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elrhiarhodanAuthor:
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elrhiarhodanRating: Gen through NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Spoilers: 1.14 (Anger Management)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: High Heels, Dahling, High Heels
Word Count: ~ 800 (total)
Summary: Three ficlets from prompts from my supremely talented flist.
Sacrifices (for
photoash ) Her mother warned her about marrying a cop, and oh - it didn't matter that Peter was a rising star in the FBI, he was at the end of all things, a cop. Being a cop's wife meant sacrificing regular hours and peace of mind - worrying that your husband's going to get shot or killed in the line of duty. It meant that your children could end up fatherless, either by choice or circumstance. Elizabeth took her mother's advice in stride, but she didn't ignore it. From the moment she laid eyes on Peter - so tough, so stern, so filled with sweet and delicious goo like a hard-shelled candy (she didn't think of goo as a double entrendre until their fifth date) - all she knew was she wanted him for the proverbial forever and a day.
Despite her fairytale desires, she made no assumptions. They talked about what marriage would mean - and what their expectations were - his job, her career, that neither of them really wanted children, and wouldn't Brooklyn be really a great place to live. Peter stumbled quite a bit, on the emotional stuff. He knew what he wanted to say, but he had a hard time expressing himself. Yet, when he slipped a small, but perfectly flawless diamond on her finger - they both understood where there were now, and what the rest of their lives would encompass.
She walked down the aisle, and knew that they were both equipped to with all the joys and all sacrifices that their lives together could bring.
be_a_rebel ) There are three things that drive Elizabeth crazy - late suppliers, bridezillas and the wedding planners who aid and abet them, and Neal Caffrey the perfectionist.
The first two, Elizabeth deals with in a calm, professional manner. She negotiates penalties out of suppliers who don't deliver and she cancels contracts with the bridezillas. She has standards of conduct and she expects them to be met.
But Neal - that's a whole other subject. Neal has, since the beginning of their "relationship," treated her like the most precious piece of crystal, a secret Da Vinci, a sacred icon. Oh - not physically of course - they all fuck and get fucked hard. But Neal worries that if he says the wrong thing, makes an assumption or even asks for a night on his own, she's going to kick him out of bed and out of her heart.
This makes her so angry - blisteringly, furiously angry. She wants to hurt who ever made Neal - her Neal - be so unsure of himself and his right to be loved unconditionally.
.Unfortunately, Kate Moreau's nothing more than ashes in the wind and a headstone in a cemetery in Queens.
Heels (for
hoosierbitch ) Neal saw her first, he was closest to the front doors. Her hair was done up in some complicated French twist that made his fingers itch to pull out the pins and watch it tumble down. Her dress - a 1950's little black Chanel number that they found at a flea market one Sunday afternoon, hidden amongst so-called "vintage" denim - was perfect for her petit hourglass figure. But it was the shoes that really caught Neal's attention - and everyone else’s. Nearly five inches high, the black suede straps hugged her tiny feet from toe to ankle.
Neal swallowed hard - it wasn't as if he hadn't seen them before - hell, he was with her at Barney's when she bought them - but seeing them on her feet, with her red lacquered toes matching the trademark red heels, made him want to grab her, throw her onto his desk and run his tongue between the straps (and other places, too). She walked by without even saying "hello."
The entire office went silent as Elizabeth Burke made her way through the bull pen, and the temperature went up at least ten degrees as she climbed the stairs, her hips swaying, her calf muscles stretching and contracting, and her ass - outlined by the tightly fitted silk - bouncing ever so slightly.
No one breathed as she bent over her husband's desk to give him a kiss - she was perched on one leg, the other swung out as she leaned in. She wasn't in his office long - Peter had his jacket on and was escorting his wife down the stairs - ever the gentleman with a hand on her lower back - about sixty seconds after her arrival.
Neal heard him murmur something to Jones about taking his wife out for lunch. Jones, who usually had better manners, couldn't drag his eyes from Elizabeth's cleavage and close his jaw enough to say even "okay."
Peter nodded to Neal as they walked by, and Elizabeth gave a flirty little kick - something very Holly Golightly - as they walked out the door.
Five minutes after they got into the elevator, a courier delivered an envelope for Neal. The contents was a keycard for the W hotel. His phone chimed with a text message - Room 654.
He tried to be nonchalant as he picked up his hat and jacket and left for very long lunch.
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-01 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:46 pm (UTC)Thank you!
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Date: 2010-07-01 03:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:47 pm (UTC)I didn't think it was fair for Neal to get left out, he certainly helped put together El's little outfit.
And modern technology certainly helps all of them maintain a level of discretion.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-01 06:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:48 pm (UTC)So glad you enjoyed...they were all (esp. the last one) so much fun to write.
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Date: 2010-07-01 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 12:23 am (UTC)(I confess: after seeing those Bomer shots from the new EW, my personal Kinsey scale spontaneously ticked over one. But reading 'Heels' made it tick right back. Ah, sweet, sweet equilibrium. The way you describe El is just--ngh!)
no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:55 pm (UTC)Yeah, those wet Bomer shots sent my libido through the roof. How could they not? I do have to confess, I have a hard time reconciling Wet Bomer in Motorcycle Boots with Bomer in Glasses and Wedding Ring. My brain just short circuits and I flail helplessly.
But I am glad my little ficlet was able to reset your personal Kinsey scale.
By the way this -
is the dress I was imagining El wearing, except cut above the knee.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 05:08 pm (UTC)...Classics never do go out of style.
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Date: 2010-07-02 04:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:57 pm (UTC)As I replied to Redjeweled above, I had a very specific version of the Chanel Little Black Dress in mind.
Except that the length is above the knee, to make it more modern.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 02:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 01:47 pm (UTC)I don't care for the heels on their own. But here, on El, with the dress and the attitude. Oh Yes. There was a small part of me that was disappointed she didn't collect Neal on the way out, but the delivery and key added just the most delightful touch. We get to hug it to ourselves because we know and the losers in the office are oblivious.
Or are they?
no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 02:01 pm (UTC)Whether or not the office knows...
Hmmm, I think Jones and Diana do, Hughes certainly does and none of them would dream of interfering.
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Date: 2010-07-04 02:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-04 04:38 am (UTC)My work here is done.
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-04 09:24 pm (UTC)(Love the first two here as well! I love how you write El! ♥)