FIC: "then let fall your horrible pleasure"
Title: then let fall your horrible pleasure
Series: horrible pleasure, Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Author: hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17, FRAO
Pairing: Peter/Neal (minor Kate/Neal, OMC/Neal, Moz & Neal)
Warnings: Piercing!kink, needle play, D/S, mild blood play.
Word Count: 2,200
Notes: Title is from a poem of the same name by Tim Ross.
Summary: For the collarkink prompt: "I would love to read a fic with Neal having some erotic piercings (nipples, genital area, corset temporary piercing). It can be Neal enjoying his newly re-pierced body after being out of prison or it can be pre-prison! Solo or paired action -- I'm actually open to Neal with Mozzie, Kate, Peter &/or Elizabeth."
*
He didn't realize quite how much he'd missed it until the first needle pierced his skin. Deep enough that the push was longer than his exhale and he could feel the metal moving through his flesh - the first of twenty rings and he already felt like the world was brighter, sharper. The piercer laughed. "Wow, you really do get off on this, huh?" Neal didn't reply. "Alright, baby, take a deep breath - " he could feel the clamp pinching his skin - "and exhale." Again the push lasted longer than his breath and his cock began to harden against the table.
*
Of course Peter noticed. That was just the way Neal's life was going - couldn't catch a break, that was Neal Caffrey in a nutshell. Peter'd put a hand on his back to escort him out of his office for lunch and Neal (the piercings were still sore, every time he leaned over it hurt, his cock surged, he'd start to sweat) flinched.
"Are you hurt?" Peter asked him.
"No," he said, trying to edge away - which he should have known was like waving red flag in front of a bull. Peter grabbed his shoulder, then started patting his back. Neal hissed (it felt so good, Peter's hands against him).
"What the hell happened to you, Caffrey?"
"Nothing - I just took a spill down the stairs. I'm a little bruised."
Peter ran a cautious hand across the entire span of his back and Neal failed to stifle his moan. "That's it. take your shirt off and let me see."
"I swear it's nothing! You're such a worrywart." Peter slapped a hand against the small of his back and Neal convulsed with a shout. "Fuck!"
"Yeah, that really seems like' nothing.' Take your shirt off or I'll take it off for you."
"Not here," Neal said, mindful of the glass walls, the other agents' prying eyes. "Bathroom?"
"Fine." Neal readjusted himself surreptitiously as they left. He could get through this. He could.
*
He'd gotten his ears pierced when he was 14. He'd been rebelling, it was impetious, he'd had sex with the piercer right afterwards (he'd bit Neal's ears bloody), it was the best day of his young life. They'd dated for months and Dan had eagerly introduced Neal to the world of play piercing. He'd done bindings on Neal's calves, rows of barbells along his collarbones, sweet little gold surface piercings on his hips. He got arrested for dealing drugs before he'd gotten to Neal's dick or nipples. Neal'd stopped, after that, for years. Even taken his earrings out (too memorable, charming man with earrings). The memories of it faded. And then he met Moz.
*
The bathroom wasn't empty when they got there and they loitered awkwardly by the sink until Fred shook himself off and left (ew, without washing his hands). "Alright. Strip."
The sound of Peter locking the door was like a starter's gun. Neal tried to steady his breathing, keep his composure, but he could see himself in the mirror - cheeks flushed, his lips red from biting them nervously, his fingers jerky as he unbuttoned his shirt. His flush was spreading down his chest, past his collarbones. He couldn't help but think of the corset binding he'd had done on his neck nine years ago in Amsterdam and how naked he looked without it.
He slid his shirt off his shoulders slowly, watching himself in the mirror like a twisted strip-tease, savoring each snag of the fabric against the rings, the metal chain threading between them. Ten rings on each side and the silver binding them all together. It started right underneath his shoulderblades and wove itself down to the dip of his back into his buttocks, like a corset, like an arrow.
"I told you I wasn't hurt," he said. And he didn't feel ashamed, standing half-dressed in front of Peter, revealing his biggest kink, letting Peter know how twisted he was. Because Peter's hand was already raised to touch him.
The piercings were three days old but when Peter brushed his fingers tentatively against the top two they burned. Neal's breath shuddered out of him in a gasp. When Peter tugged tentatively on the chain he couldn't help it, he leaned back, until his back was pressed against Peter's chest (oh, god, they caught on the buttons of Peter's shirt it hurt it was so perfect). He could see Peter's face over his shoulder - his lips were open, his eyes were dark. Neal rolled his hips against him and felt (thank god) Peter's erection.
*
Moz had played with needles. Thin metal capped with plastic, not permanent, they only stayed in a single session. Like monks who would create beautiful mosaics and destroy them immediately after. Moz had dozens of colors and sizes but didn't take any pictures before he pulled them out and wiped up the blood.
He'd started with straight lines. Down Neal's arms, his thighs, rows like wings down his back. Then he'd make Neal serve him for an hour or two before removing them. Fetch him a drink, get him a book, turn up the volume on the tv, stand and let Moz stare at him. Like Neal was a painting and he was deciding which part of his apartment to put him in. Like Neal's suffering was part of the work itself. He'd let Neal jack off when he pulled the needles back out (hands steady, movements sure) but he never took part. It wasn't sexual, for Moz, it was art.
After lines he'd done circles. He went patriotic for a while and did rings of white, then blue, then red around Neal's bellybutton, his nipples, radiating out from this shoulder blades. Neal's sweat would run pink and he'd drip with precum and Moz would add another needle.
*
"What - what is this?"
"It's called a corset piercing, Peter. Do you like it?" And he writhed against Peter, making eye contact with him in the mirror before licking his lips and closing his eyes.
Peter pushed him forward until he had to brace himself against the counter. "Does it hurt?" And he touched Neal curiously, carefully. Traced the hourglass curve it hinted at along Neal's ribs.
"Yes," Neal said. Peter's hands froze from where they'd spread along his hips. "It's supposed to." Peter stepped up behind him and pressed his dick into the curve of Neal's ass, tightened his hands on Neal's waist, bent him forward until the chain was pulled taut and a helpless whine spilled from Neal's lips.
"You get off on this?" Peter asked, running two fingers down the line of Neal's spine (catching on the chain, tugging at the rings, Neal rubbed himself against the sink with each sharp twinge).
"Yes," he gasped, wishing he had the slack in the chain to fall forward against the counter, to brace himself better. To rock himself against the hot line of Peter's cock behind him. But if he moved he'd tear something, if he moved he thought he might come.
"How long have you been wearing this? Under your suits? Were you wearing this when I was chasing you?"
"I've only had this since Friday," Neal admitted. "And yes. Sometimes when you chased me - " Neal closed his eyes and thought of Kate.
*
Kate had pushed his limits. Limits he hadn't known he had. She'd fucked herself on his cock and pushed the piercing needles through his chest until he screamed. She would put rings in his cock, new piercings each time they played so they'd be as tender as possible, and twist it while fucking him with her strap-on. She'd weave her needles in and out and back into his flesh so that if he moved they'd twist inside of him. Kate had enjoyed hurting him almost more than he enjoyed being hurt, but he never came harder than he did in those sessions with Kate.
He hadn't had anything in when Peter had arrested him, but his cock had been raw, his back spotted with holes. Prison had left him feeling off-balance in so many ways - getting pierced again after Peter set him free felt like a step towards becoming himself again.
*
"Do you have any other piercings now?" Peter asked him, interrupting his train of thought. He pinched Neal's nipples like he was double-checking the evidence of his eyes and then twisted them until Neal felt like he was trying to pull them off, like they were on fire, Peter dug his fingernails into them and pulled.
"Fuck! Oh, god, Peter, those are all I have right now, I swear - " Peter slapped his nipples before moving his hands down Neal's torso.
"You've had your nipples pierced before, though, right?"
"No," Neal said, voice hoarse. He'd had needles through them, but that was it - Kate hadn't liked the way they'd show through his t-shirts. Peter's hands seemed so big on Neal's hips, pushing his slacks furthur down his hips. Neal's nipples were an angry red, the skin around them irritated.
"But you do like your nipples played with, don't you, baby" Peter asked, and his fingertips were brushing against Neal's aching cock.
Not nearly the pressure he needed, he wanted Peter to touch him so badly - "yes," he nearly cried when Peter palmed his cock.
"Nice," Peter murmured. Neal wanted to return the compliment, he could feel the size of Peter's dick where it was rutting against his ass, but then Peter squeezed his cock and all his words evaporated. He looked like a whore. He was so close to his reflection he couldn't deny the way he was bending for Peter, half-naked and pale against Peter's dark suit jacket. Then Peter stopped touching him and all he could see was the pensive look on Peter's face. "Do you think you could come without me touching your cock?" And he grabbed the bottom two rings in Neal's back and started rotating them.
He spun them until the captive beads were denting his skin, then spun them the other way. Neal felt tight and hot and swollen everywhere Peter touched him. Then Peter tugged on the rings and he had to bite down on his fist to keep from screaming. Peter pulled them hard, and Neal struggled to move backwards and relieve the pressure. "No," Peter told him gently, his hand between Neal's shoulder blades holding him down. "If you want me to stop, say stop, and I'll jerk you off and we can pretend this never happened. Or," and he leaned forward to breathe his words into Neal's ear, to torture the sore flesh on his back, "I can make you come in your pants and then take you home, put nipple clamps on you, and fuck you until you come screaming my name."
If Neal had enough control he would have opened his eyes to see if Peter looked sincere, he would have asked Peter if he was sure, he would have said please. But he was too close to the edge, the pain from his nipples forgotten in the mindnumbing strain of his cock against the edge of the counter, the weight of Peter pressing him against it, and the terrifying pull of his piercings. "I'll take that as a yes," Peter said, and he moved up to the next set of rings. He repeated the pattern for all ten rows, turning them so they rotated through Neal's abused flesh and then pulling them back, to each side, he could feel small drops of blood dripping down to soak into his slacks. Peter licked at the sweat on his neck and bit into his shoulder.
It hadn't been like this with Dan, or Moz, or even Kate - Peter was so in control, Peter was so methodical, Peter so obviously wanted him - then he strummed his fingers against the chain like he was playing a harp, and Neal sobbed into the fist he'd bitten near bloody.
"You're going to come for me," Peter said, "you're going to come just like this. And then you're going to spend the whole afternoon with your cum in your boxers. You're going to sit at your desk, all the way back in your chair, and you're going to get hard again just thinking about what I made you do. And what I'm going to do to you as soon as we get home."
Home, Neal thought, before Peter started tightening each section of the chain. He prayed to come. He tried to beg his own cock, just come, just shoot, just do it. He could already feel the moisture in his boxers from his precum, a new spurt every time Peter growled in his ear or bit his neck or the chain slid against the rings and he felt the vibrations down to his toes.
Peter held the extra length of chain he'd gathered in his left hand, pinched his nipple hard with the right, and leaned over Neal's shoulder. Neal turned his head towards him and opened his mouth for a kiss. Peter tugged, pinched, and whispered the order to come against his lips. Neal screamed into his mouth and obeyed.
*
Feedback is love. :-)
Part 2 can be found : here.
Series: horrible pleasure, Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Author: hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17, FRAO
Pairing: Peter/Neal (minor Kate/Neal, OMC/Neal, Moz & Neal)
Warnings: Piercing!kink, needle play, D/S, mild blood play.
Word Count: 2,200
Notes: Title is from a poem of the same name by Tim Ross.
Summary: For the collarkink prompt: "I would love to read a fic with Neal having some erotic piercings (nipples, genital area, corset temporary piercing). It can be Neal enjoying his newly re-pierced body after being out of prison or it can be pre-prison! Solo or paired action -- I'm actually open to Neal with Mozzie, Kate, Peter &/or Elizabeth."
*
He didn't realize quite how much he'd missed it until the first needle pierced his skin. Deep enough that the push was longer than his exhale and he could feel the metal moving through his flesh - the first of twenty rings and he already felt like the world was brighter, sharper. The piercer laughed. "Wow, you really do get off on this, huh?" Neal didn't reply. "Alright, baby, take a deep breath - " he could feel the clamp pinching his skin - "and exhale." Again the push lasted longer than his breath and his cock began to harden against the table.
*
Of course Peter noticed. That was just the way Neal's life was going - couldn't catch a break, that was Neal Caffrey in a nutshell. Peter'd put a hand on his back to escort him out of his office for lunch and Neal (the piercings were still sore, every time he leaned over it hurt, his cock surged, he'd start to sweat) flinched.
"Are you hurt?" Peter asked him.
"No," he said, trying to edge away - which he should have known was like waving red flag in front of a bull. Peter grabbed his shoulder, then started patting his back. Neal hissed (it felt so good, Peter's hands against him).
"What the hell happened to you, Caffrey?"
"Nothing - I just took a spill down the stairs. I'm a little bruised."
Peter ran a cautious hand across the entire span of his back and Neal failed to stifle his moan. "That's it. take your shirt off and let me see."
"I swear it's nothing! You're such a worrywart." Peter slapped a hand against the small of his back and Neal convulsed with a shout. "Fuck!"
"Yeah, that really seems like' nothing.' Take your shirt off or I'll take it off for you."
"Not here," Neal said, mindful of the glass walls, the other agents' prying eyes. "Bathroom?"
"Fine." Neal readjusted himself surreptitiously as they left. He could get through this. He could.
*
He'd gotten his ears pierced when he was 14. He'd been rebelling, it was impetious, he'd had sex with the piercer right afterwards (he'd bit Neal's ears bloody), it was the best day of his young life. They'd dated for months and Dan had eagerly introduced Neal to the world of play piercing. He'd done bindings on Neal's calves, rows of barbells along his collarbones, sweet little gold surface piercings on his hips. He got arrested for dealing drugs before he'd gotten to Neal's dick or nipples. Neal'd stopped, after that, for years. Even taken his earrings out (too memorable, charming man with earrings). The memories of it faded. And then he met Moz.
*
The bathroom wasn't empty when they got there and they loitered awkwardly by the sink until Fred shook himself off and left (ew, without washing his hands). "Alright. Strip."
The sound of Peter locking the door was like a starter's gun. Neal tried to steady his breathing, keep his composure, but he could see himself in the mirror - cheeks flushed, his lips red from biting them nervously, his fingers jerky as he unbuttoned his shirt. His flush was spreading down his chest, past his collarbones. He couldn't help but think of the corset binding he'd had done on his neck nine years ago in Amsterdam and how naked he looked without it.
He slid his shirt off his shoulders slowly, watching himself in the mirror like a twisted strip-tease, savoring each snag of the fabric against the rings, the metal chain threading between them. Ten rings on each side and the silver binding them all together. It started right underneath his shoulderblades and wove itself down to the dip of his back into his buttocks, like a corset, like an arrow.
"I told you I wasn't hurt," he said. And he didn't feel ashamed, standing half-dressed in front of Peter, revealing his biggest kink, letting Peter know how twisted he was. Because Peter's hand was already raised to touch him.
The piercings were three days old but when Peter brushed his fingers tentatively against the top two they burned. Neal's breath shuddered out of him in a gasp. When Peter tugged tentatively on the chain he couldn't help it, he leaned back, until his back was pressed against Peter's chest (oh, god, they caught on the buttons of Peter's shirt it hurt it was so perfect). He could see Peter's face over his shoulder - his lips were open, his eyes were dark. Neal rolled his hips against him and felt (thank god) Peter's erection.
*
Moz had played with needles. Thin metal capped with plastic, not permanent, they only stayed in a single session. Like monks who would create beautiful mosaics and destroy them immediately after. Moz had dozens of colors and sizes but didn't take any pictures before he pulled them out and wiped up the blood.
He'd started with straight lines. Down Neal's arms, his thighs, rows like wings down his back. Then he'd make Neal serve him for an hour or two before removing them. Fetch him a drink, get him a book, turn up the volume on the tv, stand and let Moz stare at him. Like Neal was a painting and he was deciding which part of his apartment to put him in. Like Neal's suffering was part of the work itself. He'd let Neal jack off when he pulled the needles back out (hands steady, movements sure) but he never took part. It wasn't sexual, for Moz, it was art.
After lines he'd done circles. He went patriotic for a while and did rings of white, then blue, then red around Neal's bellybutton, his nipples, radiating out from this shoulder blades. Neal's sweat would run pink and he'd drip with precum and Moz would add another needle.
*
"What - what is this?"
"It's called a corset piercing, Peter. Do you like it?" And he writhed against Peter, making eye contact with him in the mirror before licking his lips and closing his eyes.
Peter pushed him forward until he had to brace himself against the counter. "Does it hurt?" And he touched Neal curiously, carefully. Traced the hourglass curve it hinted at along Neal's ribs.
"Yes," Neal said. Peter's hands froze from where they'd spread along his hips. "It's supposed to." Peter stepped up behind him and pressed his dick into the curve of Neal's ass, tightened his hands on Neal's waist, bent him forward until the chain was pulled taut and a helpless whine spilled from Neal's lips.
"You get off on this?" Peter asked, running two fingers down the line of Neal's spine (catching on the chain, tugging at the rings, Neal rubbed himself against the sink with each sharp twinge).
"Yes," he gasped, wishing he had the slack in the chain to fall forward against the counter, to brace himself better. To rock himself against the hot line of Peter's cock behind him. But if he moved he'd tear something, if he moved he thought he might come.
"How long have you been wearing this? Under your suits? Were you wearing this when I was chasing you?"
"I've only had this since Friday," Neal admitted. "And yes. Sometimes when you chased me - " Neal closed his eyes and thought of Kate.
*
Kate had pushed his limits. Limits he hadn't known he had. She'd fucked herself on his cock and pushed the piercing needles through his chest until he screamed. She would put rings in his cock, new piercings each time they played so they'd be as tender as possible, and twist it while fucking him with her strap-on. She'd weave her needles in and out and back into his flesh so that if he moved they'd twist inside of him. Kate had enjoyed hurting him almost more than he enjoyed being hurt, but he never came harder than he did in those sessions with Kate.
He hadn't had anything in when Peter had arrested him, but his cock had been raw, his back spotted with holes. Prison had left him feeling off-balance in so many ways - getting pierced again after Peter set him free felt like a step towards becoming himself again.
*
"Do you have any other piercings now?" Peter asked him, interrupting his train of thought. He pinched Neal's nipples like he was double-checking the evidence of his eyes and then twisted them until Neal felt like he was trying to pull them off, like they were on fire, Peter dug his fingernails into them and pulled.
"Fuck! Oh, god, Peter, those are all I have right now, I swear - " Peter slapped his nipples before moving his hands down Neal's torso.
"You've had your nipples pierced before, though, right?"
"No," Neal said, voice hoarse. He'd had needles through them, but that was it - Kate hadn't liked the way they'd show through his t-shirts. Peter's hands seemed so big on Neal's hips, pushing his slacks furthur down his hips. Neal's nipples were an angry red, the skin around them irritated.
"But you do like your nipples played with, don't you, baby" Peter asked, and his fingertips were brushing against Neal's aching cock.
Not nearly the pressure he needed, he wanted Peter to touch him so badly - "yes," he nearly cried when Peter palmed his cock.
"Nice," Peter murmured. Neal wanted to return the compliment, he could feel the size of Peter's dick where it was rutting against his ass, but then Peter squeezed his cock and all his words evaporated. He looked like a whore. He was so close to his reflection he couldn't deny the way he was bending for Peter, half-naked and pale against Peter's dark suit jacket. Then Peter stopped touching him and all he could see was the pensive look on Peter's face. "Do you think you could come without me touching your cock?" And he grabbed the bottom two rings in Neal's back and started rotating them.
He spun them until the captive beads were denting his skin, then spun them the other way. Neal felt tight and hot and swollen everywhere Peter touched him. Then Peter tugged on the rings and he had to bite down on his fist to keep from screaming. Peter pulled them hard, and Neal struggled to move backwards and relieve the pressure. "No," Peter told him gently, his hand between Neal's shoulder blades holding him down. "If you want me to stop, say stop, and I'll jerk you off and we can pretend this never happened. Or," and he leaned forward to breathe his words into Neal's ear, to torture the sore flesh on his back, "I can make you come in your pants and then take you home, put nipple clamps on you, and fuck you until you come screaming my name."
If Neal had enough control he would have opened his eyes to see if Peter looked sincere, he would have asked Peter if he was sure, he would have said please. But he was too close to the edge, the pain from his nipples forgotten in the mindnumbing strain of his cock against the edge of the counter, the weight of Peter pressing him against it, and the terrifying pull of his piercings. "I'll take that as a yes," Peter said, and he moved up to the next set of rings. He repeated the pattern for all ten rows, turning them so they rotated through Neal's abused flesh and then pulling them back, to each side, he could feel small drops of blood dripping down to soak into his slacks. Peter licked at the sweat on his neck and bit into his shoulder.
It hadn't been like this with Dan, or Moz, or even Kate - Peter was so in control, Peter was so methodical, Peter so obviously wanted him - then he strummed his fingers against the chain like he was playing a harp, and Neal sobbed into the fist he'd bitten near bloody.
"You're going to come for me," Peter said, "you're going to come just like this. And then you're going to spend the whole afternoon with your cum in your boxers. You're going to sit at your desk, all the way back in your chair, and you're going to get hard again just thinking about what I made you do. And what I'm going to do to you as soon as we get home."
Home, Neal thought, before Peter started tightening each section of the chain. He prayed to come. He tried to beg his own cock, just come, just shoot, just do it. He could already feel the moisture in his boxers from his precum, a new spurt every time Peter growled in his ear or bit his neck or the chain slid against the rings and he felt the vibrations down to his toes.
Peter held the extra length of chain he'd gathered in his left hand, pinched his nipple hard with the right, and leaned over Neal's shoulder. Neal turned his head towards him and opened his mouth for a kiss. Peter tugged, pinched, and whispered the order to come against his lips. Neal screamed into his mouth and obeyed.
*
Feedback is love. :-)
Part 2 can be found : here.