elrhiarhodan

Title: False Atonement
Author:

elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Vincent Adler; Vincent/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Physical, emotional, sexual abuse, rape.
Word Count: ~650
Beta Credit: None
Summary: A timestamp for Torch Song, which refers to an abusive relationship between Neal and Vincent Adler. This is that story - or part of it.

A/N: This story is inspired by

kanarek13's breathtaking artwork, Shadows of the Past, and was originally a comment fic in her post. Also, a fill for my H/C Bingo Card – the "Atonement" square.

__________________

Neal looked at the box on the bed. There was a note next to it. Two simple words, “I'm sorry” and Vincent's initial.

Vincent was always sorry. After he hit him, he always tried to atone for his temper. Sometime those apologies came in the form of kisses and cuddles after he calmed down, sometimes they came in the form of expensive presents - like whatever was inside the box. Neal swallowed against the nausea and picked it up. It was a beautiful thing, polished black leather, the seams perfectly stitched, the closure heavy polished brass and engraved with the logo of a famous Swiss watchmaker. He opened the box, and yes – there was a watch inside. The polished gold gleamed softly in the dim light. Neal would sooner cut his arm off than wear it, but he probably didn't have a choice. If he didn't wear, he'd probably get punished, or worse.

The first time Vincent hit him, it was a total shock, like getting drenched with a bucket of ice water. Unexpected, and at least that time, the attack was more bruising to his ego than his flesh. Neal had made some joke about something, maybe about the wine or the weather or the color of Vincent's tie. He couldn't remember. But he did remember the back of Vincent's hand hitting his face, the icy rage in the other man's eyes. He remembered falling back and wondering what the hell had just happened.

And like an idiot or some out of control child, he'd burst into tears. And just like that, everything seemed to be all right. Vincent hugged him close, whispered apologies and promises that it would never happen again. Of course, since he was an idiot, Neal believed him. Vincent kissed his tears away, delicately ghosting his fingers over the bruise on his cheek, and apologized, begging for Neal's forgiveness. And like the idiot he was, Neal had forgiven him and made his own apologies. Vincent hushed him with a tender kiss and Neal felt so loved, so cherished that it was impossible to even remember the attack.

Vincent's kisses had turned from comforting to compelling; his hands moved from his bruised cheek to the back of his head and gripped him hard. Neal had always thrilled to Vincent's strength, his mastery, the way he took control, and that time had been no different. Vincent's hands moved to his ass and he ground his obscenely massive erection into him. Like some heroine from a romance novel cliché, he'd melted into Vincent's arms like some helpless thing, and the sex had been incredible.

Two weeks later, it happened again. And again Vincent apologized and again, Neal-the-idiot accepted the apology and let Vincent screw him senseless. A pair of antique Cartier cufflinks followed and when Neal had tried to give him back, the momentary rage in Vincent's eyes was terrifying. So he'd reversed course, thanked him and let Vincent fuck him until he all but passed out from the pain.

The third time it happened, it wasn't a simple backhanded slap. It was fists and feet and while Neal was prostrate on Vincent's marble floor, retching in agony, Vincent raped him.

For two years, this had been the pattern. Vincent took sick pleasure in hitting him - and always when he least expected it. Weeks would go by and everything would be normal, but Neal would be waiting – always waiting for the blows, the rape, the agony. And of course, that came - something would set Vincent off; the time of day, the weather, a flock of birds passing overhead, it didn't matter. Vincent would lash out, and Neal would fall to his knees, praying that the son of a bitch would really lose control. And kill him.

Because death was the only way he was going to escape this hell. Vincent would never let him go otherwise.

FIN