elrhiarhodan | White Collar Fic - We Begin (as we mean to go on)

Title: We Begin (as we mean to go on)
Author:

elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey
Spoilers/Episode References: S2.16 – Under the Radar
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: It’s PwP, folks.
Word Count: ~ 2000
Summary: It’s been a long day and a long night. Peter just wants to go home, but he get’s a call he can’t ignore. Episode tag for 2.16

A/N: At 11:01 pm last night, I didn’t think I was ever going to be able to write anything after the end of the finale. I am glad I was wrong. This is also a shameless excuse for porn. My thank to

jrosemary for the quick beta. All mistakes are mine and mine along

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Peter was exhausted. The preliminary OPR review of the shooting was grueling, but done. According to Hughes, the hastily assembled review board found that it was fully justified. But Peter couldn’t shake the sadness, the anger. He just killed a man; he shot him in the back. There’d be no fallout from this, but that didn’t make it any better. This was nothing like his reaction to shooting Garrett Fowler, or maybe if Fowler hadn’t been wearing a vest, he would have felt the same way.

He wanted to get home, see Elizabeth. Hold her, reground himself in everything that was right in his world. He wanted to block out the dead body of Vincent Adler on the concrete, the image of the small piece of burning canvas, the utter confusion, the pain and then the anger on Neal’s face.

He knew Neal couldn’t have moved the art – not himself, anyway. But he could have had help – maybe Mozzie and Alex? But that didn’t feel right. Alex, well maybe – but not Mozzie. He may be a criminal mastermind – even a genius – but he had a highly developed sense of personal ethics, and Peter didn’t think that the little guy would stoop to stealing Nazi loot.

The more he thought about it – and he didn’t want to think about it at all – the less he believed that Neal stole, or had the treasure stolen. Which was why he said nothing to OPR about the shred of burning canvas.

All of this led to what? Another set of criminals to chase? Another evil genius that was pulling the strings? Whoever was responsible was going to have to wait until tomorrow. He needed his wife, his bed and some sleep.

He had just pulled out of the Federal Plaza garage when his phone rang. It was Neal. He didn’t want to talk to him, and let it go right to voice mail. It rang again as he was about to turn onto the Brooklyn Bridge. He let it ring.

Neal called again as he was turning onto DeKalb and as much as he wanted to ignore it, Peter couldn’t.

“What?”

“You may want to pull up my tracking data and meet me.”

“I’m not interested in playing games, Neal. Not now.”

“You saved my life today Peter.”

“Yeah – that I did. Not the first time.” And it probably won’t be the last.

“I’m running a pretty big tab with you.”

“I’m not keeping count.” But he was – this was the second time he shot someone to keep Neal alive.

“Come meet me, Peter. This will go a bit towards settling our bill. You won’t regret it.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Do you want to take that risk?”

Peter pulled to a rolling stop at a red light. Two more blocks, he’d be home. But he knew that this – what ever it was – was a limited time offer.

“Where are you?”

“77850 Ganesvooort. Unit A.”

Peter made an illegal U-turn and headed back to the bridge. “I’ll be there in 20. Wait for me.”

“Oh, Peter – that is a given.”

There was something in the tone of Neal’s voice – it was almost gleeful. Peter wondered if this was a trap.

It took him less than fifteen minutes to get back into Manhattan, and to the address Neal gave him – a warehouse at the lower end of Ganesvoort, outside the circle of fashionable clubs and shops that had popped up in the Meatpacking District over the last decade.

Peter checked the tracking data. Neal was inside the building, Unit A was on the right. He wanted to draw his gun, but OPR had taken it as part of their investigation, he’d get it back in a day or two. Light was spilling out from under the door, and Peter knocked.

His phone rang – it was Neal.

“That you?”

“Yeah” The phone disconnected, and the door opened. There was a strange, twisted smile on Neal’s face, a triumphant look in his eyes.

“Come in, have a look around.”

He did, and couldn’t believe his eyes. The treasure – the art – from the U-boat was in glorious display. The Rembrandt portrait, the gold from Troy. Pieces of amber paneling. The Krakow Raphael. It was all here.

“How?”

Neal handed him a key and a typewritten card.

“This was on my dining table when I got home tonight.”

Neal seemed to be waiting for something. Peter knew exactly what that was.

“Look, I’m sorry. I…I saw the scrap of canvas. I overreacted.” Peter couldn’t look at Neal – not because he was fascinated by the treasure in the storage unit – but because he had been so damn wrong.

He wandered around the storage unit, looking but not touching. He could feel Neal’s eyes following him, and the anger radiating off him. And something else to - the same sense of triumph that he had caught when Neal had called him. He paused in front of the opened crate displaying the Rembrandt, and wondered about what he was going to have to do to fix what he broke.

Neal’s hand was hot and heavy on his shoulder. “It’s not going to be so easy, Peter. ‘I’m sorry’ may be a start…but it’s not enough.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “What do you want?”

Neal leaned in, his breath, a moist caress against his ear. “I think you know what I want, Agent Burke..

Peter shivered. “You’re not doing this to me – not here, not now.”

“You’re wrong, Peter – it’s happening here, it’s going to happen now.” Neal bit down lightly on his earlobe, his thigh slipping between his legs. He backed him against the door.

Peter tried to maintain some distance, some willpower. “No, Neal. Not like this. If, and when it happens – it’s not going to be on the dirty floor of a warehouse filled with stolen loot.” He pushed at Neal, but he wasn’t letting go so easily. Neal slipped around behind him.

He laughed, two small huffs and the hair on Peter’s spine stood straight up.

“That’s because you want to be in control – in command. On top.”

“That’s my place in this relationship.”

“Ahh – so you’re admitting that we have one.

“One what?”

“A relationship. We have a relationship.”

Peter couldn’t believe he just said that – he just confessed something he’d been hiding from himself for years. It was okay to think that he and Neal would fuck someday – El had been teasing him for years about his highly inappropriate lust for Caffrey. But a relationship - that was huge step.

Hands slipped under his suit jacket, his clever thief’s fingers opened the buttons on his shirt, pulling out his undershirt. “Neal…”

He was like an octopus and Peter couldn’t escape. Or maybe he didn’t even try.

“Peter – you want this. You’ve wanted it for a very long time.” Neal’s voice was hot and seductive in his ear, a goad, a lash to his desire.

“But not like this.” Was that his own voice? So breathless, so needy and wanting?

Neal’s hands worked their way over Peter’s chest, pinching his nipples, toying with his navel. When did Neal become so fucking masterful?

And despite the desire, despite the need, this felt wrong. “You don’t get to fuck me as payback. I killed a man for you today.”

“This is not about payback – it’s about trust. You don’t trust me – you never have.” Neal rested his head on his shoulder, but his hands were still playing havoc with his body, working at his belt, his fly. One palm curved around his hard cock, the other cupped his ball, and Peter leaned back against Neal’s body. He could feel the man’s massive, hard prick nestling between his ass, his body almost involuntarily humping against it.

Neal’s hands were still wrecking him, but he wanted more. He rolled over for no one.

“You’re right, Neal. You’ve never outright lied to me, but you’ve played me over and over again.

Neal stopped. The hands that tormented him now pushed him away. As much as Peter hadn’t wanted it to be like this, he hated the chill between them even more. He turned to look directly at Neal – for the first time since he had accused him of stealing the loot. He couldn’t read his expression.

“If I let you fuck me, would you trust me then?”

Peter knew – at that moment – everything between them was hanging in the balance, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t lie. “Neal – as much as you mean to me, I don’t know if I can ever fully trust you.”

The light dimmed a bit in his eyes.

“You’re still the smartest man I know, and I’m proud to call you my friend. I trust you with my life – my wife – but there are just some things I will always have some doubts about.” Peter laughed – a little bitterly. As a declaration, it was kind of ridiculous, especially with his dick hanging out.

Neal pulled him close again, this time kissing him full on the lips. Peter grasped his head, taking a fistful of hair. Neal smiled up at him.

“Your life, your wife – those are the important things. Everything else is negotiable.”

The little shit – he is still trying to play me.

Peter’s hand tightened brutally and pulled Neal back, his kiss was angry and aggressive. “Let’s begin as we mean to go on.” He bit down on Neal’s lip; hard enough to draw blood. Neal shoved his tongue into Peter’s mouth.

They grappled with each other; Neal wasn’t giving him an inch. Or, more accurately, there was a good eight inches Neal wanted to give him, but it would only be on Peter’s terms.

Neal pushed, Peter pushed back. They bumped into the crate with the gold that Schliemann unearthed at Troy – there was a clatter as something fell. Peter didn’t care. He got his hands on Neal’s fly, tugged the belt opened, practically ripped his pants off.

Neal grabbed him and they fell to the dirty floor.

“You can fuck Sara, you can fuck Alex…hell, you can fuck Mozzie if you want. But remember, at the end of it all, you’re mine. I own you.” Peter worked his hand over Neal’s cock, he thumb digging in, slicking Neal with his own precome.

Neal panted, his hand at Peter’s cock and balls, tormenting him again. “Only because I let you.”

Peter didn’t bother to undo Neal’s shirt, he didn’t want to take his hands off his cock. He bit down on Neal’s shoulder, hard and Neal screamed. Just as he marked Neal’s mouth, he marked his body.

“This is mine.” He stroked Neal’s cock and gave a warning squeeze. “You’ll play by my rules. Don’t forget that, ever.”

Neal hissed, half pleasure, half pain, and he shoved himself up into Peter, letting go of his cock, scrabbling at his back. “If I’m yours – you’re mine too. You don’t get to turn yourself on and off at a whim.”

Peter kissed him, gently for the first time. “This is going to be a mess, you know.”

“Yeah – I know.” Neal shift and their cocks lined up. What had started as a seduction that turned into a power game, changed again. They rubbed up against each other, skin on skin, kissing lazily.

The slow frotting finally turned urgent. Peter came first, and Neal spilled over him. Peter cupped the back of Neal’s head as he pressed kisses along the stubble coated jaw line.

“This is really a mess.”

Neal didn’t bother to respond, he just licked his lips and gave a small catlike grin.

Peter cleaned them both up – the best he could with his handkerchief. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He helped Neal to his feet and looked at the treasure as he tucked himself in. “What are we going to do with all of this?”

Neal sighed, but the smile never left his lips. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

Peter glared at him. “It’s been a long day, Neal – don’t make it any longer.”

Neal laughed. “Just saying.”

“Hmmm. So - you’re turning this in?” He wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

“I guess. Play it as an anonymous tip?”

“That works.” Peter scanned the floor for any remnants of their recent activities. “You touch anything?”

“Nope.”

“We’re good.” Peter called Elizabeth, then Jones and Diana. The long night just got that much longer.

FIN