White Collar fics
I did a few different prompts. Titles and summaries found below.
Author: daria234
For: afiawri, for the White Collar Swap fic exchange
Rating: Various
Characters/Pairings: Mostly Peter/Neal, references to Peter/El
Warnings/Triggers: Kinks? Bdsm, bondage, sensory deprivation, other kinks. Angst. Sex. Language. Etc.
Spoilers: Only in 25 reasons, which has spoilers to the end of the most recent ep.
Titles/Descriptions:
1. Decodings: Peter/Neal sensory deprivation PWP (NC-17)
2. Rule 5: Gen ficlet about how Mozzie is actually less paranoid now than he used to be because of Neal's influence. (PG) Ficlet, not a full-length fic.
3. Performance Art: Peter/Neal, where Peter has an unusual kink and Neal has an unreadable psychological state. (NC-17)
4. Negative Space: Tired Neal after a long day, could be gen or UST. (PG-13) Ficlet, not a full-length fic.
5. 25 Reasons Not to Love Peter Burke: Angsty UST with Neal's point of view. (soft R)
Author's Note: Each fic takes place in an entirely different 'verse with different ideas about the characters and relationships.
My excellent, wonderful, supportive beta for all the fics: photoash. Thanks for your great suggestions and help!!!
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Title: Decodings
Prompt: P/N sensory deprivation, established relationship.
Includes/warnings: Sensory deprivation, bondage, bdsm.
Peter stood behind Neal and carefully tied the blindfold around his head. Then he moved closer as he put a hand on Neal's bare shoulder.
"Everything okay?" he whispered in Neal's ear. His breath came down hot on Neal's ear, and Neal couldn't prevent the goosebumps from rising. Everything felt intense, like he could think of nothing but the voice in his ear and hand resting on his shoulder.
This is what Neal loved about it, what made him ask for it again and again: this winnowing of experience to touch and smell and sound. Nothing in sight to help Neal escape, just Peter's voice in his ear and Peter's hands on his body, telling him everything he was permitted to know.
It was a mistake to tell Peter what he loved about it. It just gave Peter ideas.
"Can you see?" Peter confirmed, this time his breath moving close to Neal's neck. He must have been leaning down.
"No," Neal answered. Peter knew he would speak up if he could see, whether Peter asked or not. But that little question was part of it: Peter demands the truth, Neal complies.
"Take off the rest of your clothes," Peter said. Gently, like he always said it.
It made Neal nervous, made his chest tighten in anticipation. But not in a bad way.
Neal unbuckled his belt, let his pants fall, and he could hear and feel Peter hovering, making sure he didn't lose his balance as he stepped out of his pants and then his boxers. He could feel Peter kneeling then, one arm around Neal's waist to keep him steady, the other reaching down to take Neal's socks off.
Neal complied as well as he could, let his body be shifted and kept in place by Peter. He thought for a moment about what a submissive act Peter was performing - or what would, for someone else, be a submissive act. With Peter, though, the categories didn't apply. No act was inherently dominant or submissive; it was about Peter deciding what happens to Neal, and right now Peter decided that Neal would have his socks removed.
It also might theoretically have something to do with the time Neal tried to take his socks off while blindfolded and fell on his ass. Possibly.
But then there was the sound of Peter getting up and getting something out of a drawer.
Neal waited without a word. This was also part of it; Neal doesn't get to ask what's happening next.
Peter came back soon , though, and his hands slowly brought Neal's arms behind his back as he started to tie a series of knots to bind them in place. Neal relaxed a little, both in relief and to make Peter's work easier. It felt like a cord, leather maybe. Something new, that Peter hasn't used before, but nothing exotic.
When he was done, he told Neal, "Now the earphones."
Neal swallowed and nodded. They had talked about this, and agreed to try it. It was Peter's idea of course; he came up with it after Neal confessed in a post-orgasmic moment of foolishness that he loved having Peter's voice as his only anchor.
Peter and his bright ideas...
But Peter felt fairly sure that Neal would like it, and Neal still remembered his safeword even though he's only had to use it once (and that was for a muscle cramp that had nothing to do with what Peter was doing to him).
So Neal agreed to try it.
When Peter put the earphones in - wireless earbuds, actually - Neal tried to look brave for Peter's sake. He was pretty sure he failed.
But then it was Peter's hand on his shoulder again, solid and warm, fingers gently squeezing their reassurance into Neal's body, and Neal nodded again. Peter gently slipped the earphones in and then he heard nothing.
White noise. Not too loud, but certainly loud enough to block sounds that plain earplugs wouldn't.
It was not the most ... secure that Neal has ever felt.
Peter's breath on his ear again, then, probably saying something.
"I can't hear you Peter," Neal said, and tried not to make it sound like pleading.
Then another hand, this one at the base of his spine, the other on his shoulder still. Both of Peter's hands on him, reminding him that it would be okay, telling him to breathe.
Neal for a moment wondered if he should just end it here. When he was blindfolded, he still knew things: he could tell where Peter was, what was going on, if any drawers were being opened, if Peter were moving quickly or slowly. The sound of a paddle swinging would give him a split second to prepare, the sound of lube being applied would give him even longer. This - not hearing anything - was something else entirely.
But then Peter's hands, again. Moving him slowly.
Toward the table, Neal could tell from the direction. The coffee table, exactly the right height for Neal to bend over and lie flat on if he were on his knees. It was a relief to know where he was going, and he wasn't sure what he would do if he got turned around. Peter was going slowly, hands steady on Neal's body, but it was strange and rather terrifying, and Neal felt clumsy suddenly, as if he would fall over or bump into walls if Peter didn't hold on tight enough.
But of course Peter held on just right.
And then the slightest of pressure downward on Neal's shoulder. A command to kneel.
Neal sank down to the floor easily. With the lightest of touches, Peter guided his body so that Neal's torso was lying flat on the surface of the table. Then with just a slight tap of Peter's foot to the inside of Neal's right knee, Neal knew to spread his legs apart just enough so Peter could give a quick glide of the hand up Neal's inner thigh.
Neal gasped sharply. It felt... more, somehow. Everything felt more, the sensations even more overwhelming than when it was a blindfold alone. His body was desperate for information and so it intensified the sparse sensory awareness, his sense of touch distilled into something dense and heady. He felt the rough carpet pressing up against his knees. The cool, smooth wooden table under his chest and stomach. The silk of the blindfold on his face and the friction of the ties against the skin of his arms. The occasional swipe of the fabric of Peter's clothes as he moved about Neal, which made Neal imagine what they looked like, Peter still in his suit, standing over a naked and bound and blindfolded Neal, who was bending over, completely submissive, presenting his body to be used. The image alone made Neal's cock swell, and then the suddenness of Peter's rough fingertips on his thighs...
But then a very light slap to Neal's asscheek. And then a light pat on the shoulder, and then Peter's hand on his head, ruffling his hair. And Neal wasn't sure how he knew this, but it was somehow clear that Peter was trying to say that he was going to get something but he would be back right away.
When Peter came back, it was a minute later at least, and the warmth of Peter's hand on his hip was too sudden; Neal tensed up and almost tried to stand, but Peter's other hand came to his back, soft pressure and smooth motion, and soon Neal was lying flat on the table again. Peter gently traced his hands down Neal's neck and to his shoulders, slightly kneading his fingers as if to mimic some hint of massage, and Neal felt these muscles relaxing. It wasn't so much from the physical impact of Peter's hands but from the command they implied: Calm down, Neal. I'm right here. And as Peter's fingers pressed their way down Neal's back, he felt his whole body once again move to a more relaxed state, loose and pliant.
And then Peter's lips at the base of Neal's spine. Kissing, softly, up Neal's back, across his shoulder, then down one bound arm and up the other. Wet and hot and excruciatingly gentle.
And then hands moving his thighs farther apart. Peter kissing the inside of his thighs, and Neal tried to imagine what it looked like, Peter crouching low behind Neal's body, but all he could focus on was the stretch of his leg muscles and the feel of Peter's lips. If it were any other kind of play, Neal would have asked Peter to keep moving upward, but instead he said nothing as Peter stopped - heartbreakingly - at the upper thigh. Not that Neal was surprised that Peter had more elaborate plans than that.
Then Peter brought Neal's legs together again and put a hand on the back of Neal's neck.
It was different, this time.
It wasn't harder, it didn't hurt, but somehow it was more possessive. Neal knew that Peter was about to switch modes, about to punish.
Neal gave just the slightest of nods.
Something narrow then, gently placed across the line where his ass met his thighs.
A belt.
Neal nodded.
He tensed up as he waited for that sound of it wooshing through the air, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to hear it.
And Peter took several long seconds before letting the first lash fall. Just to make the anticipation unbearable, Neal knew.
When it landed, it felt like something entirely different than the last time Peter had used it. Neal was so focused on not hearing the belt coming that he didn't realize the strangest part would be not hearing the impact it made as it hit his flesh. It didn't even feel like being hit -- it felt like a spontaneous burst of pain on his skin, some sudden contact with a flame or hot steel.
Neal could tell he must have cried out from the sting.
But when the initial astonishment faded, he was aware of Peter's hand on his hip, holding him still. Keeping him there and keeping him from hurting himself in some frightened panic.
Neal made just the slightest motion of his hip, tilting into Peter's grasp, and Peter knew what Neal was asking, and he held on tighter, his hands on Neal's body a promise, a guarantee of something.
After a moment, Neal nodded again. Keep going.
Another burst of hurt, this time on the other cheek. Sudden and strange.
Neal kept it together and was rewarded with two more in quick succession.
Neal could feel the blindfold moisten and he didn't understand, didn't see why he would cry so much sooner and easier simply because he couldn't tell when the lashes were coming. But Peter whipped him with the belt again -and then again and again - and then Neal could think of nothing but the pain, that concentration of feeling at the exact second and then the slow spread of impact as it melded with the pain of all the other parts of Neal's thighs and ass that Peter had belted. Neal tried again to picture what they must look like, tried to imagine that Peter was angry, even though Peter was almost certainly calm. Neal tried to feel the pain as much as he could, and he imagined Peter was punishing him for something - not for theft- but for not being good enough, or not being smart enough, or for not obeying. Or for ruining everything, for ruining Peter, for ruining everything Neal touched. It seemed like forever since he had heard Peter's voice, and he was able to imagine Peter saying these things to him, saying that Neal deserved to be hurt, Neal deserved to be whipped and fucked and hurt and thrown away. Neal knew that it wasn't real -- he knew that whatever Peter might be willing to try physically, Peter would never agree to say these things, even just in roleplay, even if Neal begged, but Peter's voice wasn't there right now, and Neal's head filled the silence with Peter's rage and Peter's disgust. Neal focused on the pain, repeated silently to himself, Peter's punishing me and I deserve it, Peter's punishing me and I deserve it, as the pain grew worse and worse, until it was almost unbearable, and soon he felt like he was disappearing into the pain, like nothing had ever been as real as Peter hurting him and Neal deserving it.
Neal barely noticed when the belting stopped. But as soon as Peter's hand gripped his dick, Neal came, shooting his seed into Peter's hand as forcefully as if they had been fucking for hours without release.
Neal wasn't exactly sure whether he walked or Peter carried him to the bed. But he remembers Peter's face as he pulled the blindfold off. Peter smiling, concerned and maybe even a little smug. He said something that Neal couldn't hear, and then Peter pulled the earbuds out and asked, "Everything okay?"
Neal nodded, still out of breath.
Peter turned him on his side and undid the ties on his arms, then helped Neal to slowly stretch his arms back into use.
Peter looked down on him then and it was absurd the way Peter looked, like he thought Neal was perfect, like there was nothing he cherished more than Neal.
Neal moved his hand up to lightly grab Peter's jaw. It was a needy gesture, and one that Neal did not usually permit himself.
Peter smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of Neal's hand. Then he leaned down and kissed Neal on the lips.
It was hard and urgent, and Neal recalled with a combination of terror and exhiliration that Peter hadn't come yet, which meant the night was just getting started.
"Ready to go again?" Neal rasped, only half-joking, and the scratch in his throat made Neal realize that he must have spent his voice crying out in pain and didn't even realize it.
Peter smiled, greedy, and a shiver went up Neal's body. He knelt on the bed in front of Neal, lifted Neal's legs to his shoulder, raising Neal's hips into position. He moved his hands then up and down Neal's sides, hips to stomach to chest.
Peter said, "This time, you look at me. You're not allowed to look anywhere but my eyes the entire time."
Neal nodded as he observed the need in Peter's look, that gaze that meant Peter was about to see right through him and there was nothing he could do about it. He would have flinched if Peter's hands weren't there at his sides, moving up and down Neal's body, reminding him that even if it hurt, he would still be all right.
"Talk to me," Neal said, just this side of asking. "Let me hear your voice the whole time."
Peter smiled. "I want to tell you how beautiful you are," he said, and only Peter could make that sentence sound like an act of aggression.
Neal just nodded again, knowing that it would be good. Even if it weren't exactly what Neal was asking, Peter would make it good.
Peter gently pushed two fingers into Neal's mouth to wet them and then moved them to Neal's hole. Neal instinctively looked away, but Peter said, "Eyes on me, Caffrey," and Neal obeyed, struggling -and not for the last time that night - to keep looking straight into Peter's eyes, wishing he could hide. But Peter started talking to him, then, his voice low and solid and kind, telling him what to do, telling him he was exactly what Peter wanted, and it was enough for Neal to keep trying, for Neal to bear his gaze as Peter moved in him, first his fingers and then his cock, building in pressure and speed, until Neal orgasmed again, Peter's hand squeezing Neal's hip tightly to remind him not to look away even as he desperately wanted to look somewhere else (anywhere else). It was only after, as they lay there quietly, limbs overlapping and Neal's cheek against Peter's shoulder, that Neal realized that of all the senses Peter had deprived him of, it was the last one that had left him utterly powerless. It was not being allowed to look away, of seeing only the dark of Peter's pupils, that broke down any chance of concentrating enough to know what was coming next, to figure out the reaction he wanted to show and how he wanted to appear.
Neal smiled into Peter's shoulder. He thought for a moment about how good Peter was at breaking things into their component parts -- even, it seemed, the way Neal's mind worked. Apparently, it was 1 part observing the environment, 1 part listening for warning signs, and 1 part always having an eye on an exit. Leave it to Peter to systematically burn through all three, and somehow make Neal grateful for it.
"What are you smiling at?" Peter asked then, feeling the twitch of Neal's lips against his skin.
"Just thinking about what a pain it is to be with you."
"Keep talking, Neal. I have plenty more ideas I'd like to try," Peter laughed.
Neal groaned, but moved closer while he did it. Peter held him tightly then, soft but possessive, and hoped the gesture said everything he wanted it to.
Neal ran his hand softly up Peter's stomach. It meant, I hear you just fine.
(end)
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Title: Rule 5
Prompt: A fic about how rampantly paranoid Mozzie used to be before he met Neal and how's he calmed down a lot since then and keeps to most of his old rules out of habit or because he finds them comforting.
Mozzie sees it. He would almost feel sorry for the suit if he weren't, well, the suit.
Because he used to be just like the suit.
Except, of course, that he was against the Man instead of being an oppression-perpetuating tool of the Man.
But besides that.
Mozzie knows what it's like. To live your life knowing exactly what side you're on. To follow certain rules because you know, in your core, that the rules are there for a reason.
For instance: Avoid suits. That was Rule 5.
Rules 0, 1, 2, 3, and 4 are strictly on a need-to-know basis, so when you think about it, Rule 5 is kind of the most important rule there is.
And what is Mozzie constantly doing, thanks to Neal Caffrey's unique combination of insouciance and vulnerability? Constantly breaking Rule #5.
Though, of course, with Neal, Mozzie has broken at least 14% of his formerly unbreakable rules. Some for jobs, some because Neal needed him, and some just because Neal can be really exasperating when he doesn't get his way.
Maybe a couple of the rules were just things that Neal convinced Moz it wasn't worth being scared about. Or things that made sense until he found someone he trusted the way he trusted Neal. But most were very, very important rules that Neal just flippantly knocked down, gallivanting like a bull doing the tango in a china shop.
Mozzie, of course, keeps a mental list of all the rules that Neal has forced (convinced) him to abandon.
Because a written list is just asking for trouble.
At last count (and the count is always changing) the list of Forlorn and Neglected Rules had grown quite long. For instance:
Rule 7: Don't make friends. It sounds cynical, but this is (was) a perfectly sensible rule. You have marks, and you have coworkers; and coworkers are just future rats or enemies or competitors. While the underworld is far more honest than the world of shiny pretty houses and bourgeois values - what Mozzie likes to call the fantasy-industrial complex - it is still no place to have friends.
~
Rule 15: Don't try a con if the con involves putting your safety or the loot in someone else's hands. Broken countless times. ALWAYS because of Neal.
~
Rule 22, Corollary 7: Never go anywhere without circling the block 15 times. It's hard to miss a tail when you circle 15 times. But Neal is so whiny when he's impatient.
~
Rule 24: Never speak about anything that matters. The truth is for the weak.
~
Rule 28.2: Never buy a book. They can know what you're reading and they can compile that information with what you buy, and put the data in advanced algorithms that will predict all your thoughts. If you steal the book, though, you totally mess with their information flow.
~
Rule 35: Avoid animals. They look cute, but you never know.
~
Rule 17: Never put your neck on the line for anybody. It's just not worth it.
~
Rule 43: High-risk stunts are for other people, not for sensitive brilliant souls.
~
Rule 44: Crime isn't supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be a material act in defiance of the pseudo-immateriality of the power structure.
~
Rule 56: Never drink anything that hasn't been put through a rigorous set of chemical tests (and fine, it was a shame to waste half a wine bottle, but peace of mind doesn't come cheap in a world like this). Of course, "wasting" a great vintage with Neal in the room is... well, robbing the Smithsonian would be easier. (Mozzie would know).
~
Rule 8, Corollary 2: Only talk to people if you absolutely have to.
~
Rule 8, Corollary 2, Sub-corollary 15: If you do have to talk to someone - for a job, of course - only speak in code. But have a different code for each person, but then make the codes similar enough so that they THINK you're using the same code with everyone, so that they can't try to find out all the other codes. True, this rule is hard when you're wokring with a larger team. But it's worth it. Peace of mind, again.
~
Rule 77: Don't sleep if any other person is within a 500-foot radius.
~
Rule 49: If it's not your business, then stay out of it.
~
Rule 10: Never, ever, ever care more than you should. There's only one side of an issue you need to really, truly care about. Your own.
~
These are pretty simple rules, Mozzie thinks. And necessary ones.
But then Neal Caffrey came along, and Moz knew that it was stupid to fall in with this brilliant, big-hearted kid, but somehow Mozzie wanted to protect him from himself (which alone broke several of his very logical and very necessary rules).
And then it was so much fun to hang out with him. To talk about books and films and wine with someone who could give him a run for his money.
And working with Neal... well, he doesn't want to say it was worth breaking all those rules, but... it had its moments.
It was different from anything Moz had tried. And it was exquisite.
But eventually all that fun turned to something else.
Friendship.
Real, genuine friendship.
Because as much as Neal might bring them some problems, he would never hurt or betray Moz intentionally. Moz had seen proof of that again and again and again.
And Neal wanted the best for Moz, just like Moz wanted the best for Neal.
But Neal could not be convinced - or rather he refused to be convinced - that the rules were for the best.
He didn't care about rules. Any kind of rules at all.
He wasn't an anarchist, exactly. But he was too controlled and complicated to be called a free spirit.
He was...
An original.
Ironic, for a forger.
But Mozzie still complained quite frequently about all the rules Neal had laid to waste.
Even though, secretly, he didn't actually miss the rules as much as he thought he would. (Not that Neal needed to know that. Though obnoxiously smart as he was, he probably knew already).
The one about rubbing elbows with suits still kind of gnawed at Moz's sensibilities, though.
But to be fair, if anyone could understand what that poor suit was going through -- watching helplessly as Neal rampaged through his life, burning through his carefully, rigidly maintained sense of order, making it impossible to know exactly which side you were on and where on earth you misplaced your mental rulebook --- well... Moz understands.
So maybe he really wasn't letting a suit into his life.
Maybe it was just a support group for people who used to live their life with good sense and reason and who now live it with Neal.
Moz thinks, for a moment, that maybe he will end up friends with Peter Burke after all.
But then he snorts and laughs. As if he could ever, ever be friends with someone so inflexible.
After all, Moz thinks, there's no way that Peter Burke will end up being as irresistible a force as Neal has been.
Right?
(end)
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Title: Performance Art
Includes: Impotence kink. Peter/Neal with passive but not submissive Neal.
Prompt: An unusual kink such as impotence, gun kink, etc.
The first time they talk about it, Neal had just gone down on Peter for the fifth time.
He denied any desire for reciprocation. Like always.
When he finally admitted what was going on, his eyes seemed wide and he did that thing with his chin that only Peter notices, when he tightens his jawline to prevent his face from showing a tremble. He said it almost angrily, as if he weren't sure if Peter would think less of him for not getting it up. Or if he thought maybe Peter would end it right there. Or worse, condescend to him.
Instead, Peter told him it was fine.
Absolutely fine if Neal could hardly ever get an erection, and couldn't keep one if he did, but still wanted a sexual relationship with Peter.
Neal kept asking questions until Peter admitted, embarrassed for some reason, that it worked for him.
"Why?"
Peter hesisted. Then said, "I think... I mean I guess there's some part of me that... likes it. That I'm - you know- doing something. And you don't like it."
"I do like it."
"You know what I mean."
Neal looked pensive. "You... want me to not get off on it?"
"Of course not. I mean, yes. I mean, I wouldn't insist on it if you were -- but it's... it's... I would like it if we could... I mean it works out great for me... I mean obviously it would be better if you could - better for you, I mean, not better for me... not that I don't -- it's just that I love that you aren't -- I mean, I just wanted to ask if we could try -- I mean -- um...."
"You want to fuck me while I stay unaroused," Neal stated. Peter wasn't sure if he was being paranoid, but Neal sounded a little... concerned.
But it was a relief that he wouldn't have to be the one to say it. So Peter just answered, "Yes."
Neal looked annoyed for just a moment. But then he looked like he was about to laugh. "That was not how I was expecting this conversation to go."
"Is this... something that.... um..."
"Yes. We can do that. On one condition."
"What's that?" Peter asked.
"You have to be able to talk about fucking without turning into a blushing schoolboy."
"I will work on that," Peter promised.
"Good," Neal said wryly, "I know it's difficult, but you'll just have to cowboy up."
*****
"Stop," Neal said.
Peter managed to stop thrusting, even though his body was likely plotting some revenge against his brain for it.
"Not everything. Stop with your hands," Neal said, almost exasperated.
Peter had reached around to paw at Neal's cock, but at Neal's agitated order, Peter realized then that Neal probably thought he was trying to get him off. Like Peter was arrogant enough that he thought a quick grab would make all Neal's problems disappear.
"I - it's- ummm... not what you think, Neal, um....I was --"
"Peter," Neal said, "Standing there with your dick inside me is not the appropriate time to get shy."
Neal's requirement, Peter remembered. If Peter wanted to enjoy Neal's sexual impotence, Neal wouldn't be subjected to Peter's verbal impotence. Neal really didn't like it when Peter couldn't talk about sex, for some reason.
"Sorry. Neal, I just - I'm not trying to get you off."
"Then what?"
"I wanted to - I like feeling that - you're not."
"You like - touching me when I'm --"
"Flaccid," Peter said.
"Not my favorite word!"
"Sorry."
"You picked a fine time to suddenly get explicit."
"Sorry."
"You ... like it when I don't respond to you?"
"Yes. More... uh, it's more than like. It really works for me Neal."
"You really weren't trying to get me off?"
"I really am under no illusions that I can."
Neal paused, then said, "Keep going."
With relief, Peter started again. He pushed in and out, hips moving forward and back, and when he again reached around to feel Neal's dick, Neal didn't object. Peter took it in his hand and felt its soft, smooth limpness. It felt like something fragile that Peter had to cradle in his hands, and it made Peter urgent, made him want to fuck Neal harder and harder, and as he gently squeezed Neal's unresponsive dick, he savored the sensation. It was as if Neal were giving his body to Peter just because Peter wanted him to, as if Neal were opening his body up for Peter, his flesh utterly passive to Peter's cock and Peter's hands.
It was as if for once Peter could have whatever he wanted from Neal, instead of helplessly standing by while Neal hurtled recklessly toward his own desires.
It worked.
For one of them, anyway.
When Peter came, it was more intense and more luscious than anything he had felt since the first time he was with Elizabeth.
*****
A few months later, Peter asked. He should have asked sooner, but he was enjoying the benefits of it.
"So... you have some erectile issues."
Neal bristled. "They don't seem to be issues for you."
"They're not. I just - feel obligated - I mean not obligated, I just.... I want to make sure there's not a medical issue that you're ignoring. I looked it up and it could be related to blood pressure or -"
"It's not physical."
"Are - are you sure?"
"Yes. I promise it's not physical."
"Okay. Do you want to -"
"I want to keep doing what we're doing."
"...Why?"
"How can you ask me that?" Neal said, and Peter could see that he wasn't even trying to hide the hurt.
"Sorry - I - sorry, Neal. I was being an ass."
Neal nodded. Like it was not news to him.
But he said, "You feel guilty. For liking it."
"Not for liking it," Peter said, "For not - I don't want to be selfish."
"You're not. Your issue complements my issue. So let's just... stay with what works."
Neal looked at him expectantly, and Peter thought for a moment how uncharacteristic this was, for Neal to suggest the status quo was the way to go.
Neal Caffrey leaving well enough alone.
But Peter was hardly in a position to criticize. And he knew by now that this was turning into one of those conversations where Peter would make accusations to get enough of a response to gather information, and then Neal would feel like he couldn't trust Peter, and then one or both of them would do something stupid that would be a lot of hard work to take back. So Peter just thanked him for the conversation and reminded Neal that they were having dinner with El that night.
Neal nodded, relieved that the conversation was over.
*****
"Rub it for me," Peter asked one night.
Neal looked surprise. But then he realized, "You want to see me fail at jerking off."
"I want to see you touch yourself without getting off." A slight correction.
Neal didn't look upset, but he didn't appear to be all that thrilled either.
"I would love to watch it. That's all. If you're not comfortable, that's fine, it was just an idea," Peter said.
Neal nodded. "Okay.... You might be surprised."
"Okay."
Peter watched, sitting on the bed, while Neal stood in front of him, pants around his feet, jerking off. He was gripping too hard, much harder than Peter would, and he was bending it at an angle that Peter would have assumed was uncomfortable. But to Peter's surprise, Neal's rough treatment of his own body was working.
Neal was growing larger, stiffer.
Peter stared at Neal's dick, watching it respond in ways that Peter was never able to provoke. Peter noticed that Neal's eyes were closed, as if it were easier to get there if he could pretend he was alone, and Peter started thinking about this as he stared back down at Neal's engorged cock.
But soon, Neal's body was falling back, losing that swell of need and arousal, and then Neal was pulling at a flaccid prick again, rubbing hard enough to hurt but with no response.
When Neal finally stopped, he opened his eyes and Peter could see that they were about to water. "Happy now?" Neal said, and there was a bitterness there that Peter didn't expect. But then Neal looked down to see that the less erect Neal became, the more aroused Peter became.
Neal raised an eyebrow and it was almost like a smirk. If Peter didn't know better, he'd say that Neal was turned on by Peter's reaction.
Neal slid to his knees and went to take Peter into his mouth, and as much as Peter wanted it, as hard as it was to resist, he had to ask something. He held Neal by the hair, lightly but firmly, and kept Neal's head off of him, and he tried not to think about what an incredibly counterproductive thing it was to deny that he wanted Neal's lips around him.
But he looked into Neal's surprised eyes and asked. "Neal, I know you. I know everything you did while I was chasing you. And I know this is not how you were then. I know it."
Neal looked angry then, and Peter expected it. But he also looked scared.
"You can tell me, Neal. When did this ... issue start?"
Neal smiled and it meant something else. "You want to know when so you can figure out why."
"It's not physical," Peter said, leaning on the sentence as if he could get Neal to admit the logical conclusion.
"So it's none of your business," Neal answered.
"Neal," Peter said, pleading almost.
Neal sighed. He answered, finally, "I need you to trust me. It's better that you don't know. Will you trust me?"
Peter wanted to say no. Instinct and experience told him to say no.
But in this part of their relationship, the part that had nothing to do with work, Neal had given him so much, and Peter had given him so little.
"Okay," Peter said, against his better judgment, and he sat back and thought of Neal's perfect limp cock as Neal's lips came down around him, knowing full well that Neal would take the act to mean some kind of agreement, some kind of acquiescence to Neal's silence.
But after, as they lay in bed, Neal's back leaning against Peter's chest, Peter asked again.
He couldn't help himself.
Neal responded by starting to move away but at Peter's hand on his hip, Neal yielded. He stilled.
"If I tell you, it won't be good for us," Neal said then, softly.
"Is it something that happened to you?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"... What do you want more, Peter? Me or answers?"
"False dichotomy," Peter grumbled but let the issue drop yet again. He tugged at Neal's hip and Neal complied, curling back closer into Peter's arms.
It was always like this with Neal. Peter could have anything physically, could open Neal up and take from him anything he wanted. But Peter's questions, his arguments, would roll off like water off a duck's back.
For a second, Peter wondered if Neal liked this about him. That in this one way, Peter was utterly unable to penetrate Neal.
Peter held tight then to Neal's waist, hoping that they would be all right, that he was not flying blind into something bigger and more tangled than what he signed up for.
Though of course he was. That's always how it was with Neal.
(end)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Negative Space
Prompt: Worn out Neal. Neal has a long, tiring, physically trying day. And then all he has to go home to is an empty apartment.
It's good to be home.
Neal aches. Everywhere.
He got less than two hours of sleep before his day. So of course it was a long, long day, and of course he couldn't let on that he stayed up late to do things that were... alleged.
Peter probably got plenty of sleep. Probably went home the night before and ate a big plate of pasta and walked the dog and fell asleep on Elizabeth's breasts.
Neal takes off his shoes and places them gently in the closet. They were gorgeous, with superb craftsmanship, but they had made some less-than-gorgeous scabbified blisters on his feet. He had to run all over Manhattan in the rain, and even he couldn't get a cab that day.
But he had volunteered to, even though it was menial work for a boring case. Some issue with the courier service, and only Bureau employees and consultants were allowed to handle information for the next few days until it all got worked out.
He actually had kind of hoped that no one would trust him with the files that needed transporting.
But actually they all thought it was pretty amusing that Neal volunteered to run all over town. Well, over a signicant piece of it, going from the Bureau to three different local police stations and back again.
But after a few ill-timed choices, Neal needed to get on everyone's good side again. He didn't want to overhear anyone else say that Peter Burke was losing his edge, letting that perp coast on his charm instead of hard work. Even though the guy who said it was on a team that had a fraction of the success rate as Peter's people, Neal didn't need to think about the ramifications of that particular rumor.
And of course some of the paperwork that needed transporting was actually huge boxes full of files.
In the rain. No cab.
No intellectual stimulation. Sweaty, physical work on a day that kept going back and forth between muggy and rain. And every person he got files from was someone who knew he was a criminal but didn't work all that closely with White Collar. So Neal was pretty much the shit off people's shoes, everywhere he went.
Neal sighs as he pulls off his suit, and his arms ache from the boxes. They'll be sore for day, Neal can tell.
He wrinkles his nose at the smell of his body, but decides he's too tired to take a bath -- he'd probably fall asleep in it.
At least he could enjoy the privacy of his own place tonight.
June's out of town. Moz is as well.
Peter probably won't call for anything until tomorrow.
And it's not like there's anyone else who wants to talk to the guy who switched sides.
Neal plops down naked on his bed. He's hungry, starving, but the thought of cooking a meal seemed impossible. So many steps.
He turned his nose up at instant foods, but at his moment, he feels like he might be able to order takeout, except that he would have to go all the way downstairs to get it.
So he lies in bed. Tries to clear the dull, frustrating, day from his head.
Tries to appreciate the comfort of the bed, all that cushiony space, all to himself.
Tries to appreciate the quiet. Silence is a luxury in a city, and really Neal should be grateful for the fact that there's nothing to disturb him.
He closes his eyes.
A minute later, he opens them.
He wonders, for a moment, how this empty space became his life.
It seems like an ironic end for someone who did it all for people, not things. For someone who would never waste precious moments doing something he didn't love.
He catches himself, then. Not the end, he reminds himself, and almost believes it. There is more to your life than this, he tells himself, your life will not always feel like this.
He keeps thinking it, counting the number of times he says it, as if he were counting sheep. He hopes the thought will lull his agitation enough that he can sleep.
He lies awake for a long time.
(end)
The last fic is found here: http://daria234.livejournal.com/19078.html
It's Peter/Neal UST and angst.
Author: daria234
For: afiawri, for the White Collar Swap fic exchange
Rating: Various
Characters/Pairings: Mostly Peter/Neal, references to Peter/El
Warnings/Triggers: Kinks? Bdsm, bondage, sensory deprivation, other kinks. Angst. Sex. Language. Etc.
Spoilers: Only in 25 reasons, which has spoilers to the end of the most recent ep.
Titles/Descriptions:
1. Decodings: Peter/Neal sensory deprivation PWP (NC-17)
2. Rule 5: Gen ficlet about how Mozzie is actually less paranoid now than he used to be because of Neal's influence. (PG) Ficlet, not a full-length fic.
3. Performance Art: Peter/Neal, where Peter has an unusual kink and Neal has an unreadable psychological state. (NC-17)
4. Negative Space: Tired Neal after a long day, could be gen or UST. (PG-13) Ficlet, not a full-length fic.
5. 25 Reasons Not to Love Peter Burke: Angsty UST with Neal's point of view. (soft R)
Author's Note: Each fic takes place in an entirely different 'verse with different ideas about the characters and relationships.
My excellent, wonderful, supportive beta for all the fics: photoash. Thanks for your great suggestions and help!!!
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Title: Decodings
Prompt: P/N sensory deprivation, established relationship.
Includes/warnings: Sensory deprivation, bondage, bdsm.
Peter stood behind Neal and carefully tied the blindfold around his head. Then he moved closer as he put a hand on Neal's bare shoulder.
"Everything okay?" he whispered in Neal's ear. His breath came down hot on Neal's ear, and Neal couldn't prevent the goosebumps from rising. Everything felt intense, like he could think of nothing but the voice in his ear and hand resting on his shoulder.
This is what Neal loved about it, what made him ask for it again and again: this winnowing of experience to touch and smell and sound. Nothing in sight to help Neal escape, just Peter's voice in his ear and Peter's hands on his body, telling him everything he was permitted to know.
It was a mistake to tell Peter what he loved about it. It just gave Peter ideas.
"Can you see?" Peter confirmed, this time his breath moving close to Neal's neck. He must have been leaning down.
"No," Neal answered. Peter knew he would speak up if he could see, whether Peter asked or not. But that little question was part of it: Peter demands the truth, Neal complies.
"Take off the rest of your clothes," Peter said. Gently, like he always said it.
It made Neal nervous, made his chest tighten in anticipation. But not in a bad way.
Neal unbuckled his belt, let his pants fall, and he could hear and feel Peter hovering, making sure he didn't lose his balance as he stepped out of his pants and then his boxers. He could feel Peter kneeling then, one arm around Neal's waist to keep him steady, the other reaching down to take Neal's socks off.
Neal complied as well as he could, let his body be shifted and kept in place by Peter. He thought for a moment about what a submissive act Peter was performing - or what would, for someone else, be a submissive act. With Peter, though, the categories didn't apply. No act was inherently dominant or submissive; it was about Peter deciding what happens to Neal, and right now Peter decided that Neal would have his socks removed.
It also might theoretically have something to do with the time Neal tried to take his socks off while blindfolded and fell on his ass. Possibly.
But then there was the sound of Peter getting up and getting something out of a drawer.
Neal waited without a word. This was also part of it; Neal doesn't get to ask what's happening next.
Peter came back soon , though, and his hands slowly brought Neal's arms behind his back as he started to tie a series of knots to bind them in place. Neal relaxed a little, both in relief and to make Peter's work easier. It felt like a cord, leather maybe. Something new, that Peter hasn't used before, but nothing exotic.
When he was done, he told Neal, "Now the earphones."
Neal swallowed and nodded. They had talked about this, and agreed to try it. It was Peter's idea of course; he came up with it after Neal confessed in a post-orgasmic moment of foolishness that he loved having Peter's voice as his only anchor.
Peter and his bright ideas...
But Peter felt fairly sure that Neal would like it, and Neal still remembered his safeword even though he's only had to use it once (and that was for a muscle cramp that had nothing to do with what Peter was doing to him).
So Neal agreed to try it.
When Peter put the earphones in - wireless earbuds, actually - Neal tried to look brave for Peter's sake. He was pretty sure he failed.
But then it was Peter's hand on his shoulder again, solid and warm, fingers gently squeezing their reassurance into Neal's body, and Neal nodded again. Peter gently slipped the earphones in and then he heard nothing.
White noise. Not too loud, but certainly loud enough to block sounds that plain earplugs wouldn't.
It was not the most ... secure that Neal has ever felt.
Peter's breath on his ear again, then, probably saying something.
"I can't hear you Peter," Neal said, and tried not to make it sound like pleading.
Then another hand, this one at the base of his spine, the other on his shoulder still. Both of Peter's hands on him, reminding him that it would be okay, telling him to breathe.
Neal for a moment wondered if he should just end it here. When he was blindfolded, he still knew things: he could tell where Peter was, what was going on, if any drawers were being opened, if Peter were moving quickly or slowly. The sound of a paddle swinging would give him a split second to prepare, the sound of lube being applied would give him even longer. This - not hearing anything - was something else entirely.
But then Peter's hands, again. Moving him slowly.
Toward the table, Neal could tell from the direction. The coffee table, exactly the right height for Neal to bend over and lie flat on if he were on his knees. It was a relief to know where he was going, and he wasn't sure what he would do if he got turned around. Peter was going slowly, hands steady on Neal's body, but it was strange and rather terrifying, and Neal felt clumsy suddenly, as if he would fall over or bump into walls if Peter didn't hold on tight enough.
But of course Peter held on just right.
And then the slightest of pressure downward on Neal's shoulder. A command to kneel.
Neal sank down to the floor easily. With the lightest of touches, Peter guided his body so that Neal's torso was lying flat on the surface of the table. Then with just a slight tap of Peter's foot to the inside of Neal's right knee, Neal knew to spread his legs apart just enough so Peter could give a quick glide of the hand up Neal's inner thigh.
Neal gasped sharply. It felt... more, somehow. Everything felt more, the sensations even more overwhelming than when it was a blindfold alone. His body was desperate for information and so it intensified the sparse sensory awareness, his sense of touch distilled into something dense and heady. He felt the rough carpet pressing up against his knees. The cool, smooth wooden table under his chest and stomach. The silk of the blindfold on his face and the friction of the ties against the skin of his arms. The occasional swipe of the fabric of Peter's clothes as he moved about Neal, which made Neal imagine what they looked like, Peter still in his suit, standing over a naked and bound and blindfolded Neal, who was bending over, completely submissive, presenting his body to be used. The image alone made Neal's cock swell, and then the suddenness of Peter's rough fingertips on his thighs...
But then a very light slap to Neal's asscheek. And then a light pat on the shoulder, and then Peter's hand on his head, ruffling his hair. And Neal wasn't sure how he knew this, but it was somehow clear that Peter was trying to say that he was going to get something but he would be back right away.
When Peter came back, it was a minute later at least, and the warmth of Peter's hand on his hip was too sudden; Neal tensed up and almost tried to stand, but Peter's other hand came to his back, soft pressure and smooth motion, and soon Neal was lying flat on the table again. Peter gently traced his hands down Neal's neck and to his shoulders, slightly kneading his fingers as if to mimic some hint of massage, and Neal felt these muscles relaxing. It wasn't so much from the physical impact of Peter's hands but from the command they implied: Calm down, Neal. I'm right here. And as Peter's fingers pressed their way down Neal's back, he felt his whole body once again move to a more relaxed state, loose and pliant.
And then Peter's lips at the base of Neal's spine. Kissing, softly, up Neal's back, across his shoulder, then down one bound arm and up the other. Wet and hot and excruciatingly gentle.
And then hands moving his thighs farther apart. Peter kissing the inside of his thighs, and Neal tried to imagine what it looked like, Peter crouching low behind Neal's body, but all he could focus on was the stretch of his leg muscles and the feel of Peter's lips. If it were any other kind of play, Neal would have asked Peter to keep moving upward, but instead he said nothing as Peter stopped - heartbreakingly - at the upper thigh. Not that Neal was surprised that Peter had more elaborate plans than that.
Then Peter brought Neal's legs together again and put a hand on the back of Neal's neck.
It was different, this time.
It wasn't harder, it didn't hurt, but somehow it was more possessive. Neal knew that Peter was about to switch modes, about to punish.
Neal gave just the slightest of nods.
Something narrow then, gently placed across the line where his ass met his thighs.
A belt.
Neal nodded.
He tensed up as he waited for that sound of it wooshing through the air, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to hear it.
And Peter took several long seconds before letting the first lash fall. Just to make the anticipation unbearable, Neal knew.
When it landed, it felt like something entirely different than the last time Peter had used it. Neal was so focused on not hearing the belt coming that he didn't realize the strangest part would be not hearing the impact it made as it hit his flesh. It didn't even feel like being hit -- it felt like a spontaneous burst of pain on his skin, some sudden contact with a flame or hot steel.
Neal could tell he must have cried out from the sting.
But when the initial astonishment faded, he was aware of Peter's hand on his hip, holding him still. Keeping him there and keeping him from hurting himself in some frightened panic.
Neal made just the slightest motion of his hip, tilting into Peter's grasp, and Peter knew what Neal was asking, and he held on tighter, his hands on Neal's body a promise, a guarantee of something.
After a moment, Neal nodded again. Keep going.
Another burst of hurt, this time on the other cheek. Sudden and strange.
Neal kept it together and was rewarded with two more in quick succession.
Neal could feel the blindfold moisten and he didn't understand, didn't see why he would cry so much sooner and easier simply because he couldn't tell when the lashes were coming. But Peter whipped him with the belt again -and then again and again - and then Neal could think of nothing but the pain, that concentration of feeling at the exact second and then the slow spread of impact as it melded with the pain of all the other parts of Neal's thighs and ass that Peter had belted. Neal tried again to picture what they must look like, tried to imagine that Peter was angry, even though Peter was almost certainly calm. Neal tried to feel the pain as much as he could, and he imagined Peter was punishing him for something - not for theft- but for not being good enough, or not being smart enough, or for not obeying. Or for ruining everything, for ruining Peter, for ruining everything Neal touched. It seemed like forever since he had heard Peter's voice, and he was able to imagine Peter saying these things to him, saying that Neal deserved to be hurt, Neal deserved to be whipped and fucked and hurt and thrown away. Neal knew that it wasn't real -- he knew that whatever Peter might be willing to try physically, Peter would never agree to say these things, even just in roleplay, even if Neal begged, but Peter's voice wasn't there right now, and Neal's head filled the silence with Peter's rage and Peter's disgust. Neal focused on the pain, repeated silently to himself, Peter's punishing me and I deserve it, Peter's punishing me and I deserve it, as the pain grew worse and worse, until it was almost unbearable, and soon he felt like he was disappearing into the pain, like nothing had ever been as real as Peter hurting him and Neal deserving it.
Neal barely noticed when the belting stopped. But as soon as Peter's hand gripped his dick, Neal came, shooting his seed into Peter's hand as forcefully as if they had been fucking for hours without release.
Neal wasn't exactly sure whether he walked or Peter carried him to the bed. But he remembers Peter's face as he pulled the blindfold off. Peter smiling, concerned and maybe even a little smug. He said something that Neal couldn't hear, and then Peter pulled the earbuds out and asked, "Everything okay?"
Neal nodded, still out of breath.
Peter turned him on his side and undid the ties on his arms, then helped Neal to slowly stretch his arms back into use.
Peter looked down on him then and it was absurd the way Peter looked, like he thought Neal was perfect, like there was nothing he cherished more than Neal.
Neal moved his hand up to lightly grab Peter's jaw. It was a needy gesture, and one that Neal did not usually permit himself.
Peter smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of Neal's hand. Then he leaned down and kissed Neal on the lips.
It was hard and urgent, and Neal recalled with a combination of terror and exhiliration that Peter hadn't come yet, which meant the night was just getting started.
"Ready to go again?" Neal rasped, only half-joking, and the scratch in his throat made Neal realize that he must have spent his voice crying out in pain and didn't even realize it.
Peter smiled, greedy, and a shiver went up Neal's body. He knelt on the bed in front of Neal, lifted Neal's legs to his shoulder, raising Neal's hips into position. He moved his hands then up and down Neal's sides, hips to stomach to chest.
Peter said, "This time, you look at me. You're not allowed to look anywhere but my eyes the entire time."
Neal nodded as he observed the need in Peter's look, that gaze that meant Peter was about to see right through him and there was nothing he could do about it. He would have flinched if Peter's hands weren't there at his sides, moving up and down Neal's body, reminding him that even if it hurt, he would still be all right.
"Talk to me," Neal said, just this side of asking. "Let me hear your voice the whole time."
Peter smiled. "I want to tell you how beautiful you are," he said, and only Peter could make that sentence sound like an act of aggression.
Neal just nodded again, knowing that it would be good. Even if it weren't exactly what Neal was asking, Peter would make it good.
Peter gently pushed two fingers into Neal's mouth to wet them and then moved them to Neal's hole. Neal instinctively looked away, but Peter said, "Eyes on me, Caffrey," and Neal obeyed, struggling -and not for the last time that night - to keep looking straight into Peter's eyes, wishing he could hide. But Peter started talking to him, then, his voice low and solid and kind, telling him what to do, telling him he was exactly what Peter wanted, and it was enough for Neal to keep trying, for Neal to bear his gaze as Peter moved in him, first his fingers and then his cock, building in pressure and speed, until Neal orgasmed again, Peter's hand squeezing Neal's hip tightly to remind him not to look away even as he desperately wanted to look somewhere else (anywhere else). It was only after, as they lay there quietly, limbs overlapping and Neal's cheek against Peter's shoulder, that Neal realized that of all the senses Peter had deprived him of, it was the last one that had left him utterly powerless. It was not being allowed to look away, of seeing only the dark of Peter's pupils, that broke down any chance of concentrating enough to know what was coming next, to figure out the reaction he wanted to show and how he wanted to appear.
Neal smiled into Peter's shoulder. He thought for a moment about how good Peter was at breaking things into their component parts -- even, it seemed, the way Neal's mind worked. Apparently, it was 1 part observing the environment, 1 part listening for warning signs, and 1 part always having an eye on an exit. Leave it to Peter to systematically burn through all three, and somehow make Neal grateful for it.
"What are you smiling at?" Peter asked then, feeling the twitch of Neal's lips against his skin.
"Just thinking about what a pain it is to be with you."
"Keep talking, Neal. I have plenty more ideas I'd like to try," Peter laughed.
Neal groaned, but moved closer while he did it. Peter held him tightly then, soft but possessive, and hoped the gesture said everything he wanted it to.
Neal ran his hand softly up Peter's stomach. It meant, I hear you just fine.
(end)
------------------------
Title: Rule 5
Prompt: A fic about how rampantly paranoid Mozzie used to be before he met Neal and how's he calmed down a lot since then and keeps to most of his old rules out of habit or because he finds them comforting.
Mozzie sees it. He would almost feel sorry for the suit if he weren't, well, the suit.
Because he used to be just like the suit.
Except, of course, that he was against the Man instead of being an oppression-perpetuating tool of the Man.
But besides that.
Mozzie knows what it's like. To live your life knowing exactly what side you're on. To follow certain rules because you know, in your core, that the rules are there for a reason.
For instance: Avoid suits. That was Rule 5.
Rules 0, 1, 2, 3, and 4 are strictly on a need-to-know basis, so when you think about it, Rule 5 is kind of the most important rule there is.
And what is Mozzie constantly doing, thanks to Neal Caffrey's unique combination of insouciance and vulnerability? Constantly breaking Rule #5.
Though, of course, with Neal, Mozzie has broken at least 14% of his formerly unbreakable rules. Some for jobs, some because Neal needed him, and some just because Neal can be really exasperating when he doesn't get his way.
Maybe a couple of the rules were just things that Neal convinced Moz it wasn't worth being scared about. Or things that made sense until he found someone he trusted the way he trusted Neal. But most were very, very important rules that Neal just flippantly knocked down, gallivanting like a bull doing the tango in a china shop.
Mozzie, of course, keeps a mental list of all the rules that Neal has forced (convinced) him to abandon.
Because a written list is just asking for trouble.
At last count (and the count is always changing) the list of Forlorn and Neglected Rules had grown quite long. For instance:
Rule 7: Don't make friends. It sounds cynical, but this is (was) a perfectly sensible rule. You have marks, and you have coworkers; and coworkers are just future rats or enemies or competitors. While the underworld is far more honest than the world of shiny pretty houses and bourgeois values - what Mozzie likes to call the fantasy-industrial complex - it is still no place to have friends.
~
Rule 15: Don't try a con if the con involves putting your safety or the loot in someone else's hands. Broken countless times. ALWAYS because of Neal.
~
Rule 22, Corollary 7: Never go anywhere without circling the block 15 times. It's hard to miss a tail when you circle 15 times. But Neal is so whiny when he's impatient.
~
Rule 24: Never speak about anything that matters. The truth is for the weak.
~
Rule 28.2: Never buy a book. They can know what you're reading and they can compile that information with what you buy, and put the data in advanced algorithms that will predict all your thoughts. If you steal the book, though, you totally mess with their information flow.
~
Rule 35: Avoid animals. They look cute, but you never know.
~
Rule 17: Never put your neck on the line for anybody. It's just not worth it.
~
Rule 43: High-risk stunts are for other people, not for sensitive brilliant souls.
~
Rule 44: Crime isn't supposed to be fun, it's supposed to be a material act in defiance of the pseudo-immateriality of the power structure.
~
Rule 56: Never drink anything that hasn't been put through a rigorous set of chemical tests (and fine, it was a shame to waste half a wine bottle, but peace of mind doesn't come cheap in a world like this). Of course, "wasting" a great vintage with Neal in the room is... well, robbing the Smithsonian would be easier. (Mozzie would know).
~
Rule 8, Corollary 2: Only talk to people if you absolutely have to.
~
Rule 8, Corollary 2, Sub-corollary 15: If you do have to talk to someone - for a job, of course - only speak in code. But have a different code for each person, but then make the codes similar enough so that they THINK you're using the same code with everyone, so that they can't try to find out all the other codes. True, this rule is hard when you're wokring with a larger team. But it's worth it. Peace of mind, again.
~
Rule 77: Don't sleep if any other person is within a 500-foot radius.
~
Rule 49: If it's not your business, then stay out of it.
~
Rule 10: Never, ever, ever care more than you should. There's only one side of an issue you need to really, truly care about. Your own.
~
These are pretty simple rules, Mozzie thinks. And necessary ones.
But then Neal Caffrey came along, and Moz knew that it was stupid to fall in with this brilliant, big-hearted kid, but somehow Mozzie wanted to protect him from himself (which alone broke several of his very logical and very necessary rules).
And then it was so much fun to hang out with him. To talk about books and films and wine with someone who could give him a run for his money.
And working with Neal... well, he doesn't want to say it was worth breaking all those rules, but... it had its moments.
It was different from anything Moz had tried. And it was exquisite.
But eventually all that fun turned to something else.
Friendship.
Real, genuine friendship.
Because as much as Neal might bring them some problems, he would never hurt or betray Moz intentionally. Moz had seen proof of that again and again and again.
And Neal wanted the best for Moz, just like Moz wanted the best for Neal.
But Neal could not be convinced - or rather he refused to be convinced - that the rules were for the best.
He didn't care about rules. Any kind of rules at all.
He wasn't an anarchist, exactly. But he was too controlled and complicated to be called a free spirit.
He was...
An original.
Ironic, for a forger.
But Mozzie still complained quite frequently about all the rules Neal had laid to waste.
Even though, secretly, he didn't actually miss the rules as much as he thought he would. (Not that Neal needed to know that. Though obnoxiously smart as he was, he probably knew already).
The one about rubbing elbows with suits still kind of gnawed at Moz's sensibilities, though.
But to be fair, if anyone could understand what that poor suit was going through -- watching helplessly as Neal rampaged through his life, burning through his carefully, rigidly maintained sense of order, making it impossible to know exactly which side you were on and where on earth you misplaced your mental rulebook --- well... Moz understands.
So maybe he really wasn't letting a suit into his life.
Maybe it was just a support group for people who used to live their life with good sense and reason and who now live it with Neal.
Moz thinks, for a moment, that maybe he will end up friends with Peter Burke after all.
But then he snorts and laughs. As if he could ever, ever be friends with someone so inflexible.
After all, Moz thinks, there's no way that Peter Burke will end up being as irresistible a force as Neal has been.
Right?
(end)
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Title: Performance Art
Includes: Impotence kink. Peter/Neal with passive but not submissive Neal.
Prompt: An unusual kink such as impotence, gun kink, etc.
The first time they talk about it, Neal had just gone down on Peter for the fifth time.
He denied any desire for reciprocation. Like always.
When he finally admitted what was going on, his eyes seemed wide and he did that thing with his chin that only Peter notices, when he tightens his jawline to prevent his face from showing a tremble. He said it almost angrily, as if he weren't sure if Peter would think less of him for not getting it up. Or if he thought maybe Peter would end it right there. Or worse, condescend to him.
Instead, Peter told him it was fine.
Absolutely fine if Neal could hardly ever get an erection, and couldn't keep one if he did, but still wanted a sexual relationship with Peter.
Neal kept asking questions until Peter admitted, embarrassed for some reason, that it worked for him.
"Why?"
Peter hesisted. Then said, "I think... I mean I guess there's some part of me that... likes it. That I'm - you know- doing something. And you don't like it."
"I do like it."
"You know what I mean."
Neal looked pensive. "You... want me to not get off on it?"
"Of course not. I mean, yes. I mean, I wouldn't insist on it if you were -- but it's... it's... I would like it if we could... I mean it works out great for me... I mean obviously it would be better if you could - better for you, I mean, not better for me... not that I don't -- it's just that I love that you aren't -- I mean, I just wanted to ask if we could try -- I mean -- um...."
"You want to fuck me while I stay unaroused," Neal stated. Peter wasn't sure if he was being paranoid, but Neal sounded a little... concerned.
But it was a relief that he wouldn't have to be the one to say it. So Peter just answered, "Yes."
Neal looked annoyed for just a moment. But then he looked like he was about to laugh. "That was not how I was expecting this conversation to go."
"Is this... something that.... um..."
"Yes. We can do that. On one condition."
"What's that?" Peter asked.
"You have to be able to talk about fucking without turning into a blushing schoolboy."
"I will work on that," Peter promised.
"Good," Neal said wryly, "I know it's difficult, but you'll just have to cowboy up."
*****
"Stop," Neal said.
Peter managed to stop thrusting, even though his body was likely plotting some revenge against his brain for it.
"Not everything. Stop with your hands," Neal said, almost exasperated.
Peter had reached around to paw at Neal's cock, but at Neal's agitated order, Peter realized then that Neal probably thought he was trying to get him off. Like Peter was arrogant enough that he thought a quick grab would make all Neal's problems disappear.
"I - it's- ummm... not what you think, Neal, um....I was --"
"Peter," Neal said, "Standing there with your dick inside me is not the appropriate time to get shy."
Neal's requirement, Peter remembered. If Peter wanted to enjoy Neal's sexual impotence, Neal wouldn't be subjected to Peter's verbal impotence. Neal really didn't like it when Peter couldn't talk about sex, for some reason.
"Sorry. Neal, I just - I'm not trying to get you off."
"Then what?"
"I wanted to - I like feeling that - you're not."
"You like - touching me when I'm --"
"Flaccid," Peter said.
"Not my favorite word!"
"Sorry."
"You picked a fine time to suddenly get explicit."
"Sorry."
"You ... like it when I don't respond to you?"
"Yes. More... uh, it's more than like. It really works for me Neal."
"You really weren't trying to get me off?"
"I really am under no illusions that I can."
Neal paused, then said, "Keep going."
With relief, Peter started again. He pushed in and out, hips moving forward and back, and when he again reached around to feel Neal's dick, Neal didn't object. Peter took it in his hand and felt its soft, smooth limpness. It felt like something fragile that Peter had to cradle in his hands, and it made Peter urgent, made him want to fuck Neal harder and harder, and as he gently squeezed Neal's unresponsive dick, he savored the sensation. It was as if Neal were giving his body to Peter just because Peter wanted him to, as if Neal were opening his body up for Peter, his flesh utterly passive to Peter's cock and Peter's hands.
It was as if for once Peter could have whatever he wanted from Neal, instead of helplessly standing by while Neal hurtled recklessly toward his own desires.
It worked.
For one of them, anyway.
When Peter came, it was more intense and more luscious than anything he had felt since the first time he was with Elizabeth.
*****
A few months later, Peter asked. He should have asked sooner, but he was enjoying the benefits of it.
"So... you have some erectile issues."
Neal bristled. "They don't seem to be issues for you."
"They're not. I just - feel obligated - I mean not obligated, I just.... I want to make sure there's not a medical issue that you're ignoring. I looked it up and it could be related to blood pressure or -"
"It's not physical."
"Are - are you sure?"
"Yes. I promise it's not physical."
"Okay. Do you want to -"
"I want to keep doing what we're doing."
"...Why?"
"How can you ask me that?" Neal said, and Peter could see that he wasn't even trying to hide the hurt.
"Sorry - I - sorry, Neal. I was being an ass."
Neal nodded. Like it was not news to him.
But he said, "You feel guilty. For liking it."
"Not for liking it," Peter said, "For not - I don't want to be selfish."
"You're not. Your issue complements my issue. So let's just... stay with what works."
Neal looked at him expectantly, and Peter thought for a moment how uncharacteristic this was, for Neal to suggest the status quo was the way to go.
Neal Caffrey leaving well enough alone.
But Peter was hardly in a position to criticize. And he knew by now that this was turning into one of those conversations where Peter would make accusations to get enough of a response to gather information, and then Neal would feel like he couldn't trust Peter, and then one or both of them would do something stupid that would be a lot of hard work to take back. So Peter just thanked him for the conversation and reminded Neal that they were having dinner with El that night.
Neal nodded, relieved that the conversation was over.
*****
"Rub it for me," Peter asked one night.
Neal looked surprise. But then he realized, "You want to see me fail at jerking off."
"I want to see you touch yourself without getting off." A slight correction.
Neal didn't look upset, but he didn't appear to be all that thrilled either.
"I would love to watch it. That's all. If you're not comfortable, that's fine, it was just an idea," Peter said.
Neal nodded. "Okay.... You might be surprised."
"Okay."
Peter watched, sitting on the bed, while Neal stood in front of him, pants around his feet, jerking off. He was gripping too hard, much harder than Peter would, and he was bending it at an angle that Peter would have assumed was uncomfortable. But to Peter's surprise, Neal's rough treatment of his own body was working.
Neal was growing larger, stiffer.
Peter stared at Neal's dick, watching it respond in ways that Peter was never able to provoke. Peter noticed that Neal's eyes were closed, as if it were easier to get there if he could pretend he was alone, and Peter started thinking about this as he stared back down at Neal's engorged cock.
But soon, Neal's body was falling back, losing that swell of need and arousal, and then Neal was pulling at a flaccid prick again, rubbing hard enough to hurt but with no response.
When Neal finally stopped, he opened his eyes and Peter could see that they were about to water. "Happy now?" Neal said, and there was a bitterness there that Peter didn't expect. But then Neal looked down to see that the less erect Neal became, the more aroused Peter became.
Neal raised an eyebrow and it was almost like a smirk. If Peter didn't know better, he'd say that Neal was turned on by Peter's reaction.
Neal slid to his knees and went to take Peter into his mouth, and as much as Peter wanted it, as hard as it was to resist, he had to ask something. He held Neal by the hair, lightly but firmly, and kept Neal's head off of him, and he tried not to think about what an incredibly counterproductive thing it was to deny that he wanted Neal's lips around him.
But he looked into Neal's surprised eyes and asked. "Neal, I know you. I know everything you did while I was chasing you. And I know this is not how you were then. I know it."
Neal looked angry then, and Peter expected it. But he also looked scared.
"You can tell me, Neal. When did this ... issue start?"
Neal smiled and it meant something else. "You want to know when so you can figure out why."
"It's not physical," Peter said, leaning on the sentence as if he could get Neal to admit the logical conclusion.
"So it's none of your business," Neal answered.
"Neal," Peter said, pleading almost.
Neal sighed. He answered, finally, "I need you to trust me. It's better that you don't know. Will you trust me?"
Peter wanted to say no. Instinct and experience told him to say no.
But in this part of their relationship, the part that had nothing to do with work, Neal had given him so much, and Peter had given him so little.
"Okay," Peter said, against his better judgment, and he sat back and thought of Neal's perfect limp cock as Neal's lips came down around him, knowing full well that Neal would take the act to mean some kind of agreement, some kind of acquiescence to Neal's silence.
But after, as they lay in bed, Neal's back leaning against Peter's chest, Peter asked again.
He couldn't help himself.
Neal responded by starting to move away but at Peter's hand on his hip, Neal yielded. He stilled.
"If I tell you, it won't be good for us," Neal said then, softly.
"Is it something that happened to you?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"... What do you want more, Peter? Me or answers?"
"False dichotomy," Peter grumbled but let the issue drop yet again. He tugged at Neal's hip and Neal complied, curling back closer into Peter's arms.
It was always like this with Neal. Peter could have anything physically, could open Neal up and take from him anything he wanted. But Peter's questions, his arguments, would roll off like water off a duck's back.
For a second, Peter wondered if Neal liked this about him. That in this one way, Peter was utterly unable to penetrate Neal.
Peter held tight then to Neal's waist, hoping that they would be all right, that he was not flying blind into something bigger and more tangled than what he signed up for.
Though of course he was. That's always how it was with Neal.
(end)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Title: Negative Space
Prompt: Worn out Neal. Neal has a long, tiring, physically trying day. And then all he has to go home to is an empty apartment.
It's good to be home.
Neal aches. Everywhere.
He got less than two hours of sleep before his day. So of course it was a long, long day, and of course he couldn't let on that he stayed up late to do things that were... alleged.
Peter probably got plenty of sleep. Probably went home the night before and ate a big plate of pasta and walked the dog and fell asleep on Elizabeth's breasts.
Neal takes off his shoes and places them gently in the closet. They were gorgeous, with superb craftsmanship, but they had made some less-than-gorgeous scabbified blisters on his feet. He had to run all over Manhattan in the rain, and even he couldn't get a cab that day.
But he had volunteered to, even though it was menial work for a boring case. Some issue with the courier service, and only Bureau employees and consultants were allowed to handle information for the next few days until it all got worked out.
He actually had kind of hoped that no one would trust him with the files that needed transporting.
But actually they all thought it was pretty amusing that Neal volunteered to run all over town. Well, over a signicant piece of it, going from the Bureau to three different local police stations and back again.
But after a few ill-timed choices, Neal needed to get on everyone's good side again. He didn't want to overhear anyone else say that Peter Burke was losing his edge, letting that perp coast on his charm instead of hard work. Even though the guy who said it was on a team that had a fraction of the success rate as Peter's people, Neal didn't need to think about the ramifications of that particular rumor.
And of course some of the paperwork that needed transporting was actually huge boxes full of files.
In the rain. No cab.
No intellectual stimulation. Sweaty, physical work on a day that kept going back and forth between muggy and rain. And every person he got files from was someone who knew he was a criminal but didn't work all that closely with White Collar. So Neal was pretty much the shit off people's shoes, everywhere he went.
Neal sighs as he pulls off his suit, and his arms ache from the boxes. They'll be sore for day, Neal can tell.
He wrinkles his nose at the smell of his body, but decides he's too tired to take a bath -- he'd probably fall asleep in it.
At least he could enjoy the privacy of his own place tonight.
June's out of town. Moz is as well.
Peter probably won't call for anything until tomorrow.
And it's not like there's anyone else who wants to talk to the guy who switched sides.
Neal plops down naked on his bed. He's hungry, starving, but the thought of cooking a meal seemed impossible. So many steps.
He turned his nose up at instant foods, but at his moment, he feels like he might be able to order takeout, except that he would have to go all the way downstairs to get it.
So he lies in bed. Tries to clear the dull, frustrating, day from his head.
Tries to appreciate the comfort of the bed, all that cushiony space, all to himself.
Tries to appreciate the quiet. Silence is a luxury in a city, and really Neal should be grateful for the fact that there's nothing to disturb him.
He closes his eyes.
A minute later, he opens them.
He wonders, for a moment, how this empty space became his life.
It seems like an ironic end for someone who did it all for people, not things. For someone who would never waste precious moments doing something he didn't love.
He catches himself, then. Not the end, he reminds himself, and almost believes it. There is more to your life than this, he tells himself, your life will not always feel like this.
He keeps thinking it, counting the number of times he says it, as if he were counting sheep. He hopes the thought will lull his agitation enough that he can sleep.
He lies awake for a long time.
(end)
The last fic is found here: http://daria234.livejournal.com/19078.html
It's Peter/Neal UST and angst.