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elrhiarhodanTitle: So They Can All Move Forward
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey (P/E/N)
Spoilers: Could be deemed a tag for S3.12, Upper West Side Story
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Corporal punishment of an adult
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: Neal knows what they all need; otherwise they’ll never be able to move forward.
A/N: Written fordreamsofspike, for this prompt on my meme.
Thanks tojrosemary for the ultra-quick beta, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.
__________________
The bruises on his cheek were healed; Peter’s black eye had faded. Elizabeth’s nightmares – such as they were – had stopped. Keller was in prison and the treasure was on its way back to Russia.
And yet, Neal kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not for Peter to act on his threat to tank Keller’s confession and send him back to prison. He might threaten, but they both knew that it would be a cold, cold day in hell before that happened. No, what Neal was waiting for was his punishment. They had made a deal – the three of them. Neal would be able to return to their bed, if and only if, he was punished for his transgressions. But it was going to be on Peter and Elizabeth’s terms – they got to pick the time, the place and the method.
He deserved it; for all the misdirection and half-truths and lies. For manipulating Peter and Elizabeth, and all the people he thought of as his friends.
Neal watched the sun set, the last rays light gilding the windows and rooftops. The Yankee game was last night, and Peter and Jones had enjoyed themselves immensely. Peter even showed off the fly ball he caught to half the office.
Neal took a sip of wine and tried not to be envious. He had given those tickets to Peter not with the vain hope that they’d influence his decision with either the agents managing the Keller case or the upcoming parole board. After so long, he knew that Peter wasn’t a man who could be bought. Not with coffee, not with the best seats in the New House that Ruth Built, not with anything other than loyalty and friendship. For that, Peter would move heaven and earth.
In truth, Neal had given Peter those tickets hoping that he’d ask him to join him at the game. He had let himself entertain a little fantasy about male bonding, beer and hotdogs and peanuts. Rooting for the home team, reaching out and snagging a fly ball. Doing the things that regular guys normally do with their friends.
But he wasn’t a regular guy and Peter was still loath to treat him as a friend. They still had all those issues to resolve. He had to take his punishment before they could all move forward.
Neal stood at the balcony, the sun disappeared and the city’s lights came on, drowning the stars. The moon rose and traversed the sky. He might have stood there all night thinking about the past, picking apart all his regrets, examining them like a miser with his gold. But there was a knock on the door – it wasn’t Moz. It wouldn’t be Sara. June was out of town. Neal swallowed against the surge of hope. It could be Peter.
It was – but it wasn’t just Peter. Elizabeth was with him, too.
The stood on either side of the threshold, Neal with a smile on his lips, Peter and Elizabeth looking so serious that Neal’s smile wilted and died.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” El answered for them. “But it’s time.”
It’s past time. Neal stepped back and let them into the apartment. “How do you want to do this?”
Peter tilted his head, the look on his face was indecipherable. “Neal – we don’t have to do this.”
“No, Peter. We all agreed. We have to be able to move forward.”
Peter nodded in reluctant agreement. “Okay, okay. Where, then?”
“How about the couch?” He led them to the small sitting area. On the bed would be too intimate – and this wasn’t to be an exercise in intimacy. He pulled off his shirt and undid his belt, toeing off his shoes at the same time. Neal did his best to meet Peter’s eyes – but Elizabeth’s … those he couldn’t meet.
There was always going to be an element of cat and mouse between him and Peter – that was simply their nature, and for all of his crimes and misdemeanors, he never directly lied to Peter. But Elizabeth – he abused her trust, her faith, her generosity. He lied to her over and over again. And those lies were the worst of all.
Finally, he was naked. Neal felt shrunken, diminished, thoroughly unaroused. He swallowed and dropped to his knees. He closed his eyes, it was easier this way.
Someone stepped close – it was Elizabeth. He felt her hands, small and strong, on his shoulders. Neal stifled a sob. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The words repeated with each heartbeat.
“Neal.” She tucked her fingers under her chin. “Look at me.”
It took so much will, but he finally lifted his eyes. Elizabeth’s face was filled with compassion, affection and endless determination. “What’s your safe word, Neal?”
Something in him eased – he couldn’t quite explain it. Not that El knew enough to ask him for the word, but that she cared enough to ask. He smiled and replied, “Centurion.”
The punishment wasn’t swift – something so distasteful that she rushed through it.
It was deliberate and painful. El had surprising strength in her hands, peppering his ass and thighs until they ached, then burned and finally went numb. Throughout the ordeal, Neal rested his head on Peter’s thigh, crying out in pain, then simply crying, begging their forgiveness. Peter held him steady, but that was it.
Neal wasn’t anybody’s submissive, though he’d play the game if his lovers wanted that, but it was never something he had sought out by choice. He could accept Peter’s natural dominance – because he fought against it daily. Elizabeth though, she made him want to submit, to bare his throat, to do just what she told him to do, nothing more and nothing less – and take joy in it.
He knew that the punishment stopped when Peter rested a hand on his head and combed shaking fingers through his sweaty curls. He felt – as if from a great distance – his lower body shift and then stretch out on the couch. There were footsteps and it could have been a minute or several hours, but Elizabeth (it had to be Elizabeth because Peter’s hands never left his body) came back with a cool, damp cloth. She wiped his face, erasing the tears and then soothed his aching ass. The numbness receded, overwhelmed by the fire, and he could feel every loop and fiber on the towel.
Finally she spoke. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He gave El a watery smile, and closed his eyes again, relaxing into Peter’s gentle stroking. He was all right. And best of all, they were going to be fine.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey (P/E/N)
Spoilers: Could be deemed a tag for S3.12, Upper West Side Story
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Corporal punishment of an adult
Word Count: ~1000
Summary: Neal knows what they all need; otherwise they’ll never be able to move forward.
A/N: Written for
dreamsofspike, for this prompt on my meme.Thanks to
jrosemary for the ultra-quick beta, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. The bruises on his cheek were healed; Peter’s black eye had faded. Elizabeth’s nightmares – such as they were – had stopped. Keller was in prison and the treasure was on its way back to Russia.
And yet, Neal kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not for Peter to act on his threat to tank Keller’s confession and send him back to prison. He might threaten, but they both knew that it would be a cold, cold day in hell before that happened. No, what Neal was waiting for was his punishment. They had made a deal – the three of them. Neal would be able to return to their bed, if and only if, he was punished for his transgressions. But it was going to be on Peter and Elizabeth’s terms – they got to pick the time, the place and the method.
He deserved it; for all the misdirection and half-truths and lies. For manipulating Peter and Elizabeth, and all the people he thought of as his friends.
Neal watched the sun set, the last rays light gilding the windows and rooftops. The Yankee game was last night, and Peter and Jones had enjoyed themselves immensely. Peter even showed off the fly ball he caught to half the office.
Neal took a sip of wine and tried not to be envious. He had given those tickets to Peter not with the vain hope that they’d influence his decision with either the agents managing the Keller case or the upcoming parole board. After so long, he knew that Peter wasn’t a man who could be bought. Not with coffee, not with the best seats in the New House that Ruth Built, not with anything other than loyalty and friendship. For that, Peter would move heaven and earth.
In truth, Neal had given Peter those tickets hoping that he’d ask him to join him at the game. He had let himself entertain a little fantasy about male bonding, beer and hotdogs and peanuts. Rooting for the home team, reaching out and snagging a fly ball. Doing the things that regular guys normally do with their friends.
But he wasn’t a regular guy and Peter was still loath to treat him as a friend. They still had all those issues to resolve. He had to take his punishment before they could all move forward.
Neal stood at the balcony, the sun disappeared and the city’s lights came on, drowning the stars. The moon rose and traversed the sky. He might have stood there all night thinking about the past, picking apart all his regrets, examining them like a miser with his gold. But there was a knock on the door – it wasn’t Moz. It wouldn’t be Sara. June was out of town. Neal swallowed against the surge of hope. It could be Peter.
It was – but it wasn’t just Peter. Elizabeth was with him, too.
The stood on either side of the threshold, Neal with a smile on his lips, Peter and Elizabeth looking so serious that Neal’s smile wilted and died.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” El answered for them. “But it’s time.”
It’s past time. Neal stepped back and let them into the apartment. “How do you want to do this?”
Peter tilted his head, the look on his face was indecipherable. “Neal – we don’t have to do this.”
“No, Peter. We all agreed. We have to be able to move forward.”
Peter nodded in reluctant agreement. “Okay, okay. Where, then?”
“How about the couch?” He led them to the small sitting area. On the bed would be too intimate – and this wasn’t to be an exercise in intimacy. He pulled off his shirt and undid his belt, toeing off his shoes at the same time. Neal did his best to meet Peter’s eyes – but Elizabeth’s … those he couldn’t meet.
There was always going to be an element of cat and mouse between him and Peter – that was simply their nature, and for all of his crimes and misdemeanors, he never directly lied to Peter. But Elizabeth – he abused her trust, her faith, her generosity. He lied to her over and over again. And those lies were the worst of all.
Finally, he was naked. Neal felt shrunken, diminished, thoroughly unaroused. He swallowed and dropped to his knees. He closed his eyes, it was easier this way.
Someone stepped close – it was Elizabeth. He felt her hands, small and strong, on his shoulders. Neal stifled a sob. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The words repeated with each heartbeat.
“Neal.” She tucked her fingers under her chin. “Look at me.”
It took so much will, but he finally lifted his eyes. Elizabeth’s face was filled with compassion, affection and endless determination. “What’s your safe word, Neal?”
Something in him eased – he couldn’t quite explain it. Not that El knew enough to ask him for the word, but that she cared enough to ask. He smiled and replied, “Centurion.”
The punishment wasn’t swift – something so distasteful that she rushed through it.
It was deliberate and painful. El had surprising strength in her hands, peppering his ass and thighs until they ached, then burned and finally went numb. Throughout the ordeal, Neal rested his head on Peter’s thigh, crying out in pain, then simply crying, begging their forgiveness. Peter held him steady, but that was it.
Neal wasn’t anybody’s submissive, though he’d play the game if his lovers wanted that, but it was never something he had sought out by choice. He could accept Peter’s natural dominance – because he fought against it daily. Elizabeth though, she made him want to submit, to bare his throat, to do just what she told him to do, nothing more and nothing less – and take joy in it.
He knew that the punishment stopped when Peter rested a hand on his head and combed shaking fingers through his sweaty curls. He felt – as if from a great distance – his lower body shift and then stretch out on the couch. There were footsteps and it could have been a minute or several hours, but Elizabeth (it had to be Elizabeth because Peter’s hands never left his body) came back with a cool, damp cloth. She wiped his face, erasing the tears and then soothed his aching ass. The numbness receded, overwhelmed by the fire, and he could feel every loop and fiber on the towel.
Finally she spoke. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He gave El a watery smile, and closed his eyes again, relaxing into Peter’s gentle stroking. He was all right. And best of all, they were going to be fine.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 10:48 pm (UTC)One tiny quibble: in the story notes, you refer to it as "corporate" punishment, not "corporal"... which makes me think of some bad-boy Wall Street type being punished by losing his million-dollar bonus or his private jet, not Neal being stripped and spanked...
no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 08:29 pm (UTC)A lovely (if painful) healing moment--I love the way Neal rests his head on Peter's knee throughout the punishment, with Peter's fingers curling through his hair. I love that Neal seams to fully recognize what he did wrong--and how the punishment seems to be therapeutic for him as well as for the relationship between all three of them.
And I hope Peter and Neal go to a Yankees game soon!
no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 09:00 pm (UTC)And I agree, Peter and Neal need to do some male bonding at a ball game. Maybe a Yankees-Mets game in June.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 08:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 08:58 pm (UTC)And yes - I do agree that it was important that El be the one to mete out the punishment.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-17 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-16 08:07 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much - I had hoped that this felt real.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-18 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-16 08:07 pm (UTC)(So sorry for the late reply)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-16 08:07 pm (UTC)(So sorry for the late reply)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 04:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-16 08:08 pm (UTC)Truthfully - I always am a bit reluctant to write spanking fics, but I have to say that this one is a favorite. Maybe because the dynamics are so different. It's El doing the punishing, and Peter soothing.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-19 05:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-16 08:22 pm (UTC)(So sorry for the late reply)