Fandom: White Collar
Characters/Pairings: Neal/Peter, El/Neal, June, Hughes
Rating: PG to NC-17
Word Count: Various
Summary: Fills for elrhiarhodan’s Promptfest in January. I plan on filling more as the year progresses. The full stories will be either posted or linked here.
Promptfest 2014 Fills
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. At least that’s what the regular people say.
As far as Elizabeth was concerned, the road to Neal’s was the road paved with intentions – good or otherwise.
It was her intention to go to Neal’s for comfort while Peter was in the hospital.
It was NOT her intention to find herself naked and sprawled out underneath Neal, the headboard slamming against the wall, moaning while Neal fucked her.
It was her intention to tell Neal that Peter needed to be protected at all costs.
It was NOT her intention for Peter to be on speaker, telling Neal to rub her clit and pinch her nipples so he could hear her come.
It was her intention to make Neal understand that things needed to be different between him and Peter while everything was so unstable.
It was NOT her intention to be the one holding Neal while he cried.
The road to Hell…
Hughes was a keeper of secrets. So many years of secrets, piling on top of one another, the pressure increasing until they settled diamond-glass hard in his heart and in his gut.
It was his job – keeping these secrets. He knew that. But they weighed him down, made him feel old, tired.
More and more he wished he could give up keeping the secrets – find someone else to take his place.
That is - until the day he saw Peter Burke kiss Neal Caffrey.
Tucked away in an alcove, the dark casting half shadows across their forms, he saw his best agent softly caress the face of his confidential informant before slowly leaning in and pressing their lips together.
He saw Caffrey rake his hand through Burke’s hair as he fitted himself perfectly against his Brooks Brother’s suit.
Hughes knew he shouldn’t look – that he should turn away. It was only polite. But he knew he wouldn’t. The scene was too raw, too beautiful, for him not to stare.
When they reluctantly parted, love shining on their faces, he almost forgot to breathe.
Hughes smiled to himself as he watched them leave their hiding place. For the first time in a long time, his heart felt light. This was one secret he didn’t mind keeping.
The day June Ellington met Neal Caffrey she knew they were kindred spirits. Their outer shells might not show it – his long, lean, alley cat strut versus her graceful, aristocratic glide – but she knew.
They both were survivors.
She saw it in his gaze – taking her measure, seeing just how far he could go. She smiled, waiting for him to blink. To realize she was just like him. When he did, and asked her whether she lived in the neighborhood, she knew he’d seen the connection.
At first he spent his days with Peter, but his nights with her. Sharing war stories of cons gone bad and backroom raids over Malbec and Merlot. Delving deep into the why of each other, but always straying from the who. That door was too painful to open on a whim.
Then the plane exploded and it was time to survive again. She helped where she could, her memories of losing friends and loved ones to violence welling up and sending her tear-stained to her room when she couldn’t face his anguish.
She wasn’t sure if he would make it through this one. Until Peter.
She witnessed the subtle shift, even if he didn’t at first. Days became evenings became overnights. Handshakes became touches became caresses.
She remembered her days with Byron. How he was able to put her back together, one piece at a time, until she was whole again.
Peter made Neal whole.
And for that she was grateful.
Peter loved power.
Most people might have thought it would be the power that came with being in charge of the pre-eminent White Collar Division. Or maybe the thrill of being groomed for a higher position in Washington.
But no – his kind of power was different.
It was the 300 horses under the hood of his new BMW.
It was the rush of solving a case that everyone else had given up on.
But most of all, it was the ability to make Neal Caffrey fall apart with a simple word.
Watching him, kneeling so beautifully between Peter’s feet. Naked except for the Shibari ropes that El chose to perfectly match his eyes.
Neal’s lips pleading, begging for Peter’s voice. His eyes wide and frantic, cock fucking the air, thrusting for release, sweat dripping from his normally perfectly styled hair.
Waiting for that perfect moment, that exact instance when Neal crossed the line from need to submission.
Taking his time. Leaning in, close to Neal’s ear. Scenting the want, the desperation.
Molding the word like an artisan with his clay. Slowly releasing it, barely audible on his breath.