White Collar; Neal/Peter/El; The Right Way to Ruin a Suit; NC-17

[gyzym]

So! I accidentally wrote 4500 words of White Collar porn! I'm going to go ahead and keep blaming purple_chalk. And now it's here for you, in all it's totally porntastic glory. Happy...Thursday?

Title: The Right Way to Ruin a Suit
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Neal/Peter/El
Spoilers: Nope.
Warnings: Spanking, handcuffs. Some D/s dynamic. Also, it's definitely earned that NC-17 rating.
Word Count: ~4500
Author's Note: You asked for it, snegurochka_lee. I hope it's to your liking!
Summary: Peter's right; Neal really does wear too many goddamn clothes.



Neal is not entirely sure where the jacket has gone. He knows he should know, it's the jacket to his suit, to June's suit, this is a nice suit, but Peter told him to take it off and since then things have been a little...muddled. Peter's left hand is tangled in Neal's hair and his lips are pushing Neal backwards up the stairs and he's never been so glad of being so lithe, so easy in his movements.

"You wear too many goddamn clothes," Peter growls, against his neck. He's pushing and pawing at Neal's vest, the vest to this very nice suit, ruining the line and Neal can hear the stitches pulling and god, he could fall down right now if it wouldn't probably lead to both of them concussing themselves.

"Makes it more fun for you to take them off," he gasps, instead. Peter makes an incoherent noise and then, yes, actually pulls hard enough to rip the thing, shred it right off of him, and Neal would be irritated if it wasn't so utterly indescribably hot. "Peter," he breathes, still stumbling backwards up the stairs, "you're wasting your talents in the FBI," and it's at that point that Peter actually picks him up bodily and hauls him up to the landing.

He drops Neal--well, a little bit he throws Neal--at the spot where the stair curves. His breathing is slightly labored; Neal can't tell if it's the lifting or arousal that's left him gasping, but he's always been one to take his advantages where he can get them. He slips one hand behind Peter's neck and kisses him the way he's been thinking about kissing him for months and weeks and years, hell, Mozzie'd been right about that. And then, even as Neal is reaching his other hand to slip under Peter's belt, Peter is moving, grabbing his wrist and spinning him away in a smooth movement.

"Do you really think you can pull a fast one on me, Caffrey?" he asks, and Neal laughs, a soft huffing sound. "After all these years?"

Neal grins at him then, that wide delighted smile he's so selective in giving out, and says "Anything's worth a try." They stare at each other for a long moment, Peter's nails digging ever-so-lightly into the soft flesh of Neal's wrist, and it's then that they hear the soft, amused cough from the floor above.

"Honestly," Elizabeth says, shutting the door of her office behind her, "I thought the two of you would drop the cat-and-mouse routine eventually."

Peter turns at once, releasing Neal's wrist. Neal himself is so shocked that he takes a step back, remembering too late the stairs behind him--and goddamn it, now is not the right time in his life to develop a clumsy streak. He opens his mouth to cry out, but before he gets the chance, Elizabeth says "Peter," in a sharp, urgent voice. Without even looking around, Peter grabs Neal by the tie, hauls him forward, and doesn't take his eyes off of his wife.

"I meant to ask you first," he says, sheepishly. "I know I should have." Neal, reeling behind him, is calculating all the ways he can exit this house if El decides to murder them--there are at least four escape routes in easy access, not counting the front door. The hard part, he realizes, will be forcing himself to leave.

El raises an eyebrow at both of them. "Do you actually think," she says, descending the stairs one slow step at a time, "that I didn't see this coming? That I haven't been thinking about you," and here she reaches Peter, presses a kiss into the side of his mouth, and continues "and him," and then she stops, reaches a hand to put two fingers under Neal's chin, tilt his face up. She steps back a bit and looks at them, at Neal's head, unmoved from the position she left it in, over Peter's shoulder. "The aesthetic value alone," she murmurs, to herself.

It is at this point Neal realizes the full depth of the situation he's gotten himself into. Peter still has him by the tie, has almost absently wrapped the fabric twice more around his hand, and Elizabeth has stepped forward to drape herself across Peter and twist a hand into Neal's shirt collar. "Um," he says, feeling inarticulate and idiotic and entirely without options for perhaps the first time in his life, "what?"

El laughs; it's a light, airy sound, underscored by the baritone of Peter's chuckle. "Poor Neal," she says, to Peter, "looks like he's had the scare of his life. D'you want to explain or should I?"

"I want to see his face while you explain," Peter says, grinning. El laughs again and they disentangle themselves--Peter sits on the second stair up, El sits on his lap, and Neal is pulled close to them, because Peter is still holding onto his tie.

"Sit, Caffrey," Peter says, absently. Without really thinking about it, Neal does, collapsing to the floor in an easy motion. El raises her eyebrow again, but doesn't comment.

"Now," she says, "the first thing you should know is that I'm not going to kill you for trying to seduce my husband." She looks--amused, and even a little aroused, and Neal is relieved in ways he hadn't thought possible.

Still, he says "He started it," because he feels like he has to.

Peter glares at him. "Sellout," he mutters. Neal raises both eyebrows and says "Tease," and then Elizabeth says "Stop interrupting," and they both shut up.

"The second thing you should know," she starts, and then she actually notices the mocking face Neal is making at Peter, and gives him a stern look.

"I can sit here all day," she tells him, and Neal grins apologetically up at her.

"I can't help myself," he says, which is honest, for once. She pats him absently on the head.

"Don't I know it," she says. Then, in a brusque, businesslike voice, she continues: "So, there are two reasons I'm not going to kill you. The first is that Peter and I have an...understanding, about things like this. Sometimes one of has an itch that the other just can't quite scratch."

Peter, apparently noticing the gobsmacked look that has migrated its way across Neal's face, grins and says "Surprised, Caffrey? How do you think I found out Diana was a lesbian?"

"I thought she told you," Neal exclaims, once again unable to help himself. Elizabeth gives him a quelling look and then Peter--just to fuck with him, probably--gives his tie a sharp little jerk.

"Let my wife finish," he says. "I'm curious about the second reason." Neal nods, still mostly gobsmacked, and El clears her throat.

"Now," she says, "the other angle of this--well." She leans forward, trails one lazy finger up the length of Neal's now-taut tie, and says "Sometimes, when two people really love each other, they start wanting the same things." Then, before Neal can really process it, she's kissing him, her mouth lipstick-slick and her tongue far more precise than her husband's had been. Peter's pulling on the tie again--not hard enough to mean stop, just enough to let Neal know he's there--and he arches up into Elizabeth's mouth, harder than he'd ever have believed possible.

"El," he hears Peter mutter, "Jesus, you might have told me," and she breaks the kiss, leaving Neal panting.

Oh," she says, wiping the back of her mouth daintily, and grins at him. "I could have. But you're so adorable when you want something and don't know how to ask for it."

Peter opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. Neal is amused and delighted to note that he is blushing. "I--this is like the thing with the Italian all over again, isn't it," he sighs. She pats him on the shoulder and kisses him, once. What had remained of her lipstick is left blurred on his lips and Neal wonders at the picture they make together--just the thought of it makes his cock twitch impatiently and he squirms.

Then he has a thought. It's a fleeting thing but it alarms him more than it had imagined it might, and he throws up a guarded smile before either of them can catch on. "So you guys have done this before," he says, a statement, not a question--because a question would imply that he cares about the answer and, of course, he doesn't, why should he--

And then Elizabeth gets up, and Peter yanks him in by the tie and bites him, bites him hard, on his collarbone. "No," Elizabeth murmurs, her hands suddenly in his hair, on the side of his face, "no, we've only talked about it. Hadn't found anyone we both wanted like this before."

Neal feels something unknot itself in his chest, spread itself into his bones, a warm, languid feeling. He could burst from the wanting and the heat of it, and he leans his head back until he can catch Elizabeth's mouth. It's a long, lazy kiss, soft to contrast the way his shoulderblades are digging together and the sharp, nearly-painful sensation of Peter marking him.

They draw the kiss out so long that by the time El breaks away Peter is licking more than biting, and the loss of contact draws a soft mewling moan out of Neal, one he's never heard himself make before. "Fucking hell, Neal," Peter snaps, in response, and Neal barely has time to worry that his tone means he's done something wrong before he's being grabbed by the hair and hauled up to Peter's mouth.

They crash together with such force that Peter lays back against the stairs and Neal writhes against him--Peter's right hand is still pulling at Neal's hair in odd, disjointed rhythms and his left hand has found its way to Neal's ass. It isn't squeezing as much as pushing, gripping, and Neal forgets to breath until Elizabeth lets out a tiny moan of her own, above them.

They break the kiss and turn to look at her together, and Neal's breath hitches when he notices she has unzipped her fly, is withdrawing a hand from her pants. "Boys," she says, a little breathless, "I think we all might be a little more comfortable in the bedroom."

Neal grins. He--god, he can't help himself, it's the hottest thing he's ever seen, Peter pushing him back and releasing his tie and standing to go to his wife. He pushes her into the linen closet door and kisses her roughly, mercilessly; Neal licks his lips in anticipation. Her jeans slip down her hips as she bucks into him and before Neal really knows what he's doing he's scrambling haphazardly up the stairs, all elbows and knees.

Peter steps away from her after a long moment and quirks an eyebrow at Neal. It is then that he realizes he's forgotten to stand up, and is sitting on the top of the stairs, openly panting, watching them. Peter sighs and offers Neal a hand. Dizzily, he takes it, allows himself to be pulled to his feet and led into the Burkes' bedroom. He sees Elizabeth step out of her jeans behind him, a sly smile snaking it's way across her features, and his mouth goes dry.

"Bed," Peter barks, and Neal throws himself across it at once, looking up at him eagerly. He watches as Peter struggles to maintain a serious expression, watches as it breaks into a strange open earnestness. "You should see yourself," he murmurs, putting his palm to Neal's cheek. "It's--goddamn it, you're just--"

Neal, knowing full well how utterly unprepared Peter is for an emotional moment, gives him a small smile. For someone who has made a career of lying to people, he knows that he's not hiding his own feelings particularly well at this moment, so he turns his face into Peter's palm and licks it until he's sure his voice will be steady. Then he says "Bet I look like a happy man in a ruined suit," and before Peter can reply, Neal sucks three of his fingers into his mouth.

"Neal," Peter grinds out, throwing his head back. Behind them, El gives a thrilled gasp, and Neal stares right at her as she slips out of her underwear and slides the same number of fingers into herself. Testing a theory, Neal pulls back, takes only two of Peter's fingers in this time. Elizabeth mimics him. He laughs, delighted, pulls away again, and says "Peter."

Peter makes a strangled, frustrated noise and glares down at him. "What?" he asks, breathlessly. "What is it?"

Neal grins up at him. "If you think I'm a sight, you should see what your wife is doing." He stands and turns Peter around, drops to his knees in front of him, and resumes his previous activity, starting with one finger. After a moment, he pulls back again, takes a second one.

Peter gasps, above him, and he can hear Elizabeth's breathing getting shorter and shorter behind him. It's--god, Neal has never gotten this hot over fingers in his mouth, and he pulls in a third and then a fourth finger and is rewarded with El's moan of pleasure.

"Neal," Peter says, raggedly, after a moment, and Neal pulls back at once. "I think my wife might need your help with something."

Neal lifts a playful eyebrow and crawls over to her. "I think you just wanted an excuse to look at my ass," he says, cheerfully, and he removes El's hand gently and replaces it with his tongue.

"That's absolutely--" El gasps, digging both hands into his hair as he laps at her, "that's absolutely what he wanted--you're good at that." Neal hears the click of Peter's belt buckle, the slippery noise of his pants sliding to the ground, and pushes harder into El, flicking at her clit with the tip of his tongue.

"Nnnnnng," she hisses, as Peter says "My god, Caffrey, do you have any idea--" and Neal knows that even if this is just a dream, even if he wakes up right now, he'll remember the sharp thrill of that simultaneous affirmation for the rest of his life. He adjusts his angle and employs a technique he's perfected over the years, pushing his lower lip up into Elizabeth while continuing his attention to her clit. She gasps, once, twice, and comes--hard enough that he can feel it, hard enough that he can taste it.

He sits up and she leans, trembling with it, into his arms. It takes him a minute to realize she is reaching behind him to Peter, to realize the motion of her arm is her running her hand up and down Peter's cock. "El," Peter chokes, "I don't--I don't want to come until he--" and Elizabeth pulls away just enough to share a wry look with Neal.

"Isn't he such a gentleman, waiting for you?" she asks, amused. When Neal nods with wide eyes, she says "Don't worry, honey. I've got something planned that I guarantee will get this right back up."

She pulls, hard, and Peter is coming in a long slow arc against Neal's back, and that's a jacket he's lost and a vest he's ripped and a shirt he's ruined, now. But Neal can feel Peter's cock twitch against him, can feel him actually shaking, and he's never given less of a fuck about his clothes.

"Now," Elizabeth says, "to bed with you to." Peter moves away at once, and Neal pouts up at her.

"I want a turn," he complains, and she laughs.

"This is your turn," she tells him, dropping a quick kiss into his hair. "Trust me." Neal narrows his eyes but does as he's told. "You," she says, to her husband, "get him undressed. I'll be right back."

Peter turns to Neal as she leaves. "Hey," he says, quietly. "I--look, I don't want you to think that you have to--I'm not going to send you back to prison over not wanting to fuck me."

Neal stares at him, agog, for all of a moment. Then it all clicks into place--Peter's self-professed inability to flirt, his often-exhausting need to play by the rules and the strange moment on the bed before. "You really think that's why I'm doing this," Neal murmurs. Peter stares at his hands and says nothing, and Neal is torn between the desire to sigh and to laugh.

He settles for neither, instead executing a quick little move that puts his head into Peter's lap. "Hi," he says, smiling with everything he's got, and he does laugh a little at the surprise on Peter's face. "I want this," he says, and when Peter opens his mouth to argue, Neal kisses him.

"I want this," he repeats, into Peter's mouth. "I want this, I want you," and that seems to be the last barrier, because Neal is suddenly on his back and Peter is tearing off his shirt, his pants. "That's a whole suit you owe me now," he gasps, and Peter pauses momentarily to smirk at him.

"Tell you what," he says, "you owe your government several million dollars. I'll pay up when you do."

"Societal debts are not the same as personal debts," Neal gasps, as Peter's hands slip his silk boxers off and throw them....somewhere. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"

"Tomato, potato," Peter says, waving a hand. Neal snorts out a laugh.

"Tomato, to-mah-to," he corrects, and Peter scowls at him.

"I've always hated that song."

So Neal starts humming it, because what choice does he have, really, and then he realizes Peter is still wearing a shirt while he, Neal, is completely naked. So he keeps humming, undoing the buttons of Peter's shirt with exaggerated care, until Peter says "For the love of god, Neal, this is a shirt, not a 15th century manuscript, pick up the pace."

Neal grins at him cheekily. "Wouldn't want to owe my government anything else," he purrs, and then Peter kisses him, probably just to shut him up.

When El comes back into the room a few minutes later they are still kissing, languid, exploring. Peter's hands are splayed in places Neal wouldn't have expected from him--one fingering his ribcage, one drifting lazily behind his bent left knee. For his part, Neal is achingly, desperately hard, but he can't bear to add any urgency to this, can't bear to stop himself savoring something he's longed for to this degree.

"Mmmm," she sighs, looking at them. "There is definitely aesthetic value." Neal pulls back from Peter and looks over his shoulder to her.

"My turn?" he asks, eagerly. She laughs and nods, and then holds up a black box with the letters FBI on the side. Neal knows that box--it's the one in which Peter keeps some spare things. Spare handcuffs, spare zipties, a spare gun....

"Hey," he says, hoping Peter can't feel him tense up, "if this is some sort of femme fatale thing, I really appreciate the originality--"

El throws her head back and laughs. "Don't be ridiculous," she says, "these," and she opens the box and pulls out three pairs of handcuffs. Neal widens his eyes--on the one hand, he can already feel more desire pooling, impossibly, in his groin. On the other hand, there's really only one person he wants handcuffing him.

Peter must have felt him tense after all, must have read his fucking mind, because he leans forward and presses his lips to Neal's ear. "If you think I'm ever letting anyone else cuff you again," Peter murmurs, oddly gentle, "you're crazier than even I give you credit for."

Neal can feel the tension seep out of his body, and he offers El a bright, real smile. "Definitely still points for originality," he says. "What's the third one for?"

Elizabeth smirks wickedly and doesn't answer. "Cuff him," she tell her husband, tossing him two sets. He reaches up to do so, and then she says "Facedown, if that's alright with you, Neal."

Neal swallows back a groan of arousal. "The lady is creative," he says, and flips onto his stomach at once. He shivers as Peter lifts his left arm, presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist, and cuffs him to the bed. "I wanted it this way every time you brought me in," he admits, as Peter lifts his other arm.

"So did I," Peter says, and Neal bucks up into him once before he can stop himself.

"Very good," Elizabeth says. "Now: Peter, put out your left wrist."

Peter sits bolt upright; Neal turns his head as far as he can and laughs outright at the shocked look on his face. "What?" El asks, innocently. "I thought Neal might like to see you in his shoes for a change."

Neal is actually choking with laughter now; Peter looks like he's been hit by a truck. "Hey," he says, "you can try on my anklet too, if you want, might look good on you," and Peter snaps "Shut up," and smacks him lightly across the ass.

Neal...stops laughing. "Yeah, definitely my anklet," he says, breathlessly--anything to get him to do that again. "Or, ah, that jumpsuit they kept me in, orange would be a good color for--"

"Shut UP," Peter growls, and he accompanies it with something that is less a smack and more a spank. It burns deliciously, sharp and sweet, and a moan of pleasure slips out of Neal's lips. Peter looks shocked for a split second and then he grins, a little predatory. "Oh, Caffrey," he says, gleefully, "there is a depraved little criminal under all that charm." Neal moans again.

"Go ahead and cuff me," Peter says to El. "Just the one hand, right?" She nods, grinning, and Peter leans in close. "I won't need more than one hand to put you in your place," he murmurs, and god, god, at the top of the list of things Neal Caffrey never knew he wanted...

"Please," he gasps, "please, I--ah--I want to pay my debt to society--" and Peter smacks him again.

"Society's not available at the moment," Peter says. "I'm here to collect." Neal shudders and gasps and El, from the chair in the corner, coughs.

"Spank him," she says, her voice even. Peter does, and Neal cries out, thrilled.

"Neal," she says, "confess."

The word stops him for a moment and then, realizing what she wants--what, to his own surprise, he wants too--he says "I, I am a depraved little criminal." El nods.

"Peter," she says, "spank him."

Peter does, and she looks at Neal and says, again, "Confess." He arches up and says "I've been such a bad boy, Elizabeth, I've been such a bad--" and then Peter hits him again.

"You confess to me," he growls. Elizabeth nods her confirmation of this and Neal says "I--Peter, I've been a bad--"

"Spank him," El says, and Peter's hand comes down hard, stinging and biting and blisteringly hot. Neal cries out again, arches, and this time when Elizabeth says "Confess" the words spill out of him like water. "I want you," he gasps, "I want you to fuck me, I wanted you to fuck me when I was stealing all that art and forging all those documents and I wanted you to fuck me that night you arrested me, up against those prison bars and god, Peter, oh my god, I want you to fuck me now."

Elizabeth sucks in a breath. He can see that she is touching herself again as she says "Good boy," and Peter's fingers slip inside him, probing, stretching.

The thrill of her words is overwhelming--it sings through his veins like a finished con, like being drunk. "I wanted you in Prague," he continues, because he's found that he can't stop, can't bear the idea of making this end--because he wants to be a good boy, he wants his reward. Peter smirks and adds a third finger. "I wanted you in Berlin I wanted you in--Jesus fuck, Peter--I wanted you in Milan and--"

"Good boy," Peter murmurs, pulling out his fingers and replacing them, gloriously, with his cock. "Don't stop now."

Neal gasps and clenches, relishing in the feeling of Peter shuddering, El's ecstatic gasps. "I pulled half the jobs to see you," he grinds out, "stupid risks and money I didn't need and I, I stayed up late forging paintings and thought about that fucking--that way you looked at me like I was the only person in the whole room and I wanted you then, I wanted you through every job I ever pulled and I wanted you in prison and I've never stopped--"

He realizes he's practically sobbing with it now, the weight of this itching out of him at last, the weight of Peter's length inside him and the timbre of El's moans. And he can't stop, he can't stop, until Peter kisses the back of his neck and murmurs, "I know, I know. Good boy," and he comes spectacularly all over the sheets.

He's shaking--he realizes he's shaking--and Peter must come too, must undo the handcuffs, because suddenly he's got Peter's warm weight behind him and El's warm weight in front. "Shhhh," Peter says, "shhh, I know. You're done, I know. Good boy." Elizabeth tucks her face into his neck and he strokes her back, absently, until he feels her breathing even out, until he himself can calm down. "I know," Peter is still murmuring, behind him, "good boy, I know, I know," and Neal takes long, calming breaths until he feels stable again.

He stays that way, breathing deep, until he thinks both of them are asleep. It is only when he shifts, planning to slip into the bathroom to try and process his own loss of control, that Peter betrays his wakefulness. His slack arm is suddenly like an iron bar, and he says "Don't even think about it, Neal," so firmly that Neal has to smile.

"You're always foiling my plans," he mutters sleepily. Peter tousles his hair.

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," he says. A long silent moment, and then: "You weren't the only one, you know. In Milan, at least."

"Not in Prague?"

"In Prague your hair was blonde."

"It was a cover!"

"I don't like blondes."

"I'll keep that in mind," Neal murmurs. He presses himself a little closer to Peter, runs a hand through El's hair, and sighs. "Milan, though?"

"Definitely Milan." Neal smiles and closes his eyes. He'd thought so.