posted by ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lmx_v3point3 at 11:53pm on 01/06/2011 under character: eliot spencer, character: elizabeth burke, character: nathan ford, character: neal caffrey, character: peter burke, character: sophie devereaux, fandom: leverage, fandom: white collar, fanfiction, pairing: eliot/nate/sophie, pairing: peter/el/neal, rating: ma, rating: pg, type: commentfic, type: wing!fic, verse: pretty much perfect
lmx_v3point3 at 11:53pm on 01/06/2011 under character: eliot spencer, character: elizabeth burke, character: nathan ford, character: neal caffrey, character: peter burke, character: sophie devereaux, fandom: leverage, fandom: white collar, fanfiction, pairing: eliot/nate/sophie, pairing: peter/el/neal, rating: ma, rating: pg, type: commentfic, type: wing!fic, verse: pretty much perfectFic: A Matter of Size
Rating: PG
Fandom: Leverage
Pairings: Eliot/Nate/Sophie
Warnings: Discussion of three people in a bed, fluff
Spoilers: None
Verse: This is an AU to the Pretty Much Perfect verse
AN: A Comment fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheryden
-
Nate had always been 'active' in bed - when asleep, that was. It would take some serious act of God to wake him, but he was always wriggling around and tangling himself up with the two of them. He was worse when he'd more than the normal bit to drink, but maybe that was because Eliot generally jumped ship on those occasions and Sophie was left to fend for herself.
It wasn't an overly rare thing for them to wake and find themselves still in the bed by chance, friction or an entangling arm, and on one occasion they had all three woken to Eliot hitting the ground - Eliot rather more rudely awoken than the other two, despite his alarming shout.
It had never really been associated directly to the size of the bed, however often Sophie explained to him in detail how disturbing to the sleep his nocturnal rambling could be, and so when he got to his room to find Sophie weilding a tape measure and Eliot with his hands on his hips and a serious frown, he wasn't entirely sure what was going on.
"It just won't do," Sophie was saying authoratatively.
"I know, but I like it. It's broken in," Eliot grumbled back.
Nate, none the wiser, opened his mouth to ask for an explanation.
"There's not enough room in this bed, Nate," Sophie got there before he could ask, handing the tape measure off to Eliot.
"We seem to be doing alright?" Nate objected, and there were a series of glances that mentioned but did not verbalise the event of Eliot being pushed entirely out of the bed.
"Alright for three, certainly," Sophie explained, blushing sweetly as she slid her hands to her stomach. "But not when there's three... and a bump."
~
No idea where this came from. Possibly from too much WC fandom, with both Gina Bellman and Tiffani Thiessen doing some green screen time due to baby bumps. :)
-
Fic: Origin Story
Rating: PG
Fandom: White Collar
Pairings: None
Warnings: Discussion of comic book heroism and villany
Spoilers: For the background to Neal's father ("What Happens in Burma" 2.12)
AN: A Comment fic fortigriswolf but also almost self-prompted by this
-
At eight, Simon Effrat has read enough comics to know that the best stories start with loss, that heroes are born out of broken homes and unhappy circumstances. He thinks of Spiderman and Deadpool and Gambit and he thinks his adoring, attentive mother is the one thing in his life stopping him from being the man he should be. His father is dead, a heroes death in the line of duty, and really that should be the start of something. Sure, he could become a cop too, but to become a hero he needed something more. He starts preparing for the day he will need all his skills. When he will be alone.
But his mother does not die or leave him or get taken away. He spends his nights dreaming up all the terrible things that, combined with his father's backstory, would make his origin story complete. He spends his weekends attentively follow his mother around museums and art galleries - the things that she loves and that he has until then been bored by - memorising her every movement and expression, learning to love the things she loves for afterwards. These will the things that will empower him once she is gone.
When he finally finds out about his father - the truth, that is, the real story - he feels like that story he has been working on for years now is the birth of his own villany. He has been plotting his own mother's demise. How much worse could a person become? He feels sick and spends his days hiding from his hardworking, loving mother; afraid to look her in the eye. She has never deserved the things he had been planning for her. He lies to her every time he tells her nothing has changed between them.
It doesn't take him long to realise that as the mother of a villain, she won't be safe around him. He might not hurt her intentionally, but there are so many risks to consider. Aged fifteen, he leaves with what money he has and gets on a bus. He has a new name by the time he reaches New York. A new identity.
Now his mother will be safe, whatever he becomes.
-
Fic: To Fly and Be Free
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Pairings: Peter/Elisabeth/Neal
Warnings: Fluff, MMF Porn, Wing!Fic
Spoilers: For Daria's fic, see below.
AN: Dual Comment fic (1, 2) fordaria234 and ravenspear
Sodaria234 pointed out that this had been written and so I had to follow it up. And then ended up filling another prompt I'd been thinking about for a while too.
Follows directly from this fic by Daria
-
El didn't find out what Neal was up to until the last possible moment, and the nervous grin he shot her told her that he hadn't been planning on telling her before he'd done it.
He had laid out in front of him some of the most protected artefacts in the world, but then she shouldn't be surprised what he could get his hands on after knowing him for so long. If she had been wondering where he'd been travelling to since he got free of the anklet then this surely answered it.
She dragged Neal away from the makeshift altar and blew out the candles before rounding on him.
"I just wanted that freedom," he said before she could start... hell, she didn't even know what she'd been planning on doing. Screaming? Crying? "If I had wings..."
He was breathless, and hesitant. El realised that he thought he had broken something between them. However angry El might be, this was not something she was going to let him hide behind, or use to hijack their friendship.
"You are free, Neal. You're not tied to anything any more. There's nothing keeping you in any country, there's no anklet on your ankle, we don't demand that you come back and see us, and Kate is gone." There are tears in her eyes, but she can't quite find the words she needs. She never wanted to tell him to leave. But if he felt so trapped... "Fly, Neal. Go wherever you want to go. But don't cripple yourself for some fantasy of wings."
For the first time, Neal saw El's wings tethered, brought tight in to her back and weighty with it. She never carried herself as though she felt the weight, or as though they pained her, but he could see it all in her eyes now. The mask that hid everything was lifted.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, reaching out as if to touch and then drawing away. "I'm sorry."
"Or you could stay," El added softly. "We don't want to trap you here, you should go wherever you wanted to go. But you could stay."
Neal glanced behind him at the altar, years of planning and months of effort for a fantasy of freedom. Freedom he already had. "I think I'd like that."
-
"El, put your wings around us," Neal gasped, driven to delirium by Peter's cock in him, moving too slowly to be real, leaving him twitching and panting with need, hovering on the precipice. Peter snorted with laughter, and the jolt was exquisite and dropped Neal over the edge with the feeling of delicate feathers brushing the sides of his arms. He was barely conscious when he forced his eyes open a crack, glimpsing El's wings flickering out of sight as Peter opened his own.
"Wings?" he asked, obviously tickled. El kissed a line up Peter's back and winked at Neal over his shoulder. Neal flushed, aware that he'd almost given away a secret in a moment of revelry.
"Shut up," he sighed, closing his eyes again. "I'm dreaming of places where lovers have wings."
Rating: PG
Fandom: Leverage
Pairings: Eliot/Nate/Sophie
Warnings: Discussion of three people in a bed, fluff
Spoilers: None
Verse: This is an AU to the Pretty Much Perfect verse
AN: A Comment fic for
sheryden-
Nate had always been 'active' in bed - when asleep, that was. It would take some serious act of God to wake him, but he was always wriggling around and tangling himself up with the two of them. He was worse when he'd more than the normal bit to drink, but maybe that was because Eliot generally jumped ship on those occasions and Sophie was left to fend for herself.
It wasn't an overly rare thing for them to wake and find themselves still in the bed by chance, friction or an entangling arm, and on one occasion they had all three woken to Eliot hitting the ground - Eliot rather more rudely awoken than the other two, despite his alarming shout.
It had never really been associated directly to the size of the bed, however often Sophie explained to him in detail how disturbing to the sleep his nocturnal rambling could be, and so when he got to his room to find Sophie weilding a tape measure and Eliot with his hands on his hips and a serious frown, he wasn't entirely sure what was going on.
"It just won't do," Sophie was saying authoratatively.
"I know, but I like it. It's broken in," Eliot grumbled back.
Nate, none the wiser, opened his mouth to ask for an explanation.
"There's not enough room in this bed, Nate," Sophie got there before he could ask, handing the tape measure off to Eliot.
"We seem to be doing alright?" Nate objected, and there were a series of glances that mentioned but did not verbalise the event of Eliot being pushed entirely out of the bed.
"Alright for three, certainly," Sophie explained, blushing sweetly as she slid her hands to her stomach. "But not when there's three... and a bump."
~
No idea where this came from. Possibly from too much WC fandom, with both Gina Bellman and Tiffani Thiessen doing some green screen time due to baby bumps. :)
-
Fic: Origin Story
Rating: PG
Fandom: White Collar
Pairings: None
Warnings: Discussion of comic book heroism and villany
Spoilers: For the background to Neal's father ("What Happens in Burma" 2.12)
AN: A Comment fic for
tigriswolf but also almost self-prompted by this-
At eight, Simon Effrat has read enough comics to know that the best stories start with loss, that heroes are born out of broken homes and unhappy circumstances. He thinks of Spiderman and Deadpool and Gambit and he thinks his adoring, attentive mother is the one thing in his life stopping him from being the man he should be. His father is dead, a heroes death in the line of duty, and really that should be the start of something. Sure, he could become a cop too, but to become a hero he needed something more. He starts preparing for the day he will need all his skills. When he will be alone.
But his mother does not die or leave him or get taken away. He spends his nights dreaming up all the terrible things that, combined with his father's backstory, would make his origin story complete. He spends his weekends attentively follow his mother around museums and art galleries - the things that she loves and that he has until then been bored by - memorising her every movement and expression, learning to love the things she loves for afterwards. These will the things that will empower him once she is gone.
When he finally finds out about his father - the truth, that is, the real story - he feels like that story he has been working on for years now is the birth of his own villany. He has been plotting his own mother's demise. How much worse could a person become? He feels sick and spends his days hiding from his hardworking, loving mother; afraid to look her in the eye. She has never deserved the things he had been planning for her. He lies to her every time he tells her nothing has changed between them.
It doesn't take him long to realise that as the mother of a villain, she won't be safe around him. He might not hurt her intentionally, but there are so many risks to consider. Aged fifteen, he leaves with what money he has and gets on a bus. He has a new name by the time he reaches New York. A new identity.
Now his mother will be safe, whatever he becomes.
-
Fic: To Fly and Be Free
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Pairings: Peter/Elisabeth/Neal
Warnings: Fluff, MMF Porn, Wing!Fic
Spoilers: For Daria's fic, see below.
AN: Dual Comment fic (1, 2) for
daria234 and ravenspearSo
daria234 pointed out that this had been written and so I had to follow it up. And then ended up filling another prompt I'd been thinking about for a while too.Follows directly from this fic by Daria
-
El didn't find out what Neal was up to until the last possible moment, and the nervous grin he shot her told her that he hadn't been planning on telling her before he'd done it.
He had laid out in front of him some of the most protected artefacts in the world, but then she shouldn't be surprised what he could get his hands on after knowing him for so long. If she had been wondering where he'd been travelling to since he got free of the anklet then this surely answered it.
She dragged Neal away from the makeshift altar and blew out the candles before rounding on him.
"I just wanted that freedom," he said before she could start... hell, she didn't even know what she'd been planning on doing. Screaming? Crying? "If I had wings..."
He was breathless, and hesitant. El realised that he thought he had broken something between them. However angry El might be, this was not something she was going to let him hide behind, or use to hijack their friendship.
"You are free, Neal. You're not tied to anything any more. There's nothing keeping you in any country, there's no anklet on your ankle, we don't demand that you come back and see us, and Kate is gone." There are tears in her eyes, but she can't quite find the words she needs. She never wanted to tell him to leave. But if he felt so trapped... "Fly, Neal. Go wherever you want to go. But don't cripple yourself for some fantasy of wings."
For the first time, Neal saw El's wings tethered, brought tight in to her back and weighty with it. She never carried herself as though she felt the weight, or as though they pained her, but he could see it all in her eyes now. The mask that hid everything was lifted.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, reaching out as if to touch and then drawing away. "I'm sorry."
"Or you could stay," El added softly. "We don't want to trap you here, you should go wherever you wanted to go. But you could stay."
Neal glanced behind him at the altar, years of planning and months of effort for a fantasy of freedom. Freedom he already had. "I think I'd like that."
-
"El, put your wings around us," Neal gasped, driven to delirium by Peter's cock in him, moving too slowly to be real, leaving him twitching and panting with need, hovering on the precipice. Peter snorted with laughter, and the jolt was exquisite and dropped Neal over the edge with the feeling of delicate feathers brushing the sides of his arms. He was barely conscious when he forced his eyes open a crack, glimpsing El's wings flickering out of sight as Peter opened his own.
"Wings?" he asked, obviously tickled. El kissed a line up Peter's back and winked at Neal over his shoulder. Neal flushed, aware that he'd almost given away a secret in a moment of revelry.
"Shut up," he sighed, closing his eyes again. "I'm dreaming of places where lovers have wings."
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