Authoress Notes: Okay. So I've been watching White Collar lately and Peter and Neal want to shag, they just don't know it yet. So, put handcuffs and them together... and you get this. Enjoy. I'm sorry if I murdered their characters, but I did try my best to keep them in character. Meh. Feedback is appreciated as well as constructive criticism. I'm always looking to improve. :)
Warnings: Male on Male kisses. :)
- Cuff Me
- By Muffintine
Neal isn't used to being still. He's always been on the move, on the run. He knows how to con almost anyone out of almost anything. He's witty, he's charming, he's quick and, until this moment, he thought he was quite clever. Turns out 'staking out an art dealing' is not quick, fun and full of the action Hollywood always promises. It is really rather tiring and dreadfully boring.
"This is significantly less exciting than the movies make it out to be," he states with dry humor. Two hours of standing only serve to make a man grumpy, he reasons secretly.
Peter sighs. "You were the one who wanted to come, Caffrey."
Neal takes off his classy black hat and settles down on the dusty floor beside Peter. Curious, he leans forward to peer through the foggy window Peter has been staring out of for the past two hours. "You been staring at nothing this whole time?" he inquires, crooked smirk betraying his amusement.
Peter grumbles and decides against answering him.
The dismissal doesn't detour Neal from gazing at Peter, studying him in this rare bout of silence. The detective's brows are furrowed, forehead crinkled and expression that of someone who's smelt something particularly foul. He knows this look quite well. After all, it was the expression Peter used to wear every time the ex-con managed to thwart him. Neal grins at the thought. Peter's disgruntled expression had always been a prize in of itself. It's almost a shame, Neal thinks, that that intense expression isn't his alone anymore.
At least it isn't for now.
Peter glances at him and his lips find a familiar place amongst the many frown lines that surround them. Neal discovers rather suddenly that Peter's lips look oddly pink and for a second he thinks he might want to kiss them. The thought is dismissed before the weight of it can fully settle in Neal's mind.
That is most definitely dangerous territory.
Peter is a good man who loves his wife, Elizabeth. Neal is anything but good. His hands are soiled and the only woman he'd ever loved is lost to him. Peter is as far away from him as he is close. As much as the other man understands about Neal, he will never know the depth of the darkness in his heart. Neal likes to think he puts on a good show. Being light hearted and careless is easy. Wearing a mask is easy. Peter has managed to tear down most of Neal's facades, which is why, Neal thinks, he's so fond of the man.
But, does he understand the pain? The darkness? Neal wants to believe he does. However, the pessimistic portion of his brain can't help but whisper: And where has hope gotten you before?
Her memory is almost too painful but he never could stop himself from thinking of her. It's a mystery to Neal why lately painful thoughts of her have been replaced by Peter's gentle smile.
"What's that look for?" Peter asks abruptly. The question is innocent, genuinely perplexed if a bit annoyed. It does the trick, however, and snaps Neal from his thoughts.
That familiar smile is on Neal's face once again. His bright, blue eyes are filled suddenly with forced mirth. "Why, Peter, am I making you uncomfortable?" he teases, but the joy is not there; his thoughts are still dark. He knows Peter will notice.
Peter frowns. "No," he says as his brown eyes soften in understanding. He won't say anything; he's too softhearted for that.
Neal wishes Peter wasn't so damn noble. He wishes the detective would've said something, anything. Then, perhaps, it would've been easier to resist his urges, to bury them deep within the recesses of his mind. His hand itches as he leans so close to Peter that their noses are nearly touching. "Are you sure?" he whispers breathlessly, roughly. He takes the opportunity to ghost his arm around Peter's torso and slip his fingers through the metallic rings of Peter's prized handcuffs.
"Quite," Peter replies, voice level and face passive. He locks eyes with Neal for a fraction of a second before he pulls away sharply and gets to his feet. He's oblivious as his handcuffs slide out of his belt loop easily and drop soundlessly into Neal's waiting hands. It takes all of Neal's inner strength not to smirk triumphantly. He should feel guilty about what he's planning but his heart is hammering with exhilaration and he's sick of hiding behind his mask of nonchalance. Peter is real and Neal finds he is so very tired of resisting him.
Peter's expression is pensive as he scrunches his eyes to get a better look out the window. His hands are placed on his hips, the only sign at all that the older man feels impatient. The ex-con can't help but take note of how easy the man would be to cuff in this position. Neal stands behind Peter, so close he can smell the detective's cheap cologne, Jacques Bogart. Instinctively, his toes curl at the scent and his hand tightens securely around the metallic cuffs. His breath hitches and for an instant he reflects on his intentions. Doubt washes over him and for one tiny moment and he almost relents. But then Peter is turning to speak to him and his opportunity is nearly lost; Neal simply reacts, quick as lightening. Suddenly, he's yanking the detective's arms behind his back and cuffing the man tightly to one of those rickety pipes anyone could easily snap in half. The shock is evident on Peter's face but it's quickly replaced by confused anger. "Caffrey," he snaps, "What the hell are y—"
He never gets to finish that sentence as Neal leans forward and crushes his lips to Peter's in one harried, sloppy movement. This effectively shuts the detective up. Peter's lips are parted partially in disbelief, allowing the ex-con easy access. Late to the uptake, Peter responds purely on instinct, tongue mixing with Neal's, allowing their sweltering mouths to become one. It is at this point Neal remembers breathing is essential and he breaks away from Peter, dazed. His head is fuzzy and he can't remember every feeling this drunk off just one kiss.
"Caffrey," Peter says breathlessly, breaking Neal from his reverie. "What on earth was that?"
Neal's heart is hammering in his chest and he can't help but feeling exhilarated. His grin is crooked and he almost can't process what Peter is asking. "A kiss," he says. "It was a kiss."
Peter all but rolls his eyes. "Uncuff me," he demands. "Now." His I'm-Not-Messing-Around-Frown is set in place and he's only glaring half-heartedly at Neal.
This makes Neal feel particularly defiant. "Maybe I don't want to?" He grins. "You do look particularly smashing when you're so defenseless, Peter."
"I'm not playing this game with you, Caffrey," Peter says, eyebrows furrowing. He's not pleased and Neal can tell. Still, the ex-con finds Peter's non-cooperation oddly attractive. "Now, uncuff me before I really start regretting letting you out of jail."
Instead of answering, Neal goes in for another kiss, tongue flicking gently against Peter's lower lip, begging for access. Peter knows Neal's game now and he keeps his lips firmly sealed. The felon is hardly one to be discouraged by such a simple defense. He nips Peter's lower lip hard; he's pleased when Peter parts his lips to gasp lightly in pain. His grip on Peter's shoulder tightens as their tongues connect in hard, intense bursts of raw contact. A shiver travels all the way down Neal's spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake as it settles in his nether region. Kissing Peter was nothing like he thought it would be. It's nothing like the kisses he shared with Kate. Those kisses were soft, gentle and restrained. This kiss is rough, forceful and haphazard. The difference is dizzying. He puts all he can into this kiss, all the passion, the pain, the need, insecurity, and the raw unadulterated want; all of it. He kisses like it's the last chance he'll ever have. He wants to make it count. He wants to make Peter remember.
They break apart for the second time and Neal is almost ashamed that he feels so incredibly high off kissing Peter.
His euphoria is broken when he notices the smug look on Peter's face. It quickly comes to his attention that Peter's hands are no longer behind his back and that those metallic handcuffs are dangling precariously from Peter's outstretched hand. "I'm actually quite disappointed in you Neal," he says. "You forgot to take the key as well."
Neal silently curses his bad luck. Peter had always been the only one who could keep up with him.
Peter hooks the handcuffs back on his belt loop and strolls to the foggy window with nonchalance. He looks out and his smug expression sours. "They already closed the deal," Peter grumbles, token frown in place. He turns to look at Neal, who is still standing in the same spot and just stares; his gaze is more weary than angry. He seems to contemplate the situation before he finally speaks. "I'm throwing you back in jail."
Neal can't help it, he grins.
I love reviews! I'm also contemplating a Peter sister fic to this. :)