White Collar Fic!
Dearest freaky_zero,
YOU SENT ME AN AWESOME PROMPT ABOUT PETER AND EL FINDING STUFF MISSING FROM THEIR HOUSE, and I started to fill it, and then it turned into this 2,000+ words long thing and took me forever, I AM SORRY! But I finished it and then I could not find your comment to reply to. I do not know if you deleted it or if LJ did BUT HERE IS YOUR STORY. Sorry it kinda ran away with me...
Dearest rest of my friendlist,
THIS IS FOR YOU GUYS ALSO. Thank you all for being SO AWESOME, and responding to my call for fic with more comment win than I could ever have dreamed up. You guys are MADE OF BRILLIANCE and I am flattered and amazed to know all of you and THANK YOU.
Love,
K
Title: Once A Criminal
Rating: That'd be a serious NC-17, folks.
Pairing: Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
Spoilers: Nope.
Warnings: Table!sex?
Summary: Peter and El have a mystery to solve.
"Honey?" El calls from the living room. "Have you seen the remote?"
Peter, bent over and peering into the fridge, cannot be bothered to go look for the damn thing himself. "Try between the couch cushions," he yells. Where the hell is his beer?
A moment passes, then two. Suddenly there is a warm body pressed against his, the soft curves of his wife fitting against him perfectly.
"I tried there," she murmurs. "And in the chair. And upstairs."
"Why would it be upstairs?"
Even with his back turned, he can feel the amused look she is giving him. "I don't pretend to know how your brain works when it comes to the remote."
Peter sighs and straightens up. "I'll come look for it if you'll find the beer."
"Deal," El says, laughing. He leans in and kisses her for a quick second; she is sweet and supple against him, and he considers abandoning their mission entirely. It's been awhile since it was just them (not that he's complaining--the addition of Neal has been a more than welcome one) and it might be nice, to have a go at it, see if they still understand the mechanics of two instead of three.
But he really wants that beer. He breaks away from her; she tweaks his nose gently and assumes his previous position in the fridge, and he goes hunting for the remote.
He digs around in all his usual places, and then his unusual ones; the windowsill, the staircase, the bathroom. He can't find it, and he hears El calling to him, saying she just bought that six pack yesterday--
--and it hits him. Neal.
"I know where the remote is," Peter says, leaning into the kitchen. El peeks out from over the fridge door and raises a questioning eyebrow, and Peter sighs.
"We're going to have to hop in the car and go get it," he tells her, and from the look of dawning comprehension on her face, he knows she has figured it out.
--
Neal opens the door of his suite in his pajamas; despite his annoyance, Peter has to bite back the urge to reach out and touch him through the smooth silk, and from the way El is shifting next to him, he figures she is having the same problem.
"Peter!" Neal says, a laugh in his voice. "And Elizabeth, always a pleasure." He grabs her hand and kisses it, and the smile she gives him tells Peter she is prepared to forget his transgression entirely.
Peter, however, is not so forgiving, pajamas and kisses or no.
"Neal," he says, dropping his voice into a low, dangerous register, "do you remember what I told you would happen if you stole anything while you were out of prison?"
Neal grins. It is a cheeky, smug little thing that Peter is going to have to wipe right off of his face. "You said I'd go back in," he replies easily. "Why, have I stolen something?"
Peter stalks into the room. Behind him, he hears El release the delighted gasp he has long associated with success. Neal is still grinning, matching each of Peter's forward steps with one of his own back; when they reach the table, Peter sees his beer and his remote sitting there in plain view.
Obnoxious little shit, he thinks, and he grabs Neal by the collar of his shirt and throws him into one of the chairs. Neal is still smiling, but now it's edged with something else, something dirty and intoxicating.
"Elizabeth," Peter says, running two fingers down Neal's cheek, "come see this." She steps forward, meeting them at the table, and he gestures to the pilfered goods.
"Oh," Elizabeth says, "so that's where those went." She turns to Neal; Peter removes his hand and El replaces it with her palm, smiling a little when Neal closes his eyes and leans into her touch.
"You've been very bad," she murmurs, close to his ear, and Peter's cock jumps at the way Neal shivers.
"How can I make it up to you?" he asks, eyes still closed. El turns to Peter, who makes a great show of considering this.
"You know," Peter says, finally, "my wife went to a lot of trouble, looking for this stuff. She wasted valuable time and energy on your little dalliance."
"I did, Neal," she murmurs, pulling her palm back to run her nails lightly across his cheek. "He's right."
"I think you should make it up her," Peter growls.
"How?" Neal asks, and Peter can see that he wants to open his eyes now from the way his eyelids are fluttering. His grin has vanished completely; an expression of barely controlled arousal has replaced it.
"You should fuck her," Peter says, and Neal's eyes fly open. Unrestrained want is suddenly writ across his face, like a beacon, like a white flag.
"Can I?" he breathes, a question for both of them. "Please?" Peter nods curtly and El laughs, presses a kiss into the corner of his mouth, reaches a hand down to touch his cock over his pajama bottoms.
"I don't know," she says, musingly. "You're going to need to be a lot harder than this if you want to--"
Neal is scrambling out of his pajama bottoms before she can speak further; he is not wearing anything under them, and Peter almost laughs at how dirty and ridiculous and him that is. Neal reaches down and grabs his cock, pulling at himself frantically, and Peter leaves him to it, grabbing his wife by the shoulders.
He kisses her, one hand in her hair, one on the small of her back, pressing her into him. Neal whimpers at the sight of them, and Peter ignores him. After a long moment he reaches a hand down to finger the hem of El's dress, and she laughs into his mouth.
"If you think I'm letting you tear this off of me," she murmurs, and steps away, slipping out of it. She is wearing dark blue underwear, a lacy bra Peter can't believe he's never seen before and a thong to match, and she hasn't taken off her shoes. She looks, Peter thinks thickly, like a Victoria's Secret model.
Neal moans. "El," he says, "El, please, am I hard enough to--to make you--"
She steps over to him, out of the puddle of her dress, and takes his cock in her hand. "Hmmm," she says. She gives Peter a playful smile and slides smoothly out of her underwear, stepping around it with those sharp heels. Then she straddles Neal, wrapping her legs around the chair, and impales herself on him.
Oh, and if Peter wasn't hard enough already, the noise Neal makes when El says "You'll do" --
Neal bucks his hips up into her, his hands on her back, her ass. "God," he gasps, "this is a way better punishment than prison." El smiles and presses herself down, using the chair for balance, and Neal lets out a guttural sound that can only be described as carnal.
"Fucking hell," he chokes out, burying his head in her neck, nipping at her collarbone. "Nevermind--wouldn't be a very good--ah!--deterrent."
"I would hope not," El murmurs. She sounds considerably more composed than Neal, but she is flushed bright red, her nipples sharply visible through the lace of her bra. Peter's mouth has gone dry.
"Neal," he says, "put my wife on the table."
Neal pulls his head away from El's neck at once; he glances at Peter with something like hurt in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, and Peter sighs.
"I didn't tell you to stop fucking her," he says, slowly, as though he is talking to an idiot. "I told you to put her on the table." Neal's eyes go so wide it is almost comical, and El shoots him a sly, pleased smile.
"Honey," she says, "have I mentioned lately that I love you?"
"Always nice to hear," Peter says. Neal smiles at both of them, and then he puts one hand firmly under El's left thigh, the other on her back. He lifts her with surprising ease and places her gently on the tabletop without slipping out of her. He leans forward to move the beer onto a chair, making her gasp; the noise startles him and he looks at her, brushes a hair out of her face.
"Okay?" he asks her, before Peter can. He'd reprimand Neal for that if it weren't for the soft, pleased expression that always crosses El's face when he shows them, really shows them, that he cares.
"Yeah," she says, breathlessly, "Yeah, I'm--"
And then she gasps, because Neal jerks forward, because Peter has stuck a finger in his ass.
"Put your guard down for one second," Peter says, conversationally, "and people do things that surprise you." Neal whimpers and then executes a complicated little move in which he attempts to rock back and forward at once--it is a sign of the man's shocking perpetual skill level that he nearly manages it.
"I mean," Peter continues blithely, sticking a second finger in there and watching Neal squirm, watching El respond beautifully to his movement, "I would never have expected the great Neal Caffrey to break into my home, nor can I figure out how he managed to do so when he was with me all goddamn day. But there you have it."
"I didn't," Neal grinds out, and Peter shoves a third finger in; Neal rocks forward with wild abandon and El moans.
"Right there," she says, "yeah, right--" and Peter pauses in his line of questioning to push Neal forward and please her. "Yes," she moans, "god, yes," and Peter pushes Neal faster, until El's breathing is impossibly fast, until he hears her give the sharp squeak of a noise that means she has had her first orgasm.
Then he leans close to Neal and says, "What do you mean you didn't," right in his ear. He punctuates this inquiry with a few slow spreads of his fingers and Neal pants, unable to catch his breath.
"Sent--an associate," he hisses, when he can. "Wanted to do it myself, but you--kept me too close today--"
Peter pulls his fingers out, yanks his pants and boxers down, and shoves himself into Neal's fully stretched hole. "You sent someone to rob me," he growls, and pushes in, deep, hard. Neal groans and moves forward himself and Elizabeth releases a noise Peter has never heard from her before, not in ten fucking years.
"The view from here," she gasps, "almost makes me not care that he sent someone to break into our--"
"He didn't break in!" Neal protests around short, choked breaths. "The--the door was--"
"I lock the goddamn door," Peter growls. Then he stills, stops moving entirely; Neal whimpers and tries to push himself back onto Peter's cock, but Peter puts a hand on his ass, holds him in place.
"Please," he begs, "please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please--"
"You're not going to steal from me again," Peter murmurs, "are you, Neal?"
"No," Neal gasps, "no, no, I won't, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, just please, Peter, please fuck me--"
And Peter slams himself forward, harder and faster than he really should. Neal keens his pleasure and Elizabeth has arched into him, is holding herself up with her hands buried in Neal's hair.
"You'd better not do it again," he says. Neal is too far gone to answer him; he buries his face in the hollow between El's ample breasts and makes a long, drawn out noise that is all in his throat. Peter grins and moves still faster, and El is sobbing in pleasure now, sobbing from how fast Neal is going, from how hard he is--
El goes first, and then second, less than a minute between them; Neal follows her, muffling his scream in her left breast. And the sight of them like that, Neal disheveled and flushed, his wife sweaty and smiling that knowing, filthy smile--that sends Peter over the edge too.
He pulls out of Neal after a moment; when he trusts his legs to actually take him somewhere, he lifts Neal bodily off of El, gives him a gentle shove towards the bed. He stumbles but doesn't fall, walks towards it with one hand on the wall for support.
Peter slides both arms under El and picks her up in a bridal carry. She laughs, and Neal makes a crack about Peter's bad back, and it's all as easy and normal as it, unfathomably, always is.
It's only when they're curled together under Neal's ridiculous million thread-count sheets that it occurs to Peter to ask the question that had brought them here in the first place.
"Hey," he says, "why the hell'd you steal a remote and a 6-pack of beer? You don't even like beer."
Neal yawns and blushes at once; if Peter were the kind of guy to think such things, he'd find it pretty adorable. "Oh," he says, exhaustion creeping into his voice, "I wanted to try sleeping at my place tonight."
El gives an incredulous little laugh. "So you blew off our dinner invitation and sent Mozzie--"
"Someone!" Neal protests.
"Mozzie," El continues, undeterred, "to rob us because you wanted us to sleep here?"
Neal yawns again. "Yeah," he admits, and Peter presses a quick kiss into his hair.
"Asking would have been too easy?" he mutters gruffly, and Neal nods; Peter's eyes are already closed, but he can feel the motion against his chest.
"Once a criminal," Neal replies, a nervousness belaying his tone.
"Always," Peter starts, but he falls asleep--and in the morning El and Neal will smile at each other over their fresh cappuccino, and fail to tell him that he finished that sentence with "ours."
YOU SENT ME AN AWESOME PROMPT ABOUT PETER AND EL FINDING STUFF MISSING FROM THEIR HOUSE, and I started to fill it, and then it turned into this 2,000+ words long thing and took me forever, I AM SORRY! But I finished it and then I could not find your comment to reply to. I do not know if you deleted it or if LJ did BUT HERE IS YOUR STORY. Sorry it kinda ran away with me...
Dearest rest of my friendlist,
THIS IS FOR YOU GUYS ALSO. Thank you all for being SO AWESOME, and responding to my call for fic with more comment win than I could ever have dreamed up. You guys are MADE OF BRILLIANCE and I am flattered and amazed to know all of you and THANK YOU.
Love,
K
Title: Once A Criminal
Rating: That'd be a serious NC-17, folks.
Pairing: Neal/Peter/Elizabeth
Spoilers: Nope.
Warnings: Table!sex?
Summary: Peter and El have a mystery to solve.
"Honey?" El calls from the living room. "Have you seen the remote?"
Peter, bent over and peering into the fridge, cannot be bothered to go look for the damn thing himself. "Try between the couch cushions," he yells. Where the hell is his beer?
A moment passes, then two. Suddenly there is a warm body pressed against his, the soft curves of his wife fitting against him perfectly.
"I tried there," she murmurs. "And in the chair. And upstairs."
"Why would it be upstairs?"
Even with his back turned, he can feel the amused look she is giving him. "I don't pretend to know how your brain works when it comes to the remote."
Peter sighs and straightens up. "I'll come look for it if you'll find the beer."
"Deal," El says, laughing. He leans in and kisses her for a quick second; she is sweet and supple against him, and he considers abandoning their mission entirely. It's been awhile since it was just them (not that he's complaining--the addition of Neal has been a more than welcome one) and it might be nice, to have a go at it, see if they still understand the mechanics of two instead of three.
But he really wants that beer. He breaks away from her; she tweaks his nose gently and assumes his previous position in the fridge, and he goes hunting for the remote.
He digs around in all his usual places, and then his unusual ones; the windowsill, the staircase, the bathroom. He can't find it, and he hears El calling to him, saying she just bought that six pack yesterday--
--and it hits him. Neal.
"I know where the remote is," Peter says, leaning into the kitchen. El peeks out from over the fridge door and raises a questioning eyebrow, and Peter sighs.
"We're going to have to hop in the car and go get it," he tells her, and from the look of dawning comprehension on her face, he knows she has figured it out.
--
Neal opens the door of his suite in his pajamas; despite his annoyance, Peter has to bite back the urge to reach out and touch him through the smooth silk, and from the way El is shifting next to him, he figures she is having the same problem.
"Peter!" Neal says, a laugh in his voice. "And Elizabeth, always a pleasure." He grabs her hand and kisses it, and the smile she gives him tells Peter she is prepared to forget his transgression entirely.
Peter, however, is not so forgiving, pajamas and kisses or no.
"Neal," he says, dropping his voice into a low, dangerous register, "do you remember what I told you would happen if you stole anything while you were out of prison?"
Neal grins. It is a cheeky, smug little thing that Peter is going to have to wipe right off of his face. "You said I'd go back in," he replies easily. "Why, have I stolen something?"
Peter stalks into the room. Behind him, he hears El release the delighted gasp he has long associated with success. Neal is still grinning, matching each of Peter's forward steps with one of his own back; when they reach the table, Peter sees his beer and his remote sitting there in plain view.
Obnoxious little shit, he thinks, and he grabs Neal by the collar of his shirt and throws him into one of the chairs. Neal is still smiling, but now it's edged with something else, something dirty and intoxicating.
"Elizabeth," Peter says, running two fingers down Neal's cheek, "come see this." She steps forward, meeting them at the table, and he gestures to the pilfered goods.
"Oh," Elizabeth says, "so that's where those went." She turns to Neal; Peter removes his hand and El replaces it with her palm, smiling a little when Neal closes his eyes and leans into her touch.
"You've been very bad," she murmurs, close to his ear, and Peter's cock jumps at the way Neal shivers.
"How can I make it up to you?" he asks, eyes still closed. El turns to Peter, who makes a great show of considering this.
"You know," Peter says, finally, "my wife went to a lot of trouble, looking for this stuff. She wasted valuable time and energy on your little dalliance."
"I did, Neal," she murmurs, pulling her palm back to run her nails lightly across his cheek. "He's right."
"I think you should make it up her," Peter growls.
"How?" Neal asks, and Peter can see that he wants to open his eyes now from the way his eyelids are fluttering. His grin has vanished completely; an expression of barely controlled arousal has replaced it.
"You should fuck her," Peter says, and Neal's eyes fly open. Unrestrained want is suddenly writ across his face, like a beacon, like a white flag.
"Can I?" he breathes, a question for both of them. "Please?" Peter nods curtly and El laughs, presses a kiss into the corner of his mouth, reaches a hand down to touch his cock over his pajama bottoms.
"I don't know," she says, musingly. "You're going to need to be a lot harder than this if you want to--"
Neal is scrambling out of his pajama bottoms before she can speak further; he is not wearing anything under them, and Peter almost laughs at how dirty and ridiculous and him that is. Neal reaches down and grabs his cock, pulling at himself frantically, and Peter leaves him to it, grabbing his wife by the shoulders.
He kisses her, one hand in her hair, one on the small of her back, pressing her into him. Neal whimpers at the sight of them, and Peter ignores him. After a long moment he reaches a hand down to finger the hem of El's dress, and she laughs into his mouth.
"If you think I'm letting you tear this off of me," she murmurs, and steps away, slipping out of it. She is wearing dark blue underwear, a lacy bra Peter can't believe he's never seen before and a thong to match, and she hasn't taken off her shoes. She looks, Peter thinks thickly, like a Victoria's Secret model.
Neal moans. "El," he says, "El, please, am I hard enough to--to make you--"
She steps over to him, out of the puddle of her dress, and takes his cock in her hand. "Hmmm," she says. She gives Peter a playful smile and slides smoothly out of her underwear, stepping around it with those sharp heels. Then she straddles Neal, wrapping her legs around the chair, and impales herself on him.
Oh, and if Peter wasn't hard enough already, the noise Neal makes when El says "You'll do" --
Neal bucks his hips up into her, his hands on her back, her ass. "God," he gasps, "this is a way better punishment than prison." El smiles and presses herself down, using the chair for balance, and Neal lets out a guttural sound that can only be described as carnal.
"Fucking hell," he chokes out, burying his head in her neck, nipping at her collarbone. "Nevermind--wouldn't be a very good--ah!--deterrent."
"I would hope not," El murmurs. She sounds considerably more composed than Neal, but she is flushed bright red, her nipples sharply visible through the lace of her bra. Peter's mouth has gone dry.
"Neal," he says, "put my wife on the table."
Neal pulls his head away from El's neck at once; he glances at Peter with something like hurt in his eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks, and Peter sighs.
"I didn't tell you to stop fucking her," he says, slowly, as though he is talking to an idiot. "I told you to put her on the table." Neal's eyes go so wide it is almost comical, and El shoots him a sly, pleased smile.
"Honey," she says, "have I mentioned lately that I love you?"
"Always nice to hear," Peter says. Neal smiles at both of them, and then he puts one hand firmly under El's left thigh, the other on her back. He lifts her with surprising ease and places her gently on the tabletop without slipping out of her. He leans forward to move the beer onto a chair, making her gasp; the noise startles him and he looks at her, brushes a hair out of her face.
"Okay?" he asks her, before Peter can. He'd reprimand Neal for that if it weren't for the soft, pleased expression that always crosses El's face when he shows them, really shows them, that he cares.
"Yeah," she says, breathlessly, "Yeah, I'm--"
And then she gasps, because Neal jerks forward, because Peter has stuck a finger in his ass.
"Put your guard down for one second," Peter says, conversationally, "and people do things that surprise you." Neal whimpers and then executes a complicated little move in which he attempts to rock back and forward at once--it is a sign of the man's shocking perpetual skill level that he nearly manages it.
"I mean," Peter continues blithely, sticking a second finger in there and watching Neal squirm, watching El respond beautifully to his movement, "I would never have expected the great Neal Caffrey to break into my home, nor can I figure out how he managed to do so when he was with me all goddamn day. But there you have it."
"I didn't," Neal grinds out, and Peter shoves a third finger in; Neal rocks forward with wild abandon and El moans.
"Right there," she says, "yeah, right--" and Peter pauses in his line of questioning to push Neal forward and please her. "Yes," she moans, "god, yes," and Peter pushes Neal faster, until El's breathing is impossibly fast, until he hears her give the sharp squeak of a noise that means she has had her first orgasm.
Then he leans close to Neal and says, "What do you mean you didn't," right in his ear. He punctuates this inquiry with a few slow spreads of his fingers and Neal pants, unable to catch his breath.
"Sent--an associate," he hisses, when he can. "Wanted to do it myself, but you--kept me too close today--"
Peter pulls his fingers out, yanks his pants and boxers down, and shoves himself into Neal's fully stretched hole. "You sent someone to rob me," he growls, and pushes in, deep, hard. Neal groans and moves forward himself and Elizabeth releases a noise Peter has never heard from her before, not in ten fucking years.
"The view from here," she gasps, "almost makes me not care that he sent someone to break into our--"
"He didn't break in!" Neal protests around short, choked breaths. "The--the door was--"
"I lock the goddamn door," Peter growls. Then he stills, stops moving entirely; Neal whimpers and tries to push himself back onto Peter's cock, but Peter puts a hand on his ass, holds him in place.
"Please," he begs, "please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please--"
"You're not going to steal from me again," Peter murmurs, "are you, Neal?"
"No," Neal gasps, "no, no, I won't, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, just please, Peter, please fuck me--"
And Peter slams himself forward, harder and faster than he really should. Neal keens his pleasure and Elizabeth has arched into him, is holding herself up with her hands buried in Neal's hair.
"You'd better not do it again," he says. Neal is too far gone to answer him; he buries his face in the hollow between El's ample breasts and makes a long, drawn out noise that is all in his throat. Peter grins and moves still faster, and El is sobbing in pleasure now, sobbing from how fast Neal is going, from how hard he is--
El goes first, and then second, less than a minute between them; Neal follows her, muffling his scream in her left breast. And the sight of them like that, Neal disheveled and flushed, his wife sweaty and smiling that knowing, filthy smile--that sends Peter over the edge too.
He pulls out of Neal after a moment; when he trusts his legs to actually take him somewhere, he lifts Neal bodily off of El, gives him a gentle shove towards the bed. He stumbles but doesn't fall, walks towards it with one hand on the wall for support.
Peter slides both arms under El and picks her up in a bridal carry. She laughs, and Neal makes a crack about Peter's bad back, and it's all as easy and normal as it, unfathomably, always is.
It's only when they're curled together under Neal's ridiculous million thread-count sheets that it occurs to Peter to ask the question that had brought them here in the first place.
"Hey," he says, "why the hell'd you steal a remote and a 6-pack of beer? You don't even like beer."
Neal yawns and blushes at once; if Peter were the kind of guy to think such things, he'd find it pretty adorable. "Oh," he says, exhaustion creeping into his voice, "I wanted to try sleeping at my place tonight."
El gives an incredulous little laugh. "So you blew off our dinner invitation and sent Mozzie--"
"Someone!" Neal protests.
"Mozzie," El continues, undeterred, "to rob us because you wanted us to sleep here?"
Neal yawns again. "Yeah," he admits, and Peter presses a quick kiss into his hair.
"Asking would have been too easy?" he mutters gruffly, and Neal nods; Peter's eyes are already closed, but he can feel the motion against his chest.
"Once a criminal," Neal replies, a nervousness belaying his tone.
"Always," Peter starts, but he falls asleep--and in the morning El and Neal will smile at each other over their fresh cappuccino, and fail to tell him that he finished that sentence with "ours."