Fic: Think of Me [Peter/Neal] (R)
Title:Think of Me
Author: turtlebaby_02
Fandom: White Collar
Written For: mmom 2014
Characters (Pairings): Peter/Neal
Rating: R
Word Count: 700
Warnings: Unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. I'm just playing.
Summary: Before he was a prisoner, he was just a voice on the other end of the phone.
Author's Note: Four of a kind, hellz yeah. In before the buzzer! Also, I might be obsessed with the idea of some torrid pre-jail affair, look for this to be ongoing inspiration throughout these stories.
It started with a phone call, from a South Dakota phone number, less than ten minutes after he'd finally set foot back on New York ground. He was jet lagged and hungry and mad as hell because Bonds had slipped away from them again. He'd just wasted a week chasing a ghost.
"Burke." He snapped into his phone as he hefted his bag, the phone trapped between his shoulder and his ear.
"Agent Burke, you sound tense. You should get a massage or something."
"Who is this?" He didn't have time for prank calls.
"I just wanted to call and tell you that I was sorry I missed you." There was a hiss of static as he let Peter's brain catch up. "Tell your wife I send my love." He chuckled and something hot twisted through Peter's belly. "Think of me." And then he was gone.
They traced the number to a bank of pay phones in a dinky little down in western South Dakota and Peter had an easy time conjuring up images of hats and red dirt clinging to his jeans. He didn't have a face, an image, but that didn't seem to matter, Peter thought of him anyway.
The next time they missed him he'd passed within feet of a security camera. They thought. They hoped. But Peter was sure, because he asked - when he called again.
"Agent Burke!" He sounded breathless and excited. "Isn't this fun?"
"Is this you?" He couldn't see the picture Peter was waving but Peter knew he knew, little bastard.
There was a sigh. "Honestly I was hoping you wouldn't find that." Peter could almost hear his shrug. "Do you like it? How do I look?"
Peter choked a little - there was no way this kid knew how much he liked it. No possible way he knew exactly how good Peter thought he looked.
But he laughed in a completely gentle way that told Peter that he did know. "Think of me." And he was gone again.
He stared hard at the grainy black and white photo for long stretches, mind filling in the blanks; blue eyes, he was sure. Easy smile and, by the looks of it, hair he had trouble keeping his own fingers out of.
Peter wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
And the calls kept coming - to his office, to his home, to his personal cell phone. And while he should have been concerned (or at least a little annoyed) that his information was so readily available to a criminal, he couldn't stop the spark of desire at his voice. And always: "Think of me."
And, oh, Peter did. For days after a call it was this unnamed beautiful man that came to life behind his eyelids when he had his hand around his cock. It was his breathless words and warm laugh that fueled the fire in his veins.
"Neal Caffrey." Peter all but laughed into the phone. "We've got your name now, Neal."
"Congratulations, Peter!" He actually sounded pleased. "May I call you Peter? Now that we're on a first name basis and all?"
Peter didn't admit to the way his pulse was thrumming at the use of his first name. "Sure, Neal. You'll call me whatever you want anyway, right?"
"No, Agent Burke." He sounded affronted. "I have more respect for you than that." A long pause. "I enjoy my name off your lips. I was hoping to return the favor."
Peter swallowed and tried to ignore his cock stirring again his leg. "Yeah, ok. Call me Peter... Neal."
There was a sharp intake of air and some sort of fucked up chemistry sizzled over the phone line and not for the first time, Peter hated that it was his job to cage this man. "You feel it too, right?"
"Take care of yourself, Neal." He carefully ignored the question. "Be safe."
"I will." He laughed, lower than usual. "Think of me, Peter."
"Don't think I ever stop, Neal." The honesty burned his cheeks but he was rewarded with another gasp before the line disconnected.
It was his job, not a game; but damn was he going to be in trouble when he won.
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