oper_1895: Neal Caffrey in a suit. (Default)
[personal profile] oper_1895
Title: The Hard Way
Author: oper_1895
Rating: R
Pairing: Neal/Peter(/Elizabeth)
Words: ~1500
Spoilers: None
Contains: Takedown/resistance/rough body play
Summary: For the kink-bingo square Rough Sex, in the Asexual!Neal ‘verse.
Every time he tried to do anything Peter was there, pushing, holding, hitting him. Stopping him. Neal didn’t want to lose this fight but he knew he was going to.

Betas: Many thanks to [personal profile] jumpuphigh and [personal profile] bientot.


Neal grunted as he hit the ground in a barely controlled fall. He watched Peter warily as Peter stepped back to let Neal get to his feet uncontested. He caught Peter’s eye and felt heat sear down his spine. That look in Peter’s eyes said, clear as day, ’I’m letting you get up because I can put you back down any time I want to.’ It was indulgence, and complete control. Neal’s panting breath caught in his throat as he ducked away from another strike. It sounded almost like a sob but it was too sweet, even Neal could hear that. From the stutter in Peter‘s normally smooth movements, he heard it to.

Neal’s skin was sticky with sweat. He blinked, eyes stinging as a drop of sweat slid into his eye. Peter took advantage of the distraction, slamming Neal into the wall. Neal was stunned at the double strike of the wall and Peter’s body pressing into his back. But this wasn’t supposed to be easy for Peter; Neal had something to prove. Neal got a hand up against the wall to get some leverage and shoved Peter off. Peter made a small noise of surprise. Neal grinned, though it was more to keep his lips clear of his teeth so he could breath more efficiently than from from any pleasure. He’d held Peter off, but the effort had cost him dearly. Neal’s muscles trembled with the after-effects of his sudden effort. He threw a quick jabbing attack to keep Peter back as he tried to catch his breath.

Peter batted the attack to the side, and smirked. Neal had surprised him, but that was all he had. Every time Neal tried to do anything Peter was there, pushing, holding, hitting him. Stopping him. Fatigue settled heavily onto his body. Neal knew his forearms and shins were already forming bruises and a deep ache in his right thigh said he‘d be limping for a couple of days. His throat felt raw, his lungs too small. His lips were sticking to tacky teeth in a dry mouth. He felt complete in a way, satisfied that they’d found this distinct limit to his abilities. He didn’t want to lose this fight but he knew he was going to.

Peter shifted forward, and Neal could see the attack going for his lower ribs, but he was too slow to do anything about it. Every muscle in his torso clenched as pain flared through his body. His chest was too tight to catch a breath and in that moment Peter grabbed his left arm, his leading arm. Neal had a second after he caught his breath to realize the trouble he was in before Peter had him bent over with one hand on Neal’s wrist, twisting it up and around with his other hand pressed down on Neal’s shoulder blade, keeping him from squirming out of the lock.

“Get down,” Peter growled. Peter’s hands were strong and deft as they pushed down and forward, forcing Neal to drop to a knee. Neal hissed in pain, braced his free hand on the ground and kicked out, trying to distract Peter enough that he could break the pressure-pain in his arm, but Peter had all the control. Peter just took another step forward, and pushed harder. Neal collapsed, barely managed catch himself enough to avoid having his face smeared into the floor, but any further resistance was impossible. Any movement other than what Peter wanted just caused him more pain. He was splayed out on his stomach, trying to scrabble even further forward when Peter stopped.

Neal lay panting with one cheek pressed to the floor, the fingers on his free hand splayed by his head as he tried to squirm away from the grip that didn‘t give him any room to move. Peter just growled and pushed a gentle kick into his exposed ribs, a warning that Neal was in no position to push his luck. There were no ropes, no restraints, and no tricks. There were just two bodies and yet there was nowhere that Neal could go.


Peter waited until Neal stopped fighting against his hold. Until he went limp with his cheek pressed to the floor, and faint lines of pain drawn between his brows.

“Settle down,” Peter hissed. He quickly shifted his grip on Neal’s arm and tugged both of Neal’s wrists up between his shoulder blades. It was a less effective pin, but it it meant Peter could get closer. Peter straddled Neal’s hips to kneel over his legs, leaned his weight onto Neal’s wrists. Neal grunted at the pressure and struggled for a moment, as Peter knew he would. He was getting close to where Neal needed to be. The first hint was when Neal went non-verbal, when his pithy quips stopped, as his brain settled into calm static. Now Peter was waiting for his body to follow.

“Relax.” Peter leaned forward until he knew Neal would be able to feel his breath against his neck. This time the sound Neal made was much more of a sob, and once he started he couldn’t seem to stop. Every breath came out a whimper. Peter dropped his forehead to Neal’s neck, and held his wrists tight as Neal trembled through the adrenaline crash.

“You know that no matter what you do, you’re not going to be able to get away from me.” Peter whispered, harsh and sure. Neal shuddered and his breath went out in a long slow exhale. His face was slack, his eyes unfocused, and Peter knew he had gotten it exactly right.

“Do you hear me, Neal?” Peter tugged Neal’s wrist. He wondered for a moment if Neal was too far gone to respond, but Neal nodded, slowly and deliberately.

“I will always be there Neal, and I will always win.”

Neal nodded again, and the residual tremors faded out until he was limp and sated in Peter‘s hands. Peter gave him a few more minutes, then sat up and placed Neal’s hands gently at the small of his back. “Stay.” Peter removed his hands from Neal’s wrists slowly, waiting for some sign of struggle but Neal remained soft and compliant. “Good boy.”

Peter pressed a kiss to Neal’s temple before he stood up, stepping carefully around Neal’s splayed legs. He puttered around the room, collecting a bottle of sports drink and trail mix for Neal while swigging a bottle of water. Then, he let himself collapse into the chair near where Neal was lying. That had been intensely satisfying. He wasn’t sure which was better: the fact that he finally had the opportunity to throw Neal around as much as he wanted, or the effect that it had on Neal, but they were definitely doing this again. Neal’s breathing was deep, even, and slow, and there wasn’t an ounce of tension left in his body. Peter would have thought he was asleep except for the slow blink of his eyes.

Peter leaned back and waited, letting Neal come back in his own time. This was one of the few times Peter had seen Neal completely relaxed and he wasn’t going to waste a second of it.

When Neal started to reanimate, Peter draped a soft blanket over him. “You can sit up when you’re ready.” Neal startled slightly at Peter’s voice, blinking to clear his focus, but the twitchy tension that had been radiating from Neal all week was gone.

Neal sat up with a groan, shifting to lean back against Peter’s legs. He put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and let out a long sigh. “That was good.” His voice was rough and dry. Peter handed him a bottle.

Neal sucked greedily at the sports drink, then tipped his head back to watch Peter, the beginnings of concern crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Was it good for you, too?”

“Yeah,” Peter was quick to reassure. Neal occasionally could get caught up in thoughts that he was asking too much, as if he was the only one that got anything out of these games. “Yeah, it was good.”

“Good.” Neal echoed, settling down again with an absent smile. Peter was pretty sure Neal wasn’t even aware of how his floating happiness bled through onto his expression. He leaned down to tuck the blanket more securely around Neal’s shoulders and Neal snuggled in closer. “Thank you.” Neal murmured, pressing a kiss into Peter’s wrist.

“You’re welcome.” Peter said. He let his hand linger on Neal’s shoulder; comfort for them both. It had been a fairly heavy scene, and Peter could never let himself fully relax until Neal was well settled into the aftercare. But now that Neal was properly cared for, Peter could let himself revel. He deserved it after all; Neal had tried everything he had and it hadn’t even been close to enough. Now Neal was sitting at Peter’s feet, and Elizabeth was waiting upstairs to reward the victor. Peter grinned, sitting back to sprawl out in his chair. Life was good.


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oper_1895: Neal Caffrey in a suit. (Default)

February 2012

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