Fic: Practical Man - WhiCo
May. 30th, 2010 10:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katikatTitle: Practical Man
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katikat
Remix of: Vampire!Neal by Smoke
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: AU, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1580
Summary: Neal frickin' Caffrey escaped again!
Notes: A big thank-you goes to my lovely betayami_tai.
Peter was cranky - the whole world, New Orleans included, could sue him! A small voice cowering in a dusty corner of his brain kept nagging at him for snapping at the receptionist and at the NOPD cops before that, but he thought he should be excused for not being his usual polite self when Neal frickin' Caffrey had escaped - again!
Puffing like a steam train, Peter dragged himself up the stairs because, of course, both of the hotel's elevators were out of order - his luck was obviously still out to get him - and the only room that they had had free the night before was, of course, on the fifth floor. The stifling heat wasn't helping his bad mood any and by the time he reached his floor, he was drenched in sweat and all he could think of was a cold shower and a call to his wife - Elizabeth was the only person willing to lend him a sympathetic ear when he got himself in one of his Caffrey related funks.
So, he wasn't paying much attention when he unlocked his hotel room's door - in his mind he was already halfway to his shower - but he definitely did not squeak like a girl and jump a foot in the air when a male voice drifted from the darkness. No, he went for his gun - in a very manly way.
"Ah, Agent Burke, finally. I feared you've gotten yourself lost or melted away in this terrible heat wave - a quite inconvenient and unexpected thing, if I may say so."
Peter groped with his left hand until he hit the light switch and the small room was flooded with warm - for Christ's sake, even the light was warm! - brightness. And yes, the room was still as ugly as the night before, mottled gray carpet, one bed, one table and one chair painting a very miserable picture. Everything was the same - well, except for the man lounging on said bed, sprawling there as if he didn't have a worry in the whole wide world.
"Who are you?" Peter gritted out, gun pointed at the intruder.
The man - a young man, mid-twenties, dark hair, blue eyes - raised his eyebrows and adopted a wounded look. "Oh, Peter, now you've hurt my feelings. You honestly don't recognize me?"
"I don't think we've met," Peter said while mentally, he was trying to place the poster boy for lazy coziness on his bed - and drawing blank.
The man was still giving him the puppy dog eyes - God, who did that at his age? - but when his look landed on the gun in Peter's hand, his eyes hardened slightly, glittering softly in the overhead light. "I really don't like guns, Peter. Put it away, okay?"
There was something in his voice. Something that... "Okay," Peter said, letting his hand drop. His own reaction disturbed Peter slightly, but looking at the man in his expensive slacks and tailored shirt, he really couldn't find a reason to threaten him with bodily harm - well, there was the fact that he was making himself comfortable on Peter's bed but that wasn't excuse enough to pump him full of lead.
The man beamed at him - literally beamed at him, wide smile almost splitting his face in half. "Great. Now, let me introduce myself." He got up, smoothing his slacks and adjusting his tie, and bowed slightly in a very courteous way. "Neal Caffrey, at your service."
Peter almost spluttered. Caffrey! In his room! He brought up his gun again. "Hands where I can see them!" he barked.
Neal sighed with exasperation. "Really, Peter? I thought we were over the gun thing."
But Peter wasn't listening. "You're under arrest for..."
"What exactly?" Neal asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Theft, for starters," Peter snapped.
Neal looked at him in curious disbelief. "Someone complained? Really? I must be losing my touch."
Peter opened his mouth to - he didn't know what exactly. Because Caffrey was right. None of the victims pressed charges. Truth to be told, no one had said even one bad word about Caffrey. Whenever Peter asked about the thief, his victims just smiled dreamily, sighed and started gushing about what a nice man Caffrey was. And to add insult to injury, no surveillance ever showed him anywhere near the crime scenes - money just disappeared, jewels floated away, vaults drifted open by themselves - and wasn't that fun stuff to report to your superiors!
"I could still arrest you for breaking and entering," Peter waved his hand at the small room with a very "Aha! Didn't think about that, did you?" expression on his face.
Neal threw his head back and a laughed - and Peter swallowed tightly, because thief or not, the man was good-looking. "Oh, really, Peter? I would love to read your report: 'Caffrey was found half-naked in my bed...'"
"You're not half-naked!" Peter interrupted him.
Neal gave him a shocked look. "Peter, this is a Devore! You don't wear these slacks without a jacket! I feel almost naked." He shuddered delicately.
Peter opened his mouth and closed it again. He felt completely out of his element. He had been chasing this guy for months - and now that he had him... What could he do about him? He had no evidence, no crime to pin on him - which frustrated him most. He knew that Caffrey was guilty, but he had no way to prove it.
Peter lowered his hand again, letting the gun dangle by his thigh, and said tiredly, "What do you want, Caffrey?"
Suddenly, Neal's grin was gone, replaced with a hungry, predatory expression. Peter tensed again, watching the thief move towards him slowly, deliberately. Neal didn't stop until he entered Peter's personal space, then he leaned in even closer, his cold breath wafting over Peter's cheek, as he whispered in his ear, "I've been watching you. For ages now. The attention you give to your cases - to me - has been most..." He pressed his cold hand to Peter's chest and Peter shivered. "Thrilling."
Peter swallowed. He couldn't help but react to Neal's presence - which he didn't understand at all. Men never did it for him. He was a ladies man through and through, lack of flirting skills aside, of course. But Caffrey, his touch, his smell, his chilled breath on Peter's cheek - they were making him rock-hard, painfully so.
He wanted to step back, but realized he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot. "What do you want?" Peter breathed out again, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Neal looked up at him and Peter fell into his eyes, drowning in their blue depths. Caffrey watched him like a predator and Peter shivered, imagining himself a prey.
"You, Peter," Neal whispered and leaning closer, he brushed his lips across Peter's. "I want to make you mine. You fascinate me." He flicked his tongue, running it lightly over Peter's lips and Peter took a sharp breath, his lips tingling in the most exquisite way. Neal grinned. "Like it?"
And then, before Peter could answer, before he could even react, he was grabbed and whipped around, landing heavily on the bed, both hands empty, the gun safely out of reach on the table by the window. Then the light switched off and the room was plunged into darkness. And all that between one heartbeat and the next.
Peter blinked. "What...?"
The bed dipped slightly as Neal sat down on Peter's thighs and grabbed Peter's shoulders tight in his deceptively slight hands. He leaned closer and ground their cocks together. Peter gasped, throwing his head back, and closing his eyes tight, he moaned out loud - he didn't understand what was going on, this wasn't like him, anything like him. He was rational and had never cheated on Elizabeth, not even in his thoughts and now... He groaned again as their hard-ons brushed against each other.
Neal pressed his mouth to Peter's neck, licking it and scraping the tender skin lightly with his teeth. Peter bucked under him, his breath coming in harsh puffs, but Neal held him tight, not allowing him to move an inch.
Peter opened his eyes and saw... Blue, shining blue eyes glittering in the darkness like will-o'-the-wisps, eerie, spectral lights that he just couldn't look away from. "What are you?" he whispered, his breath hitching in his throat.
He could hear the grin in Neal's voice when he answered, "Why, Peter, I'm a vampire, of course."
Then Neal bit down, burying his needle sharp teeth in Peter's neck, making Peter's blood gush - making him come harder than ever before. The last thing Peter felt before he lost consciousness was Neal's velvety tongue lapping at the punctures in his throat.
*-*-*-*
Peter had never believed in vampires - and he still didn't believe in them; whatever happened to him in that dingy hotel room in New Orleans, he was not attacked by a vampire! But he was a practical man who always covered his bases, even if that meant carrying a crucifix, a flask with holy water or the occasional clove of garlic - because he could feel Caffrey in every dark corner and every shadow, he could feel the predatory look of his ghastly blue eyes and hear him whisper promises of things to come.
The End
Author:
katikatRemix of: Vampire!Neal by Smoke
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: AU, Peter/Neal
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1580
Summary: Neal frickin' Caffrey escaped again!
Notes: A big thank-you goes to my lovely beta
yami_tai.Peter was cranky - the whole world, New Orleans included, could sue him! A small voice cowering in a dusty corner of his brain kept nagging at him for snapping at the receptionist and at the NOPD cops before that, but he thought he should be excused for not being his usual polite self when Neal frickin' Caffrey had escaped - again!
Puffing like a steam train, Peter dragged himself up the stairs because, of course, both of the hotel's elevators were out of order - his luck was obviously still out to get him - and the only room that they had had free the night before was, of course, on the fifth floor. The stifling heat wasn't helping his bad mood any and by the time he reached his floor, he was drenched in sweat and all he could think of was a cold shower and a call to his wife - Elizabeth was the only person willing to lend him a sympathetic ear when he got himself in one of his Caffrey related funks.
So, he wasn't paying much attention when he unlocked his hotel room's door - in his mind he was already halfway to his shower - but he definitely did not squeak like a girl and jump a foot in the air when a male voice drifted from the darkness. No, he went for his gun - in a very manly way.
"Ah, Agent Burke, finally. I feared you've gotten yourself lost or melted away in this terrible heat wave - a quite inconvenient and unexpected thing, if I may say so."
Peter groped with his left hand until he hit the light switch and the small room was flooded with warm - for Christ's sake, even the light was warm! - brightness. And yes, the room was still as ugly as the night before, mottled gray carpet, one bed, one table and one chair painting a very miserable picture. Everything was the same - well, except for the man lounging on said bed, sprawling there as if he didn't have a worry in the whole wide world.
"Who are you?" Peter gritted out, gun pointed at the intruder.
The man - a young man, mid-twenties, dark hair, blue eyes - raised his eyebrows and adopted a wounded look. "Oh, Peter, now you've hurt my feelings. You honestly don't recognize me?"
"I don't think we've met," Peter said while mentally, he was trying to place the poster boy for lazy coziness on his bed - and drawing blank.
The man was still giving him the puppy dog eyes - God, who did that at his age? - but when his look landed on the gun in Peter's hand, his eyes hardened slightly, glittering softly in the overhead light. "I really don't like guns, Peter. Put it away, okay?"
There was something in his voice. Something that... "Okay," Peter said, letting his hand drop. His own reaction disturbed Peter slightly, but looking at the man in his expensive slacks and tailored shirt, he really couldn't find a reason to threaten him with bodily harm - well, there was the fact that he was making himself comfortable on Peter's bed but that wasn't excuse enough to pump him full of lead.
The man beamed at him - literally beamed at him, wide smile almost splitting his face in half. "Great. Now, let me introduce myself." He got up, smoothing his slacks and adjusting his tie, and bowed slightly in a very courteous way. "Neal Caffrey, at your service."
Peter almost spluttered. Caffrey! In his room! He brought up his gun again. "Hands where I can see them!" he barked.
Neal sighed with exasperation. "Really, Peter? I thought we were over the gun thing."
But Peter wasn't listening. "You're under arrest for..."
"What exactly?" Neal asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Theft, for starters," Peter snapped.
Neal looked at him in curious disbelief. "Someone complained? Really? I must be losing my touch."
Peter opened his mouth to - he didn't know what exactly. Because Caffrey was right. None of the victims pressed charges. Truth to be told, no one had said even one bad word about Caffrey. Whenever Peter asked about the thief, his victims just smiled dreamily, sighed and started gushing about what a nice man Caffrey was. And to add insult to injury, no surveillance ever showed him anywhere near the crime scenes - money just disappeared, jewels floated away, vaults drifted open by themselves - and wasn't that fun stuff to report to your superiors!
"I could still arrest you for breaking and entering," Peter waved his hand at the small room with a very "Aha! Didn't think about that, did you?" expression on his face.
Neal threw his head back and a laughed - and Peter swallowed tightly, because thief or not, the man was good-looking. "Oh, really, Peter? I would love to read your report: 'Caffrey was found half-naked in my bed...'"
"You're not half-naked!" Peter interrupted him.
Neal gave him a shocked look. "Peter, this is a Devore! You don't wear these slacks without a jacket! I feel almost naked." He shuddered delicately.
Peter opened his mouth and closed it again. He felt completely out of his element. He had been chasing this guy for months - and now that he had him... What could he do about him? He had no evidence, no crime to pin on him - which frustrated him most. He knew that Caffrey was guilty, but he had no way to prove it.
Peter lowered his hand again, letting the gun dangle by his thigh, and said tiredly, "What do you want, Caffrey?"
Suddenly, Neal's grin was gone, replaced with a hungry, predatory expression. Peter tensed again, watching the thief move towards him slowly, deliberately. Neal didn't stop until he entered Peter's personal space, then he leaned in even closer, his cold breath wafting over Peter's cheek, as he whispered in his ear, "I've been watching you. For ages now. The attention you give to your cases - to me - has been most..." He pressed his cold hand to Peter's chest and Peter shivered. "Thrilling."
Peter swallowed. He couldn't help but react to Neal's presence - which he didn't understand at all. Men never did it for him. He was a ladies man through and through, lack of flirting skills aside, of course. But Caffrey, his touch, his smell, his chilled breath on Peter's cheek - they were making him rock-hard, painfully so.
He wanted to step back, but realized he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot. "What do you want?" Peter breathed out again, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Neal looked up at him and Peter fell into his eyes, drowning in their blue depths. Caffrey watched him like a predator and Peter shivered, imagining himself a prey.
"You, Peter," Neal whispered and leaning closer, he brushed his lips across Peter's. "I want to make you mine. You fascinate me." He flicked his tongue, running it lightly over Peter's lips and Peter took a sharp breath, his lips tingling in the most exquisite way. Neal grinned. "Like it?"
And then, before Peter could answer, before he could even react, he was grabbed and whipped around, landing heavily on the bed, both hands empty, the gun safely out of reach on the table by the window. Then the light switched off and the room was plunged into darkness. And all that between one heartbeat and the next.
Peter blinked. "What...?"
The bed dipped slightly as Neal sat down on Peter's thighs and grabbed Peter's shoulders tight in his deceptively slight hands. He leaned closer and ground their cocks together. Peter gasped, throwing his head back, and closing his eyes tight, he moaned out loud - he didn't understand what was going on, this wasn't like him, anything like him. He was rational and had never cheated on Elizabeth, not even in his thoughts and now... He groaned again as their hard-ons brushed against each other.
Neal pressed his mouth to Peter's neck, licking it and scraping the tender skin lightly with his teeth. Peter bucked under him, his breath coming in harsh puffs, but Neal held him tight, not allowing him to move an inch.
Peter opened his eyes and saw... Blue, shining blue eyes glittering in the darkness like will-o'-the-wisps, eerie, spectral lights that he just couldn't look away from. "What are you?" he whispered, his breath hitching in his throat.
He could hear the grin in Neal's voice when he answered, "Why, Peter, I'm a vampire, of course."
Then Neal bit down, burying his needle sharp teeth in Peter's neck, making Peter's blood gush - making him come harder than ever before. The last thing Peter felt before he lost consciousness was Neal's velvety tongue lapping at the punctures in his throat.
*-*-*-*
Peter had never believed in vampires - and he still didn't believe in them; whatever happened to him in that dingy hotel room in New Orleans, he was not attacked by a vampire! But he was a practical man who always covered his bases, even if that meant carrying a crucifix, a flask with holy water or the occasional clove of garlic - because he could feel Caffrey in every dark corner and every shadow, he could feel the predatory look of his ghastly blue eyes and hear him whisper promises of things to come.
The End
