Everything Is Transformed
Title: Everything Is Transformed
Summary: Written for run_the_con, for the prompt "It's all gone tomorrow," by marieincolour. It's less than two days before Neal's final hearing, and he's feeling the stress of everything. He seeks comfort the only way he knows how, but El and Peter know exactly what he needs.
Characters: Neal/El/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,497
Warnings: fever sex (but the sex is totally consensual, it's not an incapacitating fever), threesome (does that need a warning? What the hell.)
Neurotic Author's Note #1: Okay, so, um, sex. I've never written porn for White Collar before, and somehow this turned into a threesome, which is not something I write often. IDK. I hope you like it?
Neurotic Author's Note #2: Canon? What canon? *makes Jedi mindtrick motions* This is not the canon you are looking for! There is no canon here! This is simple PWP.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: Title is taken from the quote by Lavoisier: "Nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed." That's sort of the reasoning behind the story. Ish.
Neurotic Author's Note #4: Yeah, I still made Neal sick. I may have a problem. /o\
El isn't surprised at all when Neal reaches for Peter in the middle of the night, slipping his arm around her in the process. She shifts toward him, waiting for Peter to figure out what's happening, because Peter sleeps more soundly than either she or Neal, and when she opens her eyes she finds Neal already looking at her, blue eyes wide and bright.
Tomorrow is the day everything changes, and they've all been feeling the stress, Neal most of all. He dragged himself home from work a few days ago looking pale and drawn, the circles under his eyes so pronounced that he looked as though someone had punched him in the face. With Peter's blessing she'd put him to bed with a lot of Advil and a pot of tea, and he let her fuss over him with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude that was actually kind of cute. Given Neal's propensity to get sick at the first sign of stress, she wonders just how he ever managed on his own before. Or in jail, but she doesn't like to think about that.
Neal's lips brush against her own, dry and a little hot from the low-grade fever he's been running on and off, and she slides a hand down under the sheets and along his flank, over his hip, her thumb brushing against the muscle of his thigh, and he shifts his weight a little to accommodate her. She can feel Peter stirring beside her, can feel his surprise at Neal's sudden overture at this hour in the morning. It amuses her more than anything, because there are a few things in life that Peter just doesn't understand.
For that matter, El isn't sure she understands it herself, but she thinks maybe she has an idea of what it must be like. She's never had to spend her whole life relying on no one, but every time Peter goes out into the field, every time she sees him strap on his gun, she feels a tiny little pinch somewhere in her heart. Neal has come to rely on them, even though he spent a lifetime trying to teach himself to be aloof, like a cat. She knows how terrifying this must be, the idea that tomorrow it might all be taken away again, even if it's not true. After all this time, she knows Neal thinks he can't trust any of it.
So she kisses him, a little roughly, parting his lips with her tongue and making him accept without question. He's already more than half-hard and bucks a little against her when she pulls on his thigh to bring them closer together. Peter is awake now; she can feel him moving behind her, the rhythm of his breathing changed. His leg rubs up against hers, coarse hair against smoothly shaved skin, and it raises goosebumps all over her body, her nipples tightening almost painfully. It takes very little for Peter to get her aroused-a stroke of the hand over that one spot on the small of her back, a kiss to the nape of her neck, a breath in in the hollow of her clavicle-and she can already feel herself getting wet.
"Come on," she whispers to Neal, the first words any of them have spoken aloud tonight.
She pulls on his shoulders, a little awkwardly since she's lying on her side, but he gets the message and rolls over onto his back, shifting to take her spot in the middle of the bed. In turn she pushes herself up onto her knees, moving to straddle one of his thighs. Peter is still on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching them both with a sleepy smile. Neal looks from El to him, expression questioning.
"Peter?"
Peter reaches over to stroke his hip in a mirror of her gesture from a few minutes ago. Neal shudders a little, and El settles herself more comfortably on top of him, smoothing both hands over his stomach, letting the tip of one thumb catch in the tangled thatch of pubic hair. She hears Neal's breath catch in his throat, and his dick twitches visibly, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. She smears it over her palm even though it's not nearly enough to provide any kind of lubrication as she grasps his cock lightly, making a circle out of her thumb and fingers, and starts jerking him off with slow, sure strokes. His eyes slam shut, and she immediately takes his chin in her spare hand, cradling it in the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger.
"No, sweetie. No disappearing into your own head. I want you with us, every second."
Obediently he opens his eyes, the pupils already so dilated she can barely see the thin ring of blue around them. Without needing to be told, Peter has already fished the lube out of the drawer of his nightstand. He hands it to her, and she's aware that he's already gripping himself with his left hand, pulling enough to give himself a little relief from the mounting pressure but not enough to truly do anything about it. The knowledge of what he's doing sends a rush of heat through her body, but she doesn't hurry her actions. Instead she coats her fingers with lube and nods toward Peter, who very casually leans over to capture Neal's mouth in a kiss, distracting him from what she's about to do next.
Relationships make you change your habits in a thousand different little ways. Neal stopped wearing pajamas to bed, Peter began making breakfast at home almost every morning instead of grabbing a coffee on his way to work, and El started keeping her fingernails trimmed a whole lot shorter.
Now she spreads Neal's thighs with one hand, pushing his free leg up, knee bent to give her space, and delicately pushes her index finger past the tight ring of muscle. She waits for Neal to tense up and then relax, the way he always does-the kiss helps take his mind off the feeling of intrusion, though not much more, and she enjoys feeling the helpless little jerk of his hips under her as she adds a second finger and starts searching for his prostate. Peter deepens the kiss even as Neal lets out a quiet moan, precome oozing from his dick in thick droplets even as he tries to push down harder on her fingers. She adds a third and final finger, ignoring the slight cramp in her hand that's becoming more insistent as she finds the right rhythm to her strokes. Neal reaches for his cock but she uses her free hand to catch his wrist, forcing his hand back to the bed and eliciting a small whimper of distress that she soothes away with a stroke along his hip. Even though she's had to let go of his wrist, he doesn't try again.
Peter has the back of Neal's head cradled in one large hand, the other playing teasingly with his left nipple, alternately pinching and flicking it lightly, his own cock entirely neglected, the way he likes it. Peter isn't much for being on the receiving end of foreplay, never has been. From the beginning, he always preferred to focus his attention on her, to play and tease until she was begging for release, and he got off on that almost as much as when they actually got around to making love. Neal is writhing under their combined attention now, panting and making small, desperate hitching noises in an attempt not to moan aloud, barely able to reciprocate Peter's kisses. It's something else that El has been working on with him-encouraging him not to silence himself, to tamp down on whatever he's feeling. He's bathed in sweat, partly as a result of the fever. El is fairly certain that he wouldn't have asked for this if he'd been in better health, but it seems that the fever has broken down enough of his mental barriers that he's willing to actively seek out comfort, and she and Peter are always happy to give it to him.
"Ready, hon?" she asks softly, and both Peter and Neal nod.
They've been doing this long enough now that all their movements feel practiced and fluid. The first few times it took them a while to work out where each of them needed to go, though the awkward fumbling never took away from what they were doing, nor from their pleasure. Now, though, she's able to slide herself up Neal's body almost effortlessly, her knees on either side of his waist. She can feel his cock nudge against her pussy as she moves, but that's not what's on the agenda for tonight. She moves up further, catches his mouth in a kiss that's slow, hot and lambent, while Peter moves to take her place. Neal shifts under her, muscles rippling, as Peter nudges his legs as far apart as they'll go. She can't see her husband, but she can picture him in her mind's eye, cock erect and poised, held in one hand while he uses the other to apply more lube. Neal might be open and waiting, but there's no sense risking hurting him.
She can tell when Peter slides in, because Neal gasps, eyes closing for the second time tonight. He opens them again almost immediately, though, mindful of her earlier admonition.
"Good boy," she praises him, and kisses him again, just as Peter says, "Steady, Neal."
There's a pause then, as Peter waits for Neal to adjust. Neal's hands slide up El's legs to anchor him, fingertips digging into the meat of her thighs just enough to hurt but not enough to leave bruises, and she feels a throb of pleasure between her legs at the sensation. A moment later she feels Peter begin to move in slow, careful thrusts, and Neal uses his hands to grasp her ass cheeks and urge her forward, seeking out her pussy with tongue and lips and long, clever fingers. Her head drops back toward her spine, eyelashes fluttering, and she grabs hold of the headboard to steady herself, using her arms to bear most of her weight as her thighs threaten to give out from pleasure.
She's not sure when she starts to pant and moan in earnest, but Neal seems to take that as permission to start as well. She thinks Peter might be setting the pace, but it's Neal she's feeling between her legs, fever-hot and trembling with need, and it's his name she ends up screaming as she comes, bright sparks flickering behind her closed eyelids. Neal is still writhing under her, his movements increasingly erratic as he pumps his hips in a frantic search for the friction that will grant him release, head thrown back on the pillow, but he hasn't stopped the talented motion of his fingers, and she clenches around them and comes again with another cry that feels like it was wrenched right from her sternum. She can feel the exact moment when Peter reaches up to stroke Neal's cock, the moment when they both come, almost exactly at the same time-Peter with a small grunt and Neal with a desperate, gasping groan-and there's a warm splash of liquid along her back. Neal shudders and gasps and shakes, eyes screwed tightly shut now, entirely involuntarily, and she wriggles a little so she can kiss him all the way through the aftershocks.
Peter pulls out slowly, and she feels the bed dip as he gets up to go the bathroom to moisten a couple of washcloths. When he comes back he takes care of her first, passing the cloth over her back with an amused smile before tucking the sheet around her hips. She's still hot and sweaty, her hair clinging to the nape of her neck, but she smiles back and accepts the quick kiss on the lips that he offers her before turning his attention to Neal.
Neal hasn't moved except to let one arm drop over his eyes, shielding them from the dim light of the room. Peter pads quietly around the bed and sits next to him.
"Hey," he says softly, "let me, okay?"
He pulls Neal's arm away and uses the clean washcloth first to wipe his face, then slides it down his neck and over his chest and shoulders to cool him off. He places a gentle kiss on Neal's forehead that's as much testing as affectionate.
"Fever's pretty much gone, looks like. We should have tried sex two days ago," he jokes, and Neal manages a wan smile. Peter keeps working his way down, taking extra care when Neal shivers, and then bends to whisper in his ear, just loud enough that El can still hear him. "Nothing is going to change with us. No matter what, all right?"
"Peter?"
For all that he's an old soul, sometimes he sounds so young that she worries her heart might
"You don't need to prove anything to us, not now, not ever. I promise."
And for all that there are things Peter doesn't get, there are so many things he does get, and that's why she loves him. It's what makes him so good at what he does, the way he just knows people, knows what makes them tick. Con artists use their ability to read people for their own gain, but Peter has always used his to help others, and tonight is no exception. For the first time in days she sees Neal relax, his muscles going limp as the tension simply drains from his body.
She scoots over on the bed and throws one leg over his, wrapping an arm over his waist. Peter tosses the used washcloths into the tub in the bathroom with a wet slapping sound, then makes his way back to bed, climbing in behind her. Neal turns to nestle against her, curling up so that he can rest his head on her stomach. It should be awkward, but he seems comfortable enough so she doesn't shift him, letting Peter pull up the bedclothes before gathering them both to him in a gesture that's at once proprietary and oh so tender. He kisses the nape of her neck and she catches her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
Neal's breathing is already evening out into sleep, and she can feel Peter beginning to nod off as well. She settles down comfortably, though her blood is still singing in her veins. She's not going to get to sleep anytime soon, but that's fine. She's happy as she is, surrounded by the warmth of the man she's always loved and the man she's only lately begun to love, and there are hours yet left before the sun will rise.
As far as she's concerned, there's all the time in the world.
Summary: Written for run_the_con, for the prompt "It's all gone tomorrow," by marieincolour. It's less than two days before Neal's final hearing, and he's feeling the stress of everything. He seeks comfort the only way he knows how, but El and Peter know exactly what he needs.
Characters: Neal/El/Peter
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,497
Warnings: fever sex (but the sex is totally consensual, it's not an incapacitating fever), threesome (does that need a warning? What the hell.)
Neurotic Author's Note #1: Okay, so, um, sex. I've never written porn for White Collar before, and somehow this turned into a threesome, which is not something I write often. IDK. I hope you like it?
Neurotic Author's Note #2: Canon? What canon? *makes Jedi mindtrick motions* This is not the canon you are looking for! There is no canon here! This is simple PWP.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: Title is taken from the quote by Lavoisier: "Nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed." That's sort of the reasoning behind the story. Ish.
Neurotic Author's Note #4: Yeah, I still made Neal sick. I may have a problem. /o\
El isn't surprised at all when Neal reaches for Peter in the middle of the night, slipping his arm around her in the process. She shifts toward him, waiting for Peter to figure out what's happening, because Peter sleeps more soundly than either she or Neal, and when she opens her eyes she finds Neal already looking at her, blue eyes wide and bright.
Tomorrow is the day everything changes, and they've all been feeling the stress, Neal most of all. He dragged himself home from work a few days ago looking pale and drawn, the circles under his eyes so pronounced that he looked as though someone had punched him in the face. With Peter's blessing she'd put him to bed with a lot of Advil and a pot of tea, and he let her fuss over him with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude that was actually kind of cute. Given Neal's propensity to get sick at the first sign of stress, she wonders just how he ever managed on his own before. Or in jail, but she doesn't like to think about that.
Neal's lips brush against her own, dry and a little hot from the low-grade fever he's been running on and off, and she slides a hand down under the sheets and along his flank, over his hip, her thumb brushing against the muscle of his thigh, and he shifts his weight a little to accommodate her. She can feel Peter stirring beside her, can feel his surprise at Neal's sudden overture at this hour in the morning. It amuses her more than anything, because there are a few things in life that Peter just doesn't understand.
For that matter, El isn't sure she understands it herself, but she thinks maybe she has an idea of what it must be like. She's never had to spend her whole life relying on no one, but every time Peter goes out into the field, every time she sees him strap on his gun, she feels a tiny little pinch somewhere in her heart. Neal has come to rely on them, even though he spent a lifetime trying to teach himself to be aloof, like a cat. She knows how terrifying this must be, the idea that tomorrow it might all be taken away again, even if it's not true. After all this time, she knows Neal thinks he can't trust any of it.
So she kisses him, a little roughly, parting his lips with her tongue and making him accept without question. He's already more than half-hard and bucks a little against her when she pulls on his thigh to bring them closer together. Peter is awake now; she can feel him moving behind her, the rhythm of his breathing changed. His leg rubs up against hers, coarse hair against smoothly shaved skin, and it raises goosebumps all over her body, her nipples tightening almost painfully. It takes very little for Peter to get her aroused-a stroke of the hand over that one spot on the small of her back, a kiss to the nape of her neck, a breath in in the hollow of her clavicle-and she can already feel herself getting wet.
"Come on," she whispers to Neal, the first words any of them have spoken aloud tonight.
She pulls on his shoulders, a little awkwardly since she's lying on her side, but he gets the message and rolls over onto his back, shifting to take her spot in the middle of the bed. In turn she pushes herself up onto her knees, moving to straddle one of his thighs. Peter is still on his side, propped up on an elbow, watching them both with a sleepy smile. Neal looks from El to him, expression questioning.
"Peter?"
Peter reaches over to stroke his hip in a mirror of her gesture from a few minutes ago. Neal shudders a little, and El settles herself more comfortably on top of him, smoothing both hands over his stomach, letting the tip of one thumb catch in the tangled thatch of pubic hair. She hears Neal's breath catch in his throat, and his dick twitches visibly, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. She smears it over her palm even though it's not nearly enough to provide any kind of lubrication as she grasps his cock lightly, making a circle out of her thumb and fingers, and starts jerking him off with slow, sure strokes. His eyes slam shut, and she immediately takes his chin in her spare hand, cradling it in the web of skin between her thumb and forefinger.
"No, sweetie. No disappearing into your own head. I want you with us, every second."
Obediently he opens his eyes, the pupils already so dilated she can barely see the thin ring of blue around them. Without needing to be told, Peter has already fished the lube out of the drawer of his nightstand. He hands it to her, and she's aware that he's already gripping himself with his left hand, pulling enough to give himself a little relief from the mounting pressure but not enough to truly do anything about it. The knowledge of what he's doing sends a rush of heat through her body, but she doesn't hurry her actions. Instead she coats her fingers with lube and nods toward Peter, who very casually leans over to capture Neal's mouth in a kiss, distracting him from what she's about to do next.
Relationships make you change your habits in a thousand different little ways. Neal stopped wearing pajamas to bed, Peter began making breakfast at home almost every morning instead of grabbing a coffee on his way to work, and El started keeping her fingernails trimmed a whole lot shorter.
Now she spreads Neal's thighs with one hand, pushing his free leg up, knee bent to give her space, and delicately pushes her index finger past the tight ring of muscle. She waits for Neal to tense up and then relax, the way he always does-the kiss helps take his mind off the feeling of intrusion, though not much more, and she enjoys feeling the helpless little jerk of his hips under her as she adds a second finger and starts searching for his prostate. Peter deepens the kiss even as Neal lets out a quiet moan, precome oozing from his dick in thick droplets even as he tries to push down harder on her fingers. She adds a third and final finger, ignoring the slight cramp in her hand that's becoming more insistent as she finds the right rhythm to her strokes. Neal reaches for his cock but she uses her free hand to catch his wrist, forcing his hand back to the bed and eliciting a small whimper of distress that she soothes away with a stroke along his hip. Even though she's had to let go of his wrist, he doesn't try again.
Peter has the back of Neal's head cradled in one large hand, the other playing teasingly with his left nipple, alternately pinching and flicking it lightly, his own cock entirely neglected, the way he likes it. Peter isn't much for being on the receiving end of foreplay, never has been. From the beginning, he always preferred to focus his attention on her, to play and tease until she was begging for release, and he got off on that almost as much as when they actually got around to making love. Neal is writhing under their combined attention now, panting and making small, desperate hitching noises in an attempt not to moan aloud, barely able to reciprocate Peter's kisses. It's something else that El has been working on with him-encouraging him not to silence himself, to tamp down on whatever he's feeling. He's bathed in sweat, partly as a result of the fever. El is fairly certain that he wouldn't have asked for this if he'd been in better health, but it seems that the fever has broken down enough of his mental barriers that he's willing to actively seek out comfort, and she and Peter are always happy to give it to him.
"Ready, hon?" she asks softly, and both Peter and Neal nod.
They've been doing this long enough now that all their movements feel practiced and fluid. The first few times it took them a while to work out where each of them needed to go, though the awkward fumbling never took away from what they were doing, nor from their pleasure. Now, though, she's able to slide herself up Neal's body almost effortlessly, her knees on either side of his waist. She can feel his cock nudge against her pussy as she moves, but that's not what's on the agenda for tonight. She moves up further, catches his mouth in a kiss that's slow, hot and lambent, while Peter moves to take her place. Neal shifts under her, muscles rippling, as Peter nudges his legs as far apart as they'll go. She can't see her husband, but she can picture him in her mind's eye, cock erect and poised, held in one hand while he uses the other to apply more lube. Neal might be open and waiting, but there's no sense risking hurting him.
She can tell when Peter slides in, because Neal gasps, eyes closing for the second time tonight. He opens them again almost immediately, though, mindful of her earlier admonition.
"Good boy," she praises him, and kisses him again, just as Peter says, "Steady, Neal."
There's a pause then, as Peter waits for Neal to adjust. Neal's hands slide up El's legs to anchor him, fingertips digging into the meat of her thighs just enough to hurt but not enough to leave bruises, and she feels a throb of pleasure between her legs at the sensation. A moment later she feels Peter begin to move in slow, careful thrusts, and Neal uses his hands to grasp her ass cheeks and urge her forward, seeking out her pussy with tongue and lips and long, clever fingers. Her head drops back toward her spine, eyelashes fluttering, and she grabs hold of the headboard to steady herself, using her arms to bear most of her weight as her thighs threaten to give out from pleasure.
She's not sure when she starts to pant and moan in earnest, but Neal seems to take that as permission to start as well. She thinks Peter might be setting the pace, but it's Neal she's feeling between her legs, fever-hot and trembling with need, and it's his name she ends up screaming as she comes, bright sparks flickering behind her closed eyelids. Neal is still writhing under her, his movements increasingly erratic as he pumps his hips in a frantic search for the friction that will grant him release, head thrown back on the pillow, but he hasn't stopped the talented motion of his fingers, and she clenches around them and comes again with another cry that feels like it was wrenched right from her sternum. She can feel the exact moment when Peter reaches up to stroke Neal's cock, the moment when they both come, almost exactly at the same time-Peter with a small grunt and Neal with a desperate, gasping groan-and there's a warm splash of liquid along her back. Neal shudders and gasps and shakes, eyes screwed tightly shut now, entirely involuntarily, and she wriggles a little so she can kiss him all the way through the aftershocks.
Peter pulls out slowly, and she feels the bed dip as he gets up to go the bathroom to moisten a couple of washcloths. When he comes back he takes care of her first, passing the cloth over her back with an amused smile before tucking the sheet around her hips. She's still hot and sweaty, her hair clinging to the nape of her neck, but she smiles back and accepts the quick kiss on the lips that he offers her before turning his attention to Neal.
Neal hasn't moved except to let one arm drop over his eyes, shielding them from the dim light of the room. Peter pads quietly around the bed and sits next to him.
"Hey," he says softly, "let me, okay?"
He pulls Neal's arm away and uses the clean washcloth first to wipe his face, then slides it down his neck and over his chest and shoulders to cool him off. He places a gentle kiss on Neal's forehead that's as much testing as affectionate.
"Fever's pretty much gone, looks like. We should have tried sex two days ago," he jokes, and Neal manages a wan smile. Peter keeps working his way down, taking extra care when Neal shivers, and then bends to whisper in his ear, just loud enough that El can still hear him. "Nothing is going to change with us. No matter what, all right?"
"Peter?"
For all that he's an old soul, sometimes he sounds so young that she worries her heart might
"You don't need to prove anything to us, not now, not ever. I promise."
And for all that there are things Peter doesn't get, there are so many things he does get, and that's why she loves him. It's what makes him so good at what he does, the way he just knows people, knows what makes them tick. Con artists use their ability to read people for their own gain, but Peter has always used his to help others, and tonight is no exception. For the first time in days she sees Neal relax, his muscles going limp as the tension simply drains from his body.
She scoots over on the bed and throws one leg over his, wrapping an arm over his waist. Peter tosses the used washcloths into the tub in the bathroom with a wet slapping sound, then makes his way back to bed, climbing in behind her. Neal turns to nestle against her, curling up so that he can rest his head on her stomach. It should be awkward, but he seems comfortable enough so she doesn't shift him, letting Peter pull up the bedclothes before gathering them both to him in a gesture that's at once proprietary and oh so tender. He kisses the nape of her neck and she catches her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
Neal's breathing is already evening out into sleep, and she can feel Peter beginning to nod off as well. She settles down comfortably, though her blood is still singing in her veins. She's not going to get to sleep anytime soon, but that's fine. She's happy as she is, surrounded by the warmth of the man she's always loved and the man she's only lately begun to love, and there are hours yet left before the sun will rise.
As far as she's concerned, there's all the time in the world.