Fic: The Trial
Title: The Trial
Author: rabidchild67.livejournal.com
Rating: Mildly NC-17
Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter
Spoilers: None - pre-series
Summary: From the following excellent prompt at collarkink: "After Peter catches Neal for the first time, there must have been a trial, right? I want them staring at each other across the courtroom, with some nice UST and just a touch of angst." This was my take.
Warnings/Triggers: General slashiness and potential bad grammar
Word Count: ~3800
Disclaimer: Must I? If I owned them, they'd be shirtless and making out in every episode.
A/N: I prolly should've thought to get Kate or Mozzie more in here, but forgot.
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Arraignment
“Agent Burke, so nice to see you again,” said Assistant State’s Attorney Audrey Gelb, rising and proffering her hand.
“Ms. Gelb,” Peter greeted her, smiling. “Where’s the prisoner?”
“He should be - ah, here they are.”
Peter and Audrey turned as two burly US Marshalls arrived at the end of the hall, flanking an uncharacteristically subdued Neal Caffrey. The suspect was wearing a navy blue Armani three-button suit of impeccable fit, with pale blue matching shirt and tie. His hair was slicked back and his face bore a blank expression, but Peter caught - or so he thought - just the slightest flash of irritation as their eyes met. He was shuffling, of course, due to the chains that bound him hand and foot, and this was no doubt the source of his annoyance.
“Peter, you came,” Neal greeted him, his manner outwardly pleasant, but Peter could see the resentment in his eyes.
“Neal. If you’re good, I’ll ask the Marshalls to remove those chains.”
“Or, you could do it yourself,” Neal said, lowering his lashes and raising an eyebrow.
Peter regarded him closely, stepped forward and gestured to the Marshall for the keys. He took hold of the prisoner’s hands to free them, but at that moment Neal lowered his arms completely so that Peter had to stoop a bit. As he maneuvered Neal's hands so that he could have better access to the locks, they ever so slightly brushed up against his crotch. Peter felt his cock jump at the brief touch, glanced up at Neal. His eyes were unreadable, but he had his mouth quirked at an odd angle, as if he were testing his limits.
Peter finished unlocking his hands and handed Neal the keys. “You can get down and do the ankles yourself,” he said, keeping his tone light but not taking his eyes off of Neal's.
Neal sank to one knee, undoing the lock on first his left, then right foot. He stayed down there for half a moment, and glanced up. Again their eyes locked, and Peter was suddenly overcome with the image of Neal on his knees, Peter's hands in his hair, fucking the con’s mouth. He took a hasty step back and cleared his throat.
“So, shall we?” Peter said to Audrey, escorting her into the courtroom.
Neal couldn’t take his eyes off of the back of Peter's head as the door swung shut behind him.
Jury Selection
Neal woke suddenly, jarred by the sudden stopping of the prison van as it pulled into the parking lot at the Federal court house. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so preoccupied was he by the promise of seeing Peter Burke once again.
Their encounter at his arraignment was stuck on repeat in his brain, a welcome distraction from the boredom of his day-to-day existence in the Federal holding facility he now called home. It had been three months since that day, and yet the memory of that fleeting contact, kneeling before Peter, their eyes meeting had fueled many a masturbation session within the relative quiet of his holding cell.
Neal was naturally anxious this morning, excited and maybe even dreading the possibility of seeing the FBI agent again. So it was not without a twinge of disappointment that Neal realized that Peter had not come to court for the jury selection at his trial.
His eyes scanned the gallery again and he realized he hadn’t missed it - Peter was in fact, not in attendance that day. He didn’t know why he’d expected him to be there - it wasn’t like it was the usual thing for an arresting officer to be present for all phases of a suspect’s trial. And yet Neal felt unusually dejected at the agent’s absence.
The day wore on at a snail’s pace, both defense and prosecution questioning potential jurors, rejecting or accepting them based on reasons Neal could care less about. His mind was still preoccupied with Peter Burke. Burke…hmmm…how had he gotten so obsessed? He thought he knew where exactly, it was the day they first met.
His mind willingly flashed back to that day long ago when Neal, feeling cockier than usual, had decided to tweak the agent assigned to the bond forgeries. Neal hadn’t been identified as the suspect yet, but the FBI were closing in. Mozzie had a friend at the Bureau at the time who’d feed him tidbits of info, so Neal knew that much, as well as the name of the agent in charge. A more cautious man would’ve blown out of town at the merest whiff of the FBI’s involvement, but Neal had long ago cast caution to the wind.
He followed Peter around the city for the better part of the morning, staying well behind but carefully observing - getting to know his mark. At last he thought he could get close enough, so he waited until the agent was leaving a diner after lunch to lift his wallet. And he almost got away with it.
“Oh, excuse me,” Neal said with a smile as he bumped into Peter halfway up the block, sliding his fingers through the side of Peter's suit jacket to reach the wallet in the back pocket. But Peter must’ve felt something, because he grabbed Neal by the wrist, his grip like iron, twisting Neal's arm around painfully as he swung his own body away.
“What are you crazy, kid?” Peter hissed. “I’m a federal agent. Don’t you think I made you following me around all day?”
That was surprising, Neal thought, this guys’ got more on the ball than most.
“What is wrong with you?” Peter continued, seeming to be more annoyed than anything at the moment.
Neal started to struggle, earning him a vicious twist of his arm from Peter. “Ow!” he yelled. Peter pushed at him, propelling him across the sidewalk and into the wall of the nearest building. Neal's cheek smacked into the brickface and he saw stars. Peter was right behind him, spun him around and held him against the wall with his arm across his collarbone. He reached for the cuffs in his jacket pocket.
Neal saw where this would inevitably lead and thought fast. “Oh, nuh-uh, Daddy!” he yelled in his best street kid accent, “You don’t pay, I no lay! Whatchu think, I’m runnin’ a charity?!”
“What?”
“Get yer hands offa me!” Neal yelled some more, drawing a small crowd of amused onlookers. He pushed the shocked agent away from him, and Peter took a step back, but kept his hand on Neal’s shoulder, still restraining him. “You are creasing the merchandise!”
“This kid tried to lift my wallet,” Peter tried to explain to an elderly matron and her caretaker.
“Uh-huh. Tell it to your wife, playa!”
“Huh?” Peter really did not seem to understand what was happening. Neal pressed his advantage.
“Can you believe this guy trying to stiff me? After I treat him so gooood?” Neal thrust his hips suggestively. The matron sniffed and hurried off. Neal couldn’t suppress a grin as Peter looked at him with a stunned expression, using the agent’s momentary confusion to twist away from him and run off. Peter, ears and face flushed from the encounter, made a half-hearted attempt to chase him but soon gave up. Neal couldn’t resist a chance to gloat, and so paused to spin around about a half block away, grinned at Peter and ducked down the nearest alley.
The bang of the judge’s gavel brought Neal out of his reverie. “OK, we’re settled then. This trial will begin Monday at 9:00 sharp with opening statements.”
The Prosecution’s Case
Peter arrived bright and early on the morning of Neal's trial to review his testimony with the prosecution one last time. As the US Attorney’s chief witness, his testimony would be key to putting Caffrey away for a long time. Not that he necessarily relished that idea - he’d grown a bit fond of the con man over the months and years of his pursuit, marveling at the young man’s brashness, insouciance and yes, dammit, professionalism. And he’d be lying to himself if the little encounter with Neal before the arraignment hadn’t stirred something inside of Peter.
Happily married man, Peter kept reminding himself in the days and weeks since that day. He also convinced himself that the stirrings he’d felt at Neal's touch were the result of El’s being out of town at the time. He was horny, simply put. He wasn’t at all responding to the con’s bright, mischievous eyes, his intellect and quick wit, those lips and even, white teeth he longed to lave with his tongue for hours…
Mmm-hmmm: horny.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?” Peter renewed his focus on the meeting at hand.
An hour later, Peter joined the prosecutor’s team in the courtroom just prior to the scheduled start, chatting about Bowl games and college football - all safe subjects. The defendant and his team of lawyers arrived a moment later, and Peter drifted away as the legal minds greeted each other. He didn’t feel like fraternizing with the opposition, and so it was with surprise that he realized Neal had sidled up to him a moment later.
“Good morning,” Neal greeted him warmly, holding out his hand.
Peter took the proffered hand and shook it, returning the pleasantry. He glanced up and met Neal's eyes as the young man held on to his hand for just a beat too long. There was an intensity in Neal's eyes, but it lasted only a moment. Neal smiled again, his manner all lightness and familiarity. Peter decided Neal was trying to put him off his game, and he was determined not to play along. He cleared his throat.
“I’d wish you luck if we weren’t on opposing sides,” Peter said.
“Thank you. I was thinking of you at the jury selection last week.”
“Oh?”
“I think about you a lot,” Neal purred, his voice low, almost a whisper. His eyes bored into Peter's, eyebrow raised, mouth quirked to the side. Peter felt a familiar heat rising within his face, moving down his chest and settling somewhere south of his belt. He cleared his throat again. Yep, Neal was definitely trying to put him off his game. He leaned in despite himself and said, “You should be putting those thoughts to better use, like your defense.”
Neal stepped back and smiled, hands raised in front of him, palms out, like a priest during the benediction. “I have time for lots of thoughts,” he said and headed over to take his seat.
A minute later the judge arrived and the proceedings began. Peter took a seat just behind the prosecutor’s team and managed to pay attention to her opening statements for all of twenty minutes before he found himself staring at Neal Caffrey.
From his seat behind and across the aisle, Peter had a full view of the side of the younger man’s face. He soon became transfixed by Neal’s jaw and the way the muscles moved under the skin when he clenched his teeth in reaction to some statement made by the prosecutor. He noticed the slight ghosting of dark stubble there, a tiny nick where the razor had cut him. His eyes lingered at the way Neal's hair curled over the collar of his shirt, and ever so slightly behind his ears. And of course his mind began to wander.
He imagined himself lying in bed with Neal, stretched out behind him, naked. He would prop himself up on his elbow, and fondle the thick, shiny hair that curled around his perfect, shell-like ear. He would lean forward then, kissing Neal on the jaw just below that ear. Neal would moan in response, deep in his throat like a purr, and press back against Peter's chest, increasing the contact of skin on skin. A moment later, Neal would roll over and face him, look at him with those bright eyes that seemed to see right into his mind, knowing everything in an instant. He would take Neal's mouth then, kiss him, claim his tongue with his own. Neal's hips would press against him, he would hook his leg around Peter's hip, the heat as their erections ground against each other would be so sweetly unbearable…
“Call Special Agent Peter Burke to the stand,” the bailiff’s voice rang out and Peter was forced to come crashing back to reality.
Peter jumped at hearing his name, though not as noticeably as he thought. He looked around, at the attorneys that looked at him with expectant faces, and smiled, defensively. He thanked whatever instinct he’d had to have brought his portfolio with him, because he needed it to hide the bulge of his half-erect cock in his pants. He walked up to the witness stand with more confidence than he felt, swore to tell the truth and uncomfortably took his seat.
The Defense’s Case
To Neal, his trial was a mere formality. He freely admitted to himself that the government had an extremely strong case and, given his multitude of other sins, a conviction for bond forgery was probably the least of all evils. Still, he participated as enthusiastically as he supposed he ought to, if for no other reason than to play the role he’d been given.
But he found his ability to focus on the proceedings hindered by the intense scrutiny he sensed coming from Special Agent Peter Burke. Neal was no naïf, he’d been around the block a few (hundred) times. He was not so conceited that he thought every eye in the room was on him (though of course they were). Still, there was no mistaking the heat in Peter's eyes whenever Neal caught him staring, or the man’s obvious discomfort whenever Neal managed to sidle up close to him during breaks in the proceedings. Which he managed to do as often as possible.
By Wednesday morning, Neal's lawyer began presenting her case. Neal liked her - she was a sharp woman in her fifties who wore horn rimmed glasses on a chain around her neck and reminded Neal of the grandmother he never had. He didn’t know where Mozzie’d found her, but in his imagination, she donned latex and disciplined Mozzie severely on the weekends.
Neal's attention soon began to wane and he took to doodling to pass the time. At first, he recreated perfectly a $100 bill on his legal pad. Next, he did daVinci’s the Last Supper featuring members of the jury as the twelve apostles. Finally, he sketched a reclining nude - an original - with Peter Burke as the subject.
This last one he quite liked, and took it with him when he left the courtroom that afternoon.
The Verdict
On Friday morning, the defense rested its case. Closing arguments were quickly dispatched and the judged charged the jury with his final instructions. There was nothing to do but wait.
Peter found he could not leave the courthouse, even though he knew he had a pile of files waiting for him on his desk. Something told him the jury’s deliberations would not take long, and he didn’t want to miss it. He found himself in an unoccupied waiting room, unpacked his deviled ham sandwich and a cup of coffee and checked his emails on his Blackberry.
The door opened and a bailiff ushered Neal in. “I’m sorry, this room is usually empty this time of day,” the man apologized.
“No worries, come on in.” Peter's eyes met Neal's. Neal smiled disarmingly. Peter cleared his throat.
“Hey, you don’t mind if I leave him here with you? I’ve got to meet my lady round back…”
Peter looked at Neal again; the con cocked an eyebrow. “Sure,” Peter said, voice sounding kinder than he felt.
“Thanks, man. I owe you one.” He tossed Peter the keys to Neal's handcuffs and split.
Peter looked up at Neal once they were alone, jiggled the key from its ring. Neal moved over and held out his hands. “Don’t know why I’m bothering. I’m sure you could slip these in half a minute,” he said lightly.
Neal took a step closer and placed his palms on Peter's chest. The intimacy of the touch was not lost on Peter, who tried not to show a reaction. “Yes, but this is much easier. Hey, listen, I don’t think I have had the chance to thank you yet.”
Peter looked up from unhooking the cuffs, incredulity replacing his neutral expression. “Thank me?”
“Yes. You know, through this whole thing, the arrest, interrogation, trial…you’ve always acted professionally. Lesser men would’ve found at least one excuse to slug me. Not you.”
“OK, then, you’re welcome for the lack of police brutality. I suppose I could return the compliment. You, Neal Caffrey are a model criminal.” He smiled, knowing how ridiculous that sounded.
“But seriously, in a twisted way, I think I will miss having you in my life now this is over, Peter. Just want you to know, no hard feelings.” Neal held his hand out, and Peter took it to shake it, but then Neal pulled him forward with a sharp tug and suddenly, impossibly, Neal's mouth was on his.
At first, Peter was so surprised he didn’t react, but then he pulled his head back and looked down at Neal. Their hands were still clasped. Neal looked up at him, pupils wide and dark inside impossibly blue irises, and whispered, “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks now.”
“I…umm…listen Neal…”
“I know. You’re a married man, and I’m doomed to a life behind bars. But don’t deny there hasn’t been an attraction here,” Neal gestured between them both, glanced down and saw the bulge in Peter's pants. He reached down and placed his palm over it. Peter groaned, his hips pressing into Neal's hand involuntarily. “Can’t you just, I dunno, send me off to prison with a happy memory?”
Damn it! Peter thought, briefly, before leaning in and taking Neal's mouth with his own. The kiss was frantic, desperate, reflecting the hunger each felt for the other. Within a minute, it was almost too intense. Peter pulled away a bit, buried his face in Neal's neck and moaned.
“Peter! Peter!” Neal gasped, and pressed himself against Peter, left hand on the back of Peter's neck, breathing heavily in his ear. His right hand snaked around to the small of Peter's back as Neal hooked his leg over Peter's hip, ground his crotch against Peter's, rutting against him desperately.
“No, no, no,” Peter breathed, dislodging Neal's leg and reaching down between them. He undid Neal's belt, opened his pants and reached his hand down and inside. Neal's erect cock jumped at his touch as he freed it from its cloth prison, and he moaned, “God! Peter!” as Peter ran his thumbnail over the slit. Wanting to make as little noise as possible, and unsure of how much time they had left, Peter stifled Neal's next exclamation with a kiss, hard and insistent. He stroked Neal's dick, using his precum as lube.
Neal was close, fucking Peter's hand. At last he broke the kiss with Peter, threw his head back, eyes wide, breath hitching on the cry he forced himself to suppress. When it was over, he was trembling, completely undone. Peter leaned in and kissed him again, kissed him until he quietened, until he was strong again.
Finally, they broke apart and stood there, panting slightly and eyeing each other. Neal wordlessly handed Peter a handkerchief, cleaned himself up with the tail of his shirt and did up his trousers and belt. Peter cleaned his hand and handed the handkerchief back to Neal, whose eyes shone as he looked at him.
Neal gestured towards Peter's hard-on. “Want me to - “
Peter smiled and shook his head. That, he told himself, was for Elizabeth. “Thanks, but no. That bailiff will be back any second.” One brief encounter, that’s all it was, but it would fuel each man’s fantasy life for months to come.
Soon, there was a movement at the door. The bailiff had returned. “The jury’s back,” he said.
“Oh,” Neal said, and glanced over at Peter. With a verdict coming down this quickly, there was little doubt of what it was. A shadow of doubt, trace of fear flitted across Neal's face, and at once he looked like a scared boy. Peter's heart broke. But sooner than it had fallen, Neal replaced his mask-of-indifference, smoothed his hair, straightened his vest and followed the bailiff out of the room.
Peter waited a few minutes for his erection to subside before returning to the courtroom. This time, he took a seat behind Neal, hoping his proximity would provide a bit of needed support or comfort. He glanced over at the jury as they filed into the room. None of them looked over at the defendant. Not a good sign.
Neal was instructed to stand while the verdict was read. Guilty on all counts. Peter thought he saw Neal's shoulders slump ever so slightly. He realized then that, despite all his apparent bravado, Neal was holding out hope that he’d skate on the charges, however slim it was. Peter felt for him, even as his mind realized he’d notched another win for the white collar division. The victory felt hollow.
The bailiffs approached to lead Neal away to his cell. Peter stood, followed them to the exit and called out to them. Just outside the door, they paused. “Mind if I have a last word with the prisoner?”
Neal looked up at Peter, face pale, eyes dull, defeated. “I’m sorry,” Peter said. “I wish things could’ve been different.”
“We’ll always have Paris,” Neal managed, and waggled an eyebrow. Peter's ears turned red, but he smiled just the same. “Don’t forget me.”
“As if I could. Take care of yourself, Neal.”
“I will.” And he turned and let the bailiff lead him away.
Peter returned to the office later in the afternoon, and filled Hughes in on the trial and all that had transpired. Like any good manager, he used the occasion as a reason to promote the success of his team, praising each one individually to the boss.
Later, as he settled down to work at his desk, he reached into his jacket to find his lucky Quantico pen. Instead, he found an origami flower tucked into his breast pocket. Caffrey must’ve slipped it in there at some point during their liaison. He smiled, and noticed there was something on the paper. He unfolded it and saw that it was a sketch of himself, cast as a reclining nude, and signed NC. He glanced around to be sure no one could see, and admired the man’s artistry. And largesse - he’d rendered Peter's musculature and other features very flatteringly.
As he folded the picture and put it away (would he show it to El later? probably), he permitted himself a small smile. Something told him he’d be seeing Neal Caffrey again someday. And something else inside him was looking forward to it.
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Thank you for your time.