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elrhiarhodanTitle: Fortune's Just a One-Night Stand – Part Six
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Elizabeth Mitchell, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Vincent Adler, Daniel Picah, mention of other canon characters in minor non-canon settings.
Pairings: Peter/Neal, Neal/Daniel, Peter/Adler, Adler/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Prostitution, rape, Domination/submission, dubious consent, fuck-or-die scenario, use of gender-specific insults
Word Count: ~56,000
Beta Credit:jrosemary, theatregirl7299 and hoosierbitch
Summary: In some alternate universe, Peter Burke is a wealthy and bored financial advisor and discovers that one of his clients, Elizabeth Mitchell, is using her event planning business to launder profits from an escort service catering to the wealthy gay elite in New York. Instead of turning her in, he asks her to hire him. Neal Caffrey has been recently released from a four-year sentence for bond forgery and learns that his girlfriend, Kate has married his old boyfriend, Matthew Keller and they’ve taken off for parts unknown. Determined not to return to prison, Neal turns to his friend, Mozzie, for help. Moz knows a guy – or in this case – a gal who’s willing to hire Neal. As an escort.
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PART FIVE - ON LJ | ON DW
When Neal had asked El to set him up with Adler, it was something of a Hail Mary play. He hadn’t expected her to call him fifteen minutes after he left her.
“I’ve sold you to Adler.”
What a terrible choice of words.
“Actually, he seems quite eager to meet you. Meet Nick Halden.”
“Ah, good, when?” He was still walking to his studio and the cold was stealing his breath.
“Tonight. You’ll go to his apartment.” She gave him the address. It was a new one since Neal had been Nick and sat – literally and metaphorically – at Vincent’s feet. “Look sharp, he’s going to take you to dinner and will want to show you off. But I don’t need to tell you that – you’d look good in an orange jumpsuit.”
“Very funny, Elizabeth.” He had to ask. “And after dinner, any plans?”
“He didn’t say, but you’ll know what to do and what not to do.”
“Yeah. Thanks for this.”
She rang off and instead of continuing to his studio, Neal headed towards the subway and home. Tonight was too important not to be prepared in every possible way. At seven-thirty sharp, he presented himself at the door of Adler’s Central Park West penthouse. The predatory look in Vincent’s eyes was as chilling as it was compelling.
But he didn’t say anything to Neal about the past, at least not then and not through dinner at one of New York’s five-star restaurants. Vincent gave him an arched look or two, but that was it. The conversation was neutral to the point of stultifying. Neal was patient, he knew that the evening and its entertainment would begin when they got back, when Vincent would hand him a snifter of brandy and take one for himself.
He wasn’t wrong.
“I remember when you first worked for me.” Vincent was relaxed, but his voice was husky from arousal. “You were so beautiful – young, intelligent, impressionable. A man barely past boyhood, and already smarter than all of the Ivy League ass lickers I had on my payroll combined. You were a sponge, soaking up everything that I told you, and I never had to tell you anything twice. And there were times that I didn’t even need to tell you anything once – you could anticipate my needs, my desires. You enjoyed it.”
Neal shivered at the memory. Adler was right, he had relished his position as right-hand-man, seeing to Vincent’s every need and desire. Every desire.
The trip down memory lane continued. “That’s what made you, in your cheap clothes and resoled shoes, something worth investing in. A few handmade suits, some lessons in the finer things in life, access to my pretty assistant on a regular basis. You were so easy to keep happy, like some goddamned Iowa farm boy on his first trip to the big city. You were even easier to corrupt.”
Neal kept his own expression cool, as if he were only vaguely interested in what Vincent had to say.
“Pity that it was all a lie. I knew that Nick Halden was about as real as the contents of that bottle of ‘82 Bordeaux you gave me. It took less than two days to get through the tin foil and tissue paper that ‘Nick’ had used to create his identity. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Nick Halden wasn’t an up-and-coming young businessman, but Neal Caffrey, forger nonpareil and small time grifter with a taste for antiquities and the finer things in life.”
He raised his glass in a toast to Neal. “I have to give it to you – it takes a lot to get into my organization and you managed it brilliantly. I was so tempted to keep you on, make Nick real. To make Neal disappear forever.”
That surprised Neal. “So why didn’t you?”
“The FBI was after Neal Caffrey, and they weren’t going to let you go so easily. I would have had to make your case go away.”
“How would you have done that?” Neal was curious. He knew Vincent had juice – he’d seen him pull the strings and make very powerful people dance to his tune.
“A few ways – the easiest would have been to have the case agent taken out.”
“You would have put a hit on an FBI agent?” Neal was appalled. Murder had never seemed Adler’s style.
“In some ways, you are still so pedestrian, Neal. That would have been the last resort. No – she would have been transferred to someplace less salubrious to her career and your file buried before her replacement had his first cup of coffee.”
Her. Vincent wasn’t bluffing – he knew that Diana Berrigan had been on him like a terrier after a rat, and just as relentless. “Ah. So why didn’t you?”
“My research was very thorough. Your agent was a little too well connected, has family in the State Department. She would have made a stink about getting reposted to some outpost in flyover country. It was just easier to let your little con game play out and then cut you lose. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a good time with the lovely, delectable, and oh-so-willing Mr. Halden in the meanwhile.”
Neal swallowed against the sour taste of his memories. He had been willing, he had been eager, and in that eagerness, complicit to his own moral destruction.
Vincent was still caught up in his own memories. “You know, I was almost sorry that young Nick had been so willing. Maybe if he’d played a little hard to get, maybe if you’d been a little more of a challenge to corrupt, I would have kept you on.” He licked his lips, his tongue snake-like.
“Even so, I had so much fun with Nick, with you. Leading you on, making you my very own creature. You would have given it all up for me, the con, the lies, even Kate if I asked you to. You loved belonging to me, and you did. I branded myself on you.” Adler looked at him, eyes piercing – as if they were x-rays into his soul. “I still own you, all I have to do is call and you come running. Like a dog to a bitch in heat.”
In that moment, Neal realized that Adler didn’t have the same hold over him. Yes, there was a part of him that would always respond to a display of power, dominance. Something in him relished giving over control to someone stronger. No, to someone better, and Vincent Adler wasn’t better – he was a bully and a thug in a good suit. The only hold that the man had over him was what Neal chose to give him, and right now, he wasn’t going to give him anything more than what he was paid for. He found his voice, his will, and he remembered why he was here.
Still relaxed, still nonchalant, he commented, “Actually, Vincent, I’m here because you’ve bought me for an evening. I’m not here because of some twisted metaphysical connection to you. You had it right when we met a few weeks back. I’m a whore, I am paid to fuck and you’re paying me very well. No need to dress it up in pretty clothes. You like whores, you enjoy paying for sex. I like getting paid, nothing wrong with that. You even called it the other night.”
Neal leaned back, watching the anger flare in Adler’s eyes.
It was so clear that his former mentor, his client didn’t like when the tables were turned. “Yes, well. That is true. And you are a very beautiful whore.”
“Thank you.” Neal inclined his head, a regal gesture. “I remember what you like.” He stood up, took off his jacket and started to undo his tie, then his shirt. Adler licked his lips again, but the gesture seemed one of nerves.
“For a whore, you’re very forward.”
“Hmm, you don’t like this? You don’t want this?” Neal ghosted a hand down his chest.
Vincent stood up, they were eye to eye. “You’ve grown up, Neal. You’ve changed. Gotten harder.”
“Life has a way of doing that.” He continued to work the buttons of his shirt loose.
“So it does. We all change. We all grow and want different things.” Vincent pushed his hands away. “I like the old games, true, but you’re so much more than that callow young man who worshipped me. Maybe it’s time we found some new games?”
“New games, Vincent? The way I remember it, there was nothing we didn’t do – no kink too perverted for you to try out, no abasement too extreme for me to endure and enjoy.”
The smile on Adler’s face worried Neal – it was one of fondness, one that a man who genuinely cared for another human being might wear. It was not a smile that ever graced this man’s mouth – at least not that Neal had seen.
“That’s what I mean, Neal. Maybe we were too extreme? Maybe we should just enjoy the moment. Forget the past, our past; forget the kink and the toys and the perversions.”
“You want plain vanilla?” Neal didn’t bother to hide his incredulity. “You’d be bored in five minutes.”
“Maybe, but I’m not afraid to try.” Adler ran a hand from Neal’s shoulder to wrist, his fingers resting against his pulse point. “You can’t tell me that you’re not intrigued. I can feel your heart racing.”
Of course, this was all a game. Neal wasn’t the least bit fooled by Adler’s volt-face. The man was trying to reassert control over the evening. If this was the game he wanted to play, then fine. He’d get his money’s worth.
“I’ve always admired you, you know that. Take away everything else, there was always that.” Neal ducked his head, pretending shyness.
“And I have never lost my fondness for you – you were always my favorite protégé. Like I told you earlier, I wanted to keep you but circumstances made that impossible. Now I can’t help but wonder what a power you would have been if things had gone differently.” Vincent tucked a finger under Neal’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
Neal wasn’t surprised at the triumph he saw there. He could use that. “I’ve missed you, too. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.” Lies upon lies, but useful ones.
“Ah, my beautiful, beautiful boy. You’re here, back where you belong. You’re mine and you won’t forget that ever again.”
I’m yours for the night, you bastard. I’m yours for the five grand you’ve paid Elizabeth and the three grand in cash that’s on the bar. I’m an expensive fuck and you’re getting your money’s worth. He didn’t say that. He just opened his lips and let Adler kiss him; let him stick his tongue in his mouth. He moaned because, yes, it felt good and there was no need to fake desire. It was no worse than having sex with Daniel or Steven or Patrick. Vincent was a client just like every other man – everyone except Peter.
Hands stole beneath his shirt, hot and eager. Adler started kissing his jaw, his throat, his neck, his shoulder, all the while crooning words of praise and affection. Whatever Neal replied with must have satisfied him, because Vincent took his hand and led him back towards the bedroom. Neal went willingly. He needed to keep Peter away from Adler, and this was the only way to do it.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It felt strange not to be out on a Wednesday night. Wednesdays had been Adler’s for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like not to have to go out. Of course, there had be the rare weeks that Adler had been traveling and Peter had stayed in New York, but that didn’t happen too often and never two weeks in a row.
El had booked him for a job tomorrow night, and that was going to be strange, too. He had made it a point of never working back-to-back nights, so Thursdays were almost always spent at home. Now his schedule was reversed. He was a creature of habit and the change was disconcerting.
A little after eleven, he got ready for bed. But Peter wasn’t tired and he couldn’t relax. He thought about jerking off, which might take the physical edge off, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t still an unquiet mind.
Peter knew that he was fast approaching the crossroads to his life.
He had started working as an escort because he was bored and lonely, and in a moment of frank reflection, depressed. He had never been ashamed of who and what he was, but maybe he never felt like his skin fit. There were certain expectations about being wealthy and gay in New York – that he was supposed to flirt and dance and fuck with abandon. But just as the AIDS crisis, which erupted when he was coming of age, deepened a well-bred natural caution, the humiliation of his one long-term relationship calcified his heart.
In retrospect, it all seemed kind of ridiculous; becoming a prostitute because he was too scared to open himself up to the possibility of getting hurt. All those months ago, when he had met with El after that single, fabulous night with “Nick”, and she said he was close to quitting, she was right. He was done, but not because he didn’t want to be arm candy for the rich and useless any longer, but because maybe he was finally ready to admit that he needed more out of life.
He was sure of it, now. Cutting ties with Adler cinched it. He didn’t need the money and he had someone in his life that he cared about. He didn’t want to leave Elizabeth in the lurch, but this was his life. He’d finish the jobs she’d booked for him and that would be it.
But what about Neal? He couldn’t help but want Neal to leave the life, too. In a moment of complete self-honesty, he had to admit that he didn’t like the idea of another man touching Neal. But he also had to admit that it wasn’t his choice. Neal was a grown man in a unique situation. All his talents, all his brains, all of that sparkling intelligence were dismissed because of his past. Finding meaningful employment with a felony conviction, not to mention those four years at one of the most notorious prisons in the country, was probably impossible.
He wanted to tell Neal to quit, that he’d support him so he could focus on his art, but he was afraid to. Every month, Neal handed him a check for his share of the monthly maintenance with pride. It was clear to Peter that his partner needed to be self-supporting and right now, working as an escort seemed to be the best way to do that. Just because he didn’t like that other men touched Neal didn’t mean he had the right to insist that Neal quit.
But maybe they should talk about it. Maybe if he told Neal he was leaving the life, Neal would follow suit. Maybe if he stretched himself, used some of his old contacts, maybe he could find Neal work that didn’t involve taking showers in other men’s bathrooms three nights a week.
Peter checked the time, it was almost one and Neal probably wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. He thought it unusual that Neal was working tonight – he usually went out with a friend, although he was a little cagey about just who that friend was and what they did. Peter, very conscious of lines and boundaries, didn’t press about who he was with or where he went. He didn’t worry either, most Wednesdays Neal was free to meet him at their usual spot after his date with Adler was over.
There was no point trying to sleep now, his brain was too busy and even if he managed to fall asleep, he’d only wake up when Neal got home. Peter turned on the lamp, put on his cheaters and reached for the book he’d been reading on and off for the past few weeks, A.B. Tattersall’s Snap of the Twig. It was supposed to be a gripping mystery, but Peter found it pretentious and overly stylized. He figured out the crime within the first fifty pages, but continued to slog through it.
A slow ninety minutes later, he heard the lock turn and the front door open and shut. A few quiet beeps and the alarm was set.
“Peter, why are you still up?” Neal’s voice had a bit of an edge to it. Not really anger, but something.
“Couldn’t sleep and it was late enough that I figured that I’d wait up for you. I guess I’m too much of a night owl.”
Neal started to undress, tossing his suit on the club chair in the corner. “Then I’m in good company.” He twisted his head and the tendons in his neck popped audibly. “I need to shower, be back in a few.”
“You didn’t before you left?” Peter wondered how Neal’s evening ended – if it was just a social event.
“No – honestly, it’s too cold to go outside with wet hair. Hope that’s not a problem?”
“No, of course not.” Peter had to wonder at the oddly stilted nature of this conversation. Maybe it was just the hour. “Go shower, I’ll take care of your stuff.”
Neal smiled at him and went to the bathroom.
Peter tossed back the covers, put the book and his glasses on the night table and went to hang up Neal’s suit. In the few weeks since Lake George, they’d gotten into the habit of doing things like this, especially on nights when one worked and the other didn’t.
It was amazing how easily they had slipped into roles of caring for each other – even when they were just sharing an apartment. Peter liked it; it made him feel like a married man, one who’d been with his partner for half a lifetime. He could see himself with Neal down the long road.
Peter hung up Neal’s suit jacket, checking the pockets, putting his phone and wallet on the dresser. The tie was fine, and he rolled it up and added it to the collection in the bureau they shared. Without thinking Peter did a sniff-test on Neal’s shirt, and his happy train of thought stopped cold.
He knew that odor; it was the scent of another man’s cologne. And not just any man’s – it belonged to someone he knew well. Someone who had his scents custom blended.
Vincent Adler.
What the hell was Neal doing with Adler?
Peter dismissed that question out of hand. Adler needed a date, he called Elizabeth and she set him up with Neal. Objectively, they made a very good match. Both men were smart, well-bred (and whatever Neal’s background was, he carried himself like a prince), had refined tastes, and Peter knew from experience, that Vincent would find Neal an exquisite bed companion.
But it didn’t mean he had to like it. And in truth, he found it disturbing and repulsive. He balled the shirt up and stuffed it into the bag for the dry cleaners and fought the urge to go into the bathroom and scrub Neal clean.
Things clicked together, the strain in Neal’s voice when he came in, his odd behavior about not showering. Peter wondered just what Vincent did to him.
He stood there, holding the laundry bag, brain whirling with so many ugly possibilities. He might have stood there all night but the sound of the pipes creaking as the shower turned off broke him out of his stasis. Neal came back into the bedroom, a towel around his waist and he was using another one to rub dry his hair.
“You okay?”
Peter tossed the laundry bag back into the closet. “Yeah, fine. Just got tired.”
Neal reached around him and grabbed his sleep pants, brushing a minty kiss against his lips. “Then let’s go to sleep. It’s already tomorrow.”
He got into bed and Peter followed. As Neal settled against him – back resting against his chest, buttocks against his groin, Peter worked to put his fears away. But he had to ask, “You okay, Neal?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Peter might have imagined it, but as his partner snuggled deeper into his embrace, he thought he heard him say “Now”.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Diana cursed the cold as she waited for Neal Caffrey to leave his apartment. The heater was on, her feet were warm enough, but with the window open, her face and torso were freezing. If she closed the window, it would fog up and she’d see nothing. She’d been here since nine, she’d seen Peter Burke leave and come back, with a bag from the local bagel shop, and her mouth watered at the thought of a fresh, hot cinnamon raisin bagel, slathered in butter.
She could have approached him, but her intel and their only prior encounter told her that he wouldn’t be receptive to anything she had to say.
She’d give it another half hour and head back to the office.
Bingo, there he was, unmistakable in that black felt trilby. She rolled up the window and got out of her car, dodging traffic to catch up with her target. “Neal, Neal Caffrey. Wait a moment.”
He heard her, and thankfully stopped. “Well, well, well – what brings you around again, like a bad penny?”
“Can we talk? Someplace warmer?”
Neal shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Sure, there’s a coffee shop on the next block.”
They didn’t talk as they walked, it was too damn cold to do both. Walking into the promised coffee shop, the blast of warm air was almost painfully hot on her icy cheeks. Neal led her to the back, to a booth that afforded them some privacy. A waitress, still sporting a red and white Santa cap, came by to take their order.
Diana didn’t care about the quality of the coffee, as long as it was hot. She ordered hers light and sweet and waited for Neal to make a comment; he didn’t. He ordered his black and raised an eyebrow at her.
She waited for their order to arrive and the waitress to leave before saying anything. “Happy New Year, Neal.”
“You mean you’ve had my building under surveillance for half a day just to wish me a happy New Year?”
She wasn’t surprised that Neal knew she been watching. “Well, I’ve always liked you.”
“I hope so. You chased me for three years. I sent you birthday cards for four years. We’ve bonded.” Neal’s tone was gently sarcastic.
“So, truce?”
“It depends. Are you still thinking I’m your prime suspect for those slash-and-grabs?”
Diana laughed. With everything, she had forgotten about that. “Actually, we’ve arrested a suspect. A whole bunch of suspects.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Turns out that it was a gang of college students – they were stealing on orders from their criminology professor.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Nope, not at all. We started seeing some forgeries pop up in the international art market, took a look at the gallery guest books and tracked a few of the visitors back to East Side University. They were all taking the same class. Didn’t take much to get them to crack. Young, stupid and too caught up in the thrill of it all. Once they realized they’d be facing hard time, the operation folded like a house of cards and they gave up their professor on a platter.”
“The artwork?”
“Of course you’d be interested in that. We got everything back and the damage to the canvases was minimal.”
“Good.” Neal took a sip of his coffee and made a face before reaching for the sugar. “So, you were waiting in sub-zero temperatures to apologize? Why not just come in and ring the bell?”
“Actually, Neal – that’s not why I need to see you. And I didn’t want to run into your apartment mate. Peter, right?”
Neal nodded.
Diana cut to the chase. She reached into her purse and pulled out two folders, checking one before handing it to Neal. “Tell me about Vincent Adler and why the hell you’re in this picture?”
Neal opened the file, and she couldn’t read anything in his expression. The picture in the file was an old one – from the early oughts and Neal was in his very early twenties, all floppy hair and serious eyes. He looked like he was ready to yank the camera out of the photographer’s hands.
“How did you find this?”
“The question I have to ask is how did I not know that you were associated with Adler. I knew everything about you back then.”
“Not everything, obviously.”
“I knew your shoe size, what you ate for breakfast and the fact that you never graduated high school, despite having a perfect GPA and a full scholarship at Harvard. This –” She tapped the photo, “I knew nothing about.”
Neal shook his head, turned and looked out the window before meeting her eyes. “For a short space of time – six months or so – I worked for Vincent Adler as his Vice President of Acquisitions. It was a very meteoric rise and an equally dramatic fall.”
“Care to tell me about it?”
“No, not really. But why do you want to know?”
Diana debated with herself. She had a gut feeling that if she played it straight with Caffrey, she might just get somewhere. “I’m investigating him. Justice thinks he’s dirty, involved in everything from commodities manipulation to selling arms to Iraq and nuclear fission technology to the Iranians, but we’ve never been able to get close.”
“So, you found that picture when you were digging through some old files?”
“No, not really. I found it because I was looking for pictures of Adler with this man. Who I think you know.” Diana opened the other folder, the one with the picture of Peter Burke sitting next to Vincent Adler at the Ballet gala.
Neal turned icy pale, his lips thinned. He was furious. “You keep away from Peter. He’s got nothing to do with Adler.”
“I am not so sure about that, Neal. How long have you known this guy? A few months?”
“Long enough to know that Peter Burke is not involved in any of Adler’s schemes.”
“Then what is his relationship with him? Because it looks to me like they are quite involved.” Diana tapped the photo were Adler’s hand covered Peter’s.
“What I tell you – you have to promise me that it goes no further.” Neal leaned over the table, his eyes blazing.
Diana pulled out her badge and placed it on the table. “As long as that’s there – you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Neal looked at it, looked back at her and let a smile twist his lips. “I’m trusting you – you’ve never played me for a fool.”
“And I’m not starting now.”
“Your parents are diplomats, right?”
“My father’s with the State Department.”
“Your mother, she moves in the social circles. Charities and fundraisers, all the good and worthy causes?”
“Yeah – she does.”
“And I bet your dad doesn’t squire her around to all the events.”
“No.” She knew where this was going. “You mean to tell me that Vincent Adler hires walkers?”
“It’s a little different for men. But yeah.”
“So, your friend Peter’s just a convenience?”
Neal clearly didn’t like that adjective. “He has a job to do and does it very well.”
“He’s also a licensed CPA and financial planner with an impressive resume and more impressive portfolio. Seems to me that he’s the type of guy who’d be hiring an escort, not working as one.”
Neal shrugged. “Peter’s reasons for doing what he does are his own. I do know that just before Christmas, Adler terminated their ‘relationship.’ Peter’s not seeing him anymore.”
“Why should I believe you. You’re obviously protective of Peter Burke, you’d lie to keep me out of his life.”
“I’m not lying. And I know that his services aren’t required by Adler anymore because he’s my client now.”
There was little affect in Neal’s last sentence, and the lack of emotion told her a lot. “You’re doing outcall, too.”
A thin, mean smile graced Caffrey’s lips. “You’ve called it, Agent Berrigan. There’s a public side and a private side. The private side is between me and my client, the public side is fully reported and taxed at the appropriate rates.”
“I don’t care about your goddamned taxes, Neal. You’re a prostitute!”
“And keep your goddamned voice down. I live in this neighborhood.”
Diana shook her head, actually angry that Neal Caffrey, one of the most brilliant men she had ever met, was reduced to this.
“I don’t answer to you, Agent Berrigan. It’s a job and I’m good at it. No one gets hurt and everyone goes home satisfied.”
“I can still think it’s a waste of your talents.”
“Really, what would you have me do? Scrub out toilets, empty the trash in office buildings? Because I couldn’t even get a job at MacDonald’s with a felony record. I earn enough in a week to live the very good life. I have fun and I make people happy, so what the fuck is wrong with that? You have no right to judge me.” Neal stood up and reached for his wallet. “Coffee’s on me.”
Diana cursed at herself, this went bad way too quickly. She did the only thing she could think of. She apologized. “You’re right, I have no right to judge you and if this keeps you on the right side of the law, then I should applaud your choice, not belittle it. I need your help, please.”
Neal looked like he was still about to flee. “You’re going to take Adler down?”
“I want to bury him.”
“Then I want to help you.” Neal sat.
“You can start by telling me everything you know about the Adler organization.”
END PART SIX - GO TO PART SEVEN - ON LJ | ON DW
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Mozzie, Elizabeth Mitchell, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Vincent Adler, Daniel Picah, mention of other canon characters in minor non-canon settings.
Pairings: Peter/Neal, Neal/Daniel, Peter/Adler, Adler/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Prostitution, rape, Domination/submission, dubious consent, fuck-or-die scenario, use of gender-specific insults
Word Count: ~56,000
Beta Credit:
jrosemary, theatregirl7299 and hoosierbitch Summary: In some alternate universe, Peter Burke is a wealthy and bored financial advisor and discovers that one of his clients, Elizabeth Mitchell, is using her event planning business to launder profits from an escort service catering to the wealthy gay elite in New York. Instead of turning her in, he asks her to hire him. Neal Caffrey has been recently released from a four-year sentence for bond forgery and learns that his girlfriend, Kate has married his old boyfriend, Matthew Keller and they’ve taken off for parts unknown. Determined not to return to prison, Neal turns to his friend, Mozzie, for help. Moz knows a guy – or in this case – a gal who’s willing to hire Neal. As an escort.
PART FIVE - ON LJ | ON DW
When Neal had asked El to set him up with Adler, it was something of a Hail Mary play. He hadn’t expected her to call him fifteen minutes after he left her.
“I’ve sold you to Adler.”
What a terrible choice of words.
“Actually, he seems quite eager to meet you. Meet Nick Halden.”
“Ah, good, when?” He was still walking to his studio and the cold was stealing his breath.
“Tonight. You’ll go to his apartment.” She gave him the address. It was a new one since Neal had been Nick and sat – literally and metaphorically – at Vincent’s feet. “Look sharp, he’s going to take you to dinner and will want to show you off. But I don’t need to tell you that – you’d look good in an orange jumpsuit.”
“Very funny, Elizabeth.” He had to ask. “And after dinner, any plans?”
“He didn’t say, but you’ll know what to do and what not to do.”
“Yeah. Thanks for this.”
She rang off and instead of continuing to his studio, Neal headed towards the subway and home. Tonight was too important not to be prepared in every possible way. At seven-thirty sharp, he presented himself at the door of Adler’s Central Park West penthouse. The predatory look in Vincent’s eyes was as chilling as it was compelling.
But he didn’t say anything to Neal about the past, at least not then and not through dinner at one of New York’s five-star restaurants. Vincent gave him an arched look or two, but that was it. The conversation was neutral to the point of stultifying. Neal was patient, he knew that the evening and its entertainment would begin when they got back, when Vincent would hand him a snifter of brandy and take one for himself.
He wasn’t wrong.
“I remember when you first worked for me.” Vincent was relaxed, but his voice was husky from arousal. “You were so beautiful – young, intelligent, impressionable. A man barely past boyhood, and already smarter than all of the Ivy League ass lickers I had on my payroll combined. You were a sponge, soaking up everything that I told you, and I never had to tell you anything twice. And there were times that I didn’t even need to tell you anything once – you could anticipate my needs, my desires. You enjoyed it.”
Neal shivered at the memory. Adler was right, he had relished his position as right-hand-man, seeing to Vincent’s every need and desire. Every desire.
The trip down memory lane continued. “That’s what made you, in your cheap clothes and resoled shoes, something worth investing in. A few handmade suits, some lessons in the finer things in life, access to my pretty assistant on a regular basis. You were so easy to keep happy, like some goddamned Iowa farm boy on his first trip to the big city. You were even easier to corrupt.”
Neal kept his own expression cool, as if he were only vaguely interested in what Vincent had to say.
“Pity that it was all a lie. I knew that Nick Halden was about as real as the contents of that bottle of ‘82 Bordeaux you gave me. It took less than two days to get through the tin foil and tissue paper that ‘Nick’ had used to create his identity. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Nick Halden wasn’t an up-and-coming young businessman, but Neal Caffrey, forger nonpareil and small time grifter with a taste for antiquities and the finer things in life.”
He raised his glass in a toast to Neal. “I have to give it to you – it takes a lot to get into my organization and you managed it brilliantly. I was so tempted to keep you on, make Nick real. To make Neal disappear forever.”
That surprised Neal. “So why didn’t you?”
“The FBI was after Neal Caffrey, and they weren’t going to let you go so easily. I would have had to make your case go away.”
“How would you have done that?” Neal was curious. He knew Vincent had juice – he’d seen him pull the strings and make very powerful people dance to his tune.
“A few ways – the easiest would have been to have the case agent taken out.”
“You would have put a hit on an FBI agent?” Neal was appalled. Murder had never seemed Adler’s style.
“In some ways, you are still so pedestrian, Neal. That would have been the last resort. No – she would have been transferred to someplace less salubrious to her career and your file buried before her replacement had his first cup of coffee.”
Her. Vincent wasn’t bluffing – he knew that Diana Berrigan had been on him like a terrier after a rat, and just as relentless. “Ah. So why didn’t you?”
“My research was very thorough. Your agent was a little too well connected, has family in the State Department. She would have made a stink about getting reposted to some outpost in flyover country. It was just easier to let your little con game play out and then cut you lose. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a good time with the lovely, delectable, and oh-so-willing Mr. Halden in the meanwhile.”
Neal swallowed against the sour taste of his memories. He had been willing, he had been eager, and in that eagerness, complicit to his own moral destruction.
Vincent was still caught up in his own memories. “You know, I was almost sorry that young Nick had been so willing. Maybe if he’d played a little hard to get, maybe if you’d been a little more of a challenge to corrupt, I would have kept you on.” He licked his lips, his tongue snake-like.
“Even so, I had so much fun with Nick, with you. Leading you on, making you my very own creature. You would have given it all up for me, the con, the lies, even Kate if I asked you to. You loved belonging to me, and you did. I branded myself on you.” Adler looked at him, eyes piercing – as if they were x-rays into his soul. “I still own you, all I have to do is call and you come running. Like a dog to a bitch in heat.”
In that moment, Neal realized that Adler didn’t have the same hold over him. Yes, there was a part of him that would always respond to a display of power, dominance. Something in him relished giving over control to someone stronger. No, to someone better, and Vincent Adler wasn’t better – he was a bully and a thug in a good suit. The only hold that the man had over him was what Neal chose to give him, and right now, he wasn’t going to give him anything more than what he was paid for. He found his voice, his will, and he remembered why he was here.
Still relaxed, still nonchalant, he commented, “Actually, Vincent, I’m here because you’ve bought me for an evening. I’m not here because of some twisted metaphysical connection to you. You had it right when we met a few weeks back. I’m a whore, I am paid to fuck and you’re paying me very well. No need to dress it up in pretty clothes. You like whores, you enjoy paying for sex. I like getting paid, nothing wrong with that. You even called it the other night.”
Neal leaned back, watching the anger flare in Adler’s eyes.
It was so clear that his former mentor, his client didn’t like when the tables were turned. “Yes, well. That is true. And you are a very beautiful whore.”
“Thank you.” Neal inclined his head, a regal gesture. “I remember what you like.” He stood up, took off his jacket and started to undo his tie, then his shirt. Adler licked his lips again, but the gesture seemed one of nerves.
“For a whore, you’re very forward.”
“Hmm, you don’t like this? You don’t want this?” Neal ghosted a hand down his chest.
Vincent stood up, they were eye to eye. “You’ve grown up, Neal. You’ve changed. Gotten harder.”
“Life has a way of doing that.” He continued to work the buttons of his shirt loose.
“So it does. We all change. We all grow and want different things.” Vincent pushed his hands away. “I like the old games, true, but you’re so much more than that callow young man who worshipped me. Maybe it’s time we found some new games?”
“New games, Vincent? The way I remember it, there was nothing we didn’t do – no kink too perverted for you to try out, no abasement too extreme for me to endure and enjoy.”
The smile on Adler’s face worried Neal – it was one of fondness, one that a man who genuinely cared for another human being might wear. It was not a smile that ever graced this man’s mouth – at least not that Neal had seen.
“That’s what I mean, Neal. Maybe we were too extreme? Maybe we should just enjoy the moment. Forget the past, our past; forget the kink and the toys and the perversions.”
“You want plain vanilla?” Neal didn’t bother to hide his incredulity. “You’d be bored in five minutes.”
“Maybe, but I’m not afraid to try.” Adler ran a hand from Neal’s shoulder to wrist, his fingers resting against his pulse point. “You can’t tell me that you’re not intrigued. I can feel your heart racing.”
Of course, this was all a game. Neal wasn’t the least bit fooled by Adler’s volt-face. The man was trying to reassert control over the evening. If this was the game he wanted to play, then fine. He’d get his money’s worth.
“I’ve always admired you, you know that. Take away everything else, there was always that.” Neal ducked his head, pretending shyness.
“And I have never lost my fondness for you – you were always my favorite protégé. Like I told you earlier, I wanted to keep you but circumstances made that impossible. Now I can’t help but wonder what a power you would have been if things had gone differently.” Vincent tucked a finger under Neal’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
Neal wasn’t surprised at the triumph he saw there. He could use that. “I’ve missed you, too. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.” Lies upon lies, but useful ones.
“Ah, my beautiful, beautiful boy. You’re here, back where you belong. You’re mine and you won’t forget that ever again.”
I’m yours for the night, you bastard. I’m yours for the five grand you’ve paid Elizabeth and the three grand in cash that’s on the bar. I’m an expensive fuck and you’re getting your money’s worth. He didn’t say that. He just opened his lips and let Adler kiss him; let him stick his tongue in his mouth. He moaned because, yes, it felt good and there was no need to fake desire. It was no worse than having sex with Daniel or Steven or Patrick. Vincent was a client just like every other man – everyone except Peter.
Hands stole beneath his shirt, hot and eager. Adler started kissing his jaw, his throat, his neck, his shoulder, all the while crooning words of praise and affection. Whatever Neal replied with must have satisfied him, because Vincent took his hand and led him back towards the bedroom. Neal went willingly. He needed to keep Peter away from Adler, and this was the only way to do it.
It felt strange not to be out on a Wednesday night. Wednesdays had been Adler’s for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like not to have to go out. Of course, there had be the rare weeks that Adler had been traveling and Peter had stayed in New York, but that didn’t happen too often and never two weeks in a row.
El had booked him for a job tomorrow night, and that was going to be strange, too. He had made it a point of never working back-to-back nights, so Thursdays were almost always spent at home. Now his schedule was reversed. He was a creature of habit and the change was disconcerting.
A little after eleven, he got ready for bed. But Peter wasn’t tired and he couldn’t relax. He thought about jerking off, which might take the physical edge off, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t still an unquiet mind.
Peter knew that he was fast approaching the crossroads to his life.
He had started working as an escort because he was bored and lonely, and in a moment of frank reflection, depressed. He had never been ashamed of who and what he was, but maybe he never felt like his skin fit. There were certain expectations about being wealthy and gay in New York – that he was supposed to flirt and dance and fuck with abandon. But just as the AIDS crisis, which erupted when he was coming of age, deepened a well-bred natural caution, the humiliation of his one long-term relationship calcified his heart.
In retrospect, it all seemed kind of ridiculous; becoming a prostitute because he was too scared to open himself up to the possibility of getting hurt. All those months ago, when he had met with El after that single, fabulous night with “Nick”, and she said he was close to quitting, she was right. He was done, but not because he didn’t want to be arm candy for the rich and useless any longer, but because maybe he was finally ready to admit that he needed more out of life.
He was sure of it, now. Cutting ties with Adler cinched it. He didn’t need the money and he had someone in his life that he cared about. He didn’t want to leave Elizabeth in the lurch, but this was his life. He’d finish the jobs she’d booked for him and that would be it.
But what about Neal? He couldn’t help but want Neal to leave the life, too. In a moment of complete self-honesty, he had to admit that he didn’t like the idea of another man touching Neal. But he also had to admit that it wasn’t his choice. Neal was a grown man in a unique situation. All his talents, all his brains, all of that sparkling intelligence were dismissed because of his past. Finding meaningful employment with a felony conviction, not to mention those four years at one of the most notorious prisons in the country, was probably impossible.
He wanted to tell Neal to quit, that he’d support him so he could focus on his art, but he was afraid to. Every month, Neal handed him a check for his share of the monthly maintenance with pride. It was clear to Peter that his partner needed to be self-supporting and right now, working as an escort seemed to be the best way to do that. Just because he didn’t like that other men touched Neal didn’t mean he had the right to insist that Neal quit.
But maybe they should talk about it. Maybe if he told Neal he was leaving the life, Neal would follow suit. Maybe if he stretched himself, used some of his old contacts, maybe he could find Neal work that didn’t involve taking showers in other men’s bathrooms three nights a week.
Peter checked the time, it was almost one and Neal probably wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. He thought it unusual that Neal was working tonight – he usually went out with a friend, although he was a little cagey about just who that friend was and what they did. Peter, very conscious of lines and boundaries, didn’t press about who he was with or where he went. He didn’t worry either, most Wednesdays Neal was free to meet him at their usual spot after his date with Adler was over.
There was no point trying to sleep now, his brain was too busy and even if he managed to fall asleep, he’d only wake up when Neal got home. Peter turned on the lamp, put on his cheaters and reached for the book he’d been reading on and off for the past few weeks, A.B. Tattersall’s Snap of the Twig. It was supposed to be a gripping mystery, but Peter found it pretentious and overly stylized. He figured out the crime within the first fifty pages, but continued to slog through it.
A slow ninety minutes later, he heard the lock turn and the front door open and shut. A few quiet beeps and the alarm was set.
“Peter, why are you still up?” Neal’s voice had a bit of an edge to it. Not really anger, but something.
“Couldn’t sleep and it was late enough that I figured that I’d wait up for you. I guess I’m too much of a night owl.”
Neal started to undress, tossing his suit on the club chair in the corner. “Then I’m in good company.” He twisted his head and the tendons in his neck popped audibly. “I need to shower, be back in a few.”
“You didn’t before you left?” Peter wondered how Neal’s evening ended – if it was just a social event.
“No – honestly, it’s too cold to go outside with wet hair. Hope that’s not a problem?”
“No, of course not.” Peter had to wonder at the oddly stilted nature of this conversation. Maybe it was just the hour. “Go shower, I’ll take care of your stuff.”
Neal smiled at him and went to the bathroom.
Peter tossed back the covers, put the book and his glasses on the night table and went to hang up Neal’s suit. In the few weeks since Lake George, they’d gotten into the habit of doing things like this, especially on nights when one worked and the other didn’t.
It was amazing how easily they had slipped into roles of caring for each other – even when they were just sharing an apartment. Peter liked it; it made him feel like a married man, one who’d been with his partner for half a lifetime. He could see himself with Neal down the long road.
Peter hung up Neal’s suit jacket, checking the pockets, putting his phone and wallet on the dresser. The tie was fine, and he rolled it up and added it to the collection in the bureau they shared. Without thinking Peter did a sniff-test on Neal’s shirt, and his happy train of thought stopped cold.
He knew that odor; it was the scent of another man’s cologne. And not just any man’s – it belonged to someone he knew well. Someone who had his scents custom blended.
Vincent Adler.
What the hell was Neal doing with Adler?
Peter dismissed that question out of hand. Adler needed a date, he called Elizabeth and she set him up with Neal. Objectively, they made a very good match. Both men were smart, well-bred (and whatever Neal’s background was, he carried himself like a prince), had refined tastes, and Peter knew from experience, that Vincent would find Neal an exquisite bed companion.
But it didn’t mean he had to like it. And in truth, he found it disturbing and repulsive. He balled the shirt up and stuffed it into the bag for the dry cleaners and fought the urge to go into the bathroom and scrub Neal clean.
Things clicked together, the strain in Neal’s voice when he came in, his odd behavior about not showering. Peter wondered just what Vincent did to him.
He stood there, holding the laundry bag, brain whirling with so many ugly possibilities. He might have stood there all night but the sound of the pipes creaking as the shower turned off broke him out of his stasis. Neal came back into the bedroom, a towel around his waist and he was using another one to rub dry his hair.
“You okay?”
Peter tossed the laundry bag back into the closet. “Yeah, fine. Just got tired.”
Neal reached around him and grabbed his sleep pants, brushing a minty kiss against his lips. “Then let’s go to sleep. It’s already tomorrow.”
He got into bed and Peter followed. As Neal settled against him – back resting against his chest, buttocks against his groin, Peter worked to put his fears away. But he had to ask, “You okay, Neal?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Peter might have imagined it, but as his partner snuggled deeper into his embrace, he thought he heard him say “Now”.
Diana cursed the cold as she waited for Neal Caffrey to leave his apartment. The heater was on, her feet were warm enough, but with the window open, her face and torso were freezing. If she closed the window, it would fog up and she’d see nothing. She’d been here since nine, she’d seen Peter Burke leave and come back, with a bag from the local bagel shop, and her mouth watered at the thought of a fresh, hot cinnamon raisin bagel, slathered in butter.
She could have approached him, but her intel and their only prior encounter told her that he wouldn’t be receptive to anything she had to say.
She’d give it another half hour and head back to the office.
Bingo, there he was, unmistakable in that black felt trilby. She rolled up the window and got out of her car, dodging traffic to catch up with her target. “Neal, Neal Caffrey. Wait a moment.”
He heard her, and thankfully stopped. “Well, well, well – what brings you around again, like a bad penny?”
“Can we talk? Someplace warmer?”
Neal shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Sure, there’s a coffee shop on the next block.”
They didn’t talk as they walked, it was too damn cold to do both. Walking into the promised coffee shop, the blast of warm air was almost painfully hot on her icy cheeks. Neal led her to the back, to a booth that afforded them some privacy. A waitress, still sporting a red and white Santa cap, came by to take their order.
Diana didn’t care about the quality of the coffee, as long as it was hot. She ordered hers light and sweet and waited for Neal to make a comment; he didn’t. He ordered his black and raised an eyebrow at her.
She waited for their order to arrive and the waitress to leave before saying anything. “Happy New Year, Neal.”
“You mean you’ve had my building under surveillance for half a day just to wish me a happy New Year?”
She wasn’t surprised that Neal knew she been watching. “Well, I’ve always liked you.”
“I hope so. You chased me for three years. I sent you birthday cards for four years. We’ve bonded.” Neal’s tone was gently sarcastic.
“So, truce?”
“It depends. Are you still thinking I’m your prime suspect for those slash-and-grabs?”
Diana laughed. With everything, she had forgotten about that. “Actually, we’ve arrested a suspect. A whole bunch of suspects.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Turns out that it was a gang of college students – they were stealing on orders from their criminology professor.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Nope, not at all. We started seeing some forgeries pop up in the international art market, took a look at the gallery guest books and tracked a few of the visitors back to East Side University. They were all taking the same class. Didn’t take much to get them to crack. Young, stupid and too caught up in the thrill of it all. Once they realized they’d be facing hard time, the operation folded like a house of cards and they gave up their professor on a platter.”
“The artwork?”
“Of course you’d be interested in that. We got everything back and the damage to the canvases was minimal.”
“Good.” Neal took a sip of his coffee and made a face before reaching for the sugar. “So, you were waiting in sub-zero temperatures to apologize? Why not just come in and ring the bell?”
“Actually, Neal – that’s not why I need to see you. And I didn’t want to run into your apartment mate. Peter, right?”
Neal nodded.
Diana cut to the chase. She reached into her purse and pulled out two folders, checking one before handing it to Neal. “Tell me about Vincent Adler and why the hell you’re in this picture?”
Neal opened the file, and she couldn’t read anything in his expression. The picture in the file was an old one – from the early oughts and Neal was in his very early twenties, all floppy hair and serious eyes. He looked like he was ready to yank the camera out of the photographer’s hands.
“How did you find this?”
“The question I have to ask is how did I not know that you were associated with Adler. I knew everything about you back then.”
“Not everything, obviously.”
“I knew your shoe size, what you ate for breakfast and the fact that you never graduated high school, despite having a perfect GPA and a full scholarship at Harvard. This –” She tapped the photo, “I knew nothing about.”
Neal shook his head, turned and looked out the window before meeting her eyes. “For a short space of time – six months or so – I worked for Vincent Adler as his Vice President of Acquisitions. It was a very meteoric rise and an equally dramatic fall.”
“Care to tell me about it?”
“No, not really. But why do you want to know?”
Diana debated with herself. She had a gut feeling that if she played it straight with Caffrey, she might just get somewhere. “I’m investigating him. Justice thinks he’s dirty, involved in everything from commodities manipulation to selling arms to Iraq and nuclear fission technology to the Iranians, but we’ve never been able to get close.”
“So, you found that picture when you were digging through some old files?”
“No, not really. I found it because I was looking for pictures of Adler with this man. Who I think you know.” Diana opened the other folder, the one with the picture of Peter Burke sitting next to Vincent Adler at the Ballet gala.
Neal turned icy pale, his lips thinned. He was furious. “You keep away from Peter. He’s got nothing to do with Adler.”
“I am not so sure about that, Neal. How long have you known this guy? A few months?”
“Long enough to know that Peter Burke is not involved in any of Adler’s schemes.”
“Then what is his relationship with him? Because it looks to me like they are quite involved.” Diana tapped the photo were Adler’s hand covered Peter’s.
“What I tell you – you have to promise me that it goes no further.” Neal leaned over the table, his eyes blazing.
Diana pulled out her badge and placed it on the table. “As long as that’s there – you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Neal looked at it, looked back at her and let a smile twist his lips. “I’m trusting you – you’ve never played me for a fool.”
“And I’m not starting now.”
“Your parents are diplomats, right?”
“My father’s with the State Department.”
“Your mother, she moves in the social circles. Charities and fundraisers, all the good and worthy causes?”
“Yeah – she does.”
“And I bet your dad doesn’t squire her around to all the events.”
“No.” She knew where this was going. “You mean to tell me that Vincent Adler hires walkers?”
“It’s a little different for men. But yeah.”
“So, your friend Peter’s just a convenience?”
Neal clearly didn’t like that adjective. “He has a job to do and does it very well.”
“He’s also a licensed CPA and financial planner with an impressive resume and more impressive portfolio. Seems to me that he’s the type of guy who’d be hiring an escort, not working as one.”
Neal shrugged. “Peter’s reasons for doing what he does are his own. I do know that just before Christmas, Adler terminated their ‘relationship.’ Peter’s not seeing him anymore.”
“Why should I believe you. You’re obviously protective of Peter Burke, you’d lie to keep me out of his life.”
“I’m not lying. And I know that his services aren’t required by Adler anymore because he’s my client now.”
There was little affect in Neal’s last sentence, and the lack of emotion told her a lot. “You’re doing outcall, too.”
A thin, mean smile graced Caffrey’s lips. “You’ve called it, Agent Berrigan. There’s a public side and a private side. The private side is between me and my client, the public side is fully reported and taxed at the appropriate rates.”
“I don’t care about your goddamned taxes, Neal. You’re a prostitute!”
“And keep your goddamned voice down. I live in this neighborhood.”
Diana shook her head, actually angry that Neal Caffrey, one of the most brilliant men she had ever met, was reduced to this.
“I don’t answer to you, Agent Berrigan. It’s a job and I’m good at it. No one gets hurt and everyone goes home satisfied.”
“I can still think it’s a waste of your talents.”
“Really, what would you have me do? Scrub out toilets, empty the trash in office buildings? Because I couldn’t even get a job at MacDonald’s with a felony record. I earn enough in a week to live the very good life. I have fun and I make people happy, so what the fuck is wrong with that? You have no right to judge me.” Neal stood up and reached for his wallet. “Coffee’s on me.”
Diana cursed at herself, this went bad way too quickly. She did the only thing she could think of. She apologized. “You’re right, I have no right to judge you and if this keeps you on the right side of the law, then I should applaud your choice, not belittle it. I need your help, please.”
Neal looked like he was still about to flee. “You’re going to take Adler down?”
“I want to bury him.”
“Then I want to help you.” Neal sat.
“You can start by telling me everything you know about the Adler organization.”
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: daniel picah,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- character: sara ellis,
- character: vincent adler,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: case fic,
- genre: emotional trauma,
- genre: first time,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: neal as artist,
- genre: romance,
- kink: d/s,
- kink: dirty talk,
- kink: dub-con/non-con,
- kink: fuck-or-die,
- kink: leather,
- kink: nipple play,
- kink: prostitution,
- pairing: neal/adler,
- pairing: peter/adler,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: wcpairings,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-07-07 11:13 pm (UTC)He needed to keep Peter away from Adler, and this was the only way to do it.
-- coming at the end of that paragraph, at the end of that section, was pitch-perfect! GAH!!!!!
And then THIS!
Diana cursed at herself, this went bad way too quickly. She did the only thing she could think of. She apologized. “You’re right, I have no right to judge you and if this keeps you on the right side of the law, then I should applaud your choice, not belittle it. I need your help, please.”
Neal looked like he was still about to flee. “You’re going to take Adler down?”
“I want to bury him.”
“Then I want to help you.” Neal sat.
“You can start by telling me everything you know about the Adler organization.”
-- made me CHEER!!!
I want to bury him.
Diana, I fucking LOVE YOU!
\o/
no subject
Date: 2013-07-09 04:01 pm (UTC)One of the things I missed the most while writing this was getting your feedback on the bits that really hit you.
I have to confess that this may be one of my favorite scenes fromt he whole story.