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tellitslantAnother one for Porn Battle IX (Dressed to the Nines).
With thanks again to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
entropical87 for beta duties.
No spoilers, no warnings, 2000 words.
Pants on the Ground, Elizabeth/Neal, prompt: dress-up
To Elizabeth's complete lack of surprise, Neal is an amazing fashion consultant. He is an artist, after all, and one of the most stylish people she's ever met. She tells him she values his knack for colours, and he gives concise, flattering commentary on all her outfits, but it's his eyes she really watches. She's waiting for that moment when his pupils dilate and she can see him start mentally undressing her. That's how she knows she's found the right style.
It's not that Peter doesn't look at her that way, of course. He does, and she loves him for it. It's just that Peter looks at her that way when she's dressed to the nines for an evening event, and when she's in her everyday business suits, and when she's not wearing anything except one of his pajama tops. It's flattering, but not exactly discriminating. With Neal, she has to earn that level of approval.
Unfortunately, Neal's tracker radius doesn't extend to most of her favourite boutiques in the city, and Peter already gave her a half-serious lecture about misuse of federal resources last time she asked if Neal could be let off his leash for a few hours. So that's why she's here, at June's, giving Neal an impromptu fashion show with the results of her morning's shopping trip in between sipping coffee on the patio. They've been through several different combinations of most of the pieces she bought and, though he's been very complimentary, nothing has quite captured that zing she's looking for.
Neal can apparently tell that she's getting frustrated, because he bounces up from the table, grabs her by the shoulders, and walks her back inside. "You, go put on something fabulous," he says, pointing her towards his room, where she's stored all her bags. "I am going to go whip up something with lots of rum and fruit in it." He lifts a finger, though she hasn't even tried to protest. "No buts. Go," he says, as close to stern as she's ever seen him.
She goes, trying to avoid feeling like she's just been sent to her room.
Elizabeth closes the door behind her and leans against it, sighing. She tugs off her clingy blouse, shimmies out of the asymmetrical skirt, and unwraps what feels like yards of necklace from around her neck. She folds all the pieces neatly and tucks them back in their bags, then pokes at the others, uninspired. She loved everything when she bought it, but here in the casual elegance of June's house, nothing looks quite the same. Something fabulous, Neal said, and she's suddenly not sure if anything here really fits that description.
Then she has a thought. She raises her head slowly and looks across the room. Neal's closet is open just a crack. She sneaks over, pushes the door open, and she can see the rows of suits, each hanging neatly, pressed just so. The fabric is smooth against her fingers, and she grins. These certainly count as fabulous, she thinks, pulling the nearest one out on its hanger. She holds it up against herself and looks in the mirror, and suddenly she's dying to see Neal's face if she comes out in one of his Devores.
The trousers are snug on her hips and they hang on her in ways that they certainly don't on Neal, but it's not like she's wearing them out. She isn't even going to try to put on one of the shirts – she can just imagine Neal's expression if she popped a button on or, god forbid, stretched one of his precious pieces of clothing – but she's got a white camisole in one of her bags and it actually looks good, really good, with the waistcoat buttoned under her breasts. The jacket is a little long, but when she knots the slim tie and tucks it down under the lapels, she's pretty sure no one's going to be looking at whether or not the cuffs cover her knuckles. She slips on a pair of black leather ankle boots that had been in the 'maybe' pile – the heel is higher than she usually wears, but it makes the line of the trousers even worse when they drag on the floor – and checks herself out in Neal's mirror.
Not bad, she thinks, smoothing the jacket down over her ass. There really is something to be said for the classics.
There's just one thing missing – and then she spots it, hanging off a lampshade. She rolls the hat over her fingers before dropping it onto her head, adjusting it to a jaunty angle.
Her reflection in the mirror looks like she's ready to take charge of anything, no matter what, and Elizabeth giggles. This feels a little like playing dress-up as a girl, the way the clothes have practically transported her into a different mindset. Mostly, though, she feels almost naughty, because... these are Neal's clothes. It's oddly intimate.
Then Neal knocks on the door. "Elizabeth, are you ready? Or did you need help with a zipper?" he teases. "Come on, show me."
Elizabeth bites her lip and steps out of the room.
Neal's turned away from the door, heading out to the patio, a tray with pitcher and glasses balanced easily in one hand. When the door swings open, though, he looks back, and the tray rattles so hard that the stemware knocks together. It gives off a faint bell-like chiming that means it's real crystal, but Elizabeth isn't really paying attention. She's watching Neal's eyes.
And... there. That's it, that look, deep and intense and Neal's coming towards her, crowding her back into his room so he can put the tray down. His hands hover over her shoulders again, but he doesn't touch, and she smiles to see him look genuinely poleaxed for the first time since they met.
"Jesus, El," he says, and she lowers her gaze demurely.
"You did say to put on something fabulous." She turns away, looking in the mirror, arranging her hair just so, and then looks back over her shoulder. "I figured this qualified."
Neal is actually sitting down and staring at her now. She's pretty sure at least half – okay, maybe almost half – of that attention is for the suit and not her, but it's still intense. She can feel herself getting wet, and that makes her wonder if Neal will be able to smell her next time he puts the suit on, and that almost makes her knees weak.
She walks over and leans on the table, grinning at him from under the hat. "Don't you like it?" she asks, pretending to be hurt. "You haven't said anything. Should I just take it off?" She unbuttons the jacket and lets it swing open, and then Neal moves. He grabs the tie and pulls her down, and then she's sitting in his lap and he's kissing her. She tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him back.
Kissing Neal isn't like she'd imagined it would be – and yes, she's imagined it, but so has Peter, so it's not like she feels guilty. She thought he'd be a lot more controlled but he's not, he's rough and just this side of manic, and he's still tugging on her tie, which she never thought of as a turn-on but apparently it is. She moans into his mouth and runs one hand over his chest, feeling the way his muscles shift. No, kissing Neal is better than she imagined, and that's saying something.
He pulls back first, looking stricken. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry, Peter's going to kill me," he says in a rush, letting go of her.
She stays perched in his lap calmly. "First, Peter would kill me, not you – though he wouldn't be very happy with you, either – if this were going to be a problem," she says.
"You're not going to tell him?" He looks as though he's not sure whether to feel really guilty or really turned on.
Elizabeth smacks him lightly. "Of course I'm going to tell him!" You idiot, she implies. "It's not going to be a problem because I'm going to tell him. Everything. In great detail, and possibly multiple times." She plants a kiss on the tip of Neal's nose. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"
Neal pauses for a moment, as if he actually has to think about it. Elizabeth rolls her eyes, and he grins. "Nope, not a problem at all." He gathers her in his arms and stands. She shrieks a little and kicks her feet as he half-throws her onto the bed.
The hat goes flying, but neither of them pays any attention.
Neal crouches at the side of the bed, between Elizabeth's legs. He cups her heel, draws her right leg towards him, and unzips her boot slowly, carefully, and more erotically than should be possible. He tugs the boot off and reaches for her left leg; she takes the opportunity to run the ball of her foot up the inside of his thigh.
"Ah," he says, setting the boots aside and tucking her stockings into them. "Don't get ahead of yourself. That suit is – "
"- a classic," Elizabeth chimes in. "I know. You can't have sex in classics?"
Neal shakes his head. "They require delicate treatment," he says, climbing onto the bed and kissing her. He skims the jacket off her shoulders and runs his hands down her arms, giving her goosebumps. She manages to undo the first few buttons on his shirt before he pulls away to shake the jacket out and drape it over the baseboard, out of harm's way. He does the same with the waistcoat, nipping at her earlobe so that she almost doesn't notice that he's actually folding the fabric behind her back.
"Hey." She shoves at him. "Less energy expended on clothes. Less clothes, period." She tugs his shirt out of his waistband and pulls the fabric taut between her fists. "Don't make me pop the buttons off."
Neal laughs, but he undoes his remaining buttons right away, Elizabeth notes. But then he tugs on her tie again, and yeah, that's still hot. She presses up against him, running her hands over his skin as he undoes the tie, drawing her nails lightly across his back and shoulders. She's thinking mostly about the way he feels, hard against her even through layers of fabric, so she's completely unprepared when he whips the tie off her neck and uses it to capture her hands instead.
"Um," she says, watching him tie some complicated knot in the fabric. All she can think of to say in protest is, "Is that any way to treat a classic?"
Neal actually looks sad when he pulls back, shaking his head. "It's only temporary," he replies absently, sliding back off the bed despite her disappointed look. He undresses quickly and Elizabeth squirms, fumbling at her fly with her bound hands. She gets the button undone but can't get enough leverage to drag the zipper down, and hisses in frustration.
But then Neal's there, and he pushes her hands up above her head and suggests with a glance that she leave them there. He undoes her zipper and drags off her trousers and underwear; they join the jacket and waistcoat on the baseboard. Then he drags his mouth slowly up the inside of her thigh, kissing and biting everywhere except where she actually wants him. She should have known he'd be a tease.
"Neal," she says warningly, nudging him with her foot, "if you don't – oh." Her head falls back as his tongue finally traces lightly over her clit, and she stretches against the bed in pleasure. She braces one foot on the mattress and the other on the baseboard, gasping as he slides two fingers into her – and if she kicks the trousers off to crumple to the floor in a heap, well. Neal doesn't notice, and he can't prove anything.
With thanks again to
entropical87 for beta duties.No spoilers, no warnings, 2000 words.
Pants on the Ground, Elizabeth/Neal, prompt: dress-up
To Elizabeth's complete lack of surprise, Neal is an amazing fashion consultant. He is an artist, after all, and one of the most stylish people she's ever met. She tells him she values his knack for colours, and he gives concise, flattering commentary on all her outfits, but it's his eyes she really watches. She's waiting for that moment when his pupils dilate and she can see him start mentally undressing her. That's how she knows she's found the right style.
It's not that Peter doesn't look at her that way, of course. He does, and she loves him for it. It's just that Peter looks at her that way when she's dressed to the nines for an evening event, and when she's in her everyday business suits, and when she's not wearing anything except one of his pajama tops. It's flattering, but not exactly discriminating. With Neal, she has to earn that level of approval.
Unfortunately, Neal's tracker radius doesn't extend to most of her favourite boutiques in the city, and Peter already gave her a half-serious lecture about misuse of federal resources last time she asked if Neal could be let off his leash for a few hours. So that's why she's here, at June's, giving Neal an impromptu fashion show with the results of her morning's shopping trip in between sipping coffee on the patio. They've been through several different combinations of most of the pieces she bought and, though he's been very complimentary, nothing has quite captured that zing she's looking for.
Neal can apparently tell that she's getting frustrated, because he bounces up from the table, grabs her by the shoulders, and walks her back inside. "You, go put on something fabulous," he says, pointing her towards his room, where she's stored all her bags. "I am going to go whip up something with lots of rum and fruit in it." He lifts a finger, though she hasn't even tried to protest. "No buts. Go," he says, as close to stern as she's ever seen him.
She goes, trying to avoid feeling like she's just been sent to her room.
Elizabeth closes the door behind her and leans against it, sighing. She tugs off her clingy blouse, shimmies out of the asymmetrical skirt, and unwraps what feels like yards of necklace from around her neck. She folds all the pieces neatly and tucks them back in their bags, then pokes at the others, uninspired. She loved everything when she bought it, but here in the casual elegance of June's house, nothing looks quite the same. Something fabulous, Neal said, and she's suddenly not sure if anything here really fits that description.
Then she has a thought. She raises her head slowly and looks across the room. Neal's closet is open just a crack. She sneaks over, pushes the door open, and she can see the rows of suits, each hanging neatly, pressed just so. The fabric is smooth against her fingers, and she grins. These certainly count as fabulous, she thinks, pulling the nearest one out on its hanger. She holds it up against herself and looks in the mirror, and suddenly she's dying to see Neal's face if she comes out in one of his Devores.
The trousers are snug on her hips and they hang on her in ways that they certainly don't on Neal, but it's not like she's wearing them out. She isn't even going to try to put on one of the shirts – she can just imagine Neal's expression if she popped a button on or, god forbid, stretched one of his precious pieces of clothing – but she's got a white camisole in one of her bags and it actually looks good, really good, with the waistcoat buttoned under her breasts. The jacket is a little long, but when she knots the slim tie and tucks it down under the lapels, she's pretty sure no one's going to be looking at whether or not the cuffs cover her knuckles. She slips on a pair of black leather ankle boots that had been in the 'maybe' pile – the heel is higher than she usually wears, but it makes the line of the trousers even worse when they drag on the floor – and checks herself out in Neal's mirror.
Not bad, she thinks, smoothing the jacket down over her ass. There really is something to be said for the classics.
There's just one thing missing – and then she spots it, hanging off a lampshade. She rolls the hat over her fingers before dropping it onto her head, adjusting it to a jaunty angle.
Her reflection in the mirror looks like she's ready to take charge of anything, no matter what, and Elizabeth giggles. This feels a little like playing dress-up as a girl, the way the clothes have practically transported her into a different mindset. Mostly, though, she feels almost naughty, because... these are Neal's clothes. It's oddly intimate.
Then Neal knocks on the door. "Elizabeth, are you ready? Or did you need help with a zipper?" he teases. "Come on, show me."
Elizabeth bites her lip and steps out of the room.
Neal's turned away from the door, heading out to the patio, a tray with pitcher and glasses balanced easily in one hand. When the door swings open, though, he looks back, and the tray rattles so hard that the stemware knocks together. It gives off a faint bell-like chiming that means it's real crystal, but Elizabeth isn't really paying attention. She's watching Neal's eyes.
And... there. That's it, that look, deep and intense and Neal's coming towards her, crowding her back into his room so he can put the tray down. His hands hover over her shoulders again, but he doesn't touch, and she smiles to see him look genuinely poleaxed for the first time since they met.
"Jesus, El," he says, and she lowers her gaze demurely.
"You did say to put on something fabulous." She turns away, looking in the mirror, arranging her hair just so, and then looks back over her shoulder. "I figured this qualified."
Neal is actually sitting down and staring at her now. She's pretty sure at least half – okay, maybe almost half – of that attention is for the suit and not her, but it's still intense. She can feel herself getting wet, and that makes her wonder if Neal will be able to smell her next time he puts the suit on, and that almost makes her knees weak.
She walks over and leans on the table, grinning at him from under the hat. "Don't you like it?" she asks, pretending to be hurt. "You haven't said anything. Should I just take it off?" She unbuttons the jacket and lets it swing open, and then Neal moves. He grabs the tie and pulls her down, and then she's sitting in his lap and he's kissing her. She tangles her fingers in his hair and kisses him back.
Kissing Neal isn't like she'd imagined it would be – and yes, she's imagined it, but so has Peter, so it's not like she feels guilty. She thought he'd be a lot more controlled but he's not, he's rough and just this side of manic, and he's still tugging on her tie, which she never thought of as a turn-on but apparently it is. She moans into his mouth and runs one hand over his chest, feeling the way his muscles shift. No, kissing Neal is better than she imagined, and that's saying something.
He pulls back first, looking stricken. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry, Peter's going to kill me," he says in a rush, letting go of her.
She stays perched in his lap calmly. "First, Peter would kill me, not you – though he wouldn't be very happy with you, either – if this were going to be a problem," she says.
"You're not going to tell him?" He looks as though he's not sure whether to feel really guilty or really turned on.
Elizabeth smacks him lightly. "Of course I'm going to tell him!" You idiot, she implies. "It's not going to be a problem because I'm going to tell him. Everything. In great detail, and possibly multiple times." She plants a kiss on the tip of Neal's nose. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"
Neal pauses for a moment, as if he actually has to think about it. Elizabeth rolls her eyes, and he grins. "Nope, not a problem at all." He gathers her in his arms and stands. She shrieks a little and kicks her feet as he half-throws her onto the bed.
The hat goes flying, but neither of them pays any attention.
Neal crouches at the side of the bed, between Elizabeth's legs. He cups her heel, draws her right leg towards him, and unzips her boot slowly, carefully, and more erotically than should be possible. He tugs the boot off and reaches for her left leg; she takes the opportunity to run the ball of her foot up the inside of his thigh.
"Ah," he says, setting the boots aside and tucking her stockings into them. "Don't get ahead of yourself. That suit is – "
"- a classic," Elizabeth chimes in. "I know. You can't have sex in classics?"
Neal shakes his head. "They require delicate treatment," he says, climbing onto the bed and kissing her. He skims the jacket off her shoulders and runs his hands down her arms, giving her goosebumps. She manages to undo the first few buttons on his shirt before he pulls away to shake the jacket out and drape it over the baseboard, out of harm's way. He does the same with the waistcoat, nipping at her earlobe so that she almost doesn't notice that he's actually folding the fabric behind her back.
"Hey." She shoves at him. "Less energy expended on clothes. Less clothes, period." She tugs his shirt out of his waistband and pulls the fabric taut between her fists. "Don't make me pop the buttons off."
Neal laughs, but he undoes his remaining buttons right away, Elizabeth notes. But then he tugs on her tie again, and yeah, that's still hot. She presses up against him, running her hands over his skin as he undoes the tie, drawing her nails lightly across his back and shoulders. She's thinking mostly about the way he feels, hard against her even through layers of fabric, so she's completely unprepared when he whips the tie off her neck and uses it to capture her hands instead.
"Um," she says, watching him tie some complicated knot in the fabric. All she can think of to say in protest is, "Is that any way to treat a classic?"
Neal actually looks sad when he pulls back, shaking his head. "It's only temporary," he replies absently, sliding back off the bed despite her disappointed look. He undresses quickly and Elizabeth squirms, fumbling at her fly with her bound hands. She gets the button undone but can't get enough leverage to drag the zipper down, and hisses in frustration.
But then Neal's there, and he pushes her hands up above her head and suggests with a glance that she leave them there. He undoes her zipper and drags off her trousers and underwear; they join the jacket and waistcoat on the baseboard. Then he drags his mouth slowly up the inside of her thigh, kissing and biting everywhere except where she actually wants him. She should have known he'd be a tease.
"Neal," she says warningly, nudging him with her foot, "if you don't – oh." Her head falls back as his tongue finally traces lightly over her clit, and she stretches against the bed in pleasure. She braces one foot on the mattress and the other on the baseboard, gasping as he slides two fingers into her – and if she kicks the trousers off to crumple to the floor in a heap, well. Neal doesn't notice, and he can't prove anything.
