MMOM Day 9 Fic: A Shameful Thing
Title: A Shameful Thing
Author: turtlebaby_02
Fandom: White Collar
Written For: MMOM 2013
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke (Pre-P/N)
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1084
Peter shifted and sighed and stared and then shifted again as Neal absentmindedly rolled his pen through his fingers. He ran them up and down the length of it, completely oblivious to the fact that fifteen feet away Peter was harboring dark fantasies of becoming a pen, of letting Neal's fingers slide effortlessly over him, back and forth in that languid stroke.
Then Neal leaned forward in his chair to study the file in front of him and Peter barely suppressed a groan as a slip of pink darted out between his lips to wet his finger as he started flipping through pages. His brow furrowed in concentration, working hard like the good little CI he was, and arousal pulsed through Peter a little stronger. There was something so damned alluring about him when he zoned out; his mind working. Peter loved watching his face as pieces started falling together, as his beautiful mind made the implausible possible.
When he leaned on one elbow and slid the pen between his lips, Peter's breath got loud in his own ears and he got to his feet. Between the thoughts of Neal's fingers stroking him like silk and the new thought of how damned lucky that pen had it; all tucked between his lips, Peter had developed a rather uncomfortable symptom of his Neal Caffrey addiction and adjusted his pants accordingly, attempting to hide the evidence that his cock was aching against his thigh.
And if Peter knew himself, and he did, and If he knew Neal, and he did, this situation wasn't going to relieve itself on its own. He'd tried that approach the first time he'd found himself here. He'd spent the entire afternoon half hard and on the edge of pinning the other man roughly against the wall.
So, for not the first time, Peter headed almost shamefully for the office bathroom. It wasn't ideal and there was no guarantee of privacy, but it was better than almost forcing himself on Neal every time they crossed paths.
He had hoped to get past Neal's desk without him noticing he was there but, as usual, Neal seemed to have a special radar set to Peter, and as he looked up, Peter's cock pulsed as he became the object of observation under the gaze those baby blues.
"Are we going out? Peter, please. Tell me we have a case."
He had to physically restrain himself to keep from sliding his hand against his growing erection as Neal's voice tilted up in a beg. "Sorry, buddy. Bathroom break." He waved his hand in the general direction. His face felt flushed and he knew his smile was too tight.
Neal frowned and let his gaze flick over him. "Are you alright, Peter? You don't look so good."
Oh, is that right, Neal? You want to come take my temperature? See how hot I am for you? Peter coughed against the images in his head. "I'm fine. I'll be right back." Yeah, because this wasn't going to take long at all. He hadn't even touched himself yet and he felt halfway there.
"Ok." Neal didn't look like he believed him but shook his head and turned back to the work before him.
Peter let his eyes linger over Neal for a second longer before pulling himself away and ducking into the bathroom. Once inside he locked himself into the farthest stall, dropped his pants to his thighs, and sat. Even the cold plastic against his ass did nothing to quell the fire inside of him and he spit into his palm before wrapping his hand around his cock. He shuddered in both relief and arousal as he pulled roughly at himself before teasing a thumb over his leaking slit, imagining Neal doing the same with that wet pink tongue of his, teasing him, tasting him.
He brought his other hand up to brace himself against the stall wall and his fingers grasped for purchase against the smooth surface as his fist moved with faster, firmer strokes.
His thoughts, his actions, and his breathing all stopped as one as he heard the door squeak open and footsteps come inside. He bit his lip to stifle his frustrations as someone came in, unzipped, and used the urinal. He was moving again, slowly, before the water started in the sink and he used the roar of the hand dryer to cover the sound as pumped himself furiously for those 15 seconds.
Then he was still as the footfalls receded toward the door. He heard it creak open and pulled his hand back on himself. But it didn't slam closed again and he waited there, his cock throbbing, in the men's bathroom at the FBI. This has got to stop.
It was quiet, and if he hadn't of heard the door open, he might believe he was alone now. "Peter?" The door shut and footsteps made their way toward his door.
He, honestly, could not have been more surprised if his stall had slammed open. "Neal?" Well, this is awkward.
"You sure you're alright?" He sounded hesitant, clearly bathroom chats were weird for him too.
"I said I'm fine, Neal." Just fine indeed, cock in my hand, teetering on the edge of release, getting prodded toward that edge with every word you say. Yes, Neal. Keep talking.
"I know, Peter. But you've uh, been in here for awhile."
"Probably something I ate." His voice sounded strange, vibrating back at him from the stall door. "You going to stop eavesdropping soon?"
"Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry." The footsteps walked way and the door pulled open and slammed shut heavily.
Peter groaned and increased the speed of his stroke as he fumbled for toilet paper with the other hand. He barely caught it as he came sudden and hard, crying out before he could remember to quiet himself.
He stood on shaky legs and dropped the evidence into the toilet as he pulled up his pants and tucked himself away. Over the roar of the toilet flushing he heard the door slam shut again and he felt a residue of embarrassment as he straightened his tie and forced his face to neutral as he opened the stall door to face whoever was out there.
But when he stepped out, the bathroom was empty. He froze as his heart kicked up at the implications. He was a damn good detective and it didn't take any other evidence to know he'd been tricked. And busted. Oh, shit.
.
Author: turtlebaby_02
Fandom: White Collar
Written For: MMOM 2013
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Neal Caffrey/Peter Burke (Pre-P/N)
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1084
Peter shifted and sighed and stared and then shifted again as Neal absentmindedly rolled his pen through his fingers. He ran them up and down the length of it, completely oblivious to the fact that fifteen feet away Peter was harboring dark fantasies of becoming a pen, of letting Neal's fingers slide effortlessly over him, back and forth in that languid stroke.
Then Neal leaned forward in his chair to study the file in front of him and Peter barely suppressed a groan as a slip of pink darted out between his lips to wet his finger as he started flipping through pages. His brow furrowed in concentration, working hard like the good little CI he was, and arousal pulsed through Peter a little stronger. There was something so damned alluring about him when he zoned out; his mind working. Peter loved watching his face as pieces started falling together, as his beautiful mind made the implausible possible.
When he leaned on one elbow and slid the pen between his lips, Peter's breath got loud in his own ears and he got to his feet. Between the thoughts of Neal's fingers stroking him like silk and the new thought of how damned lucky that pen had it; all tucked between his lips, Peter had developed a rather uncomfortable symptom of his Neal Caffrey addiction and adjusted his pants accordingly, attempting to hide the evidence that his cock was aching against his thigh.
And if Peter knew himself, and he did, and If he knew Neal, and he did, this situation wasn't going to relieve itself on its own. He'd tried that approach the first time he'd found himself here. He'd spent the entire afternoon half hard and on the edge of pinning the other man roughly against the wall.
So, for not the first time, Peter headed almost shamefully for the office bathroom. It wasn't ideal and there was no guarantee of privacy, but it was better than almost forcing himself on Neal every time they crossed paths.
He had hoped to get past Neal's desk without him noticing he was there but, as usual, Neal seemed to have a special radar set to Peter, and as he looked up, Peter's cock pulsed as he became the object of observation under the gaze those baby blues.
"Are we going out? Peter, please. Tell me we have a case."
He had to physically restrain himself to keep from sliding his hand against his growing erection as Neal's voice tilted up in a beg. "Sorry, buddy. Bathroom break." He waved his hand in the general direction. His face felt flushed and he knew his smile was too tight.
Neal frowned and let his gaze flick over him. "Are you alright, Peter? You don't look so good."
Oh, is that right, Neal? You want to come take my temperature? See how hot I am for you? Peter coughed against the images in his head. "I'm fine. I'll be right back." Yeah, because this wasn't going to take long at all. He hadn't even touched himself yet and he felt halfway there.
"Ok." Neal didn't look like he believed him but shook his head and turned back to the work before him.
Peter let his eyes linger over Neal for a second longer before pulling himself away and ducking into the bathroom. Once inside he locked himself into the farthest stall, dropped his pants to his thighs, and sat. Even the cold plastic against his ass did nothing to quell the fire inside of him and he spit into his palm before wrapping his hand around his cock. He shuddered in both relief and arousal as he pulled roughly at himself before teasing a thumb over his leaking slit, imagining Neal doing the same with that wet pink tongue of his, teasing him, tasting him.
He brought his other hand up to brace himself against the stall wall and his fingers grasped for purchase against the smooth surface as his fist moved with faster, firmer strokes.
His thoughts, his actions, and his breathing all stopped as one as he heard the door squeak open and footsteps come inside. He bit his lip to stifle his frustrations as someone came in, unzipped, and used the urinal. He was moving again, slowly, before the water started in the sink and he used the roar of the hand dryer to cover the sound as pumped himself furiously for those 15 seconds.
Then he was still as the footfalls receded toward the door. He heard it creak open and pulled his hand back on himself. But it didn't slam closed again and he waited there, his cock throbbing, in the men's bathroom at the FBI. This has got to stop.
It was quiet, and if he hadn't of heard the door open, he might believe he was alone now. "Peter?" The door shut and footsteps made their way toward his door.
He, honestly, could not have been more surprised if his stall had slammed open. "Neal?" Well, this is awkward.
"You sure you're alright?" He sounded hesitant, clearly bathroom chats were weird for him too.
"I said I'm fine, Neal." Just fine indeed, cock in my hand, teetering on the edge of release, getting prodded toward that edge with every word you say. Yes, Neal. Keep talking.
"I know, Peter. But you've uh, been in here for awhile."
"Probably something I ate." His voice sounded strange, vibrating back at him from the stall door. "You going to stop eavesdropping soon?"
"Oh. Oh yeah. Sorry." The footsteps walked way and the door pulled open and slammed shut heavily.
Peter groaned and increased the speed of his stroke as he fumbled for toilet paper with the other hand. He barely caught it as he came sudden and hard, crying out before he could remember to quiet himself.
He stood on shaky legs and dropped the evidence into the toilet as he pulled up his pants and tucked himself away. Over the roar of the toilet flushing he heard the door slam shut again and he felt a residue of embarrassment as he straightened his tie and forced his face to neutral as he opened the stall door to face whoever was out there.
But when he stepped out, the bathroom was empty. He froze as his heart kicked up at the implications. He was a damn good detective and it didn't take any other evidence to know he'd been tricked. And busted. Oh, shit.
.