fic: equilibrium (neal/peter, nc-17)
Housekeeping note: I'm going to try to catch up on comments this weekend! I'm, um. A few months behind. :-/ My apologies to those of you who are about to be spammed with many, many dorkily spazztastic comment notifications. I hope the repetition doesn't make me seem insincere. I really am genuinely overwhelmed and flustered by positive feedback. If I put this in a comment :D it is only because it is a genuine reflection of my RL face.
Other housekeeping things to get done this week: collect and repost fics from promptfests, sentence fest, and then also post them to comms! And post my last...three or four White Collar fics to comms, too. And also to AO3. I am really bad at that, for some reason. It feels...like. Like I'm saying: "DAMN, I think my fic is SO GOOD, look at me promote it! READ IT." When in fact my actual train of thought is "ohmygod, please please please don't everybody hate it."
Project Honesty (aka "The Quest for Self-Esteem"), she is ongoing.
ANYWHO. HERE IS SOME PORN! Originally posted for elrhiarhodan's Promptest V here! The prompt was "Peter - Leather."
BWAHAHAHA.
Title: equilibrium
Author: hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Neal/Peter
Content Advisory: BDSM, spanking, leather. And, uh. Schmoop.
Summary: It's Neal's birthday, and Peter's got a few surprises for him...
*
"Call me master." He ran the leather crop around the curve of Neal's chin and tilted his head up. Smiled at the obvious desire written across Neal's face. When he pressed the crop against Neal's lips, he kissed it. Neal's nostrils flared and he let out a quiet moan when Peter left the crop there for another second. Neal liked the way leather smelled. Peter liked to make Neal happy. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master."
And somehow, it didn’t sound stupid. Didn’t sound like a game or a bad porno or like Neal was talking to someone else. Somehow, with Neal naked and cuffed and on his knees, it sounded...reverent. He wrapped his hand around Neal's throat, smooth leather sliding across Neal's stubble, and swallowed the jolt of arousal that shot through his body when Neal closed his eyes and bared his neck.
He guided Neal until he was standing, and then led him over to the chair. "Across my lap, boy." Neal moaned and his whole body swayed towards Peter, his hard cock jerking helplessly in the air.
It was awkward for Neal. Getting into the right position with his hands cuffed behind his back and his cock begging for attention. Neal's cock was flush against the outside of Peter's thigh when he finally wriggled into place. Neal didn't stop moving, though. He just kept writhing - trying to rub his cock against the soft leather of Peter's pants.
"Stop."
He backed up his order with a sharp slap to Neal's ass. Neal went still. He was breathing a bit too fast, shoulders pulled tight. Peter could feel the heat of his cock against his leg.
"Happy birthday," he murmured.
He liked spanking Neal with his hand. Liked the way he could gauge the exact force of it, liked the way Neal's flesh bounced beneath his palm, liked the way the force of it jolted through his wrist and up his arm. Loved the way Neal’s pale flesh flushed red in the shape of his hand. It was even better with the gloves on. He squeezed Neal's cheek in his hand, black leather against tender skin. He liked the way it looked so he did it again. Neal whined prettily every time.
Ten strokes of his hand. Four hits on each of Neal's cheeks and two on the place where ass met thigh, Peter's favorite curve. He'd made a list, one morning. Detailed all of his favorite curves. Had licked and bit his way across Neal's body, counting them all off, and had made Neal come twice before he'd finished.
"Twenty-three more to go." Neal's back was already slick with sweat, his ass an uneven collage of red.
"And one more for good luck," Neal added.
Peter rested his forearm across Neal's lower back to hold him down and spanked him, hard, five more times. Neal yelled and writhed, but Peter held him firmly in place. "What are you supposed to call me, Neal?"
"Master, oh, Master, I didn't meant to forget - " One more slap and Neal shut up.
"Are you still hard, boy?" Neal nodded. Peter threaded his fingers through the sweaty hair at the nape of Neal’s neck. Then he made Neal lick the sweat from his fingers, thrusting them in and out idly while Neal got them as wet as he could. And then he slid his gloved fingers between Neal's cheeks. Stroked insistently at Neal's hole, spit-slick leather against delicate skin.
Neal, being unusually obedient, kept absolutely still. He shook a bit - it wasn't an easy position to hold - but he didn't press back against Peter's hand, didn't try to get himself off against Peter's thigh.
He slapped Neal’s hole lightly and then carefully eased Neal onto his knees. Neal had left streaks of precum on Peter’s leather pants. He fisted a hand in Neal’s hair and pulled him forward until Neal’s mouth was pressed against his thigh. “Clean up your mess.”
Neal lapped it up quickly. Sucked every last taste of himself off of Peter’s pants. Semen and leather. The combination made Neal moan, made his cock drip with precum. When he was finished he relaxed back into position.
“Good boy.” Neal flushed at the compliment, the way he always did when Peter stripped him of his clothes and masks and name. “Good boy,” he murmured, running his fingers through Neal’s hair for a minute. “Because you’re being so good for me, you get to chose. Do you want the crop, or the paddle?”
He let Neal think it over for a minute. Tugged on his hair when he needed an answer. “Could you - could you use them both? Master?”
“Greedy little slut,” he chuckled. He yanked Neal into a standing position and quickly bent him over the table. “It’s your birthday, boy. You can have whatever you want.”
He used the paddle first. It was his favorite - Neal preferred the crop. Even when Neal was deep in subspace - and from the way his eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out, he was well on his way there - he was still playing his little cons. Selfish enough to want the crop, especially since it was his birthday (and Peter had already teased him with it), but careful enough to ask for the paddle, too. He hefted the wooden instrument in his hand and smiled.
“Spread your legs open.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded deeper, huskier, meaner than normal. He was kind of getting into this. “Wider.”
On a normal night - well, for a loose definition of the word - he’d spank Neal more than thirty-three times. Neal, before he’d figured out that Peter knew what he was doing, had tried to top from the bottom. Provoked Peter into getting angry, disobeyed rules intentionally. Instead of spanking him, Peter’d put a cock ring on him and left him alone for a couple of days. When Neal had come back - apology sincere and cock swollen - Peter had tied him up and flogged him until he came. He knew what Neal wanted, knew what Neal needed. And since he wanted to keep it to thirty-three hits for tradition’s sake - well.
He’d played baseball in college.
The paddle whistled through the air and cracked against Neal’s skin. There was a second for the sound to echo before Neal cried out, a second for his body to realize the degree of pain that flashed through it. He sounded surprised and hurt but it wasn’t enough. Another hit and Neal was pulling at his cuffs and sobbing. Three more and Neal was rocking his hips back for more, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. His ass a dark, delicious red. Two more - one for each of Peter’s favorite curves, hard enough to make sure Neal would hurt in the morning when he sat down for breakfast - and he set the paddle down.
“Beautiful.”
He got the key for the cuffs and then grabbed the crop. Unlocked Neal’s hands and massaged his wrists for a minute. “You good?” Neal nodded. “Out loud, Neal.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Perfect. Now spread yourself open.” Neal whimpered. “Now.”
Neal reached back, gently placed his hands on the oversensitive skin that Peter had so carefully prepared, and spread his cheeks wide. Peter could see his hole. Could see a bit of his come dripping out of it.
When he hit Neal for the first time, some of his come got on the crop. Neal licked it off while Peter fingered him, two fingers shoved inside Neal’s body. The leather glove looked vicious against Neal’s skin.
He spanked Neal’s hole, over, and over, and over, until his perineum and crease and hole were the same shade of angry red. And then he kept going because he had a quota to meet.
Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, when Peter finally got the angle just right and laid hit after hit right where he wanted it, right where it would hurt the most - Neal came. Peter flipped the crop around in his hand and fucked Neal with the handle while he orgasmed, twisting it around and then shoving it hard against his prostate. “Good boy,” he crooned as Neal screamed.
“Thank you, Master,” Neal whispered when Peter finally stopped fucking him with the crop and pulled it out.
“Twenty-seven,” Peter replied, and kept going. He had to remind Neal, twice, to hold himself open. He added a couple extra hits for that, but eventually, he reached the end.
“Thirty-three,” he whispered. Neal let go of his cheeks and sagged against the table.
Peter picked up the paddle and laid one last hit, a hard one, across Neal’s ass. His whole body jerked when the wood made contact. “And one for good luck, as per request.”
He set the paddle aside and eased Neal into a standing position. Neal managed to support his own weight, but only for a second. Peter carried him to bed and made sure he was comfortable on his stomach before giving him a glass of water. Neal shuffled onto his elbows to drink it, and Peter sat down next to him on the bed.
“I, uh. I got you a present.”
Neal wiped the last of the tears from his eyes and peered up at Peter suspiciously.
“Should I - maybe I should wait until the morning to give it to you.” Neal looked exhausted.
“Presents now,” Neal demanded. “It’s my birthday. And my ass hurts. Give me something shiny.”
“Well, it’s not shiny,” Peter said, handing Neal the box. “And you don’t have to wear it, but - I wanted you to have it. I wanted you to know that I wanted to give it to you,” which had sounded much less stupid in his head. Maybe he should have just gotten Neal a tie.
Neal opened the box quickly, saw what was inside it, and froze. Peter bit his cheek and concentrated on not apologizing. On not tearing the box from Neal’s shaking hands until he had a chance to respond.
Neal reached for it slowly. His fingers hovered over the band of leather. It was simple, unadorned except for the silver clasp. “I thought you could wear it. When we’re alone. If you want to.”
“Do you want - does this mean - huh,” Neal said, trailing off as he finally touched the collar. “It’s soft,” he whispered.
“Yeah.” He’d wanted it to be comfortable.
“I love it,” Neal continued, and when he looked up at Peter his eyes were red and there may have been new tracks of tears down his face. Peter brushed his tears away with his thumbs and then kissed Neal’s wet cheeks, the tip of his nose, his parted lips.
“Happy birthday.”
*
comments are loved and adored!
Other housekeeping things to get done this week: collect and repost fics from promptfests, sentence fest, and then also post them to comms! And post my last...three or four White Collar fics to comms, too. And also to AO3. I am really bad at that, for some reason. It feels...like. Like I'm saying: "DAMN, I think my fic is SO GOOD, look at me promote it! READ IT." When in fact my actual train of thought is "ohmygod, please please please don't everybody hate it."
Project Honesty (aka "The Quest for Self-Esteem"), she is ongoing.
ANYWHO. HERE IS SOME PORN! Originally posted for elrhiarhodan's Promptest V here! The prompt was "Peter - Leather."
BWAHAHAHA.
Title: equilibrium
Author: hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Neal/Peter
Content Advisory: BDSM, spanking, leather. And, uh. Schmoop.
Summary: It's Neal's birthday, and Peter's got a few surprises for him...
*
"Call me master." He ran the leather crop around the curve of Neal's chin and tilted his head up. Smiled at the obvious desire written across Neal's face. When he pressed the crop against Neal's lips, he kissed it. Neal's nostrils flared and he let out a quiet moan when Peter left the crop there for another second. Neal liked the way leather smelled. Peter liked to make Neal happy. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Master."
And somehow, it didn’t sound stupid. Didn’t sound like a game or a bad porno or like Neal was talking to someone else. Somehow, with Neal naked and cuffed and on his knees, it sounded...reverent. He wrapped his hand around Neal's throat, smooth leather sliding across Neal's stubble, and swallowed the jolt of arousal that shot through his body when Neal closed his eyes and bared his neck.
He guided Neal until he was standing, and then led him over to the chair. "Across my lap, boy." Neal moaned and his whole body swayed towards Peter, his hard cock jerking helplessly in the air.
It was awkward for Neal. Getting into the right position with his hands cuffed behind his back and his cock begging for attention. Neal's cock was flush against the outside of Peter's thigh when he finally wriggled into place. Neal didn't stop moving, though. He just kept writhing - trying to rub his cock against the soft leather of Peter's pants.
"Stop."
He backed up his order with a sharp slap to Neal's ass. Neal went still. He was breathing a bit too fast, shoulders pulled tight. Peter could feel the heat of his cock against his leg.
"Happy birthday," he murmured.
He liked spanking Neal with his hand. Liked the way he could gauge the exact force of it, liked the way Neal's flesh bounced beneath his palm, liked the way the force of it jolted through his wrist and up his arm. Loved the way Neal’s pale flesh flushed red in the shape of his hand. It was even better with the gloves on. He squeezed Neal's cheek in his hand, black leather against tender skin. He liked the way it looked so he did it again. Neal whined prettily every time.
Ten strokes of his hand. Four hits on each of Neal's cheeks and two on the place where ass met thigh, Peter's favorite curve. He'd made a list, one morning. Detailed all of his favorite curves. Had licked and bit his way across Neal's body, counting them all off, and had made Neal come twice before he'd finished.
"Twenty-three more to go." Neal's back was already slick with sweat, his ass an uneven collage of red.
"And one more for good luck," Neal added.
Peter rested his forearm across Neal's lower back to hold him down and spanked him, hard, five more times. Neal yelled and writhed, but Peter held him firmly in place. "What are you supposed to call me, Neal?"
"Master, oh, Master, I didn't meant to forget - " One more slap and Neal shut up.
"Are you still hard, boy?" Neal nodded. Peter threaded his fingers through the sweaty hair at the nape of Neal’s neck. Then he made Neal lick the sweat from his fingers, thrusting them in and out idly while Neal got them as wet as he could. And then he slid his gloved fingers between Neal's cheeks. Stroked insistently at Neal's hole, spit-slick leather against delicate skin.
Neal, being unusually obedient, kept absolutely still. He shook a bit - it wasn't an easy position to hold - but he didn't press back against Peter's hand, didn't try to get himself off against Peter's thigh.
He slapped Neal’s hole lightly and then carefully eased Neal onto his knees. Neal had left streaks of precum on Peter’s leather pants. He fisted a hand in Neal’s hair and pulled him forward until Neal’s mouth was pressed against his thigh. “Clean up your mess.”
Neal lapped it up quickly. Sucked every last taste of himself off of Peter’s pants. Semen and leather. The combination made Neal moan, made his cock drip with precum. When he was finished he relaxed back into position.
“Good boy.” Neal flushed at the compliment, the way he always did when Peter stripped him of his clothes and masks and name. “Good boy,” he murmured, running his fingers through Neal’s hair for a minute. “Because you’re being so good for me, you get to chose. Do you want the crop, or the paddle?”
He let Neal think it over for a minute. Tugged on his hair when he needed an answer. “Could you - could you use them both? Master?”
“Greedy little slut,” he chuckled. He yanked Neal into a standing position and quickly bent him over the table. “It’s your birthday, boy. You can have whatever you want.”
He used the paddle first. It was his favorite - Neal preferred the crop. Even when Neal was deep in subspace - and from the way his eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out, he was well on his way there - he was still playing his little cons. Selfish enough to want the crop, especially since it was his birthday (and Peter had already teased him with it), but careful enough to ask for the paddle, too. He hefted the wooden instrument in his hand and smiled.
“Spread your legs open.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. It sounded deeper, huskier, meaner than normal. He was kind of getting into this. “Wider.”
On a normal night - well, for a loose definition of the word - he’d spank Neal more than thirty-three times. Neal, before he’d figured out that Peter knew what he was doing, had tried to top from the bottom. Provoked Peter into getting angry, disobeyed rules intentionally. Instead of spanking him, Peter’d put a cock ring on him and left him alone for a couple of days. When Neal had come back - apology sincere and cock swollen - Peter had tied him up and flogged him until he came. He knew what Neal wanted, knew what Neal needed. And since he wanted to keep it to thirty-three hits for tradition’s sake - well.
He’d played baseball in college.
The paddle whistled through the air and cracked against Neal’s skin. There was a second for the sound to echo before Neal cried out, a second for his body to realize the degree of pain that flashed through it. He sounded surprised and hurt but it wasn’t enough. Another hit and Neal was pulling at his cuffs and sobbing. Three more and Neal was rocking his hips back for more, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. His ass a dark, delicious red. Two more - one for each of Peter’s favorite curves, hard enough to make sure Neal would hurt in the morning when he sat down for breakfast - and he set the paddle down.
“Beautiful.”
He got the key for the cuffs and then grabbed the crop. Unlocked Neal’s hands and massaged his wrists for a minute. “You good?” Neal nodded. “Out loud, Neal.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Perfect. Now spread yourself open.” Neal whimpered. “Now.”
Neal reached back, gently placed his hands on the oversensitive skin that Peter had so carefully prepared, and spread his cheeks wide. Peter could see his hole. Could see a bit of his come dripping out of it.
When he hit Neal for the first time, some of his come got on the crop. Neal licked it off while Peter fingered him, two fingers shoved inside Neal’s body. The leather glove looked vicious against Neal’s skin.
He spanked Neal’s hole, over, and over, and over, until his perineum and crease and hole were the same shade of angry red. And then he kept going because he had a quota to meet.
Somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, when Peter finally got the angle just right and laid hit after hit right where he wanted it, right where it would hurt the most - Neal came. Peter flipped the crop around in his hand and fucked Neal with the handle while he orgasmed, twisting it around and then shoving it hard against his prostate. “Good boy,” he crooned as Neal screamed.
“Thank you, Master,” Neal whispered when Peter finally stopped fucking him with the crop and pulled it out.
“Twenty-seven,” Peter replied, and kept going. He had to remind Neal, twice, to hold himself open. He added a couple extra hits for that, but eventually, he reached the end.
“Thirty-three,” he whispered. Neal let go of his cheeks and sagged against the table.
Peter picked up the paddle and laid one last hit, a hard one, across Neal’s ass. His whole body jerked when the wood made contact. “And one for good luck, as per request.”
He set the paddle aside and eased Neal into a standing position. Neal managed to support his own weight, but only for a second. Peter carried him to bed and made sure he was comfortable on his stomach before giving him a glass of water. Neal shuffled onto his elbows to drink it, and Peter sat down next to him on the bed.
“I, uh. I got you a present.”
Neal wiped the last of the tears from his eyes and peered up at Peter suspiciously.
“Should I - maybe I should wait until the morning to give it to you.” Neal looked exhausted.
“Presents now,” Neal demanded. “It’s my birthday. And my ass hurts. Give me something shiny.”
“Well, it’s not shiny,” Peter said, handing Neal the box. “And you don’t have to wear it, but - I wanted you to have it. I wanted you to know that I wanted to give it to you,” which had sounded much less stupid in his head. Maybe he should have just gotten Neal a tie.
Neal opened the box quickly, saw what was inside it, and froze. Peter bit his cheek and concentrated on not apologizing. On not tearing the box from Neal’s shaking hands until he had a chance to respond.
Neal reached for it slowly. His fingers hovered over the band of leather. It was simple, unadorned except for the silver clasp. “I thought you could wear it. When we’re alone. If you want to.”
“Do you want - does this mean - huh,” Neal said, trailing off as he finally touched the collar. “It’s soft,” he whispered.
“Yeah.” He’d wanted it to be comfortable.
“I love it,” Neal continued, and when he looked up at Peter his eyes were red and there may have been new tracks of tears down his face. Peter brushed his tears away with his thumbs and then kissed Neal’s wet cheeks, the tip of his nose, his parted lips.
“Happy birthday.”
*
comments are loved and adored!