elrhiarhodan

Title: Consequences of the Storm
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Kate Moreau; Peter/Neal, Neal/Kate (past)
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Dubious Consent
Word Count: ~3300
Beta Credit: sinfulslasher
Summary: Set in the Dragon'verse A/U. Following a shattering revelation, Neal and Peter come together for the first time. The consequences are spectacular.

A/N: For the first night of Fic-Can-Ukak, for theatregirl7299, who asked for a Dragon'verse story for the prompt "The Lightning Spoke Well of Them" . Any many, MANY thanks to kanarek13 for the exquisite (and spoilery) artwork at the end of the story.

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Waking from a dead sleep, Neal can feel the electricity in the air. He can feel it with each breath, as if lightning is filling his lungs.

The room is warm and the bed, too hot. The smell of sex and something else, something deeper and richer – Dracons' musk – fills his brain. Despite the hours of making love with Peter, his cock twitches with renewed interest.

But Neal needs air. He eases out from under Peter's arm and his skin pebbles with goosebumps. The bed itself isn't too hot – it's Peter. Even in this form, he radiates heat like a furnace on full blast.

Neal needs to put some distance between them. He needs to find some balance again. He knows that that's going to be difficult – if not impossible – if he's breathing the same air as Peter. He can feel his wings trying to erupt from his skin.

Getting some distance is easy enough. All he has to do is open the French doors and step out onto the terrace. The night air will calm him.

But that separation – as small as it will be – feels like yet another betrayal. Instinct – Draconic instinct – is commanding him to get back into bed and hold onto Peter. To never let him out of his sight.

Neal doesn't understand this. Last night, all he wanted was to escape, to break the anklet and transform. To create as much chaos as possible. To take to the air and scream his defiance – at the rules that were constraining him and the betrayals that were defining him.

Now, he wants to climb back into bed and mark Peter. To use a claw or scale to carve his name into that soft skin, so that the whole world would know who Peter belonged to. He wants to eat Peter, to consume him entirely so no one else – not Kin nor soft-skin – could lay claim to him.

In horror, Neal stumbles out of the bedroom, trying to get as far as possible from the bed and the Dracon occupying it. To outrun this madness.

Clothed only in the soft mortal skin he's forced to wear, he rushes out onto the terrace and immediately realizes that this place is as dangerous as his bedroom. The air is crackling with power, pulling at his skin, and despite the black band on his leg; he can feel the change trying to take hold.

Neal remembers an afternoon, a handful of months ago, when Peter took him to meet Elizabeth and then taught him how to transform. He'd offered no instructions on how to shed his soft skin. He'd just ordered him to strip, unlocked the cuff on his ankle, and underwent his own transformation. He'd been terrified and angry and that seemed to free him.

Tonight, he isn't angry, but he is terrified. He's become a monster. If he doesn't escape, he's going to do something unforgivable.

The air thickens – not with fog, but with electricity. Neal stretches out a hand into the night and tiny sparks link his fingertips. The clouds obscure the rising full moon, banking down the city lights. At three AM, even hours before dawn, the sky is a sickly orange, but Neal still wants to launch himself into it. He wants to fly long and hard above the clouds, to see the moon in its flight, to chase it into the sun.

He's grounded, bound to the earth by Dracon technology, but the electricity keeps pulling at him. Neal wonders what would happen if he cut the anklet off. His keeper's in the apartment, and he'll be the first to hear any alarms that would sound. Neal's only flown twice, and both times, the distances were kept short – not in response to Peter's dictates, but because he simply didn't have the skill and strength to stay aloft. He knows that even if he does manage to transform and take wing, Peter would catch him before he crossed the Hudson. He has no doubt that when that happens, he'll be spending the next forty years in an underground cell perfectly sized to render him insane. The penalty for breaking his parole, for exposing the soft-skins to danger.

Finally, lightning streaks the sky – a ribbon flash that turns his skin to scales for less than the space of a heartbeat – but the thunder comes too many seconds later. The storm's fury is still imminent and Neal can smell the ozone on the wind, as much an aphrodisiac as the scent of the Dracon in his bed. He wonders what lightning feels like on his wings and imagines that it's much like orgasm.

The black cuff burns him and with a swift and simple move, Neal snaps it off - Dracon strength in human form. He's free. He can ride the storm and escape Peter.

Peter.

He turns and looks back inside the apartment. He can't go anywhere. Peter is his and his alone. Dracons do not leave their hoard unprotected.

At that thought, the Change stops. His heart almost stops.

Peter is his hoard.

Lightning flashes again, closer this time. Thunder follows quicker and Neal's heart races. He holds onto the stonework and his fingers bleed. If he lets go, he'll either fly off or he'll go back to Peter and ...

Neal can't complete the thought.

Lightning screams in silence and now the electricity is boiling in his blood. His fingers are claws that rake furrows into the granite. Neal feels it crumble and turn to sand.

He needs… He needs…

"Neal?"

Over the booming thunder, he hears Peter's voice. It cools his blood, but he's still too afraid to let go of the stones.

Peter's standing next to him. In the silence, he says simply, "You broke your anklet."

Still clinging to the granite, he turns towards Peter. Unfamiliar syllables erupt from his mouth. "Argen draconis" The stones under his feet shake.

In the next flash of lightning, Neal sees Peter's face. He's smiling, but the smile is inhuman. It is beautiful and predatory and pleased. Peter's warm brown eyes are now glowing green, and his skin is mottled gold. "Yes, you are Dracon."

"K'charic." Neal finally lets go of the stone and reaches for Peter. He grasps his arm and rumbles, "K'charic ihm Ne'". The thunder shakes the whole city, or it might have been his words.

Peter responds and takes hold of Neal's bicep. "Ahc, k'charirm Ne'. K'charic ihm 'Ter."

Peter kisses him as the storm breaks overhead, lightning hitting the copper rods just a dozen feet above them. The power travels through them before going into earth.

Neal's world turns to blue and white fire. Except for two burning green flames that hold him against the madness.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal rolls over and buries his face in a pillow, trying to hide from the too-bright sunshine streaming through the skylight. His body aches, his mouth feels like Death Valley at high noon, and his first barely-conscious thought is, I need to cut back. No more drinking cheap vodka with Mozzie.

But he hadn't been drinking with Mozzie.

The memory of yesterday's events roll over him with all the subtlety of a steamroller. Against Peter's direct instructions, he'd been looking for Kate. He's not sure what they mean to each other anymore, but he still needs to understand why she just walked away from him.

Now, however, there's nothing left to understand. Neal remembers …

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

For weeks, Peter has had him working on mortgage fraud files. There's nothing about this task that requires brains, just an appetite for eating the bankers and lawyers who are defrauding property-rich elderly residents of Manhattan. His job is to make sure that the mortgages are fraudulent and give Diana and Clinton the names of the wrong-doers. They do their job – which is to lean on the guilty parties until they return the property or cancel the mortgage. If it's the first time, because there are no second chances. Repeat offenders get eaten.

Or so he's been told.

In between reviewing the endless stack of mortgage fraud cases, Neal was using government resources to locate Kate. The closest he came is a message Mozzie found on her father's gravesite in Queens. An origami lily and it's yellow. She's telling him goodbye, but Neal doesn't want to accept that. There has to be more to their story than this. He keeps digging, sending Mozzie on wild goose chases all over the five boroughs. There's a note hidden behind a girder near Grand Central – he decodes it but he doesn't believe the message – Leave me alone.

Moz works his own brand of magic and discovers that Kate took an apartment in a still-seedy neighborhood in Brooklyn. She was working as a waitress at a coffee shop for the better part of four years. Neal's heart breaks at that news – bright and beautiful Kate shouldn't be working for pennies and dodging customers' groping hands.

But he can't go see her – he's got the anklet, a two-mile radius, and Brooklyn's fifteen miles away. He wants Moz to grab her and bring her here but Moz never liked Kate and refuses, point blank. They argue and Moz storms off, muttering all sorts of things about foolish, suicidal dragons.

Against his better judgment, Neal goes to Peter. He begs him to set up a meeting; he says that all he wants to do is talk to her.

Annoyed that Neal's violated his stricture not to look for Kate, Peter reluctantly agrees. But he sets some ground rules. They aren't meeting in Neal's apartment and he's okay with that because he doesn't think Kate would go there. Neal suggests a public place, like a restaurant or maybe a park bench. Peter doesn't like that idea. He goes on to tell Neal that before he can talk to Kate, Peter needs to discuss some things with her. Things that shouldn't be overheard.

Neal doesn't like this. Kate has nothing to do with Peter and there's nothing that Peter needs to discuss with her, but Peter gives him a look that dries the words in his mouth. He agrees and Peter commands him to be patient.

For over a week, he's patient. He tells himself it's like casing a museum or a mark, and he must not to rush in and ruin things.

His patience is rewarded. Yesterday, just before five, Peter tells Neal to shut down and come with him, and from the expression on Peter's face – annoyance and anticipation – Neal knows that they're going to meet with Kate.

To his surprise, Peter takes them to a hotel not that far from June's mansion. It's small, discreet, and from the deferential way the desk clerk hands Peter a key card and keeps his head low, probably part of Peter's hoard.

The room is on the top floor, a suite with a separate bedroom. Peter instructs him to wait in there and Neal bristles at the command. Peter doesn't brook any disagreement and takes his arm and pushes him into the room.

Neal fumes, but he leaves the light off and the door open an inch or so. Just enough to see what's going on in the living room. Two minutes later, Kate walks in and Neal forces himself not to rush out to her.

Peter greets her with a touch of familiar contempt that makes Neal wonder at their relationship. Kate responds by pulling a gun on him.

Heart racing, mouth dry, Neal watches and listens as Peter commands Kate to put the gun down. The moment is tense and he can see Kate's finger tightening on the trigger. The range is too close and she'll kill Peter if she shoots him.

But Peter prevails and Kate puts the gun down and Neal can breathe again.

Peter starts questioning Kate, "Tell me what you know about David Siegel."

David Siegel? Who the hell is he?

Kate gets an ugly, mulish look on her face. "I know he's dead. "

"For three years. What else do you know about him?"

"He was murdered."

Peter sighs and all the glass in the room rattles. "Kate, enough with the games."

"He was one of you. A Fed."

"Tell me something I don't know." The whole room now vibrates and the bulb in the lamp next to Peter flickers.

Kate drops her chin, a tell he's never been able to coach out of her. She knows something about a murdered FBI agent and Neal feels sick.

Kate looks at Peter and the disgust in her eyes is unmistakable. She spits at his feet. "Filthy dragon."

Peter laughs at her contempt. "Oh, that's not nice, Kate. Not nice at all. Now – what about David Siegel?"

"He stood for us. He hated working next to you monsters. He believed in the cause and you murdered him. Your time will be over soon enough – you and your filthy kin will die."

Neal doesn't understand what Kate's saying. Beautiful, gentle, loving Kate who couldn't bring herself to swat a fly is advocating the death of a whole race. His race.

Peter asks a question that Neal, in his turmoil, hadn't considered. "If you hate Draconis so much, why come when I called?"

"Because I need to tell Neal that it's over and keep him away from me."

"Why? You were the good prison widow for almost four years, but then you tell him to shove off. That doesn't make sense."

"I know what he is."

"You do?"

"He's one of you – vile, disgusting dragons. I can't believe I slept with him. You tell him that if he doesn't stay away from me, I'm going to make what the prison guard did to him seem like a massage."

Unable to bear it anymore, Neal rushes out. "Kate, no."

She reaches for the gun but Peter's faster and he crushes the pistol like it was a paper cup. "Go, Kate. Go and tell your soft-skin allies that any challenge to the Draconis will not end well for them. We know who they are and where they are. Coexistence lasts only as long as it benefits us." The bulb in the lamp explodes and the floor-to-ceiling windows fracture.

Kate spits again and leaves. Neal is devastated. She was his – but he never really knew her.

He's trembling and Peter holds him. It would be so easy to sink into that pool of comfort, but he can't bear it. Not now. "Let go of me."

Peter steps away and that's almost just as unbearable.

"I want to go home."

Peter doesn't say anything and they leave. The walk back to June's is also conducted in silence. At the front door, Neal thanks Peter – his words are polite, emotionless – as if he was on a very bad first date.

Peter follows him inside and upstairs and even though Neal just wants to be alone, Peter's there – deep in his personal space.

"Get out." He needs to be alone. He needs to leave this city, this place. He wants to break the anklet and fly away. "Peter, please. Leave me be."

"Not tonight, Neal."

"No."

"Don't send me away."

Neal looks at Peter for the first time since Kate's dramatic exit, and what he sees stuns him. Peter is shattered, grief has scored deep lines in his face, his eyes lack the vibrancy that so defines him.

"Who was David Siegel?" Who was he to you?

If possible, Peter's expression gets bleaker. "He was someone I'd once cared about."

"Were you lovers?" Neal can taste the bitter acid of jealousy.

"No – he was soft-skin. I don't take humans for lovers. But he was my friend – or so I thought. He was also a part of my hoard. His death …"

Neal still doesn't fully understand the complexities of hoard-law, but he can comprehend Peter's grief.

"And now – I learn that he was ascar'hic, a Kin-hater, that he might have sought my death, or that of other Draconis."

"Kate could be lying. How did you know she knew him?"

"He was killed a block from her apartment. He frequented the coffee shop where she works." Peter rubs his forehead. "None of this makes sense."

He touches Peter and the desire that's been simmering between them since the moment he was released into Peter's custody bursts out of control. Peter kisses him, pushing him hard against the nearest wall, he's holding Neal's face between his hands, forcing him to accept this contact. But Neal doesn't need to be coerced, there is nothing Peter could do to him that would be against his will.

"Don't send me away, Neal. Not tonight."

Neal responds, "Not ever." Strange syllables crowd his tongue. "K'charic ihm Ne'." He doesn't understand what he's saying, but Peter's skin grows hot under his hands. He repeats the Drathic words and books fall from the shelves, paintings crash to the floor. "K'charic ihm Ne'."

Peter screams and rips his clothes off, and Neal returns the favor. They are naked and writhing against each other, skin slick with sweat. The air is hard to breathe – there's so much power in it. His easel crashes as Peter slams him onto the table. Without any preparation, Peter penetrates him, but there's no pain – or maybe everything is pain and fire and the world is burning to ashes.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


The sound of pipes squealing interrupts his memories and a few minutes later, Peter comes in, wearing nothing more than droplets of water and a towel wrapped around his waist.

He gazes at him, his eyes still touched with green. "Are you okay?"

Neal nods, not knowing what to say.

Peter sits down on the bed. "How much to you remember?"

"Everything. Kate, David Siegel, what happened here." He looks out into the living room and sees the wreckage they'd left in their wake. "And I have no regrets."

Peter smiles and the green fades from his eyes. "Good, because regrets would be difficult now."

"What do you mean?"

Peter touches his own bicep, and a tattoo appears. A blue and gold Dracon is wrapped around his arm. But maybe it's not a tattoo, because tattoos don't move and change shape like this one is doing. It's chasing its tail and then it's sleeping and then it's sitting up and looking at him. Neal thinks he's going crazy, but it looks like the Dracon is laughing at him.

"What is it?"

"K'charic ihm Ne'. Do you remember saying that?"

"Yes – but I don't know what it means."

Peter doesn't say anything, he just stares at Neal. Neal repeats the syllables in his mind and something unlocks. "You belong to me."

Peter nods.

"Did I just claim you as hoard?" Neal's appalled and terrified and thrilled at the thought.

"Not … quite."

"Oh." Of course, he's disappointed.

"You've invoked a higher claim."

Neal blinks.

"You've asserted pair-bond rights."

"Over you?"

Peter nods and he's smiling.

Neal remembers something else. He remembers what Peter said to him just as the storm broke. "Ahc, k'charirm Ne'. K'charic ihm 'Ter.". "You accepted the bond." Neal looks down at his arm, where Peter had gripped him. A gold and green dragon looks up from its grooming and smirks at him.

Peter threads his fingers through Neal's hair and brushes his jaw with his thumb. He kisses him gently, so gently Neal wants to weep.

"What does this mean?"

Peter's thumb caresses his lips. "It means we are k'charirhim, it means everything changes."

FIN