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elrhiarhodanTitle: It Doesn’t Always End the Way It Begins
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Written For: MMOM 2013
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke (Neal Caffrey), Peter/Elizabeth, fantasy Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~650
Summary: Sometimes, Elizabeth calls the shots.
A/N: This is one of those stories that took a wrong, strange turn somewhere between brain and keyboard.
__________________
Peter knew he was obsessing, but he was at the point that he didn’t care.
When Neal first got out of prison, his hands were a mess: Jagged nails, torn and cracked cuticles, calluses from his assigned labor in the machine shop. They were the hands of a felon. But it didn’t take long for that to change. It wouldn’t have surprised him one bit to learn that June took him with her to her day spa, where they rubbed and buffed and polished away the layers of grime that prison had left on Neal.
He watched the evolution of Neal’s hands with a certain amount of dismay. He worried when they were clean and smooth and polished – these were the hands of a con man ready to trick the unwary out of the money, their jewels, their artwork.
Peter also worried when those hands were less than pristine, when alizarin crimson and ultramarine blue and cadmium yellow (yes, he knew the painter’s palette) stained Neal’s fingers.
Elizabeth knew about his obsession, and told him it was kind of cute. She thought it was so typical of him, to fixate on the small details. But he was an FBI agent; wasn’t that what he was trained to do?
“You won’t think it cute when those hands snag on your more delicate parts.”
“Or yours,” El replied with a pert sniff and a lascivious grin.
Of course, Peter blushed. They might have discussed – all right – fantasized about Neal Caffrey in their bed for years, but Peter still felt like a schoolboy pouring over a forbidden skin mag when El teased him about Neal.
“Oh, Peter – you’re so adorable.”
“You may not think it’s adorable when Neal flees from us and lodges a complaint that his handler and his handler’s wife are kinky sex maniacs.” He knew he was behaving like a big grump, but after watching Neal flirt with every woman that crossed his path, all the while apparently longing for Kate, he couldn’t help himself.
“We’re not sex maniacs.”
“But you’re not denying that we’re kinky.”
“Of course not.” And as if to prove a point, El dumped the laundry back into the basket, leaned back against the arm of the couch and shoved her hand down her pants. Peter pulled them off, better to see Elizabeth’s busy fingers. “You going to join me?”
Peter gave that a moment’s thought. “Nope, I want to watch you. I want to see you make yourself come. I’ll have my fun later.”
El bit her lip and canted her hips up. She was using both hands. One was pistoning deep into her cunt, the other tormenting her clit. She was rough with herself, grunting hoarsely as her first orgasm crested. She kept toying with herself, but her eyes never left Peter’s and he wanted to push those clever fingers away and bury his face between her thighs, he wanted to make her scream.
But he didn’t, he sat there, his cock hard and aching, waiting for El to finish. They’ve played this game before, though it didn’t always end the same. Sometimes she’d blow him, sometimes he’d come in his pants, sometimes she’d strap on a dildo and take him like a conqueror. But tonight, they’ll head upstairs and Elizabeth will take a hat box down from the closet shelf, pin her hair up and put on the vintage fedora. She’ll get on her hands and knees and he’ll fuck her ass and call her Neal.
No, they weren’t sex maniacs, they were just a little kinky.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Written For: MMOM 2013
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Elizabeth Burke, Peter Burke (Neal Caffrey), Peter/Elizabeth, fantasy Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~650
Summary: Sometimes, Elizabeth calls the shots.
A/N: This is one of those stories that took a wrong, strange turn somewhere between brain and keyboard.
Peter knew he was obsessing, but he was at the point that he didn’t care.
When Neal first got out of prison, his hands were a mess: Jagged nails, torn and cracked cuticles, calluses from his assigned labor in the machine shop. They were the hands of a felon. But it didn’t take long for that to change. It wouldn’t have surprised him one bit to learn that June took him with her to her day spa, where they rubbed and buffed and polished away the layers of grime that prison had left on Neal.
He watched the evolution of Neal’s hands with a certain amount of dismay. He worried when they were clean and smooth and polished – these were the hands of a con man ready to trick the unwary out of the money, their jewels, their artwork.
Peter also worried when those hands were less than pristine, when alizarin crimson and ultramarine blue and cadmium yellow (yes, he knew the painter’s palette) stained Neal’s fingers.
Elizabeth knew about his obsession, and told him it was kind of cute. She thought it was so typical of him, to fixate on the small details. But he was an FBI agent; wasn’t that what he was trained to do?
“You won’t think it cute when those hands snag on your more delicate parts.”
“Or yours,” El replied with a pert sniff and a lascivious grin.
Of course, Peter blushed. They might have discussed – all right – fantasized about Neal Caffrey in their bed for years, but Peter still felt like a schoolboy pouring over a forbidden skin mag when El teased him about Neal.
“Oh, Peter – you’re so adorable.”
“You may not think it’s adorable when Neal flees from us and lodges a complaint that his handler and his handler’s wife are kinky sex maniacs.” He knew he was behaving like a big grump, but after watching Neal flirt with every woman that crossed his path, all the while apparently longing for Kate, he couldn’t help himself.
“We’re not sex maniacs.”
“But you’re not denying that we’re kinky.”
“Of course not.” And as if to prove a point, El dumped the laundry back into the basket, leaned back against the arm of the couch and shoved her hand down her pants. Peter pulled them off, better to see Elizabeth’s busy fingers. “You going to join me?”
Peter gave that a moment’s thought. “Nope, I want to watch you. I want to see you make yourself come. I’ll have my fun later.”
El bit her lip and canted her hips up. She was using both hands. One was pistoning deep into her cunt, the other tormenting her clit. She was rough with herself, grunting hoarsely as her first orgasm crested. She kept toying with herself, but her eyes never left Peter’s and he wanted to push those clever fingers away and bury his face between her thighs, he wanted to make her scream.
But he didn’t, he sat there, his cock hard and aching, waiting for El to finish. They’ve played this game before, though it didn’t always end the same. Sometimes she’d blow him, sometimes he’d come in his pants, sometimes she’d strap on a dildo and take him like a conqueror. But tonight, they’ll head upstairs and Elizabeth will take a hat box down from the closet shelf, pin her hair up and put on the vintage fedora. She’ll get on her hands and knees and he’ll fuck her ass and call her Neal.
No, they weren’t sex maniacs, they were just a little kinky.
