Watching You - [Peter/Neal] NC-17
Title: Watching You
Author:
turtlebaby_02
Fandom: White Collar
Written For:
mmom 2014
Characters (Pairings): Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 880
Warnings: Unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. I'm just playing.
Summary: Peter searches but Neal's known where he was all along. Pre-SeriesAuthor's Note: Day 6, hoorah!
Neal wasn't usually a voyeur, he was much more into participating; hands on had always been his approach.
But without a thought for his sanity he found himself cross legged on a barstool in an empty 10th floor apartment with a pair of binoculars leaving gouges around his eyes. Kate would laugh, if she knew. Mozzie would throw a tantrum about sun glares and "career suicide". But Neal wasn't worried - whatever had Peter Burke occupied - well, Neal was probably the last thing on his mind.
Probably.
There was something compelling about this man. Not just his everyday hero good looks but in the very idea that, not for the first time, he was flying so close to Neal's nest. He wasn't just another bumbling overworked agent of the system. Oh no, he was special. He had smarts and focus.
And damn if it wasn't hot to be the object of that focus.
Nobody ever come this close to catching them before - Mozzie was getting suspicious that Neal was handing out clues. But that was just the thing - he wasn't. He worked damn hard, harder than he'd ever had to to before, to stay just this one step of Special Agent Peter Burke. It was absolutely exhilarating.
And so this, this little behind the blinds indulgence that he was partaking in was a well deserved pat on the back. His reward to himself. While Kate scouted ahead and Mozzie liquidated some assets, he watched. Surveillance, he told himself. Know thy enemy.
And whatever, the man was practically asking to be spied on. A trained, brilliant FBI agent ought to know to shut the blinds. Or at least stay away from windows in his current… state of undress.
He’d been gone all night, all night searching for Neal - while Neal spent the night waiting for him. It was beautiful in a funny sort of way. In a pretend romantic kind of way, if Neal wanted to be silly enough to engage in this fantasy. But when he’d finally returned to his room he’d stared hard out the window, hard enough that Neal almost backed away. Almost. Then he’d scrubbed a hand over his face and disappeared into, what Neal guessed was the rooms bathroom.
He came back out 20 minutes later wearing nothing but a towel and a smile, his cell phone held against his cheek. He moved while he talked, pacing and fidgeting but never (to Neal’s secret joy) never getting dressed. All the movement made it hard to read his lips and he faced away often enough that Neal would have missed half of this half of the conversation anyway. He focused on his lips long enough to decipher that he was talking to his wife before letting his eyes roam freely down the man’s body. He was strong, big in a way that Neal could never be - just the width of his shoulders left him a little breathless. He was imagining himself crushed against the solidity of Peter’s chest when Peter suddenly stopped moving and dropped a hand to the knot of the towel.
Neal’s breath caught in his throat.
The towel dropped and for moment Neal was almost ashamed of himself - the other man clearly assumed he was alone. And judging by the tugging grasp he had on his cock, had really been looking forward to this conversation with his wife.
He thought about looking away. He did. But his hand found it’s way to the zipper of his pants and he palmed his own growing erection and all thoughts of modesty, his or Peter’s, went flying out the window.
His attention was split between the movements of Peter’s hand and his tipped back face. He’d sprawled himself into a chair almost perfectly in Neal’s line of sight - he couldn’t have planned this vantage point better - and had the phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder. A smile crept across his face and his eyes fluttered closed, the rhythm of his strokes picking up speed.
Neal unzipped his pants and freed his cock, already dripping. He timed his movements to Peter’s and thought belatedly that he should have installed a microphone in the room - he’d love to hear the sounds that caused the hitch in Peter’s chest when his mouth fell open or his jaw clenched.
He watched and he stroked himself in time to Peter until the other man’s hips tilted off the chair and he came in ribbons across his belly. His own orgasm almost took himself by surprise, he’d been so engrossed in watching Peter that he almost dropped his binoculars as pleasure tore through him and he shot his load onto the window in front of him. Not exactly the most dignified thing he’d ever done in his life, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.
He looked away long enough to find a crumpled piece of garbage to wipe up his mess and when he looked up again he gasped a little. Peter was gone - the blinds to his room drawn tight.
He was probably blocking out the midday sun to get some sleep. Or maybe, Neal's subconscious poked fun at him, maybe he'd found Neal last night after all.
Thanks for reading! :)