Fic: Happy Birthday (Watching You Watching Me)
My birthday gift to katylyn89 ...
Title: Happy Birthday (Watching You Watching Me)
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Matthew Keller, Peter Burke (Neal/Keller)
Context: pre-series
Warnings: some coarse language
Words: ~2600
Summary: Peter wasn't expecting a birthday gift when staking out Caffrey's apartment.
Note: Much love to @PleasureDungeon for her 'location scouting' and massive list of suggested titles for this one!
“Really, honey? Can’t you take the night off and go back to staking out Caffrey’s apartment tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked her husband as he retrieved his devilled ham sandwich and thermos of coffee from the kitchen.
“I know it’s bad timing, but if Caffrey and his friend Keller are going to move on this cash before Ramsey leaves the country, tonight’s their last chance. I promise it’ll be the last time.”
Elizabeth nodded in resignation and sighed, knowing the chances she’d have talked Peter out of it were slim anyway.
“Okay, but tomorrow night, just you and me, alright? No work, no Caffrey, just us celebrating your birthday, the way we should be right now.”
It was Peter’s turn to nod as he embraced his wife, kissing her. “That sounds perfect. It’s a date.”
He picked up his briefcase and food, and turned for the door.
“I’ll try not to be late, but…”
“Yeah, sweetie, I know. I’ll see you when I see you. I love you.”
“I love you too, El.” Peter replied with a smile as he left for his sixth straight night under Neal Caffrey’s window.
……
Neal came up the stairs to his apartment door paying little attention to his surroundings. He was furious - they had planned this job months in advance, spent the last several nights at the same club with Eamon Ramsey getting on his good side, and tonight, his last night in the city, they were going to get him drunk and rob him blind. Until Neal found the guns. Keller knew how he hated guns.
He excused himself and signalled to Keller to follow him. When the two were alone and out of earshot, Neal turned to his fellow con, an incredulous look on his face.
“Guns? Since when were guns a part of the plan?”
“Oh come on Neal,” Keller replied, shaking his head. “Like we were going to steal $2 and a half mill from Eamon Ramsey without some kind of back-up plan.”
“A back-up plan? That’s what you’re calling it? So, if we couldn’t get him drunk and distracted enough you were just going to what, shoot him?”
“He’s a scumbag, Caffrey. Him and his guys have been carrying every night we’ve been here, if you hadn’t noticed. You do realise that at some stage you’re going to have to man up, right? There are some things, some jobs, that will take more than a wink and a smile to pull off, and this is one of them.”
Neal shook his head. “Maybe this was one of those jobs, but it isn’t any more. I’m out.”
“You’re out? What do you mean you’re out?”
“I mean, I’m out. I’m leaving. Enjoy your evening. This isn’t what I signed up for. I’ll see you.”
Neal turned on his heel and walked back to the private lounge, where Ramsey and his men were smoking cigars and still drinking. He offered an excuse and an apology, and left the club, fuming.
He threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him. He pulled off his jacket, throwing it over the back of the sofa.
Grabbing a glass and a bottle of scotch, Neal poured himself a drink and downed in it one gulp as he slumped into a chair. He could hardly believe they had managed - he had managed - to do themselves out of a massive payday. What the hell had Keller been doing? Neal had had more than a little to drink at the club, but he was confused, angry, and not planning on stopping now. Pouring himself another rather generous measure, he started slightly when the door flew open and Keller stormed in.
“What the fuck, Caffrey?” he yelled.
……
The team watching the front of the club and monitoring the feedback from the multiple bugs they had planted there had reported back to Peter about the argument they had heard taking place between Caffrey and Keller. Peter told them he had already seen and heard Neal arrive home, and word from Jones in the van told him Keller would probably be arriving shortly.
“So it doesn’t sound like it’s going to happen tonight Peter, maybe you should head home, enjoy what’s left of your birthday?”
“Might just spend a little longer here and then call it a night. Thanks, Jones.”
Peter ended the call and went back to listening. One week ago he and the team had placed bugs all around Caffrey's apartment, and they had recorded hours of talk between Neal and Keller as they had planned the job. Tonight had been going to make the case: with the audio from the club as the theft was carried out and the recording of the triumphant return of Caffrey and Keller to the apartment with the cash, they’d finally have enough to move on the pair. Now it sounded like this week, and especially this night, had been a waste of their time.
A cab pulled up outside the apartment and Peter watched as Keller emerged, stumbling up the steps and entering the building. He turned up the volume slightly on the feed and waited for what was to come. Around 30 seconds later he heard Keller’s furious entry.
……
“What the fuck, Caffrey?”
Neal glared at Keller through slightly bloodshot eyes, and offered no response.
Keller threw down his bag, stormed to the table and grabbed Neal roughly by the arm, dragging him out of the chair and slamming him up against the nearest wall. Neal groaned as his slightly spinning head connected firmly with it, and then Keller threw an arm across this throat. Neal was a good three inches taller than Keller, but the latter was more solidly built and held Neal firmly.
“You couldn’t just grow a pair Caffrey? For one fucking night you couldn’t toughen up, just for a fewhours even, so we could get the money?”
Keller gave Neal a shove as he stepped back and turned away from the taller man, who rubbed his throat.
“You know how I feel about guns. I --” Neal stopped short as Keller turned back, holding the bag open to reveal cash - wads and wads of cash. Neal’s mind may have been moving a little slower than normal, but he could still see there was easily a few hundred thousand dollars in the bag.
“Luckily, Caffrey, I’m man enough for both of us.”
Neal’s eyes were wide and shining as he looked from Keller’s face to the bag and back.
“You didn’t… the gun..?”
“Oh, God, no, I didn’t shoot anyone. Turns out, Carlsson had his eyes on the money too - so when he pulled out his gun, and all hell broke loose, I just headed out back and got what I could. It’s not as much as we planned, but it’ll do for now…”
Keller trailed off as he saw that the shine was still there in Caffrey’s eyes. His cheeks were flushed; and it might have been the scotch, or maybe it was the post-con high that Neal always seemed to end up on, but damn it if Keller was going to ignore it. His eyes flicked to Neal’s groin and he smirked to see the growing arousal - there was nothing like pulling off a con, even a half-assed job like this one, to get Neal going.
Setting the bag down on the table, Keller picked up Neal’s glass, downed the measure of scotch still in it, and stalked over to Neal. Within seconds the slighter man was back up against the wall, Keller’s tongue was in his mouth, and their hips were pressed together firmly.
Neal could taste scotch and cigars and something he didn’t recognise that might have been the girl pouring the drinks at the club. Keller could taste scotch and victory.
……
Downstairs, Peter could taste little more than the dryness of the inside of his own mouth as he listened to what were unmistakeably moans of wanting through the wire. His sandwich sat abandoned beside him; the coffee in the cup-holder was going cold. How did he go from listening to a fight, to what was almost certainly about to turn into a fuck? He should leave. At the very least, he should turn off the receiver. He realised as he palmed his rock-hard cock through his pants, that he couldn’t actually care any less what he should do. There was no fucking way he was leaving now.
……
The combined effect of the apartment’s better-than-you’d-expect heating and the alcohol they’d each consumed had Neal and Keller sweating in no time. Reaching out beside him Neal felt for the latch to the balcony door, flicking it over with fumbling fingers and pushing the door open as he pulled Keller with him towards the opening.
Stumbling outside into the cool New York night, they broke apart just long enough for Keller to ask roughly, “Got lube?” and for Neal to reply in a need you ask? tone, “Yep.”
……
Peter’s hand eased its gradual stroking of his now exposed cock when he realised the sounds of Neal (and Keller, but mainly Neal) were fading out. What? Where had they gone? There were bugs in every room of the place; they hadn’t left, what was going on? Peter looked down at the receiver, the green light still shone brightly, almost mocking him as it proved that his audio feed was still live - he just couldn’t hear anything. He glanced up at the balcony of Neal’s apartment and back - and then stopped, frozen still, before turning his head back to the balcony.
“No.” he breathed to himself in disbelief. “No…”
But yes, yes that was Neal on the balcony, being backed up against the rail by Keller. That was Neal being turned around, handing something from his pocket to the other man as he undid his belt and pushed down his pants and boxers, before bracing his hands against the rail.
……
Shit. It was cold out here. As the night air touched his aching cock Neal shivered slightly. He heard the cap of the lube bottle flicked open and his grip on the rail tightened, his head dropping forward as he felt the first slick finger breach him. He sucked his breath in sharply, widening his stance as Keller worked fast, twisting the first finger and teasing with the second at the same time. As the second finger pressed in, Neal squirmed, but didn’t protest, and Keller wasn’t stopping. He’d almost adjusted to the second finger when Keller was going for the third, and Neal gasped, throwing his head back. Keller spread his fingers wide, preparing Neal for his considerable cock.
“You ready?”
Neal’s head dropped forward again; his knuckles whitening as he gripped the rail tightly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Keller breathed, as he pushed in in one long, slow motion.
……
Peter wasn’t breathing. His eyes were fixed on the scene playing out on the balcony like some dirty dream coming to life. He watched Neal arch under the other man, saw his hips push forward, trapping his cock (which Peter couldn’t see, but God if he wasn’t wishing that weren’t the case) against the glass below the railing.
Moments later, as Neal’s hips rocked with the force of the pounding he was receiving, the wish Peter didn’t realise he was consciously making came true. Something, some blessed thing, triggered the sensor lights at the front of the building. Neal and Keller, lost in their own world on the balcony of 2E, clearly hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care, but God did Peter owe someone a spectacular debt of gratitude, because now not only could he see a fuller outline of Neal, but he could see his cock against the glass, clearer even than in that grainy surveillance picture he might have kept (for posterity) in the locked box in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.
Peter’s hand was pumping his cock hard now; he didn’t even recall the moment when it had drifted back from where it rested idly on his thigh when he thought he’d lost his audio feed. God, this was wrong… but at the same time so very, very right. And when had he rolled the window down?
……
Neal’s hands slipped against the rail with the sweat of his palms as Keller thrust deeply inside him. His cock was trapped against the icy cold glass, the difference in temperature almost painful, making the pleasure even more intense as Keller hit just the right spot. Neal’s breath hitched, grasping at the metal, his arms slid slightly further apart, his body bending forward that little bit more. The next deep stroke he moaned, a low, deep sound, that tiniest shift in the angle changing everything. He was close, so close, he couldn’t release his iron grip on the rail to touch himself or he’d fall forward, but it didn’t matter. One, two more strokes so perfectly placed, he was coming without a touch to his cock. He threw his head back, arching against Keller and crying out softly as his orgasm ripped through him, come shooting across the glass. He tightened around Keller, still buried deep inside him, and the latter followed him over the edge, breathing his name as he did.
……
Peter’s breathing was harsh, his heart racing as he realised he had just come watching Neal Caffrey get fucked. That he had defiled this work car with his come as he had watched Neal’s hit the glass of the balcony. He watched Neal slump forward, resting his head on one of his arms, shifting the slightest bit as Keller pulled out behind him. Peter let his own head fall back against the headrest as his breathing evened out. What the hell was he doing? He should be at home, with his wife, not sitting here, watching this. He shook his head, sitting up straighter in the seat and grabbing some tissues from the glove box to clean himself up as best he could. Luckily, even after their years of marriage, Elizabeth was still as smoking hot as she’d ever been, enough so that he’d have no trouble being ready for her later in the night. But he couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin that spread across his face. That had been pretty damn good.
……
Neal waited until his breathing had returned to normal and he felt like he could trust his legs to hold him again before he straightened, realising again just how cold it was out here. He gave a cursory glance up and down the block, his eyes flicking over the car parked across the street as he turned and made his way inside with the slightest of smirks making its way onto his lips. Closing the door behind him, Neal leaned toward the tall lamp that stood just inside the entrance. Looking quickly over his shoulder to see that the bathroom door was closed, he whispered into the bug he knew was hidden there,
“Happy birthday, Peter.”
Downstairs, Peter sat up bolt upright in his seat. He glanced over at the audio receiver, and up to the balcony, but Neal was nowhere to be seen. Inside his just-zipped trousers, he was hard again quicker than he would have thought possible. Cursing under his breath, mind racing - what? how? Fuck, he fucking knew! - he fumbled for his keys.
God he hoped El would be ready for him when he got home.
Title: Happy Birthday (Watching You Watching Me)
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Matthew Keller, Peter Burke (Neal/Keller)
Context: pre-series
Warnings: some coarse language
Words: ~2600
Summary: Peter wasn't expecting a birthday gift when staking out Caffrey's apartment.
Note: Much love to @PleasureDungeon for her 'location scouting' and massive list of suggested titles for this one!
“Really, honey? Can’t you take the night off and go back to staking out Caffrey’s apartment tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked her husband as he retrieved his devilled ham sandwich and thermos of coffee from the kitchen.
“I know it’s bad timing, but if Caffrey and his friend Keller are going to move on this cash before Ramsey leaves the country, tonight’s their last chance. I promise it’ll be the last time.”
Elizabeth nodded in resignation and sighed, knowing the chances she’d have talked Peter out of it were slim anyway.
“Okay, but tomorrow night, just you and me, alright? No work, no Caffrey, just us celebrating your birthday, the way we should be right now.”
It was Peter’s turn to nod as he embraced his wife, kissing her. “That sounds perfect. It’s a date.”
He picked up his briefcase and food, and turned for the door.
“I’ll try not to be late, but…”
“Yeah, sweetie, I know. I’ll see you when I see you. I love you.”
“I love you too, El.” Peter replied with a smile as he left for his sixth straight night under Neal Caffrey’s window.
……
Neal came up the stairs to his apartment door paying little attention to his surroundings. He was furious - they had planned this job months in advance, spent the last several nights at the same club with Eamon Ramsey getting on his good side, and tonight, his last night in the city, they were going to get him drunk and rob him blind. Until Neal found the guns. Keller knew how he hated guns.
He excused himself and signalled to Keller to follow him. When the two were alone and out of earshot, Neal turned to his fellow con, an incredulous look on his face.
“Guns? Since when were guns a part of the plan?”
“Oh come on Neal,” Keller replied, shaking his head. “Like we were going to steal $2 and a half mill from Eamon Ramsey without some kind of back-up plan.”
“A back-up plan? That’s what you’re calling it? So, if we couldn’t get him drunk and distracted enough you were just going to what, shoot him?”
“He’s a scumbag, Caffrey. Him and his guys have been carrying every night we’ve been here, if you hadn’t noticed. You do realise that at some stage you’re going to have to man up, right? There are some things, some jobs, that will take more than a wink and a smile to pull off, and this is one of them.”
Neal shook his head. “Maybe this was one of those jobs, but it isn’t any more. I’m out.”
“You’re out? What do you mean you’re out?”
“I mean, I’m out. I’m leaving. Enjoy your evening. This isn’t what I signed up for. I’ll see you.”
Neal turned on his heel and walked back to the private lounge, where Ramsey and his men were smoking cigars and still drinking. He offered an excuse and an apology, and left the club, fuming.
He threw open the door and slammed it shut behind him. He pulled off his jacket, throwing it over the back of the sofa.
Grabbing a glass and a bottle of scotch, Neal poured himself a drink and downed in it one gulp as he slumped into a chair. He could hardly believe they had managed - he had managed - to do themselves out of a massive payday. What the hell had Keller been doing? Neal had had more than a little to drink at the club, but he was confused, angry, and not planning on stopping now. Pouring himself another rather generous measure, he started slightly when the door flew open and Keller stormed in.
“What the fuck, Caffrey?” he yelled.
……
The team watching the front of the club and monitoring the feedback from the multiple bugs they had planted there had reported back to Peter about the argument they had heard taking place between Caffrey and Keller. Peter told them he had already seen and heard Neal arrive home, and word from Jones in the van told him Keller would probably be arriving shortly.
“So it doesn’t sound like it’s going to happen tonight Peter, maybe you should head home, enjoy what’s left of your birthday?”
“Might just spend a little longer here and then call it a night. Thanks, Jones.”
Peter ended the call and went back to listening. One week ago he and the team had placed bugs all around Caffrey's apartment, and they had recorded hours of talk between Neal and Keller as they had planned the job. Tonight had been going to make the case: with the audio from the club as the theft was carried out and the recording of the triumphant return of Caffrey and Keller to the apartment with the cash, they’d finally have enough to move on the pair. Now it sounded like this week, and especially this night, had been a waste of their time.
A cab pulled up outside the apartment and Peter watched as Keller emerged, stumbling up the steps and entering the building. He turned up the volume slightly on the feed and waited for what was to come. Around 30 seconds later he heard Keller’s furious entry.
……
“What the fuck, Caffrey?”
Neal glared at Keller through slightly bloodshot eyes, and offered no response.
Keller threw down his bag, stormed to the table and grabbed Neal roughly by the arm, dragging him out of the chair and slamming him up against the nearest wall. Neal groaned as his slightly spinning head connected firmly with it, and then Keller threw an arm across this throat. Neal was a good three inches taller than Keller, but the latter was more solidly built and held Neal firmly.
“You couldn’t just grow a pair Caffrey? For one fucking night you couldn’t toughen up, just for a fewhours even, so we could get the money?”
Keller gave Neal a shove as he stepped back and turned away from the taller man, who rubbed his throat.
“You know how I feel about guns. I --” Neal stopped short as Keller turned back, holding the bag open to reveal cash - wads and wads of cash. Neal’s mind may have been moving a little slower than normal, but he could still see there was easily a few hundred thousand dollars in the bag.
“Luckily, Caffrey, I’m man enough for both of us.”
Neal’s eyes were wide and shining as he looked from Keller’s face to the bag and back.
“You didn’t… the gun..?”
“Oh, God, no, I didn’t shoot anyone. Turns out, Carlsson had his eyes on the money too - so when he pulled out his gun, and all hell broke loose, I just headed out back and got what I could. It’s not as much as we planned, but it’ll do for now…”
Keller trailed off as he saw that the shine was still there in Caffrey’s eyes. His cheeks were flushed; and it might have been the scotch, or maybe it was the post-con high that Neal always seemed to end up on, but damn it if Keller was going to ignore it. His eyes flicked to Neal’s groin and he smirked to see the growing arousal - there was nothing like pulling off a con, even a half-assed job like this one, to get Neal going.
Setting the bag down on the table, Keller picked up Neal’s glass, downed the measure of scotch still in it, and stalked over to Neal. Within seconds the slighter man was back up against the wall, Keller’s tongue was in his mouth, and their hips were pressed together firmly.
Neal could taste scotch and cigars and something he didn’t recognise that might have been the girl pouring the drinks at the club. Keller could taste scotch and victory.
……
Downstairs, Peter could taste little more than the dryness of the inside of his own mouth as he listened to what were unmistakeably moans of wanting through the wire. His sandwich sat abandoned beside him; the coffee in the cup-holder was going cold. How did he go from listening to a fight, to what was almost certainly about to turn into a fuck? He should leave. At the very least, he should turn off the receiver. He realised as he palmed his rock-hard cock through his pants, that he couldn’t actually care any less what he should do. There was no fucking way he was leaving now.
……
The combined effect of the apartment’s better-than-you’d-expect heating and the alcohol they’d each consumed had Neal and Keller sweating in no time. Reaching out beside him Neal felt for the latch to the balcony door, flicking it over with fumbling fingers and pushing the door open as he pulled Keller with him towards the opening.
Stumbling outside into the cool New York night, they broke apart just long enough for Keller to ask roughly, “Got lube?” and for Neal to reply in a need you ask? tone, “Yep.”
……
Peter’s hand eased its gradual stroking of his now exposed cock when he realised the sounds of Neal (and Keller, but mainly Neal) were fading out. What? Where had they gone? There were bugs in every room of the place; they hadn’t left, what was going on? Peter looked down at the receiver, the green light still shone brightly, almost mocking him as it proved that his audio feed was still live - he just couldn’t hear anything. He glanced up at the balcony of Neal’s apartment and back - and then stopped, frozen still, before turning his head back to the balcony.
“No.” he breathed to himself in disbelief. “No…”
But yes, yes that was Neal on the balcony, being backed up against the rail by Keller. That was Neal being turned around, handing something from his pocket to the other man as he undid his belt and pushed down his pants and boxers, before bracing his hands against the rail.
……
Shit. It was cold out here. As the night air touched his aching cock Neal shivered slightly. He heard the cap of the lube bottle flicked open and his grip on the rail tightened, his head dropping forward as he felt the first slick finger breach him. He sucked his breath in sharply, widening his stance as Keller worked fast, twisting the first finger and teasing with the second at the same time. As the second finger pressed in, Neal squirmed, but didn’t protest, and Keller wasn’t stopping. He’d almost adjusted to the second finger when Keller was going for the third, and Neal gasped, throwing his head back. Keller spread his fingers wide, preparing Neal for his considerable cock.
“You ready?”
Neal’s head dropped forward again; his knuckles whitening as he gripped the rail tightly.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Keller breathed, as he pushed in in one long, slow motion.
……
Peter wasn’t breathing. His eyes were fixed on the scene playing out on the balcony like some dirty dream coming to life. He watched Neal arch under the other man, saw his hips push forward, trapping his cock (which Peter couldn’t see, but God if he wasn’t wishing that weren’t the case) against the glass below the railing.
Moments later, as Neal’s hips rocked with the force of the pounding he was receiving, the wish Peter didn’t realise he was consciously making came true. Something, some blessed thing, triggered the sensor lights at the front of the building. Neal and Keller, lost in their own world on the balcony of 2E, clearly hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care, but God did Peter owe someone a spectacular debt of gratitude, because now not only could he see a fuller outline of Neal, but he could see his cock against the glass, clearer even than in that grainy surveillance picture he might have kept (for posterity) in the locked box in the bottom drawer of his nightstand.
Peter’s hand was pumping his cock hard now; he didn’t even recall the moment when it had drifted back from where it rested idly on his thigh when he thought he’d lost his audio feed. God, this was wrong… but at the same time so very, very right. And when had he rolled the window down?
……
Neal’s hands slipped against the rail with the sweat of his palms as Keller thrust deeply inside him. His cock was trapped against the icy cold glass, the difference in temperature almost painful, making the pleasure even more intense as Keller hit just the right spot. Neal’s breath hitched, grasping at the metal, his arms slid slightly further apart, his body bending forward that little bit more. The next deep stroke he moaned, a low, deep sound, that tiniest shift in the angle changing everything. He was close, so close, he couldn’t release his iron grip on the rail to touch himself or he’d fall forward, but it didn’t matter. One, two more strokes so perfectly placed, he was coming without a touch to his cock. He threw his head back, arching against Keller and crying out softly as his orgasm ripped through him, come shooting across the glass. He tightened around Keller, still buried deep inside him, and the latter followed him over the edge, breathing his name as he did.
……
Peter’s breathing was harsh, his heart racing as he realised he had just come watching Neal Caffrey get fucked. That he had defiled this work car with his come as he had watched Neal’s hit the glass of the balcony. He watched Neal slump forward, resting his head on one of his arms, shifting the slightest bit as Keller pulled out behind him. Peter let his own head fall back against the headrest as his breathing evened out. What the hell was he doing? He should be at home, with his wife, not sitting here, watching this. He shook his head, sitting up straighter in the seat and grabbing some tissues from the glove box to clean himself up as best he could. Luckily, even after their years of marriage, Elizabeth was still as smoking hot as she’d ever been, enough so that he’d have no trouble being ready for her later in the night. But he couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin that spread across his face. That had been pretty damn good.
……
Neal waited until his breathing had returned to normal and he felt like he could trust his legs to hold him again before he straightened, realising again just how cold it was out here. He gave a cursory glance up and down the block, his eyes flicking over the car parked across the street as he turned and made his way inside with the slightest of smirks making its way onto his lips. Closing the door behind him, Neal leaned toward the tall lamp that stood just inside the entrance. Looking quickly over his shoulder to see that the bathroom door was closed, he whispered into the bug he knew was hidden there,
“Happy birthday, Peter.”
Downstairs, Peter sat up bolt upright in his seat. He glanced over at the audio receiver, and up to the balcony, but Neal was nowhere to be seen. Inside his just-zipped trousers, he was hard again quicker than he would have thought possible. Cursing under his breath, mind racing - what? how? Fuck, he fucking knew! - he fumbled for his keys.
God he hoped El would be ready for him when he got home.