Fic: Untouchable 3/?
Sep. 30th, 2012 07:16 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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whitecollarhcTitle: Untouchable
Author: Isolde13
Rating: R but will go up soon
Characters and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal, Neal/OMC, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth
Spoilers:None
Warnings: AU. Issues of consent of sexual slavery, but not between Peter and Neal. Nothing on page for now. Memento type timeframe
Summary: Peter is in love with someone he can't have. Someone he can't even touch . . .
Notes: Started off as a drabble to throw off writer's block. This was born from the concept in the movie The Mummy, where the Pharaoh's wife cannot be touched by anyone else because of the gold paint covering her body. Timeline is a little funky to make up for the fact that the start of the story was really the middle of the story
In this chapter we have moved forward in time, close to the very end of the story
First chapter is here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/907411
Second chapter is here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/922733
Neal’s hands shake, so much that he’s forced to set down his brush before he ruins the painting that he’s been working on all morning. He rubs his hands together, trying to bring them to stillness. It doesn’t work.
He takes a deep breath, waits, and tries again. But his hands won’t stop shaking and now he begins to feel anxious and uneasy, as if he is trapped within his own skin.
Making a small noise of distress, he stands and walks to the other room. Elizabeth is there, sitting on the sofa and reading a book. She is a hundred times more beautiful here, in front of his eyes, than in the picture of her that Peter carried with him and a part of him has to wonder why he is even here. He wonders why he is even allowed to be a part of Peter’s life if he already has her.
She looks up at him, her eyes burdened with care and concern.
“Neal?”
It breaks him a little bit, to know that this woman cares for him so much when he is little more than a stranger. He thinks that one day, he could grow to love her. That one day, he will love her. Maybe not as much as he loves Peter, but it will be love just the same.
“Hey, El,” he says, voice dusky with emotion.
“Are you all right?”
He goes to her just as she begins to rise. They both settle on the sofa, thighs touching. Elizabeth places a gentle hand on Neal’s leg.
“No, not really. I couldn’t paint,” he says.
“Are you . . . do you want to talk about it?” She’s so hesitant with him, so careful, as if saying or doing the wrong thing will cause him to shatter. He should discourage this, tell her that he’s stronger than she gives him credit for, but he doesn’t.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Will talking help?”
“It might. We can talk through it together.”
Neal opens his mouth, and he tries, he really does, but thoughts and words evade him.
“Did you have a flashback? Maybe about that night?” Elizabeth asks.
He shakes his head no. Not a flashback, although the memories are never hidden too far from the surface of him.
Not a flashback, not really, but it’s almost too easy to allow those memories to slip through and rise to the surface. He unconsciously slips his hand under his shirt and rubs across one of the scars, tracing the edges of the letter w. The ordeal of that night had been horrific, but in the end he had survived it, and it had led to this, so in a strange sort of way he is grateful for it.
He recalls the pain, from hands and knife both. He recalls being terrified as he was left outside the castle, naked and alone after it had been done. And he recalls that the fear hadn’t been for himself, not really. He’d been terrified that he would never see Peter again; terrified that he would never find him in the sprawl of the city.
He gives a small gasp and looks at Elizabeth. “I think . . . I think I just miss Peter. I need Peter.”
“Oh honey.” She comes closer to him, bringing him to her now. Her hand caresses his hair, a soft, soothing motion. “I’m so sorry. I can try and contact him, see if he can come home early.”
As much as he wants that, as much as it sounds like heaven, he knows that he can’t have that now. Peter has a job to do, an important one at that, and he can’t simply leave at a moment’s notice because Neal is having a hard day.
“No, it’s fine. He just went back to work. He needs to be there. I can wait until he gets home.”
“What do you need in the meantime?” Elizabeth asks.
Neal pulls away, just enough to look into her blue eyes. He doesn’t really deserve this woman, but he today he feels selfish and he’ll take as much as he can get.
“You,” he says. “Just you.”
She seems to understand, holding him close. He doesn’t cry, although he’s tempted to give in to it, but something in him won’t let him give up that control.
So instead they settle in, and begin their wait for Peter to come home. For Peter to complete them both.
Author: Isolde13
Rating: R but will go up soon
Characters and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal, Neal/OMC, Peter/Neal/Elizabeth
Spoilers:None
Warnings: AU. Issues of consent of sexual slavery, but not between Peter and Neal. Nothing on page for now. Memento type timeframe
Summary: Peter is in love with someone he can't have. Someone he can't even touch . . .
Notes: Started off as a drabble to throw off writer's block. This was born from the concept in the movie The Mummy, where the Pharaoh's wife cannot be touched by anyone else because of the gold paint covering her body. Timeline is a little funky to make up for the fact that the start of the story was really the middle of the story
In this chapter we have moved forward in time, close to the very end of the story
First chapter is here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/907411
Second chapter is here http://archiveofourown.org/works/514334/chapters/922733
Neal’s hands shake, so much that he’s forced to set down his brush before he ruins the painting that he’s been working on all morning. He rubs his hands together, trying to bring them to stillness. It doesn’t work.
He takes a deep breath, waits, and tries again. But his hands won’t stop shaking and now he begins to feel anxious and uneasy, as if he is trapped within his own skin.
Making a small noise of distress, he stands and walks to the other room. Elizabeth is there, sitting on the sofa and reading a book. She is a hundred times more beautiful here, in front of his eyes, than in the picture of her that Peter carried with him and a part of him has to wonder why he is even here. He wonders why he is even allowed to be a part of Peter’s life if he already has her.
She looks up at him, her eyes burdened with care and concern.
“Neal?”
It breaks him a little bit, to know that this woman cares for him so much when he is little more than a stranger. He thinks that one day, he could grow to love her. That one day, he will love her. Maybe not as much as he loves Peter, but it will be love just the same.
“Hey, El,” he says, voice dusky with emotion.
“Are you all right?”
He goes to her just as she begins to rise. They both settle on the sofa, thighs touching. Elizabeth places a gentle hand on Neal’s leg.
“No, not really. I couldn’t paint,” he says.
“Are you . . . do you want to talk about it?” She’s so hesitant with him, so careful, as if saying or doing the wrong thing will cause him to shatter. He should discourage this, tell her that he’s stronger than she gives him credit for, but he doesn’t.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Will talking help?”
“It might. We can talk through it together.”
Neal opens his mouth, and he tries, he really does, but thoughts and words evade him.
“Did you have a flashback? Maybe about that night?” Elizabeth asks.
He shakes his head no. Not a flashback, although the memories are never hidden too far from the surface of him.
Not a flashback, not really, but it’s almost too easy to allow those memories to slip through and rise to the surface. He unconsciously slips his hand under his shirt and rubs across one of the scars, tracing the edges of the letter w. The ordeal of that night had been horrific, but in the end he had survived it, and it had led to this, so in a strange sort of way he is grateful for it.
He recalls the pain, from hands and knife both. He recalls being terrified as he was left outside the castle, naked and alone after it had been done. And he recalls that the fear hadn’t been for himself, not really. He’d been terrified that he would never see Peter again; terrified that he would never find him in the sprawl of the city.
He gives a small gasp and looks at Elizabeth. “I think . . . I think I just miss Peter. I need Peter.”
“Oh honey.” She comes closer to him, bringing him to her now. Her hand caresses his hair, a soft, soothing motion. “I’m so sorry. I can try and contact him, see if he can come home early.”
As much as he wants that, as much as it sounds like heaven, he knows that he can’t have that now. Peter has a job to do, an important one at that, and he can’t simply leave at a moment’s notice because Neal is having a hard day.
“No, it’s fine. He just went back to work. He needs to be there. I can wait until he gets home.”
“What do you need in the meantime?” Elizabeth asks.
Neal pulls away, just enough to look into her blue eyes. He doesn’t really deserve this woman, but he today he feels selfish and he’ll take as much as he can get.
“You,” he says. “Just you.”
She seems to understand, holding him close. He doesn’t cry, although he’s tempted to give in to it, but something in him won’t let him give up that control.
So instead they settle in, and begin their wait for Peter to come home. For Peter to complete them both.
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