fic: i thought i was someone else (someone good), (KMS #3)
Title: i thought i was someone else (someone good)
Author: hoosierbitch
Series: Kink Meme
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: PWP, El/Peter/Neal
Warnings: Bad aftercare. References to intense BDSM scene.
Word Count: 2,000
Notes: Title is taken from Lou Reed's song "Perfect Day." Originally posted on collarkink , but with significant changes. Follows: Pleasures I Don't Comprehend. For the whole series, try the tags!
Summary: The night and morning after Neal and Peter's date.
Neal woke up to the sound of the door closing, and took stock of his situation quickly. He'd been moved. Stretched out on the bed with the thick comforter pulled up to his chin - Peter'd tucked him in, he realized with a smile as he sat up. His ass burned inside and out and all of his muscles felt sore. He felt like he'd been ridden hard and (he realized with shame as he rolled onto his side) put away wet. He looked around for Peter and blinked stupidly at the note sitting on the pillow next to him before figuring out what it was. And then realized that what had woken him up was the sound of Peter leaving.
It always took him a while to transition after hard play. Kate had called it sub-drop, said it was normal, said it didn't make him weak. She'd always been so careful with him, afterwards. She'd praise him, tell him how good he'd been for her, tell him how beautiful she thought he was. She'd made sure he was clean and comfortable and had something to eat. Most of the time, though, all he'd needed her to do was hold him, run her fingers through his hair, tell him she loved him.
Only he and Kate had never played this hard. She'd liked made him wait, hold him on the edge, teased him with pain and pleasure until he couldn't tell the difference between the two. She didn't use force the way Peter did - had never whipped him, never used a paddle, never spanked him until he came. This was new to Neal, but he knew he'd liked it. He'd known that Peter wouldn't hurt him too badly, that he'd listen to Neal if he couldn't handle something and had to use his safeword. He'd known that Peter cared for him, and so he'd let go in ways he never had before. Only now, alone, he felt - lost. Like he'd lost his bearings. Like he'd been undercover and had to suddenly switch character, unsure of who he was supposed to be.
He unfolded the note with shaky fingers and deciphered Peter's scrawl with bleary eyes. "Have to go home & walk Satch. Call if you need me!" The second line was heavily underlined. He knew that Peter had left to go back to El, which was fine, really, he didn't mind, Peter didn't have to lie about it. She was perfect, down to earth, she'd known Peter for so long. How was Neal supposed to compete with that? Neal knew he was the kind of man people wanted to spend the night with, but Elizabeth was the kind of woman they wanted to wake up next to.
He eased himself out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom. He was bruised, sure, but he hadn't broken any skin (except on his wrists, his fault, pulled too hard against the handcuffs). He wouldn't need any help taking care of himself. No need to call Peter and disrupt his weekend. He had so little free time to spend with Elle. Neal knew he'd have to step carefully to avoid encroaching on that as much as he could.
He grabbed the aspirin and went to his dresser, pulling out thick socks and wrapping himself in Byron's warmest robe. He was starving. He realized, though, standing in the middle of his tiny kitchenette, that everything he owned required too much preparation. He barely stayed upright long enough to get himself more water. He slipped back under the covers and started fighting with the child-proof lid on the aspirin. About half the bottle spilled out onto the bed. He picked three up and swallowed them quickly. He'd leave the clean-up until morning. He missed Kate, suddenly. With every ounce of strength he had left.
With nothing else to distract him he replayed the events of the night in his head. He was pretty sure that he'd done the best he could. He'd done everything Peter had wanted. Only - he'd had to ask Peter to restrain him before paddling him. Peter had said he was okay with it, glad Neal had asked for what he needed, but maybe Peter hadn't wanted them. God, maybe it reminded him of Edwards, when he hadn't had a choice - Neal felt horrible, remembering how Peter hadn't wanted to use whips for that same reason.
And Christ, later, when Peter had told him to finger himself open, Neal hadn't been able to. He'd just have to work himself open before their next date so that Peter wouldn't have to wait. Peter had seemed to like fucking his mouth, though - and with the gag in his mouth, there was no way he could have done that wrong.
Oh. He'd come before Peter had told him it was okay. And on Peter's leg, on his suit - he flushed with embarrassment. Of course Peter would be angry, having to go home to his wife with Neal's cum stain on him. He felt sick, suddenly, with shame. No wonder Peter hadn't waited with him, as poorly as he'd performed.
Peter had such high expectations for him, and was always quick to correct him when he'd screwed up. At the office, in their cases, with his search for Kate - hopefully Peter wasn't finished with him yet. The note he'd left wasn't an immediate dismissal. That had to mean something.
He'd do better next time, he vowed, if Peter gave him a second chance. And as much as he loved Elizabeth, Neal selfishly hoped that maybe he'd be so good that Peter would stay with him for a while, after. He wished Peter and Elle a mental good night before falling asleep, and he did his best to mean it.
*
When Peter got back from his first date with Neal, he was hungry for her. He barreled into the living room, twirled her around, and laid her down on the couch before crawling on top of her. ""You're early," she said, surprised.
"We missed dinner."
"See if I ever make reservations for you and your boyfriend again," she said, trying to sound angry while Peter pulled her shirt over her head.
"Instead," he murmured into the valley between her breasts, "we went shopping. For some toys."
"Oh," she said, surprised. "I - what kind of 'toys'?"
"Paddles. Gags. These crazy restraints - but we got so carried away I ended up just using my handcuffs."
"You're joking."
"Not even a little. You should have seen him, Elle, all spread out for me." He slipped his hand down her pj pants, between her legs, rubbing against her clit. "Practically gagging for my cock."
"What - what did you do?"
"First," Peter said, "I spanked him until he came. I didn't even have to touch him."
"No way," she said with a moan as he slid his fingers down and pushed into her.
"I would not lie to you about something like that," he replied.
"How many times did he make you come?" Her voice was getting rougher, the way it sometimes did when she was turned on.
"Twice," he told her, and she believed him even as his cock hardened against her a third time. "Once in his mouth - he had this spider gag, Elle, that just held his mouth wide open for me, he took all of me."
"And then what did you do?" She asked, fighting her blush, imagining her husband in bed with the graceful, elusive, Neal Caffrey.
"I fucked him," he said, with obvious pleasure, nibbling on her breasts. "He came so hard that he passed out. Didn't even wake up when I took the cuffs off and put him to bed."
He slid her pants down her thighs and licked her. She imaged Neal in the same position, with Peter's hands cradling his hips. "Did you suck him?"
"No," he said. "But I paddled him."
"He liked it?"
"Yes," Peter moaned, licking her clit and then sucking, fucking her with two fingers, rubbing inside her. "He loved it. Next time, you should watch." She came, suddenly, hard. "Fuck," he said, jerking himself off while licking her through her orgasm.
She grabbed tissues off the table and cleaned them up quickly. She moved his arm and cuddled against his side. They fell asleep like that, sweaty and hot and content just to be with each other.
*
The next morning Peter made French toast and fresh squeezed orange juice, and she woke up to the taste of syrup on his lips. "I love you," he said.
"French toast? And orange juice? Why, Mr. Burke, I think I might just love you, too." He laughed and they sat on the couch together side by side. She hadn't put her shirt back on and when some powdered sugar spilled onto her chest Peter licked it off instead of fetching her a napkin. "What has gotten into you," she asked with a laugh. She wondered what it would be like to have Neal with them. She couldn't imagine him just lounging, the way they were, messy and unkempt. He was always dressed perfectly, never a hair out of place. Like he was putting on a show, she thought carefully, like he was putting up a shield.
Everything seemed to be going so smoothly. Only - the more she thought about what had happened, what Peter had told her of his night, the more she began to worry that something was wrong. "Peter Burke," she said sharply, grabbing his hand.
He looked up at her like an errant child, his fork full French toast halfway to his mouth. "Yes?"
"Last night, did you say that Neal didn't wake up before you left?"
"He was sleeping so soundly, Elle, I didn't have the heart to wake him up."
"Do you really think that it was okay to just leave him alone after everything you did together?"
"I left him a note!" Her glare informed him that a note was insufficient by far. "What was I supposed to do? I was pretty wiped out myself, Elle, I didn't want to wait any longer before I started driving."
"You should have stayed over. You should have called me to let me know, and stayed there."
"He wasn't really hurt. His pulse was steady and his breathing was even. Plus, the last time I stayed over in his apartment, he couldn't get rid of me fast enough."
"It's not the same anymore." Her voice had softened, but she'd sat up from the couch, done fooling around. "Do you know what I remember from our first time, Peter?"
"No," he mumbled, with a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't his awesome skills.
"I'd been so nervous. I mean - I was excited, too, I'd been looking forward to it for weeks. But I was so nervous. And after we finished you told me that I was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen."
"You were," he said. "You are."
"And it wasn't until then that I stopped feeling nervous," she told him. "When you spooned me and kissed me and told me I was pretty."
"You think Neal wants me to tell him that he's pretty?"
"Yes," she said, getting off the couch and throwing Peter his jacket from where it'd fallen on the floor. "I think that after what the two of you did he deserves to hear that." She was angry. And, Peter realized as he thought more about it, absolutely right.
"Shit. I fucked up, didn't I?"
"Yes. Now go over to June's and if Neal's up for it, invite him over for breakfast." She kissed him briefly before smacking him on the ass and pointing him towards the stairs.
*
The next part is here: ( the slow unraveling of me ) If you're surfing through the series, please consider leaving feedback on the individual parts! It would make my day. :-)
Author: hoosierbitch
Series: Kink Meme
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: PWP, El/Peter/Neal
Warnings: Bad aftercare. References to intense BDSM scene.
Word Count: 2,000
Notes: Title is taken from Lou Reed's song "Perfect Day." Originally posted on collarkink , but with significant changes. Follows: Pleasures I Don't Comprehend. For the whole series, try the tags!
Summary: The night and morning after Neal and Peter's date.
Neal woke up to the sound of the door closing, and took stock of his situation quickly. He'd been moved. Stretched out on the bed with the thick comforter pulled up to his chin - Peter'd tucked him in, he realized with a smile as he sat up. His ass burned inside and out and all of his muscles felt sore. He felt like he'd been ridden hard and (he realized with shame as he rolled onto his side) put away wet. He looked around for Peter and blinked stupidly at the note sitting on the pillow next to him before figuring out what it was. And then realized that what had woken him up was the sound of Peter leaving.
It always took him a while to transition after hard play. Kate had called it sub-drop, said it was normal, said it didn't make him weak. She'd always been so careful with him, afterwards. She'd praise him, tell him how good he'd been for her, tell him how beautiful she thought he was. She'd made sure he was clean and comfortable and had something to eat. Most of the time, though, all he'd needed her to do was hold him, run her fingers through his hair, tell him she loved him.
Only he and Kate had never played this hard. She'd liked made him wait, hold him on the edge, teased him with pain and pleasure until he couldn't tell the difference between the two. She didn't use force the way Peter did - had never whipped him, never used a paddle, never spanked him until he came. This was new to Neal, but he knew he'd liked it. He'd known that Peter wouldn't hurt him too badly, that he'd listen to Neal if he couldn't handle something and had to use his safeword. He'd known that Peter cared for him, and so he'd let go in ways he never had before. Only now, alone, he felt - lost. Like he'd lost his bearings. Like he'd been undercover and had to suddenly switch character, unsure of who he was supposed to be.
He unfolded the note with shaky fingers and deciphered Peter's scrawl with bleary eyes. "Have to go home & walk Satch. Call if you need me!" The second line was heavily underlined. He knew that Peter had left to go back to El, which was fine, really, he didn't mind, Peter didn't have to lie about it. She was perfect, down to earth, she'd known Peter for so long. How was Neal supposed to compete with that? Neal knew he was the kind of man people wanted to spend the night with, but Elizabeth was the kind of woman they wanted to wake up next to.
He eased himself out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom. He was bruised, sure, but he hadn't broken any skin (except on his wrists, his fault, pulled too hard against the handcuffs). He wouldn't need any help taking care of himself. No need to call Peter and disrupt his weekend. He had so little free time to spend with Elle. Neal knew he'd have to step carefully to avoid encroaching on that as much as he could.
He grabbed the aspirin and went to his dresser, pulling out thick socks and wrapping himself in Byron's warmest robe. He was starving. He realized, though, standing in the middle of his tiny kitchenette, that everything he owned required too much preparation. He barely stayed upright long enough to get himself more water. He slipped back under the covers and started fighting with the child-proof lid on the aspirin. About half the bottle spilled out onto the bed. He picked three up and swallowed them quickly. He'd leave the clean-up until morning. He missed Kate, suddenly. With every ounce of strength he had left.
With nothing else to distract him he replayed the events of the night in his head. He was pretty sure that he'd done the best he could. He'd done everything Peter had wanted. Only - he'd had to ask Peter to restrain him before paddling him. Peter had said he was okay with it, glad Neal had asked for what he needed, but maybe Peter hadn't wanted them. God, maybe it reminded him of Edwards, when he hadn't had a choice - Neal felt horrible, remembering how Peter hadn't wanted to use whips for that same reason.
And Christ, later, when Peter had told him to finger himself open, Neal hadn't been able to. He'd just have to work himself open before their next date so that Peter wouldn't have to wait. Peter had seemed to like fucking his mouth, though - and with the gag in his mouth, there was no way he could have done that wrong.
Oh. He'd come before Peter had told him it was okay. And on Peter's leg, on his suit - he flushed with embarrassment. Of course Peter would be angry, having to go home to his wife with Neal's cum stain on him. He felt sick, suddenly, with shame. No wonder Peter hadn't waited with him, as poorly as he'd performed.
Peter had such high expectations for him, and was always quick to correct him when he'd screwed up. At the office, in their cases, with his search for Kate - hopefully Peter wasn't finished with him yet. The note he'd left wasn't an immediate dismissal. That had to mean something.
He'd do better next time, he vowed, if Peter gave him a second chance. And as much as he loved Elizabeth, Neal selfishly hoped that maybe he'd be so good that Peter would stay with him for a while, after. He wished Peter and Elle a mental good night before falling asleep, and he did his best to mean it.
*
When Peter got back from his first date with Neal, he was hungry for her. He barreled into the living room, twirled her around, and laid her down on the couch before crawling on top of her. ""You're early," she said, surprised.
"We missed dinner."
"See if I ever make reservations for you and your boyfriend again," she said, trying to sound angry while Peter pulled her shirt over her head.
"Instead," he murmured into the valley between her breasts, "we went shopping. For some toys."
"Oh," she said, surprised. "I - what kind of 'toys'?"
"Paddles. Gags. These crazy restraints - but we got so carried away I ended up just using my handcuffs."
"You're joking."
"Not even a little. You should have seen him, Elle, all spread out for me." He slipped his hand down her pj pants, between her legs, rubbing against her clit. "Practically gagging for my cock."
"What - what did you do?"
"First," Peter said, "I spanked him until he came. I didn't even have to touch him."
"No way," she said with a moan as he slid his fingers down and pushed into her.
"I would not lie to you about something like that," he replied.
"How many times did he make you come?" Her voice was getting rougher, the way it sometimes did when she was turned on.
"Twice," he told her, and she believed him even as his cock hardened against her a third time. "Once in his mouth - he had this spider gag, Elle, that just held his mouth wide open for me, he took all of me."
"And then what did you do?" She asked, fighting her blush, imagining her husband in bed with the graceful, elusive, Neal Caffrey.
"I fucked him," he said, with obvious pleasure, nibbling on her breasts. "He came so hard that he passed out. Didn't even wake up when I took the cuffs off and put him to bed."
He slid her pants down her thighs and licked her. She imaged Neal in the same position, with Peter's hands cradling his hips. "Did you suck him?"
"No," he said. "But I paddled him."
"He liked it?"
"Yes," Peter moaned, licking her clit and then sucking, fucking her with two fingers, rubbing inside her. "He loved it. Next time, you should watch." She came, suddenly, hard. "Fuck," he said, jerking himself off while licking her through her orgasm.
She grabbed tissues off the table and cleaned them up quickly. She moved his arm and cuddled against his side. They fell asleep like that, sweaty and hot and content just to be with each other.
*
The next morning Peter made French toast and fresh squeezed orange juice, and she woke up to the taste of syrup on his lips. "I love you," he said.
"French toast? And orange juice? Why, Mr. Burke, I think I might just love you, too." He laughed and they sat on the couch together side by side. She hadn't put her shirt back on and when some powdered sugar spilled onto her chest Peter licked it off instead of fetching her a napkin. "What has gotten into you," she asked with a laugh. She wondered what it would be like to have Neal with them. She couldn't imagine him just lounging, the way they were, messy and unkempt. He was always dressed perfectly, never a hair out of place. Like he was putting on a show, she thought carefully, like he was putting up a shield.
Everything seemed to be going so smoothly. Only - the more she thought about what had happened, what Peter had told her of his night, the more she began to worry that something was wrong. "Peter Burke," she said sharply, grabbing his hand.
He looked up at her like an errant child, his fork full French toast halfway to his mouth. "Yes?"
"Last night, did you say that Neal didn't wake up before you left?"
"He was sleeping so soundly, Elle, I didn't have the heart to wake him up."
"Do you really think that it was okay to just leave him alone after everything you did together?"
"I left him a note!" Her glare informed him that a note was insufficient by far. "What was I supposed to do? I was pretty wiped out myself, Elle, I didn't want to wait any longer before I started driving."
"You should have stayed over. You should have called me to let me know, and stayed there."
"He wasn't really hurt. His pulse was steady and his breathing was even. Plus, the last time I stayed over in his apartment, he couldn't get rid of me fast enough."
"It's not the same anymore." Her voice had softened, but she'd sat up from the couch, done fooling around. "Do you know what I remember from our first time, Peter?"
"No," he mumbled, with a sneaking suspicion that it wasn't his awesome skills.
"I'd been so nervous. I mean - I was excited, too, I'd been looking forward to it for weeks. But I was so nervous. And after we finished you told me that I was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen."
"You were," he said. "You are."
"And it wasn't until then that I stopped feeling nervous," she told him. "When you spooned me and kissed me and told me I was pretty."
"You think Neal wants me to tell him that he's pretty?"
"Yes," she said, getting off the couch and throwing Peter his jacket from where it'd fallen on the floor. "I think that after what the two of you did he deserves to hear that." She was angry. And, Peter realized as he thought more about it, absolutely right.
"Shit. I fucked up, didn't I?"
"Yes. Now go over to June's and if Neal's up for it, invite him over for breakfast." She kissed him briefly before smacking him on the ass and pointing him towards the stairs.
*
The next part is here: ( the slow unraveling of me ) If you're surfing through the series, please consider leaving feedback on the individual parts! It would make my day. :-)