She kissed his forehead.
"How does it feel?" she asked.
He tugged with his arms. He wasn't going anywhere. "Perfect," he murmured.
Then she said, "Spread your legs. Nice and wide."
He could lift his head and look down. He watched her hand between his legs. He couldn't really see what she was doing, but then he felt the plug press inside. He dropped his head back again with a groan. It was so big. He remembered to breathe, eyes closed, and relaxed. It slid inside him. All the way inside.
Her fingertips grazed lightly over his balls and he gasped. She laughed. He looked down to watch her stroke his cock. He really couldn't get any harder if he wanted to, but she loved to tease him when he wore a cock ring. "Good boy," she said, all but purring at him. "You're being such a good boy."
"Thank you," he said. Smiled. Shifted a little, and then her hand moved away. The blindfold came next, blocking out everything in the room.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"I'm ready," he said. Opened his mouth, accepted the ball gag. Time to wait. Just a few minutes.
"Good boy, Neal," Elizabeth said. She kissed his forehead again, and then he couldn't hear her, smell her, feel her nearby. He knew she wasn't far; he knew she wouldn't leave him alone until she went to meet Peter in the hall.
They took very good care of their boy.
His legs were still free. He shifted restlessly. Waited. Tried to make the plug shift inside him when he moved his hips. He felt her hand on his ankle. "Be still," she murmured. "You're being such a good boy. Just be still."
He made a little noise of acknowledgement behind the gag. Fell still. Quiet. Waited. Her hand moved away. And he drifted, in the dark, arousal pooled hot and heavy in his belly. Quiet; still; hard; aching for Peter.
Elizabeth had him all afternoon, all to herself. He'd been her good boy. Knelt for her. Tasted every inch of her; made her come on his tongue. He was a good boy. She'd rewarded him--she let him come when she straddled his waist and rode him, after he'd made her come again. They lay together on the couch after, spent, and she told him what Peter had asked her to do.
Neal had gone down on her again when she was done telling him what Peter expected when he came home. And he was hard again, now, waiting. Aching.
He heard the door open and he gasped behind his gag. Elizabeth touched his cheek. Soon. Neal had been such a good boy for El today; he wanted to be a good boy for Peter. He shifted again, spreading his legs wide in invitation. Vulnerable. Open. Wide.
Even when Peter came into the room and saw Neal laid out for him, he stayed quiet. Made him keep waiting. God, he was perfect. Everything was perfect. Even though he'd told El exactly what he wanted, fantasy could never be as good as the reality of Neal Caffrey, bound, gagged, blindfolded, waiting for him in his bed.
Neal could smell Peter now. He let out a tiny noise; not a whimper. Not a moan. Just a noise, an acknowledgement. Peter was here. Peter could see him. He could feel Peter's eyes on his naked body. He spread his legs just that little bit wider.
Damn. Neal moaned this time. Lifted his hips and let them fall back down to the bed. The next noise he made from behind the gag sounded distinctly like he tried to echo Peter's word.
"Yes, I know you know," Peter said, footsteps clear as he walked around the bed.
Neal couldn't possibly get any harder than he already was. Peter was inspecting him, wasn't he? He turned his head a little in the direction he figured Peter had gone.
"Always need to be watched... always need to know that someone's got their eye on you," he murmured. "You know I can't look away."
Another moan. Neal gave a quick nod, careful not to dislodge his blindfold. He wanted to talk to Peter. It would be so much better if he could talk to Peter. With Peter. Tease and torment each other with words.
Peter was in control. And that?
That was the way it should be.
Peter kept his movements slow and deliberate, kneeling on the edge of the bed, letting Neal feel the displacement of the mattress.
Neal's hands curled into fists, then relaxed. The next sound he made sounded like 'Peter'. He moved one leg, trying to touch him. Oh, God, he ached. He wanted. He needed. Needed.
"I don't have to do anything to you until I want to," Peter said. And he let Neal hear the slow, deliberate sound of his tie coming off, silk rubbing against silk. He let it fall onto Neal's stomach.
Neal gasped and arched his back. The tie felt hot. No, cold. Warm. Silk against his skin. He wanted Peter to touch him. He needed Peter to touch him.
His shirt was next, jacket already abandoned. One button at a time, close enough that Neal could hear the sound of the fabric being slipped off of his arms as he removed his shirt.
Neal couldn't just hear it. He could imagine it. He could imagine Peter's fingers working the buttons. He could imagine the skin being exposed under the shirt. He could see Peter as he slipped the shirt from his shoulders. He shifted again on the bed, restless. Eager.
"Patience," Peter chided, although there was no heat behind it. "I'm not in a hurry. Why? Are you?" he asked, His shirt went over the back of a chair, and he tugged his belt through the loops, laying the leather out across Neal's stomach as well.
Leather. Belt. Neal gasped and arched again, trembling all over for a moment.
The leather on his skin was loud. On his ass. On his thighs. Again. Again. Again. Until he cried. Peter wanted his tears. Peter liked his tears. Arms above his head. Up on his toes. Aching. Crying. Tears for Peter. Peter wiped them from his cheeks with his fingertips. Kissed him. Dropped the belt. Shoved inside him moments later. Fucked him until he screamed. Peter. Peter's belt. Pain.
Neal moaned, head tilted back.
Peter smiled. "Yes," he murmured. "That's the belt I wore today." He knew that Neal would remember. "You were so beautiful for me that day."
Neal's breathing sounded loud in his own ears. He couldn't hold still anymore. He needed Peter to touch him. Now. Touch him now. Touch. Taste. Tease. Torment. Neal's entire world had narrowed down to this. His body, on this bed, with Peter. That belt on his stomach. The belt that had given him such sweet pain.
Peter loved watching Neal like this. Neal, who drank in touch and sensation like a sponge, needy and desperate. "Do you remember which tie I was wearing? Did you recognize it? I bet you'd remember the taste of it. How it felt shoved in your mouth."
Whimpering, Neal lifted his hips, fucked the air a moment, then dropped to the bed again.
Peter's hand in his hair. He pulled Neal's head back. Tugged hard. Tears sprang to Neal's eyes. El's hand on Neal's cock. Stroking him off. Getting him off. He hadn't been able to stop himself. Tie in his mouth. Peter growled at him. Dirty boy. Whore. The leather on his skin was loud. On his ass. On his thighs. Again. Again. Again. Until he cried.
"You know I love that, don't you?" Peter said, moving in closer, still too far away to touch. "Tears on your cheeks, a sob in your throat. And your dick so hard it hurts, because you love it. You should see yourself like that." A pause, and when Peter spoke again, the smirk on his face is practically audible. "Wait... you did see yourself that way. The mirror. The camera."
Spreader bar. Hands up behind his back. Bound; ankles and wrists. Careful with his posture. Maintained balance. Maintained eye contact with himself. Elizabeth behind him. Fingernails grazed over his skin. He was hard, so hard, aching. Her hand on his cock. Peter sat nearby. With the camera.
Neal loved it too. Peter's words went straight to his dick.
"Elizabeth told me about your day," he said. "Everything you did to her... everything she did to you. You're very spoiled, aren't you?" he said, sounding amused. "And yet here you are, cock leaking you're so hard. It's never enough, is it? You always want more."
Neal spread his legs and lifted his hips, just like the whore Peter said he was. Peter's whore, legs spread wide, begging wordlessly for more. Bound to the bed. He wanted more. He wanted to be touched.
Peter wasn't stupid, and Peter wasn't blind. He knew what Neal wanted. He also knew that he wasn't that soft a touch to give in this quickly. "You're aching for it," he murmured, moving his hand so it was just above Neal's stomach and watching him carefully, not about to get caught and accidentally make contact. "I'm so close. So close to touching. Can you feel it?"
Neal moaned, long and loud. He tried to push himself up to Peter's hand but couldn't quite make it. He moaned again, this time in frustration.
"You like it when I make you wait," Peter said. There was that smirk again. "You like it when I don't make it easy. You like the challenge."
Bound. Tied. Made to work his way across the floor, on his knees. To Elizabeth. Made her come, again and again, on his tongue. It took forever to get to her. She touched herself as she watched him. Peter watched. Peter liked watching. When Neal finally tasted her it was incredible.
Neal tugged at his bonds. His arms started to ache. Behind his gag, he said, "Please."
Peter laughed, low and dirty, getting closer... and still out of range. Just barely. "You beg like a whore, even with your mouth full," he whispered. "You'd beg me for anything. Everything. Spread yourself wide like you are right now and plead with me to take what I wanted. And whatever I took, whatever I needed, that's enough for you, isn't it? If I get mine... you get yours."
Neal trembled. He panted for breath as his heart pounded in his ears. He was almost surprised he could even hear Peter's voice. Dirty. So dirty.
Twelve minutes. Cheek on the floor. Torso down. Ass up. Twelve minutes. Knees wide. Hands back, spread himself open, held just like that. Whore. Begged for it. Begged to be fucked. Used. Fuck me like a whore. Your whore. Your dirty whore. Fuck me. Fuck me now. Please.
"You'd be begging right now if I took that gag off. I wouldn't be able to get you to shut up," Peter whispered, right against his ear, so close Neal could feel his breath. "Sometimes I think my dick ends up in your throat just so I can hear myself think. Especially when you've been begging for it."
Thirteen minutes. Peter's hand was in his hair. Jerked his head up. Shoved his cock down Neal's throat. Fucked his mouth. Choked him. Hot come on Neal's face. Peter called him beautiful. His beautiful whore. El fucked him that night. The toy was huge. Neal cried. It hurt so good. Felt so good. He came on Peter's hand.
Neal wanted to see Peter's face. He needed to. He needed to look up into Peter's eyes. He wanted his mouth. He didn't need his hands. He needed to be touched, but not to touch. He wanted Peter's cock inside him, and he wanted to watch. Wanted to beg. He tried again from behind the ball-gag.
"It's not good enough, is it?" Peter said. "The plug. It's not big enough. Not wide enough for you. Do you think there's anything we could shove up your ass that would actually be too big for you? Where you wouldn't moan and beg and lift your ass up for more?"
Peter's hand. Inside him. His hand. El held him the entire time, stroked his hair, whispered to him. Told him how beautiful he was. Peter's hand. Fucked by Peter's hand. Better than any toy.
Neal lifted his hips off the bed again. He wanted the plug out of his ass now. He needed contact. Flesh and heat. Peter between his legs.
"I know you remember," Peter said, voice getting more intense. "I know that you can practically feel it now. Can practically feel me touching you. My hand, my cock. My fingers in your mouth, my hand inside you. Hands, lips, teeth, touching you all over, inside, everywhere."
Neal lifted his head and let it fall back again. It was about that moment he noticed the blindfold was damp. He whimpered behind his gag. He needed. Ached. "Please. Please." It was hard to talk. Hard to make out the words he wanted to say. He needed Peter so badly. "Please."
Peter was breathing faster, enough that Neal could feel it against his cheek. "Please... please, please, please," he repeated. "Please touch me. Please fuck me. Please suck my dick, please kiss me, please let me touch you, please let me suck you. Please hurt me, make me cry, make me bleed, fuck me until I feel like I'm going to come apart," he listed. He went quiet for a few long moments, nothing audible but their breathing. "No," he said, letting that linger for another few long beats. "Come any way. Come now."
Neal's hips started moving. He couldn't stop them. He fucked the air but couldn't find any relief. Peter's voice went through him, right through him, making him feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
But there was no relief. He couldn't come. The damn cock ring. Neal outright sobbed, muffled by his gag.
"Didn't you hear me?" Peter's voice got lower, darker. "You're going to let a little thing like a cock ring stop you from doing what I tell you to? I've made you hold off before without a ring, when you were sobbing, begging me to let you come, and I kept telling you no. No, no, no, over and over again, until you couldn't see through the tears," he said. "I've made you scream, made you come three times in an hour, while you cursed me in languages I don't even think you speak. And now I'm asking you again. I'm telling you, that I want you to come, for me." He moved up, straddling Neal's body and still managing not to touch him, leaning down until his lips were almost on Neal's. "Come for me, baby," he whispered, right before he kissed him.
He screamed from behind the gag. The gag prevented the kiss from behind a proper kiss. He shook all over by the time he realised why he was screaming. His brain was slower than his body. Peter had made him come and never even touched his cock. Just by talking to him; telling him what to do.
God. Peter was this close to coming himself, just a hairs breadth away from completely losing his mind, just from hearing, seeing Neal come apart like that. He braced himself above Neal's body, breathing hard, feeling himself tremble.
Neal's breath hitched in his throat. He sobbed again. He couldn't find the strength to move, but he managed another "please" into the gag. And "Peter". And "please" again. He wanted his eyes and his mouth back. He wanted to taste Peter. He wanted--well, whatever Peter wanted from him.
"Shhh." Peter's voice was soft, gentle. The gag came off first, set off to the side before he eased off the blindfold, touching Neal's cheek, damp with tears and sweat.
Neal blinked his eyes open and looked up at Peter. He rubbed his cheek against Peter's hand. "Please," he whispered, hoarsely, with another hitching breath. He was shaking.
"Please what, Neal?" Peter asked, cupping his cheek, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone.
"Anything. I want. Please?" Neal turned his head and brushed his lips over Peter's palm. "Please."
"Greedy," Peter murmured, smiling as he leaned down to kiss him. "Spoiled," he added, kissing him again, harder.
Neal leaned up into the kiss, moaning softly. "Yes," he murmured back against Peter's lips. "Yes. Please. I want your cock."
"You always want my cock," Peter reminded him, licking at Neal's tears.
"Please." Neal tugged on his bonds. "Please. I need it. Want it. You."
Peter could deny Neal all day if he wanted to. Denying himself when Neal was begging like he was, that was a different story. He leaned down for a hard kiss, biting at Neal's lip before he moved up, high enough to straddle Neal's chest, and push his hand into his hair. "Come here," he whispered. "Take it."
Neal let out a moan as he let Peter tilt his head up. As he let Peter push his cock into his mouth. Down his throat. He choked--
Choked. Struggled. Needed. Peter. Peter's cock. Peter fucked his face. Held his head and did exactly what Neal asked him to. Came down his throat with a shout. Tears rolled down Neal's cheeks. It was the first time Peter made him cry.
--found himself back in the present. He opened his eyes and looked up at Peter, above him, gorgeous. Glorious. Thrusting forward into Neal's mouth, over his tongue, into his throat.
There were times when even Peter had doubts. Where he wondered if what he and Neal were doing was wise. Not the part where Neal was in his custody, not the part where he had a wife that he loved (of course, it helped that she loved Neal too), but the part where he could take like this. The part that loved the tears on Neal's cheeks.
And every single time, his doubts were erased by the enthusiasm, the need that he saw in Neal every time he did it.
Now Neal wanted to touch Peter. He wanted to grab hold of his hips and never let go. Really feel him as he thrust into Neal's mouth. He whimpered as Peter withdrew; fell silent as he pushed inside again. And again. He needed to taste Peter's pleasure. All of him.
Peter didn't take it easy on Neal. Not in bed, not out of it. Neal didn't want to be coddled. He wanted this. Peter's dick in his mouth, in his throat, taking away his breath, making him gag. His hand gripped tighter in Neal's hair, hips moving faster. Close. God, he was close.
Neal could feel it. Even if he wasn't touching Peter, he knew when Peter was close to coming. It excited him. It always did--and if he hadn't just come, Neal knew it would make him hard. Hard as hell.
A few more thrusts into Neal's wet, willing (God, so willing) mouth, and Peter's entire body went stiff, lips parted in a shout as he started to come. After one pulse down Neal's throat, he pulled him back by the hair, finishing off by coming all over his face.
Neal gasped, eyes closed for a moment while he felt Peter's come splash over his skin. And then he sighed. Relaxed. Felt entirely boneless as he sagged against the mattress.
Peter's hand stayed where it was, but he relaxed too, sinking back onto his heels, barely holding himself up off Neal's body.
Neal wasn't sure how long it was, exactly, before he opened his eyes. When he did, he looked wordlessly up at Peter. Still and silent, lying there, watching. Drinking in the sight of Peter above him.
And Peter smiled at him, touching his cheek. "Good boy," he murmured. After a moment or two, he started to move, groaning softly as he moved off of Neal's body, reaching down to carefully take off the cock ring.
Neal sighed happily, eyes fluttering shut. And, purely on instinct, he spread his legs again. It seemed like the right thing to do with Peter's hand down there.
"Whore," Peter said, murmuring fondly. "Spoiled."
Neal purred happily. He spread his legs wider. The plug was still inside him, after all.
But Peter didn't go anywhere near the plug, resting his hand against the inside of Neal's thigh.
Neal squirmed. "Peter..."
"Love you," Neal mumbled.
"Love you too," Peter said. "But that's not what you were going to say. It's what you're saying to try and avoid saying what you were going to say. Not that it isn't true."
"Feel good," Neal said. His voice was rough and far-away sounding. "So good. Done with the plug, though."
"You might be," Peter said, leaning in a bit closer. "I'm not though."
Neal sighed and squirmed. "Hate you."
Peter smiled at him. "I know you do," he said. "Hey, Neal?"