White Collar Fic - Package-Defining Briefs
Jan. 6th, 2013 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Package-Defining Briefs
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Clinton Jones (Neal/Clinton), Peter Burke
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Just the funniest word in the entire English language: “underpants”.
Word Count: ~2000
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me
Summary: Neal and Clinton are more than good friends, but something less than committed. One morning, Neal breaks the Friends with Benefits code and Clinton’s life is never quite the same.
A/N: Written for my best buddy,rabidchild67, who asked for “In Your Underwear – Neal/Clinton”. Yes, yes, I am still filling the extra day prompts from my Fic-Can-Ukah 2012 Meme.
__________________
Neal never had a fuck-buddy who was, well, a buddy. A guy, to be precise. Oh, he had relationship with some exquisite men in his time, (and then there was Bruno at Sing-Sing, but best not to think about that these days), but he never had a relationship with a guy that wasn’t a relationship – with all the complications that the term implied. It was strange, but guys weren’t for booty calls, or for quick, faceless fucks. Guys were work.
After six months of getting plowed into his mattress on an irregular basis, Neal still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Clinton Jones would show up at his apartment – bottle of good scotch in one hand, bag with condoms and lube in the other – looking for conversation and sex, not necessarily in that order. Sometime he’d text him beforehand, sometimes his only warning he had would be a knock on his door at two AM.
Clinton’s timing was always impeccable. He never showed up on a night when Neal was otherwise engaged. It was so good, in fact, that he wondered if his apartment was bugged.
Yes, being fuck-buddies with Clinton Jones was good. Better than good. Clinton – Clint – Jones (but never, ever CJ, please) was a man who knew his way around a body. There was this one thing he could do with his tongue …
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Neal had asked when his brain started to work again.
Jones had just chuckled. “I was in the Navy. You go on six-month deployments; you learn to be creative.
Neal had laughed and that laughter turned to moans of pleasure when Clinton flipped him over and started licking him. Right there, sweet god in heaven… Neal’s brain went back off-line for the rest of the night.
Mornings with Jones were mostly just as pleasurable. They sometimes showered together, sometimes Neal would make them breakfast (although that was against booty-call rules), and every damn time he’d wince when Clinton got dressed. It got to the point that he couldn’t hide his reactions anymore.
Of course, Jones noticed. “What’s the matter? You hurt?”
“Not physically.”
“Huh?”
“Clint, anyone ever tell you that stretched out tighty-whities are not your best look?”
Jones looked down at his body and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess these are a little old.”
“Old? I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“You may like to dress in custom-made suits, but I’m strictly Brooks Brothers.”
“I’m not complaining about your suits, Suit.” Neal grinned at Clinton’s startled reaction. He hadn’t borrowed that particular Mozzie-ism before. “It’s what you’re wearing under the suits that I take issue with.”
Clinton didn’t seem to get the point. “Underwear. Underpants. They’re clean and they don’t have holes. I wouldn’t be embarrassed to get hit by a bus in them.”
“What are you? A sixty year old spinster?”
“My grandmother always said to make sure your underpants are clean and in good condition in case you get hit by a bus. Sound advice.”
“Yeah, but do you really plan on getting hit by a bus?”
“You didn’t seem to mind them a couple of hours ago, when you went down on your knees.”
“Just because I started to suck you off before you were out of them doesn’t mean that I didn’t mind them.”
“Look – I’ll pick up a few packages of Jockeys the next time they’re on sale, okay?”
Neal shook his head. He wasn’t going to change Clinton’s mind and while there was nothing wrong with a properly fitting pair of cotton y-fronts, he had something a little more sophisticated in mind.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“What’s this?” Clinton came out of the bathroom, wearing a towel and nothing else. There was a wrapped package on the table, next to the plate with the eggs and toast that Neal had made while he was showering.
“A gift.”
He wasn’t sure about the slight smirk on Neal’s lips. That generally did not bode well for anyone in the vicinity. “Are we doing this now?”
Neal shrugged, “You’re a friend, can’t I give a friend a gift?”
“You don’t give Diana presents. She’s your friend, too,” he replied, a little suspicious of the gift and Neal’s possible motivations.
“I’m not sleeping with Diana.”
“So, this is a gift because we’re boyfriends?”
Neal visibly cringed at the word. “I wouldn’t say we’re boyfriends. And you’re being ungracious. You’re a friend. I got you something I hope you’ll like.”
“Wait – you don’t think we’re boyfriends?” Clinton replied, hurt by Neal’s assessment of their relationship, even thought he knew it was true.
“You want to be boyfriends? The whole wine and dine thing? Movies and museums and holding hands?” Neal didn’t bother to curb his derision.
Clinton buried his face in his hands. “I’m so not doing this before breakfast, wearing just a towel.”
Neal came over and patted his shoulder. “Look, we’re friends in a no-strings relationship. You come over, we talk, we drink, we have mind-blowing sex and go our merry way. We respect each other at work. I bought you a present out of my own selfishness – I didn’t mean to start a crisis.”
He lifted his head to look at Neal. The man seemed equally hurt. “Hey, sorry. I’m just a little freaked – I wasn’t expecting presents.” Clinton ran his fingers along the edge of the package. “I’m pretty ungracious, aren’t I?”
“I know giving presents is a violation of the fuck-buddy code, but just open it. If you don’t like it, I can return it.”
Clinton painstakingly removed the paper like he had since he was a child, making sure not to rip anything. Old habits were hard to break.
Neal’s comment was a touch snide. “At least I didn’t have the clerk at the gift wrap counter put a ribbon on it. You might have had to break out the ironing board for that.”
He finally finished unwrapping the present and laughed, not knowing whether to be delighted or offended. “You’re kidding me, right?” He was looking at a package of Emporio Armani underwear – white cotton trunks, to be precise.
Neal chuckled. “I guess you could say that this is more a gift from me to myself, than from me to you.”
Clinton thanked Neal and set the package to one side, carefully refolded the wrapping paper and setting himself to the task of eating breakfast. But his eyes kept drifting over to the gift of underpants next to his plate. He should have felt like he did when he was nine years old and his Aunt Trudy gave him underwear and socks instead of the Air Nikes he had so desperately wanted. Instead, he was just the tiniest (okay, more than tiny) bit aroused. No one dressed better than Neal, and even if he never said anything, he had always admired the man’s style. This gift was like he was sharing a part of the secret code.
Or maybe Neal just wanted to admire his physical attributes.
Whatever. Clinton shifted in his chair, deciding that he was done with the eggs and toast. Time to get dressed.
He was just as particular when he opened the box as he had been with the wrapping paper. Neal was gracious enough to supply a sharp knife to slice open the adhesive tape and Clinton let one pair of underpants slip out. He rubbed the cotton weave between his fingers. Damn, they were fine.
Neal tugged him in front of the full length mirror and he stepped into the underwear, sliding them up over his calves and thighs, letting them settle low on his hips before adjusting his junk.
He met Neal’s gaze in the mirror, and both pair of eyes flicked down. Neal’s hands were resting on his hips, warm and firm, much like something else. Neal kissed his neck and murmured, “Look at you.”
Cocking his hips like a runway model, Clinton had to agree that there was something about these underpants that was special. They framed his package; it didn’t bulge obscenely. Or at least it wouldn’t when he wasn’t aroused.
Neal kissed him again and slapped his ass. “Yes, you’re gorgeous and I’d go down on you right now, but there’s a staff meeting at nine, and I hate being rushed through a good blow job.”
Clinton mock glared at his lover and turned back to the mirror, posing with his hands on his hips. Yes, he definitely looked good.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal had to admit that his gift was definitely skirting the rules and the conversation that ensued was downright dangerous. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Clinton for a boyfriend, it was that he just didn’t want a boyfriend, period. Jones was a good man, he’d eventually make someone a good husband, but that someone wasn’t him.
Still, there was no reason not to enjoy what they had, and getting Clinton in to a proper pair of underpants was part of that enjoyment. So was getting him out of them.
Watching Clinton at the office that morning was interesting. They were both at the nine o’clock staff meeting, the one where assignments were handed out.
At the head of the table, Peter was as commanding as always (and Neal shut his heart and mind against wanting what he could never have). He passed folders to Clinton and Olivia Carter, a recent transfer from the White Collar office in San Francisco. His instructions were vague: “You two work together on an investigation strategy and bring it to me by the end of business, Wednesday.”
Clinton was standing against the wall, hips cocked forward as he looked through the file. “Money laundering? I’d like to take the lead on this, Peter.”
In all the years that Neal had been working for the FBI, he had never heard Clinton use quite that tone with Peter.
But Peter made that expression - the appreciative frown - before nodding. “Okay, it’s yours. I still need to sign off on your investigative plan, and you’ll need to put together the resources you’re going to need …”
“I’ll have it for you by COB, Wednesday, as you requested.” Clinton, unbelievably, cut Peter off.
This earned him a side-eye from half of attendees at the meeting, but Peter just gave his agent a small grin before moving on. Neal smiled behind the folder.
Clinton, always a team-player, was putting himself forward. Finally.
The pattern was obvious to Neal, if not to Clinton. On the days that he was wearing his new underpants, he walked a little taller, spoke with a little more self-assurance, took control when he could. It wasn’t that Jones had ever been a wilting flower, fading into the background, but he had been a dedicated foot soldier, seemingly content with his place in the ranks.
Neal enjoyed watching Clinton blossom; he was a good agent who deserved more than a career spent in the surveillance van. He just needed the confidence to speak up for himself. It seemed that all he needed was a pair of package-defining briefs to make that happen.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Clinton Jones (Neal/Clinton), Peter Burke
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Just the funniest word in the entire English language: “underpants”.
Word Count: ~2000
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me Summary: Neal and Clinton are more than good friends, but something less than committed. One morning, Neal breaks the Friends with Benefits code and Clinton’s life is never quite the same.
A/N: Written for my best buddy,
rabidchild67, who asked for “In Your Underwear – Neal/Clinton”. Yes, yes, I am still filling the extra day prompts from my Fic-Can-Ukah 2012 Meme. Neal never had a fuck-buddy who was, well, a buddy. A guy, to be precise. Oh, he had relationship with some exquisite men in his time, (and then there was Bruno at Sing-Sing, but best not to think about that these days), but he never had a relationship with a guy that wasn’t a relationship – with all the complications that the term implied. It was strange, but guys weren’t for booty calls, or for quick, faceless fucks. Guys were work.
After six months of getting plowed into his mattress on an irregular basis, Neal still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Clinton Jones would show up at his apartment – bottle of good scotch in one hand, bag with condoms and lube in the other – looking for conversation and sex, not necessarily in that order. Sometime he’d text him beforehand, sometimes his only warning he had would be a knock on his door at two AM.
Clinton’s timing was always impeccable. He never showed up on a night when Neal was otherwise engaged. It was so good, in fact, that he wondered if his apartment was bugged.
Yes, being fuck-buddies with Clinton Jones was good. Better than good. Clinton – Clint – Jones (but never, ever CJ, please) was a man who knew his way around a body. There was this one thing he could do with his tongue …
“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Neal had asked when his brain started to work again.
Jones had just chuckled. “I was in the Navy. You go on six-month deployments; you learn to be creative.
Neal had laughed and that laughter turned to moans of pleasure when Clinton flipped him over and started licking him. Right there, sweet god in heaven… Neal’s brain went back off-line for the rest of the night.
Mornings with Jones were mostly just as pleasurable. They sometimes showered together, sometimes Neal would make them breakfast (although that was against booty-call rules), and every damn time he’d wince when Clinton got dressed. It got to the point that he couldn’t hide his reactions anymore.
Of course, Jones noticed. “What’s the matter? You hurt?”
“Not physically.”
“Huh?”
“Clint, anyone ever tell you that stretched out tighty-whities are not your best look?”
Jones looked down at his body and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess these are a little old.”
“Old? I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“You may like to dress in custom-made suits, but I’m strictly Brooks Brothers.”
“I’m not complaining about your suits, Suit.” Neal grinned at Clinton’s startled reaction. He hadn’t borrowed that particular Mozzie-ism before. “It’s what you’re wearing under the suits that I take issue with.”
Clinton didn’t seem to get the point. “Underwear. Underpants. They’re clean and they don’t have holes. I wouldn’t be embarrassed to get hit by a bus in them.”
“What are you? A sixty year old spinster?”
“My grandmother always said to make sure your underpants are clean and in good condition in case you get hit by a bus. Sound advice.”
“Yeah, but do you really plan on getting hit by a bus?”
“You didn’t seem to mind them a couple of hours ago, when you went down on your knees.”
“Just because I started to suck you off before you were out of them doesn’t mean that I didn’t mind them.”
“Look – I’ll pick up a few packages of Jockeys the next time they’re on sale, okay?”
Neal shook his head. He wasn’t going to change Clinton’s mind and while there was nothing wrong with a properly fitting pair of cotton y-fronts, he had something a little more sophisticated in mind.
“What’s this?” Clinton came out of the bathroom, wearing a towel and nothing else. There was a wrapped package on the table, next to the plate with the eggs and toast that Neal had made while he was showering.
“A gift.”
He wasn’t sure about the slight smirk on Neal’s lips. That generally did not bode well for anyone in the vicinity. “Are we doing this now?”
Neal shrugged, “You’re a friend, can’t I give a friend a gift?”
“You don’t give Diana presents. She’s your friend, too,” he replied, a little suspicious of the gift and Neal’s possible motivations.
“I’m not sleeping with Diana.”
“So, this is a gift because we’re boyfriends?”
Neal visibly cringed at the word. “I wouldn’t say we’re boyfriends. And you’re being ungracious. You’re a friend. I got you something I hope you’ll like.”
“Wait – you don’t think we’re boyfriends?” Clinton replied, hurt by Neal’s assessment of their relationship, even thought he knew it was true.
“You want to be boyfriends? The whole wine and dine thing? Movies and museums and holding hands?” Neal didn’t bother to curb his derision.
Clinton buried his face in his hands. “I’m so not doing this before breakfast, wearing just a towel.”
Neal came over and patted his shoulder. “Look, we’re friends in a no-strings relationship. You come over, we talk, we drink, we have mind-blowing sex and go our merry way. We respect each other at work. I bought you a present out of my own selfishness – I didn’t mean to start a crisis.”
He lifted his head to look at Neal. The man seemed equally hurt. “Hey, sorry. I’m just a little freaked – I wasn’t expecting presents.” Clinton ran his fingers along the edge of the package. “I’m pretty ungracious, aren’t I?”
“I know giving presents is a violation of the fuck-buddy code, but just open it. If you don’t like it, I can return it.”
Clinton painstakingly removed the paper like he had since he was a child, making sure not to rip anything. Old habits were hard to break.
Neal’s comment was a touch snide. “At least I didn’t have the clerk at the gift wrap counter put a ribbon on it. You might have had to break out the ironing board for that.”
He finally finished unwrapping the present and laughed, not knowing whether to be delighted or offended. “You’re kidding me, right?” He was looking at a package of Emporio Armani underwear – white cotton trunks, to be precise.
Neal chuckled. “I guess you could say that this is more a gift from me to myself, than from me to you.”
Clinton thanked Neal and set the package to one side, carefully refolded the wrapping paper and setting himself to the task of eating breakfast. But his eyes kept drifting over to the gift of underpants next to his plate. He should have felt like he did when he was nine years old and his Aunt Trudy gave him underwear and socks instead of the Air Nikes he had so desperately wanted. Instead, he was just the tiniest (okay, more than tiny) bit aroused. No one dressed better than Neal, and even if he never said anything, he had always admired the man’s style. This gift was like he was sharing a part of the secret code.
Or maybe Neal just wanted to admire his physical attributes.
Whatever. Clinton shifted in his chair, deciding that he was done with the eggs and toast. Time to get dressed.
He was just as particular when he opened the box as he had been with the wrapping paper. Neal was gracious enough to supply a sharp knife to slice open the adhesive tape and Clinton let one pair of underpants slip out. He rubbed the cotton weave between his fingers. Damn, they were fine.
Neal tugged him in front of the full length mirror and he stepped into the underwear, sliding them up over his calves and thighs, letting them settle low on his hips before adjusting his junk.
He met Neal’s gaze in the mirror, and both pair of eyes flicked down. Neal’s hands were resting on his hips, warm and firm, much like something else. Neal kissed his neck and murmured, “Look at you.”
Cocking his hips like a runway model, Clinton had to agree that there was something about these underpants that was special. They framed his package; it didn’t bulge obscenely. Or at least it wouldn’t when he wasn’t aroused.
Neal kissed him again and slapped his ass. “Yes, you’re gorgeous and I’d go down on you right now, but there’s a staff meeting at nine, and I hate being rushed through a good blow job.”
Clinton mock glared at his lover and turned back to the mirror, posing with his hands on his hips. Yes, he definitely looked good.
Neal had to admit that his gift was definitely skirting the rules and the conversation that ensued was downright dangerous. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Clinton for a boyfriend, it was that he just didn’t want a boyfriend, period. Jones was a good man, he’d eventually make someone a good husband, but that someone wasn’t him.
Still, there was no reason not to enjoy what they had, and getting Clinton in to a proper pair of underpants was part of that enjoyment. So was getting him out of them.
Watching Clinton at the office that morning was interesting. They were both at the nine o’clock staff meeting, the one where assignments were handed out.
At the head of the table, Peter was as commanding as always (and Neal shut his heart and mind against wanting what he could never have). He passed folders to Clinton and Olivia Carter, a recent transfer from the White Collar office in San Francisco. His instructions were vague: “You two work together on an investigation strategy and bring it to me by the end of business, Wednesday.”
Clinton was standing against the wall, hips cocked forward as he looked through the file. “Money laundering? I’d like to take the lead on this, Peter.”
In all the years that Neal had been working for the FBI, he had never heard Clinton use quite that tone with Peter.
But Peter made that expression - the appreciative frown - before nodding. “Okay, it’s yours. I still need to sign off on your investigative plan, and you’ll need to put together the resources you’re going to need …”
“I’ll have it for you by COB, Wednesday, as you requested.” Clinton, unbelievably, cut Peter off.
This earned him a side-eye from half of attendees at the meeting, but Peter just gave his agent a small grin before moving on. Neal smiled behind the folder.
Clinton, always a team-player, was putting himself forward. Finally.
The pattern was obvious to Neal, if not to Clinton. On the days that he was wearing his new underpants, he walked a little taller, spoke with a little more self-assurance, took control when he could. It wasn’t that Jones had ever been a wilting flower, fading into the background, but he had been a dedicated foot soldier, seemingly content with his place in the ranks.
Neal enjoyed watching Clinton blossom; he was a good agent who deserved more than a career spent in the surveillance van. He just needed the confidence to speak up for himself. It seemed that all he needed was a pair of package-defining briefs to make that happen.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 12:33 am (UTC)Hmmm... those must have been some damn fine underpants :P
This was a great bedtime story :D Thank you :D
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 12:37 am (UTC)I, too, am so committed to Peter/Neal, but sometimes it's fun to color outside the lines. I think these two work well as fuck-buddies, esp since Neal's heart will always belong to Peter.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:42 pm (UTC)I agree - it's just an easy relationship. No guilt, no angst. Just fucking when fucking is needed.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:51 am (UTC)Yum.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:41 pm (UTC)Thank you so much.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 04:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 05:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 10:39 am (UTC)mos def NSFW (http://www.undergear.com/N2N%C2%AE-Net-Bikini/AL862,default,pd.html)
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:36 pm (UTC)Neal/Clinton was such a curve ball for me, but I did enjoy writing the pairing.
Those underpants, yum.
I think I could see Neal coaxing Clinton into them - and then Clinton would be topping everyone, including Bancroft.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 12:29 pm (UTC)Although I'm a true P/N-shipper I liked Neal and Jones having a "friends-with-benefits"-relationship. And I liked that you made it clear whom Neal really loved and couldn't have.
If only expensive underpants would make me more confident, I would buy them immediately ;)
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 02:34 pm (UTC)Yeah - if all it took was designer underwear...
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 09:53 pm (UTC)Great story, btw.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-07 09:54 pm (UTC)I guess that was the aphorism that his grandmother didn't tell him.
Thank you so very much.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-08 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 04:02 pm (UTC)After Family Business, I find the idea of Neal/Clinton in a casual relationship very plausible. Just loved how Clinton hovered over Neal in the conference room at the beginning of the ep, and how protective he was during the microbrew event.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-14 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 04:14 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2013-01-14 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 04:15 pm (UTC)And yes, yes - I too am envious of Neal.
no subject
Date: 2016-01-20 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-01-20 12:58 am (UTC)