Title: Top to Bottom
Pairing: Neal/Peter (implied Neal/Peter/El)
Spoilers: Nope nope, villain of the week is entirely made up.
Warnings: Defiling of a library?
Summary: Neal Caffrey doesn't place bets without knowing the odds.
A/N: Apologies in advance if I wake up tomorrow morning, am ASHAMED of the horrible pun that is the title of this fic, and change it. FAIR WARNING.
"A little harder," Peter said, hissing in a breath.
Above him, Neal pulled an irritated face, but obeyed; he pushed into Peter with a little more force.
"Yeah," Peter said, throwing his head back, growling. "Just like that."
"You--" Neal said. Peter glared up at him, and Neal glared back. Around them, shelves of books towered, intoxicating and a little dirty. Neal--who was himself intoxicating and a little dirty, and sympathized--had always loved libraries.
He and Kate had fucked in one, once. Literally fucked, not like this, this slow, teasing, ridiculous thing he is doing with Peter in the fiction section at the New York Public. Kate had had led him into the the back of the stacks at Columbia, in the middle of the goddamn day, and they'd torn at each other, carnal and raw. You needed a student ID to get in there--they'd forged them, just for kicks. It had been hot and unbelievable and...disrespectful. Neal had felt a little guilty about it, after.
"Fuck," Peter groaned, as Neal slid back slowly and pushed into him again, harder, like he wanted.
He knew he wasn't going to feel guilty about this.
"What've we got?"
Neal threw himself into the chair in front of Peter's desk, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. They'd been up late the night before. He handed Peter the coffee he'd picked up from the cart outside, taking a greedy sip of his own cup. Peter raised an eyebrow.
"Bought me coffee," he said, dryly. "Trying to butter me up for something, Caffrey?"
Neal smiled. "Just thought you might need some; I know you had a hard night." They locked eyes, determination and a little fire behind it--everything was a competition, in the end. After a long moment Peter broke the gaze, gave in to the slow flush creeping up his neck.
"Yeah, well," he murmured. Neal's smile widened, even as he had to fight the urge to splay himself across the desk, glass windows be damned; Peter was oddly compelling when he was flustered.
"So," Neal repeated, to distract himself from this, "what've we got?"
Peter sighed. "The usual. Cold cases, that Cardovan thing from last week--"
"I told you, he's holed up at his property in Bombay if he's anywhere--"
"I know," Peter said, and scowled. "But we've still got to follow up on any leads."
Neal sighed. "Right, right. I know. That's really it?"
"More or less." Peter scrubbed at his face, and Neal sympathized--slow days at work meant paperwork.
"Oh, yeah," Peter added, flipping through a folder, "and some nut job called last night. Told us he was going to steal Ptolemy's Cosmographia from the New York Public Library."
Neal sat up. "Can I see that?"
Wordlessly, Peter handed over the file, and Neal flipped through it. Anonymous tip giving the location, the target, and the date of the expected robbery...not to mention the transcript of the call, which demonstrated a speech pattern he remembered.
"This isn't a nut job," he said, slowly. When Peter raised his eyebrows, Neal continued, "This is an old acquaintance of mine, this is his M.O."
"What," Peter scoffed, "warning his intended victims beforehand? He must not be very good."
"He's not very good," Neal murmured. "He's great."
He flipped through the file--there wasn't much in it, just the transcript of the tip-off and of the courtesy call to the library. He noticed that the head librarian seemed surprisingly unconcerned by the idea of someone stealing such a rare item, and grinned. Double-crossing on an inside job--that was Riley's style, all right.
"Look," he said, pointing to the transcript of the call with the librarian. "Right here. She says 'That's not even at this branch right now.' But that's not true--I happen to know exactly where they keep the Cosmographia, and it's where the caller claims it is."
Peter gave him a dirty look, and Neal raised his hands. "What?" he protested. "It's valuable! I may have looked into it. In my youth! I'm not interested in it now."
Peter held his gaze and then sighed and let it go. He looked the file from Neal, lifting the top sheet to read the transcript of the phone call with the librarian again.
"I think you just don't want to do cold cases," he said, and Neal could tell from his voice that he was intrigued, but would need a bit of convincing. He leaned across the desk, a little too close, and smiled.
"Tell you what," he murmured, "let's make this interesting."
"And how do you propose we do that?"
Neal shrugged. "We check it out," he said. "Stake out the library, see what happens. If you're right, I'll try out that cock ring you've been so urgent about."
Peter hissed in a shocked, aroused breath and Neal, who in actual fact had absolutely no compunctions about putting on a cock ring, knew he'd been right to save that incentive for a rainy day.
Peter gave him a contemplative look. "Alright," he said, slowly. "And if you're right?"
Neal smiled, just this side of vicious. "If I'm right," he said, "we fuck in the library, and I get to top."
Neal wasn't much of a gambling man. Oh, sure, he took risks--massive risks, even--but when it came right down to, he tried not to go too far out on a limb unless he was pretty damn sure it wasn't going to break. He liked betting when he knew he could win; it was something he'd learned in Vegas, counting cards.
With Peter below him, gritting his teeth to keep himself from admitting how fucking good this was, Neal knew he'd been right to push at his limits. Riley had been exactly where Neal thought he would be, using the entrance he hadn't directed the surveillance to, and the expression of apprehension of Peter's face as they'd cuffed him had been...delicious. Now the whole place was closed and no one had noticed the duct tape Neal had slipped carefully over the lock, allowing them back in.
"Criminal," Peter had muttered, and Neal had just rolled his eyes and dragged Peter up into the back stacks.
Now, pants long gone, tie askew, shirt unbuttoned, Peter wasn't calling him a criminal. He was just fighting back every moan and occasionally offering more directives than his position should really allow. Neal didn't normally have a problem with Peter's overbearing nature--in fact, he normally allowed it full reign at least once a night--but this was getting to be a little much.
"Can't you go any faster, Caffrey?" Peter snapped, and Neal grinned down at him, long and slow. He stopped moving and Peter groaned aloud, grinding himself forward, trying to restart the motion.
"Neal," he growled, "what the fuck are you doing?"
Neal's grin widened. He leaned close. "I think someone," he whispered, "needs to learn the meaning of being on the bottom."
Peter glared. "Your cock is inside of me," he hissed, glancing around warily, like even now someone might hear them. "Which was not the easiest thing in the world to handle, I'll remind you. What meaning could I possibly be missing?"
"For starters," Neal said, sitting back and ignoring Peter's muffled gasp, "I babied you, putting this in. All that lube, fifteen full minutes of stretching, not to mention the rimming--"
"That was your dirty little idea--"
"And you liked it," Neal snapped, "so shut up." Peter sucked in a petulant breath but stayed silent, and Neal ran a finger down his chest. "Now," he said, musingly, "the first rule to being on the bottom is that you don't call the shots."
"I always call the shots, Caffrey. Get moving."
Neal sighed, and looked away from Peter to glance at the books lining the nearest shelf. Peter made a low growling noise and Neal's cock twitched, but he ignored it, running his fingers along the spines instead.
"You know," he said, "I haven't read any Steinbeck since before prison. That's just not right, and since I've got all this time..."
"You have no time," Peter hissed. "You have no time at all because you are occupied with fucking me. "
"Can't top someone who doesn't know how to bottom," Neal returned, pulling East of Eden out of the shelf and flipping from the first page. "Hmmm," he said, "I'd forgotten what a good read this is."
Peter released a huff of breath and took it upon himself to grind onto Neal's cock again. Neal raised an eyebrow and didn't glance up from the book.
"I can pull out," he said, turning the page. "I will, if you keep doing that. Is that what you want?"
Peter didn't answer, and Neal did glance up then. "Well, is it?"
"No," Peter ground out.
"Hmmm," Neal said, and went back to his reading. Peter made a terrible, desperate little noise and Neal wasn't entirely sure he could keep this charade up long enough to make his point--but he was pretty sure. He didn't bet without knowing his odds.
"Fuck," Peter whimpered. He clenched around Neal's cock and Neal inched backward, taking care to look like he was doing it unintentionally.
"No!" Peter said, and then bit his lip. Neal grinned into the Steinbeck.
"Now, Peter," he chided, "if I was this mouthy with you, my punishment would be a lot worse than this."
"That's not fair," Peter snapped. Neal raised both eyebrows.
"Really?" he hissed, and he slammed himself forward just once, hitting Peter's prostate. Peter cried out and arched up against him, scrabbling at the carpet for a hand-hold. Neal smirked.
"Turnabout's fair play, you know," he murmured, in Peter's ear.
"You are going right back to prison," Peter muttered, and Neal grinned at him.
"Am I?" he asked, tracing the tender skin around Peter's left nipple with a fingernail. Peter clenched his fists and didn't respond. "If you're going to be so impolite, Agent Burke, we can just stop this all right now."
Peter rolled his eyes. "Come on, you know I'm not really going to--"
"You want me to fuck you?" Neal asked, putting the book down entirely and leaning too close, so close he could feel Peter's intake of breath on his cheek.
"I--" Peter said.
"Admit it," Neal said, "or I'm not going to. Rules are rules."
"You never follow the rules, Neal."
"Ah," Neal said, "but you do. Do you want me to fuck you?"
"Y--esss," Peter ground out. Neal kissed him once, lightly.
"Then ask me to."
"Fuck me," Peter said, at once. Neal shook his head, letting a sardonic little chuckle slip out of his mouth.
"I said ask me, Peter," he murmured, "not tell me. There's a difference."
Peter gritted his teeth so hard his whole face went bright red. "Please," he managed, so quietly Neal almost didn't hear him.
"Please fuck me."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Neal murmured. He slammed himself forward once, twice, three times, and Peter was reduced to a long low whine of a moan. Neal grinned down at him, enjoying this, and Peter glared back.
"Neal," he yelled--well, really he whispered it, but he clearly meant to yell. "Neal, please, I need to--"
"Me first," Neal gasped.
He pushed in again and again and felt white-hot pressure behind his eyelids as he came, emptying himself into Peter's overwhelmingly tight ass. Peter shuddered and bucked underneath him, presumably enjoying the sensation, but he didn't come; Neal was torn between feeling bad and wanting to deny him the orgasm, just to prove a point.
But then he pulled out, and Peter's eyes went wide and betrayed. He opened his mouth and then shut it again; when Neal gave him a searching look, he sighed. There was maybe just the hint of a whimper in that sigh, but he looked so debauched that Neal wasn't really inclined to call him on it
"Please," Peter rasped, sex dragging its filthy way across each syllable, "please, I don't think I can even make it out to the car--"
Neal smiled and bent down. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Peter's thigh and then slid lower. He pushed his tongue against the sensitive skin of his balls and probed, swiping his tongue across them again and again--
"Oh, fuck," Peter hissed, and came.
He arched spectacularly with it, dirtying the floor and the edge of the shelf. Neal laughed at him for that later, once they were cleaned up and heading for the car, once Peter had slammed Neal into a wall and kissed him viciously, biting, to reassert his dominance.
"It's a public library," Neal said, climbing into the passenger seat. "So it's public property, right? And I'm pretty sure ejaculating on public property makes you--"
"Caffrey, don't start--"
"A vandal!" Neal finished gleefully. He flicked the radio on and started humming along in triumph. "Peter Burke, vandal. It's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? I think I'll tell Elizabeth, we'll have a plaque made."
"Says the guy who broke us in," Peter grumbled, as Neal gave him a wounded look.
"It wasn't breaking and entering! We were there as agents of the government, Peter--"
"You are not an agent of any recognized government, and any unrecognized ones are definitely your own problem."
"Fine," Neal sniffed, "consultants of the government. It doesn't matter--they would have let us back in if we'd asked."
"Oh, yeah. 'I'm sorry, we just want to pop back in there for some kinky sex. Do you mind?'"
"I wouldn't have presented it like that. They would have done it."
Peter kept his eyes on the road and snorted. "Been doing this a lot longer than you, Neal. No chance they'd let anyone back into that building unattended, especially not after an attempted robbery."
Neal couldn't help the small, triumphant smile the crept over the side of his face. He covered it with his hand--Peter was hard to play--and fingered the key the curator had given him with absent fingers.
He said, "Wanna bet?"