![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elrhiarhodanTitle: The Stillness Still That Doesn't End
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey (Peter/Neal), Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones
Spoilers/Episode References: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Spanking. Yeah - a bare-assed spanking. Wanna make something of that?
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Neal goes off the reservation. So to speak. Peter takes him in hand. So to speak. All well that ends with a bright red ass.
Written for my dearest friend,jrosemary, who has been asking for a spanking fic from me for… how long? At least since the last one I wrote, about a year ago. So, I guess it was time. Title from R.E.M.’s You Are The Everything.
__________________
Peter couldn’t believe it. After all they’d been through everything they’d worked on, worked for, what Peter’s tried to teach Neal, what he thought Neal had learned. All for nothing, apparently. Neal hared off and completely disobeyed process and protocol, jeopardizing everything…
He stood behind Hughes’ desk as Reese chewed Neal out. He was trying to control his anger and paying more attention to Neal’s expression than to his boss’ words, but when he heard the words "prison" and "Morrisey Hearing," Peter interrupted.
“Sir, is that necessary?”
“You tell me, Peter - he’s your CI. You’re supposed to be controlling him. I’ve seen scant evidence of that lately.”
Neal kept his head down. Smart boy. Very smart boy.
“I’ll take care of it, sir.” Hughes gave him a telling look. Peter hoped that he really didn’t know what his plans were.
He grabbed Neal’s forearm and propelled him out of the office, down the stairs and into the lobby, ignoring the mildly shocked looks from the other agents. He didn’t let go as the elevator opened, disgorging Jones and Diana, back from Central Booking.
“I’ve got to deal with this.” He gave Neal’s arm a shake so his team could clearly see what he means by "this." Neal flushed in humiliation. “Can you two you handle the paperwork?”
“Got it, boss.” Diana looked like she was about to say something else, but the expression on Peter’s face was forbidding. Jones gave Neal a sympathetic look as Peter yanked him into the elevator.
The doors closed, but he still didn’t let go of Neal’s arm.
“Peter - if you would just let me explain…”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Peter squeezed his hand tighter, ignoring Neal’s wince of pain. It shut him up.
Peter was grateful that the elevator made no stops until the garage level. He didn’t want to have to deal with anyone else.
He pushed/pulled Neal, who had started to dig in his heels, into the Taurus. “Are you going to behave, or should I cuff your hands to the suicide strap?”
“Peter - please. If you’d just let me …”
“Yeah - explain. Like I said, I really don’t want to hear it.”
Neal opened his mouth and closed it again, maybe he finally realized nothing he could say would change Peter’s course of action. Good.
He pulled out of the Federal Plaza garage and headed to the northbound 9A, towards June’s.
The rage that had been bubbling in his veins since Neal’s boneheaded stunt this morning was now on a slow simmer.
“What am I going to do with you, Neal? You’re not an agent - you’re a valuable asset for the Bureau. You do stupid things like throwing yourself between me and a loaded gun, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
As the words came out of his mouth, the anger left, replaced by fear and the sick feeling that he could have lost Neal today. In less than a blink of an eye. He swallowed against the nausea.
Neal didn’t say anything for a few miles. “That’s all I am? A valuable asset?” He sounded sad, defeated. Hurt.
Peter gripped the steering wheel hard enough to leave impressions in the leather. Calling him an asset was wrong. “No, Neal - you are far more than that. You’re my friend - you are one of the most important people in my world. I don’t know what I’d do if you -- if you were hurt.” The last words were forced out. Peter didn’t want to imagine that scenario.
“I’m sorry, Peter - but I couldn’t let you get shot.” Peter caught a smile out of the corner of his eye. “Elizabeth would kill me.”
Peter sighed. “I know.” And he knew that Neal’s intentions this time were for the best. “You have an almost magical way of doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”
“So, we’re good?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.
“We can go back to the office now?” Neal pointed to the 57th Street exit, as if to direct Peter.
“No. We’re okay, but I don’t think you’ve fully understood the gravity of your actions.” Peter passed the exit and continued north. “Neal - what you did today…” He sighed. “There has to be consequences.”
Neal didn’t say anything. He certainly knew what was coming.
They arrived at June’s about ten minutes later, and if Peter thought that Neal dragged his feet during their rather spectacular exit from the offices, that performance had nothing on the show Neal was putting on now. Peter was reminded of Satchmo when he would try to walk him as a puppy. In the rain.
“Neal - you’re only going to make it worse for yourself if you don’t cooperate.” He wished he had a leash and a collar for Neal - just like the one he had for his dog.
“Peter… this is…”
“No, Neal - it’s not. And you’re causing a scene.” Passersby were looking at them, and Peter hoped there wasn’t an NYPD cruiser on patrol in the neighborhood.
He finally got Neal into the house and up the stairs. He pushed him into the center of the room. They both stood there, Peter resigned, Neal still defiant.
Peter doffed his jacket, took off his wristwatch and started to roll up his sleeves. He didn’t take his eyes off of Neal.
“You’ve got two choices, I can spank you with my hand on your bare ass, or if you want to preserve your modesty, I can use my belt.”
Neal gave a little laugh. “That’s quite the choice you’re offering. Thomas Hobson would be quite proud of you.”
“Actions have consequences, Neal. You know that.”
Neal ducked his head and shook it. “Yes, I am well aware of that.”
Peter watched as Neal took off his jacket, his vest, tie and shirt, placing his tiebar and cufflinks in a bowl on the table and laying each article of clothing carefully over the back of the chair. He toed his shoes off and rolled down his socks, extracting the left from the tracker with practiced ease.
Neal’s hands lingered at his belt. “Peter - you sure you want to do this?”
“Neal…” Truth was, he wanted to do this too much. He was glad that Neal was going bare-assed. His hand itched to feel that smooth skin heat up, the muscles tensing and relaxing.
Neal doffed his pants, and then a moment later, his boxer briefs.
Peter couldn’t help but notice that Neal’s cock had taken on a rosy hue, a precursor to arousal. He felt an answering twinge in his own dick.
This was not the way it was supposed to be. He was here to discipline Neal, to make him understand that he was not supposed to throw himself between guns and lovers. There were trained and armed agents on the ground, snipers on rooftops and Neal had as much chance getting shot by friendly fire as he did by their suspect.
Peter steered him towards the couch. It always felt a little ridiculous to have a grown man over his lap, but this was Neal. And this was something they both needed.
The first blow wasn’t so much a spank but an experimental swat. Neal’s “ouch” was more for formality’s sake than out of any pain. The next one was harder, and so was the one after that.
Peter got into a rhythm, alternating blows on left and right cheeks, steadily ignoring the hard bar of flesh burning against his thigh. Neal’s breath left with a puff each time his palm made contact.
By the tenth blow, Neal was stifling his gasps, and Peter thought he should have made him count out the hits. Too late to start now. By the fifthteen, Neal wasn’t trying to stifle anything, and Peter was now trying to ignore his own arousal.
At the twentieth, Neal started to sob, and by the twenty-fifth, Peter’s palm was numb, his arm ached and Neal was whimpering.
He stopped. This wasn’t an exercise in sadism.
He carefully helped Neal stand up and then walked him over to the bed with its soft linens. He laid Neal down on his belly and went to get a cold, wet towel. He draped it over Neal’s bright red ass, and the other man hissed in pain.
“You okay?” Peter bent over and brushed the sweaty curls off of Neal’s forehead. There were tear-stained tracks on his cheek, and Peter wiped them away with his thumb.
Neal swallowed and nodded. “Yeah… I’m okay. You?”
“I’m okay.” He was, now.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t think. You were in danger.”
Peter pressed a kiss to Neal’s brow. “I love you, and I love that you care so much for me - but I care for you too - and I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
Neal closed his eyes in agreement. They didn’t open.
Peter pulled up a chair and sat next to Neal, watching over him.
This wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey (Peter/Neal), Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones
Spoilers/Episode References: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Spanking. Yeah - a bare-assed spanking. Wanna make something of that?
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Neal goes off the reservation. So to speak. Peter takes him in hand. So to speak. All well that ends with a bright red ass.
Written for my dearest friend,
jrosemary, who has been asking for a spanking fic from me for… how long? At least since the last one I wrote, about a year ago. So, I guess it was time. Title from R.E.M.’s You Are The Everything.Peter couldn’t believe it. After all they’d been through everything they’d worked on, worked for, what Peter’s tried to teach Neal, what he thought Neal had learned. All for nothing, apparently. Neal hared off and completely disobeyed process and protocol, jeopardizing everything…
He stood behind Hughes’ desk as Reese chewed Neal out. He was trying to control his anger and paying more attention to Neal’s expression than to his boss’ words, but when he heard the words "prison" and "Morrisey Hearing," Peter interrupted.
“Sir, is that necessary?”
“You tell me, Peter - he’s your CI. You’re supposed to be controlling him. I’ve seen scant evidence of that lately.”
Neal kept his head down. Smart boy. Very smart boy.
“I’ll take care of it, sir.” Hughes gave him a telling look. Peter hoped that he really didn’t know what his plans were.
He grabbed Neal’s forearm and propelled him out of the office, down the stairs and into the lobby, ignoring the mildly shocked looks from the other agents. He didn’t let go as the elevator opened, disgorging Jones and Diana, back from Central Booking.
“I’ve got to deal with this.” He gave Neal’s arm a shake so his team could clearly see what he means by "this." Neal flushed in humiliation. “Can you two you handle the paperwork?”
“Got it, boss.” Diana looked like she was about to say something else, but the expression on Peter’s face was forbidding. Jones gave Neal a sympathetic look as Peter yanked him into the elevator.
The doors closed, but he still didn’t let go of Neal’s arm.
“Peter - if you would just let me explain…”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Peter squeezed his hand tighter, ignoring Neal’s wince of pain. It shut him up.
Peter was grateful that the elevator made no stops until the garage level. He didn’t want to have to deal with anyone else.
He pushed/pulled Neal, who had started to dig in his heels, into the Taurus. “Are you going to behave, or should I cuff your hands to the suicide strap?”
“Peter - please. If you’d just let me …”
“Yeah - explain. Like I said, I really don’t want to hear it.”
Neal opened his mouth and closed it again, maybe he finally realized nothing he could say would change Peter’s course of action. Good.
He pulled out of the Federal Plaza garage and headed to the northbound 9A, towards June’s.
The rage that had been bubbling in his veins since Neal’s boneheaded stunt this morning was now on a slow simmer.
“What am I going to do with you, Neal? You’re not an agent - you’re a valuable asset for the Bureau. You do stupid things like throwing yourself between me and a loaded gun, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
As the words came out of his mouth, the anger left, replaced by fear and the sick feeling that he could have lost Neal today. In less than a blink of an eye. He swallowed against the nausea.
Neal didn’t say anything for a few miles. “That’s all I am? A valuable asset?” He sounded sad, defeated. Hurt.
Peter gripped the steering wheel hard enough to leave impressions in the leather. Calling him an asset was wrong. “No, Neal - you are far more than that. You’re my friend - you are one of the most important people in my world. I don’t know what I’d do if you -- if you were hurt.” The last words were forced out. Peter didn’t want to imagine that scenario.
“I’m sorry, Peter - but I couldn’t let you get shot.” Peter caught a smile out of the corner of his eye. “Elizabeth would kill me.”
Peter sighed. “I know.” And he knew that Neal’s intentions this time were for the best. “You have an almost magical way of doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”
“So, we’re good?”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.
“We can go back to the office now?” Neal pointed to the 57th Street exit, as if to direct Peter.
“No. We’re okay, but I don’t think you’ve fully understood the gravity of your actions.” Peter passed the exit and continued north. “Neal - what you did today…” He sighed. “There has to be consequences.”
Neal didn’t say anything. He certainly knew what was coming.
They arrived at June’s about ten minutes later, and if Peter thought that Neal dragged his feet during their rather spectacular exit from the offices, that performance had nothing on the show Neal was putting on now. Peter was reminded of Satchmo when he would try to walk him as a puppy. In the rain.
“Neal - you’re only going to make it worse for yourself if you don’t cooperate.” He wished he had a leash and a collar for Neal - just like the one he had for his dog.
“Peter… this is…”
“No, Neal - it’s not. And you’re causing a scene.” Passersby were looking at them, and Peter hoped there wasn’t an NYPD cruiser on patrol in the neighborhood.
He finally got Neal into the house and up the stairs. He pushed him into the center of the room. They both stood there, Peter resigned, Neal still defiant.
Peter doffed his jacket, took off his wristwatch and started to roll up his sleeves. He didn’t take his eyes off of Neal.
“You’ve got two choices, I can spank you with my hand on your bare ass, or if you want to preserve your modesty, I can use my belt.”
Neal gave a little laugh. “That’s quite the choice you’re offering. Thomas Hobson would be quite proud of you.”
“Actions have consequences, Neal. You know that.”
Neal ducked his head and shook it. “Yes, I am well aware of that.”
Peter watched as Neal took off his jacket, his vest, tie and shirt, placing his tiebar and cufflinks in a bowl on the table and laying each article of clothing carefully over the back of the chair. He toed his shoes off and rolled down his socks, extracting the left from the tracker with practiced ease.
Neal’s hands lingered at his belt. “Peter - you sure you want to do this?”
“Neal…” Truth was, he wanted to do this too much. He was glad that Neal was going bare-assed. His hand itched to feel that smooth skin heat up, the muscles tensing and relaxing.
Neal doffed his pants, and then a moment later, his boxer briefs.
Peter couldn’t help but notice that Neal’s cock had taken on a rosy hue, a precursor to arousal. He felt an answering twinge in his own dick.
This was not the way it was supposed to be. He was here to discipline Neal, to make him understand that he was not supposed to throw himself between guns and lovers. There were trained and armed agents on the ground, snipers on rooftops and Neal had as much chance getting shot by friendly fire as he did by their suspect.
Peter steered him towards the couch. It always felt a little ridiculous to have a grown man over his lap, but this was Neal. And this was something they both needed.
The first blow wasn’t so much a spank but an experimental swat. Neal’s “ouch” was more for formality’s sake than out of any pain. The next one was harder, and so was the one after that.
Peter got into a rhythm, alternating blows on left and right cheeks, steadily ignoring the hard bar of flesh burning against his thigh. Neal’s breath left with a puff each time his palm made contact.
By the tenth blow, Neal was stifling his gasps, and Peter thought he should have made him count out the hits. Too late to start now. By the fifthteen, Neal wasn’t trying to stifle anything, and Peter was now trying to ignore his own arousal.
At the twentieth, Neal started to sob, and by the twenty-fifth, Peter’s palm was numb, his arm ached and Neal was whimpering.
He stopped. This wasn’t an exercise in sadism.
He carefully helped Neal stand up and then walked him over to the bed with its soft linens. He laid Neal down on his belly and went to get a cold, wet towel. He draped it over Neal’s bright red ass, and the other man hissed in pain.
“You okay?” Peter bent over and brushed the sweaty curls off of Neal’s forehead. There were tear-stained tracks on his cheek, and Peter wiped them away with his thumb.
Neal swallowed and nodded. “Yeah… I’m okay. You?”
“I’m okay.” He was, now.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t think. You were in danger.”
Peter pressed a kiss to Neal’s brow. “I love you, and I love that you care so much for me - but I care for you too - and I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
Neal closed his eyes in agreement. They didn’t open.
Peter pulled up a chair and sat next to Neal, watching over him.
This wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
