![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: Listen to Your Heart Bleed
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for 4.02: Most Wanted, 4.12: Brass Tacks
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~3700
Beta Credit: Unbeta’d
Summary: The tracker comes and Neal discovers something about himself. As revelations go, he’s had worse.
A/N: Title from the REM classic, “It’s the End of the World”. Story prompted bycoffeethyme4me on my recent Ask Me About AUs I’ll Never Write Meme: “Apocalypse.” This isn’t technically an AU, since I don’t particularly care for end of the world/end of days scenarios, so I decided to go literal. I didn’t expect this to become a full-fledged fic.
__________________
Apocalypse, from the ancient Greek ἀποκάλυψις (apocalypses), from ἀπό and καλύπτω meaning uncovering or revelation.
Neal should have been accustomed by now to discovering the truth about himself.
Really.
At seventeen, he found out that his father was a corrupt cop. At thirty-four, he learned that his father wasn’t really so bad after all. That all his efforts to be the greatest conman in the world were pointless. At was thirty-seven, Neal figured he was done with revelations. But his life changed again and realized he was gay. Or more accurately, enthusiastically bisexual. It probably should have been an earthshaking realization, but it didn’t take long for Neal to come to terms with it. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had a sexual relationship with man before. There was Adler, of course. And Bruno. Of the two, he had fonder memories of man who kept him safe for four years.
Back when he first got out of prison, Moz had delicately asked him if he was okay.
He replied with an off-hand and clueless, “Yeah, couldn’t be better.”
“Neal - it’s me. You can tell me if anything happened. You know that, right?”
“What?” He’d been too preoccupied with his new plastic and wire friend, trying to find a way to disengage it without alerting the Marshals.
“In prison. Did anything … happen to you?”
“Huh?” He looked up, still puzzled.
“No one hurt you, right?”
The light dawned. He gave Moz his best smile, the one that disarmed marks and hardened convicts alike. “No – actually not. I was fine. I am fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I am.”
They never talked about it again, because it was the truth. No one hurt him, but that didn’t mean he rode out the four years without buying some protection with his body, and there was no reason for Mozzie to know that. He liked Bruno, who had enough connections to keep himself well stocked with lube and condoms and preferred oral to anal most days, anyway.
But to be safe, since his release, Neal went for blood tests every three months. It was probably overkill, but worth his peace of mind.
His prison experience aside, Neal never felt himself sexually attracted to another man (Adler didn’t count. He was a relationship of opportunity, a mark. Part of the job). But something happened to him the day Peter took his anklet off for the last time. The office had thrown him a small party at a local eatery and at five PM, Neal strolled into Peter’s office, put his foot on one of the guest chairs and hoisted the leg of his pants, displaying the black plastic cuff. Both men watched as the green light blinked and then went off.
Neal was surprised at the mix of feelings. Joy, of course. Relief, of course. But he also felt just a touch bereft. He could go anywhere and Peter wouldn’t be able to instantly find him.
“I’m almost sad.” Peter took the unlocking device off his key ring and bent over to take the tracker off. It wasn’t that his touch was unfamiliar. Far from it. Peter had turned manhandling him into a fine art - but Neal had never had a reaction quite like this.
“This is the very last time.” Peter’s hands were hot and strong and they lingered, squeezing his sock-covered ankle.
It was like a bolt of electricity went through him, zinging right in the groin. To his embarrassment, Neal felt his cock swell, his balls tingle. He swallowed and tried not to twitch his foot out of Peter’s hands.
Peter unlocked the cuff, pulling it away and Neal couldn’t help but sigh.
“Feels good?”
“Yeah.” That came out far more guttural than he intended.
Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “You okay?”
He shook out his foot and shrugged. “It’s just weird, like I’m lighter than air. And it’s strange, knowing that it’s never going to be back on.”
“I thought you’d be dancing a jig, at the very least.”
Neal hummed a few bars of The Mason’s Apron and did a few skipping steps. “Satisfied?”
Peter chuckled. “Well, technically, that song’s a reel and what you just did doesn’t resemble a jig in the slightest, but yeah.”
He picked up his hat, gave Peter a little bow and turned to leave.
“Remember - party at the house tonight,” Peter called after him. “Everyone’s coming, even Reese.”
“I’ll be there - with bells on.”
Neal took the subway back to June’s, functioning on autopilot. He was confused. This was Peter, the man he’d sometimes considered a father figure, at least until his real father showed up. And even after James had come and gone and left a new set of marks on his soul, Peter remained his friend, his moral compass, the one constant in his life.
He was also straight and so very married to Elizabeth.
And he, Neal, was straight, too (Adler and Bruno aside). He loved women, he loved their softness, their beauty. He liked tits and long hair and the plunging go of sex. He liked making love to women. It was the highlight of being Neal Caffrey.
Maybe it was a fluke. Just a reaction to the circumstances. Hell, if Jones or Diana had taken the tracker off, he’d probably have the same reaction.
But that proved to be a lie. He felt no desire for Clinton, and while he appreciated Diana’s physical attraction, she didn’t set his blood humming, not like Peter now did.
A few hours before his parole ended, Neal signed papers making him an official employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A technical analyst on permanent assignment to the White Collar division. His days really weren’t much different, and he and Peter were still de facto partners. Peter still put his hands on him, and to his utter embarrassment, Neal couldn’t stop the near-instant arousal. It got so bad he thought about getting himself a few pairs of Spanx, if just to keep from showing wood.
This reaction became a distraction and Neal started daydreaming about Peter - a highly sexualized and extremely kinky Peter. He was smart enough to not indulge in these fantasies in the office - at least not after the first time, when he practically limped into the men’s room to beat off. But it was getting so bad that he was barely sleeping.
Neal started to wonder if it would be better to leave New York, to take himself out of Peter’s orbit. The thought made him sick - leave Peter? How could he? Despite these inconvenient and almost outrageous feelings, he couldn’t leave Peter. He’d done that once before and regretted every moment of it.
As revelations went, it was nowhere near as shattering as when Ellen told him the truth about his father. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to be able to act upon these desires. Neal told himself he’d just have to learn to live with this. Use it as a character-building exercise - something to strengthen his self-control. He’d tear a page out of the Book of Courtly Love and let himself be content with adoring Peter from afar.
That was for the best.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
“So, how is Operation Seduce Neal coming along?” El asked.
Peter stabbed at a slice of roast chicken, frustrated. “Not well. I don’t know if he’s oblivious or just not interested.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have waited until the tracker came off for good. If he only sees you as a friend, a father figure …”
Peter set down his knife and fork and scrubbed at his face. “I know, I know. But there was no way I could ever think of getting involved with Neal like that while he was still on parole. While he was my CI.” He sighed. “Now, maybe it’s too late.”
El reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s never too late. He’s here, he’s not going anywhere. Maybe all he needs is a good, swift kick in the pants.”
Peter had to laugh. “And you want to be the one to administer it?”
“The thought has some appeal. You do know that he’s inclined to obey my every command, especially where your well-being is concerned.”
“Yeah, that he is.” Peter hadn’t forgotten how his wife got Neal to lie to him, to his face. It still stung, even though her reasons were the noblest.
“Or maybe you should just go over there, get Neal drunk and make him confess his feelings. In vino verities.”
“You do know that it’s next to impossible to get Caffrey drunk. I’d probably end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning before he broke down.”
“Then how about just telling him the truth?”
The idea wasn’t one he hadn’t thought of, especially in the darkest part of the night. The fantasy of confessing his love and desire was almost as old as his relationship with Neal. Lust hadn’t been really a revelation - he’d always swung both ways and had never been ashamed of his sexuality. El wasn’t just understanding, she encouraged him to explore his needs and he did the same for her. And if he’d been content to wait for Neal, she was, too.
Except that now he worried that it was too late, that Neal only saw him as a friend and god-forbid - a father figure - then the wait was for naught.
“Go to him, Peter. Be honest with him. You owe it to him, to us.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Neal was torn from the most satisfying dream – Peter keeping him on the precipice of orgasm for hours - by someone banging on his door. He looked at the bedside clock; it was nearly one AM. Whoever it was, and it definitely wasn’t Moz, better have a damn good excuse for waking him up at this hour.
He grabbed his robe and made sure he presented a somewhat decent picture - no unseemly bulges - before answering.
Not for the first time he regretted the lack of a peephole. “Who is it?”
“Me, Peter.”
He unlocked the door and opened it, confused and worried. “Everything okay?”
Peter burst in, bringing the cold night air with him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep. Was hungry.”
Neal stood there, bemused. “So you just thought you’d head over here and interrupt my hard-earned rest for a late night snack?”
Peter dropped his coat onto the couch and started digging through his fridge. “Yeah.” He came out with a wedge of melon and a package of Parma ham and gave him a leering head-to-toe look. “And I’d say, ‘hard-earned’ is right.”
Neal pulled his robe a little tighter around his torso. “Don’t you have food at home?” But he was resigned. Peter was here for a reason and he’d take his own sweet time getting to it.
“Hmm, of course. But it’s mostly healthy food these days. I know you’ve got good stuff here.” At least he was using a plate and utensils to serve himself.
“You know, I might have had company tonight.”
That earned him another look. “I seem to recall overhearing a conversation with Jones this afternoon, that you were looking forward to going home, kicking back with some new art texts and having an early night.”
“I could have changed my mind, called someone.” That was weak.
“You don’t do booty calls.” Peter wrapped a piece of ham around a chunk of melon and popped it in his mouth
Neal was at the point where he wanted to toss his partner, his friend, his highly inappropriate idee fixe off the terrace. Instead, he said nothing while he watched Peter work his way through about thirty bucks worth of prosciutto and the last of a perfectly ripe Canary melon. “You’re done?”
“Oh, I’ve barely started.”
Resigned, Neal went into the kitchenette and started fussing with the espresso machine. June had given him the rather expensive piece of equipment for his birthday a year or so ago.
“I’ll have one, as long as you’re making.”
“Of course you will.” He stood there are the machine went through its grinding and tamping and steaming, producing the perfect tiny cup, which he handed off to Peter. He made his a double shot.
“Okay - you’ve been fed, you’re now well-caffeinated, and it’s after one AM on a Saturday morning. You’ve interrupted my sleep for reasons you haven’t bothered to share.” Neal sat down on the couch, carefully crossed his legs and sipped his coffee. To his consternation, Peter sat down next to him; they were thigh-to-thigh and Neal thought his leg was going to be scorched. Peter radiated heat like a furnace and he fought against the desire to rub up against that heat like a cat.
Peter, naturally, was oblivious to Neal’s distress. He sat there, enjoying his coffee. When the last drop was swallowed, and the tiny cup carefully set down on the coffee table, Peter let out a small sigh. “This is where it all began - your apartment and a fabulous cup of coffee.”
Neal had to laugh. “Yeah - it did. What was it you accused me of? ‘Cappuccino in the clouds’?”
“And you thought you could bribe me with a bag of June’s Italian roast.”
“Well, you were rather enamored of it, and I thought it worth a try.” The memories of those early days made him feel a little off-balance.
The silence stretched out, but not uncomfortably.
Peter finally spoke. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. At least fine for getting woken up out of a pretty good dream.”
Peter side-eyed him. “Hmmm, I bet it was a good dream, but that wasn’t really what I meant. Want to know how you’re doing - without that thing.” His foot tapped at Neal’s now-bare ankle. “You seem a bit off these days.”
“Off?” Neal strove for a neutral tone. God forbid Peter realized what was going on in his head.
“Well, ‘off’ maybe isn’t the right word. A little distracted sometimes. Regretting the decision to hang around?”
“No - not at all.” His answer was heartfelt and honest. Whatever his misguided feelings were, he didn’t regret staying in New York, staying with the Bureau for a single moment.
“Good.”
They lapsed into silence again. A siren wailed, loud enough to pierce the hushed and moneyed Riverside neighborhood.
“That’s why you’re here? Checking to make sure I’m okay?” Neal savored the warmth that thought brought.
Peter didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I suppose.” He shifted around to look to Neal. Before he could reply, Peter lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “I also came over to do this.”
And he kissed him, on the lips. With intent and desire.
If the moment when Peter took off his tracker for the last time was a revelation, then this moment was truly the end of the world as he knew it.
Peter’s lips weren’t like anyone else’s he’d ever kissed (and no, he and Bruno didn’t kiss on the mouth, and the thought of kissing Vincent Adler still made him ill). They were firm, a little dry, but so infinitely skilled. As masterful as Neal expected they would be. Caught in the moment, Neal just let Peter kiss him. He felt himself opening up, and all the clichéd analogies about flowers blooming were washed away in a tide of longing and fulfilled desire. Nothing made sense, but since the world was ending, nothing had to.
His tongue was sly, little licks coaxing him to respond, to give as good as he got, and Neal did just that. He plunged his fingers into Peter’s hair, holding him close, holding him still as he kissed him back, kissed him like he had been dreaming of doing less than an hour ago. He kissed him and Peter laughed, a hot puff of breath forced down his throat and Neal came.
Peter held him, cradling him as his body shuddered in an uncontrolled orgasm, whispering words of love and praise. He didn’t seem to care that the flood of his semen was staining his jeans.
It was the cooling, unpleasant wetness of his silk sleep pants against over-sensitive skin that finally brought Neal back to himself. He scrambled out of Peter’s arms, appalled at himself, equally appalled at Peter.
Neal all but shouted at Peter, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Hmm, that El was right. You taste like cinnamon.”
Peter’s comment stunned Neal. “What?”
“El said that you’d taste …”
Of all the things he expected to come out of Peter’s mouth at this crucial moment, his wife’s name was not on the list. “You discussed what I would taste like with Elizabeth?”
“Oh, we’ve be speculating about me kissing you for years.” Peter leaned back against the couch like some smug potentate, thighs spread wide, package bulging.
Neal just blinked. He had no words.
Peter continued, blithely destroying Neal’s sanity. “I wasn’t going to do anything while you were on the tracker, despite El’s encouragement. Maybe if things hadn’t gotten fucked up when we were trying to get out of Cape Verde, or if we had a little alone time …” Peter shook his head and chuckled. “As if Moz was going to let you out of his sight, or be alone with me in an island paradise.”
“Moz knows how you feel – about me?”
“Well, probably. He’s got eyes. But it’s not like we’ve actually talked about me fucking you.”
There was something almost evil about Peter like this, so casually, so deliberately sexual. Despite his recent loss of control, Neal was getting aroused again. He sat down across from Peter – just far enough to be out of immediate reach, but still close enough. “And Elizabeth knows.”
“Like I said, you’ve been a topic of discussion for quite a while. She understood my patience, but didn’t necessarily think it was such a good idea. There were always threats on the horizon.”
“Threats?” He wondered if she meant other women.
Apparently not. “She was – we both were – worried that you’d start thinking of me as a father figure. Why do you think I initially pushed you to build a relationship with James?”
Neal kept his mouth shut; there were times that he had looked to Peter as a surrogate for the father he couldn’t remember.
“It was hard …” Peter looked down at himself and smirked at his own double entendre. “It was difficult keeping my vow.”
“Vow?” Of all the words for Peter to use.
“To not do anything about this – about my feelings – until you finished your sentence. We were so close, had Kramer not fucked up your commutation.” Peter sighed. “But maybe not? I don’t know if you were ready then.”
“And what makes you think I’m ready now?” Neal tried for some outrage, but failed miserably.
“Neal, I kissed you and you came in your pants. I’d say the proof of your readiness is undeniable.”
Neal buried his head in his hands. “Okay, okay. You’ve wanted me for years. El knows. Mozzie suspects. How the hell was I so clueless?”
Instead of answering his question, Peter turned serious. “Are you bothered by this?”
“That you’re married?”
That earned him a laugh. “No, that I’m a guy.”
Neal shook his head. “Really – no. At least once I got over the fact that I was in love with the unobtainable, it didn’t matter. I mean – I wasn’t planning on ever doing anything about it. Believe me, it wasn’t as earthshattering as finding out my father was a dirty cop.”
“Can I ask, when did you realize?”
Neal couldn’t stop the blush. “When you took the tracker off for the last time; you kind of tickled my ankle and I, well…” He trailed off, not willing to verbalize his reaction.
Peter just smiled and reached for him, pulling him onto the couch. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He leaned over and gently kissed him.
Instead of kissing Peter back, Neal leaned his head on his shoulder and sighed. “You have no idea what this is done for my self-control.”
Peter picked up his hand and explored his fingers as if they were the most magical things in the universe. Neal shivered and wondered when his cuticles became an erogenous zone.
“Well, you’re going to have to keep working on your self-control. No hanky-panky in the office.”
“Hanky-panky? What are you, eighty?”
“Stop deflecting. No sex at the office.”
“Wouldn’t dream of seducing you there – no privacy.” But Neal couldn’t keep a tiny grin off his face. Some of his hottest fantasies including blowing Peter in his office at midday with the bullpen in full view.
Peter must have seen that grin. “I mean it, Neal.”
He didn’t say anything. There was always the back corner of the file room, no windows, no direct line of sight to the rest of the office. A perfect place for a little on-the-job hanky-panky.
“And if you’re thinking of the back corner of the file room, I’ve caught agents there in flagrante delicto more than once.”
“Anyone I know?” Neal had to ask.
Peter shook his head and smiled. “Yes, but I’m not telling.”
A phone chimed with an incoming text – it was Peter’s. He looked at it, laughed and sent a reply.
“At this hour?”
“It was El, she wanted to know how things were going.”
Neal made a successful grab for the phone and scrolled through the messages. Peter was telling him the truth. The last text from Elizabeth read, Kissed him yet? He wasn’t sure if he should be outraged by Peter’s reply: We’re about to get naked. TTY in the morning.
He felt amazingly light and free – so much more than when Peter had taken the tracker off that last time. There was nothing muddled or confused about his emotions now. He got up, shed his robe and his come-stained sleep pants and walked over to his bedroom. Peter was still sitting there, apparently admiring the view.
“You told El that we’re about to get naked. Was that a lie?”
Peter got up and started to strip, dropping his clothes all over the floor. He was naked by the time he reached the bed.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: Vague spoilers for 4.02: Most Wanted, 4.12: Brass Tacks
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~3700
Beta Credit: Unbeta’d
Summary: The tracker comes and Neal discovers something about himself. As revelations go, he’s had worse.
A/N: Title from the REM classic, “It’s the End of the World”. Story prompted by
coffeethyme4me on my recent Ask Me About AUs I’ll Never Write Meme: “Apocalypse.” This isn’t technically an AU, since I don’t particularly care for end of the world/end of days scenarios, so I decided to go literal. I didn’t expect this to become a full-fledged fic.Apocalypse, from the ancient Greek ἀποκάλυψις (apocalypses), from ἀπό and καλύπτω meaning uncovering or revelation.
Neal should have been accustomed by now to discovering the truth about himself.
Really.
At seventeen, he found out that his father was a corrupt cop. At thirty-four, he learned that his father wasn’t really so bad after all. That all his efforts to be the greatest conman in the world were pointless. At was thirty-seven, Neal figured he was done with revelations. But his life changed again and realized he was gay. Or more accurately, enthusiastically bisexual. It probably should have been an earthshaking realization, but it didn’t take long for Neal to come to terms with it. After all, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had a sexual relationship with man before. There was Adler, of course. And Bruno. Of the two, he had fonder memories of man who kept him safe for four years.
Back when he first got out of prison, Moz had delicately asked him if he was okay.
He replied with an off-hand and clueless, “Yeah, couldn’t be better.”
“Neal - it’s me. You can tell me if anything happened. You know that, right?”
“What?” He’d been too preoccupied with his new plastic and wire friend, trying to find a way to disengage it without alerting the Marshals.
“In prison. Did anything … happen to you?”
“Huh?” He looked up, still puzzled.
“No one hurt you, right?”
The light dawned. He gave Moz his best smile, the one that disarmed marks and hardened convicts alike. “No – actually not. I was fine. I am fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I am.”
They never talked about it again, because it was the truth. No one hurt him, but that didn’t mean he rode out the four years without buying some protection with his body, and there was no reason for Mozzie to know that. He liked Bruno, who had enough connections to keep himself well stocked with lube and condoms and preferred oral to anal most days, anyway.
But to be safe, since his release, Neal went for blood tests every three months. It was probably overkill, but worth his peace of mind.
His prison experience aside, Neal never felt himself sexually attracted to another man (Adler didn’t count. He was a relationship of opportunity, a mark. Part of the job). But something happened to him the day Peter took his anklet off for the last time. The office had thrown him a small party at a local eatery and at five PM, Neal strolled into Peter’s office, put his foot on one of the guest chairs and hoisted the leg of his pants, displaying the black plastic cuff. Both men watched as the green light blinked and then went off.
Neal was surprised at the mix of feelings. Joy, of course. Relief, of course. But he also felt just a touch bereft. He could go anywhere and Peter wouldn’t be able to instantly find him.
“I’m almost sad.” Peter took the unlocking device off his key ring and bent over to take the tracker off. It wasn’t that his touch was unfamiliar. Far from it. Peter had turned manhandling him into a fine art - but Neal had never had a reaction quite like this.
“This is the very last time.” Peter’s hands were hot and strong and they lingered, squeezing his sock-covered ankle.
It was like a bolt of electricity went through him, zinging right in the groin. To his embarrassment, Neal felt his cock swell, his balls tingle. He swallowed and tried not to twitch his foot out of Peter’s hands.
Peter unlocked the cuff, pulling it away and Neal couldn’t help but sigh.
“Feels good?”
“Yeah.” That came out far more guttural than he intended.
Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “You okay?”
He shook out his foot and shrugged. “It’s just weird, like I’m lighter than air. And it’s strange, knowing that it’s never going to be back on.”
“I thought you’d be dancing a jig, at the very least.”
Neal hummed a few bars of The Mason’s Apron and did a few skipping steps. “Satisfied?”
Peter chuckled. “Well, technically, that song’s a reel and what you just did doesn’t resemble a jig in the slightest, but yeah.”
He picked up his hat, gave Peter a little bow and turned to leave.
“Remember - party at the house tonight,” Peter called after him. “Everyone’s coming, even Reese.”
“I’ll be there - with bells on.”
Neal took the subway back to June’s, functioning on autopilot. He was confused. This was Peter, the man he’d sometimes considered a father figure, at least until his real father showed up. And even after James had come and gone and left a new set of marks on his soul, Peter remained his friend, his moral compass, the one constant in his life.
He was also straight and so very married to Elizabeth.
And he, Neal, was straight, too (Adler and Bruno aside). He loved women, he loved their softness, their beauty. He liked tits and long hair and the plunging go of sex. He liked making love to women. It was the highlight of being Neal Caffrey.
Maybe it was a fluke. Just a reaction to the circumstances. Hell, if Jones or Diana had taken the tracker off, he’d probably have the same reaction.
But that proved to be a lie. He felt no desire for Clinton, and while he appreciated Diana’s physical attraction, she didn’t set his blood humming, not like Peter now did.
A few hours before his parole ended, Neal signed papers making him an official employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A technical analyst on permanent assignment to the White Collar division. His days really weren’t much different, and he and Peter were still de facto partners. Peter still put his hands on him, and to his utter embarrassment, Neal couldn’t stop the near-instant arousal. It got so bad he thought about getting himself a few pairs of Spanx, if just to keep from showing wood.
This reaction became a distraction and Neal started daydreaming about Peter - a highly sexualized and extremely kinky Peter. He was smart enough to not indulge in these fantasies in the office - at least not after the first time, when he practically limped into the men’s room to beat off. But it was getting so bad that he was barely sleeping.
Neal started to wonder if it would be better to leave New York, to take himself out of Peter’s orbit. The thought made him sick - leave Peter? How could he? Despite these inconvenient and almost outrageous feelings, he couldn’t leave Peter. He’d done that once before and regretted every moment of it.
As revelations went, it was nowhere near as shattering as when Ellen told him the truth about his father. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to be able to act upon these desires. Neal told himself he’d just have to learn to live with this. Use it as a character-building exercise - something to strengthen his self-control. He’d tear a page out of the Book of Courtly Love and let himself be content with adoring Peter from afar.
That was for the best.
“So, how is Operation Seduce Neal coming along?” El asked.
Peter stabbed at a slice of roast chicken, frustrated. “Not well. I don’t know if he’s oblivious or just not interested.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have waited until the tracker came off for good. If he only sees you as a friend, a father figure …”
Peter set down his knife and fork and scrubbed at his face. “I know, I know. But there was no way I could ever think of getting involved with Neal like that while he was still on parole. While he was my CI.” He sighed. “Now, maybe it’s too late.”
El reached out and squeezed his hand. “It’s never too late. He’s here, he’s not going anywhere. Maybe all he needs is a good, swift kick in the pants.”
Peter had to laugh. “And you want to be the one to administer it?”
“The thought has some appeal. You do know that he’s inclined to obey my every command, especially where your well-being is concerned.”
“Yeah, that he is.” Peter hadn’t forgotten how his wife got Neal to lie to him, to his face. It still stung, even though her reasons were the noblest.
“Or maybe you should just go over there, get Neal drunk and make him confess his feelings. In vino verities.”
“You do know that it’s next to impossible to get Caffrey drunk. I’d probably end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning before he broke down.”
“Then how about just telling him the truth?”
The idea wasn’t one he hadn’t thought of, especially in the darkest part of the night. The fantasy of confessing his love and desire was almost as old as his relationship with Neal. Lust hadn’t been really a revelation - he’d always swung both ways and had never been ashamed of his sexuality. El wasn’t just understanding, she encouraged him to explore his needs and he did the same for her. And if he’d been content to wait for Neal, she was, too.
Except that now he worried that it was too late, that Neal only saw him as a friend and god-forbid - a father figure - then the wait was for naught.
“Go to him, Peter. Be honest with him. You owe it to him, to us.”
Neal was torn from the most satisfying dream – Peter keeping him on the precipice of orgasm for hours - by someone banging on his door. He looked at the bedside clock; it was nearly one AM. Whoever it was, and it definitely wasn’t Moz, better have a damn good excuse for waking him up at this hour.
He grabbed his robe and made sure he presented a somewhat decent picture - no unseemly bulges - before answering.
Not for the first time he regretted the lack of a peephole. “Who is it?”
“Me, Peter.”
He unlocked the door and opened it, confused and worried. “Everything okay?”
Peter burst in, bringing the cold night air with him. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just couldn’t sleep. Was hungry.”
Neal stood there, bemused. “So you just thought you’d head over here and interrupt my hard-earned rest for a late night snack?”
Peter dropped his coat onto the couch and started digging through his fridge. “Yeah.” He came out with a wedge of melon and a package of Parma ham and gave him a leering head-to-toe look. “And I’d say, ‘hard-earned’ is right.”
Neal pulled his robe a little tighter around his torso. “Don’t you have food at home?” But he was resigned. Peter was here for a reason and he’d take his own sweet time getting to it.
“Hmm, of course. But it’s mostly healthy food these days. I know you’ve got good stuff here.” At least he was using a plate and utensils to serve himself.
“You know, I might have had company tonight.”
That earned him another look. “I seem to recall overhearing a conversation with Jones this afternoon, that you were looking forward to going home, kicking back with some new art texts and having an early night.”
“I could have changed my mind, called someone.” That was weak.
“You don’t do booty calls.” Peter wrapped a piece of ham around a chunk of melon and popped it in his mouth
Neal was at the point where he wanted to toss his partner, his friend, his highly inappropriate idee fixe off the terrace. Instead, he said nothing while he watched Peter work his way through about thirty bucks worth of prosciutto and the last of a perfectly ripe Canary melon. “You’re done?”
“Oh, I’ve barely started.”
Resigned, Neal went into the kitchenette and started fussing with the espresso machine. June had given him the rather expensive piece of equipment for his birthday a year or so ago.
“I’ll have one, as long as you’re making.”
“Of course you will.” He stood there are the machine went through its grinding and tamping and steaming, producing the perfect tiny cup, which he handed off to Peter. He made his a double shot.
“Okay - you’ve been fed, you’re now well-caffeinated, and it’s after one AM on a Saturday morning. You’ve interrupted my sleep for reasons you haven’t bothered to share.” Neal sat down on the couch, carefully crossed his legs and sipped his coffee. To his consternation, Peter sat down next to him; they were thigh-to-thigh and Neal thought his leg was going to be scorched. Peter radiated heat like a furnace and he fought against the desire to rub up against that heat like a cat.
Peter, naturally, was oblivious to Neal’s distress. He sat there, enjoying his coffee. When the last drop was swallowed, and the tiny cup carefully set down on the coffee table, Peter let out a small sigh. “This is where it all began - your apartment and a fabulous cup of coffee.”
Neal had to laugh. “Yeah - it did. What was it you accused me of? ‘Cappuccino in the clouds’?”
“And you thought you could bribe me with a bag of June’s Italian roast.”
“Well, you were rather enamored of it, and I thought it worth a try.” The memories of those early days made him feel a little off-balance.
The silence stretched out, but not uncomfortably.
Peter finally spoke. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine. At least fine for getting woken up out of a pretty good dream.”
Peter side-eyed him. “Hmmm, I bet it was a good dream, but that wasn’t really what I meant. Want to know how you’re doing - without that thing.” His foot tapped at Neal’s now-bare ankle. “You seem a bit off these days.”
“Off?” Neal strove for a neutral tone. God forbid Peter realized what was going on in his head.
“Well, ‘off’ maybe isn’t the right word. A little distracted sometimes. Regretting the decision to hang around?”
“No - not at all.” His answer was heartfelt and honest. Whatever his misguided feelings were, he didn’t regret staying in New York, staying with the Bureau for a single moment.
“Good.”
They lapsed into silence again. A siren wailed, loud enough to pierce the hushed and moneyed Riverside neighborhood.
“That’s why you’re here? Checking to make sure I’m okay?” Neal savored the warmth that thought brought.
Peter didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I suppose.” He shifted around to look to Neal. Before he could reply, Peter lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “I also came over to do this.”
And he kissed him, on the lips. With intent and desire.
If the moment when Peter took off his tracker for the last time was a revelation, then this moment was truly the end of the world as he knew it.
Peter’s lips weren’t like anyone else’s he’d ever kissed (and no, he and Bruno didn’t kiss on the mouth, and the thought of kissing Vincent Adler still made him ill). They were firm, a little dry, but so infinitely skilled. As masterful as Neal expected they would be. Caught in the moment, Neal just let Peter kiss him. He felt himself opening up, and all the clichéd analogies about flowers blooming were washed away in a tide of longing and fulfilled desire. Nothing made sense, but since the world was ending, nothing had to.
His tongue was sly, little licks coaxing him to respond, to give as good as he got, and Neal did just that. He plunged his fingers into Peter’s hair, holding him close, holding him still as he kissed him back, kissed him like he had been dreaming of doing less than an hour ago. He kissed him and Peter laughed, a hot puff of breath forced down his throat and Neal came.
Peter held him, cradling him as his body shuddered in an uncontrolled orgasm, whispering words of love and praise. He didn’t seem to care that the flood of his semen was staining his jeans.
It was the cooling, unpleasant wetness of his silk sleep pants against over-sensitive skin that finally brought Neal back to himself. He scrambled out of Peter’s arms, appalled at himself, equally appalled at Peter.
Neal all but shouted at Peter, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Hmm, that El was right. You taste like cinnamon.”
Peter’s comment stunned Neal. “What?”
“El said that you’d taste …”
Of all the things he expected to come out of Peter’s mouth at this crucial moment, his wife’s name was not on the list. “You discussed what I would taste like with Elizabeth?”
“Oh, we’ve be speculating about me kissing you for years.” Peter leaned back against the couch like some smug potentate, thighs spread wide, package bulging.
Neal just blinked. He had no words.
Peter continued, blithely destroying Neal’s sanity. “I wasn’t going to do anything while you were on the tracker, despite El’s encouragement. Maybe if things hadn’t gotten fucked up when we were trying to get out of Cape Verde, or if we had a little alone time …” Peter shook his head and chuckled. “As if Moz was going to let you out of his sight, or be alone with me in an island paradise.”
“Moz knows how you feel – about me?”
“Well, probably. He’s got eyes. But it’s not like we’ve actually talked about me fucking you.”
There was something almost evil about Peter like this, so casually, so deliberately sexual. Despite his recent loss of control, Neal was getting aroused again. He sat down across from Peter – just far enough to be out of immediate reach, but still close enough. “And Elizabeth knows.”
“Like I said, you’ve been a topic of discussion for quite a while. She understood my patience, but didn’t necessarily think it was such a good idea. There were always threats on the horizon.”
“Threats?” He wondered if she meant other women.
Apparently not. “She was – we both were – worried that you’d start thinking of me as a father figure. Why do you think I initially pushed you to build a relationship with James?”
Neal kept his mouth shut; there were times that he had looked to Peter as a surrogate for the father he couldn’t remember.
“It was hard …” Peter looked down at himself and smirked at his own double entendre. “It was difficult keeping my vow.”
“Vow?” Of all the words for Peter to use.
“To not do anything about this – about my feelings – until you finished your sentence. We were so close, had Kramer not fucked up your commutation.” Peter sighed. “But maybe not? I don’t know if you were ready then.”
“And what makes you think I’m ready now?” Neal tried for some outrage, but failed miserably.
“Neal, I kissed you and you came in your pants. I’d say the proof of your readiness is undeniable.”
Neal buried his head in his hands. “Okay, okay. You’ve wanted me for years. El knows. Mozzie suspects. How the hell was I so clueless?”
Instead of answering his question, Peter turned serious. “Are you bothered by this?”
“That you’re married?”
That earned him a laugh. “No, that I’m a guy.”
Neal shook his head. “Really – no. At least once I got over the fact that I was in love with the unobtainable, it didn’t matter. I mean – I wasn’t planning on ever doing anything about it. Believe me, it wasn’t as earthshattering as finding out my father was a dirty cop.”
“Can I ask, when did you realize?”
Neal couldn’t stop the blush. “When you took the tracker off for the last time; you kind of tickled my ankle and I, well…” He trailed off, not willing to verbalize his reaction.
Peter just smiled and reached for him, pulling him onto the couch. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” He leaned over and gently kissed him.
Instead of kissing Peter back, Neal leaned his head on his shoulder and sighed. “You have no idea what this is done for my self-control.”
Peter picked up his hand and explored his fingers as if they were the most magical things in the universe. Neal shivered and wondered when his cuticles became an erogenous zone.
“Well, you’re going to have to keep working on your self-control. No hanky-panky in the office.”
“Hanky-panky? What are you, eighty?”
“Stop deflecting. No sex at the office.”
“Wouldn’t dream of seducing you there – no privacy.” But Neal couldn’t keep a tiny grin off his face. Some of his hottest fantasies including blowing Peter in his office at midday with the bullpen in full view.
Peter must have seen that grin. “I mean it, Neal.”
He didn’t say anything. There was always the back corner of the file room, no windows, no direct line of sight to the rest of the office. A perfect place for a little on-the-job hanky-panky.
“And if you’re thinking of the back corner of the file room, I’ve caught agents there in flagrante delicto more than once.”
“Anyone I know?” Neal had to ask.
Peter shook his head and smiled. “Yes, but I’m not telling.”
A phone chimed with an incoming text – it was Peter’s. He looked at it, laughed and sent a reply.
“At this hour?”
“It was El, she wanted to know how things were going.”
Neal made a successful grab for the phone and scrolled through the messages. Peter was telling him the truth. The last text from Elizabeth read, Kissed him yet? He wasn’t sure if he should be outraged by Peter’s reply: We’re about to get naked. TTY in the morning.
He felt amazingly light and free – so much more than when Peter had taken the tracker off that last time. There was nothing muddled or confused about his emotions now. He got up, shed his robe and his come-stained sleep pants and walked over to his bedroom. Peter was still sitting there, apparently admiring the view.
“You told El that we’re about to get naked. Was that a lie?”
Peter got up and started to strip, dropping his clothes all over the floor. He was naked by the time he reached the bed.
Tags:
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: peter burke,
- genre: angst,
- genre: coming out,
- genre: future fic,
- genre: post-anklet,
- genre: slash,
- kink: kissing,
- kink: oral sex,
- kink: uncontrolled orgasm,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- white collar,
- written for: a/u meme,
- year: 2013
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 06:33 pm (UTC)And the Peter that you wrote in this...HOMMINA! He's perfect. He's a sex god. I love how confident he is -- exchanging texts with El. That little laugh. UNF!!!!!!!!! Neal's in for it. Totally in for it.
I LOVE IT. So much more than an actual end of the world scenario! Thank you!!!
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:58 pm (UTC)It was a troubling prompt at first, since I don't like end of the world type stories, but I am not one to give in easily.
So glad you weren't disappointed that I didn't write how Peter and Neal and El would survive the Zombie Apocalpyse!
no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 06:37 pm (UTC)LOOOOVE THIS \o/ The hints about Neal's past, that he was not unfamiliar with man to man action but his attraction to Peter was the first real deal. Makes it extra special :D
And the fact that Neal came just from kissing Peter - UNF! YES! \o/
Thank you, I needed that after my crappy dat at work :P
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:52 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much - I thought it would be easier for Neal to be experienced, but not enthusiastically so (and someday I will write a non-tentacle Adler/Neal dub-con story).
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 06:13 pm (UTC)A (non)Creature Feature :P \o/
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 06:16 pm (UTC)You will have to blame
no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:37 pm (UTC)El, of course, has to facilitate - she's going to want a taste of cinnamon at some point, too.
And yes, you caught just what Neal did. He's going to be looking for the perfect spot to pay Peter back for making him come in his pants.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 07:36 pm (UTC)And I must admit, I really do enjoy a clueless and confused Neal.
Thank you for making this a full-fledged fic.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:36 pm (UTC)And clueless/confused Neal is almost as delicious as dom/take charge Peter.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 10:22 pm (UTC)I so have a thing for spontaneous orgasms-in-the-pants, and I didn't even know about it until I read this fic! \o/ Neal coming just from being kissed by Peter? Pushes my button HARD. :D
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:35 pm (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-05 11:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 12:43 am (UTC)We need to start a petition to make this the last scene of the last episode of the series.
Brava!
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:01 pm (UTC)And I definitely agree. They sort of did that with Leverage, apparently.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 06:28 am (UTC)I love this! I love that he has to explore his sexuality, and that they both pine for each other, and that El is perfect and pushy. I like that Peter thinks sometimes about how Cape Verde might have gone differently. I like how he compares this revelations with others that have made him realize what he wants and needs and who he is.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 05:00 pm (UTC)And things took off from there.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 06:43 am (UTC)I have this image of Peter, sprawled, like he's filling up the room. So divine.
This was a lovely break today, on a day when I really needed the distraction. Well done as always, m'dear.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 04:58 pm (UTC)And yeah - that is exactly how I see Peter here - from how he burst in "for a snack" to him sprawled on the couch. He fills up all the space.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 08:44 am (UTC)And I must say that you write the best kisses. Thanks for writing.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 04:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 04:56 pm (UTC)The jury's still out for me on 4.13 - I need to rewatch when I am not so damn tired!
no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-07 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-07 01:35 am (UTC)I always like that you put humor into these kind of stories as well (the jig was very Neal) as the banter is always welcome. (What are you 80?)
no subject
Date: 2013-02-07 01:23 pm (UTC)Each time I finish one of these stories, I say "this is the definitive Peter/Neal getting together story" and I don't plan on writing another. But I find a new angle and, BAM! there it is, again.
no subject
Date: 2013-02-07 03:29 am (UTC)This! I could read this over and over. :D
no subject
Date: 2013-02-07 01:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-17 12:35 am (UTC)Thank you! Thank you!
♥♥
no subject
Date: 2013-10-11 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-11 08:14 pm (UTC)Thanks for your list, so I found this amazing story. My favorite boys kissing until Neal comes in his pants, just awesome!!!! :D
no subject
Date: 2013-10-11 08:22 pm (UTC)Thank you!