Entry tags:
White Collar, "Like Chewing on Pearls," Neal/Kate, NC-17, kink fic
Title: "Like Chewing on Pearls"
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Neal/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Warning: edge play, breath play, consensual roleplay of non-consensual scenario
Summary: “Are you going to move?” he asks. She doesn’t think a real attacker would trust her to keep her word; she isn’t sure that Neal would if the circumstances were really dire.
AN: Written for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ashcat as part of the Five Acts meme. The act was "edge play or breath play."
Title and cut text from "I Like It Rough" by Lady Gaga. Original title was "takeover."
Kate’s breath catches in the hollow of her throat as the edge of the knife presses against her windpipe. It isn’t really sharp, she knows, but in the semi-dark of the apartment, in the adrenaline rush of this moment, she can suspend disbelief. Neal’s other hand is twisted in her hair, holding her head back against his shoulder, letting him breath softly against her ear.
“Are you going to move?” he asks. She doesn’t think a real attacker would trust her to keep her word; she isn’t sure that Neal would if the circumstances were really dire. But this is part of the game, so she swallows against the pressure of the blade and struggles to give one curt, defiant shake of her head.
The knife clatters against the wood-veneer floor of the kitchen.
He keeps his hold on her hair as his now-free hand moves over her body, cool and deliberate in its explorations. Through the silk of her shirt, he traces the indent that runs along the edge of her abdominal muscles, the rise of her ribcage under her skin, the tender underside of her breast. His fingers rests on the space between her ribs, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat and the catch of her breath.
“So nervous,” he murmurs in her ear. “What are you so afraid of?”
She doesn’t answer at first, doesn’t want to be drawn out of her purely reactive state. But he wrenches his fingers harder in her hair, a silent warning, so she makes herself put it into words. “Of losing control,” she finally answers. “Of being... taken over.” It’s a little abstract, she knows. She’s still struggling to name the specifics, to bring in the gritty details that would make it real.
“Interesting word choice,” he replies against her ear. “Taken over. You sure you don’t just mean, taken?”
She gasps as he runs his fingertips up the outside of her thigh and presses them into her crotch, seeking out her clit through her skirt and panties. He tries to pull her skirt up around her waist, but it’s a tight pencil skirt and it won’t go past her hips, so he sighs and releases her hair, and presses forward on her back just enough to suggest that she brace her hands against the counter while he uses both hands to unfasten and unzip the skirt and push it down to the floor, around her bare feet. Her french-cut panties he just pushes down around her thighs, before returning his hand to its previous position between her legs, and draping the other arm, loosely at first, around her throat.
She bites down on her lip to keep herself from moaning.
“Is this what you were nervous about? What did you say... losing control?” She can tell from his voice that he’s smiling, enjoying the chance to play the villain. His fingers are quick and clever, his thumb resting against her clit as two fingers slip inside her dripping wet cunt, fucking her roughly. As she melts back into his body, pressing back against him to give him better access, he smiles into the curve of her neck and begins to tighten his other hand around her throat.
Her heart always jumps in her chest when it starts, just the first hint of pressure enough to force a whimper out of her throat. She controls her breathing, not wanting to give in right away to the dizzy excitement of it.
“Seems like you’re not too worried,” he remarks, adding another finger to the two inside of her, and pressing his hand harder into her throat, starting to compress the arteries just a little. She feels his teeth nipping at the base of her neck, but she knows his eyes are on her hands, watching for the three taps against the counter that mean stop. She has no intention of tapping out anytime soon, though. Her heart is racing, and her weight is caught between the counter and his warm body, unwilling to pull away.
“Shh, let go,” he says. “I got you. Stop thinking. There’s nothing to think about.” His voice is calm and convincing, and maybe she normally never lets him get away with using that voice on her, but this isn’t normal, and she’s willing to be convinced. She struggles to breath, and feels that weightless falling sensation in her whole body, and closes her eyes. Stop thinking. Her whole life she’s been the smartest person she knows, the one with a perfect Ivy League life all planned out ahead of her, bored to death by the lack of surprises and secretly terrified by the thought of what she’d do if she found one. But Neal is full of surprises. She’s always thinking around him, teasing him out with coded messages and private jokes, taking just enough of a step back to appreciate him from a safe distance. It’s exhausting. Stop thinking. Her brain finally gets the message that there’s no point in struggling for air, and her vexed fingers relax against the countertop as he holds her tight against him, grinding his thumb hard against her clit as he breathes hard in her ear, like he’s breathing for both of them, and just as he starts to relax his hold her whole body contracts and releases with the force of her orgasm. Her eyes stay closed for just a moment longer, nothing behind the lids but bright, calming white.
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing: Neal/Kate
Rating: NC-17
Warning: edge play, breath play, consensual roleplay of non-consensual scenario
Summary: “Are you going to move?” he asks. She doesn’t think a real attacker would trust her to keep her word; she isn’t sure that Neal would if the circumstances were really dire.
AN: Written for
ashcat as part of the Five Acts meme. The act was "edge play or breath play."Title and cut text from "I Like It Rough" by Lady Gaga. Original title was "takeover."
Kate’s breath catches in the hollow of her throat as the edge of the knife presses against her windpipe. It isn’t really sharp, she knows, but in the semi-dark of the apartment, in the adrenaline rush of this moment, she can suspend disbelief. Neal’s other hand is twisted in her hair, holding her head back against his shoulder, letting him breath softly against her ear.
“Are you going to move?” he asks. She doesn’t think a real attacker would trust her to keep her word; she isn’t sure that Neal would if the circumstances were really dire. But this is part of the game, so she swallows against the pressure of the blade and struggles to give one curt, defiant shake of her head.
The knife clatters against the wood-veneer floor of the kitchen.
He keeps his hold on her hair as his now-free hand moves over her body, cool and deliberate in its explorations. Through the silk of her shirt, he traces the indent that runs along the edge of her abdominal muscles, the rise of her ribcage under her skin, the tender underside of her breast. His fingers rests on the space between her ribs, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat and the catch of her breath.
“So nervous,” he murmurs in her ear. “What are you so afraid of?”
She doesn’t answer at first, doesn’t want to be drawn out of her purely reactive state. But he wrenches his fingers harder in her hair, a silent warning, so she makes herself put it into words. “Of losing control,” she finally answers. “Of being... taken over.” It’s a little abstract, she knows. She’s still struggling to name the specifics, to bring in the gritty details that would make it real.
“Interesting word choice,” he replies against her ear. “Taken over. You sure you don’t just mean, taken?”
She gasps as he runs his fingertips up the outside of her thigh and presses them into her crotch, seeking out her clit through her skirt and panties. He tries to pull her skirt up around her waist, but it’s a tight pencil skirt and it won’t go past her hips, so he sighs and releases her hair, and presses forward on her back just enough to suggest that she brace her hands against the counter while he uses both hands to unfasten and unzip the skirt and push it down to the floor, around her bare feet. Her french-cut panties he just pushes down around her thighs, before returning his hand to its previous position between her legs, and draping the other arm, loosely at first, around her throat.
She bites down on her lip to keep herself from moaning.
“Is this what you were nervous about? What did you say... losing control?” She can tell from his voice that he’s smiling, enjoying the chance to play the villain. His fingers are quick and clever, his thumb resting against her clit as two fingers slip inside her dripping wet cunt, fucking her roughly. As she melts back into his body, pressing back against him to give him better access, he smiles into the curve of her neck and begins to tighten his other hand around her throat.
Her heart always jumps in her chest when it starts, just the first hint of pressure enough to force a whimper out of her throat. She controls her breathing, not wanting to give in right away to the dizzy excitement of it.
“Seems like you’re not too worried,” he remarks, adding another finger to the two inside of her, and pressing his hand harder into her throat, starting to compress the arteries just a little. She feels his teeth nipping at the base of her neck, but she knows his eyes are on her hands, watching for the three taps against the counter that mean stop. She has no intention of tapping out anytime soon, though. Her heart is racing, and her weight is caught between the counter and his warm body, unwilling to pull away.
“Shh, let go,” he says. “I got you. Stop thinking. There’s nothing to think about.” His voice is calm and convincing, and maybe she normally never lets him get away with using that voice on her, but this isn’t normal, and she’s willing to be convinced. She struggles to breath, and feels that weightless falling sensation in her whole body, and closes her eyes. Stop thinking. Her whole life she’s been the smartest person she knows, the one with a perfect Ivy League life all planned out ahead of her, bored to death by the lack of surprises and secretly terrified by the thought of what she’d do if she found one. But Neal is full of surprises. She’s always thinking around him, teasing him out with coded messages and private jokes, taking just enough of a step back to appreciate him from a safe distance. It’s exhausting. Stop thinking. Her brain finally gets the message that there’s no point in struggling for air, and her vexed fingers relax against the countertop as he holds her tight against him, grinding his thumb hard against her clit as he breathes hard in her ear, like he’s breathing for both of them, and just as he starts to relax his hold her whole body contracts and releases with the force of her orgasm. Her eyes stay closed for just a moment longer, nothing behind the lids but bright, calming white.
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I wrote it during the whole Five Acts madness. There was a whole lot of porn going around -- it was easy to miss stuff!
edit -- damn having a paid account feels good! I just edited a comment! \o/