White Collar Ficlet: Lessons Learned
Title: Lessons Learned
Author: non_sequential
Rating: R
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal, Peter/El
Word Count: 570
Many thanks to lokifan for the beta.
Summary: Neal learns a lesson about letting himself into people’s houses.
It had never occurred to Neal to fantasise about El. Despite the fact that she was beautiful, smart and genuinely kind, she was Peter’s, and that was that.
Now he wished he could stop it occurring to him. Normally if he walked in on someone having an intimate moment he would just quietly walk back out again. But there was nothing normal about walking in on Peter and El fucking against the bookcase in the living room like they hadn’t seen each other in months.
El had her back to the bookcase and her legs wrapped around Peter’s waist. Her shoes, pantyhose and panties were tangled with Peter’s work shirt in a decadently careless heap on the floor, her skirt was ruched up around her waist, and her blouse hung open. One hand was wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, fingernails digging into his shoulderblade; the other reached up behind her, clinging to the shelf for balance, or perhaps sanity.
Peter, with his pants hanging around his thighs, should have looked ridiculous but his pale skin glowed in the low light, and the way his head was thrown back as El bit hard on his collarbone, the thrust of his hips, was artistry.
In a surprisingly graceful move, Peter somehow lifted El a little higher, changed their angle. El raised her head, letting go of Peter’s collarbone, and moaned. It was like he was seeing someone else. The sweet smile was gone, as was the cute little smug smirk. El’s eyes were wide, her mouth open a little, expression both intensely focussed and utterly heedless.
He must have made a noise. He must have. They both turned their heads toward him at the same moment. He wasn’t sure whether arousal or embarrassment would kill him first. “Sorry. Sorry, really sorry. I’ll just- uh.” He waved his hand at the door he’d let himself in through. Peter just blinked at him. He stumbled a little over his own feet as he stepped back and El looked like she was biting back laughter, teeth biting into her own lusciously swollen lip. He could feel himself going a little crazy around the eyes.
He wasn’t exactly sure how he got home. He more or less phased out until he was at June’s, sitting at his own dining table with his second glass of wine. He was almost afraid to go to bed. Even just closing his eyes for a moment had him envisioning the tilt of El’s neck, the way her foot rested on the curve of Peter’s ass. God only knew what would happen in his dreams.
His third glass of wine led him to try and exorcise the images from his brain. The charcoal swept smoothly over the sheet of paper on his easel. The strong line of Peter’s shoulders, the fierce clutch of El’s fingers, the pile of discarded clothes at Peter’s feet - the images flowed from his mind’s eye onto the page. It didn’t help. He went to refill his glass, but only a few drops dribbled from the bottle. He looked at his glass, then back to the easel. He gave up and took a shower. The tiled walls echoed to the sound of his shout as he came quite spectacularly, leaving him as limp and wrung out as his flannel.
The next morning at work, Peter just said, “This is why normal people knock, Caffrey.” Neal put on his best cocky grin and shrugged. It was going to play hell with his concentration at work, but it was hardly incentive to start knocking.
Author: non_sequential
Rating: R
Genre and/or Pairing: Neal, Peter/El
Word Count: 570
Many thanks to lokifan for the beta.
Summary: Neal learns a lesson about letting himself into people’s houses.
It had never occurred to Neal to fantasise about El. Despite the fact that she was beautiful, smart and genuinely kind, she was Peter’s, and that was that.
Now he wished he could stop it occurring to him. Normally if he walked in on someone having an intimate moment he would just quietly walk back out again. But there was nothing normal about walking in on Peter and El fucking against the bookcase in the living room like they hadn’t seen each other in months.
El had her back to the bookcase and her legs wrapped around Peter’s waist. Her shoes, pantyhose and panties were tangled with Peter’s work shirt in a decadently careless heap on the floor, her skirt was ruched up around her waist, and her blouse hung open. One hand was wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, fingernails digging into his shoulderblade; the other reached up behind her, clinging to the shelf for balance, or perhaps sanity.
Peter, with his pants hanging around his thighs, should have looked ridiculous but his pale skin glowed in the low light, and the way his head was thrown back as El bit hard on his collarbone, the thrust of his hips, was artistry.
In a surprisingly graceful move, Peter somehow lifted El a little higher, changed their angle. El raised her head, letting go of Peter’s collarbone, and moaned. It was like he was seeing someone else. The sweet smile was gone, as was the cute little smug smirk. El’s eyes were wide, her mouth open a little, expression both intensely focussed and utterly heedless.
He must have made a noise. He must have. They both turned their heads toward him at the same moment. He wasn’t sure whether arousal or embarrassment would kill him first. “Sorry. Sorry, really sorry. I’ll just- uh.” He waved his hand at the door he’d let himself in through. Peter just blinked at him. He stumbled a little over his own feet as he stepped back and El looked like she was biting back laughter, teeth biting into her own lusciously swollen lip. He could feel himself going a little crazy around the eyes.
He wasn’t exactly sure how he got home. He more or less phased out until he was at June’s, sitting at his own dining table with his second glass of wine. He was almost afraid to go to bed. Even just closing his eyes for a moment had him envisioning the tilt of El’s neck, the way her foot rested on the curve of Peter’s ass. God only knew what would happen in his dreams.
His third glass of wine led him to try and exorcise the images from his brain. The charcoal swept smoothly over the sheet of paper on his easel. The strong line of Peter’s shoulders, the fierce clutch of El’s fingers, the pile of discarded clothes at Peter’s feet - the images flowed from his mind’s eye onto the page. It didn’t help. He went to refill his glass, but only a few drops dribbled from the bottle. He looked at his glass, then back to the easel. He gave up and took a shower. The tiled walls echoed to the sound of his shout as he came quite spectacularly, leaving him as limp and wrung out as his flannel.
The next morning at work, Peter just said, “This is why normal people knock, Caffrey.” Neal put on his best cocky grin and shrugged. It was going to play hell with his concentration at work, but it was hardly incentive to start knocking.