Fandom: White Collar
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Mention of whips, cock rings, butt plugs and nipple clamps
Word Count: ~1,900
Summary: All’s fair in love and war…even when it’s not.
A/N: Written for run_the_con in response to elrhiarhodan’s prompt “All’s fair.” This is the follow up to 5:55 . You don’t have to read it, but it will definitely enhance this piece if you do.
Goddamn it, Peter Burke!
Neal was ready to die and it was all Peter’s fault. Well, not really die – he just felt that way.
The day that Peter realized that Neal was teasing him, all bets were off.
Who knew that the bastard had mad skills in the temptation department? Neal obviously didn’t. Oh, he knew that Peter had talents – one look at the fucked out expression on Elizabeth’s face when he’d showed up early for brunch one Sunday told him that.
But the despicable, underhanded, hotlittle games Peter played at the office – now that was beyond the pale.
For example, Peter had suddenly made it a point to stand behind him whenever the elevator was crowded. At first, Neal didn’t know why. Until the day he felt a hand caress his ass, fingers moving lower to stroke him right behind his balls.
Once. Twice. Then inching ever more slowly up to press against his hole.
Before Neal even had time to react, the hand was gone, the doors opened and Neal had stumbled out of the elevator, cock hard.
Peter had grabbed his arm, steadied him and leaned in to ask, “Everything okay, Neal?”
Unable to find his voice, Neal had nodded and looked at him. Peter’s face had been concerned, friendly. Innocent.
He had shrugged off Peter’s hand and walked into the office. Only those people looking for it – Peter – would have noticed the slight hitch in his step.
Neal had tried to convince himself that he could handle the manhandling – God, he was resorting to puns – if he could just figure out Peter’s timetable.
But no, there was no rhyme or reason to Peter’s advances. One day – nothing. The next, Neal was squirming and biting his lip as he tried not to grind himself back against Peter’s hand. After two weeks of this, riding in the elevator had created such a Pavlovian response that Neal took the stairs whenever he could, just to keep his erections manageable.
Then came all of Neal’s kinks.
It was like Peter had been talking to Mozzie or something.
The half rims. In the middle of a briefing. While Neal was presenting. Peter had slyly put them on while Neal’s back was turned to the presentation screen as he was pointing out the lack of talent of their latest art forger. Neal had turned around and completely lost his ability to speak.
“Problem, Neal?” The slight smirk in Peter’s voice was the only thing that had brought him back on track.
“Uh...no. Fine. I’m fine.” Turning back to the screen, Neal had managed to get through the rest of the discussion without grabbing Peter, throwing him down and fucking him through the conference table. But it was close.
Sitting down, he had surreptitiously pressed his hand against the base of his cock, willing his erection to subside and praying that no one was paying too much attention to him. His phone had buzzed with an incoming text message.
Peter: Your presentation was…impressive…
Neal had glared at him. But Peter was ignoring him, his eyes focused on the rest of the briefing. Until he’d escalated the torture. Peter took off his glasses and put the tip of the earpiece in his mouth. He moved it in and out slightly, tongue peeking out as if he was licking the underside of…
Neal had squeezed his cock harder and tried to come up with every unsexy thing he could think of. Mozzie in boxers, mortgage fraud paperwork, the prison yard. It was tough, but he had managed to make it out of the conference room without an embarrassing incident.
Forearms. Peter was constantly rolling up his sleeves. It wasn’t Peter’s forearms, per se, that got Neal all hot and bothered – even though the thought of those arms pinning him down while Peter pounded into him was guaranteed to make Neal come in minutes - but the act of rolling up the sleeves. Peter had this way of unbuttoning his cuffs and turning the fabric up that sent Neal’s imagination in all sorts of directions.
Fantasies of rolled up sleeves while Peter shoved him up against whatever flat surface was available and imprisoned him in the cage of those arms kept him on the painful edge of arousal. His current favorite was Peter folding the fabric up to his elbows then bending Neal over his lap and leaving red handprints on his ass before Peter spread his cheeks and slowly opened Neal up with his fingers.
Neal wound up making a lot of coffee runs to the shop around the corner and trips to the file room just to get away from the sight of Peter with his sleeves rolled up.
Peter’s only comment had been how conscientious and helpful Neal was becoming.
The shoulder holster. Neal never had a kink for the trappings of law enforcement until the day Peter took off his jacket and Neal saw the leather straps caressing Peter’s shoulders, flowing over his back.
Neal would wake up in the middle of the night, aching and hard from dreams of Peter slowly peeling off his jacket, and standing there, wearing the shoulder holster, whispering all the things he wanted to do to Neal as he played with his nipples, his cock, his balls.
Just when he thought he had everything under control, Peter had ramped things up. It was simple at first. Putting on his coat, Neal had reached into his pocket and found a condom and a packet of lube. Neal quickly slid it back into his pocket and waited until he got home to examine it.
The lube was his favorite brand.
The condom was extra large.
Neal came screaming Peter’s name.
Three days later Neal found the first toy. A supple, genuine leather riding crop tucked into the umbrella stand Neal kept behind his desk. Neal’s breath had hitched as he imagined Peter standing over him, running the crop across Neal’s skin, asking him if he had been good or whether he needed to be punished.
The nipple clamps were next. Neal had found those nestled amongst his binder clips. He hadn't been paying attention when he reached into his desk to get a clip for his report.
Jones had been standing next to his desk waiting for Neal to hand him the file. Neal thanked whatever deities were watching over him that Blake had captured Jones' attention right at the moment that Neal realized what he was holding.
Quickly stuffing it back in his top drawer, he grabbed a binder clip, put the report together and handed it to Jones. He shot a look at Peter’s office. Peter was talking with Diana and wasn't paying him any attention.
He took the nipple clamps home. Imagined Peter tightening them. It took three strokes of his cock for Neal to come harder than he’d ever had before.
He was a wreck. Neal’s entire body vibrated every time he got near Peter. People in the office began giving him worried looks and asking him if he was feeling okay.
Peter never batted an eye. Bastard.
The final straw came in the form of an item – or should he say items – in his tie drawer.
Neal had been working on some mortgage fraud files strictly to keep out of Peter’s radius. He was checking on some banking records when his tie drawer began to buzz. Thinking he’d left his phone in the drawer, he opened it and stuck his hand in. Neal’s entire body froze.
He wasn’t touching his phone.
Slowly he removed his hand to uncover a sleek sliver butt plug. Attached to it was a cock ring.
Both were vibrating.
Slamming the drawer, his eyes shot up to Peter’s office. This time, Peter wasn’t on the phone or talking to another agent.
Peter was standing at the glass watching him.
Legs spread, arms crossed and, oh shit, no jacket. Shoulder holster, rolled up sleeves, and half rims.
Peter pulled one of his hands slightly out of the crossed position and held something up. The buzzing sound in Neal’s drawer stopped.
Peter had the remote.
The buzzing started again.
It was too much. Neal finally understood all the comments about your dick being hard enough to cut glass, to pound nails, whatever other cheesy porn references were out there. He had to do something or he would die.
And it would be Peter Burke’s fault.
Which was why he found himself stumbling into the tenth floor bathroom. Flipping the lock on the door, he quickly unzipped his trousers and pulled his cock out. Hard and throbbing, he knew he wouldn’t last long. He licked his hand and started stroking himself.
Neal’s eyes closed as he lost himself in the fantasy of Peter
It was Peter’s hand on his dick, squeezing, running his fingers just below the head, hitting those nerves just so. Pumping his shaft. Caressing his balls.
“Peter…” The name slipped past his lips. “So good…” Up and down. Pressure here, light touch there. All the while imagining Peter’s voice in his ear, whispering how he wanted to fuck Neal, spread him open to take Peter’s cock, bury himself inside Neal.
Neal was jolted out of his fantasy as his phone buzzed.
It buzzed again.
His hand still on his dick, Neal pulled the phone out of his pocket intending to silence it until he was done. His breath caught as he saw the display.
Peter: I know where you are. And what you’re doing.
The thought of Peter knowing that Neal was in the bathroom with his cock in his hand made Neal moan and stroke himself harder.
Peter: Go slow. I want you to enjoy it.
Neal shuddered. He was so close. He slowed his movements, trying desperately not to come. To follow Peter’s instructions.
Peter: I want you to keep stroking yourself while you play with your balls.
Neal practically threw the phone on the counter as he buried his other hand in his boxer briefs. Leaning against the wall, he panted as both hands were caressing and pulling at his dick and balls.
Peter: Pinch them.
Hissing, Neal did what Peter asked, the pain and the pleasure mixing in his brain until he couldn’t tell the difference between the two.
Peter: Get your fingers wet for me.
Neal shoved his fingers in his mouth, first one, then the second, finally three. Whimpering, he sucked on them, tasting himself, soaking them.
Peter: I want you to fuck yourself on your fingers and think about when I finally get my cock inside you.
“Oh god..oh god…” Neal moaned as he pushed his trousers and underwear off. Grabbing the phone, he slid down the wall. Spreading his legs, he teased himself, pressing one finger inside. Riding his hand, he added his second finger, then the third. In and out. Imagining Peter’s dick filling him. Neal keened at the sensations.
Peter: Don’t forget your cock. Pretend it’s my hand on you.
Neal’s dick felt like it was on fire. Slippery with his spit, every caress, every pull sent jolts of need throughout his body. He wanted Peter’s hand on his cock, wanted Peter shoving himself inside him.
Peter: I want you to come for me. Are you ready to come for me, Neal?
“Yes…oh god yes!” Neal body arched as he came, his orgasm blinding him. Muscles slamming down, trapping his fingers, white ropes of semen covering his hand, his thighs, his stomach. He stroked himself through the aftershocks, milking the last bit of come from his spent cock before he collapsed against the wall, sticky and sated.
His phone buzzed.
Peter: When you’re ready, meet me at the car. Elizabeth told me to bring you home for dinner.
Neal smiled at the invitation.
Peter: Oh and Neal? When I play…I play to win…