coffeethyme4me: (Default)
[personal profile] coffeethyme4me
Title: Of What Would Burn
Author: [personal profile] coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Keller/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: NON-CON
Prompt: Keller/Neal -- Don't make me hurt you, by [personal profile] elrhiarhodan.
Summary: Neal does what he can to help save Elizabeth. Post-Countdown.
Words: 1,245
A/N: This barely qualifies for MMoM. I feel bad posting it as masturbation is definitely not the main focus of the action. That said, this is for [community profile] mmom, day 5!

They were in a hotel room. He had come to save Elizabeth for Peter. She was not in the room. It was just Keller, and he read Neal like always and took the bug, his cell phone, and the shiv in his right shoe.

Neal told him everything about where the loot was and how to get it. Keller got on the horn and gave instructions to someone to verify. And then, while they waited, he took Neal’s clothes. All of them. Neal thought about fighting, but there was El to consider. Keller made that clear right away. That anything other than complete compliance would mean bad things for her. Very bad things.

He didn’t promise that compliance would free her, only that it would humiliate Neal as Neal didn’t doubt in the least.

Still, Keller had to say, “Don’t make me hurt you,” right into his ear as he unbuckled his belt. He said it softly so that the camera on the phone he had set up on the vanity facing the bed wouldn’t pick it up. What Keller assured it *would* pick up was Neal, bent over so that his face pressed to the mattress, while at the same time it would get his asshole opening for Keller’s cock.

Neal’s body remembered Keller. He knew how to breathe to make it hurt less. He knew that the usual mechanisms would take over mid-fuck and make it physically better, emotionally much worse. He remembered nights when he would have wanted this – would have begged for it, initiated, shoved his hand down Keller’s pants fishing for it, goading. The years had eroded whatever misguided feelings he’d had. They hadn’t made the memories vanish.

As Keller hit his stride, and Neal surrendered to the sickening rhythm, he knew Peter would receive the video long before Neal could even arrive back home. And he *would* arrive back home. Keller would want him to live with the shame, not die from it. Keller was talking to him now, saying things about Peter, about how it must feel to be owned, traded. Nothing Neal hadn’t heard before.

He thought about staying silent through the whole thing. There would be some power in that. But there was something he did want to know, Neal realized, after all. “Where did you leave your soul, Matthew?” The syllables weren’t right – some were fucked out of him too hard.

Neal felt the hesitation in the next of Keller’s thrusts, something so subtle that the camera wouldn’t catch it – it was something only felt between them, in the tightening of Neal’s hole…the retaliation of Keller’s cock in the next slide right over Neal’s prostate. Neal bit down a groan.

“Was it in Paris when I left you? Matthew?”

Keller took him by the back of the neck, not hard, just territorial. He did it to defy Neal’s words -- to show Peter who was really boss. That he could take both his wife and his pet con and Peter could do nothing but watch, could do nothing but give Keller everything he wanted. Neal closed his eyes and swallowed. He couldn’t think of Peter here. Not like this. Not now. He thought only of what had to be done, had to be said – of what would burn.

“Hadn’t you ever been dumped before?” The slide of his cock was deep now, painful, and Neal’s cock was getting hard. “Surely I wasn’t the first to realize you’re not worth it.”

“I’m gonna come in you while your big butch fed watches,” Keller growled.

Neal affected disdain, as much as he could under the circumstances. “Go ahead, Matthew. You never did have any staying power.”

“Touch yourself,” Keller demanded, and Neal didn’t move. Matthew Keller was good at chess, and this was one of those moves that could break Neal’s game. “I said get your hand on your cock, Caffrey, or your boy’s lady? She’s gonna suffer. She’s gonna hurt.” There was a smile in his voice, devoid of humor.

Neal gritted his teeth, raised his hips up under Keller’s onslaught, and started stroking his dick. He did it badly, of course. Too rough, arrhythmic. Guaranteed to get him nowhere. Keller laughed behind him, bent down and licked his shoulder. “You always did do better with my hand on you.” Then he slapped Neal’s hand away and wrapped his own around Neal’s cock, and Neal had to force himself not to whimper. His cock jerked up to full erection instantly.

He remembered nights coming in this man’s fist – Keller making it happen in forty fast seconds and then getting him hard all over again and making it last an hour. He remembered the callus beneath the third finger, along the padding of his palm. It was still there. Keller took short, sharp thrusts into him and twisted his hand around Neal’s cock. He made them come together. He made Neal’s body complicit. Neal turned his face down into the bedding and shook and shook and shook. And Keller filled him up.

He remembered watching Matthew stroke himself while Neal stepped out of the shower, nude and wet.

He remembered their bodies slow in the steam.

He remembered thinking he felt too much.

He remembered that was why he left.

Neal dressed with Keller taunting him the while. But Neal heard the tremor in that voice. He thought he heard the familiar exhaustion – that thing he always said only Neal could do to him. Keller said into the camera, “Bye-bye, Petie!” and ended the filming. His thumb had hardly left the button when the phone in his hand rang.

Keller frowned. Neal was having trouble buttoning his shirt. His fingers wouldn’t work. Keller picked up. “Burke,” he said in wary greeting.

Neal couldn’t hear what Peter was saying. He didn’t have to. They’d gotten her out. The diversion had worked, and they’d gotten Elizabeth to safety.

“What?!” bellowed Keller. Then he turned on Neal. But before those hands could reach for him again, the door was busted in and seven FBI agents with their guns drawn converged on Keller and took him down. They bound him like a turkey. They took his guns and his phones – his leverage and his freedom. They dragged him -- cursing Neal for a lousy fuck, a used up whore, a cocksucking little bitch – out of the hotel room. Neal put his jacket back on. His shaking hands straightened the collar. He met no one’s eyes.

Someone – Diana, he thought – handed him the phone. Her voice was soft, worried. “It’s Peter for you,” she said. “Neal, you should sit down.”

“No,” he said. He took the phone and pushed passed a crowd of agents through the door, out into the hall, taking the phone with him. He put it to his ear.

“Neal, are you okay?” It was Peter’s voice, trembling with adrenaline, with barely contained joy at having her back.

“Is she safe? Is she hurt?” Neal asked. He got to the end of the hall, maintaining a brisk walk although all he wanted to do was run.

“She’s safe. She’s all right, Neal. Are you?”

“I’m fine,” Neal said. And then he hung up the phone. He walked past the elevator where they were loading Keller. Neal didn’t look up. He pushed into the deserted stairway.

He slid down the wall, sat on the ground, and closed his eyes. The phone was warm, like someone’s skin, in his hand.


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