Fic: Welcome Home [White Collar, P/E/N, NC-17, bondage]
Title: Welcome Home
Author:
hoosierbitch
For:
theatregirl7299
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Elizabeth/Neal
Spoilers: Season 4 finale
Content Advisory: Light BDSM (bondage)
Word Count: 3,200
Author's Note: This was written for
wcpairings, which is run by the fabulous
elrhiarhodan and
rabidchild67. Also, thank you thank you thank you to
ivorysilk, who wasn't a beta so much as the story’s therapist. I owe all the orgasms to her. (Which is a sentence I hope I have cause to use again in RL…)
Summary: When Peter is finally released from prison, Neal and Elizabeth take him home. (And then sex him up.)
When they pick Peter up from prison he demands that they stop at Arby's to get curly fries.
"I've had the weirdest craving for these things for four goddamn weeks," Peter says as they go through the drive thru (the GPS desperately trying to get them to U-Turn and rejoin the interstate). "It's good to be a free man again."
"When I got out, the first thing I wanted was a nice glass of Merlot," Neal says archly. Peter throws a french fry into the backseat at him and Elizabeth threatens to pull the car over.
Peter eats his fries, and when they get home he plays in the yard with Satchmo for a good ten minutes before Elizabeth lures him inside with the promise of beer and more food.
Peter only picks at the food they'd prepared-lasagna that had been warming in the oven for hours, spinach salad with Neal's homemade dressing, beer for Peter (even though this is a wine kind of meal and usually the other two would forbid Budweiser from coming anywhere near it). Neal knows Peter has to be hungry, he knows how bad prison food is-and this lasagna is Peter’s favorite.
Maybe he'd gotten full on the Arby's fries. (Neal had surreptitiously eaten the one Peter had thrown at him and it was actually pretty damn good).
Neal collects their plates once the meal's over. He wraps Peter's in saran wrap; it'll make a good lunch for him the next day, since Hughes is making him take a week off before returning to the office. He recorks the wine, recycles Peter's beer bottle, and heads back into the living room to say his goodbyes.
"You're not leaving, are you?" Peter asks with a frown.
"I do have my own place," Neal says, "I'm not a homeless waif, no matter how much your wife tries to feed me."
"You're skinny," Elizabeth says in her own defense. “I keep expecting you to ask for bowls of porridge.”
"Do you have to leave?” Peter asks, a new note of anxiety in his voice. “Did they tighten your radius? Your new-your new handler, is he-has he been-"
"He’s been fine," Neal says, interrupting the storm of Peter's words. He doesn't like it when Peter sounds like this (worried; worried because of Neal; afraid). "He even let me off the leash to stay the night if I want to. Elizabeth…convinced him to.”
“And how did she do that?”
“She gave him a muffin basket while somehow simultaneously threatening his manhood. It was like a one woman good cop/bad cop routine.”
“I put laxatives in some of the muffins,” El adds.
Peter looks at his wife with such an intimate amusement that Neal remembers why he has to leave. “I just thought I'd give you two the night together."
"Don't play the martyr," Peter grumbles. "You know we want you to stay." Neal actually flinches at that.
"I'm not-that's not what I'm doing. I'm not trying to guilt you into letting me stay, or-or whatever you’re accusing me of. I just..." (He tries not to think about prison, but avoiding it is a useless exercise, a tiresome mental puzzle that he's been playing with like a five-sided rubix cube for almost a decade.) "I know that you need familiarity right now. And that's you and Elizabeth. When you feel like playing with your shiny new toy, come over to June's-I actually have some shiny new toys, there was a sale at the Smitten Kitten and I got this thing called ‘The Rattler-’”
Peter grabs Neal's wrist so quickly and holds on so tight that Neal gasps. "Don't leave," Peter says, his voice like gravel. "You're familiar too. I want you here."
"He'll stay," Elizabeth says softly, wrapping her own hand around Peter's until he loosens his grip. "None of us are going anywhere."
Peter seems to fold in on himself at that. Just curves on the couch until his head is nearly between his knees.
Neal can count on one hand the amount of times he's held someone while they cried, so when Peter starts-starts sobbing, letting out these terribly helpless childlike sounds-Neal just mirrors Elizabeth's movements. They stroke Peter's back, they stay close to him, they tell him it will all be okay.
Neal's been out of prison for almost four years and it's still not okay, but it has at least gotten better. He decides to tell Peter that later; weeks from now, or months, maybe, whenever it is that Peter realizes elevators are small rooms with metal walls that sometimes don't open when you tell them to, or when he hears someone's alarm goes off and finds himself waiting for the doors of his cell to close. He'll talk to Peter then and tell him that it will at least get better. For now, he just takes a page from Elizabeth’s book and says, "You'll be okay."
Hell, maybe it's even true. Because Elizabeth's got Peter's face between her hands and she's kissing his cheeks, smiling at him, promising him french fries every day and that he'll never leave them again. Maybe it will be different for Peter, who isn't going through this alone.
"What do you want?" Neal asks easily, when Peter’s tears have dried and he’s led them all to the bedroom.
"We'll do whatever you need us to do," Elizabeth adds. (Normally, with any other partner, Neal would never give such a blanket permission, would never surrender such complete control. But this is Peter. Peter’s different.)
"I want to tie you both up," Peter says, his voice even rougher now. He's rubbing his hands together, palm to palm. It’s a gesture that Neal's never seen before, and he doesn’t like that; he grabs one of Peter's hands and holds it tight in his own before he says, "Okay."
Elizabeth gets out some rope, soft lengths made from bamboo and dyed a deep blue. Peter tells them to lie down on the bed on their backs, legs spread, arms above their heads. He ties Elizabeth first-her wrists tied together, the rope wound around the headboard-so that Neal can check his work. Peter may have been a boyscout, but he's never set foot inside a BDSM club, and none of them are taking any chances here. When Neal gives the all-clear he lies down on the bed and puts his own hands above his head.
The look of concentration on Peter's face is one that Neal cherishes. There is something selfish in him that hungers for the attention Peter is giving him.
The ropes are soft around his wrists. Peter winds it around three times (a personal aesthetic choice, he'd explained once; for Neal now it makes the bonds feel that much more proprietary, that much more Peter's). Peter secures it to the headboard and Neal gives it an experimental tug.
"Too tight?" Peter asks.
"Perfect," Neal says, because it is.
When Peter gets another length of rope-this one forest green, hemp instead of bamboo, slightly rougher-Elizabeth gives Neal a questioning look.
"Spread your legs wider," Peter says. "I want your ankles touching." Neal's left foot brushes against Elizabeth's right. They have to maneuver to get their height difference under control-Neal's legs spread wider, his arms bent over his head instead of straight-but when Peter has their ankles tied together and gets on the bed, one knee on each side of theirs, Elizabeth lets out a breathless laugh.
"I like this," she says.
"Don't talk yet," Peter tells her. He's biting his lip-this is not a command he usually gives, and Elizabeth can be touchy about commands like that-but when she nods, he leans forward to kiss her.
When he's done (his lips a bit wet from Elizabeth's mouth) he reaches between their legs. One hand for each of them. "I know I'm not ambidextrous," he says, "like some people, but I'll do the best I can."
El gasps when Peter's fingers circle around her clit and Neal's pretty sure that Peter's drawing the same pattern on her that is around the head of Neal’s cock, rough loops with his thumb and then gentle lazy strokes with his fingernail. When Elizabeth jolts on the bed her foot pulls Neal's legs wider apart and the mattress shifts underneath him.
Peter leaves them momentarily to fetch the lube and Neal takes advantage of the break to attempt to get his breath back under control. He's hard, feels like he's been hard for hours. He wishes his and El's hands were tied together so that he could wrap his fingers around hers and share the thrill and worry and excitement with her. She nudges his foot with hers and he turns his head, returning the small smile she gives him.
When Peter comes back he wastes no time. He lubes up both hands and fingers both of them, two slick fingers from each hand, watching them writhe under his control. Neal knows what Peter's doing, knows that he's staking his claim, retaking some of the control that's been taken from him, but when Peter's fingers curl inside of him all he can do is writhe and swear. Peter pulls his hand out, slaps Neal's cock lightly, and tells him to not to talk.
"Make as much sound as you want," Peter says, his hand still thrusting between Elizabeth's thighs, "but no words."
Neal nods, urgent and desperate and then so grateful when Peter slides his fingers back in. He’s loose and relaxed and whining for more when Peter finally withdraws his fingers and wipes his hands off with a towel.
"When's the last time you two had sex?" Peter asks, rummaging through their box of toys. He doesn't sound angry, doesn't sound jealous, which makes Neal feel almost ashamed of his answer.
"Two and a half months ago."
"But that's…” Peter's got a butt plug in one hand and a dildo in the other and under any other circumstances Neal would have laughed at the gobsmacked expression on his face. "You haven't had sex this whole time?"
"It didn't feel right," Elizabeth answers. She looks beautiful in bondage; her honesty makes the bonds seem somehow sacred. "We slept together, in our bed, in Neal's bed, but we wanted to wait for you before we had sex again."
"We knew you'd come back," Neal says softly.
When Peter finally moves it's a graceless lunge towards the bed. He drops the toys on the mattress and takes Neal's mouth, devouring it with his tongue and teeth, biting Neal's lip until he gasps and arches forward and the ropes draw him tight. When Peter moves to Elizabeth he kisses a path to her mouth: her ear, her jawline, the dip of her chin. Peter kisses her until she opens up for him and when he pulls back he leaves a light kiss on the tip of her nose, which makes her smile.
Peter tells them that they can talk, and then puts the toys in them. Works the buttplug into Neal slowly, because it's big and Neal's too excited to relax. Elizabeth welcomes the vibrating dildo with a happy wiggle that shakes the bed and makes Peter chuckle.
Once he’s finished, Peter stands at the foot of the bed, the controllers of both the toys in his hands, and says, "I missed you both so much." Neal opens his mouth to tell Peter that he, too, had been missed, but before he can Peter slides the controller all the way up and the noise that Neal lets out is an ugly gasp. His lungs are desperate and his body can't decide whether to freeze or fight.
Peter plays with the controller for what feels like hours, sliding it down and then back up, until Neal's got sweat dripping down his chest and armpits and through his hair.
Elizabeth's pleading-she comes so easily, so happily, whenever she's full like this-but Peter won't give her the friction against her clit that will bring her over the edge.
Peter plays with them for longer than Neal thought he was capable of. At some point, Peter starts undressing himself. Puts the controllers down on the dresser and unties each shoe, takes off each sock-he even folds his slacks before putting them in the laundry basket.
Neal's never been closer to begging than he is when Peter, finally naked, picks up the controllers again.
"Now," Peter says, "who wants to come first?"
After fighting down a full-body surge of need, Neal says, "Elizabeth." Peter looks at him and Neal adds, "Please. Sir." That earns him another kiss, powerful enough to make him whimper, his hips helplessly thrusting into thin air.
Peter rests the controller for Neal's plug on his stomach. He can see it. It's only turned up halfway right now and it feels so good it hurts. Then Peter moves to Elizabeth, runs a gentle hand over her breasts, and goes down on her until she cries. Peter holds down her legs when she comes so Neal doesn't worry about the bonds around his ankle. Instead Neal just admires the way Elizabeth’s breasts look when she lifts her torso off the bed, pinned only by Peter's hands and the ropes around her wrists.
She takes one deep, shuddering breath and begins to exhale. And then Peter starts in again.
By Neal's count, Elizabeth comes three times before Peter slides the vibrator out of her and lets her rest. Peter unties her hands, unwrapping the rope one circle at a time (a peaceful ritual), and kisses her wrists. The rope around their ankles has somehow gotten tangled and Peter doesn't bother sorting it out. He cuts the knot into pieces and makes sure they're both okay (circulation good, skin unbroken).
Then Peter hands Elizabeth Neal's controller, tells Neal not to come until told, and starts sucking his cock.
Neal probably could have come untouched at that point. He loves the feel of rope around his wrists, he'd loved watching Elizabeth come apart so excitedly and easily under Peter's hands and mouth, he loves that Peter is here.
"Don't know if I can wait," he gasps, tugging against the headboard in frustration. Elizabeth lowers the speed of the vibrator and Peter lets go of his cock and looks at him, his eyes dark.
"Try."
Neal closes his eyes, resettles himself, and nods his assent.
He loses track of time after that. He knows he screams. He knows he begs. He knows that at some point Elizabeth and Peter start taking turns playing with his nipples. He knows that by the time Peter tells him to come, he doesn’t want to anymore.
“No,” he says. Peter and Elizabeth both freeze (they’re all still new to navigating this and no can mean a lot of things). “Don’t want to come yet.”
“Seriously?” Peter asks.
“You haven’t come,” Neal says, trying to string words together in the right order and hoping they come out somewhat rationally.
“Don’t worry, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“You’ve been taking care of yourself for two months,” Neal counters. “Why don’t you fuck me instead?”
Peter takes more convincing that Neal is capable of articulating, but thankfully Elizabeth takes over. She gets him untied, puts away the plug, and basically bullies Peter into fucking Neal.
Peter entering him is a long, slow slide that has both of them groaning as Neal’s body opens up to welcome the intrusion. He’d forgotten how hot Peter feels, the way the skin and friction make him feel like he’s burning up inside.
Neal’s still on his back and Peter’s stretched out over him. Neal’s knees are spread wide but he’s got enough leverage to tuck his ankles behind Peter’s legs and pull him closer.
He’s surrounded by skin, weighed down by Peter’s muscle and flesh and heat, trapped on the bed with no leverage; no way out. Elizabeth pets his hair, gently a few times, and then pulls it so hard that his head is pulled back-throat exposed, which Peter takes as an invitation to bite-and he comes until it feels like his body is turning itself inside out. The world goes black and then white under his closed eyelids; he loses time and himself and comes back to Peter's voice telling him that he is beautiful.
The world is blurry when he finally manages to open his eyes again, but he doesn’t need to see Peter to know the familiar expression that will be on his face: pride, worry, desire.
“Keep going,” Neal mumbles.
“Do what the man says,” Elizabeth adds after a moment, because Peter’s still hesitating. (Peter hasn’t touched them in two months and he’s always been too careful with Neal, too aware of his power.)
Getting fucked after orgasming is exquisitely painful. Elizabeth hasn’t let go of his hair and he smiles recklessly at her as she tugs again. She kisses Neal’s wrists where he’s pulling unnecessarily hard at his bonds (he likes the way it feels) and licks and bites her way down his arms.
When Peter comes he goes absolutely still. Neal, if his hands were free, would stroke his back and maybe hold him. After a minute Elizabeth kisses the back of Peter's neck, which makes him go limp, like a puppet with clipped strings. (Next time, next time Neal will kiss Peter there, and see if he, too, can let Peter know when it’s okay to let go.)
Elizabeth unties Neal but Peter still kisses both of his wrists. Neal hadn’t been sure if he would and so he touches his own lips to the places that Peter had kissed, to help the sensation linger.
None of them have enough energy to change the sheets so Elizabeth drags them all to the guest bedroom. Peter asks if he can have the center of the bed. He sounds resigned and almost embarrassed so Neal kisses him as he pushes Peter onto the mattress.
“You’re back,” Neal says, “and you’re ours, and you can have whatever you want.”
He lies down on Peter’s left side and Elizabeth turns off the light before joining them. “We missed you,” she said. “It didn’t feel right that you were gone.”
Peter wraps his arms around both of them and keeps them tucked in close even after his breath evens out. Neal doesn’t know when or how it had started to feel so wrong not to sleep like this. He doesn’t know when sharing became the norm. Neal’s been to prison and back three times now. Welcoming Peter home finally makes him feel like he’s left it behind.
*
Feedback is appreciated. :-)
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Author:
hoosierbitch
For:
theatregirl7299
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Elizabeth/Neal
Spoilers: Season 4 finale
Content Advisory: Light BDSM (bondage)
Word Count: 3,200
Author's Note: This was written for
wcpairings, which is run by the fabulous
elrhiarhodan and
rabidchild67. Also, thank you thank you thank you to
ivorysilk, who wasn't a beta so much as the story’s therapist. I owe all the orgasms to her. (Which is a sentence I hope I have cause to use again in RL…)
Summary: When Peter is finally released from prison, Neal and Elizabeth take him home. (And then sex him up.)
When they pick Peter up from prison he demands that they stop at Arby's to get curly fries.
"I've had the weirdest craving for these things for four goddamn weeks," Peter says as they go through the drive thru (the GPS desperately trying to get them to U-Turn and rejoin the interstate). "It's good to be a free man again."
"When I got out, the first thing I wanted was a nice glass of Merlot," Neal says archly. Peter throws a french fry into the backseat at him and Elizabeth threatens to pull the car over.
Peter eats his fries, and when they get home he plays in the yard with Satchmo for a good ten minutes before Elizabeth lures him inside with the promise of beer and more food.
Peter only picks at the food they'd prepared-lasagna that had been warming in the oven for hours, spinach salad with Neal's homemade dressing, beer for Peter (even though this is a wine kind of meal and usually the other two would forbid Budweiser from coming anywhere near it). Neal knows Peter has to be hungry, he knows how bad prison food is-and this lasagna is Peter’s favorite.
Maybe he'd gotten full on the Arby's fries. (Neal had surreptitiously eaten the one Peter had thrown at him and it was actually pretty damn good).
Neal collects their plates once the meal's over. He wraps Peter's in saran wrap; it'll make a good lunch for him the next day, since Hughes is making him take a week off before returning to the office. He recorks the wine, recycles Peter's beer bottle, and heads back into the living room to say his goodbyes.
"You're not leaving, are you?" Peter asks with a frown.
"I do have my own place," Neal says, "I'm not a homeless waif, no matter how much your wife tries to feed me."
"You're skinny," Elizabeth says in her own defense. “I keep expecting you to ask for bowls of porridge.”
"Do you have to leave?” Peter asks, a new note of anxiety in his voice. “Did they tighten your radius? Your new-your new handler, is he-has he been-"
"He’s been fine," Neal says, interrupting the storm of Peter's words. He doesn't like it when Peter sounds like this (worried; worried because of Neal; afraid). "He even let me off the leash to stay the night if I want to. Elizabeth…convinced him to.”
“And how did she do that?”
“She gave him a muffin basket while somehow simultaneously threatening his manhood. It was like a one woman good cop/bad cop routine.”
“I put laxatives in some of the muffins,” El adds.
Peter looks at his wife with such an intimate amusement that Neal remembers why he has to leave. “I just thought I'd give you two the night together."
"Don't play the martyr," Peter grumbles. "You know we want you to stay." Neal actually flinches at that.
"I'm not-that's not what I'm doing. I'm not trying to guilt you into letting me stay, or-or whatever you’re accusing me of. I just..." (He tries not to think about prison, but avoiding it is a useless exercise, a tiresome mental puzzle that he's been playing with like a five-sided rubix cube for almost a decade.) "I know that you need familiarity right now. And that's you and Elizabeth. When you feel like playing with your shiny new toy, come over to June's-I actually have some shiny new toys, there was a sale at the Smitten Kitten and I got this thing called ‘The Rattler-’”
Peter grabs Neal's wrist so quickly and holds on so tight that Neal gasps. "Don't leave," Peter says, his voice like gravel. "You're familiar too. I want you here."
"He'll stay," Elizabeth says softly, wrapping her own hand around Peter's until he loosens his grip. "None of us are going anywhere."
Peter seems to fold in on himself at that. Just curves on the couch until his head is nearly between his knees.
Neal can count on one hand the amount of times he's held someone while they cried, so when Peter starts-starts sobbing, letting out these terribly helpless childlike sounds-Neal just mirrors Elizabeth's movements. They stroke Peter's back, they stay close to him, they tell him it will all be okay.
Neal's been out of prison for almost four years and it's still not okay, but it has at least gotten better. He decides to tell Peter that later; weeks from now, or months, maybe, whenever it is that Peter realizes elevators are small rooms with metal walls that sometimes don't open when you tell them to, or when he hears someone's alarm goes off and finds himself waiting for the doors of his cell to close. He'll talk to Peter then and tell him that it will at least get better. For now, he just takes a page from Elizabeth’s book and says, "You'll be okay."
Hell, maybe it's even true. Because Elizabeth's got Peter's face between her hands and she's kissing his cheeks, smiling at him, promising him french fries every day and that he'll never leave them again. Maybe it will be different for Peter, who isn't going through this alone.
"What do you want?" Neal asks easily, when Peter’s tears have dried and he’s led them all to the bedroom.
"We'll do whatever you need us to do," Elizabeth adds. (Normally, with any other partner, Neal would never give such a blanket permission, would never surrender such complete control. But this is Peter. Peter’s different.)
"I want to tie you both up," Peter says, his voice even rougher now. He's rubbing his hands together, palm to palm. It’s a gesture that Neal's never seen before, and he doesn’t like that; he grabs one of Peter's hands and holds it tight in his own before he says, "Okay."
Elizabeth gets out some rope, soft lengths made from bamboo and dyed a deep blue. Peter tells them to lie down on the bed on their backs, legs spread, arms above their heads. He ties Elizabeth first-her wrists tied together, the rope wound around the headboard-so that Neal can check his work. Peter may have been a boyscout, but he's never set foot inside a BDSM club, and none of them are taking any chances here. When Neal gives the all-clear he lies down on the bed and puts his own hands above his head.
The look of concentration on Peter's face is one that Neal cherishes. There is something selfish in him that hungers for the attention Peter is giving him.
The ropes are soft around his wrists. Peter winds it around three times (a personal aesthetic choice, he'd explained once; for Neal now it makes the bonds feel that much more proprietary, that much more Peter's). Peter secures it to the headboard and Neal gives it an experimental tug.
"Too tight?" Peter asks.
"Perfect," Neal says, because it is.
When Peter gets another length of rope-this one forest green, hemp instead of bamboo, slightly rougher-Elizabeth gives Neal a questioning look.
"Spread your legs wider," Peter says. "I want your ankles touching." Neal's left foot brushes against Elizabeth's right. They have to maneuver to get their height difference under control-Neal's legs spread wider, his arms bent over his head instead of straight-but when Peter has their ankles tied together and gets on the bed, one knee on each side of theirs, Elizabeth lets out a breathless laugh.
"I like this," she says.
"Don't talk yet," Peter tells her. He's biting his lip-this is not a command he usually gives, and Elizabeth can be touchy about commands like that-but when she nods, he leans forward to kiss her.
When he's done (his lips a bit wet from Elizabeth's mouth) he reaches between their legs. One hand for each of them. "I know I'm not ambidextrous," he says, "like some people, but I'll do the best I can."
El gasps when Peter's fingers circle around her clit and Neal's pretty sure that Peter's drawing the same pattern on her that is around the head of Neal’s cock, rough loops with his thumb and then gentle lazy strokes with his fingernail. When Elizabeth jolts on the bed her foot pulls Neal's legs wider apart and the mattress shifts underneath him.
Peter leaves them momentarily to fetch the lube and Neal takes advantage of the break to attempt to get his breath back under control. He's hard, feels like he's been hard for hours. He wishes his and El's hands were tied together so that he could wrap his fingers around hers and share the thrill and worry and excitement with her. She nudges his foot with hers and he turns his head, returning the small smile she gives him.
When Peter comes back he wastes no time. He lubes up both hands and fingers both of them, two slick fingers from each hand, watching them writhe under his control. Neal knows what Peter's doing, knows that he's staking his claim, retaking some of the control that's been taken from him, but when Peter's fingers curl inside of him all he can do is writhe and swear. Peter pulls his hand out, slaps Neal's cock lightly, and tells him to not to talk.
"Make as much sound as you want," Peter says, his hand still thrusting between Elizabeth's thighs, "but no words."
Neal nods, urgent and desperate and then so grateful when Peter slides his fingers back in. He’s loose and relaxed and whining for more when Peter finally withdraws his fingers and wipes his hands off with a towel.
"When's the last time you two had sex?" Peter asks, rummaging through their box of toys. He doesn't sound angry, doesn't sound jealous, which makes Neal feel almost ashamed of his answer.
"Two and a half months ago."
"But that's…” Peter's got a butt plug in one hand and a dildo in the other and under any other circumstances Neal would have laughed at the gobsmacked expression on his face. "You haven't had sex this whole time?"
"It didn't feel right," Elizabeth answers. She looks beautiful in bondage; her honesty makes the bonds seem somehow sacred. "We slept together, in our bed, in Neal's bed, but we wanted to wait for you before we had sex again."
"We knew you'd come back," Neal says softly.
When Peter finally moves it's a graceless lunge towards the bed. He drops the toys on the mattress and takes Neal's mouth, devouring it with his tongue and teeth, biting Neal's lip until he gasps and arches forward and the ropes draw him tight. When Peter moves to Elizabeth he kisses a path to her mouth: her ear, her jawline, the dip of her chin. Peter kisses her until she opens up for him and when he pulls back he leaves a light kiss on the tip of her nose, which makes her smile.
Peter tells them that they can talk, and then puts the toys in them. Works the buttplug into Neal slowly, because it's big and Neal's too excited to relax. Elizabeth welcomes the vibrating dildo with a happy wiggle that shakes the bed and makes Peter chuckle.
Once he’s finished, Peter stands at the foot of the bed, the controllers of both the toys in his hands, and says, "I missed you both so much." Neal opens his mouth to tell Peter that he, too, had been missed, but before he can Peter slides the controller all the way up and the noise that Neal lets out is an ugly gasp. His lungs are desperate and his body can't decide whether to freeze or fight.
Peter plays with the controller for what feels like hours, sliding it down and then back up, until Neal's got sweat dripping down his chest and armpits and through his hair.
Elizabeth's pleading-she comes so easily, so happily, whenever she's full like this-but Peter won't give her the friction against her clit that will bring her over the edge.
Peter plays with them for longer than Neal thought he was capable of. At some point, Peter starts undressing himself. Puts the controllers down on the dresser and unties each shoe, takes off each sock-he even folds his slacks before putting them in the laundry basket.
Neal's never been closer to begging than he is when Peter, finally naked, picks up the controllers again.
"Now," Peter says, "who wants to come first?"
After fighting down a full-body surge of need, Neal says, "Elizabeth." Peter looks at him and Neal adds, "Please. Sir." That earns him another kiss, powerful enough to make him whimper, his hips helplessly thrusting into thin air.
Peter rests the controller for Neal's plug on his stomach. He can see it. It's only turned up halfway right now and it feels so good it hurts. Then Peter moves to Elizabeth, runs a gentle hand over her breasts, and goes down on her until she cries. Peter holds down her legs when she comes so Neal doesn't worry about the bonds around his ankle. Instead Neal just admires the way Elizabeth’s breasts look when she lifts her torso off the bed, pinned only by Peter's hands and the ropes around her wrists.
She takes one deep, shuddering breath and begins to exhale. And then Peter starts in again.
By Neal's count, Elizabeth comes three times before Peter slides the vibrator out of her and lets her rest. Peter unties her hands, unwrapping the rope one circle at a time (a peaceful ritual), and kisses her wrists. The rope around their ankles has somehow gotten tangled and Peter doesn't bother sorting it out. He cuts the knot into pieces and makes sure they're both okay (circulation good, skin unbroken).
Then Peter hands Elizabeth Neal's controller, tells Neal not to come until told, and starts sucking his cock.
Neal probably could have come untouched at that point. He loves the feel of rope around his wrists, he'd loved watching Elizabeth come apart so excitedly and easily under Peter's hands and mouth, he loves that Peter is here.
"Don't know if I can wait," he gasps, tugging against the headboard in frustration. Elizabeth lowers the speed of the vibrator and Peter lets go of his cock and looks at him, his eyes dark.
"Try."
Neal closes his eyes, resettles himself, and nods his assent.
He loses track of time after that. He knows he screams. He knows he begs. He knows that at some point Elizabeth and Peter start taking turns playing with his nipples. He knows that by the time Peter tells him to come, he doesn’t want to anymore.
“No,” he says. Peter and Elizabeth both freeze (they’re all still new to navigating this and no can mean a lot of things). “Don’t want to come yet.”
“Seriously?” Peter asks.
“You haven’t come,” Neal says, trying to string words together in the right order and hoping they come out somewhat rationally.
“Don’t worry, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“You’ve been taking care of yourself for two months,” Neal counters. “Why don’t you fuck me instead?”
Peter takes more convincing that Neal is capable of articulating, but thankfully Elizabeth takes over. She gets him untied, puts away the plug, and basically bullies Peter into fucking Neal.
Peter entering him is a long, slow slide that has both of them groaning as Neal’s body opens up to welcome the intrusion. He’d forgotten how hot Peter feels, the way the skin and friction make him feel like he’s burning up inside.
Neal’s still on his back and Peter’s stretched out over him. Neal’s knees are spread wide but he’s got enough leverage to tuck his ankles behind Peter’s legs and pull him closer.
He’s surrounded by skin, weighed down by Peter’s muscle and flesh and heat, trapped on the bed with no leverage; no way out. Elizabeth pets his hair, gently a few times, and then pulls it so hard that his head is pulled back-throat exposed, which Peter takes as an invitation to bite-and he comes until it feels like his body is turning itself inside out. The world goes black and then white under his closed eyelids; he loses time and himself and comes back to Peter's voice telling him that he is beautiful.
The world is blurry when he finally manages to open his eyes again, but he doesn’t need to see Peter to know the familiar expression that will be on his face: pride, worry, desire.
“Keep going,” Neal mumbles.
“Do what the man says,” Elizabeth adds after a moment, because Peter’s still hesitating. (Peter hasn’t touched them in two months and he’s always been too careful with Neal, too aware of his power.)
Getting fucked after orgasming is exquisitely painful. Elizabeth hasn’t let go of his hair and he smiles recklessly at her as she tugs again. She kisses Neal’s wrists where he’s pulling unnecessarily hard at his bonds (he likes the way it feels) and licks and bites her way down his arms.
When Peter comes he goes absolutely still. Neal, if his hands were free, would stroke his back and maybe hold him. After a minute Elizabeth kisses the back of Peter's neck, which makes him go limp, like a puppet with clipped strings. (Next time, next time Neal will kiss Peter there, and see if he, too, can let Peter know when it’s okay to let go.)
Elizabeth unties Neal but Peter still kisses both of his wrists. Neal hadn’t been sure if he would and so he touches his own lips to the places that Peter had kissed, to help the sensation linger.
None of them have enough energy to change the sheets so Elizabeth drags them all to the guest bedroom. Peter asks if he can have the center of the bed. He sounds resigned and almost embarrassed so Neal kisses him as he pushes Peter onto the mattress.
“You’re back,” Neal says, “and you’re ours, and you can have whatever you want.”
He lies down on Peter’s left side and Elizabeth turns off the light before joining them. “We missed you,” she said. “It didn’t feel right that you were gone.”
Peter wraps his arms around both of them and keeps them tucked in close even after his breath evens out. Neal doesn’t know when or how it had started to feel so wrong not to sleep like this. He doesn’t know when sharing became the norm. Neal’s been to prison and back three times now. Welcoming Peter home finally makes him feel like he’s left it behind.
*
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