"If You're Gonna Do It, Do it Right (Do It With Me)" Peter/Neal, AU, NC-17
Title: If You're Gonna Do It, Do It Right (Do It With Me)
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Warning: UNDERAGE NEAL! He's no child, but he's definitely not of legal age, so if that is a squick, please don't read this!!!
Summary: AU -- Peter is a bouncer at a gay club and meets Neal on his way in with his fake ID. (The title is from a George Michael song.)
For my friend, elrhiarhodan, who is more amazing than words can say. This is for all you've done for me. Happy Birthday. <3
Words: 6,480
Peter yawned. It was gonna be another long night at the club after a long day patrolling, too. He stood the door and watched all the twinks (who he carded) and bears and leather studs and everything in between stroll past. At ten, the music got louder and the lights darker. Peter got out his flashlight.
He didn’t know how long he could keep going like this: moonlighting on his job. He was just twenty-six, but his body, getting no more than five hours sleep several times a week, felt older than it looked. Hot showers were his trump card. And he’d learned early on that alcohol, on this job, was the bane of his existence. Not just for the hangovers the following day but because of who he sometimes woke up next to: a nameless beauty who Peter could hardly remember fucking the shit out of. Sometimes still wearing his cuffs.
But even minus the alcohol, something was amiss. Something felt off. Something would have to change. Soon.
He was startled out of his torpor when a kid, alone, really, really young-looking in ratty jeans and a white t-shirt tried to slip by him behind a bear’s round girth.
“Hey!” Peter called. “You.”
The kid looked at him with wide eyes, half innocence, half fear. “Me, officer?”
Peter rolled his eyes. He *was* an officer during the day, but there was no way this kid could know that, and the title just made him feel…old. But the kid blinked at him, his tight nipples showing through his shirt quite purposefully, and Peter smirked. He was almost too beautiful to card.
“I.D.” Peter said over the throbbing music.
“Oh,” the kid said and started digging in his back pocket. He brought out a black wallet and, from that, a driver’s license. And if it was a fake, it was one of the best Peter had ever seen. It proclaimed this “Neal Caffrey” to be twenty-one, and while Peter would bet his badge that he was not even close, there was nothing besides his gut to tell him it wasn’t legit.
Neal stood there, lips parted, breathing the swallow breath of the guilty, and Peter made him wait for it. He cast his eyes down the skinny frame. More muscle than it had first appeared. But just the first blossoming of a young male body. Peter would bet cash money Neal Caffrey was no more than a freshman in college. Maybe a baseball star. Or maybe, judging from the cunning in the dark blue eyes, a chess champion who just loved to workout. His jeans rode low, and there was an impressive bulge testing the threadbare crotch. Peter’s mouth filled with saliva. He took a deep breath.
Not this one, Peter Burke, he told himself. Goddamn, not this one.
“Be careful in there,” Peter found himself saying as he handed back the card.
Neal Caffrey bristled under the caveat, probably becoming brave under the intense relief
at getting the go ahead to go inside. “It just so happens I come here all the time. Just not when you’re on.”
Peter smiled at him. “That right.”
And then Peter was treated to the most entrancing, bright, precocious smile he’d probably ever seen. The kid was gorgeous. And he sure knew how to turn it on. He put his hand on the wall next to Peter’s head. The boy was only about three inches shorter than Peter was, but it was enough that he had to look up. The kid licked his pretty lips. “That’s right. But I could be persuaded to just skip it. If you wanted to go somewhere alone.” The boy’s eyes had dropped to Peter’s mouth. Horny teenagers. Peter sighed. If this Neal Caffrey had any idea, had one damn clue or iota what Peter could do to him “alone”, Peter was reasonably sure he might shit his pants.
“I’m working,” he said.
Neal Caffrey shifted his weight. His proud little erection was becoming obvious. So easy. So very beautiful.
“You’re holding up the line,” Peter told him, even though that wasn’t exactly true. A bunch of regulars were slipping past behind him, giving Peter a familiar nod or a “Hey,” as they entered.
The kid rested his free hand on Peter’s broad chest and Peter felt the first stirrings of real arousal. “If you change your mind…you know where to find me, Mr….?”
Peter looked into the boy’s shimmering eyes. “Burke. Peter Burke. Now get your scrawny ass inside.”
Neal Caffrey smiled like he’d won something, and Peter rolled his eyes. Finally, the kid took his hand off Peter’s chest, though he trailed it down to his belt buckle first. Peter had the vicious urge to swat him on the ass as he turned to go into the club. He felt an awful thrill deep in his belly, a tell-tale speed to his pulse and tightness in his chest. He took a deep breath and a drink of his water, resisting the desire to watch the kid’s back recede into the darkness.
“I.D.” he said to the next pretty thing. But he wasn’t nearly as pretty as Neal Caffrey had been. Not by a long shot.
Neal made his way to the bar, heart pounding furiously. He’d made it in. He’d made it IN! His very first gay bar! His first bar, period! And the hot bouncer had let him in. Mozzie’s fake I.D. had fooled him, and Neal was IN! He almost couldn’t wait to tell his friend, but Moz had said not to call, that he had his AP Physics mid-term on Monday to study for and he’d be unavailable for friendship or jacking off to web porn over IM together for the rest of the weekend.
Which was fine. Neal was in a gay bar, he was about to order his first drink, and there were gorgeous men EVERYWHERE. Neal was determined to have sex tonight with someone other than himself, and he felt well on his way toward that goal. He took one more look back at the sexy bouncer, Peter Burke, whose *chest* he had *touched*!!!! But the man wasn’t looking back at him. He was doing his job, shining his flashlight, which Neal found irrationally hot, down at some other kid’s I.D. Neal knew he didn’t have a chance with that one. But it was still nice to think about…that big body over him…those large hands hot on his naked skin
“I said, what can I get you?!” the bartender called to him.
“Oh, um…” Neal thought fast. What did real men drink? He looked at the muscle-bound man on the stool to his right. “Draft,” he yelled to the bartender. “Sam Adams.” That sounded good, he thought. It had an air of blue-collar sophistication, if there was such a thing. It must have been the right choice, because the bartender nodded, grabbed a pint glass, flipped it, winked at Neal, and started filling it up. Neal smiled. He winked back.
It was going to be a fun night.
Peter switched with Todd at midnight and came inside. He took his usual post at the end of the bar where he could see the drinkers, the dancers, the bathrooms, and the front from the same spot. He couldn’t see into the backroom, but that was sort of the point of having one. He’d take a tour of it every half hour for the rest of the night. It hardly ever got him hard anymore. It was rather like walking around the zoo and looking at the different exhibits. And as long as everyone was safe, sane, and consensual, Peter went on his slow, merry way.
The action he was much more interested in seeing tonight was on the dance floor anyway. That was where Neal Caffrey had a throng of men around him, one pressed up against him from behind, one in front, and a handful dancing close by just itching to take over one of those two spots. And whereas sweaty men fucking and sucking and fisting and jacking in the dark didn’t really matter to him anymore, watching this kid dance had Peter rock hard in less than two minutes.
His sweet little body writhed perfectly to the music, pressing up against one man and then the other. Hands were all over him. Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to break up a gang bang in the middle of the dance floor at some point. Caffrey worked the men like a drug. He slithered, his smile was crooked, his eyes dark (when they were open.) His shirt was wet with sweat and see-through, and his hard tits poked out, inviting the one man’s mouth down. The boy gasped at the hungry mouth latching onto him and pushed his ass into the other man’s crotch. Peter shifted on his barstool and gestured the bartender for another bottle of water.
Another man wedged in, pulled the kid’s t-shirt up, breaking the other guy’s suction briefly before he took Caffrey’s other tit in his mouth, and Peter stood up. Sure enough. He knew if he didn’t do something now, the kid’s pants were going to come down in about ten seconds and things were going to go really wrong. Peter left the water and the bar and pushed through hot bodies to get to Neal’s throng.
“Hey, back off,” he said to the two tit suckers who pulled away at the loud, intimidating voice, leaving Neal’s naked nipples wet and rosy. Peter glared at the man rubbing his cock against the boy’s ass. Peter looked down at the man’s pants and the large stain there; he’d already come once. Peter could hardly blame him, but he felt anger and disgust all the same. The mouths had left Caffrey’s tits, but the ass guy lingered, reaching around and touching Neal’s nipples with a challenging look. Neal gasped. Peter got in the guy’s face, crowding Caffrey and his “suitor”. “You’re gonna wanna rethink things,” Peter told him lowly.
The guy swallowed. He nodded. He backed away.
Peter looked at the kid. “You,” he said, and he crooked two fingers at him. “Follow me.”
Peter took him back to the bar and opened the water bottle, handing it over. The boy had pulled his shirt back down. “How much have you had to drink?”
Caffrey said, “Who are you, my mother?” but he took the water with a grateful look that belied his words, and he drank.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Peter told him with a sigh, knowing full well he had no business. And yet he might have just averted a rape.
Water ran off Caffrey’s chin as he gulped it down, then he said, panting, “I’ve only had three beers, officer. I knew what I was doing. I *know* what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, making this entire club spontaneously combust,” Peter said with a humorless laugh, eyes scanning the room again. When he caught the kid’s gaze once more, he was beaming. “Don’t look so cute; what you did out there was dangerous, Neal. It is Neal, right?”
Neal blinked. “Yeah. And you’re Peter. Peter Burke. My hero.” His smile was both mischievous and genuine. Then he looked down. “I guess maybe…I got…carried away.”
Peter watched the way he fiddled with the paper label around the water bottle.
“Do you think I’m a slut?” Neal asked. He was blushing.
“No,” Peter said. “I think you’re young.”
“I’m twenty-one!” Neal argued, his pretty head snapping up.
Peter took the water, and with the bottle on the way to his lips he said, “No, you’re not.” He drank and then passed the bottle back to Neal.
“Then why’d you let me in?” Neal was pouting.
“Because that’s the best damn fake I.D. I’ve ever seen.”
Neal smiled at him. “You’re not gonna kick me out?”
Peter shook his head no. “But only on one condition,” he said. Neal looked at him expectantly. “You keep me company for the rest of the night and we close this place down together.”
And shit but the kid lit up. He was Christmas morning. Peter regretted it instantly.
They drank water and coffee and sat close on two barstools, turned away from the bar so they could watch the guys. And they talked. Neal wanted to know about Peter - how long he’d worked there, did it ever get boring, what movies he liked, and then Neal asked if he liked art. So they talked about art. And holy shit, the kid knew his art. Turned out he was an artist, and he had a couple of paintings up at a nearby small gallery. Peter was impressed. Very impressed.
Neal didn’t like baseball but had never played. He asked if Peter played - “Is there a bouncer league?” -- and Peter had told him about playing in college and blowing out his knee in practice and being depressed for six months. Neal listened with an attentiveness unknown to the club setting. Peter asked what he did to stay fit. Neal said he did workout. And he ran. And somewhere in there he confessed to Peter that he wore glasses but that he could still see just fine.
“I can see enough to know how hot you are,” Neal said, and it was the first time in an hour that there had been anything like flirting. Peter just looked at him. His body warring with his head. And then Neal asked him, so earnestly, eyes cast down, “Do you think I’m hot?”
“Do I think you’re hot?” Peter asked incredulously. And the kid looked at him like the answer could break him if it was wrong. “Jesus…” he said, shaking his head. “Boy, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Neal’s eyes went wide and he shifted on his barstool. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, too.”
Peter rolled his eyes and looked around the room. “That’s because you haven’t seen much, and look, I’m trying to be good here, so just shut your beautiful mouth, all right?”
“What if I don’t want you to try to be good? What if I want you to be bad?” Neal asked, silkily…so young. So very stupid even though he was clearly brilliant.
Peter looked him square in the eye. “Kid,” he said. “You don’t know what bad is.”
And then Neal’s eyelids fluttered with desire, and Peter saw how his eager cock pushed at the fly of his jeans. Peter’s cock was more than a little interested, too. Shit. Peter checked his watch. Twenty to two. He hadn’t walked through the backroom all night. “Shit,” he said aloud.
“What?” Neal asked.
Peter sighed. “You’re gonna have to come with me, and no, it’s not what you’re gonna think.”
Peter walked through the dark curtains and Neal trailed right behind him. First thing, there was a guy bent over taking another’s cock. Neal gasped behind him.
“Don’t touch anything,” Peter told him. He felt Neal grab hold of his belt loops. He steadied his breath.
They passed two blow jobs, a threesome of fucking, a guy getting fisted and his face fucked both, and more hand jobs than Peter cared to count, but no one getting hurt or forced, and through it all, Neal stuck to his backside like glue, whispering sometimes, “Wow…” or “Holy shit…” and again “Wow…”
When Peter turned to make the circuit back to the front again, Neal pulled with his fingers in the loops. Peter turned to him, and Neal slid his hands up Peter’s chest. He was breathing heavy, eyes dilated. “We could stay,” he said breathlessly. “I could suck you off back here.”
“Neal…” Peter warned.
But Neal shoved his back against the nearest wall, stronger than he looked. He started toying with Peter’s belt. “I want your big cock in my mouth,” he said.
Peter just stood there, looking down at him. Suddenly, the lights came on. Blaringly bright. Everybody else moaned. Some guys kept on fucking. Others began to dress, taking their fun elsewhere. Peter and Neal just stood there. Looking into one another’s eyes. They stood there as everyone else filed out around them. Looking at Neal in the light, he was still just as beautiful. Maybe more so. His eyes were startlingly blue. His hair dark chocolate brown and naturally wavy. Peter was so hard his dick could cut glass. And still he just looked at the boy, and the boy looked up at him, so aroused he probably hurt with it. It was all plain as day on his face.
Peter wanted him. He wanted him fiercely, stupidly, recklessly. He wanted him.
“If I do this,” he said. “I’m doing it right.”
Neal smiled, the joy breaking over his face like dawn. He started to unbuckle Peter’s belt, and Peter stopped him forcefully, holding his hands in place.
“Not here.” Then he took Neal by the hand and started leading him toward the front. Claiming him for everyone else to see.
When they walked by the bar, Freddie called out, “Hey Burke! Want your share of the tips?”
“Tomorrow,” Peter growled out, still dragging Neal along by the hand.
“For sure!” Freddie called out after him, a note of appreciation strong in his voice. Peter blushed. He wasn’t known for taking home the really young ones.
“Get in the car,” Peter said once they were in the parking lot and he had the passenger side door opened for him.
Neal got in so fast he resembled some big puppy getting to take a ride with the window down. Peter closed the door on him, took a deep breath, looked up at the cloudy night sky and said to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in, “What the fuck am I doing?”
But when Peter got him in the door to his apartment, that question was long gone. He peeled up the boy’s shirt and licked at his nipples until they were dripping with his spit, giving in completely like the men at the club, unable to stop, and Neal banged his head back against the door, gasping, “Oh God!” Peter yanked the kid’s pants open and got out his beautiful erection, slim and long, and he pulled it gently, still working his tits with his lips, the flat of his tongue.
And Neal came. Forty-six seconds inside the door, he came in Peter’s hand. “Shit,” Peter laughed, milking it out of his sweet cock while Neal whined against his door. “Been a while since you jacked off?” he asked.
Neal answered, guilelessly, “No.”
Peter laughed again. “Jesus, how old *are* you?” meaning it to be rhetorical, thinking Neal would never answer him.
But Neal looked down, his shirt still up and his cock still out, and he said, “I’ll be sixteen next month.”
Peter knew his mouth was hanging open. It had gone dry as a bone. He just looked at Neal, so beautiful and wise beyond his years and funny and smart and goddamned seductive…and fifteen.
FIFTEEN.
Peter had just committed statutory rape. Or he was going to, at any rate. He’d brought a fifteen year-old boy home and jacked him off against his door. And he was still hard. Peter was still tellingly, shamefully hard.
“You’re *what*?” he couldn’t help but spit at the kid. Maybe hoping he’d heard wrong.
Neal looked up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry.” He tried to touch Peter, his chest again, and Peter stepped back. “I’ve never fit in,” Neal explained. “I’m not like the other kids at school. Peter, I’m different. I *feel* different. I don’t feel sixteen.”
“You’re *not* sixteen!” Peter bellowed, running a hand through his hair.
Neal stepped closer, and Peter didn’t back away this time. “I’ve always felt different,” he said again, an ache in his voice. That ache was something Peter understood from the inside. It’s how he felt being the star pitcher for the Albany Raccoons and getting everyone’s applause, their pats on the back for winning a big game, and then having to listen to a dozen fag jokes tossed around the bus on the trip home from a road game. It’s how he had felt crying alone in his room at night reading James Baldwin for the first time, or when he could do math problems in his head faster than his teachers or any other number of things.
Peter knew how that ache felt. He wanted to kiss the boy’s lips.
Peter also knew how his dick felt in his hand. So good. So smooth and hot and ready. And just from spending a couple hours with him, talking at the club, Peter knew he *was* different, but God… Fifteen.
Neal said, “I want it to be you,” almost a whisper.
“Oh, Jesus,” Peter muttered. “Neal, it’d be *rape*, don’t you get that?”
It was Neal’s turn to back away, the sheen of hot tears sparkling in his expressive eyes. “Oh, yeah, right. I’m *begging* you. And it’d be rape. Well, okay then. If you won’t do it, I’ll go find one of those guys again. The ones that were all over me at the club. They’d fuck me in a heartbeat.”
Peter shoved him against the door, two hard fists around the boy’s biceps. “The fuck you will!”
Neal lifted his chin, moist breath in Peter’s face, “What are you gonna do? You won’t fuck me! You gonna arrest me, *officer*; you’re not a cop and you’re not my parents and-“
“Goddamn it, I *am* a cop!” Peter roared. And then there was heavy, thick silence between them. There was Peter’s hands on his skinny, strong arms and Neal’s jizz, pungent, on his fingers and the taste of his beautiful skin in his mouth. Peter said, softer, “I am a cop, Neal.”
Neal swallowed, “You’re…a cop?”
Peter nodded. He realized his thumbs were involuntarily stroking the inside of the kid’s biceps. He stopped. Those wiry arms felt good in his hands, though. They felt right and good.
Neal looked him in the eye and said, “Then I guess we both had a secret.” He dropped his heavy gaze to Peter’s mouth, licked his lips, and said, hushed, “Please… Just kiss me once. Please, Peter…”
Peter’s cock was so hard. Neal was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. And he was so sweet. So sweet. And Neal wanted him. His body became supple, submissive in Peter’s hands. Peter slid his fists down to Neal’s wrists. He pulled them up, over Neal’s head, and pinned them to the door.
And then he lowered his mouth slowly, very very slowly to Neal’s, so regretful that he’d just ripped the boy’s shirt up and gotten his cock out like he’d have done to anybody. Peter carefully opened Neal’s mouth with his own mouth and tongue. He slipped his tongue into Neal’s mouth with slow demand and ease, and he proceeded to kiss Neal unhurried and deep. His tongue worked Neal’s lips open over and over again, stealing in and then slipping back out, fucking him slowly and sweetly. Neal whimpered.
Peter knew it should be a good-bye kiss. A maybe-in-a-few-years kiss. But it wasn’t. There was no denying that it was the start of something. Peter stroked his hands down Neal’s arms, down his sides. He pushed his hands into the back of Neal’s jeans, into the kid’s underwear, and cupped and stroked his ass while he kissed him. Peter squeezed his ass hard just to make him gasp into his mouth. Neal wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck and rubbed himself against Peter’s thigh.
“Can I suck your cock?” Neal whispered against his lips.
Peter bit his ear, still working the soft ass flesh in his hands. “Have you ever given head before?”
Neal shook his head no. And Peter couldn’t deny that it was titillating. The first. The first in that innocent mouth. He hadn’t even said yes, and Neal was slithering out of his grasp, dropping to his knees on the floor, making Peter step back to give him room. And then he watched as Neal unzipped his fly and reached inside for Peter’s cock, bringing it out until it stood pointing at his lips. Neal’s eyes widened in fear, and Peter smiled in sympathy; he knew he was gifted in the thickness department especially.
“You don’t have to, Neal,” Peter said. He stroked the boy’s hair.
Neal held his cock to steady it and started licking the head, and Peter inhaled, resting a hand on the wall and closing his eyes. It wasn’t that it was all that good. It wasn’t. But it was probably the best bad blow job he’d ever gotten. Because the lips were so soft and the tongue so eager, and Neal was making little noises like he liked the taste. And when he tried to take it into his mouth and suck on it, his teeth got in the way, and that was really fine with Peter, but it still wasn’t anything close to good oral sex etiquette.
It was beautiful and awkward and amazing. Because it was Neal Caffrey.
“Wait,” Peter said when Neal seemed like he might gag. Peter pulled himself out of his mouth. “Just…stay there,” he said, and then he brushed the head of his cock against Neal’s parted lips. Neal’s eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue tentatively came out to taste. Peter groaned and did it again, just teasing the boy’s lips and tongue, his chin and cheeks, tapping it against his mouth. “Just suck on the tip,” he instructed, and Neal looked up at him and let the barest tip of Peter’s cock past his lips. Peter thrust minutely.
Fifteen… Fucking fifteen.
“Jesus…” he said, easing just the head in and out between Neal’s lips. “I bet you taste like bitter honey,” he said lowly. Neal’s dick was hard as a little pipe again. Peter backed up and pulled Neal off the floor. God, he was going to do this. He was going to keep going. He felt deep shame and powerful desire. An ache that penetrated his bones. To be in him. To teach him. To make it so, so good.
“We should take this to the bed,” he said and then watched the boy light up again.
Peter stripped Neal beside the bed. He did it slowly and tenderly, kissing the bare skin as he revealed it. It was a far cry from what he’d normally do with a trick: strip them fast, bend them over, make it hurt a little. Or use his belt, the whips, and make it hurt a lot. With Neal, Peter was careful. And Neal whined with every kiss along his sides, his inner thighs. When Peter kissed his armpits, Neal whimpered pitifully and said, “Shit, I might come,” and Peter answered, “Go ahead. I can make it happen again.”
Peter turned Neal away from him and leaned him back against his chest, and he stroked Neal’s pretty cock. Neal leaned his head back on Peter’s shoulder and moved his narrow hips. “Thank you,” he said. The words, said in that voice, hurt Peter’s heart. “God, thank you.”
Peter thumbed the crown just right, the back of his smooth nail against the underside, and the kid came. He said Peter’s name, and his semen arced spectacularly and splattered on the carpet.
Neal turned in his arms, his eyes glassy and only partly sated. Fifteen… He shimmied Peter’s t-shirt up his belly, kissing Peter’s neck. “You wanna undress me, too?” Peter asked him.
“Uh huh,” Neal said, stripping Peter’s shirt off. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighed, seeing Peter’s chest.
“No, I’m not,” Peter assured him.
Neal dipped his hands into the back of Peter’s jeans, like Peter had done to him, inside his underwear, feeling his ass. “It’s gonna hurt when you fuck me, isn’t it?” There was something more than fear in his voice. There was excitement. It was something Peter wanted to hear and didn’t. He didn’t need any more compatibility with this kid. Neal’s hands massaged Peter’s ass, his face buried in Peter’s neck sweetly.
“Yeah. It’ll hurt,” he told him, and Neal’s teeth sank delicately into the flesh of his neck.
“Do you like to hurt people?”
“Sometimes.”
Neal tugged Peter’s jeans down and got on his knees to strip them off. He looked up at Peter, at his towering cock and then his face. “Will it feel good to you? Hurting me?”
Peter grabbed his hair, pulled it back, arching Neal’s neck. Neal gasped, panting. And Peter nodded. “Yeah. It’ll feel good.” Then he said, “Get in my bed, Neal.”
Peter wondered how many more times the boy could come. His desire was so buoyant, his body awakening again and again. It was heady and precious, and Peter fought the imposing guilt in order that he could keep going.
He wanted to show Neal everything. Do everything.
He knelt over Neal and sank his mouth down onto Neal’s cock, not stopping until he had the whole thing lodged inside at the back of his throat. And then he swallowed.
Neal yelled, and Peter proceeded with a slow, agonizing blow job that made the kid cry. And right before he came, again, all he got out was, “Shit, I think-“ and then it was firing off in Peter’s mouth, and Neal tasted bitter, fresh. His slim hips fucked up for more and Peter gave it until he was milked dry. Then Peter rose up, over him, and brought his mouth down to meet Neal’s, and he kissed his own taste into him. The boy’s arms wrapped around his neck like a lover and he moaned and licked into Peter’s mouth and it was horrible because it felt so good: this young man under him, craving it all, responding, mature beyond his years and yet illegal. And Peter’s badge in the bedside table in the first drawer, his lube and toys in the second.
Peter broke the kiss by rolling the boy over, exposing his beautiful back, sinuous, drawn in at the waist like a girl, and the most perfect little ass. He leaned down and whispered into Neal’s ear, “You still want to get fucked?”
Neal answered by lifting his butt for Peter…moaning and arching, spreading his legs, a boy in heat.
“You have to say it.”
“Peter… Please fuck me. Please fuck me,” Neal said. “I’m getting hard again, and it hurts.”
Peter’s dick jerked hearing him say that. He reached for the lube, got some on his index finger, and started circling Neal’s untouched hole. Fifteen…
“Oh shit,” said Neal when Peter worked his way inside.
“Hold still.”
Neal nodded into the flesh of the pillow, and Peter gently fucked in and out until Neal was practically trembling. And then he fucked longer and harder, getting a friction going; that’s when the boy started pleading. Peter added a second finger and slowed back down. Neal bit his own wrist.
“You okay?”
“Yeah... Feels…full.”
“It’s not,” Peter told him.
Peter eased his fingers in to the knuckles and then back out, speeding up when Neal whimpered and lifted his ass.
“Get up on your knees,” Peter told him, and Neal did it with a little fearful, excited mewl. It opened his vulnerable hole up more, and Peter slid his fingers all the way inside. Neal gasped, but Peter kept going, fucking him like that, and it wasn’t long before Neal was spreading his legs even more, keening, begging, trying to submit, to open completely to Peter’s finger fuck.
So Peter added a third finger and not as slowly as the first two. He added more lube and fucked the boy open, and Neal loved it. His little dick was hard again, drooling, red like a plum. His face was in the bed and his ass in the air, and he was quaking, eyes rolling, producing a litany of please and fuck me and Peter and just the helpless sounds of someone loving their agony.
Peter reached for a condom, nearly shaking. He *was* shaking a little bit. He remembered, quite suddenly, Neal talking about Da Vinci at the bar…how animated he became, how he wove in mathematics, history, geography, metaphysics, and that was just in one sentence. Maybe he remembered it to help justify taking a young man’s virginity and breaking the law in the doing. Maybe it wasn’t even about justification.
Maybe he really just…liked him.
Peter liked Neal a lot.
Peter got the condom on. He pulled his fingers slowly free on Neal’s groaning complaint. “Easy, baby,” he whispered. He put his cock at Neal’s hole and felt a jolt of desire so strong he was afraid he might come before he got inside. He bit his lip and pressed forward…felt the darling little hole open right up for him, and he slipped his cockhead inside.
“Oh God,” Neal cried.
Peter took his hips. “It’s okay,” he said. But even as he said it, he drove his cock in farther.
Neal hissed, perfectly still, his eyes squeezed closed.
“Easy…” Peter crooned. He waited. And when Neal just nodded, Peter started to fuck just the first half of his cock in and out.
Soon, Neal was moaning again, eager for it, and he said, “It doesn’t…hurt…so bad…”
And maybe it was something in Peter that wanted to make him remember, wanted to leave an indelible imprint, that made him then push the rest of his cock, up to the punishing base, all the way into the boy’s ass.
It felt so good. Peter had to grit his teeth and hold still inside as Neal gasped and practically tore the pillow in two and said, pleadingly, “Peter…oh Peter…God, it hurts.”
But Peter groaned, “So good…” the little asshole closing around him, unable to expel him, forced open by him and squeezing down so very tight. It took several moments for him to get a hold on his lust enough to stroke the boy’s shivering back. “I’m sorry, Neal,” Peter said. “I’m gonna make it better. Okay?”
Neal nodded into the pillow, and Peter dispensed more lube onto the place where his large cock disappeared into Neal’s body. Peter eased back a couple of inches and then carefully pushed back inside. He did this until the boy’s hands loosened on the pillow and started opening and closing, his back rippling as he tried to move a little on Peter’s cock, and then Peter sped it up.
Which was when that magic moment happened…when Neal arched his back and sighed, “Oh…GOD!”
Peter smiled, sweating with the effort to hold back, to not just fuck the holy hell out of him. “That good, baby?”
“Yes!” Neal cried, and Peter laughed.
“Can you take it a little harder?”
“YES!”
“All right, hold on.”
Peter started bucking into him, the strokes longer but much more forceful. “Oh yeah…” he couldn’t help but grunt. Their bodies were slapping just right, and Peter rejoiced when Neal met his stroke, loose, transported, ecstatic. Peter planted a hand on the bed now, doubling over Neal, changing the angle a little, rutting deep and fast now and reaching around to take the kid’s hard cock. Neal gasped and cried, and within ten rough pulls, he came again, fiercely, yelling, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and Peter’s name falling from his lips.
Fifteen and no longer a virgin.
Peter felt the need to come take him over. He pushed back upright behind Neal, took his slim hips in his strong hands, and just nailed that ass for all he was worth. “Goddamn you hot little fucker,” he found himself saying. And then he came, his semen rocketing out of him into that slight, lax body, and Peter pounded it out, jerking back on the boy’s hips and murmuring, “Neal…oh God, Neal…” and coming, coming, coming….
They lay, side by side, Neal’s arm thrown up over his head, his other hand lazy on his stomach. When Peter had finally pulled out of him, Neal had collapsed on his stomach for a good long while. Now he had turned over onto his back. Peter secretly enjoyed the feeling of the young man’s body jiggling the bed as he got situated. It touched him somewhere he hadn’t allowed himself to be touched in a long time. He’d thought he would be overcome with guilt when it was all over. He wasn’t. He was overwhelmed by a feeling of rightness. Maybe that would just take a while to wear off. Maybe it wouldn’t start to feel bad until the moment he had to say good-bye and mean it.
Neal curled onto his side, his hand tentatively reaching for Peter, not quite landing. Peter took his hand out of the air and laid it on his sweaty chest. Neal smiled hugely. He lay his head at the crook of Peter’s neck and shoulder, inching his body into Peter’s side. Peter sighed, playing slowly with the boy’s hair.
“Don’t you have parents who are going to miss you? Or did you pull the sleeping-over-at-a-friend’s routine?” Peter asked.
“That second thing,” Neal told him. “Are you…kicking me out?”
Peter tugged him closer, knowing he’d regret it in the morning. “No. No, I want you to stay.”
Neal’s hand played across his chest, in the sparse, wet hair. He said, mischievously, “My ass hurts.”
Peter slapped it, making the kid yelp. Neal nuzzled his armpit. His body writhed to the painful touch. Peter sighed, knowing it couldn’t be. Not after tonight. It just couldn’t be.
Neal breathed in the scent of a real, naked man, of Peter. He could smell himself. He threw his leg in between Peter’s and the other man let him. He cuddled close, tickled his fingers across Peter’s nipples, and he let him. Neal knew what Peter was thinking: that this would be it, that they’d part ways in the morning and maybe never see each other again or at least not until Neal could vote, and Neal would be more upset about it except that he didn’t intend to let that happen.
He knew better than to say so - to say, “I want you, Peter,” or “I’m in love with you, Peter,” - because that would only get derision and disbelief. So Neal kept it to himself. He relished the burning in his ass and the used feeling of his body, and he knew, as surely as he knew he could repaint the Mona Lisa perfectly with one hand tied behind his back…Neal knew he’d have Peter Burke again.
If it killed him, he’d chase him to the ends of the earth. And Neal Caffrey would catch him in the end.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the feel of a man’s fingers sifting sweetly through his hair.
END
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Warning: UNDERAGE NEAL! He's no child, but he's definitely not of legal age, so if that is a squick, please don't read this!!!
Summary: AU -- Peter is a bouncer at a gay club and meets Neal on his way in with his fake ID. (The title is from a George Michael song.)
For my friend, elrhiarhodan, who is more amazing than words can say. This is for all you've done for me. Happy Birthday. <3
Words: 6,480
Peter yawned. It was gonna be another long night at the club after a long day patrolling, too. He stood the door and watched all the twinks (who he carded) and bears and leather studs and everything in between stroll past. At ten, the music got louder and the lights darker. Peter got out his flashlight.
He didn’t know how long he could keep going like this: moonlighting on his job. He was just twenty-six, but his body, getting no more than five hours sleep several times a week, felt older than it looked. Hot showers were his trump card. And he’d learned early on that alcohol, on this job, was the bane of his existence. Not just for the hangovers the following day but because of who he sometimes woke up next to: a nameless beauty who Peter could hardly remember fucking the shit out of. Sometimes still wearing his cuffs.
But even minus the alcohol, something was amiss. Something felt off. Something would have to change. Soon.
He was startled out of his torpor when a kid, alone, really, really young-looking in ratty jeans and a white t-shirt tried to slip by him behind a bear’s round girth.
“Hey!” Peter called. “You.”
The kid looked at him with wide eyes, half innocence, half fear. “Me, officer?”
Peter rolled his eyes. He *was* an officer during the day, but there was no way this kid could know that, and the title just made him feel…old. But the kid blinked at him, his tight nipples showing through his shirt quite purposefully, and Peter smirked. He was almost too beautiful to card.
“I.D.” Peter said over the throbbing music.
“Oh,” the kid said and started digging in his back pocket. He brought out a black wallet and, from that, a driver’s license. And if it was a fake, it was one of the best Peter had ever seen. It proclaimed this “Neal Caffrey” to be twenty-one, and while Peter would bet his badge that he was not even close, there was nothing besides his gut to tell him it wasn’t legit.
Neal stood there, lips parted, breathing the swallow breath of the guilty, and Peter made him wait for it. He cast his eyes down the skinny frame. More muscle than it had first appeared. But just the first blossoming of a young male body. Peter would bet cash money Neal Caffrey was no more than a freshman in college. Maybe a baseball star. Or maybe, judging from the cunning in the dark blue eyes, a chess champion who just loved to workout. His jeans rode low, and there was an impressive bulge testing the threadbare crotch. Peter’s mouth filled with saliva. He took a deep breath.
Not this one, Peter Burke, he told himself. Goddamn, not this one.
“Be careful in there,” Peter found himself saying as he handed back the card.
Neal Caffrey bristled under the caveat, probably becoming brave under the intense relief
at getting the go ahead to go inside. “It just so happens I come here all the time. Just not when you’re on.”
Peter smiled at him. “That right.”
And then Peter was treated to the most entrancing, bright, precocious smile he’d probably ever seen. The kid was gorgeous. And he sure knew how to turn it on. He put his hand on the wall next to Peter’s head. The boy was only about three inches shorter than Peter was, but it was enough that he had to look up. The kid licked his pretty lips. “That’s right. But I could be persuaded to just skip it. If you wanted to go somewhere alone.” The boy’s eyes had dropped to Peter’s mouth. Horny teenagers. Peter sighed. If this Neal Caffrey had any idea, had one damn clue or iota what Peter could do to him “alone”, Peter was reasonably sure he might shit his pants.
“I’m working,” he said.
Neal Caffrey shifted his weight. His proud little erection was becoming obvious. So easy. So very beautiful.
“You’re holding up the line,” Peter told him, even though that wasn’t exactly true. A bunch of regulars were slipping past behind him, giving Peter a familiar nod or a “Hey,” as they entered.
The kid rested his free hand on Peter’s broad chest and Peter felt the first stirrings of real arousal. “If you change your mind…you know where to find me, Mr….?”
Peter looked into the boy’s shimmering eyes. “Burke. Peter Burke. Now get your scrawny ass inside.”
Neal Caffrey smiled like he’d won something, and Peter rolled his eyes. Finally, the kid took his hand off Peter’s chest, though he trailed it down to his belt buckle first. Peter had the vicious urge to swat him on the ass as he turned to go into the club. He felt an awful thrill deep in his belly, a tell-tale speed to his pulse and tightness in his chest. He took a deep breath and a drink of his water, resisting the desire to watch the kid’s back recede into the darkness.
“I.D.” he said to the next pretty thing. But he wasn’t nearly as pretty as Neal Caffrey had been. Not by a long shot.
Neal made his way to the bar, heart pounding furiously. He’d made it in. He’d made it IN! His very first gay bar! His first bar, period! And the hot bouncer had let him in. Mozzie’s fake I.D. had fooled him, and Neal was IN! He almost couldn’t wait to tell his friend, but Moz had said not to call, that he had his AP Physics mid-term on Monday to study for and he’d be unavailable for friendship or jacking off to web porn over IM together for the rest of the weekend.
Which was fine. Neal was in a gay bar, he was about to order his first drink, and there were gorgeous men EVERYWHERE. Neal was determined to have sex tonight with someone other than himself, and he felt well on his way toward that goal. He took one more look back at the sexy bouncer, Peter Burke, whose *chest* he had *touched*!!!! But the man wasn’t looking back at him. He was doing his job, shining his flashlight, which Neal found irrationally hot, down at some other kid’s I.D. Neal knew he didn’t have a chance with that one. But it was still nice to think about…that big body over him…those large hands hot on his naked skin
“I said, what can I get you?!” the bartender called to him.
“Oh, um…” Neal thought fast. What did real men drink? He looked at the muscle-bound man on the stool to his right. “Draft,” he yelled to the bartender. “Sam Adams.” That sounded good, he thought. It had an air of blue-collar sophistication, if there was such a thing. It must have been the right choice, because the bartender nodded, grabbed a pint glass, flipped it, winked at Neal, and started filling it up. Neal smiled. He winked back.
It was going to be a fun night.
Peter switched with Todd at midnight and came inside. He took his usual post at the end of the bar where he could see the drinkers, the dancers, the bathrooms, and the front from the same spot. He couldn’t see into the backroom, but that was sort of the point of having one. He’d take a tour of it every half hour for the rest of the night. It hardly ever got him hard anymore. It was rather like walking around the zoo and looking at the different exhibits. And as long as everyone was safe, sane, and consensual, Peter went on his slow, merry way.
The action he was much more interested in seeing tonight was on the dance floor anyway. That was where Neal Caffrey had a throng of men around him, one pressed up against him from behind, one in front, and a handful dancing close by just itching to take over one of those two spots. And whereas sweaty men fucking and sucking and fisting and jacking in the dark didn’t really matter to him anymore, watching this kid dance had Peter rock hard in less than two minutes.
His sweet little body writhed perfectly to the music, pressing up against one man and then the other. Hands were all over him. Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he had to break up a gang bang in the middle of the dance floor at some point. Caffrey worked the men like a drug. He slithered, his smile was crooked, his eyes dark (when they were open.) His shirt was wet with sweat and see-through, and his hard tits poked out, inviting the one man’s mouth down. The boy gasped at the hungry mouth latching onto him and pushed his ass into the other man’s crotch. Peter shifted on his barstool and gestured the bartender for another bottle of water.
Another man wedged in, pulled the kid’s t-shirt up, breaking the other guy’s suction briefly before he took Caffrey’s other tit in his mouth, and Peter stood up. Sure enough. He knew if he didn’t do something now, the kid’s pants were going to come down in about ten seconds and things were going to go really wrong. Peter left the water and the bar and pushed through hot bodies to get to Neal’s throng.
“Hey, back off,” he said to the two tit suckers who pulled away at the loud, intimidating voice, leaving Neal’s naked nipples wet and rosy. Peter glared at the man rubbing his cock against the boy’s ass. Peter looked down at the man’s pants and the large stain there; he’d already come once. Peter could hardly blame him, but he felt anger and disgust all the same. The mouths had left Caffrey’s tits, but the ass guy lingered, reaching around and touching Neal’s nipples with a challenging look. Neal gasped. Peter got in the guy’s face, crowding Caffrey and his “suitor”. “You’re gonna wanna rethink things,” Peter told him lowly.
The guy swallowed. He nodded. He backed away.
Peter looked at the kid. “You,” he said, and he crooked two fingers at him. “Follow me.”
Peter took him back to the bar and opened the water bottle, handing it over. The boy had pulled his shirt back down. “How much have you had to drink?”
Caffrey said, “Who are you, my mother?” but he took the water with a grateful look that belied his words, and he drank.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Peter told him with a sigh, knowing full well he had no business. And yet he might have just averted a rape.
Water ran off Caffrey’s chin as he gulped it down, then he said, panting, “I’ve only had three beers, officer. I knew what I was doing. I *know* what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, making this entire club spontaneously combust,” Peter said with a humorless laugh, eyes scanning the room again. When he caught the kid’s gaze once more, he was beaming. “Don’t look so cute; what you did out there was dangerous, Neal. It is Neal, right?”
Neal blinked. “Yeah. And you’re Peter. Peter Burke. My hero.” His smile was both mischievous and genuine. Then he looked down. “I guess maybe…I got…carried away.”
Peter watched the way he fiddled with the paper label around the water bottle.
“Do you think I’m a slut?” Neal asked. He was blushing.
“No,” Peter said. “I think you’re young.”
“I’m twenty-one!” Neal argued, his pretty head snapping up.
Peter took the water, and with the bottle on the way to his lips he said, “No, you’re not.” He drank and then passed the bottle back to Neal.
“Then why’d you let me in?” Neal was pouting.
“Because that’s the best damn fake I.D. I’ve ever seen.”
Neal smiled at him. “You’re not gonna kick me out?”
Peter shook his head no. “But only on one condition,” he said. Neal looked at him expectantly. “You keep me company for the rest of the night and we close this place down together.”
And shit but the kid lit up. He was Christmas morning. Peter regretted it instantly.
They drank water and coffee and sat close on two barstools, turned away from the bar so they could watch the guys. And they talked. Neal wanted to know about Peter - how long he’d worked there, did it ever get boring, what movies he liked, and then Neal asked if he liked art. So they talked about art. And holy shit, the kid knew his art. Turned out he was an artist, and he had a couple of paintings up at a nearby small gallery. Peter was impressed. Very impressed.
Neal didn’t like baseball but had never played. He asked if Peter played - “Is there a bouncer league?” -- and Peter had told him about playing in college and blowing out his knee in practice and being depressed for six months. Neal listened with an attentiveness unknown to the club setting. Peter asked what he did to stay fit. Neal said he did workout. And he ran. And somewhere in there he confessed to Peter that he wore glasses but that he could still see just fine.
“I can see enough to know how hot you are,” Neal said, and it was the first time in an hour that there had been anything like flirting. Peter just looked at him. His body warring with his head. And then Neal asked him, so earnestly, eyes cast down, “Do you think I’m hot?”
“Do I think you’re hot?” Peter asked incredulously. And the kid looked at him like the answer could break him if it was wrong. “Jesus…” he said, shaking his head. “Boy, you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Neal’s eyes went wide and he shifted on his barstool. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, too.”
Peter rolled his eyes and looked around the room. “That’s because you haven’t seen much, and look, I’m trying to be good here, so just shut your beautiful mouth, all right?”
“What if I don’t want you to try to be good? What if I want you to be bad?” Neal asked, silkily…so young. So very stupid even though he was clearly brilliant.
Peter looked him square in the eye. “Kid,” he said. “You don’t know what bad is.”
And then Neal’s eyelids fluttered with desire, and Peter saw how his eager cock pushed at the fly of his jeans. Peter’s cock was more than a little interested, too. Shit. Peter checked his watch. Twenty to two. He hadn’t walked through the backroom all night. “Shit,” he said aloud.
“What?” Neal asked.
Peter sighed. “You’re gonna have to come with me, and no, it’s not what you’re gonna think.”
Peter walked through the dark curtains and Neal trailed right behind him. First thing, there was a guy bent over taking another’s cock. Neal gasped behind him.
“Don’t touch anything,” Peter told him. He felt Neal grab hold of his belt loops. He steadied his breath.
They passed two blow jobs, a threesome of fucking, a guy getting fisted and his face fucked both, and more hand jobs than Peter cared to count, but no one getting hurt or forced, and through it all, Neal stuck to his backside like glue, whispering sometimes, “Wow…” or “Holy shit…” and again “Wow…”
When Peter turned to make the circuit back to the front again, Neal pulled with his fingers in the loops. Peter turned to him, and Neal slid his hands up Peter’s chest. He was breathing heavy, eyes dilated. “We could stay,” he said breathlessly. “I could suck you off back here.”
“Neal…” Peter warned.
But Neal shoved his back against the nearest wall, stronger than he looked. He started toying with Peter’s belt. “I want your big cock in my mouth,” he said.
Peter just stood there, looking down at him. Suddenly, the lights came on. Blaringly bright. Everybody else moaned. Some guys kept on fucking. Others began to dress, taking their fun elsewhere. Peter and Neal just stood there. Looking into one another’s eyes. They stood there as everyone else filed out around them. Looking at Neal in the light, he was still just as beautiful. Maybe more so. His eyes were startlingly blue. His hair dark chocolate brown and naturally wavy. Peter was so hard his dick could cut glass. And still he just looked at the boy, and the boy looked up at him, so aroused he probably hurt with it. It was all plain as day on his face.
Peter wanted him. He wanted him fiercely, stupidly, recklessly. He wanted him.
“If I do this,” he said. “I’m doing it right.”
Neal smiled, the joy breaking over his face like dawn. He started to unbuckle Peter’s belt, and Peter stopped him forcefully, holding his hands in place.
“Not here.” Then he took Neal by the hand and started leading him toward the front. Claiming him for everyone else to see.
When they walked by the bar, Freddie called out, “Hey Burke! Want your share of the tips?”
“Tomorrow,” Peter growled out, still dragging Neal along by the hand.
“For sure!” Freddie called out after him, a note of appreciation strong in his voice. Peter blushed. He wasn’t known for taking home the really young ones.
“Get in the car,” Peter said once they were in the parking lot and he had the passenger side door opened for him.
Neal got in so fast he resembled some big puppy getting to take a ride with the window down. Peter closed the door on him, took a deep breath, looked up at the cloudy night sky and said to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in, “What the fuck am I doing?”
But when Peter got him in the door to his apartment, that question was long gone. He peeled up the boy’s shirt and licked at his nipples until they were dripping with his spit, giving in completely like the men at the club, unable to stop, and Neal banged his head back against the door, gasping, “Oh God!” Peter yanked the kid’s pants open and got out his beautiful erection, slim and long, and he pulled it gently, still working his tits with his lips, the flat of his tongue.
And Neal came. Forty-six seconds inside the door, he came in Peter’s hand. “Shit,” Peter laughed, milking it out of his sweet cock while Neal whined against his door. “Been a while since you jacked off?” he asked.
Neal answered, guilelessly, “No.”
Peter laughed again. “Jesus, how old *are* you?” meaning it to be rhetorical, thinking Neal would never answer him.
But Neal looked down, his shirt still up and his cock still out, and he said, “I’ll be sixteen next month.”
Peter knew his mouth was hanging open. It had gone dry as a bone. He just looked at Neal, so beautiful and wise beyond his years and funny and smart and goddamned seductive…and fifteen.
FIFTEEN.
Peter had just committed statutory rape. Or he was going to, at any rate. He’d brought a fifteen year-old boy home and jacked him off against his door. And he was still hard. Peter was still tellingly, shamefully hard.
“You’re *what*?” he couldn’t help but spit at the kid. Maybe hoping he’d heard wrong.
Neal looked up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry.” He tried to touch Peter, his chest again, and Peter stepped back. “I’ve never fit in,” Neal explained. “I’m not like the other kids at school. Peter, I’m different. I *feel* different. I don’t feel sixteen.”
“You’re *not* sixteen!” Peter bellowed, running a hand through his hair.
Neal stepped closer, and Peter didn’t back away this time. “I’ve always felt different,” he said again, an ache in his voice. That ache was something Peter understood from the inside. It’s how he felt being the star pitcher for the Albany Raccoons and getting everyone’s applause, their pats on the back for winning a big game, and then having to listen to a dozen fag jokes tossed around the bus on the trip home from a road game. It’s how he had felt crying alone in his room at night reading James Baldwin for the first time, or when he could do math problems in his head faster than his teachers or any other number of things.
Peter knew how that ache felt. He wanted to kiss the boy’s lips.
Peter also knew how his dick felt in his hand. So good. So smooth and hot and ready. And just from spending a couple hours with him, talking at the club, Peter knew he *was* different, but God… Fifteen.
Neal said, “I want it to be you,” almost a whisper.
“Oh, Jesus,” Peter muttered. “Neal, it’d be *rape*, don’t you get that?”
It was Neal’s turn to back away, the sheen of hot tears sparkling in his expressive eyes. “Oh, yeah, right. I’m *begging* you. And it’d be rape. Well, okay then. If you won’t do it, I’ll go find one of those guys again. The ones that were all over me at the club. They’d fuck me in a heartbeat.”
Peter shoved him against the door, two hard fists around the boy’s biceps. “The fuck you will!”
Neal lifted his chin, moist breath in Peter’s face, “What are you gonna do? You won’t fuck me! You gonna arrest me, *officer*; you’re not a cop and you’re not my parents and-“
“Goddamn it, I *am* a cop!” Peter roared. And then there was heavy, thick silence between them. There was Peter’s hands on his skinny, strong arms and Neal’s jizz, pungent, on his fingers and the taste of his beautiful skin in his mouth. Peter said, softer, “I am a cop, Neal.”
Neal swallowed, “You’re…a cop?”
Peter nodded. He realized his thumbs were involuntarily stroking the inside of the kid’s biceps. He stopped. Those wiry arms felt good in his hands, though. They felt right and good.
Neal looked him in the eye and said, “Then I guess we both had a secret.” He dropped his heavy gaze to Peter’s mouth, licked his lips, and said, hushed, “Please… Just kiss me once. Please, Peter…”
Peter’s cock was so hard. Neal was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. And he was so sweet. So sweet. And Neal wanted him. His body became supple, submissive in Peter’s hands. Peter slid his fists down to Neal’s wrists. He pulled them up, over Neal’s head, and pinned them to the door.
And then he lowered his mouth slowly, very very slowly to Neal’s, so regretful that he’d just ripped the boy’s shirt up and gotten his cock out like he’d have done to anybody. Peter carefully opened Neal’s mouth with his own mouth and tongue. He slipped his tongue into Neal’s mouth with slow demand and ease, and he proceeded to kiss Neal unhurried and deep. His tongue worked Neal’s lips open over and over again, stealing in and then slipping back out, fucking him slowly and sweetly. Neal whimpered.
Peter knew it should be a good-bye kiss. A maybe-in-a-few-years kiss. But it wasn’t. There was no denying that it was the start of something. Peter stroked his hands down Neal’s arms, down his sides. He pushed his hands into the back of Neal’s jeans, into the kid’s underwear, and cupped and stroked his ass while he kissed him. Peter squeezed his ass hard just to make him gasp into his mouth. Neal wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck and rubbed himself against Peter’s thigh.
“Can I suck your cock?” Neal whispered against his lips.
Peter bit his ear, still working the soft ass flesh in his hands. “Have you ever given head before?”
Neal shook his head no. And Peter couldn’t deny that it was titillating. The first. The first in that innocent mouth. He hadn’t even said yes, and Neal was slithering out of his grasp, dropping to his knees on the floor, making Peter step back to give him room. And then he watched as Neal unzipped his fly and reached inside for Peter’s cock, bringing it out until it stood pointing at his lips. Neal’s eyes widened in fear, and Peter smiled in sympathy; he knew he was gifted in the thickness department especially.
“You don’t have to, Neal,” Peter said. He stroked the boy’s hair.
Neal held his cock to steady it and started licking the head, and Peter inhaled, resting a hand on the wall and closing his eyes. It wasn’t that it was all that good. It wasn’t. But it was probably the best bad blow job he’d ever gotten. Because the lips were so soft and the tongue so eager, and Neal was making little noises like he liked the taste. And when he tried to take it into his mouth and suck on it, his teeth got in the way, and that was really fine with Peter, but it still wasn’t anything close to good oral sex etiquette.
It was beautiful and awkward and amazing. Because it was Neal Caffrey.
“Wait,” Peter said when Neal seemed like he might gag. Peter pulled himself out of his mouth. “Just…stay there,” he said, and then he brushed the head of his cock against Neal’s parted lips. Neal’s eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue tentatively came out to taste. Peter groaned and did it again, just teasing the boy’s lips and tongue, his chin and cheeks, tapping it against his mouth. “Just suck on the tip,” he instructed, and Neal looked up at him and let the barest tip of Peter’s cock past his lips. Peter thrust minutely.
Fifteen… Fucking fifteen.
“Jesus…” he said, easing just the head in and out between Neal’s lips. “I bet you taste like bitter honey,” he said lowly. Neal’s dick was hard as a little pipe again. Peter backed up and pulled Neal off the floor. God, he was going to do this. He was going to keep going. He felt deep shame and powerful desire. An ache that penetrated his bones. To be in him. To teach him. To make it so, so good.
“We should take this to the bed,” he said and then watched the boy light up again.
Peter stripped Neal beside the bed. He did it slowly and tenderly, kissing the bare skin as he revealed it. It was a far cry from what he’d normally do with a trick: strip them fast, bend them over, make it hurt a little. Or use his belt, the whips, and make it hurt a lot. With Neal, Peter was careful. And Neal whined with every kiss along his sides, his inner thighs. When Peter kissed his armpits, Neal whimpered pitifully and said, “Shit, I might come,” and Peter answered, “Go ahead. I can make it happen again.”
Peter turned Neal away from him and leaned him back against his chest, and he stroked Neal’s pretty cock. Neal leaned his head back on Peter’s shoulder and moved his narrow hips. “Thank you,” he said. The words, said in that voice, hurt Peter’s heart. “God, thank you.”
Peter thumbed the crown just right, the back of his smooth nail against the underside, and the kid came. He said Peter’s name, and his semen arced spectacularly and splattered on the carpet.
Neal turned in his arms, his eyes glassy and only partly sated. Fifteen… He shimmied Peter’s t-shirt up his belly, kissing Peter’s neck. “You wanna undress me, too?” Peter asked him.
“Uh huh,” Neal said, stripping Peter’s shirt off. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighed, seeing Peter’s chest.
“No, I’m not,” Peter assured him.
Neal dipped his hands into the back of Peter’s jeans, like Peter had done to him, inside his underwear, feeling his ass. “It’s gonna hurt when you fuck me, isn’t it?” There was something more than fear in his voice. There was excitement. It was something Peter wanted to hear and didn’t. He didn’t need any more compatibility with this kid. Neal’s hands massaged Peter’s ass, his face buried in Peter’s neck sweetly.
“Yeah. It’ll hurt,” he told him, and Neal’s teeth sank delicately into the flesh of his neck.
“Do you like to hurt people?”
“Sometimes.”
Neal tugged Peter’s jeans down and got on his knees to strip them off. He looked up at Peter, at his towering cock and then his face. “Will it feel good to you? Hurting me?”
Peter grabbed his hair, pulled it back, arching Neal’s neck. Neal gasped, panting. And Peter nodded. “Yeah. It’ll feel good.” Then he said, “Get in my bed, Neal.”
Peter wondered how many more times the boy could come. His desire was so buoyant, his body awakening again and again. It was heady and precious, and Peter fought the imposing guilt in order that he could keep going.
He wanted to show Neal everything. Do everything.
He knelt over Neal and sank his mouth down onto Neal’s cock, not stopping until he had the whole thing lodged inside at the back of his throat. And then he swallowed.
Neal yelled, and Peter proceeded with a slow, agonizing blow job that made the kid cry. And right before he came, again, all he got out was, “Shit, I think-“ and then it was firing off in Peter’s mouth, and Neal tasted bitter, fresh. His slim hips fucked up for more and Peter gave it until he was milked dry. Then Peter rose up, over him, and brought his mouth down to meet Neal’s, and he kissed his own taste into him. The boy’s arms wrapped around his neck like a lover and he moaned and licked into Peter’s mouth and it was horrible because it felt so good: this young man under him, craving it all, responding, mature beyond his years and yet illegal. And Peter’s badge in the bedside table in the first drawer, his lube and toys in the second.
Peter broke the kiss by rolling the boy over, exposing his beautiful back, sinuous, drawn in at the waist like a girl, and the most perfect little ass. He leaned down and whispered into Neal’s ear, “You still want to get fucked?”
Neal answered by lifting his butt for Peter…moaning and arching, spreading his legs, a boy in heat.
“You have to say it.”
“Peter… Please fuck me. Please fuck me,” Neal said. “I’m getting hard again, and it hurts.”
Peter’s dick jerked hearing him say that. He reached for the lube, got some on his index finger, and started circling Neal’s untouched hole. Fifteen…
“Oh shit,” said Neal when Peter worked his way inside.
“Hold still.”
Neal nodded into the flesh of the pillow, and Peter gently fucked in and out until Neal was practically trembling. And then he fucked longer and harder, getting a friction going; that’s when the boy started pleading. Peter added a second finger and slowed back down. Neal bit his own wrist.
“You okay?”
“Yeah... Feels…full.”
“It’s not,” Peter told him.
Peter eased his fingers in to the knuckles and then back out, speeding up when Neal whimpered and lifted his ass.
“Get up on your knees,” Peter told him, and Neal did it with a little fearful, excited mewl. It opened his vulnerable hole up more, and Peter slid his fingers all the way inside. Neal gasped, but Peter kept going, fucking him like that, and it wasn’t long before Neal was spreading his legs even more, keening, begging, trying to submit, to open completely to Peter’s finger fuck.
So Peter added a third finger and not as slowly as the first two. He added more lube and fucked the boy open, and Neal loved it. His little dick was hard again, drooling, red like a plum. His face was in the bed and his ass in the air, and he was quaking, eyes rolling, producing a litany of please and fuck me and Peter and just the helpless sounds of someone loving their agony.
Peter reached for a condom, nearly shaking. He *was* shaking a little bit. He remembered, quite suddenly, Neal talking about Da Vinci at the bar…how animated he became, how he wove in mathematics, history, geography, metaphysics, and that was just in one sentence. Maybe he remembered it to help justify taking a young man’s virginity and breaking the law in the doing. Maybe it wasn’t even about justification.
Maybe he really just…liked him.
Peter liked Neal a lot.
Peter got the condom on. He pulled his fingers slowly free on Neal’s groaning complaint. “Easy, baby,” he whispered. He put his cock at Neal’s hole and felt a jolt of desire so strong he was afraid he might come before he got inside. He bit his lip and pressed forward…felt the darling little hole open right up for him, and he slipped his cockhead inside.
“Oh God,” Neal cried.
Peter took his hips. “It’s okay,” he said. But even as he said it, he drove his cock in farther.
Neal hissed, perfectly still, his eyes squeezed closed.
“Easy…” Peter crooned. He waited. And when Neal just nodded, Peter started to fuck just the first half of his cock in and out.
Soon, Neal was moaning again, eager for it, and he said, “It doesn’t…hurt…so bad…”
And maybe it was something in Peter that wanted to make him remember, wanted to leave an indelible imprint, that made him then push the rest of his cock, up to the punishing base, all the way into the boy’s ass.
It felt so good. Peter had to grit his teeth and hold still inside as Neal gasped and practically tore the pillow in two and said, pleadingly, “Peter…oh Peter…God, it hurts.”
But Peter groaned, “So good…” the little asshole closing around him, unable to expel him, forced open by him and squeezing down so very tight. It took several moments for him to get a hold on his lust enough to stroke the boy’s shivering back. “I’m sorry, Neal,” Peter said. “I’m gonna make it better. Okay?”
Neal nodded into the pillow, and Peter dispensed more lube onto the place where his large cock disappeared into Neal’s body. Peter eased back a couple of inches and then carefully pushed back inside. He did this until the boy’s hands loosened on the pillow and started opening and closing, his back rippling as he tried to move a little on Peter’s cock, and then Peter sped it up.
Which was when that magic moment happened…when Neal arched his back and sighed, “Oh…GOD!”
Peter smiled, sweating with the effort to hold back, to not just fuck the holy hell out of him. “That good, baby?”
“Yes!” Neal cried, and Peter laughed.
“Can you take it a little harder?”
“YES!”
“All right, hold on.”
Peter started bucking into him, the strokes longer but much more forceful. “Oh yeah…” he couldn’t help but grunt. Their bodies were slapping just right, and Peter rejoiced when Neal met his stroke, loose, transported, ecstatic. Peter planted a hand on the bed now, doubling over Neal, changing the angle a little, rutting deep and fast now and reaching around to take the kid’s hard cock. Neal gasped and cried, and within ten rough pulls, he came again, fiercely, yelling, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and Peter’s name falling from his lips.
Fifteen and no longer a virgin.
Peter felt the need to come take him over. He pushed back upright behind Neal, took his slim hips in his strong hands, and just nailed that ass for all he was worth. “Goddamn you hot little fucker,” he found himself saying. And then he came, his semen rocketing out of him into that slight, lax body, and Peter pounded it out, jerking back on the boy’s hips and murmuring, “Neal…oh God, Neal…” and coming, coming, coming….
They lay, side by side, Neal’s arm thrown up over his head, his other hand lazy on his stomach. When Peter had finally pulled out of him, Neal had collapsed on his stomach for a good long while. Now he had turned over onto his back. Peter secretly enjoyed the feeling of the young man’s body jiggling the bed as he got situated. It touched him somewhere he hadn’t allowed himself to be touched in a long time. He’d thought he would be overcome with guilt when it was all over. He wasn’t. He was overwhelmed by a feeling of rightness. Maybe that would just take a while to wear off. Maybe it wouldn’t start to feel bad until the moment he had to say good-bye and mean it.
Neal curled onto his side, his hand tentatively reaching for Peter, not quite landing. Peter took his hand out of the air and laid it on his sweaty chest. Neal smiled hugely. He lay his head at the crook of Peter’s neck and shoulder, inching his body into Peter’s side. Peter sighed, playing slowly with the boy’s hair.
“Don’t you have parents who are going to miss you? Or did you pull the sleeping-over-at-a-friend’s routine?” Peter asked.
“That second thing,” Neal told him. “Are you…kicking me out?”
Peter tugged him closer, knowing he’d regret it in the morning. “No. No, I want you to stay.”
Neal’s hand played across his chest, in the sparse, wet hair. He said, mischievously, “My ass hurts.”
Peter slapped it, making the kid yelp. Neal nuzzled his armpit. His body writhed to the painful touch. Peter sighed, knowing it couldn’t be. Not after tonight. It just couldn’t be.
Neal breathed in the scent of a real, naked man, of Peter. He could smell himself. He threw his leg in between Peter’s and the other man let him. He cuddled close, tickled his fingers across Peter’s nipples, and he let him. Neal knew what Peter was thinking: that this would be it, that they’d part ways in the morning and maybe never see each other again or at least not until Neal could vote, and Neal would be more upset about it except that he didn’t intend to let that happen.
He knew better than to say so - to say, “I want you, Peter,” or “I’m in love with you, Peter,” - because that would only get derision and disbelief. So Neal kept it to himself. He relished the burning in his ass and the used feeling of his body, and he knew, as surely as he knew he could repaint the Mona Lisa perfectly with one hand tied behind his back…Neal knew he’d have Peter Burke again.
If it killed him, he’d chase him to the ends of the earth. And Neal Caffrey would catch him in the end.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the feel of a man’s fingers sifting sweetly through his hair.
END