elrhiarhodan: (Peter - BAMF In a Chair)
[personal profile] elrhiarhodan
Title: An Iron Fist In A Velvet Glove
Author: [livejournal.com profile] elrhiarhodan
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Bondage, Orgasm Denial
Word Count: ~375
Summary: Written as comment!porn for [livejournal.com profile] surreal_44 , she was having a bad day.

________________


"Don't move."

"I have to move."

"You can only move when I give you permission."

Neal is on his back, arms and legs bound to the four corners of his bed, trying to get more friction, more pleasure. He strains against the bonds, but Peter isn't giving him what he wants or letting him take what he needs.

"Peter, please." Neal isn't adverse to begging either. “Stop being so fucking Machiavellian.”

Peter laughs softly and looks at his lover, his skin coated in a fine sheen of perspiration, his cock a velvet encased bar of hot steel beating against his belly, the tip leaking precome into his navel. It takes all of Peter’s immense willpower to stop himself from going down on Neal, swallowing that beautiful dick whole, milking him with his throat and making him come. But he holds fast, and lets Neal hang there, suspended in the moment when too much pleasure can become pain.

Peter softly, gently, delicately runs a hand over Neal’s body, a hand encased in a velvet glove. Neal claims to have found the item in a vintage clothing store, but Peter suspects that it is another one of his bespoke sex toys. At the end, it doesn’t matter where the glove came from, it is lusciously soft and fits his hand perfectly.

Neal’s responding to Peter’s teasing touches exquisitely, goosebumps develop in the wake of his trailing fingers. Peter carefully avoids the obvious erogenous zones - Neal’s nipples (which are beautifully, mouth-wateringly puckered), his cock and his balls (which are now drawn up tight). Instead, Peter concentrates on the less obvious areas - the ones he wants to experiment with - like the space between Neal’s hip and his waist, the curve under the lowest rib, his collar bone, his armpit with its cluster of dark, sweaty curls.

Neal whimpers and looks at Peter with pleading eyes. He finds infinite love, but no mercy as Peter slowly drives him to the brink of sensual insanity.

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