White Collar; Fic; Dice or No Dice; NC-17
I was fooling around on the kinkmeme (NOT, as I mistakenly called it in a conversation earlier, the KINMEME, which would be a different meme indeed) yesterday, and I came across a lovely prompt. Anon asked for something involving my favorite OT3 and backpalming or cup-and-balling, a la the hilarious webcast with Tim and Matt.
So! I started this there, and then it turned out to be the morning!sex mentioned in Another Saturday Night. Like that story, this can be read alone, but they are both technically part of the Captain Americaverse.
So: THANKS ANON. YOU'RE AWESOME, WHOEVER YOU ARE.
Title: Dice or No Dice
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Neal/Peter/El
Warnings: Be warned: this is some dirty porn. Fingering, anal sex.
Spoilers : Nope.
Author's Note: Though it can be read alone, this is the immediate prequel to Another Saturday Night; specifically, this is the sex they had that morning.
Summary: Neal's had to abandon the use of many of his more specialized skills; he'll be damned if he abandons this one.
"I don't understand," Peter said, for the third time. Neal and El both sighed.
"Ok," Neal said, "let me explain. Again. These," he held up three cups, and waved them in Peter's face, "are cups. And these--" he scooped the dice up off of the nightstand and waved them around, " are sex dice. I am going to put these," he waved the dice in Peter's face again, "in one of these cups, and you are going to try to pick which cup they're in."
"And then we'll do what they say," El added, smiling at Neal. He beamed back at her.
"Yes!" he said, "then we'll do what they say."
"Thanks for the rundown, Caffrey," Peter said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "The concept makes sense. I don't understand why we can't just roll them, like normal people."
"Because this is more fun for Neal, honey," El said.
"You're only encouraging his bad habits," he told her, and she shrugged.
"He's cute when he's showing off." He glared at her, and then at Neal--who was, it was true, biting his lip against barely contained excitement.
"Fine," he sighed, "so long as you know I'm only humoring you."
"Noted!" Neal said, gleefully. He snapped his wrist and the dice were gone, hidden under one of the cups. "Are you watching?"
"Yes," Peter snapped. Neal grinned like the Cheshire cat and then his hands were moving, so fast that Peter couldn't actually look at his face anymore--ridiculous though this exercise was, it wouldn't do to let Caffrey win it.
Neal stopped after a moment. "I'm out," El said, behind Peter, but Peter was sure he'd watched the right cup--after all, catching Neal out was practically his hobby.
"That one," he said, and pointed with absolute certainty.
Neal made a little choked sound, lifted the cup, and kept a straight face exactly long enough to say "No dice." Then he cracked up, howling with laughter at his own joke, and Peter would have strangled him if he wasn't so damned pretty.
That was Caffrey for you--always amusing himself, smug little bastard. Always using those good looks to get out of trouble.
"Punning has no place in the bedroom," Peter said. Neal just laughed harder, shaking with it, collapsing into Peter's side. He looked to El for help to find that she, too, was smiling. At his dirty look, she covered her mouth and made the telltale snorting noise of a badly smothered snicker.
Traitor.
Peter really only had one option. Problems with Neal had to be nipped in the bud, like a weed infestation; Peter had learned this the hard way. Give him a little wiggle room and he'd slip right into a locked gallery, or a legal loophole, or your bed, or your heart. So he grabbed Caffrey by the wrists and pressed him down into the bed, leaned over him. Neal gave a last little chuckle and then fell still, looking up into Peter's eyes with that piercing stare of his.
"I don't give a fuck," Peter growled, "about the damn dice," and Neal surged up into his kiss, hilarity forgotten.
--
El loved watching them; it was her own dirty fascination, staring at them as they moved together. The only problem was that they were both a little single minded, a little too obsessed--left to their own devices they could just kiss for hours, trying to catalogue each other's styles and patterns. They could do nothing but touch for days on end, just so they could each say they knew the other's body better than anyone.
El got that and everything, but sometimes a girl needed a faster pace. She reached over them, entwined together, and grabbed the dice. They clattered when she rolled them across her nightstand and Peter and Neal broke apart, staring at her.
Neal's lips were bruised; Peter still had him pinned at the wrists. "You're such a brilliant woman," he said, as Peter scowled above him. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"My husband tries," she said, sighing. "Doesn't tell me nearly often enough, though."
"Isn't that a bitch," Neal said, sympathetically. She laughed at Peter's horrified face, and swatted him lightly.
"We're kidding, sweetheart," she said. He made a disgruntled sound and did a frustrated little grind into Neal, who gasped.
"Kid him some more," he said. El smiled.
"I thought maybe we'd try again with the dice," she said. Neal's face lit up with glee, and she said "Just rolling them this time," and he looked marginally less excited.
"I don't understand why we can't just--" Peter started, but El shushed him and rolled.
"Touch," she read, "below waist."
Neal's hands--very fast hands, it was a skill of his--were already there. He ran a lithe finger up the inside of Peter's thigh, tracing his burgeoning erection over his underwear, and Elizabeth drew a sharp breath in as Peter shuddered.
"Still think we don't need these?" she teased.
"Roll," he said, urgently. The tone of his voice--commanding, in charge--sent an excited shiver up the back of her spine. She did.
"Kiss, lips." Peter leaned down and smothered Neal's mouth with his own, and Neal bucked up into him, moving his hand to slide under Peter's boxers--
"No," she said, slapping his arm. "Follow the directions." Neal made a regretful sound into Peter's mouth and withdrew his hand, and El could feel her breath quickening, the way it always did when Neal followed an order. She slipped out of her shirt, exposing her breasts to the sharp, exquisite chill of the morning air, and let herself just look at them for a minute.
The contrast was always startling; her husband, broad shouldered and darker skinned, against wiry Neal, with his thick hair and pale complexion. They looked like a study in opposites, pulsing together with such intensity that it flowed into the rest of the room.
"Please roll," Neal gasped, breaking away for a second, "please, El, please," at it occurred to her that she had perhaps let herself watch a moment too long.
"Right," she said. She tossed the dice, and was so absorbed in the moment that she laughed. "Fondle breasts," she said, "well, that won't--"
She was startled into silence as, without breaking their kiss, both men reached out an arm to grab her. Peter, on top, caught her right breast, ran his thumb across it and across it and across it; Neal got her left, and caught her nipple between the paintbrush callouses on the inside of his fingers. She gasped--the sensation was nearly overwhelming. She threw her head back and rode on it, feeling herself get wetter and wetter.
"Roll," Peter growled, breaking away from Neal, who slid down at once and started sucking at his neck. El would have stopped him, but he hadn't taken her nipple from between those incredible callouses, and she felt he deserved a reward.
She tossed the dice, gasped, and cried "Suck cock," her voice thick with the anticipation of seeing it. It was always incredible, watching her husband come apart with Neal's capable mouth wrapped around him. Neal released her from between his fingers; she made an involuntary regretful noise at the loss of him, and he leaned over to lick her nipple, once, in apology. Then he slipped down and hovered, pulled his Peter's boxers down and away, left his face inches from Peter's erection.
"Are you sure," he said, breathless and teasing, "that's what it said?"
"For the love of god, Caffrey," Peter snapped, and he pushed himself into Neal's opened mouth. He tilted his head back and shuddered as Neal slid up and back down his cock, humming his enjoyment. "Caffrey," Peter breathed, and then, "Neal."
Elizabeth reached down to pleasure herself to this, but Peter caught her hand. "That's my job," he said, and she smiled at him and laid back. He slid two fingers into her and whistled at how very wet she was, and then slid a third finger in, no problem.
She bucked up against his hand, watching Neal suck him; he was a little distracted, and she liked to fuck herself on his fingers, to work together with him for her orgasm. That was marriage, after all--working together. She'd never seen any reason the rules that worked outside of the bedroom shouldn't work inside of it as well.
She heard a high-pitched cry and wondered for a second if it had been Peter or Neal. Then she realized it was her, realized that the spot at the very back of her cunt that she'd pressed into Peter's fingers and rubbed was producing the intended results. She shuddered and came, drenching his fingers, feeling herself dripping, and the look on his face as she did, as Neal reached down and cupped his balls to heighten the sensation--
Well, she came again. There really wasn't anything for it.
--
Neal pulled away from Peter's cock after Elizabeth went for the second time in as many minutes; Peter looked like he was going to go any second, and Neal himself wasn't far behind. For El, multiple orgasms were the desired goal--for Peter, they were a near-impossibility. Neal wanted to get fucked before this game was over, wanted to feel Peter inside him, wanted to see El go a third and even a fourth time.
He was a man experienced in the art of timing, after all. No point in rushing it.
He let Peter kiss her first; she was his wife, and also Peter gave him a look that very clearly told him to wait his turn. He watched as they worked their mouths together, looking almost like a painting of the virtuous married couple, until you glanced down to see where Peter's hand was still buried. Neal smiled and bided his time, running his nails lightly up Peter's back.
When he broke away from her Neal slid into his place, kissing her with filthy, desperate speed. He ran his tongue across her teeth, biting and sucking at her bottom lip; she made a small noise into his mouth and kissed back, with exactly as much ferocity. He admired her skill in this area, always enjoyed the chance to play with the master of this, with the woman who'd been using those lips and that tongue on this bed for ten years. When he broke from her she was panting.
"That's some technique," she said, and he laughed.
"I learn from the best." Peter's hand was still inside of her; Neal watched and saw him jerk his wrist, light, impatient. She gasped, and he said "Roll," and Neal laughed again.
"For someone who was so opposed to this idea," he started, and Peter glared at him.
"Rub my nose in it and see where it gets you," he warned. "Just try it."
Neal's cock twitched at his tone, but he fell silent, anticipating. El rolled and grinned at both of them, and Peter moved his hand, and El choked out a breathless "Apply lube."
"I know for a fact that those dice don't have that option," Neal murmured, but he was always reaching for the drawer where they kept it. El took it from him and Peter used his free hand to grip him by the shoulder and god, god, how had he ever been satisfied in bed with one person at a time?
"I took some liberties," El admitted. He grinned at her, even as he sucked in a breath of anticipation as she coated her fingers in lube.
"I'm a bad influence," he said.
"You really are," Peter agreed, but then he leaned down and kissed Neal, a harsh, quick, claiming thing. Neal keened when he pulled away--he couldn't help himself. And then, before he could respond to Peter's raised eyebrow, Elizabeth slid one lube-slick finger into him.
Neal arched up from the mattress. Peter's hand was still inside of her and her finger was in him and that was--just--there was no quantifying it, how hot that was, how hard he was.
"Tell me what she's doing to you," Peter said. His voice was thick, dripping with arousal and insistence and that impossibly erotic control, and Neal had to bite back a scream of pure, unrestrained want.
"She's--ah--she's stretching me," he gasped. She'd added a second finger now, skillful, sure, and she was just grazing up along that spot that made the edges of his vision go fuzzy.
"And why is she stretching you?" Peter asked.
Neal gasped again. "So--so you can fuck me," he managed. "Oh, my god, she's--her fingers, she's--" Elizabeth was, it felt like, working her fingers in a slow, careful scissoring motion, but she stopped when Peter held up the hand that wasn't still inside of her, oh my god. He whimpered despite himself, longing for her movements to start again.
"Use your words, Neal" Peter said, grinning a little dangerously. "You're good at that."
"She's--she's sci-scissoring her fingers," Neal said, choking around the syllables as El started again. "She's getting me ready, so I can--so I can take you."
"That's right," Peter said. "El, is he ready?"
"Not yet," she murmured, and slid in a third finger, achingly slow. She gave him a questioning look--as demanding as they could be, Neal knew they'd stop instantly if he asked them too--but he nodded at her, pressing himself ever-so-lightly into her hand. She felt so good that he was relieved when Peter didn't ask him to explain; he wanted to enjoy the sensation of her fingers, buried, pulling and stretching him.
"Now he's ready," she said, and withdrew. Peter leaned forward.
"Is she right?" he asked, as El coated his cock with lube. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Neal gasped, "yes, yes, yes," and then Peter was in him and he couldn't speak anymore.
There really was nothing like it; nothing else he'd ever had even really compared. Peter (with his hand still buried in his wife, who was writhing against it at the sight of them, bringing herself to the brink again) was as focused and driven in bed as he was at work, and he undid Neal with an intense, methodical precision he'd never encountered before. He hit Neal's prostate every time, never missing an angle, and he rarely came before Neal was satisfied. It was an odd courtesy, one Neal appreciated as he arched and bucked, as he watched Elizabeth tremble through her third and then, yes, fourth orgasm. It was one Neal appreciated as grey edged into his vision at last and he could barely remember to clench around Peter as he came.
"Caffrey," Peter breathed, and then it was three thrusts more and Neal felt him shudder, felt that telltale oozing heat spreading within him.
They collapsed together--or, rather, they collapsed on either side of Neal and Neal stayed exactly where he was. At some point, they were going to have to get up, go downstairs, take advantage of having a Saturday without casework or caterers, but they had time.
Neal gave himself a minute to catch his breath. Then (because there was no point in being obnoxious if you weren't going to have the last word), he said "I told you buying those sex dice was a good idea."
"You tell me lots of crazy things," Peter said. Neal waited--sure enough, a second later, he added "But yeah. This time, you were right."
So! I started this there, and then it turned out to be the morning!sex mentioned in Another Saturday Night. Like that story, this can be read alone, but they are both technically part of the Captain Americaverse.
So: THANKS ANON. YOU'RE AWESOME, WHOEVER YOU ARE.
Title: Dice or No Dice
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Neal/Peter/El
Warnings: Be warned: this is some dirty porn. Fingering, anal sex.
Spoilers : Nope.
Author's Note: Though it can be read alone, this is the immediate prequel to Another Saturday Night; specifically, this is the sex they had that morning.
Summary: Neal's had to abandon the use of many of his more specialized skills; he'll be damned if he abandons this one.
"I don't understand," Peter said, for the third time. Neal and El both sighed.
"Ok," Neal said, "let me explain. Again. These," he held up three cups, and waved them in Peter's face, "are cups. And these--" he scooped the dice up off of the nightstand and waved them around, " are sex dice. I am going to put these," he waved the dice in Peter's face again, "in one of these cups, and you are going to try to pick which cup they're in."
"And then we'll do what they say," El added, smiling at Neal. He beamed back at her.
"Yes!" he said, "then we'll do what they say."
"Thanks for the rundown, Caffrey," Peter said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "The concept makes sense. I don't understand why we can't just roll them, like normal people."
"Because this is more fun for Neal, honey," El said.
"You're only encouraging his bad habits," he told her, and she shrugged.
"He's cute when he's showing off." He glared at her, and then at Neal--who was, it was true, biting his lip against barely contained excitement.
"Fine," he sighed, "so long as you know I'm only humoring you."
"Noted!" Neal said, gleefully. He snapped his wrist and the dice were gone, hidden under one of the cups. "Are you watching?"
"Yes," Peter snapped. Neal grinned like the Cheshire cat and then his hands were moving, so fast that Peter couldn't actually look at his face anymore--ridiculous though this exercise was, it wouldn't do to let Caffrey win it.
Neal stopped after a moment. "I'm out," El said, behind Peter, but Peter was sure he'd watched the right cup--after all, catching Neal out was practically his hobby.
"That one," he said, and pointed with absolute certainty.
Neal made a little choked sound, lifted the cup, and kept a straight face exactly long enough to say "No dice." Then he cracked up, howling with laughter at his own joke, and Peter would have strangled him if he wasn't so damned pretty.
That was Caffrey for you--always amusing himself, smug little bastard. Always using those good looks to get out of trouble.
"Punning has no place in the bedroom," Peter said. Neal just laughed harder, shaking with it, collapsing into Peter's side. He looked to El for help to find that she, too, was smiling. At his dirty look, she covered her mouth and made the telltale snorting noise of a badly smothered snicker.
Traitor.
Peter really only had one option. Problems with Neal had to be nipped in the bud, like a weed infestation; Peter had learned this the hard way. Give him a little wiggle room and he'd slip right into a locked gallery, or a legal loophole, or your bed, or your heart. So he grabbed Caffrey by the wrists and pressed him down into the bed, leaned over him. Neal gave a last little chuckle and then fell still, looking up into Peter's eyes with that piercing stare of his.
"I don't give a fuck," Peter growled, "about the damn dice," and Neal surged up into his kiss, hilarity forgotten.
--
El loved watching them; it was her own dirty fascination, staring at them as they moved together. The only problem was that they were both a little single minded, a little too obsessed--left to their own devices they could just kiss for hours, trying to catalogue each other's styles and patterns. They could do nothing but touch for days on end, just so they could each say they knew the other's body better than anyone.
El got that and everything, but sometimes a girl needed a faster pace. She reached over them, entwined together, and grabbed the dice. They clattered when she rolled them across her nightstand and Peter and Neal broke apart, staring at her.
Neal's lips were bruised; Peter still had him pinned at the wrists. "You're such a brilliant woman," he said, as Peter scowled above him. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"My husband tries," she said, sighing. "Doesn't tell me nearly often enough, though."
"Isn't that a bitch," Neal said, sympathetically. She laughed at Peter's horrified face, and swatted him lightly.
"We're kidding, sweetheart," she said. He made a disgruntled sound and did a frustrated little grind into Neal, who gasped.
"Kid him some more," he said. El smiled.
"I thought maybe we'd try again with the dice," she said. Neal's face lit up with glee, and she said "Just rolling them this time," and he looked marginally less excited.
"I don't understand why we can't just--" Peter started, but El shushed him and rolled.
"Touch," she read, "below waist."
Neal's hands--very fast hands, it was a skill of his--were already there. He ran a lithe finger up the inside of Peter's thigh, tracing his burgeoning erection over his underwear, and Elizabeth drew a sharp breath in as Peter shuddered.
"Still think we don't need these?" she teased.
"Roll," he said, urgently. The tone of his voice--commanding, in charge--sent an excited shiver up the back of her spine. She did.
"Kiss, lips." Peter leaned down and smothered Neal's mouth with his own, and Neal bucked up into him, moving his hand to slide under Peter's boxers--
"No," she said, slapping his arm. "Follow the directions." Neal made a regretful sound into Peter's mouth and withdrew his hand, and El could feel her breath quickening, the way it always did when Neal followed an order. She slipped out of her shirt, exposing her breasts to the sharp, exquisite chill of the morning air, and let herself just look at them for a minute.
The contrast was always startling; her husband, broad shouldered and darker skinned, against wiry Neal, with his thick hair and pale complexion. They looked like a study in opposites, pulsing together with such intensity that it flowed into the rest of the room.
"Please roll," Neal gasped, breaking away for a second, "please, El, please," at it occurred to her that she had perhaps let herself watch a moment too long.
"Right," she said. She tossed the dice, and was so absorbed in the moment that she laughed. "Fondle breasts," she said, "well, that won't--"
She was startled into silence as, without breaking their kiss, both men reached out an arm to grab her. Peter, on top, caught her right breast, ran his thumb across it and across it and across it; Neal got her left, and caught her nipple between the paintbrush callouses on the inside of his fingers. She gasped--the sensation was nearly overwhelming. She threw her head back and rode on it, feeling herself get wetter and wetter.
"Roll," Peter growled, breaking away from Neal, who slid down at once and started sucking at his neck. El would have stopped him, but he hadn't taken her nipple from between those incredible callouses, and she felt he deserved a reward.
She tossed the dice, gasped, and cried "Suck cock," her voice thick with the anticipation of seeing it. It was always incredible, watching her husband come apart with Neal's capable mouth wrapped around him. Neal released her from between his fingers; she made an involuntary regretful noise at the loss of him, and he leaned over to lick her nipple, once, in apology. Then he slipped down and hovered, pulled his Peter's boxers down and away, left his face inches from Peter's erection.
"Are you sure," he said, breathless and teasing, "that's what it said?"
"For the love of god, Caffrey," Peter snapped, and he pushed himself into Neal's opened mouth. He tilted his head back and shuddered as Neal slid up and back down his cock, humming his enjoyment. "Caffrey," Peter breathed, and then, "Neal."
Elizabeth reached down to pleasure herself to this, but Peter caught her hand. "That's my job," he said, and she smiled at him and laid back. He slid two fingers into her and whistled at how very wet she was, and then slid a third finger in, no problem.
She bucked up against his hand, watching Neal suck him; he was a little distracted, and she liked to fuck herself on his fingers, to work together with him for her orgasm. That was marriage, after all--working together. She'd never seen any reason the rules that worked outside of the bedroom shouldn't work inside of it as well.
She heard a high-pitched cry and wondered for a second if it had been Peter or Neal. Then she realized it was her, realized that the spot at the very back of her cunt that she'd pressed into Peter's fingers and rubbed was producing the intended results. She shuddered and came, drenching his fingers, feeling herself dripping, and the look on his face as she did, as Neal reached down and cupped his balls to heighten the sensation--
Well, she came again. There really wasn't anything for it.
--
Neal pulled away from Peter's cock after Elizabeth went for the second time in as many minutes; Peter looked like he was going to go any second, and Neal himself wasn't far behind. For El, multiple orgasms were the desired goal--for Peter, they were a near-impossibility. Neal wanted to get fucked before this game was over, wanted to feel Peter inside him, wanted to see El go a third and even a fourth time.
He was a man experienced in the art of timing, after all. No point in rushing it.
He let Peter kiss her first; she was his wife, and also Peter gave him a look that very clearly told him to wait his turn. He watched as they worked their mouths together, looking almost like a painting of the virtuous married couple, until you glanced down to see where Peter's hand was still buried. Neal smiled and bided his time, running his nails lightly up Peter's back.
When he broke away from her Neal slid into his place, kissing her with filthy, desperate speed. He ran his tongue across her teeth, biting and sucking at her bottom lip; she made a small noise into his mouth and kissed back, with exactly as much ferocity. He admired her skill in this area, always enjoyed the chance to play with the master of this, with the woman who'd been using those lips and that tongue on this bed for ten years. When he broke from her she was panting.
"That's some technique," she said, and he laughed.
"I learn from the best." Peter's hand was still inside of her; Neal watched and saw him jerk his wrist, light, impatient. She gasped, and he said "Roll," and Neal laughed again.
"For someone who was so opposed to this idea," he started, and Peter glared at him.
"Rub my nose in it and see where it gets you," he warned. "Just try it."
Neal's cock twitched at his tone, but he fell silent, anticipating. El rolled and grinned at both of them, and Peter moved his hand, and El choked out a breathless "Apply lube."
"I know for a fact that those dice don't have that option," Neal murmured, but he was always reaching for the drawer where they kept it. El took it from him and Peter used his free hand to grip him by the shoulder and god, god, how had he ever been satisfied in bed with one person at a time?
"I took some liberties," El admitted. He grinned at her, even as he sucked in a breath of anticipation as she coated her fingers in lube.
"I'm a bad influence," he said.
"You really are," Peter agreed, but then he leaned down and kissed Neal, a harsh, quick, claiming thing. Neal keened when he pulled away--he couldn't help himself. And then, before he could respond to Peter's raised eyebrow, Elizabeth slid one lube-slick finger into him.
Neal arched up from the mattress. Peter's hand was still inside of her and her finger was in him and that was--just--there was no quantifying it, how hot that was, how hard he was.
"Tell me what she's doing to you," Peter said. His voice was thick, dripping with arousal and insistence and that impossibly erotic control, and Neal had to bite back a scream of pure, unrestrained want.
"She's--ah--she's stretching me," he gasped. She'd added a second finger now, skillful, sure, and she was just grazing up along that spot that made the edges of his vision go fuzzy.
"And why is she stretching you?" Peter asked.
Neal gasped again. "So--so you can fuck me," he managed. "Oh, my god, she's--her fingers, she's--" Elizabeth was, it felt like, working her fingers in a slow, careful scissoring motion, but she stopped when Peter held up the hand that wasn't still inside of her, oh my god. He whimpered despite himself, longing for her movements to start again.
"Use your words, Neal" Peter said, grinning a little dangerously. "You're good at that."
"She's--she's sci-scissoring her fingers," Neal said, choking around the syllables as El started again. "She's getting me ready, so I can--so I can take you."
"That's right," Peter said. "El, is he ready?"
"Not yet," she murmured, and slid in a third finger, achingly slow. She gave him a questioning look--as demanding as they could be, Neal knew they'd stop instantly if he asked them too--but he nodded at her, pressing himself ever-so-lightly into her hand. She felt so good that he was relieved when Peter didn't ask him to explain; he wanted to enjoy the sensation of her fingers, buried, pulling and stretching him.
"Now he's ready," she said, and withdrew. Peter leaned forward.
"Is she right?" he asked, as El coated his cock with lube. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Neal gasped, "yes, yes, yes," and then Peter was in him and he couldn't speak anymore.
There really was nothing like it; nothing else he'd ever had even really compared. Peter (with his hand still buried in his wife, who was writhing against it at the sight of them, bringing herself to the brink again) was as focused and driven in bed as he was at work, and he undid Neal with an intense, methodical precision he'd never encountered before. He hit Neal's prostate every time, never missing an angle, and he rarely came before Neal was satisfied. It was an odd courtesy, one Neal appreciated as he arched and bucked, as he watched Elizabeth tremble through her third and then, yes, fourth orgasm. It was one Neal appreciated as grey edged into his vision at last and he could barely remember to clench around Peter as he came.
"Caffrey," Peter breathed, and then it was three thrusts more and Neal felt him shudder, felt that telltale oozing heat spreading within him.
They collapsed together--or, rather, they collapsed on either side of Neal and Neal stayed exactly where he was. At some point, they were going to have to get up, go downstairs, take advantage of having a Saturday without casework or caterers, but they had time.
Neal gave himself a minute to catch his breath. Then (because there was no point in being obnoxious if you weren't going to have the last word), he said "I told you buying those sex dice was a good idea."
"You tell me lots of crazy things," Peter said. Neal waited--sure enough, a second later, he added "But yeah. This time, you were right."