Entry tags:
White Collar, "Fidelity," Elizabeth/Peter(/Neal) ficlet
Title: Fidelity
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Elizabeth/Peter(/Neal)
Rating: hard R for non-graphic sex
Summary: Peter loves it when Elizabeth wears his shirts.
AN: for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hoosierbitch
When they were dating, Elizabeth had gone to discreet little shops and bought silky, skimpy little things to wear in the bedroom for Peter. He'd seemed to appreciate them, tugging roughly at the flimsy strings until they broke, leaving nothing between his hands and mouth and the pale planes of her body. She'd throw them out in the morning, buried in the bottom of the trash bag. It was a fun little game, a little bit glamorous and a little bit tawdry at the same time.
It had only taken one night of him coming over late to find her reading on the couch, wearing nothing but one of his oxford-blue button-down shirts, for her to realize that the sexy lingerie was entirely unnecessary.
In a relationship full of changes, this became a constant -- the way he'd walk up to her without a word, slipping a hand under the crisp hem to stroke the curve of her hip as he put his face to her neck, inhaling the scent of the two of them mingled together. Often she'd lead him to bed and help him undress piece by piece without ever taking off the shirt, and he'd fuck her while stroking her breasts through the thin fabric, cool white contrasting with the warm blush of her skin.
Tonight, she was standing in the kitchen when he came in, adjusting some daffodils in a vase. He came up behind her and took her in his arms, and ran a finger along one navy blue pinstripe, from her collarbone to her firm nipple all the way down to the crease of her thigh.
"This," he said, his voice warm on her ear, "is not my shirt."
"No...?" She made the word a leading question.
His fingers dipped lower than the hem of the shirt, from crisp dry fabric to hot, moist flesh. "This is Neal's shirt."
"Yes...?"
She raised a hand from the vase to undo a button, but he caught her wrist with her free hand before she could reach it. He bent his head to breath in the scent where the collar of the shirt met the pulse points of her neck.
"Don't take it off."
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Elizabeth/Peter(/Neal)
Rating: hard R for non-graphic sex
Summary: Peter loves it when Elizabeth wears his shirts.
AN: for
hoosierbitchWhen they were dating, Elizabeth had gone to discreet little shops and bought silky, skimpy little things to wear in the bedroom for Peter. He'd seemed to appreciate them, tugging roughly at the flimsy strings until they broke, leaving nothing between his hands and mouth and the pale planes of her body. She'd throw them out in the morning, buried in the bottom of the trash bag. It was a fun little game, a little bit glamorous and a little bit tawdry at the same time.
It had only taken one night of him coming over late to find her reading on the couch, wearing nothing but one of his oxford-blue button-down shirts, for her to realize that the sexy lingerie was entirely unnecessary.
In a relationship full of changes, this became a constant -- the way he'd walk up to her without a word, slipping a hand under the crisp hem to stroke the curve of her hip as he put his face to her neck, inhaling the scent of the two of them mingled together. Often she'd lead him to bed and help him undress piece by piece without ever taking off the shirt, and he'd fuck her while stroking her breasts through the thin fabric, cool white contrasting with the warm blush of her skin.
Tonight, she was standing in the kitchen when he came in, adjusting some daffodils in a vase. He came up behind her and took her in his arms, and ran a finger along one navy blue pinstripe, from her collarbone to her firm nipple all the way down to the crease of her thigh.
"This," he said, his voice warm on her ear, "is not my shirt."
"No...?" She made the word a leading question.
His fingers dipped lower than the hem of the shirt, from crisp dry fabric to hot, moist flesh. "This is Neal's shirt."
"Yes...?"
She raised a hand from the vase to undo a button, but he caught her wrist with her free hand before she could reach it. He bent his head to breath in the scent where the collar of the shirt met the pulse points of her neck.
"Don't take it off."