"The Dinner", Peter/Neal, R, AU
Title: The Dinner
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal AU
Rating: hard R
Written for: elrhiarhodan's Five Acts! I got two acts here: Touching in secret, Master and slave.
Warnings: master/slave
Words: 750
A/N: Dude, this was so much fucking fun. :-DDD
Only the elite among the slaves were ever allowed to sit at the Masters' table. Neal had only been his Master's for two months; the fact that he was at the table tonight should have been, if not just a complete shock, an honor and an unspeakable privilege.
Instead, Neal was so nervous, he thought he might pass out from hyperventilating.
"Easy," came the Master's soft, deep voice beside him. "I'll have that napkin now."
Neal gulped. He could feel the pulse point at the base of his throat jumping. "Yes, sir," he managed to whisper.
"But no talking," his Master corrected.
Neal bowed his head once and swept the Master's napkin from the table down across his lap.
The meal began.
Neal was not to eat until after the festivities, and then it was to be on the floor in the kitchen with the rest of the elite slaves. His Master had told him, though, that if he was very good, he could have a better plate up in the suite instead.
That was an honor so unheard of his Master had instructed him not to tell a soul lest the others revolt against the treatment they had always received - had always expected to receive.
His Master spoke about matters of state with their guests and gestured for Neal whenever he was needed - to dap at the Master's mouth with a damp cloth, to refill his goblet, to just sit there looking beautiful, a symbol of his Master's wealth and place.
Neal had reached the dessert course, and his nerves were beginning to fade. He'd done well. The Master seemed pleased with him. He'd even acknowledged his presence and his performance with a nod during the main course. It was high praise - to be given ANY attention during the state dinner.
So it came as more than a surprise when, during dessert, the Master slipped his hand beneath the table and squeezed Neal's bare thigh.
Neal swallowed and kept his eyes downcast. The Master lifted his fork with his right hand, speaking to the head delegate from the east before taking a bite of sweet cake, but his left hand moved slowly up Neal's thigh, up under his leather kilt. The hand tickled over the coarse hairs of Neal's thigh until it met the juncture, the place where Neal's cock rested, quiescent.
And then the Master began to touch him there.
Neal sipped in his breath. He slanted his eyes to the right to catch just a glimpse of the Master's expression. It was so normal, smiling politely and chewing, taking a long drink of wine. But his left hand was stroking Neal's hardening cock - pulling expertly until Neal was fully erect. It took only seconds, and then Neal was throbbing in his Master's palm.
The Master sped his stroking.
"Yes, the irrigation canal must be built past the Bunker well. There's no other suitable course of action," he was saying.
His palm was rough, callused. His fingers were tender. He handled Neal's cock like an owned but beloved thing.
Neal tried very hard to keep from making a noise. He kept his eyes down. But he spread his legs - just a couple more inches. And he heard the Master laugh softly under his breath. Not cruelly, though. He was…pleased.
Neal was pleasing the Master.
The hand worked him fast now, tugging harder. Neal's cock was pre-coming and slicking the way. The strong thumb rubbed over the slit, over and over again, and Neal bit his lip and silently came, shooting thick ribbons into his Master's hand, all over the chair between his quivering legs, everywhere.
When he was finished, the Master removed his hand. He said, lowly, so no one else heard, "Neal."
Neal looked up, lips parted, flushed. The Master licked his fingers. He set his fork down and said to the room, though he continued to stare into Neal's eyes, "Delicious." Then he dabbed his mouth with the napkin Neal had lain across his lap, handed it to Neal, and then surreptitiously nodded to Neal's thighs.
Neal wiped up his mess as best he could.
"Clear my place," the Master said. "Then come straight up to the suite. I need you."
"Yes, Sir," Neal murmured.
Then he watched his Master rise, shake hands with the important delegates, and confidently leave the room.
When Neal stood to clear his plate, his legs were still shaking, and his cock felt like it had been handled by a god.
Author: coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal AU
Rating: hard R
Written for: elrhiarhodan's Five Acts! I got two acts here: Touching in secret, Master and slave.
Warnings: master/slave
Words: 750
A/N: Dude, this was so much fucking fun. :-DDD
Only the elite among the slaves were ever allowed to sit at the Masters' table. Neal had only been his Master's for two months; the fact that he was at the table tonight should have been, if not just a complete shock, an honor and an unspeakable privilege.
Instead, Neal was so nervous, he thought he might pass out from hyperventilating.
"Easy," came the Master's soft, deep voice beside him. "I'll have that napkin now."
Neal gulped. He could feel the pulse point at the base of his throat jumping. "Yes, sir," he managed to whisper.
"But no talking," his Master corrected.
Neal bowed his head once and swept the Master's napkin from the table down across his lap.
The meal began.
Neal was not to eat until after the festivities, and then it was to be on the floor in the kitchen with the rest of the elite slaves. His Master had told him, though, that if he was very good, he could have a better plate up in the suite instead.
That was an honor so unheard of his Master had instructed him not to tell a soul lest the others revolt against the treatment they had always received - had always expected to receive.
His Master spoke about matters of state with their guests and gestured for Neal whenever he was needed - to dap at the Master's mouth with a damp cloth, to refill his goblet, to just sit there looking beautiful, a symbol of his Master's wealth and place.
Neal had reached the dessert course, and his nerves were beginning to fade. He'd done well. The Master seemed pleased with him. He'd even acknowledged his presence and his performance with a nod during the main course. It was high praise - to be given ANY attention during the state dinner.
So it came as more than a surprise when, during dessert, the Master slipped his hand beneath the table and squeezed Neal's bare thigh.
Neal swallowed and kept his eyes downcast. The Master lifted his fork with his right hand, speaking to the head delegate from the east before taking a bite of sweet cake, but his left hand moved slowly up Neal's thigh, up under his leather kilt. The hand tickled over the coarse hairs of Neal's thigh until it met the juncture, the place where Neal's cock rested, quiescent.
And then the Master began to touch him there.
Neal sipped in his breath. He slanted his eyes to the right to catch just a glimpse of the Master's expression. It was so normal, smiling politely and chewing, taking a long drink of wine. But his left hand was stroking Neal's hardening cock - pulling expertly until Neal was fully erect. It took only seconds, and then Neal was throbbing in his Master's palm.
The Master sped his stroking.
"Yes, the irrigation canal must be built past the Bunker well. There's no other suitable course of action," he was saying.
His palm was rough, callused. His fingers were tender. He handled Neal's cock like an owned but beloved thing.
Neal tried very hard to keep from making a noise. He kept his eyes down. But he spread his legs - just a couple more inches. And he heard the Master laugh softly under his breath. Not cruelly, though. He was…pleased.
Neal was pleasing the Master.
The hand worked him fast now, tugging harder. Neal's cock was pre-coming and slicking the way. The strong thumb rubbed over the slit, over and over again, and Neal bit his lip and silently came, shooting thick ribbons into his Master's hand, all over the chair between his quivering legs, everywhere.
When he was finished, the Master removed his hand. He said, lowly, so no one else heard, "Neal."
Neal looked up, lips parted, flushed. The Master licked his fingers. He set his fork down and said to the room, though he continued to stare into Neal's eyes, "Delicious." Then he dabbed his mouth with the napkin Neal had lain across his lap, handed it to Neal, and then surreptitiously nodded to Neal's thighs.
Neal wiped up his mess as best he could.
"Clear my place," the Master said. "Then come straight up to the suite. I need you."
"Yes, Sir," Neal murmured.
Then he watched his Master rise, shake hands with the important delegates, and confidently leave the room.
When Neal stood to clear his plate, his legs were still shaking, and his cock felt like it had been handled by a god.