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asimaiyatTitle: "Ask Me I Won't Say No (How Could I?)"
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex
Words: @2,400
Summary: for the kink meme prompt: "Peter has all the power in the relationship, so Neal has to beg for what he wants. Neal is okay with this."
AN: The Pretenders by Ibsen is about a talented young man who becomes king at the start of the play, and has his crown taken from him by a rival. Making pretentious cultural references -- it's what I do.
The title is from "Ask" by The Smiths.
You could say that the whole thing started innocently enough. You could if you didn't know Neal at all, anyway.
Peter, on the other hand, knows him well enough to never use the word "innocent" anywhere near his name, so he'd just say that it started with Neal striding into the office and waving a folded-back copy of New York magazine in his face. "Peter, look at this!"
One tapered finger was pointing urgently at a small, black-and-white (mostly black) ad for a play: The Pretenders by Henrik Ibsen. The ad itself was understated, easy to miss, but a banner at the top read Limited Engagement! Two nights only! and the cast list, written in small lowercase letters, included a couple of names that Peter thought he recognized from watching the Oscars with El.
The location of the theater, according to the ad, was way uptown, past a few iffy neighborhoods and straight into the newly-chic ones.
"That's out of your radius."
"I know, Peter." The arm holding the magazine dropped to Neal's side, and he met Peter's eyes with a quick but intense flicker of emotion. "But it's my favorite play, and I haven't been to the theater for so long -- you might remember, four years now?"
"Guilt's not gonna work, Neal." Not that Peter didn't feel just a little guilty, but he wasn't going to be manipulated that easily. He slouched back into his chair and picked up his coffee mug, returning his attention to work. Instead of arranging himself in the visitors' chair as usual, though, Neal folded his forearms on the desk and leaned across, maintaining level eye contact that was very difficult to ignore.
"Please, Peter? I know you trust me. I've done everything I can to prove to you that my intentions --"
"Let's see -- you've stolen, what, three, four -- at least four -- of the artifacts you've been assigned to find --"
"I gave them all back, didn't I? Well, most of --"
"Run off on me at least twice, not counting the time you hid in my own damn house, and, oh yeah, tried to sell us out to Interpol. Real trustworthy, there."
"Fine." Neal sighed, making an obvious effort to accept the criticism without argument. "But I will! If you let me go, I promise I'll be the best consultant you've ever had."
"Oh yeah? And what if I don't?" At this point there was no chance of getting any work done, so Peter just smirked and played along, enjoying the show.
"Well, I'll... be sad. And resentful."
"And melodramatic?"
"Never! But come on, please? Really. I'll make it up to you, honest, however you want. I know I have... limited means at the moment, but you have my word, I mean it, Peter --"
"I'll extend your area for the night. But you'll still have the anklet, and don't think for a second I won't spend my evening hitting reload on the GPS page every sixty seconds. You break your word, and I'm going to have to deal with this personally. Understand?"
Neal nodded, but it didn't look like he'd heard anything past extend your area. The man literally bounced, which Peter wasn't sure he'd ever seen a grown adult doing before he met Neal. It was kind of... well, Peter didn't have a word for it, but El would have said it was kind of adorable. "Wow, thank you! I'll make this up to you, really. Wow... I know just what I'm going to wear, I'll just have to --"
"Neal. Work." Peter picked up the manila folder he'd been leafing through and waved it in the air.
"Right, of course. Work. Got it."
****
True to his word, Peter spent the night of the play obsessing over Neal's whereabouts, and sure enough, Neal was true to his word as well, not deviating once from his pre-approved route. Peter was almost proud of him. Until he took an unscheduled detour on his way home at around 10 pm, deviating from the route back to his apartment to head towards... Peter's house. What the hell. The hell of it was, at this stage, Peter wasn't even particularly surprised.
So he was ready when he heard a knock on the door and there was Neal, dressed to the nines and holding an understated bouquet of pink lilies mixed with some kind of green leafy plant. "These were going to be for Helen Mirren, but if I waited any longer to see her I would have missed my three-hour window." He smiled apologetically. "So I thought Elizabeth might appreciate them?"
"She likes flowers," said Peter, which was dumb, but what did he know about lilies? "Come on in; El's asleep, and you'll probably have better luck finding a vase than I would."
"Thanks!" Neal entered the house with the light step of a man who just got laid, but Peter figured it was some kind of art thing -- it could just as easily have been him after cracking a case. Far too quickly for someone who'd hardly even been in this kitchen, he picked out a glass vase that El had picked up on an antiquing trip a few years ago and had the flowers watered and arranged on the kitchen table. He gave the leaves a couple of extra tweaks before standing back to admire his work.
"Neal," Peter sighed, leaning against the refrigerator. "Why are you here?"
Neal's eyebrows raises and his palms turned out, as if he was stumped. "Well, I had flowers." Then he maybe lowered his head just an inch, curved in his shoulders. "And I wanted to thank you. I meant what I said -- I'll make it up to you."
"Aw, you don't have to do anything special." This was awkward. He didn't really want to talk about the conversation they'd had in the office that morning. "It was enough that you asked so nicely." He smiled with one side of his mouth, leaving a little gray area between friendliness and mockery. It didn't get past Neal, though, whose eyes flicked upwards, animated with a devious light.
"I knew you liked that."
"I liked what now?"
"You liked me begging you." Neal advanced a little on Peter, looking up at him at just the right angle to show off his dark eyelashes. Now he was smirking, just a little: "Come on, Peter, won't you let me show you how much I appreciate your kindness? Please?"
Peter snorted, deliberately ignoring any particular way that earnest, almost breathless tone might have made him feel. "Is that what this is about? You think you've got a new weapon to use on me now?"
"Is that what you think?" One delicate eyebrow lifted.
"I don't... oh, dammit." Peter's brain wasn't working right. He was having trouble not thinking about the little kick of power he'd felt that Neal had to beg his permission just to take a cab uptown, the intensity of Neal's attention focused on him, giving the effort everything he had. Just this side of desperate. Yeah, it was hard to resist. "Luckily, I'm not so bad with temptation myself."
"Well I'm not going to take advantage of you," Neal protested. He really had a remarkable knack for seeming wounded by entirely reasonable suspicions. "Is it so unbelievable that I might just want to make you happy? Or, you know, secretly less grumpy than you're trying to pretend to be. That dimple in your left cheek is a major tell, by the way."
"I'll keep that in mind." Peter finally pushed his weight off the refrigerator and got himself a little space, pacing back and forth. "And yes, it is unbelievable. I'm waiting for there to be something about this situation that isn't unbelievable."
"Try this: I sort of like when you try to be stern with me. Aaaand, I like that you get a kick out of it, too. It's very charming. And I'm not going to try to use that to cheat you out of anything, because that would be cheap and tacky, and beneath both of our dignity."
"S'that so." Peter's brows had been knitted together so tightly for so long now that they were probably in danger of sticking that way.
"That is so."
"Well, okay then."
****
So apparently that was foreplay -- Peter tried not to think about the fact that it was probably the most awkward foreplay of Neal's life, but still. There were some strange moments at the office and very honest conversations with Elizabeth, working out the logic of a long-term hypothetical abruptly becoming a real possibility. Neal kept his word, even if he did occasionally lower his eyes and he could please go out for coffee, or murmur that he'd be so grateful if he could change the radio to his station. Mostly Peter gave in, muttering something unconvincingly sarcastic, but every once in a while he said no on a random whim, and that seemed to please Neal just as much. Damnedest thing.
And that was how they got here, with Neal stretched out on his bed, covered in little scratches and bite marks and shiny wet stripes, all requested and granted with more or less equal enthusiasm. Of course, Peter didn't give him everything he wanted -- more or less every other plea had been denied, or at least deferred for the time being. Neal had started out teasing, cajoling: "Come on, I know you want to touch my cock." "Don't you want to finally claim what's yours?" That sort of thing. Peter reacted with sounds that fit in somewhere between growling and laughing, and held him down and bit at his neck and shoulder until pretty words stopped coming so easily.
"Please, kiss me? Please, Peter, come on!" His voice was now well on the other side of desperate, not quite a whine but not far from it. Peter smiled and obliged, leaning down so that their mouths were the only point of contact, sinking his teeth into Neal's full lower lip and drawing a whimpering cry in reaction. He pulled back and observed those reddened lips and wide-open eyes, the chin pushed out in a last-ditch attempt at petulance. "Please, Peter."
"Please what?"
"Please just touch my cock, I don't even care what else you do, just -- "
"Why should I?" Peter ran a hand across Neal's collarbone and down his chest, not firmly enough to hold him down, but enough to let him know that he would if he had to. If Neal thought it was an unfair question, he didn't show it.
"Because I'll give you anything you want. Everything. You know I will, Peter -- " If there was more to that thought, Peter never heard it, because he'd cut Neal off with another hard kiss. This time around, he was playing the part of the con man, trying to carry on the illusion that he wasn't just as desperate as the gasping wreck underneath him. It was as difficult as he'd expected, but he'd learned some tricks.
"So what if what I want is just your mouth on me, and forget about the rest of you?"
Neal just whimpered in answer, all out of words, but his eyes very clearly said You wouldn't do that, would you? Right? Like he wanted to trust, but wasn't quite there yet. Peter grinned as he reached down to stroke Neal's long, slender cock, watching him bite his lip before forcing out a "thank you."
"That good?" He couldn't resist squeezing a little harder than necessary, just to hear Neal make that mewling sound. "Do you want me to fuck you?
Eyes locked on Peter's, like a backup communication system in case words became impossible, Neal hissed a sound that was probably "yes."
"Hmm?"
"Yes! Please. However you want, just --" Peter took his hand off of Neal's cock in order to grip the sharp angles of his shoulders in both hands, grinding their hips together hard.
"You like it rough?"
"No, but if you do, just --" Writhing up under Peter, obviously fighting for as much contact as possible.
"How do you like it?"
"I -- oh, God -- really?" Nod. "Okay. I -- fuck! -- I like slow -- uh -- sensual, you know, um -- face-to-face? I mean, ahhh -- intimacy. You know."
Peter realized that it was surprising to hear him say so many words without any hand gestures.
"But I don't care! Just fuck me! However you want, really, just, please, have some mercy!"
"Okay. Hands and knees." He pulled back to let Neal switch positions with a little murmur of gratitude, and reached for where he'd put the little bottle of lube, rubbing it over the fingers of his right hand. He didn't waste time on preparation, hurrying to open up the pert little ass in front of him with two thick fingers, before lining himself up and pushing in hard.
"Oh, God, thank you!"
Peter stilled for just a moment to savor the tight, squirming body beneath him before wrapping one arm around Neal's chest, bracing himself against the brass headboard with the other hand, and setting a mercilessly fast rhythm. Neal pushed back just as hard underneath him, struggling to take as much as he could get, both of them making little sound except for rough, ragged breaths.
When Peter twisted one hand into Neal's messy hair and pulled his head back hard to perfectly align their bodies, he could see that Neal's eyes were closed and he was smiling and biting his lower lip at the same time, his flushed face almost serene.
"You like it rough," Peter said. Not a question. Neal's eyes snapped open and they were wide and totally blank.
"Um --" For fractions of a second he looked, for the first time, like he'd been caught. (Peter almost came right then) "No I don't."
"Oh well, too bad for you, then," said Peter as he tugged good and hard on his fistful of tangled, sweaty curls.
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex
Words: @2,400
Summary: for the kink meme prompt: "Peter has all the power in the relationship, so Neal has to beg for what he wants. Neal is okay with this."
AN: The Pretenders by Ibsen is about a talented young man who becomes king at the start of the play, and has his crown taken from him by a rival. Making pretentious cultural references -- it's what I do.
The title is from "Ask" by The Smiths.
You could say that the whole thing started innocently enough. You could if you didn't know Neal at all, anyway.
Peter, on the other hand, knows him well enough to never use the word "innocent" anywhere near his name, so he'd just say that it started with Neal striding into the office and waving a folded-back copy of New York magazine in his face. "Peter, look at this!"
One tapered finger was pointing urgently at a small, black-and-white (mostly black) ad for a play: The Pretenders by Henrik Ibsen. The ad itself was understated, easy to miss, but a banner at the top read Limited Engagement! Two nights only! and the cast list, written in small lowercase letters, included a couple of names that Peter thought he recognized from watching the Oscars with El.
The location of the theater, according to the ad, was way uptown, past a few iffy neighborhoods and straight into the newly-chic ones.
"That's out of your radius."
"I know, Peter." The arm holding the magazine dropped to Neal's side, and he met Peter's eyes with a quick but intense flicker of emotion. "But it's my favorite play, and I haven't been to the theater for so long -- you might remember, four years now?"
"Guilt's not gonna work, Neal." Not that Peter didn't feel just a little guilty, but he wasn't going to be manipulated that easily. He slouched back into his chair and picked up his coffee mug, returning his attention to work. Instead of arranging himself in the visitors' chair as usual, though, Neal folded his forearms on the desk and leaned across, maintaining level eye contact that was very difficult to ignore.
"Please, Peter? I know you trust me. I've done everything I can to prove to you that my intentions --"
"Let's see -- you've stolen, what, three, four -- at least four -- of the artifacts you've been assigned to find --"
"I gave them all back, didn't I? Well, most of --"
"Run off on me at least twice, not counting the time you hid in my own damn house, and, oh yeah, tried to sell us out to Interpol. Real trustworthy, there."
"Fine." Neal sighed, making an obvious effort to accept the criticism without argument. "But I will! If you let me go, I promise I'll be the best consultant you've ever had."
"Oh yeah? And what if I don't?" At this point there was no chance of getting any work done, so Peter just smirked and played along, enjoying the show.
"Well, I'll... be sad. And resentful."
"And melodramatic?"
"Never! But come on, please? Really. I'll make it up to you, honest, however you want. I know I have... limited means at the moment, but you have my word, I mean it, Peter --"
"I'll extend your area for the night. But you'll still have the anklet, and don't think for a second I won't spend my evening hitting reload on the GPS page every sixty seconds. You break your word, and I'm going to have to deal with this personally. Understand?"
Neal nodded, but it didn't look like he'd heard anything past extend your area. The man literally bounced, which Peter wasn't sure he'd ever seen a grown adult doing before he met Neal. It was kind of... well, Peter didn't have a word for it, but El would have said it was kind of adorable. "Wow, thank you! I'll make this up to you, really. Wow... I know just what I'm going to wear, I'll just have to --"
"Neal. Work." Peter picked up the manila folder he'd been leafing through and waved it in the air.
"Right, of course. Work. Got it."
****
True to his word, Peter spent the night of the play obsessing over Neal's whereabouts, and sure enough, Neal was true to his word as well, not deviating once from his pre-approved route. Peter was almost proud of him. Until he took an unscheduled detour on his way home at around 10 pm, deviating from the route back to his apartment to head towards... Peter's house. What the hell. The hell of it was, at this stage, Peter wasn't even particularly surprised.
So he was ready when he heard a knock on the door and there was Neal, dressed to the nines and holding an understated bouquet of pink lilies mixed with some kind of green leafy plant. "These were going to be for Helen Mirren, but if I waited any longer to see her I would have missed my three-hour window." He smiled apologetically. "So I thought Elizabeth might appreciate them?"
"She likes flowers," said Peter, which was dumb, but what did he know about lilies? "Come on in; El's asleep, and you'll probably have better luck finding a vase than I would."
"Thanks!" Neal entered the house with the light step of a man who just got laid, but Peter figured it was some kind of art thing -- it could just as easily have been him after cracking a case. Far too quickly for someone who'd hardly even been in this kitchen, he picked out a glass vase that El had picked up on an antiquing trip a few years ago and had the flowers watered and arranged on the kitchen table. He gave the leaves a couple of extra tweaks before standing back to admire his work.
"Neal," Peter sighed, leaning against the refrigerator. "Why are you here?"
Neal's eyebrows raises and his palms turned out, as if he was stumped. "Well, I had flowers." Then he maybe lowered his head just an inch, curved in his shoulders. "And I wanted to thank you. I meant what I said -- I'll make it up to you."
"Aw, you don't have to do anything special." This was awkward. He didn't really want to talk about the conversation they'd had in the office that morning. "It was enough that you asked so nicely." He smiled with one side of his mouth, leaving a little gray area between friendliness and mockery. It didn't get past Neal, though, whose eyes flicked upwards, animated with a devious light.
"I knew you liked that."
"I liked what now?"
"You liked me begging you." Neal advanced a little on Peter, looking up at him at just the right angle to show off his dark eyelashes. Now he was smirking, just a little: "Come on, Peter, won't you let me show you how much I appreciate your kindness? Please?"
Peter snorted, deliberately ignoring any particular way that earnest, almost breathless tone might have made him feel. "Is that what this is about? You think you've got a new weapon to use on me now?"
"Is that what you think?" One delicate eyebrow lifted.
"I don't... oh, dammit." Peter's brain wasn't working right. He was having trouble not thinking about the little kick of power he'd felt that Neal had to beg his permission just to take a cab uptown, the intensity of Neal's attention focused on him, giving the effort everything he had. Just this side of desperate. Yeah, it was hard to resist. "Luckily, I'm not so bad with temptation myself."
"Well I'm not going to take advantage of you," Neal protested. He really had a remarkable knack for seeming wounded by entirely reasonable suspicions. "Is it so unbelievable that I might just want to make you happy? Or, you know, secretly less grumpy than you're trying to pretend to be. That dimple in your left cheek is a major tell, by the way."
"I'll keep that in mind." Peter finally pushed his weight off the refrigerator and got himself a little space, pacing back and forth. "And yes, it is unbelievable. I'm waiting for there to be something about this situation that isn't unbelievable."
"Try this: I sort of like when you try to be stern with me. Aaaand, I like that you get a kick out of it, too. It's very charming. And I'm not going to try to use that to cheat you out of anything, because that would be cheap and tacky, and beneath both of our dignity."
"S'that so." Peter's brows had been knitted together so tightly for so long now that they were probably in danger of sticking that way.
"That is so."
"Well, okay then."
****
So apparently that was foreplay -- Peter tried not to think about the fact that it was probably the most awkward foreplay of Neal's life, but still. There were some strange moments at the office and very honest conversations with Elizabeth, working out the logic of a long-term hypothetical abruptly becoming a real possibility. Neal kept his word, even if he did occasionally lower his eyes and he could please go out for coffee, or murmur that he'd be so grateful if he could change the radio to his station. Mostly Peter gave in, muttering something unconvincingly sarcastic, but every once in a while he said no on a random whim, and that seemed to please Neal just as much. Damnedest thing.
And that was how they got here, with Neal stretched out on his bed, covered in little scratches and bite marks and shiny wet stripes, all requested and granted with more or less equal enthusiasm. Of course, Peter didn't give him everything he wanted -- more or less every other plea had been denied, or at least deferred for the time being. Neal had started out teasing, cajoling: "Come on, I know you want to touch my cock." "Don't you want to finally claim what's yours?" That sort of thing. Peter reacted with sounds that fit in somewhere between growling and laughing, and held him down and bit at his neck and shoulder until pretty words stopped coming so easily.
"Please, kiss me? Please, Peter, come on!" His voice was now well on the other side of desperate, not quite a whine but not far from it. Peter smiled and obliged, leaning down so that their mouths were the only point of contact, sinking his teeth into Neal's full lower lip and drawing a whimpering cry in reaction. He pulled back and observed those reddened lips and wide-open eyes, the chin pushed out in a last-ditch attempt at petulance. "Please, Peter."
"Please what?"
"Please just touch my cock, I don't even care what else you do, just -- "
"Why should I?" Peter ran a hand across Neal's collarbone and down his chest, not firmly enough to hold him down, but enough to let him know that he would if he had to. If Neal thought it was an unfair question, he didn't show it.
"Because I'll give you anything you want. Everything. You know I will, Peter -- " If there was more to that thought, Peter never heard it, because he'd cut Neal off with another hard kiss. This time around, he was playing the part of the con man, trying to carry on the illusion that he wasn't just as desperate as the gasping wreck underneath him. It was as difficult as he'd expected, but he'd learned some tricks.
"So what if what I want is just your mouth on me, and forget about the rest of you?"
Neal just whimpered in answer, all out of words, but his eyes very clearly said You wouldn't do that, would you? Right? Like he wanted to trust, but wasn't quite there yet. Peter grinned as he reached down to stroke Neal's long, slender cock, watching him bite his lip before forcing out a "thank you."
"That good?" He couldn't resist squeezing a little harder than necessary, just to hear Neal make that mewling sound. "Do you want me to fuck you?
Eyes locked on Peter's, like a backup communication system in case words became impossible, Neal hissed a sound that was probably "yes."
"Hmm?"
"Yes! Please. However you want, just --" Peter took his hand off of Neal's cock in order to grip the sharp angles of his shoulders in both hands, grinding their hips together hard.
"You like it rough?"
"No, but if you do, just --" Writhing up under Peter, obviously fighting for as much contact as possible.
"How do you like it?"
"I -- oh, God -- really?" Nod. "Okay. I -- fuck! -- I like slow -- uh -- sensual, you know, um -- face-to-face? I mean, ahhh -- intimacy. You know."
Peter realized that it was surprising to hear him say so many words without any hand gestures.
"But I don't care! Just fuck me! However you want, really, just, please, have some mercy!"
"Okay. Hands and knees." He pulled back to let Neal switch positions with a little murmur of gratitude, and reached for where he'd put the little bottle of lube, rubbing it over the fingers of his right hand. He didn't waste time on preparation, hurrying to open up the pert little ass in front of him with two thick fingers, before lining himself up and pushing in hard.
"Oh, God, thank you!"
Peter stilled for just a moment to savor the tight, squirming body beneath him before wrapping one arm around Neal's chest, bracing himself against the brass headboard with the other hand, and setting a mercilessly fast rhythm. Neal pushed back just as hard underneath him, struggling to take as much as he could get, both of them making little sound except for rough, ragged breaths.
When Peter twisted one hand into Neal's messy hair and pulled his head back hard to perfectly align their bodies, he could see that Neal's eyes were closed and he was smiling and biting his lower lip at the same time, his flushed face almost serene.
"You like it rough," Peter said. Not a question. Neal's eyes snapped open and they were wide and totally blank.
"Um --" For fractions of a second he looked, for the first time, like he'd been caught. (Peter almost came right then) "No I don't."
"Oh well, too bad for you, then," said Peter as he tugged good and hard on his fistful of tangled, sweaty curls.