leave.
A gentle hand guided Elizabeth up to the house and she found herself sitting at a well-worn kitchen table, sobbing. As she regained control of herself, a damp cloth wiped her face like she was a child. The tears dried and her breathing steadied out. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. You’ll miss them.”
“Tell me that they’ll be all right here. That they’ll be happy, they’ll be safe. You’ll protect them.”
“Yes, to all of that.” Moz put a large glass of cold cider in front of her and El drank it all, grateful for the tart sweetness, for everything.
It didn’t take long to finish their business. El wrote a huge check and tried not to think of the trip home. Finally, it was time. There was no need to linger.
“Thank you, Moz. Thank you for everything.”
He walked with her back to her truck, and to her surprise, Peter and Neal were outside, in the near paddock. They were prancing two-by-two, as if they were performing. She raised a hand, to give them the final command and they rose in a perfect levade. As her hand dropped, Peter and Neal dropped to their four hooves, remaining perfectly still for a few seconds. El nodded and the ponies trotted off, free and happy.
She whispered, “Goodbye, my obscene circus ponies.”
Notes: This story marks the retirement of my too-oft-used expression “like obscene circus ponies.” My dearest bestie,
coffeethyme4me had gently suggested that it was time to think about putting this metaphor out to pasture, and I was bitten by the story bunny. I thought it would end up as pure crack surrounding a gooey and very wrong pornographic center. To my utter surprise, it’s really kind of sad - I made myself cry and maybe I made you cry, too. The book that Moz referred to is Biological Exuberance: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity, by Bruce Bagemihl, a Canadian biologist and linguist. This is one of the first non-sensationalized and scientific examinations of homosexual behavior among non-human animals, and an excellent read for the scientifically minded lay-person.
Tags:
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: crack,
- genre: slash,
- genre: transformation,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- white collar,
- year: 2013
no subject
Date: 2013-02-26 02:16 pm (UTC)I think I am keeping my tagline. The boys may be living out the rest of their lives eating apples and having horse-nookie, but the Obscene Circus Ponies will live on in my header.