STORY: Got To Dance (Neal/Peter, PG-13, slashorific2016)
Summary: They say that sometimes, you can express your feelings easier with a dance than with words. Neal and Peter take this sentiment to the next level.
Notes: Set in a pre-series AU, when Peter and Neal were playing their delicious game of cat-and-mouse on different sides of the law. Written for slashorific 2016, based on the quote “I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside. - F. Scott Fitzgerald.” Inspired by the artwork “ The Dance”, made by kanarek13 for my birthday last March. Beta-reading by sherylyn. Enjoy!
A shady club in Soho
Danger was in the air, more or less palpable. The lights just shy of being enough, only illuminating the few tables in the middle of the club, shrouding the rest in about a hundred different shades of grey.
Reasons enough already for any good citizen to steer away from the entrance, and even an experienced con man as he was, even Neal Caffrey felt his pulse accelerating due to the setting, if only for a bit.
Neal was here to finish a job, and if it would have been solely up to him, he definitely wouldn’t have chosen this establishment for their first, and final, rendezvous - Mozzie’s kind of friendship with the owner be damned.
Looking over to the entrance, Neal felt his heart doing a double-take. No, no, no, it couldn’t be. Not here, not now. Of all the clubs in the world, FBI agent Peter Burke, also known as the “bloodhound in a suit on his trail” (@ OT Mozzie), had to waltz right into this one. What the heck was he doing here? And why did he have to be here right now?
Pressing himself even further into the soft, red velvet cushions of the bench of his booth, Neal kept his eyes glued on the lawman. Usually, the older man had a knack for wearing ill-fitting suits and ties that were nothing else but an open attack on anyone’s eyes. But, as Neal noticed with just a bit of appreciation, tonight was obviously an exception to the rule.
Tonight, Peter was dressed in a navy blue suit, and Neal would win every bet that it was tailored (or at least close to that). Beneath the jacket, which put Peter’s broad shoulders in a near perfect frame (and Neal always favored perfect symmetries), the con man saw a dark shirt, but he was too far away to get a better look at the color. Anyway, Neal couldn’t care less about something as trivial as color right now. He felt something stirring inside of him, something that had been dormant for quite some time now.
Neal’s current train of thought was brought to a sudden halt when his “client,” who he hadn’t met before, dropped down on the bench beside him.
“Mr. Halsey, I presume.”
The words were softly spoken, and in any other case Neal would have to strain his ears to understand them properly, but this time, they felt like a scream to him.
“We finally meet in person.”
The other man extended a hand, and Neal had to pull up every ounce of his con man talents to keep himself on the professional side of his business.
“Hi, Mr.…”
“…Langston,” the other man supplied. “Peter Langston.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Neal said with as much conviction as possible in his voice, though he wasn’t sure if it was for Peter’s or his own sake.
They spent the next few minutes in small talk, brushing through a variety of themes. But just as they were about to finish the deal, their host, a slimy small-time crook with an ego twice as big as his body, interrupted.
“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast, Nick.” In the same second, one of his henchmen pressed the barrel of a gun to Peter’s neck.
“What’s up, Louie?” Neal asked, his mind already pulling up the club’s layout. When push came to shove, he and Peter needed an exit route, and they needed it fast.
“I don’t like him,” the crook answered with a gesture at Peter. “Doesn’t he look like a Fed to you, too?”
For show, Neal gave Peter a once-over. Somehow, he knew he had to stall the other criminals. “No, he doesn’t,” Neal finally answered while locking his gaze with Louie. “Do you really think I would rat you and your businesses out to the Feds? After everything you’ve done for me?”
“You see, Nick, that’s the problem with you,” Louie answered, “when it comes to business and friends, you’re as slimy as an eel, so no, I can’t trust you.” With that, Louie ended the conversation and turned to leave, but not before he gave an order to his henchmen. “Kill them. Both. Keep the briefcase. And dispose of their bodies.”
But as it turned out, the henchmen didn’t get far. Two of Louie’s dancers stopped them, and Neal couldn’t shake the feeling that they were FBI agents as well, just as the men were about to lead him and Peter to one of the backstage rooms.
Seizing the chance, Neal grabbed Peter’s hand, more out of instinct than anything else, and pulled him to the dancefloor, which had just begun to crowd with club goers. Before Peter even had the chance to react, Neal literally took the lead and pulled him in a classic dance position, the starting pose for a tango, to be precise.
To Neal’s surprise, Peter Burke apparently knew how to dance, quite well even, if he was honest. They moved as one, crossing the dancefloor in fluid motions, and for some seconds, Neal allowed himself to be lost in the dance.
From the entrance, shouts of, “Freeze! FBI!” could be heard, and for a minute, Neal thought that he was made, this time for good. But Peter surprised him again. Instead of arresting him on the spot, the older man led him over to a side exit (which Neal knew of) that brought them to the back alley of the club, where Peter happened to have a car waiting for him.
Still in some kind of trance, Neal got in, and before he knew it, they were at a hotel, and on their way up to what seemed to be a hotel suite for Peter’s current alias.
Once they were inside, Peter turned around and trapped Neal against the door with his body, who felt his whole body tingling with anticipation of the things to come.
“You know, Caffrey,” Peter began, his hands placed on both sides of Neal’s head now, “I could have handed you over to my team, finally putting an end to our little game.” Neal only nodded, not having any trust in his voice (and being turned on past the point of return, if the rush of blood to his nether regions was any indication). “But I know that you wouldn’t break in a traditional interrogation, you’re too good for that, so…”
“So this is an interrogation, then?” Neal was surprised at the sound of his own voice, the heavy arousal coursing through his body causing it to drop a few notches. “One that isn’t sanctioned by your bosses at the FBI, correct?” Well, if Burke wanted to play a different kind of game, Neal was all-in. He tried to read Peter’s eyes, but to his surprise, the usual light brown (according to his FBI file, the one that Mozzie had obtained once they knew a name to the face) was replaced by the darkest, deepest shade of chocolate brown Neal ever had seen. Next to unreadable, and so full of passion and desire that they threatened to explode and caused Neal to shudder inwardly - not with fear, but with anticipation. This could be a great night, after all.
“Yes, it is an interrogation.” Stepping back from the door, Peter grabbed Neal by the arm, leading him over to the middle of the room before letting his hands wander over Neal’s upper body (Neal couldn’t help but compare it to a body search at an airport) before coming to a stop on the lapels of Neal’s jacket.
“And to answer your question: No, my bosses at the FBI don’t know about this, any of it.” Peter’s face got closer and closer to Neal’s, and the mix of the other man’s breath and his aftershave was almost too much to take for Neal’s already heightened senses. Something was about to happen, and for once, the usually consummate con man couldn’t care less about it.
With a soft thud, Neal’s jacket landed at the carpeted floor in a heap. Though he was struggling, Neal couldn’t help but put up a bit of a fight. He wouldn’t let Peter Burke believe he was THAT easy to get, no, not at all.
“So you’re denying me my civil rights?” Neal challenged while taking a few steps backwards, putting some distance between him and Peter. The older man tried to follow, but Neal stopped him with a flick of his hands. “According to the constitution of the United States, I’m allowed one phone call. So, Peter, tell me: are you denying me placing a call to my lawyer?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
For a heartbeat, Peter was floored. Neal was indeed the best of all of them, galaxies better than any other con man he ever had met. And he had, apparently, enough willpower to go and try a diversion from Peter’s seduction route. Not to mention the most stunning pair of blue eyes, now full of fire and sparkles.
“No.” He saw Neal digging through the pockets of his jacket, apparently in search of his cell phone. “But I’m absolutely sure you won’t require any legal assistance in the near future.”
“You think so, Burke?” Neal said while getting up, closing the distance between them once again.
“Yeah, I do,” Peter answered while making work of Neal’s tie, which pretty soon joined the younger man’s jacket on the floor. Slowly and a bit awkwardly, they finally made their way over to the bedroom, with Neal losing almost all of his clothes, leaving him in only his briefs (which left next to nothing to imagination).
At long last, they were at the bed, and only then Neal’s brain, usually quicker on the intake, caught up with everything and ordered his hands to level the field once again, so to speak. Peter Burke was still wearing way too many clothes for his liking. Time to change that.
The next morning came around, and Neal was woken up by the first sunrays filtering in through the curtains, shrouding the whole room in a million shades of gold. Taking in his surroundings, Neal couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed at the discovery of being alone in the suite. As it turned out, sitting up - even in the soft bed - proved to be a challenge, but Neal was more than willing to take it. Pretty much every part of his body from the waist down was sore, but in the most wonderful way. And Neal wouldn’t want to have it any other way. With a little luck, this cat-and-mouse game he and Peter were playing would keep on continuing. Neal was definitely looking forward to it.
Notes: Set in a pre-series AU, when Peter and Neal were playing their delicious game of cat-and-mouse on different sides of the law. Written for slashorific 2016, based on the quote “I like people and I like them to like me, but I wear my heart where God put it, on the inside. - F. Scott Fitzgerald.” Inspired by the artwork “ The Dance”, made by kanarek13 for my birthday last March. Beta-reading by sherylyn. Enjoy!
A shady club in Soho
Danger was in the air, more or less palpable. The lights just shy of being enough, only illuminating the few tables in the middle of the club, shrouding the rest in about a hundred different shades of grey.
Reasons enough already for any good citizen to steer away from the entrance, and even an experienced con man as he was, even Neal Caffrey felt his pulse accelerating due to the setting, if only for a bit.
Neal was here to finish a job, and if it would have been solely up to him, he definitely wouldn’t have chosen this establishment for their first, and final, rendezvous - Mozzie’s kind of friendship with the owner be damned.
Looking over to the entrance, Neal felt his heart doing a double-take. No, no, no, it couldn’t be. Not here, not now. Of all the clubs in the world, FBI agent Peter Burke, also known as the “bloodhound in a suit on his trail” (@ OT Mozzie), had to waltz right into this one. What the heck was he doing here? And why did he have to be here right now?
Pressing himself even further into the soft, red velvet cushions of the bench of his booth, Neal kept his eyes glued on the lawman. Usually, the older man had a knack for wearing ill-fitting suits and ties that were nothing else but an open attack on anyone’s eyes. But, as Neal noticed with just a bit of appreciation, tonight was obviously an exception to the rule.
Tonight, Peter was dressed in a navy blue suit, and Neal would win every bet that it was tailored (or at least close to that). Beneath the jacket, which put Peter’s broad shoulders in a near perfect frame (and Neal always favored perfect symmetries), the con man saw a dark shirt, but he was too far away to get a better look at the color. Anyway, Neal couldn’t care less about something as trivial as color right now. He felt something stirring inside of him, something that had been dormant for quite some time now.
Neal’s current train of thought was brought to a sudden halt when his “client,” who he hadn’t met before, dropped down on the bench beside him.
“Mr. Halsey, I presume.”
The words were softly spoken, and in any other case Neal would have to strain his ears to understand them properly, but this time, they felt like a scream to him.
“We finally meet in person.”
The other man extended a hand, and Neal had to pull up every ounce of his con man talents to keep himself on the professional side of his business.
“Hi, Mr.…”
“…Langston,” the other man supplied. “Peter Langston.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Neal said with as much conviction as possible in his voice, though he wasn’t sure if it was for Peter’s or his own sake.
They spent the next few minutes in small talk, brushing through a variety of themes. But just as they were about to finish the deal, their host, a slimy small-time crook with an ego twice as big as his body, interrupted.
“Ah, ah, ah, not so fast, Nick.” In the same second, one of his henchmen pressed the barrel of a gun to Peter’s neck.
“What’s up, Louie?” Neal asked, his mind already pulling up the club’s layout. When push came to shove, he and Peter needed an exit route, and they needed it fast.
“I don’t like him,” the crook answered with a gesture at Peter. “Doesn’t he look like a Fed to you, too?”
For show, Neal gave Peter a once-over. Somehow, he knew he had to stall the other criminals. “No, he doesn’t,” Neal finally answered while locking his gaze with Louie. “Do you really think I would rat you and your businesses out to the Feds? After everything you’ve done for me?”
“You see, Nick, that’s the problem with you,” Louie answered, “when it comes to business and friends, you’re as slimy as an eel, so no, I can’t trust you.” With that, Louie ended the conversation and turned to leave, but not before he gave an order to his henchmen. “Kill them. Both. Keep the briefcase. And dispose of their bodies.”
But as it turned out, the henchmen didn’t get far. Two of Louie’s dancers stopped them, and Neal couldn’t shake the feeling that they were FBI agents as well, just as the men were about to lead him and Peter to one of the backstage rooms.
Seizing the chance, Neal grabbed Peter’s hand, more out of instinct than anything else, and pulled him to the dancefloor, which had just begun to crowd with club goers. Before Peter even had the chance to react, Neal literally took the lead and pulled him in a classic dance position, the starting pose for a tango, to be precise.
To Neal’s surprise, Peter Burke apparently knew how to dance, quite well even, if he was honest. They moved as one, crossing the dancefloor in fluid motions, and for some seconds, Neal allowed himself to be lost in the dance.
From the entrance, shouts of, “Freeze! FBI!” could be heard, and for a minute, Neal thought that he was made, this time for good. But Peter surprised him again. Instead of arresting him on the spot, the older man led him over to a side exit (which Neal knew of) that brought them to the back alley of the club, where Peter happened to have a car waiting for him.
Still in some kind of trance, Neal got in, and before he knew it, they were at a hotel, and on their way up to what seemed to be a hotel suite for Peter’s current alias.
Once they were inside, Peter turned around and trapped Neal against the door with his body, who felt his whole body tingling with anticipation of the things to come.
“You know, Caffrey,” Peter began, his hands placed on both sides of Neal’s head now, “I could have handed you over to my team, finally putting an end to our little game.” Neal only nodded, not having any trust in his voice (and being turned on past the point of return, if the rush of blood to his nether regions was any indication). “But I know that you wouldn’t break in a traditional interrogation, you’re too good for that, so…”
“So this is an interrogation, then?” Neal was surprised at the sound of his own voice, the heavy arousal coursing through his body causing it to drop a few notches. “One that isn’t sanctioned by your bosses at the FBI, correct?” Well, if Burke wanted to play a different kind of game, Neal was all-in. He tried to read Peter’s eyes, but to his surprise, the usual light brown (according to his FBI file, the one that Mozzie had obtained once they knew a name to the face) was replaced by the darkest, deepest shade of chocolate brown Neal ever had seen. Next to unreadable, and so full of passion and desire that they threatened to explode and caused Neal to shudder inwardly - not with fear, but with anticipation. This could be a great night, after all.
“Yes, it is an interrogation.” Stepping back from the door, Peter grabbed Neal by the arm, leading him over to the middle of the room before letting his hands wander over Neal’s upper body (Neal couldn’t help but compare it to a body search at an airport) before coming to a stop on the lapels of Neal’s jacket.
“And to answer your question: No, my bosses at the FBI don’t know about this, any of it.” Peter’s face got closer and closer to Neal’s, and the mix of the other man’s breath and his aftershave was almost too much to take for Neal’s already heightened senses. Something was about to happen, and for once, the usually consummate con man couldn’t care less about it.
With a soft thud, Neal’s jacket landed at the carpeted floor in a heap. Though he was struggling, Neal couldn’t help but put up a bit of a fight. He wouldn’t let Peter Burke believe he was THAT easy to get, no, not at all.
“So you’re denying me my civil rights?” Neal challenged while taking a few steps backwards, putting some distance between him and Peter. The older man tried to follow, but Neal stopped him with a flick of his hands. “According to the constitution of the United States, I’m allowed one phone call. So, Peter, tell me: are you denying me placing a call to my lawyer?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
For a heartbeat, Peter was floored. Neal was indeed the best of all of them, galaxies better than any other con man he ever had met. And he had, apparently, enough willpower to go and try a diversion from Peter’s seduction route. Not to mention the most stunning pair of blue eyes, now full of fire and sparkles.
“No.” He saw Neal digging through the pockets of his jacket, apparently in search of his cell phone. “But I’m absolutely sure you won’t require any legal assistance in the near future.”
“You think so, Burke?” Neal said while getting up, closing the distance between them once again.
“Yeah, I do,” Peter answered while making work of Neal’s tie, which pretty soon joined the younger man’s jacket on the floor. Slowly and a bit awkwardly, they finally made their way over to the bedroom, with Neal losing almost all of his clothes, leaving him in only his briefs (which left next to nothing to imagination).
At long last, they were at the bed, and only then Neal’s brain, usually quicker on the intake, caught up with everything and ordered his hands to level the field once again, so to speak. Peter Burke was still wearing way too many clothes for his liking. Time to change that.
The next morning came around, and Neal was woken up by the first sunrays filtering in through the curtains, shrouding the whole room in a million shades of gold. Taking in his surroundings, Neal couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed at the discovery of being alone in the suite. As it turned out, sitting up - even in the soft bed - proved to be a challenge, but Neal was more than willing to take it. Pretty much every part of his body from the waist down was sore, but in the most wonderful way. And Neal wouldn’t want to have it any other way. With a little luck, this cat-and-mouse game he and Peter were playing would keep on continuing. Neal was definitely looking forward to it.