White Collar Fic - The Inexorable Pull
Jan. 11th, 2013 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: The Inexorable Pull
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Dream-state Dub-con, Angry!Sex
Word Count: ~1200
Beta Credit:coffeethyme4me
Summary: Anger leads to truth leads to kisses leads to more than kisses. And after the anger, joy.
A/N: Written for my dearestcoffeethyme4me, who asked for just 300 words of sleepy Peter waking to Neal getting ready to ride him. It got a little out of hand.
__________________
For the better part of a decade, Peter has had sex dreams about Neal Caffrey.
Dreams where Neal, handcuffed, was blowing him in the back of a squad car (and yes, FBI agents don’t ride in squad cars, so what was that about?). Neal in prison, in solitary, and he, Peter, was the only visitor allowed. In his dreams, he fucks Neal for hours on the thin, dirty mattress. Neal screams in pleasure, in pain, and no one comes to help Neal because it’s solitary, and because it’s prison and the sounds of men copulating violently are always ringing in the air. There were ones of Neal, fresh out of prison, wearing only that white t-shirt and dress pants and tracking anklet, on his knees while Peter rubs his cock all over his face. They hadn’t even left the confines of the prison yard – the guards were watching him abuse Neal, beating off as Peter smacked his dick against Neal’s cheeks, leaving come-trails in his eyelashes.
They disturb him – not because he was dreaming about having sex with another man, but that he was forcing his will, his power, on someone helpless to stop him.
One morning, after waking up crying and drenched in sweat and come, Elizabeth made him tell her about those dreams – those nightmares. She didn’t think he was sick, she thought the dreams were hot. And besides, he was not the type of man who would ever abuse his authority like that. If (and when) he fucked Neal, it would be pleasure between equals (even if Peter wanted to cuff Neal to the headboard and bang on him like a hammer).
It took the better part of two years before Peter’s willpower gave way like the Berlin Wall. It started with one of those stupid trust issues that were forever polluting their relationship. Neal did something, Peter did something, neither of them talked about it and both got unreasonably, stupidly angry. This time, though, they didn’t just metaphorically kiss and make up.
It got physical. He stormed into the apartment, filled with righteous anger. Neal shouted at him to get out – they were done.
“Done? Done? No – we’re not doing this again. You don’t get to be pissed at me and throw me out of your life.” Peter got deep into Neal’s space, backing him up against the wall.
“Pissed don’t begin to describe my feelings. You had no right to interfere!”
“You were two seconds from getting yourself thrown back into prison! I had every goddamn right.” He bracketed Neal’s head with his arms and leaned in close enough to see the flecks of color in his irises.
Neal didn’t back down. “This is my life, my choice – this wasn’t Bureau business.”
Peter was about to say something about Neal being his responsibility and that as long as he wore the tracker, Peter had every right to step in, but that was the smallest part of the truth. Instead, he opened is soul and let everything that mattered pour out. “It may be your life, but you’re my friend. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen to you. You’re too important to me. You do this again, I’ll be there to stop you – and I’ll keep being there, tracker or no tracker. You’re not going back to prison, ever.”
He took a deep breath and made the final commitment. “I love you.”
Neal opened his mouth, but said nothing. Peter’s honesty diffused his anger, left him wordless.
Peter felt weightless, like his veins were filled with joy. Neal didn’t break their gaze and he closed that final distance between them, gently kissing Neal.
The kiss didn’t stay gentle for long. Neal’s hands were everywhere, cupping his face, pulling at his clothing, undoing his own clothes. They were shirtless and against the wall and he was kissing Neal Caffrey like he’d dreamed about for so long, taking and taking and taking.
But Neal was kissing him back, biting him, taking him, too. Peter wasn’t sure who was pushing who towards the bed. Whatever was going to happen next was inevitable, like the sunrise.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Peter was dreaming again, dreaming of Neal’s hard flesh in his hands, under his mouth. He was dreaming in vivid detail – not like watching a movie, but like being an actor in it. The scenes played out: Neal in his knees, begging for his cock, Neal on his knees (again), his mouth grossly distorted as he tried to swallow all of Peter’s cock, Neal looking at him as he spread his thighs and fingered his tight hole.
Peter dreamed of the heat as he drove his cock deep into Neal’s ass. There were no questions of morality, of personal conflict, of his abuse of a man under his control. There was just perfection, the feeling of completion as Neal wrapped his arms around him and held him.
He dreamed of the words, the whispered assertions of love, of faith and fidelity. Those words brought pleasure of a different kind and he reveled in them as much as he did in Neal’s surrender.
Opening his eyes, he saw an unfamiliar skylight, which was quickly blocked out by a human body.
Not Elizabeth – Neal.
In a few seconds, he was alert enough to realize that his dick was hard as a rock – not just the ordinary morning piss-hard – but full arousal. He also remembered everything he did to Neal last night, everything that Neal did to him. What they did to each other.
“Peter…” Neal was still leaning over him, pressing hot, moist kisses along his chin, his collarbone, finally his lips. “Let me do this.”
As if he’d object.
Neal reached back and aligned Peter’s cock with his slicked up hole and slowly – almost too slowly, slid down. Peter’s eyes adjust to the dark and he could see Neal, mostly in shadow, but his blue eyes were glittering, the meager light from the skylight just enough to cast a gleam on his lips, the sharp angles of his cheeks, the mussed silk of his hair.
Even in the dimness, watching Neal as he rode him was such beautiful, intense, perfect pleasure. Reaching out, he found skin, slick with sweat, a heart beating under his fingertips.
This was sex, but it was more, too. Surrendering his body to Neal wasn’t something he ever dreamed of – he was always taking, always in control. What Neal was doing to him now, half-asleep had nothing to do with his control and everything to do with how they worked – how they were.
Did this afternoon’s events demonstrate just what an illusion his control of Neal was? And didn’t he want Neal to be something more of an automaton?
These questions were too much for him right now, not with Neal rising and falling, the heat and pressure, the pleasure – beautiful, overrode everything. He came in a blinding rush, his orgasm almost painful. Threads of hot come hit his chest as Neal came, too, taking his pleasure from his own hand as well as from Peter cock up his ass.
Peter lay there, panting, replete for the moment.
“Love you.”
Peter might have imagined those words, but he didn’t imagine Neal’s sudden absence from the bed, the coolness of the night air on his damp, naked flesh. He didn’t imagine Neal rolling the condom off his cock, or wiping him down with a warm washcloth. Nor did he imagine Neal returning to the bed, tucking his body into his and kissing him lightly.
He kissed Neal back, and fighting the inexorable pull of sleep, he said, “Yes. I love you, too.”
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Dream-state Dub-con, Angry!Sex
Word Count: ~1200
Beta Credit:
coffeethyme4me Summary: Anger leads to truth leads to kisses leads to more than kisses. And after the anger, joy.
A/N: Written for my dearest
coffeethyme4me, who asked for just 300 words of sleepy Peter waking to Neal getting ready to ride him. It got a little out of hand.For the better part of a decade, Peter has had sex dreams about Neal Caffrey.
Dreams where Neal, handcuffed, was blowing him in the back of a squad car (and yes, FBI agents don’t ride in squad cars, so what was that about?). Neal in prison, in solitary, and he, Peter, was the only visitor allowed. In his dreams, he fucks Neal for hours on the thin, dirty mattress. Neal screams in pleasure, in pain, and no one comes to help Neal because it’s solitary, and because it’s prison and the sounds of men copulating violently are always ringing in the air. There were ones of Neal, fresh out of prison, wearing only that white t-shirt and dress pants and tracking anklet, on his knees while Peter rubs his cock all over his face. They hadn’t even left the confines of the prison yard – the guards were watching him abuse Neal, beating off as Peter smacked his dick against Neal’s cheeks, leaving come-trails in his eyelashes.
They disturb him – not because he was dreaming about having sex with another man, but that he was forcing his will, his power, on someone helpless to stop him.
One morning, after waking up crying and drenched in sweat and come, Elizabeth made him tell her about those dreams – those nightmares. She didn’t think he was sick, she thought the dreams were hot. And besides, he was not the type of man who would ever abuse his authority like that. If (and when) he fucked Neal, it would be pleasure between equals (even if Peter wanted to cuff Neal to the headboard and bang on him like a hammer).
It took the better part of two years before Peter’s willpower gave way like the Berlin Wall. It started with one of those stupid trust issues that were forever polluting their relationship. Neal did something, Peter did something, neither of them talked about it and both got unreasonably, stupidly angry. This time, though, they didn’t just metaphorically kiss and make up.
It got physical. He stormed into the apartment, filled with righteous anger. Neal shouted at him to get out – they were done.
“Done? Done? No – we’re not doing this again. You don’t get to be pissed at me and throw me out of your life.” Peter got deep into Neal’s space, backing him up against the wall.
“Pissed don’t begin to describe my feelings. You had no right to interfere!”
“You were two seconds from getting yourself thrown back into prison! I had every goddamn right.” He bracketed Neal’s head with his arms and leaned in close enough to see the flecks of color in his irises.
Neal didn’t back down. “This is my life, my choice – this wasn’t Bureau business.”
Peter was about to say something about Neal being his responsibility and that as long as he wore the tracker, Peter had every right to step in, but that was the smallest part of the truth. Instead, he opened is soul and let everything that mattered pour out. “It may be your life, but you’re my friend. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen to you. You’re too important to me. You do this again, I’ll be there to stop you – and I’ll keep being there, tracker or no tracker. You’re not going back to prison, ever.”
He took a deep breath and made the final commitment. “I love you.”
Neal opened his mouth, but said nothing. Peter’s honesty diffused his anger, left him wordless.
Peter felt weightless, like his veins were filled with joy. Neal didn’t break their gaze and he closed that final distance between them, gently kissing Neal.
The kiss didn’t stay gentle for long. Neal’s hands were everywhere, cupping his face, pulling at his clothing, undoing his own clothes. They were shirtless and against the wall and he was kissing Neal Caffrey like he’d dreamed about for so long, taking and taking and taking.
But Neal was kissing him back, biting him, taking him, too. Peter wasn’t sure who was pushing who towards the bed. Whatever was going to happen next was inevitable, like the sunrise.
Peter was dreaming again, dreaming of Neal’s hard flesh in his hands, under his mouth. He was dreaming in vivid detail – not like watching a movie, but like being an actor in it. The scenes played out: Neal in his knees, begging for his cock, Neal on his knees (again), his mouth grossly distorted as he tried to swallow all of Peter’s cock, Neal looking at him as he spread his thighs and fingered his tight hole.
Peter dreamed of the heat as he drove his cock deep into Neal’s ass. There were no questions of morality, of personal conflict, of his abuse of a man under his control. There was just perfection, the feeling of completion as Neal wrapped his arms around him and held him.
He dreamed of the words, the whispered assertions of love, of faith and fidelity. Those words brought pleasure of a different kind and he reveled in them as much as he did in Neal’s surrender.
Opening his eyes, he saw an unfamiliar skylight, which was quickly blocked out by a human body.
Not Elizabeth – Neal.
In a few seconds, he was alert enough to realize that his dick was hard as a rock – not just the ordinary morning piss-hard – but full arousal. He also remembered everything he did to Neal last night, everything that Neal did to him. What they did to each other.
“Peter…” Neal was still leaning over him, pressing hot, moist kisses along his chin, his collarbone, finally his lips. “Let me do this.”
As if he’d object.
Neal reached back and aligned Peter’s cock with his slicked up hole and slowly – almost too slowly, slid down. Peter’s eyes adjust to the dark and he could see Neal, mostly in shadow, but his blue eyes were glittering, the meager light from the skylight just enough to cast a gleam on his lips, the sharp angles of his cheeks, the mussed silk of his hair.
Even in the dimness, watching Neal as he rode him was such beautiful, intense, perfect pleasure. Reaching out, he found skin, slick with sweat, a heart beating under his fingertips.
This was sex, but it was more, too. Surrendering his body to Neal wasn’t something he ever dreamed of – he was always taking, always in control. What Neal was doing to him now, half-asleep had nothing to do with his control and everything to do with how they worked – how they were.
Did this afternoon’s events demonstrate just what an illusion his control of Neal was? And didn’t he want Neal to be something more of an automaton?
These questions were too much for him right now, not with Neal rising and falling, the heat and pressure, the pleasure – beautiful, overrode everything. He came in a blinding rush, his orgasm almost painful. Threads of hot come hit his chest as Neal came, too, taking his pleasure from his own hand as well as from Peter cock up his ass.
Peter lay there, panting, replete for the moment.
“Love you.”
Peter might have imagined those words, but he didn’t imagine Neal’s sudden absence from the bed, the coolness of the night air on his damp, naked flesh. He didn’t imagine Neal rolling the condom off his cock, or wiping him down with a warm washcloth. Nor did he imagine Neal returning to the bed, tucking his body into his and kissing him lightly.
He kissed Neal back, and fighting the inexorable pull of sleep, he said, “Yes. I love you, too.”
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