Chapter Text
1. The One With The Sucker
Moz tried to stop him, but Neal had to see him up close. Thinking quickly, he approached the older man.
“I couldn’t help but overhear, are you with the FBI?”
“Special Agent Peter Burke.”
“Wow.” Neal asked about counterfeiting and bonds, keen for any information he could get that might suggest this Agent Burke knew more than he should, or was safe.
Burke, however, had a superb poker face; Neal getting nothing more than the face value of the words exchanged.
“Well thanks again for all the hard work you’re doing, Agent Burke. That’s for you. Have a good day.” Neal handed him the sucker the sweetheart teller had given him and walked away, fighting the urge to look back.
Peter watched him go; looking him up and down. He glanced down at the sucker in his hand, the image of the young man’s sparkling blue eyes clear in his mind. The mega-watt smile he’d received and the shapely ass walking away from him left Peter slightly stunned.
“Happy birthday me,” he said, raising his eyebrows with a slight smirk.
2. The One With The Dream
Peter unwrapped the sucker slowly, savouring peeling the wrapping away from the sweetness inside. He raised it to his lips, keen to take it in to his mouth, but he knew the first taste would be the best, and was determined to make the most of it.
As his tongue touched the lolly, Peter was surprised by its warmth, and as it moved past his lips, its size too. Suddenly, he wasn’t holding a plastic lollipop stick, but was gripping a warm, solid thigh, and as he looked up, he wasn’t outside in the sun on a summer afternoon, but was on his knees at Neal Caffrey’s feet. He sucked keenly, and it wasn’t a green sucker resting on his tongue, but Caffrey's cock, and it tasted better than any lolly he’d ever had.
*
Peter started awake with a gasp, heart pounding and cock hard. What the hell was that?!
El turned over, and offered a muffled, “Peter?”
“Go back to sleep, hon,” he whispered, sitting up and slipping out of the bed, making his way to the bathroom.
Peter firmly refused to believe that the shining blue eyes that winked at him behind his eyelids as he rubbed one off belonged to anyone but his wife.
3. The One With The Spying
Neal stood on the stoop of the cheap hotel, a cap pulled down low over his forehead and a newspaper tucked under his arm. Behind his sunglasses, he watched, intrigued, as the FBI personnel began emerging from the bar they had just stormed, accompanied by several shady-looking characters already placed under arrest. He recognised a couple of the agents, from other times he’d watched them (or watched them watching him) but it was a few more minutes until he saw the face he’d come for, the face he, nowadays, was always looking for.
Peter marched a burly, balding man in a cheap suit over to one of the cars, throwing him roughly against it after responding to something the man had said to Peter’s female colleague with a sneer. Crowding up behind him, Peter pulled the perp’s arms back firmly and cuffed him, leaning over his shoulder and speaking close to his ear. Neal knew, in reality, that the man was being read his rights, although he could think of far better things for Agent Peter Burke to be whispering in someone’s ear when he had them pinned under him.
Peter pushed the man’s head down as he was put in the back of the squad car, and then looked up, glancing over the street, noting the small but curious crowd that had gathered to watch. He smiled, and turned back to his team to praise them for a job well done.
Neal watched Peter’s moment of victory, imagining that solid body pressing him up against the car, closing those cuffs around his wrists, growling the words in his ear.
That was probably enough Fed-watching for today, Neal reasoned. After all, the front of his jeans were getting uncomfortably tight.
4. The One With The Cuffs
Neal perused the range with a critical eye. There were pairs made of leather, some made of candy, and fluffy ones in every colour imaginable, but he didn’t need or want the novelty value. He had a specific image in mind, and that meant finding just the right pair of cuffs.
Surprisingly, finding a standard pair of metal cuffs with a decent lock wasn’t as easy as he’d imagined. He didn’t want the anodised red or purple ones, he wanted silver. Stock-standard, with just the right click.
Finally, he spotted them. The last pair, sitting further back than all the others. Compared to the others on display, they were boring, but when you’re looking for a pair just like the FBI use, just like Peter Burke uses, boring is perfect. Or, boring is realistic, and realistic is perfect.
5. The One With The Box
It wasn’t like Peter’s mother was actually going to check how tidy it was under his and Elizabeth’s bed, but that didn’t stop El cleaning like there was no tomorrow when the in-laws were coming to stay. As she pushed an old yoga mat further under the bed and straightened countless shoe boxes, she was surprised to find one box differing in weight to the others. Sliding it out, she opened it without thought, wondering if Peter had hidden that old pair of joggers she had tried to make him get rid of months ago. However, she was surprised to discover when she lifted the lid that the box did not contain a beaten up pair of sneakers.
There was an odd assortment of items in the box, but with a common theme – this was clearly Peter’s Secret Box of Caffrey. There was a large stack of what Elizabeth assumed were surveillance photographs, which she thumbed through quickly. It seemed he had been adding to the collection for some time, by the varying length of Caffrey’s hair, and the changing background of the photos. Some were colour, others black and white; some were wide shots, others zoomed in tight on the face that El couldn’t help but admit was handsome.
Setting the pile down, she looked over the rest of the contents of the box. A set of cufflinks, onyx, by the look of them, unlike any Peter had ever owned. A business card with the name ‘Nick Halden’ printed on it, simple and classy on good quality cardstock. A green lollipop, still wrapped. Three cream envelopes with the same neat handwriting on each, one for ‘Special Agent Burke, FBI’, one for ‘Peter Burke’, and one labelled simply ‘Peter’. She didn’t open these, but slid them aside to reveal a further envelope at the very bottom of the box. It was plain white, not marked, but had the slightly worn look of one that had had its contents removed and replaced numerous times.
She hesitated slightly. This stuff was Peter’s, and he had clearly been keeping it private for a reason. Perhaps the envelope contained FBI documents; in which case she really ought to stop snooping and put everything back as she’d found it. The surveillance photos were definitely FBI property, not hers to look at. She was still trying to convince herself not to open the last envelope as she slid the pile of eight-by-tens out onto the carpet.
Her eyes widened slightly as she was greeted by the sight of Neal Caffrey’s half-naked body. The photo was in black and white, which only served to highlight the well-defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. He was smiling broadly, at what she couldn’t see, as he crossed a wide expanse of pale sand, the ocean glittering behind him. Pushing that photo aside, in the next shot she saw what she assumed he had been smiling at, a bikini-clad brunette he was now kissing deeply. There were a few more photos of Neal and the woman, before the scene changed. Now they were pictures taken through a window, as evidenced by the cross-bars of the frame that cut across the image. The presence of the frame did nothing to conceal the fact that Caffrey was nude, and obviously unaware he was being watched, let alone photographed. He was stretching widely, his hair ruffled, clearly having just woken. Elizabeth vaguely noted it was the first photo in which she had seen him look anything less than perfectly put together – not that his body wasn’t entirely flawless, from his toned arms, to his well-sculpted pectorals, to his perfectly proportioned half-mast cock.
“El?” Peter’s voice from downstairs startled her; she hadn’t heard the door. She felt her cheeks redden slightly as she realised she was sitting in her bedroom staring at a photo of a naked man who could not have been further from her husband. The fact that the photo belonged to her husband only served to make the situation even stranger. Shoving the photos back in the envelope and the envelope into the box, she pushed it quickly under the bed as she called back to him.
“Upstairs, hon,” she answered, hearing his footfalls as he came up the stairs. Standing up, she turned to greet him, embracing him warmly and giving him a light peck on the lips.
“How was your day?” she asked with a smile, letting him go as he reached up to tug his tie off.
‘Oh, you know,’ he answered vaguely. She noticed suddenly the corner of the box was poking out from under the valance. Under the guise of helping him with the tie, she pushed it with her toe until it was properly under the bed, making a mental note to check everything was back in order in the box later. With Peter, there was a place for everything, and everything had to be in its place. And if she had to make sure the photos in the worn white envelope were in their proper order, what of it?
6. The One With The Cuffs, Part 2
Handcuffs weren’t a problem for Neal Caffrey. In the earliest days of his career as a confidence man, Moz had stressed the important of ensuring there wasn’t a lock Neal couldn’t pick; a safe he couldn’t crack. In comparison to some of the locks he had picked in his time, cuffs were hardly a challenge. Even double locked, it didn’t take Neal more than a few minutes to escape them in most of the situations (staged and otherwise) in which he had tested himself.
*
Neal laid in bed, sleep eluding him. In his head, he mentally cracked an AmSec CE1814, his version of counting sheep, perhaps. His mind wandered as he stared at the ceiling, taking him back to the stoop where he had stood a few days earlier, watching Peter arrest some no-name two-bit thief.
Closing his eyes, he watched the scene replaying in front of him, mentally adding the click of the cuffs as they were placed on the man’s wrists. The bag from the adult store Neal had visited on his way home from Burke-watching that day was burning a proverbial hole in the floor, its contents as yet unused. Rolling closer to the edge, Neal slung an arm over and reached beneath the bed, pulling out the bag and retrieving the cuffs from inside.
He sat, flicking them closed, ratcheting them tighter, and then releasing them. He closed one of the silver loops around his right wrist, tightening gradually until the metal bit ever so slightly into the soft tissue. Hunkering down beneath the sheets, he turned over, placing his cuffed right hand at the small of his back, reliving the memory one more time. Only this time, he wasn’t watching from across the street, he was being marched out of the bar, Burke’s firm grip on his bicep. The mattress beneath him was no longer soft, but the hard metal of an FBI vehicle, and his rapidly hardening cock was trapped beneath him now as painfully as if he really were up against a car door. He could almost feel Burke’s warm breath against his ear as he read him his rights.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
Neal shivered, the voice silky and low and so perfect it was like Peter was standing right behind him.
“Unless, of course, you want to beg… because I would love to see your pretty lips beg. You’re mine, Caffrey,” Burke’s voice growled in his ear, and as the second cuff closed tight around his wrist, he came all over his sheets.
7. The One With The Box, Part 2
Peter was away for the weekend, out west following Caffrey’s trail yet again. The visit from the in-laws had passed uneventfully, and El was content, sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine. Peter had had to leave before his parents, but they were gone now, and she finally had the chance to kick back. She thought back over the time; shaking her head slightly as she considered how half of her cleaning efforts had been wasted, because Mr and Mrs Burke Senior hadn’t seen how spotless the top of the refrigerator was, or how clean the tiles behind the bathtub were..!
She thought back to tidying under the bed, and her finding of Peter’s box of photos. If she closed her eyes, she could see Caffrey’s abs. She could see his fucking cock, for crying out loud. She was a married woman, happily so, but he was a damn fine looking man, and everyone is allowed a fantasy, right?
Setting her glass down, she headed upstairs, crouching next to the bed and retrieving the box. Settling on top of the covers, she opened it, shifting the smaller items aside to reach the worn white envelope. As soon as she touched it, she knew something was wrong. As she lifted it from the box, the weight – or lack thereof – of the envelope confirmed her fears – it was empty. Oddly, she mused, she didn’t know if she was more disappointed that Peter probably knew she had been in the box, or that the pictures were gone. She realised there was still one thing inside, and slid the single photo out of the envelope.
It was the nude shot; with those toned muscles and that perfect cock she had been seeing every time she closed her eyes for the last week. Stuck on the photo was a post-it note, blue, with Peter’s handwriting on it.
“Think of me when you do it. I’ll be thinking of you.”
As she lay back against the pillows, one hand holding the photo and the other inside her panties, she promised herself she’d at least try to be thinking of him.
8. The One With The Cuffs, Part 3
Keller stirred and then woke, looking up to see the television still on, a mutton-dressed-as-lamb saleswoman on the screen demonstrating the amazing abilities of some drastically overpriced vegetable slicer. He pushed himself up sleepily, shutting the TV off and stumbling through to the bedroom. The bedside clock read 2:25. Neal had been in bed a few hours already, and was lying on his stomach, breathing slow and even. He didn’t stir as Keller sat on the edge of the bed, stripping off his shirt and lifting the sheet to swing his feet up.
Suddenly he stopped, looking over at Caffrey with a slight smile and a shake of his head. He could smell sex, and was surprised at Neal; the other man usually kept it to the bathroom or the shower. Laying down, he turned over, trying to get comfortable. Neal shifted slightly, half-murmuring something as he moved, and Keller was surprised to hear a clinking sound, as if Neal had gone to bed with change in his pocket. Lifting the sheet slightly, he looked over at the other man’s still form. His brows lifted and his lips curled into a smirk as he saw the cuffs, one still fastened around Neal’s wrist. Shaking his head, amused, he rolled back over and closed his eyes. He knew Caffrey had been playing games with the Feds, but this was a new development…
9. The One With The Cuffs, Part 4
Neal came out of the bathroom, hair damp and curling, a few stray trails of water tracking their way over his shoulders and starting down his bare torso. He looked around for Keller, and was surprised to see him sitting in the bed, fiddling with something in his hands. As Neal drew closer to the bed, he realised that it was the cuffs – his cuffs. Approaching Keller, he asked, in a jokingly seductive tone,
“You like those?”
Keller looked up, eyes flicking over Neal’s body, naked but for the towel slung low around his hips.
“They’d look better on you,” he replied, lust darkening his gaze. Neal met Keller’s eyes, challenging him to voice his desires. Raising an eyebrow, he placed one hand at the edge of the towel, ready to let it fall.
“You think so?” he questioned.
Opening the cuffs, Keller moved to the edge of the bed.
“Get on your knees, Caffrey,” he said, voice low and faintly threatening.
Noting the bulge forming fast in the other man’s pants, eager to see the cuffs put to use, and approving thoroughly of the turn things had taken, Neal complied.
“Hands behind your head,” Keller growled, Neal again following the command. Keller stood, moving behind Neal and grabbing one slim wrist firmly. Twisting his arm roughly behind his back, Keller cuffed it tightly, repeating the action with Neal’s other arm. Circling back around Neal, he unzipped, freeing his cock before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
Spreading his legs wide, Keller stared down at Neal.
“Well? You know what comes next, convict,” he said lasciviously.
Keller knew how Neal loved to be told; how he needed to be taken in hand and forced into doing things he wanted but was too much of a gentleman to ask for. He also knew why Neal had the cuffs, and Keller found the other man’s Fed fetish more than a little strange, but if a combination of the two factors could get him one of Neal’s blue-ribbon standard blow jobs, who was he to complain? Neal shuffled forward, the edge of the towel getting caught under his knee, causing it to slip off as he shifted closer.
The sight of a cuffed Neal Caffrey on his knees for him was more than enough to bring Keller to full hardness, and he wanted nothing more than to grab Caffrey by the hair and force him to take his whole cock down that pretty throat.
Neal’s own cock was free now and bobbing as he shifted to the edge of the bed and lowered his head, licking Keller’s tip, which was already leaking precum. Positioning himself carefully between the other man’s knees, aiming for the best possible angle, Neal looked up through long dark lashes at Keller’s face, and then slowly took the thick cock into his mouth.
Keller leant back, supporting himself with his hands and watching Caffrey lazily. It didn’t take long for the carefully precise series of licks and sucks and the obscene noises Neal was making to have precum flooding out of him, and suddenly it wasn’t enough, he needed more.
Thrusting his hips forward, he forced more of his length into Caffrey's mouth. Neal’s eyes lifted to meet his, something akin to a dare sparkling in his blue-as-blue irises. He sucked sharply, and Keller gasped, giving up the semblance of self-control he had been trying to maintain and grabbing Caffrey by the back of his head, shoving his head down until his nose was buried in coarse dark hair.
Neal choked as the full length of Keller’s cock was pushed in, the head hitting the back of his throat. Cuffed as he was, Neal could do little to help himself, and Keller released some of his pressure to let Neal suck in a few breaths through his nose. Then, without warning or any force from Keller, Neal swallowed him down deeply, the sensation of Neal’s throat tight around him bringing Keller to the brink. Caffrey’s silver tongue still moved against the underside of his cock, and Keller moaned deeply. Fuck, he was good at that.
Shifting his knees the slightest bit, Neal swallowed again, and with a twist of his tongue and another sharp suck, Keller’s hips bucked as he exploded down Neal’s throat. He kept swallowing, lifting his head slightly, licking and sucking off the come as he pulled back and rested on his heels. Keller flopped back onto the bed, legs going slack as Neal shuffled back and slid down to sit more comfortably. The cuffs bit into his wrists and his cock was hard and dripping.
Soon after, Keller pushed himself up with a sigh, standing and pulling his pants up enough that he could walk to the bathroom and clean up. He looked down at Neal, who met his gaze expectantly. The muscles in his arms were tense, their position surely getting uncomfortable. Keller glanced at the other man’s cock, and then back to his face.
“You can finish yourself off, yeah?” he asked. “After you get out of those cuffs, of course.”
And then he walked away.
10. The One With The Post-Job High
Peter drove home from staking out Caffrey’s apartment much quicker than he should have, but if anyone had stopped him, his badge was as good an excuse as any. Explaining why his car reeked of come may not have been quite so easy, but fortunately, he made it back to Brooklyn without incident. Pulling up outside his house, he grabbed his briefcase. His hand hovered briefly over the empty coffee cup in the holder, but hey, that could wait. Rushing to the front door, he tossed his case onto the sofa as he loosened his tie. Some of the other agents had stirred him in the past about wearing ties on all-night stake-outs, but Peter had always insisted it was about maintaining an air of professionalism. So much for that.
*
Taking the stairs two at a time, he was so distracted as he fumbled with his buttons that he nearly collided with El, who had started making her way down after hearing him arrive.
“Hey sweetie,” she greeted him with a kiss. “You’re home early… everything okay?”
Peter nodded as he finished with the buttons.
“Yep,” he replied, reaching up from where he stood on the step below and kissing her deeply.
Pulling away for air, El smiled cheekily, excited. Peter was usually tired after these long nights working, but he seemed anything but tonight.
“I think someone might be ready for their birthday present…” she teased, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the ground.
“Oh, I am more than ready,” he growled, planting his hands on her hips and turning them so her back was pressed against the wall. He kissed her again, rubbing himself against her with an insistence that had El surprised. She reached for his belt, unfastening it and his fly in quick succession. One hand pushed his pants down as the other slipped inside his boxers, and she smiled into the kiss as she discovered just how ready Peter really was.
“We should take this to the bedroom,” she whispered against his lips as one of his hands grazed up the inside of her thigh.
“I think here will be just fine,” he breathed, turning them again and lowering El until she was sitting on the edge of one step, leaning back. She giggled, bracing herself with a hand as Peter lowered himself over her, careful not to place all his weight on her body. His hand reached under her slip to find, slightly surprisingly, she wasn’t wearing panties.
Looking up at her curiously, he raised an eyebrow.
“I wasn’t wrong, was I?” she offered mischievously, and the colour on her cheeks and brightness of her eyes was too much for Peter, who hiked up the satin and pushed into her in one smooth movement.
El arched under him and moaned his name as he slowly pulled out again, and then started thrusting roughly. Peter was no small man, and oh, did she love it.
His arms were braced either side of her body, his biceps tensed and bulging as he supported his weight and continued to drive into her hard enough to leave her breathless. She’d have bruises from the steps in the morning, but it was a small price to pay for the best fuck they’d had in a long time.
She gasped, rocking her hips rhythmically to meet every deep stroke, feeling a wave of heat flush through her and knowing she was close.
“Peter… oh, God, Peter!” she breathed his name like a prayer as she came hard enough to leave her seeing stars, Peter stiffening and shooting deep inside of her.
Exhausted, he relaxed, more of his weight pressing down on El, who groaned slightly as the edge of a step dug into her ribs. He rolled over off her, resting his ass on one step and leaning against the balustrade of the staircase.
Turning his head towards her, he smiled as he caught his breath. It had been a while since they’d done anything like that.
“So, honey, how was your birthday?” El asked with a grin.
“Hmmm…” he pondered, an image of Caffrey being fucked against the railing of his balcony flashing unbidden across his vision, followed in quick succession by the face of his wife as she orgasmed under him only moments earlier.
“Might’ve been my best yet.”