Fic: The Naughty Forty, Part III
Title: The Naughty Forty, Part III
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Matthew Keller (Neal/Peter)
Context: Season One
Warnings: language, dubious consent, explicit sexual content
Words: ~4,100
Summary: From when Peter accepts Neal’s deal to the end of season one
21. The One With The Showers
Peter was standing behind Neal, the younger man’s cheek pressed up against the cold white tile of the shower block. The mental picture that had turned Peter on in the van was now playing out in full technicolour behind his eyelids - only this time, it took a darker turn.
“Neal…” Peter started, but Neal shook his head, silencing him.
“Just do it,” he said through what sounded like gritted teeth.
With no other options available, Peter sucked on his own fingers, hoping they’d be slick enough for this to be anything less than excruciating for Neal. He prepped him quickly, trying hard to ignore the small sounds of discomfort Neal was trying hard to muffle.
He gave himself another few strokes, trying to spread some of his precum over his cock to ease the way. Neal leant forward, and Peter lined himself up and slowly started to push in.
*
God, did it hurt. Neal’s breath caught in his throat and he struggled to bite back a cry, stunned by how much it burned. His heart was pounding. As Peter pushed in deeper, Neal tensed, his body trying to resist the invasion, to stop the pain. The tears that had lingered unshed in his eyes spilled over as he tried not to choke, holding back the sounds fighting to escape.
*
As Peter slowly pulled out, he hoped the fluid leaking from the head of his cock would be enough to make things smoother on his next push in. From the gasped moan that Neal couldn’t contain when he rocked forward, it clearly hadn’t.
The searing heat of Neal tight around him was astounding, but Neal’s sounds of distress compelled Peter to stop, unwilling to hurt him any further.
“Neal, I can’t,” Peter whispered against the back of his neck. “I’m hurting you, please…”
“It doesn’t matter, Peter,” Neal whispered, his voice broken. “I can take it, I promise…”
Shaking his head, Peter pulled out as carefully as he could; running a hand gently over the tight muscles of Neal’s back and trying to soothe him. His erection flagged, his heart sinking.
“It matters, Neal… You matter,” Peter murmured, turning Neal around and lifting his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. The odd mixture of fear, defiance, pain and resignation Peter saw there shocked him deeply.
*
He woke with a start, feeling sick to his stomach as he relived the dream. He had dreamed of Caffrey before, many times, but never like that. Never so explicitly, never of hurting him, violating him that way. The thought of the young man enduring such a thing, at anyone’s hands, disgusted Peter; what prison may have been like for him was something he had always very carefully avoided thinking about - but now it seemed his subconscious was forcing him to consider the harsh reality of Neal’s situation.
His mind, it seemed, had made itself up. On Monday, he would fax off the necessary documentation for Caffrey’s release, and contact the marshals about a tracking anklet.
He had just gotten himself a consultant.
22. The One With The Devore
“This is classic Rat Pack. This is a Devore.”
Neal looked obscenely pleased with himself as he stood before Peter, turning on his heel and adjusting the fedora that sat at a jaunty angle on his head.
Peter was disbelieving as he took in the sight before him. Damn was Caffrey a sight for sore eyes.
He made a joke about the suit, insisted his mood was nothing to do with how much better Neal’s coffee was than his, and shooed the younger man out to the car. They hardly needed to be late on Neal’s first day; Peter had a lot riding on the success of this experiment.
When they arrived at the airport, Peter introduced Diana to Neal, and leaving him with her, excused himself, blaming the coffee. Entering the bathroom, he looked around quickly, confirming it was empty, before running his hands under the freezing cold water and locking himself in a cubicle. Unzipping, he wrapped his ice cold hands around his half-hard cock, willing away the erection that had been slowly swelling since he had watched Caffrey swagger down those stairs in that close-cut suit.
If Neal was going to be sticking around, Peter was going to have to figure out a way to deal with this.
23. The One Where That Old Dream Comes True
“Arrest them. Arrest them! We have to keep their cover. Handcuff them, read them their rights, everything,” Peter demanded, as he called orders to the rest of his team to pursue Dorsett.
*
A hand was planted firmly in the centre of his back and Neal was shoved hard against the car. Taryn stood beside him, wrists already pinned behind her, as Peter came out of the building behind them.
As Peter barked instructions into the radio in his hand, Neal allowed another agent to pull his arms back firmly, leaning against the car and rolling his eyes slightly as the other man closed the cuffs tightly and checked them carefully. He certainly was being thorough.
The other agent shifted away slightly, and moments later, Neal felt a warm, strong hand grip one of his wrists and the chain that linked them, pulling him away from the car as the door was opened.
“You’re under arrest,” Peter growled, pushing Neal’s head down and shoving him into the back of the car. A mischievous grin shone in his eyes as Peter’s firm grip pressed the metal of the cuffs into the skin of his wrist, and a distant memory of a day a long time ago when Neal had watched Peter throw someone up against a car and cuff them came back to him. He’d always wanted to be that person - his real arrest hadn’t played out that way, but today was almost making up for it… He was lucky Peter wasn’t the one to tell him he had the right to remain silent, or Taryn might have seen just how interesting things really get when Neal Caffrey is around.
24. The One With The Vault
“Peter. I trust you.” Neal implored him to take the mini-breather as the vault’s security mechanisms kicked in and the oxygen was rapidly sucked from the chamber.
The two of them rushed around the room, sliding the framed comics out of the way, shoving boxes aside, and frantically searching for the kill switch.
Neal could feel the air getting thinner; could feel the faint burn in his lungs as the oxygen levels dropped. Finally, he found the switch, trying to catch Peter’s attention but unable to. When Peter turned at last, it was in time to see Neal gasping for breath, but unable to get the air his body so badly needed. As he pointed to the switch, his legs began to give, and he fell slowly to the floor, unconscious before he hit the carpet.
Peter rushed to Neal’s side of the room, ready to hit the switch, desperate to help him, knowing he needed oxygen fast. Trying and failing to rouse Neal, he looked up towards the door and felt a cold shiver run through him as Avery took aim at his defenceless partner. Drawing his gun, he hoped to God Jones and the team had moved in when the switch was tripped.
Everything happened so fast. As he brought his hand down on the button, and braced himself to take Avery out, Jones stormed through, cries of “FBI! Drop your weapon!” resonating through the hallway and vault.
As Avery dropped his gun and surrendered, Peter knelt beside Neal, his heart skipping madly even as he maintained his cool exterior. Feeling for Neal’s breathing and confirming its absence, he placed both hands low on his sternum, hoping against hope that the careful pressure combined with the influx of fresh air into the vault would coax Neal’s lungs back into action.
Moments later, Neal coughed and gasped, sucking in deep breaths as his eyes flickered around the room, slightly unfocused, before settling on Peter. The agent felt a wave of relief wash over him as he looked down at his partner. He had made it in time, and with a bit of luck, the worst the younger man would have to show for the whole incident would be a splitting headache.
Even as Neal came round fully, his chest rising and falling regularly once more, Peter’s hand lingered. With the warm solidness of Neal’s body and steadily beating heart under his palm, Peter’s own could finally resume its normal rhythm.
25. The One With The Cuffs, Part 8
Peter could hear the singing. He knew it was Neal - he just didn’t know why.
His heart skipped a beat as he entered Dr Powell’s office and saw Neal. His lean body strapped down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his voice faltering as he sang.
Neal turned towards Peter, greeting him in a crazed and carefree tone, pupils blown. Peter moved hurriedly to his young partner’s side. It was clear he was on something; the rolled up shirtsleeves and puncture wound in the crook of his elbow confirming the agent’s suspicion and fear.
Peter’s hands hovered, hushing Neal and taking stock of the situation. Neal didn’t seem concerned about his predicament, which only served to make Peter more so. He placed a hand lightly on Neal’s body; he could feel the warmth. He had the sudden urge to run his hand down the lithe torso laid out before him. There was something about the bonds around those slender wrists, the vulnerability…
Shaking his head slightly, Peter reminded himself to stay focused.
“We have to get you out of these restraints,” he said, looking around for anything he could use to free Neal.
But suddenly, somehow, Neal was free, and Peter was carrying him. The other man hung off him, clingy and confused, as they staggered down corridor after corridor. Neal was muttering things Peter couldn’t make sense of, interspersed with the occasional half-line of song.
They made it to a large conference room, but what little strength Neal had was waning, and he slumped to the floor. Peter pulled him up, panicking for a moment that the other man had passed out. Neal was heavier than he looked; there was no way Peter was getting him out of there if he was unconscious. To Peter’s relief, Neal’s fever-blue eyes met his brightly.
The combination of shock, fear and adrenaline had Peter on edge, and it surfaced as anger as he scolded Neal. However, as Neal spoke, perhaps more honestly than ever before to Peter, the older man felt some of his anger fade, to be replaced by concern. Granted, Neal’s letting down of his guard had come with some chemical assistance, but that was beside the point. He had told Peter he trusted him, more than anyone else in the world, and Peter couldn’t just let that go.
A crazy idea came into Peter’s head. Even as he thought of it, he knew it was mad, but it was something he had to do. The image of Neal, restrained and at the mercy of anyone who might have come in, flashed through his mind, and it almost scared him. Neal was his; he had to protect him.
Pulling a chair over to the window, Peter cuffed Neal to it - he wouldn’t have gotten far on his own on those legs, given the face-planting he had already done, as evidenced by the slight mark on one cheekbone that may or may not have been a carpet burn, but Peter had to do it. Neal watched him, but didn’t protest. There was nothing quite like watching his own large hand clamp that shining circle of cool metal around the slim wrist; around the very pulse of his Neal Caffrey.
As he hurried away from the younger man, determined to steal the evidence that implicated him, it occurred to Peter that Neal may just have been a bad influence on him.
26. The One With The Cuffs, Part 9
Peter ran his hand down Neal’s body, feeling the muscles contract beneath his fingers, the warmth of Neal’s skin. He reached the belt, fingers lingering on the buckle momentarily, before unfastening it with nimble fingers. He pulled the zipper down, and slid his hand inside to cup Neal’s hardening length. Neal shifted, trying to better accommodate his building erection, and Peter heard an unusual clinking sound.
Looking down at Neal, he suddenly realised the younger man was restrained, bonds holding him on the couch of what Peter now registered was Dr Powell’s office. As Peter squeezed, Neal squirmed, but was powerless to do anything to stop him. Peter’s heart sped up as the reality of the situation struck him… he had Neal at his mercy, unable to escape or act to stop him.
It was a thrilling thought.
He slowly ran his thumb along Neal’s cock, relishing the way Neal shivered, the helpless sound he made in his throat. Peter watched Neal’s face as he stroked a hand up and down his length; watched the way Neal’s darkened eyes slid closed; the way he licked his perfect lips. Peter sped up, and Neal bit down, but couldn’t contain his moan of pleasure as Peter’s fingers brushed over the leaking head of his cock. His hands clenched into fists, as Peter rapidly pulled him closer to the edge. Gasping for breath as his back arched, he yanked sharply at his bonds as he came.
*
This wasn’t the first or the last time Peter would dream of Neal in cuffs, but it was the first time Caffrey had ruined a set of El’s good sheets.
27. The One With The Cuffs, Part 10 (or, The One With The First Kiss)
Peter had tracked Collins and his cronies to the docks using Neal’s tracking data; thankfully, they hadn’t discovered the anklet. He had alerted his team, but hadn’t been able to wait for them; who knew what was happening to Neal in the meantime? He parked behind one of the warehouses and ran down the side, towards the water and the sound of raised voices. Slowing as he reached the corner, he peered around, in time to see one of the men pull out a gun and point it at Neal. The younger man’s hands were behind his back, apparently bound, and though Peter couldn’t hear his words, it was clear Neal was trying to talk his way out of his seemingly impending death. One of the others said something, the one with the gun responding without turning. Neal appeared to be protesting again, but clearly to no avail, as the much bigger man swung his hand, striking Neal across the temple with the gun.
Peter watched, horrified, as Neal fell back, unconscious, disappearing over the edge. One of the others laughed, and together they turned, walking back to their SUV. They seemed in no hurry, which was in stark contrast to Peter, who was fighting the urge to race to the edge and look for his partner. Finally, they were gone, and Peter sprinted from his position to where Neal had fallen.
He could see Neal, face down in the water. Without a second thought, he jumped in, kicking off the wall and reaching Neal in seconds. The water was freezing, and had Peter gasping as he dragged Neal to the edge and up the access ladder to the dock above.
Neal was still, deathly so. Peter’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried unsuccessfully to rouse his partner. His hair was dripping wet and messy; lips pale, almost blue. He wasn’t breathing. Fumbling for his own cuffs in their leather holder, Peter was relieved to find the key still present in its own compartment, and with shaking hands, he freed Neal’s wrists.
Peter turned him quickly, tilting his head back and starting mouth to mouth. The EMTs were too far away, and Neal didn’t have the time. How long had he been in the water?
“Come on Neal, come on…” he murmured, slapping his partner’s face lightly, trying to bring him round. He didn’t respond, and Peter delivered several more breaths.
After what felt to Peter like a scarily long time, Neal choked and starting coughing violently. Peter turned him onto his side as his lungs forcefully expelled the water they had taken in. He groaned, trying to push himself up, but weakened from oxygen deprivation, he failed.
Peter pulled him up, holding him firmly. He could feel Neal’s muscles tensing as he coughed; feel the shivers wracking his body he was so cold. He could see the muscles through Neal’s shirt; almost see-through with the water. Peter registered the sound of sirens in the distance as he looked Neal over. A bruise had started to form on the side of his face, and there was a cut above his brow that was bleeding sluggishly. Dark lashes clumping, Neal lifted his eyes to Peter’s face.
Clearing this throat, Neal spoke.
“Thank you, Peter.” His voice was hoarse, but his gratitude still evident.
Peter shook his head, rubbing Neal’s arm in a futile attempt to warm him up.
“It was nothing,” he responded gruffly with a shrug.
“No, it wasn’t. You saved my life. So, thank you.”
Peter watched Neal for a moment, the slightly sluggish way his lips moved, and nodded slowly.
“You’re welcome,” he replied with a slight smile. “Any time.”
Neal smiled back, and suddenly, Peter was kissing him. His lips felt hot against Neal’s cold ones, which still tasted faintly of salt from the water. There was nothing like realising he’d nearly lost his chance to spur Peter into action. There was a note of desperation in the way he kissed Neal, gripping his arm, holding him upright, and holding him close.
Neal relaxed, the tension in his body slowly falling away. He didn’t have the strength to resist. He wouldn’t have wanted to if he could.
Peter pulled away as the sirens grew louder, indicating the imminent arrival of his back-up. Neal was short of breath, his eyes wide.
“Thank you,” he murmured again.
Peter quirked an eyebrow and grinned.
“You’re welcome… Any time.”
The Laundry Room
28. The One With The Dirty Slacks
El was heading towards the kitchen when she heard a door close, turning to see Peter emerging from the laundry.
“Everything okay hon?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, just helping Neal, he couldn’t find the stain remover,” he said, making his way towards the stairs.
“Oh, okay. Does he need anything else? Did you show him how to use the washer?”
“He’s all over it, sweetie,” Peter smiled, and quickly headed upstairs, hoping he didn’t have a wet patch on the outside of his pants.
Several minutes later, Peter reappeared, in different clothes, and El looked up at him. Before she had a chance to comment, Peter said quickly,
“Thought I’d best change out of those dirty clothes. Anything I can do for dinner?”
Hearing the laundry door once more, they both turned to see Neal emerge, shirt slightly wrinkled and with several marks remaining on it, tucked into his still partly-muddied trousers. He held his jacket in front of him, and smiled when he saw them both looking.
“Everything okay?” El found herself asking again.
“Yeah, yes,” Neal replied. “I just realised the time though, and I have something I have to do tonight, so I thought I’d better go… I can clean these later,” he added, as he saw El’s eyes glancing at the dirt still splattered over one leg of the pants.
“Are you sure? I’ve made lasagne, you’re welcome to have some before you go,” she offered temptingly.
To be honest, Neal was hungry if he thought about it. But there was something very wrong about sitting down to eat with the two of them after Peter had just jerked him off with El practically in the next room.
“I’m sorry Elizabeth, it smells fantastic, it really does, but I should go before Moz starts worrying,” he joked. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said with a smile, insisting he could see himself out.
El and Peter still followed him, and he said goodbye once again as he stepped out, heading down the street a little way to find a cab. As they stood together on the stoop, watching Neal go, he turned back and waved. Peter hugged El as they headed back inside.
“Let’s eat hon, I’m starving,” he said, as they made their way to the kitchen.
“I’m just going to pop my things in the washer while you serve up,” Peter said, as he went to retrieve the things he’d left in their bathroom upstairs. Grabbing them, he headed back down to the laundry, letting the door close behind him.
He really hoped he could find something strong enough in here to cover the scent of sex that still lingered in the air.
29. The One With The Dirty Slacks, Part 2
Moz could still remember the days when Neal had hated suits. When he’d looked uncomfortable and awkward in whatever cheap, off-the-rack thing he'd picked up - or some not so cheap, tailored-but-not-for-him piece he'd picked up on some sucker's unknowing behalf. Now, you could be forgiven for thinking Neal was born to wear a three-piece suit. After all, in their line of work, image was everything…
Which was what made it all the more noticeable and surprising when Neal burst in, eyes shining and cheeks slightly flushed, with mud all over one leg of his pants. He strolled over to the table where Moz sat, picking up the tumbler sitting before him and taking a gulp of what turned out to be gin.
“Easy, there,” Moz said, snatching up the now almost empty glass. Neal grinned, and headed off towards the bathroom.
Moz was thoroughly perplexed. Why was he so happy? And why were his trousers dirty? Or, more to the point, why were only half of his trousers dirty? Shaking his head slightly, Moz sipped at what was left of his drink.
He had only been at work, and then he’d said he was heading to the Suit’s house -
Oh. Oh.
Moz added another measure to the glass and downed it in one. Crap.
30. The One With The Flashback
If anyone had asked him out of the blue, Peter would have said he didn’t remember how long it had been since the Caffrey-Keller-Ramsey case. He wasn’t chasing Neal anymore, so it wasn’t of any consequence anyway.
If you asked him to think about it, he’d say, oh yes, he did remember, because he had staked out the apartment Caffrey and Keller shared on the night of his 42nd birthday.
But if he was honest with you, really honest, he’d have to admit that he remembered that case - that night - like it was last night. Today’s arrest at the helipad had only enhanced his recollection of that night, refreshed the memory of Keller’s distinctive accent, how his voice contrasted with Neal’s.
The scene played back in his mind as he sat on the couch with a beer, Satchmo at his feet. He had the game on, and El was out for dinner with the girls. The background noise of the commentators faded out, just as his audio feed had that night.
*
The audio feed faded out, and Peter sat up with a start. What was going on?
He did a double take as he looked up and saw Neal stumble backwards out on to the balcony, pulling the other man with him. As they hit the railing, Keller turned Neal around, taking something Neal had pulled from the pocket of his pants, before he had shed them.
He watched, transfixed, as Keller bent Neal over the railing and started fucking him, hard.
*
He could still see every detail, as clearly as he’d seen it all those years ago.
Neal’s cock, trapped against the glass as Keller thrust into him, again and again. The way his hands slid on the metal railing, bending him further forward. The way he arched under Keller, throwing his head back as he shot onto the glass.
Peter’s arousal was growing, just with the memory of it. And then he thought of how he and El had fucked on the stairs when he got home. That had been a damn fine birthday.
Satchmo barked, and ran to the door, moments before there was a loud knock.
Shit. His pizza was here.
Go to Part Four...
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke, Mozzie, Matthew Keller (Neal/Peter)
Context: Season One
Warnings: language, dubious consent, explicit sexual content
Words: ~4,100
Summary: From when Peter accepts Neal’s deal to the end of season one
21. The One With The Showers
Peter was standing behind Neal, the younger man’s cheek pressed up against the cold white tile of the shower block. The mental picture that had turned Peter on in the van was now playing out in full technicolour behind his eyelids - only this time, it took a darker turn.
“Neal…” Peter started, but Neal shook his head, silencing him.
“Just do it,” he said through what sounded like gritted teeth.
With no other options available, Peter sucked on his own fingers, hoping they’d be slick enough for this to be anything less than excruciating for Neal. He prepped him quickly, trying hard to ignore the small sounds of discomfort Neal was trying hard to muffle.
He gave himself another few strokes, trying to spread some of his precum over his cock to ease the way. Neal leant forward, and Peter lined himself up and slowly started to push in.
*
God, did it hurt. Neal’s breath caught in his throat and he struggled to bite back a cry, stunned by how much it burned. His heart was pounding. As Peter pushed in deeper, Neal tensed, his body trying to resist the invasion, to stop the pain. The tears that had lingered unshed in his eyes spilled over as he tried not to choke, holding back the sounds fighting to escape.
*
As Peter slowly pulled out, he hoped the fluid leaking from the head of his cock would be enough to make things smoother on his next push in. From the gasped moan that Neal couldn’t contain when he rocked forward, it clearly hadn’t.
The searing heat of Neal tight around him was astounding, but Neal’s sounds of distress compelled Peter to stop, unwilling to hurt him any further.
“Neal, I can’t,” Peter whispered against the back of his neck. “I’m hurting you, please…”
“It doesn’t matter, Peter,” Neal whispered, his voice broken. “I can take it, I promise…”
Shaking his head, Peter pulled out as carefully as he could; running a hand gently over the tight muscles of Neal’s back and trying to soothe him. His erection flagged, his heart sinking.
“It matters, Neal… You matter,” Peter murmured, turning Neal around and lifting his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. The odd mixture of fear, defiance, pain and resignation Peter saw there shocked him deeply.
*
He woke with a start, feeling sick to his stomach as he relived the dream. He had dreamed of Caffrey before, many times, but never like that. Never so explicitly, never of hurting him, violating him that way. The thought of the young man enduring such a thing, at anyone’s hands, disgusted Peter; what prison may have been like for him was something he had always very carefully avoided thinking about - but now it seemed his subconscious was forcing him to consider the harsh reality of Neal’s situation.
His mind, it seemed, had made itself up. On Monday, he would fax off the necessary documentation for Caffrey’s release, and contact the marshals about a tracking anklet.
He had just gotten himself a consultant.
22. The One With The Devore
“This is classic Rat Pack. This is a Devore.”
Neal looked obscenely pleased with himself as he stood before Peter, turning on his heel and adjusting the fedora that sat at a jaunty angle on his head.
Peter was disbelieving as he took in the sight before him. Damn was Caffrey a sight for sore eyes.
He made a joke about the suit, insisted his mood was nothing to do with how much better Neal’s coffee was than his, and shooed the younger man out to the car. They hardly needed to be late on Neal’s first day; Peter had a lot riding on the success of this experiment.
When they arrived at the airport, Peter introduced Diana to Neal, and leaving him with her, excused himself, blaming the coffee. Entering the bathroom, he looked around quickly, confirming it was empty, before running his hands under the freezing cold water and locking himself in a cubicle. Unzipping, he wrapped his ice cold hands around his half-hard cock, willing away the erection that had been slowly swelling since he had watched Caffrey swagger down those stairs in that close-cut suit.
If Neal was going to be sticking around, Peter was going to have to figure out a way to deal with this.
23. The One Where That Old Dream Comes True
“Arrest them. Arrest them! We have to keep their cover. Handcuff them, read them their rights, everything,” Peter demanded, as he called orders to the rest of his team to pursue Dorsett.
*
A hand was planted firmly in the centre of his back and Neal was shoved hard against the car. Taryn stood beside him, wrists already pinned behind her, as Peter came out of the building behind them.
As Peter barked instructions into the radio in his hand, Neal allowed another agent to pull his arms back firmly, leaning against the car and rolling his eyes slightly as the other man closed the cuffs tightly and checked them carefully. He certainly was being thorough.
The other agent shifted away slightly, and moments later, Neal felt a warm, strong hand grip one of his wrists and the chain that linked them, pulling him away from the car as the door was opened.
“You’re under arrest,” Peter growled, pushing Neal’s head down and shoving him into the back of the car. A mischievous grin shone in his eyes as Peter’s firm grip pressed the metal of the cuffs into the skin of his wrist, and a distant memory of a day a long time ago when Neal had watched Peter throw someone up against a car and cuff them came back to him. He’d always wanted to be that person - his real arrest hadn’t played out that way, but today was almost making up for it… He was lucky Peter wasn’t the one to tell him he had the right to remain silent, or Taryn might have seen just how interesting things really get when Neal Caffrey is around.
24. The One With The Vault
“Peter. I trust you.” Neal implored him to take the mini-breather as the vault’s security mechanisms kicked in and the oxygen was rapidly sucked from the chamber.
The two of them rushed around the room, sliding the framed comics out of the way, shoving boxes aside, and frantically searching for the kill switch.
Neal could feel the air getting thinner; could feel the faint burn in his lungs as the oxygen levels dropped. Finally, he found the switch, trying to catch Peter’s attention but unable to. When Peter turned at last, it was in time to see Neal gasping for breath, but unable to get the air his body so badly needed. As he pointed to the switch, his legs began to give, and he fell slowly to the floor, unconscious before he hit the carpet.
Peter rushed to Neal’s side of the room, ready to hit the switch, desperate to help him, knowing he needed oxygen fast. Trying and failing to rouse Neal, he looked up towards the door and felt a cold shiver run through him as Avery took aim at his defenceless partner. Drawing his gun, he hoped to God Jones and the team had moved in when the switch was tripped.
Everything happened so fast. As he brought his hand down on the button, and braced himself to take Avery out, Jones stormed through, cries of “FBI! Drop your weapon!” resonating through the hallway and vault.
As Avery dropped his gun and surrendered, Peter knelt beside Neal, his heart skipping madly even as he maintained his cool exterior. Feeling for Neal’s breathing and confirming its absence, he placed both hands low on his sternum, hoping against hope that the careful pressure combined with the influx of fresh air into the vault would coax Neal’s lungs back into action.
Moments later, Neal coughed and gasped, sucking in deep breaths as his eyes flickered around the room, slightly unfocused, before settling on Peter. The agent felt a wave of relief wash over him as he looked down at his partner. He had made it in time, and with a bit of luck, the worst the younger man would have to show for the whole incident would be a splitting headache.
Even as Neal came round fully, his chest rising and falling regularly once more, Peter’s hand lingered. With the warm solidness of Neal’s body and steadily beating heart under his palm, Peter’s own could finally resume its normal rhythm.
25. The One With The Cuffs, Part 8
Peter could hear the singing. He knew it was Neal - he just didn’t know why.
His heart skipped a beat as he entered Dr Powell’s office and saw Neal. His lean body strapped down, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his voice faltering as he sang.
Neal turned towards Peter, greeting him in a crazed and carefree tone, pupils blown. Peter moved hurriedly to his young partner’s side. It was clear he was on something; the rolled up shirtsleeves and puncture wound in the crook of his elbow confirming the agent’s suspicion and fear.
Peter’s hands hovered, hushing Neal and taking stock of the situation. Neal didn’t seem concerned about his predicament, which only served to make Peter more so. He placed a hand lightly on Neal’s body; he could feel the warmth. He had the sudden urge to run his hand down the lithe torso laid out before him. There was something about the bonds around those slender wrists, the vulnerability…
Shaking his head slightly, Peter reminded himself to stay focused.
“We have to get you out of these restraints,” he said, looking around for anything he could use to free Neal.
But suddenly, somehow, Neal was free, and Peter was carrying him. The other man hung off him, clingy and confused, as they staggered down corridor after corridor. Neal was muttering things Peter couldn’t make sense of, interspersed with the occasional half-line of song.
They made it to a large conference room, but what little strength Neal had was waning, and he slumped to the floor. Peter pulled him up, panicking for a moment that the other man had passed out. Neal was heavier than he looked; there was no way Peter was getting him out of there if he was unconscious. To Peter’s relief, Neal’s fever-blue eyes met his brightly.
The combination of shock, fear and adrenaline had Peter on edge, and it surfaced as anger as he scolded Neal. However, as Neal spoke, perhaps more honestly than ever before to Peter, the older man felt some of his anger fade, to be replaced by concern. Granted, Neal’s letting down of his guard had come with some chemical assistance, but that was beside the point. He had told Peter he trusted him, more than anyone else in the world, and Peter couldn’t just let that go.
A crazy idea came into Peter’s head. Even as he thought of it, he knew it was mad, but it was something he had to do. The image of Neal, restrained and at the mercy of anyone who might have come in, flashed through his mind, and it almost scared him. Neal was his; he had to protect him.
Pulling a chair over to the window, Peter cuffed Neal to it - he wouldn’t have gotten far on his own on those legs, given the face-planting he had already done, as evidenced by the slight mark on one cheekbone that may or may not have been a carpet burn, but Peter had to do it. Neal watched him, but didn’t protest. There was nothing quite like watching his own large hand clamp that shining circle of cool metal around the slim wrist; around the very pulse of his Neal Caffrey.
As he hurried away from the younger man, determined to steal the evidence that implicated him, it occurred to Peter that Neal may just have been a bad influence on him.
26. The One With The Cuffs, Part 9
Peter ran his hand down Neal’s body, feeling the muscles contract beneath his fingers, the warmth of Neal’s skin. He reached the belt, fingers lingering on the buckle momentarily, before unfastening it with nimble fingers. He pulled the zipper down, and slid his hand inside to cup Neal’s hardening length. Neal shifted, trying to better accommodate his building erection, and Peter heard an unusual clinking sound.
Looking down at Neal, he suddenly realised the younger man was restrained, bonds holding him on the couch of what Peter now registered was Dr Powell’s office. As Peter squeezed, Neal squirmed, but was powerless to do anything to stop him. Peter’s heart sped up as the reality of the situation struck him… he had Neal at his mercy, unable to escape or act to stop him.
It was a thrilling thought.
He slowly ran his thumb along Neal’s cock, relishing the way Neal shivered, the helpless sound he made in his throat. Peter watched Neal’s face as he stroked a hand up and down his length; watched the way Neal’s darkened eyes slid closed; the way he licked his perfect lips. Peter sped up, and Neal bit down, but couldn’t contain his moan of pleasure as Peter’s fingers brushed over the leaking head of his cock. His hands clenched into fists, as Peter rapidly pulled him closer to the edge. Gasping for breath as his back arched, he yanked sharply at his bonds as he came.
*
This wasn’t the first or the last time Peter would dream of Neal in cuffs, but it was the first time Caffrey had ruined a set of El’s good sheets.
27. The One With The Cuffs, Part 10 (or, The One With The First Kiss)
Peter had tracked Collins and his cronies to the docks using Neal’s tracking data; thankfully, they hadn’t discovered the anklet. He had alerted his team, but hadn’t been able to wait for them; who knew what was happening to Neal in the meantime? He parked behind one of the warehouses and ran down the side, towards the water and the sound of raised voices. Slowing as he reached the corner, he peered around, in time to see one of the men pull out a gun and point it at Neal. The younger man’s hands were behind his back, apparently bound, and though Peter couldn’t hear his words, it was clear Neal was trying to talk his way out of his seemingly impending death. One of the others said something, the one with the gun responding without turning. Neal appeared to be protesting again, but clearly to no avail, as the much bigger man swung his hand, striking Neal across the temple with the gun.
Peter watched, horrified, as Neal fell back, unconscious, disappearing over the edge. One of the others laughed, and together they turned, walking back to their SUV. They seemed in no hurry, which was in stark contrast to Peter, who was fighting the urge to race to the edge and look for his partner. Finally, they were gone, and Peter sprinted from his position to where Neal had fallen.
He could see Neal, face down in the water. Without a second thought, he jumped in, kicking off the wall and reaching Neal in seconds. The water was freezing, and had Peter gasping as he dragged Neal to the edge and up the access ladder to the dock above.
Neal was still, deathly so. Peter’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried unsuccessfully to rouse his partner. His hair was dripping wet and messy; lips pale, almost blue. He wasn’t breathing. Fumbling for his own cuffs in their leather holder, Peter was relieved to find the key still present in its own compartment, and with shaking hands, he freed Neal’s wrists.
Peter turned him quickly, tilting his head back and starting mouth to mouth. The EMTs were too far away, and Neal didn’t have the time. How long had he been in the water?
“Come on Neal, come on…” he murmured, slapping his partner’s face lightly, trying to bring him round. He didn’t respond, and Peter delivered several more breaths.
After what felt to Peter like a scarily long time, Neal choked and starting coughing violently. Peter turned him onto his side as his lungs forcefully expelled the water they had taken in. He groaned, trying to push himself up, but weakened from oxygen deprivation, he failed.
Peter pulled him up, holding him firmly. He could feel Neal’s muscles tensing as he coughed; feel the shivers wracking his body he was so cold. He could see the muscles through Neal’s shirt; almost see-through with the water. Peter registered the sound of sirens in the distance as he looked Neal over. A bruise had started to form on the side of his face, and there was a cut above his brow that was bleeding sluggishly. Dark lashes clumping, Neal lifted his eyes to Peter’s face.
Clearing this throat, Neal spoke.
“Thank you, Peter.” His voice was hoarse, but his gratitude still evident.
Peter shook his head, rubbing Neal’s arm in a futile attempt to warm him up.
“It was nothing,” he responded gruffly with a shrug.
“No, it wasn’t. You saved my life. So, thank you.”
Peter watched Neal for a moment, the slightly sluggish way his lips moved, and nodded slowly.
“You’re welcome,” he replied with a slight smile. “Any time.”
Neal smiled back, and suddenly, Peter was kissing him. His lips felt hot against Neal’s cold ones, which still tasted faintly of salt from the water. There was nothing like realising he’d nearly lost his chance to spur Peter into action. There was a note of desperation in the way he kissed Neal, gripping his arm, holding him upright, and holding him close.
Neal relaxed, the tension in his body slowly falling away. He didn’t have the strength to resist. He wouldn’t have wanted to if he could.
Peter pulled away as the sirens grew louder, indicating the imminent arrival of his back-up. Neal was short of breath, his eyes wide.
“Thank you,” he murmured again.
Peter quirked an eyebrow and grinned.
“You’re welcome… Any time.”
The Laundry Room
28. The One With The Dirty Slacks
El was heading towards the kitchen when she heard a door close, turning to see Peter emerging from the laundry.
“Everything okay hon?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah, just helping Neal, he couldn’t find the stain remover,” he said, making his way towards the stairs.
“Oh, okay. Does he need anything else? Did you show him how to use the washer?”
“He’s all over it, sweetie,” Peter smiled, and quickly headed upstairs, hoping he didn’t have a wet patch on the outside of his pants.
Several minutes later, Peter reappeared, in different clothes, and El looked up at him. Before she had a chance to comment, Peter said quickly,
“Thought I’d best change out of those dirty clothes. Anything I can do for dinner?”
Hearing the laundry door once more, they both turned to see Neal emerge, shirt slightly wrinkled and with several marks remaining on it, tucked into his still partly-muddied trousers. He held his jacket in front of him, and smiled when he saw them both looking.
“Everything okay?” El found herself asking again.
“Yeah, yes,” Neal replied. “I just realised the time though, and I have something I have to do tonight, so I thought I’d better go… I can clean these later,” he added, as he saw El’s eyes glancing at the dirt still splattered over one leg of the pants.
“Are you sure? I’ve made lasagne, you’re welcome to have some before you go,” she offered temptingly.
To be honest, Neal was hungry if he thought about it. But there was something very wrong about sitting down to eat with the two of them after Peter had just jerked him off with El practically in the next room.
“I’m sorry Elizabeth, it smells fantastic, it really does, but I should go before Moz starts worrying,” he joked. “Enjoy your dinner,” he said with a smile, insisting he could see himself out.
El and Peter still followed him, and he said goodbye once again as he stepped out, heading down the street a little way to find a cab. As they stood together on the stoop, watching Neal go, he turned back and waved. Peter hugged El as they headed back inside.
“Let’s eat hon, I’m starving,” he said, as they made their way to the kitchen.
“I’m just going to pop my things in the washer while you serve up,” Peter said, as he went to retrieve the things he’d left in their bathroom upstairs. Grabbing them, he headed back down to the laundry, letting the door close behind him.
He really hoped he could find something strong enough in here to cover the scent of sex that still lingered in the air.
29. The One With The Dirty Slacks, Part 2
Moz could still remember the days when Neal had hated suits. When he’d looked uncomfortable and awkward in whatever cheap, off-the-rack thing he'd picked up - or some not so cheap, tailored-but-not-for-him piece he'd picked up on some sucker's unknowing behalf. Now, you could be forgiven for thinking Neal was born to wear a three-piece suit. After all, in their line of work, image was everything…
Which was what made it all the more noticeable and surprising when Neal burst in, eyes shining and cheeks slightly flushed, with mud all over one leg of his pants. He strolled over to the table where Moz sat, picking up the tumbler sitting before him and taking a gulp of what turned out to be gin.
“Easy, there,” Moz said, snatching up the now almost empty glass. Neal grinned, and headed off towards the bathroom.
Moz was thoroughly perplexed. Why was he so happy? And why were his trousers dirty? Or, more to the point, why were only half of his trousers dirty? Shaking his head slightly, Moz sipped at what was left of his drink.
He had only been at work, and then he’d said he was heading to the Suit’s house -
Oh. Oh.
Moz added another measure to the glass and downed it in one. Crap.
30. The One With The Flashback
If anyone had asked him out of the blue, Peter would have said he didn’t remember how long it had been since the Caffrey-Keller-Ramsey case. He wasn’t chasing Neal anymore, so it wasn’t of any consequence anyway.
If you asked him to think about it, he’d say, oh yes, he did remember, because he had staked out the apartment Caffrey and Keller shared on the night of his 42nd birthday.
But if he was honest with you, really honest, he’d have to admit that he remembered that case - that night - like it was last night. Today’s arrest at the helipad had only enhanced his recollection of that night, refreshed the memory of Keller’s distinctive accent, how his voice contrasted with Neal’s.
The scene played back in his mind as he sat on the couch with a beer, Satchmo at his feet. He had the game on, and El was out for dinner with the girls. The background noise of the commentators faded out, just as his audio feed had that night.
*
The audio feed faded out, and Peter sat up with a start. What was going on?
He did a double take as he looked up and saw Neal stumble backwards out on to the balcony, pulling the other man with him. As they hit the railing, Keller turned Neal around, taking something Neal had pulled from the pocket of his pants, before he had shed them.
He watched, transfixed, as Keller bent Neal over the railing and started fucking him, hard.
*
He could still see every detail, as clearly as he’d seen it all those years ago.
Neal’s cock, trapped against the glass as Keller thrust into him, again and again. The way his hands slid on the metal railing, bending him further forward. The way he arched under Keller, throwing his head back as he shot onto the glass.
Peter’s arousal was growing, just with the memory of it. And then he thought of how he and El had fucked on the stairs when he got home. That had been a damn fine birthday.
Satchmo barked, and ran to the door, moments before there was a loud knock.
Shit. His pizza was here.
Go to Part Four...