White Collar Fic: Let Us Live, Let Us Love
Aug. 1st, 2011 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Let Us Live, Let Us Love
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Peter/Elizabeth
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Poetry?
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: On the occasion oflionessvalenti’s birthday, a bit of anniversary schmoop.
Title from Catullus 5. No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
__________________
Peter wasn’t always the type of man who forgot birthdays and anniversaries. He didn’t start out as the absent-minded husband who got so caught up in his work that he forgot to call his wife and tell her how late he was running.
No, when Peter Burke got married, he was the model specimen of an attentive husband. He made lists, checked them frequently, marked his calendar six months in advance with reminders every few weeks.
It was easy when they were first married. Money was tight and expectations were simple. His father, a man whose wisdom he never doubted, said there was a reason why the first anniversary gift was traditionally paper – because that’s what newlyweds could afford.
His bride was a study in contradictions. She was as down-to-earth as a pioneer woman, as smart as Marie Curie, and more beautiful than a thousand supermodels. She wasn’t expecting extravagance, and Peter couldn’t afford anything extravagant anyway. But he wanted his first anniversary present to be something memorable.
One afternoon, coming off shift from a stakeout, he found himself in front of one of the largest of New York City’s independent booksellers. Although the idea of giving El a book seemed a little banal, maybe the vast store would have something special.
He was standing at the counter, hoping to get the attention of one of the sales clerks. He hated stores like this, where the staff was known for their overly dramatic self-absorption. There was a young woman in front of him, quietly arguing with one of the clerks. She was trying to sell them an old book.
Peter couldn’t help but hear the conversation.
“Look, it’s a hand bound copy of Catullus’ poetry. The pages are gilt-edged. The cover is lambskin.”
“And it’s filled with pornographic sketches.”
“Which should increase its value.”
“We don’t buy or sell pornography.” The clerk was adamant.
The woman, who was getting angry, gestured to a display of books about Willem De Kooning’s nudes. “Then what do you call that?”
The snotty clerk replied, “Art.”
“Look, I need a hundred dollars for it. It was printed in 1782, in Paris.”
“I don’t care if it was printed in 1492 in Germany by Guttenberg himself. We’re not buying it.”
The young woman, thoroughly dejected, walked out. In a moment of inspiration, Peter followed her back to the street.
“Miss? Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing.”
The woman – a girl really – turned around. She was pretty, but frazzled looked. “What.”
“Umm – have you thought about taking the book to an auction house or a rare book dealer?” Peter didn’t want to take advantage of her, he had to let know she had some options.
“Yeah – I did. But I need the money now. The best offer I got was a hundred bucks. But I didn’t like the guy. He wanted me to leave the book and said he’d get the money.” She looked at him with sudden suspicion. “What’s your interest?”
Peter hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Well, I’m looking to buy my wife a present for our first anniversary – you know – paper?” This could go so wrong in so many ways.
The girl smiled. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah.” A thought occurred to Peter. He could be buying stolen property. “Umm – where did you get the book?”
“It was my grandmother’s – actually my grandfather gave it to her. He was stationed in London during the war and found it in a bookshop there. He sent it home as a gift. She did the illustrations and gave it back to him as a welcome home present.”
Peter was charmed – this would be perfect. “Can I see it?”
The girl stiffened in wariness again. “How do I know you’re not going to run off with it?”
Peter did the only thing he could think of, he showed her his badge. “Look – here’s my card. If I run off with it, you can track me down.”
“FBI, huh?”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled, hoping she’d see him as the harmless sort.
“Well – okay. But let’s go into the coffee shop.” She tilted her head to the Starbucks on the corner.
Miraculously, they got a table, and the girl, who finally introduced herself as Julia, pulled the book out. It was just as she described, and Peter was awed by the beauty of it. The sketches inside were delicate and exquisitely rendered. And utterly pornographic in their detail.
He raised his eyebrows. “Your grandmother was very talented.”
“She was a professor of art history at Columbia and fluent in Greek and Latin. That’s why my grandfather knew she’d love the book.”
Peter closed it and put it back in its protective case. “Why are you selling it?”
“I have to eat, and besides – what am I going to do with it? It’s going to get wrecked or stolen in my dorm room.”
Peter had mentally budgeted fifty dollars for Elizabeth’s gift, plus a hundred for a good dinner at Donatella’s. “Would you take two hundred for it?” So he’d eat deviled ham sandwiches for the rest of the month.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Peter pulled out his wallet. He had just a hundred in cash, plus the hundred dollar bill he carried for emergencies.
Julia folded up the money and tucked it into her bra, Peter wrapped the book up and put it in his breast pocket.
“Does your wife read Latin?”
“No, but I do.” Peter smiled at the thought of sharing this with Elizabeth. Despite the illustrations, the poetry was more about the celebration of love than the mechanics of coupling.
They left the coffee shop. Julia was presumably heading back to her dorm room and Peter went down into the subway. He spent most of the ride thinking about getting Elizabeth naked and reading the poetry to her. He hoped she wouldn’t laugh at him, at least not too hard.
Then they could try out some of the positions that were illustrated.
Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love,
and all the words of the old, and so moral,
may they be worth less than nothing to us!
Suns may set, and suns may rise again:
but when our brief light has set,
night is one long everlasting sleep.
Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more,
another thousand, and another hundred,
and, when we’ve counted up the many thousands,
confuse them so as not to know them all,
so that no enemy may cast an evil eye,
by knowing that there were so many kisses.
Catullus 5
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Peter/Elizabeth
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Poetry?
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: On the occasion of
lionessvalenti’s birthday, a bit of anniversary schmoop. Title from Catullus 5. No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
Peter wasn’t always the type of man who forgot birthdays and anniversaries. He didn’t start out as the absent-minded husband who got so caught up in his work that he forgot to call his wife and tell her how late he was running.
No, when Peter Burke got married, he was the model specimen of an attentive husband. He made lists, checked them frequently, marked his calendar six months in advance with reminders every few weeks.
It was easy when they were first married. Money was tight and expectations were simple. His father, a man whose wisdom he never doubted, said there was a reason why the first anniversary gift was traditionally paper – because that’s what newlyweds could afford.
His bride was a study in contradictions. She was as down-to-earth as a pioneer woman, as smart as Marie Curie, and more beautiful than a thousand supermodels. She wasn’t expecting extravagance, and Peter couldn’t afford anything extravagant anyway. But he wanted his first anniversary present to be something memorable.
One afternoon, coming off shift from a stakeout, he found himself in front of one of the largest of New York City’s independent booksellers. Although the idea of giving El a book seemed a little banal, maybe the vast store would have something special.
He was standing at the counter, hoping to get the attention of one of the sales clerks. He hated stores like this, where the staff was known for their overly dramatic self-absorption. There was a young woman in front of him, quietly arguing with one of the clerks. She was trying to sell them an old book.
Peter couldn’t help but hear the conversation.
“Look, it’s a hand bound copy of Catullus’ poetry. The pages are gilt-edged. The cover is lambskin.”
“And it’s filled with pornographic sketches.”
“Which should increase its value.”
“We don’t buy or sell pornography.” The clerk was adamant.
The woman, who was getting angry, gestured to a display of books about Willem De Kooning’s nudes. “Then what do you call that?”
The snotty clerk replied, “Art.”
“Look, I need a hundred dollars for it. It was printed in 1782, in Paris.”
“I don’t care if it was printed in 1492 in Germany by Guttenberg himself. We’re not buying it.”
The young woman, thoroughly dejected, walked out. In a moment of inspiration, Peter followed her back to the street.
“Miss? Excuse me, I couldn’t help overhearing.”
The woman – a girl really – turned around. She was pretty, but frazzled looked. “What.”
“Umm – have you thought about taking the book to an auction house or a rare book dealer?” Peter didn’t want to take advantage of her, he had to let know she had some options.
“Yeah – I did. But I need the money now. The best offer I got was a hundred bucks. But I didn’t like the guy. He wanted me to leave the book and said he’d get the money.” She looked at him with sudden suspicion. “What’s your interest?”
Peter hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Well, I’m looking to buy my wife a present for our first anniversary – you know – paper?” This could go so wrong in so many ways.
The girl smiled. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah.” A thought occurred to Peter. He could be buying stolen property. “Umm – where did you get the book?”
“It was my grandmother’s – actually my grandfather gave it to her. He was stationed in London during the war and found it in a bookshop there. He sent it home as a gift. She did the illustrations and gave it back to him as a welcome home present.”
Peter was charmed – this would be perfect. “Can I see it?”
The girl stiffened in wariness again. “How do I know you’re not going to run off with it?”
Peter did the only thing he could think of, he showed her his badge. “Look – here’s my card. If I run off with it, you can track me down.”
“FBI, huh?”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled, hoping she’d see him as the harmless sort.
“Well – okay. But let’s go into the coffee shop.” She tilted her head to the Starbucks on the corner.
Miraculously, they got a table, and the girl, who finally introduced herself as Julia, pulled the book out. It was just as she described, and Peter was awed by the beauty of it. The sketches inside were delicate and exquisitely rendered. And utterly pornographic in their detail.
He raised his eyebrows. “Your grandmother was very talented.”
“She was a professor of art history at Columbia and fluent in Greek and Latin. That’s why my grandfather knew she’d love the book.”
Peter closed it and put it back in its protective case. “Why are you selling it?”
“I have to eat, and besides – what am I going to do with it? It’s going to get wrecked or stolen in my dorm room.”
Peter had mentally budgeted fifty dollars for Elizabeth’s gift, plus a hundred for a good dinner at Donatella’s. “Would you take two hundred for it?” So he’d eat deviled ham sandwiches for the rest of the month.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Peter pulled out his wallet. He had just a hundred in cash, plus the hundred dollar bill he carried for emergencies.
Julia folded up the money and tucked it into her bra, Peter wrapped the book up and put it in his breast pocket.
“Does your wife read Latin?”
“No, but I do.” Peter smiled at the thought of sharing this with Elizabeth. Despite the illustrations, the poetry was more about the celebration of love than the mechanics of coupling.
They left the coffee shop. Julia was presumably heading back to her dorm room and Peter went down into the subway. He spent most of the ride thinking about getting Elizabeth naked and reading the poetry to her. He hoped she wouldn’t laugh at him, at least not too hard.
Then they could try out some of the positions that were illustrated.
and all the words of the old, and so moral,
may they be worth less than nothing to us!
Suns may set, and suns may rise again:
but when our brief light has set,
night is one long everlasting sleep.
Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more,
another thousand, and another hundred,
and, when we’ve counted up the many thousands,
confuse them so as not to know them all,
so that no enemy may cast an evil eye,
by knowing that there were so many kisses.
Catullus 5
no subject
Date: 2011-08-02 02:43 pm (UTC)He'd kiss her tears away and then they would have a merry old time trying some of the positions sketched out.
Thank you!