"Threshold", Peter/Neal, NC-17
Title: Threshold
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
For daria234 who asked quite a bit back for a ficlet during the Ficlet Challenge. The prompt: Peter/Neal -- Neal's first anal experience. Thank you for being patient! I hope this rocks your socks!
Words: 1,535
Maybe it’s that he got called faggot throughout his entire high school life. And maybe it’s that he met a slew of beautiful but passive girls who wouldn’t acknowledge that he had an orifice back there much less touch it. Or maybe it’s that he had fallen in love with Kate and had become good at playing with hers but ignoring his own. Maybe it was that the men he met became immediately and irrevocably obsessed with his mouth - and maybe he encouraged that a bit.
Whatever it was - Neal Caffrey had never had his ass fucked.
It wasn’t something he truly worried much about. Until he met and fell for Agent Peter Burke of the FBI - the man who’d caught him, collared him, and then made him want more than he’d ever had before.
They were sort of dating. But Neal had wanted Peter from the moment he saw him. To the point where it was almost hard to run. The desire to be caught by him was nearly as strong. Only his devotion to Kate drove him on sometimes.
And now she was gone, and Peter had been the one to get him through that, and the guilt Neal felt at wanting Peter kept warring with the want itself, until the want won and one night, alone in Neal’s apartment, the two of them standing at the door and Peter unwilling to leave for whatever reason - Neal had kissed him. Stunned the shit out of him, actually. To the point where Peter was already hard against Neal’s body by the time he broke away to whisper, “We can’t.”
And they didn’t that night or the next or the next week. But they did do it. At the Burkes’. In front of El. Peter had hugged him goodnight and held on too long. Neal had gotten so hard so very fast. He’d kissed Peter again, slipping his tongue in and making Peter and El both gasp.
It had been a wild, a wonderful, a tender and moving night. An exhausting night. Neal had felt like his jaw might unhinge from his face and fall off from all the oral sex he’d given. Peter had fucked his wife’s pussy. Neal had carefully penetrated her ass. He’d rimmed Peter and jacked him off at the same time. It had been, to reiterate, a beautiful and *exhausting* night.
That was four months ago.
And Peter liked to reach his hand around and pet Neal’s hole with his finger. Neal wanted to let him. Neal shivered violently with wanting to just arch his back, relax the way in, and let his lover slip inside him.
Peter was stroking him like that now. Neal was down to his briefs, and Peter’s hand was inside, and they were kissing, and Peter’s finger was petting him, petting him, petting him, and Neal’s cock was wetting the front of his briefs with pre-come, he wanted it so bad. So he pulled his lips free from Peter’s kiss, leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder, and whispered close to his ear, “I’ve…never…”
And Peter answered, “I’d gathered as much. Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Neal said. “Peter…I want you to do it.”
Neal felt Peter’s hard cock jerk against his leg, his warm breath rushing out along Neal’s neck. Neal thought he could come from wanting Peter inside him - just the touch of that thick, careful finger.
But Peter stopped. Neal caught his breath. “Did I…do something wrong?”
Peter nearly growled, “No. No, Neal. I just need to get the lube.”
“Oh.” Neal felt like a cherry teenager - ignorant, foolish, blushing, eager and scared. “Okay.”
Peter got more than the lube. He got out a slender buttplug and a thicker one and condoms. Neal gulped. Then Peter pulled out his cellphone. “I need to run this by El,” he said, and Neal nodded, feeling stupidly grateful for the reprieve. He didn’t know if he wanted El’s blessing or not.
But he got it. Peter’s voice warmed, his smile practically beaming, and his hand slid down the front of Neal’s briefs and he stroked slowly and confidently at Neal’s cock while he said things like, “How was your day?” and “Can you let Satch out when you get home?” and “I love you, hun.” Stroking and pulling and kissing the crown with a blunt, heavy thumb.
He hung up and he kissed Neal for five minutes without coming up for air. When Peter let Neal’s mouth go, Neal realized, somewhere in there, he’d lost his underwear.
Neal came during the prep. On finger sliding in and out of him from behind, and Neal couldn’t hold it back. He arched like a cat, his asshole feeling so warm-hot and open and tickled to fast arousal, and he came, spreading his thighs until they shook.
Peter used his come to work two fingers in. Neal lay flat, sated, and Peter opened him. Peter kissed Neal’s shoulder blades and murmured how good he felt - how good it would feel cinching around his cock. Neal moaned and got up on his knees again. Peter chuckled and eased a third finger slowly inside with the others.
But when he was ready to fuck Neal, he made him lie on his back like a girl. Like a high school girl with her skirt up, trembling, thighs soft and frightened. Neal lay back on the pillows, and Peter pressed his legs up, getting his slicked hole where he wanted it. Neal was barely breathing. Peter’s eyes were dilated almost black. He looked so big suddenly. So impossible. Not just his dick. His whole, perfect body. His whole, perfect life.
“What about the toys?” Neal asked sheepishly.
Peter shook his head. He was looking at Neal’s asshole. “Can’t wait to get in you.”
Neal gulped again.
“Do you trust me, Neal?” He dipped two lubed fingers into Neal’s hole lovingly.
It felt so goddamned good, Neal couldn’t help a gasped out, “Yes!” But then he amended, “Mostly.”
Peter smiled. He pulled on Neal’s long cock until he was once again dribbling. And then Peter removed his fingers, Neal’s ass sucking at them, not ready to let go, his tiny hole kissing them good-bye. Peter stabilized his body with spread legs, his thighs tense. He mounted Neal, aiming his cock with one hand, a look of concentration on his face that turned Neal on maybe more than even his touch. Neal took hold of the headboard, let Peter fold his body into position, and then something that had to be three times the size of Peter’s cock began to push at him, simultaneously demanding he submit to it and coaxing the nerve bundles of Neal’s anus to want to do so.
It felt incredible: the heat, the pain, the way his body worked - worked so hard - to accommodate another man’s huge cock, the way Peter would grunt near his ear like he was holding back as best he could but needed -- *needed* -- to fuck Neal now.
He rocked, half inside, sliding two thick inches back and forth, and Neal *blossomed* open. He felt it - the illicit moment of give - and he opened his mouth on a loud groan of decades-denied pleasure.
…
They spent the night fucking.
Neal’s asshole hurt - hurt all the way up into his belly - but he felt insatiable; Peter over him, inside of him, moving him, changing him, was too precious to stop. Neal celebrated the raw, sensitive tissues, embraced the aching legs and hips forced to stretch to cradle Peter’s bigger body. Neal thought he might have bruises on his buttocks from Peter pounding into him from behind. His hands hurt from the tight fists he’d made around the headboard, the edges of his dining room table, Peter’s wrists.
Peter left at three in the morning. “El’s gonna kill me,” he’d said at the door but with a smile that said otherwise, a wet, sated twinkle in his eye. He had his jacket slung over his shoulder, precarious on the one finger - the first finger inside of Neal. Neal was in a robe, hurting, hardly able to stand. And maybe because Peter sensed this, he pulled Neal in - he lifted him up - he held Neal’s spent body against his own, warm and safe. It went on like that kiss had - five minutes of dangling from Peter’s arms, held. Loved.
Then Peter set him down like a child that had grown heavy and tired. “Go to bed,” Peter admonished gently. “Call me tomorrow.”
Neal nodded. Peter ran his hand under the terry cloth, down Neal’s chest, and sighed, “God, stop being so beautiful, I have to go.”
Neal tried to disguise how he caught his breath at that - how unreal it felt to be admired like this: carefully, respectfully, possessively but not cruelly. That he could make Peter *Burke* feel this way. That he could make him want to stay.
But then he was gone, down the stairs with one crooked smile thrown back, and Neal shut the door, slid down it, hugging his newly fucked body and closing his eyes so he could see Peter there. Over him. Not yet inside. Captured in that first push forever.
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
For daria234 who asked quite a bit back for a ficlet during the Ficlet Challenge. The prompt: Peter/Neal -- Neal's first anal experience. Thank you for being patient! I hope this rocks your socks!
Words: 1,535
Maybe it’s that he got called faggot throughout his entire high school life. And maybe it’s that he met a slew of beautiful but passive girls who wouldn’t acknowledge that he had an orifice back there much less touch it. Or maybe it’s that he had fallen in love with Kate and had become good at playing with hers but ignoring his own. Maybe it was that the men he met became immediately and irrevocably obsessed with his mouth - and maybe he encouraged that a bit.
Whatever it was - Neal Caffrey had never had his ass fucked.
It wasn’t something he truly worried much about. Until he met and fell for Agent Peter Burke of the FBI - the man who’d caught him, collared him, and then made him want more than he’d ever had before.
They were sort of dating. But Neal had wanted Peter from the moment he saw him. To the point where it was almost hard to run. The desire to be caught by him was nearly as strong. Only his devotion to Kate drove him on sometimes.
And now she was gone, and Peter had been the one to get him through that, and the guilt Neal felt at wanting Peter kept warring with the want itself, until the want won and one night, alone in Neal’s apartment, the two of them standing at the door and Peter unwilling to leave for whatever reason - Neal had kissed him. Stunned the shit out of him, actually. To the point where Peter was already hard against Neal’s body by the time he broke away to whisper, “We can’t.”
And they didn’t that night or the next or the next week. But they did do it. At the Burkes’. In front of El. Peter had hugged him goodnight and held on too long. Neal had gotten so hard so very fast. He’d kissed Peter again, slipping his tongue in and making Peter and El both gasp.
It had been a wild, a wonderful, a tender and moving night. An exhausting night. Neal had felt like his jaw might unhinge from his face and fall off from all the oral sex he’d given. Peter had fucked his wife’s pussy. Neal had carefully penetrated her ass. He’d rimmed Peter and jacked him off at the same time. It had been, to reiterate, a beautiful and *exhausting* night.
That was four months ago.
And Peter liked to reach his hand around and pet Neal’s hole with his finger. Neal wanted to let him. Neal shivered violently with wanting to just arch his back, relax the way in, and let his lover slip inside him.
Peter was stroking him like that now. Neal was down to his briefs, and Peter’s hand was inside, and they were kissing, and Peter’s finger was petting him, petting him, petting him, and Neal’s cock was wetting the front of his briefs with pre-come, he wanted it so bad. So he pulled his lips free from Peter’s kiss, leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder, and whispered close to his ear, “I’ve…never…”
And Peter answered, “I’d gathered as much. Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Neal said. “Peter…I want you to do it.”
Neal felt Peter’s hard cock jerk against his leg, his warm breath rushing out along Neal’s neck. Neal thought he could come from wanting Peter inside him - just the touch of that thick, careful finger.
But Peter stopped. Neal caught his breath. “Did I…do something wrong?”
Peter nearly growled, “No. No, Neal. I just need to get the lube.”
“Oh.” Neal felt like a cherry teenager - ignorant, foolish, blushing, eager and scared. “Okay.”
Peter got more than the lube. He got out a slender buttplug and a thicker one and condoms. Neal gulped. Then Peter pulled out his cellphone. “I need to run this by El,” he said, and Neal nodded, feeling stupidly grateful for the reprieve. He didn’t know if he wanted El’s blessing or not.
But he got it. Peter’s voice warmed, his smile practically beaming, and his hand slid down the front of Neal’s briefs and he stroked slowly and confidently at Neal’s cock while he said things like, “How was your day?” and “Can you let Satch out when you get home?” and “I love you, hun.” Stroking and pulling and kissing the crown with a blunt, heavy thumb.
He hung up and he kissed Neal for five minutes without coming up for air. When Peter let Neal’s mouth go, Neal realized, somewhere in there, he’d lost his underwear.
Neal came during the prep. On finger sliding in and out of him from behind, and Neal couldn’t hold it back. He arched like a cat, his asshole feeling so warm-hot and open and tickled to fast arousal, and he came, spreading his thighs until they shook.
Peter used his come to work two fingers in. Neal lay flat, sated, and Peter opened him. Peter kissed Neal’s shoulder blades and murmured how good he felt - how good it would feel cinching around his cock. Neal moaned and got up on his knees again. Peter chuckled and eased a third finger slowly inside with the others.
But when he was ready to fuck Neal, he made him lie on his back like a girl. Like a high school girl with her skirt up, trembling, thighs soft and frightened. Neal lay back on the pillows, and Peter pressed his legs up, getting his slicked hole where he wanted it. Neal was barely breathing. Peter’s eyes were dilated almost black. He looked so big suddenly. So impossible. Not just his dick. His whole, perfect body. His whole, perfect life.
“What about the toys?” Neal asked sheepishly.
Peter shook his head. He was looking at Neal’s asshole. “Can’t wait to get in you.”
Neal gulped again.
“Do you trust me, Neal?” He dipped two lubed fingers into Neal’s hole lovingly.
It felt so goddamned good, Neal couldn’t help a gasped out, “Yes!” But then he amended, “Mostly.”
Peter smiled. He pulled on Neal’s long cock until he was once again dribbling. And then Peter removed his fingers, Neal’s ass sucking at them, not ready to let go, his tiny hole kissing them good-bye. Peter stabilized his body with spread legs, his thighs tense. He mounted Neal, aiming his cock with one hand, a look of concentration on his face that turned Neal on maybe more than even his touch. Neal took hold of the headboard, let Peter fold his body into position, and then something that had to be three times the size of Peter’s cock began to push at him, simultaneously demanding he submit to it and coaxing the nerve bundles of Neal’s anus to want to do so.
It felt incredible: the heat, the pain, the way his body worked - worked so hard - to accommodate another man’s huge cock, the way Peter would grunt near his ear like he was holding back as best he could but needed -- *needed* -- to fuck Neal now.
He rocked, half inside, sliding two thick inches back and forth, and Neal *blossomed* open. He felt it - the illicit moment of give - and he opened his mouth on a loud groan of decades-denied pleasure.
…
They spent the night fucking.
Neal’s asshole hurt - hurt all the way up into his belly - but he felt insatiable; Peter over him, inside of him, moving him, changing him, was too precious to stop. Neal celebrated the raw, sensitive tissues, embraced the aching legs and hips forced to stretch to cradle Peter’s bigger body. Neal thought he might have bruises on his buttocks from Peter pounding into him from behind. His hands hurt from the tight fists he’d made around the headboard, the edges of his dining room table, Peter’s wrists.
Peter left at three in the morning. “El’s gonna kill me,” he’d said at the door but with a smile that said otherwise, a wet, sated twinkle in his eye. He had his jacket slung over his shoulder, precarious on the one finger - the first finger inside of Neal. Neal was in a robe, hurting, hardly able to stand. And maybe because Peter sensed this, he pulled Neal in - he lifted him up - he held Neal’s spent body against his own, warm and safe. It went on like that kiss had - five minutes of dangling from Peter’s arms, held. Loved.
Then Peter set him down like a child that had grown heavy and tired. “Go to bed,” Peter admonished gently. “Call me tomorrow.”
Neal nodded. Peter ran his hand under the terry cloth, down Neal’s chest, and sighed, “God, stop being so beautiful, I have to go.”
Neal tried to disguise how he caught his breath at that - how unreal it felt to be admired like this: carefully, respectfully, possessively but not cruelly. That he could make Peter *Burke* feel this way. That he could make him want to stay.
But then he was gone, down the stairs with one crooked smile thrown back, and Neal shut the door, slid down it, hugging his newly fucked body and closing his eyes so he could see Peter there. Over him. Not yet inside. Captured in that first push forever.