White Collar Fic - The Best Laid Plans (Part Two of Two)

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: The Best Laid Plans – Part Two of Two
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, June Ellington, Clinton Jones, Reese Hughes, reference to Mozzie, reference to Diana Berrigan, reference to Lauren Cruz; Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Word Count: ~11,000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: BDSM, Consensual Impact Play
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher
Summary: Neal Caffrey, newly minted FBI agent, has been assigned to the New York field office and the White Collar division, but before he starts work, he needs a night for himself. A night to break out the leather and go hunting for the man he'd met six months earlier, the man who'd given him the best sex of his life.

Part One

Author’s Note: Written for cookielaura for Round Four of the wcpairings fic exchange. My recipient wanted Peter/Neal and likes BDSM. I hope this fits her bill! The scenes in the early part of this story were inspired by the short film, Interior: Leather Bar, which reimagines the filming of the mythical "lost" X-rated scenes from the 1980 Al Pacino film, Cruising.

__________________



Text from Reese Hughes, 8:43 AM, Monday:
New probie coming in today.

Reply from Peter Burke, 8:47 AM, Monday:
Thrilling. Can't wait.

Reply from Reese Hughes, 8:51 AM, Monday:
Stop being such a sarcastic SOB. I picked a good one for you.

Reply from Peter Burke, 9:05 AM, Monday:
I want Diana back.

Reply from Reese Hughes, 9:07 AM, Monday:
Sorry, you can't have her. Just trust me, you'll like the new one.

Peter grimaced. Of all the things he didn't want to have to deal with this morning, breaking in a new probationary agent was probably at the top of the list. Right after the two hours of trial prep he needed to attend with the AUSA before heading into the office.

The Dutchman's trial was coming up and he was the government's star witness. His testimony would be key to securing that conviction. He knew he needed to be as prepared as possible, but his mind just kept going back to the weekend. To the anonymous hookup that somehow became something a hell of a lot more.

But just to him.

"Nicky" clearly didn't think it was, though. After that too-beautiful morning fuck, Peter could read his distaste. He didn't think it was for him, personally. In fact, he was pretty certain of that. It was for what he knew Peter wanted to ask – to spend the weekend, to see him again. To maybe see if there was something between them. Something more than leather and kink and fake names and real lust.

"Agent Burke? Is everything all right?"

Peter forced his attention back to the U.S. Attorney. "Fine. What was your question?"

The prep continued until almost eleven and probably would have gone longer, if Peter hadn't put his foot down. Not that he was so eager to get to the office. There was a probie waiting.

It wasn't that he didn't like dealing with new agents. In fact, he usually looked forward to working all that bright and shining eagerness. He wasn't a supervisory agent who saw the newbies as glorified clerks or interns. These men and women were the future of the FBI, and what they learned in these first two years would define their careers.

It was just today he didn't want to deal with that. Not when he was feeling like he'd lost something he never knew he wanted.


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter was gone when Neal got out of the shower. He left a note on the desk. All it said was "Thank you."

That was it. Nothing more. This was what he wanted, so why did he feel like shit?

Neal didn't hang around; he ordered an Uber and got dressed. The car was waiting for him by the time he got to the lobby, and since it was well before noon on a Saturday, it took less than twenty minutes to make it uptown to his new apartment on Riverside Drive.

His landlady, June, wasn't home – not that Neal really wanted to avoid her. She was a charming and open minded lady and Neal was unbelievably grateful to her. It turned out that she was good friends with his former landlord in Boston, Mozzie, and he was the one who let him know about her fourth-floor loft that was available for below-market rent.

Not that June had been at all anxious to rent to a Fed. Even a Baby Fed as Moz liked to call him. But she did like his taste in clothes and music and, of all things, hats. And Neal liked the idea of not living in a tiny shoebox of an apartment that consumed a huge chunk of his salary, or worse, sharing space with other people he didn't know. And the commute between the Riverside neighborhood and Lower Manhattan wasn't bad, a single twenty-minute subway ride.

Once inside his apartment, Neal changed out of his leathers. He turned the trousers inside-out to let them air out and did the same with his vest. The collar and cuffs, which he hadn't put back on when he'd left the hotel room, were wiped down and put in a box. Neal grimaced as he took out his body jewelry. Those, too, were cleaned and put away. Once the leathers finished airing out, they'd get put away for good.

This part of his life was over. It had to be. He couldn't risk running into Peter again and the thought of playing hard with anyone else made his stomach crawl. Until now, he'd never understood the expression, "ruined for anyone else" but now he did, viscerally.

He didn't regret last night and he couldn't regret this morning.

Neal spent the rest of the weekend unpacking. The physical activity felt good, and getting his new life arranged to his liking was a welcome distraction.

Six hours later, he was mostly done. Taking the last of the boxes down to the trash, he encountered June on the stairs.

"Good afternoon, Neal. You look like you've been hard at work."

"I have – but other than some books, I'm all done." He shifted the load of folded-up cardboard under his arms. "I don't know how I've accumulated so much stuff." He chuckled and shook his head.

"Wait until you're my age and have several generations of 'stuff' to deal with." June let out a tiny sigh. "Anyway, I'm glad I found you. My daughter was supposed to come for dinner and bring my grandchildren, by the littlest has a bad cold so they all cancelled at the last minute. Would you like to join me? Cook has prepared rack of lamb and roasted potatoes, and of course there will be plenty of wine, since it's just us adults."

"Who are you calling an adult?" Neal laughed. "And I would be delighted. Just let me take these out, have a quick shower and I'd be happy to have dinner with you."

Dinner was lovely. June was a charming and erudite conversationalist, and Neal could easily understand how she'd forged a connection with his quirky ex-landlord.

"Can I ask, how do you know Mozzie?"

June got a sly look in her eyes. "Let's just say that there are some things a Fed, even a Baby Fed like you, shouldn't know."

"I'm not unaware of Mozzie's less than legal activities, you know," Neal countered, hoping to entice the story out of her.

But it didn't work. "The less you know, the better. Besides, the statute of limitations on that particular venture hasn't run out yet."

Neal was pretty sure that June was kidding him. Except that "pretty sure" wasn't a certainty and if his landlady was involved in a felony, he was better off not knowing.

"So, are you excited?"

"About starting at the FBI?"

"Yes."

"Of course I am. It's …" Neal sighed. "A dream come true. I've worked for this for my entire life."

"But?" June seemed skeptical.

"No buts." Neal shook his head, but he couldn't escape the feeling that he was lying to himself now.

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"You are or do you have to be?" June was nothing if not persistent.

"You know, you could give the instructors at Quantico lessons in interrogation."

"And for someone so young, you're a master of deflection."

"I went to Harvard Law and got an A+ in Deflection Studies."

"Very funny." June sipped her wine and looked at him over the rim of her glass. "You can always talk to me. I realize we barely know each other, but I have a feeling that we're a lot alike."

Neal nodded. "I think you're right."

"So, are you going to tell me?"

Neal shrugged, sipped his wine and decided that maybe he did need another perspective. "I think I might have met someone."

"And the timing is wrong."

Neal wasn't at all surprised that June was able to zero in on the problem. "Exactly. And it wasn't really a conventional encounter."

"You met in a leather bar." That wasn't a question.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you leave last night. You weren't dressed for drinks at the Carlyle."

"Yeah." Neal made a face. "I'd met this guy before – before I started at Quantico, but we hadn't exchanged names."

"Just bodily fluids?"

Neal didn't bother to pretend to be shocked. "I had hoped to see him again, but didn't expect to."

"And yet, you did."

"We spent the night at The Standard."

"Nice."

"It was. A little too nice."

"Is there any reason why you can't have your career and this guy?"

He laughed. "I'm a newly minted FBI agent, how would it look if I was dating a leather daddy?"

"You can't tell me that's his career."

Neal shrugged. "It's all I know about him." Other than he's kind and gorgeous and smart and caring...

June sighed. "What about a name – tell me you got his name."

"Just his first – Peter. And it might not even be his real name. I didn't use my real name"

"You could go back to the bar. If you met him there twice, you'll probably find him there again."

"I know. It's just…"

"Not tonight, not tomorrow. Not even next week. Get settled into your new job, find your feet and then go looking. If you find him, think about getting to know him before getting laid again."

They finished up dinner with a lighter conversation. Neal retreated to his apartment and rolled around the idea of meeting Peter in less dramatic circumstances and liked it. He didn't know a lot about Peter, but what he did know was good.

And he had to laugh at himself. Peter was not a professional leather daddy. No tattoos, no piercings, no body adornments to speak of. He was well-built but not ripped – a man who took care of himself but didn't obsess over his body. All of the clues had been in front of him, but he'd missed them completely.

He also thought about Peter's comment to him about being a "tourist" – which was something of an insult in the community, and he realized that the old adage of "it takes one to know one" might definitely apply.

June's advice was sound and the more he thought on it, the more he liked the idea. Wait a while, get settled in at the Bureau, put his feet on the right path. Then go hunting.

Monday morning, and Neal was up before the birds. Last night, he'd taken out the suit he wanted to wear for his very first day. He'd been tempted to wear the black Armani, but figured it was a little too much for the FBI, at least on the first day. He settled for a dark blue Paul Stuart, a crisp white shirt and a silver-gray tie. Conservative and elegant in an understated way. But he wasn't compromising on the hat – a vintage trilby that had been his trademark at Braxton & Hicks. Neal knew he could never just blend with the herd, so if he was going to stand out, he was going to do it with style and panache.

But on second thought, Neal left the hat behind. He had a long career ahead of him, plenty of time to stand out and make his mark. With style and panache. And skill and smarts, too.

He had his reporting instructions. First stop was the Office of Personnel Management, where he'd get his office identification and his photo taken. Then an escort to the White Collar division offices on the twenty-first floor. While he hadn't been thrilled about the assignment to New York, he knew that there really was no more prestigious placement than the largest and most influential FBI field office in the country. If he wanted to make a name for himself, this was where it was going to happen.

And Reese Hughes, the ASAC, was a legend. Not one but three of his cases had been on the syllabus at Quantico. Rumor had it that he'd retired at the mandatory age but someone had gotten a line item into a spending bill to bring him back, despite FBI personnel regulations.

Neal liked the idea of working for (and hopefully with) a legend. And Reese Hughes wasn't the only legend in the White Collar division. Peter Burke was also there, and Neal smiled at the interesting confluence of names.

Six months ago, Burke had apprehended the "Dutchman," a legendary forger who nearly cost the U.S. Government millions in a clever bond forgery scheme. Neal had been following the case and it was coming to trial soon. Maybe he'd get the chance to observe Agent Burke's testimony.

Stepping into Federal Plaza, Neal felt more grounded, more settled than he had since his Academy graduation. This was what he wanted to do, what he wanted to be. This was his chance to make his mark on the world.

There was a civilian waiting to take him and a half-dozen other probies up to the OPM office. He recognized a few of them from his Academy class and they caught up on some gossip – who was assigned where, who was bailing before they even started.

Lauren, a former Marine and all-around bad-ass, asked him, "Do you know what division you're heading to?"

"White Collar, you?"

"Organized Crime. I figured they'd put me in Counter-Terrorism, but to be honest, I'm glad they didn't."

Everyone was herded off to different offices for intake and Neal didn't see Lauren again. He knew where she was working and he'd catch up with her when he could, if she didn't find him first.

He smiled for his photo and took the laminate they produced for him. Although he had his official FBI identification, this was for the building and would get him into the office and other places he was cleared for access. Then more waiting, more questions, and finally, an agent from the White Collar division came to get him.

"Clinton Jones, and welcome aboard."

Neal took the hand offered. "Neal Caffrey, and glad to be here."

"I'm sure you are."

Neal wondered what that meant.

"Nothing personal, just everyone wants the New York field office."

"I was actually hoping for a D.C. assignment, to be honest."

"So, you're not happy to be here? That was just a lie?"

"Is this a test, because I'm getting some weird vibes here."

"Yeah, it's a test. Wanted to see if you're on your toes. White Collar's not as flashy as Organized Crime or Counter-Terrorism, but we do real work here. It's not all art fraud and bond forgeries."

"Although apprehending the Dutchman was a pretty big deal."

Jones gave him an appreciative look. "Yes, it was. In certain circles."

They got off the elevator and Clinton introduced him to the guard, Allen.

"Jones, is that Caffrey?" A man came out of an office and barked from the balcony. Neal recognized him from the profile pictures in his syllabus. This was Agent Hughes.

He made the infamous two-figured summoning gesture and Jones gave him a little push. "Welcome to White Collar."

Neal wasn't going to let anything take the shine off this day and bounded up the steps, aware that he was the cynosure of all eyes, but he didn't care. "Neal Caffrey, reporting for duty."

Agent Hughes gave him the once-over and smiled slightly. "When you introduce yourself, it's Special Agent, remember that."

Neal nodded and filed the information away.

Hughes took him into the conference room and Neal was prepared for a canned speech. What he got surprised him. "I didn't just pick your resume out of a pile with my eyes closed. You are, on paper, an excellent fit for this division."

Neal blinked, surprised at the level of candor. "Thank you, sir."

"So don't screw up."

"No, sir, I won't."

"Actually, you probably will. But try not to do it too often or too badly."

Neal was feeling a little cowed. If what Agent Jones had tried to pull on him a little while ago was a test, this felt like the damn bar exam. Then Neal remembered he had a nearly perfect score on that exam.

"Will I be working for you, sir?"

"No, I've assigned you to Agent Burke – "

"Peter Burke?"

"Yes, you've heard of him?"

"I've been following the Dutchman case, sir. It broke a few weeks before my class started at the Academy and it was kind of big news. The way Agent Burke used exigent circumstances to seize the forged bond, because they were in plain view – even though the bonds had nothing to do with the suspect he was trying to apprehend."

"Yeah, well – Burke's going to have a high set of hurdles to overcome with that."

"The defense is going to say that Agent Burke was colluding with the CI, right?"

"Exactly. The case isn't a slam dunk in the slightest. But it's good to know that you're following it."

Neal grinned, he couldn't contain his excitement. "Working with Agent Burke – that's an opportunity of a lifetime. Thank you, sir."

Agent Hughes shook his head, clearly amused at his enthusiasm. "Have a seat. Burke's at the AUSA's office doing prep for his testimony. You'll have the chance to ask him all about it."

"He won't mind? I don't want to presume."

"Nah, and if he gives you grief, you can tell him I told you to ask about it." Hughes looked at his watch. "He should be back soon."

At that, Agent Hughes went back into his office and Neal took the time to look around the conference room. There was the obligatory faux-bronze bust of J. Edgar, a photograph of the president and the FBI director. The technology was impressive, but nothing that Neal hadn't used in his law firm days.

The view outside the window was nothing to write home about – just another Lower Manhattan office building.

He was about to sit down when he heard the door open. It was Agent Hughes.

And Special Agent Peter Burke, his new boss.

Neal swallowed and felt the rush of a flop sweat starting at the base of his spine.

He was so fucked.

Special Agent Peter Burke was his Peter. His beautiful, kind, sweet, dominant, sexy Peter.

Oh yes, he was so completely and utterly fucked.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter looked at the man standing in front of him. Tall and beautiful in a perfectly tailored suit, a bright and shiny badge on his belt.

Nicky.

No, not Nicky. Neal Caffrey, his probationary agent for the next two years. He was so fucked.

But as fucked as he was, Peter couldn't keep the grin off his face.

He held out his hand. "Welcome to White Collar, Agent Caffrey."

Caffrey took his hand, "I'm pleased to be here."

Peter's grin widened as he felt the nervous sweat on the other man's palm. "Good, because I own you for the next two years."

FIN

Comments

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you so much! I really loved your prompts and went to town with them. I hope you had a terrific vacation and a lovely birthday!