fic: the slow unraveling of me (KMS #4)
Title: the slow unraveling of me
Author: hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Series: #4 in Kink Meme, follows: i thought i was someone else (someone good)
Warnings: BDSM, angst, spanking, rough sex, consent issues, edgeplay. This is not an example of a healthy BDSM relationship.
Notes: Title is taken from the Indigo Girl's song "Soon to be Nothing"
Summary: 5,000 words of porn, pasta, and consent issues. None of them know exactly what they want, but they want so badly.
*
Neal managed to avoid Peter all weekend, but it wasn't easy. He'd stopped by June's late Saturday morning, and Neal had barely managed to turn him away. He'd known he wasn't ready (mentally or physically) for another round. He'd kept Peter standing out on the landing, claiming that Moz was in the bathroom in the apartment, their plans for the day already set in stone. Peter had finally left, albeit reluctantly. He'd called again late in the afternoon and Neal had declined his invitation to both dinner that night and breakfast the following morning with he and Elizabeth.
He spent most of the morning in the bath and the afternoon in bed, doing his best not to move and aggravate his sore muscles. He didn't want to go to their house. Not while Elizabeth was there. He was pretty sure that Peter would wait to punish him until they were alone, but he wasn't positive. He didn't want Elizabeth to see him like that. Didn't want her to know how badly he'd performed. He knew he had quite a reputation to live up to, and that his first encounter with Peter had been a disappointment.
He just needed a little more time. Just a bit more rest, so that the exposed, vulnerable feeling would fade, and he would stop feeling so...fragile. Just time and rest and he'd be fine. And, hell, even if he wasn't - he'd made a career out of smiling at people. He'd be able to fake it (he studiously ignored the inner voice that told him Peter would see through it). He avoided June's staff as best as he could. He didn't want to change out of Byron's comforting bathrobe, and unfortunately when he wore it his bruised wrists were clearly visible.
When Monday morning came he seriously considered not getting out of bed. Contemplated turning off his phone and locking the door. Or maybe he could call in sick - if he thought there was any chance that Peter would believe him and leave him alone, he would have. Instead he got up early, grabbed his lube, and fingered himself open in case Peter wanted a quickie in the car during lunch. He'd be ready, this time, for whatever Peter wanted. He got hard thinking about bending over the steering wheel or the dashboard while Peter made him fuck himself up and down on his cock. His ass still ached from Friday, but he got four fingers in quickly enough, imagining it was Peter. When he imagined Peter talking to him, telling him he was a good boy, pretty, hot for him - it felt wrong.
"Fuck-up," he said, and it sounded hollow and harsh and mean but he felt his cock jump in his hand. "Slut," he said, voice tight, and he imagined it was Peter. "Whore," he called himself, and came with four fingers in his ass and the memory of Peter's hands stroking him through it.
He dressed in a suit that he knew made Peter stare at his ass whenever he bent over, but left off the hat. Peter didn't like the hat. He didn't know what he'd say to Cruz and Jones to explain Peter's anger, didn't know how Peter would make him pay - extra paperwork, maybe, or no lunch break. He - he was pretty sure that Peter wouldn't let it interfere with any undercover work. Wouldn't endanger his life. He just - he needed Peter to show him how to be better. He had to be better. If Peter got over him, stopped going out of his way to keep Neal with the FBI and protect him from the higher-ups, Neal knew how quickly he'd be headed back to prison.
He tried to eat something but even the scent of the banana made him nauseous. He hailed a cab and prayed that they wouldn't get any work in the field today, or if they did, that he'd have time to suck Peter off first, maybe sneak a spanking in one of the bathrooms. If only Peter's office didn't have glass walls.
Peter didn't say anything when he came in and walked past Neal's desk. Just gave him an awkward nod and went into his office. He gave out assignments soon after that, and Neal was sent down to the archives to research any possible connections between two companies that had recently declared bankruptcy. Jones came down around lunchtime to see if he wanted to go out, but Neal lied and said he'd brought lunch with him. Peter might have sent him to the stacks for privacy, might be coming down soon. Maybe they'd go out to lunch together. Maybe they'd do it in the car, or maybe right there against the shelf - he wasted a few minutes wishing he could get under Peter's desk and lick his balls while he did paperwork.
But Peter didn't come down during the lunch hour. Or in the hours after. Neal went up around 3, fingers crossed that Peter hadn't left him behind for a meeting or assignment - but Peter was in his office. He waved Neal over when he saw him poking his head around the door of the stairwell. He steeled himself, stood up straight, wished he had his hat to play with, and went into Peter's office.
"I want to suck you," was unfortunately what came out of his mouth instead of 'hello'. "I mean - fuck, I'm sorry." Peter blushed and then laughed, resting his face on one of his hands (not going to get hard, Neal vowed, looking at Peter's forearms).
"I'm glad I'm not the only one having issues with this," Peter said. He tapped his fingers against his cheek and hmm'd. "I would love to take you to the locker-room and fuck you. Right now." His voice was so steady, like he wasn't bothered at all. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Neal said. "Ready to go again."
Peter groaned but shook his head. "Not here. I don't want this to interfere with work."
Neal bit his lip. "So what - what do you want me to do?" He hid his shaking hands behind his back.
"I want you to go back downstairs and work. And at 6, I want you to come home with me. We need to talk. You're going to tell me what's wrong." Neal knew what he'd done wrong. The list of his sins was on the tip of his tongue - but he held it back. He'd wait to recite it until Peter asked to hear it. "Elizabeth's making Italian. You like eggplant, right?" Neal nodded. "Good. Okay." He dismissed him with a smile, and Neal tried to respond in kind.
He worked as hard as he could the next three hours. Maybe if he made a breakthrough, maybe if he found something only he would know to look for, it would help soothe Peter's wrath. He worked as hard as he could but came up empty handed. They talked about the case the entire drive to Peter's house (with one brief interruption when Peter called the Marshals). It was horribly stilted. Neal kept having to wipe the nervous sweat off his palms, doing his best to fight the impulse to bend over and suck Peter's cock until he forgave him.
El was there when the got to the house. Of course. She'd made eggplant Parmesan and it was, like everything else she touched, perfect. Neal turned on the charm as much as he could but his nerves kept interfering. He wasn't funny, didn't make them laugh and smile as much as he usually could. By the end of the meal everything tasted sour in his mouth, sitting heavy in his stomach.
Peter took Satch out and Neal helped El with the dishes. She dropped a wine glass. It spilled but didn't break, and they knocked heads trying to clean it up. "Oh, Christ," she said, plopping herself down on the floor, wine soaking into her socks, and looked up at him. "I'm so nervous. Can you tell?" He shook his head.
"You're consistently glorious," he informed her.
"I want to kiss you," she said. "I kept getting distracted at dinner because I really, really want to kiss you."
"It's okay with Peter?"
"Is it okay with you?" He put his hands on the counter above her head and crouched down, straddling her lap, and kissed her. She kissed like Peter did. She pushed her tongue between his lips and he let her, she grabbed his head in her hands and he tilted where she pushed him, she lifted her knees until her thighs pressed against his ass and he chuckled into her mouth.
"Nervous? Really?" She was laughing against his neck when Peter walked into the kitchen.
"Getting started without me?" Neal tried to stand up, to back away from El, but she wouldn't let go.
"I'd like to join you," El said, without an ounce of shyness in her voice. "Is that okay with you?"
He tried to look at Peter to get some clue as to what he was supposed to do, but Peter wasn't giving him any hints. Peter usually wanted what El wanted, and he always wanted El to be happy, so he'd probably want all three of them together. Neal looked at El and asked himself: do I want her? She looked like Kate, he realized, taking in her blue eyes and long dark hair. But her eyes - she was smiling at him, licking her lips nervously and she looked like - like she'd be okay even if he said no. Kate had never looked at him like that.
"Yes," he said, praying that his answer would match up with Peter's desires. "I want both of you. Please." Peter stepped up behind him and put a hand around Neal's throat. "Fu - oh, god, Peter - "
"Kiss him," Peter told El. She raised an eyebrow at his commanding tone, but then put her hands on Neal's face, tilted his head to the side, and when she kissed him Peter's hand tightened. Every breath he drew around El's lips, around her soft questing tongue, was harsh. Peter started rocking his erection against Neal's ass and El started tracing her hands through his hair, around his ears, he thought he was going to tear in two different directions - he didn't know where to focus. El's fingers were soft, firm, curious - and Peter seemed like he was trying to fuck him through their clothes, trying to ration his air, he closed his eyes and moaned into Elizabeth's mouth, ground himself back against Peter, sobbed in another breath of air and tried to let go.
Then Peter pushed him away. He coughed in lung-fulls of air and when he looked back up, Peter was holding El in front of him the way he'd been holding Neal - only his hands were cradling her hips carefully, gently, and Neal could still feel the imprint of Peter's fingers around his throat. "Bedroom," Peter ordered. "Then you're going to strip for us." They tumbled up the stairs quickly, Satch trying to play along. El shut him outside the room and sat down on the bed to watch him.
He undressed slowly, eyes on Peter to see if he needed to hurry - but both the Burkes seemed content to watch him go button by button. When he undid the cuffs and let his shirt slide onto the floor (don't stop to fold it, he reminded himself, Byron's clothes will survive a few wrinkles) El made a soft sound and stepped towards him. Neal steeled himself to withstand her caresses, but she just grabbed his hands carefully.
His wrists were still raw from the handcuffs. The skin was bruised, scabbed over in a few places where he'd bled. "How did this happen? Peter, did you do this?"
"No," Neal corrected quickly. "It's nothing. Your - Peter tied me up, last time. With his handcuffs, and I guess I - I got a little overexcited." He smiled, trying to hide the fact that he knew it was a mistake on his part that Peter would hopefully punish him for soon. He didn't want El to be there for that. Please, he thought at Peter. Please, wait until we're alone for that.
"You did this to yourself?" She asked, like she still didn't believe him. And he wanted to be wrong, too, he really should have had enough self-control not to pull so hard. But then Peter put his hands on his wrists, the pads of his fingers ghosting over his pulse points, and he forgot what he was thinking - forgot he should still be apologizing - because Peter was touching him so very carefully. He couldn't stand it.
"Fuck me," he pleaded, and Peter brought his wrist to his mouth and kissed the torn flesh. "Peter, please - "
"I'm sorry I hurt you," Peter said, and Neal didn't understand. "I didn't mean for you to - to hurt yourself." And Neal nodded. He knew it was a mistake, he wouldn't let it happen again.
"It was my fault," Neal said, and El started to contradict him. "I shouldn't have pulled so hard," he explained, because they were new to this, they didn't know.
"Oh, baby - " And that was not the tone of voice in which he usually received that particular endearment. Not pitying. Not sad. Not like he was - was wrong.
"What did I tell you?" Peter asked, and Neal tried to think of all the orders Peter had given him, but Peter was still holding his wrists (so carefully) and El looked like she was thinking of taking him to bed and not fucking him in it, and he - he didn't know. "You only get to hurt when I hurt you," Peter told him. "When I mean to hurt you."
He didn't like being toyed with, not like this, not when he didn't know what game they were playing with him. "What do you want," El asked him, "what do you like?"
He felt like being cruel. Like he was made up entirely sharp cutting edges and he was sick of their questions, sick of them waiting for him to break. "I like to get fucked," he said harshly. "I like getting whipped, and paddled, and hurt. I liked it when your husband put me over his lap and made me lick up my own cum off his leg, and when he made me kiss the paddle before he beat me with it - " And she didn't look scandalized, and Peter didn't look angry, and he didn't know. "I liked it when you kissed me," he said, helplessly, because he had, because he was lost. "Peter," he murmured. "I need you tell me what to do."
"Then I need you to tell me what you want," Peter insisted, and his hands were on Neal's face, through his hair, tracing over the sensitive skin of his ears, following the path Elizabeth had made.
"I want to be good," he said wretchedly. He looked to Elizabeth. He needed her to know. "I want to be good." And Peter kissed him, then, like he was trying to erase the taste of the words from both of their mouths. "I want to be good," he whispered past the comforting hand Peter put back on his throat. He felt El's hands on his chest, caressing his stomach, felt her breasts pressed against his shoulder blades. "I can be good," he promised, he hoped, if Peter would just tell him what to do he could at least be better - "I want you to hurt me."
"Ask for it," Peter said, and his voice was cold and steady and exactly what Neal had been waiting for. He sighed out his worry and leaned against Peter's chest.
"Please hurt me."
"How?" Peter asked. Neal whined into his chest, too far gone to think.
"Do you want Peter to fuck you?"
"Yes," he moaned, cock already too hard, and he couldn't believe what Elizabeth was offering to him. He prayed that she wasn't toying with him.
"Do you want him to spank you," she asked, and her voice was soft but Neal knew hunger when he heard it. He whined again and nodded. "With his hand, or with one of my hairbrushes?"
"Hand," he begged, "then the brush." And Peter grabbed him around the waist, pushed him down onto the bed and started pulling Neal's pants off.
"El, can you get one of my belts? I want you to tie his wrists with it. And use one of your scarves for padding."
"Yes, sir," she teased, and she was kidding but she still went to the closet to get the scarf and belt.
"Are you okay with El telling you what to do?" Peter asked.
"Yes, sir," he said, as honestly as he could. Peter smiled at him and something in his chest opened back up.
Peter leaned forward and whispered a question into his ear. "Will you eat her out while I spank you?"
"Yes," he breathed, because El was strong and Peter's (the same way Peter was hers, the same way he wanted to be, to both of them), and he wanted to pleasure her. Peter rolled him onto his stomach and bound his hands behind his back, carefully making sure the scarf provided enough padding. Neal didn't tell him that it was okay, he'd be better this time - because he already felt lightheaded and sick and hungry, he didn't trust himself not to fight.
"El. Neal wants to eat you out."
"Do you," she murmured, and when she walked around the bed and into Neal's line-of-sight, his jaw dropped. She'd stripped down to bra and panties. A set of matching maroon lace that made her breasts looked fantastic, pale and ready to spill out, he could see her hard nipples pressing against the fabric. She got onto the bed and shuffled over until the small black bow on her panties was right in front of his mouth. The angle was uncomfortable but he did the best he could. He licked at the skin above the fabric, tried to get up to her bellybutton - but he had no leverage so he licked his way back down and tried to sneak his tongue below the fabric. It was a tight fit, but her breath caught with each swipe of his tongue against her pubic hair.
When the underside of his tongue was starting to burn from the friction he went lower and licked at her cunt through the lace. He could do this, he could make it so good for her, make her come, make her scream - make her grateful.
When she started moaning Peter began spanking him. He and El both gasped at the first strike. Right on the underside of his ass, his whole hand, then over and over so quickly - his hand had to hurt, because Neal's skin was already so tender under Peter's occasional caress. Neal groaned into El, lost his rhythm, lost his breath and purpose.
"I think he likes that," El said with a laugh. Peter landed a series of smacks right on the top of his ass over the same patch of skin. El's hands tangled in his hair and pulled him in tighter. Peter's hair was so short, it must be a novelty to her. "Come on, baby," El admonished him. "Don't get lazy on me, now."
He started licking again quickly but Peter had already stopped. "Lazy, Caffrey?" He whimpered into El's cunt and tried to push his tongue into her. "Take her underwear off before I start with the hairbrush," Peter ordered. He pulled up on the belt to get Neal off the bed. His shoulders screamed, his moans - no longer muffled by El's flesh - were startlingly loud. "Without using your hands," Peter said in a wicked tone of voice.
Neal knew he looked a mess. He was dripping with El's juices and his own spit, lips sore already and swollen. El lay back on the bed to help him out and he shifted awkwardly on top of her, bit the lace gently with his teeth and working it down over her hips. It was painstakingly slow. She pet his hair every so often and he blushed.
Then Peter grabbed his balls and started pulling. His mouth opened, he dropped the lace, and Peter tsked at him. "Hurry up, Neal." He kept a steady pressure and the pain started leeching up from his balls into his dick, through his groin - he was crying, tears streaming down his teeth, stomach clenching involuntarily as he got the panties over her hips, down her thighs. He sobbed with relief when he go them past her knees and Peter's grip loosened.
He had to belly-crawl back up the bed, but when he licked at El's cunt and his tongue dipped into her soaked slit, he couldn't help but feel it had been worth it. He worked his tongue through her pubic hair (he loved that she wasn't shaved) and sucked on her clit. She groaned, grabbed his head, squeezed her thighs, and took her pleasure from him.
Then Peter started with the hairbrush. Neal shouted with each blow. Peter must have felt comfortable putting more force behind it because it was so much smaller than the paddles had been. The paddles tended to spread the pain, they covered such a broad area - but the brush was concentrated. He felt it through his skin, into the muscles, and the repeated blows spread through him, made his blood pound.They ached like week old bruises and when Peter squeezed his cheeks he burned.
"He's crying," El observed, and she clenched around his tongue.
"Neal, if you want me to keep going, spread your hands open. Keep them closed if you want me to stop." He spread them, Peter kept going, he was screaming helplessly into El's cunt when she came. He turned his face away afterwards, catching his breath and licking El's juices off his chin as best as he could. "Keep going," Peter growled.
He spanked Neal's inner thighs until El came again. It hurt worse than anything had since Peter had whipped him, hurt worse than when Peter had left him, he scraped the bristles of the brush over the skin, over his balls, over his cock - he was literally raw, bruised from his knees to his groin, and Peter just kept going. He hadn't even had to ask for it.
When El came the second time, she moved away, too sensitive for him to keep going. "Open yourself up," Peter ordered, pulling him off the bed, untying his wrists, and tossing him some lube. Peter settled against the headboard and El moved to sit next to him.
They watched him as he sprawled at the foot of their bed and tried to get his fingers inside himself. His joints were stiff and his muscles tight from having been bound, but he clenched his teeth and worked through it. He started right away with three fingers and Peter smiled at him again, again he felt something in his chest break open. "Have you been playing with yourself, Neal?"
"No," he said. "I just - prepared. I wanted to be ready for you."
El buried her fingers between her legs with a moan and Peter crawled over to him, pulling Neal's fingers out and shoving three of his own in. It hurt, Peter's fingers weren't lubed, they were larger than Neal's. "You don't get to play with yourself without me," Peter told him, and Neal's stomach dropped. He'd gotten it wrong again. But - but Peter would tell him, now, what he wanted. He could wait for Peter. "If I want you opened up for me, I'll tell you." He tucked his head into the curve of Neal's neck and found his prostate with his scissoring fingers. "This is mine, now."
Neal didn't protest until he pulled his fingers out. "I need you," he pleaded wrapping his hands around Peter's shoulders. "I need you."
"Then ask for it."
"I want you," he said quietly, because it was a cliche but it was also the only truth he had left. "I want both of you." And then (terrified by his own initiative) he ran hand over the stubble of Peter's cheek. He looked to El this time for permission, and she nodded. Somehow it seemed more private than Peter's fingers inside him. More revealing. More - intimate. He memorized every moment, cradling the taste and smell and feel of them in case it never happened again. He savored the sensation of Peter's lips under his palm, the warmth of his breath, the way Peter licked kisses down his fingers to the skin of his stomach, around the head of his dripping cock. Loved the way Elizabeth picked up the belt and tied his hands above his head, bound them carefully, and bit the webbing between his fingers while her husband settled between his bruised, spread legs.
Peter breached him slowly. Eased in centimeter by centimeter with each measured exhale. Neal licked at the sweat dripping down his chest and cherished him for taking his time, for making it burn, for taking him so completely.
El moved his hands so that he could work his fingers into her - it wasn't perfect, with his wrists together, but she helped by riding him slowly. It helped to distract from the sensation of Peter's cock (too big, too big too big) that felt like it would never end. Inch after inch, until he felt like it was splitting him open.
"You're beautiful," El said when her husband bottomed out in him and he started crying again. "So beautiful," she said, because she didn't see him the way Peter did.
"You mean - sexy," he corrected. "Fuckable. Pretty - "
"Beautiful," Peter insisted, and pulled back out. "Do you - do you not know how beautiful you are right now?"
Neal bit his tongue when Peter increased his pace and tried not to disagree with him, just tightened his legs around Peter's waist and tried to pull him in further, keep him in longer, make him stop lying. "Say it," Peter ordered. His thighs burned, bruised from the brush, but he tightened his legs and shook his head. "Say it!"
"You think I'm beautiful," Neal whispered. Peter stopped moving with only the head of his cock still inside of him, the widest part of him stretching Neal's hole.
"Say that you're beautiful," he ordered, and Neal tried to wiggle himself further onto Peter's cock, to shut him up, but El just pulled the belt taut and wouldn't let him. She lifted herself from his hands but didn't loosen her grip.
"Don't," Neal said, and Peter slid so slowly back inside of him that he felt every bit of friction, every uncomfortable stretch. It felt like Peter was trying to stretch him permanently open, ruin his hole, leave it loose and sore and ready for his cock. Then he pulled back out and stopped again. "Yellow," Neal threatened.
"Say that you're beautiful," Peter repeated and Neal tried to bite at his lips when Peter bent down to kiss him, tried to bite his neck when he turned away, tried to kick him but Peter's hips were between his legs, opening him, keeping him spread, holding him down.
"No," he said, and Peter fucked roughly all the way in. Neal yelled and jerked against his bonds, but Elizabeth just adjusted her hold and pulled his arms up until he was completely at their mercy. "Stop," he cried, but Peter was sucking a hickey onto his neck and Elizabeth had her fingers worked under the belt to make sure it didn't pull too hard against his wrists, neither of them seemed like they were going to stop anytime soon. And Peter's cock, Peter's huge hot dick just seemed to get bigger every time Neal clenched down around him to try and convince him to move.
"You're beautiful," and Peter bit a new mark into his shoulder. "So beautiful like this, for us, you are so perfect - " and Neal sobbed and writhed and god, he sounded so pitiful, his weak cries echoing in their bedroom, while he lay uselessly on their bed, tied up with their clothes, covered with their sweat and bite marks and bruises - "you're ours," Peter growled. "You're beautiful. Say it."
Red, he thought. "I'm beautiful," he said.
Peter started fucking him again and he wasn't just gasping for breath anymore, he was flat-out sobbing, and El was kissing his cheeks to wipe up his tears but with every thrust he felt like Peter was pushing him out of his skin, like there wasn't enough room for Neal in his own body, like Peter was trying to reshape him just the way he wanted, into something else, something beautiful. Something good.
He almost didn't notice when he came. His body was wracked with pain and friction and need, and it wasn't until El's hand wrapped around his cock to help him finish that he realized what was happening.
As soon as she worked the last shudder out of him Peter pulled back, adjusted his hold on Neal's thighs, and kept going. With the new angle Peter was hitting his prostate with every stroke, as if he was aiming for it, like he was trying to make Neal come again even though he felt like he'd just shot his entire life out his dick.
Peter lifted up his torso and El slipped under him, so that his back was against her chest, so that she could hold him. She was hot and the arms she wrapped around him were strong, but she grabbed his cock again and he couldn't bear the stimulation. "I'm not," he said, "I'm not - I can't - "
"You can," she said into his ear. "For us." When he came back into himself he realized that his back was wet. El had come while Peter was fucking him. Had come while watching her husband move inside of him.
"Can't breathe," he gasped, but Peter didn't even slow down.
"You're mine," Peter said. "You're ours, and you're going to do what we tell you to do." Neal closed his eyes and tried to ignore how tight his chest felt, how grateful he was, how safe he felt between them. He started rocking his hips to meet Peter's thrusts. His ass and thighs and cock all felt so raw it was almost unbearable.
"Perfect," Peter said, and El started playing with the head of his cock, started teasing his balls, started working him back up to full hardness. She was biting his neck and murmuring in his ear and calling him baby, calling him beautiful.
"You're doing so well," she said, and his head fell back his muscles seized and he came, impossibly, not even fully erect. Peter kissed him, thrust deep inside him, and he could feel Peter come. He could feel the way Peter slid in smoother on his final thrusts, using his semen as lubricant, hot and wet and right against his prostate. El worked another spurt out of him and he tried to get away (it was agony) but they wanted to watch. They wanted him to share his pain with them.
"So good," Peter said, and he mewled, he sobbed, he didn't know what sounds were coming out of his mouth - he just knew that Peter twined his arms with El's around him, that they were holding him, that he was crying and they were - they were there.
"Don't leave me," he whispered into Peter's shoulder. He tried to turn away, to hide himself, but they wouldn't let him.
"He needs us," he heard El say. He felt Peter nod. "Okay," El said. "Okay."
"We're not going to leave you."
They fell asleep in a sore, messy pile on the bed, like puppies, like children, like a promise.
*
The next part can be found here.
Author: hoosierbitch
Rating: NC-17
Series: #4 in Kink Meme, follows: i thought i was someone else (someone good)
Warnings: BDSM, angst, spanking, rough sex, consent issues, edgeplay. This is not an example of a healthy BDSM relationship.
Notes: Title is taken from the Indigo Girl's song "Soon to be Nothing"
Summary: 5,000 words of porn, pasta, and consent issues. None of them know exactly what they want, but they want so badly.
*
Neal managed to avoid Peter all weekend, but it wasn't easy. He'd stopped by June's late Saturday morning, and Neal had barely managed to turn him away. He'd known he wasn't ready (mentally or physically) for another round. He'd kept Peter standing out on the landing, claiming that Moz was in the bathroom in the apartment, their plans for the day already set in stone. Peter had finally left, albeit reluctantly. He'd called again late in the afternoon and Neal had declined his invitation to both dinner that night and breakfast the following morning with he and Elizabeth.
He spent most of the morning in the bath and the afternoon in bed, doing his best not to move and aggravate his sore muscles. He didn't want to go to their house. Not while Elizabeth was there. He was pretty sure that Peter would wait to punish him until they were alone, but he wasn't positive. He didn't want Elizabeth to see him like that. Didn't want her to know how badly he'd performed. He knew he had quite a reputation to live up to, and that his first encounter with Peter had been a disappointment.
He just needed a little more time. Just a bit more rest, so that the exposed, vulnerable feeling would fade, and he would stop feeling so...fragile. Just time and rest and he'd be fine. And, hell, even if he wasn't - he'd made a career out of smiling at people. He'd be able to fake it (he studiously ignored the inner voice that told him Peter would see through it). He avoided June's staff as best as he could. He didn't want to change out of Byron's comforting bathrobe, and unfortunately when he wore it his bruised wrists were clearly visible.
When Monday morning came he seriously considered not getting out of bed. Contemplated turning off his phone and locking the door. Or maybe he could call in sick - if he thought there was any chance that Peter would believe him and leave him alone, he would have. Instead he got up early, grabbed his lube, and fingered himself open in case Peter wanted a quickie in the car during lunch. He'd be ready, this time, for whatever Peter wanted. He got hard thinking about bending over the steering wheel or the dashboard while Peter made him fuck himself up and down on his cock. His ass still ached from Friday, but he got four fingers in quickly enough, imagining it was Peter. When he imagined Peter talking to him, telling him he was a good boy, pretty, hot for him - it felt wrong.
"Fuck-up," he said, and it sounded hollow and harsh and mean but he felt his cock jump in his hand. "Slut," he said, voice tight, and he imagined it was Peter. "Whore," he called himself, and came with four fingers in his ass and the memory of Peter's hands stroking him through it.
He dressed in a suit that he knew made Peter stare at his ass whenever he bent over, but left off the hat. Peter didn't like the hat. He didn't know what he'd say to Cruz and Jones to explain Peter's anger, didn't know how Peter would make him pay - extra paperwork, maybe, or no lunch break. He - he was pretty sure that Peter wouldn't let it interfere with any undercover work. Wouldn't endanger his life. He just - he needed Peter to show him how to be better. He had to be better. If Peter got over him, stopped going out of his way to keep Neal with the FBI and protect him from the higher-ups, Neal knew how quickly he'd be headed back to prison.
He tried to eat something but even the scent of the banana made him nauseous. He hailed a cab and prayed that they wouldn't get any work in the field today, or if they did, that he'd have time to suck Peter off first, maybe sneak a spanking in one of the bathrooms. If only Peter's office didn't have glass walls.
Peter didn't say anything when he came in and walked past Neal's desk. Just gave him an awkward nod and went into his office. He gave out assignments soon after that, and Neal was sent down to the archives to research any possible connections between two companies that had recently declared bankruptcy. Jones came down around lunchtime to see if he wanted to go out, but Neal lied and said he'd brought lunch with him. Peter might have sent him to the stacks for privacy, might be coming down soon. Maybe they'd go out to lunch together. Maybe they'd do it in the car, or maybe right there against the shelf - he wasted a few minutes wishing he could get under Peter's desk and lick his balls while he did paperwork.
But Peter didn't come down during the lunch hour. Or in the hours after. Neal went up around 3, fingers crossed that Peter hadn't left him behind for a meeting or assignment - but Peter was in his office. He waved Neal over when he saw him poking his head around the door of the stairwell. He steeled himself, stood up straight, wished he had his hat to play with, and went into Peter's office.
"I want to suck you," was unfortunately what came out of his mouth instead of 'hello'. "I mean - fuck, I'm sorry." Peter blushed and then laughed, resting his face on one of his hands (not going to get hard, Neal vowed, looking at Peter's forearms).
"I'm glad I'm not the only one having issues with this," Peter said. He tapped his fingers against his cheek and hmm'd. "I would love to take you to the locker-room and fuck you. Right now." His voice was so steady, like he wasn't bothered at all. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Neal said. "Ready to go again."
Peter groaned but shook his head. "Not here. I don't want this to interfere with work."
Neal bit his lip. "So what - what do you want me to do?" He hid his shaking hands behind his back.
"I want you to go back downstairs and work. And at 6, I want you to come home with me. We need to talk. You're going to tell me what's wrong." Neal knew what he'd done wrong. The list of his sins was on the tip of his tongue - but he held it back. He'd wait to recite it until Peter asked to hear it. "Elizabeth's making Italian. You like eggplant, right?" Neal nodded. "Good. Okay." He dismissed him with a smile, and Neal tried to respond in kind.
He worked as hard as he could the next three hours. Maybe if he made a breakthrough, maybe if he found something only he would know to look for, it would help soothe Peter's wrath. He worked as hard as he could but came up empty handed. They talked about the case the entire drive to Peter's house (with one brief interruption when Peter called the Marshals). It was horribly stilted. Neal kept having to wipe the nervous sweat off his palms, doing his best to fight the impulse to bend over and suck Peter's cock until he forgave him.
El was there when the got to the house. Of course. She'd made eggplant Parmesan and it was, like everything else she touched, perfect. Neal turned on the charm as much as he could but his nerves kept interfering. He wasn't funny, didn't make them laugh and smile as much as he usually could. By the end of the meal everything tasted sour in his mouth, sitting heavy in his stomach.
Peter took Satch out and Neal helped El with the dishes. She dropped a wine glass. It spilled but didn't break, and they knocked heads trying to clean it up. "Oh, Christ," she said, plopping herself down on the floor, wine soaking into her socks, and looked up at him. "I'm so nervous. Can you tell?" He shook his head.
"You're consistently glorious," he informed her.
"I want to kiss you," she said. "I kept getting distracted at dinner because I really, really want to kiss you."
"It's okay with Peter?"
"Is it okay with you?" He put his hands on the counter above her head and crouched down, straddling her lap, and kissed her. She kissed like Peter did. She pushed her tongue between his lips and he let her, she grabbed his head in her hands and he tilted where she pushed him, she lifted her knees until her thighs pressed against his ass and he chuckled into her mouth.
"Nervous? Really?" She was laughing against his neck when Peter walked into the kitchen.
"Getting started without me?" Neal tried to stand up, to back away from El, but she wouldn't let go.
"I'd like to join you," El said, without an ounce of shyness in her voice. "Is that okay with you?"
He tried to look at Peter to get some clue as to what he was supposed to do, but Peter wasn't giving him any hints. Peter usually wanted what El wanted, and he always wanted El to be happy, so he'd probably want all three of them together. Neal looked at El and asked himself: do I want her? She looked like Kate, he realized, taking in her blue eyes and long dark hair. But her eyes - she was smiling at him, licking her lips nervously and she looked like - like she'd be okay even if he said no. Kate had never looked at him like that.
"Yes," he said, praying that his answer would match up with Peter's desires. "I want both of you. Please." Peter stepped up behind him and put a hand around Neal's throat. "Fu - oh, god, Peter - "
"Kiss him," Peter told El. She raised an eyebrow at his commanding tone, but then put her hands on Neal's face, tilted his head to the side, and when she kissed him Peter's hand tightened. Every breath he drew around El's lips, around her soft questing tongue, was harsh. Peter started rocking his erection against Neal's ass and El started tracing her hands through his hair, around his ears, he thought he was going to tear in two different directions - he didn't know where to focus. El's fingers were soft, firm, curious - and Peter seemed like he was trying to fuck him through their clothes, trying to ration his air, he closed his eyes and moaned into Elizabeth's mouth, ground himself back against Peter, sobbed in another breath of air and tried to let go.
Then Peter pushed him away. He coughed in lung-fulls of air and when he looked back up, Peter was holding El in front of him the way he'd been holding Neal - only his hands were cradling her hips carefully, gently, and Neal could still feel the imprint of Peter's fingers around his throat. "Bedroom," Peter ordered. "Then you're going to strip for us." They tumbled up the stairs quickly, Satch trying to play along. El shut him outside the room and sat down on the bed to watch him.
He undressed slowly, eyes on Peter to see if he needed to hurry - but both the Burkes seemed content to watch him go button by button. When he undid the cuffs and let his shirt slide onto the floor (don't stop to fold it, he reminded himself, Byron's clothes will survive a few wrinkles) El made a soft sound and stepped towards him. Neal steeled himself to withstand her caresses, but she just grabbed his hands carefully.
His wrists were still raw from the handcuffs. The skin was bruised, scabbed over in a few places where he'd bled. "How did this happen? Peter, did you do this?"
"No," Neal corrected quickly. "It's nothing. Your - Peter tied me up, last time. With his handcuffs, and I guess I - I got a little overexcited." He smiled, trying to hide the fact that he knew it was a mistake on his part that Peter would hopefully punish him for soon. He didn't want El to be there for that. Please, he thought at Peter. Please, wait until we're alone for that.
"You did this to yourself?" She asked, like she still didn't believe him. And he wanted to be wrong, too, he really should have had enough self-control not to pull so hard. But then Peter put his hands on his wrists, the pads of his fingers ghosting over his pulse points, and he forgot what he was thinking - forgot he should still be apologizing - because Peter was touching him so very carefully. He couldn't stand it.
"Fuck me," he pleaded, and Peter brought his wrist to his mouth and kissed the torn flesh. "Peter, please - "
"I'm sorry I hurt you," Peter said, and Neal didn't understand. "I didn't mean for you to - to hurt yourself." And Neal nodded. He knew it was a mistake, he wouldn't let it happen again.
"It was my fault," Neal said, and El started to contradict him. "I shouldn't have pulled so hard," he explained, because they were new to this, they didn't know.
"Oh, baby - " And that was not the tone of voice in which he usually received that particular endearment. Not pitying. Not sad. Not like he was - was wrong.
"What did I tell you?" Peter asked, and Neal tried to think of all the orders Peter had given him, but Peter was still holding his wrists (so carefully) and El looked like she was thinking of taking him to bed and not fucking him in it, and he - he didn't know. "You only get to hurt when I hurt you," Peter told him. "When I mean to hurt you."
He didn't like being toyed with, not like this, not when he didn't know what game they were playing with him. "What do you want," El asked him, "what do you like?"
He felt like being cruel. Like he was made up entirely sharp cutting edges and he was sick of their questions, sick of them waiting for him to break. "I like to get fucked," he said harshly. "I like getting whipped, and paddled, and hurt. I liked it when your husband put me over his lap and made me lick up my own cum off his leg, and when he made me kiss the paddle before he beat me with it - " And she didn't look scandalized, and Peter didn't look angry, and he didn't know. "I liked it when you kissed me," he said, helplessly, because he had, because he was lost. "Peter," he murmured. "I need you tell me what to do."
"Then I need you to tell me what you want," Peter insisted, and his hands were on Neal's face, through his hair, tracing over the sensitive skin of his ears, following the path Elizabeth had made.
"I want to be good," he said wretchedly. He looked to Elizabeth. He needed her to know. "I want to be good." And Peter kissed him, then, like he was trying to erase the taste of the words from both of their mouths. "I want to be good," he whispered past the comforting hand Peter put back on his throat. He felt El's hands on his chest, caressing his stomach, felt her breasts pressed against his shoulder blades. "I can be good," he promised, he hoped, if Peter would just tell him what to do he could at least be better - "I want you to hurt me."
"Ask for it," Peter said, and his voice was cold and steady and exactly what Neal had been waiting for. He sighed out his worry and leaned against Peter's chest.
"Please hurt me."
"How?" Peter asked. Neal whined into his chest, too far gone to think.
"Do you want Peter to fuck you?"
"Yes," he moaned, cock already too hard, and he couldn't believe what Elizabeth was offering to him. He prayed that she wasn't toying with him.
"Do you want him to spank you," she asked, and her voice was soft but Neal knew hunger when he heard it. He whined again and nodded. "With his hand, or with one of my hairbrushes?"
"Hand," he begged, "then the brush." And Peter grabbed him around the waist, pushed him down onto the bed and started pulling Neal's pants off.
"El, can you get one of my belts? I want you to tie his wrists with it. And use one of your scarves for padding."
"Yes, sir," she teased, and she was kidding but she still went to the closet to get the scarf and belt.
"Are you okay with El telling you what to do?" Peter asked.
"Yes, sir," he said, as honestly as he could. Peter smiled at him and something in his chest opened back up.
Peter leaned forward and whispered a question into his ear. "Will you eat her out while I spank you?"
"Yes," he breathed, because El was strong and Peter's (the same way Peter was hers, the same way he wanted to be, to both of them), and he wanted to pleasure her. Peter rolled him onto his stomach and bound his hands behind his back, carefully making sure the scarf provided enough padding. Neal didn't tell him that it was okay, he'd be better this time - because he already felt lightheaded and sick and hungry, he didn't trust himself not to fight.
"El. Neal wants to eat you out."
"Do you," she murmured, and when she walked around the bed and into Neal's line-of-sight, his jaw dropped. She'd stripped down to bra and panties. A set of matching maroon lace that made her breasts looked fantastic, pale and ready to spill out, he could see her hard nipples pressing against the fabric. She got onto the bed and shuffled over until the small black bow on her panties was right in front of his mouth. The angle was uncomfortable but he did the best he could. He licked at the skin above the fabric, tried to get up to her bellybutton - but he had no leverage so he licked his way back down and tried to sneak his tongue below the fabric. It was a tight fit, but her breath caught with each swipe of his tongue against her pubic hair.
When the underside of his tongue was starting to burn from the friction he went lower and licked at her cunt through the lace. He could do this, he could make it so good for her, make her come, make her scream - make her grateful.
When she started moaning Peter began spanking him. He and El both gasped at the first strike. Right on the underside of his ass, his whole hand, then over and over so quickly - his hand had to hurt, because Neal's skin was already so tender under Peter's occasional caress. Neal groaned into El, lost his rhythm, lost his breath and purpose.
"I think he likes that," El said with a laugh. Peter landed a series of smacks right on the top of his ass over the same patch of skin. El's hands tangled in his hair and pulled him in tighter. Peter's hair was so short, it must be a novelty to her. "Come on, baby," El admonished him. "Don't get lazy on me, now."
He started licking again quickly but Peter had already stopped. "Lazy, Caffrey?" He whimpered into El's cunt and tried to push his tongue into her. "Take her underwear off before I start with the hairbrush," Peter ordered. He pulled up on the belt to get Neal off the bed. His shoulders screamed, his moans - no longer muffled by El's flesh - were startlingly loud. "Without using your hands," Peter said in a wicked tone of voice.
Neal knew he looked a mess. He was dripping with El's juices and his own spit, lips sore already and swollen. El lay back on the bed to help him out and he shifted awkwardly on top of her, bit the lace gently with his teeth and working it down over her hips. It was painstakingly slow. She pet his hair every so often and he blushed.
Then Peter grabbed his balls and started pulling. His mouth opened, he dropped the lace, and Peter tsked at him. "Hurry up, Neal." He kept a steady pressure and the pain started leeching up from his balls into his dick, through his groin - he was crying, tears streaming down his teeth, stomach clenching involuntarily as he got the panties over her hips, down her thighs. He sobbed with relief when he go them past her knees and Peter's grip loosened.
He had to belly-crawl back up the bed, but when he licked at El's cunt and his tongue dipped into her soaked slit, he couldn't help but feel it had been worth it. He worked his tongue through her pubic hair (he loved that she wasn't shaved) and sucked on her clit. She groaned, grabbed his head, squeezed her thighs, and took her pleasure from him.
Then Peter started with the hairbrush. Neal shouted with each blow. Peter must have felt comfortable putting more force behind it because it was so much smaller than the paddles had been. The paddles tended to spread the pain, they covered such a broad area - but the brush was concentrated. He felt it through his skin, into the muscles, and the repeated blows spread through him, made his blood pound.They ached like week old bruises and when Peter squeezed his cheeks he burned.
"He's crying," El observed, and she clenched around his tongue.
"Neal, if you want me to keep going, spread your hands open. Keep them closed if you want me to stop." He spread them, Peter kept going, he was screaming helplessly into El's cunt when she came. He turned his face away afterwards, catching his breath and licking El's juices off his chin as best as he could. "Keep going," Peter growled.
He spanked Neal's inner thighs until El came again. It hurt worse than anything had since Peter had whipped him, hurt worse than when Peter had left him, he scraped the bristles of the brush over the skin, over his balls, over his cock - he was literally raw, bruised from his knees to his groin, and Peter just kept going. He hadn't even had to ask for it.
When El came the second time, she moved away, too sensitive for him to keep going. "Open yourself up," Peter ordered, pulling him off the bed, untying his wrists, and tossing him some lube. Peter settled against the headboard and El moved to sit next to him.
They watched him as he sprawled at the foot of their bed and tried to get his fingers inside himself. His joints were stiff and his muscles tight from having been bound, but he clenched his teeth and worked through it. He started right away with three fingers and Peter smiled at him again, again he felt something in his chest break open. "Have you been playing with yourself, Neal?"
"No," he said. "I just - prepared. I wanted to be ready for you."
El buried her fingers between her legs with a moan and Peter crawled over to him, pulling Neal's fingers out and shoving three of his own in. It hurt, Peter's fingers weren't lubed, they were larger than Neal's. "You don't get to play with yourself without me," Peter told him, and Neal's stomach dropped. He'd gotten it wrong again. But - but Peter would tell him, now, what he wanted. He could wait for Peter. "If I want you opened up for me, I'll tell you." He tucked his head into the curve of Neal's neck and found his prostate with his scissoring fingers. "This is mine, now."
Neal didn't protest until he pulled his fingers out. "I need you," he pleaded wrapping his hands around Peter's shoulders. "I need you."
"Then ask for it."
"I want you," he said quietly, because it was a cliche but it was also the only truth he had left. "I want both of you." And then (terrified by his own initiative) he ran hand over the stubble of Peter's cheek. He looked to El this time for permission, and she nodded. Somehow it seemed more private than Peter's fingers inside him. More revealing. More - intimate. He memorized every moment, cradling the taste and smell and feel of them in case it never happened again. He savored the sensation of Peter's lips under his palm, the warmth of his breath, the way Peter licked kisses down his fingers to the skin of his stomach, around the head of his dripping cock. Loved the way Elizabeth picked up the belt and tied his hands above his head, bound them carefully, and bit the webbing between his fingers while her husband settled between his bruised, spread legs.
Peter breached him slowly. Eased in centimeter by centimeter with each measured exhale. Neal licked at the sweat dripping down his chest and cherished him for taking his time, for making it burn, for taking him so completely.
El moved his hands so that he could work his fingers into her - it wasn't perfect, with his wrists together, but she helped by riding him slowly. It helped to distract from the sensation of Peter's cock (too big, too big too big) that felt like it would never end. Inch after inch, until he felt like it was splitting him open.
"You're beautiful," El said when her husband bottomed out in him and he started crying again. "So beautiful," she said, because she didn't see him the way Peter did.
"You mean - sexy," he corrected. "Fuckable. Pretty - "
"Beautiful," Peter insisted, and pulled back out. "Do you - do you not know how beautiful you are right now?"
Neal bit his tongue when Peter increased his pace and tried not to disagree with him, just tightened his legs around Peter's waist and tried to pull him in further, keep him in longer, make him stop lying. "Say it," Peter ordered. His thighs burned, bruised from the brush, but he tightened his legs and shook his head. "Say it!"
"You think I'm beautiful," Neal whispered. Peter stopped moving with only the head of his cock still inside of him, the widest part of him stretching Neal's hole.
"Say that you're beautiful," he ordered, and Neal tried to wiggle himself further onto Peter's cock, to shut him up, but El just pulled the belt taut and wouldn't let him. She lifted herself from his hands but didn't loosen her grip.
"Don't," Neal said, and Peter slid so slowly back inside of him that he felt every bit of friction, every uncomfortable stretch. It felt like Peter was trying to stretch him permanently open, ruin his hole, leave it loose and sore and ready for his cock. Then he pulled back out and stopped again. "Yellow," Neal threatened.
"Say that you're beautiful," Peter repeated and Neal tried to bite at his lips when Peter bent down to kiss him, tried to bite his neck when he turned away, tried to kick him but Peter's hips were between his legs, opening him, keeping him spread, holding him down.
"No," he said, and Peter fucked roughly all the way in. Neal yelled and jerked against his bonds, but Elizabeth just adjusted her hold and pulled his arms up until he was completely at their mercy. "Stop," he cried, but Peter was sucking a hickey onto his neck and Elizabeth had her fingers worked under the belt to make sure it didn't pull too hard against his wrists, neither of them seemed like they were going to stop anytime soon. And Peter's cock, Peter's huge hot dick just seemed to get bigger every time Neal clenched down around him to try and convince him to move.
"You're beautiful," and Peter bit a new mark into his shoulder. "So beautiful like this, for us, you are so perfect - " and Neal sobbed and writhed and god, he sounded so pitiful, his weak cries echoing in their bedroom, while he lay uselessly on their bed, tied up with their clothes, covered with their sweat and bite marks and bruises - "you're ours," Peter growled. "You're beautiful. Say it."
Red, he thought. "I'm beautiful," he said.
Peter started fucking him again and he wasn't just gasping for breath anymore, he was flat-out sobbing, and El was kissing his cheeks to wipe up his tears but with every thrust he felt like Peter was pushing him out of his skin, like there wasn't enough room for Neal in his own body, like Peter was trying to reshape him just the way he wanted, into something else, something beautiful. Something good.
He almost didn't notice when he came. His body was wracked with pain and friction and need, and it wasn't until El's hand wrapped around his cock to help him finish that he realized what was happening.
As soon as she worked the last shudder out of him Peter pulled back, adjusted his hold on Neal's thighs, and kept going. With the new angle Peter was hitting his prostate with every stroke, as if he was aiming for it, like he was trying to make Neal come again even though he felt like he'd just shot his entire life out his dick.
Peter lifted up his torso and El slipped under him, so that his back was against her chest, so that she could hold him. She was hot and the arms she wrapped around him were strong, but she grabbed his cock again and he couldn't bear the stimulation. "I'm not," he said, "I'm not - I can't - "
"You can," she said into his ear. "For us." When he came back into himself he realized that his back was wet. El had come while Peter was fucking him. Had come while watching her husband move inside of him.
"Can't breathe," he gasped, but Peter didn't even slow down.
"You're mine," Peter said. "You're ours, and you're going to do what we tell you to do." Neal closed his eyes and tried to ignore how tight his chest felt, how grateful he was, how safe he felt between them. He started rocking his hips to meet Peter's thrusts. His ass and thighs and cock all felt so raw it was almost unbearable.
"Perfect," Peter said, and El started playing with the head of his cock, started teasing his balls, started working him back up to full hardness. She was biting his neck and murmuring in his ear and calling him baby, calling him beautiful.
"You're doing so well," she said, and his head fell back his muscles seized and he came, impossibly, not even fully erect. Peter kissed him, thrust deep inside him, and he could feel Peter come. He could feel the way Peter slid in smoother on his final thrusts, using his semen as lubricant, hot and wet and right against his prostate. El worked another spurt out of him and he tried to get away (it was agony) but they wanted to watch. They wanted him to share his pain with them.
"So good," Peter said, and he mewled, he sobbed, he didn't know what sounds were coming out of his mouth - he just knew that Peter twined his arms with El's around him, that they were holding him, that he was crying and they were - they were there.
"Don't leave me," he whispered into Peter's shoulder. He tried to turn away, to hide himself, but they wouldn't let him.
"He needs us," he heard El say. He felt Peter nod. "Okay," El said. "Okay."
"We're not going to leave you."
They fell asleep in a sore, messy pile on the bed, like puppies, like children, like a promise.
*
The next part can be found here.