elrhiarhodan

Title: Against A Wall, Hard
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Dub-con, flogging, coercion, hair pulling, angst
Word Count: ~850
Summary: PWP, no plot, no set up. Just rough, angsty sex.



A/N: Written for the awesome hoosierbitch, who asked for Peter/Neal, sex up against a wall. I haven’t written angsty sex in a while, and the end of On the Fence got me in the mood. Not that this in any way references anything about that episode. No beta. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

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He pushes Neal against the wall, pinning him there with his hips.

He whispers into his ear. “I know what you’ve done, Neal.” Peter lets a thread of anger leak into his voice.

Neal doesn’t respond, he just looks at Peter, a challenge in his eyes.

“You think you’re going to get away with it, you think you’ve won.” There is a deep and bitter sadness mixing in with the anger. “I trusted you - I loved you. You’ve betrayed us all.”

Neal’s eyelashes flutter, not unlike a pair of flirtatious butterflies. They cover his eyes. Peter knows that Neal can’t look at him. He knows that Peter will see the truth there.

“Why, Neal? Why did you do it?”

Neal doesn’t answer, he won’t answer.

And yet as angry and as hurt as he is, Peter is unbearably aroused. He keeps Neal pinned to the wall, his erection aching against Neal’s body. It kills him, to still want this after all that Neal’s done to him.

Peter threads his hands through Neal’s glossy curls, a caress. “Look at me, you bastard. Look at me.” He tightens his grip, forcing Neal to look up. Peter can’t tell if it is remorse or pain that’s bringing tears to his lover’s eyes.

Finally, Neal speaks. “Peter, please.”

“Please what? Please, I’m sorry? Please forgive me? Please fuck me? Please let me go?” His grip tightens further, but the pain he inflicts doesn’t make him feel any better.

Neal sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You always are, and I always forgive you.” Peter presses a soft kiss against Neal’s temple. “That’s my shame.” He keeps his grip tight and forces Neal to his knees.

“You are a liar, Neal. Everything out of your mouth is a lie. You’re whole existence is a lie.”

“No, Peter - it’s not. You know that - you know I don’t lie to you.”

Those words are like knives. “Shut up, Neal, shut the fuck up.” Peter uses his free hand to undo his pants and drag his cock out. He’s dripping and he hates it. He hates the desire, the anger. He hates that as much as he now despises the man he’s known as Neal Caffrey, he loves him. And that he is going to betray everything he’s stood for his whole life - honor, integrity, justice - to keep Neal with him.

Peter pulls Neal’s head back, still ignoring the whimper of pain, and rubs his cock over the other man’s face, his precome like a trail of slime over his cheeks and eyelids.

Neal opens his mouth, a hungry gesture. But Peter isn’t ready to give him that. Instead, he beats Neal with his cock, hard. Hard enough to leave bruises, he hopes. He wants to mark Neal like this, to stain Neal the way Neal has stained him.

Neal whimpers again - not pain, though. Peter knows this sound - it’s thwarted desire, lust. Not love. Unless it’s love for the degradation that Neal wants Peter to inflict on him.

Peter looks down and sees Neal’s bright blue eyes. They are still brimming with tears. He can’t stand it. He lets go and Neal falls back. But he’s not done with him; he just doesn’t want to see his face.

“Stand up. Strip.”

Neal transforms at the command. He’s now relaxed, all signs of repentance are gone as he carefully takes off his clothes. Peter thinks he even sees a hint of a smile, Neal getting just what he wants. Or so he believes.

“Turn around, hands and face against the wall.”

Neal actually gives him a little shimmy. The bastard thinks that Peter’s sold himself for a taste of his sweet ass. Maybe he has - but Neal isn’t getting a taste of Peter’s cock, yet.

Peter pulls his belt off, wraps the buckle end around his palm, leaving a good nine inches free. Which is ironically the length of his aroused cock.

He lashes Neal, flogging him hard enough to raise bruises, welts at least an inch wide. “You deserve this, at the very least.”

Neal doesn’t scream, he doesn’t make a sound as the belt strikes his buttocks over and over again. Peter doesn’t lose count, he doesn’t bother to count. A dozen, two dozen. It doesn’t matter.

Peter stops, exhausted. But still achingly aroused. He drops the belt and runs a gentle hand across Neal’s bruised ass. He wants to apologize for this, for taking his anger out so brutally, but he won’t. He pulls at Neal’s shoulders and turns him around. Neal had buried his teeth into his forearm to keep from shouting. There is a pair of bloody crescent shaped marks on Neal’s arm, and a faint ring of blood on his lips.

Peter looks down; Neal’s thighs and belly are streaked with fluid of a different color. The same white that stains the wall that he was pressing against when he came.

He kisses Neal, gently now, his anger gone. His rage dissipated.

Neal rests his head against his shoulder, as trusting as a child. He will take care of Neal. He always does.


FIN