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Title:
Series: White Collar
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Neal
Rating: PG
Warnings: I'm a tease?
Wordcount: 1,281
Summary: for this prompt at collarkink. Peter/Neal handcuffs. Yeah. Its less kink than it is Peter and Neal snarking at each other. whoops.
"You know, when Elizabeth hears about this, she's going to point and laugh at you." Neal says with a straight face.
"When this is over I'm going to throw your smart alec ass right back into jail, I swear to God." Peter would have said if he could talk through the gag. He only manages a guttural noise that sounds more exasperated than angry and it's a testament to just how exhausted he is that he can't even produce a properly menacing growl. Getting knocked out by a small time con artist and cuffed to a chair in a dingy hotel room is embarrassing enough. This is not the way he expects to spend his precious week off, which is probably why he wound up there in the first place.
"Of course, this would be right after she kills you for making her worry like that and she'll have every right to do so." Neal continues gleefully as he pulls out the dirty rag from between the agent's lips, "You should brush your teeth a couple of times when you get back." he drops the rag to the floor and nudges it away with the tip of his shoe "And floss." he adds as an afterthought.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter croaked, his voice hoarse from a good day and a half behind that stupid rag. He would later find out that Elizabeth was the one who called Neal after Peter failed to show up for dinner during the third night of their vacation.
“What?” Neal asks innocently, “No ‘Thank you, Neal, for saving my life’? No ‘Neal, you’re the best partner a guy could ask for’? I’m surprised, Peter.” he tusks disapprovingly, “I thought you had more class than that.”
“I would’ve gotten out of this by myself just fine.” Peter mutters.
Neal’s smile just grows wider.
Peter had shared three blissful days of unwinding and relaxation with his wife before things went to hell out of sheer bad luck.
Apparently, Peter looked like an easy mark to some people and in this case, they would be absolutely right. Elizabeth had been taking an afternoon nap while Peter took to the streets for some gift shopping because Diana had threatened him bodily harm if he dared to come back empty handed. A disheveled man had approached him in a panic, begging for help for someone who was gravely injured. Peter, being the good-hearted citizen he was, followed the man into an alleyway behind a sketchy looking street (which should've tipped him off right there that something was very wrong, but he was on vacation here. Work was not supposed to encroach on his time off.) He woke up later with what felt like a minor concussion and a very ominous empty feeling in his back pocket where his wallet should be.
Since Peter hadn't been missing for over 48 hours, Elizabeth couldn't go to the police immediately. So she went to Neal, who went to Diana, who pulled the necessary strings that brought all of this full circle to the former con man, fluffing his feathers in pride, standing there in front of his trussed up keeper.
Neal gives Peter a small shrug with a curved smile on his lips. "I can't reveal the secrets to my magic tricks all at once. And besides," he counters, "What kind of agent would you be if everything was just handed to you on a silver platter?"
The hard glare he receives in return doesn’t have the same effect with the presence of a bright, rumpled Hawaiian shirt and flip flops.
"But you’ve had a rough night and I’m feeling generous. I'll give you a freebie this time," he winks in the wake of Peter's unimpressed expression, "Just because I like you that much." He casually walks around and stands behind the chair, "Your shoulders must be a mess after all this time in the same position."
Peter feels firm hands clamp down ominously on his shoulders. He’s getting a very bad feeling about this.
The hands start working in small circles, pushing down and forward against the tight resistance at a slow pace, “Wow, your shoulders have more knots than a string of Christmas lights freshly out of storage.”
“Caffrey," Peter says cautiously, "Get your hands off my shoulders." He tries leaning to the side but has very limited movement options. Damn cuffs.
Neal’s hands don’t budge from their spot, "But we're just getting to the part where I give my big reveal,” he protests, thumbs ghost over the tight muscles under his neck and push inwards.
“Then why are you-“ Peter stutters a bit when a particularly hard knot pops loose, “-stalling?” he lets out a shaky breath, wrists jerking reflexively on the cuffs holding him in place.
Neal leans down, not a single pause in his hand motions, his warm breath fluttering over the curve of Peter’s ear. “Let’s just say, people are very open to conversation given the right circumstance.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Peter gasps, thoughts in disarray, his head falling back onto the other man’s shoulder when Neal digs his fingers in just right.
Even through the haze of tension and alarm, Peter feels his all his muscles go slack and Oh God, right there, that feels good. He doesn’t quite manage to cut off his appreciative moan before it slips past his voice box. His whole body seizes when he realizes what he’s doing and how he’s never going to be able to live this down.
He quickly covers it by clearing his throat and shaking his shoulders to unhinge those damn masseuse hands, “I don’t really care how you did it,” he says irritably, “Just un-cuff me.”
The kneading stops abruptly, “Did your wife ever tell you how much of a downer you are?”
Peter rubs at his wrists when he’s free, wincing as the blood rushes back into his arms in a fury of pins and needles.
“You weren’t that hard to find, you know.” Neal says casually, “And I can tell you that right now, your guy is sitting at the bar down by the docks, the one with the neon pineapple sign, I believe. He’s very friendly.”
Peter gives the other man a long and calculating gaze.
“Wait a minute-” his eyes widen, “The right circumstance,” he repeats, "You love to gloat. You admitted it yourself during the last case." his expression flattens, "I can’t believe this. You wasted government funds prancing around doing practically nothing of investigative value," he scoffs, "And you just happened upon where I was by accident when you decided to get a drink and the perp was drunk off his ass at the same bar."
"I don't prance," he pouts, which in Neal Caffrey terms, means, "Yes, Peter. You are absolutely correct."
"Sometimes, I wonder about you." Peter shakes his head in resignation.
Neal feigns indignation at that, "I swear on my scouts honor that I used every penny of the funds Diana provided me on this investigation."
"You were never a scout." Peter deadpans.
It's almost unsettling how easily the man could slip into the kicked puppy expression, the look that must've gotten him quite a bit of sympathy from girls, "Does this mean I won't be getting a Christmas bonus like everyone else?"
"Out of my sight.” Peter points a finger at the door, “Now.”
Neal gives him a charming smile before turning on his heal and waltzing out the door.
Peter sighs and goes to look for a phone so he can cancel his credit cards before con man can rack up any more on his tab.
Series: White Collar
Characters/Pairings: Peter, Neal
Rating: PG
Warnings: I'm a tease?
Wordcount: 1,281
Summary: for this prompt at collarkink. Peter/Neal handcuffs. Yeah. Its less kink than it is Peter and Neal snarking at each other. whoops.
"You know, when Elizabeth hears about this, she's going to point and laugh at you." Neal says with a straight face.
"When this is over I'm going to throw your smart alec ass right back into jail, I swear to God." Peter would have said if he could talk through the gag. He only manages a guttural noise that sounds more exasperated than angry and it's a testament to just how exhausted he is that he can't even produce a properly menacing growl. Getting knocked out by a small time con artist and cuffed to a chair in a dingy hotel room is embarrassing enough. This is not the way he expects to spend his precious week off, which is probably why he wound up there in the first place.
"Of course, this would be right after she kills you for making her worry like that and she'll have every right to do so." Neal continues gleefully as he pulls out the dirty rag from between the agent's lips, "You should brush your teeth a couple of times when you get back." he drops the rag to the floor and nudges it away with the tip of his shoe "And floss." he adds as an afterthought.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter croaked, his voice hoarse from a good day and a half behind that stupid rag. He would later find out that Elizabeth was the one who called Neal after Peter failed to show up for dinner during the third night of their vacation.
“What?” Neal asks innocently, “No ‘Thank you, Neal, for saving my life’? No ‘Neal, you’re the best partner a guy could ask for’? I’m surprised, Peter.” he tusks disapprovingly, “I thought you had more class than that.”
“I would’ve gotten out of this by myself just fine.” Peter mutters.
Neal’s smile just grows wider.
Peter had shared three blissful days of unwinding and relaxation with his wife before things went to hell out of sheer bad luck.
Apparently, Peter looked like an easy mark to some people and in this case, they would be absolutely right. Elizabeth had been taking an afternoon nap while Peter took to the streets for some gift shopping because Diana had threatened him bodily harm if he dared to come back empty handed. A disheveled man had approached him in a panic, begging for help for someone who was gravely injured. Peter, being the good-hearted citizen he was, followed the man into an alleyway behind a sketchy looking street (which should've tipped him off right there that something was very wrong, but he was on vacation here. Work was not supposed to encroach on his time off.) He woke up later with what felt like a minor concussion and a very ominous empty feeling in his back pocket where his wallet should be.
Since Peter hadn't been missing for over 48 hours, Elizabeth couldn't go to the police immediately. So she went to Neal, who went to Diana, who pulled the necessary strings that brought all of this full circle to the former con man, fluffing his feathers in pride, standing there in front of his trussed up keeper.
Neal gives Peter a small shrug with a curved smile on his lips. "I can't reveal the secrets to my magic tricks all at once. And besides," he counters, "What kind of agent would you be if everything was just handed to you on a silver platter?"
The hard glare he receives in return doesn’t have the same effect with the presence of a bright, rumpled Hawaiian shirt and flip flops.
"But you’ve had a rough night and I’m feeling generous. I'll give you a freebie this time," he winks in the wake of Peter's unimpressed expression, "Just because I like you that much." He casually walks around and stands behind the chair, "Your shoulders must be a mess after all this time in the same position."
Peter feels firm hands clamp down ominously on his shoulders. He’s getting a very bad feeling about this.
The hands start working in small circles, pushing down and forward against the tight resistance at a slow pace, “Wow, your shoulders have more knots than a string of Christmas lights freshly out of storage.”
“Caffrey," Peter says cautiously, "Get your hands off my shoulders." He tries leaning to the side but has very limited movement options. Damn cuffs.
Neal’s hands don’t budge from their spot, "But we're just getting to the part where I give my big reveal,” he protests, thumbs ghost over the tight muscles under his neck and push inwards.
“Then why are you-“ Peter stutters a bit when a particularly hard knot pops loose, “-stalling?” he lets out a shaky breath, wrists jerking reflexively on the cuffs holding him in place.
Neal leans down, not a single pause in his hand motions, his warm breath fluttering over the curve of Peter’s ear. “Let’s just say, people are very open to conversation given the right circumstance.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Peter gasps, thoughts in disarray, his head falling back onto the other man’s shoulder when Neal digs his fingers in just right.
Even through the haze of tension and alarm, Peter feels his all his muscles go slack and Oh God, right there, that feels good. He doesn’t quite manage to cut off his appreciative moan before it slips past his voice box. His whole body seizes when he realizes what he’s doing and how he’s never going to be able to live this down.
He quickly covers it by clearing his throat and shaking his shoulders to unhinge those damn masseuse hands, “I don’t really care how you did it,” he says irritably, “Just un-cuff me.”
The kneading stops abruptly, “Did your wife ever tell you how much of a downer you are?”
Peter rubs at his wrists when he’s free, wincing as the blood rushes back into his arms in a fury of pins and needles.
“You weren’t that hard to find, you know.” Neal says casually, “And I can tell you that right now, your guy is sitting at the bar down by the docks, the one with the neon pineapple sign, I believe. He’s very friendly.”
Peter gives the other man a long and calculating gaze.
“Wait a minute-” his eyes widen, “The right circumstance,” he repeats, "You love to gloat. You admitted it yourself during the last case." his expression flattens, "I can’t believe this. You wasted government funds prancing around doing practically nothing of investigative value," he scoffs, "And you just happened upon where I was by accident when you decided to get a drink and the perp was drunk off his ass at the same bar."
"I don't prance," he pouts, which in Neal Caffrey terms, means, "Yes, Peter. You are absolutely correct."
"Sometimes, I wonder about you." Peter shakes his head in resignation.
Neal feigns indignation at that, "I swear on my scouts honor that I used every penny of the funds Diana provided me on this investigation."
"You were never a scout." Peter deadpans.
It's almost unsettling how easily the man could slip into the kicked puppy expression, the look that must've gotten him quite a bit of sympathy from girls, "Does this mean I won't be getting a Christmas bonus like everyone else?"
"Out of my sight.” Peter points a finger at the door, “Now.”
Neal gives him a charming smile before turning on his heal and waltzing out the door.
Peter sighs and goes to look for a phone so he can cancel his credit cards before con man can rack up any more on his tab.
Tags:
- fic,
- neal,
- peter,
- snark,
- white collar