Here's some Dean Winchester and Neal. :U

OMG I DIDN'T REALISED I WANT IT UNTIL NOW

>>56134
GIVE IN, ANON.

oh man DO WANT. I love this show.
>>56132
HNNNNG. Yes.

Neal Caffrey prides himself to be an artist a lot more than a con-man really, although he likes that his particular artistic skills are a lot more extraordinary than most other people’s, too. Over the years he’s learned to talk himself both into and out of every situation with a charming smile and the right words flowing off his lips with less effort than it takes him to handle the coffeemaker.

Improvisation is the key.



When Neal strides into the office to drop of the last reports after the almost desaster with the Columbians, the room is flooded by dusky light and devoid of people. He drops the paperwork onto his desk and belatedly notices that there’s still one illuminated room on the floor – Peter’s office. His spine stiffens as the realization sets in that this isn’t over yet.



Observing tells and details, using information to his advantage, playing someone to get what he wants is easiest when there’s always a certain amount of truth among the lies. It does make it harder to tell the lies apart from the truth though and he’s been in the business for long enough that lines are not something he crosses anymore, he just walks them until they lead where he wants to go.



He should have known that he was not going to get off the hook so easily. Peter had had to maneouver around a lot of shallow depths today to keep him out of some big trouble and Neal knows he’ll have to pay for his carelessness soon enough.



With the recent developments in his life, he feels out of his depth, in the wind, like nothing fits together anymore, least of all his criminal integrity. More often than not, he finds himself dragged into situations where fast talking and a quick wit is not the thing that actually matters, on the other hand there’s these choices he has to make between what is right and what is easy. These things used to be the same thing.



Neal knows the exact moment Peter spots him through the glass and he can’t help the small spark of fear igniting in his gut, followed by something else, something different he has yet to dare and name. A sharp look has his feet moving before he even gets to process the command, trailing smoothly up the stairs with his patented swagger, yet his features are wiped of all the usual cockiness and pretense. Instead, Neal knows, his face is set with an expression of vulnerable apprehension that he can’t seem to drop anymore when they come together like this.



It unsettles him how he brazenly walks into danger these days, sometimes with only a thin pane of glass between him and a pissed of mob boss. The thing is, it’s not the danger itself, he can handle himself in tricky situations, but the knowledge that he has people who care to back him up out there, who’ve come close to loosing their lives or their jobs to ensure his wellbeing. It’s a special kind of trust that has snuck up on him in the most inopportune moment and suddenly it’s there and he has no idea how to deal with it.



Neal shuts the office door behind himself with a soft click and turns around to face Peter with his hands forcibly relaxed at his sides, minute tremors the only give-away that he knows what’s coming. Peter sits there unmoving, reclined in his office chair with his pen tapped against his lips, eyes locked on Neal, waiting for him to start figeting – which he refuses to do of course. Instead, he keeps his body as still as possible, breath shallow and a single bead of sweat trickling down his spine, just to see if he can goad Peter into the first move for once. The raking eyes send shivers all over his body though and when Peter slowly moves to lay his pen down on the paper strewn about the desk it startles Neal into action before he can properly grasp for words.

“Peter, I know… I…”

The older man stands abruptly, the chair skidding across the carpet and the sudden movement makes him flinch. Neal feels his eyes widen and his throat turn dry as the words die on his tongue.

“Come here and put your hands on the desk where I can see them right now.”



In his world, trust is the most precious thing to ever be gained or given and he absolutely does not understand how it’s suddenly become such an easy feat for him. There is however one person who seems to follow all his trains of thought just fine, and who is willing to translate these feelings into something Neal can grasp – power. Because power is an integral part of his life and it’s very easy to understand. So he gives in, even though his whole being bristles at the thought.



~*~



Neal steps forward with weak knees and bends a little to spread his hands on the shiny flat surface at the edge of the desk that is completely cluttered with folders and paperwork otherwise. His heart pulses in this throat, the caged feeling almost cutting off his air while he stares relentlessly out of the window behind the vacated office chair. Peter steps around the desk and then reaches over his hands to retrieve the pen, chest brushing Neal’s arm, shirt stretched tight across heated skin. Peter sets the pen down next to his left wrist, tracing the contours of his fingers slowly and deliberately, a minute touch that does nothing but ignite the sensitive nerves under the thin skin.

“I’ve always noticed that you have beautiful hands. An artist’s should be, I suppose, they are your capital after all.”

The unexpected words rip Neal out of his reverie and suddenly he’s aware how close the other man stands by now. The next words are whispered directly next to his ear.

“Do you know what will happen to these hands if you fall in with the sort of people we dealt with today?”



The message is sharp and clear, it sends shivers all over his body, but Neal knows it’s a rhetorical question anyway, he has to let Peter play out this lecture on his own. Strong fingers slip into his collar, making it just a little bit more difficult to breathe.

“Bones broken, tendons cut, muscles ripped apart… there’s so many possibilities and so little actual damage to do to make them completely useless.”

Peter suddenly pops the top button of his shirt with his thumb and tugs at the tie to loosen it up. Neal gives in to the temptation of taking a couple of deep breaths even though the sudden rush of oxygen makes him dizzy so he has to close his eyes. They fly open again when Peter’s right hand slides over the slick skin at his nape, thumb pressing relentlessly into the tense muscle at the base of his neck, elliciting a sound that might have been a moan. Still, he doesn’t dare remove his hands from the desk without permission, even though his knees are close to buckling from that simple touch. The energy that springs up between them is palpable, a stalemate of irresistible force and immovable object. Peter’s fingers trail over the back of his hand and up his wrist to the cuff of his shirt, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Neal tries to breathe evenly through his nose, but suddenly Peter’s other hand is there, digging into his hip, into the v of his legs and a surprised gasp slips past his lips.



The hand on his neck slides up into his hair and grabs it to bend his head back with a vicious tug. Neal feels his muscles protest but he still doesn’t dare move as he catches Peter leaning in out of the corner of his eye. Hot breath ghosts over the racing pulse at his throat and sends a quiver down his spine.

“Do you know why I still don’t trust you enough to leave you on your own?”

The low hiss makes heat pool in his belly, blood rushing from his head with a dizzying speed.

“Because you go off and almost get yourself killed and I can’t loose you like that.”

Peter crowds against him from behind, Neal has to let go of the desk now to accommodate his new position and his feet spread wider on their own accord. The hand on his hip travels up slowly to onto his chest to claw in right over his heart like a vice. The cruel touch sends a stab of pain up into his head and he bucks against the strong grip involuntarily, but he’s stopped short by an almost accidental brush of a thumb over the hard nub under his shirt.

“You are my responsibility, mine to control, mine to protect, mine to punish.”



Neal drowns in the sensual overload from the gravely, low voice, but his mind latches onto the words like they’re a lifeline amidst crashing waves. His whole essence rebells against being claimed like that, his body locked in a struggle, half a mind to run, half a mind turn around and claw his way up against a rock. Yet he’s completely still save for the harsh panting breaths, suspended by pure, undiluted willpower – he’s not sure whose. He feels his thighs tremble with the effort and the hand leaving his chest to stroke over his abs, soft almost soothingly. Neal wants to slap the hand away, elbow his way out of the constricting embrace, but he can’t, he just…



Please, move, let me go, let me the fuck now…


“Don’t fight, you know you don’t need to… just, let go.”



And the world explodes into a blinding high and it feels like there’s no coming down.

Fin

*

The thing that surprised Neal the most was the way that Peter lingered. The way he put his arm over Neal’s shoulders at the beginning of a movie and left it there until the end, absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck the entire time. The way his touches were so casual, uncalculated, almost careless in their frequency – like Peter didn’t even notice what he was doing.

He could be focused when he wanted to be. It seemed like Neal taking off his tie was the equivalent of waving a red flag at a bull – all systems go. Peter lingered in bed, too, though. Found a new favorite part of Neal’s body every night that they spent together – the side of his neck, his throat, his collarbones – and he'd just stay there. He’d spent a weekend playing with Neal’s bellybutton. Not a spot Neal had ever thought of as an erogenous zone before – but Peter was teaching him all sorts of things. Peter was teaching him how to relax, how to sleep in, and how to lose his mind in a dozen different ways.

He’d started at Neal’s collarbones. Bitten his way between Neal’s pecs and then straight down – but before he’d gotten to Neal’s cock, hard and ready for Peter’s mouth, his lips, his hand, anything - he’d stopped. Licked at Neal’s bellybutton like a lollipop. “I think the sweet spot’s a bit further down,” Neal whispered. He could actually feel Peter smirk, he was pressed so close.

“Just enjoy the ride,” Peter admonished him. And then he fucked Neal’s bellybutton with his tongue. Neal gasped and then groaned and then tried to turn over, to twist out of Peter’s grasp, it tickled and it was uncomfortable and, Jesus, it felt so good.

“The fuck are you doing?” he gasped as Peter’s grip around his hips tightened and he started to suck on Neal’s belly, leaving hickeys in a circle around his bellybutton before pressing back in. Pressing down and then to the sides, like he was trying to stretch Neal’s flesh, like he was rimming his – oh, fuck, Peter was biting the edges of his bellybutton and then kissing it – “Peter!”

Peter just laughed, and then moved his right hand from Neal’s hip up to his stomach. Sat up and fucked Neal’s bellybutton with two fingers. Neal tried to tighten his stomach muscles, protect himself from the sensation – but his skin was slick with Peter’s spit, and Peter was relentless. “I can fuck you,” Peter said, voice like steel, sitting up so that he could look down at Neal, helplessly writhing on his bed. “In so many different ways.”

He bent down and brushed Neal’s hair out of the way with his left hand and then nibbled at Neal’s earlobe. Neal gave up and just whined, babbled something about god or Jesus or eternal love or maybe a death threat or two – Peter licked his way into Neal’s ear, his breath hot and wet, his fingers still fucking Neal’s bellybutton like he was searching for something.

Neal felt like he was being invaded, tortured, teased and – and – Peter’s right hand slid down between Neal’s legs and then he just felt like he was being fucked. Just like Peter said. Fucked in any way Peter wanted, every part of him at Peter’s mercy, every part of him being taught new ways to surrender.

Neal’s hole was already slick with lube and Peter’s fingers spread him easily. “Just like this,” Peter told him. “Just like this.”

Neal mewled and spread his legs and tried to catch his breath.

Peter didn’t kiss him until he came. Until he pressed Neal’s prostate like he was trying to bruise it and didn’t stop, until Neal was screaming his name, until his whole body tensed and he let go. Then, Peter kissed him, and laughed softly into the sweaty skin of Neal’s shoulder, and said we’ll have to do this again tomorrow.

Or – or maybe, Neal realized the next morning, maybe the thing that surprised him the most wasn’t that at all. Wasn’t how Peter touched him, long and lingering, hot and hard, over and over again – maybe the thing that surprised him the most was how he touched Peter.

Neal ran his hand through Peter’s hair when he was asleep and wouldn’t notice. Put his hand on Peter’s knee when they sat next to each other at the table, kissed the corner of his mouth when they said goodbye, brushed his lips against the back of his neck when they passed in the narrow kitchen, tickled the inside of his forearms when he was feeling playful. Touched him in a thousand different ways and was discovering new ones every day.

Peter touched Neal because he wanted to, because it was habitual, the byproduct of a long and loving marriage, a way to show his affection.

Neal touched Peter because the most surprising thing, when they woke up tangled together or passed in the kitchen or sat at the same table, was that Peter was there at all. And every day in a thousand different ways he reminded himself Peter wants me. And every day, he was a little less surprised.

I approve of this thread.

Sage for no content.

Title: Wander for Distraction
Summary: Neal has to fly for the first time since the explosion. He says he's okay with it, but Peter knows better. Peter also knows what to do to *make* it okay.
Notes: Takes place after season one, but has no direct spoilers for season 2.


Peter suspected it would be at least four days in Miami helping them with their faux-couture fashion case. It had taken almost two hours for him to convince Hughes that bringing Neal was a good idea. He’d finally had to promise to use the arrangement that had gotten Neal to Chicago with him last year – that they’d be all but joined at the hip, right down to sharing a hotel room - and that Peter would call in the minute Neal seemed to be missing.

Peter was glad to be able to get Neal the closest thing as he could to a vacation. It had been almost five months since Kate’s death and while Neal appeared more and more normal on the outside, there had been enough time for Peter to learn the little tells that indicated Neal was having a rough day or even a panic attack or flashback. They seemed to be happening less and less, but they were still happening.

The trick would be getting Neal to Miami. He’d done and said all the right things when Peter had come out and told him to go pack a bag for a few days at work and a few afternoons at the beach. But then he’d started scratching that spot just under his right ear where a piece of burning jet had left a small white scar.

So now they were sitting in the very busy concourse of JFK airport, waiting for their flight.

“Explain why we needed to be three hours early for a domestic flight?” Neal groused. “Can’t you just badge your way through security lines twenty minutes before take-off?”

“Sure. I can badge me through the lines. What did you plan on doing? Besides, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure we weren’t going to have to talk our way into getting you off a no-fly list or something.”

Neal glared at him. “None of my aliases have ever been on a no-fly list.” He scratched under his ear.

Peter sighed and pulled Neal’s hand away. “Stop doing that or it’s going to end up bleeding all over again.”

Neal didn’t complain when Peter didn’t let go of his hand. “I’m here. I’m here and getting on the plane, and I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said in a way that let Neal know he was doing anything other than agreeing with him.

As soon as Peter’s hand was moved, Neal went back to scratch at the scar, but before he could actually make contact, Peter grabbed his hand again. “Alright, grab your bag and come here.”

Peter stood and grabbed his own carry-on and herded Neal through the crowd towards the nearest set of bathrooms.

Neal let himself be maneuvered through the throngs of people. “Peter, what are you doing?”

“Giving you something else to think about,” Peter answered as he changed Neal’s direction (using the back of his shirt collar) away from the men’s room and towards the door between the two standard bathrooms.

“The family restroom?” Neal asked as Peter pushed him through the doorway and shut and locked the door behind them. As Peter had hoped, the single, large room was a standard bathroom with an armchair in one corner, presumably for nursing mothers.

Peter shoved Neal against the door, keeping him in place with his hips as he took both of their bags and tossed them into a corner, taking off Neal’s hat and tossing it on top of his bag. When Neal opened his mouth to say something, Peter leaned in and kissed him thoroughly.

Neal raised an eyebrow and smiled a little at Peter when he pulled back. “Um… okay.”

“Were you thinking I’d fuck you when we got to Miami?” Peter asked, pressing against Neal, who wasn’t even trying to get away any more.

“Well…I – uh…” Neal stammered.

Their relationship was complicated, given the oh-so-many reasons they shouldn’t even have the kind of relationship that they did. Peter controlled Neal’s freedom; the potential for abuse was obvious. Peter was FBI, which was still very much an old (straight) boy’s club. Peter was married. Neal was still traumatized over the loss of the woman he’d been willing to give everything for and who had died because of her entanglement with him.

But Peter had learned that with Neal Caffrey nothing would be simple and being complicated just meant that he had to think more creatively. Oddly, what most people would see as the biggest obstacle was the easiest to overcome. Elizabeth was completely okay with Peter seeing other men. It was an arrangement they’d had since before they were married: Peter could see men on the side since there was no way Elizabeth could fill that need in him. In that same way, Elizabeth could have girlfriends when the opportunity arose. But they both understood that what they could get at home, they damn well better get at home.

As for the FBI and the fact that Neal was contractually bound to cooperate with Peter, well, Peter had learned a lot about Neal in the four years he’d chased him, including that Neal would rather be in prison than be used by anyone. He was also sure that Neal was the epitome of discreet. And in the course of their relationship he’d learned that Neal liked the idea of Peter being in charge, despite certain rules about where they were together that he insisted upon.

A public bathroom in an airport wasn’t on Neal’s list. The bed Peter shared with Elizabeth, under June’s roof… these were places Neal didn’t feel comfortable having sex because of some sense of propriety. This shouldn’t cause him a problem.

They were both dressed casually, knowing they wouldn’t be hooking up with the Miami office until the next morning. Both were in jeans (Neal’s were designer, Peter noticed – even his jeans were insanely expensive), Peter wore a t-shirt with an old college sweatshirt. Neal was in a crisp white oxford and his hat. And damn if that wasn’t one of the four the hottest thing Peter had seen in the past decade.

“Undo your belt and pants,” Peter instructed, taking a step back, leaving just enough room for Neal to comply, not enough that the backs of Neal’s hands wouldn’t brush against his own crotch as Neal complied.

Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “Here?”

Peter palmed Neal’s crotch, glad to find that neither stress nor surprise was affecting Neal’s comprehension of the situation, as he felt Neal’s cock start to swell under the pressure. “Here. And now.”

Peter noticed Neal’s eyes dart over to be sure the door was locked before complying.

“This is a side of you I’ve never seen before,” Neal observed as he undid his belt and button and slowly slid the zipper down.

“Disappointed?” Peter asked as he slid his hand into Neal’s pants and began massaging his balls through the navy blue cotton of his briefs.

Neal’s breath caught as Peter tugged and a strangled, “What do you think?” escaped from his lips.

Peter pulled his hands back and brought them up to rest on Neal’s shoulders for a second before sliding over his biceps and down to his wrists. Peter put Neal’s hands over his head, against the door. “Stay like that,” he whispered in Neal’s ear. Neal nodded.

Peter backed away, watching to see if Neal would move. He didn’t, but he looked thoroughly confused as to why Peter had him half undressed and against the wall and was moving away.

Peter grabbed Neal’s bag and began digging through it.

“What do you think I put in there?” Neal asked.

“You telling me you didn’t pack lube?”

“Uh… well, yeah, I did. Peter, you’re going to do this here?”

“If I said ‘yes’ would that be a problem?” Peter found the bottle in Neal’s toiletries, and waved it at Neal.

“I – um… no?”

Peter stood back up and came back to Neal, the lube shoved in his own front pocket. He began wiggling Neal’s pants and briefs down, Neal cooperating by leaning away from the wall as needed. “That an answer or a question?”

“No. It wouldn’t be a problem,” Neal clarified, but he still looked surprised and somewhat confused at the current turn of events.

Peter just laughed and led Neal to turn and face the blue tiled wall next the door, feet apart. “Walk your hands down,” he instructed waiting until Neal was leaning against the wall on his hands, his ass presented to Peter.

Peter pulled the lube out and laughed as Neal jumped a little when he heard the lid pop open and the wet ‘sploosh’ that followed. He put his dry hand on Neal’s back, holding the tails of his shirt out of the way as he traced the crack of Neal’s ass with two lubed fingers. “I’m not going to fuck you here. I’m going to fuck you when we get to Miami. So I guess you’re going to have to get on that plane.”

Neal let his head fall against the wall as he realized what Peter’s motivation was. He was about to complain when he felt those two fingers that had been trailing up and down his ass, slide into him in one slow, controlled thrust. “Oh god, Peter…”

“As soon as we get to the hotel, but not before,” he said as he slid his hand back and then forward again. “Sound good?”

“Well… yes and no.” Neal panted as he tried to look over his shoulder at Peter. “Yes, because… of course I want you to do that.” Peter’s hand shook a little as he laughed. It was a running joke between them. Neal hated to use the word ‘fuck’. Not because he over-romanticized what they had between them, but because it was just so base, so vulgar. And nothing Neal Caffrey did or said would ever be considered crass.

Peter added a third finger as he pressed in again. “And what’s the ‘no’ about?”

Neal twisted so that he could see Peter as he explained, “You really want me to sit through a four-hour plane ride with my cock this hard?”

“Hm…” Peter said, leaning around Neal to see that his cock was now completely hard and swaying in the breeze. “Well…” he started as if he was just now considering the implications. “I guess that would be a bit cruel.”

Neal just gave him an imploring look.

After a few more seconds of consideration, Peter removed his fingers and grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and wiped his hands off. “Sit in the chair,” he said as he wiped the last traces of lube off.

Neal hobbled over to the padded chair, not readjusting his clothes.

Peter stood over him for a second, just taking in the sight of Neal, hair disheveled, breathing rapidly, with his cock jutting out against his stomach. Then he dropped to his knees and without warning started sucking on the head of Neal’s cock. From the corner of his eye he could see Neal gripping the edge of the chair and he could feel the tension in his hips as he tried not thrust up into the unexpected heat and moisture.

“Oh Peter, good god, give a guy some warning?” Neal’s head fell back against the top of the chair back with a quiet thud.

Peter didn’t stop what he was doing to answer. He just wrapped one hand around the root of Neal’s cock and began pumping as he sucked a little harder. His other hand slid around to rest on Neal’s hip, his fingers brushing over the swell where his back arched into his very shapely ass.

Neal pulled together enough brain cells to drop one hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing tight, holding on.

Peter clearly wasn’t going for style or finesse at that point, but Neal didn’t much care. The idea of walking around for the next couple hours while they waited for the flight and then the flight itself lubed and waiting for Peter had him hard enough that it wasn’t going to take long. “Peter!” he gasped in warning as Peter’s tongue circled the head of his cock before he swallowed Neal down again. That was it. He squeezed Peter’s shoulder tight, hoping Peter would understand, as his back arched. Peter moved with him, neither getting gagged nor letting go as Neal came in his mouth.

They both sat breathing heavily for a few seconds. When Neal was finally able to open his eyes he gave Peter such a dopey look that Peter laughed out loud. “You look like… nevermind… I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Peter stood up and dusted off the knees of his jeans. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and pressed it into Neal’s hand. “Get yourself cleaned up, for all we know there’s a line outside this bathroom by now.”

Neal doubted it. He was pretty sure that other than that thirty-seconds or so there, he would have heard someone tugging on the door, trying to see if it was locked, but the point was taken.

Peter had retrieved his own bag and was looking for something in it, turning his back, giving Neal a minute to put himself together.

“What are you looking for?” Neal asked as he shoved his shirttails back into his jeans and zipped himself back up.

Peter held up his toothbrush.

“Ah,” Neal said, blushing just a little. He crowded Peter against the sink. “What about you?”

Peter leaned back into Neal, taking the lube out of his pocket and sliding it into Neal’s. “In Miami. Better make sure you stay ready.”

Neal’s eyes rolled back as he imagined himself having to lube himself again in the tiny airplane lavatory before they landed so he’d be sure to be ready when they checked into the hotel. He took a step back, trying to compose himself. He grabbed his hat off his bag and put it on, pulling it down to keep his eyes in shadow. “There’s a café a few gates down; I’m going to go get – do you want…?”

Peter laughed at Neal’s discombobulation, but had to admit he was significantly calmer than he had been when they’d come in. “You know how I take it,” he said, knowing damn well that Neal’s brain would take that in the most sexual way possible.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I do,” Neal said as he grabbed the strap to his satchel and slipped out of the bathroom, letting Peter brush his teeth and letting them both get their game faces back on.

Why am I the only one providing content? Come on, slackers. :U
You can watch a good portion of season 1 here:
http://www.freeonlineepisodes.net/white-collar-season-1-online-episodes-free/

Fic rec,
Cute preshow fic, punctuation is taken as a suggestion but it's one I keep coming back to.

http://community.livejournal.com/whitecollar_tv/210072.html#cutid1

>>56132
I CAN SEE THIS HAPPENING!

http://community.livejournal.com/libraryofsol/148084.html#cutid1
This is holster porn.
You're welcome.

>>56772
ILY BEAT. YOU ARE WONDERFUL.

Oh god my French teacher's brother is Tim Dekay.

Whenever he mentions his brother my mind automatically thinks of this thread.
French is so awkward now oh god why.

>>56829
.....................
wat.
WAT.
Tim Dekay is so beautiful ;-;
I AM JEARROUS, ANON. OH SO JEARROUS.
Does his brother even talk to him though? They live an entire country away from one another...

>>56831
I have no idea. He's mentioned him sometimes but that's only for the sake of the French lesson.
Well, one time he said he liked to travel with his brother but that might have just been him making up stuff for the vocab we were learning.
EITHER WAY. It's distracting as fuck.

>>56835
... Tim's site says his brother Jamey (the only sibling listed) lives only blocks away. If this is your french teacher GO TO HIS HOUSE, LOOK FOR TIM, TAKE PICTURES. Oh god Tim is so perfect.

>>56835
If I was in that class, I'd probably blurt out 'do you know people make your brother dickbutt with Matthew Bomer?... and that its sexy? .__.'
but FFFF
we need more content. DX

great place for content.

http://community.livejournal.com/caffrey_burke/