fic: easier things (round-robin, neal/ofc, nc-17)
Title: Easier Things
Rating: NC-17
Authors: afiawri, elrhiarhodan, hoosierbitch, and rabidchild67! This was written round-robin style. One person started, wrote for thirty minutes, and then passed the story off to the next with no instructions or information about what they were planning. We all looked it over to beta. So let's say any remaining mistakes are totally rabidchild67's fault. (...THAT IS A JOKE. EXCEPT FOR NOT REALLY. O.o).
Warning/Enticement: Dubious-consent, and misappropriation of Edward Albee.
Notes: Can be found at the end of the fic!
Summary: How Neal got the warden's wife's credit card in the Pilot episode.
ooOOoo
“Baby...you do whatever you need to keep safe inside.”
“Kate - please.”
“No - you listen to me. It’s going to be bad in there - and I want you to come back to me whole and sane. Whatever you have to do to do that - I don’t care.”
Kate’s big blue eyes were tear filled, and Neal’s heart was just about to break. Seeing Kate in that grim, gray visiting room - unable to touch her, was a double blow. Tomorrow they were transferring him from the Manhattan Correctional Facility to a maximum security penitentiary. Neal knew what lay in store for him and he was terrified. But he put on his best game face.
“Kate, I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“Time’s up.” The guard came and stood over Neal’s shoulder. He hung up the phone and gave Kate a brilliant smile. She did her best to return it, but it wobbled at the corners and the tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, running down her cheeks.
ooOOoo
“So, that’s the new batch.”
Martha Haskley stood at her husband’s shoulder. The warden hated when she did that. His wife didn’t belong anywhere near the prison or the prisoners - but every time a new group of inmates were transferred in, she came down to look them over.
“Not a very promising bunch.”
“Martha - you shouldn’t be doing this.” His protests were feeble, and she looked at him with utter contempt.
“Well, if you were more of a man, I wouldn’t need to do this.” Her voice was sharp, cutting, vicious.
George flushed. It was an old story - he married her for money, connection, power. Not for her once young and lithesome body. He didn’t particularly care for women. Why she married him, he still had no clue. Maybe it was just for this… access to the man flesh that came across the threshold of the prison on a regular basis.
“Hmmm, who’s that?” She gestured to a young, slim man with dark hair. Good looking, too. There weren’t too many of those who were delivered into his care. He looked at his paperwork.
“Neal Caffrey - bond forgery.”
“That seems like something that would get him time in Club Fed, not this place.” Martha observed.
“Seems he’s a flight risk.”
“Seems that he’s a risk for a lot of things.” There was serious speculation in her voice.
“Martha…”
“George, I want him.”
“No - you know that I can’t do that.”
“I want him.”
“He’s not your type.”
Martha gave her husband a sharp look. “My type, George? What would that be?”
“You know. Big. Beefy. Bald.”
“Variety is the spice of life. Besides, if I don’t take care of him, that boy will be eaten alive within days.”
“And if I told you no, what would you do?”
“Take him anyway. You know that the guards are more than willing to do what I want.”
George felt a little bit of his soul crumble when he gave into his wife’s voracious demands.
“Okay - I’ll have him brought up to you after intake.”
“You are such a dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Martha gave her husband a peck on the cheek and practically flounced out of the room.
ooOOoo
Neal learned quickly that prison was everything he’d ever feared.
He’d lived his life for thrills, but he’d never wanted to live his life in fear. Peter Burke catching him, that was a thrill. A man here catching him would mean more than handcuffs at the end of the chase.
Neal rolled over plans in his head. He seemed to have to walk a line between charming and fuckable, likable but not the type you lust over.
He was lost in his thoughts when a guard stepped up to his cell.
“Up.” Handcuffs, a cell door opening. A routine, established long before he’d arrived, a rhythm he’d have to mold himself into.
Neal followed without speaking through the labyrinth of prison cells that would become suffocating no doubt, in the years to come, even with how little he’d walk them.
“Here.”
The guard gestured into a room he refused to look into.
Neal stepped in and the smile naturally flowed onto his face upon seeing her. She was not young and she was not pretty, but she had grace. And if he was seeing her here, in this room, furnished and not as uncomfortable as it could be - she had some power.
Neal strode up to her, postured like he held his hands behind his back by choice, as if he was surveying her and liked what he saw.
She remained seated, a wide smile on her face. She let him pace and posture and smile.
Neal knew he had to strike and strike fast. She had power. This is what Kate had been talking about. He didn’t have to do anything particularly horrid. Women (in his experience) were more charmed by men who didn’t want to sleep with them than those that did.
“What’s your name?” She asked simply, her eyes sweeping up and down him. Predatory. She was posturing too, Neal decided. She was good, though. Made him feel like a piece of fresh meat. Neal didn’t straighten, kept his response subtler, one that acknowledged her attempts: he crinkled his eyes in amusement.
“Neal. Caffrey.”
“Well, Neal. Caffrey. I’m Martha. The warden’s wife.”
Neal was careful to keep his thoughts hidden. Of how easy this would be, how he could get whatever he wanted.
“What’s that face mean?” She stood and Neal cursed himself for his suddenly blank face, a dead giveaway that happened around the rare person. “You don’t want to play anymore, now that you know who my husband is?” The back of her hand stroked his jaw. She stood in his space, breathing his air.
“Play?” Neal grinned at her. “You had a game in mind.”
“An old, tiresome game. But you thought of one too. What game were we to play, Neal? If you were the one deciding.”
Neal took to this game, this prelude, immediately. “The question is - what is your tiresome game?”
Her smile bloomed over her face. In her youth, it might have looked innocent, but the wrinkles there revealed the conniving woman underneath. “Oh, you think you’re playing against me. No, dear, I’m playing with you.”
She kissed him.
Neal didn’t mean to jerk back, didn’t mean to stumble away. But her lips connected and the only circuit she lit up in Neal was the picture of Kate, crying, making sacrifices for him. Choosing to give up necessities like fidelity because Neal no longer had the luxury of safety.
“Hmph. Some con man you are. At least pretend to have some lust for the old crone who can get you whatever you need. Wasn’t that your game?”
Neal pulled up suddenly, forced his shoulders to relax. She was right, of course. He flashed her his brightest smile. “How do you want me?” he asked, his voice like molten honey.
“That’s better,” she said, taking a step forward and running a hand through his hair, pulling his head back sharply and stepping in close. She was tall, nearly as tall as Neal, and wore Chanel No. 5, he noticed. But there was a hint of desperate need he thought he could work with, just below the surface. But he also sensed it was mixed with harsher appetites, which scared him.
She pulled back on his hair and he cried out from the pain. She pulled him toward her then and covered his mouth with her own again, her kiss this time rough and predatory. He whimpered into her mouth and she smiled, bit his lip until she drew blood. He pulled back suddenly with a hiss.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“On the contrary,” he countered, “but it would hardly do for you to leave a mark. I’ve got this Fed that keeps an eye out for me.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “But you won’t mind if I check out the merchandise.”
He raised an eyebrow; he didn’t have much of a choice as he saw it. He turned his face away, feigning nonchalance.
She slowly unzipped the orange jumpsuit he wore, toying with the zipper as it descended, long fingers lightly tripping over the metal. He hadn’t put on the white cotton t-shirt he’d been issued by the prison that day, and she let the fabric drape over his bare shoulders for a second, pausing to admire what he had to offer.
She wasn’t disappointed. She put her hands over his pecs, pressing into the hard muscles, clenching her hands, leaving the slight imprints of her fingernails in his flesh. She moved her hands up and over his collarbones, her fingers pausing along the bony ridge, working the skin over the bone and she explored his body. Finally she pushed her hands along his shoulders, slid the jumpsuit down his arms and off so that it hung from his waist, his naked torso exposed.
She made a twirling gesture with her right hand, indicating to him that he should turn around. He did so, slowly, being sure to look at her over his shoulder as he did so. She bit her lip as she watched and he thought he heard a low growl issue from somewhere in her throat.
“Goddamn” she commented, shaking her head.
“Are you objectifying me?” he asked, his tone light, his eyes wary.
“You bet your sweet ass. Come here.”
He took a step towards her and she ran her hand through his hair again, again tugging his head back, hard. She pulled him closer, put her lips to his throat and began kissing him there, moving up along his jaw, sucking gently at first, then harder. The nails on her left hand dug into his shoulder as she clutched him to her, and he concentrated on not flinching again.
Eventually, he couldn’t help but react to her attentions, leaning into her as she moved against him. The tension on his hair eased as he did.
“Can’t leave marks,” he whispered, when he could feel the bruises begin to form underneath her lips, and she pulled away with a laugh. Wiped a bit of her lipstick away with the pad of her thumb.
“Because of your fed,” she replied. He nodded and she slid her hands from his shoulders, down his sides, the edges of her nails tracing along his skin made him shiver. “Does your fed strip-search you, Neal?” She laughed when he shook his head. “No one’s going to see these marks, then.” The bite of her nails into the flesh of his buttocks was sharp, unexpected, unfamiliar. Kate kept her nails cut short. Kate had never wanted to hurt him. “Not unless I decide to share you. You’d make a pretty party favor.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever met anyone more dangerous than this woman before. Anyone else who was so casual with their threats, as friendly and familiar with their sins.
“But not for our first time,” she decided. She said it so easily. First time like she had no reason to doubt that there would be more. “Get on your knees, pretty little party favor.” He swallowed, checked the door, wishing it would open. He wished that guards would come pouring through, or Peter, or - no, not Kate. He closed his eyes and got on his knees and was very, pathetically, sickeningly happy that Kate had given her permission and then left. That she was nowhere near this.
The floor was hard. Cement. Cold, through the fabric of his jumpsuit. She lifted one pointed heel and nudged the jumpsuit until it gathered at his bound wrists and pooled around his knees, a puddle of cheap neon orange canvas under Louis Vuitton leather.
She pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. With a wicked grin she put one hand underneath her skirt and started to slide it up her legs. “You seem like a clever felon,” she murmured. “I’m sure you can figure out what to do from here.”
He wished that she would order him. Put her hand back in his hair and make his eyes water with the pain of it, pull him down between her legs. But she didn’t. Just leaned back in the chair and twirled the keyring around her finger. “You’ve got a choice,” she said after a moment of stillness. “I can call the guards back in and have them bring you back. Not to your cell, of course. You’re in solitary, right? People shouldn’t be locked away all by themselves for so long. It’s unhealthy. You need company. I’m sure there are a lot of men in the yard who would want to get to know a pretty little thing like you.
“Come on, pretty little thing. Convince me that you deserve to be here.” She smiled, and there was just the hint of wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. A sign of age that Kate hadn’t yet begun to show. He looked at the ring of keys dangling off of her perfectly manicured fingers and pulled uselessly at the handcuffs that held him helpless and shuffled forward on his knees.
“Good boy,” she crooned.
She crooked her right leg to the side as he approached, spreading her legs wantonly for him. He ducked down, got his head under her skirt, took a deep breath to orient himself and breathed in her musky scent. He leaned in, kissed her dampened panties, cupped his mouth around her and let his hot breath warm her. She responded by throwing her leg over his shoulder and tightening it around the back of his neck.
“Better,” she commanded.
He lifted his chin, used it to push her panties aside, began to explore her with his tongue. She angled her hips up a bit to give him better access and he plunged his tongue inside her, lapping at her sex as well as he could given his position.
She pushed her other leg between his thighs and he choked at the sudden, excruciating pressure. “You were getting hard, earlier - a lady needs to know she’s wanted, Neal.” She slid her shin against his cock. Her stockings were silky smooth and he’d - he’d been alone for a long time. Hadn’t jerked off in his cell because sound - a deep breath, a moan, even the slap of skin on wet skin - would echoed through the halls, bringing with it a cacophony of cat calls. He’d been waiting for some privacy. Or waiting for his own need to overwhelm his reticence.
All that it meant now was that when she nudged her heel against his balls he got hard. Embarrassingly quickly, too, and he flushed when she laughed. “Keep working, baby,” she said, throwing her head back. Her skirt slipped down from over his head.
Neal pressed his face against her, straining with his tongue to fulfill her, his nose buried in her. He shuffled forward an inch or two more, as much as he comfortably could against the foot in his crotch, lifted his face and pressed down on her clit with his tongue. She bucked against him, her foot eased the pressure on his balls and he was able to get closer still. He turned his head to the side then and put his mouth over her clit, sucked at it, pressing his tongue harder and harder against it, until he could feel her tensing up. She fisted his hair again and held his head pressed to her as she came. He thought he might suffocate.
After she came, she shoved him backwards. He fell on his bound arms, pain shooting up his right shoulder. He rolled onto his side as quickly as he could manage to get his weight off of it. She watched him, curled on the floor, cock hard and dripping onto the cement. She looked vaguely curious. A small smile played on her lips. She rearranged her panties and her skirt, wiped her shoe off on his jumpsuit, and then knelt by his head. She smelled like sex and Chanel No. 5, her nails were sharp and perfect as she caressed his cheek, her lips warm and soft and gentle on his mouth.
“I’m going to do such beautiful things to you,” she whispered, stroking her hand through his hair, behind his ears, along his jaw. “Spread you out and tie you up, get you on my bed and fuck you on all fours. Blindfold you and invite all your little prison pals to take a ride.” So cruel, so elegant, so desperate. If his hands hadn’t been cuffed he could have taken the keys a dozen times by now. If he waited and played his cards right, if he could just hold himself together long enough - her hand was still in his hair, so he kissed the inside of her wrist and felt the even pulse of her heartbeat quicken.
“Good boy,” she murmured.
Kate wanted him to be safe. He reminded himself of that, over and over, as Martha watched him struggle to his knees, as she zipped his suit over his aching cock, as she pushed him up against the wall and palmed him through the fabric. He bit his lip and thought of Kate as she jerked him off inside his jumpsuit.
ooOOoo
The cell door clanked open and Bobby was there, waiting for him to turn around and present his wrists for the handcuffs. After nearly four years this procedure was so routine that none of the other inmates even commented on it anymore. In the beginning, it was different - every time he walked down the cell-lined corridor, it had been to hoots and shouts of “pretty boy” and “bitch” and a lot of things that were a lot worse. Now, it was nothing. Which was just what he felt. Nothing.
Martha Haskley was his safety option - the passport, the key to his ongoing survival. He supposed he should be grateful that she still wanted him - to service her, to be her pretty fucktoy that after so long she hadn’t gotten bored with him. She might threaten to turn him over to the other cons, but he knew that unless she was well and truly tired of him, she wouldn’t. Too much risk - of disease, of ruination.
Neal was at the point that he didn’t mind her power games, mostly. He had learned to roll with the punches - mostly metaphorical, sometimes physical. But today was not a day he wanted to have to deal with her games. Today was visiting day, and, while he hated servicing her on any visiting day, after today’s visit with Kate it made it that much worse. Kate had told him goodbye today, told him it was over and done with and even though he only had three months left, she told him that she never wanted to see him again.
He didn’t understand - how she could do this to him after so long. Why now? When he was so close to freedom.
Martha was waiting for him, straddling a chair, skirt hiked high, her feet shod in their customary Vuitton black pumps hooked around the chair legs. She didn’t care who saw her like that - hell, what did it matter, since she was fucking most of the guards on a regular basis.
“There’s my pretty boy.”
Neal didn’t even hear the door close behind him. “How do you want me today?”
“Ah, baby. I heard you had a bad time this morning. That your sweet little girl left you...she doesn’t want you anymore.”
Neal didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but wonder at how she knew.
“I bet you want to get out of here now - you want to go after her, don’t you?”
He still didn’t say anything.
“Smart boy, you know when hold your tongue. And when to use it just right.” She grinned at him like a shark. “Martha’s gonna help you, sweet boy. You deserve it - you’ve been so very good to me.” She got up and walked around him, trailing Chanel and the scent of a bitch in heat. She toyed with the hair curling at the nape of his neck, fingernails scratching - sending a shiver down his spine.
He should be used to this by now, but he couldn’t completely control his fight or flight response.
“Don’t you want my help?” She yanked on his hair - a favorite past time.
He nodded.
“Good.”
She pushed him to his knees - a familiar position. “Close your eyes and think of England, baby.”
Neal knew what Martha liked and how she liked it - rough and dirty and if his teeth got in the way, it was just that much hotter for her.
She got off him, panting. “I’m gonna miss you, baby.” She bent over him and kissed her slick off his mouth.
Neal stayed on his knees, tracking her with his eyes, she went to her handbag and pulled out a cellphone and credit card.
“Get yourself a uniform...I’ll make sure the guards look the other way.”
Neal smiled at Martha - the full Caffrey.
She pulled open the door and called for a guard. As he moved past, she stopped him, took his chin in her hand, shoved her thumb between his teeth.
“And when you’re going down on your sweet little girl, remember what Martha tastes like.”
ooOOoo
A/N: Story and title inspired by the showing of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” at the Steppenwolf Theatre attended by all of us at the Chicago White Collar meet-up! Here’s a bit of snappy dialogue:
George: Let me tell you a secret, baby - there are easier things in this world, if you, uh… happen to be teaching at a university, there are easier things than being married to the daughter of the president of that university. There are easier things in this world.
Martha: It should be an extraordinary opportunity. For some men, it would be the chance of a lifetime.
George: There are, believe me, easier things in this world.
Martha: Some men would give their right arm for the chance!
George: Alas, Martha, in reality, it works out that the sacrifice is of a somewhat more private portion of the anatomy.
*
Thaaaank you all for reading!
If anyone wants to guess if any one specific part was written by any specific author (like: this sentence was totally rabidchild67's because it's full of typos!), and you guess correctly, then we will write you a drabble of your choosing! If there's interest, we can also repost this later with all of the parts identified by author. :-)
Rating: NC-17
Authors: afiawri, elrhiarhodan, hoosierbitch, and rabidchild67! This was written round-robin style. One person started, wrote for thirty minutes, and then passed the story off to the next with no instructions or information about what they were planning. We all looked it over to beta. So let's say any remaining mistakes are totally rabidchild67's fault. (...THAT IS A JOKE. EXCEPT FOR NOT REALLY. O.o).
Warning/Enticement: Dubious-consent, and misappropriation of Edward Albee.
Notes: Can be found at the end of the fic!
Summary: How Neal got the warden's wife's credit card in the Pilot episode.
ooOOoo
“Baby...you do whatever you need to keep safe inside.”
“Kate - please.”
“No - you listen to me. It’s going to be bad in there - and I want you to come back to me whole and sane. Whatever you have to do to do that - I don’t care.”
Kate’s big blue eyes were tear filled, and Neal’s heart was just about to break. Seeing Kate in that grim, gray visiting room - unable to touch her, was a double blow. Tomorrow they were transferring him from the Manhattan Correctional Facility to a maximum security penitentiary. Neal knew what lay in store for him and he was terrified. But he put on his best game face.
“Kate, I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“Time’s up.” The guard came and stood over Neal’s shoulder. He hung up the phone and gave Kate a brilliant smile. She did her best to return it, but it wobbled at the corners and the tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, running down her cheeks.
ooOOoo
“So, that’s the new batch.”
Martha Haskley stood at her husband’s shoulder. The warden hated when she did that. His wife didn’t belong anywhere near the prison or the prisoners - but every time a new group of inmates were transferred in, she came down to look them over.
“Not a very promising bunch.”
“Martha - you shouldn’t be doing this.” His protests were feeble, and she looked at him with utter contempt.
“Well, if you were more of a man, I wouldn’t need to do this.” Her voice was sharp, cutting, vicious.
George flushed. It was an old story - he married her for money, connection, power. Not for her once young and lithesome body. He didn’t particularly care for women. Why she married him, he still had no clue. Maybe it was just for this… access to the man flesh that came across the threshold of the prison on a regular basis.
“Hmmm, who’s that?” She gestured to a young, slim man with dark hair. Good looking, too. There weren’t too many of those who were delivered into his care. He looked at his paperwork.
“Neal Caffrey - bond forgery.”
“That seems like something that would get him time in Club Fed, not this place.” Martha observed.
“Seems he’s a flight risk.”
“Seems that he’s a risk for a lot of things.” There was serious speculation in her voice.
“Martha…”
“George, I want him.”
“No - you know that I can’t do that.”
“I want him.”
“He’s not your type.”
Martha gave her husband a sharp look. “My type, George? What would that be?”
“You know. Big. Beefy. Bald.”
“Variety is the spice of life. Besides, if I don’t take care of him, that boy will be eaten alive within days.”
“And if I told you no, what would you do?”
“Take him anyway. You know that the guards are more than willing to do what I want.”
George felt a little bit of his soul crumble when he gave into his wife’s voracious demands.
“Okay - I’ll have him brought up to you after intake.”
“You are such a dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Martha gave her husband a peck on the cheek and practically flounced out of the room.
ooOOoo
Neal learned quickly that prison was everything he’d ever feared.
He’d lived his life for thrills, but he’d never wanted to live his life in fear. Peter Burke catching him, that was a thrill. A man here catching him would mean more than handcuffs at the end of the chase.
Neal rolled over plans in his head. He seemed to have to walk a line between charming and fuckable, likable but not the type you lust over.
He was lost in his thoughts when a guard stepped up to his cell.
“Up.” Handcuffs, a cell door opening. A routine, established long before he’d arrived, a rhythm he’d have to mold himself into.
Neal followed without speaking through the labyrinth of prison cells that would become suffocating no doubt, in the years to come, even with how little he’d walk them.
“Here.”
The guard gestured into a room he refused to look into.
Neal stepped in and the smile naturally flowed onto his face upon seeing her. She was not young and she was not pretty, but she had grace. And if he was seeing her here, in this room, furnished and not as uncomfortable as it could be - she had some power.
Neal strode up to her, postured like he held his hands behind his back by choice, as if he was surveying her and liked what he saw.
She remained seated, a wide smile on her face. She let him pace and posture and smile.
Neal knew he had to strike and strike fast. She had power. This is what Kate had been talking about. He didn’t have to do anything particularly horrid. Women (in his experience) were more charmed by men who didn’t want to sleep with them than those that did.
“What’s your name?” She asked simply, her eyes sweeping up and down him. Predatory. She was posturing too, Neal decided. She was good, though. Made him feel like a piece of fresh meat. Neal didn’t straighten, kept his response subtler, one that acknowledged her attempts: he crinkled his eyes in amusement.
“Neal. Caffrey.”
“Well, Neal. Caffrey. I’m Martha. The warden’s wife.”
Neal was careful to keep his thoughts hidden. Of how easy this would be, how he could get whatever he wanted.
“What’s that face mean?” She stood and Neal cursed himself for his suddenly blank face, a dead giveaway that happened around the rare person. “You don’t want to play anymore, now that you know who my husband is?” The back of her hand stroked his jaw. She stood in his space, breathing his air.
“Play?” Neal grinned at her. “You had a game in mind.”
“An old, tiresome game. But you thought of one too. What game were we to play, Neal? If you were the one deciding.”
Neal took to this game, this prelude, immediately. “The question is - what is your tiresome game?”
Her smile bloomed over her face. In her youth, it might have looked innocent, but the wrinkles there revealed the conniving woman underneath. “Oh, you think you’re playing against me. No, dear, I’m playing with you.”
She kissed him.
Neal didn’t mean to jerk back, didn’t mean to stumble away. But her lips connected and the only circuit she lit up in Neal was the picture of Kate, crying, making sacrifices for him. Choosing to give up necessities like fidelity because Neal no longer had the luxury of safety.
“Hmph. Some con man you are. At least pretend to have some lust for the old crone who can get you whatever you need. Wasn’t that your game?”
Neal pulled up suddenly, forced his shoulders to relax. She was right, of course. He flashed her his brightest smile. “How do you want me?” he asked, his voice like molten honey.
“That’s better,” she said, taking a step forward and running a hand through his hair, pulling his head back sharply and stepping in close. She was tall, nearly as tall as Neal, and wore Chanel No. 5, he noticed. But there was a hint of desperate need he thought he could work with, just below the surface. But he also sensed it was mixed with harsher appetites, which scared him.
She pulled back on his hair and he cried out from the pain. She pulled him toward her then and covered his mouth with her own again, her kiss this time rough and predatory. He whimpered into her mouth and she smiled, bit his lip until she drew blood. He pulled back suddenly with a hiss.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“On the contrary,” he countered, “but it would hardly do for you to leave a mark. I’ve got this Fed that keeps an eye out for me.”
“Very well,” she agreed. “But you won’t mind if I check out the merchandise.”
He raised an eyebrow; he didn’t have much of a choice as he saw it. He turned his face away, feigning nonchalance.
She slowly unzipped the orange jumpsuit he wore, toying with the zipper as it descended, long fingers lightly tripping over the metal. He hadn’t put on the white cotton t-shirt he’d been issued by the prison that day, and she let the fabric drape over his bare shoulders for a second, pausing to admire what he had to offer.
She wasn’t disappointed. She put her hands over his pecs, pressing into the hard muscles, clenching her hands, leaving the slight imprints of her fingernails in his flesh. She moved her hands up and over his collarbones, her fingers pausing along the bony ridge, working the skin over the bone and she explored his body. Finally she pushed her hands along his shoulders, slid the jumpsuit down his arms and off so that it hung from his waist, his naked torso exposed.
She made a twirling gesture with her right hand, indicating to him that he should turn around. He did so, slowly, being sure to look at her over his shoulder as he did so. She bit her lip as she watched and he thought he heard a low growl issue from somewhere in her throat.
“Goddamn” she commented, shaking her head.
“Are you objectifying me?” he asked, his tone light, his eyes wary.
“You bet your sweet ass. Come here.”
He took a step towards her and she ran her hand through his hair again, again tugging his head back, hard. She pulled him closer, put her lips to his throat and began kissing him there, moving up along his jaw, sucking gently at first, then harder. The nails on her left hand dug into his shoulder as she clutched him to her, and he concentrated on not flinching again.
Eventually, he couldn’t help but react to her attentions, leaning into her as she moved against him. The tension on his hair eased as he did.
“Can’t leave marks,” he whispered, when he could feel the bruises begin to form underneath her lips, and she pulled away with a laugh. Wiped a bit of her lipstick away with the pad of her thumb.
“Because of your fed,” she replied. He nodded and she slid her hands from his shoulders, down his sides, the edges of her nails tracing along his skin made him shiver. “Does your fed strip-search you, Neal?” She laughed when he shook his head. “No one’s going to see these marks, then.” The bite of her nails into the flesh of his buttocks was sharp, unexpected, unfamiliar. Kate kept her nails cut short. Kate had never wanted to hurt him. “Not unless I decide to share you. You’d make a pretty party favor.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever met anyone more dangerous than this woman before. Anyone else who was so casual with their threats, as friendly and familiar with their sins.
“But not for our first time,” she decided. She said it so easily. First time like she had no reason to doubt that there would be more. “Get on your knees, pretty little party favor.” He swallowed, checked the door, wishing it would open. He wished that guards would come pouring through, or Peter, or - no, not Kate. He closed his eyes and got on his knees and was very, pathetically, sickeningly happy that Kate had given her permission and then left. That she was nowhere near this.
The floor was hard. Cement. Cold, through the fabric of his jumpsuit. She lifted one pointed heel and nudged the jumpsuit until it gathered at his bound wrists and pooled around his knees, a puddle of cheap neon orange canvas under Louis Vuitton leather.
She pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. With a wicked grin she put one hand underneath her skirt and started to slide it up her legs. “You seem like a clever felon,” she murmured. “I’m sure you can figure out what to do from here.”
He wished that she would order him. Put her hand back in his hair and make his eyes water with the pain of it, pull him down between her legs. But she didn’t. Just leaned back in the chair and twirled the keyring around her finger. “You’ve got a choice,” she said after a moment of stillness. “I can call the guards back in and have them bring you back. Not to your cell, of course. You’re in solitary, right? People shouldn’t be locked away all by themselves for so long. It’s unhealthy. You need company. I’m sure there are a lot of men in the yard who would want to get to know a pretty little thing like you.
“Come on, pretty little thing. Convince me that you deserve to be here.” She smiled, and there was just the hint of wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. A sign of age that Kate hadn’t yet begun to show. He looked at the ring of keys dangling off of her perfectly manicured fingers and pulled uselessly at the handcuffs that held him helpless and shuffled forward on his knees.
“Good boy,” she crooned.
She crooked her right leg to the side as he approached, spreading her legs wantonly for him. He ducked down, got his head under her skirt, took a deep breath to orient himself and breathed in her musky scent. He leaned in, kissed her dampened panties, cupped his mouth around her and let his hot breath warm her. She responded by throwing her leg over his shoulder and tightening it around the back of his neck.
“Better,” she commanded.
He lifted his chin, used it to push her panties aside, began to explore her with his tongue. She angled her hips up a bit to give him better access and he plunged his tongue inside her, lapping at her sex as well as he could given his position.
She pushed her other leg between his thighs and he choked at the sudden, excruciating pressure. “You were getting hard, earlier - a lady needs to know she’s wanted, Neal.” She slid her shin against his cock. Her stockings were silky smooth and he’d - he’d been alone for a long time. Hadn’t jerked off in his cell because sound - a deep breath, a moan, even the slap of skin on wet skin - would echoed through the halls, bringing with it a cacophony of cat calls. He’d been waiting for some privacy. Or waiting for his own need to overwhelm his reticence.
All that it meant now was that when she nudged her heel against his balls he got hard. Embarrassingly quickly, too, and he flushed when she laughed. “Keep working, baby,” she said, throwing her head back. Her skirt slipped down from over his head.
Neal pressed his face against her, straining with his tongue to fulfill her, his nose buried in her. He shuffled forward an inch or two more, as much as he comfortably could against the foot in his crotch, lifted his face and pressed down on her clit with his tongue. She bucked against him, her foot eased the pressure on his balls and he was able to get closer still. He turned his head to the side then and put his mouth over her clit, sucked at it, pressing his tongue harder and harder against it, until he could feel her tensing up. She fisted his hair again and held his head pressed to her as she came. He thought he might suffocate.
After she came, she shoved him backwards. He fell on his bound arms, pain shooting up his right shoulder. He rolled onto his side as quickly as he could manage to get his weight off of it. She watched him, curled on the floor, cock hard and dripping onto the cement. She looked vaguely curious. A small smile played on her lips. She rearranged her panties and her skirt, wiped her shoe off on his jumpsuit, and then knelt by his head. She smelled like sex and Chanel No. 5, her nails were sharp and perfect as she caressed his cheek, her lips warm and soft and gentle on his mouth.
“I’m going to do such beautiful things to you,” she whispered, stroking her hand through his hair, behind his ears, along his jaw. “Spread you out and tie you up, get you on my bed and fuck you on all fours. Blindfold you and invite all your little prison pals to take a ride.” So cruel, so elegant, so desperate. If his hands hadn’t been cuffed he could have taken the keys a dozen times by now. If he waited and played his cards right, if he could just hold himself together long enough - her hand was still in his hair, so he kissed the inside of her wrist and felt the even pulse of her heartbeat quicken.
“Good boy,” she murmured.
Kate wanted him to be safe. He reminded himself of that, over and over, as Martha watched him struggle to his knees, as she zipped his suit over his aching cock, as she pushed him up against the wall and palmed him through the fabric. He bit his lip and thought of Kate as she jerked him off inside his jumpsuit.
ooOOoo
The cell door clanked open and Bobby was there, waiting for him to turn around and present his wrists for the handcuffs. After nearly four years this procedure was so routine that none of the other inmates even commented on it anymore. In the beginning, it was different - every time he walked down the cell-lined corridor, it had been to hoots and shouts of “pretty boy” and “bitch” and a lot of things that were a lot worse. Now, it was nothing. Which was just what he felt. Nothing.
Martha Haskley was his safety option - the passport, the key to his ongoing survival. He supposed he should be grateful that she still wanted him - to service her, to be her pretty fucktoy that after so long she hadn’t gotten bored with him. She might threaten to turn him over to the other cons, but he knew that unless she was well and truly tired of him, she wouldn’t. Too much risk - of disease, of ruination.
Neal was at the point that he didn’t mind her power games, mostly. He had learned to roll with the punches - mostly metaphorical, sometimes physical. But today was not a day he wanted to have to deal with her games. Today was visiting day, and, while he hated servicing her on any visiting day, after today’s visit with Kate it made it that much worse. Kate had told him goodbye today, told him it was over and done with and even though he only had three months left, she told him that she never wanted to see him again.
He didn’t understand - how she could do this to him after so long. Why now? When he was so close to freedom.
Martha was waiting for him, straddling a chair, skirt hiked high, her feet shod in their customary Vuitton black pumps hooked around the chair legs. She didn’t care who saw her like that - hell, what did it matter, since she was fucking most of the guards on a regular basis.
“There’s my pretty boy.”
Neal didn’t even hear the door close behind him. “How do you want me today?”
“Ah, baby. I heard you had a bad time this morning. That your sweet little girl left you...she doesn’t want you anymore.”
Neal didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help but wonder at how she knew.
“I bet you want to get out of here now - you want to go after her, don’t you?”
He still didn’t say anything.
“Smart boy, you know when hold your tongue. And when to use it just right.” She grinned at him like a shark. “Martha’s gonna help you, sweet boy. You deserve it - you’ve been so very good to me.” She got up and walked around him, trailing Chanel and the scent of a bitch in heat. She toyed with the hair curling at the nape of his neck, fingernails scratching - sending a shiver down his spine.
He should be used to this by now, but he couldn’t completely control his fight or flight response.
“Don’t you want my help?” She yanked on his hair - a favorite past time.
He nodded.
“Good.”
She pushed him to his knees - a familiar position. “Close your eyes and think of England, baby.”
Neal knew what Martha liked and how she liked it - rough and dirty and if his teeth got in the way, it was just that much hotter for her.
She got off him, panting. “I’m gonna miss you, baby.” She bent over him and kissed her slick off his mouth.
Neal stayed on his knees, tracking her with his eyes, she went to her handbag and pulled out a cellphone and credit card.
“Get yourself a uniform...I’ll make sure the guards look the other way.”
Neal smiled at Martha - the full Caffrey.
She pulled open the door and called for a guard. As he moved past, she stopped him, took his chin in her hand, shoved her thumb between his teeth.
“And when you’re going down on your sweet little girl, remember what Martha tastes like.”
ooOOoo
A/N: Story and title inspired by the showing of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” at the Steppenwolf Theatre attended by all of us at the Chicago White Collar meet-up! Here’s a bit of snappy dialogue:
George: Let me tell you a secret, baby - there are easier things in this world, if you, uh… happen to be teaching at a university, there are easier things than being married to the daughter of the president of that university. There are easier things in this world.
Martha: It should be an extraordinary opportunity. For some men, it would be the chance of a lifetime.
George: There are, believe me, easier things in this world.
Martha: Some men would give their right arm for the chance!
George: Alas, Martha, in reality, it works out that the sacrifice is of a somewhat more private portion of the anatomy.
*
Thaaaank you all for reading!
If anyone wants to guess if any one specific part was written by any specific author (like: this sentence was totally rabidchild67's because it's full of typos!), and you guess correctly, then we will write you a drabble of your choosing! If there's interest, we can also repost this later with all of the parts identified by author. :-)