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elrhiarhodanTitle: No Unconditional Surrender
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: PWP, frotting, biting, obscene circus ponies and other massive erections in less than five hundred words.
Word Count: ~450
Summary: Neal is not the only one with impulse control issues these days.
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A/N: No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title from the classic Jethro Tull song, Warchild, from the album War Child. Written as an extra fill (inspiration struck like lightening) forcoffeethyme4me. Her prompt is at the end of the story.
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Peter couldn't wait - he couldn't wait for the minute it would take to lube up and roll on a condom. He didn't want to take the time to prep and get Neal ready for his cock. He had to have Neal's ass - but Neal refused to let him go bareback.
His boy had been teasing him all day. Sitting in the conference room and catching his eye. He'd just lick his lips, the tip of his tongue peeping out, a swift two stroke gesture. First the top - a closed lip swipe across that perfect bow. Then the bottom, and he'd open up his mouth, roll his tongue over that soft, fleshy pad. It took a second or two, but it was just enough to set his blood thrumming.
Then there was Neal's walk - his hips swayed like a runway model doing a strut. Two steps - that's all it took, and he was hard like an iron bar.
But what killed him was that none of this was intentional. Neal wasn't really wasn't trying to drive him crazy. He just did.
And so, here they were - deep in the recesses of the FBI archives, and Neal's splayed out like a sacrifice to his lust.
Peter unzipped and pulled out his massive erection, it felt like a wild beast in his hand, something separate, with a mind and soul of its own.
Neal was panting and looking back over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" He parted his legs and pushed out his ass in invitation.
But as much as Peter needed him, wanted to take him like a conscienceless marauder, he couldn't. Instead, he spat on his hands, slicked up that sweet crack and rode it like an obscene circus pony.
Peter took hold of Neal's cock, his thumb slicking precome around the plump head, along the big, heavy vein, sweeping in up and down the shaft in mimicry of what his own cock was doing between Neal's ass.
He wrapped his other arm around Neal's waist and pulled him close, loving the smell of sweat and lust and man. Neal's unique perfume.
Peter rutted against that hot smooth flesh and Neal rutted against his palm, in perfect synchronicity. He couldn't help himself, whispering "good slut, good slut, you're my good slut Neal." And Neal came at those dirty words, erupting into his fist and grinding back against him.
The hot flesh pressing along his groin and thighs, the bitter scent of come mixing with the faint odor of old paper was like the touch of a whip and Peter came in a scalding hot rush. He bit down hard on Neal's shoulder - an act of claiming as ancient as time and desire.
FIN
Written as comment fic for my lovely, lovely enabler,coffeethyme4me, for the prompt: fresh hot porn with a side of creamy smut.
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: PWP, frotting, biting, obscene circus ponies and other massive erections in less than five hundred words.
Word Count: ~450
Summary: Neal is not the only one with impulse control issues these days.
A/N: No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. Title from the classic Jethro Tull song, Warchild, from the album War Child. Written as an extra fill (inspiration struck like lightening) for
coffeethyme4me. Her prompt is at the end of the story.Peter couldn't wait - he couldn't wait for the minute it would take to lube up and roll on a condom. He didn't want to take the time to prep and get Neal ready for his cock. He had to have Neal's ass - but Neal refused to let him go bareback.
His boy had been teasing him all day. Sitting in the conference room and catching his eye. He'd just lick his lips, the tip of his tongue peeping out, a swift two stroke gesture. First the top - a closed lip swipe across that perfect bow. Then the bottom, and he'd open up his mouth, roll his tongue over that soft, fleshy pad. It took a second or two, but it was just enough to set his blood thrumming.
Then there was Neal's walk - his hips swayed like a runway model doing a strut. Two steps - that's all it took, and he was hard like an iron bar.
But what killed him was that none of this was intentional. Neal wasn't really wasn't trying to drive him crazy. He just did.
And so, here they were - deep in the recesses of the FBI archives, and Neal's splayed out like a sacrifice to his lust.
Peter unzipped and pulled out his massive erection, it felt like a wild beast in his hand, something separate, with a mind and soul of its own.
Neal was panting and looking back over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" He parted his legs and pushed out his ass in invitation.
But as much as Peter needed him, wanted to take him like a conscienceless marauder, he couldn't. Instead, he spat on his hands, slicked up that sweet crack and rode it like an obscene circus pony.
Peter took hold of Neal's cock, his thumb slicking precome around the plump head, along the big, heavy vein, sweeping in up and down the shaft in mimicry of what his own cock was doing between Neal's ass.
He wrapped his other arm around Neal's waist and pulled him close, loving the smell of sweat and lust and man. Neal's unique perfume.
Peter rutted against that hot smooth flesh and Neal rutted against his palm, in perfect synchronicity. He couldn't help himself, whispering "good slut, good slut, you're my good slut Neal." And Neal came at those dirty words, erupting into his fist and grinding back against him.
The hot flesh pressing along his groin and thighs, the bitter scent of come mixing with the faint odor of old paper was like the touch of a whip and Peter came in a scalding hot rush. He bit down hard on Neal's shoulder - an act of claiming as ancient as time and desire.
Written as comment fic for my lovely, lovely enabler,
coffeethyme4me, for the prompt: fresh hot porn with a side of creamy smut.
