coffeethyme4me: (Default)
[personal profile] coffeethyme4me
Title: Yes, Sir
Author: [personal profile] coffeethyme4me
Pairing: Peter/Neal
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,635
Written for [community profile] mmom day 15.
Content: Mild D/s
Summary: Peter catches Neal in the middle of enjoying a secret kink.





Neal was in one of his favorite positions: face down on the bed, rutting against the sheets, imagining Peter preparing to mount him.

He liked the grip the bedding and ride the soft sheets, the friction not quite enough to bring him off. He liked to keep his hands away from his cock for as long as possible to play up his own helplessness.

The one drawback of doing it this way – as opposed to an efficient jerk off in the shower or a quick hand first thing in the morning – was that he had a tendency to lose track of time. He really lost all concept of it in this position, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to care if it would make him late. He didn’t know what time it was, but he felt misguidedly confident that if he was late it would be by mere minutes.

Neal was blissfully unaware that he was half an hour late – that his cell phone was turned off – that Peter, worried, was even now unlocking the door with his own key, his gun drawn.

Neal made fists in the sheets, imagining Peter stroking a slow hand down his own cock behind him, telling him to spread his legs wider. Neal did it, still thrusting, and sighed, “Yes, Sir…”

“Your cell phone’s off,” Peter’s very real, very deep voice came from his bedroom doorway.

Neal gasped and looked over his shoulder. Peter was smirking at his bare ass. Peter was holstering his gun.

“Obviously, I knew you were here, as there was a very still green dot on my computer screen,” Peter said. “Humping one’s sheets doesn’t show up on the tracking information. Sadly,” he added. He took off his coat. “Did you say…’sir’?”

Neal bit his lip and reached for the sheets to cover himself up. He was sure he was ten shades of pink. He and Peter had only been sleeping together for a month. They hadn’t gotten to the awkward kinks yet. This was one Neal didn’t know if he had *ever* planned to tell Peter. And now it was out there.

“No,” Peter said. “Don’t.” Indicating he wanted the sheet left down – Neal’s body left bare. He looked at his watch. He pulled out his cell phone, dialed, held it to his ear, and held out a hand to Neal – a stay-right-where-you-are hand. “Hey, Diana. Yeah. I’m on my way in, but I’m going to be late. Probably another hour. I need you to start the meeting without me. You have the files I gave you on Parker, right? Yeah, just get everybody up to speed. We’ll give everybody the new intel on Mason when we get there. Yeah. …. Yeah.”

The call went on; the hand stayed out, as if he could physically hold Neal there without touching him – and he could.

All Neal could think was, “We.” Peter had said “we”.

Peter hung up the phone, and he started loosening his tie. He said, “Do you want to call me ‘sir’, Neal?” He took off the holster and laid it on top of Neal’s dresser with a dull thud. He unbuckled and withdrew his belt. “Does that get you off?” He unbuttoned and removed his shirt, his undershirt. “Neal?”

Neal buried his face in the pillow. He nodded.

He heard Peter nearing. Heard the unzipping of his slacks. “You have to tell me. Tell me, Neal.”

His weight on the bed.

Neal lifted his face to whisper. He was trembling. “Yes.”

“Yes, what.” Peter’s hands opening his thighs.

“Yes…sir.” The word sent a shiver through Neal’s whole body. He almost came saying it.

Peter grabbed a condom and lube from the drawer. Neal listened to his hiss of arousal, rolling it on. Then, “Open yourself for me.”

“Yes, sir.” Neal reached around and pulled his asscheeks apart, exposing his hole. He felt Peter’s big cock bearing down on him, the grunt as Peter slid himself inside, his hips against Neal’s hands.

“Do you need to get fucked?” Peter breathed against his shoulder.

Neal whined, “Yes, sir.”

“Then hold on,” Peter told him. Neal took the headboard in both hands. “You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

And Peter started.

“That feel good?”

Neal’s frantic nod.

“Neal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you like my cock inside you? Fucking you?”

“Yes, sir.”

The kink was too new and exciting and it wasn’t long before they both came, Peter gasping, moaning, his hips whipping, and Neal rubbing himself off against the sheets, chanting, “Yes, sir, yes, sir, yes, sir, please, sir, please, sir,” not answering any outwardly directed question, just an inner need and desire to do so. Neal humped through his own come, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

They rested together, panting. Then Peter eased his weight off, groaning, pulling out of him and disposing of the condom. He leaned back over Neal and kissed his back. He kissed up and down Neal’s back slowly and with reverence. He whispered against his hot skin, “You’re the most beautiful man ever to have lived.” This was a side of Peter Burke Neal had never expected to see. He had suspected that it existed, and that El was a very lucky woman because of it. But it had now been directed at him, and Neal, unqualified to receive such real and shattering praise, shuddered under the words and the lips that said them. “How long have you wanted to call me that?” Peter asked, gently biting down on his shoulder. Then, “Turn over.”

Neal rolled beneath him and was suddenly staring up into his face. Peter didn’t wait for an answer and took both of Neal’s arms and wrapped them around his own neck. Neal often had to be forced to touch Peter intimately. A blowjob or a fuck was one thing. Being held – holding him – was another. Neal had never extended such closeness to anyone but Kate. But Peter was never one to let him get away with less than he was capable of.

Neal sighed and held onto Peter, looking into his curious eyes. A gaze that held only interest – no judgment. “I don’t know. A while?”

“Did you like it?” Peter asked. He situated himself between Neal’s open thighs. It made it difficult to think, but Neal wasn’t about to tell him that and risk him moving off.

He could feel himself blushing. “Yeah. I liked it. A lot.” Lying with understatement. Not a new one for Neal but certainly new under these circumstances. “Did you?”

Peter smirked. “You couldn’t tell?”

Neal blushed harder.

Peter kissed him for a long time. Long enough that Neal became afraid they’d be much later than Peter had indicated to Diana. One thing Neal had learned early on was that Peter Burke liked to kiss. He liked to kiss Neal. Often. For a long time. Neal wasn’t complaining. Peter was an expert at it.

But then Peter rose with a reluctant sigh. He held out a hand to Neal. “No time for a shower,” he said. “Think they’ll be able to smell it on us?”

Neal bit his lip to hide the smile that wanted to burst through. He just shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he donned his underwear, his pants. “Probably just think we were at the gym together,” he said.

Peter grabbed him, kissed his neck. “I do love a good morning workout,” he murmured. Then just as soon, he was gone, buttoning his shirt, sniffing for coffee.



They made it to the office in record time – time in which Neal had to close his eyes and grip the armrest, praying that, on his next driver’s test, they’d revoke Peter’s license.

They walked through the office doors the way they had every morning sense they’d started having sex – which was like every morning before they’d started having sex.

The meeting went great. Diana had done a spectacular job of covering. Neal sat to Peter’s right side but not close enough to touch. Not close enough to tempt anyone’s suspicions. Peter addressed him professionally. Neal replied in kind. They fired off ideas – bounced them back and forth. Everyone was on. Mason wouldn’t know what hit him.

Almost everyone had left the conference room when it happened. Peter said something offhand about Neal fetching a file. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Neal didn’t know exactly why he said it. Self-destructive streak? His rogue spirit run rampant? Because he wanted to see if Peter would let him? If he would react?

Whatever the reason, he said it: “Yes, sir.”

Diana and Clinton were in a deep discussion at the door, but they both stopped and looked at him. So did Peter. To Neal’s surprise, Diana just huffed a laugh. “What are you in the doghouse for, Caffrey?” And she turned back to Jones and Jones to her, and they left the room.

The only person who didn’t turn away was Peter. Neal saw just the slightest hint of what they’d shared that morning – just the smallest indicators: the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the slight dilation of the pupils, the half-smirk before he cleared his throat. He walked over to Neal and took his bicep in his hand, leaning in to whisper,
”Not unless you mean to do something about it.”

Neal shivered. If there had been anywhere they could conceivably have any kind of sex in the building, Neal would have most definitely said it again. Instead, he nodded – mute and swallowing.

Peter let him go with a long, controlled exhale. Neal left to fetch the file. With every step, the words reverberated through his mind, his body, and it was like having private little almost-orgasms: Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. His blood beating with it.

Yes, sir.



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