Fic; Of broken form
Title: Of broken form
Author: swirlsofblue
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Summary: Neal's perception of events in Point Blank in an abstract state of mind.
Disclaimer: I don't own white collar.
WC
An arrangement of the physical form, muscles and tendons held in steely tight grace. A tension filled balance of going with the flow and fighting against it. Hands white-knuckled on the silky red banner material, flowing through the air- fluidity in motion- moving with the swing. Iron strength keeping him from hanging loosely- pushing with precision- cutting through the air at just the right angle. Flexible twirling in mid-air, muscles pulling towards the closed window.
The smash is loud and painful. Muscles unwind and hands uncurl and his mind returns to ‘this isn’t a normal every-day heist’ just in time to remember the gun. The trigger is at home in his hand and it sickens him as he shoots. He has no intention of letting out another shot but he has always known how to put on a show.
Moments later he holds his hands behind him- the epitome of submission as handcuffs click into place and he’s not sure anymore whether he’s still acting. Muscles wind and unwind tingling in their restrained form. Thoughts spiral viciously upon crisp-burned cubic-zirconium conspiracies.
Peter places him back at home too soon and his muscles feel painfully tangled and knotted. Even stretching ethereal muscles out into every edge and crevice of the mansion, it’s not enough room- not enough space for his muscles to roam free. He could’ve been free in an instant- now he can never leave. He paces the length of his apartment to quell wretched spasms and fingers delicate cipher-thoughts to quell jangling itchy finger-tips. All it leaves him with are charcoal covered eyes- and words- and lips.
WC